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nticnt i^Pn0li^lj S^Dttru, 






l; V T H O M AS P E RC V. 1). 1). 






VOL. in. 

\ I ) () ^^ 






A Fragment 










{Poems on King Arthur, (5^•r.) 

HE Boy and the Mantle . 

2. The Marriage of Sir Gawaine 

3. King Ryence's Challenge 

4. King Arthur's Deati 
Copy from the Folio MS. 

The Legend of King Arthur 
A Dyttie to Hey Downe 
Glasgerion .... 
Old Robin of Portingale 
Child Waters 

Phillida and Corydon. By Nicholas Breton 
Little Musgrave and Lady Barnard 
The E\v-bughts, Marion. A Scottish Song . 
The Knight, and Shepherd's Daughter. 
The Shepherd's Address to his Muse. By N. Breton 
Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor . 
Cupid and Campaspe. By John Lilye 
The I«ady turned Servingman 
Gil [ChildJ Morrice. A Scottish Ballad 
Copy from the Folio MS. 











1. The Legend of Sir Guy 

2. (iuy and Aniarant. By Samuel Rowlands 

3. The Auld Good-.Man. A Scottish Song 




4. Fair Margaret and Sweet William 

5. Barbara Allen's Cruelty .... 

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

7. Sir John Grehme and Barbara Allen. A Scottish Ballad 

8. The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington 

9. The Willow Tree. A Pastoral Dialogue 
The Lady's Fall ...... 

Waly, Waly, Love be bonny. A Scottish Song 

The Bride's Burial 

Dulcina ....... 

The Lady Isabella's Tragedy 

A Hue and Cry after Cupid. By Ben. Jonson 

16. The King of France's Daughter . 

17. The Sweet Neglect. By Ben. Jonson . 
The Children in the Wood .... 
A Lover of late was I . 
The King and the Miller of Mansfield . 
The Shepherd's Resolution. By George Wither 
Queen Dido (or the Wandering Prince of Troy) 
The Witches' Song. By Ben. Jonson . 
Robin Good-fellow ..... 
The Fairy Queen ..... 
The Fairies Farewell. By Bishop Corbet . 

























1. The Birth of St. George 

2. St. George and the Dragon . 

3. Love will find out the Way . 

4. Lord Thomas and Fair Annet. A Scottish 

5. Unfading Beauty. By Thomas Carew . 

6. George Barnwell . . . . 

7. The Stedfast Shepherd. By George Wither 

8. The Spanish Virgin, or Effects of Jealousy 

9. Jealousy Tyrant of the Mind. By Dryden 

10. Constant Penelope .... 

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

12. Valentine and Ursine .... 

13. The Dragon of Wantley 

14. St. George for England. 

15. St. George for England. 

Grubb ..... 

16. Margaret's Ghost. By David Mallet 
.17. Lucy and Colin. By Thomas Tickel 


The First Part 
The Second Part 


By John 


















1 8. The Boy and the Mantle, as revised and altered by a 

modern hand . . . . • 3^5 

19. The ancient Fragment of the Marriage of Sir Gawaine . 323 


I. The Wanton Wife of Bath 

II. Essay on the Ancient Metrical Romances, &c. . 339 

Glossary 377 

Index .......... 411 






'*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 recom- 
mend it to the most ordinary reader, will appear beau- 
tiful to the most refined." — Addison, m Spectator, No. 70. 


^-*Pr\ ^.i^^^ HE tliird volume being chiefly devoted to romantic 
^ '"^^ "^ subjects, may not be improperly introduced with 
few slight strictures on the old metrical romances : 
subject the more worthy attention, as it seems 
not to have been known to such as have written 
on the nature and origin of books of chivalry, 
that the first compositions of this kind were in 
verse, and usually sung to the harp.* 


^S printed verbatim from the old MS. described in the 
T'rcf^cc.t The Editor believes it more ancient than it 
will appear to be at first sight ; the transcriber of that 
manuscript having reduced the orthography and style 
in many instances to the stantlard of his own times. 

The incidents of the Mantle and the Knife have not, that I can 
recollect, been borrowed from any otiier writer. The former of 
these evidently suggested to Spenser his conceit of F/orimcl^s 
Girdle, b. iv. c. 5, st. 3. 

[• See Appendix. 

t Percy folio MS. ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. pp. -^oi- 


" That girdle gave the virtue of chaste love 
And wivehood true to all that did it beare ; 
But whosoever contrarie doth prove, 
Might not the same about her middle weare, 
But it would loose or else asunder teare." 

So it happened to the false Florimel, st. i6, 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, «Scc. 

That all men wondred at the uncouth sight 
And each one thought as to their fancies came. 
But she herself did think it done for spight, 
And touched was with secret wrath and shame 
Therewith, as thing deviz'd her to defame : 
Then many other ladies likewise tride 
About their tender loynes to knit the same, 

- But it would not on none of them abide, 

But when they thought it fast, eftsoones it was untide. 

Thereat all knights gan laugh and ladies lowre, 
Till that at last the gentle Amoret 
Likewise assayed to prove that girdle's powre. 
And having it about her middle set 
Did find it fit withouten breach or let. 
Whereat the rest gan greatly to envie. 
But Florimel exceedingly did fret 
And snatching from her hand," &c. 

As for the trial of the Hoivie, it is not peculiar to our poet : it 
occurs in the old romance, intitled Morte Arthur, which was 
translated out of French in the time of K. Edw. IV., and first 
printed anno 1484. From that romance Ariosto is thought to 
have borrowed his tale of the Encha?itcd Cup, c. 42, &c. See Mr. 
Warton's Observations on the Faerie Queen, &c. 

The story of the Horn in Morte Arthur varies a good deal from 
this of our poet, as the reader will judge from the following 
extract : — " By the way they met with a knight that was sent from 
Morgan la Faye to king Arthur, and this knight had a fair home 
all garnished with gold, and the home had such a virtue, that there 
might no ladye or gentlewoman 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 qeene drinke thereof and an hundred ladies moe, 
and there were but foure ladies of all those that drank cleane," 
of which number the said queen proves not to be one (book ii. 
chap. 22, ed. 1632). 

In other respects the two stories are so different, that we have 
just reason to suppose this ballad was written before that romance 
was translated into English. 

As for queen Guenever, she is here represented no otherwise 
than in the old histories and romances. Holinshed observes, 
that "she was evil reported of, as noted of incontinence and 
breach of faith to hir husband " (vol. i. p. 93). 

Such readers, as have no relish for pure antiquity, will find 
a more modern copy of this ballad at the end of the volume. 

[For Percy's further notes on this ballad see the modernized 
version (book iii. No. 18). Professor Child prints the ballad in 
his English and Scottish Ballads (vol. i. p. i) with a full notice of 
the various forms of the story by way of introduction. He 
writes : — " No incident is more common in romantic fiction than 
the employment of some magical contrivance as a test of conjugal 
fidehty, or of constancy in love. In some romances of the Round 
Table, and tales founded upon them, this experiment is performed 
by means either of an enchanted horn, of such properties that no 
dishonoured husband or unfaithful wife can drink from it without 
spilhng, or of a mantle which will fit none but chaste women. 
The earliest known instances of the use of these ordeals are 
afforded by the Lai du Corn, by Robert Bikez, a French minstrel 
of the twelfth or thirteenth century, and the Fabliau du Mantel 
ATautaillc, which, in the opinion of a competent critic, dates from 
the second half of the thirteenth century, and is only the older lay 
worked up into a new shape (Wolf, Ucbcr die Lais, 327, sq., 342, sq.). 
We are not to suppose, however, that either of these pieces pre- 
sents us with the primitive form of this humorous invention. Robert 
Bikez tells us that he Icarnetl his story from an abbot, and that 
' noble ecclesiast ' stood but one further back in a line of tradition 
which curiosity will never follow to its source." 

Here follows a list of " the most remarkable cases of the use of 
these and similar talismans in imaginative literature." To these 
may be added the garland described in the curious old story of 
the Wrights IVi/e, which has been printed since the publication of 
Mr. Child's work. 

" Hauc here thys garlond of roses ryche, 
In allc thys lond ys none yt lyche ; 
For ytt wylle euer be newe. 


Wete ])0U wele withowtyn fable, 
" Alle the whyle thy wyfe ys stable 

The chaplett wolle hold hewe ; 
And yf thy wyfe vse putry, 
Or toUe eny man to lye her by, 

Than wolle yt change hewe ; 
And by the garlond fiou may see, 
Fekylle or fals yf fat sche be, 

Or ellys yf sche be trewe." 

The Wrighfs Chaste Wife (E. E. Text See. 1865, 1. 55-66).] 

N the third day of may, 
To Carleile did come 
A kind curteous child, 
That cold^ much of wisdome. 



A kirtle and a mantle 
This child had uppon, 
With ' brouches' and ringes 
Full richelye bedone.^ 

He had a sute of silke 
About his middle drawne ; 
Without he cold of curtesye 
He thought itt much shame, 

God speed thee, king Arthur, 

Sitting at thy meate : 

And the goodly queene Guenever, 15 

I cannott her forgett. 

I tell you, lords, in this hall ; 

I hett^ you all to * heede' ; 

Except you be the more surer 

Is you for to dread. 20 

Ver. 7. branches, MS. V. 18. heate, MS. 
\} knew. 2 ornamented. ^ bid.] 


He plucked out of his ' poterner,'' 
And lonofer 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 wiffe, 
That hath once done amisse. 30 

Then every knig^ht 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 toe 

As sheeres had ftt shread. 40 

One while was itt ' gule' ;"^ 
Another while was itt greene ; 
Another while was itt 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. 

Ver. 21. jjotewer, MS. V. 32. his wififc, MS. V. 34, bilccl, MS. 
V. 41. gaule, MS. 

[' probably a pouch or bag, but there is no authority for tlic 
word. ' red. ' light blue or woad coloured.] 


Shee threw downe the mantle, 

That bright was of blee ;^ 50 

Fast with a rudd^ redd, 

To her chamber can^ shee flee. 

She curst the weaver, and the walker,^ 
That clothe that had wrought ; 
And bade a vengeance on his crowne, 55 

That hither hath itt broueht. 

I had rather be in a wood. 

Under a greene tree ; 

Then in king Arthurs court 

Shamed for to bee. 60 

Kay called forth his ladye. 
And bade her come neere ; 
Sales, 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. 

[Ver. 72. all above the buttockes, MS.] V. 75. lauged, MS. 
colour. 2 ruddy. ^ began. ■* fuller.] 


Shee threw downe the mantle. 

That bright was of blee ; 

Fast, with a red rudd, 

To her chamber can^ shee flee. 80 

Forth came an old knight 
Pattering ore a creede, 
And he proferred to this litle boy 
Twenty markes to his meede ; 

And all the time of the Christmasse 85 

Willinglye to ffeede ; 

For why this mantle might 

Doe his wiffe some n^ed. 

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, 95 

That bright was of blee ; 
And fast, with a redd rudd, 
To her chamber can' shee flee. 

Craddocke called forth his ladye. 

And bade her come in ; 100 

Saith, Winne this mantle, ladye, 

With a litle dinne. 

Winne this mantle, ladye, 

And it shal be thine. 

If thou never did amisse >os 

Since thou wast mine. 

\} began.] 


Forth came Craddockes ladye 

Shordye and anon ; 

But boldlye to the mantle 

Then is shee gone. no 

When shee had tane the mantle, 

And cast itt her about, 

Upp att her great toe 

It beofan 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 mouth 

Before he marryed mee. 

When shee had her shreeven, 

And her sines shee had tolde ; 

The mantle stoode about her 125 

Right as shee wold : 

Seemelye of coulour 

Glittering like gold : 

Then every knight in Arthurs court 

Did her behold, j 130 

Then spake dame Guenever 
To Arthur our king ; 
She hath tane yonder mantle 
Not with right, but with wronge. 

See you not yonder woman, 135 

That maketh her self soe 'cleane'? 
I have seene tane out of her bedd 
Of men fiveteene ; 

Ver. 134. Wright, MS. V. 136. cleare, MS. 
\} draw close together, another form oi crowd.'\ 


Priests, clarkes, and wedded men 

From her bedeene:^ 140 

Yett shee taketh the mantle, 

And maketh her self cleane. 

Then spake the litle boy, 

That kept the mantle in hold ; 

Sayes, king, chasten thy wiffe, 145 

Of her words shee is to bold : 

Shee is a bitch and a witch. 

And a whore bold : 

King, in thine owne hall 

Thou art a cuckold. 150 

The litle boy stoode 
Looking out a dore ; 
[And there as he was lookinge 
He was ware of a wyld bore.] 

He was ware of a wyld bore, 155 

Wold Jiave 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. 160 

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 165 

Uppon a whetstone : 

Some threw them under the table, 

And said they had none. 

Ver. 140. by dcene, MS. [V, 151. a little Loy, MS. V. 152. 
looking over. \'. 155-6. these two lines belong to the former 

\} forthwith.] 


King Arthur, and the child 

Stood looking upon them ; 

All their knives edges 

Turned backe againe. 170 

Craddocke had a litle knive 

Of iron and of Steele ; 

He britled^ the bores head J75 

Wonderous weele ; 

That every knight in the kings court 

Had a morssell. 

The litle boy had a home, 

Of red gold that ronge : jSo 

He said, there was noe cuckolde 

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 

Craddocke wan the home. 

And the bores head : 

His ladie wan the mantle 

Unto her meede. 

Everye such a lovely ladye 195 

God send her well to speede. 

Ver. 170. them upon, MS. V. 175. w birtled, MS. 
\} carved. ^ shed.] 



;S chiefly taken from the fragment of an old ballad in the 
Editor's MS., which he has reason to believe more 
ancient than the time of C/iaiurr, and what furnished 
that bard with his IFife 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 : these it has therefore received, such as they are. 
They are not here particularly pointed out, because the Fragment 
itself will now be found printed at the end of this volume. 

[Sir Frederic Madden supposed this ballad to be founded upon 
the JVedihfige of Syr Gauien and Danic Ragncll, which he printed 
from the Rawlinson MS. c. 86, fol. 12S b, in his Syr Ga-wainc. 

Mr. Hales wTites as follows respecting the various forms in which 
the stor)^ appears in literature. "The wonderful 'metamorphosis' 
on which this story turns is narrated in Gower's Confcssio Aniantis, 
as the story of Florent and the King of Sicily's Daughter, taken by 
him, as Tyrwhitt conjectures, from the Gesta Romanoruvi, or some 
such collection. It appears again, as the reader will remember, in 
Chaucer's Wyf of Bathes Tale. 'Worked over,' says Prof. Child, 
' by some ballad-monger of the sixteenth century, and of course 
reduced to ditch-water, this tale has found its way into the Crown 
Garland of Golden Roses, part i. p. 68 {Percy Society, vol. vi.), ' Of 
a Knight and a Faire Virgin.' On a similar transformation depends 
the story of ' King Henrie ' in Scott's Minstrelsy, edited from 
Mrs. Brown's MS., with corrections from a recited fragment, and 
modernized as ' Courteous King Jamie' in Lewis's Tales of JFonder. 
' The prime original,' says Scott, ' is to be found in an Icelandic 
Saga.' " • 

Mr. Child prints (English and Scottish Ballads, vol. viii. p. 139) 
two versions of a Scotch ballad entitled Konpy Kaye, which he 
supposes to be an extravagant parody of The Marriage of Sir 

[* Percy folio MS. ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. i. p. 104.] 


Part the First. 

ING Arthur lives in merry Carleile, 

And seemely is to see ; 
And there with him queene Guenever, 
That bride soe bright of blee/ 

And there with him queene Guenever, 5 

That bride so bright in bowre : 
And all his barons about him stoode, 

That were both stiffe and stowre.^ 

The king a royale Christmasse kept, 

With mirth and princelye cheare ; 10 

To him repaired many a knighte, 
That came both farre and neare. 

And when they were to dinner sette, 

And cups went freely round ; 
Before them came a faire damselle, 15 

And knelt upon the ground. 

A boone, a boone, O kinge Arthure, 

I beg a boone of thee ; 
Avenge me of a carlish knighte, 

Who hath shent^ my love and mee. ?o 

At Tearne-Wadling* his castle stands, 

Near to that lake so fair, 
And proudlye rise the battlements, 

And streamers deck the air. 

* Tearne- Wadling is the name of a small lake [in Inglewood 
Forest] near Hesketh in Cumberland, on the road from Penrith to 
Carlisle. There is a tradition, that an old castle once stood near 
the lake, the remains of which were not long since visible. Tar/?, 
in the dialect of that country, signifies a small lake, and is still in 
use. [" Tarn-Wadling . . . has been for the last ten years a wide 
meadow grazed by hundreds of sheep." — J. S. Glennie, in Afac- 
millmis Mag. Dec. 1867, p. 167, col. 2.] 

[1 complexion. ^ strong. ^ abused.] 


Noe gentle knighte. nor ladye gay, 25 

May pass that castle-walle : 
But from that foulc discurtcous knighte, 

Mishappe will them befalle. 

Hee's twyce the size of common men, 
Wi' thewes, and sinewes stronge, 30 

And on his backe he bears a clubbe, 
That is both thicke and lonw. 


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 hillc and dale. 
He ne'er wolde quitt that grimme barone. 

Till he had made him quail. 

Goe fetch my sword Excalibar : 4S 

Goe saddle mee my steede ; 
Nowe, by my faye, that grimme barone 

Shall rue this ruthfulle deede. 

And when he came to Tearne Wadlinge 

Benethe the castle walle : 50 

" Come forth ; come forth ; thou proude barone, 
Or yielde thyself my thralle." 

On magicke groundc that castk^ stoode. 

And fenc'd with many a spcllc : 
Noe valiant knighte could tread thereon, 55 

But straite his courage felic. 


Forth then rush'd that carHsh' knight, 

Kinof Arthur fehe the charme : 
His sturdy sinewes lost their strengthe, 

Downe sunke his feeble arme. 60 

Nowe yield thee, yield thee, kinge Arthure, 

Now yield thee, unto mee : 
Or fighte with mee, or lose thy lande, 

Noe better termes maye bee, 

Unlesse thou sweare upon the rood, 65 

And promise on thy faye, 
Here to returne to Tearne-Wadling, 

Upon the new-yeare's daye ; 

And bringe me worde what thing it is 

All women moste desyre ; 70 

This is thy ransome, Arthur, he sayes, 
He have noe other hyre. 

King Arthur then helde up his hande. 

And sware upon 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 inquyre. 
What thing it is all women crave. 

And what they most desyre. 80 

Some told him riches, pompe, or state ; 

Some rayment fine and brighte ; 
Some told him mirthe ; some flatterye ; 

And some a jollye knighte. 

[1 churlish. 2 faith.] 


In letters all king Arthur wrote, 85 

And sealVl them with his rino-e : 
But still his minde was helde in double, 

Each tolde a different thinore. 

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 turnd outwarde, 

Her chin stoodc 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 hewe : 
A worse-form'd ladye than she was, 

No man mote ever viewe. 100 

To hail the king in seemelye sorte 

This ladye was fulle faine ; 
But king Arthure all sore amaz'd. 

No aunswere made aeaine. 


What wight art thou, the ladye sayd, 105 

That wilt not speake to mee ; 
Sir, I may chance to ease thy paine, 

Though I be foule to see. 

If thou wilt ease my painc, he sayd. 

And hclpe me in my nccde ; no 

Ask what thou wilt, thou grimme ladye, 

And it shall bee thy meede. 

* This was a common phrase in our old writers ; so Chaucer, in 
his prologue to the Cant. Talcs, says of the wife of Ikith : — 

" Her hoscn were of fyne scarlet red." 

3 c 


O sweare mee this upon the roode, 

And promise on thy faye ; 
And here the secrette I will telle, 115 

That shall thy ransome paye. 

King Arthur promis'd on his faye, 

And sware upon the roode ; 
The secrette then the ladye told, 

As lightlye well shee cou'de. lao 

Now this shall be my paye, sir king. 

And this my guerdon bee, 
That some yong fair and courtlye knight. 

Thou bringe to marrye mee. 

Fast then pricked king Arthure 125 

Ore hille, and dale, and downe : 
And soone he founde the barone's bowre : 

And soone the grimme baroune. 

He bare 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 praye thee hold thy hand ; 
And give mee leave to speake once more 

In reskewe of my land. 140 

This morne, as I came over a more, 

I saw a ladye sette 
Betwene an oke, and a greene holleye. 

All clad in red scarlette. 


Shee sayes, all women will have their wille, 14.5 

This is their chief desyre ; 
Now yield, as thou art a barone true, 

That I have payd mine hyre. 

An earlye vengeaunce light on her ! 

The carlish baron swore : 150 

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. 

Part the Seconde. 

OMEWARDE pricked king Arthure, 

And a wearye man was hee ; 
And soone he mette queene Guenever, 
That bride so bright of blee. 

What newes ! what newes ! thou noble king, 5 

Howe, Arthur, hast thou sped ? 
Where hast thou hung the carlish knighte ? 

And where bcstow'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 bowe to him I was fulle faine, 

And yielde mcc to his hand : 
And but for a lotlily ladyc, there 15 

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 ladye I will wed ; 

Therefore be merrye and lighte. 

Nowe naye, nowe naye, good sir Gawaine ; 25 

My sister's sonne yee bee ; 
This lothlye ladye's all too grimme. 

And all too foule for yee. 

Her nose is crookt and turn'd outwarde ; 

Her chin stands all awrye ; 30 

A worse form'd ladye than shee is 

Was never seen with eye. 

What though her chin stand all awrye, 

And shee be foule to see : 
I'll marry her, unkle, for thy sake, 35 

And I'll thy ransome bee. 

Nowe thankes, nowe thankes, good sir Gawaine ; 

And a blessing thee betyde ! 
To-morrow wee'll have knights and squires, 

And wee'll goe fetch thy bride. 4.0 

And wee'll have hawkes and wee'll have houndes, 

To cover our intent ; 
And wee'll away to the greene forest. 

As wee a hunting went. 

Sir Lancelot, sir Stephen * bolde, 4.5 

They rode with them that daye ; 
And foremoste of the companye 

There rode the stewarde Kaye : 

[* Sir F. Madden remarks that Sir Stephen does not appear in 
the Round Table Romances.] 


Soe did sir Banier* and sir Bore,t 

And eke sir Garratte \ keene ; 50 

Sir Tristram too, that gentle knight, 

To the forest freshe and greene. 

And when they came to the greene forrest, 

Beneathe a faire holley tree 
There sate that ladye in red scarlette 55 

That unseemelye was to see. 

Sir Kay beheld that lady's face, 

And looked upon her sweere ;* 
Whoever kisses that ladye, he sayes, 

Of his kisse he stands in feare. 60 

Sir Kay beheld that ladye againe, 

And looked upon her snout ; 
Whoever kisses that ladye, he sayes. 

Of his kisse he stands in doubt. 

Peace, brother Kay, sayde sir Gawaine, 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, 

r the devil's name anone ; 70 

Gctt 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. 

[* Perhaps intended for Bedver, the King's Constable, Tennyson's 
Bcdivere, but more probably i'>an of 15enoyk, the brother of I'ors. 
t Bors de (iaiives, or Gaunes. 
I Gareth, or Gaherct, Sir Gawain's younger brother. 

^ neck.] 


Then bespake him king Arthure, 

And sware there by this daye ; 
For a Httle foule sighte and misHkinge, 

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. 

Nowe thankes, nowe 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 sheete : 
And swore, as he was a true knighte, 

The spice was never soe sweete. 


Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady brighte, 

Lying there by his side : no 

" The fairest flower is not soe faire : 

Thou never can'st bee my bride." 

I am thy bride, mine owne deare lorde, 
The same whiche thou didst knowe, 

That was soe lothlye, and was wont 115 

Upon the wild more to goe. 

Nowe, gentle Gawaine, chuse, quoth shee, 

And make thy choice with care ; 
Whether by night, or else by daye, 

Shall I be foule or faire ? 120 

" To have thee foule still in the night, 

When I with thee should playe ! 
I had rather farre, my lady deare, 

To have thee foule by daye." 

What \yhen gaye ladyes goe with their lordes 125 

To drinke the ale and wine ; 
Alas ! then I must hide myself, 

I must not croe with mine ? 


" My faire ladye, sir Gawaine sayd, 

I yield me to thy skille ; 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 seest nice at this time, 135 

Soe shall I ever bee. 

My father was an aged knightc, 

And yet it chanced soe, 
He tooke to wife a false ladye, 

Whiche broughte me to tliis woe. 140 


Shee witch'd mee, being a faire yonge maide, 

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 stiffe and stronge ; 
And built him a bowre on magicke grounde, 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 


^HIS 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 queene Elizabeth at the grand en- 
tertainment at Kenelworth-castle in 1575, and was pro- 
bably 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 thear, but I gatt it not." 

The stor>' in Morte Arthur, whence it is taken, runs as follows : 
'• Came a messenger hastely from king Ryence of North-Wales, — 
saying, that king Ryence had discomfited and overcomen eleaven 
kings, and everiche of them did him homage, and that was this : 
they gave him their beards cleane flayne off. — wherefore the mes- 
senger came for king Arthurs beard, for king Ryence had purfeled 
a mantell with kings beards, and there lacked for one a place of 
the mantell, wherefore he sent for his beard, or else he would enter 
into his lands, and brenn and slay, and never leave till he have 
thy head and thy beard. Well, said king Arthur, thou hast said 
thy message, which is the most villainous and lewdest message that 
ever man heard sent to a king. Also thou mayest see my beard is 
full young yet for to make a purfell of, but tell thou the king that 
— or it be long he shall do to me homage on both his knees, or 
else he shall leese his head." [B. i. c. 24. See also the same 
Romance, b. i. c. 92.] 

The thought seems to be originally taken from Jeff. Monmouth's 
Hist. b. X. c. 3. which is alluded to by Drayton in his Poly-Olb. 
Song. 4 and by Spenser in Fact'. Qu. 6. i. 13. 15. See the Ob- 
servations on Spenser, vol. ii. p. 223. 

The following text is composed of the best readings selected 
from three different copies. The first in Enderbie's Cambria 
Triiiinp/ians, p. 197. The second in the Letter abovementioned. 
And the third inserted in MS. in a copy oi Morte Arthur^ 1632, in 
the Bodleian Library. 

Stow tells us, that king Arthur kept his round table at "diverse 
places, but especially at Carlion, Winchester, and Camalet in 
Somersetshire." This Camald, sometimes a famous towne or 
castle, is situate on a very high tor or hill," &c. (See an exact 
description in Stowe's Annals, ed. 1631, p. 55.) 

S it fell out on a Pentecost day, 
Kinj^ Arthur at Camelot kept his court 

With his fairc queene dame Guenever the 
^'ay ; 
And many bold barons sittini^ in hall ; 
With ladies attired in purple and pall ; s 


And heraults in hewkes,^ hooting on high, 
Cryed, Largesse, Largesse^ Chevaliers tres-hardie.^ 

A doughty dwarfe to the uppermost deas^ 
Right pertlye gan pricke, kneeling on knee ; 

With Steven^ fulle stoute amids ail the preas/ lo 

Sayd, Nowe sir king Arthur, God save thee, and see! 
Sir Ryence of North-gales^ greeteth well thee, 

And bids thee thy beard anon to him send, 

Or else from thy jaws he will it off rend. 

For his robe of state is a rich scarlet mantle, 15 

With eleven kings beards bordered f 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, ao 

Maugre^ the teethe of all thy round table. 

When this mortal message from his mouthe past, 

Great was the noyse bothe in hall and in bower : 
The king fum'd ; the queene screecht ; ladies were 
aghast ; 
Princes puffd ; barons blustred ; lords began lower; 
Knights stormed ; squires startled, like steeds in 
a stower ; a6 

Pages and yeomen yell'd out in the hall. 
Then in came sir Kay, the ' king's' seneschal. 

* Largesse, Largesse. The heralds resounded these words as oft 
as they received of the bounty of the knights. See Memoir es de la 
Chevalerie, torn. i. p. 99. — The expression is still used in the form 
of installing knights of the garter. 

t i. e. set round the border, as furs are now round the gowns of 

\} party-coloured coats. ^ (j^fs or upper table. 

^ voice. ^ press. ^ North Wales. 

^ corner. "^ in spite of.] 


Silence, my soveralgnes, 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 hundred pieces of fine coyned gold 

Were given this dwarf for his message bold. 35 

But say to sir Ryence, thou dwarf, quoth the king, 
That for his bold message I do him defye ; 

And shortlye with basins and pans will him ring 
Out of North-gales ; where he and I 
With swords, and not razors, quickly shall trye, 40 

Whether he, or king Arthur will prove the best 
barbor : 

And therewith he shook his good sword Excalabor. 

^n ^^ ^^ ^i^ ^I^ ^^ 

tit Strada, in his Prolusions, has ridiculed the story of the 
Giant's Mantle, made of the Beards of Kings. 



A Fragment. 

'HE subject of this ballad is evidently taken from the old 
romance Mortc Arthur, but with some variations, espe- 
cially in the concluding stanzas ; in which the author 
seems rather to follow the traditions of the old Welsh 
Bards, who believed that King Arthur was not dead, "but conveied 
awaie by the Fairies into some pleasant place, where he should 
j-emaine for a time, and then returne againe and reign in as great 

\} that moment the tumult. '^ decked.] 


authority as ever." Holinshed, b. 5, c. 14, or as it is expressed in 
an old Chronicle printed at Antwerp 1493, by Ger. de Leew, 
" The Bretons supposen, that he [K. Arthur]— shall come yet and 
conquere all Bretaigne, for certes this is the prophicye of Merlyn : 
He sayd, that his deth shall be doubteous ; and sayd soth, for men 
thereof yet have doubte, and shuUen for ever more, — for men Avyt 
not whether that he lyveth or is dede." See more ancient testi- 
monies in Selden's Notes on Polyolbion, Song III. 

This fragment being very incorrect and imperfect in the original 
MS. hath received some conjectural emendations, and even a sup- 
plement of three or four stanzas composed from the romance of 
Morte Arthur. 

[The two ballads here entitled King Arthur's Death and The 
Legend of King Arthur are united in the FoHo MS. (ed. Hales and 
Furnivall, vol. i. p.497)> but they are evidently two distinct songs. 
The first ballad forms part ii. of the MS. copy, which has fourteen 
verses at the end not printed here. The last four verses are 
printed at the end of the next ballad. Percy has taken great 
liberties with his original, and has not left a single line unaltered, 
as will be seen by comparing it with the original printed at the 
end. Additional lines are also interpolated which are now en- 
closed within brackets, and it will be seen that these unnecessary 
amplifications do not improve the effect of the poem. It will also 
be seen that in vv. 41-44 the father and son of the original are 
changed into uncle and nephew. 

This last scene in the life of King Arthur is the most beautiful 
and touching portion of his history, and the romancers and min- 
strels were never tired of telling it in every form. 

According to one tradition Arthur still sleeps under St. Michael's 
Mount ("the guarded Mount" of Milton's Lycidas), and according 
to another beneath Richmond Castle, Yorkshire. 

Mr. Willmott, in his edition of the Reliques, writes, " according 
to popular superstition in Sicily, Arthur is preserved alive by his 
sister la Fata Morgana, whose fairy palace is occasionally seen 
from Reggio in the opposite sea of Messina."] 


N Trinitye Mondaye in the morne, 

This sore battayle was doom'd to bee ; 
Where manye a knighte cry'd, Well-awaye ! 
Alacke, it was the more pittie. 


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 unkle deare, 

And as you prize your hfe, this daye 10 

O meet not with your foe in fighte ; 

Putt off the battayle, if yee maye. 

For sir Launcelot is now in Fraunce, 

And with him many an hardye knighte : 

Who will within this moneth be backe, 15 

And will assiste yee in the fighte. 

The kinge then call'd his nobles all, 

Before the breakinge of the daye ; 
And tolde them howe sir Gawaine came. 

And there to him these wordes did saye. 20 

His nobles all this counsayle gave, 

That earlye in the morning, hee 
Shold send awaye an herauld at amies, 

To aske a parley faire and free. 

Then twelve good knightes king Arthure 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 : 30 

But noe man sholde noe weapon sturrc, 

Unlesse a sword drawne they shold see 

* Sir (Jawaine had Ijccn killed at Arthur's landing on his return 
from abroad. Sec the next ballad, vcr. 73. 


And Mordred on the other parte, 

Twelve of his knights did Hkewise bringe ; 

The beste 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, 

But if a sworde drawne they shold see. 40 

For he durste not his unkle truste, 

Nor he his nephewe, sothe to tell : 
Alacke ! it was a woefulle case, 

As ere in Christentye befelle. 

But when they were together mette, 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 : 50 
Alacke ! it was a woefulle chance, 

As ever was in Christentie. 

When the knighte found him wounded sore, 
And sawe the wild-worme^ hanginge there ; 

His sworde he from his scabberde 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 

[Ver. 41, 42, the folio MS. reads father . . . sonne. 

^ serpent.] 


For all were slain that durst abide, 
And but some fewe that fled awaye : 

Ay mee ! it was a bloodye fielde, 

As ere was foughte on summer's daye. 

Upon king Arthur's own partye, 65 

Onlye himselfe escaped there, 
And Lukyn duke of Gloster free, 

And the kinor's butler Bedevere. 


And when the king beheld his knightes. 

All dead and scattered on the molde ; 70 

[The teares fast trickled downe his face ; 
That manlye face in fight so bolde. 

Nowe reste yee all, brave knights, he said, 

Soe true and faithful to your trust : 
And must yee then, ye valiant hearts, 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 freelye could I yield my breathe !] 80 

But see the traitor's yet alive, 

Lo where hee stalkes among the deade ! 
Nowe bitterlye he shall abye:^ 

And vengeance fall upon his head. 

O staye, my liege, then sayd the duke; 85 

O staye for love and charitie ; 
[Remember what the vision spake. 

Nor meete your foe, if it may bee. 

[' pay for or expiate] 


O, staye mee not, thou worthye wight, 

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 guarde, 
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 thorow his bodie. 

When Mordered felt the stroke of death. 

And found that he was wounded soe ; no 

He thruste himselfe upon the speare, 
And strucke the king a deadlye blowe. 

Then grimmlye dyed sir Mordered, 

Presentlye upon that tree : 
And bloody streames ranne from the kinge ns 

Ere to the duke returned hee. 

Sir Lukyn then he thus bespake, 

Sir knighte, thou hast beene faithfulle tryde, 
Nowe take my sword Excalibar,* 

That hangs so freelye by my syde : 120 

* More commonly called, Caliburn. In the folio MS. Escall- 
berd. [Percy notes in the MS. that "Caliburn was presented a.d. 


O take my sword Excalibar, 

And there into the river throwe : 
For here, henceforth, benethe this tree, 

All use of weapons I foregoe. 

[And fare thee well, thou trustye sword, 125 

A better neer had valiant knighte, 
With thee full ofte, and manye a daye, 

Have I withstood my foe in fighte. 

With this good fauchion in my hande, 

Oft have I reapd the bloody feelde : 130 

But nowe the fatalle houre is come, 
That never more I may thee weelde.] 

The duke to the river side he went, 

And there his owne sword in threwe he : 

But he kept back Excalibar, 135 

He kept it back in privitie. 

[For all of coleyne* was the blade ; 

And all the hilte of precious stone : 
And ever alacke ! then sayd the knighte. 

Must such a sword awaye be throwne ?] 140 

Then backe he came unto the kinge. 

Who sayd, Sir Lukyn, what did yee see ? 

Nothing, my liege, save that the winde 
Blewe oer the waters faire and free. 

O goe againe, then said the kinge, 145 

C3 good sir Lukyn, goe againe : 
Into the rivere throwe my sword, 

Nor keepe me lingering here in paine. 

1 191 to Tancrcd, King of Sicily, by our King Richard I. See 
Rapin, vol. i." 

^ Cologne steel.] 

3 D 


The duke then to the river went, 

And the kings scabberd in threwe hee ; 

But hee kept backe ExcaHbar, 
And hid it undernethe a tree. 


Then backe he came to tell the kinge, 
Who sayde, Sir Lukyn sawe ye oughte ? 

Nothinge, my liege, save that the winde 155 

Nowe with the angrye waters fought. 

O Lukyn, Lukyn, said the kinge, 

[Twice haste thou dealt deceytfullye : 

Alacke, whom may wee ever truste. 

When suche a knighte soe false can bee ? 160 

Saye, wouldst thou have thy master dead ; 

All for a sword, that wins thine eye : 
Nowe goe againe, and throwe it in, 

Or here the one of us shall dye.] 

The duke, all shent with this rebuke, 165 

No aunswere made unto the kinge : 

But to the rivere tooke the sworde. 
And threwe it far as he coulde flinge. 

A hande and an arme did meete the sworde, 

And flourishd three times in the air ; 170 

[Then sunke benethe the renninge streme. 
And of the duke was seene noe main 

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 eone from under the tree. 


But to what place he cold not tell. 
For never after hee did him spye 

Ver. 178, see MS. 


But hee sawe a barge goe from the land, 

And hee heard ladyes howle and crye*. iSo 

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.] 

HE following forms Part II. of a ballad entitled King 
Arthur's Death, in the folio MS. ed. Hales and Furni- 
vall, vol. i. p. 501. 

but vpon a Monday after Trinity Sonday 
this battaile foughten cold bee, 
where many a Knight cryed well-away ! 
alacke, the more pittye ! 

but vpon Sunday in the euening then, 5 

when the King in his bedd did Lye, 
he thought Sir Gawaine to him came, 
& thus to him did say : 

" Now as you are my vnckle deere, 

I pray you be ruled by mee, lo 

doe not fight as to-morrow day, 

but put the battelle of if you may ; 

" for Sir Lancelott is now in france, 

& many Knights with him full hardye, 

& with-in this Month here hee wilbe, 15 

great aide wilbe to thee." 

• Not unlike that passage in Virgil. 

" Summoque ulularunt vertice nymphoe." 

Ladies was the word our old English writers used for Nymphs : 
As in the following lines of an old song in the lulitor's folio MS. 

" When scorching Phcjcbus 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 tloodes, diic. 


hee wakened forth of his dreames ; 

to his Nobles that told hee, 

how he thought Sir Gawaine to him came, 

& these words sayd Certainly. ao 

& then the gaue the King councell all, 
vpon Munday Earlye 

that hee shold send one of his heralds of armes 
to parle with his sonne, if itt might bee. 

& 1 2 knights King Arthur chose, 25 

the best in his companye, 

that they shold goe to meete his sonne, 

to agree if itt cold bee. 

& the King charged all his host 

in readynesse for to bee, 30 

that Noe man shold noe weapons stur 

with-out a sword drawne amongst his Knights the see. 

& Mordred vpon the other part, 

1 2 of his Knights chose hee 

that they shold goe to meete his father 35 

betweene those 2 hosts fayre & free. 

& Mordred charged his ost 

in like mannor most certainely, 

that noe man shold noe weapons sturr 

with-out a sword drawne amongst them the see ; 40 

\ for he durst not his father trust, 
nor the father the sonne certainley. 
Alacke ! this was a woefuU case 
as euer was in christentye ! 

but when they were mett together there, ^ 45 

& agreed of all things as itt shold bee, 
& a monthes League then there was 
before the battele foughten shold bee, 

an Adder came forth of Bush, 

stunge one of king Arthirs Knights below his knee 3 50 

alacke ! this was a woefull chance 

as euer was in christentye ! 

the Knight he found him wounded there, 

& see the wild worme there to bee ; 

his sword out of his scabberd he drew ; 55 

alas ! itt was the more pittye ! 


& when these 2 osts saw they sword drawen, 

the Io)Tied battel! certainlye, 

Till of a 100 : 1000 : men 

of one side was left but 3. 60 

but all were slaine that durst abyde, 
but some awaye that did flee. 
King Arthur vpon his owne partye 
himselfe aliue cold be, 

& Lukin the Duke of Gloster, 65 

& Bedever his Butler certainlye 
the King looked about him there 
& saw his Knights all slaine to bee ; 

" Alas ! " then sayd noble King Arthur 

" that ever this sight 1 see ! 7° 

to see all my good Knights lye slaine, 

& the traitor yett aliue to bee ! 

loe where he leanes vpon his sword hillts 

amongst his dead men certainlye ! 

I \\\\\ goe slay him att this time ; 75 

neuer att better advantage I shall him see." 

" Nay ! stay here, my Leege ! " then said the Duke, 

for loue and charitye ! 

for wee haue the battell woone, 

for yett aliue we are but 3 : " 80 

the king wold not be perswaded then, 
but his horsse then mounted hee ; 
his Butler [that] helped him to horsse, 
his bowells gushed to his knee. 

" Alas !" then said noble king Arthur, 85 

" that this sight I euer see, 

to see this good knight for to be slaine 

for loue for to hclpe mec ! " 

he put his speare into his rest, 

& att his Sonne he ryd feirclye, 90 

& through him there his speare he thrust 

a fatham thorrow his body. 

the Sonne he felld him wounded there, 

& knew his death then to bee ; 

he thrust himselfe vpon his speare, 95 

& gaue his father a wound certainlye. 



but there dyed Sir Mordred 

presently vpon that tree. 

but or ere the King returned againe, 

his butler was dead certainlye. loo 

then bespake him Noble King Arthur, 

these were the words sayd hee, 

sayes *' take my sword Escalberd 

from my side fayre & free, 

& throw itt into this riuer heere ; 105 

for all the vse of weapons lie deliuer vppe, 

heere vndemeath this tree." 

the Duke to the riuer side he went, 

& his sword in threw hee ; 

& then he kept Escalberd, "o 

I tell you certainlye ; 

& then he came to tell the King, 

the king said, " Lukin what did thou see?" 

noe thing, my leege," the[n] sayd the duke, 

" I tell you certainlye." "5 

" O goe againe," said the king 
' for loue & charitye, 
& throw my sword into that riuer, 
that neuer I doe itt see." 

the Duke to the riuer side he went, 1 20 

& the kings scaberd in threw hee ; 
& still he kept Escalberd 
for.vertue sake faire & free. 

he came againe to tell the King ; 

the King sayd, " Lukin what did thou see?" 125 

" nothing my leege," then sayd the Duke, 

" I tell you certainlye." 

" O goe againe Lukin," said the King, 

or the one of vs shall dye." 

then the Duke to the riuer sid went, i3<^ 

& then Kings sword then threw hee : 

A hand & an anrie did meete that sword, 

& flourished 3 times certainlye 

he came againe to tell the King, 

but the king was gone from vnder the tree 135 


but to what place, he cold not tell, 
for neuer after hee did him see, 
but he see a barge from the land goe, 
& hearde Ladyes houle & cry certainlye ; 

but whether the king was there or noe 140 

he knew not certainlye. 

the Duke walked by that Riuers side 

till a chappell there found hee, 

& a preist by the aulter side there stood. 

the Duke kneeled downe there on his knee 145 

&: prayed the preists, " for Christs sake 

the rights of the church bestow on mee ! " 

for many dangerous wounds h^ had vpon him 

&: liklye he was to dye. 

& there the Duke lined in prayer 150 

till the time that hee did dye. 

King Arthur lined King 22 yeere 

in honor and great fame, 

& thus by death suddenlye 155 

was depriued from the same. 




n^nP^^E have here a short summary of K. Arthur's History 
IlWvt^ as given by Jeff, of Monmouth and the old chronicles, 
^yf >//^j with the addition of a few circumstances from the ro- 
mance Morte Arthur. — The ancient chronicle of Ger. 
de Leew (quoted above in p. 28), 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 transjjosed 
one stanza, which a[)i)eared to be misplaced, {viz. that beginning 
at ver. 49, which in the MS. followed vcr. 36.) 

Printed from the Editor's ancient folio Manuscrijjt. 

- [This ballad as previously stated is the first part of the poem in 
the MS. and j>recedes the one here printed before it. Percy made 
comparatively few alterations in this part and all of them are now 
noted at the foot of the page.] 


F Brutus' blood, in Brlttaine borne, 

King Arthur I am to name ; 
Through Christendome, and Heathynesse,^ 
Well knowne is my worthy fame. 

In Jesus Christ I doe beleeve ; 5 

I am a christyan bore •?' 
The Father, Sone, and Holy Gost 

One God, I doe adore. 

In the four hundred ninetieth yeere, 

Over Brittaine I did rayne, 10 

After my savior Christ his byrth : 
What time I did maintaine 

The fellowshipp of the table round, 

Soe famous in those dayes ; 
Whereatt a hundred noble knights, 15 

And thirty sat alwayes : 

Who for their deeds and martiall feates, 

As bookes done yett record. 
Amongst all other nations 

Wer feared throwgh the world. 20 

And in the castle off TyntagilP 

King Uther mee begate 
Of Agyana a bewtyous ladye, 

And come of " hie " estate. 

Ver. I. Bruite his, MS. [V. 6. borne, MS.] V. 9. He began 
his reign a.d. 515, according to the Chronicles. [V. 16. sit, MS. 
V. 19. all nations, MS.] V. 23. She is named Igerna in the old 
Chronicles. V. 24. his, MS. 

[^ heathendom, ^ born. 

^ pronounced " Tintadgell;" the remains of the castle still exist 
on the north coast of Cornwall.] 


And when I was fifteen yeere old, 25 

Then was I crowned kin^e : 
All Brittainc that was att an uprore, 

I did to quiett bringe. 

And drove the Saxons from the realme, 

Who liad opprest this land ; 30 

All Scotland then throu<^he manly feats 
I conquered with my hand. 

Ireland, Denmarke, Norway, 

These countryes wan I all ; 
Iseland, Gotheland, and Swethland ; 35 

And made their kings my thrall. 

I conquered all Gallya, 

That now is called France ; 
And slew the hardye Froll in feild 

INIy honor to advance. 40 

And the ugly gyant Dynabus 

Soe terrible to vewe, 
That in Saint Barnards mount did lye, 

By force of amies I slew : 

And Lucyus the emperour of Rome 4S 

I brought to deadly wracke ; 
And a thousand more of noble kni^htes 

For feare did turne their backe : 

Five kinges of " paynims " ' I did kill 

Amidst that bloody strife ; 50 

Besides the Grecian emperour 
Who alsoe lost his liffe. 

[Ver. 31-2. And then I conquered througe manly feats, 

All Scottlande with my hands, MS. J 

V. 39. Froland fcild, MS. I'Voll, according to the Chronicles, was 

a Roman knight governor of (iaul. V. 41. Danibus, MS. V. 49. 

of Pavyc, MS. [V. 49-52. this stanza occurs after v. 36 in the MS. J 

[' Pagans.] 


Whose carcasse I did send to Rome 

Cladd poorlye on a beere ; 
And afterward I past Mount- Joye 55 

The next approaching yeere. 

Then I came to Rome, where I was mett 

Right as a conquerour, 
And by all the cardinalls solempnelye 

I was crowned an emperour. 60 

One winter 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 : 
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. 

Thence chased I M ordered away. 

Who fledd to London right, 
From London to Winchester, and 

To Cornewalle tooke his flyght. 80 

[Ver. 69. and when at Sandwich I did land. V. 74. on that. 
V. 75. that Sir Lancelott. V. 80. he tooke. MS.] 


And still I him pursued with speed 

Till at the last we mett : 
Whereby 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 a live. 


There all the noble chivalrye 

Of Brittaine tooke their end. 
O see how fickle is their state 

That doe on feates depend ! 

There all the traiterous men were slaine 

Not one escapte away ; 
And there dyed all my vallyant knightes. 95 

Alas ! that woefull day ! 

Two and tvventy yeere I ware the crowne 

In honor and great fame ; 
And thus by death was suddenlye 

Deprived of the same. 100 

[Ver. S3. Wherby appointed. V. 84. was agreed. V. 85-6. 

Where wee did fight soe mortallye 
Of live eche other to deprive. 

V. 92. upon.] V. 92. perhaps fates. [V. 96 is the end of the first 
part in the i^IS., the stanza 

King Arthur lived King 22 yeere 

in honor and great fame 
and thus by death suddenlye 

was deprived from the same 

£nds the second part, which is printed by Percy as King Arthur's 
death, see jjrevious ballad.] 



Copied from an old MS. in the Cotton Library [British Museum] 
(Vesp. A. XXV. fol. 170), intitled, "Divers things of Hen. viij's 

I HO 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, s 

Thoughe that his laboure be in vaine. 

Who strives to breake the sturdye Steele, 
Or goeth about to staye the sunne ; 

Who thinks to causse an oke to reele, 

Which never can by force be done : 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 maste ; 

Unlesse he thinks perhapps to faine, is 

His travell ys forelorne and waste ; 

And so in cure of all his paine, 

His travell ys his cheffest gaine. 

So he lykewise, that goes about 

To please eche eye and every eare, 20 

Had nede to have withouten doubt 

A golden gyft with hym to beare ; 
For evyll report shall be his gaine, 
Though he bestowe both toyle and paine. 

* Ver. 4. causse, MS. 


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 


'N ingenious Friend thinks that the following old Ditty 
(which is printed from the Editor's folio MS.) may 
possibly have given birth to the Tragedy of the Orphan, 
in which Polidore intercepts Monimia's intended favours 
to Castalio. 

See what is said concerning the hero of this song, (who is cele- 
brated by Chauar under the name of Glaskyrioii) in the Essay 
affixed to vol. i. note H. pt. iv. (2). 

[The hero of this ballad is the same as "gret Glascurion," placed 
by Chaucer in the House of Fame by the side of Orpheus, and also 
associated with Orpheus by Gawain Douglas in the Palice of Honour. 
Percy's note in the Folio MS. is " It was not necessary to correct 
this much for the press ;" (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. i. p. 246). 
It will be seen, however, by the collations at the foot of the page 
that several corrections were made, not always for the better. Thus 
ver. 96, " who did his ladye grieve," is certainly weaker than the 
original, — 

" And asked noe man noe leave." 

Jamieson (^Popular Ballads, 1806, vol. i. p. 91) prints an inferior 
version under the name of Glcukindie. Mr. Hale points out, how- 
ever, that " the Scotch version is more perfect in one point — in the 
test question put to the page before the a.ssignation is disclosed to 
him : — 

' O mith I tell you, Gib my man, 

Gin I a man had slain?' 

Some such question perhaps would give more force to vv. 85-88 of 
our version." He also very justly observes, " perhajjs there is no 
ballad that represents more keenly the great gulf fixed between 
churl and noble — a profounder horror at the crossing over it."J 


LASGERION was a kings owne sonne, 
And a harper he was goode : 
He harped in the kinges chambere, 
Where cuppe and candle stoode. 

And soe did hee in the queens chamber, s 

Till ladies waxed " glad." 
And then bespake the kinges daughter ; 

And these wordes thus shee sayd. 

Strike on, strike on, Glasgerion, 

Of thy striking doe not blinne •} lo 

Theres never a stroke comes oer thy harpe, 

But it glads my hart withinne. 

Faire might he fall,^ ladye, quoth hee, 
Who taught you nowe to speake ! 
f 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. 

[Ver. 4. where cappe and candle yoode, MS.] V. 6. wood, 
MS. [V. 8. sayd shee, MS. V. 9. saide, strike. V. 11. over 
this. V. 13. you fall. V. 15. 7 yeere. V. 16. my hart I durst 
neere breake. V. 21. but whom then. V. 24. her love is granted 

\} cease. ^ well may be thine.] 


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 coller he cast upon his necke, 3S 

Hee seemed a gentleman. 

And when he came to the ladies chamber, 

He thrild upon a pinn.* 
The lady was true of her promise, 

Rose up and lett him in. 40 

He did not take the lady gaye 

To boulster nor to bed : 
" Nor thoughe hee had his wicked wille, 

" A sinpfle word he sed." 

[Ver. 29. but come you hither Master, quoth he. V. 34. and 
did on hose and shoone. V. 42. nor noe bed. V. 43-4. 

but do^vne upon her chamber flora 
full soone he hath her layd.] 

* This is elsewhere expressed ^'- twirled the pin" or " tiried at 
the pin" (see b. ii. s. vi. v. 3.) and seems to refer to the turning 
round the button on the outside of a door, by which the latch 
rises, still used in cottages. 

[The explanation given by Percy in this note is an unfounded 
guess. The Risp or tirling jjin was very generally used in the 
north to do the duty afterwards performed by the knocker. There 
are several of these curious contrivances in the Antiquarian 
Museum at Edinburgh, and they are described by D. Wilson in 
his Memorials of Edinlniri^h in the Olden Time, as follows, — 
" These antique precursors of the knocker and bell are still fre- 
quently to be met with in the sleep turnpikes of the Old Town, 
notwithstanding the cupidity of the Anti(jiiarian collectors. The 
ring is drawn up and down the notched iron rod and makes a very 
audible noise within." (1848, vol. i. j). 97).] 

\} wicked.] 


He did not kisse that ladyes mouthe, 45 

Nor when he came, nor youd •} 
And sore mistrusted that ladye gay, 

He was of some churls bloud. 

But home then came that lither ladd, 

And did off his hose and shoone ; 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 horsse, 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 chamber, 65 

He thrild upon the pinne : 
The ladye was more than true of promise. 

And rose and let him in. 

Sales, whether have you left with me 

Your bracelett or your glove ? 70 

Or are you returned backe againe 
To know more of my love ? 

[Ver, 45. that lady gay. Ver. 46. when he came nor when he 
youd. V. 51. that coller from about. V. 53. awaken quoth hee 
my master deere. V. 54-5. not in MS. V. 59. have not I served a. 
V. 60. when times comes I have need. V. 61. but up. V. 64. he 
was a kinges sonne. V. 65. that ladies. V. 66. upon a. V. 68. 
rose up and. V. 71. you are. MS] 

\} went.] 


Glasgerion swore a full great othe, 

By oake, and ashe, and thorne ; 
Lady, I was never in your chamber, 75 

Sith the time that I was borne. 

O then it was your lither foot-page, 

He hath beguiled mee. 
Then shee pulled forth a little pen-kniffe, 

That hanged by her knee : 80 

Sayes, there shall never noe churles blood 

Within my bodye spring : 
[No churles blood shall ever 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 his ladye grieve. 

He sett the swords poynt till his brest, 

The; pummil until! a stone : 
Throw the falsenesse of that lither ladd, 

These three lives werne all gone. 100 

Vcr. 77. litle, MS. [V. 78. falsly hath. V. 79. and then. V. 82. 
spring within my body. V. 83-4. not in MS. V. 85. but home 
then. V. 86. a woe man good was hee. V. 87. come hither thou. 
V. 88. f.ome thou. V. 89. ffor if. V. 96. and asked noe man noe 
leave. V. 98. till a. MS.J 

3 ^ 




) ROM an ancient copy in the Editor's folio MS. which 
was judged to require considerable corrections. 

In the former edition the hero of this piece had been 
called Sir Robin, but that title not being in the MS. is 
now omitted. 

Giles, steward to a rich old merchant trading to Portugal, is 
qualified with the title of Sir, not as being a knight, but rather, 
I conceive, as having received an inferior order of priesthood. 

[Percy's note in the MS. is as follows, " When I first set to 
examine this I had not yet learnt to hold this old MS. in much 
regard." Every line is altered, so that it has been necessary to add 
'a copy of the original, although the interest of the ballad itself is 
not very great. Percy's most notable correction is the introduction 
of 20 good knights to help Robin against his wife's twenty-four 

ET never again soe old a man 
Marrye soe yonge a wife, 
As did old Robin of Portingale ; 

Who may rue all the dayes of his life. 

For the mayors daughter of Lin, god wott, 

He chose her to his wife, 
And thought with her to have lived in love, 

By they fell to hate and strife. 

They scarce were in their wed-bed laid, 

And scarce was hee asleepe, 
But upp shee rose, and forth shee goes. 

To the steward, and gan to weepe. 



Sleepe you, wake you, faire sir Gyles ? 

Or be you not within ? 
Sleepe you, wake you, faire sir Gyles, 15 

Arise and let me inn. 

O, I am waking, sweete, he said, 

Sweete ladye, what is your will ? 
I have unbethouerht me of a wile 

How my wed-lord weell spill/ 20 

Twenty-four good knights, shee sayes, 

That dwell about this towne, 
Even twenty-four of my next cozens, 

Will helpe to dinge"^ him downe. 

All that beheard his litle footepage, 25 

As he watered his masters steed ; 
And for his masters sad perille 

His verry heart did bleed. 

He raourned still, and wept full sore ; 

I sweare by the holy roode • 30 

The teares he for his master wept 

Were blent water and bloude. 

And that beheard his deare master 

As he stood at his garden pale : 
Sayes, Ever alacke, my litle foot-page, 35 

What causes thee to wail ? 

Hath any one done to thee wronge 

Any of thy fellowes here ? 
Or is any of thy good friends dead, 

That thou shedst manye a teare ? 40 

Ver. 19. unhethou^ht, (proijcrly onbdhoui^ht^ this word is still 
used in the Midland counties in the same sense as bethought. 
V. 32. blend, MS. 

[' spoil or kill. ' knock.] 


Or, if it be my head bookes-man/ 

Aggrieved he shal bee : 
For no man here within my howse, 

Shall doe wrong unto thee. 

O, it is not your head bookes-man, 4.5 

Nor none of his degree : 
But, on to-morrow ere it be noone 

All deemed^ to die are yee. 

And of that bethank your head steward. 

And thank your gay ladie. 50 

If this be true, my litle foot-page, 
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. 

O call now downe my faire ladye, 

O call her downe to mee : 
And tell my ladye gay how sicke, 

And like to die I bee. 60 

Downe then came his ladye faire. 

All clad in purple and pall : 
The rings that were on her fingers, 

Cast liofht thorrow the hall. 


What is your will, my owne wed-lord } 65 

What is your will with mee ? 
O see, my ladye deere, how sicke, 

And like to die I bee. 

Ver. 47. or to-morrow, MS. V. 56. bee, MS. 
[1 clerk. 2 doomed.] 


And thou be sicke, my own wed-lord, 

Soe sore it grieveth me : 70 

But my five maydens and myselfe 

Will " watch thy " bedde for thee : 

And at the wakino- of your first sleepe, 

We will a hott drinke make : 
And at the waking of your " next" sleepe, 75 

Your sorrowes we will slake. 

He put a silk cote on his backe, 

And mail of manye a fold : 
And hee putt a Steele cap on his head, 

Was gilt with good red gold. 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 o-inn.^ 


Old Robin with his brii^ht browne 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 amies when he came in, 95 

And he went back with one. 

Ver. 72. make the, MS. V. 75. first, MS. 
[' snare. "^ alive. J 


Upp then came that ladie gaye 

With torches burning bright : 
She thought to have brought sir Gyles a drinke, 

Butt she found her owne wedd knight. loo 

The first thinge that she stumbled on 

It was sir Gyles his foote : 
Sayes, Ever alacke, and woe is mee ! 

Here lyes my sweete hart-roote. 

The next thinge that she stumbled on 105 

It was sir Gyles his heade ; 
Sayes, Ever, alacke, and woe is me ! 

Heere lyes my true love deade. 

Hee cutt the pappes beside her brest, 

And did her body spille ; no 

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 us 

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 

Ver. 118. fleshe, MS. 

* Every person who went on a Croisade to the Holy Land, 
usually wore a cross on his upper garment, on the right shoulder, 
as a badge of his profession. Different nations were distinguished 
by crosses of different colours : The English wore white ; the 
French red ; &c. This circumstance seems to be confounded in 
the ballad. (V. Spelman, Gloss.) 

\} shaped.] 


HE following is the original ballad from the Folio MS. 
ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. i. p. 235. 

God ! let neuer soe old a man 

marry so yonge a wifte 

as did old Robin of portingale ! 

he may rue all the dayes of his liffe. 4 

ffor the Maiors daughter of Lin, god wott, 

he chose her to his wife, 

&: tliought to haue liued in quiettnesse 

with her all the dayes of his liffe. 8 

they had not in their wed bed laid, 

scarcly were both on slecpe, 

but vpp shee rose, & forth shee goes 

to Sir Gyles, & fast can weepe, i* 

Saies, " sleepe you, wake you, faire Sir Gyles, 
or be not you within ? " 

" but I am waking, sweete," he said, 

" Lady, what is your will ? " »6 

" I haue vnbethought me of a will, 

hqw my wed Lord we shall spill. 

" 24 knights, she sayes, 

that dwells about this to\vne, «o 

eene 24 of my Next Cozens, 

will helpe to dinge him downe." 

with that beheard his litle foote page 

as he was watering his Masters steed, 24 

Soe s * * * * 

his verry heart did bleed ; 

he mourned, sist, and wept full sore ; 

I sweare by the holy roode, 28 

the teares he for his Master wept 

were blend water & bloude. 

with that beheard his deare Master 

as in his garden sate, 3* 

says, " euer alacke my litle page ! 

what causes thee to weepe ? 

" hath any one done to thee wronge, 

any of thy fcllowes here, 36 

or is any of ihy good friends dead 

which makes thee shed such teares ? 


" or if it be my head bookes man, 

grieued againe he shalbe, 4° 

nor noe man within my howse 

shall doe wrong vnto thee." 

" but it is not your head bookes man, 

nor none of his degree, 44 

but or to morrow, ere it be Noone, 

you are deemed to die ; 

" & of that thanke your head Steward, 

& after your gay Ladie." 48 

" If it be true, my Httle foote page, 

He make thee heyre of all my land," 

" if it be not true, my deare Master, 

god let me neuer dye." S* 

" if it be not true, thou Httle foot page, 

a dead corse shalt thou be." 

he called downe his head kookes man, 

cooke in kitchen super to dresse : 56 

" all & anon, my deare Master, 

anon at your request." 

" & call you downe my faire Lady, 
this night to supp with mee." 

& downe then came that fayre Lady, 

was cladd all in purple & palle, 

the rings that were vpon her fingers 

cast light thorrow the hall. 64 

" What is your will, my owne wed Lord, 

what is your will with mee ? " 

" I am sicke, fayre Lady, 

sore sicke, & like to dye." 68 

" but & you be sicke, my owne wed Lord, 

soe sore it greiueth mee, 

but my 5 maydens & my selfe 

will goe & make your bedd, 7* 

" & at the wakening of your first sleepe, 

you shall haue a hott drinke Made, 

& at the wakening of your first sleepe 

your sorrowes will haue a slake." 76 



he put a silke cote on his backe, 

was 1 3 inches folde, 

& put a Steele cap vpon his head, 

was gilded with good red gold ; 80 

& he layd a bright bro\\'ne sword by his side, 

& another att his ffeete, 

& full well knew old Robin then 

whether he shold wake or sleepe. 84 

& about the Middle time of the Night 

came 24 good knights in, 

S}T G)ies he was the formosb man, 

soe well he knew that ginne. 88 

Old Robin with a bright browne sword 

Sir Gyles head he did winne, 

soe did he all those 24, 

neuer a one went quicke out [agen ;] 92 

none but one litle foot page 

crept forth at a ^\'indow of stone, 

& he had 2 armes when he came in 

And [when he went out he had none]. 96 

Vpp then came that Ladie bright 

with torches burning light ; 

shee thought to haue brought Sir Gyles a drinke, 

but shee found her owne wedd Knight, 100 

& the first thinge that this Ladye stumbled vpon, 

was of Sir Gyles his ffoote, 

sayes, " euer alacke, and woe is me, 

heere lyes my sweete hart roote !" 104 

& the 2'' thing that this Ladie stumbled on, 

was of Sir Gyles his head, 

sayes, " euer alacke, and woe is me, 

heere lyes my true loue deade ! " 108 

hee c-utt the papps beside he[r] brest, 

& bad her wish her will, 

^ he cutt the cares beside her heade, 

& bade her wish on still. iia 

" Micklc is the mans blood I haue spent 

to doe thee & me some good," 

sayes, " euer alacke, my fayre Lady, 

I thinke that 1 was woode?" 116 


he calld then vp his litle foote page, 

& made him heyre of all his land, 

& he shope the crosse in his right sholder 

of the white flesh & the redd. 120 

& he sent him into the holy land 

wheras Christ was quicke & dead." 


. IX. 

}HILD is frequently used by our old writers, as a Title. 
It is repeatedly given to Prince Arthur in the Fairie 
Queen : and the son of a king is in the same poem 
called " Child Tristram." (B. 5. c. 1 1. st. 8. 13.— B. 6. 
c. 2. St. 36. — Ibid. c. 8. St. 15.) In an old ballad quoted in 
Shakespeare's K. Lear, the hero of Ariosto is called Child Roland. 
Mr. Theobald supposes this use of the word was received along 
with their romances from the Spaniards, with whom Infaiite signi- 
fies a " Prince." A more eminent critic tells us, that " in the old 
times of chivalry, the noble youth, who were candidates for knight- 
hood, during the time of their probation were called Infans, Var- 
lets, Damoysels, Bacheliers. The most noble of the youth were 
particularly called I?ifans:' (Vid. Warb. Shakesp.) A late com- 
mentator on Spenser observes, that the Saxon word cniht, knight, 
signifies also a "child." (See Upton's gloss to the F. Q.) 

The Editor's folio MS. whence the following piece is taken (with 
some corrections), affords several other ballads, wherein the word 
Child occurs as a title : but in none of these it signifies " Prince." 
See the song intitled Gil Morrice, in this volume. 

It ought to be observed, that the Word Child or Chield is still 
used in North Britain to denominate a Man, commonly with some 
contemptuous character aflixed to him, but sometimes to denote 
Man in general. 

[This ballad gives us a curious insight into ancient manners, 
and shows what were our forefathers' notions of the perfection of 
female character. They would have agreed with the propounder 
of the question — What is woman's mission ? answer, sub-mission. 
Like patient Grissel, Ellen bears worse sufferings than the Nut- 
Brown Maid has to hear of, and in spite of the worst usage she 


never swerves from her devotion. This Enghsh version was the 
first pubHshed, but the story is the same as Lai k Fraic, preserved 
in Enghsh in the Auchinleck MS. and in Nonnan in the Lais of 
Marie, which were written about the year 1250. 

Jamieson {Popular Ballads ami Songs, 1806, vol. i. p. 113) pub- 
hshed his Scottish version under the more appropriate name of 
Burd Ellen, who is the real heroine rather than the rufiian Waters 
is the hero. Adopting the idea of Mrs. Hampden Pye, who wrote 
a ballad on the same subject, he changes the character of the 
catastrophe by adding three concluding stanzas to wind up the 
story in an imhappy manner. Another version of the ballad, which 
ends happily, is given in Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads under 
the title of Lady Margaret. A German version of this ballad was 
made by the poet Biirger.] 

HILDE WATERS in his stable stoode 
And stroakt his milke white steede 
To him a fayre yonge ladye came 
As ever ware womans weede. 

Sayes, Christ you save, good Childe Waters ; 5 

Sayes, Christ you save, and see : 
My girdle of gold that was too longe. 

Is now too short for mee. 

And all is with one chyld of yours, 

I feele sturre att my side ; jo 

My gowne of greene it is too straighte ; 

Before, it was too wide. 

If the child be mine, faire Ellen, he sayd. 

Be mine as you tell mee ; 
Then take you Che.shire and Lancashire both. 15 

Take them your owne to bee. 

fVer. 3. to him came, MS. V. 4. as ere did weare, MS. V. 7. 
which was. MS. V. 15. then not in MS.] 


If the childe be mine, faire Ellen, he sayd, 

Be mine, as you doe sweare : 
Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both, 

And make that child your heyre. 20 

Shee sales, I had rather have one kisse, 

Child Waters, of thy mouth ; 
Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both, 

That lye by north and south. 

And I had rather have one twinkling, as 

Childe Waters, of thine ee : 
Then I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both 

To take them mine owne to bee. 

To morrow, Ellen, I must forth ryde 

Farr into the north countrie ; ' . 30 

The fairest lady that I can find, 
Ellen, must goe with mee. 

[Thoughe I am not that lady fayre, 

Yet let me go with thee.] 
And ever I pray you. Child Waters, 35 

Your foot-page let me bee. 

