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. 18. 









Essay on the Metre of Pierce Plowman's Visions 
The Complaiat of Conscience . . . 
Plain Truth and Blind Ignorance . . 

The Wandering Jew 

The Lye, by Sir Walter Raleigh . . 
Verses (viz. two sonnets) by K. James 1. 
K John and the Abbot of Canterbury . 
You meaner Beauties, by Sir H. Wottou 
The Old and Young Courtier . . • 
Sir John Suckling's Campaigne. . . 
To Althea from Prison. By Col. Lovelace 
The Downfall of Charing-Cross . . , 
Loyalty Confined. By Sir Roger L Estrange 
Verses" by King Charles I. . • • • 
The Sale of Rebellious House-hold Stutt 
The Baffled Knight, or Lady's Policy . 
Why so pale? By Sir John Suckling 
' Old Tom of Bedlam. Mad song the first 

 The Distracted Puritan. Mad Song the second 

 The Lunatic Lover. Mad Song the third . 

 The Lady Distracted with Love. Mad Song 
The Distracted Lover. Mad Song the htth 
The Frantic Lady. Mad Song the sixth . 
Lilli Burlero. By Lord Wharton . . • _ 
The Braes of Yarrow. In imitation of the ancient 

By Vv^. Hamilton . . . • *, * 
Admiral Hosier's Ghost. .By Mr. Glover 
Jemmy Dawson. By Mr. Shenstone . 

Essay on the Ancient Metrical Romances, Poems on King Arthur, ^^ 































1. The Boy and the Mantle ... 

2, The Marriage of Sir Gawaine . . 





3. King Ryence's Challenge 121 

4. King Arthur's Death. A Fragment 124 

5. The Legend of King Arthur 130 

*?, A Dyttie to Hey Duwae 133 

7. Glasgerion 134 

8. Old Robin of Portingale 137 

9. Child Waters 141 

10. Phillida and Corydon. By Nich. Breton 147 

11. Little Jlusgrave and Lady Barnard 149 

12. Tha Ew-bughts Marion. A Scottish Song 153 

13. The Knight and Shepherd's Daughter 154 

14. The Shepherd's Address to his Muse. By N. Breton. ... 157 

15. Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor 159 

16. Cupid and Campaspe. By John Lilye 161 

17. The Lady turned Serving-man 162 

18. Gil [Child] Morrice. A Scottish Ballad 164 


1. The Legend of Sir Guy 173 

2. Guy and Amarant. By Sam. Rowlands 178 

o. The Auld Good-Man. A Scottish Song . 184 

. 4. Fair Margaret and Sweet William 186 

, 5. Barbara Allen's Cruelty 18i) 

6. Sweet William's Ghost. A Scottish Ballad 191 

7. Sir John Grehme and Barbara Allen. Ditto 193 

8. The Bailitf's Daughter of Islington 194 

9. The Willow Tree. A Pastoral Dialogue 196 

10. The Lady's Fall 197 

11. Waly, walv, Love be bonny, A Scottish Song 202 

12. The Wanton Wife of Bath 204 

13. The Bride's Burial 208 

14. Dulcina 212 

15. The Lady Isabella's Tragedy 213 

16. A Hue and Cry after Cujii(i. By Ben Jonson 216 

17. The King of France's Daughter 218 

18. The Sweet Neglect. By Ben Jonson 225 

19. The Children in the Wood 225 

20. A Lover of late was I 230 

21. The King and the Miller of Mansfield 231 

22. The Shepherd's Resolution. By Geo. Wither 239 

23. (Jueen 1 lido, or the Wandering Pnnce of Troy 241 

24. Tiie Witches' Song. By Ben Jonson 245 

2.'). Itoliin Good-fellow 247 

26. The Fairy Queen 251 

27. The Fairies' Farewell. By Dr. Corbet 25a 



1. The Birth of St. George 25S 

2. St. George and the Dragon ..... 266 

3. Love will find out the Way 274- 

4. Lord Thomas and Fair Aniiet. A Scottish Ballad .... 275 

5. Unfading Beauty. By Tho. Carew 279 

6. George Barnwell 279 

7. The Stedfast Shepherd. By George Wither 290 

8. The Spanish Virgin, or Effects of Jealou>y 292 

9. Jealousy, Tyrant of the Mind. By Dryden ...... 296 

10. Constant Penelope ' 297 

11. To Lucasta, on going to the Wars. By Col. Lovelace . . . 300 

12. Valentine and Ursine 301 

13. The Dragon of Wantley 313 

14. St. George for England. The first Part 320 

15. St. George for England. The second Part. By J. Gribb . . 324 

16. Margaret's Ghost. By David Mallet ..." 337 

17. Lucy and Colin. By Thomas Tickell 340 

18. The Boy and the Mantle, revised, &c. ...,.,., 342 

19. The ancient Fragment o» the Marriage of Sir Gaw line . . . 349 
Gloisaiy . . . . .' . . .... 357 

ladiT. . . , . 381 

An ordinary Song or Ballad, that is the delight of the common people, 
cannot fail to please all such readers as are not unqualified for the 
entertainment by their affectation or their ignorance ; and the reason 
is plain, because the same paintings of Nature which recommend it 
to the most ordinary reader, will appear beautiful to the most re* 

Addison, in Spectator, No. 70. 






CI;e Complaint of Con^cttiuc. 

I SHALL begin this Sixtli Book with an old allegoric Satire : a mannec 
ot >noralizing, whi-^h, if it was not introduced by the author o» 
Pierce Plowmayis Visions, '"as at least chiefly brought into repute by 
that ancient satirist. It is not so generally known that the kind of 
verse used in this ballad hath any affinity with the peculiar metre of 
that writer, for which reason I shall throw together some cursoi y remarks 
on that very singular species of versification, the nature of which has 
been so little understood. 

LN PIEECfi plowman's VISIONS. 

We learn from Wormius,' that the ancient Islandic poets used a 
great variety of measures : he mentions 136 diftereut kinds, without 
including rhyme, or a correspondence of final syllables : yet this was 
occasionally used, as appears from the Ode of Egil, which Wormius 
hath inserted in his book. 

He hath analyzed the structure of one of these kinds of verse, the 
harmony of which neither depended on the quantity of the syllables, 
like that of the ancient Greeks and Kcjmans, nor on the rhymes at the 
end, as in modem poetry, but consisted altogether m alliteration, or 
a certain artful repetition of the sounds in the middle of the verses. 
This was adjusted according to certain rules of tlieir prosody, one of 

' Literatura Runica. Hafnise, 1636, 4to. — 1651, fol. The Islandio 
language is of the same origin as our Anglo-Saxon, being both dialects tf 
the ancient Gothic or Teutonic. — Vide Hickesii Prsefat. in Grammat. Anglo* 
Saxon, and Mceso-Goth. 4to, 1689. 

VOL. I] ^ 


,w«iiolj 'was tlwit -evfefy. distich should contain at least three words 

*.be^p,ailig»witli tlKc p.aijie letter or sf)Uiul. Two ot tlicse correspondent 

'sounds miglit' 6e* place'd either in tlic first or second line of the distich, 

and one in the other ; but all three were not regularly to be crowded 

into one line. This will be best understood by the following examples, ^ 

" J/eire og J/inne " Gab dnunga 

Mogu heimdaller." Enn Gras huerge." 

There were many other little niceties observed by the Islandic poets 
who, as they retained their original lani:uage and peculiarities longer 
than the other nations of Gothic race, had time to cultivate their native 
poL-try more, and to carry it to a higher pitch of refinement, than any 
of the rest. 

Their brethren, the Anglo-Saxon poets, oc'casionally used the same 
kind of alliteration, and it is common to meet in their writings with 
similar examples of the foregoing rules. Take an instance or two in 
modern characters : * 

" SkeoTp tha and Skjrede " //am and //eahsetl 

(SAyppend ure." //eofena rikes." 

I know not, however, that there is anywhere extant an entire Saxon 
poem all in this measure. But disticlis of this sort perpetually occur 
in all tlieir poems of any length. 

Now, if we exaiiiine the versification of Pierce Plnivman's Vis-ionf, we 
shall find it constructed exactly by these rules ; and therefore each line, 
as printed, is in reality a distich of two verses, and will, I believe, be 
found distinguished as such, by some mark or other in all the ancient 
MSS., viz. 

" In a Somer Senson, | when ' hot ' * was the (Sunne, 
I Sho^pe me into -SAroubs, | as I a Shepe were ; 
I //abite as an //armet | un//oly of werkes, 
Went Wyde m thys world | Wonders to heare," &c. 

So that the author of this poem will not be found to have invented any 
new mode of versific:ition, as some have sui)pose(l, but only to have 
retained that of the Old Saxon and Gothic poets, which was probably 
never wholly laid aside, but occasionally used at diiTerent intervals: 
though th(i ravages of time will not suflbr us now to produce a regular 
scries of jwems entirely written in it. 

There apc some readers whom it may gratify to mention, that tiiese 
Visions of Fierce {i. e. Peter] the Plomnan, are attributed to Robert 
Lanu'land, a secidar priest, born at Mortimer's Cleobury, in Shropshire, 
and Fellow of Oriel College in Oxford, wlio flourished in the reigns of 
Eli ward HI. and llichard II., and published his poem a few years after 

* Vide Hickes, Antiq. Literatur. Septentrional, torn. i. p. 217. 
» Ibid. 

* So I would read with Mr. Warton, rather than either ' soft,' as in MS. 
or ' set,' as in I'.co. 


1350. It consists of xx Passus or Breaks,^ exhibiting a series of visions, 
which he pretends happened to him on Malvern Hills in Worcestershire 
The author excels in atrong allegoric painting, and has with greal 
humour, spirit, and fancy, censured most of the vices incident to the 
several professions of life ; but he particularly inveighs against the 
corruption of the clergy, and the absm-dities of superstition. Of this 
■work I have now before me four different editions in black-letter quarto. 
Three of them are printed in 1550 6i) a^Dbcrt CrOlulCD atDClIiug til 
(Slve rented tn l^oliuruc. It is 'remarkable that two of these aie 
mentioned in the title-page as both of the second impression, though 
they contain evident variations in every page.'= The other is said 
to be uctolt) tmpvDutcif after tiyc autljorsi aVac ta^v . . • ^B CBtuctt 
JSiasn% Feb. 21, 1561. 

As Langland was not the first, so neither was he the last that 
used tliis alliterative species of versification. To Eogers' edition of the 
Visions is subjoined a poem, which Wiis probably writ in imitation 
of them, entitled Pierce the Plowman's Crede. It begins thus : 

" Cros, and Curteis Christ, this beginning spede 
For the i'aders /"rendsbipe, that i*'ourmed heaven, 
And through the Special 6>irit, tnat Sprang of hem tweyne, 
And al in one godhed eudles dwelleth." 

The author feigns himself ignorant of his Creed, to be instructed in 
which he applies to the four religious orders, viz. the gray friers of St, 
Francis, the black friei s of St. Dominic, the Carmelites or white friers, 
and the Augustines. This affords him occasion to describe, in very 
lively colours, the sloth, ignorance, and immorality of those reverend 
drones. At length he meets with Pierce, a poor ploughman, who 
resolves his doubts, and instructs him in the principles of true religion. 
The author was evidently a follower of Wiccliff, whom he mentions 
(with honour) as no longer living.' Now that reformer died in 1384. 
How long after his di ath this poem was written, docs not appear. 

In the Cotton Library isii volume of ancient English poems,* two of 
which are written in this alliterative metre, and have the division of 
the lines into distichs distinctly marked by a point, as is usual in old 
poetical MSS. That which stands first of tlie two (though perhaps the 
latest written) is entitled The Sege of I Erlam \_i. e. Jerusalem], being 

^ The poem properly contains xxi. parts : the word Passus, adopted by 
the author, seems only to denote the break or division between two parts, 
though by the ignorance of the printer applied to the parts themselves. 
— See vol. ii. book vii. preface to ballad iii., where Passus seems to signify 

^ That which seems the first of the two, is thus distinguished in the title- 
page, txntrie t\)t SttanOe tymr tinjirtntclJliD B0bcrte CrfltDlge : the 
othe- thus, notDC tf)c s'tcDulf time tnxprtnfc^J by Eobcrt (£r0tDlEB. 

In the former, the folios are thus erroneously numbered, 39, 39, 41, 63, 
43, 42, 45, &c. The booksellers of those days were not ostentatious of 
multiplying editions. 

' Signature C ii, Caligula A. ij. fol. 1C9, 123. 

B 2 


an old fabulous legend composed by some monk, and stufted with 
maivellous ligmeiits concerning the destruction of the holy city and 
temple. It begins thus : 

" In jyberius Tyme . the Ti'ewe emperour 
Syr .s'esiir hymself . be-S'ted in Rome 
Whyll /"ylat was Provoste . under that Prynce ryche 
And Jewcs Justice also . of .7udeas londe 
^erode under enapere . as //erytage wolde 
^yng," &c. 

the other is entitled Chevalere Assigne [or De Cigne], that is, " The 
Knight of the Swan," being an ancient romance, beginning thus : 

"All-Weldynge God . TTliene it is his TTylle 

TFele he Vrereth his TTerke . With his owene lionde 
For ofte //armes were //ente . that //elpe wene myzte 
Nere the /Tyznes of ^ym . that lengeth in Zfevene 
For this," &c. 

Among Mr. Garrick's Collection of old Plays* is a prose narrative of 
the adventures of this same Knight of the Swan, " newly translated 
out of Frenshe into Englyshe, at thinstigacion of tlie puyssaunt and 
illustryous prynce, lorde Eilward duke of Buckynghame." This lord, 
it seems, had a peculiar interest in the book, for in the preface the 
translator tells us, that this "highe dygne and illustryous prynce my 
lorde Edwarde by the grace of god Duke of Buckyngham, erle of Here- 
forde, Stallorde, and Nortliampton, desyrni;e cotyduilly to encrease and 
augment the name and fame of such as were relurent in vertuous 
feates and triumphaunt actes of chyvalry, and to encourage and styre 
every lusty and gmtell herte by the excmplyfioacyon of the same, 
havyng a goodli booke of the highe and miraculous histori of a famous 
and puyssaunt kynge, named Oryant, t-ometime reynynge in the parties 
of beyonde the sea, havynge to his wife a noble lady; of whome she 
conceyved sixe sonues and a daughter, and chyhled of tliem at one 
only time ; at whose byrthe echone of them had a chayne of sylver at 
their neckes, the whicho were all tourned by the provydence of god 
into whyte swanncs, save one, of the whiciie this present hystory is 
compyled, named Hilyas, the knight of tlie swanne of tchom liniall;/ 
is dysr.ended mij sayile lorde. Tl.e whiche enteniitiy to I ave the fayi.e 
hystoiy more amply and unyvcrsally knowon in thys hys natif 
30initrie, as it is in other, hath of hys liie bouatieby someof his faithful 
and trusti servauntes cohorted mi mayster Wyukiu de ^Vorde Mo put 
the .-aid vertuous hysfori iu prynte ... at whose ins.'igacion and 
stiring I (Roberto Coplaiul) have me appliid, moiening the helpe of 
god, to reiluco and translate it into our maternal and vulgare english 
tonge aficr the capacite and riidenesse of my weke entendement.' 

' K. vol. X. 

• W. do Wordo's edit, i" in 1512.— See Ames, p. 02. Mr. G.'s copy is— 

"^ Im^jriutcO at liuiiHoii fiy me UH^Tiium Coplaiiil." 


— — A cvirious picture of the times ! While in Italy literature and the 
fine arts were ready to burst forth with classical splendour under 
Leo. X., the first peer of this realm was proud to derive his ijedigree 
from a fabulous knight of the swan. ^ 

To return to the metre of Pierce Plowman. In the folio MS. so often 
quoted in these volumes are two poems written in that species of ver- 
sification. One of tliese is an ancient allegorical poem entitled Beath 
and Life (in two fltts or parts, containing 458 distichs), which, for 
aught that appears, may have been written as early, if not before, the 
time of Langland. The first forty lines are broke, as they should be, 
into distichs, a distinction that is neglected in the remaining part of 
the transcript, in order, I suppose, to save room. It begins, 

" Christ C'/iristen king, 

that on the C/'osse tholed ; 
Hadd Pidnes and Passjons 

to defend our soules ; 
(rive us (Jrace on the Ground 

the G^reatlye to serve, 
For that iioyall RqA blood 
that i^ann from thy side." 

The subject of this piece is a vision, wherein the poet sees a contest for 
superiority between " our lady Dame Life " and the " ugly fiend Dame 
Death ; " who, with their several attributes and concomitants, are 
personified in a fine vein of allegoric painting. Part of the description 
of Dame Life is, 

" Shoe was brighter of her iJlee, 
'ohen was the iJright sonn : 
Her ii'udd ii'edder then the A'ose, 

that on the i^ise hangeth : 
iifeel<ely smiling with her Jibuth, 

and Jlferry in her lookes; 
Ever iaughing for Xove, 

as she Like would. 
And as shee came by the i?ankes, 

the i?oughes eche one 
They Xowted to that iadye, 

and iayd forth their branches ; 
.Blossomes and i)'urgens 
.Breathed full sweete ; 
ii'lowers i^lourished in the i^ith, 

where shec forth stepped ; 
And the G'rasse, that was Crray, 
Greened belive." 

Death is afterwards sketched out with a no less bold and original 

2 He is said in the story-book to be the grandfather of Godfrey of 
Boulogne, through whom I suppose the duke made out his relation to him. 
Th'i duke was beheaded May 17, 1521, 13 Henrv VIII. 


The other poem is that which is quoted in page 26G of vol. i., nnd 
which was probably the hist that was ever written in this kind of 
metre in its original simiilicity, unapcomi)amed with rhyme. It should 
have been observed above, in page 2(Jt;, that in this poem the lines are 
throughout divided into distichs. thus : 

" Grant Gracious God, 

Grant me this time," &c. 

It is entitled Scottish Fielde (in 2 fitts, 420 distichs), containing a very 
circumstantial narrative of tlie battle of Flodden, fought Sept. 9, 1513 : 
at which the author seems to have been present, from his speaking in 
the first person plural : 

" Tlien WE Tild downe OUR Tents, 
that Told were a thousand." 

In the conclusion of the poem he gives this account of himself- 

" He was a Gentleman by /esu, 

that this Gest ' made : 
Which Snj but as he .'-'ayd * 

for 5ooth and noe other. 
At ^agily that Z-'earne 

his i?iding jilace had ; 
And his ancestors of old time 

have yearded ^ theire longe, 
Before William Couquorour 

this Cuntry did inhabitt. 
Jesus Bring ' them ' ' to i^lisse, 

that i?rought us forth of BALE, 
That hath //earlined mo //eare 

or ^Teard my tale." 

Tlie village of Bagily or Baguleigh is in Cheshire, and had belonged 
to the ancient family of I.egh for two centuries before the battle of 
Flodden. Indeed, that the author was of that country, appears from 
otlier passages in the body of the iioeni, particularly from the pains he 
takes to wipe off a stain from the Cheshiremeu, who, it seems, ran 
away in tlmt battle; and from his encomiums on the Stanleys, Earls 
of Derby, who usually headed that C(mnty. He laments the death of 
James Stanley, Bishop of Ely, aa what had recently happened when 

» Jest. IMS. 

* Probably corrupted for—" Says but as he Saw." 

' Yearded, ;'. e. buried, earthed, earded. It is common to pronounce 
" earth," in some parts of England, " yearth," particularly in the North.— 
Pitscottie, spealcmg of James III., slain at Bannockburn, says, " Nae man 
wot whar they ycardid him." 

« ' us.' MS. In tl e second Ime above, the MS. has ' bidding.' 


this poem was written ; which servej to ascertain ita date, for that 
prelate died March 22, 15N -5. 

Thus have we traced the Alliterative Measure so low as the sixteenth 
century It is remarkable, that all such poets as used this kind of 
metre, retained along with it many peculiar Saxon idioms, particularly 
such as were appropriated to poetry : this deserves the attention of 
those who are desirous to recover the laws of the ancient Saxon Foesy, 
usually given up as inexplicable : I am of opinion that they will find 
what they seek in the metre of Pierce Floicman.'' 

About the beginning of the sixteenth century, this kind of versifica- 
tion began to change its form : the author of Scottish Field, we see, 
concludes his poem with a couplet in rhyme: this was an innovation 
that did but prepare the way for the general admission of that more 
modish ornament : till at length the old uncouth verse of the ancient 
writers would no longer go down without it. Yet when rhyme began 
to be superadded, all the niceties of alliteration were at first retained 
along with it, and the song of Little John Nobody exhibits this union 
very clearly. By degrees, the correspondence of final sounds engrossing 
the whole attention of the poet, and fully satisfying the reader, the 
internal embellishment of alliteration was no longer studied, and thus 
was this kind of metre at length swallowed up and lost in our common 
Burlesque Alexandrine, uv Anapestic verse,' now never used but. in 
ballads and pieces of light humour, as in the following song of Coif 
science, and in that well-known doggrel, 

" A cobler there was, and he lived in a stall." 

But although this kind of measure hath with us been thus degraded, 
it still retains among the French its ancient dignity; their grand 

' And in that of Robert of Gloucester. — See the next note. 

* Consisting of four anapests (' " ") in which the accent rests upon every 
third syllable. This kind of verse, which I also call the burlesque Alex- 
asdrine (to distinguish it from the other Alexandrines of eleven and 
fourteen syllables, the parents of our lyric measure : see examples, vol. i., 
p. 345, &c.) was early applied by Robert of Gloucester to serious subjects. 
That writer's metre, like this of Langland's, is formed on the Saxon models 
(each verse of his containing a Saxon distich) ; only instead of the internal 
alliterations adopted by Langland, he rather chose final rhymes, as the 
French poets have done since. Take a specimen : 

" The Saxons tho in ther power, tho thii were so rive, 
Seve kingdoms made in Engelonde, and sutlie but vive : 
The king of Northomberloud, and of Eastangle also, 
Of Kent, and of Westsex, and of the March, therto," 

Robert of Gloucester wrote in the western dialect, and his language differs 
exceedingly from that of other contemporary writers, who resided in the 
metropolis, or in the midland counties. Had the Heptarchy continued, our 
English language would probably have been as much distinguished for its 
different dialects as the Greek ; or at least as that of the several indapeucJenl 
ttates of Italy 


heroic verse of twelve syllables" is the same t^eniiine offspring of Ibe 
old alliteiativo metro of tho ancient Gothic ami Francic poets, stript 
like our Anapestic of its alliteration, and ornamented with rhyme; 
hut witli tiiis ditfeience, that wliereas this kind of verse hath been 
npjdied by us only to light and trivial subjects, to which, by its quick 
and lively measure, it seemed best adapted, our poets liave let it 
remain in a more lax uncoufined state.' as a greater degree of severity 
and strictness would have been inconsistent wiih the light and airy 
subjects to which they have applied it. On the other hand, the French 
liaving retained this verse as the veliicle of their epic and tragic 
llights, in order to give it a stateliiiess and dignity, were obliged to 
ooniiiie it to more exact laws of scansion; they iiave therefore limited 
it to tiie number of twelve syllables, and by making the cfesura or 
pause as full and (U.stiiict as jwssible, and by other severe restrictions, 
have given it all the solemiuty of which it was capable. The harmony 
of both, however, depends so much on the same How of cadence and 
disposal of tiie pause, tliat they apj)ear plainly to be of the tame 
original ; and every French heroic verse evidently consists of the ancient 
disticli of their Francic ancestors : whi(d), by the way, will accoimt to 
us why this verse of the French so naturally lesolves itself into two 
complete hemistichs. And, iudeed, by making the ca:'sura or pause 
always to on the last syllable of a word, and by making a kind of 
jDause in the sense, the French poets do in eftect reduce their hemi- 
stichs to two distinct and independent verges; and some of their old 
poets have gone so far as to make the two hemistichs rhyme to each 

• Or of thirteen syllables, in what they call a feminine verse. It is 
remarkable that the French alone have retained this old Gothic metre for 
their serious poems; while the English, Spaniards, &c., have adopted the 
Italic verse of ten syllables, although the Spaniaids, as well as we, anciently 
used a short-lined metre. I believe the success with which Petrarch, and 
perhaps one or two others, first used the heroic verse of ten syllables in 
Italian poesy, recommended it to the Spanish writers; as it also did to our 
Chaucer, who first attempted it in English ; and to his successors Lord 
Surrey, Sir Thomas Wyat, &c. ; who afterwards improved it and brought 
it to perfection. To Lord Surrey we also owe the first iutroductijin of 
blank verse in his versions of the second and fourth books of the yEneid, 
1557, 4to. 

• Thus our poets use this verse indifForently with twelve, eleven, and 
even ten syllables. For though regularly it con.sists of four anapests 
C ' ") or twelve syllables, yet they frequently retrench a syllable from 
the first or third anapest, and sometimes from both ; as in these instances 
from Prior, and from the following song of Conscience ; 

" Whij has eer been at Paris, must needs kn5w th6 GrSve, 
The futal retreat of th' unfOrtiiniite brave. 
H§ stept tC him strfiight, and did him require." 

• See instances in L'llist. de la Podsie Frang>ise, par Massieu, &c. In 
the same book are also specimens of alliterative French verses. 


After all, the old alliterative and anapestic metre of the English 
poets, being cljiefly used in a barbarous age and in a rude unpolished 
language, abounds with verses defective iu length, proportion, and 
harmony, and therefre cannot enter into a comparison with the correct 
versification of the best modern French writeis ; but making allow 
anees for these detects, that sort of metre runs with a cadence so exactly 
resembling the French heroic Alexandrine, tiiat I believe no peculi- 
arities of their versiiication can be produced which cannot be exactly 
matched in tlie alliterative metre. I shall give, by way of example, 
a few lines from the modern French poets, accommodated with parallels 
from the ancient poem of Life and Death ; in these I shall denote the 
csesura or pause by a perpendicular line, and the cadence by the marks 
of the Latin quantity. 

LS siicces fut toujours | iin (infant dS rauddce ; 
All shall drye with the dints 1 that I deal with my hands. 

L'hdmme prudSnt rdit trop \ I'illuswn le suit, 

Yonder damsel is death | that dresseth her to smite. 

L'lntrepvle vdit mlenx \ et Ig fantome fuit,^ 

When she dolefidly saw | how she dang downe hir folke. 

Meme aux yeux de I'lnjuste \ un injuste Sst hSrrV>lS.^ 
Then she cast tip a crye | to the high king of heaven. 

Du mSnsonge toujours \ IS vrai dSmeurS rnditri, 
Thou shalt bitterlye bye | or else the booke faileth. 

Pour paroitre honnSte honime \ Sn un mot, il fdut I'etre.^ 
Thus I fared throughe a frythe where the flowers weie 


To conclude : the metre of Pierce Plowman's Visions has no kind of 
affinity with what is commonly called blank verse ; yet has it a sort of 
harmony of its own, proceeding not so much from its alliteration, as 
from the artful disposal of its cadence and the contrivance of its pause ; 
80 that when the ear is a little accustomed to it it is by ro means un- 
pleasing, but claims all the merit of the French heroic ntmibers, only 
far less polished ; being sweetened, instead of their final rhymes, with 
the internal recurrence of similar sountls. 

This Essay will receive illustration from another specimen in Warton'a 
Histonj of English Poetry, vol. i. p. 309, being the fragment of a MS. 
poem on the subject of Alexander the Great, in the Bodleian Library 
which he supposes to be the same with number 44, in the' Ashmol , 
MS., containing 27 passus, and beginning thus : 

"When;r folk fastid [feasted, quj] and fed, 

fayne wolde thei her [i. e. hear] 
Some f irand thing," &c. 

* Catalina, A. 3. * Boilean, Sat. * Boil., Sal. 11. 


It is well observed by Mr. Tyrwhitt, on Chaucer's sneer at this old 
alliterative metre (vol. iii. p. 305), viz. 

I am a Sotherne [i. e. Southern] man, 

I cannot geste, rom, .am, raf, by my letter," 

tliat the fondness for this species of versification, &c., was retained 
longest in the Northern provinces ; and that the author of Pierce Ploio- 
inmCs Visions U, in the best MSS., called William, without any surname. 
— See vol. iv. p. 74. 


Since the foregoing Essay was first printed the EJitor hath met 
witli some aiklitioual examjiles of the old alliterative metre. 
The first is in MS.,« which begins thus : 

" Crowned Zyng, that on Cros didest,' 
And art Comfort of all Care, thow * kind go out of Cours, 
With thi ^ilvves in Heven T/eried mote thu be. 
And thy Tforshipful TTerkes ll'br.shiped evre, 
That suche ^Sondry <Signes <STiewest unto man, 
In Dremyng, in i)recchyng,^ and in Z'erke swevenes." 

The author, from this prccmium, takes occasion to give an account 
of a dream tliat happened to himself; which he introduces with the 
following circumstances : 


" Ones y me Ordayned, as y have Ofte doon, 
With /"rendes, and /-'elawes, /'Vendemen, and other ; 
And Caught me in a Company on Corpus Christi even. 
Six, other ' .Seven myle, oute of^Southampton, 
To take J/elodye, and J/irthes, among my 3/akes ; 
With iJedyng of ROMA UNCES, and /I'evelyng among. 
The Z)ym"of the jDerknesse X'rewe me into th« west ; 
And beCon for to sju-yug in the Crey day. 
Than Zift y up my Zyddes, and /.oked in the sky, 
And ^newe by the A'ende Cours, hit clered in the est: 
^lyve y i?usked me down, and to 5cd went, 
For to Comforte my A'yade, and Cacche a slepe." 

He then describes his dream : 

" Methought that y //bved on //igh on an /Till, 
And loked />oun on a Dala Depest of othre ; 
Ther y <S'awe in ray 5ighte a iSelcouthe peple ; 

« In a Bmall 4to MS. conta.ning 38 leaves, in private hands. 

' I)id.-t dye. • Though. 

• iieing ovevpowered. ' »'• e. either, or. 



The Jfultitude was so J/oche, it J/ighte not be nombred. 
Met'noughte y herd a Crowned A'yng, of his Comunes axe 
A /Soleyne ^ (Subsidie, to iSusteyne his werres. 


With that a Clerk A'neled adowne and Carped these wordes, 

Ziege Zord, yif it you Zike to Xisten a while, 
jS'om Suv/es of /Salomon y shall you iS'hewe i'one." 

Tlie writer then gives a solemn Lcture to kings on the art of govern- 
ing. From the demand of subsidies "to susieyiie his werres," I am 
inclined to believe this poem was composed in the reign of King 
Henry V., as the MS. appears from a subsequent entry to have been 
written before the 9th of Henry VI. The whole poem contains but 
146 lines. 

The Alliterative Metre was no less popular among the old Scottish . 
poets, than with their brethren on this side the Tweed. In Maitland's 
Collection of ancient Scottish Poems, MS. in the Pepysian Library, is 
a very long poem in this species of versilication, thus inscribed : 

" Heir begins the Tretis of the Twa Marriit Wemen and the Wedo, compylit 
be Maister William Dunbar.* 

"Upon the J/idsummer evven ilfirriest of nishtis 
I JZuvit furth alane quhen as J/idnight v/as past 
Besyd ane G'udlie Gyrene 6'arth,* full of Cay flouris 
7/egeit * of ane Huge Ilicht with i/awthorne treeis 
Quairon ane iJird on ane i)ransche so 5irst out hir notis 
That nevir ane i-'lytlifullor ^ird was on the Zeuche " hard," &c. 

The author pretends to overhear t'nrec gossips sitting in an arbour 
and revealing all their secret methods of alluring and governing the 
other sex : it is a severe and humorous satire on bad women, and 
nothing inferior to Chaucer's Prolo.-iie to his Wife of Bath's Tale. As 
Dunbar lived till about the middle of the sixteenth century, this poem 
was probably composed after Scottish Field (described above in p. 6), 
which is the latest specimen I have met with written in England. 
This poem contains about 500 lines. 

But the current use of the Alliterative Metre in Scotland appears 
more particularly from those popular vulgar prophecies which are 
still printed for the use of the lower people in Scotland, under the 
names of Thomas the Eymer, Marvellous Merliug, &c. This collection 

* Solemn. 

' Since the above was written, this poem hath been printed in " Ancient 
Scottish Poems, &c., from the MS. Collection of Sir R. Maitland, of 
Lethington, knight, of London, 1786," 2 vols. 12mo. The two first lin«« 
are here corrected by that edition. 

* Garden. ^ Hedged. ' * Bough. 


eeems to have been put together after the accession of James I. to the 
CI own of England, and moat of the pieces in it are in tlie metre ot 
Fierce Pluwtium's Visions. The first of tlicm begins thus : 

" Merling sayes in his book, who will i?ead iJight, 
Although his (Savings be uncouth, they i?hall be true fouud. 
In the seventh chapter, read U'lioso IVill, 
One thousand and more after Christ's birth," &c. 

And the Prophesie of Beid : 

" Betwixt the chief of iSummer and the 6'ad winter; 
Before the //eat of summer //appen shall a war 
That A'urop's lands 7iarnestly shall be wrought 
And Earnest Enxy shall last but a while," &c. 

So again the Prophesie of Berlington : 

" When the i^uby is i?aised, i?est is there none, 
But much iiancour shall /.ise in iiiver and plain, 
Much 6'orrow is iSeen through a iSuth-hound 
That beares ^ornes in his //ead liite a wyld Hurt," &c. 

In like metre is the Prophesie of Waldhave: 

" Upon Zowdon Xaw alone as 1 Lay, 
Zooking to the Zennox, as ine /,ief thought, 
The first J/orning of May, J/cJicine to seek 
For J/alice and Alalody that Moved me sore," &c. 

And lastly, that entitled the Prophesie of Gildas : 

" When holy kirk is ITracked, and Will has no TFit, 
And 7'astors are Pluckt, and Pil'd without Pity, 
When /dolatry /s In ens and RE, 
And spiritual pastours are vexed away," &c. 

It will be observed in the foregoing specimens that the nllitcratiun 
is extremely neglected, except in the tiiird and fourth instances, 
although all the rest are written in imitation of the cadence used in 
this kind of metre. It may perhaps appear from an attentive perusal, 
(hattiie poems ascribed to Berlinglon and Waldhave arc more ancient 
than the others: indeed, tlie liist and fifth appear evidently to have 
been new modeHed, if not entirely composed, about the beginning of the 
last century, and are probably the latest attempts ever made in this 
species of verso. 

In this and the foregoing Essay are mentioned all the specimens 
I have met with of tlie Alliterative Metre without rhyme; but in- 
stances occur somi tim(8 in old manuscripts of pnems written both with 
(inal rhymes and the if ternal cadence and alliterations of the metre ol 
Pierce Ploiciuuit. 



The following Song, entitled The Complaint of Conscience, is printed 
from the Editor's tolio manuscript. Some corruptions in the old copy 
are here corrected ; but with n )tK'e to tlie reader wherever it was judged 
necessary by inclosing the corrections between inverted ' commas.' 

As I walked of late by ' an' wood side, 

To God for to meditate was my entent, 

Where under a hawthorue I suddenlye spyed 

A silly poore creature ragged and rent ; 

Witli bloody teares his face was besprent, 5 

His fleshe and his color consumed away, 
And his garments they were all mire, mucke, and clay. 

This made me muse and much ' to ' desire 

To know what kind of man hee shold bee ; 

I stept to him straight, and did him require IC 

His name and his secretts to shew unto mee. 

His head he cast up, and wooful was hee. 

" My name," quoth he, " is the cause of my care. 
And makes me scorned and left here so bare." 

Then straightway he turnd him and prayd ' me ' sit downe, 
" And I will, " saithe he, " declare my whole greefe. 16 
My name is called Conscience :" — wheratt he did frowne, 
He pined to repeate it and grinded his teethe. 
" ' Thoughe now, silly wretche, I'm denyed all releef,' 
' Yet ' while I was young and tender of yeeres, 20 

I was entertained with kinges and with peeres. 

" There was none in the court that lived in such fame, 

For with the kings councell ' I ' sate in commission ; 

Dukes, earles, and barrens esteem'd of my name ; 

And how that I liv'd there needs no repetition. 25 

I was ever holden in honest condition, 

For howsoever the lawes went in Westminster-hall, 
When sentence was given, for me they wold call. 

"No incomes at all the landlords wold take, 

But one pore peny that was their fine, 30 

And that they acknowledged to be for my sake. 

Ver. 1, one. MS. V. 15, him. MS. V. 19, not in MS, 

V. 23, he sate. MS. 


The poore wold doe notliing without councell mine ; 

I ruled the world with the right line ; 

For nothing was passed botweene foe and friend, 

But Conscience was called to bee at ' the ' end. 35 

** Noe bargaines nor merchandize merchants wold make, 

But I was called a wittenesse therto ; 

Noe use for noe money, nor forfett wold take, 

But I wold controule them if that they did soe ; 

' And ' that makes me live now in great woe, 40 

For then came in Pride, Sathan's disciple, 
That is now entertained with all kind of people ; 

" He brought with him tkree, whose names, ' thus they 

That is Covetousnes, Lecherye, Usury, beside ; 

They never prevail'd till they had wrought my downe-fall 

Soe Pride was entertained, but Conscience decried. 46 

And ' now ever since ' abroad have I tryed 

To have had entertainment with some one or other, 
But I am rejected and scorned of my brother. 

" Then went I to the Court, the gallants to winn, 50 

But the porter kept me out of the gate. 

To Bartlemew Spittle, to pray for my sinne, 

They bade me goe packe ; it was fitt for my state ; 

' Goe, goe, threed-bare Conscience, and seeke thee a mate ! ' 
Good Lord, long preserve my king, prince, and c[ueeno, 
With whom evermore I esteemed have been ! 56 

" Then went I to London, where once I did ' dwell,' 
But they bade away with me when tlicy knew my name ; 
' For he will uudoe us to bye and to .sell ! ' 
They bade me goe pack me, and hye me for shame, 60 

They lought at my raggs, and there had good game ; 

' This is old tlireed-bare Conscience that dwelt with 
Saint Peter ;' 

But they wold not admitt me to be a chimney-sweeper. 

V. 35, an etd. MS V. 43, they be these. MS. V. 46, wai 

derided. MS. V. 53, packe me. V. 57, wonne. MS. 


*' Not one wold receive me, the Lord ' he ' dotli know. 

I, having but one poor pennye in my purse, 65 

On an awle and some ijatches I did it bestow ; 

' For ' I tbouglit better cobble sliooes than doe worse. 

Straight then all the coblers began for to curse, 

And by statute wold prove me a rogue and forlorne, 
And whipp me out of towne to ' seeke ' where I was borne. 

" Then did I remember and call to my minde, 71 

The Court of Conscience where once I did sit, 
Not doubting but there I some favor shold find, 
For my name and the place agreed soe fit. 
But there of my purpose I fay led a whit, 75 

For ' thoughe ' the judge us'd my name in everye 

' commission,' 
The lawyers with their quillets wold get ' my ' dis- 

" Then Weslminster-hall was noe place for me ; 

Good Lord ! how the lawyers began to assemble ; 

And fearfull they were lest there I shold bee ! 80 

The silly poore clarkes began for to tremble ; 

I showed them my cause, and did not dissemble. 
Soe they gave me some money my charges to beare, 
But swore me on a booke I must never come there. 

" Next the Merchants said, ' Counterfeite, get thee away, 
Dost thou remember how wee thee fond ? 86 

We banisht thee the country beyond the salt sea, 
And sett thee on shore in the New-found laud, 
And there thou and wee most friendly shook hand ; 

And we were right glad when thou didst refuse us, 90 
For when we wold reape profitt here thou woldst accuse 

' Then had I noe way but for to goe on 

To Gentlemens houses of an ancyent name. 

Declaring my greeflfes ; and there I made moane, 

* Telling ' how their forefathers held me in fame, 95 

And at letting their farmes how always I came. 

V. 70, see. MS. V. 76, condicion. MS. V. 77, get n. MS 

V. 95, And how. MS. 


They sayrl, ' Fye upon tliee ; we may tlice curse ! 
' Tlieire ' leases continue, and we faro the worse.' 

" And then I was forced a begging to goe 

To husbaudmeus houses, who greeved right sore, 100 

And sware that their landlords had plagued them so, 

That they were not able to keepe open doore, 

Nor nothing had lel't to give to the poore. 

Therefore to this wood I doe me rei^ayro 

With hepps and bawes ; that is my best fare. 105 

" Yet within this same desert some comfort I have 

Of Mercy, of Pittye, and of Almes-deeds, 

"Who have vowed to company me to my grave. 

Wee are ' all ' put to silence, and live upon weeds, 

' And hence such cold house-keeping proceeds ; ' 110 

Our banishment is its utter decay, 

The which the riche glutton will answer one day." 

" Why then," I said to him, " me-thinks it were best 
To goe to the Clergie ; for dailye tliey preach 
Echo man to love you above all the rest ; 115 

Of Mercye and Pittie, and Almes-' deeds ' they teach." 
" O," said he, " noe matter of a pin what they preach, 

For their wives and their childi-en soe hauge them 

That whosoever gives almes they will '' give none." 

Then laid he him down, and turned him away, 120 

And prayd me to goe and leave him to rest. 
I told him, I haplie might yet see the day 
For hiui and his fellowes to live with the best. 
*' First," said he, " banish Pride, then all England were 
blest ; 
For then those wold love us that now sell their 

land, 125 

And then good ' house-keeping wold revive ' out of 

V. 101, so sore. MS. V. 109, ill. MS. V. 110, not in MS. 

V. IHt, almes-deeds. MS. V. 126, houses everywhere wold be 

kept. Mb. 

' We ought in justice and truth to read ' can.' 



^lain Crutf) anil 33IintJ ignorance. 

Tbia excellent old ballad is preserved in the little ancient Miscellanj 
entitled, The Garland of Goodwill. Ignorance is here made to speak 
in the broad Somersetshire dialect. The scene we may suppose to be 
trlastonbury Abbey. 


" God speed you, ancient fatlier, 

And give you a good daye ; 
What is the cause, I praye you, 

So sadly here you staye ? 
And that you keep such gazing 5 

On this decayed place, 
The which, for superstition, 

Good princes down did raze ? " 


" Chill tell thee, by my vazen,^ 10 

That zometimes che have knowDO 
A vair and goodly abbey 

Stand here of bricke and stone ; 
And many a holy vrier. 

As ich may say to thee, 
Within these goodly cloysters 15 

Che did full often zee." 


" Then I must tell thee, father, 

In truthe and veritie, 
A sorte of greater hypocrites 

Thou couldst not likely see ; 20 

Deceiving of the simple 

With false and feigned lies : 
But such an order truly 

Christ never did devise." 

' »'. e. taithen : as in the midland counties they say housen, closen, foi 
boases, closes. A. 




" All ! all ! clie zmell tlice now, man ; 25 

Clie know well what tliou art ; 
A vellow of mean Icarninir, 

Thee was not worth a vart ; 
Vor when we had the old lawe, 

A merry world was then, 
And every thing was plenty 30 

Among all zorts of men." 


" Thou givest me an answer, 

As did the Jewes sometimes 35 

Unto the prophet Jcremye, 

When he accus'd their crimes : 
'Twas merry,' sayd the people, 

' And joyfuU in our rea'me. 
When we did offer spice-cakes 

Unto the queen of hea'n.' " 40 


" Chill tell thee what, good vellowe, 

Before the vricrs went hence 
A bushell of the best wheate 

Was zold vor vourteen pence ; 
And vorty egges a penny, 45 

That were both good and newe ; 
And this che zay my zelf have zeene 

And yet ich am no Jewe. " 


" Within the sacred bible 

We find it -wi'itten plain, 50 

The latter days should troublesome 

And dangerous be, cortaine ; 
That we should be, self-lovers, 

And charity wax coldc ; 
Then 'tis not ti'uo religion 55 

That makes thee grief to holde." 



•' Cliill tell thee my opinion plaiue, 

And clioul'd that well ye knewe, 
Icli care not for the bible booke, 

'Tis too big to be true. 60 

Oui* blessed Ladyes psalter 

Zhall for my money goe ; 
Zuch pretty prayers, as there bee,^ 

The bible cannot zhowe." 


" Nowe hast thou spoken trulye, 65 

For in that book indeede 
No mention of Our Lady, 

Or Romish saint we read ; 
For by the blessed Spirit 

That book indited was, 70 

And not by simple persons, 

As was the foolish masse." 


" Cham zure they were not voolishe 

That made the masse, che trowe ; 
Why, man, 'tis all in Latine, 75 

And vooles no Latine knowe. 
Were not our fathers wise men, 

And they did like it well, 
Who very much rejoyced 

To heare the zacring bell ? " 80  


" But many kinges and prophets, 

As I may say to thee, 
Have wisht the light that you have 

And could it never see ; 
For what art thou the better 8£ 

A Latin song to heare. 
And understandest nothing, 

That they sing in the quiere ? " 

' Probably alluding to the illuminated Psalters, Missals. &c. 

c 2 



" liold thy peace, che pray thee, 

The noise was passing trim 90 

To heare the vriers zinging 

As we did enter in ; 
And then to zee the rood-loft 

Zo bravely zet with zaints ; — 
But now to zee them wandring 95 

My heart with zorrow vaints." 


" The Lord did give commandment 

No image thou shouldst make. 
Nor that unto idolatry 

You should your self betake. 100 

The golden calf of Israel 

Moses did therefore spoile ; 
And Baal's priests and temple 

Were brought to utter foile." 


" But Our Lady of Walsinghame 105 

Was a pure and holy zaint. 
And many men in pilgrimage 

Did shew to her complaint. 
Yea with zwect Thomas Beckct, 

And many other moe. 110 

The holy maid of Kent ^ likewise 

Did many wonders zhowe." 


" Such saints are well agreeing 

To your profession sure, 
And to the men that made them 115 

So precious and so pure ; 
The one for being a traytoure 

Met an untimely death ; 
The other eke for treason 

Did end her hateful breath." 120 

• By name Eliz. Barton, executed April 21, 1534.— Stow, p. 570. 



** Yea, yea, it is no matter, 

Dispraise them how you wille ; 
But zure they did much gooduesse. 

Would they were with us stille ! 
We had our holy water, 125 

And holy bread likewise. 
And many holy relic[ues 

We zaw before our eyes." 


" And all this while they fed you 

With vaine and empty showe 130 

Which never Christ commanded, 

As learned doctors knowe. 
Search then the holy scriptures, 

And thou shalt plainly see 
That headlong to damnation 135 

They alway trained thee." 


" If it be true, good vellowe, 

As thou dost zay to mee, 
Unto my heavenly Fader 

Alone then will I flee, 140 

Believing in the Gospel, 

And passion of his Zon ; 
And with the zubtil paj)istes 

Ich have for ever done." 


Ci;e Mantfcitncj ^tia. 

The story of the Wandering Jew is of considerable antiquity : it had 
obtained full credit in this part of the world before the year 1228, as 
we learn from Matthew Paris. For in that year, it seems, there came 
an Armenian archbishop into England, to visit the shiines and reliques 
preserved in our chui'ches, who being entertained at the monastery ol 


St Alban's, was asked several questions relating to his country, &c. 
Among the rest, a monk, who sat near him, inquired, " If he had ever 
imcn or heard of the famous person named Joseph, that was so mucli 
talked of; who was present at our Lord's crucifixion, and conversed with 
him, and who was still alive in confirmation of the Christian faith." 
The iirchbishop answered. That the fact was true. Atid afterwards one 
of his train, who was well known to a servant of the abbot's, interpreting 
his master's words, told them in French, " That his lord knew the person 
they spoke of very well : that he had dined at his table but a little while 
before he left the East : that he Lad been Pontius Pilate's porter, by 
name Cartaphilus ; who, when they were dragging Jesus out of the door 
of the Judgment-hall, stinck him with his fi^t on the back, siying, " Go 
faster, Jesus, go faster, why dost thou linger?" Upon which Jesus 
looked at liira with a frown, and said, " I indeed am going, but thou 
slialt tarry till I come." Soon after he was converted, and baptized by 
the name of Joseph. He lives for ever, but at the end of every hundred 
years falls into an incurable illness, and at length into a fit or ecstasy, 
out of which, when he recovers, he returns to the same state of youth 
he was in when Jesus siiiiLred, being then about thirty years of age. 
He remembers all the circumstances of the death and resurrection of 
Christ, the saints that arose with him, the composing of the Apostles' 
Creed, their preaching and dispersion ; and is himself a very grave and 
holy person." This is the substance of Matthew Paris's account, who 
was himself a monk of St. Alban's and was living at tlie time when this 
Armenian archbishop made the above relation. 

Since his time, several injposters have appeared at intervals under 
the name and character of the Wandering Jew ; whose several histories 
may be seen in Calmet's Dictionary of the Bible. See also the Turhi»h 
Spy, vol. ii. book iii. let. 1. The story that is copied in the following 
ballad is of one who ap])tarcd at Hamburgh in 1547, and pretended he 
had been a Jewish shoemaker at the time of Christ's crucifixion. The 
ballad, however, seems to be of later date. It is preserved in black- 
letter in the Pepys Collection. 

When as in faire Jerusalem 

Our Saviour Christ did live, 
And for the sius of all tlie worldo 

His own dears life did give, 
The wicked Jewes with scolles and scornes 6 

Did dailye him molest. 
That never till lie left his life, 

Our Saviour could not rest. 

When tliey bad crown'd his head with thornes. 

And scourg'd him to disgrace, 10 

In scornfull sort they led him forthe 
Unto his dying place. 


Where thousand thousands in the streete 

Beheld him passe along, 
Yet not one gentle heart was there, 15 

That pityed this his wrong. 

Both old and young reviled him, 

As in the streete he wente, 
And nought he found but churlish tauntes, 

By every ones consente : 20 

His owne deare cross he bore himselfe, 

A burthen far too great. 
Which made him in the streete to fainte, 

With blood and water sweat. 

Being weary thus, he sought for rest, 25 

To ease his burdened soule, 
Upon a stone ; the which a wretch 

Did churlishly controule ; 
And sayd, " Awaye, thou King of Jcwes, 

Thou shalt not rest thee here ; 3C 

Pass on ; thy execution place 

Thou seest nowe draweth neare." 

And thereupon he thrust him thence ; 

At which our Savioiu: sayd, 
" I sure will rest, but thou shalt walke, 35 

And have no journey stayed." 
With that this cursed shoemaker, 

For offering Christ this wrong. 
Left wife and children, house and all, 

And went from thence along. 40 


Where after he had scene the bloude 

Of Jesus Christ thus shed, 
And to the crosse his bodye nail'd, 

Away with speed he fled, 
Without returning backe againe 45 

Unto his dwelling place. 
And wandred up and downe the worlde, 

A runnagate most base. 


No resting could he fincle at all, 

No ease, nor hearts content ; 50 

No house, nor home, nor hiding place ; 

But wandring forth he went 
From towne to towne in foreigne landes, 

W ith grieved conscience still, 
Eepenting for the heinous guilt 65 

Of his fore-passed ill. 

Thus after some fewe ages past 

In wandring up and downe, 
He much again desired to see 

Jcrusalems renowne. 60 

But finding it all quite destroyd. 

He wandred thence with woe. 
Our Savioui'S wordes, which he had spoke, 

To verifie and showe. 

" I'll rest," sayd hee, " but thou shalt walke ;" 65 

So doth this wandring Jew, 
From place to place, but cannot rest 

For seeing countries newe ; 
Declaring still the power of him, 

Whereas he comes or goes ; 70 

And of all things done in the east, 

Since Christ his death, he showes. 

The world he hath still compast round 

And seeno those nations strange, 
That hearing of the name of Christ, 76 

Their idol gods doe change : 
To whom he hath told wondi'ous thingca 

Of time forepast and gone, 
And to the ju-iuccs of the worlde 

Declares his cause of moane : 80 

Desiring still to be dissolv'd. 

And yeild his mortal breath ; 
But, if the Lord hath thus decreed, 

Ho shall not yet see death. 


For neither lookes lie old nor young, 85 

But as he did those times 
When Christ did suffer on the crosse 

For mortall sinners crimes. 


He hath past through many a foreigne place^ 

Arabia, Egypt, Africa, 
Grecia, Syria, and great Thrace, 

And throughout all Hungaria : 
Where Paul and Peter preached Christ, 

Those blest apostles deare. 
There he hath told our Saviours wordes, 95 

In countries far and neare. 

And lately in Bohemia, 

With many a German towne, 
And now in Flanders, as tis thought, 

He wandreth up and downe : 100 

WTiere learned men with him conferre 

Of those his lingering dayes, 
And wonder much to heare him tell 

His journey es and his wayes. 

If people give this Jew an almes, 105 

The most that he will take 
Is not above a groat a time : 

Which he, for Jesus' sake, 
Willkiudlye give unto the poore,* 

And thereof make no spare, 110 

Affirming still that Jesus Christ 

Of hini hath dailye care. 

He ne'er was scene to laugh nor smile, 

But weepe and make great moane ; 
Lamenting still his miseries, 115 

And dayes forepast and gone. 
If he heare any one blaspheme, 

Or take God's name in vaine, 
He tells them that they crucitio 

Their Saviour Christe agame. 120 

26 THE LTK. 

" It you had seene Lis death," saith he, 

" As these mine eyes have done, 
Ten thousand thousand times would yee 

His torments think upcn, 
And suffer for his sake all paine 126 

Of torments, and all woes :" 
These are his wordes, and eke his life, 

Whereas he comes or goes. 



is found in a very scarce miscellany, entitled " Davison's Poems, or a 
poeticall Rapsodie, divided into sixe books. . . . The 4th impression 
newly corrected and augmented, and put into a forme more pleasing to 
the reader. Lond. 16-21, 12mo." This poem is reported to have been 
written by its celebrated author the night before his execution, Oct. 29, 
1G18. Butthi:^ must be a mistake, for tliere were at least two editions 
of Davison's Poems before that time, one in KJOS,' the other in 1611.^ 
So that unless this poem was an after-insertion in the fourth edit, it 
uuist have been written long before the dt ath of Sir Walter : perhaps 
it was composed soon after his condemnation in 1603. — See Oldys's Life 
of Sir Walter Raleigh, p. 173, fol. 

GoE, soule, the bodies guest. 

Upon a thankelesse arrant ; 
Feare not to touche the best. 
The truth shall be thy warrant ; 

Goe, since I needs must dye, 6 

And give the world the lyo. 

Goe tell the court it glowes 

And shines like rotten wood ; 
Goe tell the church it showes 

What's good, and doth no good ; 10 

If church and court reply. 
Then give them both the lye. 

> Catalogue of T. Rawlinson, 1727. 

* Catalogue of Sion. Coll. Library. This is either lost or mislaid. 



Tell potentates tliey live 

Acting by others actions ; 
Not lov'cl unlesse they give, 15 

Kot strong but by their factions ; 
If potentates reply, 
Give potentates the lye. 

Tell men of high condition, 

That rule affairs of state, 20 

Their purpose is ambition, 
Their practise onely hate ; 
And if they once reply, 
Then give them all the lyo. 

Tell them that brave it most, 25 

They beg for more by spending, 
Who in their greatest cost 

Seek nothing but commending ; 
And if they make reply, 
Spare not to give the lye. 30 

Tell zeale it lacks devotion ; 

Tell love it is but lust ; 
Tell time it is but motion ; 
Tell flesh it is but dust ; 

And wish them not reply, 35 

For thou must give the lye. 

Tell age it daily wasteth ; 

Tell honour how it alters ; 
Tell beauty how she blasteth ; 

Tell favour how she falters ; 40 

And as they shall reply, 
Give each of them the lye. 

Tell wit how much it wrangles 
In tickle points of nicenesse ; 
Tell wisedome she entangles 4i 

Herselfe in over-wisenesse ; 
And if they do reply, 
Straight give them both the lye. 


Tell physicke of her boldnesse ; 

Tell skill it is pretensiou ; 50 

Tell charity of coldness ; 
Toll law it is contention : 
And as they yield rei)ly, 
So give them still the lyo. 

Tell fortune of her blindnesse ; 55 

Tell nature of decay ; 
Tell friendship of unkindnesse ; 
Tell justice of delay ; 
And if they dare reply, 
Then give them all the lye. 60 

Tell arts they have no soundnesse, 

But vary by esteeming ; 
Tell schooles they want profoundnesse 
And stand too much on seeming ; 

If arts and schooles reply, 65 

Give arts and schooles the lye. 

Tell faith it's fled the citie ; 

Tell how the couutrey erreth ; 
Tell, manhood shakes off pitie ; 

Tell, vertue least preferreth : 70 

And, if they doe reply, 
Spare not to give the lyo. 

So when thou hast, as I 

Commanded thee, done blabbing. 
Although to give the lye 76 

Deserves no less than stabbing, 
Yet stab at thee who will, 
No stab the soule can kill. 


Vtviti 1)1) iXhiQ :?amf£i 5. 

In the first edition of this book were inserted, by way of specimen of 
His MajcBty's poetic tulents, some Punning Verses made on the dis- 
putations at Stirling ; but it having been suggested to the Editor, tluit 


the king ouly gave the quibbling corameiidations in prose, nnd that some 
obseqaious court-rhj'mer put them iuto metre,' it was th iiight proper 
to excbange tljem for two sonnets of King James's own composition, 
James was a great versifier, and therefore out of the multitude of liia 
poems we have here selected two, which (to show our impartiality) are 
written in his best and his worst manner. The first would uot dis- 
honour any writer of that time ; the second is a most complete example 
of the Bathos. 


From King James's Works in folio : where is also printed another, called 
His Majesty's own Sonnet : it would perhaps be to cruel to infer 
from thence that this was not His Majesty's own Sonnet. 

God gives not kings the stile of gods in vaine, 
For on his throne his scepter do they swey ; 
And as their subjects ought them to obey, 

So kings should feare and serve their God againe. 

If then ye would enjoy a happie reigne, 5 

Observe the statutes of our heavenly King ; 
And from his law make all your laws to spring ; 

Since his lieutenant here ye should remaine. 

Eewarde the just, be stedfast, true, and plaine ; 

Kepresse the proud, maintayning aye the right ; 10 

Walke always so as ever in His sight 
Who guardes the godly, plaguing the prophane. 

And so ye shall in princely vertues shine, 

Resembling right your mightie King divine. 

IN JANUARY, 1616. 

This is printed from Drummond of Hawthornden's Works, folio : wbtre 
also may be seen some verses of Lord Stirling upon this Sonnet, wliich 
concludes with the finest anti-climax I remember to have seen. 

How cruelly these catives do conspire ! 

What loathsome love breeds such a baleful band 
Betwixt the cankred King of Greta land,^ 

That melancholy, old and angry sire, 

' See a folio entitled The Muses Welcome to King James. ^ Saturn. 


And him, wlio wout to quench debate and iro 5 

Among the Eomans when his i^orts were clos'd ! ^ 
But now his double face is still dispos'd, 

With Satui-n's help, to freeze us at the fire. 

The earth ore-covered with a sheet of snow, 
Eefuses food to fowl, to bird, and beast ; 10 

The chilling cold lets every thing to grow, 
And surfeits cattle with a starving feast. 

Curs'd be that love and mought * continue short. 

Which kills all creatures, and doth spoil our sport. 

^ Janus. * i. e. may it 


. Btng 3>oi)n anU tijt ^libot of Canttvbmi). 

The common popular ballad of King John and the Alibot seems to 
have been abridged and modernised about the time of James I. from 
one much older, entitled King John and the Bishop of Canterbury 
The Editor's folio MS. contains a copy of this last, but in too corrupt 
a state to be reprinted ; it however atibrded many lines worth reviving, 
which will bu found inserted in the ensuing stanzas. 

The archness of the following questions and answers hath been much 
admired by our old bullad-makcrs ; for besides the two copies above 
mentioned, there is extant another ballad on the same suliject (but of 
no great antiquity or merit), entitled King OJfrey and the AhhotJ 
Lastly, about the time of the civil wars, when the cry ran against the 
bishojis, some Puritan worked up the same story into a very doleful 
diity, to a solemn tune, concerning " King Henry and a Bishop ;" with 
this sthiging moral : 

" Unlearned men hard matters out can find, 
When learned bishops princes eyes do blind." 

The following is chiefly printed from an ancient black-letter copy, 
to the tune of " Uerry down." 

An ancient story lie tell you anon 
Of a ncjtable prince, that was called King John ; 
And ho ruled England with maiuc and with might, 
For he did great wrong, and maintein'd little right. 

> See the collection of Historical Ballads, 3 vols., 1727. Mr. Wise 
•apposes Olfrey to be a corruption of Alfred, in his pamphlet coaceruiag 
ti 8 White Horse in Berkshire, p. 15. 


And lie tell you a story, a story so merrye, 6 

Conceruing the Abbot of Canterburye ; 

How for his house-keeping and high renowne, 

They rode poste for him to fair London towne. 

An hundred men, the king did heare say. 

The abbot kept in his house every day ; 10 

And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt, 

In velvet coates waited the abbot about. 

" How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee, 

Thou keepest a farre better house than mee ; 

And for thy house-keeping and high renowne, 15 

I feare thou work'st treason against my crown.* 

" My liege," quo' the abbot, " I would it were knowne 

I never spend nothing, but what is my owne ; 

And I trust your grace will doe me no deere, 

For spending of my owne true-gotten geere." 20 

" Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is higho, 
And now for the same thou needest must dye ; 
For except thou canst answer me questions three. 
Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie. 

" And first, " quo' the king, " when I'm in this stead, 25 
With my crowne of golde so faire on my head. 
Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe. 
Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe. 

" Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt. 

How soone I may ride the whole world about ; 30 

And at the third question thou must not shrink. 

But tell me here truly what I do think." 

" 0, these are hard questions for my shallow witt, 

Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet : 

But if you will give me but three weekes space, 35 

He do my endeavour to answer your grace." 

" Now three weeks space to thee will I give. 

And this is the longest time thou hast to live ; 

For if thou dost not answer my questions three, 

Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to mee." 40 


Away rode the abbot all sad at tbat word, 
And lie rode to Cambridge, and (Jxenford ; 
But never a doctor there was so wise, 
That could with his learning an answer devise. 

Then home rode the abbot of comfcjrt so cold, 45 

And he mett his shepheard a going to fold : 
" How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home ; 
What newes do you bring us from good King John ? " 

" Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must give, 

That I have but three days more to live ; 50 

For if I do not answer him questions three, 

My head will be smitten from my bodic. 

*' The first is to tell him there in that stead. 

With his crowne of golde so fair on his head. 

Among all his liege-men so noble of birth, 55 

To within one penny of what he is worth. 

" The seconde, to tell him, without any doubt, 
How soone he may ride this whole world about ; 
And at the third question I must not shrinke, 
But tell him there truly what ho does thinke." 

" Now cheare up, sire abbot, did you never hear yet. 
That a fool he may learn a wise man witt ? 
Lend me horse, and serving men, and your apparel. 
And I'll ride to London to answere your quarrel. 

"Nay frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee, 

I am like your lordship, as ever may bee ; 

And if you will but lend me your gowne, 

There is none shall knowe us at fail* London towne." 

" Now liorses and serving-men thou shalt have, 

With smnptuous array most gallant and brave, 70 

Witli crozier, and miter, and rochet, and cope, 

Fit to appcare 'fore our fader the pope " 

" Now, welcome, sire abbot," the king he did say 

" Tis well thou'rt come back to kcepe thy day : 

For and if thou canst answer my questions three, 75 

Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee. 




" And first, when thou seest me here in this stead. 

With my cro^Ti of golde so fair on my head, 

Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe, 

Tell me to one penny what I am worth." 80 

" For thirty pence our Saviour was sold 
Amonge the false Jewes, as I have bin told : 
And twenty-nine is the worth of thee. 
For I thinke thou art one penny worser than hee." 

The king he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel,^ 85 

" I did not think I had been worth so littel ! 
— Now secondly tell mee, without any doubt. 
How soone I may ride this whole world about." 

" You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same 
Until the next morning he riseth againe ; 90 

And then your grace need not make any doubt 
But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about." 

The king he laughed, and swore by St. Jone, 

" I did not think it could be gone so soone ! 

— Now from the third question thou must not shrinke, 95 

But tell me here truly what I do thinke." 

" Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry ; 

You thinke I'm the Abbot of Canterbury ; 

But I'm his poor shepheard, as plain you may see, 

That am come to beg pardon for him and for mee." 100 

The king he laughed, and swore by the masse, 
" He make thee lord abbot this day in his place !" 
" Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede, 
For alacke I can neither write ne reade." 

" Four nobles a weeke, then, I will give thee, 105 

For this merry jest thou hast showne unto mee ; 

And tell the old abbot when thou comest home, 

Thou hast brought him a pardon from good King John." 


* Meaning probably St. Tiotolph. 




|}ou iBtnncv J3cautif0. 

This little sonnet was written by Sir Henry Wotton, Knight, on that 
amiable iiriiioess, Elizabeth, daugliter of James I, and wife of the 
Electiir Palatine, who was chosen King of Boliemia, Se[). 5, 1619. The 
consequences of this fatal election arc well known ; Sir Henry Wottor, 
who ill that and the following year was employed in several embassies 
in Germany on behalf of this unfortunate lady, seems to have had an 
uncommon attachment to her merit and fortunes, for he gave away 
a jewel wrjrth a thousand pounds, that was presented to him by the 
emjjeror, " because it came from an enemy to his royal mistress the 
Queen of Bohemia.' — See Biogr. Britan. 

This song is printed from the Helufuix Wottonianx 1651, with somt 
corrections from an old MS. copy. 

You meaner beauties of tlie night, 

That poorly satisfie our eies 
More by your number than your light, 

You common people of the skies, 

What are you when the moon shall rise ? 5 

Ye violets that first appeare,, 

By yoiu" pure purj^le mantles known. 

Like the proud virgins of the yeare, 
A s if the Spring were all your own, 
What are you when the rose is blown ? IC 

Ye curious chaunters of the wood, 
That warble forth dame Nature's layes, 

Thinking your passions understood 

By jour weak accents, what's your praise 

When riiiloniell her voyce shall raise? 15 

So when my nustris shal be seene 

In sweetnesse of her looks and minde. 

By virtue first, then choyce, a queen. 
Tell me, if she was not design'd 
Th' eclypse and glory of her kind ? 20 



CTjc (BXO antr joints (Kourtt'cr. 

This excellent old song, the subject of -which is a comparison between 
the manners of the old gentry, as still subsisting in the times of 
Elizabeth, and the modern refinements alfected by their sons in the 
reigns of her successors, is given, witli corrections, from an ancient 
black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, compared with another 
printed among some miscellaneous " poems and songs " in a book 
entitled Le Prince d' Amour, 1660, 8vo. 

An old song made by an aged old pate, 

Of an old worshipful gentleman who had a greate estate, 

That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate, 

And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate 

Like an old courtier of the queen's, 

And the queen's old courtier. 

With an old lady, whose anger one word asswages, 

They every quarter paid their old servants their wages. 

And never knew what belong'd to coachmen, footmen, nor 

But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats and badges ; 
Like an old courtier, &c. 

With an old study fill'd full of learned old books, 

With an old reverend chaplain, you might know him by his 

looks ; 
With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the hooks, 
And an old kitchen, that maintain 'd half a dozen old cooks ; 
Like an old courtier, &c. 

With an old hall hung about with pikes, guns and bows. 
With old swords and bucklers that had borne many shrewde 

And an old frize coat to cover his worship's trunk hose, 
And a cup of old sherry to comfort his copper nose ; 
Like an old coui-tier, &c. 

D 2 


With a good old fashion, when Christmasse was corae, 
To call in all his old neighbours with bagpipe and drum, 
With good chcar enough to furnish every old room, 
And old liquor able to make a cat speak, and man dumb 
Like an old coui'tier, &c. 

With an old falconer, huntsman, and a kennel of hounds, 
That never hawked nor hunted but in his own grounds, 
Who, like a wise man, kept himself within his own bounds, 
And when he dyed gave every child a thousand good 
pounds ; 

Like an old courtier, &c. 

But to his eldest son his house and land he assign 'd, 
Charging him in his will to keep the old bountifuU mind. 
To be good to his old tenants, and to his neighbours bo 

kind : 
But in the ensuing ditty you shall hear how he was inclin'd ; 

Like a young courtier of the king's, 

And the king's young coui'tier. 

Like a flourishing young gallant, newly come to his land. 
Who keeps a bi-ace of painted madams at his command. 
And takes up a thousand pound upon his father's land, 
And gets driink in a tavern, till he can neither go ni>r 
stand ; 

Like a young courtier, &c. 

With a new-fangled lady that is dainty, nice and spare, 
Who never knew what belong'd to good housekeeping or 

Who buycs gaudy-color'd fans to play with wanton air, 
And seven or eight difierent di-essings of other womens 

hair ; 

Like a young courtier, &c. 

With a new-fiishion'd hall, built where the old one stood, 
Hung round with new pictuies that do the poor no good, 


Witli a fine marble chimney wherein burns neither coal nor 

And a new smooth shovelboard whereon no victuals ne'er 

stood ; 

Like a young courtier, &c. 

With a new study, stuft full of pamphlets and plays, 

And a new chaplain that swears faster than he i)rays. 

With a new buttery hatch that opens once in four or five 

And a new French cook to devise fine kickshaws and toys ; 
Like a young courtier, &c. 

With a new fashion when Christmas is drawing on. 
On a new journey to London straight we all must begone, 
And leave none to keep house but our new porter John, 
Who relieves the poor with a thump on the back with a 
stone ; 

Like a young courtier, &c. 

With a new gentleman-usher, whose carriage is compleat, 
With a new coachman, footman and pages to carry up the 

With a waiting-gentlewoman, whose dressing is very neat. 
Who, when her lady has din'd, lets the servants not eat ; 
Like a yoimg corn-tier, &c. 

With new titles of honour bought wdth his father's old gold. 
For which sundry of his ancestors old manors are sold : 
And this is the course most of our new gallants hold. 
Which makes that good house- keeping is now grown so cold, 

Among the young courtiers of the king. 

Or the king's young courtiers. 

* * 


38 SIR JOHN sucki-ing's campaignk. 


^tr '^oi)n ^urhling'g Campatgnt. 

Wlien the Scottish covenanters rose up in arms, and advanced to th« 
English bordt-rs in 1639, many of the courtiers complimented tlie king 
by raising forces at their own expense. Among these, none were mora 
distinguished than tlie gallant Sir John Suckling, who raised a troop of 
horse, so richly accoutred, that it cost him 12,000/. The like expensive 
ei|uipmcnt of other parts of the army madu the king remark, that "the 
Scots would fight stoutly, if it were but for the Euglishmen's fine cloaths." 
I Lloyd's Memoirs.] When they came to action, the rugged Scots provt d 
more than a match for the fine showy English : many of whom behaved 
remarkably ill, and among the rest this splendid troop of Sir John 

This humorous pasquil has been generally supposed to have been 
written by Sir John, as a banter upon himself. Some of his contempo- 
raries, however, attributed it to Sir John Mennis, a wit of those times, 
among whose poems it is printed in a small poetical miscellany, entitled, 
" Musarum dolicias : or the Muses' recreation, containing several pieces 
of poetique wit, 2ud edition. By Sir J. M. [Sir John Mennis] and Ja. 
S. [James Smith.] Lomlon. ](i5(J, 12mo." [See Wood's yl</(e»i«?, ii. 397, 
418.] In that copy is subjoined an additional stanza, which probably 
Was written by this Sir John Mennis, viz. — 

" But now there is peace, he's return'd to increase 
His money, which lately he spent-a ; 
But his lost honour must lye still in the dust ; 
At Barwick away it went-a." 

SiK John he got him an ambling nag, 

To Scotland for to ridc-a, 
With a hundred horse more, all his own he swore, 

To guard him on every side-a. 

No errant-knight ever went to fight 5 

With halfc so gay a bravado, 
Had you seen but his look, you'ld have sworn on a book, 

Heo'ld have conquer'd a whole armado. 

The ladies ran all to the windows to see 

So gallant and warlike a sight a, 10 

And as he jtass'd, they said with a sigh, 

" Sir John, why will you go light-a ? " 


But he, like a cruel knight, spurr'd on, 

His heart would not relent-a, 
For, till he came there, what had he to fear, 15 

Or why should he repent-a ? 

The king (God bless him !) had singular hopes 

Of him and all his troop-a : 
The borderers they, as they met him on the ivay, 

For joy did hollow and whoop-a. 20 

None lik'd him so well as his own colonell, 

Who took him for John de Wert-a ; 
But when there were shows of gunning and blows, 

My gallant was nothing so pert-a. 

For when the Scots army came within sight, 25 

And all prepared to fight-a. 
He ran to his tent ; they ask'd what he meant 

He swore he must needs goe sh*te-a. 

The colonell sent for him back agen, 

To quarter him in the van-a, 30 

But Sir John did swear, he would not come there 

To be kill'd the very first man-a. 

To cure his fear, he was sent to the reare. 

Some ten miles back, and more-a ; 
Where Sir John did play at trip and away, 35 

And ne'er saw the enemy more-a. 

V. 9,2. John de Wert was a German general of great reputation, and 
the terror of the French in the reign of Louis XIII. Hence his name 
became proverbial in France, where he was cabled De Vert. — See Bayle's 

Eo ^Itijia from ^rigoit. 

This excellent sonnet, which possessed a high degree of fame among the 
old Cavaliers, was written by Colonel Eichard Lovelace, during Iiia 
confinement in the Gate-house, Westminster : to which he was committed 
by the House of Commons, in April, 16i2, for presenting a petition from 


tne county of Kent, requesting them to restore the king to liis rights, 
and to settle the government. See Wood's Alhen.T, vol. ii. p. 228, and 
Ly.sons' Envfronn of London, vol. i. p. lOU ; where may be seen at large 
the afi'ectiug story of this elegant writer, who, after having been dis- 
tinguished for every gallant and polite accomplishment, the pattern ot 
his own sex, and the darling of the ladies, died in the lowest wretched- 
ness, obscurity, and want, in 1658. 

This song is printed from a scarce volume of his poems, entitled 
Liicasta, 1649, 12mo, collated with a copy in the Editor's folio MS. 

When Love witli unconfined wings 

Hovers within my gates. 
And my divine Altbea brings 

To whisper at my grates ; 
When I lye tangled in her haire 6 

And fetter'd with her eye. 
The birds that wanton in the aire 

Know no such liber tye. 

When flowing cups run swiftly round 

With no allaying Thames, 10 

Our carelesse heads with roses crown'd, 

Our hearts with loyal flames ; 
When thirsty griefe in wine wc steepe. 

When healths and draughts goe free, 
Fishes that tipple in the deepe 15 

Know no such libertie. 

When, linnet-like confined, I 

With shriller note shall sing 
The mercye, sweetness, majestye 

And glories of my king ; 20 

Wlien I shall voyce aloud how good 

Ho is, how great should be, 
Th' enlarged windcs that curie the flood 

Know no such libertie. 

Stone walls doe not a prison make, 25 

Nor iron barres a cage, 
Mindes, innocent and quiet, take 

That for an hermitage. 

Ver. 10, W th woe-allaying themes. MS. Thames is here used tn 
tvater in genei il. 


If I have freedom in my love, 

And in my soule am free, 30 

Angels alone that soare above 

Enjoy such libertie. 


Wi)t lOoiunfall of Ci;arms-Croi5iS. 

Charing-cross, as it stood before the civil wars, was one of those beau- 
tiful Gothic obelisks erected to conjugal aifection by Edward I., who 
built such an one wherever the hearse of his beloved Eleanor rested in its 
way from Lincolnshire to "Westminster. But neither its ornamental 
situation, the beauty of its structiu-e, nor the noble design uf its erection, 
(which did honour to humanity,) could preserve it from the merciless 
zeal of the times : for, in 1 G47, it was demolished by order of the House 
of Commons, as popish and superstitious. This occasioned the following 
not unhumorous sarcasm, which has been often printed among tlie 
popular sonnets of those times. 

The plot referred to in ver. 17 was that entered into by Mr. Waller 
the poet, and others, with a view to reduce the city and tower to the 
service of the king, for which two of them, Nathaniel Tomkins and 
Richard Chalouer, suffered death, July 5, 1643. — Vide Atlien. Ox. ii. 24. 

Undone, undone the lawyers are, 

They wander about the towne, 
Nor can find the way to Westmiuster, 

Now Charing-cross is downe ; 
At the end of the Strand they make a stand, 5 

Swearing they are at a loss, 
And chaffing say that's not the way. 

They must go by Charing-cross. 

The Parliament to vote it down 

Conceived it very fitting, 10 

For fear it should fall and kill them all 

In the house, as they were sitting. 
They were told, god-wot, it had a j^lot, 

Which made them so hard-heart' ;d 
To give command it should not stand, 15 

But be taken down and carted. 


Men talk of plots, this might have been worse 

For anything I know, 
Than that Tomkins and Chaloner 

Were hang'd for long agoe. 20 

Our Parliament did that prevent, 

And wisely them defended, 
For plots they will discover still 

Before they were intended. 

But neither man, woman, nor child, 25 

Will say, I'm confident. 
They ever heard it speak one word 

Against the Parliament. 
An informer swore, it letters bore, 

Or else it had been freed. 30 

I'll take, in troth, my Bible oath, 

It could neither write nor read. 

The committee said that verily 

To popery it was bent ; 
For ouglit 1 know it might be so, 35 

For to church it never went. 
What with excise, and such device, 

The kingdom doth begin 
To think you'll leave them ne'er a cross, 

Without doors nor within. 40 

Methinks the common-council shou'd 

Of it have taken pity, 
'Cause, good old cross, it always stood 

So firmly to the city. 
Since crosses you so much disdain, 45 

Faitli, if I were as you. 
For fear the king shoiild rule again, 

I'd pull down Tiburn too. 

*jf* Whitelocko says, " Alay 7, 1643, Cheapside-cross and otTier crossea 
were voted down," &c. But this vote was not put in execution with 
regard to Chai-inn;-cross till four years after, as appears from Lilly's 
' Observations on the Life, &o. of Kinj? Charles,' viz. " Chnrinn^-cross we 
know, was pulled down 1<)47, in Jiini\ .July, and Aui;;ust. Part of tha 
Btoues were converted toi^ave before Whitehall. I have seen knife-hafta 


made of some of the stones, which, being well polished, looked like 
marble." Ed. 1715, p. 18, 12mo. 

See an account of the pulling down Cheapside-cross, in the Supple- 
ment to Gent. Mag. 1764. 


EonaltD Confi'ncK. 

This excellent old song is preserved in David Lloyd's " Memoires of 
those that sufleied in the cause of Charles I.," London, 1G68, fol. p. 96. 
He speaks of it as tlie composition of a worthy personage, who suffered 
deeply in those times, and was still living with no other reward than 
the conscience of having stitfered. The author's name he has not men- 
tioned, but if tradition may be credited, this song was written by S r 
Koger L' Estrange. Some mistakes in Lloyds copy are corrected by two 
others, one in M S., the other in the " Westminster DroUery, or a choice 
Collection of Songs and Poems, 1671," 12mo. 

Beat on, proud billows ! Boreas blow ! 

