FFFFF88 FEEEEE; GENERAL LIBRARY BRIRE OF UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 3332 £66FEFFE PRESENTED BY The Daughters of 7. S. Frie May D 190 0. O..... EEEF .A сор I 821,2 ? 1 } P48 ко 6 V.2 1 F 2 f را ་ 3 H. S. Fries. C Biciklu dan 1 can ན : T Reliques OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY. 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 paintings of nature which recommend it to the most ordinary reader, will appear beautiful to the most refined. ADDISON, in SPECTATOR, No. 70. RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY: CONSISTING OF OLD HEROIC BALLADS, SONGS, AND OTHER PIECES OF OUR EARLIER POETS, TOGETHER WITH SOME FEW OF LATER DATE. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. III. LONDON: EDWARD MOXON, DOVER STREET. MDCCCXLVI. MUG ****** LONDON : BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS. · } I CONTENTS OF VOL. III. 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. 6. A DYTTIE TO HEY DOWNE 63 7. GLASGEKION 64 8. OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE 68 9. CHILD WATERS 72 78 10. PHILLIDA AND CORYDON. BY NIC, BRETON 11. LITTLE MUSGRAVE AND LADY BARNARD 80 84 12. THE EW-BUGHTS MARION. A SCOTTISH SONG. 13. THE KNIGHT AND SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER 85 14. THE SHEPHERD'S ADDRESS TO HIS MUSE. BY N. BRETON 88 15. LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ELLINOR 90 16. CUPID AND CAMPASPE. BY JOHN LILYE 93 ibid. 17. THE LADY TURNED SERVING-MAN. 18. GIL [CHILD] MORRICE. A SCOTTISH BALLAD 98 • • • • • • TAGE 1 33 41 51 53 60 • • · • vi CONTENTS. BOOK THE SECOND. 1. THE LEGEND OF SIR GUY 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. 6. SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST. A SCOTTISH BALLAD. 7. SIR JOHN GREHME AND BARBARA ALLAN, 8. THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON 9. THE WILLOW TREE. A PASTORAL DIALOGUE 10. THE LADY'S FALL 11. WALY, WALY, LOVE BE BONNY. A SCOTTISH SONG. 12. THE BRIDE'S BURIAL 13. DULCINA 14. THE LADY ISABELLA'S TRAGEDY 15. A HUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID. BY BEN. JONSON 16. THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER 17. THE SWEET NEGLECT. BY BEN. JONSON 18. THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD 19. A LOVER OF LATE WAS I 20. THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD 21. THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION. BY GEO. WITHER 22. QUEEN DIDO, OR THE WANDERING PRINCE OF TROY 23. THE WITCHES' SONG. BY BEN. JONSON 24. ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW 25. THE FAIRY QUEEN 26. THE FAIRIES FAREWELL. BY DR. CORBET. · · D BOOK THE THIRD. 1. THE BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE 2. ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON. A · DITTO · • • • • • PAGE 105 111 117 119 . 122 . 124 . 126 . 128 130 131 136 137 141 . 143 . 146 . 148 . 155 ibid. . 161 . 162 170 172 . 176 . 179 183 185 • • · • • • • + 189 197 CONTENTS. vii • 3. LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY 4. LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET. A SCOTTISH BALLAD 5. UNFADING BEAUTY. BY THO. CAREW 6. George BARNWELL 7. THE STEDFAST SHEPHERD. BY GEO. WITHER 8. THE SPANISH VIRGIN, OR EFFECTS OF JEALOUSY 224 . 228 9. JEALOUSY TYRANT OF THE MIND. BY DRYDEN 10. CONSTANT PENELOPE 229 11. TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS. BY COL. LOVELACE 232 12. VALENTINE AND URSINE . 233 13. THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY 245 14. ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. THE FIRST PART 252 15. ST. GEorge for ENGLAND. THE SECOND PART. • THE GLOSSARY . • BY J. FAGE . 205 . 206 . 210 . 211 GRUBB 16. MARGARET'S GHOST. BY DAVID MALLET 17. LUCY AND COLIN. BY THO. TICKEL 18. THE BOY AND THE MANTLE, REVISED, &c. 19. THE ANCIENT FRAGMENT OF THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE • · · • 256 . 270 273 . 275 · • • 222 282 291 Reliques OF ANCIENT POETRY, &c. SERIES THE THIRD.-BOOк I. POEMS ON KING ARTHUR, &c. THE third volume 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 atten- tion, 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, ETC. I. THE first attempts at composition among all bar- barous nations are ever found to be Poetry and Song. The praises of their Gods, and the achievements of their heroes, are usually chanted at their festival meet- ings. These are the first rudiments of History. It is in this manner that the savages of North America pre- serve the memory of past events:* and the same * Fid. Lasiteau Moeurs de Sauvages," T. 2. Dr. Browne's Hist. of the Rise and Progress of Poetry." VOL. III, B 2 ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES method is known to have prevailed among our Saxon ancestors, before they quitted their German forests.* The ancient Britons had their Bards, and the Gothic nations their Scalds or popular poets,† whose business it was to record the victories of their warriors, and the genealogies of their princes, in a kind of narrative songs, which were committed to memory, and delivered down from one Reciter to another. So long as Poetry 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 succeeding historians have taken up with the relations of these rude men, and for want of more authentic records, have agreed to allow them the credit of true history.‡ After letters began to prevail, and history assumed a more stable form, by being committed to plain simple prose; these Songs of the Scalds or Bards began to be more amusing than useful. And in proportion as it became their business chiefly to entertain and delight, they gave more and more into embellishment, and set off their recitals with such marvellous fictions, as were calculated to captivate gross and ignorant minds. Thus began stories of adventures with Giants and Dragons, and Witches and Enchanters, and all the monstrous extravagances of wild imagination, unguided by judg- ment, and uncorrected by art.§ This seems to be the true origin of that species of * "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 Fr. of M. Mallet." 1770, 2 vol. Svo. (vol i. p. 49, &c.) § Vid. infra, pp. 3, 4, &c. ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 3 Romance, which so long celebrated feats of Chivalry, and which at first in metre, and afterwards in prose, was the entertainment of our ancestors, in common with their contemporaries on the continent, till the satire of Cervantes, or rather the increase of knowledge and classical literature, drove them off the stage, to make room for a more refined species of fiction, under the name of French Romances, copied from the Greek.* That our old Romances of Chivalry may be derived in a lineal descent from the ancient historical songs of the Gothic Bards and Scalds, will be shown below, and indeed appears the more evident, as many of those Songs are still preserved in the north, which exhibit all the seeds of Chivalry before it became a solemn institution.+ "Chivalry, as a distinct military order, conferred in the way of investiture, and accompanied with the solemnity of an oath, and other ceremonies," was of later date, and sprung out of the feudal consti- tution, as an elegant writer has clearly shown. But the ideas of Chivalry prevailed long before in all the Gothic nations, and may be discovered as in embryo in the customs, manners, and opinions of every branch of that people.§ That fondness of going in quest of adventures, that spirit of challenging to single combat, and that respectful complaisance shown to the fair sex, (so different from the manners of the Greeks and Romans), all are of Gothic origin, and may be traced up to the earliest times among all the northern nations.[] These existed long before the feudal ages, though they were called forth and strengthened in a peculiar man- ner under that constitution, and at length arrived to their full maturity in the times of the Crusades, so replete with romantic adventures. ¶ * Viz. Astræa, Cassandra, Clelia, &c. † Mallet. Vid. "Northern Antiquities," vol. i. p. 318. & c. vol. ii. p. 234, &c. Letters concerning Chivalry. 8vo. 1763. $ Mallet. || Mallet. The seeds of Chivalry sprung up so naturally out of the ori- ginal 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 Romance B 2 4 ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 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 inchant- ment, and were fond of inventing combats with Dragons and Monsters.§ + The opinion therefore seems very untenable, which some learned and ingenious men have entertained, that the turn for Chivalry, and the taste for that species of romantic fiction were caught by the Spaniards from the Arabians or Moors after their invasion of Spain, and from the Spaniards transmitted to the bards of Armorica,|| and thus diffused through Britain, France, of Chivalry were transmitted to other nations, through the Spaniards, from the Moors, and Arabians. Had this been the case, the first French Romances of Chivalry would have been on Moorish, or at least Spanish subjects: whereas the most ancient stories of this kind, whether in prose or verse, whether in Italian, French, English, &c., are chiefly on the subjects of Charlemagne, and the Paladins; or of our British Arthur, and his Knights of the Round Table, &c., being evidently borrowed from the fabulous Chronicles of the supposed Archbishop Turpin, and of Geoffrey of Monmouth. Not but some of the oldest and most popular French Romances are also on Norman subjects, as "Richard Sans-peur, ""Robert Le Diable," &c.; whereas I do not recollect so much as one, in which the scene is laid in Spain, much less among the Moors, or descriptive of Mahometan man- ners. Even in "Amadis de Gaul," said to have been the first Romance printed in Spain, the scene is laid in Gaul and Britain; and the manners are French: which plainly shows from what school this species of fabling was learnt and transmitted to the southern nations of Europe. " *Mallet. Northern Antiquities," vol. i. p. 36; vol. ii. passim. † Olaus Verel. ad Hervarer Saga, pp. 44, 45. Hickes's The- saur. vol. ii. p. 311. "Northern Antiquities," vol. ii. passim. ‡ Ibid. vol. i. pp. 69, 374, &c. vol. ii. p. 216, &c. § Rollof's Saga. Cap. 35, &c. It is peculiarly unfortunate, that such as maintain this opinion are obliged to take their first step from the Moorish provinces in Spain, without one intermediate resting place, to Armorica or Bretagne, the province in France from them most remote, not more in situation, than in the manners, habits, and language of its Welsh inhabitants, which are allowed to have been derived from this island, as must have been their traditious, songs, and fables ; ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 5 Italy, Germany, and the North. For it seems utterly incredible, that one rude people should adopt a pecu- being doubtless all of Celtic original. See p. 3 of the "Disserta- tion on the Origin of Romantic Fiction in Europe," prefixed to Mr. Tho. 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 Druidic or Celtic of Gaul and Britain, differed not from the classic of Greece and Rome. "" There is not room here for a full examination of the minuter arguments, or rather slight coincidences, by which our agreeable Dissertator endeavours to maintain and defend this favourite opinion of Dr. W. who has been himself so completely confuted by Mr. Tyrwhitt. (See his notes on "Love's Labour Lost," &c. 1 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 ven- ture to affirm, that this [Geoffrey of Monmouth's] Chronicle, supposed to contain the ideas of the Welsh Bards, entirely consists of Arabian inventions." [p.13.]—And that "as Geoffrey's history is the grand repository of the Acts of Arthur, so a fabulous History ascribed to Turpin is the ground-work of all the Chimerical Legends which have been related concerning the conquests of Charlemagne and his twelve peers. Its subject is the expulsion of the Saracens from Spain, and it is filled with fictions evidently congenial to those which characterize Geoffrey's History." [p. 17.]-That is, as he afterwards 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 history of their enemy: but what is singular, as an instance and proof of this Arabian origin of the Fictions of Turpin, a passage is quoted from his ivth chapter, which I shall beg leave to offer, as affording decisive evidence, that they could not possibly be derived from a Mahometan source. Se. "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 tradition, that this club should fall from the hand of the image in that year when a certain king should be born in France," &c. (Vid. p. 18, Note.) 6 ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. liar taste, and manner of writing or thinking from another, without borrowing at the same time any of their particular stories and fables, without appearing to know anything of their heroes, history, laws, and religion. When the Romans began to adopt and imitate the Grecian literature, they immediately natu- ralized all the Grecian fables, histories, and religious stories which became as familiar to the poets of Rome, as of Greece itself. Whereas all the old writers of chivalry, and of that species of romance, whether in prose or verse, whether of the Northern nations, or of Britain, France, and Italy; not excepting Spain itself; * appear utterly unacquainted with whatever relates to the Mahometan nations. Thus with regard to their religion, they constantly represent them as worshipping idols, as paying adoration to a golden image of Ma- homet, or else they confound them with the ancient pagans, &c. And indeed in all other respects they are so grossly ignorant of the customs, manners, and opinions of every branch of that people, especially of their heroes, champions, and local stories, as almost amounts to a demonstration that they did not imitate them in their songs or romances: for as to dragons, serpents, necromancies, &c., why should these be thought only derived from the Moors in Spain so late as after the eighth century? since notions of this kind appear too familiar to the northern Scalds, and enter too deeply into all the northern mythology, to have been transmitted to the unlettered Scandinavians, from so distant a country, at so late a period. If they may not be allowed to have brought these opinions with 6 C The little narrative songs on Morisco subjects, which the Spaniards have at present in great abundance, and which they call peculiarly Romances," (see vol. i. Book iii. No. xvi. &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 show a great ignorance of Moorish manners and with regard to the Morisco, or Song- Romances, they do not seem of very great antiquity: few of them appear, from their subjects, much earlier than the reduction of Granada, in the fifteenth century: from which period, I believe, may be plainly traced among the Spanish writers, a more perfect knowledge of Moorish customs, &c. ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 7 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 resem- bles 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 fetch- ing them from the Moors in Spain; who for many centuries after their irruption, lived in a state of such constant hostility with the unsubdued Spanish Chris- tians, 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 situa- tions, from the known manners and opinions of the Gothic nations in the North, we can easily account for all the ideas of chivalry, and its peculiar fictions. For, not to mention their distinguished respect for the fair sex, so different from the manners of the Mahometan na- tions, † their national and domestic history so naturally assumes all the wonders of this species of fabling, that almost all their historical narratives appear regular romances. One might refer in proof of this to the old northern "Sagas" in general: but to give a particular instance, it will be sufficient to produce the history of King Regner Lodbrog, a celebrated warrior and pirate, who *See Northern Antiquities," passim. *( ↑ Ibid. 9 On ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. A reigned in Denmark about the year 800.* This hero signalized his youth by an exploit of gallantry. 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 pro- clamation through all the neighbouring countries, that whoever would conquer the ravisher and rescue the lady should have her in marriage. Of all that un- dertook the adventure, Regner alone was so happy as to atchieve it: he delivered the fair captive, and ob- tained her for his prize. It happened that the name of this discourteous officer was Orme, which in the Islandic language signifies Serpent: Wherefore the Scalds, to give the more poetical turn to the adventure, represent the lady as detained from her father by a dreadful dragon, and that Regner slew the monster to set her at liberty. This fabulous account of the exploit is given in a poem still extant, which is even ascribed to Regner himself, who was a celebrated poet; and which records all the valiant achievements of his life.† With marvellous embellishments of this kind the Sealds early began to decorate their narratives: and they were the more lavish of these, in proportion as they departed from their original institution, but it was a long time before they thought of delivering a set of personages and adventures wholly feigned. Of the great multitude of romantic tales stilì preserved in the libraries of the North, most of them are supposed to have had some foundation in truth, and the more an- cient they are, the more they are believed to be con- nected with true history.‡ It was not probably till after the Historian and the Bard had been long disunited, that the latter ventured * Saxon Gram. p. 152, 153.-Mallet. "North. Antiq." vol. i. p. 321. + See a Translation of this poem, among "Five Pieces of Runic Poetry," printed for Dodsley, 1764, 8vo. ± Vid. Mallet. "Northern Antiquities," passim. ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 9 at pure fiction. At length when their business was no longer to instruct or inform, but merely to amuse, it was no longer needful for them to adhere to truth. Then succeeded fabulous Romances and Songs 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 pro- pagated among the ignorant laity by scarce any other means than the popular Songs of the Minstrels. II. THE inhabitants of Sweden, Denmark, and Nor way, being the latest converts to Christianity, retained their original manners and opinions longer than the other nations of Gothic race: and therefore they have preserved more of the genuine compositions of their ancient poets, than their southern neighbours. Hence the progress, among them, from poetical history to poetical fiction is very discernible: they have some old pieces, that are in effect complete Romances of Chivalry. They have also (as hath been observed) a multitude of "Sagas" or Histories on romantic subjects, containing a mixture of prose and verse, of various dates, some of them written since the times of the Crusades, others long before but their narratives in verse only are esteemed the more ancient. Now as the irruption of the Normans§ into France under Rollo did not take place till towards the begin- * The Editor's MS. contains a multitude of poems of this latter kind. It was probably from this custom of the Minstrels that some of our first Historians wrote their Chronicles in verse, as Rob. of Gloucester, Harding, &c. Northern Antiquities," &c. Eccardi Hist. Stud. Etym. 1711, p. 179, &c. Hickes's The- saur. vol. ii. p. 314. § i. e., Northern Men: being chiefly Emigrants from Norway, Denmark, &c. CC + See a specimen in 2d vol. of p. 248, &c. B 3 10 ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. ning 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 Chivalry from the Northern Sagas. That conqueror doubtless carried many Scalds with him from the North, who transmitted their skill to their children and successors. These adopting the religion, opinions, and language of the new country, substituted the heroes of Christendom instead of those of their Pagan ancestors, and began to celebrate the feats of Charlemagne, Roland, and Oliver; whose true history they set off and embellished with the Scaldic figments of dwarfs, giants, dragons, and inchantments. 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 po- pular oral poems. This fondness they even retained long after their conversion to Christianity, as we learn from the examples of Charlemagne and Alfred.‡ Now Poetry, being thus the transmitter of facts, would as easily learn to blend them with, fictions in France and England, as she is known to have done in the north, C * See the Account of Taillefer in vol i. "Essay," and Note. † Ipsa carmina memoriæ mandabant, et prælia inituri de- cantabant; qua memoria tam fortium gestorum a majoribus patratorum ad imitationem animus adderetur." Jornandes 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 Ælfredo Magno. "Rex inter bella, &c. . . . . Saxo- nicos libros recitare, et maxime carmina Saxonica memoriter discere, aliis imperare, et solus assidue pro viribus, studiosissime non desinebat," Ed. 1722, 8vo, p. 43. ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. il and that much sooner, for the reasons before assigned.* This, together with the example and influence of the Normans, will easily account to us, why the first Ro- mances of Chivalry that appeared both in England and Francet 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 occa- sions and doubtless both nations derived their relish for this sort of entertainment from their Teutonic an- cestors, without either of them borrowing it from the other. Among both people narrative Songs on true or fictitious subjects had evidently obtained from the ear- liest 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 be- came the most popular compositions in that language, they were emphatically called "Romans " "Ro- mants" ; though this name was first given to any piece of poetry. The Romances of Chivalry can be traced as early as the eleventh century. § I know not if the "Roman de Brut" written in 1155, was such: But if it was, it was by no means the first poem of the kind; others more ancient are still extant. || And we or " See above, pp. 2, 8, &c. + The Romances on the subject of "Perceval," "San_Graal,' "Lancelot du Lac," " Tristan," &c. were among the first that appeared in the French language in Prose, yet these were 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 Rarl. Catalog. Num. 2252, p. 49, &c. Nicholson's Eng. Hist. Library, 3d Ed. p. 91, &c.-See also a curious collection 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. § Ibid. p. 283. Ilist. Lit. Tom. 6. 7. Voi. Preface aux "Fabliaux & Contes des Poetes François des xii, xiii, xiv, & xv siecles," &c. Paris, 1756, 3 Tom. 12mo (a very curious work.) 12 ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 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 "Horne-childe" 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 language. † We have seen above, that a propensity to this kind of fiction prevailed among all the Gothic nations; and, though after the Norman Conquest, this country abounded with French Ro- mances, 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, 64 • • * Vid. supra, Note*, p. 10; vol. i. "Essay," &c. El vide Rapin, Carte, &c.-This song of "Roland" (whatever it was) continued for some centuries to be usually sung by the French in their marches, if we may believe a modern French writer. Un jour qu'on chantoit la Chanson de Roland, comme c'etoit l'usage dans les marches. Il y a long temps,' dit il, [John K. of France, 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. Scoto- rum. This author, however, speaks of the Complaint and Re- partee, 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. 119 † See on this subject, vol. i. Note S. 2. page lxxv; and in Note G g. p. xcix. &c. 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 K. ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 13 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 con- clusion of these Remarks, many are doubtless of French original. The first prose books of Chivalry that appeared in our language, were those printed by Caxton; † at least, 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 chevalrie. §" Most, if not all of these, are still extant in MS. in Arthur; but as these are in prose, they are not probably their first pieces that were composed on that subject. *It is most credible that these stories were originally of English invention, even if the only pieces now extant should be found to be translations from the French. What now pass for the French originals were probably only amplifications, or enlargements of the old English story. That the French Romancers borrowed some things from the English, appears from the word Termagant, which they took up from our Minstrels, and corrupted into Ter- vagaunte." See vol. i. p. 56, and Gloss. Termagant." 66 (* "Recuyel of the Hystoryes of Troy," 1471. "Godfroye of Bo- loyne," 1481. "Le Morte de Arthur," 1485. "The life of Charle- magne," 1485, &c. As the old Minstrelsy wore out, prose books of Chivalry became more admired, especially after the Spanish Romances began to be translated into English towards the end of Q. Elizabeth's reign: then the most popular metrical Romances began to be reduced into prose, as Sir Guy, Bevis, &c. (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." 14 ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. some or other of our libraries, as I shall show in the conclusion of this slight Essay, where I shall give a list of such 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, fre- quently display great descriptive and inventive powers in the Bards, who composed them. They are at least generally equal to any other poetry of the same age. They cannot indeed be put in competition with the nervous productions of so universal and commanding a genius as Chaucer, but they have a simplicity that makes them be read with less interruption, and be more easily understood: and they are far more spirited and entertaining than the tedious allegories of Gower, or the dull and prolix legends of Lydgate. Yet, while so much stress was laid upon the writings of these last, by such as treat of English poetry, the old metrical Romances, though far more popular in their 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 therefore have always fastidiously rejected the old poetical Romances, because founded on fictitious or popular subjects, while they have been careful to grub up every petty fragment of the most dull and insipid 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 bar- barous times. Such a publication would answer many important ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 15 uses: it would throw new light on the rise and progress of English poetry, the history of which can be but im- perfectly 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. Faulconbridge says to his mother, Act i. sc. i. "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 Ceur de Lyon,"* in which his encounter with a lion makes a very shining figure. I shall give a large extract from this poem, as a specimen of the manner of these old rhapsodists, and to show that they did not in their fictions neglect the proper means to produce the ends, as was afterwards so childishly done in the prose books of chivalry. The poet tells us, that Richard, in his return from the Holy Land, having been discovered in the habit of "a palmer in Almayne," 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 mor- * Dr. Grey has shown that the same story is alluded to in Rastell's Chronicle: As it was doubtless originally had from the Romance, this is proof that the old Metrical Romances throw light on our first writers in prose: many of our ancient Historians have recorded the fictions of Romance. 16 ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. row, 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 description 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 pawes were stiffe and stronge. The chambre dore they undone, And the lyon to them is gone. Rycharde sayd, 'Helpe, lorde Jesu!' The lyon made to hym venu, And wolde hym have all to rente: Kynge Rycharde besyde hym glente.† The lyon on the breste hym 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 cryed 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 hente 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.” * * * i. e., Handkerchiefs. Here we have the etymology of the word, viz. "Couvre le Chef." ti. e., slipt aside. i. e., yawned. § i. e., hurt. ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 17 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 "K. Lear," Act iii. sc. iv. "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 related by a poet, to excite admiration, and inspire virtue, by representing the action of some one hero, favoured by **L3 * Dr. Warburton.-Dr. Grey. So it is intitled in the Editor's MS. But the true title is Beaux Desconus, or The Fair Unknown." See a Note on the "Canterbury Tales," vol. iv. p. 333. 18 ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. heaven, who executes a great design, in spite of all the obstacles that oppose him:"* I know not why we should withhold the name of "Epic Poem" from the piece which I am about to analyse. My copy is divided into ix Parts or Cantos, the several arguments of which are as follows. PART I. Opens with a short exordium to bespeak attention: the Hero is described; a natural son of Sir Gawain a celebrated knight of king Arthur's court, who being brought up in a forest by his mother, is kept ignorant of his name and descent. He early exhibits marks of his courage, by killing a knight in single combat, who encountered him as he was hunting. This inspires him with a desire of seeking adventures: therefore cloath- ing himself in his enemy's armour, he goes to K. 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 K. 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 dissa- tisfied, 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 dismounted: the battle is renewed on foot: Sir William's sword breaks : * Vid. "Discours sur la Poesie Epique," prefixed to "Tele- maque." ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 19 he yields. Sir Lybius makes him swear to go and present himself to K. Arthur, as the first-fruits of his valour. The conquered knight sets out for K. 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 over- thrown 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 K. 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 horseback : he finds two Giants roasting a wild boar, who have a fair Lady their captive. Sir Lybius, by favour of the night, runs one of them through with his spear: is assaulted by the other: a fierce battle ensues: he cuts off the giant's arm, and at length his head. The rescued Lady (an Earl's daughter) tells him her story; and leads him to her father's castle; who entertains him with a great feast; and presents him at parting with a suit of armour and a steed. He sends the giant's head to K. 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 milk-white faulcon, but if overcome, to lose his head. Sir Lybius spends the night in the adjoining town: In the morning goes to challenge the faulcon. The 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 : 20 ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. Gefferon is incurably hurt; and carried home on his shield. Sir Lybius sends the faulcon to K. Arthur; and receives back a large present in florins. He stays 40 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 Ly- bius to bestow him upon her: Sir Otes meets them, and claims his dog is refused: being unarmed he rides to his castle, and summons his followers: they go in quest of Sir Lybius : a battle ensues: he is still victo- rious, and forces Sir Otes to follow the other conquered knights to K. Arthur. : PART VI. Sir Lybius comes to a fair city and castle by a river- ide, beset round with pavilions or tents: he is in- formed, 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 sum- mer's day the giant is wounded; put to flight; slain. The citizens come out in procession to meet their deli- verer the lady invites him into her castle falls in love with him; and seduces him to her embraces. He forgets the princess of Sinadone, and stays with this bewitching lady a twelvemonth. This fair sorceress, like another Alcina, intoxicates him with all kinds of sensual pleasure; and detains him from the pursuit of honour. PART VII. Maid Ellen by chance gets an opportunity of speak- ing to him; and upbraids him with his vice and folly : he is filled with remorse, and escapes the same even- ing. At length he arrives at the city and castle of Sinadone: Is given to understand that he must ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 21 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 history. "Two Necro- mancers 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 in- chanted palace. He alights in the court: enters the hall the wonders of which are described in strong Gothic painting. He sits down at the high table: on a sudden all the lights are quenched it thunders, and lightens; the palace shakes; the walls fall in pieces. about his ears. He is dismayed and confounded: but presently hears horses neigh, and is challenged to single combat by the sorcerers. He gets to his steed: a battle ensues, with various turns of fortune: he loses his weapon; but gets a sword from one of the Necro- mancers, 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 inchantment: 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 inchanted, 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. 22 ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 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 exe- cution, particularly as to the diction and sentiments, were but equal to the plan, it would be a capital per- formance; but this is such as might be expected in rude and ignorant times, and in a barbarous unpolished language. IV. I shall conclude this prolix account with a List of such old Metrical Romances as are still ex- tant; beginning with those mentioned by Chaucer. 1. The Romance of "Horne-Childe" is preserved in the British Museum, where it is intitled "pe zeste of kyng 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 blype þat to my song ylype: A song ychulle ou sing Of Allof pe gode kynge,” &c.* Another copy of this poem, but greatly altered, and somewhat modernized, is preserved in the Advocates Library at Edinburgh, in a MS. quarto volume of old English poetry [W. 4. 1.] Num. xxxiv. in seven leaves, or folios, + intitled, "Horn-child and Maiden Rinivel," and beginning thus: "Mi leve frende dere, Herken and ye may here." 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 beginning is, CC * 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 44 lines, when the poem is In long metre: and 88, when the metre is short, and the page in two columns. ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 23 "He pat wyll of wysdome here Herkeneth nowe 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 below, p. 105. 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. S.--In Ames's Typog. p. 153, may be seen the first lines of the printed copy. The 1st MS. begins, (C 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. 131, beginning thus: "When meate and drinke is great plentyè." "} In the Edinburgh MS. (mentioned above) are two ancient poems on the subject of " Guy of Warwick: viz. Num. xviii. containing 26 leaves, and xx. 59 leaves. Both these have unfortunately the beginnings wanting, otherwise they would perhaps be found to be different copies of one or both the preceding articles. "" 5. From the same MS. I can add another article to this list, viz. The Romance of "Rembrun son of Sir Guy; being Num. xxi. in 9 leaves: this is properly a Continuation of the History of Guy and in Art. 3, the Hist. of Rembrun follows that of Guy as a necessary part of it. This Edinburgh Romance of Rembrun begins thus: "Jesu that erst of mighte most Fader and sone and Holy Ghost." Before I quit the subject of Sir Guy, I must observe, *Sign. K. 2. b. 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 Bp. More's MSS. No. 690, 33, since given to the University of Cambridge. 24 ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. that if we may believe Dugdale in his Baronage, [vol. i. p. 243, col. 2.] the fame of our English Champion had in the time of Henry IV. travelled as far as the East, and was no less popular among the Sarazens, than here in the West among the Nations of Christendom. In that reign a Lord Beauchamp travelling to Jerusa- lem, 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 language," invited him to his palace; and royally feasting him, presented him with three precious stones of great value; besides divers cloaths of silk and gold given to his servants. 6. The Romance of "Syr Bevis" is described in p. 190 of this vol. Two manuscript copies of this poem are extant at Cambridge; viz. in the Public Library, * and in that of Caius Coll. Class A. 9. (5.)—The first of these begins, "Lordyngs lystenyth grete and smale." There is also a copy of this Romance of "Sir Bevis of Hamptoun," in the Edinburgh MS. Numb. xxii. consisting of 25 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." CC 7. "Libeaux (Libeaus, or, Lybius) Disconius is preserved in the Editor's folio MS. (p. 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 doughtye man of deede." در An older copy is preserved in the Cotton Library [Calig. A. 2. fol. 40.] but containing such innumerable * No. 699, §.31. Vid. Catalog. MSS. p. 394. ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 25 variations, that it is apparently a different translation of some old French original, which will account 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 Ro- mance with this title has been discovered; but as the word "Blaundemere " occurs in the Romance of "Libius Disconius," in the Editor's folio MS. p. 319, he thought the name of " Blandamoure " (which was in all the editions of Chaucer he had then seen) might have some reference to this. But "Pleindamour,' the name restored by Mr. Tyrwhitt, is more remote. 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 Hen. VII. but it seems to be quoted in Syr Bevis, (Sign. K. ij. b.) It begins, 8. "Lordinges, that are leffe and deare." "Come here,' my cozen Gawaine so gay." In the library of Bennet Coll. Cambridge, No. 351, is a MS. intitled in the Catalogue "Acta Arthuris Me- trico 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 "K. Arthur and the king of Cornwall," (p. 24.) in stanzas of 4 lines begin- ning, "The Turke and Gawain " lines, beginning thus: CC Listen lords great and small."* "" (p. 38.), in stanzas of 6 but these are so imperfect that I do not make distinct articles of them. See also in this Volume, Book i. No. i. ii. iv. v. с * In the former editions, after the above, followed mention of a fragment in the same MS. intitled "Sir Lionel," in distichs. !p. 32.); but this being only a short ballad, and not relating to K. Arthur, is here omitted. VOL. III. 26 ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. In the same MS. p. 203, is the "Greene Knight," in 2 Parts, relating a curious adventure of Sir Gawain, in stanzas of 6 lines, beginning thus: .. 'List: wen Arthur he was k:" 10. "The Carle of Carlisle" is another romantic tale about Sir Gawain, in the same MS. p. 448, in distichs: "Listen to me a little stond." In all these old poems the same set of knights are always represented with the same manners and cha- racters; which seem to have been as well known, and as distinctly marked among our ancestors, as Homer's Heroes were among the Greeks: for, as Ulysses is always represented crafty, Achilles irascible, and Ajax rough; so Sir Gawain is ever courteous and gentle, Sir Kay rugged and disobliging, &c. "Sir Gawain with his old curtesie" is mentioned by Chaucer as noted to a proverb, in his "Squire's Tale." Canterb. Tales, vol. ii. p. 104. 11. "Syr Launfal," an excellent old Romance con- cerning another of K. Arthur's Knights, is preserved in the Cotton Library, Calig. A. 2. f. 33. This is a translation from the French,* made by one Thomas Chestre, who is supposed to have lived in the reign of Hen. VI. [See Tanner's Biblioth.] It is in stanzas of 6 lines, and begins, "Be douzty Artours dawes." The above was afterwards altered by some Minstrel into the Romance of "Sir Lambewell," in three Parts, under which title it was more generally known.† This is in the Editor's folio MS. p. 60, beginning thus: 66 Doughty in king Arthures dayes.” 12. "Eger and Grime," in 6 Parts (in the Editor's *The French Original is preserved among the Harl. MSS. No. 978, § 112, Lanval. † See Laneham's Letter concern. Q. Eliz. entertainment at Killingworth, 1575, 12mo, p.34. ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 27 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 9 Parts (pre- served in the same folio MS. p. 145.), gives a curious account of the birth, parentage, and juvenile adventures of this famous British Prophet. In this poem the Saxons are called Sarazens; and the thrusting the rebel angels out of Heaven is attributed to "oure Lady." It is in distichs, and begins thus: "IIe that made with his hand." There is an old Romance "Of Arthour and of Mer- lin," 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 55 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 vol i. Book iii. No. viii. It is preserved in MS. in the Library of Caius Coll. Camb. Class A. 9. (2.) and also in the Cotton Library, Calig. A. 12. (f. 128.) This is extremely different from the printed copy, E. g. "God þat made both erpe and hevene.” 15. "Emarè " a very curious and ancient Romance, is preserved in the same vol. of the Cotton Library, f. 69. It is in stanzas of 6 lines, and begins thus : “Jesu þat ys kyng in trone.” 16. "Chevelere assigne," or, "The Knight of the Swan," preserved in the Cotton Library, has been al- C 2 28 ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. ready described in Vol. ii. Essay on P. Plowman's Metre, &c. as hath also 17. "The Sege of Jêrlam," (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 begin- ning thus: "God pat ys so full of myght." 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. "Trentale Sci Gregorii," f. 84, "Jerome," f. 133. “Eustache," f. 136. 19. "Octavian imperator," an ancient Romance of Chivalry, is in the same vol. of the Cotton Library, f. 20. Notwithstanding the name, this old poem has nothing in common with the history of the Roman Emperors. It is in a very peculiar kind of Stanza, whereof 1, 2, 3, & 5, rhyme together, as do the 4 and 6. It begins thus: "Ihesu pat was with spere ystonge." In the public Library at Cambridge,* is a poem with the same title, that begins very differently : Lyttyll and mykyll, olde and yonge. 20. "Eglamour of Artas" (or "Artoys") is pre- served in the same vol. 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 6 Parts.-A printed copy is in the Bodleian Library, C. 39. Art. Seld. and also among Mr Gar- * No. 690. (30.) Vid. Oxon. Catalog. MSS. p. 394. (c 11 ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 29 rick's old plays, K. vol. x. It is in distichs, and begins thus: "Thesu Crist of heven kyng." 21. "Syr Triamore" (in stanzas of 6 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 copies 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 5 Parts, in distichs, is pre- served 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. and among Mr. Garrick's plays K. vol. ix.-The Editor's MS. and the printed copies begin, 19 "Lordinge, and you wyl holde you styl.' The Cambridge MS. has it, 19 C Lystenyth, lordyngis, gente and fre." 23. "Ipomydon," (or "Chylde Ipomydon ") is pre- served among the Harl. MSS. 2252, (44.) distichs, and begins, It is in "" 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 burlesqued by Chaucer in his Rhyme of Thopas. * *This is alluded to by Shakespeare in his Hen. V. (Act v.) where Fluellyn tells Pistol, he will make him "a Squire of Low Degree," when he means to knock him down, 30 ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 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 [Cour] 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: Num. xxxvi. in 2 leaves. A large extract from this Romance has been given already above, p. 16. 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. 27, 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. Seld. a printed copy.) This Mr. Warton thinks is the Story of Coucy's Heart, related in Fauchet, and in Howel's Letters. [v. i. s. 6. 1. 20. See Wart. Obs. v. ii. p. 40.] The Editor has seen a very beautiful old ballad on this subject in French. "C 27. The four following are all preserved in the MS. so often -~ferred 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 27.) 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 Sicily) showing the fall of Pride. Of this there is also a copy among the Harl. MSS. 1703. (3.) The Cambridge MS. begins, "Princis that be prowde in prese." 29. "Le bone Florence of Rome," beginning thus: "As ferre as men ride or gone." ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 31 30. "Dioclesian the Emperour," beginning, "Sum tyme ther was a noble man." 31. The two knightly brothers "Amys and Amelion" (among the Harl. MSS. 2386, § 42.) is an old Ro- mance of Chivalry; as is also, I believe, the fragment of the "Lady Belesant, the duke of Lombardy's fair daughter," mentioned in the same article. See the Catalog. vol. ii. 32. In the Edinburgh MS. so often referred to (pre- served in the Advocates Library, W. 4. 1.) might pro- bably be found some other articles to add to this list, as well as other copies of some of the pieces mentioned in it; for the whole Volume contains not fewer than xxxvii Poems or Romances, some of them very long. But as many of them have lost the beginnings, which have been cut out for the sake of the illuminations ; and as I have not had an opportunity of examining the MS. myself, I shall be content to mention only the articles that follow: viz.* An old Romance about "Rouland" (not I believe the famous Paladine, but a champion named "Rouland Louth;" query ?) being in the Volume, Numb. xxvii. in 5 leaves, and wants the beginning. 33. Another Romance, that seems to be a kind of continuation of this last, intitled, "Otuel a Knight," (Numb. xxviii. in 11 leaves and a half.) The two first lines are, "ITerkneth both zinge and old, That willen heren of battailes bold." 34. "The King of Tars" (Numb iv, in 5 leaves and a half; it is also in the Bodleian Library, MS. Vernon, f. 304.) beginning thus: "Herkneth to me bothe eld and zing, For Maries love that swete thing. 39 35. A Tale or Romance, (Numb. i. 2 leaves,) that * 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. 32 ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. wants both beginning and end. remaining are, The first lines now "Th 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 (Num. iii. 4 leaves.) The first lines at present are, "To Mr. Steward wil y gon. and tellen him the sothe of the Reseyved bestow sone anon. gif zou will serve and with hir be.” 37. A mutilated Tale or Romance (Numb. xi. in 13 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 Manu- script, without acknowledging, that I was indebted to the friendship of the Rev. Dr. Blair, the ingenious Professor of Belles Lettres, in the University of Edin- burgh, 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 Ro- mances 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. Svo. 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 13 lines. 39. “Sir Gawan and Sir Galaron of Galloway," a Metrical Romance, in the same stanzas as No. 38, 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. *ic Adventure. THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 33 Both these (which exhibit the union of the old Alliterative Metre, with rhime, &c. and in the termi- nation of each stanza the short triplets of the Turna- ment of Tottenham,) are judged to be as old as the time of our K. Henry VI. being apparently the pro- duction of an old Poet, thus mentioned by Dunbar, in his "Lament for the Deth of the Makkaris "Clerk of Tranent eik he hes take, That made the aventers of Sir Gawane." THE END OF THE ESSAY. "" It will scarce be necessary to remind the Reader, that "Turnewathelan " is evidently "Tearne-Wad- ling," celebrated in the old Ballad of the" Marriage of Sir Gawaine." See pp. 42, and 284, of this Volume. Many new references, and perhaps some additional articles might be added to the foregoing list from Mr. Warton's "History of English Poetry," 3 vols. 4to. and from the Notes to Mr. Tyrwhitt's improved Edition of Chaucer's "Canterbury 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 particu- lars on the subject of these volumes, as well as on most points of general literature, in Sir John Hawkins's curious "History of Music," &c. in 5 volumes, 4to. as also in Dr. Burney's Hist. &c. in 4 vols. 4to. I. THE BOY AND THE MANTLE Is printed verbatim from the old MS. described in the Preface. The Editor believes it more ancient than it will appear to be at first sight; the transcriber of that manuscript having reduced the orthography and style in many instances to the standard of his own times. c 3 34 THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 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 "Flo- rimel's Girdle." B. iv. c. 5, st. 3. "That girdle gave the virtue of chaste love And wivehood true to all that did it beare; But whosoever contrarie doth prove, Might not the same about her middle weare, But it would loose or else asunder teare." So it happened to the false Florimel, st. 16, when "Being brought, about her middle small They thought to gird, as best it her became, But by no means they could it thereto frame, For ever as they fastned it, it loos'd And fell away, as feeling secret blame," &c. "That all men wondred at the uncouth sight And each one thought as to their fancies came. But she herself did think it done for spight, And touched was with secret wrath and shame Therewith, as thing deviz'd her to defame : Then many other ladies likewise tride About their tender loynes to knit the same, But it would not on none of them abide, But when they thought it fast, eftsoones it was untide. "Thereat all knights gan laugh and ladies lowre, Till that at last the gentle Amoret Likewise assayed to prove that girdle's powre. And having it about her middle set Did find it fit withouten breach or let, Whereat the rest gan greatly to envie. But Florimel exceedingly did fret And snatching from her hand," &c. As for the trial of the Horne, it is not peculiar to our Poet. It occurs in the old romance, intitled "Morte Arthur," which was translated out of French in the time of K. Edw. IV. and first printed anno 1484. From that romance Ariosto is thought to have borrowed his tale of the Enchanted Cup, c. 42, &c. See Mr. Warton's "Observations on the Faerie Queen," &c. The story of the Horne in Morte Arthur varies a good deal from this of our Poet, as the reader will judge from the follow- ing extraet.-"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 gentlewoman drinke of that horne, but if she were true to her husband: and if shee were false she should spill all the drinke, and if shee were true unto her lorde, shee might drink peaceably: and because of queene THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 35 C Guenever and in despite of Sir Launcelot du Lake, this horne was sent unto king Arthur."-This horne 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 drank cleane," of which number the said queen proves not to be one [Book ii. chap. 22. Ed. 1632]. In other respects the two stories are so different, that we have just reason to suppose this Ballad was written before that romance was translated into English. As for queen Guenever, she is here represented no otherwise than in the old Histories and Romances. Holingshed 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: And the goodly queene Guénever, I cannott her forgett. I tell you, lords, in this hall; I hett you all to 'heede'; Except you be the more surer Is you for to dread.” Ver. 7. Branches. MS. Ver. 18. heate. MS. 5 10 15 2 36 THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 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 alreadye. It 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 itt 'gule'; Another while was itt greene; Another while was itt 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." Shee threw downe the mantle, That bright was of blee; Fast with a rudd redd, To her chamber can shee flee. 25 30 5 40 45 50 Ver. 21. poterver. MS. Ver 32. his wiffe. MS. Ver. 34. bided. MS. Ver. 41. gaule. M. THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 37 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 every 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 profferred to this litle boy Twenty markes to his meede ; And all the time of the Christmasse Willinglye to ffeede; Ver. 75. lauged. MS. 55 60 13 70 75 $0 * $3 38 THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 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 litle dinne. Winne this mantle, ladye, And it shal be thine, If thou never did amisse Since thou wast mine." Forth came Craddockes ladye Shortlye and anon ; But boldlye to the mantle Then is shee gone. When shee had tane the mantle, And cast itt her about, Upp att her great toe It began to crinkle and crowt: Shee said, "bowe downe, mantle, And shame me not for nought. 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." 90 3153 05 100 105 110 115 120 THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 39 When shee had her shreeven, And her sines shee had tolde; The mantle stoode about her Right as shee wold: Seemelye of coulour Glittering like gold: Then every knight in Arthurs court Did her behold. 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." 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: Ver. 134. wright. MS. Ver. 136. cleare. MS. deene. MS. 124 130 135 140 145 150 155 Ver. 140. by 40 THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 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. Ver. 170. them upon. MS. Ver. 175. or birtled. MS. 160 165 170 175 180 185 190 THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 41 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. II. 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. 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 Tale." The original was so extremely mutilated, half of every leaf being torn away, that without large supplements, &c. it was deemed improper for this collec- tion 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. 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. 195 10 10 42 THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 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. Hee's twyce the size of common men, Wi' thewes, and sinewes stronge, And on his backe he bears a clubbe, That is both thicke and longe. This grimme baròne 'twas our harde happe, But yester morne to see; When to his bowre he bare my love, And sore misused mee. And when I told him, king Arthure As lyttle shold him spare; 'Goe tell,' sayd hee, that cuckold kinge, To meete mee if he dare.' 197 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. 15 • 25 30 2353 40 * "Tearne Wadling" is the name of a small lake near Hesketh 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. THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 43 "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. "Come forth; come forth; thou proude baròne, Or yielde thyself my thralle." "Nowe yield thee, yield thee, kinge Arthùre, Now yield thee, unto mee: Or fighte with mee, or lose thy lande, Noe better termes maye bee, 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?" 45 50 55 60 65 70 c 75 80 44 THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. Some told him riches, pompe, or state; Some rayment fine and brighite; Some told him mirthe; some flatterye ; And some a jollye knighte. In letters all king Arthur wrote, And seal'd them with his ringe : But still his minde was helde in doubte, Each tolde a different thinge. As ruthfulle he rode over a more, He saw a ladye sette Betweene an oke, and a greene holléye, All clad in red* scarlette. Her nose was crookt and turnd outwàrde, Her chin stoode all awrye ; And where as sholde have been her mouthe, Lo! there was set her eye: Her 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 Arthùre 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 case 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.” $5 90 95 10. 