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Title: Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, Volume 2 (of 3)

Editor: Thomas Percy
Henry B. Wheatley

Release date: June 11, 2014 [eBook #45940]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RELIQUES OF
ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY, VOLUME 2 (OF 3) ***

PERCY'S RELIQUES.

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

BY
THOMAS PERCY, D.D.
BISHOP OF DROMORE

EDITED, WITH A GENERAL INTRODUCTION, ADDITIONAL PREFACES, NOTES,
GLOSSARY, ETC.
BY
HENRY B. WHEATLEY, F.S.A.

IN THREE VOLUMES
VOL. II

LONDON: GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD.
RUSKIN HOUSE 40 MUSEUM STREET, W.C.1

First Published by Swan Sonnenschein April 1885
Reprinted August 1891
" August 1899
" December 1909
" January 1927

Printed by the Riverside Press Limited, Edinburgh
Great Britain

CONTENTS OF VOLUME THE SECOND
BOOK THE FIRST.
Page
R ichard of Almaigne

1. 3

2. On the Death of K. Edward the First 10
3. An original Ballad by Chaucer 14
4. The Turnament of Tottenham 17
5. For the Victory at Agincourt 29
6. The Not-Browne Mayd 31
7. A balet, by the Earl Rivers 48
8. Cupid's Assault: by Lord Vaux 50
9. Sir Aldingar 54
Copy from the Folio MS. 61
10. The Gaberlunyie man. A Scottish Song 67
11. On Thomas Lord Cromwell 71
12. Harpalus. An Ancient English Pastoral 75
13. Robin and Makyne. An Ancient Scottish Pastoral 79
14. Gentle Herdsman, tell to me 86
15. K. Edward IV. and the Tanner of Tamworth 92
16. As ye came from the Holy Land 101
Copy from the Folio MS. 104
17. Hardyknute. A Scottish Fragment 105

BOOK THE SECOND.
1. A Ballad of Luther, the Pope, a Cardinal, and a Husbandman 125
2. John Anderson my Jo. A Scottish Song 131
3. Little John Nobody 133
4. Q. Elizabeth's Verses, while Prisoner at Woodstock 137
5. The Heir of Linne 138
Copy from the Folio MS. 147
6. Gascoigne's Praise of the fair Bridges, afterwards Lady Sandes 150
7. Fair Rosamond. By Thomas Delone 154
8. Queen Eleanor's Confession 164

9. The Sturdy Rock 169
10. The Beggar's Daughter of Bednall-Green 171
Extract from the Folio MS. 181
An Essay on the Word Fit, and the ancient Ballad-singing 182
11. Fancy and Desire. By the Earl of Oxford 185
12. Sir Andrew Barton 188
Copy from the folio MS. 201
13. Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament. A Scottish Song 209
14. The Murder of the King of Scots 213
15. A Sonnet by Q. Elizabeth 218
16. King of Scots and Andrew Browne. By W. Elderton 221
17. The Bonny Earl of Murray. A Scottish Song 226
18. Young Waters. A Scottish Song 228
19. Mary Ambree 231
Copy from the Folio MS. 235
20. Brave Lord Willoughbey 238
21. Victorious Men of Earth. By James Shirley 242
22. The Winning of Cales 243
23. The Spanish Lady's Love 247
24. Argentile and Curan. By W. Warner 252
25. Corin's Fate 262
26. Jane Shore 263
27. Corydon's doleful Knell 274

BOOK THE THIRD.
1. The Complaint of Conscience 279
2. Plain Truth and Blind Ignorance 285
3. The Wandering Jew 291
4. The Lye. By Sir Walter Raleigh 297
5. Verses (viz. two Sonnets) by K. James I. 300
6. K. John and the Abbot of Canterbury 303
Copy from the Folio MS. 308
7. You Meaner Beauties. By Sir Henry Wotton 312
8. The Old and Young Courtier 314
9. Sir John Suckling's Campaigne 318
10. To Althea from Prison. By Col. Lovelace 321
11. The Downfall of Charing-Cross 323
12. Loyalty Confined 326
13. Verses, by King Charles I. 329
14. The Sale of Rebellious Houshold Stuff 332
15. The Baffled Knight, or Lady's Policy 336
16. Why so Pale? By Sir John Suckling 343

17. Old Tom of Bedlam. Mad Song the First 344
18. The Distracted Puritan. Mad Song the Second 347
19. The Lunatic Lover. Mad Song the Third 351
20. The Lady Distracted with Love. Mad Song the Fourth 354
21. The Distracted Lover. Mad Song the Fifth 355
22. The Frantic Lady. Mad Song the Sixth 357
23. Lilliburlero. By the Marquis of Wharton 358
24. The Braes of Yarrow. In imitation of the ancient Scots manner. By Wm. Hamilton 362
25. Admiral Hosier's Ghost. By Richard Glover 367
26. Jemmy Dawson. By William Shenstone 371

APPENDIX.
On the Alliterative Metre, without Rhyme, in Pierce Plowman's Visions 377

INDEX.
Of Ballads and Poems in the Second Volume 395

RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY,
ETC.
SERIES THE SECOND.

BOOK 1.

"Though some make slight of Libels, yet you may see by them how the
wind sits: As, take a straw and throw it up into the air, you may see by that
which way the wind is, which you shall not do by casting up a stone. More
solid things do not shew the complexion of the times so well as Ballads and
Libels."—Selden's Table-Talk.

I.
RICHARD OF ALMAIGNE,

"A ballad made by one of the adherents to Simon de Montfort,
Earl of Leicester, soon after the battle of Lewes, which was
fought May 14, 1264,"
—affords a curious specimen of ancient satire, and shews that
the liberty, assumed by the good people of this realm, of abusing their kings
and princes at pleasure, is a privilege of very long standing.
To render this antique libel intelligible, the reader is to understand that just
before the battle of Lewes, which proved so fatal to the interests of Henry

III., the barons had offered his brother Richard, King of the Romans,
30,000l. to procure a peace upon such terms, as would have divested Henry
of all his regal power, and therefore the treaty proved abortive. The
consequences of that battle are well-known: the king, prince Edward his
son, his brother Richard, and many of his friends, fell into the hands of their
enemies: while two great barons of the king's party, John, Earl of Warren,
and Hugh Bigot, the king's justiciary, had been glad to escape into France.
In the first stanza the aforesaid sum of thirty thousand pounds is alluded to,
but with the usual misrepresentation of party malevolence, is asserted to
have been the exorbitant demand of the king's brother.
With regard to the second stanza the reader is to note that Richard, along
with the earldom of Cornwall, had the honours of Walingford and Eyre
confirmed to him on his marriage with Sanchia, daughter of the Count of
Provence, in 1243. Windsor Castle was the chief fortress belonging to the
king, and had been garrisoned by foreigners: a circumstance which
furnishes out the burthen of each stanza.
The third stanza alludes to a remarkable circumstance which happened on
the day of the battle of Lewes. After the battle was lost, Richard, king of the
Romans, took refuge in a windmill, which he barricaded, and maintained
for some time against the barons, but in the evening was obliged to
surrender. See a very full account of this in the Chronicle of Mailros, Oxon.
1684, p. 229.[1]
The fourth stanza is of obvious interpretation: Richard, who had been
elected king of the Romans in 1256, and had afterwards gone over to take
possession of his dignity, was in the year 1259 about to return into England,
when the barons raised a popular clamour, that he was bringing with him
foreigners to over-run the kingdom: upon which he was forced to dismiss
almost all his followers, otherwise the barons would have opposed his
landing.
In the fifth stanza the writer regrets the escape of the Earl of Warren, and in
the sixth and seventh stanzas insinuates that if he and Sir Hugh Bigot once
fell into the hands of their adversaries, they should never more return home;
a circumstance which fixes the date of this ballad, for, in the year 1265,
both these noblemen landed in South Wales, and the royal party soon after
gained the ascendant. See Holinshed, Rapin, &c.

The following is copied from a very ancient MS. in the British Museum.
(Hart. MSS. 2253, fol. 58 v°.) This MS. is judged, from the peculiarities of
the writing, to be not later than the time of Richard II.; th being everywhere
expressed by the character þ; the y is pointed after the Saxon manner, and
the i hath an oblique stroke over it.

[The date of the MS. in which this ballad occurs is usually
placed at an earlier period than that fixed upon by Percy. Mr.
Thomas Wright, who prints it in his volume of Political Songs of
England (Camden Society), with several other poems in French,
Anglo-Norman, and Latin, on Simon de Montfort and the
Barons' Wars, assigns it to the reign of Edward II. It will be seen
from Percy's note to verse 44, that the last stanza was printed for
the first time in the fourth edition of the Reliques. This is
explained by the fact that these lines are written on a new folio
of the MS., and must therefore have been overlooked by the
original copyist.
This little poem is without rival as an early exhibition of English
popular feeling in the vernacular; and it also stands alone as the
first dated English historical ballad in existence. It was probably
written during the first flush of enthusiasm after the memorable
battle of Lewes, because, before a year had gone by, victory had
passed to the other side, and at the battle of Evesham, fought on
the 4th of August, 1265, Simon, his eldest son Henry, and a host
of distinguished men, fell on the fatal field. As Drayton sang:

"Great Lester here expired with Henry his brave sonne,
When many a high exploit they in that day had done."

Prince Edward, who had passed his boyhood in Henry's
company and was much attached to him, personally attended his
funeral.
Richard, Earl of Cornwall, brother of Henry III., was elected
King of the Romans on the 13th of January, 1256-7, at

Frankfort, and is styled in Latin documents Rex Alemanniæ. In
earlier times Richard had been a leader of malecontents, and "all
from the child to the old man heaped frequent blessings upon
him," but Montfort (then a courtier) gained him over to the
King's side, and the insurgents were in consequence dispersed.
Richard was probably not so base a man as the writer of the
ballad would wish us to believe, and a good action is recorded
of him which was very ill returned. He interceded for the life of
De Montfort's second son Simon, when that youth surrendered
to the royal party at Northampton in 1266, and he was
successful in his suit. In 1271, Simon and his brother Guy
assassinated Henry, Richard's son, then in the suite of Philip of
France, on his return from the Holy Land, while he was at mass
in the church of St. Lawrence, at Viterbo. Richard himself died
in this same year at Berkhampstead, and his estates descended to
his son Edmond, Earl of Cornwall.
The uncertain manner in which biographic honours are
apportioned is noteworthy, and a writer in the Quarterly Review
(vol. cxix. p. 26) very justly points out a deficiency in English
literature, when he writes that Simon de Montfort V., second
Earl of Leicester, "the founder of the English House of
Commons, has had no biographer."[2] Mr. Freeman, however,
promises to do full honour to his memory in a forthcoming
volume of his history.
This is not the place to give any detailed account of De
Montfort, but a few words on the great leader may be allowable,
more particularly as Percy's introduction does injustice to the
anti-royalist party.
Simon de Montfort, fourth son of Simon de Montfort IV., fourth
Comte de Montfort,[3] married Eleanor, Countess of Pembroke,
the daughter of King John. She had made a vow of widowhood,
and although her brother Henry III. gave her away when she was
married, by one of the royal chaplains, in the king's private
chapel at Westminster, 6th January, 1238, Edmund, Archbishop
of Canterbury, remonstrated strongly against the marriage. It is

said that when the prelate left England, he stood on a hill which
commanded a view of London, and, extending his hands
towards the city, pronounced a parting blessing on his country,
and a curse on the countess and the offspring of her unholy
union.
Events so came about that the courtier and alien became the
representative leader of Englishmen, with the famous war-cry of
"England for the English." The battle of Lewes placed
everything in the power of Simon de Montfort, but in his
prosperity many of his followers fell away from him. The last
scene of the great man's life is truly pathetic. He lay at Evesham
awaiting the troops which his son was to bring from Kenilworth.
He did not know, however, that the garrison of that town had
been surprised by Prince Edward, who had escaped from
confinement. The army that marched upon Evesham bore the
banners of Simon's son, but they were flying in the van of an
enemy. Simon's first words, when he saw the force approach,
were those of soldierly pride: "By the arm of St. James they
come on well; they learnt that order from me." Before he spoke
again, however, he had realized his position, and he cried out:
"May God have mercy on our souls, for our bodies are Prince
Edward's." When he died liberty seemed to have been crushed
out of existence, but it was not so, for his spirit lived though his
body died, and the real victory was with him.
The fate of Simon de Montfort was a subject of general
lamentation, but none of the songs upon it that have come down
to us are in English. In an Anglo-Norman lament he is likened to
Thomas of Canterbury, and described as "a precious flower."
Priest and layman united in his praise, and he was revered as a
saint and martyr. Prayers were said in his honour, and a hymn
was sung at his shrine, beginning:

"Salve Symon Montis-Fortis
Totius flos militiæ
Duras pœnas passus mortis,
Protector gentis Angliæ."

Miracles were supposed to be worked by the power of his name,
[4]
and the character of these miracles may be judged by the
following samples. The "old Countess of Gloucester" had a
palfrey, which was asthmatic for two years, until one day in
journeying from Tewkesbury to Evesham, it drank from the
earl's well and was restored to perfect health. The next instance
of miraculous healing is still more remarkable. A chick, which
belonged to Agnes of Selgrave, fell into a pond and was
drowned. Its mistress pulled it out and commended it to "blessed
Simon," whereupon it got up and walked as usual.
Simon had six children by his wife Eleanor, viz., Henry, Simon,
Guy, Amauri, Richard, and Eleanor. Henry was slain with his
father, but the countess and the other children escaped out of
England. Simon and Guy went to Tuscany; Amauri
accompanied his mother to France, was taken prisoner in 1276,
and kept in confinement by Edward for a time, but set at liberty
in 1280; Richard went to Bigorre, but nothing certain is known
of his after career, and it is said that he settled in England under
the assumed name of Wellysborne, an assertion founded on two
or three deeds of doubtful authenticity.[5] Eleanor was married to
Llewellyn, Prince of Wales, in 1279, Edward I. paying all the
expenses of the ceremony, which was performed with great
pomp.]

Sitteth alle stille, ant herkneth to me;
The kyn[g] of Alemaigne,[6] bi mi leaute,[7]
Thritti thousent pound askede he
For te make the pees[8] in the countre,

Ant so he dude more. 5
Richard, thah[9] thou be ever trichard,[10]
Tricthen[11] shalt thou never more.

Richard of Alemaigne, whil that he wes kyng,
He spende al is tresour opon swyvyng,[12]
Haveth he nout of Walingford o ferlẏng,[13] 10
Let him habbe,[14] ase he brew, bale to dryng,[15]
Maugre[16] Wyndesore.
Richard, thah thou be ever, &c.

The kyng of Alemaigne wende do[17] ful wel,
He saisede the mulne[18] for a castel, 15
With hare[19] sharpe swerdes he grounde the stel,[20]
He wende that the sayles were mangonel[21]
To helpe Wyndesore.
Richard, thah thou be ever, &c.

The kyng of Alemaigne gederede ys host, 20
Makede him a castel of a mulne post,
Wende with is prude,[22] ant is muchele bost,[23]
Brohte[24] from Alemayne monẏ sori gost
To store Wyndesore.
Richard, thah thou be ever, &c. 25

By God, that is aboven ous, he dude muche sẏnne,
That lette passen over see the erl of Warynne:
He hath robbed Engelond, the mores,[25] ant th[e] fenne,
The gold, ant the selver, and ẏ-boren henne,[26]
For love of Wyndesore. 30
Richard, thah thou be ever, &c.

Sire Simond de Mountfort hath suore bi ẏs chẏn,
Hevede[27] he nou here the erl of Warẏn,
Shulde he never more come to is ẏn,[28]
Ne with sheld, ne with spere, ne with other gẏn,[29] 35

To help of Wyndesore.
Richard, thah thou be ever, &c.

Sire Simond de Montfort hath suore bi ys cop,[30]
Hevede he nou here Sire Hue de Bigot:[31]
Al[32] he shulde quite here twelfmoneth scot[33][34] 40
Shulde he never more with his fot pot[35]
To helpe Wyndesore.
Richard, thah thou be ever, &c.

Be the luef, be the loht,[36] sire Edward,[37]
Thou shalt ride sporeles o thy lyard[38] 45
Al the ryhte way to Dovere-ward,
Shalt thou never more breke foreward;
Ant that reweth sore
Edward, thou dudest as a shreward,[39]
Forsoke thyn emes lore[40] 50
Richard, &c.

⁂ This ballad will rise in its importance with the reader, when
he finds that it is even believed to have occasioned a law in our
statute book, viz. "Against slanderous reports or tales, to cause
discord betwixt king and people." (Westm. Primer, c. 34, anno 3
Edw. I.) That it had this effect is the opinion of an eminent
writer [the Hon. Daines Barrington], see Observations upon the
Statutes, &c. 4to. 2nd edit. 1766, p. 71.
However, in the Harl. Collection may be found other satirical
and defamatory rhymes of the same age, that might have their
share in contributing to this first law against libels.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] [Robert of Gloucester wrote: "The king of Alemaigne was in
a windmulle income."]
[2] [A German has taken upon himself the duty of an
Englishman, but Dr. Pauli's life of the hero has not yet been
translated out of the German language.]
[3] [Montfort is a small town between Paris and Chartres.]
[4] [See Miracula Simonis de Montfort. MS. Cotton. Vespas. A.
vi., annexed to Mr. Halliwell's edition of William de Rishanger's
Chronicle of the Barons' Wars (Camden Society), 1840.]
[5] [This tradition is possibly connected with the one to be found
in the Beggar's Daughter of Bethnal Green, where the Blind
Beggar is said to be Henry de Montfort, who was taken off the
battlefield, blind but not dead.]
[6] [Germany.]
[7] [loyalty.]
[8] [peace.]
[9] [though.]
[10] [treacherous.]
[11] [deceive (should be trichen).]
[12] [lechery.]
[13] [He has not of Wallingford one furlong. The MS. reads
oferlyng, and Percy and Warton explain that word to mean
superior, in opposition to underling, but it has not been met with
elsewhere. Mr. Wright's reading of "one furlong" is much more
in accordance with the context.]
[14] [have.]
[15] [evil to drink.]
[16] [in spite of.]
[17] [thought to do.]
[18] [he seized the mill.]
[19] [their.]
[20] [steel.]
[21] [a military engine for throwing great stones.]
[22] [pride.]
[23] [great boast.]
[24] [brought.]
[25] [moors.]
[26] [bore them away hence.]
[27] [had.]

[28] [house.]
[29] [engine.]
[30] [sworn by his head.]
[31] [The Hugh Bigod here mentioned, was the cousin of Hugh
Bigod, who took part with the barons, and was slain at Lewes.]
[32] [although.]
[33] [tax or revenue.]
[34] [Ver. 40. Percy prints grante here (i.e. grant their), but the
MS. reads qte here (i.e. quite or pay here).]
[35] [with his foot push on. Percy prints this sot pot, but it is
undoubtedly fot in the MS.]
[36] [whether you like it or loathe it.]
[37] Ver. 44. This stanza was omitted in the former editions.
[38] [ride spurless on thy grey horse.]
[39] [male shrew.]
[40] [forsookest thy uncle's teaching. De Montfort was Prince
Edward's uncle.]

II.
ON THE DEATH OF K. EDWARD THE FIRST.

W e have here an early attempt at elegy. Edward I. died July 7,
1307, in the 35th year of his reign, and 69th of his age. This
poem appears to have been composed soon after his death.
According to the modes of thinking peculiar to those times,
the writer dwells more upon his devotion than his skill in
government, and pays less attention to the martial and political abilities of
this great monarch, in which he had no equal, than to some little
weaknesses of superstition, which he had in common with all his
contemporaries. The king had in the decline of life vowed an expedition to
the Holy Land, but finding his end approach, he dedicated the sum of
£32,000 to the maintenance of a large body of knights (140 say historians,
eighty says our poet), who were to carry his heart with them into Palestine.
This dying command of the king was never performed. Our poet, with the

honest prejudices of an Englishman, attributes this failure to the advice of
the king of France, whose daughter Isabel, the young monarch, who
succeeded, immediately married. But the truth is, Edward and his
destructive favourite, Piers Gaveston, spent the money upon their pleasures.
To do the greater honour to the memory of his heroe, our poet puts his eloge
in the mouth of the Pope, with the same poetic licence as a more modern
bard would have introduced Britannia or the Genius of Europe pouring
forth his praises.
This antique elegy is extracted from the same MS. volume as the preceding
article; is found with the same peculiarities of writing and orthography; and
tho' written at near the distance of half a century contains little or no
variation of idiom: whereas the next following poem by Chaucer, which
was probably written not more than fifty or sixty years after this, exhibits
almost a new language. This seems to countenance the opinion of some
antiquaries, that this great poet made considerable innovations in his mother
tongue, and introduced many terms, and new modes of speech from other
languages.

[When Henry III. died, highly laudatory songs were sung in
honour of the new king, but when Edward I. died the people
were too grieved at their loss to sing the praise of his successor.
The present song is printed by Mr. Thomas Wright in his
Political Songs of England (Camden Society, 1839, p. 246),
where he also prints a French version, and points out that the
one is clearly translated from the other, adding that the French
song was probably the original. In verse 27, Percy printed hue
(i.e. she) with a capital H, under the impression that it was "the
name of the person who was to preside over the business."]

Alle, that beoth of huerte trewe,[41]
A stounde herkneth[42] to my song
Of duel,[43] that Deth hath diht[44] us newe,
That maketh me syke, ant sorewe among;
Of a knyht, that wes so strong, 5
Of wham God hath don ys wille;
Me-thuncheth[45] that deth hath don us wrong,
That he so sone shall ligge stille.[46]

Al Englond ahte[47] for te knowe
Of wham that song is, that y synge; 10
Of Edward kyng, that lith[48] so lowe,
Yent[49] al this world is nome con springe:[50]
Trewest mon of alle thinge,
Ant in werre war ant wys,[51]
For him we ahte oure honden wrynge,[52] 15
Of Christendome he ber the prys.

Byfore that oure kyng was ded,
He spek ase[53] mon that wes in care,
"Clerkes, knyhtes, barons, he sayde,
"Y charge ou by oure sware[54], 20
"That ye to Engelonde be trewe.
"Y deye, y ne may lyven na more;[55]
"Helpeth mi sone, ant crouneth him newe,
"For he is nest to buen y-core.[56]

"Ich biqueth myn herte aryht,[57] 25
"That hit be write at mi devys,[58]
"Over the see that hue be diht,[59]

"With fourscore knyhtes al of prys,
"In werre that buen war ant wys,
"Ayein the hethene for te fyhte, 30
"To wynne the croiz[60] that lowe lys,
"Myself y cholde yef[61] that y myhte."

Kyng of Fraunce, thou hevedest[62] 'sinne,'[63]
That thou the counsail woldest fonde,[64]
To latte[65] the wille of 'Edward kyng'[66] 35
To wende to the holy londe:
That oure kyng hede take on honde
All Engelond to yeme ant wysse,[67]
To wenden in to the holy londe
To wynnen us heve[n]riche[68] blisse. 40

The messager to the pope com,
And seyde that our kynge was ded:
Ys oune hond the lettre he nom,[69][70]
Ywis[71] his herte was full gret:[72]
The Pope him self the lettre redde, 45
Ant spec[73] a word of gret honour.
"Alas! he seid, is Edward ded?
"Of Christendome he ber the flour."

The Pope to is chaumbre wende,
For dol[74] ne mihte he speke na more; 50
Ant after cardinals he sende,
That muche couthen[75] of Cristes lore,
Bothe the lasse,[76] ant eke the more,
Bed hem bothe rede ant synge:
Gret deol me myhte se thore,[77][78] 55
Mony mon is honde wrynge.

The Pope of Peyters[79] stod at is masse
With ful gret solempnetè,
Ther me con[80] the soule blesse:[78]

"Kyng Edward honoured thou be: 60
"God lene[81] thi sone come after the,
"Bringe to ende that thou hast bygonne,
"The holy crois y-mad of tre,[82]
"So fain thou woldest hit hav y-wonne.

"Jerusalem, thou hast i-lore[83] 65
"The flour of al chivalrie
"Now kyng Edward liveth na more:
"Alas! that he yet shulde deye!
"He wolde ha rered up ful heyye[84]
"Oure banners, that bueth broht[85] to grounde;
"Wel longe we mowe clepe[86] and crie 71
"Er we a such kyng han y-founde."

Nou is Edward of Carnarvan
King of Engelond al aplyht,[87]
God lete him ner be worse man 75
Then his fader, ne lasse of myht,
To holden is pore men to ryht,
And understonde good counsail,
Al Engelond for to wysse ant dyht;[88]
Of gode knyhtes darh[89] him nout fail 80

Thah[90] mi tonge were mad of stel,
Ant min herte y-yote[91] of bras,
The godness myht y never telle,
That with kyng Edward was:
Kyng, as thou art cleped[92] conquerour, 85
In uch[93] bataille thou hadest prys;
God bringe thi soule to the honour,
That ever wes, ant ever ys.

⁂ Here follow in the original three lines more, which, as
seemingly redundant, we chuse to throw to the bottom of the
page, viz.:

"That lasteth ay withouten ende,
Bidde we God, ant oure Ledy to thilke blisse
Jesus us sende. Amen."

FOOTNOTES:

[41] [are of true heart.]
[42] [for a while hearken ye.]
[43] [grief.]
[44] [wrought.]
[45] [methinketh.]
[46] [lie still.]
[47] [ought.]
[48] [lieth.]
[49] [through.]
[50] [his name spread abroad.]
[51] [in war wary and wise.]
[52] [hands wring.]
[53] [as.]
[54] [I charge you by your oath.]
[55] [I die, I may not live more.]
[56] [next to be chosen.]
[57] [rightly.]
[58] [devise.]
[59] [she be sent (see Glossary).]
[60] [cross.]
[61] [I would if.]
[62] [hadst.]
[63] Ver. 33. sunne, MS.
[64] [try.]

[65] [hinder.]
[66] Ver. 35. kyng Edward, MS.
[67] [govern and teach.]
[68] [heavenly.]
[69] [took.]
[70] Ver. 43. ys is probably a contraction of in hys or yn his.
[71] [verily.]
[72] [grieved.]
[73] [spake.]
[74] [grief.]
[75] [knew.]
[76] [less.]
[77] [great grief might be seen there.]
[78] Ver. 55, 59. Me, i.e. Men, so in Robert of Gloucester,
passim.
[79] [Peter's.]
[80] [there they began.]
[81] [give.]
[82] [cross made of wood.]
[83] [lost.]
[84] [high.]
[85] [are brought.]
[86] [very long we may call. Percy printed this incorrectly, Well
longe.]
[87] [entirely.]
[88] [to govern and order.]
[89] [need.]
[90] [though.]
[91] [cast.]
[92] [called.]
[93] [each.]

III.
AN ORIGINAL BALLAD BY CHAUCER.

T his little sonnet, which hath escaped all the editors of
Chaucer's works, is now printed for the first time from an
ancient MS. in the Pepysian Library, that contains many other
poems of its venerable author. The versification is of that
species, which the French call rondeau, very naturally
Englished by our honest countrymen round O. Tho' so early adopted by
them, our ancestors had not the honour of inventing it: Chaucer picked it
up, along with other better things, among the neighbouring nations. A
fondness for laborious trifles hath always prevailed in the dark ages of
literature. The Greek poets have had their wings and axes: the great father
of English poesy may therefore be pardoned one poor solitary rondeau.—
Geofrey Chaucer died Oct. 25, 1400.

[These verses are printed in Morris's Aldine Edition of Chaucer
(vol. vi. pp. 304-5), but there is no conclusive evidence that they
are really by Chaucer. Mr. Furnivall writes (Trial Forewords,
Chaucer Society, 1871, p. 32):—"With the Pity I should like
much to class the Roundel ... as one of the poet's genuine works,
though it is not assigned to him (so far as I know), by any MS.
of authority. It exactly suits the Compleynte of Pite; there is
nothing in it (so far as I can see), to make it not Chaucer's, and it
is of the same form as his Roundel in the Parliament of Foules."
Mr. Hales suggests to me that the poem may have been written
by one of Chaucer's followers, and refers to verse 260 of the
Knight's Tale:

"The freissche beauté sleeth me sodeynly,"

as having probably given the hint to the writer of this rondeau.]

I. 1.

Youre two eyn will sle me sodenly,
I may the beaute of them not sustene,
So wendeth it thorowout my herte kene.

2.

And but your words will helen hastely
My hertis wound, while that it is grene,
Youre two eyn will sle me sodenly.

3.

Upon my trouth I sey yow feithfully,
That ye ben of my liffe and deth the quene;
For with my deth the trouth shal be sene.
Youre two eyn, &c.

II. 1.

So hath youre beauty fro your herte chased
Pitee, that me n' availeth not to pleyn;[94]
For daunger halt[95] your mercy in his cheyne.

2.

Giltless my deth thus have ye purchased;
I sey yow soth,[96] me nedeth not to fayn:
So hath your beaute fro your herte chased.

3.

Alas, that nature hath in yow compassed
So grete beaute, that no man may atteyn
To mercy, though he sterve for the peyn.
So hath youre beaute, &c.

III. 1.

Syn I fro love escaped am so fat,
I nere thinke to ben in his prison lene;
Syn I am fre, I counte hym not a bene.[97]

2.

He may answere, and sey this and that,
I do no fors,[98] I speak ryght as I mene;
Syn I fro love escaped am so fat.

3.

Love hath my name i-strike out of his sclat,
And he is strike out of my bokes clene:
For ever mo 'ther'[99] is non other mene.
Syn I fro love escaped, &c.

FOOTNOTES:

[94] [complain.]
[95] [holdeth.]
[96] [I tell you truth.]
[97] [bean, a term of contempt.]
[98] [I do not care.]
[99] This, MS.

IV.
THE TURNAMENT OF TOTTENHAM:

Or, the Wooeing, Winning, and Wedding of Tibbe, the Reev's
Daughter there.

I t does honour to the good sense of this nation, that while all
Europe was captivated with the bewitching charms of chivalry
and romance, two of our writers in the rudest times could see
thro' the false glare that surrounded them, and discover
whatever was absurd in them both. Chaucer wrote his Rhyme
of Sir Thopas in ridicule of the latter; and in the following poem we have a
humorous burlesque of the former. Without pretending to decide, whether
the institution of chivalry was upon the whole useful or pernicious in the
rude ages, a question that has lately employed many good writers,[100] it
evidently encouraged a vindictive spirit, and gave such force to the custom
of duelling, that there is little hope of its being abolished. This, together
with the fatal consequences which often attended the diversion of the
turnament, was sufficient to render it obnoxious to the graver part of
mankind. Accordingly the Church early denounced its censures against it,
and the State was often prevailed on to attempt its suppression. But fashion
and opinion are superior to authority: and the proclamations against tilting
were as little regarded in those times, as the laws against duelling are in
these. This did not escape the discernment of our poet, who easily perceived
that inveterate opinions must be attacked by other weapons, besides
proclamations and censures: he accordingly made use of the keen one of
ridicule. With this view he has here introduced, with admirable humour, a
parcel of clowns, imitating all the solemnities of the tourney. Here we have
the regular challenge—the appointed day—the lady for the prize—the
formal preparations—the display of armour—the scucheons and devices—
the oaths taken on entering the lists—the various accidents of the encounter
—the victor leading off the prize—and the magnificent feasting—with all
the other solemn fopperies that usually attended the pompous turnament.
And how acutely the sharpness of the author's humour must have been felt
in those days, we may learn from what we can perceive of its keenness now,
when time has so much blunted the edge of his ridicule.

The Turnament of Tottenham was first printed from an ancient MS. in 1631,
4to., by the Rev. William Bedwell, rector of Tottenham, who was one of the
translators of the Bible. He tells us, it was written by Gilbert Pilkington,
thought to have been some time parson of the same parish, and author of
another piece, intitled, Passio Domini Jesu Christi. Bedwell, who was
eminently skilled in the Oriental and other languages, appears to have been
but little conversant with the ancient writers in his own, and he so little
entered into the spirit of the poem he was publishing, that he contends for
its being a serious narrative of a real event, and thinks it must have been
written before the time of Edward III. because turnaments were prohibited
in that reign. "I do verily beleeve," says he, "that this turnament was acted
before this proclamation of K. Edward. For how durst any to attempt to do
that, although in sport, which was so straightly forbidden, both by the civill
and ecclesiasticall power? For although they fought not with lances, yet, as
our authour sayth, 'It was no childrens game.' And what would have become
of him, thinke you, which should have slayne another in this manner of
jeasting? Would he not, trow you, have been hang'd for it in earnest? yea,
and have bene buried like a dogge?" It is, however, well known that
turnaments were in use down to the reign of Elizabeth.
In the first editions of this work, Bedwell's copy was reprinted here, with
some few conjectural emendations; but as Bedwell seemed to have reduced
the orthography at least, if not the phraseology, to the standard of his own
time, it was with great pleasure that the Editor was informed of an ancient
MS. copy preserved in the Museum (Harl. MSS. 5396), which appeared to
have been transcribed in the reign of K. Hen. VI. about 1456. This obliging
information the Editor owed to the friendship of Tho. Tyrwhitt, Esq., and he
has chiefly followed that more authentic transcript, improved however by
some readings from Bedwell's book.

[A writer in the Gentleman's Magazine (July, 1794, p. 613), calls
attention to the fact that this ballad is "a burlesque upon the
feudal custom of marrying an heiress to the knight who should
vanquish all his opponents at a solemn assembly holden for the
purpose."