Swell, curled waves, high as Jove's roof I 
Your incivility doth show. 

That innocence is tempest- proof ; 
Though surly Nereus frown, my thoughts are calm ; 5 
Then strike. Affliction, for thy wounds are balm. 

That which the world miscalls a jail, 

A private closet is to me ; 
Whilst a good conscience is my bail. 

And innocence my liberty. IC 

Locks, bars, and solitude, together met, 
Make me no prisoner, but an anchoret. 

I, whilst I wisht to be retir'd, 

Into this private room was turn'd : 
As if their wisdoms bad couspir'd 15 

The salamander should be burn'd ; 
Or like those sophists, that would drown a fish 
I am constrain'd to suifer what I wish. 

The cynick loves his poverty ; 
The pelican her wilderness ; 



And 'tis the Indian's pride to be 
Naked ou frozen Caucasus ; 
Contentment cannot smart ; stoicks we see 
Make torments easie to their ai)athy. 

These manacles upon my arm 25 

I, as my mistress' favour*, wear ; 
And for to keep my ancles warm 
I have some iron shackles there ; 
These walls are but my garrison ; this cell, 
Which men call jail, doth prove my citadel. 30 

I'm in the cabinet lockt up, 

Like some high-prized margarite. 
Or, like the great mogul or pope, 

Am cloyster'd uj) from publick sight ; 
Eetii'cdness is a piece of majesty, 35 

And thus, proud sultan, I'm as great as thee. 

Here sin for want of food must starve, 

Where tempting objects are n<it seen ; 
And these strong walls do only serve 

To keep vice out, and keep me in ; 40 

Malice of late's grown charitable sure, 
I'm not committed, but am kept secure. 

So he that struck at Jason's life,^ 

Thinking t' have made his pm-pose sure, 
By a malicious friendly knife 45 

Did only wound him to a cure ; 
Malice, I see, wants wit ; for what is meant 
Mischief oft-times proves favour by th' event. 

When once my prince affliction hath. 

Prosperity doth treason seem ; 50 

And to make smooth so rough a path, 
I can learn patience from him ; 
Now not to sufter shews no loyal heart, 
When kings want ease subjects must bear a part, 

• See this remarkable story in Cicero de Nat. Deorum, lib. iii. c. xiviii. 
Cic. de Olfic. 1. i. c. xxx. ; see also Val. Max. 1. viii. 


What though I cannot see my king 55 

Neither in person or in coin, 
Yet contemplation is a thing 

That renders what I have not, mine ; 
My king from me what adamant can part, 
Whom I do wear engraven on my heart ? 60 

Have you not seen the nightingale, 
A prisoner like, coopt in a cage, 
How doth she chaunt her wonted tale 
In that her narrow hermitage ? 
Even then her charming melody doth prove, 65 

That all her bars are trees, her cage a grove. 

I am that bird, whom they combine 

Thus to deprive of liberty ; 
But though they do my corps confine, 

Yet maugre hate, my soul is free ; 70 

And though immur'd, yet can I chirp and sing 
Disgrace to rebels, glory to my king. 

My soul is free as ambient air, 

Although my baser part's immew'd, 
Whilst loyal thoughts do still repair 75 

T' accompany my solitude ; 
Although rebellion does my body binde, 
My king alone can captivate my minde. 


" This prince, like Ws father, did not confine himself to prose : Bishop 
Burnet has given us a pathetic elegy, said to be written by Charles in 
Cari^brooke Castle [in 1:48]. The po. try is most uncouth and uu- 
harmonious, but there are strong thoughts in it, some good sense, and a 
strain of majestic piety." — Walpole's Royal and Noble Authors, v. i. 

It is in his Memoirs of the Duke of Hamilton, p. 379, that Burnet hath 
preserved this elegy, -which he tells us he had from a gentleman, who 
waited on the king at the time when it was written, and copied it out 
from the original. Il is there entitled, " Majesty in misery : ok an 
Implouation to the King of kings." 


Hume hath remarked of these stanzas, " that the truth jf the senti- 
nieut. rather tliau the elegance of the expression, nnders them very 
pathetic."— See his History, 17G3, 4to, vol. v. pp. 437. 442, which is no 
bad comment upon ti,em. — These are almost the only verses known of 
Charles's compusition. Indeed, a little poem. On a Quiet Conscience, 
printed in tlie Poetical Calendar, 1763, vol. viii., is attributed to King 
Charles I. ; being reprinted from a thin 8vo, published by Nahum Tate, 
called " Miscellanea Sacra, or Poems on Divine and Moral Subjects." 

Great Monarcli of tlie world, from wliose power springs 
The poteucy aud power of kings, 
Eecord the royal woe my sufleriug sings ; 

And teach my tongue, that ever did confine 

Its faculties in truth's seraphick line, 5 

To track the treasons of thy foes and mine. 

Nature and law, by thy divine decree, 
(The only rout of righteous royaltie) 
With this dim diadem invested me ; 

With it, the sacred scepter, purple robe, 10 

The holy unction and the royal globe : 
Yet am I levell'd with the life of Job. 

The fiercest furies that do daily tread 

Upon my grief, my grey discrowned head. 

Are those that owe my bounty for their bread. 15 

They raise a war, and christen it the cause. 
While sacrilegious hands have best ajiplause, 
Plunder and murder are the kingdom's laws ; 

Tyranny bears the title of taxation, 

Eevenge and robbery are reformation, 20 

Oppression gains the name of sequestration. 

My loyal subjects, who in this bad season 
Attend me (by the law of God aud reason,) 
They dare impeach and punish for high treason. 

Next at the clergy do their furies frown, 25 

Pious episcopacy must go down. 

They will destroy the crosier aud the crown. 

Churchmen are chain'd, and schismaticks are freed, 

Mechanicks 2)reach, and holy fathers bleed, 

The crown is crucified with the creed. 30 


The diurch of England doth all factions foster, 
The pulpit is usurpt by each impostor, 
Extempore excludes the Paternoster. 

The Presbyter and Independent seed 

Springs with broad blades. To make religion bleed 35 

Herod and Pontius Pilate are agreed. 

The corner stone's misplac'd by every pavier : 
With such a bloody method and behaviour 
Their ancestors did crucifie our Saviour. 

My royal consort, from whose fruitful womb 40 

So many princes legally have come, 
Is forc'd in pilgrimage to seek a tomb. 

Great Britain's heir is forced into France, 

Whilst on his father's head his foes advance : 

Poor child ! he weeps out his inheritance. 45 

With my own power my majesty they wound, 
In the king's name the king himself 's uncrown'd : 
So doth the dust destroy the diamond. 

With propositions daily they enchant 

My people's esirs, such as do reason daunt, 50 

And the Almighty will not let me grant. 

They promise to erect my royal stem, 
To make me great, t' advance my diadem 
If I will fii-st fall down, and worship them ! 

But for refusal they devour my thrones, 55 

Distress my children, and destroy my bones ; 
I fear they'll force me to make bread of stones. 

My life they prize at such a slender rate 

That in my absence they draw bills of hate. 

To prove the king a traytor to the state. 60 

Felons obtain more privilege than I : 
They are allow'd to answer ere they die ; 
'Tis death for me to ask the reason why. 

But, sacred Saviour, with thy words I woo 

Thee to forgive and not be bitter to 65 

Such as thou know'st do not know what they do. 


For since tlicy from tlicir Lord arc so disjointed, 
As to contemn those edicts he appointed. 
How can they j)rizc the power of his anointed ? 

Augment my patience, nullifie my hate, 70 

Preserve my issue, and inspire my mate; 

Yet, though we perish, bless this chukch and state. 


€\)t ^idt uf Bthflltou^ f>ou^tA)olii ^tuff. 

This sarcastic exultation of triumphant loyalty is printed from an old 
black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, corrected by two others, one 
of which is preserved in " A choice collection of 120 loyal songs," &c. 
1684, 12mo. — To the tune oWld Simon the king. 

Rebellion hath broken up house, 

And hath left me old lumber to sell ; 
Come hither and take your choice, 

I'll promise to use you well. 
Will you buy the old speaker's chair ? 5 

Wliich was warm and easie to sit in, 
And oft hath been clean'd I declare, 

When as it was fouler than fitting. 
Says old Simon the king, &c. 

Will you buy any bacon-flitches, 10 

The fattest, that ever were spent ? 
They're the sides of the old committees, 

Fed up in the Long Parliament. 
Here's a pair of bellows and tongs. 

And for a small matter I'll sell ye 'um ; 15 

They o,re made of the presbyters' lungs 

To blow up the coals of rebellion. 
Says old Simon, &c. 

I had thought to have given them once 

To some black-smith for his forge ; 20 

But now I luive considered on't, 
They are consecrate to the church ; 


So I'll give them unto some quire. 
They will make the big organs roar, 

And the little pipes to squeeke higher 25 

Than ever they could before. 
Says old Simon, &c. 

Here's a couple of stools for sale, 

One's square, and t' other is round ; 
Betwixt them both the tail 30 

Of the EuMP fell down to the ground. 
Will you buy the states council-table, 

Which was made of the good wain Scot ? 
The frame was a tottering Babel 

To uphold the Independent plot. 35 

Says old Simon, &c. 

Here's the beesom of Eeformation, 

Which should have made clean the floor, 
But it swept out the wealth of the nation, 

And left us dirt good store. 40 

Will you buy the states si^inning- wheel. 

Which spun for the roper's trade ? 
But better it had stood still, 

For now it has spun a fair thread. 

Says old Simon, &c. 45 

Here's a glyster-pipe well try'd, 

Which was made of a butcher's stump,^ 
And has been safely apply'd 

To cure the colds of the rump. 
Here's a lump of Pilgrims-Salve, 50 

Which once was a justice of peace 
Who Noll and the Devil did serve ; 

But now it is come to this. 
Says old Simon, &c. 

Here's a roll of the states tobacco, 55 

If any good fellow will take it ; 
No Virginia had e'er such a smack-o. 

And I'll tell you how they did make it : 

' Alluding probaKy to Major-General Harrison, a butcher's son, who 
issisted Cromwell in turning out the Long Parliament, April 20, 1653. 


'Tis th' Engagement and Covenant cookt 

Up with the Abjuration oath ; 60 

Vnd many of them, that have took't, 
Comphiiu it was foul in the mouth. 
Says old Simon, &c. 

iTet the ashes may happily serve 

To cure the scab of the nation, 65 

When e'er 't has an itch to swerve 

To Rebellion by innovation. 
A. Lanthorn here is to be bought. 

The like was scarce ever gotten, 
L^'or many plots it has found out 70 

Before they ever were thought on. 
Says old Simon, &c. 

Will you buy the Rump's great saddle, 

With which it jocky'd the nation? 
And here is the bitt and the bridle, 75 

And curb of Dissimulation : 
And here's the trunk-hose of the Rump, 

And their fair dissembling cloak, 
And a Presl)yterian jump. 

With an Independent smock. 80 

Says old Simon, &c. 

Will you buy a Conscience oft tiirn'd, 

Which serv'd the high-court of justice, 
And stretch'd until England it mourn 'd ; 

But Hell will buy that if the worst is. 85 

Here's Joan Cromwell's kitchen-stuff tub, 

Wherein is the fat of the Rumpers, 
With which old Noll's horns she did rub. 

When he was got drunk with false bumjicrs. 
Says old Simon, &c. 90 

Here's the purse of the public faith ; 

Here's the model of the Sequestration, 
When the old wives upon their good troth, 

Lent thiiiiblcs to mine the nation. 

Ver. 86. This was a cant name given to Cromwell's wife by the 
Rovalibls, though her name was Elizabeth. She was taxed with exchang- 
ing tht kit<:hen-stnlV for the candles used in the Protector's household, iic 
6«e Geui. Mmj. for March, 1788, p. 242. 


Here's Dick Cromwell's Protectorship, 95 

And here are Lambert's commissions, 

And hero is Hugh Peters his scrip 

Cramm'd with the tumultuous Petitions. 
Says old Simon, &c. 

And here are old Noll's brewing vessels, 100 

And here are his di-ay, and his slings ; 

Here are Hewson's awl, and his bristles, 
With diverse other odd things : 

And what is the price doth belong 

To all these matters before ye ? 105 

I'll sell them all for an old song, 

And so 1 do end my story. 
Says old Simon, &c. 

V. 94-. See Grey's Hudibras, pt. i. cant. ii. v. 570, &c. 

V. 100, 102. Cromwell had in his younger years followed the brewing 
trade at Huntingdon. Col. Hewson is said to have been originally a 


GiTen (with some corrections) from a MS. copy, and collated with two 
printed ones in Roman character in the Pepys collection. 

There was a knight was drunk with wine, 

A riding along the way, sir ; 
And there he met with a lady fine, 

Among the cocks of hay, sir. 

" Shall you and I, lady faire, H 

Among the grass lye down-a, 
And I will have a special care 
Of rumpling of your gown-a ? " 

" Upon the grass there is a dewe 

WiU spoil my damask gowne, sir ; 10 

My gowne and kirtle they are uewe. 

And cost me many a crowne, sir." 

K 2 


" 1 have a cloak of scarlet red, 

Upon the ground I'll throwe it ; 
Then, lady faire, come, lay thy head ; 15 

We'll play, and none shall knowe it." 

" yonder stands my steed so free 

Among the cocks of hay, sir ; 
And if the pinner should chance to see, 

He'll take my steed away, sir." 20 

" Upon my finger I have a ring, 

Its made of finest gold- a, 
And, lady, it thy steed shall bring 

Out of the pinner's fold-a." 

" O go with me to my father's hall ; 25 

Fair chambers there are three, sir ; 
And you shall have the best of all. 

And I'll youi" chamberlaine bee, sir." 

He mounted himself on his steed so tall, 

And her on her dapple gray, sir ; 30 

And there they rode to her father's hall, 
Fast pricking along the way, sir. 

To her father's hall they arrived strait ; 

'Twas moated round about-a ; 
She slipt herself within the gate, 35 

And lockt the knight without-a. 

•' Here is a silver penny to spend. 

And take it for your pain, sir ; 
And two of my father's men I'll send 

To wait on you back again, sir." 40 

He from his scabbard drew his brand, 

And wiped it ujion his sleeve-a : 
" And cursed," he said, " be every man 

That will a maid believe-a ! " 

She drew a bodkin from her haire, 15 

And whip'd it upon her gown-a : 
" And curs'd be every maiden faire 

That will with men lye down-a ! 

OB lady's I'OLicr. 63 

** A herb there is, that lowly grows. 

And some do call it rue, sir ; 50 

The smallest dunghill cock that crows 

Would make a capon of you, sir. 

" A flower there is, that shineth bright, 

Some call it mary-gold-a ; 
He that wold not when he might, 65 

He shall not when he wold-a." 

The knight was riding another day, 

With cloak and hat and feather. 
He met again with that lady gay, 

Who was angling in the river. 60 

" Now, lady faire, I've met with you. 

You shall no more escape me ; 
Remember, how not long agoe 

You falsely did intrap me." 

The lady blushed scarlet red, 65 

And trembled at the stranger : 
" How shall I guard my maidenhead 

From this approaching danger ? " 

He from his saddle down did light. 

In all his riche attyer, 70 

And cryed, " As I am a noble knight, 

I do thy charms admyer." 

He took the lady by the hand. 

Who seemingly consented ; 
And would no more disputing stand : 75 

She had a plot invented. 

" Looke yonder, good Sir Knight, I pray, 

Methinks I now discover, 
A riding upon his dapple gray. 

My former constant lover." 80 

On tip-toe peering stood the knight. 

Fast by the river's brink-a ; 
Tbe lady pusht with all her might : 

'Sir Knight, now swim or siuk-a," 


O'er Lead and ears he plunged in, 85 

The bottom faire he sounded ; 
Then rising up, he cried amain, 

" Help, heljje, or else I'm drownded !** 

" Now, fare-you-well, Sir Knight, adieu I 

You see what comes of fooling ; 90 

That is the fittest place for you ; 
Your courage wanted cooling," 

Ere many days, in her father's park. 

Just at the close of eve-a 
Again she met with her angry sparko ; ^6 

Which made this lady grieve-a. 

" False lady, here thou'rt in my powre, 

And no one now can hear thee ; 
And thou shalt sorely rue the hour 

That e'er thou dar'dst to jeer me. 100 

" I pray, Sir Knight, be not so warm 

With a young silly maid-a ; 
I vow and swear I thought no harm : 

'Twas a gentle jest I playd-a," 

" A gentle jest, in soothe," he cryd, 105 

" To tumble me in and leave me ! 
What if I had in the river dy'd ? 

That fetch will not deceive me. 

*' Once more I'll pardon thee this day, 

Tho' injur'd out of measure ; 110 

But then prepare without delay 

To yield thee to my pleasiu'e." 

" Well then, if I must grant your suit. 
Yet think of your boots and spurs, sir : 

Let me pull oflf both spur and boot, 115 

Or else you cannot stir, sir." 

He set him down upon the grass 

And begg'd her kind assistance ; 
* Now," smiling thought this lovely lass, 

" I'll make you kecj) your distance." 120 

OB lady's polict. 55 

Then pulling off his boots half-way : 

" Sir Knight, now I'm your betters ; 
You shall not make of me your prey ; 

Sit there like a knave in fetters," 

The knight when she had served soe, 125 

He fretted, fum'd, and grumbled ; 
For he could neither stand nor goo. 

But like a cripple tumbled. 

*' Farewell, Sir Knight, the clock strikes ten. 

Yet do not move nor stir, sir ; 130 

I'll send you my father's serving men 
To pull oft" your boots and spurs, sir, 

" This merry jest you must excuse, 

You are but a stingless nettle ; 
You'd never have stood for boots and shres, 135 

Had you been a man of mettle." 

All night in grievous rage he lay, 

Eolling upon the plain-a ; 
Next morning a shepherd past that way, 

Who set him right again-a. 140 

Then mounting upon his steed so tall. 

By hill and dale he swore-a : 
" I'll ride at once to her father's hall ; 

She shall escape no more-a. 

" I'll take her father by the beard ; 145 

I'll challenge all her kindred ; 
Each dastard sonl shall stand affeard ; 

My wrath shall no more be hindred." 

He rode unto her father's house, 

Which every side was moated ; 150 

The lady heard his furious vows, 

And all his vengeance noted. 

Thought shee, " Sir Knight, to quench your rage, 

Once more I will endeavour ; 
This water shall your fury 'swage, 1 55 

Or else it shall burn for ever." 

56 WHT so PAI.K 


Then faining penitence and feare, 

She did invite a parley : 
" Sir Knight, if you'll forgive me heare, 

Henceforth I'll love you dearly. 160 

" My father he is now from home, 

And I am all alone, sir ; 
Therefore a-cross the water come ; 

And I am all your own, sir." 

" False maid, thou canst no more deceive ; 165 

I scorn the treacherous bait-a ; 
If thou would'st have me thee believe, 

Now open me the gate-a." 

" The bridge is drawn, the gate is barr'd ; 

My father he has the keys, sir ; 170 

But I have for my love prepar'd 

A shorter way and easier. 

" Over the moate I've laid a plank 

Full seventeen feet in measure ; 
Then step a- cross to the other bank, 175 

And there we'll take oiu- pleasure." 

These words she had no sooner spoke 

But strait he came tripping over : 
The plank was saw'd, it snapping broke, 

And sous'd the imhappy lover. 180 

* * 

mi\)\j so |3ale? 

From Sir John Suckling's rooms. Tliis sprightly knight was born in 
1G13, and cut off by a fever about the 29th year of hia age.— See above, 
Bong ill. of this book. 

Why so pale and wan, fond lover ? 

Prethee why so pale ? 
Will, when looking well can't move her, 

Looking ill prevail ? 

Prethee why so pale ? 5 


Why SO dull and mute, young sinner ? 

Prethee why so mute ? 
Will, when speaking well can't win her, 

Saying nothing doe't ? 

Prethee why so mute ? 10 

Quit, quit for shame ; this will not move, 

This cannot take her ; 
If of herself she will not love, 

Nothing can make her. 

The devil take her ! 15 

(©Itr Com of ?3fblam. 


It is worth attention, that the English have more songs and ballads on 
the subject of madness, than any of their neighbours. Whether there 
be any truth in the insinuation, that we are more liable to this calamity 
than other nations, or that our native gloominess hath peculiarly re- 
commended subjects of this cast to our writers, we certainly do nol find 
the same iu the printed collections of French, Italian songs, &c. 

Out of a much larger quantity, we have selected half a dozen mad 
;ONGS for these volumes. The three first are original in their respective 
kinds : the merit of the three last is chiefly that of imitation. They 
were written at considerable intervals of time ; but we have here grouped 
them together, that the reader may the better examine their comparative 
merits. He may consider them as so many trials of skill in a peculiar 
subject, as the contest of so many rivals to shoot in the bow of Ulysses. 
The two first were probably written about the beginning of the last 
century ; the third about the middle of it ; the fourth and sixth towards 
the end ; and the fifth within the eighteenth century. 

This is given from the Editor's folio MS. compared with two or three 
old printed copies. — With regard to the author of this old rhapsody, in 
Walton's Complete Angler, cap. 3, is a song in praise of angling, which 
the author says was made at his request " by Mr. William Basse, one 
that has made the choice songs of the Hunter in his Career, and of Tom 
of Bedlani. and many others of note, " p. 84. — See Sir John Hawkins's 
curious edition, 8vo, of that excellent old book. 


Forth from my sad and darksome cell, 
Or from the dccpc abysse of hell, 
Mad Tom is come into the world againe 
To see if he can cure his distempered braine. 

Feares and cares oppresse my soule ; 5 

Harke, howe the angrye Fureys houle ! 
Pluto laughes, and Proserpine is gladd 
To see poore naked Tom of Bedlam madd. 

Through the world I wander night and day 

To seeke my straggling senses ; 10 

In angrye moode I mett old Time, 
With his pentarchye of tenses. 

When me he spyed, 

Away he hyed, 
For time will stay for no man ; 15 

In vaine with cryes 

I rent the skyes, 
For pity is not common. 

Cold and comfortless I lye. 

Helpe, oh helpe ! or else I dye. 20 

Harke ! I heare Apollo's teame, 

The carman 'gins to whistle ; 
Chast Diana bends her bowe, 

The boare begins to bristle. 

Come, Vulcan, with tools and with tackles, 25 

To knocke off my troublesome shackles ! 
Bid Charles make ready his waine 
To fetch me my senses againe. 

Last night I heard the dog-star bark. 
Mars met Venus in the darke ; 30 

Limping Vulcan hct an iron barr, 
And f urioiislye made at the god of war. 

Mars with his weapon laid about, 
But Vulcan's temples had the gout. 
For his broad horns did so hang in his light 35 

He could not see to aim his blowes aricht : 


Mcrcurye, the nimble post of heaven, 

Stood still to see the quarrell ; 
Gorrel-bellyed Bacchus, gyant-like, 

Bestiyd a strong-beere barrell. 40 

To mee he dranke, 

I did him thanke, 
But I could get no cyder ; 

He dranke whole butts 

Till he burst his gutts ; 45 

But mine were ne'er the wyder. 

Poor naked Tom is very drye ; 
A little drinke, for charitye ! 
Harke ! I hear Acteon's borne. 

The huntsmen whoop and hallowe ; 50 

Ringwood, Royster, Bowman, Jowler, 
All the chase do followe. 

The man in the moone drinkes clarret, 

Eates powder'd beef, turnip and carret ; 

But a cup of old Malaga sack 55 

"Will fire the bushe at his backe. 

Cljf Si'sitractfU puritan, 


WAS written about the begiiiing of the seventeenth century by the 
R'itty Bishop Corbet, and is printed from the third edition of his Poems, 
[2nio, 1672, compared with a more ancient copy in the Editor's folio MS, 

Am I mad, O noble Festus, 
When zeal and godly knowledge 
Have put me in hope 
To deal with the Pope 

As well as the best in the college ? 5 

Boldly I preach, hate a cross, hate a surplice, 
Mitres, copes, and rochets 1 


Come hear me pi'ay nine times a day, 
And fill your heads with crotchets. 

In the house of pure Emanuel ^ 10 

I had my education, 

Where my friends surmise 

I dazel'd my eyes 
With the sight of revelation. 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

They bound mo like a bedlam, 15 

They lash'd my four poor quarters. 

Whilst this I endure, 

Faith makes me sure 
To be one of Foxes martyrs. 

Boldly I preach, &c. 

These injuries I suffer 20 

Through antichrist's perswasion. 

Take oif this chain ! 

Neither Rome nor Spain 

Can resist my strong invasion. 

Boldly I preach, &c. 

Of the beast's ten horns (God bless us !) 25 

I have knock'd off three already ; 

If they let me alone 

I'll leave him none ; 
But they say I am too heady. 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

When I sack'd the seven-hill'd city 30 

I met the great red dragon ; 

I kept him aloof 

With the armour of proof, 
Though hero I have never a rag on 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

With a fiery sword and target, 36 

There fought I with this monster ; 

Emanuel College, ('ambridge, was originally a seminar/ of Puritan*. 


But the sons of prido 
My zeal deride, 
And fill my deeds misconster. 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

I un-hors'd the Whore of Babel 40 

With the lance of Inspiration ; 

I made her stink, 

And spill the drink 
In her cup of abomination. 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

I have seen two in a vision 45 

With a flying book ^ between them. • 

I have been in despair 

Five times in a year, 
And been cur'd by reading Greenham.' 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

I observ'd in Perkins' tables * 50 

The black line of damnation ; 

Those crooked veins 

So stuck in my brains, 
That I fear'd my reprobation. 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

In the holy tongue of Canaan 55 

I plac'd my chiefest pleasure, 

Till I prick'd my foot 

With an Hebrew root 
That I bled beyond all measure. 

Boldly I preach, &c. 

* Alluding to some visionary exposition of Zech. ch. v. ver. 1 ; or, if 
<he date of this song would permit, one might suppose it aimed at one 
< oppe, a strange enthusiast, whose life may be seen in Wood's Athen. 
vol. ii. p. 501. He was author of a book entitled The Fiery Flying Roll; 
and afterwards published a recantation, part of whose title is, Ute Fiery 
Flying Boll's Wings dipt, ^c. 

' See Greenham's Works, fol. 1605, particularly the tract entitled 
A sweet Comfort for an Afflicted Conscience. 

* See Perkins's Works, fol. 1616, vol. i. p. 11; where is a large half 
sheet folded, containing, " A survey, or table, declaring the order of the 
causes of salvation and damnation, &c.," the pedigree of damnation being 
distinguished by a broad black zig-zag line. 


I njipear'd before the Archbishop * 6ff 

Aud all the high Commission ; 
I gave him no grace, 
But told him to his face 
That ho favour'd superstition. 

Boldly I preach, hate a cross, hate a surplice, 65 

Mitres, copes, and rochets ! 
Come hear me pray nine times a day, 
And till your heads with crotchets. 

* Abq. Laud. 

Cf;f Uunattc Eobfr, 


.8 given from an old printed copy in the British Museum, sompared 
with another in the Pepys CoUuction : both in black-letter. 

Grim king of the ghosts, make haste. 

And bring hither all your train ; 
See how the pale moon does waste, 

And just now is in the wane. 
Jome, you night-hags, with all your charms, 5 

And revelling witches away. 
And hug me close in your arms ; 

To you my respects I'll pay. 

I'll court you and think you fair, 

Since love does distract my brain ; 10 

I'll go, I'll wed the night-mare, 

Aud kiss her, aud kiss her again ; 
But if she prove peevish and proud, 

Then, a pise on her love, let her go I 
I'll seek me a winding shroud, 16 

And down to the shades below. 


'i. lunacy sad I endure, 

Since reason departs away ; 
I call to those hags for a cure, 

As knowing not what I say. 20 

The beauty, whom I do adore, 

Now slights me with scorn and disdain ; 
I never shall see her more : 

Ah ! how shall I bear my pain ? 

I ramble and range about 26 

To find out my charming saint ; 
"While she at my grief does flout. 

And smiles at my loud complaint 
Distraction I see is my doom, 

Of this I am now too sui'e ; 30 

A rival is got in my room 

While torments I do endure. 

Strange fancies do fill my head ; 

While wandering in despair 
I am to the desarts lead, 35 

Expecting to find her there. 
Methinks in a spangled cloud 

I see her enthroned on high ; 
Then to her I crie aloud, 

And labour to reach the sky. 40 

When thus I have raved awhile 

And wearyed myself in vain, 
I lye on the barren soil 

And bitterly do complain. 
Till slumber hath quieted me 45 

In sorrow I sigh and weep ; 
The clouds are my canopy 

To cover me while I sleep. 

I dream that my charming fair 

Is then in my rival's bed, 50 

Whose tresses of golden hair 

Are on the fair pillow bespread. 


Then this doth my passion inflame : 

I start, and no longer can lie : 
Ah ! Sylvia, art thou not to blamo 68 

To ruin a lover ? I cry. 

Grim king of the ghosts, be true, 

And hurry me hence away ; 
My languishing life to you 

A tribute I freely pay. 60 

To the Elysian shades I post 

In hopes to be freed from care, 
Where many a bleeding ghost 

Is hovering in the air. 


€f)t %ati\j Si^tiactfll luttlj ^obt, 


waa orignally sung in one of Tom D'Urfey's comedies of Don Quixote, 
acted in 1694 and 1090 ; and probably composed by himself. In the 
several stanzas, the author represents his pretty Mad-woman as, 1, 
Bullenly mad ; 2, mirthfully mad ; 'S, melancholy mad ; 4, fantastic- 
ally mad ; and 5, stark mud. But this and No. xxii, are printed from 
D Urfey's Fills lo purge Melancholy, 1719, vol. i. 

From rosie bowers where sleeps the god of love, 

Hither, ye little wanton cupids, fly ; 
Teach mo in soft melodious strains to move 

With tender passion my heart's darling joy ! 
Ah ! let the soul of musick tune my voice 5 

To win dear Strephon, who my soul enjoys. 

Or, if more influencing 

Is to be brisk aud airy, 
With a step and a bound. 
With a frisk from the ground, 10 

I'll trip like any faiy. 


As once on Ida dancing 

Were three celestial bodies, 
With an air and a face, 
And a shape and a grace, 15 

I'll charm, like beauty's goddess. 

Ah ! 'tis in vain ! 'tis all, 'tis all in vain ! 
Death and despair must end the fatal pain : 
Cold, cold despair, disguis'd like snow and rain, 
Falls on my breast ; bleak winds in tempests blow ; 20 
My veins all shiver and my fingers glow ; 
My pulse beats a dead march for lost repose, 
And to a solid lump of ice my poor fond heart is froze. 

Or say, ye powers, my peace to crown, 

Shall I thaw myself and drown 25 

Among the foaming billows ? 
Increasing all with tears I shed, 

On beds of ooze and crystal pillows, 
Lay down, lay down my love-sick head? 

No, no, I'll strait run mad, mad, mad ! 30 

That soon my heart will warm ; 
When once the sense is fled, is fled. 

Love has no power to charm. 
Wild thro' the woods I'll fly, I'll fly, 

Eobes, locks — shall thus — be tore ! 35 

A thousand, thousand times I'll dve 
Ere thus, tlius, in vain, — ere thus in vain adore. 


CI)c St^tractctJ ?lobfr, 

was written by Henry Carey, a celebrated composer of music at tlis 

beginning of the eighteenth century, and autlior of several little 

thentiical Entertainments, which the reader may find enumerated in 

' the Companion to the Play-house, &c. The sprightliness of this songster's 

VOL. 11. V 


fancy could not preserve him from a very melancholy catastrophe, 
which was effected by his own hand. In his Poems, 4to, Lond., 1729, 
may be seen another Mad Song of tliis author, beginning thus : 

"Gods! I can never this endure, 
Death alone must be my cure," &c. 

I GO to the Elysian shade 

Where sorrow ne'er shall wound me ; 

Where nothing shall my rest invade, 
But joy shall still surround me. 

I fly from Celia's cold disdain, 6 

From her disdain I fly ; 
She is the cause of all my pain, 

For her alone I die. 

Hor eyes are brighter than the mid-day sun, 

When he but half his radiant course has run, 10 

When his meridian glories gaily shine 

And gild all nature with a warmth divine. 

See yonder river's flowing tide, 

Wliich now so full appears : 
Those streams, that do so swiftly glide, 15 

Are nothing but my tears. 

There I have wept till I could weep no more. 

And curst mine eyes, when they have wept their store ; 

Then, like the clouds that rob the azure main, 

I've drain'd the flood to weep it back again. 20 

Pity my pains, 

Ye gentle swains ! 
Cover me with ice and snow, 
I scorch, I burn, I flame, I glow ! 

Furies, tear me, 25 

Quickly bear mo 
To the dismal shades below 1 

Where yelling and howling. 

And grumbling and growling 
iStriko the car with horrid woe. 30 


Hissing snakes, 

Fiery lakes 
Would be a pleasure and a cure. 

Not all the hells, 

Where Pluto dwells, S5 

Can give such pain as I endure. 

To some peaceful plain convey me, 

On a mossy carpet lay me, 

Fan me with ambrosial breeze, 

Let me die, and so have ease I 40 

CI)e dTranttc JCatrp. 


This, like Numbej xx., was originally sung in one of D'Urfey's Comedies 
of Don Quixote (first acted about the year 1694), and was probably 
composed by that popular songster, who died Feb. 26, 1723. 

This is printed in the "Hive, a Collection of Songs," 4 vols., 1721, 
12nio, where may be found two or three other Mad Songs not admitteti 
into these volumes. 

I BURN, my brain consumes to ashes ? 
Each eye-ball too like lightning flashes ! 
Within my breast there glows a solid fire, 
Which in a thousand ages can't expire ! 

Blow, blow, the winds' great ruler ! 5 

Bring the Po and the Ganges hither, 
'Tis sultry weather ; 
Pour them all on my soul, 
It will hiss like a coal, 
But be never the cooler. 10 

'Twas pride, hot as hell, 

That first made me rebell ; 
From love's awful throne a curst angel I fell,. 

And mourn now my fate, 

Which myself did create : LS 

Fool, fool, that consider'd not when I was weU 1 

F 2 


Adieu ! ye vain transporting joys ! 

OlF ye vain fantastic toys ! 
That dress this face — this body — to allure! 

Bring me daggers, poison, fire ! 2C 

Since scorn is turn'd into desire. 
All hell feels not the rage which I, poor I, endure. 


i£tIU 33urltro. 

The following rhymes, slight and insignificant as they may now ecein, 
had once a more powerful effect than either the Philipiacs of Demo.-,- 
thenes or Cicero, and contributed not a little towards the gi eat revolution 
in 1688. Let us hear a contemporary writer. 

" A foolish ballad was made at that time, treating the T'apists, and 
chief!}' the Irisli, in a very ridiculous manner, whicli had a burden said 
to be Irish word?, 'Lero, lero, lilliburlero,' that made an impression on 
the [king's] army, tl<-at cannot be imagined by tlinse tliat saw it not. 
Tiie whole army, and at last the people, both in city and country, were 
singing it jjerpe'tuully. And perhaps never had so slight a thing so great 
an effect." — Buinet. 

It was wi itten, or at least republished, on the Earl of Tyrconnel's going 
a second time to Ireland in October, 1688. Perhaps it is uanecessary to 
n:cntion, that General Richard Talbot, newly created Earl of Tyrconnel, 
bad been nominated l)y King James II. to the lieutenancy of Ireland in 
1686, on account of his being a furious papist, who had recommended 
himself to his bigoted master by his arbitrary treatment of tho 
Protestants in tlie preceding year, when only lieutenant-general, and 
whose subsequent conduct fully justified his expectations and their fears. 
Tlie violence of his administration may be seen in any of the histories tinies: particularly in Bishop King's "State of the Protestants 
in Irelan.l." 1691, 4to. 

LiUlhurlero and lluUen-a-lah are said to have been the words of di.^ 
tiuctioii used among the Irish Papists in their massacre of the Protestiiuts 
to 1611. 

I Id! broder Tcaguc, dost hear de decree? 

Lilli burlcro, bullen a-la. 
Dat we shall have a new deputie, 

Lilli burlero, bullen a-la. , 

Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen a-la, 5 
Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen a-la. 



IIo ! by Shaint Tyburn, it is de Talbote : 

Lilli, &c. 
And he will cut all de Englisb troate. 

LiLU, &c. 10 

Dough by my shoul de English do praat, 

Lilli, &c. 
De law's on dare side, and Creish knows what. 

Lilli, &c. 

But if dispence do come from de Pope, 15 

Lilli, &c. 
We'll hang Magna Charta and dem in a rope. 

Lilli, &c. 

For de good Talbot is made a lord, 

Lilli, &c. 20 

And with brave lads is coming aboard : 

Lilli, &c. 

Who all in France have taken a sware, 

Lilli, &c. 
Dat dey will have no protestant heir. 25 

Lilli, &c. 

Ara ! but why does he stay behind ? 

Lilli, &c. 
Ho ! by my shoul 'tis a protestant wind. 

Lilli, &c. 30 

But see de Tyrconnel is now come ashore, 

Lilli, &c. 
And we shall have commissions gillore. 

Lilli, &c. 

And he dat will not go to de mass, 35 

Lilli, &c. 
Shall be turn out, and look like an ass. 

Lilli, &c. 

Now, now de hereticks all go down, 

Lilli, &c. 40 

By Chiish and Shaint Patrick, de nation's our own. 

Lilli, &c. 

Ver. 7, Ho by my shoul. al. ed. 


Dare was an old prophesy found in a bog, 

Lilli, &c. 
" Ireland shall be rul'd by an ass and a dog." 45 

Lilli, &c. 

And now dis prophesy is come to pass, 

Lilli, &c. 
For Talbot's de dog, and Ja**s is de ass. 

Lilli, &c. 60 

c * 


The foregoing song is attributed to Lord Wharton in a small 
pftmphlet, entitled, " A true relation of the several facts and circum- 
stances of tlie intended riot and tumult on Queen Elizabeth's birth- 
day," &c. Third edition, London, 1712. price 2d. See p. 5, viz. " A late 
Viceroy [of Ireland], who has so often boasted himself upon his talent 
for mischief, invention, lying, and for making a certain Lillihurlero 
Sang ; with which, if you will believe himself, he sung a deluded Princo 
out of three Kingdoms." 

V. 43. What follows is not in some copies. 


CIjc JJiat£i of ^arroU), 


was written by William Hamilton, of B.-ingour, Esq., who died March 
2.'>, 1754, aged .50. It is printed from an ekgant edition of his Poems, 
published at Edinburgh, 1760, 12nio. This song was written in imitation 
of an old Scottish ballad on a similar subject, with the same burden to 
fetch Ktiiiiza. 

A. " Busiv ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny bride, 

Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow ; 
Busk yo, busk ye, my bonny, bonny bride. 
And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow." 

B. " Where gat ye that bonny, bonny bride ? 6 

Where gat ye tliat wiusome marrow ? " 
4. " I gat her where I dare na weil be seen 

Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. 


*' Weep not, weep not, my bonny, bonny bride, 

^\'eep not, weep not, luy winsome marrow ; 10 

Nor let thy heart lament to leive 

Puing the birks on tbe Brnes of Yarrow." 

B. "Why does she weep, thy bonny, bonny bride ? 
Why does she weep, thy winsume marrow V 
And why dare ye nae mair well be seen 10 

Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow ? " 

A, " Lang maun she weep, lang maun she, maun she weep, 
Lang maun she weep with dule and sorrow ; 
And lang maun I nae mair weil be seen 

Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow ? 20 

" For she has tint her luver, luver dear, 

Her luver dear, the cause of sorrow ; 
And I hae slain the comliest swain 

That eir pu'd birks on the Braes of Yarrow. 

" Why rins thy stream, O Yarrow, Yarrow, reid ? 25 

Why on thy braes heard the voice of sorrow ? 

And why yon melancholious weids 
Himg on the bonny birks of Yarrow ? 

" What's yonder floats on the rueful, rueful flude ? 

What's yonder floats ? O dule and sorrow ! 30 

O 'tis he, the comely swain I slew 

Upon the duleful Braes of Yarrow. 

" Wash, O wash his wounds, his wounds in tears, 
His wounds in tears with dule and sorrow ; 

And wrap his limbs in mourning weids, 35 

And lay him on the Braes of Yarrow. 

" Then build, then build, ye sisters, sisters sad. 

Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow ; 
And weep around in waeful wise 

His hapless fate on the Braes of Yarrow. IC 

" Curse ye, curse ye, his useless, useless shield. 
My arm that wrought the deed of sorrow, 

The fatal spear thatpierc'd his breast, 

His comely breast on the Braes of Yarrow. 


" Did I iKtt warn thee not to, not to luve ? 45 

And warn from fight ? but to my sorrow 

Too rashly bauld a stronger arm 

Thou mettst, and fell'st on the Braes of Yarrow. 

" Sweet smells the birk ; green gro^s, green grows 
the grass ; 

Yellow on Yarrow's bank the go wan ; 50 

Fair hangs the apple frae the rock; 

Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan. 

" Flows Yarrow sweet? as sweet, as sweet flows Tweed, 

As green its grass, its go wan as yellow, 
As sweet smells on its braes the birk, 55 

The apple frae its rock as mellow ? 

" Fair was thy luve, fair, fair indeed thy luve, 

In flow'ry bauds thou didst him fetter ; 
Tho' he was fair, and weil beluv'd again 

Than me, he never luv'd thee better. 60 

" Busk ye, then busk, my bonny, bonny bride. 
Busk yo, busk ye, my winsome marrow ; 

Bask ye, and luve me on the banks of Tweed, 
And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow." 

C. " How can I busk a bonny, bonny bride ? 65 

IIow can I busk a winsome marrow ? 
How luve him upon the banks of Tweed 

That slew my luve on the Braes of Yarrow ? 

" Yarrow fields, may nevei', never rain 

Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover, 70 

For there was basely slain my luve, 

My luve, as he had not been a lover. 

" The boy put on his robes, his robes of green. 

His purj)le vest, 'twas my awn sewing : 
Ah! wretched me ! I little, little kenn'd 76 

He was in these to meet his ruin. 

" Tho boy took out his milk-white, milk-white steed, 

Unheedful of my dulo and sorrow ; 
But ere the toofall of the night 

He lay a corps on the Braes of Yarrow. 80 


" Much I rejoyc'd that waefiil, waeful day ; 

I sang, my voice the woods returning • 
But lang ere night the spear was flown 

That slew my luve, and left me mourning. 

" What can my barbarous, barbarous father do 85 

But with his cruel rage pursue me ? 
My lover's blood is on thy sj)ear, 

How canst thou, barbarous man, then wooe me ? 

" My happy sisters may be, may be proud 

With cruel and ungentle scoffin', 90 

May bid me seek on Yarrow's Braes 

My lover nailed in his coffin. 

" My brother Douglas may upbraid, upbraid, 
And strive with threatning words to muve mc ; 

My luver's blood is on thy spear, 95 

How canst thou ever bid me luve thee ? 

" Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of luve, 

With bridal sheets my body cover, 
Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door, 

Let in the expected husband-lover. 100 

" But who the expected husband, husband is ! 

His hands, methinks, are bath'd in slaughter : 
Ah me ! what gbastly spectre's yon 

Comes, in his pale shroud, bleeding after ? 

" Pale as he is here lay him, lay him down, 105 

O lay his cold head on my pillow ; 
Take aff, take aff these bridal weids, 

And crown my cai-eful head with willow. 

" Pale tho' thou art, yet best, yet best beluv'd, 

could my warmth to life restore thee ! 11 C 

Yet lye all night between my breists ; 
No youth lay ever there before thee. 

" Pale, pale indeed, O luvely, luvely youth 1 

Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter ; 
And lye all night between my breists ; 115 

No youth shall ever lye there after." 


A. "Return, return, O mournful, mournful bride, 
Eeturn, and dry thy useless soitow ; 
Thy luver heeds none of thy sighs : 

He lyes a corps in the Braes of Yarrow." 12G 


atimiral ^.otiitv'a <©i;o^t 

was a party song written by the ingenious author of Leo7iidas,^ on the 
taking of Porto Bello from the Spaniards by Admiral Vernon, Nov. 22, 
1739. The case uf Hosier, which is here so pathetically represented, wa.s 
briefly this. In April, 1726, tiiat commander was sent with a strong 
fleet into the Spanish West Indies, to block up the galleons in tin- 
ports of that country ; or, should they presume to come out, to seize and 
carry them into England : he accordingly arrived at the Bastimentos, 
near Porto Bello, but being employed rather to overawe than to attack 
the Spaniards, with whom it was probably not our interest to go to war 
he continued long inactive on that station, to his own great regret. He 
afterwards removed to Carthagena, and remained cruising in these seas 
till far the greater part of his men perished deplorably by the diseases 
of that unhealthy climate. This brave man, seidng his best officers and 
men thus daily swept away, his ships exposed to inevitable destruction, 
and himself made the sport of the enemy, is said to have died of a 
broken heart. Such is the account of Smollett, compared with that oS 
other less partial writers. 

The following song is commonly accompanied with a Second Part, or 
AnBwer, which Vieing of inferior merit, and apparently written by 
another hand, hath been rejected. 

As near Porto-Bello lying 

On the gently swelling flood, 

At midnight with streamers flying 

Our triumphant navy rode ; 
There while Vernon sate all-glorious S 

From the Spaniards' late defeat. 
And his crews, with shouts victorious, 

Drank success to England's fleet, 

• An ingenious coi respondent informs the Eilitor, that this ballad hatk 
tUo been attributed to the late Lord Bath. 


On a sudden shrilly sounding, 

Hideous j^ells and shrieks were heard ; 10 

Then each heart with fear confounding 

A sad trooji of ghosts appear 'd, 
All in dreary hammocks shrouded, 

Which for winding-sheets they wore, 
And with looks by sorrow clouded 15 

Frowning on that hostile shore. 

On them gleam'd the moon's wan lustre, 

When the shade of Hosier brave 
His pale bands was seen to muster 

Rising from their wat'ry grave. 20 

O'er the glimmering wave he hy'd him 

Where the Burford ^ rear'd her sail, 
With three thousand ghosts beside him, 

And in groans did Vernon hail. 

" Heed, oh heed our fatal story, 25 

I am Hosier's injur'd ghost, 
You who now have purchas'd glory 

At this place where I was lost ! 
Tho' in Porto Bello's ruin 

You no^v triumph free from fears, 30 

When you think on our undoing 

You will mix your joy with tears. 

" See these mournful spectres sweeping 

Ghastly o'er this hated wave, 
Whose wan cheeks are stain'd with weeping . 35 

These were English captains brave. 
Mark those numbers pale and horrid . 

Those were once my sailors bold. 
Lo, each hangs his di-ooping forehead 

While his dismal tale is told. 40 

" I, by twenty sail attended, 

Did this Spanish town affright ; 
Nothing then its wealth defended 

But my orders not to fight, 

' Admiral Vernou's ship. 


Oh ! tliat in this rolling ocean 45 

1 had cast them with disdain, 
And obey'd my heart's warm motion 

To have quell'd the pride of Spain ! 

" For resistance I could fear none, 

But with twenty ships have done 50 

What thou, brave and happy Vernon, 

Hast atchiev'd with six alone. 
Then the bastimentos never 

Had our foul dishonour seen. 
Nor the sea the sad receiver 5.5 

Of this gallant train had been. 

" Tims, like thee, proud Spain dismaying, 

And her galleons leading home. 
Though condemn'd for disobeying 

I had met a traitor's doom ; 60 

To have fallen, my country crying 

' He has play'd an English part,' 
Had been better far than dying 

Of a griev'd and broken heart. 

" Unrepining at thy glory, 65 

Thy successful arms we hail ; 
But remember our sad story, 

And let Hosier's wrongs prevail. 
Sent in this foul clime to languish, 

Think what thousands fell in vain, 70 

Wasted with disease and anguish. 

Not in glorious battle slain, 

" Hence with all my train attending 

From their oozy tond)s below, 
Thro' the hoary foam ascending, 75 

Here I feed my constant woe ; 
Here the bastimentos viewing 

We recal our shameful doom. 
And our plaintive erics renewing 

Wander thro' the midniglit gloom. 80 


**0'er tliese waves for ever mourning 

SLall we roam cfepriVd of rest. 
If to Britain's shores retui-ning 

You neglect my just request ; 
After this proud foe &ubduing, 82 

When your patriot friends you see. 
Think on vengeance for my ruin, 

And for England sham'd in me." 


3lcmm» JiaiDsoiT. 

James Dawson was one of the Manchester rebels, who was Lang^ed, 
drawn, and quartered on Kennington-common, in thecounty of Surrey, 
July 30, 1746. — This ballad is founded on a remarkable fact, which wa^t 
reported to have happened at his execution. It was written by the 
late William Shenstone, Esq., soon after the event, and has been printed 
amongst his posthumous works, 2 vols. 8vo. It is here given from a MS. 
*hich contained some small variations from that priiited copy. 

Come listen to my mournful tale, 
Ye tender hearts, and lovers dear ; 

Nor will you scorn to heave a sigh, 
Nor will you blush to shed a teaiv 

And thou, dear Kitty, peerless maid, 5 

Do thou a pensive ear incline ; 
For thou canst weep at every woe. 

And pity every plaint, but mine. 

Young Dawson was a gallant youth, 

A brighter never trod the plain ; 10 

And well he lov'd one charming maid. 

And dearly was he lov'd again. 

One tender maid she lov'd him dear, 

Of gentle blood the damsel came. 
And faultless was her beauteous form, IS 

And spotless was her virgin famie. 


But curse on party's hateful strife 

Tliat led the faithful youth astray 
The day the rebel clans appear'd : 

O had he never seen that day ! 20 

Their colours and their sash he wore, 

And in the fatal dress was found ; 
And now he must that death endure, 

Which gives the brave the keenest woiind. 

How pale was then his true love's cheek, 25 

When Jemmy's sentence reach'd her ear ! 

For never yet did Alpine snows 
So pale, nor yet so chill appear. 

With faltering voice she weeping said, 

" Oh Dawson, monarch of my heart, 30 

Think not thy death shall end our loves, 

For thou and I will never part. 

" Yet might sweet mercy find a place. 

And bring relief to Jemmy's woes ; 
O Geokge, without a prayer for thee 35 

My orisons should never close. 

" The gracious prince that gives him life 

Would crown a never-dying flame. 
And every tender babe I bore 

Should learn to lisp the giver's name. 40 

" But though, dear youth, thou should'st bo dragg'd 

To yonder ignominious tree. 
Thou shalt not want a faithful friend 

To share thy bitter fate with thee." 

then her mourning-coach was call'd, 46 

The sledge mov'd slowly on before ; 
Tho' borne in a triumphal car, 

She had not lov'd her favourite more. 

She follow'd him, prepar'd to view 

The terrible behests of law ; 5C 

And tho last scene of Jemmy's woes 

With calm and stedfast eye she saw. 


Distorted was that blooming face, 

Which she had fondly lov'd so long ; 
And stifled was that tuneful breath, 65 

Which in her praise had sweetly sung ; 

And sever'd was that beauteous neck, 

Round which her arms had fondly clos'd ; 

And mangled was that beauteous breast, 

On which her lovo-sick head repos'd ; 60 

And ravish 'd was that constant heart. 

She did to every heart prefer ; 
For though it could his king forget, 

'Twas true and loyal still to her. 

Amid those unrelenting flames 65 

She bore this constant heart to see ; 
But when 'twas moulder'd into dust, 

" Now, now," she cried, " I'll follow thee." 

" My death, my death alone can show 

The pure and lasting love I bore. 70 

Accept, O heaven, of woes like ours. 

And let us, let us weep no more." 

The dismal scene was o'er and past, 

The lover's mournful hearse retir'd ; 
The maid drew back her languid head, 75 

And sighing forth his name expir'd. 

Tho' justice ever must prevail. 

The tear my Kitty sheds is due ; 
For seldom shall she hear a tale 

Soe sad, so tender, and so true. 80 


( 80 ) 

BOOK vn 

30onn^ on tMixQ lartljur, etc. 

The remaining books being chiefly devoted to romantic Btibjects, may 
not be improperly introduced with a few slight strictures on the old 
Metrical Romances : a subject the more worthy attention, as it seems 
not to have been known to such as have written on the nature and 
origin of books of chivalry, that the first comjjositions of this kind weie 
in verse, and usually sung to the harp. 


I. The first attempts at composition, among all barbarous nations, 
are ever found to be poetry and song. The praises of their gods, and 
the achievements of tiieir heroes, are usually chanted at their festival 
meetings. These are the first rudiments of histury. It is in this 
manner that the savages of North America presLrve the memory of past 
events ' : and the same method is known to have prevailed among our 
Saxon ancestors, before they quitted their (Jernian forests.''^ The ancient 
Britons had their Bards, and the (Jothic nations their Hcalds or populai 
poets,^ whose business it was to record the victories of their warriors, 
and the genealogies of their princes in a kind of narrative .-iongs, which 
were committed to memory, and delivered down from one reciter to 
another. So long as poetry continued a distinct profe3^ion, and while 
the Bard, or Scald, was a regular and stated officer in tlie j:rince's court, 
these men are thought to have performed the functions of the liistorian 
pretty faithfully; for though their narrations would be apt to receive 
a good deal of embellishment, they are supposed to have had at the 
bottom so much of truth as to serve for the basis of more regular annals. 
At least, succeeding historians have taken up with the relations of thu.-e 

• Vide La.siteau, Mceurs dc Sauvages, t. 2. Dr. Browne's Hist, of tlw 
Rise and Progress of Poetry. 

* Germani celebrant carminibus autiquis (quod unum apul illos menidiia: 
at aanalium genus est) Tuistoaem, &c. — Tacit. Germ. c. 2. 

' Barth. Antiq. DaL. lib. i. cnp. 10. — Wormii urn finica. ai 


mde men, and, for want of more authentic records, have agreed to allow 
them the credit of true history.* 

After letters began to prevail, and history assumed a more stahle 
form, by being committed to plain simple prose, these songs of the Scalds 
or Bards began to be more amusing than useful. And in proportion 
as it became their business chiefly to entertain and delight, they gave 
more and more in to embellishment, and set off their recitals with such 
marvellous fictions as were calculntcd to captivate gross and ignorant 
minds. Thus began stories of adventures with giants and dragons, and 
witches and enchanters, and all the monstrous extravagances of wild 
imagination, unguided by judgment, and uncorrected by art.' 

This seems to be the true ori<;in of thrt species of romance which 
so long celebrated feats of chivalry, and wliich, at first in metre, and 
afterwtirds in prose, was the entertainment of our ancestors, in common 
with their contemporaries on the Continent ; till the satire of Cervantes, 
or rather the increase of knowledge and classical literature, drove them 
off the stage, to make room for a more refined species of fiction, under 
the name of French Romances, copied from the Greek.^ 

That our old romances of chivalry may be derived in a lineal descent 
from the ancient historical songs of the Gothic Bards and Scalds, will 
be shown below ; and indeed appears the more evident, as many of 
those songs are still preserved in the North, which exhibit all the seeds 
of chivalry before it became a solemn institution.' Chivalry, as 
a distinct military order, conferred in the way of investiture, aud 
accompanied with the solemnity of an oath, and other ceremonies," was 
of later date, and sprung out of the feudal constitution, as an elegant 
writer has clearly shown.* But the ideas of chivalry prevailed long 
before in all the Gothic nations, and may be discovered as in embryo 
in the customs, manners, and opinions of every branch of that people.' 
That fondness of going in quest of adventures, that spirit of challen;^ing 
to single combat, and that respectful complaisance shown to the 
fair sex (so different from tiie maimers of the Greeks and Romans), 
all are of Gothic origin, and may be traced up to tl;e earliest times 
among all the Northern nations.'" These existed long before the 
feudal ages, though they were called forth and strengthened in a pecu- 
liar manner under that constitution, and at length arrived to their 
full maturity iu the times of the Crusades, so replete with romantic 

* See " Northern Antiquities, or a Description of the Manners, Customs, 
&c., of the ancient Danes and other Northern Nations, translated from the 
French of M. Mallet," 1770, 2 vols. 8vo. (vol. i. p. 49, &c.) 

Vide infra, pp. 82, 83, &c. 

Viz. Astrasa, Cassandra, Clelia, &c. 

Mallet, vide Northern Antiquities, vol. i. p. 318, &c. ; vol. ii. p. 234, 




' Letters concerning Chivalry, 8vo, 1763. 
» Mallet. '° Ibid. 

' The seeds of chivalry sprung up so naturally out of the original 
manners and opinions of the Northern nations, that it is not credible the) 
VOL. U. « 


Even the common arbitrary fictions of romance were (as is hinted 
jihove) most of them famili;ir to the ancient Scalds of the North, long 
bef'oiv tlie lime of the Crusades. They believtd the existence of giants 
and dwarfs;- they entertained opinions not unlike the more nioderu 
untinu of faiiifs ; •* they were strongly possessed with the belief of spells 
and enchantment ; * and were fond of inventing combats with dragons 
and. monsters.* 

The opinion therefore seems very untenable, which some learned and 
ingenious men have entertained, that the turn for chivaliy, anil tho 
taste for that species of romantic fiction, were caught by the S[)aniard3 
from the Arabians or Moors after their invasion of SjKiin, and from 
the Spaniards transmitted to the Eards of Armorica,* and thus dilfused so late as after the establishment of the feudal system, much less 
the Crusades. Nor, again, that the Romances of Chivalry were transmitted 
to other nations, through the Spaniards, from the Moors and Arabians. 
Had this been the case, the first French Romances of Chivalry would have 
been on Moorish, or at least Spanish subjects: whereas the most ancient 
stories of this kind, whether in prose or verse, whether in Italian, French, 
Knglish, &c., are chiefly on the subjects of Charlemagne and the Paladins, 
or of our British Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table, &c., being 
evidently borrowed from the fibulous Chronicles of the supposed Arch- 
bishop Turpin, and of Jetl'ery of Monmouth. Not but some of the oldest 
and most popular French Romances are also on Norman subjects, as 
Richard Sans-peur, Robert le Diahle, &c. ; whereas I do not recollect so 
much as one in which the scene is laid in Spain, much less among the 
Moors, or descriptive of Mahometan manners. Even in Amadis de Gaul, 
SHid to have been the first Romance printed in Spain, the scene is laid in 
Oaul and Britain ; and the manners arc French : which plainly siiows from 
what school this species of fabling was learnt and transmitted to the 
southern nations of Europe. 

' Mallet, North. Antiquities, vol. i. p. 36 ; vol. ii. passim. 

' Olaus Verel. ad Hervarer Saga, pp. 44, 45. Hickes's Thesaurus, vol. ii. 
p. 311. Northern Antiquities, vol. ii. passim. 

* North. Antiquities, vol. i. pp. 69, 374, &c. ; vol. ii. p. 216, &c. 

* Rollofs Saga. Cap. xxxv. &c. 

" It is peculiarly unfortunate that such as maintain tliis oj)inion are 
obliged to take their first step from the Moorish provinces in Spain, 
without one intermediate resting-place, to Armorica or Bretagne, the 
province in France from them most remote, not more in situation than in 
the manners, habits, and language of its Welsh inliabitants, which are 
.illowed to have been derived from this island, as must have been their 
traditions, son^s, and fables, — being doubtless all of Celtic origin. See 
p. 3 of the " hissertation on the ()ri;j;in of Romantic Fiction in Europe," 
prefixed to Mr. Tho. VVarton'* History of English Poetry, vol. i. 1774, 4to. 
if any pen could have supported this darling hypothesis of Dr. Warburton, 
that of this ingenious critic would have effected it. But under the 
general term Oriental, he seems to consider the ancient inhibitants of the 
north and south of Asia as having all the same manners, tradition i, aud 


through Britain, France, Italy, Germany, and the North. For it seem; 
utterly incredible, that oue rude people should ado[)t a peculiar tast', 
and manner of writing or thinking from anotlier, without borrowing 
at the same time any of their particular stories and fables, without 
appearing to know anything of their heroes, hist(!ry, laws, and religion. 
\Vhen the Eomans began to adopt and imitate the Grecian literature, 
they immediately naturalized all the Grecian fables, histories, asd 
religious stories, which became as familiar to the poets of Rome as 
of Greece itself. Whereas all the old writers of chivalry, and of that 
species of romance, whether in prose or verse, whether of the Northern 

fables ; and because the secluded people of Arabia took the lead under the 
religion and empire of JMahomet, therefore everything must be derived 
from them to the northern Asiatics in the remotest ages, &c. With as 
much i-eason, under the word Occidental, we might represent the early 
traditions and fables of the north and south of Europe to have been the 
same ; and that the Gothic mythology of Scandinavia, the Druidic or 
Celtic of Gaul and Britain, differed not from the classic of Greece and 

There is not room here for a full examination of the minuter arguments, 
or rather slight coincidences, by which our agi'eeable dissertator endeavours 
to maintain and defend this favourite opinion of Dr. W., who has been 
himself so completely confuted by Mr. Tyrwhitt. — See his notes on Love's 
Labour's Lost, kc. But some of his positions it will be sufficient to 
mention : such as the referring the Gog and Magog, which our old Christian 
Bards might have had fi-om Scripture, to the Jaguiouge and Magiouge oi 
the Arabians and Persians, &c. [p. 13.] — That " we may venture to affirm 
that this [Geoffrey of Monmouth's] Chronicle, supposed to contain the ideas 
of the Welsh Bards, entirely consists of Arabian inventions." [p. 1:5.]— And 
that, " as Geoffrey's History is the grand repository of the acts of Arthur, 
so a fabulous history, ascribed to Turpiu, is the groundwork of all the 
chimerical legends which have been related concerning the conquests of 
Charlemagne and his twelve peers. Its subject is the expulsion of the 
Saracens from Spain ; and it is filled with fictions evidently congenial to 
those which characterize Geoffrey's History." [p. 17.] — Thai »o, as he 
afterwards expresses it, " lavishly decorated by the Arabian Fablers." 
[p. 58.]— We should hardly have expected that the Arabian Fablers would 
have been lavish in decorating a history of their enemy ; but what is 
singular, as an instance and proof of this Arabian origin of the fictions of 
Turpin, a passage is quoted from his fourth chapter, which I shall beg 
leave to offer, as affording decisive evidence that they could not possibly 
be derived from a Mahometan source. Sc. "The Christians under Charle- 
magne are said to have found in Spain a golden idol, or image of Mahomet, 
as high as a bird can flv. It was framed bv Mahomet himself of thp 
purest metal, who, by his knowledge in necromancy, had sealed up within 
it a legion of diabolical spirits. It held m its hand a prodigious club ; am*'-- 
the Saracens had a prophetic tradition, that tiiis club should fall from th« 
hard of the image in that year when a certain king should be born iai 
France," &c. [Vidj p. 18, cote.J 


nations, or of Britain, Francp, and Italy, not excepting Spain itself,' 
appear utterly unacquainted witli whatever relates to tlie Mahometan 
nations. Tims with re<rard to their religion, they constantly represent 
lliem as worshipping idols, as paying adoration to a golden image of 
Mahomet, or else they confound them with the ancient pagans, Ac. 
And Indeed in all other respects they are so grossly ignorant of the 
customs, manners, and opinions of every branch of that people, especially 
of their heroes, champions, and local stories, as almost amounts to 
a demonstration that they did not imitate them in their songs or 
romances; for as to dragons, serpents, necromancies, &c., why should 
these be thought only derived from the Moors in Spain so late as after 
the eight!) century? since notions of this kind appear too fanuliar 
to the Northern Scalds, and enter too deeply into all northern mythology, 
to have been transmitted to the unlettered Scandinavians, from so 
distant a country, at so late a period. If tliey may not be allowed 
to have brought these opinions with them in their original migrations 
from the north of Asia, they will be far more likely to have borrowed 
them from the Latin poets after the Roman conquests in Gaul, Britain, 
Germany, &c. For I believe one may challenge the maintainers 
of this opinion to produce any Arabian poem or history that could 
possibly have been then known in Spain, which resembles the old 
Gothic romances of chivalry half so much as the Metamorphoses of 

But we well know that the Scythian nations situate in the countries 
ab lut Pontus, Colchis, and the Euxine Sea, were in all times infamous 
for their magic arts : and as Odin and his followers are said to have 
cnme precisely from those parts of Asia, we can readily account for 
the prevalenco of fictions of this sort among the Gothic nations of the 
North, without fetching them from the Moors in Spain, wlio for muny 
C'iuturies after their irruption, lived in a state of sucli constant hostility 
with the unsubdued Spanish Christians, whom they chiefly pent up 
in tlie mountains, as gave them no chance of learning their music, 
iwetry, or stories ; and tiiis together with the religious hatred of the 
latter for their cruel invaders, will account for the utter ignorance of 
the old Spanish romances in whatever relates to the Mahometan 
nations, although so nearly their own neighbours. 

On the other hand, from the local customs and situations, from the 
known manners and opinions of the Gothic nations in the North, we 

' The little narrative songs on Morisco subjects, which the Spaniard* 
have at present in great abundance, and which they call peculiarly 
Jiomances, (see vol. i. book iii. no. xiv., &c.,) have nothing in common 
with their proper Romances (or Histories) of Chivalry, which they call 
Historias de Cavalier ias : these are evidently imitations of the French, and 
show a great ignorance of Moorish manners : and with regard to the 
Morisco, or Song-romaiices, they do not seem of very great antiquity ; few 
of them appear, from their subjects, much earlier than the reduction of 
Granada, in the fifteenth century : from which period, I believe, may b« 
plainly traced, among the Spanish writers, a more perfect knowledge o'- 
Moorish customs, &»r 


can easily account for all tlie ideas of chivalry, and its peculiar fictions.' 
For, not to mention their distinguished respect for the fair sex, so 
different from the manners of the Mahometan nations,'* their national 
and domestic history so naturally assumes all the womlers of thia 
species of fabling, that almost all their historical narratives appear 
regular romances. One might refer, in proof of this, to the old 
northern Sagas in general ; but, to give a particular instance, it will 
be sufficient to produce the history of King Kegner Lodbrog, a cele- 
brated warrior and pirate, who reigned in Denmark about the year 
800.' This hero signalized his youth by an exploit of gallantry. A 
Swedish prince had a beautiful daughter, whom he intrusted (probably 
during some expedition) to the care of one of his officers, assigning 
a strong castle for their defence. The officer fell in love with his ward, 
and detained her in his castle, spite of all the efforts of her father. 
Upon this he published a proclamation through all the neighbouring 
countries, that whoever would conquer the ravisher and rescue the 
lady, should have her in marriage. Of all that undertook the adventure, 
Regner alone was so happy as to achieve it : he delivered the fair 
captive, and obtained her for his prize. It happened that the name 
of this discourteous officer was Orme, which in the Islandic language, 
signifies serpent; wherefore the Scalds, to give the more poetical turn 
to the adventur.', represent the lady as detaiucd from her father by 
a dreadful dragon, and that Regner slew the monster to set her at 
liberty. This fabulous account of the exploit is ^iven in a poem still 
extant, which is even ascribed to Regner himself, who was a celebrated 
poet, and which records all the valiant achievements of his life.^ 

With marvellous embellishments of this kind, the Scalds early began 
to decorate their narratives : and they were the more lavish of thesf) 
in proportion as they departed from their original institution ; but it 
was a long time before they thought of delivering a set of personages 
and adventures wholly feigned. Of the gieat multitude of romnntic 
tales still preserved in the libraries of tlie North, most of them are 
supposed to have had some foundation in truth ; and the more ancient 
they are, the more they are believed to be connected with true history.^ 

It was not probably till after the historian and the bard hud been 
long disunited, that the latter ventured at pure fiction. At length, 
when their busine^8 was no longer to instruct or inform, but merely 
to amuse, it was no longer needful for them to adhere to truth. Then 
succeeded fabulous songs and romances in verse, which for a long time 
prevailed in France and England before they had books of chivalry 
in prose. Yet in both these countries the Minstrels still retained 
60 much of their original institution as frequently to make true eveuta 
the subject of their songs;* and, indeed, as during the barbarous ages 

• See Northern Antiquities, passim. • Ibid. 

• Saxo Gram. pp. 152, 153, Mallet, North. Antiq. vol. i. p. 321. 

• See a translation of this poem among " Five Pieces of Runic Poetry," 
|«inted for DoJsley, 1764, 8vo. 

• Vide Mallet, Northorn Antiquities, passim. 

,  The Editor's MS. contains a multitude of poems of this latter kmd. Ii 


the regular histories were almost all written in Latin by the nrcnka, 
the memory of events was preserved and propagated am<ing the 
isnoriiiit laity by scarce any other means than the popular songs of the 

II. The inhabitants of Sweden, Deiimark, and Norway, being the 
latest converts to Christianity, retained their original manners and 
0|)inion8 longer than the otiier nations of Gothic race; and therefore 
they have preserved more of the genuine compositions of their ancient 
j)oets than their southern neighbours. Hence the progress, among 
them, from poetical history to poetical fiction is very discernible: 
they have some old pieces tliat are in eflect complete romances of 
cliivalry.' 'i'hey have also (as hath been observed) a multitude of 
Sagas,^ or histories on romantic subjects, containing a mixture of prose 
and verse, of various dates, some of them written since the time of the 
Crusades, (ithers long before: but their narratives in verse only are 
esteemed tlie more ancient. 

Now as the irruption of the Normans' into France under Rollo did 
not take place till towards the beginning of the tentii century, at which 
time tlie Sealdic art was arrived to the highest perfection in Kollo's 
1 ative ciiimtry, we can easily trace the descent of the French and 
Knglisli ronjances of chivalry from the northern Sagas. That conqueror 
doubtless carried many Scalds witli him from the Noith, wlio trans- 
mitted their skill to their children and successors. These, adopting 
tlie religion, opinions, and language of the new country, substituted 
tiie heroes of Christendom instead of those of their Pagan ancestors, 
and began to celebrate the feats of Charlemagne, Roland, and Oliver; 
whose true history they set off and embellished with the Sealdic figments 
of dwarfs, giants, dragons, and enchantments. The first mention we 
liave ill song of those heroes of chivalry is in the mouth of a Norman 
warrior ;it the conquest of England;' and this circumstance alone 
would sufficiently account for the pr'pagation of this kind of romantic 
poems among the French and English. 

But this is not; all ; it is very certain that both the Anglo-Saxoua 
and the Franks had brought with them, at their first emigrations into 
IJritain and Gaul, the same fondness for the ancient songs of their 
ancestors which prevailed among the other Gothic tribes," and that 
all their first annals were transmitted in these popular oral poema. 
This fondness they even retained long after their conversion to Chiis- 

was probably from this custom of tne mmstrels, that some of our first 
historians wrote their Chronicles in verse, as Robert of Gloucester, Harding, 

' See a specimen in second vol. of Northern Antiquities, &c., p. 248, &c. 

* Klccardi Hist. Stud. Etvm. 1711, p. 179, &c. Ilickes's Thesaur. vol. ii. 

' i.e. Northern men : being chiefly emigrants from Norway, Denmark, <S;o- 
' See the account of 'Jaillcfcr in vol. i.. Essay, and note. 

• Ipsa CAUMINA memoria; mandabant, et ])ralia inituri decantabant: 
qua memoria tarn fortium gestorum h, majorihus patratorum ad imitatio- 
nem animus adderetur. — Jornandcs de Gothis. 


tianity, as we learn from the examples of Cliarlemagne and Alfred.* 
Now Poetry, being tlius the transmitter of facts, would as easily learn 
to blend them with fictions in France and England as she is known 
to have done in the North, and that much sooner, fir the reasons befoTe 
assigned.- This, together with the e.xample and influence of the 
Normans will easily account to us why the first romances of chivalry 
that appeareil both in England and France ^ were composed in metre, 
as a rude kind of epic songs. In both kingdoms tales in verse were 
iisually sung by minstrels to the harp on festival occasions : and doubt- 
less both nations derived thcT relish for this sort of entertainment 
from their Teutonic ancestors, without either of them borro^xing it from 
the other. Among both people narrative songs on true or fictitious 
subjects had evidently obtained from the earliest times. But the 
professed romances of chivalry seem to have been first composed in 
France, where also they had tlieir name. 

The Latin tongue, as is observed by an ingenious wiiter,'' ceased 
to be spoken in France about the ninth century, and was succeeded 
by what was called the Romance t"ngue, a mixture of the language 
of the Franks and bad Latin. As the songs of chivaliy became the 
most popular compositions in that language, they were emphatically 
Called Eomans, or Komants ; though this name was at first given 
to any piece of poetry. The romances of chivalry can be traced as 
early as the eleventh century.^ I know not if the Roman de Brut, 
written in 1155, was such: but if it was, it was by no means the first 
poem of the kind ; others more ancient are still extant ^ And we have 
already seen, that, in the preceding century, when the Normans 
marched down to the battle of Hastings, they animati d themselves by 
singing (in some popular romance or ballad) the exploits of Roland and 
the other heroes of chivalry.' 

' Eginhartus de Carolo Magno. " Item barbara et antiquissima CARMINa, 
quibus veterum regum actus et bella canebantur, scripsit," c. 29. 

Asserius de jElfredo Magno. " Rex inter hel la &c Saxonicos 

libros recitare, et maxime carmina Saxoxica memoriter discere, aliis 
imperare, et solus assidue pro viribus, studiosissime non desinebat." Ed. 
1722, 8vo, p. 43. 2 See above, pp. 81, 84, &c. 

* The romances on the subject of Perceval, San Graal, Lancelot du Lac, 
Tristan, &c., were among the first that appeared in the French language 
in Prose, yet these were originally composed in Metre : the Editor has in 
his possession a very old French MS. m verse, containing L'ancien Roman 
de Perceval ; and metrical copies of the others may be found in the libraries 
of the curious. — See a note of Wanley's in Harl. Catalog, no. 2252, p. 49, 
&c. Nicolson's Eng. Hist. Library, od ed. p. 91, &c. — See also a curious 
Collection of old French Romances, with Mr, Wanley's account of this sort 
of pieces, in Harl. MSS. Catal. 978, 106. 

■* The author of the Essay on the Genius of Pope, p. 282. 

* Ibid. p. 283. Hist. Lit. torn. vi. vii. 

* Voir Pre'face aux " Fabliaux et Contes das Poetes Fran(;ois des xii. xiii. 
liv. & XV. sifecles, &c." Paris, 1756, 3 torn. 12mo. (A very curious work.) 

' See the account of Taillefer in vol. i. Essay, and note. And see Rapic, 


So early as this I cannot trace the songs of chivalry in English 
The most ancient I have seen i« tliat of Uornechild, described bciow^ 
Avliicli seems not older than tlie tweltth century. However, as thia 
rather resembles the Saxon poetry than the French, it is not certain 
that the first Eiig-lish romances were translated from that language. 
AVt' have seen above, that a propcn.'^ity to this kind of fiction prevailed 
among all tlie (iotiiic niitions :* and though, after the Norman conquest 
this country abiunded with Freni'h romances, or with translations 
from the French, there is good reason to believe that the English had 
original pieces of their own. 

The stories of King Arthur and his Round Table may be reasonably 
supposed of the growth of this island : both the French and the 
Armoricans probably had them from Brita'n.' The stories of Guy and 
13evis, with some others, were probably the invention of English 
Minstrels.'' On the other hand, the English procured translations of 
such romances as were most current in France ; and in the list given 
at the conclusion of these remarks, many are doubtless of French 

The &:st prose books of chivalry that appeared in our language were 

Carte, &c. — This song of Roland (whatever it was) continued for some 
centuries to be usually sung by the French in their marches, if we may 
believe a modern French writer, " Un jour qu'on chantoit la Chanson de 
Roland, comme c'etoit I'usage dans les marches. 11 y a long temps, dit-il 
[John K. of France, who died in 1364-], qu'on ne voit plus de Rolands 
parmi les Franqois. On y verroit encore des Rolands, lui r^pondit un 
vieux Capitaine, s'ils avoient un Charlemagne a leur tete." — Vide torn. iii. 
p. 202, des Essaies Hist, sur Paris de M. de Saintefoix, who gives, as his 
authority, Boethius in Hist. Scotorum. This author, however, speaks of 
the coui])hiint and repartee as made in an assembly of the States (tocato 
SiU'itu , and not upon any march, &c. — Vide Boeth. lib. xv. fol. 327. Ed. 
Paris. 1574. 

• See, on this subject, vol. i. Notes on the Essay on the Ancient Minstrels, 
(3 2) and (g g). 

* The first romances of chivalry among the Germans were in metre; they 
have some very ancient narrative songs (which they call Luder), not only 
on the fabulous heroes of their own country, but also on those of France 
and Britain, as Tristram, Arthur, Gawain, and the Knights von der Tafel- 
ronde. — Vid. Goldasti iS'ot. in Eginhart. \^!t. Car. Mag. 4to, 1711, p. 207. 

'The Welsh have still some very old romances about King Arthur; but 
as these are in prose, they are not probably their first pieces that were 
composed on that subject. 

' It IS most credible that these stories were originally of English inven- 
tion, even if the only pieces now extant should be found to be translations 
from the French. What now pass tor the French originals were probably 
only anifilifications, or enlargeineuts of the old English story. That the 
French Romancers borrowed some thint;s frcin the English, appears from 
tne word Termagant, which they took up Ir-jm our minstrels, and coriupted 
into Tervagauute. — See vol. i. p. 52, end Gloss. "Termagant." 


tliose printed by Caxton ;» at least, these are the first I have been able 
to discover, and these are all translations from the French. Whereas 
romances of this kind had been long current in metre, and were so 
generally admired in the time of Cliaucer, that his rhyme of iSir Tliopas 
was evidently written to ridicule and burlesque them.* 

He expressly mentions several of them by name in a stanza, which 
I shall have occasion to quote more than once in this volume : 

" Men speken of Romaunces of pris 
Of Horn-Child, and of ipotis 

Of Bevis, and Sire Guy, 
Of Sire Libeux, and Pleindamour, 
But Sire Thopas, he hereth the flour 

Of real chevalrie." * 

Most if not all of these, are still extant in MS. in some or other of 
our libraries, as I shall show in the conclusion of this slight Essay, 
where I shall give a list of such metrical histories and romances as 
have fallen under my observation. 

As many of these contain a considerable portion of poetic merit, and 
throw great light on the manners and opinions of former times, it 
were to be wished that some of the best of them were rescued from 
oblivion. A judicious collection of them accurately published, with 
proper illustrations, would be an important accession to our stock of 
ancient English literature. Many of them exhibit no mean attempts 
at epic poetry : and though full of the exploded fictions of chivalry, 
frequently display great descriptive and inventive powers in the bards 
who composed them. They are at least generally equal to any other 
poetry of the same age. They cannot indeed be put in competition 
with the nervous productions of so universal and commanding a genius 
as Chaucer ; but they have a simplicity that makes them be read 
with less interruption, and be more easily understood : and they are 
far more spirited and entertaining thau the tedious allegories of Gower, 
or the dull and prolix legends of Lydgate. Yet, while so much stress 
was laid upon the writings of these laat, by such as treat of English 
poetry, the old metrical romances, though far more popular in their 
time, were hardly known to exist. But it has happened, unluckily, 
that the antiquaries who have revived the works of our ancient 
writers, have been, for the most part, men void of taste and genius, 

* Recuyel of the Hystoryes of Troy, 1471. Godfroye of Boloyne, 1481. 
Le morte de Arthur, 1485. The life of Charlemagne, 1485, &c. As the 
old minstrelsy wore out, prose books of chivalry became more admired, 
especially after the Spanish romances began to be translated into English, 
towards the end of Queen Elizabeth's reign : then the most popular me- 
trical romances began to be reduced into prose, as Sir Guy, Bevis, &c. 

