{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_45941/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_45941","id":"gutenberg_45941","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45941","summary":null,"tags":["Ballads, English -- Texts","Category: British Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","English language -- Early modern, 1500-1700 -- Glossaries, vocabularies, etc.","English poetry -- Early modern, 1500-1700","Minstrels","Romances, English -- History and criticism"],"text":"[Illustration]\n\n PERCY'S RELIQUES.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n RELIQUES OF\n\n ANCIENT ENGLISH\n POETRY\n\n CONSISTING OF OLD HEROIC BALLADS, SONGS AND\n OTHER PIECES OF OUR EARLIER POETS\n TOGETHER WITH SOME FEW\n OF LATER DATE\n\n\n BY\n\n THOMAS PERCY, D.D.\n\n BISHOP OF DROMORE\n\n EDITED, WITH A GENERAL INTRODUCTION, ADDITIONAL\n PREFACES, NOTES, GLOSSARY, ETC.\n\n BY\n\n HENRY B. WHEATLEY, F.S.A.\n\n\n IN THREE VOLUMES\n VOL. III\n\n\n LONDON: GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD.\n RUSKIN HOUSE\n 40 MUSEUM STREET, W.C.1\n\n First Published by Swan Sonnenschein _April_ 1885\n Reprinted _August_ 1891\n \" _August_ 1899\n \" _December_ 1909\n \" _January_ 1927\n\n PRINTED BY THE RIVERSIDE PRESS LIMITED, EDINBURGH\n GREAT BRITAIN\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS OF VOLUME THE THIRD\n\n\n BOOK THE FIRST.\n\n (_Poems on King Arthur, &c._)\n\n Page\n\n\n 1. The Boy and the Mantle 3\n\n 2. The Marriage of Sir Gawaine 13\n\n 3. King Ryence's Challenge 24\n\n 4. King Arthur's Death. A Fragment 27\n\n Copy from the Folio MS. 35\n\n 5. The Legend of King Arthur 39\n\n 6. A Dyttie to Hey Downe 44\n\n 7. Glasgerion 45\n\n 8. Old Robin of Portingale 50\n\n 9. Child Waters 58\n\n 10. Phillida and Corydon. By Nicholas Breton 66\n\n 11. Little Musgrave and Lady Barnard 68\n\n 12. The Ew-bughts, Marion. A Scottish Song 74\n\n 13. The Knight, and Shepherd's Daughter 76\n\n 14. The Shepherd's Address to his Muse. By N Breton 80\n\n 15. Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor 82\n\n 16. Cupid and Campaspe. By John Lilye 85\n\n 17. The Lady turned Serving-man 86\n\n 18. Gil [Child] Morrice. A Scottish Ballad 91\n\n Copy from the Folio MS. 100\n\n\n BOOK THE SECOND.\n\n 1. The Legend of Sir Guy 107\n\n 2. Guy and Amarant. By Samuel Rowlands 114\n\n 3. The Auld Good-Man. A Scottish Song 122\n\n 4. Fair Margaret and Sweet William 124\n\n 5. Barbara Allen's Cruelty 128\n\n 6. Sweet William's Ghost. A Scottish Ballad 130\n\n 7. Sir John Grehme and Barbara Allen. A Scottish Ballad 133\n\n 8. The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington 135\n\n 9. The Willow Tree. A Pastoral Dialogue 137\n\n 10. The Lady's Fall 139\n\n 11. Waly, Waly, Love be bonny. A Scottish Song 145\n\n 12. The Bride's Burial 148\n\n 13. Dulcina 153\n\n 14. The Lady Isabella's Tragedy 155\n\n 15. A Hue and Cry after Cupid. By Ben. Jonson 159\n\n 16. The King of France's Daughter 161\n\n 17. The Sweet Neglect. By Ben. Jonson 169\n\n 18. The Children in the Wood 169\n\n 19. A Lover of late was I 177\n\n 20. The King and the Miller of Mansfield 178\n\n 21. The Shepherd's Resolution. By George Wither 188\n\n 22. Queen Dido (or the Wandering Prince of Troy) 191\n\n 23. The Witches' Song. By Ben. Jonson 196\n\n 24. Robin Good-fellow 199\n\n 25. The Fairy Queen 204\n\n 26. The Fairies Farewell. By Bishop Corbet 207\n\n\n BOOK THE THIRD.\n\n 1. The Birth of St. George 215\n\n 2. St. George and the Dragon 224\n\n 3. Love will find out the Way 232\n\n 4. Lord Thomas and Fair Annet. A Scottish Ballad 234\n\n 5. Unfading Beauty. By Thomas Carew 239\n\n 6. George Barnwell 240\n\n 7. The Stedfast Shepherd. By George Wither 253\n\n 8. The Spanish Virgin, or Effects of Jealousy 255\n\n 9. Jealousy Tyrant of the Mind. By Dryden 260\n\n 10. Constant Penelope 261\n\n 11. To Lucasta, on going to the Wars. By Col. Lovelace. 264\n\n 12. Valentine and Ursine 265\n\n 13. The Dragon of Wantley 279\n\n 14. St. George for England. The First Part 288\n\n 15. St. George for England. The Second Part. By John Grubb 293\n\n 16. Margaret's Ghost. By David Mallet 308\n\n 17. Lucy and Colin. By Thomas Tickel 312\n\n 18. The Boy and the Mantle, as revised and altered by a\n modern hand 315\n\n 19. The ancient Fragment of the Marriage of Sir Gawaine 323\n\n\n APPENDIX.\n\n I. The Wanton Wife of Bath 333\n\n II. Essay on the Ancient Metrical Romances, &c. 339\n\n GLOSSARY 377\n\n INDEX 411\n\n[Illustration]\n\n[Illustration]\n\n RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY, ETC.\n\n SERIES THE THIRD.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK I.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n \"An ordinary song or ballad, that is the delight of the common\n people, cannot fail to please all such readers, as are not\n unqualified for the entertainment by their affectation or their\n ignorance; and the reason is plain, because the same paintings of\n nature which recommend it to the most ordinary reader, will appear\n beautiful to the most refined.\"--ADDISON, in _Spectator_, No. 70.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nPOEMS ON KING ARTHUR, ETC.\n\n\nThe third volume being chiefly devoted to romantic subjects, may not be\nimproperly introduced with a few slight strictures on the old metrical\nromances: a subject the more worthy attention, as it seems not to have\nbeen known to such as have written on the nature and origin of books of\nchivalry, that the first compositions of this kind were in verse, and\nusually sung to the harp.[1]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] [See Appendix.]\n\n\n\n\nI.\n\nTHE BOY AND THE MANTLE\n\n\nIs printed verbatim from the old MS. described in the Preface.[2]\nThe Editor believes it more ancient than it will appear to be at\nfirst sight; the transcriber of that manuscript having reduced the\northography and style in many instances to the standard of his own\ntimes.\n\nThe incidents of the _Mantle and the Knife_ have not, that I can\nrecollect, been borrowed from any other writer. The former of these\nevidently suggested to Spenser his conceit of _Florimel's Girdle_, b.\niv. c. 5, st. 3.\n\n \"That girdle gave the virtue of chaste love\n And wivehood true to all that did it beare;\n But whosoever contrarie doth prove,\n Might not the same about her middle weare,\n But it would loose or else asunder teare.\"\n\nSo it happened to the false Florimel, st. 16, when\n\n \"Being brought, about her middle small\n They thought to gird, as best it her became,\n But by no means they could it thereto frame,\n For ever as they fastned it, it loos'd\n And fell away, as feeling secret blame, &c.\n That all men wondred at the uncouth sight\n And each one thought as to their fancies came.\n But she herself did think it done for spight,\n And touched was with secret wrath and shame\n Therewith, as thing deviz'd her to defame:\n Then many other ladies likewise tride\n About their tender loynes to knit the same,\n But it would not on none of them abide,\n But when they thought it fast, eftsoones it was untide.\n Thereat all knights gan laugh and ladies lowre,\n Till that at last the gentle Amoret\n Likewise assayed to prove that girdle's powre.\n And having it about her middle set\n Did find it fit withouten breach or let,\n Whereat the rest gan greatly to envie.\n But Florimel exceedingly did fret\n And snatching from her hand,\" &c.\n\nAs for the trial of the _Horne_, it is not peculiar to our poet:\nit occurs in the old romance, intitled _Morte Arthur_, which was\ntranslated out of French in the time of K. Edw. IV., and first printed\nanno 1484. From that romance Ariosto is thought to have borrowed his\ntale of the _Enchanted Cup_, c. 42, &c. See Mr. Warton's _Observations\non the Faerie Queen_, &c.\n\nThe story of the _Horn_ in _Morte Arthur_ varies a good deal from this\nof our poet, as the reader will judge from the following extract:--\"By\nthe way they met with a knight that was sent from Morgan la Faye to\nking Arthur, and this knight had a fair horne all garnished with\ngold, and the horne had such a virtue, that there might no ladye or\ngentlewoman drinke of that horne, but if she were true to her husband:\nand if shee were false she should spill all the drinke, and if shee\nwere true unto her lorde, shee might drink peaceably: and because of\nqueene Guenever and in despite of Sir Launcelot du Lake, this horne\nwas sent unto king Arthur.\" This horn is intercepted and brought unto\nanother king named Marke, who is not a whit more fortunate than the\nBritish hero, for he makes \"his qeene drinke thereof and an hundred\nladies moe, and there were but foure ladies of all those that drank\ncleane,\" of which number the said queen proves not to be one (book ii.\nchap. 22, ed. 1632).\n\nIn other respects the two stories are so different, that we have just\nreason to suppose this ballad was written before that romance was\ntranslated into English.\n\nAs for queen Guenever, she is here represented no otherwise than in\nthe old histories and romances. Holinshed observes, that \"she was\nevil reported of, as noted of incontinence and breach of faith to hir\nhusband\" (vol. i. p. 93).\n\nSuch readers, as have no relish for pure antiquity, will find a more\nmodern copy of this ballad at the end of the volume.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [For Percy's further notes on this ballad see the modernized\n version (book iii. No. 18). Professor Child prints the ballad in\n his _English and Scottish Ballads_ (vol. i. p. 1) with a full\n notice of the various forms of the story by way of introduction.\n He writes:--\"No incident is more common in romantic fiction than\n the employment of some magical contrivance as a test of conjugal\n fidelity, or of constancy in love. In some romances of the Round\n Table, and tales founded upon them, this experiment is performed\n by means either of an enchanted horn, of such properties that no\n dishonoured husband or unfaithful wife can drink from it without\n spilling, or of a mantle which will fit none but chaste women.\n The earliest known instances of the use of these ordeals are\n afforded by the _Lai du Corn_, by Robert Bikez, a French minstrel\n of the twelfth or thirteenth century, and the _Fabliau du Mantel_\n _Mautaill\u00e9_, which, in the opinion of a competent critic, dates\n from the second half of the thirteenth century, and is only the\n older lay worked up into a new shape (Wolf, _Ueber die Lais_, 327,\n sq., 342, sq.). We are not to suppose, however, that either of\n these pieces presents us with the primitive form of this humorous\n invention. Robert Bikez tells us that he learned his story from an\n abbot, and that 'noble ecclesiast' stood but one further back in a\n line of tradition which curiosity will never follow to its source.\"\n\n Here follows a list of \"the most remarkable cases of the use of\n these and similar talismans in imaginative literature.\" To these\n may be added the garland described in the curious old story of the\n _Wright's Wife_, which has been printed since the publication of\n Mr. Child's work.\n\n \"Haue here thys garlond of roses ryche,\n In alle thys lond ys none yt lyche;\n For ytt wylle euer be newe.\n Wete \u00feou wele withowtyn fable,\n Alle the whyle thy wyfe ys stable\n The chaplett wolle hold hewe;\n And yf thy wyfe vse putry,\n Or tolle eny man to lye her by,\n Than wolle yt change hewe;\n And by the garlond \u00feou may see,\n Fekylle or fals yf \u00feat sche be,\n Or ellys yf sche be trewe.\"\n\n _The Wright's Chaste Wife_ (E. E. Text Soc. 1865, 1. 55-66).]\n\n * * * * *\n\n In the third day of may,\n To Carleile did come\n A kind curteous child,\n That cold[3] much of wisdome.\n\n A kirtle and a mantle 5\n This child had uppon,\n With 'brouches' and ringes[4]\n Full richelye bedone.[5]\n\n He had a sute of silke\n About his middle drawne; 10\n Without he cold of curtesye\n He thought itt much shame.\n\n God speed thee, king Arthur,\n Sitting at thy meate:\n And the goodly queene Guen\u00e9ver, 15\n I cannott her forgett.\n\n I tell you, lords, in this hall;\n I hett[6] you all to 'heede';[7]\n Except you be the more surer\n Is you for to dread. 20\n\n He plucked out of his 'poterner,'[8][9]\n And longer wold not dwell,\n He pulled forth a pretty mantle,\n Betweene two nut-shells.\n\n Have thou here, king Arthur; 25\n Have thou heere of mee:\n Give itt to thy comely queene\n Shapen as itt is alreadye.\n\n Itt shall never become that wiffe,\n That hath once done amisse. 30\n Then every knight in the kings court\n Began to care for 'his.'[10]\n\n Forth came dame Gu\u00e9never;\n To the mantle shee her 'hied';[11]\n The ladye shee was newfangle, 35\n But yett shee was affrayd.\n\n When shee had taken the mantle;\n She stoode as shee had beene madd:\n It was from the top to the toe\n As sheeres had itt shread. 40\n\n One while was itt 'gule';[12][13]\n Another while was itt greene;\n Another while was itt wadded:[14]\n Ill itt did her beseeme.\n\n Another while was it blacke 45\n And bore the worst hue:\n By my troth, quoth king Arthur,\n I thinke thou be not true.\n\n Shee threw downe the mantle,\n That bright was of blee;[15] 50\n Fast with a rudd[16] redd,\n To her chamber can[17] shee flee.\n\n She curst the weaver, and the walker,[18]\n That clothe that had wrought;\n And bade a vengeance on his crowne, 55\n That hither hath itt brought.\n\n I had rather be in a wood,\n Under a greene tree;\n Then in king Arthurs court\n Shamed for to bee. 60\n\n Kay called forth his ladye,\n And bade her come neere;\n Saies, Madam, and thou be guiltye,\n I pray thee hold thee there.\n\n Forth came his ladye 65\n Shortlye and anon;\n Boldlye to the mantle\n Then is shee gone.\n\n When she had tane the mantle,\n And cast it her about; 70\n Then was shee bare\n 'Before all the rout.'[19]\n\n Then every knight,\n That was in the kings court,\n Talked, laughed, and showted[20] 75\n Full oft att that sport.\n\n Shee threw downe the mantle,\n That bright was of blee;\n Fast, with a red rudd,\n To her chamber can[1] shee flee. 80\n\n Forth came an old knight\n Pattering ore a creede,\n And he proferred to this litle boy\n Twenty markes to his meede;\n\n And all the time of the Christmasse 85\n Willinglye to ffeede;\n For why this mantle might\n Doe his wiffe some need.\n\n When she had tane the mantle,\n Of cloth that was made, 90\n Shee had no more left on her,\n But a tassell and a threed:\n Then every knight in the kings court\n Bade evill might shee speed.\n\n Shee threw downe the mantle, 95\n That bright was of blee;\n And fast, with a redd rudd,\n To her chamber can[21] shee flee.\n\n Craddocke called forth his ladye,\n And bade her come in; 100\n Saith, Winne this mantle, ladye,\n With a litle dinne.\n\n Winne this mantle, ladye,\n And it shal be thine,\n If thou never did amisse 105\n Since thou wast mine.\n\n Forth came Craddockes ladye\n Shortlye and anon;\n But boldlye to the mantle\n Then is shee gone. 110\n\n When shee had tane the mantle,\n And cast itt her about,\n Upp att her great toe\n It began to crinkle and crowt:[22]\n Shee said, bowe downe, mantle, 115\n And shame me not for nought.\n\n Once I did amisse,\n I tell you certainlye,\n When I kist Craddockes mouth\n Under a greene tree; 120\n When I kist Craddockes mouth\n Before he marryed mee.\n\n When shee had her shreeven,\n And her sines shee had tolde;\n The mantle stoode about her 125\n Right as shee wold:\n\n Seemelye of coulour\n Glittering like gold:\n Then every knight in Arthurs court\n Did her behold. 130\n\n Then spake dame Gu\u00e9never\n To Arthur our king;\n She hath tane yonder mantle\n Not with right, but with wronge.[23]\n\n See you not yonder woman, 135\n That maketh her self soe 'cleane'?[24]\n I have seene tane out of her bedd\n Of men fiveteene;\n\n Priests, clarkes, and wedded men\n From her bedeene:[25][26] 140\n Yett shee taketh the mantle,\n And maketh her self cleane.\n\n Then spake the litle boy,\n That kept the mantle in hold;\n Sayes, king, chasten thy wiffe, 145\n Of her words shee is to bold:\n\n Shee is a bitch and a witch,\n And a whore bold:\n King, in thine owne hall\n Thou art a cuckold. 150\n\n The litle boy stoode[27]\n Looking out a dore;[28]\n [And there as he was lookinge\n He was ware of a wyld bore.]\n\n He was ware of a wyld bore,[29] 155\n Wold have werryed a man:[29]\n He pulld forth a wood kniffe,\n Fast thither that he ran:\n He brought in the bores head,\n And quitted him like a man. 160\n\n He brought in the bores head,\n And was wonderous bold:\n He said there was never a cuckolds kniffe\n Carve itt that cold.\n\n Some rubbed their knives 165\n Uppon a whetstone:\n Some threw them under the table,\n And said they had none.\n\n King Arthur, and the child\n Stood looking upon them;\n All their knives edges\n Turned backe againe.[30] 170\n\n Craddocke had a litle knive\n Of iron and of steele;\n He britled[31] the bores head[32] 175\n Wonderous weele;\n That every knight in the kings court\n Had a morssell.\n\n The litle boy had a horne,\n Of red gold that ronge: 180\n He said, there was noe cuckolde\n Shall drinke of my horne;\n But he shold it sheede[33]\n Either behind or beforne.\n\n Some shedd on their shoulder, 185\n And some on their knee;\n He that cold not hitt his mouthe,\n Put it in his eye:\n And he that was a cuckold\n Every man might him see. 190\n\n Craddocke wan the horne,\n And the bores head:\n His ladie wan the mantle\n Unto her meede.\n Everye such a lovely ladye 195\n God send her well to speede.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[2] [Percy folio MS. ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. pp. 301-311.]\n\n[3] [knew.]\n\n[4] Ver. 7. branches, MS.\n\n[5] [ornamented.]\n\n[6] [bid.]\n\n[7] V. 18. heate, MS.\n\n[8] [probably a pouch or bag, but there is no authority for the word.]\n\n[9] Ver. 21. potewer, MS.\n\n[10] V. 32. his wiffe, MS.\n\n[11] V. 34. biled, MS.\n\n[12] [red.]\n\n[13] V. 41. gaule, MS.\n\n[14] [light blue or woad coloured.]\n\n[15] [colour.]\n\n[16] [ruddy.]\n\n[17] [began.]\n\n[18] [fuller.]\n\n[19] [Ver. 72. all above the buttockes, MS.]\n\n[20] V. 75. lauged, MS.\n\n[21] [began.]\n\n[22] [draw close together, another form of _crowd_.]\n\n[23] Ver. 134. wright, MS.\n\n[24] V. 136. cleare, MS.\n\n[25] [forthwith.]\n\n[26] Ver. 140. by deene, MS.\n\n[27] [V. 151. a little boy, MS.]\n\n[28] [V. 152. looking over.]\n\n[29] [V. 155-6. these two lines belong to the former stanza.]\n\n[30] Ver. 170. them upon, MS.\n\n[31] [carved.]\n\n[32] V. 175. _or_ birtled, MS.\n\n[33] [shed.]\n\n\n\n\nII.\n\nTHE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE\n\n\nIs chiefly taken from the fragment of an old ballad in the Editor's\nMS., which he has reason to believe more ancient than the time of\n_Chaucer_, and what furnished that bard with his _Wife of Bath's Tale_.\nThe original was so extremely mutilated, half of every leaf being torn\naway, that without large supplements, &c. it was deemed improper for\nthis collection: these it has therefore received, such as they are.\nThey are not here particularly pointed out, because the _Fragment_\nitself will now be found printed at the end of this volume.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [Sir Frederic Madden supposed this ballad to be founded upon the\n _Weddynge of Syr Gawen and Dame Ragnell_, which he printed from the\n Rawlinson MS. c. 86, fol. 128 b, in his _Syr Gawaine_.\n\n Mr. Hales writes as follows respecting the various forms in which\n the story appears in literature. \"The wonderful 'metamorphosis' on\n which this story turns is narrated in Gower's _Confessio Amantis_,\n as the story of Florent and the King of Sicily's Daughter, taken\n by him, as Tyrwhitt conjectures, from the _Gesta Romanorum_,\n or some such collection. It appears again, as the reader will\n remember, in Chaucer's _Wyf of Bathes Tale_. 'Worked over,' says\n Prof. Child, 'by some ballad-monger of the sixteenth century, and\n of course reduced to ditch-water, this tale has found its way\n into the _Crown Garland of Golden Roses_, part i. p. 68 (_Percy\n Society_, vol. vi.), 'Of a Knight and a Faire Virgin.' On a similar\n transformation depends the story of 'King Henrie' in Scott's\n _Minstrelsy_, edited from Mrs. Brown's MS., with corrections from\n a recited fragment, and modernized as 'Courteous King Jamie' in\n Lewis's _Tales of Wonder_. 'The prime original,' says Scott, 'is to\n be found in an Icelandic Saga.'\"[34]\n\n Mr. Child prints (_English and Scottish Ballads_, vol. viii. p.\n 139) two versions of a Scotch ballad entitled _Kempy Kaye_, which\n he supposes to be an extravagant parody of _The Marriage of Sir_\n _Gawaine_.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n PART THE FIRST.\n\n King Arthur lives in merry Carleile,\n And seemely is to see;\n And there with him queene Guenever,\n That bride soe bright of blee.[35]\n\n And there with him queene Guenever, 5\n That bride so bright in bowre:\n And all his barons about him stoode,\n That were both stiffe and stowre.[36]\n\n The king a royale Christmasse kept,\n With mirth and princelye cheare; 10\n To him repaired many a knighte,\n That came both farre and neare.\n\n And when they were to dinner sette,\n And cups went freely round;\n Before them came a faire dams\u00e8lle, 15\n And knelt upon the ground.\n\n A boone, a boone, O kinge Arth\u00f9re,\n I beg a boone of thee;\n Avenge me of a carlish knighte,\n Who hath shent[37] my love and mee. 20\n\n At Tearne-Wadling[38] his castle stands,\n Near to that lake so fair,\n And proudlye rise the battlements,\n And streamers deck the air.\n\n Noe gentle knighte, nor ladye gay, 25\n May pass that castle-walle:\n But from that foule discurteous knighte,\n Mishappe will them befalle.\n\n Hee's twyce the size of common men,\n Wi' thewes, and sinewes stronge, 30\n And on his backe he bears a clubbe,\n That is both thicke and longe.\n\n This grimme bar\u00f2ne 'twas our harde happe,\n But yester morne to see;\n When to his bowre he bare my love, 35\n And sore misused mee.\n\n And when I told him, king Arth\u00f9re\n As lyttle shold him spare;\n Goe tell, sayd hee, that cuckold kinge,\n To meete mee if he dare. 40\n\n Upp then sterted king Arth\u00f9re,\n And sware by hille and dale,\n He ne'er wolde quitt that grimme bar\u00f2ne,\n Till he had made him quail.\n\n Goe fetch my sword Excalibar: 45\n Goe saddle mee my steede;\n Nowe, by my faye, that grimme bar\u00f2ne\n Shall rue this ruthfulle deede.\n\n And when he came to Tearne Wadlinge\n Benethe the castle walle: 50\n \"Come forth; come forth; thou proude bar\u00f2ne,\n Or yielde thyself my thralle.\"\n\n On magicke grounde that castle stoode,\n And fenc'd with many a spelle:\n Noe valiant knighte could tread thereon, 55\n But straite his courage felle.\n\n Forth then rush'd that carlish[39] knight,\n King Arthur felte the charme:\n His sturdy sinewes lost their strengthe,\n Downe sunke his feeble arme. 60\n\n Nowe yield thee, yield thee, kinge Arth\u00f9re,\n Now yield thee, unto mee:\n Or fighte with mee, or lose thy lande,\n Noe better termes maye bee,\n\n Unlesse thou sweare upon the rood, 65\n And promise on thy faye,\n Here to returne to Tearne-Wadling,\n Upon the new-yeare's daye;\n\n And bringe me worde what thing it is\n All women moste desyre; 70\n This is thy ransome, Arthur, he sayes,\n He have noe other hyre.\n\n King Arthur then helde up his hande,\n And sware upon his faye,[40]\n Then tooke his leave of the grimme barone 75\n And faste hee rode awaye.\n\n And he rode east, and he rode west,\n And did of all inquyre,\n What thing it is all women crave,\n And what they most desyre. 80\n\n Some told him riches, pompe, or state;\n Some rayment fine and brighte;\n Some told him mirthe; some flatterye;\n And some a jollye knighte.\n\n In letters all king Arthur wrote, 85\n And seal'd them with his ringe:\n But still his minde was helde in doubte,\n Each tolde a different thinge.\n\n As ruthfulle he rode over a more,\n He saw a ladye sette 90\n Betweene an oke, and a greene holl\u00e9ye,\n All clad in red[41] scarlette.\n\n Her nose was crookt and turnd outw\u00e0rde,\n Her chin stoode all awrye;\n And where as sholde have been her mouthe, 95\n Lo! there was set her eye:\n\n Her haires, like serpents, clung aboute\n Her cheekes of deadlye hewe:\n A worse-form'd ladye than she was,\n No man mote ever viewe. 100\n\n To hail the king in seemelye sorte\n This ladye was fulle faine;\n But king Arth\u00f9re all sore amaz'd,\n No aunswere made againe.\n\n What wight art thou, the ladye sayd, 105\n That wilt not speake to mee;\n Sir, I may chance to ease thy paine,\n Though I be foule to see.\n\n If thou wilt ease my paine, he sayd,\n And helpe me in my neede; 110\n Ask what thou wilt, thou grimme lady\u00e8,\n And it shall bee thy meede.\n\n O sweare mee this upon the roode,\n And promise on thy faye;\n And here the secrette I will telle, 115\n That shall thy ransome paye.\n\n King Arthur promis'd on his faye,\n And sware upon the roode;\n The secrette then the ladye told,\n As lightlye well shee cou'de. 120\n\n Now this shall be my paye, sir king,\n And this my guerdon bee,\n That some yong fair and courtlye knight,\n Thou bringe to marrye mee.\n\n Fast then pricked king Arth\u00f9re 125\n Ore hille, and dale, and downe:\n And soone he founde the barone's bowre:\n And soone the grimme baro\u00f9ne.\n\n He bare his clubbe upon his backe,\n Hee stoode bothe stiffe and stronge; 130\n And, when he had the letters reade,\n Awaye the lettres flunge.\n\n Nowe yielde thee, Arthur, and thy lands,\n All forfeit unto mee;\n For this is not thy paye, sir king, 135\n Nor may thy ransome bee.\n\n Yet hold thy hand, thou proud bar\u00f2ne,\n I praye thee hold thy hand;\n And give mee leave to speake once more\n In reskewe of my land. 140\n\n This morne, as I came over a more,\n I saw a ladye sette\n Betwene an oke, and a greene holl\u00e8ye,\n All clad in red scarl\u00e8tte.\n\n Shee sayes, all women will have their wille, 145\n This is their chief desyre;\n Now yield, as thou art a barone true,\n That I have payd mine hyre.\n\n An earlye vengeaunce light on her!\n The carlish baron swore: 150\n Shee was my sister tolde thee this,\n And shee's a mishapen whore.\n\n But here I will make mine avowe,\n To do her as ill a turne:\n For an ever I may that foule theefe gette, 155\n In a fyre I will her burne.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n PART THE SECONDE.\n\n Homewarde pricked king Arth\u00f9re,\n And a wearye man was hee;\n And soone he mette queene Guenever,\n That bride so bright of blee.\n\n What newes! what newes! thou noble king, 5\n Howe, Arthur, hast thou sped?\n Where hast thou hung the carlish knighte?\n And where bestow'd his head?\n\n The carlish knight is safe for mee,\n And free fro mortal harme: 10\n On magicke grounde his castle stands,\n And fenc'd with many a charme.\n\n To bowe to him I was fulle faine,\n And yielde mee to his hand:\n And but for a lothly ladye, there 15\n I sholde have lost my land.\n\n And nowe this fills my hearte with woe,\n And sorrowe of my life;\n I swore a yonge and courtlye knight,\n Sholde marry her to his wife. 20\n\n Then bespake him sir Gaw\u00e0ine,\n That was ever a gentle knighte:\n That lothly ladye I will wed;\n Therefore be merrye and lighte.\n\n Nowe naye, nowe naye, good sir Gaw\u00e0ine; 25\n My sister's sonne yee bee;\n This lothlye ladye's all too grimme,\n And all too foule for yee.\n\n Her nose is crookt and turn'd outw\u00e0rde;\n Her chin stands all awrye; 30\n A worse form'd ladye than shee is\n Was never seen with eye.\n\n What though her chin stand all awrye.\n And shee be foule to see:\n I'll marry her, unkle, for thy sake, 35\n And I'll thy ransome bee.\n\n Nowe thankes, nowe thankes, good sir Gaw\u00e0ine;\n And a blessing thee betyde!\n To-morrow wee'll have knights and squires,\n And wee'll goe fetch thy bride. 40\n\n And wee'll have hawkes and wee'll have houndes,\n To cover our intent;\n And wee'll away to the greene for\u00e8st,\n As wee a hunting went.\n\n Sir Lancelot, sir Stephen[42] bolde, 45\n They rode with them that daye;\n And foremoste of the companye\n There rode the stewarde Kaye:\n\n Soe did sir Banier[43] and sir Bore,[44]\n And eke sir Garratte[45] keene; 50\n Sir Tristram too, that gentle knight,\n To the forest freshe and greene.\n\n And when they came to the greene forr\u00e8st,\n Beneathe a faire holley tree\n There sate that ladye in red scarl\u00e8tte 55\n That unseemelye was to see.\n\n Sir Kay beheld that lady's face,\n And looked upon her sweere;[46]\n Whoever kisses that ladye, he sayes,\n Of his kisse he stands in feare. 60\n\n Sir Kay beheld that ladye againe,\n And looked upon her snout;\n Whoever kisses that ladye, he sayes,\n Of his kisse he stands in doubt.\n\n Peace, brother Kay, sayde sir Gaw\u00e0ine, 65\n And amend thee of thy life:\n For there is a knight amongst us all,\n Must marry her to his wife.\n\n What marry this foule queane, quoth Kay,\n I' the devil's name anone; 70\n Gett mee a wife wherever I maye,\n In sooth shee shall be none.\n\n Then some tooke up their hawkes in haste,\n And some took up their houndes;\n And sayd they wolde not marry her, 75\n For cities, nor for townes.\n\n Then bespake him king Arth\u00f9re,\n And sware there by this daye;\n For a little foule sighte and mislik\u00ecnge,\n Yee shall not say her naye. 80\n\n Peace, lordings, peace; sir Gawaine sayd;\n Nor make debate and strife;\n This lothlye ladye I will take,\n And marry her to my wife.\n\n Nowe thankes, nowe thankes, good sir Gawaine, 85\n And a blessinge be thy meede!\n For as I am thine owne lady\u00e8,\n Thou never shalt rue this deede.\n\n Then up they took that lothly dame,\n And home anone they bringe: 90\n And there sir Gawaine he her wed,\n And married her with a ringe.\n\n And when they were in wed-bed laid,\n And all were done awaye:\n \"Come turne to mee, mine owne wed-lord 95\n Come turne to mee I praye.\"\n\n Sir Gawaine scant could lift his head,\n For sorrowe and for care;\n When, lo! instead of that lothelye dame,\n Hee sawe a young ladye faire. 100\n\n Sweet blushes stayn'd her rud-red cheeke,\n Her eyen were blacke as sloe:\n The ripening cherrye swellde her lippe,\n And all her necke was snowe.\n\n Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady faire, 105\n Lying upon the sheete:\n And swore, as he was a true knighte,\n The spice was never soe sweete.\n\n Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady brighte,\n Lying there by his side: 110\n \"The fairest flower is not soe faire:\n Thou never can'st bee my bride.\"\n\n I am thy bride, mine owne deare lorde,\n The same whiche thou didst knowe,\n That was soe lothlye, and was wont 115\n Upon the wild more to goe.\n\n Nowe, gentle Gawaine, chuse, quoth shee,\n And make thy choice with care;\n Whether by night, or else by daye,\n Shall I be foule or faire? 120\n\n \"To have thee foule still in the night,\n When I with thee should playe!\n I had rather farre, my lady deare,\n To have thee foule by daye.\"\n\n What when gaye ladyes goe with their lordes 125\n To drinke the ale and wine;\n Alas! then I must hide myself,\n I must not goe with mine?\n\n \"My faire lady\u00e8, sir Gawaine sayd,\n I yield me to thy skille; 130\n Because thou art mine owne lady\u00e8\n Thou shalt have all thy wille.\"\n\n Nowe blessed be thou, sweete Gaw\u00e0ine,\n And the daye that I thee see;\n For as thou seest mee at this time, 135\n Soe shall I ever bee.\n\n My father was an aged knighte,\n And yet it chanced soe,\n He tooke to wife a false lady\u00e8,\n Whiche broughte me to this woe. 140\n\n Shee witch'd mee, being a faire yonge maide,\n In the greene for\u00e8st to dwelle;\n And there to abide in lothlye shape,\n Most like a fiend of helle.\n\n Midst mores and mosses; woods, and wilds; 145\n To lead a lonesome life:\n Till some yong faire and courtlye knighte\n Wolde marrye me to his wife:\n\n Nor fully to gaine mine owne trewe shape,\n Such was her devilish skille; 150\n Until he wolde yielde to be rul'd by mee,\n And let mee have all my wille.\n\n She witchd my brother to a carlish boore,\n And made him stiffe and stronge;\n And built him a bowre on magicke grounde, 155\n To live by rapine and wronge.\n\n But now the spelle is broken throughe,\n And wronge is turnde to righte;\n Henceforth I shall bee a faire lady\u00e8,\n And hee be a gentle knighte. 160\n\n [***]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[34] [Percy folio MS. ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. i. p. 104.]\n\n[35] [complexion.]\n\n[36] [strong.]\n\n[37] [abused.]\n\n[38] _Tearne-Wadling_ is the name of a small lake [in Inglewood Forest]\nnear Hesketh in Cumberland, on the road from Penrith to Carlisle.\nThere is a tradition, that an old castle once stood near the lake,\nthe remains of which were not long since visible. _Tarn_, in the\ndialect of that country, signifies a small lake, and is still in use.\n[\"Tarn-Wadling ... has been for the last ten years a wide meadow grazed\nby hundreds of sheep.\"--J. S. GLENNIE, in _Macmillan's Mag._ Dec.\n1867, p. 167, col. 2.]\n\n[39] churlish.\n\n[40] faith.\n\n[41] This was a common phrase in our old writers; so Chaucer, in his\nprologue to the _Cant. Tales_, says of the wife of Bath:--\n\n \"Her hosen were of fyne scarlet red.\"\n\n[42] Sir F. Madden remarks that Sir Stephen does not appear in the\nRound Table Romances.\n\n[43] [Perhaps intended for Bedver, the King's Constable, Tennyson's\nBedivere, but more probably Ban of Benoyk, the brother of Bors.]\n\n[44] [Bors de Gauves, or Gaunes.]\n\n[45] [Gareth, or Gaheret, Sir Gawain's younger brother.]\n\n[46] [neck.]\n\n\n\n\nIII.\n\nKING RYENCE'S CHALLENGE.\n\n\nThis song is more modern than many of those which follow it, but is\nplaced here for the sake of the subject. It was sung before queene\nElizabeth at the grand entertainment at Kenelworth-castle in 1575, and\nwas probably composed for that occasion. In a letter describing those\nfestivities, it is thus mentioned: \"A Minstral came forth with a sollem\nsong, warranted for story out of K. Arthur's acts, whereof I gat a\ncopy, and is this:\n\n \"So it fell out on a Pentecost, &c.\"\n\nAfter the song the narrative proceeds: \"At this the Minstrell made a\npause and a curtezy for Primus Passus. More of the song is thear, but I\ngatt it not.\"\n\nThe story in Morte Arthur, whence it is taken, runs as follows: \"Came\na messenger hastely from king Ryence of North-Wales,--saying, that\nking Ryence had discomfited and overcomen eleaven kings, and everiche\nof them did him homage, and that was this: they gave him their beards\ncleane flayne off.--wherefore the messenger came for king Arthur's\nbeard, for king Ryence had purfeled a mantell with kings beards, and\nthere lacked for one a place of the mantell, wherefore he sent for\nhis beard, or else he would enter into his lands, and brenn and slay,\nand never leave till he have thy head and thy beard. Well, said king\nArthur, thou hast said thy message, which is the most villainous and\nlewdest message that ever man heard sent to a king. Also thou mayest\nsee my beard is full young yet for to make a purfell of, but tell thou\nthe king that--or it be long he shall do to me homage on both his\nknees, or else he shall leese his head.\" [B. i. c. 24. See also the\nsame Romance, b. i. c. 92.]\n\nThe thought seems to be originally taken from Jeff. Monmouth's _Hist._\nb. x. c. 3. which is alluded to by Drayton in his _Poly-Olb. Song._\n4 and by Spenser in _Faer. Qu._ 6. 1. 13. 15. See the Observations on\nSpenser, vol. ii. p. 223.\n\nThe following text is composed of the best readings selected from three\ndifferent copies. The first in Enderbie's _Cambria Triumphans_, p.\n197. The second in the Letter abovementioned. And the third inserted in\nMS. in a copy of _Morte Arthur_, 1632, in the Bodleian Library.\n\nStow tells us, that king Arthur kept his round table at \"diverse\nplaces, but especially at Carlion, Winchester, and Camalet in\nSomersetshire.\" This _Camalet_, sometimes a famous towne or castle, is\nsituate on a very high tor or hill, &c. (See an exact description in\nStowe's _Annals_, ed. 1631, p. 55.)\n\n * * * * *\n\n As it fell out on a Pentecost day,\n King Arthur at Camelot kept his court royall,\n With his faire queene dame Guenever the gay;\n And many bold barons sitting in hall;\n With ladies attired in purple and pall; 5\n And heraults in hewkes,[47] hooting on high,\n Cryed, _Largesse, Largesse, Chevaliers tres-hardie_.[48]\n\n A doughty dwarfe to the uppermost deas[49]\n Right pertlye gan pricke, kneeling on knee;\n With steven[50] fulle stoute amids all the preas,[51] 10\n Sayd, Nowe sir king Arthur, God save thee, and see!\n Sir Ryence of North-gales[52] greeteth well thee,\n And bids thee thy beard anon to him send,\n Or else from thy jaws he will it off rend.\n\n For his robe of state is a rich scarlet mantle, 15\n With eleven kings beards bordered[53] about,\n And there is room lefte yet in a kantle,[54]\n For thine to stande, to make the twelfth out:\n This must be done, be thou never so stout;\n This must be done, I tell thee no fable, 20\n Maugre[55] the teethe of all thy round table.\n\n When this mortal message from his mouthe past,\n Great was the noyse bothe in hall and in bower:\n The king fum'd; the queene screecht; ladies were aghast;\n Princes puffd; barons blustred; lords began lower;\n Knights stormed; squires startled, like steeds in a stower; 26\n Pages and yeomen yell'd out in the hall,\n Then in came sir Kay, the 'king's' seneschal.\n\n Silence, my soveraignes, quoth this courteous knight,\n And in that stound the stowre[56] began still: 30\n 'Then' the dwarfe's dinner full deerely was dight;[57]\n Of wine and wassel he had his wille:\n And, when he had eaten and drunken his fill,\n An hundred pieces of fine coyned gold\n Were given this dwarf for his message bold. 35\n\n But say to sir Ryence, thou dwarf, quoth the king,\n That for his bold message I do him defye;\n And shortlye with basins and pans will him ring\n Out of North-gales; where he and I\n With swords, and not razors, quickly shall trye, 40\n Whether he, or king Arthur will prove the best barbor:\n And therewith he shook his good sword Excal\u00e0bor.