Bedwell's MS. is now in the Cambridge public library (Ff. 5,
48), and Mr. Thomas Wright, who has printed it in a miniature
volume, believes it to have been written as early as the reign of
Edward II.
Bedwell was chaplain to Sir Henry Wotton in his embassy to
Venice, where he is said to have assisted the celebrated Father
Paul in the composition of his History of the Council of Trent.
The following is a copy of the inscription on Bedwell's
monument in the chancel of Tottenham church:—"Here lyes
interred in this chancel Mr. William Bedwell, sometime vicar of
this church and one of King James's translators of the Bible, and
for the Easterne tongues as learned a man as most lived in these
moderne times. Aged 70. Dyed May the 5th, 1632."]

Of all thes kene conquerours to carpe[101] it were kynde;
Of fele feyytyng[102] folk ferly[103] we fynde;
The Turnament of Totenham have we in mynde;
It were harme sych hardynes were holden byhynde,
In story as we rede 5
Of Hawkyn, of Herry,
Of Tomkyn, of Terry,
Of them that were dughty[104]
And stalworth[105] in dede.

It befel in Totenham on a dere[106] day, 10
Ther was mad a shurtyng[107] be the hy-way:
Theder com al the men of the contray,
Of Hyssylton,[108] of Hy-gate, and of Hakenay,

And all the swete swynkers.[109]
Ther hopped Hawkyn, 15
Ther daunsed Dawkyn,
Ther trumped Tomkyn,
And all were trewe drynkers.

Tyl the day was gon and evyn-song past,
That thay schuld reckyn ther scot and ther counts cast;[110]
20
Perkyn the potter into the press past,
And sayd Randol the refe,[111] a doyter[112] thou hast,
Tyb the dere:
Therfor faine wyt wold I,[113]
Whych of all thys bachelery 25
Were best worthye
To wed hur to hys fere.[114]

Upstyrt thos gadelyngys[115] wyth ther lang staves,
And sayd, Randol the refe, lo! thys lad raves;
Boldely amang us thy doyter he craves; 30
We er rycher men then he, and mor gode haves
Of cattell and corn;
Then sayd Perkyn, To Tybbe I have hyyt[116]
That I schal be alway redy in my ryyt,
If that it schuld be thys day sevenyyt, 35
Or elles yet to morn.[117]

Then sayd Randolfe the refe, Ever be he waryd,[118]
That about thys carpyng lenger wold be taryd:
I wold not my doyter, that scho[119] were miscaryd,
But at hur most worschip I wold scho were maryd, 40
Therfor a Turnament schal begynne
Thys day sevenyyt,—
Wyth a flayl for to fyyt:
And 'he,' that is most of myght
Schal brouke hur wyth wynne.[120] 45

Whoso berys[121] hym best in the turnament,
Hym schal be granted the gre[122] be the comon assent,
For to wynne my doyter wyth 'dughtynesse' of dent,[123][124]
And 'coppell' my brode-henne 'that' was broyt out of Kent:
[125]

And my dunnyd kowe 50
For no spens[126] wyl I spare,
For no cattell wyl I care,
He schal have my gray mare,
And my spottyd sowe.

Ther was many 'a' bold lad ther bodyes to bede:[127] 55
Than thay toke thayr leve, and homward they yede;[128]
And all the weke afterward graythed ther wede,[129][130]
Tyll it come to the day, that thay suld do ther dede.
They armed ham[131] in matts;
Thay set on ther nollys,[132] 60
For to kepe ther pollys,[133]
Gode blake bollys,[134]
For batryng of bats.[135]

Thay sowed tham in schepeskynnes, for thay schuld not
brest:[136]
Ilk-on[137] toke a blak hat, insted of a crest: 65
'A basket or a panyer before on ther brest,'[138]
And a flayle in ther hande; for to fyght prest,[139]
Furth gon thay fare:[140]
Ther was kyd[141] mekyl fors,[142]
Who schuld best fend hys cors:[143] 70
He that had no gode hors,
He gat hym a mare.[144]

Sych another gadryng[145] have I not sene oft,
When all the gret company com rydand to the croft:[146]
Tyb on a gray mare was set up on loft 75

On a sek ful of fedyrs,[147] for scho schuld syt soft,[148]
And led 'till the gap.'[149]
For cryeng of the men
Forther wold not Tyb then,
Tyl scho had hur brode hen 80
Set in hur Lap.

A gay gyrdyl Tyb had on, borowed for the nonys,[150]
And a garland on hur hed ful of rounde bonys,[151][152]
And a broche on hur brest ful of 'sapphyre' stonys,[153]
Wyth the holy-rode tokenyng,[154] was wrotyn[155] for the
nonys;[156]85
For no 'spendings' thay had spared.[157]
When joly Gyb saw hur thare,
He gyrd so hys gray mare,
'That scho lete a fowkin'[158] fare[159]
At the rereward. 90

I wow to God, quoth Herry, I schal not lefe behynde,
May I mete wyth Bernard on Bayard the blynde,
Ich man kepe hym out of my wynde,
For whatsoever that he be, before me I fynde,
I wot I schall hym greve. 95
Wele sayd, quoth Hawkyn.
And I wow, quoth Dawkyn,
May I mete wyth Tomkyn,
Hys flayle I schal hym reve.[160]

I make a vow, quoth Hud, Tyb, son schal thou se, 100
Whych of all thys bachelery 'granted' is the gre:[161]
I schal scomfet[162] thaym all, for the love of the;
In what place so I come thay schal have dout[163] of me,
Myn armes ar so clere:
I bere a reddyl,[164] and a rake, 105
Poudred wyth a brenand drake,[165]
And three cantells[166] of a cake

In ycha[167] cornere.

I vow to God, quoth Hawkyn, yf 'I' have the gowt,[168][169]
Al that I fynde in the felde 'thrustand' here aboute,[170] 110
Have I twyes or thryes redyn thurgh the route,
In ycha stede ther thay[171] me se, of me thay schal have
doute,
When I begyn to play.
I make avowe that I ne schall,
But yf Tybbe wyl me call,[172] 115
Or I be thryes don fall,[173]
Ryyt onys[174] com away.

Then sayd Terry, and swore be hys crede;
Saw thou never yong boy forther hys body bede,[175]
For when thay fyyt fastest and most ar in drede, 120
I schall take Tyb by the hand, and hur away lede:
I am armed at the full;
In myn armys I bere wele
A doy trogh[176] and a pele,[177]
A sadyll wythout a panell, 125
Wyth a fles of woll.[178]

I make a vow, quoth Dudman, and swor be the stra,
Whyls me ys left my 'mare,' thou gets hurr not swa;[179][180]
For scho ys wele schapen, and liyt as the rae,[181]
Ther is no capul[182] in thys myle befor hur schal ga;[183] 130
Sche wul ne noyt begyle:
Sche wyl me bere, I dar say,
On a lang somerys day,
Fro Hyssylton to Hakenay,
Noyt other half myle. 135

I make a vow, quoth Perkyn, thow speks of cold rost,
I schal wyrch 'wyselyer'[184] withouten any bost:[185]
Five of the best capulys, that ar in thys ost,

I wot I schal thaym wynne, and bryng thaym to my cost,
And here I grant thaym Tybbe. 140
Wele boyes here ys he,
That wyl fyyt, and not fle,
For I am in my jolyte,
Wyth so forth, Gybbe.

When thay had ther vowes made, furth can thay hie, 145
Wyth flayles, and hornes, and trumpes mad of tre:[186]
Ther were all the bachelerys of that contre;
Thay were dyyt[187] in aray, as thaymselfes wold be:
Thayr baners were ful bryyt
Of an old rotten fell;[188] 150
The cheveron of a plow-mell;[189][190]
And the schadow of a bell,
Poudred wyth the mone lyyt.[191]

I wot yt 'was' no chylder[192] game, whan thay togedyr met,
[193]

When icha freke[194] in the feld on hys feloy[195] bet, 155
And layd on styfly, for nothyng wold thay let,
And foght ferly[196] fast, tyll ther horses swet,
And few wordys spoken.
Ther were flayles al to slatred,[197]
Ther were scheldys al to flatred, 160
Bollys and dysches al to schatred,
And many hedys brokyn

There was clynkyng of cart-sadellys, & clatteryng of cannes;
[198]

Of fele frekys[199] in the feld brokyn were their fannes;
Of sum were the hedys brokyn, of sum the braynpannes,[200]
165
And yll were thay besene,[201] or thay went thanns,
Wyth swyppyng of swepyls:[202]
Thay were so wery for-foght,[203]

Thay myyt not fyyt mare oloft,[204]
But creped about in the 'croft,'[205] 170
As thay were croked crepyls.

Perkyn was so wery, that he began to loute;[206]
Help, Hud, I am ded in thys ylk rowte:
An hors for forty pens, a gode and a stoute!
That I may lyytly come of my noye[207] oute, 175
For no cost wyl I spare.
He styrt up as a snayle,
And hent[208] a capul be the tayle,
And 'reft' Dawkin hys flayle,[209]
And wan there a mare. 180

Perkyn wan five, and Hud wan twa:
Glad and blythe thay ware, that they had done sa;
Thay wold have tham to Tyb, and present hur with tha:[210]
The Capulls were so wery, that thay myyt not ga,
But styl gon thay stond.[211] 185
Alas! quoth Hudde, my joye I lese;[212]
Mee had lever then a ston of chese,
That dere Tyb had al these,
And wyst it were my sond.[213][214]

Perkyn turnyd hym about in that ych thrang,[215] 190
Among thos wery boyes he wrest and he wrang;
He threw tham doun to the erth, and thrast tham amang,
When he saw Tyrry away wyth Tyb fang,[216]
And after hym ran;
Off his horse he hym drogh,[217] 195
And gaf hym of hys flayl inogh:
We te he! quoth Tyb, and lugh,
Ye er a dughty man.

'Thus' thay tugged, and rugged, tyl yt was nere nyyt:[218]
All the wyves of Tottenham came to se that syyt 200

Wyth wyspes, and kexis,[219] and ryschys[220] there lyyt,
To fetch hom ther husbandes, that were tham trouth plyyt;
And sum bróyt gret harwos,[221]
Ther husbandes hom to fetch,[222]
Sum on dores, and sum on hech,[223] 205
Sum on hyrdyllys, and som on crech.[224]
And sum on whele-barows.

Thay gaderyd Perkyn about, 'on' everych syde,[225]
And grant hym ther 'the gre,' the more was hys pryde:[226]
Tyb and he, wyth gret 'mirth,' homward con thay ryde,[227]
210
And were al nyyt togedyr, tyl the morn tyde;
And thay 'to church went:'[228]
So wele hys nedys he has sped,
That dere Tyb he 'hath' wed;[229]
The prayse-folk,[230] that hur led,[231] 215
Were of the Turnament.

To that ylk fest com many for the nones;
Some come hyphalte,[232] and some trippand 'thither' on the
stonys;[233]
Sum a staf in hys hand, and sum two at onys;
Of sum where the hedes broken, of some the schulder bonys:
220
With sorrow come thay thedyr.
Wo was Hawkyn, wo was Herry,
Wo was Tomkyn, wo was Terry.
And so was all the bachelary,
When thay met togedyr. 225
[234]
At that fest thay wer servyd with a ryche aray,
Every fyve & fyve had a cokenay;[235]
And so thay sat in jolyte al the lung day;
And at the last thay went to bed with ful gret deray:[236]
Mekyl myrth was them among; 230

In every corner of the hous
Was melody delycyous
For to here precyus
Of six menys song.[237]

FOOTNOTES:

[100] See (Mr. Hurd's) Letters on Chivalry, 8vo. 1762,
Memoires de la Chevalerie, par M. de la Curne de Sainte-
Palaye, 1759, 2 tom. 12mo. &c.
[101] [talk.]
[102] [fierce fighting.]
[103] [wonder.]
[104] [doughty.]
[105] [stout.]
[106] [dire or sad.]
[107] [sport.]
[108] [Islington.]
[109] [labourers.]
[110] Ver. 20. It is not very clear in the MS. whether it should be
conts, or conters.
[111] [bailiff.]
[112] [daughter.]
[113] [know would I.]
[114] [to wed her for his mate.]
[115] [idle fellows.]
[116] [promised.]
[117] [it be to-morrow.]
[118] [accursed.]
[119] [she.]
[120] [shall have possession of her with joy.]
[121] [beareth.]
[122] [prize.]
[123] [blow.]
[124] Ver. 48. Dozty, MS.

[125] V. 49. coppeld. We still use the phrase "a copple-crowned
hen."
[126] [expense.]
[127] [bid or offer.]
[128] [went.]
[129] [made ready their clothing.]
[130] V. 57. gayed, PC.
[131] [them.]
[132] [heads.]
[133] [polls.]
[134] [bowls.]
[135] [cudgels.]
[136] [burst.]
[137] [each one.]
[138] V. 66 is wanting in MS. and supplied from PC.
[139] [ready.]
[140] [they began to go forth.]
[141] [shown.]
[142] [much strength.]
[143] [best defend his body.]
[144] V. 72. He borrowed him, PC.
[145] [gathering.]
[146] [riding to the inclosure.]
[147] [sackfull of feathers.]
[148] Ver. 76. The MS. had once sedys, i.e. seeds, which appears
to have been altered to fedyrs, or feathers. Bedwell's copy has
Senvy, i.e. Mustard-seed.
[149] V. 77. and led hur to cap, MS.
[150] [nonce or occasion.]
[151] [Chaucer uses the expression "rowel boon" in his Tale of
Sir Thopas, which is explained as round bone.]
[152] V. 83. Bedwell's PC. has "Ruel-Bones."
[153] V. 84. safer stones, MS.
[154] [token.]
[155] [wrought.]
[156] V. 85. wrotyn, i.e. wrought. PC. reads, written.

[157] V. 86. No catel (perhaps chatel) they had spared, MS.
[158] [crepitus ventris.]
[159] V. 89. Then ... faucon, MS.
[160] [deprive.]
[161] Ver. 101. grant, MS.
[162] [discomfit.]
[163] [fear.]
[164] [riddle or sieve.]
[165] [sprinkled over with firebrands.]
[166] [pieces.]
[167] [each.]
[168] [though I have the gout.]
[169] V. 109. yf he have, MS.

[170] V. 110. the MS. literally has thr. sand, here.
[171] [in each place where they.]
[172] [unless Tib will call me.]
[173] [ere I be thrice made to]
[174] [even once.]
[175] [engage.]
[176] [dough trough.]
[177] [a baker's long-handled shovel.]
[178] [fleece of wool.]
[179] [so.]
[180] V. 128. merth, MS.
[181] [roe.]
[182] [horse.]
[183] [go.]
[184] [work more wisely.]
[185] Ver. 137. fwyselier, MS.
[186] V. 146. flailes and harnisse, PC.
[187] [dressed.]
[188] [hide.]
[189] [a small wooden hammer occasionally fixed to the
plough.]
[190] Ver. 151. The chiefe, PC.

[191] [moonlight.]
[192] [child's.]
[193] V. 154. yt ys, MS.
[194] [man.]
[195] [fellow.]
[196] [wonderfully.]
[197] [splintered.]
[198] V. 163. The boyes were, MS.
[199] [many men.]
[200] [skulls.]
[201] [dressed.]
[202] [striking fast of the staffs of the flails.]
[203] [over-fought.]
[204] [on horseback.]
[205] V. 170. creped then about in the croft, MS.
[206] [stoop.]
[207] [hurt.]
[208] [laid hold of.]
[209] Ver. 179. razt, MS.
[210] [them.]
[211] V. 185. stand, MS.
[212] [lose.]
[213] [knew it were my sending.]
[214] V. 189. sand, MS.
[215] V. 190. the PC. reads, ilk throng.
[216] [make off.]
[217] [drew.]
[218] Ver. 199. Thys, MS.
[219] [elder sticks used for candles.]
[220] [rushes.]
[221] [harrows.]
[222] V. 204. hom for to fetch, MS.
[223] [half door of a cottage.]
[224] [crutch.]
[225] V. 208. about everych side, MS.

[226] V. 209. the gre, is wanting in MS.
[227] V. 210. mothe, MS.
[228] V. 212. and thay ifere assent, MS.
[229] V. 214. had wed, MS.
[230] [singing men and women.]
[231] V. 215. The cheefemen, PC.
[232] [lame in the hip.]
[233] V. 218. trippand on, MS.
[234] In the former impressions this concluding stanza was only
given from Bedwell's printed edition, but it is here copied from
the old MS. wherein it has been since found separated from the
rest of the poem, by several pages of a money account, and other
heterogeneous matter.
[235] [a lean chicken.]
[236] [a confusion.]
[237] Six-men's song, i.e. a song for six voices. So Shakespeare
uses three-man song-men, in his Winter's Tale, act iii. sc. 3, to
denote men that could sing catches composed for three voices.
Of this sort are Weelkes's madrigals mentioned below, book ii.
song 9. So again Shakespeare has three-men beetle; i.e. a beetle
or rammer worked by three men, 2 Hen. IV. act i. sc. 3.

V.
FOR THE VICTORY AT AGINCOURT.

T hat our plain and martial ancestors could wield their swords
much better than their pens, will appear from the following
homely rhymes, which were drawn up by some poet laureat
of those days to celebrate the immortal victory gained at
Agincourt, Oct. 25, 1415. This song or hymn is given meerly
as a curiosity, and is printed from a MS. copy in the Pepys collection, vol. i.
folio. It is there accompanied with the musical notes, which are copied on
the opposite page.

[When the news of this great victory arrived in England, the
people "were literally mad with joy and triumph," and although
Henry V. on his entrance into London after the battle,
commanded that no "ditties should be made and sung by
minstrels or others" in praise of Agincourt, "for that he would
whollie have the praise and thankes altogether given to God,"
several songs have come down to us on this soul-inspiring
theme. Besides the present ballad there are,
1. Agincourte Battell, beginning—

"A councell brave our King did hold,"

in the Percy Folio MS. (see Hales and Furnivall's edition, vol. ii.
p. 166).
2. Agincourt, or the English Bowman's Glory, a spirited ballad
quoted in Heywood's King Edward IV., the first stanza of which
is as follows—

"Agincourt, Agincourt!
Know ye not Agincourt?
Where English slue and hurt
All their French foemen?

With our pikes and bills brown,
How the French were beat downe,
Shot by our bowman."
3. King Henry V., his Conquest of France, commencing—

"As our King lay musing on his bed."

4. The Cambro-Briton's Ballad of Agincourt, by Michael
Drayton.
Besides these ballads there is a poem attributed to Lydgate, and
Drayton's Battaile of Agincourt. For further information on the
subject the reader should see Sir Nicholas Harris Nicolas's
History of the Battle, and Hales and Furnivall's edition of the
Percy Folio MS. (vol. ii. pp. 158, 595).
Dr. Rimbault describes the music attached to the present ballad
"as the first English regular composition of which we have any
remains."]

Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria!

Owre kynge went forth to Normandy,
With grace and myyt of chivalry;
The God for hym wrouyt marvelously,
Wherefore Englonde may calle, and cry 5
Deo gratias:
Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria.

He sette a sege, the sothe for to say,

To Harflue[238] toune with ryal aray;
That toune he wan, and made a fray, 10
That Fraunce shall rywe tyl domes day.
Deo gratias, &c.

Then went owre kynge, with alle his oste,
Thorowe Fraunce for all the Frenshe boste;
He spared 'for' drede of leste, ne most, 15
Tyl he come to Agincourt coste.[239]
Deo gratias, &c.

Than for sothe that knyyt comely
In Agincourt feld he fauyt manly,
Thorow grace of God most myyty 20
He had bothe the felde, and the victory.
Deo gratias, &c.

Ther dukys, and erlys, lorde and barone,
Were take, and slayne, and that wel sone,
And some were ledde in to Lundone 25
With joye, and merthe, and grete renone.
Deo gratias, &c.

Now gracious God he save owre kynge,
His peple, and all his wel wyllynge,
Gef him gode lyfe, and gode endynge, 30
That we with merth mowe savely synge
Deo gratias:
Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria.

FOOTNOTES:

[238] [Harfleur.]
[239] [region.]

VI.
THE NOT-BROWNE MAYD.

T he sentimental beauties of this ancient ballad have always
recommended it to readers of taste, notwithstanding the rust
of antiquity which obscures the style and expression. Indeed
if it had no other merit than the having afforded the
groundwork to Prior's Henry and Emma, this ought to
preserve it from oblivion. That we are able to give it in so correct a manner,
is owing to the great care and exactness of the accurate editor of the
Prolusions, 8vo. 1760; who has formed the text from two copies found in
two different editions of Arnolde's Chronicle, a book supposed to be first
printed about 1521. From the copy in the Prolusions the following is
printed, with a few additional improvements gathered from another edition
of Arnolde's book[240] preserved in the public library at Cambridge. All the
various readings of this copy will be found here, either received into the
text, or noted in the margin. The references to the Prolusions will shew
where they occur. In our ancient folio MS.[241] described in the preface, is a
very corrupt and defective copy of this ballad, which yet afforded a great
improvement in one passage. See v. 310.
It has been a much easier task to settle the text of this poem, than to
ascertain its date. The ballad of the Nutbrowne Mayd was first revived in
The Muses Mercury for June, 1707, 4to. being prefaced with a little Essay
on the old English Poets and Poetry; in which this poem is concluded to be
"near 300 years old," upon reasons which, though they appear inconclusive
to us now, were sufficient to determine Prior, who there first met with it.
However, this opinion had the approbation of the learned Wanley, an
excellent judge of ancient books. For that whatever related to the reprinting
of this old piece was referred to Wanley, appears from two letters of Prior's
preserved in the British Museum (Harl. MSS. No. 3777). The editor of the
Prolusions thinks it cannot be older than the year 1500, because, in Sir
Thomas More's tale of The Serjeant, &c., which was written about that
time, there appears a sameness of rhythmus and orthography, and a very
near affinity of words and phrases with those of this ballad. But this
reasoning is not conclusive, for if Sir Thomas More made this ballad his
model, as is very likely, that will account for the sameness of measure, and

in some respect for that of words and phrases, even tho' this had been
written long before; and as for the orthography, it is well known that the old
printers reduced that of most books to the standard of their own times.
Indeed it is hardly probable that an antiquary like Arnolde would have
inserted it among his historical collections, if it had been then a modern
piece; at least he would have been apt to have named its author. But to shew
how little can be inferred from a resemblance of rhythmus or style, the
Editor of these volumes has in his ancient folio MS. a poem on the victory
of Flodden-field, written in the same numbers, with the same alliterations,
and in orthography, phraseology, and style nearly resembling the Visions of
Pierce Plowman, which are yet known to have been composed above 160
years before that battle. As this poem is a great curiosity, we shall give a
few of the introductory lines:

"Grant gracious God, grant me this time,
That I may say, or I cease, thy selven to please;
And Mary his mother, that maketh all this world;
And all the seemlie saints, that sitten in heaven;
I will carpe of kings, that conquered full wide,
That dwelled in this land, that was alyes noble;
Henry the seaventh, that soveraigne lord," &c.[242]

With regard to the date of the following ballad, we have taken a middle
course, neither placed it so high as Wanley and Prior, nor quite so low as the
editor of the Prolusions; we should have followed the latter in dividing
every other line into two, but that the whole would then have taken up more
room than could be allowed it in this volume.

[The edition of Richard Arnold's Chronicle (1521) mentioned
above, is the second; and the first, which is undated, was printed
at Antwerp in 1502. This edition is described in Brydges'
Censurä Literaria (vol. vi. p. 114), where the Nut-Brown Maid
is printed. A copy from the Balliol MS. 354, of about the same
date, is printed in Percy's folio manuscript, ed. Hales and
Furnivall, vol iii. p. 174. Warton will not allow that the poem

was written before the beginning of the sixteenth century, but as
Percy says, it is highly improbable that an antiquary would
insert a modern piece in his miscellany of curiosities.
Percy has inserted the following note in his folio MS.: "From
the concluding words of this last stanza—

['but men wold that men shold
be kind to them eche one,
yett I had rather, god to obay
and serve but him alone']

it should seem that the author was a woman."
Mr. Skeat remarks that the part of the fourth stanza before the
woman speaks, and the first two verses, are still more conclusive
on this point. On the other side it is noticeable that the author
speaks as a man at line 353:

"... that we may
To them be comfortable;"

but this may only be a blind.
Few readers will agree with Percy's estimate of Prior's poem,
and Henry and Emma is now only remembered because of its
connection with the Nut-Brown Maid.
Warton justly points out how the simplicity of the original is
decorated, dilated, and consequently spoilt by Prior, who crowds
his verses with zephyrs, Chloe, Mars, the Cyprian deity, &c.
Such lay figures as these are quite out of keeping with the
realities of this most exquisite poem.
One instance of Prior's inability to appreciate the beauties of his
original will be sufficient. The tender allusion at v. 232-3:

"O my swete mother, before all other
For you I have most drede,"

followed by the reflection:

"But nowe adue! I must ensue
Where fortune doth me lede,"

is entirely omitted by the later poet, who changes

"To shorte my here, a bowe to bere,
To shote in tyme of nede,"

into

"Wanting the scissors, with these hands I'll tear
(If that obstructs my flight) this load of hair."

The Nut-Brown Maid has always been highly popular (a proof
of the good taste of the people), and in consequence it figures in
Captain Cox's collection described by Laneham. Another proof
of its popularity is the existence of various parodies, one of
which is of very early date.
It was a common practice in the sixteenth century to turn
ordinary ballads into religious songs. The New Nutbrowne Maid,
printed by John Skot about 1520, reprinted by George Isted in
1820 for the Roxburghe Club, and again reprinted by Dr.
Rimbault for the Percy Society (vol. iv.), 1842, is an instance of
this practice. It is a close parody of the original, and purports to
be "upon the passion of Cryste." The he and she are changed to
Maria the mayde and Jesus.
Another version is given in the Percy folio MS. (ed. Hales and
Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 334), which is entitled A Jigge.
The incidents are vulgarized, "but," Mr. Hales observes, "the
beauty of the original is too great to be altogether destroyed,
however rude the hands that handle it. Something of the charm
of the Nut Brown Maid lingers around this Jig."]

Be it ryght, or wrong, these men among[243]
On women do complayne:[244][245]
Affyrmynge this, how that it is
A labour spent in vayne,
To love them wele; for never a dele[246] 5
They love a man agayne:
For late a man do what he can,
Theyr favour to attayne,
Yet, yf a newe do them persue,
Theyr first true lover than 10
Laboureth for nought; for from her[247] thought[248]
He is a banyshed man.

I say nat nay, but that all day
It is bothe writ and sayd
That womans faith is, as who sayth, 15
All utterly decayd;
But, neverthelesse, ryght good wytnèsse
In this case might be layd,
That they love true, and continùe:
Recorde the Not-browne Mayde: 20
Which, when her love came, her to prove,
To her to make his mone,
Wolde nat depart; for in her hart
She loved but hym alone.

Than betwaine us late us dyscus 25
What was all the manere
Betwayne them two: we wyll also
Tell all the payne, and fere,[249]
That she was in. Nowe I begyn,

So that ye me answère; 30
Wherfore, all ye, that present be
I pray you, gyve an ere.
"I am the knyght; I come by nyght,
As secret as I can;
Sayinge, Alas! thus standeth the case, 35
I am a banyshed man."

And I your wyll for to fulfyll
In this wyll nat refuse;
Trustying to shewe, in wordès fewe,
That men have an yll use 40
(To theyr own shame) women to blame,
And causelesse them accuse:
Therfore to you I answere nowe,
All women to excuse,—
She.[250]

Myne owne hart dere, with you what chere? 45
I pray you, tell anone;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.

He.

It standeth so; a dede is do[251]
Wherof grete harme shall growe: 50
My destiny is for to dy
A shamefull deth, I trowe;
Or elles to fle: the one must be.
None other way I knowe,
But to withdrawe as an outlawe, 55
And take me to my bowe.
Wherfore, adue, my owne hart true!
None other rede I can:[252]
For I must to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man. 60

She.

O lord, what is thys worldys blysse,
That changeth as the mone!
My somers day in lusty may[253]
Is derked[254] before the none.
I here you say, farewell: Nay, nay 65
We dèpart[255] nat so sone.
Why say ye so? wheder[256] wyll ye go?
Alas! what have ye done?
All my welfàre to sorrowe and care
Sholde chaunge, yf ye were gone; 70
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.

He.

I can beleve, it shall you greve,
And somewhat you dystrayne;[257]
But, aftyrwarde, your paynes harde 75
Within a day or twayne
Shall sone aslake;[258] and ye shall take
Comfort to you agayne.
Why sholde ye ought? for, to make thought,
Your labour were in vayne. 80
And thus I do; and pray you to,
As hartely,[259] as I can;
For I must to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.

She.

Now, syth that ye have shewed to me 85
The secret of your mynde,
I shall be playne to you agayne,
Lyke as ye shall me fynde.
Syth it is so, that ye wyll go,

I wolle not leve[260] behynde; 90
Shall never be sayd, the Not-browne Mayd[261]
Was to her love unkynde:
Make you redy, for so am I,
Allthough it were anone;[262]
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 95
I love but you alone.
He.

Yet I you rede[263] to take good hede
What men wyll thynke, and say:
Of yonge, and olde it shall be tolde,
That ye be gone away, 100
Your wanton wyll for to fulfill,
In grene wode you to play;
And that ye myght from your delyght
No lenger make delay.
Rather than ye sholde thus for me 105
Be called an yll womàn,
Yet wolde I to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.

She.

Though it be songe of old and yonge,
That I sholde be to blame, 110
Theyrs be the charge, that speke so large
In hurtynge of my name:
For I wyll prove, that faythfulle love
It is devoyd of shame;
In your dystresse, and hevynesse, 115
To part with you, the same:
And sure all tho,[264] that do not so,[265]
True lovers are they none;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone. 120

He.

I counceyle you, remember howe,
It is no maydens lawe,
Nothynge to dout, but to renne[266] out
To wode with an outlàwe:
For ye must there in your hand bere 125
A bowe, redy to drawe;
And, as a thefe, thus must you lyve,
Ever in drede and awe;
Wherby to you grete harme myght growe:
Yet had I lever than,[267] 130
That I had to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.

She.

I thinke nat nay, but as ye say,[268]
It is no maydens lore:
But love may make me for your sake, 135
As I have sayd before
To come on fote, to hunt, and shote
To gete us mete in store;[269]
For so that I your company
May have, I aske no more: 140
From which to part, it maketh my hart
As colde as ony stone;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.

He.

For an outlawe this is the lawe, 145
That men hym take and bynde;
Without pytè, hanged to be,
And waver with the wynde.
If I had nede, (as God forbede!)

What rescous[270] coude ye fynde?[271] 150
Forsoth, I trowe, ye and your bowe
For fere wolde drawe behynde:
And no mervayle; for lytell avayle
Were in your counceyle than:
Wherfore I wyll to the grene wode go, 155
Alone, a banyshed man.
She.

Ryght wele knowe ye, that women be
But feble for to fyght;
No womanhede it is indede
To be bolde as a knyght: 160
Yet, in such fere yf that ye were
With enemyes day or nyght,[272]
I wolde withstande, with bowe in hande,
To greve them as I myght,[273]
And you to save; as women have 165
From deth 'men' many one:
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.

He.

Yet take good hede; for ever I drede
That ye coude nat sustayne 170
The thornie wayes, the depe valèies,
The snowe, the frost, the rayne,[274]
The colde, the hete: for dry, or wete,
We must lodge on the playne;[275]
And, us above, none other rofe 175
But a brake bush, or twayne:
Which sone sholde greve you, I beleve;
And ye wolde gladly than
That I had to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man. 180

She.

Syth I have here bene partynère
With you of joy and blysse,
I must also parte of your wo
Endure, as reson is:
Yet am I sure of one plesùre; 185
And, shortely, it is this:
That, where ye be, me semeth, pardè,
I coude nat fare amysse.
Without more speche, I you beseche
That we were sone agone;[276] 190
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.

He.

If ye go thyder, ye must consyder,
Whan ye have lust to dyne,
There shall no mete be for you gete, 195
Nor drinke, bere, ale, ne wyne.[277]
No shetés clene, to lye betwene,
Made of threde and twyne;
None other house, but leves and bowes,
To cover your hed and myne, 200
O myne harte swete, this evyll dyéte[278]
Sholde make you pale and wan;
Wherfore I wyll to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.

She.

Amonge the wylde dere, such an archère, 205
As men say that ye be,
Ne may nat fayle of good vitayle,[279]
Where is so grete plentè:
And water clere of the ryvére

Shall be full swete to me; 210
With which in hele[280] I shall ryght wele
Endure, as ye shall see;
And, or we go, a bedde or two
I can provyde anone;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 215
I love but you alone.
He.

Lo yet, before, ye must do more,
Yf ye wyll go with me:
As cut your here up by your ere,[281][282]
Your kyrtel by the kne;[283] 220
With bowe in hande, for to withstande
Your enemyes, yf nede be:
And this same nyght before day-lyght,[284]
To wode-warde wyll I fle.
Yf that ye wyll all this fulfill, 225
Do it shortely as ye can;
Els wyll I to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.

She.

I shall as nowe do more for you
Than longeth to womanhede; 230
To shorte my here,[285] a bowe to bere,
To shote in tyme of nede.
O my swete mother, before all other
For you I have most drede:
But nowe, adue! I must ensue,[286] 235
Where fortune doth me lede.
All this make ye: Now let us fle;
The day cometh fast upon;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone. 240

He.

