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Keats
THE GIFT OF
WILLIAM G. KERCKHOFF
TO THE
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
AT LOS ANGELES
THE LIBRARY OF
FRIEDRICH KLUGE
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■URE.
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BEDFORD STREET, STRAND.
R E L I Q U E S
OF
ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
Tiough some make slight of libels, yet you may see by them how the wind sits ;
as, take a straw and throw it up into the air, you may see by that which way the
wind is, which you shall not do by casting up a stone. More solid things do not
show the complexion of the times so well as ballads and libels."— Selden's
Table-Talk.
'An ordinary song or ballad, that is the delight of the common people, cannot fail
to please all such readers as are not unqualified for the entertainment by their
affectation or their ignorance ; and the reason is plain, because the same painting?
of Nature which recommend it to the most ordinary reader will appear beautifu'
to the most refined." — Addison in Spectator, No. 79,
THE CHANDOS CLASSICS.
RELIQUES
OF
ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY,
CONSISTING OF
OLD HEROIC BALLADS, SONGS, ETC.
BY
THOMAS PERCY.
& "Nth Eftittflit.
EDITED BY
EDWARD WALFORD, M.A.
WITH A GLOSSARY AND LIFE
l /
LONDON AND NEW YORK :
FREDERICK WARNE AND CO,
1SS7
PREFACE BY THE EDITOR.
The Reliques of Bishop Percy have for a century been favourites
with all lovers of ancient poetry and of English literature ; and as
they were among the chief friends of my boyhood, it has been a great
pleasure to me, in advanced manhoid, to help in giving to the world a
popular edition of them. I have added a few brief foot-notes, where
the Author's meaning, or a passing allusion, seemed obscure ; and the
Glossaries to each of the three original volumes have been drafted into
one in this edition. Those of the " Reliques" which are to be found
also in Percy's " Folio Manuscript " have been duly noted ; and I have
prefixed to the volume a new biography of the venerable author himself.
E. Walford.'
Hampstead, N.W.
Sept. 18S0.
< t <
CO
CO
CONTENTS.
2
PAGE
Dedication, 9
Advertisement to the Fourth Edi
tion,
The Author's Preface,
Life of Bishop Percy, .... 15
Ballads, 18
Preface to the Present Edition, . 21
An Essay on the Ancient Minstrels
in England, 22
SERIES THE FIRST.
Book I.—
1. The Ancient Ballad of Chevy-
Chase 39
The Battle of Otterbourne, . . 45
The Jew's Daughter. A Scottish
Ballad, 50
Sir Cauline, 52
Edward, Edward. A Scottish
Ballad, 57
King Estmere, . . . -58
Sir Patrick Spence. A Scottish
Ballad, 63
Robin Hood and Guyof Gisborne, 64
An Elegy on Henry, Fourth Earl
of Northumberland, by Skelton, 6S
The Tower of Doctrine, by
Stephen Hawes, ... 73
The Child of Elle, ... 75
Edom of Gordon. A Scottish
Ballad, 7 3
n.
12.
Book II. Ballads that illustrate
Shakespeare —
On the Origin of the English Stage, 81
t. Adam Bell, Clym of the Clough,
and William of Cloudedy , 95
PAGH
2. The Aged Lover renounceth
Love 105
3. Jephthah, Judge of Israel, . . 106
4. A Robyn Jolly Robyn, . . 107
5. A Song to the Lute in Musicke, 107
6. King Cophetua and the Beggar
Maid, 108
7. Take thy Old Cloak about
thee, 110
8. Willow, Willow, Willow, . . nr
9. Sir Lancelot Du Lake, . .113
10. Corydon's Farewell to Phillis, . 115
11. Gernutus, the Jew of Venice, . 115
12. The Passionate Shepherd to his
Love, by Mar low, . . .118
The Nymph's Reply, by Sir
W. Raleigh, . . . .119
13. Titus Andronicus's Complaint, . 119
14. Take those Lips away, . . 122
15. King Leir and his Three Daugh-
ters, .122
16. Youth and Age, by Shakespeare, 125
17. The Frolicksome Duke, or the
Tinker's Good Fortune, . . 125
18. The Friar of Orders Gray, . . 127
)K III.—
1. The more Modern Ballad of
Chevy-Chase, . . . .130
2. Death's Final Conquest, . . 135
3. The Rising in the Norlh, . . 135
4. Northumberland betrayed by
Douglas, 138
5. My Mind to me a Kingdom is, . 142
6. The Patient Countess, by W.
Warner 143
7. Dowsabell, by Drayton, . . 145
CONTENTS.
8. The Farewell to Love, from Beau-
mont and Fletcher, . . . 147
9. Ulysses and the Syren, by S.
Daniel, 147
10. Cupid's Pastime, by Davidson, . 149
11. The Character of a Happy Life,
by Sir H. Wotton, . . . 150
12. Gilderoy. A Scottish Ballad, . 150
13. Winifreda, 151
14. The Witch of Wokey, . . . 152
15. Bryan and Pereene. A West
Indian Ballad, by Dr. Grainger, 153
16. Gentle River, Gentle River.
Translated from the Spanish, . 134
17. Alcanzor and Zayda, a Mocrith
Tale, ....
SERIES THE SECOND.
Book I.—
1. Richard of Almaigne, .
2. On the Death of King Edwarc
the- First, ....
3. An Original Ballad by Chaucer,
4. The Turnament of Tottenham,
5. For the Victory at Agincourt,
6. The Not-browne Mayd,
7. A Ballad by the Earl Rivers,
8. Cupid's Assault, by Lord Vaux
9. Sir Aldingar,
10. The Gaberlunzie Man, a Scottish
Song, by King James V.,
11. On Thomas, Lord Cromwell,
12. Harpalus. An ancient English
Pastoral, ....
13. Robin and Makyne. An an
cient Scottish Pastoral, .
14. Gentle Herdsman, tell to me,
15. King Edward IV. and the Tanner
of Tamworth, .
16. As ye came from the Holy
Land, ....
17. Hardyknute. A Scottish Fra,
ment, ....
155
157
158
160
161
165
166
171
171
172
176
177
179
181
183
184
187
1S8
Book II.—
1. A Ballad of Luther, the Pope,
a Cardinal, and a Husband-
man, . . . . .194
2. John Anderson my Jo. A Scot-
tish Song, . . . .196
3. Little John Nobody, . . .196
12.
13-
14.
15-
16.
17-
18.
19.
20.
21.
22.
23-
24.
25-
26.
27.
Queen Elizabeth's Verses while
Prisoner at Woodstock, .
The Heir of Linne,
Gascoigne's Praise of the Fair
Bridges, afterwards Lady
Sandes,
Fair Rosamond. By Thomas
Delone,
Queen Eleanor's Confession,
The Sturdy Reck,
The Beggar's Daughter of BeJ-
nall Green, ....
Fancy and Desire, by the Earl
of Oxford, ....
Sir Andrew Barton, .
Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament.
A Scottish Song,
The Murder of the King of Scots,
A Sonnet by Queen Elizabeth, .
The King of Scots and Andrew
Browne, by W. Elderton,
The Bonny Earl of Murray. A
Scottish Song, . . ' .
Young Waters. A Scottish Song,
Mary Ambree, ....
Brave Lord Willoughby, .
Victorious men of Earth, by
James Shirley,
The Winning of Cales,
The Spanish Lady's Love,
Argentile and Curan, by W.
Warner,
Corin's Fate, ....
Jane Shore, ....
Corydon's Doleful Knell, .
Book III.—
1. The Complaint of Conscience, .
2. Plain Truth and Blind Ignor-
ance,
The Wandering Jew, .
The Lye, by Sir Walter Raleigh,
Verses by King James L, .
King John and the Abbot of
Canterbury, ....
You Meaner Beauties, by Sir H.
Wotton,
The Old and Young Courtier, .
Sir John Suckling's Campaign, .
To Althea from Prison, by Col.
Lovelace, ....
The Downfall of Charing Cross,.
3-
4-
5-
6.
9-
10
198
199
203
207
20a
2l5
217
223
224
225
226
228
228
229
232
233
234
236
238
242
243
246
247
250
252
254
256
257
2S9
260
262
263
263
CONTENTS.
PAGE
12. Loyalty Confined, by Sir Roger
L'Estrange, .... 264
13. Verses by King Charles I., . 266
14. The Sale of Rebellious House-
hold Stuff, . . . .267
15. The Baffled Knight, or Lady's
Policy, 269
16. Why so Pale ? by Sir John Suck-
ling, 271
17. Old Tom of Bedlam. Mad Song
the First, 272
18. The Distracted Puritan. Mad
Song the Second, . . . 273
19. The Lunatic Lover. Mad Song
the Third, . . . .274
20. The Lady distracted with Love.
Mad Song the Fourth, . . 275
si. The Distracted Lover. Mad
Song the Fifth, . . . 276
22. The Frantic Lady. Mad Song
the Sixth, . . . .277
Lilli Burlero, by Lord Wharton, 277
The Braes of Yarrow. In imita-
tion of the ancient Scottish
manner, by W. Hamilton, . 279
Admiral Hosier's Ghost, by Mr.
Glover, 281
Jemmy Dawson, by Mr. Shen-
stone 283
23.
24.
25.
20
SERIES THE THIRD.
Book I. Poems on King Arthur —
On the Ancient Metrical Ro-
mances,
1. The Boy and the Mantle, .
2. The Marriage of Sir Gawaine, .
3. King Ryence's Challenge, .
4. King Arthur's Death. A Frag-
ment,
5. The Legend of King Arthur,
6. A Dyttie to Hey Downe, .
7. Glasgerion,
8. Old Robin of Portingale, .
9. Child Waters, ....
10. Phillida and Corydon, by Nic.
Breton,
11. Little Musgravc and Lady Bar-
nard,
12. The Ew-Bughts, Marion. A
Scottish Song, ...»
13. The -Knight and Shepherd's
Daughter, .... 320
14. The Shepherd's Address to his
Muse, by N. Breton, . . 321
15. Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor, . 322
16. Cupid and Campaspe, by John
Lilye, 3*3
17. The Lady turned Serving-Man, . 323
18. Gil Morrice. A Scottish Ballad, 326
Book II —
1. The Legend of Sir Guy, . . 329
2. Guy and Amarant, by Sam. Row-
lands 33 1
3. The Auld Good-Man. A Scottish
Song, 335
4. Fair Margaret and Sweet
William, 33 6
5. Barbara Allen's Cruelty, . . 338
6. Sweet William's Ghost. A Scot-
tish Ballad, . . . .339
7. Sir John Grehme and Barbara
Allan, 34°
8. The Bailiffs Daughter of Isling-
ton, 341
9. The Willow Tree. A Pastoral
Dialogue, .... 342
10. The Lady's Fall, . . . 342
11. Waly, Waly, Love be Bonny. A
Scottish Song, .... 344
12. The Bride's Burial, . . . 345
13. Dulcina, 347
14. The Lady Isabella's Tragedy, . 348
15. A Hue and Cry after Cupid, by
Ben Jonson, .... 349
The King of France's Daughter, 350
The Sweet Neglect, by Ben
Jonson 353
The Children in the Wood, . 353
A Lover of Late, . . . . 356
The King and the Miller of
Mansfield, . . . -355
21. The Shepherd's Resolution, by
Geo. Wither, .... 362
Queen Dido, or the Wandering
Prince of Troy, . . . 363
The Witches' Song, by Ben
Jonson, ..... 365
Robin Good-Fellow, . . . 366
The Fairy Queen, . . . 368
The Fairies Farewell, by Dr.
Corbet, 3^9
28s
16.
296 1
17-
2)9
304
18.
19.
3°S
20.
308
310
21.
310
312
32
3M
23
3t7
24
3'7
25
26
319
CONTENTS.
Book III. —
i. The Birth of St. George, . . 370
2. St. George and the Dragon, . 373
3. Love will find out the Way, . 377
4. Lord Thomas and Fair Annet. A
Scottish Ballad, . . 377
5. Unfading Beauty, by Thomas
Carew 379
6. George Barnwell, . . . 380
7. The Stedfast Shepherd, by Geo.
Wither, 385
8. The Spanish Virgin, or the Effects
of Jealousy, .... 386
9. Jealousy, Tyrant of the Mind, by
Dryden, 388
10. Constant Penelope . . 388
1 1 . To Lucasta, on going to the Wars,
by Colonel Lovelace, . . 390
12. Valentine and Ursine, . . . 390
13. The Dragon of Wantley, . . 396
14. St. George for England. The
First Part, .... 399
15. St. George for England. The
Second Part, by J. Grubb, . 402
16. Margaret's Ghost, by David
Mallet, 407
17. Lucy and Colin, by Tho. Tickell, 409
18. The Boy and the Mantle, revised,
etc. 410
19. The Ancient Fragment of the
Marriage of Sir Gawaine, . 413
Glossauv,
419
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.
DEDICATION.
TO
ELIZABETH,
LATE DUCHESS AND COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND,
IN HER OWN RIGHT BARONESS PERCY,
ETC. ETC. ETC.,
Who, being sole heiress to many great families of our ancient nobility,
employed the princely fortune, and sustained the illustrious honours, which she
derived from them, through her whole life with the greatest dignity, generosity,
and spirit, and who for her many public and private virtues will ever be
remembered as one of the first characters of her time, this little work was
originally dedicated ; and, as it sometimes afforded her amusement, and was
highly distinguished by her indulgent approbation, it is now, with the utmost
regard, respect, and gratitude, consecrated to her beloved and honoured memory.
T. P.
ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FOURTH EDITION.
Twenty years have near elapsed since the last edition of this work appeared. But
although it was sufficiently a favourite with the public, and had long been out of
print, the original Editor had no desire to revive it. More important pursuits had,
as might be expected, engaged his attention ; and the present edition would have
remained unpublished, had he not yielded to the importunity of his friends, and
9
I o KEL IQ UES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH FOE TR Y.
accepted the humble offer of an Editor in a nephew, to whom, it is feared, he will
be found too partial.
These volumes are now restored to the public with such corrections and improve-
ments as have occurred since the former impression ; and the text in particular hath
been emended in many passages by recurring to the old copies. The instances being
frequently trivial, are not always noted in the margin ; but the alteration hath never
been made without good reason : and especially in such pieces as were extracted from
the folio Manuscript so often mentioned in the following pages, where any variation
occurs from the former impression, it will be understood to have been given on the
authority of that MS.
The appeal publicly made- to Dr. Johnson in the first page of the following
Preface, so long since as in the year 1765, and never once contradicted by him during
so large a portion of his life, ought to have precluded every doubt concerning the
existence of the MS. in question. But such, it seems, having been suggested, it may
now be mentioned that while this edition passed through his press, the MS. itself was
left for near a year with Mr. Nichols, in whose house, or in that of its possessor, it was
examined with more or less attention by many gentlemen of eminence in literature.
At the first publication of these volumes, it had been in the hands of all, or most of,
his friends ; but, as it could hardly be expected that he should continue to think of
nothing else but these amusements of his youth, it was afterwards laid aside at his
residence in the country. Of the many gentlemen above mentioned, who offered to
give their testimony to the public, it vrill be sufficient to name the Honourable Dailies
Barrington, the Reverend Clayton Mordaunt Cracherode, and those eminent critics
on Shakespeare, the Reverend Dr. Farmer, George Steevens, Esq., Edmund Malone,
Esq., and Isaac Reed, Esq., to whom I beg leave to appeal for the truth of the follow-
ing representation.
The MS. is a long narrow folio volume,* containing 195 sonnets, ballads, historical
songs, and metrical romances, either in the whole or in part, for many of them are
extremely mutilated and imperfect. The first and last leaves are wanting ; and of
fifty-four pages near the beginning, half of every leaf hath been torn away, and several
others are injured towards the end ; besides that through a great part of the volume
the top or bottom line, and sometimes both, have been cut off in the binding.
In this state is the MS. itself : and even where the leaves have suffered no injury,
the transcripts, which seem to have been all made by one person (they are at least all
in the same kind of hand), are sometimes extremely incorrect and faulty, being in
such instances probably made from defective copies, or the imperfect recitation
of illiterate singers ; so that a considerable portion of the song or narrative is some-
times omitted ; and miserable trash or nonsense not unfrequently introduced into
pieces of considerable merit. And often the copyist grew so weary of his labour as to
write on without the least attention to the sense or meaning ; so that the word which
should form the rhyme is found misplaced in the middle of the line ; and we have
such blunders as these, want and will [ox wanton will ,f even pan and wale for Wi/«
and pale, % etc.
Hence the public may judge how much they are indebted to the composer of this
* It is now in the British Museum (E. \V.).
t Page 130, ver. 117. This must have been copied from a reciter.
t Page 139, ver. 164, viz. " His visage waxed pan and wale."
THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE. n
collection, who, at an early period of life, with such materials and such subjects,
formed a work which hath been admitted into the most elegant libraries ; and with
which the judicious antiquary hath just reason to be satisfied, while refined entertain-
ment hath been provided for every reader of taste and genius.
Thomas Percy,
Fellow of St. John's College, Oxford.
THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE.
The reader is here presented with select remains of our ancient English Bards and
Minstrels, an order of men, who were once greatly respected by our ancestors, and
contributed to soften the roughness of a martial and unlettered people by their songs
and music.
The greater part of them are extracted from an ancient folio Manuscript, in the
Editor's possession, which contains near 200 poems, songs, and metrical romances.
This MS. was written about the middle of the last century, but contains compositions
of all times and dates, from the ages prior to Chaucer, to the conclusion of the reign
of Charles I.*
This Manuscript was shown to several learned and ingenious friends, who thought
the contents too curious to be consigned to oblivion, and importuned the possessor
to select some of them, and give them to the press. As most of them are of great
simplicity, and seem to have been merely written for the people, he was long in doubt
whether, in the present state of improved literature, they could be deemed worthy the
attention of the public. At length the importunity of his friends prevailed, and he
could refuse nothing to such judges as the author of the Rambler and the late Mr.
Shenstone.
Accordingly such specimens of ancient poetry have been selected, as either show the
gradation of our language, exhibit the progress of popular opinions, display the peculiar
manners and customs of former ages, or throw light on our earlier classical poets.
They are here distributed into three independent series of poems, arranged chiefly
according to the order of time, and showing the gradual improvements of the English
language and poetry from the earliest ages down to the present. Each series is
divided into three books, to afford so many pauses, or resting-places to the reader,
and to assist him in distinguishing between the productions of the earlier, the middle,
and the latter times.
In a polished age like the present, I am sensible that many of these reliques of
antiquity will require great allowances to be made for them. Yet have they, for the
most part, a pleasing simplicity, and many artless graces, which in the opinion of no
mean criticsf have been thought to compensate for the want of higher beauties, and,
if they do not dazzle the imagination, are frequently found to interest the heart.
* Chaucer quotes the old romance of Libiits Disconius, and some others, which are found in
this MS. (See the essay prefixed to vol. iii. p. 15 et seq.) It also contains several song?
relating to the Civil War in the last century, but not one that alludes to the Restoration.
t Addison, Dryden, the witty Lord Dorset, etc. See the Spectato?; No. 70. The learned
Belden appears also to have been fond of collecting these old things.
1 2 RELIQ UES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POE TR Y.
To atone for the rudeness of the more obsolete poems, each volume concludes with
a few modern attempts in the same kind of writing : and, to take off from thetedious-
ness of the longer narratives, they are everywhere intermingled with little elegant
pieces of the lyric kind. Select ballads in the old Scottish dialect, most of them of
the first-rate merit, are also interspersed among those of our ancient English minstrels ;
and the artless productions of these old rhapsodists are occasionally confronted with
specimens of the composition of contemporary poets of a higher class ; of those who
hnd all the advantages of learning in the times in which they lived, and who wrote
for fame and for posterity. Yet perhaps the palm will be frequently due to the old
strolling minstrels, who composed their rhymes to be sung to their harps, and who
looked no farther than for present applause and present subsistence.
The reader will find this class of men occasionally described in the following
volume, and some particulars relating to their history in an Essay subjoined to this
Preface.
It will be proper here to give a short account of the other collections that were con-
sulted, and to make my acknowledgments to those gentlemen who were so kind as
to impart extracts from them ; for while this selection was making, a great number of
ingenious friends took a share in the work, and explored many large repositories in
its favour. The first of these that deserved notice was the Pepysian Library at
Magdalen College, Cambridge. Its founder, Sam. Pepys, Esq., Secretary of the
Admiralty in the reigns of Charles II. and James II., had made a large collection of
ancient English ballads, near 2000 in number, which he has left pasted in five
volumes in folio ; besides Gcn-lands and other smaller miscellanies. This
collection, he tells us, was ' ' begun by Mr. Selden ; improved by the addition of
many pieces elder thereto in time ; and the whole continued down to the year 1700 ;
when the form peculiar till then thereto, viz. of the black letter with pictures,
seems (for cheapness' sake) wholly laid aside for that of the white letter without
pictures."
In the Ashmoleari Library at Oxford is a small collection of ballads made by Anthony
Wood in 1676, containing somewhat more than 200. Many ancient popular poems
are also preserved in the Bodleian Library.
The archives of the Antiquarian Society at London contain a multitude of curious
political poems in large folio volumes, digested under the several reigns of Henry VIII.,
Edward VI., Mary, Elizabeth, James I., etc.
In the British Museum is preserved a large treasure of ancient English poems in
MS., besides one folio volume of printed ballads.
From all these some of the best pieces were selected ; and from many private collec-
tions, as well printed as manuscript, particularly from one large folio volume which
was lent by a lady.
Amid such a fund of materials, the Editor is afraid he has been sometimes led to
make too great a parade of his authorities. The desire of being accurate has perhaps
seduced him into too minute and trifling an exactness ; and in pursuit of information
he may have been drawn into many a petty and frivolous research. It was however
necessary to give some account of the old copies ; though often, for the sake of brevity,
one or two of these only are mentioned, where yet assistance was received from several.
Where anything was altered that deserved particular notice, the passage is generally
distinguished by two inverted " commas." And the Editor has endeavoured to be as
THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 13
faithful as the imperfect state of his materials would admit. For, these old popular
rhymes being many of them copied only from illiterate transcripts, or the imperfect
recitation of itinerant ballad-singers, have, as might be expected, been handed down
to us with less care than any other writings in the world. And the old copies, whether
MS. or printed, were often so defective or corrupted, that a scrupulous adherence to
their wretched readings would only have exhibited unintelligible nonsense, or such
poor meagre stuff as neither came from the bard nor was worthy the press ; when, by
a few slight corrections or additions, a most beautiful or interesting sense hath started
forth, and this so naturally and easily, that the Editor could seldom prevail on himself
to indulge the vanity of making a formal claim to the improvement ; but must plead
guilty to the charge of concealing his own share in the amendments under some such
general title as a "Modem Copy," or the like. Yet it has been his design to give
sufficient intimation where any considerable liberties * were taken with the old copies,
and to have retained either in the text or margin any word or phrase which was
antique, obsolete, unusual, or peculiar, so that these might be safely quoted as of
genuine and undoubted antiquity. His object was to please both the judicious anti-
quary and the reader of taste ; and he hath endeavoured to gratify both without
offending either.
The plan of the work was settled in concert with the late elegant Mr. Shenstone,
who was to have borne a ioint share in it had not death unhappily prevented him.f
Most of the modern pieces were of his selection and arrangement, and the Editor
hopes to be pardoned if he has retained some things out of partiality to the judgment
of his friend. The old folio MS. above mentioned was a present from Humphrey Pitt,
Esq. of Prior's-Lee, in Shropshire, % to whom this public acknowledgment is due for
that and many other obliging favours. To Sir David Dalrymple, Bart., of Hales,
near Edinburgh, the Editor is indebted for most of the beautiful Scottish poems with
which this little miscellany is enriched, and for many curious and elegant remarks
with which they are illustrated. Some obliging communications of the same kind
were received from John Macgowan, Esq., of Edinburgh ; and many curious explana-
tions of Scottish words in the glossaries from John Davidson, Esq., of Edinburgh,
and from the Rev. Mr. Hutchinson, of Kimbolton. Mr. Warton, who has twice done
Eomuch honour to the Poetry Professor's chair at Oxford, and Mr. Hest of Worcester
College, contributed some curious pieces from the Oxford Libraries. Two ingenious
and learned friends at Cambridge deserve the Editor's warmest acknowledgments :
* Such liberties have been taken with all those pieces which have three asterisks subjoined,
thus *»*.
t That the Editor hath not here underrated the assistance he received from his friend, will
appear from Mr. Shenstone's own letter to the Rev. Mr. Grave;, dated March i, 1761. See
his Works, vol. iii. Letter ciii. It is doubtless a great loss to this work that Mr. Shenstone
never saw more than about an eighth part of it, as prepared for the press.
t Who informed the Editor that this MS. had been purchased in a library of old books,
which was thought to have belonged to Thomas Blount, author of the Jocular Tenures, 1679,
4to, and of many other publications enumerated in Wood's A tlience, ii. 73, the earliest of which
is The Art 0/ Making Devises, 1646, 4to, wherein he is described to be "of the Inner Temple."
If the collection was made by this lawyer (who also published the Law Dictionary, 1671, folio),
it should seem, from the errors and defects with which the MS. abounds, that he had employed
}»'-» <lerk in writing the transcripts.
14 RELiQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRV
to Mr. Blakeway, late fellow of Magdalen College, he owes all the assistance received
from the Pepysian Library : and Mr. Farmer, fellow of Emanuel, often exerted, in
favour of this little work, that extensive knowledge of ancient English literature for
which he is so distinguished.*
Many extracts from ancient MSS. in the British Museum and other respositories,
were owing to the kind services of Thomas Astle, Esq., to whom the public is indebted
for the curious preface and index annexed to the Harleia?i Catalogue.-^ The worthy
Librarian of the Society of Antiquaries, Mr. Norris, deserved acknowledgment for the
obliging manner in which he gave the Editor access to the volumes under his care.
In Mr. Garrack's curious collection of old plays are many scarce pieces of ancient
poetry, with the free use of which he indulged the Editor in the politest manner. To
the Rev. Dr. Birch he is indebted for the use of several ancient and valuable tracts.
To the friendship of Dr. Samuel Johnson he owes many valuable hints for the con-
duct of the work. And, if the Glossary is more exact and curious than might be
expected in so slight a publication, it is to be ascribed to the supervisal of a friend,
who stands at this time the first in the world for northern literature, and whose learn-
ing is even better known and respected in foreign nations than in his own country.
It is perhaps needless to name the Rev. Mr. Lye, editor of Junius' s Etymologicum,
and of the Gothic Gospels.
The names of so many men of learning and character the Editor hopes will serve as
an amulet, to guard him from every unfavourable censure for having bestowed any
attention on a parcel of Old Ballads. It was at the request of many of these gentle-
men, and of others eminent for their genius and taste, that this little work was under-
taken. To prepare it for the press has been the amusement of now and then a vacant
hour amid the leisure and retirement of rural life, and hath only served as a relaxation
* To the same learned and ingenious friend, since Master of Emanuel College, the Editor is
obliged for many corrections and improvements in his second and subsequent editions; as
also to the Rev. Mr. Bowie, of Idmistone, near Salisbury, editor of the curious edition of Don
Quixote, with annotations in Spanish, in six vols. 4to ; to the Rev. Mr. Cole, formerly of
Bletchley, near Fenny-Stratford, Bucks ; to the Rev. Mr. Lambe, of Norham, in Northumber-
land (author of a learned History of C/iess, 1764, 8vo, and editor of a curious poem on the
Battle of Flodden Field, with learned notes, 1774, 8vo); and to G. Paton, Esq., of Edinburgh.
He is particularly indebted to two friends, to whom the public, as well as himself, are under the
greatest obligations ; to the Honourable Daines Barrington, for his very learned and curious
Obsetvations on the Statutes, 4to ; and to Thomas Tyrwhitt, Esq., whose most correct and
elegant edition of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, five vols. 8vo, is a standard book, and shows
how an ancient English classic should be published. The Editor was also favoured with many
valuable remarks and corrections from the Rev. Geo. Ashby, late Fellow of St. Johu's College,
in Cambridge, which are not particularly pointed out, because they occur so often. He was no
less obliged to Thomas Butler, Esq., F.A.S., agent t>o the Duke of Northumberland, and clerk
of the peace for the county of Middlesex, whose extensive knowledge of ancient writings,
records, and history, has been of great use to the Editor in his attempts to illustrate the literature
or manners of our ancestors. Some valuable remarks were procured by Samuel Pegge, Esq.,
author of that curious work the Curialia, 4to ; but this impression was too far advanced to
profit by them all ; which hath also been the case with a series of learned and ingenious
annotations inserted in the Gentleman's Magazine for August 1793, April, June, July, and
October 1794.
t Since Kseper of the P.ecords in the Tower.
LIFE OF BISHOP PERCY. ig
from graver studies. It has been taken up at different times, and often thrown aside
for many months, during an interval of four or five years. This has occasioned some
inconsistencies and repetitions, which the candid reader will pardon. As great care
has been taken to admit nothing immoral and indecent, the Editor hopes he need not
be ashamed of having bestowed some of his idle hours in the ancient literature of our
own country, or in rescuing from oblivion some pieces (though but the amusements
of our ancestors) which tend to place in a striking light their taste, genius, sentiments,
or manners.
T£Il Except in one paragraph, and in the notes subjoined, this Preface is given with
little variation from the first edition in MDCCLXV.
LIFE OF BISHOP PERCY.
BY THE PRESENT EDITOR.
Dr. Thomas Percy, Bishop of Dromore, and the author of Reliqucs of Ancient Poetry,
was, according to his own account, of an old Worcestershire family, a branch of the
noble house of Percy. He was born in April 1729, in an old-fashioned timber
house, in a street called the Cartway in Bridgenorth, Shropshire, where his father, Mr.
Arthur Lowe Percy, was in business as a grocer. He received his early education at
the Grammar School of his native town, and, having obtained an exhibition, went in
due course to Christ Church, Oxford, where he was entered as a commoner. His
name appears in the books as "Thomas Piercy," and the same orthography occurs in
the list of Oxford graduates, from which it appears that he took his Bachelor's
degree in May 1750, and proceeded Master of Arts in July 1753. It is uncertain by
what bishop he was ordained, or what curacy he served ; but in the same year in
which he put on his Master's gown at Oxford, he was presented by Christ Church
with the small living of Easton Maundit, near Northampton. In the register of this
parish he writes his name Percy, probably for the first time — the result, doubtless, of
those poetical and antiquarian studies to which he had already devoted himself from
childhood, like his greater and far more celebrated disciple, Sir Walter Scott. In the
little vicarage of this rural village he lived for more than a quarter of a century ;
there he married his wife, Nancy Gutteridge, and there all his children were born.
The squire of his parish was the Earl of Sussex, whilst Castle Ashby, the seat of
successive Earls of Northampton, was only a mile and a half distant. In these
great houses Percy met with society through whom he was kept better acquainted
than most country parsons of his time with what was passing in the world of letters
and of fashion in London. Here in the summer of 1764, Dr. Johnson spent several
months as his guest, when doubtless the parlour and little library were the scenes
of literary discussions at which more than one of the Muses would have wished to
have been present unseen. A terrace in the vicarage garden is still traditionally
called Dr. Johnson's Walk.
Whilst living at Easton Maundit, namely, in 1761, Percy published in four volumes
a Chinese novel, translated from the Portuguese, and dedicated to the Countess of
'Sussex; thto he followed up by Miscellaneous Pieces from the Chinese, dedicated
to Lady Longueville, as also a Translation of the Song of Solomon from tht
16 REIIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
Hebrew, with a Commentary and Notes, and his Key to the New Testament.
He also undertook to re-edit the Works of the Duke of Buckingham, and the
Spectator, the Guardian, and the Tatter, with notes and a key to the names of
the writers ; but the project fell through, on account of Percy's nomination, through
the influence and introduction of Lord Sussex, as chaplain and secretary to the Duke
of Northumberland, which took him to London. In this capacity he occupied
apartments in Northumberland House, in the Strand, to which he brought a portion,
at least, of his books ; but these were destroyed by a fire along with his rooms in
March 1780. Here he was visited by many literary friends, amongst others by Dr.
Johnson and Oliver Goldsmith.
In 1763, his patron, the Duke of Northumberland, was appointed Lord-Lieutenant
of Ireland, and Percy went over to Dublin along with him as his chaplain. He had
already in 1778 been appointed Dean of Carlisle ; and in 1782, on the Duke's recom-
mendation, he was nominated and consecrated as Bishop of Dromore, the see which
had once been held by Jeremy Taylor. On this occasion he resigned his Northamp-
tonshire living, in which he was succeeded by another man of letters, Dr. Nares.
He now divided his attention between his duties to his flock, and his attendance
in the Irish Parliament at Dublin, and his literary studies. The latter he carried on
continuously until visited by partial blindness in 1805. He lost his beloved ' ' Nancy "
in 1807, and lived on till September 1811, when he quietly and calmly passed away,
leaving behind the memory of a blameless life. He was buried at Dromore. His
only son died long before him, in fact only a year after his appointment as Bishop.
His two surviving daughters married respectively the Honourable and Venerable
Pierce Meade, Archdeacon of Dromore, fourth son of the first Lord Clanwilliam, and
Ambrose Isted, Esq. of Ecton, Northamptonshire.
It is perhaps worthy of note that the bishop's wife in early life had been employed
as nurse to the young Prince Edward, afterwards Duke of Kent, and the father of
our most gracious Queen. It was to her that he addressed those tender and touching
lines,
" Oh I Nancy, wilt thou go with me ? "
which will be found in this collection.
The R cliques themselves were first published in 1765, twelve years after his
appointment to Easton Maundit ; they were the result of long and patient labour
employed in collecting and gleaning old ballads from literary friends, such as
Garrick, Goldsmith, Gray, and especially Shenstone, who first suggested to him the
idea of such a publication, and who had at one time intended to be associated with
him in his work, though prevented by the stroke of death. No doubt, as the book
appeared in the very year after Dr. Johnson's visit to Easton Maundit, its compila-
tion was the subject of much animated discussion in the vicarage library, between
the enthusiastic gleaner and the burly doctor, whose appreciation of the simple ballad
style, we happen to know, was not very high.
But still, though Dr. Percy "touched up," and in fact tampered with the text of
the ballads extensively — for which he was criticised pretty severely by a rival gleaner
in the same field, Ritson— yet there can be little doubt that his Reliques have
proved, if not a well of pure Saxon undefiled, at all events a cover to such a well.
And with all their faults, they will always be popular with the multitude in their
LIFE OF BISHOP PERCY. '7
present shape, though the learned student and scholar will prefer to read them in their
original form as they stand in the folio Manuscript. And it may be added, in proof of
the high estimation in which the name of Dr. Percy is held even by such scholars, that
in the edition of the said folio Manuscript, issued by Messrs. Hales and Furnivall,
under the auspices of the Early English Text Society, the R 'cliques are styled "a
book destined not only to raise him (the author) to eminence in his profession, but
to render his name a ' household word ' wherever the English language is spoken."
Sir Walter Scott tells us that as soon as he became in his boyhood acquainted with
Percy's R cliques, "the first time he could scrape a few shillings together, he
bought himself a copy of these beloved volumes ; nor (he adds) do I believe that I
ever read a book half so frequently or with half the enthusiasm." It was probably
at a later period of life that he made himself acquainted with the three volumes of
Old English Ballads which had been given to the learned world in 1723-25. Sir
Henry Ellis, too, expresses his mature opinion that " the Reliques are the most
agreeable selection perhaps which exists in any language."
A Percy Society was established in 1840, in honour of the Bishop, by Mr. William
Chappell, F.S.A., and some other enthusiasts in the cause ; but it was not adequately
supported by the British public, and it died out in 185 1, having given to the world
nearly a hundred publications.
Percy's folio Manuscript is styled by Mr. F.J. Furnivall "the foundation docu-
ment of English balladry, the basis of that structure which Percy raised." Mr.
Furnivall writes : " By his emendations and by his taste, public attention was first
drawn to the ballad literature of our country ; and so far am I from condemning him,
that I hold him to have been a benefactor to literature." It was printed and pub-
lished by Messrs. J. W. Hales and F. J. Furnivall, 1867-68, uniform with, though
not actually as part of, the publications of the Early English Text Society.
It adds a very great many ballads to the stock already known, for not above a
sixth or seventh part * of its bulk was selected by Percy for publication in his
Reliques ; and its editors boast, without wishing to depreciate the Bishop's memory,
that now for the first time many of the most important ballads "can be read without
Percy's tawdry touches."
Percy found the Manuscript lying about on the floor at the house of a friend named
Pitt, at Shifnall, where the maid-servants had begun to use it for lighting the fire. He
rescued it, and after some time had it bound, in order to preserve it, or rather such
part of it as remained ; ultimately it found its way into the library of Mr. Isted, at
Ecton, Northamptonshire, who had married one of Percy's daughters. It was pur-
chased from the family in 1868, by the Trustees of the British Museum, where it is
now to be seen. The date of the writing is probably that of Charles I., and it is said
to be in the handwriting of Thomas Blount, the well-known author of Joctclar
Tenures, etc.
There can be little doubt that the change of his name from Piercy to Percy was a
piece of affectation, which was probably smiled at and good-humouredly pardoned by
die Duke of Northumberland, who, though Percy by favour of the Herald's College,
* The first edition of the Reliques contained 176 pieces, and Percy says that " the greater
part of them are extracted from a folio Manuscript in his possession,'' but of these on'y 45 ara
derived from that source.
B
\3 RELIQ.UES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
and by royal licence, and the owner of Sion House and of the proud Castle of Aln-
wick, was himself not a Percy but a " Smithson " by birth. In the same spirit Dr.
Percy, when he erected a monument to his wife at Dromore, designates her maiden
name as Goodriche in lieu of Gutteridge. It is true also that he placed the lion
rampant, the Percy cognizance, over his family monument in Dromore Cathedral.
But this, if it proves anything, proves too much ; for if he was a genuine Percy by
legitimate descent, at all events the ancient earldom, and probably the dukedom also,
of Northumberland would not have become extinct, but would have come to him by
right, instead of being re-granted to the Smithsons, one of whom had married the
female heir of that ancient and noble house.
BALLADS.
He was a wise man, that friend of Fletcher of Saltoun, who said that if a man were
allowed to make the ballads of a people, he cared not who made its laws. For there
can be no doubt that the ballads of an infant nation are a great factor in the
formation of the national character, and help to mould the minds of its future
citizens. But if he had been a little more far-sighted, he would have seen that in
truth it would be utterly impossible to "make" the ballads of any people whatever,
for the simple reason that they are the natural outcome and product of its infancy.
The word ballad is akin to ballet, both being derived from the Greek j8a>X»v,
to cast, throw, or move forcibly ; the former coming from the French balade,
as the latter comes from the Italian ballata, which means a song accompanied by or
accompanying a dance.
A ballad poetry more or less rude has been in almost all countries the earliest
memorial of public events; and where the infancy of a tribe is savage and war-
like, it has always been applied, consciously or unconsciously, to the work oi
fostering a martial spirit. Tacitus tells us in his Annals* that long after his
death, Arminius was remembered in the rude songs of his country ; and that ballads
were the chief, if not the only annals amongst the ancient German tribes. "They
have a tradition," he adds, "that Hercules once visited those parts, and when they
rush to battle, they sing his praises above those of other heroes. "f A mediaeval
author, referring to the northern writers of a subsequent date, tells us that they
**h-ew the materials of their history from Runic songs. The Scandinavian tribes, as
we know, had their "Scalds, " whose office and duty it was to compose ballads, in
which they also celebrated the warlike exploits of their forefathers.
It is equally certain that in our own islands there existed at an early date a race
of bards whose work was substantially the same ; and it is on record in our history,
that when Edward I. set himself seriously to the task of subduing the Welsh to his
sway, one of the first measures which he adopted was to destroy their bards— with
no other object, we must believe, except that of getting rid of those ballads which
fostered their nationality. In spite of the king's arms, however, their poetry
survived; and a writer of the age of Elizabeth,! in his description of North Wales,
"tells us that "upon the Sunday and holy days the multitude of all sort of men,
women, and children of every parish do meet in sundry places, either on some hill
* Tacitus, Ann. ii. 88. t German!*, ii. sect. 3.
X Ellis, Original Letters 0/ English History, Second Series, vol. iii. p. 49
BALLADS. ig
or on the side of some mountain, where their harpers and crowthers sing them songs
of the doings of their ancestors." Nor is this ballad style of poetry confined to our
side of the Atlantic ; for even the North American savages, when first discovered
by our people, had their rude and warlike songs, in which they sung the praises
of those who had died on the battle-field. And from another independent source
we learn that a like system of national ballads prevailed among the original
inhabitants of Peru.
Doubtless what was true in one country was true more or less in every other ;
as the manners of each people became more refined, their ballads came to embrace
a wider range of subjects. The songs were no longer confined to the rehearsal
of deeds of valour, but began to include all sorts of tales of adventure, wild and
marvellous, and occasionally became the vehicle of sentiment and passion ; and
"no festivity was esteemed complete among our ancestors in the eleventh, twelfth,
and thirteenth centuries which was not set off with the exercise of the minstrel's
talents, who usually sang his ballad to his own or some other harp, and was every-
where received with respect."*
As a higher intellectual taste began to prevail, however, these rude performances
gradually lost their attraction with the upper ranks of society, and the bard's office
fell into desuetude and comparative neglect. " When," writes Dr. Aikin,f " language
became more refined, and poetical taste elevated by an acquaintance with the Greek
and Latin authors, the subjects of the Epic Muse were no longer dressed in the
homely garb of the popular ballad, but assumed the borrowed ornament and stately
air of heroic poetry, and every poetical attempt in the sublime and beautiful Cas'
was an imitation of the classic models. The native poetry of the country was
reserved merely for the humorous and burlesque, and the term ballad was brought
by custom to signify a comic story told in low familiar language, and accompanied
by a droll trivial tunc. It was much used by the wits of the time as a vehicle for
laughable ridicule and mirthful satire, and a great variety of the most pleasing
specimens of this kind of writing is to be found in the witty era of English genius,
which I take to be between the beginning of Charles the Second's reign and the times
of Swift and Prior. Since that period, the genius of the age has chiefly been
characterized by the correct, elegant, and tender ; and a real or affected taste for
beautiful simplicity has almost universally prevailed."
As time went on, these compositions, being quite out of date and fashion, came
naturally to be regarded as objects of curiosity, chiefly on account of the insight which
they afforded as to the manners, customs, and habits of thought which prevailed in
the times to which they related ; while the strokes of nature with which they
abounded, and the artless simplicity and force of their language, excited the admira-
tion of such critics as were not utterly prejudiced in favour of the classical as
contrasted with the romantic school. When therefore they had ceased to be
current in song or recitation, they came to be carefully sought after and treasured by
learned antiquaries, and illustrated by historical notes ; and thus a secondary
importance was attached to them scarcely inferior to that which they possessed when
chanted to the harp of the minstrel. If Sir Walter Scott in his day did good service
in rescuing from oblivion the "minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," it should always
Penny Cyclopedia, vol. iii. p. 325. Essays on Song-Writing, 1770.
20 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
be remembered that it was Bishop Percy from whom he first learned to appreciate
such rhymes.
No doubt by far the greatest portion of the ballads once current and familiar
in this country have perished irrevocably, for very few specimens exist of an earlier
date than the reign of our first Stuart king. Being printed on single sheets, they
would naturally fall chiefly into the hands of the lower orders, who would paste
them not into scrap-books, but on the walls of their cottages. A few of them,
however, were gleaned and stored away in little penny collections known as Garlands,
several specimens of which are to be seen in the Pepys Library at Cambridge.
The earliest ballad now remaining in the English language, if we may accept the
statement of the writer in the Penny Cyclopedia already quoted, is believed to be a
" Cuckow Song " of the latter part of the reign of Henry III, It runs thus :
" Sumer is icumen in,
Lhude sing cuccu ;
Groweth sed and bloweth med,
And spingeth the wde nu.
Sing cuccu.
Awe beteth after lamb,
Llouth after calve cu,
Bulluc sterteth,
Bucke verteth,
Murie sing cuccu.
Cuccu, cuccu,
Wei singes thou, cuccu,
Ne swik thou never nu.
This is simple and pastoral enough ; it means —
" Summer is come in,
Loud sings the cuckoo,
Now the seed grows and the mead blows,
And the wood springs anew.
The ewe bleats after the lamb,
The cow loweth after the calf,
The bullock starts, the buck verts,
Merrily sing cuckoo.
Well singest thou, cuckoo !
Mayest thou never cease now."
The earliest specimen of Scottish song, after the Scotch adopted the English tongue,
is preserved in the Rhyming Chronicle of Andrew Wyntown, Prior of Lochleven,
written, as is generally supposed, about the year 1420, in which he relates the song
made on King Alexander III., who was killed by a fall from his horse in 1286.
The earliest English song, separately printed on a single sheet, is believed to be
one on the downfall of Thomas, Lord Cromwell, a.d. 1540.
The effects of ballad poetry in rousing the warlike passions of the people have been
felt even in the modern prosaic times. The Irish song of " Lillyburlero," mentioned
by Macaulay in his History of England ; the "Marseillaise Song or Hymn;" and
Burns's song, " Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled," are sufficient proofs of the truth
of this assertion.
PREFACE TO THE PRESENT EDITION. 21
The Scotch have got the credit for many of our best ballads, simply because they
were called northern. But by the north country was denoted not only Scotland, or
Northumberland, but all the land north of the Humber. The real fact is, that they
were far more generally English than Scotch ; and for this plain reason. Whilst
Puritanism and Calvinism reigned or rather tyrannized over Scotland, it was not
likely that that land, though in many ways a "meet nurse of a poetic child," would have
produced many ballads ; for we read in Chambers's Domestic Annals of Scotland
(vol. i. p. 394), that under the Regent Morton death was the penalty for printing a
ballad, and that two "poets" were actually hanged in 1579 for making ballads.
Indeed, at one time no licence for a marriage could be issued north of the Tweed,
unless the parties deposited £\o as a pledge that they would not have minstrels to
play at it.
PREFACE TO THE PRESENT EDITION.
The object of the present Edition has been to simplify the Reliques for general read-
ing. It professes to be nothing but a popular edition, popularly arranged, with notes
that simplify and explain without entering into abstruse speculations, which, instead of
enlightening, only increase the difficulties of the ordinary reader, who desires to read
the ballads as a matter of amusement, and of information as to the old metrical
romances, with as little effort as may be.
In order to assist without confusing, a Glossary of the very difficult words has been
made. The words to be found in the Glossary are all printed in italics.
A German told me that when he first came to England, he could read Chaucer
easily long before he could manage modern English, on account 01 many oi the old
words assimilating so closely to the German.
It seems to me, in looking at many of the lootnotes to doubtful words, that this
element is not sufficiently considered ; and therefore in the Glossary I have occasionally
suggested extra meanings founded on the German.
For instance, shecne, used as an adjective, I find shining, and I suggest fine as
agreeing with the German schon, the pronunciation of which through the modified vowel
comes not far off the English shecne. For stiffe and stark (the meaning of the latter
word in some glossaries being given as stiff), I should suggest cruel and strong, from
the German stief, cruel ; stark, strong ; and I find that stark is given in Percy's folio as
strong. Renisht, for which glittering or shining is given, may, I think, come from the
same root as rcnigen, to clean : it would be easy to get renidged or renisht from this ;
and purified, cleansed, made all clean and presentable, appears to be the sense in which
the word renisht stands.
In the " Sturdy Rock," a madrigal set to music, we find the word sliac, now used as
a slang term, meaning "let it pass." It is found in Shakespeare also, and it is curious
that the word which in this sense appears to have been lost to the language, was
revived as a slang term by the Americans — I think the Bostonians, who pride themselves
on the correctness of their English.
There are other words that differ in orthography, but which differ so slightly that it
has not been thought well to burden t'.'ie Glossary with them. Instead 01 this, a
few remarks are offered.
22 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
Many words beginning with z must have the z turned into y, as zour, ze, your, ye.
Z also sometimes stands for gk, in such words as dozter, daughter; fyzt, fight ; ryzt,
right; doz-trough, dough-trough. D and / are almost synonymous; also/ and v.
Indeed, one can perceive in many of the old words the German v, which is equal to our
English/"— -fete, many, German viel, vide. D sometimes answers to th, as Bed mill,
Bethnall : v and u are also used synonymously, give, give ,• loue, love.
With these remarks in view, it will be easy to understand those words that have not .
been considered of sufficient difficulty to add to the Glossary.
The word Editor, in reference to the poems, stands for Bishop Percy himself, the
notes being partially abridged from his notes to the Reliqucs. Some original notes and
remarks have been added.
A long disquisition on the word Termagaunt or Termagant appears in the
Rcliques in conjunction with Mahmoud ; which latter word appears in one or two of
the ballads, and Bishop Percy in his remarks says : "Termagaunt is the name given to
the god of the Saracens, in which he is constantly linked with Mahmoud or Mahomet."
He goes on to say that the word is derived by the editor of Junius from the Anglo-Saxon
Typ, very, and mazan, mighty. But Bishop Percy suggests that the derivation seems
too sublime for the Saracenic deity ; he says : ' ' Perhaps Typ-mazan, or Termagant, has
been a name originally given to some Saxon idol before our ancestors were converted
to Christianity, or had been the peculiar attribute of one of their false deities ; and
therefore the first Christian missionaries rejected it as profane and improper to be
applied to the true God."
In answer to this, we would further suggest that probably Termagant alludes to the
Teutonic Mars. Tyr, Tiw, Zio; why should not the derivation be Tyr, Mars ; Mazan,
Magan, mighty, the mighty Mars?
Grimm says of Tyr Zio: "Represented in the Edda as Odin's son, he may seem inferior
to him in power and moment ; but the two really fall into one, inasmuch as both are
directors of war and battle, and the fame of victory proceeds from each of them alike."*
The old Norse name for Tuesday was Tysdagr, from the god Tyr (gen. Tys), the
Anglo-Saxon Tiwesdcrg. The French Alardi brings us to Dies Martis, and we see in
each the god of war as the patron of the day ; therefore as Termagant or Termagaunte
is always spoken of in connection with battles, may not the derivation be Tyr mazan,
the mighty Tyr, the Mars of the northern nations, the equal in that sense to the god
Wuotan or Odin? E. W.
AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS IN ENGLAND.
I. The Minstrels were an order of men in the Middle Ages, who subsisted by the
arts of poetry and music, and sang to the harp verses composed by themselves or
others. f They also accompanied their songs with mimicry and action ; and
* Grimm's Teutonic Mythology, translated by James Steven Stallybrass, p. 196.
t Wedded to no hypothesis, the author hath readily corrected any mistakes which have been
proved to be in this essay ; and considering the novelty of the subject, arid the time and place
when and where he first took it up, many such had been excusable. The term "minstrel" was
not confined, as some contend, to a mere musician in this country, any more than on the
Continent.
AN ESS A V ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 23
practised such various means of diverting as were much admired in those rude
times, and supplied the want of more refined entertainment. These arts rendered
them extremely popular and acceptable in this and all the neighbouring countries ;
where no high scene of festivity was esteemed complete that was not set off with
the exercise of their talents ; and where, so long as the spirit of chivalry
subsisted, they were protected and caressed, because their songs tended to do
honour to the ruling passion of the times, and to encourage and foment a martial
spirit.
The Minstrels seem to have been the genuine successors of the ancient Bards,
who under different names were admired and revered, from the earliest ages, among
the people of Gaul, Britain, Ireland, and the North ; and indeed by almost all the
first inhabitants of Europe, whether of Celtic or Gothic race ; but by none more
than by our own Teutonic ancestors, particularly by all the Danish tribes. Among
these they were distinguished by the name of Scalds, a word which denotes
" smoothers and polishers of language." The origin of their art was attributed to
Odin or Woden, the father of their gods ; and the professors of it were held in
the highest estimation. Their skill was considered as something divine ; their
persons were deemed sacred ; their attendance was solicited by kings ; and they
were everywhere loaded with honours and rewards. In short, poets and their
art were held among them in that rude admiration which is ever shown by an
ignorant people to such as excel them in intellectual accomplishments.
As these honours were paid to Poetry and Song from the earliest times in those
countries which our Anglo-Saxon ancestors inhabited before their removal into
Britain, we may reasonably conclude that they would not lay aside all their regard
for men of this sort on quitting their German forests. At least so long as they
retained their ancient manners and opinions, they would still hold them in high
estimation. But as the Saxons, soon after their establishment in this island, were
converted to Christianity ; in proportion as literature prevailed among them, this
rude admiration would begin to abate, and poetry would be no longer a peculiar
profession. Thus the Poet and the Minstrel early with us became two persons.
Poetry was cultivated by men of letters indiscriminately, and many of the most
popular rhymes were composed amidst the leisure and retirement of monasteries.
But the Minstrels continued a distinct order of men for many ages after the Norman
Conquest, and got their livelihood by singing verses to the harp at the houses of the
great. There they were still hospitably and respectfully received, and retained many
of the honours shown to their predecessors the Bards and Scalds. And though,
as their art declined, many of them only recited the compositions of others,
some of them still composed songs themselves, and all of them could probably
invent a few stanzas on occasion. I have no doubt but most of the old heroic
ballads in this collection were composed by this order of men. For although some
of the larger metrical romances might come from the pen of the monks or others,
yet the smaller narratives were probably composed by the Minstrels who sang them.
From the amazing variations which occur in different copies of the old pieces, it is
evident they made no scruple to alter each other's productions ; and the reciter
added or omitted whole stanzas according to his own fancy or convenience.
In the early ages, as hinted above, the profession of oral itinerant poet was held
in the utmost reverence among all the Danish tribes ; and therefore we might
24 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH FOE TR Y.
have concluded that it was not unknown or unrespected among their Saxon brethren
in Britain, even if history had been altogether silent on this subject. The original
country of our Anglo-Saxon ancestors is well known to have lain chiefly in the
tracts of land since distinguished by the name of Jutland, Angelen, and Holstein.
The Jutes and Angles in particular, who composed two-thirds of the conquerors of
Britain, were a Danish people, and their country at this day belongs to the crown
of Denmark; so that when the Danes again invested England, three or four hundred
years after, they made war on the descendants of their own ancestors. From this
near affinity we might expect to discover a strong resemblance between both
nations in their customs, manners, and even language ; and, in fact, we find them
to differ no more than would naturally happen between a parent country and its own
colonies, that had been severed in a rude uncivilised state, and had dropt all
intercourse for three or four centuries : especially if we reflect that the colony here
settled had adopted a new religion, extremely opposite in all respects to the ancient
Paganism of the mother country ; and that even at first, along with the original
Angli, had been incorporated a large mixture of Saxons from the neighbouring parts
of Germany ; and afterwards, among the Danish invaders, had come vast multitudes
of adventurers from the more northern parts of Scandinavia. But all these were only
different tribes of the same common Teutonic stock, and spoke only different
dialects of the same Gothic language.
From this sameness of original and similarity of manners, we might justly have
wondered if a character so dignified and distinguished among the ancient Danes as
the Scald or Bard had been totally unknown or unregarded in his sister nation.
And indeed this argument is so strong, and at the same time the early annals of the
Anglo-Saxons are so scanty and defective, that no objections from their silence could
be sufficient to overthrow it. For if these popular bards were confessedly revered
and admired in those very countries which the Anglo-Saxons inhabited before their
removal into Britain, and if they were afterwards common and numerous among
the other descendants of the same Teutonic ancestors, can we do otherwise than
conclude that men of this order accompanied such tribes as migrated hither ; that^
they afterwards subsisted here, though perhaps with less splendour than in the
North ; and that there never was wanting a succession of them to hand down the
art, though some particular conjunctures may have rendered it more respectable at
one time than another? And this was evidently the case. For though much
greater honours seem to have been heaped upon the northern Scalds, in whom
the characters of historian, genealogist, poet, and musician were all united, than
appear to have been paid to the Minstrels and Harpers of the Anglo-Saxons,
whose talents were chiefly calculated to entertain and divert ; while the Scalds
professed to inform and instruct, and were at once the moralists and theologues of
their Pagan countrymen ; yet the Anglo-Saxon Minstrels continued to possess no
small portion of public favour ; and the arts they professed were so extremely
acceptable to our ancestors, that the word Glee, which peculiarly denoted their art,
continues still in our own language to be of all others the most expressive of that
popular mirth and jollity, that strong sensation of delight, which is felt by unpolished
and simple minds.
II. Having premised these general considerations, I shall now proceed to collect
from history such particular incidents as occur on this subject ; and, whether the
AN ESS A Y ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 25
facts themselves are true or not, they are related by authors who lived too near
the Saxon times, and had before them too many recent monuments of the Anglo-
Saxon nation, not to know what was conformable to the genius and manners of that
people ; and therefore we may presume that their relations prove at least the
existence of the customs and habits they attribute to our forefathers before the
Conquest, whatever becomes of the particular incidents and events themselves. If
this be admitted, we shall not want sufficient proofs to show that Minstrelsy and
Song were not extinct among the Anglo-Saxons ; and that the professor of them
here, if not quite so respected a personage as the Danish Scald, was yet highly
favoured and protected, and continued still to enjoy considerable privileges.