■* See extract from a letter, written by the Editor of these volumes, in 
Mr. Warton's Observations, vol. ii. p. 139. 

'Canterbury Tales (Tyrwhitt's Edit.) vol. ii. p. 238.— In all the former 
editions which 1 have seen, the name at tta end of the fourth line ii 


and therefore have always fastidiously rejected the old poetical 
romances, oecause founded on fictitious or pojjular subjects, whilu 
they have oeen careful to grub up every petty frap:ment of the most 
dull and insipid rhymist, whose merit it was to deform morality or 
obscure true history. Should the public eucourajre the revival of some 
of those ancient epic songs of chivalry, tliey would frequently see the 
rich ore of an Ariosto or a Tasso, though buried, it may be, among the 
rubbish and dross of barbarous times. 

Such a publication would answer many important uses ; it would 
throw new light on the rise and progress of English poetry, the history 
of which can be but imperfectly understood if these are neglected : 
it would also serve to illustrate innumerable passages in our ancient 
classic poets, which, without their help, must be for ever obscure. 
For, not to mention Chaucer and Spenser, who abound with perpetual 
allusions to them, I shall give an instance or two from Shakspeare, 
by way of specimen of their use. 

In his play of Kinri John, our great dramntic poet alludes to an 
exploit of Richard I., which the reader will in vain look for in any true 
history. Faulconbridge says to his mother, act i. sc. 1, 

" Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose . . . 
Against whose furie and unmatched force, 
The awlesse lion could not wage the fight, 
Nor keepe his princely heart from Richard's hand. 
He that perforce robs lions of their hearts 
Jlay easily winne a woman's : " — 

Tlie fact here referred to, is to be traced to its source only in the 
old romance of Richard Ceur de Lion,''' in which his encounter with the 
lion makes a very shining figure. I shall give a large extract from 
tins poem, as a specimen of the manner of these old rl.apsodists, and 
to show that they did not in their fictions neglect the proper means to 
produce the ends, as was afterwards so childishly done in the prose 
books of chivalry. 

The poet tells us, that Richard, in bis return from the II<dy Land, 
having been discovered in the habit of "a palmer in Almayne," and 
apprehended as a spy, was by the king thrown into prison. War- 
diewe, the king's son, hearing of Richard's great strength, desires the 
jailor to let him have a sight of his prisoners. Ricdiard being the fore- 
most, Wardrewe asks him, " if he dare stand a buffet from Ids hand ?" 
and that on the morrow he shall return him another. Richard con- 
sents, and receivers a blow that staggers him. On the morrow, having 
previously waxed his bands, ho waits hie antagonist's arrival. War- 
drewe accordingly, proceeds the story, " held fcntli as a trewe man," 
and Richard gave him such a blow on the cheek, as broke his jaw- 

' Dr. Grey has shown that the same story is alluded to in Rastell's 
Chronicle: as it was doubtless originally had from the romance, this is 
proof that the old metrical romances throw light on our writers in 
prose: many of our aicient historians have recorded the fictions of 


bone, find killed him on the spot. The king, to revenge the dtatk of 
his son, orders, by the advice of one Eldiede, that a lion, kept purposely 
from food, shall be turned loose upon liichaid. But tlie king's daughter 
having fallen in love with him, tells Inm of her father's resolution, and 
at his request procures him foi ty ells of white silk " kerchtrs ;" and 
Lore the description of the combat bep'ins: 

"The kever-chefes ' he toke on honde, 
And aboute his arme he wonde ; 
And thought in that ylke while, 
To slee the lyon with some gyle. 
And syngle in a kyrtyll he stode, 
And abode the lyon fyers and wode, 
With that came the jaylere, 
And other men that wyth him were, 
And the lyon them amouge ; 
His pawes were stiffe and stronge. 
The chambre dore they undone. 
And the lyon to them is gone. 
Rycharde sayd, Helpe, lorde Jesu, 
The lyon made to hym venu, 
And wolde hym have all to rente ; 
Kynge Rycharde besyde him glente*; 
The lyon on the breste hym spurned, 
That aboute he tourned. 
The lyon was hongry and megre, 
And bette his tayle to be egre ; 
He loked aboute as he were madde ; 
Abrode he all his pawes spradde. 
He cryed lowde, and vaned ' wyde. 
Kynge Rycharde bethought hym that tyde 
What hym was beste, and to him sterte, 
In at the throte his honde he gerte, 
And hente out the herte with his honde, 
Lounge and all that he there fonde. 
The lyon fell deed to the grounde : 
Rycharde felte no wem ', ne wounde. 
He fell on his knees on that place, 
And thanked Jesu of his grace." 

* If » :|> * 

M' hat follows is not so well, and therefore I shall extract no more of 
this poem. — For the above feat, the author tells us, the king was 
deservedly called 

" Stronge Rycharde Cure de Lyowne." 

' «'. e. handkerchiefs. Here we have the etymology of the word, via 
" Couvre le Chef." 

 i. e. siipt aside. * Le. yawned. ' i, e. hurt 


That distich which Shakspearc puts in the mouth of his madman ia 
King Lear, act iii. so. 4, 

" Mice and rats and such small deere 
Have been Tom's food for seven long yeare," 

has excited the attention of the critica. Instead of deere, one of them 
would substitute geer, and another cheer.^ But the ancient reudinp; is 
established by the old romance of Sir Bevis. which Shakspeare had 
doubtless often heard sung to the harp. Tlii.s distich is part of a de- 
scription tht-re given of the hardships suflered by Bevis, when couflued 
for seven years in a dungeon : 

" Rattes and myse and such small dere 
Was his meate that seven yere." — Sign. F. iii. 

III. In different parts of this work, the reader will find various 
extracts from these old poetical legends ; to which I refer him for 
further examples of their style and metre. To complete this subject, 
it will be proper at least to give one specimen of their skill in dis- 
tributing and conducting their fable, by which it will be seen, that 
nature and common sense had supplied to these old simple bards the 
want of critical art, and taught them some of the mott essential rules 
of epic poetry. — I shall select the romance of Libius JJigconius,^ as being 
one of those mentioned by Chaucer, and either shorter or more intelli- 
gible than the others he has quoted. 

If an epic poem may be defined * " A fable related by a poet, to 
excite admiration, and inspire virtue, by representing the action of 
some one hero, favoured by Heaven, who executes a great design, in 
spite of all the obstacles that oppose him," I know not why we should 
withhold the name of epic poem from the piece which I am about to 

My copy is divided into ix Parts or Cantos, the several arguments 
of which are as follows. 

I'ART 1. 

Opens with a short exordium to bespeak attention : the hero is 
described ; a natural son of Sir Gawain, a celebrated knight of King 
Artiiur's court, who, being brought up in a forest by his mother, is 
kept ignorant of his name and descent. He early exhibits marks of 
his courage, by killing a knight in single combat, who encountered him 
as he was iiuntiug. This inspires him with a desire of seeking adven- 
tures: therefore clothing himself in his enemy's armour, he goes to 
King Arthur's court, to request the order of knighthood. His request 
granted, he obtains a promise of having the first adventure assigned 
him that shall offer. — A damsel named Ellen, attended by a dwarf, 

* Dr. Warburton. — Dr. Grey. 

* So it is entitled in the Editor's MS. But the true title is, Le heauji 
Disconus, or the Fair Unknown. See a note on the Canterbury Tales, vol, 
IV. p. 333. 

* Vid. " Discojrs sur la Poesie Hjnque," prefixed to TfXEMAQUK. 


cornea to implore King Arthur's assistance to rescue a young princess, 
*' the lady of Sinadone," their mistress, who is detiiined from her 
rights, and confined in prison. The adventure is claimed by the young 
knight Sir Lybius : the king assents ; the messengers are dissatisfied 
and object to his youth ; but are forced to acquiesce. And here the 
first book closes with a description of the ceremony of equipping him 


Sir Lybius sets out on the adventure : he is derided by the dwarf 
and the damsel on account of bis youth : they come to the bridge of 
Perill, which none can pass without encountering a knight called 
William de la Braunch. Sir Lybius is challenged : they just with 
their spears : De la Braunch is dismounted : the battle is renewed on 
foot : Sir William's sword breaks : he yields. Sir Lybius makes him 
ewear to go and present himself to King Arthur, as the first fruits of 
Lis valour. The conquered knight sets out for King Arthur's court ; 
is met by three knights, his kiubmen ; who, informed of his disgrace, 
TOW revenge, and pursue the conqueror. The next day they overtake 
him : the eldest of the three attacks Sir Lybius ; but is overthrown to 
the ground. The two other brothers assault him : Sir Lybius is 
■wounded ; yet cuts off the second brother's arm ; the third yields : Sir 
Lybius sends them all to King Arthur. In the third evening he is 
awakened by the dwarf, who has discovered a fire in the wood. 

PART ni. 

Sir Lybius arms himself, and leaps on horseback : he finds two 
giants roasting a wild boar, who have a fair lady their captive. Sir 
Lybius, by favour of the night, runs one of them through with his 
spear : is assaulted by the other : a fierce battle ensues : he cuts off the 
giant's arm, and at length his head. The rescued lady (an earl's 
daughter) tells him her story, and leads him to her father's castle ; 
who entertains him with a great feast : and presents him at parting 
■with a suit of armour and a steed. He sends the giant's head to King 


Sir Lybius, maid Ellen, and the dwarf, renew their journey : they 
see a castle stuck round with human heads, and are informed it 
belongs to a knight called Sir GeflTeron, who, in honour of his leman, 
or mistress, challenges all comers : he that can produce a fairer lady, 
is to be rewarded with a milk-white faulcon, but if overcome, to lose his 
head. Sir Lybius spends the night in the adjoining town : in the 
morning goes to challenge the faulcon. The knights exchange their 
gloves : they agree to just in the market-place : the lady and maid 
Ellen are placed aloft in chairs : their dresses : the superior beauty 
of Sir Gefferon's mistress described : the ceremonies previous to the 
combat. They engage : the combat described at large : Sir Gefferon 
is incurably hurt, and carried home on his shield. Sir Lybius sends 
the fauloon to King Arthur, and receives back a large present in florios. 


He stays forty days to be cired of hia wounds, wliicli lie spends in 
feasting with the neighbouiing lords. 


Sir Tiybius proceeds for Sinadone : in a forest he meets a knight 
hunting, called Sir Otes de Lisle : maid Ellen, charmed witli a very 
beautiful dog, begs Sir l-ybius to bestow him upon her: Sir Otes meets 
them, and claims his dog : is refused : being unarmed he rides to hia 
castle and summons his followers : they go in quest nf Sir I>ybius : 
a battle ensues : he is still victorious, and forces Sir Otes to follow the 
other conquered knights to King Arthur. 


Sir Lybins comes to a fair city and castle by a river side, beset round 
with pavilions or tents : he is informed, in the castle is a beautiful 
lady besieged by a giant named Maugys, who keeps the Ijridge, and 
w ill let none pass without doing him homage : this Lybius refuses : a 
batttle ensues ; the giant described : the several incidents (>{ the battle ; 
which lasts a whole summer's day: the giant is wounded; put t« 
flight ; slain. The citizens come out in procession to meet their 
deliverer : the lady invites him into her castle : falls in love with him ; 
and seduces him to her embraces. He forgets the princess of Sinadone, 
and stays with this bewitching lady a twelvemonth. T)iis fair sorceress, 
like another Alcina, iutoxicates him with all kinds of sensual pleasure; 
and detains him from the pursuit of honour. 


I\Iaid Ellen by chance gets an opportxmity of speakiiig to liim; and 
upbraids him witli his vice and folly : he is filled witli remorse, and 
escapes the same evening. At length he arrives at the city and castle 
of Sinadone: is given to understand that he must challenge the 
constable of the castle to single combat, before he can be received as 
a guest. They just: the constable is worsted: Sir Lybius is feasted 
in the castle ; he declares his intention of delivering their lady ; and 
inquires the particulars of iier history. "Two Necromancers have built 
a tine palace by sorceiy, and there keep her enchanted, till she will 
surrender her duchy to them, and yield to such base conditions as they 
would impose." 

I'AKT viir. 

Early on the morrow Sir Lybius sets out for the enchanted palace. 
He alights in tlie court: enters the hall: tlie wonders of which are 
described in strong Gotliic painting, lie sits down at tlie high table: 
on a sudden all the lights are (pienchcd : it tliunders and lightens ; 
tiie palace shakes; the walls fall into iiiects aljout his eai-s. lie 'V 
dismayed and confounded : but presently he.irs horses neigh, and is 
challenged to single comliat by the sorcerers. He gets to his steed : 
a battle ensues, witli various turns of fortune : he loses his weapon ; 
but gets a sword from one of the necromancers, and wounds the other 


« ith it : the edge of the sword being secretly poisoned, the wound 
proves mortal. 


He goes up to the surviving sorcerer, who is carried away from him 
by eucbantuient : at length he finds him, and cuts off his head : he 
returns to the palace to deliver the lady ; but cannot iind her : as he 
is lamenting, a window opens, through which enters a horrible serpent 
with wings and a woman's face : it coils round his neck and kisses 
him; then is suddenly converted into a very beautiful lady. She tells 
him she is the Lady of Sinadoue, and was so enchanted, till she might 
kiss Sir Gawain, or some one of his blood : that he has dissolved the 
charm, and that herself and her dominions may be his reward The 
knight (whose descent is by this means discovered) joyfully accepts 
the offer, makes her his bride, and then sets out with her for King 
Arthur's court. 

Such is tlie fable of this ancient piece; which the reader may 
observe, is as regular in its conduct as any of the finest poems of 
classical antiquity. If the execution, particularly as to the diction 
and sentiments, were but equal to the plan, it would be a capital 
performance; but this is such as migiit be expected in rude and 
ignorant times, and in a barbarous, unpolished language. 

IV. I shall conclude this prolix account, with a list of such old 
Metrical Komances as are still extant; beginning with those mentioned 
by Chaucer. 

1 . The Romance of Home Childe is preserved in the British Museum, 
where it is entitled fe ?;este of kyng Home. See Catalog. Harl. MSS. 
225.3, p. 70. The language is almost Saxon, yet from the mention in 
it of Sarazens, It appears to have been written after some of tiie 
Crusades. It begins thus : 

" All heo ben blyjje 
))at to my sonj jlype : 
A S0115 ychulle ou sing 
Of Allof Jje jode kynje," * &c. 

Another copy of this poem, but greatly altered, and somewhat 
modernised, is preserved in the Advocates' library at Edinburgh, 
in a MS. quarto volume of old English poetry, [W. 4, 1.] number 
xxxiv. in 7 leaves or folios,"* entitled' Horn-child and Maiden Riuivel, 
and beginning thus : 

" Mi leve frende dere, 
Herken and ye may here." 

* i. e. May all they be blithe, that to my song listen : A song I shall you 
ring, Of AUdf the good king, &c. 

' In each full page of this vol. are 44 lines, wnen the poem is in long 
metre- and 88 when the metre is short, aid the page in two cobamns. 


2. The poem of Ipotis (or Tpotis) is preserved in the Cotton libraiy 
Calig. A. 2, fol. 77. but is rather a relij^ious legend, than a romance, 
Ita beginning is, 

" He pat wyll of wysdome here 
Herkeneth nowe ze may here 
Of a tale of holy wryte 
Seynt Jon the Evingelyste wytnesseth hyt." 

3. The Romance of Sir Guy was written before that of Bevis, being 
quoted in it.' An acccmnt of this old poem is given in this vohinic, 
book viii. no. i. To which it may be added, that two complete copies m 
MS. are preserved at Cambridge ; the 0[ie in the public library,' the 
otlier in that of Caius College, Class A. 8. — In Ames's Typog. p. 153, 
may be seen the first lines of the printed copy. The first MS. begins, 

" Sythe the tyme that God was borne." 

4. Guy and Colbronde, an old romance in three parts, is preserved in 
the Editor's folio MS. (p. 349.) It is in stanzas of six lines, the first 
of which may be seen in vol. i. p. 369, beginning thus : 

" When meate and drinke is great plentye." 

In the Edinburgh MS. (mentioned above) are two ancient poems on 
the subject of Guy of Warwick: viz. number x viii. containing 26 leaves 
and XX. 59 leaves. Both these have unfortunately the beginnings 
wanting ; otherwise they would, perhaps, be found to be different 
copies of one or both the preceding articles. 

5. From the same MS. I can add another article to this list, viz. 
The Romance of Rembrun, son of Sir Guy ; bring number xxi. in 9 
leaves : this is properly a continuation of the History of Guy : and in 
art. 3, the Hist, of Rembrun follows that of Guy as a necessary part of 
it. This Edinburgh Romance of Rembrun begins thus : 

" Jesu that erst of mighte most 
Fader and Sone and Holy Ghost." 

Before I quit the subject of Sir Guy, I must observe, that if we may 
believe Dugdale in bis Baronage [vol. i. p. 243, col. 2], the fame of our 
English champion had, in the time of Henry IV., travelled as far as the 
East, and was no less popular among the Sarazens, than here in the West 
among the nations of Christendom. In thut reign a Lord Bcauchamp 
travelling to Jerusalem, was kindly received by a nuble person, the 
Soldan's lieutenant, who hearing he was descended from the famous 
Guy of Warwick, " whose storiea they had in books of tlieir own 

' Sign. K. 2. b. 

• For this, and most of the following which are mentioned as preserved 
in the public library, I refer the reader to the Oxon. Catalogue of MSS. 
1697, vol. ii. p. 394; in Appendix to Bp. More's MSS. no. 690, 3'3, siiiM 
firen to the Univer:i;y of Cambridge. 


Sanguage," invited him to his palace ; and royally feasting him, pre- 
sented him with three precious stones of great value ; besides divers 
cloths of silk and gold given to his servants. 

6. The Romance of Syr Bevis is described in this volume, book ix. 
no. i. Two manuscript copies of this poem are extant at Cambridge, 
viz. in the public library,' and in that of Caius Coll. Glass A. 9 (5). — 
The first of these begins, 

"Lordyngs lystenyth grete and smale." 

There is also a copy of this Romance of Sir Bevis of Hamptoun, in 
the Edinburgh MS. no. xxii., consisting of 25 leavts, and beginning 

" Lordinges herkneth to mi tale. 
Is merier than the nightengale," 

The iH'inted copies begin different from both, viz., 
" Lysten, Lordinges, and hold you styl." 

7. Libeaux {Liheaus, or Lyhius) Disconius, is preserved in the Editor's 
folio MS. (page 317), where the first stanza is, 

" Jesus Cnrist christen kinge, 
And his mother that sweete thinge, 

Helpe them at their neede, 
That will listen to my tale, 
Of a Knight I will you tell, 

A doughtye man of deede." 

An older copy is preserved in the Cotton library [Calig. A. 2, fol. 
lOj, but containing such innumerable variations that it is apparently 
a different translation of some old French original, which will account 
for the title of Le Beaux Disconus, or The Fair Unknown. The fiist 
line is, 

" Jesu Christ our Savyour," 

As for Pleindamour, or Blandamoure, no romance with this title has 
been discovered ; but as the word Blaxmdemere occurs in the romance 
of Lihius Disconius in the Editor's folio MS., p. 319, he thought the 
name of Bkmdamoure (which was in all the editions of Chaucer he 
had then seen) might have some reference to tliis. But Pleindamour, 
the name restored by Mr. Tyrwhitt, is more remote. 

8. Le Morte Arthure is among the Harl. MSS. 2252, § 49. This is 
judged to be a translation from the French ; Mr. Wanley thinks it no 
older than the time of Hen. VII., but it seems to be quoted in Syr Bevu 
(Sign. K. ij. b.). It begins, 

" Lordinges, that are leffe and deare." 

» No. 690, § 31. Vide Catalog. MSS. p. 394. 
VOL. n. H 


In the library of Bennet Coll. Cambridge, no. 351, is a MS. eutitled 
in the catalogue Acta Arthuris Metrico Auglicano, but I know not ita 

9. In the Editor's folio MS. are many songs and romances about 
King Arthur and his knights, some of which are very imperfect, as 
King Arthur and tlie King of Cornwall (p. 24), in stanzas of four lines, 

" ' Come here,' my cozen Gawame so gay." 

The TurJce and Gawain (p. 38), in stanzas of six lines, beginning 

" Listen lords great and small ; " ' 

but these are so imperfect, that I do not make distinct articles of them. 
— See also in this volume, book vii. no. ii. iv. v. 

In the same MS., p. 203, is the Greene Knight, in two parts, relating 
a curious adventure of Sir Gawain, in stanzas of six lines, beginning 

*' List : wen Arthur he was k : " 

10. The Carle of Carlisle is another romantic tale about Sir Gawain, 
in (he same MS. p. 448, in dietichs : 

"Listen: to me a little stond." 

In all these old poems the same set of knights are always repre- 
sented with the same manners and characters ; which seem to have 
been as well known, and as distinctly marked among our ancestors, as 
liomer's heroes were among the Greeks ; for, as Ulysses is always 
represented crafty, Achilles irascible, and Ajax rough ; so Sir Gaicuin 
in ever courteous and gentle, Sir Kay rugged and disobliging, &c. " Sir 
Gawain with his old curtysie," is mentioned by Chaucer as noted to a 
proverb in his Sijuire's Tale, Canterb. Tales, vol. ii. p. 104. 

11. Syr Launfal, an excellent old romance concerning another of 
King Arthur's knights, is preserved in the Cotton library, Calig. A. 2. 
f. 3;^. This is a translation from the French,' made by one Thomas 
Chestro, who is supposed to have lived in the reign of Hen. VI. [See 
Tanner's Biblioth.^ It is in stanzas of six lines, and begins, 

"Be douzty .Artours dawes." 

The above was afterwards altered by some Minstrel into the Romance 
of Sir Laiiihewcll, in three parts, under which title it was more gene- 

' In the former editions, after the above, followed mention of a fragment 
in the same MS. entitled Sir Lionel, in distichs (p. 32) ; but this beiug 
only a short ballad, and not relating to King Arthur, is here omitted. 

* The French original is preserved among the Harl. MSS. no. 978, | 112, 


tally known.' This is in the Editor's folio MS. p. 60, beginning 

" Doughty in King Arthures dayes." 

12. Eger and Grime, in six parts (in the Editor's folio MS., p. 124), 
is a well-invented tale of chivalry, scarce inferior to any of Ariosto's. 
This, which was inadvertently omitted in the former editions of this 
list, is in distichs, and begins thus : 

" It fell sometimes in the Land of Beame." 

13. The Romance of Merline, in nine parts (preserved in the same 
folio MS., p. 145), gives a curious account of the birth, parentage, and 
juvenile adventures of this famous British prophet. In this poem the 
Saxons are called Sarazens ; and the thrusting the rebel angels out of 
heaven is attributed to " oure Lady." It is in distichs, and begins 
thus : 

*' He that made with his hand." 

There is an old romance 0/ Arthour and of Merlin, in the Edinburgh 
MS. of old English poems : I know not whether it has anything in 
common with this last mentioned. It is in the volume numbered xxiii., 
and extends through 55 leaves. The two first lines are, 

" Jesu Crist, heven king, 
Al ous graunt gode ending." 

1^. Sit Isenras (or, as it is in the MS. copies. Sir Isumhras) is 
quoted in Chaucer's E of Thop. v. 6. Among Mr. Garrick's old plays 
is a printed copy ; of which an account has been already given in vol. 
i. book iii. no. viii. It is preserved in MS. in the library of Caius Coll. 
Camb. Class A. 9. (2.) and also in the Cotton library, Calig. A. 12. 
(f. 128.) This is extremely different from the printed copy : e. g. 

" God pat made both erjje and hevene." 

15. Emare, a very curious and ancient romance, is preserved in the 
fiame vol. of the Cotton library, f 69. It is in stanzas of six lines, and 
begins thus : 

"Jesu Jiat ys kyng in trone.** 

16. Chevelere assigne, or. The Knight of the Swan, preserved in the 
Cotton library, has been already described in vol. i. Essay on P. 
Ploioman's Metre, &e., as hath also 

17. The Siege of Jerlam (or Jerusalem), which seems to have been 
written after the other, and may not improperly be classed among tha 
romances ; as may also the following, which is preserved in the same 
volume : viz., 

* See Laaeham's Letter concerning Q. EHl entertainment at Killiog- 
worth, 1575, 12mo, p. 34. 

H 2 


18. Owaine Myles (fol. 90), giving an account of the wonders of St. 
Patrick's Purgatory. This is a translation into verse of the st^iry 
related in Mat. Paris's Hist, (sub ann. 1153). — It is in distichs begin- 
niug thus : 

" God Jjat ys so full of myght." 

In the same manuscript are three or four other narrative poems, 
which might be reckoned among the romances; but being ratber 
religious legends, I shall barely mention them : as, Tundale, f. 17. 
Trentale Sci Gregorii, f. 84. Jerome, f. 133. Euf,taclte, f. 136. 

19. Octavian imperator, an ancient romance of chivalry, is in tlie 
same vol. of the Cotton library, f. 20. — Notwithstanding the name, this 
old poem has nothing in common with the history of the Roman 
emperors. It is in a very peculiar kind of stanza, whereof 1, 2, 3, and 
5, rhyme together, as do the 4 and 6. It begins thus : 

" Ihesu ))hat was with spere ystonge." 

In the public library at Cambridge * is a jxiem with the same title, 
that begins very differently : 

" Lyttyll aad mykyll, olde and yonge." 

20. Eglamour of Artas (or Artoys) is preserved in the same vol. with 
the foregoing, both in the Cotton library and public library at 
Cambridge. It is also in the Editor's folio MS. p. 295, where it is 
divided into six parts. — A printed copy is in the Bodleian library, c. 
39, art. Seld., and also among Mr. Garrick'a old plays, K. vol. x. It is 
)u distichs, and begins thus: 

" Ihesu Crist of heven kyng." 

21. Syr Triamore(in stanzas of six lines) is preserved in MS. in the 
Editor's volume, p. 210, and in the public library at Cambridge (690, 
§ 29. Vid. Cat. MSS. p. 394).— Two printed copies are extant in the 
)ir)dleian library, and among Mr. (iarrick's plays in the same volume* 
with the last article. Both the MS. and the printed copies begin, 

" Nowe Jesu Chryste our heven kynge." 

The Cambridge copy thus : 

" Heven blys that all shall wynne." 

22. Sir Degree (Degare, or Degore, which last seems the true title), 
ill five parts, in distichs, is preserved in the Editor's folio MS. p. 371. 
and in the public library at Cambridge (ubi supra). — A printed copy 
is in the Bod. library, c. 39, art. Seld., and among Mr. Garrick's plays, 
Iv. vol. ix. — The Editor's MS. and the printed copies begin, 

" Lordinge, and you wyl holde you styl." 

* No. 690 (30). Vide Oion. Catalog. MSS. p. 394 


The Cambridge MS. has it, - ■'•'•••• -^ 

" Lystenyth, lordingis, gente and fre." 

23. Ipomydon (or Chylde Ipomydon) is preserved among the Harl. 
MSS. 2252 (44). It is in distichs, and begins, 

" Mekely, jrdyngis, gentylle and fre." 

In the library of Lincoln Cathedral, K. k. 3. 10, is an old imperfeo' 
printed copy, wanting the whole first sheet A. 

24. The Squyr of Lowe Degre, is one of those burlesqued by Chaucer 
in his Rhyme of Thopas. ' — ]\ir. Garrick has a printed copy of thia 
among his old plays, K. vol. ix. It begins, 

" It was a squyer of lowe degre, 
That loved the kings daughter of Hungit.. 

25. Historye of K. Bichard Cure ICoeur'] de Lyon [Impr. W. de 
Worde, 1528, 4to], is preserved in the Bodleian library, c. 39, art. 
Selden. A fragment of it is also remaining in the Edinburgh MS. of 
old English poems ; no. xxxvi. in 2 leaves. A large extract from thia 
romance has been given already above, p. 91. Richard was the pecu- 
liar patron of Chivalry, and favourite of the old Minstrels and Trouba- 
dours. — See Warton's Observ. vol ii. p. 29 ; vol. ii. p. 40. 

26. Of the following I have only seen No. 27, but I believe they may 
all be referred to the class of romances. 

The Knight of Courtesy and the Lady of Faguel (Bodl. lib. c. 39, art, 
Seld., a printed copy). This Mr. Warton thinks is the story of Coucy's 
Heart, related in Fauchet, and in Howel's Letters [V. i. s. 6, 1. 20. — 
See Wart. Obs. v. ii. p. 40]. The Editor has seen a very beautiful old 
ballad on this subject in French. 

27. The four following are all preserved in the MS. so often referred 
to in the public library at Cambridge (690. Appendix to Bp. More'a 
MSS. in Cat. MSS. tom. ii. p. 394), viz. The Lay of Erie of Tholoufe 
(No. 27), of which the Editor hath also a copy from' " Cod. MSS. Mua. 
Ashmol. Oxon." The first line of both is, 

" Jesu Chryste in Trynyte." 

28. Roberd Kynge of Cyfyll (or Sicily), shewing the fall of Pride. Of 
this there is also a copy among the Harl. MSS. 170J (3). The Cambridge 
MS. begins, 

" Princis that be prowde in prese." 

* This is alluded lo by Shakspeare in his Henry V. (act. v.^, when 
Fluellyn tells Pistol, he will make hin a Squire of Low Degree, wheD h« 

means to knock him down. 


29. Le hone Florence of Rome, beginning thus : 

"As ferre as men ride or gone." 

30. DiocJesian the Emperour, beginning, 

" Sum tyme ther was a noble man." 

31. The two knightly brothers, Amys and Amelion (among the HarL 
MSS. 238<J, § 42), is an old Romance of chivalry; as is also, I believe, 
the fragment of Lady Belesant, the Duke of Lombardy's fair daughter, 
mentioned in the same article. — See the Catalog, vol. ii. 

32. lu the Edinburgh MS. so often referred to (preserved in the 
Advocates' library, \Y. 4. 1), might probably be found some other 
articles to add to this list, as well as other copies of some of the pieces 
mentioned in it; for the whole volume contains not fewer than 37 Poems 
or Romances, some of them very long. But as many of them have lost 
the beginnings, which have been cut out fur the sake of the illumina- 
tions ; and as I have not had an opportunity of examining the MS. 
myself, I shall be content to mention only the articles that follow : • 

An old Romance about Rouland (not, I believe, the famous Paladine, 
but a champion named Rouland Louth ; query), being in the volume, 
no. xxvii in 5 leaves, and wants the beginning. 

33. Another Romance, that seems to be a kind of continuation of 
this last, entitled Otuel a Knight (no. xxviii.), in 11 leaves and a half. 
The two first lines are, 

'' Herkneth both zinge and old, 
That vvillen heren of battailes bold." 

34. The King of Tars (no. iv. in 5 leaves and a half; it is also in the 
Bodleian library, MS. Vernon, f. 30t), beginning thus : 

" Herkneth to me both eld and zing. 
For Maries love that swete thing. " 

35. A Tale or Romance (no. i. 2 leaves) that wants both beginning 
find end. The first lined now remaining are, 

" Th Erl him graunted his will y-wis. that the knicht him h.adcn y-told. 
The Baronnis that were of mikle pris, befor him thay weren y-cald." 

36. Another mutilated Tale or Romance (no. iii. 4 leaves). The 
first lines at present are, 

* Some of I give, though mutilated and divested of their titles, 
herause they may enable a curious inquirer to complete or improve othfi 


** To Mr. Steward will j gon. and tellen him the sothe of the 

Reseyved bestow sone anon, gif zou will serve and with hir be, 


37. A mutilated Tale or Romance (no. xi. ia 13 leaves). The two 
first lines that occur are, 

" That riche Dooke his fest gan hold 
With Erls and with Baronns bold." 

I cannot conclude my account of this curious manuscript, without 
acknowledging that I was indebted to the friendship of the Rev. Dr. 
Blair, the ingenious Professor of Belles Lettres in the University of 
Edinburgh, for whatever I learned of its contents, and for the important 
additions it enabled me to make to the foregoing list. 

To the preceding articles, two ancient metrical romances in the 
Scottish dialect may now be added, which are published in Pinkerton's 
Scottish Poems, reprinted from scarce editions, Lond. 1792, in 3 vols. 
8vo, viz. : 

38. Cfawan and Gohgras, a Metrical Romance; from an edition 
printed at Edinburgh, 1508, 8vo, beginning, 

" In the tyme of Arthur, as trew men me tald." 
It is in stanzas of thirteen lines. 

39. Sir Gawan and Sir Galaron of Galloway, a Metrical Romance, 
in the same stanzas as no. 38, from an ancient MS. beginning thas : 

" In the tyme of Artnur an aunter ' betydde 
By the Turnwathelan, as the boke tells ; 
Whan he to Carlele was comen, and conqueror kyd," &c. 

Both these (which exhibit the union of the old alliterative metre, 
with rhyme, &c., and in the termination of each stanza the short triplets 
of the Tournament of Tottenham) are judged to be as old as the time of 
our King Henry VI., being apparently the production of an old poet, 
thus mentioaed by Dunbar, in his " Lament for the Deth of the 
Makkaris : " 

" Clerk of Tranent eik he hes take, 
That made the aventors of Sir Gawane." 

It will scarce be necessary to remind the reader, that Tumewathelan 
is evidently Tearne- Wadling, celebrated in the old biillad of the Marriage 
of Sir Gawaine. — See p. 113, and no. xix. book ix. of this volume. 

Many new references, and perhaps some additional articles might be 
added to the foregoing list from Mr. Warton's History of English Poetry, 
3 vols. 4to, and from the Notes to Mr. Tyrwhitt's improved edition of 

' i. «. adventure. 


Cliaucer'a Canterbury Tales, &c., in 5 vols. 8vo, which have been puli- 
lislied since this Essay, &c., was first composed ; but it will be sufficient 
once for all to refer the curious reader to those popular works. 

The reader will also see raany interesting particulars on the subject 
of these volumes, as well as on most points of general literature, in Sir 
John Hawkins's curious History of Music, &c., in 5 volumes, 4to; aa 
ftlao in Dr, Burney's Hist., &c., in 4 vols. 4to. 



Clje Uov m\a tf;e Hflantlc 

is printed verbatim from the old MS. described in the Preface. The 
Editor believes it more ancient than it will appear to be at first sight ; 
the transcriber of that raaiuiscript having reduced the orthography and 
style in many instances to the standard of his own times. 

The incidents of the mantle and the knife have not, that I can 
recollect, been borrowed from any other writer. Tlie former of these 
evidently suggested to Spenser hia conceit of Florimel's girdle, b iv 
c 5, St. 3. ^ ' 

" That girdle gave the virtue of chaste love 

And wivehood true to all that did it beare ; 
But whosoever contrarie doth prove, 
Might not the same about her middle weare, 
But it would loose or else asunder teare." 

Sc it happened to the false Florimel, st. Ifi, when 

" being brought, about her middle small 

They thought to gird, as best it her became. 
But by no means they could it thereto frame, 
For ever as they fastned it, it loos'd 
And fell away, as feeling secret blame, &c. 

That all men wondred at the uncouth sight 
And each one thought as to their fancies came. 
But she herself did think it done for spight. 
And touchM was with secret wrath and shame 
Therewith, as thing deviz'd her to defame : 
Then many other ladies likewise tride 
About their tender loynes to knit the same, 
But it would not on none of them abide. 
But when they thought it fast, eftsoones it was untide 

Thereat all knights gan laugh and ladies lowre, 

Till that at last the gentle Amoret 

Likewise assayed to prove that girdle's powre. 

And having it about her middle set 

Did find it fit withouten breach or let, 

Whereat the rest gan greatly to envie. 

But Florimel exceedingly did fret, 

And snatching from her hand," &c. 

As for the trial of the home, it is not peculiar to our poet : it occurs In 
the old romance, entitled Morte Arthur, which was translated out of 
French in the time of King Edward IV., and first printed anno 1484. 
From that romance Ariosto is thought to have borrosved his tale of the 



Enchanted Cup, c. 42, Ac. — See Mr. Warton's Observations on tho Facriu 
Qiicene, &c. 

The story of the horn in Morte Arthur varies a good deal from tins 
of our poet, as the reader will judge from the following extract : — " By 
tlic way they met with a knight that was sent from Morgan la Faye to 
King Arthur, and this knig:ht had a fair home all garnished with gold, 
and the home had such a virtue, that there might no ladye or gentle- 
woman drinke of that home, but if she were true to her husband: and 
if shee were false she should spill all the drinke, and if shee were true 
unto her lorde, shee might drink peaceably : and because of queene 
Guenever and in despite of Sir Launcelot du Lake, this home was sent 
unto King Arthur." This horn is intercepted and brought unto 
another king named Marke, who is not a whit more fortunate than the 
British hero; for he makes "his queene drinke thereof, and an hundred 
ladies moe, and there were but foure ladies of all those that drank 
cleane," of which number the said queen proves not to be one. — Book 
ii. chap. 22, ed. 1632. 

In other respects the two stories are so dift'erent, that we have just 
reason to suppose this ballad was written before that romance wa^ 
translated into English. 

As for Queen Guenever, she is here represented no otherwise than in 
the old histories and romances. Holiushod observes, that "she was 
evil reported of, as noted of incontinence and breach of faith to hir 
husband." — Vol. i. p. 93. 

•^* Such readers as have no relish for pure antiquity, will find 
ft more modern copy of this ballad at the end of this volume. 

In the third day of May, 
To Carleile did come 
A kind curtcous child, 
That cold much of wisdome 

A kirtle and a mantle 6 

This child had uppon, 
With ' brouches ' and ringes 
Full richolye bedone. 

He had a sute of silke 

About his middle drawne ; 10 

Without ho cold of curtesye, 

Ho thought itt much shame. 

" God speed thee, King Arthur, 

Sitting at thy meate : 

And the goodly Queene GuenoTer 15 

I oannott her forgott. 

V. 7, branches. MS. 


" I toll you, lords, in this hall, 

I hett you all to ' heede,' 

Except you be the more surer, 

Is you for to dread." 20 

He plucked out of his ' poterner,' 
And longer wold not dwell ; 
He pulled forth a pretty mantle, 
Betweene two nut-shells. 

" Have thou here, King Arthur, 25 

Have thou heere of mee ; 
Give itt to thy comely queene, 
Shapen as itt is alreadye. 

" Itt shall never become that wiflfe. 

That hath once done amisse : " 30 

Then every knight in the kings court 
Began to care for ' his.' 

Forth came dame Guenever ; 

To the mantle shee her ' hied ;' 

The ladye shee was newfangle, 35 

But yett shee was affrayd. 

When shee had taken the mantle, 

She stoode as shee had beene madd : 

It was from the top to the too 

As sheeres had itt shread. 40 

One while was it ' gule,' 
Another while was itt greene ; 
Another while was it wadded ; 
111 itt did her beseeme. 

Another while was it blacke, 45 

And bore the worst hue : 

" By my troth," quoth King Arthur, 

" I thinke thou be not true." 

V. l^, heate. MS. V. 21, potervcr. MS. 

V. 3_', his wiffe. MS. V. 34, bided. MS. 

V. 41, gaule. MS, 


Shee threw downe the mantle, 

That bright was of Ijlee ; oO 

Fast, with a rudd redd, 

To her chamber can shee flee. 

She curst the weaver and the walker 

That clothe that had wrought, 

And bade a vengeance on his cro\\T3e 55 

That hither hath itt brought. 

" I had rather be in a wood, 

Under a greene tree, 

Then in King Arthurs court 

Shamed for to bee." 00 

Kay called forth his ladye, 

And bade her come neere ; 

Saies, " Madam, and thou be guiltye, 

I pray thee hold thee there." 

Forth came his ladye, 65 

Shortlye and anon ; 
Boldlye to the mantle 
Then is shee gone. 

*» When she had tane the mantle 

And cast it her about, 70 

Then was shee bare 
' Before all the rout,' 

Then every knight. 

That was in the kings court. 

Talked, laughed, and showted 75 

Full oft att that sport. 

She threw downe the mantle, 

That bright was of blee ; 

Fast, with a red rudd. 

To her chamber can shee flee. 8C 

Forth came an old knight 
Pattering ore a creede. 
And he preferred to this little boy 
Twenty markes to his meede, 

V. 75, lauged, MS. 


And all the time of the Christmasse, 85 

Willinglye to flfeede ; 

For why this mantle might 

Doe his wiffe some need. 

When she had tane the mantle, 

Of cloth that was made, 90 

Shee had no more left on her, 

But a tassell and a threed : 

Then every knight in the kings court 

Bade evill might shee speed. 

Shee threw downe the mantle, 9f, 

That bright was of blee ; 
And fast, with a redd rudd, 
To her chamber can shee flee. 

Ci*addocke called forth his ladyc, 

And bade her come in ; 100 

Saith, " Winne this mantle, ladye, 

With a litle dinne. 

" Winne this mantle, ladye, 

And it shal be thine, 

If thou never did amisse 105 

Since thou wast mine." '' 

Forth came Craddockes ladye, 

Shortlye and anon ; 

But boldlye to the mantle 

Then is shee gone. 110 

When she had tane the mantle, 

And cast it her about, 

Upp att her great toe 

It began to crinkle and crowt : 

Shee said, " Bowe downe, mantle, 115 

And shame me not for nought. 

"Once I did amisse, 

I tell you certainlye, 

When I kist Craddockes mouth 

Under a greene tree ; 120 

When I kist Craddockes moutb 

Before he marryed mee." 


When sbee had her shreeven, 

And Ler sines shee had tolde, 

The mantle stoode about her 125 

Eight as shee wold, 

Seemelye of coulour, 

Glittering like gold : 

Then every knight in Arthurs court 

Did her behold. 130 

Then spake dame Guenever 
To Arthur our king ; 
" She hath tane yonder mantle 
Not with right, but with wrongc. 

" See you not yonder woman, 135 

That maketh her self soe ' cleane '? 
I have seene tane out of her bedd 
Of men fiveteene ; 

" Priests, clarkes, and wedded men 

From her, bedeene : 140 

Yett shee taketh the mantle, 

And maketh her self cleane." 

Then spake the little boy, 

That kept the mantle in hold ; 

Sayes, " King, chasten thy wiflfe, 145 

Of her words shee is to bold : 

" Shee is a bitch and a witch, 

And a whore bold : 

King, in thine owno hall 

Thou art a cuckold." 150 

The little boy stoode 
Looking out a dore ; 
• And there as ho was lookinge 
He was ware of a wyld bore.' 

T 134, wrii?h*. MS. V. 13G, deare. MS. 

V. 140, hj deen«. MS. 


He was ware of a wyld bore, 155 

"Wold have werryed a man : 

He pulld forth a wood kniffe, 

Fast thither that he ran : 

He brought in the bores head, 

And quitted him like a man. I GO 

He brought in the bores head, 

And was wonderous bold : 

He said there was never a cuckolds kniffe 

Carve itt that cold. 

Some rubbed their knives 1 65 

Uppon a whetstone : 

Some threw them under the table, 

And said they had none. 

King Arthur and the child 

Stood looking upon them ; 170 

All their knives edges 

Turned backe againe. 

Craddocke had a little knive 

Of iron and of steele ; 

He britled the bores head 175 

Wonderous weele, 

That every knight in the kings court 

Had a morssell. 

The little boy had a home, 

Of red gold that ronge : 180 

He said there was " noe cuckoldo 

Shall drinke of my home. 

But he shold it sheede, 

Either behind or beforne." 

Some shedd on their shoulder, 185 

And some on their knee ; 

He that cold not hitt his mouthe, 

Put it in his eye : 

And he that was a cuckold 

Every man might him see. 190 

V. 170, them upon. MS. V. 175, or bii tied. MS 


Ci'addocke wan the borne, 
And the bores bead : 
His bidie wan the mantle 
Unto her meede. 

Everye such a lovely ladye 195 

God send ber well to specde. 


'fn)e l^fUmagc of ^ir ^atoaiac 

is chiefly taken from the fragment of an old ballad in tlie Editor's MS. 
which he has reason to believe more ancient than the time of Chaucer, 
and what furnished that bard with his Wife of Bath's Tale. The 
original was so extremely mutilated, half of every leaf being torn away, 
that without large supplements, &c., it was deemed improper for this 
collection : those it has therefore received, such as they are. They are 
nut here particularly pointed out, because the Fragment itself will now 
be found printed at the end of this volume. 


King Arthur lives in merry Carleile, 

And seemely is to see ; 
And there with bim Queene Gueuever, 

That bride soe bright of blee. 

And there with bim Queene Guenever, 5 

That bride soe bright in bowre ; 
And all bis barons about bim stoodo, 

That were both stifle and stowrc. 

This king a royale Christmasse kept, 

With mirth and princelye cbeare ; 10 

To him rejiaired many a knigbte, 

That came both farre and neare. 

And when they were to dinner sette 

And cups went freely round : 
Before them came a fairo damsolle, 15 

And knelt upon the ground. 


** A booue, a boone, O Kinge Artliure, 

i beg a boone of thee ; 
Avenge me of a caiiish knighte, 

Wbo hath shent my love and mee 20 

" At Tearne-Wadling ^ his castle stands, 

Near to that lake so fair, 
And proxidlye rise the battlements, 

And streamers deck the air. 

" Noe gentle knighte, nor ladye gay, 25 

May pass that castle-wall. 
But from that fuule discurteous knighte, 

Mishappe will them befalle, 

" Hee's twice the size of common men, 

Wi' thewes and sinewes stronge, 30 

And on his backe he bears a clubbe. 

That is both thicke and longe. 

" This grimme barone 'twas our harde happe 

But yester morne to see ; 
When to his bowre he bare my love, 35 

And sore misused mee. 

" And when I told him King Arthure 

As lyttle shold him spare ; 
Goe tell, sayd hee, that cuckold kinge 

To meete mee if he dare." 40 

Upp then sterted King Arthure, 

And sware by hille and dale. 
He ne'er wolde quitt that grimme barone, 

Till he had made him quail. 

" Goe fetch my sword Excalibar, 45 

Goe saddle mee my steede ; 
Nowp, by my faye, that grimme barone 

Shall rue this ruthfulle deede." 

' Tearne- Wadling is the name of a small lake near Hesketh in Cumber- 
land, on the road from Penrith to Carlisle. There is a tradition, that an 
o'd castle once stood near the lake, the remains of which were not lone 
Since visible. Team, in the dialect of that country, signifies a small lake; 
and is still in use. 

VOL. U. I 


And when Le came to Tearne-Wadlinge 

Bcnetbe the castle walle : 50 

" Come forth, come forth, thou proude barone, 
Or yielde thyself my thralle." 

On magicke grounde that castle stoode, 

And fenc'd with many a spelle : 
Noe valiant knighte could tread thereon, 55 

But straite his courage felle. 

Forth then rush'd that carlish knight, 

King Arthur felte the charme : 
His sturdy sinewes lost their strengthc, 

Downe sunke his feeble arme. 60 

" Nowe yield thee, yield thee, Kinge Arthure, 

Now yield thee unto mee ; 
Or fighto with mee, or lose thy lande, 

Noe better termes maye bee : 

" Unlesse thou swearc upon the rood, 65 

And promise on thy faye, 
Here to returne to Tcarne-Wadling, 

Upon the new-yeare's day, 

" And bringe me worde what thing it is 

All women moste desyre : 70 

This is thy ransome, Arthur," he saycs, 
" He have noe other hyrc." 

King Arthur then hclde up his hande, 

And sware ujion his faye. 
Then tooke his leave of the grimme barone, 75 

And faste hee rode awaye. 

And he rode east, and he rode west. 

And did of all iiiquyre. 
What thing it is all women crave. 

And what they most desyre. 80 

Some told him riches, pompe, or state; 

Some raynicnt fine and brighte ; 
Some told him mirtbe ; some flattcrye ; 

And some a jollye knighte. 


In letters all King Artliur wrote, 85 

And seal'd tliem with his ringe : 
But still his minde was helde in doubte. 

Each tolde a dilfereut thinge. 

As ruthfulle he rode over a more, 

He saw a ladye, sette 90 

Betweene an oke and a greene holleye, 

All clad in red^ scarlette. 

Her nose was crookt and turned outwarde, 

Her chin stoode all awrye ; 
And where as sholde have been her mouthe, 95 

Lo ! there was set her eye : 


Her haires, like serpents, clung aboute 

Her cheekes of deadlye howe : 
A worse-form'd ladye than she was, 

No man mote ever viewe. 100 

To hail the king in seemelye sorte 

This ladye was fullo faine : 
But King Artliiire, all sore amaz'd, 

No aunswere made againe. 

" "What wight art thou," the ladye sayd, 105 

" That wilt not speake to mee ; 
Sir, I may chance to ease thy paine, 

Though I bee foule to see." 

" If thou wilt ease my paine," he sayd, 

" And helpe me in my neede, 110 

Ask what thou wilt, thou grimme ladye, 

And it shall bee thy meede." 

" sweare mee this upon the roode. 

And promise on thy faye ; 
And here the secrette I will telle, 115 

That shall thy ransome paye." 

* This was a common phrase in our old writers ; so Chaucer, in liis 
Prologue to the Cant. Tales, says of the Wife of Bath. 

" Her hosen were of fyne scarlet red." 

I 2 


King Arthur promis'd on his faye, 

A.ud sware upon the roode ; 
The secrette then the ladye told, 

As lightlye well shee cou'de. 1-20 

« Now this shall he my paye, Sir King, 

And this my guerdon hee, 
That some yong, fair and courtlye knight 

Thou hringe to marrye mee." 

Fast then pricked King Arthvire 125 

Ore hille, and dale, and downe : 
And soone he founde the barone's bowre, 

And soone the grimme baroune. 

He kare his clubbe upon his backe, 

Hee stoode bothe stiffe and stronge; 130 

And, when he had the letters reade, 

Awaye the lettres flunge. 

" Nowe yielde thee, Arthur, and thy lands, 

All forfeit unto mee ; 
For this is not thy paye, Sir King, 135 

Nor may thy ransome bee." 

" Yet hold thy hand, thou proud barone, 

I pray thee hold thy hand ; 
And give mee leave to speake once more 

In reskewe of my land. 1^0 

" This mornc, as I came over a more, 

I saw a ladye, sette 
Betwene an oke and a greene hoUeye, 

All clad in red scarlette. 

♦' Shee saycs, all women will have their wille, H5 

This is their chief desyre ; 
Now yield, as thou art a barone true, 

That I have payd mine hyre." 

•* An carlye vengeaunce light on her ! " 

The carlish baron swore : ISO 

" Shee was my sister tolde thee this. 

And shee's a mishapen whore. 


'' But here I will make mine avowe, 

To do her as ill a turne : 
For an ever I may that foule theefe gette, 155 

In a fyre I will her burne." 


HoMEWARDE pricked King Arthure, 

And a wearye man was hee ; 
And soone he mette Queene Guenever, 

That bride so bright of blee. 

" What newes ! what uewes ! thou noble king, 5 

Howe, Arthur, hast thou sped ? 
Where hast thou hung the carlish knighte ? 

And where bestow'd his head ? " 

" The carlish knight is safe for mee, 

And free fro mortal harme : 10 

On magicke grounde his castle stands, 

And fenc'd with many a charme. 

" To bow to him I was fulle faine, 

And yielde mee to his hand : 
And but for a lothly ladye, there IS 

I sholde have lost my land. 

" And nowe this fills my hearte with woe, 

And sorrowe of my life ; 
I swore a yonge and courtlye knight 

Sholde marry her to his wife." 20 

Then bespake him Sir Gawaine, 

That was ever a gentle knighte ; 
" That lothly ladyo I will wed ; 

Therefore be merrye and lighte." 

" Now naye, nowe naye, good Sir Gav/aine, 25 

My sister's sonne yee bee ; 
This lothlye ladyc's all too grimme, 

And all too foule for yee. 

" Her nose is crookt and turn'd outwarde, 

Her chin stands all awrye ; 30 

A worse form'd ladye than shee is 
Was never seen with eye." 


" What tliougli her chin stand all awrye, 

And shee be foule to see ; 
I'll marry her, unkle, for thy sake, 35 

And I'll thy ransome bee." 

" Nowe thankes, nowe thankes, good Sir Gawaine, 

And a blessing thee betyde ! 
To-morrow wee'li have knights and squires, 

And wee'li goe fetch thy bride. 40 

" And wee'li have hawkes and wee'li have Lioundee 

To cover our intent ; 
And wee'li away to the greene forest, 

As wee a hunting went." 

Sir Lancelot, Sir Stephen bolde, 45 

They rode with them that daye ; 
And foremoste of the companye 

There rode the stewarde Kaye : 

Soe did Sir Banicr and Sir Bore, 

And eke Sir Garratte keeue ; 60 

Sir Tristram too, that gentle knight. 

To the forest freshe and greene. 

And when they came to the greene forrest, 

Beneathe a iaire hoUcy tree. 
There sate that ladye in red scarlette, 55 

That unseemelye was to see. 

Sir Kay beheld that lady's face, 

And looked u2)on her sweere ; 
" Whoever kisses that ladye," he sayes, 

" Of his kisse he stands in feare." 60 

Sir Kay beheld that ladye againe, 

And looked ujion her snout ; 
" Whoever kisses that ladye," he sayes, 

" Of his kisse he stands in doubt." 

" Peace, brother Kay," saydo Sir Gawaine, 65 

" And amend thee of thy life : 
For there is a knight amongst us all 

Must marry her to his wife." 



" What, marry this foule queane ? " quoth Kay, 

" I' the devil's name anone ; 70 

Gette mee a wife wherever I maye, 
In sooth shee shall be none." 

Then some tooke up their hawkes in haste, 

And some took up their houndes, 
And sayd they wolde not marry her 75 

For cities, nor for townes. 

Then bespake him King Arthiire, 

And sware there " by this daye, 
For a little foule sighte and mislikinge, 

Yee shall not say her naye." 80 

" Peace, lordings, peace," Sir Gawaine sayd, 

" Nor make debate and strife ; 
This lothlye ladye I will take. 

And marry her to my wife." 

" No we thankes, no we thankes, good Sir Gawaine, 85 

And a blessinge be thy meede ! 
For as I am thine owne ladye, ' 

Thou never shalt rue this deede." 

Then up they took that lothly dame. 

And home anone they bringe : 90 

And there Sir Gawaine he her wed, 

And married her with a ringe. 


And when they were in wed-bed laid, 

And all were done awaye : 
" Come turne to mee, mine owne wed-lord, 95 

Come turne to mee, I praye." 

Sir Gawaine scant could lift his head. 

For sorrowe and for care ; 
When lo ! instead of that lothelye dame, 

Hee sawe a young ladye faire. 100 

Sweet blushes stayn'd her rud-red cheeke, 

Her eyen were blacke as sloe : 
The ripening cherrye swellde her lippe, 

And all her necke was snowe. 


Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady faire, 105 

Lying upon the slicctc, 
And swore, as he was a true kuighte, 

The spice was never so sweete. 

Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady brighte, 

Lying there by his side : 110 

" The fairest flower is not soe faire : 

Thou never canst bee my bride." 

** I am thy bride, mine owne dcare lorde ; 

The same whiche ihou didst knowe, 
That was soe lothlye, and was wont 115 

Upon the wild more to goe. 

" Nowe, gentle Gawaine, chuse," quoth shoe, 

" And make thy choice wdth care ; 
Whether by night, or else by daye, 

Shall I be foulc or faire ? " 120 

" To have thee foule still in the night, 

When I with thee should playe ! 
I had rather far re, my lady deare, 

To have thee foule by daye." 

" What ! when gayo ladyes goe with their lor les 125 

To drinke the ale and wine ; 
Alas ! then I must hide myself, 

I must not goe with mine ! " 

" My faire ladye," Sir Gawaine sayd, 

" I yield me to thy skillc ; 130 

Because thou art mine owne ladye, 

Thou shalt have all thy wille." 

" Nowe blessed be thou, sweete Gawaine, 

And the daye that I thee see ; 
For as thou scest mce at this time, 135 

Soe shall I ever bee. 

" My father was an aged knighte. 

And yet it chanced soe, 
He tooke to wife a false ladye, 

Whiche broughte me to this woe. 140 

KING KYENCE'S challenge. 


** Sliee witch'd mee, being a faire yonge maicle, 

In the greene forest to dwelle, 
And there to abide in lothlye shape, 

Most like a fiend of helle ; 

" Midst mores and mosses, woods and wilds, 145 

To lead a lonesome life, 
Till some yong, faire and courtlye knighte 

Wolde marrye me to his wife : 

'' Nor fully to gaine mine owne trewe shape, 

Such was her devilish skille, 150 

Until he wolde yielde to be rul'd by mee, 
And let mee have all my wille. 

*' She witchd my brother to a carlish boore, 

And made him stiife and stronge ; 
And built him a bowre on magilke groimde, 155 

To live by rapine and wronge. 

* But now the spelle is broken throughe, 

And wronge is turnde to righte ; 
Henceforth I shall bee a faire ladye, 

And hee be a gentle knighte " 160 

* * 


Butg 3^weixce*£i Cijalltngc. 

This song is more modern than many of those which follow it, but is 
placed here for the sake of the subject. It was sung before Queen 
Elizabeth at the grand entertainment at Kenilwoith Castle in 1575, 
and was probably composed for that occasion. In a letter describing 
those festivities it is thus mentioned " A Minstral came forth with 
a sollem song, warranted for story out of K. Arthur's acts, whereof I 
gat a copy and is this : 

" ' So it fell out on a Pentecost,' " &c. 

After the song the narrative proceeds: "At this the Minstrell made 
a pause and a curtezy for Primus Passus. More of the song is thoar, 
but I gatt it not." 

The story in Morte Arthur whence it is taken runs as follows : '' Cam* 


a messenger hastely from king Rycnce of North Wales, — saving, that 
king Ryence had discomfitod and overcomcn cleaven kings, and 
everiche of them did him homage, and that was this: tliey gave him 
theii' hearcis cleane flayne ofl', — wherefore the messenger came for king 
Arthur's beard, for king Ryence had pnrfek'd a mantell with kings 
bcard.<, and there lacked for one a place of tlie mantell, wherefore he 
sent for his heard, or else he W(juld enter info his lands, and brenn and 
slay, and never leave till he have thy head and thy beard. Well, said 
king Arthur, thou hast said thy me.>sage, which is tlie most villainous 
and lewdest message that ever man heard sent to a king. Also thou 
maj'est see my beard is full young yet for to make a purfell of, but tell 
thou the king that — or it be long he shall do to me homage on both his 
knees, or else he shall leese his head." [B. i. c. 24. gee also the same 
Romance, b. i. c. 92.] 

The thought seems to be originally taken from Jetf. Monmouth's 
Hist. b. X. c. 3, which is alluded to by Drayton in his Poly-Olb., Song iv. 
and by Spenser in Faer. Queene, vi. 1, 13, 15. — See Warton's Observa- 
tions on Spenser, vol. ii. poge 223. 

The following text is composed of the best readings selected from 
three different copies. The first in Enderbie's Cambria Triumphans, 
p. 197. The second in the Letter above mentioned. And the third 
inserted in MS. in a copy of Morte Aithur, 1032, in the Bodl. library. 

Stow tells us that king Arthur kept his round table at " diverse 
places, but especially at C;ulioii, Winchester, and Camalet in Somerset- 
sJiire." This Camalet, " sometimes a famous towne or castle, is situate 
on a very high tor or hill," «S;c. [See an exact description in Stew's 
Annals, ed. 1G31, p. 55.] 

As it fell out on a Pentecost day, 

King Arthiu- at Camclot kejit his court myall, 
With his faire quccnc dame Giienever the gay, 

And many bold barons sitting in hall, 
With ladies attired in jiurplc and pall, 5 

And heraults in hcwkes, hooting on high, 
Crycd, Largesse, Largesse, Chevaliers trcs-hnrdie. ^ 

A doughty dwarfe to the uppermost deas 
Right i^ertlye gan ])rieke, kneeling on knee ; 

With Steven fullc stoute amids all the preas, 10 

Siiy'd, " Nowe Sir King Arthur, God save thee and see ! 

Sir Ryence of North-(iales grcetcth well thee, 
And bids thee thy beard anon to him send, 

Or else from thy jaws he will it off rend. 

' Largesse, Lanjesse. The heralds resounded these words as oft as they 
received the bounty of the knights. See Memoires de la Clieialerie, torn. i. 
p. 99. — The expression is still used in the form of installing knights of the 

KING kyence's challenge. 123 

*' For his robe of state is a rich scarlet mautle, 15 

With eleven kings beards borderecP about. 
And there is room lefte yet in a kantle, 
For thine to stande, to make the twelfth out. 

This must be done, be thou never so stout ; 
This must be done, I tell thee no fable, 20 

Maugre the teethe of all thy Kouud Table." 

When this mortal message from his mouthe past. 
Great was the noyse bothe in hall and in bower : 

The king fum'd ; the queene scieecht ; ladies were aghast ; 
Princes puff'd ; barons blustred ; lords began lower ; 25 
Knights stormed ; squires startled, like steeds in a 
stower ; 

Pages and yeomen yell'd out in the hall ; 

Then in came Sir Kay, the ' king's ' seneschal. 

" Silence, my soveraignes," quoth this courteous knight. 
And in that stound the stowre began still : 30 

' Then ' the dwarfe's dinner full deerely was dight ; 
Of wine and wassel he had his wille. 
And when he had eaten and drunken his fill, 

An himdred pieces of fine coyned gold 

Were given this dwarf for his message bold. 35 

"But say to Sir Ryence, thou d'.varf," quoth the king, 
" That for his bold message I do him defye, 

And shortlye with basins and jjaus will him ring 
Out of North-Gales ; where he and I 
With swords, and not razors, quickly shall trye, 40 

Whether he, or King Arthur, will prove the best harbor :" 

And therewith he shook his good sword Escalabor. 

*^* Strada, in his Prolusions, has ridiculed the story ot the giaiit'a 
mautle, made of the beards of kings. 

^ i. e. set round th j border, as furs are now round the gowns of magis* 

l24 KING Arthur's death. 



The subject of this ballnd is evidently taken from the old romance 
Mode Arthur, but with some variations, especially in the concluding 
(stanzas; in which the autlior seems rather to follow the tradtions of 
the old Welsh bards, who " believed that King Arthur wms not dead, but 
conveied awaie by the Fairies into some pleasant place, where he should 
rv3maine for a time, and then returne againe and reign in as great 
authority as ever."^Holinshed, b. v. c. 14; or, as it is expressed in an 
old Chronicle printed at Antwerp 1493, by Ger. de Li ew, " The Bre- 
tons supposen, that he [K. Arthur]— shall come yet and contiuere all 
Bretaiijne, for certes this is tiie prophicye of Merlyn : He Ba> d, that 
his deth shall be doubtuous ; and sayd soth, for men thereof yet have 
doubto, and shullen for ever more, — for men wyt not whether that he 
lyveth or is dede." — See more ancient testimonies in Seldeu's Niites on 
Poly Olbion, Song iii. 

This fragment, being very incorrect and imperfect in the original MS., 
hath received some conjectural emendations, and even a supplement of 
three or four stanzas composed from the romance of Morte Arthur. 

On Trinitye Moudaye in the morne, 
This sore battayle was doom'd to bee, 

Where mauye a knighto cry'd, Well-awaye I 
Alacke, it was the more pittie. 

Ere the first crowinge of the cocke, 5 

When as the kinge in his bed Laye, 
He thoughte Sir Gawaine to him came,^ 

And there to him these wordes did saye : 

" Nowe, as you are mine uukle deare, 

And as you prize your life, this daye 10 

meet not -nath your foe in fighte ; 

Putt ofif the battayle, if yee maye. 

" For Sir Launcelot is nowe in Fraunce, 
And witli him many an liardye knighte : 

Who will witliin this moneth be; backe, 15 

And will assiste yeo in the fighte." 

' Sir Gawaine had been killed at Arthur's landing on his retura fr na 
•broad. — See the next ballad, ver. 73. 

KING Arthur's death. 125 

The kinge tlien call'd his nobles all, 

Before the b:eakinge of the daye ; 
And told them howe Sir Gawaine came, 

And there to him these wordes did saye. 20 

His nobles all this counsayle gave, 

That earlye in the morning, hee 
Shold send awaye an herauld-at-arme?, 

To aske a parley faire and free. 

Then twelve good knightes King Arthur chose, 25 

The best of all that with him were, 
To parley with the foe in field, 

And make with him agreement faire. 

The king he charged all his hoste, 

In readinesse there for to bee ; 3C 

But noe man shold noe weapon sturre, 

Unlesse a sword drawne they shold see. 

And Mordred, on the other parte, 

T welve of his knights did likewise bringe, 

The best of all his companye, 35 

To hold the parley with the kinge. 

Sir Mordred alsoe charged his hoste, 

In readinesse there for to bee ; 
But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre. 

Bat if a sworde drawne they shold see. 40 

For he durste not his unkle truste, 

Nor be his nephewe, sothe to tell ; 
Alacke ! it was a woefuUe case, 

As ere in Christentye befelle. 

But when they were together mette, 45 

And both to faire accordance broughte. 

And a month's league betweene them sette, 
Before the battayle sholde be foughte, 

An addere crept forth of a bushe, 

Stunge one o' th' king's knightes on the knee ; 60 
Alacke ! it was a woefulle chance, 

As ever was in Christentie. 

Ver. 41, 42, the folio MS. reads father .... sonne. 


When the knightc found him wounded sore, 
And sawe the wild-worm hanginge there, 

His sworde he from his scahberde drewe ; 55 

A piteous case, as ye shall heare. 

For when the two hostes sawe the sworde, 

They joyned battayle instantlye ; 
Till of soe manye noble knightes, 

On one side there were left but three. 60 

For all were slain that durst abide. 
And but some fewe that fled awaye : 

Ay mee ! it was a bloodye fielde, 

As ere was foughte on a summer's daye. 

Upon King Arthur's own partye, 65 

Oulye himselfe escaped there, 
And Lukyn Duke of Gloster free. 

And the king's butler Bedevere. 

And when the king beheld his knightes 

All dead and scattered on the molde, 70 

The tearcs fast trickled downe his face ; 
That manlye face in fight so bolde. 

" Nowe reste yee all, brave Imights," he said, 
" Soe true and faithful to your trust : 

And must yee then, ye valiant hearts, 75 

Be lefte to moulder into dust ! 

" Most loyal have yee been to mee, 

Most true and faithful unto deathe : 
And, oh ! to rayse yee up againe, 

How frcelye could I yield my breathe ! 80 

" But see, the traitor's yet alive ! 

Lo where hec stalkes among the deade I 
Nowe bitterlye he shall abye : 

And vengeance fall upon his head." 

" O staye, my liege," then sayd the duke ; 85 

" staye for love and charitic ; 
Hemcnibor what the vision spake, 

Nor meete your foe, if it may bee." 

KING Arthur's death. 127 

** staye mee not, thou wortliye wiglit, 

This debt my loyal knights I owe : 90 

Betide me life, betide me death, 

I will avenge them of their foe." 

Then straite he grasp'd his trustye speare, 

And on his horse then mounted hee : 
As his butler holpe him to his horse, 95 

His bowels gushed to his knee. 

" Alas ! " then sayd the noble king, 
" That I should live this sight to see ! 

To see this good knight here be slaine, 

All for his love in helping mee !" 100 

He put his speare into his reste, 

And to Sir Mordred loud gan crye ; 
" Nowe sette thyself upon thy guax'de. 

For, traitor, nowe thy death is nye." 

Sir Mordred lifted up his sworde, 105 

And fierce to meet the king ran hee : 
The king his speare he through him thrust, 

A fathom tborow his bodie. 

When Mordered felt the stroke of death, 

And found that he was wounded soe, 110 

He thrust himselfe upon the speare. 
And strucke the king a deadlye blowe. 

Then griromlye dyed Sir Mordered, 

Presentlye upon that tree : 
And bloody streames ranne from the kinge, 115 

Ere to the duke returned hee. 

Sir Lukyn then he thus bespake : 

" Sir Knighte, thou hast been faithfulle tryde; 
Nowe take my sword Excalibar,^ 

That hangs so freelye by my syde ; 120 

" O take my sword Excalibar, 

And there into the river throwe : 
For here, henceforth, benethe this tree, 

All use of weapons I foregoe. 

More commonly called Calihurn. In the folio MS. Escalberd. 


*' And fare tbee well, Ihou trustye sword, 1 25 

A better near bad valiaut knigbte ; 
Witb tbee full ofte, aud many a daye, 

Have I witbstood my foe in figbte. 

Witb tbis good faucbion in my bande, 
Oft bave I reapd tbe bloody feelde : 130 

But nowe tbe fatalle boure is come, 
Tbat never more I may tbee weelde." 

Tbe duke to tbe river side be went, 

And tbere bis owne sword in tbrewe he ; 

But be kept back Excalibar, 135 

He kept it back in privitie. 

For all of coleyne was tbe blade. 

And all tbe bilte of precious stone : 
" And ever alacke !" tbcn sayd tbe knigbte, 

" Must sucb a sword awaye be tbrowne ? " 140 

Tben backe be came unto tbe kinge, 

Wbo sayd, " Sir Lukyn, wbat did yee see ? '* 

" Notbing, my liege, save tbat tbe winde 
Blewe oer tbe waters faire and free." 

"O goe againe," tben said tbe kinge, 145 

" O good Sir Lukyn, goe againe : 
Into tbe rivere tbrowe my sword, 

Nor keepe me lingering bere in paine." 

Tbe duke tbcn to tbe river went, 

And tbe kings scabberd in tbrewe bee ; 150 

But bee kept backe Excalibar, 

And bid it undernetbe a tree. 

Tben backe be came to tell tbe kinge, 

W bo sayde, " Sir Lukyn, sawe ye ougbte ? " 

" Notbiuge, my liege, save tbat tbe winde 155 

Nowe witb tbe angrye waters fougbt." 

" O Lukyn, Luk^ni," said tbe kinge, 
" Twice baste tbou dealt deceytfullye : 

Alacke, wboni may wee ever truste, 

Wbcn sucbc a knigbte soe false can bee ! 160 

KING Arthur's death. 129 

** Saye, woiildst thou have thy master dead, 
All for a sword that wins thine eye ? 

Now g08 againe, and throws it in, 
Or here the one of us shall dye." 

The duke, all shent with this rehuke, 165 

ISo aunswere made unto the kinge ; 
But to the rivere tooke the sworde, 

And threwe it far as he coulde flinge. 

A hande and an arme did meete the sworde, 

And flourishd three times in the air ; 170 

Then sunke benethe the renninge streme, 
And of the duke was seene noe mair. 

All sore astonied stood the duke, 

He stood as still, as still mote bee ; 
Then hastend backe to telle the kinge, 175 

But he was gone from under the tree. 

But to what place he cold not tell. 

For never after hee did him spye ; 
But hee sawe a barge goe from the land, 

And hee heard ladyes howle and crye.^ 180 

And whether the kinge were there or not, 

Hee never knewe, nor ever colde ; 
For from that sad and direfulle daye, 

Hee never more was seene on molde. 

V. 178, see MS. 

• Not unlike that passage in Virgil : 

" Summoque ulularunt vertice njrmphae." 

Ladies was the word our English writers used for nymphs: as in th« 
following lines of an old song in the Editor's folio MS. 

" When scorching Phoebus he did mount, 
Then Lady Venus went to hunt : 

To whom Diana did resort, 
With all the Ladyes of hills, and valleys, 
Of springs, and floodes," &c. 




C!)c %tcimt} of fti'itg ^rtljur. 

Wc have here a short summary of King Arthur's history as given by 
JetT. of Monmouth and the old Chronicles, with tlie addition of a few 
circumstances from the romance Morte Arthur. The ancient chronicle 
of Ger. de Leew (quoted above in p. 124), seems to have been chiefly 
followed : upon the authority of -which we have restored some of the 
names which were corrupted in the MS. and have transposed one stanza, 
which appeared to be misplaced [viz. that beginning at v. 49, which in 
tlie MS. followed v. 36]. 

Printed from the Editor's ancient folio MS, 

Of Brutus' blood, in Brittaine borne, 

King Arthur I am to name ; 
Through Christendome and Heathynesse 

Well knowne is my worthy fame. 

In Jesus Christ I doe beleeve ; 6 

I am a Christyan bore ; 
The Father, Sono, and Holy Gost, 

One God, I doc adore. 

In the four hundred ninetieth yeere, 

Ocr Brittaine I did rayne, 10 

After my Savior Christ his byrth. 
What time I did maintaine 

The fellowshij^p of the Table Round, 

Soe famous in those dayes ; 
Whereatt a hundred noble knights 15 

And thirty sat alwayes : 

Who for their deeds and martiall feates, 

As bookcs done yett record, 
Amongst all other nations 

Wer feared through the world 20 

And in the castle off Tyntagill 

King Uthor mee begate, 
Of Agyana, a bewtyous ladye, 

And come of ' hie ' estate. 

Ver. 1, Bruite his. MS. 

V. 9, He began his reign A.d. ,515, according to the Chronicles. 

V. 23 She is naired Igcma ia the old Chronicles. V. 24, hia, MS. 


And when I was fifteen yeere old, 25 

Then was I crowned kinge : 
All Brittaine, that was att an uproro, 

I did to quiett bringe ; 

And drove the Saxons from the realme, 

Who had opprest this land ; 30 

All Scotland then, throughe manly feates, 
I conquered with my hand. 

Ireland, Denmarke, Norwaye, 

These countryes wan I all ; 
Iseland, Gotheland, and Swetheland ; 35 

And made their kings my thrall. 

I conquered all Gaily a. 

That now is called France ; 
And slew the hardye Froll in feild, 

My honor to advance. 40 

And the ugly gyant Dynabus, 

Soe terrible to vewe, 
That in Saint Barnards mount did lye, 

By force of armes I slew. 

And Lucyus, the emperour of Eome, 45 

I brought to deadly wracke ; 
And a thousand more of noble knightes 

For feare did turne their backe. 

Five kinges of ' paynims ' I did kJJl 

Amidst that bloody strife ; 50 

Besides the Grecian emperour, 
Who alsoe lost his liffe. 

Whose carcasse I did send to Eome, 

Cladd poorlye on a beere; 
And afterward I past Mount-Joye 55 

The next approaching yeere. 

V. 39, Froland field. MS. Froll, according to the Chronicles, was a 
Roman knight, governor of Gaul, 

V. 41, Danibus. MS. V. 49, of Pavye. MS. 

K 2 


Then I came to Eome, where I was mett 

Right as a couquerour, 
And by all the cardinalls solempnelye 

I was crowned an emperour. 60 

One v.inter there I made abode, 

Then word to mee was brought, 
How Mordred had oppressd the crowne, 

What treason he had wrought 

Att home in Brittaine with my queene : 65 

Therfore I came with speede 
To Brittaine backe, with all my power, 
To quitt that traiterous deede ; 

And soone at Sandwiche I arrivde, 

Where Mordred me withstoode : 70 

But yett at last I landed there, 

With effusion of much blood. 

For there my nephew Sir Gawaine dyed, 

Being wounded in that sore 
The whiche Sir Lancelot in fight 75 

Had given him before. 

Then chased I Mordered away. 

Who flcdd to London right, 
From Loudon to Winchester, and 

To Cornewalle tooke his flyght. 80 

And still I him pursued with speed, 

Till at the last wee mett ; 
Wherby an appointed day of fight 

Was there agreed and sett : 

Where we did fight, of mortal life 85 

Eche other to deprive. 
Till of a hundred thousand men 

Scarce one was left alive. 

There all tho noble cliivalryo 

Of Brittaine tooke their end. 90 

see how fickle is their state 

That doe on fates depend ! 

V. 92, feafes. MS. 


There all the traiterous men were slaine, 

Not one escapte away ; 
And there dyed all my vallyant knightes. 95 

Alas ! that woefnll day ! 

Two and twenty yeere I ware the crowne 

In honor and great fame, 
And thus by death was suddenlye 

Deprived of the same. 100 


^ ©pttic to ^fw Solunc. 

Copied from an old MS. in the Cotton library [Vesp. A. 25], entitled 
" Divers things of Hen. viij 's time." 

Who sekes to tame the blustering winde, 
Or causse the floods bend to his wyll, 

Or els against dame nature's kinde 

To ' change ' things frame by cunning skyll : 

That man I thinke bestoweth paine, 5 

Thoughe that his laboui-e be in vaine. 

Who strives to breake the stm-dye Steele, 
Or goeth about to staye the sunne ; 

Who thinks to causse an oke to reele, 

Which never can by force be done : 10 

That man likewise bestoweth paine, 
Thoughe that his laboure be in vaine. 

Who thinks to stryve against the streame, 
And for to sayle without a raaste ; 

Unlesse he thinks perhapps to faine, 15 

His travell ys forelorue and waste ; 

And so in cure of all his paine. 
His travell ys his cheffest gaine. 

Ver. 4, causse. MS. 


So lie lykewisc, tliat goes about 

To please eche eye and every eare, 20 

Had nede to have withouten doubt 

A goldeu gyft with him to bearc ; 
For evyll report shall be his gaine, 
Though he bestowe both toyle and paine. 

God grant eche man one to amend ; 25 

God send us all a happy place ; 
And let us pray unto the end 

That we may have our princes grace. 
Amen, amen ! so shall we gaine 

A dewe reward for all our paine. 30 


An ingenious friend thinks that the follo^sing old ditty (whicli is 
printed from the Editors folio MS.) mny possibly have given birth 
to the Tragedy of The Orphan, in which Polidoro intercepts IMonimia's 
intended favours to Castalio. 

See what is said concerning the hero of this song (who is celebrated 
by Chaucer under the name of Glaskyrion), in the Essay prefixed to 
vol. i., note (u), part iv. (2). 

Glasgerion was a kings owne sonne, 

And a harper he was goodc ; 
He harped in the kings chambere, 

Where cuppe and caudle stoode, 

And see did hoc in the queens chambere, 5 

Till ladies waxed ' glad, ' 
And then bespako the kinges daughter, 

And these wordes thus shea sayd : 

" Strike on, strike on, Glasgerion, 

Of thy striking doe not blinne ; 10 

Theres never a stroke comes oer thy harpe, 

But it glads my hart withinne." 

Ver. 6, wood. MS 


** Faire migliLhe fall," quoth hee, 

" Who taught you nowe to speake ! 
I have loved you, ladye, seven longe yeere, 15 

My minde I neere durst breake." . 

" But come to my bower, my Glasgerion, 

When all men are att rest : 
As I am a ladie true of my promise. 

Thou shalt bee a welcome guest." 20 

Home then came Glasgerion, 

A glad man, lord ! was hee : 
" And, come thou hither, Jacke my boy, 

Come hither unto mee. 