Nay, nay, nat so; ye shall nat go,
And I shall tell ye why,—
Your appetyght is to be lyght
Of love, I wele espy:
For, lyke as ye have sayed to me, 245
In lyke wyse hardely
Ye wolde answére whosoever it were,
In way of company.
It is sayd of olde, Sone hote, sone colde;
And so is a womàn. 250
Wherfore I to the wode wyll go,[287]
Alone, a banyshed man.

She.

Yf ye take hede, it is no nede[288]
Such wordes to say by me;
For oft ye prayed, and longe assayed, 255
Or[289] I you loved, pardè:[290]
And though that I of auncestry
A barons daughter be,
Yet have you proved howe I you loved
A squyer of lowe degrè; 260
And ever shall, whatso befall;
To dy therfore[291] anone;[292]
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.

He.

A barons chylde to be begylde! 265
It were a cursed dede;
To be felàwe with an outlawe!
Almighty God forbede!
Yet beter were, the pore squyère

Alone to forest yede,[293] 270
Than ye sholde say another day,
That, by my cursed dede,
Ye were betray'd: Wherfore, good mayd,
The best rede[294] that I can,
Is, that I to the grene wode go, 275
Alone, a banyshed man.
She.

Whatever befall, I never shall
Of this thyng you upbrayd:[295]
But yf ye go, and leve me so,
Than have ye me betrayd. 280
Remember you wele, howe that ye dele;
For, yf ye, as ye sayd,[296]
Be so unkynde, to leve behynde,[297]
Your love, the Not-browne Mayd,
Trust me truly, that I shall dy 285
Sone after ye be gone;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.

He.

Yf that ye went, ye sholde repent;
For in the forest nowe 290
I have purvayed[298] me of a mayd,
Whom I love more than you;
Another fayrère, than ever ye were,
I dare it wele avowe;
And of you bothe eche sholde be wrothe 295
With other, as I trowe:
It were myne ese, to lyve in pese;
So wyll I, yf I can;
Wherfore I to the wode wyll go,
Alone, a banyshed man. 300

She.

Though in the wode I undyrstode
Ye had a paramour,
All this may nought remove my thought,
But that I wyll be your:
And she shall fynde me soft, and kynde, 305
And courteys every hour;
Glad to fulfyll all that she wyll
Commaunde me to my power:
For had ye, lo, an hundred mo,
'Of them I wolde be one;'[299] 310
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.

He.

Myne owne dere love, I se the prove
That ye be kynde, and true;
Of mayde, and wyfe, in all my lyfe,[300] 315
The best that ever I knewe.
Be mery and glad, be no more sad,
The case is chaunged newe;
For it were ruthe, that, for your truthe,
Ye sholde have cause to rewe. 320
Be nat dismayed; whatsoever I sayd
To you, whan I began;
I wyll nat to the grene wode go,
I am no banyshed man.

She.

These tydings be more gladd to me,[301] 325
Than to be made a quene,
Yf I were sure they sholde endure:
But it is often sene,
Whan men wyll breke promyse, they speke

The wordés on the splene.[302] 330
Ye shape some wyle me to begyle,
And stele from me, I wene:
Than, were the case worse than it was,
And I more wo-begone:
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 335
I love but you alone.
He.

Ye shall nat nede further to drede;
I wyll nat dysparàge
You, (God defend)! syth ye descend
Of so grete a lynàge.[303] 340
Nowe undyrstande; to Westmarlande,
Which is myne herytage,
I wyll you brynge; and with a rynge,
By way of maryage
I wyll you take, and lady make, 345
As shortely as I can:
Thus have you won an erlys son,[304]
And not a banyshed man.[305]

Author.

Here may ye se, that women be
In love, meke, kynde, and stable; 350
Late[306] never man reprove them than,
Or call them variable;[307]
But, rather, pray God, that we may
To them be comfortable;
Which sometyme proveth such, as he loveth,[308] 355
Yf they be charytable.
For syth men wolde that women sholde[309]
Be meke to them each one;
Moche more ought they to God obey,
And serve but hym alone. 360

FOOTNOTES:

[240] This (which my friend Mr. Farmer supposes to be the first
edition) is in folio; the folios are numbered at the bottom of the
leaf, the song begins at folio 75. The poem has since been
collated with a very fine copy that was in the collection of the
late James West, Esq.; the readings extracted thence are denoted
thus, "Mr. W."
[241] [Hales and Furnivall's edition, vol. iii. p. 174.]
[242] [Folio Manuscript, ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. i. p. 212.]
[243] [at intervals, sometimes.]
[244] My friend Mr. Farmer proposes to read the first lines thus
as a Latinism:

"Be it right or wrong, 'tis men among,
On women to complayne."

[245] [Ver. 2. Woman, Prolusions and Mr. West's copy.]
[246] [not a bit.]
[247] [their.]
[248] [V. 11. her, i.e. their.]
[249] [pain and fear. In the Balliol MS. 354, the reading is in-
fere (or in company with her lover).]
[250] [Percy printed the "She" at the beginning of this stanza.]
[251] [done.]
[252] [advice I know.]
[253] Ver. 63. The somers, Prol.
[254] [darkened.]
[255] [separate.]
[256] [whither.]
[257] [afflict.]
[258] [abate.]
[259] [earnestly.]
[260] [remain.]
[261] Ver. 91. Shall it never, Prol. and Mr. W.
[262] V. 94. Althought, Mr. W.
[263] [advise.]
[264] [those.]

[265] Ver. 117. To shewe all, Prol. and Mr. W.
[266] [run.]
[267] [rather then.]
[268] V. 133. I say nat, Prol. and Mr. W.
[269] Ver. 138. and store, Camb. copy.
[270] [rescue.]
[271] V. 150. succours, Prol. and Mr. W.
[272] V. 162. and night, Camb. copy.
[273] V. 164. to helpe ye with my myght, Prol. and Mr. W.
[274] Ver. 172. frost and rayne, Mr. W.
[275] V. 174. Ye must, Prol.
[276] V. 190. shortley gone, Prol. and Mr. W.
[277] Ver. 196. Neyther bere, Prol. and Mr. W.
[278] V. 201. Lo myn, Mr. W.
[279] V. 207. May ye nat fayle, Prol. Ib. May nat fayle, Mr. W.
[280] [health.]
[281] [hair up by your ear.]
[282] V. 219. above your ere, Prol.
[283] V. 220. above the kne, Prol. and Mr. W.
[284] Ver. 223. the same, Prol. and Mr. W.
[285] [shorten my hair.]
[286] [follow.]
[287] Ver. 251. For I must to the grene wode go, Prol. and Mr.
W.
[288] V. 253. yet is, Camb. copy. Perhaps for yt is.
[289] [ere.]
[290] [par Dieu.]
[291] i.e. for this cause; tho' I were to die for having loved you.
[292] V. 262. dy with him, Editor's MS.
[293] [went.]
[294] [advice.]
[295] Ver. 278. outbrayd, Prol. and Mr. W.
[296] V. 282. ye be as, Prol. and Mr. W.
[297] V. 283. Ye were unkynde to leve me behynde, Prol. and
Mr. W.

[298] [provided.]
[299] Ver. 310. So the Editor's MS. All the printed copies read,
Yet wold I be that one.
[300] V. 315. of all, Prol. and Mr. W.
[301] V. 325. gladder, Prol. and Mr. W.
[302] [in haste.]
[303] Ver. 340. grete lynyage, Prol. and Mr. W.
[304] V. 347. Then have, Prol.
[305] V. 348. And no banyshed, Prol. and Mr. W.
[306] [let.]
[307] V. 352. This line wanting in Prol. and Mr. W.
[308] V. 355. proved—loved, Prol. and Mr. W. Ib. as loveth,
Camb.
[309] V. 357. Forsoth, Prol. and Mr. W.

VII.
A BALET BY THE EARL RIVERS.

T he amiable light in which the character of Anthony Widville,
the gallant Earl Rivers, has been placed by the elegant author
of the Catal. of Noble Writers [Horace Walpole], interests us
in whatever fell from his pen. It is presumed, therefore, that
the insertion of this little sonnet will be pardoned, tho' it
should not be found to have much poetical merit. It is the only original
poem known of that nobleman's; his more voluminous works being only
translations. And if we consider that it was written during his cruel
confinement in Pomfret castle a short time before his execution in 1483, it
gives us a fine picture of the composure and steadiness with which this
stout earl beheld his approaching fate.
This ballad we owe to Rouse, a contemporary historian, who seems to have
copied it from the earl's own handwriting. "In tempore," says this writer,
"incarcerationis apud Pontem-fractum edidit unum balet in anglicis, ut mihi
monstratum est, quod subsequitur sub his verbis: Sum what musyng, &c."

Rossi, Hist. 8vo. 2 ed. p. 213. In Rouse the second stanza, &c. is imperfect,
but the defects are here supplied from a more perfect copy printed in
Ancient Songs, from the time of King Henry III. to the Revolution, p. 87 [by
Joseph Ritson].
This little piece, which perhaps ought rather to have been printed in stanzas
of eight short lines, is written in imitation of a poem of Chaucer's, that will
be found in Urry's ed. 1721, p. 555, beginning thus:

"Alone walkyng, In thought plainyng,
And sore sighying, All desolate.
My remembrying Of my livyng
My death wishyng Bothe erly and late.
Infortunate Is so my fate
That wote ye what, Out of mesure
My life I hate; Thus desperate
In such pore estate, Doe I endure," &c.[310]

[This gallant and learned nobleman (brother of Edward IV.'s
queen), who was murdered in the forty-first year of his age,
figures as a character in Shakspere's Richard III., and as a ghost
appears to warn the tyrant on the eve of the battle of Bosworth:

"Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow,
Rivers that died at Pomfret! despair and die."]

Sumwhat musyng, And more mornyng,

In remembring The unstydfastnes;
This world being Of such whelyng,
Me contrarieng, What may I gesse?

I fere dowtles, Remediles, 5
Is now to sese My wofull chaunce.
[For unkyndness, Withouten less,
And no redress, Me doth avaunce,

With displesaunce, To my grevaunce,
And no suraunce Of remedy.] 10
Lo in this traunce, Now in substaunce,
Such is my dawnce, Wyllyng to dye.

Me thynkys truly, Bowndyn am I,
And that gretly, To be content:
Seyng playnly, Fortune doth wry[311][312] 15
All contrary From myn entent.

My lyff was lent Me to on intent,
Hytt is ny[313] spent. Welcome fortune!
But I ne went Thus to be shent,[314][315]
But sho[316] hit ment; Such is hur won.[317] 20

FOOTNOTES:

[310] [See Aldine edition of Chaucer's Poetical Works, ed.
Morris, vol. vi. p. 305. We ought, perhaps, to read "attributed to
Chaucer."]
[311] [turn aside.]
[312] Ver. 15. That fortune, Rossi, Hist.
[313] [it is near.]
[314] [abashed.]
[315] V. 19. went, i.e. weened.
[316] [she.]
[317] [wont or custom.]

VIII.
CUPID'S ASSAULT: BY LORD VAUX.

T he reader will think that infant poetry grew apace between the
times of Rivers and Vaux, tho' nearly contemporaries; if the
following song is the composition of that Sir Nicholas
(afterwards Lord) Vaux, who was the shining ornament of the
court of Henry VII., and died in the year 1523 [1524, see
below].
And yet to this lord it is attributed by Puttenham in his Art of Eng. Poesie,
1589, 4to., a writer commonly well informed. Take the passage at large: "In
this figure [Counterfait Action] the Lord Nicholas Vaux, a noble gentleman
and much delighted in vulgar making, and a man otherwise of no great
learning, but having herein a marvelous facilitie, made a dittie representing
the Battayle and Assault of Cupide, so excellently well, as for the gallant
and propre application of his fiction in every part, I cannot choose but set
downe the greatest part of his ditty, for in truth it cannot be amended. When
Cupid Scaled," &c. p. 200. For a farther account of Nicholas, Lord Vaux,
see Mr. Walpole's Noble Authors, vol. i.
Since this song was first printed off, reasons have occurred which incline
me to believe that Lord Vaux, the poet, was not the Lord Nicholas Vaux
who died in 1523, but rather a successor of his in the title. For, in the first
place, it is remarkable that all the old writers mention Lord Vaux, the poet,
as contemporary, or rather posterior, to Sir Thomas Wyat and the E. of
Surrey, neither of which made any figure till long after the death of the first
Lord Nicholas Vaux. Thus Puttenham, in his Art of English Poesie, 1589, in
p. 48, having named Skelton, adds: "In the latter end of the same kings
raigne [Henry VIII.] sprong up a new company of courtly Makers [Poets],
of whom Sir Thomas Wyat th' elder, and Henry Earl of Surrey were the two
chieftaines, who having travailed into Italie, and there tasted the sweet and
stately measures and stile of the Italian poesie ... greatly polished our rude
and homely manner of vulgar poesie.... In the same time, or not long after,
was the Lord Nicholas Vaux, a man of much facilitie in vulgar makings."
[318]
Webbe, in his Discourse of English Poetrie, 1586, ranges them in the

following order: "The E. of Surrey, the Lord Vaux, Norton, Bristow." And
Gascoigne, in the place quoted in the first volume of this work [B. ii. No.
2.] mentions Lord Vaux after Surrey. Again, the stile and measure of Lord
Vaux's pieces seem too refined and polished for the age of Henry VII., and
rather resemble the smoothness and harmony of Surrey and Wyat, than the
rude metre of Skelton and Hawes. But what puts the matter out of all doubt,
in the British Museum is a copy of his poem, I lothe that I did love [vid.
vol. i. ubi supra], with this title, "A dyttye or sonet made by the Lord Vaus,
in the time of the noble Quene Marye, representing the image of Death."
Harl. MSS. No. 1703, sec. 25.
It is evident then that Lord Vaux, the poet, was not he that flourished in the
reign of Henry VII., but either his son or grandson; and yet, according to
Dugdale's Baronage, the former was named Thomas and the latter William:
but this difficulty is not great, for none of the old writers mention the
Christian name of the poetic Lord Vaux,[319] except Puttenham; and it is
more likely that he might be mistaken in that lord's name, than in the time
in which he lived, who was so nearly his contemporary.
Thomas, Lord Vaux, of Harrowden, in Northamptonshire, was summoned
to parliament in 1531. When he died does not appear, but he probably lived
till the latter end of Queen Mary's reign, since his son William was not
summoned to parliament till the last year of that reign, in 1558. This lord
died in 1595. See Dugdale, vol. ii. p. 304. Upon the whole I am inclined to
believe that Lord Thomas was the poet.
The following copy is printed from the first edition of Surrey's Poems,
1557, 4to. See another song of Lord Vaux's in the preceding volume, B. ii.
No. 2.

[Percy is correct in his supposition that the poet was Thomas,
second Lord Vaux, and not his father Nicholas, who died May
14th, 1524, only seventeen days after he was advanced to the
peerage.]

When Cupide scaled first the fort,
Wherein my hart lay wounded sore;
The batry was of such a sort,
That I must yelde or die therfore.

There sawe I Love upon the wall, 5
How he his banner did display;
Alarme, alarme, he gan to call:
And bad his souldiours kepe aray.

The armes, the which that Cupide bare,
Were pearced hartes with teares besprent,[320] 10
In silver and sable to declare
The stedfast love, he alwayes ment.

There might you se his band all drest
In colours like to white and blacke,
With powder and with pelletes prest 15
To bring the fort to spoile and sacke.

Good-wyll, the maister of the shot,
Stode in the rampire[321] brave and proude,
For spence[322] of pouder he spared not
Assault! assault! to crye aloude. 20

There might you heare the cannons rore;
Eche pece discharged a lovers loke;
Which had the power to rent, and tore
In any place whereas they toke.

And even with the trumpettes sowne[323] 25
The scaling ladders were up set,

And Beautie walked up and downe,
With bow in hand, and arrowes whet.

Then first Desire began to scale,
And shrouded him under 'his' targe;[324][325] 30
As one the worthiest of them all,
And aptest for to geve the charge.

Then pushed souldiers with their pikes,
And halberdes with handy strokes;
The argabushe[326] in fleshe it lightes, 35
And duns the ayre with misty smokes.

And, as it is the souldiers use
When shot and powder gins to want,
I hanged up my flagge of truce,
And pleaded up for my livès grant. 40

When Fansy thus had made her breche,
And Beauty entred with her band,
With bagge and baggage, sely[327] wretch,
I yelded into Beauties hand.

Then Beautie bad to blow retrete, 45
And every souldier to retire,
And mercy wyll'd with spede to set
Me captive bound as prisoner.

Madame, quoth I, sith that this day
Hath served you at all assayes, 50
I yeld to you without delay
Here of the fortresse all the kayes.

And sith that I have ben the marke,
At whom you shot at with your eye;
Nedes must you with your handy warke, 55
Or salve my sore, or let me die.

FOOTNOTES:

[318] i.e. Compositions in English.
[319] In the Paradise of Dainty Devises, 1596, he is called
simply "Lord Vaux the elder."
[320] [besprinkled.]
[321] [rampart.]
[322] [expense.]
[323] [sound.]
[324] Ver. 30. her, ed. 1557, so ed. 1585.
[325] [shield.]
[326] [harquebuss, or old-fashioned musket.]
[327] [simple.]

IX.
SIR ALDINGAR.

T his old fabulous legend is given from the Editor's folio MS.
with conjectural emendations, and the insertion of some
additional stanzas to supply and compleat the story.
It has been suggested to the Editor that the author of this
poem seems to have had in his eye the story of Gunhilda, who is sometimes
called Eleanor, and was married to the Emperor (here called King) Henry.
Percy's MS. note in his folio is as follows: "Without some
corrections this will not do for my Reliques." Readers will be
able to judge for themselves as to the relative beauties of the
two, now that the original is printed at the end of Percy's
amended copy. To make the interpolations more apparent,
Percy's added verses are placed between brackets, and it will be
seen that these contain much of the phraseology and many of the
stock prettinesses of the polite ballad-monger; some of the most

vivid bits of the old ballad being passed over. Percy keeps
tolerably to the story, except that he makes the second
messenger one of the queen's damsels instead of a man. Sir
Walter Scott supposes Sir Aldingar to be founded upon the
kindred ballad of Sir Hugh le Blond, but, as Professor Child
says, without any reason. The story occurs in most of the
literatures of Europe.

Our king he kept a false stewàrde,
Sir Aldingar they him call;
[A falser steward than he was one,
Servde not in bower nor hall.]

He wolde have layne by our comelye queene, 5
Her deere worshippe to betraye:
Our queene she was a good womàn,
And evermore said him naye.

Sir Aldingar was wrothe in his mind,
With her hee was never content, 10
[Till traiterous meanes he colde devyse,]
In a fyer to have her brent.[328]

There came a lazar[329] to the kings gate,
A lazar both blinde and lame:
He tooke the lazar upon his backe, 15
Him on the queenes bed has layne.

"Lye still, lazàr, wheras thou lyest,

Looke thou goe not hence away;
Ile make thee a whole man and a sound
In two howers of the day."[330] 20

Then went him forth sir Aldingar,
[And hyed him to our king:]
"If I might have grace, as I have space,
["Sad tydings I could bring."]

Say on, say on, sir Aldingar, 25
Saye on the soothe[331] to mee.
"Our queene hath chosen a new new lòve,
And shee will have none of thee.

"If shee had chosen a right good knight,
The lesse had beene her shame; 30
But she hath chose her a lazar man,
A lazar both blinde and lame."

If this be true, thou Aldingar,
The tyding thou tellest to me,
Then will I make the a rich rich knight, 35
Rich both of golde and fee.

But if it be false, sir Aldingar,
[As God nowe grant it bee!
Thy body, I sweare by the holye rood,]
Shall hang on the gallows tree. 40

[He brought our king to the queenes chambèr,
And opend to him the dore.]
A lodlye[332] love, king Harry says,
For our queene dame Elinore!

If thou were a man, as thou art none, 45
[Here on my sword thoust dye;]
But a payre of new gallowes shall be built,
And there shalt thou hang on hye.

[Forth then hyed our king, I wysse,
And an angry man was hee; 50
And soone he found queene Elinore,
That bride so bright of blee.[333]]

Now God you save, our queene, madame,
And Christ you save and see;
Heere you have chosen a newe newe love, 55
And you will have none of mee.

If you had chosen a right good knight,
The lesse had been your shame:
But you have chose you a lazar man,
A lazar both blinde and lame. 60

[Therfore a fyer there shall be built,
And brent all shalt thou bee.——]
"Now out alacke!" said our comly queene,
"Sir Aldingar's false to mee.

Now out alacke!" sayd our comlye queene, 65
[My heart with griefe will brast.[334]]
I had thought swevens[335] had never been true,
I have proved them true at last.

I dreamt in my sweven on thursday eve,
In my bed wheras I laye, 70
I dreamt a grype[336] and a grimlie beast
Had carryed my crowne awaye;

My gorgett[337] and my kirtle[338] of golde,
And all my faire head-geere:
And he wold worrye me with his tush[339] 75
And to his nest y-beare:

Saving there came a litle 'gray' hawke,[340]
A merlin him they call,

Which untill the grounde did strike the grype,
That dead he downe did fall. 80

Giffe[341] I were a man, as now I am none,
A battell wold I prove,
To fight with that traitor Aldingar;
Att him I cast my glove.

But seeing Ime able noe battell to make, 85
My liege, grant me a knight
To fight with that traitor sir Aldingar,
To maintaine me in my right."

"Now forty dayes I will give thee
To seeke thee a knight therin: 90
If thou find not a knight in forty dayes
Thy bodye it must brenn."

[Then shee sent east, and shee sent west,
By north and south bedeene:[342]
But never a champion colde she find,] 95
Wolde fight with that knight soe keene.

[Now twenty dayes were spent and gone,
Noe helpe there might be had;
Many a teare shed our comelye queene
And aye her hart was sad. 100

Then came one of the queenes damsèlles,
And knelt upon her knee,
"Cheare up, cheare up, my gracious dame,
I trust yet helpe may be:

"And here I will make mine avowe,[343] 105
And with the same me binde;
That never will I return to thee,
Till I some helpe may finde."

Then forth she rode on a faire palfràye
Oer hill and dale about: 110
But never a champion colde she finde,
Wolde fighte with that knight so stout.

And nowe the daye drewe on a pace,
When our good queene must dye;
All woe-begone was that faire damsèlle, 115
When she found no helpe was nye.

All woe-begone was that faire damsèlle,
And the salt teares fell from her eye:]
When lo! as she rode by a rivers side,
She met with a tinye boye. 120

[A tinye boye she mette, God wot,
All clad in mantle of golde;]
He seemed noe more in mans likenèsse,
Then a childe of four yeere olde.

[Why grieve you, damselle faire, he sayd, 125
And what doth cause you moane?
The damsell scant wolde deigne a looke,
But fast she pricked on.]

Yet turn againe, thou faïre damsèlle,
And greete thy queene from mee: 130
When bale[344] is att hyest, boote[345] is nyest,
Nowe helpe enoughe may bee.

Bid her remember what she dreamt
In her bedd, wheras shee laye;
How when the grype and the grimly beast 135
Wolde have carried her crowne awaye,

Even then there came the litle gray hawke,
And saved her from his clawes:
Then bidd the queene be merry at hart,

[For heaven will fende[346] her cause.] 140

Back then rode that faire damsèlle,
And her hart it lept for glee:
And when she told her gracious dame
A gladd woman then was shee.

[But when the appointed day was come, 145
No helpe appeared nye:
Then woeful, woeful was her hart,
And the teares stood in her eye.

And nowe a fyer was built of wood;
And a stake was made of tree; 150
And now queene Elinor forth was led,
A sorrowful sight to see.

Three times the herault he waved his hand,
And three times spake on hye:
Giff any good knight will fende this dame, 155
Come forth, or she must dye.

No knight stood forth, no knight there came,
No helpe appeared nye:
And now the fyer was lighted up,
Queen Elinor she must dye. 160

And now the fyer was lighted up,
As hot as hot might bee;]
When riding upon a little white steed,
The tinye boy they see.

"Away with that stake, away with those brands, 165
And loose our comelye queene:
I am come to fight with sir Aldingar,
And prove him a traitor keene."

Forthe then stood sir Aldingar,

But when he saw the chylde, 170
He laughed, and scoffed, and turned his backe,
And weened[347] he had been beguylde.

"Now turne, now turne thee, Aldingar,
And eyther fighte or flee;
I trust that I shall avenge the wronge, 175
Thoughe I am so small to see."

The boye pulld forth a well good sworde
So gilt it dazzled the ee;
The first stroke stricken at Aldingar
Smote off his leggs by the knee. 180

"Stand up, stand up, thou false traitòr,
And fight upon thy feete,
For and thou thrive, as thou begin'st,
Of height wee shall be meete."

A priest, a priest, sayes Aldingàr, 185
While I am a man alive.
A priest, a priest, sayes Aldingàr,
Me for to houzle and shrive.[348]

I wolde have laine by our comlie queene,
Bot shee wolde never consent; 190
Then I thought to betraye her unto our kinge
In a fyer to have her brent.

There came a lazar to the kings gates,
A lazar both blind and lame:
I tooke the lazar upon my backe, 195
And on her bedd had him layne.

[Then ranne I to our comlye king,
These tidings sore to tell.]
But ever alacke! sayes Aldingar,
Falsing never doth well. 200

Forgive, forgive me, queene, madame,
The short time I must live.
"Nowe Christ forgive thee, Aldingar,
As freely I forgive."

Here take thy queene, our king Harryè, 205
And love her as thy life,
[For never had a king in Christentye,
A truer and fairer wife.

King Henrye ran to claspe his queene,
And loosèd her full sone: 210
Then turnd to look for the tinye boye;
——The boye was vanisht and gone.

But first he had touchd the lazar man,
And stroakt him with his hand:
The lazar under the gallowes tree 215
All whole and sounde did stand.]

The lazar under the gallowes tree
Was comelye, straight and tall;
King Henrye made him his head stewàrde
To wayte withinn his hall. 220
⁂

[T he following is the original version from the folio
MS reprinted from Hales and Furnivall's ed. vol.
i. p. 166:

Our king he kept a ffalse steward,
men called him Sir Aldingar
he wold haue layen by our comely queene,
her deere worshipp to haue betraide. 4
our queene shee was a good woman,

& euer more said him nay.

Aldingar was offended in his mind,
with her hee was neuer content, 8
but he sought what meanes he cold find out,
in a fyer to haue her brent.

There came a lame lazer to the Kings gates,
a lazer was [b]lind & lame; 12
he tooke the lazer vpon his backe,
vpon the queenes bed he did him lay:

he said, "lye still, lazer, wheras thou lyest,
looke thou goe not away, 16
Ile make thee a whole man & a sound
in 2 howres of a day."

& then went forth Sir Aldingar
our Queene for to betray, 20
and then he mett with our comlye King,
saies, "god you saue & see!

"If I had space as I haue grace,
A message I wold say to thee." 24
"Say on, say on, Sir Aldingar,
say thou on and vnto me."

"I can let you now see one of [the] greiuos[est] sights
that euer Christen King did see: 28
Our Queene hath chosen a New New loue,
She will haue none of thee;

"If shee had chosen a right good Knight,
the lesse had beene her shame, 32
but she hath chosen a Lazar man
which is both blinde & lame."

"If this be true, thou Aldingar,

that thou dost tell to me, 36
then will I make thee a rich Knight
both of gold and fee;

"But if it be false, Sir Aldingar,
that thou doest tell to me, 40
then looke for noe other death
but to be hangd on a tree.
goe with me," saide our comly king,
"this Lazar for to see." 44

When the King he came into the queenes chamber,
standing her bed befor,
"there is a lodly lome," says Harry King
"for our dame Queene Elinor! 48

"If thou were a man, as thou art none,
here thou sholdest be slaine;
but a paire of new gallowes shall be biil[t]
thoust hang on them soe hye; 52

"and fayre fyer there shalbe bett,
and brent our Queene shal bee."
fforth then walked our comlye King,
& mett with our comly Queene, 56

saies, "God you saue, our Queene, Madam,
and Christ you saue & see!
heere you [haue] chosen a new new loue,
and you will haue none of mee. 60

"If you had chosen a right good Knight
the lesse he beene your shame,
but you haue chosen a lazar man
that is both blind & lame." 64

"Euer alacke!" said our comly Queene,
"Sir Aldingar is false to mee;

but euer alacke!" said our comly Queene,
"Euer alas, & woe is mee! 68

"I had thought sweuens had neuer been true;
I haue prooued them true at the last;
I dreamed in my sweauen on thursday at eueninge
in my bed wheras I lay, 72

"I dreamed the grype & a grimlie beast
had carryed my crowne away,
my gorgett & my kirtle of golde,
and all my faire heade geere; 76

"How he wold haue worryed me with his tush
& borne me into his nest,
saving there came a litle hawk
flying out of the East, 80
"saving there came a litle Hawke
which men call a Merlion,
vntill the ground he stroke him downe,
that dead he did fall downe. 84

"giffe I were a man, as I am none,
a battell I would proue,
I wold fight with that false traitor;
att him I cast my gloue! 88

"Seing I am able noe battell to make,
you must grant me, my leege, a Knight
to fight with that traitor, Sir Aldingar,
to maintaine me in my right." 92

"Ile giue thee 40 dayes," said our King,
"to seeke thee a man therin;
if thou find not a man in 40 dayes,
in a hott fyer thou shall brenn." 96

Our Queene sent forth a Messenger,

he rode fast into the south,
he rode the countryes through & through,
soe ffar vnto Portsmouth; 100

he cold find never a man in the south country
that wold fight with the knight soe keene.

the second messenger the Queen forth sent,
rode far into the east, 104
but—blessed be God made sunn and moone!—
he sped then all of the best:

as he rode then by one riuer side,
there he mett with a litle child, 108
he seemed noe more in a mans likenesse
then a child of 4 yeeres old;

He askt the Queenes Messenger how far he rode:
loth he was him to tell; 112
the litle one was offended att him,
bid him adew, farwell!

Said, "turne thou againe, thou messenger,
greete our Queene well from me; 116
when Bale is att hyest, boote is att next,
helpe enough there may bee!

"bid our queene remember what she did dreame
in her bedd wheras shee lay; 120
shee dreamed the grype & the grimly beast
had carryed her crowne away,

"her gorgett & her kirt[l]e of gold,
alsoe her faire head geere, 124
ne wold have werryed her with his tushe
& borne her into her nest,

"Saving there came a litle hawke—

men call him a merlyon— 128
vntill the ground he did strike him downe,
that dead he did ffall downe.

"bidd the queene be merry att her hart,
euermore light & glad, 132
when bale is att hyest, boote is at next,
helpe enoughe there shalbe [had."]

then the Queenes Messenger rode backe,
a gladed man then was hee; 136
when he came before our Queene,
a gladd woman then was shee;

shee gaue the Messenger 20li:
O lord, in gold & ffee, 140
saies, "spend & spare not while this doth last,
then feitch thou more of me."

Our Queene was put in a tunne to burne,
She thought no thing but death; 144
thé were ware of the litle one
came ryding forth of the East

with a Mu (line cut away) ...
a louelie child was hee: 148
when he came to that fier,
he light the Queene full nigh;

said, "draw away these brands of fire
lie burning before our Queene, 152
& feitch me hither Sir Aldingar
that is a knight soe keene."

When Aldingar see that litle one,
ffull litle of him hee thought, 156
if there had beene halfe a 100 such,
of them he wold not haue wrought.

hee sayd, "come hither Sir Aldingar,
thou see-must as bigge as a ffooder! 160
I trust to god, ere I haue done with thee,
God will send to vs anger."

saies, "the first stroke thats giuen, Sir Aldingar,
I will giue vnto thee, 164
& if the second giue thou may,
looke then thou spare not mee."

the litle one pulld forth a well good sword,
I-wis itt was all of guilt, 168
it cast light there over that feild,
it shone soe all of guilt:

he stroke the first stroke att Aldingar,
he stroke away his leggs by his knee, 172

sayes, "stand vp, stand vp, thou false traitor,
& fight vpon thy feete!
"for & thou thriue as thou begins,
of a height wee shalbe meete." 176

"A preist, a preist!" sayes Aldingar,
"me for to houzle & shriue!
A preist, a preist," sayes Aldingar,
"while I am a man liuing a-liue! 180

"I wold haue laine by our comlie Queene;
to it shee wold neuer consent;
I thought to haue betrayed her to our King,
in a fyer to haue had her brent; 184

"there came a lame lazer to the Kings gates,
a lazar both blind & lame;

"I tooke the lazar vpon my backe,
in the Queenes bed I did him lay, 188

I bad him 'lie still, Lazar, where he lay,
looke he went not away,
I wold make him a whole man & a sound
in 2 houres of a day.' 192

"euer alacke!" sayes Sir Aldingar,
"falsing neuer doth well;

"forgiue, forgiue me, Queene, Madam!
for Christs loue forgiue me!" 196
"God forgaue his death, Aldingar,
& freely I forgiue thee."

"Now take thy wife, thou K[ing] Harry,
& loue her as thou shold; 200
thy wiffe shee is a[s] true to thee
as stone that lies on the castle wall."

the Lazar vnder the gallow tree
was a pretty man & small, 204
the Lazar vnder the gallow tree
was made steward in King Henerys hall.
ffins.]

FOOTNOTES:

[328] [burnt.]
[329] [leper.]
[330] He probably insinuates that the king should heal him by
his power of touching for the king's evil.
[331] [truth.]
[332] [loathsome.]
[333] [complexion.]
[334] [burst.]
[335] [dreams.]