Even so early as the first invasion of Britain by the Saxons, an incident is recorded
which, if true, shows that the Minstrel or Bard was not unknown among this
people ; and that their princes themselves could, upon occasion, assume that
character. Colgrin, son of that Ella who was elected king or leader of the Saxons
in the room of Hengist, was shut up in York, and closely besieged by Arthur and
his Britons. Baldulph, brother of Colgrin, wanted to gain access to him, and to
apprise him of a reinforcement which was coming from Germany. He had no
other way to accomplish his design, but to assume the character of a Minstrel.
He therefore shaved his head and beard, and, dressing himself in the habit of that
profession, took his harp in his hand. In this disguise he walked up and down
the trenches without suspicion, playing all the while upon his instrument as a
Harper. By little and little he advanced near to the walls of the city, and, making
himself known to the sentinels, was in the night drawn up by a rope.
Although the above fact comes only from the suspicious pen of Geoffry of Mon
mouth, the judicious reader will not too hastily reject it ; because, if such a fact
really happened, it could only be known to us through the medium of the British
writers ; for the first Saxons, a martial but unlettered people, had no historians of
their own ; and Geoffry, with all his fables, is allowed to have recorded many true
events that have escaped other annalists.
We do not, however, want instances of a less fabulous era and more indubitable
authority ; for later History affords us two remarkable facts which I think clearly
show that the same arts of poetry and song, which were so much admired among the
Danes, were by no means unknown or neglected in this sister nation ; and that the
privileges and honours which were so lavishly bestowed upon the northern Scalds,
were not wholly withheld from the Anglo-Saxon Minstrels.
Our great King Alfred, who is expressly said to have excelled in music, being
desirous to learn the true situation oi the Danish army, which had invaded his realm,
assumed the dress and character of a Minstrel, when, taking his harp and one of the
most trusty of his friends disguised as a servant (for in the early times it was not
unusual for a Minstrel to have a servant to carry his harp), he went with the utmost
security into the Danish camp ; and, though he could not but be known to be a
Saxon by his dialect, the character he had assumed procured him a hospitable
reception. He was admitted to entertain the king at table, and stayed among them
long enough to contrive that assault which afterwards destroyed them. This was
in the year 878.
About sixty years after, a Danish king made use of the same disguise to explore
the camp of our king Athelstan. With his harp in his hand, and dressed like a
26 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH rOETRY.
Minstrel, Anlaff, or rather Aulaff, king of the Danes, went among the Saxon tents,
and, taking his stand near the king's pavilion, began to play, and was immediately
admitted. There he entertained Athelstan and his lords with his singing and his
music, and was at length dismissed with an honourable reward, though his songs must
have discovered him to have been a Dane. Athelstan was saved from the consequences
of this stratagem by a soldier, who had observed Aulaff bury the money which had
been given him, either from some scruple of honour or motive of superstition. This
occasioned a discovery.
Now if the Saxons had not been accustomed to have Minstrels of their own, Alfred's
assuming so new and unusual a character would have excited suspicions among the
Danes. On the other hand, if it had not been customary with the Saxons to show
favour and respect to the Danish Scalds, Aulaff would not have ventured himself
among them, especially on the eve of a battle. From the uniform procedure then of
both these kings, we may fairly conclude that the same mode of entertainment pre-
vailed among both people, and that the Minstrel was a privileged character with each.
But, if these facts had never existed, it can be proved from undoubted records,
that the Minstrel was a regular and stated officer in the court of our Anglo-Saxon
kings : for in Domesday Book, yoculator Regis, the king's Minstrel, is expressl)
mentioned in Gloucestershire ; in which county it should seem that he had lands
assigned him for his maintenance.
III. We have now brought the inquiry down to the Norman Conquest ; and as the
Normans had been a late colony from Norway and Denmark, where the Scalds had
arrived at the highest pitch of credit before Rollo's expedition into France, we cannot
doubt but this adventurer, like the other northern princes, had many of these men
in his train, who settled with him in his new Duchy of Normandy, and left behind
them successors in their art ; so that when his descendant, William the Conqueror,
invaded this kingdom in the following century, that mode of entertainment could not
but be still familiar with the Normans. And that this is not mere conjecture will
appear from a remarkable fact, which shows that the arts of Poetry and Song were
still as reputable among the Normans in France as they had been among their"
ancestors in the North ; and that the profession of Minstrel, like that of Scald, was
still aspired to by the most gallant soldiers. In William's army was a valiant warrior
named Taillefer, who was distinguished no less for the minstrel arts than for his
courage and intrepidity. This man asked leave of his commander to begin the
onset, and obtained it. He accordingly advanced before the army, and with a loud
voice animated his countrymen with songs in praise of Charlemagne and Roland, and
other heroes of France ; then rushing among the thickest of the English, and valiantly
fighting, lost his life.
Indeed, the Normans were so early distinguished for their minstrel talents, that Le
Grand, the author of the History of the Troubadours, refers to them the origin of all
modern poetry, and shows that they were celebrated for their songs near a century
before the Troubadours of Provence, who are supposed to have led the way to the
Poets of Italy, France, and Spain.
We see then that the Norman Conquest was rather likely to favour the establish-
ment of the Minstrel profession in this kingdom than to suppress it ; and although
the favour of the Norman conquerors would be probably confined to such of their
own countrymen as excelled in the Minstrel arts, and in the first ages after the Con-
AN ESS A Y ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 27
quest no other songs would be listened to by the great nobility but such as were
composed in their own Norman-French, yet as the great mass of the original in-
habitants were not extirpated, these could only understand their own native Gleemcn
or Minstrels, who must still be allowed to exist, unless it can be proved that they
were all proscribed and massacred, as it is said the Welsh Bards were afterwards by
the severe policy of King Edward I. But this we know was not the case ; and even
the cruel attempts of that monarch, as we shall see below, proved ineffectual.
The honours shown to the Norman or French Minstrels, by our princes and great
barons, would naturally have been imitated by their English vassals and tenants,
even if no favour or distinction had ever been shown here to the same order of men
in the Anglo-Saxon and Danish reigns. So that we cannot doubt but the English
Harper and Songster would, at least in a subordinate degree, enjoy the same kind of
honours, and be received, with similar respect among the inferior English gentry
and populace. I must be allowed therefore to consider them as belonging to the
same community, as subordinate members at least of the same College ; and there-
fore, in gleaning the scanty materials for this slight history, I shall collect whatever
Vicidents I can find relating to Minstrels and their art, and arrange them, as they
occur in our own annals, without distinction ; as it will not always be easy to ascertain,
from the slight mention of them by our regular historians, whether the artists were
Norman or English. For it need not be remarked that subjects of this trivial nature
are but incidentally mentioned by our ancient annalists, and were fastidiously rejected
by other grave and serious writers ; so that, unless they were accidentally connected
with such events as became recorded in history, they would pass unnoticed through
the lapse of ages, and be as unknown to posterity as other topics relating to the
private life and amusements of the greatest nations.
On this account it can hardly be expected that we should be able to produce regular
and unbroken annals of the Minstrel art and its professors, or have sufficient informa-
tion whether every Minstrel or Harper composed himself, or only repeated, the songs
he chanted. Some probably did the one, and some the other ; and it would have
been wonderful indeed, if men whose peculiar profession it was, and who devoted their
time and talents to entertain their hearers with poetical compositions, were peculiarly
deprived of all poetical genius themselves, and had been under a physical incapacity
of composing those common popular rhymes which were the usual subjects of their
recitation. Whoever examines any considerable quantity of these, finds them in style
and colouring as different from the elaborate production of the sedentary composer at
his desk or in his cell, as the rambling Harper or Minstrel was remote in his modes of
life and habits of thinking from the retired scholar or the solitary monk.
It is well known that on the Continent, whence our Norman nobles came, the Bard
who composed, the Harper who played and sang, and even the Dancer and the
Mimic, were all considered as of one community, and were even all included under
the common name of Minstrels. I must therefore be allowed the same application of
the term here, without being expected to prove that every singer composed, or every
composer chanted, his own song ; much less that every one excelled in all the arts
which were occasionally exercised by some or other of this fraternity.
IV. After the Norman Conquest, the first occurrence which I have met with relating
to this order of men is the founding of a priory and hospital by one of them — scil. the
Priory and Hospital of St. Bartholomew, in Smithfield, London, by Royer or Raherus,
28 RELIQ UES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POE TR Y.
the king's Minstrel, in the third year of Henry I., A.D. 1102. He was the first Prior
of his own establishment, and presided over it to the time of his death.
In the reign of Henry II., we have upon record the name of Galfrid or Jeffrey, a
Harper, who in 1180 received an annuity from the Abbey of Hyde, near Winchester ;
and, as in the early times every Harper was expected to sing, we cannot doubt but
this reward was given to him for his music and his songs ; which, if they were for the
solace of the monks there, we may conclude would be in the English language.
Under his romantic son, Richard I., the Minstrel profession seems to have acquired
additional splendour. Richard, who was the great hero of chivalry, was also the dis-
tinguished patron of Poets and Minstrels. He was himself of their number, and some
of his poems are still extant. * They were no less patronized by his favourites and
chief officers. His Chancellor, William, Bishop of Ely, is expressly mentioned to have
invited Singers and Minstrels from France, whom he loaded with rewards ; and they
in return celebrated him as the most accomplished person in the world. This high
distinction and regard, although confined perhaps in the first instance to Poets and
Songsters of the French nation, must have had a tendency to do honour to Poetry and
Song among all his subjects, and to encourage the cultivation of these arts among
the natives ; as the indulgent favour shown by the monarch or his great courtiers to
the Provencal Troubadour, or Norman Rymour, would naturally be imitated by their
inferior vassals to the English Gleeman or Minstrel. At more than a century after
the Conquest, the national distinctions must have begun to decline, and both the
Norman and English languages would be heard in the houses of the great ; so that
probably about this era, or soon after, we are to date that remarkable intercommunity
and exchange of each other's compositions, which we discover to have taken place at
some early period between the French and English Minstrels ; the same set of phrases,
the same species of characters, incidents, and adventures, and often the same identical
stories, being found in the old metrical romances of both nations.
The distinguished service which Richard received from one of his own Minstrels, in,
rescuing him from his cruel and tedious captivity, is a remarkable fact, which ought
to be recorded for the honour of Poets and their art. This fact I shall relate in the
following words of an ancient writer.f Mons. Favine : —
"The Englishmen were more than a whole yeare without hearing any tydings of
their king, or in what place he was kept prisoner. He had trained up in his court a
Rimer or Minstrill, called Blondell de Nesle : who (so saith the Manuscript of old
Poesies, J and an auncient Manuscript French Chronicle) being so long without the
sight of his lord, his life seemed wearisome to him, and he became confounded with
melancholly. Knowne it was, that he came backe from the Holy Land ; but none
could tell in what countrey he arrived. Whereupon this Blondel, resolving to make
* See a pathetic song of his in Mr. Walpole's Catalogue of Royal Authors, vol. i. p. 5.
The reader will find a translation of it into modern French in Hist. Litteraire des Troubadours,
1774, 3 torn. i2mo. See vol. i. p. 58, where some more of Richard's poetry is translated. In
Dr. Eurney's History of Music, vol. ii. p. 238, is a poetical version of it in English.
\Theatre of Honour and Knighthood, translated from the French, London 1623. An
elegant relation of the same event (from the French of President Fauchet's Recueil, etc.) may
be seen in Miscellanies in Prose and Verse, by Anna Williams, London 1766, 4to.
t This the author calls in another place, "An ancient MS. of old Poesies, written about those
very times."
AN ESS A Y ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS.
29
search for him in many countries, but he would heare some newes of him ; after expence
of divers dayes in travaile, he came to a towne (by good hap) neere to the castell where
his maister King Richard was kept. Of his host he demanded to whom the castell
appertained, and the host told him that it belonged to the Duke of Austria. Then
he enquired whether there were any prisoners therein detained or no : for alwayes he
made such secret questionings wheresoever he came. And the hoste gave answer,
there was one onely prisoner, but he knew not what he was, and yet he had bin
detained there more then the space of a yeare. When Blondel heard this, he wrought
such meanes, that he became acquainted with them of the castell, as Minstrels doe
easily win acquaintance anywhere : but see the king he could not, neither understand
that it was he. One day he sat directly before a window of the castell, where King
Richard was kept prisoner, and began to sing a song in French, which King Richard
and Blondel had some time composed together. When King Richard heard the song,
he knew it was Blondel that sung it : and when Blondel paused at halfe of the song,
the king 'began the other half and completed it.' Thus Blondel won knowledge
of the king his maister, and returning home into England, made the barons of the
countrie acquainted where the king was." This happened about the year 1193.
The following old Provencal lines are given as the very original song, which I
shall accompany with an imitation offered by Dr. Burney : —
BLONDEL.
Domna vostra beutas
Elas bellas faissos
Els bels oils amoros
Els gens cors ben taillats
Don sieu empresenats
De vostra amor que mi Ha.
Si bel trop affansia
Ja de vos non portrai
Que major honorai
Sol en votre deman
Que sautra des beisan
Tot can de vos volria.
RICHARD.
Your beauty, lady fair,
None views without delight ;
But still so cold an air
No passion can excite ;
Yet this I patient see
While all are shunn'd like me.
No nymph my heart can wound
If favour she dhide,
And smiles on all around
Unwilling to decide :
I'd rather hatred bear
Than love with others share.
The access which Blondel so readily obtained in the privileged character of a
Minstrel, is not the only instance upon record of the same nature. In this very reign
of King Richard I. the young heiress of D'Evreux, Earl of Salisbury, had been carried
abroad and secreted by her French relations in Normandy. To discover the place of
her concealment, a knight of the Talbot family spent two years in exploring that
province, at first under the disguise of a Pilgrim ; till having found where she was
confined, in order to gain admittance he assumed the dress and character of a Harper,
and being a jocose person exceedingly skilled in '* the Gesta of the ancients ; " so they
called the romances and stories, which were the delight of that age ; he was gladly
received into the family. Whence he took an opportunity to carry off the young
lady, whom he presented to the king ; and he bestowed her on his natural brother
William Longespee (son of fair Rosamond), who became in her right Earl ol
Salisbury,
o
6 . RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
The next memorable event which I find in history reflects credit on the English
Minstrels ; and this was their contributing to the rescue of one of the great Earls of-
Chester, when besieged by the Welsh. This happened in the reign of King John,
and is related to this effect : —
"Hugh, the first Earl of Chester, in his charter of foundation of St. Werburg's
Abbey in that city, had granted such a privilege to those who should come to Chester
fair, that they should not be then apprehended for theft or any other misdemeanour,
except the crime were committed during the fair. This special protection occasion-
ing a multitude of loose people to resort to that fair, was afterwards of signal benefit
to one of his successors. For Ranulph, the last Earl of Chester, marching into Wales
with a slender attendance, was constrained to retire to his Castle of Rothelan (or
Rhuydland), to which the Welsh forthwith laid siege. In this distress he sent for
help to the Lord De Lacy, Constable of Chester, ' who, making use of the Minstrels
of all sorts, then met at Chester fair ; by the allurement of their music, got together a
vast number of such loose people as, by reason of the before-specified privilege, were
then in that city ; whom he forthwith sent under the conduct of Dutton (his steward),'
a gallant youth, who was also his son-in-law. The W T elsh, alarmed at the approach
of this rabble, supposing them to be a regular body of armed and disciplined
veterans, instantly raised the siege and retired."
For this good service, Ranulph is said to have granted to De Lacy, by charter, the
patronage and authority over the Minstrels and the loose and inferior people, who,
retaining to himself that of the lower artificers, conferred on Dutton the jurisdiction
of the Minstrels ; and under the descendants of this family the Minstrels enjoyed
certain privileges, and protection for many ages. For even so late as the reign of
Elizabeth, when this profession had fallen into such discredit that it was considered
in law as a nuisance, the Minstrels under the jurisdiction of the family of Dutton are
expressly excepted out of all Acts of Parliament made for their suppression, and
continued to be so excepted down to the reign of George III.
The ceremonies attending the exercise of this jurisdiction are thus described by
Dugdale, as handed down to his time, viz. : "That at Midsummer fair there, all the
Minstrels of that countrey resorting to Chester do attend the heir of Dutton, from his
lodging to St. John's Church (he being then accompanied by many gentlemen of the
countrey), one of ' the Minstrels ' walking before him in a surcoat of his arms depicted
on taffata ; the rest of his fellows proceeding (two and two) and playing on their
several sorts of musical instruments. And after Divine service ended, give the like
attendance on him back to his lodging ; where a court being kept by his [Mr,
Dutton's] steward, and all the Minstrels formally called, certain orders and laws are
usually made for the better government of that society, with penalties on those who
transgress." In the same reign of John we have a remarkable instance of a Minstrel,
who to his other talents superadded the character of Soothsayer, and by his skill in
drugs and medicated potions was able to rescue a knight from imprisonment. This
occurs in Leland's Narrative of the Gesta of Guarine (or Warren) and Ms Sous, which
he "excerptid owte of an old Englisch boke yn ryme, " and is as follows : —
Whitington Castle in Shropshire, which, together with the co-heiress of the original
proprietor, had been won in a solemn tournament by the ancestor of the Guarines,
had in the reign of John been seized by the Prince of Wales, and was afterwards
possessed by Morice, a retainer of that prince, to whom the king, out of hatred to the
AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 3!
true heir Fulco Guarine (with whom he had formerly had a quarrel at chess), not
only confirmed the possession, but also made him governor of the marches, of which
Fulco himself had the custody in the time of King Richard. The Guarines demanded
justice of the king, but obtaining no gracious answer, renounced their allegiance and
fled into Bretagne. Returning into England, after various conflicts, " Fulco resortid
to one John of Raumpayne, a Soothsayer and Jocular and Minstrelle, and mnde hym
his spy to Morice at Whitington." The privileges of this character we have already
seen, and John so well availed himself of them, that in consequence of the intelli-
gence which he doubtless procured, " Fulco and his brethrene laide waite for Morice,
as he went toward Salesbyri, and Fulco ther woundid hym, and Bracy," a knight,
who was their friend and assistant, "cut off Moricef's] hedde." This Sir Bracy being
in a subsequent rencounter sore wounded, was taken and brought to King John, from
whose vengeance he was however rescued by this notable Minstrel; for "John
Rampayne founde the meanes to cast them that kepte Bracy into a deadely slepe, and
so he and Bracy cam to Fulco to Whitington," which on the death of Morice had
fceen restored to him by the Prince of Wales. As no further mention occurs of the
Minstrel, I might here conclude this narrative, but I shall just add, that Fulco was
obliged to flee into France, where, assuming the name of Sir Amice, he distinguished
himself in jousts and tournaments ; and, after various romantic adventures by sea and
land, having in the true style of chivalry rescued "certayne ladies owt of prison," he
finally obtained the king's pardon, and the quiet possession of Whitington Castle.
In the reign of Henry III., we have mention of Master Richard the king's
Harper, to whom in his 36th year (1252) that monarch gave not only forty shillings
and a pipe of wine, but also a pipe of wine to Beatrice his wife. The title of
Magistcr, or Master, given to this Minstrel, deserves notice, and shows his respectable
situation.
V. The Harper, or Minstrel, was so necessary an attendant on a royal personage,
that Prince Edward (afterwards Edward I.) in his Crusade to the Holy Land, in
1271, was not without his Harper, who must have been officially very near his person ;
as we are told by a contemporary historian, that, in the attempt to assassinate that
heroic prince, when he had wrested the poisoned knife out of the Saracen's hand, and
killed him with his own weapon, the attendants, who had stood apart while he was
whispering to their master, hearing the struggle, ran to his assistance, and one of
them, to wit his Harper, seizing a tripod or trestle, struck the assassin on the head
and beat out his brains. And though the prince blamed him for striking the man
after he was dead, yet his near access shows the respectable situation of this officer,
and his affectionate zeal should have induced Edward to entreat his brethren the
Welsh Bards afterwards with more lenity.
Whatever was the extent of this great monarch's severity towards the professors of
Music and of Song in Wales ; whether the executing by martial law such of them as
fell into his hands was only during the heat of conflict, or was continued afterwards
with more systematic rigour ; yet in his own court the Minstrels appear to have been
highly favoured : for when, in 1306, he conferred the order of knighthood on his son
and many others of the young nobility, a multitude of Minstrels were introduced to
invite and induce the new knights to make some military vow.
Under Edward II., such extensive privileges were claimed by these men, and by
dissolute persons assuming their character, that it became a matter of public grievance,
32 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
and was reformed by an express regulation in A.D. 1315. Notwithstanding which, an
incident is recorded in the ensuing year, which shows that Minstrels still retained the
liberty of entering at will into the royal presence, and had something peculiarly splendid
in their dress. It is thus related by Stow : —
"In the year 1316, Edward II. did solemnize his feast of Pentecost at Westminster,
in the great hall : where sitting royally at the table with his peers about him, there
entered a woman adorned like a Minstrel, sitting on a great horse trapped, as Minstrels
then used ; who rode round about the tables, showing pastime ; and at length came
up to the king's table, and laid before him a letter, and forthwith turning her horse
saluted every one and departed." The subject of this letter was a remonstrance to the
king on the favours heaped by him on his minions, to the neglect of his knights and
faithful servants.
The privileged character of a Minstrel was employed on this occasion, as sure of
gaining an easy admittance ; and a female the rather deputed to assume it, that, in
case of detection, her sex might disarm the king's resentment. This is offered on a
supposition that she was not a real Minstrel ; for there should seem to have been
women of this profession, as well as of the other sex ; and no accomplishment is so
constantly attributed to females, by our ancient Bards, as their singing to, and playing
on, the harp.
In the fourth year of Richard II., John of Gaunt erected at Tutbury in Staffordshire,
a Court of Minstrels, similar to that annually kept at Chester, and which, like a Court-
Leet or Court Baron, had a legal jurisdiction, with full power to receive suit and
service from the men of this profession within five neighbouring counties, to enact laws,
and determine their controversies ; and to apprehend and arrest such of them as
should refuse to appear at the said court annually held on the 16th of August. For
this they had a charter, by which they were empowered to appoint a king of the
Minstrels with four officers to preside over them. These were every year elected with
great ceremony ; the whole form of which, as observed in 1680, is described by Dr.
Plot in his History of Staffordshire : in whose time, however, they appear to have lost
their singing talents, and to have confined ail tneir skill to "wind and string music."
The Minstrels seem to have been in many respects upon the same footing as the
Heralds : and the king of the Minstrels, like the King-at-Arms, was both here and on
the Continent an usual officer in the courts of princes. Thus we have in the reign of
King Edward I., mention of a King Robert, and others. And in 16 Edward II., is
a grant to William de Morlee, " the king's Minstrel, styled Roy de North," of houses
which had belonged to another king, John le Boteler. Rymer hath also printed a
licence granted by Richard II., in 1387, to John Caumz, the king of his Minstrels, to
pass the seas, recommending him to the protection and kind treatment of all his
subjects and allies.
In the subsequent reign Henry IV., we meet with no particulars relating to the
Minstrels in England, but we find in the statute book a severe law passed against
their brethren the Welsh Bards, whom our ancestors could not distinguish from their
own Rimours Ministralx ; for by these names they describe them. This Act plainly
shows, that far from being extirpated by the rigorous policy of Edward I., this order
of men were still able to alarm the English Government, which attributed to them
"many diseases and mischiefs in Wales," and prohibited their meetings and contri-
butions.
AN ESS A Y ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 33
When his heroic son Henry V. was preparing his great voyage for France, in 1415,
an express order was given for his Minstrels, fifteen in number, to attend him : and
eighteen are afterwards mentioned, to each of whom he allowed i2d. a day, w hen
that sum must have been of more than ten times the value it is at present. Yet when
he entered London in triumph after the battle of Agincourt, he, from a principle of
humility, slighted the pageants and verses which were prepared to hail his return ; and
as we are told by Holingshed, would not suffer "any Dities to be made and song by
Minstrels, of his glorious victorie ; for that he would whollie have the praise and
thankes altogether given to God." But this did not proceed from any disregard for the
professors of Music or of Song ; for at the feast of Pentecost, which he celebrated in
1416, having the Emperor and the Duke of Holland for his guests, he ordered rich
gowns for sixteen of his Minstrels, of which the particulars are preserved by Rymer.
And having before his death orally granted an annuity of 100 shillings to each of his
Minstrels, the grant was confirmed by his son Henry VI., in A.D. 1423, and payment
ordered out of the Exchequer.*
The unfortunate reign of Henry VI. affords no occurrences respecting our subject ;
but in his thirty-fourth year, A.D. 1456, we have in Rymer a commission for impressing
boys or youths, to supply vacancies by death among the king's Minstrels : in which it
is expressly directed that they shall be elegant in their limbs, as well as instructed in
the Minstrel art, wherever they can be found, for the solace of his Majesty.
In the ninth year of Edward IV. (1469), upon a complaint that certain rude husbandmen
and artificers of various trades had assumed the title and livery of the king's Minstrels,
and under that colour and pretence had collected money in divers parts of the kingdom,
and committed other disorders, the king grants to Walter Haliday, marshal, and to
seven others his own Minstrels whom he names, a charter, by which he creates, or
rather restores, a fraternity or perpetual gild (such as, he understands, the brothers
and sisters of the fraternity of Minstrels had in times past), to be governed by a
marshal appointed for life, and by two wardens to be chosen annually ; who are em-
powered to admit brothers and sisters into the said gild, and are authorized to
examine the pretensions of all such as affected to exercise the Minstrel profession ;
and to regulate, govern, and punish them throughout the realm (those of Chester
excepted). This seems to have some resemblance to the Earl Marshal's Court among
the Heralds, and is another proof of the great affinity and resemblance which the
Minstrels bore to the members of the College of Arms.
It is remarkable that Walter Haliday, whose name occurs as marshal in the fore-
going charter, had been retained in the service of the two preceding monarchs, Henry
V. and VI. Nor is this the first time he is mentioned as marshal of the king's
Minstrels, for in the third year of this reign, 1464, he had a grant from Edward cf
£0 marks per annum during life, directed to him with that title.
But besides their marshal we have also in this reign mention of a Serjeant of tl e
Minstrels, who upon a particular occasion was able to do his royal master a singular
service, wherein his confidential situation and ready access to the king at all hours is
very apparent : for "as he [Edward IV.] was in the north contray in the monneth of
Septembre, as he lay in his bedde, one namid Alexander Carlile, that was sariaunt of
the MynstreUis, cam to him in grete hast, and badde hym aryse for he hadde enemyes
* Rymer, torn. x. 207. 'JL'ncy aic ,..„h.j..cj uy name, being ten in number one of them was
name J T icmas Chatterton.
C
34 RELIQ UES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH FOE TR V.
cummyng for to take him, the which were within vi. or vii. mylis, of the which tydinges
the king gretely marveylid," etc. This happened in the same year, 1469., wherein the
king granted or confirmed the charter for the fraternity or gild above mentioned ; yet
this Alexander Carlile is not one of the eight Minstrels to whom that charter is directed.
The same charter was renewed by Henry VIII., in 1520, to John Gilman, his then
marshal, and to seven others his Minstrels : and on the death of Gilman, he granted
in 1529 this office of marshal of his Minstrels to Hugh Wodehouse, whom I take to
have borne the office of his Serjeant over them.
VI. In all the establishments of royal and noble households, we find an ample
provision made for the Minstrels ; and their situation to have been both honourable
and lucrative. In proof of this it is sufficient to refer to the household book of the
Earl of Northumberland, A.D. 1512. And the rewards they received so frequently
recur in ancient writers, that it is unnecessary to crowd the page with them here.
The name of Minstrel seems, however, to have been gradually appropriated to the
musician only, especially in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries ; yet we occasionally
meet with applications of the term in its more enlarged meaning, as including the
singer, if not the composer, of heroic or popular rhymes.
In the time of Henry VIII. we find it to have been a common entertainment to
hear verses recited, or moral speeches learned for that purpose, by a set of men who
got their livelihood by repeating them, and who intruded without ceremony into all
companies, not only in taverns, but in the houses of the nobility themselves. This
we learn from Erasmus, whose argument led him only to describe a species of these
men who did not sing their compositions ; but the others that did, enjoyed, without
doubt, the same privileges.
For even long after, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, it was usual ' ' in places of
assembly " for the company to be "desirous to heare of old adventures and valiaunces
of noble knights in times past, as those of King Arthur and his knights of the round
table, Sir Bevys of Southampton, Guy of Warwicke and others like," in "short and
long meters, and by breaches or divisions \sc. Fits or Fyttes], to be more commodi-
ously sung to the harpe," as the reader may be informed, by a courtly writer, in 1589.
Who himself had "written for pleasure a little brief romance or historical ditty . . .
of the isle of Great Britaine " in order to contribute to such entertainment. And he
subjoins this caution : "Such as have not premonition hereof" (viz. that his poem was
written in short metre, etc., to be sung to the harpe in such places of assembly) "and
consideration of the causes alledged, would peradventure reprove and disgrace every
romance, or short historicall ditty, for that they be not written in long meeters or verses
Alexandrins," which constituted the prevailing versification among the Poets of that
age, and which no one now can endure to read.
And that the recital of such romances sung to the harp was at that time the delight
of the common peopls, we are told by the same writer, who mentions that ' ' common
Rimers " were fond of using rhymes at short distances, " in small and popular Musickes
song by these Cantabanqui" [the said common Rimers] "upon benches and barrels'
heads," etc., "or else by blind Harpers or such like taverne Minstrels that give a Fit
of mirth for a groat ; and their matter being for the most part stories of old time, as
the tale of Sir Topas, the reportes of Be*is of Southampton, Guy of Warwicke,
Adam Bell, and Clymme of the Clough, and such other old romances, or historicall
rimes," etc., "also they be used in carols and rounds, and such light or lascivious
AN ESSA Y ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 35
poemes, which are commonly more commodiously uttered by these buffons, or vices
in playes, than by any other person. Such were the rimes of Skelton (usurping the
name of a Poet Laureat), being in deede but a rude railing rimer, and all his doings
ridiculous. "
But although we find here that the Minstrels had lost much of their dignity, and
were sinking into contempt and neglect : yet that they still sustained a character far
superior to anything we can conceive at present of the singers of old ballads, I think,
may be inferred from the following representation.
When Queen Elizabeth was entertained at Kenilworth * Castle by the Earl of
Leicester in 1575, among the many devices and pageants which were contrived for
her entertainment, one of the personages introduced was to have been that of an
ancient Minstrel ; whose appearance and dress are so minutely described by a writer
there present, and gives us so distinct an idea of the character, that I shall quote the
passage at large : —
' ' A person very meet seemed he for the purpose, of a xlv. years old, apparelled
partly as he would himself. His cap off, his head seemly rounded Tonsterwise, fair
kembed, that with a sponge daintily dipt in a little capon's greace was finely
smoothed, to make it shine like a mallard's wing. His beard smugly shaven, and
yet his shirt after the new trink, with ruffs fair starched, sleeked and glistering like a
pair of new shoes, marshalled in good order with a setting stick, and strut, that
every ruff stood up like a wafer. A side [i.e. long] gown of Kendal green, after the
freshness of the year now, gathered at the neck with a narrow gorget, fastened afore
with a white clasp and a keeper close up to the chin, but easily, for heat to undo when
he list. Seemly begirt in a red caddis girdle, from that a pair of capped Sheffield
knives hanging a' two sides. Out of his bosom drawn forth a lappet of his napkin,
edged with a blue lace, and marked with a true love, a heart, and a D for Damian,
for he was but a batchelor yet.
"His gown had side [i.e. long] sleeves down to mid-leg, slit from the shoulder to
the hand, and lined with white cotton. His doublet-sleeves of black worsted, upon
them a pair of poynets of tawny chamlet laced along the wrist with blue threaden
points, a wealt towards the hand of fustian-a-napes. A pair of red neather stocks.
A pair of pumps on his feet, with a cross cut at the toes for corns : not new indeed,
yet cleanly blackt with soot, and shining as a shoing horn.
"About his neck a red ribband suitable to his girdle. His harp in good grace
dependent before him. His wrest tyed to a green lace and hanging by. Under the
gorget of his gown a fair flaggon chain (pewter, for) silver, as a Squire Minstrel of
Middlesex, that travelled the country this summer season, unto fairs and worshipful
men's houses. From his chain hung a scutcheon, with metal and colour, resplendant
upon his breast, of the ancient arms of Islington."
This Minstrel is described as belonging to that village. I suppose such as were
retained by noble families wore the arms of their patrons hanging down by a silver
chain as a kind of badge. f From the expression of Squire Minstrel above, we may
conclude there were other inferior orders, as Yeomen Minstrels, or the like.
* See a curious " Letter," printed in Nichols's Collection of Queen Elizabeth's Progresses, etc.,
in 2 vols. 4to.
t As the house of Northumberland had anciently three minstrels attending on them in their
castles in Yorkshire, so they still retaio three in their service in Northumberland, who wear tha
36 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
This Minstrel, the author tells us a little below, "after three lowly curtsies, cleared
his voice with a hem . . . and . . . wiped his lips with the hollow of his hand for
'filing his napkin, tempered a string or two with his Wrest, and after a little
warbling on his Harp for a prelude, came forth with a solemn song, warranted for
story out of King Arthurs Acts, etc." This song the reader will find printed in this
work.
Towards the end of the sixteenth century this class of men had lost all credit,
and were sunk so low in the public opinion, that in the thirty-ninth year of Elizabeth,
a statute was passed by which "Minstrels, wandering abroad," were included
among "rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy beggars," and were adjudged to be
punished as such. This Act seems to have put an end to the profession.
VII. I cannot conclude th:s account of the ancient English Minstrels, without
remarking that they are most of them represented to have been of the north of
England. There is scarce an old historical song or ballad wherein a Minstrel or
Harper appears, but he is characterized by way of eminence to have been "of the
North Countrye ; " and indeed the prevalence of the northern dialect in such
compositions, shows that this representation is real. On the other hand, the
scene of the finest Scottish ballads is laid in the south of Scotland, which should
seem to have been peculiarly the nursery of Scottish Minstrels. In the old song of
Maggy Lawder, a Piper is asked, by way of distinction, " Come ze frae the Border?"
The martial spirit constantly kept up and exercised near the frontier of the
two kingdoms, as it furnished continual subjects for their songs, so it inspired the
inhabitants of the adjacent counties on both sides with the powers of poetry.
Besides, as the southern metropolis must have been ever the scene of novelty and
refinement, the northern countries, as being most distant, would preserve their
ancient manners longest, and of course the old poetry, in which those manners are
peculiarly described.
The reader will observe in the more ancient ballads of this collection, a cast of
style and measure very different from that of contemporary poets of a higher class ;
many phrases and idioms, which the Minstrels seem to have appropriated to them-
selves, and a very remarkable licence of varying the accent of words at pleasure, in
order to humour the flow of the verse, particularly in the rhymes ; as
Countrie harper battel morning
Ladle singer damsel loving
instead of country, Iddy, hdrper, singer, etc. This liberty is but sparingly
assumed by the classical poets of the same age, or even by the later composers of
heroical ballads ; I mean, by such as professedly wrote for the press. For it is to be
observed, that so long as the Minstrels subsisted, they seem never to have designed
their rhymes for literary publication, and probably never committed them to
badge of the family (a silver crescent on the right arm), and are thus distributed, viz. one for
the barony of Prudhoe, and two for the barony of Rothbury. These attend the court leets and
fairs held for the lord, and pay their annual suit and service at Alnwick Castle ; their instrument
being the ancient Northumberland bagpipe (very different in form and execution from that of
the Scots, being smaller, and blown, not with the breath, but with a small pair of bellows).
This, with many other venerable customs of the ancient Lords Percy, was revived by their
illustrious representatives, the late Duke and Duchess of Northumberland.
AN ESSA Y ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 37
writing themselves : what copies are preserved of them were doubtless taken down
from their mouths. But as the old Minstrels gradually wore out, a new race of
Ballad-writers succeeded, an inferior sort of minor poets, who wrote narrative songs
merely for the press. Instances of both may be found in the reign of Elizabeth.
The two latest pieces in the genuine strain of the old Minstrelsy that I can discover,
are Nos. III. and IV. of Book III. in this volume. Lower than these I cannot trace
the old mode of writing.
The old Minstrel ballads are in the northern dialect, abound with antique words
and phrases, are extremely incorrect, and run into the utmost licence of metre ; they
have also a romantic wildness, and are in the true spirit of chivalry. The other
sort are written in exacter measure, have a low or subordinate correctness, some-
times bordering on the insipid, yet often well adapted to the pathetic ; these are
generally in the southern dialect, exhibit a more modern phraseology, and are
commonly descriptive of more modern manners. To be sensible of the difference
between them, let the reader compare in this volume No. III. of Book III.
with No. XI. of Book II.
Towards the end of Queen Elizabeth's reign (as is mentioned above), the genuine
old Minstrelsy seems to have become extinct, and thenceforth the Ballads that were
produced were wholly of the latter kind, and these came forth in such abundance,
that in the reign of James I. they began to be collected into little miscellanies, under
the name of Garlands, and at length to be written purposely for such collections.
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY, ETC.
SERIES THE FIRST.— BOOK I.
" I never heard the old song alPercie and Douglas, that I found not my heart moved more than
with a trumpet: and yet 'it' is sung but by some blinde crowder, with no rougher voice, than
rude style ; which beeing so evill apparelled in the dust and cobweb of that uncivill age, what
would it work, trimmed in the gorgeous eloquence of Pindare ! "
Sir Philip Sidney's Defence of Poetry.
I.— THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE.
The fine heroic song of Chevy-Chase has ever been admired by competent judges.
Those genuine strokes of nature and artless passion which have endeared it to the
most simple readers have recommended it to the most refined, and it has equally
been the amusement of our childhood, and the favourite of our riper years.
Addison has given an excellent critique* on this ballad, but is mistaken with
regard to the antiquity of the common-received copy ; for this, if one may judge from
the style, cannot be older than the time of Elizabeth, and was probably written after
the eulogium of Sir Philip Sidney ; perhaps in consequence of it. I flatter myself \
have here recovered the genuine antique poem ; the true original song, which
appeared rude even in the time of Sir Philip, and caused him to lament that it was
so evil-apparelled in the rugged garb of antiquity.
This curiosity is printed from an old MS. at the end of Hearne's Gul. New-
brigiensis Hist. 1719, 8vo, vol. i. To the MS. copy is subjoined the name of the
author Rychard Sheale ; whom Hearno supposed to be the same with a R. Sheale,
who was living in 1588. But whoever examines the gradation of language and idiom
in this volume, will be convinced that this is the production of an earlier poet. It is
indeed expressly mentioned among some very ancient songs in an old book, The
Complaint of Scotland,^ under the title of the Huntis of Chevet, where the two
following lines arc also quoted :
"The Perssee and the Mongumrye mette,t
That day, that day, that gentil day,"§
which, though not quite the same as they stand in the ballad, yet differ not more
* Spectator, Nos. 70, 74.
t One of the earliest productions of the Scottish press. It is supposed to have been printed in
»S40.
X See Fit ii. v. 25. J See Fit i. v. 99.
39
40 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
than might be owing to the author's quoting from memory. Indeed, whoever
considers the style and orthography of this old poem, will not be inclined to place it
lower than the time of Henry VI. ; as, on the other hand, the mention of James the
Scottish king,* with one or two anachronisms, forbids us to assign it an earlier date.
James I., who was a prisoner in this kingdom at the death of his father.f did not
wear the crown of Scotland till the second year of our Henry VI., J but before the end
of that long reign a third James had mounted the throne. A succession of two or
three Jameses, and the long detention of one of them in England, would render the
name familiar to the English, and dispose a poet in those rude times to give it to any
Scottish king he happened to mention.
So much for the date of this old ballad ; with regard to its subject, although it has
no countenance from history, there is room to think it had originally some foundation
in fact. It was one of the laws of the marches, frequently renewed between the two
nations, that neither party should hunt in the other's borders, without leave from the
proprietors or their deputies. There had long been a rivalship between the two
martial families of Percy and Douglas, which, heightened by the national quarrel,
must have produced frequent challenges and straggles for superiority, petty invasions
of their respective domains, and sharp contests for the point of honour, which would
not always be recorded in history. Something of this kind, we may suppose, gave
„_3e to the ancient ballad of the Hunting a' the Cheviat.% Percy, Earl of North-
umberland, had vowed to hunt for three days in the Scottish border without
condescending to ask leave from Earl Douglas, who was either lord of the soil, or
lord warden of the marches. Douglas would not fail to resent the insult, and
endeavour to repel the intruders by force ; this would naturally produce a sharp
conflict between the two parties ; something of which, it is probable, did really
happen, though not attended with the tragical circumstances recorded in the ballad ;
for these are evidently borrowed from the Battle of Otterbourn (see the next
ballad),— a very different event, but which aftertimes would easily confound with it.
That battle might be owing to some such previous affront as this of Chevy-Chase,
though it has escaped the notice of historians. Our poet has evidently jumbled the
two subjects together ; if indeed the lines || in which this mistake is made are not
rather spurious, and the after-insertion of some person, who did not distinguish
between the two stories.
Hearne has printed this ballad without any division of stanzas, in long lines, as ht
found it in the old written copy.
* Fitt ii. v. 36, 140. t Who died Aug. 5, 1406, in the seventh year of our Henry IV.
X James I. was crowned 1424, murdered Feb. 1436-37.
§ This was the original title. See the ballad, Fitt i. v. 101 ; Fitt ii. v. 165.
\ Viae Fitt ii. v. 167.
THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE.
4i
THE FIRST FIT.
The Perse owt of Northombavlande,
And a vovve to God mayd he,
That he wolde hunte in the mountayns
Off Chy viat within dayes thre,
In the mauger of doughte Doglas,
And all that ever with him be.
The fattiste hartes in all Cheviat
He sayd he wold kill, and carry them
away :
Be my feth, sayd the dougheti Doglas
agayn,
I wyll let that hontyng yf that I may.
Then the Perse owt of Bamborowe cam,
With him a myghtye meany ;
With fifteen hundrith archares bold ;
The wear chosen out of shyars thre.f
This begane on a Monday at morn
In Cheviat the hillys so he ;
The chyld may rue that ys unborn,
It was the mor pitte\
The dryvars thorowe the woodes went
For to reas the dear ;
Bomen bickarte uppone the bent
With ther browd aras cleare.
Then the wyld thorowe the woodes went
On every syde shear ;
Grca-hondes thorowe the greves glent
For to kyll thear the dear.
The begane in Chy viat the hyls above
Ycrly on a Monynday ;
Be that it drewe to the oware off none
A hondrith fat hartes ded ther lay.
* Fit, /yt, fyttc, a part of a poem or a
iong.
t Three districts in Northumbeiland,' which
still go by the name of shires, and are all in
the neighbourhood of Cheviot. These are —
Islandshire, so named from Holy Island ;
Norhamshire, so called from the town and
castle of Norham; and B.unboroughshire, the
ward or hundred belonging to Bamborough
Castle.
The blewe a mort uppone the bent,
The semblyd on sydis shear;
To the quyrry then the Perse went
To se the bryttlynge off the deare.
He sayd, It was the Duglas promys
This day to meet me hear ;
But I wyste he wold faylle vcrament :
A gret oth the Perse swear.
At the laste a squyar of Northombelonde
Lokyde at his hand full ny,
He was war ath the doughetie Doglas
comynge :
With him a mighte meany,
Both with spear, " byll," and brande :
Yt was a myghti sight to se.
Hardyar men both off hart nar hande
Wear dot in Christiante.
The wear twenty hondrith spearmen good
Withouten any fayle ;
The wear borne along be the watter a
Twyde,
Yth bowndes of Tividale.
Leave off the brytlyng of the dear, he
sayde,
And to your bowys look ye tayk good
heed ;
For never sithe ye wear on your mothars
borne
Had ye never so mickle need.
The dougheti Dogglas on a stede
He rode att his men beforne ;
His armor glytteryde as dyd a. glede ;
A bolder bame was never born.
Tell me "what " men ye are, he says,
O whos men that ye be :
Who gave youe leave to hunt in this
Chyviat chays in the spyt of me :
The first mane that ever him an answear
mayd,
Yt was the good lord Perse :
1
42
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
We wyll not tell the what men we ar, he
sayd,
Nor whos men that we be ;
But we wyll hount hear in this chays
In the spyte of thyne, and of the.
The fattiste hartes in all Chyviat
We have kyld, and cast to carry them
a-way.
Be my troth, sayd the doughte Dogglas
agayn,
Ther-for the ton of us shall de this clay.
Then sayd the doughte Doglas
Unto the lord Perse :
To kyll all thes giltless men,
A-las ! it wear great pitte.
But, Perse, thowe art a lord of lande,
I am a yerle callyd within my contre ;
Let all our men uppone a parti stande ;
And do the battell off the and of me.
Nowe Cristes cors on his crowne, sayd the
lord Perse,
Who-soever ther-to says nay.
Be my troth, doughte Doglas, he says,
Thow shalt never se that day ;
Nethar in Ynglonde, Skottlonde nar
France,
Nor for no man of a woman born,
But and fortune be my chance,
I dar met him on man for on.*
Then bespayke a squyar off Northombar-
londe,
Ric. Wytharynton f was his nam ;
It shall never be told in Sothe-Ynglonde,
he says,
To kyng Herry the fourth for sham.
* Alan to man.
t This is probably corrupted in the MS. for
Rog. Widdringtoti, who was at the head of
the family in the reign of King Edward III.
There were several successively of the names
of Roger and R at '///, but none of the name of
Richard, as appears from the genealogies in
the Heralds' Office.
I wat youe byn great lordes twaw,
I am a poor squyar of lande ;
I wyll never se my captayne fyght on a
fylde,
And stande my-selffe, and looke on,
But whyll I may my weppone welde,
I wyll not "fayl" both harte and hande.
That day, that day, that dredfull day :
The first fit here I fynde.
And youe wyll here any mor athe hountyng
athe Chyviat,
Yet ys ther mor behynde.
THE SECOND FIT.
The Yngglishe men hade ther bowys
yebent,
Ther hartes were good yenoughe ;
The first of arros that the shote off,
Seven skore spear-men the sloughe.
Yetbydysthe yerle Doglas uppon the bent,
A captayne good yenoughe,
And that was sene vcrament,
For he wrought horn both woo and
wouche.
The Dogglas pcrtyd his ost in thre,
Lyk a cheffe cheften off pryde,
With suar speares off myghtte tre
The cum in on every syde.
Thrughe our Yngglishe archery
Gave many a wounde full wyde ;
Many a doughete the garde to dy,
Which ganyde them no pryde.
The Yngglyshe men let thear bowys be,
And pulde owt brandes that wer bright ;
It was a hevy syght to se
Bryght swordes on basnites lyght.
Thorowe ryche male, and myne-ye-ple
Many sterne* the stroke downe streght:
* Why should not stenie (star) be heroes or
shining men of valour, even as Dege?i, sword
or blade, stands in German for champion or
hero ? Blucher in the song is called the alte
Degen, aged champion.
THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE.
43
Many a freyke, that was full free,
Ther undar foot dyd lyght.
At last the Duglas and the Perse met,
Lyk to captayns of myght and mayne ;
The swapte togethar tyll the both swat •
With swordes, that wear olfyn myllan.
Thes yfOTthkJreckys for to fyght
Ther-fo the wear full fayne,
Tyll the bloode owte off thear basnetes
sp rente,
As ever dyd heal or rayne.
Holde the, Perse, sayd the Doglas,
And i'feth I shall the brynge
Wher thowe shalte have a yerls wagis
Of Jamy our Scottish kynge.
Thoue shalte have thy ransom fre,
I hight the hear this thinge,
For the manfullyste man yet art thowe,
That ever I conqueryd in hide fightyng.
Nay " then," sayd the lord Perse,
I tolde it the beforne,
That I wolde never yeldyde be
To no man of a woman born.
With that ther cam an arrowe hastely
Forthe off a mightie wane,*
Hit hathe strekene the yerle Duglas
In at .the brest bane.-
Thoroue lyvar and loiigs bathe
The sharp arrowe ys gane,
That never after in all his lyffe days,
He spayke mo wordes but ane,
That was, Fyghte ye, my merry men,
whyllys ye may.
For my lyff days ben gau.
The Perse leanyde on his brande,
And sawe the Duglas de ;
He tooke the dede man be the hande,
And sayd, Wo ys me for the !
* Wane, i.e. anc, one, sc. man : an arrow
came from a mighty one, from a mighty man.
To have savyde thy lyffe I wold have
pertyd with
My landes for years thre,
For a better man of hart, nare of hande,
Was not in all the north countre,
Off all that se a Skottishe knyght,
Was callyd Sir Hewe the Mongon-
byrry,
He sawe the Duglas to the deth was
dyght ;
He spendyd a spear a trusti tre :
He rod uppon a corsiare
Throughe a hondrith archery ;
He never styntyde, nar never blane,
Tyll he cam to the good lord Perse.
He set uppone the lord Perse
A dyntc, that was full soare ;
With a suar spear of a myghte tre
Clean thorow the body he the Perse
bore,
Athe tothar syde, that a man myght se,
A large cloth yard and mare :
Towe bettar captayns wear nat in
Christiante,
Then that day slain wear ther.
An archar off Northomberlonde
Say stean was the lord Perse,
He bar a bende-bow in his hande,
Was made off trusti tre :
An arow, that a cloth yarde was lang,
To th' hard stele halyde he ;
A dynt, that was both sad and soar,
He sat on Sir Hewe the Mongon-byrry.
The dynt yt was both sad and sar,
That he of Mongon-byrry sete ;
The swane-fethars, that his arrowe bar,
With his hart blood the wear wete.f
t This incident is taken from the Battle of
Otterbourne, in which Sir Hugh Montgomery,
knight (son of John, Lord Montgomery), was
slain with an arrow. See Crawford's Peerage.
I
44
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
Ther was never a freake wone foot wolde
fie,
But still in stour dyd stand,
Heawyng on yche othar, whyll the myght
dre,
With many a bal-ful brande.
This battell begane in Chyviat
An owar befor the none,
And when even-song bell was rang
The battell was nat half done.
The tooke " on " on ethar hand
Be the lyght off the mone ;
Many hade no strenght for to stande,
In Chyviat the hyllys aboun.
Of fifteen hondrith archars of Ynglonde
Went away but fifti and thre ;
Of twenty hondrith spear-men of Skot-
londe,
But even five and fifti :
But all wear slayne Cheviat within :
The hade no strengthe to stand on hie •
The chylde may rue that ys un-borne,
It was the mor pitte.
Thear was slayne with the lord Perse
Sir John of Agerstone,*
Sir Roge the hinde Hartly,
Sir Wyllyam thebolde Hearone.f
Sir Jorg the worthe Lovelef
A knyght of great renowen,
Sir Raff the ryche Rugbe§
With dyntes wear beaten dowene.
* Haggerston of Haggerston, near Berwick.
The name is also spelt Agerstone in Leland's
Itinerary.
t Hcarone or Heron, a family of great
antiquity in Northumberland.
% De Lavale or de Lovel, probably of the
ancient family of Delaval, of Seaton Delaval,
Northumberland.
§ Probably Rokeby, Ralph being a common
name in the Rokeby family. Another
suggestion is, Ralph Neville of Raby Castle,
Durham.
For Wetharryngton* my harte was wo.
That ever he slayne shulde be ;
For when both his leggis wear hewyne in
to,
Yet he knyled and fought on hys kne.
Ther was slayne with the dougheti
Douglas
Sir Hewe the Mongon-byrry,
Sir Davye Lwdale.f that worthe was,
His sistars son was he :
Sir Charles a Murre,J in that place,
That never a foot wolde fie ;
Sir Hewe Maxwell, a lorde he was,
With the Duglas dyd he dey.
So on the morrowe the mayde them
by ears
Off byrch, and hasell so ' ' gray " ;
Many wedous with wepyng tears
Cam to fach ther makys a-way.
Tivydale may carpe off care,
Northombarlond may mayk grat mone,
For towe such captayns, as slayne wear
thear,
On the march perti shall never be none.
Word ys commen to Edden4}urrowe,§
To Jamy the Skottishe kyng,
That dougheti Duglas, lyff-tenant of the
Merches,||
He lay slean Chyviot with-in.
His handdes dyd he weal and wryng,
He sayd, Alas, and woe ys me !
Such another captayn Skotland within,
He sayd, y-feth shuld never be.
Worde ys commyn to lovly Londone
Till the fourth Harry our kyng,
* Wydrington or Witherington.
t Liddell ; lords of Liddell Castle and of the
barony of Buff.
X Sir Charles Murray of Cockpoole, ancestor
of the Murrays, Earls of Annandale.
§ Edinburgh.
II Life-tenant of the Marches.
THE BATTLE OF OTTEKBOURNE.
45
That lord Perse, leyff-tennante of the
Merchis,
He lay slayne Chyviat within.
God have merci on his soil, sayd kyng
Harry,
Good lord, yf thy will it be !
I have a hondrith captayns in Ynglonde,
he sayd,
As good as ever was hee :
But Perse, and I brook my lyffe,
Thy deth well quyte shall be.
As our noble kyng made his a-vowe,
Lyke a noble prince of renowen,
For the deth of the lord Perse,
He dyd the battel of Hombyll-down :*
Wher syx and thritte Skottish knyghtes
On a day wear beaten down :
Glendale glytterydcon ther armor bryght,
Over castill, towar, and town.
This was the hontynge off the Cheviat ;
That tear begane this spurn :
Old men that knowen the grownde well
yenoughe,
Call it the Battell of Otterburn.
* Humbledon.
At Otterburn began this spurne
Uppon a monnyn day :
Ther was the dougghte Doglas slean,
The Perse never went away.
Ther was never a tym on the march partes
Sen the Doglas and the Perse met,
But yt was marvele, and the redde blude
ronne not,
As the reane doys in the stret.
Jhesue Christ our balys bete,
And to the blys us brynge !
Thus was the hountynge of the Chevyat,
God send us all good ending !
The Battle of Hombyll-down, or Hum-
bledon, was fought Sept. 14, 1402 (anno
3 Henry IV.), wherein the English, under
the command of the Earl of Northumber-
land, and his son Hotspur, gained a
complete victory over the Scots. The
village of Humbledon is one mile north-
west from Wooler, in Northumberland.
The battle was fought in a field below
the village, near the present turnpike
road, in a spot called Battle-Riggs or
Red-Riggs. Humbledon is in Glendale
Ward, a district so named in this county,
and mentioned above in ver. 163.
II.— THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE.
The only battle wherein an Earl of Douglas was slain fighting with a Percy was
that of Otterbourne, which is the subject of this ballad. It is here related with the
allowable partiality of an English poet, and much as it is recorded in the English
Chronicles. The Scottish writers have, with a partiality at least as excusable, related
it no less in their own favour. Luckily, we have a very circumstantial narrative of the
■whole affair from Froissart, a French historian, who appears to be unbiassed, and
his account carries with it a great appearance of truth. He gives the victory to the
Scots, but does justice to the courage of both parties I and represents their mutual
generosity in such a light that the present age .might edify by the example.
The Battle of Otterbourne was fought on the 9th or 15th of August, in the twelfth
year of Richard II., 1388. The Scots, taking advantage of the confusion into which
England had fallen, ravaged the country about Carlisle, and carried off 300 prisoners.
Afterwards they invaded Northumberland, wasted part of Durham, and advanced to
4 6
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
the gates of Newcastle, capturing a pennon belonging to Henry, Lord Percy. On
their return home they attacked a castle near Otterbourne, were surprised by Henry,
Lord Percy, son of the Earl of Northumberland, and thence ensued one of the
best fought actions of the age, both armies showing the greatest bravery. The Earl
of Douglas was slain on the spot, the Earl of Murray mortally wounded, and Henry
Percy and his brother Ralph were taken prisoners. Froissart maintains that the Scotch
remained masters of the field, whilst English writers give the victory to the English.
The ballad in the present edition is given from an old MS. in the Cotton Library
(Cleopatra, c. iv.).
Yt felle abowght the Lamasse tyde,*
Whan husbonds wynn ther haye.f
The dowghtye Dowglasse bowynd him to
ryde,
In Ynglond to take a praye :
The yerl/e of Fyffe.J withoiughten stryffe,
He bowynd hym over Sulway : §
The grete wolde ever together ryde ;
That race they may rue for aye.
Over "Ottercap" hyll theyll came in,
And so dowyn by Rodelyffecragge,
* Lammas-tide. — August 1st, Lammas-day.
In Midlothian there were curious customs
observed at Lammas-tide, which gave rise to
the building of the Lammas towers. These
were built by the herdsmen, who made mock
raids on each other, and tried to raze the
opponents' tower to the ground. Thus we see
that in their sports a martial spirit was en-
gendered, which fitted the southern counties
of Scotland for more serious encounters.
t " Winn their heaye." Harl. MS. This
is the Northumberland phrase to this day, by
which they always express " getting in their
hay."
% Robert Stuart, second son of King Robert
II.
%i.e. "Over Sol way frith." This evidently
refers to the other division of the Scottish
army, which came in by way of Carlisle.
I! The Earl of Douglas and his party. Well-
known places in Northumberland. Ottercap
Hill is in the parish of Kirk-Wbelpington, in
Tynedale Ward. Rodeliffe (or, as 'it is more
usually pronounced, Rodeley) Cragge is a noted
cliff near Rodeley, a small village in the parish
of Hartburn, in Morpeth Ward. Green Leyton
is another small village in the same parish of
Hartburn, south-east of Rodeley.