" For the kinges daughter of Normandye 25 

Hath granted mee my boone ; 
And att her chambere must I bee 

Beffore the cocke have crowen." 

" O master, master," then quoth hee, 

" Lay your head downe on this stone ; 30 

For I will waken you, master deere, 

Afore it be time to gone." 

But up then rose that lither ladd. 

And hose and shoone did on ; 
A coUer he cast upon his necke, 35 

Hee seemed a gentleman. 

And when he came to the ladyes chamber. 

He thrild upon a pinn : ^ 
The lady was true of her promise, 

And rose and lett him inn. 40 

He did not take the lady gaye 

To boulster nor to bed : 
' Nor thoughe hee had his wicked wille, 

A single word he sed.' 

V. 16, harte. MS. 
' This is elsewhere expressed ' twirled the pin' or ' tirled at the pin,' [sea 
D. viii. s. vi. V. 3,] and seems to refer to the turning round the button oa 
the outside of a door, by which the latch rises, still used in cottages. 


He did not kisse that ladyes moiitlie, 45 

Nor when he came, nor yode : 
And sore that ladye did mistrust, 

He was of some churls bloud. 

But home then came that lither ladd, 

And did oil" his hose and shoone ; 50 

And cast the coller from off his necke : 

He was but a churles sonne. 

" Awake, awake, my deere master, 

The cock hath well-nigh crowen ; 
Awake, awake, my master deere, 55 

I hold it time to be gone. 

" For I have saddled your horse, master, 

Well bridled I have your steede, 
And I have served you a good breakfast. 

For thereof ye have need." 60 

Up then rose good Glasgerion, 

And did on hose and shoone. 
And cast a coller about his necke : 

For he was a kinge his sonne. 

And when he came to the ladyes chambere, 65 

He thrilled upon the pinne ; 
The lady was more than true of promise, 

And rose and let him inn. 

" O whether have you left with me 

Your bracelet or your glove ? 70 

Or are you returned backe againe 

To know more of my love ? " 

Glasgerion swore a full great othe, 

By oake, and ashc, and thorne ; 
" Ladye, I was never in your chambere, 75 

Sith the time that I was borne." 

" then it was your lither foot-page, 

He hath beguiled mee : " 
Then shoe pulled forth a little pen-kniffe. 

That hanged by her knee. 80 

V. 77, litle. MS. 


Sayes, " There shall never noe churles blood 

Within my bodye spring : 
No churles blood shall eer defile 

The daughter of a kinge." 

Home then went Glasgerion, 85 

And woe, good lord ! was hee : 
Sayes, " Come thou hither, Jacke my boy, 

Come hither unto mee. 

" If I had killed a man to-night, 

Jacke, I would tell it thee : 90 

But if I have not killed a man to-night, 

Jacke, thou hast killed three." 

And he puld out his bright browne sword, 

And dryed it on his sleeve, 
And he smote off that lither ladds head, 95 

Who did bis ladye grieve. 

He sett the swords poynt till bis brest, 

The pummil untill a stone : 
Throw the falsenesse of that lither ladd, 

These three lives were all gone. 100 

V. 100, werne all. MS. 


(©ttr mobtn of i9ortfngaTc. 

From an ancient copy in the Editor's folio MS., which was judged to 
require considerable corrections 

In the former edition, the hero of this piece had been called Sil 
Kobin, but that title not being in the MS. is now omitted. 

Let never again soe old a man 

Marrye soe yonge a wife 
As did old Eobin of Portingale, 

Who may rue all the dayes of his life. 


For tlie mayors daughter of Lin, God wott, 5 

He chose her to his wife, 
And thought with her to havo lived in lovo, 

But they fell to hate and strife. 

They scarce were in their wed-bed laid, 

And scarce was hee asleepe, 10 

But upp shee rose, and forth shee goes 
To the steward, and gan to weepe. 

" Sleepe you, wake you, faire Sii' Gyles ? 

Or be you not within ? 
Sleepe you, wake you, faire Sir Gyles, 15 

Arise and let me inn." 

" 0, I am waking, sweete," he said, 

" Sweete ladye, what is your will ? " 
" I have unbethought me of a wile, 

How my wed-lord weell spill. 20 

" Twenty-four good Imights," shee sayes, 

" That dwell about this towue. 
Even twenty-four of my next cozens, 

Will helpe to dinge him downe." 

All that beheard his litle foote-page, 25 

As he watered his masters steed, 
And for his masters sad perillc 

His verry heart did bleed. 

He mourned, sighed, and wept full sore ; 

I sweare by the holy roodo, 30 

The tearcs he for his master wept 

Were blent water and blonde. 

And that beheard his dcare master 

As he stood at his garden pale : 
Sayes, " Ever alacke, my litle foot-page, 35 

What causes thco to wail ? 

Ver. 19, unbethought [properly onhethoughf]; this word is still used in 
the Midland counties in the same sense as hethoiujht. 

V. 32, blend. MS. 


" Hatli any one done to thee wronge, 

Any of thy fellowes here ? 
Or is any of thy good friends dead, 

That thou shedst nianye a teare ? 40 

" Or, if it be my head bookes-man, 

Aggrieved he shal bee, 
For no man here within my howse, 

Shall doe wrong unto thee." 

" 0, it is not your head bookes-man, 45 

Nor none of his degree, 
But on to-morrow, ere it be noone. 

All deemed to die are yee. 

" And of that bethank your head steward, 

And thank your gay ladye." 50 

" If this be true, my litle foot-jiage. 
The heyre of my land thoust bee." 

" If it be not true, my dear master, 

No good death let me die." 
" If it be not true, thou litle foot-page, 55 

A dead corse shalt thou lie. 

" call now downe my faire ladye, 

O call her downe to mee ; 
And tell my ladye gay how sicke. 

And like to die I bee." 60 

Downe then came his ladye faire, 

All clad in purple and pall, 
The rings that were on her finger s 

Cast light throughout the hall. 

" What is your will, my owne wed-lord ? 65 

What is your will with mee ? " 
" see, my ladye deere, how sicke. 

And like to die I bee." 

"And thou be sicke, my owne wed-lord, 

Soe sore it grieveth me, 70 

But my five maydens and myselfe 
Will ' watch thy ' bedde for thee, 

F. 47, or to-morrow. MS. V. b6, bee. MS. 

V. 72, make the. MS. 


" And at tlie waking of your first sleepe, 

We will a hott driuke make ; 
And at the waking of your ' next ' sleepe 75 

Your sorrowes we will slake." 

He put a silk cote on liis backe, 

And mail of many a fold ; 
And hee putt a Steele cap on his head, 

Was gilt with good red gold ; 80 

He layd a bright browne sword by his side, 

And another att his feete ; 
' And twentye good knights he placed at hand, 

To watch him in his sleepe.' 

And about the middle time of the night, 85 

Came twentye-four traitours inn : 
Sir Giles he was the foremost man, 

The leader of that ginu. 

Old Eobin with his bright browTie sword 

Sir Gyles head soon did winn ; 90 

And scant of all those twenty-four 
Went out one quick agenn. 

None save only a litle foot-page. 

Crept forth at a window of stone. 
And he had two armes Avhen he came in, 95 

And he went back with one. 

Upp then came that ladye gaye 

With torches burning bright ; 
She thought to have brought Sir Gyles a drinke, 

Butt she found her owne wedd-knight. 100 

The first thinge that she stumbled on. 

It was Sir Gyles his foote : 
Sayes, " Ever alacke, and woe is mee. 

Here lyes my sweote hart-rootc !" 

The next thinge that she stumbled on, 105 

It was Sir Gyles his hcade : 
Sayes, " Ever alacke, and woe is mee, 

Heerc lyes my true love deade 1 " 

V. 75, first. MS. 


He cutt the pappes beside her brest, 

And didd her body spille; 110 

He cutt the eares beside her heade, 

And bade her love her fille. 

He called then up his litle foot page, 

And made him there his heyre ; 
And sayd, " Henceforth my worldlye goodes 115 

And countrye I forsweare." 

He shope the crosse on his right shoulder, 
Of the white ' clothe ' and the redde,^ 

And went him into the Holy Land, 

Wheras Christ was quicke and dead. 120 

V. 118, fleshe. MS. 

1 Every person who went on a Croisade to the Holy Land, usually 
wore a cross on his upper garment, on the right shouJder, as a badge of hiis 
profession. Different nations were distinguished by crosses of diff'erent 
colours : the English wore white, the French red, &c. This circumstance 
seems t be confounded in the ballad. [V. Spelman, Gloss.] 

«S" In the foregoing piece, Giles, steward to a rich old merchant 
trading to Portugal, is qnalified with the title of Sir, not as being 
a knight, but rather, I conceive as having received an inferior order 
of priesthood. 


Cliild is frequently used by our old writers as a title. It is repeatedly 
given to Prince Arthur in the Faerie Queene : and the son of a king 
is in the same poem called Child Tristram [b. v. c. 11, st. 8, 13, — b. vi. 
c. 2. st. 36, — ibid. c. 8. st. 15]. In an old ballad quoted in Shakspeare's 
King Lear, the hero of Ariosto is called Cliild Roland. Mr. Theobald 
supposes this use of the word was received along with their romances 
from the Spaniards, with whom Infante signifies a Prince. A more 
eminent critic tells us, that " in the old times of chivalry, the noble 
youth, who were candidates for knighthood, during the time of their 
probation were called Infans, Varlets, Damoyseh, Bacheliers. The 
most noble of the youth were particularly called Infans." [Vide 
Warb. Shakesp.] A late commentator on Spenser observes, that the 
Saxon word cnihz knight, signifies also a Child. [See Upton's Gloss, 
to the Faerie Queene.'} 


The Editor's MS. collection, whence the following piece ia taken, 
aftbrds several other ballads, wherein the word Child occurs as a title : 
but in none of these it signifies Prince. — See the song entitled G-il 
Morrice in this volume. 

It ought to be observed that the word Child, or Chield, is still used 
in North iiritain to denominate a man, commonly with some con- 
temptuous character affixed to him, but sometimes to denote man in 

Childe Waters in his stable stoode 
And stroakt bis milke-wbite steede ; 

To bim a fayre yonge ladye came 
As ever ware womans weede. 

Sayos, " Cbrist you save, good Cbildc "Waters," 5 

Sayes, " Cbrist you save and see ; 
My girdle of gold tbat was too longe, 

Is now too sbort for mee. 

" And all is witb one childe of yours 

I feele sturre at my side ; 1 

My gowne of greene it is too straigbtc ; 

Before, it was too wide." 

*' If the cbilde be mine, faire Ellen," be sayd, 

" Be mine, as you tell mee, 
Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both, 1 5 

Take thorn your owne to bee. 

" If the childe be mine, faire Ellen," he sayd, 

" Be mine, as you doe swcare. 
Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both, 

And make tbat cbilde your heyrc. " 20 

Shee sayes, " I bad rather have one kisse, 

Chikle Waters, of thy mouth, 
Tban I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both, 

That lye by north and soutbe. 

" And I bad rather have one twinldiug, 25 

Childe Waters, of thine ee, 
Tban I woldc bavc Cheshire and Lancashire both, 

To take them mine owne to bee." 

Ver. 13, be inne, MS. 



*• To-morrowe, Ellen, I must forth ryde 

Farr into the north countree ; 30 

The fayrest ladye that I can finde, 

Ellen, must goe with mee." 

" ' Thoughe I am not that ladye fayre. 

Yet let me goe with thee : ' 
And ever I pray you, Childe Waters, 35 

Your foot-page let me bee." 

" If you will my foot-page bee, Ellen, 

As you doe tell to mee. 
Then you must cut your gowne of greene 

An inch above your knee : 40 

" Soe must you doe your yellowe lockes, 

An inch above your ee ; 
You must tell no man what is my name ; 

My foot-page then you shall bee." 

Shee, all the longe daye Childe Waters rode, 45 

Ean barefoote by his syde. 
Yet was he never soe courteous a knighte, 

To say, " Ellen, will you ryde ? " 

Shee, all the long daye Childe Waters rode, 

Ean barefoote thorow the broome, 50 

Yet was hee never soe courteous a knighte, 
To say, " put on your shoone." 

« Eide softlye," shee sayd, " Childe Waters, 

Why doe you ryde so fast ? 
The childe, which is no mans but thine, 55 

My bodye itt will brast." 

Hee sayth, " Seest thou yonder water, Ellen, 
That flows from banke to brimme ? " — 

" I trust in God, O Childe Waters, 

You never will see ^ me swimme." 60 

But when shee came to the water side, 

She sayled to the chinne : 
•* Nowe the Lord of heaven be my speede, 

For I must learne to swimme." 

' i. e. permit, suifer, &c. 


The salt waters bare up her clothes ; 66 

Our Ladye bare up her chinne ; 
Chilcle Waters was a woe man, good Lord, 

To see faire Ellen swimme ! 

And when shea over the water was, 

Shee then came to his knee : TO 

Hee sayd, " Come hither, thou fayre Ellen, 

Loe yonder what I see. 

" Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen ? 

Of redd gold shines the yate : 
Of twenty-foure faire ladycs there, 75 

The fairest is my mate. 

" Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen ? 

Of redd golde shines the towre : 
There are tweuty-four fayre ladyes there, 

The fayrest is my paramoure." 80 

" I see the hall now, Childe Waters, 

Of redd golde shines the yate : 
God give you good now of yourselfo. 

And of your worthye mate. 

" I see the hall now, Childe Waters, 85 

Of redd golde shines the towre : 
God give you good now of yoursclfe. 

And of your paramoure." 

There twenty-four fayre ladyes were 

A playing at the ball, 00 

And Ellen, the fayrest ladye there. 

Must bring his steed to the stall. 

There tweuty-four fayre ladyes were 

A playinge at the chesse, 
And Ellen, the fayrest ladye there, 95 

Must bring his horse to gressc. 

And then bespake Childe Waters sister, 

These were the wordes sayd shee : 
" You have the prettyest page, brother, 

That ever I did see ; 100 

V'er. 84, woildly. MS. 


'•* But that his t^llye it is so bigge, 

His girdle stands soe hye ; 
And ever I pray you, Childe Waters, 
Let him in my chamber lye." 

" It is not fit for a little foot-page, 105 

That has run throughe mosse and myre, 

To lye in the chamber of any ladye, 
That weares soe riche attyre. 

" It is more meete for a little foot-page, 

That has run throughe mosse and myre, 110 

To take his sujjper upon his knee. 

And lye by the kitchen fyre." 

Now when they had supped every one, 

To bedd they tooke theyr waye : 
He sayd, " Come hither, my little foot-page, 115 

And hearken what I saye. 

" Goe thee downe into yonder towne, 

And lowe into the streete ; 
The fayrest ladye that thou canst finde, 

Hyre in mine armes to sleepe ; 120 

And take her up in thine armes twaine, 

For filing ^ of her feete." 

Ellen is gone into the towne. 

And lowe into the streete ; 
The fayrest ladye that shee colde finde 125 

She hyred in his armes to sleepe ; 
And tooke her up in her armes twaine, 

For filing of her feete. 

" I praye you nowe, good Childe Waters, 

Letmee lye at your feete ; 130 

For there is noe place about this house, 
W here I may 'saye a sleepe." 

' Ho gave her leave, and fair Ellen 

' Down at his beds feet laye ; 
This done thenighte drove on apace, 135 

And when it was neare the daye, 

V. 132, i. e. essay, attempt. 
2 J. e. defiling. See Wartou's Observ. ro). ii. p. 158. 

VOL. II. *» 


Hee sayd, " Rise up, my little foot-page, 

Give my steede corne and haye ; 
And give him nowe the good black oates. 

To carry mee better awaye." liO 

Up then rose the faire Ellen, 

And gave his steede corue and haye ; 

And soe shoe did the good black oates, 
To cany him the better awaye. 

She leaned her back to the manger side, 145 

And grievouslye did groane ; 
She leaned her back to the manger side, 

And there shee made her moane. 

And that beheard his mother deare, 

Shee heard ' her woefull woe : ' 150 

Shee sayd, " Eise up, thou Childe Waters, 

And into thy stable goe. 

" For in thy stable is a ghost. 

That grievouslye doth grone ; 
Or else some woman laboures with childe, 155 

Shee is soe woe-begone." 

Up then rose Childe Waters soone, 

And did on his shirte of silke ; 
And then he put on his other clothes. 

On his bodye as white as milke. 160 

And when he came to the stable dorc. 

Full still thei'o hee did stand, 
That hee mighte heare his fayre Ellen, 

Howe shee made her monand. 

She sayd, " Lullabye, mine own dear childe, 165 

Lullabye, deare childe, deare ; 
I wolde thy father were a kinge, 

Thy mothere layde on a biere." 

V. 164, J. e. moaning, bemoaning, &c. 


" Peace nowe," hee sayd, " good, faire Ellen, 

Bee of good cheere, I praye ; 170 

And the bridale and the church inge bothe 
Shall bee upon one daye." 

We are informed that the German poet Burger has translated this 
poem -with mucli grace, and entitles it Graf Walter. BUrger has also 
translated " King John and the Abbot of Canterbury " as Der Kaiser 
und der Alt, and " The Child of Elle " as Die EntJ'uhrung. — Editor. 

33I;tntiJa anij Cor»tJon. 

This sonnet is given from a small quarto MS. in the Editor's possession, 
written in the time of Queen Elizabeth. Another copy of it, con- 
taining some variations, is reprinted in the Muses Library, p. 295, 
from an ancient miscellany entitled Englands Helicon, IGOO, 4to! 
The author was Nicholas Breton, a writer of some fame in the reign 
of Elizabeth, who also published an interlude entitled " An old man's 
lesson and a yoiing man's love," 4to, and many other little pieces in 
prose and verse, the titles of which may be seen in Winstanley, Ames' 
Typog., and Osborne's Harl. Catalog., &c. He is mentioned with 
great respect by Meres, in his second part of Wit's Commomoealth, 
1598, f. 283, and is alluded to in Beaumont and Fletcher's Scornful 
Lady, act ii., and again in Wit loithout Money, act iii. — See 'Whalley's 
Ben Jonson, vol. iii. p. 103. 

The present edition is improved by a copy in England's Helicon. 
edit. ir)J4, 8vo. 

In the merrie moneth of Maye, 
In a morne by break of daye, 
With a troope of damselles playing 
Forthe ' I yode ' forsooth a maying ; 

When anon by a wood side, 5 

Where that Maye was in his pride, 
I espied all alone 
Phillida and Corydon. 

Ver. 4, the wode. MS. 



Much adoe there was, God wot : 

He wold love, and she wold not. 10 

She sayde, " Never man was trewe ;" 

He sayes, " None was false to you." 

He sayde, hee had lovde her longe ; 
She sayes, love should have no wronge. 
Corydon wold kisse her then ; 15 

She sayes, " Maydes must kisse no men, 

*' Tyll they doe for good and all." 

When she made the shepperde call 

All the heavens to wytnes truthe, 

Never loved a truer youthe. 20 

Then with manie a prettie othe. 
Yea and nay, and faithe and trothe, 
Suche as seelie shepperdes use 
When they will not love abuse, 

Love, that had bene long deluded, 25 

Was with kisses sweete concluded ; 
And Phillida with garlands gaye 
Was made the lady of the Maye. 

*^* The foregoinn^ little Pastoral of rhillida and Corydon is Dne 
of the sonp;s in " The Honourable Entertainment gieven to the Queenes 
Majestie in Piogresse at Elvetham in Hampshire, by the E. H. the 
Earle of Hertford, 1591," 4to. [Printed by Wolfe. Noname of author.] 
See in that pamphlet, 

" The thirde dales Eutertainment. 

" On Wednesday morning about 9 o'clock, as her Majestie opened 
a casement of her gallerie window, tlier wvre IJ excellent musicians, 
who being disguised in auucient country attire, did greet lier with 
a pleasant song of Corydon and i'liillida, made in H parts of purjtose. 
The song, as well for the worth of the dittie, as the aptnesse of the 
note therto applied, it pleased her Highnesse alter it had been once 
sung to command it againe, and highly to grace it with her cheerefuU 
acceptance and commendation. 

"The Plowman's Song. 
" In the mcrrie month of Way," &c. 

The splendour and magnificence of Elizabeth's reign is nowhere 
more strongly painted than in these little diaries of some of her 
Bummer excursions to the houses of her nobility; nor could a more 


acceptable present be given to the world than a republica'ion of a 
select number of such details as this of the entertainment at Eh etham, 
that at Killingworth, &c., &c., which so strongly mark the spirit of the 
times, and present us with scenes so very remote from modern manners. 

gS= Since the above was written the public hath been gratified 
with a most complete work on the foregoing subject, entitled, The 
Progresses and Public Processions of Queen Elizabeth, &c. By John 
Nichols, F.A.S., Edinb. and Perth, 1788, 2 vols. 4to. 


Uittlc iHusigrabc antr Hatro JSarnaitr. 

This ballad is ancient, and has been popular ; we find it quoted in 
many old plays. — See Beaum. and Fletcher's Knight of the Burning 
Pestle, ito. 1613, act v. llie Varietie, a comedy, 12mo, 1049, act iv., 
&c. In Sir William Davenant's play, The Witts, act iii., a gallant 
thus boasts of himself: 

" Limber and sound ! besides I sing Musgrave, 
And for Chevy-chace no lark comes near me." 

In the Pepys Collection, vol. iii. p. 314, is an imitation of this old 
Bong, in thirty-three stanzas, by a more modern pen, with many altera-- 
tions. but evidently for the worse. 

This is given from an old printed copy in the British Museum, with 
corrections ; some of which are from a fragment in the Editor's folio 
MS. It is also printed in Dryden's Collection of Miscellaneous Poema 

As it fell out on a liighe bolye daye, 

As many bee in the yeare, 
When young men and maides together do goe, 

Their masses and mattins to heare, 

Little Musgrave came to the church door, 5 

The priest was at the mass ; 
But he had more mind of the fine women, 

Then he had of our Ladyes grace. 

And some of them were clad in greene, 

And others were clad in pall ; 10 

And then came in my Lord Barnardes wife, 
The fairest among them alL 



Shee cast an eye on little Musgrave 

As bright as the summer sunne : 
O then bethought him little Musgrave, 16 

" This ladyes heart I have wonne." 

Quoth she, " I have loved thee, little Musgrave, 

Fulle long and manye a daye : " 
" So have I loved you, lad ye faire, 

Yet word I never durst saye." 

"I have a bower at Bucklesford-Bury,^ 

Full daintilye bedight ; 
If thoult wend thither, my little Musgrave, 

Thoust lig in mine armes all night." 

Quoth hce, " I thanke yee, ladye faire, 25 

This kindness yee shew to mee ; 
And whether it be to my weale or woe. 

This night will I lig with thee." 

All this beheard a litle foot-page. 

By his ladyes coach as he ranne : 30 

Quoth he, " Thoughe I am my ladyes page, 

Yet Ime my Lord Barnardes manne. 

" My Lord Barnard shall knowe of this, 

Although I lose a limbe." 
And ever whereas the bridges were broke, 35 

He layd him downe to swimme. 

*' Asleep or awake, thou Lord Barnard, 

As thou ai-t a man of life ; 
Lo ! this same night at Bucklesford-Bury 

Little Musgrave's abed with thy wife." 40 

" If it be trew, thou litle foote-page. 

This talc thou hast told to mee, 
Then all wy lauds in Bucklesford-Bury 

I freelye will give to thee. 

" But and it be a lye, thou litle foot-page, 15 

This tale thou hast told to mee, 
On the highest tree in Bucklesford-Bury 

All hanged shalt thou bee. 

» Bucklefield- berry, fol. MS, 


" Eise up, rise up, my merry men all, 

And saddle me my good steede ; 50 

This night must I to Bucklesford-Bury, 

God wott, I had never more neede." 

Then some they whistled, and some they sang, 

And some did loudlye saye, 
Whenever Lord Barnardes home it blewe, 55 

" Awaye, Musgrave, away." 

" Methinkes I heare the throstle cocke, 

Methinkes I heare the jaye, 
Methinkes T heare Lord Barnards home ; 

I would I were awaye." 60 

" Lye still, lye still, thou little Musgrave, 

And huggle me from the cold ; 
For it is but some shephardes boye 

A whistling his sheepe to the fold. 

" Is not thy hawke upon the pearche 65 

Thy horse eating corne and haye ? 
And thou a gaye lady within thine armes, — 

And wouldst thou be away ?" 

By this Lord Barnard was come to the dore, 

And lighted upon a stone ; 70 

And he pulled out three silver keyes, 
And opened the dores eche one. 

He lifted up the coverlett, 

He lifted up the sheote ; 
" How now, how now, thou little Musgrave, 75 

Dost find my gaye ladye sweete ? " 

" I find her sweete," quoth little Musgrave, 

" The more is my griefe and paine ; 
Ide gladlye give three hundred poundes 

That I were on yonder plaine." 80 

" Arise, arise, thou little Musgrave, 

And put thy cloathes nowe on ; 
It shall never be said in my countree, 

That I killed a naked man. 

V. 64, Is whistling sheepe ore the mold. fol. MS 


" I have two pwordes in one scabbardo, 85 

Full dearo tliey cost my purse ; 
And thou shalt have the best of them, 

And I will have the worse." 

The first stroke that little Musgrave strucke, 

He hurt Lord Barnard sore ; 90 

The next stroke that Lord Barnard strucke, 
Little Musgrave never strucke more. 

With that bespake the ladye faire, 

In bed whereas she laye, 
" Althoughe thou art dead, my little Musgrave, 95 

Yet for thee I will praye ; 

" And wishe well to thy soule will I, 

As long as I have life ; 
So will I not do for thee, Barnard, 

Thoughe I am thy wedded wife." 100 

He cut her pajipes from oif her brest, 

Great pitye it was to see 
The drops of this fair ladyes bloode 

Eun trickling downe her knee. 

" Wo worth, wo worth ye, my mcrrye men aD, 105 
You never were borne for my goode ; 

Why did you not offer to stay my hande, 
When you sawe me wax so woode ? 

" For I have slaine the fairest sir knighte 

That ever rode on a stecde ; IIC 

So have I done the fairest lady 
That ever ware womans weede. 

"A grave, a grave," Lord Barnard cryde, 

" To putt these lovers in ; 
But lay my ladye o' the ujiper hando, 115 

For shec comes o' the better kin." 

{t:^ Tliat tho more modern copy is to be dated about the middle 
of the last century, will be readily conceived from the tenour of the 
concluding stanza, viz. — 


" This sad Mischief by Lust was wrought : 

Then let us call for Grace 
That we may shun the wicked vice, 

And fly from Sin a-pace." 120 


Wi)t 3EiD.'33usIjt^ iHartoit. 


This sonnet appears to be ancient : that, and its simplicity of senti- 
ment, have recommended it to a place here. 

Will ze gae to the ew-bughts, Marion, 

And wear in the sheip wi' mee ? 
The sun shines sweit, my Marion, 

But nae half sae sweit as thee. 
O Marion's a bonnie lass, 5 

And the blyth blinks in her ee ; 
And fain wad I marrie Marion, 

Gin Marion wad marrie mee. 

Theire's gowd in zour garters, Marion ; 

And siller on zour white hauss-bane ;^ 10 

Fou faine wad I kisse my Marion 

At eene quhan I cum hame. 
Theire's braw lads in Earnslaw, Marion, 

Quha gape and glowr wi' their ee 
At kirk, quhan they see my Marion ; 15 

Bot nane of them lues like mee. 

Ive nine milk-ews, my Marion, 

A cow and a brawney quay ; 
Ise gie tham au to my Marion, 

Just on her bridal day. 2C 

' Hauss-bane, i. e. the neck-bone. Marion h;id probably a silver locket 
on, tied close to her neck with a riband, a usual ornament in Scotland ; 
'vhere a sore tiiroat is called " a sair hame," properly halse. 


And zees get a grein soy apron, 
And waistcote o' London broun , 

And wow bot ze will be vajjoring 
Qulianeir ze gang to the toun. 

Ime yong and stout, my Marion, 25 

None dance lik mee on the greine ; 
And gin ze forsak me, Marion, 

Ise een gae draw up wi' Jeane. 
Sae put on zour pearlins, Marion, 

And kirtle otli' cramasie, 30 

And sune as my cbin bas nae haire on, 

I sail cum west and see zee. 


Wi)t ilmsT)t antf ^ijfpI;crt<*iS iBnugijtcr. 

This ballad (given from an old black-letter copy, with some corrections) 
was popular in the time of Queen Elizabeth, being usually printed 
with her picture before it, as Hearne informs us in his preface to Gul. 
Newhrig. Hid. Oxon. 1719, 8vo, vol. i. p.lxx. It is quoted in Fletcher's 
aomedy of The Pilgrim, act iv. sc. 1. 

There was a shepherds daughter 

Came tripping on the waye. 
And there by chance a knighte shoe mett, 

Which caused her to staye. 

" Good morrowe to you, beauteous raaide," 5 

These words pronoimced hee ; 
"01 shall dye this daye," he sayd, 

" If Ivc not my wille of thee." 

" The Lord forbid," the maide replyde, 
'* That you shold waxe so wode ! " 10 

But for all that shee could do or saye, 
' Ho wold not be withstood.' 

' Earl Richard and Earl Lithgow are the titles of the Scottish versions 
of this poem, which Professor Child considers superior to the English ia 
ty ery respect. — Editor. 

shepherd's daughter. 155 

** Sith you liave had your wille of mee, 

And put me to open shame, 
Now, if your are a courteous knighte, 15 

Tell me what is your name ? " 

*' Some do call mee Jacke, sweet heart, 

And some do call mee Jille ; 
But when I come to the kings fair courte, 

They calle me Wilfulle Wille." 20 

He sett his foot into the stirrup, 

And awaye then he did ride ; 
She tuckt her girdle about her middle. 

And ranne close by his side. 

But when she came to the brode water, 25 

She sett her brest and swamme ; 
And when she was got out againe. 

She tooke to her heels and ranne. 

He never was the courteous knighte. 

To saye, " Faire maide, will ye ride ? " 30 

' And she was ever too loving a maide 

To saye, " Sir Knighte, abide." ' 

When she came to the kings faire courte. 

She knocked at the ring : 
So readye was the king himself 35 

To let this faire maid in. 

" Now Christ you save, my gracious liege, 

Now Christ you save and see ; 
You have a knighte within your courte 

This daye hath robbed mee." 40 

" What hath he robbed thee of, sweet heart ? 

Of purple or of pall ? 
Or hath he took thy gaye gold ring 

From off thy finger small ?" 

" He hath not robbed mee, my liege, 45 

Of purjile nor of pall ; 
But he hatli gotten my maiden-head. 

Which grieves mee worst of all." 


" Now if lie be a batclielor, 

His bodye He give to thee ; 50 

But if be be a married man, 

Higii hanged he shall bee." 

Ho called downe his merrye men all, 

By one, by two, by three ; 
Sir William used to bee the first, 55 

But nowe the last came heo. 

He brought her downe fulle fortye pounde, 

Tyed up withinne a glove : 
" Faire maid. He give the same to thee ; 

Go seeke thee another love." 60 

" He have none of your gold," she sayde, 

" Nor He have none of your fee ; 
But your faire bodye I must have, 

The king hath granted mee." 

Sir William ranne and fetchd her then 66 

Five hundred pound in golde, 
Saying, " Faire maide, take this to thee, 

Thy fault will never be tolde." 

" Tis not the gold that shall mee tempt," 

These words then answered shee, 70 

'* But your own bodye I must have. 
The king hath granted mee." 

" Would I had dranke the water cleare, 

When I did drink the wine. 
Rather than any shejiherds brat 75 

Shold bee a ladye of mine ! 

" Would I had drank the puddle foulo, 

When I did drink the ale, 
Kather that ever a shepherds brat 

Shold tell me such a tale !" 80 

Ver. 50. Ilis bodj-e He give to thee. This was agreeable to the feudal 
customs: the lord had a right to give a wife to his vassals. — See Shak 
«peare*8 AWs well that en'is well. 

THE shepherd's ADDRESS TO HIS MUSE, 157 

" A shepherds brat even as I was. 

You mote have let mee bee ; 
I never had come to the kings faire coui'te, 

To crave any love of thee." 

He sett her on a milk-white steede, 85 

And himself upon a graye ; 
He hung a bugle about his necke, 

And soe they rode awaye. 

But when they came unto the place, 

Where marriage-rites were done, 90 

She proved herself a dukes daughter, 

And he but a squires sonne. 

" Now marrye me, or not, Sir Knight, 

Your pleasure shall be free : 
If you make me ladye of one good towne, 95 

He make you lord of three." 

" Ah ! cursed bee the gold ;" he sayd, 

" If thou hadst not been trewe, 
I shold have forsaken my sweet love, 

And have changed her for a newe." 100 

And now their hearts being linked fast, 

They joyned hand in hande : 
Thus he had both purse, and person too. 

And all at his comma nde. 


Wi)t ^l)t^\)evti'^ mtivt^i to Ijig iHu^e. 

This poem, originally printed from the small MS. volume mentioned 
above in No. x., has been improved by a more perfect copy in England'$ 
Helicon, where the author is discovered to be N. Breton. 

Good Muse, rocke me aslepe 

With some sweete harmony ; 
This wearie eye is not to kepe 

Thy wary company. 

158 THK shepherd's ADDRESS TO HIS MUSE. 

Sweet Love, begon a while, 5 

Thou seest my heavines ; 
Beautie is borne but to beguyle 

My harto of happines. 

See how my little flocke, 

That lovde to feede on highe, 10 

Doe headlonge tumble downo the rocke, 

And in the valley dye. 

The bushes and the trees, 

That were so freshe and greene, 
Doe all their deintie colors leese, 15 

And not a leafe is seene. 

The blacke birde and the thrushe, 

That made the woodes to ringe, 
With all the rest are now at hushe, 

And not a note they singe. 20 

Swete Philomele, the bii-de 

That hath the heavenly throte, 
Doth nowe, alas ! not once aflforde 

Eccordinge of a note. 

The flowers have had a frost, 25 

The herbs have loste their savoure, 
And Phillida the faire hath lost 

' For me her wonted ' favour. 

Thus all these careful sights 

So kill me in conceit, 30 

That now to hope upon delights, 

It is but meere deceite. 

And therefore, my swecte Muse, 

That knowcst what helpe is best. 
Doe nowe thy hcavcnlic conninge use 35 

To sett my harte at rest ; 

And in a drcame bewraie 

What fate ^hal bo my frende ; 
Whether my life shall still decaye, 

Or when my sorrowes ende. 40 



HoiK Cljomasi ant( jFair iSnmor 

is given (-with corrections) from an ancient copy in black-letter in tbo 
Pepys Collection, entitled, " A tragical ballad on the unfortunate love 
of Lord Thomas and fair EUinor, together with the downfall of the 
browne girl." In the same collection may be seen an attempt to 
modernize this old soug, and reduce it to a diiferent measure : a prooi 
of its popularity. 

Lord Thomas he was a bold forrester, 

And a chaser of the kings deere ; 
Faire Ellinor was a fine woman, 

And Lord Thomas he loved her deare. 

" Come riddle my riddle, dear mother," he sayd, 5 

" And riddle us both as one ; 
Whether I shall marrye with faire Ellinor, 

And let the browne girl alone ? " 

" The browne girl she has got houses and lands, 

Faire Ellinor she has got none ; 10 

And therefore I charge thee on my blessing, 
To bring me the browne girl home." 

And as it befelle on a high holidaye. 

As many there are beside, 
Lord Thomas he went to faire Ellinor, 16 

That should have been his bride. 

And when he came to faire Ellinors bower. 

He knocked there at the ring ; 
And who was so readye as faire Ellinor, 

To lett Lord Thomas withinn ? 20 

" What newes, what newes. Lord Thomas," she sayd 

" What newes dost thou bring to mee ? " 
" I am come to bid thee to my wedding. 

And that is bad newes for thee." 

" God forbid, Lord Thomas," she sayd, 25 

" That such a thing should be done ; 
I thought to have been the bride my selfe 

And thou to have been the bridegrome." 


" Come riddle my riddle, dear mother," she sayd, 

" And riddle it all in one ; 30 

Whether I shall goe to Lord Thomas his wedding, 
Or whether shall tarry at home ? " 

" There are manye that are your friendes, daughter. 

And manye a one your foe ; 
Therefore I charge you on my blessing, 35 

To Lord Thomas his wedding don't goe." 

" There are manye that are my friendes, mother ; 

But were every one my foe, 
Betide me life, betide me death, 

To Lord Thomas his wedding I'ld goe." 40 

She cloathed herself in gallant attire, 

And her merrye men all in gi'eene ; 
And as they rid through every towne, 

They took her to be some queene. 

But when she came to Lord Thomas his gate, 45 

She knocked there at the ring ; 
And who was so rcadye as Lord Thomas, 

To lett faire Ellinor in. 

" Is this your bride ?" fair Ellinor sayd ; 

" Methinks she looks wonderous browne; 50 

Thou mightest have had as faire a woman 

As ever trod on the groimde." 

" Despise her not, fair Ellin," he sayd, 

" Despise her not unto mee ; 
For better I love thy little finger, 65 

Than all her whole bodee." 

This browne bride had a little penknife, 

Tliat was both long and sharpe. 
And betwixt the short ribs and the long. 

She prick'd faire EUinor's hartc. 60 

Ver. 29, It should probably be, Reade me, read, &c., i. e Advise me, 


" Christ thee save," Lord Thomas, hee sayd, 

" Methinks thou lookst wonderous wan ; 
Thou usedst to look with as fresh a colour, 

As ever the sun shone on." 

" art thou blind, Lord Thomas ? " she sayd, 65 

" Or canst thou not very well see ? 
dost thou not see my owne hearts bloode 

Run trickling down my knee ? " 

Lord Thomas he had a sword by his side ; 

As he walked about the halle, 70 

He cut off his brides head from her shoulders, 

And tkrew it against the walle. 

He set the hilte against the grounde, 

And the point against his harte ; 
There never three lovers together did meete, 75 

That sooner againe did parte. 

*^* The reader will find a Scottish song on a similiar subject to 
this towards the end of this volume, entitled, Lord TItomas and Lady 


Cupft aiitr Campasipf. 

This elegant little sonnet is found in the third act of an old play, 
entited, Alexander and Campaspe, written by John Lilye, a celebrated 
writer in the time of Queen Elizabeth. That play was first printed 
in 1591 ; but this copy is given from a later edition. 

Cupid and my Campaspe playd 
At cardes for kisses ; Cupid payd : 
He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows, 
His mothers doves, and teame of sparrows ; 
Loses them too ; then down he throws 
The coral of his lippe, the rose 
Growing on's cheek, (but none knows how,) 
With these, the crystal of his browe, 

VOL. 11. M 


And tlien the dimple of his chinne ; 
All these did my Campaspe winne. 
At last he set her both his eyes, 
She won, and Cupid blind did rise. 

Love ! has she done this to thee ? 

What shall, alas ! become of mee ? 


Cije HaKi) tuinclj ^cifaing-iMan 

is given from a written copy, containing some improvements (porliapi 
modern ones) upon the popular ballad, entitled, " The famous flower 
of Serving-men ; or the Lady turned Serving-man." 

You beauteous ladyes, great and small, 
I write unto you one and all. 
Whereby that you may understand 
What I have suifcred in the laud. 

I was by birth a ladyc faire, 6 

An ancient barons only heire, 

And when my good old father dyed, 

Then I became a young knightes bride. 

And there my love built me a bower, 

Bedeck'd with many a fragrant flower ; 10 

A braver bower you ne'er did see 

Then my true-love did build for mee. 

And there I livde a ladye gay. 

Till fortune wrought our loves decay ; 

For there came foes so fierce a baud, 15 

That soon they over-run the land. 

They came upon us in the night, 

And brent my bower, and slew my knight ; 

And trembling hid in mans array, 

I scant with life escap'd away. 20 


In the midst of this extreinitie, 
My servants all did from me flee : 
Thus was I left myself alone, 
With heart more cold than any stone. 

Yet though my heart was full of care, 25 

Heaven would not suffer me to dispaire. 
Wherefore in haste I chang'd my name 
From fairs Elise, to sweet Williame ; 

And therewithall I cut my haire, 

Eesolv'd my mans attire to weare ; 30 

And in my beaver, hose and band, 

I travell'd far through many a land. 

At length all wearied with my toil, 

I sate me downe to rest awhile ; 

My heart it was so fill'd with woe 35 

That downe my cheeke the teares did flow. 

It chanc'd the king of that same place 

With all his lords a hunting was. 

And seeing me weepe, upon the same, 

Askt who I was and whence I came. 43 

Then to his Grace I did replye, 
" I am a poore and friendlesse boye, 
Though nobly borne, nowe forc'd to bee 
A serving-man of lowe degree." 

" Stand up, faire youth," the king reply'd, 45 

" For thee a service I'll provyde. 
But tell me first what thou canst do ; 
Thou shalt be fitted thereunto. 

'' Wilt thou be usher of my hall, 

To w^ait upon my nobles all ? 50 

Or wilt be taster of my wine. 

To 'tend on me when I shall dine ? 

" Or wilt thou be my chamberlaine, 

About my person to remaine ? 

Or wilt thou be one of my guard, 55 

And I will give thee great reward ? 

M 2 


" Chuse, gentle youth," said he " thy place." 

Then I reply'd, " If it please Ycur Grace 

To shew such favour uuto mce. 

Your chaniberlaiue I faine would bee." 60 

The king then smiling gave consent, 
And straitwayo to his court I went ; 
Where I behavde so faithfullie 
That hee great favour showd to mce. 

Now marke what fortune did provide : G5 

The king he would a hunting ride 
With all his lords and noble traine, 
Sweet William must at home remaine. 

Thus being left alone behind, 

My former state came in my mind ; 70 

I wept to see my mans array ; 

No longer now a ladye gay. 

And meeting with a ladyes vest, 

Within the same myself I drest ; 

With silken robes and jewels rare, 75 

I deckt me, as a ladye faire ; 

And taking up a lute straitwaye, 

Upon the same I strove to play ; 

And sweetly to the same did sing, 

As made both hall and chamber ring. 80 

" My father was as brave a lord, 
As ever Europe might afford ; 
My mother was a lady briglit ; 
My husband was a valiant knight ; 

" And I myself a ladye gay, 85 

Bedeck t with gorgeous rich array ; 

The hapi>iGst lady in the land 

Had not more pleasure at command. 

"I had my musicke every day 

Harmonious lessons for to play ; 90 

I had my virgins faire and free 

Continually to wait on mee. 


" But now, alas ! my husband's dead, 

Aud all my friends are from me fled ; 

My former days are past and gone, 95 

And I am now a serving-man." 

And fetching many a tender sigh, 

As thinking no one then was nigh. 

In pensive mood I laid me lowe, 

My heart was full, the tears did flowe. 100 

The king, who had a huntinge gone, 
Grewe weary of his sport anone, 
And leaving all his gallant traine, 
Turn'd on the sudden home againe ; 

And when he reach'd his statelye tower, 105 

Hearing one sing within his bower, 
He stopt to listen and to see 
Who sung there so melodiouslie. 

Thus heard he everye word I sed. 

And saw the pear lye teares I shed, 110 

And found to his amazement there 

Sweet William was a ladye faire. 

Then stepping in, " Faire ladye, rise 

Aud dry," said he, " those lovelye eyes, 

For I have heard thy mournful tale, 115 

The which shall turne to thy availe." 

A crimson dye my face orespred, 

I blusht for shame and hung my head 

To find my sex and story knowne, 

When as I thought I was alone. 120 

But to be briefe, his Eoyal Grace 
Grewe so enamour 'd of ray face, 
The richest gifts he proffered mee, 
His mistress if that I would bee. 

" Ah ! no, my liege," I firmlye sayd, 125 

" I'll rather in my grave be layd ; 

And though Your Grace hath won my heart, 

I ne'er will act soe base a part." 


" Faire ladye, pardon me," sayd liee, 

" Thy virtue shall rewarded bee, 13C 

And since it is soe fairly tryde 

Thou shalt become my royal bride." 

Then strait to end his amorous strife, 

He tooke sweet William to his wife. 

The like before was never scene: 185 

A serving-man became a queene. 

« * 

(l^il iiilorricf. 


The f(jllowing piece hath run through two editions in Scotland : tho 
second was printed at Glasgow in 1755, 8vo. Prefixed to tliem both 
is an advertisement, setting forth that the preservation of this poem 
was owing to "a lady, who favoured the priuteis with a copy as it was 
carefully collected from tho mouths of old women and nurses ; " and 
" any reader that can render it more correct or complete," is desired to 
oblige the public witli such improvements. In consequence of this 
advertisement, sixtien additional verses have been produced and 
handed alx)ut in manuscript, which are here inserted in their proper 
places: (these are fiom vit. 109 to ver. 121, and from ver. 124 to ver. 
129, but are, perhaps, after all, only an ingenious interpolation). 

As this poem lays claim to a pretty high anticjuity, we have assigned 
it a place among our early pieces : though, after all, there is reason to 
believe it has received very considerable modern improvements : for in 
the Editor's ancient MS. collection is a very old imperfect copy of tho 
same ballad: wlierein, though the leading features of the story are 
the same, yet the colouring here is so much improved and heightened, 
and so many additional strokes are thrown in, that it is evident tlie 
whole has undergnne a rovisal. 

N.B. — The Editor's MS. instead of Ijord Barnard, has John Steicart , 
and instead of G-il Morrice, Child Maurice, which last is probably the 
original title.— See above, p. 141. 

Gil Morrice was an erles son, 

His name it waxed wide : 
It was nac fur his great riches, 

Nor zet his micklc pride ; 
But it was for a lady gay 6 

That livd on Carrou side. 



" Quhair sail I get a bonny boy, 

That will win hose and shoen ; 
That will gae to Lord Barnard's ha', 

And bid his lady cum ? 10 

And ze maun rin my errand, Willie, 

And ze may rin wi' pride ; 
Quhen other boys gae on their foot, 

On horse-back ze sail ride." 

" no ! O no ! my master dear ! 15 

I dare nae for my life; 
I'll no gae to the bauld barons, 

For to triest furth his wife." 
" My bird Willie, my boy Willie, 

My dear Willie," he sayd : 20 

" How can ze strive against the stream ? 

For I shall be obeyd." 

" Bot, my master dear ! " he cry'd, 

" In grene wod ze're zour lain ; 
Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ze rede, 25 

For fear ze should be tain." 
" Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha', 

Bid hir cum here wi speid : 
If ze refuse my heigh command, 

rn. g*r zour body bleid. 30 

" Gae bid hir take this gay mantel, 

'Tis a' gowd bot the hem ; 
Bid hir cum to the gude grene wode, 

And bring nane bot hir lain ; 
And there it is, a silken sarke, 35 

Hir ain hand sewd the sleive ; 
And bid hir cum to Gill Morice, 

Speir nae bauld barons leave." 

" Yes, I will gae zour blacke errand, 

Though it be to zour cost ; 40 

Sen ze by me w^ell nae be warn'd. 
In it ze sail find frost. 

Ver 11, something seems wanting here. V, 32 and 68, perhaps, 

bout the hem. 


The baron he is a man of might, 

He ueir could bide to taunt ; 
As zc will see before it's uicht, 45 

How sma' ze hae to vaimt. 

" And sen I maun zour errand rin 

Sae sair against my will, 
I'se make a vow and kcip it trow, 

It sail be done for ill." 50 

And quhen he came to broken brigue, 

He bent his bow and swam ; 
And qulien he came to grass growing, 

Set down his feet and ran. 

And quhen he came to Barnards ha', 55 

Would neither chap nor ca' ; 
Bot set his bent bow to his breist, 

And lichtly lap the wa'. 
He wauld nae fell the man his errand, 

Though he stude at the gait ; 60 

Bot straiht into the ha' he cam, 

Quhair they were set at meit. 

" Hail ! hail ! my gentle sire and dame 1 

My message A\dnua waito ; 
Dame, ze maun to the gude grene wod, 65 

Before that it be late. 

" Ze'ro bidden tak this gay mantel, 

Tis a' gowd bot the hem : 
Zou mauu gae to the gude grene wodo, 

Ev'n by your sel alane. 70 

" And there it is, a silken sarke. 

Your ain hand sewd the sleive : 
Zc maun gae spcik to Gill Morice ; 

Speir nae bauld barons leave." 
The lady stamped wi' hir foot, 75 

And winked wi' her ee ; 
Bot a' that she coud say or do. 

Forbidden he wad nae bee. 

V. 58. Could this be the wall of the castle? 


" Its surely to my bow'r-woman ; 

It neir could be to me." 80 

" I brocht it to Lord Barnards lady ; 

I trow that ze be she." 
Then up and spack the wylie nurse, 

(The bairn upon hir knee) : 
' If it be cum frae Gill Morice, 85 

It's deir welcum to mee." 

" Ze leid, ze leid, ze filthy nurse, 

Sae loud I heird ze lee ; 
I brocht it to Lord Barnards lady ; 

I trow ze be nae shee." 90 

Then up and spack the bauld baron, 

An angry man was hee ; 
He's tain the table wi' his foot, 

Sae has he wi' his knee, 
Till siller cup and ' mazer ^ ' dish 95 

In flinders he gard flee. 

" Gae bring a robe of zour eliding, 

That hings upon the pin ; 
And I'll gae to the gude grene wode. 

And speik wi' zour lemman. 100 

" bide at hame, now. Lord Barnard, 

I warde ze bide at hame ; 
Neir wyte a man for violence, 

That neir wate ze wi' nane." 

Gil Morice sate in gude grene wode, 105 

He whistled and he sang : 
" O what mean a' the folk coming ? 

My mother tarries lang." 
His hair was like the threeds of gold, 

Drawne frae Minerva's loome; 110 

His lipps like roses drapping dew ; 

His breath was a' perfume. 

V. 88, perhaps, loud say I heire. 
'' i,0. a drinking cup of maple ; other edit, read ezar. 


His browe was like the mountain snae 

Gilt by the morning beam ; 
His cheeks like living roses glow ; 115 

His een like azure stream. 
The boy was clad in robes of grene, 

Swcete as the infant spring ; 
And like the mavis on the bush, 

He gart the vallies ring. 120 

The baron came to the grene wode, 

Wi' mickle dule and care, 
And there he first spied Gill Morice 

Kameing his zellow hair 
That sweetly wavd around his face, 125 

That face beyond compare ; 
He sang sae sweet, it might dispel 

A' rage but fell despair. 

" Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gill Morice, 

My lady loed thee weel ; 130 

The fairest part of my bodie 

Is blacker than thy heel. 
Zet neir the less now. Gill Morice, 

For a' thy great beautie, 
Ze's rew the day ze eir was born ; 135 

That head sail gae wi' me." 

Now he has drawn his trusty brand, 

And slaited on the strae ; 
And thro' Gill Morice' fair body 

He's gar cauld iron gae. 140 

And he has tain Gill Morico' head 

And set it on a speir : 
The meanest man in a' his train 

Has gotten that head to bear. 

And he has tain Gill Morice up, 145 

Laid him across his steid, 
And brocht him to his painted bowr. 

And laid him on a bed. 

V. 128 So Milton,— 

" Vernal delight and joy : able to drive 
All sadness but desjiair." — Faradise Lost, It. 155. 


The lady sat on castil wa', 

Beheld baith dale and doun ; 150 

And there she saw Gill Morico' head 

Cum trailing to the toun. 

" Far better I loe that bluidy head, 

Both and that zcllow hair, 
Than Lord Barnard, and a' his lands, 155 

As they lig here and thair," 
And she has tain her Gill Morice, 

And kissd baith mouth and chin : 
" I was once as fow of Gill Morice, 

As the hip is o' the stean. 160 

" I got ze in my father's house, 

Wi' mickle sin and shame ; 
1 brocht thee up in gude grene wode, 

Under the heavy rain. 
Oft have I by thy cradle sitten 165 

And fondly seen thee sleip ; 
But now I gae about thy grave. 

The saut tears for to weip." 

And syne she kissd his bluidy cheik, 

And syne his bluidy chin : 170 

" better I loe my Gill Morice 

Than a' my kith and kin ! " 
" Away, away, ze ill woman, 

And an il deith mait ze dee : 
Gin I had keud he'd bin zour son, 175 

He'd neir bin slain for mee." 

" Obraid me not, my Lord Barnard ! 

Obraid me not for shame ! 
Wi' that saim speir, pierce my heart I 

And put me out o' pain. 180 

Since nothing bot Gill Morice' head 

Thy jelous rage could quell, 
Let that saim hand now tak hir life 

That neir to thee did ill. 


172 Glli MORRICE. 

" To mc nae after days nor nichts 185 

Will eir be saft or kind ; 
I'll fill the air with heavy sighs, 

And greet till I am blind." 
" Enouch of blood by me's bin spilt, 

Seek not zour death frae me ; 190 

I rather lourd it had been my sel 

Than eather him or thee. 

" With waefo wae I hear zour plaint ; 

Sair, sair I rew the deid, 
That eir this cursed hand of mine 195 

Had gard his body bleid. 
Dry up zour tears, my winsome dame, 

Ze neir can heal the wound ; 
Ze see his head upon the speir. 

His heart's blude on the ground. 

" I curse the hand that did the deid, 

The heart that thocht the ill ; 
The feet that bore me wi' sik speid, 

The comely zouth to kill. 
I'll ay lament for Gill Morice, 205 

As gin he were mine aiu ; 
I'll neir forget the dreiry day _ 

On which the zouth was slain." 

*^* This little pathetic tale suggested the plot of the tragedy of 

Since it was first printed, the Editor has been assured that the fore- 
going ballad is still current in many parts of Scotland, where the 
herols universally known by the name of Child Maurice, pronounetd 
bv the common people Clielld or Cheeld, which occasioned the mistake. 
' It may be proper to mention, that other copies read ver. 110, thus : 

" Shot f]-ae the golden sun." 

And ver, 11 fi, as follows : 

" His een like azure sheene." 


( 173 ^ 


Ci)c HcgciiK of ^iv <&iw 

contains a short summary of the exploits of this famous champion, 
as recorded in the old story-books, and is commonly entitled, " A 
pleasant song of the valiant deeds of chivalry atchieved by that noble 
knight Sir Guy of Warwick, who, for the love of fail' Phelis, became 
a hermit, and died in a cave of craggy rocke, a mile distant from 

The history of Sir Guy, though now very properly resigned to 
children, was once admired by all readers of wit and taste : for taste 
and wit had once their chihihood. Although of English growth, it 
was early a favourite with other nations ; it appeared in French in 
1525, and is alluded to in the old Spanish romance of Tiranfe el Blanco, 
which, it is believed, was written not long after the year 1430. — See 
advertisement to the French translation, 2 vols. 12mo. 

The original whence all these stories are extracted, is a very ancient 
romance iu old English verse, which is quoted by Chaucer as a cele- 
brated piece even in his time, (viz., 

" Men speken of romances of price, 
Of Home childe and Ippotis, 

Of Bevis, and Sir Guy," &c. R. of Tliop.) 

and was usually sung to the harp at Christmas dinners and biidals, 
as we learn from Puttenham's Art of Poetry, -Ito, 15t>9. 

This ancient romance is not wholly lost. An imperfect copy in 
black-letter, " Imprynted at London— for Wylliam Copland," iu 34 
sheets, 4to, without date, is still preserved among Mr. Garrick's 
collection of old plays. As a eiDecimen of the poetry of this antique 
rhymer, take his description of the dragon mentioned in verse 105 of 
the following ballad : 

" A messenger came to the king. 
Syr king, he sayd, lysten me now, 
For bad tydinges I bring you. 
In Northumberlande there is no man, 
But that they be slayne everychone : 
For there dare no man roure. 


By twenty myle rounde aboute, 
For doubt of a fowle dragon, 
That sleath men and beastes downe. 
He is blacke as any cole, 
Rugged as a rough fole ; 
His bodye from the navill upwarde 
No man may it pierce it is so harde; 
His neck is great as any summere ; 
He renneth as swift as any distrere ; 
Pawes he hath as a lyon : 
All that he toueheth he sleath dead downe. 
Great winges he hath to flight, 
I That is no man that bare him miglit. 

There may no man fight him agayne, 
But that he sleath him certayne : 
For a fowler beast then is he, 
Ywis of none never heard ye." 

Sir William Dugdale is of opinion that the story of Guy is not 
wholly apocryphal, though he ackuowledgLS the monks have sounded 
out his praises too hyperbolically. In particular, he gives the duel 
fought with the Danish Champion as a real historical truth, and tixcs 
the date of it in the year 926, aitat. Guy 67. — See his Warwickshire. 

The following is written upon the same plan as ballad v. book vii., 
but which is the original, and which the copy, cannot be decided. 
This song is ancient, as may be inferred from the idiom pr.. erved 
in the margin, ver. 94, 102 : and was once popular, as app ars from 
Fletcher's Kniiiht of the Burning Pestle, act ii., sc. ult. 

It is here published from an ancient MS. copy in the Editor's old 
folio volume collated witli two printed ones, one of which is in black- 
letter in the Pepys Collection. 

Was ever knight for ladyos sake 

Soe tost in love, as I, Sir Guy, 
For Plielis fay re, that huly bright 

As ever man beheld with eye ? 

She gave me leave myself to try, 6 

The valiant knight with sheehl and speare. 

Ere that her love shoo wold grant me ; 
Which made mee venture far and neare. 

Then proved I a baron bold, 

In deeds of armcs the doughtyest knight 10 
That in those daycs in England was. 

With sword and speare in feild to fight. 

Ver. 9, The proud sir Guy. P.O. 


An Englisli man I was by birtlie : 
In faith of Christ a christyan true '. 

The wicked lawes of infidells 15 

I sought by prowesse to subdue. 

* Nine' hundred twenty yeere and odde 
After our Saviour Christ his birth, 

"When King Athelstone wore the crowne, 

I lived heere upon the earth. 20 

Sometime I was of Warwicke erle, 

And, as I sayd, of very truth 
A ladyes love did me constraine 

To seeke strange ventures in my youth ; 

To win me fame by feates of armes 25 

In strange and sundry heathen lands ; 

Where I atchieved for her sake 

Eight dangerous conquests with my hands. 

For first I sayled to Normandye, 

And there I stoutlye wan in fight 30 

The emperours daughter of Almaine, 

From manye a vallyant worthye knight. 

Then passed I the seas to Greece, 
To helpe the emperour in his right, 

Against the mightye souldans hoaste 35 

Of puissant Persians for to fight : 

Where I did slay of Sarazens, 

And heathen pagans, manye a man ; 

And slew the souldans cozen deere. 

Who had to name doughtye Coldran. 40 

Eskeldered, a famous knight. 

To death likewise I did pursue ; 
And Elmayne, King of Tyre, alsoe, 

Most terrible in fight to viewe. 

I went into the souldans hoast, 45 

Being thither on embassage sen^, 
And brought his head awaye with mee ; 

I having slaine him in his tent. 

V. 17, Two hundred. MS. and P.a 


There was a dragon in that land 

Most ficrcelye mett me by the wayo, 5C 

As hce a lyon did pursue, 

Which I myself did alsoe slay. 

Then soon I past the seas from Greece, 
And came to Pavye land aright ; 

Where I the Duke of Pavye killed, 55 

His hainous treason to requite. 

To England then I came with speede, 
To wedd faire Phelis, lady bright ; 

For love of whome I travelled farr 

To try my manhood and my might. 6C 

But when I had espoused her, 

I stayd with her but fortye dayes. 

Ere that I left this ladye faire, 

And went from her beyond the seas. 

All cladd in gray, in pilgrim sort, 65 

My voyage fi'om her I did take 
Unto the blessed Holy Land, 

For Jesus Christ my Saviours sake. 

Where I Erie Jonas did redeeme, 

And all his sonnes, which were fifteene, 70 

Who with the cruell Sarazens 

In prison for long time had beene. 

I slew the giant Amarant 

In battel fiercelye hand to hand. 

And doughty Barknard killed I, 75 

A treacherous knight of Pavye land. 

Then I to England came againe. 

And here with Colbronde fell I fought ; 

An ugly gyant, which the Danes 

Had for their champion hither brought. 80 

I overcame him in the fcild. 

And slewc him soone right valliantlye ; 

Wherebye this land I did redeeme 
From Danish tribute utterlye. 

VOL. nu 


And afterwards I oflfered upp 85 

The use of weapons solenmlye 
At Winchester, whereas I fought, 

In sight of manye farr and nye. 

' But first,' near Winsor, I did slaye 

A bore of passing might and strength ; 90 

Whose like in England never was 

For hugenesse both in bredth and length. 

Some of his bones in Warwicke yett 

Within the castle there doe lye ; 
One of his sheeld-bones to this day 95 

Hangs in the citye of Coventrye. 

On Dunsmore heath I alsoe slewe 
A monstrous wyld and cruell beast, 

Calld the Dun-cow of Dunsmore heath ; 

Which manye people had opprest. 100 

Some of her bones in Warwicke yett 

Still for a monument doe lye. 
And there exposed to lookers viewe, 

As wonderous strange, they may espye. 

A dragon in Northumberland 105 

I alsoe did in fight destroye, 
Which did bothe man and beast oppresse, 

And all the countrye sore annoye. 

At length to Warwicke I did come. 

Like pilgrim poore, and was not knowne ; 110 
And there I lived a hermitts life 

A mile and more out of the towne. 

Where with my hands I hewed a house 

Out of a craggy rocke of stone, 
And lived like a palmer poore 115 

Within that cave myself alone : 

And daylye came to begg my bread 

Of Phelis att my castle gate ; 
Not knowne unto my loved wiffe, 

Who dailye mourned for her mate. 120 

V. 94, 192, doth lye. MS. 


Till att the last I fell sore sicke, 
Yea, sicke soe sore that I must dye ; 

I sent to her a ring of goldo 

By whicli shoe knewe me prosentlye. 

Then repairing to the cave, 125 

Before that I gave up the ghost, 
Herself closd up my dying eyes ; 

My Phelis faire, whom I lovd most. 

Thus dreadful death did me arrest, 

To bring my corpes unto the grave, 130 

And like a palmer dyed I, 

Wherby I sought my soule to save. 

My body that endured this toyle, 

Though now it be consumed to mold, 

My statue, faire engraven in stone, 135 

In Warwicke still you may behold. 


<&\uj antJ ^maraut. 

The Editor found this poem in his an^^icnt fulio manuscript among 
the old ballada ; he was desirous, therefore, that it shoukl still accom- 
pany them ; and as it is not altogether devoid of merit, its insertion 
Jiere will be pardoned. 

Although this piece seems not imperfect, there is reason to believe 
that it is only a part of a much larger poem, which contained the whole 
history of Sir Guy: for, tipon comparing it with the common story- 
Iwok, 12mo, we find the latter to be nothing more tlian this poem 
reduced to prose : which is only effected by now and then altering the 
rhyme, and throwinjj: out some few of the poetical ornaments. The 
disguise is so sligiit, that it is an easy matter to pick complete stanzas 
in any page of that book. 

The author of tliij poem has shown some invention. Though he 
took the subject from tlu; old romance quoted before, he has adorned 
it afresh, and made the story entirely his own. 

Guy journeyes towards that sanctifyed ground 
Whereas the Jewes fayre citye sometime stood, 

Wherin our Saviours sacred head was crownd, 
And where for sinfull man he shed his blood. 


To see the seijulcher was his intent, 5 

The tombe that Joseph unto Jesus lent. 

With tedious miles he tyred his weary e feet, 

And passed desart places full of danger ; 
At last with a most woefull wight ^ did meet, 

A man that unto sorrow was noe stranger, 10 

For he had fifteen sonnes made captives all 
To slavish bondage, in extremest thrall. 

A gyant called Amarant detaind them, 

Whom noe man durst encounter for his strength, 

Who, in a castle which he held, had chaind them. 15 

Guy questions where, and understands at length 

The place not farr. — " Lend me thy sword," quoth hee ; 

" He lend my manhood all thy sonnes to free." 

With that he goes and lays upon the dore 

Like one that sayes, I must and will come in. 20 

The gyant never was soe rowz'd before. 

For noe such laiocking at his gate had bin ; 
Soe takes his keyes and clubb, and cometh out, 
Staring with ireful countenance about. 

" Sirra," quoth hee, " what busines hast thou heere ? 25 
Art come to feast the crowes about my walls ? 

Didst never heare noe ransome can him cleere 
That in the compasse of my furye falls ? 

For making me to take a porters paines. 

With this same clubb I will dash out thy braines." 30 

" Gyant," quoth Guy, " y'are quarrelsome, I see ; 

ChoUer and you seem very neere of kin ; 
Most dangerous at the clubb belike you bee ; 

I have bin better armd, though nowe goe thin. 
But shew thy utmost hate, enlarge thy spight, 35 

Keene is my weapon, and shall doe me right." 
Soe draws his sword, salutes him with the same 

About the head, the shoulders, and the side. 
Whilst his erected clubb doth deatli proclaime, 

Standinge with huge Colossus' spacious stride, 40 

Putting such vigour to his knotty beame 
That like a furnace he did smoke extreamc. 

* Erie Jonas, mentioned in the foregoing ballad. 

N 2 

180 Gtnr AND AMARANl 

But on tlie ground he spent his strokes in vaine, 
For Guy was nimble to avoycle them still, 

And ever ere he heav'd his clubb agaiue, 45 

Did brush his plated coat against his will : 

Att such advantage Guy wold never fayle 

To bang him soundlye in his coate of mayle. 

Att last through thirst the gyant feeble grewe, 

And sayd to Guy, " As thou'rt of humane race, 50 

S! ow itt in this, give natures wants their dewe ; 
Let me but ^oe and drinke in yonder place ; 

Thou canst not yeeld to ' me ' a smaller thing 

Than to graunt life thats given by the spring." 

" I graunt thee leave," quoth Guye, " goe di-ink thy last, 55 
Go pledge the dragon and the salvage bore,^ 

Succeed the tragedyes that they have past ; 
But never thinlie to taste cold water more ; 

Drinke deepe to Death and unto him carouse ; 

Bid him receive thee in his earthen house." 60 

See to the spring he goes, and slakes his thirst, 

Takcing the water in extremely like 
Some wracked shi])}) that on a rocke is burst, 

Whose forced hulkc against the stones does stryke ; 
Scooping it in soe fast with both his hands fi^) 

That Guy, admiring, to behold it stands. 

" Come on," quoth Guy, " let us to worke againe ; 

Thou staycst about thy liquor overlong ; 
The fish which in the river doe rcmaino 

Will want thereby ; thy drinking doth them wrong ; 70 
But I will see their satisfaction made ; 
With gyants blood they must and shall be payd." 

" Villaine," quoth Amarant, " He crush thee streight ; 

Thy life shall jiay thy daring toungs otience ! 
This clubb, ^s•hich is about some hundred weight, 75 

Is deathes commission to dispatch thee hence I 
Dresse thee for ravens dyett, I must needes, 
And breako thy bones as they were made of reedes I " 

» Which Guy had slain before. Ver. 64, bulke. MS. and P.CC. 


Incensed mueli by these bold pagan bostes, 

Which worthye Guy cold ill endure to heare, 80 

He hewes upon those bigg supporting postes 

Which like two pillars did his body beare. 
Amarant for those wounds in choller growes, 
And desperatelye att Guy his clubb he throwes, 

Which did directly on his body light 85 

Soe violent and weighty there-withall, 
That downe to ground on sudden came the knight ; 

And ere he cold recover from the fall, 
The gyant gott his clubb againe in fist, 
And aimd a stroke that wonderfullye mist. 90 

" Traytor," quoth Guy, " thy falshood He repay, 

This coward act to intercept my bloode." 
Sayes Amarant, " He murther any way ; 

With enemyes, all vantages are good ; 
O could I poyson in thy nostrills blowe, 95 

Besure of it I wold dispatch thee soe ! " 

" Its well," said Guy, " thy honest thoughts appeare 
Within that beastlye bulke where devills dwell. 

Which are thy tenants while thou livest heare. 

But will be landlords when thou comest in hell. 100 

Vile miscreant, prepare thee for their den. 

Inhumane monster, hatefuU unto men ! 

" But breathe thy selfe a time while I goe drinke. 
For flameing Phcebus with his fyerye eye 

Torments me soe with burning heat, I thiuke 105 

My thirst wolde serve to drinke an ocean drye. 

Forbear a litle, as I delt with thee." 

Quoth Amarant, " Thou hast noe foole of mee ! 

" Noe, sillye wretch, my father taught more witt. 

How I shold use such enemyes as thou. IIQ 

By all my gods I doe rejoice at itt. 

To understand that thirst constraines thee now : 

For all the treasure that the world containes, 

One drop of water shall not coole thy vaines. 


" Keleeve my foo ! why, 'twere a madmans part! 115 

Refresh an adversarye, to my wrong ! 
If thou imagine this, a child thou art. 

Noe, fellow, I have known the world too long 
To be soe simple now I know thy want ; 
A minutes space of breathing I'll not grant." 120 

And with these words, heaving aloft his clubb 

Into the ayre, he swings the same about, 
Then shakes his lockes, and doth his temples rubb, 

And like the Cyclops in his pride doth strout : 
" Sirra," says bee, " I have you at a lift ; 125 

Now you are come unto your latest shift ; 

" Perish forever ; with this stroke I send thee 
A medicine that will doe thy thirst much good ; 

Take noe more care for di-inke before I end thee, 

And then wee'll have carouses of thy blood ! 130 

Here's at thee with a butcher's dowTiright blow, 

To please my furye with thine overthrow ! " 

" Infernall, false, obdurate feend," said Guy, 
" That seemst a lumjjc of crucltyc from hell ; 

Ungratefull monster, since thou dost deny 135 

The thing to mee w^herin 1 used thee well. 

With more revenge than ere my sword did make, 

Ou thy accursed head revenge He take. 

■•' The gyants longitude shall shorter sbrinkc, 

Except thy suu-scorcht skin be \vcapon proof. 1 10 

Farewell my thirst ! I doe disdaine to drinke. 
Streamcs, keei)e your waters to your owne behoof, 

Or lot wild beasts be welcome thereunto ; 

With those pcarle drops I will not have to do. 

" Here, tyrant, take a taste of my good- will ; 145 

For thus I doe begin my bloodye bout ; 
You cannot chuse but like the greeting ill, — 

It is not that same clubb will beare you out, — - 
And take tliis payment on thy shaggye crowne " — 
A blowc that brought him with a vengeance dowue. 15C 

OrX AND AMAllANT. 183 

Then Guy sett foot upon the monsters brest, 
And from his shoulders did his head divide, 

Which with a. yawninge mouth did gape unblest, — 
Noe dragons javves were ever seene soe wide 

To open and to shut, — till life was spent. 155 

Then Guy tooke keyes, and to the castle went, 

Where manye woeful! captives he did find, 

Which had beene tyred with extremity es, 
Whom he in friendly manner did unbind, 

And reasoned with them of their miseryes. 160 

Eche told a tale with teares aud sighes and cryes, 
All weeping to him with complaining eyes. 

There tender ladyes in darke dungeons lay, 

That were surprised in the desart wood, 
And had noe other dyett everye day 165 

But flesh of humane creatures for their food ; 
Some with their lovers bodyes had beene fed, 

And in their wombes their husbands buryed. 

Now he bethinkes him of his being there, 

To enlarge the wronged brethren from their woes ; 170 
And, as he searcheth, doth great clamours heare, 

By which sad sound's direction on he goes 
Dntill he findes a darksome obscure gate, 
Arm'd strongly ouer all with iron plate : 

That he nnlockes, and enters where appeares 175 

The strangest object that he ever saw. 
Men that with famishment of many years 

Were like deathes pictm-e, which the painters draw ! 
Divers of them were hanged by eche thombe ; 
Others head-downward ; by the middle, some. 18G 

W^ith diligence he takes them from the walls, 
With lybertye their thraldome to acquaint. 

Then the perplexed knight their father calls. 

And sayes, " Eeceive thy sonnes, though poors and 
faint : 

I promiad you their lives ; accej)t of that ; 185 

But did not warrant you they shold be fat. 


" The castle I doe give thee, heere's the keycs, 
Where tyranje for mauy yeeres did dwell ; 

Procure the gentle tender ladyes case ; 

For pittyes sake use wronged women well : 190 

Men easilye revenge the wrongs men do, 

But poore weake women have not strength thereto." 

The good old man, even overjoyed with this, 

Fell on the ground, and wold have kist Guys feete. 

" Father," quoth he, " refraine soe base a kiss ! 195 

For age to himor youth, I hold unmcete ; 

Ambitious pryde hath hurt mee all it can, 

I goe to mortifie a sinfull man." 

*^* The foregoing poem on Guy and Amarant has been discovered 
to be a fragment of " The famous historie of Guy earle of Warwieke, 
by Samuel Rowlands, London, printed by J. Bell, 1649," 4to, in xii. 

cantos, beginning thus: 

" When dreadful Mars in armour every day." 

Whether the edition in 1649 was the first, is not known, but the author, 
Sam. Rowlands, was one of the minor poets who lived in the reigns of 
Queen Elizabeth and James I., and perhaps la-ter. His other poems 
are chiefly of the religious kind, which makes it probable that the 
history of Guy was one of his earliest performances. There arc extant 
of his: (1.) "The betraying of Christ, Judas in dispaire, the seven 
words of our Saviour on the crosse, with other jioems on the passion, 
&c. 1598," 4to. [Ames Typ. p. 428.] (2.) "A Theatre of delightful 
Recreation, Loud, printed lor A. Johnson, 16(i5," 4to. (Penes editor.; 
This is a book of poems on subjects chiefly taken fiom the Old Testa- 
ment. (3.) " Memory of Christ's miracles, in verse. Lond. 1G18," 4to. 
0.) "Heavens glory, earth's vanity, and hell's horror." Loud. 1638, 
8vo, [These two in Rod. Cat.] 

In the present edition, the foregoing poem has been much improved 
from the i)rinted copy. 



I have not been able to meet with a more ancient copy of this humoroua 
old song, than tliat jirinted in Tlie Tea-Talle Miscellany, Ac, wliioh 
Bcums to have admitted some corruptions. 


Late in an evening forth I went 

A little before the sun gade down, 
And there I chanc't, by accident, 

To light on a battle new begun : 
A man and his wife wer fawn in a strife, 6 

I canna weel tell ye how it began ; 
But aye she wail'd her wretched life, 

Cryeng, " Evir alake, mine auld goodmau 1" 


" Thy auld goodman that thou tells of, 

The country kens where he was born, 10 

Was but a silly poor vagabond. 

And ilka ane leugh him to scorn ; 
For he did spend and make an end 

Of gear ' his fathers nevir ' wan ; 
He gart the poor stand frae the door ; 15 

Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman." 


" My heart, alake ! is liken to brake. 

Whan I think on my winsome John, 
His blinkan ee and gait sae free. 

Was naithing like thee, thou dosend drone ; 20 

Wi' his rosie face and flaxen hair. 

And skin as white as ony swan, 
He was largo and tall, and comely wit hall ; 

Thou'lt nevir be like mine auld goodman." 


" Why dost thoii plein ? I thee maintein ; 25 

For meal and mawt thou disna want; 
But thy wild bees I canna please 

Now whan our gear gins to grow scant. 
Of houshold stuff thou hast enough ; 

Thou wants for neither pot nor pan ; 30 

Of sicklike ware he left thee bare ; 

Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman." 



*■' Yes, I may tell aud fret my sell 

To think on tLosc blyth days I ha J, 
Whan I and he together ley 85 

In amies into a well-made bed ; 
But now I sigh and may be sad, 

Thy courage is cauld, thy colour wan, 
Thou falds thy feet aud fa's asleep ; 

Thou'lt nevir be like mine auld goodman." 40 

Then coming was the night sae dark, 

And gane was a' the light of day ; 
The carle was fear'd to miss his mark, 

And therefore wad nac longer stay. 
Then up he gat and ran his way, 45 

I trowe, the wife the day she wan ; 
And aye the owreword of the fray 

Was, " Evir alake ! mine auld goodman ! " 


jfait iiXavgavit auK ^lufct MtUiam. 

This seems to be the old song quoted in Fletclior's Knighi of the 
Burning Pestle, acts ii. and iii. ; although the six linos there preserved 
are somewhat different from those intlie baUud, as it stiuids at present. 
The reader -will not wonder at this, when he is iutbriniid that this is 
only given from a modem printed copy picked up on a stall. Its full 
title is, " Fair Mar^'arct's Misfortune; or, Sweet 'William's frightful 
dreams on his wedding-night, with the sudden death and burial ot 
those noble lovers." 

The lines preserved in the play are this distich, 

" You are no love for me, Margaret, 
1 am no love for you." 

And the following stanza, 

" When it was grown to dark midnight, 
And all were fast asleep, 
In came Margarets fji-iraly ghost 
Aod stood at Williams feet." 


These lines have acquired an importance by giving birth to one of tl.'e 
most beautiful ballads in our own or any language. — See the song 
entitled Margaret's GJwst, at the end of this volume. 

Since the first edition some improvements have been inserted, whicli 
were communicated by a lady of the first distinction, as she had heard 
this song repeated in her infancy. 

As it fell out on a long summer's day. 

Two lovers they sat on a hill ; 
They sat together that long summer's day, 

And could not talk their fill. 
" I see no harm by you, Margaret, 5 

And you see none by mee ; 
Before to-morrow at eight o' the clock 

A rich wedding you shall see." 

Fair Margaret sat in her bower-window. 

Combing her yellow hair ; 10 

There she spyed sweet "William and his bride, 
As they were a riding near. 

Then down she layd her ivory combe. 

And braided her hair in twain : 
She went alive out of her bower, 15 

But ne'er came alive in't again. 

When day was gone, and night was come. 

And all men fast asleep, 
Then came the spirit of Fair Marg'ret, 

And stood at "Williams feet. 20 

" Are you awake, sweet William ? " shee said, 
" Or, sweet William, are you asleep ? 

God give you joy of your gay bride-bed. 
And me of my winding sheet." 

When day was come, and night was gone, 25 

And all men wak'd from sleep. 
Sweet William to his lady sayd, 

" My dear, I have cause to weep. 

" I dreamt a dream, my dear ladye, 

Such dreames are never good : 30 

I dreamt my bower was full of red * wine,' 

And my bride-bed full of blood." 
Ver. 31, 35, swiue. 


" Such dreams, such dreams, ray honoured sir, 

They never do prove good ; 
To dream thy bower was full of red ' wine,' 35 

And thy bride-bed full of blood." 

He called up his merry men all, 

By one, by two, and by three ; 
Saying, " I'll away to fair Marg'ret's bower. 

By the leave of my ladie." 40 

And when he came to fair Marg'ret's bower. 

He knocked at the ring ; 
And who so ready as her seven brethren 

To let sweet William in. 

Then he turned up the covering-sheet ; 45 

" Pray let me see the dead ; 
Methinks she looks all pale and wan. 

She hath lost her cherry red. 

" I'll do more for thee, Margaret, 

Than any of thy kin : 50 

For I will kiss thy pale wan lips. 

Though a smile I cannot win." 