[336] [griffin.]
[337] [neckerchief.]
[338] [petticoat.]
[339] [tooth.]
[340] Ver. 77. see below, v. 137.
[341] [if.]
[342] [immediately.]
[343] [vow or oath.]
[344] [evil.]
[345] [help.]
[346] [defend.]
[347] [supposed.]
[348] [to give the sacrament and to confess.]

X.
THE GABERLUNYIE MAN.

A Scottish Song.

T radition informs us that the author of this song was King
James V. of Scotland. This prince (whose character for wit and
libertinism bears a great resemblance to that of his gay
successor, Charles II.) was noted for strolling about his
dominions in disguise,[349] and for his frequent gallantries
with country girls. Two adventures of this kind he hath celebrated with his
own pen, viz. in this ballad of The Gaberlunyie Man; and in another intitled
The Jolly Beggar, beginning thus:

"Thair was a jollie beggar, and a begging he was boun,
And he tuik up his quarters into a land'art toun.
Fa, la,
la
,"

&
c.
It seems to be the latter of these ballads (which was too licentious to be
admitted into this collection) that is meant in the Catalogue of Royal and
Noble Authors,[350] where the ingenious writer remarks, that "there is
something very ludicrous in the young woman's distress when she thought
her first favour had been thrown away upon a beggar."
Bishop Tanner has attributed to James V. the celebrated ballad of Christ's
Kirk on the Green, which is ascribed to King James I. in Bannatyne's MS.
written in 1568: and, notwithstanding that authority, the editor of this book
is of opinion that Bishop Tanner was right.
King James V. died Dec. 13th, 1542, aged 33.

[James V. was called the King of the Commons, from his popular
manners and vagrant habit, and many stories are told of his
adventures when in disguise. One of these is worth relating here.
On a certain occasion he heard himself abused by a country lad
as a tyrant and a man odious in every respect, until, unable to
restrain himself, he threw off his disguise, and told his accuser
that he was the king. "Are you really the king?" said the lad,
retaining his self-possession; "weel, ye'll maybe hae heard o' my
father: he gaed daft three days regularly every year, and in a' that
time spoke naething but lies and nonsense: now I'm exactly the
same way, and this is one of my three days." There is no
authority for attributing the present song to James V., except
ancient and universal tradition. The word gaberlunyie is
compounded of gaber, a wallet, and lunyie, the loins: hence a
travelling tinker or beggar carrying a wallet by his side, was
called a "gaberlunyie man." Scott has sketched a vivid portrait
of one of these privileged beggars in his Antiquary, Edie
Ochiltree, to wit. The Jolly Beggar is printed in Herd's Scottish
Songs, ii. 164, and in Ritson's Scottish Songs, i. 168. Competent
authorities are not willing to take the credit of the authorship of
Christ's Kirk on the Green from James I. and give it to James V.]

The pauky auld Carle[351] came ovir the lee
Wi' mony good-eens and days to mee,
Saying, Goodwife, for your courtesie,
Will ye lodge a silly[352] poor man?
The night was cauld, the carle was wat, 5
And down ayont the ingle[353] he sat;

My dochters shoulders he gan to clap,
And cadgily[354] ranted and sang.

O wow![355] quo he, were I as free,
As first when I saw this countrie, 10
How blyth and merry wad I bee!
And I wad nevir think lang.
He grew canty,[356] and she grew fain;[357]
But little did her auld minny ken[358]
What thir slee twa[359] togither were say'n, 15
When wooing they were sa thrang.[360]

And O! quo he, ann ye were as black,
As evir the crown of your dadyes hat,
Tis I wad lay thee by my back,
And awa wi' me thou sould gang. 20
And O! quoth she, ann I were as white,
As evir the snaw lay on the dike,
Ild clead me braw,[361] and lady-like,
And awa with thee Ild gang.

Between the twa was made a plot; 25
They raise a wee before the cock,
And wyliely they shot the lock,
And fast to the bent are they gane.
Up the morn the auld wife raise,[362]
And at her leisure put on her claiths, 30
Syne to the servants bed she gaes
To speir for the silly poor man.

She gaed to the bed, whair the beggar lay,
The strae was cauld, he was away,
She clapt her hands, cryd, Dulefu' day! 35
For some of our geir will be gane.
Some ran to coffer, and some to kist,[363]
But nought was stown[364] that could be mist.

She dancid her lane,[365] cryd, Praise be blest,
I have lodgd a leal poor man. 40

Since naithings awa, as we can learn,
The kirns to kirn,[366] and milk to earn,
Gae butt the house,[367] lass, and waken my bairn,
And bid her come quickly ben.[368]
The servant gaed where the dochter lay, 45
The sheets was cauld, she was away,
And fast to her goodwife can say,
Shes aff with the gaberlunyie-man.

O fy gar ride, and fy gar rin,
And hast ye, find these traitors agen; 50
For shees be burnt, and hees be slein,
The wearyfou[369] gaberlunyie-man.
Some rade upo horse, some ran a fit,
The wife was wood,[370] and out o' her wit;
She could na gang, nor yet could she sit, 55
But ay did curse and did ban.

Mean time far hind out owre the lee,
For snug in a glen, where nane could see,
The twa, with kindlie sport and glee,
Cut frae a new cheese a whang.[371] 60
The priving[372] was gude, it pleas'd them baith,
To lo'e her for ay, he gae her his aith.
Quo she, to leave thee, I will be laith,
My winsome gaberlunyie-man.

O kend my minny I were wi' you, 65
Illfardly[373] wad she crook her mou,[374]
Sic a poor man sheld nevir trow,
Aftir the gaberlunyie-mon.
My dear, quo he, yee're yet owre yonge;
And hae na learnt the beggars tonge, 70
To follow me frae toun to toun,

And carrie the gaberlunyie on.

Wi' kauk and keel,[375] Ill win your bread,
And spindles and whorles[376] for them wha need,
Whilk is a gentil trade indeed 75
The gaberlunyie to carrie—o.
Ill bow my leg and crook my knee,
And draw a black clout owre my ee,
A criple or blind they will cau me:
While we sail sing and be merrie—o. 80

FOOTNOTES:

[349] Sc. of a tinker, beggar, &c. Thus he used to visit a smith's
daughter at Niddry, near Edinburgh.
[350] Vol. ii. p. 203.
[351] [sly old man.]
[352] [simple or poor.]
[353] [beyond the fire.]
[354] [merrily.]
[355] [exclamation of admiration or surprise.]
[356] [merry.]
[357] [fond.]
[358] [mother know.]
[359] [these sly two.]
[360] [so close.]
[361] [clad me handsomely.]
[362] Ver. 29. The carline, other copies.
[363] [chest.]
[364] [stolen.]
[365] [alone by herself.]
[366] [churns to churn.]
[367] [go to the outer apartment.]
[368] [in.]
[369] [troublesome.]
[370] [mad.]

[371] [slice.]
[372] [proof.]
[373] [ill-favouredly.]
[374] [mouth.]
[375] [chalk and ruddle.]
[376] [instruments used for spinning in Scotland.]

XI.
ON THOMAS LORD CROMWELL.

I t is ever the fate of a disgraced minister to be forsaken by his
friends, and insulted by his enemies, always reckoning among
the latter the giddy inconstant multitude. We have here a spurn
at fallen greatness from one of the angry partisans of declining
popery, who could never forgive the downfall of their Diana
and loss of their craft. The ballad seems to have been composed between
the time of Cromwell's commitment to the Tower, June 10th, 1540, and that
of his being beheaded, July 28 following. A short interval! but Henry's
passion for Catharine Howard would admit of no delay. Notwithstanding
our libeller, Cromwell had many excellent qualities; his great fault was too
much obsequiousness to the arbitrary will of his master; but let it be
considered that this master had raised him from obscurity, and that the high-
born nobility had shewn him the way in every kind of mean and servile
compliance. The original copy, printed at London in 1540, is intitled, A
newe ballade made of Thomas Crumwel, called "Trolle on away." To it is
prefixed this distich by way of burthen:

"Trolle on away, trolle on awaye.
Synge heave and howe rombelowe trolle on away."

The following piece gave rise to a poetic controversy, which was carried on
thro' a succession of seven or eight ballads, written for and against Lord
Cromwell. These are all preserved in the archives of the Antiquarian
Society, in a large folio collection of proclamations, &c., made in the reigns

of King Henry VIII., King Edward VI., Queen Mary, Queen Elizabeth, King
James I., &c.

[Thomas Cromwell, called Malleus Monachorum, came of a
good old Lincolnshire family. He was born about the year 1490
at Putney, where his father carried on the business of an iron-
founder, which his enemies reduced to that of a blacksmith. His
father died early, and in consequence of the re-marriage of his
mother, he became a wanderer.
The author of the poor play, entitled The Life and Death of
Thomas Lord Cromwell, which has been absurdly attributed to
Shakspere, makes "old Cromwell, a blacksmith, of Putney," live
to see his son "made lord keeper."
There is a fragment of a ballad on Cromwell without any
beginning in the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. i. p.
127), which ends as follows:

"How now? How now? the king did say,
Thomas how is it with thee?
Hanging and drawing O King! he saide;
You shall never gett more from me."

Mr. Hales points out a coincidence not mentioned by Mr.
Froude, viz. that the minister was beheaded and the king married
to Catherine Howard on one and the same day. In 1525
Cromwell undertook for Wolsey the work of visiting and
breaking up the small monasteries which the Pope had granted
for the foundation of Wolsey's new colleges, thus commencing
the work which gained him the enmity of the adherents of the
old faith. He was the first to cause Bibles in the English
language to be deposited in all the churches, and to him we owe
the institution of parish registers.]

Both man and chylde is glad to here tell
Of that false traytoure Thomas Crumwell,
Now that he is set to learne to spell.
Synge trolle on away.

When fortune lokyd the in thy face,
Thou haddyst fayre tyme, but thou lackydyst grace; 5
Thy cofers with golde thou fyllydst a pace.
Synge, &c.

Both plate and chalys came to thy fyst,
Thou lockydst them vp where no man wyst,
Tyll in the kynges treasoure suche thinges were myst.
Synge, &c.

Both crust and crumme came thorowe thy handes, 10
Thy marchaundyse sayled over the sandes,
Therfore nowe thou art layde fast in bandes.
Synge, &c.

Fyrste when kynge Henry, God saue his grace!
Perceyud myschefe kyndlyd in thy face,
Then it was tyme to purchase the a place. 15
Synge, &c.

Hys grace was euer of gentyll nature,
Mouyd with petye, and made the hys seruyture;
But thou, as a wretche, suche thinges dyd procure.
Synge, &c.

Thou dyd not remembre, false heretyke,
One God, one fayth, and one kynge catholyke, 20

For thou hast bene so long a scysmatyke.
Synge, &c.

Thou woldyst not learne to knowe these thre;
But euer was full of iniquite:
Wherfore all this lande hathe ben troubled with the.
Synge, &c.

All they, that were of the new trycke, 25
Agaynst the churche thou baddest them stycke;
Wherfore nowe thou haste touchyd the quycke.
Synge, &c.

Bothe sacramentes and sacramentalles
Thou woldyst not suffre within thy walles;
Nor let vs praye for all chrysten soules. 30
Synge, &c.

Of what generacyon thou were no tonge can tell,
Whyther of Chayme, or Syschemell,[377]
Or else sent vs frome the deuyll of hell.
Synge, &c.

Thou woldest neuer to vertue applye,
But couetyd euer to clymme to hye, 35
And nowe haste thou trodden thy shoo awrye.
Synge, &c.

Who-so-euer dyd winne thou wolde not lose;
Wherfore all Englande doth hate the, as I suppose,
Bycause thou wast false to the redolent rose.
Synge, &c.

Thou myghtest have learned thy cloth to flocke 40
Upon thy gresy fullers stocke;[378]
Wherfore lay downe thy heade vpon this blocke.

Yet saue that soule, that God hath bought,

And for thy carcas care thou nought,
Let it suffre payne, as it hath wrought. 45
Synge, &c.

God saue kyng Henry with all his power,
And prynce Edwarde that goodly flowre,
With al hys lordes of great honoure.
Synge trolle on awaye, syng trolle on away.
Hevye and how rombelowe[379] trolle on awaye. 50

FOOTNOTES:

[377] Ver. 32. i.e. Cain, or Ishmael. See below, the note, book ii.
No. III. stanza 3rd.
[378] V. 41. Cromwell's father is generally said to have been a
blacksmith at Putney: but the author of this ballad would
insinuate that either he himself or some of his ancestors were
fullers by trade.
[379] [The burden of an old song.]

XII.
HARPALUS.

An Ancient English Pastoral.

T his beautiful poem, which is perhaps the first attempt at
pastoral writing in our language, is preserved among the
Songs and Sonnettes of the Earl of Surrey, &c., 4to. in that
part of the collection which consists of pieces by uncertain
auctours. These poems were first published in 1557, ten years
after that accomplished nobleman fell a victim to the tyranny of Henry
VIII.; but it is presumed most of them were composed before the death of
Sir Thomas Wyatt in 1541. See Surrey's Poems, 4to. fol. 19, 49.

Tho' written perhaps near half a century before the Shepherd's Calendar,
[380]
this will be found far superior to any of those eclogues, in natural
unaffected sentiments, in simplicity of style, in easy flow of versification,
and all other beauties of pastoral poetry. Spenser ought to have profited
more by so excellent a model.

[Warton describes this poem as "perhaps the first example in our
language now remaining of the pure and unmixed pastoral, and
in the erotic species for ease of numbers, elegance of rural
allusion excelling everything of the kind in Spenser, who is
erroneously ranked as our earliest English bucolic." He did not,
however, take into account Robin and Makine, which follows
Harpalus in this book, but was written more than half a century
before it. Spenser-lovers also are not likely to agree with Percy's
and Warton's summary judgments upon the Shepherd's
Calendar.]

Phylida was a faire mayde,
As fresh as any flowre;
Whom Harpalus the herdman prayde
To be his paramour.

Harpalus, and eke Corin, 5
Were herdmen both yfere:[381]
And Phylida could twist and spinne,
And thereto sing full clere.

But Phylida was all tò coye,
For Harpalus to winne: 10
For Corin was her onely joye,
Who forst[382] her not a pinne.

How often would she flowers twine?
How often garlandes make
Of couslips and of colombine? 15
And al for Corin's sake.

But Corin, he had haukes to lure,
And forced more the field:[383]
Of lovers lawe he toke no cure;
For once he was begilde. 20

Harpalus prevailed nought,
His labour all was lost;
For he was fardest from her thought,
And yet he loved her most.

Therefore waxt he both pale and leane, 25
And drye as clot of clay:
His fleshe it was consumed cleane;
His colour gone away.

His beard it had not long be shave;
His heare hong all unkempt: 30
A man most fit even for the grave,
Whom spitefull love had spent.

His eyes were red and all 'forewacht;'[384][385]
His face besprent with teares:
It semde unhap had him long 'hatcht,' 35
In mids of his dispaires.

His clothes were blacke, and also bare;
As one forlorne was he;
Upon his head alwayes he ware

A wreath of wyllow tree. 40

His beastes he kept upon the hyll,
And he sate in the dale;
And thus with sighes and sorrowes shril,
He gan to tell his tale.

Oh Harpalus! (thus would he say) 45
Unhappiest under sunne!
The cause of thine unhappy day,
By love was first begunne.

For thou wentest first by sute to seeke
A tigre to make tame, 50
That settes not by thy love a leeke;
But makes thy griefe her game.

As easy it were for to convert
The frost into 'a' flame;
As for to turne a frowarde hert, 55
Whom thou so faine wouldst frame.

Corin he liveth carèlesse:
He leapes among the leaves:
He eates the frutes of thy redresse:[386]
Thou 'reapst,' he takes the sheaves. 60

My beastes, a whyle your foode refraine,
And harke your herdmans sounde:
Whom spitefull love, alas! hath slaine,
Through-girt[387] with many a wounde.

O happy be ye, beastès wilde, 65
That here your pasture takes:
I se that ye be not begilde
Of these your faithfull makes.[388]

The hart he feedeth by the hinde:

The bucke harde by the do: 70
The turtle dove is not unkinde
To him that loves her so.

The ewe she hath by her the ramme:
The yong cow hath the bull:
The calfe with many a lusty lambe 75
Do fede their hunger full.

But, wel-away! that nature wrought
The, Phylida, so faire:
For I may say that I have bought
Thy beauty all tò deare. 80

What reason is that crueltie
With beautie should have part?
Or els that such great tyranny
Should dwell in womans hart?

I see therefore to shape my death 85
She cruelly is prest;[389]
To th'ende that I may want my breath:
My dayes been at the best.

O Cupide, graunt this my request,
And do not stoppe thine eares; 90
That she may feele within her brest
The paines of my dispaires:

Of Corin 'who' is carèlesse,
That she may crave her fee:
As I have done in great distresse, 95
That loved her faithfully.

But since that I shal die her slave;
Her slave, and eke her thrall:[390]
Write you, my frendes, upon my grave
This chaunce that is befall. 100

"Here lieth unhappy Harpalus
By cruell love now slaine:
Whom Phylida unjustly thus
Hath murdred with disdaine."

FOOTNOTES:

[380] First published in 1579.
[381] [together.]
[382] [regarded.]
[383] [cared more for field sports.]
[384] Ver. 33, &c. The corrections are from ed. 1574.
[385] [overwakeful.]
[386] [care.]
[387] [pierced through.]
[388] [mates.]
[389] [ready.]
[390] [captive.]

XIII.
ROBIN AND MAKYNE.

An Ancient Scottish Pastoral.

T he palm of pastoral poesy is here contested by a contemporary
writer with the author of the foregoing. The critics will judge
of their respective merits; but must make some allowance for
the preceding ballad, which is given simply as it stands in the
old editions; whereas this, which follows, has been revised
and amended throughout by Allan Ramsay, from whose Evergreen, vol. i. it
is here chiefly printed. The curious reader may, however, compare it with
the more original copy, printed among Ancient Scottish Poems, from the
MS. of George Bannatyne, 1568, Edinburgh, 1770, 12mo. Mr. Robert

Henryson (to whom we are indebted for this poem) appears to so much
advantage among the writers of eclogue, that we are sorry we can give little
other account of him besides what is contained in the following eloge,
written by W. Dunbar, a Scottish poet, who lived about the middle of the
sixteenth century:

"In Dunfermline he [Death] hes done roun
Gud Maister Robert Henrisoun."

Indeed, some little further insight into the history of this Scottish bard is
gained from the title prefixed to some of his poems preserved in the British
Museum, viz. The morall Fabillis of Esop, compylit be Maister Robert
Henrisoun, scolmaister of Dumfermling, 1571. Harl. MSS. 3865, § 1.
In Ramsay's Evergreen, vol. i. are preserved two other little Doric pieces by
Henryson: the one intitled The Lyon and the Mouse, the other The garment
of gude Ladyis. Some other of his poems may be seen in the Ancient
Scottish Poems, printed from Bannatyne's MS. above referred to.

[This remarkable poem is peculiarly interesting as being the
earliest specimen of pastoral poetry in the language. Campbell
calls it "the first known pastoral, and one of the best in a dialect
rich with the favours of the pastoral muse." Langhorne writes
justly:

"In gentle Henryson's unlaboured strain
Sweet Arethusa's shepherd breath'd again."

Percy errs in describing Henryson as a contemporary of Surrey,
as the Scottish poet lived half a century before the English one.
The dates of his birth and death are not known, but he flourished
in the reign of James III. (1460-1488). "On the 10th of
September, 1462, the venerable master Robert Henrysone,
Licentiate in Arts and Bachelor in Degrees, was incorporated or
admitted a member of the newly founded University of

Glasgow." He was a notary public, and probably the master of
the grammar school attached to the Abbey of Dunfermline, not
as might be supposed a mere parish schoolmaster. According to
the tradition of the last century, our poet was the representative
of the family of Henryson or Henderson, of Fordell, in the
county of Fife; but Mr. David Laing thinks that it is a gratuitous
assumption to suppose that he or his predecessors ever
possessed a single acre of the lands of Fordell.
Percy has used the version given in Ramsay's Evergreen, which
is slightly altered in diction from the original in the Bannatyne
MS.; for instance, the last stanza occurs in the latter as follows:

"Makyne went hame blyth anneuche,
Attour the holltis hair;
Robene murnit, and Makyne leuche;
Scho sang, he sichit sair
And so left him, bayth wo and wreuch,
In dolour and in cair,
Kepand his hird under a huche
Amangis the holtis hair."

In the Evergreen version, the last verse is altered to "Amang the
rushy gair," either because the words "holtis hair" occur in verse
two of the stanza, or that the Editor saw an impropriety in the
close vicinity of the similar words holt and heuch. The two
words "holtis hair" are explained as hoary hills or hoary woods,
but Finlay (Scottish Historical and Romantic Ballads, 1808, vol.
ii. p. 193) holds that "hair" really means high, and derives it
from Isl. har == altus. He says that a high rock in some of the
northern counties of Scotland, where the dialect is strongly
tinctured with Danish, is called "hair craig," and that the same
word lingers on in the Hare-stone of the Borough Moor,
Edinburgh, which obtained its name in the following manner:
The laird of Pennycuik held certain lands by a strange tenure.
He was obliged to mount a large stone or rock, and salute the
king with three blasts of a horn whenever he passed that way.
This rock or eminence was called the "Hare-stone," and still

exists near Morningside Church. Hoary, however, is to be
understood as grey and not as white with snow, so that the hare-
stone is probably the grey stone. The word holt may also mean a
heath, and Cædmon uses the phrase "har hæð" = hoar or grey
heath.
The date (1571) attached to Henryson's version of Æsop's
Fables is that of transcription. It is not known when the Fables
were first printed, but they were reprinted by Robert Lekpreuik
for Henry Charteris in 1570. They are supposed to have been
written between 1470 and 1480.
Henryson wrote several other short poems, as well as the
Testament of Cresseid, written as a continuation or supplement
to Chaucer's Troilus and Cresseide, all of which have been
collected for the first time into an elegant volume by David
Laing, who has added notes and a memoir of the poet
(Edinburgh, 1865).
This Testament has a particular interest for us, because
Shakspere referred to it when he wrote "Cressida was a beggar"
(Twelfth Night, act iii. sc. 1). The lines in Henryson's poem
which illustrate this passage, are as follows:

"Thair was na buit [help], bot furth with thame scho yeid
Fra place to place, quhill cauld and houngir sair
Compellit hir to be ane rank beggair." Ll. 481-3.]

Robin sat on the gude grene hill,
Keipand a flock of fie,[391]
Quhen mirry[392] Makyne said him till,[393]

"O Robin rew[394] on me:
I haif thee luivt baith loud and still,[395] 5
Thir towmonds[396] twa or thre;
My dule in dern bot gif thou dill,[397]
Doubtless but dreid Ill die."

Robin replied, Now by the rude,
Naithing of love I knaw, 10
But keip my sheip undir yon wod:
Lo quhair they raik on raw.[398]
Quhat can have mart[399] thee in thy mude,[400]
Thou Makyne to me schaw;
Or quhat is luve, or to be lude?[401] 15
Fain wald I leir[402] that law.

"The law of luve gin thou wald leir,
Tak thair an A, B, C;
Be heynd,[403] courtas, and fair of feir,[404][405]
Wyse, hardy, kind and frie, 20
Sae that nae danger do the deir,[406][407]
Quhat dule in dern thou drie;[408]
Press ay to pleis,[409] and blyth appeir,
Be patient and privie."

Robin, he answert her againe, 25
I wat not quhat is luve;
But I haif marvel in certaine
Quhat makes thee thus wanrufe.[410]
The wedder is fair, and I am fain;[411]
My sheep gais hail abuve;[412] 30
And sould we pley us on the plain,
They wald us baith repruve.

"Robin, tak tent[413] unto my tale,
And wirk[414] all as I reid;[415]
And thou sall haif my heart all hale, 35

Eik and my maiden-heid:
Sen God, he sendis bute for bale,[416]
And for murning remeid,[417]
I'dern with thee bot gif I dale,[418]
Doubtless I am but deid." 40

Makyne, to-morn be this ilk tyde,
Gif ye will meit me heir,
Maybe my sheip may gang besyde,
Quhyle we have liggd full neir;
But maugre haif I, gif I byde,[419] 45
Frae thay begin to steir,
Quhat lyes on heart I will nocht hyd,
Then Makyne mak gude cheir.

"Robin, thou reivs[420] me of my rest;
I luve bot thee alane." 50
Makyne, adieu! the sun goes west,
The day is neir-hand gane.
"Robin, in dule[421] I am so drest,
That luve will be my bane."
Makyn, gae luve quhair-eir ye list, 55
For leman I luid nane.

"Robin, I stand in sic a style,
I sich[422] and that full sair."
Makyne, I have bene here this quyle;
At hame I wish I were. 60
"Robin, my hinny, talk and smyle,
Gif thou will do nae mair."
Makyne, som other man beguyle,
For hameward I will fare.

Syne Robin on his ways he went, 65
As light as leif on tree;
But Makyne murnt and made lament,
Scho[423] trow'd him neir to see.

Robin he brayd attowre the bent:[424]
Then Makyne cried on hie, 70
"Now may thou sing, for I am shent![425]
Quhat ailis luve at me?"

Makyne went hame withouten fail,
And weirylie could weip;
Then Robin in a full fair dale 75
Assemblit all his sheip.
Be that some part of Makyne's ail,
Out-throw his heart could creip;
Hir fast he followt to assail,
And till her tuke gude keip.[426] 80

Abyd, abyd, thou fair Makyne,
A word for ony thing;
For all my luve, it sall be thyne,
Withouten departing.[427]
All hale thy heart for till have myne, 85
Is all my coveting;
My sheip to morn quhyle houris nyne,
Will need of nae keiping.

"Robin, thou hast heard sung and say,
In gests and storys auld, 90
The man that will not when he may,
Sall have nocht when he wald.
I pray to heaven baith nicht and day,
Be eiked[428] their cares sae cauld,
That presses first with thee to play 95
Be forrest, firth, or fauld."[429]

Makyne, the nicht is soft and dry,
The wether warm and fair,
And the grene wod richt neir-hand by,[430]
To walk attowre all where: 100
There may nae janglers[431] us espy,

That is in luve contrair;
Therin, Makyne, baith you and I
Unseen may mak repair.

"Robin, that warld is now away, 105
And quyt brocht till an end:
And nevir again thereto, perfay,
Sall it be as thou wend;
For of my pain thou made but play;
I words in vain did spend: 110
As thou hast done, sae sall I say,
Murn on, I think to mend."

Makyne, the hope of all my heil,[432]
My heart on thee is set;
I'll evermair to thee be leil,[433] 115
Quhyle I may live but lett,[434]
Never to fail as uthers feill,[435]
Quhat grace so eir I get.
"Robin, with thee I will not deill;
Adieu, for thus we met." 120

Makyne went hameward blyth enough,
Attowre the holtis hair;[436]
Pure Robin murnd, and Makyne leugh;[437]
Scho sang, and he sicht sair:[438]
And so left him bayth wo and wreuch,[439] 125
In dolor and in care,
Keipand his herd under a heuch,[440]
Amang the rushy gair.[441]

FOOTNOTES:

[391] [keeping a flock of sheep.]
[392] [when merry.]
[393] [unto.]

[394] [take pity.]
[395] [openly and secretly.]
[396] [these twelvemonths.]
[397] [unless thou share my secret woe.]
[398] [they extend themselves in a row.]
[399] [marred.]
[400] [mood.]
[401] [loved.]
[402] [learn.]
[403] [gentle.]
[404] [fair of countenance.]
[405] Ver. 19. Bannatyne's MS. reads as above, heynd, not
keynd, as in the Edinb. ed. 1770.
[406] [do thee hurt.]
[407] V. 21. So that no danger, Bannatyne's MS.
[408] [whatever sorrow you may endure in secret.]
[409] [be eager to please.]
[410] [uneasy.]
[411] [glad.]
[412] [go healthful in the uplands.]
[413] [heed.]
[414] [do.]
[415] [advise.]
[416] [since God sends good for evil.]
[417] [for mourning remedy.]
[418] [in secret with thee, unless I share thy favour.]
[419] [But ill will may I have if I stay.]
[420] [bereavest.]
[421] [sorrow.]
[422] [sigh.]
[423] [she.]
[424] [he hastened over the field.]
[425] [confounded.]
[426] [and took good watch of her.]
[427] [dividing.]

[428] [enlarged.]
[429] [by forest, copse, or field.]
[430] Ver. 99. Bannatyne's MS. has woid, not woud, as in ed.
1770.
[431] [tell-tales.]
[432] [health or happiness.]
[433] [true.]
[434] [live without hindrance.]
[435] Ver. 117. Bannatyne's MS. reads as above feill, not faill, as
in ed. 1770.
[436] [over the grey woods (see p. 81).]
[437] [laughed.]
[438] [sighed sore.]
[439] [wretchedness.]
[440] [height or hill.]
[441] [rushy strip of land.]

XIV.
GENTLE HERDSMAN, TELL TO ME.

Dialogue Between a Pilgrim and Herdsman.

T he scene of this beautiful old ballad is laid near Walsingham,
in Norfolk, where was anciently an image of the Virgin Mary,
famous over all Europe for the numerous pilgrimages made
to it, and the great riches it possessed. Erasmus has given a
very exact and humorous description of the superstitions
practised there in his time. See his account of the Virgo parathalassia, in his
colloquy, intitled, Peregrinatio religionis ergo. He tells us, the rich offerings
in silver, gold, and precious stones, that were there shewn him, were
incredible, there being scarce a person of any note in England, but what
some time or other paid a visit, or sent a present to our lady of Walsingham.
[442]
At the dissolution of the monasteries in 1538, this splendid image, with

another from Ipswich, was carried to Chelsea, and there burnt in the
presence of commissioners; who, we trust, did not burn the jewels and the
finery.
This poem is printed from a copy in the Editor's folio MS. which had
greatly suffered by the hand of time; but vestiges of several of the lines
remaining, some conjectural supplements have been attempted, which, for
greater exactness, are in this one ballad distinguished by italicks.[443]

[The shrine of the Virgin at Walsingham was the favourite
English resort of pilgrims for nearly four hundred years, and the
people of Norfolk were in great distress when their image was
taken away from them, and the stream of votaries was suddenly
stopped. In a copy of the Reliques in the library of the British
Museum, there is a MS. note by William Cole to the following
effect: "I was lately informed that the identical image of our
lady of Walsingham being mured up in an old wall, and there
discovered on pulling it down, was presented by the Earl of
Leicester (Coke) to a relative of his of the Roman Catholic
religion."
The shrine was connected with a Priory of Augustinian Canons,
which was founded during the episcopate of William Turbus,
Bishop of Norwich (1146-1174). When Henry III. made his
pilgrimage to the shrine in the year 1241, it had long been
famous, and was probably more frequented even than the tomb
of St. Thomas a Becket at Canterbury. Foreigners of all nations
came hither on pilgrimage, and in number and quality the
devotees appear to have equalled those who toiled to the Lady
of Loretto in Italy. Several of our kings visited the shrine after
Henry III. had set the example. Edward I. was there in 1280 and
in 1296, Edward II. in 1315, and Edward IV. and his queen in
1469. Henry VII. offered his prayers in "our Lady's Church" at
Christmas time 1486-7, and in the following summer, after the
battle of Stoke, "he sent his banner to be offered to our Lady of

Walsingham, where before he made his vows." Spelman gives
on hearsay evidence the report that Henry VIII., in the second
year of his reign, walked barefoot to Walsingham from a
neighbouring village, and then presented a valuable necklace to
the image. Bartholomew, Lord Burghersh, K.G., by his will
made in 1369, ordered a statue of himself on horseback to be
made in silver, and offered to our Lady of Walsingham; and
Henry VII., in his lifetime, gave a kneeling figure of himself.
There are numerous references to Walsingham in the Paston
Letters, and in 1443 we find Margaret Paston writing to her
husband to tell him that her mother had vowed another image of
wax of his own weight, to "our Lady of Walsingham," and that
she herself had vowed to go on pilgrimage there for him. (Ed.
Fenn, iii. 22.)
The total income of the place (including the offerings) was
reported to be £650 in the twenty-sixth year of Henry VIII.'s
reign, and Roger Ascham, when visiting Cologne in 1550,
makes this remark: "The Three Kings be not so rich, I believe,
as was the Lady of Walsingham." Now the treasures at Cologne
are said to have been worth six millions of francs (£240,000).
The road to Walsingham was a well-frequented one, and a cross
was set up in every town it passed through. An old track running
by Newmarket, Brandon, and Castle Acre, which was used by
the pilgrims, was known as the "Palmer's Way" or "Walsingham
Green Way."
The Milky Way ("the Watling-street of the heavens," as Chaucer
has it) has been associated with pilgrimages in several countries.
In Norfolk, the long streaming path of light was supposed to
point the pilgrim on his road to Walsingham, and was in
consequence called the "Walsingham Way." In Italy, in France,
and in the north of Europe it has been called "St. Jago's Way,"
"Jacobsstrasse," &c., as pointing the way to Compostella, and
one of its Turkish names is "The Hadji's Way," as indicating the
road to Mecca.[444]

Among the Rawlinson MSS. in the Bodleian Library is A
Lament for Walsingham, in the handwriting of Philip, Earl of
Arundel, the third stanza of which is as follows:

"Bitter, bitter, oh! to behould
the grasse to growe
Where the walles of Walsingam
So statly did sheue.
Such were the workes of Walsingam
While shee did stand!
Such are the wrackes as now do shewe
of that holy land!
Levell, Levell with the ground
the towres doe lye."