Upon Grene "Leyton" they lyghted
dowyn,
Styrande many a stagge ;
And boldely brente Northomberlonde,
And haryed many a towyn ;
They dyd owr Ynglyssh men grete wrange,
To battell that were not bowyn.
Than spake a berne upon the bent,
Of comforte that was not colde,
And sayd, We have brent Northomber-
lond,
We have all welth in holde.
Now we have haryed all Bamboroweshyre,
All the welth in the worlde have wee ;
I rede we ryde to Newe Castell,*
So styll and stalwurthlye.
Uppon the morowe, when it was daye,
The standards schone fulle bryght ;
To the Newe Castelle the toke the waye,
And thether they cam fulle ryght.
Sir Henry Percy laye at the Newe
Castelle,
I telle yow withowtten drede ;
He had byn a march-man f all hys dayes,
And kepte Barwyke upon Twede.f
To the Newe Castell when they cam,
The Skottes they cryde on hyght,
Syr Harye Percy, and thow byste within,
Com to the fylde, and fyght :
* Newcastle.
t Marche-man, i.e. a scowrer of the marches,
X Berwick-on-Tweed.
THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE.
47
For we have brente Northomberlonde,
Thy eritage good and ryght ;
And syne * my logeyng I have take,
With my brande dubbyd many a knyght.
Sir Harry Percy cam to the walles,
The Skottyssh oste for to se ;
"And thow hast brent Northomberlond,
Full sore it reiuyth me.
"Yf thou hast haryed all Bambarowe
shyre.f
Thow hast done me grete envye ;
For the trespasse thow hast me done,
The tone of us schall dye."
Where schall I byde the ? sayd the
Dowglas,
Or where wylte thow come to me ?
"At Otterborne in the hygh way, J
Ther maist thow well logeed be.
"The roo full rekeles ther sche rinnes,
To make the game and glee :
Thefawkon and the fcsaunt both,
Amonge on the holies on ' hee.'
*' Ther maist thow have thy welth at wyll,
Well looged ther maist be.
Yt schall not be long, or I com the tyll,"
Sayd Syr Harry Percye.
Ther schall I byde the, sayd the Dowglas,
By the fayth of my bodye.
Thether schall I com, sayd Syr Harry
Percy ;
My trowth I plyght to the.
A pype of wyne he gave them over the
walles,
For soth, as I yow saye :
* Syne seems here to mean since.
t Bamboroughshire, so called from the town
and castle of Bamborough, formerly the resi-
dence of the Northumbrian kings.
% Otterbourn is near the old Watling Street
Road, in the parish of Elsdon. The Scots
were encamped in a grassy plain near the
river Read. The place where the Scotch and
English fought is still called Battle Riggs.
Ther he mayd the Douglas drynke,
And all hys oste that daye.
The Dowglas turnyd him homewards
agayne,
For soth withowghten naye,
He tooke his logeyng at Otterborne
Uppon a Wedyns-day :
And ther he pyght hys standerd dowyn,
Hys gettyng more and lesse,
And syne he warned hys men to goo
To chose ther geldyngs gnsse.
A Skottysshe knyght hoved upon the bent,
A wache I dare well saye :
So was he ware on the noble Percy
In the dawnynge of the daye.
He prycked to his pavylcon dore.
As faste as he myght ronne,
Awaken, Dowglas, cryed the knyght,
For hys love that syttes yn trone.*
Awaken, Dowglas, cryed the knyght,
For thow maiste waken wyth wynne :
Yender have I spyed the prowde Percy,
And seven standardes wyth hym.
Nay by my trowth, the Douglas sayed,
It ys but a/ayr/ed taylle :
He durste not loke on my bred banner,
For all Ynglonde so haylle.f
Was I not yesterdaye at the Newe Castell,
That stonds so fayre on Tyne ?
For all the men the Percy hade,
He cowde not garre me ones to dyne.
He stepped owt at hys pavelyon dore,
To loke and it were lesse ;
Araye yow, lordyngs, one and all,
For here bygynnes no peysse.
The yerle of Mentaye, % thow arte my erne,
The forwarde I gyve to the :
* Sits upon the throne.
t To gain.
t The Earl of Menteith.
4S
RELIOUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
The yerlle of Huntlay, cawte and kene,
He schall wyth the be.
The lorde of Bowghan * in armure bryght
On the other hand he schall be ;
Lorde Jhonstone, and lorde Maxwell, f
They to schall be with me.
Swynton % fayre fylde upon your pryde
To batell make yow bowen :
Syr Davy Scotte,§ Syr Walter Stewarde,
Syrjhon of Agurstone.
A FYTTE.
The Perssy came byfore hys oste,
Wych was ever a gentyll knyght,
Upon the Dowglas lowde can he crye,
I wyll holde that I have hyght :
For thow haste brente Northumberlonde,
And done me grete envye ;
For thys trespasse thou hast me done,
The tone of us schall dye.
The Dowglas answerde hym agayne
With grete wurds up on " hee,"
And sayd, I have twenty agaynst "thy"
one,
Byholde and thow maiste see.
Wyth that the Percye was grevyd sore,
For soothe as I yow saye :
'J [He lyghted dowyn upon his fote,
And schoote his horsse clene away.
Every man sawe that he dyd soo,
That ryall was ever in rowght ;
* The Lord Buchan.
t The families of Johnstone and Maxwell
wore always powerful on the borders.
t Swinton is a small village within the
Scotch border. The family of Swinton still
exists, and is very ancient.
§ Sir David Scott, one of the ancestors of
the Dukes of Buccleuch.
II All that follows included in brackets was
not in the first edition.
Every man schoote hys horsse him froo,
And lyght hym rowynde abowght.
Thus Syr Hary Percye toke the fylde,
For soth, as I yow saye :
Jesu Cryste in hevyn on hyght
Dyd helpe hym well that daye.
But nyne thowzand, ther was no moo ;
The cronykle wyll not layne :
Forty thowsande Skottes and fowre
That day fowght them agayne.
But when the batell byganne to joyne,
In hast ther came a knyght,
' ' Then " letters fayre furth hath he tayne,
And thus he sayd full ryght :
My lorde, your father he gretes yow well,
Wyth many a noble knyght ;
And he desyres yow to byde
That he may see thys fyght.
The Baron of Grastoke ys com owt of the
west,
Wyth hym a noble companye ;
All they loge at your fathers thys nyght,
And the Battel fayne wold they see.
For Jesu's love, sayd Syr Harye Percy,
That dyed for yow and me,
Wende to my lorde my Father agayne,
And saye thow saw me not with yee :
My trowth ys plyght to yonne Skottysh
knyght,
It needes me not to layne,
That I schulde byde hym upon thys bent,
And I have hys trowth agayne :
And if that I wende off thys grownde
For soth unfoughten awaye,
He wolde me call but a kowarde knyght
In hys londe another daye.
Yet had I lever to be rynde and rente,
By Mary that mykel maye ;
Then ever my manhod schulde be reprovyd
Wyth a Skotte another daye.
THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE.
49
Wherfore schote, archars, for my sake,
And let scharpe arowes flee :
Mynstrells, playe up for your waryson,
And well quyt it schall be.
Every man thynke on hys trewe love,
And marke hym to the Trenite :
For to God I make myne avowe
Thys day wyll I not fie.
The blodye Harte in the Dowglas armes,
Hys standerde stode on hye ;
That every man myght full well knowe :
By syde stode Starres thre :
The whyte Lyon on the Ynglysh parte,
Forsoth as I yow sayne ;
The Lucetts and the Cressawnts both :
The Skotts faught them agayne.]*
Uppon sent Andrewe lowde cane they crye,
And thrysse they schowte on hyght,
And syne marked them one owr Ynglysshe
men,
As I have tolde yow ryght.
Sent George the bryght owr ladyes knyght,
To name they were full fayne,
Owr Ynglysshe men they cryde on hyght,
And thrysse the schowtte agayne.
Wyth that scharpe arowes bygan to flee,
I tell yow in sertayne ;
Men of armes byganne to joyne ;
Many a dowghty man was ther slayne.
The Percy and the Dowglas mette,
That ether of other was fayne ;
* The ancient arms of Douglas are pretty
accurately emblazoned in the former stanza,
and if the readings were, "The crowned harte,"
and "Above stode starres thre," it would be
minutely exact at this day. As for the Percy
family, one of their ancient badges or cog-
nizances was a white lyon statant, and the
silver crescent continues to be used by them
to this day ; they also give three luces
argent for one of their quarters.
They schapped together, whyll that the
swette,
With swords of fyne Collayne ; *
Tyll the bloode from ther lassonetts ranne,
As the roke doth in the rayne.
Yelde the to me, sayd the Dowglas,
Or ells thow schalt be slayne :
For I see, by thy bryght bassonet,
Thow arte sum man of myght ;
And so I do by thy burnysshed brande,
Thow art an yerle, or ells a knyght.
By my good faythe, sayd the noble Percy,
Now haste thou rede full ryght,
Yet wyll I never yelde me to the,
Whyll I may stonde and fyght.
They swapped together, whyll that they
swette,
Wyth swordes scharpe and long ;
Ych on other so faste they beette,
Tyll ther helmes cam in peyses dowyn.
The Percy was a man of strenghth,
I tell yow in thys stounde,
He smote the Dowglas at the swordes
length,
That he felle to the growynde.
The sworde was scharpe and sore can
byte,
I tell yow in sertayne ;
To the harte, he cowde hym smyte,
Thus was the Dowglas slayne.
The stonderds stode styll on eke syde,
With many a grevous grone ;
Ther theyfowght the day, and all thcnyght,
And many a dowghty man was " slone."
Ther was nofreke, that ther wolde flye,
But styffly in stowre can stond,
Ychone hewyng on other whyll they myght
drye,
Wyth many a bayllefull brotide.
Cologne steel.
5°
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
Ther was slayne upon the Skottes syde,
For soth and scrtenly,
Syr James a Dowglas ther was slayne,
That daye that he cowde dye.
The yerlle Mentaye of he was slayne,
Grysely groned uppon the growynd ;
Syr Davy Scotte, Syr Walter Steward,*
Syr "John" of Augurstonne.
Syr Charlies Morrey in that place,
That never a fote wold flye ;
Sir Hughe Maxwell, a lorde he was,
With the Dowglas dyd he dye.
Ther was slayne upon the Skottes syde,
For soth as I yow saye,
Of fowre and forty thowsande Scotts
Went but eyghtene awaye.
Ther was slayne upon the Ynglysshe syde,
For soth and sertenlye,
A gentell knyght, Sir John Fitz-hughe, \
Yt was the more petye.
Syr James Harebotell ther was slayne,
For hym ther hartes were sore,
The gentyll " Lovelle " ther was slayne,
That the Percyes standerd bore.
* Stewart, Lord of Dalswinton.
t Fitz-hughe and Harebotell are Northum-
brian families. Harbottle is a village upon the
river Coquet, and gives its name to the family.
Ther was slayne uppon the Ynglyssl
perte,
For soth as I yow saye ;
Of nyne thowsand Ynglyssh men
Fy ve hondert cam awaye :
The other were slayne in the fylde,
Cryste kepe their sowles from wo,
Seyng ther was so fewe fryndes
Agaynst so many a foo.
Then one the morne they mayd them
beeres
Of byrch, and haysell graye ;
Many a wydowe with wepyng teyres
Ther makes they fette awaye.
Thys fraye bygan at Otterborne,
Bytwene the nyghte and the day :
Ther the Dowglas lost his lyfe,
And the Percy was lede awaye.*
Then was ther a Scottyshe prisoner tayne,
Syr Hughe Mongomery was hys name,
For soth as I yow saye,
He borowed the Percy home agayne.f
Now let us all for the Percy praye
To Jesu most of myght,
To bryng hys sowle to the blysse of heven,
For he was a gentyll knyght.
* Sc. captive.
t " Syr Hewe Mongomery takyn prizonar,
was delyvered for the restorynge of Perssy."— ••
See Cotton MS.
III.— THE JEW'S DAUGHTER,*
A SCOTTISH BALLAD,
Is founded upon the supposed practice of the Jews in crucifying or otherwise
murthering Christian children, out of hatred to the religion of their parents : a
practice which hath been always alleged in excuse for the cruelties exercised upon,
that wretched people, but which probably never happened in a single instance.
The following ballad is probably built upon some Italian legend, and bears a
great resemblance to the Prioresses Tale in Chaucer. The poet seems also to have had
* Printed from a MS. copy sent from Scotland.
THE JEW'S DAUGHTER.
5i
an eye to the known story of Hugh of Lincoln, a child said to have been there
murthered by the Jews in the reign of Henry III.
Bishop Percy says that Mirry-land tonne is a corruption of Milan, and Pa stands
for Po. Another commentator suggests, and it would seem with better reason,
that " Lincoln is meant — Merry Lincoln corrupted into Merry Lin-town."
Everything seems to point to this. Doubtless the legend of Hugh of Lincoln's
murder gave rise to the ballad, the name of the child being Hezv. There is at Lincoln
"the Jew's house," a curious piece of architecture, said to have been originally
possessed by Belassel de Wallingford, a Jewess who was hanged for clipping in the
reign of Edward I., and of whom doubtless many stories, true and false, were handed
down to posterity. The Pa may be an abbreviation of palace, — John of Gaunt's
palace, or the Bishop's palace of those days.
Ball-play in ancient days in England was a famous game, partaken of by all classes,
and less likely to be played in Italy on account of the exertion required.
The rain rins doun through Mirry-land
toune,
Sae dois it doune the Pa :
Sae dois the lads of Mirry-land toune,
Quhan they play at the ba'.
Than out and cam the Jewis dochtcr,
Said, Will ye cum in and dine ?
' I winnae cum in, I cannae cum in,
Without my play-feres nine."
Scho potvd an apple reid and white
To intice the zong thing in :
Scho powd an apple white and reid,
And that the sweit bairne did win.
And scho has taine out a little pen-knife,
And low down by her gair,
Scho has twin'd the zong thing and his
life;
A word he nevir spak mair.
And out and cam the thick thick bluid,
And out and cam the thin ;
And out and cam the bonny herts bluid :
Thair was nae life left in.
Scho laid him on a dressing borde,
And drest him like a swine,
4nd laughing said, Gae nou and pley
With zour sweit play-feres nine.
Scho rowd him in a cake of lead,
Bade him lie stil and sleip.
Scho cast him in a deip draw-well,
Was fifty fadom deip.
Quhan bells wer rung, and mass was sung,
And every lady went hame :
Than ilka lady had her zong sonne,
Bot lady Helen had nane.
Scho rowd hir mantil hir about,
And sair sair gan she weip :
And she ran into the Jewis castel,
Quhan they wer all asleip.
My bonny sir Hew, my pretty sir Hew,
I pray thee to me speik.
"O lady, rinn to the deip draw-well,
Gin ze zour sonne wad seik."
Lady Helen ran to the deip draw-well,
And knelt upon her kne :
My bonny sir Hew, an ze be here,
I pray thee speik to me.
' ' The lead is wondrous heavy, mithcr,
The well is wondrous deip,
A keen pen-knife sticks in my hert,
A word I dounae speik.
"Gae hame, gae hame, my mither deir,
Fetch me my windcing sheet,
And at the back o' Mirry-land toun
Its thair we twa sail meet."
52
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
IV.— SIR CAULINE.
It may be proper to inform the reader, before he comes to Pt. II., v. no, in, that
the round table was not peculiar to the reign of King Arthur, but was common in
all the ages of chivalry. The proclaiming a great tournament (probably with some
peculiar solemnities) was called "holding a round table."
This ballad is given in its original form in the folio edition, together with Bishop
Percy's own version, which is the one here printed. There are two opening verses of
the original not given here, then the original is quoted up to verse 140, with a few
interpolations by the bishop, after which he proceeds with the ending of the story in
his own fashion. In the original fragment the ending is less tragical. Sir Cauline not
only conquers the pagan giant, but, unarmed, he kills a lion by thrusting his mantle
down its throat. He then marries the king's daughter, who bears him fifteen sons.
Sir Cauline may possibly have been founded on the legend of Charlemagne's
daughter and the Secretary Eginhardt. There are many points of resemblance in the
story, with the exception of the one winning by deeds of valour what the other
gained through learning and scholarship.
As to what will be observed in this ballad of the art of healing being practised by a
young princess, it is no more than what is usual in all the old romances, and was
conformable to real manners ; it being a practice derived from the earliest times
among all the Gothic and Celtic nations, for women, even of the highest rank, to
exercise the art of surgery.
THE FIRST PART.
In Ireland, ferr over the sea,
There dwelleth a bonnye kinge ;
And with him a yong and comlye knighte,
Men call him syr Cauline.
The kinge had a ladye to his daughter,
In fashyon she hath no peere ;
And princely wightes that ladye wooed
To be theyr wedded /cere.
Syr Cauline loveth her best of all,
But nothing durst he saye ;
Ne descreeve his counsayl to no man,
But deerlye he lovde this may.
Till on a daye it so beffell,
Great dill to him was dight ;
The maydens love removde his mynd,
To care-bed went the knighte.
One while he spred his armes him fro,
Oue while he spred them nye :
And aye ! but I winne that ladyes love,
For dole now I mun dye.
And whan our parish-masse was done,
Our kinge was bowne to dyne :
He sayes, Where is syr Cauline,
That is wont to serve the wyne ?
Then aunswerde him a courteous knighte,
And fast his handes gan wringe :
Sir Cauline is sicke, and like to dye
Without a good leechinge.
Fetche me downe my daughter deere,
She is a leeche fulle fine :
Goe take him doughe, and the baken
bread,
And serve him with the wyne soe red ;
Lothe I were him to tine.
Fair Christabelle to his chaumber goes,
Her maydens followyng nye :
SIJ? CAULINE.
53
O well, she sayth, how doth my lord?
sicke, thou fayr ladye.
Nowe ryse up wightZye, man, for shame,
Never lye soe cowardlee ;
For it is told in my fathers halle,
You dye for love of mee.
Fayre ladye, it is for your love
That all this dill I drye :
For if you wold comfort me with a kisse,
Then were I brought from bale to blisse,
No lenger wold I lye.
Sir knighte, my father is a kinge,
1 am his onlye heire ;
Alas ! and well you knowe, syr knighte,
I never can be youre fere.
O ladye, thou art a kinges daughter,
And I am not thy peere,
But let me doe some deedes of armes
To be your bacheleere.
Some deedes of armes if thou wilt doe,
My bacheleere to bee,
But ever and aye my heart wold rue,
Giff harm shold happe to thee, )
UponEldridge hill there growethathorne,
Upon the mores brodlnge ;
And dare ye, syr knighte, wake there all
nighte
Untill the fayre morninge?
For the Eldridge knighte, so mickle of
- mighte,
Will examine you beforne :
And never man bare life awaye,
But he did him scath and scorne.
That knighte he is a foul paynim,
And large of limb and bone ;
And but if heaven may be thy speede,
Thy life it is but gone.
Nowe on the Eldridge hilles He walke,*
For thy sake, fair ladle ;
%_
* Perhaps wake, as in ver. 61.
And lie either bring you a ready token,
Or He never more you see.
The lady is gone to her own chaumbere,
Her maydens following bright :
Syr Cauline lope from care-bed soone,
And to the Eldridge hills is gone,
For to wake there all night.
Unto midnight, that the moone did rise,
He walked up and downe ;
Then a lightsome bugle heard he blowe
Over the bents soe browne ;
Quoth hee, If cryance come till my heart,
I am ffar from any good towne.
And soone he spyde on the mores so broad,
A furyous wight and fell ;
A ladye bright his brydle led,
Clad in a fayre kyrtell :
And soe fast he called on syr Cauline,
man, I rede thee flye,
For ' ' but " if cryance comes till my heart,
1 weene but thou mun dye.
He sayth, "No" cryance comes till my
heart,
Nor, in faith, I wyll not flee ;
For, cause thou minged not Christ before,
The less me dreadeth thee.
The Eldridge knighte, he pricked his
steed ;
Syr Cauline bold abode :
Then either shooke his trustye speare,
And the timber these two children * bare
Soe soone in sunder slode.
Then tooke they out theyr two good
swordes,
And layden on full faste,
Till hclme and hawberke, mail and
sheelde,
They all were well-nye brast.
The Eldridge knight was mickle of might,
And stifle in slower did stande,
— . — 1
* i.e. knights.
54
R ELI QUE S OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
But syr Cauline with a "backward "stroke
He smote off his right hand ;
That soone he with paineand lackeof bloud
Fell downe on that lay-land.
Then up syr Cauline lift his brande
All over his head so hye :
And here I sweare by the holy roode,
Nowe, caytiffe, thou shalt dye.
Then up and came that ladye brighte,
Fast wringing of her hande :
For the maydens love, that most you love,
Withold that deadlye brande :
For the maydens love, that most you love,
Now smyte no more I praye ;
And aye whatever thou wilt, my lord,
He shall thy hests obaye.
Now sweare to mee, thouEldridgeknighte,
And here on this lay-land,
That thou wilt believe on Christ his laye,
And therto plight thy hand :
And that thou never on Eldridge come
To sporte, gamon, or playe :
And that thou here give up thy armes
Until thy dying daye.
The Eldridge knighte gave up his armes
With many a sorrowfulle sighe ;
And sware to obey syr Caulines hest,
Till the tyme that he shold dye.
And he then up and the Eldridge knighte
Sett him in his saddle anone,
And the Eldridge knighte and his ladye
To theyr castle are they gone.
Then he tooke up the bloudy hand,
That was so large of bone,
And on it he founde five ringes of gold
Of knightes that had be slone.
Then he tooke up the Eldridge sworde,
As hard as any flint :
ind he tooke off those ringes five,
As bright as fyre and brent.
Home then pricked syr Cauline
As light as leafe on tree :
I-wys he neither stint ne blanne,
Till he his ladye see.
Then downe he knelt upon his knee
Before that lady gay :
O ladye, I have bin on the Eldridge hills :
These tokens I bring away.
Now welcome, welcome, syr Cauline,
Thrice welcome unto mee,
For now I perceive thou art a true knighte,
Of valour bolde and free.
O ladye, I am thy own true knighte,
Thy hests for to obaye :
And mought I hope to vvinne thy love ! —
Ne more his tonge colde say.
The ladye blushed scarlette redde,
And fette a gentill sighe :
Alas ! syr knight, how may this bee,
For my degree's soe highe ?
But sith thou hast /tight, thou comely youth,
To be my batchilere,
lie promise if thee I may not wedde
I will have none other fere.
Then shee heldforthe her lilly-white hand
Towards that knighte so free ;
He give to it one gentill kisse,
His heart was brought from bale to blisse,
The teares stcrte from his ee.
But keep my counsayl, syr Cauline,
Ne let no man it knowe ;
For and ever my father sholde it ken,
I wot he wolde us sloe.
From that daye forthe that ladye fayre
Lovde syr Cauline the knighte :
From that daye forthe he only joyde
Whan shee was in his sight.
Yea and oftentimes they mette
Within a fayre arboure,
Where they in love and sweet daliaunce
Past manye a pleasaunt houre.
Sf/t CAULINE.
55
PART THE SECOND.
Everye white will have its blacke,
And everye sweete its sowre :
This founde the ladye Christabelle
In an untimely howre.
For so it befelle, as syr Cauline
Was with that ladye faire,
The kinge her father walked forthe
To take the evenyng aire :
And into the arboure as he went
To rest his wearye feet,
He found his daughter and syr Cauline
There sette in daliaunce sweet.
The kinge hee sterted forthe, i-wys,
And an angrye man was hee :
Nowe, traytoure, thou shalt hange o:
drawe,
And rcwe shall thy ladle.
Then forthe syr Cauline he was ledde,
And throwne in dungeon deepe :
And the ladye into a towre so hye,
There left to wayle and weepe.
The queene she was syr Caulines friend,
And to the kinge sayd shee :
I praye you save syr Caulines life,
And let him banisht bee.
Now, dame, that traitor shall be sent
Across the salt sea fome :
But here I will make thee a band,
If ever he come within this land,
A foule deathe is his doome.
All woe-begone was that gentil knight
To parte from his ladye ;
And many a time he sighed sore,
And cast a wistfulle eye :
Faire Christabelle, from thee to parte,
Farre lever had I dye.
Faire Christabelle, that ladye bright,
Was had forthe of the towre ;
But ever shee droopeth in her minde,
As nipt by an ungentle winde
Doth some faire lillye flowre.
And ever shee doth lament and weepe
To tint her lover soe :
Syr Cauline, thou little think'st on mee,
But I will still be true.
Manye a kinge, and manye a duke,
And lorde of high degree,
Did sue to that fayre ladye of love ;
But never shee wolde them nee.
When manye a daye was past and gone,
Ne comforte she colde finde,
The kynge proclaimed a tourneament,
To cheere his daughters mind :
And there came lords, and there came
knights,
Fro manye a farre countrye,
To break a spere for theyr ladyes love
Before that faire ladye.
And many a ladye there was sette
In purple and lit palle :
But faire Christabelle soe woe-begone
Was the fayrest of them all.
Then *nanye a knighte was mickle of might
Before his ladye gaye ;
But a stranger wight, whom no man knewe,
He wan the prize eche daye.
His acton it was all of blacke,
His hewberke, and his sheelde,
Ne noe man wist whence he did come,
Ne noe man knewe where he did gone,
When they came from the feelde.
And now three days were prestlye past
In feates of chivalrye,
When lo upon the fourth morninge
A sorrowfulle sight they see.
56
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
A hugye giaunt stiffe and starke,
All foule of limbe and lere ;
Two goggling eyen like fire farden,
A mouthe from eare to eare.
Before him came a dwarffe full lowe,
That waited on his knee,
And at his backe five heads he bare,
All wan and pale of blee.
Sir, quoth the dwarffe, and louted lowe,
Behold that hend Soldain !
Behold these heads I beare with me !
They are kings which he hath slain.
The Eldridge knight is his own couslne,
Whom a knight of thine hath shent :
And hee is come to avenge his wrong,
And to thee, all thy knightes among,
Defiance here hath sent.
But yette he will appease his wrath
Thy daughters love to winne :
And but thou yeelde him that fayre mayd,
Thy halls and towers must brenne.
Thy head, syr king, must goe with mee ;
Or else thy daughter deere ;
Or else within these lists soe broad
Thou must finde him a peere.
The king he turned him round aboute,
And in his heart was woe :
Is there never a knighte of my round table,
This matter will undergoe ?
Is there never a knighte amongst yee all
Will fight for my daughter and mee ?
Whoever will fight yon grimme soldan.
Right fair his meede shall bee.
For hee shall have my broad /ay-lands,
And of my crowne be heyre ;
And he shall winne fayre Christabelle
To be his wedded fere.
But every knighte of his round table
Did stand both still and pale ;
For whenever they lookt on the grim soldan,
It made their hearts to quail.
All woe-begone was that fayre ladyib,
When she sawe no helpe was nye :
She cast her thought on her owne true-love,
And the teares gusht from her eye.
Up then stcrte the stranger knighte,
Sayd, Ladye, be not affrayd :
He fight for thee with this grimme soldan,
Thoughe he be vnmacklye made.
And if thou wilt lend me the Eldridge
sworde,
That lyeth within thy bowre,
I truste in Christe for to slay this fiende
Thoughe he be stiff in stowre.
Goe fetch him downe the Eldridge sworde,
The kinge he cryde, with speede :
Nowe heaven assist thee, courteous
knighte ;
My daughter is thy meede.
The gyaunt he stepped into the lists,
And sayd, Awaye, awaye :
I sweare, as I am the hend soldan,
Thou lettest me here all daye.
Then forthe the stranger knight he came
In his blacke armoure dight :
The ladye sighed a gentle sighe,
"That this were my true knighte ! "
And nowe the gyaunt and knighte be mctt
Within the lists soe broad ;
And now with swordes soe sharpe of Steele,
They gan to lay on load.
The soldan strucke the knighte a stroke,
That made him reele asyde ;
Then woe-begone was that fayre lady&,
And thrice she deeply sighde.
The soldan strucke a second stroke,
And made the bloude to fiowe :
All pale and wan was that ladye fayre,
And thrice she wept for woe.
EDWARD, EDWARD.
57
The soldan strucke a third fell stroke,
Which brought the knighte on his knee :
Sad sorrow pierced that ladyes heart,
And she shriekt loud shriekings three.
The knighte he leapt upon his feete,
All recklesse of the pain :
Quoth hee, But heaven be now my speede,
Or else I shall be slaine.
He grasped his sworde with mayne and
mighte,
And spying a secrette part,
He drave it into the soldan's syde,
And pierced him to the heart.
Then all the people gave a shoute,
Whan they sawe the soldan falle :
The ladye wept, and thanked Christ,
That had reskewed her from thrall.
And nowe the kinge with all his barons
Rose uppe from offe his seate,
And downe he stepped into the listes,
That curteous knighte to greete.
But he for payne and lacke of bloude
Was fallen into a swoundc,
And there all walteringe in his gore,
Lay lifelesse on the grouiule.
Come downe, come downe, my daughter
deare,
Thou art a leeche of skille ;
Farre lever had I lose halfe my landes,
Than this good knighte sholde spille.
Downe then steppeth that fayre ladye,
To helpe him if she maye ;
But when she did his beavere raise,
It is my life, my lord, she sayes,
And shriekte and swound awaye.
Sir Cauline just lifte up his eyes
When he heard his ladye crye,
O ladye, I am thine owne true love ;
For thee I wisht to dye.
Then giving her one partinge looke,
He closed his eyes in death,
Ere Christabelle, that ladye milde,
Begane to drawe her breathe.
But when she found her comelye knighte
Indeed was dead and gone,
She layde her pale cold cheeke to his,
And thus she made her moane :
O staye, my deare and onlye lord,
For nice thy faithfulle feere ;
'Tis meet that I shold followe thee,
Who hast bought my love soe deare.
Then fayntinge in a deadlye swoune,
And with a deepe-feete sighe,
That burst her gentle hearte in twayne,
Fayre Christabelle did dye.
V.— EDWARD, EDWARD.
A SCOTTISH BALLAD.
From a MS. copy lrans??iittcd from Scotland,
Quhy dois zour brand sae drop wi' bluid,
Edward, Edward?
Quhy dois zour brand sae drop wi' bluid ?
And quhy sae sad gang zee, O ?
O, I hae killed my hauke sae guid,
Mither, mither :
O, I hae killed my hauke sac guid :
And I had nae mair bot hee, O.
Zour haukis bluid was nevir sae rcid,
Edward, Edward.
Zour haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,
My deir son I tell thee, O.
O, I hae killed my reid-roan steid,
Mither, mither:
O, I hae killed my reid-roan steid,
That erst was sae fair and free, Q
53
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
Zour steid was auld, and ze hae gat mair,
Edward, Edward :
Zour steid was auld, and ze hae gat mair,
Sum other dule ze drie, 0.
O, I hae killed my fadir deir,
Mither, mither:
O, I hae killed my fadir deir,
Alas ! and wae is mee, O !
And quhattai penance wul ze drie for that,
Edward, Edward?
And quhatten penance will ze drie for that?
My deir son, now tell me, O.
lie set my feit in zonder boat,
Mither, mither!
He set my feit in zonder boat,
And He fare ovir the sea, O.
And qukat wul ze doe wi' zour towirs and
zour ha,
Edward, Edward?
And quhat wul ze doe wi' zour towirs and
zour ha',
That were sae fair to see, O ?
He let thamc stand til they doun fa',
Mither, mither :
lie let thamc stand till they doun fa',
For here nevir mair maun I bee, O.
And quhat wul ze leive to zour bairns and
zour wife,
Edward, Edward?
And quhat wul ze leive to zour bairns and
zour wife,
Qithan ze gang ovir the sea, O ?
The warldis room, let thame beg throw
life,
Mither, mither :
The warldis room, let thame beg throw
life,
For thame nevirmairwul I see, O.
And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither
deir,
Edward, Edward?
And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither
deir?
My deir son, now tell me, O.
The curse of hell frae me sail ze beir,
Mither, mither :
The curse of hell frae me sail ze beir,
Sic counseils ze gave to me, O.
This curious song was transmitted to
the Editor by Sir David Dalrymple, Bart.,
late Lord Hailes,
VI.— KING ESTMERE.
This old romantic legend (partly from two copies) bears marks of considerable antiquity,
and perhaps ought to have taken place of any in this volume. It appears to have been
written while part of Spain was in the hands of the Saracens or Moors ; whose empire
there was not fully extinguished before the year 1491. The Mahometans are spoken
of in ver. 49, etc., just in the same terms as in all other old romances.
I cannot help observing that the reader will see, in this ballad, the character of the
old minstrels (those successors of the bards) placed in a very respectable light. The
further we carry our inquiries back, the greater respect we find paid to the professors
of poetry and music among all the Celtic and Gothic nations. Their character was
deemed so sacred, that under its sanction our famous King Alfred (as we have already
seen) made no scruple to enter the Danish camp, and was at once admitted to the
king's headquarters. Our poet has suggested the same expedient to the heroes of
this ballad. Even so late as the time of Froissart we find minstrels and heralds
mentioned together as those who might securely go into an enemy's country.
KING ESTMERE.
59
As to Estmere's riding into the hall while the kings were at table, this was usual in
the ages of chivalry ; and even to this day we see a relic of this custom still kept up
in the champion's riding into Westminster hall during the coronation dinner.
Some liberties have been taken with this tale by the editor, but none without notice
to the reader in that part which relates to the subject of the harper and his attendant.
Hearken to me, gentlemen,
Come and you shall heare ;
He tell you of two of the boldest brethren
That ever borne y-were.
The tone of them was Adler younge,
The tother was kyng Estmere ;
The were as bolde men in their deeds,
As any were farr and neare.
As they were drinking ale and wine
Within kyng Estmeres halle :
When will ye marry a wyfe, brother,
A wyfe to glad us all ?
Then bespake him kyng Estmere,
And answered him hastilee :
I know not that ladye in any land
That's able to marrye with mee.
Kyng Adland hath a daughter, brother,
Men call her bright and sheene ;
If I were kyng here in your stead,
That ladye shold be my queene.
Saies, Reade me, reade me, deare brother,
Throughout merry England,
Where we might find a messenger
Betwixt us towe to sende.
Saies, You shal ryde yourselfe, brother,
He beare you companye ;
Many throughe fals messengers are
deceived,
And I feare lest soe shold wee.
Thus the renisht them to ryde
Of twoe good renisht steeds,
And when the came to king Adlands halle,
Of redd gold shone their weeds.
And when the came to kyng Adlands hall
Before the goodlye gate,
There they found good kyng Adland
Rearing himselfe theratt.
Now Christ thee save, good kyng Adland ;
Now Christ you save and see.
Sayd, You be welcome, king Estmere,
Right hartilye to mee.
You have a daughter, said Adler younge,
Men call her bright and sheene.
My brother wold marrye her to his wiffe,
Of Englande to be queene.
Yesterday was att my deere daughter
Syr Bremor the kyng of Spayne ;
And then she nicked him of naye,
And I doubt sheele do you the same.
The kyng of Spayne is a foule paynim,
And 'leeveth on Mahound;
And pitye it were that fayre ladye
Shold marrye a heathen hound.
But grant to me, sayes kyng Estmere,
For my love I you praye ;
That I may see your daughter deere
Before I goe hence awaye.
Although itt is seven yeers and more
Since my daughter was in halle,
She shall come once downe for your sake
To glad my guestes alle.
Downe then came that mayden fayre,
With ladyes laced in pall,
And halfe a hundred of bold knightes,
To bring her from bowre to hall ;
And as many gentle squiers,
To tend upon them all.
The talents of golde were on her head
sette,
Hanged low downe to her knee ;
6o
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
And everye ring on her small finger
Shone of the chrystall free.
Saies, God you save, my deere madam ;
Saies, God you save and see.
Said, You be welcome, kyng Estmere,
Right welcome unto mee.
And if you love me, as you saye,
Soe well and hartilee,
All that ever you are comen about
Soone sped now itt shal bee.
Then bespake her father deare :
My daughter, I saye naye ;
Remember well the kyng of Spayne,
What he sayd yesterdaye.
He wold pull downe my halles and castles,
And reave me of my lyfe.
I cannot blame him if he doe,
If I reave him of his wyfe.
Your castles and your towres, father,
Are stronglye built aboute ;
And therefore of the king of Spaine
Wee neede not stande in doubt.
Plight me your troth, nowe, kyng Estmere,
By heaven and your righte hand,
That you will marrye me to your wyfe,
And make me queene of your land.
Then kyng Estmere he plight his troth
By heaven and his righte hand,
That he wolde marrye her to his wyfe,
And make her queene of his land.
And he tooke leave of that ladye fayre,
To goe to his owne countree,
To fetche him dukes and lordes and
knightes,
That marryed the might bee.
They had not ridden scant a myle,
A myle forthe of the towne,
But in did come the kyng of Spayne,
With kempes many one.
But in did come the kyng of Spayne,
With manye a bold bar6ne,
Tone day to marrye kyng Adlands
daughter,
Tother daye to carrye her home.
Shee sent one after kyng Estmere
In all the spede might bee,
That he must either turne againe and
fighte,
Or goe home and loose his ladye.
One whyle then the page he went,
Another while he ranne ;
Till he had oretaken king Estmere,
I wis, he never blanne.
Tydings, tydings, kyng Estmere !
What tydinges nowe, my boye?
tydinges I can tell to you,
That will you sore annoye.
You had not ridden scant a mile,
A mile out of the towne,
But in did come the kyng of Spayne
With kempes many a one :
But in did come the kyng of Spayne
With manye a bold bar6ne,
Tone daye to marrye king Adlands
daughter,
Tother daye to carry her home.
My ladye fayre she greetes you well,
And ever-more well by mee :
You must either turne againe and fighte,
Or goe home and loose your ladye.
Saies, Reade me, reade me, deere brother,
My reade shall ryde * at thee,
Whether it is better to turne and fighte,
Or goe home and loose my ladye.
Now hearken to me, sayes Adler yonge,
And your reade must rise at me,
1 quicklye will devise a waye
To sette thy ladye free.
* Sic MS. It should probably be tyse, i.e.
my counsel shall arise from thee. See v. 140.
KING ESTMERE.
61
My mother was a westerne woman,
And learned in gramarye,*
And when I learned at the schole,
Something shee taught itt mee.
There growes an hearbe within this field,
And iff it were but knowne,
His color, which is whyte and redd,
It will make blacke and browne :
His color, which is browne and blacke,
Itt will make redd and whyte ;
That sworde is not all Englande,
Upon his coate will byte.
And you shal be a harper, brother,
Out of the north countrye ;
And He be your boy, so&Jaine of fighte,
And beare your harpe by your knee.
And you shal be the best harper,
That ever tooke harpe in hand ;
And I wil be the best singer,
That ever sung in this lande.
Itt shal be written in our forheads
All and in grammarye,
That we towe are the boldest men,
That are in all Christentye.
And thus they rcnisht them to ryde,
On tow good renish steedes ;
And when they came to king Adlands
hall,
Of redd gold shone their weedes.
And whan the came to kyng Adlands hall,
Untill the fayre ha\\ yate,
There they found a proud porter
Rearing himselfe thereatt.
Sayes, Christ thee save, thou proud porter ;
Sayes, Christ thee save and see.
Nowe you be welcome, sayd the porter,
Of what land soever ye bee.
* A knowledge of certain spells and enchant-
ments, mixing of potions, philtres, etc., to which
noble ladies of mediaeval times were much
given : a refined sort of witchcraft.
Wee beene harpers, sayd Adler younge,
Come out of the northe countrye ;
Wee beene come hither untill this place,
This proud weddinge for to see.
Sayd, And your color were white and redd,
As it is blacke and browne,
I wold saye king Estmere and his brother
Were comen untill this towne.
Then they pulled out a ryng of gold,
Layd itt on the porters arme :
And ever we will thee, proud porter,
Thow wilt saye us no harme.
Sore he looked on kyng Estmere,
And sore he handled the ryng,
Then opened to them the fayre hal yates,
He left for no kind of thyng.
Kyng Estmere he stabled his steede
Soe fayre att the hall bord ;
The froth, that came from his brydlebitte,
Light in kyng Bremors beard.
Saies, Stable thy steed, thou proud harper,
Saies, Stable him in the stalle ;
It doth not beseeme a proud harper
To stable " him " in a kyngs halle.
My ladde he is so lither, he said,
He will doe nought that's meete ;
And is there any man in this hall
Were able him to beate ?
Thou speakst proud words, sayes the
king of Spaine,
Thou harper, here to mee :
There is a man within this halle
Will beate thy ladd and thee.
O let that man come downe, he said,
A sight of him wold I see ;
And when hee hath beaten well my ladd,
Then he shall beate of mee.
Downe then came the kcmpcrye man,
And looked him in the eare ;
For all the gold, that was under heaven,
He durst not neigh him ncare.
62
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
And how nowe, kempe, said the kyng of
Spaine,
And how what aileth thee?
He saies, It is writt in his forhead
All and in gramarye,
That for all the gold that is under heaven
I dare not neigh him nye.
Then kyng Estmere pulld forth his harpe,
And plaid a pretty thinge :
The ladye upstart from the borde,
And wold have gone from the king.
Stay thy harpe, thou proud harper,
For Gods love I pray thee,
For and thou playes as thou beginns,
Thou'lt till * my bryde from mee.
He stroake upon his harpe againe,
And playd a pretty thinge ;
The ladye lough a loud laughter,
As shee sate by the king.
Saies, Sell me thy harpe, thou proud
harper,
And thy stringes all,
Foras many gold nobles " thou shalt have"
As heere bee ringes in the hall.
What wold ye doe with my harpe, "he
sayd,"
If I did sell itt yee?
"To playe my wiffe and me a fitt.f
When abed together wee bee."
Now sell me, quoth hee, thy bryde soe gay,
As shee sitts by thy knee,
And as many gold nobles I will give,
As leaves been on a tree.
* i.e. entice.
t A part of a song.
Here a strain of music
And what wold ye doe with my bryde soe
gay,
Iff I did sell her thee?
More seemelye it is for her fayre bodye
To lye by mee then thee.
Hee played agayne both loud and shrille, "
And Adler he did syng,
" O ladye, this is thy owne true love ;
Noe harper, but a kyng.
" O ladye, this is thy owne true love,
As playnlye thou mayest see ;
And He rid thee of that foule paynim,
Who partes thy love and thee."
The ladye looked, the ladye blushte,
And blushte and lookt agayne,
While Adler he hath drawna his brande,
And hath the Sowdaii slayne.
Up then rose the kemperye men,
And loud they gan to crye :
Ah ! traytors, yee have slayne our kyng,
And therefore yee shall dye.
Kyng Estmere threwe the harpe asyde
And swith he drew his brand ;
And Estmere he, and Adler yonge
Right stiffe in stour can stand.
And aye their swordes soe sore can byte,
Throughe help of Gramarye,
That soone they have slayne the kempery
men,
Or forst them forth to flee.
Kyng Estmere tooke that fayre ladye,
And marryed her to his wiffe,
And brought her home to merry England
With her to leade his life.
* Some liberties have been taken in the
following stanzas, but wherever this edition
differs from the preceding, it hath been brought
nearer to the folio MS.
SIR PATRICK SPENCE.
6.1
VII.— SIR PATRICK SPENCE,
A SCOTTISH BALLAD,
Is given from two MS. copies transmitted from Scotland. In what age the hero of
this ballad lived, or when this fatal expedition happened that proved so destructive
to the Scots nobles, I have not been able to discover ; yet am of opinion that their
catastrophe is not altogether without foundation in history, though it has escaped my
own researches. In the infancy of navigation, such as used the northern seas were
very liable to shipwreck in the wintry months ; hence a law was enacted in the reign
of James III. (a law which was frequently repeated afterwards), "That there be na
schip frauched out of the realm with any staple gudes, fra the feast of Simons day
and Jude, unto the feast of the purification of our Lady, called Candelmess." Jam.
III. Parlt. 2, ch. 15.
The king sits in Dumferling toune,
Drinking the blude-reid wine ;
O quhar will I get guid sailor,
To sail this schip of mine?
Up and spak an eldern knicht,
Sat at the kings richt kne :
Sir Patrick Spence is the best sail6r,
That sails upon the se.
The king has written a braid letter, *
And signd it wi' his hand ;
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence,
Was walking on the sand.
The first line that Sir Patrick red,
A loud lauch lauched he :
The next line that Sir Patrick red,
The teir blinded his ee.
O quha is this has don this deid,
This ill deid don to me ;
To send me out this time o' the zcir,
To sail upon the se?
Mak hast, mak haste, my mirry men all,
Our guid schip sails the morne.
* A braid letter, i.e. open or patent, in
opposition to close rolls.
O say na sae, my master deir,
For I feir a deadlie stormc.
Late late yestreen I saw the new moone
Wi' the auld moone in hir arme ;
And I feir, I feir, my deir master,
That we will com to harme.
O our Scots nobles wer richt laith
To weet their cork-heild schoone ;
Bot lang owre a' the play wer playd,
Thair hats they swam aboone.
O lang, lang, may thair ladies sit
Wi' thair fans into their hand,
Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence
Cum sailing to the land.
O lang, lang, may the ladies stand
Wi' thair gold kerns in their hair,
Waiting for thair ain deir lords,
For they'll se thame na mair.
Have owre, have owre to Aberdour,*
It's fiflie fadom deip :
And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence,
Wi' the Scots lords at his feit.
* A village lying upon the river Forth, the
entrance to which is sometimes denominated
De mortuo mari.
64 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
VIII.— ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE.
We have here a ballad of Robin Hood (from the Editor's folio MS.) which was
never before printed, and carries marks of much greater antiquity than any of the
common popular songs on this subject.
Among all those, none was ever more famous than the hero of this ballad, whose
chief residence was in Shirewood Forest, in Nottinghamshire ; and the heads of
whose story, as collected by Stow, are briefly these :
" In this time [about the year 1190, in the reign of Richard I.] were many robbers
and outlawes, among the which Robin Hood and Little John, renowned theeves,
continued in woods, despoyling and robbing the goods of the rich. They killed
none but such as would invade them, or by resistance for their own defence.
"The saide Robert entertained an hundred tall men and good archers with such
spoiles and thefts as he got, upon whom four hundred (were they ever so strong)
durst not give the onset. He suffered no woman to be oppressed, violated, or
otherwise molested : poore mens goods he spared, abundantlie relieving them with
that which by theft he got from abbeys and the houses of rich carles : whom Maior
(the historian) blameth for his rapine and theft, but of all theeves he affirmeth him to
be the prince, and the most gentle theefe." Annals, p. 159.
The personal courage of this celebrated outlaw, his skill in archery, his humanity,
and especially his levelling principle of taking from the rich and giving to the poor,
have in all ages rendered him the favourite of the common people, who, not content
to celebrate his memory by innumerable songs and stories, have erected him into the
dignity of an earl. Indeed, it is not impossible but our hero, to gain the more
respect from his followers, or they to derive the more credit to their profession, may
have given rise to such a report themselves ; for we find it recorded in an epitaph,
which, if genuine, must have been inscribed on his tombstone near the convent of
Kirkleesin Yorkshire, where (as the story goes) he was bled to death by a treacherous
nun to whom he applied for phlebotomy :
$car ttnticrncao tots lattl steam
latj tobcrt carl of Jjuntingtun
nea arcir fact a? ftte sae gcut!
an ptpl ftauto him ftobtn ^rati
stcft utlafoj as f>i an is mm
fail (England rtifair si agctt.
otttt 24 fcal ockcmfarts, 1247.
This epitaph appears to me suspicious. However, a late antiquary has given a
pedigree of Robin Hood, which, if genuine, shows that he had real pretensions to the
earldom of Huntington, and that his true name was Robert Fitz-ooth or Fitzotho.
Some liberties were, by the Editor, taken with this ballad, which in this edition hath
oeen brought nearer to the folio MS.
ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE.
65
When s/iams beene shecne, and shradds
full fay re,
And leaves both large and longe,
Itt is merrye walking in the fayre forrest
To heare the small birdes songe.
The woodweele sang, and wold not cease,
Sitting upon the spraye,
Soe lowde, he wakened Robin Hood,
In the greenwood where he lay.
Now by my faye, sayd jollye Robin,
A sweaven I had this night ;
I dreamt me of tow wighty yemen,
That fast with me can fight.
Methought they did mee beate and binde,
And tooke my bow mee free ;
If I be Robin alive in this lande,
He be wrokcn on them towe.
Swcavens are swift, Master, quoth John,
As the wind that blowes ore a hill ;
For if itt be never so loude this night,
To-morrow itt may be still.
Buske yee, bowne yee, my merry men all,
And John shall goe with mee,
For He goe seeke yond wight yeomen,
In greenwood where the bee.
Then the cast on their gownes of grene,
And tooke theyr bowes each one ;
And they away to the greene forrest
A shooting forth are gone ;
Until they came to the merry greenwood,
Where they had gladdest bee,
There were the ware of a wight yeoman,
His body leaned to a tree.
A sword and a dagger he wore by his side,
Of manye a man the bane ;
And he was clad in his capull Jiyde
Topp and tayll and mayne.
Stand you still, master, quoth Little John,
Under this tree so grene,
And I will go to yond wight yeoman
To know what he doth meane.
Ah ! John, by me thou settest noe store,
And that \farley finde :
How offt send I my men beffore.
And tarry my selfe behinde ?
It is no cunning a knave to ken,
And a man but heare him speake ;
And itt were not for bursting of my bowei
John, I thy head wold breake,
As often wordes they brecdcn bale,
So they parted Robin and John ;
And John is gone to Barnesdale :
The gates * he knoweth eche one.
But when he came to Barnesdale,
Great heavinesse there hee hadd,
For he found tow of his owne fellowes
Were slaine both in a slade.
And Scarlette he was flyinge a-foote
Fast over stocke and stone,
For the Sheriffe with seven score men
Fast after him is gone.
One shoote now I will shoote, quoth John,
With Christ his might and mayne ;
He make yond fellow that flyes soe fast,
To stopp he shall be fayne.
Then John bent up his long bende-bowe,
Andfette/ed him to shoote :
The bow was made of a tender boughe,
And fell downe to his foote.
Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood,
That ere thou grew on a tree ;
For now this day thou arte my bale,
My boote when thou shold bee.
His shoote it was but loosely shott,
Yet flewe not the arrowe in vaine,
For itt mett one of the sherriffes men,
Good William a Trent was slaine.
It had bene better of William a Trent
To have bene abed with sorrowe,
* i.e. ways, passes, paths, ridings.
a common word in the north for way.
Gate is
66
RELIQUES OF ANCIEN7 ENGLISH POETRY.
Than to be that day in the green wood
slade
To meet with Little Johns arrowe.
But as it is said, when men be mett
Fyve can doe more than three,
The sheriffe hath taken Little John,
And bound him fast to a tree.
Thou shalt be drawen by dale and downe,
And hanged hye on a hill.
But thou mayst fayle of thy purpose, quoth
John,
If itt be Christ his will.
Let us leave talking of Little John,
And thinke of Robin Hood,
How he is gone to the wight yeoman,
Where under the leaves he stood.
Good morrovve, good fellowe, sayd Robin
so fayre,
"Good morrowe, good fellowe," quoth
he:
Methinks by this bowe thou beares in thy
hande
A good archere thou sholdst bee.
I am wilfull of my wave, quo' the yeman,
And of my morning tyde.
He lead thee through the wood, sayd
Robin ;
Good fellow, He be thy guide.
I seeke an outlawe, the straunger sayd,
Men call him Robin Hood ;
Rather lid meet with that proud outlawe
Than fortye pound soe good.
Now come with me, thou wighty yeman,
And Robin thou soone shalt see :
But first let us some pastime find
Under the greenwood tree.
First let us some masteryc make
Among the woods so even,
Wee may chance to meet with Robin Hood
Here att some unsctt stcven.
They cutt them downe two summer shroggs,
That grew both under a breere,
And sett them threescore rood in twaine
To shoot the prickes y-fere.
Leade on, good fellowe, quoth Robin Hood,
Leade on, I doe bidd thee.
Nay by my faith, good fellowe, hee sayd,
My leader thou shalt bee.
The first time Robin shot at the pricke,
He mist but an inch it froe :
The yeoman he was an archer good,
But he cold never shoote soe.
The second shoote had the wightye yeman,
He shote within the garlande :
But Robin he shott far better than hee,
For he clave the good pricke wande.
A blessing upon thy heart, he sayd ;
Good fellowe, thy shooting is goode ;
For an thy hart be as good as thy hand,
Thou wert better then Robin Hoode.
Now tell me thy name, good fellowe, sayd
he,
Under the leaves of lyne.
Nay by my faith, quoth bolde Robin,
Till thou have told me thine.
I dwell by dale and downe, quoth hee,
And Robin to take Ime sworne ;
And when I am called by my right name
I am Guye of good Gisborne.
My dwelling is in this wood, sayes Robin,
By thee I set right nought :
I am Robin Hood of Barnesdale,
Whom thou so long hast sought.
He that had neither beene kithe nor kin,
Might have seene a full fayre sight,
To see how together these yeomen went
With blades both browne * and bright.
* The common epithet for a sword or other
offensive weapon in the old metrical romances
is broztrn ; as, " brown brand, " or "brown
sword, brown bill," etc., and sometimes even
" bright brown sword."
ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE.
67
To see how these yeomen together they
fought
Two howres of a summers day :
Yett neither Robin Hood nor Sir Guy
Them fettled to flye away.
Robin was reachles on a roote,
And stumbled at that tyde ;
And Guy was quicke and nimble with-all,
And hitt him ore the left side.
Ah deere Lady, sayd Robin Hood, ' ' thou
That art both mother and may,"
I think it was never mans destinye
To dye before his day.
Robin thought on our ladye deere,
And soone leapt up againe,
And strait he came with a "backward"
stroke,
And he sir Guy hath slayne.
He took sir Guys head by the hayre,
And sticked itt on his bowes end :
Thou hast beene a traytor all thy liffe,
Which thing must have an ende.
Robin pulled forth an Irish kniffe,
And flicked sir Guy in the face,
That he was never on woman born,
Cold tell whose head it was.
Saies, Lye there, lye there, now sir Guye,
And with me be not wrothe ;
If thou have had the worse strokes at my
hand,
Thou shalt have the better clothe,
Robin did off his gowne of greene,
And on sir Guy did it thrown,
And hee put on that capull hyde,
That cladd him topp to toe.
The bowe, the arrowes, and litle home,
Now with me I will beare ;
For I will away to Barnesdale,
To see how my men doe fare.
Robin Hood sett Guyes home to his mouth,
And a loud blast in it did blow.
That beheard the sheriffe of Nottingham,
As he leaned under a /owe.
Hearken, hearken, sayd the sheriffe,
I heare nowe tydings good,
For yonder I heare sir Guyes home blowe,
And he hath slaine Robin Hoode.
Yonder I heare sir Guyes home blowe,
Itt blowes soe well in tyde,
And yonder comes that wightye yeoman,
Cladd in his capull hyde.
Come hyther, come hyther, thou good sir
Guy,
Aske what thou wilt of mee.
O I will none of thy gold, sayd Robin,
Nor I will none of thy fee :
But now I have slaine the master, he sayes.
Let me goe strike the knave ;
This is all the rewarde I aske ;
Nor noe other will I have.
Thou art a madman, said the sheriffe,
Thou sholdest have had a knights fee :
But seeing thy asking hath beene soe bad,
Well granted it shale be.
When Litle John heard his master speake,
Well knewe he it was his steuen :
Now shall I be looset, quoth Litle John,
With Christ his might in heaven.
Fast Robin hee hycd him to Little John,
He thought to loose him bclive ;
The sheriffe and all his companye
Fast after him did drive.
Stand abacke, stand abacke, sayd Robin;
Why draw you mee soe neere?
Itt was never the use in our countrye,
Ones shrift another shold heere.
But Robin pulled forth an Irysh kniffe,
And losed John hand and foote,
And gave him sir Guyes bow into his hand,
And bade it be his boote.
68
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
Then John he took Guyes bow in his hand,
His boltes and arrowes eche one :
When the sheriffe saw Little John bend
his bow,
He fettled him to be gone.
Towards his house in Nottingham towne
He fled full fast away ;
And soe did all his companye :
Not one behind wold stay.
But he cold neither runne soe fast,
Nor away soe fast cold ryde,
But Litle John with an arrowe soe broad
He shott him into the "backe"-syde.
\* The title of " Sir " was not formerly
peculiar to knights ; it was given to
priests, and sometimes to very inferior
personages.
IX.— AN ELEGY ON HENRY, FOURTH EARL OF
NORTHUMBERLAND.
The subject of this poem, which was written by Skelton, is the death of Henry
Percy, Fourth Earl of Northumberland, who fell a victim to the avarice of Henry VII.
In 1489 the Parliament had granted the king a subsidy for carrying on the war in
Bretagne. This tax was found so heavy in the north, that the whole country
was in a flame. The Earl of Northumberland, then lord lieutenant of Yorkshire,
wrote to the king praying an abatement. But the king wrote back that not a penny
should be abated. This message being delivered by the earl with too little caution, the
populace rose, and supposing him to be the promoter of their calamity, broke into
his house and murdered him. This melancholy event happened at the earl's seat at
Cocklodge, near Thirske, in Yorkshire, April 28, 1489. See Lord Bacon, etc.
John Skelton, who commonly styled himself Poet Laureat, died June 21, 1529.