\n * * * * *\n\n * * * * *\n\n [+\u00b1+] Strada, in his _Prolusions_, has ridiculed the story of the\n Giant's Mantle, made of the Beards of Kings.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[47] [party-coloured coats.]\n\n[48] _Largesse, Largesse._ The heralds resounded these words as oft\nas they received of the bounty of the knights. See _Memoires de la_\n_Chevalerie_, tom. i. p. 99.--The expression is still used in the form\nof installing knights of the garter.\n\n[49] [dais or upper table.]\n\n[50] [voice.]\n\n[51] [press.]\n\n[52] [North Wales.]\n\n[53] _i.e._ set round the border, as furs are now round the gowns of\nMagistrates.\n\n[54] [corner.]\n\n[55] [in spite of.]\n\n[56] [that moment the tumult.]\n\n[57] [decked.]\n\n\n\n\nIV.\n\nKING ARTHUR'S DEATH.\n\n\n A FRAGMENT.\n\nThe subject of this ballad is evidently taken from the old romance\n_Morte Arthur_, but with some variations, especially in the concluding\nstanzas; in which the author seems rather to follow the traditions of\nthe old Welsh Bards, who believed that King Arthur was not dead, \"but\nconveied awaie by the Fairies into some pleasant place, where he should\nremaine for a time, and then returne againe and reign in as great\nauthority as ever.\" Holinshed, b. 5, c. 14, or as it is expressed\nin an old Chronicle printed at Antwerp 1493, by Ger. de Leew, \"The\nBretons supposen, that he [K. Arthur]--shall come yet and conquere all\nBretaigne, for certes this is the prophicye of Merlyn: He sayd, that\nhis deth shall be doubteous; and sayd soth, for men thereof yet have\ndoubte, and shullen for ever more,--for men wyt not whether that he\nlyveth or is dede.\" See more ancient testimonies in Selden's _Notes on\nPolyolbion, Song III._\n\nThis fragment being very incorrect and imperfect in the original MS.\nhath received some conjectural emendations, and even a supplement of\nthree or four stanzas composed from the romance of _Morte Arthur_.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [The two ballads here entitled _King Arthur's Death_ and _The_\n _Legend of King Arthur_ are united in the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and\n Furnivall, vol. i. p. 497), but they are evidently two distinct\n songs. The first ballad forms part ii. of the MS. copy, which\n has fourteen verses at the end not printed here. The last four\n verses are printed at the end of the next ballad. Percy has taken\n great liberties with his original, and has not left a single line\n unaltered, as will be seen by comparing it with the original\n printed at the end. Additional lines are also interpolated which\n are now enclosed within brackets, and it will be seen that these\n unnecessary amplifications do not improve the effect of the poem.\n It will also be seen that in vv. 41-44 the father and son of the\n original are changed into uncle and nephew.\n\n This last scene in the life of King Arthur is the most beautiful\n and touching portion of his history, and the romancers and\n minstrels were never tired of telling it in every form.\n\n According to one tradition Arthur still sleeps under St. Michael's\n Mount (\"the guarded Mount\" of Milton's _Lycidas_), and according to\n another beneath Richmond Castle, Yorkshire.\n\n Mr. Willmott, in his edition of the _Reliques_, writes, \"according\n to popular superstition in Sicily, Arthur is preserved alive by his\n sister la Fata Morgana, whose fairy palace is occasionally seen\n from Reggio in the opposite sea of Messina.\"]\n\n * * * * *\n\n * * * * *\n On Trinitye Mondaye in the morne,\n This sore battayle was doom'd to bee;\n Where manye a knighte cry'd, Well-awaye!\n Alacke, it was the more pitt\u00ece.\n\n Ere the first crowinge of the cocke, 5\n When as the kinge in his bed laye,\n He thoughte sir Gawaine to him came,[58]\n And there to him these wordes did saye.\n\n Nowe, as you are mine unkle deare,\n And as you prize your life, this daye 10\n O meet not with your foe in fighte;\n Putt off the battayle, if yee maye.\n\n For sir Launcelot is now in Fraunce,\n And with him many an hardye knighte:\n Who will within this moneth be backe, 15\n And will assiste yee in the fighte.\n\n The kinge then call'd his nobles all,\n Before the breakinge of the daye;\n And tolde them howe sir Gawaine came,\n And there to him these wordes did saye. 20\n\n His nobles all this counsayle gave,\n That earlye in the morning, hee\n Shold send awaye an herauld at armes,\n To aske a parley faire and free.\n\n Then twelve good knightes king Arthure chose, 25\n The best of all that with him were:\n To parley with the foe in field,\n And make with him agreement faire.\n\n The king he charged all his hoste,\n In readinesse there for to bee: 30\n But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre,\n Unlesse a sword drawne they shold see\n\n And Mordred on the other parte,\n Twelve of his knights did likewise bringe;\n The beste of all his companye, 35\n To hold the parley with the kinge.\n\n Sir Mordred alsoe charged his hoste,\n In readinesse there for to bee;\n But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre,\n But if a sworde drawne they shold see. 40\n\n For he durste not his unkle truste,[59]\n Nor he his nephewe, sothe to tell:[59]\n Alacke! it was a woefulle case,\n As ere in Christentye befelle.\n\n But when they were together mette, 45\n And both to faire accordance broughte;\n And a month's league betweene them sette,\n Before the battayle sholde be foughte;\n\n An addere crept forth of a bushe,\n Stunge one o' th' king's knightes on the knee: 50\n Alacke! it was a woefulle chance,\n As ever was in Christent\u00ece.\n\n When the knighte found him wounded sore,\n And sawe the wild-worme[60] hanginge there;\n His sworde he from his scabberde drewe; 55\n A piteous case as ye shall heare.\n\n For when the two hostes sawe the sworde,\n They joyned battayle instantlye;\n Till of soe manye noble knightes,\n On one side there were left but three. 60\n\n For all were slain that durst abide,\n And but some fewe that fled awaye:\n Ay mee! it was a bloodye fielde,\n As ere was foughte on summer's daye.\n\n Upon king Arthur's own party\u00e8, 65\n Onlye himselfe escaped there,\n And Lukyn duke of Gloster free,\n And the king's butler Bedevere.\n\n And when the king beheld his knightes,\n All dead and scattered on the molde; 70\n [The teares fast trickled downe his face;\n That manlye face in fight so bolde.\n\n Nowe reste yee all, brave knights, he said,\n Soe true and faithful to your trust:\n And must yee then, ye valiant hearts, 75\n Be lefte to moulder into dust!\n\n Most loyal have yee been to mee,\n Most true and faithful unto deathe:\n And, oh! to rayse yee up againe,\n How freelye could I yield my breathe!] 80\n\n But see the traitor's yet alive,\n Lo where hee stalkes among the deade!\n Nowe bitterlye he shall abye:[61]\n And vengeance fall upon his head.\n\n O staye, my liege, then sayd the duke; 85\n O staye for love and charit\u00ece;\n [Remember what the vision spake,\n Nor meete your foe, if it may bee.\n\n O, staye mee not, thou worthye wight,\n This debt my loyal knights I owe: 90\n Betide me life, betide me death,\n I will avenge them of their foe.]\n\n Then straite he grasp'd his trustye speare,\n And on his horse then mounted hee:\n As his butler holpe him to his horse, 95\n His bowels gushed to his knee.\n\n Alas! then sayd the noble king,\n That I should live this sight to see!\n To see this good knight here be slaine,\n All for his love in helping mee! 100\n\n He put his speare into his reste,\n And to sir Mordred loud gan crye;\n [Nowe sette thyself upon thy guarde,\n For, traitor, nowe thy death is nye.\n\n Sir Mordred lifted up his sworde, 105\n And fierce to meet the king ran hee:]\n The king his speare he through him thrust;\n A fathom thorow his bod\u00ece.\n\n When Mordered felt the stroke of death,\n And found that he was wounded soe; 110\n He thruste himselfe upon the speare,\n And strucke the king a deadlye blowe.\n\n Then grimmlye dyed sir Mordered,\n Presentlye upon that tree:\n And bloody streames ranne from the kinge 115\n Ere to the duke returned hee.\n\n Sir Lukyn then he thus bespake,\n Sir knighte, thou hast beene faithfulle tryde,\n Nowe take my sword Excalibar,[62]\n That hangs so freelye by my syde: 120\n\n O take my sword Excalibar,\n And there into the river throwe:\n For here, henceforth, benethe this tree,\n All use of weapons I foregoe.\n\n [And fare thee well, thou trustye sword, 125\n A better neer had valiant knighte,\n With thee full ofte, and manye a daye,\n Have I withstood my foe in fighte.\n\n With this good fauchion in my hande,\n Oft have I reapd the bloody feelde: 130\n But nowe the fatalle houre is come,\n That never more I may thee weelde.]\n\n The duke to the river side he went,\n And there his owne sword in threwe he:\n But he kept back Excalibar, 135\n He kept it back in privitie.\n\n [For all of coleyne[63] was the blade;\n And all the hilte of precious stone:\n And ever alacke! then sayd the knighte,\n Must such a sword awaye be throwne?] 140\n\n Then backe he came unto the kinge,\n Who sayd, Sir Lukyn, what did yee see?\n Nothing, my liege, save that the winde\n Blewe oer the waters faire and free.\n\n O goe againe, then said the kinge, 145\n O good sir Lukyn, goe againe:\n Into the rivere throwe my sword,\n Nor keepe me lingering here in paine.\n\n The duke then to the river went,\n And the kings scabberd in threwe hee; 150\n But hee kept backe Excalibar,\n And hid it undernethe a tree.\n\n Then backe he came to tell the kinge,\n Who sayde, Sir Lukyn sawe ye oughte?\n Nothinge, my liege, save that the winde 155\n Nowe with the angrye waters fought.\n\n O Lukyn, Lukyn, said the kinge,\n [Twice haste thou dealt deceytfullye:\n Alacke, whom may wee ever truste,\n When suche a knighte soe false can bee? 160\n\n Saye, wouldst thou have thy master dead;\n All for a sword, that wins thine eye:\n Nowe goe againe, and throwe it in,\n Or here the one of us shall dye.]\n\n The duke, all shent with this rebuke, 165\n No aunswere made unto the kinge:\n But to the rivere tooke the sworde,\n And threwe it far as he coulde flinge.\n\n A hande and an arme did meete the sworde,\n And flourishd three times in the air; 170\n [Then sunke benethe the renninge streme,\n And of the duke was seene noe mair.\n\n All sore astonied stood the duke;\n He stood as still, as still mote bee:]\n Then hastend backe to telle the kinge; 175\n But he was gone from under the tree.\n\n But to what place he cold not tell,\n For never after hee did him spye:[64]\n But hee sawe a barge goe from the land,\n And hee heard ladyes howle and crye[65]. 180\n\n And whether the kinge were there, or not,\n Hee never knewe, nor ever colde:\n [For from that sad and direfulle daye,\n Hee never more was scene on molde.]\n\n [***]\n\n[Illustration]\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n[The following forms Part II. of a ballad entitled _King Arthur's\nDeath_, in the folio MS. ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. i. p. 501.\n\n but vpon a Monday after Trinity Sonday\n this battaile foughten cold bee,\n where many a Knight cryed well-away!\n alacke, the more pittye!\n\n but vpon Sunday in the euening then, 5\n when the King in his bedd did Lye,\n he thought Sir Gawaine to him came,\n & thus to him did say:\n\n \"Now as you are my vnckle deere,\n I pray you be ruled by mee, 10\n doe not fight as to-morrow day,\n but put the battelle of if you may;\n\n \"for Sir Lancelott is now in france,\n & many Knights with him full hardye,\n & with-in this Month here hee wilbe, 15\n great aide wilbe to thee.\"\n\n hee wakened forth of his dreames;\n to his Nobles that told hee,\n how he thought Sir Gawaine to him came,\n & these words sayd Certainly. 20\n\n & then th\u00e9 gaue the King councell all,\n vpon Munday Earlye\n that hee shold send one of his heralds of armes\n to parle with his sonne, if itt might bee.\n\n & 12 knights King Arthur chose, 25\n the best in his companye,\n that they shold goe to meete his sonne,\n to agree if itt cold bee.\n\n & the King charged all his host\n in readynesse for to bee, 30\n that Noe man shold noe weapons stur\n with-out a sword drawne amongst his Knights th\u00e9 see.\n\n & Mordred vpon the other part,\n 12 of his Knights chose hee\n that they shold goe to meete his father 35\n betweene those 2 hosts fayre & free.\n\n & Mordred charged his ost\n in like mannor most certa\u00ednely,\n that noe man shold noe weapons sturr\n with-out a sword drawne amongst them th\u00e9 see; 40\n\n for he durst not his father trust,\n nor the father the sonne certainley.\n Alacke! this was a woefull case\n as euer was in christentye!\n\n but when they were mett together there, 45\n & agreed of all things as itt shold bee,\n & a monthes League then there was\n before the battele foughten shold bee,\n\n an Adder came forth of Bush,\n stunge one of king Arthirs Knights below his knee; 50\n alacke! this was a woefull chance\n as euer was in christentye!\n\n the Knight he found him wounded there,\n & see the wild worme there to bee;\n his sword out of his scabberd he drew; 55\n alas! itt was the more pittye!\n\n & when these 2 osts saw they sword drawen,\n th\u00e9 Ioyned battell certainlye,\n Till of a 100: 1000: men\n of one side was left but 3. 60\n\n but all were slaine that durst abyde,\n but some awaye that did flee.\n King Arthur upon his owne partye\n himselfe aliue cold be,\n\n & Lukin the Duke of Gloster, 65\n & Bedever his Butler certainlye\n the King looked about him there\n & saw his Knights all slaine to bee;\n\n \"Alas!\" then sayd noble King Arthur\n \"that ever this sight I see! 70\n to see all my good Knights lye slaine,\n & the traitor yett aliue to bee!\n\n loe where he leanes vpon his sword hillts\n amongst his dead men certainlye!\n I will goe slay him att this time; 75\n neuer att better advantage I shall him see.\"\n\n \"Nay! stay here, my Leege!\" then said the Duke,\n \"for loue and charitye!\n for wee haue the battell woone,\n for yett aliue we are but 3:\" 80\n\n the king wold not be perswaded then,\n but his horsse then mounted hee;\n his Butler [that] helped him to horsse,\n his bowells gushed to his knee.\n\n \"Alas!\" then said noble king Arthur, 85\n \"that this sight I euer see,\n to see this good knight for to be slaine\n for loue for to helpe mee!\"\n\n he put his speare into his rest,\n & att his sonne he ryd feirclye, 90\n & through him there his speare he thrust\n a fatham thorrow his body.\n\n the sonne he felld him wounded there,\n & knew his death then to bee;\n he thrust himselfe vpon his speare, 95\n & gaue his father a wound certainlye.\n\n but there dyed Sir Mordred\n presently vpon that tree.\n but or ere the King returned againe,\n his butler was dead certainlye. 100\n\n then bespake him Noble King Arthur,\n these were the words sayd hee,\n sayes \"take my sword Escalberd\n from my side fayre & free,\n & throw itt into this riuer heere; 105\n for all the vse of weapons Ile deliuer vppe,\n heere vnderneath this tree.\"\n\n the Duke to the riuer side he went,\n & his sword in threw hee;\n & then he kept Escalberd, 110\n I tell you certainlye;\n\n & then he came to tell the King,\n the king said, \"Lukin what did thou see?\"\n noe thing, my leege,\" the[n] sayd the duke,\n \"I tell you certainlye.\" 115\n\n \"O goe againe,\" said the king\n \"for loue & charitye,\n & throw my sword into that riuer,\n that neuer I doe itt see.\"\n\n the Duke to the riuer side he went, 120\n & the kings scaberd in threw hee;\n & still he kept Escalberd\n for vertue sake faire & free.\n\n he came againe to tell the King;\n the King sayd, \"Lukin what did thou see?\" 125\n \"nothing my leege,\" then sayd the Duke,\n \"I tell you certainlye.\"\n\n \"O goe againe Lukin,\" said the King,\n \"or the one of vs shall dye.\"\n then the Duke to the riuer sid went, 130\n & then Kings sword then threw hee:\n\n A hand & an arme did meete that sword,\n & flourished 3 times certainlye\n he came againe to tell the King,\n but the king was gone from vnder the tree 135\n\n but to what place, he cold not tell,\n for neuer after hee did him see,\n but he see a barge from the land goe,\n & hearde Ladyes houle & cry certainlye;\n\n but whether the king was there or noe 140\n he knew not certainlye.\n the Duke walked by that Riuers side\n till a chappell there found hee,\n\n & a preist by the aulter side there stood.\n the Duke kneeled downe there on his knee 145\n & prayed the preists, \"for Christs sake\n the rights of the church bestow on mee!\"\n\n for many dangerous wounds he had vpon him\n & liklye he was to dye.\n & there the Duke liued in prayer 150\n till the time that hee did dye.\n\n King Arthur liued King 22 yeere\n in honor and great fame,\n & thus by death suddenlye\n was depriued from the same. 155\n\n ffins.]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[58] Sir Gawaine had been killed at Arthur's landing on his return from\nabroad. See the next ballad, ver. 73.\n\n[59] [Ver. 41, 42, the folio MS. reads father ... sonne.]\n\n[60] [serpent.]\n\n[61] [pay for or expiate.]\n\n[62] More commonly called, _Caliburn_. In the folio MS. _Escallberd_.\n[Percy notes in the MS. that \"Caliburn was presented A.D. 1191 to\nTancred, King of Sicily, by our King Richard I. See Rapin, vol. i.\"]\n\n[63] [Cologne steel.]\n\n[64] Ver. 178, see MS.\n\n[65] Not unlike that passage in Virgil.\n\n \"Summoque ulularunt vertice nymph\u00e6.\"\n\n_Ladies_ was the word our old English writers used for _Nymphs_: As in\nthe following lines of an old song in the Editor's folio MS.\n\n \"When scorching Ph[oe]bus he did mount,\n Then Lady Venus went to hunt;\n To whom Diana did resort,\n With all the Ladyes of hills, and valleys\n Of springs, and floodes, &c.\"\n\n\n\n\nV.\n\nTHE LEGEND OF KING ARTHUR.\n\n\nWe have here a short summary of K. Arthur's History as given by\nJeff. of Monmouth and the old chronicles, with the addition of a few\ncircumstances from the romance Morte Arthur.--The ancient chronicle\nof Ger. de Leew (quoted above in p. 28), seems to have been chiefly\nfollowed: upon the authority of which we have restored some of the\nnames which were corrupted in the MS. and have transposed one stanza,\nwhich appeared to be misplaced, (_viz._ that beginning at ver. 49,\nwhich in the MS. followed ver. 36.)\n\nPrinted from the Editor's ancient folio Manuscript.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [This ballad as previously stated is the first part of the poem in\n the MS. and precedes the one here printed before it. Percy made\n comparatively few alterations in this part and all of them are now\n noted at the foot of the page.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n Of Brutus' blood, in Brittaine borne,[66]\n King Arthur I am to name;\n Through Christendome, and Heathynesse,[67]\n Well knowne is my worthy fame.\n\n In Jesus Christ I doe beleeve; 5\n I am a christyan bore:[68][69]\n The Father, Sone, and Holy Gost\n One God, I doe adore.\n\n In the four hundred ninetieth yeere,[70]\n Over Brittaine I did rayne, 10\n After my savior Christ his byrth:\n What time I did maintaine\n\n The fellowshipp of the table round,\n Soe famous in those dayes;\n Whereatt a hundred noble knights, 15\n And thirty sat alwayes:[71]\n\n Who for their deeds and martiall feates,\n As bookes done yett record,\n Amongst all other nations[72]\n Wer feared throwgh the world. 20\n\n And in the castle off Tyntagill[73]\n King Uther mee begate\n Of Agyana a bewtyous ladye,[74]\n And come of \"hie\" estate.[75]\n\n And when I was fifteen yeere old, 25\n Then was I crowned kinge:\n All Brittaine that was att an upr\u00f2re,\n I did to quiett bringe.\n\n And drove the Saxons from the realme,\n Who had opprest this land; 30\n All Scotland then throughe manly feats[76]\n I conquered with my hand.[76]\n\n Ireland, Denmarke, Norway,\n These countryes wan I all;\n Iseland, Gotheland, and Swethland; 35\n And made their kings my thrall.\n\n I conquered all Gallya,\n That now is called France;\n And slew the hardye Froll in feild[77]\n My honor to advance. 40\n\n And the ugly gyant Dynabus[78]\n Soe terrible to vewe,\n That in Saint Barnards mount did lye,\n By force of armes I slew:\n\n And Lucyus the emperour of Rome 45\n I brought to deadly wracke;\n And a thousand more of noble knightes\n For feare did turne their backe:\n\n Five kinges of \"paynims\"[79] I did kill[80][81]\n Amidst that bloody strife;[81] 50\n Besides the Grecian emperour[81]\n Who alsoe lost his liffe.[81]\n\n Whose carcasse I did send to Rome\n Cladd poorlye on a beere;\n And afterward I past Mount-Joye 55\n The next approaching yeere.\n\n Then I came to Rome, where I was mett\n Right as a conquerour,\n And by all the cardinalls solempnelye\n I was crowned an emperour. 60\n\n One winter there I made abode:\n Then word to mee was brought\n How Mordred had oppressd the crowne:\n What treason he had wrought\n\n Att home in Brittaine with my queene; 65\n Therfore I came with speede\n To Brittaine backe, with all my power,\n To quitt that traiterous deede:\n\n And soone at Sandwiche I arrivde,[82]\n Where Mordred me withstoode: 70\n But yett at last I landed there,\n With effusion of much blood.\n\n For there my nephew sir Gawaine dyed,\n Being wounded in that sore,[83]\n The whiche sir Lancelot in fight[84] 75\n Had given him before.\n\n Thence chased I Mordered away,\n Who fledd to London right,\n From London to Winchester, and\n To Cornewalle tooke his flyght.[85] 80\n\n And still I him pursued with speed\n Till at the last we mett:\n Whereby an appointed day of fight[86]\n Was there agreed and sett.[87]\n\n Where we did fight, of mortal life[88] 85\n Eche other to deprive,[88]\n Till of a hundred thousand men\n Scarce one was left a live.\n\n There all the noble chivalrye\n Of Brittaine tooke their end. 90\n O see how fickle is their state\n That doe on feates depend![89][90]\n\n There all the traiterous men were slaine\n Not one escapte away;\n And there dyed all my vallyant knightes. 95\n Alas! that woefull day![91]\n\n Two and twenty yeere I ware the crowne\n In honor and great fame;\n And thus by death was suddenlye\n Deprived of the same. 100\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[66] Ver. 1. Bruite his, MS.\n\n[67] [heathendom.]\n\n[68] [born.]\n\n[69] [V. 6. borne, MS.]\n\n[70] V. 9. He began his reign A.D. 515, according to the Chronicles.\n\n[71] [V. 16. sit, MS.]\n\n[72] [V. 19. all nations, MS.]\n\n[73] [pronounced \"Tintadgell;\" the remains of the castle still exist on\nthe north coast of Cornwall.]\n\n[74] V. 23. She is named Igerna in the old Chronicles.\n\n[75] V. 24. his, MS.\n\n[76] [Ver. 31-2.\n\n And then I conquered througe manly feats,\n All Scottlande with my hands, MS.]\n\n[77] V. 39. Froland feild, MS. Froll, according to the Chronicles, was\na Roman knight governor of Gaul.\n\n[78] V. 41. Danibus, MS.\n\n[79] [Pagans.]\n\n[80] V. 49. of Pavye, MS.\n\n[81] [V. 49-52. this stanza occurs after v. 36 in the MS.]\n\n[82] [Ver. 69. and when at Sandwich I did land.]\n\n[83] [V. 74. on that.]\n\n[84] [V. 75. that Sir Lancelott.]\n\n[85] [V. 80. he tooke. MS.]\n\n[86] [Ver. 83. Wherby appointed.]\n\n[87] [V. 84. was agreed.]\n\n[88] [V. 85-6.\n\n Where wee did fight soe mortallye\n Of live eche other to deprive.]\n\n[89] [V. 92. upon.]\n\n[90] V. 92. perhaps fates.\n\n[91] [V. 96 is the end of the first part in the MS., the stanza\n\n King Arthur lived King 22 yeere\n in honor and great fame\n and thus by death suddenlye\n was deprived from the same\n\nends the second part, which is printed by Percy as _King Arthur's_\n_death_, see previous ballad.]\n\n\n\n\nVI.\n\nA DYTTIE TO HEY DOWNE.\n\n\nCopied from an old MS. in the Cotton Library [British Museum] (Vesp. A.\nxxv. fol. 170), intitled, \"Divers things of Hen. viij's time.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\n Who sekes to tame the blustering winde,\n Or causse the floods bend to his wyll,\n Or els against dame nature's kinde\n To \"change\" things frame by cunning skyll:[92]\n That man I thinke bestoweth paine, 5\n Thoughe that his laboure be in vaine.\n\n Who strives to breake the sturdye steele,\n Or goeth about to staye the sunne;\n Who thinks to causse an oke to reele,\n Which never can by force be done: 10\n That man likewise bestoweth paine,\n Thoughe that his laboure be in vaine.\n\n Who thinks to stryve against the streame,\n And for to sayle without a maste;\n Unlesse he thinks perhapps to faine, 15\n His travell ys forelorne and waste;\n And so in cure of all his paine,\n His travell ys his cheffest gaine.\n\n So he lykewise, that goes about\n To please eche eye and every eare,\n Had nede to have withouten doubt\n A golden gyft with hym to beare;\n For evyll report shall be his gaine,\n Though he bestowe both toyle and paine.\n\n God grant eche man one to amend; 25\n God send us all a happy place;\n And let us pray unto the end,\n That we may have our princes grace:\n Amen, Amen! so shall we gaine\n A dewe reward for all our paine. 30\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[92] Ver. 4. causse, MS.\n\n\n\n\nVII.\n\nGLASGERION.\n\n\nAn ingenious Friend thinks that the following old Ditty (which is\nprinted from the Editor's folio MS.) may possibly have given birth to\nthe Tragedy of the _Orphan_, in which Polidore intercepts Monimia's\nintended favours to Castalio.\n\nSee what is said concerning the hero of this song, (who is celebrated\nby _Chaucer_ under the name of _Glaskyrion_) in the Essay affixed to\nvol. i. note H. pt. iv. (2).\n\n * * * * *\n\n [The hero of this ballad is the same as \"gret Glascurion,\" placed\n by Chaucer in the _House of Fame_ by the side of Orpheus, and\n also associated with Orpheus by Gawain Douglas in the _Palice of\n Honour_. Percy's note in the Folio MS. is \"It was not necessary to\n correct this much for the press;\" (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. i.\n p. 246). It will be seen, however, by the collations at the foot\n of the page that several corrections were made, not always for the\n better. Thus ver. 96, \"who did his ladye grieve,\" is certainly\n weaker than the original,--\n\n \"And asked noe man noe leave.\"\n\n Jamieson (_Popular Ballads_, 1806, vol. i. p. 91) prints an\n inferior version under the name of _Glenkindie_. Mr. Hale points\n out, however, that \"the Scotch version is more perfect in one\n point--in the test question put to the page before the assignation\n is disclosed to him:--\n\n 'O mith I tell you, Gib my man,\n Gin I a man had slain?'\n\n Some such question perhaps would give more force to vv. 85-88 of\n our version.\" He also very justly observes, \"perhaps there is no\n ballad that represents more keenly the great gulf fixed between\n churl and noble--a profounder horror at the crossing over it.\"]\n\n * * * * *\n\n Glasgerion was a kings owne sonne,\n And a harper he was goode:\n He harped in the kinges chambere,\n Where cuppe and candle stoode.[93]\n\n And soe did hee in the queens chamber, 5\n Till ladies waxed \"glad.\"[94]\n And then bespake the kinges daughter;\n And these wordes thus shee sayd.[95]\n\n Strike on, strike on, Glasg\u00e8rion,[96]\n Of thy striking doe not blinne:[97] 10\n Theres never a stroke comes oer thy harpe,[98]\n But it glads my hart withinne.\n\n Faire might he fall,[99] ladye, quoth hee,[100]\n Who taught you nowe to speake!\n I have loved you, ladye, seven longe yeere[101] 15\n My minde I neere durst breake.[102]\n\n But come to my bower, my Glasg\u00e8rion,\n When all men are att rest:\n As I am a ladie true of my promise,\n Thou shalt bee a welcome guest. 20\n\n Home then came Glasg\u00e8rion,[103]\n A glad man, lord! was hee.\n And, come thou hither, Jacke my boy;\n Come hither unto mee.[104]\n\n For the kinges daughter of Normandye 25\n Hath granted mee my boone:\n And att her chambere must I bee\n Beffore the cocke have crowen.\n\n O master, master, then quoth hee,[105]\n Lay your head downe on this stone: 30\n For I will waken you, master deere,\n Afore it be time to gone.\n\n But up then rose that lither[106] ladd,\n And hose and shoone did on:[107]\n A coller he cast upon his necke, 35\n Hee seemed a gentleman.\n\n And when he came to the ladies chamber,\n He thrild upon a pinn.[108]\n The lady was true of her promise,\n Rose up and lett him in. 40\n\n He did not take the lady gaye\n To boulster nor to bed:[109]\n \"Nor thoughe hee had his wicked wille,[110]\n \"A single word he sed.\"[110]\n\n He did not kisse that ladyes mouthe,[111] 45\n Nor when he came, nor youd:[112][113]\n And sore mistrusted that ladye gay,\n He was of some churls bloud.\n\n But home then came that lither ladd,\n And did off his hose and shoone; 50\n And cast the coller from off his necke:[114]\n He was but a churl\u00e8s sonne.\n\n Awake, awake, my deere master,[115]\n [The cock hath well-nigh crowen.[116]\n Awake, awake, my master deere,][116] 55\n I hold it time to be gone.\n\n For I have saddled your horsse, mast\u00e8r,\n Well bridled I have your steede:\n And I have served you a good breakfast:[117]\n For thereof ye have need.[118] 60\n\n Up then rose, good Glasgeri\u00f2n,[119]\n And did on hose and shoone;\n And cast a coller about his necke:\n For he was a kinge his sonne.[120]\n\n And when he came to the ladyes chamber,[121] 65\n He thrild upon the pinne:[122]\n The ladye was more than true of promise,\n And rose and let him in.[123]\n\n Saies, whether have you left with me\n Your bracelett or your glove? 70\n Or are you returned backe againe[124]\n To know more of my love?\n\n Glasg\u00e8rion swore a full great othe\n By oake, and ashe, and thorne;\n Lady, I was never in your chamb\u00e8r. 75\n Sith the time that I was borne.\n\n O then it was your lither foot-page,[125]\n He hath beguiled mee.[126]\n Then shee pulled forth a little pen-kniffe,[127]\n That hanged by her knee: 80\n\n Sayes, there shall never noe churl\u00e8s blood\n Within my bodye spring:[128]\n [No churl\u00e8s blood shall ever defile[129]\n The daughter of a kinge.][129]\n\n Home then went Glasg\u00e8rion,[130] 85\n And woe, good lord, was hee.[131]\n Sayes, come thou hither, Jacke my boy,[132]\n Come hither unto mee.[133]\n\n If I had killed a man to night,[134]\n Jacke, I would tell it thee: 90\n But if I have not killed a man to night\n Jacke, thou hast killed three.\n\n And he puld out his bright browne sword,\n And dryed it on his sleeve,\n And he smote off that lither ladds head, 95\n Who did his ladye grieve.[135]\n\n He sett the swords poynt till his brest,\n The pummil untill a stone:[136]\n Throw the falsenesse of that lither ladd,\n These three lives werne all gone. 100\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[93] [Ver. 4. where cappe and candle yoode, MS.]\n\n[94] V. 6. wood, MS.\n\n[95] [V. 8. sayd shee, MS.]\n\n[96] [V. 9. saide, strike.]\n\n[97] [cease.]\n\n[98] [V. 11. over this.]\n\n[99] [well may be thine.]\n\n[100] [V. 13. you fall.]\n\n[101] [V. 15. 7 yeere.]\n\n[102] [V. 16. my hart I durst neere breake.]\n\n[103] [V. 21. but whom then.]\n\n[104] [V. 24. her love is granted mee.]\n\n[105] [Ver. 29. but come you hither Master, quoth he.]\n\n[106] [wicked.]\n\n[107] [V. 34. and did on hose and shoone.]\n\n[108] This is elsewhere expressed \"_twirled the pin_,\" or \"_tirled at_\n_the pin_\" (see b. ii. s. vi. v. 3.) and seems to refer to the turning\nround the button on the outside of a door, by which the latch rises,\nstill used in cottages.\n\n[The explanation given by Percy in this note is an unfounded guess.\nThe Risp or tirling pin was very generally used in the north to do the\nduty afterwards performed by the knocker. There are several of these\ncurious contrivances in the Antiquarian Museum at Edinburgh, and they\nare described by D. Wilson in his _Memorials of Edinburgh in the Olden\nTime_, as follows,--\"These antique precursors of the knocker and bell\nare still frequently to be met with in the steep turnpikes of the Old\nTown, notwithstanding the cupidity of the Antiquarian collectors. The\nring is drawn up and down the notched iron rod and makes a very audible\nnoise within.\" (1848, vol. i. p. 97).]\n\n[109] [V. 42. nor noe bed.]\n\n[110] [V. 43-4.\n\n but downe upon her chamber flore\n full soone he hath her layd.]\n\n[111] [Ver. 45. that lady gay.]\n\n[112] [went.]\n\n[113] [Ver. 46. when he came nor when he youd.]\n\n[114] [V. 51. that coller from about.]\n\n[115] [V. 53. awaken quoth hee my master deere.]\n\n[116] [V. 54-5. not in MS.]\n\n[117] [V. 59. have not I served a.]\n\n[118] [V. 60. when times comes I have need.]\n\n[119] [V. 61. but up.]\n\n[120] [V. 64. he was a kinges sonne.]\n\n[121] [V. 65. that ladies.]\n\n[122] [V. 66. upon a.]\n\n[123] [V. 68. rose up and.]\n\n[124] [V. 71. you are. MS]\n\n[125] Ver. 77. litle, MS.\n\n[126] [V. 78. falsly hath.]\n\n[127] [V. 79. and then.]\n\n[128] [V. 82. spring within my body.]\n\n[129] [V. 83-4. not in MS.]\n\n[130] [V. 85. but home then.]\n\n[131] [V. 86. a woe man good was hee.]\n\n[132] [V. 87. come hither thou.]\n\n[133] [V. 88. come thou.]\n\n[134] [V. 89. ffor if.]\n\n[135] [V. 96. and asked noe man noe leave.]\n\n[136] [V. 98. till a. MS.]\n\n\n\n\nVIII.\n\nOLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE.\n\n\nFrom an ancient copy in the Editor's folio MS. which was judged to\nrequire considerable corrections.\n\nIn the former edition the hero of this piece had been called Sir Robin,\nbut that title not being in the MS. is now omitted.\n\n_Giles_, steward to a rich old merchant trading to _Portugal_, is\nqualified with the title of _Sir_, not as being a knight, but rather, I\nconceive, as having received an inferior order of priesthood.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [Percy's note in the MS. is as follows, \"When I first set to\n examine this I had not yet learnt to hold this old MS. in much\n regard.\" Every line is altered, so that it has been necessary to\n add a copy of the original, although the interest of the ballad\n itself is not very great. Percy's most notable correction is the\n introduction of 20 good knights to help Robin against his wife's\n twenty-four traitors.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n Let never again soe old a man\n Marrye soe yonge a wife,\n As did old Robin of Portingale;\n Who may rue all the dayes of his life.\n\n For the mayors daughter of Lin, god wott, 5\n He chose her to his wife,\n And thought with her to have lived in love,\n By they fell to hate and strife.\n\n They scarce were in their wed-bed laid,\n And scarce was hee asleepe, 10\n But upp shee rose, and forth shee goes,\n To the steward, and gan to weepe.\n\n Sleepe you, wake you, faire sir Gyles?\n Or be you not within?\n Sleepe you, wake you, faire sir Gyles, 15\n Arise and let me inn.\n\n O, I am waking, sweete, he said,\n Sweete ladye, what is your will?\n I have unbethought me of a wile[137]\n How my wed-lord weell spill.[138] 20\n\n Twenty-four good knights, shee sayes.\n That dwell about this towne,\n Even twenty-four of my next coz\u00e8ns,\n Will helpe to dinge[139] him downe.\n\n All that beheard his litle footepage, 25\n As he watered his masters steed;\n And for his masters sad perille\n His verry heart did bleed.\n\n He mourned still, and wept full sore;\n I sweare by the holy roode 30\n The teares he for his master wept\n Were blent water and bloude.[140]\n\n And that beheard his deare mast\u00e8r\n As he stood at his garden pale:\n Sayes, Ever alacke, my litle foot-page, 35\n What causes thee to wail?\n\n Hath any one done to thee wronge\n Any of thy fellowes here?\n Or is any of thy good friends dead,\n That thou shedst manye a teare? 40\n\n Or, if it be my head bookes-man,[141]\n Aggrieved he shal bee:\n For no man here within my howse,\n Shall doe wrong unto thee.\n\n O, it is not your head bookes-man, 45\n Nor none of his degree:\n But, on to-morrow ere it be noone[142]\n All deemed[143] to die are yee.\n\n And of that bethank your head stew\u00e0rd,\n And thank your gay ladie. 50\n If this be true, my litle foot-page,\n The heyre of my land thoust bee.\n\n If it be not true, my dear mast\u00e8r,\n No good death let me die.\n If it be not true, thou litle foot-page, 55\n A dead corse shalt thou lie.[144]\n\n O call now downe my faire ladye,\n O call her downe to mee:\n And tell my ladye gay how sicke,\n And like to die I bee. 60\n\n Downe then came his ladye faire,\n All clad in purple and pall:\n The rings that were on her fing\u00e8rs,\n Cast light thorrow the hall.\n\n What is your will, my owne wed-lord? 65\n What is your will with mee?\n O see, my ladye deere, how sicke,\n And like to die I bee.\n\n And thou be sicke, my own wed-lord,\n Soe sore it grieveth me: 70\n But my five maydens and myselfe\n Will \"watch thy\" bedde for thee:[145]\n\n And at the waking of your first sleepe,\n We will a hott drinke make:\n And at the waking of your \"next\" sleepe,[146] 75\n Your sorrowes we will slake.\n\n He put a silk cote on his backe,\n And mail of manye a fold:\n And hee putt a steele cap on his head,\n Was gilt with good red gold. 80\n\n He layd a bright browne sword by his side,\n And another att his feete:\n \"And twentye good knights he placed at hand,\n To watch him in his sleepe.\"\n\n And about the middle time of the night, 85\n Came twentye-four traitours inn:\n Sir Giles he was the foremost man,\n The leader of that ginn.[147]\n\n Old Robin with his bright browne sword,\n Sir Gyles head soon did winn: 90\n And scant of all those twenty-four,\n Went out one quick[148] agenn.\n\n None save only a litle foot page,\n Crept forth at a window of stone:\n And he had two armes when he came in, 95\n And he went back with one.\n\n Upp then came that ladie gaye\n With torches burning bright:\n She thought to have brought sir Gyles a drinke,\n Butt she found her owne wedd knight. 100\n\n The first thinge that she stumbled on\n It was sir Gyles his foote:\n Sayes, Ever alacke, and woe is mee!\n Here lyes my sweete hart-roote.\n\n The next thinge that she stumbled on 105\n It was sir Gyles his heade;\n Sayes, Ever, alacke, and woe is me!\n Heere lyes my true love deade.