With that bcspakc the seven brethren, 

Making most piteous nione, 
" You may go kiss your jolly brown bride, 55 

And let our sister alone." 

" If I do kiss my jolly brown bride, 

I do but what is right ; 
I neer made a vow to yonder poor corpse. 

By day, nor yet by night. 60 

" Deal on, deal on, my merry men all, 

Deal on your cake and your wine : ^ 
For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day. 

Shall bo dealt to-morrow at mine." 

Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day, 65 

Sweet William dyed the morrow : 
Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love, 

Sweet William dyed for sorrow. 

' AlluJinj; to the dole auciently given at funerals. 


Margaret was buryed in the lower chancel, 

And William in the higher : 70 

Out of her brest there sprang a rose, 
And out of his a briar. 

They grew till they grew unto the church top, 

And then they could grow no higher ; 
And there they tyed in a true lovers knot, 75 

Which made all the people admire. 

Then came the clerk of the parish, 

As you the truth shall hear, 
And by misfortune cut them down, 

Or they had now been there. 80 


33arbara 'RXltn'^ Cvuclto. 

Given, with some corrections, from an old black-letter copy entitled, 
" Barbara Allen's cruelty, or the young man's tragedy." 

In Scarlet towne, where I was borne, 

There was a faire maid dwellin, 
Made every youth crye, Wel-awaye ! 

Her name was Barbara Allen. 

All in the merrye month of May, _ 5 

When gi-eene buds they were swellin, 

Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay, 
For love of Barbara Allen. 

He sent his man unto her then, 

To the town where shee was dwellin ; 10 

" You must come to my master deare, 

Giff your name be Barbara Allen. 

" For death is printed on his face. 

And ore his hart is stealin : 
Then haste away to comfort him, 15 

O lovelye Barbara Allen." 


" Though death be printed on his face, 

And ore his liarte is stcalin, 
Yet little better sliall lie bee 

For bonny Barbara Allen." 20 

So slowly, slowly, she came up, 

And slowly she came nye him ; 
And all she sayd, wlien there she came, 

" Yong man, I think y'arc dying." 

He tumd his face unto her strait, 25 

With deadlye sorrow sighing ; 
" lovely maid, come pity mee, 

Ime on my death-bed lying." 

*' If on your death-bed you doe lye. 

What needs the tale you are telliu ? 30 

I cannot keep you from your death ; 

Farewell," sayd Barbara Allen. 

He tumd his face unto the wall, 

As deadlye pangs he fell in : 
" Adieu ! adieu ! adieu to you all, 35 

Adieu to Barbara Allen ! ' 

As she was walking ore the fields, 

She heard the bell a kncllin ; 
And every stroke did seem to sayc, 

" Unworthy Barbara Allen !" 40 

She turned her bodyo round about. 

And spied tlie corps a coming : 
" Lave down, laye douii the corjis," she sayd, 

" That I may look upon him." 

With scornful eye she looked downe, 45 

Her chceko with laughter swellin, 

Whilst all her friends cryd out amaine, 
" Unworthye Barbara Allen ! " 

Wten he was dead, and laid in grave. 

Her harte was struck with sorrowe ; 50 

** mother, mother, make my bed, 
For I shall dye to-morrowe. 

SWEET William's ghost. 191 

" Hard-harted creature, him to slight, 

Who loved me so dearlye : 
O that I had beene more kind to him, 55 

When he was alive and neare me ! " 
She, on her death-bed as she laye, 

Beg'd to be buried by him, 
And sore repented of the daye. 

That she did ere denye him. 

" Farewell," she sayd, " ye virgins all, 

And shun the fault I fell in : 
Henceforth take warning by the fall 

Of cruel Barbara Allen." 


* * 



biuret railltam'jj ©Ijo^t. 


From Allan Ramsay's Tea- mZe IfeceZiany. The concluding statv^a 
or tins piece seems modern. ° °''""""' 

There came a ghost to Margaret's door, 

With many a grievous grone. 
And ay he tirled at the pin, 

But answer made she none. 

" Is this my father Philip ? 5 

Or is't my brother John ? 
Or is't my true love Willie, 

From Scotland new come home ? " 
" 'Tis not thy lather Philip ; 

Nor yet thy brother John ; 10 

But tis thy true love Willie, 

From Scotland new come home. 

" sweet Margret ! O dear Margret ! 
I pray thee speak to mee : 

Give me my faith and troth, Margret, ]5 

As I gave it to thee." 


" Thy faith and troth thoii'se nevir gfit, 

' Of mo shalt nevir wiu/ 
Till that thou come within my bower, 

And kiss my cheek and chin." 20 

" If I should como within thy bower, 

I am no earthly man : 
And should I kiss thy rosy lipp, 

Thy days will not be lang. 

" sweet Margret, O dear Margret, 25 

I pray thee speak to mee : 
Give me my faith and troth, Margret, 

As I gave it to thee." 

" Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get, 

' Of me shalt nevir win,' 30 

Till thou take me to yon kirk-yard. 
And wed me with a ring." 

" My bones are buried in a kirk-yard 

Afar beyond the sea, 
And it is but my sprite, Margret, 35 

That's speaking now to thee." 

She stretched out her lilly-white hand. 

As for to do her best ; 
** Hae there your faith and troth, Willie, 

God send your soul good rest." 40 

Now she has kilted her robes of green 

A piece below her knee. 
And a' the livc-lang winter night 

The dead corps followed shee. 

" Is there any room at your head, Willie ? 45 

Or any room at your feet ? 
Or any room at your side, Willie, 

Wherein that I may creep ? " 

" There's nao room at my head, Margret, 

There's nae room at my feet ; 50 

There's no room at my side, Margret, 
My coffin is made so meet." 



Then lip and crew the red red cock, 

And up then crew the gray : 
Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret, 55 

That ' I ' were gaue away." 

No more the ghost to Margi-et said, 

But, with a grievous grone, 
Evanish'd in a cloud of mist, 

And left her all alone. 60 

*' O stay, my only true love, stay," 

The constant Margret cried : 
Wan grew her cheeks, she clos'd her een, 

Stretch'd her saft limbs, and died. 


^tr SoI;n (i^vdjmc mxti 53arbara Man. 


Printed, with a few eonjectural emendations, from a written copy. 

It was in and about the Martinmas time, 
When the greene leaves wer a fallan, 

That Sir John Grehme o' the west countrye 
Fell in luve wi' Barbara Allan, 

He sent his man down throw the towns, 5 

To the plaice wher she was dwellan : 

" haste and cum to my maister deare, 
Gin ye bin Barbara Allan." 

O hooly, hooly raise she up, 

To the plaice wher he was lyan ; 10 

And whan she drew the curtain by, 

" Young man, I think ye're dyan. " ^ 

' An ingenious friend thinks the rhymes dyand and ^/a^J ought to be 
triinsposed ; as the taunt, 'Young man, I think ye're lyand,' would b« 
very characteristical. 

VOL. n. o 


" its I'm sick, and very, rery sick, 

Aud its a' for Barbara Allan." 
" O the better for me ye'se never be, 15 

Though youi' harts blude wer spillan. 

" Remember ye nat in the tavern, sir, 

Whan ye the cujis wcr fillan. 
How ye made the healths gae round and round, 

And slighted Barbara Allan ? " 20 

He tiirn'd his face unto the wa'. 

And death was with him dealan ; 
" Adiew ! adiew ! my dear friends a', 

Be kind to Barbara Allan." 
Then hooly, hooly raise she up, 25 

Aud hooly, hooly left him ; 
And sighan said, she could not stay, 

Since death of life had reft him. 

She had not gane a mile but twa, 

Whan she heard the deid-bell knellan ; 30 

And everyc jow the deid-bell geid. 

Cried, " Wae to Barbara Allan ! " 
" mither, mither, mak my bed, 

mak it saft and narrow ; 
Since my love died for me to-day, 35 

Ise die for him to-morrowe." 

* * 


Ci)f Jjniliff':^ JDaugljtfi- of Islington. 

From an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepj'S Collection, with some 
improvements conmiunicated by a lady as she had heard the same 
recited in her youth. The full title is, " True love requited ; or, the 
IJailiff's daughter of Islington." 
Islington in Norfolk is probably the place here meant. 

There was a youthe, and a well-beloved youthe, 

Aud he was a squires son ; 
He loved the bayliffes daughter deare, 

That lived in Islington. 


Yet she was coye, and would not believe £ 

That he did love her soe, 
Noe nor at any time would she 

Any countenance to him showe. 

But when his friendes did understand 

His fond and foolish minde, 10 

They sent him up to faire London, 

An ai^prentice for to binde. 

And when he had been seven long yeares, 

And never his love could see, — 
" Many a teare have I shed for her sake, 15 

When she little thought of mee." 

Then all the maids of Islington 

Went forth to sport and playe, 
All but the bayliffes daughter dears ; 

She secretly stole awaye. 20 

She pulled off her gowne of greene. 

And i^ut on ragged attire, 
And to faire London she would go 

Her true love to enc[uire. 

And as she went along the high road, 25 

The weather being hot and drye. 
She sat her downe upon a green bank. 

And her true love came riding bye. 

She started up, with a colour soe redd. 

Catching hold of his bridle-reine ; 30 

"One penny, one penny, kind sir," she sayd, 
" Will ease me of much paine." 

" Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart, 
Praye tell me where you were borne." 

" At Islington, kind sir," sayd shee, 35 

" Where I have had many a scorne." 

" I prythee, sweet-heart, then tell to mee, 

tell me, whether you knowe 
The bayliffes daughter of Islington." 

" She is dead, sir, long igoe." 40 

o 2 


" If she be cleatl, then take my liorse, 

My saddle and bridle also ; 
For I will into some farr countrye,^^ 

Wbere noe man shall me knowe." 
« staye, staye, thou goodlye yonthe, 45 

She staudeth by thy side ; 
She is here alive, she is not dead, 

And readye to be thy bride." 

" farewell griefe, and welcome joye. 

Ten thousand times therefore ; »^ 

For nowe I have founde mine owne true love,^ 
Whon? I thought I should never see more." 




From the small black-lcttev Collection, entitled, "The Golden Garland 
of princely Delights;" collated ^vith two other copies, and corrected 
by conjecture. 


«' How now, shepherde, what meanes that? 
"Why that willowe in thy hat ? 
Why thy scarffes of red and yellowe 
Turn'd to branches of greene willowe ? " 


" They are chang'd, and so am I ; 5 

Sorrowes live, but pleasures die : 
Phi His hath forsaken mee, ^^ 

Which makes mc weare the willowe-tree.' 


« Phillis ! shoe that lov'd thee long ? 

Is shee the lass hath done thee wrong ? 10 

Shee that lov'd thee hmg and best, 

Is her love tui'ued to a jest ? " 




** Sliee that long true love profest, 

Shoe hath robb'd my heart of rest ; 

For she a new love loves, not mee ; 15 

Which makes me wear the willow-tree." 


" Come then, shepherde, let us joine, 

Since thy happ is like to mine ; , 

For the maid I thought most true 

Mee hath also bid adieu." 20 


" Thy hard happ doth mine appease, 
Companye doth sorrowe ease ; 
Yet, Phillis, still I pine for thee, 
And still must weare the willow-tree." 


" Shepherde, be advis'd by mee, 26 

Cast off grief and willowe-tree ; 
For thy grief brings her content : 
She is pleas'd if thou lament." 


" Herdsman, I'll be rul'd by thee. 

There lyes grief and willowe-tree ; 30 

Henceforth I will do as they. 

And love a new love every day." 

# * 


CIjc Ea^y'iS dF^ll 

is given (with corrections) from the Editor's ancient folio ]\rS collated 
with two printed copies in black-letter ; one in the British Museum, 
the other in the Pepys Collection. Its old title is, "A lamentable 
ballad of the Lady's fall." To the tune of In pescod time, &c. The 
ballad here referred to is preserved iu the Muses Library, 8vo, p 281. 


It is an allegory or vision, entitled, The Shepherd's Slumhet, and opens 
witb some pretty rural images, viz. : 


' In pescod time when hound to horn 

Gives eare till buck be kil'd, 
And little lads with pipes of come 
Sate keeping beasts a-field. 

" I went to gather strawberries 

By woods and groves full fair," &c. 

Mabkb well my heavy, dolefull tale, 

You loyall lovers all, 
And heedfully beare in your brest 

A gallant ladyes fall. 
Long was she wooed, ere shee was wonne 6 

To lead a wedded life, 
But folly wrought her overthrowe 

Before shee was a wife. 

Too soone, alas ! shee gave consent 

And yeelded to his will, 10 

Though he protested to be true 

And faithfull to her still. 
Shee felt her body altered quite, 

Her bright hue waxed pale, 
Her lovely e checks chang'd color white, 15 

Her strength began to fayle. 

Soe that with many a sorrowful sigh, 

This beauteous ladye milde. 
With greeved harfc, perceived hersolfe 

To have conceived with childe. 20 

Shee kept it from her parents sight 

As close as close might bee, 
And soe put on her silken gowne 

None might her swelling see. 

Unto her lover secretly 25 

Her gi'ccfe she did bewray, 
And, walking with him hand in hand. 

These words to him did say : 
" Behold," quoth shee, " a maids distresse 

By love brought to tliy bowe ; 30 

Behold I goe with childe by thee. 

Tho none thereof duth knowe. 

lUE lady's fall 19S 

" The litle babe springs in my wombo 

To heare its fathers voyce, 
Lett it not be a bastard called, 35 

Sith I made thee my choyce. 
Come, come, my love, perform thy vowe, 

And wed me ont of hand ; 
O leave me not in this extreme 

Of griefe, alas ! to stand. 40 

" Think on thy former promises, 

Thy oathes and vowes eche one • 
Remember with what bitter tea^^es 

To mee thou madest thy moane. 
Convay me to some secrett place • 5 

And marry me with speede ; 
Or with thy rapyer end my life. 

Ere further shame proceede." 

" Alacke ! my beauteous love," quoth hee, 

"My joye and only dear, 50 

Which way can I convay thee hence, 

When dangers are so near ? 
Thy friends are all of hye degree. 

And I of meane estate ; 
Full hard it is to gett thee forthe 55 

Out of thy fathers gate." 

•' Dread not thy life to save my fame, 

For, if thou taken bee. 
My selfe will step betweene the swords, 

And take the harme on mee : 60 

See shall I scape dishonor quite, 

And if I should be slaine, 
What could they say but that true love 

Had wrought a ladyes bane. 

" But feare not any further harme ; 65 

My selfe will soe devise 
That I will ryde away with thee 

Unknowen of mortall eyes ; 

200 THE lady's fall. 


Disguised like some pretty page 

He meet thee iu the darke, 70 

And all alouo He come to thee 

Hard by my fathers parke." 

" And there," quoth hee, " He meete my deare, 

If God soe leud me life, 
On this dixy mouth without all fayle 75 

I will make thee my wife." 
Then with a sweet and loving kisse 

They parted preseutlye. 
And att their partiuge brinish teares 

Stoode in eche others eye. 80 

Att length the wished day was come 

On which this beauteous mayd. 
With longing eyes and strange attire, 

For her true lover stayd. 
When any person shee espyed 85 

Come ryding ore the plaine. 
She hop'd it \vas her owne true love ; 

But all her hopes were vaine. 

Then did shee weepe and sore bewayle 

Her most unhappy fate ; 90 

Then did shoe speake these woefuU words, 

As succourless she sate ; 
" false, forsworne, and faithlesse man, 

Disloyull in thy love. 
Hast thou forgott thy i)romise past, 95 

And wilt thou perjiu-ed prove ? 

" And hast thou now forsalcen mee 

In this my gi-eat distregse, 
To end my dayes iu open shame, 

Which thou mightst well redresse ? 100 

Woe worth the time I eer boliev'd 

That flattering tongue of thine ; 
Wold God that I had never scene 

The teares of thy false eyne." 



And thus witli many a sorrowful sigh, 105 

Homewards shee went againe ; 
Noe rest came in her waterye eyes, 

Shee felt such privye paine. 
In travail strong shee felt that night, 

"With many a bitter thro we ; 110 

"What woefull paines shee then did feel 
 Doth echo good woman knowe. 

Shee called up her waiting mayd 

That lay at her bedds feete, 
"Who, musing at her mistress woe, 115 

Began full fast to weepe. 
" "Weepe not," said shee, " but shutt the dores 

And windowes round about. 
Let none bewray my wretched state, 

But keepe all jDersons out." 120 

" O mistress, call your mother deare, 

Of women you have neede, 
And of some skilfull midwifes helps 

That better may you speed." 
" Call not my mother for thy life, 125 

Nor fetch no woman here ; 
The midwifes helj)e comes all too late, 

My death I doe not feare." 

"With that the babe sprung from her wombe 

No creature being uye, 130 

And with one sighe, which brake her hart, 

This gentle dame did dye. 
The lovely litle infant younge, 

The mother being dead, 
Kesigned its new received breath 135 

To him that had it made. 

Next morning came her own true love, 

Affrighted at the newes, 
And he for sorrow slew himselfe, 

"Whom echo one did accuse. 14,0 


The mother with her new borne babe 

Were laitle both in one grave ; 
Their parents overworne with woe, 

No joy thenceforth cold have. 

Take heed, you dayntye damsells all, 145 

Of flattering words beware, 
And to the honour of your name 

Have an especial care. 
Too true, alas this story is, 

As many one can tell ; 150 

By others harmes learue to be wise, 

And you shall do full well. 


Malu, Wiahj, %obt he ?3ouut). 


This is a very ancient song, but we could only give it from a moderu 
copy. Some editions, instead of the four last lines in the second stanza, 
have these, which have too much merit to be wholly suppressed : 

" When cockle shells turn siller bells. 

And muscles grow ou every tree, 
When frost and snaw sail warm us aw', 

Then sail my love prove true to me." 

See the Orpheus Caledonius, &c. 

Aiihur's-seat, mentioned in verse 17, is a hill near Edinburgh ; at 
Ihe bottom of which id St. Anthony's well. 

WALY, waly up the bank, 

And waly, waly down the brae, 
And waly, waly you burn side, 

Whore I and my love wer wont to gae. 

1 leant my back unto an aik, 5 
I thought it was a trusty tree ; 

But first it bow'd, and syne it brak, 
Sae my true love did lichtly me. 


O waly, waly, gin love be bonny, 

A little time while it is new ; 10 

But when its auld, it waxeth cauld, 

And fades awa' like morning dew. 
O wherfore shuld I busk my head ? 

Or wherfore shuld 1 kame my hair ? 
For my true love has me forsook, 15 

And says he'll never loe me mair. 

Now Arthur-Seat sail be my bed, 

The sheets shall neir be fyl'd by me : 
Saint Anton's well sail be my drink, 

Since my true love has forsaken me. 20 

Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw, 

And shake the green leaves aff the tree ? 

gentle death, whan wilt thou cimi ? 
For of my life I am wearie. 

Tis not the frost that freezes fell, 25 

Nor blawing snaws inclemencie ; 
'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, 

But my loves heart grown cauld to me. 
Whan we came in by Glasgowe to^vn, 

We were a comely sight to see ; 30 

My love was clad in black velvet, 

And I my sell in cramasie. 

But had I wist, before I kisst. 

That love had been sae ill to win, 

1 had lockt my heart in a case of gowd, 35 
And pinnd it with a siller pin. 

And, oh ! if my young babe were born. 

And set upon the nurses knee. 
And I my sell were dead and gane 1 

For a maid again Ise never be. 4C 


CIjc Mantoii mifc of JSat]^.^ 

From an ancient copy in black-print, in the Pepys Collection. Mr. 
Addison has pronounced this an excellent ballad. — See the Spectator, 
No. 248. 

In Bath a wanton wife did dwelle, 

As Chaucer he doth write, 
Who did in pleasure spend her dayes, 

And many a fond delight. 

Upon a time sore sicke she was, 5 

And at the length did dye ; 
And then her soul at Heaven's gate 

Did knocke most mightilye. 

First Adam came unto the gate : 

" Who kuocketh there ? " quoth liee. 10 

" I am the Wife of Bath," she sayd, 

" And faine would come to thee." 

" Thou art a sinner," Adam sayd, 

" And here no place shalt have ; " 
" And so art thou, 1 trowe," quoth shee, 15 

" ' And eke a ' dotin" knave." 


" I will come in in spight," she sayd, 

" Of all such churles as thee ; 
Thou wert the causer of our woe, 

Our painc and misery ; 20 

" And first broke God's commandiments, 

" In pleasure of thy wife : " 
When Adam heard her tell this tale, 

He ranne away for life. 

Ver. 16. Now gip you. P. 

' This ballad was admitted by Percy into the earlier editions of the 
Reliques, though excluded from the revised edition of 1794. — Editor. 


Then downe came Jacob at the gate, 25 

And bids lier packe to bell : 
" Thou false deceiving knave," quoth she, 

" Thou mayst be there as well. 

For thou deceiv'dst thy father deare. 
And thine own brother too :" 30 

Away ' slunk' Jacob presently. 
And made no more adoo. 

She knockes again with might and maine, 

And Lot he chides her straite : 
" How now," quoth she, " thou drunken ass, 35 

Who bade thee here to prate ? 

" With thy two daughters thou didst lye, 

On them two bastardes got : " 
And thus most tauntingly she chaft 

Against poor silly Lot. 40 

" Who calleth there," quoth Judith then, 
" With such shrill sounding notes ?" 

" This fine minkes surely came not here," 
Quoth she, " for cutting throats ! " 

Good Lord, how Judith blush'd for shame, 45 

When slie heard her say soe ! 
King David hearing of the same, 

He to the gate would goe. 

Quoth David, " Wbo knockes there so loud. 

And maketh all this strife ?" 50 

" You were more kinde, good sir," she sayd, 
" Unto Uriah's wife. 

" And when thy servant thou didst cause 

In battle to be slaine, 
Thou causedst far more strife than I, 55 

Who would come here so faine." 

" The woman's mad," quoth Solomon, 

" That thus doth taunt a king ; " 
" Not half so mad as you," she sayd, 

" I trowe, in manye a thing. 60 


" Thou liadst seven hundred wives at once, 

For whom thou didst provide, 
And yet, God wot, three hundi'od whores 

Thou must maintain beside. 

" And they made thee forsake thy God, 65 

And worship stockes and stones ; 
Besides the charge they put thee to 

In breeding of young bones. 

" Hadst thou not bin beside thy wits, 

Thou wouldst not thus have ventur'd ; 70 

And therefore I do marvel much 
How thou this jilacc hast enter'd." 

" I never heard," quoth Jonas then, 

" So vile a scold as this ;" 
" Thou whore-son, run-away," quoth sho, 75 

" Thou diddost more amiss." 

" ' They say,' " quoth Thomas, " womens tongues 

Of aspen-leaves are made ;" 
" Thou unbelieving wretch," quoth she, 

" All is not true that's sayd." 8D 

Wlien Mary Magdalen heard her then. 

She came unto the gate ; 
Quoth she, " Good woman, you must think 

Upon your former state. 

" No sinner enters in this place," 85 

Quoth Mary Magdalene. " Then 
'Twere ill for you, fair mistress mine," 

She answered her agen. 

" You for your honestye," quoth she, 

" Had once been ston'd to death, 90 

Had not oiir Saviour Christ come by, 
And written on the earth. 

" It was not by your occupation 

You arc become divine ; 
I hope my soul, in Christ his passion, 95 

Shall be as safe as thine." 

Ver. 77. I think. F. 


Uprose the good apostle Paul ; 

And to this wife lie cried, 
'* Except thou shake thy sins away, 

Thou here shalt be denyed." 100 

" Eemember, Paul, what thou hast done 

All through a lewd desire. 
How thou didst persecute God's church 

With wrath as hot as fire." 

Then up starts Peter at the last, 105 

And to the gate he hies ; 
" Fond fool," quoth he, " knock not so fast, 

Thou weariest Christ with cries." 

" Peter," said she, " content thyselfe, 

For mercye may be won ; 110 

I never did deny my Christ 

As thou thyselfe hast done." 

When as our Saviour Christ heard this, 

With heavenly angels bright, 
He comes unto this sinful soul, 115 

Who trembled at his sight. 

Of him for mercye she did crave ; 

Quoth he, " Thou hast refus'd 
My profferd grace and mercy both, 

And much my name abus'd." 120 

" Sore have I sinned, Lord," she sayd, 

" And spent my time in vaine ; 
But bring me, like a wandring sheepe, 

Into thy flocke againe. 

" Lord my God, I will amend 125 

My former wicked vice ; 
The thief for one poor silly word. 

Past into Paradise." 

" My lawes and my commandiments," 

Saith Christ, " were knowne to thee ; 13C 

But of the same, in any wise. 

Not yet one word did yee." 


" I grant the same, O Lord," quotli she ; 

" Most lewdly did I live ; 
But yet the loyiug father did 135 

His prodigal son forgive." 

" So 1 forgive thy soul," he sayd, 

" Through thy rojjcntiug crye ; 
Come enter then into my joy, 

I will not thee denye." 140 

CIjc 33n'tJc*£i ?3uvial. 

from two ancient copies in black-letter : one in the Pepys Collection, 
t le other in the British Museum. 

To the tune of The Lady's Fall. 

Come mourne, come mourne with mee, 

You loyall lovers all ; 
Lament my loss in weeds of woe, 

Whom griping grief doth thrall. 

Like to the drooping vine, 5 

Cut by the gardener's knife, 
Even so my heart, with sorrow slaine, 

Doth bleed for my sweet wife. 

By death, that grislye ghost, 

My turtle dove is slaine, 10 

And I am left, unhappy man, 

To spend my dayes in paiue. 

Her beauty late so bright, 

Like roses in their prime, 
Is wasted like the mountain snowe, 15 

Before warme Phebus' shine. 

Iler faire red colour'd cheeks 

Now pale and wan ; her eyes. 
That late did shine like crystal stars, 

Alas, their light it dies. 20 

THE bride's burial. 209 

Her pretty lilly hands 

With fingers long and small, 
In colour like the earthlye claye, 

Yea, cold and stiff withall. 

When as the morning-star 25 

Her golden gates had spred, 
And that the glittering sun arose 

Forth from fair Thetis' bed ; 

Then did my love awake, 

Most like a lilly-flower, 30 

And as the lovely queene of heaven, 

So shone shee in her bower. 

Attired was shee then 

Like Flora in her pride, 
Like one of bright Diana's nymphs, 35 

So look'd my loving bride. 

And as fair Helen's face 

Did Grecian dames besmirche. 
So did my dear exceed in sight 

All virgins in the church. 40 

When we had knitt the knott 

Of holy wedlock band. 
Like alabaster joyn'd to jett. 

So stood we hand in hand ; 

Then lo ! a chilling cold 45 

Strucke every vital part. 
And griping grief, like pangs of death, 

Seiz'd on my true love's heart. 

Down in a swoon she fell. 

As cold as any stone ; • 50 

Like Venus picture lacking life, 

So was my love brought home. 

At length her rosye red 

Throughout her comely face, 
As Plicebus beames with watry cloudes, 55 

Was cover'd for a space. 
tOL. n. 


When with a grievous groauc, 

And voice both hoarse and clrye, 
" Farewell," quoth she, " my loving friend, 

For I this daye must dye ; 60 

" The messenger of God 

With golden trumpe I see, 
With manye other angels more 

Which sound and call for mee. 

" Instead of miisicke sweet, 65 

Go toll my passing-bell ; 
And with sweet flowers strow my grave, 

That in my chamber smell. 

*' Strip off my bride's arrays. 

My cork shoes from my feet ; 70 

And, gentle mother, be not coye 

To bring my winding-sheet. 

" My wedding dinner drest, 

Bcstowe upon the poor, 
And on the hungry, needy, maimde, 75 

Now craving at the door. 

" Instead of virgins yong 

My bride-bed for to see, 
Go cause some cunning carpenter 

To make a chest for mee. 80 

" My bride laces of silk 

Bcstowd, for maidens meet, 
May fitly serve, when I am dead, 

To tye my hands and feet. 

" And thou, my lover true, 85 

My husband and my friend. 
Let me intrcat thee here to staye, 

Until my life doth end. 

" Now leave to talk of love. 

And humblye on your knee, 90 

Direct your prayers imto God : 

But mourn no more for mee. 


** In love as we have livde, 

In love let us dej)art ; 
And I, in token of my love, 95 

Do kiss thee with my heart. 

" O staunch those bootless teares, 

Thy weeping tis in vaine ; 
I am not lost, for wee in heaven 

Shall one daye meet againe." 100 

"With that shee turn'd aside, 

As one dispos'd to sleej), 
And, like a lamb, departed life : 

Whose friends did sorely weep. 

Her true love seeing this, 105 

Did fetch a grievous groane. 
As tho' his heart would burst in twaine, 

And thus he made his moane. 

" darke and dismal daye, 

A daye of grief and care, 110 

That hath bereft the sun so bright, 

Whose beams refresht the air. 

" Now woe unto the world 

And all that therein dwell, 
that I were with thee in heaven, 115 

For here I live in hell ! " 

And now this lover lives 

A discontented life. 
Whose bride was brought unto the grave 

A maiden and a wife. 120 

A garland fresh and faii-e 

Of lillies there was made, 
In sign of her virginitye, 

And on her coflin laid. 

Six maidens all in white, 125 

Did beare her to the ground ; 
The bells did ring in solemn sort, 

And made a dolefuU sound. 

p 2 

213 1 ILCINA. 

lu earth tLey laid her then, 

For hungry wormes a preje ; 130 

So shall the fairest face alive 

At length be brought to claye. 



Giveu from two ancient copies, one in black-print, in the Pepys Collec 
tiou, the other in the Editor's folio MS. Each of these contained a 
stanza not found in the other. What seemed the best readings were 
selected from botli. 

This sons is quoted as very popular in Walton's Compleat Angler, 
rhap. ii. It is more ancient than the ballad of Robin Good-fellow, 
printed below, which yet is supposed to have been written by Ben 

As at noone Dulcina rested 

In her sweete and shady bower 
Came a shepherd and requested 
In her lapp to sleepe an hour. 

But from her looke 5 

A wounde he tooke 
Soo deepe, that for a further boone 

The nymph he prayes. 

Wherto shee sayes, 
" Forgoe me now, come to me soone." 10 

But in vayne shee did conjure him 

To depart her presence soe ; 
Having a thousand tongues to allure him, 
And but one to bid him goe. 

Where lipps invite, 15 

And eyes delight, 
And cheekes, as fresh as rose in Jime, 
Persuade delay ; 
" What boots ? " she say, 
" Forgoe mo now, come to me soone." 20 

THB LADY Isabella's tragedy. 213 

He demands what time for pleasure 
Can there be more fit than now ; 
She sayes, " Night gives love that leysure 
Which the day can not allow." 

He sayes, " The sight 25 

' Improves delight." 
* Which she denies ; " Nights mirkie noone 

In Venus' playes 

Makes bold," shee sayes ; 
"Forgoe me now, come to me soone.'" 30 

But what promise or profession 

From his hands could purchase scope ? 
Who would sell the sweet possession 
Of suche beautye for a hope ? 

Or for the sight 3.5 

Of lingering night 
Foregoe the present joyes of noone ? 

Though ne'er soe faire 

Her speeches were, 
" Forgoe me now, come to me soone.'' 40 

How, at last, agreed these lovers ? 

Shee was fayre and he was young. 
The tongue may tell what th' eye discovers : 
Joyes unseene are never sung. 

Did shee consent, 45 

Or he relent ? 
Accepts he night, or grants shee noone ? 

Left he her a mayd 

Or not ? She sayd, 
" Forgoe me now, come to me soone." 50 


Clje Hatry figaticna'si CragctJm 

This ballad is given from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys Col lec- 
tion, collated with another in the British Museum, H. 2l13, folio. It is 
there entitled, "The Lady Isabella's Tragedy, or the Step-Mother's 


Cruelty; beiug a relation of a lamentable and cruel murtber, com- 
mitted on the body of the lady Isabella, the only daughter of a noblo 
Duke, &c. To the tune of The Lady's Fall." To some copies are 
annexed eight more modem stanzas, entitled, " The Dutchess's and 
Cook's Lamentation." 

There was a lord of worthy fame, 

And a hunting he would ride, 
Attended by a noble train e 

Of gentrye by his side. 

And while he did in chase remaine, 5 

To see both sport and playe, 
His ladye went, as she did feigne, 

Unto the church to praye. 

This lord he had a daughter deare, 

Whose beauty shone so bright, 10 

She was belov'd, both far and neare, 

Of many a lord and knight. 

Fair Isabella was she call'd, 

A creature faire was shee ; 
She was her fathers only joye ; 15 

As you shall after see. 

Therefore her cruel step-mother 

Did envye her so much, 
That daye by daye she sought her life, 

Her malice it was such. 20 

She bargain'd with the master-cook 

To take her life awaye ; 
And taking of her daughters book. 

She thus to her did saye : — 

" Go home, sweet daughter, I thee praye, 25 

Go hasten prcsentlie, 
And tell unto the master-cook 

These wordes that I tell thee. 

" And bid him dresse to dinner streight 

That faire and milk-white doe 30 

That in the park d(jth shine so bright, 
There's none so faii-o to showe." 


This ladye fearing of no harme, 

Obey'cl her mothers will ; 
And presentlye she hasted home, 35 

Her pleasure to fulfill. 

She streight into the kitchen went, 

Her message for to tell ; 
And there she spied the master-cook, 

Who did with malice swell. 40 

'' Nowe, master-cook, it must be soe. 

Do that which I thee tell ; 
You needes must dresse the milk-white doe, 

Which you do knovve full well." 

Then streight his cruell bloody e hands, 45 

He on the ladye layd ; 
Who quivering and shaking stands. 

While thus to her he sayd : 

" Thou art the doe that I must dresse ; 

See here, behold my knife ; 50 

For it is pointed presently 

To ridd thee of thy life." 

" then," cried out the scullion-boy e. 

As loud as loud might bee, 
" save her life, good master-cook, 55 

And make your pyes of mee ! 

" For pityes sake do not destroye 

My ladye with your knife ; 
You know shee is her father's joye. 

For Christes sake save her life ! " 60 

" I will not save her life," he sayd, 

" Nor make my pyes of thee ; 
Yet if thou dost this deed bewraye, 

Thy butcher I will bee." 

Now when this lord he did come home 65 

For to sit downe and eat, 
He called for his daughter deare, 

To come and carxe his meat. 


" Now sit you downe," his ladye sayd, 

" sit you downe to meat ; 70 

Into some nunnery she is gone ; 
Your daughter deare forget." 

Then solemnlye he made a vowe 

Before the compauie, 
That he wouhl neither eat nor drinke, 75 

Until he did her see. 

then bespake the scullion-boye, 
With a loud voice so hye ; 

" If now you will your daughter see, 

My lord, cut up that j)ye : 80 

" Wherein her fleshe is minced small, 

And parched with the fire ; 
All caused by her step-mother, 

Who did her death desire. 

" And cursed bee the master-cook, 85 

O cursed may he bee ! 

1 proflfered him my own heart's blood, 

From death to set her free." 

Then all in blacke this lord did moume, 

And for his daughters sake, 90 

He judged her cruell step-mother 
To be burnt at a stake. 

Likewise he judg'd the master- cook 

In boiling lead to stand, 
And made the simple scullion-boye 95 

The heire of all his land. 

m)t SJuc auU Cin after CupftJ. 

This Bong is a kind of translation of a pretty poem of Tasso's, c-alled 
Amore fuggitivo, f^enerally iirintid witli liis Amintaf aud originally 
imitated from the first Idyllium of Moschus. 


It is extracted from Ben Jonson's Masque at the marriage of Loid 
Viiicount Hadington, on Shrove-Tuesday, 1608. One stanza, full of 
dry mythology, is here omitted, as it had been dropt in a copy of thid 
Bong printed in a small volume, called Le Prince d'Amour. Lond. 
1660. 8vo. 

Beauties, have yee seen a toy, 

Called Love, a little boy, 

Almost naked, wanton, blinde ; 

Cruel now, and then as kinde ? 

If he bee amongst yee, say ; 5 

He is Venus' run away. 

Shee, that will but now discover 

Where the winged wag doth hover, 

Shall to-night receive a kisse, 

How, and where herselfe would wish ; 10 

But who brings him to his mother 

Shall have that kisse, and another. 

Markes he hath about him plentie ; 

You may know him among twentie ; 

All his body is a fire, 15 

And his breath a flame entire, 

Which being shot, like lightning, in, 

Wounds the heart but not the skin. 

Wings he hath, which though yee clip, 

He will leape from lip to lip, 20 

Over liver, lights, and heart ; 

Yet not stay in any part. 

And, if chance his arrow misses, 

He will shoot himselfe in kisses. 

He doth beare a golden bow, 25 

And a quiver hanging low, 

Full of arrowes which outbrave 

Dian's shafts ; where, if he have 

Any head more sharpe than other, 

With that first he strikes his mother. 30 

Still the fairest are his fuell, 
When his daies are to be cruell ; 


Lovers hearts arc all his food, 

And his baths their warmest bloud ; 

Nought but wouuds his hand doth season, 35 

And he hates none like to Reason. 

Trust him not ; his words, though sweet, 

Seldome with his heart doe meet ; 

All his practice is deceit ; 

Everie gift is but a bait ; 40 

Not a kisse but poyson beares ; 

And most treason's in his teares. 

Idle minutes are his raigne ; 

Then the straggler makes his gaine 

By presenting maids with toyes, 45 

And would have yee thinke 'hem joyes ; 

'Tis the ambition of the elfe 

To have all cliildish as himselfe. 

If by these yee please to know him, 

Beauties, be not nice, but show him. 50 

Though yee had a wall to hide him, 

Now, we hope, yee'le not abide him, 

Since yee heare this falser 's play. 

And that he is Venus' rtm-away. 


'€{)t iiing of jFianct'^ Qaugl^tfr. 

The story of this ballad seems to be taken from an incident in the 

domestic liistorj' of Cliarh s the Bald, king of France. Hia daughter 
Judith was betrothed to Ethehvuliih, king of England : but before the 
marriage was consummated, Ktliclwulpli died, and she returned to 
France; whence she was carried off by iJaldwin, Forester of Flanders; 
who, after many crosses and ditliculties, at length obtained the king's 
consent to their marriage, and was made Earl of Flanders. This 
happened about a. d. SG3. — bee Ivapin, llenault, and the French historians. 
'J'he following copy is given from the Editor's anci(!nt folio MS. 
collated with anotiier in black-h tter in the Pepys Collection, entitled, 
" An excellent IJallad of a prince of England's courtship to the king 
of France s daughter, &c. To the tuue of Crimson Velvet." 


Many breaches having been made in this old song by the hand (if 
time, principally (as might be expected) in the quick returns of the 
rhyme, an attempt is here made to repair them. 

In the clayes of old, 

When faire France did flourish, 
Storyes plaine have told 

Lovers felt annoye. 
The queene a daughter bare, 5 

"Whom beautye's queene did nourish ; 
She was lovelye faire, 

She was her fathers joye. 

A prince of England came, 

Whose deeds did merit fame, 10 

But he was exil'd and outcast ; 
Love his soul did fire, 
Shee granted his desire, 

Their hearts in one were linked fast. 
Which when her father proved, 15 

Sorely e he was moved 

And tormented in his miude. 

He sought for to prevent them, 
And, to discontent them, — 

Fortune cross'd these lovers kinde. 20 

When these princes twaine 

Were thus barr'd of pleasure. 
Through the kinges disdaine, 

Which their joyes withstoode, 
The lady soone prepar'd 25 

Her Jewells and her treasure. 
Having no regard 

For state and royall bloode. 
In homelye poore array 
She went from court away, 30 

To meet her joye and hearts delight ; 
Who in a forrest great 
Had taken up his seat, 

To wayt her coming in the night. 
But, lo ! what sudden danger, 35 

To this princely stranger. 


Chanced as he sate alone ! 
By outlawes he was robbed, 
And with ponyards stabbed, 

Uttering many a dying grone. 40 

The princesse, arm'd by love, 

And by chaste defjire, 
All the night did rove 

Without dread at all, 
Still unknowne, she past 45 

In her strange attire. 
Coming at the last 

Within echoes call. — 
" You faire woods," quoth shee, 
" Honoured may you bee, 50 

Harbouring my hearts delight, 
Which encompass here 
My joye and only deare. 

My trustyc friend, and comelye knight. 
Sweete, I come unto thee, 55 

Sweete, I come to woo thee 

That thou mayst not angry bee 
For my long delaying; 
For thy curtcous staying 

Soone amcndcs He make to thee." 6C 

Passing thus alone 

Through the silent forest, 
Many a grievous grone 

Sounded in her eares ; 
She heard one comjilayne 65 

And lament the sorest, 
Seeming all in payne, 

Shedding deadly teares. 
" Farewell, my deare," quoth hec, 
" Whom I must never see, 70 

For why, my life is att an end 
Through villaines crueltye ; 
For thy sweet sake I dyi', 

To show I am a faith full friend. 
Here I lye a bleeding, 75 

While my thoughts are feeding 


On the rarest beaiitye found. 
hard haj)p that may be ! 

Little knowes my Lidye 
My heartes-blood lyes on the ground." 80 

With that a grone he sends 

Which did burst in sunder 
All the tender bands 

Of his gentle heart. 
She, who knewe his voice, 85 

At his wordes did wonder ; 
All her former joyes 

Did to griefe convert. 
Strait she ran to see 
Who this man shold bee, 90 

That soe like her love did seeme ; 

Her lovely lord she found 
Lye slaine upon the ground, 

Smear'd with gore a ghastlye streame. 
Which his lady spying, 95 

Shrieking, fainting, crying. 

Her sorrows could not uttered bee ; 
" Fate," she cryed, " too cruell ! 
For thee — my dearest Jewell, 

Would God ! that I had dyed for thee." 100 

His pale lippes, alas ! 

Twentye times she kissed, 
And his face did wash 

With her trickling teares ; 
Every gaping wound 105 

Tenderlye she pressed, 
And did wipe it round 

With her golden haires. 
" Speake, fair love," quoth shee, 
" Speake, faire prince, to mee ; 110 

One sweete word of comfort give ; 
Lift up thy deare eyes, 
Listen to my cryes, 

Thinke in what sad griefe I live." 
All in vaine she sued, 115 

All in vaine she wooed, 


The prince's life was fled and gone ; 
There stood she still mourning 
Till the suns retourning, 

And bright day was coming on. 12C 

In this great distresse 

Weeping, wayling ever, 
Oft shoe cryed, alas I 

" What will become of mee ? 
To my fathers court 125 

I returne will never, 
But in lowlye sort 

I will a servant bee." 
While thus she made her mone, 
Weeping all alone, 130 

In this deepe and deadly c feare : 
A fors'ter all in greene. 
Most comelye to be scene, 

Ranging the woods did find her there. 
Moved with her sorrowe, 135 

" Maid," quoth hee, " good morrowe. 
What hard hajip has brought thee here?" 

" Harder happ did never 

Two kiudc hearts dissever; 
Here lies slaine my brother deare. 140 

" Where may I remaine, 

Gentle for'stcr, shew me, 
'Till I can obtaine 

A service in my neede ? 
Paines I will not sjiare ; 145 

This kiude favour doe mco, 
It will ease my care ; 

Heaven shall be thy meede." 
The for'stcr all amazed, 
On her bcautye gazed, 150 

Till his heart was sot on fire : 
" If, faire maid," quoth hee, 
"You will goe with mcc. 

You shall have your hearts desire." 
He l)r()Ught lier to his mother, 166 

And above all other 


He sett forth this maidens praise. 
Long was his heart inflamed, 
At length her love he gained, 

And fortune crown'd his future dayes. 160 

Thus unknowne he wedde 

With a kings faire daughter ; 
Children seven they had, 

Ere she told her birth, 
Which when once he knew, 165 

Humblye he besought her, 
He to the world might shew 

Her rank and priucelye worth. 
He cloath'd his children then, 
(Not like other men) 170 

In partye-colours strange to see ; 
The right side cloth of gold, 
The left side to behold 

Of woollen cloth still framed hee. ' 
Men thereatt did wonder, 175 

Golden fame did thunder 

This strange deede in every place ; 
The King of France came thither. 
It being pleasant weather. 

In those woods the hart to chase. 180 

The children then they bring. 

So their mother will'd it. 
Where the royall king 

Must of force come bye 
Their mothers riche array 185 

Was of crimson velvet ; 

' This will remind the reader of the livery and device of Charles Bran- 
don, a private gentleman, who married the Queen-dowager of France, 
sister of Henry VIII. At a tournament which he held at his wedding, the 
trappings of his horse were half cloth of gold, and half frieze, with the 
following motto : 

" Cloth of Gold, do not despise, 
Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Friae ; 
Cloth of Frize, be not too bold, 
Tho' thou art i^atcht with Cloth of Gold." 

See Sir W. Temple's Misc. vol. iii. p. 350. 


Their fathers all of gray, 

Scemelye to the eye. 
Then this famous king, 
Noting every thing, 190 

Askt how he durst be so bold 
To let his wife soe weare, 
Anrl decke his children there 

In costly robes of pearl and gold. 
The forrester replying, 195 

And the cause descrying, ^ 

To the king these words did say, 
" Well may they, by their mother, 
Weare rich clothes with other. 

Being by birth a princesse gay." 200 

The king aroused thus, 

More heedfullye beheld them, 
Till a crimson blush 

His remembrance crost. 
" The more I fix my mind 205 

On thy wife and children, 
The more methinks I find 

The daughter which I lost." 
Falling on her knee, 
" I am that child," quoth shoe, 210 

" Pardon mec, my soveraine liege ! " 
The king perceiving this 
His daughter deare did kiss. 

While joyfull teares did stopp his speeche. 
With liis traine he tourned, 215 

And with them sojourned ; 

Strait ho dubb'd her husband knight ; 
Then made him Erie of Flanders, 
\nd chiefe of his commanders ;— 

Thus were their sorrowes put to flight. 220 

• ». e. descnbiag. — See Gloss. 



Cijt biuret i^cglect. 

is little madrigal (extracted from Ben Jonson's Silent Woman, 
act i. sc. 1, first acted in 1609) is in imitation of a Latin poum printed 
Rt tlie end of the vafiornm edit, of Petronius, beginning, '' Stinpti 
mwiditias, semper Basilissa, decuras," &c. See Whalley's Ben Jonsun. 
vol. ii. p. 420. 

Still to be neat, still to be drest, 

As you were going to a feast ; 

Still to be poud'red, still perfum'd ; 

Lady, it is to be I3resum"d, 

Though art's hid causes are not found, 5 

All is not sweet, all is not sound. 

Give me a looke, give me a face 

That makes simplicitie a grace ; 

Eobes loosely flowing, haire as free : 

Such sweet neglect more taketh me 10 

Than all th' adulteries of art 

That strike mine eyes, but not my heart. 

€i)c CijtHjrfiT lit tijc UHooti. 

The subject of this very popular ballad (wliich has been sot in so 
favourable a light by the Spectator, No. 85) seems to be taken from 
an old pliiy, entitled, "Two lamentable Tragedies; the one of the 
murder of Maister Beech, a chandler in Tliames-streete, &c. The 
other of a young child murtlsered in a wood by two ruffins. with the 
consent of his unklt. By Bob. Yarrington, IGOl, 4to." Our ballad- 
maker h:is strictly followed the play in the description of the father 
and mother's dying charge : in the uncle's pi-nmise to take care of 
their issue : his hiring two ruffians to destroy his ward, under pretence 
of sending him to fcchool : their choosing a wood to perpetrate the 
murder in: one of the ruffians ivleuting, and a battle ensuing, &c. In 
other respects he has depaited from the play. In the latter, the scene 
IS laid in Padua : there is but one child, which is murdered by » 
Budden stab of the unrelenting ruiSan : he is slain himself by his lest 


bloody compiinioii ; but ere he flies he gives the dtlur a mortal wouud : 
tlie latter living just long enough to impciicli tlie uncle ; who, in con- 
sequence of thi.s impeachment, is arraigned anil executed by the hand 
of justice, &c. Whoever compares the play with the ballad, will 
nave no doubt but the ibrmer is the original : the language is far 
more obsolete, and such a vein of simplicity runs tlirough the whole 
performance, that, had the ballad been written first, there is no doubt 
but every circumstance of it would have been received into the di-ama : 
whereas this was probably built on some Italian novel. 

Printed from two ancient copies, one of them in black-letter in the 
Pepys collection. Its title at large is. — " The Ciiildren in the Wood : 
or, the Norfolk Gentleman's Last Will and Testament: to the tune of 
Rogero, &c." 

Now ponder well, you parents cleare, 

These wordes wliicli I shall write ; 
A doleful story you shall lieare, 

In time brought forth to light. 
A gentleman of good account 5 

In Norfolke dwelt of late, 
Who did in honour far surmount 

Most men of his estate. 

Sore sicke he was, and like to dye, 

No helpe his life could save ; 10 

His wife by him as sicke did lye, 

And both possest one grave. 
No love between these two was lost. 

Each was to other kinde ; 
In love they liv'd, in love they dyed, 15 

And left two babes behinde : 

The one a fine and pretty boy, 

Not passing three ycarcs olde ; 
The other a girl more young than he 

And frani'd in bcautyes molde. 20 

The father left his little son, 

As plainlye doth apjiearc, 
When he to perfect age should come, 

Three hundred jioundes a year 

And to his little dauglitcr Jane 25 

Five hundred pouudes in gold, 
To be paid downe on marriage-day. 

Which might not be coutroll'd : 


But if the children chance to dye, 

Ere they to age should come, 30 

Their uncle should possesse their wealth ; 

For so the Aville did run. 

" Now, brother," said the dying man, 

" Look to my children deare ; 
Be good unto my boy and girl, 35 

No friendes else have they here : 
To God and you I recommend 

My children deare this daye ; 
But little while be sure we have 

Within this world to staye. 40 

" You must be father and mother both, 

And uncle all in one ; 
God knowes what will become of them, 

When I am dead and gone." 
With that bespake their mother deare, 45 

" brother kinde," quoth shee, 
" You are the man must bring our babes 

To wealth or miserie : 

" And if you keep them carefully. 

Then God will you reward ; 60 

But if you otherwise should deal, 

God will your deedes regard." 
With lippes as cold as any stone. 

They kist their children small : 
*' God bless you both, my children deare ; '' 56 

With that the teares did fall. 

These speeches then their brother spake 

To this sicke couple there : 
" The keeping of your little ones, 

Sweet sister, do not feare. 60 

God never prosper me nor mine, 

Nor aught else that I have. 
If I do wrong your children deare. 

When you are layd in grave." 

Q 2 


The parents beiug dead and gone, 66 

Tlie children home he takes, 
And bringes them straite unto his house, 

Where much of them he makes. 
He had not kept these pretty babes 

A twelvemontli and a daye, 70 

But, for their wealth, he did devise 

To make them both awaye. 

He bargained with two ruffians strong, 

Which were of furious mood. 
That they should take these children young, 75 

And slaye them in a wood. 
He told his wiie an artful tale : 

He would the children send 
To be brought up in faire London, 

With one that was his friend. 80 

Away then went those pretty babes, 

Rejoycing at that tide, 
Eejoycing with a merry minde. 

They should on cock-horse ride. 
Tliey prate and prattle pleasantly, 85 

As they rode on the waye, 
To those that should their butchers be, 

And worke their lives decaye : 

So that the pretty specche they had. 

Made Murder's heart relent : 'JO 

And they that undertooke the deed, 

Full sore did now repent. 
Yet one of them more hard of heart 

Did vowe to do his charge. 
Because the wretch, that hired him, 95 

Had paid him very large. 

The other won't agree thereto. 

So here they fall to strife ; 
With one another they did fight, 

About the childreus life : IOC 


And lie that was of mildest mood, 

Did slaye the other there, 
Within an unfrequented wood ; 

The babes did quake for feare ! 

He took the children by the hand, 105 

Teares standing in their eye. 
And bade them straitwaye follow him. 

And look they did not crye : 
And two long miles he ledd them on. 

While they for food complaine : 110 

' Staye here,'' quoth he, " I'll bring you bread. 

When I come back againe." 

These pretty babes, with hand in hand. 

Went wandering up and downe ; 
But never more could see the man 115 

Approaching from the town : 
Their prettye lippes with black-berries. 

Were all besmeared and dyed, 
And when they sawe the darksome night. 

They sat them downe and cryed. 120 

Thus wandered these poor innocents, 

Till deathe did end their grief. 
In one anothers armes they dyed, 

As wanting due relief : 
No burial ' this ' pretty ' pair ' 125 

Of any man receives, 
Till Robin-red-breast piously 

Did cover them with leaves. 

And now the heavy wrathe of God 

Upon their uncle fell ; 130 

Yea, fearfuU fiends did haunt his house, 

His conscience felt an hell ; 
His barnes were fir'd, his goodes consum'd, 

His lands were barren made, 
His cattle dyed within the field, 135 

And nothing with him stayd. 

Ver. 125, these . . babes, pp.c. 


And in a voyage to Portugal 

Two of Lis sonncs did dye ; 
And to conclude, himselfe was brought 

To want and miserye : 140 

He pawn'd and mortgaged all Lis land 

Ere seven yeares came about, 
And now at length this wicked act 

Did by this meanes come out : 

The fellowe, that did take in hand 145 

These children for to kill, 
Was for a robbery judg'd to dye, 

Such was God's blessed will : 
Who did confess the very truth, 

As here hath been display 'd : 150 

Their uncle having dyed in gaol, 

Where he for debt was layd. 

You that executors be made, 

And overseers eke 
Of children that be fatherless, 155 

And infants mild and meek ; 
Take you example by this thing, 

And yield to each his right, 
Lest God with such like miserye 

Your wicked minds rec[uite. 1 60 


SI Eobcr of ?Iatc. 
Printed, with a few slight corrections, from the Editor's folio MS. 

A LOVER of late was I, 

For Cupid would liave it see, 
The boy that hath never an eye, 
As every man doth know. 
I sighed, and sol^bed, and crycd, alas I 
For her that laught and called me ass. 


Then knew not I wbat to doe 

When I saw itt was in vaine 
A lady soe coy to wooe, 

Who gave me the asse so phxine. 10 

Yet wonld I her asse freelye bee, 
Soe shee would helpe and beare with niee. 

An I were as faire as shee, 

Or shee were as kind as I, 
What payre cold have made, as wee, 15 

Soe prettye a sympathye ? 
I was as kind as she was faire, 
But for all this wee cold not paire. 

Paire with her that will, for mee ! 

With her I will never paire 2C 

That cunningly can be coy, 
For being a little faire. 
The asse He leave to her disdaine, 
And now I am myselfe againe. 

Ver. 13, faine. MS. 


Ci)c lahta antJ tlje ^Killer of :iHansificItr. 

It has been a favourite subject with our English ballad-makers, to 
represent our kings conversing, eitlier by accident or design, with the 
meanest of their subjects. Of the former kind, besides the song of the 
King and the Miller, we have King Henry and the Soldier; King 
James I. and the Tinker; King William HI. and th,e Forests, &c. 
Of the latter sort are Khig Alfred and the Shepherd ; King Edward IV. 
and the Tanner ; King Henry VIII. and the Gobbler, &c. — A few of 
the best of these are admitted into this Collection. Both the author 
of the following ballad, and others who have written on the same plan, 
seem to have copied a very ancient poem, entitled Jolm the Reeve, 
which is built on an adventure of the same kind, that happened 
between King Edward Longshanks and one of his reeves or bailiffs. 
This is a piece of great antiquity, being written before the time of 
Edward the Fourth, and for its genuine humour, diverting incidents, 
and faithful picture of rustic manners, is infinitely superior to all that 
have been since written in imitation of it. The Editor h:is a copy in 
his ancient folio MS., but its length rendered it improper for tbia 


Volume, it consisting of more tlian 900 Uik^s. It contains also ?oine 
corruptions and tho Eilitor chooses to defer its publication, in hopes 
that some time or other he shall be able to remove them. 

The following is printed, with corrections, from the Editor's folio 
MS. collated with an old black-letter copy in the I'epys collection, 
entitled, '-A pleasant ballad of King Henry II. and tho Miller of 
Mansfield," &c. 


Henry, our royal 1 king, would ride a bunting 

To the greene forest so pleasant and fairc ; 
To see the harts skipping, and dainty does tripping, 

Unto merry Sherwood his nobles repaire : 
Hawke and bound were unbound, all things prepar'd 5 

For the game, in the same, with good regard. 

All a long summers day rode the king pleasantlye. 

With all his princes and nobles echo one ; 
Chasing the hart and hind, and the bucke gallantlye. 

Till the dark evening forc'd all to turne home. IC 

Then at last, riding fast, be had lost quite 
All his lords in the wood, late in the night. 

Wandering thus wearilye, all alone, up and downe, 

With a rude miller he mett at the last ; 
Asking the ready way unto faire Nottingham, 15 

'■ Sir," quoth the miller, " I meane not to jest, 
Yet I thinke, what I thinke, sooth for to say ; 
You doe not lightlye ride out of your way." 

" Why, what dost thou think of mo," quoth our king merrily, 
" Passing thy judgment upon me so briefe ? " 20 

" Good faith," sayd the miller, " I meane not to flatter thee, 
I guess thee to bee but some gentleman thiefe ; 

Stand thee backe, in the darke ; light not adowne, 

Lest that I presently crack thy knaves crowne." 

" Thou dost abuse me much," quoth the king, ■' saying 
thus ; 25 

I am a gentleman ; lodging I lacke." 
" Thou hast not," quoth th' miller, "one groat in thy purse 

All thy inheritance hanges on thy backe." 
" I have gold to discharge all that I cull ; 
If it bo forty pence, I will pay all." 30 


" If tliou beest a true man," then quotli the miller, 
" I sweare by my toll-dish, I'll lodge thee all night." 

" Here's my hand," quoth the king, " that was I ever." 
" Nay, soft," quoth the miller, "thou may'st be a sprite. 

Better I'll know thee, ere hands we will shake ; 35 

With none but honest men hands will I take." 

Thus they went all along unto the millers house, 
Where they were seething of puddings and souse , 

The miller first enter'd in, after him went the king ; 

Never came hee in soe smoakye a house, 40 

" Now," quoth hee, " let me see here what you are." 

Quoth our king, " Looke your fill, and do not spare." 

" I like well thy countenance, thou hast an honest face : 
With my son Eichard this night thou shalt lye." 

Quoth his wife, "By my troth, it is a handsome youth, 45 
Yet it's best, husband, to deal warilye. 

Art thou no run-away, prythee, youth, tell ? 

Shew me thy passport, and all shal be well." 

Then our king presentlye, making lowe courtesye, 

With his hatt in his hand, thus he did say ; 50 

" I have no passport, nor never was servitor, 
But a poor coui'tyer rode out of my way : 

And for your kindness here offered to mee, 

I will requite you in everye degree." 

Then to the miller his wife whisper'd secretlye, 55 

Saying, " It seemeth, this youth's of good kin, 

Both by his apparel, and eke by his manners ; 
To turne him out, certainlye were a great sin." 

" Yea," quoth hee, '• you may see he hath some grace. 

When he doth speake to his betters in place." '')0 

"Well," quo' the millers wife, "young man, ye're welcome 
here ; 

And, though I say it, well lodged shall be : 
Fresh straw will I have, laid on thy bed so brave 

And good brown hempen sheets likewise," quoth shee. 
" Aye," quoth the good man ; " and when that is done, G5 
Thou shalt lye with no worse than our own sonne." 


"Nay, first," (luoth Richard, " gocMl-fcllowe, tell me true, 
Hast thou noe cree2)ers within thy gay hose? 

Or art thou not troubled with the scabbado ? " 

" I pray," quotli the king, " what creatures are those ? " 70 

" Art thou not lowsy, nor scabby ? " quoth he : 

" If thou bcest, surely thou lyest not with nice." 

This caus'd the king, suddenlye, to laugb most heartilye, 
Till the tcares trickled fast downe from his eyes. 

Then to their supper were they set orderlye, 75 

With hot bag-puddings, and good apple-pyes ; 

Nappy ale, good and stale, in a browne bowle, 

Which did about the board merriiye trowle. 

" Here," quoth the miller, " good fellowe, I drinke to thee, 
And to all 'cuckholds, wherever they bee.' " 80 

" I pledge thee," quoth our king, " and thauke thee heartilye 
For my good welcome in everye degree : 

And here, in like manner, I drinke to thy sonne." 

" Do then," quoth Richard, '■ and quicke let it come." 

" Wife," quoth the miller, " fetch me forth lightfoote, 85 

And of his sweetuesse a little we'll taste." 
A fair ven'son pastye brought she out presentlye, 

" Bate," qucjth tlie miller, " but, sir, make no waste. 
Here's dainty lightfoote ! " " In faith," sayd the king, 
" I never before eat so daintye a thing." 90 

" I-wis," quoth Richard, " no daintye at all it is, 

For we doe cate of it everye day." 
" In what place," sayd our king, " may be bought like to 
this ? " 

" We never pay pennye for itt, by my fay : 
From merry Slierwood wc fetch it home here ; 95 

Now and then we make bold with our kings deer." 

'• Then I thinkc," sayd our king, '' that it is venison." 

" Echo foolo," quoth Richard, " full well may know that ; 

Never aro wee witliout two or tliree in the roof, 

Very well fleshed, and excellent fat : IOC 

But, prythce, say nothing wherever thou goo ; 

Wc would not, for two pence, the king should it knowe." 

Ver. 80, courtnalls, that courteous be. MS. and I'.c. 


" Doubt not," then sayd the king, " my promist secresye ; 

The king shall never know more ou't for mee." 
A cupp of lambs-wool they dranke unto him then, 105 

And to their bedds they past presentlie. 
The nobles, next morning, went all up and down, 
Por to seeke out the king in everye towne. 

At last, at the millers ' cott,' soone they espy'd him out, 
As he was mounting upon his faire steede ; 110 

To whom they came presently, falling down on their knee ; 
Which made the millers heart wofully bleede ; 

Shaking and quaking, before him he stood, 

Thinking he should have been hang'd, by the rood. 

The king perceiving him fearfully trembling, 115 

Drew forth his sword, but nothing he sed : 
The miller downe did fall, crying before them all, 

Doubting the king would have cut off his head. 
But he his kind courtesye for to requite, 
Gave him great living, and dubb'd him a knight. 120 


When as our royall king came home from Nottingham, 

And with his nobles at Westminster lay, 
Recounting the sports and pastimes they had taken, 

In this late progress along on the way. 
Of them all, great and small, lie did protest, 5 

The miller of Mansfield's sport liked him best. 

" And now, my lords," quoth the king, " I am determined 

Against St. Georges next sumptuous feast. 
That this old miller, our new confirm'd knight. 

With his son Richard, shall here be my guest : 10 

For, in this merryment, 'tis my desire 
To talke with the jolly knight, and the young squire." 

When as the noble lords saw the kinges pleasantness. 
They were right joyfull and glad in their hearts : 

A pursuivant there was sent straighte on the business, 15 
The which had often-times been in those parts. 

When he came to the place where they did dwell, 

His message orderlye then 'gan he tell, 


*' God save your worshippe," tlicn said the messenger, 

" And grant your ladye her own hearts desire ; 20 

And to your soune Richard good fortune and happiness, 
That sweet, gentle, and gallant young squire. 

Our king greets you well, and thus he doth say, 

You must come to the court on St. George's day. 

" Therefore, in any case, faile not to bo in place." 25 

" I-wis," quoth the miller, " this is an odd jest : 

What should we doe there ? faith, I am halfo afraid." 
" I doubt," quoth Richard, " to be hang'd at the least." 

" Nay," quoth the messenger, " you doe mistake ; 

Our king he provides a great feast for your sake." 30 

Then sayd the miller, " By my troth, messenger, 
Thou hast contented my woishippe full well: 

Hold, here are three farthings, to quite thy gentleness, 
For these happy tydings which thou dost tell. 

Let me see, hear thou mee ; tell to our king, 35 

We'll wayt on his mastershii^iJ in everye thing." 

The pursuivant smiled at their simplicitye. 
And making many leggs, tooke their reward, 

And his leave taking with great humilitye, 

To the kings court againe he repair'd ; 40 

Shewing unto his grace, merry and free. 

The knightes most iibcrall gift and bountie. 

When he was gone away, thus gan the miller say : 

" Here comes expenses and charges indeed ; 
Now must we needs be brave, tho' we spend all we havo^ 45 

For of new garments we have great need. 
Of horses and serving-men we must have store. 
With bridles and saddles, and twentye things more." 

" Tushe, Sir John," quoth his wife, " why should you frctt 
or fi'owne ? 

You shall ne'er be att no charges for mee ; 50 

For I will turne and trim up my old russet gowne, 

Willi everye thing else as fine as may bee ; 
And on our mill-horses swift we will ride, 
With pillowes and paunells, as we shall provide." 


In this most statelye sort, rodo ^liey unto the c^urt ; 55 

Their jolly sonne Richard rode foremost of all, 

Who set up, for good haji, a cocks feather in his cap, 
And so they jetted downe to the kings hall ; 

The merry old miller with hands on his side ; 

His wife like maid Marian did mince at that tide. 60 

The king and his nobles, that heard of their coming, 
Meeting this gallant knight with his brave traine, 

" Welcome, sir knight," quoth he, " with your gay lady ; 
Good Sir John Cockle, once welcome againe ; 

And so is the squire of courage soe free." 65 

Quoth Dicke, " A bots on you ! do you know mee ? " 

Quoth our king gentlye, " How should I forget thee ? 

Thou wast my owne bed-fellowe, well it I wot." 
" Yea, sir," quoth Eichard, " and by the same token, 

Thou with thy farting didst make the bed hot." 70 

" Thou whore-son unhappy knave," then quoth the knight, 
" Speake cleanly to our king, or else go sh***." 

The king and his courtiers laugh at this heartily, 
While the king taketh them both by the hand ; 

With the court dames and maids, like to the queen of 
spades, 75 

The millers wife did soe orderly stand, 

A milk-maids courtesye at every word ; 

And downe all the folkes were set to the board. 

There the king royally, in princely e majestye, 

Sate at his dinner with joy and delight ; 80 

When they had eaten well, then he to jesting fell. 
And in a bowle of wine dranke to the knight 

" Here's to you both, in wine, ale, and beer ; 

Thanking you heartilye for my good cheer." 

Quoth Sir John Cockle, " I'll pledge you a pottle, 85 

Were it the best ale in Nottinghamshire :" 

V. 57, for good hap : i. e. for good luck ; they were going on an 
hazardous expedition. 

V. 60. Maid Marian, in the Morris dance, was represented by a man in 
woman's clothes, who was to take short steps in order to sustain the femak 


But then sayd our king, " Now I tliiuk of a tiling ; 

Some of your liglitfoote I would we ha'd hero." 
" Ho! ho ! " quoth Kichard, " full well I may say it, 
'Tis knavery to eato it, and then to betray it." 90 

" Why art thoii angry ? " quoth our king merrilye ; 

" In faith, I take it now very unkiud : 
I thought thou wouldst pledge me in ale and wine heartily." 

Quoth Dicke, " You are like to stay till I have din'd : 
You feed us with twatling dishes so small ; 95 

Zounds, a blacke-pudding is better than all." 

" Aye, marry," quoth our king, " that were a daintye thing, 
Could a man get but one here for to eate : " 

With that Dicke straite arose, and pluckt one from his hose, 
Which with heat of his breech gan to sweate. 100 

The king made a proffer to snatch it away : — 

" 'Tis meat for your master : good sir, you must stay." 

Thus in great merriment was the time wholly spent, 

And then the ladyes prepared to dance. 
Old Sir John Cockle, and llichard, incontinent 105 

Unto their places the king did advance. 
Here with the ladyes such sport they did make. 
The nobles with laughing did make their sides ake. 

Many thankes for their paincs did the king give them, 

Asking young Richard then, if he would wed ; 110 

" Among these ladyes free, tell me which likcth thee ? " 
Quoth he, " Jugg Grumball, Sir, with the red head, 

She's my love, she's my life, her will I wed ; 

She hath sworn I shall have her maidenhead." 

Then Sir John Cockle the king call'd unto him, 115 

And of merry Sherwood made him o'er seer. 

And gave him out of hand three huudred pound yearlyo : 
" Take heed now you stcalc no more of my deer ; 

And once a quarter lot's hero have your view ; 

And now. Sir John Cockle, I bid you adieu." 120 



This beautiful old song was -written by a poet, whose name would 
have been utterly forgotten, if it had not been preserved by Swift, aa 
a term of contempt. " Dryden and Wither " are coupled by him like 
the Bavins and MsBvius of Virgil. Dryden, however, has had justice 
done him by posterity and as for Wither, though of subordinate merit, 
that he was not altogether devoid of genius will be judged from the 
following stanzas. The truth is, Wither was a very voluminous party- 
writer ; and as liis political and satii-ical strokes rendered him extremely 
popular in his lifetime, so afterwards, when these were no longer relished, 
they totally consigned his writings to oblivion. 

George Wither was born June 11, 15S8, and in his younger years 
distinguished himself by some pastoral pieces, that were not inelegant ; 
but growing afterwards involved iii the political and religious disputes 
in the times of James I. and Charles I., he employed his poetical vein 
in severe pasquils on the coui-t and clergy, and was occasionally a 
sufferer for the freedom of his pen. In the civil war that ensutd, he 
exerted himself in the service of the Parliament, and became a con- 
siilerable sharer in the spoils. He was even one of those provincial 
tyrants whom Oliver distributed over the kingdom, under the name of 
Major-Gener.ds, and had the fleecing of the county of Surrey; but, 
surviving the Eestoration, he out-lived both his power and his affluence; 
and giving veut to his chagrin in libels on the court, was long a prisoner 
in Newgate and the Tower. He died at length on the 2ud of May, 

During the whole course of his life. Wither was a continual publisher, 
having generally for opponent Taylor the Water-poet. The long 
of his productions may be seen in Wood's Athene Oxon. vol. ii. His 
most popular satire is entitled, Abiises icliipt and stript, 1613. His 
most poetical pieces were eclogue, entitled. The Sliejjhcrd's Hunting, 
1615, 8vo, and others printed at the end of Browne's Shepherd's Pipe, 
1614, 8vo. The following sonnet is extracted from a long pastoral 
piece of his, entitled, The Mistresse of Fhilarete, 1622, Svo, which ig 
said in the preface to be one of the authi.r's first poems ; and may 
theiefore be dated as early as any of the foiegoing. 

Shall I, wasting in dispaire, 

Dye because a woman's faire ? 

Or make pale my cheeks with care 

'Cause another's rosie are ? 

Vie shee fairer than the clay, B 

Or the flowry meads in may ; 
If she be not so to me, 
"What care I how faire shee be ? 

340 TjiK siiephekd's rksolution. 

Shall my foolish heart be pin'J 

'Causo I see a woman kiud ? 10 

Or a well-disposed nature 

Joyned with a lovely feature ? 

Be sliee meeker, kinder than 

The turtle-dove or pelican ; 

If shea be not so to me, 1 5 

What care I how kind shee be ? 

Shall a woman's virtues move 

Me to perish for her love ? 

Or, her well-dcserviugs know-ne, 

Make me quite forget mine owne ? 20 

Be shee with that goodnesse blest 

Which may merit name of Best ; 

If she be not such to mc, 

What care I how good she be ? 

'Cause her fortune seems too high 25 

Shall I play the foole and dye ? 

Those that beare a noble minde, 

Where they want of riches find, 

Tliinke what with them they would doe 

That without them dare to woe ; 30 

And, unlcsse that minde I see, 

What care I how great she be ? 

Great or good, or kind or faire, 

I will ne'er the more dispaire ; 

If she love me, this beleeve : 35 

I will die ere she shall grieve. 

If sho slight me when I wooe, 

I can scorne and let her goe ; 

If she be not ht for me, 

What care I for whom she be ? 40 



8ach is the title given in the Editor's folio MS. to this excellent oM 
ballad, which, in the common printed copies, is inscribed, Eneas, 
Wandering Prince of Troy. It is here given from that MS. collated 
with two different printed copies, both in black-letter, in the Pepys 

The reader will smile to observe with what natural and affecting 
eimplicity our ancient ballad-maker has engrafted a Gotliic conclvsiun 
on the classic story of Virgil, from whom, however, it is probable ha 
had it not. Nor can it be denied, but he has dealt out his poetical 
iustice with a more impartial hand than that celebrated poet. 

When Troy towne had, for ten yeeres ' past,* 

Withstood the Greekes in manfull wise, 
Then did their foes encrease soe fast, 
That to resist none could suflSce : 
Wast lye those walls, that were soe good, 5 

And corne now growes where Troy towne stoode. 

^ueas, wandering prince of Troy, 

When he for land long time had sought, 
At length arriving with great joy, 

To mighty Carthage walls was brought ; 10 

Where Dido queene, with sumptuous feast, 
Did entertaiue that wandering guest. 

And, as in hall at meate they sate, 

The queene, desirous newes to heare, 
' Says, " Of thy Troys unha^jpy fate,' 15 

Declare to me, thou Trojan deare : 
The heavy hap and chance soe bad, 
That thou, poore wandering prince, hast had." 

And then anon this comelye knight, 

\\'ith words demure, as he cold well, 2C 

Of his unhappy ten yeares ' fight,' 
Soe true a tale began to tell. 
With words soe sweete, and sighes soe deepo, 
That oft he made them all to weepe. 

Ver. 1, 21, war. MS. and p.3. 
TOL. U. a 


And then a tLousaud siglies be fet, 25 

And every sigh brought teares amaine ; 
That where be sate the pbice was wett, 

As though be had scene those warrs againe : 
Soe that the queene, with ruth therfore, 
Said, " Worthy prince, enough, no more." 30 

And then the darksome night drew on, 

And twinkling starres the skye bespred. 
When he bis doleful! tale had done. 
And every one was layd in bedd : 
Where they full sweetly tooke their rest, 35 

Save only Dido's boy ling brest. 

This silly woman never slept, 

But in her chamber, all alone. 
As one unhappye, alwayes wept, 

And to the walls shee made her mone ; 40 

That she shold still desire in vaine 
The thing, she never must obtaine. 

And thus in grieffe she spent the night. 

Till twinkling starres the skye were fled, 
And Phcjcbus, with his glistering light, 45 

Through misty cloudes appeared red ; 
Then tidings came to her anon. 
That all the Trojan shipps were gone. 

And then the queene with bloody knife 

Did arme, her hai't as hard as stone ; 50 

Yet, something loth to loose her life. 
In woefuU wise she made lier mone ; 
And, rowling on her carefull bed, 
Witli sighes and sobbs, these words shoe sayd : 

" O wretched Dido queene ! " quoth shee, 55 

" I see thy end apiiroacheth neare ; 
For bee is fled away from thee. 

Whom thou didst love and hold so dearo : 
What, is he gone, and passed by ? 
O hart, prepare thyselfe to dye. 60 


** Though reason says thou shoiildst forbeare. 

And stay thy hand from bloudy stroke, 
Yet fancy bids thee not to fear, 

Which fetter'd thee in Cupids yoke 
Come death," quoth shee, " resolve my smart I " — 65 
And with those words she peerced her hart. 

When death had pierced the tender hart 

Of Dido, Carthaginian queene. 
Whose bloudy knife did end the smart 

Which shee sustain'd in mournfull teene, 70 

^neas being shipt and gone, 
Whose flattery caused all her mone, 

Her funerall most costly made. 

And all things finisht mournfullye, 
Her body fine in mold was laid, 75 

Where itt consumed speedilye : 
Her sisters teares her tombe bestrewde. 
Her subjects griefe their kindnesse shewed. 

Then was JEueas in an ile 

In Grecya, where he stayd long space, 80 

Wheras her sister in short while 
Writt to him to his vile disgrace ; 
In speeches bitter to his mind 
Shee told him plaine he was unkind. 

" False-harted wretch," quoth shee, " thou art ; 85 

And traiterouslye thou hast betraid 
Unto thy lure a gentle hart. 

Which unto thee much welcome made ; 
My sister deare, and Carthage' joy. 
Whose folly bred her deere annoy. 90 

" Yett on her death-bed when shee lay, 

Shee prayd for thy prosperitye, 
Beseeching God, that every day 
Might breed thy great felicitye : 
Thus by thy meanes I lost a friend ; 95 

Heavens send thee such untimely end." 

B 2 

244 QUEEN proo. 

When lie these lines, full fraught with gall. 

Perused had, and wayed them right, 
His lofty courage then did fall ; 

And straight appeared in his sight 100 

Queen Dido's ghost, both grim and pale ; 
Which made this valliant souldier quaile. 

" ^neas," quoth this ghastly ghost, 

" My whole delight, when I did live, 
Thee of all men I loved most; 105 

My fancy and my will did give ; 
For entertainment I thee gave, 
UnthankefuUy thou didst me grave. 

" Therfore prepare thy flitting soule 

To wander with me in the aire, 110 

Where deadlye griefe shall make it howle. 
Because of me thou tookst no care : 
Delay not time, thy glasse is run, 
Tliy date is past, thy life is done." 

" O stay a while, thou lovely sprite, 115 

Be not soe hasty to convay 
My soule into eternall niglit, 

Where itt shall ne're behold bright day : 
doe not frowne ; thy angry looke 
Hath ' all my soule with horror shooke. 120 

" But, woe is me ! all is in vaine, 

And bootless is my dismall crye ; 
Time will not be recalled againe, 

Nor thou surcease before I dye. 

lett me live, and make amends 125 
To some of thy most dearest friends. 

" But seeing thou obdurate art, 

And wilt no pittye on me show, 
Because from thee I did depart. 

And left unpaid wliat I did owe, 130 

1 must content myselfe to take 
What lott to mc thou wilt partake." 

V. 120, MS. Hath made my breath my nts forsooke. 


And thus, as one being in a ti'ance, 

A multitude of uglye feinds 
About this vvofl'ull prince did dance : 135 

He had no belpe of any friends : 
His body then they tooke away, 
And no man knew his dying day. 


From Ben Jonson's Masque of Queens, presented at Whitehall, Feb. 2, 

The Editor thought it incumbent on him to insert some old pieces on 
the popular superstition concerning witclies, hobgoblins, fairies, and 
ghosts. The last of these make their appearance in most of the tragical 
ballads ; and in the following songs will be found some description of 
the former. 

It is true, this Song of the Witches, falling from tlie learned pen of 
Ben Jonson, is rather an extract from the various incantations of classical 
antiquity, than a display of the opinions of our own vulgar. But let 
it be observed, that a parcel of learned wiseacres had just before 
busied themselves on this subject, in compliment to King James I., 
whose weakness on this head is well known : and these had so ransacked 
all writers, ancient and modern, and so blended and kneaded together 
the several superstitions of different times and nations, that those of 
genuine English growth could no longer be traced out and distin- 

By good luck, the whimsical belief of fairies and goblins could 
fiunish no pretences for torturing our fellow-creatures, and therefore 
we have this handed down to us pm-e and unsophisticated. 


" I HAVE been, all day, looking after 

A raven, feeding upon a quarter ; 

And, soone as she turn'd her beak to the south, 

I snatch'd this morsell out of her mouth." 