The following poem, which appears to have been written soon after the event, is
printed from an ancient MS. copy preserved in the British Museum, being much
more correct than that printed among Skelton's Poems, in bl. let. i2mo, 1568. — It is
addressed to Henry Percy, Fifth Earl of Northumberland, and is prefaced, etc. in the
following manner : —
Pocta Skelton Laurcatus libcllum suutn metrice alloquUur.
Ad dominum properato meum, mea pagina, Percy,
Qui Northumbrorum jura paterna gerit,
Ad nutum Celebris tu prona repone Ieonis,
Quaeque suo patri tristia justa cano.
Ast ubi perlegit, dubiam sub mente volutet
Fortunam, cuncta quae male fida rotat.
Qui leo sit felix, et Nestoris occupet annos ;
Ad libitum cujus ipse paratus ero.
HENRY, FOURTH EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND.
6 9
SKELTON LAUREAT UPON THE DOLORUS DETHE AND MUCH LAMENT-
ABLE CHAUNCE OF THE MOOST HONORABLE ERLE OF NORTHUM-
BERLANDE.
I wayle, I wepe, I sobbe, I sigh ful sore
The dedely fate, the dolefulle destenny
Of him that is gone, alas ! withoute
restore,
Of the blode* royall descendinge
nobelly ;
Whos lordshepe doutles was slayne
lamentably
Thorow treson agen hyra compassyd
and wrought ;
Trew to his prince, in worde, in deede,
and thought.
Of hevenly poems, O Clyo calde by name
In the college of musis goddess
hystoriall,
Adres the to me, whiche am both halt and
lame
In elect utcraunce to make memoryall :
To the four soccour, to the for helpe I
call
Myne homely rudnes and drighness to
expelle.
With the freshe waters of Elyconysf welle.
Of noble actes auncyently enrolde,
Of famous princis and lordes of astate,
By thy report ar wonte to be extold,
Regestringe trewly every formare date ;
Of thy bountic after the usuall rate,
Kyndle in me suche plenty of thy nobles,
Thes sorrowfullc dities that I may shew
expres.
* The mother of Henry, First Earl of North-
umberland, was -Mary, daughter to Henry,
Earl of Lancaster, whose father Edniond was
second son of King Henry III. The mother
and the wife of the Second Earl of Northum-
berland were both lineal descendants of King
Edward III.
t Helicon.
In sesons past who bathe harde or ser.e
Of formar writinge by any presidente
That vilane hastarddis in ther furious
tene,
Fulfyled with malice of froward entente,
Confctcrd togeder of commoun conccnte
Falsly to slo ther moste singular goode
lorde ?
It maybe registerde of shamefull recorde.
So noble a man, so valiaunt lorde and
knight,
Fulfilled with honor, as all the worlde
dothe ken ;
At his commaundement, whiche had both
day and night
Knyghtis and squyers, at every season
when
He calde upon them, as menyall hous-
hold men :
Were no thes commones uncurtcis Karlh
of Kynde
To slo ther owne lorde ? God was not in
their minde.
And were not they to blame, I say also.
That wereaboute hym, his owne servants
of trust,
To suffre hym slayn of his mortal! fo?
Fled away from hym, let hym ly in tl
dust :
They bode not till the reckning we: •
discust.
What shuld I flatter? what shuld I glo ■:
or paynt ?
Fy, fy for shame, their harts vver to faint.
In Englande and Fraunce, which gretly
was redouted ;
Of whom both Flaunders and Scollanc'
stode in drede ;
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
To whome grete astates obeyde and
Imvttedc ;
A mayny of rude villayns made him for
to blede :
Unkindly they slew hym, that holp them
oft at nede :
He was their bulwark, their paves, and
their wall,
Yet shamfully they slew hym ; that shame
mot them befal,
I say, ye commoners, why wer ye so stark
mad?
What frantyk frensy fyll in youre bray ne ?
Wher was your wit and reson, ye shuld
have had?
What willfull foly made yow to ryse
agayne
Your naturall lord ? alas ! I can not
fayne.
Ye armed you with will, and left your
wit behynd ;
Well may you be called comones most
unkynd.
He was your chyfteyne, your shelde, your
chef defence,
Redy to assyst you in every tyme of
nede :
Your worship depended of his excellence :
Alas ! ye mad men, to far ye did excede :
Your hap was unhappy, to ill was your
specie :
What movyd you agayn hym to war or to
fight?
What aylde you to sle your lord agyn all
right ?
The grounde of his quarel was for his
sovereyn lord,
The welle concernyng of all the hole
lande,
Demaundyng soche dutyes as nedis most
acord
To the right of his prince which shold
not be withstand ;
For whos cause ye slew hym with your
awne hande :
But had his nobill mendone wel that day,
Ye had not been hable to have saide him
nay.
But ther was fals packinge, or els I am
begylde :
How-be-it the matter was evident and
playne,
For yf they had occupied ther spere and
ther shelde,
This noble man doutles had not be
slayne.
Bot men say they wer lynked with a double
chayn,
And held with the commouns under a cloke,
Whiche kindeled the wyld fyre that made
all the smoke.
The commouns renyed ther taxes to pay
Of them demaunded and asked by the
kinge ;
With one voice importune, they playnly
said nay :
They buskt them on a bushmcnt them-
self in baile to bringe :
Agayne the kings plesure to wrastle or
to wringe,
Bluntly as bestis withe boste and with cry
They saide, they forsede not, nor carede
not to dy.
The noblenes of the northe this valiant
lorde and knyght,
As man that was innocent of trechery
or trayne,
Presed forthe boldly to witstand the
myght,
And, lyke marciall Hector, he fauht
them agayne,
Vigorously upon them with myght and
with mayne,
Trustinge in noble men that wer with hym
there :
Bot all they fled from hym for falshode or
fere.
Barons, knights, squyers, one and alle,
Togeder with servaunts of his famuly.
HENRY, FOURTH EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND.
71
Turnd their backis, and let ther master
fall,
Of whos [life] they counted not a flye ;
Take up whose wolde for them, they let
hym ly.
Alas ! his golde, his fee, his annuall rente
Upon suche a sort was ille bestowde and
spent.
He was envyronde aboute on every syde
Withe his enemys, that were stark mad
and wode ;
Yet whils he stode he gave them woundes
wyde :
Alas ioxrouthel what touche his mynde
were goode,
His corage manly, yet ther he shed his
bloode !
All left alone, alas ! he fawte in vayne ;
For cruelly amonge them ther he was
slayne.
Alas for pite ! that Percy thus was spylt,
The famous erle of Northumberlande :
Of knightly prowes the sworde pomel and
hylt,
The myghty lyoun * doutted by se and
lande !
O dolorous chaunce of fortuns fruward
hande !
What man remembring how shamfully he
was slayne,
From bitter weepinge hymself kan
restrayne?
O cruell Mars, thou dedly god of war !
O dolorous teusday, dedicate to thy
name,
When thou shoke thy sworde so noble a
man to mar !
O grounde ungracious, unhappy be thy
fame,
Whiche wert endyed with rede blode of
the same !
* Alluding to his crest and supporters.
Doutted is abridged for redoubted.
Moste noble erle! O fowle mysuryi
grounde
Whereon he gat his fynal dedely wounde !
O Atropos, of the fatall systers thre,
Goddes mooste cruell unto the lyf of
man,
All merciles, in the ys no pite !
O homycide, whiche sleest all that thou.
kan,
So forcibly upon this erle thow ran,
That with thy sworde enharfid of mortall
drede,
Thou kit asonder \\\$> perfight vitall threde !
My wordis unpullysht be nakide and
playne,
Of aureat poems they want ellumyn-
ynge;
Bot by them to knoulege ye may attayne
Of this lordis dethe and of his
murdrynge.
Which whils he lyvyd had fuyson of
every thing,
Of knights, of squyers, chef lord of toure
and toune,
Tylfykkill fortune began on hym to frowne.
Paregall to dukis, with kings he myght
compare,
Surmountinge in honor all erls he did
excede,
To all cuntreis aboute hym reporte me
I dare.
Lyke to Eneas benygne in worde and
dede,
Valiaunt as Hector in every marciall
nede,
Provydent, discrete, circumspect, and
wyse,
Tyll the chaunce ran agynehim of fortunes
duble dyse.
What nedethe me for to extoll his fame
With my rude pen enkankerd all with
rust?
Whos noble actis shewworsheply his name,
72
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
Transcendyng far myne homely muse,
that must
Yet sumwhat wright supprisid with
hartly lust,
Truly reportinge his right noble astate,
Immortally whiche is immaculate.
His noble blode never disteynyd was,
Trew to his prince for to defende his right,
Doublenes hatinge, fals maters to compas,
Treytory and treson he bannesht out of
syght,
With trowth to medle was all his hole
delyght,
As all his kuntrey lean testefy the same :
To .r/tfsuche alord, alas, it was grete shame.
If the hole quere of the musis nyne
In me all onely wer sett and comprisyde,
Embrethed with the blast of influence
dyvyne,
As perfightly as could be thought or
devysyd ;
To me alsoallthouche it were promysyde
Of laureat Phebus holy the eloquence,
All were to litill for his magnyficence.
yonge lyon, bot tender yet of age,
Grow and encrease, remembre thyn
astate,
God the assyst unto thyn herytage,
And geve the grace to be more fortunate,
Agayne rebelly ouns arme to make debate.
And, as the lyoune, whiche is of bestis
kingc,
Unto thy subjectis be kurteis and benyngne.
1 pray God sende the prosperous lyf and
long,
Stabille thy mynde constant to be and
fast,
Right tomayntein, and to resist all wronge :
All flattringe faytors abhor and from the
cast,
Of foule detraction God kepe the from
the blast :
Let double delinge in the have no place,
And be not light of credence in no case.
Wythe hevy chere, with dolorous hart and
mynd,
Eche man may sorow in his inward
thought,
Thys lords death, whose pere is hard to
fynd
Allgyf Englond and Fraunce were
thorow saught.
Al kings, all princes, all dukes, well they
ought
Bothe temporall and spirituall for to ccm-
playne
This noble man, that crewelly was slayne.
More specially barons, and those knygtes
bold,
And all other gentilmen with hym enter-
teynd,
In fee, as menyall men of his housold,
Whom he as lord worsheply manteynd :
To sorowfull weping they ought to be
constreynd,
As oft as thei call to ther remembraunce,
01 ther good lord the fate and dedely
chaunce.
O perlese prince of heveyn emperyalle,
That with one worde formed al tiling of
noughte ;
Hevyn, hell, and erth obey unto thi kail ;
Which to thy resemblance wonc'.er. 3 ly
hast wrought
All mankynd, whom thou full dere hast
boght,
With thy blode precious our fi na uncc thou
dyd pay,
And us redemed, from the fendys pray :
To the pray we, as prince incomperable,
As thou art of mercy and pite the well,
Thou bringe unto thy joye etermynable
The sowle of this lorde from all daunger
of hell,
In endlesblis with the to byde and dwell
In thy palace above the orient,
Where thou art lorde, and God omnipotent.
THE TOWER OF DOCTRINE.
73
O quene of mercy, O lady full of grace,
Maiden moste pure, and goddis moder
dere,
Tosorowfull harts chef comfort and solace,
Of all women O floure withouten pere,
Pray to thy son above the starris clere,
He to vouchesaf by thy mediatioun
To pardon thy servant, and bringe to
salvacion.
In joy triumphant the hevenly yerarchy,
With all the hole sorte of that glorious
place,
His soule mot receyve into ther company
Thorowe bounte of hym that formed all
solace :
Well of pite, of mercy, and of grace,
The father, the son, and the holy goste
In Trinitate one God of myghts moste.
X.— THE TOWER OF DOCTRINE.
The reader has here a specimen of the descriptive powers of Stephen Hawcs, a cele-
brated poet in the reign of Henry VII., though now little known. It is extracted from
an allegorical poem (written in 1505), entitled, The Hist, of Graunde Amoure & La
Belle Pucel, called the Palace of Pleasure, etc., 4to, 1555.
The following stanzas are taken from chaps, iii. and iv. , " How Fame departed from
Graunde Amour and left him with Governaunce and Grace, and howe he went to the
Tower of Doctrine," etc.
I looked about and saw a craggy roche,
Farre in the west neare to the element,
And as I dyd then unto it approche,
Upon the tope I sawe refulgent
The royal tower of Morall Document,
Made of fine copper with turrettes fayre
and hye,
Which against Phebus shone soe marveyl-
ously,
That for the very perfect bryghtenes
What of the tower, and of the cleare
sunne,
I could nothyng behold the goodlines
Of that palaicc, whereas Doctrine did
wonne:
Tyll at the last, with mysty wyndes
donne,
The radiant brightnes of golden Phebus
Auster * gan cover with clowde tenebrus.
* A pernicious wind from the south brought
dark or shady clouds to cover the sun. The
wind Auster was said to bring rain and to
blight the flowers.
Then to the tower I drewe, nere and
nere,
And often mused of the great hyghnes
Of the craggy rocke, which quadrant did
appeare :
But the fayre tower (so much of ryehes
Was all about), sexangled doubtles :
Gargeyld with grayhoundes, and with
many lyons,
Made of fyne golde ; with divers sundry
dragons.*
The little turrets with ymages of golde
About was set, vvhiche with the wynde
aye moved
With proprc vices, that I did well beholde
About the tower, in sundry vvyse they
hoved
With goodly- pypes, in their moutl.es
ituned,
That with the wynd they pyped a daunce
/clipped Amour de la liaiilt plcasauiicc.
* Greyhounds, lions, dragons, were at that
time the royal supporters.
74
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
The toure was great of marveylous wydnes,
To whyche ther was no way to passe
but one,
Into the toure for to have an ititres :
A grece there was ychesyld all of stone
Out of the rocke, on whyche men dyd
gone
Up to the toure, and in lykewyse dyd I
Wyth bothe the Grayhoundes in my com-
pany :
Tyll that I came unto a ryall gate,
Where I sawe stondynge the goodly
Portres,
Whyche axed me from whence I came a-
late ;
To whome I gan in every thynge ex-
presse
All myne adventure, chaunce, and busy-
nesse,
And eke my name ; I tolde her every dell :
Whan she herde this she lyked me right
well.
Her name, she sayd, was called Counten-
aunce ;
Into the ' ' base " courte she dyd me then
lede,
Where was a fountayne dcpured of ples-
ance,
A noble sprynge, a ryall conduyte-hede,
Made of fyne golde enameled with reed ;
And on the toppe four dragons blewe
and stoute
Thys dulcet water in four partes dyd
spoute.
Of whyche there flowed foure ryvers ryght
clere,
Sweter than Nylus * or Ganges was ther
odoure ;
Tygrys or Eufrates unto them no pere :
I dyd than taste the aromatyke Iy-
coure,
Fragraunt of fume, and swete as any
fioure ;
And in my mouthe it had a marveylous
scent
Of divers spyces, I knewe not what it ment.
And after thys further forth me brought
Dame Countenaunce into a goodly Hall,
Of jasper stones it was wonderly wrought :
The wyndowes cleare depured all of
crystall,
And in the roufe on hye over all
Of golde was made a ryght crafty vyne ;
Instede of grapes the rubies there did
shyne.
The fiore was paved with berall clarified,
With pillers made of stones precious,
Like a place of pleasure so gayely glorified,
It myght be called a palaice glorious,
So muche delectable and solacious ;
The hall was hanged hye and circuler
With cloth of arras in the rychest maner,
That treated well of a ful noble story,
Of the doubty waye to the Tower
Perillous ; f
Howe a noble knyght should wynne the
victory
Of many a serpente foule and odious.
Nile.
t The story of the poem.
THE CHILD OF ELLE.
75
XL— THE CHILD OF ELLE.
This poem is given from a fragment in the Editor's folio ATS., "which, though
extremely defective and mutilated, appeared to have so much merit that it excited a
strong desire to attempt a completion of the story ; " so says Bishop Percy, but
the fragment alluded to consists of but thirty lines. Of these in the ballad before us,
Percy has omitted some. Those retained are printed in italics, and these are not
given verbatim. The reader will therefore see upon how slender a foundation the
present poem of two hundred lines has been built.
On yonder hill a castle standes
With walles and towres bedight,
And yonder lives the Child of Elle,
A younge and comely knighte.
The Child of Elle to his garden went,
And stood at his garden pale,
Whan, lo 1 he beheld fair Emmelines page
Come trippinge downe the dale.
The Child of Elle he hyed him thence,
Y-wis he stoode not stille,
And soone he mette faire Emmelines page
Come climbing up the hille.
Nowe Christe thee save, thou little foot-
page,
Now Christe thee save and see !
Oh telle me how does thy ladye gaye,
And what may thy tydinges bee ?
My lady shee is all woc-begone,
And the teares they fall from her eyne ;
And aye she laments the deadlye feude
Bctweene her house and thine.
And here shee sends thee a silken scarfe
Bedewde with many a teare,
And biddes thee sometimes thinke on her,
Who loved thee so deare.
And here shee sends thee a ring of goldc,
The last boone thou mayst have,
And biddes thee weare it for her sake,
Whan she is layde in grave.
For, ah ! her gentle heart is broke,
And in grave soone must shee bee,
Sith her father hath chose her a new new
love,
And forbidde her to think of thee.
Her father hath brought her a carlish
knight,
Sir John of the north countraye,
And within three dayes shee must him
wedde,
Or he vowes he will her slaye.
Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page.
And greet thy ladye from mee,
And telle her that I her owne tme love
Will dye, or sette her free.
Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page,
And let thy fair ladye know
This night will I bee at her bowrc-wind6\ve,
Betide me weale or woe.
The boye he tripped, the boye he ranne,
He neither stint ne stayd
Untill he came to fair Emmelines bowre,
Whan kneeling downe he sayd,
O ladye, Pve been with thy own true love,
And he greets thee well by mee ;
This night will he bee at thy bowre-
windowe,
And dye or sette thee free.
Nowe daye was gone, and night was come,
And all were fast asleepe, '
All save the ladye Emmeline,
Who sate in her bowre to weepe :
76
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
And soono shee heard her true loves voice
Lowe whispering at the walle,
Awake, awake, my deare ladye,
Tis I thy true love call.
Awake, awake, my ladye deal e,
Come, mount this faire palfraye :
This ladder of ropes will lette thee downe,
He carrye thee hence awaye.
Nowe nay, nowe nay, thou gentle knight
Nowe nay, this may not bee ;
For aye shold I tint my maiden fame,
If alone I should wend with thee.
O ladye, thou with a knightc so true
Mayst safelye wend alone,
To my ladye mother I will thee bringe,
Where marriage shall make us one.
' ' My father he is a baron bolde,
Of lynage proude and hye ;
And what would he saye if his daughter
Awaye with a knight should fly ?
"Ah ! well I wot, he never would rest,
Nor his meate should doe him no goode,
Until he had slayne thee, Child of Elle,
And scene thy deare hearts bloode."
ladye, zucrt thou in thy saddle sette,
And a little space him fro,
1 would not care for thy cruel father,
Nor the worst that he could doe.
ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette,
And once without this walle,
1 would not care for thy cruel father,
Nor the worst that might befalle.
Faire Ernmeline sighed, fair Emmeline
wept,
And aye her heart was woe :
At length he seized her lilly-white hand,
And downe the ladder he drewe :
And thrice he clasped her to his breste,
And hist her tenderlic :
The tciircs that fell from her fair eyes
Ranne like the fountayne free.
Hee mounted himself e on his steede so talle,
And her on a fair palfraye,
And slung his bugle about his necke,
And roundlye they rode awaye.
All this beheard her owne damselle,
In her bed whereas shee ley,
Quoth shee, My lord shall knowe of this,
Soe I shall have golde and fee.
Awake, awake, thou baron bolde !
Awake, my noble dame !
Your daughter is fledde with the Child of
Elle
To doe the deede of shame.
The baron he woke, the baron he rose,
And called his merrye men all :
"And come thou forth, Sir John the
knighte,
Thy ladye is carried to thrall. "
Faire Emmeline scant had ridden a mile,
A mile forth of the towne,
When she was aware of her fathers men
Come galloping ove; the downe :
And foremost came the carlish knight,
Sir John of the north countraye :
' ' Nowe stop, nowe stop, thou false
traitoure,
Nor carry that ladye awaye.
For she is come of hye lineage,
And was of a ladye borne,
And ill it beseems thee a false churl's
sounc
To carry her hence to scorne."
Noive loud thou lyest, Sir John the kui^ht,
Noive thou docst lye of nice ;
A knight nice gott, and a ladye me lore,
Soe never did none by thee.
But light nowe downe, my ladye faire,
Light downe, and hold my steed,
While I and this discourteous knighte
Doe try this arduous deede.
THE CHILD OF ELLE.
77
But light nowe doivne, my deare ladye,
Light downe, and hold my horse;
While I and this discourteous knightc
Doc try our valour s force.
Fair Emmcline sighed, fair Emmeline
wept,
And aye her heart was woe,
While twixt her love and the carlish knight
Past many a baleful blowe.
1 he Child of Elle hee fought soe well,
As his weapon he waved amaine,
That soone he had slaine the carlish
knight,
And layd him upon the plaine.
And nowe the baron and all his men
Full fast approached nye :
Ah ! what may ladye Emmeline doe?
Twere nowe no boote to flye.
Her lover he put his home to his mouth,
And blew both loud and shrill,
And soone he saw his owne merry men
• Come ryding over the hill.
' Nowe hold thy hand, thou bold baron,
I pray thee hold thy hand,
Nor ruthless rend two gentle hearts
Fast knit in true love's band.
Thy daughter I have dearly loved
Full long and many a day ;
But with such love as holy kirke
Hath freelye sayd wee may.
O give consent, slice may be mine,
And blesse a faithfull paire ;
My lands and livings are not small,
My house and lineage fairc :
My mother she was an earl's daughter,
And a noble knyght my sire " —
The baron he frowned, and turn'd away
With mickle dole and ire.
Fair Emmeline sighed, faire Emmeline
wept,
And did all tremblinge stand :
At lengthe she sprang upon her knee,
And held his lifted hand.
Pardon, my lorde and father deare,
This faire yong knyght and mee :
Trust me, but for the carlish knyght,
I never had fled from thee.
Oft have you called your Emmeline
Your darling and your joye ;
O let not then your harsh resolves
Your Emmeline destroye.
The baron he stroakt his dark-brow"
cheeke,
And turned his heade asyde
To whipe away the starting teare
He proudly strave to hyde.
In deepe revolving thought he stoode,
And mused a little space ;
Then raised faire Emmeline from the
grounde,
With many a fond embrace.
Here take her, Child of Elle, he sayd,
And gave her lillye white hand ;
Here take my deare and only child,
And with her half my land :
Thy father once mine honour wrongde
In dayes of youthful pride ;
Do thou the injurye repayre
In fondnesse for thy bride.
And as thou love her, and hold her deare,
Heaven prosper thee and thine :
And nowe my blessing wend wi' thee,
My lovelye Emmeline.
?3
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
XII.— EDOM OF GORDON.*
This Scottish ballad was printed at Glasgow, by Robert and Andrew Foulis,
MDCCLV., 8vo, 12 pages. We are indebted for its publication to Sir David
Dalrymple, Bart., who gave it as it was preserved in the memory of a lady now
dead.
The reader will here find it improved and enlarged with several fine stanzas,
recovered from a fragment of the same ballad, in the Editor's folio MS. The frag-
ment is there given under the title of Captain Carre, and the Castle of the Rodes is
called Brittons-borrow. The fragment consists of eighty-five lines. It is supposed
that the minstrels who recited this and other ballads were accustomed to change the
names of their heroes according to the company they were in, and hence the confusion
of Edom of Gordon (Adam Gordon) and Captain Adam Carre. But the note at the
end of the poem seems to fix the inhuman deed upon Adam Gordon, brother of the
Earl of Huntley.
It fell about the Martinmas,
Quhcn the wind blew shril and cauld,
Said Edom of Gordon to his men,
We maun draw till a ha it Id.
And quhat a hauld sail we draw till,
My mirry men and me ?
We wul gae to the house o' the Rodes,
To see that fair ladie.
The lady stude on hir castle wa',
Beheld baith dale and down :
There she was ware of a host of men
Cum ryding towards the toun.
O see ze nat, my mirry men a' ?
see ze nat quhat I sec ?
Methinks I see a host of men :
1 marveil quha they be.
She wcend it had been hir luvely lord,
As he cam ryding hame ;
It was the traitor Edom o' Gordon,
Quha reckt nae sin nor shame.
She had nae sooner buskit hirsel,
And putten on hir goun,
But Edom o' Gordon and his men
Were round about the toun.
They had nae sooner supper sett,
Nae sooner said the grace,
But Edom o' Gordon and his men
Were light about the place.
The lady ran up to hir towir head,
So fast as she could hie,
To see if by hir fair speeches
She could wi' him agree.
But quhan he see this lady saif,
And hir yatcs all locked fast,
He fell into a rage of wrath,
And his look-was all aghast.
Cum doun to me, ze lady gay,
Cum doun, cum doun to me :
This night sail ye lig within mine armes,
To-morrow my bride sail be.
I wirmae cum doun, ze fals Gordon,
I winnae cum doun to thee ;
I winnae forsake my ain dear lord,
That is sae far frae me.
Give owre sour house, ze lady fair,
Give owre zour house to me,
Or I sail brcnn yoursel therein,
Bot and zour babies three.
* Given in folio as Captain Carre.
EDOM OF GORDON.
79
I winnae give owre, ze false Gordon,
To nae sik traitor as zee ;
And if ze brenn my ain dear babes,
My lord sail make ze drie.
But reach my pistoll, Glaud, my man,
And charge ze weil my gun :
For, but an I pierce that bluidy butcher,
My babes we been undone.
She stude upon hir castle wa',
And let twa bullets flee :
She mist that bluidy butchers hart,
And only raz'd his knee.
Set fire to the house, quo' fals Gordon,
All wood wi' dulc and ire :
Fals lady, ze sail rue this deid,
As ze'bren in the fire.
Wae worth, wae worth ze, Jock, my man,
I paid ze weil zour lee ;
Quhy pu' ze out the ground-wa' stane,
Lets in the reek to me ?
And ein wae worth ze, Jock, my man,
I paid ze weil zour hire ;
Quhy pu' ze out the ground-wa' stane,
To me lets in the fire?
Ze paid mc weil my hire, lady ;
Ze paid me weil my fee :
But now I'm Edom o' Gordons man.
Maun either doe or die :
than bespaik hir little son,
Sate on the nurses knee :
Saves, Mither deare, gi' owre this house,
For the reek it smithers me.
1 wad gie a' my gowd, my childe,
Sae wald I a' my fee,
For ane blast o' the western wind
To blaw the reek frae thee.
O then bespaik hir dochter dear,
She was baith _//'//// and sina :
O row me in a pair o' sheits,
And tow me ower the wa.
They rowd hir in a pair o' sheits,
And toivd hir ower the wa :
But on the point o' Gordons spear
She gat a deadly fa.
bonnie bonnie was hir mouth,
And cherry were her cheiks,
And clear clear was hir zellow hair,
Whereon the reid bluid dreips.
Then wi' his spear he turnd hir owre,
gin hir face was wan !
He sayd, Ze are the first that eir
1 wisht alive again.
He turnd hir owre and owre againe,
gin hir skin was whyte !
1 might ha spared that bonnie face
To hae been sum mans delyte.
Busk and boun, my merry men a',
For ill dooms I doe guess ;
I cannae luik in that bonnie face,
As it lyes on the grass.
Thame, luiks to freils, my master deir,
Then freits wil follow thame :
Let it neir be said brave Edom o' Gordon
Was daunted by a dame.
But quhen the ladye see the fire
Cum flaming owre hir head,
She wept, and kist her children twain,
Sayd, Bairns, we been but dead.
The Gordon then his bougill blew,
And said, Awa', awa' ;
This house o' the Rodes is a' in flame,
1 hauld it time to ga'.
O then bespyed hir ain dear lord,
As hce cam owr the lee ;
He sied his castle all in blaza
Sa far as he could see.
Then sair, O sair his mind misgave,
And all his hart was wae ;
Put on, put on, my wighty men,
So fast as ze can gae. ,
8o
FEIIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH FOE TRY,
Put on, put on, ray wighty men,
Sa fast as ze can drie ;
For he that is hindmost of the thrang
Sail neir get guid o' me.
Than sum they rade, and sum they rin,
Fou fast out owr the bent ;
But eir the foremost could get up,
Baith lady and babes were brent.
He w - :ig his hands, he rent his hair,
And wept in tecncfu muid :
O traitors, for this cruel deid
Ze sail weep teirs o' bluid.
And after the Gordon he is gane,
Sa fast as he might drie ;
And soon i' the Gordon's foul hartis bluid
He's wroken his dear ladie.
*** Since the foregoing ballad was
first printed, the subject of it has been
found recorded in Archbishop Spottis-
wood's History of the Church of Scotland,
p. 259, who informs us that —
"Anno 1571. In the north parts of
Scotland, Adam Gordon (who was deputy
for his brother the Earl of Huntley) did
keep a great stir ; and under colour of
the queen's authority, committed divers
oppressions, especially upon the Forbes's
. . . Having killed Arthur Forbes, brother
to the Lord Forbes . . . Not long after
he sent to summon the house of Tavoy
pertaining to Alexander Forbes. The
lady refusing to yield without direction
from her husband, he put fire unto i* , and
burnt her therein, with children ar. :/ ser-
vants, being twenty-seven persons in all.
"This inhuman and barbarous cruelty
made his name odious, and stained all his
former doings ; otherwise he was held
very active and fortunate in his enter-
prises."
THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK.
ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 81
SERIES THE FIRST.— BOOK II.
I.— BALLADS THAT ILLUSTRATE SHAKESPEARE.
Our great dramatic poet having occasionally quoted many ancient ballads, and even
taken the plot of one, if not more, of his plays from among them, it was judged
proper to preserve as many of these as could be recovered, and, that they might be
the more easily found, to exhibit them in one collective view. This second book is
therefore set apart for the reception of such ballads as are quoted by Shakespeare, or
contribute in any degree to illustrate his writings ; this being the principal point in
view, the candid reader will pardon the admission of some pieces that have no other
kind of merit.
The design of this book being of a dramatic tendency, it may not be improperly
introduced with a few observations on the origin of the English stage, and on the
conduct of our first dramatic poets — a subject which, though not unsuccessfully handled
by several good writers already,* will yet perhaps admit of some further illustration.
ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE, ETC.
It is well known that dramatic poetry in this and most other nations of Europe owes
its origin, or at least its revival, to those religious shows which in the Middle Ages
were usually exhibited on the more solemn festivals. At those times they were wont
to represent in the churches the lives and miracles of the saints, or some of the more
important stories of Scripture. And as the most mysterious subjects were frequently
chosen, such as the Incarnation, Passion, and Resurrection of Christ, etc., these
exhibitions acquired the general name of Mysteries. At first they were probably a
kind of dumb shows, intermingled, it may be, with a few short speeches ; at length
they grew into a regular series of connected dialogues, formally divided into acts and
scenes. Specimens of these in their most improved state (being at best but poor
artless compositions) may be seen among Dodsley's Old Plays, and in Osborne's
Harleian Misccl. How they were exhibited in their most simple form, we may learn
from an ancient novel, often quoted by our old dramatic poets, \ entitled, . . .
a merge 3est of a man that 1ms rallctr |iJob)lcn;lns4 etc., being a translation from
the Dutch language, in which he is named Ulenspiegle, Howleglass, whose waggish
tricks are the subject of this book, after many adventures comes to live with a priest,
who makes him his parish clerk. This priest is described as keeping a leman or
concubine, who had but one eye, to whom Howleglass owed a grudge for revealing
his rogueries to his master. The story thus proceeds : . . . " And than in the meane
season, while Howleglas was parysh clarke at Easter they should play the Resurrection
* Bishop Warburton's Shakespeare ; preface to Dodsley's Old Plays; Riccoboni's Acct. of
Theat. of Europe, etc. These were all the Author had seen when he first drew up this essay.
t See Ben Jonson's Poetaster, Act iii. Sc. iv., and his masque of The Fortunate Isles. '
t Howleglass is said in the preface to have died in 1450; at the end of the book, in 1350
F
J! 2 RELIQ UES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POE TR I .
oi our Lorde : and for because than the men wer not learned, nor could not read, the
Jjriest toke his leman, and put her in the grave for an aungell : and this seing
Howleglas, toke to hym iij of the symplest persons that were in the towne, that
played the iij Maries ; and the person [i.e. parson or rector] played Christe, with a
baner in his hand. Than saide Howleglas to the symple persons, Whan the aungel
asketh you whome you seke, you may saye, The parsons leman with one iye. Than
it fortuned that the tyme was come that they must playe, and the aungel asked them
whom they sought, and than sayd they, as Howleglas had shewed and lerned them
afore, and than answered they, We seke the priests leman with one iye. And than
the prieste might heare that he was mocked. And whan the priestes leman herd that,
she arose out of the grave, and would have smyten with her fist Howleglas upon the
cheke, but she missed him and smote one of the simple persons that played one
of the thre Maries ; and he gave her another ; and than toke she him by the heare
[hair] ; and that seing his wyfe, came running hastely to smite the priestes leaman ;
and than the priest seeing this, caste down hys baner and went to helpe his woman,
so that the one gave the other sore strokes, and made great noyse in the churche.
And than Howleglas seyng them lyinge together by the eares in the bodi of the
churche, went his way out of the village, and came no more there." *
As the old Mysteries frequently required the representation of some allegorical
personage, such as Death, Sin, Charity, Faith, and the like, by degrees the rude poets
of those unlettered ages began to form complete dramatic pieces consisting entirely of
such personifications. These they entitled Moral Plays or Moralities. The Mysteries
were very inartificial, representing the Scripture stories simply according to the letter.
But the Moralities are not devoid of invention ; they exhibit outlines of the dramatic
art : they contain something of a fable or plot, and even attempt to delineate
characters and manners. I have now before me two that were printed early in the
reign of Henry VIII. ; in which I think one may plainly discover the seeds of tragedy
and comedy ; for which reason I shall give a short analysis of them both.
One of them is entitled Srjcrg fElatt.f The subject of this piece is the
summoning of man out of the world by death ; and its moral, that nothing will
then avail him but a well-spent life and the comforts of religion. This subject and
moral are opened in a monologue spoken by the Messenger (for that was the name
generally given by our ancestors to the Prologue on their rude stage) : then God J
is represented ; who, after some general complaints on the degeneracy of mankind,
calls for Death, and orders him to bring before his tribunal Every Man, for so is
called the personage who represents the human race. Every Man appears, and
receives the summons with all the marks of confusion and terror. When Death is
withdrawn, Every Man applies for relief in this distress to Fellowship, Kindred,
Goods, or Riches, but they successively renounce and forsake him. In this discon-
solate state he betakes himself to Good Dedes, who, after upbraiding him with his
long neglect of her,§ introduces him to her sister Knowledge, and she leads him to
* ImprynteJ . . . by Wyllyam Copland: without date, in 4to bl. let. among Mr. Garrick's
Old Plays, K. vol. x.
t This play has been reprinted by Mr. Hawkins in his three vols, of old plays, entitled, Tlu
Origin of the English Drama, i2mo. Oxford, 1773. See vol. i. p. 27.
% The Second Person of the Trinity seems to be meant.
§ The before-mentioned are male characters.
ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 83
the "holy man Confession," who appoints him penance : this he inflicts upon himself
on the stage, and then withdraws to receive the sacraments of the priest. On his
return he begins to wax faint, and after Strength, Beauty, Descretion, and Five Wits*
have all taken their final leave of him, gradually expires on the stage ; Good
Dedes still accompanying him to the last. Then an Aungell descends to sing his
Requiem ; and the Epilogue is spoken by a person, called Doctour, who recapitulates
the whole, and delivers the moral : —
"This memoriall men may have in mynde,
Ye herers, take it of worth old and yonge,
And forsake Pryde, for he disceyveth you in thende,
And remembre Beaute, Five Witts, Strength, and Discretion,
They all at last do Every Man forsake ;
Save his Good Dedes there dothe he take ;
But beware, for and they be small,
Before God he hath no helpe at all," etc.
From this short analysis it may be observed, that ISutVH fHait is a grave solemn
piece, not without some rude attempts to excite terror and pity, and therefore may
not improperly be referred to the class of tragedy. It is remarkable that in this old
simple drama the fable is conducted upon the strictest model of the Greek tragedy.
The action is simply one, the time of action is that of the performance, the scene is
never changed, nor the stage ever empty. Every Man, the hero of the piece, after his
first appearance never withdraws, except when he goes out to receive the sacraments,
which could not well be exhibited in public ; and during his absence, Knowledge
descants on the excellence and power of the priesthood, somewhat after the marine"
of the Greek chorus. And, indeed, except in the circumstance of Every Man's
expiring on the stage, the Sampson Agcmistes of Milton is hardly formed on a
severer plan.f
The other play is entitled |tjtck SfOVUCV.t and bears no distant resemblance to
Comedy : its chief aim seems to be to exhibit characters and manners, its plot being
much less regular than the foregoing. The Prologue is spoken by Pity, represented
under the character of an aged pilgrim ; he is joined by Contemplacyon and Perse-
verance, two holy men, who, after lamenting the degeneracy of the age, declare their
resolution of stemming the torrent. Pity then is left upon the stage, and presently
found by Frewyll, representing a lewd debauchee, who, with his dissolute companion
Imaginacion, relate their manner of life, and not without humour describe the stews
and other places of base resort. They are presently joined by Hick Scorner, who is
drawn as a libertine returned from travel, and, agreeably to his name, scoffs at religion.
These three are described as extremely vicious, who glory in every act of wickedness :
at length two of them quarrel, and Pity endeavours to part the fray ; on this they fall
upon him, put him in the stocks, and there leave him. Pity, thus imprisoned,
descants in a kind of lyric measure on the profligacy of the age, and in this situation
* i.e. the five senses. These are frequently exhibited as five distinct personages upon the
Spanish stage (see Riccoboni, p. 98); but our moralist has represented them all by one character.
t See more of Every Man in vol. ii. Preface to B. ii. note.
% Imprynted by me YVynkyn de Worde, no date ; in 4to bl. let. This play has also been
reprinted by Mr. Hawkins in his Origin cf the English Drama, vol. i. p. 69. ^
84 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
is found by Perseverance and Contemplacion, who set him at liberty, and advise him
to go in search of the delinquents. As soon as he is gone, Frewill appears again ;
and after relating in a very comic manner some of his rogueries and escapes from
justice, is rebuked by the two holy men, who, after a long altercation, at length
convert him and his libertine companion Imaginacioun from their vicious course of
life : and then the play ends with a few verses from Perseverance by way of Epilogue.
This and every morality I have seen conclude with a solemn prayer. They are all of
them in rhyme ; in a kind of loose stanza, intermixed with distichs.
It would be needless to point out the absurdities in the plan and conduct of the
foregoing play : they are evidently great. It is sufficient to observe, that, bating the
moral and religious reflection of pity, etc., the piece is of a comic cast, and contains a
humorous display of some of the vices of the age. Indeed, the author has generally
been so little attentive to the allegory, that we need only substitute other names to
his personages, and we have real characters and living manners.
We see then that the writers of these moralities were upon the very threshold of
real tragedy and comedy : and therefore we are not to wonder that tragedies and
comedies in form soon after took place, especially as the revival of learning about this
time brought them acquainted with the Roman and Grecian models.
II. At what period of time the moralities had their rise here, it is difficult to discover.
But plays of miracles appear to have been exhibited in England soon after the Con-
quest. Matthew Paris tells us that Geoffrey, afterwards Abbot of St. Albans, a
Norman, who had been sent for over by Abbot Richard to take upon him the direc-
tion of the school of that monastery, coming too late, went to Dunstable, and taught
in the abbey there ; where he caused to be acted (probably by his scholars) a miracle
play of St. Catherine, composed by himself. This was long before the year 1119, and
probably within the eleventh century. The above play of St. Catherine was, for aught
that appears, the first spectacle of this sort that was exhibited in these kingdoms : and
an eminent French writer thinks it was even the first attempt towards the revival of
dramatic entertainments in all Europe ; being long before the representations ot
mysteries in France, for these did not begin till about the year 1398.*
But whether they derived their origin from the above exhibition or not, it is certain
that holy plays, representing the miracles and sufferings of the saints, were become
common in the reign of Henry II. ; and a lighter sort of interludes appear not to
have been then unknown. f In the subsequent age of Chaucer, " Plays of Miracles "
in Lent were the common resort of idle gossips. J
They do not appear to have been so prevalent on the Continent, for the learned
* See Abrege Chron. de I' Hist, de France by M. Henault, 1179.
t See Fitzstephen's description of London, preserved by Stow (and reprinted with notes,
etc., by the Rev. Mr. Pegge, in 1774, 4to), Londonia pro spectacnlis tfieatralibus, pro ludis
icenicis, huios habet sanctions, representations viiraculorum, etc. He is thought to have
written in the reign of Henry II., and to have died in that of Richard I. It is true, at the end
of this book we find mentioned Henricum regem tertinm ; but this is doubtless Henry the
Second's son, who was crowned during the life of his father, in 11 70, and is generally dis-
tinguished as Rexjitvenis, Rex filius, and sometimes they were jointly named Rcg-es Anglia.
From a jwxage in his chapter De Religione, it should seem that the body of St. Thomas
Becket was just then a new acquisition to the Church of Canterbury,
% See Chaucer, Prologue to Wife 0/ Bath's Tale.
ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 85
historian of the Council of Constance, M. l'Enfant, ascribes to the English the intro-
duction of plays into Germany. He tells us that the emperor, having been absent
from the council for some time, was at his return received with great rejoicings, and
that the English fathers in particular did, upon that occasion, cause a sacred comedy
to be acted before him on Sunday, Jan. 31, 1417, the subjects of which were : The
Nativity of our Saviour ; the Arrival of the Eastern Magi ; and the Massacre by Herod.
Thence it appears, says this writer, that the Germans are obliged to the English for
the invention of this sort of spectacles, unknown to them before that period.
The fondness of our ancestors for dramatic exhibitions of this kind, and some
curious particulars relating to this subject, will appear from the Household Book of
the Fifth Earl of Northumberland, A.D. 1512;* whence I shall select a few extracts,
which show that the exhibiting Scripture dramas on the great festivals entered into
the regular establishment, and formed part of the domestic regulations of our ancient
nobility ; and, what is more remarkable, that it was as much the business of the chaplain
in those days to compose plays for the family, as it is now for him to make sermons : —
" My lordes chapleyns in household vj. viz. the almonar, and if he be a maker of
intcrludys, than he to have a servaunt to the intent for writynge of the parts ; and ells
to have non. The maister of gramer, " etc. — Sect. v. p. 44.
" Item, my lorde usith and accustomyth to gyf yerely if is lordship kepe a chapell
and be at home, them of his lordschipes chapell, if they doo play the play of the
Nativite uppon Cristynmes day in the mornnynge in my lords chapell befor his
lordship — xxs." — Sect. xliv. p. 343.
"Item, ... to them of his lordship chappell and other his lordshipis servaunts
that doith play the play befor his lordship uppon Shrof-Tewsday at night, yerely in
reward — xs." — Ibid. p. 345.
"Item, . . . to them . . . that playth the play of Resurrection upon Estur day in
the mornnynge in my lordis 'chapell' befor his lordshipe — xxs." — Ibid.
" Item, my lorde useth and accustomyth yerly to gyf hym which is ordynede to be
the master of the revells yerly in my lordis hous in Cristmas for the overseyinge and
orderinge of his lordschips playes, interludes, and dresinge, that is plaid befor his
lordship in his hous in the xijth dayes of Cristenmas, and they to have in rewarde for
that caus yerly — xxs." — Ibid. p. 346.
"Item, my lorde useth and accustomyth to gyf every of the iiij parsones that his
lordschip admyted as his players to com to his lordship yerly at Cristynmes ande at
all other such tymes as his lordship shall comande them for playing of playe and
interludes affor his lordship in his lordshipis hous for every of their fees for an hole
yere " . . . — Ibid. p. 351.
' ' Item, to be payd ... for rewards to players for playes playd at Christynmas by
stranegeres in my house after xxd. f every play, by estimacion somme — xxxiijs. iiij." +
— Sect. i. p. 22.
* The Regulations and Establishments of the Household of Hen. Alg. Percy, Fifth Earl of
Northnmb., Lond. 1770, 8vo. A small impression was printed by order of the then Duke of
Northumberland, to bestow in presents to his friends.
t This was not so small a sum then as it may now appear ; for in another part of this MS.
the price ordered to be given for a fat ox is but 13s. 4d. and for a lean one 8s.
X At this rate the number of plays acted must have been twenty.
86 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
" Item, my lorde usith, and accustometh to gif yerely when his lordshipp is at
home, to every erlis players that comes to his lordshipe betwixt Cristynmas ande
Candelmas, if he be his special lorde and frende and kynsman — xxs." — Sect, xliiii.
p. 340.
" Item, my lorde usith and accustomyth to gyf yerely, when his lordship is at home
to every lordis players, that comyth to his lordshipe betwixt Crystynmas and
Candilmas — xs. ' ' — Ibid.
The reader will observe the great difference in the rewards here given to such
players as were retainers of noble personages, and such as are styled strangers, or, as
we may suppose, only strollers.
The profession of a common player was about this time held by some in low estima-
tion. In an old satire, entitled 5ocfe HorrelcS fiate.* the author, enumerating the
most common trades or callings, as "carpenters, coopers, joyners," etc., mentions
'' Players, purse-cutters, money-batterers,
Golde-washers, tomblers, jogelers,
Pardoners," etc. — Sign. B. vj.
III. It hath been observed already, that plays of miracles, or Mysteries, as they
were called, led to the introduction of moral plays, or Moralities, which prevailed so
early, and became so common, that towards the latter end of King Henry the Seventh's
reign, John Rastel, brother-in-law to Sir Thomas More, conceived a design of making
them the vehicle of science and natural philosophy. With this view he published
IT 8 ncio t'ntcrluor ano a tncrn of tfje nature of tlje iiti elements ftcclarrmgc many
proper points of philosophy naturall, ano of tigbers stragnge lanous.t etc. It is
observable that the poet speaks of the discovery of America as then recent :
" Within this xx yere
Westwarde be founde new landes
That we never harde tell of before this," etc.
The West Indies were discovered by Columbus in 1492, which fixes the wTiting ot
this play to about 1510 (two years before the date of the above Household Book).
The play of flJtcR Scomcr was probably somewhat more ancient, as he still more
imperfectly alludes to the American discoveries, under the name of " the Newe founde
Ilonde." — Sign. A. vij.
It is observable that in the older Moralities, as in that last mentioned, Every Man,
etc., is printed no kind of stage direction for the exits and entrances of the person -
* Printed at the Sun in Fleet Street by W. de Worde, no date, b. 1. 4to.
t Mr. Garrick has an imperfect copy (Old Plays, i. vol. iii.). The dramatis persona are— •
"The Messenger [or Prologue]. Nature naturate. Humanyte. Studyous Desire. Sensuall
Appetyte. The Taverner. Experyence. Ygnoraunce. (Also yf ye lyste ye may brynge in a
dysgysynge.) " Afterwards follows a table of the matters handled in the interlude ; among
which are, — " Of certeyn conclusions prouvynge the yerthe must nedes be rounde, and that yt is
in circumference above xxi M. myle." — " Of certeyne points of cosmographye— and of dy vers
straunge regyons, — and of the new founde landys and the maner of the people." This part is
extremely curious, as it shows what notions were entertained of the new American discoveries by
our own countrymen.
ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 87
ages, no division of acts and scenes. But in the moral interlude of 3LttStVJ SubCutttS,*
written under Edward VI., the exits and entrances begin to be noted in the margin : \
at length in Queen Elizabeth's reign Moralities appeared formally divided into acts
and scenes, with a regular Prologue, etc. One of these is reprinted by Dodsley.
Before we quit this subject of the very early printed plays, it may just be observed,
that, although so few are now extant, it should seem many were printed before the
time of Elizabeth, as at the beginning of her reign, her injunctions in 1559 are parti-
cularly directed to the suppressing of ' ' many pamphlets, playes, and ballads ; that no
manner of person shall enterprize to print any such, " etc., but under certain restrictions.
Vid. sect. v.
In the time of Henry VIII., one or two dramatic pieces had been published under
the classical names of Comedy and Tragedy, % but they appear not to have been intended
for popular use : it was not till the religious ferments had subsided that the public had
leisure to attend to dramatic poetry. In the reign of Elizabeth, tragedies and comedies
began to appear in form, and could the poets have persevered, the first models were
good. ffiorbrjOUC, a regular tragedy, was acted in 1561 ; § and Gascoigne, in 1566,
exhibited Jocasta, a translation from Euripides, as also SHje Kupposrs, a regular
comedy from Ariosto : near thirty years before any of Shakespeare's were printed.
The people, however, still retained a relish for their old Mysteries and Moralities, ||
and the popular dramatic poets seem to have made them their models. From the
graver sort of Moralities our modern Tragedy appears to have derived its origin, as
our Comedy evidently took its rise from the lighter interludes of that kind. And as
most of these pieces contain an absurd mixture of religion and buffoonery, an eminent
critic If has well deduced from thence the origin of our unnatural Tragi-comedies. Even
after the people had been accustomed to Tragedies and Comedies, Moralities still kept
their ground: one of them, entitled SCfye !Ncrjj (Custom,** was printed so late as 1573 : at
length they assumed the name of Masques, +f and, with some classical improvements,
became in the two following reigns the favourite entertainments of the court.
* Described in vol. ii. Preface to Book ii. The dramatis persona* of this piece are,—
"Messenger, Lusty Juventus, Good Counsaii, Knowledge, Sathan the Devyll, Hypocrisie,
Fellowship, Abominable Lyving [an Harlot], God's Merciful Promises."
t I have also discovered some few " Exeats " and " Intrats " in the very old interlude of the
Four Elements.
% Bishop Bale had applied the name of Tragedy to his Mystery of God's Promises, in 1538.
In 1540, John Palsgrave, B.D., had republished a Latin comedy called Acolastus, with an English
version. Holingshed tells us (vol. iii. p. 850), that so early as 1520 the king had "agocd
comedie of Plautus plaied " before him at Greenwich; but this was in Latin, as Mr. Farmer
informs us in his curious Essay on the Learning of Shakespeare, 8vo, p. 31.
§ See Ames, p. 316. This play appears to have been first printed under the name of
Gorbodne, then under the name of Ferrer and Porrer in 1569, and again under Gorlodtic, 1590.
Ames calls the first edition, quarto; Langbaine, octavo; and Tanner, umo.
II The general reception which the old Moralities had upon the stage, will account for the
fondness of all our first poets for allegory. Subjects of this kind were familiar with every one.
% Bishop Warburton, Shakespeare, vol. v.
** Reprinted among Dodsley 's Old Plays, vol. i.
tt In some of these appeared characters full as extraordinary as in any of the old Moralities.
In Ben Jensen's n-.asqv.e of Christmas, 1616, one of the personages is Minced Pye.
88 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
IV. The old Mysteries, which ceased to be acted after the Reformation, appear to
bave given birth to a third species of stage exhibition, which, though now confounded
with tragedy and comedy, were by our first dramatic writers considered as quite distinct
from them both : these were historical plays, or Histories, a species of dramatic writing
which resembled the old Mysteries in representing a series of historical events simply
in the order of time in which they happened, without any regard to the three great
unities. These pieces seem to differ from tragedies, just as much as historical poems
do from epic : as Lucanes Pharsalia does from the y£?ieid of Virgil.
What might contribute to make dramatic poetry take this form was, that soon after
the Mysteries ceased to be exhibited, was published a large collection of poetical nar-
ratives, called ©JjclHtrrour for iJffiUjtstratcS,* wherein a great number of the most
eminent characters in English history are drawn relating their own misfortunes. This
book was popular, and of a dramatic cast ; and therefore, as an elegant writer f has
well observed, might have its influence in producing historical plays. These narratives
probably furnished the subjects, and the ancient Mysteries suggested the plan.
There appears, indeed, to have been one instance of an attempt at an historical play
itself, which was perhaps as early as any Mystery on a religious subject ; for such, I
think, we may pronounce the representation of a memorable event in English history,
that was expressed in actions and rhymes. This was the old Coventry play of ^Jotk
CuTS0ag,t founded on the story of the massacre of the Danes, as it happened on St.
Brice's night, November 13, 1002. § The play in question was performed by certain men
of Coventry, among the other shows and entertainments at Kenilworth Castle, in July
1575, prepared for Queen Elizabeth, and this the rather "because the matter mentioneth
how valiantly our English women, for the love of their country, behaved themselves."
The writer, whose words are here quoted, || hath given a short description of the
performance, which seems on that occasion to have been without recitation or rhymes,
and reduced to mere dumb-show : consisting of violent skirmishes and encounters, first
between Danish and English "lance knights on horseback," armed with spear and
shield; and afterwards between "hosts" of footmen: which at length ended in the
Danes being "beaten down, overcome, and many led captive by our English women."
* The first part of which was printed in 1559.
t Catalogue of R oyal and Noble Authors, vol. i. pp. 166, 167.
% This must not be confounded with the Mysteries acted on Corpus Christi day by the
Franciscans at Coventry, which were also called Coventry plays, and of which an account is
given from T. Warton's History of English Poetry, etc., in Malone's Shakespeare, vol. ii.
Part ii. pp. 13, 14.
§ Not 1012, as printed in Laneham's Letter, mentioned below.
|| Ro. Laneham, whose Letter, containing a full description of the shows, etc., is reprinted at
large in Nichols' Progresses of Queen Elizabeth, etc., vol. i. 4to, 1788. That writer's ortho-
graphy, being peculiar and affected, is not here followed. Laneham describes this play of
Hock Tuesday, which was "presented in an historical cue by certain good-hearted men of
Coventry" (p. 32), and which was "wont to be play'd in their citie yearly" (p. 33), as if it were
peculiar to them, terming it " their old storial show" (p. 32). And so it might be as represented
and expressed by them "after their manner" (p. 33); although we are also told by Bevil
Higgons, that St. Brice's Eve was still celebrated by the Northern English in commemoration of
this massacre of the Danes, the women beating brass instruments, and singing old rhymes, in
praise of their cruel ancestors. See his Short View qf English History, 8vo, p. 17. (The
Preface is dated 1734.)
ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 89
This play, it seems, which was wont to be exhibited in their city yearly, and which,
had been of great antiquity and long continuance there, had of late been suppressed, at
the instance of some well-meaning but precise preachers, of whose "sourness " herein
the townsmen complain ; urging that their play was "without example of ill-manners,
papistry, or any superstition ;" which shows it to have been entirely distinct from a
religious Mystery. But having been discontinued, and, as appears from the narrative,
taken up of a sudden after the sports were begun, the players apparently had not been
able to recover the old rhymes, or to procure new ones, to accompany the action ;
which, if it originally represented " the outrage and importable insolency of the Danes,
the grievous complaint of Huna, King Ethelred's chieftain in wars ;" his counselling
and contriving the plot to despatch them ; concluding with the conflicts above men-
tioned, and their final suppression — "expressed in actions and rhymes after their
manner," one can hardly conceive a more regular model of a complete drama ; and,
if taken up soon after the event, it must have been the earliest of the kind in Europe.*
Whatever this old play or " storial show " was at the time it was exhibited to Queen
Elizabeth, it had probably for a spectator our young Shakespeare, who was then in his
twelfth year, and doubtless attended with all the inhabitants of the surrounding
country at these "princely pleasures of Kenilworth " when Stratford is only a few
miles distant. And as the Queen was much diverted with the Coventry play, " where-
at Her Majesty laught well," and rewarded the performers with 2 bucks, and 5 marks
in money : who, ' ' what rejoicing upon their ample reward, and what triumphing upon
the good acceptance, vaunted their play was never so dignified, nor ever any players before
so beatified :" but especially if our young bard afterwards gained admittance into the
castle to see a play, which the same evening, after supper, was there "presented of a
very good theme, but so set forth by the actors' well-handling, that pleasure and mirth
made it seem very short, though it lasted two good hours and more," we may imagine
what an impression was made on his infant mind. Indeed, the dramatic cast of many
parts of that superb entertainment, which continued nineteen days, and was the most
splendid of the kind ever attempted in this kingdom ; the addresses to the Queen in
the personated characters of a Sybille, a savage man, and Sylvanus, as she approached
or departed from the castle ; and, on the water, by Arion, a Triton, or the Lady of the
Lake, must have had a very great effect on a young imagination, whose dramatic
powers were hereafter to astonish the world.
But that the historical play was considered by our old writers, and by Shakespeare
himself, as distinct from tragedy and comedy, will sufficiently appear from various
passages in their works. ' ' Of late days, " says Stow, ' ' in place of those stage playes f
hath been used comedies, tragedies, enterludes, and histories both true and fayned." J
Beaumont and Fletcher, in the Prologue to <2Tf)c CaptatP, say,
"This is nor Comedy, nor Tragedy,
Nor History."
* The rhymes, etc., prove this play to have been in English, whereas Mr. Thomas Warton
thinks the Mysteries composed before 1328 were in Latin. Malone's Shakespeare, vol. ii.
Part ii. p. 9.
t The Creation of the World, acted at Skinners Well in 1409.
% Survey 0/ London, 1603, 4to. See also Warton's Observations on Spenser, vol. ii. p. 109.