\n\n Hee cutt the pappes beside her brest,\n And did her body spille;[149] 110\n He cutt the eares beside her heade,\n And bade her love her fille.\n\n He called then up his litle foot-page,\n And made him there his heyre;\n And sayd henceforth my worldlye goodes 115\n And countrye I forsweare.\n\n He shope[150] the crosse on his right should\u00e8r,\n Of the white \"clothe\" and the redde,[151]\n And went him into the holy land,\n Wheras Christ was quicke and dead. 120\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n[The following is the original ballad from the Folio MS. ed. Hales and\nFurnivall, vol. i. p. 235.\n\n God! let neuer soe old a man\n marry so yonge a wiffe\n as did old Robin of portingale!\n he may rue all the dayes of his liffe. 4\n\n ffor the Maiors daughter of Lin, god wott,\n he chose her to his wife,\n & thought to haue liued in quiettnesse\n with her all the dayes of his liffe. 8\n\n they had not in their wed bed laid,\n scarcly were both on sleepe,\n but vpp shee rose, & forth shee goes\n to Sir Gyles, & fast can weepe, 12\n\n Saies, \"sleepe you, wake you, faire Sir Gyles,\n or be not you within?\"\n\n \"but I am waking, sweete,\" he said,\n \"Lady, what is your will?\" 16\n \"I haue vnbethought me of a will,\n how my wed Lord we shall spill.\n\n \"24 knights, she sayes,\n that dwells about this towne, 20\n eene 24 of my Next Cozens,\n will helpe to dinge him downe.\"\n\n with that beheard his litle foote page\n as he was watering his Masters steed, 24\n Soe s * * * *\n his verry heart did bleed;\n\n he mourned, sist, and wept full sore;\n I sweare by the holy roode, 28\n the teares he for his Master wept\n were blend water & bloude.\n\n with that beheard his deare Master\n as in his garden sate, 32\n says, \"euer alacke my litle page!\n what causes thee to weepe?\n\n \"hath any one done to thee wronge,\n any of thy fellowes here, 36\n or is any of thy good friends dead\n which makes thee shed such teares?\n\n \"or if it be my head bookes man,\n grieued againe he shalbe, 40\n nor noe man within my howse\n shall doe wrong vnto thee.\"\n\n \"but it is not your head bookes man,\n nor none of his degree, 44\n but or to morrow, ere it be Noone,\n you are deemed to die;\n\n \"& of that thanke your head Steward,\n & after your gay Ladie.\" 48\n \"If it be true, my little foote page,\n Ile make thee heyre of all my land.\"\n\n \"if it be not true, my deare Master,\n god let me neuer dye.\" 52\n \"if it be not true, thou little foot page,\n a dead corse shalt thou be.\"\n\n he called downe his head kookes man,\n cooke in kitchen super to dresse: 56\n \"all & anon, my deare Master,\n anon at your request.\"\n\n \"& call you downe my faire Lady,\n this night to supp with mee.\" 60\n\n & downe then came that fayre Lady,\n was cladd all in purple & palle,\n the rings that were vpon her fingers\n cast light thorrow the hall. 64\n\n \"What is your will, my owne wed Lord,\n what is your will with mee?\"\n \"I am sicke, fayre Lady,\n sore sicke, & like to dye.\" 68\n\n \"but & you be sicke, my owne wed Lord,\n soe sore it greiueth mee,\n but my 5 maydens & my selfe\n will goe & make your bedd, 72\n\n \"& at the wakening of your first sleepe,\n you shall haue a hott drinke Made,\n & at the wakening of your first sleepe\n your sorrowes will haue a slake.\" 76\n\n he put a silke cote on his backe,\n was 13 inches folde,\n & put a steele cap vpon his head,\n was gilded with good red gold; 80\n\n & he layd a bright browne sword by his side,\n & another att his ffeete,\n & full well knew old Robin then\n whether he shold wake or sleepe. 84\n\n & about the Middle time of the Night\n came 24 good knights in,\n Syr Gyles he was the formost man,\n soe well he knew that ginne. 88\n\n Old Robin with a bright browne sword\n Sir Gyles head he did winne,\n soe did he all those 24,\n neuer a one went quicke out [agen;] 92\n\n none but one litle foot page\n crept forth at a window of stone,\n & he had 2 armes when he came in\n And [when he went out he had none]. 96\n\n Vpp then came that Ladie bright\n with torches burning light;\n shee thought to haue brought Sir Gyles a drinke,\n but shee found her owne wedd Knight, 100\n\n & the first thinge that this Ladye stumbled vpon,\n was of Sir Gyles his ffoote,\n sayes, \"euer alacke, and woe is me,\n heere lyes my sweete hart roote!\" 104\n\n & the 2^d thing that this Ladie stumbled on,\n was of Sir Gyles his head,\n sayes, \"euer alacke, and woe is me,\n heere lyes my true loue deade!\" 108\n\n hee cutt the papps beside he[r] brest,\n & bad her wish her will,\n & he cutt the eares beside her heade,\n & bade her wish on still. 112\n\n \"Mickle is the mans blood I haue spent\n to doe thee & me some good,\"\n sayes, \"euer alacke, my fayre Lady,\n I thinke that I was woode?\" 116\n\n he calld then vp his litle foote page,\n & made him heyre of all his land,\n & he shope the crosse in his right sholder\n of the white flesh & the redd. 120\n & he sent him into the holy land\n wheras Christ was quicke & dead.\n\n ffins.]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[137] Ver. 19. _unbethought_, (properly _onbethought_) this word is\nstill used in the Midland counties in the same sense as _bethought_.\n\n[138] [spoil or kill.]\n\n[139] [knock.]\n\n[140] V. 32. blend, MS.\n\n[141] [clerk.]\n\n[142] Ver. 47. or to-morrow, MS.\n\n[143] [doomed.]\n\n[144] V. 56. bee, MS.\n\n[145] Ver. 72. make the, MS.\n\n[146] V. 75. first, MS.\n\n[147] [snare.]\n\n[148] [alive.]\n\n[149] Ver. 118. fleshe, MS.\n\n[150] [shaped.]\n\n[151] Every person who went on a _Croisade_ to the Holy Land, usually\nwore a cross on his upper garment, on the right shoulder, as a badge\nof his profession. Different nations were distinguished by crosses\nof different colours: The English wore white; the French red; &c.\nThis circumstance seems to be confounded in the ballad. (V. Spelman,\n_Gloss_.)\n\n\n\n\nIX.\n\nCHILD WATERS.\n\n\n_Child_ is frequently used by our old writers, as a Title. It is\nrepeatedly given to Prince Arthur in the Fairie Queen: and the son\nof a king is in the same poem called \"Child Tristram.\" (B. 5. c. 11.\nst. 8. 13.--B. 6. c. 2. st. 36.--_Ibid._ c. 8. st. 15.) In an old\nballad quoted in Shakespeare's _K. Lear_, the hero of Ariosto is\ncalled _Child Roland_. Mr. Theobald supposes this use of the word\nwas received along with their romances from the Spaniards, with whom\n_Infante_ signifies a \"Prince.\" A more eminent critic tells us, that\n\"in the old times of chivalry, the noble youth, who were candidates for\nknighthood, during the time of their probation were called _Infans_,\n_Varlets_, _Damoysels_, _Bacheliers_. The most noble of the youth were\nparticularly called _Infans_.\" (Vid. Warb. Shakesp.) A late commentator\non Spenser observes, that the Saxon word cniht, knight, signifies also\na \"child.\" (See Upton's gloss to the F. Q.)\n\nThe Editor's folio MS. whence the following piece is taken (with some\ncorrections), affords several other ballads, wherein the word _Child_\noccurs as a title: but in none of these it signifies \"Prince.\" See the\nsong intitled _Gil Morrice_, in this volume.\n\nIt ought to be observed, that the Word _Child_ or _Chield_ is still\nused in North Britain to denominate a Man, commonly with some\ncontemptuous character affixed to him, but sometimes to denote Man in\ngeneral.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [This ballad gives us a curious insight into ancient manners, and\n shows what were our forefathers' notions of the perfection of\n female character. They would have agreed with the propounder of\n the question--What is woman's mission? answer, sub-mission. Like\n patient Grissel, Ellen bears worse sufferings than the Nut-Brown\n Maid has to hear of, and in spite of the worst usage she never\n swerves from her devotion. This English version was the first\n published, but the story is the same as _Lai le Fr\u00eane_, preserved\n in English in the Auchinleck MS. and in Norman in the _Lais_ of\n Marie, which were written about the year 1250.\n\n Jamieson (_Popular Ballads and Songs_, 1806, vol. i. p. 113)\n published his Scottish version under the more appropriate name\n of _Burd Ellen_, who is the real heroine rather than the ruffian\n Waters is the hero. Adopting the idea of Mrs. Hampden Pye, who\n wrote a ballad on the same subject, he changes the character of the\n catastrophe by adding three concluding stanzas to wind up the story\n in an unhappy manner. Another version of the ballad, which ends\n happily, is given in Kinloch's _Ancient Scottish Ballads_ under the\n title of Lady Margaret. A German version of this ballad was made by\n the poet B\u00fcrger.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n Childe Waters in his stable stoode\n And stroakt his milke white steede\n To him a fayre yonge ladye came[152]\n As ever ware womans weede.[153]\n\n Sayes, Christ you save, good Childe Waters; 5\n Sayes, Christ you save, and see:\n My girdle of gold that was too longe,[154]\n Is now too short for mee.\n\n And all is with one chyld of yours,\n I feele sturre att my side; 10\n My gowne of greene it is too straighte;\n Before, it was too wide.\n\n If the child be mine, faire Ellen, he sayd,\n Be mine as you tell mee;\n Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,[155] 15\n Take them your owne to bee.\n\n If the childe be mine, faire Ellen, he sayd,\n Be mine, as you doe sweare:\n Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,\n And make that child your heyre. 20\n\n Shee saies, I had rather have one kisse,\n Child Waters, of thy mouth;\n Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both,\n That lye by north and south.[156]\n\n And I had rather have one twinkling,[157] 25\n Childe Waters, of thine ee:[158]\n Then I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both\n To take them mine owne to bee.\n\n To morrow, Ellen, I must forth ryde\n Farr into the north countrie;[159] 30\n The fairest lady that I can find,\n Ellen, must goe with mee.\n\n [Thoughe I am not that lady fayre,\n Yet let me go with thee.]\n And ever I pray you, Child Wat\u00e8rs, 35\n Your foot-page let me bee.\n\n If you will my foot-page be, Ell\u00e8n,\n As you doe tell to mee;[160]\n Then you must cut your gowne of greene,\n An inch above your knee: 40\n\n Soe must you doe your yellowe lockes,\n An inch above your ee:[161]\n You must tell no man what is my name;\n My foot-page then you shall bee.\n\n Shee, all the long day Child Waters rode,[162] 45\n Ran barefoote by his side;[163]\n Yett was he never so courteous a knighte,\n To say, Ellen, will you ryde?\n\n Shee, all the long day Child Waters rode,[164]\n Ran barefoote thorow the broome;[165] 50\n Yett hee was never soe curteous a knighte,\n To say, put on your shoone.[166]\n\n Ride softlye, shee sayd, O Childe Waters,[167]\n Why doe you ryde soe fast?\n The childe, which is no mans but thine,[168] 55\n My bodye itt will brast.[169]\n\n Hee sayth, seest thou yonder water, Ellen,[170]\n That flows from banke to brimme.--\n I trust to God, O Child Waters,[171]\n You never will see[172] mee swimme. 60\n\n But when shee came to the waters side,\n Shee sayled to the chinne:\n Except the Lord of heaven be my speed,\n Now must I learne to swimme.\n\n The salt waters bare up her clothes;[173] 65\n Our Ladye bare upp her chinne:\n Childe Waters was a woe man, good Lord,[174]\n To see faire Ellen swimme.\n\n And when shee over the water was,\n Shee then came to his knee: 70\n He said, Come hither, thou faire Ell\u00e8n,[175]\n Loe yonder what I see.\n\n Seest thou not yonder hall, Ell\u00e8n?\n Of redd gold shines the yate:[176]\n Of twenty foure faire ladyes there,[177] 75\n The fairest is my mate.[178]\n\n Seest thou not yonder hall, Ell\u00e8n?\n Of redd gold shines the towre:[179]\n There are twenty four faire ladyes there,[180]\n The fairest is my paramoure. 80\n\n I see the hall now, Child Waters,[181]\n Of redd gold shines the yate:[182]\n God give you good now of yourselfe,[183]\n And of your worthye mate.[184]\n\n I see the hall now, Child Waters,[181] 85\n Of redd golde shines the towre:[182]\n God give you good now of yourselfe,[183]\n And of your paramoure.\n\n There twenty four fayre ladyes were[185]\n A playing att the ball:[186] 90\n And Ellen the fairest ladye there,[187]\n Must bring his steed to the stall.\n\n There twenty four fayre ladyes were[188]\n A playinge at the chesse;[189]\n And Ellen the fayrest ladye there,[190] 95\n Must bring his horse to gresse.[191]\n\n And then bespake Childe Waters sister,\n These were the wordes said shee:[192]\n You have the prettyest foot-page, brother,\n That ever I saw with mine ee.[193] 100\n\n But that his bellye it is soe bigg,\n His girdle goes wonderous hie:\n And let him, I pray you, Childe Wat\u00e8rs,[194]\n Goe into the chamber with mee.[195]\n\n [It is not fit for a little foot-page, 105\n That has run throughe mosse and myre,\n To go into the chamber with any ladye.\n That weares soe riche attyre.]\n\n It is more meete for a litle foot-page,\n That has run throughe mosse and myre. 110\n To take his supper upon his knee,\n And sitt downe by the kitchen fyer.[196]\n\n But when they had supped every one,\n To bedd they tooke theyr waye:[197]\n He sayd, come hither, my little foot-page, 115\n And hearken what I saye.[198]\n\n Goe thee downe into yonder towne,[199]\n And low into the street;\n The fayrest ladye that thou can finde,\n Hyer her in mine armes to sleepe, 120\n And take her up in thine armes twaine,[200]\n For filinge[201] of her feete.\n\n Ellen is gone into the towne,\n And low into the streete:\n The fairest ladye that shee cold find, 125\n Shee hyred in his armes to sleepe;\n And tooke her up in her armes twayne,[202]\n For filing of her feete.\n\n I praye you nowe, good Childe Wat\u00e8rs,\n Let mee lye at your bedds feete:[203] 130\n For there is noe place about this house,\n Where I may 'saye a slepe[204].\n\n [He gave her leave, and faire Ell\u00e8n\n Down at his beds feet laye:]\n This done the nighte drove on apace,[205] 135\n And when it was neare the daye,[205]\n\n Hee sayd, Rise up, my litle foot-page,\n Give my steede corne and haye;[206]\n And soe doe thou the good black oats,\n To carry mee better awaye.[207] 140\n\n Up then rose the faire Ell\u00e8n[208]\n And gave his steede corne and hay:\n And soe shee did the good blacke oates,[209]\n To carry him the better away.[210]\n\n Shee leaned her backe to the manger side,[211] 145\n And grievouslye did groane:\n [Shee leaned her back to the manger side,\n And there shee made her moane.]\n\n And that beheard his mother deere,\n Shee heard her there monand.[212] 150\n Shee sayd, Rise up, thou Child Wat\u00e8rs,\n I think thee a cursed man.[213]\n\n For in thy stable is a ghost,[214]\n That grievouslye doth grone.\n Or else some woman laboures of childe, 155\n She is soe woe-begone.\n\n Up then rose Childe Waters soon,[215]\n And did on his shirte of silke;\n And then he put on his other clothes,[216]\n On his body as white as milke. 160\n\n And when he came to the stable dore,\n Full still there hee did stand,[217]\n That hee mighte heare his fayre Ell\u00e8n,[218]\n Howe shee made her mon\u00e0nd[219].\n\n She sayd, Lullabye, mine owne deere child,[220] 165\n Lullabye, dere child, dere:\n I wold thy father were a king,\n Thy mother layd on a biere.\n\n Peace now, hee said, good faire Ell\u00e8n.\n Be of good cheere, I praye;[221] 170\n And the bridal and the churching both\n Shall bee upon one day.[222]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[152] [Ver. 3. to him came, MS.]\n\n[153] [V. 4. as ere did weare, MS.]\n\n[154] [V. 7. which was. MS.]\n\n[155] V. 15. then not in MS.\n\n[156] [V. 24. that lyes.]\n\n[157] [V. 25. have a.]\n\n[158] [V. 26. of your eye.]\n\n[159] [V. 30. soe ffarr.]\n\n[160] [V. 38. tell itt mee.]\n\n[161] [V. 42. another inch above your eye. MS.]\n\n[162] [Ver. 45. all this long. _Shee_ not in MS.]\n\n[163] [V. 46. shee ran.]\n\n[164] [V. 49. but all this day.]\n\n[165] [V. 50. shee ran.]\n\n[166] [V. 52. as to say.]\n\n[167] [V. 53. _O_ not in MS.]\n\n[168] [V. 55. but yours.]\n\n[169] [V. 56. burst.]\n\n[170] [V. 57. he sayes, sees.]\n\n[171] [V. 59. Child Waters, shee said.]\n\n[172] _i.e._ permit, suffer, &c.\n\n[173] [V. 65. Ellen's clothes.]\n\n[174] [V. 67. and Child Waters.]\n\n[175] [V. 71. _thou_ not in MS.]\n\n[176] [Ver. 74. shine the yates. MS.]\n\n[177] [V. 75. theres 24 ffayre ladyes.]\n\n[178] [V. 76. the ffairest is my worldlye make.]\n\n[179] [V. 78. Shineth.]\n\n[180] [V. 79. there is 24 ffaire ladyes.]\n\n[181] [V. 81, 85. I doe see.]\n\n[182] [V. 82, 86. that of redd gold shineth the yates.]\n\n[183] [V. 83, 87. God give good then.]\n\n[184] [V. 84. worldlye make.]\n\n[185] [V. 89. there were 24 ladyes.]\n\n[186] [V. 90. were playing.]\n\n[187] [V. 91. Ellen was the fairest ladye.]\n\n[188] [V. 93. there were.]\n\n[189] [V. 94. was playing.]\n\n[190] [V. 95. shee was the ffairest ladye.]\n\n[191] [V. 96. grasse.]\n\n[192] [V. 98. and these.]\n\n[193] [V. 100. eye. MS.]\n\n[194] [Ver. 103. and ever I pray. MS.]\n\n[195] [V. 104. let him goe.]\n\n[196] [After V. 112 the two lines\n\n then goe into the chamber with any ladye\n that weares soe ... attyre\n\noccur in the MS.]\n\n[197] [V. 114. they waye.]\n\n[198] [V. 116. hearken what I doe say.]\n\n[199] [V. 117. and goe thy.]\n\n[200] [V. 121. armes 2. MS.]\n\n[201] _i.e._ defiling. See Warton's _Observ._ vol. ii. p. 158.\n\n[202] [V. 127. and tooke her in her armes 2.]\n\n[203] [V. 130. that I may creape in att.]\n\n[204] Ver. 132. _i.e._ essay, attempt\n\n[205] [V. 135-6.\n\n this and itt drove now afterward\n till itt was neere the day.]\n\n[206] [V. 138. and give.]\n\n[207] [V. 140. that he may carry me the better away.]\n\n[208] [V. 141. and up then rose the.]\n\n[209] [V. 143. did on.]\n\n[210] [V. 144. that he might carry him.]\n\n[211] [V. 145. she layned.]\n\n[212] [V. 150. and heard her make her moane.]\n\n[213] [V. 152. I think thou art a. MS.]\n\n[214] [Ver. 153. for yonder is a ghost in thy stable.]\n\n[215] [V. 157. but up then rose Childe Waters.]\n\n[216] [V. 159. _and_ not in MS.]\n\n[217] [V. 162. full still that.]\n\n[218] [V. 163. heare now faire.]\n\n[219] _sic_ in MS., _i.e._ moaning, bemoaning, &c.\n\n[220] [V. 165. my owne.]\n\n[221] [V. 170. and be of good cheere I thee pray.]\n\n[222] [V. 172. they shall, MS.]\n\n\n\n\nX.\n\nPHILLIDA AND CORYDON.\n\n\nThis Sonnet is given from a small quarto MS. in the Editor's\npossession, written in the time of Q. Elizabeth. Another Copy of it\ncontaining some variations, is reprinted in the _Muses' Library_,\np. 295, from an ancient miscellany, intitled _England's Helicon_,\n1600, 4to. The author was _Nicholas Breton_, a writer of some fame\nin the reign of Elizabeth; who also published an interlude intitled\n_An old man's lesson and a young man's love_, 4to., and many other\nlittle pieces in prose and verse, the titles of which may be seen in\nWinstanley, Ames' _Typog._ and Osborne's _Harl. Catalog._ &c.--He\nis mentioned with great respect by _Meres_, in his 2d pt. of _Wit's\nCommon-wealth_, 1598, f. 283, and is alluded to in Beaumont and\nFletcher's _Scornful Lady_, act ii., and again in _Wit without Money_,\nact iii.--See Whalley's _Ben Jonson_, vol. iii. p. 103.\n\nThe present Edition is improved by a copy in _England's Helicon_, edit.\n1614, 8vo.\n\nThis little Pastoral is one of the Songs in \"The Honourable\nEntertainment gieven to the Queenes Majestie in Progresse at Elvetham\nin Hampshire, by the R. H. the Earle of Hertford, 1591, 4to.\" (Printed\nby Wolfe. No name of author.) See in that pamphlet,\n\n \"The thirde daies Entertainment.\n\n\"On Wednesday morning about 9 o'clock, as her Majestie opened a\ncasement of her gallerie window, ther were 3 excellent musitians,\nwho being disguised in auncient country attire, did greet her with a\npleasant song of _Corydon and Phillida_, made in 3 parts of purpose.\nThe song, as well for the worth of the dittie as the aptnesse of the\nnote thereto applied, it pleased her Highnesse after it had been once\nsung to command it againe, and highly to grace it with her cheerefull\nacceptance and commendation.\n\n THE PLOWMAN'S SONG.\n\n _In the merrie month of May, &c.\"_\n\nThe splendour and magnificence of Elizabeth's reign is nowhere more\nstrongly painted than in these little diaries of some of her summer\nexcursions to the houses of her nobility; nor could a more acceptable\npresent be given to the world, than a republication of a select number\nof such details as this of the entertainment at _Elvetham_, that at\n_Killingworth_, &c., &c., which so strongly mark the spirit of the\ntimes, and present us with scenes so very remote from modern manners.\n\nSince the above was written, the public hath been gratified with a most\ncompleat work on the foregoing subject, intitled, _The Progresses and\nPublic Processions of Queen Elizabeth, &c. By John Nichols, F.A.S.,\nEdinb. and Perth_, 1788, 2 vols. 4to.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [The author of this elegant little poem was a most voluminous\n author, and \"is supposed to be the same Capt. Nicholas Breton,\n who was of Norton in Northamptonshire, and dying there June 22,\n 1624, has a monument in that church.\"[223] Dr. Rimbault (_Musical_\n _Illustrations of Percy's Reliques_) writes as follows of the\n music:--\"We have here two settings of this beautiful pastoral,\n the first as it was sung by the 'three excellent musitians'\n before Queen Elizabeth in 1591; the second as it was reset in the\n following century. The first is extracted from _Madrigals to 3,\n 4, and 5 parts, apt for viols and voices_, newly composed by\n Michael Este, 1604; the second from _Cheerfull Ayres or Ballads,\n set for three voyces_, by Dr. John Wilson, Oxford, 1660. The latter\n became extremely popular, and is included in D'Urfey's _Pills to\n Purge Melancholy_, 1719, and several other musical miscellanies of\n subsequent date.\"]\n\n * * * * *\n\n In the merrie moneth of Maye,\n In a morne by break of daye,\n With a troope of damselles playing\n Forthe \"I yode\" forsooth a maying:[224]\n\n When anon by a wood side, 5\n Where as Maye was in his pride,\n I espied all alone\n Phillida and Corydon.\n\n Much adoe there was, god wot;\n He wold love, and she wold not. 10\n She sayde, never man was trewe;\n He sayes, none was false to you.\n\n He sayde, hee had lovde her longe:\n She sayes, love should have no wronge.\n Corydon wold kisse her then: 15\n She sayes, maydes must kisse no men,\n\n Tyll they doe for good and all.\n When she made the shepperde call\n All the heavens to wytnes truthe,\n Never loved a truer youthe. 20\n\n Then with manie a prettie othe,\n Yea and nay, and, faith and trothe;\n Suche as seelie shepperdes use\n When they will not love abuse;\n\n Love, that had bene long deluded, 25\n Was with kisses sweete concluded;\n And Phillida with garlands gaye\n Was made the lady of the Maye.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[223] [England's _Helicon_ (Brydges' _British Bibliographer_, vol.\niii.)]\n\n[224] Ver. 4. the wode, MS.\n\n\n\n\nXI.\n\nLITTLE MUSGRAVE AND LADY BARNARD.\n\n\nThis ballad is ancient, and has been popular; we find it quoted in many\nold plays. See Beaum. and Fletcher's _Knight of the Burning Pestle_,\n4to. 1613, act v. sc. iii. _The Varietie, a comedy_, 12mo. 1649, act\niv. &c. In Sir William Davenant's play, _The Witts_, a. iii. a gallant\nthus boasts of himself:\n\n \"Limber and sound! besides I sing Musgrave,\n And for Chevy-chace no lark comes near me.\"\n\nIn the Pepys _Collection_, vol. iii. p. 314, is an imitation of this\nold song, in 33 stanzas, by a more modern pen, with many alterations,\nbut evidently for the worse.\n\nThis is given from an old printed copy in the British Museum, with\ncorrections; some of which are from a fragment in the Editor's folio\nMS. It is also printed in Dryden's _Collection of Miscellaneous_\n_Poems_.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [The copy of this ballad in the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall,\n vol. i. p. 119) is a mutilated fragment consisting of only ten\n complete stanzas and three half ones. The oldest entire copy is\n to be found in _Wit Restor'd_, 1658, where it is called _the_ old\n _ballad of little Musgrave_, which is given by Professor Child\n (_English and Scottish Ballads_, vol. ii. p. 15) in preference\n to Percy's. This version, not very exactly transcribed, is printed\n in Dryden's _Miscellany Poems_ (1716, vol. iii. 312), and Ritson\n (_Ancient Songs and Ballads_, vol. ii. p. 116) copied it from\n thence. Ritson writes of one of Percy's statements above: \"Dr.\n Percy indeed, by some mistake, gives it as from an old printed copy\n in the British Museum; observing that 'In the Pepys collection is\n an imitation of this old song in a different measure, by a more\n modern pen, with many alterations, but evidently for the worse.' It\n is very true, and not less so that the only copies in the museum\n (for there are two) are more recent impressions of this identical\n _imitation_.\"\n\n It is the 14th stanza slightly altered which is quoted in the\n _Knight of the Burning Pestle_.\n\n \"And some they whistled, and some they sung,\n Hey down down!\n And some did loudly say\n Ever as Lord Barnet's horn blew,\n Away Musgrave, away.\"\n\n There are several Scottish versions, in which the reciters have\n altered the locality. Jamieson has printed one which he calls _Lord\n Barnaby_ (_Popular Ballads and Songs_, i. 170). He states that\n he had heard it repeated both in Morayshire and in the southern\n counties.\n\n Motherwell gives the air in his _Minstrelsy_ which he noted down\n from oral communication, and this verse--\n\n \"It fell upon a Martinmas time\n When the nobles were a drinking wine,\n That little Mushiegrove to the kirk he did go\n For to see the ladies come in.\"\n\n Mr. J. H. Dixon includes a version entitled _Lord Burnett and_\n _Little Munsgrove_ in his Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient\n Ballads (Percy Society, vol. xvii.)\n\n Home adopted the name of Lady Barnard in his _Douglas_ before he\n took that of Lady Randolph, see No. 18, Gil Morrice.\n\n There is another ballad called _The Bonny Birdy_, with a similar\n story. Jamieson (i. 162) prints it and alters the title to _Lord_\n _Randal_.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n As it fell out on a highe holye daye,\n As many bee in the yeare,\n When yong men and maides together do goe\n Their masses and mattins to heare,\n\n Little Musgr\u00e0ve came to the church door, 5\n The priest was at the mass;\n But he had more mind of the fine wom\u00e8n,\n Then he had of our Ladyes grace.\n\n And some of them were clad in greene,\n And others were clad in pall; 10\n And then came in my lord Barnardes wife,\n The fairest among them all.\n\n Shee cast an eye on little Musgr\u00e0ve\n As bright as the summer sunne:\n O then bethought him little Musgr\u00e0ve, 15\n This ladyes heart I have wonne.\n\n Quoth she, I have loved thee, little Musgr\u00e0ve,\n Fulle long and manye a daye.\n So have I loved you, ladye faire,\n Yet word I never durst saye. 20\n\n I have a bower at Bucklesford-Bury,[225]\n Full daintilye bedight,\n If thoult wend thither, my little Musgr\u00e0ve,\n Thoust lig in mine armes all night.\n\n Quoth hee, I thanke yee, ladye faire, 25\n This kindness yee shew to mee;\n And whether it be to my weale or woe,\n This night will I lig with thee.\n\n All this beheard a litle foot-page,\n By his ladyes coach as he ranne: 30\n Quoth he, thoughe I am my ladyes page,\n Yet Ime my lord Barnardes manne.\n\n My lord Barn\u00e0rd shall knowe of this,\n Although I lose a limbe.\n And ever whereas the bridges were broke, 35\n He layd him downe to swimme.\n\n Asleep or awake, thou lord Barn\u00e0rd,\n As thou art a man of life,\n Lo! this same night at Bucklesford-Bury\n Litle Musgrave's in bed with thy wife. 40\n\n If it be trew, thou litle foote-page,\n This tale thou hast told to mee,\n Then all my lands in Bucklesford-Bury\n I freelye will give to thee.\n\n But and it be a lye, thou litle foot-page, 45\n This tale thou hast told to mee,\n On the highest tree in Bucklesford-Bury\n All hanged shalt thou bee.\n\n Rise up, rise up, my merry men all,\n And saddle me my good steede; 50\n This night must I to Bucklesford-bury;\n God wott, I had never more neede.\n\n Then some they whistled, and some they sang,\n And some did loudlye saye,\n Whenever lord Barnardes horne it blewe, 55\n Awaye, Musgr\u00e0ve, away.\n\n Methinkes I heare the throstle cocke,\n Methinkes I heare the jay,\n Methinkes I heare lord Barnards home;\n I would I were awaye. 60\n\n Lye still, lye still, thou little Musgr\u00e0ve,\n And huggle me from the cold;\n For it is but some shephardes boye\n A whistling his sheepe to the fold.[226]\n\n Is not thy hawke upon the pearche, 65\n Thy horse eating corne and haye?\n And thou a gay lady within thine armes:\n And wouldst thou be awaye?\n\n By this lord Barnard was come to the dore,\n And lighted upon a stone: 70\n And he pulled out three silver keyes,\n And opened the dores eche one.\n\n He lifted up the coverlett,\n He lifted up the sheete;\n How now, how now, thou little Musgr\u00e0ve, 75\n Dost find my gaye ladye sweete?\n\n I find her sweete, quoth little Musgr\u00e0ve,\n The more is my griefe and paine;\n Ide gladlye give three hundred poundes\n That I were on yonder plaine. 80\n\n Arise, arise, thou little Musgr\u00e0ve,\n And put thy cloathes nowe on,\n It shall never be said in my countree,\n That I killed a naked man.\n\n I have two swordes in one scabb\u00e0rde, 85\n Full deare they cost my purse;\n And thou shalt have the best of them,\n And I will have the worse.\n\n The first stroke that little Musgrave strucke,\n He hurt lord Barnard sore; 90\n The next stroke that lord Barnard strucke,\n Little Musgrave never strucke more.\n\n With that bespake the ladye faire,\n In bed whereas she laye,\n Althoughe thou art dead, my little Musgr\u00e0ve, 95\n Yet for thee I will praye:\n\n And wishe well to thy soule will I,\n So long as I have life;\n So will I not do for thee, Barn\u00e0rd,\n Thoughe I am thy wedded wife. 100\n\n He cut her pappes from off her brest;\n Great pitye it was to see\n The drops of this fair ladyes bloode\n Run trickling downe her knee.\n\n Wo worth, wo worth ye, my merrye men all, 105\n You never were borne for my goode:\n Why did you not offer to stay my hande,\n When you sawe me wax so woode?[227]\n\n For I have slaine the fairest sir knighte,\n That ever rode on a steede; 110\n So have I done the fairest lady,\n That ever ware womans weede.[228]\n\n A grave, a grave, Lord Barnard cryde,\n To putt these lovers in;\n But lay my ladye o' the upper hande, 115\n For she comes o' the better kin.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [+\u00b1+] That the more modern copy is to be dated about the middle of\n the last century, will be readily conceived from the tenor of the\n concluding stanza, viz.\n\n \"This sad Mischief by Lust was wrought;\n Then let us call for Grace,\n That we may shun the wicked vice,\n And fly from Sin a-pace.\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[225] Bucklefield-berry, fol. MS.\n\n[226] Ver. 64. Is whistling sheepe ore the mold, fol. MS.\n\n[227] [wildly angry.]\n\n[228] [See the last stanza of _Childe Maurice_ from Folio MS., book i.\nNo. 18, which is almost identical with this.]\n\n\n\n\nXII.\n\nTHE EW-BUGHTS, MARION.\n\n\n A SCOTTISH SONG.\n\nThis sonnet appears to be ancient: that and its simplicity of sentiment\nhave recommended it to a place here.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [This is marked in Ramsay's _Tea Table Miscellany_ as an old song\n with additions. It is not known who wrote the song or who composed\n the air belonging to it. They are both old.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n Will ye gae to the ew-bughts,[229] Marion,\n And wear in[230] the sheip wi' mee?\n The sun shines sweit, my Marion,\n But nae half sae sweit as thee.\n O Marion's a bonnie lass; 5\n And the blyth blinks[231] in her ee:\n And fain wad I marrie Marion,\n Gin Marion wad marrie mee.\n\n Theire's gowd in your garters, Marion;\n And siller on your white hauss-bane[232]: 10\n Fou faine wad I kisse my Marion\n At eene quhan I cum hame.\n Theire's braw lads in Earnslaw, Marion,\n Quha gape and glowr wi' their ee\n At kirk, quhan they see my Marion; 15\n Bot nane of them lues[233] like mee.\n\n Ive nine milk-ews, my Marion,\n A cow and a brawney quay;[234]\n Ise gie tham au to my Marion,\n Just on her bridal day. 20\n And yees get a grein sey[235] apron,\n And waistcote o' London broun;\n And wow bot ye will be vaporing\n Quhaneir ye gang to the toun.\n\n Ime yong and stout, my Marion, 25\n None dance lik mee on the greine;\n And gin ye forsak me, Marion,\n Ise een gae draw up wi' Jeane.\n Sae put on your pearlins,[236] Marion,\n And kirtle oth' cramasie;[237] 30\n And sune as my chin has nae haire on,\n I sall cum west, and see yee.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[229] [the pens in which the ewes are milked.]\n\n[230] [gather in.]\n\n[231] [joy sparkles.]\n\n[232] _Hauss bane, i.e._ The neck-bone. Marion had probably a silver\nlocket on, tied close to her neck with a ribband, an usual ornament\nin Scotland; where a sore throat is called \"_a sair hause_,\" properly\n_halse_.\n\n[233] [loves.]\n\n[234] [young heifer.]\n\n[235] [woollen cloth.]\n\n[236] [a kind of lace made of thread or silk.]\n\n[237] [crimson.]\n\n\n\n\nXIII.\n\nTHE KNIGHT, AND SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER.\n\n\nThis ballad (given from an old black-letter copy, with some\ncorrections) was popular in the time of Q. Elizabeth, being usually\nprinted with her picture before it, as Hearne informs us in his preface\nto _Gul. Neubrig. Hist. Oxon._ 1719, 8vo. vol. i. p. lxx. It is\nquoted in Fletcher's comedy of the _Pilgrim_, act iv. sc. 2.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [It is also quoted in _The Knight of the Burning Pestle_:\n\n \"He set her on a milk white steed.\" (l. 85.)\n\n There are several Scottish versions given by Buchan, Kinloch,\n and Motherwell. The latter claims greater antiquity for his over\n Percy's. It appears, however, to be a southern ballad adapted\n by the Scotch and improved in its humour. The heroine practices\n various artifices to maintain the character of a \"beggar's brat\"\n when riding back with _Earl Richard_.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n There was a shepherd's daughter\n Came tripping on the waye;\n And there by chance a knighte shee mett,\n Which caused her to staye.\n\n Good morrowe to you, beauteous maide, 5\n These words pronounced hee:\n O I shall dye this daye, he sayd,\n If Ive not my wille of thee.\n\n The Lord forbid, the maide replyde,\n That you shold waxe so wode! 10\n \"But for all that shee could do or saye,\n He wold not be withstood.\"\n\n Sith you have had your wille of mee,\n And put me to open shame,\n Now, if you are a courteous knighte, 15\n Tell me what is your name?\n\n Some do call mee Jacke, sweet heart,\n And some do call mee Jille;[238]\n But when I come to the kings faire courte\n They call me Wilfulle Wille. 20\n\n He sett his foot into the stirrup,\n And awaye then he did ride;\n She tuckt her girdle about her middle,\n And ranne close by his side.\n\n But when she came to the brode wat\u00e8r, 25\n She sett her brest and swamme;\n And when she was got out againe,\n She tooke to her heels and ranne.\n\n He never was the courteous knighte,\n To saye, faire maide, will ye ride? 30\n \"And she was ever too loving a maide\"\n To saye, sir knighte abide.\n\n When she came to the kings faire courte,\n She knocked at the ring;\n So readye was the king himself 35\n To let this faire maide in.\n\n Now Christ you save, my gracious liege,\n Now Christ you save and see,\n You have a knighte within your courte\n This daye hath robbed mee. 40\n\n What hath he robbed thee of, sweet heart?\n Of purple or of pall?\n Or hath he took thy gaye gold ring\n From off thy finger small?\n\n He hath not robbed mee, my leige, 45\n Of purple nor of pall:\n But he hath gotten my maiden head,\n Which grieves mee worst of all.\n\n Now if he be a batchelor,\n His bodye Ile give to thee;[239] 50\n But if he be a married man,\n High hanged he shall bee.\n\n He called downe his merrye men all,\n By one, by two, by three;\n Sir William used to bee the first, 55\n But nowe the last came hee.\n\n He brought her downe full fortye pounde,\n Tyed up withinne a glove:\n Faire maid, Ile give the same to thee;\n Go, seeke thee another love. 60\n\n O Ile have none of your gold, she sayde,\n Nor Ile have none of your fee;\n But your faire bodye I must have,\n The king hath granted mee.\n\n Sir William ranne and fetchd her then 65\n Five hundred pound in golde,\n Saying, faire maide, take this to thee,\n Thy fault will never be tolde.\n\n Tis not the gold that shall mee tempt,\n These words then answered shee, 70\n But your own bodye I must have,\n The king hath granted mee.\n\n Would I had dranke the water cleare,\n When I did drinke the wine,\n Rather than any shepherds brat 75\n Shold bee a ladye of mine!\n\n Would I had drank the puddle foule,\n When I did drink the ale,\n Rather than ever a shepherds brat\n Shold tell me such a tale! 80\n\n A shepherds brat even as I was,\n You mote have let me bee,\n I never had come othe kings faire courte,\n To crave any love of thee.\n\n He sett her on a milk-white steede, 85\n And himself upon a graye;\n He hung a bugle about his necke,\n And soe they rode awaye.\n\n But when they came unto the place,\n Where marriage-rites were done, 90\n She proved herself a dukes daught\u00e8r,\n And he but a squires sonne.\n\n Now marrye me, or not, sir knight.\n Your pleasure shall be free:\n If you make me ladye of one good towne, 95\n Ile make you lord of three.\n\n Ah! cursed bee the gold, he sayd.\n If thou hadst not been trewe.\n I shold have forsaken my sweet love,\n And have changed her for a newe. 100\n\n And now their hearts being linked fast,\n They joyned hand in hande:\n Thus he had both purse, and person too,\n And all at his commande.