105 110 * 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." THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 45 "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 then the ladye told, As lightlye well shee cou'de. "Now, this shall be my paye, sir king, And this my guerdon bee, That some yong fair and courtlye knight, Thou bringe to marrye mee. ;) Fast then pricked king Arthùre Ore hille, and dale, and downe : And soone he founde the barone's bowre: And soone the grimme baroùne. He bare his clubbe upon his backe, 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 baròne, I praye thee hold thy hand; And give mee leave to speake once more In reskewe of my land. This morne, as I came over a more, I saw a ladye sette Betwene an oke, and a greene hollèye, All clad in red scarlette. Shee sayes, 'all women will have their wille, This is their chief desyre;' Now yield, as thou art a barone truc, That I have payd mine hyre." 115 136 125 130 135 140 156 46 THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. "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 Arthùre, 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 harme : On magicke grounde his 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 marrye her to his wife." 150 Then bespake him sir Gawàine, That was ever a gentle knighte: "That lothly ladye I will wed ; Therefore be merrye and lighte." 155 10 15 20 - THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 47 "Nowe naye, nowe naye, good sir Gawàine; My sister's sonne yee bee; This lothlye ladye's all too grimme, And all too foule for yee. 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? I'll marry her, unkle, for thy sake, And I'll thy ransome bee.” 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. 25 "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. 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." 30 35 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." 40 45 50 55 रंगा 3 48 . THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 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 Gawàine, "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 Arthùre, And sware there by this daye ; For a little foule sighte and mislikinge, Yee shall not say her naye." (6 "Peace, lordings, peace;" sir Gawaine sayd; "Nor make debate and strife ; This lothlye ladye I will take, And marry her to my wife." 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. 1125 And when they were in wed-bed laid, And all were done awaye : "Come turne to mee, mine owne wed-lord, Come turne to mee I praye." 65 70 75 F "Nowe thankes, now thankes, good sir Gawaine, 85 And a blessinge be thy meede ! For as I am thine owne ladyè, Thou never shalt rue this deede." 81 90 95 THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 49 Sir Gawaine scant could lift his head, For sorrowe and for care ; When, lo instead of that lothelye dame, Hee sawe a young ladye faire. 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 soe 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." VOL. III. D 100 105 110 115 "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." 120 130) 50 THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. "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 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. Midst mores and mosses; woods, and wilds ; To lead a lonesome life : Till some yong faire and courtlye knighte Wolde marrye me to his wife: Nor fully to gaine mine owne trewe shape, Such was her devilish skille; Until he wolde yielde to be rul'd by mee, And let mee have all my wille. She witchd my brother to a carlish boore, And made him stiffe and stronge; And built him a bowre on magicke grounde, To live by rapine and wronge. 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." 止 ​135 140 1415 150 155 }} III. KING RYENCE'S CHALLENGE. This song is more modern than many of those which follow it, but is placed here for the sake of the subject. It was sung before queen Elizabeth at the grand entertainment at Kenel- worth-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, war- ranted for story out of K. Arthur's acts, whereof I gat a copy, and is this: So it fell out on a Pentecost,' &c. After the song the narrative proceeds: "At this the Min- strell 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 fol- lows: "Came a messenger hastely from king Ryence of North- Wales,-saying, that 'king Ryence had discomfited and over- comen eleaven kings, and everiche of them did him homage, and that was this: they gave him their beards cleane flayne off.-wherefore the messenger came for king Arthur's beard, for king Ryence had purfeled a mantell with kings beards, and there lacked for one 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.] • 11 The thought seems to be originally taken from Jeff. Mon- mouth's Hist. B. x. c. 3, which is alluded to by Drayton in his Poly-Olb. Song 4, and by Spenser in Faer. Qu. 6, 1. 13, 15. See the "Observations on Spenser," vol. ii. p. 223. The following text is composed of the best readings selected from three different copies. The first in Enderbie's "Cambria Triumphans," p. 197. The second in the Letter abovemen- D 2 52 KING RYENCE'S CHALLENGE. tioned. And the third inserted in MS. in a copy of "Morte Arthur," 1632, in the Bodl. Library. Stow tells us, that king Arthur kept his round table at "diverse places, but especially at Carlion, Winchester, and Camalet in Somersetshire. This Camalet, sometimes a famous towne or castle, is situate on a very high tor or hill," &c. [See an exact description in Stow's Annals, Ed. 1631, p. 55.1 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 see! Sir Ryence of North-gales greeteth well thee, And bids thee thy beard anon to him send, Or else from thy jaws he will it off rend. For his robe of state is a rich scarlet mantle, With eleven kings beards bordered † about, And there is room lefte yet in a kantle, For thine to stande, to make the twelfth out : This must be done, be thou never so stout; This must be done, I tell thee no fable, Maugre the teethe of all thy round table." When this mortal message from his mouthe past, Great was the noyse bothe in hall and in bower: *Largesse, Largesse." The heralds resounded these words as oft as they received of the bounty of the knights. See “Me- moires de la Chevalerie," tom. i. p. 99.-The expression is still used in the form of installing knights of the garter. ti. e. set round the border, as furs are now round the gowns of Magistrates. KING ARTHUR'S DEATH. 53 The king fum'd; the queene screecht; ladies were aghast : Princes puffd; barons blustred; lords began lower : Knights stormed; squires startled, like steeds in a stower: Pages and yeomen yell'd out in the hall, Then in came sir Kay, the king's' seneschal. "Silence, my soveraignes," quoth this courteous knight, And in that stound the stowre began still : 'Then' the dwarfe's dinner full deerely was dight; Of wine and wassel he had his wille : And, when he had eaten and drunken his fill, An hundred pieces of fine coyned gold Were given this dwarf for his message bold. "But say to sir Ryence, thou dwarf," quoth the king, "That for his bold message I do him defye; And shortlye with basins and pans will him ring Out of North-gales; where he and I With swords, and not razors, quickly shall trye, Whether he, or king Arthur will prove the best barbor:" And therewith he shook his good sword Excalàbor. †† Strada, in his "Prolusions," has ridiculed the story of the Giant's Mantle, made of the Beards of Kings. IV. KING ARTHUR'S DEATH. A FRAGMENT. THE subject of this ballad is evidently taken from the old romance "Morte Arthur," but with some variations, especially in the concluding stanzas; in which the author seems rather to follow the traditions of the old Welsh Bards, who "believed that King Arthur was not dead, but conveied awaie by the 54 KING ARTHUR'S DEATII. Fairies into some pleasant place, where he should remaine for a time, and then returne againe and reign in as great authority as ever." Holingshed. B. 5. c. 14. or as it is expressed in an old Chronicle printed at Antwerp 1493, by Ger. de Leew, "The Bretons supposen, that he [K. Arthur]-shall come yet and conquere all Bretaigne, for certes this is the prophicye of Mer- lyn: He sayd, that his deth shall be doubteous; and sayd soth, for men thereof yet have doubte, and shullen for ever more, -for men wyt not whether that he lyveth or is dede." See more ancient testimonies in Selden's "Notes on Polyolbion," Song iii This fragment being very incorrect and imperfect in the original MS. hath received some conjectural emendations, and even a supplement of 3 or 4 stanzas composed from the romance of "Morte Arthur." * ON Trinitye Mondaye in the morne, This sore battayle was doom'd to bee; Where manye a knighte cry'd, "Well-awaye !" Alacke, it was the more pittìe. * 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." 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. 10 5 10 15 20 *Sir Gawaine had been killed at Arthur's landing on his re- turn from abroad. See the next Ballad, ver. 73. KING ARTHUR'S DEATII. 55 His nobles all this counsayle gave, That earlye in the morning, hee Shold send awaye an herauld at armes. To aske a parley faire and free, Then twelve good knightes king Arthure chose, The best of all that with him were : To parley with the foe in field, And make with him agreement faire. The king he charged all his hoste, In readinesse there for to bee: But noe man sholde 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. 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; V. 41, 42. the folio MS. reads "father" • CC An addere crept forth of a bushe, Stunge one o' th' king's knightes on the knee: 50 Alacke! it was a woefulle chance, As ever was in Christentìe. sonne." 30 35 40 45 56 KING ARTHUR'S DEATH. His sworde he from his scabberde drewe : A piteous case as ye shall heare. For when the two hostes sawe the sworde, They joyned battayle instantlye ; Till of soe manye noble knightes, On one side there were left but three. 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 charitie; Remember what the vision spake, Nor meete your foe, if it may bee." 55 33 65 70 75 80 $5 KING ARTHUR'S DEATH. 57 "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 ; A fathom thorow his bodie. When Mordered felt the stroke of death, And found that he was wounded soe; He thruste himselfe upon the speare, And strucke the king a deadlye blowe, Then grimmlye dyed sir Mordered, Presentlye upon that tree: And bloody streames ranne from the kinge Ere to the duke returned hee. 75 104 95 ita 110 115 Sir Lukyn then he thus bespake, "Sir knighte, thou hast beene faithfulle tryde. Nowe take my sword Excalibar, * That hangs so freelye by my side: * More commonly called, "Caliburn." In the folio M "Escalberd.” 120 n 3 58 KING ARTHUR'S DEATII. 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." "0 O goe againe," then said the kinge, "O good sir Lukyn, goe againe : Into the rivere throwe my sword, t Nor keepe me lingering here in paine.” The duke then to the river went, And the kings scabberd in threwe hee ; But hee kept backe Excalibar, And hid it undernethe a tree. Then back 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." 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 KING ARTHUR'S DEATH. 59 "O Lukyn, Lukyn," said the kinge. "Twice haste thou dealt deceytfullye: Alacke, whom may wee ever truste, When suche a knighte so 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 aunswere made unto the kinge : But to the rivere tooke the sworde, And threwe it far as he coulde flinge. A hande and an arme did meete the sworde, And flourishd three times in the air; Then sunke benethe the renninge streme, And of the duke was seene noe mair. All sore astonied stood the duke; He stood as still, as still mote bee: Then hastend backe to telle the kinge; But he was gone from under the tree. But to what place he cold not tell, For never after hee did him spye : But hee sawe a barge goe from the land, And hee heard ladyes howle and crye. And whether the kinge were there, or not, Hee never knewe, nor ever colde : For from that sad and direfulle daye, Hee never more was seene on molde. * Not unlike that passage in Virgil. "Summoque ulularunt vertice nymphæ." " 13 "When scorching Phoebus he did mount, Then Lady Venus went to hunt : To whom Diana did resort, With all the Ladyes of hills, and valleys, Of springs, and foodes,"&c. Ver. 178. see. MS. 160 165 170 "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. 175 180 185 V. THE LEGEND OF KING ARTHUR. WE have here a short summary of K. Arthur's History as given by Jeff. of Monmouth and the old chronicles, with the addition of a few circumstances from the romance "Morte Arthur."-The ancient chronicle of Ger. de Leew (quoted above in p. 54.), seems to have been chiefly followed upon the authority of which we have restored some of the names which were corrupted in the MS. and have transposed one stanza, which appeared to be misplaced, [viz. that beginning at v. 49. which in the MS. followed v. 36.] Printed from the editor's ancient folio Manuscript. Or Brutus' blood, in Brittaine borne, King Arthur I am to name; Through Christendome, and Heathynesse, Well knowne is my worthy fame, In Jesus Christ I doe beleeve; 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: R 10 15 Ver. 1. Bruite his. MS. Ver. 9. He began his reign A.D. 515, according to the Chronicles, THE LEGEND OF KING ARTHUR. 61 Who for their deeds and martiall feates, As bookes done yett record, Amongst all other nations Wer feared throwgh the world. 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. And drove the Saxons from the realme, Who had opprest this land; All Sootland 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 : 20 25 30 35 10 45 Ver. Ver. 23. She is named "Igerna" in the old Chronicles. 24. his. MS. Ver. 39. Froland field. MS. Froll according to the Chronicles was a Roman knight governor of Gaul. Danibus. MS. Ver. 11 62 THE LEGEND OF KING ARTHUR. 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. 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. And still I him pursued with speed Till at the last wee mett : Ver. 49. of Pavye. MS. 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 A DYTTIE TO HEY DOWNE. 63 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 a live. 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. VI. A DYTTIE TO HEY DOWNE. 35 90 95 JORI COPIED from an old MS. in the Cotton Library, [Vesp. A. 25.] intitled, "Divers things of Hen. viij's time." WHO sekes to tame the blustering winde, Or causse the floods bend to his wyll, Or els against dame nature's kinde To change things frame by cunning skyll : That man I thinke bestoweth paine, Thoughe that his laboure be in vaine. 5 Ver. 92. perhaps "fates." Ver. 4. causse. MS. 64 GLASGERION, 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. Who thinks to stryve against the streame, And for to sayle without a maste; Unlesse he thinks perhapps to faine, His travell ys forelorne and waste; And so in cure of all his paine, His travell ys his cheffest gaine. So he lykewise, that goes about To please eche eye and every eare, Had nede to have withouten doubt ; A golden gyft with hym to beare For evyll report shall be his gaine, Though he bestowe both toyle and painɛ. 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. VII. GLASGERION. 10 15 20 25 30 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 Vol. i. Note H. Pt. iv. (2.) GLASGERION. 65 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. "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, (C come thou hither, Jacke my boy; Come hither unto mee. "" For the kinges daughter of Normandye Hath granted mee my boone: And att her chambere must I bee Beffore the cocke have crowen." "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: Ver. 6, wood. MS. Ver. 16. harte. MS. 5 三 ​10 15 20 25 322232 30 66 GLASGERION, 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. "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, master, 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: 35 40 45 50 55 60 من *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. GLASGERION. 67 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 litle pen-kniffe, That hanged by her knee : Sayes, "there shall never noe churlès blood Within my bodye spring: No churles blood shall ever defile The daughter of a kinge." Home then went Glasgèrion, And woe, good lord, was hee. Sayes, " come thou hither, Jacke my boy, Come hither unto mee. If I had killed a man to night, Jacke, I would tell it thee: But if I have not killed a man to night Jacke, thou hast killed three." And he puld out his bright browne sword, And dryed it on his sleeve, And he smote off that lither ladds head, Who did his ladye grieve. He sett the swords poynt till his brest, The pummil untill a stone: Throw the falsenesse of that lither ladd, These three lives werne all gone. Ver. 77. litle. MS. 70 76 80 2253 90 95 100 VIII OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE. FROM an ancient copy in the editor's folio MS. which was judged to require considerable corrections. In the former edition the hero of this piece had been called Sir Robin, but that title not being in the MS. is now omitted. LET never again soe old a man Marrye soe yonge a wife, As did old Robin of Portingale ; Who may rue all the dayes of his life. For the mayors daughter of Lin, god wott, He chose her to his wife, And thought with her to have lived in love, But they fell to hate and strife. "( They scarce were in their wed-bed laid, And scarce was hee asleepe, But upp shee rose, and forth shee goes, To the steward, and gan to weepe. Sleepe you, wake you, faire sir Gyles? Or be you not within ? Sleepe you, wake you, faire sir Gyles, Arise, and let me inn." "O, I am waking, sweete," he said, "Sweete ladye, what is your will?" "I have unbethought me of a wile How my wed-lord weell spill. ( 10 5 10 15 7 Ver. this 19. unbethought," [properly "onbethought " word is still used in the Midland counties in the same sense as "bethought." OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE. 69 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 perille 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? 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 heyre of my land thoust bee." 25 3333 30 35 忘 ​40 40 50 "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. Ver. 32. blend. MS. Ver. 47. or to-morrow. MS. Ver. 56. bee. MS. શ 55 70 OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE. 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 fingers, 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: 6 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 twentye good knights he placed at hand, To watch him in his sleepe.' And about the middle time of the night, Came twentye-four traitours inn : Sir Giles he was the foremost mau, The leader of that ginn. 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. Ver. 72. make the. MS. Ver. 75. first. MS 3 GO 333 65 70 75 SO اگ ربر OLD ROBIN OF PORTING ALE, 71 None, save only a litle foot page, Crept forth at a window of stone : And he had two armes when he came in, And he went back with one. Upp then came that ladie gaye With torches burning bright: She thought to have brought sir Gyles a drinke, Butt she found her owne wedd knight. The first thinge that she stumbled on It was sir Gyles his foote: Sayes, "Ever alacke, and woe is mee! Here lyes my sweete hart-roote." The next thinge that she stumbled on It was sir Gyles his heade: Sayes, "Ever alacke, and woe is me! Heere lyes my true love deade.” Hee cutt the pappes beside her brest, And did her body spille; He cutt the eares beside her heade: And bade her love her fille. 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 shouldèr, Of the white clothe' and the redde,* And went him into the holy land, Wheras Christ was quicke and dead. 95 100 105 110 115 120 * 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.] In the foregoing piece, Giles, steward to a rich old mer- chant 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. Ver. 118. fleshe. MS. IX. CHILD WATERS. " CHILD is frequently used by our old writers, as a Title. It is repeatedly given to Prince Arthur in the "Fairie Queen : and the son of a king is in the same poem called "Child Tris- tram." [B. 5. c. 11. st. 8. 13-B. 6. c. 2. st. 36.-Ibid. c. 8. st. 15.] In an old ballad quoted in Shakespeare's "K. Lear," the hero of Ariosto is called "Child Roland." Mr. Theobald supposes this use of the word was received along with their romances from the Spaniards with whom infante signifies a "Prince." A more eminent critic tells us, that "in the old times of chivalry, the noble youth, who were candidates for knighthood, during the time of their probation were called Infans, Varlets, Damoysels, Bacheliers. The most noble of the youth were particularly called Infans." [Vid. Warb. Shakesp.] A late commenta- tor 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 sig- nifies "Prince." See the song intitled "Gil Morrice," in this volume. It ought to be observed, that the word "Child" or "Chield" is still used in North Britain to denominate a Man, commonly with some contemptuous character affixed to him, but some- times to denote Man in general. CHILDE Waters in his stable stoode And stroakt his milke white steede : To him a fayre yonge ladye came As ever ware womans weede. Sayes, "Christ you save, good Childe Waters;" Sayes, "Christ you save, and see: My girdle of gold that was too longe, Is now too short for mee. 5 CHILD WATERS. 73 And all is with one chyld of yours, I feele sturre att my side: My gowne of greene it is too straighte ; Before, it was too wide." "If the child be mine, faire Ellen," he sayd, "Be mine as you tell mee; Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both, Take them your own 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." Shee saies, "I had rather have one kisse, Child Waters, of thy mouth; And I had rather have one twinkling, Child Waters, of thine ee: Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both To take them mine owne to bee." Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both, That lye by north and south. "To morrow, Ellen, I must forth ryde Far into the north countrie; The fairest lady that I can find, Ellen, must goe with mee.' "Thoughe I am not that lady fayre, Yet let me go with thee:' And ever I pray you, Child Watèrs, Your foot-page let me bee." "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 : VOL. III. Ver. 13. be inne. MS & 20 15 20 25 3 35 40 74 CHILD WATERS, 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 curteous 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.' And when shee over the water was, Shee then came to his knee: "" 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. pad Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellèn ? Of redd gold shines the yate: Of twenty foure faire ladyes there, The fairest is my mate. IIe said, "Come hither, thou fajre Ellèn, Loe, yonder what I see. i. e. permit, suffer, &c. 45 50 55 GO 65 70 75 CHILD WATERS. 75 } 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. There twenty four fayre ladyes were A playing 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 wonderous hie: And let him, I pray you, Childe Watèrs, Goe into the chamber with mee.' 17 "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 litle foot-page, That has run throughe mosse and myre, Ver. 84. worldlye. MS. 33 90 33333 95 160 105 110 E 2 76 CHILD WATERS. 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, She hyred in his armes to sleepe; And tooke her up in her armes twayne, For filing of her feete. "I praye you nowe, good Childe Watèrs, Let mee lye at your bedds feete : For there is noe place about this house, Where I may 'saye a sleepe.t" 'He gave her leave, and faire Ellèn Down at his beds feet laye:' This done the nighte drove on apace, And when it was neare the daye, 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. * i. e. defiling. See Warton's Observ. Vol. ii. † Ver. 132. i. e. essay, attempt. p. 158. 115 120 125 130 13 140 CHILD WATERS. 7 Shee leaned her backe to the manger side, And grievouslye did groane: Shee leaned her back to the manger side, And there shee made her moane. 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 laboures of childe, She 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. And when he came to the stable dore, Full still there hee did stand, That hee mighte heare his fayre Ellèn, Howe shee made her monànd.* 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." *sic in MS. i. e. moaning, bemoaning, &c. 145 150 155 160 165 170 X PHILLIDA AND CORYDON. THIS sonnet is given from a small quarto MS. in the editor's possession, written in the time of Q. Elizabeth. Another copy of it, containing some variations, is reprinted in the "Muses Library," p. 295, from an ancient miscellany, intitled "England's Helicon," 1600, 4to. The author was Nicholas Breton, a writer of some fame in the reign of Elizabeth; who also published an interlude intitled "An old man's lesson and a young man's love," 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 pt. of "Wit's Common-wealth," 1598, f. 283, and is alluded to in Beaumont and Fletcher's "Scornful Lady," Act ii. and again in "Wit without Money," Act iii,-See Whalley's Ben Jonson, vol. iii. p. 103. The present edition is improved by a copy in "England's Helicon," edit. 1614, 8vo. Ad 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: 6 When, anon, by a wood side, Where as Maye was in his pride, I espied all alone Phillida and Corydon. Much adoe there was, God wot; He wold love, and she wold not. She sayde, "never man was trewe; He sayes, (C none was false to you." "" He sayde, "hee had lovde her longe :" She sayes, "love should have no wronge." Ver. 4, the wode. MS. 5 10 PHILLIDA AND CORYDON. 79 Corydon wold kisse her then : She sayes, "maydes must kisse no men, Tyll they doe for good and all." When she made the shepperde call All the heavens to wytnes truthe, Never loved a truer youthe. Then with manie a prettie othe, Yea and nay, and, faithe 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. 15 "THE PLOWMAN'S SONG. "In the merrie month of May,' &c." A 10 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 Entertainment. C "On Wednesday morning about 9 o'clock, as her Majestie opened a casement of her gallerie window, ther were 3 excellent musitians, who being disguised in auncient country attire, did greet her with a pleasant song of Corydon and Phillida,' made in 3 parts of purpose. The song, as well for the worth of the dittic, as the aptnesse of the note thereto applied, it pleased her Highnesse after it had been once sung to command it againe, and highly to grace it with her cheerefull acceptance and commendation. 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 republica- tion of a select number of such details as this of the entertainment at Elvetham, that at Killingworth, &c. &c. which so strongly mark the spirit of the times, and present us with scenes so very remote from modern manners. Since the above was written, the 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," 2 Vols. 4to. 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 v. "The Varietie," a comedy, 12mo. 1649, Act iv. &c. In Sir William Davenant's play, "The Witts," A. iii. 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 Musgràve came to the church door, The priest was at the mass; But he had more mind of the fine womèn, Then he had of our Ladyes grace. And some of them were clad in greene, And others were clad in pall; And then came in my lord Barnardes wife, The fairest among them all. She cast an eye on little Musgràve As bright as the summer sunne : O then bethought him little Musgràve, "This ladyes heart I have wonne." 8 10 15 LITTLE MUSGRAVE AND LADY BARNARD. 81 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. "5 Quoth he, "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. My lord Barnàrd 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 Barnard, 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 ; * Bucklefield-berry. fol. MS. 00 27 35 * 43 60 F3 82 LITTLE MUSGRAVE AND LADY BARNARD. This night must I to Bucklesford-bury ; God wott, I had never more neede." Then some they whistled, and some they sang, And some did loudlye saye, Whenever lord Barnardes horne it blewe, "Awaye, Musgràve, away!" "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 Musgràve, 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 ?" 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?" "I find her sweete," quoth little Musgràve, The more is my griefe and paine ; Ide gladlye give three hundred poundes That I were on yonder plaine." "Arise, arise, thou little Musgrave, And put thy cloathes nowe on, It shall never be said in my countree, That I killed a naked man. I have two swordes in one scabbàrde, Full deare they cost my purse; Ver. 64. Is whistling sheepe ore the mold. fol. MS. 55 60 65 70 76 0 2 85 LITTLE MUSGRAVE AND LADY BARNARD. 