" I have beene gathering wolves haires, £ 

The madd dogges foames, and adders eares 

The spurging of a deadmans eyes : 

And all since the evening starre did rise," 

24:6 THE witches' SONG. 


" I, last night, lay all alone 

O' the ground to heare the mandrake grone ; 10 

And pluckt him up, though he grew full low : 

And, as I had done, the cocke did crow." 


" And I ha' beene chusing out this scull 

From charnell houses that were full ; 

From private grots and publiko i)its ; 15 

And frighted a sexton out of his wits." 


" Under a cradle I did crepe 

By day ; and, when the childe was a-sleepe 

At night, 1 suck'd the breath, and rose 

And pluck'd the nodding nurse by the nose." 20 


" I had a dagger ; what did I with that ? 

Killed an infant to have his fat. 

A piper it got at a church-alc ; 

I bade him again blow wind i' the taile." 


" A murderer, yonder, was hung in chaines ; 25 

The sunue and the wind had shrunke his veines ; 

I bit off a sinew ; I clipp'd his haire ; 

I brought off his ragges that dauc'd i' the ayre." 


" The scrich-owles egges and tlie feathers blacks, 

The bloud of the frogge, and the bone in his backs 30 

I have been getting ; and made of his skin 

A purset, to keepe Sir Cranion in." 


" And I ha' beene plucking ([)lants among) 

Hemlock, henbane, adders-tongue, 

Night-shade, moonc-wort, libbards-bane ; 35 

And twise by the dogges was like to be tane." 


10 WITCH. 

" I, from the jawea of a gardiner's bitcli, 

Did snatch these bones, and then leap'd the ditch ; 

Yet went I back to the house againe, 

Kill'd the blacke cat, and here is the braino." 40 

11 WITCH, 

" I went to the toad breedes under the wall, 

I charmed him out, and he came at my call ; 

I scratch'd out the eyes of the owle before ; 

I tore the batts wing, — what would you have more ? " 


" Yes, I have brought, to helpe your vows, 45 

Horned poppie, cypresse boughes. 

The fig-tree wild that growes on tombes, 
And juice that from the larch-tree comes, 
The basiliskes bloud, and the vipers skin : — 
And now our orgies let's begin." 50 


%ohin #oot(^-drclloiD. 

Alias Pucke, alias Hobgoblin, in the creed of ancient superstition, was 
a kind of merry sprite, whose character and achievements are recorded 
in this ballad, and in those well-known lines of Milton's U Allegro, 
which the antiquarian Peck supposes to be owing to it : 

" Tells how the drudging Goblin swet 
To earn his creame-bowle duly set : 
When in one night, ere glimpse of morne, 
His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn 
That tea day-labourers could not end ; 
Then lies him down the lubber fiend, 
And stretch'd out all the chimneys length, 
Bask at the fire his hairy strength, 
And crop-full out of doors he flings, 
Ere the first cock his matins rings." 

The reader will observe, that our siraple ancestors had reduced all 
these whimsies to a kind of eystein, as regular, and perhaps more 


consistent, than many parts of classic mythology: a proof of the 
txtensive influence and vast antiquity of these superstitions. Man- 
kind, and especially the common people, could not everywhere have 
been so unanimously aprreed concerning these arbitrary notions, if 
they had not prevailed among them for many ages. Indeed, a learned 
Iriend in Wales assures the Editor, that the existence of fairies and 
<.oblins is alluded to by the ancient British bards, who mention 
I hem under various names, one of the most common of which signifies 
" The spirits of the mountains." See also preface to Song xxv. 

This song, which Peck attributes to Ben Jonson (though it is not 
found among his works), is chiefly printed from an ancient black-letter 
copy in the British Museum. It seems to have been originally intended 
for some Masque. 

This ballad is entitled, in the old black-letter copies, " The merry 
Pranks of Eobin Goodfellow. To the tune of Dulcina," &c. (See No. 
xiv. above.) 

Fkom Obcron, in fairye land, 

The king of ghosts and sliadowes there, 
Mad Robin J, at his command. 

Am sent to viewe the night-sports here. 

What revell rout 5 

Is kept about. 
In every corner where I go, 

I will o'ersee, 

And merry bee. 
And make good sport, with ho, ho, ho ! 10 

More swift than lightening can I flye 

About this aery welkin soone. 
And, in a minutes space, descrye 

Each thing that's done belowe the moone. 

There's not a liag 15 

Or ghost shall wag 
Or cry, " Ware Goblins !" where I go, 

But liobiu I 

Their feates will spy, 
And send them home, with ho, ho, ho ! 20 

Whene'er such wanderers I mcete, 

As from their night-sports they trudge home, 
With counterfeiting voice I greeto 
And call tliem on with me to roamo 

Thro' vv()od>;, thro' lakes, 26 

Thro' bogs, thro' brakes ; 


Or else, unseene, with them I go, 

All in the nicke 

To play some tricke 
And frolicke it, with ho, ho, ho ! 30 

Sometimes I meete them like a man ; 

Sometimes, an ox ; sometimes, a hound ! 
And to a horse I turn me can, 

To trip and trot about them round. 

But if, to ride, 35 

My backe they stride. 
More swift than wind away I go, 

Ore hedge and lands. 

Thro' pools and ponds 
I whirry, laughing, ho, ho, ho ! 40 

When lads and lasses merry be, 

"With possets and with juncates fine, 
Unseene of all the company, 

I eat their cakes and sip their ■wine ; 

And, to make sport 45 

I fart and snort ; 
And out the candles I do blow ; 
The maids I kiss ; 
They shrieke,— " Who's this ? " 
I answer nought, but ho, ho, ho ! 50 

Yet now and then, the maids to please, 
At midnight I card up their wooll ; 
And while they sleepe and take their ease. 
With wheel to threads their flax I pull. 

I grind at mill 65 

Their malt up still ; 
I dress their hemp, I spin their tow. 

If any 'wake, 

And would me take, 
I wend me, laughing, ho, ho, ho ! 60 

When house or harth doth sluttish lye, 

I pinch the maidens black and blue ; 
The bed-clothes from the bedd pull I, 

And lay them naked all to view. 


'Twixt sleepe and wake, G5 

I do them take, 
And on tlie key-cold floor them throw, 

If out they cry, 

Then forth I fly, 
And loudly laugh out, ho, ho, ho ! 70 

When any need to borrowe ought, 

We lend them what they do require ; 
And for the use demand we nought ; 
Our owne is all we do desire. 

If to repay 75 

They do delay, 
Abroad amongst them then I go, 
And night by night, 
I them affright 
Witli pinchings, dreames, and ho, ho, ho ! 80 

When lazie queans have nought to do 

But study how to cog and lye ; 
To make debate and mischief too, 
'Twixt one another secretlyo, 

I marke their gloze, 85 

And it disclose 
To them whom they have wronged so ; 

When I have done, 

I get me gone. 
And leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho ! 90 

Wlien men do traps and engins set 

In loop holes, where the vermine creep, 
Who from their fuldcs and houses get 

Their duckes and geese, and lambes and sheepe, 
I spy the gin, 95 

And enter in, 
And seeme a vermine taken so ; 
But when they there 
Approach me neare, 
t Jeup out laughing, ho, ho, ho I lOll 


By wells and rills, in meadowes greene, 

We nightly dance oiir hey-day guise ^ ; 
And to our fairye king and queene 

We chant our moon-light minstrelsies. 

When larks 'gin sing, 105 

Away we fling ; 
And babes new borne steal as we go, 

And elfe in bed 

We leave instead, 
And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho ! 110 

From hag-bred Merlin's time have I 
Thus nightly revell'd to and fro; 
And for my pranks men call me by 
The name of Eobin Good-fellow. 

Fiends, ghosts, and sprites, 115 

Who haunt the nightes. 
The hags and goblins do me know ; 
And beldames old 
My feates have told ; 
So Vale, Vale ; ho, ho, ho ! 120 

' This word is perhaps corruptly given ; being apparently the same with 
Heydeguies, or Heydeguives, which occurs in Spenser, and means a 
" wild frolick dance." — Johnson's Dictionary. 


Cl^c dTatro dhmm. 

We have here a short display of the popular belief concerning Fairies. 
It will aiford entertainment to a contemplative mind to trace these 
whimsical opinions up to their origin. Whoever considers how early, 
how extensively, and how uniformly they have prevailed in these 
nations, will not readily assent to the hypothesis of those who fetch 
them from the East so late as the time of the Croisades. Whereas 
it is well known that our Saxon ancestors, long before they left their 
German forests, believed the existence of a kind of diminutive demons, 
or middle species between men and spii-its, whom they called Duergar 
or -Dwar/s, and to whom they attributed many wonderful performances, 
far exceeding human art. Yid. Hervarer Saga Olaj Verelj. 1675. 
Hickes' Thesaur. &c. 


This soiijT is given (with some corrections by another copy) from 
a book entitled, "The Mysteries of Love and Eloquence," &c. Lend. 
1G58, 8vo. 

Come, follow, follow me, 

You, fairy elves that be ; 

Which circle on the greene, 

Come follow Mab, your queene. 
Hand in hand let's dance around, 5 

For this place is fairyc ground. 

When mortals are at rest 

And snoring in their nest, 

Unheard and unespy'd. 

Through key-holes we do glide ; 10 

Over tables, stools, and shelves, 
We trip it with our fairy elves. 

And, if the house be foul 

With platter, dish, or bowl, 

Up stairs we nimbly creep, It 

And find the sluts asleep ; 
There we pinch their armes and thighes ; 
None escapes, nor none espies. 

But if the house be swept, 

And from uncleanness kept, 20 

We praise the houshold maid, 

And duely she is paid : 
For wo use before we goo 
To drop a tester in her sboe. 

Upon a mushroomes head 25 

Our table-cloth we spread ; 

A grain of rye, or wheat, 

Is manchet, which we eat ; 
pearly drops of dew we drink 
In acorn cups fill'd to the brink. 30 

The brains of nightingales. 

With unctuous fat of snailes, 

Between two cockles stew'd. 

Is meat that's easily chew'd ; 
Tailes of wornies and marrow of mice 35 

Do make a dish that's wonderous nice. 

THE fairies' farewell. 253 

The grasliopper, gnat, and fly 

Serve for our minstrelsie ; 

Grace said, we dance a while, 

And so the time beguile ; 40 

And if the moon doth hide her head, 
The gloe-worm lights us home to bed. 

On tops of dewie grasse 

So nimbly do we passe 

The young and tender stalk 46 

Ne'er bends when we do walk ; 
Yet in the morning may be seen 
Where we the night before have been. 

CIjc dTntrtf^' dTarflucII. 

This humorous old song fell from the hand of the witty Dr. Corbel 
(afterwards bishop of Norwich, &c.), and is printed from his Poetica 
Stromata, 1648, 12mo (compared with a third edition of his Poems, 
1G7'2). It is there called, " A proper new Ballad, entitled, The Fairies 
Farewell, or Uod-a-mercy Will, to be sung or whistled to the tune 
of The Meddow Brow, by the learned; by the unlearned, to the tune 
of Fortune." 

The departure of Fairies is here attributed to the abolition of 
monkery : Chaucer has, with equal humour, assigned a cause the very 
reverse, in his Wife of Bath's Tale. 

" In olde dayes of the king Artour, 
Of which that Bretons speken gret honour, 
All was this lond fulfilled of faerie ; 
The elf-quene, with hire joly compagnie 
Danced ful oft in many a grene mede. 
This was the old opinion as I rede ; 
I speke of many hundred yeres ago ; 
But now can no man see non elves mo. 
For now the grete charitee and prayeres 
Of limitoures and other holy freres, 
That serchen every land and every strerae, 
As thikke as motes ia the sonne heme. 



Blissing halles, chambres, kichenes, and boures, 

Citees and burghes, castles high, and toures, 

Thropes and bernes, shepenes and dairies, 

This maketh that ther ben no faeries ; 

For ther as wont to walken was an elf, 

Ther walketh now the liniitour himself 

In undermeles and in morweninges. 

And sayth his Matines and his holy thinges. 

As he goth in his limitatioun. 

Women ma}' now go safely up and doun, 

In every bush, and under every tree, 

Ther is non other incubus but he, 

And he ne will don hem no dishonour." 

Tyrwhitt s Chaucer, i. p. 255. 

Dr. Richard Corbet, having been bishop of Oxford about thre« 
fears, and afterwards as long bishop of Norwich, died in 1635, tetat 52, 

Farewell rewards and Fairies ! 

Good housewives now may say ; 
For now foule sluts in dairies 

Doe fare as well as they ; 
And though tliey sweepe their hearths no less 5 

Than mayds were wont to doe, 
Yet who of late for cleaneliness 

Finds sixe-pence in her shoe ? 

Lament, lament old ALbies, 

The fairies lost command ; 10 

They did but change priests babies, 

But some have chang'd your land ; 
And all your children stolu from thence 

Are now growne Pui-itanes, 
Who live as changelings ever since, 15 

For love of your demaines. 

At morning and at evening both 

You merry wore and glad. 
So little care of slecpe and sloth 

These prettie ladies had. 20 

When Tom came homo from labour, 

Or Ciss to milking rose, 
Theu merrily went their tabour, 

And nimbly went their toes. 


Witness those rings and roundelayes 25 

Of theii's, wliich yet remaine ; 
Were footed in Queen Maries dayes 

On many a grassy playne. 
But since of late Elizabeth 

And later James came in, 30 

They never danc'd on any heath, 

As when the time hath bin. 

By which wee note the fairies 

Were of the old profession ; 
Their songs were Ave Maries, 35 

Their dances were procession. 
But now, alas ! they all are dead, 

Or gone beyond the seas, 
Or farther for religion fled, 

Or else they take their ease. 4G 

A tell-tale in their company 

They never could endui-e ; 
And whoso kept not secretly 

Their mirth was punish'd sure ; 
It was a just and christian deed 45 

To pinch such blacke and blue : 
how the common-welth doth need 

Such justices as you ! 

Now they have left our quarters ; 

A Eegister they have 5Q 

Who can preserve their charters j 

A man both wise and grave. 
An hundred of their merry pranks 

By one that I could name 
Are kept in store ; con twenty thanks 55 

To William for the same. 

To William Churne of Staffordshire 

Give laud and praises due. 
Who every meale can mend your cheare 

With tales both old and true ; 6C 

266 THE fairies' farewell. 

To William all give audience, 

And pray yee for his noddle, 
For all the fairies evidence 

Were lost, if it were addle. 

•^* After these 8ongs on the Fairies, the reader may be curicuB 
to see the luaunei' in which they were formerly invoked and bound 
to human service. In Ashmole's collection of MSS. at Oxford [num. 
8259. 1406. 2], are the papers of some Alchymist, which contain a variety 
of Incantations and Forms of Conjuring both Fairies, Witches, and 
Demons, principally, as it should seem, to assist him in his great work 
of transmuting metals. Most of them are too impious to be reprinted : 
but the two following may be very innocently laughed at. 

Whoever looks into Ben Jonson's Alchymist, will find that these 
impostors, among their other secrets, affected to have a power over 
Fairies : and that they were commonly expected to be seen in a 
crystal glass, appears from that extraordinary book, " The Eelatiou 
of Dr. .John Dee's actions with Spirits, 1659," folio. 

'* An excellent way to gett a Faykie. (For myself I call Margarett 
Bakbance; but this will obteine ony one that is not allieady bownd.) 

"Fjrst, gett a broad square christall or Venice glasse, in length and 
breadth 3 inches. Then lay that glasse or christall in the blond of 
a white henne, 3 Weduesdayes, or 3 Fridayes. Then take it out, and 
wash it with holy aq. and fumigate it. Then take 3 hazle sticks, 
or wands of an yeare groth : pill them fayrc and white ; and make 
'them' soe longe, as you write the Spiritts name, or Fayries name, 
which you call, 3 times on every sticke being n)ade flatt on one side. 
Then bury them under some hill, whereas you suppose Fayiues haunt, 
the Wednesday before you call her : and the Friday followinge take 
them uppe, and call her at 8 or 3 or 10 of the clocke, which be good 
planetts and houres for tliat turue : but when you call, be in cleane life, 
and turne thy face towards the east. And when you have her, bind 
her to that stone or glasse." 

"An Unguent to annnynt umler the Eyelids, and upon the Eyelids 
eveninge and morninge: but especially when you call; or find your 
sight not perfect. 

" R. A pint of sallet-oyle, and put it into a viall glasse : but first 
wash it with ro.'ie-water, and maiygohl-water : the flowers 'to' be 
gathered towards the east. Wash it till tlie oyle come white; then 
put it into the glasse, ut supra : and then put thereto the budds of 
holyhocke, the flowers of maiygold, the flowers or toppes of wild thime, 
the budds of young hazle : and the thime must be gathered uoare the 
side of a iiill where Fayuies use to be: and 'take' tlie grasse of 
a fayrie tlirone, there. All these put into the oyle, into the glasse: 
and set it to disolve 3 dayes in the suuue, and then keep it lor tliy 
use ; ut supra." 


After this receipt for the Ungueut follows a form ol" Incantation, 
wherein the Alchymist conjures a Faiiy, named Elaby GatJion, to 
appear to him in" that crystal glass, meekly and mildly; to resolve 
him truly in all manner of questions ; and to be obedient to all his 
commands, under pain of dauinitidn, &c. 

One of the vulgar opinions about Fairies is, that they cannot be 
seen by human eyes, without a particular charm exerted in favour 
of the person who is to see them : and that they strike with blindness 
sucli as, having tiie gift of seeing them, take notice of them mal-a-propos. 

As for the hazel sticks mentioned above, tliey were to be, probably, 
of that species called (he Witch Hazel; whch received its name froir 
this manner of applying it in incantations. 


VOL. ir. 

( 268 ) 


The incidents in this, and the other ballad of St. George and the I)) agon, 
are chiefly taken froiu the old storj^-book of the Seven Champions of 
Christendome ; which, thougii now the pUiythuig of childien, was 
once in high repute. Bishop Hail, in his ISatires, published in 1597, 

" St. George's sorell, and his cross of blood," 

among the most popular stories of his time : and an ingenious critic 
thinlcs that Spenser hiiiiseli did not disdain to borrow hints from it': 
though I luuch doubt whether tins popular romance were written 
so early as the Faerie Queen. 

The author of this book of the Seven Champions was one Richard 
.Johnson, who lived in the reigns of Elizabeth and James, as wo collect 
from his other publication.s; vi:?;. — "The nine wortldes of London: 
1592," 4to.— "The pleasant walks of Moor fields: ItiUT," 4to.— "A 
crown garland of (ioulden Roses, gathered, vVc. 1612," 8vo. — "The life 
and death of Rob. Cecill, E. of Salisbury, ]1>T2," 4to.— " The Hist, of 
Tom of Eincoln," 4to, is also by R. J., wlio likewise reprinted "Don 
Flores of Greece," 4to. 

The Seven Cluimpious, though written in a wild inflated style, 
contains some strong (iothic painting: which seems for the most part 
copied from the metrical romances of former ages. At least tlie stoiy 
of St. George and the fair Sabra is taken almost verbatim from the 
old poetical legend of "Syr lievis of Hampton." 

This very antniue poem was in great fame in Chaucer's time [see 
above, page 144], and so continued till the introducliou of printing, 
when it ran tiirough several editiim.-*; two of which aie in black-letter, 
4to, " imprinted by Wyllyam Copland," without date ; containing great 

As a specimen of tho poetic powers of this very old rhymist, and 
HS a proof how closely the author of the Seven Champions has followed 
him, take a description of the dragou slain by Sir Bevis. 

' Mr. Warton. Vide Observations oa the Faerie Queen, 2 vols. 1762, 
12mo, pasbim. 


" Whan the dragon, that foule is, 

Had a syght of syr Bevis, 

He cast up a loude cry, 

As it had thondred in the sky ; 

He turned his bely towarde the son; 

It was greater than any tonne : 

His scales was bryghter then the glas, 

And harder they were than any bras; 

Betwene his shulder and his tayle, 

Was forty fote withoute fayle. 

He waltred out of his denne, 

And Bevis pricked his stede then, 

And to him a spere he thraste 

That all to shy vers he it braste : 

The dragon then gan Bevis assay le, 

And smote syr Bevis with his tayle : 

Then downe went horse and man, 

And two rybbes of Bevis brused than. ■* 

After a long fight, at lengtli, as the dragon was preparing to fly. 
Sir Bevis 

" Hit him under the wynge. 
As he was in his flyenge. 
There he was tender without scale, 
And Bevis thought to be his bale. 
He smote after, as I you saye, 
With his good sword Morglaye. 
Up to the hiltes Morglay yode 
Through harte, lyver, bone, and blonde: 
To the ground fell the dragon. 
Great joye syr Bevis begon. 
Under the scales al on hight 
He smote off his head foi th rii,ht, 
And put it on a spere : " &c. Sign. K. iv. 

Sir Be^as's dragon is evidently the parent of that in the Seven 
Champiuns. see chapter iii. viz., " The di-agon no sooner had a sight 
of him [St. George] but he gave such a terrible peal, as though it had 
thundered in the elements. . . . Betwixt his shoulders and his tail 
were fifty feet in distance, his scales glisterina: as bright as silver, but 
far more hard than brass; his belly of the colnur of gold, but bigger 
than a tun. Thus weltered he from his den, &c. . . . The champion 
. . . gave the dragon such a thrust with his spear, that it shivered 
in a thousand pieces: whereat the furious drngon so fiercely smote 
him with his venomci^s tail, that down fell man and horse : in which 

fall two of St. George's ribs were so bruised, &c. A.t length . . . 

St. George smote the dragon under the wing where it was tender 
without scale, whereby his good sword Ascalon with an easie passage 
went to the very hilt through both the di'agon's heart, liver, bone, 


and blood.— Then St. George cut off the dragon's liead, and pitcht it 
upon the truncheon of a sptar, &c." 

The History of the Seven Champions, being written just before the 
decline of books of chivalry, was never, I believe, translated into any 
foreign language: but " Le Ilonian do Beuves of Hantonne" was 
published at Paris in 1502, 4to, Let. Golhique. 

'J'he learned Belden tells us. that about the time of the Norman 
invasion was Bevis famous with the title of Earl of Southampton, 
whose residunce was at Duncton in Wiltshire; but he observes, that 
the monkish enlargement. -^ of his story have made his very existence 
doubted. See notes on Poly-Olbion, song iii. 

Tliis hath also been the case of St. George himself; whose martial 
history is allowed to be apocryphal, liut to prove that there really 
existed an orthodox Saint ol:" this name (although little or nothing, 
it seems, is known of his genuine story), is the subject of " An Historical 
and Critical Inquiry into the Existence and Character of Saiut George, 
&c. By tiie Rev. J. Milner, F.S.A., 1702, 8vo." 

Tlie equestriau figure worn by the Knights of the Garter, has been 
understood to be an emblem of the Christian warrior, in his spiritual 
armoui', vanquishing the okl serpent. 

But on this subject the inquisitive reader may consult " A Disser- 
tation on the Original of the Equestriim Figure of the George and of 
the Garter, ensigns of the most noble order of that name. Illustrated 
with copper-plates. By John Pettingal, A.M., Fellow of the Society 
of Antiquaries, London, 1753," 4to. 'i'liis harned and curious work 
the author of the Historical and Critical Inquiry would have done well 
to have seen. 

It cannot be denied, but that the following ballad is for the most 
part modern : for which reason it wouLl have been thrown to the end 
of the volume, had not its subject procured it a iilaee here. 

Listen, lords, in bower and hall, 

I sing tlio wonderous bii-th 
Of brave St. George, whose valorous arm 

liid monsters from the earth ; 

Distressed ladies to relieve 5 

He travell'd many a day ; 
In honour of the Christian faith, 

Which shall endure for aye. 

In Coventry sometime did dwell 

A knight of worthy fame, K 

High steward of tliis noble realmo ; 

Lord Albret was his name. 


He had to wife a princely dame, 

Wliose beauty did excell. 
This virtuous hidy, being with child, 15 

In sudden sadness fell. 

For thirty nights no sooner sleep 

Had clos'd her wakeful eyes, 
But, lo ! a foul and fearful dream 

Her fancy would surprize. 20 

She dreamt a dragon fierce and fell 

Conceiv'd within her womb ; 
Whose mortal fangs her body rent 

Ere he to life could come. 

All woe-begone and sad was she ; 25 

She nourisht constant woe; 
Yet strove to hide it from her lord, 

Lest he should sorrow know. 

In vaine she strove ; her tender lord, 

Who watch'd her slightest look, 30 

Discover'd soon her secret pain, 

And soon that pain partook. 

And when to him the fearful cause 

She weeping did impart, 
With kindest speech he strove to heal 35 

The ansjuish of her heart. 


" Be comforted, my lady dear ; 

Those pearly drops refrain ; 
Betide me weal, betide me woe, 

I'll try to ease thy pain. 40 

" And for this foul and fearful di'eam 

That causeth all thy woe, 
Trust me I'll travel far away. 

But I'll the meaning knowe." 

Then giving many a fond embrace, 45 

And shedding many a teare. 
To the weird lady of the woods 
He purpos'd to repaire. 



To tlie weird lady of the woods, 

Full long and raauy a day, 50 

Thro' lonely shades and thickets rough 

He winds his weary way. 

At length he reach'd a dreary dell 

With dismal yews o'erhung ; 
"Where cypress sjjred its mournful boughs, 55 

And pois'nous nightshade sprung. 

No chearful gleams here pierc'd the gloom, 

He hears no chearful sound ; 
But shrill night-ravens' yelling scream, 

And serpents hissing round. 6C 

The shriek of fiends and damned ghosts 

Kan howling thro' his ear ; 
A chilling horror froze his heart, 

Tho' all unus'd to fear. 

Three times he strives to win his way, 65 

And pierce those sickly dews ; 
Three times to bear his trembling corse 

His knocking knees refuse. 

At length upon his beating breast 

He signs the holy crosse ; 70 

And, rouzing up his wonted might, 

He treads th' unhallow'd mosse. 

Beneath a pendant craggy cliff. 

All vaulted like a grave, 
And opening in the solid rock, 75 

He found the inchanted cave. 

An iron gate clos'd up the mouth. 

All hideous and forlorne ; 
And, fastcn'd by a silver chain, 

Near hung a brazed home. 8C 

Then offering up a secret prayer, 

Three times he blowes amaine ; 
Three times a dcejie and hollow sound 

Did answer him agaiuo. 


•■ Sir Knight, tliy lady beares a son, 85 

Who, like a dragon bright, 
Shall prove most dreadful to his foes, 

And terrible in light. 

" His name advanc'd in future times 

On banners shall be worn ; 90 

But lo ! thy lady's life must passo 

Before he can be born." 

All sore opprest with fear and doubt 

Long time Lord Albret stood ; 
At length he winds his doubtful way 95 

Back thro' the dreary wood. 

Eager to clasp his lovely dame 

Then fast he travels back ; 
But when he reach'd his castle gate, 

His gate was hung with black. 100 

In every court and hall he found 

A sullen silence reigue ; 
Save where, amid the lonely towers, 

He heard her maidens 'plaine, 

And bitterly lament and weep, 105 

With many a grievous grone ; 
Then sore his bleeding heart misgave, 

His lady's life was gone. 

With faultering step he enters in, 

Yet half atfraid to goe ; 110 

With trembling voice asks why they grieve, 

Yet fears the cause to knowe. 

*' Three times the sun hath rose and set ;" 

They said, then stopt to weep, 
• Since heaven hath laid thy lady deare 115 

In death's eternal sleep. 

' For, ah ! in travel sore she fell, 

So sore that she must dye ; 
Unless some shrewd and cunning leech 

Could ease her presentl^'e. 120 


" But wlien a ciinniug leech was fet, 

Too soon declared ho, 
She, or her babe must lose its life ; 

Both saved could not be. 

" Now take ray life, thy lady said, 125 

My little infant save ; 
And commend me to my lord. 

When I am laid in grave. 

" tell him how that precious babe 

Cost him a tender wife ; 130 

And teach my son to lisp her name 

Who died to save his life. 

" Then calling still upon thy name. 

And praying still for thee ; 
Without repining or complaint, 135 

Her gentle soul did tiee." 

What tongue can paint Lord Albret's woe. 

The bitter tears he shed, 
Tlic bitter pangs that wrung his heart, 

To find his lady dead ? 140 

He beat his breast ; he tore his hair ; 

And shedding many a tear, 
At Icingth he askt to see his son, 

The son that cost so dear. 

New sorrowe seiz'd the damsells all ; 14.5 

At length tlicy f uiltering say : 
"Alas! my lord, how shall we tell? 

Thy son is stoln away. 

" Fair as the sweetest flower of spring, 

Such was liis infant mien ; 150 

And on his littlo body stumjit 

Three wouderous marks were seen : 

** A blood-red cross was on his arm ; 

A dragon on his breast ; 
A little garter all of gold 156 

Was round his leg exprest. 


" Tlireo carefull nurses we provide 

Our little lord to keep : 
One gave him sucke, one gave him food, 

And one did lull to sleep. 160 

" But lo ! all in the dead of night 

We heard a fearful sound : 
Loud thunder clapt ; the castle shook ; 

And lightning flasht around. 

" Dead with affright at first we lay ; 165 

But rousing up anon, 
We ran to see our little lord, — 

Our little lord was gone ! 

" But how or where we could not tell ; 

For lying on the ground, 17C 

In deep and magic slumbers laid, 

The nurses there we found." 

" O grief on grief ! " Lord Albret said ; 

No more his tongue cou'd say, 
When falling in a deadly swooue, 175 

Long time he lifeless lay. 

At length restor'd to life and sense 

He uuurisht endless woe, 
No future joy his heart could taste, 

No future comfort know. 180 

So withers on the mountain top 

A fair and stately oake. 
Whose vigorous arms are tome away 

By some rude thunder-stroke. 

At length his castle irksome grew, 185 

He loathes his wonted home ; 
His native country he forsakes, 

In foreign lands to roame. 

There up and downe he wandered fir. 

Clad in a palmer's gown ; igC 

Till his brown locks grew white as wool. 

His beard as thistle down. 


At length, all wearied, down in death 

He laid his reverend liead. 
Meantime amid the lonely wilds 195 

His little son was bred. 

There the weird lady of the woods 

Had borne him far away, 
And train'd him up in fcates of armes, 

And every martial play. 20C 

* * 



^t. George auK t^e JBv.igon. 

Tlie following ballad is given (with some corrections) from two anciint 
black-letter copies in the Pepys Collection: one of which is in Tiniu, 
tlie other in folio. 

Of Hector's deeds did Homer sing, 

And of the sack of stately Troy, 
What griefs fair Helena did bring, 

Whicli was Sir Paris' only joy : 
And by my pen I will recite .5 

St. George's deeds, an English knight. 

Against the Sarazens so rude 

Fought he full long and many a day. 

Where many gyauts he subdu'd, 

In honour of the Christian way ; 10 

And after many adventures past, 

T(j Egypt land lie came at last. 

Now, as the story plain doth tell, 
Witliin that countrcy there did rest 

A dreadful dragon fierce and fell, 15 

Whereby tliey were full sore opprcst : 

Wlu) by his jjoisonous breath each day 

Did many of tlie city slay. 


The grief whereof did grow so great 

Throughout the limits of the Lmd, 20 

Tliat they their wise-men did iutreat 

To shew their cvmiiiHg out of hand ; 
What way they might this fiend destroy, 
That did the countrey thus annoy. 

The wise-men all before the king, 25 

This answer fram'd incontinent : 
The dragon none to death might bring 

By any means they coukl invent ; 
His skin more hard than brass was found, 
That sword nor spear could pierce nor wound. 30 

"When this the people understood, 

They cryed out most piteouslye. 
The dragon's breath infects their blood, 

That every day in heaps they dye ; 
Among them such a plague it bred, 35 

The living scarce could bury the dead. 

No means there were, as they could hear, 

For to appease the dragon's rage, 
But to present some virgin clear, 

Whose blood his fury might asswage ; 40 

Each day he would a maiden eat, 
For to allay his hunger great. 

This thing by art the wise-men found. 

Which truly must observed be ; 
Wherefore, throughout the city round, 45 

A virgin pure of good degree 
Was, by the king's commission, still 
Taken up to serve the dragon's will. 

Thus did the dragon every day 

Untimely crop some virgin flowr, 50 

Till all the maids were worn away. 

And none were left him to devour ; 
Saving the king's fair daughter bright, 
Her father's only heart's delight. 


Then came the officers to the king, 55 

That heavy message to declare, 
Which did his heart with sorrow sting ; 

" She is," quoth he, " my kingdom's heir : 
let us all be poisoned here, 
Ere slie should die, that is my dear." 60 

Then rose the people presently. 

And to the king in rage they went ; 

They said his daughter dear should dye, 
The dj-agon's fury to prevent : 

" Our daughters all are dead," qiioth they, 65 

" And have been made the dragon's jjrey ; 

" And by their blood we rescued were. 
And thou hast savM thy life thereby ; 

And now in sooth it is but foire, 

For us thy daughter so should die." 70 

"O save my daughter," said the king, 

" And let me feel the dragon's sting." 

Then fell fair Sabra on her knee. 

And to her father dear did say, 
*' father, strive nc^t thus for me, 75 

But let me be the dragon's i^rey ; 
It may be, for my sake alone 
This i^lague upon the laud was thrown. 

" Tis better I should dye," she said, 

" Than all your subjects i)erish quite; 80 

Perhaps the dragon here was laid, 

For my offence to work his spite. 
And after he hath snckt my gore. 
Your laud shall feel the gricl no more." 

" What hast than done, ray daughter dear, «5 

For to deserve this heavy scourge ? 

It is my fault, as may appear. 

Which makes the gods our state to purge ; 

Tlien ought I die, to stint the strife, 

And to preserve thy hapj)y life." 90 



Like mdd-men, all tlie people cried, 

'• Thy death to us cau do no good ; 
Our safety only doth abide 

In making her the dragon's food." 
"• Lo ! here I am, I come," quoth she, 95 

" Therefore do what you will with me." 

Nay stay, dear daughter," quoth the queen, 

'• And as thou art a virgin bright, 
That hast for vertue famous been, 

So let me cloath thee all in white ; 100 

And crown thy head mth flowers sweet, 
An ornament for virgins meet." 

And when she was attired so, 

According to her mother's mind. 
Unto the stake then did she go, 105 

To which her tender limbs they bind ; 
And being bound to stake a thrall. 
She bade farewell imto them all, 

" Farewell, my father dear," quoth she, 

" And my s\V(.et mother meek and mild ; 110 

Take you no thought nor weep for me. 
Tor you may have another child ; 

Since for my country's good I dye. 

Death I receive most willinglye." 

The king and queen and all their train 115 

With weeping eyes w^nt then their way, 

And let their daughter there remain. 
To be the hungry dragon's prey : 

But as she did there weej^iug lye, 

Behold St. George came riding by. 120 

And seeing there a lady bright 

So rudely tyed unto a stake. 
As well became a valiant knight, 

He straight to her his way did take : 
" Tell me, sweet maiden," then quoth he, 125 

" What caitif thus abuseth thee ? 


" And, lo! by Christ his cross I vow, 
Which here is figiired on my breast, 

I will revenge it on his brow. 

And break my lance upon his chest : " 130 

And speaking thus whereas he stood. 

The dragon issued from the wood. 

The lady, that did first espy 

The dreadful dragon coming so. 
Unto St. George aloud did cry, 135 

And willed him away to go ; 
" Here comes that cursed fiend," quoth she, 
" That soon will mjtke an end of me." 

St. George then looking round about, 

The fiery dragon soon espy d, 140 

And like a knight of courage stout, 
Against him did most furiously ride ; 

And with such blows he did him greet. 

He fell beneath his horsf-.'s feet. 

For with his launce that was so strong, 145 

As he came gaping in his face, 
In at his mouth he thrust along ; 

For he could pierce no other place: 
And thus within the lady's view 
This mighty dragon straight he slew. 150 

The savour of his poisoned breath 
Could do this holy knight no harm ; 

Thus he the lady sav'd from death. 
And home he led her by tlie arm ; 

Which when King Ptdemydid see, 155 

There was great mirth and melody. 

When as that valiant champion there 

Had slain the dragon in the field. 
To court he brought the Wly fair, 

Which to their hearts much joy did yield, 160 
He in the court of Egypt staid 
Till he most falsely was betray'd. 


That lady dearly lov'J the knight, 

He counted her his only joy ; 
But when their love was brought to light, iG5 

It turn'd unto their great auuoy : 
Th' Morocco king was in the court, 
Who to the orchard did resort, 

Dayly, to take the pleasant air ; 

For pleasure sake he us'd to walk; 170 

Under a wall he oft did hear 

St. George with Lady Sabra talk ; 
Their love he shew'd unto the king. 
Which to St. George great woe did" bring. 

Those kings together did devise 175 

To make the Christian knight away : 

With letters him in ciu-teous wise 
They straightway sent to Persia, 

But wrote to the sojihy him to kill, 

And treacherously his blood to spill. 180 

Thus they for good did him reward 

With evil, and most subtilly, 
By such vile meanes they had regard 

To work his death most cruelly ; 
Who, as through Persia laud he rode, 185 

With zeal destroy'd each idol god. 

For which oifouce he straight was throT^Ti 

Into a dungeon dark and dee2> ; 
Where, when he thought his wrongs upon. 

He bitterly did wail and weep: IDG 

Yet like a knight of courage stout. 
At length his way he digged out. 

Three grooms of the King of Persia 
By night this valiant chanijiion ^^lew. 

Though he h-.ul fasted many a day, 195 

And then away from thence he flow 

On the best steed tlie sophy had ; 

Which when he knew he was full mad 

272 ST. GEonoK and the dragos. 

Towards Christeudoni he made liis fliglit, 

But met a gyant by the way, 200 

With whom iu combat ho did fight 
Most valiautly a summer's day : 

Who yet, for all his bats of steel, 

Was forc'd the sting of death to feel. 

Back o'er the seas with many bands 205 

Of warlike souldiers soon he past, 
Vowing upon those heathen lands 

To work revenge ; which at the last, 
Ere thrice three years were gone and spent. 
He wrought unto his heart's content. 210 

Save onely Egypt land he spar'd. 

For Sabra bright hor only sake, 
And, ere for her he had regard. 

He meant a tryal kind to make : 
Mean while the king, o'ercome in field, 215 

Unto Saint George did quickly yield. 

Then straight Morocco's king he slew. 

And took fair Sabra to his wife. 
But meant to try if she were true. 

Ere with her he would lead his life ; 220 

And, tho' he had her in his traiu. 
She did a virgin pure remain. 

Toward England then that lovely dame 
The brave St. George conducted strait. 

An eunuch also with them came, 225 

Who (lid ujjon tho lady wa't. 

These thiee from Egypt went alone : 

Now mark St. George's valour shown. 

When as they in a f ire>t were, 

The lady did desire to rest: 230 

Mean wliile St. Gi^orgc to kill a deer 

For their re2)ast di<l think it best: 
Leaving her with the ounuch there, 
Whilst he did go to kill the deer. 


But lo ! all in his absence came 235 

Two hungry lyons, fierce and fell, 
And tore the eunuch on the same 

In pieces small, the truth to tell ; 
Down by the lady then they laid, 
Whereby they shew'd she was a maid. 240 

But when he came from hunting back, 

And did behold this heavy chance, 
Then for his lovely virgin's sake 

His courage strait he did advance, 
And came into the lions sight, 245 

Who ran at him with all their might. 

Their rage did him no whit dismay, 
Who, like a stout and valiant knight, 

Did both the hungry lyons slay 

Within the Lady Sabra's sight : 250 

Who all this while, sad and demure. 

There stood most like a virgin pure. 

Now when St. George did surely know 

This lady was a virgin true. 
His heart was glad, that erst was woe, 255 

And all his love did soon renew : 
He set her on a palfrey steed. 
And towards England came with speed. 

Where being in short space arriv'd 

Unto his native dwelling place, 260 

Therein with his dear love he liv'd. 

And fortune did his nuptials grace . 
They many years of joy did see, 
And led their lives at Coventry. 

VOL. n. 



ilofaf biill finlJ out tfjc m.iw. 

I'LiB excellent song is ancient: but wo could only i,ive it from ft 
modern copy. 

Over the mountains, 

And over the waves ; 
Under the fountains, 

And under the graves ; 
Under floods that are deepest ; 5 

Which Neptune obey; 
Over rocks that are steepest, 

Love will find out the way. 

Where there is no place 

For the glow-worm to lye, 10 

WTiere there is no space 

For receipt of a fly ; 
Where the midge dares not vcnt;u'9, 

Lest herseK fast she lay ; 
If love come, he will enter, 15 

And soon find out his way. 

You may esteem him 

A child for his might ; 
Or you may deem him 

A coward from his flight ; 20 

But if she, whom love doth honour, 

Be conceal'd from the day, 
Set a thousand guards upon her, 

Love will find out the way. 

Some think to lose him, 25 

By having him confiu'd ; 
And some do sui)p()se him. 

Poor thing, to be blind ; 
But if ne'er so close ye wall him, 

Do the best that you may, 80 

Blind love, if so ye call him, 

Will find out his way. 


You may train the eagle 

To stoop to your fist ; 
Or you may inveigle 35 

The phenix of the east ; 
The lioness, ye may move her 

To give o'er her prey ; 
But you'll ne'er stop a lover : 

He will find out his way. 40 

• * 


Hoitr CT;oma^ aiiK fat'v ^niut, 


seems to be composed (not without imijroveuients) out of two ancient 
English ones, printed in this volume. See book vii., ballad xv. ; 
and book viii., ballad iv. If this had been the original, the authors of 
those two ballads would hardly have adopted two such different 
fitories : besides, this contains enlargements not to be found in either 
of the ethers. It is given, with some corrections, from a MS. copy 
transmitted from Scotland. 

Lord Thomas and fair Annet 

Sate a' day on a hill ; 
Whan night was cum, and sun was sett, 

They had not talkt their fill. 

Lord Tliomas said a word in jest, 5 

Fair Annet took it ill : 
" A' ! I will nevir wed a wdfe 

Against my ain friends will." 

" Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife, 

A wife wull neir wed yee :" 10 

Sae he is hame to tell his mither, 

And knelt upon his knee : 

" rede, O rede, mither," he says, 

" A glide rede gie to mee : 
sail I tak the nut-browne bride, 15 

And let faire Annet bee ? " 

T 2 


" Tlic uut-browne bride Lacs gowd and gear, 

Fair Aimet she has gat nane ; 
And the little beauty fair Annet has, 

O it wull soon be gane." 20 

And he has till his brother gane : 

" Now, brother, rede ye mee ; 
A', sail I marrie the nut-browne bride, 

And let fair Annet bee ? " 

" The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother, 25 

The nut-browne bride has kye : 
I wad hac ye marrie the nut-browne bride. 

And cast fair Annet bye." 

" Her oxen may dye i' the house, Billie, 

And her kye into the byre, 30 

And I sail hac nothing to my-sell, 
Bot a fat fadge by the fyre." 

And he has till his sister gane : 

" Now, sister, rede ye mee ; 
sail I marrie the nut-browne bride, 35 

And set fair Annet free ? " 

" Ise rede ye take fair Annet, Thomas, 

And let the browne bride alane ; 
Lest ye sould sigh, and say, Alace, 

What is this we brought hame ! " 40 

" No, I will tak my mithcrs counsel, 

And marrie me owt o' hand ; 
And I will tak the nut-browne bride ; 

Fair Annet may leive the land." 

Up then rose fair Anncts father, 46 

Twa hours or it wcr day. 
And he is gane into the bower, 

Wherein fair Annet lay. 

" Rise up, rise up, fair Annet," he says, 

" Put on your silken sheene ; 5{' 

Let us gae to St. Maries kirke. 
And see that rich weddeen." 


"My maidcs, gae to my dressiDg-roorae, 

And dress to me my hair ; 
Whair-eir yee laid a plait before, 55 

See yee lay ten times mair. 

" My maids, gae to my dressing-room, 

And dress to me my smock ; 
The one half is o' the holland fir,e, 

The other o' needle- work." PO 

The horse fair Annet rade upon, 

He amblit like the wind ; 
Wi' siller he was shod before, 

Wi' burning gowd behind. 

Four and twanty siller bells 65 

Wer a' tyed till his mane, 
And yae tift o' the norland wind. 

They tinkled ane by ane. 

Four and twanty gay gude knichts 

Eade by fair" Annets side, 70 

And four and twanty fair ladies, 

As gin she had bin a bride. 

And whan she cam to Maries kirk, 

She sat on Maries stean : 
The cleading that fair Annet had on 75 

It skinkled in their een. 

And whan she cam into the kirk, 

She shimmer'd like the sun ; 
The belt that was about her waist, 

Was a' wi' pearles bedone. 

She sat her by the nut-browne bride, 

And her een they wer sae clear, 
Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride, 

When fair Annet she drew near. 

He had a rose into his hand, 86 

And he gave it kisses three. 
And reaching by the nut-browne bride, 

Laid it on fair Annets knee. 



Up tlian spak the niit-browne bride, 

She si)ak wi' meiklc spite ; 90 

" And whair gat ye that rose-water, 

That does mak yee sae white ? " 

"01 did get the rose-water 

Whair ye wull neir get uaue, 
For I did get that very rose-water 95 

Into my mithers wame." 

The bride she drew a long bodkin 

Frae out her gay head-gear, 
And strake fair Anuet unto the heart, 

That word she nevir spak mair. 100 

Lord Thomas he saw fair Annet wax pale, 

And marvelit what mote bee : 
But whan he saw her dear hearts blude, 

A' wood-wroth wexed hee. 

He drew his dagger, that was sae sharp, 105 

That was sae sharp and meet. 
And drave it into the nut-browne bride. 

That fell deid at his feit. 

" Now stay for me, dear Annet," he sed, 

" Now stay, my dear," he cry'd ; 110 

Then strake the dagger untill his heart, 
And fell deid by her side. 

Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa', 

Fair Annet within the quiere ; 
And o' the tane thair grew a birk, 115 

The other a bonnj^ bricre. 

And ay they grew, and ay they threw, 

As they wad faino be neare ; 
And by this ye may ken right weil, 

They were twa luvers deare. 120 



SHnfatitirg JScautw. 

This little beautiful sonnet is reprinted from a small volume of " Poema 
by Thomas Carew, Esq., one of the gentlemen of the privie-chamber, 
and sewer in ordinary to his majesty. (Charles I.) Lond. 1640." This 
elegant and almost-forgotten writer, whose poems have been deserredly 
i*evived, died, in the prime of his age, in 1639. 

In the original follows a third stanza ; which, uot being of general 
application, nor of equal merit, I have ventured to omit. 

Hee, that loves a rosie cLeeke, 

Or a corall lip admires, 
Or from star-like eyes doth seeke 

Fuell to maintaine his fires, 
As old time makes these decay, 5 

So his flames must waste away. 

But a smooth and steadfast mind, 
Gentle thoughts and calme desires, 

Hearts with equal love combin'd, 

Kindle never-dying fires. 10 

Where these are not, I despise 

Lovely cheekes, or lips, or eyes. 


(i^corgt 33avuU)cn. 

The subject of this baJlad is sufficiently popular from the modern play 
which is founded upon it. This was written by George Lillo, a 
jeweller of London, and first acted about 1 730. As for the ballad, it 
was printed at least as early as the middle of the last century. 

It is here given from three old printed copies, which exhibit a strange 
intermixture of Roman and black-letter. It is also collated with another 
copy in the Ashmole Collection at Oxford, which is thus entitled, "An 
excellent ballad of George Barnwell, an apprentice of London, who 
. . . tlirice lobb dhis master and murdered his vncle in Ludlow " The 
tuue is The Merchant. 


Tliis tra'j;ical narrative seems to relate a real fact ; but when it bap. 
penedj I have not been able to discover. 


All youths of fair England 
That dwell both far and near. 


Eegard my story that I tell, 
And to my song give ear. 

A London lad I was, 5 

A merchant's prentice bound ; 
My name George Barnwell ; that did speml 

My master many a jwund. 

Take heed of harlots then, 

And their enticing trains ; 10 

For by that means I have been brought 

To hang alive in chains. 

As I upon a day, | 

Was walking through the street, 
About my master's business, 15 

A wanton I did meet. 

A gallant dainty dame 

And sumjituous in attire ; 
With smiling look she greeted me, 

And did my name require. 20 

Which when I had declar'd, 

She gave me then a kiss. 
And said, if I would come to her, 

I should have more than this. , 

" Fair mistress," then quoth I, 25 

" If I fhe 2)liice may know. 
This evening I will be with you ; 

For I abroad must go, 

" To gather monies in. 

That are my master's dao : 30 

And ere that I do home return 

I'll come and visit you." 


Good Barnwell," then quoth she, 
" Do thou to Shoreditch come, 
And ask for Mrs. Millwood's house, 33 

Next door unto the Gun. 

" And trust me on my truth. 

If thou keeji touch with me. 
My dearest friend, as my own hoait 

Thou shalt right welcome be." 40 

Thus parted we in peace. 

And home I passed right ; 
Then went abroad, and gathered in, 

By six o'clock at night, 

An hundred pound and one : 45 

With bag under my arm 
I went to Mrs. Millwood's house, 

And thought on little harm. 

And knocking at the door, 

Straightway herself came down ; 50 

Eustling in most brave attire. 

With hood and silken gown. 

Who, through her beauty bright. 

So gloriously did shine. 
That she amaz'd my dazzling eyes, 55 

She seemed so divine. 

She took me by the hand, 

And with a modest grace, 
" Welcome, sweet Barnwell," then quoth she, 

" Unto this homely place. ' qq 

" And since I have thee found 

As good as thy word to be, 
A homely supper, ere we part, 

Thou shalt take here with me." 

" O pardon me," quoth I, 65 

" Fair mistress, I you pray ; 
For why, out of my master's house 

So long I dare not stay." 


" A.las, good sir," slie said, 

" Are you so strictly ty'd, 70 

You may not with your dearest friend 

One hour or two abide ? 

" Faith, then the case is hard , 

If it be so," quoth she, 
" I would I were a prentice bound, 75 

To live along with thee. 

" Therefore, my dearest George, 

List well what I shall say. 
And do not blame a woman much, 

Her fancy to bewray. 8(1 

" Let not affection's force 

Be counted lewd desire ; 
Nor think it not immodesty, 

I should thy love require." 

With that she turn'd aside, 85 

And with a blushing red, 
A mournful motion she bewray'd 

By hanging down her head. 

A handkerchief she had, 

All wrought with silk and gold, 90 

Which she to stay her trickling tears, 

Before her eyes did hold. 

This thing unto my sight 

Was wondrous rare and strange. 
And in my soul and inward thought 95 

It wrought a sudden change : 

That I so hardy grew 

To take her by tlic hand, 
Saying, " Sweet mistress, why do you 

So dull and pensive stand ? " 100 

" Call mo no mistress now, 

But Sarah, tliy true friend. 
Thy servant, IMillwood, honouring theo, 

IJntil her life hath cud. 


" If thou wouldst here alledge 105 

Thou art iu years a boy ; 
So was Adonis, yet was he 

Fair Venus' only joy." 

Thus I, who ne'er before 

Of woman found such grace, 110 

But seeing now so fair a dame 

Give me a kind embrace, 
I supt with her that night, 

With joys that did abound ; 
And for the same jjaid presently, 115 

In money twice three pound. 

An hundred kisses then, 

For my farewel she gave ; 
Crying, " Sweet Barnwell, when shall I 

Again thy company have ? 120 

" Oh stay not hence too long ; 

Sweet George, have me in mind : " 
Her words bewicht my childishness. 

She uttered them so kind. 

So that I made a vow, 125 

Next Sunday, without fail, 
With my sweet Sarah once again 

To tell some pleasant tale. 
When she heard me say so. 

The tears fell from her eye ; 130 

" O George," quoth she, " if thou dost fail, 

Thy Sarah sure will dye." 

Though long, yet loe ! at last, 

The appointed day was come, 
That I must with my Sarah meet ; 135 

Having a mighty sum 

Of money in my hand,^ 

Unto her house went I, 
Whereas my love upon her bed 

In saddest sort did lye. 140 

' The having a sum of money with him on Sunday, &c., shows this 
flarrative to have been penned before the civil wars: the strict observance 
of tlie Sabbath was owing to the change of manners at that period. 


" What ails my heart's delight, 

My Sarah dear ? " quoth I ; 
'' Let not my love lament and grieve, 

Nor sighing pine and die. 

" But tell me, dearest friend, 145 

What may thy woes amend, 
And thou shalt lack no means of help, 

Though forty pound I spend." 

With that she turn'd her head, 

And sickly thus did say : 150 

" Oh me, sweet George, my grief is great, 

Ten pound I have to i)ay 

Unto a cruel wretch ; 

And God he knows," quoth she, 
" I have it not." " Tush, rise," I said, 155 

" And take it here of me. 

" Ten pounds, nor ten times ten. 

Shall make my love decay ; " 
Then from my bag into her lap, 

I cast ten pound straightway. 160 

All blithe and pleasant then, 

To banqueting we go ; 
She proflfered mo to lye with her, 

And said it should be so. 

And after that same time, 1G5 

I gave her store of coyn, 
Yea, sometimes iifty pound at once ; 

All which I did purloyn. 

And thus I did pass on ; 

Until my master then 17C 

Did call to have his reckoning in 

Cast up among his men. 

The which when as I heard, 

I knew not what to say : 
For well I knew that 1 was out 175 

Two hundred pound that day. 


Tlien from my master straight 

I ran in secret sort ; 
And unto Sarah Millwood there 

My case I did report. 180 

But how she us'd this youth, 

In this his care and woe, 
And all a strumpet's wiley ways, 

The SECOND PART may showe, 


*' Young Barnwell comes to thee, 

Sweet Sarah, my delight ; 
I am undone, unless thou stand 

My faithful friend this night. 

" Our master to accompts 5 

Hath just occasion found ; 
And I am caught behind the hand 

Above two hundred pound. 

" And now his wrath to 'scape, 

My love, I fly to thee, _ 10 

Hoping some time I may remains 

In safety here with thee." 

With that she knit her brows, 

And looking all aquoy, 
Quoth she, " What should I have to dc 15 

With any prentice boy ? 

" And seeing you have purloyn'd 

Your master's goods away. 
The case is bad, and therefore here 

You shall no longer stay." 20 

" Why, dear, thou know'st," I said, 

" How all which I could get, 
I gave it, and did spend it all 

Ujion thee every whit." 

Quoth she, " Thou art a knave, 25 

To charge me in this sort, 
Being a woman of credit fair. 

And known of good report. 


" Therefore I tell tliee flat, 

Be packing with good speed ; 30 

I do defie thee from my heart, 

And scorn thy filthy deed." 

" Is this the friendship, that 

You did to me protest ? 
Is this the great affection, which 36 

You so to me exprest ? 

" Now fie on subtle shrewo 1 

The best is, I may speed 
To get a lodging any Avhere 

For money in my need. 40 

" False woman, now farewell ; 

Whilst twenty pound doth last. 
My anchor in some other haven 

With freedom I will cast." 

When she perceiv'd by this, 45 

I had store of money there, 
" Stay, George," quoth she, " thou art too quick : 

Why, man, I did but jeer. 

" Dost think for all my speech, 

That I would let thee go ? 60 

Faith no," said she, " my love to thee 

I-wiss is more than so." 

" You scorue a prentice boy, 

I heard you just now swear : 
Wherefore I will not trouble you." 55 

" Nay, George, hark in thine ear ; 

" Thou shalt not go to-night, 

What chance soe're befall ; 
But man, we'll have a bed for thee, 

Or else the devil take all." 60 

So I by wiles bewitcht. 

And snar'd with fancy still, 
Had then no power to ' get ' away, 

Or to withstand her will. 



For wine ou wine I call'd, 65 

And cheer upon good cheer ; 
And nothing in the world I thought 

For Sarah's love too dear. 

Whilst in her company, 

I had such merriment, 70 

All, all too little I did think, 

That I upon her spent. 

" A fig for care and thought ! 

"When all my gold is gone. 
In faith, my girl, we will have more, 75 

Whoever I light upon. 

" My father's rich ; why then 

Should I want store of gold ? " 
" Nay, with a father, sure," quoth she, 

" A son may well make bold." SO 

" I've a sister richly wed ; 

I'll rob her ere I'll want." 
" Nay, then," quoth Sarah, " they may well 

Consider of your scant." 

•' Nay, I an uncle have ; 85 

At Ludlow he doth dwell ; 
He is a grazier, which in wealth 

Doth all the rest excell. 

" Ere I will live in lack. 

And have no coyn for thee, 90 

I'll rob his house, and murder him." 

" Why should you not ? " quoth she : 

" Was I a man, ere I 

Would live in poor estate. 
On father, friends, and all my kin 95 

I would my talons grate. 

" For without money, George, 

A man is but a beast : 
But bringing money, thou shalt be 

Always my welcome guest. J 00 


" For shouldst tliou be pursued 

With twenty hues and cryes, 
And with a warrant searched for 

With Argus' hundred eyes, 

" Yet here thou shalt be safe ; 105 

Such privy ways there bo, 
That if they sought an hundred years, 

They could not find out thee." 

And so carousing both 

Their pleasures to content, 110 

George Barnwell had in little space 

His money wholly spent. 

Which done, to Ludlow straight 

He did provide to go, 
To rob his wealthy uncle there ; 115 

His minion would it so. 

And once he thought to take 

His father by the way. 
But that he fcar'd his master had 

Took order for his stay.^ 120 

Unto his uncle then 

He rode with might and main, 
Who with a welcome and good cheer 

Did Barnwell entertain. 

One fortnight's space he stayed, 125 

Until it chanced so. 
His uncle with his cattle did 

Unto a market go. 

His kinsman rode with him, 

Where he did see right plain, 130 

Great store of monoy he had took : 

When coming home again. 

Sudden within a wood. 

He struck his uncle down. 
And boat his brains out of his head ; 133 

So sore he crackt his crown. 

i, e. for stopping, and aiiprehending him at his father's. 


Then seizing fourscore pound, 

To London straight he hyed, 
And imto Sarah Millwood all 

The cruel fact descry ed. 140 

" Tush, 'tis no matter, George, 

So we the money have 
To have good cheer in jolly sort, 

And deck us fine and brave." 

Thus lived in filthy sort, 145 

Until their store was gone : 
When means to get them any more, 

I-wis poor George had none. 

Therefore in railing sort, 

She thrust him out of door ; 150 

Which is the just reward of those, 

Who spend upon a whore. 

" O do me not disgrace 

In this my need," quoth he : 
She call'd him thief and murderer, 155 

With all the spight might be. 

To the constable she sent, 

To have him apprehended ; 
And showed how far, in each degree, 

He had the laws offended. 160 

When Barnwell saw her drift, 

To sea he got straightway ; 
Where fear and sting of conscience 

Continually on him lay. 

Unto the lord mayor then, 165 

He did a letter write, 
lu which his own and Sarah's fault 

He did at large recite. 

Whereby she seized was. 

And then to Ludlow sent, 170 

Where she was judg'd, cundemu'd, and h&.ng'd, 

For muTiier incoutiucut. 
VOL. Ik ^•' 


There dyed tliis gallant quean, 

Such was her greatest gains ; 
For murder in Polonia, 175 

Was Barnwell hang'd in chains. 

Lo ! here's the end of youth 

That after harlots haunt, 
Who in tlie spoil of other men 

About the streets do flaunt. 180 


These beautiful stanzas were written by George Wither, of whom some 
account was given in the First Volume: see the song entitled, The 
Shepherd's liesolulion, book v. song xxi. In the first edition of tins 
work, only a small fragment of this sonnet was inserted. It was after- 
wards rendered more romplete and entire by the addition of five stanzas 
more, extracted from Wither's pastoral poem, entitled. The Mistress oj 
Philarete, of which this song makes a part. It is now given still more 
correct and perfect by comparing it with another copy, printed by tlio 
author iu his improved edition of The Shepherd's Hunting, 1620, 8vo. 

Hence away, thou Syren, leave mc ! 

Pish ! unclaspe these wanton armcs ; 
Sugred words can ne'er deceive me, 

(Though they prove a thousand charmes). 

Fie, fie, forbeare ; 5 

. No common snare 
Can ever my aficction chaine ; 
Thy painted baits. 
And poore deceits, 
Are all bestowed on me in vaiue. 10 

I'me no slave to such as you be : 
Neither shall tliat snowy brest, 
Rowling eye, and lip of ruby 
Ever robb me of my rest ! 

Goe, goe, display 15 

Thy beautie's ray 


To some more soone-enamoiir'd swaine ; 

Those common wiles 

Of sighs and smiles all bestowed on me in vaine. 20 

£ have elsewhere vowed a dutie ; 
Turne away thy tempting eye ; 
Shew not me a painted beautie ; 
These impostures I defie. 

My spirit lothes 25 

Where gawdy clothes 
And fained othes may love obtaine ; 

I love her so 

Whose looke sweares No, 
That all your labours will be vaine. 30 

Can he prize the tainted posies, 

Which on every brest are worne ; 
That may plucke the virgin r(jse8 
From their never-touched thorne ? 

I can goe rest 35 

On her sweet brest, 
That is the pride of Cynthia's traine ; 
Then stay thy tongue ; 
Thy mermaid song 
Is all bestowed on me in vaine. 40 

Hee's a foole that basely dallies, 

Where each peasant mates with him ; 
Shall I haunt the thronged vallies, 
Whilst ther's noble hils to climbe ? 

No, no, though clownes 45 

Are scar'd with frownes, 
I know the best can but disdaine ; 

And those He prove. 

So will thy love 
Be all bestowed on me in vaine. 50 

I doe scorne to vow a dutie, 

Where each lustfull lad may wooe ; 
Give me her whose sun-like beautie 

Buzzards dare not scare unto ; 

u 2 


Shee, sliee it is 55 

AfFoords that blisse 
For whicli I would refuse no paiue. 

But such as you, 

Fond fooles, adieu ; 
You seeke to caj)tive me in vaine. 60 

Leave me then, you Syrens, leave me ! 

Seeke no more to worke my harmes ; 
Craftie wiles cannot deceive me, 

Who am proofs against your charmes ; 

You labour may 65 

To lead astray 
The heart that constant shall remaine ; 

And I the while 

Will sit and smile 
To see you spend your time in vaine. 70 


Ci)c ^pant'si]^ 'Ftigtir, or SEfFcct^ of SJealou^o. 

The subject of this ballad is taken from a folio collection of tiagien. 
stories, entitled, " The theatre tif God's judgments, by Dr. Beard and 
Dr. Taylor, 1642." Pt. ii. p. 89. — The text is given (with corrections^ 
from two copies ; one of them in black-letter in the Pepys collection. 
In this every stanza is accompanied with the following distich by way 
of burden : 

" Oh jealousie ! thou art nurst in hell : 
Depart from hence, and therein dwell.'* 

All tender hearts, that ake to hear 

Of those that sulTcr wrong ; 
All you that never shed a tear, 

Give heed unto my song. 

Fair Isabella's tragedy G 

My tale doth far exceed : 
Alas, that so much cruelty 

In female hearts should breed 1 


In Spain a lady liv'd of late, 

V7ho was of high degree ; 10 

Whose wayward temper did create 

Much woe and misery. 

Strange jealousies so fill'd her head 

With many a vain surmize, 
She thought her lord had wroug'd her bed, 15 

And did her love despise. 

A gentlewoman passing fair 

Did on this lady wait ; 
With bravest dames she might compare ; 

Her beauty was eompleat. 20 

Her lady cast a jealous eye 

Upon this gentle maid, 
And taxt her with disloyaltye, 

And did her oft upbraid. 

In silence still this maiden meek 25 

Her bitter taunts would bear, 
While oft adown her lovely cheek 

Would steal the falling tear. 

In vain in humble sort she strove 

Her fury to disarm ; 30 

As well the meekness of the dove 

The bloody hawke might charm. 

Her lord, of humour light and gay, 

And innocent the while, 
As oft as she came in his way, 35 

Would on the damsell smile. 

And oft before his lady's face, 

As thinking her her friend. 
He would the maiden's modest grace 

And comeliness commend. 40 

All which incens'd his lady so. 

She burnt with wrath extreame : 
At length the fire that long did glow, 

Burst forth into a flame. 


For on a day it so befell, 45 

Wben lie was gone from Lome, 
The lady all with rage did swell, 

And to the damsell come. 

And charging her with great offence, 
And many a grievous fault, 50 

She bade her servants drag her thence, 
Into a dismal vault, 

That lay beneath the common-shore, — 

A dungeon dark and deep, 
Where they were wont, in days of yore, 55 

Offenders great to keep. 

There never light of chearful day 

Dispers'd the hideous gloom ; 
But dank and noisome vapours play 

Around the wretched room : 60 

And adders, snakes, and toads therein, 

As afterwards was known. 
Long in this loathsome vault had bin, 

And were to monsters grown. 

Into this foul and fearful place, 65 

The fair one innocent 
Was cast, before her lady's face ; 

Her malice to content. 

This maid no sooner enter'd is. 

But strait, alas ! she hears 70 

Tlie toads to croak, and snakes to hiss : 

Then grievously she fears. 

Soon from their holes the vipers creep, 

And fiercely her assail. 
Which makes the damsel sorely weep, 75 

And her sad fate bewail. 

With her fair hands she strives in vain 

Her body to defend ; 
With shrieks and cri<;s she doth complain, 

But all is to no cud. 80 


A servant listuing near the door, 

tStruck with her doleful noise, 
Strait ran his lady to implore ; 

But she'll not hear his voice. 

With bleeding heart he goes agen 85 

Tc mark the maiden's groans ; 
And plainly hears, within the den, 

How she herself bemoans. 

Again he to his lady hies, 

With all the haste he may ; 90 

She into furious passion flies, 

And orders him away. 

Still back again does he return 

To hear her tender cries ; 
The virgin now had ceas'd to mourn, 95 

Which fiU'd him with surprize. 

In grief, and horror, and affright, 

He listens at the walls. 
But finding all was silent quite. 

He to his lady calls. 100 

" Too sure, O lady," now quoth he, 

" Your cruelty hath sped ; 
Make hast, for shame, and come and see ; 

I fear the virgin's dead." 

She starts to hear her sudden fate, 105 

And does with torches run ; 
But all her haste was now too late, 

For death his worst had done. 

The door being open'd, strait they found 

The virgin streteh'd along ; 110 

Two dreadful snakes had wrapt her round. 
Which her to death had stung. 

One round her legs, her thighs, her waist, 

Had twined his fatal wreath ; 
The other close her neck embrac'd, 115 

An- )tui)t her gentle breath. 


The snakes being from her body thrust, 

Their bellies were so fiU'cl, 
That with excess of blood tliey burst, 

Thus with their prey were kill'd. 120 

The wicked lady, at tliis sight, 

With horror strait ran mad ; 
So raving dy'd, as was most right, 

'Cause she no pity had. 

Let me advise you, ladies all, 125 

Of jealousy beware : 
It causeth many a one to fall, 

And is the devil's snare. 

* * 



3)faIou£(i), Cnrant of tlje iHi'ntf. 

This song is by Dryden, being inserted in his of Lwe 
Triumphant, &c. On accouQt of the subject, it is inserted here. 

What state of life can be so blest, 
As love that warms tlie gentle brest; 
Two souls in one : the same desire 
To grant the bliss and to require ? 

If in this heaven a hell we find, 5 

'Tis all from thee, 
O Jealousic ! 
Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind. 

All other ills, though sharp they prove. 
Serve to refine and perfect love ; 1 ) 

In absence or unkind disdaine. 
Sweet hope relieves the lovers paine. 
But, oh, no cure but death we find 
To sett us free 

From Jealousic, 16 

Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind. 


False in thy glass all objects are, 
Some sett too near, and some too far ; 
Thou art the fire of endless night, 
The fire that burns and gives no light. 20 

All torments of the damn'd we find 
In only thee, 
O Jealousie ! 
Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind. 


ConiStant ^mclopt. 

The ladies are indebted for the following notable documents to the 
Pepys collection, where the oriujinal is preserved in black-letier, and is 
entitled, " A Looking-Glass for Ladies, or a Mirrour foi Married 
Women. Tune, Queen Dido, or, Troy town." 

When Greeks and Trojans fell at strife, 
And lords in armour bright were seen, 

When many a gallant lost his life 
About fair Hellen, beauty's queen, 

Ulysses, general so free, 5 

Did leave his dear Penelope. 

When she this wofuU news did hear, 
That he would to the warrs of Troy, 

For grief she shed full many a tear 

At parting from her only joy ; 10 

Her ladies all about her came, 

To comfort up this Grecian dame. 

Ulysses, with a heavy heart, 

Unto her then did mildly say : 
" The time is come tliat we must part ; 15 

My honour calls me hence away ; 
Yet in my absence, dearest, be 
My constant wife, Penelope." 


" Let me no longer live," she saycl, 

" Then to my lord I true remain ; 20 

My honour shall not be betray'il 

Until I see my love again ; 
For I will ever constant prove, 
As is the loyal turtle-dove." 

Thus did they part with heavy chear, 25 

And to the ships his way he took ; 

Her tender eyes dropt many a tear ; 
Still casting many a longing look, 

She saw him on the surges glide, 

And unto Neptune thus she cry'd : 80 

" Thou god, whose power is in the deep 

And rulest in the ocean main, 
My loving lord in safety keep 

Till he return to me again ; 
That I his person may behold, 35 

To me more precious far than gold." 

Then straight the ships with nimble sails 
Were all convey'd out of her sight ; 

Her cruel fate she then bewails. 

Since she had lost her heart's dcdiglit. 40 

" Now shall my practice be," quoth she, 

" True vertue and humility. 

" My patience I will put in ure. 

My charity I will extend ; 
Since for my woe there is no cure, 45 

The helpless now I will befriend : 
The widow and the fatherless 
I will relieve, wlien in distress." 

Thus she continued year by year 

In doing good to every one ; 50 

Her fame was noised every where, 

To ytjung and old the same was known, 
That she no company would mind 
Who were to vanity inclin'd. 


Mean while Ulysses fought for fame 55 

'Mongst Trojans hazarding his life ; 
Young gallants, hearing of her name, 

Came flocking for to temj)t his wife : 
For she was lovely, young, and fail", 
No lady might with her compare. 60 

With costly gifts and jewels fine 

They did endeavour her to win ; 
With banquets and the choicest wine, 

For to allure her unto sin ; 
Most persons were of high degree 65 

Who courted fair Penelope. 

With modesty and comely grace 

Their wanton suits she did denye ; 
No tempting charms could e'er deface 

Her dearest husband's memorye ; 70 

But constant she would still remain, 
Hopeing to see him once again. 

Her book her dayly comfort was, 

And that she often did peruse ; 
She seldom looked in her glass ; 75 

Powder and paint she ne'er would use. 
I wdsh all ladies were as free 
From pride as was Penelope ! 

She in her needle took delight, 

And likewise in her spinning-wheel ; 80 

Her maids about her every night 

Did use the distaff and the reel ; 
The spiders, that on rafters twine, 
Scarce spin a thread more soft and fine. 

Sometimes she would bewail the loss 85 

And absence of her dearest love ; 
Sometimes she thought the seas to cross, 

Her fortune on the waves to prove. 
" I fear my lord is slain," quoth she, 
" He stays so from Penelope." 90 


At length the ten years siege of Troy 
Did end ; in flames the city burn'd ; 

And to the Grecians was great joy 
To see the towers to ashes turn'd ; 

Then came Ulysses homo to see 95 

His constant, dear Penelope. 

O blame her not if she was glad 
When she her lord again had seen. 

" Thrice-welcome home, my dear," she said, 

" A loncj time absent thou hast been ; 100 

The wars shall never more dei^rivo 

Me of my lord whilst I'm alive." 

Fair ladies all, example take ; 

And hence a worthy lesson learn, 
All youthful follies to forsake, 105 

And vice from virtue to discern ; 
And let all women strive to be 
As constant as Penelope. 


Co Eucajita, on going to tijc Wltivi. 

By Colonel Ricliard Lovelace: from the volume of his poems, eutitUil 
Lurada, Lond. 1649, 12mo. The elegance of this writer's man ler 
would be mure admired if it had somewhat more of simplicity. 

Tell me not, sweet, I am unkinde, 

That from the nunnerie 
Of thy chaste brest and quiet minde, 

To warre and armes I tiie. 

True, a new mistresse now I chase, 6 

The first foe in the field ; 
And with a stronger faith imbrace 

A sword, a horse, a shield. 


Yet tliis inconstancy is sucli, 

As you too shall adore ; 10 

I could not love thee, deare, so much, 

Lov'd I not honour more. 


'Falnittnc antf i2!prgtnf. 

The old story-book of Valentine and Orson (which suggested the plau 
of tJxis talc, but it is not strictly followed in it) was originally a trans- 
lation from the French, being one of their earliest attempts at romance. 
See •' Le Bibliotheque de Eomans, &c." 

The circumstance of the bridge of bells is taken from the old metrical 
legend of Sir Bevis, and has also been copied iu the Seven Champions. 
The original lines are, 

" Over the dyke a bridge there lay. 
That man and beest might passe away : 
Under the brydge were sixty belles ; 
Right as the Romans telles; 
That there might no man passe in, 
But all they rang with a gyn." 

Sign. E. iv. 

In the Editor's folio MS. was an old poem on this subject, in a 
wretched corrupt state, unworthy the press: from which ^ere takeu 
Buch particulars as could be adopted. 


When Flora 'gins to decke the fields 

With colour's fresh and fine, 
Then holy clerkes their mattins sing 

To good Saint Valentine ! 

The King of France that morning fair b 

He would a hunting ride, 
To Artois forest prancing forth 

In all his princelye pride. 

To grace his sports a courtly train 

Of gallant peers attend ; 10 

And with their loud and cheerful cryes 

The hills and valleys rend. 


Through the Jeep forest swift they pass, 
Through woods and thickets wild ; 

When down within a lonely dell 15 

They found a new-born child ; 

All in a scarlet kercher lay'd 

Of silk so fine and thin ; 
A golden mantle wraj^t him round, 

Pinn'd with a silver pin. 20 

The sudden sight surpriz'd them all ; 

The courtiers gather'd round ; 
They look, they call, the mother seek ; 
No mother could be found. 

At length the king himself drew near, 25 

And as he gazing stands, 
The pretty babe look'd up and smil'd, 

And strctch'd his little hands. 

" Now, by the rood," King Pepin says, 

" This child is passing fair ; 3C 

I wot he is of gentle blood : 
Perhaps some prince's heir. 

" Goe bear him home unto my court 

With all the care ye may. 
Let him be christen'd Valentine, 35 

In honour of this day ; 

" And look me out some cunning nurse ; 

Well nurtur'd let him bee ; 
Nor ought be wanting that becomes 

A bairn of high degree." 40 

Tlicy look'd him out a cunning nurse ; 

And nurtur'd well was he ; 
Nor ought was wanting that became 

A bairn of high degree. 

Thus grcwc the little Valentine, 45 

Belov'd of king and peers, 
And shew'd in all he spake or did 

A wit beyond his years. 


But cliief in gallant feates of arms 

He did himself advance, 50 

That ere he grewe to man's estate 

He had no peere in France, 

And now the early downe began 

To shade his youthful chin, 
When Valentine was dubb'd a knight, 55 

That he might glory win. 

" A boon, a boon, my gracious liege, 

I beg a boon of thee ! 
The first adventure that befalls 

May be reserv'd for mee." 60 

" The first adventure shall be thine ;" 

The king did smiling say. 
Nor many days, when low ! there came 

Three palmers clad in graye. 

" Help, gracious lord," they weeping say'd ; 65 

And knelt, as it was meet ; 
" From Artoys forest we be come, 

With weak and weary e feet, 

" Within those deep and drearye woods 

There wends a savage boy ; 70 

Whose fierce and mortal rage doth yield 
Thy subjects dire annoy. 

" 'Mong ruthless beares he sure was bred ; 

He lurks within their den ; 
With beares he lives ; with beares he feeds, 75 

And di'inks the blood of men. 

♦' To more than savage strength he joins 

A more than human skill ; 
For arms, ne cunning may suffice 

His cruel rage to still." 80 

Up then rose Sir Valentine 

And claim'd that arduous deed. 
" Go forth and conquer," say'd the king, 

" And great shall be thy meed." 


Well mounted on a milk-white steed, 85 

His armour white as enow : 
As well beseem'd a virgin knight, 

Who ne'er had fought a foe. 

To Artoys forest he repairs 

With all the haste he may ; 90 

And soon he spies the savage youth 

A rending of his prey. 

His unkemj)t hair all matted hung 

His shaggy shoulders round ; 
His eager eye all fiery glow'd; 95 

His face with fury frown'd. 

Like eagles' talons grew his nails ; 

His limbs were thick and strong ; 
And dreadful was the knotted oak 

He bare with him along. 100 

Soon as Sir Valentine apj)roacli'd, 

He starts with sudden spring ; 
And yelling forth a hideous howl, 

He made the forests ring. 


As when a tyger fierce and fell 105 

Hath spied a passing roe, 
And leajis at once upon his throat ; 

So sprung the savage foe ; 

So lightly lcai)'d with furious force 

The gentle knight to seize, 110 

But met his tall uplifted S])ear, 

Which sunk him on his knees. 

A second stroke so stiff and stern 

Had laid tlic savage low ; 
But springing up, he rais'd his club 115 

And aim'd a dreadful blow. 

The watchful warrior bent his head, 

And shnn'd the coming stroke; 
Upon his taper sjiear it fell, 

And all to shivers broke. 120 


Then lighting nimbly from his steed, 

He drew his burnisht brand ; 
The savage quick as lightning jSew 

To wrest it from his hand. 

Three times he grasp'd the silver hilt ; 125 

Three times he felt the blade ; 
Three times it fell with furious force ; 

Three ghastly wounds it made. 

Now with redoubled rage he roar'd ; 

His eye-ball flash'd with fire ; 130 

Each hairy limb with fury shook ; 

And all his heart was ire. 

Then closing fast with furious gripe 

He clfisp'd the champion round, 
And with a strong and sudden twist 135 

He laid him on the ground. 

But soon the knight, with active spring, 

O'erturn'd his hairy foe ; 
And now between their sturdy fists 

Past many a bruising blow. 140 

They roll'd and grappled on the ground, 

And there they struggled long : 
Skilfol and active was the knight ; 

The savage he was strong. 

But brutal force and savage strength 145 

To art and skill must yield : 
Sir Valentine at length prevail'd, 

And. won the well-fought field. 


Then binding strait his conquer'd foe 

Fast with an iron chain, 150 

He tyes him to his horse's tail, 
And leads him o'er the plain. 

To court his hairy captive soon 

Sir Valentine doth bring ; 
And kneeling downe upon his knee, 155 

Presents him to the king. 



Witli loss f f blond and loss of strength 

The savage tamei* grew ; 
And to Sir Valentine became 

A servant, try'd and true. 160 

And 'cause with bearcs be erst was bred, 

Ursine tbey call bis name ; 
A name wbich unto future times 

Tbe Muses shall proclame. 