\n\n *\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[238] [Jill is sometimes used as a woman's name and at other times as a\nman's.]\n\n[239] [Ver. 50. _His bodye Ile give to thee._] This was agreeable to\nthe feudal customs: The Lord had a right to give a wife to his vassals.\nSee Shakespeare's _All's well that ends well_.\n\n\n\n\nXIV.\n\nTHE SHEPHERD'S ADDRESS TO HIS MUSE.\n\n\nThis poem, originally printed from the small MS. volume, mentioned\nabove in No. X., has been improved by a more perfect copy in _England's\nHelicon_, where the author is discovered to be _N. Breton_.\n\n * * * * *\n\n Good Muse, rocke me aslepe\n With some sweete harmony:\n This wearie eyes is not to kepe\n Thy wary company.\n\n Sweete Love, begon a while,\n Thou seest my heavines: 5\n Beautie is borne but to beguyle\n My harte of happines.\n\n See howe my little flocke,\n That lovde to feede on highe, 10\n Doe headlonge tumble downe the rocke,\n And in the valley dye.\n\n The bushes and the trees,\n That were so freshe and greene,\n Doe all their deintie colors leese, 15\n And not a leafe is seene.\n\n The blacke birde and the thrushe,\n That made the woodes to ringe,\n With all the rest, are now at hushe,\n And not a note they singe. 20\n\n Swete Philomele, the birde\n That hath the heavenly throte,\n Doth nowe, alas! not once afforde\n Recordinge of a note.\n\n The flowers have had a frost, 25\n The herbs have loste their savoure;\n And Phillida the faire hath lost\n \"For me her wonted\" favour.\n\n Thus all these careful sights,\n So kill me in conceit; 30\n That now to hope upon delights,\n It is but meere deceite.\n\n And therefore, my sweete Muse,\n That knowest what helpe is best,\n Doe nowe thy heavenlie conninge use 35\n To sett my harte at rest:\n\n And in a dreame bewraie\n What fate shal be my frende;\n Whether my life shall still decaye,\n Or when my sorrowes ende. 40\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nXV.\n\nLORD THOMAS AND FAIR ELLINOR\n\n\nIs given (with corrections) from an ancient copy in black letter, in\nthe Pepys collection, intitled, _A tragical ballad on the unfortunate\nlove of lord Thomas and fair Ellinor, together with the downfall of\nthe browne girl_.--In the same collection may be seen an attempt to\nmodernize this old song, and reduce it to a different measure: A proof\nof its popularity.\n\nThe reader will find a Scottish song on a similar subject to this,\ntowards the end of this volume, intitled, _Lord Thomas and Lady\nAnnet_.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [This is one of the ballads still kept in print in Seven Dials, and\n Ritson describes it as having \"every appearance of being originally\n a minstrel song.\"\n\n There is a series of ballads on the same subject--\n\n 1. _Lord Thomas and Fair Annet_, (see book iii. No. 4.)\n\n 2. _Fair Margaret and Sweet William_, (see book ii. No. 4.)\n\n 3. _Sweet Willie and Fair Annie_, (Jamieson's _Popular Ballads_, l.\n 22.)\n\n The last named ballad is a combination of the first two, the first\n part being similar to _Lord Thomas_, and the second part to _Fair_\n _Margaret_.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n Lord Thomas he was a bold forrest\u00e8r,\n And a chaser of the kings deere;\n Faire Ellinor was a fine wom\u00e0n,\n And lord Thomas he loved her deare.\n\n Come riddle my riddle, dear mother, he sayd, 5\n And riddle us both as one;\n Whether I shall marrye with faire Ellin\u00f2r,\n And let the browne girl alone?\n\n The browne girl she has got houses and lands,\n Faire Ellinor she has got none, 10\n And therefore I charge thee on my bless\u00ecng,\n To bring me the browne girl home.\n\n And as it befelle on a high holidaye,\n As many there are beside,\n Lord Thomas he went to faire Ellin\u00f2r, 15\n That should have been his bride.\n\n And when he came to faire Ellinors bower,\n He knocked there at the ring,\n And who was so readye as faire Ellin\u00f2r,\n To lett lord Thomas withinn. 20\n\n What newes, what newes, lord Thomas, she sayd?\n What newes dost thou bring to mee?\n I am come to bid thee to my wedd\u00ecng,\n And that is bad newes for thee.\n\n O God forbid, lord Thomas, she sayd, 25\n That such a thing should be done;\n I thought to have been the bride my selfe,\n And thou to have been the bridegrome.\n\n Come riddle my riddle, dear mother, she sayd,[240]\n And riddle it all in one; 30\n Whether I shall goe to lord Thomas his wedding,\n Or whether shall tarry at home?\n\n There are manye that are your friendes, daught\u00e8r,\n And manye a one your foe,\n Therefore I charge you on my blessing, 35\n To lord Thomas his wedding don't goe.\n\n There are manye that are my friendes, moth\u00e8r;\n But were every one my foe,\n Betide me life, betide me death,\n To lord Thomas his wedding I'ld goe. 40\n\n She cloathed herself in gallant attire,\n And her merrye men all in greene;\n And as they rid through every towne,\n They took her to be some queene.\n\n But when she came to lord Thomas his gate, 45\n She knocked there at the ring;\n And who was so readye as lord Thom\u00e0s,\n To lett faire Ellinor in.\n\n Is this your bride, fair Ellinor sayd?\n Methinks she looks wonderous browne; 50\n Thou mightest have had as faire a wom\u00e0n,\n As ever trod on the grounde.\n\n Despise her not, fair Ellin, he sayd,\n Despise her not unto mee;\n For better I love thy little fing\u00e8r, 55\n Than all her whole bod\u00e8e.\n\n This browne bride had a little penknife,\n That was both long and sharpe,\n And betwixt the short ribs and the long,\n She prickd faire Ellinor's harte. 60\n\n O Christ thee save, lord Thomas, hee sayd,\n Methinks thou lookst wonderous wan;\n Thou usedst to look with as fresh a col\u00f2ur,\n As ever the sun shone on.\n\n Oh, art thou blind, lord Thomas? she sayd, 65\n Or canst thou not very well see?\n Oh! dost thou not see my owne hearts bloode\n Run trickling down my knee.\n\n Lord Thomas he had a sword by his side;\n As he walked about the halle, 70\n He cut off his brides head from her should\u00e8rs,\n And threw it against the walle.\n\n He set the hilte against the grounde,\n And the point against his harte.\n There never three lovers together did meete, 75\n That sooner againe did parte.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[240] Ver. 29. It should probably be, _Read me, read, &c., i.e._ Advise\nme, advise.\n\n\n\n\nXVI.\n\nCUPID AND CAMPASPE.\n\n\nThis elegant little sonnet is found in the third act of an old play\nintitled _Alexander and Campaspe_, written by John Lilye, a celebrated\nwriter in the time of queen Elizabeth. That play was first printed in\n1591; but this copy is given from a later edition.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [These pretty epigrammatic verses occur in act iii. sc. 5. of\n Lilly's play as a song by Apelles. The first edition of _Campaspe_\n was printed in 1584, and that of 1591, mentioned above, is the\n second edition. This song, however, was omitted in all the editions\n printed before that of E. Blount (_Six Court Comedies, 1632._)]\n\n * * * * *\n\n Cupid and my Campaspe playd\n At cardes for kisses; Cupid payd:\n He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows,\n His mothers doves, and teame of sparrows;\n Loses them too; then down he throws 5\n The coral of his lippe, the rose\n Growing on's cheek (but none knows how)\n With these, the crystal of his browe,\n And then the dimple of his chinne;\n All these did my Campaspe winne. 10\n\n At last he set her both his eyes,\n She won, and Cupid blind did rise.\n O Love! has she done this to thee?\n What shall, alas! become of mee?\n\n\n\n\nXVII.\n\nTHE LADY TURNED SERVING-MAN\n\n\nIs given from a written copy, containing some improvements (perhaps\nmodern ones), upon the popular ballad, intitled, _The famous flower of\nServing-men_: or the _Lady turned Serving-man_.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [It is printed in the _Collection of Old Ballads_ (i. 216) without\n the _improvements_. After verse 56 the first person is changed\n to the third in the original, but Percy altered this and made\n the first person run on throughout. Kinloch (_Ancient Scottish\n Ballads_, p. 95) gives a very mutilated and varied version of this\n ballad in the Scottish dress under the title of _Sweet Willie_,\n which was taken down from the recitation of an old woman in Lanark.\n There is a similar story in Swedish and Danish.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n You beauteous ladyes, great and small,\n I write unto you one and all,\n Whereby that you may understand\n What I have suffered in the land.\n\n I was by birth a lady faire, 5\n An ancient barons only heire,\n And when my good old father dyed,\n Then I became a young knightes bride.\n\n And there my love built me a bower,\n Bedeck'd with many a fragrant flower; 10\n A braver bower you ne'er did see\n Then my true-love did build for mee.\n\n And there I livde a ladye gay,\n Till fortune wrought our loves decay;\n For there came foes so fierce a band, 15\n That soon they over-run the land.\n\n They came upon us in the night,\n And brent my bower, and slew my knight;\n And trembling hid in mans array,\n I scant with life escap'd away. 20\n\n In the midst of this extremit\u00ece,\n My servants all did from me flee:\n Thus was I left myself alone,\n With heart more cold than any stone.\n\n Yet though my heart was full of care, 25\n Heaven would not suffer me to dispaire,\n Wherefore in haste I chang'd my name\n From faire Elise, to sweet Williame:\n\n And therewithall I cut my haire,\n Resolv'd my man's attire to weare; 30\n And in my beaver, hose and band,\n I travell'd far through many a land.\n\n At length all wearied with my toil,\n I sate me downe to rest awhile;\n My heart it was so fill'd with woe, 35\n That downe my cheeke the teares did flow.\n\n It chanc'd the king of that same place\n With all his lords a hunting was,\n And seeing me weepe, upon the same\n Askt who I was, and whence I came. 40\n\n Then to his grace I did replye,\n I am a poore and friendlesse boye,\n Though nobly borne, nowe forc'd to bee\n A serving-man of lowe degree.\n\n Stand up, faire youth, the king reply'd, 45\n For thee a service I'll provyde:\n But tell me first what thou canst do;\n Thou shalt be fitted thereunto.\n\n Wilt thou be usher of my hall,\n To wait upon my nobles all? 50\n Or wilt be taster of my wine,\n To 'tend on me when I shall dine?\n\n Or wilt thou be my chamberlaine,\n About my person to remaine?\n Or wilt thou be one of my guard, 55\n And I will give thee great reward?\n\n Chuse, gentle youth, said he, thy place.\n Then I reply'd, If it please your grace\n To shew such favour unto mee,\n Your chamberlaine I faine would bee. 60\n\n The king then smiling gave consent,\n And straitwaye to his court I went;\n Where I behavde so faithfull\u00ece,\n That hee great favour showd to mee.\n\n Now marke what fortune did provide; 65\n The king he would a hunting ride\n With all his lords and noble traine,\n Sweet William must at home remaine.\n\n Thus being left alone behind,\n My former state came in my mind: 70\n I wept to see my mans array;\n No longer now a ladye gay.\n\n And meeting with a ladyes vest,\n Within the same myself I drest;\n With silken robes, and jewels rare, 75\n I deckt me, as a ladye faire:\n\n And taking up a lute straitwaye,\n Upon the same I strove to play;\n And sweetly to the same did sing,\n As made both hall and chamber ring. 80\n\n \"My father was as brave a lord,\n As ever Europe might afford;\n My mother was a lady bright;\n My husband was a valiant knight:\n\n \"And I myself a ladye gay, 85\n Bedeckt with gorgeous rich array;\n The happiest lady in the land,\n Had not more pleasure at command.\n\n \"I had my musicke every day\n Harmonious lessons for to play; 90\n I had my virgins fair and free,\n Continually to wait on mee.\n\n \"But now, alas! my husband's dead,\n And all my friends are from me fled,\n My former days are past and gone, 95\n And I am now a serving-man.\"\n\n And fetching many a tender sigh,\n As thinking no one then was nigh,\n In pensive mood I laid me lowe,\n My heart was full, the tears did flowe. 100\n\n The king, who had a huntinge gone,\n Grewe weary of his sport anone,\n And leaving all his gallant traine,\n Turn'd on the sudden home againe:\n\n And when he reach'd his statelye tower, 105\n Hearing one sing within his bower,\n He stopt to listen, and to see\n Who sung there so melodiousl\u00ece.\n\n Thus heard he everye word I sed,\n And saw the pearlye teares I shed, 110\n And found to his amazement there,\n Sweete William was a ladye faire.\n\n Then stepping in, Faire ladye, rise,\n And dry, said he, those lovelye eyes,\n For I have heard thy mournful tale, 115\n The which shall turne to thy availe.\n\n A crimson dye my face orespred,\n I blusht for shame, and hung my head,\n To find my sex and story knowne,\n When as I thought I was alone. 120\n\n But to be briefe, his royall grace\n Grewe so enamour'd of my face,\n The richest gifts he proffered mee,\n His mistress if that I would bee.\n\n Ah! no, my liege, I firmlye sayd, 125\n I'll rather in my grave be layd,\n And though your grace hath won my heart,\n I ne'er will act soe base a part.\n\n Faire ladye, pardon me, sayd hee,\n Thy virtue shall rewarded bee, 130\n And since it is soe fairly tryde\n Thou shalt become my royal bride.\n\n Then strait to end his amorous strife,\n He tooke sweet William to his wife.\n The like before was never seene, 135\n A serving-man became a queene.\n\n [***]\n\n\n\n\nXVIII.\n\nGIL MORRICE.\n\n\n A SCOTTISH BALLAD.\n\nThe following piece hath run thro' two editions in Scotland: the\nsecond was printed at Glasgow in 1755, 8vo. Prefixed to them both is\nan advertisement, setting forth that the preservation of this poem\nwas owing \"to a lady, who favoured the printers with a copy, as it\nwas carefully collected from the mouths of old women and nurses;\" and\n\"any reader that can render it more correct or complete,\" is desired\nto oblige the public with such improvements. In consequence of this\nadvertisement sixteen additional verses have been produced and handed\nabout in manuscript, which are here inserted in their proper places:\n(these are from ver. 109, to ver. 121, and from ver. 124, to ver. 129,\nbut are perhaps, after all, only an ingenious interpolation.)\n\nAs this poem lays claim to a pretty high antiquity, we have assigned it\na place among our early pieces: though, after all, there is reason to\nbelieve it has received very considerable modern improvements: for in\nthe Editor's ancient MS. collection is a very old imperfect copy of the\nsame ballad: wherein though the leading features of the story are the\nsame, yet the colouring here is so much improved and heightened, and so\nmany additional strokes are thrown in, that it is evident the whole has\nundergone a revisal.\n\nThis little pathetic tale suggested the plot of the tragedy of\n_Douglas_.\n\nSince it was first printed, the Editor has been assured that the\nforegoing ballad is still current in many parts of Scotland, where the\nhero is universally known by the name of _Child Maurice_, pronounced by\nthe common people _Cheild_ or _Cheeld_; which occasioned the mistake.\n\nIt may be proper to mention that other copies read ver. 110, thus:\n\n \"Shot frae the golden sun\"\n\nAnd ver. 116, as follows:\n\n \"His een like azure sheene.\"\n\nN.B. The Editor's MS. instead of \"lord Barnard,\" has \"John Stewart;\"\nand instead of \"Gil Morrice,\" _Child Maurice_, which last is probably\nthe original title. See above, p. 58.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [_Gil Maurice_ is one of the most popular of the old ballads and it\n is also one of the most corrupt. The present copy is so tinkered\n that it is not surprising Burns regarded the ballad as a modern\n composition and classed it with _Hardyknute_, a position afterwards\n taken up by Robert Chambers in his pamphlet _The Romantic Scottish\n Ballads, their epoch and authorship_. The fact however that the\n story is preserved in the Folio MS. and also in several other\n forms obtained from tradition prove it to be an authentic ballad.\n Jamieson thinks it has all the appearance of being a true narrative\n of some incident that had really taken place. Motherwell devotes\n several pages of his _Minstrelsy_ (pp. 257-286) to an account\n of the various versions. He says that tradition points out the\n \"green wood\" of the ballad in the ancient forest of Dundaff in\n Stirlingshire.\n\n The request for additions mentioned above by Percy was a tempting\n bait eagerly caught at, and the edition of 1755 was a made up\n text with additional verses. Besides vv. 109-120, 125-128, which\n are known to be interpolations, Professor Child (_English and\n Scottish Ballads_, vol. ii. p. 38) also degrades to the foot of the\n page the verses from 177 to the end, on the authority of Jamieson,\n who says, that \"having been attentive to all the proceedings in\n most of the trials at the bar of ballad criticism I may venture\n to hazard an opinion that the genuine text ends with 'ver. 176.'\"\n Ritson and Motherwell are of the same opinion. Sir Walter Scott\n notes on the interpolated verses, \"In the beautiful and simple\n ballad of _Gil Morris_ some affected person has stuck in one or two\n factitious verses which, like vulgar persons in a drawing room,\n betray themselves by their over-finery.\"\n\n The fine copy in the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii.\n p. 500), which Jamieson thought debased and totally unworthy of the\n subject, which Chambers calls \"a poor, bald imperfect composition,\"\n and Mr. Hales more accurately designates as \"a noble specimen\n of our ballad poetry in all its strength,\" was first printed by\n Jamieson (_Popular Ballads and Songs_, 1806, vol. i. p. 8), and is\n now added to the present version. The last stanza of the Folio MS.\n copy is identical with the last stanza but one of _Little Musgrave_\n _and Lady Barnard_, with which it seems to have some connection\n both in subject and name.\n\n Prof. Aytoun points out that vv. 51-58 of Percy's copy, which are\n now placed within brackets, are taken from _Lady Maisry_, a ballad\n obtained from recitation and printed by Jamieson (vol. i. p. 73).\n\n \"O whan he came to broken briggs\n He bent his bow and swam,\n And whan he came to the green grass growin'\n He slack'd his shoon and ran.\n\n And whan he came to Lord William's yeats\n He badena to chap or ca',\n But set his bent bow to his breast\n And lightly lap the wa'.\"\n\n It is however only fair to Percy to say that he printed _Gil\n Morice_ before _Lady Maisry_ was published.\n\n Gray wrote to a friend, \"I have got the old Scotch ballad on which\n _Douglas_ was founded; it is divine, and as long as from hence\n [Cambridge] to Aston.\"\n\n Jamieson says, on the authority of Sir Walter Scott, that after the\n appearance of Home's _Douglas_ six additional stanzas, beginning--\n\n \"She heard him speak, but fell despair\n Sat rooted in her heart\n She heard him, and she heard nae mair\n Though sair she rued the smart,\"\n\n were written to complete the ballad, and in accordance with the\n final catastrophe of the tragedy Lord Barnard rushes into the\n thickest of the fight--\n\n \"and meets the death he sought.\"\n\n When the play was produced in Edinburgh in 1756 the heroine was\n named Lady Barnard, and the alteration to Lady Randolph was made on\n its appearance in England in the following year.\n\n Jamieson gives three stanzas of a traditional version of the\n ballad, the whole of which neither he nor Motherwell could recover,\n although Mr. Sharpe told the latter that they were incorporated in\n an Annandale version which contained a novel feature in the story.\n\n Motherwell prints a version called _Chield Morice_, which he\n took down from the recitation of an old woman of 70 in 1827, and\n which she had learned in infancy from her grandmother. She told\n Motherwell \"that at a later period of her life she also committed\n to memory _Gill Morice_, which began with young lasses like her to\n be a greater favourite, and more fashionable than the set which\n her grandmother and other old folks used to sing under the title\n of _Chield Morice_.\" He also prints _Child Moryce_, taken down\n from the singing of widow M'Cormick of Paisley in 1825, and adds\n his opinion that Morice and Maurice are evident corruptions of\n Norice--a foster child. The story of Langhorne's _Owen of Carron_\n is also taken from this ballad.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n Gil Morrice was an erl\u00e8s son,\n His name it waxed wide;\n It was nae for his great rich\u00e8s,\n Nor yet his mickle pride;\n Bot it was for a lady gay, 5\n That livd on Carron side.\n\n Quhair sall I get a bonny boy,\n That will win hose and shoen;\n That will gae to lord Barnards ha',\n And bid his lady cum? 10\n And ye maun rin my errand, Willie;[241]\n And ye may rin wi' pride;\n Quhen other boys gae on their foot,\n On horse-back ye sall ride.\n\n O no! Oh no! my master dear! 15\n I dare nae for my life;\n I'll no gae to the bauld bar\u00f2ns,\n For to triest furth his wife.\n My bird Willie, my boy Willie;\n My dear Willie, he sayd: 20\n How can ye strive against the stream?\n For I sall be obeyd.\n\n Bot, O my master dear! he cryd,\n In grene wod ye're your lain;[242]\n Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ye rede,[243] 25\n For fear ye should be tain.\n Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha',\n Bid hir cum here wi speid:\n If ye refuse my heigh command,\n Ill gar your body bleid. 30\n\n Gae bid hir take this gay mant\u00e8l,\n 'Tis a' gowd bot the hem;[244]\n Bid hir cum to the gude grene wode,\n And bring nane bot hir lain:\n And there it is, a silken sarke, 35\n Her ain hand sewd the sleive;\n And bid hir cum to Gill Morice,\n Speir nae bauld barons leave.\n\n Yes, I will gae your black errand,\n Though it be to your cost; 40\n Sen ye by me will nae be warn'd,\n In it ye sall find frost.\n The baron he is a man of might,\n He neir could bide to taunt,\n As ye will see before its nicht, 45\n How sma' ye hae to vaunt.\n\n And sen I maun your errand rin\n Sae sair against my will,\n I'se mak a vow and keip it trow,\n It sall be done for ill. 50\n [And quhen he came to broken brigue,\n He bent his bow and swam;\n And quhen he came to grass growing,\n Set down his feet and ran.\n\n And quhen he came to Barnards ha', 55\n Would neither chap[245] nor ca':\n Bot set his bent bow to his breist,\n And lichtly lap the wa'.][246]\n He wauld nae tell the man his errand,\n Though he stude at the gait; 60\n Bot straiht into the ha' he cam,\n Quhair they were set at meit.\n\n Hail! hail! my gentle sire and dame!\n My message winna waite;\n Dame, ye maun to the gude grene wod 65\n Before that it be late.\n Ye're bidden tak this gay mant\u00e8l,\n Tis a' gowd bot the hem:[244]\n You maun gae to the gude grene wode,\n Ev'n by your sel alane. 70\n\n And there it is, a silken sarke,\n Your ain hand sewd the sleive;\n Ye maun gae speik to Gill Mor\u00ecce;\n Speir nae bauld barons leave.\n The lady stamped wi' hir foot, 75\n And winked wi' hir ee;\n Bot a' that she coud say or do,\n Forbidden he wad nae bee.\n\n Its surely to my bow'r-wom\u00e0n;\n It neir could be to me. 80\n I brocht it to lord Barnards lady;\n I trow that ye be she.\n Then up and spack the wylie nurse,\n (The bairn upon hir knee)\n If it be cum frae Gill Morice, 85\n It's deir welcum to mee.\n\n Ye leid, ye leid, ye filthy nurse,\n Sae loud I heird ye lee;[247]\n I brocht it to lord Barnards lady;\n I trow ye be nae shee. 90\n Then up and spack the bauld bar\u00f2n,\n An angry man was hee;\n He's tain the table wi' his foot,\n Sae has he wi' his knee;\n Till siller cup and 'mazer'[248] dish 95\n In flinders he gard flee.[249]\n\n Gae bring a robe of your clid\u00ecng,[250]\n That hings upon the pin;\n And I'll gae to the gude grene wode,\n And speik wi' your lemm\u00e0n. 100\n O bide at hame, now lord Barn\u00e0rd,\n I warde ye bide at hame;\n Neir wyte[251] a man for violence,\n That neir wate[252] ye wi' nane.\n\n Gil Morice sate in gude grene wode, 105\n He whistled and he sang':\n O what mean a' the folk com\u00ecng,\n My mother tarries lang.\n [His hair was like the threeds of gold,\n Drawne frae Minervas loome: 110\n His lipps like roses drapping dew,\n His breath was a' perfume.\n\n His brow was like the mountain snae\n Gilt by the morning beam:\n His cheeks like living roses glow: 115\n His een like azure stream.\n The boy was clad in robes of grene,\n Sweete as the infant spring:\n And like the mavis on the bush,\n He gart the vallies ring.] 120\n\n The baron came to the grene wode,\n Wi' mickle dule and care,\n And there he first spied Gill Mor\u00ecce\n Kameing his yellow hair:\n [That sweetly wavd around his face, 125\n That face beyond compare:\n He sang sae sweet it might dispel,\n A' rage but fell despair.][253]\n\n Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gill Mor\u00ecce,\n My lady loed thee weel, 130\n The fairest part of my bodie\n Is blacker than thy heel.\n Yet neir the less now, Gill Mor\u00ecce,\n For a' thy great beauti\u00e8,\n Ye's rew the day ye eir was born; 135\n That head sall gae wi' me.\n\n Now he has drawn his trusty brand,\n And slaited on the strae;[254]\n And thro' Gill Morice' fair body\n He's gar cauld iron gae. 140\n And he has tain Gill Morice' head\n And set it on a speir;\n The meanest man in a' his train\n Has gotten that head to bear.\n\n And he has tain Gill Morice up, 145\n Laid him across his steid,\n And brocht him to his painted bowr\n And laid him on a bed.\n The lady sat on castil wa',\n Beheld baith dale and doun; 150\n And there she saw Gill Morice' head\n Cum trailing to the toun.\n\n Far better I loe that bluidy head,\n Both and that yellow hair,\n Than lord Barnard, and a' his lands, 155\n As they lig here and thair.\n And she has tain her Gill Morice,\n And kissd baith mouth and chin:\n I was once as fow of Gill Morice,\n As the hip is o' the stean.[255] 160\n\n I got ye in my father's house,\n Wi' mickle sin and shame;\n I brocht thee up in gude grene wode,\n Under the heavy rain.\n Oft have I by thy cradle sitten, 165\n And fondly seen thee sleip;\n But now I gae about thy grave,\n The saut tears for to weip.\n\n And syne she kissd his bluidy cheik,\n And syne his bluidy chin: 170\n O better I loe my Gill Morice\n Than a' my kith and kin!\n Away, away, ye ill wom\u00e0n,\n And an il deith mait ye dee:\n Gin I had kend he'd bin your son, 175\n He'd neir bin slain for mee.\n\n [Obraid me not, my lord Barnard!\n Obraid me not for shame!\n Wi' that saim speir O pierce my heart!\n And put me out o' pain. 180\n Since nothing bot Gill Morice head\n Thy jelous rage could quell,\n Let that saim hand now tak hir life,\n That neir to thee did ill.\n\n To me nae after days nor nichts 185\n Will eir be saft or kind;\n I'll fill the air with heavy sighs,\n And greet till I am blind.\n Enouch of blood by me's bin spilt,\n Seek not your death frae mee; 190\n I rather lourd it had been my sel\n Than eather him or thee.\n\n With waefo wae I hear your plaint;\n Sair, sair I rew the deid,\n That eir this cursed hand of mine 195\n Had gard his body bleid.\n Dry up your tears, my winsome dame,\n Ye neir can heal the wound;\n Ye see his head upon the speir,\n His heart's blude on the ground. 200\n\n I curse the hand that did the deid,\n The heart that thocht the ill;\n The feet that bore me wi' silk speid,\n The comely youth to kill.\n I'll ay lament for Gill Morice, 205\n As gin he were mine ain;\n I'll neir forget the dreiry day\n On which the youth was slain.]\n\n[Illustration]\n\n * * * * *\n\n [The following is copied from the Folio MS. (ed. H. & F. vol. 2.\n pp. 502-506.)\n\n Childe Maurice hunted ithe siluen wood,\n he hunted itt round about,\n & noebodye that he ffound therin,\n nor none there was with-out. 4\n\n & he tooke his siluer combe in his hand,\n to kembe his yellow lockes;\n he sayes, \"come hither, thou litle ffoot page,\n that runneth lowlye by my knee; 8\n ffor thou shalt goe to Iohn stewards wiffe\n & pray her speake with mee.\n\n \"& as itt ffalls out many times,\n as knotts beene knitt on a kell, 12\n or Marchant men gone to Leeue London\n either to buy ware or sell,\n\n \"I, and greete thou doe that Ladye well,\n euer soe well ffroe mee,-- 16\n And as itt ffalles out many times\n as any hart can thinke,\n\n \"as schoole masters are in any schoole house\n writting with pen and Iinke,-- 20\n ffor if I might, as well as shee may,\n this night I wold with her speake.\n\n \"& heere I send her a mantle of greene,\n as greene as any grasse, 24\n & bidd her come to the siluer wood\n to hunt with Child Maurice;\n\n \"& there I send her a ring of gold,\n a ring of precyous stone, 28\n & bidd her come to the siluer wood;\n let ffor no kind of man.\"\n\n one while this litle boy he yode,\n another while he ran; 32\n vntill he came to Iohn Stewards hall,\n I-wis he neuer blan.\n\n & of nurture the child had good;\n hee ran vp hall & bower ffree, 36\n & when he came to this Lady ffaire,\n sayes, \"god you saue and see!\n\n \"I am come ffrom Ch[i]ld Maurice,\n a message vnto thee; 40\n & Child Maurice, he greetes you well,\n & euer soe well ffrom mee.\n\n \"& as itt ffalls out oftentimes,\n as knotts beene knitt on a kell, 44\n or Marchant men gone to leeue London,\n either ffor to buy ware or sell,\n\n \"& as oftentimes he greetes you well\n as any hart can thinke, 48\n or schoole masters in any schoole\n wryting with pen and inke;\n\n \"& heere he sends a Mantle of greene,\n as greene as any grasse, 52\n & he bidds you come to the siluer wood,\n to hunt with Child Maurice.\n\n \"& heere he sends you a ring of gold,\n a ring of the precyous stone, 56\n he prayes you to come to the siluer wood,\n let ffor no kind of man.\"\n\n \"now peace, now peace, thou litle ffootpage,\n ffor Christes sake, I pray thee! 60\n ffor if my lord heare one of these words,\n thou must be hanged hye!\"\n\n Iohn steward stood vnder the Castle wall,\n & he wrote the words euerye one, 64\n & he called vnto his horskeeper,\n \"make readye you my steede!\"\n I, and soe hee did to his Chamberlaine,\n \"make readye then my weede!\" 68\n\n & he cast a lease[256] vpon his backe,\n & he rode to the siluer wood;\n & there he sought all about,\n about the siluer wood, 72\n\n & there he ffound him Child Maurice\n sitting vpon a blocke,\n with a siluer combe in his hand\n kembing his yellow locke. 76\n\n he sayes, \"how now, how now, Child Maurice?\n alacke! how may this bee?\"\n but then stood vp him Child Maurice,\n & sayd these words trulye: 80\n\n \"I doe not know your Ladye,\" he said,\n \"if that I doe her see.\"\n \"ffor thou hast sent her loue tokens,\n more now then 2 or 3; 84\n\n \"ffor thou hast sent her a mantle of greene,\n as greene as any grasse,\n & bade her come to the siluer woode\n to hunt with Child Maurice; 88\n\n \"& thou [hast] sent her a ring of gold,\n a ring of precyous stone,\n & bade her come to the siluer wood,\n let ffor noe kind of man. 92\n\n \"and by my ffaith, now, Child Maurice,\n the tone of vs shall dye!\"\n \"Now be my troth,\" sayd Child Maurice,\n \"& that shall not be I.\" 96\n\n but hee pulled forth a bright browne sword\n & dryed itt on the grasse,\n & soe ffast he smote att Iohn Steward,\n I-wisse he neuer rest. 100\n\n then hee pulled fforth his bright browne sword,\n & dryed itt on his sleeue;\n & the ffirst good stroke Iohn Stewart stroke,\n Child Maurice head he did cleeue; 104\n\n & he pricked itt on his swords poynt,\n went singing there beside,\n & he rode till he came to that Ladye ffaire\n wheras this ladye Lyed; 108\n\n and sayes \"dost thou know Child Maurice head\n if that thou dost itt see?\n & lapp itt soft, & kisse itt offt,\n ffor thou louedst him better then mee.\" 112\n\n but when shee looked on Child Maurice head\n shee neuer spake words but 3,\n \"I neuer beare no Child but one,\n & you haue slaine him trulye.\" 116\n\n sayes, \"wicked by my merry men all,\n I gaue Meate, drinke, & Clothe!\n but cold they not haue holden me\n when I was in all that wrath? 120\n\n \"ffor I haue slaine one of the curteouse[s]t Knights\n that euer bestrode a steed!\n soe haue I done one [of] the fairest Ladyes\n that euer ware womans weede!\" 124\n\n ffins]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[241] Ver. 11. something seems wanting here.\n\n[242] [alone by yourself.]\n\n[243] [advise.]\n\n[244] Ver. 32, and 68, perhaps, _'bout the hem_.\n\n[245] [knock.]\n\n[246] V. 58. Could this be the wall of the castle?\n\n[247] Ver. 88. Perhaps, _loud say I heire_.\n\n[248] _i.e._ a drinking cup of maple: other edit. read _ezar_.\n\n[249] [in splinters he made fly.]\n\n[250] [clothing.]\n\n[251] [blame.]\n\n[252] [blamed.]\n\n[253] Ver. 128. So Milton,--\n\n \"Vernal delight and joy: able to drive\n All sadness but despair.\"--\n\n B. iv. v. 155.\n\n[254] [and wiped it on the grass.]\n\n[255] [as the berry is of the stone.]\n\n[256] leash, thong, cord?--F.\n\n THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY, ETC.\n\n SERIES THE THIRD.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK II.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nI.\n\nTHE LEGEND OF SIR GUY\n\n\nContains a short summary of the exploits of this famous champion, as\nrecorded in the old story books; and is commonly intitled, \"A pleasant\nsong of the valiant deeds of chivalry atchieved by that noble knight\nsir Guy of Warwick, who, for the love of fair Phelis, became a hermit,\nand dyed in a cave of craggy rocke, a mile distant from Warwick.\"\n\nThe history of Sir Guy, tho' now very properly resigned to children,\nwas once admired by all readers of wit and taste: for taste and wit\nhad once their childhood. Although of English growth, it was early a\nfavourite with other nations: it appeared in French in 1525; and is\nalluded to in the old Spanish romance _Tirante el Blanco_, which, it is\nbelieved, was written not long after the year 1430. See advertisement\nto the French translation, 2 vols. 12mo.\n\nThe original whence all these stories are extracted is a very ancient\nromance in old English verse, which is quoted by Chaucer as a\ncelebrated piece even in his time (viz.:--\n\n \"Men speken of romances of price,\n Of Horne childe and Ippotis,\n Of Bevis, and sir Guy,\" &c.--_R. of Thop._)\n\nand was usually sung to the harp at Christmas dinners and brideales, as\nwe learn from Puttenham's _Art of Poetry_, 4to. 1589.\n\nThis ancient romance is not wholly lost. An imperfect copy in black\nletter, \"Imprynted at London----for Wylliam Copland,\" in 34 sheets\n4to. without date, is still preserved among Mr. Garrick's collection\nof old plays. As a specimen of the poetry of this antique rhymer, take\nhis description of the dragon mentioned in v. 105 of the following\nballad:--\n\n \"----A messenger came to the king.\n Syr king, he sayd, lysten me now,\n For bad tydinges I bring you,\n In Northumberlande there is no man,\n But that they be slayne everychone:\n For there dare no man route,\n By twenty myle rounde aboute,\n For doubt of a fowle dragon,\n That sleath men and beastes downe.\n He is blacke as any cole,\n Rugged as a rough fole;\n His bodye from the navill upwarde\n No man may it pierce it is so harde;\n His neck is great as any summere;\n He renneth as swifte as any distrere;\n Pawes he hath as a lyon:\n All that he toucheth he sleath dead downe.\n Great winges he hath to flight,\n That is no man that bare him might.\n There may no man fight him agayne,\n But that he sleath him certayne:\n For a fowler beast then is he,\n Ywis of none never heard ye.\"\n\nSir William Dugdale is of opinion that the story of Guy is not wholly\napocryphal, tho' he acknowledges the monks have sounded out his praises\ntoo hyperbolically. In particular, he gives the duel fought with the\nDanish champion as a real historical truth, and fixes the date of it in\nthe year 926, \u00c6tat. Guy, 67. See his _Warwickshire_.\n\nThe following is written upon the same plan as ballad v. book i., but\nwhich is the original and which the copy cannot be decided. This song\nis ancient, as may be inferred from the idiom preserved in the margin,\nv. 94, 102: and was once popular, as appears from Fletcher's _Knight of\nthe Burning Pestle_, act 2, sc. ult.\n\nIt is here published from an ancient MS. copy in the editor's old folio\nvolume, collated with two printed ones, one of which is in black letter\nin the Pepys collection.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [Guy was one of the most popular of the heroes of romance, and the\n Folio MS. contains three pieces upon his history, viz., the two\n printed here and _Guy and Colbrand_.\n\n The original of the present ballad in the Folio MS., entitled _Guy\n and Phillis_ (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 201), is a mere\n fragment beginning with verse 89. Percy tore out certain leaves\n to send to the printer, and in consequence the whole of _King\n Estmere_ and the beginning of this ballad are lost. Alterations\n have been made in nearly every verse by the help of the printed\n copies. _Guy and Phillis_ was entered on the Stationers' books, 5th\n January, 1591-2.\n\n We are told by Dugdale that an English traveller, about the\n year 1410, was hospitably received at Jerusalem by the Soldan's\n lieutenant, who, hearing that Lord Beauchamp \"was descended from\n the famous Guy of Warwick, whose story they had in books of their\n own language, invited him to his palace; and royally feasting him,\n presented him with three precious stones of great value, besides\n divers cloaths of silk and gold given to his servants.\" Dugdale's\n authority for this story was John Rous, a priest of the chapel at\n Guy's Cliff, near Warwick, who compiled a biography of the hero, in\n which all the incidents of the romance are narrated as sober fact.\n The constant praises of the hero bored some people, and Corbet, in\n his _Iter Boreale_, expressed the hope that he should hear no more\n of him--\n\n \"May all the ballads be call'd in and dye\n Which sing the warrs of Colebrand and Sir Guy.\"\n\n Much valuable information on this subject will be found in Mr.