83 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, Barnàrd, 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 thee 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. 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 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." 90 "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 waxe so woode ? 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.” 100 110 116 + 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. "C XII. THE EW-BUGHTS MARION. A SCOTTISH SONG. This sonnet appears to be ancient: that and it's simplicity of sentiment have recommended it to a place here. WILL ze gae to the ew-bughts, Marion, And wear in the sheip wi' mee? The sun shines sweit, my Marion, But nae half sae sweit as thee. O Marion's a bonnie lass; And the blyth blinks in her ee : And fain wad I marrie Marion, Gin Marion wad marrie mee. Theire's gowd in zour garters, Marion; And siller on zour white hauss-bane : * Fou faine wad I kisse my Marion At eene quhan I cum hame. Theire's braw lads in Earnslaw, Marion, Quha gape and glowr wi' their ee At kirk, quhan they see my Marion ; Bot nane of them 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' London broun; G ་་ 10 15 S "Haus bane." i. e. The neck-bone. Marian had probably a silver locket on, tied close to her neck with a ribband, an usual ornament in Scotland: where a sore throat is called "a sair bause, properly"halse." " THE KNIGHT, AND SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER. 13 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, 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. XIII. 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 KNIGHT, AND SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER. THIS ballad (given from an old black-letter Copy, with some corrections) was popular in the time of Q. Elizabeth, being usually printed with her picture before it, as Hearne informs us in his preface to "Gul. Neubrig. Hist. Oxon." 1719, 8vo. vol. i. p. lxx. It is quoted in Fletcher's comedy of the "Pilgrim,” Act ív. Sc. i. >> "The Lord forbid," the maide replyde, "That you shold waxe so wode! 'But for all that shee could do or saye, He wold not be withstood.' 25 ایان QIT 5 10 B6 THE KNIGHT, AND SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER. "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 by 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. "Now Christ you save, my gracious leige, Now Christ you save and see, You have a knighte within your courte This daye hath robbed mee." "What hath he robbed thee of, sweet heart ? Of purple or of pall? Or hath he took thy gaye gold ring From off thy finger small?" "He hath not robbed mee, my liege, Of purple nor of pall: But he hath gotten my maiden head, Which grieves mee worst of all.” 15 20 25 30 35 10 45 THE KNIGHT, AND SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER. 87 "Now, if he be a batchelor, His bodye Jle 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 maid, Ile give the same to thee; Go, seeke thee another love." "O, Ile have none of your gold," she sayde, "Nor Ile have none of your fee; But your faire bodye I must have, The king hath granted mee." Sir William ranne and fetched 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! "} 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 Ver. 50. His bodye Пle give to thee.] This was agreeable to the feudal customs: The Lord had a right to give a wife to his vassals. See Shakespeare's "All's well, that ends well." 38 THE SHEPHERD'S ADDRESS TO HIS MUSE. "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. 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, Ile make you lord of three." "Ah! cursed bee the gold," he sayd, "If thou hadst not been trewe, I shold have forsaken my sweet love, And have changed her for a newe." And now their hearts being linked fast, They joyned hand in hande : Thus he had both purse, and person too, And all at his commande. XIV. 85 90 95 100 THE SHEPHERD'S ADDRESS TO HIS MUSE. THIS Poem, originally printed from the small MS. volume, mentioned above in No. X. has been improved by a more perfect Copy in "England's Helicon," where the author is discovered to be N. Breton. THE SHEPHERD'S ADDRESS TO HIS MUSE. 89 GOOD Muse, rocke me aslepe With some sweete harmony: This wearie eyes is not to kepe Thy wary company. Sweete Love, begon a while, Thou seest my heavines : Beautie is borne but to beguyle My harte of happines. 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. The blacke birde and the thrushe, That made the woodes to ringe, With all the rest, are now at hushe, And not a note they singe. Swete Philomele, the birde That hath the heavenly 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, Dce nowe thy heavenlie conninge use To sett my harte at rest: TO 5 10 15 20 05 233 30 35 90 LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ELLINOR. And in a dreame bewraie What fate shal be my frende; Whether my life shall still decaye, Or when my sorrowes ende. XV. LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ELLINOR, -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. LORD Thomas was a bold forrestèr, And a chaser of the kings deere ; Faire Ellinor was a fine womàn, And lord Thomas he loved her deare. "Come riddle my riddle, dear mother," he sayd, "And riddle us both as one ; Whether I shall marrye with faire Ellinòr, And let the browne girl alone?" 40 "The browne girl she has got houses and lands, Faire Ellinor she has got none, And therefore I charge thee on my blessing, To bring me the browne girl home." And as it befelle on a high holidaye, As many there are beside, Lord Thomas he went to faire Ellinòr, That should have been his bride. And when he came to faire Ellinors bower, He knocked there at the ring, 5 10 15 LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ELLINOR, 91 And who was so readye as faire Ellinòr, To lett Lord Thomas withinn. "O God forbid, lord Thomas," she said, "That such a thing should be done; I thought to have been the bride my selfe, And thou to have been the bridegrome." "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 newes for thee." 20 "Come riddle my riddle, dear mother," she sayd, "And riddle it all in one; Whether I shall goe to lord Thomas his wedding, Or whether shall tarry at home?" 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. 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." And who was so readye as lord Thomàs, To lett faire Ellinor in. "Is this your bride ?" fair Ellinor sayd, "Methinks she looks wonderous browne; 30 “There are manye that are my friendes, mothér ; But were every one my foe, Betide me life, betide me death, To lord Thomas his wedding I'ld goe." 35 But when she came to Lord Thomas his gate, 15 She knocked there at the ring; 40 50 Ver. 29. It should probably be, "Reade me, read," &c. i. e. Advise me, advise. 92 LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ELLINOR. Thou mightest have had as faire a woman, As ever trod on the grounde." "Despise her not, fair Ellin," he sayd, "Despise her not unto mee; For better I love thy little fingèr, Than all her whole bodèe. This browne bride had a little penknife, That was both long and sharpe, And betwixt the short ribs and the long, She prickd faire Ellinor's harte. "O, Christ thee save," lord Thomas, hee sayd, "Methinks thou lookst wonderous wan; Thou usedst to look with as fresh a colòur, As ever the sun shone on.” 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." He get the hilte against the grounde, And the point against his harte. There never three lovers together did meete, That sooner againe did parte. 60 70 75 *** The reader will find a Scottish song on a similar subject to this, towards the end of this volume, intitled, "Lord Thomas and Fair Annet." XVI. CUPID AND CAMPASPE. : THIS elegant little sonnet is found in the third act of an old play intitled, "Alexander and Campaspe," written by John Lilye, a celebrated writer in the time of queen Elizabeth. That play was first printed in 1591: but this copy is given from a later edition. CUFID and my Campaspe playd At cardes for kisses; Cupid payd : He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows, His mothers doves, and teame of sparrows; Loses them too; then down he throws The coral of his lippe, the rose Growing on's cheek (but none knows how) With these, the crystal of his browe, And then the dimple on 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? XVII. 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." 94 THE LADY TURNED SERVING-MAN. W 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 oid 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 me. 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 extremitie, My servants all did from me flee: Thus was I left myself alone, With heart more cold than any stone. Yet though my heart was full of care, Heaven would not suffer me to dispaire, Wherefore in haste I chang'd my name From faire Elise, to sweet Williame : And therewithall I cut my haire, Resolv'd my man's attire to weare ; And in my beaver, hose and band, I travell'd far through many a land. At length all wearied with my toil, I sate me downe to rest awhile; My heart it was so fill'd with woc, That downe my cheeke the teares did flow. S 10 15 20 25 30 35 THE LADY TURNED SERVING-MAN. 35 It chanc'd the king of that same place With all his lords a hunting was, And seeing me weepe, upon the same Askt "who I was, and whence I came ?" 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. 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 hee great favour showd too 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. 40 45 50 55 ind 65 70 96 THE LADY TURNED SERVING-MAN. 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 'aid me lowe, My heart was ful, the tears did flowe. The king, who had a huntinge gone, Grewe weary of his sport anone, And leaving all his gallant traine, Turn'd on the sudden home againe : 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. 75 333 80 85 པ 90 555555 95 100 105 THE LADY TURNED SERVING-MAN. 97 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 turne to thy availe." A crimson dye my face orespred, I blusht for shame, and hung my head, To find my sex and story knowne, When as I thought I was alone. But to be briefe, his royall grace Grewe so enamour'd of my face, The richest gifts he proffered mee, His mistress if that I would bee. "Ah! no, my liege," I firmlye sayd, "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." 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. VOI. III. ELA F 119 115 120 125 130 135 XVIII. GIL MORRICE. Á SCOTTISH BALLAD. THE following piece hath run thro' two editions in Scotland: the second was printed at Glasgow in 1755, 8vo. Prefixed to them both is an advertisement, setting forth that the preserva- tion of this poem was owing to a lady, who favoured the printers with a copy, as it was carefully collected from the mouths of old women and nurses; "" And any reader that can render it more correct or complete," is desired to oblige the public with such improvements. In consequence of this adver- tisement sixteen additional verses have been produced and handed about in manuscript, which are here inserted in their proper places: (these are from ver. 109, to ver. 121, and from ver. 124, to ver. 129, but are perhaps, after all, only an ingenious interpolation.) As this poem lays claim to a pretty high antiquity, we have assigned it a place among our early pieces: though, after all, there is reason to believe it has received very considerable modern improvements: for in the editor's ancient MS. collection is a very old imperfect copy of the same ballad: wherein though the leading features of the story are the same, yet the colouring here is so much improved and heightened, and so many addi- tional strokes are thrown in, that it is evident the whole has undergone a revisal. N. B. The editor's MS. instead of "lord Barnard," has “John Stewart;" and instead of "Gil Morrice," “Child Maurice," which last is probably the original title. See above, p. 72. 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. " GIL MORRICE. 99 "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 baròns, For to triest furth his wife." "My bird Willie, my boy Willie ; My dear Willie," he sayd: "How can ze strive against the stream? For I sall be obeyd.” "Bot, O my master dear!" he cryd. "In grene wod ze're zour lain ; Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ze rede, For fear ze should be tain." "Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha', Bid hir cum here wi speid: If ze refuse my heigh command, Ill gar zour body bleid. Gae bid hir take this gay mantèl, "Tis a' gowd bot the hem ; Bid hir cum to the gude grene wode, And bring nane bot hir lain : And there it is, a silken sarke, Hir ain hand sewd the sleive; And bid hir cum to Gill Morice, Speir nae bauld barons leave." "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. Ver. 11. something seems wanting here. Ver. 32, and 68, perhaps, 'bout the hem." CC 10 כי 20 25 30 35 40 F 2 100 GIL MORRICE. 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 Morìce ; Speir nae bauld barons leave." The lady stamped wi' hir foot, And winked wi' hir ee; Bot a' that she coud say or do, Forbidden he wad nae bee. Ver. 58. could this be the wall of the castle? 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 GIL MORRICE. J01 "} "Its surely to my bow'r-womàn; It neir could be to me.' "I brocht it to lord Barnards lady; I trow that ze be she." Then up and spack the wylie nurse, (The bairn upon hir knee) "If it be cum frae Gill Morice, 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 Ir flinders he gard flee. "Gae, bring a robe of zour cliding, That hings upon the pin; And I'll gae to the gude grene wode, And speik wi' zour lemmàn.” "O bide at hame, now lord Barnàrd, I warde ze bide at hame; Neir wyte a man for violence, That neir wate ze wi' nane.' Gil Morice sate 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 Minervas loome: His lipps like roses drapping dew, His breath was a' perfume. His brow was like the mountain snae Gilt by the morning beam : * i. e. a drinking cup of maple other edit. read "ezar.” Ver. 88. Perhaps "loud say I heire." SO $5 90 95 100 185 110 102 GIL MORRICE. 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 Morice, 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 Laid him across his steid, And brocht him to his painted bowr And laid him on a bed. Ver. 128. So Milton, up, "Vernal delight and joy: able to drive All sadness but despair." D. iv. v. 155. 115 120 125 130 135 140 115 GIL MORRICE. 102 The lady sat on castil wa', Beheld baith dale and doun; And there she saw Gill Morice' head Cum trailing to the toun. "Far better I loe that bluidy head, Both and that zellow hair, Than lord Barnard, and a' his lands, As they lig here and thair.” And she has tain her Gill Morice, And kissd baith mouth and chin : "I was once as fow of Gill Morice, As the hip is o' the stean. I got ze in my father's house, Wi' mickle sin and shame ; I brocht thee up in gude grene wode, Under the heavy rain. Oft have I by thy cradle sitten, And fondly seen thee sleip; But now I gae about thy grave, The saut tears for to weip." And syne she kissd his bluidy cheik, And syne his bluidy chin: "O better I loe my Gill Morice Than a' my kith and kin !" "Away, away, ze ill womàn, And an il deith mait ze dee : Gin I had kend he'd bin zour son, He'd neir bin slain for mee." "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. زان 1 135 160 こう ​170 175 180 164 GIL MORRICE. To me nae after days nor nichts Will eir be saft or kind; I'll fill the air with heavy sighs, And greet till I am blind." "Enouch of blood by me's bin spilt, Seek not zour death frae mee; I rather lourd it had been my sel Than eather him or thee. 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 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." 185 "Shot frae the golden sun." And ver. 116. as follows: "Ilis een like azure sheene." 190 THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK. 195 2000 ***This little pathetic tale suggested the plot of the tragedy of Douglas." (C Since it was first printed, the editor has been assured that the foregoing ballad is still current in many parts of Scotland, where the hero is universally known by the name of "Child Maurice, pronounced by the common people "Cheild" or "Cheeld"; which occasioned the mistake. 205 It may be proper to mention that other copies read ver. 110. thus: " Reliques OF ANCIENT POETRY, &c. SERIES THE THIRD.-BOOK II. I. THE LEGEND OF SIR GUY contains a short summary of the exploits of this famous champion, as recorded in the old story books; and is commonly intitled, "A pleasant song of the valiant deeds of chivalry atchieved by that noble knight sir Guy of Warwick, who, for the love of fair Phelis, became a hermit, and dyed in a cave of craggy rocke, a mile distant from Warwick.” The history of sir Guy, tho' now very properly resigned to children, was once admired by all readers of wit and taste: for taste and wit had once their childhood. Although of English growth, it was early a favourite with other nations: it appeared in French in 1525; and is alluded to in the old Spanish romance "Tirante el blanco," which, it is believed, was written not long after the year 1430. See advertisement to the French translation, 2 vols. 12mo. The original whence all these stories are extracted is a very ancient romance in old English verse, which is quoted by Chaucer as a celebrated piece even in his time, (viz. "Men speken of romances of price, Of Horne childe and Ippotis, Of Bevis, and sir Guy," &c. R. of Thop. and was usually sung to the harp at Christmas dinners and brideales, as we learn from "Puttenham's Art of Poetry," 4to, 1589. This ancient romance is not wholly lost. An imperfect copy in black letter, "Imprynted at London-for Wylliam Cop- F 3 106 THE LEGEND OF SIR GUY. land," 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, 4 By twenty myle rounde aboute, For doubt of a fowle dragon, That sleath men and beastes downe. He is blacke as any cole, Rugged as a rough fole; His bodye from the navill upwarde No man may it pierce it is so harde; His neck is great as any summere; He renneth as swifte as any distrere; Pawes he hath as a lyon: All that he toucheth he sleath dead downe. Great winges he hath to flight, That is no man that bare him might. There may no man fight him agayne, But that he sleath him certayne: For a fowler beast then is he, Ywis of none never heard ye.' """ Sir William Dugdale is of opinion that the story of Guy is not wholly apocryphal, tho' he acknowledges the monks have sounded out his praises too hyperbolically. In particular, he gives the duel fought with the Danish champion as a real historical truth, and fixes the date of it in the year 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 ii. 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 's in black letter in the Pepys collection. Was ever a knight for ladyes sake So tost in love, as I sir Guy For Phelis fayre, that lady bright As ever man beheld with eye? THE LEGEND OF SIR GUY. 307 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 hold, In deeds of armes the doughtyest knight That in those dayes in England was, With sworde and speare in feild to fight. An English man I was by birthe : In faith of Christ a christyan true : The wicked lawes of infidells I sought by prowesse to subdue. '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 hands. 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. 5 三 ​10 13 a 25 30 35 Where I did slay of Sarazens, And heathen pagans, manye a man; Ver. 9. The proud sir Guy. PC. Ver. 17. Two hundred. MS. and P. 103 THE LEGEND OF SIR GUY. 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 fiercelye mett me by the waye As hee a lyon did pursue, Which I myself did alsoe slay. Then soon I past the seas from Greece, And came to 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. 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. -40 45 50 55 60 (5 G 70 THE LEGEND OF SIR GUY. 109 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 slewe him soone right valliantlye; Wherebye this land I did redeeme From Danish tribute utterlye. And afterwards I offered upp The use of weapons solemnlye At Winchester, whereas I fought, In sight of manye farr and nye. '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 siewe 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 wonderous strange, they may espye. A dragon in Northumberland, I alsoe did in fight destroye, Ver. 94. 102. doth lye. MS. 75 g SO $5 90 95 100 105 110 THE LEGEND OF SIR GUY. Which did bothe man and beast oppresse, And all the countrye sore annoye. At length to Warwicke I did come, Like pilgrim poore and was not knowne; And there I lived a hermitts life 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 faire engraven in stone, In Warwicke still you may behold. 110 115 120 125 130 135 II. GUY AND AMARANT. THE editor found this Poem in his ancient folio manuscript among the old ballads; he was desirous therefore that it should still accompany them; and as it is not altogether devoid of merit, its insertion here will be pardoned. Although this piece seems not imperfect, there is reason to believe that it is only a part of a much larger poem, which con- tained the whole history of sir Guy: for, upon comparing it with the common story book 12mo, we find the latter to be nothing more than this poem reduced to prose: which is only effected by now and then altering the rhyme; and throwing out some few of the poetical ornaments. The disguise is so slight, that it is an easy matter to pick complete stanzas in any page of that book. The author of this poem has shown some invention. Though he took the subject from the old romance quoted before, he has adorned it afresh, and made the story intirely his own. GUY journeyes towards that sanctifyed ground, Whereas the Jewes fayre citye sometime stood, Wherin our Saviours sacred head was crownd, And where for sinfull man he shed his blood : To see the sepulcher was his intent, The tombe that Joseph unto Jesus lent. With tedious miles he tyred his wearye feet, And passed desart places full of danger, At last with a most woefull wight* did meet, A man that unto sorrow was noe stranger: For he had fifteen sonnes, made captives all To slavish bondage, in extremest thrall. A gyant called Amarant detaind them, Whom noe man durst encounter for his strength : * Erle Jonas, mentioned in the foregoing ballad. 5 10 112 GUY AND AMARANT. Who in a castle, which he held, had chaind them : Guy questions," where ?" and understands at length The place not farr." Lend me thy sword," quoth hee, "Ile lend my manhood all thy sonnes to free." With that he goes, and lays upon the dore, Like one that sayes, I must, and will come in: The gyant never was soe rowz'd before; For noe such knocking at his gate had bin : Soe takes his keyes, and clubb, and cometh out Staring with ireful countenance about. "" Sirra," quoth hee, "what busines hast thou heere? 25 Art come to feast the crowes about my walls? Didst never heare, noe ransome can him cleere, That in the compasse of my furye falls: For making me to take a porters paines, With this same clubb I will dash out thy braines." "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." 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, 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. 15 Att last through thirst the gyant feeble grewe, And sayd to Guy, "As thou 'rt of humane race, 20 30 35 it) 50 GUY AND AMARANT. 113 Shew itt in this, give natures wants their dewe, Let me but goe, and drinke in yonder place : Thou canst not yeeld to 'me' a smaller thing, Than to graunt life, thats given by the spring." "I graunt thee leave," quoth Guye, "goe drink thy last, 55 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.' "> 60 Soe to the spring he goes, and slakes his thirst Takeing the water in extremely like Some wracked shipp that on a rocke is burst, 65 Whose forced hulke against the stones does stryke ; Scooping it in soe fast with both his hands, That Guy admiring to behold it stands. "Come on," quoth Guy, "let us to worke againe, Thou stayest about thy liquor overlong ; The fish, which in the river doe remaine, 71 Will want thereby; thy drinking doth them wrong : But I will see their satisfaction made, With gyants blood they must, and shall be payd. "Villaine," quoth Amarant, "Ile crush thee streight; Thy life shall pay thy daring toungs offence : This clubb, which is about some hundred weight, Is deathes commission to dispatch thee hence : Dresse thee for ravens dyett I must needes; And breake thy bones, as they were made of reedes." 75 Incensed much by these bold pagan bostes, Which worthye Guy cold ill endure to heare, He hewes upon those bigg supporting postes, Which like two pillars did his body beare: Amarant for those wounds in choller growes And desperatelye att Guy his clubb he throwes : * Which Guy had slain before. Ver. 64. bulke. MS. and PCC. Έ 114 GUY AND AMARANT. 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 aimd 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. 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. "Its well," said Guy, "thy honest thoughts appeare, Within that beastlye bulke where devills dwell; Which are thy tenants while thou livest heare, But will be landlords when thou comest in hell Vile miscreant, prepare thee for their den, Inhumane monster, hatefull unto men. Releeve my foe! why, 'twere a madmans part: Refresh an adversarye to my wrong! If thou imagine this, a child thou art: 81 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.” 90 95 100 105 110 115 120 GUY AND AMARANT. 115 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, Now you are come unto your latest shift. Perish forever: with this stroke I send thee A medicine, that will doe thy thirst much good ; Take noẻ more care for drinke before I end thee, And then wee'll have carouses of thy blood : Here's at thee with a butchers downright blow, To please my furye with thine overthrow." "Infernall, false, obdurate feend," said Guy, "That seemst a lumpe of crueltye from hell; Ungratefull monster, since thou dost deny The thing to mee wherin I used thee well : With more revenge, than ere my sword did make, On thy accursed head revenge Ile take. "" 125 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. 130 Thy gyants longitude shall shorter shrinke, Except thy sun-scorcht skin be weapon proof: Farewell my thirst; I doe disdaine to drinke, Streames keepe your waters to your owne behoof ; Or let wild beasts be welcome thereunto; With those pearle drops I will not have to do. 135 Here, tyrant, take a taste of my good-will, For thus I doe begin my bloodye bout: You cannot chuse but like the greeting ill; It is not that same clubb will beare you out; And take this payment on thy shaggye crowne.' A blowe that brought him with a vengeance downe. 150 140 745 155 116 GUY AND AMARANT. X Where manye woefull captives he did find, Which had beene tyred with extremityes; Whom he in friendly manner did unbind, And reasoned with them of their miseryes : Eche told a tale with teares, and sighes, and cryes, All weeping to him with complaining eyes. There tender ladyes in darke dungeons lay, That were surprised in the desart wood, And had noe other dyett everye day, But flesh of humane creatures for their food: Some with their lovers bodyes had beene fed, And in their wombes their husbands buryed. That he unlockes, and enters, where appeares The strangest object that he ever saw; Men that with famishment of many yeares, 160 Now he bethinkes him of his being there, 171 To enlarge the wronged brethren from their woes; And, as he searcheth, doth great clamours heare, By which sad sound's direction on he goes, Untill he findes a darksome obscure gate, Arm'd strongly ouer all with iron plate. 165 I promise you their lives, accept of that; But did not warrant you they shold be fat. 155 Were like deathes picture, which the painters draw; Divers of them were hanged by eche thombe; Others head-downward: by tlie middle some. 180 With diligence he takes them from the walle, With lybertye their thraldome to acquaint: Then the perplexed knight their father calls, And sayes, "Receive thy sonnes though poore and faint: 195 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 wrougs men do ; But poore weake women have not strength thereto." 