90 R ELI QUE S OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
Polonius in Pjattllft commends the actors as the best in the world, "either for
tragedie, comedie, historic pastorall," etc. And Shakespeare's friends, Heminge and
Condell, in the first folio edition of his plays, in 1623,* have not only entitled their book
Mr. IVii/iam Shakespeare's Comedies, Histories, and Tragedies : but in their table of
contents have arranged them under those three several heads ; placing in the class of
histories, " King John, Richard II., Henry IV., two parts Henry V., Henry VI., three
parts Richard III., and Henry VIII ;" to which they might have added such of his other
plays as have their subjects taken from the old Chronicles, or Plutarch's Lives.
Although Shakespeare is found not to have been the first who invented this species
of drama, f yet he cultivated it with such superior success, and threw upon this simple
inartificial tissue of scenes such a blaze of genius, that his histories maintain their ground
in defiance of Aristotle and all the critics of the classic school, and will ever continue
to interest and instruct an English audience.
Before Shakespeare wrote, historical plays do not appear to have attained this
distinction, being not mentioned in Queen Elizabeth's licence in 1574 % to James
Burbage and others, who are only empowered " to use, exercyse, and occupie the arte
and facultye of playenge Comedies, Tragedies, Enterludes, Stage Playes, and such
other like." But when Shakespeare's histories had become the ornaments of the stage,
they were considered by the public, and by himself, as a formal and necessary species,
and are thenceforth so distinguished in public instruments. They are particularly
inserted in the licence granted by King James I., in 1603, § to William Shakespeare
himself, and the players his fellows ; who are authorized " to use and exercise the arte
and faculty of playing Comedies, Tragedies, Histories, Interludes, Morals, Pastorals,
Stage Plaies, and such like." The same merited distinction they continued to
maintain after his death, till the theatre itself was extinguished ; for they are expressly
mentioned in a warrant in 1622, for licensing certain "late comedians of Queen Anne
deceased, to bring up children in the qualitie and exercise of playing Comedies,
Histories, Interludes, Morals, Pastorals, Stage Plaies, and such like."|| The same
appears in an admonition issued in 1637 H by Philip, Earl of Pembroke and Mont-
gomery, then Lord Chamberlain, to the master and wardens of the company oi
printers and stationers ; wherein is set forth the complaint of His Majesty's servants
the players, that "diverse of their books of comedyes and tragedyes, chronicle
historyes, and the like," had been printed and published to their prejudice, etc.
This distinction, we see, prevailed for near half a century ; but after the Restoration,
when the stage revived for the entertainment of a new race of auditors, many of whom
had been exiled in France, and formed their taste from the French theatre, Shake-
speare's histories appear to have been no longer relished ; at least, the distinction
respecting them is dropt in the patents that were immediately granted after the king's
return.
* The same distinction is continued in the 2d and 3d folios, etc.
t See Malone's Shakespeare, vol. i. Part ii. p. 31
% Ibid. p. 37. J Ibid. p. 40.
II Ibid. p. 49. Here histories, or historical plays, are found totally to have excluded the
mention of tragedies — a proof of their superior popularity. In an order for the king's comedians
to attend King Charles I. in his summer's progress, 1636 (ibid. p. 144), histories are not
particularly mentioned; but so neither are tragedies; they being briefly directed to "act
Playes, Comedyas, and Interludes, without any lett," etc. 1 Ibid. p. 139.
ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 91
This appears not only from the allowance to Mr. William Beestone in June 1660,
to use the house in Salisbury Court "for a play-house, wherein Comedies,
Tragedies, Tragi-Comedies, Pastoralls, and Interludes may be acted ; " but also from
the fuller grant (dated August 21, 1660) to Thomas Killigrew, Esq., and Sir William
Davenant, knight, by which they have authority to erect two companies of players,
and to fit up two theatres ' ' for the representation of Tragydies, Comedyes, Pla) es,
Operas, and all other entertainments of that nature."
But while Shakespeare was the favourite dramatic poet, his histories had such
superior merit, that he might well claim to be the chief, if not the only historic
dramatist that kept possession of the English stage ; which gives a strong support to
the tradition mentioned by Gildon,* that, in a conversation with Ben Jonson, our
bard vindicated his historical plays, by urging that, as he had found "the nation in
general very ignorant of history, he wrote them in order to instruct the people in this
particular." This is assigning not only a good motive, but a very probable reason for
his preference of this species of composition ; since we cannot doubt but his illiterate
countrymen would not only want such instruction when he first began to write, not-
withstanding the obscure dramatic chroniclers who preceded him ; but also that they
would highly profit by his admirable lectures on English history so long as he con-
tinued to deliver them to his audience. And, as it implies no claim to his being the
first who introduced our chronicles on the stage, I see not why the tradition should
be rejected.
Upon the whole, we have had abundant proof that both Shakespeare and his
contemporaries considered his histories, or historical plays, as of a legitimate
distinct species, sufficiently separate from tragedy and comedy — a distinction which
deserves the particular attention of his critics and commentators, who, by not
adverting to it, deprive him of his proper defence and best vindication for his neglect
of the unities, and departure from the classical dramatic forms. For, if it be the
first canon of sound criticism to examine any work by whatever rule the author
prescribed for his own observance, then we ought not to try Shakespeare's histories
by the general laws of tragedy or comedy. Whether the rule itself be vicious or
not, is another inquiry ; but certainly we ought to examine a work only by those
principles according to which it was composed. This would save a deal of impertinent
criticism.
V. We have now brought the inquiry as low as was intended, but cannot quit it,
without entering into a short description of what may be called the economy of the
ancient English stage.
Such was the fondness of our forefathers for dramatic entertainments, that not fewer
than nineteen play-houses had been opened before the year 1633, when Prynne
published his Histriomastix.\ From this writer it should seem that ' ' tobacco,
* See Malone's Shakespeare, vol. vi. p. 427.
t He speaks in p. 492 of the play-houses in Bishopsgate Street, and on Ludgate Hill, which
are not among the seventeen enumerated in the Preface to Dodsley's Old Plays. Nay, it
appears from Rymer's MSS. that twenty-three play-houses had been at different periods
open in London ; and even six ot them at one time. See Malone's Shakesptare, vol. i. Part ii.
p. 48.
92 KELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
wine, and beer,"* were in those days the usual accommodations in the theatre, as
within our memory at Sadler's Wells.
With regard to the players themselves, the several companies were (as hath been
already shownf) retainers, or menial servants to particular noblemen, J who pro-
tected them in the exercise of their profession : and many of them were occasionally
strdllers, that travelled from one gentleman's house to another. Yet so much were
they encouraged, that, notwithstanding their multitude, some of them acquired large
fortunes. Edward Allen, master of the play-house called the Globe, who founded
Dulwich College, is a known instance. And an old writer speaks of the very inferior
actors, whom he calls the hirelings, as living in a degree of splendour which was
thought enormous in that frugal age.§
* So, I think, we may infer from the following passage, viz.: "How many are there who,
according to their several qualities, spend 2d., 3d., 4d., 6d., i2d., i8d., 2S., and sometimes 4s. or 5s.
at a play-house day by day, if coach-hire, boat-hire, tobacco, wine, beere, and such like vaine
expences, which playes do usually occasion, be cast into the reckoning ? " Prynne's Histriom.
p. 322.
But that tobacco was smoked in the play-houses, appears from Taylor the Water poet, in his
Proclamation/or Tobacco's Propagation : " Let play-houses, drinking schools, taverns, etc., be
continually haunted with the contaminous vapours of it ; nay (if it be possible), bring it into the
churches, and there choak up their preachers." (Works, p. 253.) And this was really the case
at Cambridge; James I. sent a letter in 1607, against "taking tobacco" in St. Mary's. So I
learn from my friend Dr. Farmer.
A gentleman has informed me, that once going into a church in Holland, he saw the male
part of the audience sitting with their hats on, smoking tobacco, while the preacher was holding
forth in his morning-gown.
t See the extracts above, in pp. 85 and 86, from the Earl of Northumberland's Household Book.
% See the Preface to Dodsley's Old Plays. The author of an old invective against the stage,
called A Third Blast of Retrait from Plaies, etc., 1580, i2mo, says,: "Alas! that private
affection should so raigne in the nobilitie, that to pleasure their servants, and to upholde them in
their vanitye, they should restraine the magistrates from executing their office ! . . . They [the
nobility] are thought to be covetous by permitting their servants ... to live at the devotion or
almes of other men, passing from countrie to countrie, from one gentleman's house to another,
offering their service, which is a kind of beggerie. Who indeede, to speake more trulie, are
become beggars for their servants. For comonlie the good-wil men beare to their lordes,
makes them draw the stringes of their purses to extend their liberalitie." Vide pp. 75, 76, etc.
§ Stephen Gosson, in his Schoole of Abuse, 1579, i2mo, fo. 23, says thus of what he terms in
his margin Players-men : — " Over lashing in apparel is so common a fault, that the very hyerlings
of some of our players, which stand at revirsion of vi s. by the week, jet under gentlemens
noses in sutis of silke, exercising themselves to prating on the stage, and common scoffing when
they come abrode, where they look askance over the shoulder at every man, of whom the
Sunday before they begged an almes. I speake not this, as though everye one that pro-
fesseth the qualitie so abused himselfe, for it is well-knowen, that some of them are sober,
discreete, properly learned, honest housholders and citizens, well-thought on among their
neighbours at home " (he seems to mean Edward Allen above mentioned), " though the pryde
of their shadowes (I meane those hangbyes whom they succour with stipend) cause them to be
somewhat il-talked of abroad."
In a subsequent period we have the following satirical fling at the showy exterior and
supposed profits of the actors of that time {vide Greene's Groatsi.vorth of Wit, 1625, 4to) : —
"What is your profession?" "Truly, sir, ... I am a player." "A player? ... I took
you rather for a gentleman of great living ; for, if by outward habit men should be censured, I
ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 93
At the same time the ancient prices of admission were often very low. Some houses
had penny benches.* The "two-penny gallery" is mentioned in the Prologue to
Beaumont and Fletcher's Woman-hater. \ And seats of threepence and a groat
seem to be intended in the passage of Prynne above referred to. Yet different houses
varied in their prices ; that play-house called the Hope had seats of five several rates
from sixpence to half-a-crown.J But a shilling seems to have been the usual price §
of what is now called the Pit, which probably had its name from one of the play-
houses having been a cock-pit. ||
The day originally set apart for theatrical exhibition appears to have been Sunday ;
probably because the first dramatic pieces were of a religious cast. During a great
part of Queen Elizabeth's reign, the play-houses were licensed to be opened only on
that day ; IT but before the end of her reign, or soon after, this abuse was probably
removed.
tell you, you would be taken for a substantial man." "So I am where I dwell . . . What,
though the world once went hard with me, when I was fayne to carry my playing-fardle a foot-
backe : Tcmpora mutantur ... for my very share in playing apparrell will not be sold for two
hundred pounds. . . . Nay more, I can serve to make a pretty speech, for I was a country
author, passing at a moral," etc. See Roberto's tale, sign. D. 3. b.
* So a MS. of Oldys, from Tom Nash, an old pamphlet-writer. And this is confirmed by
Taylor the Water poet in his Praise of Beggerie, p. 99 : —
" Yet have I seen a beggar with his many [sc. vermin]
Come at a play-house, all in for one penny."
t So in the Bclmau's Night-Walks by Decker, 1616, 4to, " Pay thy twopence to a player, in
this gallery thou mayest sit by a harlot."
X Induct, to Ben Jonson's Bartholomew Fait. An ancient satirical piece called The Blacie
Book, Lond. 1604, 4to, talks of " The Six- Penny Roomes in Play-houses ; " and leaves a legacy
to one whom he calls "Arch-tobacco-taker of England, in ordinaries, upon stages both common
and private."
§ Shakespeare, Prologue to Henry VIII.; Beaumont and Fletcher, Prologue to the Captain,
and to the Mad Lover.
H This etymology hath been objected to by a very ingenious writer (see Malone's Shakespeare,
vol. i. Part ii. p. 59), who thinks it questionable because, in St. Mary's Church at Cambridge,
the area that is under the pulpit, and surrounded by the galleries, is {now) called the pit, which,
he says, no one can suspect to have been a cock-pit, or that a play-house phrase could be applied
to a church. But whoever is acquainted with the licentiousness of boys, will not think it
impossible that they should thus apply a name so peculiarly expressive of its situation ; which
from frequent use might at length prevail among the senior members of the University, especially
when those young men became seniors themselves. The name of pit, so applied at Cambridge,
must be deemed to have been a cant phrase, until it can be shown that the area in other churches
was usually so called.
IT So Stephen Gosson, in his Schoole qf Abuse, 1579, i2mo, speaking of the players, says :
"These, because they are allowed to play every Sunday, make iiii or v Sundayes at least every
week," fol. 24. So the author of A Second and Third Blast 0/ Re trait from Plaies, 1580,
i2mo: "Let the magistrate but repel them from the libertie of plaeing on the Sabboth-daie. . . .
To plaie on the Sabboth is but a priviledge of sufferance, and might w ; th ease be repelled, were
it thoroughly followed," pp. 61, 62. So again : "Is not the Sabboth of al other daies the most
abused ? . . . Wherefore abuse not so the Sabbath day, my brethren ; leave not the temple of
the Lord." . . . " Those unsaverie morsels of unseemelie sentences passing out of the mouth of
a ruffenlie plaier, doth more content the hungrie humors of the rude multitude, and carrieth
better rellish in their mouthes, than the bread of the worde," etc. Vide pp. 63, 65, 69, etc. I do
9 4. RELIQ UES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POE TR Y.
The usual time of acting was early in the afternoon,* plays being generally
performed by day-light. f All female parts were performed by men, no English
actress being ever seen on the public stage % before the civil wars.
Lastly, with regard to the play-house furniture and ornaments, a writer of King
Charles the Second's time,§ who well remembered the preceding age, assures us, that
in general "they had no other scenes nor decorations of the stage, but only old
tapestry, and the stage strewed with rushes, with habits accordingly." ||
Yet Coryate thought our theatrical exhibitions, etc., splendid, when compared with
what he saw abroad. Speaking of the theatre for comedies at Venice, he says : ' ' The
house is very beggarly and base in comparison of our stately play-houses in England :
neyther can their actors compare with ours for apparrell, shewes, and musicke. Here
I observed certaine things that I never saw before : for I saw women act, a thing
that I never saw before, though I have heard that it hath been sometimes used in
London : and they performed it with as good a grace, action, gesture, and whatso-
ever convenient for a player, as ever I saw any masculine actor."1T
It ought, however, to be observed, that, amid such a multitude of play-houses as sub-
sisted in the metropolis before the civil wars, there must have been a great difference
between their several accommodations, ornaments, and prices ; and that some would
be much more showy than others, though probably all were much inferior in splendour
to the two great theatres after the Restoration.
not recollect that exclamations of this kind occur in Prynne, whence I conclude that this
enormity no longer subsisted in his time. It should also seem, from the author of the Third
Blast above quoted, that the churches still continued to be used occasionally for theatres. Thus,
in p. 77, he says that the players (who, as hath been observed, were servants of the nobility),
" under the title of their maisters, or as reteiners, are priviledged to roave abroad, and permitted
to publish their mametree in everie temple of God, and that throughout England, unto the horrible
contempt of praier."
* " He entertaines us " (says Overbury in his character of an actor) "in the best leasure of
our life, that is, betweene meales ; the most unlit time either for study or bodily exercise."
Even so late as in the reign of Charles II., plays generally began at three in the afternoon.
t See Biogr. Brit. i. 117, n. D.
X I say "no^English actress — on the public stage," because Prynne speaks of it as an unusual
enormity, that " they had French women actors in a play not long since personated in
Blackfriars Play-house." This was in 1629. And though female parts were performed
by men or boys on the public stage, yet in masques at court, the queen and her ladies made no
scruple to perform the principal parts, especially in the reigns of James I. and Charles I. Sir
William Davenant, after the Restoration, introduced women, scenery, and higher prices. See
Cibber's Apology for his own Life.
§ See a short discourse on the English stage, subjoined to Flecknor's Love's Kingdom, 1674,
1 2 mo.
II It appears from an epigram of Taylor the Water poet, that one of the principal theatres in
his lime, viz. The Globe on the Bankside, Southwark (which Ben Jonson calls the Glory of the
Bank, and Fort of the whole parish), had been covered with thatch till it was burnt down in 1613.
(See Taylor's Sculler, Epig. 22, p. 31. Jonson's Execration on Vulcan.) Puttenham tells us
they used vizards in his time, "partly to supply the want of players, when there were more
parts than there were persons, or that it was not thought meet to trouble . . . princes chambers
with too many folkes." [Art of English Poesy, 1589, p. 26.] From the last clause, it should
seem that they were chiefly used in the masques at court.
IT Coryate's Crudities, 4to, 161 1, p. 247.
ADAM BELL, CLYM OF CLOUGH. WILLIAM OF CLOUDESL Y. 95
Since it was first published, the History of the English Stage hath been copiously
handled by Mr. Thos. Warton in his History of English Poetry, 1774, etc. , 3 vob.
4to (wherein is inserted whatever in these volumes fell in with his subject) ; and by
Edmond Malone, Esq., who, in his "Historical Account of the English Stage"
(Shakesp. vol. i. Pt. ii. 1790), hath added greatly to our knowledge of the economy
and usages of our ancient theatres. To those names should be added that of the
veteran Shakespearian scholar and accomplished editor, Mr. J. P. Collier.
I.— ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH, AND WILLIAM OF
CLOUDESLY, ^
Were three noted outlaws, whose skill in archery rendered them formerly as famous
in the north of England as Robin Hood and his fellows were in the Midland
counties. Their place of residence was in the forest of Englewood, not far from
Carlisle (called corruptly in the ballad, Englishwood ; whereas Engle or Ingle wood
signifies wood for firing).
Our northern archers were not unknown to their southern countrymen : their
excellence at the long-bow is often alluded to by our ancient poets. Shakespeare, in
his Much ado about Nothing, Act i., makes Benedicke confirm his resolves of not
yielding to love, by this protestation : " If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat,* and
shoot at me, and he that hits me, let him be clapt on the shoulder, and called Adam :"
meaning Adam Bell, as Theobald rightly observes, who refers to one or two other
passages in our old poets wherein he is mentioned. The Oxford editor has also well
conjectured, that "Abraham Cupid" in Romeo and Juliet, Act ii. Sc. i. , should be
"Adam Cupid," in allusion to our archer. Ben Jonson has mentioned Clym of the
Clough in his Alchemist, Act i. Sc. ii. And Sir William Davenant, in a mock poem
called The Long Vacation in London, describes the attorneys and proctors as
making matches to meet in Finsbury Fields.
" With loynes in canvas bow-case tyde,
Where arrowes stick with mickle pride ; ... 'v
Like ghosts of Adam Bell and Clymme.
Sol sets (or fear they'l shoot at him.'
Works, 1673, fol. p. 291.
PART THE FIRST.
Mery it \va5 in the grene forest
Amonge the leves grene,
Whereas men hunt east and west
Wyth bowes and arrowes kene ;
To raise the dere out of theyr denne ;
Suche sightes hath ofte bene sene ;
As by thre yemen of the north countrey,
By them it is I meane.
* Bottles formerly were of leather, though perhaps a wooden bottle might be here meant. It
is a diversion in Scotland to hang up a cat in a small cask or firkin half filled with soot ; and
then a parcel of clowns on horseback try to beat out the ends of it, in order to show their
dexterity in escaping before the contents fall upon them,
9 6
KELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
The one them hight Adam Bel,
The other Clym of the Clough,*
The thyrd was William of Cloudesly,
An archer good ynough.
They were outlawed for venyson,
These yemen everychone ;
They swore them brethren upon a day,
To Englyshe wood for to gone.
Now lith and lysten, gentylmen,
That of myrthes loveth to here :
Two of them were single men,
The third had a wedded fere.
Wyllyam was the wedded man,
Muche more then was hys care :
He sayde to hys brethren upon a day,
To Carleile he would fare,
For to speke with fayre Alyce his wife,
And with hys chyldren thre.
By my trouth, sayde Adam Bel,
Not by the counsell of me :
For if ye go to Carlile, brother,
And from thys wylde wode wende,
If that the justice may you take,
Your lyfe were at an ende.
If that I come not to-morrowe, brother,
By pryme to you agayne,
Truste you then that I am " taken,"
Or else that I am slayne.
He toke hys leave of hys brethren two,
And to Carlile he is gon :
There he knocked at his owne windowe
Shortlye and anone.
Wher be you, fayre Alyce, he sayd,
My wife and chyldren three ?
Lyghtly let in thyne owne husbande,
Wyllyam of Cloudcslee.
Alas ! then sayd fayre Alyce,
And syghed wonderous sore,
* Clym of the Clough means Clem. (Clement)
of the Cliff; for that is what Clough signifies
in the noi t h .
Thys place hath ben besctte for you
Thys halfe a yere and more.
Now am I here, sayde Cloudeslee,
I would that in I were.
Now fetche us meate and drynke ynoughe.
And let us make good chere.
She fetched hym meate and drynke plentye,
Lyke a true wedded wyfe ;
And pleased hym with that she had,
Whome she loved as her lyfe.
There lay an old wyfe in that place,
A lytle besyde the fyre,
Whych Wyllyam had found of charyty6
More than seven yere.
Up she rose, and forth shee goes,
Evill mote shee speede therfore ;
For shee had sett no foote on ground
In seven yere before.
She went unto the justice hall,
As fast as she could hye :
Thys night, shee sayd, is come to town
Wyllyam of Cloudeslye.
Thereof the justice was txiWfayne,
And so was the shirife also :
Thou shalt not trauaile hither, dame, for
nought,
Thy meed thou shalt have ere thou go.
They gave to her a ryght good goune,
Of scarlate, "and of graine : "
She toke the gyft, and home she wente,
And couched her doune agayne.
They raysed the towne of mery Carleile
In all the haste they can ;
And came thronging to Wyllyames house,
As fast as they might gone.
There they besette that good yeman
Round about on every syde :
Wyllyam hearde great noyse of folk;s,
That thither-ward fast hyed,
ADAM BELL, CL YM OF CLOUGIL, WILLIAM OF CLOUDESL Y. 07
Alyce opened a backe wyndowe,
And loked all aboute,
She was ware of the justice and shirife bothe,
Wyth a full great route.
Alas ! treason, cryed Alyce,
Ever wo may thou be !
Goe into my chamber, my husband, she
sayd,
Swete Wyllyam of Cloudeslee.
/Ie toke hys sweard and hys bucler,
Hys bow and hys chyldren thre,
And wente into hys strongest chamber,
Where he thought surest to be.
Fayre Alyce, like a lover true,
Took a pollaxe in her hande :
Said, He shall dye that cometh in
Thys dore, whyle I may stand.
Cloudeslee bente a right good bowe,
That was of a trusty tre,
He smot the justise on the brest,
That hys arowe burst in three.
"A" curse on his harte, saide William,
Thys day thy cote dyd on !
If it had ben no better then myne,
It had gone nere thy bone.
Yelde the Cloudesle, sayd the justise,
And thy bowe and thy arrowes the fro.
"A" curse on hys hart, sayd fair Alyce,
That my husband councelleth so.
Set fyre on the house, saide the sherife,
Syth it wyll no better be,
And bremie we therin William, he saide,
Hys wyfe and chyldren thre.
They fyred the house in many a place,
The fyre flew up on hye :
Alas ! then cryed fayre Alice,
I se we here shall dye.
William openyd a backe wynd6w,
That was in hys chamber hie,
And there with sheetes he did let downe
His wyfe and children three.
Have you here my treasure, sayde William,
My wyfe and my chyldren thre :
For Christes love do them no harme,
But wreke you all on me.
Wyllyam shot so wonderous well,
Tyll hys arrowes were all agoe,
And the fyre so fast upon hym fell,
That hys bowstryng brent in two.
The sparkles brent and fell upon
Good Wyllyam of Cloudesle :
Than was he a wofull man, and sayde,
Thys is a cowardes death to me.
Leever had I, sayde Wyllyam,
With my sworde in the route to renne,
Then here among myne enemyes wode
Thus cruelly to bren.
He toke hys sweard and hys buckler,
And among them all he ran,
Where the people were most in prcce,
He smot downe many a man.
There myght no man abyde hys stroakes,
Sofcrs/y on them he ran :
Then they threw wyndowes and dores on
him,
And so toke that good yeman.
There they hym bounde both hand and
fote,
And in a deepe dungeon him cast
Now, Cloudesle, sayd the justice,
Thou shalt be hanged in hast.
"A payre of new gallowes," sayd the
sherife,
" Now shal I for thee make ; "
And the gates of Carleil shal be shutte :
No man shal come in therat.
Then shall not helpe Clym of the Cloughe,
Nor yet shall Adam Bell,
Though they came with a thousand mo,
Nor all the devels in hell.
Early in the mornynge, the justice uprose,
To the gates first can he gone,
G
9 s
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
And commaunded to be shut full close
Lightile everychone.
Then went he to the markett place,
As fast as he coulde hye ;
There a payre of new gallowes he set up
Besyde the pyllorye.
A lytle boy "among them asked,"
What meaned that gallow-tre ?
They sayde to hange a good yeman,
Called Wyllyam of Cloudesle.
That lytle boye was the towne swyne-
heard,
And kept fayre Alyces swyne ;
Oft he had seene William in the wodde,
And geuen hym there to dyne.
He went out att a crevis of the wall,
And lightly to the woode dyd gone ;
There met he with these wightye yemen
Shortly and anone.
Alas ! then sayde the lytle boye,
Ye tary here all too longe ;
Cloudeslee is taken, and dampned to death,
And readye for to honge.
Alas ! then sayd good Adam Bell,
That ever we saw thys daye !
He had better have tarryed with us,
So ofte as we dyd him praye.
He myght have dwelt in grene foreste,
Under the shadowes greene,
And have kepte both hym and us att reste,
Out of all trouble and teene.
Adam bent a ryght good bow,
A great hart sone hee had slayne :
Take that, chylde, he sayde, to thy dynner,
And bryng me myne arrowe agayne.
Now go we hence, sayed these wightye
yeomen,
Tarry we no longer here ;
We shall hym borowe by God his grace.
Though we buy itt full d«e.
To Caerleil wente these bold yemen,
All in a mornyng of maye.
Here is a.fyt of Cloudeslye,
And another is for to saye.
PART THE SECOND.
And when they came to mery Carleile,
All in "the " mornyng tyde,
They founde the gates shut them untyll
About on every syde.
Alas ! then sayd good Adam Bell,
That ever we were made men !
These gates be shut so wonderous fast,
We may not come therein.
Then bespake him Clym of the Clough,
Wyth a wyle we wyl us in bryng ;
Let us saye we be messengers,
Streyght come nowe from our king.
Adam said, I have a letter written,
Now let us wysely werke,
We wyl saye we have the kynges seale ;
I holde the porter no clerke.
Then Adam Bell bete on the gates
With strokes great and stronge :
The porter marveiled, who was therat,
And to the gates he thronge.
Who is there now, sayde the porter,
That maketh all thys knockinge ?
We be tow messengers, quoth Clim of
the Clough,
Be come ryght from our kyng.
We have a letter, sayd Adam Bel,
To the justice we must itt bryng ;
Let us in our message to do,
That we were agayne to the kyng.
Here commeth none in, sayd the porter
By hym that dyed on a tre,
Tyll a false thefe be hanged,
Called Wyllyam of Cloudesle.
ADAM BELL, CL YM OF CL UGH, WILLIAM OF CL UDESL Y. 99
Then spake the good yeman Clym of the
Clough,
And swore by Mary fre,
And if that we stande long wythout,
Lyke a thefe hanged shalt thou be.
Lo ! here we have the kynges seale :
What, Lurden* art thou wode f
The porter went it had ben so,
And lyghtly dyd off hys hode.
Welcome is my lordes seale, he saide ;
For that ye shall come in.
He opened the gate full shortlye :
An euyl openyng for him.
Now are we in, sayde Adam Bell,
Wherof we are full faine ;
But Christ he knowes, that harowed hell,
How we shall com out agayne.
Had we the keys, said Clim of the Clough,
Ryght wel then shoulde we spede,
Then might we come out wel ynough
When we se tyme and nede.
They called the porter to counsell,
And wrang his necke in two,
And caste hym in a depe dungeon,
And toke hys keys hym fro.
Now am I porter, sayd Adam Bel,
Se brother the keys are here,
The worst porter to merry Carleile
That "the" had thys hundred yere.
And now wyll we our bowes bend,
Into the towne wyll we go,
For to delyuer our dere brother,
That lyeth in care and wo.
Then they bent theyr good ewe bowes,
And loked theyr stringes were round, f
The markett place in mery Carleile
They beset that stound.
* Ver. 38.
t So Ascham in his Toxophilus gives a pre-
cept, " The stringe must be rounde " (p. 149,
ed. 1761), otherwise, we may conclude from
mechanical principles.the arrow will not fly true.
And, as they loked them besyde,
A paire of new galowes " they " see,
And the justice with a quest of squyers,
That judged William hanged to be.
And Cloudesle lay redy there in a cart,
Fast bound both fote and hand ;
And a stronge rop about hys necke,
All readye for to hange.
The justice called to him a ladde,
Cloudeslees clothes hee shold have,
To take the measure of that yeman,
Therafter to make hys grave.
I have sene as great marveile, said
Cloudesle,
As betweyne thys and pryme.
He that maketh a grave for mee,
Hymselfe may lye therin.
Thou speakest proudlye, said the justice,
I will thee hange with my hande.
Full wel herd this his brethren two,
There styll as they dyd stande.
Then Cloudesle cast his eyen asyde,
And saw hys ' ' brethren twaine "
At a corner of the market place,
Redy the justice for to slaine.
I se comfort, sayd Cloudesle,
Yet hope I well to fare,
If I might have my handes at wyll
Ryght lytic wolde I care.
Then spake good Adam Bell
To Clym of the Clough so free,
Brother, se you marke the justyce wel ;
Lo ! yonder you may him se :
And at the shyrife shote I wyll
Strongly wyth an arrowe kene ;
A better shote in mery Carleile
Thys seven yere was not sene.
They loosed their arrowes both at once,
Of no man had they dread ;
100
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
The one hyt the justice, the other the
sheryfe,
That both theyr sides gan blede.
All men voydcd, that them stode nye,
When the justice fell to the grounde,
And the sherife nye hym by ;
Eyther had his deathes vvounde.
All the citezens fast gan nye,
They durst no longer abyde :
There lyghtly they losed Cloudeslee,
Where he with ropes lay tyde.
Wyllyam start to an officer of the towne,
Hys axe "from" hys hand he wronge,
On eche syde he smote them downe,
Hee thought he taryed to long.
Wyllyam sayde to hys brethren two,
Thys daye let us lyve and die,
If ever you have nede, as I have now,
The same shall you finde by me.
They shot so well in that tyde,
Theyr stringes were of silke ful sure,
That they kept the stretes on every side ;
That batayle did long endure.
They fought together as brethren true,
Lyke hardy men and bolde,
Many a man to the ground they threw,
And many a herte made colde.
But when their arrowes were all gon,
Men preced to them full fast,
They drew theyr swordes then anone,
And theyr bowes from them cast.
They went lyghtlye on theyr way,
Wyth swordes and buclers round ;
By that it was mydd of the day,
They made many a wound.
There was an out-home * in Carleil blowen,
And the belles backward dyd ryng,
* Outhorne is an old term signifying the
calling forth of subjects to arms by the sound
of a horn.
Many a woman sayde, Alas !
And many theyr handes dyd wryng.
The mayre of Carleile forth com was,
Wyth hym a ful great route :
These yemen dred hym full sore,
Of theyr lyves they stode in great doute.
The mayre came armed a full great pace,
Wyth a pollaxe in hys hande ;
Many a strong man wyth hym was,
There in that stowre to stande.
The mayre smot at Cloudeslee with his
bil,
Hys bucler he brast in two,
Full many a yeman with great evyll,
Alas ! Treason they cryed for wo.
Kepe well the gates fast, they bad,
That these traytours therout not go.
But al for nought was that they wrought,
For so fast they downe were layde,
Tyll they all thre, that so manfulli fought,
Were gotten without, abraide.
Have here your keys, sayd Adam Bel,
Myne office I here forsake,
And yf you do by my counsell
A new porter do ye make.
He threw theyr keys at theyr heads,
And bad them well to thryve,*
And all that letteth any good yeman
To come and comfort his wyfe.
Thus be these good yeman gon to the
wod,
As lyghtly as lefe on lynde ;
The lough and be mery in theyr mode,
Theyr enemyes were ferr behynd.
When they came to Englyshe wode,
Under the trusty tre,
There they found bowes full good,
And arrowes full great plentye.
* This is spoken ironically.
ADAM BELL, CLYM OF CLOUGH, WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY. 101
So God me help, sayd Adam Bell,
And Clym of the Clough so fre,
I would we were in mery Carleile,
Before that fayre meynye.
They set them downe, and made good
chere,
And eate and dranke full well.
A second fyt of the wightye yeomen :
Another I wyll you tell.
PART THE THIRD.
As they sat in Englyshe wood,
Under the green-wode tre,
They thought they herd a woman wepe,
But her they mought not se.
Sore then syghed the fayre Alyce :
"That ever I sawe thys day ! "
For nowe is my dere husband slayne,
Alas ! and wel-a-way !
Myght I have spoken wyth hys dere
brethren,
Or with eyther of them twayne,
To show them what him befell,
My hart were out of payne.
Cloudesle walked a lytle beside,
He looked under the grene wood lynde,
He was ware of his wife, and chyldren
three,
Full wo in harte and mynde.
Welcome, wyfe, then sayde Wyllyam,
Under " this " trusti tre :
I had wende yesterday , by swete say nt J ohn ,
Thou sholdest me never "have " se.
" Now well is me that ye be here,
My harte is out of wo. "
Dair.c, he sayde, be mery and glad,
And thanke my brethren two.
Herof to speake, said Adam Bell,
I-wis it is no bote :
The meate, that we must supp withall,
It runneth yet fast on fote.
Then went they downe into a launde,
These noble archares all thre ;
Eche of them slew a hart of greece.
The best that they cold se.
Have here the best, Alyce, my wyfe,
Sayde Wyllyam of Cloudeslye ;
By cause ye so bouldly stode by me
When I was slayne full nye.
Then went they to suppere
Wyth suche meate as they had
And thanked God of ther fortune
They were both mery and glad.
And when they had supped well,
Certayne withouten lease,
Cloudesle sayd, We wyll to our kyng,
To get us a charter of peace.
Alyce shal be at our sojournyng
In a nunnery here besyde ;
My tow sonnes shall wyth her go,
And there they shall abyde.
Myne eldest son shall go wyth me ;
For hym have "you " no care :
And he shall bring you worde agayn,
How that we do fare.
Thus be these yemen to London gone,
As fast as they myght "he,"
Tyll they came to the kynges pallace,
Where they woulde nedes be.
And whan they came to the kynges courte,
Unto the pallace gate,
Of no man wold they aske no leave,
But boldly went in therat.
They preced prestly into the hall,
Of no man had they dreade :
The porter came after, and dyd them call,
And with them began to chyde.
The usher sayde, Yemen, what wold ye
have?
I pray you tell to me :
You myght thus make offycers shcnt;
Good syrs, of whence be ye ?
102
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
Syr, we be out-lawes of the forest
Certayne withouten lease ;
And hether we be come to the kyng,
To get us a charter of peace.
And whan they came before the kyng,
As it was the lawe of the lande,
The kneled downe without lettyng,
And eche held up his hand.
The sayed, Lord, we beseche the here,
That ye wyll graunt us grace ;
For we have slayne your fat falow dere
In many a sondry place.
What be your nams, then said our king,
Anone that you tell me ?
They sayd, Adam Bell, Clim of the Clough,
And Wyllyam of Cloudesle.
Be ye those theves, then sayd our kyng,
That men have tolde of to me ?
Here to God I make an avovve,
Ye shal be hanged al thre.
Ye shal be dead without mercy,
As I am kynge of this lande.
He commanded his officers everichone,
Fast on them to lay hande.
There they toke these good yemen,
And arested them al thre :
So may I thryve, sayd Adam Bell,
Thys game lyketh not me.
But, good lorde, we beseche you now,
That yee graunt us grace,
Visomuehe as " frely " we be to you come,
"As frely " we may fro you passe,
With such weapons, as we have here,
Tyll we be out of your place ;
And yf we lyve this hundreth yere,
We wyll aske you no grace.
Ye speake proudly, sayd the kynge ;
Ye shal be hanged all thre.
That were great pitye, then sayd the quenc,
If any grace myght be.
My lorde, when I came fyrst into this
lande
To be your wedded wyfe,
The fyrst boone that I wold aske,
Ye would graunt it me bclyfe :
And I asked you never none tyll now ;
Therefore, good lorde, graunt it me.
Now aske it, madam, sayd the kynge,
And graunted it shal be.
Then, good my lord, I you beseche,
These yemen graunt ye me.
Madame, ye myght have asked a boone,
That shuld have been worth them all
thre.
Ye myght have asked towres, and townes,
Parkes and forestes plente.
None soe pleasant to my pay, shee sayd ;
Nor none so lefe to me.
Madame, sith it is your desyre,
Your askyng graunted shal be ;
But I had lever have given you
Good market townes thre.
The quene was a glad woman,
And sayde, Lord, gramarcy ;
I dare undertake for them,
That true men shal they be.
But, good my lord, speke som mery word,
That comfort they may se.
I graunt you grace, then sayd our king ;
Washe, felos, and to meate go ye.
They had not setten but a whyle
Certayne without lesynge,
There came messengers out of the north
With letters to our kyng.
And whan the came before the kynge,
They knelt downe on theyr kne ;
And sayd, Lord, your officers grete you
well,
Of Carleile in the north cuntre.
How fareth my justice, sayd the kyng,
And my sherife also ?
ADAM BELL, CL YM OF CLOUGH, WILLIAM OF CLOUDESL Y. 103
Syr, they be slayne without leasynge,
And many an officer mo.
Who hath them slayne ? sayd the kyng ;
Anone that thou tell me.
"Adam Bell, and Clime of the Clough,
And Wyllyam of Cloudesle."
Alas for rewth I then sayd our kynge :
My hart is wonderous sore ;
I had lever than a thousande pounde,
I had knowne of thys before ;
For I have graunted them grace,
And that forthynketh me :
But had I knowne all thys before,
They had been hanged all thre.
The kyng hee opened the letter anone,
Himselfe he red it thro,
And founde how these outlawes had slain
Thre hundred men and mo :
Fyrst the justice, and the sheryfe,
And the mayre of Carleile towne ;
Of all the constables and catchipolles
Alyve were "scant " left one :
The baylyes, and the bedyls both,
And the sergeauntes of the law,
And forty fosters ofthefe,
These outlawes had yslaw :
And broke his parks, and slayne his dere ;
Of all they chose the best ;
So perelous out-lawes, as they were,
Walked not by easte nor west.
When the kynge this letter had red,
In hys harte he syghed sore :
Take up the tables anone he bad,
For I may eat no more.
The kyng called hys best archars
To the buttes wyth hym to go :
I wyll se these felowcs shote, he sayd,
In the north have wrought this wo.
The kynges bowmen buske them blyve,
And the quenes archers also ;
So dyd these thre wyghyte yemen ;
With them they thought to go.
There twyse, or thryse they shote about
For to assay theyr hande ;
There was no shote these yemen shot,
That any fry eke myght stand.
Then spake Wyllyam of Cloudesle ;
By him that for me dyed,
I hold hym never no good archar,
That shoteth at buttes so wyde.
" At what a butte now wold ye shote ? "
I pray thee tell to me.
At suche a but, syr, he sayd,
As men use in my countree.
Wyllyam wente into a fyeld,
And " with him " his two brethren:
There they set up two hasell roddes
Twenty score paces betwene.
I hold him an archar, said Cloudesle,
That yonder wande cleveth in two.
Here is none suche, sayd the kyng,
Nor no man can so do.
I shall assaye, syr, sayd Cloudesle,
Or that I farther go.
Cloudesly with a bearyng arowe
Clave the wand in two.
Thou art the best archer, then sayd the
king,
Forsothe that ever I se.
And yet for your love, sayd Wyllyam,
I wyll do more maystery.
I have a sonne is seven yere olde,
He is to me full deare ;
I wyll hym tye to a stake ;
All shall se, that be here ;
And lay an apple upon hys head,
And go syxe score paces hym fro,
And I my selfe with a brode arow
Shall cleve the apple in two.
104
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
Now haste the, then sayd the kyng,
By hym that dyed on a tre,
But yf thou do not, as thou hest sayde,
Hanged shalt thou be.
And thou touche his head or gowne,
In syght that men may se,
By all the sayntes that be in heaven,
I shall hange you all thre.
That I have promised, said William,
That I wyll never forsake.
And ther even before the kynge
In the earth he drove a stake :
And bound thereto his eldest sonne,
And bad hym stand styll thereat ;
And turned the childes face him fro,
Because he should not start.
An apple upon his head he set,
And then his bowe he bent :
Syxe score paces they were meatcn,
And thether Cloudesle went.
There he drew out a fayr brode arrowe,
Hys bowe was great and longe,
He set that arrowe in his bowe,
That was both styffe and stronge.
He prayed the people, that wer there,
That they ' ' all still wold " stand,
For he that shoteth for such a wager
Behoveth a stedfast hand.
Muche people prayed for Cloudesle,
That his lyfe saved myght be,
And whan he made hym redy to shote,
There was many weeping ee.
" But " Cloudesle clefte the apple in two,
" His sonne he did not nee."
Over Gods forbode, sayd the kinge,
That thou shold shote at me.
I geve thee eightene pence a day,
And my bowe shalt thou bere,
And over all the north countre
I make the chyfe rydere.
And I thyrtene pence a day, said the quene,
By God, and by my fay ;
Come feche thy payment when thou wylt,
No man shall say the nay.
Wyllyam, I make the a gentleman
Of clothying, and olfe:
And thy two brethren, yemen of my
chambre,
For they are so semely to se.
Your sonne, for he is tendre of age,
Of my wyne-seller he shall be ;
And when he commeth to mans estate,
Better avaunced shall he be.
And, Wyllyam, bring me your wife, said
the quene,
Me longeth her sore to se :
She shall be my chefe gentlewoman,
To governe my nurserye.
The yemen thanked them all curteously.
To some byshop wyl we wend,
Of all the synnes, that we have done,
To be assoyld at his hand.
So forth be gone these good yemen,
As fast as they might "he ;"
And after came and dwelled with the
kynge,
And dyed good men all thre.
Thus endeth the lives of these good yemen ,
God send them eternall blysse ;
And all, that with a hand-bowe shoteth :
That of heven may never mysse.
Amen.
THE AGED LOVER RENO UNCETH LOVE.
i OS
II.— THE AGED LOVER RENOUNCETH LOVE.
The Gravedigger's song in Hamlet, Act v., is taken from three stanzas of the
following poem, though greatly altered and disguised, as the same were corrupted by
the ballad-singers of Shakespeare's time ; or perhaps so designed by the poet himself,
the better to suit the character of an illiterate clown. The original is preserved
among Surrey's Poems, and is attributed to Lord Vaux by George Gascoigne. It is
also ascribed to Lord Vaux in a manuscript copy preserved in the British Museum.
I loth that I did love,
In youth that- 1 thought swete,
As time requires : for my behove
Me thinkes they are not mete.
My lustes they do me leave,
My fansies all are fled ;
And tract of time begins to weave
Gray heares upon my hed.
For Age with steling steps
Hath clawde me with his crowch,
And lusty " Youthe" awaye he leapes,
As there had bene none such.
My muse doth not delight
Me, as she did before :
My hand and pen are not in plight,
As they have bene of yore.
For Reason me denies,
" All " youthly idle rime ;
And day by day to me she cries,
Leave off these toyes in tyme.
The wrinkles in my brow,
The furrowes in my face
Say, Limping age will "lodge " bim now,
Where youth must geve him place.
The harbenger of death,
To me I se him ride,
The cough, the cold, the gasping breath
Doth bid me to provide
A pikcax and a spade,
And eke a shrowding shete,
A house of clay for to be made
For such a guest most mete.
Me thinkes I heare the clarke,
That knoles the carefull knell ;
And bids me leave my ' ' wearye " warke,
Ere nature me compell.
My kepers * knit the knot,
That youth doth laugh to scorne,
Of me that "shall bee cleane " forgot,
As I had "ne'er" bene borne.
Thus must I youth geve up,
Whose badge I long did weare :
To them I yeld the wanton cup,
That better may it beare.
Lo here the bared skull ;
By whose balde signe I know,
That stouping age away shall pull
"What " youthful yeres did sow.
For Beautie with her band,
These croked cares had wrought,
And shipped me into the land,
From whence I first was brought.
And ye that bide behinde,
Have ye none other trust :
As ye of claye were cast by kinde,
So shall ye " turne " to dust.
* Alluding perhaps to Eccles. xii. 3.
io6
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
III.— JEPHTHAH, JUDGE OF ISRAEL.
In Shakespeare's Hamlet, Act ii., the hero of the play takes occasion to banter Polonius
with some scraps of an old ballad, which has never appeared yet in any collection •.
for which reason, as it is but short, it will not perhaps be unacceptable to the reader,
who will also be diverted with the pleasant absurdities of the composition.
The banter of Hamlet is as follows : —
Hamlet. ' ' O Jeptha, Judge of Israel, " what a treasure hadst thou 1
Polonius. What a treasure had he, my lord ?
Ham. Why, ' ' One faire daughter, and no more,
The which he loved passing welL"
Polon. Still on my daughter.
Ham. Am not I i' th' right, old Jeptha ?
Polon. If you call me Jeptha, my lord, I have a daughter, that I love passing well
Ham. Nay, that follows not.
Polon. What follows then, my lord ?
Ham. Why, "As by lot, God wot :" and then you know, " It came to passe, As
most like it was. '
The first row of the pious chanson will shew you more.
Edit. 1793, vol. xv. p.
133-
Have you not heard these many years ago,
Jeptha was judge of Israel?
He had one only daughter and no mo,
The which he loved passing well :
And, as by lott,
God wot,
It so came to pass,
As Gods will was,
That great wars there should be,
And none should be chosen chief but he.
And when he was appointed judge,
And chieftain of the company,
A solemn vow to God he made ;
If he returned with victory,
At his return
To burn
The first live thing,
. . . • . • t
That should meet with him then,
Off his house, when he should return
agen.
It came to pass, the wars was oer,
And he returned with victory ;
His dear and only daughter first of all
Came to meet her father foremostly :
And all the way,
She did play
On tabret and pipe.
Full many a stripe,
With note so high,
For joy that her father is come so nigh.
But when he saw his daughter dear
Coming on most foremostly,
He wrung his hands, and tore his hair,
And cryed out most piteously ;
Oh ! it's thou, said he,
That have brought me
Low,
And troubled me so,
That I know not what to do.
For I have made a vow, he sed,
The which must be replenished :
" What thou hast spoke
Do not revoke :
A ROBYN JOLLY ROBYN— A SONG TO THE LUTE. 107
What thou hast said,
Be not afraid ;
Altho" it be I ;
Keep promises to God on high.
" But, dear father, grant me one request,
That I may go to the wilderness,
Three months therewith my friends to stay;
There to bewail my virginity ;
And let there be,
Said she,
Some two or three
Young maids with me."
So he sent her away,
For to mourn, for to mourn, till her
dying day.
IV.— A ROBYN JOLLY ROBYN.
In his Twelfth Night, Shakespeare introduces the Clown singing part of the two first
stanzas of the following song ; which song is here printed from what appears the most
ancient of Dr. Harrington's poetical MSS., and which seems to have been written in
the reign of King Henry VIII.
A Robyn,
Jolly Robyn,
Tell me how thy leman doeth,
And thou shalt knowe of myn.
" My lady is unkynde perde."
Alack ! why is she so ?
" She loveth an other better than me ;
And yet she will say no."
I fynde no such doublenes :
I fynde women true.
My lady loveth me dowtles,
And will change for no newe.
" Thou art happy while that doeth last ;
But I say, as I fynde,
That women's love is but a blast,
And torneth with the wynde."
Suche folkes can take no harme by love,
That can abide their torn :
' ' But I alas can no way prove
In love but lake and morn."
But if thou wilt avoyde thy harme,
Lerne this lessen of me,
At others fieres thy selfe to warme,
And let them warme with the.
V.— A SONG TO THE LUTE IN MUSICKE.
Tins sonnet (which is ascribed to Richard Edwards, in the Paradise of Daititie
Devises, fo. 31, b.) is by Shakespeare made the subject of some pleasant ridicule in his
Romeo and Juliet, Act iv. Sc. v., where he introduces Peter putting this question to
the musicians :
Peter. . . . why "Silver Sound"? why " Musicke with her silver sound"? what
say you, Simon Catling?
1 Afus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.
Pet. Pretty ! what say you, Hugh Rebecke ?
2 Mits. I say, silver sound, because musicians sound for silver.
Pet. Pretty too ! what say you, James Sound-post?
3 Mas. Faith, I know not what to say.
Pet. ... I will say it for you : It is " Musicke with her silver sound," because musi
cians have no gold for sounding.
lo8
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
Where gripinge grefes the hart would
wounde,
And dolefulle dumps the mynde
oppresse,
There musicke with her silver sound
With spede is wont to send redresse :
Of trobled mynds, in every sore,
Swete musicke hathe a salve in store.
In joye yt maks our mirthe abounde,
In woe yt cheres our hevy sprites ;
Dc-strawghted heads relyef hath founde,
By musickes pleasaunt swete delightes :
Our senses all, what shall I say more ?
Are subjecte unto musicks lore.
The Gods by musicke have theire prayse ;
The lyfe, the soul therein doth joye :
For, as the Romayne poet sayes,
In seas, whom pyrats would destroy,
A dolphin saved from death most sharpe
Arion playing on his harpe.
O heavenly gyft, that rules the mynd,
Even as the sterne dothe rule the shippe !
O musicke, whom the Gods assinde
To comforte manne, whom cares would
nippe !
Since thow both man and beste doest
move,
What beste ys he, wyll the disprove ?
VI.— KING COPHETUA AND THE BEGGAR MAID
Is a story often alluded to by our old dramatic writers. Shakespeare, in his Romeo and
Juliet, Act ii. Sc. i., makes Mercutio say :
" Her (Venus') purblind son and heir,
Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so true,
When King Cophetua loved the beggar maid."
In the second part of Henry IV., Act v. Sc. iii., Falstaff is introduced affectedly
saying to Pistoll :
" O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news ?
Let King Cophetua know the truth thereof."
Shakespeare also alludes to the ballad in Love's Labour Lost, Act iv. Sc. i.
is an allusion to the story in King Richard II. , Act v. Sc. iii.
And there
I read that once in Affrica
A princely wight did raine,
Who had to name Cophetua,
As poets they did faine :
From natures lawes he did decline,
For sure he was not of my mind,
He cared not for women-kinde,
But did them all disdaine.
But, marke, what hapned on a day,
As he out of his window lay,
He saw a beggar all in gray,
The which did cause his paine.
The blinded boy, that shootes so trim,
From heaven downe did hie ;
He drew a dart and shot at him,
In place where he did lye :
Which soone did pierse him to the quicke,
And when he felt the arrow pricke,
Which in his tender heart did sticke,
He looketh as he would dye.
What sudden chance is this, quoth he,
That I to love must subject be,
Which never thereto would agree,
But still did it defie ?
Then from the window he did come,
And laid him on his bed,
A thousand heapes of care did runne
Within his troubled head :
For now he meanes to crave her love,
And now he seekes which way to proove
How he his fancie might remoove,
And not this beggar wed.
KING COPHETUA AND THE BEGGAR MAID.
109
But Cupid had him so in snare,
That this poor begger must prepare
A salve to cure him of his care,
Or els he would be dead.
And, as he musing thus did lye,
He thought for to devise
How he might have her companye,
That so did 'maze his eyes.
In thee, quoth he, doth rest my life ;
For surely thou shalt be my wife,
Or else this hand with bloody knife
The Gods shall sure suffice.
Then from his bed he soon arose,
And to his pallace gate he goes ;
Full little then this begger knowes
When she the king espies.
The Gods preserve your majesty,
The beggers all gan cry :
Vouchsafe to give your charity
Our childrens food to buy.
The king to them his pursse did cast,
And they to part it made great haste ;
This silly woman was the last
That after them did hye.
The king he cal'd her back againe,
And unto her he gave his chaine ;
And said, With us you shal remaine
Till such time as we dye :
For thou, quoth he, shalt be my wife,
And honoured for my queene ;
With thee I meane to lead my life,
As shortly shall be seene :
Our wedding shall appointed be,
And every thing in its degree :
Come on, quoth he, and follow me,
Thou shalt go shift thee cleane.
What is thy name, faire maid ? quoth he.
Penelophon, O king, quoth she :
With that she made a lowe courtsey ;
A trim one as I weene.
Thus hand in hand along they walke
Unto the king's pallace :
The king with courteous comly talke
This begger doth imbrace :
The begger blusheth scarlet red,
And straight againe as pale as lead,
But not a word at all she said,
She was in such amaze.
At last she spake with trembling voyce,
And said, O king, I doe rejoyce
That you wil take me for your choyce,
And my degree's so base.
And when the wedding day was come,
The king commanded strait
The noblemen both all and some
Upon the queene to wait.
And she behaved herself that day,
As if she had never walkt the way ;
She had forgot her gowne of gray,
Which she did weare of late.
The proverbe old is come to passe,
The priest, -when he begins his masse,
Forgets that ever clerke he was ;
He knowth not his estate.
Here you may read, Cophetua,
Though long time fancie-fed,
Compelled by the blinded boy
The begger for to wed :
He that did lovers lookes disdaine,
To do the same was glad and faine,
Or else he would himselfe have slaine,
In storie, as we read.
Disdaine no whit, O lady deere,
But pitty now thy servant heere,
Least that it hap to thee this yeare,
As to that king it did.
And thus they led a quiet life
During their princely raigne ;
And in a tombe were buried both,
As writers sheweth plaine.
The lords they tooke it grievously,
The ladies tooke it heavily,
The commons cryed pitiously,
Their death to them was paine,
Their fame did sound so passingly,
That it did pierce the starry sky,
And throughout all the world did flye
To every prince's realme.
no
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
VII.— TAKE THY OLD CLOAK ABOUT THEE.
Given in the folio under the title of Bell my Wiffe. This piece is more than a
controversy between man and wife. It notes the tendency of the age, the struggle
between social revolution and social conservatism. The man is anxious to do as his
neighbours, and to do away with distinctions and rise to a higher level. The wife
thinks old things are best, and wishes not to meddle with new. Shakespeare quotes
the 7th stanza in Act ii. of Othello.
SHE.
It is four and fortye yeeres agoe
Since the one of us the other did ken,
And we have had betwixt us towe
Of children either nine or ten ;
Wee have brought them up to women and
men ;
In the feare of God I trow they bee ;
And why wilt thou thyselfe misken ?
Man, take thine old cloake about thee.
HE.
O Bell my wiffe, why dost thou "floute! "
Now is nowe, and then was then :
Seeke now all the world throughout,
Thou kenst not clownes from gentlemen.
They are cladd in blacke, greene, yellowe,
or "gray,"
Soe far above their owne degree :
Once in my life He "doe as they,"
For He have a new cloake about mee.
SHE.
King Stephen was a worthy peere,
His breeches cost him but a crowne,
He held them sixpence all too deere ;
Therefore he calld the taylor Lownt.
He was a wight of high renowne,
And thouse but of a low degree :
Itt's pride that putts this countrye downe,
Man, take thine old cloake about thee.
HE.
' ' Bell my wife she loves not strife,
Yet she will lead me if she can ;
And oft, to live a quiet life,
I am forced to yield, though Ime good-
man ; ' '
Itt's not for a man with a woman to threapc,
Unlesse he first gave oer the plea :
As wee began wee now will leave,
And lie take mine old cloake about mee.
This winters weather itt waxeth cold,
And frost doth freese on every hill,
And Boreas blowes his blasts soe bold,
That all our cattell are like to spill ;
Bell my wiffe, who loves noe strife,
She sayd unto me quietlye,
Rise up, and save cow Crumbockes liffe,
Man, put thine old cloake about thee.
HE.
Bell, why dost Xhoujlyte "and scorne?"
Thou kenst my cloak is very thin :
Itt is soe bare and overworne
A cricke he theron cannot renn :
Then Be noe longer borrowe nor lend,
' ' For once lie new appareld bee,
To-morrow He to towne and spend,"
For He have a new cloake about mee.
SHE.
Cow Crumbocke is a very good cowe,
Shee ha beene alwayes true to the payle,
Shee has helpt us to butter and cheese, I
trow,
And other things shee will not fayle ;
1 wold be loth to see her pine,
Good husband, councell take of mee,
It is not for us to go soe fine,
Man, take thine old cloake about thee.
HE.
My cloake it was a verry good cloake,
Itt hath been alwayes true to the weare,
But now it is not worth a groat ;
I have had it four and forty yeere :
Sometime itt was of cloth in graine,
'Tis now but a sigh clout as you may
see,
It will neither hold out winde nor raine ;
And He have a new cloake about mee.
WILLOW, WILLOW, WLLLOW.
in
VIII.— WILLOW, WILLOW, WILLOW.