In bigb renown with prince and peere 

Now liv'd Sir Valentine ; 
His high renown mtb prince and peere 

Made envious hearts repine. 

It cbanc'd the king upon a day 6 

Prepar'd a sumptuous feast, 
And there came lords and dainty dames, 

And many a noble guest. 

Amid their cups that freely flow'd, 

Their revelry and mirth, 10 

A youthful knight tax'd Valentine 

Of base and doubtful birth. 

The foul reproach, so grossly nrg'd, 

His generous heart did wound ; 
And strait he vow'd he ne'er would rest 15 

Till he his parents found. 

Then bidding king and peers adieu, 

Early one summer's day, 
With faithful Ursine by his side. 

From court he took his way. 20 

O'er hill and valley, moss and moor, 

For many a day they pass ; 
At length, upon a moated lake, 

They found a bridge of brass. 

Ver. 23, i. c. a lake that served for a moat to a castle. 


Beyond it rose a castio fair, 25 

Y-built of marble-stone ; 
The battlements were gilt with gold, 

And glittred in the sun. 

Beneath the bridge, with strange device, 

A hundred bells were hung ; 30 

That man, nor beast, might pass thereon 
But strait their larum runtj. 


This quickly found the youthful pair, 

Who boldly crossing o'er, 
The jangling sound bedeaft their ears, 35 

And rung from shore to shore. 


Quick at the sound the castle gates 

Unlock'd and opened mde. 
And strait a gyant huge and grim 

Stalk'd forth with stately pride. 40 

' Now yield you, caytiffs, to my will ;" 

He cried with hideous roar ; 
" Or else the wolves shall eat your flesh, 

And ravens drink your gore." 

" Vain boaster," said the youthful knight, 45 

" I scorn thy threats and thee ; 
I trust to force thy brazen gates, 

And set thy captives free." 

Then putting spurs unto his steed, 

He aim'd a dreadful thrust ; 50 

The spear against the gyant glanc'd 

And caus'd the blood to burst. 

Mad and outrageous with the pain, 

He whirl'd his mace of steel ; 
The very wind of such a blow 56. 

Had made the champion reel. 

It haply mist ; and now the Imight 

His glittering sword display'd, 
And riding round with whirlwind speed 

Oft made him feel the blade. 60 

X 2 


As wlion a large and monstrous oak 

Unceasing axes liew, 
So fast around the gyant's limbs 

The blows quick-darting flew. 

As when the boughs ^vith hideous fall 65 

Some hapless woodman crush, 
With such a force the enormous foe 

Did on the champion rush. 

A fearful blow, alas ! there came ; 

Both horse and knight it took, 70 

And laid them senseless in the dust ; 

So fatal was the stroke. 

Then smiling forth a hideous grin, 

The gyant strides in haste, 
And, stooping, aims a second stroke : 75 

" Now caytifF breathe thy last !" 

But ere it fell, two thundering blows 

Upon his scull descend ; 
From Ursine's knotty club they came, 

Who ran to save his friend. 80 

Down sunk the gyant gaping wide, 

And rolling his grim eyes ; 
The hairy youth repeats his blows ; 

He gasps, he groans, he dies. 

Quickly Sir Valentine reviv'd 85 

With Ursine's timely care ; 
And now to search the castle walls 

The venturous youths repair. 

The blood and bones of murder'd knights 

They found where'er they came ; 90 

At length within a lonely cell 
They saw a mournful dame. 

Her gentle eyes were dim'd with tears ; 

Her checks wore pale with woe ; 
And long Sir Valentine besought 95 

Her doleful talc to know. 


** Alas ! young knight," she weeping said, 

" Condole my wretched fate ; 
A childless mother here you see ; 

A wife without a mate. 100 

" These twenty winters here forlorn 

I've drawn my hated breath ; 
Sole witness of a monster's crimes, 

And wishing aye for death. 

" Know, I am sister of a king, 105 

And in my early years 
Was married to a mighty prince. 

The fairest of his peers. 

" With him I sweetly liv'd in love 

A twelvemonth and a day ; 110 

When, lo ! a foul and treacherous priest 

Y -wrought oiu: loves' decay. 

" His seeming goodness wan him pow'r. 

He had his master's ear, 
And long to me and all the world 115 

He did a saint appear. 

" One day, when we were all alone. 

He proffer 'd odious love ; 
The wretch with horrour I repuls'd. 

And from my presence drove. 120 

" He feign'd remorse, and piteous beg'd 

His crime I'd not reveal ; 
Which, for his seeming penitence 

I promis'd to conceal. 

" With treason, villainy, and wrong, 125 

My goodness he repay 'd ; 
With jealous doubts ho fiU'd my lord, 

And me to woe betray'd ; 

" He hid a slave within my bed. 

Then rais'd a bitter cry, 130 

My lord, possest with rage, condemn'd 

Me, all unheard, to dye. 


" But, 'cause I then was great with chihl 

At length my life he sjjar'd ; 
But bade me instant quit the realme, 135 

One trusty knight my guard. 

Forth on my journey I depart, 

Opprest with grief and woe. 
And tow'rds my brother's distant court, 

With breaking heart, I goe. 140 

" Long time tliro' sundry foreign lands 

We slowly pace along ; 
At length, within a forest wild, 

I fell in labuui' strong : 

" And while the knight for succour sought, 145 

And left me there forlorn, 
My childbed pains so fast increast 

Two lovely boys were born. 

•' The eldest fair and smooth, as snow 

That tips the mountain hoar; 150 

The younger's little body i-ough 
With hairs was cover'd o'er. 

" But here afresh begin my woes : 

While tender care I took 
To shield my eldest from the cold, 155 

And wraj) him in my cloak, 

" A prowling bear burst from the wood. 

And Bciz'd my younger son ; 
Affection lent my weakness wings 

And after them I run. 160 

" But all forewcaried, weak and spent, 

I quickly swoon'd away ; 
And thoie beneatli the greenwood shade 

Long time I lifeless lay. 

*' At length the knight brought me relief, 165 

And rais'd me from the ground ; 
But neither of my jnvtty babes 

Could ever more be found. 


*' And, while in search we wander'd far, 

We met that gyant grim, 170 

Who ruthless slew my trusty knight, 
And bare me off with him. 

" But charm'd by heav'n, or else my griefs, 

He offer'd me no wrong ; 
Save that within these lonely walls 175 

I've been immur'd so long." 

" Now, surely," said the youthful knight, 

" You are Lady Bellisance, 
Wife to the Grecian Emperor ; 

Your brother's King of France. 180 

" For in your royal brother's court 

Myself my breeding had ; 
Where oft the story of your woes 

Hath made my bosom sad. 

" If so, know your accuser's dead, 185 

And dying own'd his crime ; 
And long your lord hath sought you out 

Thro' every foreign clime. 

" And when no tidings he could learn 

Of his much-wronged uife, 19C 

He vow'd thenceforth within his court 

To lead a hermit's life." 

" Now heaven is kind ! " the lady said ; 

And dropt a joyful tear : 
"Shall I once more behold my lord? 195 

That lord I love so dear ?" 

*' But, madam," said Sir Valentine, 

And knelt upon his knee ; 
*' Know you the cloak that wrapt your babe, 

If you the same should see ? " 200 

And pulling forth the cloth of gold 

In which himself was found. 
The lady gave a sudden shriek. 

And fainted on the ground. 


But by liis pious care reviv'd, ^0^* 

His talc slio heard anon ; 
And soon by other tokens found 

He was indeed her son. 

*' But who's this hairy youth ?" she said ; 

" He much resembles thee ; 210 

The bear devour 'd my younger son, 

Or sure that son were he." 

" Madam, this youth with bears was bred, 

And rear'd within their den. 
But recollect ye any mark 215 

To know your son agen ?" 

*' Upon his little side," quoth she, 

" Was stampt a bloody rose." 
"Here, lady, see the crimson mark 

Upon his body grows!" 

Then clasping both her new-found sons 
She bath'd their checks with tears ; 

And soon towards her brother's court 
Her joyful course she steers. 

What pen can paint King Pepin's joy, 22o 

His sister thus restor'd ! 
And soon a messenger was sent 

To cheer her drooping lord. 

Who came in haste with all his peers. 

To fetch her home to Greece ; ^ 230 

Where many happy years they reign'd 
In perfect love and peace. 

To them Sir Ursine did succeed, 

And long the scepter bare. 
Sir Valentine he stay'd in France, 235 

And was his uncle's heii". 


« * 



'^i)c Siagoix of (KLlautlry. 

This humorous song (as a former Editor ' has well observed) is to old 
metrical romances and ballads of chivalry, what Von Quixote is to 
prose narratives of that kind, — a lively satire on their extravagant 
fictions. But although the satire is thiis general, the subject of this 
ballad is local and peculiar ; so that many of the finest strokes of humour 
are lost for want of our knowing the minute circumstances to which 
they allude. Many of them can hardly now be recovered, although 
we have been fortunate enough to learn the general subject to which 
the satire referred, and shall detail the information with which we have 
been favoured in a separate memoir at the end of the poem. 

In handling his subject, the author has brought in most of the 
common incidents which occur- in romance. The description of the 
dragon- — his outrages — the people flying to the knight for succour — 
his care in choosing his armour — his being di-est for fight by a young 
damsel — and most of the circumstances of the battle and victory 
(allowing for the bui-lesque turn given to them), are what occur in 
every book of chivalry, whether in prose or verse. 

If any one piece, more than another, is more particularly levelled at, 
it seems to be the old rhyming legend of Sir Bevis. There a dragon 
is attacked from a well in a manner not very remote from this of the 
ballad : 

" There was a well, so have I wynne, 
And Bevis stumbled ryght therein. 

Than was he glad without fayle, 

And rested a whyle for his avayle ; 

And dranke of that water his fyll ; 

And than he lepte out, with good wyll, 

And with Morglay his brande 

He assayled the dragon, I understands : 

On the dragon he smote so faste, 

Where that he hit the scales braste : 

The dragon then faynted sore, 

And cast a galon and more 

Out of his mouthe of venim strong, 

And on sir Bevis he it flong : 

It was venymous y-wis." 

This seems to be meant by the Dragon of Wantley's stink, ver. 110, 

> Collection of Historic il Ballads, in 3 vols. 1727 
' See above, pp. 144 and 266. 


As the politic knii,'h.'s creeping out, and attacking tlie di'agou, &o., 
seems evidently to uUude to the IbLlo\\ ing : 

" Bevis blessed himselfe, and forth yode, 
And lepte out with haste full good ; 
And Bevis uuto the dragon gone is ; 
And the dr^igon also to Bevis. 
Longe and harde was that fyght 
Betwene the dragon and that knyght : 
But ever whan syr Bevis was hurt sore, 
He went to the well, and washed him thore; 
He was as hole as any man, 
Ever freshe as whan he began. 
The dragon sawe it might not avayle 
Besyie the well to hold batayle ; 
He thought he would, wyth some wyle, 
Out of that place Bevis begyle ; 
He woulde have flowen then awaye, 
But Bevis lepte after with good Morglaye, 
And hyt him under the wynge, 
As he was in his flyenge," &c. 

Sign. M. jv. L. j. &c. 

After all, perhaps the writer of this ballad was acquainted with the 
above incidents only through the medium of Spenser, who has assumed 
most of them, in his Faerie Queen. At least some particulars in tho 
description of the dragon, &c., seem evidently borrowed fiom the latter. 
See book i. canto ii. where the dragon's " two wynges like sayls — huge 
long tayl — with stings — his cruel rending clawes — and yron teeth — his 
breath of smothering smoke and sulphur " — and the duration of the 
fight for upward:^ (jf two days, bear a great resemblance to passages in 
the following ballad ; though it must be confessed that these particulars 
are common to all old writers of romance. 

Although this ballad must have been written early in the last 
century, we have met with none but such as were comparatively 
modern copies. It is here printed from one in Roman letter, in the 
Fepys collection, collated with such others as could be procured. 

Old Btorics tell how Hercules 

A dragon slow at Lerna, 
"With seven heads, and fourteen eyes, 
To see and well discern-a : 
But ho had a club, this dragon to drub, 5 

Or he liad tm'or done it, I warrant ye : 
But More of More-Hall, witli nothing at all, 
He slew the dragon of Wantley. 


Tills dragon had two furious wings, 

Eacli one upon each shoulder ; 10 

With a sting in his tayl, as long as a flayl, 
Which made him bolder and bolder. 
He had long claws, and in his jaws 

Four and forty teeth of iron ; 
With a hide as tough as any buff, 15 

Which did him round environ. 

Have you not heard how the Trojan horse 

Held seventy men in his belly ? 
This dragon was not quite so big, 

But very near I'll tell ye. 20 

Devoured he poor children three, 

That could not with him grapple ; 
And at one sup he eat them up, 
As one would eat an apple. 

All sorts of cattle this dragon did eat ; 25 

Some say he ate up trees, 
And that the forests sure he would 
Devour up by degrees ; 
For houses and chm-ches were to him geese and turkies ; 

He ate all, and left none behind, 30 

But some stones, dear Jack, that he could not crack, 
Which on the hills you will find. 

In Yorkshire, near fair Rotherham, 

The place I know it well, 
Some two or three miles, or thereabouts, 35 

I vow I cannot tell ; 
But there is a hedge, just on the hill edge, 

And Matthew's house hard by it ; 
there and then was this dragon's den, 

You could not chuse but spy it. 40 

Some say, this dragon was a witch ; 

Some say he was a devil ; 
For from his nose a smoke arose, 

And with it burning snivel ; 

Ver. 29, were t- him gorse and birches. Other copies. 


Whicli he cast off, when he did cough, 45 

In a well that he did stand by, 
Wliich made it look just like a brook 

Eunning with burning brandy. 

Hard by a furious knight there dwelt, 

Of whom all towns did ring, _ 50 

For he could wrestle, play at quarter-staff, kick, cuff and 
Call son of a whore, do any kind of thing. 
By the tail and the main, with his hands twain. 

He swung a horse till he was dead ; 
And that which is stranger, he for very anger 65 

Eat him all un but his head. 

These children, as I told, being eat. 

Men, women, girls, and boys, 
Sighing and sobbing, came to his lodging, 

And made a hideous noise ; 60 

" save us all, More of More-hall, 

Thou peerless knight of these woods ; 
Do but slay this dragon, who won't leave us a rag on, 
We'll give thee all our goods." 

" Tut, tut," quoth he, " no goods I want : 65 

But I want, I want, in sooth, 
A fair maid of sixteen, that's brisk and keen, 
With smiles about the mouth, 
Hair black as sloe, skin white as snow. 

With blushes her cheeks adorning, 70 

To anoynt me o'er night, ere I go to fight, 
And to dress me in the morning." 

This being done, he did engage 

To hew the dragon down ; 
But first he went, new armour to 75 

Bespeak at Sheffield town ; 
With spikes all about, not within but without. 

Of steel so sharp and strong, 
Both behind and before, arms, legs, and all o'er, 

Some five or six inches long. 80 


Had you but seen him in this dress, 
How fierce he look'd and how big, 
You would have thought him for to be 
Some Egyptian porcupig. 
He frighted all, cats, dogs, and all, 85 

Each cow, each horse, and each hog : 
For fear they did flee, for they took him to be 
Some strange outlandish hedge»hog. 

To see this fight, all people then 

Got up on trees and houses ; 90 

On churches some, and chimneys too ; 
But these put on their trowses, 
Not to spoil their hose. As soon as he rose, 

To make him strong and mighty. 
He drank by the tale six pots of ale, 95 

And a quart of aqua-vitae. 

It is not strength that always wins, 

For wit doth strength excell ; 
Which made our cunning champion 

Creep down into a well, 100 

Where he did think, this dragon would drink, 

And so he did in truth ; 
And as he stoop'd low, he rose up and cry'd, " Boh ! " 
And hit him in the mouth. 

" Oh," quoth the dragon, " pox take thee, come out ! 105 

Thou disturb 'st me in my drink : " 
And then he turn'd, and s ... at him ; 
Good lack how he did stink ! 
" Beshrew thy soul, thy body's foul, 

Thy dung smells not like balsam ; 110 

Thou son of a whore, thou stink'st so sore, 
Sui'e thy diet is unwholesome." 

Our politick knight, on the other side, 

Crept out upon the brink. 
And gave the dragon such a douse, 115 

He knew not what to think : 


" By cock," quoth lie, " say you so, do you seo ? ** 

Aud then at him he let fly 
With hand and with foot, and so they went to't ; 

And the word it was. Hey boys, hey ! 120 

" Your words," quoth the dragon, " I don't understand ; " 

Then to it they fell at all, 
Like two wild boars so fierce, if I may 
Comi^are great things with small. 
Two days and a night, with this dragon did fight 125 

Our champion on the ground ; 
Tho' their strength it was great, their skill it was neat, 
They never had one wound. 

At length the hard earth began to quake, 

The dragcm gave him a knock, 130 

Which made him to reel, and straitway he thought, 
To lift him as high as a rock. 
And thence let him fall. But More of More-hall, 

Like a valiant son of Mars, 
As he came like a lout, so he turn'd him about, 135 

Aud hit him a kick on the a . . . 

" Oh," quoth the dragon, with a deep sigh, 

And turn'd six times together. 
Subbing and tearing, cursing and swearing 

Out of his throat of leather ; 140 

•*More of More-hall; O thou rascal! 

Would I had seen thee never ; 
With the thing at thy foot, thou hast prick'd my a . . . gut. 
And I'm quite undone for-cver. 

" Murder, murder," the dragon cry'd, 145 

" Alack, alack, for grief; 
Had you but mist that i)lace, you could 
Have done me no mischief." 
Then his head he shaked, trembled and quaked. 

And down he laid aud cry'd ; 150 

First on one knee, then on back tumbled ho, 
So groan'd, kickt, s . . . , and dy'd. 


•^* A description of the supposed scene of the foregding ballad, 
which was communicated to the Editor in 1767, is here given in the 
words of the relater : 

"In Yorkshire, six miles from Kotherham, is a village called 
Wortley, the seat of the late Wortley Blontague, Esq. About a mile 
from this village is a lodge, named \\arncliif Lodge, but vulgarly 
called Wantley : here lies the scene of the song. I was there above 
forty years ago : and it being a woody rocky place, my friend made me 
clamber over rocks and stones, not telling me to what end, till I came 
to a sort of cave; then asked my opinion of the place, and pointing to 
one end, says, Here lay the dragon killed by Moor, of Moor-hall: here 
lay his head ; here lay his tail : and the stones we came over on the 
hill, are those he could not crack ; and yon white hoiise you see half a 
mile otf, is IMoor-liall. I had dined at the lodge, and knew the man's 
name was Matthew, who was a keeper to Mr. Wortley, and, as he 
endeavoured to persuade me, was the same Matthew mentioned in 
the song : in the house is the jjicture of the dragon and Moor of Moor- 
hall, and near it a well, which, says he. is the well described in the 

*^* Since the former editions of this humorous old song were printed, 
the following key to the satire hath been communicated by Godfrey 
Bosville, Esq., of Thorp, near Malton, in Yorkshire: who, in the 
most obliging manner, gave full permission to subjoin it to the poem. 

Wamcliffe Lodge, and Warncliife Wood (vulgarly pronounced 
Wantley), are in the parish of Penniston, in Yorkshire. The rectory 
of Penniston was part of the dissolved monasti ry of St. Stephen's, 
Westminster; and was granted to the Duke of Norfolk's family : who 
therewith endowed an hospital, which he built at SheflSdd, for women. 
The trustees let the impropriation of the great tithes of Penniston to 
the Wortley family, who got a great deal by it. and wanted to get still 
more : for Mr. Nicholas Wortley attempted to take the tithes in kind ; 
but Mr. Francis Bosville opposed him, and there was a decree in 
favour of the modus in 87th Eliz. Tlie vicarage of Penniston did not 
go ahmg with the rectory, but with the copyhold rents, and was part 
of a large purchase made by Ealph Bosville, Esq., from Queen Elizabeth, 
in the second year of her reign : and that part he sold in 12th Eliz. to 
his elder brother Godfrey, the father of Francis ; who left it, with the 
rest of his estate, to his wife for her life, and then to Kalph, third son 
of his uncle Ealph. The widow married I,yonel Rowlestone, lived 
eighteen years, and survived Ralph. 

This premised, the ballad apparently relates to the law-suit carried 
on concerning this claim of tithes made by the Wortley family. 
" Houses and churches were to him geese and turkeys;" which are 
titheable things, the dragon chose to live on. Sir Francis Wortley^ 
the son of Nicholas, attempted again to take the tithes in kind : but 
the pari^hiuners subscribed an agreement to defend theii- modus. And 
at the head of the agreement was Lyonel Rowlestone, who is supposed 
to be one of "the stones, dear Jack, which thti dragon could not crack." 
The agreement is still preserved in a large sheet of parchment, dated 


1st of James I., and is full of iiaines and scal^:, which might be mean* 
by the coat of ariiiour " with spikes all about, both withiu aud withe ut." 
More of Mnie-liall was either the attorney, or counsellor, who con- 
ducted the suit. He is not distinctly remembered, but More-hall is 
etill extant at the very bottom of VVantley [Warncliff] Wood, and lies 
80 low, that it might be said to be in a well : as the dragon's den 
[Warncliff I, oilgej was at the top of the wood, "with Matthew's house 
hard by it." The kerpers belonging to the ^^^lrtley family were 
named, for many generations, Matthew Northall ; the last of them left 
this lodge, within memory, to be keeper to the Duke of Norfolk. The 
present owner of More-hall still attends IMr. Bosville's manor court at 
Ox-spring, and pays a Rose a year. " More of Moi e-hall, with nothing 
at all, slew the Dragon of Wantley." He gave him. instead of tithes, 
80 small a modus, that it was in effect nothing at all. and was slaying 
him with a vengeance. "The poor children three," &c., cannot surely 
mean the three sisters of Francis liosville, who would have been co- 
heiresses had he made no will? The late jNIr. Hosville had a contest 
■with the descendants of two of them, tlie late Sir George Saville's father, 
and Mr. Copley, about the presentation io Pennistou. they supposing 
Francis had not the power to give this part of the estate from the heirs 
at law; but it was decided against them. The dragon (Sir Francis 
Wortley) succeeded better with his cousin Wordesworth, the freehold 
lord of the manor (for it is the copyhold manor that belongs to Mr. 
Bosville), having persuaded him not to join the refractory parishioners, 
under a that he would let him his tithes cheaj) : and now the 
estates ot \\ ortley aud Wordesworth are the only lands that pay tithes 
in the parish. 

N.B. The "two days and a night," mentioned in verse 125, as the 
duration of the combat, was i^robably that of the trial at law. 


^t. (i^foicic for iEnglaiiK 


As the former song is in ridicule of the extravagant incidents in old 
ballads and metrical romances; so tiiis is a burles(iue of their style; 
particularly of the rambling transitions and wild accumulation of uu- 
conuccted parts, so frequent in many of them. 

This ballad is given from an old black-letter copy in the Pepyg 
collection, "imprinted at London, 1(J12." It is more ancient than 
many of the preceding; but we phue it here for the sake of connecting 
w. til it the Second 1'art. 


Why doe you boast of Arthur and his knightes, 
Knowing ' well ' how mauy men have endured fightes ? 
For besides King Arthur and Lancelot du Lake, 
Or Sir Tristram de Lionel that fought for ladies sake, 
Read in old histories, and there you shall see 
How St. George, St. George the dragon made to flee. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense. 

Mark our father Abraham, when first he resckued Lot 
Onely with his household, what conquest there he got. 
David was elected a prophet and a king, 
He slew the great Goliah with a stone within a sling. 
Yet "these were not kniglites of the Table Round, 
Nor St. George, St. George who the dragon did confound. 
St. George he was for England ; St, Dennis was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense. 

Jephthah and Gideon did lead their men to fight. 
They conquered the Amorites and put them all to flight. 
Hercules his labours ' were ' on the plaiues of Basse ; 
And Sampson slew a thousand with the jawbone of an 

And eke he threw a temple downe and did a mighty 

But St. George, St. George he did the dragon foyle. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense. 

The warres of ancient monarchs it were too long to tell, 
And likewise of the Romans, how farre they did excell ; 
Hannyball and Scipio in many a fielde did fighte ; 
Orlando Furioso he was a worthy kuighte ; 
Remus and Romulus were they that Rome did builde. 
But St. George, St. George the dragon made to yielde. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense. 

The noble Alphonso, that was the Spanish king, 

The order of the red scarifes and bandrolles in did bring ; ^ 

* This probably alludes to " An ancient Order of Knighthood, callt d the 

Order of the Band, instituted by Don Alphonsus, king of Spain tn 

wear a red riband of three lingers breadth," &c. See Ames, Typog. p. 327 



He had a troope of miglity kniglites when first he did 

Which sought adventures farre and neare that conquest 

they might win ; 
The ranks of the Pagans he often put to flight. 
But St. George, St. George did with the dragon fight. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense. 

Many ' knights ' have fought with proud Tamberhxine ; 
Cutlax, the Dane, great warres he did maiutaine ; 
Rowland of Beanie and good ' Sir ' Oliverc 
In the forest of Aeon slew both woolfe and beare, 
Besides that noble Hollander, ' Sir' Goward with the bill. 
But St. George, St. George the dragon's blood did spill. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense. 

Valentine and Orson were of King Pepin's blood ; 
Alfride and Henry they w ere brave knightes and good ; 
The four sons of Aymou, tliat follow'd Charlemaine, 
Sir Hughon of Burdeaux and Godfrey of Bullaine, 
These were all French knightes that lived in that age. 
But St. George, St. George the dragon did assuage. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for France ; 
Sing, Ho7ii soil qui mal y pense. 

Bevis conquered Ascapart, and after slew the boarc, 

And then he crost beyond the seas to combat with the 

Moore ; 
Sir Isenbras and Eglamore, tliey were knightes most bold ; 
And good Sir John Slandeville of travel inucli hath told ; 
There were many English knights that Pagans did 

But St. George, St. George pluckt out tlie dragon's heart. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for Franco ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense. 

The noble Earl of Warwick, that was call'd Sir Guy, 
The infidels and pagans stoutlie did defie ; 
He slew the giant Brandimoro, and after was the death 
Of that most ghastly dun cowc, the divell of Dunsmore 



Besides his noble deeds all done beyond the seas. 
But St. George, St. George the dragon did appease. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui tnal y pense. 

Eichard Coeur-de-lion, erst king of tbis land, 
He the lion gored with his naked hand ; ^ 
The false Duke of Austria nothing did he feare ; 
But his son he killed with a boxe on the eare ; 
Besides his famous actes done in the Holy Lande. 
But St. George, St. George the dragon did witbstande. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soit qui mat y pense. 

Henry the Fifth he conquered all France, 
And quartered their arms, his honour to advance ; 
He their cities razed, and threw their castles downe, 
And his head he honoured with a double crowne ; 
He thumped the French-men, and after home he came. 
But St. George, St. George he did the dragon tame. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 

St. David of Wales the Welsh-men much advance ; 
St. Jaques of Spaine, that never yet broke lance ; 
St, Patricke of Ireland, which was St. Georges boy, 
Seven yeares he kept his horse, and then stole him away : 
For which knavish act, as slaves they doe remaine. 
But St. George, St. George the dragon he hath slaine. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 

• Alluding to the fabulous exploits attributed to this king ia the old 
Konances. See the Dissertation prefixed to this volume 




^t. ^forge for 3EugIanU. 


Was written bj' Joha Grubb, M.A., of Christ Church, Oxford. The 
occasion of its being composed is said to have been as follows. A set 
of gentlemen of the university had formed themselves into a club, all 
the members of which were to be of the nnme of George: their anni- 
versary feast was to be held on St. George's Day. Our autlior solicited 
strongly to be admitted; but his name being unfortunately John, this 
disqualification was di.spetifed with only upon this condition, — that he 
would compose a song in honour of their patron saint, and would every 
year produce one or more new stanzas, to be sung on their annual 
festival. This gave birth to the following humorous performance, the 
several stanzas of whiih were the produce of many successive anni- 

This diverting poem was long handed about in m;inuscript; at 
length a friend of Grubb's undertook to get it printed, who, not keeping 
pace witli the impatience of las friends, was addressed in the following 
whimsical macaronic lines, which, in such a collection as this, may not 
improperly accompany the poem itself. 


TOn] ob Poema Johannis Grubb, Viri rov irayv ingeniosissimi in lucem 
nondum editi. 

TONI ! Tune sines divina poemata Grubbi 

Intomb'd in secret thus still to remain any longer, 

Tovvof.ia ffov shall last, H Fpv^jSe Sia/iiwepes aei 

Grubbi' tuum nomen vivet dum nobilis ale-a 

Etficit heriias, dignamque heroe puellam. 

Est geniis heroum, (juos nobilis elHcit ale-a 

Qui pro ni])erkin clamant, quaternque liquoris 

Quern vocitant Homines Brandy, Super! Cherry-brandy. 

Sa;pe illi long-cut, vel small-cut flare Tobacco 

Sunt soliti pipos. Ast si genero.sior herba 

(Per varies casus, per tot discrimina rerum) 

JIundungus desit, turn non funcare recusant 

' To this circumstance it is owing that the Editor has never met with 
two copies in which the stanzas are arranged alike : he has therefore 
thrown them into what appeared tne most natural order. The verses are 
properly long Ale.xandriues, but the narrowness of the page made it 
necessary to subdivide them: they are here printed with many improve- 


Brown-paper tosta, vel quod fit arundine bed-mat. 
Hie labor, hoc opus est heroum ascendere sedes ! 
Ast ego quo rapiar ? quo me feret entheus ardor, 
Grubbe, tui memorem ? Divinum expande poema. 
Quae mora ? quae ratio est, quin Grubbi protinus anser 
Virgilii, Flaccique simul canat inter olores ? 

At length the importunity of his friends prevailed, and Mr. Grubb'i 
eong was published at Oxford, under the following title : 

The British Heroes, 

A New Poem in honour of St. George 

By Mr. John Grubb 

School-master of Christ-Church 

OxON. 1688. 
Favete Unguis : carmina non prius 
Audita, musarum sacerdos 

Canto. HOR. 

Sold by Henry Clements. Osou. 

The story of King Arthur old 

Is very memorable, 
The number of bis valiant knights, 

And roundness of his Table. 
The knights around his table in & 

A circle sate, d'ye see, 
And altogether made up one 

Large hoop of chivalry. 
He had a sword, both broad and sharp, 

Y-cleped Caliburn, 10 

Would cut a flint more easily 

Than pen-knife cuts a corn ; 
As case-knife does a capon carve, 

So would it carve a rock, 
And split a man at single slash 15 

From noddle down to nock. 
As Roman Augur's steel of yore 

Dissected Tarquin's riddle, 
So this would cut both conjurer 

And whetstone thro' the middle. 20 


He was tlie cream of Brecknock, 
And flower of all the Welsh : 
But George he did the dragon fell, 
And gave him a plaguy squclsh. 
St. George he w^as for England ; St. Dennis was for 

France ; 25 

Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense. 

Peudragon, like his father Jove, 

Was fed with milk of goat ; 
And like him made a noble shield 

Of she-goat's shaggy coat ; 30 

On top of buruisht helmet he 

Did wear a crest of leeks 
And onions' heads, whose dreadful nod 

Drew tears down hostile cheeks. 
Itch and Welsh blood did make him hot 35 

And very prone to ire ; 
H' was ting'd with brimstone, like a match, 

And would as soon take fire. 
As brimstone he took inwardly 

When scurf gave him occasion, 40 

His postern puif of wind was a 

Sulphureous exhalation. 
The Briton never tergivers'd, 

But was for adverse drubbing, 
And never turn'd his back to aught, 45 

But to a post for scrubbing. 
His sword would serve for battle, or 

For dinner, if you please ; 
When it had slain a Cheshire man 

'Twould toast a Cheshire cheese. 50 

He wounded and, in their own blood, 

Did anabaptize Pagans : 
But George he made the dragon an 

Example to all dragons. 
Bt. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

France ; 56 

Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense. 

Brave Warwick Guy, at dinner time, 
Challeng'd a gyaut savage; 


And streight came out the unwieldy lout 

Brim-full of wrath and cabbage. 60 

He had a phiz of latitude, 

And was full thick i' th' middle ; 
The cheeks of puffed Trumpeter, 

And paunch of Squire Beadle.^ 
But the knight fell'd him like an oak, 65 

And did upon his back tread ; 
The valiant knight his weazon cut, 

And Atropos his packthread. 
Besides he fought with a dun cow, 

As say the poets witty, 70 

A dreadful dun, and horned too. 

Like dun of Oxford city. 
The fervent dog-days made her mad, 

By causing heat of weather, 
Syrius and Procyon baited her, 75 

As bull-dogs did her father ; 
Grasiers nor butchers this fell beast, 

E'er of her frolick kindred ; 
John Dosset ^ she'd knock down as flat, 

As John knocks down her kindred ; 80 

Her heels would lay ye all along, 

And kick into a swoon ; 
Frewin's * cow-heels keep up your corpse, 

But hers would beat you down. 
She vanquisht many a sturdy wight, 85 

And proud was of the honour ; 
"Was pufft by mauling butchers so. 

As if themselves had blown her. 
At once she kickt and pusht at Guy, 

But all that would not fright him, 90 

Who wav'd his winyard o'er sir-loyn, 

As if he'd gone to knight him. 
He let her blood, frenzy to cure. 

And eke he did her gall rip ; 
His trenchant blade, like cook's long spit, 95 

Ean thro' the monster's bald-rib ; 

• Men of bulk answerable to their places, as is well known at Oxford. 

• A biitcher that then served the college. 

• A cook, who on fast-nights was famous for selling cow-heel and trij<« 



He rcar'd up the vast crooked rib, 

Instead of arcli triumpiial : 
But George liit th' dragon such a pelt, 

As made him on his bum fall. 100 

St. George hr was for England ; St. Dennis was for 
France ; 
Sing, Eoni soil qui mal y penae. 

Tamerlain, with Tartarian bow, 

The Turkish squadrons slew, 
And fetch'd the pagan crescent down 105 

With half-moon made of yew. 
His trusty bow proud Turks did gall 

With showers of arrows thick, 
And bow-strings, without strangling, sent 

Grand- Visiers to old Nick ; 110 

Much turliants and much Pagan pates 

He made to humble in dust ; 
And heads of Saracens he fixt 

On spear, as on a sign-post ; 
He coop'd in cage Bajazet, the prop 115 

Of Mahomet's religion. 
As if't had been the whispering bird 

That jH-ompted him, the pigeon. 
In Turkey-leather scabbard, lie 

Did sheath his blade so trenchant : 120 

But George he swing'd the dragon's tail, 

And cut otf every inch on't. 
St. George ho was for England ; St. Dennis was for 
France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense. 

The amazon Thalcstris was 125 

Both beautiful and bold ; 
She sear'd her breasts with iron hot, 

And bang'd her foes with cold. 
Her liand was like the tool wherewith 

Jove keei)s proud mortals under ; 130 

It shone just like his lightning, 

And batter'd like his thunder. 


Her eye darts lightning that would blast 

The proudest he that swagger'd, 
And melt the rapier of his soul, 135 

In its corporeal scabbard. 
Her beauty and her drum, to foes, 

Did cause amazement double ; 
As timorous larks amazed are 

With light and with a low-bell, 140 

With beauty and that Lapland-charm,^ 

Poor men she did bewitch all ; 
Still a blind whining lover had, 

As Pallas had her scrich-owl. 
She kept the chastness of a nun 145 

In armour, as in cloyster : 
But George undid the dragon just 

As you'd undo an oister. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 
France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mal y jpense. 150 

Stout Hercules was offspring of 

Great Jove and fair Alcmene ; 
One part of him celestial was, 

One i^art of him terrene. 
To scale the hero's cradle walls 155 

Two fiery snakes combin'd. 
And, curling into a swaddling cloaths, 

About the infant twin'd ; 
But he put out these dragons' fires. 

And did their hissing stop ; 160 

As red-hot iron with hissing noise 

Is quencht in blacksmith's shop. 
He cleaus'd a stable, and rubb'd down 

The horses of new comers ; 
And out of horse-dung he rais'd fame, 165 

As Tom Wrench ^ does cucumbers. 
He made a river help him through, 

Alpheus was under-groom. 
The stream, disgust at ofiSce mean, 

Ean murmuring thro' the room ; 170 

* The drum. * Who kept Paradisr gardens at Oxford. 


This liquid ostler to prevent 

Being tired vvitli that long work, 
His father Neptune's trident took, 

Instead of thrcc-tooth'd dung-fork. 
This Hercules, as soldier and 176 

As spinster, could take pains ; 
His club would sometimes spin yc flax 

And sometimes knock out brains ; 
H' was forc'd to spin his miss a shift 

By Juno's wrath and her-spite ; 180 

Fair Omphale whi[)t him to his wheel, 

As cook whips barking turn-spit. 
From man or churn, he well knew how 

To get him lasting fame : 
He'd pound a giant till the blood, 185 

And milk till butter came. 
Often he fought with huge battoon, 

And oftentimes he boxed ; 
Ta2:)t a fresh monster once a month. 

As Hervey ^ doth fresh hogshead. 190 

He gave Anteus such a hug, 

As wrestlers give in Cornwall : 
But George he did the dragon kill, 

As dead as any door-nail. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

France ; 195 

Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense. 

The Gemini, sprung from an egg, 

Were put into a cradle ; 
Tlieir brains with knocks and bottled-ale, 

Were often-times full addle ; 200 

And, scarcely hatcli'd, these sons of him 

That hurls the bolt trisulcate, 
With lielmet-shell on tender head 

Did tustle with rcd-ey'd pole-cat. 
Castor a horseman, PuUux tho' 205 

A boxer was, I wist : 
The one was fain'd for iron heel ; 

Th' other for leaden fist. 

' A noted drawer at the Mermaid Tavern in Oxford. 


Pollux to sliew he was a god, 

When he was in a passion 210 

With fist made noses fall down flat 

By way of adoration : 
This fist, as sure as French disease, 

Demolish'd noses' ridges ; 
He, like a certain lord,** was fam'd 215 

For breaking down of bridges. 
Castor the flame of fiery steed 

With well-spurr'd boots took down ; 
As men, with leathern buckets, quench 

A fire in country town. 220 

His famous horse, that liv'd on oats, 

Is sung on oaten quill ; 
By bards' immortal provender 

The nag surviveth still. 
This shelly brood on none but knaves 225 

Employ'd their brisk artillery. 
And flew as naturally at rc^gues. 

As eggs at thief in pillory.^ 
Much sweat they spent in furious fight. 

Much blood they did eifund ; 230 

Their whites they vented thro' the pores ; 

Their yolks thro' gaping wound. 
Then both were cleans'd from blood and dust 

To make a heavenly sign ; 
The lads were, like their armour, scowr'd, 235 

And then hung up to shine ; 
Such were the heavenly double-Dicks, 

The sons of Jove and Tyndar : 
But George he cut the dragon up, 

As he had bin duck or windar. 240 

• Lord Lovelace broke down the bridges about Oxford, at the beginning 
of the Revolution. See on this subject a ballad in Smith's Poems, p. 102 
Lond. 1713. 

• It has been suggested by an ingenious correspondent, that this was < 
popular subject at that time : 

Not carted Bawd, or Dan de Foe, 
In wooden Ruff ere bhister'd so. 

Smith's Poems, p. 117. 


St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 
France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense. 

Gorgon a twisted adder wore 

For knot upon lier shoulder ; 
She kemb'd her hissing periwig, 245 

And curling snakes did powder. 
These snakes they made stiif changelings 

Of all the folks they hist on ; 
They turned barbers into hones, 

And masons into free-stone. 250 

Sworded magnetic Amazon 

Her shield to load-stone changes ; 
Then amorous sword by magic belt 

Clung fast unto her haunches. 
This shield long village did protect, 255 

And kept the army from-town, 
And chang'd the bullies into rocks 

That came t' invade Long-Compton.^ 
She post-diluvian stores unmans, 

And Pyrrha's work uni-avels ; 260 

And stares Deucalion's hardy boys 

Into their primitive pebbles. 
Red noses she to rubies turns, 

And noddles into bricks : 
But George made dragon laxative ; 265 

And gave him a bloody flix. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 
France ; 
Sing, Ho7ii 8oit qui mal y pense. 

By boar- spear Meleagor got 

An everlasting name, 270 

And out of haunch of basted swine, 

He hew'd eternal fame. 
This beast each hero's trouzers ript. 

And rudely shew'd his bare-breech, 

See the account of Rolricht StoneB, in Dr. Plott's Hist, of Oxfordshire 


Prickt hut the wem, ancl out there came 275 

Heroic guts and garbadge. 
Legs were secured by iron boots 

No more than peas by peascods ; 
Brass helmets, with inclosed sculls, 

Wou'd crackle in's mouth like chesnuts. 280 

His tawny hairs erected were 

By rage, that was resistless ; 
And wrath, instead of cobler's wax, 

Did stiffen his I'ising bristles. 
His tusk lay'd dogs so dead asleep, 285 

Nor horn, nor whip cou'd wake um : 
It made them vent both their last blood, 

And their last album-grecum. 
But the knight gor'd him with his spear 

To make of him a tame one, 290 

And arrows thick, instead of cloves, 

He stuck in monster's gammon. 
For monumental pillar, that 

His victory might be known. 
He rais'd up, in cylindric form, 295 

A collar of the brawn. 
He sent his shade to shades below, 

In Stygian mud to wallow : 
And eke the stout St. George eftsoon, 

He made the dragon follow. 300 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 
France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense. 

Achilles of old Chiron learnt 

The great horse for to ride ; 
H' was taught by th' Centam*'s rational part, 305 

The hinuible to bestride. 
Bright silver feet and shining face 

Had that stoiit hero's mother ; 
As rapier's silver'd at one end, 

And wounds you at the other. 310 

Her feet were bright, his feet were swift, 

As hawk pursuing sparrow ; 


Her's bad the metal, liis tte speed 

Of Braburn's - silver arrow. 
Tbetis to double pedagogue 315 

Commits her dearest boy ; 
Who bred him from a sleuder twig 

To be the scourge of Troy ; 
But ere be lasbt the Trojaus, b' was 

In Stygian waters steept, 320 

As birch is soaked first in piss 

When boys are to be whipt. 
"With skin exceeding hard, he rose 

From lake, so black and muddy 
As lobsters from the ocean rise 325 

With shell about their body , 
And, as from lobster's broken claw, 

Pick out the fish you might, 
So might you from one uushcll'd heel 

Dig pieces of the knight. 330 

His myrmidons robb'd Priam's barns 

And hen-roosts, says the song ; 
Carried away both corn and eggs, 

Like ants from whence they sprung. 
Himself tore Hector's pantaloons, 335 

And sent him down bare-breech'd 
To pedant Radamanthus in 

A posture to be switch'd. 
But George he made the dragon look 

As if he had been bewitch'd. 340 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 
France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense. 

Full fatal to the Romans was 

The Carthaginian Hanni- 
bal ; him 1 mean, who gave them sucli 845 

A devilish thump at Canute. 
Moors, thick as goats on Penmenmuro, 

Stood on the Alpes's front ; 

* Braburn, a gentleman commoner of Lincoln College, gave a silT«f 
•rrow to bii shot for by the archers of the University of Oxford. 


Their one-eyed guicle,^ like blinking mole, 

Bor'd thro' tlie hind'ring mount : 350 

Who, baified by the massy rock, 

Took vinegar for relief, 
Like plowmen, when they hew their way 

Thro' stubborn rump of beef. 
As dancing louts from humid toes 355 

Cast atoms of ill pavour 
To blinking Hyatt,"* when on vile crowd 

He merriment does endeavour. 
And saws from sutferiDg timber out 

Some wretched tune to quiver, 360 

So Eomans stunk and squeak'd at sight 

Of Affrican carnivor. 
The tawny surface of his phiz 

Did serve instead of vizzard : 
But George he made the dragon have 365 

A grumbling in his gizzard. 
Bt. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 
France ; 
Sing, Honi suit qui mal y pense. 

The valour of Domitian, 

It must not be forgotten ; 370 

Who from the jaws of worm-blowing flies 

Protected veal and mutton. 
A squadron of flies errant 

Against the foe appears, 
With regiments of buzzing knights, 375 

And swarms of volunteers. 
The warlike wasp encourag'd 'em 

With animating hum ; 
And the loud brazen hornet next, 

He was their kettle-drum ; 380 

The Spanish Don Cantharido 

Did him most sorely pester, 

' Hannibal had but one eye. 

* A one-eyed fellow, who pretended to make fiddles, as well as play eo 
them ; well known at that time in Oxford. 


And rais'd on skin of vent'rous knight 

Full many a plaguy blister. 
A bee whi])t thro' his button-hole, 385 

As tlno' key-hole a witch, 
And stabb'd him with her little tuck 

Drawn out of scabbard breech; 
But the undaunted knight lifts up 

An arm both big and brawny, 390 

And slasht her so that here lay head, 

And there lay bag and honey ; 
Then 'mongst the rout he flew as swift 

As w'eapon made by Cyclops, 
And bravely quell'd seditious buz, 39£ 

By dint of massy fly-flops. 
Surviving flies do curses breathe, 

And maggots too, at CaBsar : 
But George he shav'd the dragon's beard. 

And Askelon ^ was his razor. 400 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 
France ; 
Sing, noiii soil qui mal y pense. 

John Grulib, tlie facetious writer of the foregoing song, mal<es a dis- 
tinguish' d titrure among tlie Oxford wits so humorously enumerated in 
the following disiich. 

Alma novem geuuit celebres Rhedycina poetas : 

Bub, Stubb, Grubb, Crabb, Trap, Young, Carey, Tickel, Evans. 

These were Bub Dodington (the late Lord Melcomhe), Dr. Stubbes, 
our poet Grubb, Mr. Crabb, Dr. Tiapp, the poetry-professor, Dr. Edw;ird 
Young, the author of Night Thoucihts, Walter Carey, Thomas Tickel, 
Esq , and Dr. Evans, tlic epigranujiatist. 

As tor our poof (irubh, all tliat we can learn fiirtlier of liiin, is con- 
tained in a few extracts from llio University Ilegister, and from his 
epitajih. It appears from tlie former tliat lie was inatriculatcd in 1667, 
being tlie son of John Grulib, " de Acton Buruel in comitatu Salop, 
pauperis." He took his degree of IJachtlor of Arts, June 28. 1671 : and 
became Jlaster of Arts, June 28, 167.5. He was appointed Head Master 
of the Grammar School at Christ Church ; and afierwards chosen into 
the same emi'loynunt at Gloucester, wliere he died in ]6'J7, as appears 
from his inunument in the chumh of St. Mary de Crypt iu Gloucester, 
which is inscribed with the following epitaph :— 

* The name of St. George's sword. 

maboaret's ghost. 387 

II. S. E. 

Johannes Grubb, A.M 

Natus apud Acton Burnel in agro Salopiensl 

Anno Dom. 1645. 

Cuius variam in linguis n)titiam, 

et felieem erudiendis pueris industriam, 

grata adhuc raemoria testatur Oxonium. 

Ibi enim ^de Christi initiatus, 

artes excoluit ; 

Pueros ad easdem mox excolendas 

accurate formavit ; 

Hue demum 

unanimi omnium consensu accitus, 

eandem suscepit provinciam, 

quam teliciter adeo absolvit, 

ut nihil optandum sit 

nisi lit diutius nobis interfuisset. 

Fuit eiiim 

proptei- festivam ingenii suavitatem, 

simplicem morum candorem, et 

praecipuam erga cognates benevolentiam, 

omnibus desideratissimus. 

Obiit 2do die Aprilis, Anno D'ni, 1697, 

jEtatis suse 51. 


This ballad, which appeared in some of the public newspapers iu at 
before the year 1721, came from the pen of David Mallet, Esq., who, in 
the edition of his poems, 3 vols. 1759, informs us tliat the plan was sug- 
gested by the four verses quoted above in page 186, which he supposed 
to be the beginning of some ballad now lost. 

" These lines," bays he, " naked of ornament and simple as they are, 
struck my fancy ; and bringing fresh into my mind un unhappy 


338 MAhuAKliTS GHOST. 

adventure much talked of formerly, gave birth to the following poem, 
which was written many years ago." 

The two introductory lines (and one or two others elsewhere) bad 
originally more of the ballad simplicity, viz. 

" When all was wrapt in dark midnight, 
And all were fast asleep," &c. 

'TwAS at tlie silent, solemn hour, 

When night and morning meet ; 
In glided Margaret's grimly ghost, 

And stood at William's feet. 

Her face was like an April morn 6 

Clad in a wintry cloud ; 
And clay-cold was her lily hand 

That held her sable shrowd. 

So shall the fairest face appear, 

When youth and years are flown ; 10 

Such is the robe that kings must wear, 

When death has reft their crown. 

Her bloom was like the springing flower, 

That sips the silver dew ; 
The rose was budded in her cheek ; 15 

Just opening to the view. 

But love had, like the canker-worm, 

Consum'd her early prime : 
The rose grew pale and left her cheek ; 

She dy'd before her time. 20 

" Awake ! " she cry'd, " thy true love calls, 

Come from her midnight grave ; 
Now let thy pity hoar the maid 

Thy love refus'd to save. 

" This is the dark and dreary hour 25 

When injur'd ghosts complain ; 
Now yawning gi-aves give up their dead. 

To haunt the faithless swain. 

" Bethink thee, William, of thy fault, 

Thy pledge and broken oath ; 30 

And give mo back my maiden vow, 
And give mo back my troth. 

Margaret's ghost, 339 

" Why did you promise love to me, 

And not that promise keep ? 
Why did you swear mine eyes were bright, 35 

Yet leave those eyes to weep ? 

" How could you say my face was fair. 

And yet that face forsake ? 
How could you win my virgin heart, 

Yet leave that heart to break ? 40 

*' Why did you say my lip was sweet, 

And made the scarlet pale ? 
And why did I, young witless maid, 

Believe the flattering tale ? 

" That face, alas ! no more is fair ; 45 

These lips no longer red ; 
Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death, 

And every charm is fled. 

" The hungry worm my sister is ; 

This winding-sheet 1 wear ; 50 

And cold and weary lasts our night, 

Till that last morn appear. 

*' But hark ! the cock has warn'd me hence I 

A long and last adieu ! 
Come see, false man, how low she lies, 55 

Who dy'd for love of you." 

The lark sung loud ; the morning smil'a 

With beams of rosy red ; 
Pale William shook in ev'ry limb. 

And raving left his bed. 60 

He hyed him to the fatal place 

Where Margaret's body lay, 
And stretch'd him on the grass-green turf. 

That wrapt her breathless clay ; 

And thrice he call'd on Margaret's name, 65 

And thrice he wept full sore ; 
Then laid Lis cheek to her cold grave, 

And word spake never more. 

z 2 


*^* In a lato pnblication, entitled, The Friends, &c. Lond. 1773, 2 
vols. I'imo (in the first volume), is inserted a eopy of the foregoing 
ballnd, with very great variations, wliieh the editor of that work con- 
tends was the original ; and that Mallet adopted it for his own, and 
altered it, as here given. But the superior beauty and simplicity of 
tin- pref^ent copy gives it so much more the air of an original, that it 
will rather be believed that some transcriber altered it from Mallet's, 
and adapted the lines to his own ta»te; than which nothing is uioio 
common in populur songs and ballads. 


Huo) anil Colt'n 

"Was written by Thomas Tickell, Esq., the celebrated friend of Mr. 
Addison, and editor of his works. He was son of a clergyman in the 
North of England ; had his education at Queen's College, Oxon. ; was 
under-secretary to Mr. Addison and Mr. Craggs, when successively 
secretaries of state ; and was lastly (in June, 172-1) appointed secretary 
to the Lords Justices in Ireland, which place he held till his death in 
1710. He acquired Mr. Addison's patronagt^ by apoem in praise of the 
opera oi Busamond, written while he was at the University. 

It is a tradition in Ireland, that this .song was written at Castletown, 
in the county of Kildare, at the request of the then Mrs. ConoUy, — 
probably on some event recent in that neighbourhood. 

Of Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair, 

Bright Lucy was the grace; 
Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream 

Reflect so fair a face, 

Till luckless love and pining caro 6 

Tmpair'd her rosy hue. 
Her coral lip, and damask clieek, 

And eyes of glossy blue. 

Oh ! have you seen a lily pale, 

When beating rains descend ? 10 

So droop'd the slow-consuming maid ; 

Her life now near its end. 

By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains 

Take heed, yo ea,«!y fair ! 
Of vengeance due to broken vows, 15 

Ye perjui'cd swains, beware I 


Three times, all in the dead of night, 

A bell was heard to ring ; 
And at her window, shrieking thrice, 

The raven flap'd his wing. 20 

Too well the love-lorn maiden knew 

That solemn boding sound ; 
And thus, in dying words, bespoke 

The virgins weeping round. 

" I hear a voice you cannot hear, 25 

Which says, I must not stay ; 
I see a hand you cannot see, 

Which beckons me away. 

" By a false heart and broken vows. 

In early youth, I die, 30 

Am I to blame, because his bride 

Is thrice as rich as I ? 

" Ah, Colin ! give not her thy vows, 

Vows due to me alone. 
Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss, 35 

Nor think him all thy own. 

" To-morrow in the church to wed, 

Impatient, both prepare ; 
But know, fond maid, and know, false man, 

That Lucy will be there. 40 

" Then bear my corse, ye comrades, boar, 

The bridegroom blithe to meet ; 
He in his wedding-trim so gay, 

I in my winding-sheet." 

She spoke, she died ; — her corse was borne, 45 

The bridegroom blithe to meet ; 
He in his wedding-trim so gay, 

She in her winding-sheet. 

Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts ? 

How were those nuptials kept ? 50 

f ho bride-men flock'd round Lucy dead, 

And all the village wept. 


Confusion, shame, remorse, despair, 

At once his bosom swell ; 
The damps of death bedew'd his brow, 55 

He shook, he groan'd, he fell. 

From the vain bride (ah, bride no more I) 

The varying crimson fled, 
When, stretch'd before her rival's corBe, 

She saw her husband dead. 60 

Then to his Lucy's new-made grave, 

Convey'd by trembling swains, 
One mould with her, beneath one sod, 

For ever now remains. 

Oft at their grave the constant hind 65 

And pliglited maid are seen ; 
With garlands gay and true-love knots 

They deck the sacred green. 

But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art, 

This hallow'd spot forbear ; 70 

Eemembcr Coliu's dreadful fate. 
And fear to meet him there. 


Ci)c 33ot) aiib tl;r iHantlf. 


Bft. Warton, in his ingenious observations on Spenser, has given hio 
opinion, that the fiction of the Boy and the Mantle, is taken from an 
old French piece entitled, Le Court Mantel, quoted by M. <le St. Palaye, 
in his curious " Meinoires sur rimcienne Chevideric," Paris, 175',), 2 
torn. l2mo ; who tells us the story resembles that of Ariosto's enchanted 
cup. "lis pos.-.ib]e our English poet may have taken the hint of this 
subject from that old Frencli romance ; but he does not appear to have 
copied it in the manner of execution : to which (if one may judge from 
the specimen given in the Memoires) that of tlie Itallad does not Dear 
the least resemblance. After all, 'tis most likely that all the old 

' The " inudcrn hand" was Percy's. — Editor. 


fitories concerning King Arthnr are originally of British growth ; and 
that what the French and other southern nations have of this kind 
were at first exported from this island. See Memoires de I'Acad. dea 
Inscrip. torn, xi, p. 352. 

In the Fabliaux ou Contes, 1781, 5 torn. 12mo, of M. Le Grand (torn. 
i. p. 54), is printed a modern version of the old tale Le Court Mantel, 
under a new title, Le Manteau maltailU, whicli contains the story of 
this ballad much enlarged, so far as regards the mantle, but without 
any mention of the knife or the Jiorn. 

In Carleile dvpelt King Arthur, 

A prince of passing might ; 
And there maintain'd his Table Round, 

Beset with many a knight. 

And there he kept his Christmas 6 

With mirth and princely cheare, 

When, lo ! a straunge and cunning boy 
Before him did appeare. 

A kirtle and a mantle 

This boy had him upon, 10 

With brooches, rings, and owches, 

Full daintily bedoue. 

He had a sarke of silk 

About his middle meet ; 
And thus with seemely curtesy, 15 

He did King Arthur greet. 

" God speed thee, brave King Arthur, 

Thus feasting in thy bowre ; 
And Guenever thy goodly queen. 

That fair and peerlesse flowre. 20 

" Ye gallant lords, and lordings, 

I wish you all take heed. 
Lest, what ye deem a blooming rose 

Should prove a cankred weed." 

Then straitway from his bosome 25 

A little wand he drew ; 
And with it eke a mantle 

Of wondrous shape and hew. 


" Now have thou here, King Arthur, 

Have this here of mee, 30 

Aiul give unto thy c-omcly queen, 
All-shapen as you see 

• Xo wife it shall become, 

■rhat once hath been to blame." 
Then every knight in Arthur's court 35 

Slyc glauncecl at his dame. 

And first came Lady Guenever, 

The mantle she must trye : 
This dame, she was new-fangled. 

And of a roving eye. 40 

When she had tane the mantle, 

And all was with it cladde, 
From top to toe it shiver'd do^vTi, 

As tho' with sheers beshradde. 

One while it was too long, 45 

Another while too short, 
And \\Tinkled on her slioulders 

In most unseemly sort. 

Now green, now red it seemed. 

Then all of sable hue : 50 

" Beshrew me," quoth King Arthur 

" I think thou beest not true." 

Down she threw the mantle, 

Ne longer would not stay ; 
But storming like a fury, 55 

To her chamber flung away. 

She curst the whoreson weaver, 

Tliat had the mantle wrought : 
And doubly curst the froward impe, 

Who thither had it brought. 60 

*' I had rather live in dcsarts. 

Beneath the green-wood tree, 
Tlian here, base king, among thy groomes, 

The sport of them and thee." 


Sir Kay call'd fortli his lady, 66 

And bade her to come near ; 
" Yet, dame, if thou be guilty, 

I pray thee now forbear." 

This lady, pertly gigling, 

With forward step came on, 70 

And boldl}! to the little boy 

With fearless face is gone. 

When she had tane the mantle, 

With purpose for to wear, 
It shrunk up to her shoulder, 75 

And left her b**side bare. 

Then every merry knight, 

That was in Arthur's court, 
Gib'd, and laught, and flouted, 

To see that pleasant sport. 80 

Downe she threw the mantle. 

No longer bold or gay, 
But with a face all pale and wan, 

To her chamber slunk away. 

Then forth came an old knight, 85 

A pattering o'er his creed. 
And profier'd to the little boy 

Five nobles to his meed ; 

" And all the time of Christmass 

Plumb-porridge shall be thine, 90 

If thou wilt let my lady fair 

Within the mantle shine." 

A saint his lady seemed. 

With step demure and slow, 
And gravely to the mantle 95 

With mincing pace doth goe. 

When she the same had taken, 

That was so fine and thin. 
It shrivell'd all about her, 

And show'd her dainty skin. ] 00 


Ah ! little did her mincing, 

Or HIS long prayers bestead ; 
She had no miu-e hung on her, 

Than a tassel and a thread. 

Down she threwe the mantle, 105 

With terror and dismay, 
And, with a fiice of scarlet. 

To her chamber hyed away. 

Sir Cradock call'd his lady. 

And bade her to come neare ; 110 

" Come win this mantle, lady, 

And do me credit here. 

" Come win this mantle, lady. 

For now it shall bo thine, 
If thou hast never done amiss, 115 

Sith first I made thee mine." 

The lady gently blushing. 

With modest grace came on, 
And now to try the wondrous charm 

Courageously is gone. 120 

When she had tane the mantle, 

And put it on her backe. 
About the hem it seemed 

To wrinkle and to cracke. 

" Lye still," sheo cryed, " mantle I 125 

And shame me not for nought, 
I'll freely own whate'er amiss. 

Or blameful I have wrought. 

" Once I kist Sir Cradocke 

Beneatlie the green-wood tree : 130 

Once I kist Sir Cradocke's mouth 

Before he married mee." 

When thus she had her shriven, 

And her worst fault had told, 
The mantle soon became her 135 

Right comely as it shold. 


Most rich and fair of colour, 

Like gold it glittering shone : 
And much the knights in Arthur's court 

Admir'd her every one. 140 

Then towards King Arthur's tahle 

The boy he turned his eye ; 
"Where stood a boar's head garnished 

With bayes and rosemarye. 

When thrice he o'er the boar's head 145 

His little wand had drawne, 
Quoth he, " There's never a cuckold's knife 

Can carve this head of brawne." 

Then some their whittles rubbed 

On whetstone, and on hone : 150 

Some threwe them under the table, 

And swore that they had none. 

Sir Cradock had a little knife. 

Of steel and iron made ; 
And in an instant thro' the skull 155 

He thrust the shining blade. 

He thrust the shining blade 

Full easily and fast ; 
And every knight in Arthur's court 

A morsel had to taste. 160 

The boy brought forth a home, 

All golden was the rim : 
Said ho, " No cuckold ever can 

Set mouth unto the brim. 

*' No cuckold can this little home 165 

Lift ' airly to his head ; 
But or on this, or that side. 

He shall the liquor shed." 

Some shed it on their shoulder. 

Some shed it on their thigh ; 170 

And hee that could not hit his mouth, 

Was sure to hit his eye. 


Thus he that was a cuckold, 

Was kuowu of every mau : 
But Cradock lifted easily, 175 

And wan the golden can. 

Thus boar's head, horn and mantle, 

Were this fair couple's meed : 
And all such constant lovers, 

God send them well to speed. 180 

Then down in rage came Guenever 

And thus could spightful say : 
*' Sir Cradock's wife most wrongfully 

Hath borne the prize away. 

" See yonder shameless woman, 185 

That makes herselfe so clean : 
Yet from her pillow taken 

Thrice five gallants have been. 

" Priests, clarkes, and wedded men, 
Have her lewd pillow prest : 190 

Yet she the wondrous prize forsooth 
Must bears from all the rest." 

Then bespake the little boy, 

Who had the same in hold : 
" Chastize thy wife. King Arthur, 195 

Of speech she is too bold : 

" Of speech she is too bold, 

Of carriage all too free ; 
Sir King, she hath within thy hall 

A cuckold made of thee. 200 

" All frolick light and wanton 
She hath her carriage borne. 
And given thee for a kingly crown 

To wear a cuckold's home." 


*,* The Rov. Evan Evans, editor of tho Specimens of Welsh poetry, 
4to, afiBrmed that the story of tho Boy and the Mantle is taken from 
what is related in some of the old Welsh MSS. of Tegan Earfron, one 
of Kin}^ Arthur's mistresses, She ia said to have possessed a mantle 


that -would not fit any immodest or incontinent woman ; this (which, 
the old writers say, was reckoned among the curiosities of Britain, ia 
frequently alluded to by the old Welsh bards. 

Carleile, so often mentioned in the ballads of King Arthur, the 
Editor once thought might probably be a corruption of Caer-leon, an 
ancient British city on the river Uske, in Monmouthshire, which was 
one of the places of King Arthur's chief residence : but he is now con- 
vinced that it is no other than Carlisle, in Cumberland ; the old English 
Minstrels, being most of them northern men, naturally represented the 
hero of romance as residing in the north : and many of the places 
mentioned in the old ballads are still to be found there ; as Tearne- 

Wadling, &c. , ^ ■, 3 i 

Near Pem-ith is still seen a large circle, surrounded by a mound of 
earth, which retains the name of Arthui-'s Hound Table. 



CI;e Plamage of ^tr (^alnainf.^ 

The second poem in book vii., entitled, The Marriage of Sir Gaicame, 
having been offered to the reader with large conjectural supplements 
and corrections, the old fragment itself is here literally and exactly 
printed fiom the Editor's folio MS. with all its defects, inaccuracies, 
and errata : that such austere antiquaries as complain that the ancient 
copies have not been always rigidly a ihered to, may see how unfit foi 
publication many of the pieces would have been if all the blunders, 
corruptions, and nonsense of illiterate reciters and transciibers had 
been superstitiously retained, without some attempt to correi.-l and 
amend them. 

This ballad has most unfortunately suifered by having half of every 
leaf in this part of the MS. torn away ; and, as about nine stanzas 
generally occur in the half-page now remaining, it is concluded that 
the other half contained nearly the same number of stanzas. 

KiNGE Abthxjr liues in merry Carleile, 

& seemely is to see, 

& there he hath w"" him Qqueeno Gcnev', 

tliai bride soe bright of blee. 

• The text of this poem has been carefully revised lay comparison With 
Percv's Folio Manuscript, as edited by Messrs. Hides and Farnivall.— • 


And there he hath w"" liira Queene Genever, 
that bride soo bright in bower, 
& all his barons about him stoode 
that were both stiffe and stowre. 

The K. kept a royall Christmasse 
of mirth & great honor, 
. & . when . . 

lAbout nine Stanzcu icarUing.'] 

And bring me word what thing it is 
that a woman most desire, 
this shalbe thy ransome, Arthur, he sayes, 
for He haue noe other hier. 

K. Arthur then held vp his hand 
according thene as was the law ; 
he tooke his leaue of the baron there, 
& homward can he draw. 

And when he came to Merry Carlile, 
to his chamber he is gone, 
& ther came to him his Cozen S' Gawaine 
as he did make his mone. 

And there came to him his cozen S' Gawaiue, 
that was a curteous knight, 
why sigh you soe sore, vnckle Arthur, he said, 
or who hath done thee vnright ? 

O peace, O peace, thou gentle Gawaine, 
that fuiro may thee be ffall, 
for if thou know my sighing soe deepe, 
thou wold not meruaile att all ; 

ffor when I came to tearne wadlmg, 
a bold b.irron there I fand, 
w"' a great club vpon his backe, 
standing stiffe and strong ; 

And lie asked me wether I wold fighi, 
or from liim I shold be gone, 
o* else I must him a ransome pay 
& soe depart him from. 

^ Sic 


To fight w"' liim I saw noe cause, 
me thought it was not meet, 
for he was stiffe & htmng w"'-all, 
his strokes were nothing sweete ; 

Therefor this is my ransome^ Gawaine, 
I ought to him to pay, 
I must come againe, as I am sworne, 
vpon the Newyeers day. 

And I must bring him word what thing it ia 

[About nine Stanzat wanting^ 

Then king Arthur drest him for to ryde 
in one soe rich array 
toward the foresaid Tearne wadling, 
that he might keepe his day. 

And as he rode over a more, 
hee see a lady where shee sate 
betwixt an oke & a greene hoUen ; 
She was cladd in red scarlett. 

Then there as shold haue stood her mouth, 
then there was sett her eye, 
the other was in her forhead fast 
the way that she might see. 

Her no?e was crooked & tumd outward, 
her mouth stood foule a- wry ; 
a worse formed lady than shee was, 
neuerman saw w"* his eye. 

To halch vpon him, K. Arthur, 
this lady was full faine, 
but K. Arthur had forgott his lesson, 
"what he shold say againe. 

What knight art thou, the lady sayd, 
that wilt not speak tome? 
Of me be thou nothing dismayd 
tho I be vgly to see ; 

for I haue lialched you curteouslye, 
& you will not me againe, 
yett I may happen S"' Knight, shee Bald, 
to ease thee of thy paine. 


Giue thou ease me, lady, he s.iid, 

or helpe me aiij' thiug, 

thou shalt haue gt-ntle Gawaine, my cozen, 

& marry him w"" a ring. 

Why, if I liclp thee not, thou noble K. Arthur, 
Of thy owne hearts desiriuge, 

of gentle Gawaine 

[_Ahout nine Stanzas wanting. \ 

And when he came to the tearne wadling 
tlie baron there cold he fimde, 
w"" a great weapon on his Ijacke, 
standing stifle aud strougo. 

And then he tooke K. Arthurs letters in his hands 

& away he cold them fling, 

& then he puM out a good browne sword, 

& cryd himselfe a K. 

And he sayd. I liaue thee & thy land, Arthur, 

to doe as it pleasetb me, 

for this is not thy ransorae sure, 

therfore yeeld thee to me. 

And then bespoke htm Noble Arthur, 
& bad him hold his hand, 
& give me leaue to speake my mind 
in defence of all my land. 

He said as I came over a jMore, 
I see a lady where shee sate 
betweenc an oke & a green hollen ; 
shee was clad in red scarlett ; 

And she says a woman will haue her will, 
& this is all her cheef desire : 
doe me right, as thou art a baron of sckill, 
this is thy ransome & all thy hyer. 

He sayes an early vengeance light on her I 

she walkes on yonder more ; 

it was my sister that told thee this ; 

& she is a misshappen hore ! 

But heer He make mine avow to grjd 
to doe her an euill turno, 
for an euer I may thatc fowle theefe get 
in a fyer I will her burne. 

[About nine Stanzas tcanrtpjg] 



Bib : Lancelott & S' Steven bold 
they rode w"" them that day, 
ami the formost of the company 
there rode the steward Kav 

Soe did S' Banier and S' Bore, 
S' Garrett w"' them soe gay, 
soe did S" Tiisteram that gentle k 
to the forrest fresh and gay. 

And when he came to the greene forrest, 
vnderneath a greene holly tree 
their sate that lady in red scarlet 
that vuseemly was to see. 

S'' Kay beheld this Ladys face, 
& looked vppon her smire,^ 
whosoeuer kisses this lady, he sayes 
of his kisse he stands in feare. 

S' Kay beheld the lady againe, 
& looked vpon her snout, 
whosoeuer kisses this lady, he sales 
of his Idsse he stands in doubt. 

Peace coz. Kay, then said S' Gawaine, 
amend thee of thy life ; 
for there is a knight amongst vs all 
that must marry her to his wife. 

What ! wedd her to wiffe ! then said S' Kay, 

in the diuells name anon, 

gett me a wiffe whereere I may, 

for I l:ad rather be shaine !* 

Then some tooke vp their hawkes in hast, 
& some tooke vp their hounds, 
& some sware they wold not marry her 
For Citty nor fur towne. 

And then be-spake him Noble k. Arthur, 

& sware there by this day, 

for a little foule sight & misliking 

[About nine Stanzas wanting. 

' ? Swire is neck. 

* ? For shent, slaine or shamed, 

▼OL. n. 2 a 


Then sliee said, choose thee, gentle Gawaine, 
truth as I doe say, 

wether thou wilt haue me in this liknesse 
in the night or else in the day 

And then bespake him Gentle Gawaine, 
w"" one soe mild of ]\Ioode, 
Bayes, well I know what I wold say, 
god grant it may be good ! 

To haue thee fowlc in the night 
when I w"" thee shold play ; 
yet T had rather, if I might, 
haue thee fowle in the day. 

What ! when Lords goe w"" tlier seires,* shee esMf 

both to the Ale & wine ; 

alas ! then I must hyde my selfe, 

I must not goe withiiine. 

And then bespake him gentle gawaine, 
said, Lady, thats hut a skill "; 
And because thou art my owne lady. 
Thou shalt haue all thy will. 

Then she said, blesed be thou gentle Gawain, 

thi:j day that I thee see, 

For as thou soe me att this time, 

from hencforth I wilbe : 

My father was an old knight, 
«& yett it chanced soe 
that he marryed a younge lady 
that brought me to this woe. 

Shoe witched me, being a faire young Lady, 
to the greene forrest to dwell, 
& there I must walke in womans liknesse, 
Most like a feend of hell. 

She witched my brother to a Carl'st B . . . . 

[About nine Stanzas wanting. 

that looked soo foule, & that was wont 
on the wild more to goe. 


Sic in JIS. pro feh-es, i. e. mates. 
• ? reasuQ, feiat, pretence. 


Come kisse her, Brother Kay, then said S' Gawaine, 

& amend the' of thy liife ; 

I sweare this is the same lady 

that I marryed to my wiffe. 

S' Kay kissed that lady bright, 
standing vpon his ffeete ; 
he swore, as he was tiew knight, 
the spice was neuer see sweete. 

Well, Coz. Gawaine, sayes S' Kay, 

thy chance is fallen arright, 

for thou hast gotten one of the fairest maids 

I euer saw w"" my sight. 

It is my fortune, said S' Gawaine ; 
for my unckle Arthurs sake 
I am glad as grasse wold be of raine, 
great Joy that I may take. 

S' Gawaine tooke the lady by the one anne, 
S' Kay tooke her by the tether, 
they led her straight to K. Arthur 
as they were brother & brother. 

K. Arthur welcomed them there all, 
& soe did lady Geneuer his queene, 
w"" all the knights of the round table 
most seemly to be scene. 

K. Arthur beheld that lady fairo 
that was soe faire and bright, 
he thanked christ in trinity 
for S' Gawaine that gentle knight ; 

Soe did the knights, both more and lesse, 
reioyced all that day 
for the good chance that hapened was 
to S' Gawaine & his lady gay. iims. 



C 357 ) 



A', au, att, 

A deid of nicht, in dead cf night. 

A Twyde, of Tweed. 

Abacke, back. 

Abone, aboon, aboone, above. 

Aboven ous, above us. 

Abowght, about. 

Abraide, abroad. 

Abye, suffer, to pay for. 

Acton, a kind of armour of tafaty, 

or leather quilted. Fr. ' Hacqueton.' 
Advoutry, advoutrous, adultery, 

Aff, off. 
Afore, before. 
Aft, oft. 

Agayue, against, 
Agoe, gone. 
Ahte, ought. 
Aik, oak. 

Ain, awin, awne, own. 
Aith, oath. 
Al, albeit, although. 
Alemaigne, Germany. 
Alyes, probable corruption of algates, 

Algife, although. 
A-late, of late. 
An, and. 

Ancient, ancyent, flag, standard. 
Ane, one ; an, a. 
Angel, gold coin worth 10s. 
Ann, if; even, if. 
Ant, a7id. 
Aplyght, aplyht, al aplyht, quite 


Aquoy, coy, shy. 
Aras, arros, arrows. 
Arcir, archer. 

Argabushe, harquebusse, muiHt€t, 
Ase, as. 

Assinde, assigned, 
Assojl'd, assoyled, absolved. 
Astate, estate ; a great portion. 
Ai-tonied, astonished, stunned. 
Astound, confounded, stunned. 
Ath, athe, o'th, of the. 
Attowre, out over, over and abot«. 
Auld, old. 
Aula, awl. 
Aureat, golden. 
Austerne, ster7i, austere. 
Avowe, vow. 
Avoyd, void, vacate. 
Awa', away. 
Awne, own. 
Axed, asked. 
Ayance, against. 
Aye, ever ; also, ah ! alas ! 
Azein, agein, against. 
Azont, beyond ; azont the ingia, 
beyond the fire : ' 


Ba', ball. 

Bacheleere, knight. 

Baile, bale, evil, hurt, mischief, 

Batrded, bearded. 
Bairn, bairne, child. 
Baith, bathe, both. 
Bale, hurt, etc. See Baile. 

• In the west of Scotland, at this present time, in many cottages they pile 
Iheir peats and turfs upon stones in the middle of the room. 



Balow, hufih ! lullaby ! 

IJalys bote, better our bales, i. e. re- 
medij our evils. 

]?iin, banning, curse, cursing. 

lianil, bond, covenant. 

IJanderolls, streamers. Utile flags. 

Bane, bone, 

1 'ar, bore. 

Hill' lied, barehead ; perhaps bared. 

ISainc (A.-Sax. beorn) chief, man. 

]{anuw-hogge, gelded hog. 

Base court, lower court of a castle. 

IJasnete, basnite, basnyte, bassonet, 
biissonitte, helmet. 

1 Jason. See Basnete. 

13attes, heavy sticks, clubs. 

Hand, bold. 

Bauzeii's skinne, dressed sheep or 
badger leather. Bauzon mittens. 

Bayar 1, noted blind horse in the old 

Be, by ; be that, by that time. 

Bearn. See Bairn. 

Bcaryng arowe, an arrow that car- 
ries ivell. Perhaps bearing, or 
birring ; i. e. whizzing. 

Bed, hade. 

Bade, offer, engage. 

Bedeene, immediately ; continuously'? 

Bediglit, bedecked. 

Bedone, wrought, made up. 

Bcdyls, beadles. 

Heere, bier. 

Bees, to have bees, to he choleric. 

Bcettc, did beat. 

Befall, befallen, 

Befoir, before. 

Beforn, before. 

Begyldc, beguiled, deceived. 

Behcard, heard. 

JJchests, commands, injunctio)i8. 

Behove, behoof. 

Bolive, immediately, presently. 

Bclyfe. See Belive. 

Beu, bene, been ; be, are. 

Ben, within doors ; the inner room- 

Bende-bow, bent bow. 

Bene, bean, expression of contempt. 

Benison, blessing. 

Bent, long grass ; wild fields. 

Benynge, benigne ; benign, kind. 

Beoth, be, are. 

Beret 1 1, beareth. Ber the pry 3, bea' 

the prize. Berys, beareth. 
Berne. See Barne, 
Berues, barns. 
Beseeme, become. 
Beshradde, cut into shreds. 
Beshrew me ! Weak imprecation 
Besmirche, to soil, discolour. 
Besprent, besprii^ded, 
Beste, beest, art. 
Bested, abode. 
Bestis, beasts. 

Bet, better. Bett, did beat. 
Beth, be, are. 

Bewray, to discover, betray. 
Bi mi leaute, by my loyalty, honesty. 
Bickarte, bicker'd, skirmished ; alsO) 

swiftly coursed.'^ 
Bille, promise in writing, confirmed 

by an oath. 
Birk, birch-tree. 

Blan, blanne, did blin, linger, stop. 
Blaw, blow. 

Blaze, emblazon, display. 
Blee, complexion, colour. 
I'.leid, blede, bleed. 
Blent, ceased ; blended. 
Blink, glimpse of light. 
Bliiikan, blinkund, twinkling. 
Blinking, squinting. 
Ulinks, twinkles, sjyarkles. 
Biinne, cease, give over. 
Blist, blessed. 

Blivc, believe, immediately. 
Bloomed, beset with bloom, 
Bluik', bliiod. 

Bluid, Iduidy, blood, bloody. 
Blyth blithe, sprightly, joyom> 

Mr. Lambe also interprets " Dickering," by rattling, e. g, i 

*' And on th:it slee Ulysses head 
Sad curses ^.own do«s biokkr." 

Traaslat. of Orid. 



D]yth,jotj, sprightlmess. 

Blyve. See B6>live. 

Boare, bare. 

Bode, abode, stayed. 

Boist, boisteris, boast, boasters. 

Boke, book. 

Boliys, bowls. 

Boltes, shafts, arrows. 

B.)men. bowmen. 

Bjimie, bonny, bonnye, comely. 

Bonys, bones. 

Bookesman, clerk, secretary. 

Boon, boone,/afOMr, request, petition. 

Boot, boote, gain, advantage, help. 

Bore, born. 

Borowe, to redeem by a pledge. 

Borowed, warranted, pledged for. 

Borrowe, borowe, pledge, security. 

Bot, but ; both, besides, moreover. 

Bot, without; Bot dreid, i. e. cer- 

Bote. See Boote. 

Bougil, bougill, biigle, horn. 