190 THE AULD GOOD MAN. 117 The good old man, even overjoyed with this, 195 Fell on the ground, and wold have kist Guys feete: Father," quoth he, "refraine soe base a kiss, For age to honor youth I hold unmeete : Ambitious pryde hath hurt mee all it can, I goe to mortifie a sinfull man." ***The foregoing poem on "Guy and Amarant" has been discovered to be a fragment of, "The famous historie of Guy earl of Warwicke, by Samuel Rowlands, London, printed by J. Bell, 1649," 4to. in xii cantos, beginning 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 Q. Elizabeth and James I. and perhaps later. His other poems are chiefly of the religious kind, which makes it pro- bable that the hist. 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 improved from the printed copy. III. THE AULD GOOD-MAN. A SCOTTISH SONG. I HAVE not been able to meet with a more ancient copy of this humorous old song, than that printed in the "Tea-Table miscellany," &c. which seems to have admitted some corrup tions. LATE in an evening forth I went A little before the sun gade down, 118 THE AULD GOOD-MAN. And there I chanc't, by accident, To light on a battle new begun : A man and his wife wer fawn in a strife, I canna weel tell ye how it began ; But aye she wail'd her wretched life, Cryeng, "Evir alake, mine auld goodman!" HE. Thy auld goodman, that thou tells of, The country kens where he was born, Was but a silly poor vagabond, And ilka ane leugh him to scorn : For he did spend and make an end Of gear his fathers nevir' wan ; He gart the poor stand frae the door; Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman. SHE. My heart, alake! is liken to break, Whan I think on my winsome John, His blinkan ee, and gait sae free, Was naithing like thee, thou dosend drone; Wi' his rosie face, and flaxen hair, And skin as white as ony swan, He was large and tall, and comely withall ; Thou'lt nevir be like mine auld goodman. HE. Why dost thou plein? I thee maintein; For meal and mawt thou disna want : But thy wild bees I canna please, Now whan our gear gins to grow scant: 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: 5 10 15 28 25 30 35 FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM. 119 But now I sigh and may be sad, Thy courage is cauld, thy colour wan, Thou falds thy feet and fa's asleep; Thou❜lt nevir be like mine auld goodman. Then coming was the night sae dark, And gane was a' the light of day ; The carle was fear'd to miss his mark, And therefore wad nae longer stay: Then up he gat, and ran his way, I trowe, the wife the day she wan; And aye the owreword of the fray Was, "Evir alake! mine auld goodman." IV. FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM. "You are no love for me, Margaret, I am no love for you." And the following stanza, THIS seems to be the old song quoted in Fletcher's «Knight of the Burnin Ppestle," Acts ii. and iii; altho' the six lines there preserved are somewhat different from those in the ballad, as it stands at present. The Reader will not wonder at this, when he is informed that this is only given from a modern printed copy picked up on a stall. It's full title is "Fair Margaret's Misfortunes; or Sweet William's frightful dreams on his wedding night, with the sudden death and burial of those noble lovers." The lines preserved in the play are this distich, "When it was grown to dark midnight, And all were fast asleep, In came Margarets grimly ghost And stood at Williams feet." 40 45 These lines have acquired an importance by giving birth to one of the most beautiful ballads in our own or any language. See 120 FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM. the Song intitled "Margaret's Ghost," at the end of this volume. Since the first edition some improvements have been inserted, which were communicated by a lady of the first distinction, as she had heard this song repeated in her infancy. As it fell out on a long summer's day Two lovers they sat on a hill; They sat together that long summer's day, And could not talk their fill. "I see no harm by you, Margarèt, And you see none by mee; Before to-morrow at eight o' the clock A rich wedding you shall see." Fair Margaret sat in her bower-window, Combing her yellow hair; 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 : C/I 5 10 15 20 25 30 FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM. 121 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. Then he turned up the covering-sheet, "Pray let me see the dead; Methinks she looks all pale and wan, She hath lost her cherry red. I'll do more for thee, Margarèt, Than any of thy kin; For I will kiss thy pale wan lips, Though a smile I cannot win. 29 With that bespake the seven brethren, Making most piteous mone: "You may go kiss your jolly brown bride And let our sister alone." "If I do kiss my jolly brown bride, I do but what is right; I neer made a vow to yonder poor corpse By day, nor yet by night. Deal on, deal on, my merry men all, Deal on your cake and your wine : * For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day, Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine." * Alluding to the dole anciently given at funerals. Ver. 31. 35. Swine. PCC. VOL. III. G 31 10 45 ایکی 55 (4) 122 BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY. 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 parìsh, As you the truth shall hear, And by misfortune cut them down, Or they had now been there. 1 V. BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY. IN Scarlet towne, where I was borne, There was a faire maid dwellin, Made every youth crye, "Wel-awaye Her name was Barbara Allen. !" 65 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. 70 GIVEN, with some corrections, from an old black letter copy, intitled, "Barbara Allen's cruelty, or the young man's tragedy." 75 80 In 5 BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY. 123 1 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." "L 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 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, "Unworthye Barbara Allen !" She turnd her bodye round about, And spied the corps a coming : "Laye down, laye down the corps," she sayd, "That I may look upon him." 10 lo 20 25 30 35 お ​10 G 2 124 SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST. With scornful eye she looked downe, Her cheeke with laughter swellin; Whilst all her friends cryd out amaine, Unworthye Barbara Allen!" When he was dead, and laid in grave, Her harte was struck with sorrowe, "O mother, mother, make my bed, For I shall dye to-morrowe. 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." VI. SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST. A SCOTTISH BALLAD. 45 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. 50 55 GO FROM Allan Ramsay's "Tea-Table Miscellany." The con- cluding stanza of this piece seems modern. SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST. 125 "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." "Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get, Of me shalt nevir win,' Till that thou come within my bower, And kiss my cheek and chin." "If I should come within thy bower, I am no earthly man: And should I kiss thy rosy lipp, Thy days will not be lang. O sweet Margret! O dear Margret! I pray thee speak to mee: Give me my faith and troth, Margret, As I gave it to thee." "Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get, Of me shalt nevir win,' Till thou take me to yon kirk yard, And wed me with a ring." "My bones are buried in a kirk yard Afar beyond the sea, And it is but my sprite, Margret, That's speaking now to thee." She stretched out her lilly-white hand, As for to do her best: "Hae there your faith and troth, Willie, God send your soul good rest." 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 126 SIR JOHN GREHME AND BARBARA ALLAN. Now she has kilted her robes of green, A piece below her knee: And a' the live-lang winter night The dead corps followed shee. "Is there any room at your head, Willie ? Or any room at your feet? Or any room at your side, Willie, Wherein that I may creep?" "There's nae room at my head, Margret, There's nae room at my feet, There's no room at my side, Margret, My coffin is made so meet.' "" Then up and crew the red red cock, And up then crew the gray: "Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret, That I' were gane away. در No more the ghost to Margret said, But, with a grievous grone, Evanish'd in a cloud of mist, And left her all alone. VII. "O stay, my only true love, stay!" The constant Margret cried: Wan grew her cheeks, she clos'd her een, Stretch'd her saft limbs, and died. A SCOTTISH BALLAD. 45 50 It was in and about the Martinmas time, When the greene leaves wer a fallan ; 55 SIR JOHN GREHME AND BARBARA ALLAN. 60 PRINTED With a few conjectural emendations, from a written copy. SIR JOHN GREHME AND BARBARA ALLAN. 127 That Sir John Grehme o' the west countrye, Fell in love 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.” O hooly, hooly raise she up, To the plaice wher he was lyan; And whan she drew the curtain by, "Young man, I think ye 're dyan." * "O, its I'm sick, and very very sick, And its a' for Barbara Allan.' "O, the better for me ye'se never be, Though your harts blude wer spillan. "2 ; Remember ye nat in the tavern, sir, Whan ye the cups wer fillan How ye made the healths gae round and round, And slighted Barbara Allan?" He turn'd his face unto the wa' And death was with him dealan ; "Adiew! adiew! my dear friends a', Be kind to Barbara Allan." Then hooly, hooly 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 geid, Cried, "Wae to Barbara Allan 1” "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." "dyan An ingenious friend thinks the rhymes "lyan" ought to be transposed; as the taunt, I think ye 're lyan," would be very characteristical. << 5 + 10 15 20 25 30 *5 and Young man, VIII. THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON. FROM an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, with some improvements communicated by a lady as she had heard the same recited in her youth. The full title is, "True love requited: Or, the Bailiff's daughter of Islington." Isling- ton 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. 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. And when he had been seven long yeares, And never his love could see: "Many a teare have I shed for her sake, When she little thought of mee." Then all the maids of Islington Went forth to sport and playe, All but the bayliffes daughter deare; She secretly stole awaye. She pulled off her gowne of greene, And put on ragged attire, And to faire London she would Her true love to enquire go 5 10 15 20 THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON. 129 And as she went along the high road, The weather being hot and drye, She sat her downe upon a green bank, And her true love came riding bye. She started up, with a colour soe redd, Catching hold of his bridle-reine; "One penny, one penny, kind sir," she sayd, "Will ease me of much paine." "Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart, Praye tell me where you were borne." "At Islington, kind sir," sayd shee, "Where I have had many a scorne.' "I prythee, sweet heart, then tell to mee, O tell me, whether you knowe The bayliffes daughter of Islington." "She is dead, sir, long agoe.' "" "If she be dead, then take my horse, My saddle and bridle also ; For I will into some farr countrye, Where 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, farewell griefe, and welcome joye, Ten thousand times therefore ; For nowe I have founde mine cwne true love, Whom I thought I should never see more.' 25 30 35 40 45 50 G 3 IX. THE WILLOW TREE. A PASTORAL DIALOGUE. FROM the small black-letter collection, intitled, "The Golden Garland of princely delights; " collated with two other copies, and corrected by conjecture. 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. They are chang'd, and so am I ; Sorrowes live, but pleasures die : Phillis hath forsaken mee, Which makes me weare the willowe-tree. WILLY. Phillis shee that lov'd thee long? Is shee the lass hath done thee wrong? Shee that lov'd thee long and best, Is her love turn'd to a jest? CUDDY. Shee that long true love profest, She hath robb'd my heart of rest: For she a new love loves, not mee; Which makes me wear the willowe-tree. WILLY. Come then, shepherde, let us joine, Since thy happ is like to mine : For the maid I thought most true Mee hath also bid adieu. CA 5 10 15 20 THE LADY'S FALL. 131 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. "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. I went to gather strawberries By woods and groves full fair," &c. X. THE LADY'S FALL, -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 referred to is pre- served 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. MARKE well my heavy dolefull tale, You loyall lovers all, 25 30 132 THE LADY'S FALL. And heedfully beare in your brest, A gallant ladyes fall. Long was she wooed, ere shee was wonne, To lead a wedded life, But folly wrought her overthrowe Before shee was a wife. Too soone, alas! shee gave consent And yeelded to his will, Though he protested to be true, And faithfull to her still. Shee felt her body altered quite, Her bright hue waxed pale, Her lovelye cheeks chang'd color white, Her strength began to fayle. Soe that with many a sorrowful sigh, This beauteous ladye milde, With greeved hart, 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. 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. 5 10 15 20 25 દ 30 35 40 THE LADY'S FALL. 133 Think on thy former promises, Thy oathes and vowes eche one ; Remember with what bitter teares To mee thou madest thy moane. Convay me to some secrett place, And marry me with speede ; Or with thy rapyer end my life, Ere further shame proceede." "Alacke! my beauteous love," quoth hee, "My joye, and only dear; Which way can I convay thee hence, When dangers are so near? Thy friends are all of hye degree, And I of meane estate; Full hard it is to gett thee forthe Out of thy fathers gate." "Dread not thy life to save my fame, For if thou taken bee, My selfe will step betweene the swords, And take the harme on mee: Soe shall I scape dishonor quite; And if I should be slaine What could they say, but that true love Had wrought a ladyes bane. 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 soe lend me life, On this day month without all fayle I will make thee my wife." 45 50 5.5 60 E 70 75 134 THE LADY'S FALL. 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 perjured prove? And hast thou now forsaken mee In this my great distresse, To end my dayes in open shame, Which thou mightst well redresse ? Woe worth the time I eer believ'd That flattering tongue of thine : Wold God that I had never seene The teares of thy false eyne." And thus with many a sorrowful sigh, Homewards shee went againe ; Noe rest came in her waterye eyes, Shee felt such privye paine. In travail strong shee fell that night, With many a bitter throwe; What woefull paines shee then did feel, Doth eche good woman knowe. 8) 55 90 95 100 105 110 THE LADY'S FALL. 135 1 Shee called up her waiting mayd, That lay at her bedds feete, Who musing at her mistress woe, Began full fast to weepe. "Weepe not," said shee," but shutt the dores, And windowes round about, Let none bewray my wretched state, But keepe all persons out." "O mistress, call your mother deare; Of women you have neede, And of some skilfull midwifes helpe, That better may you speed." "Call not my mother 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 bart, 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. 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. 115 120 125 130 135 140 136 WALY WALY, LOVE BE BONNY. Too true, alas! this story is, As many one can tell : By others harmes learne to be wise, And you shall do full well. XI. WALY WALY, LOVE BE BONNY. A SCOTTISH SONG. THIS is a very ancient song, but we could only give it from a modern copy. Some editions instead of the four last lines in the second stanza have these, which have too much merit to be wholly suppressed: "Whan cockle shells turn siller bells, And muscles grow on every tree, When frost and snaw sall warm us aw', Than sall my love prove true to me." See the " Orpheus Caledonius," &c. Arthur's-seat mentioned in ver. 17, is a hill near Edinburgh; at the bottom of which is St. Anthony's well. O WALY waly up the bank, And waly waly down the brae, And waly waly yon burn side, Where I and my love wer wont to gae. I leant my back unto an aik, 150 I thought it was a trusty tree; But first it bow'd, and syne it brak, Sae my true love did lichtly me. O waly waly gin love be bonny, A little time while it is new ; But when its auld, it waxeth cauld, And fades awa' like morning dew. O wherfore shuld I busk my head? Or wherfore shuld I kame my hair? For my true love has me forsook, And says he'll never loe me mair. 5 10 15 THE BRIDE'S BURIAL. 137 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 inclemencie ; '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 cramasie. But had I wist, before I kisst, That love had been sae ill to win ; I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd, And pinnd it with a siller pin. And, oh! if my young babe were born, And set upon the nurses knee, And I my sell were dead and gane! For a maid again Ise never be. XII. THE BRIDE'S BURIAL. COME mourne, come mourne with mee, You loyall lovers all; 20 25 30 35 40 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." 138 THE BRIDE'S BURIAL. Lament my loss in weeds of woe, Whom griping grief doth thrall. Like to the drooping vine, Cut by the gardener's knife, Even so my heart, with sorrow slaine, Doth bleed for my sweet wife. By death, that grislye ghost, My turtle dove is slaine, And I am left, unhappy man, To spend my dayes in paine. 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. LO 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 THE BRIDE'S BURIAL. 139 And as fair Helen's 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 grief, like pangs of death, Seiz❜d on my true love's heart. Down in a swoon she fell, As cold as any stone; Like Venus picture lacking 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. 10 45 50 55 60 65 70 140 THE BRIDE'S BURIAL. 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 Bestowd, 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." 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. 75 80 $5 90 95 100 105 DULCINA. 141 "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.” And now this lover lives A discontented life, Whose bride was brought unto the grave A maiden and a wife. A garland fresh and faire Ŏf 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. XIII. DULCINA. 110 115 120 125 80 GIVEN from two ancient copies, one in black-print, in the Pepys collection; the other in the Editor's folio MS. Each of these contained a stanza not found in the other. What seemed the best readings were selected from both. This song is quoted as very popular in Walton's "Compleat 142 DULCINA. Angler," chap. 2. It is more ancient than the ballad of "Robin Good-Fellow" printed below, which yet is supposed to have been written by Ben. Jonson. As at noone Dulcina rested In her sweete and shady bower; Came a shepherd, and requested In her 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.” (C 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: Where lipps invite, And eyes delight, And cheekes, as fresh as rose in june, Persuade delay; What boots, she say, Forgoe me now, come to me soone?" "( He demands, "What time for pleasure Can there be more fit than now ?” She says, 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 such beautye for a hope? 5 10 15 20 25 30 THE LADY ISABELLA'S TRAGEDY 143 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." XIV. THE LADY ISABELLA'S TRAGEDY. 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; 35 40 45 THIS ballad is given from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys collection, collated with another in the British Museum, H. 203. folio. It is there intitled, "The Lady Isabella's Tragedy, or the Step-Mother's Cruelty: being a relation of a lamentable and cruel murther, committed on the body of the lady Isabella, the only daughter of a noble duke, &c. To the tune of, The Lady's Fall." To some copies are annexed eight more modern stanzas, intitled, "The Dutchess's and Cook's Lamentation." 50 5 144 THE LADY ISABELLA'S TRAGEDY. 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 you shall after see. Therefore her cruel step-mothèr Did envye her so much, That daye by daye she sought her life, Her malice it was such. 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 hasted home, Her pleasure to fulfill. She streight into the kitchen went, Her message for to tell; And there she spied the master-cook, Who did with malice swell. 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 THE LADY ISABELLA'S TRAGEDY. 145 "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 I will bee." Now when this lord he did come home For to sit downe and eat ; He called for his daughter deare, To come and carve his meat. "Now sit you downe," his ladye sayd, "O sit you downe to meat: Into some nunnery she is gone; Your daughter deare forget." Then solemnlye he made a vowe, Before the companìe : That he would neither eat nor drinke, Until he did her see. VOL. 111. II 45 3 50 55 60 12 70 75 146 A HUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID. O then bespake the scullion-boye, With a loud voice so hye : "If now you will your daughter see, My lord, cut up that pye : Wherein her fleshe is minced small, And parched with the fire; All caused by her step-mothèr, Who did her death desire. ? And cursed bee the master-cook, O cursed may he bee! I proffered him my own hearts blood, From death to set her free." Then all in blacke this lord did mourne ; And for his daughters sake,. He judged her cruell step-mothèr To be burnt at a stake. Likewise he judg'd the master-cook In boiling lead to stand; And made the simple scullion-boye The heire of all his land. XV. A HUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID. 7 80 BEAUTIES, have yee seen a toy, Called Love, a little boy, 85 2 90 35 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. A HUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID. 147 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. 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. 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 fuel), When his daies are to be crueil; 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: 10 15 20 25 30 H 2 148 THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER. 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'le not abide him Since yee heare this falser's play, And that he is Venus' run-away. XVI. THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER. 10 45 50 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, Ethel- wulph died, and she returned to France: whence she was carried off by Baldwyn, Forester of Flanders; who, after many crosses and difficulties, at length obtained the king's consent to their marriage, and was made Earl of Flanders. This happened about A.D. 863.-See Rapin, Henault, and the French Historians. The following copy is given from the Editor's ancient folio MS. collated with another in black-letter in the Pepys Collec- tion, intitled, "An excellent Ballad of a prince of England's courtship to the king of France's daughter, &c. To the tune of Crimson Velvet." Many breaches having been made in this old song by the THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER. 149 hand of time, principally (as might be expected) 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 soone prepar'd Her jewells and her treasure; Having no regard For state and royall bloode ; In homelye poore array She went from court away, To meet her joye and hearts delight; Who in a forrest great Had taken up his seat, To wayt her coming in the night. But, lo! what sudden danger To this princely stranger 5 16 15 30 25 35 150 THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER. 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 amendes Ile make to thee." Passing thus alone Through the silent forest, Many a grievous grone Sounded in her eares: She heard one complayne And lament the sorest, Seeming all in payne, Shedding deadly teares. Farewell, my deare," quoth hee, "Whom I must never see; For why my life is att an end, Through villaines crueltye : For thy sweet sake I dye, To show I am a faithfull friend. Here I lye a bleeding, While my thoughts are feeding " 40 45 50 55 60 1195 70 75 = THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER. 171 : On the rarest beautye found. O hard happ, that may be ! Little knowes my ladye My heartes blood lyes on the ground." With that a grone he sends Which did burst in sunder All the tender bands Of his gentle heart. She, who knewe his voice, At his wordes did wonder; All her former joyes Did to griefe convert. Strait she ran to see, Who this man shold bee, That soe like her love did seeme: Her lovely lord she found Lye slaine upon the ground, Smear'd with gore a ghastlye streame. Which his lady spying, Shrieking, fainting, crying, Her sorrows could not uttered bee : "Fate," she cryed, "too cruell : For thee-my dearest jewell, Would God! that I had dyed for thee." 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, fair love," quoth shee, "Speake, faire prince, to mee, One sweete word of comfort give: Lift up thy deare eyes, Listen to my cryes, Thinke in what sad griefe I live.” All in vaine she sued, All in vaine she wooed, 85 90 95 160 105 110 115 152 THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER. The prince's life was fled and gone. There stood she still mourning, Till the sun's retourning, And bright day was coming on. In this great distresse Weeping, wayling ever, Oft shee cryed, "alas! What will become of mee? To my fathers court I returne will never : But in lowlye sort I will a servant bee." While thus she made her mone, Weeping all alone, In this deepe and deadlye feare: A for'ster all in greene, Most comelye to be seene, Ranging the woods did find her there. 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 A service in my neede? Paines I will not spare: This kinde favour doe me, It will ease my care; Heaven shall be thy meede." The for'ster all amazed, On her beautye gazed, Till his heart was set on fire. If, faire maid," quoth hee, "You will goe with mee, (6 You shall have your hearts desire." He brought her to his mother, And above all other 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER. 153 He sett forth this maidens praise. Long was his heart inflamed, At length her love he gained, And fortune crown'd his future dayes. Thus unknowne he wedde With a kings faire daughter; Children seven they had, Ere she told her birth. Which when once he knew, Humblye he besought her, He to the world might shew Her rank and princelye worth. He cloath'd his children then, (Not like other men) In partye-colours strange to see; The right side cloth of gold, The left side to behold, Of woollen cloth still framed hee.* Men thereatt did wonder; Golden fame did thunder This strange deede in every place : The king of France came thither, It being pleasant weather, In 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 : "Cloth of Gold, do not despise, Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Frize; Cloth of Frize, be not too bold, Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Gold." See Sir W. Temple's Misc. vol. iii. p. 356. 160 365 179 375 *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 bis wedding, the trappings of his horse were half Cloth of gold, and half Frieze, with the following motto: 780 185 H 3 154 THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER. Their fathers all of gray, Seemelye to the eye. Then this famous king, Noting every thing, Askt how he durst be so bold To let his wife soe weare, And decke his children there In costly robes of pearl and gold. The forrester replying, And the cause descrying,* To the king these words did say, "Well may they, by their mother, Weare rich clothes with other, Being by birth a princesse gay." The king aroused thus, More heedfullye beheld them, Till a crimson blush His remembrance crost. "The more I fix my mind On thy wife and children, The more methinks I find The daughter which I lost." Falling on her knee, "I am that child," quoth shee; "Pardon mee, my soveraine liege." The king perceiving this, His daughter deare did kiss, While joyfull teares did stopp his speeche. With his traine he tourned, And with them sojourned. Strait he dubb'd her husband knight; Then made him erle of Flanders, And chiefe of his commanders : Thus were their sorrowes put to flight. * i. e. describing. See Gloss. 