The whole poem is printed in the Folio MS. ed. Hales and
Furnivall, vol. iii. p. 470.
The late Mr. John Gough Nichols published in 1849 a very
interesting volume, containing a translation of the Colloquy of
Erasmus, with valuable notes in illustration of it, under the
following title: "Pilgrimages to Saint Mary of Walsingham and
Saint Thomas of Canterbury, by Desiderius Erasmus, newly
translated ... and illustrated by J. G. Nichols. Westminster.
1849." sm. 8vo. This work has lately been reprinted.
An excellent description of Walsingham Priory, with an account
of the excavations made on its site in 1853, will be found in
Henry Harrod's Gleanings among the Castles and Convents of
Norfolk, 8vo. Norwich, 1857, pp. 155-197.]

Gentle heardsman, tell to me,
Of curtesy I thee pray,
Unto the towne of Walsingham
Which is the right and ready way.

"Unto the towne of Walsingham 5
The way is hard for to be gon;
And verry crooked are those pathes
For you to find out all alone."

Weere the miles doubled thrise,
And the way never soe ill, 10
Itt were not enough for mine offence;
Itt is soe grievous and soe ill.

"Thy yeeares are young, thy face is faire,
Thy witts are weake, thy thoughts are greene;
Time hath not given thee leave, as yett, 15
For to committ so great a sinne."

Yes, heardsman, yes, soe woldest thou say,
If thou knewest soe much as I;
My witts, and thoughts, and all the rest,
Have well deserved for to dye. 20

I am not what I seeme to bee,
My clothes and sexe doe differ farr:
I am a woman, woe is me!
Born[445] to greeffe and irksome care.

For my beloved, and well-beloved, 25
My wayward cruelty could kill:
And though my teares will nought avail,
Most dearely I bewail him still.

He was the flower of noble wights,
None ever more sincere colde bee; 30
Of comely mien and shape hee was,

And tenderlye hee loved mee.

When thus I saw he loved me well,
I grewe so proud his paine to see,
That I, who did not know myselfe, 35
Thought scorne of such a youth as hee.
[446]
And grew soe coy and nice to please,
As women's lookes are often soe,
He might not kisse, nor hand forsooth,
Unlesse I willed him soe to doe. 40

Thus being wearyed with delayes
To see I pittyed not his greeffe,
He gott him to a secrett place,
And there he dyed without releeffe.

And for his sake these weeds I weare, 45
And sacriffice my tender age;
And every day Ile begg my bread,
To undergoe this pilgrimage.

Thus every day I fast and pray,
And ever will doe till I dye; 50
And gett me to some secrett place,
For soe did hee, and soe will I.

Now, gentle heardsman, aske no more,
But keepe my secretts I thee pray;
Unto the towne of Walsingam 55
Show me the right and readye way.

"Now goe thy wayes, and God before!
For he must ever guide thee still:
Turne downe that dale, the right hand path,
And soe, faire pilgrim, fare thee well!" 60

⁂ To shew what constant tribute was paid to Our Lady of
Walsingham, I shall give a few extracts from the "Houshold-
Book of Henry Algernon Percy, 5th Earl of Northumberland."
Printed 1770, 8vo.
Sect. xliii. p. 337, &c.
Item, My Lorde usith yerly to send afor Michaelmas for his
Lordschip's Offerynge to our Lady of Walsyngeham.—iiij d.
Item, My Lorde usith ande accustumyth to sende yerely for the
upholdynge of the Light of Wax which his Lordschip fyndith
birnynge yerly befor our Lady of Walsyngham, contenynge xj
lb. of Wax in it after vij d. ob. for the fyndynge of every lb. redy
wrought by a covenaunt maid with the Channon by great, for the
hole yere, for the fyndinge of the said Lyght byrnning,—vi s.
viiij d.
Item, My Lord useth and accustomith to syende yerely to the
Channon that kepith the Light before our Lady of Walsyngham,
for his reward for the hole yere, for kepynge of the said Light,
lightynge of it at all service tymes dayly thorowt the yere,—xij
d.
Item, My Lord usith and accustomyth yerely to send to the Prest
that kepith the Light, lyghtynge of it at all service tymes daily
thorowt the yere,—iij s. iiij d.

FOOTNOTES:

[442] See at the end of this ballad an account of the annual
offerings of the Earls of Northumberland.
[443] [In the Folio MS. is the following note by Percy:—"Since
I first transcribed this song for the press part of the leaf has been
worne away. It was once exactly as I have represented it in my
book." Ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. iii. p. 526.]
[444] [R. J. King's Sketches and Studies, 1874, p. 262.]
[445] [Mr. Furnivall suggests a prey.]
[446] Three of the following stanzas have been finely
paraphrased by Dr. Goldsmith, in his charming ballad of Edwin

and Emma; the reader of taste will have a pleasure in comparing
them with the original.

"'And' still I try'd each fickle art,
Importunate and vain;
And while his passion touch'd my heart,
I triumph'd in his pain.
"'Till quite dejected with my scorn,
He left me to my pride,
And sought a solitude forlorn,
In secret, where he dy'd.
"But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,
And well my life shall pay;
I'll seek the solitude he sought,
And stretch me where he lay.
"And there forlorn despairing hid,
I'll lay me down and die:
'Twas so for me that Edwin did
And so for him will I."

[Goldsmith did not follow the last two verses, but made his ending
much more sentimental than that of the old ballad.]

XV.
K. EDWARD IV. AND TANNER OF TAMWORTH

W as a story of great fame among our ancestors. The author of the
Art of English poesie, 1589, 4to, seems to speak of it as a real
fact.—Describing that vicious mode of speech, which the
Greeks called Acyron, i.e. "When we use a dark and obscure
word, utterly repugnant to that we should express;" he adds,
"Such manner of uncouth speech did the Tanner of Tamworth use to king
Edward the fourth; which Tanner, having a great while mistaken him, and
used very broad talke with him, at length perceiving by his traine that it was
the king, was afraide he should be punished for it, [and] said thus, with a
certain rude repentance,

'I hope I shall be hanged to-morrow,'

for [I feare me] I shall be hanged; whereat the king laughed a good,[447] not
only to see the Tanner's vaine feare, but also to heare his illshapen terme:
and gave him for recompence of his good sport, the inheritance of
Plumpton-parke. I am afraid," concludes this sagacious writer, "the poets of
our times that speake more finely and correctedly, will come too short of
such a reward," p. 214.—The phrase, here referred to, is not found in this
ballad at present,[448] but occurs with some variation in another old poem,
intitled John the Reeve, described in the following volume (see the Preface
to the King and the Miller),[449] viz.

"Nay, sayd John, by Gods grace,
And Edward wer in this place,
Hee shold not touch this tonne:
He wold be wroth with John I hope,
Thereffore I beshrew the soupe,
That in his mouth shold come." Pt. ii. st. 24.

The following text is selected (with such other corrections as occurred)
from two copies in black-letter. The one in the Bodleyan library, intitled, "A
merrie, pleasant, and delectable historie betweene K. Edward the Fourth,
and a Tanner of Tamworth, &c. printed at London, by John Danter, 1596."
This copy, ancient as it now is, appears to have been modernized and
altered at the time it was published; and many vestiges of the more ancient
readings were recovered from another copy, (though more recently printed,)
in one sheet folio, without date, in the Pepys collection.
But these are both very inferior in point of antiquity to the old ballad of The
King and the Barker, reprinted with other "Pieces of Ancient Popular Poetry
from Authentic Manuscripts and old Printed Copies, &c." Lond. 1791, 8vo.
As that very antique Poem had never occurred to the Editor of the Reliques,
till he saw it in the above collection, he now refers the curious reader to it,
as an imperfect and incorrect copy of the old original ballad.

[This ballad was a great favourite with our ancestors and is
probably of considerable antiquity.

The earliest entry of it upon the Registers of the Stationers'
Company is to William Griffith in 1564, but no such edition is
known to bibliographers. It is possible, however, that Puttenham
may have found the line quoted above—

"I hope I shall be hanged to-morrow"

in that edition.
It belongs to the large class of tales in which the sovereign is
made to converse on terms of good fellowship with a humble
subject.
The interesting ballad of John the Reeve referred to by Percy is
printed for the first time in Hales and Furnivall's edition of the
Folio Manuscript (vol. ii. p. 550.)
The Tanner of Tamworth is introduced into the first part of
Heywood's Edward IV. The ballad Under the greenwood tree,
among the Ashmole MSS. at Oxford, Robin Hood and the
Curtal Friar, and Robin Hood and the Monk, all begin with the
same words as this ballad—

"In summer time when leaves grow green."

The present version is an eclectic copy, polished and reversified
by Percy.]

In summer time, when leaves grow greene,
And blossoms bedecke the tree,
King Edward wolde a hunting ryde,

Some pastime for to see.

With hawke and hounde he made him bowne,[450] 5
With horne, and eke with bowe;
To Drayton Basset he tooke his waye,
With all his lordes a rowe.

And he had ridden ore dale and downe
By eight of clocke in the day, 10
When he was ware of a bold tannèr,
Come ryding along the waye.

A fayre russet coat the tanner had on
Fast buttoned under his chin,
And under him a good cow-hide, 15
And a mare of four shilling.[451]

Nowe stand you still, my good lordes all,
Under the grene wood spraye;
And I will wend to yonder fellowe,
To weet[452] what he will saye. 20

God speede, God speede thee, said our king,
Thou art welcome, sir, sayd hee.
"The readyest waye to Drayton Basset
I praye thee to shewe to mee."

"To Drayton Basset woldst thou goe, 25
Fro the place where thou dost stand?
The next payre of gallowes thou comest unto,
Turne in upon thy right hand."

That is an unreadye waye, sayd our king,
Thou doest but jest I see: 30
Nowe shewe me out the nearest waye,
And I pray thee wend with mee.

Awaye with a vengeance! quoth the tanner:

I hold thee out of thy witt:
All daye have I rydden on Brocke my mare, 35
And I am fasting yett.

"Go with me downe to Drayton Basset,
No daynties we will spare;
All daye shalt thou eate and drinke of the best,
And I will paye thy fare." 40

Gramercye[453] for nothing, the tanner replyde,
Thou payest no fare of mine:
I trowe I've more nobles in my purse,
Than thou hast pence in thine.

God give thee joy of them, sayd the king, 45
And send them well to priefe.[454]
The tanner wolde faine have beene away,
For he weende he had beene a thiefe.

What art thou, hee sayde, thou fine fellòwe,
Of thee I am in great feare, 50
For the cloathes, thou wearest upon thy backe,
Might beseeme a lord to weare.

I never stole them, quoth our king,
I tell you, sir, by the roode.
"Then thou playest, as many an unthrift doth, 55
And standest in midds of thy goode."[455]

What tydinges heare you, sayd the kynge,
As you ryde farre and neare?
"I heare no tydinges, sir, by the masse,
But that cowe-hides are deare." 60

"Cowe-hides! cowe-hides! what things are those?
I marvell what they bee?"
What art thou a foole? the tanner reply'd;
I carry one under mee.

What craftsman art thou, said the king, 65
I praye thee tell me trowe.
"I am a barker,[456] sir, by my trade;
Nowe tell me what art thou?"

I am a poore courtier, sir, quoth he,
That am forth of service worne; 70
And faine I wolde thy prentise bee,
Thy cunninge for to learne.

Marrye heaven forfend,[457] the tanner replyde,
That thou my prentise were:
Thou woldst spend more good than I shold winne 75
By fortye shilling a yere.

Yet one thinge wolde I, sayd our king,
If thou wilt not seeme strange:
Thoughe my horse be better than thy mare,
Yet with thee I faine wold change. 80

"Why if with me thou faine wilt change,
As change full well maye wee,
By the faith of my bodye, thou proude fellòwe,
I will have some boot[458] of thee."

That were against reason, sayd the king, 85
I sweare, so mote I thee:[459]
My horse is better than thy mare,
And that thou well mayst see.

"Yea, sir, but Brocke is gentle and mild,
And softly she will fare: 90
Thy horse is unrulye and wild, I wiss;
Aye skipping here and theare."

What boote wilt thou have? our king reply'd;
Now tell me in this stound.[460]

"Noe pence, nor half pence, by my faye, 95
But a noble in gold so round."

"Here's twentye groates of white moneyè,
Sith thou will have it of mee."
I would have sworne now, quoth the tanner,
Thou hadst not had one penniè. 100

But since we two have made a change,
A change we must abide,
Although thou hast gotten Brocke my mare,
Thou gettest not my cowe-hide.

I will not have it, sayd the kynge, 105
I sweare, so mought I thee;
Thy foule cowe-hide I wolde not beare,
If thou woldst give it to mee.

The tanner hee tooke his good cowe-hide,
That of the cow was hilt; 110
And threwe it upon the king's sadèlle,
That was soe fayrelye gilte.

"Now help me up, thou fine fellòwe,
'Tis time that I were gone:
When I come home to Gyllian my wife, 115
Sheel say I am a gentilmon."

The king he tooke him up by the legge;
The tanner a f ** lett fall.
Nowe marrye, good fellowe, sayd the kyng,
Thy courtesye is but small. 120

When the tanner he was in the kinges sadèlle,
And his foote in the stirrup was;
He marvelled greatlye in his minde,
Whether it were golde or brass.

But when his steede saw the cows taile wagge, 125
And eke the blacke cowe-horne;
He stamped, and stared, and awaye he ranne,
As the devill had him borne.

The tanner he pulld, the tanner he sweat,
And held by the pummil fast: 130
At length the tanner came tumbling downe;
His necke he had well-nye brast.[461]

Take thy horse again with a vengeance, he sayd,
With mee he shall not byde.
"My horse wolde have borne thee well enoughe, 135
But he knewe not of thy cowe-hide.

Yet if againe thou faine woldst change,
As change full well may wee,
By the faith of my bodye, thou jolly tannèr,
I will have some boote of thee." 140

What boote wilt thou have, the tanner replyd,
Nowe tell me in this stounde?
"Noe pence nor halfpence, sir, by my faye,
But I will have twentye pound."

"Here's twentye groates out of my purse; 145
And twentye I have of thine:
And I have one more, which we will spend
Together at the wine."

The king set a bugle horne to his mouthe,
And blewe both loude and shrille: 150
And soone came lords, and soone came knights,
Fast ryding over the hille.

Nowe, out alas! the tanner he cryde,
That ever I sawe this daye!
Thou art a strong thiefe, yon come thy fellowes 155

Will beare my cowe-hide away.

They are no thieves, the king replyde,
I sweare, soe mote I thee:
But they are the lords of the north countrèy,
Here come to hunt with mee. 160

And soone before our king they came,
And knelt downe on the grounde:
Then might the tanner have beene awaye,
He had lever than twentye pounde.

A coller, a coller, here: sayd the king, 165
A coller he loud gan crye;
Then woulde he lever then twentye pound,
He had not beene so nighe.

A coller, a coller, the tanner he sayd,
I trowe it will breed sorrowe: 170
After a coller commeth a halter,
I trow I shall be hang'd to-morrowe.

Be not afraid Tanner, said our king;
I tell thee, so mought I thee,
Lo here I make thee the best esquire 175
That is in the North countrie.[462]

For Plumpton-parke I will give thee,
With tenements faire beside:
'Tis worth three hundred markes by the yeare,
To maintaine thy good cowe-hide. 180

Gramercye, my liege, the tanner replyde,
For the favour thou hast me showne;
If ever thou comest to merry Tamwòrth,
Neates leather shall clout thy shoen.[463]
⁂

FOOTNOTES:

[447] [for good deal.]
[448] Nor in that of the Barker mentioned below.
[449] [Vol. iii. Book 2, No. 20.]
[450] [ready.]
[451] In the reign of Edward IV. Dame Cecill, lady of Torboke,
in her will dated March 7, A.D. 1466; among many other
bequests has this, "Also I will that my sonne Thomas of Torboke
have 13s. 4d. to buy him an horse." Vid. Harleian Catalog. 2176.
27.—Now if 13s. 4d. would purchase a steed fit for a person of
quality, a tanner's horse might reasonably be valued at four or
five shillings.
[452] [know.]
[453] [thank you.]
[454] [prove.]
[455] i.e. hast no other wealth, but what thou carriest about thee.
[456] i.e. a dealer in bark.
[457] [avert it.]
[458] [profit.]
[459] [so may I thrive.]
[460] [moment.]
[461] [broken.]
[462] This stanza is restored from a quotation of this ballad in
Selden's Titles of Honour, who produces it as a good authority to
prove, that one mode of creating Esquires at that time, was by
the imposition of a Collar. His words are, "Nor is that old
pamphlet of the Tanner of Tamworth and King Edward the
Fourth so contemptible, but that wee may thence note also an
observable passage, wherein the use of making Esquires, by
giving Collars, is expressed." (Sub Tit. Esquire; & vide in
Spelmanni Glossar. Armiger.) This form of creating Esquires
actually exists at this day among the Serjeants at Arms, who are
invested with a Collar (which they wear on Collar Days) by the
King himself.
This information I owe to Samuel Pegge, Esq. to whom the
publick is indebted for that curious work the Curialia, 4to.
[463] [cow hide shall mend thy shoes.]

XVI.
AS YE CAME FROM THE HOLY LAND.

Dialogue between a Pilgrim and Traveller.

T he scene of this song is the same as in Num. XIV. The
pilgrimage to Walsingham suggested the plan of many
popular pieces. In the Pepys collection, vol. i. p. 226, is a
kind of Interlude in the old ballad style, of which the first
stanza alone is worth reprinting.

"As I went to Walsingham,
To the shrine with speede,
Met I with a jolly palmer
In a pilgrimes weede.
Now God you save, you jolly palmer!
'Welcome, lady gay,
Oft have I sued to thee for love.'
—Oft have I said you nay."

The pilgrimages undertaken on pretence of religion, were often productive
of affairs of gallantry, and led the votaries to no other shrine than that of
Venus.[464]
The following ballad was once very popular; it is quoted in Fletcher's Knt.
of the burning pestle, act ii. sc. ult. and in another old play, called, Hans
Beer-pot, his invisible Comedy, &c. 4to. 1618; act i.—The copy below was
communicated to the Editor by the late Mr. Shenstone as corrected by him
from an ancient copy, and supplied with a concluding stanza.
We have placed this, and Gentle Herdsman, &c. thus early in the volume,
upon a presumption that they must have been written, if not before the
dissolution of the monasteries, yet while the remembrance of them was
fresh in the minds of the people.

[Although Percy does not mention his folio MS. this song is
there, and a copy from it is now printed at the end of Percy's
version. With the exception of the last three lines there are little
but verbal differences, but these are numerous. The ending is
strikingly inferior to that of the MS. and does very little credit to
Shenstone's poetical taste. A copy of the song in the Bodleian
library (MS. Rawl. 85 fol. 124) is signed W. R., and Dr. Bliss in
consequence claimed it for Sir Walter Raleigh in his edition of
Wood's Athenæ. It is inserted in the Oxford edition of Raleigh's
Works, vol. viii. p. 733, with the title—False Love and True
Love. Dr. Hannah also includes it in his edition of the Courtly
Poets, but believes it highly improbable that Raleigh wrote the
song.
Mr. Chappell points out that the first line of the ballad quoted
above is introduced in Nashe's Have with you to Saffron Walden,
1596. In The Weakest goes to the Wall, 1600, we read

"King Richard's gone to Walsingham, to the Holy Land."

The tune of Walsingham was highly popular, and numerous
songs have been set to it.]

As ye came from the holy land
Of blessed Walsingham,
O met you not with my true love
As by the way ye came?

"How should I know your true love, 5
That have met many a one,

As I came from the holy land,
That have both come and gone?"

My love is neither white[466], nor browne,
But as the heavens faire; 10
There is none hath her form divine,
Either in earth, or ayre.

"Such an one did I meet, good sir,
With an angelicke face;
Who like a nymphe, a queene appeard 15
Both in her gait, her grace."

Yes: she hath cleane forsaken me,
And left me all alone;
Who some time loved me as her life,
And called me her owne. 20

"What is the cause she leaves thee thus,
And a new way doth take,
That some times loved thee as her life,
And thee her joy did make?"

I that loved her all my youth, 25
Growe old now as you see;
Love liketh not the falling fruite,
Nor yet the withered tree.

For love is like a carelesse childe,
Forgetting promise past: 30
He is blind, or deaf, whenere he list;
His faith is never fast.

His fond desire is fickle found,
And yieldes a trustlesse joye;
Wonne with a world of toil and care, 35
And lost ev'n with a toye.

Such is the love of womankinde,
Or Loves faire name abusde,
Beneathe which many vaine desires,
And follyes are excusde. 40

But true love is a lasting fire,
[Which viewless vestals[467] tend,
That burnes for ever in the soule,
And knowes nor change, nor end.']
⁂

[T he following version is reprinted from the Folio
MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. iii. p. 471.)

"As: yee came ffrom the holy Land
of Walsingham,
Mett you not with my true loue
by the way as you came?" 4
"how shold I know your true loue,
that haue mett many a one
as I cam ffrom the holy Land,
that haue come, that haue gone?" 8

"Shee is neither white nor browne,
but as the heauens ffaire;
there is none hathe their fforme diuine
on the earth or the ayre." 12
"such a one did I meete, good Sir,
with an angellike fface,
who like a nimph, like a queene, did appeare
in her gate, in her grace." 16

"Shee hath left me heere alone,

all alone as vnknowne,
who sometime loued me as her liffe
and called me her owne." 20
"What is the cause shee hath left thee alone,
and a new way doth take,
that sometime did loue thee as her selfe,
and her ioy did thee make?" 24

"I haue loued her all my youth,
but now am old, as you see.
loue liketh not the ffalling ffruite
nor the whithered tree; 28
for loue is like a carlesse child,
and fforgetts promise past:
he is blind, he is deaffe when he list,
and infaith neuer ffast; 32

"his desire is ffickle, ffond,
and a trustles ioye;
he is won with a world of dispayre,
and lost with a toye. 36

such is the [fate of all man] kind,
or the word loue abused,
under which many childish desires
and conceipts are excused." 40

"But loue is a durabler ffyer
in the mind euer Burninge,
euer sicke, neuer dead, neuer cold,
ffrom itt selfe neuer turninge." 44
ffinis.]

FOOTNOTES:

[464] Even in the time of Langland, pilgrimages to Walsingham
were not unfavourable to the rites of Venus. Thus in his Visions
of Pierce Plowman, fo. 1.

"Hermets on a heape, with hoked staves,
Wenten to Walsingham, and her[465] wenches after."

[465] i.e. their.
[466] sc. pale.
[467] sc. angels.

XVII.
HARDYKNUTE.

A Scottish Fragment.

A s this fine morsel of heroic poetry hath generally past for
ancient, it is here thrown to the end of our earliest pieces; that
such as doubt of its age, may the better compare it with other
pieces of genuine antiquity. For after all, there is more than
reason to suspect, that it owes most of its beauties (if not its
whole existence) to the pen of a lady, within the present century. The
following particulars may be depended on. Mrs. Wardlaw, whose maiden
name was Halket (aunt to the late Sir Peter Halket, of Pitferran, in Scotland,
who was killed in America, along with general Bradock, in 1755),
pretended she had found this poem, written on shreds of paper, employed
for what is called the bottoms of clues. A suspicion arose that it was her
own composition. Some able judges asserted it to be modern. The lady did
in a manner acknowledge it to be so. Being desired to shew an additional
stanza, as a proof of this, she produced the 2 last beginning with "There's
nae light," &c. which were not in the copy that was first printed. The late
Lord President Forbes, and Sir Gilbert Elliot of Minto (late Lord Justice
Clerk for Scotland) who had believed it ancient, contributed to the expence
of publishing the first edition, in folio, 1719.—This account was transmitted
from Scotland by Sir David Dalrymple, the late Lord Hailes, who yet was
of opinion, that part of the ballad may be ancient; but retouched and much

enlarged by the lady abovementioned. Indeed he had been informed, that
the late William Thomson, the Scottish musician, who published the
Orpheus Caledonius, 1733, 2 vols. 8vo. declared he had heard fragments of
it repeated in his infancy, before Mrs. Wardlaw's copy was heard of.
The poem is here printed from the original edition, as it was prepared for
the press with the additional improvements.
In an elegant publication, intitled, Scottish Tragic Ballads, printed by and
for J. Nichols, 1781, 8vo. may be seen a continuation of the Ballad of
Hardyknute, by the addition of a Second Part, which hath since been
acknowledged to be his own composition, by the ingenious Editor [John
Pinkerton]—To whom the late Sir D. Dalrymple communicated (subsequent
to the account drawn up above) extracts of a letter from Sir John Bruce, of
Kinross, to Lord Binning, which plainly proves the pretended discoverer of
the fragment of Hardyknute to have been Sir John Bruce himself. His words
are, "To perform my promise, I send you a true copy of the Manuscript I
found some weeks ago in a vault at Dumferline. It is written on vellum in a
fair Gothic character, but so much defaced by time, as you'll find that the
tenth part is not legible." He then gives the whole fragment as it was first
published in 1719, save one or two stanzas, marking several passages as
having perished by being illegible in the old MS. Hence it appears, that Sir
John was the author of Hardyknute, but afterwards used Mrs. Wardlaw to be
the midwife of his poetry, and suppressed the story of the vault; as is well
observed by the Editor of the Tragic Ballads, and of Maitland's Scot. Poets,
vol. i. p. cxxvii.
To this gentleman we are indebted for the use of the copy, whence the
second edition was afterwards printed, as the same was prepared for the
press by John Clerk, M.D. of Edinburgh, an intimate companion of Lord
President Forbes.
The title of the first edition was, "Hardyknute, a Fragment. Edinburgh,
printed for James Watson, &c. 1719," folio, 12 pages.
Stanzas not in the first edition are, Nos. 17, 18, 20, 21, 22, 23, 34, 35, 36,
37, 41, 42.
In the present impression the orthography of Dr. Clerk's copy has been
preserved, and his readings carefully followed, except in a few instances,

wherein the common edition appeared preferable: viz. He had in ver. 20.
but.—v. 56. of harm.—v. 64. every.—v. 67. lo down.—v. 83. That omitted.
—v. 89. And omitted.—v. 143. With argument but vainly strave Lang.—v.
148. say'd.—v. 155. incampit on the plain.—v. 156. Norse squadrons.—v.
158. regand revers.—v. 170. his strides he bent.—v. 171. minstrals playand
Pibrochs fine.—v. 172. stately went.—v. 182. mon.—v. 196. sharp and
fatal.—v. 219. which.—v. 241. stood wyld.—Stanza 39 preceded stanza 38.
—v. 305. There.—v. 313. blew westling.—v. 336. had originally been, He
fear'd a' cou'd be fear'd.
The Editor was also informed, on the authority of Dr. David Clerk, M.D. of
Edinburgh (son of the aforesaid Dr. John Clerk), that between the present
stanzas 36 and 37, the two following had been intended, but were on
maturer consideration omitted, and do not now appear among the MS.
additions:

"Now darts flew wavering through slaw speed,
Scarce could they reach their aim;
Or reach'd, scarce blood the round point drew,
'Twas all but shot in vain:
Right strengthy arms forfeebled grew,
Sair wreck'd wi' that day's toils:
E'en fierce-born minds now lang'd for peace,
And curs'd war's cruel broils.

"Yet still wars horns sounded to charge,
Swords clash'd and harness rang;
But saftly sae ilk blaster blew
The hills and dales fraemang.
Nae echo heard in double dints,
Nor the lang-winding horn,
Nae mair she blew out brade as she
Did eir that summers morn."

[Elizabeth Halket, second daughter of Sir Charles Halket of
Pitfirrane, Fife, and wife of Sir Henry Wardlaw of Pitrivie, Fife
and Balmulie near Dunfermline, who was born in the year 1677,
married in 1696, and died in 1727, is now known to have been
the authoress of Hardyknute, although it was many years before
the question of the authorship was finally settled.
Mr. David Laing once possessed a copy of this ballad printed in
a duodecimo of eight pages without date, which is supposed to
be the original edition. Besides various differences, some
important and others minute, it does not contain stanzas 27, 28
and 40, which are printed in the folio of 1719. It was reprinted
several times before Percy included it in his book, and its
antiquity does not seem to have been doubted, for the editor of
the edition of 1740 speaks of it as a specimen of the true
sublime, and believes that "it can only be the work of an author

highly smitten with the fury of a poetical genius." Allan
Ramsay's Evergreen, 1724, vol. ii. contains this ballad with the
twelve additional stanzas noted above by Percy.
When Percy first printed the ballad suspicions of its authenticity
had been expressed, which soon led to the discovery of the
writer, but after having stated who was the real author, he threw
doubts upon his statement on account of Pinkerton's truthless
report. Pinkerton was never to be depended upon, and he had
previously affirmed that the common people of Lanarkshire
"repeat scraps of both parts," although the second was his own
composition. Sir John Hope Bruce had nothing to do with the
composition of the ballad, and it is even doubtful whether his
supposed letter to Lord Binning ever had any existence. If it
had, it was merely a mystification. On the second of December,
1785, Lord Hailes wrote to Pinkerton as follows, "You mistook
if you suppose that I reckoned Sir John Bruce to be the author of
Hardyknute. It is his sister-in-law, Lady Wardlaw, who is said to
have been the author." Yet Pinkerton made Percy believe that
Bruce was the author. Great difference of opinion has been
expressed as to the merit of the ballad by various critics.
Mathias was fascinated with it, and printed it privately with an
encomiastic criticism. Scott wrote on the fly-leaf of his copy of
Ramsay's Evergreen, "Hardyknute was the first poem I ever
learnt—the last that I shall forget," and in his Minstrelsy of the
Border he terms it "a most spirited and beautiful imitation of the
ancient ballad." Thomas Warton was deceived by it, and
describes it as genuine in the first edition of his Observations on
Spenser. In the second edition he assigns the ballad to its true
author, but adds, "I am apt to think that the first stanza is old and
gave the hint for writing the rest." On the other side Dr. Johnson
considered it to have "no great merit," and Aytoun esteemed it a
very poor performance. It has not been popular with the
ordinary devourers of ballads, and Mr. James Maidment never
had the good luck to pick up a stall copy—he writes, "The flying
stationers, the best judges of what suited their customers, not
considering it an eligible republication." The ballad is supposed
to refer to the battle of Largs, fought on the second of October,

1263, between the invading force led by Haco, King of Norway,
and the Scottish army commanded in person by Alexander III.,
but it would, in fact, suit any conflict between Scots and
Northmen. The effect of this battle was the loss to Scandinavia
of the Hebrides and the Isle of Man, which dependencies were
relinquished to Alexander III. by terms of a treaty concluded in
1266, with Magnus, the successor of Haco. The victory was
largely due to the Lord High Steward of Scotland, who is
supposed to be represented by Hardyknute. Mr. Gilfillan notes
that "Fairly Castle, the residence of Hardyknute, stands three
miles south of the battle field. It is a single square tower, by the
side of a wild stream tumbling over a rock into a deep ravine."]

I.

Stately stept he east the wa',[468]
And stately stept he west,
Full seventy years he now had seen,
Wi' scarce seven years of rest.
He liv'd when Britons breach of faith 5
Wrought Scotland mickle wae:
And ay his sword tauld to their cost,
He was their deadlye fae.

II.

High on a hill his castle stood,
With ha's[469] and tow'rs a height, 10
And goodly chambers fair to se,
Where he lodged mony a knight.

His dame sae peerless anes and fair,
For chast and beauty deem'd,
Nae marrow[470] had in all the land, 15
Save Elenor[471] the queen.
III.

Full thirteen sons to him she bare,
All men of valour stout;
In bloody fight with sword in hand
Nine lost their lives bot[472] doubt: 20
Four yet remain, lang may they live
To stand by liege and land;
High was their fame, high was their might,
And high was their command.

IV.

Great love they bare to Fairly fair, 25
Their sister saft and dear,
Her girdle shaw'd her middle gimp,[473]
And gowden glist[474] her hair.
What waefu' wae her beauty bred?
Waefu' to young and auld, 30
Waefu' I trow to kyth and kin,
As story ever tauld.

V.

The king of Norse in summer tyde,
Puff'd up with pow'r and might,
Landed in fair Scotland the isle 35
With mony a hardy knight.
The tydings to our good Scots king
Came, as he sat at dine,
With noble chiefs in brave aray,
Drinking the blood-red wine. 40

VI.

"To horse, to horse, my royal liege,
Your faes stand on the strand,
Full twenty thousand glittering spears
The king of Norse commands."
Bring me my steed Mage dapple gray, 45
Our good king rose and cry'd,
A trustier beast in a' the land
A Scots king nevir try'd.

VII.

Go little page, tell Hardyknute,
That lives on hill sae hie, 50
To draw his sword, the dread of faes,
And haste and follow me.
The little page flew swift as dart
Flung by his master's arm,
"Come down, come down, lord Hardyknute, 55
And rid your king frae harm."

VIII.

Then red red grew his dark-brown cheeks,
Sae did his dark-brown brow;
His looks grew keen, as they were wont
In dangers great to do; 60
He's ta'en a horn as green as grass,
And gi'en five sounds sae shill,[475]
That trees in green wood shook thereat,
Sae loud rang ilka hill.

IX.