If you will my foot-page be, 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. 

[V. 24. that lyes. V. 25. have a. V. 26, of your eye. V. 30. 
soe ffarr. V. 38. tell itt mee. V. 42. another inch above your 
eye. MS.] 


Shee, all the long day Child Waters rode, 45 

Ran barefoote by his side ; 
Yett was he never so courteous a knighte, 

To say, Ellen, will you ryde ? 

Shee, all the long day Child Waters rode, 

Ran barefoote thorow the broome ; 50 

Yett hee was never soe curteous a knighte, 
To say, put on your shoone. 

Ride softlye, shee sayd, O Childe Waters, 

Why doe you ryde soe fast ? 
The childe, which is no mans but thine, 55 

My bodye itt will brast. 

Hee sayth, seest thou yonder water, Ellen, 
That flows from banke to brimme. — 

I trust to God, O Child Waters, 

You never will see* mee swimme. 60 

But when shee came to the waters side, 

Shee styled to the chinne : 
Except the Lord of heaven be my speed, 

Now must I learne to swimme. 

The salt waters bare up her clothes ; 65 

Our Ladye bare upp her chinne : 
Childe Waters was a woe man, good Lord, 

To see faire Ellen swimme. 

And when shee over the water was, 

Shee then came to his knee : 70 

He said, Come hither, thou faire Ellen, 

Loe yonder what I see. 

[Vcr. 45. all this long. Slice not in MS. V. 46. slice ran. 

V. 49. but all this clay. V. 50. shee ran. V. 52. as to say. V. 53. 

P not in MS. V. 55. but yours. V. 5O. Inirst. V. 57. he sayes, 

sees. V. 59. Child Waters, shee said. V. 65. Ellen's clothes. 

V. 67. and Child Waters. V. 71. thou not in MS.J 

* i,e. permit, suffer, &c. 


Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen ? 

Of redd gold shines the yate : 
Of twenty foure faire ladyes there, 75 

The fairest is my mate. 

Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen ? 

Of redd gold shines the towre : 
There are twenty four faire ladyes there, 

The fairest is my paramoure. 80 

I see the hall now, Child Waters, 

Of redd gold shines the yate : 
God give you good now of yourselfe, 

And of your worthye mate. 

I see the hall now, Child Waters, 85 

Of redd golde shines the towre : 
God give you good now of yourselfe, 

And of your paramoure. 

There twenty four fayre ladyes were 

A playing att the ball : 9° 

And Ellen the fairest ladye there, 

Must bring his steed to the stall. 

There twenty four fayre ladyes were 

A playinge at the chesse ; 
And Ellen the fayrest ladye there, 95 

Must bring his horse to gresse. 

And then bespake Childe Waters sister, 

These were the wordes said shee : 
You have the prettyest foot-page, brother. 

That ever I saw with mine ee. 100 

[Ver. 74. shine the yates. MS. V. 75. theres 24 ffayre ladyes. 
V. 76. the ffairest is my worldlye make. V. 78. Shineth. V. 79. there 
is 24 ffaire ladyes. V. 81, 85. I doe see. V. 82, 86. that of redd 
gold shineth the yates. V. 83, 87. God give good then. V. 84. 
worldlye make. V. 89. there were 24 ladyes. V. 90. were play- 
ing. V. 91. Ellen was the fairest ladye. V. 93. there were. 
V. 94. was playing. V. 95. shee was the ffairest ladye. V. 96. 
grasse. V. 98. and these. V. 100. eye. MS.] 


But that his bellye It is soe bigg, 

His ijirdle iroes wonderoiis hie : 
And let him, I pray you, Childe Waters, 

Goe into the chamber with mee. 

[It is not fit for a httle foot-page, 105 

That has run throughe mosse and myre. 

To go into the chamber with any ladye. 
That weares soe riche attyre.] 

It is more meete for a htle foot-page, 

That has run throughe mosse and myre, no 

To take his supper upon his knee. 

And sitt downe by the kitchen fyer. 

But when they had supped every one, 

To bedd they tooke theyr waye : 
He sayd, come hither, my httle foot-page, ns 

And hearken what I saye. 

Goe thee downe into yonder towne, 

And low into the street ; 
The fayrest ladye that thou can finde, 

Hyer her in mine armes to sleepe, 120 

And take her up in thine armes twaine. 

For filinge* of her feete. 

Ellen is gone into the towne. 

And low into the streete : 
The fairest ladye that shee cold find, 125 

Shee hyred in his armes to sleepe ; 

[Ver. 103. and ever I pray. MS. V. 104. let him goe. After 
V. X 1 2 the two lines 

then goe into the chamber with any ladye 
that weares soe .... attyre 

occur in the M.S. V. 114. they waye. V. 116. hearken what I 
doe say. V. 117. and goe thy. V. 121. armes 2. MS.] 

* i.e. defiliny. Sec Warton's Observ. vol. ii. p. 158. 


And tooke her up in her armes twayne, 
For fiHng of her feete. 

I praye you nowe, good Childe Waters, 

Let mee lye at your bedds feete : 130 

For there is noe place about this house, 
Where I may 'saye a slepe*. 

[He gave her leave, and faire Ellen 

Down at his beds feet laye : ] 
This done the nighte drove on apace, 135 

And when it was neare the daye, 

Hee sayd, Rise up, my litle foot-page. 

Give my steede corne and haye ; 
And soe doe thou the good black oats, 

To carry mee better awaye. 140 

Up then rose the faire Ellen 

And gave his steede corne and hay : 

And soe shee did the good blacke oates, 
To carry him the better away. 

Shee leaned her backe to the manger side, 145 

And grievouslye did groane : 
[Shee leaned her back to the manger side, 

And there shee made her moane.] 

And that beheard his mother deere, 

Shee heard her there monand. 150 

Shee sayd. Rise up, thou Child Waters, 

I think thee a cursed man. 

[V. 127. and tooke her in her armes 2. V. 130. that I may 
creape in att. V. 135-6. 

this and itt drove now afterward 
till itt was neere the day. 

V. 138. and give. V. 140. that he may carry me the better 
away. V. 141. and up then rose the. V. 143. did on. V. 144. 
that he might carry him. V. 145. she layned. V. 150. and 
heard her make her moane. V. 152. I think thou art a. MS.] 

* Ver. 132. i.e. essay, attempt. 


For in thy stable is a orhost, 

That grievouslyc doth grone : 
Or else some woman laboures of chilcle, 155 

She is soe woe-begone. 

Up then rose Childe Waters soon, 

And did on his shirte of silke ; 
And then he put on his other clothes, 

On his body as white as milke. 160 

And when he came to the stable dore, 

Full still there hee did stand, 
That hee mighte heare his fayre Ellen, 

Howe shee made her monand*. 

She sayd, Lullabye, mine owne deere child, 165 

Lullabye, dere child, dere : 
I wold thy father were a king. 

Thy mother layd on a biere. 

Peace now, hee said, good faire Ellen. 

Be of good cheere, I praye ; 170 

And the bridal and the churching both 

Shall bee upon one day. 

[Ver. 153. for yonder is a ghost in thy stable. V, 157. but up 
then rose Chikle Waters. V. 159. aiui not in MS. V. 162. full 
still that. V. 163. heare now faire. V. 165. my owne. V. 170. 
and be of good cheere I thee pray. V. 172. they shall, MS.] 

• sic in MS., i.e. moaning, bemoaning, &c. 




HIS Sonnet is given from a small quarto MS. in the 
Editor's possession, written in the time of Q. Ehzabeth. 
Another Copy of it containing some variations, is re- 
printed in the Muses' Library, p. 295, from an ancient 
miscellany, intided England's Helicon, 1600, 4to. The author was 
Nicholas Breton, a writer of some fame in the reign of Elizabeth ; 
who also published an interlude intitled An old man's lesson and 
a young man's love, 4to., and many other little pieces in prose and 
verse, the titles of which may be seen in Winstanley, Ames' Typog. 
and Osborne's Harl. Catalog. &c. — He is mentioned with great 
respect by Meres, in his 2d pt. of Wit's Common-wealth, 1598, 
f. 283, and is alluded to in Beaumont and Fletcher's Scornful Lady, 
act ii., and again in Wit without Money, act iii. — See Whalley's 
Ben Jonson, vol. iii. p. 103. 

The present Edition is improved by a copy in England's Llelicon, 
edit. 1 6 14, 8vo. 

This little Pastoral is one of the Songs in "The Honourable 
Entertainment gieven to the Queenes Majestic in Progresse at 
Elvetham in Hampshire, by the R. H. the Earle of Hertford, 
1 59 1, 4to." (Printed by Wolfe. No name of author.) See in 
that pamphlet, 

" The thirde daies Entertainment. 

" On Wednesday morning about 9 o'clock, as her Majestie 
opened a casement of her gallerie window, ther were 3 excellent 
musitians, who being disguised in auncient country attire, did 
greet her with a pleasant song of Corydon and Phillida, made in 
3 parts of purpose. The song, as well for the worth of the dittie 
as the aptnesse of the note thereto applied, it pleased her High- 
nesse after it had been once sung to command it againe, and 
highly to grace it with her cheerefuU acceptance and commenda- 

The Plowman's Song. 

/;/ the merrie month of May, &c." 

The splendour and magnificence of Elizabeth's reign is nowhere 
more strongly painted than in these little diaries of some of her 
summer excursions to the houses of her nobility; nor could a 


more acceptable present be given to the world, than a republication 
of a select number of such details as this of the entertainment at 
Elvctham, that at Kil/ingicorth, &c., ^rc, which so strongly mark 
the spirit of the times, and present us with scenes so very remote 
from modern manners. 

Since the above was written, the public hath been gratified with 
a most compleat work on the foregoing subject, intitled, T/ic Pro- 
gresses and Public Processions of Queen Elizabeth, ^--c. By John 
Nichols, F.A.S., Edinb. and Perth, 17 88, 2 vols. 4to. 

[The author of this elegant little poem was a most voluminous 
author, and "is sui)posed to be the same Capt. Nicholas Breton, 
who was of Norton in Northamptonshire, and dying there June 22, 
1624, has a monument in that church.'"* Dr. Rimbault {Musical 
Illustrations 0/ Percy's Peliques) wTites as follows of the music : — 
" We have here two settings of this beautiful pastoral, the first as it 
was sung by the ' three excellent musitians ' before Queen Elizabeth 
in 1591 ; the second as it was reset in the following century. The 
first is extracted from Madrigals to 3, 4, and 5 parts, apt for viols 
and voices, newly composed by Michael Este, 1604; the second 
from Cheerfull Ayres or Ballads, set for three voyces, by Dr. John 
Wilson, Oxford, 1660. The latter became extremely popular, and 
is included in D'Urfey's Pills to Purge Melancholy, 17 19, and 
several other miisical miscellanies of subsequent date."] 

N the merrie moneth of Maye, 
^^ I n a morne by break of da)e, 

With a troope of damselles playing 
Forthe " I )'ode" forsooth a maying : 

When anon by a wood side, s 

W'liere as Maye was in his pride, 
1 espied all alone 
Phillida and Corydon. 

Much adoe there was, god wot ; 

He wold love, and she wold not. lo 

She sayde, never man was trewe ; 

He sayes, none was false to you. 

Ver. 4. the wode, MS. 
• England's Helicon (Hrydgcs' British Bibliographer, vol. iii.)J 


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, faith 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. 



["HIS ballad is ancient, and has been popular; we find it 
,^^,J' quoted in many old plays. See Beaum. and Fletcher's 
j^ ^^^^ Knight of the Burning Pestle, 4to. 1613, act v. sc. iii. 
The Varietie, a comedy, i2mo. 1649, ^.ct iv. &c. In Sir 
\\'illiam Davenant's play, The Witts, a. iii. a gallant thus boasts of 

" Limber and sound ! besides I sing Musgrave, 
And for Chevy-chace nu lark comes near me," 

In the Pepys Collection, vol. iii. p. 314, is an imitation of this 
old song, in 33 stanzas, by a more modern pen, with many altera- 
tions, but evidently for the worse. 

This is given from an old printed copy in the British Museum, 


with corrections ; some of wliich are from a fragment in tlie Editor's 
folio 2^IS. It is also printed in Dryden's Collection of Miscellaneous 

[The copy of this ballad in the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, 
vol. i. p. 1 19) is a mutilated fragment consisting of only ten complete 
stanzas and three half ones. The oldest entire copy is to be fouiid 
in Wit Restord, 165S, where it is called the old ballad of little 
Musgrave, which is given by Professor Child {English and Scottish 
Ballads, vol. ii. p. 15) in preference to Percys. This version, not 
very exactly transcribed, is printed in Dryden's Miscellany Poems 
(17 16, vol. iii. 312), and Ritson {Ancient Songs and Ballads, vol. ii. 
p. 116) copied it from thence. Ritson writes of one of Percy's 
statements above : " Dr. Percy indeed, by some mistake, gives it 
as from an old printed copy in the British Museum ; observing 
that ' In the Pepys collection is an imitation of this old song in 
a difterent measure, by a more modem pen, with many alterations, 
but evidently for the worse.' It is very true, and not less so that 
the only copies in the museum (for there are two) are more recent 
impressions of this identical imitation^ 

It is the 14th stanza slightly altered which is quoted in the 
Knight of the Burning Pestle. 

" And some they whistled, and some they sung, 

Hey down down ! 
And some did loudly say 
Ever as Lord Barnet's horn blew. 

Away Musgrave, away." 

There are several Scottish versions, in which tlie reciters have 
altered the locality. Jamieson has printed one which he calls 
Lord Barnaby {Popular Ballads and Songs, i. 170). He states 
that he had heard it repeated both in Morayshire and in the 
southern counties. 

Motherwell gives the air in his Minstrelsy which he noted down 
from oral communication, and this verse — 

" It fell upon a Martinmas time 

When the nobles were a drinking wine. 

That little Mushiegrove to the kirk he did go 
For to see the ladies come in." 

Mr. J. H. Dixon includes a version entitled Lord Jhirnett and 
J^ittlc Munsgro7'e in his Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient 
liallads (Percy Society, vol. xvii.) 

Home adopted the name of Lady Barnard in his Douglas before 
he took that of Lady Randolph, see No. 18, Gil Morrice. 


There is another ballad called The Bonny Birdy, with a similar 
story. Jamieson (i. 162) prints it and alters the title to Lord 

S it fell out on a highe holye daye, 
As many bee in the yeare, 
When yong men and maides together do 
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 : 

then bethought him little Musgrave, 15 
This ladyes heart I have wonne. 

Quoth she, I have loved thee, little Musgrave, 

Fulle long and manye a daye. 
So have I loved you, ladye faire, 

Yet word I never durst saye. 20 

1 have a bower at Bucklesford-Bury,* 

Full daintilye bedight, 
If thoult wend thither, my little Musgrave, 
Thoust lig in mine armes all night. 

Bucklefield-berry, fol. MS. 


Quoth hee, I thanke yee, ladye faire, as 

This kindness yee shew to mee ; 
And whether it be to my weale or woe, 

This niorht will I licr 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 I me ni)- lord Barnardes manne. 

My lord Barnard shall knowe of this, 

Althouo-h 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 art a man of life, 
Lo! this same night at Bucklesford-Bury 

Litle Musgrave's in bed with thy wife. . 40 

If it be trew, thou litle foote-page, 

This tale thou hast told to mee, 
Then all my lands in Bucklesford-Bury 

I freelye will give to thee. 

But and it be a lye, thou litle foot-page, 45 

This tale thou hast told to mee, 
On the hii^hest tree in Bucklesford-Bury 

All hanired shalt thou bee. 


Rise up, rise up, my merry men all. 

And saddle me my good stecde ; 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 jay, 
Methinkes I 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 gay lady within thine armes : 

And wouldst thou be awaye ? 

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 sheete ; 
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. 

Ver, 64. Is whistling sheepe ore the mold, fol. MS. 


I have two swordes in one scabbarde, 85 

Full deare the)- cost ni}' 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 MusQ:rave never strucke more. 

With that bespake the ladye faire, 

In bed whereas she laye, 
Althoughe thou art dead, my little JNIusgrave, 95 

Yet for thee I will praye : 

And wishe well to thy soule will I, 

So long- as I have life ; 
So will I not do for thee, Barnard, 

Thoughe I am thy wedded wife. 100 

He cut her pappes from off her brest; 

Great pit)'e it was to see 
The drops of this fair ladyes bloode 

Run trickling downe her knee. 

Wo worth, wo worth ye, my merrye men all, 105 
You never were borne for my goode : 

Why did you not offer to stay my hande. 
When you sawe me wax so woode ? ' 

For I have slaine the fairest sir knighte, 

That ever rode on a steede ; no 

So have I done the fairest lady. 
That ever ware womans wcede.* 

-[• See the last stanza of Chihle Maurice from Folio MS., book i. 
No. 18, which is ahnost identical with this. 

^ wildly angry.] 


A grave, a grave, Lord Barnard cryde, 

To putt these lovers in ; 
But lay my ladye o' the upper hande, 115 

For she comes o' the better kin. 

tjt That the more modern copy is to be dated about the middle 
of the last century, will be readily conceived from the tenor of the 
concluding stanza, viz. 

" 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." 



A Scottish Song. 

"^'^^HIS sonnet appears to be ancient: that and its sim- 
plicity of sentiment have recommended it to a place 

[This is marked in Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany as 
an old song with additions. It is not known who Avrote the song 
or who composed the air belonging to it. They are both old.] 

ILL ye gae to the ew-bughts/ Marion, 

And wear in'^ the sheip wi' mee ? 
The sun shines sweit, my Marion, 

But nae half sae sweit as thee. 
O Marion's a bonnie lass ; 

And the blyth blinks^ in her ee : 
And fain wad I marrie Marion, 

Gin Marion wad marrie mee. 

[1 the pens in which the ewes are milked. ^ gather in. 

3 joy sparkles.] 


Theire's gowd in your garters, Marion ; 

And siller on your white hauss-bane* : 10 
Foil faine wad I kisse my Marion 

At eene quhan I cum hame. 
Theire's braw lads in Earnslaw, Marion, 

Ouha gape and glowr wi' their ee 
At kirk, ([uhan 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. 20 

And yees get a grein sey^ apron, 

And waistcote o' London broun ; 
And wow bot ye will be vaporing 

Ouhaneir ye gang to the toun. 

I me yong and stout, my Marion, 25 dance lik mee on the greine ; 
And gin ye forsak me, Marion, 

Ise een gae draw up wi' Jeane. 
Sae put on your pearlins,^ Marion, 

And kirtle oth' cramasie ; ' 30 

And sune as my chin has nae haire on, 

I sail cum west, and see yee. 

* I/auss bane, i. e. The neck-bone. Marion had probably a 
silver locket on, tied close to her neck with a ribband, an usual 
ornament in .Scotland ; where a sore throat is called " a sair //ausi'," 
properly halse. 

I ' loves. 2 younjf heifer. ■'* woollen cloth. 

'• a kind of lace made of thread or silk. •'' crimson. J 




'HIS ballad (given from an old black-letter copy, with 
some corrections) was popular in the time of Q. Eliza- 
beth, being usually printed with her picture before it, as 
Hearne informs us in his preface to Gul. Neiibrig. Hist. 

Oxon. 1 7 19, 8vo. vol. i. p. Ixx. It is quoted in Fletcher's comedy 

of the Pilgrim, act iv. sc. 2. 

[It is also quoted in The Knight of the Burning Pestle : 

" He set her on a milk white steed." (1. 85.) 

There are several Scottish versions given by Buchan, Kinloch, and 
Motherwell. The latter claims greater antiquity for his over Percy's. 
It appears, however, to be a southern ballad adapted by the Scotch 
and improved in its humour. The heroine practices various arti- 
fices to maintain the character of a "beggar's brat" when riding 
back with Earl Richard. ~\ 


HERE was a shepherd's daughter 
Came trippuig on the waye ; 
And there by chance a knighte shee mett, 
Which caused her to staye. 

Good morrowe to you, beauteous maide, 5 

These words pronounced hee : 
O I shall dye this daye, he sayd. 

If Ive 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, 
He wold not be withstood." 


Sith you have had your wille of mee, 

And put me to open shame, 
Now, if you are a courteous knighte, 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 kinoes faire courte 

They call me Wilfulle Wille. ao 

He sett his foot into the stirrup. 

And awa}e then he did ride ; 
She tuckt her Q-irdle 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 cot out acraine, 

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 lovinor 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 maide 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 

{} Jill is sometimes used as a woman's name and at other times 
as a man's.] 


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 leige, 45 

Of purple nor of pall : 
But he hath gotten my maiden head, 

Which grieves mee worst of all. 

Now if he be a batchelor, 

His bodye He give to thee ; 50 

But if he be a married man, 

Hi^h hansfed he shall bee. 

He called downe his merrye men all, 

By one, by two, by three ; 
Sir William used to bee the first, si 

But nowe the last came hee. 

He brought her downe full fortye pounde, 

Tyed up withinne a glove : 
Faire maid. He give the same to thee; 

Go, seeke thee another love. 60 

O He have none of your gold, she sayde, 

Nor He have none of your fee ; 
But your faire bodye I must have, 

The kinof hath oranted mee. 

Sir William ranne and fetchd her then 65 

Five hundred pound in golde, 
Saying, faire maide, take this to thee, 

Thy fault will never be tolde. 

Ver. 50. His bodye He give to t/iee.'] This was agreeable to the 
feudal customs : The Lord had a right to give a wife to his vassals. 
See Shakespeare's All's well that ends well. 


Tis not the gold that shall mee tempt, 

These \vords then answered shee, 70 

But your own bodye I must have, 
The kinor hath oranted mee. 

Would I had dranke the water cleare, 

When I did drinke the wine, 
Rather than any shepherds brat 75 

Shold bee a ladye of mine ! 

W^ould I had drank the puddle foule, 

When I did drink the ale. 
Rather than ever a shepherds brat 

Shold tell me such a tale ! 80 

A shepherds brat even as I was. 

You mote have let me bee, 
I never had come othe kings faire courte. 

To crave any love of thee. 

He sett her on a milk-white steede, 85 

And himself upon a graye ; 
He huncr a bu^jle about his necke, 

And soe they rode awaye. 

But w^hen 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 

lie make )'<)U lord of thre-e. 

Ah ! cursed bee the gold, he sayd, 

If thou hadst not been trewe, 
1 shold have forsak(-n 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 commande. 




HIS poem, originally printed from the small MS. volume, 
mentioned above in No. X., has been improved by a 
more perfect copy in England^s Helicon, where the 
author- is discovered to be N. Breton. 

OOD Muse, rocke me aslepe 
With some sweete harmony : 
This wearie eyes is not to kepe 
Thy wary company. 

Sweete Love, begon a while, 

Thou seest my heavines : 
Beautie is borne but to beguyle 

My harte of happines. 

See howe my little flocke, 

That lovde to feede on highe, 

Doe headlonge tumble downe the rocke, 
And in the valley dye. 

The bushes and the trees. 

That were so freshe and greene, 

Doe all their deintie colors leese, 
And not a leafe is seene. 




The blacke birde and the thrushe, 
That made the woodes to ringe, 

With all the rest, are now at hushe, 

And not a note they singe. 20 

Swete Philomele, the birde 

That hath the heavenly throte, 
Doth nowe, alas ! not once afforde 

Recordino;e 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 sweete Muse, 
That knowest what helpe is best, 

Doe nowe thy heavenlie conninge use 35 

To sett my harte at rest : 

And in a dreame bewraie 

What fate shal be my frende ; 
Whether my life shall still decaye, 

Or when my sorrowes ende. 4.0 



^S given (with corrections) from an ancient copy in black 
letter, in the Pepys collection, intitled, A tragical ballad 
on the tinfortunate love of lord Thomas and fair Ellinor, 
together with the downfall of the browne girl. — In the 
same collection may be seen an attempt to modernize this old 
song, and reduce it to a different measure : A proof of its popu- 

The reader will find a Scottish song on a similar subject to 
this, towards the end of this volume, intitled, Lord Thomas and 
Lady Annet. 

[This is one of the ballads still kept in print in Seven Dials, and 
Ritson describes it as having " every appearance of being originally 
a minstrel song." 

There is a series of ballads on the same subject — 

1. Lord Thomas and Fair Annet, (see book iii. No. 4.) 

2. Fair Margaret and Sweet William, (see book ii. No. 4.) 

3. Sweet Willie and Fair A?i7iie, (Jamieson's Popular Ballads^ 
i. 22.) 

The last named ballad is a combination of the first two, the first 
part being similar to Lord Thomas, and the second part to Fair 
Margaret r^ 

ORD 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, 

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 brino- me the browne orirl home. 

And as it befelle on a high holidaye, 

As many there are beside, 
Lord Thomas he went to faire Ellinor, 15 

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. ao 

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, 45 
That such a thing should be done ; 

1 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. 

Ver. 29. It should probably be, Read >/ic, read, i>v., i.e. Advise 
me, advise. 


There are manye that are my frlendes, 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 greene ; 

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 readye 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 grounde. 

Despise her not, fair Ellin, he sayd, 

Despise her not unto mee ; 
For better I love thy little finger, 55 

Than all her whole bodee. 

This browne bride had a little penknife, 

That was both long and sharpe, 
And betwixt the short ribs and the long, 

She prickd faire Ellinor's harte. 60 

O 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. 

Oh, art thou blind, lord Thomas ? she sayd, 65 

Or canst thou not very well see ? 
Oh ! dost thou not see my owne hearts bloode 

Run trickling down my knee. 


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 threw it against the walle. 

He set the hike ao-ainst the orrounde, 

And the point against his harte. 
There never three lovers together did meete, 75 

That sooner againe did parte. 


'HIS elegant little sonnet is found in the third act of an 
old play intitled Alexander and Campaspe, written by 
John Lilye, a celebrated writer in the time of queen 
Elizabeth. That play was first printed in 1591; but 
this copy is giv'en from a later edition. 

[These pretty epigrammatic verses occur in act iii. sc. 5. of Lilly's 
play as a song by Apelles. The first edition of Campaspe was 
printed in 1584, and that of 1591, mentioned above, is the second 
edition. This song, however, was omitted in all the editions printed 
before that of E. Blount {Six Court Comedies, 1632.)] 

^^^^^UPID and my Campaspe playd 
fil^^Cyji At cardes for kisses ; Cupid payd : 
'/^V^/^^r He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows, 
*^--^^^^y!f^M, His mothers doves, and teame of sparrows; 
Loses them too ; then down he throws 5 

The coral of his lippe, the rose 
Growing on's cheek (but none knows how) 
With these, the crystal of his browe. 
And then the dimple of his chinne ; 
All these did my Campaspe winne. zo 


At last he set her both his eyes, 
She won, and Cupid bUnd did rise. 

O Love ! has she done this to thee ? 

What shall, alas ! become of mee ? 


S given from a written copy, containing some improve- 
ments (perhaps modern ones), upon the popular ballad, 
intitled. The famous flower of Serving-men : or the Lady 
turned Serving-man. 

[It is printed in the Collection of Old Ballads (i. 216) without 
the improvements. After verse 56 the first person is changed to 
the third in the original, but Percy altered this and made the first 
person run on throughout. Kinloch {Ancient Scottish Ballads, 
p. 95) gives a very mutilated and varied version of this ballad in 
the Scottish dress under the title of Sweet Willie, which was taken 
down from the recitation of an old woman in Lanark. There is a 
similar story in Swedish and Danish.] 

OU beauteous ladyes, great and small, 
I write unto you one and all. 
Whereby that you may understand 
What I have suffered in the land. 

I was by birth a lady faire, 5 

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 ; lo 

A braver bower you ne'er did see 
Then my true-love did build for mee. 


And there I livde a ladye gay, 

Till fortune wrought our loves decay ; 

For there came foes so fierce a band, 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. »o 

In the midst of this extremitie. 
My servants all did from me flee : 
Thus was I left myself alone. 
With heart more cold than any stone. 

Yet though my heart was full of care, »5 

Heaven would not suffer me to dispaire. 
Wherefore in haste I chang'd my name 
From faire Elise, to sweet Williame : 

And therewithall I cut my haire, 

Resolv'd my man's attire to weare; " 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. 40 

Then to his grace I did replye, 
I am a poore and friendlesse boye, 
Th(;ugh 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 wait 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 ? 

Chuse, gentle youth, said he, thy place. 
Then I reply'd. If it please your grace 
To shew such favour unto mee. 
Your chamberlaine I faine would bee. 60 

The king then smiling gave consent. 
And straitwaye to his court I went ; 
Where I behavde so faithfulhe, 
That hee great favour showd to mee. 

Now markewhat fortune did provide; 65 

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 rine. 80 

"My father was as brave a lord, 
As ever Europe might afford ; 
My mother was a lady bright ; 
My husband was a valiant knight : 

" And I myself a ladye gay, 85 

Bedeckt with gorgeous rich array; 
The happiest lady in the land, 
Had not more pleasure at command. 

" I had my musicke every day 

Harmonious lessons for to play ; 90 

I had my virgins fair and free. 

Continually to wait on mee. 

'• But now, alas ! my husband's dead, 

And all my friends are from me fled, 

My former days are past and gone, 95 

And I am now a servinpf-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 pearlye teares I shed, no 

And found to his amazement there, 

Sweete WiUiam was a ladye faire. 

Then stepping in, Faire ladye, rise, 

And 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 royall grace 
Grewe so enamour'd of my face, 
The richest gifts he proffered mee, 
His mistress if that I would bee. 

Ah ! no, my liege, I firmlye sayd, \%s 

I'll rather in my grave be layd, 
And though your grace hath won my heart, 
I ne'er will act soe base a part. 

Faire ladye, pardon me, sayd hee. 

Thy virtue shall rewarded bee, 130 

And since it is soe fairly tryde 

Thou shalt become my royal bride. 

Then strait to end his amorous strife, 

He tooke sweet William to his wife. 

The like before was never seene, 13s 

A serving-man became a queene. 




A Scottish Ballad. 

'HE follo^\■ing piece hath run thro' two editions in Scot- 
land : the second was printed at Glasgow in 1755, Svo. 
Prefixed to them both is an advertisement, setting forth 
that the preservation of this poem was owing "to a 
lady, who favoured the printers with a copy, as it was carefully 
collected from the mouths of old women and nurses;" and " any 
reader that can render it more correct or complete," is desired to 
oblige the public with such improvements. In consequence of 
this advertisement sixteen additional verses have been produced 
and handed about in manuscript, which are here inserted in their 
proper places : (these are from ver. 109, to ver. 121, and from ver. 
124, to ver. 129, but are perhaps, after all, only an ingenious in- 

As this poem lays claim to a pretty high antiquity, we have 
assigned it a place among our early pieces : though, after all, there 
is reason to believe it has received very considerable modern im- 
provements : for in the Editor's ancient MS. collection is a ver}' 
old imperfect copy of the same ballad : wherein though the leading 
features of the story are the same, yet the colouring here is so much 
improved and heightened, and so many additional strokes are 
thrown in, that it is evident the whole has undergone a revisal. 

This little pathetic tale suggested the plot of the tragedy of 

Since it was first printed, the Editor has been assured that the 
foregoing ballad is still current in many parts of Scotland, where 
the hero is universally known by the name of Child Maurice, pro- 
nounced by the common people Chcildoi Chcdd ; which occasioned 
the mistake. 

It may be proper to mention that other copies read ver. no, 

" Shot frae the golden sun." 

And ver. 116, as follows: 

" His een like azure sheenc." 

N.B. The Editor's MS. instead of "lord Barnard," has "John 
Stewart;" and instead of " Gil Morricc," Child A[auricc,\<\\\c\\ last 
is probably the original title. See above, p. 58. 


S^Gil Maurice is one of the most popular of the old ballads and it 
is also one of the most corrupt. The present copy is so tinkered 
that it is not surprising Burns regarded the ballad as a modern com- 
position and classed it with Hardyknute, a position afterwards taken 
up by Robert Chambers in his pamphlet The Romantic Scottish Bal- 
lads, their epoch atid authorship. The fact however that the story 
is preserved in the Folio MS. and also in several other forms ob- 
tained from tradition prove it to be an authentic ballad. Jamieson 
thinks it has all the appearance of being a true narrative of some 
incident that had really taken place. Motherwell devotes several 
pages of his Minstrelsy (pp. 257-286) to an account of the various 
versions. He says that tradition points out the "green wood" of 
the ballad in the ancient forest of Dundaff in Stirlingshire. 

The request for additions mentioned above by Percy was a 
tempting bait eagerly caught at, and the edition of 1755 was a 
made up text with additional verses. Besides vv. 109-120, 125- 
128, which are known to be interpolations, Professor Child {Eng- 
lish and Scottish Ballads, vol. ii. p. 38) also degrades to the foot of 
the page the verses from 1 7 7 to the end, on the authority of Jamie- 
son, who says, that " having been attentive to all the proceedings 
in most of the trials at the bar of ballad criticism I may venture 
to hazard an opinion that the genuine text ends with " ver. 176." 
Ritson and Motherwell are of the same opinion. Sir Walter Scott 
notes on the interpolated verses, " In the beautiful and simple " 
ballad of Gil Morris some affected person has stuck in one or 
two factitious verses which, like vulgar persons in a drawing room, 
betray themselves by their over-finery." 

The fine copy in the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. 
p. 500), which Jamieson thought debased and totally unworthy of 
the subject, which Chambers calls " a poor, bald imperfect com- 
position," and Mr. Hales more accurately designates as " a noble 
specimen of our ballad poetry in all its strength," was first printed 
by Jamieson {Popular Ballads and Songs, 1 806, vol. i. p. 8), and 
is now added to the present version. The last stanza of the Folio 
MS. copy is identical with the last stanza but one of Little Mus- 
grave and Lady Barnard, with which it seems to have some 
connection both in subject and name. 

Prof. Aytoun points out that vv. 51-58 of Percy's copy, which 
are now placed within brackets, are taken from Lady Maisry, a 
ballad obtained from recitation and printed by Jamieson (vol. i. 
P- 73)- 

" O whan he came to broken briggs 

He bent his bow and swam, 
And whan he came to the green grass growin' 
He slack'd his shoon and ran. 


And whan he came to Lord WilUam's yeats 

He badena to chap or ca', 
But set his bent bow to his breast 
And lightly lap the wa'." 

It is however only fair to Percy to say that he printed Gil Morice 
before Lady Maisry was published. 

Gray wrote to a friend, " I have got the old Scotch ballad on 
which Douglas was founded ; it is divine, and as long as from 
hence [Cambridge] to Aston." 

Jamieson says, on the authority of Sir Walter Scott, that after 
the appearance of Home's Douglas six additional stanzas, be- 
ginning — 

" She heard him speak, but fell despair 

Sat rooted in her heart 
She heard him, and she heard nae mair 
Though sair she rued the smart," 

were written to complete the ballad, and in accordance with the 
final catastrophe of the tragedy Lord Barnard rushes into the 
thickest of the fight — 


" and meets the death he sought." 

"When the play was produced in Edinburgh in 1756 the heroine 
was named Lady Barnard, and the alteration to Lady Randolph 
was made on its appearance in England in the following year. 

Jamieson gives three stanzas of a traditional version of the 
ballad, the whole of which neither he nor Motherwell could 
recover, although Mr. Sharpe told the latter that they were incor- 
porated in an Annandale version which contained a novel feature 
in the story. 

Motherwell prints a version called CJiicld Morice, which he took 
down from the recitation of an old woman of 70 in 1827, and 
which she had learned in infancy from her grandmother. She told 
Mother\vell " that at a later period of her life she also committed 
to memory Gill Morice, which began with young lasses like her 
to be a greater favourite, and more fashionable than the set which 
her grandmother and other old folks used to sing under the title 
of Cliicld MoriceP He also ])rints Child Moryce, taken down 
from the singing of widow M'Cormitk of Paisley in 1825, and 
adds his opinion that Morice and Maurice are evident corruj)tions 
of Noricc— a foster child. The story of Langhome's Otaen of 
Carron is also taken from this ballad. J 


IL MORRICE was an erles son, 
His name it waxed wide ; 
It was nae for his great riches, 
Nor yet his mickle pride ; 
Bot it was for a lady gay, 5 

That livd on Carron side. 

Quhair sail I get a bonny boy, 

That will win hose and shoen ; 
That will gae to lord Barnards ha', 

And bid his lady cum ? 10 

And ye maun rin my errand, Willie ; 

And ye may rin wi' pride ; 
Quhen other boys gae on their foot. 

On horse-back ye sail ride. 

O no ! Oh 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 ye strive against the stream? 

For I sail be obeyd. 

Bot, O my master dear ! he cryd. 

In grene wod ye're your lain ;^ 
Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ye rede,^ 25 

For fear ye should be tain. 
Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha', 

Bid hir cum here wi speid : 
If ye refuse my heigh command, 

111 gar your body bleid. 3° 

Ver. 1 1 . something seems wanting here. 
[1 alone by yourself. ^ advise.] 


Gae bid hir take this gay mantel, 

'Tis a' gowd bot the hem ; 
Bid hir cum to the glide grene wode, 

And brincT nane bot hir lain : 
And there it is, a silken sarke, 35 

Her ain hand sewd the sleive ; 
And bid hir cum to Gill Morice, 

Speir nae bauld barons leave. 

Yes, I will gae your black errand, 

Though it be to your cost ; 40 

Sen ye by me will nae be warn'd, 

In it ye sail find frost. 
The baron he is a man of might. 

He neir could bide to taunt, 
As ye will see before its nicht, 45 

How sma' ye hae to vaunt. 

And sen I maun your errand rin 

Sae sair against my will, 
I'se mak a vow and keip it trow, 

It sail be done for ill. 50 

[And quhen he came to broken brigue. 

He bent his bow and swam ; 
And quhen he came to grass growing. 

Set down his feet and ran. 

And quhen he came to Barnards ha', 55 

Would neither chap' nor ca' : 
Bot set his bent bow to his breist, 

And lichtly lap the wa'.] 
He wauld nae tell the man his errand. 

Though he stude at the gait ; 60 

Bot straiht into the ha' he cam, 

Ouhair they were set at meit. 

Vcr. 32, and 68, perhaps, ^hout the hc7n. V. 58. Could this be 
the wall of the tustle ? 

\} knock.] 


Hail ! hail ! my gentle sire and dame ! 

My message winna waite ; 
Dame, ye maun to the gude grene wod 65 

Before that it be late. 
Ye're bidden tak this gay mantel, 

Tis a' gowd bot the hem : 
You maun gae to the gude grene wode, 

Ev'n by your sel alane. 70 

And there it is, a silken sarke, 

Your ain hand sewd the sleive ; 
Ye maun gae speik to Gill Morice ; 

Speir nae bauld barons leave. 
The lady stamped wi' hir foot, 75 

And winked wi' hir ee ; 
Bot a' that she coud say or do, 

Forbidden he wad nae bee. 

Its surely to my bo w'r- woman ; 
. It neir could be to me. go 

I brocht it to lord Barnards lady ; 

I trow that ye 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. 

Ye leid, ye leid, ye filthy nurse, 

Sae loud I heird ye lee ; 
I brocht it to lord Barnards lady ; 

I trow ye be nae shee. 90 

Then up and spack the bauld baron. 

An angry man was hee ; 

Ver. 88. Perhaps, loud say I heir e. 


He's tain the table \\\ his foot, 

Sae has he \vi' his knee ; 
Till siller cup and 'mazer'* dish 95 

In tUnders he o-ard tlee.' 

Gae bring a robe of your eliding,^ 

That hings upon the pin ; 
And I'll gae to the gude grene wode, 

And speik wi' your lemman. 100 

O bide at hame, now lord Barnard, 

I warde ye bide at hame ; 
Neir wyte^ a man for violence, 

That neir wate* ye wi' nane. 

Gil Morice.'sate in gude grene wode, 105 

He whisded and he sang' : 
O what mean a' the folk coming, 

My mother tarries lang. 
[His hair was like the threeds of gold, 

Drawne frae Minervas loome : no 

His 4ipps like roses drapping dew, 

His breath was a' perfume. 

His brow 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, 

Sweete 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 Moricc 

Kameing his )ellow hair : 

• /. e. a drinking cup of maple : other edit, read czar. 

\} in splinters he made fly. - clothing. ^ blame. 

• blamed. J 

3 H 


[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. 
Yet neir the less now, Gill Morice, 

For a thy great beautie, 
Ye's rew the day ye eir was born ; 135 

That head sail gae wi' I'e^e. 

Now he has drawn his trusty brand, 

And slaited on the strae ;^ 
And thro' Gill Morice' fair body 

He's gar cauld iron gae. 14.0 

And he has tain Gill Morice' head 

And set it on a speir ; 
The meanest man in a' his train 

Has gotten that head to bear. 

And he has tain Gill Morice up, 145 

Laid him across his steid, 
And brocht him to his painted bowr 

And laid him on a bed. 
The lady sat on castil wa', 

Beheld baith dale and doun ; 150 

And there she saw Gill Morice' head 

Cum trailing to the toun. 

Ver. 128. So Milton,— 

" Vernal delight and joy: able to drive 

All sadness but despair." — B. iv. v. 155. 

\} and wiped it on the grass.] 


Far better I loe that bluidy head. 

Both and that yellow 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 ye in my father's house, 

Wi' mickle sin and shame ; 
I brocht thee up in gude grene wode, 

Under the heavy rain. 
Oft have I by thy cradle sitten, 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 

O better I loe my Gill Morice 

Than a' my kith and kin ! 
Away, away, ye ill woman, 

And an il deith mait ye dee : 
Gin I had kend he'd bin your son. 175 

He'd neir bin slain for mee. 

[Obraid me not, my lord Barnard ! 

Obraid me not for shame ! 
Wi' that saim speir O pierce my heart! 

And put me out o' pain. iSo 

Since nothincr bot Gill Morice head 

Thy jelous rage could quell. 
Let that saim hand now tak hir life, 

That neir to thee did ill. 

[' as the berry is of the stone. ) 


To me 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 your death frae mee ; 190 

I rather lourd it had been my sel 

Than eather him or thee. 

With waefo wae I hear your plaint ; 

Sair, sair I rew the deid, 
That eir this cursed hand of mine 195 

Had gard his body bleid. 
Dry up your tears, my winsome dame, 

Ye neir can heal the wound ; 
Ye see his head upon the speir, 

His heart's blude on the ground. 200 

I curse the hand that did the deid, 

The heart that thocht the ill ; 
The feet that bore me wi' silk speid, 

The comely youth to kill. 
I'll ay lament for Gill Morice, 205 

As gin he were mine ain ; 
I'll neir forget the dreiry day 

On which the youth was slain.] 

HE following is copied from the Folio MS. (ed. H. & F. 

vol. 2. pp. 502-506.) 

Childe Maurice hunted ithe siluen wood, 

he hunted itt round about, 
& noebodye that he ffound therin, 

nor none there was with-out. 4 

& he tooke his siluer combe in his hand, 

to kembe his yellow lockes ; 
he sayes, " come hither, thou litle ffoot page, 

that runneth lowlye by my knee ; 8 

ffor thou shalt goe to lohn stewards wiffe 

& pray her speake with mee. 


*' & as itt fialls out many times, 

as knotts beene knitt on a kell, i» 

or Marchant men gone to Leeue London 

either to buy ware or sell, 

" I, and greete thou doe that Ladye well, 

euer soe well ftroe mee, — i6 

And as itt ftalles out many times 
as any hart can thinke, 

" as schoole masters are in any schoole house 

writting with pen and linke, — ao 

ffor if I might, as well as shee may, 
this night 1 wold with her speake. 

" & heere I send her a mantle of greene, 

as greene as any grasse, 24 

& bidd her come to the siluer wood 
to hunt with Child Maurice ; 

" (S: there I send her a ring of gold, 

a ring of precyous stone, z8 

& bidd her come to the siluer wood ; 

let ffor no kind of man." 

one while this litle boy he yode, 

* another while he ran ; 32 

vntill he came to lohn Stewards hall, 
I-wis he neuer blan. 

& of nurture the child had good ; 

hee ran vp hall & bower ffree, 36 

& when he came to this Lady ffaire, 

sayes, " god you saue and see ! 

" I am come ffrom Ch[i]ld Maurice, 

a message vnto thee ; 40 

& Child Maurice, he greetes you well, 

& euer soe well ffrom mee. 

" & as itt ffalls out oftentimes, 

as knotts beene knitt on a kell, 44 

or Marchant men gone to leeue London, 

cither ffor to buy ware or sell, 

" & as oftentimes he greetes you well 

as any hart can thinke, 48 

or schoole masters in any schoole 

wryting with pen and inke ; 



" & heere he sends a Mantle of greene, 

as greene as any grasse, S^- 

& he bidds you come to the siluer wood, 
to hunt with Child Maurice. 

" & heere he s6nds you a ring of gold, 

a ring of the precyous stone, 5^ 

he prayes you to come to the siluer wood, 
let ffor no kind of man." 

" now peace, now peace, thou litle ffootpage, 

ffor Christes sake, I pray thee ! 60 

ffor if my lord heare one of these words, 
thou must be hanged hye ! " 

lohn steward stood vnder the Castle wall, 

& he wrote the words euerye one, 64 

& he called vnto his horskeeper, 
" make readye you my steede ! " 

I, and soe hee did to his Chamberlaine, 
" make readye then my weede ! " 

& he cast a lease ^ vpon his backe, 

& he rode to the siluer wood ; 
& there he sought all about, 

about the siluer wood, Ti- 

& there he ffound him Child Maurice 

sitting vpon a blocke, 
with a siluer combe in his hand 

kembing his yellow locke. 76 

he sayes, " how now, how now. Child Maurice ? 

alacke ! how may this bee ?" 
but then stood vp him Child Maurice, 

5z: sayd tJiese words trulye : 80 

*' I doe not know your Ladye," he said, 

" if that I doe her see." 
" ffor thou hast sent her loue tokens, 

more now then 2 or 3 ; 84 

. " ffor thou hast sent her a mantle of greene, 
as greene as any grasse, 
& bade her come to the siluer woode 

to hunt with Child Maurice ; 8& 

^ leash, thong, cord? — F. 


" & thou [hast] sent her a ring of gold, 

a ring of precyous stone, 
& bade her come to the siluer wood, 

let ftbr noe kind of man. gz 

" and by my ffaith, now, Child Maurice, 

the tone of vs shall dye ! " 
" Now be my troth," sayd Child Maurice, ^ 

"& that shall not be I." 96 

but hee pulled forth a bright bro\vne sword 

& dryed itt on the grasse, 
& soe ffa^t he smote att lohn Steward, 

I-wisse he neuer rest. 100 

then hee pulled fforth his bright browne sword, 

& dr>'ed itt on his sleeue ; 
& the ffirst good stroke lohn Stewart stroke, 

Child Maurice head he did cleeue; 104 

& he pricked itt on his swords poyntj 

went singing there beside, 
& he rode till he came to that Ladye ffaire 

wheras this ladye Lyed ; icS 

and sayes " dost thou know Child Maurice head 
. if that thou dost itt see ? 
& lapp itt soft, & kisse itt offt, 

ffor thou louedst him better then mee." 112 

but when shee looked on Child Maurice head 

shee neuqr spake words but 3, 
" I neuer beare no Child but one, 

& you haue slaine him trulye." n6 

sayes, " wicked by my merry men all, 

I gaue Meate, drinke, & Clothe ! 
but cold they not haue holdcn me 

when I was in all that wrath? 120 

'.' ffor 1 haue slaine one of the curteouse[s]t Knights 

that euer bestrode a steed ! 
soe haue I done one [of J the fairest Ladyes 

that cuer ware womans weede !" 124 





BOOK 11. 



lONTAINS a short summary of the exploits of this 
famous champion, as recorded in the old story books ] 
and is commonly intitled, " A pleasant song of the 
valiant deeds of chivalry atchieved by that noble knight 
sir Guy of Warwick, who, for the love of fair Phelis, became a 
hermit, and dyed in a cave of craggy rocke, a mile distant from 

The history of Sir Guy, tho' now very properly resigned to 
children, was once admired by all readers of wit and taste : for 
taste and wt had once their childhood. Although of English 
growth, it was early a favourite witli other nations : it appeared in 
French in 1525; and is alluded to in the old Spanish romance 
Tirafite el Blanco, which, it is believed, was written not long after 
the year 1430. See advertisement to the French translation, 2 
vols. i2mo. 

The original whence all these stories are e.xtracted is a very 
ancient romance in old English verse, which is quoted by Chaucer 
as a celebrated piece even in his time (viz. : — 

" Men speken of romances of price, 
Of Morne childe and Ippotis, 

Of licvis, and sir Guy," &c.— A', of Tliop.) 

and was usually sung to the harp at Christmas dinners and 
bridcales, as we learn from Puttcnham's Art of Poetry, .jto. i5<S9. 
This ancient romance is not wholly lost. An imijcrfecl copy in 

black letter, " Imprynted at London for Wylliam Copland," 

in 34 sheets 4to. without date, is still ]jreservcd among Mr. Gar- 
fick's collection of old plays. As a specimen of the poetry of 
this antique rhymer, take his description of the dragon mentioned 
in v. 105 of the following ballad : — 


A messenger came to the king. 

Syr king, he sayd, lysten me now, 

For bad tydinges I bring you. 

In Northumberlande there is no man, 

But that they be slayne everychone : 

For there dare no man route, 

By twenty myle rounde aboute, 

For doubt of a fowle dragon. 

That sleath men and beastes downe. 

He is blacke as any cole, 

Rugged as a rough fole ; 

His bodye from the navill upwarde 

No man may it pierce it is so harde ; 

His neck is great as any summere ; 

He renneth as swifte as any distrere ; 

Pawes he hath as a lyon : 

All that he toucheth he sleath dead downe. 

Great winges he hath to flight. 

That is no man that bare him might. 

There may no man fight him agayne, 

But that he sleath him certayne : 

For a fowler beast then is he, 

Ywis of none never heard ye." 

Sir William Dugdale is of opinion that the story of Guy is 
not wholly apocryphal, tho' he acknowledges the monks have 
sounded out his praises too hyperbolically. In particular, he 
gives the duel fought with the Danish champion as a real historical 
truth, and fixes the date of it in the year 926, ^tat. Guy, 67. See 
his Wanvickshire. 

The following is written upon the same plan as ballad v. book 
i., but which is the original and which the copy cannot be decided. 
This song is ancient, as may be inferred from the idiom preserved 
in the margin, v. 94, 102 : and was once popular, as appears 
from Fletcher's Knight of the Burning Pestle, act 2, sc. ult. 

It is here pubhshed from an ancient MS. copy in the editor's old 
folio volume, collated with two printed ones, one of which is in 
black letter in the Pepys collection. 

[Guy was one of the most popular of the heroes of romance, and 
the Folio MS. contains three pieces upon his history, viz., the two 
printed here and Guy and Colbrand. 

The original of the present ballad in the Folio MS., entitled 
Gicy afid Phillis (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 201), is a 
mere fragment beginning with verse 89. Percy tore out certain 
leaves to send to the printer, and in consequence the whole of 

SIR GUY. 109 

King Estmere and the beginning of this ballad are lost. Alterations 
have been made in nearly every verse by the help of the printed 
copies. Guy and Phillis was entered on the Stationers' books, 5th 
Januar}', 1591-2. 

We are told by Dugdale that an English traveller, about the 
year 14 10, was hospitably received at Jerusalem by the Soldan's 
heutenant, who, hearing that Lord Beauchamp "was descended 
from the famous Guy of A\'arwick, whose story they had in books 
of their own language, invited him to his palace ; and royally 
feasting him, presented him with three precious stones of great 
value, besides divers cloaths of silk and gold given to his servants." 
Dugdale's authority for this stor}- was John Rous, a priest of the 
chapel at Guy's Clit^", near Warwick, who compiled a biography 
of the hero, in which all the incidents of the romance are narrated 
as sober fact. The constant praises of the hero bored some people, 
and Corbet, in his Iter Borca/c, expressed the hope that he should 
hear no more of him — 

" May all the ballads be calld in and dye 
Which sing the warrs of Colebrand and Sir Guy." 

Much valuable information on this subject will be found in Mr. 
Hale's interesting introduction to the Guy poems in the Folio MS.] 

AS ever knight for ladyes sake 
Soe tost in love, as I sir Guy 
For Phelis fayre, that lady bright 
As ever man beheld with eye } 

She gave me leave myself to try, 5 

The valiant knight with sheeld and speare, 

Ere that her love shee wold orant me ; 
Which made mee venture far and neare. 

Then proved I a baron bold, 

In deeds of armes the doughtyest knight 10 

That in those dayes in England was, 

With sworde and speare in fcild to fight. 

Vcr. 9. The proud Sir Ciuy, PC. 


An English man I was by birthe : 
In faith of Christ a christyan true : 

The wicked lawes of infidells is 

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 Hved 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 

Right 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 fiorht to viewe. 

Ver. 17. Two hundred, MS. and P. 


I went into the souldans hoast, +s 

Being thither on embassage sent, 
And brought his head awaye with mee ; 

I havino- slaine him in his tent. 

There was a drao;-on in that land 

Most fiercelye mett me by the waye 50 

As hee a lyon did pursue, 

Which I myself did alsoe slay. 

Then soon I past the seas from Greece, 

And came to Pavye land aright : 
Where I the duke of Pavye killed, 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. 60 

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 from her I did take 
Unt(3 the blessed Holy-land, 

Eor Jesus Christ my Saviours sake. 

Where I erle Jonas did redceme. 

And all his sonnes which were fifteene, 70 
Who with the cruell Sarazens 

In prison for long time had beene. 

I slew the gyant Amarant 

In batt(;l ficrci.'lye 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 feild, 

And slewe him soone right valliantlye ; 
Wherebye this land I did redeeme 

From Danish tribute utterlye. 

And afterwards I offered upp 85 

The use of weapons solemnlye 
At Winchester, whereas I fought, 

In sight of manye farr and nye. 

' But first,' neare Winsor, I did slaye 

A bore of passing might and strength ; 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. 

Ver. 94, 102, doth lye, MS. 



At lenofth to Warwicke I did come, 

Like pilg^rim poore and was not knowne; no 
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 

Till att the last I fell sore sicke, 

Yea sicke soe sore that I must dye ; 

I sent to her a ring of golde, 

By which shee knew me presentlye. 

Then shee repairing to the cave 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, 

Whcrby 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 

lu Warwicke still you may behold. 




^^^^HE Editor found this Poem in his ancient folio manu- 
script among the old ballads ; he was desirous therefore 

that it should still accompany them ; and as it is not 
altogether devoid of merit, its insertion here will be 

Although this piece seems not imperfect, there is reason to 
believe that it is only part of a much larger poem, which contained 
the whole history of sir Guy : for upon comparing it with the com- 
mon story book 1 2mo. we find the latter to be nothing more than 
this poem reduced to prose : which is only effected by now and 
then altering the rhyme, and throwing out some few of the poetical 
ornaments. The disguise is so slight, that it is an easy matter to 
pick complete stanzas in any page of that book. 

The author of this poem has shown some invention. Though 
he took the subject from the old romance quoted before, he has 
adorned it afresh, and made the story intirely his own. 

This poem has been discovered to be a fragment of, " The 
famous historic of Guy earl of Warwicke, by Samuel Rowlands, 
London, printed by J. Bell, 1649, 4to." in xii cantos, beginning 


" When dreadful Mars in armour every day." 

Whether the edition in 1649, was the first, is not known, but the 
author Sam. Rowlands was one of the minor poets who lived in 
the reigns of Q. Elizabeth and James I. and perhaps later. His 
other poems are chiefly of the religious kind, which makes it pro- 
bable that the hist, of Guy was one of his earliest performances. — 
There are extant of his (i.) " The betraying of Christ, Judas in 
dispaire, the seven tuords of our Saviour on the crosse, with other 
poems on the passion, ^-c. 1598, 4to. (Ames Typ. p. 428.)— (2.) A 
Theatre of delightful Recreation. Lond. printed for A. Johnson, 
1605," 4to. (Penes editor.) This is a book of poems on subjects 
chiefly taken from the old Testament. (3.) ''Memory of Christ's 
miracles, in verse. Lond. 16 18, 4to." (4.) "■ Heaven's glory, earth's 
vanity, and hell's horror. Lond. 1638, 8vo." (These two in Bod. 


In the present edition the following poem has been much 
improved from the printed copy. 


[This poem is a very poor thing and looks very like a joke in 
some parts. In the Folio MS. Percy has written " By the elegance 
of language and easy flow of the versification this poem should be 
more modern than the rest." 

Mr. Furnivall adds to this expression of opinion the following 
note, " the first bombastic rhodomontade aflfair in the book. Cer- 
tainly modern and certainly bad" (Folio MS. ed. Hales and Furni- 
vall, vol. ii. p. 136.) Collations from the MS. are added at the 
foot of the page] 

^UV journeyes towards that sanctlfyed 
Whereas the J ewes fayre citye some- 
time stood, 

Wherin our Saviour's sacred head was crowned. 
And where for sinful! man he shed his blood : 
To see the sepulcher was his intent, 5 

The tombe that Joseph unto Jesus lent. 

With tedious miles he tyred his wearye feet, 
And passed desart places full of danger, 

At last with a most woefull wight* did meet, 

A man that unto sorrow was noe stranger : 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 saycs, I must, and will come in : 20 

[Ver. I. journeyed ore the. V. 20. he sayes that must. MS.] 
 Eric Jonas, mentioned in the foregoing ballad. 


The gyant never was soe rowz'd before ; 

For noe such knocking at his gate had bin : 
Soe takes his keyes, and clubb, and cometh out 
Staring with ireful countenance about. 

Sirra, quoth hee, what busines hast thou heere ? 25 
Art come to feast the crowes about my walls ? 

Didst never heare, noe ransome can him cleere, 
That in the compasse of my furye falls : 

For making me to take a porters paines, 

With this same clubb I will dash out thy braines. 30 

Gyant, quoth Guy, y'are quarrelsome I see, 
Choller and you seem very neere of kin : 

Most dangerous at the clubb belike you bee ; 
I have bin better armed, 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 death proclaime, • 
Standinge with huge Colossus' spacious stride, 40 

Putting such vigour to his knotty beame, 

That like a furnace he did smoke extreame. 

But on the ground he spent his strokes in vaine, 
For Guy was nimble to avoyde them still, 

And ever ere he heav'd his clubb againe, 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. 

[Ver. 21. the gyant, he was neere soe. V. 25. sais hee. V. 26. 
my crowes about the walls. V. 27. cold him. V. 31. saies Guy 
your quarrelsome. V. 32. are something neere. V. 33. most not 
in MS., a club. V. 36. heere is the wepon that must doe. V. 37, 
Soe takes. V. 38. sides. V. 45. and ere he cold recovers clubb 
againe. V. 46. did beate. V. 48. to beate.] 


Att last through thirst the gyant feeble grewe, 

And sayd to Guy, As thou'rt of humane race, 50 

Shew itt in this, give natures wants their dewe, 
Let me but goe, and drinke in yonder place : 

Thou canst not yeeld to " me" a smaller thing, 

Than to graunt life, thats given by the spring. 

I graunt thee leave, quoth Guye, goe drink thy last, 55 
Go pledge the dragon, and the salvage bore*: 

Succeed the tragedyes that they have past. 
But never thinke to taste cold water more : 

Drinke deepe to Death and unto him carouse : 

Bid him receive thee in his earthen house. 60 

Soe to the spring he goes, and slakes his thirst ; 

Takeing the water in extremely like 
Some wracked shipp that on a rocke is burst, 

Whose forced hulke against the stones does stryke ; 
Scooping it in soe fast with both his hands, 65 

That Guy admiring to behold it, stands. 

Come on, quoth Guy, let us to worke againe, 
Thou stayest about thy liquor overlong ; 

The fish, which in the river doe remaine, 

Will want thereby ; thy drinking doth them wrong : 

But I will see their satisfaction made, 71 

With gyants blood they must, and shall be payd. 

Villaine, quoth Amarant, He crush thee streight ; 

Thy life shall pay thy daring toungs offence : 
This clubb, which is about some hundred weight, 75 

Is deathcs commission to dispatch thee hence : 

[Ver. 49. att last through strength, Amarant feeble grew. V. 51. 
nature wants her. V. 54. then to grant. V. 55. I give. V. 56. 
to pledge, beare. V. 58. to drinke cold. V. 59. and after that 
carrouse. V. 63. on some rocke. V. 64. bulke doe stryke. V. 66. 
behold him. V. 67. l.ts to one. V. 76. has deathes.] 

 Which Guy had slain before. 


Dresse thee for ravens dyett I must needes ; 

And breake thy bones, as they were made of reedes. 

Incensed much by these bold pagan bostes, 

Which worthye Guy cold ill endure to heare, 80 

He hewes upon those bigg supporting postes, 
Which like two pillars did his body beare : 

Amarant for those wounds in choller growes 

And desperatelye att Guy his clubb he throwes : 

Which did directly on his body light, 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 ; 

W^hich 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, hatefull unto men. 

But breathe thy selfe a time, while I goe drinke, 
For flameing Phoebus with his fyerye eye 

Torments me soe with burning heat, I thinke 105 
My thirst wold serve to drinke an ocean drye : 

[Ver. 79. att this bold pagans bostes. V. 86. soe heavy and soe 
weaghtye, V. 88. his fall. V. 89. in his fist. V. 90. and stroke a 
blow. V. 96. I wold destroy. V. 102. hurtfull.] 


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; no 

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. 

Releeve my foe ! 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, sayes hee, 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 drinke before I end thee, 
And then wee'll have carouses of thy blood : 130 

Here's at thee with a butchers downright blow, 

To please my furye with thine overthrow. 

Infernall, false, obdurate fecnd, said Guy, 
That seemst a lumpe of crucltye from hell ; 

Ungratefull monster, since thou dost deny 135 

The thing to mee whcrin I used thee well : 

, [Vcr. 120. space to thee I will not. V. 128. that not in MS. 
V. 133. (]iiy said. V. 134. sccmes. V. 135. ingratcfull monster 
since thou hast dcnyd.j 

[' strut.] 


With more revenge, than ere my sword did make, 
On thy accursed head revenge lie take. 

Thy gyants longitude shall shorter shrlnke, 

Except thy sun-scorcht skin be weapon proof : 14-0 

Farewell my thirst ; I doe disdaine to drinke, 

Streames keepe your waters to your owne behoof; 

Or let wild beasts be welcome thereunto ; 

With those pearle drops I will not have to do. 

Here, tyrant, take a taste of my good-will, hs 

For thus I doe begin my bloodye bout : 

You cannot chuse but like the greeting ill ; 
It is not that same clubb will beare you out ; 

And take this payment on thy shaggye crowne. — 

A blowe that brought him with a vengeance downe. 150 

Then Guy sett foot upon the monsters brest. 
And from his shoulders did his head divide ; 

Which with a yawninge mouth did gape, unblest ; 
Noe dragons jawes were ever seene soe wide 

To open and to shut, till life was spent. 155 

Then Guy tooke keyes and to the castle went. 

Where manye woefull captives he did find. 
Which had beene tyred with extremityes ; 

Whom he in freindly manner did unbind, 

And reasoned with them of their miseryes : 160 

Eche told a tale with teares, and sighes, and cryes. 

All weeping to him with complaining eyes. 

There tender ladyes in darke dungeons lay. 
That were surprised in the desart wood, 

And had noe other dyett everye day, 165 

But flesh of humane creatures for their food : 

Some with their lovers bodyes had beene fed, 

And in their wombes their husbands buryed. 

[Ver. 140. doe weapon prove. V. 142. behoves. V. 145. Hold, 
tyrant. V. 160. miserye. V. 163. dungeon. V. 166. then flesh.] 


Now he bethinkes him of his being there, 169 

To enlarge the wronged brethren from their woes ; 

And, as he searcheth, doth great clamours heare, 
By which sad sound's direction on he goes, 

Untill he findes a darksome obscure gate, 

Arm'd strongly ouer all with iron plate. 

That he unlockes, and enters, where appeares, 175 
The strangest object that he ever saw ; 

Men that with famishment of many yeares, 

Were like deathes picture, which the painters draw; 

Divers of them were hanged by eche thombe ; 

Others head-downward : by the middle some. 180 

With diligence he takes them from the walle, 
With lybertye their thraldome to acquaint : 

Then the perplexed knight their father calls, 

And sayes, Receive thy sonnes though poore and 
faint : 

I promisd you their lives, accept of that ; 185 

But did not* warrant you they shold be fat. 

The castle I doe give thee, heere's the keyes, 
Where tyranye for many yeeres did dwell : 

Procure the gentle tender ladyes ease, 

For pittyes sake, use wronged women well : 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 honor youth I hold unmeete : 

Ambitious pryde hath hurt mee all it can, 

I goe to mortilie a sinfiill man. 

[Ver. 178. Will were. V. i8r. walls. V. 183. thenuhcr. V. 186. 
promise you. V. 190. pittyc sake. V. 191. men may easilye 
revenge the deeds men doe. V. 192. no strength. M.S.J 



A Scottish Song. 

HAVE not been able to meet with a more ancient 
copy of this humourous old song, than that printed in 
the Tea- Table miscellany, &'c. which seems to have 
admitted some corruptions. 

[This song is printed in Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany as old, 
and it is also given in the Orpheus Caledoniiis, 1725. "Auld good- 
man" means a first husband.] 

?:^(PJ)ATE 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, 5 

I canna weel tell ye how it began ; 

But aye she wail'd her wretched life, 

Cryeng, Evir alake, mine auld goodman ! 


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. 

[1 fallen.] 




My heart, alake ! is liken to break, 

Whan I think on my winsome John, 
His bHnkan ee, and gait sae free, 

Was naithing like thee, thou dosend^ drone; 20 
Wi' his rosie face, and llaxen hair. 

And skin as white as ony swan. 
He was large and tall, and comely withall; 

Thou'lt nevir be like mine auld goodman. 


Why dost thou 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, and fret my sell, 

To think on those blyth days I had. 
Whan I and he, together ley 35 

In armes into a well-made bed : 
But now I sigh and may be sad, 

Thy courage is cauld, thy colour wan. 
Thou falds thy feet and fa's asleep ; 

Thou'lt nevir be like mine auld goodman. 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 nae longer stay : 

[^ dozing or stupid. ' complain.] 


Then up he gat, and ran his way, 4S 

I trowe, the wife the day she wan ; 

And aye the owreword^ of the fray 

Was, EviV alake ! mine auld goodman. 



HIS seems to be the old song quoted in Fletcher's 
Kjtight of Ulie bur tiing pestle, acts 2d and 3d; altho' the 
six lines there preserved are somewhat different from 
those in the ballad, as it stands at present. The reader 
will not wonder at this, when he is informed that this is only given 
from a modern printed copy picked up on a stall. It's full title is 
FUir Margaret's Misfortunes; or Sweet William's frightful dreams 
on his zaedding night, with the sudden death and burial of those noble 
lovers. — 

The lines preserved in the play are this distich, 

" You are no love for me, Margaret, 
I am no love for you." 

And the following stanza, 

" When it was grown to dark midnight, 

And all were fast asleep. 
In came Margarets grimly ghost 

And stood at Williams feet." 

These Hnes have acquired an importance by giving birth to one 
of the most beautiful ballads in our own or any language. See 
the song intitled Margaret's Ghost, at the end of this volume. 

Since the first edition some improvements have been inserted, 
which were communicated by a lady of the first distinction, as she 
had heard this song repeated in her infancy. 

[The ballads on the two lovers Margaret and William are 
numerous, culminating as they do in Mallet's William atid Mar- 

[^ last word or burden.] 


garet. See Sii-u'et Williavi's Ghost (No. 6 in this book) and 
Mallet's ballad (No. i6 of book iii). The present ballad is also 
in the Douce Collection and in that of the late Mr. George Daniel. 
Jamieson prints {Popular Ballads and Songs ^ iSo6, vol. i. p. 22) 
a ballad entitled S^ccd Willie and Fair Annie, which may be 
divided into tv.-o parts, the first resembling Lord Thomas and Fair 
Elinor, and the second, Fair Annie's Ghost, is still more like the 
following ballad. 