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 XVII. THE SWEET NEGLECT. THIS little madrigal (extracted from Ben. Jonson's "Silent Woman," Act i. Sc. i. first acted in 1609,) is in imitation of a Latin poem printed at the end of the Variorum Edit. of Petro- nius, beginning, "Semper munditias, semper Basilissa, decoras,” &c. See Whalley's Ben. Jonson, vol. ii. p. 420. STILL to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast : Still to be pou'dred, still perfum'd: Lady, it is to be presum❜d, Though art's hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound. Give me a looke, give me a face, That makes simplicitie a grace ; Robes loosely flowing, haire as free : Such sweet neglect more taketh me, Than all th' adulteries of art, That strike mine eyes, but not my heart. XVIII. THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD. ་་ 10 THE subject of this very popular Ballad (which has been set in so favourable a light by the Spectator, No. 85., seems to be taken from an old play, intitled "Two lamentable Tragedies; The one of the murder of Maister Beech, a chandler in Thames- streete, &c. The other of a young child murthered in a wood by two ruffins, with the consent of his unkle. By Rob. Yarring- 156 THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD. : ton," 1601, 4to. Our ballad-maker has strictly followed the play in the description of the father and mother's dying charge: in the uncle's promise to take care of their issue: his hiring two ruffians to destroy his ward, under pretence of sending him to school their chusing a wood to perpetrate the murder in one of the ruffians relenting, and a battle ensuing, &c. In other respects he has departed from the play. In the latter the scene is laid in Padua: there is but one child which is murdered by a sudden stab of the unrelenting ruffian: he is slain himself by his less bloody companion; but ere he dies gives the other a mortal wound: the latter living just long enough to impeach the uncle; who, in consequence of this impeachment, is ar- raigned and executed by the hand of justice, &c. Whoever compares the play with the ballad, will have no doubt but the former is the original: the language is far more obsolete, and such a vein of simplicity runs through the whole performance, that, had the ballad been written first, there is no doubt but every circumstance of it would have been received into the drama: whereas this was probably built on some Italian novel. Printed from two ancient copies, one of them in black-letter in the Pepys Collection. Its title at large is, "The Children in the Wood: or, The Norfolk Gentleman's Last Will and Testa- ment To the tune of Rogero," &c. Now ponder well, you parents deare, These wordes, which I shall write ; A doleful story you shall heare, In time brought forth to light. A gentleman of good account In Norfolke dwelt of late, Who did in honour far surmount Most men of his estate. Sore sicke he was, and like to dye, No helpe his life could save; His wife by him as sicke did lye, And both 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 : V 10 15 THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD. 157 1 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. And to his little daughter Jane Five hundred poundes in gold, To be paid downe on marriage-day Which might not be controlľ'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.” 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 158 THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD. 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, That they should take these children young, And slaye them in a wood. He told his wife an artful tale, He would the children send To be brought up in faire London, With one that was his friend. 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 : 55 60 65 70 75 SO SO THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD. 159 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! 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: (C 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. Thus wandered these poor innocents, Till deathe did end their grief, In one anothers armes they dyed, As wanting due relief: 90 95 100 103 110 115 120 160 THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD. No burial 'this' pretty 'pair' Of any man receives, Till Robin-red-breast piously Did cover them with leaves. And now the heavy wrathe of God Upon their uncle fell ; Yea, fearfull fiends did haunt his house, His conscience felt an hell: His barnes were fir'd, his goodes consum'd, His landes were barren made, His cattle dyed within the field, And nothing with him stayd. And in a voyage to Portugal Two of his sonnes did dye; And to conclude, himselfe was brought To want and miserye : He pawn'd and mortgaged all his land Ere seven yeares came about. And now at length this wicked act Did by this meanes come out : 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. Ver. 125. these .. babes. P P. 125 130 135 140 120 160 155 160 XIX. A LOVER OF LATE. PRINTED, with a few slight corrections, from the Editor's folio MS. A LOVER of late was I, For Cupid would have it soe, The boy that hath never an eye, As every man doth know: I sighed and sobbed, and cryed, alas ! For her that laught, and called me ass. Then knew not I what to doe, When I saw itt was in vaine A lady soe coy to wooe, Who gave me the asse soe plaine : Yet would I her asse freelye bee, Soe shee would helpe, and beare with mee. An' I were as faire as shee, Or shee were as kind as I, What payre cold have made, as wee, Soe prettye a sympathye I was as kind as shee was faire, But for all this wee cold not paire. D • 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. Ver. 13. faine. MS. 5 10 15 25 XX. THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD. " IT has been a favourite subject with our English ballad- makers to represent our kings conversing, either by accident or design, with the meanest of their subjects. Of the former kind, besides this song of "The King and the Miller; " we have "K. Henry and the Soldier ; "K. James I. and the Tinker; "K. William III. and the Forrester," &c. Of the latter sort are "K. Alfred and the Shepherd; ""K. Edward IV. and the Tanner;""K. Henry VIII. and the Cobler," &c. A few of the best of these are admitted into this collection. Both the author of the following ballad, and others who have written on the same plan, seem to have copied a very ancient poem, in- titled "John the Reeve," which is built on an adventure of the same kind, that happened between K. Edward Longshanks, and one of his Reeves or Bailiffs. This is a piece of great antiquity, being written before the time of Edward IV. and for its genuine humour, diverting incidents, and faithful picture of rustic manners, is infinitely superior to all that have been since written in imitation of it. The Editor has a copy in his ancient folio MS. but its length rendered it improper for this volume, it consisting of more than 900 lines. It contains also some cor- ruptions, and the Editor chuses to defer its publication in hopes that some time or other he shall be able to remove them. " The following is printed, with corrections, from the Editor's folio MS. collated with an old black-letter copy in the Pepys collection, intitled "A pleasant ballad of K. Henry II. and the Miller of Mansfield," &c. PART THE FIRST. HENRY, our royall king, would ride a hunting To the greene forest so pleasant and faire ; To see the harts skipping, and dainty does tripping: Unto merry Sherwood his nobles repaire : Hawke and hound were unbound, all things prepar❜d 5 For the game, in the same, with good regard. THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD. 163 All a long summers day rode the king pleasantlye, With all his princes and nobles eche one; Chasing the hart and hind, and the bucke gallantlye, Till the dark evening forc'd all to turne home. Then at last, riding fast, he had lost quite All his lords in the wood, late in the night. 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. 6C I guess thee to bee but some gentleman thiefe ; Stand thee backe, in the darke; light not adowne, Lest that I presentlye cracke thy knaves crowne.' 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 meane not to flatter thee; All thy inheritance hanges on thy backe." *" I have gold to discharge all that I call ; If it be forty pence, I will pay all." 10 " 15 "Thou dost abuse me much," quoth the king, "saying thus ; sprite. Better I'll know thee, ere hands we will shake With none but honest men hands will I take.' *The king says this. am a gentleman; lodging I lacke." "Thou hast not," quoth th' miller, "one groat in thy purse; "" "If thou beest a true man," then quoth the miller, I sweare by my toll-dish, I'll lodge thee all night." "Here's my hand," quoth the king, "that was I ever." Nay, soft," quoth the miller, "thou may'st be a 30 35 164 THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD. Thus they went all along unto the millers house; Where they were seething of puddings and souse: The miller first enter'd in, after him went the king; Never came hee in soe smoakye a house. "Now," quoth hee, "let me see here what you are.' Quoth our king, "looke your fill, and doe not spare.'' 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." "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? Shew me thy passport, and all shal be well." • 40 And, though I say it, well lodged shall be: Fresh straw will I have, laid on thy bed so brave, 46 Then to the miller his wife whisper'd secretlye, Saying, "It seemeth, the 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 50 "Well," quo' the millers wife, "young man, ye're welcome here ; "Art thou not lowsy, nor scabby?'' quoth he : If thou beest, surely thou lyest not with mee.” 55 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." 66 "Nay, first," quoth Richard, "good-fellowe, tell me Hast thou noe creepers within thy gay hose? [true, Or art thou not troubled with the scabbado ?" "I pray," quoth the king, "what creatures are those?'' 70 THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD. 165 This caus'd the king, suddenlye, to laugh most heartilye, Till the teares trickled fast downe from his eyes. Then to their supper were they set orderlye, With hot bag-puddings, and good apple-pyes; Nappy ale, good and stale, in a browne bowle, Which did about the board merrilye trowie. i Here," quoth the miller, "good fellowe, I drinke to thee, 30 And to all' cuckholds, wherever they bee.'" "I pledge thee," quoth our king, "and thanke thee heartilye For my good welcome in everye degree : And here, in like manner, I drinke to thy sorne." "Do then," quoth Richard, "and quicke let it come.” "Wife," quoth the miller, "fetch me forth lightfoote, 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.” 75 "We never pay pennye for itt, by my fay: From merry Sherwood we fetch it home here; Now and then we make bold with our kings deer." 36 90 "I wis," quoth Richard, "no daintye at all it is, For we doe eate of it everye day." "In what place," sayd our king, "may be bought like to this ?" 95 "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." "Doubt not," then sayd the king, "my promist secresye; The king shall never know more on't for mee." Ver. 80. courtnalls, that courteous be MS. and P. 100 166 THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD. 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. 110 At last, at the millers 'cott,' soone they espy'd him out, As he was mounting upon his faire steede; To whom they came presently, falling down on their knee; Which made the millers heart wofully bleede; Shaking and quaking, before him he stood, Thinking he should have been hang'd, by the rood. 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. 105 λu 11f 120 PART THE SECONDE. WHEN as our royall king came home from Nottingham, And with his nobles at Westminster lay ; Recounting the sports and pastimes they had taken, In his late progress along on the way; Of them all, great and small, he did protest, The miller of Mansfield's sport liked him best. 5 "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: 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 business, 15 The which had often-times been in those parts. 10 THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD. 167 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; And to your sonne Richard good fortune and happiness; That sweet, gentle, and gallant young squire. Our king greets you well, and thus he doth say, You must come to the court on St. George's day; Therfore, in any case, faile not to be in place." "I wis," quoth the miller, "this is an odd jest: What should we doe there? faith, I am halfe afraid." "I doubt," quoth Richard, "to be hang'd at the least." "Nay," quoth the messenger, "you doe mistake; Our king he provides a great feast for your sake.” 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." 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. 20 25 30 34 40 When he was gone away, thus gan the miller say, "Here come expences and charges indeed; Now must we needs be brave, tho' we spend all we have; For of new garments we have great need : Of horses and serving-men we must have store, With bridles and saddles, and twentye things more." 46 "Tushe, sir John," quoth his wife, "why should you frett, or frowne? You shall ne'er be att no charges for mee; For I will turne and trim up my old russet gowne, With everye thing else as fine as may bee; 50 168 THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD. 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, 55 Their jolly sonne Richard rode foremost of all; Who set up, for good hap, a cocks feather in his cap, And so they jetted downe to the kings hall; The merry old miller with hands on his side; His wife, like maid Marian, did mince at that tide. 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?" 60 knight, Speake cleanly to our king, or else go sh***.” Quoth our king gentlye, "How should I forget thee? That wast my owne bed-fellowe, well it I wot." Yea, sir," quoth Richard, "and by the same token, Thou with thy farting didst make the bed hot." "Thou whore-son unhappy knave," then quoth the 70 65 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: 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 Ver. 57. "for good hap": i. e. " for good luck "; they were go- ing on an hazardous expedition, Ver. 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 female character. THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD. 169 "Here's to you both, in wine, ale and beer; Thanking you heartilye for my good cheer." " Quoth sir John Cockle, "I'll pledge you a pottle, Were it the best ale in Nottinghamshire:" But then said our king, "Now I think of a thing; Some of your lightfoote I would we had here." "Ho! ho!" quoth Richard, "full well I may say it, 'Tis knavery to eate it, and then to betray it." 90 By contin "Why art thou angry?" quoth our king merrilye; "In faith, I take it now very unkind : I thought thou wouldst pledge me in ale and wine heartily." Quoth Dicke, "You are like to stay till I have din'd: You feed us with twatling dishes soe small; Zounds, a blacke-pudding is better than all." 95 "Aye, marry," quoth our king, "that were a daintye thing, Could a man get but one here for to eate." With that Dicke straite arose, and pluckt one from his hose, 85 Which with heat of his breech gan to sweate. The king made a proffer to snatch it away :— "'Tis meat for your master: good sir, you must stay." Thus in great merriment was the time wholly spent ; And then the ladyes prepared to dance. Old Sir John Cockle, and Richard, incontinent Unto their places the king did advance. Here with the ladyes such sport they did make, The nobles with laughing did make their sides ake. I 100 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." VOL. III. 105 Many thankes for their paines did the king give them, Asking young Richard then, if he would wed; Among these ladyes free, tell me which liketh thee? 11C 170 THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION. Then sir John Cockle the king call'd unto him, And of merry Sherwood made him o'er seer; And gave him out of hand three hundred pound yearlye: Take heed now you steale no more of my deer: And once a quarter let's here have your view; And now, sir John Cockle, I bid you adieu." XXI. THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION, 115 120 THIS beautiful old song was written by a poet, whose name would have been utterly forgotten, if it had not been preserved by Swift, as a term of contempt. "Dryden and Wither" are coupled by him like the "Bavius and Mævius" of Virgil, Dryden however has had justice done him by posterity: and as for Wither, though of subordinate merit, that he was not altogether devoid of genius, will be judged from the following stanzas. The truth is, Wither was a very voluminous party- writer and as his political and satirical strokes rendered him extremely popular in his life-time; so afterwards, when these were no longer relished, they totally consigned his writings to oblivion. George Wither was born June 11, 1588, and in his younger years distinguished himself by some pastoral pieces, that were not inelegant; but growing afterwards involved in the political and religious disputes in the times of James I. and Charles I. he employed his poetical vein in severe pasquils on the court and clergy, and was occasionally a sufferer for the freedom of his pen. In the civil war that ensued, he exerted himself in the service of the Parliament, and became a considerable sharer in the spoils. He was even one of those provincial tyrants, whom Oliver distributed over the kingdom, under the name of Major Generals; and had the fleecing of the county of Surrey but surviving the Restoration, he outlived both his power and his affluence; 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 2nd of May, 1667. During the whole course of his life, Wither was a continual publisher; having generally for opponent, Taylor the Water- THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION. 171 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 pas- toral piece of his, intitled, "The Mistresse of Philarete," 1622, 8vo. which is said in the preface to be one of the Author's first poems; and may therefore be dated as early as any of the foregoing, SHALL I, wasting in dispaire, Dye because a woman's faire ? Or make pale my cheeks with care, 'Cause another's rosie are? Be shee fairer than 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? 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, 5 10 15 20 25 I 2 172 QUEEN DIDO. Thinke what with them they would doe, That without them dare to woe; And, unlesse that minde I see, What care I how great she be ? Great or good, or kind or faire, I will 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? XXII QUEEN DIDO. WHEN Troy towne had, for ten yeeres' past,' Withstood the Greekes in manfull wise, Then did their foes encrease soe fast, 30 That to resist none could suffice : Wast lye those walls, that were soe good, And corne now growes where Troy towne stoode. Ver. 1. 21. war. MS. and P P. 5 SUCH is the title given in the Editor's folio MS. to this excel- lent old ballad, which, in the common printed copies, is inscribed, "Eneas, Wandering Prince of Troy." It is here given from that MS. collated with two different printed copies, both in black- letter, in the Pepys collection. The reader will smile to observe with what natural and affect- ing 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. 40 5 QUEEN DIDO. 173 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. And, as in hall at meate they sate, The queene, desirous newes to heare, "Says, "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." 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 sighes 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. .0 15 20 93 30 35 40 174 QUEEN DIDO. 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. 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 shee 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 hart 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. 45 50 55 60 65 70 12 QUEEN DIDO. 175 Then was Æneas in an ile In Grecya, where he stayd long space, Wheras 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: Thus by thy meanes I lost a friend ; Heavens send thee such untimely end." When he these lines, full fraught with gall, Perused had, and wayed them right, His lofty courage then did fall; And straight appeared in his sight Queene Dido's ghost, both grim and pale ; Which made this valliant souldier quaile. "Eneas," 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. >> 3 90 £5 90 08 100 105 .10 176 THE WITCHES' SONG. "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 deerest 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." 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. XXIII. THE WITCHES' SONG 115 120 125 180 135 Masque of Queens" presented at -From Ben Jonson's > 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." 50 155 3 65 70 75 SU 236 VALENTINE AND URSINE, Well mounted on a milk-white steed, His armour white as snow; As well beseem'd a virgin knight, Who ne'er had fought a foe : To Artoys forest he repairs With all the haste he may; And soon he spies the savage youth A rending of his prey. His unkempt hair all matted hung His shaggy shoulders round : His eager eye all fiery glow'd: His face with fury frown'd. Like eagles' talons grew his nails : His limbs were thick and strong; And dreadful was the knotted oak He bare with him along. Soon as sir Valentine approach'd, He starts with sudden spring ; And yelling forth a hideous howl, He made the forests ring. As when a tyger fierce and fell Hath spyed a passing roe, And leaps at once upon his throat; So sprung the 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. Si SH 15 100 105 110 115 10) VALENTINE AND URSINE. 237 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. To court his hairy captive soon Sir Valentine doth bring; And kneeling downe upon his knee, Presents him to the king. 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 238 VALENTINE AND URSINE. 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. V. 23. i. c. a lake that served for a moat to a castle. 160 01 10 15 .0 VALENTINE AND URSINE. 239 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 ; (C Or else the wolves shall eat your flesh, And ravens drink your gore." "Vain boaster," said the youthful knight, "I scorn thy threats and thee : I trust to force thy brazen gates, And set thy captives free." Then putting spurs unto his steed, He aim'd a dreadful thrust : The spear against the 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. 25 30 35 40 45 3 50 =5 ہیں 3 Co 240 VALENTINE AND URSINE. 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 fall 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. 65 70 75 40 85 20 95 VALENTINE AND URSINE. 241 "Alas! young knight," she weeping said, "Condole my wretched fate : A childless mother here you see; A wife without a mate. These twenty winters here forlorn I've drawn my hated breath; Sole witness of a monster's crimes, And wishing aye for death. Know, I am sister of a king; And in my early years Was married to a mighty prince, The fairest of his peers. With him I sweetly liv'd in love A twelvemonth and a day : When, lo! a foul and treacherous priest Y-wrought our loves' decay. His seeming goodness 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 piteous 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. VOL. III. M 10% 10: 11 115 120 124 130 242 VALENTINE AND URSINE. 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: And while the knight for succour sought, And left me there forlorn, My childbed pains so fast increast Two lovely boys were born. The eldest fair, and smooth, as snow That tips the mountain hoar : The younger's little body rough With hairs was cover'd o'er. But here afresh begin my woes: While tender care I took To shield my eldest from the cold, And wrap him in my cloak; A prowling bear burst from the wood, And seiz'd my younger son: Affection lent my weakness wings, And after them I run. But all forewearied, weak and spent, I quickly swoon'd away; And there beneath the greenwood shade Long time I lifeless lay. At length the knight brought me relief, And rais'd me from the ground : But neither of my pretty babes Could ever more be found. 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 VALENTINE AND URSINE. 243 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. 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, And dying own'd his crime; And long your lord hath sought you out Thro' every foreign clime. And when no tidings he could learn Of his much-wronged wife, He vow'd thenceforth within his court To lead a hermit's life.' "Now heaven is kind !" the lady said; And dropt a joyful tear : "Shall I once more behold my lord? That lord I love so dear ?” "But, madam," said sir Valentine, And knelt upon his knee; "Know you the cloak that wrapt your babs, 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. M 2 170 175 130 185 190 195 200 Jo 244 VALENTINE AND URSINE. 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: The bear devour'd my younger son, Or sure that son were he.' "7 "Madam, this youth with bears was bred, And rear'd within their den. But recollect ye any mark To know your son agen?" (6 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 brother's court Her joyful course she steers. What pen can paint king Pepin's joy, His sister thus restor❜d ! And soon a messenger was sent To chear her drooping lord: 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. 205 210 215 MO 225 230 235 XIII. THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY. THIS humorous song (as a former Editor has well observed) is to old metrical romances and ballads of chivalry, what Don Quixote is to prose narratives of that kind :-a lively satire on their extravagant fictions. But altho' the satire is thus general, the subject of this ballad 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, altho' we have been fortunate enough to learn the general subject to which the satire referred, and shall detail the information, with which we have been favoured, in a separate memoir at the end of the poem. In handling his subject, the author has brought in most of the common incidents which occur in Romance. The description of the dragon †-his outrages-the people flying to the knight for succour-his care in chusing his armour-his being drest for fight by a young damsel-and most of the circumstances of the battle and victory (allowing for the burlesque turn given to them) are what occur in every book of chivalry, whether in prose or verse. If any one piece, more than other, is more particularly levelled at, it seems to be the old rhiming legend of sir Bevis. There a Dragon is attacked from a Well in a manner not very remote from this of the ballad: "There was a well, so have I wynne, And Bevis stumbled ryght therein. 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 : *Collection of Historical Ballads in 3 vol. 1727. † See above pag. 106 & p. 190. 246 THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY. The dragon then faynted sore, And cast a galon and more Out of his mouthe of venim strong, And on syr Bevis he it flong: It was venymous y-wis.' " This seems to be meant by the Dragon of Wantley's stink, ver. 110. As the politic knight's creeping out, and attacking the 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 thro' the medium of Spenser, who has assumed most of them in his Faery Queen. At least some particulars in the description of the Dragon, &c. seem evidently borrowed from the latter. See Book i. Canto ii. where the Dragon's "two wynges like sayls-huge long tayl—with stings— his cruel rending clawes-and yron teeth-his breath of smother- ing smoke and sulphur"-and the duration of the fight for upwards of two days, bear a great resemblance to passages in the following ballad; though it must be confessed that these particulars are common to all old writers of Romance. Altho' this ballad must have been written early in the last century, we have met with none but such as were compara- tively modern copies. It is here printed from one in Rowan 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 discern-a : THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY. 247 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 it. spy Ver. 29. wero to him gorse and birches. Other copies. 