His sons in manly sport and glee, 65
Had past that summer's morn,
When low down in a grassy dale,

They heard their father's horn.
That horn, quo' they, ne'er sounds in peace,
We've other sport to bide. 70
And soon they hy'd them up the hill,
And soon were at his side.
X.

"Late late the yestreen[476] I ween'd in peace
To end my lengthened life,
My age might well excuse my arm 75
Frae manly feats of strife;
But now that Norse do's proudly boast
Fair Scotland to inthrall,
It's ne'er be said of Hardyknute,
He fear'd to fight or fall. 80

XI.

"Robin of Rothsay, bend thy bow
Thy arrows shoot sae leel,[477]
That mony a comely countenance
They've turnd to deadly pale.
Brade[478] Thomas take you but your lance, 85
You need nae weapons mair,
If you fight wi't as you did anes
'Gainst Westmoreland's fierce heir.

XII.

"And Malcolm, light of foot as stag
That runs in forest wild, 90
Get me my thousands three of men
Well bred to sword and shield:
Bring me my horse and harnisine,[479]
My blade of mettal clear.
If faes but ken'd the hand it bare, 95
They soon had fled for fear.

XIII.

"Farewell my dame sae peerless good,
(And took her by the hand),
Fairer to me in age you seem,
Than maids for beauty fam'd. 100
My youngest son shall here remain
To guard these stately towers,
And shut the silver bolt that keeps
Sae fast your painted bowers."

XIV.

And first she wet her comely cheiks, 105
And then her boddice green,
Her silken cords of twirtle twist,[480]
Well plett with silver sheen;
And apron set with mony a dice
Of needle-wark sae rare, 110
Wove by nae hand, as ye may guess,
Save that of Fairly fair.

XV.

And he has ridden o'er muir and moss,
O'er hills and mony a glen,
When he came to a wounded knight 115
Making a heavy mane;
"Here maun I lye, here maun I dye,
By treacherie's false guiles;
Witless I was that e'er ga faith
To wicked woman's smiles." 120

XVI.

"Sir knight, gin you were in my bower,
To lean on silken seat,
My lady's kindly care you'd prove,

Who ne'er knew deadly hate:
Herself wou'd watch you a' the day, 125
Her maids a dead of night;
And Fairly fair your heart wou'd chear,
As she stands in your sight.
XVII.

"Arise young knight, and mount your stead,
Full lowns the shynand day:[481] 130
Choose frae my menzie[482] whom ye please
To lead you on the way."
With smileless look, and visage wan
The wounded knight reply'd,
"Kind chieftain, your intent pursue, 135
For here I maun abyde.

XVIII.

To me nae after day nor night
Can e're be sweet or fair,
But soon beneath some draping tree,
Cauld death shall end my care." 140
With him nae pleading might prevail;
Brave Hardyknute to gain
With fairest words, and reason strong,
Strave courteously in vain.

XIX.

Syne he has gane far hynd out o'er[483] 145
Lord Chattan's land sae wide;
That lord a worthy wight was ay,
When faes his courage sey'd:[484]
Of Pictish race by mother's side,
When Picts rul'd Caledon, 150
Lord Chattan claim'd the princely maid,
When he sav'd Pictish crown.

XX.

Now with his fierce and stalwart train,
He reach'd a rising hight,
Quhair braid encampit on the dale, 155
Norss menzie[485] lay in sicht.
"Yonder my valiant sons and feirs[486]
Our raging revers[487] wait
On the unconquert Scottish sward
To try with us their fate. 160

XXI.

"Make orisons to him that sav'd
Our sauls upon the rude;[488]
Syne[489] bravely shaw your veins are fill'd
With Caledonian blude."
Then furth he drew his trusty glave,[490] 165
While thousands all around
Drawn frae their sheaths glanc'd in the sun;
And loud the bougles sound.

XXII.

To joyn his king adoun the hill
In hast his merch he made, 170
While, playand pibrochs, minstralls meit[491]
Afore him stately strade.
"Thrice welcome valiant stoup of weir,[492]
Thy nations shield and pride;
Thy king nae reason has to fear 175
When thou art by his side."

XXIII.

When bows were bent and darts were thrawn;
For thrang scarce cou'd they flee;

The darts clove arrows as they met,
The arrows dart[493] the tree. 180
Lang did they rage and fight fu' fierce,
With little skaith to mon,
But bloody bloody was the field,
Ere that lang day was done.
XXIV.

The king of Scots, that sindle[494] brook'd 185
The war that look'd like play,
Drew his braid sword, and brake his bow,
Sin bows seem'd but delay.
Quoth noble Rothsay, "Mine I'll keep,
I wat it's bled a score." 190
Haste up my merry men, cry'd the king,
As he rode on before.

XXV.

The king of Norse he sought to find,
With him to mense[495] the faught,
But on his forehead there did light 195
A sharp unsonsie[496] shaft;
As he his hand put up to feel
The wound, an arrow keen,
O waefu' chance! there pinn'd his hand
In midst between his een. 200

XXVI.

"Revenge, revenge, cry'd Rothsay's heir,
Your mail-coat sha' na bide
The strength and sharpness of my dart:"
Then sent it through his side.
Another arrow well he mark'd, 205
It pierc'd his neck in twa,
His hands then quat[497] the silver reins,

He low as earth did fa'.
XXVII.

"Sair bleids my liege, sair, sair he bleeds!"
Again wi' might he drew 210
And gesture dread his sturdy bow,
Fast the braid arrow flew:
Wae to the knight he ettled at;[498]
Lament now queen Elgreed;
High dames too wail your darling's fall, 215
His youth and comely meed.

XXVIII.

"Take aff, take aff his costly jupe[499]
(Of gold well was it twin'd,
Knit like the fowler's net, through quhilk,
His steelly harness shin'd) 220
Take, Norse, that gift frae me, and bid
Him venge the blood it bears;
Say, if he face my bended bow,
He sure nae weapon fears."

XXIX.

Proud Norse with giant body tall, 225
Braid shoulders and arms strong,
Cry'd, "Where is Hardyknute sae fam'd,
And fear'd at Britain's throne:
Tho' Britons tremble at his name,
I soon shall make him wail, 230
That e'er my sword was made sae sharp,
Sae saft his coat of mail."

XXX.

That brag his stout heart cou'd na bide,

It lent him youthfu' micht:
"I'm Hardyknute; this day, he cry'd, 235
To Scotland's king I heght[500]
To lay thee low, as horses hoof;
My word I mean to keep."
Syne with the first stroke e'er he strake,
He garr'd[501] his body bleed. 240
XXXI.

Norss' een like gray gosehawk's stair'd wyld,
He sigh'd wi' shame and spite;
"Disgrac'd is now my far-fam'd arm
That left thee power to strike:"
Then ga' his head a blow sae fell, 245
It made him doun to stoup,
As laigh as he to ladies us'd
In courtly guise to lout.[502]

XXXII.

Fu' soon he rais'd his bent body,
His bow he marvell'd sair, 250
Sin blows till then on him but darr'd[503]
As touch of Fairly fair:
Norse marvell'd too as sair as he
To see his stately look;
Sae soon as e'er he strake a fae, 255
Sae soon his life he took.

XXXIII.

Where like a fire to heather set,
Bauld Thomas did advance,
Ane sturdy fae with look enrag'd
Up toward him did prance; 260
He spurr'd his steid through thickest ranks
The hardy youth to quell,

Wha stood unmov'd at his approach
His fury to repell.
XXXIV.

"That short brown shaft sae meanly trimm'd, 265
Looks like poor Scotlands gear,
But dreadfull seems the rusty point!"
And loud he leugh in jear.[504]
"Oft Britons b[l]ood has dimm'd its shine;
This point cut short their vaunt:" 270
Syne pierc'd the boasters bearded cheek;
Nae time he took to taunt.

XXXV.

Short while he in his saddle swang,
His stirrup was nae stay,
Sae feeble hang his unbent knee 275
Sure taiken he was fey:[505]
Swith[506] on the harden't clay he fell,
Right far was heard the thud:
But Thomas look't nae as he lay
All waltering in his blud.

XXXVI.

With careless gesture, mind unmov't,
On rode he north the plain;
His seem in throng of fiercest strife,
When winner ay the same:
Not yet his heart dames dimplet cheek 285
Could mease[507] soft love to bruik,
Till vengefu' Ann return'd his scorn,
Then languid grew his luik.

XXXVII.

In thraws of death, with walowit[508] cheik
All panting on the plain, 290
The fainting corps of warriours lay,
Ne're to arise again;
Ne're to return to native land,
Nae mair with blithsome sounds
To boast the glories of the day, 295
And shaw their shining wounds.

XXXVIII.

On Norways coast the widowit dame
May wash the rocks with tears,
May lang luik ow'r the shipless seas
Befor her mate appears. 300
Cease, Emma, cease to hope in vain;
Thy lord lyes in the clay;
The valiant Scots nae revers thole[509]
To carry life away.

XXXIX.

Here on a lee, where stands a cross 305
Set up for monument,
Thousands fu' fierce that summer's day
Fill'd keen war's black intent.
Let Scots, while Scots, praise Hardyknute,
Let Norse the name ay dread, 310
Ay how he faught, aft how he spar'd,
Shall latest ages read.

XL.

Now loud and chill blew th' westlin wind,
Sair beat the heavy shower,
Mirk[510] grew the night ere Hardyknute 315
Wan[511] near his stately tower.

His tow'r that us'd wi' torches blaze
To shine sae far at night,
Seem'd now as black as mourning weed,
Nae marvel sair he sigh'd. 320
XLI.

"There's nae light in my lady's bower,
There's nae light in my ha';
Nae blink shines round my Fairly fair,
Nor ward[512] stands on my wa'."
"What bodes it? Robert, Thomas, say;"— 325
Nae answer fitts their dread.
"Stand back, my sons, I'le be your guide;"
But by they past with speed.

XLII.

"As fast I've sped owre Scotlands faes,"—
There ceas'd his brag of weir, 330
Sair sham'd to mind ought but his dame,
And maiden Fairly fair.
Black fear he felt, but what to fear
He wist nae yet; wi' dread
Sair shook his body, sair his limbs, 335
And a' the warrior fled.
* * * * *

FOOTNOTES:

[468] [wall or rampart of the castle.]
[469] [halls.]
[470] [match or equal.]
[471] [Margaret was the name of the queen of Alexander III. Her
mother was Eleanor, Queen of England.]
[472] [without.]
[473] [slender.]

[474] [shone like gold.]
[475] [so shrill.]
[476] [yester even.]
[477] [true.]
[478] [broad.]
[479] [armour.]
[480] [twirled twist.]
[481] [full calm the shining day becomes.]
[482] [retinue.]
[483] [gone far over the country.]
[484] [tried.]
[485] [the horse army.]
[486] [companions.]
[487] [spoilers or robbers.]
[488] [cross.]
[489] [then.]
[490] [sword.]
[491] [proper.]
[492] [pillar of war.]
[493] [hit.]
[494] [seldom.]
[495] [to measure or try the battle.]
[496] [unlucky.]
[497] [quitted.]
[498] [aimed at.]
[499] [upper garment.]
[500] [promised.]
[501] [made.]
[502] [bend low.]
[503] [hit.]
[504] [in derision.]
[505] [sure token he was doomed to death.]
[506] [at once.]
[507] [mollify.]
[508] [faded.]

[509] [suffer.]
[510] [dark.]
[511] [drew near.]
[512] [warden.]

THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK.

RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY,
ETC.
SERIES THE SECOND.

BOOK II.

I.
A BALLAD OF LUTHER, THE POPE, A CARDINAL, AND A
HUSBANDMAN.

I n the former Book we brought down this second Series of
poems, as low as about the middle of the sixteenth century.
We now find the Muses deeply engaged in religious
controversy. The sudden revolution, wrought in the opinions
of mankind by the Reformation, is one of the most striking
events in the history of the human mind. It could not but engross the
attention of every individual in that age, and therefore no other writings
would have any chance to be read, but such as related to this grand topic.
The alterations made in the established religion by Henry VIII., the sudden
changes it underwent in the three succeeding reigns within so short a space
as eleven or twelve years, and the violent struggles between expiring
Popery, and growing Protestantism, could not but interest all mankind.
Accordingly every pen was engaged in the dispute. The followers of the
Old and New Profession (as they were called) had their respective Ballad-
makers; and every day produced some popular sonnet for or against the
Reformation. The following ballad, and that intitled Little John Nobody,
may serve for specimens of the writings of each party. Both were written in
the reign of Edward VI.; and are not the worst that were composed upon the
occasion. Controversial divinity is no friend to poetic flights. Yet this ballad
of Luther and the Pope is not altogether devoid of spirit; it is of the
dramatic kind, and the characters are tolerably well sustained; especially

that of Luther, which is made to speak in a manner not unbecoming the
spirit and courage of that vigorous Reformer. It is printed from the original
black-letter copy (in the Pepys collection, vol. i. folio,) to which is prefixed
a large wooden cut, designed and executed by some eminent master.
We are not to wonder that the ballad-writers of that age should be inspired
with the zeal of controversy, when the very stage teemed with polemic
divinity. I have now before me two very ancient quarto black-letter plays:
the one published in the time of Henry VIII., intitled, Every Man; the other
called Lusty Juventus, printed in the reign of Edward VI. In the former of
these, occasion is taken to inculcate great reverence for old mother church
and her superstitions:[513] in the other, the poet (one R. Wever) with great
success attacks both. So that the Stage in those days literally was, what wise
men have always wished it, a supplement to the pulpit:—This was so much
the case, that in the play of Lusty Juventus, chapter and verse are every
where quoted as formally as in a sermon; take an instance:

"The Lord by his prophet Ezechiel sayeth in this wise
playnlye,
As in the xxxiij chapter it doth appere:
Be converted, O ye children, &c."

From this play we learn that most of the young people were New
Gospellers, or friends to the Reformation; and that the old were tenacious of
the doctrines imbibed in their youth: for thus the Devil is introduced
lamenting the downfal of superstition:

"The olde people would believe stil in my lawes,
But the yonger sort leade them a contrary way,
They wyl not beleve, they playnly say,
In olde traditions, and made by men, &c."

And in another place Hypocrisy urges,

"The worlde was never meri
Since chyldren were so boulde:
Now every boy will be a teacher,
The father a foole, the chyld a preacher."

Of the plays abovementioned, to the first is subjoined the following
Printer's Colophon, ¶ Thus endeth this moral playe of Every Man, ¶
Imprynted at London in Powles chyrche yarde by me John Skot. In Mr.
Garrick's collection is an imperfect copy of the same play, printed by
Richarde Pynson.
The other is intitled, An enterlude called Lusty Juventus: and is thus
distinguished at the end: Finis. quod R. Wever. Imprinted at London in
Paules churche yeard, by Abraham Vele at the signe of the Lambe. Of this
too Mr. Garrick has an imperfect copy of a different edition.
Of these two plays the reader may find some further particulars in the
former volume, Appendix II., see The Essay on the Origin of the English
Stage; and the curious reader will find the plays themselves printed at large
in Hawkins's Origin of the English Drama, 3 vols. Oxford, 1773, 12mo.

The Husbandman.

Let us lift up our hartes all,
And prayse the lordes magnificence
Which hath given the wolues a fall,
And is become our strong defence:
For they thorowe a false pretens
From Christes bloude dyd all us leade,[514] 5
Gettynge from every man his pence,
As satisfactours for the deade.

For what we with our Flayles coulde get
To kepe our house, and servauntes; 10
That did the Freers[515] from us fet,
And with our soules played the merchauntes:

And thus they with theyr false warrantes
Of our sweate have easelye lyved,
That for fatnesse theyr belyes pantes, 15
So greatlye have they us deceaued.

They spared not the fatherlesse,
The carefull, nor the pore wydowe;
They wolde have somewhat more or lesse,
If it above the ground did growe: 20
But now we Husbandmen do knowe
Al their subteltye, and their false caste;[516]
For the lorde hath them overthrowe
With his swete word now at the laste.
Doctor Martin Luther.

Thou antichrist, with thy thre crownes, 25
Hast usurped kynges powers,
As having power over realmes and townes,
Whom thou oughtest to serve all houres:
Thou thinkest by thy jugglyng colours
Thou maist lykewise Gods word oppresse; 30
As do the deceatful foulers,
When they theyr nettes craftelye dresse.

Thou flatterest every prince, and lord,
Thretening poore men with swearde and fyre;
All those, that do followe Gods worde, 35
To make them cleve to thy desire,
Theyr bokes thou burnest in flaming fire;
Cursing with boke, bell, and candell,
Such as to reade them have desyre,
Or with them are wyllynge to meddell. 40

Thy false power wyl I bryng down,
Thou shalt not raygne many a yere,
I shall dryve the from citye and towne,
Even with this PEN that thou seyste here:

Thou fyghtest with swerd, shylde, and speare, 45
But I wyll fyght with Gods worde;
Which is now so open and cleare,
That it shall brynge the under the borde.[517]
The Pope.

Though I brought never so many to hel,
And to utter dampnacion, 50
Throughe myne ensample, and consel,
Or thorow any abhominacion,
Yet doth our lawe excuse my fashion.
And thou, Luther, arte accursed;
For blamynge me, and my condicion, 55
The holy decres have the condempned.

Thou stryvest against my purgatory,
Because thou findest it not in scripture;
As though I by myne auctorite
Myght not make one for myne honoure. 60
Knowest thou not, that I have power
To make, and mar, in heaven and hell,
In erth, and every creature?
Whatsoever I do it must be well.

As for scripture, I am above it; 65
Am not I Gods hye vicare?
Shulde I be bounde to folowe it,
As the carpenter his ruler?[518]
Nay, nay, hereticks ye are,
That will not obey my auctoritie. 70
With this SWORDE I wyll declare,
That ye shal al accursed be.

The Cardinal.

I am a Cardinall of Rome,
Sent from Christes hye vicary,

To graunt pardon to more, and sume, 75
That wil Luther resist strongly:
He is a greate hereticke treuly,
And regardeth to much the scripture;
For he thinketh onely thereby
To subdue the popes high honoure. 80

Receive ye this PARDON devoutely,
And loke that ye agaynst him fight;
Plucke up youre herts, and be manlye,
For the pope sayth ye do but ryght:
And this be sure, that at one flyghte, 85
Allthough ye be overcome by chaunce,
Ye shall to heaven go with greate myghte;
God can make you no resistaunce.

But these heretikes for their medlynge
Shall go down to hel every one; 90
For they have not the popes blessynge,
Nor regarde his holy pardòn:
They thinke from all destruction
By Christes bloud to be saved,
Fearynge not our excommunicacion, 95
Therefore shall they al be dampned.

FOOTNOTES:

[513] Take a specimen from his high encomiums on the
priesthood.

"There is no emperour, kyng, duke, ne baron
That of God hath commissyon,
As hath the leest preest in the world beynge.
* * * * *
God hath to them more power gyven,
Than to any aungell, that is in heven;
With v. words he may consecrate
Goddes body in fleshe and blode to take,
And handeleth his maker bytwene his handes.
The preest byndeth and unbindeth all bandes,

Bothe in erthe and in heven.—
Thou ministers all the sacramentes seven.
Though we kyst thy fete thou were worthy;
Thou art the surgyan that cureth synne dedly;
No remedy may we fynde under God,
But alone on preesthode.
----God gave preest that dignitè,
And letteth them in his stede amonge us be,
Thus be they above aungels in degre."
See Hawkins's Orig. of Eng. Drama, vol. i. p. 61.

[514] i.e. denied us the cup, see below, ver. 94.
[515] [friars.]
[516] [stratagem.]
[517] i.e. make thee knock under the table.
[518] i.e. his rule.

II.
JOHN ANDERSON MY JO.

A Scottish Song.

W hile in England verse was made the vehicle of controversy,
and popery was attacked in it by logical argument, or stinging
satire; we may be sure the zeal of the Scottish Reformers
would not suffer their pens to be idle, but many a pasquil was
discharged at the Romish priests, and their enormous
encroachments on property. Of this kind perhaps is the following,
(preserved in Maitland's MS. Collection of Scottish poems in the Pepysian
library:)

"Tak a Wobster, that is leill,
And a Miller, that will not steill,
With ane Priest, that is not gredy,
And lay ane deid corpse thame by,
And, throw virtue of thame three,
That deid corpse sall qwyknit be."

Thus far all was fair: but the furious hatred of popery led them to employ
their rhymes in a still more licentious manner. It is a received tradition in
Scotland, that at the time of the Reformation, ridiculous and obscene songs
were composed to be sung by the rabble to the tunes of the most favourite
hymns in the Latin service. Green sleeves and pudding pies (designed to
ridicule the popish clergy) is said to have been one of these metamorphosed
hymns: Maggy Lauder was another: John Anderson my jo was a third. The
original music of all these burlesque sonnets was very fine. To give a
specimen of their manner, we have inserted one of the least offensive. The
reader will pardon the meanness of the composition for the sake of the
anecdote, which strongly marks the spirit of the times.
In the present Edition this song is much improved by some new readings
communicated by a friend; who thinks by the "Seven Bairns," in st. 2d. are
meant the Seven Sacraments; five of which were the spurious offspring of
Mother Church: as the first stanza contains a satirical allusion to the luxury
of the popish clergy.
The adaptation of solemn church music to these ludicrous pieces and the
jumble of ideas thereby occasioned, will account for the following fact.—
From the Records of the General Assembly in Scotland, called, The Book of
the Universal Kirk, p. 90, 7th July, 1568, it appears, that Thomas
Bassendyne printer in Edinburgh, printed "a psalme buik, in the end
whereof was found printit ane baudy sang, called, Welcome Fortunes."[519]

[In the first edition of the Reliques the number of the bairns is
fixed at five instead of seven, and the rhyme to five is thrive
instead of threven. The last line is

"For four of them were gotten, quhan Willie was awa."

The present copy has thus been altered to support the untenable
position that the seven bairns were meant to represent the seven
sacraments.

According to tradition John Anderson was formerly the town
crier of Kelso, and the song is not of any great antiquity, for it is
first found in the Skene MS., the date of which Dauney (Ancient
Scottish Melodies, p. 219) fixes at the beginning of the
seventeenth century, but which includes, according to Mr.
Chappell, an English country dance that first appeared in 1698
(Popular Music of the Olden Time, vol. ii. p. 770).
Burns wrote his song—

"John Anderson my jo John
When we were first acquent,"

to the old tune, for Johnson's Musical Museum.]

Woman.

John Anderson my jo, cum in as ye gae bye,
And ye sall get a sheips heid weel baken in a pye;
Weel baken in a pye, and the haggis in a pat:
John Anderson my jo, cum in, and ye's get that.

Man.

And how doe ye, Cummer?[520] and how hae ye threven?
And how mony bairns hae ye? Wom. Cummer, I hae seven.
Man. Are they to your awin gude man? Wom. Na, Cummer,
na;
For five of tham were gotten, quhan he was awa.'

FOOTNOTES:

[519] See also Biograph. Britan. 1st edit. vol. i. p. 177.
[520] [gossip.]

III.
LITTLE JOHN NOBODY.

W e have here a witty libel on the Reformation under king
Edward VI. written about the year 1550, and preserved in the
Pepys collection, British Museum, and Strype's Mem. of
Cranmer. The author artfully declines entering into the merits
of the cause, and wholly reflects on the lives and actions of
many of the Reformed. It is so easy to find flaws and imperfections in the
conduct of men, even the best of them, and still easier to make general
exclamations about the profligacy of the present times, that no great point is
gained by arguments of that sort, unless the author could have proved that
the principles of the Reformed Religion had a natural tendency to produce a
corruption of manners: whereas he indirectly owns, that their reverend
father [archbishop Cranmer] had used the most proper means to stem the
torrent, by giving the people access to the Scriptures, by teaching them to
pray with understanding, and by publishing homilies, and other religious
tracts. It must however be acknowledged, that our libeller had at that time
sufficient room for just satire. For under the banners of the Reformed had
enlisted themselves, many concealed papists, who had private ends to
gratify; many that were of no religion; many greedy courtiers, who thirsted
after the possessions of the church; and many dissolute persons, who
wanted to be exempt from all ecclesiastical censures. And as these men
were loudest of all others in their cries for Reformation, so in effect, none
obstructed the regular progress of it so much, or by their vicious lives
brought vexation and shame more on the truly venerable and pious
Reformers.

The reader will remark the fondness of our satirist for alliteration: in this he
was guilty of no affectation or singularity; his versification is that of Pierce
Plowman's Visions, in which a recurrence of similar letters is essential: to
this he has only superadded rhyme, which in his time began to be the
general practice. See an Essay on this very peculiar kind of metre, in the
appendix to this Volume.

In december, when the dayes draw to be short,
After november, when the nights wax noysome and long;
As I past by a place privily at a port,
I saw one sit by himself making a song:
His last[521] talk of trifles, who told with his tongue
That few were fast i'th' faith. I 'freyned'[522] that freake,[523]
Whether he wanted wit, or some had done him wrong.
He said, he was little John Nobody, that durst not speake.

John Nobody, quoth I, what news? thou soon note and tell
What maner men thou meane, thou are so mad.
He said, These gay gallants, that wil construe the gospel,
As Solomon the sage, with semblance full sad;
To discusse divinity they nought adread;
More meet it were for them to milk kye at a fleyke.[524]
Thou lyest, quoth I, thou losel,[525] like a leud lad.
He said, he was little John Nobody, that durst not speake.

Its meet for every man on this matter to talk,
And the glorious gospel ghostly to have in mind;
It is sothe said, that sect but much unseemly skalk,
As boyes babble in books, that in scripture are blind:

Yet to their fancy soon a cause will find;
As to live in lust, in lechery to leyke:[526]
Such caitives count to be come of Cains kind;[527]
But that I little John Nobody durst not speake.

For our reverend father hath set forth an order,
Our service to be said in our seignours tongue;
As Solomon the sage set forth the scripture;
Our suffrages, and services, with many a sweet song,
With homilies, and godly books us among,
That no stiff, stubborn stomacks we should freyke:[528]
But wretches nere worse to do poor men wrong;
But that I little John Nobody dare not speake.

For bribery was never so great, since born was our Lord,
And whoredom was never les hated, sith Christ
harrowed[529] hel,
And poor men are so sore punished commonly through the
world,
That it would grieve any one, that good is, to hear tel.
For al the homilies and good books, yet their hearts be so
quel,[530]
That if a man do amisse, with mischiefs they wil him
wreake;[531]
The fashion of these new fellows it is so vile and fell:
But that I little John Nobody dare not speake.

Thus to live after their lust, that life would they have,
And in lechery to leyke al their long life;
For al the preaching of Paul, yet many a proud knave
Wil move mischiefe in their mind both to maid and wife
To bring them in advoutry,[532] or else they wil strife,
And in brawling about baudery, Gods commandments
breake:
But of these frantic il fellowes, few of them do thrife;
Though I little John Nobody dare not speake.

If thou company with them, they wil currishly carp,[533] and
not care
According to their foolish fantacy; but fast wil they naught:
Prayer with them is but prating; therefore they it forbear:
Both almes deeds, and holiness, they hate it in their thought:
Therefore pray we to that prince, that with his bloud us
bought,
That he wil mend that is amiss: for many a manful
freyke[534]
Is sorry for these sects, though they say little or nought;
And that I little John Nobody dare not once speake.

Thus in NO place, this Nobody, in NO time I met,
Where NO man, 'ne'[535] NOUGHT was, nor NOTHING did
appear;
Through the sound of a synagogue for sorrow I swett,
That 'Aeolus'[536] through the eccho did cause me to hear.
Then I drew me down into a dale, whereas the dumb deer
Did shiver for a shower; but I shunted[537] from a freyke:
For I would no wight in this world wist who I were,
But little John Nobody, that dare not once speake.

FOOTNOTES:

[521] Perhaps "he left talk."
[522] feyned, MSS. and PC.
[523] [asked that man.]
[524] [cows at a hurdle.]
[525] [worthless fellow.]
[526] [play.]
[527] [Ver. 3. Cain's kind.]. So in Pierce the Plowman's Creed,
the proud friars are said to be

"Of Caymes kind."—Vid. Sig. C ii. b.

[528] [humour.]
[529] [harassed.]

[530] [cruel.]
[531] [pursue revengefully.]
[532] [adultery.]
[533] [censure.]
[534] [strong man.]
[535] then, MSS. and PC.
[536] Hercules, MSS. and PC.
[537] [shunned.]

IV.
Q. ELIZABETH'S VERSES, WHILE PRISONER AT
WOODSTOCK,

Writ with Charcoal on a Shutter,

A re preserved by Hentzner, in that part of his Travels which has
been reprinted in so elegant a manner at Strawberry-hill. In
Hentzner's book they were wretchedly corrupted, but are here
given as amended by his ingenious editor. The old
orthography, and one or two ancient readings of Hentzner's
copy, are here restored.

Oh, Fortune! how thy restlesse wavering state
Hath fraught with cares my troubled witt!
Witnes this present prisonn, whither fate

Could beare me, and the joys I quit.[538]
Thou causedest the guiltie to be losed 5
From bandes, wherein are innocents inclosed:
Causing the guiltles to be straite reserved,
And freeing those that death had well deserved.
But by her envie can be nothing wroughte,
So God send to my foes all they have thoughte. 10
A.D. MDLV.
Elizabethe, Prisonner.

FOOTNOTES:

[538] Ver. 4. "Could beare," is an ancient idiom, equivalent to
"did bear" or "hath borne." See below the Beggar of Bednal
Green, Book 2, No. x. v. 57. "Could say."

V.
THE HEIR OF LINNE.

T he original of this ballad is found in the Editor's folio MS., the
breaches and defects in which rendered the insertion of
supplemental stanzas necessary. These, it is hoped, the reader
will pardon, as indeed the completion of the story was
suggested by a modern ballad on a similar subject.
From the Scottish phrases here and there discernible in this poem, it should
seem to have been originally composed beyond the Tweed.
The Heir of Linne appears not to have been a Lord of Parliament, but a
Laird, whose title went along with his estate.

[In the folio MS. Percy wrote the following note: "This old copy
(tho' a very indifferent fragment) I thought deserving of some
attention. I have therefore bestowed an entire revisal of the
subject for my Reliques, &c." In this revisal, the Bishop swelled
out the 125 lines of the original into the 216 of his own version.
It has, therefore, been necessary to print a copy of the original at
the end of the present ballad. The modern ballad referred to
above is the Drunkard's Legacy, printed in J. H. Dixon's Ballads
of the Peasantry, but it is only comparatively modern, as it dates
back to a period long before Percy's time. The portion which
Percy interpolated and took from this ballad, forms the end of
the first part and beginning of the second part of the following
version.
The incident by which the hidden treasure is discovered occurs
in one of the stories of Cinthio's Heccatomithi (Dec. ix. Nov. 8),
but the arguments of the two tales are in other respects different.
The Scotch claim this ballad as their own. Some suppose the
hero to have been an Ayrshire laird, and others that he was from
Galloway. Motherwell gives the following verses as the
commencement of the traditionary version extant in Scotland:

"The bonnie heir, the weel-faur'd heir,
And the weary heir o' Linne,
Yonder he stands at his father's gate,
And naebody bids him come in,
O see whare he gaup and see whare he stands,
The weary heir o' Linne,
O see whare he stands on the cauld causey,
Some ane wuld ta'en him in.
But if he had been his father's heir,
Or yet the heir o' Linne,
He wadna stand on the cauld causey,
Some ane wuld ta'en him in."]

Part the First.

Lithe[539] and listen, gentlemen,
To sing a song I will beginne:
It is of a lord of faire Scotlànd,
Which was the unthrifty heire of Linne.

His father was a right good lord, 5
His mother a lady of high degree;
But they, alas! were dead, him froe,
And he lov'd keeping companie.

To spend the daye with merry cheare,
To drinke and revell every night, 10
To card and dice from eve to morne,
It was, I ween, his hearts delighte

To ride, to runne, to rant, to roare,
To alwaye spend and never spare,
I wott, an' it were the king himselfe, 15
Of gold and fee he mote be bare.

Soe fares the unthrifty lord of Linne
Till all his gold is gone and spent;
And he maun sell his landes so broad,
His house, and landes, and all his rent. 20

His father had a keen stewàrde,
And John o' the Scales was called hee:
But John is become a gentel-man,
And John has gott both gold and fee.[540]

Sayes, Welcome, welcome, lord of Linne, 25

Let nought disturb thy merry cheere;
Iff thou wilt sell thy landes soe broad,
Good store of gold Ile give thee heere.

My gold is gone, my money is spent;
My lande nowe take it unto the: 30
Give me the golde, good John o' the Scales,
And thine for aye my lande shall bee.

Then John he did him to record draw,
And John he cast him a gods-pennie;[541]
But for every pounde that John agreed, 35
The lande, I wis, was well worth three.

He told him the gold upon the borde,
He was right glad his land to winne:
The gold is thine, the land is mine,
And now Ile be the lord of Linne. 40

Thus he hath sold his land soe broad,
Both hill and holt,[542] and moore and fenne,
All but a poore and lonesome lodge,
That stood far off in a lonely glenne.

For soe he to his father hight. 45
My sonne, when I am gonne, sayd hee,
Then thou wilt spend thy lande so broad,
And thou wilt spend thy gold so free:

But sweare me nowe upon the roode,
That lonesome lodge thou'lt never spend; 50
For when all the world doth frown on thee,
Thou there shalt find a faithful friend.

The heire of Linne is full of golde:
And come with me, my friends, sayd hee,
Let's drinke, and rant, and merry make, 55
And he that spares, ne'er mote he thee.