Mr. Chappell remarks, " Another point deserving notice in the 
old ballad is that one part of it has furnished the principal subject 
of the modem burlesque ballad Lord Level, and another that of 
T. Hood's song, Marfs Ghost.'"'] 

S 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. 10 


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. 

Such dreams, such dreams, my honoured Sir, 

They never do prove good ; 
To dream thy bov/er 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. 4° 

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 ; 5° 

For I will kiss thy pale wan lips, 

ThouQfh a smile I cannot win. 

Ver. 31, 35. Swine, PCC. 


With that bespake the seven brethren, 

Making most piteous mone : 
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 be dealt to-morrow at mine. 

Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day, 65 

Sweet William d)'ed the morrow : 
Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love, 

Sweet William dyed for sorrow. 

Margacet 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 

• Alluding to the dole anciently given at funerals. 



IVEN, with some corrections, from an old black letter 
copy, intitled, Barbara Alleiis crtielty, or the young maris 


[It is not clear why Percy separated this English version of 
Barbara Allen from the Scottish version entitled Sir John Grehme 
and Barbara Allan (No. 7). 

Goldsmith in his third Essay says, " the music of the finest 
singer is dissonance to what I felt when our dairy maid sung me 
into tears with Johnny Armstrong's Last Good Night, or the 
Cruelty of Barbara Allen. 

It has been suggested that for " Scarlet towne " in the first verse 
should be read Carlisle town, but as some printed copies have 
Reading town we may suppose that a pun is intended.] 

)^^^(^ N 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 greene buds they were swellln, 

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 harte is steaHn, 
Yet Htde better shall he bee, 

For bonny Barbara Allen. io 

So slowly, slowly, she came up. 

And slowly she came nye him ; 
And all she sayd, when there she came. 

Young man, I think y'are dying. 

He turnd his face unto her strait, 25 

With deadlye sorrow sighing ; 

lovely maid, come pity mee, 
I me on my deth-bed lying. 

If on your death-bed you doe lye. 

What needs the tale you are tellin : 30 

1 cannot keep you from your death ; 

Farewell, sayd Barbara Allen. 

He turnd his face unto the wall, 

As deadlye pangs he fell in : 
Adieu ! adieu ! adieu to you all, 3S 

Adieu to Barbara Allen. 

As she was walking ore the fields, 

She heard the bell a knellin ; 
And every stroke did seem to saye, 

Unworthy Barbara Allen. 40 

She turnd her bodye round about. 

And spied the corps a coming : 
Laye down, laye down the corps, she sayd, 

That I may look upon him. 

With scornful eye she looked downe, ' 45 

Her cheeke with laughter swellin ; 

Whilst all her friends cryd out amaine, 
Unworthye Barbara Allen. 

3 K 


When he was dead, and laid in grave, 

Her harte was struck with sorrowe, 50 

O mother, mother, make my bed. 
For I shall dye to-morrowe. 

Hard harted creature him to slight. 

Who loved me so dearlye : 
O that I had beene more kind to him, 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. 60 

Farewell, she sayd, ye virgins all. 

And shun the fault I fell in : 
Henceforth take warning by the fall 

Of cruel Barbara Allen. 



A Scottish Ballad. 

iSIS^ROM Allan Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany. The con- 
t^^ eluding stanza of this piece seems modern. 

[In the previous ballad (No. 4) and in Mallet's Wil- 
liam a?id Margaret it is Margaret who appears to William, but 
in the present one and in some other versions William is made 
to die first. In Clerk Saunders {Minstrelsy of the Scottish Bor- 
der) Scott has joined two distinct stories, and the second part, in 
which the spirit of Clerk Saunders appears to May Margaret, 
closely resembles the present ballad. Besides these there are 
two other versions Kinloch's, entitled Sweet William and May 


Margaret, and Mothenvell's William and Marjoric. Dr. Rimbault 
points out that the chief incidents in Eiirger's Leonora resemble 
those in this ballad. 

The last two stanzas are probably Ramsay's own.] 

tS<CFvi^> ^^ 

^HERE came a ghost to Margaret's door, 
^ With many a grievous grone, 
^y) And ay he tirled at the pin ;* 
^^'' But answer made she none. 

Is this my father PhiHp ? 5 

Or is't my brother John ? 
Or is't my true love WilHe, 

From Scotland new come home ? 

'Tis not thy father Philip ; 

Nor yet thy brother John : 10 

But tis thy true love Willie 

From Scotland new come home, 

O sweet Mar^ret ! O dear Marorret ! 

o o 

I pray thee speak to mee : 
Give me my faith and troth, Margret, 15 

As I gave it to thee. 

Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get, 

' Of me shalt nevir win,' 
Till that thou come within m)- bower, 

And kiss my cheek and chin. 20 

If I should come within thy bower, 

I am no earthly man : 
And should I kiss thy rosy lipp, 

Thy days will not be lang. 

[• See note, antc^ p. 47.] 



O 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 live-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 nae 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 up and crew the red red cock, 

And up then crew the gray : 
Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret, 55 

That ' I ' were gane away. 


[No more the ghost to Margret 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.] 




A Scottish Ballad. 

RINTED, with a few conjectural emendations, from a 
WTitten copy. 

[Pepys, in Jan. 1 665-1 666, heard Mrs. Knipp, the 
actress, sing " her Httle Scotch song of Barbery Allen " at Lord 
Brouncker's, and he was "in perfect pleasure to hear her sing" 
it. It was first printed in Ramsay's Tea-Table Afiscellany (ii. 

" I remember," says Mr. C. Kirkpatrick Sharpe, " that the 
peasantry of Annandale sang many more verses of this ballad 
than have appeared in print, but they were of no merit, containing 
numerous magnificent offers from the lover to his mistress, and 
amongst others some ships in sight, which may strengthen the 
belief that this song was composed near the shores of the Solway." 
— Addii. Illustrations to Sten house.] 

^t^wS)^ T was in and about the Martinmas time, 
" "^^ When the greene leaves wer a fallan ; 

^A^ That Sir John Grehmc o' the west 

'Ji^ countrye, 

V(A\ in luve wi' Barbara Allan. 


He sent his man down throw the towne, 5 

To the plaice wher she was dwellan : 

O haste and cum to my maister deare, 
Gin ye bin Barbara Allan. 

O hooly, hooly raise she up, 

To the plaice wher he was lyan ; 10 

And whan she drew the curtain by, 

Young man, I think ye're dyan.* 

O its I'm sick, and very very sick, 

And its a' for Barbara Allan. 
O the better for me ye'se never be, 15 

Though your harts blude wer spillan. 

Remember ye nat in the tavern, sir, 

Whan ye the cups wer fillan ; 
How ye made the healths gae round and round, 

And sliofhted Barbara Allan ? 20 


He turn'd his face unto the wa' 

And death was with him dealan ; 
Adiew ! adiew ! my dear friends a', 

Be kind to Barbara Allan. 

Then hooly, hooly raise she up, 25 

And hooly, hooly left him ; 
And sighan said, she could not stay, 

Since death of life had reft him. 

She had not gane a mile but twa. 

Whan she heard the deid-bell knellan ; 30 

And everye jow the deid-bell geid, 

Cried, Wae to Barbara Allan ! 

* An ingenious friend thinks the rhymes Dya?id and Lyand 
ought- to be transposed; as the taunt Young maHy I think ye're 
lyand, would be very characteristical. 


O mither, mither, mak my bed, 

O make it saft and narrow : 
Since my love died for me to-day, 35 

Ise die for him to morrowe. 



I ROM an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys Collcdmi, 

with some improvements communicated by a lady as 

^^^ she had heard the same recited in her youth. The full 

^ 6ii-| ^-jj-jg jg^ True love requited: Or, the Bailiff's daughter of 

Islington in Norfolk is probably the place here meant. 

[Copies of tliis charming old ballad are found in all the large 
collections, and two tunes are associated with it. 

Percy's suggestion that Islington in Norfolk is referred to is not 
a probable one, and there seems to be no reason for depriving the 
better known Islington of the south of the honour of having given 
birth to the bailiffs daughter. Islington at the time when this 
ballad was written was a country village quite unconnected witli 
London, and a person who represented " a squier minstrel of 
Middlesex' made a speech before Queen Elizabeth at Kenilworth 
in 1575, in which he declared "how the worshipful village of Isling- 
ton [was] well knooen too bee one of the most auncient and best 
tounz in England, next to London." 

HERE was a youthe, and a wcll-beloved 
And he was a squires son : 
I le loved the bayliffes dau<j^hter deare, 
That lived in Islington. 


Yet she was coye and would not believe 5 

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 apprentice for to binde. 

And when he had been seven long yeares, 

And never his love could see : 
Many a teare have I shed for her sake, 15 

When she little thought of mee. 

Then all the maids of Islington 

Went forth to sport and playe, 
All but the baylififes daughter deare ; 

She secretly stole awaye. ao 

She pulled off her gowne of greene, 

And put on ragged attire, 
And to faire London she would go 
 Her true love to enquire. 

And as she went along the high road, 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 pr}'thee, sweet-heart, then tell to mee. 

O tell me, whether )-ou knowe 
The bayliffes daughter of Islington, 

She is dead, sir, long agoe. 40 

If she be dead, then take my horse, 

My saddle and bridle also ; 
For I will into some farr coiintrye, 

Where noe man shall me knowe. 

O staye, O staye, thou goodlye youthe, 4-s 

She standeth by thy side ; 
She is here alive, she is not dead. 

And readye to be thy bride. 

O farewell griefe, and welcome joye. 

Ten thousand times therefore ; 50 

For nowe I have founde mine owne true love, 

Whom I thouorht I should never see more. 


A Pastoral Dialogue. 

ROM the small black-letter collection, intitled, TJie 
Golden Garland of princely delights ; collated with 
two other copies, and corrected by conjecture. 

[Dr. Rimbault gives the melody of this pretty little pastoral 

on the favourite subject of wearing the willow from a MS. dated 

1639 in the Advocate's Library, Edinburgh. It is also to be 

found in the celebrated Skene MS. in the same library, and again 

"in all the editions of Forbes's Cant us. '\ 



OW 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 : 

Phillis hath forsaken mee. 

Which makes me weare the willowe-tree. 


Phillis ! shee that lov'd thee long ? 

Is shee the lass hath done thee wrong ? 10 

Shee that lov'd thee long and best, 

Is her love turn'd to a jest ? 


Shee that long true love profest, 

She hath robb'd my heart of rest : 

For she a new love loves, not mee ; 15 

Which makes me wear the willowe-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 willowe-tree. 



Shepherde, be advis'd by mee, as 

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. 




S given (\vith corrections) from the Editor's ancient folio 
MS.* collated uith 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, /// Pescod time, &=c. — The ballad 

here referred to is preserved in the Afuses Library, 8vo. p. 281. 

It is an allegory or vision, intitled, The Shepherd's Slumber, and 

opens with 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 
IJy woods and groves full fair, &c." 

[Mr. Hales thinks it possible that this ballad was written by the 
■same author as The Children in the Wood — " the same facility of 

[• Ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 246.] 



language and of rhyme, the same power of pathos, the same 
extreme simpHcity characterise both ballads." 

Mr. Chappell says that Chevy Chace was sometimes sung to the 
tune of In Pescod tivie, as were the Bride's burial (No. 12), and 
Lady Isabella's Tragedy (No. 14). The various readings from the 
original MS. are noted at the foot of the page.] 

ARKE 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, s 

To lead a wedded life, 
But folly wrought her overthrowe 
Before she 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 lovelye cheeks chang'd color white, 15 

Her strength began to fayle. 

Soe that with many a sorrowful sigh, 

This beauteous ladye milde, 
With greeved hart, perceived herselfe 

To have conceived with childe. 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. 

[Ver. 15. her faire red cheekes changed color quite. V. 17. and 
soe with. V. 20. to be conceived. V. 24. none shold. MS.] 


Unto her lover secretly 25 

Her orreefe shee did bewray, 
And walkintT with him hand in hand, 

These words to him did say ; 
Behold, quoth shee, a maids distresse 

By love brought to thy bowe ; 30 

Behold I goe with childe by thee, 

Tho none thereof doth knowe. 

The litle babe springs in my wombe 

To heare its fathers voyce, 
Lett it not be a bastard called, 35 

Sith I made thee my choyce : 
[Come, come, my love, perform thy vowe 

And wed me out of hand ; 
O leave me not in this extreme 

Of griefe, alas ! to stand.] 40 

Think on thy former promises. 

Thy oathes and vowes eche one ; 
Remember with what bitter teares 

To mee thou madest thy moane. 
Convay me to some secrett place, 45 

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 dauLrers are so near ? 

[Ver, 29. a larlyes distress. V. 30. your bowc. V. 31. Sec how 
I goe with chyld with thee. V. 33. my litle. V. 35, C) lett. 
V- 37-40- n^J^ ii^ ^I^- V. 42. thy wordes. V. 48. lest further. 
V. 49. my derest. V. 50. my greatest joy on earthe. V. 51. 
shold I convay you. V. 52. to scape a sudden death.] 


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 

Soe shall I scape dishonor quite ; 

And if I should be slaine 
What could they say, but that true love 

Had wrought a ladyes bane. 

But feare not any further harme ; 65 

My selfe will soe devise. 
That I will ryde away with thee 
^ Unknowen of mortall eyes : 
Disguised like some pretty page 

He meete thee in the darke, 70 

And all alone He come to thee 

Hard by my fathers parke. 

And there, quoth hee, He meete my deare 

If God soe lend me life. 
On this day month without all fayle 75 

I will make thee my wife. 
Then with a sweet and loving kisse. 

They parted presentlye, 
And att their partinge brinish teares 

Stoode in eche others eye, 80 

[Ver. 53. your friends. V. 55. gett you. V. 56. your ffathers. 
V. 57. your lifFe . . . your fame. V. 58. you. V. 59. sword. 
V. 60. to take ... of thee, V. 61. soe may you. V. 62. if soe 
you. V. 64. ladyes paine. V. 67. I will safely ryd with thee. 
V. 76. lie make the then. V. 77. and with.] 


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 was her owne true love : 

But all her hopes were vaine. 

Then did shee weepe and sore bewayle 

Her most unhappy fate ; 90 

Then did shee speake these woefull words, 

As succourless she sate ; 
O false, forsworne, and faithlesse man, 

Disloyall in thy love. 
Hast thou forgott thy promise past, 95 

And wilt thou perjured prove ? 

And hast thou now forsaken mee 

In this my great distresse, 
To end my dayes in open shame, 

Which thou mi^rhtst well redresse ? 100 

Woe worth the time I eer believ'd 

That flatterinc: toncrue of thine : 
Wold God that I had never seene 

The teares of thy false eyne. 

And thus with many a sorrowful sigh, 105 

Homewards shee went againe; 
Noe rest came in her waterye eyes, 

Shee felt such privye paine. 

[Ver. 81. wherin this lovely maid. V. 85. if any ])cr.son shee 
had spyed. V. 86. came. V. 87. shee thought. V. 92. when 
succourlcs. V. 93. and no\. in MS. V. 99. in heavinesse. V. 100. 
which well thou might. V. loi. I did belccve. V. 105. soe that 
with many a grievous groane. V. 106. amaine. V. 108. shee 
found. J 


In travail strong shee fell that night, 

With many a bitter throwe ; no 

What woefull paines shee then did feel, 
Doth eche good woman knowe. 

Shee called up her waiting mayd, 

That lay at her bedds feete, 
Who musing at her mistress woe, us 

Began full fast to weepe. 
Weepe not, said shee, but shutt the dores, 

And windowes round about, 
Let none bewray my wretched state, 

But keepe all persons out. 120 

O mistress, call your mother deare ; 

Of women you have neede, 
And of some skilfull midwifes helpe, 

That better may you speed. 
Call not my mother for thy life, 125 

Nor fetch no woman here ; 
The midwives helpe comes all too late, 

My death I doe not feare. 

With that the babe sprang from her wombe 

No creature being nye, 130 

And with one sighe, which brake her hart, 

This gentle dame did dye. 
The lovely litle infant younge, 

[The mother being dead,] 
Resigned its new received breath, 135 

To him that had it made. 

[Ver. no. thraw. V. in. shee felt that night. V. 113. mayd. 
V. 114. who lay. V. 115. and musing at her great woe. V. 117. 
shee sayth. V. 118. all about. V. 123. and to some. V. 124. 
the better. V. 130. being by. V. 132. gallant dame. V. 133. 
litle lovely. V. 134. the pretty smiling babe.] 


Next morning came her own true love, 

Affrighted at the newes, 
And he for sorrow slew himselfe, 

Whom eche one did accuse. 14.0 

The mother with her new borne babe, 

Were laide both in one grrave : 
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 learne to be wise, 

And )0U shall do full well.] 


A Scottish Song. 

HIS is a very ancient song, but we could only give it 
from a modern copy. Some editions instead of the 
four last lines in the second stanza have these, which 
have too much merit to be wholly suppressed : 

" Whan cockle shells turn siller bells. 

And muscles grow on every tree. 
When frost and snaw sail warm us aw'. 

Than sail my love prove true to me." 

See the Orpheus CaMonius, cv^. 

[Ver. 138. with this newes. V. 144. no joy that they. V. 14S. 
have you a specyall care. V. 149-152. not in MS. J 


Arthur's-seat mentioned in ver. 17, is a hill near Edinborough; 
near the bottom of which is St. Anthony's well. 

[There has been considerable difference of opinion among ballad 
collectors relative to this beautiful song. Some suppose it to be 
a portion of the ballad entitled Lord Jamie Douglas, which relates 
to James Douglas, second Marquis of Douglas, who married Lady 
Barbara Erskine, eldest daughter of John, ninth Earl of Mar, on 
the seventh of September, 1670, and afterwards repudiated her 
on account of a false accusation of adultery made against her by 
Lowrie, laird of Blackwood. Prof. Aytoun, however, believes that 
certain verses of Waly Waly have wrongly been mixed up with 
Lord Jamie Douglas. There is very little doubt that the song was 
in existence long before 1670, and it also appears to be the 
lamentation of a forsaken girl rather than of a wife. Mr. Sten- 
house and others considered it to belong to the age of Queen 
Mary and to refer to some affair at Court. Aytoun writes, " there is 
also evidence that it was composed before 1566, for there is extant 
a MS. of that year in which some of the lines are transcribed," but 
Mr. Maidment gives the following opinion — " that the ballad is 
of ancient date is undoubted, but we are not quite prepared to 
admit that it goes back as far as 1566, the date of the manuscript 
transcribed by Thomas Wode from an ancient church music book 
compiled by Dean John Angus, Andrew Blackball, and others, in 
which it said the first [second] stanza is thus parodied : — 

Hey trolHe loHie, love is jollie, 

A quhile, quhil itt is new 
Quhen it is old, it grows full cold, 

Wae worth the love untrue. 

Never having had access to the MS., we may be permitted to 
remark that the phraseology of the burlesque is not exactly that 
of the reign of Queen Mary" {Scottish Ballads ami Songs, 1868, 
vol. ii. p. 49.) 

Allan Ramsay was the first to publish the song, and he marked 
it as ancient. 

" When cockle shells turn silver bells, 
When wine drieps red frae ilka tree, 

When frost and snaw will warm us a' 
Then I'll cum down and dine wi' thee," 

is the fourth stanza of Jamie Douglas, printed by John Finlay, in 
his Scottish LListorical and Romatitic Ballads (vol. ii.)] 


WALY' waly up the bank, 

And waly waly down the brae, 
And wal)- waly yon burn side, 

Wliere 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 wal)-, 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 I 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. io 

Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw. 

And shake the green leaves aff the tree ? 
O gentle death, whan wilt thou cum ? 

For of my life I am wearic. 

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. 
When we came in by Glasgowe town, 

We were a comely sight to see, 30 

My love was cled in black velvet, 

And I my-sell in cramasie.'^ 

[' interjection of lamentation. "•' defiled. '' crimson] 


But had I wist, before I kisst, 

That love had been sae ill to win ; 
I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd, 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! 

For a maid again Ise never be. 40 


^^^_ ROM two ancient copies in black-letter : one in the 
Q^ Pepys Collection; the other in the British Museum. 

To the tune of The Lady's Fall. 

OME 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, i© 

And I am left, unhappy man, 

To spend m.y dayes in paine. 

Her beauty late so bright. 

Like roses in their prime, 
Is wasted like the mountain snowe, 15 

Before warme Phebus' shine. 


Her faire red colour'd cheeks 

Now pale and wan ; her eyes, 
That late did shine like crystal stars ; 

Alas, their light it dies : ao 

Her prettye lilly hands, 

With hnq-ers long- and small. 
In colour like the earthly 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 4S 

Strucke every vital part, 
And griping grief, like pangs of death, 

Sciz'd on my true love's heart. 


Down in a swoon she fell, 

As cold as any stone ; 5° 

Like Venus picture lacking life, 

So was my love brought home. 

At length her rosye red. 

Throughout her comely face, 
As Phoebus beames with watry cloudes 55 

Was cover'd for a space. 

When with a grievous groane, 
And voice both hoarse and drye. 

Farewell, quoth she, my loving friend, 

For I this daye must dye ; 60 

The messenger of God, 

With golden trumpe I see. 
With manye other angels more, 

Which sound and call for mee. 

Instead of musicke sweet, 65 

Go toll my passing-bell ; 
And with sweet flowers strow my grave, 

That in my chamber smell. 

Strip off my bride's arraye. 

My cork shoes from my feet ; 70 

And, gentle mother, be not coye 

To bring my winding-sheet. 

My wedding dinner drest, 

Bestowe upon the poor. 
And on the hungry, needy, maimde, 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. 8° 


]\Iy bride laces of silk 

Bestowd, for maidens meet, 
May fitly serve, when I am dead, 

To tye my hands and feet. 

And thou, my lover true, 85 

My husband and my friend, 
Let me intreat thee here to staye, 

Until my life doth end. 

Now leave to talk of love, 

And humblye on your knee, 90 

Direct your prayers unto God : 

But mourn no more for mee. 

In love as we have livde, 

In love let us depart ; 
And I, in token of my love, 9S 

Do kiss thee with my heart. 

staunch those bootless teares, 
Thy weeping tis in vaine ; 

1 am not lost, for wee in heaven 

Shall one daye meet againe. 100 

With that shee turn'd aside, 

As one dispos'd to sleep. 
And like a lamb departed life ; 

Whose friends did sorely weep. 

Her true love seeing this, 105 

Did fetch a grievous groane, 
As tho' his heart would burst in twainc. 

And thus he made his moane. 

O darke and dismal daye, 

A daye of grief and care, no 

That hath bereft the sun so bright. 

Whose beams refresht the air. 


Now woe unto the world, 

And all that therein dwell, 
O that I were with thee in heaven, 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. 



A garland fresh and faire 

Of lillies there was made, 
In sign of her virginitye. 

And on her coffin laid.* 

Six maidens, all in white. 

Did beare her to the ground : 
The bells did ring in solemn sort, 

And made a dolefull sound. 

In earth they laid her then, 

For hungry wormes a preye ; 130 

So shall the fairest face alive 

At length be brought to claye. 

[* " It was an ancient and pleasing custom to place a garland 
made of white flowers and white riband upon the cofiin of a 
maiden ; it was afterwards hung up over her customary seat in 
church. Sometimes a pair of white gloves, or paper cut to the 
shape of gloves, was hung beneath the garland. Chaplets of the 
kind still hang in some of the Derbyshire churches, and at Hather- 
sage in that county the custom is still retained." — {Transactions of 
the Essex ArchcBological Society, vol. i. 1858, p. 118.) See Cory don's 
Doleful Knell, vol. ii. book ii. No. 27, p. 275. Ophelia is "allowed 
her virgin crants" (or garland) — Hamlet, act v. sc. i. See also an 
interesting article on Funeral Garlands by Llewellyn Jewitt in the 
Reliquary, vol. i. (i860), p. 5.] 



^^^^<^ ■, IVEN from two ancient copies, one in black-print, in 
tlie Pepys Collection : the other in the Editor's folio 
• -/l"^ "^'^^" li^ch of these contained a stanza not found in 
''3-^^5'^~i^M. the other. What seemed the best readings were 
selected from both. 

This song is quoted as very popular in Walton's Coniplcat Angler, 
chap. ii. It is more ancient than the ballad oi Robin Good-Felloiu 
printed below, which yet is supposed to have been written by Ben. 

[The Milk-woman in Walton's Angler says, " What song was it, 
I pray you ? Was it Come sJiephcrds deck your heads, or As at 
fwon Diikina rested 1 " 

In the Registers of the Stationers' Company, under date of 
May 22, 16 1 5, there is an entry transferring the right of publication 
from one printer to another of A Ballett of Dulcina to the tune of 
Forgoe vie no^ce, cotne to me sone. Mr. Chappell also tells us that 
Dulcina was pne of the tunes to the " Psalms and Songs of Sion, 
turned into the language and set to the tunes of a strange land," 

The editors of the Folio MS., more scrupulous than the bishop, 
have not printed this song in its proper place, but have turned it 
into the Supplement oi Loose and Humourous Songs (p. 32). The 
third stanza of the MS. beginning 

" Words whose hopes might have enjoyned " 

is not printed in the present copy. The third stanza here is the 
fourth of the MS., and the fourth stanza is not in the MS. at all. 

Cayley and Ellis attribute this song to Raleigh, but without 
sufficient authority.] 

'I'^S at noonc Dulcina rested 

In her sweete and shady bower; 
Came a shepherd, and requested 
In her la[){> to sleepe an hour. 
But from her looke 
A woundc he tookc 


Soe deepe, that for a further boone 
The nymph he prayes. 
Wherto shee sayes, 
Forgoe me now, come to me soone. lo 

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 June, 

Persuade delay ; 

What boots, she say, 
Forgoe me now, come to me soone ? zo 

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 mee 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 35 

Of linorerino- nierht 
Foregoe the present joyes of noone ? 

Thouofh 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 


HIS ballad is given from an old black-letter copy in the 
Pcpys Collection, collated with another in the British 
Museum, H. 263, folio. It is there iniitled, '■'■The Lady 
Isabella's Tragedy, or the Step-Mother' s Cruelty : being 
a relation of a lamentable and cruel murther, committed on the 
body of the lady Isabella, the only daughter of a noble duke, &c. 
To the tune of, The Lady's Fall" To some copies are annexed 
eight more modern stanzas, intitled, The Dutchess's and Cook's 

HERE was a lord of worthy fame, 
And a huntinij he would ride. 
Attended by a noble traine 
Of gentrye by his side. 

And while he did in chase remaine, 
To see both sport and playe ; 

His ladye went, as she did feigne, 
Unto the church to [;rayc. 


This lord he had a daughter deare, 

Whose beauty shone so bright, lo 

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 father's only joye ; is 

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 presentlie ; 
And tell unto the master-cook 

These wordes that I tell thee. 

And bid him dresse to dinner streieht 

That faire and milk-white doe, 30 

That in the parke doth shine so bright, 
There's none so faire to showe. 

This ladye fearing of no harme, 

Obey'd her mothers will ; 
And presentlye she hasted home, 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 knowe full well. 

Then streii^ht his cruell bloodye hands, 45 

He on the ladye layd ; 
Who quivering and shaking stands, 

Wliile thus to her he sayd : 

Thou art the doe, that I must dresse ; 

See here, behold my knife ; so 

For it is pointed presently 

To rid thee of thy life. 

O then, cried out the scullion-boye. 
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 

1 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 carve his meat. 

Now sit you downe, his ladye sayd, 

T) sit you downe to meat : 70 

Into some nunnery she is gone ; 
Your daughter deare forget. 


Then solemnlye he made a vowe, 

Before the compame : 
That he would neither eat nor drinke, 75 

Until he did her see. 

O then bespake the scullion-boye, 

With a loud voice so hye : 
If now you will your daughter see, 

My lord, cut up that pye : 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 ! 
I proffered him my own hearts blood, 

From death to set her free. 

Then all in blacke this lord did mourne ; 

And for his daughters sake, 9° 

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. 



HIS song is a kind of translation of a pretty poem of 
Tasso's, called Aniore fui^githv, generally printed with 
his Ami/ltd, and originally imitated from the first Idyl- 
lium of Moschus. 
It is extracted from Ben Jonson's Masque at the marriage of 
lord viscount Hadington, on Shrove-Tuesday, 1608. One stanza 
full of dry mythology is here omitted, as it had been dropped in 
a copy of this song printed in a small volume called Le Prince 
d'Atnour. Lond. 1660, 8vo. 

[The stanza of the first Grace which Percy left out is as fol- 
lows ; — 

" At his sight the sun hath turn'd, 
Neptune in the w-aters burn'd ; 
Hell hath felt a greater heat ; 
Jove himself forsook his seat: 
. From the centre to the sky 
Are his trophies reared high."] 

[i Grace7\ 

lEAUTIES have yee seen a toy, 
Called Love, a little boy, 
Almost naked, wanton, blinde ; 
Cruel now ; and then as kinde ? 

If he be amongst yee, say ; 

He is Venus' run away. 

[2 Grace^ Shee, that will but now discover 

Where the winged wag doth hover, 

Shall to-night receive a kisse, 

How and where herselfe would wish : 

But who brings him to his mother 

Shall have that kisse, and another. 



[3 Grace.~\ 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. 


[2 Grace?\ 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. 

[3 Grace.^ He doth beare a golden bow, as 

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 

[i GraceJ] Still the fairest are his fuell, 

When his dales are to be cruell ; 

Lovers hearts are all his food, 

And his baths their warmest bloud : 

Nought but wounds his hand doth season, 35 

And he hates none like to Reason. 

[2 Grace.'] 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. 

[3 Grace.] Idle minutes are his raigne ; 
Then the straggler makes his gaine, 


By presenting maids with toyes 4S 

And would have yee thinke hem joyes ; 
'Tis the ambition of the elfe 
To have all childish as himselfe. 

[i G)'ace7\ If by these yee please to know him, 
Beauties, be not nice, but show him. 50 

[2 Grace7\ Though ye had a will to hide him, 
Now, we hope, yee'le not abide him 
[3 Grace?\^ Since yee heare this falser's play, 
And that he is Venus' run-away. 


'HE stgry of this ballad seems to be taken from an inci- 
dent in the domestic history of Charles the Bald, king 
of France. His daughter Judith was betrothed to 
Ethelwulph king of England : but before the marriage 
was consummated, Ethelwulph died, and she returned to France : 
whence she was carried off by Baldwyn, Forester of Flanders ; 
who, after many crosses and difficulties, at length obtained the 
kings consent to their marriage, and was made Earl of Flanders. 
This happened about a.d. 863. — See Rapin, Henault, and the 
French historians. 

The folloNnng copy is given from the F.ditor's ancient folio MS. 
collated with another in black-letter in the Pepys Collection, in- 
titled. An excellent Ballad 0/ a prince of England's courtship to the 
king 0/ France's dang/ita', qj^c. To the tune of Crimson Vchet. 

Many breaches having been made in this old song by the hand 
of time, principally (as might be expected) in the quick returns 
of the rhime ; an attempt it; here made to repair them. 

[This ballad was written by Thomas Dcloney, who included it 
in his Garland of Goodwill (Percy Society, vol. xxx. p. 52). It is, 
as Percy points out, founded on history, but Dcloney paid little 
attention to facts. All the first part of the jjoem, which tells of the 
miserable end of the English prince of suitable age to the young 




French princess, is fiction. Judith was Ethelwulf's wife for about 
two years, and on the death of her husband she married his son 
Ethelbert. The only historical fact that is followed in the ballad 
is the marriage of Judith with Baldwin, Great Forester of France, 
from which union descended Matilda, the wife of William the Con- 

The copy in the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Fumivall, vol. iii. 
p. 441) is entitled " In the Dayes of Olde." Percy altered it con- 
siderably, sometimes following the printed copy and sometimes the 

Mr. Hales suggests that the name of the tune is derived from 
the dress of the princess, described in vv. 185-6, — 

" Their mothers riche array 
Was of crimson velvet," 

and Mr. Chappell agrees with him.] 

N the dayes 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 father's 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 

Sorelye he was moved, 

And tormented in his minde. 
He sought for to prevent them ; 
And, to discontent them. 

Fortune cross'd these lovers kinde. *o 



When these princes twaine 

Were thus barr'd of pleasure, 
Throucrh the kineses 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 forest great 
Had taken up his seat, 

To w^ayt 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 princcsse, arm'd by love. 

And by chaste desire, 
All the night did rove 

Without dread at all : 
Still unknowne she past 4S 

In her strange attire ; 
Cominor at the last 

Within echoes call, — 
You faire woods, quoth shec, 
Honoured may you bee, 50 

Harbouring my heart's delight ; 
Which encompass here 
My joye and only deare, 

My trustye friend, and comelye knighl. 
Swecte, I come unto thee, 55 

Swcetc, I come to woo thee ; 


That thou mayst not angry bee 
For my long delaying ; 
For thy curteous staying 

Soone amendes He make to thee. 60 

Passing thus alone 

Through the silent forest, 
Many a grievous grone 

Sounded in her eares : 
She heard one complayne 65 

And lament the sorest, 
Seeming all in payne. 

Shedding deadly teares. 
Farewell, my deare, quoth hee. 
Whom I must never see ; 70 

For why my life is att an end, 
Through villaines crueltye : 
For thy sweet sake I dye, 

To show I am a faithfull friend. 
Here I lye a bleeding, 75 

While my thoughts are feeding 

On the rarest beautye found. 
O hard happ, that may be ! 
Little knows my ladye 

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, 9S 

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 

W^ith her golden haires. 
Speake, faire love, quoth shee, 
Speake, fair prince, to mee, no 

One sweete word of comfort give : 
Lift up thy deare eyes, 
Listen to my cryes, 

Thinke in what sad griefe I live. 
All in vain she sued, 115 

All in vain she wooed, 

The prince's life was fled and gone. 
There stood she still mourning, 
Till the suns retourning, 

And bright day was coming on. no 

In this great distresse 

Weeping, wayling ever, 
Oft shee cryed, alas! 

What will become of mee ? 
To my fathers court i^s 

I rcturnc 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 deadlye feare : 
A for ster all in greene, 
Most comelye to be seene, 

Ranginof the woods did find her there. 
Moved with her sorrowe, 135 

Maid, quoth hee, good morrowe, 

What hard happ has brought thee here ? 
Harder happ did never 
Two kinde hearts dissever : 

Here lyes slaine my brother deare. 140 

Where may I remaine. 

Gentle for'ster, shew me, 
'Till I can obtaine 

A service in my neede ? 
Paines I will not spare : i4S 

This kinde favour doe me, 
It will ease my care ; 

Heaven shall be thy meede. 
The for'ster all amazed, 
On her beautye gazed, 150 

Till his heart was set on fire. 
If, faire maid, quoth hee. 
You will goe with mee, 

You shall have your hearts desire. 
He brought her to his mother, 155 

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 princelye 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 thereat 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. iSo 

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 : 
Their fathers all of gray, 

Seemelye to the eye. 

* This will remind the reader of the Hvery and device of Charles 
Brandon, a private gentleman, who married the Queen Dowager 
of France, sister of Henry VIII, At a tournament which he held 
at his wedding, the trappings of his horse were half Cloth of gold, 
and half Frieze, with the following Motto : — 

" Cloth of Gold, do not despise, 

Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Frize; 

Cloth of Frize, be not too bold, 

'Iho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Gold." 

See Sir W. Temijle's Misc. vol. iii. p. 356. 


Then this famous king, 

Noting every thing, 190 

Askt how he durst be so bold 
To let his wife soe weare, 
And decke his children there 

In costly robes of pearl and gold. 
The forrester replying, 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. aoo 

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 dauofhter which I lost. 
Falling on her knee, 
I am that child, quoth shee ; no 

Pardon mee, my soveraine liege. 
The king perceiving this. 
His daughter deare did kiss. 

While joyfull teares did stopp his speeche. 
With his traine he tourned, 215 

And with them sojourned. 

Strait he dubb'd her husband knight; 
Then made him erle of Flanders, 
And chiefe of his commanders : 

Thus were their sorrowes put to flight. 220 


* i.e. describing. 




2^ HIS little madrigal (extracted from Ben. Jonson's Silent 
^  Woman, act i. sc. i, first acted in 1609) is in imitation 
{** ^\ -^^ of ^ Latin Poem printed at the end of the Variorum 
^*^*r*^i Edit, of Petronius, beginning, Semper viunditias, semper 
Sasilissa, decoras, &c. See Whalley's Ben Jonsoii, vol. ii. p. 420. 

^TILL to be neat, still to be drest, 
As you were going to a feast : 
Still to be pou'dred, still perfum'd : 
Lady, it is to be presum'd, 

Though art's hid causes are not found, s 

All is not sweet, all is not sound. 

Give me a looke, give me a face, 

That makes simplicitie a grace ; 

Robes loosely flowing, haire as free : 

Such sweet neglect more taketh me, 10 

Than all th' adulteries of art. 

That strike mine eyes, but not my heart. 


*HK suljject of this very popular ballad (which has 
been set in so favourable a light by the Speetator, No. 
85.) seems to be taken from an old play, intitled. 
Two lamentable Trat^edies ; The one of the murder 
of Maister Beech, a chandler in Thames streete, Cp^c. The other 
of a young child murthcred in a wood by ttuo rufjins, with the 


consent of his iinkle. By Rob. Yarrington, 1601, 4to. Our ballad- 
maker has strictly followed the play in the description of the 
father and mother's dying charge : in the uncle's promise to take 
care of their issue: his hiring two ruffians to destroy his ward, 
under pretence of sending him to school : their chusing a wood 
to perpetrate the murder in : one of the ruffians relenting, and 
a battle ensuing, &c. In other respects he has departed from the 
play. In the latter the scene is laid in Padua : there is but one 
child : which is murdered by a sudden stab of the unrelenting 
ruffian : he is slain himself by his less bloody companion ; but ere 
he dies gives the other a mortal wound : the latter living just long 
enough to impeach the uncle ; who, in consequence of this im- 
peachment, is arraigned and executed by the hand of justice, &c. 
Whoever compares the play with the ballad, will have no doubt 
but the former is the original : the language is far more obsolete, 
and such a vein of simplicity runs through the whole performance, 
that, had the ballad been written first, there is no doubt but every 
circumstance of it would have been received into the drama: 
whereas this was probably built on some Italian novel. 

Printed from two ancient copies, one of them in black-letter in 
the Pepys Collection. Its title at large is, The Children in the 
Wood; or, The Norfolk Gentleman^ s Last Will and Testaniefit : To 
the tune of Rogero, ^'C. 

[Ritson thought he had refuted Percy's statement that the play 
was older than the ballad by pointing out that the latter was 
entered in the Stationers' books in 1595, but I find in Baker's 
Biographia Dramatica an assertion that Yarrington's play was not 
printed " till many years after it was written." The following is 
the form of the entry at Stationers' Hall, "15 Oct. 1595. Thomas 
Millington entred for his copie under th[e hjandes of bothe the 
Wardens a ballad intituled The Norfolk Gent, his Will and Testa- 
ment and hotve he comviyttcd the kecpinge of his children to his owne 
brother whoe delte most wickedly with them and howe God plagued 
him for it." Sharon Turner and Miss Halsted favoured the rather 
untenable opinion that the wicked uncle was intended to represent 
Richard III,, and therefore that the date of the ballad was much 
earlier than that usually claimed for it. Turner writes in his His- 
tory of England, " I have sometimes fancied that the popular 
ballad may have been written at this time on Richard and his 
nephews before it was quite safe to stigmatize him more openly." 

Wailing, or Wayland Wood, a large cover near Walton in Nor- 
folk is the place which tradition assigns to the tragedy, but the 
people of Wood Bailing also claim the honour for their village. 

Addison speaks of the ballad as " one of the darling songs of 
the common people, [which] has been the delight of most English- 


men in some part of their age," and points out that the circum- 

.... robin-red-breast piously 

Did cover them with leaves, 

has a parallel in Horace, who tells us that when he was a child, 
fallen asleep in a desert wood, the turtle doves took pity on him 
and covered him with leaves. 

The popular belief that the robin covers dead bodies with leaves 
(probably founded on the habits of the bird) is of considerable 
antiquity. The passage in Cymbeline (act iv. sc. 2) naturally 
occurs as the chief illustration : — 

. . . . " the ruddock would. 

With charitable bill 

bring thee all this, 

Yea and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none. 
To winter-ground thy corse." 

In Webster's White Deinl, act v., we read : — 

" Call for the robin red breast and the wren 
Since o'er shady groves they hover 
And with leaves and flowers do cover 
The friendless bodies of unburied men." 

The critics suppose Webster to have imitated Shakespere here, 
but there is no ground for any such supposition. The industry of 
Reed, Steevens, and Douce has supplied us with several passages 
from old literature in which this characteristic of the robin is re- 
ferred to. 

In " Cortiucopicc, or, divers Secrets ; wherein is contained the rare, 
secrets of man, beasts, fowles, fishes, trees, plants, stones, and 
such like, most pleasant and profitable, and not before committed 
to bee printed in English. Ncwlie drawen out of divers Latine 
Authors into English by Thomas Johnson," 4to. London, 1596, 
occurs the following passage : — " The robin red-breast if he find a 
man or woman dead will cover all his face with mosse, and some 
thinke that if the body should remaine unburied that hee woulde 
cover the whole body also." 

This little secret of Johnson is copied by Thomas Lupton into 
his A Thousaml Notable lyii/ii^s of suiutric sorts nciuly corrected^ 
1 60 1, where it appears as No. 37 of book i, 

Michael Drayton has the following lines in his poem. The Oivl : 

" Cov'ring with moss the dead's unclosed eye 
The little red-breast teacheth charitie." 


In Dekker's Villanies discovered by lantJiorn and candlelight, 1616, 
we read, "They that cheere up a prisoner but with their sight are 
Robin red-breasts, that bring strawes in their bils to cover a dead 
man in extremitie." This is sufficient evidence that the beHef was 

[OW ponder well, you parents deare, 
These wordes, which I shall write ; 
A doleful story you shall heare, 
In time brought forth to light. 
A gentleman of good account , 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 yeares olde ; 
The other a girl more young than he, 

And fram'd in beautyes molde. 20 

The father left his little son, 

As plainlye doth appeare. 
When he to perfect age should come, 

Three hundred poundes a yeare. 

And to his little daughter Jane 25 

Five hundred poundes in gold, 
To be paid down on marriage-day. 

Which might not be controll'd : 


But if the children chance to dye, 

Ere they to age should come, 30 

Their uncle should possesse their wealth ; 

For so the wille did run. 

Now, brother, said the dying- man. 

Look to my children deare ; 
Be good unto my boy and girl, 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 

O brother kinde, quoth shee. 
You are the man must bring our babes 

To wealth or miserie : 

And if you keep them carefully, 

Then God will you reward ; 50 

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 ; 55 

With that the tcares did fall. 

These speeches then their brother spake 

To this sicke coui)l(t 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 arc layd in grave. 


The parents being dead and gone, 65 

The children home he takes, 
And bringes them straite unto his house, 

Where much of them he makes. 
He had not kept these pretty babes 

A twelvemonth and a daye, 70 

But, for their wealth, he did devise 

To make them both awaye. 
He bargain'd with two ruffians strong. 

Which were of furious mood, 
That they should take these children young, 7s 

And slaye them in a wood. 
He told his wife an artful tale, 

He would the children send 
To be brought up in faire London, 

With one that was his friend. 80 

Away then went those pretty babes, 

Rejoycing at that tide, 
Rejoycing with a merry minde, 

They should on cock-horse ride. 
They prate and prattle pleasandy, 85 

As they rode on the waye, 
To those that should their butchers be, 

And work their lives decaye : 

So that the pretty speeche they had. 

Made Murder's heart relent ; 90 

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, 9s 

Had paid him very large. 

The other won't agree thereto, 

So here they fall to strife ; 
With one another they did fight, 

About the childrens life : 1°° 


And he that was of mildest mood, 

Did slaye the other there, 
Within an unfrequented wood ; 

The babes did quake for feare ! 

He took the children by the hand, 105 

Teares standin^^ in their eye, 
And bad them straitwaye follow him, 

And look they did not crye : 
And two long miles he ledd them on. 

While they for food complaine : no 

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 Hppes with black-berries, 

Were all besmear'd 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 amies 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 
c; Upon their uncle fell ; 130 

) Yea, fearfull fiends did haunt his house. 
His conscience felt an hell : 

Vcr. 125. these . . . babes. /\P. 



yJ^\^ His barnes were fir'd, his goodes consum'd, 
3~ His landes were barren made, 


■^ His catde dyed within the field, ns 

And nothing with him stayd. 

And in a voyage to Portugal* 

Two of his sonnes did dye ; 
And to conclude, himselfe was brought 

To want and miserye : 140 

He pawn'd and mortgaged all his land 

Ere seven yeares came about. ^-"^ 
And now at length this wicked act 

Did by this meanes come out : 

The fellowe, that did take in hand 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 : 15° 

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, iss 

And infants mild and meek ; 
Take you example by this thing, 

And yield to each his right, 
Lest God with such like miserye 
\ Your wicked minds requite. 160 


[* Ritson has the following note {Ancient Songs, 1829, vol. ii. 
p- 155) : "^^^"^ voyage, a.d. 1588. See the Catalogue of the Harl. 
MSS. No. 167 {15), Dr. Percy, not knowing that the text alludes 
to a particular event, Kas altered it to a voyage."] 


1 1 



RINTED, with a few slight corrections, from the Edi- 
tor's foUo MS. 

3^^3S^^S3«a [This song is printed, Hales and Furnivall's edition 
of the MS. vol. iii. p. 3S9.] 

LOVERof late was I, 

For Cupid would have it soe, 
The boy that hath never an eye, 
As every man doth know : 
I sighed and sobbed, and cryed, alas ! 
For her that laught, and called me ass. 

Then knew not I what to doe, 
When I saw itt was in vaine 
A lady soe coy to wooe. 

Who gave me the asse soe plaine : 
Yet would I her asse freelye bee, 
Soe shee would helpe, and beare with mee. 

An' I were as faire as shee, 

Or shee were as kind as I, 
What payre cold have made, as wee, 
Soe pretty e a sympathye : 
I was as kind as she was faire. 
But for all this wee cold not paire. 



[Ver. 8. when I see itt was vainc. V. 10. and gave.] 
fainc, MS. [V. 14. and shee, MS.) 


V. I 



Paire with her that will for mee, 
With her I will never paire ; 

That cunningly can be coy, 
For being a little faire. 

The asse He leave to her disdaine ; 

And now I am myselfe againe. 



^T has been a favourite subject with our Enghsh ballad- 
makers to represent our kings conversing, either by 
accident or design, with the meanest of their subjects. 
Of the former kind, besides this song of the King and 
the Miller ; we have K. Henry and the Soldier ; K. James I. and 
the Tinker; K. William III. and the Forrester &c. Of the latter 
sort, are K. Alfred and the Shepherd; K. Edward IV. and the 
Tanner;* K, Henry VIII. and the Cobler, &c. — A few of the 
best of these are admitted into this collection. Both the author 
of the following ballad, and others who have written on the same 
plan, seem to have copied a very ancient poem, intitled John 
the Reeve, which is built on an adventure of the same kind, that 
happened between K. Edward Longshanks, and one of his Reeves 
or Bailiffs. This is a piece of great antiquity, being written before 
the time of Edward IV. and for its genuine humour, diverting in- 
cidents, and faithful picture of rustic manners, is infinitely superior 
to all that have been since written in imitation of it. The Editor 
has a copy in his ancient folio MS. but its length rendered it im- 
proper for this volume, it consisting of more than 900 lines. It 
contains also some corruptions, and the Editor chuses to defer its 
publication in hopes that some time or other he shall be able to 
remove them. 

The following is printed, with corrections, from the editor's 
folio MS. collated with an old black-letter copy in the Pepys Col- 

[* See vol. ii. book i. No. 15.] 


lection, intitled A pleasant ballad ol K. Henry II. and the Miller 
of JMansJuld, oj^e. 

[This ballad oi Henry II. and the Miller of Mafisjield CdJ\x\o\. be 
traced farther back than the end of Elizabeth's reign or the be- 
ginning of James's. One of the three copies in the Roxburghe 
Collection is dated by Mr. Chappell between 162 1 and 1655, and 
the copy in the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 147) 
was written about the same period. (See Roxburghe Ballads, ed. 
Chappell, vol. i. p. 53S.) 

As there are earlier copies than the one in the Folio MS. it has 
not been thought necessary to add Collations. 

John the I^ear, referred to above, is one of the earliest and most 
interesting of this large class of tales. It was printed for the first 
time in Hales and Fumivall's edition of the MS. (vol. ii. p. 550) 
with a valuable introduction. 

This spirited poem was probably wTitten originally in the middle 
of the fifteenth century. " It professes to describe an incident 
that took place in the days of King Edward. It adds : 

Of that name were Kings three 
But Edward with the long shanks was he, 
A lord of great renown. 


The poem then* was written after the death of Edward III.; that is, 
after 1377, and before the accession of Edward IV., that is before 
1 46 1. "J 

Part the First. 

ENRY,our royall king, would ride a hunting 
To thcgreene forest so pleasant and faire; 
To see the harts skipping, and dainty does 
tripping : 

Unto merry .Sherwood his nobles repaire : 
Hawke and hound were unbound, all things prepar'd 5 
For the game, in the same, with good regard. 

All a long summers day rode the king pleasantlye, 
With all his princes and nobles eche one ; 


Chasing the hart and hind, and the bucke gallantlye, 
Till the dark evening forc'd all to turne home, lo 
Then at last, riding fast, he had lost quite 
All his lords in the wood, late in the night. 

Wandering thus wearilye, all alone, up and downe, 
With a rude miller he mett at the last : 

Asking the ready way unto faire Nottingham; 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 me, quoth our king 

Passing thy judgment upon me so briefe ? 20 

Good faith, sayd the miller, I meane not to flatter thee ; 

I guess thee to be but some gentleman thiefe ; 
Stand thee backe, in the darke ; light not adowne. 
Lest that I presentlye cracke 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 call ; 
If it be forty pence, I will pay all. 3a 

If thou beest a true man, then quoth the miller, 
I sweare by my toll-dish, I'll lodge thee all night. 

Here's my hand, quoth the king, that was I ever. 
Nay, soft, quoth the miller, thou may'st be a sprite. 

Better I'll know thee, ere hands we will shake; 35 

With none but honest men hands will I take. 

* The king says this. 


Thus they went all along' unto the miller's 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 doe not spare. 

I like well thy countenance, thou hast an honest face ; 

With my son Richard this night thou shalt lye. 
Quoth his wife, by my troth, it is a handsome youth, 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 courtyer, 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. 60 

Well, quo' the millers wife, young man, ye're wel- 
come here ; 
And, though I say it, well lodged sliall be : 
Fresh straw will I have, laid on thy bed so brave, 
And good brown hempen sheets likewise, quoth 
Aye, quoth the good man ; and when that is done, 65 
Thou shalt lye with no worse, than our own sonne. 

[^ The head, feet, and ears of swine boiled and pickled for 
eating. — JJal/iwclfs Dictionary.] 


Nay, first, quoth Richard, good-fellowe, tell me true, 
Host thou noe creepers within thy gay hose ? 

Or art thou not troubled with the scabbado ? 

I pray, quoth the king, what creatures are those ? 70 

Art thou not lowsy, nor scabby ? quoth he : 
If thou beest, surely thou lyest not with mee. 

This caus'd the king, suddenlye, to laugh most 

Till the teares trickled fast downe from his eyes. 
Then to their supper were they set orderlye, 75 

With hot bag-puddings, and good apple-pyes ; 
Nappy ale, good and stale, in a browne bowle, 
Which did about the board merrilye trowle. 

Here, quoth the miller, good fellowe, I drinke to thee. 
And to all ' cuckholds, wherever they bee.' 80 

I pledge thee, quotth our king, and thanke thee 
For my good welcome in everye degree : 

And here, in like manner, I drinke to thy sonne. 

Do then, quoth Richard, and quicke let it come. 

Wife, quoth the miller, fetch me forth lightfoote, 85 
And of his sweetnesse a little we'll taste. 

A fair ven'son pastye brought she out presentlye. 
Eate, quoth the miller, but, sir, make no waste. 

Here's dainty lightfoote ! In faith, sayd the king, 

I never before eat so daintye a thing. 90 

I wis, quoth Richard, no daintye at all it is, 

For we doe eate of it everye day. 
In what place, sayd our king, may be bought like to 
this ? 

We never pay pennye for itt, by my fay : 
From merry Sherwood we fetch it home here ; 95 
Now and then we make bold with our kings deer. 

Ver. 80. courtnalls, that courteous be. MS. and P. 


Then I thinke, sayd our king, that it is venison. 

Eche foole, quoth Richard, full well may know that : 
Never are wee without two or three in the roof, 

\^ery well fleshed, and excellent fat : 100 

But, pr)thee, say nothing wherever thou goe ; 
We would not, for two pence, the king should it knowe. 

Doubt not, then sayd the king, my promist secresye ; 

The king shall never know more on't for mee. 
A cupp of lambs-wool' they dranke unto him then, 10, 

And to their bedds they past presentlie. 
The nobles, next morning, went all up and down, 
For to seeke out the king in everye towne. 

At last, at the miller's ' cott,' soone they espy'd him 
As he was mounting upon his faire steede ; no 
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 

[^ A favourite liquor among the common people, composed of 
ale and roasted apj^ies, the pulp of the a])i)le worked uj) with the 
ale till the mixture formed a smooth beverage. Narcs^ Glossary.^ 


Part the Seconde. 

■HEN as our royall king came home from 
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, he 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. 

W^hen as the noble lords saw the kinges pleasantness. 
They were right joyfuU and glad in their hearts : 

A pursuivant there was sent straighte on the busi- 
ness, '5 
The which had often-times been in those parts. 

When he came to the place, where they did dwell, 

His message orderlye then 'gan he tell. 

God save your worshippe, then said the messenger, 
And grant your ladye her own hearts desire ; 20 

And to your sonne Richard good fortune and happi- 
ness ; 
That sweet, gentle, and gallant young squire. 

Our king greets you well, and thus he doth say. 

You must come to the court on St. George's day ; 

Therfore, in any case, faile not to be in place. 25 

I wis, quoth the miller, this is an odd jest : 


What should we doe there ? faith, I am halfe afraid. 
I doubt, quoth Richard, to be hang'd at the least. 
Nay, quoth the messeng-er, 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 worshippe full well. 

Hold here are three farthings, to quite thy gentleness, 
For these happy tydings, which thou dost tell. 

Let me see, hear thou mee ; tell to our king, 35 

We'll wayt on his mastershipp in everye thing. 

The pursuivant smiled at their simplicitye, 

And, making many leggs, tooke their reward ; 

And his leave taking with great humilitye 

To the kings court againe he repair'd ; 40 

Shewing unto his grace, merry and free, 

The knio-htes most liberall grift and bountie. 

When he w'as gone away, thus gan the miller say, 
Here come expences and charges indeed ; 

Now must we needs be brave, tho' we spend all we 
have ; 45 

For of new orarments we have g-reat 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 frett, 
or frowne ^. 

You shall ne'er be att no charges for mee ; 50 

For I will turne and trim up my old russet gowne, 

With everye thing else as fine as may bee ; 
And on our mill-horses swift we will ride. 
With pillowes and pannells, as we shall provide. 

In this most statelye sort, rode they unto the court, 55 
Their jolly sonne Richard rode foremost of all ; 


Who set up, for good hap, a cocks feather in his cap, 

And so they jetted^ downe to the kings hall ; 
The merry old miller with hands on his side ; 
His wife, like maid Marian, did mince at that tide. 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 soe 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 ? 

That wast my owne bed-fellowe, well it I wot. 
Yea, sir, quoth Richard, and by the same token, 

Thou with thy farting didst make the bed hot. 70 
Thou whore-son unhappy knave, then quoth the 

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 t^ 

The millers wife did soe orderlye stand. 

A milk-maids courtesye at every word ; 

And downe all the folkes were set to the board. 

There the king royally, in princelye 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 : 

Ver. 57. for good hap : i. e. for good luck ; they were going on 
an hazardous expedition. 

Ver. 60. Maid Marian in the Morris dance, was represented by 
a man in woman's cloaths, who was to take short steps in order to 
sustain the female character. 

[1 strutted.] 


Here's to you both, in wine, ale and beer ; 
Thanking you heartilye for my good cheer. 

Quoth sir John Cockle, I'll pledge you a pottle, 85 
Were it the best ale in Nottinghamshire : 

But then said our king, now I think of a thing; 
Some of your lightfoote I would we had here. 

Ho! ho! quoth Richard, full well I may say it, 

'Tis knavery to eate it, and then to betray it. 90 

Why art thou angry ? quoth our king merrilye ; 

In faith, I take it now very unkind : 
I thought thou wouldst pledge me in ale and wine 

Quoth Dicke, You are like to stay till I have din'd : 
You feed us with twatling dishes soe small ; 95 

Zounds, a blacke-pudding is better than all. 

Aye, marr}', 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 ladycs prepared to dance. 
Old Sir John Cockle, and Richard, incontinent* 105 

Unto their places the king did advance. 
Here with the ladyes such sport they did make. 
The nobles with laughing did make their sides ake. 

Many thankes for their paines did the king give them, 
Asking young Richard then, if he would wed; no 

Among these ladyes free, tell me which liketh thee ? 
Quoth he, Jugg Grumball, Sir, with the red head : 

[' forthwith.] 


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 called unto him, 115 
And of merry Sherwood made him o'er seer ; 

And gave him out of hand three hundred pound 
yearlye : 
Take heed now you steale no more of my deer : 

And once a quarter let's here have your view ; 

And now, sir John Cockle, I bid you adieu. no 


^HIS beautiful old song was written by a poet, whose 
name would have been utterly forgotten, if it had not 
^^ been preserved by Swift, as a temi of contempt. 
Dryden and Wither are coupled by him like the 
Bavins and Mcevius of Virgil. Dryden, however, has had jus- 
tice done him by posterity : and as for Wither, though of subor- 
dinate merit, that he was not altogether devoid of genius, will be 
judged from the following stanzas. The truth is. Wither was a 
very voluminous party-writer: and as his political and satyrical 
strokes rendered him extremely popular in his life-time ; so after- 
wards, when these were no longer relished, they totally consigned 
his writings to oblivion. 

George Wither was born June 11, 1588, and in his younger 
years distinguished himself by some pastoral pieces, that were not 
inelegant; but growing afterwards involved in the political and 
religious disputes in the times of James I. and Charles I. he 
employed his poetical vein in severe pasquils on the court and 
clergy, and was occasionally a sufferer for the freedom of his pen. 
In the civil war that ensued, he exerted himself in the service of 
the Parliament, and became a considerable sharer in the spoils. 
He was even one of those provincial tyrants, whom OHver dis- 
tributed over the kingdom, under the name of Major Generals ; 
and had the fleecing of the county of Surrey : but surviving the 
Restoration, he outlived both his power and his affluence ; and 


giving vent to his chagrin in libels on the court, was long a 
prisoner in Newgate and the Tower. He died at length on the 
2d of May, 1667. 

During the whole course of his life. Wither was a continual 
publisher; having generally for opponent, Taylor the Water-poet. 
The long hst of his productions may be seen in Wood's AtJience. 
Oxon. vol. ii. His most popular satire is intitled. Abuses ivhipt 
and stript, 1613. His most poetical pieces were eclogues, intitled, 
The Shepherifs Hunting, 16 15, 8vo. and others printed at the end 
of Browne's Shepherd's Pipe, 16 14, Svo. The following sonnet is 
extracted from a long pastoral piece of his, intitled, The Mistresse 
of Fhi/arete, 1622, Svo. which is said in the preface to be one of 
the Author's first poems ; and may therefore be dated as early as 
any of the foregoing. 

[This favourite song appeared in 1619, appended to Wither's 
Fidelia, and again in his Juvenilia in 1633 in Fair Virtue the 
mistress of Fhilarete. It was reprinted again and again, and 
occurs in the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 50). 

Mr. Chappell refers to a copy in the Pepys Collection entitled, 
A Neio Song of a young man's opinion of the difference between good 
and bad tvojnat, the first line of which is, " Shall I wrestling in 
despaire?" This reading seems to have been pretty popular, as 
Mr. Chappell gi.ves two instances of the tune being called "Shall 
I wrastle in despair V Mr. Chappell prints a song in the same 
metre and with a similar burden, which has been attributed on 
insufficient evidence to Sir Walter Raleigh. The first stanza is as 
follows: — 

" Shall I like a hermit dwell 

On a rock or in a cell ? 

Calling home the smallest part 

That is missing of my heart, 

To bestow it where I may 

Meet a rival every day ? 

If she undervalues me 

What care I how fair she be." 

Popular Music of the Olden Time, vol. i. p. 3 15. J 


HALL I, wasting in dispaire, 
Dye because a woman's faire ? 
Or make pale my cheeks with care, 
'Cause another's rosie are ? 
Be shee fairer then the day, 5 

Or the flowery meads in may ; 
If she be not so to me, 
What care I how faire shee be ? 

Shall my foolish heart be pin'd, 

'Cause I see a woman kind ? 10 

Or a well-disposed nature 

Joyned with a lovely feature ? 

Be she meeker, kinder, than 

The turtle-dove or pelican : 

If shee be not so to me, 15 

What care I how kind shee be ? 

Shall a woman's virtues move 

Me to perish for her love ? 

Or, her well-deservings knowne. 

Make me quite forget mine owne ? 20 

Be shee with that goodnesse blest, 

Which may merit name of Best ; 
If she be not such to me, 
What care I how good she be ? 

Cause her fortune seems too high, 25 

Shall I play the foole and dye ? 
Those that beare a noble minde. 
Where they want of riches find, 

[Ver. 7. if shee thinke not well of mee, MS. V. 23. soe to me, 
MS. V. 25-32. this stanza is not in the MS] 


Think what with them they would doe, 
That without them dare to woe ; 30 

And, unlesse that minde I see. 
What care I how crreat 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 cfrieve. 

If she slight me when I wooe, 

I can scorn and let her goe : 

If shee be not fit for me. 

What care I for whom she be ? 40 


(UCH is the title given in the editors foho MS.* to this 
excellent old ballad, which, in the common printed 
copies, is inscribed, Eneas, wandering Prince of Troy. 
It is here given from that MS. collated with two dif- 
ferent printed copies, both in black-letter, in the Pepys Collection. 
The reader will smile to observe with what natural and affecting 
simplicity, our ancient ballad-maker has engrafted a Gothic con- 
clusion on the classic story of Virgil, from whom, however, it is 
probable he had it not Nor can it be denied, but he has dealt 
out his poetical justice with a more impartial hand, than that 
celebrated poet. 

[This once popular ballad was entered on the Registers of the 
Stationers Company in 1 564-5 as "a ballett intituled 'J'he IVanderynge 
Prince'' Its great popularity is evidenced by the frequent re- 
ferences in literature and the large number of ballads sung to the 
tune of Queen Dido or Troy toxvnc. In The Penniless Parliament of 
Threadbare Poets^ 1608, ale-knights are said to " sing Queen Dido 

[* Ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. iii. p. 502.] 


over a cup and tell strange news over an ale-pot," and the same 
song is referred to in Fletcher's Captain (act iii. sc. 3) and his 
Bonduca, act i. sc. 2. 

The only tune that Mr. Chappell could find for the ballad was 
one by Dr. John Wilson (the Jack Wilson of Shakspere's stage 
according to Dr. Rimbault), which is printed in his Cheerful Ay res 
or Ballads, Oxford, 1660.] 

;H E N 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 suffice : 
Wast lye those walls, that were soe good, 5 

And corne now growes where Troy towne stoode. 

^neas, 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 entertaine that wandering guest. 

And, as in hall at meate, they sate, 

The queene, desirous newes to heare, 
"Says, of thy Troys unhappy 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, 

With words demure, as he cold well, 20 

Of his unhappy ten yeares " fight," 
Soe true a tale began to tell. 
With words soe sweete, and sighes so deepe, 
That oft he made them all to weepe. 

Ver. I. 21. war. MS. and/'/'. 


And then a thousand sighes he fet,' 25 

And every sigh brought teares amaine ; 
That where he sate the place was wett, 

As though he had scene those warrs ajraine ; 
Soe that the queene, with ruth therfore, 
Said, worthy prince, enough, no more. 30 

And then the darksome nic^ht drew on, 

And twinkling starres the skye bespred ; 
When he his dolefull tale had done, 
And every one was layd in bedd : 
Where they full sweetly tooke their rest, 35 

Save only Dido's boyling brest. 

This silly woman never slept, 

But in her chamber, all alone, 
As one unhappye, alwayes wept, 

And to the walls shee made her mone ; 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 Phoebus, with his glistering light, 4-5 

Through misty cloudcs appeared red ; 
Then tidini/s came to her anon, 
That all the Trojan shipps were gone. 

And then the queene with bloody knife 

Did armc her hart as hard as stone, 50 

Yet, something loth to loose her life, 
In woefull wise she made her mone ; 
And, rowling on her carefull bed. 
With sighes and sobbs, these words shee sayd : 

O wretched Dido queene ! quoth shee, 'i<i 

I see thy end approachcth neare ; 

^ fetched. 


For hee is fled away from thee, 

Whom thou didst love and hold so deare : 
What is he gone, and passed by ? 
O hart, prepare thyselfe to dye. 60 

Though reason says, thou shouldst forbeare. 

And stay thy hand from bloudy stroke ; 
Yet fancy bids thee not to fear. 

Which fetter'd thee in Cupids yoke. 
Come death, quoth shee, resolve my smart ! — 65 
And with those words shee peerced her hart. 

When death had pierced the tender hart 

Of Dido, Carthaginian queene ; 
Whose bloudy knife did end the smart. 

Which shee sustain'd in mournfull teene^ ; 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 ^neas 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 ; 

[1 trouble.] 


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. 

When he these lines, full fraught with gall, 

Perused had, and wayed them right, 
His lofty courage then did fall ; 

And straight appeared in his sight 100 

Queene 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 ; 
F"or entertainment I thee gave, 
Unthankefully thou didst me grave. 

Therfore prepare thy flitting soule 

To wander with me in the aire; no 

Where deadlye griefe shall make it howle, 
Because of me thou tookst no care : 
Delay not time, thy glasse is run, 
Thy date is past, thy life is done. 

O stay a while, thou lovely sprite, us 

Be not soe hasty to convay 
My soule into eternall night. 

Where itt shall ne're behold bright day. 
O doe not frowne ; thy angry looke, 
..Hath "all my soule with horror shooke." no 

Vcr. 120. MS. llatit made my breath my life forsookc. 


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 deerest friends. 

But seeing thou obdurate art, 
And wilt no pittye on me show. 

Because from thee I did depart, 
And left unpaid what I did owe : 130 

1 must content myselfe to take 
What lott to me thou wilt partake. 

And thus, as one being in a trance, 

A multitude of uglye feinds 
- About this woffull prince did dance ; 135 

He had no helpe of any friends : 
His body then they tooke away. 
And no man knew his dying day. 


J ROM Ben Jonson's Masque of Queens presented at 
Whitehall, Feb. 2, 1609. 

The editor thought it incumbent on him to insert 
some old pieces on the popular superstition concerning 
witches, hobgoblins, fairies, and ghosts. The last of these make 
their appearance in most of the tragical ballads ; and in the fol- 
lowing songs will be found some description of the former. 