It is from the following stanzas that Shakespeare has taken his song of the Willow,
in his Othello, Act iv. Sc. iii. , though somewhat varied and applied by him to a female
character. He makes Desdemona introduce it in this pathetic and affecting manner :
" My mother had a maid called Barbara :
She was in love ; and he she lov'd prov'd mad,
And did forsake her. She had a song of — Willow.
An old thing 'twas, but it expressed her fortune,
And she died singing it." — Ed. 1793, vol. xv. p. 613.
A POORE soule sat sighing under a sica-
more tree ;
O willow, willow, willow 1
With his hand on his bosom, his head on
his knee :
O willow, willow, willow !
O willow, willow, willow !
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my
garland.
He sigh'd in his singing, and after each
grone,
Come willow, etc.
I am dead to all pleasure, my true-love is
gone;
O willow, etc.
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my
garland.
My love she is turned ; untrue she doth
prove :
O willow, etc.
She renders me nothing but hate for my
love.
O willow, etc.
Sing, O the greene willow, etc.
O pitty me (cried he) ye lovers, each one ;
O willow, etc.
Her heart's hard as marble ; she rues not
my mone.
O willow, etc.
Sing, O the greene willow, etc.
The cold streams ran by him, his eyes
wept apace ;
O willow, etc
The salt tears fell from him, which drowned
his face :
O willow, etc.
Sing, O the green willow, eta
The mute birds sate by him, made tame
by his mones ;
O willow, etc.
The salt tears fell from him, which softened
the stones.
O willow, etc.
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my
garland !
Let nobody blame me, her scornes I do
prove ;
O willow, etc.
She was borne to be faire ; I, to die for
her love.
O willow, etc.
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my
garland.
O that beauty should harbour a heart that's
so hard !
Sing willow, etc.
My true love rejecting without all regard.
O willow, etc.
Sing, O the greene willow, etc.
Let love no more boast him in palace, or
bower ;
O willow, etc.
For women are trothles, and flote in an
houre.
O willow, etc.
Sing, O the greene willow, etc.
1 1 2 RELIQ UES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH FOE TR Y.
But what helps complaining? In vaine I
A sign of her falsenesse before me doth
complaine :
stand :
willow, etc.
O willow, etc.
I must patiently suffer her scorne and dis-
Sing, O the greene willow, etc.
ci aine.
O willow, etc.
As here it doth bid to despair and to
Sing, O the greene willow, etc.
dye,
O willow, etc.
Come, all you forsaken, and sit down by
So hang it, friends, ore me in grave where
me,
I lye:
O willow, etc.
O willow, etc.
He that 'plaines of his false love, mine's
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my
falser than she.
garland.
O willow, etc.
Sing, O the greene willow, etc.
In grave where I rest mee, hang this to
the view,
The willow wreath weare I, since my love
O willow, etc.
did fleet ;
Of all that doe knowe her, to blaze her
O willow, etc.
untrue.
A Garland for lovers forsaken most meete.
willow, etc.
willow, etc.
Sing, O the greene willow, etc.
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my
garland !
With these words engraven, as epitaph
meet,
O willow, etc.
PART THE SECOND.
" Here lyes one, drank poyson for potion
Lowe lay'd by my sorrow, begot by dis-
most sweet."
O willow, etc.
daine ;
O willow, willow, willow !
Sing, O the greene willow, etc.
Against her too cruell, still still I com-
Though she thus unkindly hath scorned
plaine,
my love,
O willow, willow, willow !
O willow, etc.
O willow, willow, willow !
And carelesly smiles at the sorrowes I
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my
prove ;
garland !
O willow, etc.
Sing, the greene willow, etc.
O love too injurious, to wound my poore
heart ?
I cannot against her unkindly exclaim,
O willow, etc.
O willow, etc.
To suffer the triumph, and joy in my
Cause once well I loved her, and honoured
smart :
her name :
O willow, etc.
O willow, etc.
Sing, O the greene willow, etc.
Sing, O the greene willow, etc.
O willow, willow, willow ! the willow
The name of her sounded so sweete in
garland,
mine eare,
O willow, etc.
O willow, etc.
SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE.
1 I
It rays'd my heart lightly, the name of my
deare ;
O willow, etc.
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my
garland.
As then 'twas my comfort, it now is my
griefe ;
O willow, etc.
It now brings me anguish ; then brought
me reliefe.
O willow, etc.
Sing, O the greene willow
garland.
shall be
my
Farewell, faire false hearted : plaints end
with my breath !
O willow, willow, willow !
Thou dost loath me, I love thee, though
cause of my death.
O willow, willow, willow !
O willow, willow, willow !
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my
garland.
IX.— SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE.
This ballad is quoted in Shakespeare's second part of Henry IV. Act ii. The
subject of it is taken from the ancient romance of King Arthur (commonly called A forte
Arthur), being a poetical translation of chaps, cvii., cix. , ex. in Parti., as they stand in
ed. 1634, 4to. In the older editions the chapters are differently numbered. This song
is given from a printed copy, corrected in part by a fragment in the Editor's folio MS.
When Arthur first in court began,
And was approved king,
By force of armes great victorys wanne,
And conquest home did bring,
Then into England straight he came
With fifty good and able
Knights, that resorted unto him,
And were of his round table :
And he had justs and turnaments,
Wherto were many prest,
Wherin some knights did far excell
And eke surmount the rest.
But one Sir Lancelot du Lake,
Who was approved well,
He for his deeds and feats of armes
All others did excell.
When he had rested him a while,
In play, and game, and sportt,
He said he wold goe prove himselfe
In some adventurous sort.
He armed rode in a forrest wide,
And met a damsell faire,
Who told him of adventures great,
Whereto he gave great eare.
Suche wold I find, quoth Lancelott :
For that cause came I hither.
Thou seemst, quoth shee, a knight full
good,
And I will bring thee thither.
Wheras * a mighty knight doth dwell,
That now is of great fame :
Therfore tell me what wight thou art,
And what may be thy name.
" My name is Lancelot du Lake."
Quoth she, it likes me than :
Here dwelles a knight who never was
Yet matcht with any man :
Who has in prison threescore knights
And four, that he did wound ;
Knights of king Arthurs court they bo,
And of his table round.
She brought him to a river side,
And also to a tree,
Whereon a copper bason hung,
And many shields to see.
* V. 29. Where is often used by our old
writers for whereas; here it is just the con-
trary.
H
ii 4
RELIQVES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
He struck soe hard, the bason broke ;
And Tarquin soon he spyed :
Who drove a horse before him fast,
Whereon a knight lay tyed.
Sir knight, then sayd Sir Lancelott,
Bring me that horse-load hither,
And lay him downe, and let him rest ;
Weel try our force together :
For, as I understand, thou hast,
Soe far as thou art able,
Done great despite and shame unto
The knights of the Round Table.
If thou be of the Table Round,
Quoth Tarquin speedilye,
Both thee and all thy fellowship
I utterly defye.
That's over much, quoth Lancelott tho,
Defend thee by and by.
They sett their speares unto their steeds,
And eache att other flie.
They coucht theire speares (their horses
ran,
As though there had been thunder),
And strucke them each immidst their
shields,
Wherewith they broke in sunder.
Their horsses backes brake under them,
The knights were both astoutid:
To avoyd their horsses they made haste
And light upon the ground.
They tooke them to their shields full fast,
Their swords they drew out than,
With mighty strokes most eagerlye
Each at the other ran.
They wounded were, and bled full sore,
They both for breath did stand,
And leaning on their swords awhile,
Quoth Tarquine, Hold thy hand,
And tell to me what I shall aske.
Say on, quoth Lancelot tho.
Thou art, quoth Tarquine, the best knight
That ever I did know ;
And like a knight, that I did hate :
Soe that thou be not hee,
I will deliver all the rest,
And eke accord with thee.
That is well said, quoth Lancelott ;
But sith it must be soe,
What knight is that thou hatest thus ?
I pray thee to me show.
His name is Lancelot du Lake,
He slew my brother deere ;
Him I suspect of all the rest :
I would I had him here.
Thy wish thou hast, but yet unknowne,
I am Lancelot du Lake,
Now knight of Arthurs Table Round ;
King Hauds son of Schuwake ;
And I desire thee do thy worst.
Ho, ho, quoth Tarquin tho,
One of us two shall end our lives
Before that we do go.
If thou be Lancelot du Lake,
Then welcome shalt thou bee :
Wherfore see thou thyself defend,
For now defye I thee.
They buckled then together so,
Like unto wild boares rashing ;*
And with their swords and shields they ran
At one another slashing :
The ground besprinkled was with blood :
Tarquin began to yield ;
For he gave backe for wearinesse,
And lowe did beare his shield.
* Rashing seems to be the old hunting term
to express the stroke made by the wild boar
with his fangs.
CORYDON'S FAREWELL TO PHILLLS—GERNUTUS. 115
This soone Sir Lancelot espyde,
He leapt upon him then,
He pull'd him downe upon his knee,
And rushing off his helm,
Forthwith he strucke his necke in two,
And, when he had soe done,
From prison threescore knights and four
Delivered everye one.
X— CORYDON'S FAREWELL TO PHILLIS
Is an attempt to paint a lover's irresolution, but so poorly executed, that it would not
have been admitted into this collection, if it had not been quoted in Shakespeare's
Twelfth Night, Act ii. Sc. iii.
Farewell, dear love ; since thou wilt j
needs be gone,
Mine eyes do shew, my life is almost done.
Nay I will never die, so long as I can
spie
There be many mo, though that she doe
goe,
There be many mo, I fear not :
Why then let her goe, I care not.
Farewell, farewell ; since this I find is true,
I will not spend more time in wooing you :
But I will seek elsewhere, if I may find
love there :
Shall I bid her goe ? what and if I doe ?
Shall I bid her goe and spare not?
O no, no, no, I dare not.
Ten thousand times farewell ; — yet stay a
while : —
Sweet, kiss me once ; sweet kisses time
beguile :
I have no power to move. How now am
I in love ?
Wilt thou needs be gone ? Go then, all
is one.
Wilt thou needs be gone? Oh, hie
thee !
Nay stay, and do no more deny me.
Once more adieu, I see loath to depart
Bids oft adieu to her, that holds my heart.
But seeing I must lose thy love, which
I did choose,
Goe thy way for me, since that may not be.
Goe thy ways for me. But whither ?
Goe, oh, but where I may come thither.
What shall I doe? my love is now departed.
She is as fair, as she is cruel-hearted.
She would not be intreated, with prayers
oft repeated,
If she come no more, shall I die therefore?
If she come no more, what care I ?
Faith, let her goe, or come, or tarry.
XL— GERNUTUS, THE JEW OF VENICE.
This ballad, Mr. Warton thinks, gave rise to Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice,
though other critics have based it upon a direct Italian source. Doubtless the Italian
story, wherein, however, the Christian played the part of Shakespeare's Jew, was known
both to the dramatist and to the author of the present ballad.
THE FIRST PART.
IN Venice towne not long agoe
A cruel Jew did dwell,
Which lived all on usurie,
As Italian writers tell.
Gernutus called was the Jew,
Which never thought to dye,
Nor ever yet did any good
To them in streets that lie.
1,6 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH FOE TRY.
His life was like a barrow hogge,
That liveth many a day,
Yet never once doth any good,
Until men will him slay.
Or like a filthy heap of dung,
That lyeth in a whoard ;
Which never can do any good,
Till it be spread abroad.
So fares it with the usurer,
He cannot sleep in rest,
For feare the thiefe will him pursue
To plucke him from his nest.
His heart doth thinke on many a wile,
How to deceive the poore ;
His mouth is almost ful of mucke,
Yet still he gapes for more.
His wife must lend a shilling,
For every weeke a penny,
Yet bring a pledge, that is double worth,
If that you will have any.
And see, likewise, you keepe your day,
Or else you loose it all :
This was the living of the wife,
Her cow * she did it call.
Within that citie dwelt that time
A marchant of great fame,
Which being distressed in his need,
Unto Gernutus came :
Desiring him to stand his friend
For twelve month and a day,
To lend to him an hundred crownes :
And he for it would pay
Whatsoever he would demand of him,
And pledges he should have.
*Ver. 32. Her cow, etc., seems to have
suggested to Shakespeare Shylock's argument
for usury taken from Jacob's management of
Laban's sheep, Act i., towhich Antonio replies:
" Was this inserted to make interest good 1
Or are your gold and silver ewes and rams?
Shylock. I cannot tell, I make it breed as
fast."
No (quoth the Jew vA'Ca.flearing lookes),
Sir, aske what you will have.
No penny for the loane of it
For one year you shall pay ;
You may doe me as good a turne,
Before my dying day.
But we will have a merry jeast,
For to be talked long :
You shall make me a bond, quoth he,
That shall be large and strong :
And this shall be the forfeyture ;
Of your owne fleshe a pound.
If you agree, make you the bond.
And here is a hundred crownes.
With right good will ! the marchant says :
And so the bond was made.
When twelve month and a day drew on
That backe it should be payd,
The marchants ships were all at sea,
And money came not in ;
Which way to take, or what to doe
To thinke he doth begin :
And to Gernutus strait he comes
With cap and bended knee,
And sayde to him, Of curtesie
I pray you beare with mee.
My day is come, and I have not
The money for to pay :
And little good the forfeyture
Will doe you, I dare say.
With all my heart, Gernutus sayd,
Commaund it to your minde :
In thinges of bigger waight then this
You shall me ready finde.
He goes his way ; the day once past
Gernutus doth not slacke
To get a sergiant presently ;
And clapt him on the backe :
And layd him into prison strong,
And sued his bond withall ;
And when the judgement day was come,
For judgement he did call.
GERNUTUS, THE JEW OF VENICE.
117
The marchants friends came thither fast,
With many a weeping eye,
For other means they could not find,
But he that day must dye.
THE SECOND PART.
" Of the Jews crueltie ; setting foorth the
mercifulnesse of the Judge towards the
Marchant. To the tune of Blacke and
Yellow."
Some offered for his hundred crownes
Five hundred for to pay ;
And some a thousand, two or three,
Yet still he did denay.
And at the last ten thousand crownes
They offered, him to save.
Gernutus sayd, I will no gold :
My forfeite I will have.
A pound of fleshe is my demand,
And that shall be my hire.
Then sayd the judge, Yet, good my friend,
Let me of you desire
To take the flesh from such a place,
As yet you let him live :
Do so, and lo ! an hundred crownes
To thee here will I give.
No : no : quoth he ; no : judgement here :
For this it shall be tride,
For I will have my pound of fleshe
From under his right side.
It grieved all the companie
His crueltie to see,
For neither friend nor foe could helpe
But he must spoyled bee.
The bloudie Jew now ready is
With whetted blade in hand,*
* The passage in Shakespeare bears so
strong a resemblance to this, as to render it
probable that the one suggested the other.
See Act iv. Sc. ii. :
" Bass. Why doest thou whet thy knife so
earnestly 1 " etc.
To spoyle the bloud of innocent,
By forfeit of his bond.
And as he was about to strike
In him the deadly blow :
Stay (quoth the judge) thy crueltie ;
I charge thee to do so.
Sith needs thou wilt thy forfeit have,
Which is of flesh a pound :
See that thou shed no drop of bloud.
Nor yet the man confound.
For if thou doe, like murderer,
Thou here shalt hanged be :
Likewise of flesh see that thou cut
No more than longes to thee :
For if thou take either more or lesse
To the value of a mite,
Thou shalt be hanged presently,
As is both law and right.
Gernutus now waxt franticke mad,
And wote not what to say ;
Quoth he at last, Ten thousand crownes.
I will that he shall pay ;
And so I graunt to set him free.
The judge doth answere make ;
You shall not have a penny given ;
Your forfeyture now take.
At the last he doth demaund
But for to have his owne.
No, quoth the judge, doe as you list,
Thy judgement shall be showne.
Either take your pound of flesh, quoth he,
Or cancell me your bond.
O cruell judge, then quoth the Jew,
That doth against me stand !
And so with griping* grieved mind
He biddcth them fare-well.
"Then " all the people prays'd the Lord,
That ever this heard tell.
* Ver. 61. Grimed, Ashmol. copy.
nS
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
Good people, that doe heare this song,
For trueth I dare well say,
That many a wretch as ill as hee
Doth live now at this day ;
That seeketh nothing but the spoyle
Of many a wealthey man,
And for to trap the innocent
Deviseth what they can.
From whome the Lord deliver me,
And every Christian too,
And send to them like sentence eke
That meaneth so to do.
%* Since the first edition of this book
was printed, the editor hath had reason to
believe that both Shakespeare and the
author of this ballad are indebted for their
story of the Jew (however they came by it)
to an Italian novel, which was first printed
at Milan in the year 1554, in a book
entitled, 77 Pecorone, nel quale si conten-
gono Cinquanta Novelle autichc, etc.,
republished at Florence about the year
1748 or 1749. The author was Ser.
Giovanni Fiorentino, who wrote in 1378,
thirty years after the time in which the
scene of Boccace's Decameron is laid.
( Vid. Manni Istoria del Decameronc di
Giov. Boccac. 4to, Fior. 1744.)
That Shakespeare had his plot from the
novel itself, is evident from his having
some incidents from it, which are not
found in the ballad : and I think it will
also be found "that he borrowed from the
ballad some hints that were not suggested
by the novel. (See above, Part ii. ver.
25, etc., where, instead of that spirited
description of the whetted blade, etc., the
prose narrative coldly says, ' ' The Jew had
prepared a razor," etc. See also some
other passages in the same piece.) This,
however, is spoken with diffidence, as I
have at present before me only the
abridgment of the novel which Mr.
Johnson has given us at the end of his
commentary on Shakespeare's play. The
translation of the Italian story at large
is not easy to be met with, having I
believe never been published, though it
was printed some years ago with this title :
— "The Novel, from which the Merchant
of Venice written by Shakespeare is taken,
translated from the Italian. To which is
added a translation of a novel from the'
Decamerone of Boccacio. London,
printed for M. Cooper, 1755, 8vo."
XII.— THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE.
This beautiful sonnet is quoted in the Merry Wives of Windsor, Act iii. Sc. i. , and has
often been ascribed (together with the reply) to Shakespeare himself.
There is, however, abundant reason to believe that it was written by Christopher
Marlow. Isaac Walton in his Compleat Angler, first printed in the year 1658, but
probably written sometime before, speaks of it as "that smooth song, which was
made by Kit Marlow, now fifty years ago : and ... an answer to it which was made
by Sir Walter Raleigh in his younger days."
There are also other proofs of the author of the one being Christopher Marlow ; of
the other, Sir Walter Raleigh.
Come live with me and be my love,
And we wil all the pleasures prove
That hils and vallies, dale and field,
And all the craggy mountains yield.
There will we sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
TITUS ANDRONICUS'S COMPLAINT.
119
There will I make thee beds of roses
With a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Imbrodered all with leaves of mirtle ;
A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull ;
Slippers lin'd choicely for the cold ;
With buckles of the purest gold ;
A belt of straw, and ivie buds,
With coral clasps, and amber studs :
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Then live with me and be my love.
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning :
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.
THE NYMPH'S REPLY.
If that the World and Love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's toung,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee, and be thy love.
But time drives flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold,
And Philomel becomcth dumb,
And all complain of cares to come.
The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yield :
A honey tongue, a hart of gall,
Is fancies spring, but sorrows fall.
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
Thy belt of straw, and ivie buds,
Thy coral clasps, and amber studs ;
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee, and be thy love.
But could youth last, and love still breed,
Had joyes no date, nor age no need ;
Then those delights my mind might move
To live with thee, and be thy love.
XIII.— TITUS ANDRONICUS'S COMPLAINT.
The same question arises with this ballad as with that of Gernutus, as to whether
Shakespeare took his play from the ballad, or whether the ballad was written from the
play. In both cases there are marked differences. But there is good reason to
believe that Shakespeare did not write, but simply improved the play of Titus
Andronicus, which is much inferior to any of his other works.
You noble minds, and famous martiall
wights,
That in defence of native country fights,
Give eare to me, that ten yeeres fought for
Rome,
Yet reapt disgrace at my returning home.
In Rome I lived in fame fulle threescore
yeeres,
My name beloved was of all my peeres ;
Full five and twenty valiant sonnes I had,
Whose forwarde vertues made their
father glad.
For when Romes foes their warlike forces
bent,
Against them stille my sonnes and I were
sent ;
Against theGoths full ten yeeres weary warre
We spent, receiving many a bloudy scarre.
Just two and twenty of my sonnes were
slaine
Before we did returne to Rome againe :
Of five and twenty sonnes, I brought but
three
Alive, the stately towers of Eome to see.
120
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
When wars were done, I conquest home
did bring,
And did present my prisoners to the king,
The queene of Goths, her sons, and
eke a moore,
Which did such murders, like was nere
before.
The emperour did make this queene his
wife,
Which bred in Rome debate and deadlie
strife ;
The moore, with her two sonnes did growe
soe proud,
That none like them in Rome might bee
allowd.
The moore soe pleas'd this new-made
empress' eie,
That she consented to him secretlye
For to abuse her husband's marriage bed,
And soe in time a blackamore she bred.
Then she, whose thoughts to murder were
inclinde,
Consented with the moore of bloody
minde
Against myselfe, my kin, and all my
friendes,
In cruell sort to bring them to their endes.
Soe when in age I thought to live in peace,
Both care and griefe began then to increase :
Amongst my sonnes I had one daughter
brighte,
Which joy'd, and pleased best my aged
sight ;
My deere Lavinia was betrothed than
To Cesars sonne, a young and noble man :
Who in a hunting by the emperours wife,
And her two sonnes, bereaved was of life.
He being slaine, was cast in cruel wise,
Into a darksome den from light of skies :
Tlie cruell Moore did come that way as
then
With my three sonnes, who fell into the
den,
The moore then fetcht the emperour with
speed,
For to accuse them of that murderous
deed ;
And when my sonnes within the den were
found,
In wrongfull prison thy were cast and
bound.
But nowe, behold ! what wounded most
my mind,
The empresses two sonnes of savage kind
My daughter ravished without remorse,
And took away her honour, quite perforce.
When they had tasted of soe swete a flowre,
Fearing this swete should shortly turne to
sowre,
They cutt her tongue, whereby she could
not tell
How that dishonoure unto her befell.
Then both her hands they basely cutt off
quite,
Whereby their wickednesse she could not
write ;
Nor with her needle on her sampler sowe
The bloudye workers of her direful! woe.
My brother Marcus found her in the wood,
Staining the grassie ground with purple
bloud,
That trickled from her stumpes, and
bloudlesse armes :
Noe tongue at all she had to tell her
harmes.
But when I sawe her in that woefull case,
With teares of bloud I wet mine aged face :
For my Lavinia I lamented more
Then for my two and twenty sonnes before.
When as I sawe she could not write nor
speake,
With grief mine aged heart began to breake ;
We spred an heape of sand upon the
ground,
Whereby those bloudy tyrants out we
found.
TITUS ANDPONICUS'S COMPLAIN 7\
121
For with astaffe, without the helpe of hand,
She writt these wordes upon the plat of
sand :
"The lustfull sonnes of the proud em-
peresse
Are doers of this hateful wickednesse."
I tore the milk-white hairs from off m.ne
head,
I curst the houre, wherein I first was
bred,
I wisht this hand, that fought for countries
fame,
In cradle rockt, had first been stro ken lame.
The moore delighting still in villainy-
Did say, to sett my sonnes from prison free
I should unto the king my right hand give,
And then my three imprisoned sonnes
should live.
The moore I caus'd to strike it off with
speede,
Whereat I grieved not to see it bleed,
But for my sonnes would willingly impart,
And for their ransome send my bleeding
heart.
But as my life did linger thus in paine,
They sent to me my bootlesse hand againe,
And therewithal the heades of my three
sonnes,
Which filld my dying heart with fresher
moanes.
Then past rcliefe I upp and downe did goe,
And with my tears writ in the dust my woe :
I shot my arrowes towards heaven hie,
And for revenge to hell did often crye.
The empresse then, thinking that I was
mad,
Like Furies she and both her sonnes were
clad
(She nam'd Revenge, and Rape and
Murder they),
To undermine and heare what I would say.
I fed their foolish veines * a certaine space,
Until my friendes did find a secret place,
Where both her sonnes unto a post were
bound,
And just revenge in cruell sort was found.
I cut their throates, my daughter held the
pan
Betwixt her stumpes, wherein the bloud it
ran :
And then I ground their bones to powder
small,
And made a paste for pyes streight there-
withall.
Then with their fleshe I made two mighty
pyes,
And at a banquet served in stately wise :
Before the empresse set this loathsome
meat ;
So of her sonnes own flesh she well did eat.
Myselfe bereav'd my daughter then of life,
The empresse then I slewe with bloudy
knife,
And stabb'd the emperour immediatelie,
And then myself : even soe did Titus die.
Then this revenge against the moore was
found,
Alive they sett him halfe into the ground,
Whereas he stood untill such time he
starv'd.
And soe God send all murderers may be
serv'd.
* i.e. encouraged them in their foolish
humours or fancies.
122
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
XIV.— TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY.
The first stanza of this little sonnet is found in Shakespeare's Measure for Measure,
Act iv. Sc. i, Both the stanzas are preserved in Beaum. and Fletcher's Bloody
Brother, Act v. Sc. ii. It is not found in Jaggard's old edition of Shakespeare's
Passionate Pilgrim, and there is some doubt as to the authorship of it.
Take, oh take those lips away,
That so sweetlye were forsworne ;
And those eyes, the breake of day,
Lights, that do misleade the morne
But my kisses bring againe,
Seales of love, but seal'd in vaine.
Hide, oh hide those hills of snowe,
Which thy frozen bosom beares,
On whose tops the pinkes that growe
Are of those that April wears :
But first set my poor heart free,
Bound in those icy chains by thee.
XV.— KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS.
The reader has here an ancient ballad on the subject of King Lear, which (as a
sensible female critic has well observed) bears so exact an analog)' to the argument of
Shakespeare's play, that his having copied it could not be doubted, if it were certain
that it was written before" the tragedy. Here is found the hint of Lear's madness,
which the old chronicles do not mention, as also the extravagant cruelty exercised on
him by his daughters. In the death of Lear they likewise very exactly coincide. The
misfortune is, that there is nothing to assist us in ascertaining the date of the ballad
but what little evidence arises from within ; this the reader must weigh, and judge for
himself.
King Leir once ruled in this land
With princely power and peace ;
And had all things with hearts content,
That might his joys increase.
Amongst those things that nature gave,
Three daughters fair had he,
So princely seeming beautiful,
As fairer could not be.
So on a time it pleas'd the king
A question thus to move,
Which of his daughters to his grace
Could shew the dearest love :
For to my age you bring content,
Quoth he, then let me hear,
Which of you three in plighted troth
The kindest will appear.
To whom the eldest thus began ;
Dear father, mind, quoth she,
Before your face, to do you good,
My blood shall render'd be :
And for your sake my bleeding heart
Shall here be cut in twain,
Ere that I see your reverend age
The smallest grief sustain.
And so will I, the second said ;
Dear father, for your sake,
The worst of all extremities
I'll gently undertake :
And serve your highness night and day
With diligence and love ;
That sweet content and quietness
Discomforts may remove.
KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS.
12.3
In doing so, you glad my soul,
The aged king reply'd ;
But what sayst thou, my youngest girl,
I low is thy love ally'd?
My love (quoth young Cordelia then)
Which to your grace I owe,
Shall be the duty of a child,
And that is all I'll show.
And wilt thou shew no more, quoth he,
Than doth thy duty bind ?
I well perceive thy love is small,
When as no more I find.
Henceforth I banish thee my court,
Thou art no child of mine ;
Nor any part of this my realm
By favour shall be thine.
Thy elder sisters loves are more
Than well I can demand,
To whom I equally bestow
My kingdome and my land,
My pompal state and all my goods,
That lovingly I may
With those thy sisters be maintain'd
Until my dying day.
Thus flattering speeches won renown,
By these two sisters here ;
The third had causeless banishment,
Yet was her love more dear :
For poor Cordelia patiently
Went wandering up and down,
Unhelp'd, unpity'd, gentle maid,
Through many an English town :
Untill at last in famous France
She gentler fortunes found ;
Though poor and bare, yet was she deem'd
The fairest on the ground :
Where when the king her virtues heard,
And this fair lady seen,
With full consent of all his court
He made his wife and queen.
Her father king Lcir this while
With his two daughters staid :
Forgetful of their promis'd loves,
Full soon the same decay'd ;
And living in queen Ragan's court,
The eldest of the twain,
She took from him his chiefest means,
And most of all his train.
For whereas twenty men were wont
To wait with bended knee :
She gave allowance but to ten,
And after scarce to three ;
Nay, one she thought too much for him ;
So took she all away,
In hope that in her court, good king,
He would no longer stay.
Am I rewarded thus, quoth he,
In giving all I have
Unto my children, and to beg
For what I lately gave ?
I'll go unto my Gonorell :
My second child, I know,
Will be more kind and pitiful,
And will relieve my woe.
Full fast he hies then to her court ;
Where when she heard his moan
Return'd him answer, That she griev'd,
That all his means were gone :
But no way could relieve his wants ;
Yet if that he would stay
Within her kitchen, he should have
What scullions gave away.
When he had heard, with bitter tears,
He made his answer then ;
In what I did let me be made
Example to all men.
I will return again, quoth he,
Unto my Ragan's court ;
She will not use me thus, I hope,
But in a kinder sort.
Where when he came, she gave command
To drive him thence away :
When he was well within her court
(She said) he would not stay.
Then back again to Gonorell
The woeful king did hie,
That in her kitchen he might have
What scullion boys set by.
124
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
But there of that he was deny'd
Which she had promis'd late :
For once refusing, he should not
Come after to her gate.
Thus twixt his daughters, for relief
He wandred up and down ;
Being glad to feed on beggars food,
That lately wore a crown.
And calling to remembrance then
His youngest daughter's words,
That said the duty of a child
Was all that love affords :
But doubting to repair to her,
Whom he had banish'd so,
Grew frantick mad ; for in his mind
He bore the wounds of woe :
Which made him rend his milk-white
locks,
And tresses from his head,
And all with blood bestain his cheeks,
With age and honour spread.
To hills and woods and watry founts
He made his hourly moan,
Till hills and woods, and sensless things,
Did seem to sigh and groan.
Even thus possest with discontents,
He passed o're to France,
In hopes from fair Cordelia there,
To find some gentler chance ;
Most virtuous dame ! which when she
heard
Of this her father's grief,
As duty bound, she quickly sent
Him comfort and relief:
And by a train of noble peers,
In brave and gallant sort,
She gave in charge he should be brought
To Aganippus' court ;
Whose royal king, with noble mind
So freely gave consent,
To muster up his knights at arms,
To fame and courage bent.
And so to England came with speed,
To repossesse king Leir,
And drive his daughters from their
thrones
By his Cordelia dear.
Where she, true-hearted noble queen,
Was in the battel slain ;
Yet he good king, in his old days,
Possest his crown again.
But when he heard Cordelia's death,
Who died indeed for love
Of her dear father, in whose cause
She did this battle move ;
He swooning fell upon her breast,
From whence he never parted :
But on her bosom left his life,
That was so truly hearted.
The lords and nobles when they saw
The end of these events,
The other sisters unto death
They doomed by consents ;
And being dead, their crowns they left
Unto the next of kin :
Thus have you seen the fall of pride,
And disobedient sin.
YOUTH AND AGE— THE FROLICSOME DUKE,
125
XVI.— YOUTH AND AGE
Is found in the little collection of Shakespeare's sonnets, entitled the Passionate Pil-
grime, the greatest part of which seems to relate to the amours of Venus and Adonis.
The following seems intended for the mouth of Venus, weighing the comparative
merits of youthful Adonis and aged Vulcan.
Crabbed Age and Youth
Cannot live together ;
Youth is full of pleasance,
Age is full of care :
Youth like summer morn,
Age like winter weather,
Youth like summer brave,
Age like winter bare :
Youth is full of sport,
Ages breath is short ;
Youth is nimble, Age is lame :
Youth is hot and bold,
Age is weak and cold ;
Youth is wild, and Age is tame.
Age, I do abhor thee,
Youth, I do adore thee ;
O, my love, my love is young :
Age, I do defie thee ;
Oh sweet shepheard, hie thee,
For methinks thou stayst too long.
XVII.— THE FROLICKSOME DUKE, OR THE TINKER'S
GOOD FORTUNE.
The following ballad is upon the same subject as the Introduction to Shakespeare's
Taming of the Shrew : whether it may be thought to have suggested the hint to the
dramatic poet, or is not rather of later date, the reader must determine.
The story is told of Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, "that when at Bruges in
Flanders, he would in the evening walke disguised all about the towne. It so fortuned,
as he was walking late one night, he found a countrey fellow dead drunke, snorting on
a bulke ; he caused his followers to bring him to his palace, and there stripping him
of his old clothes, and attyring him after the court fashion, when he wakened, he and
they were all ready to attend upon his excellency and persuade him that he was some
great duke. The poor fellow admiring how he came there, was served in state all day
long : after supper he saw them dance, heard musicke, and all the rest of those court-
like pleasures ; but late at night, when he was well tipled, and again fast asleepe, they
put on his old robes, and so conveyed him to the place where they first found him.
Now the fellow had not made them so good sport the day before, as he did now,
when he returned to himself : all the jest was to see how he looked upon it. In con-
clusion, after some little admiration, the poore man told his friends he had seen a
vision ; constantly believed it ; would not otherwise be persuaded, and so the jest
ended." — Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy.
126
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
Now as fame does report a young duke
keeps a court,
One that pleases his fancy with frolicksome
sport :
But amongst all the rest, here is one I
protest,
Which will make you to smile when you
hear the true jest :
A poor tinker he found, lying drunk on
the ground,
As secure in a sleep as if laid in a
swound.
The duke said to his men, William,
Richard, and Ben,
Take him home to my palace, we'll sport
with him then.
O'er a horse he was laid, and with care
soon convey'd
To the palace, altho' he was poorly
arrai'd :
Then they stript off his cloaths, both his
shirt, shoes and hose,
And they put him to bed for to take his
repose.
Having pull'd off his shirt, which was all
over durt,
They did give him clean holland, this was
no great hurt :
On a bed of soft down, like a lord of
renown,
They did lay him to sleep the drink out of
his crown.
In the morning when day, then admiring
he lay,
For to see the rich chamber both gaudy
and gay.
Now he lay something late, in his rich
bed of state,
Till at last knights and squires they on
him did wait ;
And the chamberling bare, then did like-
wise declare,
He desired to know what apparel he'd
ware :
The poor tinker amaz'd, on the gentleman
gaz'd,
And admired how he to this honour was
rais'd.
Tho' he seem'd something mute, yet he
chose a rich suit,
Which he straightways put on without
longer dispute ;
With a star on his side, which the tinker
offt ey'd,
And it seem'd for to swell him " no " little
with pride ;
For he said to himself, Where is Joan my
sweet wife ?
Sure she never did see me so fine in her life.
From a convenient place, the right duke
his good grace
Did observe his behaviour in every case.
To a garden of state, on the tinker they
wait,
Trumpets sounding before him : thought
he, this is great :
Where an hour or two, pleasant walks he
did view,
With commanders and squires in scarlet
and blew.
A fine dinner was drest, both for him and
his guests,
He was plac'd at the table above all the
rest,
In a rich chair "or bed," lin'd with fine
crimson red,
With a rich golden canopy over his head :
As he sat at his meat, the musick play'd
sweet,
With the choicest of singing his joys to
compleat.
While the tinker did dine, he had plenty
of wine,
Rich canary with sherry and tent superfine.
Like a right honest soul, faith, he took off
his bowl,
Till at last he began lor to tumble and
rou
THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRA Y.
127
From his chair to the floor, where he
sleeping did snore,
Being seven times drunker than ever
before.
Then the duke did ordain, they should
strip him amain,
And restore him his old leather garments
again :
'Twas a point next the worst, yet per-
form it they must,
And they carry 'd him strait, where they
found him at first ;
Then he slept all the night, as indeed well
he might ;
But when he did waken, his joys took
their flight.
For his glory "to him" so pleasant did
seem,
That he thought it to be but a meer
golden, dream ;
Till at length he was brought to the duke,
where he sought
For a pardon, as fearing he had set him
at nought ;
But his highness he said, Thou 'rt a jolly
bold blade,
Such afrolickbeforelthinkneverwas plaid.
Then his highness bespoke him a new
suit and cloak,
Which he gave for the sake of this frolick-
some joak ;
Nay, and five-hundred pound, with ten
acres of ground,
Thou shalt never, said he, range the
counteries round,
Crying old brass to mend, for I'll be thy
good friend,
Nay, and Joan thy sweet wife shall my
duchess attend.
Then the tinker reply'd, What ! must Joan
my sweet bride
Be a lady in chariots of pleasure to ride?
Must we have gold and land ev'ry day at
command ?
Then I shall be a squire I well under-
stand :
Well I thank your good grace, and your
love I embrace,
I was never before in so happy a case.
XVIII.— THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY.
Dispersed through Shakespeare's plays are innumerable little fragments of ancient
ballads, the entire copies of which could not be recovered. Many of these being of
the most beautiful and pathetic simplicity, the editor was tempted to select some of
them, and with a few supplemental stanzas to connect them together, and form them
into a little tale, which is here submitted to the reader's candour.
One small fragment was taken from Beaumont and Fletcher.
It was a friar of orders gray
Walkt forth to tell his beades ;
And he met with a lady faire
O by his cockle hat, and staff,
And by his sandal shoone.*
Clad in a pilgrime's weedes.
Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar,
I pray thee tell to me,
If ever at yon holy shrine
My true love thou didst see.
And how should I know your true love
From many another one ?
But chiefly by his face and mien,
That were so fair to view ;
* These are the distinguishing marks ot a
pilgrim. The chief places of devotion being
beyond sea, the pilgrims were wont to put
cockle shells in their hats to denote the in-
tention or performance of their devotion. —
Warburton's Sliakespeare, vol. viii. p. 224.
I2S
REL1QUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
His flaxen locks that sweetly curl'd,
And eyne of lovely blue.
lady, he is dead and gone !
Lady, he's dead and gone !
And at his head a green grass turfe,
And at his heels a stone.
Within these holy cloysters long
He languisht, and he dyed,
Lamenting of a ladyes love,
And 'playning of her pride.
Here bore him barefae'd on his bier
Six proper youths and tall,
And many a tear bedew'd his grave
Within yon kirk-yard wall.
And art thou dead, thou gentle youth !
And art thou dead and gone !
And didst thou dye for love of me !
Break, cruel heart of stone !
O weep not, lady, weep not soe ;
Some ghostly comfort seek :
Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart,
Ne teares bedew thy cheek.
O do not, do not, holy friar,
My sorrow now reprove ;
For I have lost the sweetest youth,
That e'er wan ladyes love.
And nowe, alas ! for thy sad losse,
I'll evermore weep and sigh ;
For thee I only wisht to live,
For thee I wish to dye.
Weep no more, lady, weep no more,
Thy sorrowe is in vaine :
For violets pluckt the sweetest showers
Will ne'er make grow againe.
Our joys as winged dreams doe flye,
Why then should sorrow last ?
Since grief but aggravates thy losse,
Grieve not for what is past.
O say not soe, thou holy friar ;
I pray thee, say not soe :
For since my true-love dyed for mee,
'Tis meet my tears should flow.
And will he ne'er come again ?
Will he ne'er come again?
Ah ! no, he is dead and laid in his grave,
For ever to remain.
His cheek was redder than the rose ;
The comliest youth was he !
But he is dead and laid in his grave ;
Alas, and woe is me !
Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever :
One foot on sea and one on land,
To one thing constant never.
Hadst thou been fond, he had been false,
And left thee sad and heavy ;
For young men ever were fickle found,
Since summer trees were leafy.
Now say not so, thou holy friar,
I pray thee say not soe ;
My love he had the truest heart :
O he was ever true !
And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd
youth,
And didst thou dye for mee?
Then farewell home ; for ever-more
A pilgrim I will bee.
But first upon my true-loves grave
My weary limbs I'll lay,
And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf,
That wraps his breathless clay.
Yet stay, fair lady ; rest awhile
Beneath this cloyster wall :
See through the hawthorn blows the cold
wind,
And drizzly rain doth fall.
O stay me not, thou holy friar ;
O stay me not, I pray ;
No drizzly rain that falls on me,
Can wash my fault away.
THE FKIAR OF ORDERS GRA V.
129
Yet stay, fair lady, turn again,
And dry those pearly tears ;
For see beneath this gown of gray
Thy owne true-love appears.
Here fore'd by grief, and hopeless love,
These holy weeds I sought ;
And here amid these lonely walls
To end my days I thought.
But haply for my year of grace*
Is not yet past away,
Might I still hope to win thy love,
No longer would I stay.
* The year of probation or noviciate.
Now farewell grief, and welcome joy
Once more unto my heart ;
For since I have found thee, lovely youth,
We never more will part.
%* As the foregoing song has been
thought to have suggested to Goldsmith
the plan of his beautiful ballad of Edzviii
and Emtna (first printed in his Vicar
of Wakefield), it is but justice to his
memory to declare that his poem was
written first, and that if there is any imita-
tion in the case, they will be found both
to be indebted to the beautiful old ballad
Gentle Herdsman.
130 RELIQUES OF ANCIEN7 ENGLISH POETRY.
SERIES THE FIRST.— BOOK III.
I.— THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE.
d
At the beginning of this volume we gave the old original song of Chevy-Chase. The
reader has here the more improved edition of that fine heroic ballad. It will afford an
agreeable entertainment to the curious to compare them together, and to see how far
the latter bard has excelled his predecessor, and where he has fallen short of him.
Some few passages retain more dignity in the ancient copy ; for instance, the catas-
trophe of the gallant Witherington is in the modern copy exprest in terms which never
fail at present to excite ridicule : whereas in the original it is related with a plain and
pathetic simplicity that is liable to no such unlucky effect.
"The old song of Chevy-Chase," says Addison, "is the favourite ballad of the
common people of England ; " and Ben Jonson used to say he had rather have been
the author of it than of all his works. Sir Philip Sydney, in his Discourse of Poetry,
speaks of it in the following words : " I never heard the old song of Piercy and Douglas
that I found not my heart more stirred than with a trumpet."
"An heroic poem should be founded upon some important precept of morality
adapted to the constitution of the country in which the poet writes ; " and this keynote
of the poem Addison tells us that we have in the first verse, where the author of the
ballad desires an ending of the unnatural strife that brought about so many disasters.
Prof. Henry Morley says "that the ballad that moved Sir Philip Sydney was
written in the fifteenth century, and that this version before us was not composed until
after Sydney's death, and after the best of Shakespeare's plays had been written."
However, Addison's criticism concerns the present ballad, and we shall append foot-
notes to some of the verses he particularly admires.
From a passage in the Memoirs of Carey, Earl of Monmouth, we learn that it was an
ancient custom with the Borderers of the two kingdoms, when they were at peace, to
send to the lord wardens of the opposite marches for leave to hunt within their
districts. If leave was granted, then towards the end of summer they would come
and hunt for several days together " with their greyhounds for deer : " but if they took
this liberty unpermitted, then the lord warden of the border so invaded would not
fail to interrupt their sport and chastise their boldness. He mentions a remarkable
instance that happened while he was warden, when some Scotch gentlemen coming
to hunt in defiance of him, there must have ensued such an action as this of Chevy-
Chase, if the intruders had been proportionably numerous and well-armed : for, upon
their being attacked by his men-at-arms, he tells us, "some hurt was done, tho' he
had given especiall order that they should shed as little blood as possible. " They
were in effect overpowered and taken prisoners, and only released on their promise to
abstain from such licentious sporting for the future.
The following text is given from a copy in the Editor's folio MS. compared with
two or three others printed in black letter.
THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE.
13 1
God prosper long our noble king,
Our lives and safetyes all ;
A woefull hunting once there did
In Chevy-Chace befall ;
To drive the deere with hound and home,
Erie Percy took his way ;
The child may rue* that is unborne,
The hunting of that day.
The stout Erie of Northumberland
A vow to God did make,
His pleasure in the Scottish woods
Three summers days to take ;
The cheefest harts in Chevy-Chace
To kill and beare away.
These tydings to Erie Douglas came,
In Scottland where he lay :
Who sent Erie Percy present word,
He wold prevent his sport.
The English Erie, not fearing that,
Did to the woods resort
With fifteen hundred bow-men bold ;
All chosen men of might,
Who knew full well in time of neede
To ayme their shafts arright.
The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran,
To chase the fallow deere :
On munday they began to hunt,
Ere daylight did appeare ;
Ami long before high noone they had
An hundred fat buckes slaine ;
Then having dined, the drovycrs went
To rouze the dcare againe.
The bow-men mustered on the hills,
Well able to endure ;'
Theire backsides all, with speciall care,
That day were guarded sure.
* The way of considering the misfortune
which this battle would biing upon posterity
... is wonderfully beautiful and conformable
to the way of thinking among the ancient
poets. — Addison.
The hounds ran swiftly through the
woods,
The nimble deere to take,*
That with their cryes the hills and dales
An eccho shrill did make.
Lord Percy to the quarry went,
To view the slaughter' d deere ;
Quoth he, Erie Douglas promised
This day to meet me heere :
But if I thought he wold not come,
Noe longer wold I stay.
With that, a brave younge gentleman
Thus to the Erie did say :
Loe, yonder doth Erie Douglas come,
His men in armour bright ;
Full twenty hundred Scottish speres
All marching in our sight ;
All men of pleasant Tivydale,
Fast by the river Tweede :
cease your sports, Erie Percy said,
And take your bowes with speede :
And now with me, my countrymen,
Your courage forth advance ;
For there was never champion yett,
In Scotland or in France,
That ever did on horsebacke come,
But if my hap it were,
1 durst encounter man for man,
With him to break a spere.
Erie Douglas on his milke-white steede
Most like a baron bold,
Rode formost of his company,
Whose armour shone like gold.
* Leyland, in the reign of Henry VIII.,
thus describes this county : " In Northumber*
land, as I heare say, be no forests, except
Chivet Hills ; where is much brushe-wood,
and some okke ; grownde ovargrowne with
linge, and some with mosse. I have harde
say that Chivet Hills stretchethe xx miles.
There is greate plente of redde-dere, and
roo bukkes."
132
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
Show me, sayd hee, whose men you bee,
That hunt soe boldly heere,
That, without my consent, doe chase
And kill my fallow-deere.
The first man that did answer make,
Was noble Percy hee ;
Who sayd, Wee list not to declare,
Nor shew whose men wee bee :
Yet wee will spend our deerest blood,
Thy cheefest harts to slay.
Then Douglas swore a solempne oathe,
And thus in rage did say,
Ere thus I will out-braved bee,
One of us two shall dye :
I know thee well, an erle thou art ;
Lord Percy, soe am I.
But trust me, Percy, pittye it were,
And great offence to kill
Any of these our guiltlesse men,
For they have done no ill.
Let thou and I the battell trye,
And set our men aside.
Accurst bee he, Erie Percy sayd,
By whome this is denyed.
Then stept a gallant squier forth,
Witherington was his name,
Who said, I wold not have it told
To Henry our king for shame,
That ere my captaine fought on foote,
And I stood looking on.
You bee two erles, sayd Witherington,
And I a squier alone ;
He doe the best that doe I may,
While I have power to stand :
While I have power to weeld my sword,
He fight with hart and hand.
Our English archers bent their bowes,
Their harts were good and trew ;
Att the first flight of arrowes sent,
Full four-score Scots they slew.
[Yet bides Earl Douglas on the bent,
As chieftain stout and good.
As valiant captain, all unmov'd,
The shock he firmly stood.
His host he parted had in three,
As leader ware and try'd,
And soon his spearmen on their foes
Bare down on every side.
To drive the deere with hound and home,
Douglas bade on the bent ;
Two captaines moved with mickle might
Their speres to shivers went.
Throughout the English archery
They dealt full many a wound :
But still our valiant Englishmen
All firmly kept their ground :
And throwing strait their bows away,
They grasp'd their swords so bright :
And now sharp blows, a heavy shower,
On shields and helmets light.]*
They closed full fast on everye side,
Noe slacknes there was found ;
And many a gallant gentleman
Lay gasping on the ground.
O Christ ! it was a griefe to see,
And likewise for to heare,
The cries of men lying in their gore,
And scattered here and there.
At last these two stout erles did meet,
Like captaines of great might :
Like lyons wood, they layd on lode,
And made a cruell fight :
They fought untill they both did sweat,
With swords of tempered Steele ;
* The five stanzas here inclosed in brackets,
which are borrowed chiefly from the ancient
copy, are offered to the reader instead of the
following lines., which occur in the Editor's
folio MS,
THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE. 133
Until the blood, like drops of rain,
They trickling downe did feele.
Yeeld thee, Lord Percy, Douglas sayd ;
In faith I will thee bringe,
Where thou shalt high advanced bee
By James our Scottish king :
Thy ransome I will freely give,
And this report of thee,
Thou art the most couragious knight,
That ever I did see.
Noe, Douglas, quoth Erie Percy then,
Thy proffer I doe scorne ;
I will not yeelde to any Scott,
That ever yett was borne.
With that, there came an arrow keene
Out of an English bow,
Which struck Erie Douglas to the heart,
A deepe and deadlye blow :
Who never spake more words than these,
Fight on, my merry men all ;
For why, my life is at an end ;
Lord Percy sees my fall.
Then leaving liffe, Erie Percy tooke
The dead man by the hand ;*
And said, Erie Douglas, for thy life
Wold I had lost my land.
O Christ ! my verry hart doth bleed
With sorrow for thy sake ;
For sure, a more redoubted knight
Mischance cold never take.
A knight amongst the Scots there was,
Which saw Erie Douglas dye,
Who streight in wrath did vow revenge
Upon the Lord Percy e :
Sir Hugh Mountgomery was he call'd,
Who, with a spere most bright,
Well-mounted on a gallant steed,
Ran fiercely through the fight ;
* Addison praises this line as wonderfully
beautiful and pathetic.
And past the English archers all,
Without all dread or feare ;
And through Earl Percyes body then
He thrust his hatefull spere ;
With such a vehement force and might
He did his body gore,
The staff ran through the other side
A large cloth-yard, and more.
So thus did both these nobles dye,
Whose courage none could staine :
An English archer then perceiv'd
The noble erle was slaine ;
He had a bow bent in his hand,
Made of a trusty tree ;
An arrow of a cloth-yard long
Up to the head drew hee :
Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerye,
So right the shaft he sett,
The grey goose-winge that was thereon,
In his harts bloode was wett.
This fight did last from breake of day,
Till setting of the sun ;
For when they rung the evening-bell,*
The battel scarce was done.
With stout Erie Percy, there was slaine
Sir John of Egerton,
Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John,
Sir James that bold barron :
And with Sir George and stout Sir James,
Both knights of good account,
Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slaine.
Whose prowesse did surmount.
For Witherington needs must I wayle,
As one in doleful dumpes /f
* Sc. the Curfew bell, usually rung at 8
o'clock, to which the modernizer apparently
alludes, instead of the " Evensong bell," a
bell for vespers of the original author, before
the Reformation.
\ i.e. "I, as one in deep concern, must
lament." The construction here has generally
been misunderstood. The old MS. reads
" wofull dumpes."
134
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
For when his leggs were smitten off,
He fought upon his stuinpes.
And with Erie Douglas, there was slaine
Sir Hugh Mountgomerye,
Sir Charles Murray, that from the feeld
One foots wold never flee.
Sir Charles Murray, of Ratcliff, too,
His sisters sonne was hee ;
Sir David Lamb, so well esteem'd,
Yet saved cold not bee.
And the Lord Maxwell in like case
Did with Erie Douglas dye :
Of twenty hundred Scottish speres,
Scarce fifty-five did flye.
Of fifteen hundred Englishmen,
Went home but fifty-three ;
The rest were slaine in Chevy-Chase,
Under the greene woode tree.
Next day did many widowes come,
Their husbands to bewayle ;
They washt their wounds in brinish teares,
But all wold not prevayle.
Tlieyr bodyes, bathed in purple gore,
They bare with them away :
They kist them dead a thousand times,
Ere they were cladd in clay.*
* "What can be more natural or more moving
than the circumstances in which the author
describes the behaviour of those women who
had lost their husbands on the fatal day?"—
Addison.
The newes was brought to Eddenborrow,
Where Scottlands king did raigne,
That brave Erie Douglas suddenlye
Was with an arrow slaine :
heavy newes, King James did say,
Scottland may witnesse bee,
1 have not any captaine more
Of such account as hee.
Like tydings to King Henry came,
Within as short a space,
That Percy of Northumberland
Was slaine in Chevy-Chase :
Now God be with him, said our king,
Sith it will noe better bee ;
I trust I have, within my realme,
Five hundred as good as hee :
Yett shall not Scotts nor Scotland say,
But I will vengeance take :
I'll be revenged on them all,
For brave Erie Percyes sake.
This vow full well the king perform'd
After, at Humbledowne ;
In one day, fifty knights were slayne,
With lords of great renowne :
And of the rest, of small account,
Did many thousands dye :
Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chase,
Made by the Erie Percy.
God save our king, and bless this land
With plentye, joy, and peace ;
And grant henceforth, that foule debate
'Twixt noblemen may cease.
DEA Tfl'S FINAL CONQUEST— THE RISING IN THE NORTH 135
II.— DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST.
Thf.se fine moral stanzas were originally intended for a solemn funeral song, in a play
of James Shirley's, entitled The Contention of Ajax and Ulysses, no date, 8vo.
Shirley flourished as a dramatic writer early in the reign of Charles I. ; but he out-
lived the Restoration. His death happened October 29, 1666, aet. 72.
This little poem was written long after many of those that follow, but is inserted
here as a kind of dirge to the foregoing piece. It is said to have been a favourite song
with King Charles II.
The glories of our birth and state
Are shadows, not substantial things ;
There is no armour against fate :
Death lays his icy hands on kings :
Scepter and crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill ;
But their strong nerves at last must yield ;
They tame but one another still.
Early or late
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuring breath,
When they pale captives creep to death.
The garlands wither on your brow,
Then boast no more your mighty deeds ;
Upon death's purple altar now
See where the victor victim bleeds :
All heads must come
To the cold tomb,
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust.
III.— THE RISING IN THE NORTH.
The subject of this ballad is the great northern insurrection in the 12th year of
Elizabeth, 1569 ; which proved so fatal to Thomas Percy, the Seventh Earl of
Northumberland.
A secret negotiation had been entered into to bring about the marriage of Mary
Queen of Scots and the Duke of Norfolk ; Mary was at that time a prisoner in
England. The report reaching the ears of Queen Elizabeth, made her furiously angry ;
the Duke of Norfolk was committed to the Tower, and the northern earls were
commanded to appear at court. The Earl of Northumberland was making up his
mind to obey, when on the night of 14th Nov. there was an alarm that a party of his
enemies had come to seize him. He rose from his bed in haste and withdrew to the
Earl of Westmoreland, at Brancepeth, where the country round fell into excitement
and begged the Earls to take up arms. They accordingly set up their standards, but
met with but little success ; and the Earl of Sussex with Lord Hunsdon, followed by
Ambrose Dudley, Earl of Warwick, and a large army, caused the insurgents to retreat
towards the borders ; there dismissing their followers, the leaders escaped to Scotland.
The Earl of Sussex and Sir George Bowes caused vast numbers of the army to be put
to death. Sixty-three constables were hanged, and Sir George Bowes boasted that
for sixty miles in length and forty in breadth between Newcastle and Wetherby there
was hardly a village or town where some of the inhabitants had not been executed.
136
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
Listen, lively lordings all,
Lithe and listen unto mee,
And I will sing of a noble earle,
The noblest earle in the north countrie.
Earle Percy is into his garden gone,
And after him walkes his faire ladle : *
I heard a bird sing in mine eare,
That I must either fight, or flee.
Now heaven forefend, my dearest lord,
That ever such harm should hap to
thee :
But goe to London to the court,
And faire fall truth and honestle.
Now nay, now nay, my ladye gay,
Alas ! thy counsell suits not mee ;
Mine enemies prevail so fast,
That at the court I may not bee.
O goe to the court yet, good my lord,
And take thy gallant men with thee :
If any dare to doe you wrong,
Then your warrant they may bee.
Now nay, now nay, thou lady faire,
The court is full of subtiltie ;
And if I goe to the court, lady,
Never more I may thee see.
Yet goe to the court, my lord, she sayes,
And I myselfe will ryde wi' thee :
At court then for my dearest lord,
His faithful! borrowe I will bee.
Now nay, now nay, my lady deare ;
Far lever had I lose my life,
Than leave among my cruell foes
My love in jeopardy and strife.
But come thou hither, my little foot-page,
Come thou hither unto mee,
* This lady was Anne, daughter of Henry
Somerset, Earl of Worcester.
To maister Norton * thou must goe
In all the haste that ever may bee.
Commend me to that gentleman,
And beare this letter here fro mee ;
And say that earnestly I praye,
He will ryde in my companie.
One while the little foot-page went,
And another while he ran ;
Untill he came to his journeys end,
The little foot-page never Man.
When to that gentleman he came,
Down he kneeled on his knee ;
And tooke the letter betwixt his hands,
And lett the gentleman it see.