B'lunde, buwynd, bowned, prepared, 
got ready ; also, loent, or was 

Bower, bowre, arched room, dwelling. 

Bowre woman, chamber-maid. 

Bownedes, bounds. 

Bowne, ready, prepared ; also, went. 

Bowys, bows. 

Brade, braid, broad. 

Braes, brow, or side of a hill. Braes 
of Yarrow, hilly banks of tlie 

Braid, broad. 

Braifly, bravely. 

Brakes, tufts of fern, 

Brande, bronde, sword, 

Brast, burst. 

Braw, brave. 

Brayd, arose, hastened. 

Brayd attowre the bent, hastened 
over the field. 

Brayd e, drew out unsheathed. 

Bred, brede, bread. 

Breech, breeches. 

Breeilen bale, breed mischief. 

Breere, brere, briar. 

Breng, bryng, bring. 

Brenn, to burn ; Brenund drake, tha 

fire-drake, burning-embers. 
Brether, brethren. 
Bridal (bride-ale), nuptial feaM. 
Brigue, brigg, bridge. 
Briuime, public, universally known. 
Britled, carved. 

Broad arrow, broad-headed arrow. 
Biocht, brought. 
Brodinge, pricking. 
Brooche, a spit, bodkin, ornamental 

trinket, a clasp. 
Brook, enjoy. 
Brooke, bear, endure. 
Brou'he. See Brooche. 
Brouke hur wyth wynne, enjoy her 

with pleasure. 
Browd, broad. 
Brozt, broiigld. 
Bryttlynge, brytlyng, cutting up, 

quartering, carving. 
Bueii, liueth, been, be are. 
Bugle, hunting-horn. 
Buik, booh. 

Burgeus, buds, young shoots. 
Burn, bourne, brook. 
Bushment, ambush, snare. 
Busk, dress, deck. Busk and bona, 

make yourselves ready and go. 
Buske. Idem. 
Basket, buskt, dressed. 
But, without. Butt.^ 
But if, unless. 
But let, without hindrance. 
Bute, boot, advantage. 
Buttes, buts to shoot at. 
By thre, of three. 
Bydys, bides, abide. 

* "But o' house" means the outer part of the house, outer room, viz. that 
part of the house into which J(>V, first enter, suppose from the street. " Bkn 
o' hPlise " is the inner room or more retired part of the house. The daughter 
4i<^ npt lie out of doors. Tlie cottagers often desire their landlords to build 
them a But and a Ben. — Mr, Liamhe. 



Bye, buy, pay for ; also, abye, suffer 

Byears, hiers. 

Byll, hill^ ancient hattle-axe, halbert. 
Byn, bine, bin, been, be, are. 
Byrcke, hirch-tree, or wood. 
Byre, a cow-house. 
Byste, beest, art. 

Ca', call. 

Cadgily, merrily, cheerfully. 

Caititf, slave. 

Calde, callyd, called. 

Caliver, kind of musltet. 

Camscho, stern, grim. 

Can, 'gan, began, began to cry. 

Can curtesye, understand good man- 

Cane, 'gan to cry. 

Canna, cannot. 

Cannes, wooden cups, bowls. 

Cantabaiiqui, ballad singers. 

Cantles, pieces, corners. 

Canty, cheerful, chatty. 

Capul, capull, a poor horse. 

Care-bed, bed of care. 

Carle, a churl, clown ; also, old man. 

Carlish, churlish, discourteous. 

Carline, feminine of Carle. 

Carpe, to speak, recite ; censure. 

Carpe off care, complain thro' care. 

Carping, reciting. 

Cast, mean, intent. 

Cau, call. 

Caudle, mixture of wine. 

Caultl, cold. 

Cawte and kt-ne. cautious and ac- 

Caytiifo, caitiff, slave, icretch. 

Certes, certainly. 

Cetiwall, the herb valerian. 

Chanted ere, the cock. 

Chnp, a lenock. 

Chayine, Cain. 

Chays, chase. 

Che (Somerset), I. 

Check, to rate at. 

Check, to stop. 

Cheis, c}MO»e. 

j Clievalicrs, knights. 

i Chevt ran, npperpart of the scutcheon 

in herahlry. 
j Chield, /e//o(o. 
] Child, knight. 

Chill (Som), I will 
I Chould ' Som.), 1 would. 

Christeniie, cliristentye, christiante 

Church-ale, a icake ; feast in com- 
memoration of a 'hurch-dedication. 

Churl, clown, villain, vassal. 

Chyf, ehyfe, chief. 

Chylded, was delivered. 

Ciiylder, children. 

Chyn, chin. 

( liiiths, rlothes. 

Clattered, beat so as to rattle. 

Clawde, clawed, tore, scratched, 

dead, clothed. Cleading, clothing. 

Cleaped. called, named. 

Clad, clad. 

Clepe, call. 

Clerke, scholar, clergyman. 

eliding, clothing. 

Clini, co)itiaction of Clement. 

Clough, a brokeii cliff. 

Cliiwch. clutch, grasp. 

CI ynking, clinking, jingling. 

Cea'e, cot, cottage. 

Co.kers, short boots worn by shejh 

Cog, to hje, to cheat. 

C'lhnrted, incited, exhorted. 

Ciikeney. conk. Lut. coquinator. 

Cold could, knew. 

Cold be, was. 

Cold rost, nothing to the purpose. 

Coleyiie, CDJlayne, Cologne steel. 

Cum, came. Cominen, coramyn. 

Con, can, 'gan, began. 

C:m f;ire, icent, passed. 

0>n thanks, irifh thanks. 

Ci'U springe, sprung. 

Conftti r( d, confederated, 

C()i)te, coat. 

Cop, head; top of anything. 

Ciirdiwin. Cordwayne, Conlovar 



Corsaire, courser, steed. 

Cost, coast, side. 

Cote, cot, cottage ; coat. 

Cotydyallye, daily, everij day. 

Coulde, could, cold ; could. 

Could benr, hare. 

Could creip, crept. 

Could his good, knew what was 

good for him ; could live upon his 

Could say, said. 
Could weip, wept. 
Counsayl, necret. 
Countie, count, earl. 
Coupe, pen for poultry. 
Courtnalls, note page 234. 
Couth, could. 
Couthen, knew. 
Covetise, covelousness. 
Coyntric. Coventry. 
Cramasie crimson. 
Craucky, merry, exulting, 
Cranion, skull. 
Crecli, crutches. 
CredeiKse, belief. 
Crevis, crevice, chinh. 
Crinkle, run in and out, wrinkle. 
Cristas coi>e, Christ's curse. 
Croft, inclosure near a house. 
Croiz, cross. 

Cromplinir, crooked, knotty. 
Crook, twist, distort ; lame. 
Crouneth, crown ye. 
Crout, pucker up. 
Crowch, crutch. 
Cryance, belief ; fear. 
Cule, cool. 
Cum, come, came. 
Cummer, gossip, friend. 
Cure, care, heed, regard. 


Dale, deal ; hot gif I dale, unless I 

Dampned, damned, ccndenr.ned. 
Dan, andtiit title of respect. 
Dank, mo st, damp. 
Dansko, Dinmark. 
Darh, there. 
Darr'd, hit. 

Dart, hit 

Daukiu, d.inimdive of David. 
Daunger liault, coyness holdeth, 
Dawes, days. 
De, dy, dey, die. 
Deadan, deland, dealing. 
Deare day, pleasant day. 
Deas, dais, high table in a hali 
Dede is do, deed is done. 
Dee, die. 
Deed, dead. 

Deemed, doomed, judged. 
Deepe, fette, deep, fetched. 
Deere, hurt, mischief. 
Deerely, preciously, richly. 
Deerely diglit, richly dressed, 
Deid, dead. 
Deid-beil, passing bell. 
' Deill, dally i 
Deimpt, deemed, esteemed. 
Deip, depe, deep. 
Deir, dear, hurt, trouble, distur: 
Dele, deal. 
Dell, narrow valley. 
Dell, part, deal. 
Delt, decdt. 

Demaius. demesnes, estates. 
Denay, deiiy. 
Dent, a dint, blow. 
Deol, dole, grief. 
Dejiured, purified, run clear. 
Deray, ruin, confusion. 
Dere, dear, hurt. 
Derked, darkened. 
Dern, secret ; V dern, in secret. 
Descreeve, discrive, deserve, de- 

Dev.v.s, devise; hegueathment b*/ 

Deze, deye, die. 

Dice, loaved pattern on garments, 
Dight, diciit decked, dressed, done. 
Dike, a wall, ditch. 
Dill, still, calm, mitigate. 
Dill, dole, grief, pain. Dill I dryo, 

pain I suffer. Dili was dight, 

grief was upon him. 
Dill, dinn*:', noise, hustle. 
Dine, dinner. 



Ding, hnocli, heat. 

Dint, stroke, blow. 

Dis, tids. 

Diacust, discussed. 

Disiia, does not. 

Distreie, horse rode by a knirjht in 

the tournament. 
Ditcs, duties. 
Dochter, daur/hter. 
Dois, da7js, does. 
Pol, grief. Dole. 

Doleful le dumps, heaviness of heart. 
Dolonis, dolorous. 
Don, doirn. 

Dosend, dosing, drowsy 
Doth, dothe, doeth, do. 
Doublet, inner garment. 
Doubt, fear. 
Doubteous, doubtful. 
Doiighte, doujrheti, doughetie 

d(»wgbtye, doughty, formidable. 
Doughtiness of dent, sturdiness of 

Dounae, am not able ; cannot take 

the trouble. 
Doute, donht; fear. 
Don t ted, dimbted; feared. 
Donzty, doughty. 
l)oztev, daughter. 
Doz trngh, dough-trough. 
Drake. S<-e Brenand drake. 
Drap, draiipiiig, drop, dropping. 
Dre, sup r. 

Dreid, dreede, drede, dread. 
Dreips, drips, drops. 
Dreiry, dreary. 
Drest, plunged. 
Drie, snff'rr. 

Drovyers, drovers, cattle-drivers. 
Drowe, drew. 
Drye, suffer. 

Drvghnes, c7r?/t.c8«. -f*  

ryug, drink. 
Dryvars. See Drovyers. 
Duble dyse, double {false) dice. 
Dude, dudest, did, didst. 
Duglitie, doughty. 
Dale, dud, del, dole, sorrow, grief. 
Dwellan, dwelland, dwelling. 
Dyan, dyand, dying. 
Dyce, dice, chequer-work. 
Dyd, dyde, did. 

Dyght, dilit, dreesed, put on, put. 
Dyht, to dispose, order. 
Dynte, dint, blow, stroke. 
Dysgysynge, disguising, masking. 
Dystrayne, distress. 
Dyzt. See Dight. 


E:ime, uncle. 

Eard, earth. 

Earn, to curdle, make cheese. 

Eatlie, easy. 

Eather, either. 

Ech, euhe, eiche, elke, each. 

Ee, eie, eye. 

Een, eyes. 

Ken, evening. 

Ertund, pour forth. 

VA'taoon, in a short time. 

Kgu;e, to urge on. 

Eiked, added, enlarged. Elke, ejeh, 

Ein, even. 

Eir, evir, e'er, ever. 

Eke, also. 

Eldern, elder. 

Elke, each. 

Ellnmynyngo, embellishing. 

El ridge, icild, hideous, ghostly ; Icme- 

some, inhtddted l>y spectres.* 
Elvirh, peevish, fantastical. 

* 111 the b.-illadof Sir Cauune, we have 'ElJriilge Hill,' 'ElJridge Knight, 
' Kldridge Sworde.' — So Gawin Dou.;l;is calls the Cyclops, the " Elriciie 
BRiCTiiin," i. e. brethren (b. ii. p. 91, 1. IG); and in his Prologue to b. vii, 
(p. 2u2, 1. 'i), he thus describes the night-owl : 

"Laithely of forme, with crukit camscho beik, 
Ugsome to here was h s wyld elriscue shriek." 

In Bannatyue's MS. Poems, (fob 1.' 5, in the Advocates' library at Edinburgh,) 



Erne, Tiinsman, uncle. 

Endyed, dyed. 

Ene, eyes ; ene, even. 

Euharpid, hooked, or edged with 
mortal dread. 

Enkankered, cankered. 

Enouch, enoagh. 

Ensue, follow. 

Entendement, understanding. 

Ententifly, to the intent, purposely. 

Envye, malice, ill-will, injury. 

Er, ere, before ; are. 

Ere, ear. 

Erst, heretofore. 

Etermynable, interminable, un- 

Ettled, aimed. 

Evanished, vanished. 

Everiche, every, each. 

Everych-one, everyone. 

Evir alake, ever alack! 

Ew-bughts, pens for milch ewes. 

Eyn, eyne, eye, eyes. 

Ezar, azure. 


Fa', fall. 

Fach, feche, fetc\. 

Fader, fatheris. father, father's. 

Fadge, thick loaf of bread; coarse 

heap of stuff. A clumsy woman. 
Fai', foe. 

Fain, glad, pleased, fond. Faine. 
Faine, fiyne,/e*^M. 
Fair of feir, of a fair and healthy 

look ; perhaps, free from fear. 
Falds, thou f oldest. 
Fallan, falland, falling. 
Fals, false. FslIs, falleth. 
Falser, deceiver, hypocrite. 
Falsing, dealing in falsehood. 
Fang, seize, carry off. 

Fannes. instruments for winnoicir^j 

Farden, fared, flashed. 
Fare, pass, go, travel. 
Fare, price of a passage ; slioi 

Farley, wonder. 
Fa's, thou fallest. 
Faiilcone, fa wkon, /a ?co«. 
Fauzt, faucht, fought. 
Faw'n fallen. 
Fay, faye, faith. 
Fayne. See Fain. 
Fiiyne, See Faine. 
Fayre, /a/r. 

Faytors, deceivers, cheats. 
Fe, fee, reward, bribe ; property. 
Feare, fere, feire, mate. 
Feat, nice, neat. 
Featously, neatly, dexterously. 
Feere, fere, mate, companion. 
Feill, fele, many. 
Feir, fere, fear ; also demeanour, 
Feire, mate. See Feare. 
Feiztyng, fighting. 
Felay, felawe, feloy, fellow. 
Fell, hyde. 
Fell, fele, furious. 
Fend, defend. 
Fendys pray, /rom being the pr^y of 

the fiends. 
Fere, fear ; companion, wife. 
Ferliet, wandered. 
Ferly, iconder ; wondrously. 
Fersly, fiercely. 
Fesante, fesaunt, pleasant. 
Fet, fette, fetched. 
Fetteled, prepared, addressed. 
Fey, predestinated to some fatality. 
Fie, beasts, cattle. 
Fillan, filland, filling. 

is a whimsical rhapsody of a deceased old woman travelling in the other world 
in which 

" Scho wanderit, and zeid by, to an Elrich well." 

In the Glossary to G. Douglas, Elriche, &c. is explained by "wild, hideous: 
I,at. trux, iminanis ;" but it seems to imply somewhat more, as in Allaa 
Ramsay's Glossaries 



Finauiice, fine, forfeiture. 

Find frost, find mischance, or 

Fii-th, frith, a wood ; an arm of the 

¥it, foot, feet. 

Fit, part or division of a song.^ 
Fitt, fittc, fyt, fytte, idem. 
Fluyne, fiayed. 
Fleyke, large kind of hurdle; a 

hovel of fieyhs where cows are 

Flinders, pieces, splinters. 
Flowan, flowing. 

Flyte, to contend with words, scold. 
Fond, foniie, contrive; endeavour. 
Fonde, found. 
Foo, foes. 
For, an account of. 
Forbode, commandment. 
Force, no force, no matter. 
Forced, regarded, heeded. 
Forefend, prrevent, defend ; avert. 
For-foght, over fought. 
Foregoe, quit, give up. 
For-wcaricd, over-wearied. 
Formarc, former. 
Foi s, I do ni)t fors, I do not care. 
Forsede, regarded, heeded. 
Forst, heeded, regarded. 
Forst, forced, compelled. 
Fortbynketh, repejiteth, vexeth, 

Fortby, therefore. 

Forwaclit, over-watched, kept aicake. 
Foster.-! of the fe, foresters of the 

king's demesnes. 
Fou, low, full; drunk. 
Fowardc, vuwanb', the van. 
Fowkiii, cani irord for fart. 
Fox't, drunk. 
Frac, from. Fro. 

Frae thay begin, /rom the beginning. 
Frcake, freke, freeke, freyke, man, 

human being ; also, whim, maggot. 
Fro-bore, free-born. 

Freckj's, persons. 

Freers, fryars, /n'ars, monks. 

Freits, ill omens, ill luck. Terroi 

Freyke, humour, freak, caprice. 

Freyned, asked. 

Frie, fre, free,/ree, noble. 

Fruward, firward. 

Furth, forth. 

Fuyson, foyson, plenty ; substance. 

Fyers. fierce. 

FykkiU, fickle. 

Fyled, fyling, defiled, defiling. 

Fyll. fell. 

Fyr, fire. 

Fyzt, fight. 

Ga, gais, go, goes. 
Gae, gaes, go, goes. 
Gaed, gade, icent. 
Gaberlunzie, gaberlunze, a wallet. 
Gaberluuzie-man, loallet-man, beg- 

Gadlings, gadelyngs, idlers. 
(iJadryng, gathering. 
Gae, gave. 
Gair, geer, dress. 
Gair, grass. 

Galliard, a sprightly dame. 
Gan, gane, began, 
Gane, gone. 
Gang, go. 
Ganyde, gained. 
Gap, entrance to the lists. 
Gar, to make, cause. Gard, gart, 

garred, made; also Garde. 
Gare, garre, Bee Gar. 
Gargeyld, the gpnut of a gutter. 
Garlaudc, ring within which the mark 

teas set to be shot at. 
Gayed, made gaij their clothes. 
Giar, geerc, gair, geir, geire. See 

Gederede ys host, gathered his host. 
Geere will sway, this matter will 

turn out ; affair will terminate. 
Gef, gerc, give. 
Geld, gave. 

' FiTTS, I. e. " divisions or parts in music," are alluded to in Troilus at%i 
Oressida, act 3, sc. 1. See Mr. Steevens's note. 



Gerte, pierced, 

Gest, act, feat, story, history. 

Getinge, gettyng, plunder, booty. 

Geve, gdvend, ijive, given, 

Gi, gie, gien, give, given. 

Gibed, jeered. 

Gie, give. 

Gifif, gife, if. 

Gillore, plenty. 

Gimp, jimp, neat, sltnder. 

Gin, an, if. 

Gin, gyn, engine, contrivance. 

Gins, begins. 

Gip, irderjection of contempt. 

Girt, pierced. 

Give, ^ee Giff. 

Give owre, surrender. 

Glave, glaive, sword. 

Glede, red-hot coal. 

Glee, joy. 

Glen, narrow valley. 

Glent, glanced, slipped. 

Glie, glee, joy. 

Glist, glistered. 

Glose, set a false gloss. 

Glowr, stare, ot frown. 

Gloze, canting, dissimulation. 

God before, God by thy guide.^ 

Goddes, goddess. 

Gode, godness, good, goodness. 

Gone, go. 

Good, a good deal. 

Good-e'ens, good-evenings. 

Gorget, dress of the neck. 

Goireled-] )e\lyed, pot-bellied. 

Go wan, the yellow crow-foot. 

Gowd, gould, gold. 

Graine, scarlet. 

Graithed (gowden), was caparisoned 

icith gold. 
Gramercye, I thank you. Fr. Grand 


Graunge, granary ; a lone houee. 

Graythed, decked, put on. 

Grea-hondes, greyhounds. 

Grece, step ; flight of steps. 

Gree, gre, prize, victory. 

Greece, fat. Fr. graisse. 

Greened, grew green. 

Greet, weep. 

Gresse, grass. 

Gret, grat, great ; grieved, swoln. 

Greves, groves, bushes. 

Grippel, griping, miserly, 

(iroundwa, ground-waU. 

Giowende, growyud, ground, 

Grownes, grounds. 

Growte, small-beer, or ale.'' 

Grype, griffin. 

Grysely groned, dreadfully groanecU 

Gude, guid, geud, good. 

Guerdon, reward. 

Gule, red. 

Gybe, jest, joke. 

Gyle, guile. 

Gyn, engine, contrivance. 

Gyrd, girded, lashed ; gyrdyl, girdX<it 

Gyse, guise, form, fashion. 


Ha, hae, have. 

Ha', hall. 

Habbe, ase he brew, have as h« 

Habergeon, lesser coat of mail, 
Hable, able. 

Haggis, sheep's stomach stuffed. 
Hail, hale, whole, together. 
Halched, halsed, saluted, embraced, 
Ha'esome, wholesome, healthy. 
Halt, holdeth. 
Halyde, haylde, hauled. 
Hame, liamward, home, homeward. 

6 Sr in Shakspeare's King Henry V. (act 3, sc. viii.) the King says, 

" My army's but a weak and sickly guard ; 
Yet, God Before, tell him we will come on." 

' Growte is a kind of fare much used by Dauish sailor^, being boiled 
groats (i. e. hulled oats), or else shelled barley, served up very thxk, and butter 
added to it. — (Mr. Lambe.) 



Hand-bowo, the long hmr. 

Hare . . swcrdes, their swords. 

Haried, harried, haryed, harowed, 
robbed, pillitged, plundered. 

Harlocke, charlouke, tcild rape, 

Harnisine, harness, armour. 

Hartly lust, hearty desire. 

Harwos, harroios. 

Hastarddis, rash fellows; upstarts. 

Hauld, to hold. 

Hauss-bane, the neck-bone. 

Hav, have. 

Haves, effects, substance, riches. 

Haviour, behaviour 

Hawberk, coat of mail. 

Hawkin, diminutive of Ilarry. 

Haylle, advantage, profit. 

He, hee, hye, high. 

He, hye, to hye, hasten. 

Heal, hail. 

Hear, heare, here. 

Hear, heave:?, hair, hairs. 

Htathcnness, heathen part of the 

Hech, hach, hatch, small door ; also 
Hach-borde. side of a ship. 

Hecht to lay thee law, promised, en- 
gaged to lay thee low. 

Hid, hede, head. 

Hedo, he would ; heed. 

Hee's, he shall ; he has, 

Heere, hear. 

Heicht, height. 

Held, head. 

Heiding-hill, place of execution. 

Heil, hele, health. 

Heir, here, hear, 

Helen, heal. 

Helpeth, help ye. 

Hem, them. 

Heiid, kind, gentle, 

Heiino, hence. 

Hent, hente, held, pulled ; received. 

Heo, they. 

Hepps and Hawcs, fruits of the 
briar, and the hawthorn. 

Her, hare, their. 

Here, their ; hear, hair, 

Herkiieth, hearken ye. 

Hertc, herti£ heart, hearts. 

Hes, has. 

Hest, hast. 

Hests, commands, injunrtione, 

Het, hot. Hether, hither. 

Hett, hight, bid, call, command. 

Hench, rock, or steep hill. 

Hevede, hevedst, had, hadst. 

Heveriche, hevenrich, heaveidy. 

Hewkes, heralds' coats. 

Hewyne in to, hewn in two. 

Hewyng, hewinge, heioing, hacking 

Hey-day guise, frolick ; sportive. 

Heynd, hend, gentle, obligirig. 

Heyre, heir. 

Heyze, high ; heyd, hied. 

Hi, hie, he. 

Hicht, a-hicht, on height. 

Hie, hye, he, hee, high. 

High dames to nail, hanten, etc. 

Higlit, promised, engaged ; named. 

Hillys, hills. 

Hilt, takeii off, flayed. 

Hinch-boys, pages of honour. 

Hinde, hend, gentle. 

Hinde, hind, behind. 

Hings, hangs. 

Hinny, honey. 

Hip, hep, berries of the dog-rose. 

Hir, her. Hirsel, herself. 

Hit, it ; Hit he write, it he written. 

Hode, hood, cap. 

Holden, hold. 

Hole, holl, ichole. 

Hollen, holly, 

Holtes, woods, groves, Holtis hair, 

hoar hills. 
Holy, tcholly. 
Holy-roode, holy cross, 
Horn, hem, them. 
Hondo, hand. Hondea wrynge^ 

hands loring. 
Hondrith, hondred, hundred. 
Honge, hang, hung. 
Hontyng, hunting. 
Hoo, lio, interjection of stopping, 
Hooly, slowly. 
Hop-halt, limping; halting. 
Hose, stockings, 
Hount, hunt. 
Houzle, {five tlie bacramertiU 



Hoved, heavpA ; hovered ; tarried. 

Howeres, howcra, hours, 

Huerte, heart. 

Huggle, hug, clasp. 

Hye, liyebt, high, highest. 

Hyght, on high, aloud. 

Hyglit, liyzt, promised. 

Hyiid iittowre, behind, over, about. 

Hip halte, lame in the hip. 

Hys, his ; is. 

Hyt, hytt, it. 

Hyzaes, highness. 

I-fere, together. 

I-feth, in faith, 

I-lnre, lost. 

I-strike, stricken, 

I-trowe, verily, 

I-ween, verily, 

I-wot, verily. 

I-wis, I-wys, verily. 

Ich, I; Ich biqueth, I bequeath, 

I clipped, called. 

Iff, if. 

lid, / ivoidd. 

He, I will. 

llfardly, ill-favouredly, uglily. 

Ilk, this ilk, tlds same. 

Ilka, each, every one. 

like, every ilke, every one. 

Ilk one, each one. 

Im, him. 

Impe, a demon. 

In feie, I fere, together. 

Ingle, fire. 

Inogli, enough. 

Into, in. 

Intres, entrance, admittance, 

lo forth, halloo ! 

Ireful, angry, furious. 

Is, Ms. 

Ise, I shall. 

It's no'er, it shall never. 

I-tuned, tuned. 

lye, eye. 


Janglers, tell-tales ; wranglers. 

Jenkin, diminutive of John. 

Jetted, to go proudly. 

Jimp, slender. 

Jo, siceetheart, friend, 

Jogelers, jugglers. 

Jow, joU, or jowl. 

Juncates, a sweet-meat. 

Jupe, upper garment ; petticoat. 

Kail, call. 

Kame, comb. 

Kameling, combing. 

Kan, can. 

Kantle, piece, corner. 

Karls, churls ; karlis of kynde, churh 

by nature. 
Kauk, chalk. 
Kaiilcl, called. 
Keel, saddle. 
Keepe, care, heed, 
Keipand, keejdng. 
Kempe, soldier, warrior. 
Kemperye man, fighting-man.* 
Kempt, combed. 
Kems, co)nbs. 
Ken, know. Kenst, kend, knowest^ 

Kene, keen. 

Kepers, those that watch the corpse. 
Kever-cheves, handkerchiefs. 

• "Germanis Camp. Exercitum, aut Locum ubi Exercitus castrametatur, 
significat : inde ipsis Vir Castrensis et Militaris kemffer, et kempher, et kemper, 
et kimber, et hamper, pro varietate dialectorum, vocatur ; Vocabulum hoc 
uostro sermone noudum penitus exolevit ; Norfolcienses enim plebeio et prole- 
tario sermone dicunt ^ He is a kemper old man, i. e. Senex vegetus est.' Hinc 
Citnbris sunm nomen ; ' kimber enim homo bellicosus, pugil, robustus miles, &c. 
significat.' Sheringham de Anglor. gentis orig. pag. 57. Rectius autem Lazius 
(apud eundem, p. 49). Cimbros a bello quod kamff, et Saxonice kamp nunou- 
patos crediderim ; unde bellatores viri Lie Kempffer, Die Kemper." 



Kexis, dried ttallis ofhemlocks 

Kid, kyd, kithed, made known. 

Kilted, tucked up. 

Kind, nature. Kynde. 

Kirk, church. 

Kirk-wa', church-wall. 

Kirm, kirn, churn. 

Kirn, idem. 

Kirtle, a pttticoat, gown.^ 

Kists, chests. 

Kit, cut. 

Kith (kithe) and kin, acquaintance 

and kindred. 
Knave, servant. 
Knellan, knelland, kneeling. 
Knicht, knight. 
Knightes fee, such a portion of land 

ns required the possessor to serve 

icith man and horse. 
Knowles, little hills. 
Knyled, knelt. 
Kowarde, coward. 
Kowe, cow. 
Kuntrey, country. 
Kurteis, courteous. 
Kye, kine, cows. 

Kyrtel, kyrtill, kyrtell. See Kirtle. 
Kythc, appear, make appear, show. 
Kytlied, appeared, declared. 

Lacke, want. 

Laide unto her, imputed to her. 

Laitli, loth. 

Laithly, loathsome, hideous. 

Lamljs-wool, cant phrase for ale and 

roasted apples. 
Lane, lain, lone ; her lain, hy herself, 
Lang, long ; langsome, tedious. 
Lap, leaped. 

Largesse, gift, liberality. 
Lasse, less. Latte, let, hinder. 
[iauch, laugh. 
Launde, lawn. 
Layden, laid. 

Laye, low. 

Lay-land, land not ploughed. 

Lay-lands, lands in general. 

Layne, lien ; laid. 

Layne, lain. See Leane. 

Leal, leel, leil, loy(d, honest, trve 

Leane, conceal, hide; lyef 

Leanyde, leaned. 

Learned, learned, taught. 

Lease, lyiivj. falsehood. Wythouten 

lease, verily. 
Leasynge, lying, falsehood. 
Leaute, loyalty. 
Lee, lea, the field, pasture. 
Lee, lie. 

Leecli, leeche, physician. 
Leechinge, doctoring, medical care. 
Leeke, phrase of contempt. 
Leer, look. 
Leese, lose. 

Leeve London, dear London. 
Leeveth, believeth. 
Lefe, leefe, lefFe, leeve, dear. 
Lefe, leave: leves, leaves. 
Leid, lyed. 

Leiman, leraan, lover, mistress. 
Leir, lere, learn. 
Leive, leave. 
Leman, lomman, leiman, leaman 

See Leiman. 
Lenger, longer. 
Lengetli in, resideth in. 
Lere, fare, complexion. 
Lerned, learned. 
Lesyiige, lying, falsehood. 
Let, lett, latte, hinder, slacken. 
Lettest, hinderest, detaineth. 
Lettyng, hindrance , witliout delay. 
Leugh, Zawf/Aed. Ijcnch, idem. Lugh. 
Lever, rather. 

Leves and bowes, leaves and boughs 
I>ewd, ignorant, scandalous. 
Leyke, like, play. 
Leyre, lere, learning, lore. 
Libbard, leopard. 

' Bale, in his Actes of English Votaries, (2nd Part, fol. 53,) uses the word 
Kyrtlc to sii^nify a Monk's Frock. He says, Roger Earl of Shrewsbary, when 
he was dying, sent " to Clunyake, ia France, for the KYRTLEof holy Hugh, th; 
Abbot there," Sic. 



liibbard's liane, a herh. 

Lichtly, lightly, easily, nimhly ; tilso 

to undervalue. 
Lie, lee, field. 

raege-men, vassals, subjects. 
Lig, ligge, Z/e. 
Lightly, easily. 

Lightsome, cheerful, sprightly: 
Limitacioune, certain precinct 

alloiced to a limitour. 
I iimitous, friars licensed to beg icithin 

certain limits. 
Linde, lime-tree ; trees in general. 
Lingell, hempen thread rubbed uilh 

rosin, for mending shoes. 
Lire, flesh, complexion. 
Lith, lithe, lythe, attend, listen. 
Lither, idle, worthless, wicked. 
Liver, deliver. 
Liverance, deliverance {money or 

pledge for delivering you up). 
Lodlye, loathsome. 
Lo'e, loed, love, loved. 
Logeying, lodging. 
Loke, loth of tcool. 
Longes, belongs. 
Loo, halloo ! 
Ijooset, losed, loosed. 
Lope, leaped. 

Lore, lesson, doctrine, learning. 
Lore, lost. 

LoiTel, a sorry, worthless person. 
Losel, idem. 
Lothly. See Lodlye.' 
Loud and still, at all times. 
Lought, lowe, lugh, laughed. 
Loun, loon, rascal. 
Lounge, lung. 
Lourd, lour. See Lever. 

Lowe, little hill. 

Lowns, blazes. 

Lowte, bow, do obeisance. 

Lude, luid, luivt, loved. 

Luef, love. 

Lues, luve, loves, love. 

Luiks, loohs. 

Lurden, lurdeyne, sluggard, drone. 

Lyan, lyand, lying. 

Lyard, grey ; a grey horse. 

Lynde. See Linde. 

TjVS, lies. 

Lystenyth, listen. 

Lyth, lythe, easy, gentle, pliant. 

Lyven na more, live no more. 

Lyzt, lizt, light. 


Mad en, mad\ 

Mahound, Mahowne, Mahomet. 

Mair, more, most. 

Mait, might. 

Majeste, maist, mayesto, may'st. 

Making, verses ; versifying. 

iMakys, maks, mates." 

Male, coat of mail. 

Manchet, fine bread. 

Mane, man. 

Mane, moan ; Maining, moaning. 

Mangonel, engine used for discharg- 
ing great stones, arrows, etc. 

March-perti, in the parts lying on 
the Mari hes. 

March-pine, or pane, Zcind of biscuit 

Margarite, a pearl. 

Mark, a coin, in vcdue 13s. 4d. 

Marke hym to the Trenito, commit 
himself to God, by making the sign 
of the Cross. 

Marked, fixed their eyes on. 

Louted, lowtede, bowed. 

1 The adverbial terminations -SOME and -LY were applied indifferent P by our 
old writers: thus, as we have lothly for loathsome above; so we have dgsovti 
lu a sense not very remote from tigly in Lord Surrey's Version of ^Eneid II. viz, 
" In every place the ugsome sightes I saw." Page 29. 

* As the words Make and Mate were, in some cases, used promisciiously by 
ancient writers ; so the words Cake and Gate seem to have been applied with 
the same indifferency : this will illustrate that common English proverb, " To 
turn Cat (i. e. Gate) In pan. A Pan-cake is in Northamptonshire still called 
ft Pan-cate. 

vou, u. 2 b 



Marrow, equal, mate, husband. 
Mart, marred, hurt, damaged. 
Madt, maste, may'at. 
Mastcrye, mayslery, trial of ekill. 
Clanger, maugie, in spite of; ill- 
JLiun, mun, must. 
Mavis, a thrush. 
Mawt, malt. 
IMayd, mayde, maid. 
Maye, may, idem. 
Mayne, force, strength; mane. 
Jlaze, a lahijrinth.^ 
JMe, men; Me cod, men began. 
Me-tliunch, thuncketli, me-thinhs. 
ilean, moderate, middle-sized. 
Meany, retinue, train, company. 
Mease, soften, reduce, mitigate. 
Meaten, mete, measured. 
Meed, meede, reward, mood. 
Meit, meet, fit, proper. 
IMell, honey ; also, meddle, mingle. 
IMen of arme.s, gens d'armes. 
^Menivere, species of fur. Meniveere. 
Meiise the fauglit, measure the battle. 
IMenzie, meany. See Meaney. 
]Mercljes, marches. 
Jlessager, messenger. 
Met, mete. See ^leit. 
Meyiie. See Meauy. 
Micht, might. 

Mieklc, much, great. Mykel. 
Midj^e, s)nall insect. 
jMinged, mentioned. 
IMiuiiy, mother. 
Minstral, minstrel. 
]Miustrel-ic, music. 
Mirk, rairkie, dark, black, 
Mirry, meri, merry. 
Miscreant.s, unbelievers. 
Mis(kjiibt, suspect, doubt. 
IVIiskaryed, miscarried. 
Miskeii, mistake ; let a thing alone. 
Jlister, to need. 

Mither, mother. 

Mo, moe, more. 

Mode, mood. 

Jloiening, by means of. 

]\Fol(l, mo'ild, ground. 

Moine, a dull, stujAd felloio. 

Mon, man. 

Monaiid, moaning, bemoaning. 

Mone, moan. 

Mounyu day, Monday. 

More, mure, moor,heatl ; icild hill. 

Morue, to-mourn ; to-morrow, in thi 

Moruyng, mourning. 
Morrownynges, mornings. 
Mort, death of the deer. 
Mosses, swampy grounds. 
Most, must. 
Blote, moiigbt, might. 
Mote I thee, might 1 thrive. 
]Mou, mouth. 

Mouglit, mot. See Mought . 
Mowe, may ; mouth. 
Mucin le bost, great boast. 
Mude, mood. 
Muir, moor. 
Muluc, mill. 
]Mun, mauu, must. 
Mure. See Muir. 

Miirne, niurnt, murning, mourn, etc 
Musr, amuse ; iconder. 
Musis, ]\Iuses. 

IMyculi, iiickyl. See Mickle. 
Mydan, Milan steel. 
Myne-ye-ple, many plies, oi folds. 
Myrry, merry. 

Myst, myzty, might, mighty. 
IMysuryd, misused, applied badly. 

Na, nae, no, none. 
Naitliiiig, nothing. 
Nams, names. 
Nane, none. 

^ On tlie top of Catharine-hill, Winchester (the usual play-place of the 
gchool), was a very perplexed ami wimling p.itli, running in a very small upaee 
fiver a great deal of gi'ound, called a miz-maze. The senior boys oblige the 
juniors to tread it, to jirevent the figure from being lost, as I am informed by 
AB iugeuious correspondent. 



Nappy, strong (of ale). 

Nar, nare, nor ; than. 

Nat, not. 

Niitheless, nevertheless. 

iVe, nee, nigh. 

Near, net, nere^ never. 

Neat, oxen, rows, large cattle. 

Neutherd, keeper of cattle. 

Neatresse,/eHi"Ze ditto. 

Nei.^'h him neare, approach him 

Neir, nere, never. 
Neir, nere, near. 
Nere, ive were ; ivere it not for. 
Nest, nye-t, next, nearest. 
Newfangle. /oftcZ of novelty. 
Nieht, night. 

Nicked him of iiaye, refused him. 
Nipt, -pinched. 

No i lie, a coin, in vaht,e Qs. 8d, 
Nobles, noblesse, nobleness. 
Nollys, noddles, heads. 
Noiu, toolc. Nome, name. 
Non, no7ie. Nane, noon. 
Nonce, purpose. Nonys. Fjr the 

nonce, for the occasion. 
Norland, northern. 
Norse, Norway. 
North-gales, Xorth Wales. 
Nou, noiv. 
Nourice, nurse. 
Nout, nocht, nought; not. 
Nowght, nought. 
Nowls, noddles, heads 
Noye, annoy > 
Nozt, nought, not 
Nurtured, educated, hrcd. 
Nye, ny, nigh. 
Nyzt, night. 

O gin, O if. 
Obraid, upbraid. 
Ocht, ought. 

OferljTig, superior, paramount. 
On, one, an. One, on. 
Onloft, aloft. 
Ony, any. 
Ouys, once. 

Onf'owghten, untougliten, un-fought. 
Or, ere, before; even. 

Or, eir, before, ever. 

Oiisons, prayers. 

< 'st, aste, oast, host. 

Ou, oure, you, your : our. 

Out alas ! exclamation of grief. 

Out braytle, dreiv out, unsheathed. 

Out-horn, summoning to arms. 

Out ower, quite over ; over. 

Outowre, out over. 

Outrake, an outride, or expedition. 

Ouare otF none, hour of noon. 

Owches, bosses, biittons of gold. 

Owene, awen, oune, ain, oivn. 

Owre, owr, over. 

Owre-word, last word ; burden of a 

Owt, owte, out. 

Pa, the river Po. 

Packing, false-dealing. 

Pall, palle, kind of rich cloth ; r6b« 

of state. 
Palmer, a pilgrim. 
Pannell, panele, a rustic saddle. 
Paramour, lover, mistress. 
Parde, perde, perdie, verily ; pai 

Paregall, equal. 
Partake, participate, assign to. 
Parti, party, a part. 
Pattering, murmuring, mumbling. 
Pauky, shrewd, cunning ; insolent. 
Paves, pavice, a large shield. 
Pavilliane, tent, pavilion. 
Pay, liking, satisjacfion. 
Paynim, pagan. 

Pearlins, coarse sort of bone-lace. 
Pece, piece ; sc. of cannon. 
Peere, peer, pere, equal, peer. 
Peering, peeping, looking narrowl]/ 
Pees, pece, peysse, peace, 
Pele, a baker's peel. 
Penon, lance-banner. 
Pentarchye of tenses, five tenses. 
Perchmine, piarclnnent . 
Parelous, parlous, perilous. 
Perfay, verily. 
Perfight, perfect. 
Perill, danger. 

2 b2 



Perkin, diminutive of Peter. 

Perlese, peerless. 

Persit, pearoed, pierced. 

Perte, part. 

Pertyd, parted. 

Pet3'e, pity. 

Peyii, pain. 

Pliilomene, the nightingale. 

Pibrijcks, Iligldand war-tunes. 

Piece, a little. 

Pil'd, i^eeled, bald. 

Plaining, complaining. Plaino. 

Play-feres, playrfelloics. 

Playand, playing. 

Pleasance, pleasure. 

Plein, pleyn, complain. 

Plett, platted. 

Plow-mell, wooden hammer fixed to 

the plow, 
Plyzt, plight. 

Poll-cut, cunt word for wJwre. 
Pollys, powlls, polls, head. 
Pompal, pompous. 
Popiiigay, parrot. 
Poicupig, porcupine. 
Portres, portress- 
Posset, drink. 
Poterner, pocket, pouch. 
Poudrt'd, sprinlded over (heraldic). 
Puw, pou, pow'd, pull, pulled, 
Powlls. See Pollys. 
Pownes, pounds. 
Preas, prcso, press. 
Prece, idou. Pieced, presed, 

Prest, ready. 

Prestly, prcatlye, readily, quickly. 
Pricked, spurred on, hasted. 
PricUes, the mark to shoot at. 
Pricke-watule, wand to shoot at, 
Priefe, prove. 
Priving, proving, tasting. 
Prove, proof. 
Prowes, prowess, valour. 
Prude, prride ; proud. 
Prycke, the vmrK. 
Pryme, day-hreak. 
Piling, pulling. 
Puissant, strong, powerful. 
Pulde, pulled. 

Purchased, procured, 
Purfel, ornament of embroidery. 
Pnrfclled, embroidered. 
Purvayed, provided. 
Pyght, pight, pitched. 


Quadrant, four-square. 

Quail, shrink. 

Quaint, cunning ; fantastical. 

Quarry, slaughtered ginne. 

Quat, quitted. 

Quay, quhey, young heifer. 

Quean, sorry, base woman. 

Quel, cruel, murderous. 

Quelch, a blow. 

Quell, subdue; kill. 

Quere, quire, choir. Quirifitej, 

Quest, inquest. 

Quha, who. 

Quhair, lohere. 

Quhan, whan, when. 

Quhaneer, whenever. 

Quhar, where. 

Quhat, ichat. 

Quhatten, wliat. 

Quhen, wilien. 

Quhy, why. 

Quick, alive, living. 

Quillets, quibbles. 

Quitt, requite. 

Quyle, lohile. 

Quyrry. See Quarry. 

Quyt, quite. 
I Quyte, requited. 
\ Quo, quoth, 
\ Qwyknit, quickened, restored to lift. 

! R. 

j Rade, rode. 
I Rae, roe. 

1 Eaik, to go apace. Eaik on raw, go 
fast in a row. 

Raine, reign. 

Raise, rose. 

Raiu[iire, rampart. 

Ranted, were merry. 

Rashing. the stroke made by tits wild 
boar with his fangs. 



Raughl, i-eached, gained, ohlained, 

Rayue, rcane, rain. 

Kaysse, race. 

Eazt, raught, bereft. 

Reachless, careless. 

Reade, redo, advise ,• gitess. 

Eea'me, reaine, realm. 

Reas, raise. 

Reave, bereave. 

Reckt, regarded. 

Rede, redde, j-ead. 

Rede, advise, advice ; 

Redresse, care, labour. 

Reke, smohe. 

Reeve, bailiff. 

Refe, revo, idem. 

Refe. See Reave. Reft, bereft. 

Register, officer of the;publiG register. 

Reid, rede, reed, red. 

Reid, roan, red-roan. 

Reid. See Rede. 

Reius, deprive of. 

Rekeles, recklesse, regardless, rash. 

Remeid, remedy. 

Renislit, shining ? 

Renn, to run. 

Renyed, refused. 

Rescous, rescues. 

Reve. See R(jave. 

Revers, robbers, pirates, rovers. 

Rew, rewe, take pity ; regret. Rue. 

Rewth, i-uth. 

Riall, ryall, royal. 

Richt, right. 

Ride, malce an inroad. 

Riddle, to advise ? 

Rin, renn, run. 

Rise, shoot, bush, shrub. 

Rive, rife, abounding ; split. 

Roche, rock. 

Roke, reek, steam. 

Ranne, ran ; roone, run. 

Roo, roe. 

Rood, roode. cross, crucifix. 

Rood-l<jft, place in the church where 

the images are set up. 
Roast, roost. 
Roufe, roof. 
Route, go about, travel. 
Routhe, luih, pity. 

Row. rowd, roll, rolled. 

Rowglit, rout, strife. 

Rowned, rovvnyd, whispered. 

Rowyndd, round. 

Rudd, red, ruddy ; complexion. 

Rude, roijd, cross. 

Ruel-boaes, coloured rings of bone 

Rues, ruethe, pitieth ; regrettein. 

Rugged, pulled ivith violence. 

Rushy, covered with rushes. 

Ruth, ruthe, pity, woe. 

Ruthful, rueful, woful, 

Ryde. See Ride. 

Rydere, ranger. 

Rynde, rent. 

Ryschys, rushes. 

Rywe, rue. 

Ryzt, right. 

Sa, sae, so. 
Safer, sapphire. 
Saft, soft. 

Saif, safe ; save. Savely, safely. 
Saim, same. 
Saisede, seized. 
Sair, soie. 
Sail, shulL 
Sap, essay, attempt. 
Sar. See Sair. 
Sark, sarke, shirt. 
Sat, sete, set. 
Saut, salt. 
Savyde, saved. 
Saw, say, speech, discourse. 
Say, saw. 

Say, essay, attempt. 
Say us no Larme, say no ill of u«. 
Sayne, say. 

Scant, scarce; scantiness. 
Scath, scathe, hurt, injury. 
Schal, sh(dl. 
Schapped, swapped ? 
Schatred, shuttered. 
Sehaw, show. 

Schene, sheen, shining ; brightneaa 
Schip, ship ; Schiples, shipless. 
Scho, sche, she. 
Schone, shone. 
Schoute, shot, let go. 



Seliowtc, sc-howtfe, shout. 

S(-Iirill, shrill. 

Schuke, shook. 

Sclab, table hook of slates to write on. 

8comtit, discomfit. 

Scot, tax, revenue , shot, reckoning. 

8e, sea. 

Se, sene, seying, see, seen, seeing. 

8ed, said. 

Seely, sill;/, simple. 

Seething, hoiling, 

Seik, seke, seek. 

Sek, sacli. 

Sel, sell, self. 

Selven, self. 

Selver, silver. 

Scly. See Seely. 

Sen, since. 

Sene, seen. 

Seneschall, steward. 

Senvy, mustard-seed. 

Sertayne, sertenlye, certain, cer- 

Setywall. See Cetywall. 

Seve, seven. 

Sey, a kind of woollen stuff. 

Sey yow, smj to, tell you. 

Scyd, saiv. 

Shaw, shou\ 

Shaws, little woods. 

Shave, been shaven. 

vShear, entirely. 

Shedii, sheddo, to spill. 

Slice's, she shall. 

Shoeld-bonc, the hlade-hone. 

Sheele, she'll, she loill. 

Sheene, sliene, shining. 

Sheere, sliire, a great slice of bread. 

Sheip, sheep. 

Sheits, &\\QiGs, sheets. 

Shcnt, shamed, disgraced, abused. 

Shepenes, shipens, cow, or sheej) 

Sliimmercd, glittered. 

Slio, she. 

Slxoen, shoone, shoes. 

Shnke, shaokest. 

Shold, sboMe, should. 

Shoone See Slioen. 

hliope, shaped; betook. 

Sliortc, shorten. 

Shote, shot. 

Shroad, cut into tnnall pieces. 

Shiceven, shriven, confessed, her tint 

Slireward, a male shrew. 

Shrift, confession. 

Shrive, confess ; hear confession. 

Shroggs, shrubs, thorns, briars. 

Shulde, should. 

Sliullen, shall. 

Slmnted, shunned. 

Shnrtyng, recreation, diversion. 

Shynand, shining. 

Shyars, shires. 

Sib, kin ; akin, related. 

Sic, sicli, sich, such. Sich, sigh. 

Sich-like, such-like. 

Side, long. 

Sied, saw. 

Sigh-clout, clout to strain milk 

Sighan, siglsand, sighing. 
Sik, sike, such. 
Siker, surely, certainly. 
Siller, silver. 
Sindle, seldom. 
Sith, sithe, since. 
Sitteth, sit ye. 

Skaith, sciith, harm, mischief. 
Skalk, malicious'? squinting'? 
Skinkcr, one that serves drink. 
Skinkled, glittered. 
Skoniiit, discomfit. 
Skott, shot, reckoning. 
Slade, a breadth of greensward 

between plow lands or icoods. 
Slaited, whetted ; iciped. 
Slatied, slit, broke into splivten. 
Slaw, sfc?/.'. 

Sle, slee, slea, sley, slay. 
Slean, slone, slain. 
Sleip, slepe, sleep. 
Sin, sloe, slay. 
Slode, slit, split. 
Slone, slain. 
Sloughe, slew. 
Sinithers, smofhers. 
Sna', snaw, snow. 
Soldaiii. sfililaj), sowdnn, sultan. 
Soil. souUe, bowie, soul. 



Soud, a present, a sending. 

Sone, soan, soon. 

Soun, son, sun. 

Sooth, truOi, true. Soothly, truly. 

Sort, ccmpuny. 

Soth, sothe, south, southe. See Sooth. 

Soth-Ynglonde, South England. 

Sould, schulil, should. 

Souldaii. See Soldaiu. 

Souling, victualling. 

Sowdan. iSee Sol Jain. 

Sowden, sowdain, idem, 

Sowne, sound. 

Sowre, scare, sour, sore. 

Sowter, shoemaker. 

Soy, silk. 

Spak, spack, spaik, spake. 

Spec, idem. 

Sped, speeded, succeeded. 

Speered, sparred, fastened, shut.* 

Speik, speak. 

Speir, spear. Speer. 

Speir, speer, speere, spcre, speare, 

spire, ask, inquire.^ 
Speuce, spens, expense. 
Speudyd, grasped. 
Spere, speere, spear. 
Spill, spille, spoil, destroy, harm. 
Spillan, spilland, spilling. 
Spilt, spoilt. 
Spindles and whorles, instrument 

used for spinning in Scotland.'^ 
Spole, shoulder ; arm-pit. 
Sporeless, spurless, without spurs. 
Sprent, sprente, spurted, sprung out. 
Spurging, froth that purges out. 

Spurn, spurno, akick. 

Spyde, spied. 

Spylt, spoiled, destroyed. 

Spyt, spyte, spite. 

Squelsh, a blow, or bang. 

Stahille, establish ? 

Stalwart, stalworth, stout 

Stalwourthly, stoutly. 

Stane, stean, stone. 

Starke, stiff ; entirely. 

Startopes, bus'dns, or lialf -boots. 

Stead, stede, place. 

Stean. See Stane. 

Steedye, s'eady. 

Steid, stede, steed. 

Steir, stir. 

Stel, stele, steil, steel. 

Sterne, stern ; stars. 

Sterris, stars. 

Stert, sterte, start. 

Steven, time, voice. 

Still, quiet, silent. 

Stint, step, stopped. 

Stonders, stonderes, standers-by. 

Stoude, stound, stounde, stownde, 

time, space, hour, moment ; while. 
Stoup of weir, pillar of war. 
Stour, stower, atowxe, fight, stir,dis' 

Stown, stolen. 

Stower, stowre. See Stour. 
Stowre, strong, robust, fierce. 
Sta, strae, straio. 
Streiglit, straight. 
Strekene, stricken, struck. 
Stret, street. 

* So in an old " Treatyse agaynst Pestilence, &c. 4to, emprynted by Wynkyn 
de Worde :" we are exhorted to " Spere (i.e. shut or bar) the wyndowes ayenst 
the south." fol. 5. 

5 So Chaucer, in his Rhyme of Sir Thopas : 

" He soughte north and south. 

And oft he spired with his mouth," 

I. e. ' inquired.' Not spied, as in the Canterbury Tales, vol. ii. p. 234. 

* The bioCK, Spindles, and Whorles, are very mucli used in Scotland and 
the northern parts of Northumberland at this time. The thread for shoe- 
makers, and even some lineu-vvebs, and all the twine of which the Tweed 
Ba!mou-nets are made, are spun upon Spindles. They are said to make a 
more ev, u and smooth thread than spiuning-wheels. 



Stiick, striot. 

Strife, strain, or mearj,re. 

Strike, stricken. 

Stroke, struck. 

Studc, stood. 

Stuid, ditto. 

Styntyde, h>tiiitod, stayed, s'opped. 

Styramle stai;^^e, many i stirring, 

travelling journey. 
Styrt, start. 
Suar, sure. 
Sum, some. 

Summere, a sumpter horse. 
Sumpter, horses that carry burdens. 
Sune, soon. 

Suore bi ys chin, sicore by Ids chin. 
Siirct ase, cease. 
Sutlie, switli, soo)i, quickly. 
Sua, sa, so. 
Swaird, green-sward. 
Swaptc, s\va|tpcil, swopede, struck 

violently ; exchanged blou-s. 
Swarvde, swnrv. il, climbed. 
Swab, swatte, swott.-, did sweat. 
Swear, sware, swenrc, sicear ; oath. 
Sweard, sweardc, swerd, sword. 
Swcavcn, a dream. 
Sweere, swire neck. 
Sweit, swcte, sweet 
Swepyl, the swinging part of a flail. 
Sweven. See Sweavon. 
Swith, quickly, instantly. 
Swyke, sigh. 
Swynkcrs, laliourers. 
Sw'yi)ping, striking fast. 

Swyving, whoring. 

Sych, such. 

Syd, side. 

Syde shear, sydis shear, on all sideit 

Syn, syne, tlien, afterwardi. 

Syna, since. 

Sysciiemell, Ishmael. 

Syth, since. 

Syzt, sight. 

Tiiiken, token, sign. 
Taiue, tayne, talcen. 
Take, taken. 

Talents, golden head ornaments ? 
Tane, one. 
Tarbox, liniment box carried ly 

Targe, target, shield. 
Te, to. Te make, to make. 
Te he ! Interjection of la ughing. 
Teene, sorroiv, grief, ivrath. Teno. 
Teenefu', indignant, wrathful, 

Teir, tere, tear. 
Tent, heed. 

Tcrmagaunte, the god of Sarazena.'' 
Terry, diminutive of Thierry, 

Theodoricus, Didericus ; Terece. 
Tester, a coin. 
Tha, them. Thah, though. 
Thair, their. 
Thair, thare, there. 
Thame, them. 
Than, then. 
Thare, theire, ther, thore, there. 

' The old French Romancers, who had corrupted Termagant into Terva- 
GANT, couple it with the name of Mauombt as constantly as ours ; thus in the 
old Jiuinan de Blanchardin, 

" Cy guerpison tuit Apolin, 
Et 'Mahomet et Tkrvagant." 

Ilence Fontaine, with great humour, in his Tale, intituled La Fiancee du Hoy 
do Garbe, says, 

" Et reniant Mahom., Jupin, et Tervagant, 
Avec maint autre Dicu non mains extravagant. 

Mem. de I'Acad. des Inscript. torn. xi. 4to. p. 352. 

As Termagiut is evidently of Anglo-Saxon derivation and can only b« 
exitlaineii frc2i the elements o^ that language, its being corrupted by the old 
French Komancers proves that they borrowed some things from ours. 



Tne, thee. 

The, they. The wear, they were. 

The, thee, thrive. So mote I thee, 
so may I thrive. See Chaucer, 
' Cauterb. Tales,' i. 308. 

Tlie God, i. e. The high God. 

Theav, there. 

Thee, to thrive. Mote he thee, itiay 
he thrive. 

Theud, the end. 

Ther, their. 

Ther-for, therefore, 

Therto, thereto. 

Thes, these. 

Theives, manners ; limbs. 

They thui -ward, thither-ward. 

Thie, thy. Thowe, thou. Thi sone, 
thy son. 

Thii, they. 

Thilke, this. 

Thir, this, these. 

Thir towmoiids, these twelve months. 

Thirtti thousant, thirty thousand. 

Tho, then, those, the. 

Thocbt, thought. 

Thole, tholed. suffer, suffered. 

Thorowe, throio, througli. 

Thouse, thou art. 

Thoust, thou shalt, or shouldest. 

Thrall, captive ; captivity. 

Tlirang, tlirong, close. 

Thrawis, throes. 

Thre, thrie, three. 

Threape, to argue, assert positively. 

Tlirew, throve. 

Thrie. See Thre. 

Tlirif, threven, thrive. 

Thrilled, twirled, turned round. 

Thritte, thirty. 

Thronge, hastened. 

Thropes, villages. 

Thruch, throuch, through. 

Thud, 7ioise of a fall. 

Tibbe, diminutive for Isabel (Scot- 

Tide, time. 

Tift, puff' of wind. 

Tild downe, pitched. 

Till, to ; lohen. 

Till, unto, entice. 

Timkin, diminutive of Timothy. 

Tine, lose. 

Tint, lost. 

Tirl, twirl, turn round. 

Tirl at the pin, unlatch the door. 

To, too; two. 

Ton, tone, the one. 

Too-fall, twilight.^ 

Tor, tower; pointed rock on hill. 

Toun, toune, town. 

Toure, tower. 

Tow, to let down with a rope. 

Tow, towo, two. Twa. 

Towmoond, twelve-month, year. 

Towyn. See Toun. 

Traiterye, treason, treachery. 

Trenchant, cutting. 

Tres bardie, thrice hardy. 

Treytory, traitory. See Traiterye. 

Trichard, treacherous. 

Tricthen, trick, deceive. 

Tride, tried. 

Trie, tre, tree. 

Triest furth, draw forth to an assigiu 

Trim, exact. 

Trisulcate, three-forked or pointed. 
Trough, trouth, troth. 
Trow, think, believe, trust, conceive ; 

also, verily. 
Trowth, troth. 
Tru, true. 

Trumped, booted, told lies. 
Trumpes, icooden trumpets. 
Tuik, tuke, took. 
Tuke gude keip, kept a close eye 

ripon her. 
Tul, till, to. 
Turn, an occasion. 
Turues a crab, at the fire i roasts a 

Tush, interjection of contempt or 

Twa, two. 

* " Tofall of the night," seems to be an image drawn fron; a suspended 
canopy, so let fall as to cai'er what i.s below. — (Mr. Lambe.) 



Twatling, gmall, piddling. 
Twayuc, two. 
V\\[n'd, parted, separated. 
Twirtle twist, thoroughly twisted. 


Uch, each. 

Ugsome, shocking, horrible. 
Unbethought, /or bethought. 
\Jnctaous, fat, clammy, oily. 
Undermeles, afternoons. 
TIndight, undeched, undressed. 
Unkempt, uncombed. 
Unmacklye, misshapen. 
TJnmufit, undisturbed, unconfounded. 
Unseeled, opened ; a termin falconry . 
Unsett Steven, unappointed time, 

Unsoiisie, unluchy, unfortunate. 
Untyll, unto ; against. 
lire, use. 
Uthers, others. 


Vair (Somerset), fair. 

Valzient, valiant. 

Viiporing, hectoring. 

Viizen (Somerset), faiths. 

Venn, approach, coming. 

V'ices, devices ; screws; turning pins; 

swivels ; spindle of a press i 
Vilane, rascally. 
Vive (Somerset), ^re. 
Voyded. quitted, left. 
Vrierd (Somerset), friars ; " Vicars." 


Wa', icall. 7cay. 

Wad, ivoul I. WaMo, w Id, wolde. 

Wadded, of a light blue colour^' 

Wae, waelo', woe, woful. 

Wae worth, woe betide. 

Waine, u-aqgon. 

\Vn\kir, fuller of cloth. 

VV'allnwit, faded, withered. 

Walter, roll along ; wcdlow. 

Walter, welter. 

Willy, interjection of grief . 

Wame, ivomb. Weni. 

Wan, gone ; came : deficient ; hlae\ 

Wan neir, drew near. 
Wane, one. 
Wanrufe, uneasy. 
War, ware, aware. 
War ant wys, wary and loi^e. 
Ward, watch, sentinel. 
Warde, advise, for eivarn. 
Warke, icorh. 

Waild, warldis, tvorld, worlds. 
Waryd, accursed. 
Wary son, reward. 
Wassel, drinking, good cheer. 
Wat, wet ; knew. 
Wat, wot, know, am aware. 
Wate, blamed. 
Wate, watt, weete, wete, witte, wot, 

wote, wotte, know. 
Wax, to grow, become. 
Wayde, waved. 
Wayward, froivard, perverse. 
Weal, wail. Weale, welfare. 
Weale, weel, weil, wele, well. 
Weare-in. drive in gently. 
Wearifou', wearisome, tiresome. 
Weazon, the throat. 
Wedous, icidows. 
Wee, little. 

Weede, clothing, dress. 
Weel, well ; we will. 
Weeue, think. 
Weet. wet. 
Weet' See Wate. 
W(!id, weed, wede. See Weede. 
Weil, wepe, weep. 
Weinde, wende, went, weendo, 

weened, thought. 
Wei'rd, wizard, icitch. 
Wel-away, interjection of grief, 
Wul of pite, well of pity. 
Wcldynge, ruling. 
Welkin, the sky. 

" Taylor, in his 'History of Gavel-kind,' p. 49, says, "Bright, frim thi 
British word Brith, which .signifies their wadde-colour ; this was a light blue." 
— Miashew's Dictionary. 



Well-fiway, exclamation of pity. 
Wcm, hurt. 

VVemo, icoinb, helh/ : hoUow. 
Wend, wemle, wenden, go. 
\Veiide, thought. 
Wene, weeii, think, 
W'er, icere. 
Wereth, defendeth. 
Werke, work. 

Werre, weir, warris, war, loars. 
Weriyed, worried, 
Wes, teas. 

Westlin, westliugs, western, whist- 
Wha, who. 
^\^hair, where. 
Whan, when. 
^VhaTlg, a large slice. 
AVheder, whither. 
AVhelynn;, wheeling. 
Whig, sour tvhey, buttennilk. 
While, imtil. 
Whilk, ivhich. 
Whit, jot. 
Whittles, hnives. 
Whoard, hoard. 
Whorles. See Spiudles. 
Whos, ichose. 
Whyllys, whilst. 
\Vi', with. 

Wight, human being, man or woman. 
Wight, strong, lusty. 
Wightlye, vigorously. 
Wightye, wighfy, strong, active. 
Wield worm, serpent. 
Wildings, wild apples. 
Wilfulle, tcandering, erring. 
Will, shcdl. 
Win, get, gain. 
Windar, a kind of hawk. 
Windling, tcinding. 
Winnae, ivill not. 
M'insome, agreeable, engaging. 
Wis, wiss, knoic. Wist, knew. 
Wit, weet, knoic, understand. 
Withouten, withoughten, without. 
Wo, woo, ipoe. 
Wobster, webster, weaver. 
Wode, wood, wod, ivood ; mad. 
Wode-warde, towards the ivood. 

Woe, ivoful, sorrowful. 

VVoe-begone, lost in grief. 

Woe-nifin, a sorrowful man. 

Woe-worth, woe be to tkee. 

Wolde, would. 

WoU, wool. 

Wan, icont, usage. 

Won'd, woun'd, dwelt. 

Wonde, wound, vnnded. 

Wonders, iconderous. 

Wondersly, wondeily, wondrously. 

Wone, one. 

Wonne, dwell. 

Wood, wode, mad, furious. 

Woodweele, wodewale, the golden 

ouzle, a bird of the thrush-kind. 
Wood-wroth, furiously enraged. 
Worshipful] y frended, of worshipful 

Worths, worthy. 
Wot, wote, knoiv, think. 
Wouche, mischief, evil. 
Wow, vow ; woe ! 
Wracke, ruin, destruction. 
Wiang, icrung. 
Wreake, pursue revengefully. 
Wreke, ivreak, revenge. 
Wrench, wretchedness. 
Wright, icrite. 

Wrings, contended with violence. 
Writhe, writhed., twisted. 
Wroken, revenged. 
Wronge, wrong. 
Wrouzt, wrought, 
W^uU, will. 
Wyght, strong, lusty. 
Wyghtye, ditto. 
Wyld, wild deer. 
Wynde, wende, go. 
Wynne, v/in, joy. 
Wynnen, win, gain. 
Wyrch wyselyer, wirke, wislien 

work more wisely. 
Wysse, direct, govern, take care of, 
Wyste, knew. 
Wyt, wit, weet, know, 
Wyte, blame, 

Y, /. Y singe, 1 sing, 
Y-h'^avc, beare. 



Y-bcren, home. 

Y-built, huilt. 

Y-cleped, named, called. 

Y-con'd, taught, instructed, 

Y-core, chosen. 

Y-fere, together 

Y-founde, found. 

Y-mad, made. 

Y-pif>kin<^, picking, culling, 

Y-slaw, slain. 

Y-was, verily. 

Y-were, were. 

Y-wis, verilij. Y-wys. 

Y-wonne, won. 

\''-wrouglit, wrought. 

Y-wys. See Y-wi.s. 

Y'-zote, molten, melted. 

Yae, each. 

Y'^alping, yelping. 

Yaned, yawned. 

Yate, gate. 

Y''ave, gave. 

Ych, ycha, yche, ilka, each. 

Ycholde, yef, / should, if. 

Ychon, ychone, each one. 

YchuUe, I shall. 

Ychyseled, cut with the chisel. 

Ydle, idle. 

Yebent, y-bent, hent. 

Ye feth, y-leth, in faith. 

Yearded, buried. 

Yede, yode, went. 

Yee, eye. 

Yeldyde, yielded. 

Yenoui^be, yiiougbe, enough. 

Yerarrcby, hierarchy. 

Yere, yeere, year, years. 

Yerle, yerlle, earl. 

Yerly, early. 

Yese, ye shall. 

Yestreen, yester-evening. 

Yf, if 

Y^fere, together. 

Ygnoraunce, ignorance. 

Y'Ike, ilk, same. 

Yll, ill. 

Ylytlie, listen, 

Y'n, in; house, home. 

Yngglishe, Yngglyshe, English 

Ynglonde, England, 

Yode, went. 

Youe, you. 

Ys, is ; his ; in his. 

Ystonge, stung. 

Yt, it. 

Yth, in the. 

Z, y, g, and s. 

Zacringbell (Somerset), sacring hell ; 

a little bell rung at the elevation of 

the host. 
Ze, zea, you, ye, thee. Zee're, ye are, 
Zede, yede, went. 
Zee, zeeue, see, seen. 
Zees, ye shall, 
Zef, yef, if, 
Zeir, year. 
Zeliow, yelloio. 
Zeme, take care of. 
Zent, through. 
Zestrene, yester-e'en, 
Zet, yet. 
Zit, yet. 

Zonder, yonder, 
Zong, young. 
Zonne, son, 

Zou, you. Zour, your. 
Zoud, you icould. 
Zonr, your. 
Zour-lano, j^our-lane, alone, by your 

Zouth, youth. 
Zulc. yule, Christmas, 
Zung, zouge, young. 

♦^* The printers have usually substituted the letter z to express the 
character j; which occurs in old MSS : but we are not to suppose that this ^ 
was ever j)ronoiince(l as our modern z ; it had rather the force of y (and perhaps 
of gh), being no other than the Saxon letter ;^ which both the Scots and English 
have in many instances clianged into y, as ^eajit) yard, geap. year, jeonj, 
younij, Sic, 

< 381 ) 


Adam Bell, Clyni of the Olough, 

and William of Cloudesly, 1. 106. 
Admiral Hosier's Ghost. Glover, 

ii. 74. 
Aged Lover renounceth Love, i. 128, 
Alcanzor and Zayda, i. 242. 
Argentile and Curan. Warner, 

i. 412. 
As ye came from the Holy Land, 

i. 312. 
\.uld Good-man, ii. 18t. 

Baffled Knight, or Lady's Policy, 
ii. 51. 

Bailiffs Daughter of Islington, ii. 

Balet by Earl Eivers, i. 278. 

Ballad of Constant Susannah, i. 

Ballad of Luther, the Pope, a Car- 
dinal, and a Husbandman, i. 327. 

Barbara Allen's Cruelty, ii. 189. 

Battle of Otterbourne, i. 12. 

Beggar's Daughter of Bednall- 
Green, i. 3C0. 

Birth of St. George, ii. 258. 

Bonny Earl of Murray, i, 395. 

Boy and the Mantle (Original), 
ii. 105. 

Boy and the Mantle (Percy's Re- 
vision), ii. 342. 

Braes of Yarrow. Hamilton, ii. 70. 
Brave D)rd Willoughbey, i. 402. 
Bride's Burial, ii. 208. 
Bryan and Pereene. Grainger, i. 

Ohabacteb of a Happy Life. Wotton, 

i. 226. 
Chevy Chase, Ancient Ballad, i. 1. 
Chevy Chace, Modern Ballad, i. 180. 
Child of Elle, i. 75. 
Child Waters, ii. 141. 
Children in the Wood, ii. 225. 
Complaint of Conscience, ii. 1. 
Constant Penelope, ii. 297. 
Constant Susannah, Ballad, i. 150, 
Corin's Fate, i. 422. 
Corydon's Doleful Knell, i. 432. 
Corydon's Farewell to Phillis, i. 150. 
Cupid and Campaspe. Lilye, ii. 161. 
Cupid's Assault. Lord Vaux,i.279, 
Cupid's Pastime. Davison, i. 224. 

Death's final Conquest. Sliirley, 

i. 192. 
Death of King Edward tho First, i 

Distracted Lover, ii. 65. 
Distracted Puritan, ii. 59. 
Downfall of Charing Cross, ii. 41, 
Dowsabell. Drayton, i. 216. 



Dragon of Wantley, ii. 313. 

Dulcina, ii. 212. 

D} ttie to Hey Dowue, ii. 133. 

Edom (Adam) o' Gordon, i. 81. 

E Iward, Edward, i. 41. 

Ek'gy on Henry, fourth Earl of 
Northumberland. Shelton, i. G.5. 

E«soy on the Ancient Metrical 
Romances, ii. 80. 

Es-ay on the Ancient Minstrels of 
England, i. 1. 

Essay on the Metre of Pierce Plow- 
man's Visions, ii. 1. 

Essay on the Origin of the English 
Stage, i. 8.S. 

Ew-bughts Marion, ii. 153. 

Fair Bridges, Gascoigne, i. 344. 
Fair Margaret and Sweet William, 

ii 186. 
Fair Rosamond. Delone, i. 347. 
Fiiiriea' Farewell. Corbet, ii. 253. 
Fairy Queen, ii. 251. 
Fancy and Desire. Fere, i. 371. 
Farewell to Love. Beaumont and 

Fletcher,!. 221. 
Frantic Lady, ii. 67. 
Friar of Orders Gray, i. 176. 
Frolioksome Duke, or the Tinker'a 

Good Fortune, i. 173. 

Gaberi.tjnzie Man, James V., i. 289. 
Gentle Henisman, tell to Me, i.302. 
Gentle River, Gentle River, i. 236. 
G(orge Barnwell, ii. 279. 
Gernutus, the Jew of "Venice, i. 151. 
Gil (Cliild) Morrice, ii. 166. 
Gilderoy, i. 227. 
Giasgerion, ii 134. 
Guy and Amarant. Rowlands, ii. 

Hardtknute. Bruce, i. 314. 
Harpalus, i. 294. 
Heir of Linne, i. 337. 
Hue and Cry after Cupid. 
Jonson, ii. 216. 


Jane Shore, i. 423. 

Jealousy, Tyrant of the Mind, 

Dnjden, ii. 296. 
Jemmy Dawson. Shenstone, ii. 77. 
Jephtlinh, Judge of Israel, i. 130. 
Jew's Daughter, i. 26. 
John Anderson my Jo, i. 332. 

King and the Miller of Mansfield, 
ii. 231. 

King Arthur's Death, ii. 124. 

King Cuplietua and the Beggar 
Maid, i. 135. 

King Edward IV. and the Tanner 
of Tamworth, i. 305. 

King Estmere, i. 42. 

King John and the Abbot of Can- 
terbury, ii. 30. 

King Leir and his three Daughters 
i. 1G6. 

King of France's Daughter, ii. 218. 

King of Scots and Andrew Browne. 
Elderton, i. 390. 

King Ryence's Challenge, ii. 121. 

Knight and Slicpherd's Daughter, 
ii. 154. 

Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament, i, 

Lady Distracted with Love, it, 

Lady Isabella's Tragedy, ii. 213. 
Lady turiied Serving-man, ii. 162. 
Lady's Fall, ii. 197. 
Legend of King Arthur, ii. 130. 
Legend of Sir Guy, ii. 173. 



Lilli Bolero. Wharton, ii. 68. 

Little John Nobody, i. 338. 

Littlfi Musgrave and Laily Barnard, 

ii. U9. 
Lord Thomas and Fair Annet, ii. 

Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor, ii. 

Love will find out the Way, ii. 274. 
Lover of late was 1, ii. 230. 
Loyalty Confined. U Estrange, ii. 43. 
Lucy and Colin. Tickell, ii. 340. 
Lunatic Lover, ii. 6'2. 
Lutlier, tlie Pope, a Cardinal, and 

a Husbandman. Ballad, i. 327. 
Lye, The. Raleigh, ii. 26. 

Margaeet's Ghost. Mallet, ii. 337. 
Marriage of Sir Gawaine, ii. 112. 
Marriage of Sir Gawaine (Percy's 

Version), ii. 349. 
Mary Ambree, i. 399. 
Murder of the King of Scots, i . 386. 
My Mind to me a Kingdom is, i. 208. 

Northumberland betrayed by 

Douglas, i. 200. 
Not-browne Mayd, i. 26.5. 
Nymph's Eei^ly. Raleigh, i. 160. 

Old and young Courtier, ii. 35. 
Old Robin of Portingale, ii. 371. 
Old Tom of Bedlam, ii. 57. 
Original Ballad by Chaucer, i. 252. 

Passionate Sliepherd to his Love^ 

Marlow, i. 158. 
Patient Countess. Warner, i. 210. 
Phillida and Corydon. Breton, ii. 

Plain Truth and Blind Ignorance, 

ii. 17. 

QrEEN Dido, or the Wandering 

Prince of Troy, ii. 241. 
Queen Eleanor's Confession, i. 356. 
Queen Elizabeth's Verses while 

Prisoner at Woodstock, i. 336. 

Richard of Almaigne, i. 246. 
Rising in the North, i. 193. 
Robin and Makyue, i. 298. 
Robin Good-fellow, ii. 247. 
Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne, 

i. 56. 
Robyn, Jolly Robyn, i. 132. 

Sale of Rebellious House-hold Stuff. 

ii. 48. 
Shepherd's Address to his Muse, 

Breton, ii. 157. 
Shepherd's Resolution. Wither, ii 

Sir Aldingar, i. 282. 
Sir Andrew Barton, i. 373. 
Sir Cauline, i. 28. 
Sir John (irehuie and Barbara 

Allan, ii. 193. 
Sir John Suckling's Campaign, ii. 

Sir Lancelot du Lake, i. 146. 
Sir Patrick Spence, i. 54. 
Song to the Lute in Musicke, i. 

Sonnet by Queen Elizabeth, i. 

Spanish Lady's Lnve, i. 400. 
Spanish Virgin, or Effects of 

Jealousy, ii. 292. 
St. George and the Dragon, ii. 

St. George for England, 1st Part, 

ii. 320. 
St. George for England, 2nd Part. 

G^ru&t. ii. 324. 



Stedfast Shcphcra. Wiiher, ii. 290. 
Sturdy Rock, i. 359. 
Sweet Neglect. B. Jonfon, ii. 225. 
Sweet William's r4ho8t, ii. 191. 

Take those Lips Away, i. 166. 
Take thy Old Cloak about Thee, i. 

Thomas, Lord Cromwell, i. 292. 
Titus Andronicus's Complaint, i. 

To Althea from Prison. Lovelace, 

ii. 39. 
To Lucasta, on going to the "Wars, 

Lovelace, ii. 300. 
Tower of Doctrine. Hawes, i. 73. 
1 urnament of Tottenham, i. 254. 

Ulysses and the Syren. Daniel, i. 

Unfading Beauty. Carew, ii. 279. 

Valentine and Ursine, ii. 301. 
Verses by Charles I. ii. 45. 
Verses by James T. ii. 28 
Victorious Men of Earth. Sltirley, 

i. 405. 
Victory at Agineourt, i. 264. 

Walt, waly, Love be Bonny, ii. 20^ 

Wandering Jew, ii. 21. 

Wanton Wife of Bath, ii. 204. 

Why so Pale ? Suckling, ii. 56. 

Willow Tree, ii. 196. 

Willow, Willow, Willow, i. 142. 

Winifreda, i. 230. 

Winning of Cales, i. 406. 

Witch of Wokey, i. 231. 

Witches' Song. B. Jonson, ii. 245 

YotJ Meaner Beauties. Wotton, ii. 34. 

Young Waters, i. 396. 

Youth and Age. Shakspere, i. 172. 







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SALISBlfRY. By Gleeson White. 3rd Edition, revised. 

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WELLS. By Rev. Percy Dearmer, M.A. 3rd Edition. 

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the Best Practical Working Dictionary of tlie 
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The Appendices comprise a Pronouncing Gazetteer of the World, 
Vocabularies of Scripture, Greek, Latin, 'and English Proper Names, 
a Dictionary of the Noted Names of Fiction, a Brief History of the 
English Language, a Dictionary of Foreign Quotations, Words, Phrases, 
Proverbs, &c., a Biographical Dictionary with 10,000 names, &c., &c. 

Dr. MDRRAY, Editor of the ' Oxjord English Dictionary ^ saj;s :— ' In this its 

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Profesaor JOSEPH WRIGHT, M.A., Ph.D., D.C.t.,. LL.D., Editor of 
the ' Englis!i Dialat Didioiitiry,' says :— ' The new edition of " Wehstei's International 
Dictionary " is undoubtedly the most useful and reliable work of Us kind in any country. 
No one who has not examined the work carefully would believe that such a vast amount 
of lexicographical information could possibly be found within so small a compass. 

ProfesBor A. H. SAYCE, LL.D., D.D., says:— 'It is indeed a marvellous 
work ; it is difficult to conceive of a Dictionary more exhaustive .ind complete. Every 
thing is in it— not only what we might expect to find in such a work, but also what few 
of us would ever have thought of looking for.' 

Rev. JOSEPH WOOD, D.D., Head Master oj Harrow, says :— ' I have always 
thought very highly of its merits. Indeed, I consider it to be far the most accurate 
English Dictionary in existence, .and much more reliable than the "Century. vox 
daily .ind hourly reference, "Webster" seems to me unrivalled.' 

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