It is true, this song of the Witches, falling from the learned pen 
of Ben Jonson, is rather an extract from the various incantations 
of classical antiquity, than a display of the opinions of our own 
vulgar. But let it be observed, that a parcel of learned wiseacres 
had just before busied themselves on this subject, in compliment 


to K. 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 EngHsh growth could no 
longer be traced out and distinguished. 

By good luck the whimsical belief of fairies and goblins could 
furnish no pretences for torturing our fellow-creatures, and therefore 
we have this handed dowTi to us pure and unsophisticated. 

1 Witch.* 

;t?f^)^ HAVE been all day lookinof after 
$-^ A raven leeding upon a quarter ; 
f^/ And, soone as she turn'd her beak to the 
I snatch'd this morsell out of her mouth. 

2 Witch. 

I have beene gathering wolves haires, 5 

The madd dogges foames, and adders cares ; 
The spurging of a deadmans eyes : 
And all since the eveninof starre did rise. 

3 Witch. 

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. 

4 Witch. 

And I ha' bcenc chusing out this scull 
From charncll houses that were full ; 

[• These witches arc called Hags by Jonson.J 


From private grots, and publike pits ; 15 

And frighted a sexton out of his wits. 

5 Witch. 

Under a cradle I did crepe 

By day ; and, when the childe was a-sleepe 

At night, I suck'd the breath ; and rose, 

And pluck'd the nodding nurse by the nose. 20 

6 Witch. 

I had a dagger : what did I with that ? 

Killed an infant to have his fat. 

A piper it got at a church-ale,^ 

I bade him again blow wind i' the taile. 

7 Witch. 

A murderer, yonder, was hung in chaines ; 25 

The sunne and the wind had shrunke his veines : 
I bit off a sinew ; I clipp'd his haire ; 
I brought off his ragges, that danc'd i' the ayre. 

8 Witch. 

The scrich-owles egges and the feathers blacke, 
The bloud of the frogge, and the bone in his backe 30 
I have been getting ; and made of his skin 
A purset, to keep sir Cranion'^ in. 

9 Witch. 

And I ha' beene plucking (plants among) 
Hemlock, henbane, adders-tongue. 
Night-shade, moone-wort, libbards-bane'^ ; 35 

And twise by the dogges was like to be tane. 

\} a wake or feast in commemoration of the dedication of a 
church. '^ skull. ^ ^^ j^g^.^ wolfbane.] 


10 Witch. 

I from the jawes of a gardiner's bitch 

Did snatch these bones, and then leap'd the ditch : 

Yet went I back to the house againe, 

Kill'd the blacke cat, and here is the braine. 40 

1 1 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 viper's skin : 
And now our orgies let's begin. so 


'UAS Pucke, alias Hobgoblin, in the creed of ancient 
A sujjerstition, was a kind of merry sprite, whose character 
y<j and atchievements are recorded in this balhid, and in 
^^ those well-known lines of Milton's L' 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 Hail hath ihrcsh'd the corn 

• [Jonson meant the Dame to represent Ate or the goddess of 


That ten day-labourers could not end ; 
Then lies him down the lubber fiend, 
And stretch'd out all the chimneys length, 
Basks at the fire his hairy strength, 
And crop-full out of doors he flings. 
Ere the first cock his matins rings." 

The reader will observe that our simple ancestors had reduced 
all these whimsies to a kind of system, as regular, and perhaps 
more consistent, that many parts of classic mythology : a proof of 
the extensive influence and vast antiquity of these superstitions. 
Mankind, and especially the common people, could not every 
where have been so unanimously agreed concerning these arbi- 
trary notions, if they had not prevailed among them for many 
ages. Indeed, a learned friend in Wales assures the Editor, that 
the existence of Fairies and Goblins is alluded to by the most 
ancient British Bards, who mention them under various names, 
one of the most common of which signifies. The spirits of the 
mountaijis. See also Preface to Song XXV. 

This song, which Peck attributes to Ben Jonson, (tho' 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 ori- 
ginally intended for some Masque. 

It is intitled, in the old black-letter copies. The mad merry 
Prankes of Robin Goodfellow. To the XvlXiq oi Dulcina, &c. (See 
No. XIII. above.) 

To one, if not more of the old copies, are prefixed two wooden 
cuts, said to be taken from Bulwer's Artificial Changelings &=€., 
which, as they seem to correspond with the notions then enter- 
tained of the whimsical appearances of this fantastic spirit, and 
perhaps were copied in the dresses in which he was formerly ex- 
hibited on the stage, are, to gratify the curious, engraven below. 

[The copy in the Roxburghe Collection (ed. Chappell, vol. ii. 
pi. i. p. 80) is printed by H[enry] G[osson], who was a contem-' 
porary of Ben Jonson. Some little books in prose on Robin Good- 
fellow, written in the seventeenth century, were printed for the 
Percy Society by Mr. J. P. Collier.] 


fJROM Obcron, in fairye land, "^ 

The kino- of ohosts and shadowes there, 
j\Iad Robin I, at his command, 
Sy^ 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 \y^ 

About this aery welkin soone, ^y^ 

And, in a minutes space, descrye 

Each thing that's done belowe the moone. 

There's not a hag 15 

Or ghost shall wag. 
Or cry, ware Goblins ! where I go ; 
But Robin I 
Their feates will spy. 
And send them home, with ho, ho, ho ! 20 

Whene'er such wanderers I meete. 

As from their night-sports they trudge home ; ^ 

With counterfeiting voice I greete 

And call them on, with me to roame 

Thro' woods, thro' lakes, 25 y 

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 ; y 

Sometimes, an ox, sometimes, a hound; 
And to a horse I turn me can ; 

'\i) trip and trot about them round. 


But if, to ride, 3S 

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 ! 4° 

When lads and lasses merry be, 

With possets and with juncates fine ; V 

Unseene of all the company, 

I eat their cakes and sip their wine ; 

An4, 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 I so 

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 1 pull. 

I grind at mill ss 

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 ! 6o 

When house or harth doth sluttish lye, 

I pinch the maidens blacke and blue ; 
The bed-clothes from the bedd pull I, 
And lay them naked all to view. 

'Twixt sleepe and wake, 65 

I do them take, 

[Ver. 6 1 . this begins the second part in the Roxburghe copy.] 



And on the key-cold floor them throw. \/^ 

If out they cry, 

Then forth 1 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 amonirst them then I oro, 

And night by night, 

I them afl'ritrht 
With pinchings, dreames, and ho, ho, ho ! 80 

W hen lazie queans have nought to do, 

But study how to cog and lye ; 
To make debate and mischief too, 
'Twixt one another secretlye : 

I marke their gloze, 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 

When men do traps and engins set 

In loop-holes, where the vermine crccpe. 
Who from their foldes and houses, get 

Their duckcs 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, 
I leap out laughing, ho, ho, ho! 100 


By wells and rills/ in meadowes greene, 

We nightly dance our hey-day guise ;^ 
And to our fairye king, and queene, 

We chant our moon-light minstrelsies. 

When larks 'gin sing, 105 

Away we fling ; 
And babes new borne steal as we go, 
And else in bed, 
We leave instead. 
And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho ! 


From hag-bred Merlin's time have I 
Thus nightly revell'd to and fro : 
And for my pranks men call me by 
The name of Robin Good-fellow. 

Fiends, ghosts, and sprites, . 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 ! 



^E have here a short display of the popular belief con- 
cerning Fairies. It will afford entertainment to a con- 
templative mind to trace these whimsical opinions up 
to their origin. Whoever considers, how early, how 
extensively, and how uniformly, they have prevailed in these 

[^ gills = rivulets, lioxb. copy. 

2 a misprint for heydegies=rustic dances. The word occurs in 
Lily's Endymion, 1591, and in Wm. Bulleyn's Dialogue, 1564, 
where the minstrel daunces " Trenchmore " and " Heie de gie." — 


nations, will not readily assent to the hypothesis of those, who 
-fetch them from the east so late as the time of the Croisades. 
Whereas it is well known that our Saxon ancestors, long before 
they left their German forests, believed the existence of a kind of 
diminutive demons, or middle species between men and spirits, 
whom they called Diicrgar or Dioarfs, and to whom they attri- 
buted many wonderful performances, far exceeding human art. 
Vid. Her\'arer Saga Olaj Verelj. 1675. Hickes' Thesaur., &c. 

This Song is given (with some corrections by another copy) 
from a book intitled, The Mysteries of Love and Eloquence, ^'c. 
Lond. 165S, 8vo. 

[Dr. Rimbault points out that this song occurs in a rare tract 
published more than twenty years before the book mentioned 
above. It is entitled, A description of the King and Queen of the 
Fayries, their habit, f^ >'<"■, abode, pomp and state, being very delightful 
to the sense and fu/i of mirth. London, 1635. The song was to 
be sung to the tune of the Spanish Gypsic, which began — 

" O follow, follow me 
For we be gypsies three." 

Martin Parker wrote a sort of parody called The three merry 
Cobblers, comqiencing — 

" Come follow, follow me 

To the alehouse we'll march all three ; 

Leave awl, last, thread and leather, 

And let's go all together." t 

Mr. Chappell prints the first, eighth, fourteenth and last stanzas 
(^Popular Music, vol. i. p. 272.)] 

OME, follow, follow me, 
You, fairy elves that be : 
Which circle on the c^reene, 
Come follow Mah your queenc. 
Hand in hand let's dance around, 
For this place is fairye ground. 



When mortals are at rest, 

And snoring in their nest ; 

Unheard, and un-espy'd, 

Through key-holes we do glide ; lo 

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, is 

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, ^o 

We praise the household maid, 

And duely she is paid : 
For we use before we goe 
To drop a tester^ in her shoe. 

Upon a mushroomes head as 

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 fiU'd to the brink. 3" 

The brains of nightingales. 
With unctuous fat of snailes, 

[* Puck's speech in Midsummer Nighfs Dream (act v. sc. 2) — 

" I am sent with broom before 

To sweep the dust behind the door," 

illustrates the delight of the fairies in cleanliness, which is dwelt 
upon in this and the following song. 

^ tester or teston= sixpence. ^ best kind of white bread.] 


Between two cockles stew'd, 

Is meat that's easily chew'd ; 
Tailes of wormes, and marrow of mice 35 

Do make a dish, that's wonderous nice. 

The grashopper, gnat, and fly, 

Serve for our minstrelsie ; 

Grace said, we dance a while, 

And so the time beguile ; 40 

And if the moon doth hide her head, 
The cfloe-worm liofhts us home to bed. 

On tops of dewie grasse 

So nimbly do we passe, 

The young and tender stalk 45 

Ne'er bends when we do walk : 
Yet in the morning may be seen 
Where we the night before have been. 


HIS humorous old song fell from the hand of the witty 
Dr. Corbet (afterwards bishop of Norwich, &c.) and is 
printed from his Poetica Stromata, 1648, i2mo. (com- 
pared with the third edition of his poems, 1672.) It 
is there called, A proper new Ballad, intitled, The Fairies Farewell^ 
or God-a-mercy Will, to be siitii^ or whistled to the tune of The Med- 
dow brow, by tlie learned ; by the unlearned, to the tune of P'ortune. 

The departure of Fairies is here attributed to the abolition of 
monkery : Chaucer has, with ecjual humour, assigned a cause the 
very reverse, in his Wife of Bath's Tale. 

" In olde dayes of the king Artour, 
(Jf which that liretons sjjeken gret honour, 
All was this lond fulfilled of faerie ; 
The elf-(iuene, with hire joly comijagnie 


Danced ful oft in many a grene mede. 

This was the old opinion as I rede; 

I speke of many hundred yeres ago ; 

But now can no man see non elves mo, 

For now the grete charitee and prayeres 

Of limitoures and other holy freres, 

That serchen every land and every streme, 

As thikke as motes in the sonne beme, 

Blissing halles, chambres, kichenes, and boures, 

Citees and burghes, castles high and toures, 

Thropes and bernes, shepenes and dairies, 

This maketh that ther ben no faeries : 

For ther as wont to walken was an elf, 

Ther Avalketh now the limitour himself, 

In undermeles and in morweninges, 

And sayth his Matines and his holy thinges, 

As he goth in his limitatioun. 

Women may now go safely up and doun, 

In every bush, and under every tree, 

Ther is non other incubus but he, 

And he ne will don hem no dishonour." 

Tyrwhitt's Chaucer^ i. p. 255. 

Dr. Richard Corbet, having been bishop of Oxford about three 
years, and afterwards as long bishop of Norwich, died in 1635, 
.^tat. 52. 

lAREWELL rewards and Fairies ! 
Good housewives now may say ; 
For now foule sluts in dairies, 
Doe fare as well as they : 
And though they sweepe their hearths no less 5 

Than mayds were wont to doe, 
Yet who of late for cleaneliness 
Finds sixe-pence in her shoe ? 

Lament, lament old Abbies, 

The fairies lost command ; 10 

They did but change priests babies, 

But some have chang'd your land : 


And all your children stoln from thence 

Are now growne Puritanes, 
Who live as chancrelino-s ever since, 15 

For love of your demaines. 

At morning and at evening both 

You merry were and glad, 
So little care of sleepe and sloth, 
These prettie ladies had. *o 

When Tom came home from labour, 

Or Ciss to milking rose. 
Then merrily went their tabour, 

And nimbly went their toes. 

Witness those rings and roundelayes 15 

Of theirs, which yet remaine ; 
Were footed in queene Maries dayes 

On many a grassy playne. 
But since of late Elizabeth 

And later James came in ; 3c 

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. 40 

A tell-tale in their company 

They never could endure ; 
And whoso kept not secretly 

Their mirth, was punishVl sure : 


It was a just and christian deed 45 

To pinch such blacke and blue: 
O how the common-welth doth need 

Such justices, as you ! 

Now they have left our quarters ; 

A Register they have, 50 

Who can preserve their charters ; 

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 : 60 

To William all give audience, 

And pray yee for his noddle : 
For all the fairies evidence 

Were lost, if it were addle. 

*^* After these Songs on the Fairies, the reader may be curious 
to see the manner in which they were formerly invoked and bound 
to human service. In Ashmole's Collection of MSS. at Oxford 
(Num. 8259. 1406. 2), are the papers of some alchymist, which 
contain a variety of Incantations and Forms of Conjuring both 
Fairies, Witches, and Demons, principally, as it should seem, to 
assist him in his Great Work of transmuting Metals. Most of 
them are too impious to be reprinted : but the two 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 
christal glass appears from that extraordinary book, The Relation 
of Dr. John Dee's actions with Spirits, 1659, folio. 

" An excellent way to gett a Fayrie. (For myself I call Margarett 
Barrance; but this will obteine any one that is not allready 


" First, gett a broad square christall or Venice glasse, in length 
and breadth 3 inches. Then lay that glasse or christall in the 
bloud of a white henne, 3 Wednesdayes, 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 f;iyre 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 made flatt on one side. Then bury them under some 
hill, whereas you suppose Fayries haunt, the ^Vednesday 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 that turne : but when you call, be in cleane life, and 
turne thy face towards the east. And when you have her, bind 
her to that stone or glasse." 

" An Unguent to annoynt under the Eyelids, and upon the 
Eyelids eveninge and morninge : 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 rose-water, and marygold-water ; the flowers 'to' 
be gathered towards the east. Wash it till the oyle come white ; 
then put it into the glasse, ut supra: and then put thereto the 
budds of holyhocke, the flowers of marygold, the flowers or toppes 
of wild thime, ,the budds of young hazle : and the thime must be 
gathered neare the side of a hill where Fayries use to be : and 
' take ' the grasse of a fayrie throne, there. All these put into the 
oyle, into the glasse : and set it to dissolve 3 dayes in the sunne, 
and then keep it for thy use ; ut supra.'' 

After this receipt for the unguent follows a form of incantation, 
wherein the alchymist conjures a fairy, named F/aby Gai/jon, to 
appear to him in that chrystal glass, meekly and mildly ; to resolve 
him truly in all manner of questions ; and to be obedient to all his 
commands, under pain of damnation, &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 blind- 
ness such as having the gift of seeing them, take notice of them 

As to the hazle sticks mentioned above, they were to be pro- 
bably of that species called the witch hazle ; which received its 
name from this manner of applying it in incantations. 









HE incidents in this, and the other ballad of Sf. George 
and the Dragon, are chiefly taken from the old story- 
^"^ book of the Seven Champions of Christendome ; which, 
tho' now the play-thing of children, was once in high 
Bp. Hall in his Satires, published in 1597, ranks 

" St. George's sorell, and his cross of blood," 

among the most popular stories of his time : and an ingenious 
critic thinks tjiat Spencer himself did not disdain to borrow hints 
from it ; * tho' I much doubt whether this popular romance were 
written so early as the Faery Queen. 

The author of this book of the Se-oen Champions was one Richard 
Johnson, who lived in the reigns of Elizabeth and James, as we 
collect from his other publications : viz. — The nine worthies of 
London: 1592, 4to. — The pleasant 7ualks of Moor fields \ 1607, 
4to. — A cro7vn garland of Goulden Roses, gathered, ^'c. 16 12, 8vo. 
— The life and death of Rob. Cecill, E. of Salisbury: 16 12, 4to. — 
The Hist, of Tom of Lincoln, 4to. is also by R. J. who likewise 
reprinted Don Florcs of Greece, 4to. 

The Seven Champions, tho' written in a wild inflated style, con- 
tains some strong Gothic painting ; which seems, for the most 
part, copied from the metrical romances of former ages. At least 
the story of .SV. George and the fair Sabra is taken almost verbatim 
from the old poetical legend of Syr Bans of ILampton. 

This very antique poem was in great fame in Chaucer's time 
(see above, pag. 107.), and so continued till the introduction of 
printing, when it ran thro' several editions; two of which arc in 

• Mr. Warton. Vid. Observations on the Fairy Queen, 2 vol. 
I 762, i2mo. passim. 


black letter, 4to. "imprinted by Wyllyam Copland," without date; 
containing great variations. 

As a specimen of the poetic powers of this very old rhimist, and 
as a proof how closely the author of the Set'en Champions has fol- 
lowed him, take a description of the dragon slain by sir Bevis. 

" — 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 fete withoute fayle. 

He waltred out of his denne, 

And Bevis pricked his stede then, 

And to hym a spere he thraste 

That all to shyvers he it braste : 

The dragon then gan Bevis assayle. 

And smote syr Bevis with his tayle ; 

Then downe went horse and man, 

And two rybbes of Bevis brused than." 

After a long fight, at length, as the dragon was preparing to fly, 
sir Bevis 

" Hit him under the wynge, 

As he was in his flyenge, 

There he was tender without scale. 

And Bevis thought to be his bale. 

He smote after, as I you saye, 

With his good sword Morglaye. 

Up to the hikes Morglay yode 

Through harte, lyver, bone, and bloude : 

To the ground fell the dragon, 

Great joye syr Bevis begon. 

Under the scales al on hight 

He smote off his head forth right, 

And put it on a spere: &c." 

Sign. K. iv. 

Sir Bevis's dragon is evidently the parent of that in the Seven 
Champums, see chap, iii., viz. " The dragon no sooner had a sight 
of him (St. George) but he gave such a terrible peal, as though it 
had thundered in the elements. . . . Betwixt his shoulders and his 

ST. GEORGE. 217 

tail were fifty feet in distance, his scales glistering as bright as 
silver, but far more hard than brass ; his belly of the colour of 
gold, but bigger than a tun. Thus weltered he from his den, &c. 
. . . The champion . . . gave the dragon such a thrust with his 
spear, that it shivered in a thousand pieces : whereat the furious 
dragon so fiercely smote him with his venomous tail, that down 
fell man and horse : in which fall two of St. George's ribs were so 
bruised, (S:c. — At length ... St. George smote the dragon under 
the wing where it was tender without scale, whereby his good 
sword Ascalon with an easie passage went to the very hilt through 
both the dragon's heart, liver, bone, and blood.— Then St. George 
— cut oft' the dragon's head and pitcht it upon the truncheon of a 
spear, &c." 

The History of the Sr,'en Champions, being written just before 
the decline of books of chivalry, was never, I believe, translated 
into any foreign language : But Le Ro>na?i de Beiives of JIantonnc 
was published at Paris in 1502, 4to. Let. Gothique. 

The learned Selden tell us, that about the time of the Norman 
invasion was Bevis famous ^^•ith the title of Earl of Southampton, 
whose residence was at Duncton in Wiltshire ; but he observes, 
that the monkish enlargements of his story have made his very 
existence doubted. See Notes o?i Poly-Olbion, Song iii. 

This hath also been the case of St. George himself; whose 
martial history is allowed to be apocryphal. But, to prove that 
there really exisfed an orthodox saint of this name (altho' little or 
nothing, it seems, is known of his genuine story) is the subject of 
Ati Historical and Critical Inquiry into the Existence and Character 
of St. George, c^c. By the Rev. J. Milner, F.S.A. 1792, 8vo. 

The equestrian figure worn by the Knights of the Garter, has 
been understood to be an emblem of the Christian warrior, in his 
spiritual armour, vanquishing the old serpent. 

But on this subject the inquisitive reader may consult A Disser- 
tation on the Original of the Equestrian Figure of the George and of 
the Garter, ensigns of the 7nost noble order of that name. Illustrated 
with copper-plates. By John Petingal, A.M., Fellow of the Society 
of Antiquaries, London, 1753, 4to. This learned and curious work 
the author of the Historical and Critical Inquiry would have done 
well to have seen. 

It cannot be denied, but that the following ballad is for the 
most part modern : for which reason it would have been thrown 
to the end of the volume, had not its subject procured it a place 

[In respect to the last paragraph, Ritson writes, " It may be 
safely denied, however, that the least part of it is ancient."] 


ISTEN, lords, in bower and hall, 

I sing the wonderous birth y 

Of brave St. George, whose valorous arm \/ 
Rid 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, 10 

High steward of this noble realme ; 

Lord Albert was his name. 

He had to wife a princely dame, 

Whose beauty did excell. 
This virtuous lady, 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 : 

She dreamt a drao-on 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 vain she strove, her tender lord, 

Who watch'd her slightest look, 30 

Discover'd soon her secret pain. 
And soon that pain partook. 

ST. GEORGE. 219 

And when to him the fearful cause 

She weeping did impart, 
With kindest speech he strove to heal 35 

The anguish of her heart. 

Be comforted, my lady dear, 

Those pearly drops refrain ; 
Betide me w^eal, betide me woe, 

I'll try to ease thy pain. 40 

And for this foul and fearful dream, 

That causeth all thy woe, 
Trust me I'll travel far away 

But I'll the meanino- 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 the'weird lady of the woods, '"'"'^ 

Full long and many 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 spred it's 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. 60 

The shriek of fiends, and damned ghosts 

Ran howling thro' his ear : 
A chilhng 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 trembHng 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, fasten'd by a silver chain, 

Near huno- a brazed home. 80 


Then offering up a secret prayer, 
' Three times he blowes amaine : 
Three times a deepe and hollow sound 
Did answer him againe. 

" Sir knight, thy lady beares a son, 85 

" Who, like a dragon bright, 
" Shall prove most dreadful to his foes, 

" And terrible in fight. 

" His name advanc'd in future times 

" On banners shall be worn : 90 

" But lo ! thy lady's life must passe 
" Before he can be born." 

All sore opprest with fear and doubt 

Long time lord Albert stood ; 
At length he winds his doubtful way 95 

Back thro' the dreary wood. 

ST. GEORGE. 221 

Eager to clasp his lovely dame 

Then fast he travels back : 
But when he reach'd his castle gfate, 

His gate was hung with black. 100 

In every court and hall he found 

A sullen silence reigne ; 
Save where, amid the lonely towers, 

He heard her maidens 'plaine ; 

And bitterly lament and weep, 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 affraid to goe ; no 

With trembling voice asks why they grieve, 

Yet fears the cause to knowe. 

y 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 presentlye. no 

" But when a cunning leech was fet, 

" Too soon declared he, 
" She, or her babe must lose its life ; 

" Both saved could not be. 

" Now take my life, thy lady said, 115 

" My little infant save : 
" And O commend me to my lord, 

" When I am laid in grave. 


" O tell him how that precious babe 

"Cost him a tender wife : 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 Pfentle soul did flee." 

What tongue can paint lord Albret's woe, 

The bitter tears he shed. 
The bitter pangs that wrung his heart, 

To find his lady dead ? 140 

He beat his breast : he tore his hair; 

And shedding many a tear, 
At length he askt to see his son ; 

The son that cost so dear. 

New sorrowe selz'd the damsells all : 145 

At length they faultering say ; 
*' Alas ! my lord, how shall we tell ? 

" Thy son is stoln away. 

" Fair as the sweetest flower of spring, 

" Such was his infant mien : 150 

" And on his little body stampt 
J' Three wonderous marks were seen : 

" A blood-red cross was on his arm ; 

" A dragon on his breast : 
" A little garter all of gold ^ 155 

" Was round his leg exprest. 


Three carefull nurses we provide 
" Our little lord to keep : 
" One gave him sucke, one gave him food, 
" And one did lull to sleep. 160 

ST. GEORGE. 223 

" But lo ! all in the dead of night, 

" We heard a fearful sound : 
" Loud thunder clapt ; the castle shook ; 

" And liorhtninor llasht around. 

o o 

" 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, / 170 

" In deep and magic slumbers laid, 

" The nurses there we found." 

O Qrrief on orief ! lord Albret said : 

No more his tongue cou'd say, 
When falling in a deadly swoone, 175 

Long time he lifeless lay. 

At length restor'd to life and sense 

He nourisht 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 torne 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 lar. 

Clad in a palmer's gown ; 190 

Till his brown locks grew white as wool. 
His beard as thistle down. 



At length, all wearied, down in death 
He laid his reverend head. 

Meantime amid the lonely wilds 
His litttle son was bred. 


There the weird lady of the woods 

Had borne him far away, 
And train'd him up in feates of armes, 

And every martial play. 






HE following ballad is given (with some corrections) 
from two ancient black-letter copies in the Pepys Col- 
lection: one of which is in i2mo., the other in folio. 

[The story of St. George and the Dragon is found in many 
forms in the northern languages.] 

F Hector's deeds did Homer sing; 

And of the sack of stately Troy, 
What griefs fair Helena did bring. 
Which was sir Paris' only joy : 
And by my pen I will recite 
St. George's deeds, and English knight. 

Against the Sarazens so rude 

Fought he full long and many a day ; 
Where many gyants he subdu'd, 

In honour of the christian way : 
And after many adventures past 
To Egypt land he came at last. 



Now, as the story plain doth tell, 

Within that countrey there did rest 

A dreadful dragon fierce and fell, is 

Whereby they were full sore opprest ; 

Who by his poisonous breath each day, 

Did many of the city slay. 

The Qrief whereof did orrow so ereat 

Throughout the limits of the land, 20 

That they their wise-men did intreat 

To shew their cunning 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 could 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. 
Vox 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 cat, 

F"or to allay his hunger groat. 

This tiling by art the wise-men found. 
Which truly must observed be ; 

Wherefore throughout the city round 45 

A virgin pure of good degree 

3 Q 


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 : 

O let us all be poisoned here. 

Ere she 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 dragon's fury to prevent: 

Our daughters all are dead, quoth they, 65 

And have been made the dragon's prey : 

And by their blood we rescued were. 

And thou hast sav'd thy life thereby ; 

And now in sooth it is but faire. 

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, 

O father, strive not thus for me, 75 

But let me be the dragon's prey ; 

It may be, for my sake alone 

This plague upon the land was thrown. 


TIs better I should dye, she said, 

Than all your subjects perish quite ; 80 

Perhaps the dragon here was laid, 

For my oftence to work his spite : 
And after he hath suckt my gore, 
Your land shall feel the grief no more. 

What hast thou done, my daughter dear, 85 

For to deserve this heavy scourge ? 

It is my fault, as may appear, 

Which makes the gods our state to purge ; 

Then ought I die, to stint the strife, 

And to preserve thy happy life. 90 

Like mad-men, all the people cried, 
Thy death to us can do no good ; 

Our safety only doth abide 

In making- her the drao^on'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 with flowers sweet, 
An ornament for virgins meet. 

And when she was attired so. 

According): to her mother's mind. 
Unto the stake then did she go ; 105 

To which her tender limbs they bind : 
And being bound to stake a thrall 
She bade farewell unto them all. 

Farewell, my father dear, quoth she. 

And my sweet mother meek and mild ; no 
Take you no th(jught nor wcc]) for me, 

For 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 us 

With weeping eyes went then their way, 

And let their daughter there remain, 
To be the hungry dragon's prey : 

But as she did there weeping lye, 

Behold St. George came riding by. 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 figured 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, 13s 

And willed him away to go ; 

Here comes that cursed fiend, quoth she; 

That soon will make an end of me. 

St. George then looking round about. 

The fiery dragon soon espy'd, 140 

And like a knight of courage stout, 

Against him did most fiercely ride ; 

And with such blows he did him greet, 

He fell beneath his horse's feet. 


For with his launce that was so strong, 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 the arm ; 

Which when king Ptolemy did 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 lady fair, 

Which to their hearts much joy did yield. 1 60 

He in the court of Egypt staid 

Till he most falsely was betray'd. 

That lady dearly lov'd the knight, 

He counted her his only joy ; 165 

But when their love was brought to light 

It turn'd unto their great annoy : 
Til' Morocco king was in the court. 
Who to the orchard did resort, 

Dayly to take the pleasant air, 170 

For pleasure sake he us'd to walk. 

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. 175 

Those kinors tocrether did devise 

To make the christian knight away, 

With letters him in curteous wise 

They straightway sent to Persia : 


But wrote to the sophy him to kill, i8o 

And treacherously his blood to spill. 

Thus they for good did him reward 

With evil, and most subtilly 
By much vile meanes they had regard 

To work his death most cruelly ; 185 

Who, as through Persia land he rode, 
With zeal destroy'd each idol god. 

For which offence he straight was thrown 
Into a dungeon dark and deep ; 

Where, when he thought his wrongs upon, 190 
He bitterly did wail and weep : 

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 champion slew, 195 

Though he had fasted many a day ; 

And then away from thence he flew 

On the best steed the sophy had ; 

Which when he knew he was full mad. 

Towards Christendom he made his flight, 200 

But met a gyant by the way, 
With whom in combat he did fight • 

Most valiantly a summer's day : 
Who yet, for all his bats of steel, 
Was forc'd the sting of death to feel. 205 

Back o'er the seas with many bands 
Of warlike souldiers soon he past. 

Vowing upon those heathen lands 

To work revenge ; which at the last. 

Ere thrice three years were gone and spent, 210 

He wrought unto his heart's content. 


Save onely Egypt land he spar'd 

For Sabra bright her only sake, 

And, ere for her he had regard, 

He meant a tr}'al kind to make : 215 

Mean while the kinor o'ercome in field 

Unto saint George did quickly yield. 

Then straight Morocco's kin"" he slew. 
And took fair Sabra to his wife, 

But meant to try if she were true 220 

Ere with her he would lead his life : 

And, tho' he had her in his train, 

She did a virgin pure remain. 

Toward England then that lovely dame 

The brave St. George conducted strait, 225 

An eunuch also with them came, 
Who did upon the lady wait ; 

These three from Egypt went alone. 

Now roark St. George's valour shown. 

When as they in a forest were, 230 

The lady did desire to rest ; 
Mean while St. George to kill a deer, 

For their repast did think it best : 
Leavincr her with the eunuch there, 
Whilst he did go to kill the deer. 235 

But lo ! all in his absence came 

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, 240 

Whereby they shew'd, she was a maid. 

But when he came from hunting back, 
And did behold this heavy chance. 

Then fi)r his lovely virgin's sake 

His courage strait he did advance, 245 


And came into the lions sight, 
Who ran at him with all their might. 

Their rage did him no whit dismay, 

Who, like a stout and valiant knight, 

Did both the hungry lyons slay 250 

Within the lady Sabra's sight : 

Who all this while sad and demure. 

There stood most like a virgin pure. 

Now when St. George did surely know 

This lady was a virgin true, 255 

His heart was glad, that erst was woe, 
And all his love did soon renew : 

He set her on a palfrey steed, 

And towards England came with speed. 

Where being in short space arriv'd 260 

Unto his native dwelling-place; 

Therein with his dear love he liv'd, 

And fortune did his nuptials grace : 

They many years of joy did see. 

And led their lives at Coventry. 265 


HIS excellent song is ancient : but we could only give 
it from a modern copy. 

[Earlier editions of this spirited song are printed in 
Evans's Old Ballads, iii. 282 (1810), and Rimbault's Little Book 
of Songs and Ballads, p. 137. It is quoted in Brome's Sparagus 
Garden, acted in 1635, and Shirley's Constant Maid y^a.?, republished 
in 166 1, under the title o^ Love will find out the Way, by T. B. 

Dr. Rimbault has the following note in his Musical Illustrations, 
" The old black-letter copy of this ballad is called ' Truth's Integrity: 


or, a atrious Northerne Ditty, called Love ^cillfinde out the Way. To 
a pleasant new Tune Printed at London for F. Coules, dwelling in 
the Old Bailey.' There is a second part consisting of six stanzas, 
which Percy has not reprinted. The tune is here given (translated 
from the Tablature) from Miisicks Recreation on the Lyra Viol, pub- 
hshed by Playford in 1652. It is also preserved in Forbes's Cantiis, 
1662 ; in Mustek's Delight on the Cithren, 1666 ; and in D'Urfey's 
Pills to Purge Melancholy, 17 19. 'Y\\q. Pepysian Collection contains 
several ballads to this tune." 

Mr. Chappell writes, "The air is still current, for in the summer 
of 1S55, Mr. Jennings, Organist of All Saints' Church, Maidstone, 
noted it down from the wandering hop-pickers singing a song to 
it on their entrance into that town." Popular Music, vol. i. 
p. 304.] 

^VER the mountains, 

And over the waves ; 
Under the fountains, 

And under the graves ; 
Under the 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 

Where there is no space 

For receipt of a fly ; 
Where the midge dares not venture, 

Lest herself 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 ; so 



But if she, whom love doth honour, 

Be conceal'd from the day, 
Set a thousand guards upon her, 

Love will find out the way. 

Some think to lose him, 

By having him confin'd ; 
And some do suppose him. 

Poor thing, to be blind ; 
But if ne'er so close ye wall him. 

Do the best that you may, 30 

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. 


A Scottish Ballad, 

^EEMS to be composed (not without improvements) out 
of two ancient English ones, printed in the former part 
of this volume. See book i. ballad xv. and book ii. 
ballad iv. — If this had been the original, the authors of 
those two ballads would hardly have adopted two such different 
stories : besides, this contains enlargements not to be found in 
either of the others. It is given with some corrections, from a 
MS. copy transmitted from Scotland. 


[Jamieson prints a version of this ballad which was taken do\vn 
from the recitation of Mrs. W. Arrot of Aberbrothick, and is en- 
titled Swcd Willie and Fair Annie. He contends that it is " pure 
and entire," and expresses his opinion that the text of Percy's 
copy had been " adjusted " previous to its leaving Scotland.] 


ORD Thomas and fair Annet 
Sate a' day on a hill ; 
;;p Whan night was cum, and sun was sett, 
^^ They had not talkt their fill. 

Lord Thomas said a word in jest, 5 

Fair Annet took it ill : 
A' ! I will nevir wed a wife 

Against my ain friends will. 

Gif ye wuU nevir wed a wife, 

A wife wuU neir wed yee. 10 

Sae he is hame to tell his mither. 

And knelt upon his knee : 

O rede, O rede, mither, he says, 

A gude rede gie to mee : 
O sail I tak the nut-browne bride, 15 

And let faire Annet bee ? 

The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear. 

Fair Annet she has gat nane ; 
And the little beauty fair Annet has, 

O it wull soon be ganc ! 20 

And he has till his brother gane : 

Now, brother, rede ye mee ; 
A' sail I marrie the nut brownc bride, 

And let fair Annet bee ? 


The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother, 25 

The nut-browne bride has kye ; 
I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride, 

And cast fair Annet bye. 

Her oxen may dye i' the house, Billie, 

And her kye into the byre ; 30 

And I sail hae nothing to my sell, 
Bot a fat fadge^ by the fyre. 

And he has till his sister gane : 

Now, sister, rede ye mee ; 
O sail I marrie the nut-browne bride, 35 

And set fair Annet free ? 

Ise rede ye tak fair Annet, Thomas, 

And let the browne bride alane ; 
Lest ye sould sigh and say, Alace ! 

What is this we brought hame ? 40 

No, I will tak my mithers counsel, 

And marrie me owt o' hand ; 
And I will tak the nut-browne bride ; 

Fair Annet may leive the land. 

Up then rose fair Annets father 45 

Twa hours or it wer 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 ; 50 

Let us gae to St. Maries kirke. 
And see that rich weddeen. 

My maides, gae to my dressing roome, 

And dress to me my hair ; 
Whair-eir yee laid a plait before, 55 

See yee lay ten times mair. 

[' bundle of sticks.] 


My maids, gae to my dressing room, 

And dress to me my smock ; 
The one half is o' the holland fine, 

The other o' needle-work. 60 

The horse fair Annet rade upon. 

He amblit like the wind, 
Wi' siller he was shod before, 

\Vi' burninor crowd 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 

Rade by the 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. 80 

She sat her by the nut-browne bride, 

And her een they wer sae clear. 
Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride, 

Whan fair Annet she drew near. 

He had a rose into his hand, 85 

And he gave it kisses three. 
And reaching by the nut-browne bride, 

Laid it on fair Annets knee 

\} gust of wind.] 


Up than spak the nut-browne bride, 

She spak wi' meikle spite ; 90 

And whair gat ye that rose-water, 
That does mak yee sae white ? 

O I did get the rose-water, 

Whair ye wull neir get nane, 
For I did get that very rose-water 95 

Into my mithers wame. 

The bride she drew a long bodkin, 

Frae out her gay head-gear, 
And strake fair Annet unto the heart, 

That word she nevir spak mair. 100 

Lord Thomas he saw fair Annet wex 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 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 ; no 

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 bonny briere. 

And ay they grew, and ay they threw. 

As they wad faine be neare ; 
And by this ye may ken right weil, 

They ware twa luvers deare. 120 

[^ furiously enraged.] 





'HIS little beautiful sonnet is reprinted from a small 
volume of " Poems by Thomas Carciu, Esq. one of the 
-_ gentlemen of the privie-chamber, and sewer in ordinary 

^4*:^ to his majesty (Charles I.) Lond. 1640." This elegant, 
and almost-forgotten writer, whose poems have been deservedly 
revived, died in the prime of his age, in 1639. 

In the original follows a third stanza ; which, not being of 
general application, nor of equal merit, I have ventured to omit. 

[Dr. Rimbault informs us that the original music was composed 
by Henry Lawes, and is included in his Ayres and Dialogues for 
one, two and three Fojces, 1653.] 

;EE, that loves a rosic cheeke, 
Or a corall lip admires, 
Or from star-like eyes doth seeke 
Fuell to maintaine his fires, 
As old time makes these decay. 
So his flames must waste away. 

But a smooth and stedfast mind, 
Gentle thoughts, and calmc desires, 

Hearts with equal love combin'd 
Kindle never-dying fires : 

Where these are not I despise 

Lovely cheekes, or lips, or eyes. 





'HE subject of this ballad is sufficiently popular from 
the modern play which is founded upon it. This was 
written by Geoi-ge Lillo, a jeweller of London, and first 
acted about 1730. — As for the ballad it was printed at 
least as early as the middle of the last century. 

It is here given from three old printed copies, which exhibit a 
strange intermixture of Roman and black letter. It is also col- 
lated with another copy in the Ashmole Collectmi at Oxford, 
which is thus intitled, " An excellent ballad of George Barnwell, an 
apprentice of London, who . . . thrice robbed his master and mur- 
dered his uncle in Ludlow." The tune is The Merchant. 

This tragical narrative seems to relate a real fact • but when it 
happened I have not been able to discover. 

[Ritson writes as follows concerning certain improvements made 
by Percy in the following \iz}iSz.A{A7icietit Songs, 1829, vol. ii. p. 165, 
note): — "Throughout this 'second part' (except in a single in- 
stance) the metre of the first line of each stanza is in the old 
editions lengthened by a couple of syllables, which are, occa- 
sionally at least, a manifest interpolation. The person also is 
for the most part changed from the first to the third, with evident 
impropriety. Dr. Percy has very ingeniously restored the measure 
by ejecting the superfluous syllables, and given consistency to the 
whole by the restoration of the proper person \ and as it is now 
highly improbable that any further ancient copy will be found, and 
those which exist are manifestly corrupt, it seemed justifiable to 
adopt the judicious emendations of this ingenious editor." 

Dr. Rimbault observes, " This curious tune {The Menha7if) 
which has been quite overlooked by antiquaries, is found, together 
with the original ballad, The Merchant a?id the Fiddler's Wife, in 
D'Urfey's Fills to Furge Melajicholy, vol. v. p. 77, edit. 17 19." 

The former great popularity of the story of the wicked young 
prentice is shown by James Smith's parody in the Rejected Ad- 
dresses and Thackeray's caricature romance — George de Barnwell.'] 


The First Part. 

^^^LL youths of fair England 
i^^^ That dwell both far and near, 
Regard my story that I tell, 
And to my song give ear. 

A London lad I was, 5 

A merchant's prentice bound ; 
]\Iy name George Barnwell; that did spend 

My master many a pound. 

Take heed of harlots then, 

And their enticing trains ; 10 

For by that means I have been brought 

To hancr alive in chains. 

As I, upon a day, 

Was walkinor throuQrh the street 
About my master's business, 15 

A wanton I did meet. 

A gallant dainty dame, 

And sumptuous 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. 

r'air mistress, then quoth I, «5 

If 1 the place may know, 
This evening I will \m\ with you, 

For I abroad must go 

3 R 


To gather monies in, 

That are my master's due : 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, 35 

Next door unto the Gun. 

And trust me on my truth. 

If thou keep touch with me. 
My dearest friend, as my own heart 

Thou shalt right welcome be. 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 : +5 

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 

Rustling in most brave attire, 

With hood and silken gown. 

Who, through her beauty bright. 

So gloriously did shine, 
That she amaz'd my dazzling eyes, 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. 60 


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. 

pardon me, quoth I, 65 
Fair mistress, I you pray ; 

For why, out of my master's house, 
So long I dare not stay. 

Alas, good Sir, she said, 

Are you so strictly ty'd, 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, 

1 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. 80 

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 

iJcfore 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 the hand : 
Saying, Sweet mistress, why do you 

So dull and pensive stand ? 100 

Call me no mistress now. 

But Sarah, thy true friend. 
Thy servant, Millwood, honouring thee, 

Until her life hath end. 

If thou wouldst here alledge, 105 

Thou art in years a boy ; 
So was Adonis, yet was he 

Fair Venus' only joy. 

Thus I, who ne'er before 

Of woman found such grace, no 

But seeing now so fair a dame 

Give me a kind embrace, 

I supt with her that night, 

With joys that did abound ; 
And for the same paid presently, 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 

O stay not hence too long. 

Sweet George, have me in mind. 

Her words bewicht my childishness, 
She uttered them so kind : 


So that I made a vow, 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. mo 

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 pay 

• The having a sum of money with him on Sunday, &c. shews 
this narrative to have been jK-nned before the civil wars: the strict 
observance of the sabbath was owing to the change of manners 
at that period. 


Unto a cruel wretch ; 

And God he knows, quoth she, 
I have it not. Tush, rise, I said, 135 

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 proffered me to lye with her, 

And said it should be so. 

And after that same time, 165 

I gave her store of coyn, 
Yea, sometimes fifty pound at once ; 

All which I did purloyn. 

And thus I did pass on ; 

Until my master then 170 

Did call to have his reckoning in 

Cast up among his men. 

The which when as I heard, 

I knew not what to say : 
For well I knew that I was out 175 

Two hundred pound that day. 

Then from my master straight 

I ran in secret sort ; 
And unto Sarah Millwood there 

My case I did report. 

" But how she us'd this youth. 
In this his care and woe, 

And all a strumpet's wiley ways, 
The SECOND TART may showe." 



The Second Part. 

OUNG 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 remaine 

In safety here with thee. 

With that she knit her brows, 

And looking all aquoy,^ 
Quoth she, What should I have to do 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. ao 

Why, dear, thou knowst, I said. 

How all which I could get, 
I gave it, and did spend it all 

Upon thee every whit. 

Quoth she, Thou art a knave, 15 

To charge me in this sort. 
Being a woman of credit fair. 

And known of good report : 

[1 coy, shy.J 


Therefore I tell thee flat, 

Be packing with good speed ; 3a 

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 35 

You so to me exprest ? 

Now fie on subtle shrews ! 

The best is, I may speed 
To get a lodging any where, 

For money in my need. 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 ? 50 

Faith no, said she, my love to thee 

I wiss is more than so. 

You scorne a prentice boy, 

I heard you just now swear. 
Wherefore I will not trouble you. 55 

Nay, George, hark in thine ear ; 

Thou shalt not go to-night, 

What chance so e're befall : 
But man we'll have a bed for thee, 

O 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 on wine I call'd, 65 

And cheer upon good cheer ; 
And nothincr in the world I thought 

For Sarah's love too dear. 


Whilst in her company, 

I had such merriment ; 
All, all too little I did think, 

That I upon her spent. 

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 ofold ? 
Nay with a father sure, quoth she, 

A son may well make bold. 80 

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. 100 

For shouldst thou 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 be. 
That if they sought an hundred years. 

They could not find out thee. 

And so carousing both 

Their pleasures to content : no 

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 ; "S 

His minion would it so. 

And once he thought to take 

His father by the way. 
But that he fear'd his master had 

Took order for his stay*. "o 

Unto his uncle then 

He rode with might and main, 

Who with a welcome and good cheer. 
Did Barnwell entertain. 

* i.e. for stopping, and apprehending him at his father's. 


One fortnight's space he stayed, us 

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, 1 3° 

Great store of money he had took : 

When coming home again, 

Sudden within a wood. 

He struck his uncle down, 
And beat his brains out of his head ; 1 3s 

So sore he crackt his crown. 

Then seizing fourscore pound, 

To London straight he hyed, 
And unto Sarah Millwood all 

The cruell fact descryed. ho 

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 mc not disgrace 

In this my need, quoth he. 
She call'd him thief and murderer, 15s 

With all the spight might be: 


To the constable she sent, 

To have him apprehended ; 
And shewed 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 ; 
In 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, condemn'd, and hang'd. 

For murder incontinent. 

There dyed this gallant quean, 

Such was her greatest gains : 
For murder in Polonia, 17s 

Was Barnwell hang'd in chains, 

Lo ! here's the end of youth. 

That after harlots haunt ; 
Who in the spoil of other men, 

About the streets do flaunt. 180 




-^^HESE beautiful stanzas were written by George Wither, 
^;p of whom some account was given in the former part of 
fS2^ this vokime ; see the song intitled, The Shcphcnfs 
^A Resolution, book ii. song xxi. In the first edition of this 
work only a small fragment of this sonnet was inserted. It was 
afterwards rendered more compleat and intire by the addition of 
five stanzas more, extracted from Wither's pastoral poem, intitled, 
The Mistress of Fhi/arete, of which this song makes a part. It is 
now given still more correct and perfect by comparing it with 
another copy, printed by the author in his improved edition of 
77ie Shephcnfs Hunting, 1620, 8vo. 

[The Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. iii. p. 360) con- 
tains only the fifth and .sixth stanzas slightly varied, which were 
printed in the first edition of the Rcliques, with the title of The 
Aspiring Shepherd. ~\ 

ENCE away, thou Syren, leave me, 

Pish ! iinclaspe these wanton armes ; 
Sugred words can ne'er deceive me, 
(Though thou prove a thousand 
Fie, fie, forbeare ; 5 

No common snare 
Can ever my affection chaine : 
Thy painted baits, 
And poore deceits, 
Are all bestowed on me in vaine. 10 

I'mc no slave to such, as you be ; 

Neither shall that snowy brest, 
Rowling eye, and lip of ruby 

Ever robb mc of my rest : 


Goe, go display 15 

Thy beauties ray 
To some more soone-enamour'd swaine ; 

Those common wiles 

Of sighs and smiles 
Are all bestowed on me in vaine. 20 

I have elsewhere vowed a dutie ; 

Turne away thy tempting eye : 
Shew not me a painted beautie ; 
These impostures I defie : 

My spirit lothes 15 

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 roses 

From their never-touched thorne ? 

I can goe rest 35 

On her sweet brest, 
That is the pride of Cynthia's trainc : 
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 hills 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 soar unto : 

Shee, shee it is 55 

Affoords that blisse 
For which I would refuse no paine : 
But such as you. 
Fond fooles, adieu ; 
You seeke to captive me in vaine. 60 

Leave me then, you Syrens, leave me ; 

Seeke no more to worke my harmcs : 
Craftie wiles cannot deceive me, 

Who am proofe 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 



'HE subject of this ballad is taken from a folio collection 
of tragical stories, inlitlod. The theatre of God's Judg- 
ments, 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 Pcjiys collection. In this every 
btanza is accompanied with the following distich by way of burden : 

" Oh jealousie ! thou art nurst in hell : 
Depart from hence, and therein dwell." 


;LL tender hearts, that ake to hear 
Of those that suffer wrong ; 
All you, that never shed a tear, 
Give heed unto my song. 

Fair Isabella's tragedy 5 

My tale doth far exceed : 
Alas ! that so much cruelty 

In female hearts should breed! 

In Spain a lady liv'd of late, 

Who was of high degree ; lo 

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 wrong'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 compleat. _ ao 

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. 



All which incens'd his lady so 

She burnt with wrath extreame ; 
At length the fire that long did glow. 

Burst forth into a flame. 

For on a day it so befell, 

When he was gone from home, 
The lady all with rage did swell, 

And to the damsell come. 

And charorinor her with orreat 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 : 
Wher(* 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 aft('r\vards was known, 
Long in this loathsome vault had bin, 

And were to monsters grown. 

3 s 


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 

The 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 cries she doth complain. 

But all is to no end. 80 

A servant listning near the door. 

Struck with her doleful noise. 
Strait ran his lady to implore ; 

But she'll not hear his voice. 

With bleeding heart he goes agen 85 

To mark the maiden's groans ; 
And plainly hears, within the den, 

How she herself bemoans. 

-Again he to his lady hies 

With all the haste he may : 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 fill'd him with surprize. 


In grief, and horror, and affright, 

He Hstens 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 stretch'd along 


Two dreadful snakes had wrapt her round, 
Which her to death had stuncf. 

One round her legs, her thighs, her waist 

Had twin'd his fatal wreath : 
The other close her neck embrac'd, us 

And stopt her gentle breath. 

The snakes, being from her body thrust, 

Their bellies were so fill'd. 
That with excess of blood they burst. 

Thus with their prey were kill'd. no 

The wicked lady at this sight. 

With horror strait ran mad ; 
So raving dy'd, as was most right, 

'Cause she no pity had. 

Let me advise you, ladies all, 125 

Of jealousy beware : 
It causcth many a one to fall. 

And is the devil's snare. 






HIS Song is by Dryden, being inserted in his Tragi- 
comedy of Love Triumphant, &c. — On account of 
the subject it is inserted here. 

HAT state of life can be so blest, 
As love that warms the gentle brest ; 
Two souls in one ; the same desire 
To grant the bliss, and to require ? 
If in this heaven a hell we find, 
Tis all from thee, 
O Jealousie ! 
Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind. 

All other ills, though sharp they prove, 
Serve to refine and perfect love : 
In absence, or unkind disdaine. 
Sweet hope relieves the lovers paine : 
But, oh, no cure but death we find 
To sett us free 
From jealousie. 
Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind. 

False in thy glass all objects are, 
Some sett too near, and some too far : 
Thou art the fire of endless night. 
The fire that burns, and gives no light. 
All torments of the damn'd we find 
In only thee, 
O Jealousie ; 
Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind. 







'HE ladies are indebted for the following notable docu- 
ments to the Pepys collection, where the original is 
preserved in black-letter, and is intitled, A looking- 
glass for ladies, or a mirroiir for fnarried women. Tune 
Queen Dido, or Troy town. 

HEN 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 wofull news did hear, 
That he would to the warrs of Troy ; 

For grief she shed full many a tear, 

At parting from her only joy ; 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 that 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 sayd, 

Then to my lord I true remain ; 20 

My honour shall not be bctray'd 

Until I sec my love again ; 
For I will ever constant prove, 
As is the loyal turtle-dove. 


Thus did they part with heavy chear, as 

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 : 30 

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 hearts delight. 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, when in distress. 

Thus she continued year by year 

In doing good to every one ; 5° 

Her fame was noised every where. 

To young and old the same was known, 
That she no company would mind, 
Who were to vanity inclin'd. 

S} use.] 


Mean while Ulysses fought for fame, 55 

'Mongst Trojans hazarding his life : 

Yountr o-allants, hearinof of her name, 
Came (locking for to tempt his wife : 

For she was lovely, young, and fair, 

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 wish 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 home 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 long time absent thou hast been : 100 

The wars shall never more deprive 

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. 




Y Col. Richard Lovelace : from the volume of his 
poems, intitled Lucasta, (Lond. 1649. izmo.). The 
elegance of this writer's manner would be more admired, 
if it had somewhat more of simphcity. 

[Percy's admirers would be glad to expunge the above unjust 
judgment. Some of Lovelace's poems may be affected, but that 
charge cannot be brought against these exquisite verses, the last 
two of which have become a world-famed quotation.] 


^^^''^^ELL me not, sweet, I am unkinde, 
That from the nunnerie 
Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde, 
To warre and armes I the. 

True, a new mistresse now I chase, s 

The first foe in the field ; 
And with a strons^er faith imbrace 

A sword, a horse, a shield. 

Yet this inconstancy is such, 

As you too shall adore ; 10 

I could not love thee, deare, so much, 

Lov'd I not honour more. 


'HE old story-book of Valentine and Orson (which sug- 
gested the plan of this tale, but it is not strictly fol- 
lowed in it) was originally a translation from the 
French, being one of their earliest attempts at ro- 
mance. See Le Bibliothhjuc de Rovuins, ^'c. 

The circumstance of the bridge of bells is taken from the old 
metrical legend of Sir Bevis, and has also been copied in the 
Seven Champions. The original 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 wth 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 were 
taken such particulars as could be adopted. 


[The poem entitled The Empcrour and the Childe in the Folio 
MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 390) only suggested the 
subject of the present ballad. It commences— 

Within the Grecyan land some time did dwell 

an Emperour, whose name did ftar excell ; 

he tooke to wiffe the lady B[e]llefaunt, 

the only sister to the kinge of ffrance, 

with whome he liued in pleasure and delight 

vntill that ffortune came to worke them spighte. 

There are no particular signs of " corruption," and the piece is 
probably superior to Percy's own effusion. 

Percy's trumpery commencement is an echo of the beginning 
of the printed copies of Si7- Andi-etu Barton. 

The name Ursine, like that of Orson, is derived from Fr. Ourson, 
the diminutive of Ours, a bear (Latin, ursus.)~\ 

Part the First. 

,f^asc^^> HEN Flora 'gins to decke the fields 
With colours fresh and fine, 
Then holy clerkes their mattins sing 
To good Saint Valentine ! 

The king of France that morning fair 5 

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 deep 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 wrapt 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 stretch'd his little hands. 

Now, by the rood, king Pepin says, 
This child is passing fair : 30 

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 nurtured let him bee; 
Nor ought be wanting that becomes 

A bairn of hi<di deofree. 40 

They look'd him out a cunning nurse ; 

And nurtur'd well was hee ; 
Nor oui^ht was wantin<»; that became 

A bairn of hii/h de</ree. 

Thus grewe the little Valentine 45 

Pjelov'd of king and peers ; 
And shew'd in all he spake or did 

A w it beyond his years. 


But chief 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 lo ! 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 wearye feet. 

W^ithin those deep and drearye woods 

There wends a savage boy ; 70 

Whose fierce and mortal rage doth yield 
Thy subjects dire annoy. 

'Mone ruthless beares he sure was bred ; 

He lurks within their den : 
With beares he hves; with beares he feeds ; 75 

And drinks 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 snow ; 
As well beseem'd a virgin knight, 

Who ne'er had fought a foe ; 

To Artoys forest he repairs 

With all the haste he may ; 90 

And soon he spies the savage youth 

A rending of his prey. 

His unkempt hair all matted hung 

His shaggy shoulders round : 
His eager eye all fiery glow'd : 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 approach'd, 

He starts with sudden spring; 
And yelling forth a hideous howl, 

He made the forests ring. 

As when a tyger fierce and fell 105 

Hath spyed a passing roe, 
And leaps at once upon his throat ; 

So sprung the savage foe ; 

So lightly leap'd with furious force 

The gentle knight to seize : no 

But mc^t his tall uplifted spear, 
Which sunk him on his knees. 


A second stroke so stiff and stern 

Had laid the savage low ; 
But springing up, he rais'd his club, us 

And aim'd a dreadful blow. 

The watchful warrior bent his head, 

And shun'd the coming stroke ; 
Upon his taper spear it fell, 

And all to shivers broke. 120 

Then lighting nimbly from his steed, 

He drew his burnisht brand : 
The savage quick as lightning flew 

To wrest it from his hand. 

Three times he grasp'd the silver hilt ; 125 

Three times he felt the blade ; 
Three times it fell with furious force ; 

Three ghastly wounds it made. 

Now with redoubled rage he roared ; 

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 clasp'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 : 
Skilful and active was the knight ; 

The savage he was strong. 


URSINE. 271 

But brutal force and savacfe strenfrth 
To art and skill must yield : 

Sir Valentine at lenoth prevail'd, 
And won the well-fouoht held. 

Then binding strait his conquer'd foe 

Fast with an iron chain, 
He tyes him to his horse's tail, 

And leads him o'er the plain. 

To court his hair)- captive soon 

Sir Valentine doth brine ; 
And kneeling downe upon his knee. 

Presents him to the kine. 

With loss of blood and loss of strength, 

The savage tamer grew ; 
And to sir Valentine became 

A servant try'd and true. 

And 'cause with beares he erst was bred, 

Ursine they call his name ; 
A name which unto future times 

The Muses shall proclame. 





Part the Second. 

X high renown with prince and pcere 
Now liv'd sir Valentine : 
His high renown with prince and pecre 
Made envious hearts repine. 

It chanc'd the king upon a day 

Prepar'd a sumjjtuous feast : 
And there came h^rds, and dainty dames, 

And many a noble guest. 


Amid their cups, that freely flow'd, 

Their revelry, and mirth ; lo 

A youthful knight tax'd Valentine 
Of base and doubtful birth. 

The foul reproach, so grossly urg'd, 

His generous heart did wound : 
And strait he vow'd he ne'er would rest i s 

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. 

Beyond it rose a castle 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 rung. 

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 wide. 
And strait a gyant huge and grim 

Stalk'd forth with stately pride. 4° 

Ver. 23. i.e. a lake that served for a moat to a castle. 


Now yield you, caytifts, 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 : so 

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 55 

Had made the champion reel. 

It haply mist ; and now the knight 

His glittering sword display'd, 
And riding round with whirlwind speed 

Oft made him feel the blade. 60 

As when a larcre and monstrous oak 

Unceasing axes hew : 
So fast around the gyant's limbs 

The blows quick-darting flew. 

As when the boughs with hideous fall 65 

Some hapless woodman crush : 
With such a force the enormous foe 

Did on the champion rush. 

A fearful blow, alas ! there came, 

Ijoth horse and knight it took, 70 

And laid them senseless in the dust; 

So fatal was the strcjke. 

3 T 


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 knigfhts 
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 cheeks were pale with woe : 
And long sir Valentine besought 95 

Her doleful tale to know. 

*' Alas ! young knight," she weeping said, 

" Condole my wretched fate : 
A childless mother here you see ; 

A wife without a mate. 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 Hv'd in love 

A twelvemonth and a day : no 

When, lo ! a foul and treacherous priest 

Y-wrought our loves' decay. 

" His seeming goodness wan him pow'r ; 

He had his master's ear : 
And long to me and all the world 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. no 

" 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 he fill'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. 

" Hut 'cause I then was great with child, 

At length my life he spar'd ; 
But bade me instant ([uit tlie realme, 13s 

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. 14-0 

" Long time thro' sundry foreign lands 

We slowly pace along : 
At length within a forest wild 

I fell in labour strong : 

" And while the knight for succour sought, 14-5 

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 rough 
With hairs was cover'd o'er. 

" But here afresh begin my woes : 

While tender care I took 
To shield my eldest from the cold, 155 

And wrap him in my cloak ; 

*' A prowling bear burst from the wood, 

And seiz'd my younger son : 
Affection lent my weakness wings, 

And after them I run. 160 

" But all forewearied, weak and spent, 

I quickly swoon'd away ; 
And there beneath the greenwood shade 

Long time I lifeless lay. 

" At length the knight brought me relief, 165 
And rais'd me from the ground : 

But neither of my pretty 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 17s 

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 wife, 190 

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 ujion his knee ; 
Know you the cU^ak that wrapt your babe, 

If you the same should see .■* aoo 


And pulling forth the cloth of gold, 

In which himself was found ; 
The lady gave a sudden shriek, 

And fainted on the ground. 

But by his pious care reviv'd, 205 

His tale she heard anon ; 
And soon by other tokens found, 

He was indeed her son. 

But who's this hairy youth ? she said ; 

He much resembles thee : aio 

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 you son agen ? 

Upon his little side, quoth she, 

Was stampt a bloody rose. 
Here, lady, see the crimson mark 

Upon his body grows ! 220 

Then clasping both her new-found sons 
She bath'd their cheeks with tears ; 

And soon towards her brother's court 
Her joyful course she steers. 

What pen can paint king Pepin's joy, 225 

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, 435 

And was his uncle's heir. 



'HIS humourous song (as a former Editor* has well ob- 
served) is to old metrical romances and ballads of 
chivalry, what Don Quixote is to prose narratives of 
that kind: — a lively satire on their extravagant fictions. 
But altho' the satire is thus general, the subject of this ballad is 
local and peculiar : so that many of the finest strokes of humour 
are lost for want of our knowing the minute circumstances to 
which they allude. Many of them can hardly now be recovered, 
altho' we have been fortunate enough to learn the general subject 
to which the .satire referred, and shall detail the information, with 
which we have been favoured, at the end of this introduction. 

In handling his subject, the Author has brought in most of 
the common incidents which occur in romance. The description 
of the dragon t — his outrages — the people flying to the kniglit 
for succour — his care in chusing his armour — his being drest for 
fight by a young damsel — and most of the circumstances of the 
battle and victory (allowing for the burles(|ue turn given to them) 
are what occur in every book of chivalry, whether in prose or 

If any one piece, more than other, is more particularly levelled 
at, it seems to be the old rhiming legend of sir Hevis. 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 W3mne, 

And Bevis stumbled ryght therein. 

* * *  

Than was he glad without fayle, 
And rested a whyle for his avayle ; 

* Collection of Historical Ballads in 3 vol. 1727. 
t See above, pp. 108, 216. 


And dranke of that water his fyll ; 
And then he lepte out, with good wyll, 
 And with Morglay his brande 

He assayled the dragon, I understande : 
On the dragon he smote so faste. 
Where that he hit the scales braste : 
The dragon then faynted sore, 
And cast a galon and more 
Out of his mouthe of venim strong, 
And on syr Bevis he it flong: 
It was venymous y-wis. 

This seems to be meant by the Dragon of Wantley's stink, 
ver. no. As the poHtick knight's creeping out, and attacking the 
dragon, &c. seems evidently to allude to the following : 

Bevis blessed himselfe and forth yode, 

And lepte out with haste full good ; 

And Bevis unto the dragon gone is ; 

And the dragon also to Bevis. 

Longe, and harde was that fyght 

Betwene the dragon, and that knyght : 

But ever whan syr Bevis was hurt sore, 

He went to the well, and washed him thore ; 

He was as hole as any man, 

Ever freshe as whan he began. 

The dragon sawe it might not avayle 

Besyde the well to hold batayle ; 

He thought he would, wyth some wyle, 

Out of that place Bevis begyle ; 

He woulde have flowen then awaye, 

But Bevis lepte after with good Morglaye, 

And hyt him under the wynge, 

As he was in his flyenge, &c. 

Sign. M. jv. L. j. &c. 

After all, perhaps the writer of this ballad was acquainted with 
the above incidents only thro' the medium of Spenser, who has 
assumed most of them in his Faery Queen. At least some parti- 
culars in the description of the Dragon, &c. seem evidently bor- 
rowed from the latter. See book i. canto ii, where the Dragon's 
" two wynges like sayls — huge long tayl — with stings — his cruel 
rending clawes — and yron teeth — his breath of smothering smoke 
and sulphur " — and the duration of the fight for upwards of two 
days, bear a great resemblance to passages in the following ballad ; 
though it must be confessed that these particulars are common to 
all old writers of romance. 


Altho' this ballad must have been ^\Titten 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 Pepys collection, collated with such others as could be 

A description of the supposed scene of this ballad, which was 
communicated to the Editor in 1767, is here given in the words 
of the relater : — 

" In Yorkshire, 6 miles from Rotherliam, is a village, called 
Worthy, the seat of the late JVortky Montague, Esq. About a 
mile from this village is a lodge, named Warncliff Lodge, but 
vulgarly called IVant/ey : here lies the scene of the song. I was 
there about forty years ago : and it being a woody rocky place, 
my friend made me clamber over rocks and stones, not telling me 
to what end, till I came to a sort of a cave ; then asked my 
opinion of the place, and pointing to one end, says, Here lay the 
dragon killed by Moor of Moor-/iail : here lay his head; here 
lay his tail ; and the stones we came over on the hill, are those he 
could not crack ; and yon white house you see half a mile olT, is 
Moor-halL I had dined at the lodge, and knew the man's name 
was Matthew, who was a keeper to Mr. Wortley, and, as he en- 
deavoured to persuade me, was the same Matthew mentioned in 
the song : In the house is the picture of the Dragon and Moor of 
Moor-hall, and near it a well, which, says he, is the well described 
in the ballad." 

Since the former editions of this humorous old song were printed, 
the following Key to the Satire hath been communicated by God- 
frey Bosville, Esq. of Thorp, near Malton, in Yorkshire; who, in 
the most obliging manner, gave full permission to adjoin it to the 

Warnclijfe Lodge, and Warneliffe Wood (vulgarly pronounced 
Wantley), are in the parish of Penniston, in Yorkshire. The 
rectory of Penniston was part of the dissolved monastery of 
St. Stephen's, Westminster; and was granted to the Duke of 
Norfolk's family : who therewith endowed an hosjjital, which he 
built at Sheffield, for women. The trustees let the impropriation 
of the great Tythes of Penniston to the Wortley family, who got a 
great deal by it, and wanted to get still more; for Mr. Nicholas 
VV^ortley attempted to take the tythes in kind, but Mr. Francis 
Bosville opposed him, and there was a decree in favour of the 
Modus in 37th KHz. The vicarage of Penniston did not go along 
with the rectory, but with the cojjyhold rents, and was part of a 
"large purchase made by Raljjh IJosville, Kscj. from Qu. Elizabeth, 
in the 2d year of her reign: and that part he sold in 12th Eliz. to 
his elder brother (Godfrey, the father of Francis ; who left it, with 
the rest of his estate, to his wife, for her life, and then to Raij)!!, 


3d son of his uncle Ralph. The widow married Lyonel Rowle- 
stone, lived eighteen years, and survived Ralph. 