And when the letter it was redd
Affore that goodlye companye,
I wis, ii you the truthe wold know,
There was many a weeping eye.
He sayd, Come thither, Christopher
Norton,
A gallant youth thou seemst to bee ;
What doest thou counsell me, my sonne,
Now that good erle's in jeopardy?
Father, my counselled fair and free ;
That erle he is a noble lord,
And whatsoever to him you hight,
I wold not have you breake your word,
Gramercy, Christopher, my sonne,
Thy counsell well it liketh mee ;
And if we speed and scape with life,
Well advanced shalt thou bee.
Come you hither, my nine good sonnes,
Gallant men I trowe you bee :
How many of you, my children deare,
Will stand by that good erle and mee ?
* Richard Norton of Norton Conyers, \. ho
with his sons Francis, Christopher, Marma-
duke, and Thomas, specially distinguished
himself. There were five other sons whose
names are not given.
THE RISING IN THE NORTH.
137
Eight of them did answer make,
Eight of them spake hastilie,
O father, till the daye we dye
We'll stand by that good erle and thee.
Gramercy now, my children deare,
You showe yourselves right bold and
brave ;
And whethersoe'er I live or dye,
A fathers blessing you shal have.
But what sayst thou, O Francis Norton,
Thou art mine eldest sonn and heire :
Somewhat lyes brooding in thy breast ;
Whatever it bee, to mee declare.
Father, you are an aged man,
Your head is white, your bearde is
gray;
It were a shame at these your yeares
For you to ryse in such a fray.
Now fye upon thee, coward Francis,
Thou never learnedst this of mee :
When thou wert yong and tender of age,
Why did I make soe much of thee ?
But, father, I will wend with you,
Unarm'd and naked will I bee ;
And he that strikes against the crowne,
Ever an ill death may he dee.
Then rose that reverend gentleman,
And with him came a goodlye band
To join with the brave Erie Percy,
And all the flower o' Northumberland.
With them the noble Nevill came,
The erle of Westmorland was hee :
At Wethcrbye they mustred their host,
Thirteen thousand faire to see.
Lord Westmorland his ancyent raisde,
The Dun Bull he rays'd on hye,
And three Dogs with golden collars
Were there sett out most royallye.*
• The supporters of the Nevilles, Earls of
Westmoreland, were two bulls argent, ducally
Erie Percy there his ancyent spred,
The Halfe-Moone shining all so faire : *
The Nortons ancyent had the crosse,
And the five wounds our Lord did beare.
Then Sir George Bowes he straitwayerose,
After them some spoyle to make :
Those noble erles turn'd backe againe,
And aye they vowed that knight to take.
That baron he to his castle fled,
To Barnard Castle then fled hee.
The uttermost walles were cathe to win,
The earles have wonne them presentlie.
The uttermost walles were lime and bricke ;
But thoughe they won them soon anone,
Long e'er they wan the innermost walles,
For they were cut in rocke of stone.
Then newes unto leeve London came
In all the speede that ever might bee,
And word is brought to our royall queene
Of the rysing in the north countrie.
Her grace she turned her round about,
And like a royall queene shee swore, f
I will ordayne them such a breakfast;
As never was in the north before.
Shee caus'd thirty thousand men be rays'd,
With horse and harncis faire to see ;
collared gold, armed or, etc. But I have not
discovered the device mentioned in the ballad,
among the badges, etc., given by that house
This, however, is certain, that among those
of the Nevilles, Lords Abergavenny (who were
of the same family), is a dun cow with a golden
collar; and the Nevilles of Chyte in Yorkshire
(of the Westmoreland branch) gave for their
crest, in 1513, a greyhound's head erased.
* The silver crescent is a well-known crest or
badge of the Northumberland family. It was
probably brought home from some of the
crusades against the Saracens.
t This is quite in character ; her Majesty
would sometimes swear at her nobles, as well
as box their ears.
13S
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
She caused thirty thousand men be raised,
To take the earles i' th' north countrie.
Wi' ihem the false Erie Warwick went,
Th' Erie Sussex and the Lord Hunsden;
Untill they to Yorke castle came
I wiss, they never stint ne blan.
Now spred thy ancyent, Westmorland,
Thy dun bull faine would we spye :
And thou, the Erie o' Northumberland,
Now rayse thy half moone up on hye.
But the dun bulle is fled and gone,
And the halfe moone vanished away :
The Erles, though they were brave and
bold,
Against soe many could not stay.
Thee, Norton, wi' thine eight good sonnes,
They doom'd to dye, alas ! for ruth !
Thy reverend lockes thee could not save,
Nor them their faire and blooming
youthe.
Wi' them full many a gallant wight
They cruellye bereav'd of life :
And many a childe made fatherlesse,
And widowed many a tender wife.
IV.— NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS.
This ballad may be considered as the sequel of the preceding. After the unfortunate
Earl of Northumberland had seen himself forsaken of his followers, he endeavoured
to withdraw into Scotland, but falling into the hands of the thievish Borderers, was
stript and otherwise ill-treated by them. He took refuge in the house of Hector of
Harlaw, who basely betrayed him to the Regent Murray, who sent him to the Castle
of Loch Leven, then belonging to William Douglas.
Northumberland continued at Loch Leven until 1572, when James Douglas, Earl
of Morton, being elected Regent, he was given up to Lord Hunsden at Berwick, and
suffered death at York.
The witch lady alluded to in v. 133 is supposed to be Lady Jane Douglas, Lady
Glamis, who was put to death for the supposed crime of witchcraft.
Hector of Harlaw, according to the folio, was a Graham and not an Armstrong, as
spoken of in the ballad.
How long shall fortune faile me nowe,
And harrowe me with fear and dread ?
How long shall I in bale abide,
In misery my life to lead?
To fall from my bliss, alas the while !
It was my sore and heavye lott :
And I must leave my native land,
And I must live a man forgot.
One gentle Armstrong I doe ken,
A Scott he is much bound to mee :
He dwelleth on the border side,
To him I'll goe right priville.
Thus did the noble Percy 'plaine,
With a heavy heart and wel-away,
When he with all his gallant men
On Bramham moor had lost the day.
But when he to the Armstrongs came,
They dealt with him all treacherouslye ;
For they did strip that noble earle :
And ever an ill death may they dye.
False Hector to Earl Murray sent,
To shew him where his guest did hide :
Who sent him to the Lough-leven,
With William Douglas to abide.
NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS.
139
And when he to the Douglas came,
He halched him right curtcouslie :
Say'd, Welcome, welcome, noble earle,
Here thou shalt safelye bide with mee.
When he had in Lough-leven been
Many a month and many a day ;
To the regent * the lord warden \ sent,
That bannisht earle for to betray.
He offered him great store of gold,
And wrote a letter fair to see :
Saying, Good my lord, grant me my boon,
And yield that banisht man to mee.
Earle Percy at the supper sate
With many a goodly gentleman :
The wylie Douglas then bespake,
And thus tojlyte with him began :
What makes you be so sad, my lord,
And in your mind so sorrowfullye ?
To-morrow a shootinge will bee held
Among the lords of the north countrye.
The butts are sett, the shooting's made,
And there will be great royaltye :
And I am sworne into my bille,
Thither to bring my lord Percye.
I'll give thee my hand, thou gentle
Douglas,
And here by my true faith, quoth hee,
If thou wilt ryde to the worldes end,
I will ryde in thy companye.
And then bespake a lady faire,
Mary k Douglas was her name :
You shall byde here, good English lord,
My brother is a traiterous man.
He is a traitor stout and stronge,
As I tell you in privitie :
* James Douglas, Earl of Morton, elected
regent of Scotland, November 24, 1572.
t Of one of the English marches. Lord
Hunsden.
For he hath tane liverance of the earle,*
Into England nowe to 'liver thee.
Now nay, now nay, thou goodly lady,
The regent is a noble lord :
Ne for the gold in all England
The Douglas wold not break his word.
When the regent was a banisht man,
With me he did faire welcome find ;
And whether weal or woe betide,
I still shall find him true and kind.
Betweene England and Scotland it wold
breake truce,
And friends againe they wold never bee,
If they shold liver a banisht erle
Was driven out of his own countrie.
Alas ! alas ! my lord, she sayes,
Nowe mickle is their traitorie ;
Then lett my brother ryde his wayes,
And tell those English lords from thee,
How that you cannot with him ryde,
Because you are in an ile of the sea,f
Then ere my brother come againe
To Edenborow castle J Ile carry thee.
To the Lord Hume I will thee bring,
He is well knowne a true Scots lord,
And he will lose both land and life,
Ere he with thee will break his word.
Much is my woe, Lord Percy sayd,
When I thinke on my own countrie,
When I thinke on the heavye happe
My friends have suffered there for mee.
Much is my woe, Lord Percy sayd,
And sore those wars my minde distresse ;
Where many a widow lost her mate,
And many a child was fatherlcsse.
* Of the Earl of Morton, the regent.
t i.e. Lake of Leven, which hath communi-
cation with the sea.
X At that time in the hands of the opposite
faction.
140
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
And now that I a banisht man
Shold bring such evil happe with mee,
To cause my faire and noble friends
To be suspect of treacherie :
This rives my heart with double woe ;
And lever had I dye this day,
Than thinke a Douglas can be false,
Or ever he will his guest betray.
If you'll give me no trust, my lord,
Nor unto mee no credence yield ;
Yet step one moment here aside,
He showe you all your foes in field.
Lady, I never loved witchcraft,
Never dealt in privy wyle ;
But evermore held the high-waye
Of truth and honour, free from guile.
If you'll not come yourselfe, my lorde,
Yet send your chamberlaine with mee ;
Let me but speak three words with him,
And he shall come again to thee.
James Swynard with that lady went,
She showed him through the wemc of
her ring
How many English lords there were
Waiting for his master and him.
And who walkes yonder, my good lady,
So royallye on yonder greene ?
O yonder is the lord Hunsden r*
Alas ! he'll doe you drie and teene.
And who beth yonder, thou gay ladye,
That walkes so proudly him beside ?
That is Sir William Drury.f shee sayd,
A keene captaine hee is and tryde.
How many miles is itt, madame.
Betwixt yond English lords and mee ?
Marry it is thrice fifty miles,
To saile to them upon the sea.
* The lord warden of the east marches.
t Governor of Berwick.
I never was on English ground,
Ne never saw it with mine eye,
But as my book it sheweth mee,
And through my ring I may descrye.
My mother shee was a witch ladye,
And of her skille she learned mee ;
She wold let me see out of Lough-leven
What they did in London citie.
But who is yond, thou lady faire,
That looketh with sic an auslernc face?
Yonder is Sir John Foster,* quoth shee,
Alas ! he'll do ye sore disgrace.
He pulled his hatt down over his browe ;
He wept ; in his heart he was full of woe :
And he is gone to his noble Lord,
Those sorrowful tidings him to show.
Now nay, now nay, good James Swynard,
I may not believe that witch ladle :
The Douglasses were ever true,
And they can ne'er prove false to mee.
I have now in Lough-leven been
The most part of these years three,
Yett have I never had noe outrake,
Ne no good games that I cold see.
Therefore I'll to yond shooting wend,
As to the Douglas I have hight :
Betide me weale, betide me woe,
He ne'er shall find my promise light.
He writhe a gold ring from his finger,
And gave itt to that gay ladie :
Sayes, It was all that I cold save,
In Harley woods where I cold bee.f
And wilt thou goe, thou noble lord,
Then farewell truth and honestie ;
And farewell heart and farewell hand ;
For never more I shall thee see.
The wind was faire, the boatmen call'd,
And all the saylors were on borde ;
* Warden of the middle march.
t i.e. where I was, an ancient idiom.
NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS.
Mi
Then William Douglas took to his boat,
And with him went that noble lord.
Then he cast up a silver wand,
Says, Gentle lady, fare thee well !
The lady fett a sigh soe deep,
And in a dead swoone down shee fell.
Now let us goe back, Douglas, he sayd,
A sickness hath taken yond faire ladle ;
If ought befall yond lady but good,
Then blamed for ever shall bee.
Come on, come on, my lord, he sayes ;
Come on, come on, and let her bee :
There's ladyes enow in Lough-leven
For to cheere that gay ladie.
If you'll not turne yourself, my lord,
Let me goe with my chamberlaine ;
We will but comfort that faire lady,
And wee will return to you againe.
Come on, come on, my lord, he sayes,
Come on, come on, and let her bee :
My sister is craftye, and wold beguile
A thousand such as you and mee.
When they had sayled * fifty myle,
Now fifty mile upon the sea ;
Hee sent his man to ask the Douglas,
When" they shold that shooting see.
Faire words, quoth he, they make fooles
fainc,
And that by thee and thy lord is seen :
You may hap to thinke itt soone enough,
Ere you that shooting reach, I ween.
* There is no navigable stream between
Loch Leven and the sea ; but a ballad-maker
is not obliged to understand geography.
Janrye his hatt pulled over his browe,
He thought his lord then was betray'd ;
And he is to Erie Percy againe,
To tell him what the Douglas sayd.
Hold upp thy head, man, quoth his lord ;
Nor therefore lett thy courage fayle,
He did it but to prove thy heart,
To see if he cold make it quail.
When they had other fifty sayld,
Other fifty mile upon the sea,
Lord Percy called to Douglas himselfe,
Sayd, What wilt thou nowe doe with mce?
Looke that your brydle be wight, my lord,
And your horse goe swift as shippatt sea:
Looke that your spurres be bright and
sharpe,
That you may pricke her while she'll
away.
What needeth this, Douglas ? he sayth ;
What necdest thou Xoflyte with mee?
For I was counted a horseman good
Before that ever I mett with thee.
A false Hector hath my horse,
Who dealt with mee so treacherouslie :
A false Armstrong hath my spurres,
And all the geere belongs to mee.
When they had sayled other fifty mile,
Other fifty mile upon the sea ;
They landed low by Berwicke side,
A deputed "laird" landed Lord Percye.
Then he at Yorke was doomde to dye,
It was, alas ! a sorrowful sight :
Thus they betrayed that noble earle,
Who ever was a gallant wight.
r 4 2
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
V.— MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS.
This excellent philosophical song appears to have been famous in the sixteenth
century. It is quoted by Ben Jonson in his play of Every Man out of his Humour,
first acted in 1599, Act i. Sc. i.
My minde to me a kingdome is ;
Such perfect joy therein I fmde
As farre exceeds all earthly blisse,
That God or Nature hath assignde :
Though much I want, that most would
have,
Yet still my mind forbids to crave.
Content I live, this is my stay ;
I seek no more than may suffice :
I presse to beare no haughtie sway ;
Look what I lack my mind supplies.
Loe ! thus I triumph like a king,
Content with that my mind doth bring.
I see how plentie surfets oft,
And hastie clymbers soonest fall :
I see that such as sit aloft
Mishap doth threaten most of all :
These get with toile, and keep with feare :
Such cares my mind could never beare.
No princely pompe, nor welthie store,
No force to winne the victorie,
No wylie wit to salve a sore,
No shape to winne a lovers eye ;
To none of these I yeeld as thrall,
For why my mind despiseth all.
Some have too much, yet still they crave,
I little have, yet seek no more :
They are but poore, tho' much they have ;
And I am rich with little store :
They poor, I rich ; they beg, I give ;
They iicke, I lend ; they pine, I live.
I laugh not at anothers losse,
I grudge not at anothers gaine ;
No worldly wave my mind can tosse,
I brooke that is anothers bane :
I feare no foe, nor fawne on friend ;
I loth not life, nor dread mine end.
I joy not in no earthly blisse,
I weigh not Cresus' welth a straw ;
For care, I care not what it is ;
I feare not fortunes fatall law :
My mind is such as may not move
For beautie bright or force of love.
I wish but what I have at will ;
I wander not to seeke for more ;
I like the plaine, I clime no hill ;
In greatest stormes I sitte on shore,
And laugh at them that toile in vaine
To get what must be lost againe.
I kisse not where I wish to kill ;
I feigne not love where most I hate ;
I brcake no sleep to winne my will ;
I wayte not at the mighties gate ;
I scorne no poore, I feare no rich ;
I feele no want, nor have too much.
The court, ne cart, I like, ne loath ;
Extreames are counted worst of all :
The golden meane betwixt them both
Doth surest sit, and fears no fall :
This is my choyce, for why I finde,
No wealth is like a quiet minde.
My welth is health, and perfect case ;
My conscience clere my chiefe de-
fence :
I never seeke by brybes to please,
Nor by desert to give offence :
Thus do I live, thus will I die ;
Would all did so as well as 1 1
THE PATIENT COUNTESS.
M3
VI.— THE PATIENT COUNTESS.
The subject of this tale is taken from an entertaining colloquy of Erasmus. The
following stanzas are extracted from William Warner's poem, entitled Albiati!
England. Warner is said to have been a Warwickshire man, and to have been
educated in Oxford at Magdalen Hall. He died in 1608-1609, at Amwell in Hert-
fordshire. He held a fair rank as poet in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and was by
profession an " attorney of the Common Pleas."
Impatience chaungeth smoke to flame,
But jelousie is hell ;
Some wives by patience have redue'd
111 husbands to live well :
As did the ladie of an earle,
Of whom I now shall tell.
An earle " there was " had wedded, lov'd ;
Was lov'd, and lived long
Full true to his fayre countesse ; yet
At last he did her wrong.
Once hunted he untill the chace,
Long fasting, and the heat
Did house him in a peakish graunge
Within a forest great.
Where knowne and welcom'd (as the place
And persons might afforde)
Browne bread, whig, bacon, curds and
milke
Were set him on the bordc.
A cushion made of lists, a stoole
Halfe backed with a hoope
Were brought him, and he sitteth down
Besides a sorry coupe.
The poore old couple wisht their bread
Were wheat, their whig were perry,
Their bacon bcefe, their milke and curds
Were creame, to make him merry.
Mean while (in russet neatly clad,
With linen white as swanne,
Herselfe more white, save rosie where
The ruddy colour ranne :
Whome naked nature, not the aydes
Of arte made to exccll),
The good man's daughter sturres to see
That all were feat and well ;
The earle did marke her, and admire
Such beautie there to dwell.
Yet fals he to their homely fare,
And held him at a feast :
But as his hunger slaked, so
An amorous heat increast.
When this repast was past, and thanks,
And welcome too ; he saya
Unto his host and hostesse, in
The hearing of the mayd :
Yee know, quoth he, that I am lord
Of this, and many townes ;
I also know that you be poore,
And I can spare you pownes.
Soe will I, so yee will consent,
That yonder lasse and I
May bargaine for her love ; at least,
Doe give me leave to trye.
Who needs to know it ? nay who dares
Into my doings pry ?
First they mislike, yet at the length
For lucre were misled ;
And then the gamesome earle did wowe
The damsell for his bed.
He took her in his armes, as yet
So coyish to be kist,
As mayds that know themselves belov'd,
And yieldingly resist.
U4
EELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
In few, his offers were so large
She lastly did consent ;
With whom he lodged all that night,
And early home he went.
He tooke occasion oftentimes
In such a sort to hunt.
Whom when his lady often mist,
Contrary to his wont,
And lastly was informed of
His amorous haunt elsewhere ;
It greev'd her not a little, though
She seem'd it well to beare.
And thus she reasons with herselfe,
Some fault perhaps in me ;
Somewhat is done, that soe he doth :
Alas ! what may it be ?
How may I winne him to myself?
He is a man, and men
Have imperfections ; it behooves
Me pardon nature then.
To checke him were to make him checke,*
Although hee now were chaste ;
A man controuled of his wife,
To her makes lesser haste.
If duty then, or daliance may
Prevayle to alter him ;
I will be dutifull, and make
My selfe for daliance trim.
So was she, and so lovingly
Did entertaine her lord,
As fairer, or more faultles none
Could be for bed or bord.
Yet still he loves his leiman, and
Did still pursue that game,
Suspecting nothing less, than that
His lady knew the same :
* To check is a term in falconry, applied
when a hawk stops and turns away from his
proper pursuit ; to check also signifies to
reprove or chide. It is in this verse used in
both senses.
Wherefore to make him know she knew,
She this devise did frame :
When long she had been wrong'd, and
sought
The foresayd meanes in vaine,
She rideth to the simple graunge
But with a slender traine.
She lighteth, entreth, greets them well,
And then did looke about her :
The guiltie houshold knowing her,
Did wish themselves without her ;
Yet, for she looked merily,
The lesse they did misdoubt her.
When she had seen the beauteous wench
(Then blushing fairnes fairer),
Such beauty made the countesse hold
Them both excus'd the rather.
Who would not bite at such a bait ?
Thought she ; and who (though loth)
So poore a wench, but gold might tempt?
Sweet errors lead them both.
Scarse one in twenty that had bragg'd
Of proffer'd gold denied,
Or of such yeelding beautie baulkt,
But, tenne to one, had lied.
Thus thought she : and she thus declares
Her cause of coming thether ;
My lord, oft hunting in these partes,
Through travel, night or wether,
Hath often lodged in your house •
I thanke you for the same ;
For why? it doth him jolly ease
To lie so neare his game.
But, for you have not furniture
Beseeming such a guest,
I bring his owne, and come myselfe
To see his lodging drest.
With that two sumpters were discharg'd,
In which were hangings brave,
Silke coverings, curtens, carpets, plate.
And al such turn should have.
DOWSABELL.
145
When all was handsomly dispos'd,
She prayes them to have care
That nothing hap in their default,
That might his health impair :
And, Damsell, quoth shee, for it seemes
This houshold is but three,
And for thy parents age, that this
Shall chiefely rest on thee ;
Do me that good, else would to God
He hither come no more.
So tooke she horse, and ere she went
Bestowed gould good store.
Full little thought the countie that
His countesse had done so ;
Who now return'd from far affaires
Did to his sweet-heart go.
No sooner sat he foote within
The late deformed cote,
But that the formall change of things
His wondring eies did note.
But when he knew those goods to be
His proper goods ; though late,
Scarce taking leave, he home returnes
The matter to debate.
The countesse was a-bed, and he
With her his lodging tooke ;
Sir, welcome home (quoth shee) ; this
night
For you I did not looke.
Then did he question her of such
His stuffe bestowed soe.
Forsooth, quoth she, because I did
Your love and lodging knowe :
Your love to be a proper wench,
Your lodging nothing lesse ;
I held it for your health, the house
More decently to dresse.
Well wot I, notwithstanding her,
Your lordship loveth me ;
And greater hope to hold you such
By quiet, then brawles, you see.
Then for my duty, your delight,
And to retaine your favour,
All done I did, and patiently
Expect your wonted 'haviour.
Her patience, witte and answer wrought
His gentle teares to fall :
When (kissing her a score of times)
Amend, sweet wife, I shall :
He said, and did it ; "so each wife
Her husband may " recall.
VII.— DOWSABELL.
The following stanzas were written by Michael Drayton,* a poet of some eminence
in the reigns of Queen Elizabeth, James I., and Charles I. They are inserted in one
of his pastorals, and are inscribed with the author's name at length, ' ' To the noble
and valerous gentleman master Robert Dudley," etc.
Farre in the countrey of Arden,
There won'd a knight, hight Cassemen,
As bolde as Isenbras :
Fell was he, and eger bent,
In battell and in tournament,
As was the good Sir Topas.
He had, as antique stories tell,
A daughter cleapcd Dowsabel,
A mayden fayre and free :
And for she was her fathers heire,
Full well she was y-cond the Icyre
Of mickle curtesie.
* Drayton was born in 1563, and died in 1631.
146
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
The silke well couth she twist and twine,
And make the fine march-pine,
And with the needle werke :
And she couth helpe the priest to say
His mattins on a holy-day,
And sing a psalme in kirke.
She ware a frock of frolicke greene,
Might well beseeme a mayden queene,
Which seemly was to see ;
A hood to that so neat and fine,
In colour like the colombine,
Y- wrought iviW. feat ou sly.
Her features all as fresh above,
As is the grasse that growes by Dove ;
And lyth as lasse of Kent.
Her skin as soft as Lemster wooll,
As white as snow on Peakish Hull,
Or swanne that swims in Trent.
This mayden in a morne betime
Went forth, when May was in her prime,
To get sweete cetywall,
The honey-suckle, the harlocke,
The lilly and the lady-smocke,
To deck her summer hall.
Thus, as she wandred here and there,
Y-picking of the bloomed breere,
She chanced to espie
A shepheard sitting on a bancke,
Like chanteclere he crowed crancke,
And pip'd full merrilie.
He lear'd his shcepe as he him list,
When he would whistle in his fist,
To feede about him round ;
Whilst he full many a carroll sung,
Untill the fields and medowes rung,
And all the woods did sound.
In favour this same shepheards swayne
Was like the bedlam Tamburlayne, *
Which helde prowd kings in awe :
* Alluding to Tamburlaitte the Great, or the
Scythian Shepheard, 1590, 8vo, an old ranting
play ascribed to Marlowe.
But meeke he was as lamb mought be ;
An innocent of ill as he
Whom his lewd brother slaw.
The shepheard ware a sheepe-gray cloke,
Which was of the finest loke,
That could be cut with sheere :
His mittens were of bauzens skinne,
His cockers were of cordiwin,
His hood of meniveere.
His aide and lingell in a thong,
His tar-boxe on his broad belt hong,
His breech of coyntrie blewe :
Full crispe and curled were his lockes,
His browes as white as Albion rocks :
So like a lover true,
And pyping still he spent the day,
So merry as the popiiigay ;
Which liked Dowsabel :
That would she ought, or would she nought,
This lad would never from her thought ;
She in love-longing fell.
At length she tucked up her frocke,
White as a lilly was her smocke,
She drew the shepheard nye ;
But then the shepheard pyp'd a good,
That all his sheepe forsooke their foode,
To hear his melodye.
Thy sheepe, quoth she, cannot be leane,
That have a jolly shepheards swayne,
The which can pipe so well :
Yea but, sayth he, their shepheard may,
If pyping thus he pine away
In love of Dowsabel.
Of love, fond boy, take thou no keepe,
Quoth she ; looke thou unto thy sheepe,
Lest they should hap to stray.
Quoth he, So had I done full well,
Had I not seen fayre Dowsabell
Come forth to gather maye.
With that she gan to vaile her head,
Her cheeks were like the roses red,
But not a word she sayd :
THE FAREWELL TO LOVE— ULYSSES AND THE SYREN. 147
With that the shepheard gan to frowne,
He threw his pretie pypes adowne,
And on the ground him layd.
Sayth she, I may not stay till night,
And leave my summer-hall undight,
And all for long of thee.
My coate, sayth he, nor yet my foulde
Shall neither sheepe nor shepheard hould,
Except thou favour mee.
Sayth she, Yet lever were I dead,
Then I should lose my mayden-head,
And all for love of men.
Sayth he, Yet are you too unkind,
If in your heart you cannot finde
To love us now and then.
And I to thee will be as kinde
As Colin was to Rosalinde,_
Of curtesie the flower.
Then will I be as true, quoth she,
As ever mayden yet might be
Unto her paramour.
With that she bent her snow-white
knee,
Downe by the shepheard kneeled shce,
And him she sweetely kist :
With that the shepheard whoop'd for
joy,
Quoth he, Ther's never shepheards
boy
That ever was so blist.
VIII. — THE FAREWELL TO LOVE.
From Beaumont and Fletcher's play, entitled The Lovers Progress, Act iii. Sc. i.
Adieu, fond love, farewell you wanton
powers ;
I am free again.
Thou dull disease of bloud and idle hours,
Bewitching pain,
Fly to fools, that sigh away their time :
My nobler love to heaven doth climb,
And there behold beauty still young,
That time can ne'er corrupt, nor death
destroy,
Immortal sweetness by fair angels sung,
And honoured by eternity and joy :
There lies my love, thither my hopes
aspire,
Fond love declines, this heavenly love
grows higher.
IX.— ULYSSES AND THE SYREN
AFFORDS a pretty poetical contest between Pleasure and Honour. It is found at the
end of Hymen's Triumph ; A Pastoral Tragicomcdie, written by Daniel, and printed
among his works, 410, 1623. — Daniel, who was a contemporary of Drayton's, and is
said to have been poet laureate to Queen Elizabeth, was bom in 1562, and died in 1619.
Anne, Countess of Dorset, Pembroke, and Montgomery (to whom Daniel had been
tutor), has inserted a small portrait of him in a full-length picture of herself, pre*
served at Appleby Castle, in Cumberland.
SYREN.
Come, worthy Greeke, Ulysses come,
Possesse these shores with me,
The windes and seas are troublesome,
An here we may be free.
Here may we sit and view their toyle,
That travaile in the deepe,
Enjoy the day in mirth the while,
And spend the night in sleepe.
143
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
ULYSSES.
ULYSSES.
Faire nymph, if fame or honour were
But natures of the noblest frame
To be attain'd with ease,
These toyles and dangers please ;
Then would I come and rest with thee,
And they take comfort in the same,
And leave such toiles as these :
As much as you in ease :
But here it dwels, and here must I
And with the thought of actions past
With danger seek it forth ;
Are recreated still :
To spend the time luxuriously
When pleasure leaves a touch at last
Becomes not men of worth.
To shew that it was ill.
SYREN.
SYREN.
Ulysses, be not deceiv'd
That doth opinion only cause,
With that unreall name :
That's out of custom bred ;
This honour is a thing conceiv'd,
Which makes us many other laws
And rests on others' fame.
Than ever nature did.
Begotten only to molest
No widdowes waile for our delights,
Our peace, and to beguile
Our sports are without blood ;
(The best thing of our life) our rest,
The world we see by warlike wights
And give us up to toyle 1
Receives more hurt than good.
ULYSSES.
ULYSSES.
Delicious nymph, suppose there were
But yet the state of things require
Nor honor, nor report,
These motions of unrest,
Yet manlinesse would scorne to weare
And these great spirits of high desire
The time in idle sport :
Seem borne to turne them best :
For toyle doth give a better touch
To purge the mischiefes, that increase
To make us feele our joy ;
And all good order mar :
And ease findes tediousnes, as much
For oft we see a wicked peace
As labour yeelds annoy.
To be well chang'd for wax.
SYREN.
SYREN.
Thon pleasure likewise seemes the shore,
Well, well, Ulysses, then I see
Whereto tendes all your toyle ;
I shall not have thee here ;
Which you forego to make it more,
And therefore I will come to thee,
And perish oft the while.
And take my fortune there.
Who may disport them diversly,
I must be wonne that cannot win,
Find never tedious day ;
Yet lost were I not woone :
And ease may have variety,
For beauty hath created bin
As well as action may.
T' undoo or be undone.
CUPID'S PASTIME.
149
X.— CUPID'S PASTIME.
This beautiful poem, which possesses a classical elegance hardly to be expected in
the age of James I., is printed from the 4th edition of Davidson's Poems,* etc, 1621.
It is also found in a later miscellany, entitled Le Prince d' Amour, 1660, 8vo. —
Francis Davison, editor of the poems above referred to, was son of that unfortunate
secretary of state who suffered so much from the affair of Mary Queen of Scots.
These poems, he tells us in his preface, were written by himself, by his brother
[Walter], who was a soldier in the wars of the Low Countries, and by some dear
friends "anonymoi."
It chanc'd of late a shepherd swain,
That went to seek his straying sheep,
Within a thicket on a plain
Espied a dainty nymph asleep.
Her golden hair o'erspred her face ;
Her careless arms abroad were cast ;
Her quiver had her pillows place ;
Her breast lay bare to every blast.
The shepherd stood and gaz'd his fill ;
Nought durst he do ; nought durst he
say;
Whilst chance, or else perhaps his will,
Did guide the god of love that way.
The crafty boy that sees her sleep,
Whom if she wak'd he durst not see ;
Behind- her closely seeks to creep,
Before her nap should ended bee.
There come, he steals her shafts away,
And puts his own into their place ;
Nor dares he any longer stay,
But, ere she wakes, hies thence apace.
Scarce was he gone, but she awakes,
And spies the shepherd standing by :
Her bended bow in haste she takes,
And at the simple swain lets flye.
Forth flew the shaft, and pierc'd his heart,
That to the ground he fell with pain :
Yet up again forthwith he start,
And to the nymph he ran amain.
Amazed to see so strange a sight,
She shot, and shot, but all in vain ;
The more his wounds, the more his might,
Love yielded strength amidst his pain.
Her angry eyes were great with tears,
She blames her hand, she blames her
skill ;
The bluntness of her shafts she fears,
And try them on herself she will.
Take heed,sweet nymph, trye not thy shaft,
Each little touch will pierce thy heart :
Alas ! thou know'st not Cupids craft ;
Revenge is joy ; the end is smart.
Yet try she will, and pierce some bare ;
Her hands were glov'd, but next to hand
Was that fair breast, that breast so rare,
That made the shepherd senseless stand.
That breast she pierc'd ; and through
that breast
Love found an entry to her heart ;
At feeling of this new-come guest,
Lord ! how this gentle nymph did start ?
She runs not now ; she shoots no more ;
Away she throws both shaft and bow :
She seeks for what she shunn'd before,
She thinks the shepherds haste too slow.
Though mountains meet not, lovers may :
What other lovers do, did they :
The god of love sate on a tree,
And laught that pleasant sight to see.
,* See the full title in vol. ii. Book iii. No. iv.
ISO RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
XL— THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE.
This little moral poem was writ by Sir Henry Wotton, who died Provost of Eaton
in 1639, set. 72. It is printed from a little collection of his pieces, entitled
Reliquice Wottonian<e, 1651, i2mo ; compared with one or two other copies.
How happy is he born or taught,
That serveth not anothers will ;
Whose armour is his honest thought,
And simple truth his highest skill :
Whose passions not his masters are ;
Whose soul is still prepar'd for death ;
Not ty'd unto the world with care
Of princes ear, or vulgar breath :
Who hath his life from rumours freed ;
Whose conscience is his strong retreat :
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor mine make oppressors great :
Who envies none, whom chance doth raise,
Or vice : Who never understood
How deepest wounds are given with praise;
Nor rules of state, but rules of good ;
Who God doth late and early pray
More of his grace and gifts to lend ;
And entertaines the harmless day
With a well-chosen book or friend.
This man is freed from servile bands
Of hope to rise, or feare to fall ;
Lord of himselfe, though not of lands ;
And having nothing, yet hath all.
XII.— GILDEROY.
A FAMOUS Scotch robber, who for daring acts of violence was executed at Edin-
burgh in 1638, with five of his followers. In Thompson's Orpheus Cahdonius is a
copy of this ballad, which though corrupt and interpolated, contains the following
lines, which appear to be of genuine antiquity : —
" The Queen of Scots possessed nought,
That my love let me want :
For cow and ew to me he brought,
And ein whan they were scant."
The version of " Gilderoy " here given to the reader is printed from a written copy.
Gilderoy was a bonnie boy,
Had roses tull his shoone,
His stockings were of silken soy,
Wi' garters hanging doune :
It was, I weene, a comelie sight,
To see sae trim a boy ;
He was my jo and hearts delight,
My handsome Gilderoy.
Oh ! sike twa charming een he had,
A breath as sweet as rose,
He never ware a Highland plaid,
But costly silken clothes ;
He gain'd the luve of ladies gay,
Nane eir tull him was coy :
Ah ! wae is mee ! I mourn the day
For my dear Gilderoy.
My Gilderoy and I were born,
Baith in one toun together,
We scant were seven years beforn,
We gan to luve each other ;
Our dadies and our mammies thay,
Were fill'd wi mickle joy,
To think upon the bridal day,
Twixt me and Gilderoy.
WJNIFREDA.
iSi
For Gilderoy that luve of mine,
Gude faith, I freely bought
A wedding sark of holland fine,
Wi' silken flowers wrought :
And he gied me a wedding ring,
Which I receiv'd wi' joy,
Nae lad nor lassie eir could sing,
Like me and Gilderoy.
Wi' mickle joy we spent our prime,
Till we were baith sixteen,
And aft we past the langsome time,
Among the leaves sae green ;
Aft on the banks we'd sit us thair,
And sweetly kiss and toy,
Wi' garlands gay wad deck my hair
My handsome Gilderoy.
Oh ! that he still had been content,
Wi' me to lead his life ;
But, ah ! his manfu' heart was bent,
To stir in feates of strife :
And he in many a venturous deed,
His courage bauld would try ;
And now this gars mine heart to bleed,
For my dear Gilderoy.
And when of me his leave he tuik,
The tears they wat mine ee,
I gave tull him a parting luik,
" My benison gang wi' thee ;
God speed thee weil, mine ain dear heart,
For gane is all my joy ;
My heart is rent sith we maun part,
My handsome Gilderoy."
My Gilderoy baith far and near,
Was fear'd in every toun,
And bauldly bare away the gear,
Of many a lawland loun :
Nane eir durst meet him man to man,
He was sae brave a boy ;
At length wi' numbers he was tane,
My winsome Gilderoy.
Wae worth the loun that made the laws,
To hang a man for gear,
To 'reave of life for ox or ass,
For sheep, or horse, or mare :
Had not their laws been made sae strick,
I neir had lost my joy,
Wi' sorrow neir had wat my cheek,
For my dear Gilderoy.
Giff Gilderoy had done amisse,
He mought hae banisht been ;
Ah ! what sair cruelty is this,
To hang sike handsome men :
To hang the flower o' Scottish land,
Sae sweet and fair a boy ;
Nae lady had sae white a hand,
As thee, my Gilderoy.
Of Gilderoy sae fraid they were,
They bound him mickle strong,
Tull Edenburrow they led him thair,
And on a gallows hung :
They hung him high aboon the rest,
He was sae trim a boy ;
Thair dyed the youth whom I lued best,
My handsome Gilderoy.
Thus having yielded up his breath,
I bare his corpse away,
Wi' tears, that trickled for his death,
I washt his comelye clay ;
And siker in a grave sae deep,
I laid the dear-lued boy,
And now for evir maun I weep,
My winsome Gilderoy.
XIII.— WINIFREDA.
This b?autiful address to conjugal love, a subject too much neglected by the libertine
Muses, was first printed in a volume of Miscellaneous Poems, by several hands,
published by D. Lewis, 1726, 8vo. It is there said, how truly I know not, to be a
translation "from the ancient British language."
152
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
Away ; let nought to love displeasing,
My Winifreda, move your care ;
Let nought delay the heavenly blessing,
Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy fear.
What tho' no grants of royal donors
With pompous titles grace our blood ;
We'll shine in more substantial honors,
And to be noble we'll be good.
Our name, while virtue thus we tender,
Will sweetly sound where-e'er 'tis
spoke :
And all the great ones, they shall wonder
How they respect such little folk.
What though from fortune's lavish bounty
No mighty treasures we possess ;
We'll find within our pittance plenty,
And be content without excess.
Still shall each returning season
Sufficient for our wishes give ;
For we will live a life of reason,
And that's the only life to live.
Through youth and age in love excelling,
We'll hand in hand together tread ;
Sweet-smiling peace shall crown our
dwelling,
And babes, sweet-smiling babes, our bed.
How should I love the pretty creatures,
While round my knees they fondly clung;
To see them look their mothers features,
To hear them lisp their mothers tongue.
And when with envy time transported
Shall think to rob us of our joys,
You'll in your girls again be courted,
And I'll go a wooing in my boys.
XIV.— THE WITCH OF WOKEY
Was published in a small collection of poems, entitled Euthemia, or the Power of
Harmony, etc., 1756, written, in 1748, by the ingenious Dr. Harrington, of Bath, who
never allowed them to be published, and withheld his name till it could no longer be
concealed. The following copy was furnished by the late Mr. Shenstone, with some
variations and corrections of his own, which he had taken the liberty to propose, and
for which the author's indulgence was entreated.
Wokey-hole is a noted cavern near Wells, in Somersetshire, which has given birth
to as many wild fanciful stories as the Sybils Cave, in Italy. It goes winding a great
way underground, is crossed by a stream of very cold water, and is all horrid with
broken pieces of rock : many of these are evident petrifactions ; which, on account
of their singular forms, have given rise to the fables alluded to in this poem.
In aunciente days tradition showes
A base and wicked elfe arose,
The Witch of Wokey hight :
Oft have I heard the fearfull tale
From Sue, and Roger of the vale,
On some long winter's night.
Deep in the dreary dismall cell,
Which seem'd and was ycleped hell,
This blear-eyed hag did hide :
Nine wicked elves, as legends sayne,
She chose to form her guardian trayne,
And kennel near her side.
Here screeching owls oft made their nest,
While wolves its craggy sides possest,
Night-howling thro' the rock :
No wholesome herb could here be found ;
She blasted every plant around,
And blister'd every flock.
Her haggard face was foull to see ;
Her mouth unmeet a mouth to bee ;
Her eyne of deadly leer,
She nought devis'd, but neighbour's ill ;
She wreak'd on all her wayward will,
And marr'd all goodly chear.
BRYAN AND PEREENE.
153
All in her prime, have poets sung,
No gaudy youth, gallant and young,
E'er blest her longing armes ;
And hence arose her spight to vex.
And blast the youth of either sex,
By dint of hellish charms.
From Glaston came a lerned wight,
Full bent to marr her fell despight,
And well he did, I ween :
Sich mischief never had been known,
And, since his mickle lerninge shown,
Sich mischief ne'er has been.
He chauntede out his godlie booke,
He crost the water, blest the brooke,
Then — pater noster done, —
The ghastly hag he sprinkled o'er ;
When lo ! where stood a hag before,
Now stood a ghastly stone.
Full well 'tis known adown the dale :
Tho' passing strange indeed the tale,
And doubtfull may appear,
I'm bold to say, there's never a one,
That has not seen the witch in stone,
With all her household gear.
But tho' this lernede clerke did well ;
With grieved heart, alas ! I tell,
She left this curse behind :
That Wokey nymphs forsaken quite,
Tho' sense and beauty both unite,
Should find no leman kind.
For lo ! even, as the fiend did say,
The sex have found it to this day,
That men are wondrous scant :
Here's beauty, wit, and sense combin'd,
With all that's good and virtuous join'd,
Yet hardly one gallant.
Shall then sich maids unpitied moane ?
They might as well, like her, be stone,
As thus forsaken dwell.
Since Glaston now can boast no clerks ;
Come down from Oxenford, ye sparks,
And, oh ! revoke the spell.
Yet stay — nor thus despond, ye fair ;
Virtue's the gods' peculiar care ;
I hear the gracious voice :
Your sex shall soon be blest agen,
We only wait to find sich men,
As best deserve your choice.
XV.— BRYAN AND PEREENE.
A WEST-INDIAN BALLAD,
Is founded on a real fact, that happened in the island of St. Christophers about the
beginning of the reign of George III. The editor owes the following stanzas to the
friendship of Dr. James Grainger, physician in that island when this tragical incident
happened, and died there much honoured and lamented in 1767.
The north-east wind did briskly blow,
The ship was safely moor'd ;
Young Bryan thought the boat's-crew slow,
And so leapt over-board.
Pereene, the pride of Indian dames,
His heart long held in thrall ;
And whoso his impatience blames,
I wot, ne'er lov'd at all.
A long long year, one month and day,
He dwelt on English land,
Nor once in thought or deed would stray,
Tho' ladies sought his hand.
For Bryan he was tall and strong,
Right blythsome roll'd his een,
Sweet was his voice whene'er he sung,
He scant had twenty seen.
154
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
But who the countless charms can draw,
Her fair companions one and all,
That grac'd his mistress true ;
Rejoicing crowd the strand ;
Such charms the old world seldom saw,
For now her lover swam in call,
Nor oft I ween the new.
And almost touch'd the land.
Her raven hair plays round her neck,
Then through the white surf did she haste,
Like tendrils of the vine ;
To clasp her lovely swain ;
Her cheeks red dewy rose buds deck,
When, ah ! a shark bit through his waste :
Her eyes like diamonds shine.
His heart's blood dy'd the main !
Soon as his well-known ship she spied,
He shriek'd ! his half sprangfrom the wave,
She cast her weeds away,
Streaming with purple gore,
And to the palmy shore she hied,
And soon it found a living grave,
All in her best array.
And ah ! was seen no more.
In sea-green silk so neatly clad,
Now haste, now haste, ye maids, I pray,
She there impatient stood ;
Fetch water from the spring :
The crew with wonder saw the lad
She falls, she swoons, she dies away,
Repell the foaming flood,
And soon her knell they ring.
Her hands a handkerchief display'd,
Now each May morning round her tomb,
Which he at parting gave ;
Ye fair, fresh flowerets strew,
Well pleas'd the token he survey'd,
So may your lovers scape his doom,
And manlier beat the wave.
Her hapless fate scape you.
XVI.— GENTLE RIVER, GENTLE RIVER.
Gentle river, gentle river,
Lo, thy streams are stain'd with gore,
Many a brave and noble captain
Floats along thy willow'd shore.
All beside thy limpid waters,
All beside thy sands so bright,
Moorish Chiefs and Christian Warriors
Join'd in fierce and mortal fight.
Lords, and dukes, and noble princes
On thy fatal banks were slain :
Fatal banks that gave to slaughter
All the pride and flower of Spain.
There the hero, brave Alonzo,
Full of wounds and glory died :
There the fearless Urdiales
Fell a victim by his side.
Lo ! where yonder Don Saavedra
Thro' their squadrons slow retires ;
Proud Seville, his native city,
Proud Seville his worth admires.
Close behind a renegado
Loudly shouts with taunting cry ;
Yield thee, yield thee, Don Saavedra,
Dost thou from the battle fly ?
Well I know thee, haughty Christian,
Long I liv'd beneath thy roof ;
Oft I've in the lists of glory
Seen thee win the prize of proof.
Well I know thy aged parents,
Well thy blooming bride I ki
Seven years I was thy captive,
Seven years of pain and woe.
:now ;
ALCANZOR AND ZAYDA.
i5S
May our prophet grant my wishes,
Haughty chief, thou shalt be mine :
Thou shalt drink that cup of sorrow,
Which I drank when I was thine.
Like a lion turns the warrior,
Back he sends an angry glare :
Whizzing came the Moorish javelin,
Vainly whizzing thro' the air.
Back the hero full of fury
Sent a deep and mortal wound :
Instant sunk the Renegado,
Mute and lifeless on the ground.
With a thousand Moors surrounded,
Brave Saavedra stands at bay :
Wearied out but never daunted,
Cold at length the warrior lay.
Near him fighting great Alonzo
Stout resists the Paynim bands ;
From his slaughter'd steed dismounted
Firm intrench'd behind him stands.
Furious press the hostile squadron,
Furious he repels their rage :
Loss of blood at length enfeebles :
Who can war with thousands wage !
Where yon rock the plain o'ershadows,
Close beneath its foot retir'd,
Fainting sunk the bleeding hero,
And without a groan expir'd.
XVII.— ALCANZOR AND ZAYDA: A MOORISH TALE.
IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH.
Softly blow the evening breezes,
Softly fall the dews of night ;
Yonder walks the Moor Alcanzor,
Shunning every glare of light.
In yon palace lives fair Zaida,
Whom he loves with flame so pure :
Loveliest she of Moorish ladies ;
He a young and noble Moor.
Waiting for the appointed minute,
Oft he paces to and fro ;
Stopping now, now moving forwards,
Sometimes quick, and sometimes slow.
Hope and fear alternate teize him,
Oft he sighs with heart-felt care. —
See, fond youth, to yonder window
Softly steps the timorous fair.
Lovely seems the moon's fair lustre
To the lost benighted swain,
When all silvery bright she rises,
Gilding mountain, grove, and plain.
Lovely seems the sun's full glory
To the fainting seaman's eyes,
When some horrid storm dispersing
O'er the wave his radiance flies.
But a thousand times more lovely
To her longing lover's sight
Steals half-seen the beauteous maiden
Thro' the glimmerings of the night.
Tip-toe stands the anxious lover,
Whispering forth a gentle sigh :
Allah keep thee, lovely lady ;
Tell me, am I doom'd to die ?
Is it true the dreadful story,
Which thy damsel tells my page,
That seduc'd by sordid riches
Thou wilt sell thy bloom to age ?
An old lord from Antiquera
Thy stern father brings along ;
But canst thou, inconstant Zaida,
Thus consent my love to wrong?
If 'tis true now plainly tell me,
Nor thus trifle with my woes ;
Hide not then from me the secret,
Which the world so clearly knows.
156
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
Deeply sigh'd the conscious maiden,
While the pearly tears descend :
Ah ! my lord, too true the story ;
Here our tender loves must end.
Our fond friendship is discover'd,
Well are known our mutual vows :
All my friends are full of fury ;
Storms of passion shake the house.
Threats, reproaches, fears surround me ;
My stern father breaks my heart :
Allah knows how dear it costs me,
Generous youth, from thee to part.
Ancient wounds of hostile fury
Long have rent our house and thine ;
Why then did thy shining merit
Win this tender heart of mine ?
Well thou know'st how dear I lov'd thee
Spite of all their hateful pride,
Tho' I fear'd my haughty father
Ne'er would let me be thy bride.
Well thou know'st what cruel chidings
Oft I've from my mother borne ;
What I've suffer'd here to meet thee
Still at eve and early morn.
I no longer may resist them ;
AU, to force my hand combine ;
And to-morrow to thy rival
This weak frame I must resign.
Yet think not thy faithful Zaida
Can survive so great a wrong ;
Well my breaking heart assures me
That my woes will not be long.
Farewell then, my dear Alcanzor !
Farewell too my life with thee !
Take this scarf a parting token ;
When thou wear'st it think on me.
Soon, lov'd youth, some worthier maiden
Shall reward thy generous truth ;
Sometimes tell her how thy Zaida
Died for thee in prime of youth.
— To him all amaz'd, confounded,
Thus she did her woes impart :
Deep he sigh'd, then cry'd, — O Zaida !
Do not, do not break my heart.
Canst thou think I thus will lose thee ?
Canst thou hold my love so small ?
No ! a thousand times I'll perish ! —
My curst rival too shall fall.
Canst thou, wilt thou yield thus to them?
O break forth, and fly to me !
This fond heart shall bleed to save thee,
These fond arms shall shelter thee.
'Tis in vain, in vain, Alcanzor,
Spies surround me, bars secure :
Scarce I steal this last dear moment,
While my damsel keeps the door.
Hark, I hear my father storming !
Hark, I hear my mother chide I
I must go : farewell for ever !
Gracious Allah be thy guide 1
THE END OF THE THIRD EOC;'C.
RICHARD OF ALMAIGNE.
157
SERIES THE SECOND.— BOOK I.
I.— RICHARD OF ALMAIGNE,
A BALLAD male by one of the adherents of Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester,
soon after the battle of Lewes, which was fought May 14, 1264, affords a curious
specimen of ancient satire, and shows that the liberty assumed by the good people of
this realm, of abusing their kings and princes at pleasure, is a privilege of very long
standing.
The reader to understand the libel must know 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, ^30,000 to promise peace upon such terms as would
have divested Henry of all regal power. The treaty proved abortive, the battle was the
sequence, and the royal party fell into the hands of the Barons, whilst the Earl of
Warren and Hugh Bigot, who had remained faithful to the king, fled to France.
The satire points at the supposed rapacity and greediness of Richard, thirty
thousand pounds being in those days an exorbitant sum ; but this sum is a malevolent
exaggeration of the libeller.
The ballad is said to have occasioned a law in our statute book against slanderous
reports or tales to cause discord between king and people (Westm. Primer, c. 34,
anno 3, Edw. /.).
The ballad is copied from a very ancient MS. in the British Museum (Harl.
MSS. 2253, § 23).
Sitteth alle stille, ant herkneth to me ;
The kyng of Alcmaigne, bi mi haute,
Thritti thousent pound askede he
For te make the pees in the countre,
Ant so he dude more.
Richard, thah thou be evertrickard,
Tricthen shalt thou never more.
Richard of Alemaigne, whil that he wes
kying,
He spende al is tresour upon swyvyng,
Haveth he nout of Walingford * ofcrlyng,
Let him habbe, ase he brew, bale to dryng,
Alaugre Wyndesore.f
Richard, thah thou be ever, etc.
* Richard, as well as the earldom of Corn-
wall, had the honours of Wallingford and Eyre
conferred upon him.
t Windsor Castle was the chief fortress
belonging to the king, and had been garrisoned
by foreigners, which circumstance furnishes
out the burden of each stanza.
The kyng of Alemaigne wende do ful wel,
He saisede the mulne for a castel,
With hare sharpe swerdes he grounde the
stel,
He wende that the sayles were mangonel
To helpe Wyndesore.
Richard, thah thou be ever, etc.
The kyng of Alemaigne gedercde ys host,
Makede him a castel of a mulne post,*
Wende with is prude, ant is muchcle
bost,
Brohtef from Alemayne mony sori gost
To store Wyndesore.
Richard, thah thou be ever, etc.
* Richard, after the battle was lost, took
refuge in a windmill, which he defended for
some time against the Barons, but was in the
evening obliged to surrender.
t Richard was accused of bringing over
foreigners to overrun the kingdom.
«5«
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
By God, that is above ous, he dude muche
synne,
That lette passen over see the erl of
Warynne :
He hath robbed Engelond, the mores, ant
th ferine,
The gold, ant the selver, and y-borcn
hcnne,
For love of Wyndesore.
Richard, thah thou be ever, etc.
Sire Simond de Mountfort hath snore bi
ys chyn,
Hcvcde he nou here the erl of Waryn,
Shuld he never more come to is yn,
Ne with sheld, ne with spere, ne with
other gyn.
To help of Wyndesore.
Richard, thah thou be ever, etc.
Sire Simond de Montfort hath snore bi ys
cop,
Hevede he nou here Sire Hue de Bigot :
Al he shulde grante here twelfmoneth scot
Shulde he never more with his sot pot
To helpe Wyndesore.
Richard, thah thou be ever, etc.
Be the lucf, be the loht, sire Edward,
Thou shalt ride sporeles o thy lyard
Al the ryhte way to Doveve-ward,
Shalt thou never more breke foreward ;
Ant that rcweth sore
Edward, thou dudest as a skrcward,
Forsoke thyn ones lore
Richard, etc.
%* This ballad will rise in its impor-
tance with the reader, when he finds
that it is even believed to have occasioned
a law in our statute book, viz. ' ' Against
slanderous reports or tales, to cause dis-
cord betwixt king and people." (Westm.
Primer, c. 34, anno 3, Ediu, I.) That it
had this effect, is the opinion of an
eminent writer. See Observations upon
the Statutes, etc., 4to, 2d ed. 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.
II.— ON THE DEATH OF KING EDWARD THE FIRST.
We 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. 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 weak-
nesses 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, 80 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 suc^
ceeded immediately married. But the truth is, Edward and his destructive favourite
Piers Gaveston spent the money upon their pleasures. — To do the greater honour to
the memory of his hero, our poet puts his eloge in the mouth of the Pope, with the
same poetic licence as a more modern bard would have introduced Britannia, or the
Genius of Europe, pouring forth his praises.
ON THE DEATH OF KING EDWARD THE FIRST.
iS9
Ali.e, that beoth of hucrte trewe,
A stounde herkneth to my song
Of duel, that Deth hath diht us newe,
That maketh me syke, ant sorewe
among ;
Of a knyht, that wes so strong,
Of wham God hath don ys wille ;
Me-thunchcth that deth has don us wrong,
That he so sone shall liggc stille.
Al Englond ahte for te knowe
Of wham that song is, that y synge ;
Of Edward kyng, that lith so lowe,
Zent al this world is nomc con springe :
Trewest mon of alle thingc,
Ant in werre war ant 7uys,
For him we ahte oure honden wrynge,
Of Christendome he ber the prys.
Byfore that oure kyng was ded,
He spek ase mon that wes in care,
"Clerkes, knyhtes, barons, he sayde,
Y charge ou by dure sware,
That ye to Engelonde be trewe.
Y deze, y ne may lyven na more ;
Helpeth mi sone, ant crouneth him newe,
For he is nest to buen y-core.
" Ich biqueth myn herte arhyt,
That hit be write at my devys,
Over the see that Hue * be diht,
With fourscore knyhtes al of prys,
In werre that buen war ant wys,
Azein the hethene for te fyhte,
To wynne the croiz that lowe lys,
Myself ycholde ze/lhat y myhte."
Kyng of Fraunce, thou hevedest "sinne,"
That thou the counsail woldestyi>M<fc,
To latte the wille of " Edward kyng "
To wende to the holy Ionde :
That oure kyng hede take on honde
All Engelonde to zemc ant wysse,
To wenden in to the holy londe
To wynnen us hevcriche blisse.
* The name of the person who was to preside
over this business.
The messager to the pope com,
And seyde that our kynge was ded :
Ys oune hond the lettre he nom,
Ywis his herte was full gret :
The Pope him self the lettre redde,
Ant spec a word of gret honour.
" Alas ! he seid, is Edward ded?
Of Christendome he ber the flour. "
The Pope to is chaumbre wende,
For dot ne mihte he speke na more ;
Ant after cardinals he sende,
That muche couthen of Cristes lore,
Bothe the lasse, ant eke the more,
Bed hem bothe rede ant synge :
Gret deol me myhte se thore,
Mony mon is honde wrynge.
The Pope of Peyters stod at is masse
With ful gret solempnete,
Ther me con the soule blesse :
' ' Kyng Edward honoured thou be
God love thi sone come after the,
Bringe to ende that thou hast Ly-
gonne,
The holy crois y-mad of tie,
So fain thou woldest hit have y-wonne.
"Jerusalem, thou hast i-lore
The flour of al chivalrie
Now kyng Edward liveth na more :
Alas ! that he zet shulde deye !