They ranted, drank, and merry made,
Till all his gold it waxed thinne;
And then his friendes they slunk away;
They left the unthrifty heire of Linne. 60

He had never a penny left in his purse,
Never a penny left but three,
And one was brass, another was lead,[543]
And another it was white monèy.[543]

Nowe well-aday, sayd the heire of Linne,[543] 65
Nowe well-aday, and woe is mee,
For when I was the lord of Linne,
I never wanted gold nor fee.

But many a trustye friend have I,
And why shold I feel dole or care? 70
Ile borrow of them all by turnes,
Soe need I not be never bare.

But one, I wis, was not at home;
Another had payd his gold away;
Another call'd him thriftless loone, 75
And bade him sharpely wend his way.

Now well-aday, sayd the heire of Linne,
Now well-aday, and woe is me!
For when I had my landes so broad,
On me they liv'd right merrilee. 80

To beg my bread from door to door
I wis, it were a brenning shame:
To rob and steal it were a sinne:
To worke my limbs I cannot frame.

Now Ile away to lonesome lodge, 85
For there my father bade me wend;
When all the world should frown on mee,

I there shold find a trusty friend.

Part the Second.

Away then hyed the heire of Linne
O'er hill and holt,[544] and moor and fenne,
Untill he came to lonesome lodge,
That stood so lowe in a lonely glenne.

He looked up, he looked downe, 5
In hope some comfort for to winne:
But bare and lothly[545] were the walles.
Here's sorry cheare, quo' the heire of Linne.

The little windowe dim and darke
Was hung with ivy, brere, and yewe; 10
No shimmering sunn here ever shone;
No halesome breeze here ever blew.

No chair, ne table he mote spye,
No chearful hearth, ne welcome bed,
Nought save a rope with renning noose, 15
That dangling hung up o'er his head.

And over it in broad lettèrs,
These words were written so plain to see:
"Ah! gracelesse wretch, hast spent thine all,
And brought thyselfe to penurìe? 20

"And this my boding mind misgave,

I therefore left this trusty friend:
Let it now sheeld thy foule disgrace,
And all thy shame and sorrows end."

Sorely shent[546] wi' this rebuke, 25
Sorely shent was the heire of Linne;
His heart, I wis, was near to brast
With guilt and sorrowe, shame and sinne.

Never a word spake the heire of Linne,
Never a word he spake but three: 30
"This is a trusty friend indeed,
And is right welcome unto mee."

Then round his necke the corde he drewe,
And sprang aloft with his bodìe:[556]
When lo! the ceiling burst in twaine, 35
And to the ground came tumbling hee.

Astonyed lay the heire of Linne,
Ne knewe if he were live or dead:
At length he looked, and sawe a bille,[547]
And in it a key of gold so redd. 40

He took the bill, and lookt it on,
Strait good comfort found he there:
Itt told him of a hole in the wall,
In which there stood three chests in-fere.[548]

Two were full of the beaten golde, 45
The third was full of white monèy;
And over them in broad lettèrs
These words were written so plaine to see:

"Once more, my sonne, I sette thee clere;
Amend thy life and follies past; 50
For but thou amend thee of thy life,
That rope must be thy end at last."

And let it bee, sayd the heire of Linne;
And let it bee, but if I amend:[549]
For here I will make mine avow, 55
This reade[550] shall guide me to the end.

Away then went with a merry cheare,
Away then went the heire of Linne;
I wis, he neither ceas'd ne blanne,[551]
Till John o' the Scales house he did winne.[552] 60

And when he came to John o' the Scales,
Upp at the speere[553] then looked hee;
There sate three lords upon a rowe,
Were drinking of the wine so free.

And John himself sate at the bord-head, 65
Because now lord of Linne was hee.
I pray thee, he said, good John o' the Scales,
One forty pence for to lend mee.

Away, away, thou thriftless loone;
Away, away, this may not bee: 70
For Christs curse on my head, he sayd,
If ever I trust thee one pennìe.

Then bespake the heire of Linne,
To John o' the Scales wife then spake he:
Madame, some almes on me bestowe, 75
I pray for sweet saint Charitìe.

Away, away, thou thriftless loone,
I swear thou gettest no almes of mee;
For if we shold hang any losel[554] heere,
The first we wold begin with thee. 80

Then bespake a good fellòwe,
Which sat at John o' the Scales his bord;

Sayd, Turn againe, thou heire of Linne;
Some time thou wast a well good lord:

Some time a good fellow thou hast been, 85
And sparedst not thy gold and fee;
Therefore Ile lend thee forty pence,
And other forty if need bee.

And ever, I pray thee, John o' the Scales,
To let him sit in thy companie: 90
For well I wot thou hadst his land,
And a good bargain it was to thee.

Up then spake him John o' the Scales,
All wood[555] he answer'd him againe:
Now Christs curse on my head, he sayd, 95
But I did lose by that bargàine.

And here I proffer thee, heire of Linne,
Before these lords so faire and free,
Thou shalt have it backe again better cheape,
By a hundred markes, than I had it of thee. 100

I drawe you to record, lords, he said.
With that he cast him a gods pennie:[556]
Now by my fay, sayd the heire of Linne,
And here, good John, is thy monèy.

And he pull'd forth three bagges of gold, 105
And layd them down upon the bord:
All woe begone was John o' the Scales,
Soe shent he cold say never a word.

He told him forth the good red gold,
He told it forth [with] mickle dinne. 110
The gold is thine, the land is mine,
And now Ime againe the lord of Linne.

Sayes, Have thou here, thou good fellòwe,
Forty pence thou didst lend mee:
Now I am againe the lord of Linne, 115
And forty pounds I will give thee.

Ile make the keeper of my forrest,
Both of the wild deere and the tame;
For but[557] I reward thy bounteous heart,
I wis, good fellowe, I were to blame. 120

Now welladay! sayth Joan o' the Scales:
Now welladay! and woe is my life!
Yesterday I was lady of Linne,
Now Ime but John o' the Scales his wife.

Now fare thee well, sayd the heire of Linne; 125
Farewell now, John o' the Scales, said hee:
Christs curse light on me, if ever again
I bring my lands in jeopardy.
⁂

†‡† In the present edition of this ballad several ancient readings
are restored from the folio MS.

T he following original version of the Heir of Linne is reprinted
from Hales and Furnivall's edition of the folio MS. vol. i. p.
174:

Off all the lords in faire Scottland
a song I will begin:
amongst them all there dweld a Lord
which was the vnthrifty Lord of linne. 4

his father & mother were dead him froe,
& soe was the head of all his kinne;
he did neither cease nor blιnne
to the cards & dice that he did run, 8

to drinke the wine that was soe cleere,
with euery man he wold make merry.
and then bespake him John of the Scales,
vnto the heire of Linne sayd hee, 12

sayes, "how dost thou, Lord of Linne,
doest either want gold or fee?
wilt thou not sell thy lands soe brode
to such a good fellow as me? 16

"ffor ... I ..." he said,
"my land, take it vnto thee,
I draw you to record, my Lord[e]s all:"
with that he cast him a good-se peny, 20

he told him the gold vpon the bord,
it wanted neuer a bare penny.
"that gold is thine, the land is mine,
the heire of Linne I wilbee." 24

"heeres gold inoughe," saithe the heire of Linne,
"both for me & my company."
he drunke the wine that was soe cleere,
& with euery man he made merry. 28

with-in 3 quarters of a yeere
his gold & fee it waxed thinne,
his merry men were from him gone,
& left him himselfe all alone. 32

he had neuer a penny left in his pursse,
neuer a penny but 3,
& one was brasse, & another was lead,

& another was white mony. 36

"Now well-a day!" said the heire of Linne,
"now welladay, & woe is mee!
for when I was the lord of Linne,
I neither wanted gold nor fee; 40

"for I haue sold my lands soe broad,
& haue not left me one penny!
I must goe now & take some read
vnto Edenborrow, & begg my bread." 44

he had not beene in Edenborrow
not 3 qwarters of a yeere,
but some did giue him & some said nay,
& some bid "to the deele gang yee! 48

"for if we shold hang any Land selfeer,
the first we wold begin with thee."
"Now welladay!" said the heire of Linne,
no[w] welladay, & woe is mee! 52

"for now I have sold my lands soe broad,
that mery man is irke with mee;
but when that I was the Lord of Linne,
then on my land I liued merrily; 56

"& now I have sold my land soe broade
that I haue not left me one pennye!
god be with my father!" he said,
"on his land he liued merrily." 60

Still in a study there as he stood,
he vnbethought him of [a] bill
[he vnbethought him of a bill]
which his father had left with him, 64

bade him he shold neuer on it looke

till he was in extreame neede,
"& by my faith," said the heire of Linne,
"then now I had neuer more neede." 68

he tooke the bill, & looked it on,
good comfort that he found there;
itt told him of a Castle wall
where there stood 3 chests in feare: 72

2 were full of the beaten gold,
the 3 was full of white mony.
he turned then downe his baggs of bread,
& filled them full of gold soe red; 76

then he did neuer cease nor blinne
till John of the Scales house he did winne.
when that he came to John of the Scales,
vpp at the speere he looked then: 80
there sate 3 lords vpon a rowe,
and John o the Scales sate at the bords head,
[and John o the Scales sate at the bords head]
because he was the Lord of Linne. 84

and then bespake the heire of Linne,
to John o the Scales wiffe thus sayd hee:
sayd, "Dame, wilt thou not trust me one shott
that I may sitt downe in this company?" 88

"now, christs curse on my head," shee said,
"if I do trust thee one pennye."
then bespake a good fellowe,
which sate by John o the Scales his knee, 92

Said, "haue thou here, thou heire of linne,
40 pence I will lend thee,—
some time a good fellow thou hast beene,—
& other 40 if neede bee," 96

thé druken wine that was soe cleere,
& euery man thé made merry;
& then bespake him John o the Scales,
vnto the Lord of linne said hee: 100

said, "how doest thou, heire of Linne,
since I did buy thy Lands of thee?
I will sell it to thee 20li better cheepe
nor euer I did buy it of thee. 104

"I draw you to recorde, lord[e]s all;"
with that he cast him gods penny;
then he tooke to his baggs of bread,
& they were full of the gold soe redd, 108

he told him the gold then over the borde;
it wanted neuer a broad pennye:
"that gold is thine, the land is mine,
& the heire of Linne againe I wilbee." 112

"Now welladay!" said John o the Scales wife,
"welladay, & woe is me!
Yesterday I was the lady of Linne,
& now I am but John o the Scales wiffe!" 116

saies, "haue thou heere, thou good fellow,
40 pence thou did lend me,
[40 pence thou did lend me,]
& 40^{l}. I will giue thee, 120
Ile make thee keeper of my forrest,
both of the wild deere & the tame."

but then bespake the heire of Linne,
these were the words, & thus said hee, 124
"Christs curse light vpon my crowne
if ere my land stand in any Jeopardye!"
ffins]

FOOTNOTES:

[539] [attend.]
[540] [property.]
[541] i.e. earnest-money; from the French Denier à Dieu. At this
day, when application is made to the Dean and Chapter of
Carlisle to accept an exchange of the tenant under one of their
leases, a piece of silver is presented by the new tenant, which is
still called a "Gods-penny."
[542] [forest.]
[543] Ver. 63, 4, 5, &c. Sic MS.
[544] [forest.]
[545] [loathsome.]
[546] [abashed.]
[547] [letter.]
[548] in-fere, i.e. together.
[549] i.e. unless I amend.
[550] i.e. advice, counsel.
[551] [lingered.]
[552] Ver. 60. an old northern phrase.
[553] Perhaps the hole in the door or window, by which it was
speered, i.e. sparred, fastened, or shut. In Bale's second part of
the Acts of Eng. Votaries, we have this phrase (f. 38), "The dore
therof oft tymes opened and speared agayne."
[554] [worthless fellow.]
[555] [furious.]
[556] Ver. 34, 102. cast, is the reading of the MS.
[557] [unless.]

VI.
GASCOIGNE'S PRAISE OF THE FAIR BRIDGES,
AFTERWARDS LADY SANDS,

On Her having a Scar in Her Forehead.

G eorge Gascoigne was a celebrated poet in the early part of
Queen Elizabeth's reign, and appears to great advantage
among the miscellaneous writers of that age. He was author of
three or four plays, and of many smaller poems; one of the
most remarkable of which is a satire in blank verse, called the
Steele-glass, 1576, 4to.
Gascoigne was born in Essex, educated in both universities, whence he
removed to Gray's-inn; but, disliking the study of the law, became first a
dangler at court, and afterwards a soldier in the wars of the Low Countries.
He had no great success in any of these pursuits, as appears from a poem of
his, intitled "Gascoigne's Wodmanship, written to lord Gray of Wilton."
Many of his epistles dedicatory are dated in 1575, 1576, from "his poore
house in Walthamstoe:" where he died a middle-aged man in 1578,
according to Anth. Wood: or rather in 1577, if he is the person meant in an
old tract, intitled, "A remembrance of the well employed Life and godly
End of Geo. Gascoigne, Esq.; who deceased at Stamford in Lincolnshire,
Oct. 7, 1577, by Geo. Whetstone, Gent. an eye-witness of his godly and
charitable end in this world," 4to. no date. [From a MS. of Oldys.]
Mr. Thomas Warton thinks "Gascoigne has much exceeded all the poets of
his age, in smoothness and harmony of versification."[558] But the truth is,
scarce any of the earlier poets of Q. Elizabeth's time are found deficient in
harmony and smoothness, tho' those qualities appear so rare in the writings
of their successors. In the Paradise of Dainty Devises,[559] (the Dodsley's
Miscellany of those times) will hardly be found one rough, or inharmonious
line:[560] whereas the numbers of Jonson, Donne, and most of their
contemporaries, frequently offend the ear like the filing of a saw. Perhaps
this is in some measure to be accounted for from the growing pedantry of
that age, and from the writers affecting to run their lines into one another,
after the manner of the Latin and Greek poets.
The following poem (which the elegant writer above quoted hath
recommended to notice, as possessed of a delicacy rarely to be seen in that
early state of our poetry) properly consists of Alexandrines of twelve and
fourteen syllables, and is printed from two quarto black-letter collections of

Gascoigne's pieces; the first intitled, "A hundreth sundrie flowres, bounde
up in one small posie, &c. London, imprinted for Richarde Smith:" without
date, but from a letter of H. W. (p. 202), compared with the printer's epist. to
the reader, it appears to have been published in 1572, or 3. The other is
intitled, "The Posies of George Gascoigne, Esq.; corrected, perfected, and
augmented by the author; 1575.—Printed at Lond. for Richard Smith, &c."
No year, but the epist. dedicat. is dated 1576.
In the title-page of this last (by way of printer's,[561] or bookseller's device)
is an ornamental wooden cut, tolerably well executed, wherein Time is
represented drawing the figure of Truth out of a pit or cavern, with this
legend, Occulta veritas tempore patet [R. S.] This is mentioned because it is
not improbable but the accidental sight of this or some other title-page
containing the same device, suggested to Rubens that well-known design of
a similar kind, which he has introduced into the Luxemburg gallery,[562] and
which has been so justly censured for the unnatural manner of its execution.
The lady here celebrated was Catharine, daughter of Edmond second Lord
Chandos, wife of William Lord Sands. See Collins's Peerage, vol. ii. p. 133,
ed. 1779.

[George Gascoigne, soldier and poet, had many enemies, and
when objection was made to the Privy Council against his return
as a burgess for Midhurst, they termed him "a common rymer,
ruffian, atheist," &c. Mr. W. C. Hazlitt printed a complete
collection of his poems in the Roxburghe Library, 2 vols.
London, 1869-70.]

In court whoso demaundes
What dame doth most excell;
For my conceit I must needes say,
Faire Bridges beares the bel.

Upon whose lively cheeke, 5
To prove my judgment true,
The rose and lillie seeme to strive
For equall change of hewe:

And therewithall so well
Hir graces all agree; 10
No frowning cheere dare once presume
In hir sweet face to bee.

Although some lavishe lippes
Which like some other best,
Will say, the blemishe on hir browe 15
Disgraceth all the rest.

Thereto I thus replie;
God wotte, they little knowe

The hidden cause of that mishap,
Nor how the harm did growe: 20

For when dame Nature first
Had framde hir heavenly face,
And thoroughly bedecked it
With goodly gleames of grace;

It lyked hir so well: 25
Lo here, quod she, a peece
For perfect shape, that passeth all
Appelles' worke in Greece.

This bayt may chaunce to catche
The greatest God of love, 30
Or mightie thundring Jove himself,
That rules the roast above.

But out, alas! those wordes
Were vaunted all in vayne;
And some unseen wer present there, 35
Pore Bridges, to thy pain.

For Cupide, crafty boy,
Close in a corner stoode,
Not blyndfold then, to gaze on hir:
I gesse it did him good. 40

Yet when he felte the flame
Gan kindle in his brest,
And herd dame Nature boast by hir
To break him of his rest,

His hot newe-chosen love 45
He chaunged into hate,
And sodeynly with mightie mace
Gan rap hir on the pate.

It greeved Nature muche
To see the cruell deede: 50
Mee seemes I see hir, how she wept
To see hir dearling bleede.

Wel yet, quod she, this hurt
Shal have some helpe I trowe:
And quick with skin she coverd it, 55
That whiter is than snowe.

Wherwith Dan Cupide fled,
For feare of further flame,
When angel-like he saw hir shine,
Whome he had smit with shame. 60

Lo, thus was Bridges hurt
In cradel of hir kind.[563]
The coward Cupide brake hir browe
To wreke his wounded mynd.

The skar still there remains; 65
No force, there let it bee:
There is no cloude that can eclipse
So bright a sunne, as she.

FOOTNOTES:

[558] Observations on the Faerie Queen, vol. ii. p. 168.
[559] Printed in 1576, 1577, 1578, 1580, 1585, 1596, 1600, and
perhaps oftener, in 4to. black-letter.
[560] The same is true of most of the poems in the Mirrour of
Magistrates, 1563, 4to. and also of Surrey's Poems, 1557.
[561] Henrie Binneman.
[562] Le Tems découvre la Vérité.
[563] Ver. 62. In cradel of hir kind: i.e. in the cradle of her
family. See Warton's Observations, vol. ii. p. 137.

VII.
FAIR ROSAMOND.

M ost of the circumstances in this popular story of king Henry II.
and the beautiful Rosamond have been taken for fact by our
English historians; who, unable to account for the unnatural
conduct of queen Eleanor in stimulating her sons to rebellion,
have attributed it to jealousy, and supposed that Henry's
amour with Rosamond was the object of that passion.
Our old English annalists seem, most of them, to have followed Higden the
monk of Chester, whose account, with some enlargements, is thus given by
Stow:—"Rosamond the fayre daughter of Walter lord Clifford, concubine to
Henry II. (poisoned by queen Elianor, as some thought) dyed at
Woodstocke [A.D. 1177] where king Henry had made for her a house of
wonderfull working; so that no man or woman might come to her, but he
that was instructed by the king, or such as were right secret with him
touching the matter. This house after some was named Labyrinthus, or
Dedalus worke, which was wrought like unto a knot in a garden, called a
maze;[564] but it was commonly said, that lastly the queene came to her by a
clue of thridde, or silke, and so dealt with her, that she lived not long after:
but when she was dead, she was buried at Godstow in an house of nunnes,
beside Oxford, with these verses upon her tombe:—

'Hic jacet in tumba, Rosa mundi, non Rosa munda:
Non redolet, sed olet, quæ redolere solet.'

"In English thus:—

'The rose of the world, but not the cleane flowre,
Is now here graven; to whom beauty was lent:
In this grave full darke nowe is her bowre,
That by her life was sweete and redolent:
But now that she is from this life blent,
Though she were sweete, now foully doth she stinke.
A mirrour good for all men, that on her thinke.'"

Stowe's Annals, ed. 1631, p. 154.

How the queen gained admittance into Rosamond's bower is differently
related. Hollinshed speaks of it, as "the common report of the people, that
the queene ... founde hir out by a silken thread, which the king had drawne
after him out of hir chamber with his foot, and dealt with hir in such sharpe
and cruell wise, that she lived not long after." Vol. iii. p. 115. On the other
hand, in Speede's Hist. we are told that the jealous queen found her out "by
a clew of silke, fallen from Rosamund's lappe, as shee sate to take ayre, and
suddenly fleeing from the sight of the searcher, the end of her silke fastened
to her foot, and the clew still unwinding, remained behinde: which the
queene followed, till she had found what she sought, and upon Rosamund
so vented her spleene, as the lady lived not long after." 3rd edit. p. 509. Our
ballad-maker with more ingenuity, and probably as much truth, tells us the
clue was gained by surprise, from the knight who was left to guard her
bower.
It is observable, that none of the old writers attribute Rosamond's death to
poison (Stow, above, mentions it merely as a slight conjecture); they only
give us to understand, that the queen treated her harshly; with furious
menaces, we may suppose, and sharp expostulations, which had such effect
on her spirits, that she did not long survive it. Indeed on her tomb-stone, as
we learn from a person of credit,[565] among other fine sculptures, was
engraven the figure of a cup. This, which perhaps at first was an accidental
ornament (perhaps only the chalice) might in after times suggest the notion
that she was poisoned; at least this construction was put upon it, when the
stone came to be demolished after the nunnery was dissolved. The account
is, that "the tomb-stone of Rosamund Clifford was taken up at Godstow,
and broken in pieces, and that upon it were interchangeable weavings
drawn out and decked with roses red and green, and the picture of the cup,
out of which she drank the poison given her by the queen, carved in stone."
Rosamond's father having been a great benefactor to the nunnery of
Godstow, where she had also resided herself in the innocent part of her life,
her body was conveyed there, and buried in the middle of the choir; in
which place it remained till the year 1191, when Hugh bishop of Lincoln
caused it to be removed. The fact is recorded by Hoveden, a contemporary
writer, whose words are thus translated by Stow: "Hugh bishop of Lincolne
came to the abbey of nunnes, called Godstow, ... and when he had entred
the church to pray, he saw a tombe in the middle of the quire, covered with

a pall of silke, and set about with lights of waxe: and demanding whose
tomb it was, he was answered, that it was the tombe of Rosamond, that was
some time lemman to Henry II.... who for the love of her had done much
good to that church. Then quoth the bishop, take out of this place the harlot,
and bury her without the church, lest christian religion should grow in
contempt, and to the end that, through example of her, other women being
made afraid may beware, and keepe themselves from unlawfull and
advouterous company with men."—Annals, p. 159.
History further informs us, that king John repaired Godstow nunnery, and
endowed it with yearly revenues, "that these holy virgins might releeve with
their prayers, the soules of his father king Henrie, and of lady Rosamund
there interred."[566] ... In what situation her remains were found at the
dissolution of the nunnery, we learn from Leland: "Rosamundes tumbe at
Godstowe nunnery was taken up [of] late; it is a stone with this inscription,
Tumba Rosamundæ. Her bones were closid in lede, and withyn that bones
were closyd yn lether. When it was opened a very swete smell came owt of
it."[567] See Hearne's discourse above quoted, written in 1718; at which time
he tells us, were still seen by the pool at Woodstock the foundations of a
very large building, which were believed to be the remains of Rosamond's
labyrinth.
To conclude this (perhaps too prolix) account, Henry had two sons by
Rosamond, from a computation of whose age, a modern historian has
endeavoured to invalidate the received story. These were William Longue-
espé (or Long-sword), earl of Salisbury, and Geoffrey, bishop of Lincolne.
[568]
Geoffrey was the younger of Rosamond's sons, and yet is said to have
been twenty years old at the time of his election to that see in 1173. Hence
this writer concludes, that king Henry fell in love with Rosamond in 1149,
when in king Stephen's reign he came over to be knighted by the king of
Scots; he also thinks it probable that Henry's commerce with this lady
"broke off upon his marriage with Eleanor (in 1152) and that the young
lady, by a natural effect of grief and resentment at the defection of her lover,
entered on that occasion into the nunnery of Godstowe, where she died
probably before the rebellion of Henry's sons in 1173." (Carte's Hist. vol. i.
p. 652.) But let it be observed, that Henry was but sixteen years old when
he came over to be knighted; that he staid but eight months in this island,
and was almost all the time with the king of Scots; that he did not return

back to England till 1153, the year after his marriage with Eleanor; and that
no writer drops the least hint of Rosamond's having ever been abroad with
her lover, nor indeed is it probable that a boy of sixteen should venture to
carry over a mistress to his mother's court. If all these circumstances are
considered, Mr. Carte's account will be found more incoherent and
improbable than that of the old ballad; which is also countenanced by most
of our old historians.
Indeed the true date of Geoffrey's birth, and consequently of Henry's
commerce with Rosamond, seems to be best ascertained from an ancient
manuscript in the Cotton library: wherein it is thus registered of Geoffrey
Plantagenet: "Natus est 5° Hen. II. [1159.] Factus est miles 25° Hen. II.
[1179.] Elect. in Episcop. Lincoln. 28° Hen. II. [1182.]" Vid. Chron. de
Kirkstall (Domitian XII.) Drake's Hist. of York, p. 422.
The ballad of Fair Rosamond appears to have been first published in
"Strange Histories, or Songs and Sonnets, of Kinges, Princes, Dukes, Lords,
Ladyes, Knights, and Gentlemen, &c. By Thomas Delone. Lond. 1607."
12mo.
It is here printed (with conjectural emendations), from four ancient copies
in black-letter; two of them in the Pepys library.

[It is also printed in the Crown Garland of Golden Roses, and
Garland of Goodwill. Reprinted by the Percy Society.
In the Collection of Old Ballads, 1723, vol. i. p. 1, is another
ballad on the same subject, with the title, The Unfortunate
Concubine, or Rosamond's Overthrow.
The story is also treated in Warner's Albion's England (ch. 41).]

When as king Henry rulde this land,
The second of that name,
Besides the queene, he dearly lovde
A faire and comely dame.

Most peerlesse was her beautye founde, 5
Her favour, and her face;
A sweeter creature in this worlde
Could never prince embrace.

Her crisped lockes like threads of golde
Appeard to each mans sight; 10
Her sparkling eyes, like Orient pearles,
Did cast a heavenlye light.

The blood within her crystal cheekes
Did such a colour drive,
As though the lillye and the rose 15
For mastership did strive.

Yea Rosamonde, fair Rosamonde,
Her name was called so,
To whom our queene, dame Ellinor,
Was known a deadlye foe. 20

The king therefore, for her defence,
Against the furious queene,
At Woodstocke builded such a bower,
The like was never seene.

Most curiously that bower was built 25
Of stone and timber strong,

An hundered and fifty doors
Did to this bower belong:

And they so cunninglye contriv'd
With turnings round about, 30
That none but with a clue of thread,
Could enter in or out.

And for his love and ladyes sake,
That was so faire and brighte,
The keeping of this bower he gave 35
Unto a valiant knighte.

But fortune, that doth often frowne
Where she before did smile,
The kinges delighte and ladyes joy
Full soon shee did beguile: 40

For why, the kinges ungracious sonne,
Whom he did high advance,
Against his father raised warres
Within the realme of France.

But yet before our comelye king 45
The English land forsooke,
Of Rosamond, his lady faire,
His farewelle thus he tooke:

"My Rosamonde, my only Rose,
That pleasest best mine eye: 50
The fairest flower in all the worlde
To feed my fantasye:

The flower of mine affected heart,
Whose sweetness doth excelle:
My royal Rose, a thousand times 55
I bid thee nowe farwelle!

For I must leave my fairest flower,
My sweetest Rose, a space,
And cross the seas to famous France,
Proud rebelles to abase. 60

But yet, my Rose, be sure thou shalt
My coming shortlye see,
And in my heart, when hence I am,
Ile beare my Rose with mee."

When Rosamond, that ladye brighte, 65
Did heare the king saye soe,
The sorrowe of her grieved heart
Her outward lookes did showe;

And from her cleare and crystall eyes
The teares gusht out apace, 70
Which like the silver-pearled dewe
Ranne downe her comely face.

Her lippes, erst like the corall redde,
Did waxe both wan and pale,
And for the sorrow she conceivde 75
Her vitall spirits faile;

And falling down all in a swoone
Before king Henryes face,
Full oft he in his princelye armes
Her bodye did embrace: 80

And twentye times, with watery eyes,
He kist her tender cheeke,
Untill he had revivde againe
Her senses milde and meeke.

Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose? 85
The king did often say.
Because, quoth shee, to bloodye warres

My lord must part awaye.

But since your grace on forrayne coastes
Amonge your foes unkinde 90
Must goe to hazard life and limbe,
Why should I staye behinde?

Nay rather, let me, like a page,
Your sworde and target beare;
That on my breast the blowes may lighte, 95
Which would offend you there.

Or lett mee, in your royal tent,
Prepare your bed at nighte,
And with sweete baths refresh your grace,
At your returne from fighte. 100

So I your presence may enjoye
No toil I will refuse;
But wanting you, my life is death;
Nay, death Ild rather chuse!

"Content thy self, my dearest love; 105
Thy rest at home shall bee
In Englandes sweet and pleasant isle;
For travell fits not thee.

Faire ladies brooke not bloodye warres;
Soft peace their sexe delightes; 110
'Not rugged campes, but courtlye bowers;
Gay feastes, not cruell fightes.'

My Rose shall safely here abide,
With musicke passe the daye;
Whilst I, amonge the piercing pikes, 115
My foes seeke far awaye.

My Rose shall shine in pearle, and golde,

Whilst Ime in armour dighte;
Gay galliards here my love shall dance,
Whilst I my foes goe fighte. 120

And you, sir Thomas, whom I truste
To bee my loves defence;
Be carefull of my gallant Rose
When I am parted hence."

And therewithall he fetcht a sigh, 125
As though his heart would breake:
And Rosamonde, for very griefe,
Not one plaine word could speake.

And at their parting well they mighte
In heart be grieved sore: 130
After that daye faire Rosamonde
The king did see no more.

For when his grace had past the seas,
And into France was gone,
With envious heart, queene Ellinor, 135
To Woodstocke came anone.

And forth she calles this trustye knighte,
In an unhappy houre;
Who with his clue of twined thread,
Came from this famous bower. 140

And when that they had wounded him,
The queene this thread did gette,
And went where ladye Rosamonde
Was like an angell sette.

But when the queene with stedfast eye 145
Beheld her beauteous face,
She was amazed in her minde
At her exceeding grace.

Cast off from thee those robes, she said,
That riche and costlye bee; 150
And drinke thou up this deadlye draught,
Which I have brought to thee.

Then presentlye upon her knees
Sweet Rosamonde did falle;
And pardon of the queene she crav'd 155
For her offences all.

"Take pitty on my youthfull yeares,
Faire Rosamonde did crye;
And lett mee not with poison stronge
Enforced bee to dye. 160

I will renounce my sinfull life,
And in some cloyster bide;
Or else be banisht, if you please,
To range the world soe wide.

And for the fault which I have done, 165
Though I was forc'd theretoe,
Preserve my life, and punish mee
As you thinke meet to doe."

And with these words, her lillie handes
She wrunge full often there; 170
And downe along her lovely face
Did trickle many a teare.

But nothing could this furious queene
Therewith appeased bee;
The cup of deadlye poyson stronge, 175
As she knelt on her knee,

Shee gave this comelye dame to drinke;
Who tooke it in her hand,
And from her bended knee arose,

And on her feet did stand: 180

And casting up her eyes to heaven,
Shee did for mercye calle;
And drinking up the poyson stronge,
Her life she lost withalle.

And when that death through everye limbe 185
Had showde its greatest spite,
Her chiefest foes did plaine confesse
Shee was a glorious wighte.

Her body then they did entomb,
When life was fled away, 190
At Godstowe, neare to Oxford towne,
As may be seene this day.
*

FOOTNOTES:

[564] Consisting of vaults under ground, arched and walled with
brick and stone, according to Drayton. See note on his Epistle of
Rosamond.
[565] Tho. Allen of Gloc. Hall, Oxon. who died in 1632, aged
90. See Hearne's rambling discourse concerning Rosamond, at
the end of Gul. Neubrig. Hist. vol. iii. p. 739.
[566] Vid. reign of Henry II. in Speed's Hist. writ by Dr.
Barcham, Dean of Bocking.
[567] This would have passed for miraculous, if it had happened
in the tomb of any clerical person, and a proof of his being a
saint.
[568] Afterwards Archbishop of York, temp. Rich. I.

VIII.
QUEEN ELEANOR'S CONFESSIÓN.

"E leanor, the daughter and heiress of William duke of
Guienne, and count of Poictou, had been married sixteen
years to Louis VII. king of France, and had attended him in
a croisade, which that monarch commanded against the
infidels; but having lost the affections of her husband, and
even fallen under some suspicions of gallantry with a handsome Saracen,
Louis, more delicate than politic, procured a divorce from her, and restored
her those rich provinces, which by her marriage she had annexed to the
crown of France. The young count of Anjou, afterwards Henry II. king of
England, tho' at that time but in his nineteenth year, neither discouraged by
the disparity of age, nor by the reports of Eleanor's gallantry, made such
successful courtship to that princess, that he married her six weeks after her
divorce, and got possession of all her dominions as a dowery. A marriage
thus founded upon interest was not likely to be very happy: it happened
accordingly, Eleanor, who had disgusted her first husband by her
gallantries, was no less offensive to her second by her jealousy: thus
carrying to extremity, in the different parts of her life, every circumstance of
female weakness. She had several sons by Henry, whom she spirited up to
rebel against him; and endeavouring to escape to them disguised in man's
apparel in 1173, she was discovered and thrown into a confinement, which
seems to have continued till the death of her husband in 1189. She however
survived him many years: dying in 1204, in the sixth year of the reign of
her youngest son, John." See Hume's Hist. 4to. vol. i. pp. 260, 307. Speed,
Stow, &c.
It is needless to observe, that the following ballad (given, with some
corrections, from an old printed copy) is altogether fabulous; whatever
gallantries Eleanor encouraged in the time of her first husband, none are
imputed to her in that of her second.