This premised, the ballad apparently relates to the law-suit 
carried on concerning this claim of tythes made by the Wortley 
family. " Houses and churches, were to him geese and turkeys : " 
which are tytheable things, the dragon chose to live on. Sir 
Francis Wortley, the son of Nicholas, attempted again to take 
the tythes in kind : but the parishioners subscribed an agreement 
to defend their Modus. And at the head of the agreement was 
Lyonel Rowlestone, who is supposed to be one of " the Stones, 
dear Jack, which the Dragon could not crack." The agreement 
is still preserved in a large sheet of parchment, dated ist of James I., 
and is full of names and seals, which might be meant by the coat 
of armour, " with spikes all about, both within and without." 
More of More-hall was either the attorney, or counsellor, who 
conducted the suit. He is not distinctly remembered, but More- 
hall is still extant at the very bottom of Wandey [Warnclifif] 
Wood, and lies so low, that it might be said to be in a well : as 
the dragon's den [Warncliff Lodge] was at the top of the wood, 
" with Matthew's house hard by it." The keepers belonging to 
the Wortley family were named, for many generations, Matthew 
Northall : the last of them left this lodge, within memory, to be 
keeper to the Duke of Norfolk. The present owner of More-hall 
still attends Mr. Bosville's Manor-Court at Oxspring, and pays a 
rose a year. " More of More-hall, with nothing at all, slew the 
Dragon of Wantley." He gave him, instead of tythes, so small a 
Modus, that it was in eftect nothing at all, and was slaying him 
with a vengeance. " The poor children three," &c. cannot surely 
mean the three sisters of Francis Bosville, who would have been 
coheiresses, had he made no will ? The late Mr. Bosville had a 
contest with the descendants of two of them, the late Sir Geo. 
Saville's father, and Mr. Copley, about the presentation to Pen- 
niston, 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 per- 
suaded him not to join the refractory parishioners, under a pro- 
mise that he would let him his tythes cheap : and now the estates 
of Wortley and Wordesworth are the only lands that pay tythes in 
the parish. 

N.B. "Two days and a night," mentioned in ver. 125, as the 
duration of the combat, was probably that of the trial at law. 

[In Cough's edidon of Camden's Britannia we learn that " Sir 
Thomas Wortley, who was knight of the body to Edward IV., 


Richard III., Henry VII, and VIII., built a lodge in his chace 
of Wamcliffe, and had a house and park there, disi^arked in the 
Civil War." 

Mr. GilfiUan has the following note in his edition of the RcUqucs, 
" A legend current in the Wortley family states the dragon to have 
been a formidable drinker, drunk dead by the chieftain of the oppo- 
site moors. Ellis thinks it was a wolf or some other fierce animal 
hunted down by More of More-hall." A writer in the Notes ami 
Queries (3rd S. ix. 29), who signs himself " Fitzhopkins," expresses 
his disbelief in the above explanation communicated to Percy by 
Godfrey Bosville.J 

LD Stories tell how Hercules 
A dragon slew at Lerna, 
With seven heads, and fourteen eyes, 
To see and well discern-a : 
But he had a club, this dragon to drub. 

Or he had ne'er done it, I warrant ye : 
But More of More-Hall, with nothing at all. 
He slew the dragon of Wantley. 

This dragon had two furious wings, 

Each one upon each shoulder ; 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, is 

Which did him round environ. 

Have you not heard how the Trojan horse 

Held seventy men in his belly ^ 
This dragon was not cjuite so big, 

But very near, I'll tell ye. 20 

Devoured he poor children three. 

That could ntjt with him grai)[)le ; 
And at one sup he eat them iij), 
As one would eat an aj^jjle. 


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 churches 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 ; 
O 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 ; 
Which he cast off, when he did cough, 45 

In a well that he did stand by ; 
Which made it look, just like a brook 
Running with burning brandy. 

Hard by a furious knight there dwelt, 

Of whom all towns did ring ; 5° 

For he could wrestle, play at quarter-staff, kick, 
cuff, and huff. 
Call son of a whore, do any kind of thing : 

Ver. 29. were to him gorse and birches. Other Copies. 
\} Wharncliffe is about six miles from Rotherham.] 


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 55 

Eat him all up but his head. 

These children, as I am told, being eat ; 

Men, w^omen, girls and boys, 
Sighing and sobbing, came to his lodging, 

And made a hideous noise : 60 

O save us all, More of More- Hall, 

Thou peerless knight of these woods ; 
Do but slay this dragon, who won't leave us a rag on, 
We'll give thee all our goods. 

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 mornincj. 


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. 

O, 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 ; no 

Thou son of a whore, thou stink'st so sore, 
Sure 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 he, say you so : do you see ? 
And then at him he let fly 


With hand and with foot, and so they went to't ; 
And the word it was, Hey boys, hey ! izo 

Your words, quotli the dragon, I don't under- 
stand : 
Then to it they fell at all, 
Like two wild boars so fierce, if I may. 
Compare great things with small. 
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 
They never had one wound. 

At length the hard earth began to quake. 

The dragon gave him a knock, 130 

Which made him to reel, and straltway 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 
And hit him a kick on the a . . . 

Oh, quoth the dragon, with a deep sigh. 

And turn'd six times together, 
Sobbing and tearing, cursing and swearing 

Out of his throat of leather ; 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 ever. 

Murder, murder, the dragon cry'd, 145 

Alack, alack, for grief; 
1 lad you but mist that place, you could 

Have done me no mischief. 


Then his head he shaked, trembled and quaked, 
And down he laid and cry'd ; 150 

First on one knee, then on back tumbled he, 
So groan'd, kickt, s . . ., and dy'd. 



The First Part. 

^S the former song is in ridicule of the extravagant inci- 
dents in old ballads and metrical romances ; so this is 
a burlesque of their style ; particularly of the rambling 
transitions and wild accumulations of unconnected 
parts, so frequent in many of them. 

This ballad is given from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys 
collection, "imprinted at London, 1612." It is more ancient 
than many of the preceding ; but we place it here for the sake 
of connecting it with the Second Part. 

S^Saint George that, Of did break the dragon's heart is one of the 
ballads offered for sale by Nightingale, the ballad-singer in Ben 
Jonson's coTnedy oi Bartholo?new Fair {■SiCtW. sc. i), and according 
to Fielding's Tom Jones, St. George, he was for England, was one 
of Squire Western's favourite tunes. 

This ballad is printed in several collections, and Mr. Chappell 
notices a modernization subscribed S. S. and " printed for W. 
Gilbertson in Giltspur Street," about 1659, which commences — 

" What need we brag or boast at all 
Of Arthur and his knights."] 

HY doe you boast of Arthur and his 
Knowing ' well ' how many men have en- 
dured 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 
St. George he was for England ; St, Dennis was for 
France ; 
Sing, Hani soit qici mal y pcnse. 

Mark our father Abraham, when first he resckued 

Onel)- with his household, what conquest there he 

got : 
David was elected a prophet and a king, 
He slew the great Goliah, with a stone within a 

sling : 
Yet these were not knightes of the table round ; 
Nor St. George, St. George, who the dragon did 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

France ; 
Sing, 'Honi soit qui mal y pcnse. 

Jcphthah and Gideon did lead their men to fight, 
They conquered the Amorites, and put them all to 

Hercules his labours 'were' on the plaines of Basse; 
And Sampson slew a thousand with the jawbone of 

an asse. 
And eke he threw a temple downe, and did a 

mighty spoyle : 
But St. George, St. George he did the dragon foylc. 
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for 

1'" ranee ; 
Sing, Jloni soit qui mat y pcnse. 

The warres of ancient monarchs it were too lonc;^ to 

And likewise of the Romans, how farre they did 

excell ; 
X u 


Hannyball and Scipio in many a fielde did fighte : 
Orlando Furioso he was a worthy knighte : 
Remus and Romulus, were they that Rome did 

builde : 
But St. George, St. George the dragon made to 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 
France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qzci mal y pe?ise. 

The noble Alphonso, that was the Spanish king, 
The order of the red scarffes and bandrolles in did 

bring :* 
He had a troope of mighty knightes, when first he 

did begin, 
Which sought adventures farre and neare, that con- 

quest they might win : 
The ranks of the Pagans he often put to flight : 
But St. George, St . George did with the dragon fight. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense. 

Many 'knights' have fought with proud Tamber- 

Cutlax the Dane, great warres he did maintaine : 
Rowland of Beame, and good ' sir ' Olivere 
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 


* This probably alludes to " An Ancient Order of Knighthood, 
called the Order of the Band, instituted by Don Alphonsus, king 
of Spain, ... to wear a red riband of three fingers breadth," &c. 
See Ames Typog. p. 327. 


St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 
France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mal y peuse. 

Valentine and Orson were of king Pepin's blood : 
Alfride and Henry they were brave knightes and 

good : 
The four sons of Aymon,that follow'd Charlemaine: 
Sir Hughon of Bordeaux, and Godfrey of Bullaine : 
These were all French knightes that lived in that 

But St. Georo^e, St. Georore the drao^on did assuaire. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense. 

Bevis conquered Ascapart, and after slew the boare, 
And then he crost beyond the seas to combat with 

the moore : 
Sir Isejibras, and Eglamore they were knightes 

most bold ; 
And good Sir John Mandeville of travel much hath 

There were many English knights that Pagans did 

convert : 
But St. George, St. George pluckt out the dragon's 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

France ; 
Sing, Iloni soil qui mal y pcnse. 

The noble earl of Warwick, that was call'd sir Guy, 
The infidels and pagans stoutlie did dciie ; 
I ieslew the giant Brandimore,and after wasthc death 
Of that most ghastly dun cowe, the divell of Duns- 
more heath ; 
Pjcsides his noble deeds all done beyond the seas : 
But St. George, St. George the dragon did appease. 


St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 
France ; 
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 

Richard Coeur-de-Hon erst king of this land, 
He the lion gored with his naked hand :* 
The false duke of Austria nothing did he feare ; 
But his son he killed with a boxe on the eare ; 
Besides his famous actes done in the holy lande : 
But St. George, St. George the dragon did with- 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 
France ; 
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 

Henry the fifth he conquered all France, 
And quartered their arms, his honour to advance : 
He their cities razed, and threw their castles downe, 
And his head he honoured with a double crowne : 
He thumped the French-men, and after home he 

came : 
But St. George, St. George he did the dragon tame. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 
France ; 
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y perise. 

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 hirti 

away : 
For which knavish act, as slaves they doe remaine : 
But St. George, St. George the dragon he hath 


* Alluding to the fabulous exploits attributed to this king in 
the old romances. See the dissertation affixed to this volume. 



St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 
France ; 
Sing, Honi soit qui inal y pensc. 



The Second Part 

IAS \\Titten by John Grubb, M.A. of Christ Church, 
>^^ Oxford. The occasion of its being composed is said 
to have been as follows. A set of gentlemen of the 
university had formed themselves into a club, all the 
members of which were to be of the name of George: Their anni- 
versary feast was to be held on St. George's day. Our author 
solicited strongly to be admitted ; but his name being unfortunately 
John, this disqualification was dispensed with only upon this con- 
dition, 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 fol- 
lowing humorous performance, the several stanzas of which were 
the produce of many successive anniversaries.* 

This diverting poem was long handed about in manuscript, at 
length a friend of Grubb's undertook to get it printed, who, not 
keeping pace with the impatience of his friends, was addressed in 
the following whimsical macaronic lines, which, in such a collection 
as this, may not improperly accompany the poem itself 

£xpostuIatiunai/a, sive Qucrimoniuucula ad Antoiiium ^Athcrto}i\ 
ob VoQvcxdi Johannis Grubb, Viri tov iraw ingeniosissimi in lucem 
nondum editi. 

Toni ! Tune sipes divina poemata Grubbi 
Intomb'd in secret thus still to remain any longer, 

'Vovvo^ia aov shall last, H Vpvj]ftt cmfnrtptr utt, 

Grubbe tuum nomen vivet dum nobilis ale-a 

• To this circumstance it is owing that the editor has never met 
with two copies, in which the stanzas are arranged alike, he has 


Efficit heroas, dignamque heroe puellam. 
Est genus heroum, quos nobilis efficit alea-a 
Qui pro niperkin clamant, quaternque liquoris 
Quem vocitant Homines Brandy, Superi Cherry-brandy. 
Ssepe illi longcut, vel small-cut flare Tobacco 
Sunt soliti pipos. Ast si generosior herba 
(Per varies casus, per tot discrimina rerum) 
Mundungus desit, turn non funcare recusant 
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. 
Qu» 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's song 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 linguis : carmina non prius 

Audita, musarum sucerdos 

Canto. — HoR. 

Sold by Henry Clements. Oxon. 


HE Story of king Arthur old 
Is very memorable, 
The number of his valiant knights, 
And roundness of his table : 
The knio-hts around his table in 5 

A circle sate d'ye see : 
And altogether made up one 
Large hoop of chivalry. 

therefore thrown them into what appeared the most natural order. 
The verses are properly long Alexandrines, but the narrowness of 
the page made it necessary to subdivide them : they are here 
printed with many improvements. 


He had a sword, both broad and sharp, 

Y-clepd Cahburn, 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, is 

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 the cream of Brecknock, 

And flower of all the Welsh : 
But George he did the dragon fell, 

And gave him a plaguy squelsh.^ 
St. Georcre he was for Enoland ; St. Dennis was for 

France ; 25 

Sing, Honi soit qui maly pcnse. 

Pendragon, 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 burnisht helmet he 

Did wear a crest of leeks ; 
And onions' heads, whose dreadful nod 

Drew tears down hostile cheeks. 
Itch, and Welsh blood did make him hot, 35 

And very prone to ire ; 
H' was ting'd with brimstone, like a match, 

And would as soon take fire. 
y\s brimstone he took inwardly 

When scurf gave him occasion, 4° 

His postern puff of wind was a 

Sulphureous exhalation. 

[' l)l0W.] 


The Briton never tergivers'd, 

But was for adverse drubbino-, 
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. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

France ; 55 

Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pejise. 

Brave Warwick Guy, at dinner time, 

Challeng'd a gyant savage ; 
And streight came out the unweildy lout 

Brim-full of wrath and cabbage : 60 

He had a phiz of latitude, 

And was full thick i' th' middle ; 
The chekes 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. 

* Men of bulk answerable to their places, as is well known at 


Syrius and Procyon baited her, 75 

As bull-doij^s did her father : 
Grafters, nor butchers this fell beast, 

E'er of her frolick hindered ; 
John Dosset* she'd knock down as Hat, 

As John knocks down her kindred : 80 

Her heels would lay ye all along", 

And kick into a swoon; 
Frewin'sf 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, <;s 

Ran thro' the monster's bald-rib : 
He rear'd up the vast crooked rib. 

Instead of arch triumphal : 
But George hit th' dragon such a pelt, 

As made him on his bum fall. 100 

St. Georfre he was for Enijland ; St. Dennis was for 

France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mat y pcnse. 

Tamerlain, with Tartarian bow. 

The Turkish squadrons slew ; 
And fetch'd the pagan crescent down, 105 

With half-moun made of yew : 

 A butcher tliat then served the rollcge. 

t A cook, who on fust nights was famous for selling cow-heel 
and tripe. 


His trusty bow proud Turks did gall, 

With showers of arrows thick, 
And bow-strings, without strangling, sent 

Grand Viziers to old Nick : nc 

Much turbants, and much Pagan pates 

He made to humble in dust; 
And heads of Saracens he fixt 

On spear, as on a sign-post : 
He coop'd in cage Bajazet the prop 115 

Of Mahomet's religion, 
As if 't been the whispering bird, 

That prompted him ; the pigeon. 
In Turkey leather scabbard, he 

Did sheathe his blade so trenchant : 120 

But George he swinged the dragon's tail, 

And cut off every inch on't. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense. 

The amazon Thalestris was 12s 

Both beautiful, and bold ; 
She sear'd her breasts with iron hot. 

And bang'd her foes with cold. 
Her hand was like the tool, wherewith 

Jove keeps proud mortals under : 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 inal y pense. 


Stout Hercules, was offspring of 

Great Jove, and fair Alcmene : 
One part of him celestial was, 

One part of him terrene. 
To scale the hero's cradle walls 155 

Two fiery snakes combin'd. 
And, curling into swaddling cloaths, 

About the infant twin'd : 
But he put out these dragons' fires. 

And did their hissing stop; 160 

As red-hot iron with hissing noise 

Is quencht in blacksmith's shop. 
He cleans'd a stable, and rubb'd down 

The horses of new-comers ; 
And out of horse-dung he rais'd fame, 165 

As Tom Wrench t does cucumbers. 
He made a river help him through ; 

Alpheus was under-groom ; 
The stream, disgust at office mean. 

Ran murmuring thro' the room : 170 

This liquid ostler to prevent 

Being tired with that long work, 

• The drum. 

t \Vlio kept Paradise gardens at Oxford. 


His father Neptune's trident took, 

Instead of three-tooth'd dung-fork. 
This Hercules, as soldier, and 175 

As spinster, could take pains ; 
His club would sometimes spin ye flax, 

And sometimes knock out brains : 
H' was forc'd to spin his miss a shift 

By Juno's wrath and her-spite ; 180 

Fair Omphale whipt him to his wheel, 

As cook whips barking turn-spit. 
From man, or churn he well knew how 

To get him lasting fame : 
He'd pound a giant, till the blood, 185 

And milk till butter came. 
Often he fought with huge battoon, 
. And oftentimes he boxed ; 
Tapt a fresh monster once a month. 

As Hervey* doth fresh hogshead. 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, Ho7ii soil qui mal y pense. 

The Gemini, sprung from an ^^g, 

Were put into a cradle : 
Their brains with knocks and bottled ale, 

Were often-times full addle : 200 

And, scarcely hatch'd, these sons of him, 

That hurls the bolt trisulcate, 
With helmet-shell on tender head, 

Did tustle with red-ey'd pole-cat. 

* A noted drawer at the Mermaid tavern in Oxford. 




2 10 

2 I 


Castor a horseman, Pollux tho' 

A boxer was, I wist : 
The one was fam'd for iron heel ; 

Th' other for leaden fist. 
Pollux to shew he was god, 

When he was in a passion 
With fist made noses fall down Hat 

By way of adoration : 

This fist, as sure as French disease, 

Demolish'd noses' ridijes : 
He like a certain lord * was famd' 

For breaking: down of bridees. 
Castor the fiame of fiery steed. 

With well-spur'd boots took down ; 
As men, with leathern buckets, quench 

A fire in country town. 
His famous horse, that liv'd on oats, 

Is sung on oaten quill ; 
By bards' immortal provender 

The nag surviveth still. 
This shelly brood on none but knaves 223 

Employ 'd their brisk artillery : 
And tlcw as naturally at rogues, 

As eggs at thief in pillory. t 
Much sweat they spent in furious fight, 

Much blood they did effund : 230 

Their whites they vented thro' the pores ; 

Their yolks thro' gaping wound : 

* Lord Lovelace broke down the bridges about Oxford, at the 
beginning of the Revolution. See on this subject a IJallad in 
.Smith's I'eoms, p. 102. Loniion, 17 13. 

t It has been suggested by an ingenious correspondent that 
this was a popular subject at that lime : — 

Not carted bawd, or Dan de Foe, 
In wooden rulf ere bluslcrM so. 

Smith's Poems, p. 117. 


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.^ a+o 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

France ; 
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 

Gorgon a twisted adder wore 

For knot upon her shoulder : 
She kemb'd her hissing periwig, 245 

And curling snakes did powder. 
These snakes they made stiff changelings 

Of all the folks they hist on ; 
They turned barbars into hones, 

And masons into free-stone: 250 

Sworded magnetic Amazon 

Her shield to load-stone changes; 
Then amorous sword by magic belt 

Clunof 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 unravels ; 260 

And stares Deucalion's hardy boys 

Into their primitive pebbles. 

* See the account of Rolricht Stones, in Dr. Plott's H/sL of 

[' perhaps a contraction of windhover, a kind of hawk.] 


Red noses she to rubies turns, 

And noddles into bricks : 
But George made dragon laxative ; 265 

And gave him a bloody flix. 
St. Georee he was for Eno-land ; St. Dennis was for 

France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pcnsc. 

By boar-spear Meleager 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, 
Prickt but the wem, and out there came 275 

Heroic euts and ofarbadcje. 
Legs were secur'd by iron boots 

No more, than peas by pcascods : 
Brass helmets, with inclosed sculls, 

Woii'd crackle in's mouth like chest- 
nuts. 280 
His tawny hairs erected were 
By rage, that was resistless ; 
And wrath, instead of cobler's wax, 

Did stiffen his rising bristles. 
His tusk lay'd dogs so dead asleep, 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 

I lis victory might Ix: known. 
He rais'd uj), in c)lindric form, ags 

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, Honisoit qui nial y pense. 

Achilles of old Chiron learnt 

The great horse for to ride ; 
H' was taught by th' Centaur's rational part, 305 

The hinnible to bestride. 
Bright silver feet, and shining face 

Had that stout hero's mother; 
As rapier's silver'd at one end, 

And wounds you at the other. 310 

Her feet were bright, his feet were swift. 

As hawk pursuing sparrow : 
Her's had the metal, his the speed 

Of Braburn's* silver arrow. 
Thetis to double pedagogue 315 

Commits her dearest boy ; 
Who bred him from a slender twig 

To be the scourge of Troy : 
But ere he lash't the Trojans, h' 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 : 

* Braburn, a gentleman commoner of Lincoln college, gave a 
silver arrow to be shot for by the archers of the university of 



So might you from one unshell'd heel 

Dig- pieces of the kniglit. 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. 34.0 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

France ; 
Sing, Ho7ii soil qui vial y paise. 

Full fatal to the Romans was 

The Carthafrinian Hanni- 
bal ; him I mean, who gave them such 345 

A devilish thump at Cannae : 
Moors thick, as goats on Penmenmure, 

Stood on the Alpes's front : 
Their one-eyed guide,* like blinking mole, 

Bor'd thro' the hindring mount : 350 

Who, baffled by the massy rock, 

Took vinegar for relief; 
Like plowmen, when they hew their way 

Thro' stubborn rump of beef. 
As dancing louts from humid toes 35s 

Cast atoms of ill favour 
To blinking Hyatt, t when on vile crowd 

He merriment does endeavour, 

* Hannibal had but one eye. 

\ A one-cycfl fellow, who |)rctcnflcd to make fiddles, as well as 
play on them ; well known at that tunc in (Jxfurd. 

3 X 


And saws from suffering timber out 

Some wretched tune to quiver : 360 

So Romans slunk 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 grumbHng in his gizzard. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

France ; 
Sing, Honi soit 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, 
And rais'd on skin of vent'rous knight 

Full many a plaguy blister. 
A bee whipt thro' his button hole, 385 

As thro' key hole a witch, 
And stabb'd him with her little tuck 

Drawn out of scabbard breech : 
But the undaunted knight lifts up 

An arm both big and brawny, 390 

And slasht her so, that here lay head, 

And there lay bag and honey : 


Then 'mongst the rout he flew as swift, 

As weapon made by Cyclops, 
And bravely quell'd seditious buz, 395 

By dint of massy fly-flops. 
Surviving flies do curses breathe, 

And matrcrots too at Caesar : 
But George he shav'd the dragon's beard, 

And Askelon* was his razor. 400 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

France ; 
Sing, Honi so it qui mal y pense. 

John Grubb, the facetious \\Titer of the foregoing song, makes a 
distinguished figure among the Oxford wits so humorously enu- 
merated in the following distich : 

Alma novem genuit ce'lebres Rhedycina poetas 

Bub, Stubby Grubb, Crabb, Trap, Young, Carey, Tickel, Evans. 

These were Bub Dodington (the late lord Melcombe), Dr. Stubbes, 
our poet Grubl>, Mr. Crabb, Dr. Trapp the poetry-professor, Dr. 
Edw. Young, the autlior of Night-Thoughts, Walter Carey, Thomas 
Tickel, Esq., and Dr. Evans the epigrammatist. 

As for our poet Grubb, all that we can learn further of him is 
contained in a few extracts from the University Register, and from 
his epitaph. It appears from the former that he was matricu- 
lated in 1667, being the son of John Grubb, " de Acton Burnt-/ in 
comitatu Salop, pauperis" He took his degree of 15achelor of Arts, 
June 28, 1C71 : and became Master of Arts, June 28, 1675. He 
was appointed Head Master of the Grammar School at Christ 
Churcii : and afterwards chosen into the same employment at 
Gloucester, where he died in 1697, as ai)pears from his monument 
in the church of St. Mary dc Crypt in Gloucester, which is inscribed 
with the following epitaj^h : — 

H. S. E. 

Johannes Grubb, A. M. 

Natus apud Acton Burncl in agro Salopicnsi 

Anno Dom. 1645. 

The name of St. George's sword. 


Cujus variam in linguis notitiam, 

et felicem erudiendis pueris industriam, 

grata adliuc memoria testatur Oxonium : 

Ibi enim ^di Christi initiatus, 

artes excoluit ; 

Pueros ad easdem mox excolendas 

accurate formavit : 

Hue demum 

unanimi omnium consensu accitus, 

eandem suscepit provinciam, 

quam feliciter adeo absolvit, 

ut nihil optandum sit 

nisi ut diutius nobis interfuisset : 

Fuit enim 

propter festivam ingenij suavitatem, 

simplicem monun candorem, et 

prascipuam erga cognatos benevolentiam, 

omnibus desideratissimus. 

Obiit 2do die Aprilis, Anno Dni. 1697. 

^tatis sure 51. 



^S5V=»>^i i 

I'HIS ballad, which appeared in some of the public news- 
papers in or before the year 1724, came from the pen 
of David Mallet, Esq. who in the edition of his poems, 
3 vols. 1759, informs us that the plan was suggested 
by the four verses quoted above in page 124, which he supposed 
to be the beginning of some ballad now lost. 

" These Hues, says he, naked of ornament and simple, as they 
are, struck my fancy ; and bringing fresh into my mind an unhappy 
adventure much talked of formerly, gave birth to the following 
poem, which was written many years ago." 

The two introductory lines (and one or two others elsewhere) 
had originally more of the ballad simplicity, viz. 

" When all was wrapt in dark midnight, 
And all were fast asleep," &c. 

In a late publication, intitled. The Friends, &c. Lond. 1773, 
2 vols. i2mo. (in the first volume, p. 71) is inserted a copy of 


the foregoing ballad, with very great variations, which the editor 
of that work contends was the original ; and that Mallet adopted 
it for his OA\-n and altered it, as here given. — But the superior 
beauty and simplicity of the present copy, gives it so much more 
the air of an original, that it will rather be believed that some 
transcriber altered it from Mallet's, and adapted the lines to his 
own taste ; than which nothing is more common in popular songs 
and ballads. 

[This ballad, more generally known as William and Margaret, 
is supposed to have been printed for the first time in Aaron Hill's 
Plain Dealer (Xo. 36, July 24, 1724), when the author was a very 
young man. Hill introduced it to the reader as the work of an 
old poet, and wTote, " I am sorry I am not able to acquaint my 
readers with his name to whom we owe this melancholy piece of 
finished poetry under the humble title of a ballad." In the fol- 
lowing month the editor announced that " he had discovered the 
author to be still alive." The verses were probably written in 
1723, in the August of which year Mallet left Scotland, for Allan 
Ramsay, in his Stanzas to Mr. David Mallock on his departure from 
Scotland, alludes to them :— 

*' But he that could, in tender strains. 

Raise Margaret's plaining shade, 
i^nd paints distress that chills the veins, 

While William's crimes are red." 

The ballad at once became popular, and was printed in several 
collections, undergoing many alterations for the worse by the 
way. Sundry attempts were made to rob Mallet of the credit of 
his song. Besides the one mentioned above by Percy, Captain 
Thompson, the editor of Andrew Marvell's Works, claimed it for 
Marvell, but this claim was even more ridiculous than those he 
set up against Addison and Watts. Although Mallet doubtless 
knew the ballads Fair Margaret and Sioeet William (l)ook ii. 
No. 4) and Sweet Willianis Ghost (No. 6), he is said to have 
founded his own upon a true story which came under his obser- 
vation. A daughter of Professor James Gregory of St. Andrews, 
and afterwards of Edinburgh, was seduced by a son of Sir William 
Sharp of Strathyruni, who had promised to marry her, but heart- 
lessly deserted her. 

The ballad has been e.xtravagantly praised : Ritson observes, 
" It may be questioned whether any I'^nglish writer has j^roduced 
so fine a ballad as Willinm and Afargaret." Percy describes it as 
one of the most beautiful Ijaliads in our own or any other language; 
and Allan Ram.say writes, " I know not where to seek a finer 
mi.xture of pathos and terror in the whole range of (Jothic ro- 
mance." Scott, on the other hand, was of opinion that " 'Ihe 



ballad, though the best of Mallet's writing, is certainly inferior to 
the original, which I presume to be the very fine and terrific old 
Scottish tale, beginning 

' There came a ghost to Margaret's door.' " 

The extreme popularity of the poem is seen by the various paro- 
dies, one of which, Watty arid Madge, is printed in Ramsay's Tea 
Table Miscellany (vol. iii.)- It commences — > 

" 'Twas at the shining mid-day hour," 

and each succeeding verse is parodied in the same manner. Vin- 
cent Browne imitated the original in Latin verse, and a German 
version was published as Wilhelm iind Gretchen. 

Mallet was a native of Crieff in Perthshire, and is believed to 
have been born in the year 1702. He was sometime tutor to the 
Montrose family, through whose influence he was introduced into 
public life. He changed his name from Malloch to Mallet when 
he settled in London, and in 1742 he was appointed Under Secre- 
tary to the Prince of Wales. He died on the 21st of April, 1765. 
Mallet is a writer Httle cared for now, but he can hardly be said 
to be neglected, for in 1857 Mr. Frederick Dinsdale published an 
illustrated edition of his Ballads and Songs, chiefly made up of 
copious notes on William and Margaret and Edwin and Em?na.~] 

'^^^^^WAS at the silent solemn hour, 

When night and morning meet; 
In glided Margaret's grimly ghost, 
And stood at William's feet. 

Her face was like an April morn, 5 

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. ao 

" Awake !" she cry'd, " thy true love calls, 

Come from her midnicrht or^ave ; 
Now let thy pity hear the maid. 

Thy love refus'd to save. 

" This is the dark and dreary hour, »5 

When injur'd ghosts complain ; 
Now yawning graves give up their dead. 

To haunt the faithless swain. 

" Bethmk thee, William, of thy fault. 

Thy pledge, and broken oath : 30 

And give me back my maiden vow. 
And give me back my troth. 

" Why did you promise love to me. 

And not that promise keep ? 
Why did you swear mine eyes were bright, 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 ? 4^ 

" Why did )'ou say my lip was sweet, 

And made the scarlet pale ? 
And why did I, young witless maid, 

H('lieve 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 I wear : 50 

And cold and weary lasts our night, 

Till that last morn appear. 

" But hark ! the cock has warn'd me hence ! 

A long and last adieu ! 
Come see, false man, how low she lies, 55 

Who dy'd for love of you." 

The lark sung loud ; the morning smil'd, 

With beams of rosy red : 
Pale William shook in ev'ry limb. 

And raving left his bed. 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 his cheek to her cold grave, 

And word spake never more. 


'AS 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 educa- 
tion at Queen's college, Oxon, was under secretary to 
Mr. Addison and Mr. Craggs, when successively secretaries of 


state; and was lastly (in June, 1724) appointed secretary to the 
Lords Justices in Ireland, which place he held till his death in 
1740.* He acquired Mr. Addison's patronage by a poem in praise 
of the opera of Rosamond, written while he was at the University. 
It is a tradition in Ireland, that the song was wTitten at Castle- 
town, in the county of Kildare, at the request of the then Mrs. 
Conolly — probably on some event recent in that neighbourhood. 

[Gray called Lucy and Colin " the prettiest" ballad in the world, 
although he was not partial to Tickell's other poems. 

The fine old melody given by Dr. Rimbault for this ballad is 
taken from " 77;*? Mcny Musician ; or a Cure for the Spleen ; be- 
ing a collection of the most diverting Songs and pleasant Ballads 
set to Musick," 1716.] 

F Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair, 
Bright Lucy was the grace ; 
Nor e'er did Liffy's Hmpid stream 
Reflect so fair a face. 

Till luckless love, and pining care 5 

Impair'd her rosy hue, 
Her coral lip, and damask cheek. 

And eyes of glossy blue. 

Oh ! have you seen a lily pale, 

When beating rains descend ? 10 

So droop'd the slow-consuming maid ; 

Her life now near its end. 

By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains 

Take heed, ye easy fair : 
Of vengeance due to broken vows, 15 

Ye perjured swains, beware. 

Three times, all in the dead of night, 

A bell was heard to ring ; 
And at her window, slirieking thric(;. 

The raven flap'd his wing. 20 

[* Born 1 686. J 



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, bear. 

The bridegroom blithe to meet ; 
He in his wedding-trim so gay, 

I in my winding-sheet." 

She spoke, she dy'd ; — her corse was borne, 45 

The bridegroom blithe to meet ; 
He in his wedding-trim so gay, 

She in her windina--sheet. 

Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts ? 

How were those nuptials kept ? 50 

The 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 !) 

The varying- crimson fled, 
Wlien, stretch'd before her rival's corse, 

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 plighted maid are seen ; 
With garlands gay, and true-love knots 

They deck the sacred green. 

But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art, 

This hallow'd spot forbear ; 7° 

Remember Colin's dreadful fate, 
And fear to meet him there. 



|R. WARTON, in his ingenious Observatmis on Spenser, 
has given his opinion, that the fiction of the Boy and 
the Mantle is taken from an old French piece intitled 
Le court mantel, (juoted by M. de St. Palaye in his 
< ufK^u.^ Mcmoircs sur I'ancie/i/ie Clwralerie, Paris, 1759, 2 toni. 
iznio., who tells us the story resembles that of Ariosto's inchanted 
cup. Tis possible our English poet may have taken the hint of 
this subject from that old French romance, but he does not ajjpear 
to have copied it in the manner of execution ; to which (if one 


may judge. from the specimen given in the Memoires) that of the 
ballad does not bear the least resemblance. After all, 'tis most 
likely that all the old stories concerning K. Arthur are originally 
of British growth, and that what the French and other southern 
nations have of this kind, were at first exported from this island. 
See Memoires de VAcad. des Inscrip. torn. xx. p. 352. 

(Since this volume was printed oif, the Fabliaux ou Contes, 1781, 
5 tom. i2mo., of M. le Gra7id, have come to hand: and in tom. i. 
p. 54, he hath printed a modern version of the old tale Le Court 
Maiitel, under a new title Le Manteau inaltaille; which contains the 
story of this ballad much enlarged, so far as regards the Mantle; 
but without any mention of the Knife, or the LLorni) 

[See book i. No, i, for the original of this ballad.] 

N Carlelle dwelt king Arthur, 
A prince of passing might ; 
And there maintain'd his table round, 
Beset with many a knight. 

And there he kept his Christmas 

With mirth and princely cheare. 
When, lo ! a straunge and cunning boy 

Before him did appeare. 

A kirtle and a mantle 

This boy had him upon, 
With brooches, rings, and owches^ 

Full daintily bedone. 

He had a sarke'^ of silk 

About his middle meet ; 
And thus, with seemly curtesy, 15 

He did king Arthur greet. 

\} bosses or buttons of gold. ^ shirt.] 



" 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 shepe, and hew. 

" Now have thou here, king Arthur, 

Have this here of mee, 30 

And give unto thy comely queen, 
All-shapen as you see. 

" No' wife it shall become. 

That once hath been to blame." 
Then every knight in Arthur's court 35 

Slye glaunced at his dame. 

And first came lady Guenever, 

The mantle she must trye. 
This dame, she was new-fangled. 

And of a roving eye. 40 

When she had tane the mantle, 

And all was with it cladde, 
From top to toe it shiver'd down. 

As tho' with sheers beshradde. 

One while it was too long, 4S 

Another while too short, 
And wrinkled on her shoulders 

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. 

That had the mantle wrought : 
And doubly curst the froward impe, 

Who thither had it brous^ht. 60 


" I had rather live in desarts 

Beneath the green-wood tree : 
Than here, base king, among thy groomes, 

The sport of them and thee." 

Sir Kay call'd forth his lady, 65 

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 boldly to the little boy 

With fearless face is gone. 

When she had tane the mantle, 

With purpose for to wear : 
It shrunk up to her shoulder, 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 


Down 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 proffer'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. 100 

Ah ! little did her mincing. 

Or HIS long prayers bestead ; 
She had no more hung on her, 

Than a tassel and a thread. 

Down she threwe the mantle, 105 

With terror and dismay, 
And, with a face of scarlet, 

To her chamber hyed away. 

Sir Cradock call'd his lady. 

And bade her to come nearc : 
" Come win this mantle, lady, 

And do inc credit hen,-. 

1 10 


" Come win this mantle, lady, 

For now it shall be thine, 
If thou hast never done amiss, 1,5 

Sith first I made thee mine." 

The lady gently blushing, 

With modest grace came on. 
And now to trye this wondrous charm 

Courageously is gone. 




When she had tane the mantle, 

And put it on her backe. 
About the hem it seemed 

To wrinkle and to cracke. 

" Lye still, shee cried, O mantle ! 

And shame me not for nought, 
I'll freely own whate'er amiss. 

Or blameful I have wrought. 

" Once I kist Sir Cradocke 

Beneathe the green wood tree : 
Once I kist Sir Cradocke's mouth 

Before he married me." 

When thus she had her shriven. 

And her worst fault had told. 
The mantle soon became her 

Right comely as it shold. 

Most rich and fair of colour, 

Like gold it glittering shone : 
And much the knights in Arthur's court 

Admir'd her every one. 140 

Then towards king Arthur's table 

The boy he turn'd his eye : 
Where stood a boar's-head garnished 

With bayes and rosemarye. 



When thrice he o'er the boar's head 145 

His httle 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 

He thrust the shinincr 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 orolden was the rim : 
Said he, " No cuckolde ever can 

Set mouth unto the brim. 

" No cuckold can this little home 165 

Lift fairly to his head ; 
But or on this, or that side, 

He shall the liquor shed." 

Some shed it on their shoulder. 

Some shed it on their thigh ; 170 

And hce that could not hit his mouth. 

Was sure to hit his eye. 

Thus he, that was a cuckold, 

Was known of every man : 
lUil Cradock Hfted 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. 

Then down in rage came Guenever, 

And thus could spightful say, 
" Sir Cradock's wife most wrongfully 

Hath borne the prize away. 

" See yonder shameless woman, 

That makes herselfe so clean : 
Yet from her pillow taken 

Thrice five gallants have been. 

" Priests, clarkes, and wedded men 

Have her lewd pillow prest : 190 

Yet she the wondrous prize forsooth 
Must beare 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. 


" All frolick light and wanton 

She hath her carriage borne : 
And given thee for a kingly crown 

To wear a cuckold's home." 


*^* The Rev. Evan Evans, editor of the specimens of Welsh 
Poetry, 4to. affirmed that the Boy and the Mantle is taken from 
what is related in some of the old Welsh MSS. of Tegan Earfron, 
one of King Arthur's mistresses. She is said to have possessed a 
mantle that would not fit any immodest or incontinent woman; 


this, (which, the old writers say, was reckoned among the curiosities 
of Britain) is frequently alluded to by the old Welsh Bards. 

Carlcilc, so often mentioned in the ballads of K. Arthur, the 
editor once thought might probably be a corruption of Cacr-lcoii, 
an ancient British city on the river Uske, in Monmouthshire, which 
was one of the places of K. Arthur's chief residence ; but he is 
now convinced, that it is no other than Carlisle, in Cumberland ; 
the old English minstrels, being most of them northern men, 
naturally represented the hero of romance as residing in the north : 
And many of the places mentioned in the old ballads are still to 
be found there : As Tcanie- Wadling, See. 

Near Penrith is still seen a large circle, surrounded by a mound 
of earth, which retains the name of Arthur's Round Table. 

[For a full statement of the claims of the "North" to be con- 
sidered as the home of King Arthur, see J. S. Stuart Glennie's 
Essay on Arthurian Localities, in the edition of the Prose Romance 
of Merlin, published by the Early English Text Society.] 



*HE second poem in this volume, intitled The Marriage 
of Sir Gawaine, having been offered to the reader with 
large conjectural supplements antl corrections, the old 
fragment itself is here literally and exactly printed from 
the editor's folio MS. with all its defects, inaccuracies, and errata; 
that such austere antiquaries, as comj)lain that the ancient copies 
have not been always rigidly adhered to, may see how unfit for 
publication many of the pieces would have been, if all the blun- 
ders, corruptions, and nonsense of illiterate reciters and transcribers 
had been superstitiously retained, without some attempt to correct 
and emend them. 

This ballad had most unfortunately suffered by having half of 
every leaf in this part of the MS. torn away ; and, as al)out nine 

[Printed for the first time in the fourth edition.] 


stanzas generally occur in the half page now remaining, it is con- 
cluded, that the other half contained nearly the same number of 

[The following poem is printed in Hales' and Furnivall's edition 
of the MS., vol. i. p. 105.] 

INGE Arthur lines in merry Carleile, 
& seemely is to see, 

& there he hath w*'' him Queene Genev"", 
y* bride soe bright of blee. 

And there he hath w*'' him Queene Genever, 

y* bride soe bright in bower, 

& all his barons about him stoode 

y' were both stiffe & stowre. 

The K. kept a royall Christmasse 
of mirth & great honor, 
& when ... 

\_About Nine Stanzas 'wa?itmg.'] 

And bring me word what thing it is 
y' 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' Gawaine 
y' 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, 
y' faire may thee befifall, 
for if thou knew my sighing soe deepe, 
thou wold not meruaile att all ; 

ffor when I came to tearne wadling, 
a bold barron there I fand. 

S/J^ GAWAINE. 325 

w"' a great club vpon his backe, 
standing stifle & strong ; 

And he asked me wether I wold fight, 
or from him I shold be gone, 
o[r] else I must him a ransome pay 
& soe dep't him from. 

To fight w"' him I saw noe cause, 
me thought it was not meet, 
ftbr he was stifle & strong w"* all, 
his strokes were nothing sweete. 

Therfor this is my ransome, Gawaine 
I ought to him to pay 
I must come againe, as I am sworne, 
vpon the Newyeers day. 

And I must bring him word what thing it is 
\_Aboui Ni7ie Statizas wa7iting.~\ 

Then king Arthur drest him for to ryde 
in one soe rich array 
toward the foresaid Teame wadling, 
y' he might keepe his day. 

And as he rode over a more, 
hee see a lady where shee sate 
betwixt an oke & a greene hollen' : 
she was cladd in red scarlett. 

Then there as shold have stood her mouth, 

then there was sett her eye 

the other was in her forhead fast 

the way that she might see. 

Her nose was crooked & turnd outward, 
her mouth stood foule a wry; 
a worse formed lady then shee was, 
neuer man 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 

[Miolly. '-'salute.] 



What knight art thou, the lady sayd, 
that wilt not speake to me ? 
of me be thou nothing dismayd 
tho I be vgly to see ; 

for I haue halched you curteouslye, 
& you will not me againe, 
yett I may happen S' knight, shee said 
to ease thee of thy paine. 

Giue thou ease me, lady, he said 

or helpe me any thing, 

thou shalt haue gentle Gawaine, my cozen 

& marry him w*"" a ring. 

Why, if I helpe thee not, thou noble k. Arthur 
of thy owne hearts desiringe, 
of gentle Gawaine .... 

{About Nine Stmizas wanting?^ 

And when he came to the tearne wadling 
the baron there cold he fimde* 
w"' a great weapon on his backe, 
standing stifife & stronge 

And then he tooke k. Arthur's letters in his hands 

& away he cold them fling, 

& then he puld out a good browne sword, 

& cryd himselfe a k. 

And he sayd, I haue thee & thy land, Arthur 

to doe as it pleaseth me, 

for this is not thy ransome sure, 

therfore yeeld thee to mee. 

And then bespoke him noble Arthur, 
& bad him hold his hands, 
& give me leave to speake my mind 
in defence of all my land. 

He said as I came over a More, 
I see a lady where shee sate 
betweene an oke & a green hoUen ; 
shee was clad in red scarlett ; 

* Sic MS. = finde. 


And she says a woman will haue her will, 
& this is all her cheefe desire : 
doe me right as thou art a baron of sckill, 
this is thy ransome & and all thy hyer. 

He sayes an early vengeance light on her, 

she walkes on yonder more ; 

it was my sister that told thee this 

& she is a misshappen hore. 

But heer He make mine avow^ to god 
to do her an euill turne, 
for an euer I may thate fowle theefe get, 
in a fyer I will her burne. 

\^About Nine Stanzas icanfing.'] 

The 2d Part. 

IR Lancelot! & s' Steven bold 
they rode w"' them that day, 
and the formost of the company 
there rode the steward Kay, 

Soe did S^ Banier & S"" Bore 
S"" Garrett w'*" them soe gay, 
soe did S'' Tristcram y' gentle k', 
to the forrest fresh & gay 

And when he came to the greene forrest 
vndcmeath a greene holly tree 
their sate that lady in red scarlet 
y* vnseemly was to see. 

S' Kay beheld this Ladys face, 
& looked vppon her smire"'^ 
whosocuer kisses this lady, he sayes 
of his kisse he standes in feare. 

S' Kay beheld the lady againe, 
& looked vjjon her snout, 
whosoeuer kisses this lady, he saies, 
of his kisse he stands in doubt. 

[' my vow. ^ qy. for swire =• neck. J 


Peace coz. Kay, then said S'' Gawaine 
amend thee of thy Hfe ; 
for there is a knight amongst us all 
y' must marry her to his wife. 

What, wedd her to wiffe, then said S"" Kay, 

in the diuells name anon, 

gett me a wiffe where ere I may, 

for I had rather be slaine. 

Then soome tooke vp their hawkes in hast 
& some tooke vp their hounds, 
& some sware they wold not marry her 
for Citty nor for towne. 

And then be spake him noble k. Arthur, 

& sware there by this day, 

for a litle foule sight and misliking 

\Aboiit Nine Stanzas wanting.'] 

Then shee said choose thee gentle Gawaine, 
truth as I doe say, 

wether thou wilt haue me in this liknesse 
in the night or else in the day. 

And then bespake him Gentle Gawaine, 
w"* one soe mild of moode, 
sayes, well I know what I wold say, 
god grant it may be good. 

To haue thee fowle in the night 
when I w"" thee shold play; 
yet I had rather, if I might 
haue thee fowle in the day. 

What, when Lords goe w"' ther seires,* shee said 

both to the Ale & wine 

alas then I must hyde my selfe, 

I must not goe withinne. 

And then bespake him gentle gawaine, 
said, Lady thats but a skill ; 
And because thou art my owne lady, 
thou shalt haue all thy will. 

* Sic in MS. ^xofeires, i. e. Mates. 


Then she said, blesed be thou gentle Gawain 

this day y' I thee see, 

for as thou see me att this time, 

from hencforth I wilbe : 

My father was an old knight, 
& yett it chanced soe 
that he marryed a younge lady 
y' brought me to this woe. 

Shee witched me, being a faire young Lady, 
to the greene forrest to dwell, 
& there I must walke in womans liknesse, 
most like a feend of hell. 

She witched my brother to a Carlist B . . . . 
[Adouf Nine Stanzas wanting^ 

that looked soe foule & that was wont 
on the wild more to goe. 

Come kisse her, Brother Kay, then said S' Gawaine, 

& amend the of thy liffe ; 

I 'sweare this is the same lady 

y' I marryed to my wiffe. 

S' Kay kissed that lady bright, 
standing vpon his ffeete ; 
he swore, as he was trew knight, 
the spice was neuer soe 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 Vnckle Arthurs sake 
I am glad as grasse wold be of raine, 
great loy that I may take. 

S' Gawaine tooke the lady by the one arme, 
S' Kay tooke her by the tothcr, 
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 seene. 

K. Arthur beheld that lady faire 

that was soe faire & 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 y* hapened was 
to S' Gawaine & his lady gay. Ffins. 







ROM an ancient copy in black-print, in the Pep)'s 
Collection. Mr. Addison has pronounced this an 
excellent ballad : see the Sptxtator, No, 248. 

[This ballad was printed in the third volume of the first edition 
of the Rdiqucs, Book ii. No. 12, but was afterwards expunged 
by Percy. Professor Child gives the following references in 
his collection of English and Scottish Ballads, vol. viii. p. 152 : — 
" The same story circulates among the peasantry of England and 
Scotland in the form of a penny tract or chap-book, Notices of 
Popular Histories, p. 16, {Percy Soc. vol. xxiii.) ; Notes and Queries, 
New Series, vol. iii. p. 49. This jest is an old one. Mr. Halli- 
well refers to a fabliau in Barbazan's Collection, which contains 
the groundwork of this piece, Du Vilain qui Coiiquist Paradis par 
Plait, Meon's ed. iv. 114."] 

N Bath a wanton wife did dwelle, 

As Chaucer he doth write ; 
Who did in pleasure spend her dayes ; 
And many a fond dehght. 

Upon a time sore sicke she was 
And at the leni^th did dye ; 

And tlien her soul at heaven gate, 
Did knocke most mightilye. 


First Adam came unto the gate : 

Who knocketh there? quoth hee lo 

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, I trowe, quoth shee, i s 

' and eke a' doting knave. 

I will come in, in spight, she sayd, 

Of all such churles as thee ; 
Thou wert the causer of our woe, 

Our paine 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. 

Then downe came Jacob at the gate, 25 

And bids her packe to hell, 
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 

Ver. 16. Now gip you, P. 


Who calleth there, quoth Judith then, 
With such shrill soundino: notes ? 

This fine minkes surely came not here, 
Ouoth she, for cuttinor throats. 

Good Lord, how Judith blush'd for shame, 45 

When she heard her say soe ! 
King David hearing of the same, 

He to the gate would goe. 

Ouoth David, who knockes there so loud, 

And maketh all this strife ; 30 

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 hadst seven hundred wives at once. 

For whom thou didst provide ; 
And yet God wot, three hundred whores 

Thou must maintaine beside : 

And they made thee forsake thy God, 65 

And worship stockes and stones ; 

I>esides the charge they put thee to 
In breeding of young bones. 

Hadst thou not bin In-side thy wits, 

Thou wouldst n(jt thus have vcntur'd ; 70 

And therefore I do marvel much, 
How thou this place hast cnter'd. 


I never heard, quoth Jonas then, 

So vile a scold as this. 
Thou whore-son run-away, quoth she, 75 

Thou diddest more amiss. 

' They say,' quoth Thomas, women's tongues, 

Of aspen-leaves are made. 
Thou unbelieving wretch, quoth she, 

All is not true that's sayd. 80 

When 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 our Saviour Christ come by, 

And written on the earth. 

It was not by your occupation. 

You are become divine : 
Ihope my soul in Christ his passion, 95 

Shall be as safe as thine. 

Uprose the good apostle Paul, 

And to this wife he cryed. 
Except thou shake thy sins away, 

Thou here shalt be denyed. 100 

Remember, Paul, what thou hast done, 

All through a lewd desire : 
How thou didst persecute God's church, 

With wrath as hot as fire. 

Ver. 77. I think, P. 


Then up starts Peter at the last, 105 

And to the i^ate 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, no 

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 siMit. 


Of him for mercye she did crave. 

Ouoth he, thou hast refus'd 
My proffer'd grace, and mercy both. 

And much my name abus'd. i^o 

Sore have I sinned. Lord, she sayd. 

And spent my time in vaine, 
But bring me like a wandring sheepe 

Into thy Hocke againe. 

Lord my God, I will amend i^s 
My former wicked vice : 

The thief for one poor silly word, 
Past into Paradise. 

My lawes and my commandments, 

Saith Christ, were known to thee ; 1 30 

But of the same in any wise, 

Not yet one word did yee. 

1 grant the same, (J L(jrd, (juoth she ; 

Most lewdly did I live : 
But yet the loving father did 135 

His prodigal son forgive. 

3 '- 


So I forgive thy soul, he sayd, 
Through thy repenting crye ; 

Come enter then into my joy, 

I will not thee denye. 140 





'^^^^'^^^HE 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 their heroes, 
are usually chanted at their festival meetings. These 
are the first rudiments of history. It is in this 
manner that the savages of North America preserve 
the memory of past events (a) : and the same method 
is known to have prevailed among our Saxon an- 
cestors before they quitted their German forests {d). 
The ancient Britons had their Bards, and the Gothic 
nations their Scalds or popular poets {c), whose busi- 
ness it was to record the victories of their warriors, 
and the genealogies of their princes, in a kind of 
narrative songs, which were committed to memory, 
and delivered down from one reciter to another. So 
long as poetry continued a distinct profession, and 

{a) Vid. Lasileau, Moeurs de Sauvages, t. ii. Dr. Browne's Hist, 
of the Rise and Progress of Poetry. 

{b) " (jermani celebrant carminihus antiquis ((inod unum apud 
illos memoriae et annalium genus est) I'uistoneni," &c. Tacit. (Jcnn. 

*c. ii. 

{c) Bartli. Antiq. Dan. lilj. i. cap. x. Wormii Literatura Ruiiica, 
ad finem. 


while the Bard, or Scald, was a regular and stated 
officer in the prince's court, these men are thought 
to have performed the functions of the historian 
pretty faithfully; for though their narrations would 
be apt to receive a good deal of embellishment, they 
are supposed to have had at the bottom so much of 
truth as to serve for the basis of more regular annals. 
At least succeeding historians have taken up with 
the relations of these rude men, and for the want of 
more authentic records, have agreed to allow them 
the credit of true history {d). 

After letters began to prevail, and history assumed 
a more stable form, by being committed to plain 
simple prose ; these songs of the Scalds or Bards 
began to be more amusing than useful. And in pro- 
portion as it became their business chiefly to enter- 
tain and delight, they gave more and more into 
embellishment, and set off their recitals with such 
marvellous fictions, as were calculated to captivate 
gross and ignorant minds. Thus began stories of 
adventures with giants and dragons, and witches 
and enchanters, and all the monstrous extravagances 
of wild imagination, unguided by judgment, and un- 
corrected by art {e). 

This seems to be the true origin of that species of 
romance, which so long celebrated feats of chivalry, 
and which at first in metre, and afterwards in 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 know- 
ledge and classical literature, drove them off the 

{(i) See Northertt Antiquities, or a Description of the Manners, 
Customs, dre., of the ancient Danes and other Northern Nations, 
tra?islated from the Fr. of M. Mallet, 1770, 2 vols. 8vo. (vol. i. 
p. 49, &c.) 

if) Vid. infra, pp. 341, 342, &c. 


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 sonofs 
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 {g). " Chivalry, as a distinct mili- 
\.2sy order, conferred in the way of investiture, and 
accompanied with the solemnity of an oath, and 
other ceremonies," was of later date, and sprung out 
of the feudal constitution, as an elesfant writer has 
clearly shown (//), But the ideas of chivalry pre- 
vailed long before in all the Gothic nations, and may 
be discovered as in embriyo in the customs, manners, 
and opinions of every branch of that people (/). 
That fondness of going in quest of adventures, that 
spirit of challenging to single combat, and that re- 
spectful complaisance shewn to the fair sex, (so 
different from the manners of the Greeks and Ro- 
mans), all are of Gothic origin, and may be traced 
up to the earliest times among all the northern 
nations (/-). These existed long before the feudal 
ages, though they were called forth and strengthened 
in a peculiar manner under that constitution, and at 
lengtli arrived to their full maturity in the times 
of the Crusades, so replete with romantic adven- 
tures (/). 

(/; Viz. Astraa, Cassandra, Clelia, &c. 

ig) Mallet, vid. Northern Antiquities, vol. i. ]>. 3/8, (5cc. 3 vol. ii. 
p. 234, &c. 
• (//) Ij:tters concerning CJiivalry,Zvo. 1763. 

(/) (/t) Mallet. 

(/) The seeds of chivalry sprung up so naturally out of the 
original manners and opinions of the northern nations, that it is 


Even the common arbitrary fictions of romance 
were (as is hinted above) most of them famiHar to the 
ancient Scalds of the North, long before the time of 
the Crusades. They believed the existence of giants 
and dwarfs {iri) ; they entertained opinions not unlike 
the more modern notion of fairies {ii), they were 
strongly possessed with the belief of spells and in- 
chantment (<?), and were fond of inventing combats 
with dragons and monsters (/). 

The opinion therefore seems very untenable, which 
some learned and ingenious men have entertained, 
that the turn for chivalry, and the taste for that species 
of romantic fiction were caught by the Spaniards 
from the Arabians or Moors after their invasion of 
Spain, and from the Spaniards transmitted to the 

not credible they arose so late as after the establishment of the 
Feudal System, much less the Crusades. Nor, again, that the 
romances of chivalry were transmitted to other nations, through 
the Spaniards, from the Moors and Arabians. Had this been the 
case the first French romances of chivalry would have been on 
Moorish, or at least Spanish subjects : whereas the most ancient 
stories of this kind, whether in prose or verse, whether in Italian, 
French, English, &c., are chiefly on the subjects of Charlemagne 
and the Paladins, or of our British Arthur and his Knights of the 
Round Table, &c., being evidently borrowed from the fabulous 
chronicles of the supposed Archbishop Turpin and of Jeffery of 
Monmouth. Not but some of the oldest and most popular French 
romances are also on Norman subjects, as Richard Sans-peiir, 
Robert le Viable, &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, 
said to have been the first romance printed in Spain, the scene is 
laid in Gaul and Britain ; and the manners are French : which 
plainly shews from what school this species of fabUng was learnt 
and transmitted to the southern nations of Europe. 

{ni) Mallet, North. Antiquities, vol. i. p. 36 ; vol. \\. passim. 

(;/) Olaus Verelius, Herv. Saga, pp. 44, 45. Hickes's Tliesaur. 
vol. ii. p. 311. Northern Antiquities, vol. n. passim. 

{0) Ibid. vol. i. pp. 69, 374, &c.; vol. ii. p. 216, &c. 

(/) Rollof's Saga, c. 35, &c. 


bards of Armorica (^), and thus diffused through 
Britain, France, Italy, Germany, and the North. 
F"or it seems utterly incredible, that one rude people 
should adopt a peculiar taste and manner of writing 

{(J) It is peculiarly unfortunate that such as maintain this opinion 
are obliged to take their first step from the IMoorish provinces in 
Spain, without one intermediate resting place, to Armorica or 
Bretagne, the province in France from them most remote, not 
more in situation than in the manners, habits, and language of its 
Welsh inhabitants, which are allowed to have been derived from 
this island, as must have been their traditions, songs, and fables ; 
being doubtless all of Celtic original. See p. 3 of the Dissertation 
on the Origin of Romantic Fiction in Europe, prefixed to Mr. Tho. 
Warton's History of English Poetry, vol. i. 1774, 4to. If any pen 
could have supported this darling hypothesis of Dr. Warburton 
that of this ingenious critic would have effected it. But under the 
general term Oriental, he seems to consider the ancient inhabitants 
of the north and the south of Asia, as having all the same man- 
ners, traditions, and fables ; and because the secluded people of 
Arabia took the lead under the religion "and empire of Mahomet, 
therefore everything must be derived from them to the Northern 
Asiatics in the remotest ages, &c. With as much reason under 
the word Occidental, we might represent the early traditions and 
fables of the north and south of Europe to have been the same ; 
and that the Gothic mythology of Scandinavia, the Druidic or 
Celtic of Gaul and Britain, diftered not from the classic of Greece 
and Rome. 

There is not room here for a full examination of the minuter 
arguments, or rather slight coincidences, by which our agreeable 
dissertator endeavours to maintain and defend this favourite 
opinion of Dr. W., who has been himself so completely confuted 
by Mr. Tyrwhitt. (See his notes on Lovers Labour Lost, &c.) 
But some of his positions it will be sufficient to mention: such as 
the referring the Gog and Magog, which our old Christian bards 
might have had from Scripture, to the Jaguiouge and Magiouge of 
the Arabians and Persians, &:c. (p. 13). That "we may venture 
to affirm that this (Geoffrey of Alonmouth's) Chronicle, supposed 
to contain the ideas of the Welsh bards, entirely consists of Ara- 
bian inventions" (p. 13), And that, "as Geoffrey's history is the 
, grand repository of the acts of Arthur, so a fabulous history 
a-scribcd to Turpin is the ground-work of all the chimerical legends 
which have been related concerning the conquests of Charlemagne 
and his twelve peers. Its subject is the expulsion of the Saracens 


or thinking from another, without borrowing at the 
same time any of their particular stories and fables, 
without appearing to know anything of their heroes, 
history, laws, and religion. When the Romans be- 
gan to adopt and imitate the Grecian literature, they 
immediately naturalized all the Grecian fables, his- 
tories, and religious stories ; which became as familiar 
to the poets of Rome, as of Greece itself Whereas 
all the old writers of chivalry, and of that species of 
romance, whether in prose or verse, whether of the 
Northern nations, or of Britain, France, and Italy, 
not excepting Spain itself (r), appear utterly unac- 
quainted with whatever relates to the Mahometan 

from Spain, and it is filled with fictions evidently congenial to 
those which characterize Geoffrey's History " (p. 17). That is, as 
he afterwards expresses it, " lavishly decorated by the Arabian 
fablers " (p. 58). We should hardly have expected that the Ara- 
bian 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 Charlemagne are 
said to have found in Spain a golden idol, or image of Mahomet, 
as high as a bird can fly — it was framed by Mahomet himself of 
the purest metal, who, by his knowledge in necromancy, had 
sealed up within it a legion of diabolical spirits. It held in its 
hand a prodigious club ; and the Saracens had a prophetic tradi- 
tion, that this club should fall from the hand of the image in that 
year when a certain king should be born in France, &c." {vid. 
p. 18, note.) 

(r) The little narrative songs on Morisco subjects, which the 
Spaniards have at present in great abundance, and which they call 
peculiarly romances, (see vol. i. book iii. no. xvi. &c,), have nothing 
in common with their proper romances (or histories) of chivalry, 
which they call Historias de CavaUerias ; these are evidently imi- 
tations of the French, and shew a great ignorance of Moorish 
manners : and with regard to the Morisco, or song romances, they 
do not seem of very great antiquity ; few of them appear, from 
their subjects, much earlier than the reduction of Granada, in the 
fifteenth century : from which period, I believe, may be plainly 


nations. Thus with regard to their rehgion, they 
constantly represent them as worshipping idols, as 
paying adoration to a golden image of Mahomet, or 
else they confound them with the ancient pagans, 
&c. And indeed in all other respects they are so 
grossly ignorant of the customs, manners, and opin- 
ions of every branch of that people, especially of 
';heir heroes, champions, and local stories, as almost 
amounts to a demonstration that they did not imitate 
tiiem in their songs or romances : for as to dragons, 
serpents, necromancies, &c., why should these be 
thought only derived from the floors in Spain so 
late as after the eighth century ? since notions of 
this kind appear too familiar to the northern Scalds, 
and enter too deeply into all the northern mythology, 
to hai^e been transmitted to the unlettered Scandi- 
naviais, from so distant a country, at so late a 
period If they may not be allowed to have brought 
these opinions with them in their original migrations 
from th» north of Asia, they will be far more likely 
to have sorrowed them from the Latin poets after the 
Roman «onquests in Gaul, Britain, Germany. &;c. 
For, I btjieve one may challenge the maintainers 
of this opnion, to produce any Arabian poem or 
history, tha. could possibl)' have been then known in 
Spain, whic; resembles the old Gothic romances of 
chivalry hal". so much as the Metamorphoses of 

But we weLknowthat the Scythian nations situate 
in the countr^s aljout Pontus, Colchis, and the 
Euxine sea, wre in all times infamous for their 
magic arts : anc as Odin and his followers are said 
to have come prcisely from those parts of Asia ; we 
can readily accoiit for the prevalence of fictions of 

traced among the Spa^sh writers, a more perfect knowledge of 
Moorish customs, &c. 


this sort among the Gothic nations of the North, 
without fetching them from the Moors in Spain ; 
who for many centuries after their irruption, hved in 
a state of such constant hostility with the unsubdued 
Spanish Christians, whom they chiefly pent up in the 
mountains, as gave them no chance of learning their 
music, poetry, or stories ; and this, together with the 
religious hatred of the latter for their cruel invaders, 
will account for the utter ignorance of the old 
Spanish romancers in whatever relates to the Ma- 
hometan nations, although so nearly their ovn 

On the other hand, from the local customs md 
situations, from the known manners and opiniors of 
the Gothic nations in the north, we can easih ac- 
count for all the ideas of chivalry and its peculiar 
fictions {s). For, not to mention their distinguished 
respect for the fair sex, so different from the manners 
of the Mahometan nations (/), their national ind do- 
mestic history so naturally assumes all the wonders 
of this species of fabling, that almost all tleir histo- 
rical narratives appear regular romances. Cne might 
refer in proof of this to the old northen Sagas in 
general : but to give a particular instance it will be 
sufficient to produce the history of Kng Regner 
Lodbrog, a celebrated warrior and pirate, who reigned 
in Denmark about the year 800 (2/). This hero 
signalized his youth by an exploit of gallantry, A 
Swedish prince had a beautiful daupiter whom he 
intrusted (probably during some extedition) to the 
care of one of his officers, assigning a strong castle 
for their defence. The officer fell n love with his 
ward, and detained her in his castb spite of all the 

{s) See Northern Antiquities, passim. (0 Ibid. 

(?/) Saxon Gram. p. 152, 153. MalK, Narth. Aiitiq. vol. i. 
p. 321. 


efforts of her father. Upon this he pubHshed a pro- 
.clamation throiio"h all the neicfhbourinof 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 ad- 
venture, represent the lady as detained from her 
father by a dreadful dragon, and that Regner slew 
the monster to set her at liberty. This fabulous 
account of the exploit is given in a poem still extant, 
which is even ascribed to Regner himself, who was a 
celebrated poet ; and which records all the valiant 
achievements of his life {x). 

With marvelous embellishments of this kind the 
Scalds early began to decorate their narratives : and 
they were the more lavish of these, in proportion as 
they departed from their original institution, but it 
was a long time before they thought of delivering a 
set of personages and adventures wholly feigned. 
Of the great multitude of romantic tales still pre- 
served in the libraries of the 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 {y). 

It was not probably till after the historian and the 
bard had been long disunited, that the latter ven- 
tured at pure fiction. At length when their business 
was no longer to instruct or inform, but merely to 
amuse, it was no longer needful for them to adhere 

(j;) See a translation of this poem, among Five pieces of Runic 
Poetry, printed for Dodslcy, 1764, Svo. 

{y) Viil. Mallet, Northern AniiquitieSy i)assim. 


to truth. Then succeeded fabulous songs and ro- 
mances in verse, which for a long time prevailed in 
France and England before they had books of chi- 
valry in prose. Yet in both these countries the 
minstrels still retained so much of their original in- 
stitution, as frequently to make true events the sub- 
ject of their songs {z) ; and indeed, as during the 
barbarous ages, the regular histories were almost all 
written in Latin by the monks, the memory of events 
was preserved and propagated among the ignorant 
laity by scarce any other means than the popular 
songs of the minstrels. 

II. The inhabitants of Sweden, Denmark, and 
Norway, being the latest converts to Christianity, 
retained their original manners and opinions longer 
than the other nations of Gothic race : and there- 
fore they have preserved more of the genuine com- 
positions of their ancient poets, than their southern 
neighbours. Hence the progress, among them, from 
poetical history to poetical fiction is very discernible : 
they have some old pieces, that are in effect com- 
plete Romances of Chivalry (^). They have also 
(as hath been observed) a multitude of Sagas (^) or 
histories on romantic subjects, containing a mixture 
of prose and verse, of various dates, some of them 
written since the times of the Crusades, others long 
before : but their narratives in verse only are esteemed 
the more ancient. 

(s) The editor's MS. contains a multitude of poems of this 
latter kind. It was probably from this custom of the minstrels 
that some of our first historians wrote their chronicles in verse, as 
Rob. of Gloucester, Harding, &c. 

{a) See a specimen in 2d vol. of Northern Antiquities, &c., 
p. 248, &c. 

{b) Eccardi Hist. Stud. Ety?n. 171 1, p. 179, &c, Hickes's 
Thesaur. vol. ii. p. 314. 