\n Hale's interesting introduction to the Guy poems in the Folio MS.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n Was ever knight for ladyes sake\n Soe tost in love, as I sir Guy\n For Phelis fayre, that lady bright\n As ever man beheld with eye?\n\n She gave me leave myself to try,\n The valiant knight with sheeld and speare,\n Ere that her love shee wold grant me;\n Which made mee venture far and neare.\n\n Then proved I a baron bold,[257]\n In deeds of armes the doughtyest knight\n That in those dayes in England was,\n With sworde and speare in feild to fight.\n\n An English man I was by birthe:\n In faith of Christ a christyan true:\n The wicked lawes of infidells 15\n I sought by prowesse to subdue.\n\n 'Nine' hundred twenty yeere and odde[258]\n After our Saviour Christ his birth,\n When king Ath\u00e8lstone wore the crowne,\n I lived heere upon the earth. 20\n\n Sometime I was of Warwicke erle,\n And, as I sayd, of very truth\n A ladyes love did me constraine\n To seeke strange ventures in my youth.\n\n To win me fame by feates of armes 25\n In strange and sundry heathen lands;\n Where I atchieved for her sake\n Right dangerous conquests with my hands.\n\n For first I sayled to Normandye,\n And there I stoutlye wan in fight 30\n The emperours daughter of Almaine,\n From manye a vallyant worthye knight.\n\n Then passed I the seas to Greece\n To helpe the emperour in his right;\n Against the mightye souldans hoaste 35\n Of puissant Persians for to fight.\n\n Where I did slay of Sarazens,\n And heathen pagans, manye a man;\n And slew the souldans cozen deere,\n Who had to name doughtye Coldr\u00e0n. 40\n\n Eskeldered a famous knight\n To death likewise I did pursue:\n And Elmayne king of Tyre alsoe,\n Most terrible in fight to viewe.\n\n I went into the souldans hoast, 45\n Being thither on embassage sent,\n And brought his head awaye with mee;\n I having slaine him in his tent.\n\n There was a dragon in that land\n Most fiercelye mett me by the waye 50\n As hee a lyon did pursue,\n Which I myself did alsoe slay.\n\n Then soon I past the seas from Greece,\n And came to Pavye land aright:\n Where I the duke of Pavye killed, 55\n His hainous treason to requite.\n\n To England then I came with speede,\n To wedd faire Phelis lady bright:\n For love of whome I travelled farr\n To try my manhood and my might. 60\n\n But when I had espoused her,\n I stayd with her but fortye dayes,\n Ere that I left this ladye faire,\n And went from her beyond the seas.\n\n All cladd in gray, in pilgrim sort, 65\n My voyage from her I did take\n Unto the blessed Holy-land,\n For Jesus Christ my Saviours sake.\n\n Where I erle Jonas did redeeme,\n And all his sonnes which were fifteene, 70\n Who with the cruell Sarazens\n In prison for long time had beene.\n\n I slew the gyant Amarant\n In battel fiercelye hand to hand:\n And doughty Barknard killed I, 75\n A treacherous knight of Pavye land.\n\n Then I to England came againe,\n And here with Colbronde fell I fought:\n An ugly gyant, which the Danes\n Had for their champion hither brought. 80\n\n I overcame him in the feild,\n And slewe him soone right valliantlye;\n Wherebye this land I did redeeme\n From Danish tribute utterlye.\n\n And afterwards I offered upp 85\n The use of weapons solemnlye\n At Winchester, whereas I fought,\n In sight of manye farr and nye.\n\n 'But first,' neare Winsor, I did slaye\n A bore of passing might and strength; 90\n Whose like in England never was\n For hugenesse both in bredth, and length.\n\n Some of his bones in Warwicke yett,\n Within the castle there doe lye:[259]\n One of his sheeld-bones to this day 95\n Hangs in the citye of Coventrye.\n\n On Dunsmore heath I alsoe slewe\n A monstrous wyld and cruell beast,\n Calld the Dun-cow of Dunsmore heath;\n Which manye people had opprest. 100\n\n Some of her bones in Warwicke yett\n Still for a monument doe lye;[259]\n And there exposed to lookers viewe\n As wonderous strange, they may espye.\n\n A dragon in Northumberland, 105\n I alsoe did in fight destroye,\n Which did bothe man and beast oppresse,\n And all the countrye sore annoye.\n\n At length to Warwicke I did come,\n Like pilgrim poore and was not knowne; 110\n And there I lived a hermitts life\n A mile and more out of the towne.\n\n Where with my hands I hewed a house\n Out of a craggy rocke of stone;\n And lived like a palmer poore 115\n Within that cave myself alone:\n\n And daylye came to begg my bread\n Of Phelis att my castle gate;\n Not knowne unto my loved wiffe\n Who dailye mourned for her mate. 120\n\n Till att the last I fell sore sicke,\n Yea sicke soe sore that I must dye;\n I sent to her a ring of golde,\n By which shee knew me presentlye.\n\n Then shee repairing to the cave 125\n Before that I gave up the ghost;\n Herself closd up my dying eyes:\n My Phelis faire, whom I lovd most.\n\n Thus dreadful death did me arrest,\n To bring my corpes unto the grave; 130\n And like a palmer dyed I,\n Wherby I sought my soule to save.\n\n My body that endured this toyle,\n Though now it be consumed to mold;\n My statue faire engraven in stone, 135\n In Warwicke still you may behold.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[257] Ver. 9. The proud Sir Guy, _PC._\n\n[258] Ver. 17. Two hundred, MS. and P.\n\n[259] Ver. 94, 102, doth lye, MS.\n\n\n\n\nII.\n\nGUY AND AMARANT.\n\n\nThe Editor found this Poem in his ancient folio manuscript among the\nold ballads; he was desirous therefore that it should still accompany\nthem; and as it is not altogether devoid of merit, its insertion here\nwill be pardoned.\n\nAlthough this piece seems not imperfect, there is reason to believe\nthat it is only part of a much larger poem, which contained the whole\nhistory of sir Guy: for upon comparing it with the common story book\n12mo. we find the latter to be nothing more than this poem reduced to\nprose: which is only effected by now and then altering the rhyme, and\nthrowing out some few of the poetical ornaments. The disguise is so\nslight, that it is an easy matter to pick complete stanzas in any page\nof that book.\n\nThe author of this poem has shown some invention. Though he took the\nsubject from the old romance quoted before, he has adorned it afresh,\nand made the story intirely his own.\n\nThis poem has been discovered to be a fragment of, \"The famous historie\nof Guy earl of Warwicke, by _Samuel Rowlands_, London, printed by J.\nBell, 1649, 4to.\" in xii cantos, beginning thus:\n\n \"When dreadful Mars in armour every day.\"\n\nWhether the edition in 1649, was the first, is not known, but the\nauthor _Sam. Rowlands_ was one of the minor poets who lived in the\nreigns of Q. Elizabeth and James I. and perhaps later. His other poems\nare chiefly of the religious kind, which makes it probable that the\nhist. of Guy was one of his earliest performances.--There are extant\nof his (1.) \"_The betraying of Christ, Judas in dispaire, the seven\nwords of our Saviour on the crosse, with other poems on the passion,\n&c._ 1598, 4to. (Ames Typ. p. 428.)--(2.) _A Theatre of delightful\nRecreation._ Lond. printed for A. Johnson, 1605,\" 4to. (Penes editor.)\nThis is a book of poems on subjects chiefly taken from the old\nTestament. (3.) \"_Memory of Christ's miracles, in verse._ Lond. 1618,\n4to.\" (4.) \"_Heaven's glory, earth's vanity, and hell's horror._\nLond. 1638, 8vo.\" (These two in Bod. Cat.)\n\nIn the present edition the following poem has been much improved from\nthe printed copy.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [This poem is a very poor thing and looks very like a joke in some\n parts. In the Folio MS. Percy has written \"By the elegance of\n language and easy flow of the versification this poem should be\n more modern than the rest.\"\n\n Mr. Furnivall adds to this expression of opinion the following\n note, \"the first bombastic rhodomontade affair in the book.\n Certainly modern and certainly bad\" (Folio MS. ed. Hales and\n Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 136.) Collations from the MS. are added at\n the foot of the page.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n Guy journeyes towards that sanctifyed ground,[260]\n Whereas the Jewes fayre citye sometime stood,\n Wherin our Saviour's sacred head was crowned,\n And where for sinfull man he shed his blood:\n To see the sepulcher was his intent, 5\n The tombe that Joseph unto Jesus lent.\n\n With tedious miles he tyred his wearye feet,\n And passed desart places full of danger,\n At last with a most woefull wight[261] did meet,\n A man that unto sorrow was noe stranger: 10\n For he had fifteen sonnes, made captives all\n To slavish bondage, in extremest thrall.\n\n A gyant called Amarant detaind them,\n Whom noe man durst encounter for his strength:\n Who in a castle, which he held, had chaind them: 15\n Guy questions, where? and understands at length\n The place not farr.--Lend me thy sword, quoth hee,\n Ile lend my manhood all thy sonnes to free.\n\n With that he goes, and lays upon the dore,\n Like one that sayes, I must, and will come in:[262] 20\n The gyant never was soe rowz'd before;[263]\n For noe such knocking at his gate had bin:\n Soe takes his keyes, and clubb, and cometh out\n Staring with ireful countenance about.\n\n Sirra, quoth hee, what busines hast thou heere?[264] 25\n Art come to feast the crowes about my walls?[265]\n Didst never heare, noe ransome can him cleere,[266]\n That in the compasse of my furye falls:\n For making me to take a porters paines,\n With this same clubb I will dash out thy braines. 30\n\n Gyant, quoth Guy, y'are quarrelsome I see,[267]\n Choller and you seem very neere of kin:[268]\n Most dangerous at the clubb belike you bee;[269]\n I have bin better armed, though nowe goe thin;\n But shew thy utmost hate, enlarge thy spight, 35\n Keene is my weapon, and shall doe me right.[270]\n\n Soe draws his sword, salutes him with the same[271]\n About the head, the shoulders, and the side:[272]\n Whilst his erected clubb doth death proclaime,\n Standinge with huge Colossus' spacious stride, 40\n Putting such vigour to his knotty beame,\n That like a furnace he did smoke extreame.\n\n But on the ground he spent his strokes in vaine,\n For Guy was nimble to avoyde them still,\n And ever ere he heav'd his clubb againe,[273] 45\n Did brush his plated coat against his will:[274]\n Att such advantage Guy wold never fayle,\n To bang him soundlye in his coate of mayle.[275]\n\n Att last through thirst the gyant feeble grewe,[276]\n And sayd to Guy, As thou'rt of humane race, 50\n Shew itt in this, give natures wants their dewe,[277]\n Let me but goe, and drinke in yonder place:\n Thou canst not yeeld to \"me\" a smaller thing,\n Than to graunt life, thats given by the spring.[278]\n\n I graunt thee leave, quoth Guye, goe drink thy last,[279] 55\n Go pledge the dragon, and the salvage bore[280]:[281]\n Succeed the tragedyes that they have past,\n But never thinke to taste cold water more:[282]\n Drinke deepe to Death and unto him carouse:[283]\n Bid him receive thee in his earthen house. 60\n\n Soe to the spring he goes, and slakes his thirst;\n Takeing the water in extremely like\n Some wracked shipp that on a rocke is burst,[284]\n Whose forced hulke against the stones does stryke;[285]\n Scooping it in soe fast with both his hands, 65\n That Guy admiring to behold it stands.[286]\n\n Come on, quoth Guy, let us to worke againe,[287]\n Thou stayest about thy liquor overlong;\n The fish, which in the river doe remaine,\n Will want thereby; thy drinking doth them wrong:\n But I will see their satisfaction made, 71\n With gyants blood they must, and shall be payd.\n\n Villaine, quoth Amarant, Ile crush thee streight;\n Thy life shall pay thy daring toungs offence:\n This clubb, which is about some hundred weight, 75\n Is deathes commission to dispatch thee hence:[288]\n Dresse thee for ravens dyett I must needes;\n And breake thy bones, as they were made of reedes.\n\n Incensed much by these bold pagan bostes,[289]\n Which worthye Guy cold ill endure to heare, 80\n He hewes upon those bigg supporting postes,\n Which like two pillars did his body beare:\n Amarant for those wounds in choller growes\n And desperatelye att Guy his clubb he throwes:\n\n Which did directly on his body light, 85\n Soe violent, and weighty there-withall,[290]\n That downe to ground on sudden came the knight;\n And, ere he cold recover from the fall,[291]\n The gyant gott his clubb againe in fist,[292]\n And aimd a stroke that wonderfullye mist.[293] 90\n\n Traytor, quoth Guy, thy falshood Ile repay,\n This coward act to intercept my bloode.\n Sayes Amarant, Ile murther any way,\n With enemyes all vantages are good:\n O could I poyson in thy nostrills blowe, 95\n Besure of it I wold dispatch thee soe.[294]\n\n Its well, said Guy, thy honest thoughts appeare,\n Within that beastlye bulke where devills dwell;\n Which are thy tenants while thou livest heare,\n But will be landlords when thou comest in hell: 100\n Vile miscreant, prepare thee for their den,\n Inhumane monster, hatefull unto men.[295]\n\n But breathe thy selfe a time, while I goe drinke,\n For flameing Ph[oe]bus with his fyerye eye\n Torments me soe with burning heat, I thinke 105\n My thirst wold serve to drinke an ocean drye:\n Forbear a litle, as I delt with thee.\n Quoth Amarant, 'Thou hast noe foole of mee.\n\n Noe, sillye wretch, my father taught more witt,\n How I shold use such enemyes as thou; 110\n By all my gods I doe rejoice at itt,\n To understand that thirst constraines thee now;\n For all the treasure, that the world containes,\n One drop of water shall not coole thy vaines.\n\n Releeve my foe! why, 'twere a madmans part: 115\n Refresh an adversarye to my wrong!\n If thou imagine this, a child thou art:\n Noe, fellow, I have known the world too long\n To be soe simple: now I know thy want,\n A minutes space of breathing I'll not grant.[296] 120\n\n And with these words heaving aloft his clubb\n Into the ayre, he swings the same about:\n Then shakes his lockes, and doth his temples rubb,\n And, like the Cyclops, in his pride doth strout:[297]\n Sirra, sayes hee, I have you at a lift, 125\n Now you are come unto your latest shift.\n\n Perish forever: with this stroke I send thee\n A medicine, that will doe thy thirst much good;[298]\n Take noe more care for drinke before I end thee,\n And then wee'll have carouses of thy blood: 130\n Here's at thee with a butchers downright blow,\n To please my furye with thine overthrow.\n\n Infernall, false, obdurate feend, said Guy,[299]\n That seemst a lumpe of crueltye from hell;[300]\n Ungratefull monster, since thou dost deny[301] 135\n The thing to mee wherin I used thee well:\n With more revenge, than ere my sword did make,\n On thy accursed head revenge Ile take.\n\n Thy gyants longitude shall shorter shrinke,\n Except thy sun-scorcht skin be weapon proof:[302] 140\n Farewell my thirst; I doe disdaine to drinke,\n Streames keepe your waters to your owne behoof;[303]\n Or let wild beasts be welcome thereunto;\n With those pearle drops I will not have to do.\n\n Here, tyrant, take a taste of my good-will,[304] 145\n For thus I doe begin my bloodye bout:\n You cannot chuse but like the greeting ill;\n It is not that same clubb will beare you out;\n And take this payment on thy shaggye crowne.--\n A blowe that brought him with a vengeance downe. 150\n\n Then Guy sett foot upon the monsters brest,\n And from his shoulders did his head divide;\n Which with a yawninge mouth did gape, unblest;\n Noe dragons jawes were ever scene soe wide\n To open and to shut, till life was spent. 155\n Then Guy tooke keyes and to the castle went.\n\n Where manye woefull captives he did find,\n Which had beene tyred with extremityes;\n Whom he in freindly manner did unbind,\n And reasoned with them of their miseryes:[305] 160\n Eche told a tale with teares, and sighes, and cryes,\n All weeping to him with complaining eyes.\n\n There tender ladyes in darke dungeons lay,[306]\n That were surprised in the desart wood,\n And had noe other dyett everye day, 165\n But flesh of humane creatures for their food:[307]\n Some with their lovers bodyes had beene fed,\n And in their wombes their husbands buryed.\n\n Now he bethinkes him of his being there, 169\n To enlarge the wronged brethren from their woes;\n And, as he searcheth, doth great clamours heare,\n By which sad sound's direction on he goes,\n Untill he findes a darksome obscure gate,\n Arm'd strongly ouer all with iron plate.\n\n That he unlockes, and enters, where appeares, 175\n The strangest object that he ever saw;\n Men that with famishment of many yeares,\n Were like deathes picture, which the painters draw;[308]\n Divers of them were hanged by eche thombe;\n Others head-downward: by the middle some. 180\n\n With diligence he takes them from the walle,[309]\n With lybertye their thraldome to acquaint:\n Then the perplexed knight their father calls,[310]\n And sayes, Receive thy sonnes though poore and faint:\n I promisd you their lives, accept of that; 185\n But did not warrant you they shold be fat.[311]\n\n The castle I doe give thee, heere's the keyes,\n Where tyranye for many yeeres did dwell:\n Procure the gentle tender ladyes ease,\n For pittyes sake, use wronged women well:[312] 190\n Men easilye revenge the wrongs men do:[313]\n But poore weake women have not strength thereto.[314]\n\n The good old man, even overjoyed with this,\n Fell on the ground, and wold have kist Guys feete:\n Father, quoth he, refraine soe base a kiss, 195\n For age to honor youth I hold unmeete:\n Ambitious pryde hath hurt mee all it can,\n I goe to mortifie a sinfull man.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[260] [Ver. 1. journeyed ore the.]\n\n[261] Erle Jonas, mentioned in the foregoing ballad.\n\n[262] [V. 20. he sayes that must. MS.]\n\n[263] [Ver. 21. the gyant, he was neere soe.]\n\n[264] [V. 25. sais hee.]\n\n[265] [V. 26. my crowes about the walls.]\n\n[266] [V. 27. cold him.]\n\n[267] [V. 31. saies Guy your quarrelsome.]\n\n[268] [V. 32. are something neere.]\n\n[269] [V. 33. _most_ not in MS., a club.]\n\n[270] [V. 36. heere is the wepon that must doe.]\n\n[271] [V. 37. Soe takes.]\n\n[272] [V. 38. sides.]\n\n[273] [V. 45. and ere he cold recovers clubb againe.]\n\n[274] [V. 46. did beate.]\n\n[275] [V. 48. to beate.]\n\n[276] [Ver. 49. att last through strength, Amarant feeble grew.]\n\n[277] [V. 51. nature wants her.]\n\n[278] [V. 54. then to grant.]\n\n[279] [V. 55. I give.]\n\n[280] Which Guy had slain before\n\n[281] [V. 56. to pledge, beare.]\n\n[282] [V. 58. to drinke cold.]\n\n[283] [V. 59. and after that carrouse.]\n\n[284] [V. 63. on some rocke.]\n\n[285] [V. 64. bulke doe stryke.]\n\n[286] [V. 66. behold him.]\n\n[287] [V. 67. lets to one.]\n\n[288] [V. 76. has deathes.]\n\n[289] [Ver. 79. att this bold pagans bostes.]\n\n[290] [V. 86. soe heavy and soe weaghtye.]\n\n[291] [V. 88. his fall.]\n\n[292] [V. 89. in his fist.]\n\n[293] [V. 90. and stroke a blow.]\n\n[294] [V. 96. I wold destroy.]\n\n[295] [V. 102. hurtfull.]\n\n[296] [Ver. 120. space to thee I will not.]\n\n[297] [strut.]\n\n[298] [V. 128. _that_ not in MS.]\n\n[299] [V. 133. Guy said.]\n\n[300] [V. 134. seemes.]\n\n[301] [V. 135. ingratefull monster since thou hast denyd.]\n\n[302] [Ver. 140. doe weapon prove.]\n\n[303] [V. 142. behoves.]\n\n[304] [V. 145. Hold, tyrant.]\n\n[305] [V. 160. miserye.]\n\n[306] [V. 163. dungeon.]\n\n[307] [V. 166. then flesh.]\n\n[308] [Ver. 178. Will were.]\n\n[309] [V. 181. walls.]\n\n[310] [V. 183. the father.]\n\n[311] [V. 186. promise you.]\n\n[312] [V. 190. pittye sake.]\n\n[313] [V. 191. men may easilye revenge the deeds men doe.]\n\n[314] [V. 192. no strength. MS.]\n\n\n\n\nIII.\n\nTHE AULD GOOD-MAN.\n\n\n A SCOTTISH SONG.\n\nI have not been able to meet with a more ancient copy of this humourous\nold song, than that printed in the _Tea-Table miscellany, &c._ which\nseems to have admitted some corruptions.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [This song is printed in Ramsay's _Tea-Table Miscellany_ as old,\n and it is also given in the _Orpheus Caledonius_, 1725. \"Auld\n goodman\" means a first husband.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n Late in an evening forth I went\n A little before the sun gade down,\n And there I chanc't, by accident,\n To light on a battle new begun:\n A man and his wife wer fawn[315] in a strife, 5\n I canna weel tell ye how it began;\n But aye she wail'd her wretched life,\n Cryeng, Evir alake, mine auld goodman!\n\n HE.\n\n Thy auld goodman, that thou tells of,\n The country kens where he was born, 10\n Was but a silly poor vagabond,\n And ilka ane leugh him to scorn:\n For he did spend and make an end\n Of gear 'his fathers nevir' wan;\n He gart the poor stand frae the door; 15\n Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman.\n\n\n My heart, alake! is liken to break,\n Whan I think on my winsome John,\n His blinkan ee, and gait sae free,\n Was naithing like thee, thou dosend[316] drone; 20\n Wi' his rosie face, and flaxen hair,\n And skin as white as ony swan,\n He was large and tall, and comely withall;\n Thou'lt nevir be like mine auld goodman.\n\n HE.\n\n Why dost thou plein?[317] I thee maintein; 25\n For meal and mawt thou disna want:\n But thy wild bees I canna please,\n Now whan our gear gins to grow scant:\n Of houshold stuff thou hast enough;\n Thou wants for neither pot nor pan; 30\n Of sicklike ware he left thee bare;\n Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman.\n\n SHE.\n\n Yes I may tell, and fret my sell,\n To think on those blyth days I had,\n Whan I and he, together ley 35\n In armes into a well-made bed:\n But now I sigh and may be sad,\n Thy courage is cauld, thy colour wan,\n Thou falds thy feet and fa's asleep;\n Thou'lt nevir be like mine auld goodman. 40\n\n Then coming was the night sae dark,\n And gane was a' the light of day?\n The carle was fear'd to miss his mark,\n And therefore wad nae longer stay:\n Then up he gat, and ran his way, 45\n I trowe, the wife the day she wan;\n And aye the owreword[318] of the fray\n Was, Evir alake! mine auld goodman.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[315] [fallen.]\n\n[316] [dozing or stupid.]\n\n[317] [complain.]\n\n[318] [last word or burden.]\n\n\n\n\nIV.\n\nFAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM.\n\n\nThis seems to be the old song quoted in Fletcher's _Knight of the\nburning pestle_, acts 2d and 3d; altho' the six lines there preserved\nare somewhat different from those in the ballad, as it stands at\npresent. The reader will not wonder at this, when he is informed that\nthis is only given from a modern printed copy picked up on a stall.\nIt's full title is _Fair Margaret's Misfortunes; or Sweet William's\nfrightful dreams on his wedding night, with the sudden death and\nburial of those noble lovers_.--\n\nThe lines preserved in the play are this distich,\n\n \"You are no love for me, Margaret,\n I am no love for you.\"\n\nAnd the following stanza,\n\n \"When it was grown to dark midnight,\n And all were fast asleep,\n In came Margarets grimly ghost\n And stood at Williams feet.\"\n\nThese lines have acquired an importance by giving birth to one of\nthe most beautiful ballads in our own or any language. See the song\nintitled _Margaret's Ghost_, at the end of this volume.\n\nSince the first edition some improvements have been inserted, which\nwere communicated by a lady of the first distinction, as she had heard\nthis song repeated in her infancy.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [The ballads on the two lovers Margaret and William are numerous,\n culminating as they do in Mallet's _William and Margaret_. See\n _Sweet William's Ghost_ (No. 6 in this book) and Mallet's ballad\n (No. 16 of book iii). The present ballad is also in the Douce\n Collection and in that of the late Mr. George Daniel. Jamieson\n prints (_Popular Ballads and Songs_, 1806, vol. i. p. 22) a ballad\n entitled _Sweet Willie and Fair Annie_, which may be divided into\n two parts, the first resembling _Lord Thomas and Fair Elinor_,\n and the second, _Fair Annie's Ghost_, is still more like the\n following ballad.\n\n Mr. Chappell remarks, \"Another point deserving notice in the old\n ballad is that one part of it has furnished the principal subject\n of the modern burlesque ballad _Lord Lovel_, and another that of T.\n Hood's song, _Mary's Ghost_.\"]\n\n * * * * *\n\n As it fell out on a long summer's day\n Two lovers they sat on a hill;\n They sat together that long summer's day,\n And could not talk their fill.\n\n I see no harm by you, Margar\u00e8t, 5\n And you see none by mee;\n Before to-morrow at eight o' the clock\n A rich wedding you shall see.\n\n Fair Margaret sat in her bower-wind\u00f2w,\n Combing her yellow hair; 10\n There she spyed sweet William and his bride,\n As they were a riding near.\n\n Then down she layd her ivory combe,\n And braided her hair in twain:\n She went alive out of her bower, 15\n But ne'er came alive in't again.\n\n When day was gone, and night was come,\n And all men fast asleep,\n Then came the spirit of fair Marg'ret,\n And stood at Williams feet. 20\n\n Are you awake, sweet William? shee said;\n Or, sweet William, are you asleep?\n God give you joy of your gay bride-bed,\n And me of my winding-sheet.\n\n When day was come, and night was gone, 25\n And all men wak'd from sleep,\n Sweet William to his lady sayd,\n My dear, I have cause to weep.\n\n I dreamt a dream, my dear lady\u00e8,\n Such dreames are never good: 30\n I dreamt my bower was full of red 'wine,'[319]\n And my bride-bed full of blood.\n\n Such dreams, such dreams, my honoured Sir,\n They never do prove good;\n To dream thy bower was full of red 'wine,'[319] 35\n And thy bride-bed full of blood.\n\n He called up his merry men all,\n By one, by two, and by three;\n Saying, I'll away to fair Marg'ret's bower,\n By the leave of my ladi\u00e8. 40\n\n And when he came to fair Marg'ret's bower,\n He knocked at the ring;\n And who so ready as her seven brethr\u00e8n\n To let sweet William in.\n\n Then he turned up the covering-sheet, 45\n Pray let me see the dead;\n Methinks she looks all pale and wan,\n She hath lost her cherry red.\n\n I'll do more for thee, Margar\u00e8t,\n Than any of thy kin; 50\n For I will kiss thy pale wan lips,\n Though a smile I cannot win.\n\n With that bespake the seven brethr\u00e8n,\n Making most piteous mone:\n You may go kiss your jolly brown bride, 55\n And let our sister alone.\n\n If I do kiss my jolly brown bride,\n I do but what is right;\n I neer made a vow to yonder poor corpse\n By day, nor yet by night. 60\n\n Deal on, deal on, my merry men all,\n Deal on your cake and your wine[320]:\n For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day,\n Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine.\n\n Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day, 65\n Sweet William dyed the morrow:\n Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love,\n Sweet William dyed for sorrow.\n\n Margaret was buryed in the lower chanc\u00e8l,\n And William in the higher: 70\n Out of her brest there sprang a rose,\n And out of his a briar.\n\n They grew till they grew unto the church-top,\n And then they could grow no higher;\n And there they tyed in a true lovers knot, 75\n Which made all the people admire.\n\n Then came the clerk of the par\u00ecsh,\n As you the truth shall hear,\n And by misfortune cut them down,\n Or they had now been there. 80\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[319] Ver. 31, 35. Swine, _PCC._\n\n[320] Alluding to the dole anciently given at funerals.\n\n\n\n\nV.\n\nBARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY.\n\n\nGiven, with some corrections, from an old black letter copy, intitled,\n_Barbara Allen's cruelty, or the young man's tragedy_.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [It is not clear why Percy separated this English version of\n _Barbara Allen_ from the Scottish version entitled _Sir John\n Grehme and Barbara Allan_ (No. 7).\n\n Goldsmith in his third Essay says, \"the music of the finest singer\n is dissonance to what I felt when our dairy maid sung me into tears\n with _Johnny Armstrong's Last Good Night_, or the _Cruelty of\n Barbara Allen_.\"\n\n It has been suggested that for \"Scarlet towne\" in the first verse\n should be read Carlisle town, but as some printed copies have\n Reading town we may suppose that a pun is intended.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n In Scarlet towne, where I was borne,\n There was a faire maid dwellin,\n Made every youth crye, Wel-awaye!\n Her name was Barbara Allen.\n\n All in the merrye month of may, 5\n When greene buds they were swellin,\n Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay,\n For love of Barbara Allen.\n\n He sent his man unto her then,\n To the town, where shee was dwellin; 10\n You must come to my master deare,\n Giff your name be Barbara Allen.\n\n For death is printed on his face,\n And ore his hart is stealin:\n Then haste away to comfort him, 15\n O lovelye Barbara Allen.\n\n Though death be printed on his face,\n And ore his harte is stealin,\n Yet little better shall he bee,\n For bonny Barbara Allen. 20\n\n So slowly, slowly, she came up,\n And slowly she came nye him;\n And all she sayd, when there she came,\n Young man, I think y'are dying.\n\n He turnd his face unto her strait, 25\n With deadlye sorrow sighing;\n O lovely maid, come pity mee,\n Ime on my deth-bed lying.\n\n If on your death-bed you doe lye,\n What needs the tale you are tellin: 30\n I cannot keep you from your death;\n Farewell, sayd Barbara Allen.\n\n He turnd his face unto the wall,\n As deadlye pangs he fell in:\n Adieu! adieu! adieu to you all, 35\n Adieu to Barbara Allen.\n\n As she was walking ore the fields,\n She heard the bell a knellin;\n And every stroke did seem to saye,\n Unworthy Barbara Allen. 40\n\n She turnd her bodye round about,\n And spied the corps a coming:\n Laye down, laye down the corps, she sayd\n That I may look upon him.\n\n With scornful eye she looked downe, 45\n Her cheeke with laughter swellin;\n Whilst all her friends cryd out amaine,\n Unworthye Barbara Allen.\n\n When he was dead, and laid in grave,\n Her harte was struck with sorrowe, 50\n O mother, mother, make my bed,\n For I shall dye to-morrowe.\n\n Hard harted creature him to slight,\n Who loved me so dearlye:\n O that I had beene more kind to him, 55\n When he was alive and neare me!\n\n She, on her death-bed as she laye,\n Beg'd to be buried by him;\n And sore repented of the daye,\n That she did ere denye him. 60\n\n Farewell, she sayd, ye virgins all,\n And shun the fault I fell in:\n Henceforth take warning by the fall\n Of cruel Barbara Allen.\n\n\n\n\nVI.\n\nSWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST.\n\n\n A SCOTTISH BALLAD.\n\nFrom Allan Ramsay's _Tea-Table Miscellany_. The concluding stanza of\nthis piece seems modern.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [In the previous ballad (No. 4) and in Mallet's _William and\n Margaret_ it is Margaret who appears to William, but in the present\n one and in some other versions William is made to die first. In\n _Clerk Saunders_ (_Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_) Scott has\n joined two distinct stories, and the second part, in which the\n spirit of Clerk Saunders appears to May Margaret, closely resembles\n the present ballad. Besides these there are two other versions.\n Kinloch's, entitled _Sweet William and May Margaret_, and\n Motherwell's _William and Marjorie_. Dr. Rimbault points out that\n the chief incidents in B\u00fcrger's _Leonora_ resemble those in this\n ballad.\n\n The last two stanzas are probably Ramsay's own.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n There came a ghost to Margaret's door,\n With many a grievous grone,\n And ay he tirled at the pin;[321]\n But answer made she none.\n\n Is this my father Philip? 5\n Or is't my brother John?\n Or is't my true love Willie,\n From Scotland new come home?\n\n 'Tis not thy father Philip;\n Nor yet thy brother John: 10\n But tis thy true love Willie\n From Scotland new come home,\n\n O sweet Margret! O dear Margret!\n I pray thee speak to mee:\n Give me my faith and troth, Margret, 15\n As I gave it to thee.\n\n Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get,\n 'Of me shalt nevir win,'\n Till that thou come within my bower,\n And kiss my cheek and chin. 20\n\n If I should come within thy bower,\n I am no earthly man:\n And should I kiss thy rosy lipp,\n Thy days will not be lang.\n\n O sweet Margret, O dear Margret, 25\n I pray thee speak to mee:\n Give me my faith and troth, Margret,\n As I gave it to thee.\n\n Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get,\n 'Of me shalt nevir win,' 30\n Till thou take me to yon kirk yard,\n And wed me with a ring.\n\n My bones are buried in a kirk yard\n Afar beyond the sea,\n And it is but my sprite, Margret, 35\n That's speaking now to thee.\n\n She stretched out her lilly-white hand,\n As for to do her best:\n Hae there your faith and troth, Willie,\n God send your soul good rest. 40\n\n Now she has kilted her robes of green,\n A piece below her knee:\n And a' the live-lang winter night\n The dead corps followed shee.\n\n Is there any room at your head, Willie? 45\n Or any room at your feet?\n Or any room at your side, Willie,\n Wherein that I may creep?\n\n There's nae room at my head, Margret,\n There's nae room at my feet, 50\n There's no room at my side, Margret,\n My coffin is made so meet.\n\n Then up and crew the red red cock,\n And up then crew the gray:\n Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret, 55\n That 'I' were gane away.\n\n [No more the ghost to Margret said,\n But, with a grievous grone,\n Evanish'd in a cloud of mist,\n And left her all alone. 60\n\n O stay, my only true love, stay,\n The constant Margret cried:\n Wan grew her cheeks, she clos'd her een,\n Stretch'd her saft limbs, and died.]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[321] [See note, _ante_, p. 47.]\n\n\n\n\nVII.\n\nSIR JOHN GREHME AND BARBARA ALLAN.\n\n\n A SCOTTISH BALLAD.\n\nPrinted, with a few conjectural emendations, from a written copy.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [Pepys, in Jan. 1665-1666, heard Mrs. Knipp, the actress, sing \"her\n little Scotch song of _Barbery Allen_\" at Lord Brouncker's, and he\n was \"in perfect pleasure to hear her sing\" it. It was first printed\n in Ramsay's _Tea-Table Miscellany_ (ii. 171).\n\n \"I remember,\" says Mr. C. Kirkpatrick Sharpe, \"that the peasantry\n of Annandale sang many more verses of this ballad than have\n appeared in print, but they were of no merit, containing numerous\n magnificent offers from the lover to his mistress, and amongst\n others some ships in sight, which may strengthen the belief that\n this song was composed near the shores of the Solway.\"--_Addit._\n _Illustrations to Stenhouse._]\n\n * * * * *\n\n It was in and about the Martinmas time,\n When the greene leaves wer a fallan;\n That Sir John Grehme o' the west countrye,\n Fell in luve wi' Barbara Allan.\n\n He sent his man down throw the towne, 5\n To the plaice wher she was dwellan:\n O haste and cum to my maister deare,\n Gin ye bin Barbara Allan.\n\n O hooly, hooly raise she up,\n To the plaice wher he was lyan; 10\n And whan she drew the curtain by,\n Young man, I think ye're dyan.[322]\n\n O its I'm sick, and very very sick,\n And its a' for Barbara Allan.\n O the better for me ye'se never be, 15\n Though your harts blude wer spillan.\n\n Remember ye nat in the tavern, sir,\n Whan ye the cups wer fillan;\n How ye made the healths gae round and round,\n And slighted Barbara Allan? 20\n\n He turn'd his face unto the wa'\n And death was with him dealan;\n Adiew! adiew! my dear friends a',\n Be kind to Barbara Allan.\n\n Then hooly, hooly raise she up, 25\n And hooly, hooly left him;\n And sighan said, she could not stay,\n Since death of life had reft him.\n\n She had not gane a mile but twa,\n Whan she heard the deid-bell knellan; 30\n And everye jow the deid-bell geid,\n Cried, Wae to Barbara Allan!\n\n O mither, mither, mak my bed,\n O make it saft and narrow:\n Since my love died for me to-day, 35\n Ise die for him to morrowe.\n\n [***]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[322] An ingenious friend thinks the rhymes _Dyand_ and _Lyand_ ought\nto be transposed; as the taunt _Young man, I think ye're yand_, would\nbe very characteristical.\n\n\n\n\nVIII.\n\nTHE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON.\n\n\nFrom an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys _Collection_, with some\nimprovements communicated by a lady as she had heard the same recited\nin her youth. The full title is, _True love requited: Or, the Bailiff's\ndaughter of Islington_.\n\n_Islington_ in Norfolk is probably the place here meant.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [Copies of this charming old ballad are found in all the large\n collections, and two tunes are associated with it.\n\n Percy's suggestion that Islington in Norfolk is referred to is\n not a probable one, and there seems to be no reason for depriving\n the better known Islington of the south of the honour of having\n given birth to the bailiff's daughter. Islington at the time when\n this ballad was written was a country village quite unconnected\n with London, and a person who represented \"a squier minstrel of\n Middlesex\" made a speech before Queen Elizabeth at Kenilworth in\n 1575, in which he declared \"how the worshipful village of Islington\n [was] well knooen too bee one of the most auncient and best tounz\n in England, next to London.\"]\n\n * * * * *\n\n There was a youthe, and a well-beloved youthe,\n And he was a squires son;\n He loved the bayliffes daughter deare,\n That lived in Islington.\n\n Yet she was coye and would not believe 5\n That he did love her soe,\n Noe nor at any time would she\n Any countenance to him showe.\n\n But when his friendes did understand\n His fond and foolish minde, 10\n They sent him up to faire London\n An apprentice for to binde.