[The idea of the unlucky shrift exhibited in the following ballad
is taken from some old story-teller. It occurs among the tales of
Boccaccio, Bandello, Barbazan, La Fontaine, and several other
writers.

A copy of this ballad, differing very considerably from the
present version, is to be found in Kinloch's Ancient Scottish
Ballads. The first stanza is as follows:—

"The queen fell sick, and very, very sick
She was sick and like to dee
And she sent for a frier oure frae France
Her confessour to be."

The last stanza but four reads:—

"And do you see yon pretty little girl
That's a beclad in green?
She's a friar's daughter oure in France
And I hoped to see her a queen."

And the end as follows:—

"The king look'd over his left shoulder,
An angry man was he:—
An it werna for the oath I sware
Earl Marshall, thou shouldst dee."

Another version, recovered from recitation, and more like
Percy's than Kinloch's, is printed by Motherwell in his
Minstrelsy, under the title of "Earl Marshall."]

Queene Elianor was a sicke womàn.
And afraid that she should dye:
Then she sent for two fryars of France

To speke with her speedilye.

The king calld downe his nobles all, 5
By one, by two, by three;
"Earl marshall, Ile goe shrive the queene,
And thou shalt wend with mee."

A boone, a boone; quoth earl marshàll,
And fell on his bended knee; 10
That whatsoever queene Elianor saye,
No harme therof may bee.

Ile pawne my landes, the king then cryd,
My sceptre, crowne, and all,
That whatsoere queen Elianor sayes 15
No harme thereof shall fall.

Do thou put on a fryars coat,
And Ile put on another;
And we will to queen Elianor goe
Like fryar and his brother. 20

Thus both attired then they goe:
When they came to Whitehall,
The bells did ring, and the quiristers sing,
And the torches did lighte them all.

When that they came before the queene 25
They fell on their bended knee;
A boone, a boone, our gracious queene,
That you sent so hastilee.

Are you two fryars of France, she sayd,
As I suppose you bee, 30
But if you are two Englishe fryars,
You shall hang on the gallowes tree.

We are two fryars of France, they sayd,

As you suppose we bee,
We have not been at any masse 35
Sith we came from the sea.

The first vile thing that ever I did
I will to you unfolde;
Earl marshall had my maidenhed,
Beneath this cloth of golde. 40

Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king;
May God forgive it thee!
Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall;
With a heavye heart spake hee.

The next vile thing that ever I did, 45
To you Ile not denye,
I made a boxe of poyson strong,
To poison king Henrye.

Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king,
May God forgive it thee! 50
Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall;
And I wish it so may bee.

The next vile thing that ever I did,
To you I will discover;
I poysoned fair Rosamonde, 55
All in fair Woodstocke bower.

Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king;
May God forgive it thee!
Amen, amen, quoth earl marshal;
And I wish it so may bee. 60

Do you see yonders little boye,
A tossing of the balle?
That is earl marshalls eldest sonne,[569]
And I love him the best of all.

Do you see yonders little boye, 65
A catching of the balle?
That is king Henryes youngest sonne,[569]
And I love him the worst of all.

His head is fashyon'd like a bull; 70
His nose is like a boare.
No matter for that, king Henrye cryd,
I love him the better therfore.

The king pulled off his fryars coate,
And appeared all in redde: 75
She shrieked, and cryd, and wrung her hands,
And sayd she was betrayde.

The king lookt over his left shoulder,
And a grimme look looked hee,
Earl marshall, he sayd, but for my oathe, 80
Or hanged thou shouldst bee.

FOOTNOTES:

[569] Ver. 63, 67. She means that the eldest of these two was by
the earl marshall, the youngest by the king.

IX.
THE STURDY ROCK.

T his poem, subscribed M. T. (perhaps invertedly for T.
Marshall[570]) is preserved in The Paradise of Daintie
Devises. The two first stanzas may be found accompanied
with musical notes in "An howres recreation in musicke, &c.
by Richard Alison, Lond. 1606, 4to." usually bound up with
three or four sets of "Madrigals set to music by Tho. Weelkes, Lond. 1597,

1600, 1608, 4to." One of these madrigals is so compleat an example of the
bathos, that I cannot forbear presenting it to the reader:—

"Thule, the period of cosmographie,
Doth vaunt of Hecla, whose sulphureous fire
Doth melt the frozen clime, and thaw the skie,
Trinacrian Ætna's flames ascend not hier:
These things seeme wondrous, yet more wondrous I,
Whose heart with feare doth freeze, with love doth fry.

"The Andelusian merchant, that returnes
Laden with cutchinele and china dishes,
Reports in Spaine, how strangely Fogo burnes
Amidst an ocean full of flying fishes:
These things seeme wondrous, yet more wondrous I,
Whose heart with feare doth freeze, with love doth fry."

Mr. Weelkes seems to have been of opinion, with many of his brethren of
later times, that nonsense was best adapted to display the powers of musical
composure.

[Percy's conjecture that the author is Marshall is not a happy
one. Sir Egerton Brydges, in his edition of the Paradise, 1810
(British Bibliographer, vol. iii.), attributes it to M. Thorn, whose
name is signed to another poem, numbered 52:—

"Now mortall man beholde and see,
This worlde is but a vanitie,"

written in much the same spirit. The heading to the Sturdy Rock
is:—

"Man's flitting life fyndes surest stay,
Where sacred vertue beareth sway."]

The sturdy rock for all his strength
By raging seas is rent in twaine:
The marble stone is pearst at length,
With little drops of drizling rain:
The oxe doth yeeld unto the yoke, 5
The steele obeyeth the hammer stroke.

The stately stagge, that seemes so stout,
By yalping hounds at bay is set:
The swiftest bird, that flies about,
Is caught at length in fowlers net: 10
The greatest fish, in deepest brooke,
Is soon deceived by subtill hooke.

Yea man himselfe, unto whose will
All things are bounden to obey,
For all his wit and worthie skill, 15
Doth fade at length, and fall away.
There is nothing but time doeth waste;
The heavens, the earth consume at last.

But vertue sits triumphing still
Upon the throne of glorious fame: 20
Though spiteful death mans body kill,
Yet hurts he not his vertuous name:
By life or death what so betides,
The state of vertue never slides.

FOOTNOTES:

[570] Vid. Athen. Oxon. pp. 152, 316.

X.
THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN.

T his popular old ballad was written in the reign of Elizabeth, as
appears not only from ver. 23, where the arms of England are
called the "Queenes armes;" but from its tune's being quoted
in other old pieces, written in her time. See the ballad on
Mary Ambree in this volume. The late Mr. Guthrie assured
the editor that he had formerly seen another old song on the same subject,
composed in a different measure from this; which was truly beautiful, if we
may judge from the only stanza he remembered. In this it was said of the
old beggar, that "down his neck

"——his reverend lockes
In comelye curles did wave;
And on his aged temples grewe
The blossomes of the grave."

The following ballad is chiefly given from the Editor's folio MS. compared
with two ancient printed copies: the concluding stanzas, which contain the
old beggar's discovery of himself, are not however given from any of these,
being very different from those of the vulgar ballad. Nor yet does the Editor
offer them as genuine, but as a modern attempt to remove the absurdities
and inconsistencies, which so remarkably prevailed in this part of the song,
as it stood before: whereas by the alteration of a few lines, the story is
rendered much more affecting, and is reconciled to probability and true
history. For this informs us, that at the decisive battle of Evesham (fought
Aug. 4, 1265), when Simon de Montfort, the great Earl of Leicester, was
slain at the head of the barons, his eldest son Henry fell by his side, and in
consequence of that defeat, his whole family sunk for ever, the king
bestowing their great honours and possessions on his second son, Edmund
earl of Lancaster.

[This charming old ballad has enjoyed a long life of popularity,
and according to Mr. Chappell it is still kept in print in Seven
Dials, and sung about the country. As it is to be found in most
collections, it has not been thought necessary to take note of the
various trifling alterations which Percy made, but the six stanzas
which he ejected in favour of the eight between brackets are
printed at the end. A few of the alterations are improvements,
but most of them are the reverse; thus, in place of the received
reading of verse 28,

"Was straightway in love with pretty Bessee,"

Percy prints

"Was straightway enamourd of pretty Bessee."

Mr. John Pickford (Notes and Queries, 4th Series, vol. ix. p. 64)
once possessed an old mezzotint engraving of the Blind Beggar
of a large folio size, on the margin of which were inscribed the
lines referred to above. In Robert Greene's Pandosto (1588),
from which Shakspere drew the plot of his Winter's Tale, there is
the same simile as is used in these verses. Egistus says:—"Thou
seest my white hayres are blossomes for the grave."
Pepys in his Diary (25th June, 1663), speaks of going to dinner
with Sir William and Lady Batten and Sir J. Minnes to Sir
William Ryder's at Bethnall Green, and adds: "This very house
was built by the blind beggar of Bednall Green, so much talked
of and sang in ballads, but they say it was only some outhouse
of it." The mansion was built by John Kirby, a citizen of
London, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and afterwards became
the residence of Sir Hugh Platt, author of The Jewell House of
Art and Nature, 1594; The Garden of Eden, &c. Ryder died
there in 1669.]

Part the First.

Itt was a blind beggar, had long lost his sight,
He had a faire daughter of bewty most bright;
And many a gallant brave suiter had shee,
For none was soe comelye as pretty Bessee.

And though shee was of favor most faire, 5
Yett seeing shee was but a poor beggars heyre,
Of ancyent housekeepers despised was shee,
Whose sonnes came as suitors to prettye Bessee.

Wherefore in great sorrow faire Bessy did say,
Good father, and mother, let me goe away 10
To seeke out my fortune, whatever itt bee.
This suite then they granted to prettye Bessee.

Then Bessy, that was of bewtye soe bright,
All cladd in gray russett, and late in the night
From father and mother alone parted shee; 15
Who sighed and sobbed for prettye Bessee.

Shee went till shee came to Stratford-le-Bow;
Then knew shee not whither, nor which way to goe:
With teares shee lamented her hard destinìe,
So sadd and soe heavy was pretty Bessee. 20

Shee kept on her journey untill it was day,
And went unto Rumford along the hye way;
Where at the Queenes armes entertained was shee:
Soe faire and wel favoured was pretty Bessee.

Shee had not beene there a month to an end, 25

But master and mistres and all was her friend:
And every brave gallant, that once did her see,
Was straight-way enamourd of pretty Bessee.

Great gifts they did send her of silver and gold,
And in their songs daylye her love was extold; 30
Her beawtye was blazed in every degree;
Soe faire and soe comelye was pretty Bessee.

The young men of Rumford in her had their joy;
Shee shewed herself curteous, and modestlye coye;
And at her commandment still wold they bee; 35
Soe fayre and soe comlye was pretty Bessee.

Foure suitors att once unto her did goe;
They craved her favor, but still she sayd noe;
I wold not wish gentles to marry with mee.
Yett ever they honored prettye Bessee. 40

The first of them was a gallant young knight,
And he came unto her disguisde in the night:
The second a gentleman of good degree,
Who wooed and sued for prettye Bessee.

A merchant of London, whose wealth was not small, 45
He was the third suiter, and proper withall:
Her masters own sonne the fourth man must bee,
Who swore he would dye for pretty Bessee.

And, if thou wilt marry with mee, quoth the knight,
Ile make thee a ladye with joy and delight; 50
My hart's so inthralled by thy bewtìe,
That soone I shall dye for prettye Bessee.

The gentleman sayd, Come, marry with mee,
As fine as a ladye my Bessy shal bee:
My life is distressed: O heare me, quoth hee; 55
And grant me thy love, my prettye Bessee.

Let me bee thy husband, the merchant cold say,
Thou shalt live in London both gallant and gay;
My shippes shall bring home rych jewells for thee,
And I will for ever love pretty Bessee. 60

Then Bessy shee sighed, and thus shee did say,
My father and mother I meane to obey;
First gett their good will, and be faithfull to mee,
And you shall enjoye your prettye Bessee.

To every one this answer shee made, 65
Wherfore unto her they joyfullye sayd,
This thing to fulfill wee all doe agree;
But where dwells thy father, my prettye Bessee?

My father, shee said, is soone to be seene:
The seely blind beggar of Bednall-greene, 70
That daylye sits begging for charitìe,
He is the good father of pretty Bessee.

His markes and his tokens are knowen very well;
He alwayes is led with a dogg and a bell:
A seely olde man, God knoweth, is hee, 75
Yett hee is the father of pretty Bessee.

Nay then, quoth the merchant, thou art not for mee:
Nor, quoth the innholder, my wiffe thou shalt bee:
I lothe, sayd the gentle, a beggars degree,
And therefore, adewe, my pretty Bessee! 80

Why then, quoth the knight, hap better or worse,
I waighe not true love by the waight of the pursse,
And bewtye is bewtye in every degree;
Then welcome unto me, my pretty Bessee.

With thee to thy father forthwith I will goe. 85
Nay soft, quoth his kinsmen, it must not be soe;
A poor beggars daughter noe ladye shal bee,

Then take thy adew of pretty Bessee.

But soone after this, by breake of the day
The knight had from Rumford stole Bessy away. 90
The younge men of Rumford, as thicke [as] might bee,
Rode after to feitch againe pretty Bessee.

As swifte as the winde to ryde they were seene,
Untill they came neare unto Bednall-greene;
And as the knight lighted most courteouslìe, 95
They all fought against him for pretty Bessee.

But rescew came speedilye over the plaine,
Or else the young knight for his love had been slaine.
This fray being ended, then straitway he see
His kinsmen come rayling at pretty Bessee. 100

Then spake the blind beggar, Although I bee poore,
Yett rayle not against my child at my own doore:
Though shee be not decked in velvett and pearle,
Yett will I dropp angells with you for my girle.

And then, if my gold may better her birthe, 105
And equall the gold that you lay on the earth,
Then neyther rayle nor grudge you to see
The blind beggars daughter a lady to bee.

But first you shall promise, and have itt well knowne,
The gold that you drop shall all be your owne. 110
With that they replyed, Contented bee wee.
Then here's, quoth the beggar, for pretty Bessee.

With that an angell he cast on the ground,
And dropped in angels full three thousand[571] pound;
And oftentimes itt was proved most plaine, 115
For the gentlemens one the beggar dropt twayne:

Soe that the place, wherin they did sitt,

With gold it was covered every whitt.
The gentlemen then having dropt all their store,
Sayd, Now, beggar, hold, for wee have noe more. 120

Thou hast fulfilled thy promise arright.
Then marry, quoth he, my girle to this knight;
And heere, added hee, I will now throwe you downe
A hundred pounds more to buy her a gowne.

The gentlemen all, that this treasure had seene, 125
Admired the beggar of Bednall-greene:
And all those, that were her suitors before,
Their fleshe for very anger they tore.

Thus was faire Besse matched to the knight,
And then made a ladye in others despite: 130
A fairer ladye there never was seene,
Than the blind beggars daughter of Bednall-greene.

But of their sumptuous marriage and feast,
What brave lords and knights thither were prest,
The second fitt[572] shall set forth to your sight 135
With marveilous pleasure, and wished delight.

Part the Second.

Off a blind beggars daughter most bright,
That late was betrothed unto a younge knight;
All the discourse therof you did see;
But now comes the wedding of pretty Bessee.

Within a gorgeous palace most brave, 5
Adorned with all the cost they cold have,
This wedding was kept most sumptuouslìe,
And all for the creditt of pretty Bessee.

All kind of dainties, and delicates sweete
Were bought for the banquet, as it was most meete; 10
Partridge, and plover, and venison most free,
Against the brave wedding of pretty Bessee.

This marriage through England was spread by report,
Soe that a great number therto did resort
Of nobles and gentles in every degree; 15
And all for the fame of prettye Bessee.

To church then went this gallant younge knight;
His bride followed after, an angell most bright,
With troopes of ladyes, the like nere was seene
As went with sweete Bessy of Bednall-greene. 20

This marryage being solempnized then,
With musicke performed by the skilfullest men,
The nobles and gentles sate downe at that tyde,
Each one admiring the beautifull bryde.

Now, after the sumptuous dinner was done, 25
To talke, and to reason a number begunn:
They talkt of the blind beggars daughter most bright,
And what with his daughter he gave to the knight.

Then spake the nobles, "Much marveil have wee,
This jolly blind beggar wee cannot here see." 30
My lords, quoth the bride, my father's so base,
He is loth with his presence these states to disgrace.

"The prayse of a woman in questyon to bringe
Before her own face, were a flattering thinge;
But wee thinke thy father's baseness," quoth they, 35

"Might by thy bewtye be cleane put awaye."

They had noe sooner these pleasant words spoke,
But in comes the beggar cladd in a silke cloke;
A faire velvet capp, and a fether had hee,
And now a musicyan forsooth he wold bee. 40

He had a daintye lute under his arme,
He touched the strings, which made such a charme,
Saies, Please you to heare any musicke of mee,
Ile sing you a song of pretty Bessee.

With that his lute he twanged straightway, 45
And thereon begann most sweetlye to play;
And after that lessons were playd two or three,
He strayn'd out this song most delicatelìe.

"A poore beggars daughter did dwell on a greene,
Who for her fairenesse might well be a queene: 50
A blithe bonny lasse, and a daintye was shee,
And many one called her pretty Bessee.

"Her father hee had noe goods, nor noe land.
But beggd for a penny all day with his hand;
And yett to her marriage hee gave thousands three,[573] 55
And still he hath somewhat for pretty Bessee.

"And if any one here her birth doe disdaine,
Her father is ready, with might and with maine,
To proove shee is come of noble degree:
Therfore never flout att prettye Bessee." 60

With that the lords and the companye round
With harty laughter were readye to swound;
Att last said the lords, Full well wee may see,
The bride and the beggar's behoulden to thee.

On this the bride all blushing did rise, 65

The pearlie dropps standing within her faire eyes,
O pardon my father, grave nobles, quoth shee,
That throughe blind affection thus doteth on mee.

If this be thy father, the nobles did say,
Well may he be proud of this happy day; 70
Yett by his countenance well may wee see,
His birth and his fortune did never agree:

And therfore, blind man, we pray thee bewray,
(And looke that the truth thou to us doe say)
Thy birth and thy parentage, what itt may bee; 75
For the love that thou bearest to pretty Bessee."

"Then give me leave, nobles and gentles, each one,
One song more to sing, and then I have done;
And if that itt may not winn good report,
Then doe not give me a groat for my sport. 80

"[Sir Simon de Montfort my subject shal bee;
Once chiefe of all the great barons was hee,
Yet fortune so cruelle this lorde did abase,
Now loste and forgotten are hee and his race.

"When the barons in armes did king Henrye oppose,
Sir Simon de Montfort their leader they chose; 86
A leader of courage undaunted was hee,
And oft-times he made their enemyes flee.

"At length in the battle on Eveshame plaine[574]
The barons were routed, and Montfort was slaine; 90
Moste fatall that battel did prove unto thee,
Thoughe thou wast not borne then, my prettye Bessee!

"Along with the nobles, that fell at that tyde,
His eldest son Henrye, who fought by his side,
Was fellde by a blowe, he receivde in the fight! 95
A blowe that deprivde him for ever of sight.

"Among the dead bodyes all lifelesse he laye,
Till evening drewe on of the following daye,
When by a yong ladye discoverd was hee;
And this was thy mother, my prettye Bessee! 100

"A baron's faire daughter stept forth in the nighte
To search for her father, who fell in the fight,
And seeing yong Montfort, where gasping he laye,
Was moved with pitye, and brought him awaye.

"In secrette she nurst him, and swaged his paine, 105
While he throughe the realme was beleevd to be slaine:
At lengthe his faire bride she consented to bee,
And made him glad father of prettye Bessee.

"And nowe lest oure foes our lives sholde betraye,
We clothed ourselves in beggars arraye; 110
Her jewelles shee solde, and hither came wee:
All our comfort and care was our prettye Bessee.]

"And here have wee lived in fortunes despite,
Thoughe poore, yet contented with humble delighte:
Full forty winters thus have I beene 115
A silly blind beggar of Bednall-greene.

"And here, noble lordes, is ended the song
Of one, that once to your own ranke did belong:
And thus have you learned a secrette from mee,
That ne'er had beene knowne, but for prettye Bessee." 120

Now when the faire companye everye one,
Had heard the strange tale in the song he had showne,
They all were amazed, as well they might bee,
Both at the blinde beggar, and pretty Bessee.

With that the faire bride they all did embrace, 125
Saying, Sure thou art come of an honourable race,
Thy father likewise is of noble degree,

And thou art well worthy a lady to bee.

Thus was the feast ended with joye and delighte,
A bridegroome most happy then was the young knighte, 130
In joy and felicitie long lived hee,
All with his faire ladye, the pretty Bessee.
⁂

[T he following stanzas (ll. 217-240 of the whole ballad), were
rejected by Percy in favour of the verses above which are
between brackets, and were written by Robert Dodsley, the
bookseller and author:—

"When ffirst our king his ffame did Advance,
& fought for his title in delicate ffrance,
in many a place many perills past hee:
then was not borne my pretty Bessye.

"And then in those warres went over to fight
many a braue duke, a Lord, & a Knight,
& with them younge Mountford, his courage most free:
but then was not borne my pretty Bessye.

"Att Bloyes there chanced a terrible day,
where many braue ffrenchmen vpon the ground Lay;
amonge them Lay Mountford for companye:
but then was not borne my pretty Bessye.[575]

"But there did younge Mountford, by blow on the face,
loose both his eyes in a very short space;
& alsoe his liffe had beene gone with his sight,
had not a younge woman come forth in the night

"Amongst the slaine men, as fancy did moue,
to search & to seeke for her owne true loue;
& seeing young Mountford there gasping to bee,

shee saued his liffe through charitye.

"And then all our vittalls, in Beggar attire
att hands of good people wee then did require.
att last into England, as now it is seene,
wee came, & remained att Bednall greene."[576]

†‡† The word fit for part, often occurs in our ancient ballads and
metrical romances: which being divided into several parts for
the convenience of singing them at public entertainments, were
in the intervals of the feast sung by fits, or intermissions. So
Puttenham in his Art of English Poesie, 1589, says: "the
Epithalamie was divided by breaches into three partes to serve
for three several fits, or times to be sung." P. 41.
From the same writer we learn some curious particulars relative
to the state of ballad-singing in that age, that will throw light on
the present subject: speaking of the quick returns of one manner
of tune in the short measures used by common rhymers; these,
he says, "glut the eare, unless it be in small and popular
musickes, sung by these Cantabanqui, upon benches and barrels
heads, where they have none other audience then boys or
countrey fellowes, that passe by them in the streete; or else by
blind harpers, or such like taverne minstrels, that give a fit of
mirth for a groat, ... their matter being for the most part stories
of old time, as the tale of Sir Topas, the reportes of Bevis of
Southampton, Guy of Warwicke, Adam Bell and Clymme of the
Clough, and such other old romances or historical rimes, made
purposely for recreation of the common people at Christmasse
dinners and brideales, and in tavernes and alehouses, and such
other places of base resorte." P. 69.
This species of entertainment, which seems to have been handed
down from the ancient bards, was in the time of Puttenham
falling into neglect; but that it was not, even then, wholly
excluded from more genteel assemblies, he gives us room to

infer from another passage: "We ourselves," says this
courtly[577] writer, "have written for pleasure a little brief
romance, or historical ditty in the English tong of the Isle of
Great Britaine in short and long meetres, and by breaches or
divisions (i.e. fits), to be more commodiously sung to the harpe
in places of assembly, where the company shal be desirous to
heare of old adventures, and valiaunces of noble knights in
times past, as are those of King Arthur and his Knights of the
Round Table, Sir Bevys of Southampton, Guy of Warwicke, and
others like." P. 33.
In more ancient times no grand scene of festivity was compleat
without one of these reciters to entertain the company with feats
of arms, and tales of knighthood, or, as one of these old
minstrels says, in the beginning of an ancient romance on Guy
and Colbronde, in the Editor's folio MS. p. 349 [ed. Hales and
Furnivall, vol. ii., p. 527]:

"When meate and drinke is great plentyè,
And lords and ladyes still wil bee,
And sitt and solace lythe;[578]
Then itt is time for mee to speake
Of keene knightes, and kempès great,
Such carping for to kythe."

If we consider that a groat in the age of Elizabeth was more than
equivalent to a shilling now, we shall find that the old harpers
were even then, when their art was on the decline, upon a far
more reputable footing than the ballad-singers of our time. The
reciting of one such ballad as this of the Beggar of Bednal
Green, in two parts, was rewarded with half-a-crown of our
money. And that they made a very respectable appearance, we
may learn from the dress of the old beggar, in the preceding
ballad, p. 178, where he comes into company in the habit and
character of one of these minstrels, being not known to be the
bride's father till after her speech, ver. 63. The exordium of his
song, and his claiming a groat for his reward, v. 76, are
peculiarly characteristic of that profession. Most of the old

ballads begin in a pompous manner, in order to captivate the
attention of the audience, and induce them to purchase a recital
of the song: and they seldom conclude the first part without
large promises of still greater entertainment in the second. This
was a necessary piece of art to incline the hearers to be at the
expense of a second groat's-worth. Many of the old romances
extend to eight or nine fits, which would afford a considerable
profit to the reciter.
To return to the word fit; it seems at one time to have peculiarly
signified the pause, or breathing-time, between the several parts
(answering to Passus in the Visions of Pierce Plowman): thus in
the ancient ballad of Chevy-Chase (vol. i. p. 27), the first part
ends with this line:

"The first fit here I fynde:"

i.e. here I come to the first pause or intermission. (See also vol.
i. p. 44.) By degrees it came to signify the whole part or division
preceding the pause. (See vol. i. pp. 162, 169.) This sense it had
obtained so early as the time of Chaucer; who thus concludes
the first part of his rhyme of Sir Thopas (writ in ridicule of the
old ballad romances):—

"Lo! lordis mine, here is a fitt;
If ye woll any more of it,
To tell it woll I fonde."

The word fit indeed appears originally to have signified a poetic
strain, verse, or poem; for in these senses it is used by the
Anglo-Saxon writers. Thus K. Ælfred in his Boethius, having
given a version of lib. 3, metr. 5, adds, Ða ꞅe pιꞅꝺom þa þaꞅ
ꝼιꞇꞇe aꞅunȝen hæꝼꝺe, p. 65, i.e. "When wisdom had sung these
(Fitts) verses." And in the proem to the same book, Fon on
ꝼιꞇꞇe, "Put into (fitt) verse." So in Cedmon, p. 45. Feonꝺ on
ꝼιꞇꞇe, seems to mean "composed a song," or "poem." The reader

will trace this old Saxon phrase, in the application of the word
fond, in the foregoing passage of Chaucer.
Spencer has used the word fit to denote "a strain of music;" see
his poem, intitled, Collin Clout's come home again, where he
says:—

"The Shepherd of the ocean [Sir Walt. Raleigh]
Provoked me to play some pleasant fit.
And when he heard the music which I made
He found himself full greatlye pleas'd at it," &c.

It is also used in the old ballad of K. Estmere, vol. i. book 1, No.
6, v. 243.
From being applied to music, this word was easily transferred to
dancing; thus in the old play of Lusty Juventus (described in
preliminary note to book 2, No. 1 in this volume), Juventus says:

"By the masse I would fayne go daunce a fitte."

And from being used as a part or division in a ballad, poem, &c.
it is applied by Bale to a section or chapter in a book (though I
believe in a sense of ridicule or sarcasm), for thus he intitles two
chapters of his English Votaryes, part 2nd, viz. fol. 49, "The
fyrst fytt of Anselme with Kynge Wyllyam Rufus;" fol. 50, "An
other Fytt of Anselme with kynge Wyllyam Rufus."

FOOTNOTES:

[571] In the Editor's folio MS. it is £500.
[572] See an essay on the word fit at the end of the second part.
[573] So the folio MS.
[574] The battle of Evesham was fought on August 4, 1265.
[575] [This stanza is not in the ordinary versions.]
[576] [Bessie of Bednall, Percy folio MS., ed. Hales and
Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 279.]

[577] He was one of Q. Elizabeth's gent. pensioners, at a time
when the whole band consisted of men of distinguished birth
and fortune. Vid. Ath. Ox.
[578] Perhaps "blythe."

XI.
FANCY AND DESIRE.

By the Earl of Oxford.

E dward Vere, Earl of Oxford, was in high fame for his poetical
talents in the reign of Elizabeth; perhaps it is no injury to his
reputation that few of his compositions are preserved for the
inspection of impartial posterity. To gratify curiosity, we have
inserted a sonnet of his, which is quoted with great
encomiums for its "excellencie and wit," in Puttenham's Arte of Eng.
Poesie,[579] and found intire in the Garland of Good-will. A few more of his
sonnets (distinguished by the initial letters E. O.), may be seen in the
Paradise of Daintie Devises. One of these is intitled The Complaint of a
Lover, wearing blacke and tawnie. The only lines in it worth notice are
these:—

"A crowne of baies shall that man 'beare'
Who triumphs over me;
For black and tawnie will I weare,
Which mourning colours be."

We find in Hall's Chronicle, that when Q. Catharine of Arragon dyed, Jan.
8, 1536, "Queen Anne (Bullen) ware yellowe for the mourning." And when
this unfortunate princess lost her head, May 19, the same year, "on the
ascencion day following, the kyng for mourning ware whyte." Fol. 227,
228.
Edward, who was the seventeenth earl of Oxford, of the family of Vere,
succeeded his father in his title and honours in 1563, and died an aged man

in 1604. See Mr. Walpole's Noble Authors. Athen. Oxon, &c.

[Walpole was in error when he stated that Lord Oxford died an
aged man, for that nobleman was only about sixty at the time of
his death. Sir Egerton Brydges points out in his edition of the
Paradise of Dainty Devices (British Bibliographer, vol. iii.), that
the earl could not have been born earlier than 1540 or 1541,
because his elder half-sister Katherine, widow of Edward, Lord
Windsor, died in January, 1599, aged 60. The chief events of his
life are these. In 1585 he was the chief of those who embarked
with the Earl of Leicester for the relief of the states of Holland
and Zealand. In 1586 he sat as Lord Great Chamberlain of
England on the trial of Mary, Queen of Scots. In 1588 he hired
and fitted out ships at his own charge against the Spanish
Armada. In 1589 he sat on the trial of Philip Howard, Earl of
Arundel, and in 1601 on the trials of the Earls of Essex and
Southampton. His private character was far from good, and his
honour was tarnished by his dispute with Sir Philip Sidney. He
used his first wife (a daughter of the great Burleigh) cruelly, in
revenge for the statesman's treatment of his great friend,
Thomas, Duke of Norfolk. In his early youth he travelled in
Italy, and returned from that country a finished coxcomb,
bringing home with him Italian dresses, perfumes, and
embroidered gloves. He presented a pair of the latter to Queen
Elizabeth, who was so pleased with them that she was drawn
with them on her hands. The earl was buried at Hackney, on the
6th of July, 1604.
Percy might have spared rather more praise for this pretty little
poem.]

Come hither shepherd's swayne:
"Sir, what do you require?"
I praye thee, shewe to me thy name.
"My name is Fond Desire."

When wert thou borne, Desire? 5
"In pompe and pryme of may."
By whom, sweet boy, wert thou begot?
"By fond Conceit men say."

Tell me, who was thy nurse?
"Fresh Youth in sugred joy." 10
What was thy meate and dayly foode?
"Sad sighes with great annoy."

What hadst thou then to drinke?
"Unsavoury lovers teares."
What cradle wert thou rocked in? 15
"In hope devoyde of feares."

What lulld thee then asleepe?
"Sweete speech, which likes me best."
Tell me, where is thy dwelling place?
"In gentle hartes I rest." 20

What thing doth please thee most?
"To gaze on beautye stille."
Whom dost thou thinke to be thy foe?
"Disdayn of my good wille."

Doth companye displease? 25
"Yes, surelye, many one."

Where doth Desire delighte to live?
"He loves to live alone."

Doth either tyme or age
Bringe him unto decaye? 30
"No, no, Desire both lives and dyes
Ten thousand times a daye."

Then, fond Desire, farewelle,
Thou art no mate for mee;
I sholde be lothe, methinkes, to dwelle 35
With such a one as thee.

FOOTNOTES:

[579] Lond. 1589, p. 172.

XII.
SIR ANDREW BARTON.

I cannot give a better relation of the fact which is the subject of
the following ballad, than in an extract from the late Mr.
Guthrie's Peerage,[580] which was begun upon a very elegant
plan, but never finished. Vol. i. 4to. p. 22.
"The transaction which did the greatest honour to the earl of Surrey[581] and
his family at this time (A.D. 1511), was their behaviour in the case of
Barton, a Scotch sea-officer. This gentleman's father having suffered by sea
from the Portuguese, he had obtained letters of marque for his two sons to
make reprisals upon the subjects of Portugal. It is extremely probable, that
the court of Scotland granted these letters with no very honest intention.
The council board of England, at which the earl of Surrey held the chief
place, was daily pestered with complaints from the sailors and merchants,
that Barton, who was called Sir Andrew Barton, under pretence of searching