Now as the irruption of the Normans {c) into 
France under Rollo did not take place till towards 
the beginning- of the tenth century, at which time 
the Scaldic art was arrived to the highest perfection 
in Rollo's native country, we can easily trace the 
descent of the French and English romances of 
chivalr)^ from the Northern Sagas. That conqueror 
doubtless carried many Scalds with him from the 
north, who transmitted their skill to their children 
and successors. These adopting the religion, opi- 
nions, and language of the new country, substituted 
the heroes of Christendom instead of those of their 
pagan ancestors, and began to celebrate the feats of 
Charlemagne, Roland, and Oliver ; whose true his- 
tory^ they set off and embellished with the Scaldic 
figments of dwarfs, giants, dragons, and enchant- 
ments. The first mention we have in song- of those 
heroes of chivalry is in the mouth of a Norman 
warrior at the conquest of England {d) : and this 
circumstance alone would sufficiently account for 
the propagation of this kind of romantic poems 
amoncr the French and Enq-lish. 

But this is not all ; it is very certain, that both 
the Ancrlo-Saxons and the Franks had brouofht with 
them, at their first emigrations into Britain and Gaul, 
the same fondness for the ancient sonars of their an- 
cestors, which prevailed among the other Gothic 
tribes (c), and that all tlicir first annals were trans- 
mitted in these popular oral poems. This fondness 
they even retained long after their conversion to 
Christianity, as we learn from the examples of 

(c) i.e. Northern men, l^eing chiefly emigrants from Norway, 
JJcnmark, &c. 

. {(i) .See the account of Taillefer in vol. i. Essay, and Note. 
{c) " Ipsa Cannina mcmorirt; uKindabant, <S: jiro-'lia initiiri dccan- 
tahant ; (jua mcnioria tani forliuni gcstorinn a majuribus jxiUa- 
turum ad imitalionem animus addcTctnT."^/omam/es de Gothis. 


Charlemagne and Alfred (/"). Now poetry, being 
thus the transmitter of facts, would as easily learn 
to blend them with fictions in France and England, 
as she is known to have done in the north, and that 
much sooner, for the reasons before assigned (^). 
This, together with the example and influence of 
the Normans, will easily account to us, why the 
first romances of chivalry that appeared both in 
England and France (//) were composed in metre, 
as a rude kind of epic songs. In both kingdoms 
tales in verse were usually sung by minstrels to 
the harp on festival occasions : and doubtless both 
nations derived their relish for this sort of entertain- 
ment from their Teutonic ancestors, without either 
of them borrowing it from the other. Among both 
people narrative songs on true or fictitious subjects 
had evidently obtained from the earliest times. But 
the professed romances of chivalry seem to have 
been first composed in France, where also they had 
their name. 

The Latin tongue, as is observed by an ingenious 

(/") Eginhartus de Carolo magna. " Item barbara, & anti- 
quissima carmina, quibus veterum regum actus & bella canebantur, 
scripsit." — c. 29. 

Asserius de yElfredo magna. " Rex inter bella, &c 

Saxonicos libros recitare, & maxime carmina Saxanica memoriter 
discere, aliis imperare, & solus assidue pro viribus, studiosissime 
non desinebat." — Ed. 1722, 8vo. p. 43. 

ig) See above, pp. 340, 347. 

{h) 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 com- 
posed in metre : the editor has in his possession a very old French 
MS. in verse, containing L'aficien Raman 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. Num. 2252, p. 49, &c. 
Nicholson's Eng. Hist. Library, 3rd 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. AfSS. Catal. 978, 106. 



•writer (/), ceased to be spoken in France about the 
ninth century, and was succeeded by what was called 
the Romance tonorue, a mixture of the lan(juafre of 
the Franks and bad Latin. As the songs of chivalry 
became the most popular compositions in that lan- 
guage, they were emphaticall)' called Romans or Ro- 
mants ; 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 1 155, 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 dowm to the 
battle of Hastings, they animated themselves, by 
singing (in some popular romance or ballad) the 
exploits of Roland and the other heroes of chi- 
valry (w). 

So early as this I cannot trace the songs of chivalry 
in English,' The most ancient I have seen, is that 

(/) The author of the Essay on the Genius of Pope, p. 282. 

{k) Ibid. p. 283. Hist. Lit. torn. 6, 7. 

(/) Voir Preface aux " Fabliaux & Contes des Poetes Francois 
des xii. xiii. xiv. & xv, sil'cles, &c., Paris, 1756, 3 torn. i2mo." (a 
very curious work). 

(w) Vid. supra, note {d), vol. i. Essay, &c. Et vide Rapin, 
Carte, &c. This song of Roland (whatever it was) continued for 
some centuries to be usually sung by the French in their marches, 
if we may believe a modem French writer. " Un jour qu'on 
chantoit la Chanson dc Roland, comme c'etoit I'usage dans les 
marches. II y a long temps, dit il (John K. of France, who died 
in 1364), qu'on ne voit plus de Rolands parmi les Fran(;ois. On 
y verroit encore des Rolands, lui repondit un vieux capitaine, 
s'ils avoient un Charlemagne h. leur tete." Vid. tom. iii. p. 202, 
des Essaies Hist, sur ]\iris, dc Af. dc Saintefoix : who gives as his 
authority, lioethius in Hist. Scotorum. This author, however, 
speaks of the complaint and repartee, as made in an Assembly of 
the States {I'ocato senatu), and not upon any march, I'tc. Vid. 
lioeth. lib. XV. fol. 327. I'^d. Paris, 1574. 


of Hornechild described below, which seems not 
older than the twelfth century. However, as this 
rather resembles the Saxon poetry than the French, 
it is not certain that the first English romances were 
translated from that language.* We have seen above, 
that a propensity to this kind of fiction prevailed 
among all the Gothic nations (;z); and, though after 
the Norman Conquest, this country abounded wi h 
French romances, or with translations from the 
French, there is good reason to believe, that the 
English had original pieces of their own. 

The stones of King Arthur and his Round Table, 
may be reasonably supposed of the growth of this 
island ; both the French and the Armoricans pro- 
bably had them from Britain (^). The stories of Guy 
and Bevis, with some others, were probably the 
invention of English minstrels (/). On the other 
hand, the English procured translations of such 
romances as were most current in France ; and in 
the list given at the conclusion of these remarks, 
many are doubtless of French original. 

* See on this subject, vol. i. note, s. 2, p. 404; and in note 

G g, p. 424, &c. 

(;/) The first romances of chivahy among the Germans were ni 
metre : they have some very ancient narrative songs (which they 
call Lieder) not only on the fabulous heroes of their own country, 
but also on those of France and Britain, as Tristram, Arthur, 
Gawain, and the knights von der Tafel-ronde {vid. Goldasti Not. in 
Eginhart. Vit. Car. Mag. 4to. 1711, p. 207.) 

{0) The Welsh have still some very old romances about K. 
Arthur ; but as these are in prose, they are not probably their first 
pieces that were composed on that subject. 

{p) It is most credible that these stories were originally of 
English invention, even if the only pieces now extant should be 
found to be translations from the French. What now pass for the 
French originals were probably only amplifications, or enlarge- 
ments of the old Enghsh story. That the French romances bor- 
rowed some things from the English, appears from the word 



The first prose books of chivalry that appeared in 
our language, were those printed by Caxton (</) ; at 
least, these are the first I have been able to dis- 
cover, and these are all translations from the French. 
Whereas romances of this kind had been long cur- 
rent in metre, and were so generally admired in the 
time of Chaucer, that his rhyme of Sir Thopas was 
evidently written to ridicule and burlesque them(;'). 

He expressly mentions several of them by name 
in a stanza, which I have had occasion to quote more 
than once in this volume : 

" Men speken of Romaunces of pris 
Of Horn-Child, and of Ipotis 

Of Bevis, and Sire Guy 
Of Sire Libeux, and Pleindamour, 
But Sire Thopas, he bereth the flour 

Of real chevalrie " {s). 

Most, if not all of these are still extant in MS. in 
some or other of our libraries, as I shall shew in the 
conclusion of this slight essay, where I shall give a 
list of such metrical histories and romances as have 
fallen under my observation. 

As many of these contain a considerable portion 
of poetic merit, and throw great light on the manners 
and opinions of former times, it were to be wished 
that some of the best of them were rescued from 

{(]) Recuyd of the Hy story cs of Troy, 1471 ; Godfroye of Boloyne, 
1481 ; Le Morte de Arthur, 1485 ; The Life of Charlcmai:;nc, 1485, 
&c. As the old minstrelsy wore out, prose books of chivalry 
became more admired, especially after the Spanish romances began 
to be translated into English towards the end of Q. Elizabeth's 
reign : then the most popular metrical romances began to be 
reduced into prose, as Sir Guy, Jnn'is, &c. 

{r) Sec extract from a letter, written by the editor of these 
.volumes, in Mr. Warton's Obscnnitions, vol. ii. p. 139. 

{s) Canterbury Tales (Tyrwhitt's edit.), vol. ii. p. 238. In all 
the former editions wliich I have seen the name at the end of the 
fourth line is Blandamoure. 

% A A 


oblivion. A judicious collection of them accurately 
published with proper illustrations, would be an im- 
portant 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 uni- 
versal and commanding a genius as Chaucer, but 
they have a simplicity that makes them be read with 
less interruption, and be more easily understood : 
and they are far more spirited and entertaining than 
the tedious allegories of Gower, or the dull and 
prolix legends of Lydgate. Yet, while so much 
stress was laid upon the writings of these last, by 
such as treat of English poetry, the old metrical 
romances, though far more popular in their time, 
were hardly known to exist. But it has happened 
unluckily, that the antiquaries, who have revived the 
works of our ancient writers, have been for the most 
part men void of taste and genius, and therefore have 
always fastidiously rejected the old poetical romances, 
because founded on fictitious or popular subjects, 
while they have been careful to grub up every petty 
fragment of the most dull and insipid rhymist, whose 
merit it was to deform morality, or obscure true history. 
Should the publick encourage the revival of some 
of those ancient epic songs of chivalry, they would 
frequently see the rich ore of an Ariosto or a Tasso, 
though buried it may be among the rubbish and 
dross of barbarous times. 

Such a publication would answer many important 
uses : It would throw new light on the rise and pro- 
gress 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 
Cliaucer and Spencer, who abound with perpetual 
allusions to them, I shall give an instance or two 
from Shakespeare, by way of specimen of their use. 

In his play oi King yoJin our great dramatic poet 
alludes to an exploit of Richard I. which the reader 
will in vain look for in any true history. Faulcon- 
bridgc says to his mother, act i. sc. i. 

" Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose . . . 

Against whose furie and unmatched force, 

The awlesse lion could not wage the fight, 

Nor keepe his princely heart from Richard's hand : 

He that perforce robs Lions of their hearts 

May easily winne a woman's : " 

The fact here referred to, is to be traced to its 
source only in the old romance of Richard Ceur de 
Lyon{t), in which his encounter with a lion makes a 
very shining figure. I shall give a large extract from 
this poem, as a specimen of the manner of these old 
rhapsodists, and to shew that they did not in their 
fictions neglect the proper means to produce the 
ends, as was afterwards so childishly done in the 
prose books of chivalry. 

The poet tells us, that Richard, in his return from 
the Holy Land, having been discovered in the habit 
of " a palmer in Almayne," and apprehended as a 
spy, was by the king thrown into prison. Wardrewe, 
the king's son, hearing of Richard's great strength, 
desires the jailor to let him have a sight of his pri- 
soners. Richard being the foremost, Wardrewe asks 

(/) Dr. Grey has shewn that the same story is alluded to in 
Rastell's Chronicle: as it was doubtless originally had from the 
romance, this is proof that the old metrical romances throw light 
on our first writers in ])rose : many of our ancient historians have 
recorded the fictions of romant e. 


him, " If he dare stand a buffet from his hand ?" and 
that on the morrow he shall return him another. 
Richard consents, and receives a blow that staggers 
him. On the morrow, having previously waxed his 
hands, he waits his antagonist's arrival. Wardrewe 
accordingly, proceeds the story, *' held forth as a 
trewe man," and Richard gave him such a blow on 
the cheek, as broke his jaw-bone, and killed him on 
the spot. The king, to revenge the death of his son, 
orders, by the advice of one Eldrede, that a lion, 
kept purposely from food, shall be turned loose upon 
Richard. But the king's daughter having fallen in 
love with him, tells him of her father's resolution, 
and at his request procures him forty ells of white 
silk " kerchers ; " and here the description of the 
combat begins : 

" The kever-chefes (//) he toke on honde, 

And aboute his arme he wonde ; 

And thought in that ylke while, 

To slee the lyon with some gyle. 

And syngle in a kyrtyll he stode, 

And abode the lyon fyers and wode, 

With that came the jaylere. 

And other men that wyth him were, 

And the lyon them amonge ; 

His pawes were stiffe and stronge. 

The chambre dore they undone, 

And the lyon to them is gone. 

Rycharde sayd, Helpe lorde Jesu ! 

The lyon made to hym venu. 

And wolde hym have all to rente : 

Kynge Rycharde besyde hym glente(z') 

The lyon on the breste hym spurned, 

That aboute he toumed. 

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. 

ill) i.e. handkerchiefs. Here we have the etymology of the 
word, viz, Couvre le Chef''' (v) i.e. slipt aside. 


He ctyed lowde, and yaned (71') wyde. 
K)-nge Rychardc bethought hym that tyde 
What hym was beste, and to hym sterte, 
In at the throte his honde he gerte, 
And hente out the herte with his honde, 
Lounge and all that he there fonde. 
The l)on fell deed to the grounde : 
Rycharde felte no wem (a-), ne woundc. 
He fell on his knees on that place, 

And thanked Jesu of his grace." 


What follows is not so well, and therefore I shall 
extract no more of this poem. — For the above feat 
the author tells us, the king was deservedly called 

" Stronge Rycharde Cure de Lyowne." 

That distich which Shakespeare puts in the mouth 
of his madman in K. Lear, act iii. sc. 4. 

" Mice and Rats and such small deere 
Have been Tom's food for seven long yeare," 

has excited the attention of the critics. Instead of 
dccre, one of them would substitute ^<:<?;'; and another 
ckcer[y). But the ancient reading is established by 
the old romance of Sir Bevis, which Shakespeare 
had doubtless often heard sung to the harp. This 
distich is part of a description there given of the 
hardships suffered by Bevis, when confined for seven 
years in a dungeon : 

" Rattes and myse and such small dere 
Was his meate that seven yere." — Sign. F. iii. 

III. In different parts of this work, the reader 
will find various extracts from these old poetical 
legends ; to which I refer him for farther examples 
of their style and metre. 'J'o comj)lete this subject, 

(lo) i.c. yaw-ned. (,v) i.e. hurt. 

{y) Dr. Warburton. — Dr. Grey, 


it will be proper at least to give one specimen of 
their skill in distributing and conducting their fable, 
by which it will be seen that nature and common 
sense had supplied to these old simple bards the 
want of critical art, and taught them some of the 
most essential rules of epic poetry. — I shall select 
the romance of Libius Disconms{a), as being one of 
those mentioned by Chaucer, and either shorter or 
more intelligible than the others he has quoted. 

If an epic poem may be defined, (^)" A fable re- 
lated by a poet, to excite admiration, and inspire 
virtue, by representing the action of some one hero, 
favoured by heaven, who executes a great design, in 
spite of all the obstacles that oppose him :" I know 
not why we should withold the name of Epic Poem 
from the piece which I am about to analyse. 

My copy is divided into IX. Parts or Cantos, the 
several arguments of which are as follows. 

Part I. 

Opens with a short exordium to bespeak attention : 
the hero is described ; a natural son of Sir Gawain a 
celebrated knight of king Arthur's court, who being 
brought up in a forest by his mother, is kept ignorant 
of his name and descent. He early exhibits marks 
of his courage, by killing a knight in single combat, 
who encountered him as he was hunting. This in- 
spires him with a desire of seeking adventures : there- 
fore cloathing himself in his enemy's armour, he goes 
to K. Arthur's court, to request the order of knight- 
hood. His request granted, he obtains a promise 

{a) So it is intitled in the editor's MS. But the true title is Le 
Beaux Disconus, or the Fair Unknown. See a note on the Canter- 
bury Talcs, vol. iv. p. 333. 

ip) Vid. Discours sur la Poesie Epique, prefixed to Tclcmaquc. 


of havlnor the first adventure assigned him that shall 
offer. — A damsel named Ellen, attended by a dwarf, 
comes to implore K. Arthur's assistance, to rescue a 
young princess, " the Lady of Sinadone" their mis- 
tress, who is detained from her rights, and confined 
in prison. The adventure is claimed by the young 
knight Sir Lybius : the king assents ; the messengers 
are 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 

Part II. 

Sir Lybius sets out on the adventure: he is derided 
by the dwarf and the damsel on account of his youth : 
they come to the bridge of Perill, which none can 
pass without encountering a knight called William 
de la Braunch. Sir Lybius is challenged : they just 
with their spears : De la Braunch is dismounted : 
the battle 4s renewed on foot : Sir William's sword 
breaks : he yields. Sir Lybius makes him swear to 
go and present himself to K. Arthur, as the first- 
fruits of his valour. The conquered knight sets out 
for K.Arthur's court : is met by three knights, his kins- 
men ; who, informed of his disgrace, vow revenge, and 
pursue the conqueror. The next day they overtake 
him : the eldest of the three attacks Sir Lybius ; but 
is overthrown to the ground. The two other brothers 
assault him : Sir Lybius is wounded ; yet cuts off 
the second brother's arm : the third yields ; Sir 
Lybius sends them all to K. Arthur. In the third 
evening he is awaked by the dwarf, who has dis- 
covered a fire in the wood. 

Part III. 

Sir Lybius arms himself, and leaps on horseback: 
he finds two giants roasting a wild boar, who have 


a fair lady their captive. Sir Lybius, by favour of 
the night, runs one of them through with his spear : 
is assaulted by the other : a fierce battle ensues : he 
cuts off the giant's arm, and at length his head. The 
rescued lady (an Earl's daughter) tells him her 
story ; and leads him to her father's castle ; who 
entertains him with a great feast ; and presents him 
at parting with a suit of armour and a steed. He 
sends the giant's head to K. Arthur. 

Part IV. 

Sir Lybius, maid Ellen, and the dwarf, renew their 
journey : they see a castle stuck round with human 
heads ; and are informed it belongs to a knight called 
Sir Gefferon, who, in honour of his lemman or mis- 
tress, 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 supe- 
rior beauty of Sir Gefferon's mistress described : 
the ceremonies previous to the combat. They en- 
gage : the combat described at large : Sir Gefferon 
is incurably hurt ; and carried home on his shield. 
Sir Lybius sends the faulcon to K. Arthur ; and 
receives back a large present in florins. He stays 
40 days to be cured of his wounds, which he spends 
in feasting with the neighbouring lords. 

Part V. 

Sir Lybius proceeds for Sinadone : in the forest 
he meets a knio^ht huntinor, called Sir Otes de Lisle : 
maid Ellen charmed with a very beautiful dog, begs 



Sir Lybius to bestow him upon her : Sir Otes meets 
them, and claims his doer : is refused : beino; un- 
armed he rides to his castle, and summons his fol- 
lowers : they go in quest of Sir Lybius : a battle 
ensues : he is still victorious, and forces Sir Otes to 
follow the other conquered knights to K. Arthur. 

Part VI. 

Sir Lybius comes to a fair city and castle by a 
riverside, 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 bridge, 
and will let none pass without doing him homage : 
this Lybius refuses : a battle ensues : the giant de- 
scribed : the several incidents of the battle ; which 
lasts a whole summer's day ; the giant is wounded : 
put to flight ; slain. The citizens come out in pro- 
cession to meet their deliverer : the lady invites him 
into her castle : falls in love with him ; and seduces 
him to her embraces. He forgets the princess of 
Sinadone, and stays with this bewitching lady a 
twelvemonth. This fair sorceress, like another 
Alcina, intoxicates him with all kinds of sensual 
pleasure ; and detains him from the pursuit of 

Part VH. 

I\Laid Ellen by chance gets an opportunity of 
speaking to him ; and ujjbraids him with his vice 
and folly : he is filled with remorse, and escapes 
the same evening. At length he arrives at the 
city and castle of Sinadone : Is given to uiuler- 
stand that he must challenge the constable of the 
castle to single combat, before he can be n.-ceived 
as a guest. They just : the constable is worsted : 
.Sir Lybius is feasted in the castle : he declares his 


intention of delivering their lady ; and inquires the 
particulars of her history. " Two necromancers have 
built a fine palace by sorcery, and there keep her in- 
chanted, till she will surrender her duchy to them, 
and yield to such base conditions as they would 

Part VIII. 

Early on the morrow Sir Lybius sets out for the 
inchanted palace. He alights in the court : enters 
the hall : the wonders of which are described in 
strong Gothic painting. He sits down at the high 
table : on a sudden all the lights are quenched : it 
thunders, and lightens ; the palace shakes ; the walls 
fall in pieces about his ears. He is dismayed and 
confounded : but presently hears horses neigh, and 
is challenged to single combat by the sorcerers. 
He gets to his steed : a battle ensues, with various 
turns of fortune : he loses his weapon ; but gets a 
sword from one of the necromancers, and wounds 
the other with it : the edge of the sword being 
secretly poisoned, the wound proves mortal. 

Part IX. 

He goes up to the surviving sorcerer, who is car- 
ried away from him by inchantment : at length he 
finds him, and cuts off his head ; he returns to the 
palace to deliver the lady ; but cannot find her : as 
he is lamenting, a window opens, through which 
enters a horrible serpent with wings and a woman's 
face : it coils round his neck and kisses him ; then 
is suddenly converted into a very beautiful lady. 
She tells him she is the Lady of Sinadone, and was 
so inchanted, till she might kiss Sir Gawain, or some 
one of his blood : that he has dissolved the charm, 
and that herself and her dominions may be his re- 



ward. 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 

Such is the fable of this ancient piece : which the 
reader may observe, is as regular in its conduct, as 
any of the finest poems of classical antiquity. If the 
execution, particularly as to the diction and senti- 
ments, were but equal to the plan, it would be a 
capital performance ; but this is such as might be 
expected in rude and ignorant times, and in barbarous 
unpolished language. 

IV. I shall conclude this prolix account, with a 
list of such old metrical romances as are still extant ; 
beginning with those mentioned by Chaucer. 

I. The romance of Home Childe is preserved in 
the British Museum, where it is intitled J^e jeste of 
kyng Home. See Catalog. Harl. MSS. 2253, p. 70. 
The language is almost Saxon, yet from the mention 
in it of Sarazens, it appears to have been written 
after some of the Crusades. It bec^ins thus : 


" AH heo ben bly|)e 

))at to my song ylyjje : 

A sonj ychulle ou sing 

Of AUof fe 5ode kynje," {a) &c. 

Another copy of this poem, but greatly altered, 
and somewhat modernized, is preserved in the Ad- 
vocates Library at Edinburgh, in a MS. quarto volume 
of old English poetry [W. 4. i.] Num. XXXIV. in 
seven leaves or folios ((^), intitled, Iloni-cJiild and 
Maiden Rinivel, and beginning thus : 

(<7) i.e. May all they be blithe that to my song listen : A song 
*I shall you sing, Of AUof the good king, &c. 

{b) In each full page of this volume are forty-four lines, when the 
poem is in long metre : and eighty-eight when the metre is short, 
and the page in two columns. 


" Mi leve frende dere, 
Herken and ye may here." 

2. The poem of Ipotis (or Ypotis) is preserved in 
the Cotton Library, Calig. A. 2, fo. "]"], but is rather 
a religious legend, than a romance. Its beginning is, 

" He pat wyll of wysdome here 

Herkeneth nowe ye may here 

Of a tale of holy wryte 

Seynt Jon the Evangelyste vvytnesseth hyt." 

3. The romance of Sir Guy was written before 

that of Bevis, being quoted in it(^). An account of 

this old poem is given above, p. 107. To which it 

may be added, that the two complete copies in MS. 

are preserved at Cambridge, the one in the public 

library ((7^), the other in that of Caius College, Class 

A. 8. — In Ames's Typog. p. 153, may be seen the 

first lines of the printed copy. — The first MS. 


" 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.) 
[printed edition, vol. ii. p. 527.] It is in stanzas of 
six lines, the first of which may be seen in vol. ii. p. 
175, beginning thus : 

" When meate and drinke is great plenty e." 

In the Edinburgh MS. (mentioned above) are two 
ancient poems on the subject of Gtiy of Warwick : 
viz. Num. XVIII. containing 26 leaves, and XX. 
59 leaves. Both these have unfortunately the be- 

(c) Sign. K. 2. b. 

(d) For this and most of the following, which are mentioned as 
preserved in the Public Library, I refer the reader to the Oxon 
Catalogue of MSS., 1697, vol. ii. p. 394; in Appendix to Bp. 
More's MSS. No. 690, 33, since given to the University of Cam- 


glnnings wanting, otherwise they would perhaps be 
found to be different copies of one or both the pre- 
ceding articles. 

5. From the same MS. I can add another article 
to this list, viz. the romance of Revibnin son of Sir 
Guy ; being Num. XXI. in 9 leaves : this is properly 
a continuation of the History of Guy : and in Art. 3, 
the Hist, of Rembrun follows that of Guy as a neces- 
sary part of it. This Edinburgh romance of Rem- 
brun befjins thus : 

" Jesu that erst of mighte most 
Fader and sone and Holy Ghost." 

Before I quit the subject of Sir Guy, I must ob- 
serve, that if we may believe Dugdale in his Baroti- 
agc (vol. i. p. 243, col. 2), the fame of our English 
Champion had in the time of Henry IV. travelled as 
far as the East, and was no less popular among the 
Sarazens, than here in the West among the nations 
of Christendom. In that reign a Lord Beauchamp 
travelling to Jerusalem was kindly received by a 
noble person, the Soldan's Lieutenant, who hearing 
he was descended from the famous Guy of Warwick, 
" whose story they had in books of their own lan- 
guage," invited him to his palace ; and royally feast- 
ing him, presented him three precious stones of great 
value, besides divers cloaths of silk and gold given to 
his servants. 

6. The romance of Syr Bcvis is described in page 
2 16 of this vol. Two manuscript copies of this poem 
are extant at Cambridge, viz., in the public library 
{c), and in that of Caius Coll. Class A. 9. (5.) — The 
first of these begins, 

" I^rdyngs lystenyth grcte and smale." 

((•; iNo. O90, ^ 31. Vid. Culiiio;^. ALSS. \). y)^. 



There Is also a copy of this romance of Sir Bevis 
of Hamptoun, in the Edinburgh MS. Numb. XXII. 
consisting of twenty-five leaves, and beginning thus : 

" Lordinges herkneth to mi tale, 
Is merier than the nightengale." 

The printed copies begin different from both, viz., 

" Lysten, Lordinges, and hold you styl." 

7. Libeaux (Libeaus, or Lybius) Disconius is pre- 
served in the Editor's folio MS. (page 317) [pr. ed. 
vol. ii. p. 415], where the first stanza is, 

*' Jesus Christ christen kinge, 
And his mother that sweete thinge, 

Helpe them at their neede. 
That will listen to my tale, 
Of a Knight I will you tell, 

A doughtye man of deede." 

An older copy is preserved in the Cotton Library 
(Calig. A. 2. fob 40) but containing such innumerable 
variations, that it is apparently a different translation 
of some old French original, which will account for 
the tide of Le Beaux Discomis, or the Fair Unknown. 
The first line is, 

" Jesu Christ our Savyour." 

As for Pleindamour, or Blajtdamoure, no romance 
with this title has been discovered ; but as the word 
Blaimde77iere occurs in the romance of Libius Dis- 
conius, in the Editor's folio MS. p. 319 [pr. ed. vol. ii. 
p. 420], he thought the name oi Blandamoure (which 
was in all the editions of Chaucer he had then seen) 
might have some reference to this. But Pleinda- 
mou7', the name restored by Mr. Tyrwhitt, is more 

8. Le Morte Arthure is among the Harl. MSS. 
2252, § 49. This is judged to be a translation from 
the French ; Mr. Wanley thinks it no older than the 


time of Henry VII., but it seems to be quoted in 
Syr Bevis, (Sign. K. ij. b.) It begins, 

" Lordinges, that are lesse and deare." 

In the library of Bennet Coll. Cambridge, No. 
351. is a MS.intitled in the z-5i\2\o<gM^ Acta ArtJniris 
Aletrico Anglicano, but I know not its contents. 

9. In the Editor's folio MS. are many songs and 
romances about King Arthur and his knights, some 
of which are very imperfect, as King Arthur and the 
King of Cornwall {^2ig& 24) [pr. ed. vol. i. p. 61], in 
stanzas of four lines, beginning, 

" * Come here,' my cozen Gawaine so gay." 

The Turkc and Gazuain (p. 38) [pr. ed. vol. i. p. 90], 
in stanzas of six lines beginning thus : 

" Listen lords great and small," * 

but these are so imperfect that I do not make distinct 
articles of them. See also in this volume, Book I. 
No. I., II., IV., V. 

In the same MS. p. 203 [pr. ed. vol. ii. p. 58], is the 
Greene Knight, in two parts, relating a curious adven- 
ture of Sir Gawain, in stanzas of six lines, beginning 

thus : — 

" List : wen Arthur he was k : " 

10. The Carle of Carlisle is another romantic tale 
about Sir Gawain, in the same MS. p. 448 [pr. ed. 
vol. iii. p. 277], in distichs : 

** Listen : to me a litle stond." 

In all these old poems the same set of knights 
are always represented with the same manners and 

• * In the former editions, after the above, followed mention of 
a fragment in the same MS., intitlcd. Sir Lionel, in distichs (p. 32) 
(pr. cd. vol. i. f). 75 ] ; but this being only a short ballad, and not 
relating to K. Arthur, is here omitted. 


characters ; which seem to have been as well known, 
and as distinctly marked among our ancestors, as 
Homer's Heroes were among the Greeks : for, as 
Ulysses is always represented crafty, Achilles irasci- 
ble, and Ajax rough ; so Sir Gawain is ever cour- 
teous and gentle. Sir Kay rugged and disobliging, 
&c. " Sir Gawain with his olde curtesie " is men- 
tioned by Chaucer as noted to a proverb, in his 
Squires Tale. Canterb. Tales, vol. ii. p. 104. 

1 1 . Syr Launfal, an excellent old romance con- 
cerning another of King Arthur's knights, is preserved 
in the Cotton Library, Calig, A 2, f. 33. This is a 
translation from the French (/), made by one Thomas 
Chestre, who is supposed to have lived in the reign 
of Henry VI. (See Tanner's Biblioth.) It is in 
stanzas of six lines, and begins, 

" Be douyty Artours dawes." 

The above was afterwards altered by some min- 
strel into the romance of Sir Lambewell, in three 
parts, under which title it was more generally known 
{g). This is the Editor's folio MS. p. 60 [pr. ed. vol. 
i. p. 144], beginning thus : 

" Doughty in king Arthures dayes." 

12. Eger and Grime, in six parts (in the Editor's 
folio MS. p. 124) [pr. ed. vol. i. p. 354], is a well in- 
vented tale of chivalry, scarce inferior to any of Ari- 
osto'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." 

(/) The French original is preserved among the Harl. MSS. 
No. 978, § 112, Lanval. 

{g) See Laneham's Letter concern. Q. Eliz. entertainment at 
Kiilingworih, 1575, 12 mo. p. 34. 


13. The romance oi Mcrlinc, in nine parts (pre- 
served in the same foHo MS. p. 145 [pr. ed. vol. i. 
p. 4-2]), gives a curious account of the birth, parent- 
age, and juvenile adventures of this famous British 
Prophet. In this poem the Saxons are called Sai'a- 
zcns ; and the thrustincf the rebel ano^els out of 
heaven is attributed to " ourc LadyJ' It is in- dis- 
tichs and besfins thus : 

" He that made with his hand.'' 

There is an old romance Of Art hour and of Mer- 
lin, 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 fifty-five leaves. The 
two first lines are: 

" Jesu Crist, heven king 
Al ous graunt gode ending." 

14. Sir Iscnbras (or as it is in the MS. copies, Sir 
Isnmbras), is quoted in Chaucer's R. of Thopas, 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. vii. 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. 12S). 
This is extremely different from the printed copy. 
E. 0-. 

" God Jjat made both cr))e and hevene." 

15. Emarc, a very curious and ancient romance, is 
preserved in the same vol, of the Cotton Library, 
f. 69. It is in stanzas of six lines, and begins thus: 

"Jesu j?at ys kyng in trone." 

16. Chevclcre assignc, or The Knight of the Swan, 
preserved in the Cotton Library, has been alreadv 
described in vol. ii. Ajjpcndix, Essay on P. Plow- 
man s Metre, SiC, as hath also 

3 B I' 


17. The Sege of yerlmn (or Jerusalem), which 
seems to have been written after the other, and may 
not improperly be classed among the romances ; as 
may also the following, which is preserved in the 
same volume, viz., 

18. Owaine Myles (fol. 90), giving an account of 
the wonders of St. Patrick's Purgatory. This is a 
translation into verse of the story related in Mat. 
Paris's Hist. (sub. Ann. 1153.) It is in distichs be- 
ginning thus : 

" God fat ys so full of myght." 

In the same manuscript are three or four other 
narrative poems, which might be reckoned among 
the romances, but being rather religious legends, I 
shall barely mention them ; as Ttmdale, f. 1 7 ; Tren- 
tale Sci Grego^'ii, f. 84; Jerome, f, 133; Etistache, 
f. 136. 

19. Octavian iinperator, an ancient romance of 
chivalry, is in the same vol. of the Cotton Library, 
f. 20. Notwithstanding the name, this old poem has 
nothing in common with the history of the Roman 
Emperors. It is in a very peculiar kind of stanza, 
whereof i, 2, 3, & 5 rhyme together, as do the 4 
and 6. It begins thus : 

" Ihesu fat was with spere ystonge." 

In the public library at Cambridge {Ji), is a poem 
with the same title, and begins very differently : 

** Lyttyll and mykyll, olde and yonge." 

20. Eglamour of Artas {or Ar toys) 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 [pr. ed. 

(//) No. 690. (30.) Vid. Oxon. Catalog. AfSS. p. 394. 


vol. ii. p. 341], where it is divided into six parts. A 
printed copy in the Bodleian Library, C. 39. Art. 
Seld., and also among Mr. Garrick's old plays, K. 
vol. X. It is in distichs, and begins thus : 

" Ihesu Crist of heven kyng." 

21. Syr Triavioj'e (\Vi stanzas of six lines) is pre- 
served in MS. in the Editor's volume, p. 210 [pr. ed. 
vol. ii. p. So], and in the Public Library at Cam- 
bridge (690, § 29. Vid. Cat. MSS. p. 394.) Two 
printed copies are extant in the Bodleian Library, 
and among Mr. Garrick's plays in the same volumes 
with the last article. Both the editor's MS. and the 
printed copy begin, 

" Nowe Jesu Chryste our heven kynge." 

The Cambridge copy thus : 

" Heven blys that all shall wynne." 

2 2. Sir 'Degree [Degare, or Degorc, which last 
seems the true title) in five parts, in distichs, is pre- 
served in the Editor's folio MS. p. 371 [pr. ed. 
vol. iii. p. 20], and in the Public Library at Cambridge 
(ubi supra). A printed copy is in the Bod. Library 
C. 39. Art. Seld. and among Mr, Garrick's plays, K. 
vol. ix. The Editor's MS. and the printed copies 

" Lordinges, and you \\yl holde you styl." 

The Cambridge MS. has it, 

" Lystenyth, lordyngis, gente and fre." 

23. Ipomydon (or Chylde Ipomydon), is preserved 
among the Harl. MSS. 2252 (44). It is in distichs, 
and begins, 

*' Mckcly, lordyngis, gentylle and fre." 
In the librar)- of Lincoln Cathedral, K k. 3, 10, is 



an old imperfect printed copy, wanting the whole 
first sheet A. 

24. The Sqiiyr of Lowe degre, is one of those bur- 
lesqued by Chaucer in his Rhyme of Thopas {i). Mr. 
Garrick has a printed copy of this, among his old 
plays, K. vol. ix. It begins, 

" It was a squyer of lowe degre, 

That loved the kings daughter of Hungre." 

25. Histojye of K. Richard Cure \Coeur\ de 
Lyon. (Impr. W. de Worde, 1528, 4to.) is preservde 
in the Bodleian Library, C. 39, Art. Selden. A frag- 
ment of it is also remaining in the Edinburgh MS. 
of old English poems ; No. xxxvi. in two leaves. A 
large extract from this romance has been given 
already above, p. 356. Richard was the peculiar 
patron of Chivalry, and favourite of the old minstrels 
and troubadours. See Warton's Observ. vol. i. p. 29, 
vol. ii. p. 40. 

26. Of the following I have only seen No. 27, but 
I believe they may all be referred to the class of 

The Knight of Courtesy and the Lady of Fagucl 
(Bodl. Lib. C. 39. Art. Sheld. a printed copy). 
This Mr. Warton thinks is the story of Coucy's 
Heart, related in Fauchet, and in Howel's Letters, 
(v. i. s. 6, L. 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's MSS. in 
Cat. MSS. torn. ii. p. 394), viz., The Lay of Erie of 

(/■) This is alluded to by Shakespeare in his Hen. V. (Act v.), 
where Fluellyn tells Pistol, he will make him a squire of low 
degree, when he means, to knock him down. 


TJiolousc (No. 27). of which the Editor hath also a 
copy from "Cod. MSS. Mus. Ashmol. Oxon." The 
first Hne of both is, 

" Jesu Chr}'ste in Tr}Tiyte." 

28. Robcrd Kyiigc of Cysyll (or Sicih) shewing 
the fall of pride. Of this there is also a copy among 
the Harl. MSS. 1703 (3). The Cambridge MS. 

" Princis that be prowde in prese." 

29. Le bo7ie Floj'cnce of Rome, beginning thus : 

" As ferre as men ride or gone." 

30. Dioclcsian the Empcroiir, beginning, 

" Sum tyme ther was a noble man." 


I . The two knightly brothers Amys and Anicliou 
(among the Harl MSS. 2386, §. 42) is an old ro- 
mance of chivalry, as is also, I believe, the fragment 
of the Lady Bclesant, the Dtike of Lonibardy' s fair 
daiicrJitcr, mentioned in the same article. See the 
catalog, vol. ii. 

32. In the Edinburgh MS. so often referred to 
(preserved in the Advocates Library, \V. 4. i.) 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 thirty-seven poems or romances, some of 
them very long. But as many of them have lost the 
beginnings, which have been cut out for the sake of 
the illuminations, and as I have not had an oppor- 
tunity of examining the MS. myself, I shall be con- 
tent to mention only the articles that follow (/•): viz. 

{k) Some of these I give, though mutilated and divested of their 
titles, because they may enable a curious inquirer to com[)lete or 
improve other copies. 


An old romance about Roida^id (not I believe the 
famous Paladine, but a champion named Rouland 
Louth; query) being in the volume, No. xxvii. in 
five- leaves, and wants the beginning. 

33. Another romance that seems to be a kind of 
continuation of this last, intitled, Ohiel a Knight, 
(No. xxviii. in eleven leaves and a half). The two 
first lines are, 

" Herkneth both yinge and old, 
That willen heren of battailes bold." 

34. The King of Tars (No. iv. in five leaves and 
a half; it is also in the Bodleyan Library, MS. Ver- 
non, f. 304) beginning thus : 

" Herkneth to me bothe eld and ying 
For Maries love that swete thing." 

35. A tale or romance (No. i. two leaves), that 
wants both bemnninof and end. The first lines now 
remaining are, 

" Th Erl him graunted his will y-wis. that the knicht him haden. 

y told. 
The Baronnis that were of mikle pris. befor him thay weren 


36. Another mutilated tale or romance (No. iii. 
four leaves). The first lines at present are, 

" To Mr. Steward wil y gon. and tellen him the sothe of the 
Reseyved bestow sone anon, gif you ^vill serve and with hir be." 

37. A mutilated tale or romance (No. xi. in thir- 
teen leaves). The two first lines that occur are, 

" That riche Dooke his fest gan hold 
With Erls and with Baronns bold." 

I cannot conclude my account of this curious manu- 
script, without acknowledging that I was indebted 
to the friendship of the Rev. Dr. Blair, the ingenious 


professor of Belles Lettres, in the University of 
Edinburgh, for whatever I learned of its contents, 
and for the important additions it enabled me to 
make to the foreo^ointr list. 

To the preceding articles two ancient metrical ro- 
mances in the Scottish dialect may now be added, 
which are published in Pinkerton's Scotiisli Poc^ns, 
reprinted "from scarce editions," Lond, 1792, in 3 
vols. 8vo. viz. 

';}^Z. Gazuaji and Gologras, a metrical romance ; 
from an edition printed at Edinburgh, 1508, 8vo. 
beginning : — 

" In the tyme of Arthur, as trew men me tald." 

It is in stanzas of thirteen lines. 

39. Sir Gauan ajid Sir G alar on of Galloway, a 
metrical romance, in the same stanzas as No. 2)^, 
from an ancient MS. beginning thus : 

"In the'tyme of Arthur an aunter(/) betydde 

By the Turnwathelan, as the boke tells ; 

Whan he to Carlele was comen, and conqueror kyd," &c. 

Both these (which exhibit the union of the old 
alliterative metre, with rhyme, 8:c., and in the ter- 
mination of each stanza the short triplets of the 
Turnament of Tottenham), are judged to be as old 
as the time of our K. Henry VI., being apparently 
the production of an old poet, thus mentioned 
by Dunbar, in his Lament for tJic Detk of the 
Makkaris : 

" Clerk of Tranent eik he hes take, 
That made the aventers of Sir Gawane." 

It will scarce be necessary to remind the reader, 
that Turncwathclan is evidently T€arnc-]V\idling, 

(/) i.e. adventure. 


celebrated in the old ballad of the Marriage of Sir 
Gawaine. See pp. 14 and 325 of this volume. 

Many new references, and perhaps some additional 
articles might be added to the foregoing list from 
Mr. Warton's Histoiy of English Poetry, 3 vols. 4to. 
and from the notes to Mr. Tyrwhitt's improved 
edition of Ckaticers Canterbury Tales, &c. in 5 vols. 
8vo. which have been published since this Essay, &c. 
was first composed; but it will be sufficient once for 
all to refer the curious reader to those popular 

The reader will also see many interesting particu- 
lars on the subject of these volumes, as well as on 
most points of general literature, in Sir John Haw- 
kins's curious History of Music, &c., in 5 volumes, 
4to., as also in Dr. Burney's Hist. &c. in 4 vols. 4to. 

[Much has been written upon the subject of this Essay since 
Percy's time, but no exhaustive work has yet appeared. The 
reader may consult VV. C Hazhtt's new edition of Warton's 
History, 1871 ; EUis's Specimens of Early English Metrical Eo- 
mances, new edition, by J. O. HalUwell, 1848; Dunlop's History 
of Fiction; J. M. Ludlow's Popular Epics of the Middle Ages, 
Norse, German, and Ca?-lovingian Cycles, 1865; G. W. Cox and 
E. H. Jones's Popular Romances of the Middle Ages, 187 1 ; and 
also the prefaces of the various old English romances printed by 
the Percy, Camden, and Early Enghsh Text Societies ; and by the 
Abbotsford, Bannatyne, and Roxburghe Clubs.] 



^^^*^^^HIS is an amalgamation of the three ori- 
ginal o^lossaries, with larcre additions and 
alterations, and the introduction of reter- 
ences. It has not, however, been thought 
necessar; to refer to every passage in which a par- 
ticular wcrd may occur. 

Percy's explanatory notes are marked with the 
letter P. 

Many words which appear in a slightly varied 
form from t?ie present spelling are not included in 
this glossary. 

A', a//. 

A, a/. 

A, i. 27, n/. Watte- a Twyde, 

i. 25, water of Ttxieti. 
Abacke, back. 
Abenche, i. 409, on a bouh. 
Able, i. ^7, /it, suitable. 
Abone, i. 24 ; aboon, i. 

aboone, i. loi ; abour. i 


Aboven ous, ii. 8, above us. 
Abowght, i. 40, about. 
Abraide, i. 168, abroad. 
Abuve, ii. 83, in the uplands. 
Abyc, iii. 31, suffer, pay /or, .r- 


323 ; 


Acton, i. 72, a quilted leather 
jacket, worn under the coat 0/ 
mail. Fr. hacqueton. 

Advoutry, ii. 136, adultery. 

Aff, ii. 70, 0//. 

Affore, i. 269; afore, ii. 115, be- 

Aft, i. 321, ^/A 

Agayne, i. 121, against. 

Ageyn, i. 119, a^^ainst. 

Agone, ii. \\, }^one. 

Ahte, ii. 1 1, oui^ht. 

Aik, iii. 147, oak. 

Ail, ii. 84, trouble. 

Ain, i. 102, own. 

Ailh, ii. 70, oath. 



Al, ii, 9, albeit, although. 

Al gife, although. 

Alace, iii. 236, alas. 

Alane, ii. 83, alone. 

Alemaigne, ii. 7, Germany, 

Allgyf, i. 125, although, 

Almaine, iii. 1 10, Ge?-matiy. 

Alyes, ii. 33, always. 

Amang, ii. 20, ainong. 

Amangis, ii. 81, amongst. 

Amblit, iii. 237, ambled. 

Among, ii. 35, at intervals, some- 

An, and. 

An, i. 60, if. 

Ancyent, i. 2ji,Jlag, banner, stan- 

And, if, but and, i. 27 ; but ifj 
and youe, if you. 

And but, ii. 15, and unless. 

Ane, i. 30, ii. 118, one, an, a. 

Anes, ii. 112, once, ii. 109. (.'') 

Angel, ii. 176, a gold coin varying 
in value from 6s. 8d. to los. 

Ann, ii. 69, if 

Anneuche, ii. 81, enough. 

Annoy, ii. 211, trouble. 

Ant, ii. 7, and. 

Aplyht, al aplyht, ii. 14, entirely. 

Aquoy, iii. 247, coy, shy. 

Ar, ii. 24, are. 

Aras, i. 24, arrows. 

Archeborde, ii. 193, 203, side of 
the ship ? See Hach-borde. 

Arcir, i. 103, archer. 

Argabushe, ii. 53, hargrtebuse, an 
old-fashioned kind of musket. 

Arrand, i. 80, errand. 

Arros, i. 28, arrows. 

Ase, ii. 8, as. 

Aslake, ii. 37, abate. 

Assay, i. 80, essay, assayed, ii. 44. 

Assoyld, i. 179, absolved. 

Astate, i. 11^, estate. 

Astonied, iii. 34, astonished, 

Astound, i. 207, stunned. 

Ath, i. 25, of the. 

Att me, i. 2j6,from me. 

Attour, ii. 81 ; attowre, ii. 84, 86, 

Au, iii. 75, all. 

Auld, i. 83, loi, ii. 68, old. 

Aule, i. 308, awl. 

Aureat, i. 12'^, golden. 

Austerne, i. 285, sterft, austere. 

Avaunce, ii. 49, advance. 

Avow, iii. 327 ; avowe, i. 23, 34, 47, 
172 ; ii. 23, 58, vow. 

Aw, iii. 145, all. 

Awa', ii. 69, away. 

Awin, ii. 133, own. 

Awne, i. 121, 274, own. 

Axed, i. 129, asked. 

Ay, ii. 70, ever J also ah ! alas ! 

Ayein, ii. 12, against. 

Ayont the ingle, ii. 68, beyotid the 
fire. The fire was in the middle 
of the rootn. 

" In the west of Scotland, at 
this present time, in many cot- 
tages, they pile their pests and 
turfs upon stones in the middle 
of the room. There ii a hole 
above the fire in the ricge of the 
house to let the smote out at. 
In some places ari cottage- 
houses, from the froit of which 
a very wide chimrey projects 
like a bow-windov : the fire is 
in a grate, like a milt-kiln grate, 
round which the people sit : 
sometimes they <iraw this grate 
into the middle of the room." 
(Mr. Lambe.) P. 

Ba', i. 59, ball. 

Bacheleere, i. 64, 78, knight j 

bachelary, ii 28 ; bachelery, ii. 

23, cofnpanj of bachelors. 
Badena, iii. ^, delayed not. 
Baile, i. 122. bale, evil, mischief 

misery, tmible. 
Bairn, ii. 7-» ; bairne, i. 59, child. 
Baith, i. i+3» 32 1, both. 
Bale, i. ico, 280, ii. 8, 59, evil, hurt, 

mischff misery; baleful, i. 136. 
Balow, ii- 211 (a nursery term), 

hush lullaby. 
Balysoete, i. 35, remedy otir evils. 
Ban, a. 70, curse. 
Bani, i. 70, 148, bond, covenant. 
Ba'drolles, iii. 290, streamers, 

ittle flags. 
Bme, i. 29, bone. 
Janket, ii. 225, banquet. 



Banning, ii. 212, ciirsiti^e^. 
Barker, ii. 96, dealer in bark. 
Bame, i. 26, child, yuan, person. 
Barrow hogge, i. 214, gelded hog. 
Basnete, i. 29, basnite, i. 28, bas- 

sonett, i. 48, helmet. 
Bason, helmet. 
Batch ilere, i. 68, knight. 
Bathe, i. 30, both. 
Bats, ii. 21, cudgels. 
Bauld, i. 321, bold. 
Bauzen's skinne, i. 30S. SJucp- 
skin gloves 7uith the wool on 
the inside. 
Bayard, ii. 22, a noted horse in the 

old romances. 
Be, ii. ^,t>y. 
Beanes, ii. 203, beams. 
Bearing arowe, i. 176, an arrow 

that carries well. 
Bed, ii. 13, bade. 

Bede, ii. 21, 23, bid, offer, engage. 
Bedeaft, iii. 272, deafened. 
Bedeene, ii. 57, iii. i i,if>tmediately. 
Bedight. i. 132, bedecked. 
Bedone, iii. 6, 237, wrought, made- 
up, ornamented. 
Beere, i. 50, in. 42, bier. 
Beforn, i. 321 ; beforne, i. 29, 65, 

Begilde, ii. 76 ; begylde, ii. 44, be- 
guiled, deceived. 
Beheard, i. 114, heard. 
Behove, i. 180, behoof. 
Beir, i. 84 ; beire, ii. 212, bear. 
Belive, i. 1 1 5 ; belyfe, i. 173, imme- 
diately, presently, shortly. 
Ben, ii. 15, 16, iii. 208, been, be, are. 
Ben, ii. -jo, within doors, the inner 

(The " but " is the outer room. 
" A but and a ben " is a house 
containing two rooms.) 
Bene, ii. 16, bean, an expression of 

Benison, i. 322, blessing. 
Bent, bents, lont^ coarse grass, i. 
24, 25, 28 ; also wild fields, i. 41, 
43. 65, 78. 
Beoth, ii. 11, be, are. 
I')cr. ii. 13, bare. 

Bcr the prys, ii. i \,bare the prize. 
Berne, i. 41, mtin. 

Bernes, iii. 208, barns. 

Berys, ii. 21, beareth. 

Beseeme, become. 

Besene, ii. 25, dressed. 

Beshradde, iii. 317, cut into shreds. 

Besmirche, to soil, discolour. 

Bespake, iii. 158, spoke. 

Besprent, ii. 52, besprinkled. 

Beste, beest, art. 

Beste, i. 189, beast. 

Bested, abode. 

Bestis, i. 122, beasts. 

Bestrawghted, i. 1 89, distracted. 

Besy, i. 129, busy. 

Bet, better. 

Beth, i. 284, be, is, are. 

Bett, ii. 63, lighted. A.S. bdtan fyr, 

to make or light a fire. 
Bette, iii. 356, did beat. 
Beuche, ii. 391, bough. 
Bewray, ii. 179, discover. 
Bi mi leaut^, ii. 7, by my loyalty, 

Bickarte, i. 24, skirmished ; also 

swiftly coursed. 

Mr. Lambe also interprets 

" Bickering," by rattling, e.g., 

And on that slee Ulysses head 

Sad curses down does BICKER. 

Translat. of Ovid. P. 

Bide at hame, iii. 97, remain at 

Biilt, ii. 63, built. 

Bil, i. \68, pike or halbert. 

Bille, i. 282, 289, ii. 142, writing. 

Biqueth, ii. 12, bequeath. 

Bird, iii. 94, chi/d, term of affec- 
tion usually applied toawoman. 

Birk, ii. 363, iii. 238, birch-tree. 

Blak, ii. 21 ; blakc, ii. 21, black. 

Blan, i. 269 ; blane, i. 30 ; blanne, 
i. 68, 91, 275, ii. 144, lingered, 

Blaw, i. 145, iii. \4't,blow; blaw- 
ing, iii. 147, blowing. 

Blaze, ii. 260, emblazon, display. 

1 5 lee, i. 72, ii. 56, colour, com- 

Blcid, iii, 94, bleed; bleids, ii. 1 16, 

Blend, iii. 55;blent, iii.5i,/^/<?«^/(t"^/. 

Blent, ceased. 



Blink, ii. 120, a glimpse of light. 

Blinkan, iii. 123, twinkling. 

Blinks, iii. 74, twinkles., sparkles. 

Blinne, iii. 46, cease, give over. 

Blissing, iii. 208, blessittg. 

Blist, i. 310, blessed. 

Blude, i. 34, blood; blude reid, i. 
100, blood red. 

Bluid, i. 59, 83, blood J bluidy, i. 
144, bloody; reid bluid, red blood, 
i. 146. 

Blyth, ii. d^., joyous., sprightly. 

Blyth, iii. ji\.,joy, sprightli?iess. 

Blyve, i. 175, instantly. 

Bode, i. 120, abode, stayed. 

Boist, boisteris, boast, boasters. 

Boke, ii. 16, book. 

Bollys, ii. 21, bowls. 

Boltes, shafts, arrows. 

Bomen, i. 24, bowmen. 

Bonny, iii. 147, handsotne, comely. 

BonySjii. 22,bones. Roundebonys, 
ii. 22. 

Bookes-man, iii. 52, clerk, secre- 

Boot, ii. 97 ; boote, i. 1 09, 1 1 5, 1 36, 
ii. 59 ; boots, iii. 1 54, gain, ad- 
vantage, help, assistance. 

Bore, iii. 112, boar. 

Bore, iii. 40, born. 

Borowe, i. 162, to redeein. 

Borrow, i. 275 ; borrovve, i. 269, 
pledge, S7(rety. 

Bost, ii. 24; boste, i. 122, pride; 
boast, ii. 8. 

Bot, ii. 60, but. 

Bot, ii. 109, without; bot and, 
i. 144, and also ; bot dreid, 
without dread, or certainly ; 
bot gif, ii. 83, unless. 

Bots, iii. 186, a wonn troublesome 
to horses. 

Bougill, i. 1 47, bugle-horn,hiinting- 

Boun, i. 146, ready. 

Bowen, ii. 44, ready. 

Bower, iii. 125, 126, 12,1, parlour, 

Bower-window, iii. 125, chamber 

Bowne, i. 63, "]"], ii. 94, ready; 
bowned, prepared; bowne ye, 
i. 107, prepare ye, get ready ; 

bowne to dine, going to difte. 
Bowne is a common word in 
the North for'"'' going l' e.g. Where 
are you bowne to ? Where are 
you going to? P. 

Bow're-woman, iii. 96, chatnber- 

Bowyn, i. 41, ready. 

Bowynd, i. 40, prepared. 

Bowys, i. 28, bows. 

Brade, ii. 107, 112, broad. 

Brae, iii. 147, the brow or side of 
a hill, a declivity. Braes of 
Yarrow, ii. 363, hilly banks of 
the river Yarrow. 

Braid, broad. 

Braid, i. 100, open. 

Brand, i. 83, 96 ; brande, i. 25, 
30, 40, 48, 67, sword. 

Brast, i. 66, 168, ii. 56, 98, iii. 61, 

Braw, ii. 227, brave. 

Braw, ii. 69, bravely, handsoinely. 

Brayd attowre the bent, ii. 84, 
hastened over the field. 

Brayn-pannes, ii. 25, skulls. 

Bread, ii. 192, breadth. 

Bred, i. 43, broad. 

Breeden, i. 108, breed. 

Breere, i. in, briar. 

Bren, i. 80, 145 ; brenn, ii. 57, 

Brenand drake, ii. 2 3, fiejy dragon. 

Brenn, i. 144; brenne, i. 73, 159, 
burn; brent, i. 160, ii. 55, iii. 87, 
burnt; brenning, ii. 142, burn- 

Brest, i. 29, breast. 

Brest, ii. 21, burst. 

Brether, i. 87, brethren. 

Bridal (bride-ale), miptial feast. 

Brigue, iii. 95 ; briggs, iii. 92, 

Brimme, ii. 2 57, public, utiiversally 
known; A.-S. bryme. 

Britled, iii. 12, carved. 

Broche, ii. 22, atiy ornamental 
trinket. Stone buckles of silver 
or gold with which gentlemen 
and ladies clasp their shirt- 
bosotns, and hatidkerchiefs, are 
called in the North broches, 
from the Fr. broche, a spit. P. 



Brocht, ii. 85, brought. 

Broder, ii. 360, brotJicr, 

Eroding, i. 64, ~%, pricking. 

Broht, ii. 13 ; brohte, ii. ^,brought. 

Bronde, i. 49, siuorU. 

Brooche, brouche, a spit, a bodkin. 

Brooke, enjoy j and I brook, i. 34, 
if I enjoy. 

Brouke hur wyth wynne, ii. 20, 
enjoy her -o.<ith pleasure. 

Browd, i. 24, broad. 

Broyt, ii. 21, brought. 

Br)-ttlynge, i. 25, cutting up, quar- 
tering, cannng. 

Buen, ii. 12 ; bueth, ii. 13, been, be, 

Buff, i. 150, arm, dress. 

Bugle, i. 65, 78, bugle horn, hunt- 
ing horn {being the horn of 
a bugle or wild bull). 

Buik, book. 

Buit, ii. 81, help. 

Burgens, ii. 383, buds, young 

Burn, iii. 147, bourne, brook. 

Bushment. i. 122, ambush, snare. 

Busk, i. 146, drxss, deck ; busk ye, 
i. 107, ii. 363, dress ye J busk and 
boun, i. 146, make yourselves 
ready to go ; buske them blyve, 
i. 175, get them ready instantly; 
buskit, i. 143, dressed; buskt 
them, i. 122, prepared them- 
selves, made themselves ready. 

But, without J but let, without 

But, i. 75, ii. 144, unless; but an, 
i. 144, unless; but yf, ii. 23, 

Bute, ii. 83, boot, good, advantage. 

Butt, ii. 70, the outer room, bee 

By three, of three. 

Byde, ii. 83, stay. 

Bydys, i. 2X, bides, abides. 

Bye, buy, pay for. 

Byears, i. 33, becres, biers. 

Byhynde, ii. 19, behind. 

Byre, iii. 236, cow-house. 

Byste, i. 41, beest, art. 

Ca', iii. 93, call. 

Caddis, i. 376, worsted ribbon. 

Cadgily, ii. 68, merrily, cheerfully. 

Caitif, iii. 228; caitive, ii. 135, 

Cales, ii. 243, Cadiz. 

Calliver, a large pistol or blunder- 

Camscho, iii. 385. (Glossary — 
Eldridge) gtini. 

Can, i. 44, 77, ii. 24, 70; cane, 
i. 47, gan, began. 

Can, ii. 37, know. 

Canna, iii. 123; cannae, i. 59, 
146, cannot. 

Cannes, wooden cups, bowls. 

Cantabanqui, i. 274,ballad-singers, 
singers on benches. 

Cantells, ii. 22, pieces, corners. 

Canty, ii. 69, cheerful, chatty. 

Capul, ii. 24, a poor horse; 
capulys, ii. 24, horses. 

Capullhyde,i. 107, 114, horse hide. 

Carle, ii. 68, iii. 123, clown, a 
strong, hale old num. 

Carlish, i. 133, iii. 14, churlish^ 

Carlist, iii. 329, churlish ? 

Carp, ii. 136 ; carpe, ii. 19, to 
speak, recite, also to censure ; 
i. 2},, complaifi. 

Carpyng, ii. 20, tumult. 

Cast, i. 26, mean, intend. 

Caste, ii. 128, stratagem. 

Catives, ii. 302, wretches. 

Cau, ii. 71, call. 

Cauld, i. 143, ii. 68, cold. 

Causey, ii. 139, causeway. 

Cawte and kene, i. 44, cautious 
and active. 

Cent, i. 130, scent. 

Cetywall, i. 307, setiwall, the herb 
valerian, or mountain spike- 

Cham, ii. 2S8, I am, in .Somerset- 
shire dialect. 

Chantcclere, i. 307, the cock. 

Chap, iii. 93, 95, knock. 

Charke-bord, ii. 203 .^ same as 
archcborde, side of the ship f 
.See Hach-bortle. 

Chayme, ii. 74, Cain, or Ham. 

Chays, i. 26, chase. 

Che, ii. 286, /, /// Somersetshire 



Cheare, ii. 216, chair. 
Checke, i. 301, to stop, to chide. 
Cheefe, the upper part of the 

scutcheon in heraldry. 
Cheffe, i. 28, chief; cheffest, iii. 

44, chief est. 
Cheften, i. 28, chieftain. 
Cheis, choose. 
Chevaliers, knights. 
Cheveron, ii. 25, upper part of 

the sc7itcheon in heraldry. 
Chevy Chase, i. 19, Cheviot chase 

or hunt. See same contraction 

in Tividale. 
Ch\e\<l, fellow. 
Child, iii. 58, knight. 
Children, i. 66, 77, knights. 
Chill, ii. 286, / zuill, in Somerset- 
shire dialect. 
Cholde, y-cholde, ii. 12, I would. 
Choul'd, ii. 287, / would, in Som. 

Christentie, christentye, i. 92, ii. 

61 ; christiante, i. 31, Christen- 
Church-ale, iii. 198, a wake or 
feast iti commemoration of the 

dedication of a church. 
Chyf, chyfe, chief 
Chylded, ii. 382, brought forth, 

was delivered. 
Chylder, ii. 25, childrejis. 
Chyviat chays, i. 26. (See Chevy 

Claiths, ii. 69, clothes. 
Clattered, beat so as to rattle. 
Clawde, clawed, tore, scratched; 

figuratively, beat. 
Clead, ii. 69, clad, clothe; clead- 

ing, iii. 237, clothing. 
Cleaped, i. 306, called, na7ned. 
Cled, iii. 147, clad, clothed. 
Clepe, ii. 13, call; cleped, ii. 14, 

eliding, iii. 97, clothing. 
Clim, i. 155, contraction of Cle- 

Clough, i. 155, rt broken cliff. 
Clout, i. 197, a cloth to strain 

milk through; rag, ii. 71 ; 
Clout, ii. 100, me7id. 
Clowch, clutch, grasp. 
Clymme, ii. 74, climb. 

Coate, i. 309, cot, cottage. 

Cockers, i. 308, a sort of buskins 
or short boots fastened with 
laces or buttons, worn by far- 
mers or shepherds. Cokers, 
fshermen^s boots (Littleton's 

Cog, iii. 203, to lie, cheat. 

Cohorted, ii. 382, incited, ex- 

Cokenay,ii. 28, explained by Percy 
to be a diminutive of cook, from 
the Latin coquinator, or coqui- 
narius ; it really means a lean 

Cold, ii. 232 ; colde, ii. 55, cotild. 

Cold, iii. 6, knew, where I cold 
be ; i. 286, where I was. 

Cold rost, nothing to the pur- 

Cole, iii. 108, coal. 

Coleyne, iii. 33, Cologne steel. 

Collayne, i. 48, Cologne steel. 

Com, ii. 12 ; come, ii. 21, came; 
comen, i. 89 ; commen, i. 33, 

Con, ii. 27, can. 

Con fare, went, passed. 

Con springe, ii. 11, spread abroad. 

Con twenty thanks, iii. 210, give 
twenty thanks. 

Confeterd, i. 120, confederated. 

Confound, i. 218, destroy. 

Contray, ii. 19, co7intry. 

Cop, ii. 9, head, the top of any- 
t hi Jig. 

Coppell, ii. 21, name of a heti. 

Cordiwin, i. 318, originally Span- 
ish or Cordovan leather, after- 
wards commoner leather. 

Cors, ii. 21, body. 

Cors, i. 26, curse. 

Corsiare, i. 30, courser, steed. 

Coste, ii. 30, coast, side, region. 

Cote, i. 303 ; cott, iii. 183, cottage. 

Cote, iii. 53, coat. 

Cotydyallye, ii. 381, daily, every 

Could bear, ii. 137, did bare. 

Could be, was. 

Could dye, died. 

Could his good, knew what was 
good for him. 


Could weip, wept. 

Coulde, cold. 

Counsayl, secret. 

Countie, i. 303, count, earl. 

Coupe, i. 300, coop, or a pen for 

Courtas, ii. S2, courteous. 

Courteys, ii. 46, courteous. 

Courtnalis, iii. 1S2, courtiers. 

Couth, i. 306, could. 

Couthen, ii. 13, knew. 

Cowde, i. 44, could. 

Coyntrie, i. 308, Coventry. 

Cramasie, iii. 75, 147, crimson. 

Crancke, i. 307, exultin^ly. 

Cranion, iii. 198, skull. 

Crech, ii. 27. This word is incor- 
rectly explained in the text as 
crutch. It is really a form of 
the French creche, a crib or 
manger. It occurs as cracche 
in the " Promptorium Parv." 

Crepyls, ii. 24, cripples. 

Cricke, i. 196, properly an ant, 
but used for any small insect. 

Crinkle, iii. 10, run in ami out, 
run into flexures, wrinkle. 

Cristes cors, Christ's corse. 

Croche, ii. 312, crouch. 

Croft, ii. 22, inclosure near a 

Crois, ii. 13 ; croiz, ii. 12, cross. 

Crook, ii. 70, twist, wrinkle, dis- 
tort j crook my knee, ii. 71, 
make lame my knee. They say 
in the North " the horse is 
crookit," i.e. lame ; the " horse 
crooks," i.e. goes lame. P. 

Crouneth, ii. 12, crown ye. 

Crowch, i. 180, crutch. 

Crown, i. 26, head. 

Crowt, iii. 10, to pucker up, draw 
close toj^ether. (Another form 
of crowd.) 

Crumpling, ii. 257, crooked, hortud. 

Cryance, i. 65, 66, "jZ^fear. 

Cule, ii. 229, cool. 
• Cum, i. 28, 59, loi, 143 ; ii. 132, 
come, came. 

Cummer, ii. 133, (gossip, friend; 
Fr. comm^re, compirre. 

Cure, ii. 76, care, heed, regard. 

Dale, deal; bot gif I dale, ii. 83, 
unless I share. 

Dampned, i. 161, damned, con- 

Dan, an ancient title of respect, 
from Lat. Dominus. 

Danske, ii. 254, Denmark. 

Dare, ii. 360, their; ii. 361, there. 

Darh, ii. 14, ?ieed. 

Darr'd, ii. 118, hit. 

Dart the tree, ii. 1 15, //// the tree. 

Dat, ii. 360, that. 

Daungerhalt, ii. \6,fear holdeth. 

Dawes, iii. 368, days. 

Dawkin, ii. 19, diminutive of 

De, ii. 360, the. 

De, i. 26, 30, die. 

Dealan, iii. 134, dealing. 

Deare, ii. 308, hurt. 

Deare, iii. 82, dearly. 

Deas, iii. the high table in a hall. 
F. dais, a canopy. 

Ded, ii. 26 ; dede, i. 30, dead. 

Dede is do, ii. 36, deed is done. 

Dee, iii. 99, die. 