\n\n And when he had been seven long yeares,\n And never his love could see:\n Many a teare have I shed for her sake, 15\n When she little thought of mee.\n\n Then all the maids of Islington\n Went forth to sport and playe,\n All but the bayliffes daughter deare;\n She secretly stole awaye. 20\n\n She pulled off her gowne of greene,\n And put on ragged attire,\n And to faire London she would go\n Her true love to enquire.\n\n And as she went along the high road, 25\n The weather being hot and drye,\n She sat her downe upon a green bank,\n And her true love came riding bye.\n\n She started up, with a colour soe redd,\n Catching hold of his bridle-reine; 30\n One penny, one penny, kind sir, she sayd,\n Will ease me of much paine.\n\n Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart,\n Praye tell me where you were borne.\n At Islington, kind sir, sayd shee, 35\n Where I have had many a scorne.\n\n I prythee, sweet-heart, then tell to mee,\n O tell me, whether you knowe\n The bayliffes daughter of Islington,\n She is dead, sir, long agoe. 40\n\n If she be dead, then take my horse,\n My saddle and bridle also;\n For I will into some farr countrye,\n Where noe man shall me knowe.\n\n O staye, O staye, thou goodlye youthe, 45\n She standeth by thy side;\n She is here alive, she is not dead,\n And readye to be thy bride.\n\n O farewell griefe, and welcome joye,\n Ten thousand times therefore; 50\n For nowe I have founde mine owne true love,\n Whom I thought I should never see more.\n\n\n\n\nIX.\n\nTHE WILLOW TREE.\n\n\n A PASTORAL DIALOGUE.\n\nFrom the small black-letter collection, intitled, _The Golden Garland\nof princely delights_; collated with two other copies, and corrected by\nconjecture.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [Dr. Rimbault gives the melody of this pretty little pastoral on\n the favourite subject of wearing the willow from a MS. dated 1639\n in the Advocate's Library, Edinburgh. It is also to be found in\n the celebrated Skene MS. in the same library, and again in all the\n editions of Forbes's _Cantus_.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n WILLY.\n\n How now, shepherde, what meanes that?\n Why that willowe in thy hat?\n Why thy scarffes of red and yellowe\n Turn'd to branches of greene willowe?\n\n CUDDY.\n\n They are chang'd, and so am I; 5\n Sorrowes live, but pleasures die:\n Phillis hath forsaken mee,\n Which makes me weare the willowe-tree.\n\n WILLY.\n\n Phillis! shee that lov'd thee long?\n Is shee the lass hath done thee wrong? 10\n Shee that lov'd thee long and best,\n Is her love turn'd to a jest?\n\n CUDDY.\n\n Shee that long true love profest,\n She hath robb'd my heart of rest:\n For she a new love loves, not mee; 15\n Which makes me wear the willowe-tree.\n\n WILLY.\n\n Come then, shepherde, let us joine,\n Since thy happ is like to mine:\n For the maid I thought most true,\n Mee hath also bid adieu. 20\n\n CUDDY.\n\n Thy hard happ doth mine appease,\n Companye doth sorrowe ease:\n Yet, Phillis, still I pine for thee,\n And still must weare the willowe-tree.\n\n WILLY.\n\n Shepherde, be advis'd by mee, 25\n Cast off grief and willowe-tree:\n For thy grief brings her content,\n She is pleas'd if thou lament.\n\n CUDDY.\n\n Herdsman, I'll be rul'd by thee,\n There lyes grief and willowe-tree: 30\n Henceforth I will do as they,\n And love a new love every day.\n\n\n\n\nX.\n\nTHE LADY'S FALL\n\n\nIs given (with corrections) from the Editor's ancient folio MS.[323]\ncollated with two printed copies in black-letter; one in the British\nMuseum, the other in the Pepys Collection. Its old title is, _A\nlamentable ballad of the Lady's fall_. To the tune of, _In Pescod\ntime, &c._--The ballad here referred to is preserved in the _Muses\nLibrary_, 8vo. p. 281. It is an allegory or vision, intitled, _The\nShepherd's Slumber_, and opens with some pretty rural images, viz.\n\n \"In pescod time when hound to horn\n Gives eare till buck be kil'd,\n And little lads with pipes of corne\n Sate keeping beasts a-field.\"\n\n \"I went to gather strawberries\n By woods and groves full fair, &c.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\n [Mr. Hales thinks it possible that this ballad was written by the\n same author as _The Children in the Wood_--\"the same facility of\n language and of rhyme, the same power of pathos, the same extreme\n simplicity characterise both ballads.\"\n\n Mr. Chappell says that _Chevy Chace_ was sometimes sung to the tune\n of _In Pescod time_, as were the _Bride's burial_ (No. 12), and\n _Lady Isabella's Tragedy_ (No. 14). The various readings from the\n original MS. are noted at the foot of the page.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n Marke well my heavy dolefull tale,\n You loyall lovers all,\n And heedfully beare in your brest,\n A gallant ladyes fall.\n Long was she wooed, ere shee was wonne, 5\n To lead a wedded life,\n But folly wrought her overthrowe\n Before she was a wife.\n\n Too soone, alas! shee gave consent\n And yeelded to his will, 10\n Though he protested to be true,\n And faithfull to her still.\n Shee felt her body altered quite,\n Her bright hue waxed pale,\n Her lovelye cheeks chang'd color white,[324] 15\n Her strength began to fayle.\n\n Soe that with many a sorrowful sigh,[325]\n This beauteous ladye milde,\n With greeved hart, perceived herselfe\n To have conceived with childe.[326] 20\n Shee kept it from her parents sight\n As close as close might bee,\n And soe put on her silken gowne\n None might her swelling see.[327]\n\n Unto her lover secretly 25\n Her greefe shee did bewray,\n And walking with him hand in hand,\n These words to him did say;\n Behold, quoth shee, a maids distresse[328]\n By love brought to thy bowe;[329] 30\n Behold I goe with childe by thee,[330]\n Tho none thereof doth knowe.\n\n The litle babe springs in my wombe[331]\n To heare its fathers voyce,\n Lett it not be a bastard called,[332] 35\n Sith I made thee my choyce:\n [Come, come, my love, perform thy vowe[333]\n And wed me out of hand;[333]\n O leave me not in this extreme[333]\n Of griefe, alas! to stand.][333] 40\n\n Think on thy former promises,\n Thy oathes and vowes eche one;[334]\n Remember with what bitter teares\n To mee thou madest thy moane.\n Convay me to some secrett place, 45\n And marry me with speede;\n Or with thy rapyer end my life,\n Ere further shame proceede.[335]\n\n Alacke! my beauteous love, quoth hee,[336]\n My joye, and only dear;[337] 50\n Which way can I convay thee hence,[338]\n When dangers are so near?[339]\n Thy friends are all of hye degree,[340]\n And I of meane estate;\n Full hard it is to gett thee forthe[341] 55\n Out of thy fathers gate.[342]\n\n Dread not thy life to save my fame,[343]\n For if thou taken bee,[344]\n My selfe will step betweene the swords,[345]\n And take the harme on mee:[346] 60\n Soe shall I scape dishonor quite;[347]\n And if I should be slaine[348]\n What could they say, but that true love\n Had wrought a ladyes bane.[349]\n\n But feare not any further harme; 65\n My selfe will soe devise,\n That I will ryde away with thee[350]\n Unknowen of mortall eyes:\n Disguised like some pretty page\n Ile meete thee in the darke, 70\n And all alone Ile come to thee\n Hard by my fathers parke.\n\n And there, quoth hee, Ile meete my deare\n If God soe lend me life,\n On this day month without all fayle 75\n I will make thee my wife.[351]\n Then with a sweet and loving kisse,[352]\n They parted presentlye,\n And att their partinge brinish teares\n Stoode in eche others eye, 80\n\n Att length the wished day was come,[353]\n On which this beauteous mayd,\n With longing eyes, and strange attire,\n For her true lover stayd.\n When any person shee espyed[354] 85\n Come ryding ore the plaine,[355]\n She hop'd it was her owne true love:[356]\n But all her hopes were vaine.\n\n Then did shee weepe and sore bewayle\n Her most unhappy fate; 90\n Then did shee speake these woefull words,\n As succourless she sate;[357]\n O false, forsworne, and faithlesse man,[358]\n Disloyall in thy love,\n Hast thou forgott thy promise past, 95\n And wilt thou perjured prove?\n\n And hast thou now forsaken mee\n In this my great distresse,\n To end my dayes in open shame,[359]\n Which thou mightst well redresse?[360] 100\n Woe worth the time I eer believ'd[361]\n That flattering tongue of thine:\n Wold God that I had never seene\n The teares of thy false eyne.\n\n And thus with many a sorrowful sigh,[362] 105\n Homewards shee went againe;[363]\n Noe rest came in her waterye eyes,\n Shee felt such privye paine.[364]\n In travail strong shee fell that night,\n With many a bitter throwe;[365] 110\n What woefull paines shee then did feel,[366]\n Doth eche good woman knowe.\n\n Shee called up her waiting mayd,[367]\n That lay at her bedds feete,[368]\n Who musing at her mistress woe,[369] 115\n Began full fast to weepe.\n Weepe not, said shee, but shutt the dores,[370]\n And windowes round about,[371]\n Let none bewray my wretched state,\n But keepe all persons out. 120\n\n O mistress, call your mother deare;\n Of women you have neede,\n And of some skilfull midwifes helpe,[372]\n That better may you speed.[373]\n Call not my mother for thy life, 125\n Nor fetch no woman here;\n The midwives helpe comes all too late,\n My death I doe not feare.\n\n With that the babe sprang from her wombe\n No creature being nye,[374] 130\n And with one sighe, which brake her hart,\n This gentle dame did dye.[375]\n The lovely litle infant younge,[376]\n [The mother being dead,][377]\n Resigned its new received breath, 135\n To him that had it made.\n\n Next morning came her own true love,\n Affrighted at the newes,[378]\n And he for sorrow slew himselfe,\n Whom eche one did accuse. 140\n The mother with her new borne babe,\n Were laide both in one grave:\n Their parents overworne with woe,\n No joy thenceforth cold have.[379]\n\n Take heed, you dayntye damsells all, 145\n Of flattering words beware,\n And to the honour of your name\n Have an especial care.[380]\n [Too true, alas! this story is,[381]\n As many one can tell:[381] 150\n By others harmes learne to be wise,[381]\n And you shall do full well.][381]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[323] [Ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 246.]\n\n[324] [Ver. 15. her faire red cheekes changed color quite.]\n\n[325] [V. 17. and soe with.]\n\n[326] [V. 20. to be conceived.]\n\n[327] [V. 24. none shold. MS.]\n\n[328] [Ver. 29. a ladyes distress.]\n\n[329] [V. 30. your bowe.]\n\n[330] [V. 31. See how I goe with chyld with thee.]\n\n[331] [V. 33. my litle.]\n\n[332] [V. 35. O lett.]\n\n[333] [V. 37-40. not in MS.]\n\n[334] [V. 42. thy wordes.]\n\n[335] [V. 48. lest further.]\n\n[336] [V. 49. my derest.]\n\n[337] [V. 50. my greatest joy on earthe.]\n\n[338] [V. 51. shold I convay you.]\n\n[339] [V. 52. to scape a sudden death.]\n\n[340] [Ver. 53. your friends.]\n\n[341] [V. 55. gett you.]\n\n[342] [V. 56. your ffathers.]\n\n[343] [V. 57. your liffe ... your fame.]\n\n[344] [V. 58. you.]\n\n[345] [V. 59. sword.]\n\n[346] [V. 60. to take ... of thee.]\n\n[347] [V. 61. soe may you.]\n\n[348] [V. 62. if soe you.]\n\n[349] [V. 64. ladyes paine.]\n\n[350] [V. 67. I will safely ryd with thee.]\n\n[351] [V. 76. Ile make the then.]\n\n[352] [V. 77. and with.]\n\n[353] [Ver. 81. wherin this lovely maid.]\n\n[354] [V. 85. if any person shee had spyed.]\n\n[355] [V. 86. came.]\n\n[356] [V. 87. shee thought.]\n\n[357] [V. 92. when succourles.]\n\n[358] [V. 93. _and_ not in MS.]\n\n[359] [V. 99. in heavinesse.]\n\n[360] [V. 100. which well thou might.]\n\n[361] [V. 101. I did beleeve.]\n\n[362] [V. 105. soe that with many a grievous groane.]\n\n[363] [V. 106. amaine.]\n\n[364] [V. 108. shee found.]\n\n[365] [Ver. 110. thraw.]\n\n[366] [V. 111. shee felt that night.]\n\n[367] [V. 113. mayd.]\n\n[368] [V. 114. who lay.]\n\n[369] [V. 115. and musing at her great woe.]\n\n[370] [V. 117. shee sayth.]\n\n[371] [V. 118. all about.]\n\n[372] [V. 123. and to some.]\n\n[373] [V. 124. the better.]\n\n[374] [V. 130. being by.]\n\n[375] [V. 132. gallant dame.]\n\n[376] [V. 133. litle lovely.]\n\n[377] [V. 134. the pretty smiling babe.]\n\n[378] [Ver. 138. with this newes.]\n\n[379] [V. 144. no joy that they.]\n\n[380] [V. 148. have you a specyall care.]\n\n[381] [V. 149-152. not in MS.]\n\n\n\n\nXI.\n\nWALY WALY, LOVE BE BONNY.\n\n\n A SCOTTISH SONG.\n\nThis is a very ancient song, but we could only give it from a modern\ncopy. Some editions instead of the four last lines in the second stanza\nhave these, which have too much merit to be wholly suppressed:\n\n \"Whan cockle shells turn siller bells,\n And muscles grow on every tree,\n When frost and snaw sall warm us aw',\n Than sall my love prove true to me.\"\n\n See the _Orpheus Caledonius, &c._\n\nArthur's-seat mentioned in ver. 17, is a hill near Edinborough; near\nthe bottom of which is St. Anthony's well.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [There has been considerable difference of opinion among ballad\n collectors relative to this beautiful song. Some suppose it to\n be a portion of the ballad entitled _Lord Jamie Douglas_, which\n relates to James Douglas, second Marquis of Douglas, who married\n Lady Barbara Erskine, eldest daughter of John, ninth Earl of Mar,\n on the seventh of September, 1670, and afterwards repudiated her\n on account of a false accusation of adultery made against her by\n Lowrie, laird of Blackwood. Prof. Aytoun, however, believes that\n certain verses of _Waly Waly_ have wrongly been mixed up with\n _Lord Jamie Douglas_. There is very little doubt that the song\n was in existence long before 1670, and it also appears to be the\n lamentation of a forsaken girl rather than of a wife. Mr. Stenhouse\n and others considered it to belong to the age of Queen Mary and\n to refer to some affair at Court. Aytoun writes, \"there is also\n evidence that it was composed before 1566, for there is extant\n a MS. of that year in which some of the lines are transcribed,\"\n but Mr. Maidment gives the following opinion--\"that the ballad is\n of ancient date is undoubted, but we are not quite prepared to\n admit that it goes back as far as 1566, the date of the manuscript\n transcribed by Thomas Wode from an ancient church music book\n compiled by Dean John Angus, Andrew Blackhall, and others, in which\n it said the first [second] stanza is thus parodied:--\n\n Hey trollie lollie, love is jollie,\n A quhile, quhil itt is new\n Quhen it is old, it grows full cold,\n Wae worth the love untrue.\n\n Never having had access to the MS., we may be permitted to remark\n that the phraseology of the burlesque is not exactly that of the\n reign of Queen Mary\" (_Scottish Ballads and Songs_, 1868, vol. ii.\n p. 49.)\n\n Allan Ramsay was the first to publish the song, and he marked it as\n ancient.\n\n \"When cockle shells turn silver bells,\n When wine drieps red frae ilka tree,\n When frost and snaw will warm us a'\n Then I'll cum down and dine wi' thee,\"\n\n is the fourth stanza of _Jamie Douglas_, printed by John Finlay, in\n his _Scottish Historical and Romantic Ballads_ (vol. ii.)]\n\n * * * * *\n\n O waly[382] waly up the bank,\n And waly waly down the brae,\n And waly waly yon burn side,\n Where I and my love wer wont to gae.\n I leant my back unto an aik, 5\n I thought it was a trusty tree;\n But first it bow'd, and syne it brak,\n Sae my true love did lichtly me.\n\n O waly, waly, gin love be bonny,\n A little time while it is new; 10\n But when its auld, it waxeth cauld,\n And fades awa' like morning dew.\n O wherfore shuld I busk my head?\n Or wherfore shuld I kame my hair?\n For my true love has me forsook, 15\n And says he'll never loe me mair.\n\n Now Arthur-seat sall be my bed,\n The sheets shall neir be fyl'd[383] by me:\n Saint Anton's well sall be my drink,\n Since my true love has forsaken me. 20\n Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw,\n And shake the green leaves aff the tree?\n O gentle death, whan wilt thou cum?\n For of my life I am wear\u00ece.\n\n Tis not the frost, that freezes fell, 25\n Nor blawing snaws inclemenc\u00ece;\n 'Tis not sic cauld, that makes me cry,\n But my loves heart grown cauld to me.\n When we came in by Glasgowe town,\n We were a comely sight to see, 30\n My love was cled in black velvet,\n And I my-sell in cramasie.[384]\n\n But had I wist, before I kisst,\n That love had been sae ill to win;\n I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd, 35\n And pinnd it with a siller pin.\n And, oh! if my young babe were born,\n And set upon the nurses knee,\n And I my sell were dead and gane!\n For a maid again Ise never be. 40\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[382] [interjection of lamentation.]\n\n[383] [defiled.]\n\n[384] [crimson.]\n\n\n\n\nXII.\n\nTHE BRIDE'S BURIAL.\n\n\nFrom two ancient copies in black-letter: one in the Pepys Collection;\nthe other in the British Museum.\n\n To the tune of _The Lady's Fall_.\n\n * * * * *\n\n Come mourne, come mourne with mee,\n You loyall lovers all;\n Lament my loss in weeds of woe,\n Whom griping grief doth thrall.\n\n Like to the drooping vine, 5\n Cut by the gardener's knife,\n Even so my heart, with sorrow slaine,\n Doth bleed for my sweet wife.\n\n By death, that grislye ghost,\n My turtle dove is slaine, 10\n And I am left, unhappy man,\n To spend my dayes in paine.\n\n Her beauty late so bright,\n Like roses in their prime,\n Is wasted like the mountain snowe, 15\n Before warme Phebus' shine.\n\n Her faire red colour'd cheeks\n Now pale and wan; her eyes,\n That late did shine like crystal stars;\n Alas, their light it dies: 20\n\n Her prettye lilly hands,\n With fingers long and small,\n In colour like the earthly claye,\n Yea, cold and stiff withall.\n\n When as the morning star 25\n Her golden gates had spred,\n And that the glittering sun arose\n Forth from fair Thetis' bed;\n\n Then did my love awake,\n Most like a lilly-flower, 30\n And as the lovely queene of heaven,\n So shone shee in her bower.\n\n Attired was shee then,\n Like Flora in her pride,\n Like one of bright Diana's nymphs, 35\n So look'd my loving bride.\n\n And as fair Helen's face,\n Did Grecian dames besmirche,\n So did my dear exceed in sight,\n All virgins in the church. 40\n\n When we had knitt the knott\n Of holy wedlock-band,\n Like alabaster joyn'd to jett,\n So stood we hand in hand;\n\n Then lo! a chilling cold 45\n Strucke every vital part,\n And griping grief, like pangs of death,\n Seiz'd on my true love's heart.\n\n Down in a swoon she fell,\n As cold as any stone; 50\n Like Venus picture lacking life,\n So was my love brought home.\n\n At length her rosye red,\n Throughout her comely face,\n As Ph[oe]bus beames with watry cloudes 55\n Was cover'd for a space.\n\n When with a grievous groane,\n And voice both hoarse and drye,\n Farewell, quoth she, my loving friend,\n For I this daye must dye; 60\n\n The messenger of God,\n With golden trumpe I see,\n With manye other angels more,\n Which sound and call for mee.\n\n Instead of musicke sweet, 65\n Go toll my passing-bell;\n And with sweet flowers strow my grave,\n That in my chamber smell.\n\n Strip off my bride's arraye,\n My cork shoes from my feet; 70\n And, gentle mother, be not coye\n To bring my winding-sheet.\n\n My wedding dinner drest,\n Bestowe upon the poor,\n And on the hungry, needy, maimde, 75\n Now craving at the door.\n\n Instead of virgins yong,\n My bride-bed for to see,\n Go cause some cunning carpenter,\n To make a chest for mee. 80\n\n My bride laces of silk\n Bestowd, for maidens meet,\n May fitly serve, when I am dead,\n To tye my hands and feet.\n\n And thou, my lover true, 85\n My husband and my friend,\n Let me intreat thee here to staye,\n Until my life doth end.\n\n Now leave to talk of love,\n And humblye on your knee, 90\n Direct your prayers unto God:\n But mourn no more for mee.\n\n In love as we have livde,\n In love let us depart;\n And I, in token of my love, 95\n Do kiss thee with my heart.\n\n O staunch those bootless teares,\n Thy weeping tis in vaine;\n I am not lost, for wee in heaven\n Shall one daye meet againe. 100\n\n With that shee turn'd aside,\n As one dispos'd to sleep,\n And like a lamb departed life;\n Whose friends did sorely weep.\n\n Her true love seeing this, 105\n Did fetch a grievous groane,\n As tho' his heart would burst in twaine,\n And thus he made his moane.\n\n O darke and dismal daye,\n A daye of grief and care, 110\n That hath bereft the sun so bright,\n Whose beams refresht the air.\n\n Now woe unto the world,\n And all that therein dwell,\n O that I were with thee in heaven, 115\n For here I live in hell.\n\n And now this lover lives\n A discontented life,\n Whose bride was brought unto the grave\n A maiden and a wife. 120\n\n A garland fresh and faire\n Of lillies there was made,\n In sign of her virginitye,\n And on her coffin laid.[385]\n\n Six maidens, all in white, 125\n Did beare her to the ground:\n The bells did ring in solemn sort,\n And made a dolefull sound.\n\n In earth they laid her then,\n For hungry wormes a preye; 130\n So shall the fairest face alive\n At length be brought to claye.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[385] [\"It was an ancient and pleasing custom to place a garland made\nof white flowers and white riband upon the coffin of a maiden; it was\nafterwards hung up over her customary seat in church. Sometimes a\npair of white gloves, or paper cut to the shape of gloves, was hung\nbeneath the garland. Chaplets of the kind still hang in some of the\nDerbyshire churches, and at Hathersage in that county the custom is\nstill retained.\"--(_Transactions of the Essex Arch\u00e6logical Society_,\nvol. i. 1858, p. 118.) See _Corydon's Doleful Knell_, vol. ii.\nbook ii. No. 27, p. 275. Ophelia is \"allowed her virgin crants\" (or\ngarland)--_Hamlet_, act v. sc. 1. See also an interesting article on\n_Funeral Garlands_ by Llewellyn Jewitt in the _Reliquary_, vol. i.\n(1860), p. 5.]\n\n\n\n\nXIII.\n\nDULCINA.\n\n\nGiven from two ancient copies, one in black-print, in the Pepys\nCollection: the other in the Editor's folio MS. Each of these contained\na stanza not found in the other. What seemed the best readings were\nselected from both.\n\nThis song is quoted as very popular in Walton's _Compleat Angler_,\nchap. ii. It is more ancient than the ballad of _Robin Good-Fellow_\nprinted below, which yet is supposed to have been written by Ben.\nJonson.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [The Milk-woman in Walton's _Angler_ says, \"What song was it, I\n pray you? Was it _Come shepherds deck your heads_, or _As at noon\n Dulcina rested_?\"\n\n In the Registers of the Stationers' Company, under date of May 22,\n 1615, there is an entry transferring the right of publication from\n one printer to another of _A Ballett of Dulcina to the tune of_\n _Forgoe me nowe, come to me sone_. Mr. Chappell also tells us that\n _Dulcina_ was one of the tunes to the \"Psalms and Songs of Sion,\n turned into the language and set to the tunes of a strange land,\"\n 1642.\n\n The editors of the Folio MS., more scrupulous than the bishop, have\n not printed this song in its proper place, but have turned it into\n the Supplement of _Loose and Humourous Songs_ (p. 32). The third\n stanza of the MS. beginning\n\n \"Words whose hopes might have enjoyned\"\n\n is not printed in the present copy. The third stanza here is the\n fourth of the MS., and the fourth stanza is not in the MS. at all.\n\n Cayley and Ellis attribute this song to Raleigh, but without\n sufficient authority.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n As at noone Dulcina rested\n In her sweete and shady bower;\n Came a shepherd, and requested\n In her lapp to sleepe an hour.\n But from her looke 5\n A wounde he tooke\n\n Soe deepe, that for a further boone\n The nymph he prayes.\n Wherto shee sayes,\n Forgoe me now, come to me soone. 10\n\n But in vayne shee did conjure him\n To depart her presence soe;\n Having a thousand tongues to allure him,\n And but one to bid him goe:\n Where lipps invite, 15\n And eyes delight,\n And cheekes, as fresh as rose in june,\n Persuade delay;\n What boots, she say,\n Forgoe me now, come to me soone? 20\n\n He demands what time for pleasure\n Can there be more fit than now:\n She sayes, night gives love that leysure,\n Which the day can not allow.\n He sayes, the sight 25\n 'Improves delight.\n 'Which she denies: Nights mirkie noone\n In Venus' playes\n Makes bold, shee sayes;\n Forgoe me now, come to mee soone. 30\n\n But what promise or profession\n From his hands could purchase scope?\n Who would sell the sweet possession\n Of suche beautye for a hope?\n Or for the sight 35\n Of lingering night\n Foregoe the present joyes of noone?\n Though ne'er soe faire\n Her speeches were,\n Forgoe me now, come to me soone. 40\n\n How, at last, agreed these lovers?\n Shee was fayre, and he was young:\n The tongue may tell what th'eye discovers;\n Joyes unseene are never sung.\n Did shee consent, 45\n Or he relent;\n Accepts he night, or grants shee noone;\n Left he her a mayd,\n Or not; she sayd\n Forgoe me now, come to me soone. 50\n\n\n\n\nXIV.\n\nTHE LADY ISABELLA'S TRAGEDY.\n\n\nThis ballad is given from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys\nCollection, collated with another in the British Museum, H. 263,\nfolio. It is there intitled, \"_The Lady Isabella's Tragedy, or the\nStep-Mother's Cruelty_: being a relation of a lamentable and cruel\nmurther, committed on the body of the lady Isabella, the only daughter\nof a noble duke, &c. To the tune of, _The Lady's Fall_.\" To some copies\nare annexed eight more modern stanzas, intitled, _The Dutchess's and\nCook's Lamentation_.\n\n * * * * *\n\n There was a lord of worthy fame,\n And a hunting he would ride,\n Attended by a noble traine\n Of gentrye by his side.\n\n And while he did in chase remaine, 5\n To see both sport and playe;\n His ladye went, as she did feigne,\n Unto the church to praye.\n\n This lord he had a daughter deare,\n Whose beauty shone so bright, 10\n She was belov'd, both far and neare,\n Of many a lord and knight.\n\n Fair Isabella was she call'd,\n A creature faire was shee;\n She was her father's only joye; 15\n As you shall after see.\n\n Therefore her cruel step-moth\u00e8r\n Did envye her so much;\n That daye by daye she sought her life,\n Her malice it was such. 20\n\n She bargain'd with the master-cook,\n To take her life awaye:\n And taking of her daughters book,\n She thus to her did saye.\n\n Go home, sweet daughter, I thee praye, 25\n Go hasten presentlie;\n And tell unto the master-cook\n These wordes that I tell thee.\n\n And bid him dresse to dinner streight\n That faire and milk-white doe, 30\n That in the parke doth shine so bright,\n There's none so faire to showe.\n\n This ladye fearing of no harme,\n Obey'd her mothers will;\n And presentlye she hasted home, 35\n Her pleasure to fulfill.\n\n She streight into the kitchen went,\n Her message for to tell;\n And there she spied the master-cook,\n Who did with malice swell. 40\n\n Nowe, master-cook, it must be soe,\n Do that which I thee tell:\n You needes must dresse the milk-white doe,\n Which you do knowe full well.\n\n Then streight his cruell bloodye hands, 45\n He on the ladye layd;\n Who quivering and shaking stands,\n While thus to her he sayd:\n\n Thou art the doe, that I must dresse;\n See here, behold my knife; 50\n For it is pointed presently\n To rid thee of thy life.\n\n O then, cried out the scullion-boye,\n As loud as loud might bee;\n O save her life, good master-cook, 55\n And make your pyes of mee!\n\n For pityes sake do not destroye\n My ladye with your knife;\n You know shee is her father's joye,\n For Christes sake save her life. 60\n\n I will not save her life, he sayd,\n Nor make my pyes of thee;\n Yet if thou dost this deed bewraye,\n Thy butcher I will bee.\n\n Now when this lord he did come home 65\n For to sit downe and eat;\n He called for his daughter deare,\n To come and carve his meat.\n\n Now sit you downe, his ladye sayd,\n O sit you downe to meat: 70\n Into some nunnery she is gone;\n Your daughter deare forget.\n\n Then solemnlye he made a vowe,\n Before the compan\u00ece:\n That he would neither eat nor drinke, 75\n Until he did her see.\n\n O then bespake the scullion-boye,\n With a loud voice so hye:\n If now you will your daughter see,\n My lord, cut up that pye: 80\n\n Wherein her fleshe is minced small,\n And parched with the fire:\n All caused by her step-moth\u00e8r,\n Who did her death desire.\n\n And cursed bee the master-cook, 85\n O cursed may he bee!\n I proffered him my own hearts blood,\n From death to set her free.\n\n Then all in blacke this lord did mourne;\n And for his daughters sake, 90\n He judged her cruell step-moth\u00e8r\n To be burnt at a stake.\n\n Likewise he judg'd the master-cook\n In boiling lead to stand;\n And made the simple scullion-boye 95\n The heire of all his land.\n\n\n\n\nXV.\n\nA HUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID.\n\n\nThis song is a kind of translation of a pretty poem of Tasso's, called\n_Amore fuggitivo_, generally printed with his _Aminta_, and originally\nimitated from the first Idyllium of Moschus.\n\nIt is extracted from Ben Jonson's Masque at the marriage of lord\nviscount Hadington, on Shrove-Tuesday, 1608. One stanza full of dry\nmythology is here omitted, as it had been dropped in a copy of this\nsong printed in a small volume called _Le Prince d'Amour_. Lond.\n1660, 8vo.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [The stanza of the first Grace which Percy left out is as follows:--\n\n \"At his sight the sun hath turn'd,\n Neptune in the waters burn'd;\n Hell hath felt a greater heat;\n Jove himself forsook his seat:\n From the centre to the sky\n Are his trophies reared high.\"]\n\n * * * * *\n\n [_1 Grace._] Beauties have yee seen a toy,\n Called Love, a little boy,\n Almost naked, wanton, blinde;\n Cruel now; and then as kinde?\n If he be amongst yee, say; 5\n He is Venus' run away.\n\n [_2 Grace._] Shee, that will but now discover\n Where the winged wag doth hover,\n Shall to-night receive a kisse,\n How and where herselfe would wish: 10\n But who brings him to his mother\n Shall have that kisse, and another.\n\n [_3 Grace._] Markes he hath about him plentie;\n You may know him among twentie:\n All his body is a fire, 15\n And his breath a flame entire:\n Which, being shot, like lightning, in,\n Wounds the heart, but not the skin.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [_2 Grace._] Wings he hath, which though yee clip,\n He will leape from lip to lip, 20\n Over liver, lights, and heart;\n Yet not stay in any part.\n And, if chance his arrow misses,\n He will shoot himselfe in kisses.\n\n [_3 Grace._] He doth beare a golden bow, 25\n And a quiver hanging low,\n Full of arrowes, which outbrave\n Dian's shafts; where, if he have\n Any head more sharpe than other,\n With that first he strikes his mother. 30\n\n [_1 Grace._] Still the fairest are his fuell,\n When his daies are to be cruell;\n Lovers hearts are all his food,\n And his baths their warmest bloud:\n Nought but wounds his hand doth season, 35\n And he hates none like to Reason.\n\n [_2 Grace._] Trust him not: his words, though sweet,\n Seldome with his heart doe meet:\n All his practice is deceit;\n Everie gift is but a bait; 40\n Not a kisse but poyson beares;\n And most treason's in his teares.\n\n [_3 Grace._] Idle minutes are his raigne;\n Then the straggler makes his gaine,\n By presenting maids with toyes 45\n And would have yee thinke hem joyes;\n 'Tis the ambition of the elfe\n To have all childish as himselfe.\n\n [_1 Grace._] If by these yee please to know him,\n Beauties, be not nice, but show him. 50\n [_2 Grace._] Though ye had a will to hide him,\n Now, we hope, yee'le not abide him.\n [_3 Grace._] Since yee heare this falser's play,\n And that he is Venus' run-away.\n\n\n\n\nXVI.\n\nTHE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER.\n\n\nThe story of this ballad seems to be taken from an incident in the\ndomestic history of Charles the Bald, king of France. His daughter\nJudith was betrothed to Ethelwulph king of England: but before the\nmarriage was consummated, Ethelwulph died, and she returned to France:\nwhence she was carried off by Baldwyn, Forester of Flanders; who, after\nmany crosses and difficulties, at length obtained the king's consent to\ntheir marriage, and was made Earl of Flanders. This happened about A.D.\n863.--See Rapin, Henault, and the French historians.\n\nThe following copy is given from the Editor's ancient folio MS.\ncollated with another in black-letter in the Pepys Collection,\nintitled, _An excellent Ballad of a prince of England's courtship to\nthe king of France's daughter, &c._ To the tune of _Crimson Velvet_.\n\nMany breaches having been made in this old song by the hand of time,\nprincipally (as might be expected) in the quick returns of the rhime;\nan attempt is here made to repair them.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [This ballad was written by Thomas Deloney, who included it in his\n _Garland of Goodwill_ (Percy Society, vol. xxx. p. 52). It is,\n as Percy points out, founded on history, but Deloney paid little\n attention to facts. All the first part of the poem, which tells\n of the miserable end of the English prince of suitable age to the\n young French princess, is fiction. Judith was Ethelwulf's wife for\n about two years, and on the death of her husband she married his\n son Ethelbert. The only historical fact that is followed in the\n ballad is the marriage of Judith with Baldwin, Great Forester of\n France, from which union descended Matilda, the wife of William the\n Conqueror.\n\n The copy in the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. iii.\n p. 441) is entitled \"In the Dayes of Olde.\" Percy altered it\n considerably, sometimes following the printed copy and sometimes\n the MS.\n\n Mr. Hales suggests that the name of the tune is derived from the\n dress of the princess, described in vv. 185-6,--\n\n \"Their mothers riche array\n Was of crimson velvet,\"\n\n and Mr. Chappell agrees with him.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n In the dayes of old,\n When faire France did flourish,\n Storyes plaine have told,\n Lovers felt annoye.\n The queene a daughter bare, 5\n Whom beautye's queene did nourish:\n She was lovelye faire\n She was her father's joye.\n A prince of England came,\n Whose deeds did merit fame, 10\n But he was exil'd, and outcast:\n Love his soul did fire,\n Shee granted his desire,\n Their hearts in one were linked fast.\n Which when her father proved, 15\n Sorelye he was moved,\n And tormented in his minde.\n He sought for to prevent them;\n And, to discontent them,\n Fortune cross'd these lovers kinde. 20\n\n When these princes twaine\n Were thus barr'd of pleasure,\n Through the kinges disdaine,\n Which their joyes withstoode:\n The lady soone prepar'd 25\n Her jewells and her treasure;\n Having no regard\n For state and royall bloode;\n In homelye poore array\n She went from court away, 30\n To meet her joye and hearts delight;\n Who in a forest great\n Had taken up his seat,\n To wayt her coming in the night.\n But, lo! what sudden danger 35\n To this princely stranger\n Chanced, as he sate alone!\n By outlawes he was robbed,\n And with ponyards stabbed,\n Uttering many a dying grone. 40\n\n The princesse, arm'd by love,\n And by chaste desire,\n All the night did rove\n Without dread at all:\n Still unknowne she past 45\n In her strange attire;\n Coming at the last\n Within echoes call,--\n You faire woods, quoth shee,\n Honoured may you bee, 50\n Harbouring my heart's delight;\n Which encompass here\n My joye and only deare,\n My trustye friend, and comelye knight.\n Sweete, I come unto thee, 55\n Sweete, I come to woo thee;\n That thou mayst not angry bee\n For my long delaying;\n For thy curteous staying\n Soone amendes Ile make to thee. 60\n\n Passing thus alone\n Through the silent forest,\n Many a grievous grone\n Sounded in her eares:\n She heard one complayne 65\n And lament the sorest,\n Seeming all in payne,\n Shedding deadly teares.\n Farewell, my deare, quoth hee,\n Whom I must never see; 70\n For why my life is att an end,\n Through villaines crueltye:\n For thy sweet sake I dye,\n To show I am a faithfull friend.\n Here I lye a bleeding, 75\n While my thoughts are feeding\n On the rarest beautye found.\n O hard happ, that may be!\n Little knows my ladye\n My heartes blood lyes on the ground. 80\n\n With that a grone he sends\n Which did burst in sunder\n All the tender bands\n Of his gentle heart.\n She, who knewe his voice, 85\n At his wordes did wonder;\n All her former joyes\n Did to griefe convert.\n Strait she ran to see,\n Who this man shold bee, 90\n That soe like her love did seeme:\n\n Her lovely lord she found\n Lye slaine upon the ground,\n Smear'd with gore a ghastlye streame.\n Which his lady spying, 95\n Shrieking, fainting, crying,\n Her sorrows could not uttered bee:\n Fate, she cryed, too cruell:\n For thee--my dearest jewell,\n Would God! that I had dyed for thee. 100\n\n His pale lippes, alas!\n Twentye times she kissed,\n And his face did wash\n With her trickling teares:\n Every gaping wound 105\n Tenderlye she pressed,\n And did wipe it round\n With her golden haires.\n Speake, faire love, quoth shee,\n Speake, fair prince, to mee, 110\n One sweete word of comfort give:\n Lift up thy deare eyes,\n Listen to my cryes,\n Thinke in what sad griefe I live.\n All in vain she sued, 115\n All in vain she wooed,\n The prince's life was fled and gone.\n There stood she still mourning,\n Till the suns retourning,\n And bright day was coming on. 120\n\n In this great distresse\n Weeping, wayling ever,\n Oft shee cryed, alas!\n What will become of mee?\n To my fathers court 125\n I returne will never:\n But in lowlye sort\n I will a servant bee.\n While thus she made her mone,\n Weeping all alone, 130\n In this deepe and deadlye feare:\n A for'ster all in greene,\n Most comelye to be seene,\n Ranging the woods did find her there.\n Moved with her sorrowe, 135\n Maid, quoth hee, good morrowe,\n What hard happ has brought thee here?