He wolde ha rered up ful heyze
Oure banners, that bueth broht to
grounde ;
Wei ! longe we mowe clepe and crie
Er we a such kyng han y-founde."
Nou is Edward of Camarvan
King of Engelond al aplyht,
God lete him ner be worse man
Then his fader, ne lasse of myht,
To holden is pore men to ryht,
And understonde good counsail,
Al Engelond for to wysse ant dyht ;
Of gode knyhtes dark him nout
fail.
i6o
KELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
Thah mi tonge were mad of stel,
Ant min herte yzote of bras,
The godness myht y never telle,
That with kyng Edward was :
Kyng, as thou art cleped conquerour,
In uch bataille thou hadest prys ;
God bringe thi soule to the honour,
That ever wes, ant ever ys.
That lasteth ay withouten ende,
Bidde we God, ant oure Ledy to thilke
blisse
Jesus us sende. Amen.
III.— AN ORIGINAL BALLAD BY CHAUCER.
This little sonnet, which hath escaped all the editors of Chaucer's works, is 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.
Geoffrey Chaucer died Oct. 25, 1400, aged 72.
YouRE two eyn will sle me sodenly,
I may the beaute of them not sustene,
So wendeth it thorowout my herte kene.
And but your words will hclen hastely
My hertis wound, while that it is grene,
Youre two eyn will sle me sodenly.
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, etc.
11.
So hath youre beauty fro your herte chased
Pitee, that me n' availeth not to pleyn ;
For daunger halt your mercy in his
cheyne.
Giltless my deth thus have ye purchased ;
I sey yow soth, me nedeth not to fayn :
So hath your beaute fro your herte chased.
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, etc,
III.
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.
He may answere, and sey this and that,
I do no fors, I speak ryght as I mene ;
Syn I fro love escaped am so fat.
Love hath my name i-strike out of his sclat,
And he is strike out of my bokes clene :
For ever mo ' ' ther " is non other mene,
Syn I fro love escaped, etc
THE TURNAMENT OF TOTTENHAM.
161
IV.— THE TURNAMENT OF TOTTENHAM ;
OR, "the wooeing, winning, and wedding of tibbe, the reev's
DAVGHTER THERE,"
Written, it is supposed, by Gilbert Pilkington, who is said to have been parson of
the parish of Tottenham in the 15th century. It was first printed in 1631, through the
assistance of the Rev. Wilhelm Bedwell, rector of Tottenham, and afterwards bishop of
Kilmore, and one of the translators of the Bible.
Bedwell believed it to be the true account of a tournament that took place before
the reign of Edward III., and failed to see the humour and the satire of the produc-
tion. Romance and chivalry were bewitching the eyes of Europe when Chaucer
wrote his Sir Thopas in ridicule of the former ; and the poem before us is a humorous
burlesque upon the latter. In it we have all the solemnities of the Tourney.
Here we have the regular challenge— the appointed day — the lady for the prize—
the formal preparations — the display of armour — the scutcheons and devices — the oaths
taken on entering the lists — the various accidents of the encounter — the victor leading
off the prize — and the magnificent feasting— with all the other solemn fopperies that
usually attended the pompous tournament. 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.
Of all thes kene conquerours to carpe
it were kynde ;
Of fete fey 'ztyng folk ferly we fynde,
The Turnament of Totenham have we in
myhde ;
It were harme sych hardynes were holden
byhynde,
In story as we rede
Of Hawkyn, of Herry,
OfTomkyn, of Terry,
Of them that were dughty
And stalworth in dede.
It befel in Totenham on a dere day,
Ther was mad a shurtyng be the hy-
way :
Theder come al the men of the con-
tray,
Of Hyssylton, of Hy-gate, and of
Hakenay,*
* Islington, Highgate, Hackney.
And all the swete swyniers.
Ther hopped Hawkyn,
Ther daunsed Dawkyn,
Ther trumped Tomkyn,
And all were trewe drynkers.
Tyl the day was gon and evyn-song past,
That thay schuld reckyn ther scot and ther
counts cast ;
Perkyn the potter into the press past,
And sayd Randol the refe, a dozter thou
hast,
Tyb the dere :
Therfor faine wyt wold I,
Whych of all thys bachelery
Were best worthye
To wed hur to hysf re.
Upstyrt thos gadelyngys wyth ther Iang
staves.
And sayd, Randol the refe, lo ! thys lad
raves ;
l62
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
Boldely amang us thy dozter he craves ;
We er rycher men than he, and mor gode
haves
Of cattell and corn ;
Then sayd Perkyn, to Tybbe I
have hyzt
That I schal be alway redy in my
ryzt,
If that it schuld be thys day
sevenyzt,
Or elles zet to morn.
Then sayd Randolfe the refe, Ever be he
waryd,
That about thys carpyng lenger wold be
taryd :
I wold not my dozter, that scho were
miscaryd,
But at hur most worschip I wold scho
were maryd ;
Therfor a Turnament schal begynne
Thys day sevenyzt, —
Wyth a flayl for to fyzt :
And he that is most of myght
Schal broukehvaviyihivynne.
Whoso berys hym best in the turnament,
Hym schal be granted the gre be the
comon assent,
For to wynne my dozter wyth ' ' dughty-
nesse " of dent,
And "coppell"* my brode-henne " that "
was brozt out of Kent :
And my dunnyd kowe
For no spens wyl I spare,
For no cattell wyl I care,
He schal have my gray mare,
And my spottyd sowe.
Ther was many " a " bold lad ther bodyes
to bede :
Than thay toke thayr leve, and faomward
they zede ;
* We still use the phrase "a copple-crowned
hen."
And all the weke afterward graythed ther
wede,
Tyll it come to the day, that thay suld do
ther dede.
They armed ham in matts ;
Thay set on ther ttollys,
For to kepe ther pollys,
Gode blake bollys.
For batryng of bats.
Thay sowed tham in schepeskynnes, for
thay schuld not brest :
Ilk • on toke a blak hat, insted of a
crest :
"A basket or a panyer before on ther
brest,"
And a flayle in ther hande ; for to fyght
prest,
Furth gon thay fare :
Ther was kyd mekyl fors,
Who schuld best fend hys cors :
He that had no gode hors.
He gat hym a mare.
Sych another gadryng have I not sene
oft,
When all the gret company com rydand
to the croft :
Tyb on a gray mare was set up on
loft
On a sek ful of fedyrs, for scho schuld syt
soft,
And led "till the gap."
For cryeng of the men
Forther wold not Tyb then,
Tyl scho had hur brode hen
Set in hur Lap.
A gay gyrdyl Tyb had on, borowed for
the nonys,
And a garland on hur hed ful of rounde
bonys,
And a broche on hur brest ful of "sap-
phyre" stonys,
Wyth the holy-rode tokenyng, was wrotyn
for the nonys ;
THE TURNAMENT OF TOTTENHAM.
163
For no "spendings" thay had
spared.
When joly Gyb saw hur thare,
He gyrd so hys gray mare,
" That scho lete a fowkin " fare
At the rereward.
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 hyme greve.
Wele sayd, quoth Hawkyn,
And I wow, quoth Dawkyn,
May I mete wyth Tomkyn,
Hys flayle I schal hym reve.
I make a vow, quoth Hud, Tyb, son schal
thou se,
Whych of all thys bachelery "granted"
is the gre :
I schal scomfet thaym all, for the love of
the;
In what place so I come thay schal have
dout of me,
Myn armes ar so clere :
' I bere a reddyl, and a rake,
Poudred wyth a brenaud drake,
And three can tells of a cake
In ycha cornere.
I vow to God, quoth Hawkyn, yf "I"
have the gowt,
Al that I fynde in the felde "thrustand"
here aboute,
Have I twycs or thryes redyn thurgh the
route,
In ycha stede ther thay me se, of me thay
schal have doute,
When I begyn to play.
I make avowe that I ne schall,
But yf Tybbe wyl me call,
Or I be thryes don fall,
Ryzt onys com away.
Then sayd Terry, and swore be hys crede ;
Saw thou never yong boy forther hys body
bede,
For when thay fyzt fastest and most ar in
drede,
I schall take Tyb by the hand, and hur
away lede :
I am armed at the full ;
In myn armys I bere wele
A dozt rogk, and a pele,
A sadyll wythout a panell,
Wyth a.Jles of woll,
I make a vow, quoth Dudman, and swor
be the stra,
Whyls me ys left my "mare," thou gets
hurr not swa ;
For scho ys wele schapen, and lizt as the
rac,
Ther is no capul in thys myle befor hur
schal ga ;
Sche wul ne nozt begyle :
Sche wyl me bere, I dar say,
On a lang somerys day,
Fro Hyssylton to Hakenay,
Nozt other half myle.
I make a vow, quoth Perkyn, thow speks
of cold rost,
I schal wyrc/i "wyselyer" withouten any
bost :
Five of the best capulys, that ar in thys
ost,
I wot I schal thaym wynne, and bryng
thaym to my cost,
And here I grant thaym Tybbe.
Wele boyes here ys he,
That wyl fyzt, and not fie,
For I am in my jolyte,
Wyth so forth, Gybbe.
When thay had ther vowes made, furth
can thay hie,
Wyth flayles, and homes, and trumpes
mad of Ire:*
* Probably wooden trumpets.
164
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
Ther were all the bachelerys of that
contre ;
Thay were dyzt in aray, as thaymselfes
wold be :
Thayr baners were ful bryzt
Of an old rotten fell ;
The cheveron of a plow-mell;
And the schadow of a bell,
Poudred wyth the mone lyzt.
I wot yt "was" no chylder game, whan
thay togedyr met,
When ichafreke in the feld on hys fcloy
bet,
And layd on styfly, for nothyng wold thay
let,
And foght ferly fast, tyll ther horses swet,
And few wordys spoken.
Ther were flayles al to slatred,
Ther were scheldys al to faired,
Bollys and dysches al to schatred,
And many hedys brokyn.
Tnere was clynkyng of cart-sade-lys, and
clatteryng of Cannes ;
Qifelefrekys in the feld brokyn were their
fannes ;
Of sum were the hedys brokyn, of sum
the brayn-pannes,
And yll were thay besene, or thay went
thanns,
Wyth swyppyng of swcpyls :
Thay were so wery for-foght,
Thay myzt not fyzt mare oloft,
Butcreped about in the "croft."
As thay were croked crepyls.
Perkyn was so wery, that he began to
loute ;
Help, Hud, I am ded in thys ylk rowte :
An hors for forty pens, a gode and a
stoute !
That I may lyztly come of my noye oute,
For no cost wyl I spare.
He styrt up as a snayle,
And hent a capul be the tayle,
And " reft" Dawkin hys fiayle,
And wan there a mare.
Perkyn wan five, and Hud wan twa :
Glad and blythe thay ware, that they had
don sa ;
They wold have tham to Tyb, and pre-
sent hur with tha :
The Capulls were so wery, that thay myzt
not ga,
But styl gon they stond.
Alas ! quoth Hudde, my joye I
lese ;
Mee had lever then a ston of
chese,
That dere Tyb had al these,
And wyst it were my sond.
Perkyn turnyd hym about in that ych
thrang,
Among thos wery boyes he wrest and he
wrang ;
He threw tham doun to the erth, and
thrast tham amang,
When he saw Tyrry away wyth Tyb fang,
And after hym ran ;
Off his horse he hym drogh,
And gaf hym of hys flayl inogh :
We te he I quoth Tyb, and lugk,
Ye er a dughty man.
"Thus" they tugged, and rugged, tyl yt
was nere nyzt :
All the wyves of Tottenham came to se
that syzt
Wyth wyspes, and kexis, and ryschys there
lyzt,
To fetch horn ther husbandes, that were
tham trouth plyzt ;
And sum brozt gret harwos,
Ther husbandes hom to fetch.
Sum on dores, and sum on keck,
Sum on hyrdyllys, and som on
creek,
And sum on whele-barows,
Thay gaderyd Perkyn about, " on ''
everych syde,
And grant hym ther " the gre," the more
was hys pryde :
FOR THE VICTORY AT A GIN COURT. 165
Tyb and he, wyth gret " mirth," homward
With sorrow come thay thedyr.
con thay ryde,
Wo was Hawkyn, wo was Herry,
And were al nyzt togedyr, tyl the morn
Wo was Tomkyn, wo was Terry,
tyde ;
And so was all the bachelary,
And thay " to church went : "
When they met togedyr.
So wele hys nedys he has sped,
That dere Tyb he ' ' hath " wed ;
At
that fest thay wer servyd with a
The prayse-folk, * that hur led,
Were of the Turnament.
ryche aray,
Every fyve and fyve had a cokenay ;
And so thay sat in jolyte al the lung day ;
To that ylk fest com many for the nones ;
And at the last thay went to bed with ful
Some come hyphalte, and some trippand
gret deray :
' ' thither " on the stonys :
Mekyl myrth was them among ;
Sum a staf in hys hand, and sum two at
In every corner of the hous
onys ;
Was melody delycyous
Of sum where the hedes broken, of some
For to here precyus
the schulder bonys ;
Of six menys song.
V.— FOR THE VICTORY AT AGINCOURT.
That our plain and martial ancestors could wield their swords much better than
their pens, will appear from the following homely rhymes, which were drawn up by
some poet laureate of those days to celebrate the immortal victory gained at Agincourt,
Oct. 25, 1415. This song or hymn is given merely as a curiosity, and is printed from
a MS. copy in the Pepys Collection, vol. I. folio. It is there accompanied with the
musical notes, which are copied in a small plate at the end of this volume.
He spared " for " drede of leste, ne most,
Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria!
Ovvre kynge went forth to Normandy,
With grace and myzt of chivalry ;
The God for hym wrouzt marvelously,
Wherefore Englonde may calle, and cry
Deo gratias :
Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria.
He sette a sege, the sothe for to say,
To Harflue toune with ryal aray ;
That toune he wan, and made a fray,
That Fraunce shall rywe tyl domes day.
Deo gratias, etc.
Then went owre kynge, with alle his
oste,
Thorowe Fraunce for all the Frenshe
boste ;
* Chief men.
Tyl ne come to Agincourt coste.
Deo gratias, etc.
Than for sothe that knyzt comely
In Agincourt feld he fauzt manly,
Thorow grace of God most myzty
He had bothe the felde, and the victory :
Deo gratias, etc.
Ther dukys, and erlys, lorde and barone,
Were take, and slayne, and that wel sone,
And some were ledde in to Lundone
With joye, and merthe, and grete renone.
Deo gratias, etc.
Now gracious God he save owre kynge,
His peple, and all his wel wyllynge,
Gef him gode lyfe, and gode endynge,
That we with merth mowe savely synge
Deo gratias :
Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria.
1 66
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
VI.— THE NOT-BROWNE MAYD.
The sentimental beauties of this ancient ballad have always recommended it to
readers of taste, notwithstanding the rust of antiquity which obscures the style and
expression. The text is formed from two copies found in two different editions of
Arnolde's Chronicle, a book supposed to be first printed about 1521.
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].
Be it ryght, or wrong, these men among
On women do complayne ;
Affyrmynge this, how that it is
A labour spent in vayne,
To love them wele ; for never a dele
They love a man agayne :
For late a man do what he can,
Theyr favour to attayne,
Yet, yf a newe do them persue,
Theyr first true lover than
Laboureth for nought ; for from her
thought
He is a banyshed man.
I say nat nay, but that all day
It is bothe writ and sayd
That womans faith is, as who sayth,
All utterly decayd ;
But, neverthelesse, ryght good wytnesse
In this case might be layd,
That they love true, and continue :
Recorde the Not-browne Mayde :
Which, when her love came, her to prove,
To her to make his mone,
Wolde nat depart ; for in her hart
She loved but hym alone.
Than betwaine us late us dyscus
What was all the manere
Betwayne them two : we wyll also
Tell all the payne, and/ivv,
That she was in. Nowe I begyn,
So that ye me answere ;
Wherfore, all ye that present be,
I pray you, gyve an ere.
"lam the knyght ; I come by nyght,
As secret as I can ;
Sayinge, Alas ! thus standeth the case,
I am a banyshed man."
SHE.
And I your wyll for to fulfyll
In this wyll nat refuse ;
Trustying to shewe, in wordes fewe,
That men have an yll use
(To theyr own shame) women to blame,
And causelesse them accuse ;
Therfore to you I answere nowe,
All women to excuse,—
Myne owne hart dere, with you what chere ?
I pray you, tell anone ;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
HE.
It standeth so ; a dede is do
Wherof grete harme shall growe :
My destiny is for to dy
A shamefull deth, I trowe ;
Or elles to fie : the one must be.
None other way I knowe,
THE NOT-BROWNE MA YD.
167
But to withdrawe as an outlawe,
And take me to my bowe.
Wherfore, adue, my owne hart true !
None other rede I can :
For I must to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.
SHE.
Lord, what is thys worldys blysse,
That changeth as the mone !
My somers day in lusty may
Is derked before the none.
1 here you say, farewell : Nay, nay,
We depart nat so sone.
Why say ye so ? wheder wyll ye go ?
Alas ! what have ye done ?
All my welfare to sorrowe and care
Sholde chaunge, yf ye were gone ;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
HE.
I can beleve, it shall you greve,
And somewhat you dystrayne ;
But, aftyrwarde, your paynes harde
Within a day or twayne
Shall sone aslake ; and ye shall take
Comfort to you agayne.
Why sholde ye ought? for, to make
thought,
Your labour were in vayne.
And thus I do ; and pray you to,
As hartely, as I can ;
For I must to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.
SHE.
Now, syth that ye have shewed to me
The secret of your mynde,
I shall be playne to you agayne,
Lyke as ye shall me fynde.
Syth it is so, that ye wyll go,
I wolle not leve behynde ;
Shall never be sayd, the Not-browne
Mayd
Was to her love unkynde :
Make you redy, for so am I,
Allthough it were anone ;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
HE.
Yet I you rede to take good hede
What men wyll thynke, and say :
Of yonge, and olde, it shall be tolde,
That ye be gone away,
Your wanton wyll for to fulfill,
In grene wode you to play ;
And that ye myght from your delyght
No lenger make delay.
Rather than ye sholde thus for me
Be called an yll woman,
Yet wolde I to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.
SHE.
Though it be songe of old and yonge,
That I sholde be to blame,
Theyrs be the charge, that speke so largo
In hurtynge of my name :
For I wyll prove, that faythfulle love
It is devoyd of shame ;
In your dystresse, and hevynesse,
To part with you, the same :
And sure all tho, that do not so,
True lovers are they none ;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
HE.
I counceyle you, remember howe,
It is no maydens lawe,
Nothynge to dout, but to renne out
To wode with an outlawe :
For ye must there in your hand bere
A bowe, redy to drawe ;
And, as a thefe, thus must you lyve,
Ever in drede and awe ;
Wherby to you grete harme myght
growe :
Yet had I lever than,
That I had to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.
1 68
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
SHE.
I thinke nat nay, but as ye say,
It is no maydens lore :
But love may make me for your sake,
As I have sayd before,
To come on fote, to hunt, and shote
To gete us mete in store ;
For so that I your company
May have, I aske no more :
From which to part, it maketh my hart
As colde as ony stone ;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
HE.
For an outlawe this is the lawe,
That men hym take and bynde ;
Without pyte, hanged to be,
And waver with the wynde.
If I had nede (as God forbede !),
What rescous coude ye fynde ?
Forsoth, I trowe, ye and your bowe
For fere wolde drawe behynde :
And no mcrvayle; for lytell avayle
Were in your counceyle than :
Wherfore I wyll to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.
SHE.
Ryght wele knowe ye, that women be
But feble for to fyght ;
No womanhede it is indede
To be bolde as a knyght :
Yet, in such fere yf that ye were
With enemyes day or nyght,
I wolde withstande, with bowe in hande,
To greve them as I myght,
And you to save ; as women have
From deth "men " many one :
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
HE.
Yet take good hede ; for ever I drede
That ye coude nat sustayne
The thornie wayes, the depe valeies,
The snowe, the frost, the rayne,
The colde, the hete : for dry, or wete,
We must lodge on the playne ;
And, us above, none other rofe
But a brake bush, or twayne :
Which sone sholde greve you, I beleve ;
And ye wolde gladly than
That I had to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.
SHE.
Syth I have here bene partynere
With you of joy and blysse,
I must also parte of your wo
Endure, as reson is :
Yet am I sure of one plesure ;
And, shortely, it is this :
That, where ye be, me semeth, pardi,
I coude nat fare amysse.
Without more speche, I you beseche
That we were sone agone ;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
HE.
If ye go thyder, ye must consyder,
Whan ye have lust to dyne,
There shall no mete be for you gete,
Nor drinke, bere, ale, ne wyne.
No shetes clene, to lye betwene,
Made of threde and twyne ;
None other house, but leves and bowes,
To cover your hed and myne,
O myne harte swete, this evyll dyete
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 archere,
As men say that ye be,
Ne may nat fayle of good vitayle,
Where is so grete plente :
And water clere of the ryvere
Shall be full swete to me ;
With which in hcle I shall ryght wele
Endure, as ye shall see ;
THE NOT-BROWNE MA YD.
169
And, or we go, a bedde or two
I can provyde anone ;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
HE.
Lo yet, before, ye must do more,
Yf ye wyll go with me :
As cut your here up by your ere,
Your kyrtel by the kne ;
With bowe in hande, for to withstande
Your enemyes, yf nede be :
And this same nyght before day-lyght,
To wode-warde wyll I fie.
Yf that ye wyll all this fulfill,
Do it shortely as ye can :
Els wyll I to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.
SHE.
I shall as nowe do more for you
Than longeth to womanhede ;
To shote my here, a bowe to bere,
To shote in tyme of nede.
O my swete mother, before all other
For you I have most drede :
But nowe, adue ! I must ensue,
Where fortune doth me lede.
All this make ye : Now let us fle ;
The day cometh fast upon ;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
HE.
Nay, nay, nat so ; ye shall nat go,
And I shall tell ye why, —
Your appetyght is to be lyght
Of love, I wele espy :
For, lyke as ye have sayed to me,
In lyke wyse hardely
Ye wolde answere whosoever it were,
In way of company.
It is sayd of olde, Sone hote, sone colde
And so is a woman.
Wherfore I to the wode wyll go,
Alone, a banyshed man.
SHE.
Yf ye take hede, it is no nede
Such wordes to say by me ;
For oft ye prayed, and longe assayed,
Or I you loved, parde :
And though that I of auncestry
A barons daughter be,
Yet have you proved howe I you loved
A squyer of lowe degre ;
And ever shall, whatso befall ;
To dy therfore* anone ;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
HE.
A barons chylde to be begylde !
It were a cursed dede ;
To be felawe with an outlawe !
Almighty God forbede !
Yet beter were, the pore squyere
Alone to forest yede,
Than ye sholde say another day,
That, by my cursed dede,
Ye were betray'd : Wherfore, good
mayd,
The best rede that I can,
Is, that I to the grene wode go.
Alone, a banyshed man.
SHE.
Whatever befall, I never shall
Of this thyng you upbrayd :
But yf ye go, and leve me so,
Than have ye me betrayd.
Remember you wele, how that ye dele ;
For, yf ye, as ye sayd,
Be so unkynde, to leve behynde,
Your love, the Not-browne Mayd,
Trust me truly, that I shall dy
Sone after ye be gone ;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
* i.e. for this cause ; though I were to die
for having loved you.
170
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
HE.
Yf that ye went, ye sholde repent ;
For in the forest nowe
I have purvayed me of a mayd,
Whom I love more than you ;
Another fayrere, than ever ye were,
I dare it wele avowe ;
And of you bothe eche sholde be wrothe
With other, as I trowe :
It were myne ese, to lyve in pese ;
So wyll I, yf I can ;
Wherfore I to the wode wyll go,
Alone, a banyshed man.
SHE.
Though in the wode I undyrstode
Ye had a paramour,
All this may nought remove my thought,
But that I wyll be your :
And she shall fynde me soft, and kynde,
And courteys every hour ;
Glad to fulfyll all that she wyll
Commaunde me to my power :
For had ye, lo, an hundred mo,
"Of them I wolde be one ; "*
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
HE.
Myne owne dere love, I se the prove
That ye be kynde, and true ;
Of mayde, and wyfe, in all my lyfe,
The best that ever I 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 reive.
Be nat dismayed ; whatsoever I sayd
To you, whan I began ;
I wyll nat to the grene wode go,
I am no banyshed man.
* So the Editor's MS. All the printed copies
read, " Yet wold I be that one."
SHE.
These tydings be more gladd to me,
Than to be made a quene,
Yf I were sure they sholde endure :
But it is often sene,
Whan men wyll breke promyse, they speke
The wordes on the splene.*
Ye shape some wyle me to begyle,
And stele from me, I wene :
Than were the case worse than it was.
And I more wo-begone :
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
HE.
Ye shall nat nede further to drede ;
I wyll nat dysparige
You (God defend !), syth ye descend
Of so grete a lynage.
Nowe undyrstande ; to Westmarlande,
Which is myne herytage,
I wyll you brynge ; and with a rynge,
By way of maryage
I wyll you take, and lady make,
As shortely as I can :
Thus have you won an erlys son,
And not a banyshed man.
AUTHOR.
Here may ye se, that women be
In love, meke, kynde, and stable
Late never man reprove them than,
Or call them variable ;
But, rather, pray God, that we may
To them be comfortable ;
Which sometyme proveth such, as he
loveth,
Yf they be charytable.
For syth men wolde that women sholde
Be meke to them each one ;
Moche more ought they to God obey,
And serve but hym alone.
*" On a sudden." C.Bell.
A BALLAD BY THE EARL RIVERS —CUPID'S ASSAULT. 171
VII.— A BALLAD BY THE EARL RIVERS.
The amiable light in which the character of Anthony Widville, the gallant Earl
Rivers, has been placed by the elegant author of the Catalogue of Noble Writers,
interests us in whatever fell from his pen. It is presumed, therefore, that the insertion
of this little sonnet will be pardoned, though it should not be found to have much
poetical merit. It is the only original poem known of that nobleman's, his more
voluminous works being only translations. And if we consider that it was written
during his cruel confinement in Pomfret Castle, a short time before his execution in
!4 8 3. Jt gives us a fine picture of the composure and steadiness with which this stout
earl beheld his approaching fate.
Sumwhat musyng, And more mornyng,
In remembring The unstydfastnes ;
This world being Of such tohelyng,
Me contrarieng, What may I gesse ?
I fere dowtles, Remediles,
Is now to sese My wofull chaunce.
[For unkyndness, Withouten less,
And no redress, Me doth avaunce,
With displesaunce, To my grevaunce,
And no suraunce Of remedy.]
Lo in this traunce, Now in substaunce,
Such is my dawnce, Wyllyng to dye.
Me thynkys truly, Bowndyn am I,
And that gretly, To be content :
Seyng playnly, Fortune doth wry
All contrary From myn entent.
My lyff was lent Me to on intent,
Hytt is ny spent. Welcome fortune !
But I ne went Thus to be shcnt,
But sho hit ment ; such is hur won.
VIII.— CUPID'S ASSAULT: BY LORD VAUX.
It is supposed with much reason that this poem was not written by Sir Nicholas
Vaux, who died 1523, as some have believed, but by a Lord Vaux mentioned by
the old writers as a poet contemporary with or rather posterior to Sir Thomas Wyatt
and the Earl of Surrey, who neither of them made any figure until after the death of
the first Lord Nicholas Vaux.
Thomas Lord Vaux of Harrowden in Northamptonshire was summoned to Parlia-
ment in 1531. When he died, does not appear, but he probably lived to the latter end
of Queen Mary's reign, and is most likely the poet who wrote the following ballad.
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 thcrfore.
There sawe I Love upon the wall,
How he his banner did display :
Alarme, alarme, he gan to call :
And bad his souldiours kcpc aray.
The armes, the which that Cupide bare,
Were pearced hartes with tcares
besprent,
In silver and sable to declare
The stedfast love, he alwayes ment.
There might you se his band all drest
In colours like to white and blacke,
With powder and with pelletes prest
To bring the fort to spoile and sacke.
Good-wyll, the maister of the shot,
Stode in the rampire brave and proude.
For spence of pouder he spared not
Assault ! assault ! to crye aloude.
172
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
There might you heare the cannons rore ;
Eche pece discharged a lovers loke ;
Which had the power to rent, and tore
In any place whereas they toke.
And even with the trumpettes sowne
The scaling ladders were up set,
And Beautie walked up and downe,
With bow in hand, and arrowes whet.
Then first Desire began to scale,
And shrouded him under "his" targe ;
As one the worthiest of them all,
And aptest for to geve the charge.
Then pushed souldiers with their pikes,
And halberdes with handy strokes ;
The argabushe in fleshe it lightes,
And duns the ayre with misty smokes.
And, as it is the souldiers use
When shot and powder gins to want,
I hanged up my flagge of truce,
And pleaded up for my lives grant.
When Fansy thus had made her breche,
And Beauty entred with her band,
With bagge and baggage, sely wretch,
I yelded into Beauties hand.
Then Beautie bad to blow retrete,
And every souldier to retire,
And mercy wyll'd with spede to fet
Me captive bound as prisoner.
Madame, quoth I, sith that this day
Hath served you at all assayes,
I yeld to you without delay
Here of the fortresse all the kayes.
And sith that I have ben the marke,
At whom you shot at with your eye ;
Nedes must you with your handy warke,
Or salve my sore, or let me die.
IX.— SIR ALDINGAR.
This old fabulous legend is given from the Editor's folio MS. with conjectural
emendations, and the insertion of some additional stanzas to supply and complete the
story.
It has been suggested that the author of this poem seems to have had in his eye the
story of Gunhilda, who is sometimes called Eleanor, and who was married to the
Emperor (here called King) Henry.
Sir Walter Scott regards Sir Aldingar as founded on the kindred ballad of Sir
Hugh le Blond. ' ' The incidents, " he says, ' ' are nearly the same in both ballads, except-
ing that in Aldingar an angel combats for the queen instead of a mortal champion."
But it appears that it was not simply an angel who fought for Queen Elinor, but
that the author has intended the relief to come from the " Christchild, " the legends
of whom were in those days very prevalent among the mediaeval Christians. And
this supposition is greatly favoured by the last act of the child-champion being to
touch the lazar or leper, who is immediately healed of his leprosy.
Our king he kept a false stewarde,
Sir Aldingar they him call ;
A falser steward than he was one,
Servde not in bower nor hall.
He wolde have taken our comelye queene,
Her deere worshippe to betraye :
Our queene she was a good woman,
And evermore said him naye.
Sir Aldingar was wrothe in his mind,
With her hee was never content,
Till traiterous meanes he colde devyse,
In a fyer to have her brent.
SIX ALDINGAR.
173
There came a lazar to the kings gate,
A lazar both blinde and lame :
He tooke the lazar upon his backe,
Him on the queenes bed has layne.
" Lye still, lazar wheras thou lyest,
Looke thou goe not hence away ;
He make thee a whole man and a sound
In two howers of the day."*
Then went him forth sir Aldingar,
And hyed him to our king :
" If I might have grace, as I have space,
Sad ty dings I could bring."
Say on, say on, sir Aldingar,
Saye on the soothe to mee.
" Our queene hath chosen a new new love,
And shee will have none of thee.
" If shee had chosen a right good knight,
The lesse had beene her shame ;
But she hath chose her a lazar man,
A lazar both blinde and lame."
If this be true, thou Aldingar,
The tyding thou tellest to me,
Then will I make thee a rich rich knight,
Rich both of golde and fee.
But if it be false, sir Aldingar,
As God nowe grant it bee !
Thy body, I sweare by the holye rood,
Shall hang on the gallows tree.
He brought our king to the queenes
chamber,
And opend to him the dore.
A lodlye love, king Harry says,
For our queene dame Elinore t
If thou were a man, as thou art none,
Here on my sword thoust dye ;
But a payre of new gallowes shall
built,
And there shalt thou hang on hye.
be
* He probably insinuates that the king should
heal him by his power ot touching for the king's
evil.
Forth then hyed our king, I wysse,
And an angry man was hee ;
And soone he found queene Elinore,
That bride so bright of blee.
Now God you save, our queene, madame,
And Christ you save and see ;
Heere you have chosen a newe newe love,
And you will have none of mee.
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.
Therfore a fyer there shall be built,
And brent all shalt thou bee, —
" Now out alacke ! said our comly queene,
Sir Aldingar's false to mee.
Now out alacke ! sayd our comlye queene,
My heart with griefe will brast.
I had thought sivevens had never been
true ;
I had proved them true at last.
I dreamt in my sweven on thursday eve,
In my bed whereas I laye,
I dreamt a grype and a grimlic beast
Had carryed my crowne awaye ;
My gorged and my kirtle of golde,
And all my faire head-geere :
And he wold worrye me with his tush
And to his nest y-beare :
Saving there came a little 'gray* hawke,
A merlin him they call,
Which untill the grounde did strike the
grype.
That dead he downe did fall.
Giffe I were a man, as now I am none,
A battell wold I prove,
To fight with that traitor Aldingar ;
Att him I cast my glove.
But seeing Ime able noe battell to make,
My liege, grant me a knight
174
KELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
To fight with that traitor Sir Aldingar,
To maintaine me in my right."
" Now forty dayes I will give thee
To seeke thee a knight therin :
If thou find not a knight in forty dayes,
Thy bodye it must brenn."
Then shee sent east, and shee sent west,
By north and south bedcene :
But never a champion colde she find,
Wolde fight with that knight soe keene.
Now twenty dayes were spent and gone,
Noe helpe there might be had ;
Many a teare shed our comelye queene,
And aye her hart was sad.
Then came one of the queenes damselles,
And knelt upon her knee,
" Cheare up, cheare up, my gracious dame,
I trust yet helpe may be :
And here I will make mine avowe,
And with the same me binde ;
That never will I return to thee,
Till I some helpe may finde."
Then forth she rode on a faire palfraye
Oer hill and dale about :
But never a champion colde she finde,
Wolde fighte with that knight so stout.
And nowe the daye drewe on a pace,
When our good queene must dye ;
All woe-begone was that faire damselle,
When she found no helpe was nye.
All woe-begone was that faire damselle,
And the salt teares fell from her eye :
When lo ! as she rode by a rivers side,
She met with a tinye boye.
A tinye boye she mette, God wot,
All clad in mantle of golde ;
He seemed noe more in mans likenesse,
Then a childe of four yeere olde.
Why grieve you, damselle faire, he sayd,
And what doth cause you moane ?
The damsell scant wolde deigne a looke,
But fast she pricked on.
Yet turn againe, thou faire damselle,
And greete thy queene from mee :
When bale is att hyest, boote is nyest,
Nowe helpe enoughe may bee.
Bid her remember what she dreamt
In her bedd, wheras shee laye ;
How when the grype and the grimly beast
Wolde have carried her crowne awaye,
Even then there came the little gray hawke,
And saved her from his clawes :
Then bidd the queene be merry at hart,
For heaven will fende her cause.
Back then rode that faire damselle,
And her hart it lept for glee :
And when she told her gracious dame,
A gladd woman then was shee.
But when the appointed day was coma
No helpe appeared nye :
Then woeful, woeful was her hart,
And the teares stood in her eye.
And nowe a fyer was built of wood ;
And a stake was made of tree ;
And 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,
Come forth, or shee must dye.
No knight stood forth, no knight there
came,
No helpe appeared nye :
And now the fyer was lighted up,
Queen Elinor she must dye.
SIX ALDINGAR.
i7S
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,
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,
He laughed, and scoffed, and turned his
backe,
And weened he had been beguylde.
"Now turne, now turne thee, Aldingar,
And eyther fighte or flee ;
I trust that I shall avenge the wronge,
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.
"Stand up, stand up, thou false trait6r,
And fight upon thy feete,
For and thou thrive, as thou begin'st,
Of height wee shall be meete."
A priest, a priest, sayes Aldingar,
While I am a man alive.
A priest, a priest, sayes Aldingar,
Me for to houzle and shrive.
I wolde have taken our comlie queene,
Bot slice wolde never consent
Then I thought to betraye her unto our
kinge
In a fyer to have her brent.
There came a lazar to the kings gates,
A lazar both blind and lame ;
I tooke the lazar upon my backe,
And on her bedd had him layne.
Then ranne I to our comlye king,
These tidings sore to tell.
But ever alacke ! sayes Aldingar,
Falsing never doth well.
Forgive, forgive me, queene, madame,
The short time I must live.
" Novve Christ forgive thee, Aldingar,
As freely I forgive."
Here take thy queene, our king Harrye,
And love her as thy life,
For never had a king in Christentye
A truer and fairer wife.
King Henrye ran to claspe his queene,
And loosed her full sone :
Then turnd to look for the tinye boye ;
The boye was vanisht and gone.
But first he had touchd the lazar man,
And stroakt him with his hand :
The lazar under the gallowes tree
All whole and sounde did stand.
The lazar under the gallowes tree
Was comelye, straight, and tall ;
King Henrye made him his head stew&rde,
To wayte withinn his hall.
1 76 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETR Y.
X.— THE GABERLUNZIE MAN.
A SCOTTISH SONG.
Tradition informs us that the author of this song was King James V. of
Scotland. This prince (whose character for wit and libertinism bears a great
resemblance to that of his gay successor Charles II.) was noted for strolling about
his dominions in disguise, and for his frequent gallantries with country girls. Two
adventures of this kind he hath celebrated with his own pen, viz. in the ballad of
The Gabcrlnnzie Man ; and in another, entitled The Jolly Beggar.
Sir Walter Scott says of James V. that " he was a monarch whose good and
benevolent intentions often rendered his romantic freaks venial if not respectable,
since from his anxious attention to the interests of the lower and most oppressed
class of his subjects, he was popularly termed the King of the Commons. For the
purpose of seeing that justice was regularly administered, and frequently from the
less justifiable motive of gallantry, he used to traverse the vicinage of his several palaces
in various disguises. The two excellent comic songs, entitled The Gaberlunzie Man,
and We'll gae nae mair a-roving, are said to have been founded upon the success of
his amorous adventures when travelling in the disguise of a beggar. The latter is
perhaps the best comic ballad in any language."
The panky auld Carle came ovir the lee
Wi' mony good-eens and days to mee,
Saying, Goodwife, for zour courtesie,
Will ze lodge a silly poor man ?
The night was cauld, the carle was wat,
And down azont the ingle he sat ; *
My dochters shoulders he gan to clap,
And cadgily ranted and sang.
O wow ! quo he, were I as free,
As first when I saw this countrie,
How blyth and merry wad I bee !
And I wad nevir think lang.f
He grew canty, and she grew fain ;
But little did her auld minny ken
What thir slee twa togither were say'n,
When wooing they were sa thrang.
* Beyond the fire ; the fire was in the middle
of the room.
t An expression meaning to grieve. " You'll
not think long" is constantly used in the north
of Ireland for "You won't distress yourself,"
"You won't grieve."
And O ! quo he, ann ze were as black,
As evir the crown of your dadyes hat,
Tis I wad lay thee by my back,
And awa wi' me thou sould gang.
And O ! quoth she, ann I were as white,
As evir the snaw lay on the dike,
lid dead me braw, and lady-like,
And awa with thee lid gang.
Between the twa was made a plot ;
They raise a wee before the cock.
And wyliely they shot the lock,
And fast to the bent are they gane.
Up the morn the auld wife raise,
And at her leisure put on her claiths,
Syne to the servants bed she gaes
To speir for the silly poor man.
She gaed to the bed, whair the beggar
lay,
The strae was cauld, he was away,
She clapt her hands, cryd, Dulefu' day !
For some of our gtir will be gane.
ON THOMAS, LORD CROMWELL.
177
Some ran to coffer, and some to kist,
But nought was stown that could be mist.
She dancid her lane, cryd, Praise be blest,
I have lodgd a leal poor man.
Since naithings awa, as we can learn,
The kirns to kirn, and milk to earn,
Gae butt the house, lass, and waken my
bairn,
And bid her come quickly ben.
The servant gaed where the dochter lay,
The sheets was cauld, she was away,
And fast to her goodwife can say,
Shes aff with the gaberlunzie-man.
O fy gar ride, and fy gar rin,
And hast ze, find these traitors agen ;
For shees be burnt, and hees be slein,
The wearyfou gaberlunzie-man.
Some rade upo horse, some ran a fit,
The wife was wood, and out o' her wit ;
She could na gang, nor yet could she sit,
But ay did curse and did ban.
Mean time far hind out oivre the lee,
For snug in a glen, where nane could see,
The twa, with kindlie sport and glee,
Cut frae a new cheese a ivhang.
The privitig was gude, it pleas'd them
baith,
To lo'e her for ay, he gae her his aith.
Quo she, to leave thee, I will be laith,
My winsome gaberlunzie-man.
O kend my minny I were wi' zou,
Illfardly wad she crook her mou,
Sic a poor man sheld nevir trow,
Aftir the gaberlunzie-mon.
My dear, quo he, zee're zet owre zonge ;
And hae na learnt the beggars tonge,
To follow me frae toun to toun,
And carrie the gaberlunzie on.
Wi' kauk and keel, I'll win zour bread,
And spindles and whorles for them wha
need,
Whilk is a gentil trade indeed
The gaberlunzie to carrie — o.
Ill bow my leg and crook my knee,
And draw a black clout owre my ee,
A criple or blind they will cau me :
While we sail sing and be merrie— o.
XI.— ON THOMAS, LORD CROMWELL.
The ballad seems to have been composed between the time of Cromwell's commit-
ment to the Tower, June n, 1540, and that of his being beheaded July 28 following.
Notwithstanding our libeller, Cromwell had many excellent qualities : his great
fault was too much obsequiousness to the arbitrary will of his master. The original
copy, printed at London in 1540, is entitled, "A newe ballade made of Thomas
Crumwel, called Trolle on away. " To it is prefixed this distich by way of burthen :
" Trolle on away, trolle on awaye.
Synge heave and howe rombelowc trolle on away."
Both man and chylde is glad to here
tell
Of that false traytoure Thomas Crumwell,
Now that he is set to learne to spell.
Synge trolle on away.
When fortune lokyd the in thy face,
Thou haddyst fayre tyme, but thou
lackydyst grace ;
Thy cofers with golde thou fyllydst a pace.
Synge, etc.
M
i 7 8
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
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, etc.
Both crust and crumme came thorowe thy
handes,
Thy marchaundysesayled over the sandes,
Therfore nowe thou art layde fast in
bandes.
Synge, etc.
Fyrste when kynge Henry, God saue his
grace !
Perceyud myschefe kyndlyd in thy face,
Then it was tyme to purchase the a place.
Synge, etc.
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, etc.
Thou dyd not remembre, false heretyke,
One God, one fayth, and one kynge
catholyke,
For thou hast bene so long a scysmatyke.
Synge, etc.
Thou woldyst not learne to knowe these
thre ;
But euer was full of iniquite :
Wherfore all this lande hathe ben
troubled with the.
Synge, etc.
All they, that were of the new trycke,
Agaynst the churche thou baddest them
stycke ;
Wherfore nowe thou haste touchyd the
quycke,
Synge, etc.
Bothe sacramentes and sacramentalles
Thou woldyst not suffre within thy walles ;
Nor let vs praye for all chrysten soules.
Synge, etc.
Of what generacyon thou were no tonge
can tell,
Whyther of Chayme, or Syschemell,
Or else sent vs frome the deuyll of hell.
Synge, etc.
Thou woldest neuer to vertue applye,
But couetyd euer to clymme to hye,
And nowe haste thou trodden thy shoo
awrye.
Synge, etc.
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, etc.
Thou myghtest have learned thy cloth to
flocke
Upon thy gresy fullers* stocke ;
Wherfore lay downe thy heade vpon this
blocke.
Synge, etc.
Yet saue that soule, that God hath bought,
And for thy carcas care thou nought,
Let it suffre payne, as it hath wrought.
Synge, etc.
God saue kyng Henry with all his power.
And prynce Edwarde that goodly flowre,
With al hys lordes of great honoure.
Synge trolle on awaye, syng trolle
on away.
Hevye and how rombelowe trolle on
awaye.
The foregoing piece gave rise to a
poetic controversy, which was carried on
through a succession of seven or eight
ballads written for and against Lord
Cromwell. These are all preserved in the
archives of the Antiquarian Society.
* 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.
HARP ALUS.
179
XII.— HARPALUS.
AN ANCIENT ENGLISH PASTORAL.
This beautiful poem, which is perhaps the first attempt at pastoral writing in our
language, is preserved among the Songs and Sonnettes of the Earl of Surrey, etc., 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.
Though written perhaps near half a century before the Shepherd's Calendar,* this
will be found far superior to any of those eclogues, in natural unaffected sentiments,
in simplicity of style, in easy flow of versification, and all other beauties of pastoral
poetry. Spenser ought to have profited more by so excellent a model.
Phylida was a faire mayde,
As fresh as any flowre ;
Whom Harpalus the herdman prayde
To be his paramour.
Harpalus, and eke Corin,
Were herdmen both yfere :
And Phylida could twist and spinne,
And thereto sing full clere.
But Phylida was all t6 coye,
For Harpalus to winne :
For Corin was her onely joye,
Who forst her not a pinne.
How often would she flowers twine ?
How often garlandes make
Of couslips and of colombine?
And al for Corin's sake.
But Corin, he had haukes to lure,
And forced more the field :
Of lovers lawe he toke no cure ;
For once he was begilde.
Harpalus prevailed nought,
His labour all was lost ;
For he was fardest from her thought,
And yet he loved her most.
Therefore waxt he both pale and leane,
And drye as clot of clay :
His fleshe it was consumed cleane ;
His colour gone away.
His beard it had not long be shave ;
His heare hong all unkempt :
A man most fit even for the grave,
Whom spitefull love had spent.
His eyes were red, and all " forewacht ; "
His face besprent with teares :
It semde unhap had him long "hatcht,"
In mids of his dispaires.
His clothes were blacke, and also bare ;
As one forlorne was he ;
Upon his head alwayes he ware
A wreath of wyllow tree.
His beastes he kept upon the hyll,
And he sate in the dale ;
And thus with sighes and sorrowes shril,
He gan to tell his tale.
On Harpalus ! (thus would he say)
Unhappiest under sunne !
The cause of thine unhappy day,
By love was first begunne.
* First published in 1579.
iso
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
For thou wentest first by sute to seeke
A tigre to make tame,
That settes not by thy love a lecke ;
But makes thy griefe her game.
As easy it were for to convert
The frost into " a " flame ;
As for to turne a frowarde hert,
Whom thou so faine wouldst frame.
Corin he liveth carelesse :
He leapes among the leaves :
He eates the frutes of thy redresse :
Thou "reapst," he takes the sheaves.
My beastes, a whyle your foode refraine,
And harke your herdmans sounde ;
Whom spitefull love, alas ! hath slaine,
Through-^W with many a wounde.
happy be ye, beastes wilde,
That here your pasture takes :
1 se that ye be not begilde
Of these your faithfull makes.
The hart he feedeth by the hinde :
The bucke harde by the do :
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
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 to deare.
What reason is that crueltie
With beautie should have part ?
Or els that such great tyranny
Should dwell in womans hart ?
I see therefore to shape my death
She cruelly is prest ;
To th' ende that I may want my breath :
My dayes been at the best.
O Cupide, graunt this my request,
And do not stoppe thine eares,
That she may feele within her brest
The paines of my dispaires :
Of Corin " who " is carelesse,
That she may crave her fee :
As I have done in great distresse,
That loved her faithfully.
But since that I shal die her slave ;
Her slave, and eke her thrall :
Write you, my frendes, upon my grave
This chaunce that is befall.
" Here lieth unhappy Harpalus
By cruell love now slaine :
Whom Phylida unjustly thus
Hath murdred with disdaine."
ROBIN AND MAKYNE.
181
XIII.— ROBIN AND MAKYNE.
AN ANCIENT SCOTTISH PASTORAL.
Mr. Robert Henryson (to whom we are indebted for this poem) appears to so
much advantage among the writers of eclogue, that we are sorry we can give little
other account of him besides what is contained in the following eloge, written by
W. Dunbar, a Scottish poet, who lived about the middle of the 16th century :
'• In Dumferling, he [Death] hath tane Broun,
With gude Mr. Robert Henryson."
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 7norall Fabillis of Esop, compylit be Maister Robert Henrisoun, scolmaister
of Dunfermling, 1571." Harleian MSS. 3865, § 1.
The poem as it here stands has been revised and amended by Allan Ramsay, from
whose Ever-green it is chiefly printed.
Robin sat on the gude grene hill,
Keipand a flock olfie,
Quhen mirry Makyne said him till,
" O Robin rew on me :
I haif thee luivt baith loud and still,
Thir towmonds twa or thre ;
My dale in dern bot^/^thou dill,
Doubtless but dreid 111 die. "
Robin replied, Now by the rude,
Naithing of luve I knaw,
But keip my sheip undir yon wod :
Lo quhair they raik on raw.
Quhat can have mart thee in thy mude,
Thou Makyne to me schaw ;
Or quhat is luve, or to be lude?
Fain wald I leir that law.
"The law of luve gin thou wald leir,
Tak thair an A, B, C ;
Be heynd, courtas, and fair of feir,
Wyse, hardy, kind, and frie,
Sac that nae danger do the deir,
Quhat dule in dern thou drie ;
Press ay to pleis, and blyth appeir,
Be patient and privie."
Robin, he answert her againe,
I wat not quhat is luve ;
But I haif marvel in certaine
Quhat makes thee thus wanrufe.
The wedder is fair, and I am fain ;
My sheep gais hail abuve ;
And sould we pley us on the plain,
They wald us baith repruve.
' ' Robin, tak tent unto my tale,
And wirk all as I reid ;
And thou sail haif my heart all hale,
Eik and my maiden-heid :
Sen God, he sendis bute for bale,
And for murning remeid,
/'dern with thee bot gif I dale.
Doubtless I am but deid.'
Makyne, to-morn be this ilk tyde,
Gif ye will meit me heir,
Maybe my sheip may gang besyde,
Quhyle we have liggd full neir ;
But maugre haif I, gi/l byde,
Frae thay begin to steir,
Quhat lyes on heart I will nocht hyd,
Then Makyne mak gude cheir.
1552
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
' ' Robin, thou reivs me of my rest ;
' ' Robin, thou hast heard sung and say,
I hive bot thee alane."
In gests and storys auld,
Makyne, adieu ! the sun goes west,
The man that will not when he may,
The day is neir-hand gane.
Sail have nocht when he wald.
" Robin, in dule I am so drest,
I pray to heaven baith nicht and day,
That luve will be my bane."
Be eiked their cares sae cauld,
Makyn, gae luve quhair-eir ye list,
That presses first with thee to play
For leman I luid nane.
Be forrest, firth, or fauld."
' ' Robin, I stand in sic a style,
Makyne, the nicht is soft and dry,
I sich and that full sair."
The wether warm and fair,
Makyne, I have bene here this quyle ;
And the grene wod richt neir-hand by,
At hame I wish I were.
To walk attowre all where :
' ' Robin, my hinny, talk and smyle,
There may nae janglers us espy,
Gif thou will do nae mair."
That is in luve contrair ;
Makyne, som other man beguyle,
Therin, Makyne, baith you and I
For hameward I will fare.
Unseen may mak repair.
Syne Robin on his ways he went,
" Robin, that warld is now away,
As light as leif on tree ;
And quyt brocht till an end :
But Makyne murnt and made lament,
And nevir again thereto, f erf ay,
Scho trow'd him neir to see.
Sail it be as thou wend ;
Robin he brayd attowre the bent :
For of my pain thou made but play ;
Then Makyne cried on hie,
I words in vain did spend :
" Now may thou sing, for I am shent !
As thou hast done, sae sail I say,
Quhat ailis luve at me ? "
Murn on, I think to mend."
Makyne went hame withouten fail,
Makyne, the hope of all my heil.
And weirylie could weip ;
My heart on thee is set ;
Then Robin in a full fair dale
I'll evermair to thee be leil,
Assemblit all his sheip.
Quhyle I may live but left,
Be that some part of Makyne's ail,
Never to fail as /ethers feill,
Out-throw his heart could creip ;
Quhat grace so eir I get.
Hir fast he followt to assail,
" Robin, with thee I will not dcill ;
And till her tuke gude keip.
Adieu, for this we met."
Abyd, abyd, thou fair Makyne,
Makyne went hameward blyth enough,
A word for ony thing ;
Outowre the holt is hair ;
For all my luve, it sail be thyne,
Pure Robin murnd, and Makyne lcugh •,
Withouten departing.
Scho sang, and he sicht sair :
All hale thy heart for //// have myne,
And so left him bayth wo and wrcucli,
Is all my coveting ;
In dolor and in care,
My sheip to morn quhyle houris nyne,
Keipand his herd under a heuch,
Will need cf nae keiping.
Amang the rushy gair.
GENTLE HERDSMAN, TELL TO ME.
183
XIV.— GENTLE HERDSMAN, TELL TO ME.
DIALOGUE BETWEEN A PILGRIM AND HERDSMAN.
The scene of this beautiful old ballad is laid near Walsingham, in Norfolk, where was
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 devotions practised there in his time.
This poem is printed from a copy in the Editor's folio MS. which had greatly suffered
by the hand of time ; but vestiges of several of the lines remaining, some conjectural
supplements have been attempted, which, for greater exactness, are in this one ballad
distinguished by italics.
Gentle heardsman, tell to me,
Of curtesy I thee pray,
Unto the towne of Walsingham
Which is the right and ready way.
'* Unto the towne of Walsingham
The way is hard for to be gon ;
And verry crooked are those pathes
For you to find out all alone. "
Weere the miles doubled thrise,
And the way never soe ill,
Itt were not enough for mine offence ;
Itt is soe grievous and soe ill.
"Thy yeeares are young, thy face is faire,
Thy witts are weake, thy thoughts are
greene ;
Time hath not given thee leave, as yett,
For to committ so great a sinne."
Yes, heardsman , yes, soe woldest thou say,
If thou knewest soe much as I ;
My witts, and thoughts, and all the rest,
Have well deserved for to dye.
I am not what I secme to bee,
My clothes and sexe doe differ farr :
I am a woman, woe is me !
Born to greeffe and irksome care.
For my beloved, and well-beloved,
My wayward cruelty could kill:
And though my teares will nought avail,
Most dcarcly I bewail him still.
He was the flower of noble wights,
None ever more sincere colde bee ;
Of comely mien and shape hee was,
And tenderly e hee loved mee.
When thus I saw he loved me well,
I grewe so proudc his pains to see.
That I, who did not know myselfe,
Thought scome of such a youth as hee.
And grew soe coy and nice to please,
As women's lookes are often soe,
He might not kisse, nor hand forsooth,
Unlesse I willed him soe to doe.
Thus being wearyed with delaye
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,
And sacriffice my tender age ;
And every day He begg my bread,
To undergoe this pilgrimage.
Thus every day I fast and pray,
And ever will doe till I dye ;
And gett me to some secrett place,
For soe did hee, and soe will I.
1 84
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.
Now, gentle heardsman, aske no more,
But keepe my secretts I thee pray ;
Unto the towne of Walsingham
Show me the right and readye way.
' ' Now goe thy wayes, and God before 1
For he must ever guide thee still :
Turae downe that dale, the right hand path,
And soe, faire pilgrim, fare thee well ! "
XV.— KING EDWARD IV. AND TANNER OF TAMWORTH
Was a story of great fame among our ancestors. The author of the Art of English
Poesic, 1589, 4to, seems to speak of it as a real fact.
The following text is selected (with such other corrections as occurred) from two copies
in black letter. The one in the Bodleyan Library, entitled, ' ' A merrie, pleasant, and
delectable historie betweene Ki?tg Edward the Fourth and a Tanner of Tamworth,
etc., 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.
In summer time, when leaves grow
greene,
And blossoms bedecke the tree,
King Edward wolde a hunting ryde,
Some pastime for to see.
With hawke and hounde he made him
bowne.
With home, and eke with bowe ;
To Drayton Basset he tooke his waye,
With all his lordes a rowe.
And he had ridden ore dale and downe
By eight of clocke in the day,
When he was ware of a bold tanner,
Come ryding along the waye.
A fayre russet coat the tanner had on
Fast buttoned under his chin,
And under him a good cow-hide,
And a mare of four shilling. *
* 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."
Vide Harleian Catalogue, 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.
Nowe stand you still, my good lordes all,
Under the grene wood spraye ;
And I will wend to yonder fellowe,
To weet what he will saye.
God speede, God speede thee, said our
king.
Thou art welcome, sir, sayd hee.
"The readyest waye to Drayton Basset
I praye thee to shewe to mee."
*' To Drayton Basset woldst thou goe,
Fro the place where thou dost stand ?
The next payre of gallowes thou comest
unto,
Turne in upon thy right hand."
That is an unreadye waye, sayd our king,
Thou doest but jest I see ;
Nowe shewe me out the nearest waye
And I pray thee wend with mee.
Awaye with a vengeance ! quoth the
tanner :
I hold thee out of thy witt :
Alldaye have I rydden on Brocke my mare,
And I am fasting yett.
' ' Go with me downe to Drayton Basset,
No daynties will we spare ;
KING EDWARD IV. AND TANNER OF TAMWORTH. 185
All daye shalt thou eate and drinke of the
best,
And I will paye thy fare."
Gramercye for nothing, the tanner reply de,
Thou payest no fare of min 