Deemed, iii. 52 ; deemedst, ii. 
217, doomed, judged; thus in 
the Isle of Man judges are 
called Deemsters. P. 

Deere, ii. 304, hurt, mischief. 

Deerely, ii. 194, iii. 27 ; pre- 
ciously, richly. 

Default, i. 303, neglect. 

Deid, ii. 83, dead : deid bell, iii. 
1 34, passing bell. 

Deid, i. loi, 147, deed. 

Deip, i. 60 ; deep. 

Deir, i. 83, loi ; dear. 

Deir, iii. 96, dearly. 

Deir, ii. 82, hurt, trouble. 

Deie, ii. 35, deal, bit. 

Dele, ii. 45, to deal. 

Dell, deal, part ; every dell, every 

Delt, iii. 1 19, dealt. 

Dem, ii. 361, them. 

Dcmaines, iii. 209, demesnes, es- 

Deme, ii. z(y'^, judged, doomed. 

Dcnay, i. 217, deny, refuse. 

Dent, ii. 21, a dint, blow. 

Dcol, ii. 13, dole, grief. 



Depart, ii. 2>7i separate; depart- 
ing, ii. 84, dividing. 

Depured, i. 129, purified, run 

Deray, ii. 28, confusion. 

Dere, ii. 20, dear., also Jmri. 

Dere, ii. 19, dire or sad. A.-S. 
derian, to hurt. " My dearest 
foe " — Hamlet. 

Dere, iii. 357, 'wild a7iimals. 

Derked, ii. y]., darketied. 

Dern, ii. 82, secret; I'dern, ii. 83, 
in secret. 

Descreeve, i. 63, describe ; descry- 
ing, iii. 168, describing. 

Devys, ii. 12, devise, the act of 
bequeathal by will. 

Dey, ii. 361, they. 

Dey, i. 33 ; deye, ii. 12, die. 

Did off, i. 1 14, took off; did on, 
iii. 65, put on. 

Dight, i. 65, 74; dighte, ii. 162, 
decked, dressed, prepared, 
wrought, fitted out, done. 

Diht, ii. II, wrought; ii. 12, sent. 

Dill, ii. 82, share. 

Dill, still, calm, mitigate. 

Dill, i. 63, Tl, 78, dole, grief , pain, 
sorrow; dill I drye, i. 64, pain 
I suffer; dill was dight, grief 
was jtpon him. 

Dinge, iii. 51, knock, beat. 

Dis, this. 

Discreeve, i. "jj, describe, or dis- 

Disna, iii. 123, does not. 

Disteynyd, i. 124, stained. 

Distrere, iii. 108, the horse ridden 
by a knight in the tournatnent. 

Do, ii. 36, done. 

Dochter, i. 59, 145, ii. 68, daughter. 

Dois, i. 59, 83, does. 

Dois, days. 

Del, ii. 13 ; dole, i. 63, 137, 292, 
dole, grief, sorrow. 

Doleful dumps, i. 188, 261, sorrow- 
f III gloom or heaviness of heart. 

Dolours, dolorous, mourtiful. 

Don, iii. 208, do. 

Don, ii. 23, be made. 

Done roun, ii. 80, ru)i down. 

Dosend, iii. 123, dosing, drowsy, 
torpid, benumbed. 

Doth, dothe, doeth, do. 

Doubt, iii. yi'],fear. 

Doubteous, doubtful. 

Dough, ii. 360, though. 

Doughty, iii. 26 ; doughtye, i. 305,- 
dowght>'e, i. 40 ; formidable. 

Doughete, i. 28, a doughty man. 

Dounae, i. 60, cannot. 

Dout, ii. 22,, fear. 

Doute, i. 167, doubt. 

Doutted, i. 123, redoubted, feared. 

Douyty, doughty. 

Doy-trogh, ii. 24, dough trough, a 
kneading trough. 

Doys, i. 34, does. 

Doyter, ii. 20, daughter. 

Drake ; brenand drake, ii. 23, burn- 
ing, fire-breathing dragon. 

Drap, drop; draping, ii. 114, drap- 
ping, iii. 97, dropping. 

Dre, i. 31, 83, siiffer. 

Dreid, ii. 82, dread. 

Dreips, i. 146, drips, drops. 

Dreiry, iii. 100, dreary. 

Drieps, iii. 146, drips, drops. 

Drie, i. 144, suffer; ill, i. 284 ; ii7i- 
dergo, I. 83. 

Drighnes, i. 119, dryness. 

Drogh, ii. 26, drew. 

Drovyers, i. 254, drovers, cattle- 

Drye, i. 49, 64, 78, suffer, e7tdu7'e. 

Dryng, ii. 8, drink. 

Duble dyse, double or false dice. 

Dude, ii. 7, did; dudest, ii. 9, didst. 

Duel, ii. II, grief 

Dughty, ii. 19, 26, doughty; 
dughtynesse of dent, ii. 21, stur- 
diness of blows. 

Dule, i. 83, 145, dole, grief, sorrow; 
dulefu', ii. 69, doleful. 

Dumps, i. 188, 261, ii. 69, heavi- 
ness of heart. 

Dwellan, iii. 134, dwelling. 

Dy, die; dyan, iii. 134, dying. 

Dyd on, i. 159, put on; dyd off, 
i. 164, doffed, put off. 

Dyght, i. 30, dressed, put on. 

Dyht, ii. 14, to dispose, order. 

Dynt, i. 30, dynte, i. 31, dyntes, i. 
32, dint, blow, stroke. 

Dystrayne, ii. 37, afflict. 

Dyyt, ii. 24, dight, dressed. 



Eame, uncle. 

Eard, earth. 

Earn, ii. 70, to curdle, make cheese. 

Eathe, i. 273, easy. 

Eather, iii. 100, either. 

Eche, ii. 246, each. 

Ee, i. loi, 178, ii. 60 ; een, i. 320, 
eye, eyes. 

Eene, iii. 75, ez'en. 

Eliund, iii. "^oi, pour forth. 

Eftsoon, iii. 304, /;/ a short time. 

Egge, ii. 259, to urge on. 

Eik, ii. 83, also. 

Eiked, ii. 85, added, enlarged. 

Ein, i. 145, e7'en. 

Eir, i. loi, 146, 320, ever. 

Eise, ii. 212, ease. 

Eke, ii. 13, also. 

Eldridge, i. 64, y%, luild, hideous., 
ghostly, lonesome, joiinhadited. 
"In the ballad of ^/r Gi'/^//'«6' 
we have ' Eldridge Hills,' p. 65, 
' Eldridge Knight,' p. 65, ' Eld- 
ridge Sword.' p. 67. So Gawin 
Douglas calls the Cyclops the 
' Elriche Brethir,' i.e. brethren 
(b. ii. p. 91, 1. 16), and in his 
Prologue to b. vii. (p. 202, 1. 3) 
he thus describes the Night- 
Owl :— 

" * Laithely of forme, with crukit 

camscho beik, 
" ' Ugsome to here was his wyld 

clrische skreik.' 

" In Bannatyne's MS. Poems 
(fol. 135, in the Advocate's Li- 
brary at Edinburgh) is a whim- 
sical rhapsody of a deceased old 
woman travelling in the other 
world ; in which 
" ' Scho wanderit, and yeid by, 
to an Elrich well.' 

" In the Glossary to G. Dou- 
glas, Klrichc, &c. is explained 
by ' Wild, hideous : Lat. Trux, 
immanis;' but it seems to imply 
somewhat more, as in Allan 

' Ramsay's Glossaries." P. 

Elke, each. 

Ellas, ii. 20, else. 

EUumynynge, i. 12'^, embellishing. 

Elyconys, i. 119, Helicon's. 

3 c 

Elvish, peexiish, fantastical. 
Eme, i. 44, ii. 9, uncle., kinsman. 
Endyed, i. 123, dyed. 
Ene, eyn, eyes. 
Ene, ei'ot. 

Enharpid, i. 12"^^, hooked or edged. 
Enkankered, cankered. 
Enouch, iii. 100, enough. 
Enowe, i. 275, enough. 
Ensue, ii. \i, follow. 
Entendement, ii. 382, understand- 
Entent, ii. 49, intent. 
Ententifly, ii. 3S2, to the intent, 

Envie ; envye, i. 42, malice, ill- 

luill, injury. 
Er, ii. 20, 26, are. 
Ere, ii. 36, 42, ear. 
Erlys, ii. 47 ; erles, iii. 94, earls. 
Erst, i. 83, heretofore. 
Etermynable, i. 126, inierfnitiable, 

Ettled, ii. 116, aimed. 
Evanished, iii. 133, vanished. 
Everych, ii. 27, every; everych- 

one, i. 156 ; iii. 108, every one. 
Evv-bughts, iii. 74, pens for milch- 

Eyen, i. 72 ; eyn, ii. 15 ; eyne, i. 

132, eyes. 
Ezar, iii. 97, 7naple. 

Fa', i. 84, 1^6, fall ; fa's, iii. 123, 

Fach, i. 33, feche,y^/^^. 

Fader, iii. 365 ; fadir, i. 83; fatheris, 
father, fatheris. 

Fadge, iii. 236, a bundle of sticks, 
a thick loaf of bread, coarse 
heap of stuff. 

Fadom, i. \02, fatho?n. 

Fae, ii. \oc),foe. 

Fain, ii. 69; faine, i. 164, 287; 
faync, i. 157, glad, fond, well 
pleased; faine of Hghte, i. 92, 
fond of fighting. 

Fair of fcir, of a fair and health- 
ful look : perhaps, far off (free 
from) fear. P. 

Falds, iii. 123, thou foldest. 

Failan,iii. \l^., falling. 

Fals, ii. 2\2, false. 



Falser, iii. i6i, a deceiver, hypo- 

Falsing, ii. 6i, dealing in false- 

Fand, iii. yiA^, found. 

Fang, ii. 26, 7nake off. 

Fann'd, ii. 2^6, found. 

Fannes, ittstrutneuts for winnow- 
ing corn. 

Fantacy, ii. 136 ; fantasye, ii. 160, 

Farden, i. "j 2, flashed. 

Fare, i. 84, ii. 21, go forth, pass, 

Fare, the price of a passage, shot, 

Farley, i. 107, strange. 

Fauht, i. 122, fought. 

Fauld, ii. Z^, field. 

Fauyt, ii. ■^o, fought. 

Fawkon, i. \2, falcon. 

Fawn, iii. 122, fallen. 

Fawte, i. \22, fought. 

Fay, i. 178 ; faye, i. 106, faith. 

Fayrere, ii. /^^, fairer. 

Faytors, i. 215, deceivers, dissem- 
blers, cheats. 

Fe, i. \']Z,fee, reward, also bribe. 
Applied to lands and tene- 
ments which are held by per- 
petual right, and by acknow- 
ledgment of superiority to a 
higher lord. 

Feare. In feare, ii. 149, company. 

Feat, i. 300, nice, neat. 

Featously, i. 306, tieatly, dexter- 

Fedyrs, ii. 22, feathers. 

Fee, ii. 1^0, property. 

Feere, i. 63, 76, tnate, companion. 

Feill, ii. ^6, fail {?). 

Feil, fele, many. 

Fairs, ii. 1 14, companions. 

Feir, i. loi, ii. 82 ; feire, ii. 212, 

Feit, i. 84, 102, feet. 

Felawe, ii. \\, fellow. 

Feld, ii. 2^, field. 

Fell, i. 65, 78 ; ii. 19, furiotis, 
fierce, keen, i. 306. 

Fell, ii. 25, hide. 

Feloy, ii. 2'^, fellow. 

Fend, ii. 21 ; fende, ii. 59, defefid. 

Fendys pray, i. 125, the prey of 

Fere, ii. '}f),fear. 

Fere, i. 64, 68, 73, 1 56, ii. 20, mate; 
play-feres, i. ^<^, play-fellows. 

Ferly,ii. 19, wonder j alsowonder- 
fully, ii. 25. 

Ferlyng, ii. %, furlong. 

Ferr, i. 62, far. 

Fersly, i. 160, fiercely. 

Fesaunt, i. 42, pheasant. 

Fest, ii. 27, feast. 

Fet, ii. 128, iii. 193 ; fett, i. 286 ; 
fette, i. 50, 68, fetched ; deepe- 
fette, i. 76, deep-drawn. 

Fethe, i. 2<^, faith. 

Fettle, i. 116; fetteled, i. 108; 
fettled, i. 113, 116, prepared, 
addressed, made ready. 

Fey, ii. 118, predestinated to some 

Feyytyng, ii. infighting. 

Fie, ii. 82, sheep or cattle. 

Fier, i. \\<^,fire. 


Filinge, iii. 63, defiling 

Fillan, iii. \i\, filling. 

Finaunce, i. \2^, fine, forfeiture. 

Find frost, find mischance or dis- 

Firth, ii. 85, copse, wood. 

Fit, i. 27 ; fitt, ii. 177 ; fytte, i. 44, 
part or division of a song. 

Fitts, i.e. divisions or parts in 
music, are alluded to in "Troilus 
and Cressida," act. iii. sc. i. 
(See Steevens's note.) P. 

¥it,foot,feet; a fit, ii. 70, on foot. 

Flatred, ii. 25, slit. 

Flayne, iii. 2%,fiayed. 

Flearing, i. 215, sneering. 

Flee, iii. 97,fiy. 

Fles, ii. 2\,fleece. 

Fleyke, ii. 134, a large kind of 
hurdle; cows are frequently 
milked in hovels made of fleyks. 

Flindars, iii. gj, pieces, splinters. 

Flix, III. fijtx. 

Flote, i. 201. 

To flote is to flete or fleet, to 
flit, to change position easily, 
to move away quickly ; as 
fleeting moments, flitting birds. 



Flote and flete are two forms 

of the same word ; and flutter 

bears the same relation to tlote 

that flitter does to flete. 

In the Roxburt^he copy of 

the ballad of IVillozo, WUhnu 

this word is printed as " fleet." 

(Roxb. Ballads, ed. Chappell, 

part i. p. 172.) 
Flout, ii. 179; Acute, i. 197, to 

sneer J fflouting, i. 289. 
Flowan, ii. "i^b^, flowing. 
Flude, ii. '},(i\, flood. 
Flyte, i. 196, 281, 288, to contend 

with words, scold. 
Fole, iii. \o?>, foal. 
Fonde, ii. 12, contrive, endeavour, 

Fog, i. i,o,foe. 
Fooder, ii. 66, wine tun; Germ. 

For, on account of. 
For but, ii. 146, unless. 
Forbode, commandment. 
Force, no force, no matter. 
Forced, ii. 76, regarded, heeded. 
Forefend, i. 268 ; forfend, ii. 97, 

prevent, defehd, avert, hinder. 
Forewearied, over-wearied. 
Forfeebled, ii. 107, enfeebled. 
For-fought, ii. 25, oiier-fought. 
Fors, ii. 21, strength. 
Fors. I do no fors, ii. 16, / don't 

Forsede, i. 122, heeded, regarded. 
Forst, ii. 76, regarded. 
Forthynketh, i. 174, repenteth, 

vexeth, troubleth. 
Forthy, therefore. 
Forwarde, i. 44, 7ian. 
Forewatcht, ii. jj, over-wakeful, 

kept awake. 
Fosters of the fe, i. ij-,, foresters 

of the king's demesnes. 
Fot pot, ii. 9, with his foot push on. 
Fote, i. ^<),foot. 
You, i. 147, iii. 75 ; fow, iii. 99, 

full, ViX'io fuddled. 
. Fowkin, ii. 22, crepitus ventris. 
Fox't, drunk. 
Frae, i. i^,frofn. 
Fraemang, ii. io'j,from among. 
Fraid, i. 323, afraid. 

Freake, i. 31, man, person, human 

Freake, a whim or maggot. 
Freckys, i. 29, tncji. 
Freers, ii. 128 ; fryars,/;7<7;'jr. 
Freits, i. 146, /'// omens, ill-luck. 
Freke, i. 49, ii. 25, man; frekys, 

ii. 25, men. 
Freyke, ii. 135, humour, freak. 
Freyke, i. 29, strong man. 
Freyned, ii. 134, asked; freyned 

that freake, ii. 134, asked that 

Frie, ii. 82 ; free. 
Fro, i. 159 ; froe, i. 106, \y^,from. 
Fru ward, forward. 
Furth, ii. 21, forth. 
Fuyson, i. 123 ; foyson, plenty, 

also substance. 
Fyer, ii. 55, 105, yf;vy fyerye, iii. 

I \Z,flery. 
Yytx%, fierce. 
Fyhte, ii. 12, fight. 
Fykkill, i. 122,, fickle. 
Fyl'd, iii. 147, defiled. 
Fyll, i. I2\,fell. 

Ga, ii. 24 ; go; gais, ii. ^:„goes. 

Ga, ii. W}), ga'je. 

Gaberlunyie, ii. 71, a wallet ; ga- 

berlunyie man, ii. 67, a tinker, 

beggar, one ti'ho carried a wallet. 
Gade, iii. 122, went. 
Gadelyngj's, ii. 20, gadders, idle 

Gader>'d, ii. 27, gathered. 
Gadryng, ii. 22, gathering. 
Gae, ii. 70, gave. 
Gae, i. 143; gaes, ii. 69, go, 

Gaed, ii. 69, went. 
Gair, ii. 86, strip of land. 
Gair, i. 59, geer, dress. 
Gait, iii. 95, gate. 
Galliard, ii. 162, a sprightly kind 

of dance. 
Gamon, i. 67, to make game, to 

sport. A.-S. ganicnianyW(v;/7. 
Gan, i. 63, 129, 309, ii. 68, began. 
Gan, i. 30 ; gane, i. 30, ii. 69, 

Gang, i. 83, ii. 69, go. 
Ganyde, i. 28, gained. 



Gar, ii. 70 ; iii. 94, gare, garre, i. 44, 

make, cause, force, &c. ; gars, i. 

321, makes. 
Gard, iii. 97 ; garde, i. 28 ; garred, 

garr'd, ii. 117; gart , iii. 97, made. 
Gargeyld, i. 128, from gargouille, 

the spout of a gutter. The 

tower was adorned with spouts 

cut in the figures of greyhounds, 

lions, &c. 
Garland, i. iii, the ring within 

which the prick or mark was set 

to be shot at. 
Garth, ii. -y^i, garden, yard. 
Gat, i. \\(i, got. 
Gate, i. 108, way. 
Gaup, ii. xy) gapes, waits. 
Gear, i. 322, iii. 122, goods, effects, 

Gederede ys host, ii. 8, gathered 

his host. 
Geere, i. 274, 2^^, property. 

Gef, ii. 31'^^''^^- 

Geid, gave. 

Geir, ii. 6(), gear, property. 

Gerte, iii. i^y, pierced. 

Gesse, ii. 49, guess. 

Gest, ii. 85, act, feat, story, history. 

Gettyng, i. 43, booty. 

Geud, i. 10^, good. 

Geve, ii. Sjjg^"^^- 

Gibed, jeered. 

Gi', i. 145 ; gie, i- \\^,give; gied, 

i. "^21, gave. 
Giff, i. 322 ; giffe, ii. 57, if 
Gilderoy,i. -^20, red boy (or gillie); 

Gaelic, Gille ruadh (pronounced 

Gillore, ii. 2>^\,plefity. 
Gimp, ii. 1 10, tieat, slender. 
Gin, i, 60, iii. 74, //. 
Gin, iii. 203 ; Ginn, iii. 53 ; e7igine, 

Gins, ii. 53, begins. 
Give, ii. 237 ; if. 
Glave, ii. 115, sword. 
Glede, i. 26, a red-hot coal. 
Glent, i. 24, glanced. 
Glente, iii. 356, slipped aside. 
Gleyinge, i. 408, minstrelsy. 
Glist, ii. wo, glistered. 
Glose, i. 120, gloss over. 
Glowr, iii. 75, stare ox frown. 

Gloze, iii. 203, canting, dissimu- 

latio7i,fair outside. 
God before, God be thy guide, a 

form of blessing. 

So in Shakespeare's " King 

Hen. V." (A. iii. sc. 8) the King 

says: — 

" My army's but a weak and 

sickly guard ; 
Yet, God before, tell him we 
will come on." P. 
Gode, ii. 2\, good. 
Gods-pennie, ii. 140, earnest 

Gon, ii. 21, began. 
Gone, go. 
Good, a good deal. 
Good-e'ens, ii. 68, good evenings. 
Good-se peny, ii. 147, earnest 

Gorget, ii. 57, the dress of the neck. 
Gorrel-bellyed, ii. 346, pot-bellied. 
Gowan, ii. 364, the covwion yellow 

crowfoot or gold cup, daisy. 
Gowd, i. 145, iii. TSig^^^^S gowden 

glist, ii. no, shone like gold/ 

gowden graith'd, ii. 230, capari- 
soned withgolden accoutrements. 
Graine, i. 158, i. 197, scarlet. 
Graith'd, ii. 230, caparisoned. 
Gramarye, i. 91 ; grammarye, i. 92, 

grammar, abstruse leartiitig. 
Gramercy, i. 173 ; gramercye, ii. 

95, / thank you. Fr. grand- 

Graunge ; peakish graunge, i. 299, 

a lone country house. 
Graythed, ii. 21, made ready. 
Gre, ii. 21, prise. 
Grea-hondes, i. 24, grey-hounds. 
Grece, i. 129, step, flight of steps. 
Greece, fat J- hart of greece, i. 170, 

a fat hart. Fr. graisse. 
Greet, iii. 100, weep. 
Grein, in. ys, green. 
Gresse, i. 43, iii. 62, grass. 
Gret, ii. 12, grieved. 
Greves, i. 24, groves, bushes. 
Grippel, ii. 2^4, griping, tenacious, 

Grone, iii. groan. 
Ground-wa', i. \\S-, grotindwall. 
Growynde, i. 48, 49, ground. 



GrowTies, ii. 2^6, grounds. 

Growte, ii. 256. In Northampton- 
shire is a kind of small beer 
extracted from the malt after the 
strength has been drawn off. 
In Devon it is a kind of sweet 
ale medicated with eggs, said to 
be a Danish liquor. (Growte is 
a kind of fare much used by 
Danish sailors, being boiled 
groats, i.e. hulled oats, or else 
shelled barley, served up very 
thick, and butter added to it. — 
Mr. Lambc.) P. 

Grype, ii. 57, a grijffin. 

Grysely groned, i. 49, dreadfully 

Gude, ii. 70, ^2, good. 

Guerdon, iii. 18, reward. 

Guid, i. Z^tigood. 

Gule, iii. 7, red. 

Gyb, ii. 22, nickname 0/ Gilbert. 

Gybe, ii. 257, jibe, Jest, joke j 
gybing, ii. 260. 

Gyle, gyles, guile, guiles. 

Gyn, ii. 9, engine, contrivance. 

Gyrd, ii. 22, girded, las/ied. 

Gyrdyl, ii. 22, girdle. 

Gyse, guise, form, fashiofi. 

Ha, i. 196, has ; hae, ii. '}\,have ; 
haes, iii. 235, has. 

Ha', i. 84, iii. 94, hall j ha's, ii. 
109, halls. 

Habbe ase he brew, ii. 8, have as 
he brevjs. 

Habergeon, a lesser coat of mail. 

Hable, i. 121, able. 

Hach-borde, ii. \<^i, probably that 
part of the bulwark of the ship 
which is removed to form the 
gangway or entrance on board, 
—in fact, the " hatch "—{or half- 
door) ''board." 

Half, ii. 82, have. 

Haggis, ii. 1 32, a sheep's stomach 
stuffed with a pudding made of 
mince-meat, £r*c. 

Hail, ii. 83, healthful. 

Hair, ii. 81, 86, hoar or grey. 

Halch, iii. 325, salute. 

Halched, i. 2^0, saluted, embraced, 
fell on his neck. 

Halesome, ii. 142, wholesome, 

Halse, iii. 75, the neck, throat. 
Halt. ii. 16, holdeth. 
Ham, ii. 21, them. 
Hame, i. 143, home; hameward, 

ii. 84, homeward. 
Han, ii. 13, have. 
Handbow, the long-bow or com- 
mon bow, as distinguished from 
the cross-bow. 
Hap, i. 255 ; happ, iii. 138 ; happe, 
i. 283, fortune ; hap, i. 2S7, 
chance, happen, i. 303. 
Hard, ii. 312, heard. 
Hare . . . swerdes, ii. 8, their . . . 

Harflue, ii. 30, Harfleur. 
Harlocke, i. 307, perhaps charlock, 
or wild rape, which bears a yel- 
low flower, and grows among 
corn, (2^T. 
Harneis, i. 273, armour. 
Harnisine,ii. 112, harness, armour. 
Harrowe, i. 2S0, harass. 
Harowed, i. 164, harassed, dis- 
Hart, iii. 128, heart ; hartes, i. 50 ; 

harts, i. 138 ; hartis, i. 147. 
Hartely, ii. 38, earnestly. 
Hartly lust, i. 124, hearty desire. 
Harwos, ii. 27, harrows. 
Haryed, i. 41, 22, pillaged. 
Hastarddis, i. \2o, perhaps hasty, 

rash fellows, or upstarts. 
Hatcht, ii. yj, seised. 
Hauld, i. 143, hold. 
Hauss bone, iii. 75, the neck bone 
{halse bone), a phrase for the 
Have owre, i. 102, half over. 
Haves, ii. 20, effects, substance, 

Haveth, ii. 8, has. 
Haviour, i. 304, behaviour. 
Hawberke, i. 66, a coat of mail, 

consisting of iron rings, (S^t . 
Hawkin, ii. 19, diminutive of 

Harry, from Ilalkin. 
Hay He, i. 43, hale, strong. 
He, i. 171, hie, hasten. 
He, i. 24, high. 
Heal, i. 29, hail. 



Hear, i. 103, here. 

Heare, ii. 77 ; heares, hair, hairs. 

Heathynesse, iii. 40, heathai- 

Heawying, i. 31, heii'ing^hackiiig. 

Hech, ii. 27, hatch, half door of a 
cottage (sometimes spelt heck). 
" Dogs leap the hatch," iTw/^ 
Lear, act. iii. sc. 6. 

'"He'll have to ride the /ir«/^/i' 
is a familiar phrase about Looe, 
and signifies ' He'll be brought 
to trial.' It is generally used 
jocosely in the case of any loud 
professor of religion who has 
been ' overtaken in a fault ;' and 
the idea is that his trial will be 
the ordeal of attempting to ride 
or sit on the top or narrow edge 
of a hatch or half-door, when if 
he maintain his seat he will be 
pronounced innocent, if he fall 
he is guilty. If he fall inwards 
{i.e. within the room or build- 
ing), he will be pardoned, but 
if he fall outwards, he will be 
excommunicated." W. Pengelly 
{Devonshire A ssociation Repot t, 
vol. vii. p. 488). 

Hecht to lay thee law, promised 
{engaged) to lay the low. 

Hed, hede, head; hedys, ii. 25, 

Hede, ii. 12, had. 

Hede, hied. 

Hee, i. 42, high. 

Heele, i. 291, he ivill. 

Hees, ii. 70, he is. 

Heght, ii. \ 17, promised. 

Heiding hill, ii. 231, the heading 
{or beheadijig) hill. The place 
of execution was anciently an 
artificial hillock. 

Heigh, iii. 94, high. 

Heil, ii. 81, heatth. 

Heir, ii. 83, here j also hear; 
herid, iii. ()6, heard. 

Hele, ii. 42, health. 

Helen, ii. 15, heal. 

Helpeth, ii. 12, help ye. 

Hem, ii. 13, thctn. 

Hend, i. 72, i. 74, 80, kind, gentle, 

Henne, ii. 8, hence. 

Hent, ii. 26, laid hold of. 

Hepps and hawes, ii. 284, hips 

and haws. 
Herault, ii. 59, herald. 
Her, ii. 393, hear. 
Her, ii. 35, their. 
Here, ii. 42, hair. 
Herkneth, ii. 7, hearken ye. 
Herry, ii. 19, Harry. 
Hert, i. 59, heart. 
Hes, ii. 80, has. 
Hest, hast. 

Hest, i. 67, command, injunction, 
Het, ii. 346, heated. 
Hete, ii. 41, heat. 
Hether, hither. 
H ether, heather, heath. 
Hett, iii. 6, bid, call, commattd. 
Heuch, ii. 86, rock or steep hill. 
Hevede, ii. 9, had, hadst ; hev- 

edest, ii. 12. 
Hevenriche, ii. 12, heavenly. 
Hewberke, i. 72, coat of tnail. 
Hewkes, iii. 26, party-coloured 

coats of the heralds. 
Hewyns in to, hewti in two. 
Hey-day guise, iii. 204, rustic 

dances, a corruption of '■^heyde- 

Heynd, ii. Z2, gentle, obliging. 
Heyye, ii. 13, high. 
Hi, hie, he. 

Hicht, a-hicht, oft height. 
Hie, i. 32, high; hier, ii. 169, 

higher; hire, iii. 324. 
Hight, i. 29, 270, 286, promise, 

promised, engaged, also named,. 

Hilt, ii. 98, taken off, flayed. 
Hinch hoys, pages of honour. 
Hind, ii. 70, behind. 
Hinde, i. yi,ge7itle. 
Hings, iii. 97, hangs. 
Hinnible, iii. 304, horse, or pony. 
Hinny, ii. 84, honey. 
Hip, iii. 99, the berry which con- 
tains the stones or seeds of the 

Hir, i. 143 ; hire, iii. 207, her;^ 

hir lain, iii. 95, herself alone. 
Hird, ii. 81, het-d. 
Hirsel, i. 143, herself. 



Hit, ii. 13, it; hit be write, ii. 12, 
// de uritten. 

Hode, i. 164, hood, cap. 

Holden, ii. 14, hold. 

Hole, i. 124, 126, iii. 2S0, luhok. 

Hollen, iii. 325, holly. 

Holp, i. 120, helps holpe, iii. 32, 

Holt, ii. 140, wood. 

Holies, i. 42, woods, gro7'es. In 
Norfolk a plantation of cherry- 
trees is called a '' cherrj- holt." 

Holtis hair, ii. Si, 86, homy or 
grey woods or heaths. 

" Holtes seems evidently to 
signify hills in the following 
passage from Turberville's 
"Songs and Sonnets," i2mo. 
1567, fol. 56 : — 

" Yee that frequent the hilles, 
And highest Holtes of all ; 

Assist me with your skilfuU 
And listen when I call." 

" As also in this other verse of 
an ancient poet : — 

" Underneath the Holtes so 
hoar." P. 

Holy, wholly. 

Holy-rode, ii. 22, holy cross ; holye 

rood, ii. 56. 
Honde, /i^7«^/y honden wrynge, ii. 

1 1 , hands wring. 
Hondert, i. 50, hundred. 
Hondrith, i. 24, 25, y:), 32, 34, 

Hong, ii. 77 ; honge, i. \6l,hang; 

hung, i. 308. 
Hooly, iii. 134, slowly, gently. 
Hophalt, limping, hopping, and 

Hore, iii. 327, whore. 
Hount, i. 26, hunt. 
Houzle, ii. 60, give the sacrament. 
Hoved, i. 129, heaved; hovered, 

Howers, ii. 234, hours. 
Huche, ii. 81, wood, or a shed. 
Hud, ii. 23, proper name. 
Hue, ii. 12, she. A.-S. heo ; refers 

to huerte, which is feminine. It 

is an interesting example of the 

continuance of a grammatical 

gender in English. 
Huerte trewe, ii. 11, true heart. 
Huggle, iii. 72, hug, clasp. 
Hull, i. 307, /////. 
Hur, ii. 20 ; hurr, ii. 24, her. 
Hye, i. 136, high, highest; hyest, 

ii. 59 ; hyer, iii. 63, hire. 
Hyght, i. j\4., promised or engaged. 
Hyght, high; on hyght, i. 41^ 47, 

Hyllys, i. 32, hills. 
Hynd out o'er, ii. 115, over the 

Hyp-halte, ii. 27, lame in the hip. 
Hyrdyllys, ii. 27, hurdles. 
Hys, ii. 20, his. 
Hyssylton, ii. 19, Islitigton. 
Hyt, hytt, ii. 49, //. 
H)yt, ii. 20, projnised. 

I-clipped, i. 129, called. 

I-feth, i. 29, in faith. 

I-lore, ii. 13, lost. 

I -strike, ii. 16, stricken, struck. 

I-trovve, verily. 

I-tuned, tufied. 

I -ween, verily. 

I-wis, i. 276, verily; I-wys,i.68, 70. 

I -wot, verily. 

Ich, ii. 286, I; ich biqueth, ii. 12, 

/ bequeath. 
Ich, ii. 22; icha, ii. 25, each. 
Ide, iii. 72, I would. 
lid, ii. 69, I'd, I would. 
He, i. 196, I'll, I will. 
Illfardly, ii. 70, ill -favoiiredly , 

Ilk, same ; this ilk, this same. 
Ilk on, ii. 21, each one ; ilka, ilke, 

every; ilka ane, iii. 122, every 

Im, i. 103, him. 
Ime, i. 198, ii. 57, I am. 
Incontinent, iii. xZ"], forthwith. 
In fere, ii. 36, together, in company. 
Ingle, ii. 6'6,fire. 
Inogh, ii. 26, enough; inoughe, ii. 

147, enough. 
Into, iii. 238, in. 

Intres, i. 12% entrance, admittance. 
Irke, ii. 148, angry. 



Is, i. 149, ii. 8, his. 
Ise, ii. 211, iii. 236, I shall. 
I'st, i. 289, 292, /'//. 
It's neir, it shall never. 
lye, i. 432, eye. 

Janglers, ii. 85, talkative persons, 

wranglers, tell-tales. 
Jear, ii. 1 1 8, derision. 
Jetted, iii. 186, strutted, or went 

Jille, iii. TJ, used here as a man's 

Jimp, i. 145, slender. 
Jo, i. 320, ii. 132, sweetheart, friend, 

contraction oijoy. 
Jogelers, i. w\, jugglers. 
Jow, iii. I T)^,single stroke in tolling. 
Juncates, iii. 202, junket, curds 

and clouted creajn. 
Jupe, ii. 116, an tipper garment. 

Kail, i. 125, call. 

Kama, iii. \\'],combj kameing, iii. 
97, co?nbi7tg. 

Kan, i. 123, 430, can. 

Kantle, iii. 26, piece, corner. 

Karlis of kynde, i. 120, churls by 

Kauk, ii. 71, chalk. 

Kauld, i. 103, called. 

Keel, ii. 71, ruddle. 

Keepe, i. 309, ii. 256, care, heed. 
So in the old play of " Hick 
Scorner," " I keepe not to clymbe 
so hye ;" i.e. I study not, care 
not, &c. 

Keip, ii. 82, keep ; ii. 84, watch. 

Keipand, ii. 82, keeping. 

Kell, iii. loi, 7iet for a wom,an's 

Kembe, iii. 100, 186, to comb; 
kembing, iii. 102, combing; 
kemb'd, iii. 302, combed. 

Kempe, i. 90, 94, ii. 183, soldier, 

Kemperye man, i. 94, soldier,fight- 
ing man. 

" Germa7iis Camp, Exerci- 
tum, aut Locum ubi Exercitus 
castrametatur, signifcat : inde 
ipsis Vir Castrensis et Mill tar is 
kemffer, et kempher, ct kemper, 

et kimber, et kamper, pro varie- 
tate dialectorum, vacatur: Vo- 
cabulum hoc nostro sermone 
notidutn penitus exolevit; Nor- 
folciefises enim plebeio et prole- 
tario ser7none dicunt ' He is a 
kemper old man, i.e. Senex Ve- 
getus est:' Hitic Cimbris suufn 
nomen : ' kimber cfmn Homo 
bellicosus, pugil, robustus jniles, 
&^c. sigmfcat.' Sheringham de 
Anglor. gentis. orig.pag. 57. Rec- 
tiz^s autem Lazius[a.pudeundem, 
p. 49]. ' Cimbros a bello quod 
kamff, et Saxottice kamp Jiuncu- 
patos credideritn : unde bella- 
tores viri Die Kempffer, Die 
Kemper.' " P. 

Kems, i. 102, combs. 

Ken, ii. 69, kftowj kens, iii. 122, 
knows ; kenst, i. 196, knowest. 

Kend, ii. 70, knew j known, iii. 
99 ; kenn'd, ii. 365. 

Kene, ii. 15, keen. 

Kepand, ii. 81, keeping. 

Kepers, i. 181. " Those that watch 
by the corpse shall tye up my 
winding-sheet." P. 

Kester, i. 276, nicktiame for Chris- 

Kever chefes, kerchiefs or head 
covers. (See vol. 3, p. 356.) 

Kexis, ii. 27, elder sticks tised for 

Kilted, iii. 132, tucked tip. 

Kind, ftature. To carp is our 
kind, it is natural for us to talk 
of J of hir kind, ii. 1 54, of her 

Kirk, iii. 75 ; kirke, i. 137, church; 
kirk wa', iii. 238, church wall, 
or churchyard wall; kirkyard, 
i. 243, iii. 132, churchyard. 

Kirns to kirn, ii. 70, churns to 

Kirtle,i. 222, apetticoat,a woman's 

Kist, ii. 69, chest. 

Kit, i. 123, C2it. 

Knave, servant. 

Knaw, ii. 82, know. 

Knellan, iii. 134, knelling, ringing 
the knell. 



Knicht, iii. 237, knii:[Jif. 

Knight's fe, such a portion 0/ land 
as required the possessor to 
scn'c li'itli man and horse. 

Knowles, knolls, little hills. 

Knyled, i. 32, knelt. 

Kowarde, i. 46, coward. 

Kowe, ii. 21, cow. 

Kuntrey, i. 124, country. 

Kurteis, i. 125, courteous. 

Kyd, ii. 21, shown. 

Kye, ii. 134, kine, cows. 

Kyrtel., ii. 42 ; kyrtell, i. 65, petti- 
coat, gown, a 7nan's under gar- 

"Bale, in his 'Actes of Eng. 
Votaries' (part ii. fol. 53), uses 
the word Kyrtle to signify a 
monk's frock. He says, Roger, 
Earl of Shrewsbur}-, when he 
was dying, sent ' to Clunyake, 
in France, for the kyrtle of holy 
Hugh the abbot there,' &c." P. 

Kyhe, i. 427, 7nake appear, show, 

Kythed, appeared. 

Laigh,ii. 117, Ivw. 

Laith, i 101, ii. 70, loth. 

Laithly, loathsome, hideous. 

Laitl, i. 03, little. 

Lamb s w^ol, iii. 183, a liquor corn- 
posed of. lie and roasted apples. 

Lane, \dL^\n,to>ie; her lane, ii. 69 ; 
hir lain, ii. 95, alone by her- 

Lang, i. loi, i. 20, long. 

Lang'd, ii. 107 longed. 

Langsome, i. 3.1, long, tedious. 

Lap, iii. 93, 95, 'eaped. 

Largesse, iii. 26, r//"/, liberality. 

Lasse, ii. 13, less. 

Late, ii. 47, let. 

Latte, ii. 12, hinder 

Lauch, i. 101, laug, ; lauched, i. 
10 1, laughed. 

Laundc, i. 170, clear space in a 

Lawlands, ii. 227, lowltuds. 

Lay, i. 79, law. 

Layde, i. 291, lady. 

Layden, i. 66, laid. 

Layland, i. 66, 67, 79, green zuard. 

Laylands, i. 73, latids in general. 

Layne, lain, laid. 

Lajne, i. 45, 46, deceive, break one's 

Lazar, ii. 55, hper. 
Leal, ii. 69, loyal, honest, true. 
Leane, conceal, hide. 
Lear'd, i. 307, pastured. 
Lease, lying, falsehood; withouten 

lease, i. 170, verily, without 

Lease, iii. 102, leash, thong, cord. 
Leasynge, lying, falsehood. 
Leaute, ii. 7, loyalty. 
Lee, ii. 68, lea, field, pasture. 
Lee, iii. 96, lie. 

Leeche, i. 63, 75, 77, physician. 
Leechinge, i. 63 ; leedginge, i. 77, 

doctoring, medicinal care. 
Leek, phrase of contempt. 
Leel, ii. 1 1 2, true. 
Leer, look. 
Leeve London, i. 273, iii. loi, 

dear London. 
Leever, i. 160, sooner. 
Leeveth, i. 88, believe th. 
Lefe, i. 173, dear. 
Lcfe, leave ; leves, leaves. 
Leffe, leefe, dear. 
Leid, iii. 96, lyed. 
Leil, ii. 85, loyal, true. 
Leir, ii. 82, learn; lere, i. 306, 

Leive, i. 84, iii. 236, lea7'e. 
Leman, i. 186, 327; leiman, i. 301 ; 

lemman, iii. 97, lover, mistress. 
Lemster wooll, i. 307, Leomitister 

Lene, ii. 12,, give. 
Lenger, i. 64, ii. 20, longer. 
Lengeth in, resideth in. 
Lere, i. 72, face, comitenance, com- 
Lese, ii. 26, lose. 
Lesynge, i. 174 ; leasing, lying, 

Let, i. 24, hinder ; lett, ii. 85, 

Lett, i. 93, left or let be opened. 
Lettcst, i. 74, hinderest, detainest. 
Letteth, i. \b^, hindereth. 
Lettyng, i. 172, hindrance, without 




Leugh, ii. ii8 ; leuche, ii. 8i, 

Leve, ii. 38, retnain. 
Lever, i. 46, 71, 75, 173, rather j 

lever than, ii. 39, rather then. 
Leves and bowes, ii. 42, leaves 

and boughs. 
Lewd, i. 308; leud, ii. 134, ignorant, 

Ley, iii. 123, lay. 
Leyke, ii. 135,^/^/. 
Leyre, lere, learning, lore. 
Libbard, leopard; libbard's bane, 

iii. 198, the herb wolf bane. 
Lichtly, iii. 147, lightly, easily. 
Lig, i. 144, iii. 70, ^liej ligge, ii. 11 ; 

liggd, ii. 83, lay. 
Lightfoote, iii. 182, venison. 
Lightile, i. 161, quickly. 
Limber, ii. 260, supple, flexible. 
Limitoures, iii. 20%, friars licensed 

to beg within certain limits. 
Limitatioun, iii. 208, a certain 

precinct allowed to a limitour. 
Lingell, i. 308, a thread of hemp 

rubbed with resin, &c., used by 

rustics for mending their shoes. 
lAre, flesh, complexion. 
List, i. 256; lith, ii. 11, lieth. 
Lith, i. 156; lithe, i. 268; lythe, 

attend, hearkefi, listen. 
Lither, i. 94, iii. 47, idle, lazy, 

naughty, worthless, wicked. 
Live-lang, iii. 132, live-long. 
Liver, i. 282, deliver. 
Liverance, i. 282, 289, deliverance 

{money or a piledge for deliver- 
ing you tip). 
Livor, i. 289, deliver. 
Load ; lay on load, i. 74, give 

Lodly, ii. 63 ; lodlye, ii. 56, loath- 
Loe, ii, 70, iii. 99, love j lo'ed, iii. 

98, loved. 
Logeyng, i. 43, lodging. 
Loht, ii. 9 ; be the luef, be the loht, 

whether you like it or loathe it. 
Loke, i. 308, lock of wool. 
Lokyd, ii. 73 ; lokyde, i. 25, locked. 
Lome, ii. 63, tnan, object. 
Lond, iii. 207, la7id. 

Longes, i. 218, belongs; longeth^ 
ii. 43, belongeth. 

Longs, i. 30, lungs. 

Looket, i. 149, looked. 

Loone, ii. 145, idle fellow. 

Looset, i. 115, loosed. 

Lope, i. 65, 80, ii. 217, leapt. 

Lore, ii. 9, 13, teaching, lesson ^ 
doctrine, learning. 

Lore, lost. 

Lorrel, i. 441, a sorry, worthless 

Losel,ii. iT,4.,i4$,thesameasLorrel. 

Lothly, ii. 142, loathsome. 

" The adverbial terminations 
-some and -ly were applied in- 
differently by our old writers : 
thus, as we have lothly for 
loathsome above, so we have 
ugsome in a sense not veiy 
remote from tigly in Lord Sur- 
rey's version of yEn. 2nd, viz — 
" ' In every place the ugsome 
sightes I saw' (p. 29)." P. 

Loud and still, ii. 82, openly and 

Lough, i. 95, laugh; lougat, ii. 
282, laughed. 

Loun, i. 322, loon, rascal. 

Lounge, iii. 357, hoig. 

Lourd, iii. 100, rather (f 

Lout, ii. 117; loute, ii. :6, stoop. 

Louted, i. 72; lowtede,<^(?w^rt?, did 

Lowe, i. 1 14, a little till. 

Lowne, i. 198, rascal 

Lowns, ii. 113, blazs. 

Lowttede, i. 1 20, couched. 

Lude, ii. 82, loved 

Lued, i. 323, lovei- 

Luef, ii. 9, love. 

Lues, iii. 75, lores, love. 

Lugh, ii. 26, Icsighed. 

Luik, i. \\(3,look; luiks, i. 146, 
looks; luilc, ii. 229, looked. 

Luivt, ii. 82 loved. 

Lung, ii. 2!> long. 

Lurden, i 163; lurdeyne, slug- 
gard, (fone. 

Lust, ii.+2, desire. 

Luve, ' 320, love; luver, ii. 212, 

Luvey, i- I43> lovely. 



Lyan, iii. 134, lying. 

Lyard, ii. 9, grcyj a tiaine given 

to a horse from its grey colour^ 

as Bayard from bay. 
L>'flr, ii. 49, life. 
Lyk. i. 28 ; lyke, ii. 3S, like. 
Lynde, i. 168; lyne, i. 112, the 

Lys, ii. 12, lies. 
Lystenyth, iii. 371, listen. 
Lyth, i. 306, easy, gentle, pliant, 

flexible., lithesome. 
Lyvar, i. 30, lii'er 
Lyven na more, live no more, no 

Lyytfii. 27, light; lyytly, ii. 26, 


Mad, ii. 24, made. 

Mahound, i. 88, Mahomet. 

Maining, ii. 211, moaning. 

Mair, ii. 84, more, most. 

Maist, i. 42, mayest. 

Mait, iii. 99, might, may. 

Majeste, maist, mayeste, mayest. 

Makes, i. 50, ii. 78, mates. 

Making, versifying. 

Makys, i. 33, 'tnates. 

*' As the words make and mate 
were, in some cases, used pro- 
miscuously by ancient writers, 
so the words cake and cate 
seem to have been applied with 
the same indifferency ; this will 
illustrate that common English 
proverb, ' to turn cat {i.e. cate) 
in pan.' A pancake is in North- 
amptonshire still called a pan- 
cate." P. 

Male, i. 28, coat of mail; shirt of 
male, ii. 233. 

Manchet, iii. 206, best kind of 
white bread 

Mane, i. 26, man. 

Mangonel, ii. 8, a military engine 
used for discharginggreat stones, 
arro7i's,Sr'e., before the invention 
of gunpowder. 

March perti, i. 33 ; march partes, 
i. 34, /// the parts lying upon 
the marches. 

Marth-pine, i. 306 ; marchpane, a 
kind of biscuit. 

Mare ii. 25, more. 

Margarite, ii. 328, a pearl. 

Mark, a coin, in value ly. 4//. 

Marke hym to the Trenitii, co7n- 
mit himself to God. 

Marrow, ii. 109, 363, match, or 
equal companion. 

Mart, ii. 82 , marred, hurt, damaged. 

Marvelit, iii. 23S, mat veiled. 

Mast, maste, mafst. 

Masterje, i. no; maystery, i. 176, 
a trial of skill. 

Maugre, ii. 8 ; mauger, i. 23, in 
spite of. 

INIaugre, ii. 83, /// will. 

Maun, i. 84, 143, 145, must. 

Mavis, iii. 97, a thrush. 

Mawt, iii. 123, malt. 

May, i. 63, 1 1 3 ; maye, i. 46, maid. 

Mayne, i. 122, force, strength. 

Mayne, a horse's mane. 

Mayny, i. 120, a company. 

Maze, a labyrinth, anything en- 
tangled or intricate. 

" On the top of Catherine-hill, 
Winchester (the usual play-place 
of the school), was a very per- 
plexed and windingpath,running 
in a very small space over a great 
deal of ground, called a Miz- 
Maze. The senior boys obliged 
the juniors to tread it, to prevent 
the figure from being lost, as I 
am informed by an ingenious 
correspondent." P. 

Mazer, iii. 97, drinking cup of 

Me, men; me con, ii. 13, men 

Me-thuncketh, ii. 11, methinks. 

Meane, ii. 259, moderate, middle- 

Meany, i. 24, 25, retinue, train, 

Mease, ii. 1 19, soften, mollify. 

Meed, meede, i. 74, iii. 22, reward. 

Meet, iii. 132, even. 

Meid, mood. 

Meikle, iii. 238, much. 

Meit, iii. 95, meat. 

Meit, ii. 83, 115, meet, fit, proper. 

MekyI, ii. 21, much. 

Mcll, ii. 260, honey. 



Mell, meddle, mingle. 

Meniveere, i. 308, a species of fur. 

Mense the faught, ii. 116, to mea- 
sure the battle. 

" To give to the mense is to 
give above the measure. Twelve 
and one to the mense is com- 
mon with children in their play." 

Menzie, ii. 113, retinue, company. 

Merch, ii. 115, march. 

Merchis, i. 34, marches. 

Merth, merthe, ii. 31, mirth. 

Messager, ii. 12, messenger. 

Mete, i. 180, meet, fit, proper. 

Mewe, ii. 254, confinement. 

Micht, ii. 230, might. 

Mickle, i. 65, 66, 72, 76, 137, 306, 
much, great. 

Midge, iii. 233, a small insect, a 
kifid of gnat. 

Mids, ii. J7, midst. 

Minged, i. 66, 79, me7itio7ied. 

Minny, ii. 69, mother. 

Mirk, ii. 120 ; mirkie, iii. 154, 
dark, black. 

Mirry, i. loi, 143, ii. 82, merjy; 
mirriest, ii. 391, merriest. 

Mirry-land toune, i. 59 

Misconster, ii. 349, miscotistrue. 

Misdoubt, i. 302, suspect, doubt. 

Miskaryed, miscarried. 

Misken, i. 197, mistake. 

Mister, to 7ieed. 

Mith, iii. 45, might. 

Mither, i. 60, 83, 145, mother. 

Mo, i. 30, 161, ii. 16 ; moe, ii. 
289, more. 

Moche, ii. 47, micch. 

Mode, 7Hood. 

Moder, i. 126, tnother. 

Moiening, ii. 382, by 77iea7is of. 

Mome, ii. 258, blockhead. 

Mon, ii. II, 77ta7i. 

Mone, ii. ;^7, 7710071. 

Mone lyyt, ii. 25, 77ioo7tlight. 

Mone, ii. 35, iii. 127, 77ioa7t. 

Monand, iii. 64, moa7ii7ig, be77ioa7i- 

Monnynday, i. 24, 34, Mo7iday. 

Mony, ii. 8, 13, 68, 77ia7ty. 

More, iii. 17, "originally and pro- 
perly signified a hill (from A.-S. 

mor, 771071S), but the hills of the 
north being generally full of 
bogs, a moor came to signify 
boggy, marshy, ground in gene- 
ral." P. 

Mores and thefenne, ii. 8, hill and 
dale ; mores brodinge, i. 64, 78, 
wide 77ioors. 

Morne, i. loi ; to morn, ii. 20, 83, 
071 the 77iorrow, i7i the mor7iing. 

Mornyng, ii. 49, 77iour7ii7ig. 

Morwenynges, iii. 208, mor7ii7tgs. 

Mort, i. 25, dead stag. 

Most, 77lUSt. 

Mot, i. 121, 126, 77iay. 

Mote, i. 157, 77tight ; mote I thee, 
ii. 97, 77iay I thrive. 

Mou, ii. 70, 771021th. 

M ought, i. 68, 169, 308, 77tight, 
77iay it, ii. 302. 

Mowe, ii. 13, 31, 7/iay. 

Muchele host, ii. 8, great boast. 

Mude, ii. 82, 77iood. 

Muid, i. 147, 77iood. 

Mulne, ii. 8, ;«///. 

Mun, i. 63, 66, 77iust. 

Mure, mures, wild dow7is, heaths, 

Murn, ii. 85 ; murnd, ii. 86 ; 
murnit, ii. 81 ; murnt, ii. 84 ; 
murning, ii. 83,;«^z^r«,W£'«r«^rtr, 


Muve, ii. 366, 7nove; muvit, ii. 39, 

Mykel, i. 46, great. 
Myllan, i. 29, Milan steel. 
Myn, ii. 12, 77iy. 
Myne-ye-ple, i. 28, probably a cor- 

ruptio7i of 77ia/ioplc, a large 

Myrry, 77ierry. 
Mysuryd, i. 123, 77iisused, applied 

to a bad pu7pose. 
Myyt, ii. 26, 7night ; myyty, 


Na, ii. 12 ; nae, 710, 710 f, 7io7ie. 
Naebody, ii. 139, nobody. 
Naithing, ii. 70, 7iothi7ig. 
Nane, i. 320, ii. 70, iii. 75, 7io7ic. 
Nappy, iii. 182, strong, as ale. 
Nar, i. 25, 27, nare, i. 30, nor. 
Nat, i. 143) ii- 35, «^^- 



Natheless. ii. 264, nevertheless. 
N'availeth not, ii. \6,availeth not. 
Ne, ii. 12, no, nor, not. 
Near, ner, nere, ne'er, never. 
Neat, oxen, cows, large cattle j 

neates leather, ii. 100, cowhide. 
Neatherd, a keeper of cattle. 
Neatresse, ii. 2^(), female keeper of 

Nee, i. 71, 17S, nigh. 
Neigh him neare, i. 94, approach 

him near. 
Neir, i. 146, ne'er, never. 
Neire, ii. 212 ; nere, 7tear. 
Nemped, i. 409, named. 
Nere, ii. 1 35 ; ne were, were it not for. 
Nest, ii. 12, next, nearest. 
Nethar, neither. 
Neven, i. 396, name. 
New fangle, iii. 7, new-fangled, 

fond of novelty. 
Nicht, ii. 85, night. 
Nicked him of naye, i. 88, tiicked 

him with a refusal. 
J^'x^i, pinched. 

No, 710 1. 

Noble, a gold coin in value twenty 

groats, or 6j*. 8^/. 
Nobles, i. 120, nobleness. 
Nocht, ii. 83, not. 
Nock, iii. 295, the posteriors. 
Nollys, ii. 21, noddles, heads. 
Nom, ii. 12, took. 
Nome, ii. 11, name. 
Non, ii. 16, none. 
None, i. 25, 31, ii. 37, noon. 
Nones, ii. 27, nonce. 
Nonys, ii. 22, nonce or occasion. 
Norland, iii. 237, northern. 
Norse, NorT.uay. 
Norss menzie, ii. 114, the Norse 

North-gales, iii. 26, North Wales. 
Nou, ii. 9, now. 
Nourice, tiurse. 

Nout, ii. 8, nought, also not, ii. 14. 
Nowght, nought. 
Nowls, noddles, heads. 
Noye, ii. 26, hurt. 
Noyt, ii. 24, nought, not. 
Ny, ii. 49 ; n>e, '• ^2,f->, nigh; nyest, 

ii. 59, nighest. 
Nyyt, ii. 27, night. 

O, ii. 8, one J O', iii. 99, ofj O, ii. 
9, on. 

O wow, ii. 68, an exclamation. 

Obraid, iii. 99, upbraid. 

Occupied, i. 121, used. 

Ocht, ought. 

Off, ii. 177, of. 

Oloft, ii. 25, on horseback. 

On, ii. 49, one, an. 

On loft, ii. 22, aloft. 

Onfowghten, unfoughten, un- 

Ony, ii. 84, any. 

Onys, ii, 23, o)ice. 

Opon, ii. 8, 7ipon. 

Or, ii. 42, before ever. 

Ore, iii. 128, over. 

Orisons, prayers. 

Ost, i. 28, ii. 24, iii. 36 ; oste, i. 42, 
43, 44 ; ooste, i. 272, host. 

Osterne, i. 291, austere. 

0th, othe, iii. 49, oath. 

Ou, ii. \2,you. 

Ous, ii. 8, us. 

Out-owr, i. 147, quite over, over. 

Outbrayd, ii. 45, drew out, un- 

Outhorne, i. 167, the sum7noning 
to arms by the sound of a horn. 

Outrake, i. 285, 292, an out ride 
or expedition J toraik is to go fast. 
" Outrake is a common term 
among shepherds. When their 
sheep have a free passage from 
enclosed pastures into open and 
airy grounds they call it a good 
outrake." (Mr. Lambe.) P. 

Owar, i. 31, hour. 

Oware of none, i. 25, hour of noon. 

Owches, iii. 316, bosses. 

Owre, i. 144, ii. 70; or'cr, o'er; 
ere, i. loi. 

Owreword, iii. 124, the last 7vordy 
burden of a song. 

Pa, i. 59. 

l\acking, i. \2\. dealing. 

Pall, i. 89 ; palle, i. 71, a cloak or 

robe of state. 
Palmer, iii. 113, ^ pilgrim who, 

havifig been in the Holy Land, 

carried a palm branch in his 




Paramour, i. 310, gallant, lover; 
mistress, ii. 45. 

Pard^, ii. 41 ; perdie, verily (par 

Paregall, i. 124, equal. 

Parle, iii. 36, speak or parley. 

Parti, party ; a parti, i. 26, apart 
or aside. 

Partynere, ii. \\, partner. 

Pat, ii. \-^2,pot. 

Pattering, iii. 9, '■'■ murmuring, 
7mimbling, frotn the mattner in 
•which the Paternoster was an- 
ciently hurried over in a low 
inarticulate voice." P. 

Pauley, ii. 68, shrewd, cunning, 

Paves, i. 121, a pavice, a large 
shield that covered the whole 
body. Fr. pavois. 

VdM\!^\2Si&, paviliofi, tent. 

Pay, i. 173, liking, satisfaction. 

Paynim, i. 65, 88, iii. \\, pagan. 

Peakish, i. 299, rude, sitnple; 
peakish hull, i. 307, perhaps the 
Derbyshire Peak. 

Peare, i. 80, peer, equal. 

Pearlins, iii. 75, coarse sort of bone- 

Vqcq, piece of cannon. 

Pee, i. \\%, piece. 

Peere, i. 73, ^T, equal. 

Pees, ii. 7, peace. 

Pele, ii. 24, a baker's long-handled 

Penon, a banner or streainer borne 
at the top of a lance. 

Pentarchye, ii. 345,_/f't/^ heads. 

Perchmine, parchtnent. 

Perde, i. 187, verily. 

Perelous, parlous, perilous, dan- 

Perfay, ii. 85, verily. 

Perfight, i. 122,, perfect; perfightly, 
i. 12^, perfectly. 

Perfytte, i. 272, perfect. 

Perkyn, ii. 20, ditninutive of Peter. 

Perlese, i. 12^, peerless. 

Perte, i. 50, part, side. 

Pertyd, i. 2^, parted, divided. 

Pese, ii. 45, peace. 

Petye, i. 50, ii. 72„plly- 

Peyn, ii. 16, pain. 

Peyses, i. 48, pieces. 

Peysse, i. 44, peace. 

Peyters, ii. 13, Peter'' s. 

Philomele, iii. 81, the nightingale. 

Piece, a little. 

Pil'd, peeled, bald. 

Pine, i. i()6, famish, starve. 

Pinner, ii. 337, pinder, or im- 
pounder of cattle. 

Pious chanson, i. \Z'^,a godly song 
or ballad. 

" Mr. Rowe's Edition of Shake- 
speare has ' The first Row of 
the Rubrick ;' which has been 
supposed by Dr. Warburton to 
refer to the red-lettered titles of 
old ballads. In the large collec- 
tion made by Mr. Pepys, I do 
not remember to have seen one 
single ballad with its title prin- 
ted in red letters." P. 

Pipl, i. \OT), people. 

Playand, ii. lis,, playing. 

Play-feres, i. 59, play-fellows. 

Playning, i. 243, cojnplaining. 

Plein, iii. 123, complain. 

Pleis, ii. 2)2, please. 

Plett, ii. 112, plaited. 

Pley, i. 59, ii. 2>Z,play. 

Pleyn, ii. 16, cojnplaitt. 

Plyyt, ii. 27, plight. 

Plowmell, ii. 25, a small wooden 
ham^ner occasionally fixed to the 

Poll-cat, cant word for a prosti- 

Pollys, ii. 21, polls, heads. 

Pompal, i. 2^^, pro7id, pompous. 

Popingay, i. 308, a parrot. 

Porcupig, iii. 2%^, porcupine. 

Portingale, iii. 50, Portugal. 

Portingalls, ii. 198, Portugtiese. 

Portres, porteress. 

Poterner, iii. 7, probably a pouch 
or bag. 

Pottle, iii. 187, a 7neasure of two 

Poudered, ii. 23, a term in heraldry 
for sprinkled over. 

Pow'd, i. 59, pulled. 

Powlls, polls, heads. 

Pownes, i. 300, pounds. 

Praat, ii. 360, prate. 



Pray, i. 125,/nj. 

Prayse-folk, ii. 27, singing men 

and icomcn. 
Preas, iii. 26, press. 
Prece, i. \bo,crowd, press j preced, 

i. 167, ij I, pressed. 
Prest, i. 205, ii. 21, ready; prestly, 

i. 171 : prestlye, i. 72, readily, 

Prickes, i. 1 1 1, mark in the centre 

of the target. 
Pricke-wande, pole set up for a 

Pricked, i. 68, spurred on, hasted. 
Priefe, ii. 96, prove. 
Priving, ii. 70, proving, testing. 
Prove, ii. 46, proof. 
Prude, ii. 8, pride. 
Prycke, i. 175, the jnark, comtnonly 

a hazel tuand. 
Prycked, i. 43, spurred. 
PrjTTie, i. 156, daybreak, or six 

o'clock in the morning. 
Prys, ii. 11, prize. 
Pu, i. \\l,ptcll. 
Puing, ii. T)()T„ pulling. 
Puissant, iii. no, strong, powerful. 
Purfell, iii. 25, ornatnent, or border 

of embroidery. 
Purfelled, iii. 25, embroidered. 
Purvayed, ii. \^, provided. 
Putry, iii. 6, whoredom. 
Pyght, i. 43, pitched. 

Quadrant, foursquare. 
Quaint, ii. 257, nice, fantastical. 
Quarry, i. 255, the slaughtered 

game in hunting or hawking. 
Quat, ii. 116, quitted. 
Quay, iii. 75, a young heifer, called 

a whie in Yorkshire. 
Quean, iii. 21, 203, 252, a sorry, 

base womajt, a slut. 
Quel, ii. 135, cruel, tnurderous. 
Quelch, a blow or bang. 
Quere, i. 124, quire, choir. 
Quest, i. 165, inquest. 
Quha, i. loi, who. 
Quhair, ii. 82, where. 
Quhair-eir, ii. 84, wherever. 
Quhan, i. 144, iii. 75, when. 
Quhaneir, iii. 75, whenever. 
Quhar, i. 100, where. 

Ouhat, i. 143, what. 

Quhatten, i. 83, what. 

Quhen, i. 143, ii. 82, when. 

Quhilk, ii. 116, which. 

Ouhy, i. 145, zohy. 

Quhyle, ii. d>2>i "^hile. 

Quick, iii. 53, alive, living. 

Quiere, ii. 288, choir. 

Quillets, ii. 283, quibbles. 

Quiristers, ii. 166, choristers. 

Quitt, ii. 311, requite. 

Quo, ii. 69, quoth. 

Quyle, ii. 84, 7ohile. 

Quyrry, i. 25, quarry of slaugh- 
tered game. 

Quyt, ii. 85, quite. 

Quyte, i. 34, requited. 

Qwyknit, ii. 131, quicketied, re- 
stored to life. 

Rade, i. 147, rode. 

Rae, ii. 24, roe. 

Raigne, ii. 253, reign. 

Raik, to go apace ; raik on raw, ii. 

82, extend in a row. 
Raise, ii. 69, rose. 
Rampire, ii. 52, rampart. 
Ranted, ii. 68, made tnerry. 
Rashing, i. 208, the old hunting 

tertn for the stroke made by a 

wild boar with his fangs. 
Raught, reached, gained, obtained. 
Raw, ii. 82, row. 
Rawstye, i. 116, damp (?) 
Rayt, ii. 26, raught or reached. 
Reachles, i. 113, careless. 
Read, ii. 148 ; reade, ii. 144, ad- 

vice ; reade me, i. 87, advise 

Rea'me, ii. 287, realm. 
Reane, i. 34, rain. 
Rearing, i. 88, leaning against. 
Reas, i. 24, raise. 
Reave, i. 89, 322, bereave. 
Reckt, i. 143, regarded. 
Rcckyn, ii. 20, reckon. 
Red, i. loi, read. 
Redd, i. 79, advise. 
Reddyl, ii. 23, riddle or sieve. 
Rede, iii. 208 ; rcdde, ii. 13, read. 
Rede, i. 41, 66, iii. 94, advise; 

rede I can, ii. 37, advice I 




Rede, i. ii,%, guessed. 

Redouted, i. 120, dreaded. 

Redresse, ii. 78, care, labour. 

Redyn, ii. 23, moved. 

Reek, i. 145, smoke. 

Reev, ii. 17 ; reeve, iii. 179, bailiff. 

Refe, ii. 20, bailiff. 

Refe, bereave. 

Reft, ii. 26, bereft. 

Register, iii. 210, the officer who 

keeps the public register. 
Raid, ii. 83, advise. 
Reid, i. 59, 83, 146, red; reid roan, 

i. 83, red roan. 
Reivs, ii. 83, bereavest. 
Rekeles, i. 42, regardless, rash. 
Remeid, ii. 83, remedy. 
Renisht, i. 88, harnessed. 
Renn, i. 196 ; renne, i. 160, ii. 89, 

Renneth,iii. 108, runneth; renning, 

ii. 142, running. 
Renyed, i. 122, refused. 
Reporte, i. 124, refer. 
Rescous, ii. 40, rescues ; rescew, ii. 

175, rescue. 
Reve, ii. 23, bereave, deprive. 
Revers, ii. 114, robbers, pirates, 

Rew, ii. 82, take pity. 
Rew, iii. 98 ; rewe, i. 70, ii. 46, 
regret ; reweth, ii. 9, regrets ; 
rewyth, i. 42, regrets. 
Rewth, i. 174, ruth, pity. 
Riall, royal. 
Richt. i. loi, right. 
Riddle, vulgar idiotnfor ufiriddle, 
or corruption ofreade, to advise. 
Rin, i. 147 ; rinn, i. 60, run; rins, 

i. 59, runs; rinnes, i. 42, ru7ts. 
Rise, shoot, bush, shrub. 
Rive, i. 244, rend; rives, i. 284 ; 

Rive, ii. 386, rife, abou7iding. 
Roche, i. 128, rock. 
Rofe, ii. 41, roof. 
Roke, i. 48, steam or smoke. 
Ronne, ran; roone, run. 
Roo, i. 42, roe. 
Roode, i. 76, cross, crucifix. 
Rood loft, the place in the church 

where the images were set tip. 
Room, i. 84, huge. 

Roun, ii. 80, run. 

Route, i. 158, compatty. 

Route, iii. 108,^0 about, travel. 

Routhe, i. 122, ruth, pity. 

Row, i. 145 ; rowd, i. 60, 146, 7-oll, 

Rowght, i. 45 ; rowte, ii. 26, 7'otct. 
Rowyned, round. 
Rowned, rownyd, whispered. 
Rudd, iii. 8, red, ruddy; rud-red, 

iii. 22. 
Rude, ii. 82 ; rood, cross. 
Ruell bones, ii. 22. 
Rues, pitieth. 