5 10 13 20 Devour up by degrees: For houses and churches were to him geese and turkies; He ate all, and left none behind, But some stones, dear Jack, that he could not crack, Which on the hills you will find. 25 30 35 40 248 THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY. 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. These children, as I told, being eat; Men, women, girls and boys, Hard by a furious knight there dwelt, Of whom all towns did ring; 50 For he could wrestle, play at quarter-staff, kick, cuff and huff, Call son of a whore, do any kind of thing : By the tail and the main, with his hands twain. He swung a horse till he was dead; And that which is stranger, he for very anger Eat him all up but his head. 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; แ 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." 1937 193 1 This being done he did engage To hew the dragon down; But first he went, new armour to Bespeak at Sheffield town; 45 "O save us all, More of More-Hall, Thou peerless knight of these woods; Do but slay this dragon, who won't leave us a rag on, We'll give thee all our goods.” *** 55 60 65 70 76 THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY. 249 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 Creep down into a well; Where he did think, this dragon would drink, And so he did in truth 80 55 90 12 101 And as he stoop'd low, he rose up and cry'd, “boh !” And hit him in the mouth. 105 "Oh," quoth the dragon, "pox take thee, come out, Thou disturb'st me in my drink :" And then he turn'd, and s... at him; Good lack how he did stink! "Beshrew thy soul, thy body's foul, Thy dung smells not like balsam ; Thou son of a whore, thou stink'st so sore, Sure thy diet is unwholsome." 110 M 3 250 THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY. Our politick knight, on the other side, Crept out upon the brink, And gave the dragon such a douse, He knew not what to think : "By cock," quoth he, "say you so do you see?” And then at him he let fly With hand and with foot, and so they went to't; And the word it was, "Hey boys, hey! "} "Your words," quoth the dragon, "I don't under- stand: Then to it they fell at all, Like two wild boars so fierce, if I may, Compare great things with small. 64 Two days and a night, with this dragon did fight Our champion on the ground; Tho' their strength it was great, their skill it was neat, They never had one wound. To lift him as high as a rock, And thence let him fall. Like a valiant son of Mars, As he came like a lout, so he turn'd him about, And hit him a kick on the a... (4 At length the hard earth began to quake, The dragon gave him a knock, Which made him to reel, and straitway he thought, But More of More-Hall, Oh," quoth the dragon, with a deep sigh, And turn'd six times together, 116 Sobbing and tearing, cursing and swearing Out of his throat of leather; More of More-Hall! O thou rascàl! 120 Murder, murder," the dragon cry'd, Alack, alack, for grief; (6 Had you but mist that place, you could Have done me no mischief." 125 130 135 Would I had seen thee never ; With the thing at thy foot, thou hast prick'd my a…. gut, And I'm quite undone for ever. 140 1445 THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY. 251 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. 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, six miles from Rotherham, is a village, called Wortley, the seat of the late Wortley Montague, Esq. About a mile from this village is a lodge, named Warncliff Lodge, but vul- garly called Wantley: here lies the scene of the song. I was there above forty years ago: and it being a woody rocky place, my friend made me clamber over rocks and stones, not telling me to what end, till I came to a sort of a cave; then asked my opinion of the place, and pointing to one end, says, 'Here lay the Dragon killed by Moor of Moor-Hall: here lay his head; here lay his tail; and the stones we came over on the hill, are those he could not crack ; and yon white house you see half a mile off, is Moor-Hall.' I had dined at the lodge, and knew the man's name was Matthew, who was a keeper to Mr. Wortley, and, as he endeavoured to persuade me, was the same Matthew mentioned in the song: In the house is the picture of the Dragon and Moor of Moor-Hall, and near it a well, which,' says he, is the well described in the ballad." " • < fit Since the former Editions of this humorous old song were printed, the following Key to the Satire hath been communicated by Godfrey Rosville, Esq. of Thorp, near Malton, in Yorkshire; who, in the most obliging manner, gave full permission to subjoin it to the Poem. Warncliffe Lodge, and Warncliffe Wood (vulgarly pronounced Wantley), are in the parish of Penniston, in Yorkshire. The rectory of Penniston was part of the dissolved monastery of St. Stephen's, Westminster; and was granted to the Duke of Nor folk's family: who therewith endowed an hospital, which he built at Sheffield, for women, The trustees let the impropriation of the great Tythes 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 tythes 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 Bosville, Esq. from Qu. Elizabeth, in the 24 year of her reign: and that part he sold in 12th Eliz. to his elder brother Godfrey, the father of Francis; who left it, with the rest of his estate, to his wife, for her life, and then to Ralph, 3d son of his uncle Ralph. The widow married Lyonel Rowle- stone, lived eighteen years, and survived Ralph. This premised, the ballad apparently relates to the lawsuit carried on concerning this claim of Tythes made by the Wortley family. Houses and Churches, were to him Geese and Tur- keys : which are tytheable things, the Dragon chose to live on. (4 ** 252 ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. Co out." Sir Francis Wortley, the son of Nicholas, attempted again to take the Tythes in kind: but the parishioners subscribed an agreement to defend their Modus. And at the head of the agreement was Lyonel Rowlestone, who is supposed to be one of the Stones, dear Jack, which the Dragon could not crack." The agreement is still preserved in a large sheet of parchment, dated 1st of James I, and is full of names and seals, which might be meant by the coat of armour, "with spikes all about, both within and with- 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 [Warncliffe] Wood, and lies so low, that it might be said to be in a well as the Dragon's den [Warncliffe Lodge] was at the top of the wood, "with Matthew's house hard by it." The keepers belonging to the Wortley family were named, for many generations, Matthew Northall the last of them left this lodge, within memory, to be keeper to the Duke of Norfolk. The present owner of More-Hall still attends Mr. Bosville's Manor-Court at Oxspring, and pays a Rose a year. "More of More-Hall, with nothing at all, slew the Dragon of Wantley." He gave him, instead of Tythes, so small a Modus, that it was in effect nothing at all, and was slaying him with a vengeance. "The poor children three," &c. cannot surely mean the three sisters of Francis Bosville, who would have been Coheiresses, had he made no will? The late Mr. Bosville had a contest with the descendants of two of them, the late Sir Geo. Saville's father, and Mr. Copley, about the presentation to Penniston, they supposing Francis had not the power to give this part of the estate from the heirs at law; but it was decided against them. The Dragon (Sir Francis Wortley) succeeded better with his cousin Wordesworth, the freehold Lord of the manor (for it is the copyhold manor that belongs to Mr. Bosville) having persuaded him not to join the refractory parishioners, under a promise that he would let him his Tythes cheap: and now the estates of Wortley and Wordesworth are the only lands that pay Tythes in the parish. N. B. The "two days and a night," mentioned in ver. 125, as the duration of the combat, was probably that of the trial at law. XIV. ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. THE FIRST PART. As the former song is in ridicule of the extravagant incidents in old ballads and metrical romances; so this is a burlesque of their style; particularly of the rambling transitions and wild accumulation of unconnected parts, so frequent in many of them. ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 258 This ballad is given from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys collection, "imprinted at London, 1612." It is more ancient than many of the preceding; but we place it here for the sake of connecting it with the Second Part. WHY doe you boast of Arthur and his knightes, Knowing well' how many men have endured fightes? For besides king Arthur, and Lancelot du lake, Or sir Tristram de Lionel, that fought for ladies sake; Read in old histories, and there you shall see How St. George, St. George the dragon made to flee. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. Mark our father Abraham, when first he resckued Lot Onely with his household, what conquest there he got: David was elected a prophet and a king, He slew the great Goliah, with a stone within a sling: Yet these were not knightes of the table round ; Nor St. George, St. George, who the dragon did confound. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. Jephthah and Gideon did lead their men to fight, They conquered the Amorites, and put them all to flight: Hercules his labours 'were' on the plaines of Basse; And Sampson slew a thousand with the jawbone of an asse, And eke he threw a temple downe, and did a mighty spoyle : But St. George, St. George he did the dragon foyle. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. The warres of ancient monarchs it were too long to tell, And likewise of the Romans, how farre they did excell; 254 ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. Hannyball and Scipio in many a fielde did fighte: Orlando Furioso he was a worthy knighte: Remus and Romulus, were they that Rome did builde : But St. George, St. George the dragon made to yielde. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. The noble Alphonso, that was the Spanish king, The order of the red scarffes and bandrolles in did bring :* He had a troope of mighty knightes, when first he did begin, Which sought adventures farre and neare, that con- quest they might win : The ranks of the Pagans he often put to flight: But St. George, St. George did with the dragon fight. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. Many 'knights' have fought with proud Tamberlaine. Cutlax the Dane, great warres he did maintaine : Rowland of Beame, and good'sir' Olivere In the forest of Acon slew both woolfe and beare : Besides that noble Hollander, 'sir' Goward with the bill : But St. George, St. George the dragon's blood did spill. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. Valentine and Orson were of king Pepin's blood : Alfride and Henry they were brave knightes and good: This probably alludes to "An Ancient Order of Knighthood, called the Order of the Band, instituted by Don Alphonsus, king of Spain,.. to wear a red riband of three fingers breadth. &c. See Ames Typog. p. 327 >> ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 255 The four sons of Aymon, that follow'd Charlemaine : Sir Hughon of Burdeaux, and Godfrey of Bullaine : These were all French knightes that lived in that age: But St. George, St. George the dragon did assuage. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. Bevis conquered Ascapart, and after slew the boare, And then he crost beyond the seas to combat with the Moore: Sir Isenbras and Eglamore, they were knightes most bold; And good Sir John Mandeville of travel much hath told : There were many English knights that Pagans did convert : But St. George, St. George pluckt out the dragon's heart. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. The noble earl of Warwick, that was call'd sir Guy, The infidels and pagans stoutlie did defie He slew the giant Brandimore, and after was the death Of that most ghastly dun cowe, the divell of Duns- more heath; Besides his noble deeds all done beyond the seas: But St. George, St. George the dragon did appease. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. Richard Coeur-de-lion erst king of this land, He the lion gored with his naked hand :* The false duke of Austria nothing did he feare ; But his son he killed with a boxe on the eare: * Alluding to the fabulous Exploits attributed to this King in the old Romances. See the Dissertation prefixed to this Volume. 256 ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. Besides his famous actes done in the holy lande: But St. George, St. George the dragon did withstande. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. Henry the fifth he conquered all France, And quartered their arms, his honour to advance : He their cities razed, and threw their castles downe, And his head he honoured with a double crowne: He thumped the French-men, and after home he came : But St. George, St. George he did the dragon tame. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. St. David of Wales the Welsh-men much advance : St. Jaques of Spaine, that never yet broke lance : St. Patricke of Ireland, which was St. Georges boy, Seven yeares he kept his horse, and then stole him away: For which knavish act, as slaves they doe remaine : But St. George, St. George the dragon he hath slaine. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. XV. ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND, THE SECOND PART, was written by John Grubb, M.A. of Christ Church, Oxford. The occasion of its being composed is said to have been as follows. A set of gentlemen of the university had formed themselves into a Club, all the members of which were ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 257 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 dis- qualification 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 following humorous performance, the several stanzas of which were the produce of many successive anniversaries.* This diverting poem was long handed about in manuscript; at length a friend of Grubb's undertook to get it printed, who, not keeping pace with the impatience of his friends, was ad- dressed in the following whimsical macaronic lines, which, in such a collection as this, may not improperly accompany the poem itself. "Expostulatiuncula, sive Querimoniuncula ad Antonium [Atherton] ob Poema Johannis Grubb, Viri To av ingenio- sissimi in lucem nondum editi. του TONI! Tune sines divina poemata Grubbi Intomb'd in secret thus still to remain any longer, Του νομία στο shall last, Ω Γρυξε διαμπερές α Grubbe tuum nomen vivet dum nobilis ale-a Efficit heroas, dignamque heroe puellam. Est genus heroum, quos nobilis efficit alea-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 discrimina rerum) Mundungus desit, tum non funcare recusant Brown-paper tostâ, vel quod fit arundine bed-mat. Hic labor, hoc opus est heroum ascendere 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: * 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 Alexandrines, but the nar- rowness of the page made it necessary to subdivide them: they are here printed with many improvements. 258 ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. "THE BRITISH HEROES A New Poem in honour of St. George By Mr. Jонn Grubb School-master of Christ-Church OXON. 1688. Favete linguis Audita, musarum sacerdos Canto.. carmina non prius HOR. Sold by Henry Clements. Oxon." THE story of king Arthur old Is very memorable, The number of his valiant knights, And roundness of his table : The knights around his table in A circle sate d'ye see: And altogether made up one Large hoop of chivalry. He had a sword, both broad and sharp, 5 Y-cleped Caliburn, Would cut a flint more easily, Than pen-knife cuts a corn; As case-knife does a capon carve, So would it carve a rock, And split a man at single slash, From noddle down to nock. As Roman Augur's steel of yore Dissected Tarquin's riddle, So this would cut both conjurer And whetstone thro' the middle. He was the cream of Brecknock, And flower of all the Welsh : But George he did the dragon fell, And gave him a plaguy squelsh. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. Pendragon, like his father Jove, Was fed with milk of goat; 10 16 20 26 ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 259 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 Welch 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 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 i̇' th' middle; The cheeks of puffed trumpeter, And paunch of squire Beadle.* But the knight fell'd him, like an oak, And did upon his back tread; 333333 30 35 40 Sulphureous exhalation. The Briton never tergivers'd, But was for adverse drubbing, And never turn'd his back to aught, But to a post for scrubbing. His sword would serve for battle, or For dinner, if you please; When it had slain a Cheshire man, "Twould toast a Cheshire cheese. He wounded, and, in their own blood, Did anabaptize Pagans : But George he made the dragon an Example to all dragons. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 45 50 56 60 65 * Men of bulk answerable to their places, as is well known at Oxford. 260 ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. The valiant knight his weazon cut, And Atropos his packthread. Besides he fought with a dun cow, As say the poets witty, A dreadful dun, and horned too, Like dun of Oxford city: The fervent dog-days made her mad, By causing heat of weather, Syrius and Procyon baited her, As bull-dogs did her father : Grasiers, nor butchers this fell beast, E'er of her frolick hindred ; John 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'st cow-heels keep up your corpse, But hers would beat you down. She vanquisht many a sturdy wight, And proud was of the honour; Was pufft by mauling butchers so, As if themselves had blown her. At once she kickt, and pusht at Guy, But all that would not fright him; Who wav'd his 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. 70 75 • رکت 85 90 95 100 St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. * 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. 201 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 : Much turbants, and much Pagan pates He made to humble in dust; And heads of Saracens he fixt On spear, as on a sign-post: He coop'd in cage Bajazet the prop Of Mahomet's religion, As if 't had been the whispering bird, That prompted him; the pigeon. In Turkey-leather scabbard, he Did sheath his blade so trenchant : But George he swing'd the dragon's tail, And cut off every inch on 't. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. The amazon Thalestris was Both beautiful, and bold; She 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, aud her drum to foes Did cause amazement double ; As timorous larks amazed are With light, and with a low-bell : 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 262 ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 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. 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; 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; * The drum. Who kept Paradise gardens at Oxford. 145 150 155 160 165 170 175 ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 263 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, France ; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. The Gemini, sprung from an egg, Were put into a cradle : Their brains with knocks and bottled ale, Were often-times full addle: As wrestlers give in Cornwall: But George he did the dragon kill, As dead as any door-nail. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for 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 : * A noted drawer at the Mermaid tavern in Oxford. 180 135 190 196 200 205 210 264 ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 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. 215 Gorgon a twisted adder wore For knot upon her shoulder; 220 This shelly brood on none but knaves Employ'd their brisk artillery : And flew as naturally at rogues, As eggs at thief in pillory .t 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. 240 St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 225 230 235 * Lord Lovelace broke down the bridges about Oxford, at the See on this subject a Ballad in beginning of the Revolution. 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. 265 She kemb'd her hissing periwig, And curling snakes did powder. These snakes they made stiff changelings Of all the folks they hist on; They turned barbers into hones, And masons into free-stone : Sworded magnetic Amazon Her shield to load-stone changes ; Then amorous sword by magic belt Clung fast unto her haunches. This shield long village did protect, And kept the army from-town, And chang'd the bullies into rocks, That came t' invade Long-Compton. * She post-diluvian stores unmans, And Pyrrha's work unravels; And stares Deucalion's hardy boys Into their primitive pebbles. Red noses slie 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. 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; 745 N 250 But George made dragon laxative; And gave him a bloody flix. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 255 260 205 270 $75 230 See the account of Rolricht Stones, in Dr. Plott's "History of Oxfordshire." VOL. III, 266 ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 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 spear, To make of him a tame one, And arrows thick, instead of cloves, He stuck in monster's gammon. For monumental pillar, that His victory might be known, He rais'd up, in cylindric form, A collar of the brawn. Achilles of old Chiron learnt The great horse for to ride; H' was taught by th' Centaur's rational part, The hinnible to bestride. 200 Bright silver feet, and shining face Had that stout hero's mother; As rapier's silver'd at one end, And wounds you at the other. Her feet were bright, his feet were swift, As hawk pursuing sparrow: Her's had the metal, his the speed Of Braburn's silver arrow. Thetis to double pedagogue Commits her dearest boy; Who bred him from a slender twig To be the scourge of Troy : * 210 He sent his shade to shades below, In Stygian mud to wallow: And eke the stout St. George eftsoon, He made the dragon follow. 300 St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 215 305 310 315 * Braburn, a gentleman commoner of Lincoln college, gave a silver arrow to be shot for by the archers of the university of Oxford. ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 267 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, 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 hindring mount: Who, baffled by the massy rock, Took vinegar for relief ; Like plowmen, when they hew their way Thro' stubborn rump of beef. * Hannibal had but one eye. 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. 340 St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. N 2 320 325 330 335 345 350 268 ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 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. France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. The tawny surface of his phiz Did serve instead of vizzard : But George he made the dragon have A grumbling in his gizzard. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for The valour of Domitian, It must not be forgotten; Who from the jaws of worm-blowing flies, Protected veal and mutton. 255 A squadron of flies errant, Against the foe appears; With regiments of buzzing knights, And swarms of volunteers: The warlike wasp encourag'd 'em, With animating hum ; And the loud brazen hornet next, He was their kettle-drum : The Spanish don Cantharido Did him most sorely pester, And rais'd on skin of vent'rous knight Full many a plaguy blister. A bee whipt thro' his button hole, As thro' key hole a witch, And stabb'd him with her little tuck Drawn out of scabbard breech : But the undaunted knight lifts up An arm both big and brawny, 360 365 370 375 330 7 300 A one-eyed fellow, who pretended to make fiddles as well as play on them; well-known at that time in Oxford. ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 269 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. 400 St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. John Grubb, the facetious writer of the foregoing song, makes a distinguished figure among the Oxford wits so humourously enumerated in the following distich: H. S. E. JOHANNES GRUBB, A.M. Natus apud Acton Burnel in agro Salopiensi Anno Dom, 1645. 395 "Alma novem genuit celebres Rhedycina poetas Bub, Stubb, Grubb, Crabb, Trap, Young, Carey, Tickel, Evans." These were Bub Dodington (the late lord Melcombe), Dr. Stubbes, our poet Grubb, Mr. Crabb, Dr. Trapp, the poetry-professor, Dr. Edw. Young, the author of "Night-Thoughts," Walter Carey, Tho- mas Tickel, Esq., and Dr. Evans, the epigrammatist. As for our poet Grubb, all that we can learn further of him, is contained in a few extracts from the University Register, and from his epitaph. It appears from the former that he was matriculated in 1667, being the son of John Grubb, "de Acton Burnel in comi- tatu 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: Cujus variam in linguis notitiam, et felicem erudiendis pueris industriam, gratà adhuc memoriâ testatur Oxonium : Ibi enim Edi Christi initiatus, artes excoluit; * The name of St. George's sword. 270 MARGARET'S GHOST. 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 ingenij suavitatem, simplicem morum candorem, et præcipuam erga cognatos benevolentiam, omnibus desideratissimus. Obiit 2do die Aprilis, Anno Dni. 1697. Etatis suæ 51. XVI. MARGARET'S GHOST. THIS Ballad, which appeared in some of the public news- papers 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 119, which he supposed to be the begin- ning of some ballad now lost. "These lines," says he, "naked of ornament and simple, as they are, struck my fancy; and bringing fresh into my mind an unhappy adventure much talked of formerly, gave birth to the following poem, which was written many years ago." The two introductory lines (and one or two others elsewhere) had originally more of the ballad simplicity, viz. "When all was wrapt in dark midnight, And all were fast asleep," &c. 'TWAS at the silent solemn hour, When night and morning meet; In glided Margaret's grimly ghost, And stood at William's feet. Her face was like an April morn, Clad in a wintry cloud : .. MARGARET'S GHOST. 271 And clay-cold was her lily hand, That held her sable shrowd. So shall the fairest face appear, When youth and years are flown: Such is the robe that kings must wear, When death has reft their crown. Her bloom was like the springing flower, That sips the silver dew; The rose was budded in her cheek, Just opening to the view. But love had, like the canker worm, Consum'd her 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? TAC 15 W 25 30 35 40 272 MARGARET'S GHOST. And why did I, young witless maid, Believe the flattering tale? * That face, alas! no more is fair; These lips no longer red: Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death, And every charm is fled. The hungry worm my sister is; This winding-sheet I wear: And cold and weary lasts our night, Till that last morn appear. But hark! the cock has warn'd me hence ! A long and last adieu ! Come see, false how low she lies, Who dy'd for love of you." man, The lark sung loud; the morning smil'd, With beams of rosy red: Pale William shook in ev'ry limb, And raving left his bed. He hyed him to the fatal place, Where Margaret's body lay; And stretch'd him on the grass-green turf, And 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. 45 50 55 3 00 65 * * 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 contends was the original; and that Mallet adopted it for his own and altered it, as here given.-But the superior beauty and simplicity of the 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 popular songs and ballads. XVII. LUCY AND COLIN was written by Thomas Tickel, Esq. the celebrated friend of Mr. Addison, and Editor of his works. He was son of a Clergyman in the north of England, had his education at Queen's college Oxon, was under secretary to Mr. Addison and Mr. Craggs, when successively secretaries of state; and was lastly (in June, 1724) appointed secretary to the Lords Justices in Ireland, which place he held till his death in 1740. He acquired Mr. Addison's patronage by a poem in praise of the opera of Rosamond, written while he was at the University. 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 neighbour- hood. 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. 