\n Harder happ did never\n Two kinde hearts dissever:\n Here lyes slaine my brother deare. 140\n\n Where may I remaine,\n Gentle for'ster, shew me,\n 'Till I can obtaine\n A service in my neede?\n Paines I will not spare: 145\n This kinde favour doe me,\n It will ease my care;\n Heaven shall be thy meede.\n The for'ster all amazed,\n On her beautye gazed, 150\n Till his heart was set on fire.\n If, faire maid, quoth hee,\n You will goe with mee,\n You shall have your hearts desire.\n He brought her to his mother, 155\n And above all other\n He sett forth this maidens praise.\n Long was his heart inflamed,\n At length her love he gained,\n And fortune crown'd his future dayes. 160\n\n Thus unknowne he wedde\n With a kings faire daughter;\n Children seven they had,\n 'Ere she told her birth.\n Which when once he knew, 165\n Humblye he besought her,\n He to the world might shew\n Her rank and princelye worth.\n He cloath'd his children then,\n (Not like other men) 170\n In partye-colours strange to see;\n The right side cloth of gold,\n The left side to behold,\n Of woollen cloth still framed hee[386].\n Men thereat did wonder; 175\n Golden fame did thunder\n This strange deede in every place:\n The king of France came thither,\n It being pleasant weather,\n In those woods the hart to chase. 180\n\n The children then they bring,\n So their mother will'd it,\n Where the royall king\n Must of force come bye:\n Their mothers riche array, 185\n Was of crimson velvet:\n Their fathers all of gray,\n Seemelye to the eye.\n Then this famous king,\n Noting every thing, 190\n Askt how he durst be so bold\n To let his wife soe weare,\n And decke his children there\n In costly robes of pearl and gold.\n The forrester replying, 195\n And the cause descrying[387],\n To the king these words did say,\n Well may they, by their mother,\n Weare rich clothes with other,\n Being by birth a princesse gay. 200\n\n The king aroused thus,\n More heedfullye beheld them,\n Till a crimson blush\n His remembrance crost.\n The more I fix my mind 205\n On thy wife and children,\n The more methinks I find\n The daughter which I lost.\n Falling on her knee,\n I am that child, quoth shee; 210\n Pardon mee, my soveraine liege.\n The king perceiving this,\n His daughter deare did kiss,\n While joyfull teares did stopp his speeche.\n With his traine he tourned, 215\n And with them sojourned.\n Strait he dubb'd her husband knight;\n Then made him erle of Flanders,\n And chiefe of his commanders:\n Thus were their sorrowes put to flight. 220\n\n [***]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[386] This will remind the reader of the livery and device of Charles\nBrandon, a private gentleman, who married the Queen Dowager of France,\nsister of Henry VIII. At a tournament which he held at his wedding, the\ntrappings of his horse were half Cloth of gold, and half Frieze, with\nthe following Motto:--\n\n \"Cloth of Gold, do not despise,\n Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Frize,\n Cloth of Frize, be not too bold,\n Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Gold.\"\n\nSee Sir W. Temple's _Misc._ vol. iii. p. 356.\n\n[387] _i.e._ describing.\n\n\n\n\nXVII.\n\nTHE SWEET NEGLECT.\n\n\nThis little madrigal (extracted from Ben. Jonson's _Silent Woman_,\nact i. sc. 1, first acted in 1609) is in imitation of a Latin Poem\nprinted at the end of the Variorum Edit. of Petronius, beginning,\n_Semper munditias, semper Basilissa, decoras_, &c. See Whalley's _Ben\nJonson_, vol. ii. p. 420.\n\n * * * * *\n\n Still to be neat, still to be drest,\n As you were going to a feast:\n Still to be pou'dred, still perfum'd:\n Lady, it is to be presum'd,\n Though art's hid causes are not found, 5\n All is not sweet, all is not sound.\n\n Give me a looke, give me a face,\n That makes simplicitie a grace;\n Robes loosely flowing, haire as free:\n Such sweet neglect more taketh me, 10\n Than all th' adulteries of art,\n That strike mine eyes, but not my heart.\n\n\n\n\nXVIII.\n\nTHE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD.\n\n\nThe subject of this very popular ballad (which has been set in so\nfavourable a light by the _Spectator_, No. 85.) seems to be taken\nfrom an old play, intitled, _Two lamentable Tragedies; The one of\nthe murder of Maister Beech, a chandler in Thames streete, &c. The\nother of a young child murthered in a wood by two ruffins, with the_\n_consent of his unkle._ By Rob. Yarrington, 1601, 4to. Our ballad-maker\nhas strictly followed the play in the description of the father and\nmother's dying charge: in the uncle's promise to take care of their\nissue: his hiring two ruffians to destroy his ward, under pretence of\nsending him to school: their chusing a wood to perpetrate the murder\nin: one of the ruffians relenting, and a battle ensuing, &c. In other\nrespects he has departed from the play. In the latter the scene is laid\nin Padua: there is but one child: which is murdered by a sudden stab\nof the unrelenting ruffian: he is slain himself by his less bloody\ncompanion; but ere he dies gives the other a mortal wound: the latter\nliving just long enough to impeach the uncle; who, in consequence of\nthis impeachment, is arraigned and executed by the hand of justice, &c.\nWhoever compares the play with the ballad, will have no doubt but the\nformer is the original: the language is far more obsolete, and such a\nvein of simplicity runs through the whole performance, that, had the\nballad been written first, there is no doubt but every circumstance of\nit would have been received into the drama: whereas this was probably\nbuilt on some Italian novel.\n\nPrinted from two ancient copies, one of them in black-letter in the\nPepys Collection. Its title at large is, _The Children in the Wood;\nor, The Norfolk Gentleman's Last Will and Testament: To the tune of\nRogero, &c._\n\n * * * * *\n\n [Ritson thought he had refuted Percy's statement that the play was\n older than the ballad by pointing out that the latter was entered\n in the Stationers' books in 1595, but I find in Baker's _Biographia\n Dramatica_ an assertion that Yarrington's play was not printed\n \"till many years after it was written.\" The following is the form\n of the entry at Stationers' Hall, \"15 Oct. 1595. Thomas Millington\n entred for his copie under th[e h]andes of bothe the Wardens\n a ballad intituled _The Norfolk Gent, his Will and Testament_\n _and howe he commytted the keepinge of his children to his owne_\n _brother whoe delte most wickedly with them and howe God plagued_\n _him for it._\" Sharon Turner and Miss Halsted favoured the rather\n untenable opinion that the wicked uncle was intended to represent\n Richard III., and therefore that the date of the ballad was much\n earlier than that usually claimed for it. Turner writes in his\n _History of England_, \"I have sometimes fancied that the popular\n ballad may have been written at this time on Richard and his\n nephews before it was quite safe to stigmatize him more openly.\"\n\n Wailing, or Wayland Wood, a large cover near Walton in Norfolk is\n the place which tradition assigns to the tragedy, but the people of\n Wood Dalling also claim the honour for their village.\n\n Addison speaks of the ballad as \"one of the darling songs of the\n common people, [which] has been the delight of most Englishmen in\n some part of their age,\" and points out that the circumstance\n\n ... robin-red-breast piously\n Did cover them with leaves,\n\n has a parallel in Horace, who tells us that when he was a child,\n fallen asleep in a desert wood, the turtle doves took pity on him\n and covered him with leaves.\n\n The popular belief that the robin covers dead bodies with leaves\n (probably founded on the habits of the bird) is of considerable\n antiquity. The passage in Cymbeline (act iv. sc. 2) naturally\n occurs as the chief illustration:--\n\n ... \"the ruddock would,\n With charitable bill....\n ... bring thee all this,\n Yea and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none,\n To winter-ground thy corse.\"\n\n In Webster's _White Devil_, act v., we read:--\n\n \"Call for the robin red breast and the wren\n Since o'er shady groves they hover\n And with leaves and flowers do cover\n The friendless bodies of unburied men.\"\n\n The critics suppose Webster to have imitated Shakespere here, but\n there is no ground for any such supposition. The industry of Reed,\n Steevens, and Douce has supplied us with several passages from old\n literature in which this characteristic of the robin is referred to.\n\n In \"_Cornucopi\u00e6, or, divers Secrets_; wherein is contained the rare\n secrets of man, beasts, fowles, fishes, trees, plants, stones, and\n such like, most pleasant and profitable, and not before committed\n to bee printed in English. Newlie drawen out of divers Latine\n Authors into English by Thomas Johnson,\" 4to. London, 1596, occurs\n the following passage:--\"The robin red-breast if he find a man or\n woman dead will cover all his face with mosse, and some thinke that\n if the body should remaine unburied that hee woulde cover the whole\n body also.\"\n\n This little secret of Johnson is copied by Thomas Lupton into his\n _A Thousand Notable Things of sundrie sorts newly corrected_, 1601,\n where it appears as No. 37 of book i.\n\n Michael Drayton has the following lines in his poem, _The Owl_:\n\n \"Cov'ring with moss the dead's unclosed eye\n The little red-breast teacheth charitie.\"\n\n In Dekker's _Villanies discovered by lanthorn and candlelight_,\n 1616, we read, \"They that cheere up a prisoner but with their sight\n are Robin red-breasts, that bring strawes in their bils to cover\n a dead man in extremit\u00ece.\" This is sufficient evidence that the\n belief was wide-spread.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n Now ponder well, you parents deare,\n These wordes, which I shall write;\n A doleful story you shall heare,\n In time brought forth to light.\n A gentleman of good account 5\n In Norfolke dwelt of late,\n Who did in honour far surmount\n Most men of his estate.\n\n Sore sicke he was, and like to dye,\n No helpe his life could save; 10\n His wife by him as sicke did lye,\n And both possest one grave.\n No love between these two was lost,\n Each was to other kinde,\n In love they liv'd, in love they dyed, 15\n And left two babes behinde:\n\n The one a fine and pretty boy,\n Not passing three yeares olde;\n The other a girl more young than he,\n And fram'd in beautyes molde. 20\n The father left his little son,\n As plainlye doth appeare,\n When he to perfect age should come,\n Three hundred poundes a yeare.\n\n And to his little daughter Jane 25\n Five hundred poundes in gold,\n To be paid down on marriage-day,\n Which might not be controll'd:\n\n But if the children chance to dye,\n Ere they to age should come, 30\n Their uncle should possesse their wealth;\n For so the wille did run.\n\n Now, brother, said the dying man,\n Look to my children deare;\n Be good unto my boy and girl, 35\n No friendes else have they here:\n To God and you I recommend\n My children deare this daye;\n But little while be sure we have\n Within this world to staye. 40\n\n You must be father and mother both,\n And uncle all in one;\n God knowes what will become of them,\n When I am dead and gone.\n With that bespake their mother deare, 45\n O brother kinde, quoth shee,\n You are the man must bring our babes\n To wealth or miserie:\n\n And if you keep them carefully,\n Then God will you reward; 50\n But if you otherwise should deal,\n God will your deedes regard.\n With lippes as cold as any stone,\n They kist their children small:\n God bless you both, my children deare; 55\n With that the teares did fall.\n\n These speeches then their brother spake\n To this sicke couple there,\n The keeping of your little ones\n Sweet sister, do not feare; 60\n God never prosper me nor mine,\n Nor aught else that I have,\n If I do wrong your children deare,\n When you are layd in grave.\n\n The parents being dead and gone, 65\n The children home he takes,\n And bringes them straite unto his house,\n Where much of them he makes.\n He had not kept these pretty babes\n A twelvemonth and a daye, 70\n But, for their wealth, he did devise\n To make them both awaye.\n\n He bargain'd with two ruffians strong,\n Which were of furious mood,\n That they should take these children young, 75\n And slaye them in a wood.\n He told his wife an artful tale,\n He would the children send\n To be brought up in faire Lond\u00f2n,\n With one that was his friend. 80\n\n Away then went those pretty babes,\n Rejoycing at that tide,\n Rejoycing with a merry minde,\n They should on cock-horse ride.\n They prate and prattle pleasantly, 85\n As they rode on the waye,\n To those that should their butchers be,\n And work their lives decaye:\n\n So that the pretty speeche they had,\n Made Murder's heart relent; 90\n And they that undertooke the deed,\n Full sore did now repent.\n Yet one of them more hard of heart,\n Did vowe to do his charge,\n Because the wretch, that hired him, 95\n Had paid him very large.\n\n The other won't agree thereto,\n So here they fall to strife;\n With one another they did fight,\n About the childrens life: 100\n\n And he that was of mildest mood,\n Did slaye the other there,\n Within an unfrequented wood;\n The babes did quake for feare!\n\n He took the children by the hand, 105\n Teares standing in their eye,\n And bad them straitwaye follow him,\n And look they did not crye:\n And two long miles he ledd them on,\n While they for food complaine: 110\n Staye here, quoth he, I'll bring you bread,\n When I come back againe.\n\n These pretty babes, with hand in hand,\n Went wandering up and downe;\n But never more could see the man 115\n Approaching from the town:\n Their prettye lippes with black-berries,\n Were all besmear'd and dyed,\n And when they sawe the darksome night,\n They sat them downe and cryed. 120\n\n Thus wandered these poor innocents,\n Till deathe did end their grief,\n In one anothers armes they dyed,\n As wanting due relief:\n No burial 'this' pretty 'pair'[388] 125\n Of any man receives,\n Till Robin-red-breast piously\n Did cover them with leaves.\n\n And now the heavy wrathe of God\n Upon their uncle fell; 130\n Yea, fearfull fiends did haunt his house,\n His conscience felt an hell:\n His barnes were fir'd, his goodes consum'd,\n His landes were barren made,\n His cattle dyed within the field, 135\n And nothing with him stayd.\n\n And in a voyage to Portugal[389]\n Two of his sonnes did dye;\n And to conclude, himselfe was brought\n To want and miserye: 140\n He pawn'd and mortgaged all his land\n Ere seven yeares came about.\n And now at length this wicked act\n Did by this meanes come out:\n\n The fellowe, that did take in hand 145\n These children for to kill,\n Was for a robbery judg'd to dye,\n Such was God's blessed will:\n Who did confess the very truth,\n As here hath been display'd: 150\n Their uncle having dyed in gaol,\n Where he for debt was layd.\n\n You that executors be made,\n And overseers eke\n Of children that be fatherless, 155\n And infants mild and meek;\n Take you example by this thing,\n And yield to each his right,\n Lest God with such like miserye\n Your wicked minds requite. 160\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[388] Ver. 125. these ... babes. _P.P._\n\n[389] [Ritson has the following note (_Ancient Songs_, 1829, vol. ii.\nP. 155): \"_the_ voyage, A.D. 1588. See the Catalogue of the Harl.\nMSS. No. 167 (15). Dr. Percy, not knowing that the text alludes to a\nparticular event, has altered it to _a_ voyage.\"]\n\n\n\n\nXIX.\n\nA LOVER OF LATE.\n\n\nPrinted, with a few slight corrections, from the Editor's folio MS.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [This song is printed, Hales and Furnivall's edition of the MS.\n vol. iii. p. 389.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n A lover of late was I,\n For Cupid would have it soe,\n The boy that hath never an eye,\n As every man doth know:\n I sighed and sobbed, and cryed, alas! 5\n For her that laught, and called me ass.\n\n Then knew not I what to doe,\n When I saw itt was in vaine[390]\n A lady soe coy to wooe,\n Who gave me the asse soe plaine:[391] 10\n Yet would I her asse freelye bee,\n Soe shee would helpe, and beare with mee.\n\n An' I were as faire as shee,[392]\n Or shee were as kind as I,[393]\n What payre cold have made, as wee, 15\n Soe prettye a sympathye:\n I was as kind as she was faire,\n But for all this wee cold not paire.\n\n Paire with her that will for mee,\n With her I will never paire; 20\n That cunningly can be coy,\n For being a little faire.\n The asse Ile leave to her disdaine;\n And now I am myselfe againe.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[390] [Ver. 8. when I see itt was vaine.]\n\n[391] [V. 10. and gave.]\n\n[392] [V. 13. faine, MS.]\n\n[393] [V. 14. and shee, MS.]\n\n\n\n\nXX.\n\nTHE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD.\n\n\nIt has been a favourite subject with our English ballad-makers to\nrepresent our kings conversing, either by accident or design, with\nthe meanest of their subjects. Of the former kind, besides this song\nof the King and the Miller; we have K. Henry and the Soldier; K.\nJames I. and the Tinker; K. William III. and the Forrester &c. Of the\nlatter sort, are K. Alfred and the Shepherd; K. Edward IV. and the\nTanner;[394] K. Henry VIII. and the Cobler, &c.--A few of the best\nof these are admitted into this collection. Both the author of the\nfollowing ballad, and others who have written on the same plan, seem\nto have copied a very ancient poem, intitled _John the Reeve_, which\nis built on an adventure of the same kind, that happened between K.\nEdward Longshanks, and one of his Reeves or Bailiffs. This is a piece\nof great antiquity, being written before the time of Edward IV. and for\nits genuine humour, diverting incidents, and faithful picture of rustic\nmanners, is infinitely superior to all that have been since written in\nimitation of it. The Editor has a copy in his ancient folio MS. but its\nlength rendered it improper for this volume, it consisting of more than\n900 lines. It contains also some corruptions, and the Editor chuses to\ndefer its publication in hopes that some time or other he shall be able\nto remove them.\n\nThe following is printed, with corrections, from the editor's folio\nMS. collated with an old black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection,\nintitled _A pleasant ballad of K. Henry II. and the Miller of\nMansfield, &c._\n\n * * * * *\n\n [This ballad of _Henry II. and the Miller of Mansfield_ cannot\n be traced farther back than the end of Elizabeth's reign or the\n beginning of James's. One of the three copies in the Roxburghe\n Collection is dated by Mr. Chappell between 1621 and 1655, and the\n copy in the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 147)\n was written about the same period. (See Roxburghe _Ballads_, ed.\n Chappell, vol. i. p. 538.)\n\n As there are earlier copies than the one in the Folio MS. it has\n not been thought necessary to add Collations.\n\n _John the Reeve_, referred to above, is one of the earliest and\n most interesting of this large class of tales. It was printed for\n the first time in Hales and Furnivall's edition of the MS. (vol.\n ii. p. 550) with a valuable introduction.\n\n This spirited poem was probably written originally in the middle of\n the fifteenth century. \"It professes to describe an incident that\n took place in the days of King Edward. It adds:\n\n Of that name were Kings _three_\n But Edward with the long shanks was he,\n A lord of great renown.\n\n The poem then was written after the death of Edward III.; that is,\n after 1377, and before the accession of Edward IV., that is before\n 1461.\"]\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n PART THE FIRST.\n\n Henry, our royall king, would ride a hunting\n To the greene forest so pleasant and faire;\n To see the harts skipping, and dainty does tripping:\n Unto merry Sherwood his nobles repaire:\n Hawke and hound were unbound, all things prepar'd 5\n For the game, in the same, with good regard.\n\n All a long summers day rode the king pleasantlye,\n With all his princes and nobles eche one;\n\n Chasing the hart and hind, and the bucke gallantlye,\n Till the dark evening forc'd all to turne home. 10\n Then at last, riding fast, he had lost quite\n All his lords in the wood, late in the night.\n\n Wandering thus wearilye, all alone, up and downe,\n With a rude miller he mett at the last:\n Asking the ready way unto faire Nottingham; 15\n Sir, quoth the miller, I meane not to jest,\n Yet I thinke, what I thinke, sooth for to say,\n You doe not lightlye ride out of your way.\n\n Why, what dost thou think of me, quoth our king merrily,\n Passing thy judgment upon me so briefe? 20\n Good faith, sayd the miller, I meane not to flatter thee;\n I guess thee to be but some gentleman thiefe;\n Stand thee backe, in the darke; light not adowne,\n Lest that I presentlye cracke thy knaves crowne.\n\n Thou dost abuse me much, quoth the king, saying thus; 25\n I am a gentleman; lodging I lacke.\n Thou hast not, quoth th' miller, one groat in thy purse;\n All thy inheritance hanges on thy backe.[395]\n I have gold to discharge all that I call;\n If it be forty pence, I will pay all. 30\n\n If thou beest a true man, then quoth the miller,\n I sweare by my toll-dish, I'll lodge thee all night.\n Here's my hand, quoth the king, that was I ever.\n Nay, soft, quoth the miller, thou may'st be a sprite.\n Better I'll know thee, ere hands we will shake; 35\n With none but honest men hands will I take.\n\n Thus they went all along unto the miller's house;\n Where they were seething of puddings and souse:[396]\n The miller first enter'd in, after him went the king;\n Never came hee in soe smoakye a house. 40\n Now, quoth hee, let me see here what you are.\n Quoth our king, looke your fill, and doe not spare.\n\n I like well thy countenance, thou hast an honest face\n With my son Richard this night thou shalt lye.\n Quoth his wife, by my troth, it is a handsome youth, 45\n Yet it's best, husband, to deal warilye.\n Art thou no run away, prythee, youth, tell?\n Shew me thy passport, and all shal be well.\n\n Then our king presentlye, making lowe courtesye,\n With his hatt in his hand, thus he did say; 50\n I have no passport, nor never was servitor,\n But a poor courtyer, rode out of my way:\n And for your kindness here offered to mee,\n I will requite you in everye degree.\n\n Then to the miller his wife whisper'd secretlye, 55\n Saying, It seemeth, this youth's of good kin,\n Both by his apparel, and eke by his manners;\n To turne him out, certainlye, were a great sin.\n Yea, quoth hee, you may see, he hath some grace\n When he doth speake to his betters in place. 60\n\n Well, quo' the millers wife, young man, ye're welcome here;\n And, though I say it, well lodged shall be:\n Fresh straw will I have, laid on thy bed so brave,\n And good brown hempen sheets likewise, quoth shee.\n Aye, quoth the good man; and when that is done, 65\n Thou shalt lye with no worse, than our own sonne.\n\n Nay, first, quoth Richard, good-fellowe, tell me true,\n Host thou noe creepers within thy gay hose?\n Or art thou not troubled with the scabbado?\n I pray, quoth the king, what creatures are those? 70\n Art thou not lowsy, nor scabby? quoth he:\n If thou beest, surely thou lyest not with mee.\n\n This caus'd the king, suddenlye, to laugh most heartilye,\n Till the teares trickled fast downe from his eyes.\n Then to their supper were they set orderlye, 75\n With hot bag-puddings, and good apple-pyes;\n Nappy ale, good and stale, in a browne bowle,\n Which did about the board merrilye trowle.\n\n Here, quoth the miller, good fellowe, I drinke to thee,\n And to all 'cuckholds, wherever they bee.'[397] 80\n I pledge thee, quotth our king, and thanke thee heartilye\n For my good welcome in everye degree:\n And here, in like manner, I drinke to thy sonne.\n Do then, quoth Richard, and quicke let it come.\n\n Wife, quoth the miller, fetch me forth lightfoote, 85\n And of his sweetnesse a little we'll taste.\n A fair ven'son pastye brought she out presentlye.\n Eate, quoth the miller, but, sir, make no waste.\n Here's dainty lightfoote! In faith, sayd the king,\n I never before eat so daintye a thing. 90\n\n I wis, quoth Richard, no daintye at all it is,\n For we doe eate of it everye day.\n In what place, sayd our king, may be bought like to this?\n We never pay pennye for itt, by my fay;\n From merry Sherwood we fetch it home here; 95\n Now and then we make bold with our kings deer.\n\n Then I thinke, sayd our king, that it is venison.\n Eche foole, quoth Richard, full well may know that:\n Never are wee without two or three in the roof,\n Very well fleshed, and excellent fat: 100\n But, prythee, say nothing wherever thou goe;\n We would not, for two pence, the king should it knowe.\n\n Doubt not, then sayd the king, my promist secresye;\n The king shall never know more on't for mee.\n A cupp of lambs-wool[398] they dranke unto him then, 105\n And to their bedds they past presentlie.\n The nobles, next morning, went all up and down,\n For to seeke out the king in everye towne.\n\n At last, at the miller's 'cott,' soone they espy'd him out,\n As he was mounting upon his faire steede; 110\n To whom they came presently, falling down on their knee;\n Which made the millers heart wofully bleede;\n Shaking and quaking, before him he stood,\n Thinking he should have been hang'd, by the rood.\n\n The king perceiving him fearfully trembling, 115\n Drew forth his sword, but nothing he sed:\n The miller downe did fall, crying before them all,\n Doubting the king would have cut off his head.\n But he his kind courtesye for to requite,\n Gave him great living, and dubb'd him a knight. 120\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n PART THE SECONDE.\n\n When as our royall king came home from Nottingham,\n And with his nobles at Westminster lay;\n Recounting the sports and pastimes they had taken,\n In this late progress along on the way;\n Of them all, great and small, he did protest, 5\n The miller of Mansfield's sport liked him best.\n\n And now, my lords, quoth the king, I am determined\n Against St. Georges next sumptuous feast,\n That this old miller, our new confirm'd knight,\n With his son Richard, shall here be my guest: 10\n For, in this merryment, 'tis my desire\n To talke with the jolly knight, and the young squire.\n\n When as the noble lords saw the kinges pleasantness,\n They were right joyfull and glad in their hearts:\n A pursuivant there was sent straighte on the business, 15\n The which had often-times been in those parts.\n When he came to the place, where they did dwell,\n His message orderlye then 'gan he tell.\n\n God save your worshippe, then said the messenger,\n And grant your ladye her own hearts desire; 20\n And to your sonne Richard good fortune and happiness;\n That sweet, gentle, and gallant young squire.\n Our king greets you well, and thus he doth say,\n You must come to the court on St. George's day;\n\n Therfore, in any case, faile not to be in place. 25\n I wis, quoth the miller, this is an odd jest:\n What should we doe there? faith, I am halfe afraid.\n I doubt, quoth Richard, to be hang'd at the least.\n Nay, quoth the messenger, you doe mistake;\n Our king he provides a great feast for your sake. 30\n\n Then sayd the miller, By my troth, messenger,\n Thou hast contented my worshippe full well.\n Hold here are three farthings, to quite thy gentleness,\n For these happy tydings, which thou dost tell.\n Let me see, hear thou mee; tell to our king, 35\n We'll wayt on his mastershipp in everye thing.\n\n The pursuivant smiled at their simplicitye,\n And, making many leggs, tooke their reward;\n And his leave taking with great humilitye\n To the kings court againe he repair'd; 40\n Shewing unto his grace, merry and free,\n The knightes most liberall gift and bountie.\n\n When he was gone away, thus gan the miller say,\n Here come expences and charges indeed;\n Now must we needs be brave, tho' we spend all we have; 45\n For of new garments we have great need:\n Of horses and serving-men we must have store,\n With bridles and saddles, and twentye things more.\n\n Tushe, sir John, quoth his wife, why should you frett, or frowne?\n You shall ne'er be att no charges for mee; 50\n For I will turne and trim up my old russet gowne,\n With everye thing else as fine as may bee;\n And on our mill-horses swift we will ride,\n With pillowes and pannells, as we shall provide.\n\n In this most statelye sort, rode they unto the court, 55\n Their jolly sonne Richard rode foremost of all;\n\n Who set up, for good hap, a cocks feather in his cap,[399]\n And so they jetted[400] downe to the kings hall;\n The merry old miller with hands on his side;\n His wife, like maid Marian, did mince at that tide.[401] 60\n\n The king and his nobles that heard of their coming,\n Meeting this gallant knight with his brave traine;\n Welcome, sir knight, quoth he, with your gay lady:\n Good sir John Cockle, once welcome againe:\n And soe is the squire of courage soe free. 65\n Quoth Dicke, A bots on you! do you know mee?\n\n Quoth our king gentlye, how should I forget thee?\n That wast my owne bed-fellowe, well it I wot.\n Yea, sir, quoth Richard, and by the same token,\n Thou with thy farting didst make the bed hot. 70\n Thou whore-son unhappy knave, then quoth the knight,\n Speake cleanly to our king, or else go sh***.\n\n The king and his courtiers laugh at this heartily,\n While the king taketh them both by the hand;\n With the court-dames, and maids, like to the queen of spades 75\n The millers wife did soe orderlye stand.\n A milk-maids courtesye at every word;\n And downe all the folkes were set to the board.\n\n There the king royally, in princelye majestye,\n Sate at his dinner with joy and delight; 80\n When they had eaten well, then he to jesting fell,\n And in a bowle of wine dranke to the knight:\n Here's to you both, in wine, ale and beer;\n Thanking you heartilye for my good cheer.\n\n Quoth sir John Cockle, I'll pledge you a pottle, 85\n Were it the best ale in Nottinghamshire:\n But then said our king, now I think of a thing;\n Some of your lightfoote I would we had here.\n Ho! ho! quoth Richard, full well I may say it,\n 'Tis knavery to eate it, and then to betray it. 90\n\n Why art thou angry? quoth our king merrilye;\n In faith, I take it now very unkind:\n I thought thou wouldst pledge me in ale and wine heartily.\n Quoth Dicke, You are like to stay till I have din'd:\n You feed us with twatling dishes soe small; 95\n Zounds, a blacke-pudding is better than all.\n\n Aye, marry, quoth our king, that were a daintye thing,\n Could a man get but one here for to eate.\n With that Dicke straite arose, and pluckt one from his hose,\n Which with heat of his breech gan to sweate. 100\n The king made a proffer to snatch it away:--\n 'Tis meat for your master: good sir, you must stay.\n\n Thus in great merriment was the time wholly spent;\n And then the ladyes prepared to dance.\n Old Sir John Cockle, and Richard, incontinent[402] 105\n Unto their places the king did advance.\n Here with the ladyes such sport they did make,\n The nobles with laughing did make their sides ake.\n\n Many thankes for their paines did the king give them,\n Asking young Richard then, if he would wed; 110\n Among these ladyes free, tell me which liketh thee?\n Quoth he, Jugg Grumball, Sir, with the red head:\n She's my love, she's my life, her will I wed;\n She hath sworn I shall have her maidenhead.\n\n Then sir John Cockle the king called unto him, 115\n And of merry Sherwood made him o'er seer;\n And gave him out of hand three hundred pound yearlye:\n Take heed now you steale no more of my deer:\n And once a quarter let's here have your view;\n And now, sir John Cockle, I bid you adieu. 120\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[394] [See vol. ii. book i. No. 15.]\n\n[395] The king says this.\n\n[396] [The head, feet, and ears of swine boiled and pickled for\neating.--_Halliwell's Dictionary._]\n\n[397] [Ver. 80. courtnalls, that courteous be. _MS. and P._]\n\n[398] [A favourite liquor among the common people, composed of ale and\nroasted apples, the pulp of the apple worked up with the ale till the\nmixture formed a smooth beverage. _Nares' Glossary._]\n\n[399] [Ver. 57. _for good hap_: _i.e._ for good luck; they were going\non an hazardous expedition.]\n\n[400] [strutted.]\n\n[401] [Ver. 60. Maid Marian in the Morris dance, was represented by a\nman in woman's cloaths, who was to take short steps in order to sustain\nthe female character.]\n\n[402] [forthwith.]\n\n\n\n\nXXI.\n\nTHE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION.\n\n\nThis beautiful old song was written by a poet, whose name would have\nbeen utterly forgotten, if it had not been preserved by _Swift_, as a\nterm of contempt. _Dryden_ and _Wither_ are coupled by him like the\n_Bavius_ and _M\u00e6vius_ of Virgil. _Dryden_, however, has had justice\ndone him by posterity: and as for _Wither_, though of subordinate\nmerit, that he was not altogether devoid of genius, will be judged from\nthe following stanzas. The truth is, _Wither_ was a very voluminous\nparty-writer: and as his political and satyrical strokes rendered him\nextremely popular in his life-time; so afterwards, when these were no\nlonger relished, they totally consigned his writings to oblivion.\n\n_George Wither_ was born June 11, 1588, and in his younger years\ndistinguished himself by some pastoral pieces, that were not inelegant;\nbut growing afterwards involved in the political and religious disputes\nin the times of James I. and Charles I. he employed his poetical vein\nin severe pasquils on the court and clergy, and was occasionally a\nsufferer for the freedom of his pen. In the civil war that ensued,\nhe exerted himself in the service of the Parliament, and became a\nconsiderable sharer in the spoils. He was even one of those provincial\ntyrants, whom Oliver distributed over the kingdom, under the name\nof Major Generals; and had the fleecing of the county of Surrey:\nbut surviving the Restoration, he outlived both his power and his\naffluence; and giving vent to his chagrin in libels on the court, was\nlong a prisoner in Newgate and the Tower. He died at length on the 2d\nof May, 1667.\n\nDuring the whole course of his life, _Wither_ was a continual\npublisher; having generally for opponent, _Taylor_ the Water-poet.\nThe long list of his productions may be seen in Wood's _Athen\u00e6._\n_Oxon._ vol. ii. His most popular satire is intitled, _Abuses whipt_\n_and stript_, 1613. His most poetical pieces were eclogues, intitled,\n_The Shepherd's Hunting_, 1615, 8vo. and others printed at the end\nof Browne's _Shepherd's Pipe_, 1614, 8vo. The following sonnet is\nextracted from a long pastoral piece of his, intitled, _The Mistresse_\n_of Philarete_, 1622, 8vo. which is said in the preface to be one of\nthe Author's first poems; and may therefore be dated as early as any of\nthe foregoing.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [This favourite song appeared in 1619, appended to Wither's\n _Fidelia_, and again in his _Juvenilia_ in 1633 in _Fair Virtue\n the mistress of Philarete_. It was reprinted again and again, and\n occurs in the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 50).\n\n Mr. Chappell refers to a copy in the Pepys Collection entitled, _A\n New Song of a young man's opinion of the difference between good_\n _and bad women_, the first line of which is, \"Shall I _wrestling_\n in despaire?\" This reading seems to have been pretty popular, as\n Mr. Chappell gives two instances of the tune being called \"_Shall_\n _I wrastle in despair?_\" Mr. Chappell prints a song in the same\n metre and with a similar burden, which has been attributed on\n insufficient evidence to Sir Walter Raleigh. The first stanza is as\n follows:--\n\n \"Shall I like a hermit dwell\n On a rock or in a cell?\n Calling home the smallest part\n That is missing of my heart,\n To bestow it where I may\n Meet a rival every day?\n If she undervalues me\n What care I how fair she be.\"\n\n _Popular Music of the Olden Time_, vol. i. p. 315.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n Shall I, wasting in dispaire,\n Dye because a woman's faire?\n Or make pale my cheeks with care,\n 'Cause another's rosie are?\n Be shee fairer then the day, 5\n Or the flowery meads in may;\n If she be not so to me,[403]\n What care I how faire shee be?\n\n Shall my foolish heart be pin'd,\n 'Cause I see a woman kind? 10\n Or a well-disposed nature\n Joyned with a lovely feature?\n Be she meeker, kinder, than\n The turtle-dove or pelican:\n If shee be not so to me, 15\n What care I how kind shee be?\n\n Shall a woman's virtues move\n Me to perish for her love?\n Or, her well-deservings knowne,\n Make me quite forget mine owne? 20\n Be shee with that goodnesse blest,\n Which may merit name of Best;\n If she be not such to me,[404]\n What care I how good she be?\n\n Cause her fortune seems too high,[405] 25\n Shall I play the foole and dye?[405]\n Those that beare a noble minde,[405]\n Where they want of riches find,[405]\n Think what with them they would doe,[405]\n That without them dare to woe;[405] 30\n And, unlesse that minde I see,[405]\n What care I how great she be?[405]\n\n Great or good, or kind or faire,\n I will ne'er the more dispaire:\n If she love me, this beleeve; 35\n I will die ere she shall grieve.\n If she slight me when I wooe,\n I can scorn and let her goe:\n If shee be not fit for me,\n What care I for whom she be? 40\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[403] [Ver. 7. if shee thinke not well of mee, MS.]\n\n[404] [V. 23. soe to me, MS.]\n\n[405] [V. 25-32. this stanza is not in the MS.]\n\n\n\n\nXXII.\n\nQUEEN DIDO.\n\n\nSuch is the title given in the editor's folio MS.[406] to this\nexcellent old ballad, which, in the common printed copies, is\ninscribed, _Eneas, wandering Prince of Troy_. It is here given\nfrom that MS. collated with two different printed copies, both in\nblack-letter, in the Pepys Collection.