Rugged, ii. 2J, pulled with violence. 
Runnagate, ii. 294, runaway. 
Rushy gair, ii. 86, rushy strip of 

Ruthe, ii. ^6, pity, woe. 
Ryal, ii. 30 ; ryall, i. 45, 129, royal. 
Ryd, iii. 36, rode; rydand, ii. 22, 

Ryde, i. gi,for ryse {?) 
Rydere, i. 178, ranger. 
Ryghtwes, i. 427, righteous. 
Ryhte, ii. 9, right. 
Rynde, i. 46, rent, flayed. 
Ryschys, ii. 27, rushes. 
Rywe, ii. 30, rue. 
Ryyt, ii. 20, right; even, ii. 23. 

Sa, i. 144, ii. 26 ; sae, i. 144, so. 

Safer, sapphire. 

Saft, ii. no, soft; saftly, ii. 107, 

Saif, i. 144, safe. 
Saim, iii. 99, satne, 
Sair, i. 60, 147, sore. 
Saisede, ii. 8, seized. 
Sail, i. 60, 84, 143, shall. 
Salvage, iii. 117, savage. 
Sar, i. 31, sore. 

Sarke, iii. 95, shirt; shift, i. 321. 
Sat, i. 31, set. 
Sauls, ii. 114, souls. 
Saut, iii. 99, salt. 
Saw, say, speech, discourse. 
Say, i. 30, saw. 
Saye, iii. 64, essay, attempt. 
Say us no harme, say no ill of us. 
Say'n, ii. 69, saying. 
Scant, i. 90, 321, scarce. 
Scath, i. 65, hjirt, injury. 



Schadow, ii. 25, shadow. 
Schal, ii. 20 ; schall, i. 42, shall. 
Schapen, ii. 24, sluipcd. 
Schapped, i. 48, s^oappcd {?), i.e. 


Scharpe, i. 46, 48, sharp. 
Schatred, ii. 25, shattered. 
Schaw, ii. 82, show. 
Sche, i. 42, ii. 24, she. 
Schene, sheen, also bn'i^htitess. 
Schepeskynnes, ii. 21, sheepskins. 
Schip, i. 100, ship; schiples, i'/;/)^- 

Scho, i. 59, ii. 10, she. 
Schone, i. 41, shone. 
Schoone, i. loi, shoes. 
Schoote, i. 45, shot, let go. 
Schowte, i. 47 ; schowtte, shout. 
Schrill, shrill. 
Schuke, shook. 
Schuld, ii. 20 ; schulde, i. 46, 

Schulder, ii. 27, shoulder. 
Sckill, iii. 327, skill. 
Sckirmish, ii. 236, skirmish. 
Sckore, ii. 236, score. 
Sclat, ii. 16, slate. 
Scomfet, ii. 2T„'discomJit. 
Scorke, i. 259, struck. 
Scot, u.g,tar,re7/enue_; also shot, 

reckoning, ii. 20. 
See, ii. 8, sea. 
Sed, iii. 47, said. 
Seely, ii. 174 ; seelie, iii. 6S, poor, 

Seigneur, ii. 135, Lord. 
Seik, i. 60, seek. 
Seires, iii. 328, for feires, i.e. 

Sek-ful, ii. 22, sackful. 
Sel, iii. 96 ; sell, iii. 123, self. 
Selcouthe, ii. 391, strange. 
Selven, ii. 32, self. 
Selver, ii. 8, silver. 
Sely, ii. 53, simple. 
Semblyd, i. 25, assembled. 
Sen, i. 34, ii. 83, iii. 95, since. 
Seneschal], stejvard. 
Scnvy, mustard seed. Fr. senevd. 
Serrett, i. 79, closed fist {?) 
Sertaync, i. 48, certain j sertenly, 

i. 49, 50, certainly. 
Scse, ii. 49, seize. 

3 I' 

Setywall, the herb valerian. 

Sev, iii. 75, a kind of woollen 

Sey yow, ii. 15, say to you ; I 

sey yow soth, ii. 16, / tell you 

Sey'd, ii. 114, tried. 
Sey'd, saw. 
Seyde, ii. 12, said. 
Sha' na bide, ii. 1 16, shall not en- 
Shaint, ii. 360, saint. 
Shave ; be shave, ii. T"], be shaven. 
Shaw, ii. 114, show; shaw'd, ii. 

1 10, sho7ued. 
Shaws, i. 106, little woods. 
Shear, i. 24, entirely. 
Sheede, iii. 12, shed. 
Sheel, ii. 98 ; sheele, i. 88, 294, 

she'll, she will. 
Sheene, i. 87, 106 ; iii. 236, bright, 

brightness, beauty. Germ, sclwn. 
Shees, ii. 70, she is. 
Sheeve, ii. 256, shive, a great slice 

of bread. 
Sheip, ii. 82, sheep; sheips heid, 

ii. 132, sheep's head. 
Sheits, i. i^^^, sheets. 
Sheld, ii. 70, she zuould. 
Shent, i. 72, 171, disgraced; 

abashed, ii. 49 ; confounded^ 

ii. 84. 
Shepenes, iii. 208, cowhouses, 

sheep pens. A.-S. scypen. 
Shield bone, tlie blade bone, a 

common phrase in the north. 
Shill, ii. Ill, shrill. 
Shimmer'd, iii. 237, glittered ; 

shimmering, ii. \ ^2, shining by 

glances, glittering. 
Sho, ii. 49, she. 
Shoen, ii. 100, shoes. 
Shold, sholde, should. 
Shoonc, i. 243, 320 ; iii. 47, shoes. 
Shope, iii. 54, shaped. 
Shorte, ii. 43, shorten. 
Shote, ii. 40, shoot. 
.Shott, ii. 149, reckoning. 
.Shoul, ii. 360, soul. 
.Shradds, i. 106, twigs. 
Shreeven, iii. 10, shriven, con- 
Sh reward, ii. 9, « male shrew. 



Shrive, ii. 60, co7ifess ; hear cotifes- 

ston, ii. 166. 
Shroggs, i. Ill, shrubs, thorns, 

Shuld, iii. 147 ; shulde, i. 32, 

ShuUen, shall. 
Shunted, ii. 137, shunned. 
Shuntyng, ii. i(), recreation, diver- 
sion, sport. 
Shyars, i. 24, shires. 
Shynand, ii. 113, shining. 
Sib, kin, akin. 
Sic, i. 84 ; sich, i. 327, such. 
Sich, ii. 84, sigh; sichit, ii. 81, 

sicht, ii. 86, sighed. 
Sicht, ii. 1 14, sight. 
Sick-like, iii. 123, sttch like. 
Side, i. 375, lofig. 
Sied, i. 147, saiv. 
Sigh clout, i. 197, a cloth to strain 

fnilk through. 
Sighan, iii. 134, sighifig. 
Sik, i. 144 ; sike, i. 320, such. 
Siker, i. 323, secure, surely, cer- 
Silk, iii. 100, such. 
Siller, ii. 230 ; iii. 97, silver. 
Silly, i. 192 ; ii. 68, simple. 
Silven, iii. 100, silver. 
Sindle, ii. \\^, seldom. 
Sist, iii. 55, sighed. 
Sith, i. 68, 133, since. 
Sitten, iii. 99, sat. 
Sitteth, ii. 7, sit ye. 
Skaith, ii. 115, scath, harm, mis- 
Skinker, one that serves drink. 
Skinkled, iii. 237, glittered. 
Skore, i. 28, score. 
Slade, i. 108, a breadth of green- 
sward between ploughlands or 
Slaited, iii. 98, wiped. 
Slatred, ii. 25, broke into splinters. 
Slaw, i. 308, slew. 
Slaw, ii. 107, slow. 
Sle, i. 15, slay J sleest, slayest, i. 

Slee, ii. 69, sly. 
Slean, i. 31, 33, 34, j-/^/;z. 
Sleath, iii. 108, slayeth. 
Slein, ii. 70, slain. 

Sleip, i. 60 ; sleipe, ii. 211, sleep. 
Sleive, iii. cj^, sleeve. 
Slo, i. 120 ; sloe, i. 69, slay. 
Slode, i. 66, 79, slit, split. 
Slone, i. 49, 67, slain. 
Sloughe, i. 28, slew. 
Sma', i. 145, small; little, iii. 95. 
Smire, iii. 327 (? for swire =: neck). 
Smithers, i. ii\.^,s}nothers. 
Snae, iii. 97 ; snaw, ii. 69, snow. 
Soar, i. 31, sore. 
Sodenly, ii. 15, suddenly. 
Solacious, i. 130 ; affording solace. 
Soldan, i. 73, 74, 80 ; sowdan, i. 

96, sultatt. 
Soil, i. 34, soul. 
Son, ii. 23, soon; sone, ii. 44, 

Sond, ii. 26, sending, present. 
Sone, ii. 41, soon. 
Soothe, ii. 55, truth, true. 
Sort, i. 122, 126, set, co7npany. 
Soth, i. 43, 49, 50, 51 ; ii. 16 ; iii. 

30, truth, true. 
Sothe, i. 27, so7tth. 
Sould, ii. 69, shotild. 
Souldan, iii. no, j-^/Z/aw. 
Souling, ii. 257, victualling. 

Sowle is still used in the north 
for anything eaten with bread. 
Souse, iii. 181, the head, feet and 
ears of swine boiled and pickled 
for eating. 
Souter, i. ^16, psaltty. 
Sowne, ii. S-'t^ottnd. 
Sowre, sour. 
Sowre, sore. 

Sowter, i. 416, a shoetnaker. 
Soy, i. 320, silk. 
Spack, ii. 230 ; iii. 96, spake. 
Spec, ii. 13, spake. 
Speere, ii. 144 ; speered, ii. 144, 
sparred, fastened, shut. 

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. P. 
Speid, iii. 94, speed. 
Speik, iii. 96, speak. 



Speir, ii. 69 ; iii. 95, ask, inquire. 
So Chaucer, in his Rhyme of 
Sir Thopas — 

" He foughte north and 


And oft he spired with his 

i.e. " inquired." Not spied, as 
in the new edit, of Cant. Tales, 
vol. ii. p. 234. P. 

Speir, iii. 98, spear. 

Spek, ii. 12, spoke; speken, iii. 
207, speak. 

Spence, ii. 52 ; spens, ii. 21, ex- 

Spendyd, f^rasped. 

Spill, i. 196, iii. 51 ; spille, i. 75, 
spoil., kill. 

Spillan, iii. 134., spilling. 

Spindles and whorles, ii. 71, the 
instruments used for spinning 
in Seotlajid instead of spimmig- 

" The Rock, Spindles, and 
Whorles are very much used 
in Scotland, and the northern 
parts of Northumberland at 
this time. The thread for 
shoemakers, and even some 
linen webs, and all the twine 
of which the Tweed salmon- 
nets are made, are spun upon 
spindles. They are said to make 
a more even and smooth thread 
than spinning-wheels." {Mr. 
Lambe.) P. 

Spittle, ii. 282, hospital. 

Splene ; on the splene, ii. 46, in 

Spole, ii. 198, shoulder. 

Sporeles, ii. 9, spurless, without 

Sprente, i. i(), spurted out ^ sprung 

Sprite, iii. 132, spirit. 

Spurging, iii. Kyj , drivelling froth. 

Spurn, i.134, a kick. 

Spylt, i. 123, spoiled, destroyed. 

Squelsh, iii. 295, 9 bloiu or bang. 

Squyer, ii. 44 ; squ^-cre, ii. 44, 

Stalworth, ii. \(), stout. 

Stalwurthlye, i. 41, stoutly. 
Stane, i. 145, stone. 
Starke, i. 72, stout, strotig. 
Startopes, ii. 256, buskins or halj 

Stean, i. 103, iii. 99, stone. 
Stede, ii. 11, place. 
Steid, i. 83, iii. 98, steed. 
Steill, ii. 131, steel. 
Steir, ii. 83, stir. 
Stel, ii. 8, steel. 
Stele, ii. 46, steal. 
Sterne, i. 2%, fierce ones. 
Sterris, stars. 
Sterte, i. 69, 73, start; sterted, iii. 

15, started. 
Sterve, ii. 16, die, perish. 
Steven, i. 115, iii. 26, Toice, sound. 
Steven, i. in, ti/ne. 
Stint, i. 68, 133, 2Ji,stop, stopped. 
Stond, ii. 26, stand. 
Stonderes, slanders by. 
Stonds, i. 44, stands. 
Stound, i. 165, hour. 
Stounde, i. 48, time ; for awhile., 

ii. II. 
Stoup, ii. 117, stoop. 
Stoup of weir, ii. 115, a pillar of 

Stour, i. 31, 96; stower, i. 66, 

iii. 26 ; stowre, i. 49, 74, 168, 

iii. 14, strong, fierce, stir, fight. 
This word is applied in the 

North to signify dust agitated 

and put in motion, as by the 

sweeping of a room, «S:c. P. 
Stown, ii. 69, stolen. 
Stra, ii. 24 ; strae, ii. 69, iii. 98, 

Strake, ii. 117, struck. 
Strekenc, i. 29, stricken, struck. 
St ret, street. 
Strick, i. 322, strict. 
Strike, stricken. 
Stroke, i. 28 ; stroken, i. 228, 

Strout, iii. 119, strut. 
Stude, i. 143, iii. 95, stood. 
Styntyde, i. y:), stinted, stayed, 

.Styrande, i. 40, stining. 
.Styrt, ii. 26, started. 
Suar, i. 28, 30, sure. 



Suld, ii. 21, should. 

Sum, i. 83, 146, ii. i^,some. 

Summere, iii. 108, a sinnptcr horse. 

Sumpters, i. 302, horses that ca7'ry 
clothes^ furniture, dr'c. 

Sune, soon. 

Surmount, iii. 172, surpass. 

Suore bi ys chyn, ii. 9, szcorn by 
his chin. 

Supprised, i. 124, overpowered. 

Suraunce, ii. 49, assura7ice. 

Suthe, ii. 386, soon, quickly. 

Swa, ii. 24, so. 

Swage, ii. 342, assuage ; swaged, 
ii. 180, assuaged. 

Swapte, i. 29 ; swapped, i. 48, 
struck violeiitly, exchanged 

Sware, ii. 12, ii. 361, swearing, 

Swarned, ii. 206, climbed. 

Swarved, ii. i()7 , climbed, swar7ned. 

To swarm, in the midland 

counties, is to draw oneself up a 

tree or any other thing, clinging 

to it with the legs and arms. P. 

Swat, i. 29, did sweat. 

Swear, sware. 

Swearde, ii. 128, sword. 

Sweaven, i, 106, ii. 63 ; sweven, 
ii. 56, a dream. 

Sweere, iii. 21, neck. 

Sweit, iii. 74 ; swete, ii. 19, sweet; 
sweitly, ii. 212, sweetly. 

Swepyls, ii. 25, "a swepyl is that 
staff of the flail with which the 
corn is beaten out. Vulg. a 
supple (called in the midland 
counties a swindgell, where the 
other part is termed the hand- 
staff)." P. 

Swerdes, ii. 8, swords. 

Swiche, i. 430, such. 

Swith, i. 96, ii. 119, quickly, in- 
staftily, at once. 

Swound, i. 240, 296, ii. 179, swoon 

Swyke, sigh. 

Swynkers, ii. 19, labourers. 

Swyppyng, ii. 25, striking fast. 

Swyving, ii. 8, wenching, lechery. 

Sych, ii. 19, such. 

Syd, side; on sydis shear, i. 25, 
on all sides. 

Syn, ii. 16, since. 

Syne, i. 43, ii. 114, iii. 147, then, 

Syns, since. 

Syschemell, ii. 74, Ishmael. 
Syth, ii. 38, since. 
Syyt, ii. 27, sight. 

Taiken, ii. 118, taken. 

Tain, iii. 94 ; taine, i. 59, taken. 

Tane, i. 289, ii. 193, taken. 

Tane, iii. 238, the one. 

Tarbox, ii. 256, box contaitiifig tar 

for anointi7ig sores 171 sheep, ^'c. 
Targe, ii. 53, target, shield. 
Tauld, ii. 109, told, 
Tayne, i. 50, take7i. 
Te, ii. 7, to; te-knowe, ii. ir, to 

k7iow; te-make, to 7/iake. 
Te-he, ii. 26, interjection oflatigh- 


Tear, i. 34, teari7ig or pulli7ig. 

Teene, i. 162, vexation; i. 284, 
291, i 71 jury; iii. 194, t7'0tible ; 
teenefu, i. 147, wratJiful. 

Teene, i. ']'], vex. 

Teir, i. loi, tear. 

Tene, i. 120, wrath. 

Tenebrus, i. 128, dark. 

Tent, ii. 83, heed. 

Termagaunt, i. 85, 96, the god of 
the Sarace7is. 

The old French Romancers, 
who had corrupted Te7-7naga7it 
into Tcrvaga7it, couple it with 
the name of Mahomet as con- 
stantly as ours ; thus in the old 
Roma7t de Blanchardin, 

" Cy guerpison tuit Apolin, 
Et Mahomet at Tervaga7it." 

Hence La Fontaine, with great 
humour, in his Tale, intituled La 
Fia7icee du Roy de Garbc, says, 

" Et reniant Mahom, Jupin, et 

Avec maint autre Dieu non 

moins extravagant." 
— Me//i. de PAcad. des biscript. 
to77i. 20, \to.p. 352. 

As Ter7naga7it is evidently of 
Anglo-Saxon derivation and can 



only be explained from the ele- 
ments of that language, its being 
corrupted by the old French Ro- 
mancers proves that they bor- 
rowed some things from ours. P. 

Terrene, iii. 299, earthly. 

Terry, ii. 19, Thierry, or a diminu- 
tive of Terence. 

Tester, iii. 206, iesion, or sixpence. 

Tha, ii. 26, them. 

Thah, ii. 7, though. 

Thair, ii. 82, iii. 99, there. 

Tham, ii. 21 ; thame, i. 84, 102, 
146, them. 

Than, i. 145, 206, then. 

Thanns, ii. 25, thence. 

Thay, i. 321, t/iey. 

Thaym, ii. 23, them. 

Thayr, ii. 21, their. 

The, they ; the wear, i. 29, they 

The, i. 189, ii. 13, thee. 

The God, ii. 30, contraction for the 
he (i.e. high) God. P. 

Thear, i. 33, there ; i. 29, their. 

Theder, ii. 19 ; thedyr, ii. 28, 

Thee, ii. 97, thrive; so mote I 
thee, ii. 97, so may I thrive. 
So in Chaucer, Ca}it. Tales, 
vol. i. p. 308, " God let him never 
the." P. 

Then, than. 

Ther, ii. 21 ; there i. 289, their. 

Ther, ii. 23, where. 

Thes, ii. 19, these. 

Thcther, i. 41, thither. 

They, i. 78, the. 

Theyther-ward, thitherwa7-d, to- 
wanls that place. 

Thie, thy. 

Thii, ii. 386, they. 

Thilkc, ii. 14, this. 

Thir, ii. 69, this, these; thir tow- 
monds, ii. 82, these twelve 

Tho, i. 207, then ; those, ii. 39. 

Thocht, iii. 94, thought. 

Thole, ii. 1 19, suffer. 

Thore, ii. 13, there. 

Thorow, ii. 30 ; ihorrow, i. 291, 
through; thorowout, ii. 15, 

Thouse, i. 19S, thoic a7-t ; thou 

shall, iii. 131. 
Thoust, i. 2S9, thou shall or 

Thowe, thou. 
Thrall, i. 297, ii. 79, captive; 

captivity, i. 75, 135 ; ii. 256. 
Thrang, ii. 1 1 5, throng ; close, ii. 

Thraste, iii. 216, thrust. 
Thrawis, throes. 
Thrawn, ii. 115, ihrotun. 
Threape, i. 198, to argue, to affirm 

or assert in a positive overbear- 
ing viatiner. 
Threven, ii. 133, thrived. 
Threw, ii. 214, drew. 
Threw, iii. 238, thrived. 
Thrie, three. 
Thrif, thrive. 
Thrild upon a pinn, iii. 47, twirled 

or twisted the door pin. 
Thritt^, i. 34, thirty ; thritti thou- 

sent, ii. 7, thi^-ty thousand. 
Thronge, i. 163, hastened. 
Thropes, iii. 208, ^ullages. 
Through - girt, ii. 78, pierced 

Throw, iii. 134, tJirough. 
Thruch, throuch, through. 
Thrughe, through. 
Thrustand, ii. 23, thrustitig. 
Thr)-es, ii. 23, thrice. 
Thrysse, i. 47, thrice. 
Thud, ii. 119, dull sound. 
Tickle, ii. 299, uncertain. 
Tift, iii. 2y],puffofwind. 
Till, i. 33, 65, 143, ii. 82, unto. 
Till, i. 94, entice. 
Timkin, diminuti^'c of Timothy. 
Tine, i. 64, lose ; tint, i. 71 ; ii. 

363, lost. 
Tirled at the pin, iii. 131, twirled 

or twisted the door pin. 
Tividalc, i. 25, Teviotdale. 
To, too, two. 
Tokcnyng, ii. 22, token. 
Tomkyn, ii. 19, diminutive of 

To-flatrcd, ii. 25, slit. 
To-rente, iii. 356, ;•(///. 
To-schatred, ii. 25, shattered. 
To-slatered, ii. 25, splintered. 



Tone, i. 42, 87, iii. 103, the one. 
Too-fall, ii. 365, twilight. 

" Toofall of the night " seems 
to be an image drawn from a 
suspended canopy, so let fall as 
to cover what is below. {Mr. 
Lanibe.) P. 

Tooken, i. 274, took. 

Tor, a tower; also a high pointed 
rock or hill. 

Torn, i. 187, tu?-n. 

Tothar, i. 31, the other. 

Tother, i. 87, the other. 

Toun, i. 143 ; town, i. 321, dwell- 

Tow, i. 145, to let down with a 
rope; towd, i. 146, let down. 

Tow, i. 106 ; to we, i. 31, 87, two. 

Towmonds, ii. 82, twelve months. 

Towyn, i. 41, towti. 

Traitorye, i. 283, 289, ii. 309 ; 
traytery, ii. 224, treason. 

Tre, i. 28, ii. 13, wood; i. 30, staff. 

Tree, i. 291, ill. 

Trewest, ii. 11, truest. 

Treytory, i. 124, treachery. 

Trichard, ii. 7, treacherous. 

Tricthen (should be trichen), ii. 7, 

Triest furth, iii. 94, draw forth to 
an assignation. 

Trifulcate, three forked, three 

Trippand, ii. 27, tripping. 

Trim, i. 191, exact. 

Troate, ii. 360, throat. 

Trogh, ii. 24, trough. 

Trone. yn trone, i. 43, enthroned. 

Troth, iii. 1 3 1 , truth, faith,fidelity; 
trothles, i. 201, faithless. 

Trough, trouth, troth. 

Trouth plyyt, ii. 27, iruth plight. 

Trow, ii. 95, true. 

Trow, iii. 96 ; trowe, i, 270, be- 
lieve, trust, also verily. 

Trumped, boasted, told bragging 
lies; a trump, a lie. 

Tuik, i. 322, took. 

Tuke gude keip, ii, 84, took good 

TuU, i. 320 ; for till, to. 

Tup, ii. 257, ram. 

Turn, such turn, siich an occasion. 

Turnes a crab, ii.' 258, 7-oasts a 

crab apple. 
Tush, ii. 57, tusk. '™"'ll!i 
Twa, i. 320 ; ii. 26, two. 
Twatling, iii. 187, trifling. 
Twaw, i. 27, two. 
Twayne, ii. 37, two. 
Twin'd, i. 59, parted in tzvo. 
Twirtle twist, ii. 112, twirled 

Twyes, ii. 23, twice. 
Tyb, ii. 20, tJie diminutive of 

Tyll. com the tyll, i. 42, come unto 

Tyrry, ii. 26. See Terry. 

Uch, ii. 14, each. 

Ugsome, shocking, horrible. 

'Um, iii. 333, them. 

Unbethought, iii. Si,ior bethought. 

Undermeles, iii. 208, afternootis. 

Undight, i. 309, undecked. 

Unfeeled, opetied, a term in fal- 

Unhap, ii. yj, mishap. 

Unkempt, ii. jy, uncombed. 

Unmacklye, i. 73, 80, mis-shapen. 

Unmufit, undisturbed. 

Unright, ii. 191, wrong. 

Unsett Steven, i. iii, tinappointed 
time, unexpectedly. 

Unsonsie, ii. 116, unhccky, unfor- 

Untill, iii. 49 ; untyll, i. 162, unto. 

Upo, ii. 70, upon. 

Ure, iii. 262, tise. 

Uthers, ii. 86, others. 

Vaints, ii. 2%(), faints. 

Vair, ii. 2?,6, fair. 

Valeies, ii. 41, valleys. 

Vart, ii. 2Z6, fart. 

Vazen, ii. 286, {or faith. 

Vellow, ii. 286 ; vellowe, ii, 287, 

Venge, ii, 117, revenge. 
Venu, iii, 356, approach, coming. 
Verament, i. 25, 28, t}-uly. 
Vices, i. 129, devices. 
Vilane, rascally. 
Vitayle, ii, 42, victual. 
Vive, ii. 386,7^2/^. 



Vools, ii. 2S8, fools; voolish, ii. 

Vor, ii. 2Z6, for. 
Vorty, ii. ztj, forty. 
Vourteen, ii. 2^'j,foiirft\'f!. 
Voyded, i. 166, quitted, hft the 

Vrier, ii. 2^6, friar. 

Wa, i. 142, 143, ii. 109, iii. 93, 95, 

Wache, i. 43, a spy. 

Wad, i. 60, 145, 321, would. 

Wadded, iii. 7, light-blue or wood- 

Wadna, ii. 13, would not. 

Wae, i. S3, 320, woe ; waefo', iii. 
100 ; waefu', ii. no, woeful. 

Wae worth, i. 145, 322, woe betide. 

Wald, i. 145 ; walde, iii. 94, 

Walker, iii. 8, a fuller of cloth. 

Walowit, ii. iig, faded, withered. 

Walter ing, i. 75, ii. 119, xuelter- 
ing; waltred, tumbled or rolled 

Waly, iii. 147, an interjection of 

Wame, iii. 238, wotnb, belly. 

Wan, i. 72, 244 ; ii, 26, won. 

Wan near, ii. 120, drew near. 

Wane, i. 29, the same as ane, one, 
so wone is one. 

In fol. 355 of Bannatyne's 
MS. is a short fragment, in 
which " wane " is used for 
" ane " or " one," \'iz. : — 

"Amongst the monsters that 
we find, 

There's wane belovved of wo- 

Renowned for antiquity, 

Yrom Adame drivs his pedi- 
gree." P. 

The word wane in the text, 
however, is probably a mis- 
reading for mane. 

Wanrufc, ii. 83, uneasy. 

War, i. 25, aware. 

War ant wys, ii. I l,wary and wise. 

Ward, ii. 120, watch, sentinel, 

Warde, iii. 97, ad^'ise, fore-cam. 
Ware, i. 43, 107, 158, aware. 
Ware, i. 306, wore. 

Ware, iii. 238, were. 

Warke, work. 

Warld, ii. 85, world; warldis, i. 
84, worlds. 

Waryd, ii. 20, acctirsed. 

War)'son, i. 46, reward. 

Wassel, iii. 27, drinking, good 

Wat, i. 322, ii. 68, wet. 

W^at, i. 27, know. 

Wate, iii. 97, blamed. (Preterite 
of wyie, to blame.) 

Wauld, iii. 95, would. 

Wayde, waved. 

Wayed, iii. 195, weighed. 

Weal, i. 33, wail. 

Weale, well. 

Wear, i. 29, wet'e. 

Wear-in, iii. 74, drive in gently. 

Wearifu', ii. 70, wearisome, trouble- 
some, tiresome, disturbing. 

Weddeen, iii. 236, weddittg. 

Wedder, ii. 83, weather. 

Wede, ii. 21, clothing. 

Wedous, i. 33, widows. 

Wee, ii. 69, little. 

Weede, iii. 59, clothing, dress; 
weeds, i. 88, 246, garments. 

Weell, iii. 51, we'll, we will. 

Weel, ii. 132 ; weele, i. 150, well. 

Weel-faur'd, ii. 139, well-fa- 

Weene, i. 193, think ; ween'd, i. 
143 ; weened, ii. 80 ; wcende, 
ii. 96, thought. 

Weete, i. loi, ii. 216, zuet. 

Weet, ii. 95, know. 

Weids, ii. 364, cloathing. 

Weil, i. 145, well. 

Weip, i. 60 ; weipe, ii. 211, weep. 

Weir, ii. 115, war. 

Weird, iii. 224, witeJi-like. 

Weit, ii. 231, wet. 

Wei ionge, ii. 13, very long. 

Wel-awaye, iii. 128, an interjec- 
tion of grief . 

Weldynge, ruling. 

Wele, ii. 24, well. 

Welkin, iii. 201, the sky. 

Wem, iii. 303, spot. 



Wem, iii. 357, huft. 
Weme, i. 284, 291, hollow. 
Wend, i. 156, ii. IZ, go. 
Wend, ii. 85 ; wende, i. 170, 

thought ; w&nde do, ii. 2), thought 

to do. 
Wenden, ii. 12, go. 
Went, i. 164, thoHght. 
Wer, iii. 134, were. 
Wereth, defendeth. 
Werke, i. 163, 306, work. 
Werre, ii. 11, war. 
Werryed, ii. 65, worried. 
Wes, ii. 8, was. 
Westlin, ii. 120, western. 
Westlings, whistling. 
Wete, i. 31, wet. 
Wether, iii. 328, whether. 
Wex, iii. 238, wax, grow. 
Wha, ii. 71, who. 
Whair, ii. 69, where j whair-eir, 

ii. 212, wherever. 
Wham, ii. 11, wlwni. 
Whan, i. 318, when. 
Whang, ii. 70, a latge slice. 
Wheder, ii. 37, whither. 
Whelyng, ii. 49, wheeling. 
Whig, i. 299, ii. 256, sour whey, 

While, U7itil. 
Whilk, ii. 71, which. 
Whirry, iii. 202, laugh. 
Whittles, knives. 
Whoard, i. 214, hoard. 
Whorles (see spindles). 
Whyll, i. 48, while. 
Whyllys, i. 30, whilst. 
Wi', ii. 68, with. 
Wight, i. 63, 65, 72, 191, mail, 

human being. 
Wight, i. 107, 288, strong, lusty. 
Wightlye, i. 64, 78, swiftly, vigor- 
Wighty, i. 106, 147 ; wightye, i. 

161, strong, active. 
Wild-worme, iii. 30, 36, serpent. 
Wildings, ii. 257, wild or crab 

Wilfull, i. no, ignorajit. 
Windar, iii. 302, a kind of hawk. 
Windling, witiding. 
Winna, iii. 96 ; winnae, i. 59, 144, 

will not. 

Winyard, iii. 297, long knife or 

short cutlass. 
Winsome, i. 323, ii. 70, 363, agree- 
able, engaging. 
Wirk, ii. 83, do. 
Wis, i. 269, know; wist, i. 72, iii. 

148, knew. 
Witchd, iii. 24, bewitched. 
Withouten, i. 126; withowtten,i.4i; 

withowghten, i. 40, 43, without. 
Wive, ii. 255, tnarry. 
Wo, ii. 8r, 86, woe. 
Wobster, ii. 131, webster, weaver. 
Wod, ii. 82 ; wode, i. 122, 160, 

163, mad, wild. 
Wod, iii. 94 ; wode, i. 156, ii. 37, 

Wodewarde, ii. 43, towards the 

Woe-man, a sorrowful man. 
Woe worth, ii. 215, woe be to thee. 
Wolden, i. 274, would. 
Woll, ii. 24, wool. 
Wolle, ii. 38, will. 
Won, ii. 49, wont, usage. 
Won'd, i. 306, dwelt. 
Wonde, wounde, wifided. 
Wonders, wo7idrous. 
Wondersly, i. 125, wondrdusly. 
Wone, i. 31, one. 
Wonne, dwell. 
Woo, i. 28, woe. 
Wood, i. 145, ii. 145 ; woode, iii. 

57, mad, furious. 
Wood-wroth, iii. 238, furiously 

Woodweele, i. 106, the golden 

ouzle, a bird of the thrtish kind. 
Worm, iii. 30, 36, serpent. 
Worship, i. 121, honour. 
WorshipfuUy ixoxidtd., of worship- 
ful friends. 
Wot, i. 69; wott, ii. 139, know ; 

wotes, i. 219, knows. 
Wouche, i. 28, mischief, wrong. 
Wowe, i. 300, woo. 
Wow, iii. 75, who. 
Wow, ii. 22, vow. 
Wrack, i. 296; wracke, iii. 41, 

wreck, ruin, destricction ; 

wracked, iii. 117, wrecked. 
Wrang, i. 147, wrutig. 
Wrange, i. 41, wrong. 



Wreake, ii. 135, pursue revenge- 

Wrench, ii. 8r, 86, ivrctchedncss. 

Wringe, i. 122, to contetui luith 

Writhe, i. 2S6, ivrithed, iunsted. 

Wroken, i. 106, 147, revenged. 

Wrong, i. 166, -wrung. 

Wrotyn, ii. 22, li.'rought. 

Wrouyt, ii. 30, ivrought. 

Wry, ii. 49, turn aside. 

Wul, i. S3, 143 ; \vull, iii. 235, 

Wych, i. 44, luhieh. 

Wyld, i. 24, 7L<ild deer. 

Wynn ther haye, i. 40, gather in 
their hay. 

Wynne, i. 43, ii. 20, joy, pleasure. 

Wynne, iii. 279, heard. 

Wynnen, ii. 12, ioin,gain. 

Wyrch wyselyer, ii. 24, ivork 
more 'wisely. 

Wysse, ii. 12, 14, teach, govern, 

Wyst, ii. 26 ; wyste, i. 25, knew. 

Wyt, know ; wyt wold I, ii. 20, 
know would I. 

Wyte, iii. 97, blaine. 

Y, ii. 12, /_,• y singe, ii. Ii, / 

Y-beare, ii. i"] , bear ; y-boren, ii. 

8, borne. 
Y-bent, bent. 
Y-built, iii. 272, built. 
Y-cald,iii. 374, called. 
Y-chesylcd, i. 129, chiselled. 
Y-cleped, i. 326, named, called. 
Y-con'd, i. 306, taught, instructed. 
Y-core, ii. 12, chosen. 
Y-fere, ii. 76, together. 
Y-founde, ii. i^, found. 
Y-mad, ii. 13, 7nade. 
Y-picking, i. 107, picking, culling, 
Y-slaw, i. 175, slain. 
Y-told, iii. 374, told. 
Y-were, i. 87, were. 
Y-wis, i. 132 ; ii. 12, verily. 
Y-\vonne, ii. \'}y,won. 
Y-wrought, i.306; \\\.2T^,wrought. 
Y-yote, ii. 14, cast. 
Yae, iii. 237, each. 
"N'alping, ii. \jo, yelping. 
Yaned, iii. i^-j , yawned. 

Yate, i. 92 ; iii. 62, gate; yates, i. 

Yave, i. 272, gave. 

Ych, i. 31, 48 ; ycha, ii. 23, each, 

Ych, ii. 26, sa7ne. 

Ycholde, ii. \2, 1 would. 

"S'chone, i. 49, each one. 

Ychulle, iii. jf>'}),I shall. 

Ydle, idle. 

Yeaning, ii. 257, bringing forth 

Yearded, ii. 384, buried, earthed. 

Yeats, iii. 93, gates. 

Yebent, i. 28, bent. 

Yede, ii. 21, 44, went. 

Yee, eye. 

Yef, ii. 12, if. 

Yeid, ii. 81, went. 

Yeir, i. 101, year. 

Yeme, ii. 12, take care of , govern. 

Yender, yonder. 

Yenoughe, i. 28, 34, enough. 

Yent, ii. 11, through. 

Yerarchy, i. 126, hieraj-chy. 

Yerle, i. 26, 28, 29, 48, earl; yerlle, 
i. 40, 44, 49- 

Yerly, i. 24, early. 

\'erly, i. 440, yearly. 

Ye's, ii. 132 ; ye'se, iii. 134, ye 

Yestreen, ii. 1 1 1, last cvetiing. 

Yet, ii. 20, still. 

Yf, ii. 23, thougJi. 

Ygnoraunce, i. 441, ignorance. 

Ying,iii.374 ; yinge,iii. yi\,young. 


Ylk, ii. 26, same. 

YU, ii. 36, ///. 

Yl)the, listen. 

Yn, ii. 9, house. 

"V'ngghshe, i. 28, 47, 50, English. 

Ynglonde, i. 27, 32, 34, 43, Eng- 

Ynough, i. 155, enough. 

Yode, iii. 67, went. 

Yond, i. 285 ; ii. 191 ; yonds, i. 
2C)\, yonder. 

Yong, i. 271 ; yonge, ii. ^^tZ, young. 

Youd, iii. 48, went. 

Youle, i. 274, 2()o, you will. 

Your lane, iii. 94, alone, by your- 



Youst, i. 290, you will. 

Yow, ii. \6,you. 

Ys, i. 189 ; ii. 14, is; ii. 12, his. 

Yt, //. 

Yth, i. 25, iji the. 

Yule, ii. 229, Christmas. 

[In several of the poems Percy 
used the letter z to represent the 
Anglo-Saxon character j, but as 
this is incorrect, and, moreover, 
gives rise to a very frequent mis- 
pronunciation, the z has been 
replaced by y in this edition, 
and several words have there- 
fore been left out that occurred 
in the original glossary.] 

Zacring bell, ii. 288, sacring bell, 
a little bell rung to give notice 
of the elevation of the host. P. 

Zaints, ii. 289, saints. 

Zaw, ii. 290, saw. 

Zay, ii. 287, say. 

Zee, ii. 286, seey zeene, ii. 287. 

Zelf, ii. 287, self. 
Zet, ii. 289, set. 
Zhall, ii. 288, shall. 
Zhowe, ii. 288, show. 
Zinging, ii. 289, singing. 
Zmell, ii. 286, smell. 
Zo, ii. 289, so. 
Zold, ii. 287, sold. 
Zometimes, ii. 286, sometimes. 
Zon, ii. 290, S071. 
Zorrow, ii. 289, sorrow. 
Zorts, ii. 286, sorts. 
Zubtil, ii. 290, subtil. 
Zuch, ii. 288, such. 
Zure, ii. 288, stire. 
Zweet, ii. 289, sweet. 



The Titles of the various Poems included in the Reliques are distinguished 
from the other entries by being printed in italics. 

A, Robyjijolly Robytt, I. 1S5-187. 

Adam Bell, Clym of the Clough, and William of Clotidesley, I. 

Admiral Hosier's Ghost, II. 367-371. 

Aged Lover renouneeth Love, by Lord Vaux, I. 179-1S2. 

Agincourt, For the Victory of, II. 29-31. 

Alcanzor and Zayda, translated by Percy, I. 338-342. 

Aldingar (Sir), II. 54-67. 

Version from the folio MS. II. 61-67. 

Alexandrine or Anapestic verse, II. 386. 
Alfred the Great as a Harper, I. 399. 
Alliterative metre without rhyme, II. 377-394. 
Althea (To) from Prison, II. 321-323. 
Ambree (Mary), II. 231-237. 

Version from the folio MS. II. 235-237. 

" Amys and Amelion," III. 373. 
Anderson (John), the town crier of Kelso, II. 
Argentile and Cur an, II. 252-262. 
Arthour and Merlin, Romance of, III. 369. 
Arthur (King), I'ocms on. III. 3-43. 

King Arthur and the King of Cornwall, III. 367. 

Legend of King Arthur, III. 3-43. 

King Arthur's Death, a Fragment, III. 27-35. 

Version from the folio MS. III. 35-39. 

Le Morte Arihure, 111. 366. 



As ye came from the Holy Latid, II. 101-103. 

Copy from the folio MS. 104-105. 

Auld {The) Good-tna?i, III. 122-124. 

Baffled Knight, 0?' Lady's Policy, II. 336-342. 

Bailiff's Daughter of Islington, III. 135-137. 

Balet by the Earl of Rivers, II. 48-49. 

Ballad of Constant Susanna, I. 209. 

Ballad of Luther, the Pope, a Cardinal, and a Husbandman, II. 

Ballads and Ballad-Writers, I. xxiv.-xliv. 

Imitators and Forgers of, I. xliv.-xlviii. 

Authenticity of certain, I. xlviii.-lviii. 

Preservers of the, I. Iviii.-lxxii. 

Collections of printed, I. Ixiii.-lxv, 

" Collection of old Ballads," I. Ixix. 

that illustrate Shakespeare, I. 151-246. 

Ballad Literature since Percy, I. xci.-xcvii. 

Meaning of the word ballad, I. xxx. 423. 

Ballad-singers, I. xxxiii.-xxxiv. 

Balowe, II. 209-213. 

Bannatyne MS. I. Ixii. 

Ba?-bara Allan, Sir John Grelwie and. III. 133-135. 

Barbara Allen's Cruelty, III. 128-130. 

Bards, successors of the ancient, I. 385. 

Barton {Sir Atidrew), II. 188-208. 

Version from the folio MS. II. 201-208. 

Battle of Otterbourne, I. 35-54. 

Beaumont and Fletcher, Fareiucll to Love, I. 310. 

Bedlam, Old Tom of II. 344-347. 

Bednall Green, Begi^ar's Daughter of, II. 171-185. 

Bedwell (William), '11. 19. 

Beggar's Daughter of Bednall Green, II. 171-185. 

"Belesant (Lady), the Duke of Lombardy's fair Daughter," III. 373. 

" Bevis (Sir) of Hampton," referred to. III. 215, 265, 279, 357, 365. 

Birth of St. George, III. 215-224. 

Blondell de Nesle, the Minstrell, I. 359. 

Bodvvell (Earle), II. 215-218. 

Bohemia, Elizabeth, Queen of, II. 312. 

Bolle (Sir John), II. 247. 

Bond-story in the " Merchant of Venice," I. 211. 

Bonny Pari of Murray, II. 226-228. 

Bosville's (Godfrey), explanation of the "Dragon of Wantley," 

III. 281. 
Bothwcll's {Lady Anne) La?nent, II. 209-213. 
Boy and the Mantle, III. 3-12. 


Boy and the Mantle, as rez'ised ami altered by a modern hand, III. 

Braes of Yarrow, II. 362-367. 

Brandon's (Charles) livery and device, III. 167 (note). 

Brave Lord WiUoiighbey, II. 23S-241, 

Breton (Nicholas), III. 67, 80. 

Bridds Burial, III. 148-152. 

Brid^:;es, Gascoigne^s Praise of the Fair, II. 150-154. 

Brown, Epithet applied to a sword, I. 112. 

Brown (Mrs.) of Falkland, I. Lxvi. 

Bryan and Pereene, by J. Grainger, I. 328-331. 

Cadiz, Taking of, by the English, II. 243. 

Caliburn, King Arthur's Sword, III. 32. 

Carew (Thomas). Unfading Beauty, III. 239. 

Carey (Henry), Distracted Lover, II. 355-357. 

Carle of Carlisle, III. 367. 

"Carre (Captain)", from the folio MS. I. 148-150. 

Cauliue (Sir), I. 61-81. 

Copy from the folio MS. I. 76-81. 

Chambers (Robert), " Romantic Scottish Ballads " noticed, I. 1. 

Character of a LLappy Life, by Sir H. Wotton, I. 317-318. 

Charing-Cross, Do^onfall of, II. 323-326. 

Charles L., Verges by, II. 329-332. 

Chaucer, Original Ballad by, II. 14-16. 

" Chevalere Assigne," an alliterative romance, II. 3813 III. 369. 

Cheviot Hills, the scene of Chevy Chase, I. 254. 

Chevy Chase, the Ancient Ballad of, I. 19-35. 

Names mentioned in, I. 51-52. 

The more Modern Ballad of, I. 249-264. 

Names mentioned in, I. 263-264. 

Child of Elk, 1 . 1 3 1 - 1 3 9. 

Copy from the folio MS. I. 138-139. 

Child Waters, III. 58-65. 

Children in the Wood, III. 169-176. 

Chylde Ipomydon, a Romance, III. 371. 

Clym of the Clough, I. 153. 

Clyne (Xorval) on the authenticity of Sir Patrick Spence, I. lii. 

Complaint of Conscience, II. 279-285. 

Constant I*enelope, III. 261-264 

Cophetua (King) and the Beggxr-Maid, I. 189-194. 

Coppe, an enthusiast, II. 349 (note). 

Corbet (Bishop Richard), Fairies Farac>ell,'\\l. 207-213. 

The Distracted Puritan, II. 347-351. 

Corin's Fate, II. 262-263. 

Cory don's Doleful Knell, W. 274-276. 


Cory don's Farewell to Fhillis, I. 209-211. 
Courtier, Old and Young, II. 314-318. 
Grants, Ophelia's virgin, III. 152 (note). 
Cromwell {Thomas Lord'), II. 71-75. 
Cunningham's (Allan) forged Ballads, I. xlvi. 
Cupid, Hue and Cry after, III. 159-161. 
Cupid and Ca?npaspe, by yohn Lilye, III. 85-86. 
Cupid's Assault, by Lord Faux, II. 50-53. 
Cupid's Pastime, I. 314-317. 
Cymmortha in Wales, I. xix. 

Daniel (S.), Ulysses and the Syren, I. 311-314. 

Darnley, Ballad on his Murder, II. 213-218. 

Daivson {yenmiy), II. 371-374. 

" Death and Life," an alliterative Poem, II. 383. 

Degree (Sir), a Romance, III. 371. 

Deloney (Thomas), Ballad- Writer, I. xxxviii. 

Sir Lancelot du Lake, I. 204-209. 

The King of France's Daughter, III. 1 61-168. 

The Winning of Cales, II. 243-246. 

Dido {Queen), III. 1 91-196. 

" Dioclesian, the Emperour," III. 373. 

Distracted Lover, II-355-357- 

Distracted Puritan, II. 347-351- 

Douglas, Heraldic Arms of the House of, I. 47. 

Doumfall of Charing Cross, II. 323-326. 

Dowsabell, by Michael Drayton, I. 304-310. 

Dragon of tVantley, III. 279-288. 

Drayton (Michael), Dowsabell, I. 304-310. 

Dulcina, III. 153-155. 

D'Urfey {Tom), Frantic Lady, 11. 357-358- 

Lady distracted with Love, II. 354-355- 

Dyer (Sir E.), My Mind to Me a Kingdom is, I. 294-298. 
Dyttie to ILey Downe, III. 44-45- 

Edom d Gordon, I. 140-150. 

Copy from the folio MS. I. 148-150. 

Edward, Edward, a Scottish Ballad, I. 82-84. 
Edward L., on the Death of II. 10-14. 

Edward IV. and Tanner of Tamworth, 11. 92-100. 

Edwards (Richard) A So?ig to the Lute in Musicke, I. 187-189. 

" Eger and Grime," III. 368. 

"Eglamour of Artas," a Romance, III. 370. 

Eleanor's {Quee?i) Confession, II. 164-168. 

Elderton (William), Ballad-Writer, I. xxxvii. 

his Ballad, King of Scots and Andrew Browne, II. 221-225. 


Elizabeth {Quec/i), Sonnet by, II. 21S-220. 

Verses while Prisoner at J J ooilstoeh, 11. 137-138. 

Emanuel College, Cambridge, II. 34S (note). 
Emare, Romance of, III. 369. 

Erasmus, Colloquy on Pilgrimages, II. 86. 

Est mere {King), I. 85-98. 

" Every Man," I. 433. 

EiC'-bughts, ^ far ion, a Scottish Song, III. 74-75. 

Excalibar, King Arthur's Sword, III. 32. 

Fair Margaret and Siiieet Williatn,\\\. 124-127. 

Fair Rosamond, II. 154-164. 

Fairies Farcii<ell, III. 207-211. 

Fairy, Way to Get a, III. 210. 

Fairy Queen, III. 204-207. 

Fancy and Desire, by the Earl of Oxford, II. 185-187. 

Faracell to Love, I. 310. 

"Fit," meaning of a, I. xxiii. ; II. 182. 

" Florence (Le bone) of Rome," III. 373. 

Folio MS. and the Rcliqucs, I. Ixxxi.-xci., 5-6. 

Four Elements, Interlude of the, I. 441. 

France's {King of ) Daughter, III. 161-168. 

Frantic Lady, II. 357, 358. 

Friar of Orders Gray, I. 242-246. 

Frolicksotne Duke, or the Tinker's good Fortune, I. 238-242. 

Funeral Garlands, III. 152 (note). 

Gaberhmyie Man, II. 67-71. 

Garlands of Ballads, I. 423. 

Garlands (Funeral), III. 152 (note). 

Gascoigne's Praise of the Fair Bridges, II. 150-154. 

Gawain, the Duke and. III. 367. 

and the Cireene Knight, III. 367. 

" Sir Gawan and Sir Galaron of Galloway," metrical Romance, 


" Gawan and Gologras," metrical Romance, III. 375. 

Marriage of Sir Gawaync, III. 13-24. 

Ancient Fragment from the folio MS. 323-330. 

Gentle Herdsman, tell to fne, II. 86-92. 

Gentle River, Gentle River, translated by Percy, I. 331-338. 
George {St.), Birth of III. 215-224. 

and the Dragon, III. 224-232. 

for England, the first part, III. 288-293. 

the second part, by John Grubb, III. 293-308. 

George Barnwell, 1 1 1 . 2 40-25 2 . 
Gernutus the J^ew of Venice, I. 21 1-220. 


Gil Morrice, 111. 91-100. 

Version from the folio MS. 100-103. 

Gilderoy, I. 318-323. 
Glasgerion, III. 45-49. 

the Harper, I. 396. 

Gleemen, I. 392. 

Glover (R,), Admiral Hosier's Ghost, II. 367-371. 

Good-Man, The Auld, III. 122-124. 

Graham (David) of Fintray, II. 229. 

Grainger (J.), Bryan and Fereene, I. 328-331. 

Gramarye, on the word, I. 96. 

" Green Knight," III. 367. 

Greenham (Richard), II. 350 (note). 

Grehme {Sir yolvi), and Barbara Allan, III. 133-135. 

Grubb (John), St. George for England, the second part, III. 293- 

Guy of Gisborne, I. 102. 
Guy (Sir), Legend of. III. 1 07-1 13. 

Romance of, III. 364. 

Two Poems on Guy of Warwick, III. 364. 

Guy a?id Amarant, III. 11 4- 121. 

Guy and Colbronde, Romance of, III. 364. 

Hamilton i^ ^, The Braes of Yarrow, II. 362-367. 
Hardyknute, a Scottish Fragment, II. 105-121. 
Harpalus, an Ancient English Fastoral, II. 75-79. 
Harpers and Minstrels, I. 390. 
Harrington, Witch of Wokey, I. 325-328. 
Hawes (Stephen) Tower of Doctrine,!. 127-130. 
Hawker (Rev. R. S.), Imitator of the Old Ballad, I. xlv. 
Heir of Linne, II. 138-150. 

Version from the folio MS. II. 147-150. 

Henry II. and the Miller of Mansfield, III. 178-188. 

Henryson (Robert) Robin and Makyne, II. 79-86. 

Hey Downe, Dyttie to, III. 44-45. 

" Hick Scorner," I. 435. 

Hock Tuesday, Coventry Play of, I. 445. 

Holy-land, As Ye Came from the, II. 1 01 -105 

• Version from the foHo MS. II. 104-105. 

Home Childe, Romance of, III. 363. 
Hosier' s {Admiral) Ghost, II. 367-371. 
Howleglas, Merye Jest of, I. 431. 
Hue and Cry after Cupid, III. 159-161. 
Hugh of Lincoln, Story of, I. 54. 
Humbledon, Battle of, I. 35. 


Ipomydon, a Romance, III. 371. 
Ipotis, Poem of, III. 364. 
Isabella' s {Lady) Tragedy, III. 155-15S. 
Isenbras (Sir), Romance of, III. 369. 
Islington, III. 135. 

James V. Gahcrluuyie Man, II. 67-71. 
James I. of England, Verses by, II. 300-302. 

King of Scots and Andretv Brozvne, II. 221-225. 

Jane Shore, II. 263-273. 

Jealousy, Spanish Virgin, or Effects of. III. 255-259. 

Jealousy Tyrant of the Mind, III, 260. 

Jemmy Dawson, II. 371-374. 

Jephthah, Judge of Israel, I. 1 8 2 - 1 85 . 

Jccu's Daughter, I. 54-60. 

Jews supposed to crucify Christian Children, I. 54. 

John {King) and the Abbot of Canterbury, II. 303-3 12. 

Version from the folio IMS. II. 308-312. 

John Anderson my Jo, II. 131- 133. 
"John the Reeve," referred to, II. 93, 179. 
Johnson (Richard), Ballad-Writer, I. xxxix. 
Jonson (Ben.) A Hue and Cry after Cupid, III. 159-161. 

The Sweet Negled, III. 169. 

The IVihhes' Song, III. 196-199. 

King (Francis), the Skipton Minstrel, I. xxiii. 
King and Miller of Mansfield, III. 178-188. 
King Arthur's Death, III. 27-35. 

Version from the folio MS. III. 35-39. 

King Cophetua and the Beggar- Maid, I. 189-194. 

King Est mere, I. 85-98. 

King Leir and his Three Daughters, I. 231-237. 

King Kyence's Challenge, III. 24-27. 

King of France's Daughter, III. 1 6 1 - 1 68. 

King of Scots, Murder of the, II. 213-218. 

King of Scots and Andrexo Broicnc, II. 221-225. 

"King of Tars," III. 374. 

Knight and Shepherd's Daughter, III. 76-80. 

" Knight of Courtesy and the Lady of Fagucl," III. 372. 

iMdy Distracted 7i'ith Lore, II. 354, 355. 
Lady turned Serving-Man, ill. 86-90. 
Lady Anne Bothweirs Lament, II. 209-213. 
iMdy Isabella s Tragedy, III. 155-158. 
Lady's Fall, III. 139-145. 

3 K K 


Laing's (David) Opinion on the Authenticity of Sir Patrick Spe?ice, 

I. xHx. 
Lambewell (Sir), Romance of, III. 368. 
Lancelot (Sir) du Lake, I. 204-209. 
Langland's Visions of Pierce Plowman, II. 377-394- 
Launfal (Sir), a Romance, III. 368. 
" Lay of Erie of Thoulouse," III. 372. 
Legend of King Arthur, III. 39-43- 
Legend of Sir Guy, III. 107- 113. 
Legh (Sir Urias), II. 247. 

Leir {King) and his Three Daughters, I. 231-237. 
Levison (Sir Richard), II. 247. 

Libius Disconius, analysis of the Romance of, III. 358, 366. 
Z////^/<'r/dr^, II. 358-362. 
Lilly (John), Cupid and Campaspe, III. 85-86. 
Little John Nobody, II. 133-137- 
Little Musgravc and Lady Barnard, III. 68-74. 
Lord Thomas and Fair Annet, III. 234-238. 
Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor, III. 82-85. 
Love will find out a Way, III. 232-234. 
Lovelace (Richard), To Altheafrom Prison, II. 321-323. 

To Lucasta on Going to the Wars, III. 264-265. 

Lover (A) of Late, III. 177-178. 

Loyalty Confined, II. 326-329. 

Lucasta {To) on Going to the Wars, III. 264-265. 

Lucy and Colin, III. 312-315. 

Lunatic Lover, II. 351-353. 

Luther, the Pope, a Cardinal, and a LLusbandman, a Ballad of, II. 

Lusty Juventus, Interlude of, I. 442. 
Lye {The), by Sir Walter Raleigh, II. 297-300. 

Mad Songs— I. Old Tom of Bedlam, II. 344-347- 

2. The Distracted Puritan, II. 347-351- 

3. The Lunatic Lover, II. 351-353- 

4. The Lady Distracted with Love, II. 354-355- 

5. The Distracted Lover, II. 355 -357- 

6. The Frantic Lady, II. 357-35S. 
Mahound, on the word, I. 97- 

Maid Marian, III. 186. 

Maitland MS. I. Ixii. 

Mallet (D.), Margarefs Ghost, III. 308-312. 

MS. (Folio) and the Peliques, I. Ixxxi.-xci, 5-6. 

Margaret {Fair) and Sweet William, III. 124-127. 

Margarefs Ghost, III. 308-312. 

Mariowe's (C), Passionate Shepherd to his Love, I. 220-224. 


Marriage of Sir Gawayne, III. 13-24. 

Ancient Fragment from the folio IMS. III. 3-3-330, 

Mary Ambree, II. 231-237. 

Version from folio MS. II. 235-237. 

" Merchant of Venice," Bond-Story in, I. 211. 

Merline, Romance of, III. 369. 

" Milky Way," Names of, II. 88. 

Miller of Mansfield, King and. III. 178-188. 

Minstrels, I. xiii.-xxiv. 

Essay on the Ancient, in England, I. 343-381. 

Notes on, I. 382-430. 

Mirrour for Magistrates, I. 444. 

Montfort (Simon de). Earl of Leicester, II. 3. 

More of More-Hall, III. 2S3. 

Morrice {Gil), III. 91-100. 

Version from the folio MS. III. 100-103. 

Morte Arthure, III. 366. 
Monday (Anthony), Ballad-Writer, I. xxxix. 
Murder of the King of Scots, 11. 213-218. 
Murray, The Bonny Earl of, II. 226-228. 
Musgrave {Little) and Lady Barnard, III. 68-74. 
My Mind to me a Kingdo?n is, I. 294-298. 

" New (The) -Custom," I. 444. 

Northu/nberland {Henry, ^th Earl of), Elegy on, by Skclton, 

I. 117-126. 
Northumberland (Thomas, 7th Earl of), I. 266. 
Northumberland betrayed by Douglas, I. 279-288. 
Version from the folio MS. I. 289-294. 

Northumberland (Elizabeth Duchess of). Dedications to, I. i-; 
Norton (Richard) and his Sons, I. 267, 270. 
Not-Bro7vne Mayd, II. 31-47. 

O Nancy 7i'ilt thou go 7ciith nu\ I. Ixxii. 
"Octavian Imperator,"' a Romance, III. 370. 
Old and Young Courtier, II. 314-318. 
Old Robin of Fortingale, III. 50-54. 

Version from the folio MS. III. 55-58. 

Old Tom of Bedlam, II. 344-347. 

Otterbourne, The Battle of, I. 35-54. 

"Otucl, a Knight," III. 374. 

"Owain Myles,"III. 370. 

O.xford (Edward Vere, Earl of), Fancy and Desire, II. 185-187. 

Parker (.Martin), Royalist I'.allad-Writer, I. xl. 
Passionate Shepherd to his Love, I. 220-224. 


Patient Cotintess, I. 298-304. 

Fetielope, Constant, III. 261-264. 

Pepperden, Battle of, I. 252. 

Percy (Bishop Thomas), Life of, I. Ixxi.-lxxx. 

Portraits of, I. Ixxx. 

Friar of Orders Gray, I. 242-246. 

Perkins (William), II. 350 (note). 
Phillida and Corydon, III. 66-68. 
Pierce Plowman's Visions, alliterative Metre without Rhyme in, 

II- 377-394- 
Pipers (Town) of Scotland, I. xx. 
Plain Truth a?id Blind Ignorance, II. 285-290. 
Pohtick Maid, II, 337. 
Popham (Sir John), II. 247. 
Portugal, Voyage to, 1588, III. 176. 
Prior's Henry and Emma, 11. 31. 
Pucke, ahas Hobgoblin, III. 199. 
Puritan, the Distracted, II. 347-351. 

Queen Dido, III. 191-196. 

Rahere, the King's Minstrel, I. 406. 
Raleigh (Sir Walter), The Lye, II. 297-300. 

The Ny7np]i's keply, I. 223-224. 

" Reliques," first publication of the, I. Ixxv., Ixxxix. 

Sources of the, I. Ixxxi.-xci. 

Rembrun, Romance of, III. 365. 

"Richard Cure de Lyon, Historye of," III. 356, 372. 

Richard of Almaigne, II. 3-10. 

Rising in the North, I. 266-274. 

Version from the folio MS. I. 274-278. 

Risp, or Tirling-pin, III. 47 (note). 
Ritson's Attack upon Percy, I. xiv. 
Rivers (Earl of), Balet, II. 45-49- 
" Robert, Kynge of Cysill," III. 373. 
Robin {Old) of Portingale, III. 50-54. 

Version from the folio MS. III. 55-58. 

Robin and Makyne, an Ancient Scottish Pastoral, 11. 79-86. 

Robin Good-Fellow, III. 199-204. 

Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne, I. 1 02-1 16, 

Robin Redbreast, popular belief relating to, III. 1 71-176. 

Robyn {A), jolly Robyn, I. 185-187. 

Rolricht Stones, III. 302. 

Romances, on the Ancient Metrical, III. 339-376. 

Rondeau or Roundel, II. 14. 

Rosamond {Fair), II. 154-164. 


Roxburghe Ballads, I. Ixiii. 

Kycncds {Jvi/ig) Challenge, III. 24-:!7- 

Sale of Rebellious Household- Stuff, II. 332-336. 

Sandes (Lady), II. 150. 

Scott (Sir Walter) on the Controversy between Percy and Ritson, 

I. xiv. 
" Scottish Feilde," an alliterative Poem, II. 384. 
" Sege of Jerusalem," an alliterative Poem, II. 381 ; III. 369. 
Shakespeare, Ballads that illustrate, I. 151-246. 

Take those Lips away, I. 230. 

Youth and Age, I. 237-238. 

Sheale (Richard), the Preserver of Chety Chase, I. xviii. 19. 

Shenstone (y^^, Jemmy Daw son, W. 371-374. 

Shepherds Address to his Muse, III. 80-81. 

Shepherds Resolution, III. 188-191. 

Shirley (J.), Death's Final Conquest, I. 264-265. 

Victorious Men of Earth, II. 242. 

Shore {Jane), II. 263-273. 

Sir, the title applied to Priests, I. 116. 
Sir Aldingar, II. 54-67. 

Version from the folio MS. II. 61-67. 

Sir Andrrco Barton, II. 188-208. 

Version from the folio MS. II. 201-208. 

Sir Cauline, I. 61-81. 

Copy from the folio MS. I. 76-81. 

Sir Degree, Degare or Degore, a Romance, III. 371. 

Sir Gawan and Sir Galaron of Galloway, metrical Romance, 

in. 375- 
Sir Isenbras, Romance of, III. 369. 

Sir John Grehme and Barbara Allan, \\\. 133-135. 

Sir John Suckling's Canipaigne, II. 318-321. 

Sir Lancelot du Lake, I. 204-209. 

Sir Patrick Spence, I. 98-102. 

Authenticity of, I. xlviii. 

Skeat(Rev. VV. W.) on the Essay on Alliterative Metre, II. 394. 

Skelton's (John) Elegy on Henry, fourth Earl of Northutnberland, 

I. 1 17-126. 

Soldan or Sowdan, on the words, I. 98. 

Song to the iMte in Musicke, I. 187-189. 

Sonnet by Queen Elizabeth, II. 218-220. 

Soulcs (The) Krrand, II. 297-300. 

Spanish Ballads, I. 331. 

Spanish Lady's Lm'c, II. 247-251. 

Spanish Virgin, or Effects of Jealousy, III. 255-259. 

Squyr of Lowe Degrc, a Romance, III. 372. 


Stage, on the Origin of the EngHsh, I. 431-458. 

Stedfast Shepherd, III. 253-255. 

Sturdy Rock, II. 169-170. 

Suckling (Sir John), Why so Pale, II. 343-344. 

Sir John Suckling's Campaigne, II. 318-321. 

Surtees (Robert), Forger of Old Ballads, I. xlvii. 

Susanna, Ballad of Constant, I. 209. 

Sweet Neglect, III. 169. 

Sweet William, Fair Margaret and. III. 124-127. 

Sweet William's Ghost, III. 130-133. 

Syr Triamore, a Romance, III. 371. 

Taillefer the Minstrel, I. xvi. 403. 

Take those Lips away, I. 230. 

Take thy old Cloak about thee, I. 195-198. 

" Taming of the Shrew," Story of the induction to, I. 238. 

Tearne-Wadhng no longer a lake. III. 14 (note). 

Termagaunt, on the word, I. 96. 

Thomas {Lord) and Fair Anuet, III. 234-238. 

Thomas {Lord) a?id Fair Ellinor, III. 82-85. 

Thoms (W. J.), Note on the Reliques, I. Ixxxviii. 

Thorn (M.), Sturdy Rock, II. 169-170. 

" Thoulouse, Lay of Erie of," III. 372. 

Tickell (Thomas), Lucy and Colin, III. 312-315. 

Tirling Pin or Risp, III. 47 (note). 

Titus Andronicus's Complaint, I. 224-229. 

Tom {Old) of Bedlam, II. 344-347. 

Tottenham, Tmuvnentof, II. 17-28. 

Tower of Doctrine, by Stephen Hawes, I. 127-130. 

Triamore (Syr), a Romance, III. 371. 

Turke and Gawain, III. 367. 

Turnament of Tottenham, II. 17-28. 

Turnewathelan, III. 375. 

Tutbury Court of Minstrels, I. 368 

Ulysses and the Syren, by S. Daniel, I. 31 1-3 14. 
Unfading Beauty, III. 239. 

Valentine and Ursine, 111. 265-279. 

Vaux (Thomas, Lord), Cupid's Assault, II. 50-53. 

The Aged Lover renounceth Love, I. 179-182. 

Verses by K. James I., II. 300-302. 
Verses by K. Charles /., II. 329-332. 
Victorious Men of Earth, II. 242. 

Waits attached to Corporate Towns, I. xvi. 


Walsingham, Shrine of the Virgin at, II. 86, loi. 

W'aihhring Jai', II. 291-296. 

Watitley, Dragon of. III. 279-288. 

Wanton Wife of Bath, III. 333-338. 

Waly Waly, Loz'e be Bonny, III. 145-148. 
Wardlaw (Lady), Imitator of the Old Ballad, I. xliv., xlix. 

Hardy knutc, II. 105-121. 

Warner (\V.), Argenti/e and Curan, II. 252-262. 

The Patient Countess,!. 298-304. 

Waters {Child), III. 58-65. 

Waters {Young), II. 228-231. 
Westmorland (Earl of), I. 266. 
Whamclili'e Lodge and Wood, III. 281. 
Wharton (Thomas, Marquis of), Lilli Burlero, II. 358-362. 
Why so Pale, by Sir John Suckling, II. 343-344. 
Wife ( Wanton) of Bath, III. 333-338. 
William (St.) of Norwich, I. 56. 
William of Cloudesley, I. 153. 
William {Sii'eet), Pair Margaret and. III. 124-127. 
William's {S7^'eet) Ghost, III. 130-133. 
William and Margaret, by D. Mallet, III. 308-312. 
Willoughbey {Brave Lord), II. 238-241. 
Willow, IVillozc, Willow, I. 199-203. 
Willo7ii Tree, a Pastoral Dialogue, III. 137-139. 
Winifreda, I. 323-325. 
Winning of Cales, II. 243-246. 
Witch of Wokey, by Dr. Harrington, I. 325-328. 
Witches' Song, III. 196-199. 
Wither (George), Shepherd's Resolution, III. 188-191. 

The Stedfast Shepherd, III. 253-255. 

Wokey-hole in Somersetshire, I. 325. 
Wortley (Sir Thomas), III. 282. 

Wotton (Sir H.), Character of a Happy Life, I. 317-318. 

You Meaner Beauties, II. 312-314. 

Yarro^u, The Braes of, II. 362-367. 
You Meaner Beauties, II. 312-314. 
Young Waters, II. 228-231. 
Youth a nd Age, 1 . 237-238. 
Ypotis, Poem of, III. 364. 


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