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. 5 = 20 15 N 3 274 LUCY AND COLIN. 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. Too well the love-lorn maiden knew That solemn boding sound; And thus, in dying words, bespoke The virgins weeping round. "I hear a voice, you cannot hear, Which says, I must not stay: I see a hand, you cannot see, Which beckons me away. 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 man, That Lucy will be there. Then, bear my corse; ye comrades, bear, The bridegroom blithe to meet ; He in his wedding-trim so gay, I in my winding-sheet." She spoke, she dy'd ;-her corse was borne, The bridegroom blithe to meet ; He in his wedding-trim so gay, She in her winding-sheet. Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts? How were those nuptials kept? The bride-men flock'd round Lucy dead, And all the village wept. 2223 20 25 SA 35 H 45 50 THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 275 Confusion, shame, remorse, despair At once his bosom swell: The damps of death bedew'd his brow, He shook, he groan'd, he fell. From the vain bride (ah bride no more!) The varying crimson fled, When, stretch'd before her rival's corse, She saw her husband dead. Then to his Lucy's new-made grave, Convey'd by trembling swains, One mould with her, beneath one sod, For ever now remains. Oft at their grave the constant hind And plighted maid are seen; With garlands gay, and true-love knots They deck the sacred green. But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art, This hallow'd spot forbear; Remember Colin's dreadful fate, And fear to meet him there. XVIII THE BOY AND THE MANTLE, AS REVISED AND ALTERED BY A MODERN HAND. 65 2 12 2 70 MR. WARTON, in his ingenious "Observations on Spenser," has given his opinion, that the fiction of the "Boy and the Mantle' is taken from an old French piece intitled "Le court mantel' quoted by M. de St. Palaye in his curious "Memoires sur l'an- cienne Chevalerie," Paris, 1759, 2 tom. 12mo. who tells us the story resembles that of Ariosto's inchanted cup. 'Tis possible our English poet may have taken the hint of this subject from that old French Romance, but he does not appear to have copied it in the manner of execution: to which (if one may judge from 276 THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. the specimen given in the "Memoires") that of the Ballad does not bear the least resemblance. After all, 'tis most likely that all the old stories concerning K. Arthur are originally of British growth, and that what the French and other southern nations have of this kind, were at first exported from this island. See "Memoires de l'Acad. des Inscrip." tom. xx. p. 352. [Since this volume was printed off, the "Fabliaux ou Contes," 1781, 5 Tom. 12mo. of M. Le Grand, have come to hand: and in Tom. i. p. 54. he hath printed a modern version of the old Tale “Le Court Mantel," under a new title "Le Manteau maltaillè "; 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. Add. Note. Ed. 1794.] IN Carleile dwelt king Arthur, A prince of passing might; And there maintain'd his table round, Beset with many a knight. And there he kept his Christmas With mirth and princely cheare, When, lo a straunge and cunning boy Before him did 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 ye deem a blooming rose Should prove a cankred weed." 5 u⭑ 10 15 2008 THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 277 Then straitway from his bosome A little wand he drew ; And with it eke a mantle Of wondrous shape, and hew. "Now, have thou here, king Arthur, Have this here of mee, 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 beshradde. One while it was too long, Another while too short, And wrinkled on her shoulders In most unseemly sort. Now green, now red it seemed, Then all of sable hue. "Beshrew me," quoth king Arthur, "I think thou beest not true.' "" 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. 25 30 診 ​35 40 45 50 65 60 278 THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. "I had rather live in desarts Beneath the green-wood tree : Than here, base king, among thy groomes, The sport of them and thee." Sir Kay call'd forth his lady, And bade her to come near: "Yet dame, if thou be guilty, I pray thee now forbear." This lady, pertly gigling, With forward step came on, And boldly to the little boy With fearless face is gone. When she had tane the mantle, With purpose for to wear : It shrunk up to her shoulder, And left her b**side bare. • Then every merry knight, That was in Arthur's court, Gib'd, and laught, and flouted, To see that pleasant sport. Downe she threw the mantle, No longer bold or gay, But with a face all pale and wan, To her chamber slunk away. Then forth came an old knight, A pattering o'er his creed; And proffer'd to the little boy Five nobles to his meed; "And all the time of Christmass Plumb-porridge shall be thine, If thou wilt let my lady fair Within the mantle shine.” A saint his lady seemed, With step demure, and slow, And gravely to the mantle With mincing pace doth goe. 65 70 76 SO 35 90 95 THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 279 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.' 19 The lady gently blushing, With modest grace came on, And now to trye the wondrous charm Courageously is gone. When she had tane the mantle, And put it on her backe, About the hem it seemed To wrinkle and to cracke. "Lye still," 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 Čradocke's mouth Before he married mee.' "" 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 280 THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 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. 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 tho' 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." 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 281 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. 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 | 170 175 150 185 180 105 200 2.12 THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. And given thee for a kingly crown To wear a cuckold's horne." * " * The Rev. Evan Evans, Editor of the "Specimens of Welsh Poetry, 4to. affirmed that the story of the "Boy and the Mantle" is taken from what is related in some of the old Welsh MSS. of Tegan Earfron, one of King Arthur's mistresses. She is said to have possessed a mantle that would not fit any immodest or incontinent woman; this (which, the old writers say, was reckoned among the curiosities of Britain) is frequently alluded to by the old Welsh Bards. Carleile, so often mentioned in the Ballads of K. Arthur, the Editor once thought might probably be a corruption of Caer-Leon, an ancient British city on the river Uske, in Monmouthshire, which was one of the places of K. Arthur's chief residence; but he is now convinced, that it is no other than Carlisle, in Cumberland; the Old English Minstrels, being most of them Northern Men, naturally represented the Hero of Romance as residing in the North And many of the places mentioned in the Old Ballads are still to be found there: As "Tearne-Wadling," &c. Near Penrith is still seen a large circle, surrounded 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 this Volume, intitled "The Marriage of Sir Gawaine," having been offered to the Reader with large conjectural Supplements and Corrections, the old Fragment itself is here literally and exactly printed from the Editor's folio MS. with all its defects, inaccuracies, and errata; that such austere Antiquaries, as complain that the ancient copies have not been always rigidly adhered to, may see how unfit for publication many of the pieces would have been, if all the blunders, corruptions, and nonsense of illiterate Reciters and Transcribers had been superstitiously retained, without some attempt to correct and emend 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. THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 283 KINGE Arthur liues in merry Carleile and seemely is to see and there he hath wth him Queene Genev 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 & 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 S Cawaine * yt was a curteous knight why sigh you soe sore vnckle Arthur he said or who hath done thee vnright O 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 * Sig, MS. 284 THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 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 wth 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 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 toward 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 & turnd outward her mouth stood foule a wry * Sic, MS. THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 285 a worse formed lady then 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 shold say againe What knight art thou the lady sayd that wilt not speake tome of me thou nothing dismayd tho I be vgly to see for I haue halched yo" curteouslye & 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 wtu 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 * wth a great weapon on his backe standing stiffe & stronge And then he tooke k. Arthurs letters in his hands & away he cold them fling & then he puld out a good browne sword & cryd himselfe a k. And he sayd I haue thee & thy land Arthur to doe as it pleaseth me * Sic, MS. 286 THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE, for this is not thy ransome sure therfore yeeld thee to me And then bespoke him noble Arthur & bad him hold his hands & give me leave to speake my mind in defence of all my land the said as I came over a More I see a lady where shee sate betweene an oke & a green hollen shee was clad in red scarlette And she says a woman will haue her will & this is all her cheef desire doe me right as thou art a baron of sckill this is thy ransome & all thy hyer He sayes an early vengeance light on her she walkes on yonder more it was my sister that told thee this she is a 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 * Sic, MS. THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 297 Soe did S Banier & Sr Bore Sr Garrett wth them soe gay soe did Sr Tristeram yt gentle k to the forrest fresh & gay And when he came to the greene forrest vnderneath a greene holly tree their sate that lady in red scarlet 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 ainend 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.] 288 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 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 & wine alas then I must hyde my selfe I must not goe withinne And then bespake him gentle gawaine said Lady thats but a skill And because thou art my owne lady thou shalt haue all thy will Then she said blesed be thou gentle Gawaine this day 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 * Sic in MS. pro feires, i. e. Mates. THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 289 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 sware this is the same lady yt I marryed to my wiffe Sr Kay kissed that lady bright standing vpon his ffeete he sweare as he was trew knight the spice was neuer soe sweete Well Coz. Gawaine sayes 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 S Gawaine for my Vnckle Arthurs sake I am glad as grasse wold be of raine great Joy that I may take 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 VOL. III. 0 290 THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. !! K. Arthur beheld that lady faire that was soe faire & bright he thanked christ in trinity for Sr Gawaine that gentle knight Soe did the knights both more and lesse reioyced all that day for the good chance y hapened was to S Gawaine & his lady gay. Ffinis. THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK. OF THE OBSOLETE AND SCOTTISH WORDS IN A GLOSSARY A. Such words, as the reader cannot find here, he is desired to look for in the Glossaries to the other volumes. VOLUME THE THIRD. B. A'au, s. all. Abye, suffer, to pay for. Aff, s. off. Afore, before. Aik, s. oak. Aith, s. oath. Ane, s. one; an, a. Ann, iƒ. Aquoy, p. 217, coy, shy. Astonied, astonished, stunned. Auld, s. old. Avowe, vow. Awa', s. away. Aye, ever; also, ah! alas! Azont, s. beyond. Beshradde, cutinto shreds. Beshrew me! a lesser form imprecation. Bedeene, immediately. Bedone, wrought, made up. Beere, s. bier. *Ben, s. within doors. Bent, s. long grass; also, wild fields, where bents, &c. grow. Bereth, (Introd.) beareth. Bernes, barns. Beseeme, become. Besmirche, to soil, discolour. Blee, complexion. Blent, blended, Blinkan, blinktánd, s. twinkling. Blinking, p. 267, squinting. Blinks, s. twinkles, sparkles. Blinne, cease, give over. Blyth, blithe, sprightly, joyous. Blyth, p. 84, joy, sprightliness. Bookesman, clerk, secretary. Boon, favour, request, petition. Bore, born. Bower, bowre, any bowed or arched room; a parlour, cham- ber; also a dwelling in general. Bowre woman, s. chamber-maid. Ban, curse. Banderolles,streamers, little flags. Brae, s. the brow, or side of a Baud, s. bold. hill, a declivity. Brakes, tufts of fern. Brand, sword. Brast, burst. Braw, s. brave Brayde, drew out, unsheathed. Brenn, s. burn. Bridal, (properly bride-ale) the nuptial feast. Brigue, brigg, bridge. * 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. 0 2 292 A GLOSSARY. Britled, carved. Vid. Brytt- lynge. Gloss. Vol. I. Brooche, brouche, 1st, a spit; 2dly, a bodkin; 3dly, any or- namental trinket. Stone-buckles of silver or gold, with which gentlemen and ladies clasp their shirt bosoms, and hundker- chiefs, are called in the North Brooches, from the f. broche, a spit. Brocht, s. brought. Bugle, bugle-horn, a hunting- horn: being the horn of a Bugle, or Wild Bull. Burn, bourne, brook. Busk, dress, deck. But if, unless. *Butt, s. without, out of doors. Byre, s. cow-house. C. Can, 'gan, began. Caitiff, a slave. Canna, s. cannot. Carle, a churl, clown. Carlish, churlish, discourteous. | | Cau, s. call. Cauld, s. cold. Certes, certainly. Chap, p. 100, knock. Chevaliers, f. knights. Child, p. 72, a knight. See Vol. I. Gloss. &c. Chield, s. is a slight or familiar way of speaking of a person, like our English word fellow. The chield, i. e. the fellow. Christentie, Christendome. Churl, clown: a person of low birth; a villain. | Church-ale, a wake, a feast in commemoration of the dedica- tion of a Church. Claiths, s. cloaths. Clead, s. cloathed. Cleading, s. cloathing. Cled, s. clad, cloathed. [lars. Clerks, clergymen, literati, scho- Cliding, s. cloathing. Cold, could, p. 35, knew. Coleyne, Cologn steel. Con thanks, give thanks. Courtnals, p. 165, note. Cramasie, s. crimson. Cranion, skull. Crinkle, run in and out, run into flexures, wrinkle. Crook, twist, wrinkle, distort. Crowt, to pucker up. Cum, s. come. D. Dank, moist, damp. Dawes, (Introd.) days. Deas, deis, the high table in a hall: from f. dais, a canopy. Dealan, deland, s. dealing. Dee, s. die. Deed, (Introd.) dead. Deemed, p. 69, doomed, judged, &c. thus, in the Isle of Man, Judges are called Deemsters. Deerely, p. 53, preciously, richly. Deid, s. dead. Deid bell, s. passing bell. Dell, narrow, valley. Delt, dealt. Descrye, p. 154, descrive, de- scribe. Demains, demesnes; estate in lands. | Dight, decked. Ding, knock, beat. Din, dinne, noise, bustle. Disna, s. doest not. Distrere, the horse rode by a knight in the turnament. Dosend, s. dosing, drowsy, tor- pid, benumbed, &c. Doublet, a man's inner garment; waistcoat. Doubt, fear. Doubteous, doubtful. Douzty, doughty. Drapping, s. dropping. Dreiry, s. dreary. Dule, s. dole, sorrow. Dwellan, dwelland, s. dwelling. Dyan, dyand, s. dying. * But, or Butt, is from the Dutch Buyten, Lat. extra, præter, præterquam, which is compounded of the same preposition By or Be, and of uyt, the same as out in English. A GLOSSARY. 293 E. Eather, s. either. Eee; een, eyne, s. eye; eyes. Een, even, evening. Effund, pour forth. Eftsoon, in a short time. Eir, s. e'er, ever. Enouch, s. enough. Eke, also. or Ewe- Evanished, s. vanished. Everiche, every, each. Everychone, every one. Ew-bughts, p. 81, boughts, s. are small inclo- sures, or pens, into which the farmers drive (Scotice weir) their milch ewes, morning and evening, in order to milk them. They are commonly made with fale-dykes, i. e. carthern dykes. Ezar, p. 101, note, azure. F. Fadge, s. a thick loaf of bread: figuratively, any coarse heap of stuff. Fain, glad, fond, well-pleased. Falds, s. thou foldest. Fallan', falland, s. falling Falser, a deceiver, hypocrite. Fa's, s. thou fallest. Fawn, s. fallen. Faye, faith. Feare, fere, feire, mate. Fee, reward, recompence; it also signifies land, when it is con- nected with the tenure by which it is held; as knight's fee, &c. Fet, fetched. Fillan,' filland, s. filling. Find frost, find mischance, or disaster. A phrase siill in use. Fit, s feet. Five teen, fifteen. Flayne, flayed. Flindars, s. pieces, splinters. Fonde, found. Foregoe, quit, give up, resign. Forewearied, much wearied. Forthy, therefore. • Fou', Fow, s. full; Item, drunk. Frae, s. fro, from. Furth, forth. Fyers, (Introd.) fierce. Fyled, fyling, defiled, defiling. G. Gae, s. gave. Gae, gaes, s. go, goes. Gaed, gade, s. went. Gan, began. Gane, s. gone. Gang, s. go. Gar, s. make. Gart, garred, s. made. Gear, geir, s. geer, goods, furni- ture. Geid, s. gave. Gerte, (Introd.) pierced. Gie, s. give. Gibed, jeered. Giff, if. Gin, s. iƒ. Gin, gyn, engine, contrivance. Gins, begins. Gip, an interjection of contempt. Glee, merriment, joy. Glen, s. a narrow valley. Glente, glanced, slipt. Glowr, s. stare, or frown. Gloze, canting, dissimulation, fair outside. Gode, (Introd.) good. Gone, (Introd.) go. Gowd, 2. gold. Greet, s. weEP» Groomes, attendants, servants. Guerdon, reward. Gude, guid, s. good. Gule, red. Gyle, guile. H. Ha', s. hall. Hame, home. Hauss bane, s. p. 84, the neck- bone (halse-bone) a phrase for the neck. Hee's, s. he shall; also, he has. Hey-day guise, p. 182, frolick; sportive frolicksome manner.⋆ corruptly given; being apparently the * This word is perhaps, in p. 182, same with Heydeguies, or Heydeguives, which occurs in Spenser, and means a "wild frolick dance.” Johns. Dict. 294 A GLOSSARY. Heathenness, the heathen part of | Kirk, s. church. the world. Hem, 'em, them. Hente, (Introd.) held, pulled. Heo, (Introd.) they. Her, hare, their. Hett, hight, bid, call, command. Hewkes, heralds coats. Hind, s. behind. Hings, s. hangs. Hip, hep, the berry, which con- tains the stones or seeds of the dog-rose. Hir; hir lain, s. her; herself alone. Hole, whole. Hollen, p. 286, probably a cor- ruption for holly. Honde, hand. Hooly, s. slowly. Hose, stockings. Huggle, hug, clasp. Hyt, (Introd.) it. K. Kame, s. comb. Kameing, s. combing . Kantle, p. 52, piece, corner. Kauk, s. chalk. Keel, s. raddle. Kempt, combed. Ken, s. know. Kirk-wa, s. p. 210, church-wall : or perhaps church-yard-wall. Kirn, s. churn. Kirtle, a petticoat, gown. Kever-chefes,handkerchiefs.(Vid. Introd.) Kilted, s. tucked up. u'oman's Kith, acquaintance. Knellan, knelland, s. knelling, ringing the knell. Kyrtell, vid. kirtle. In the Introd. it signifies a man's under gar- ment. * L. I. Leech, physician. Leese, s. lose. Пfardly, s. ill-favouredly, uglily. Leffe, (Introd.) leefe, dear. Ilka, s. each, every one. Impe, a little demon. Ingle, s. fire. Jow, s. joll, or jowl. Ireful, angry, furious. Ise, s. I shall. Leid, s. lyed. Lemman, lover. Leugh, s. laughed. Lewd, ignorant, scandalous. Libbard, Leopard. Lacke, want. Laith, s. loth. Lamb's wool, a cant phrase for ale and roasted apples, p. 166. Lang, s. long. Lap, s. leaped. Largesse, f. gift, liberality. Lee, lea, field, pasture. Lee, s. lie. Libbard's-baue, a herb so called. Lichtly, s. lightly„easily, nimbly. Lig, e. lie. Limitours, friars licensed to beg within certain limits. Limitacioune, a certain precinct allowed to a limitour. Lither, naughty, wicked, p. 67. Lo'e, loed, s. love, loved. Lothly, p. 46, (vid. lodlye, Gloss. vol. II. loathsome.† Lounge, (Introd.) lung. Lourd, lour, s. lever, had rather. * Balc, in his "Actes of Eng. Votaries" (2d Part, fol. 53.) uses the word Kyrtle 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 holy Hugh the Abbot there," &c. t The adverbial terminations -some and -ly were applied indifferently by our old writers: thus, as we have Lothly for Loathsome, above; so we have Ugsome in a senɛe not very remote from Ugly in Lord Surrey's version of En. 2d. viz. "In every place the ugsome sightes I saw." Page [29.) A GLOSSARY. 295 Lues, luve, s. loves, love. Lyan, lyand, s. lying. Lystenyth, (Introd.) listen. M. Mair, more. Mait, s. might. Mark, a coin in value 13s. 4d. Maugre, in spite of. Mavis, s. a thrush. Maun, s. must. Mawt, s. malt. Meed, reward. Micht, might. Mickle, much, great. Midge, a small insect, a kind of gnat. Minstral, s. minstrel, musician, &c. Minstrelsie, music. Mirkie, dark, black. Mishap, misfortune. Mither, s. mother. N. Na. nae, s. no. Naithing, s. nothing. Nane, s. none. Newfangle, newfangled, fond of novelty: of new fashions, &c. Nicht, s. night. Noble, a coin in value 69. 8d. Norland, s. northern. North-gales, North Wales. Nurtured, educated, bred up. 0: Obraid, s. upbraid. Ony, s. any. Or, ere, before.—In p. 69 v. 41, or seems to have the force of the Latin vel, and to signify even. Ou, (Introd.) you. Out-brayde, drew out, unsheathed. Owre, s. over. Owre-word, s. the last word. The burden of a song. Owches, bosses, or buttons of gold. P. Pall, a cloak, or mantle of state. Palmer, a pilgrim, who, having been at the holy land, carried a palm branch in his hand. Paramour, gallant, lover, mis- tress. Moe, more. Mold, mould, ground. Monand, moaning, bemoaning. More; originally and properly signified a hill, (from A. S. moɲ, mons,) but the hills of the North being generally full of bogs, a Moor came to signify bog- gy marshy gríund in general. Morrownynges, mornings. Mosses, swampy grounds covered with peat-moss. Mote, mought, might. Mou, s. mouth. | Philomene, Philomel, the night- ingale. Plaine, complain. Plein, complain. Partake, p. 176, participate, as- sign to. Pattering, murmuring, mum- in bling, from the manner which the Pater-noster was anciently hurried over, in a low inarticulate voice. Paynim, pagan. Pearlins, s. p. 85, a coarse sort of bone-lace. Peer; peerless, equal, without equal. Peering, peeping, looking nar- rowly. Perill, danger. Porcupig, porcupine, f. porcepic. Poterner, p. 36, perhaps pocket, or pouch. Pautoniere in Fr. is a shepherd's scrip (vid. Cotgrave.) Piece, s. p. 126, a little. Preas, prese, press. Pricked, spurred forward, tra- velled a good round pace. Prowess, bravery, valour, mili- tary gallantry. Puissant, strong, powerful. Purfel, an ornament of embroi- dery. Purfelled, embroidered. Q. | Quail, shrink, flinch, yield. 296 A GLOSSARY. tiness. Seely, silly. Seething, boiling. Sed, said. Quay, quhey, s. a young heifer, | Scent, scarce; item, p. 219, scan- called a whie in Yorkshire. Quean, sorry, base woman. Quelch, a blow, or bang. Quell, subdue; also, kill. Quha, s. who. Quhair, s. where. Quhan, whan, s. when. Quhaneer, s. whene'er. Quhen, s. when. Quick, alive, living. Quitt, requite. Quo, quoth. Sel, sell, s. self. Sen, s. since. R. Rade, s. rode. Raise, s. rose. Reade, rede, s. advise. Reeve, bailiff. Renneth, renning, runneth, run- ning. Riall. (Introd.) royal. Riddle, p. 90, seems to be a vulgar idiom for unriddle; or is per- haps a corruption of reade, i. e. advise. | Rin, s. run, rin my errand, p. 99, a contracted way of speaking for run on my errand." The pronoun is omitted. So the Fr. say, faire message. Rood, Roode, cross, crucifix. Route, p. 106, go about, travel. Rudd, red, ruddy. Ruth, pity. Ruthfull, rueful, woeful. << Reft, bereft. Register, the officer who keeps the Shoone, shoes. Shope, shaped. public register. S. Seneschall, steward. Sey, s. p. 84, say, a kind of wool- len stuff. Shee's, she shall. Sheene, shining. Sa, sae, s. so. Saft, s. soft. Saim, s. same. Sair, s. sore. Sall, s. shall. Sarke, s. shirt. Saut, s. salt. Say, essay, attempt. Sheeld-bone, p. 109, the blade- bone: a common phrase in the North. Shent, shamed, disgraced, abused. Shepenes, shipens, cow-houses, sheep-pens, p. 185, A. S. Scy- pen. Shimmered, s. glittered. Sho, scho, s. she. Shread, cut into small pieces. Shreeven, shriven, confessed her sins. Shullen, shall. Sic, sich, such. Sick-like, s. such-like. Sighan, sighand, s. sighing. Siller, s. silver. Sith, since. Skinkled, s. glittered. Slaited, s. whelled; or, perhaps, wiped. Sleath, slayeth. Slee, slay. Sna', snaw, s. snow. Sooth, truth, true. Soth, sothe, ditto. Sould, s. should. Souldan, soldan, sowdan, sultan. Spack, s. spake. Sped, speeded, succeeded. Speik, s. speak. Speir, s. spere, speare, speere, spire, ask, inquire.* Speir, s. spear. * So Chaucer, in his "Rhyme of Sir Thopas." "He sought, north and south. And oft he spired with his month." ¿.c.'inquired.' Not spied, as in the new edit. of "Cant. Tales,” Vol. ii. p. 234. A GLOSSARY. 297 Spill, spoil, destroy, kill. Spillan, spilland, s. spilling. Spurging, froth that purges out. Squelsh, a blow, or bang. Stean, s. stone. Sterte, started. Steven, voice, sound. Stint, stop. Stound, stonde, (Introd.) space, moment, hour, time. Stowre, strong, robust, fierce. Stower, stowre, stir, disturbance, fight. Stude, stuid, s. stood. Summere, p. 106, a sumpter horse. Surcease, cease. Sune, s. soon. Sweere, swire, neck. Syne, s. then, afterwards. T. In p. 42, it Tres-hardie, f. thrice-hardy. Trenchant, f. cutting. Triest furth, s. draw forth to an assignation. Tush, an interjection of contempt, or impatience. Twa, s. two. Twayne, two. Teene, sorrow, grief. Thewes, manners. signifies limbs. Than, s. then. Thair, s. there. Thir, s. this, these.´ Tho, then. Thrall, captive. Thrall, captivity. Thralldome, ditto. Thrang, close. Thrilled, twirled, turned round. | Weale, welfare. Thropes, villages. Thocht, thought. Tift, s. puff of wind. Tirled, twirled, turned round. Tone, t'one, the one. Tor, a tower; also a high-pointed rock, or hill. Trow, believe, trust; also, verily. Troth, truth, faith, fidelity. U. approach, Venu, (Introd.) coming. Unbethought, p. 68, for be- thought. So Unloose for Loose. Unctuous, fat, clammy, oily. Undermeles, afternoons. Unkempt, uncombed. Ure, use. W. Wadded, p. 36, perhaps from woad: i. c. of a light blue colour.* Wae waefo', s. woe, woeful. Wad, s. walde, would. Walker, a fuller of cloth. Waltered, weltered, rolled along. Also, wallowed. Waly, an interjection of grief. Wame, wem, s. belly. Warde, s advise, forewarn. Wassel, drinking, good cheer. Wat, s. wet. Also, knew. Wate, s. blamed. Præt. of wyte, to blame. Wax, to grow, become. Wayward, perverse. Weare-in, s. drive in gently. Weede, clothing, dress. Weel, well. Also, we'll. Weird, wizard, witch. Properly fate, destiny. Welkin, the sky. Trisulcate, three-forked, three- | Wha, s. who. pointed. Whair, s. where. Whan, s. when. Whilk, s. which. Well away, cxclamation of pity. Wem, (Introd ) hurt. Wende, weened, thought. | Wend, to go. Werryed, worryed. • Taylor, in his "History of Gavel-kind," p. 49, says, "Bright, from the British word Brith, which signifies their wadde-colour; this was a light-blue. shew's dictionary." Min- 298 A GLOSSARY. Whit, jot. Whittles, knives. Wi', s. with. Wight, human creature, man or Y-built, built. woman. Wild-worm, serpent. Windar, p. 264, perhaps the con traction of Windhover, a kind of hawke. Wis, know. Wit, weet, know, understand. Woe, woeful, sorrowful. Wode, wod, wood. Also, mad. Woe-man, a sorrowful man. Woe-worth, woe be to [you] A.S. worthan, (fieri) to be, to become. Wolde, would. Wonde, (Introd.) wound, winded. Wood, wode, mad, furious. Wood-wroth, s. furiously en- | raged. Wot, know, think. Wow, s. exclamation of wonder. Wracke, ruin, destruction. Wynne, win, joy. Wyt, wit, weet, know. Wyte, blame. Y. Yaned, yawned. Yate, gate. Ychulle, (Introd.) I shall. Yese, s. ye shall. Ylke, ilk, same. same. Ylythe, Introd.) listen. Yode, went. Ys, is. Yf, if. Yn, in. That ylk, that Ystonge, (Introd.) stung. Y-wrought, wrought. Y-wys, truly, verily. Z. Ze, s. ye; zee're, s. ye are. Zees, s. ye shall. Zellow, s. yellow. Zet, s. yet. | Zong, s. young. Zon, e. you; zour, s. your. Zour-lane, your-lane, s. alone, by yourself. Zouth, s. youth. THE END OF THE THIRD VOLUME. LONDON: BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WILTEFOIARS. } JUST PUBLISHED. In 24mo. TALFOURD'S (SERJEANT) TRAGEDIES. 2s. 6d. TAYLOR'S PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 2s. 6d. EDWIN THE FAIR, &c. 2s. 6d. BARRY CORNWALL'S SONGS. 2s. 6d. LEIGH HUNT'S POETICAL WORKS. 2s. 6d. PERCY'S RELIQUES. 3 vols. 7s. 6d. 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