\n\nThe reader will smile to observe with what natural and affecting\nsimplicity, our ancient ballad-maker has engrafted a Gothic conclusion\non the classic story of Virgil, from whom, however, it is probable he\nhad it not. Nor can it be denied, but he has dealt out his poetical\njustice with a more impartial hand, than that celebrated poet.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [This once popular ballad was entered on the Registers of the\n Stationers Company in 1564-5 as \"a ballett intituled _The\n Wanderynge Prince_.\" Its great popularity is evidenced by the\n frequent references in literature and the large number of ballads\n sung to the tune of _Queen Dido_ or _Troy towne_. In _The Penniless\n Parliament of Threadbare Poets_, 1608, ale-knights are said\n to \"sing _Queen Dido_ over a cup and tell strange news over an\n ale-pot,\" and the same song is referred to in Fletcher's _Captain_\n (act iii. sc. 3) and his _Bonduca_, act i. sc. 2.\n\n The only tune that Mr. Chappell could find for the ballad was one\n by Dr. John Wilson (the Jack Wilson of Shakspere's stage according\n to Dr. Rimbault), which is printed in his _Cheerful Ayres or\n Ballads_, Oxford, 1660.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n When Troy towne had, for ten yeeres \"past,\"[407]\n Withstood the Greekes in manfull wise,\n Then did their foes encrease soe fast,\n That to resist none could suffice:\n Wast lye those walls, that were soe good, 5\n And corne now growes where Troy towne stoode.\n\n \u00c6neas, wandering prince of Troy,\n When he for land long time had sought,\n At length arriving with great joy,\n To mighty Carthage walls was brought; 10\n Where Dido queene, with sumptuous feast,\n Did entertaine that wandering guest.\n\n And, as in hall at meate, they sate,\n The queene, desirous newes to heare,\n \"Says, of thy Troys unhappy fate\" 15\n Declare to me thou Trojan deare:\n The heavy hap and chance soe bad,\n That thou, poore wandering prince, hast had,\n\n And then anon this comelye knight,\n With words demure, as he cold well, 20\n Of his unhappy ten yeares \"fight,\"\n Soe true a tale began to tell,\n With words soe sweete, and sighes so deepe,\n That oft he made them all to weepe.\n\n And then a thousand sighes he fet,[408] 25\n And every sigh brought teares amaine;\n That where he sate the place was wett,\n As though he had seene those warrs againe;\n Soe that the queene, with ruth therfore,\n Said, worthy prince, enough, no more. 30\n\n And then the darksome night drew on,\n And twinkling starres the skye bespred;\n When he his dolefull tale had done,\n And every one was layd in bedd:\n Where they full sweetly tooke their rest, 35\n Save only Dido's boyling brest.\n\n This silly woman never slept,\n But in her chamber, all alone,\n As one unhappye, alwayes wept,\n And to the walls shee made her mone; 40\n That she shold still desire in vaine\n The thing, she never must obtaine.\n\n And thus in grieffe she spent the night,\n Till twinkling starres the skye were fled,\n And Ph[oe]bus, with his glistering light, 45\n Through misty cloudes appeared red;\n Then tidings came to her anon,\n That all the Trojan shipps were gone.\n\n And then the queene with bloody knife\n Did arme her hart as hard as stone, 50\n Yet, something loth to loose her life,\n In woefull wise she made her mone;\n And, rowling on her carefull bed,\n With sighes and sobbs, these words shee sayd:\n\n O wretched Dido queene! quoth shee, 55\n I see thy end approacheth neare;\n For hee is fled away from thee,\n Whom thou didst love and hold so deare:\n What is he gone, and passed by?\n O hart, prepare thyselfe to dye. 60\n\n Though reason says, thou shouldst forbeare,\n And stay thy hand from bloudy stroke;\n Yet fancy bids thee not to fear,\n Which fetter'd thee in Cupids yoke.\n Come death, quoth shee, resolve my smart!-- 65\n And with those words shee peerced her hart.\n\n When death had pierced the tender hart\n Of Dido, Carthaginian queene;\n Whose bloudy knife did end the smart,\n Which shee sustain'd in mournfull teene[409]; 70\n \u00c6neas being shipt and gone,\n Whose flattery caused all her mone;\n\n Her funerall most costly made,\n And all things finisht mournfullye;\n Her body fine in mold was laid, 75\n Where itt consumed speedilye:\n Her sisters teares her tombe bestrewde;\n Her subjects griefe their kindnesse shewed.\n\n Then was \u00c6neas in an ile\n In Grecya, where he stayd long space, 80\n Wheras her sister in short while\n Writt to him to his vile disgrace;\n In speeches bitter to his mind\n Shee told him plaine he was unkind.\n\n False-harted wretch, quoth shee, thou art; 85\n And traiterouslye thou hast betraid\n Unto thy lure a gentle hart,\n Which unto thee much welcome made;\n My sister deare, and Carthage' joy,\n Whose folly bred her deere annoy. 90\n\n Yett on her death-bed when shee lay,\n Shee prayd for thy prosperitye,\n Beseeching god, that every day\n Might breed thy great felicitye:\n Thus by thy meanes I lost a friend; 95\n Heavens send thee such untimely end.\n\n When he these lines, full fraught with gall,\n Perused had, and wayed them right,\n His lofty courage then did fall;\n And straight appeared in his sight 100\n Queene Dido's ghost, both grim and pale;\n Which made this valliant souldier quaile.\n\n \u00c6neas, quoth this ghastly ghost,\n My whole delight when I did live,\n Thee of all men I loved most; 105\n My fancy and my will did give;\n For entertainment I thee gave,\n Unthankefully thou didst me grave.\n\n Therfore prepare thy flitting soule\n To wander with me in the aire; 110\n Where deadlye griefe shall make it howle,\n Because of me thou tookst no care:\n Delay not time, thy glasse is run,\n Thy date is past, thy life is done.\n\n O stay a while, thou lovely sprite, 115\n Be not soe hasty to convay\n My soule into eternall night,\n Where itt shall ne're behold bright day.\n O doe not frowne; thy angry looke,\n Hath \"all my soule with horror shooke.\"[410] 120\n\n But, woe is me! all is in vaine,\n And bootless is my dismall crye;\n Time will not be recalled againe,\n Nor thou surcease before I dye.\n O lett me live, and make amends 125\n To some of thy most deerest friends.\n\n But seeing thou obdurate art,\n And wilt no pittye on me show,\n Because from thee I did depart,\n And left unpaid what I did owe: 130\n I must content myselfe to take\n What lott to me thou wilt partake.\n\n And thus, as one being in a trance,\n A multitude of uglye feinds\n About this woffull prince did dance; 135\n He had no helpe of any friends:\n His body then they tooke away,\n And no man knew his dying day.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[406] [Ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. iii. p. 502.]\n\n[407] [Ver. 1. 21. war. MS. and PP.]\n\n[408] fetched.\n\n[409] [trouble.]\n\n[410] Ver. 120. MS. _Hath_ made my breath my life forsooke.\n\n\n\n\nXXIII.\n\nTHE WITCHES' SONG\n\n\nFrom Ben Jonson's _Masque of Queens_ presented at Whitehall, Feb. 2,\n1609.\n\nThe editor thought it incumbent on him to insert some old pieces on\nthe popular superstition concerning witches, hobgoblins, fairies, and\nghosts. The last of these make their appearance in most of the tragical\nballads; and in the following songs will be found some description of\nthe former.\n\nIt is true, this song of the Witches, falling from the learned pen\nof Ben Jonson, is rather an extract from the various incantations of\nclassical antiquity, than a display of the opinions of our own vulgar.\nBut let it be observed, that a parcel of learned wiseacres had just\nbefore busied themselves on this subject, in compliment to K. James I.\nwhose weakness on this head is well known: and these had so ransacked\nall writers, ancient and modern, and so blended and kneaded together\nthe several superstitions of different times and nations, that those of\ngenuine English growth could no longer be traced out and distinguished.\n\nBy good luck the whimsical belief of fairies and goblins could furnish\nno pretences for torturing our fellow-creatures, and therefore we have\nthis handed down to us pure and unsophisticated.\n\n * * * * *\n\n 1 WITCH.[411]\n\n I have been all day looking after\n A raven feeding upon a quarter;\n And, soone as she turn'd her beak to the south,\n I snatch'd this morsell out of her mouth.\n\n 2 WITCH.\n\n I have beene gathering wolves haires, 5\n The madd dogges foames, and adders eares;\n The spurging of a deadmans eyes:\n And all since the evening starre did rise.\n\n 3 WITCH.\n\n I last night lay all alone\n O' the ground, to heare the mandrake grone; 10\n And pluckt him up, though he grew full low:\n And, as I had done, the cocke did crow.\n\n 4 WITCH.\n\n And I ha' beene chusing out this scull\n From charnell houses that were full;\n From private grots, and publike pits; 15\n And frighted a sexton out of his wits.\n\n 5 WITCH.\n\n Under a cradle I did crepe\n By day; and, when the childe was a-sleepe\n At night, I suck'd the breath; and rose,\n And pluck'd the nodding nurse by the nose. 20\n\n 6 WITCH.\n\n I had a dagger: what did I with that?\n Killed an infant to have his fat.\n A piper it got at a church-ale,[412]\n I bade him again blow wind i' the taile.\n\n 7 WITCH.\n\n A murderer, yonder, was hung in chaines; 25\n The sunne and the wind had shrunke his veines:\n I bit off a sinew; I clipp'd his haire;\n I brought off his ragges, that danc'd i' the ayre.\n\n 8 WITCH.\n\n The scrich-owles egges and the feathers blacke,\n The bloud of the frogge, and the bone in his backe 30\n I have been getting; and made of his skin\n A purset, to keep sir Cranion[413] in.\n\n 9 WITCH.\n\n And I ha' beene plucking (plants among)\n Hemlock, henbane, adders-tongue,\n Night-shade, moone-wort, libbards-bane[414]; 35\n And twise by the dogges was like to be tane.\n\n 10 WITCH.\n\n I from the jawes of a gardiner's bitch\n Did snatch these bones, and then leap'd the ditch:\n Yet went I back to the house againe,\n Kill'd the blacke cat, and here is the braine. 40\n\n 11 WITCH.\n\n I went to the toad, breedes under the wall,\n I charmed him out, and he came at my call;\n I scratch'd out the eyes of the owle before;\n I tore the batts wing: what would you have more?\n\n DAME.[415]\n\n Yes: I have brought, to helpe your vows, 45\n Horned poppie, cypresse boughes,\n The fig-tree wild, that growes on tombes,\n And juice, that from the larch-tree comes,\n The basiliskes bloud, and the viper's skin:\n And now our orgies let's begin. 50\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[411] [These witches are called Hags by Jonson.]\n\n[412] [a wake or feast in commemoration of the dedication of a church.]\n\n[413] [skull.]\n\n[414] [the herb wolfbane.]\n\n[415] [Jonson meant the Dame to represent Ate or the goddess of\nMischief.]\n\n\n\n\nXXIV.\n\nROBIN GOOD-FELLOW,\n\n\nAlias _Pucke_, alias _Hobgoblin_, in the creed of ancient superstition,\nwas a kind of merry sprite, whose character and atchievements are\nrecorded in this ballad, and in those well-known lines of Milton's\n_L'Allegro_, which the antiquarian Peck supposes to be owing to it:\n\n \"Tells how the drudging _Goblin_ swet\n To earn his creame-bowle duly set;\n When in one night ere glimpse of morne,\n His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn\n That ten day-labourers could not end;\n Then lies him down the lubber fiend,\n And stretch'd out all the chimneys length,\n Basks at the fire his hairy strength,\n And crop-full out of doors he flings,\n Ere the first cock his matins rings.\"\n\nThe reader will observe that our simple ancestors had reduced all\nthese whimsies to a kind of system, as regular, and perhaps more\nconsistent, than many parts of classic mythology: a proof of the\nextensive influence and vast antiquity of these superstitions. Mankind,\nand especially the common people, could not every where have been so\nunanimously agreed concerning these arbitrary notions, if they had\nnot prevailed among them for many ages. Indeed, a learned friend in\nWales assures the Editor, that the existence of Fairies and Goblins is\nalluded to by the most ancient British Bards, who mention them under\nvarious names, one of the most common of which signifies, _The spirits\nof the mountains_. See also Preface to Song XXV.\n\nThis song, which Peck attributes to Ben Jonson, (tho' it is not found\namong his works) is chiefly printed from an ancient black-letter copy\nin the British Museum. It seems to have been originally intended for\nsome Masque.\n\nIt is intitled, in the old black-letter copies, _The mad merry_\n_Prankes of Robin Goodfellow_. To the tune of _Dulcina_, &c. (See No.\nXIII. above.)\n\nTo one, if not more of the old copies, are prefixed two wooden cuts,\nsaid to be taken from Bulwer's _Artificial Changeling, &c._, which,\nas they seem to correspond with the notions then entertained of the\nwhimsical appearances of this fantastic spirit, and perhaps were copied\nin the dresses in which he was formerly exhibited on the stage, are, to\ngratify the curious, engraven below.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [The copy in the Roxburghe _Collection_ (ed. Chappell, vol. ii. pl.\n i. p. 80) is printed by H[enry] G[osson], who was a contemporary\n of Ben Jonson. Some little books in prose on _Robin Goodfellow_,\n written in the seventeenth century, were printed for the Percy\n Society by Mr. J. P. Collier.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n From Oberon, in fairye land,\n The king of ghosts and shadowes there,\n Mad Robin I, at his command,\n Am sent to viewe the night-sports here.\n What revell rout 5\n Is kept about,\n In every corner where I go,\n I will o'ersee,\n And merry bee,\n And make good sport, with ho, ho, ho! 10\n\n More swift than lightening can I flye\n About this aery welkin soone,\n And, in a minutes space, descrye\n Each thing that's done belowe the moone,\n There's not a hag 15\n Or ghost shall wag,\n Or cry, ware Goblins! where I go;\n But Robin I\n Their feates will spy,\n And send them home, with ho, ho, ho! 20\n\n Whene'er such wanderers I meete,\n As from their night-sports they trudge home;\n With counterfeiting voice I greete\n And call them on, with me to roame\n Thro' woods, thro' lakes, 25\n Thro' bogs, thro' brakes;\n Or else, unseene, with them I go,\n All in the nicke\n To play some tricke\n And frolicke it, with ho, ho, ho! 30\n\n Sometimes I meete them like a man;\n Sometimes, an ox, sometimes, a hound;\n And to a horse I turn me can;\n To trip and trot about them round.\n But if, to ride, 35\n My backe they stride,\n More swift than wind away I go,\n Ore hedge and lands,\n Thro' pools and ponds\n I whirry, laughing, ho, ho, ho! 40\n\n When lads and lasses merry be,\n With possets and with juncates fine;\n Unseene of all the company,\n I eat their cakes and sip their wine;\n And, to make sport, 45\n I fart and snort;\n And out the candles I do blow:\n The maids I kiss;\n They shrieke--Who's this?\n I answer nought, but ho, ho, ho! 50\n\n Yet now and then, the maids to please,\n At midnight I card up their wooll;\n And while they sleepe, and take their ease,\n With wheel to threads their flax I pull.\n I grind at mill 55\n Their malt up still;\n I dress their hemp, I spin their tow.\n If any 'wake,\n And would me take,\n I wend me, laughing, ho, ho, ho! 60\n\n When house or harth doth sluttish lye,[416]\n I pinch the maidens blacke and blue;\n The bed-clothes from the bedd pull I,\n And lay them naked all to view.\n 'Twixt sleepe and wake, 65\n I do them take,\n And on the key-cold floor them throw.\n If out they cry,\n Then forth I fly,\n And loudly laugh out, ho, ho, ho! 70\n\n When any need to borrowe ought,\n We lend them what they do require;\n And for the use demand we nought;\n Our owne is all we do desire.\n If to repay, 75\n They do delay,\n Abroad amongst them then I go,\n And night by night,\n I them affright\n With pinchings, dreames, and ho, ho, ho! 80\n\n When lazie queans have nought to do,\n But study how to cog and lye;\n To make debate and mischief too,\n 'Twixt one another secretlye:\n I marke their gloze, 85\n And it disclose,\n To them whom they have wronged so;\n When I have done,\n I get me gone,\n And leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho! 90\n\n When men do traps and engins set\n In loop-holes, where the vermine creepe,\n Who from their foldes and houses, get\n Their duckes and geese, and lambes and sheepe:\n I spy the gin, 95\n And enter in,\n And seeme a vermine taken so;\n But when they there\n Approach me neare,\n I leap out laughing, ho, ho, ho! 100\n\n By wells and rills,[417] in meadowes greene,\n We nightly dance our hey-day guise;[418]\n And to our fairye king, and queene,\n We chant our moon-light minstrelsies.\n When larks 'gin sing, 105\n Away we fling;\n And babes new borne steal as we go,\n And else in bed,\n We leave instead,\n And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho! 110\n\n From hag-bred Merlin's time have I\n Thus nightly revell'd to and fro:\n And for my pranks men call me by\n The name of Robin Good-fellow.\n Fiends, ghosts, and sprites, 115\n Who haunt the nightes,\n The hags and goblins do me know;\n And beldames old\n My feates have told;\n So _Vale, Vale_; ho, ho, ho! 120\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[416] [Ver. 61. this begins the second part in the Roxburghe copy.]\n\n[417] [gills=rivulets, _Roxb. copy_.]\n\n[418] [a misprint for heydegies=rustic dances. The word occurs in\nLily's _Endymion_, 1591, and in Wm. Bulleyn's _Dialogue_, 1564, where\nthe minstrel daunces \"Trenchmore\" and \"Heie de gie.\"--_Chappell._]\n\n\n\n\nXXV.\n\nTHE FAIRY QUEEN.\n\n\nWe have here a short display of the popular belief concerning\n_Fairies_. It will afford entertainment to a contemplative mind to\ntrace these whimsical opinions up to their origin. Whoever considers,\nhow early, how extensively, and how uniformly, they have prevailed in\nthese nations, will not readily assent to the hypothesis of those, who\nfetch them from the east so late as the time of the Croisades. Whereas\nit is well known that our Saxon ancestors, long before they left their\nGerman forests, believed the existence of a kind of diminutive demons,\nor middle species between men and spirits, whom they called _Duergar_\nor _Dwarfs_, and to whom they attributed many wonderful performances,\nfar exceeding human art. Vid. Hervarer Saga Olaj Verelj. 1675. Hickes'\nThesaur., &c.\n\nThis Song is given (with some corrections by another copy) from a book\nintitled, _The Mysteries of Love and Eloquence, &c._ Lond. 1658, 8vo.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [Dr. Rimbault points out that this song occurs in a rare tract\n published more than twenty years before the book mentioned above.\n It is entitled, _A description of the King and Queen of the_\n _Fayries, their habit, fare, abode, pomp and state, being very\n delightful to the sense and full of mirth_. London, 1635. The\n song was to be sung to the tune of the _Spanish Gypsie_, which\n began--\n\n \"O follow, follow me\n For we be gypsies three.\"\n\n Martin Parker wrote a sort of parody called _The three merry_\n _Cobblers_, commencing--\n\n \"Come follow, follow me\n To the alehouse we'll march all three;\n Leave awl, last, thread and leather,\n And let's go all together.\"\n\n Mr. Chappell prints the first, eighth, fourteenth and last stanzas\n (_Popular Music_, vol. i. p. 272.)]\n\n * * * * *\n\n Come, follow, follow me,\n You, fairy elves that be:\n Which circle on the greene,\n Come follow Mab your queene.\n Hand in hand let's dance around, 5\n For this place is fairye ground.\n\n When mortals are at rest,\n And snoring in their nest;\n Unheard, and un-espy'd,\n Through key-holes we do glide; 10\n Over tables, stools, and shelves.\n We trip it with our fairy elves.\n\n And, if the house be foul[419]\n With platter, dish or bowl,\n Up stairs we nimbly creep, 15\n And find the sluts asleep:\n There we pinch their armes and thighes;\n None escapes, nor none espies.\n\n But if the house be swept,\n And from uncleanness kept, 20\n We praise the household maid,\n And duely she is paid:\n For we use before we goe\n To drop a tester[420] in her shoe.\n\n Upon a mushroomes head 25\n Our table-cloth we spread;\n A grain of rye, or wheat,\n Is manchet,[421] which we eat;\n Pearly drops of dew we drink\n In acorn cups fill'd to the brink. 30\n\n The brains of nightingales,\n With unctuous fat of snailes,\n Between two cockles stew'd,\n Is meat that's easily chew'd;\n Tailes of wormes, and marrow of mice 35\n Do make a dish, that's wonderous nice.\n\n The grashopper, gnat, and fly,\n Serve for our minstrelsie;\n Grace said, we dance a while,\n And so the time beguile; 40\n And if the moon doth hide her head,\n The gloe-worm lights us home to bed.\n\n On tops of dewie grasse\n So nimbly do we passe,\n The young and tender stalk 45\n Ne'er bends when we do walk:\n Yet in the morning may be seen\n Where we the night before have been.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[419] [Puck's speech in _Midsummer Night's Dream_ (act v. sc. 2)--\n\n \"I am sent with broom before\n To sweep the dust behind the door,\"\n\nillustrates the delight of the fairies in cleanliness, which is dwelt\nupon in this and the following song.]\n\n[420] [tester or teston=sixpence.]\n\n[421] [best kind of white bread.]\n\n\n\n\nXXVI.\n\nTHE FAIRIES FAREWELL.\n\n\nThis humorous old song fell from the hand of the witty Dr. _Corbet_\n(afterwards bishop of Norwich, &c.) and is printed from his _Po\u00ebtica\nStromata_, 1648, 12mo. (compared with the third edition of his poems,\n1672.) It is there called, _A proper new Ballad, intitled, The Fairies\nFarewell, or God-a-mercy Will, to be sung or whistled to the tune of\nThe Meddow brow, by the learned; by the unlearned, to the tune of\nFortune_.\n\nThe departure of Fairies is here attributed to the abolition of\nmonkery: Chaucer has, with equal humour, assigned a cause the very\nreverse, in his _Wife of Bath's Tale_.\n\n \"In olde dayes of the king Artour,\n Of which that Bretons speken gret honour,\n All was this lond fulfilled of faerie;\n The elf-quene, with hire joly compagnie\n Danced ful oft in many a grene mede.\n This was the old opinion as I rede;\n I speke of many hundred yeres ago;\n But now can no man see non elves mo,\n For now the grete charitee and prayeres\n Of limitoures and other holy freres,\n That serchen every land and every streme,\n As thikke as motes in the sonne beme,\n Blissing halles, chambres, kichenes, and boures,\n Citees and burghes, castles high and toures,\n Thropes and bernes, shepenes and dairies,\n This maketh that ther ben no faeries:\n For ther as wont to walken was an elf,\n Ther walketh now the limitour himself,\n In undermeles and in morweninges,\n And sayth his Matines and his holy thinges,\n As he goth in his limitatioun.\n Women may now go safely up and doun,\n In every bush, and under every tree,\n Ther is non other incubus but he,\n And he ne will don hem no dishonour.\"\n\n Tyrwhitt's _Chaucer_, i. p. 255.\n\nDr. Richard Corbet, having been bishop of Oxford about three years, and\nafterwards as long bishop of Norwich, died in 1635, \u00c6tat. 52.\n\n * * * * *\n\n Farewell rewards and Fairies!\n Good housewives now may say;\n For now foule sluts in dairies,\n Doe fare as well as they:\n And though they sweepe their hearths no less 5\n Than mayds were wont to doe,\n Yet who of late for cleaneliness\n Finds sixe-pence in her shoe?\n\n Lament, lament old Abbies,\n The fairies lost command; 10\n They did but change priests babies,\n But some have chang'd your land:\n\n And all your children stoln from thence\n Are now growne Puritanes,\n Who live as changelings ever since, 15\n For love of your demaines.\n\n At morning and at evening both\n You merry were and glad,\n So little care of sleepe and sloth,\n These prettie ladies had. 20\n When Tom came home from labour,\n Or Ciss to milking rose,\n Then merrily went their tabour,\n And nimbly went their toes.\n\n Witness those rings and roundelayes 25\n Of theirs, which yet remaine;\n Were footed in queene Maries dayes\n On many a grassy playne.\n But since of late Elizabeth\n And later James came in; 30\n They never danc'd on any heath,\n As when the time hath bin.\n\n By which wee note the fairies 35\n Were of the old profession:\n Their songs were _Ave Maries_,\n Their dances were procession.\n But now, alas! they all are dead,\n Or gone beyond the seas,\n Or farther for religion fled,\n Or else they take their ease. 40\n\n A tell-tale in their company\n They never could endure;\n And whoso kept not secretly\n Their mirth, was punish'd sure:\n\n It was a just and christian deed 45\n To pinch such blacke and blue:\n O how the common-welth doth need\n Such justices, as you!\n\n Now they have left our quarters;\n A Register they have, 50\n Who can preserve their charters;\n A man both wise and grave.\n An hundred of their merry pranks\n By one that I could name\n Are kept in store; con twenty thanks 55\n To William for the same.\n\n To William Churne of Staffordshire\n Give laud and praises due,\n Who every meale can mend your cheare\n With tales both old and true: 60\n To William all give audience,\n And pray yee for his noddle:\n For all the fairies evidence\n Were lost, if it were addle.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [***] After these _Songs_ on the _Fairies_, the reader may be\n curious to see the manner in which they were formerly invoked\n and bound to human service. In Ashmole's _Collection of MSS._ at\n Oxford (Num. 8259. 1406. 2), are the papers of some alchymist,\n which contain a variety of Incantations and Forms of Conjuring both\n _Fairies_, _Witches_, and _Demons_, principally, as it should seem,\n to assist him in his Great Work of transmuting Metals. Most of them\n are too impious to be reprinted: but the two following may be very\n innocently laughed at.\n\n Whoever looks into Ben Jonson's _Alchymist_, will find that these\n impostors, among their other secrets, affected to have a power over\n _Fairies_: and that they were commonly expected to be seen in a\n christal glass appears from that extraordinary book, _The Relation_\n _of Dr. John Dee's actions with Spirits_, 1659, folio.\n\n _\"An excellent way_ to gett a _Fayrie_. (For myself I call\n _Margarett Barrance_; but this will obteine any one that is not\n allready bownd.)\n\n \"First, gett a broad square christall or Venice glasse, in length\n and breadth 3 inches. Then lay that glasse or christall in the\n bloud of a white henne, 3 Wednesdayes, or 3 Fridayes. Then take it\n out, and wash it with holy aq. and fumigate it. Then take 3 hazle\n sticks, or wands of an yeare groth: pill them fayre and white;\n and make 'them' soe longe, as you write the _Spiritts_ name, or\n _Fayries_ name, which you call, 3 times on every sticke being made\n flatt on one side. Then bury them under some hill, whereas you\n suppose _Fayries_ haunt, the Wednesday before you call her: and the\n Friday followinge take them uppe, and call her at 8 or 3 or 10 of\n the clocke, which be good planetts and houres for that turne: but\n when you call, be in cleane life, and turne thy face towards the\n east. And when you have her, bind her to that stone or glasse.\"\n\n \"An Unguent to annoynt under the Eyelids, and upon the\n Eyelids eveninge and morninge: but especially when you call;\n or find your sight not perfect.\n\n \"R. A pint of sallet-oyle, and put it into a viall glasse: but\n first wash it with rose-water, and marygold-water; the flowers 'to'\n be gathered towards the east. Wash it till the oyle come white;\n then put it into the glasse, _ut supra_: and then put thereto the\n budds of holyhocke, the flowers of marygold, the flowers or toppes\n of wild thime, the budds of young hazle: and the thime must be\n gathered neare the side of a hill where _Fayries_ use to be: and\n 'take' the grasse of a fayrie throne, there. All these put into the\n oyle, into the glasse: and set it to dissolve 3 dayes in the sunne,\n and then keep it for thy use; _ut supra_.\"\n\n After this receipt for the unguent follows a form of incantation,\n wherein the alchymist conjures a fairy, named _Elaby Gathon_, to\n appear to him in that chrystal glass, meekly and mildly; to resolve\n him truly in all manner of questions; and to be obedient to all his\n commands, under pain of damnation, &c.\n\n One of the vulgar opinions about fairies is, that they cannot be\n seen by human eyes, without a particular charm exerted in favour of\n the person who is to see them: and that they strike with blindness\n such as having the gift of seeing them, take notice of them\n _mal-\u00e0-propos_.\n\n As to the hazle sticks mentioned above, they were to be probably of\n that species called the _witch hazle_; which received its name from\n this manner of applying it in incantations.\n\n THE END OF BOOK THE SECOND.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY, ETC.\n\n SERIES THE THIRD.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK III.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nI.\n\nTHE BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE.\n\n\nThe incidents in this, and the other ballad of _St. George and\nthe Dragon_, are chiefly taken from the old story-book of the Seven\nChampions of Christendome; which, tho' now the play-thing of children,\nwas once in high repute. Bp. Hall in his _Satires_, published in 1597,\nranks\n\n \"St. George's sorell, and his cross of blood,\"\n\namong the most popular stories of his time: and an ingenious critic\nthinks that Spencer himself did not disdain to borrow hints from\nit;[422] tho' I much doubt whether this popular romance were written so\nearly as the _Faery Queen_.\n\nThe author of this book of the _Seven Champions_ was one Richard\nJohnson, who lived in the reigns of Elizabeth and James, as we collect\nfrom his other publications: viz.--_The nine worthies of London_:\n1592, 4to.--_The pleasant walks of Moor fields_: 1607, 4to.--_A crown\ngarland of Goulden Roses, gathered, &c._ 1612, 8vo.--_The life and\ndeath of Rob. Cecill, E. of Salisbury_: 1612, 4to.--_The Hist. of Tom\nof Lincoln_, 4to. is also by R. J. who likewise reprinted _Don Flores\nof Greece_, 4to.\n\nThe _Seven Champions_, tho' written in a wild inflated style, contains\nsome strong Gothic painting; which seems, for the most part, copied\nfrom the metrical romances of former ages. At least the story of _St.\nGeorge and the fair Sabra_ is taken almost verbatim from the old\npoetical legend of _Syr Bevis of Hampton_.\n\nThis very antique poem was in great fame in Chaucer's time (see above,\npag. 107.), and so continued till the introduction of printing, when\nit ran thro' several editions; two of which are in black letter,\n4to. \"imprinted by Wyllyam Copland,\" without date; containing great\nvariations.\n\nAs a specimen of the poetic powers of this very old rhimist, and as a\nproof how closely the author of the _Seven Champions_ has followed him,\ntake a description of the dragon slain by sir Bevis.\n\n \"--Whan the dragon, that foule is,\n Had a syght of syr Bevis,\n He cast up a loude cry,\n As it had thondred in the sky;\n He turned his bely towarde the son;\n It was greater than any tonne:\n His scales was bryghter then the glas,\n And harder they were than any bras:\n Betwene his shulder and his tayle,\n Was forty fote withoute fayle.\n He waltred out of his denne,\n And Bevis pricked his stede then,\n And to hym a spere he thraste\n That all to shyvers he it braste:\n The dragon then gan Bevis assayle,\n And smote syr Bevis with his tayle;\n Then downe went horse and man,\n And two rybbes of Bevis brused than.\"\n\nAfter a long fight, at length, as the dragon was preparing to fly, sir\nBevis\n\n \"Hit him under the wynge,\n As he was in his flyenge,\n There he was tender without scale,\n And Bevis thought to be his bale.\n He smote after, as I you saye,\n With his good sword Morglaye.\n Up to the hiltes Morglay yode\n Through harte, lyver, bone, and bloude:\n To the ground fell the dragon,\n Great joye syr Bevis begon.\n Under the scales al on hight\n He smote off his head forth right,\n And put it on a spere: &c.\"\n\n Sign. K. iv.\n\nSir Bevis's dragon is evidently the parent of that in the _Seven_\n_Champions_, see chap, iii., viz. \"The dragon no sooner had a sight of\nhim (St. George) but he gave such a terrible peal, as though it had\nthundered in the elements.... Betwixt his shoulders and his tail were\nfifty feet in distance, his scales glistering as bright as silver, but\nfar more hard than brass; his belly of the colour of gold, but bigger\nthan a tun. Thus weltered he from his den, &c.... The champion ... gave\nthe dragon such a thrust with his spear, that it shivered in a thousand\npieces: whereat the furious dragon so fiercely smote him with his\nvenomous tail, that down fell man and horse: in which fall two of St.\nGeorge's ribs were so bruised, &c.--At length ... St. George smote the\ndragon under the wing where it was tender without scale, whereby his\ngood sword Ascalon with an easie passage went to the very hilt through\nboth the dragon's heart, liver, bone, and blood.--Then St. George--cut\noff the dragon's head and pitcht it upon the truncheon of a spear, &c.\"\n\nThe _History of the Seven Champions_, being written just before the\ndecline of books of chivalry, was never, I believe, translated into any\nforeign language: But _Le Roman de Beuves of Hantonne_ was published at\nParis in 1502, 4to. Let. Gothique.\n\nThe learned Selden tell us, that about the time of the Norman invasion\nwas Bevis famous with the title of Earl of Southampton, whose residence\nwas at Duncton in Wiltshire; but he observes, that the monkish\nenlargements of his story have made his very existence doubted. See\n_Notes on Poly-Olbion, Song_ iii.\n\nThis hath also been the case of _St. George_ himself; whose martial\nhistory is allowed to be apocryphal. But, to prove that there really\nexisted an orthodox saint of this name (altho' little or nothing, it\nseems, is known of his genuine story) is the subject of _An Historical\nand Critical Inquiry into the Existence and Character of St. George,\n&c._ By the Rev. J. Milner, F.S.A. 1792, 8vo.\n\nThe equestrian figure worn by the Knights of the Garter, has been\nunderstood to be an emblem of the Christian warrior, in his spiritual\narmour, vanquishing the old serpent.\n\nBut on this subject the inquisitive reader may consult _A Dissertation_\n_on the Original of the Equestrian Figure of the George and of the\nGarter, ensigns of the most noble order of that name_. Illustrated\nwith copper-plates. By John Petingal, A.M., Fellow of the Society of\nAntiquaries, London, 1753, 4to. This learned and curious work the\nauthor of the _Historical and Critical Inquiry_ would have done well to\nhave seen.\n\nIt cannot be denied, but that the following ballad is for the most part\nmodern: for which reason it would have been thrown to the end of the\nvolume, had not its subject procured it a place here.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [In respect to the last paragraph, Ritson writes, \"It may be safely\n denied, however, that the least part of it is ancient.\"]\n\n * * * * *\n\n Listen, lords, in bower and hall,\n I sing the wonderous birth\n Of brave St. George, whose valorous arm\n Rid monsters from the earth:\n\n Distressed ladies to relieve 5\n He travell'd many a day;\n In honour of the christian faith,\n Which shall endure for aye.\n\n In Coventry sometime did dwell\n A knight of worthy fame, 10\n High steward of this noble realme;\n Lord Albert was his name.\n\n He had to wife a princely dame,\n Whose beauty did excell.\n This virtuous lady, being with child, 15\n In sudden sadness fell:\n\n For thirty nights no sooner sleep\n Had clos'd her wakeful eyes,\n But, lo! a foul and fearful dream\n Her fancy would surprize: 20\n\n She dreamt a dragon fierce and fell\n Conceiv'd within her womb;\n Whose mortal fangs her body rent\n Ere he to life could come.\n\n All woe-begone, and sad was she; 25\n She nourisht constant woe:\n Yet strove to hide it from her lord,\n Lest he should sorrow know.\n\n In vain she strove, her tender lord,\n Who watch'd her slightest look, 30\n Discover'd soon her secret pain,\n And soon that pain partook.\n\n And when to him the fearful cause\n She weeping did impart,\n With kindest speech he strove to heal 35\n The anguish of her heart.\n\n Be comforted, my lady dear,\n Those pearly drops refrain;\n Betide me weal, betide me woe,\n I'll try to ease thy pain. 40\n\n And for this foul and fearful dream,\n That causeth all thy woe,\n Trust me I'll travel far away\n But I'll the meaning knowe.\n\n Then giving many a fond embrace, 45\n And shedding many a teare,\n To the we\u00efrd lady of the woods\n He purpos'd to repaire.\n\n To the we\u00efrd lady of the woods,\n Full long and many a day, 50\n Thro' lonely shades, and thickets rough\n He winds his weary way.\n\n At length he reach'd a dreary dell\n With dismal yews o'erhung;\n Where cypress spred its mournful boughs, 55\n And pois'nous nightshade sprung.\n\n No chearful gleams here pierc'd the gloom,\n He hears no chearful sound;\n But shrill night-ravens' yelling scream,\n And serpents hissing round. 60\n\n The shriek of fiends, and damned ghosts\n Ran howling thro' his ear:\n A chilling horror froze his heart,\n Tho' all unus'd to fear.\n\n Three times he strives to win his way,\n And pierce those sickly dews:\n Three times to bear his trembling corse\n His knocking knees refuse.\n\n At length upon his beating breast\n He signs the holy crosse; 70\n And, rouzing up his wonted might,\n He treads th' unhallow'd mosse.\n\n Beneath a pendant craggy cliff,\n All vaulted like a grave,\n And opening in the solid rock, 75\n He found the inchanted cave.\n\n An iron gate clos'd up the mouth,\n All hideous and forlorne;\n And, fasten'd by a silver chain,\n Near hung a brazed horne. 80\n\n Then offering up a secret prayer,\n Three times he blowes amaine:\n Three times a deepe and hollow sound\n Did answer him againe.\n\n \"Sir knight, thy lady beares a son, 85\n Who, like a dragon bright,\n Shall prove most dreadful to his foes,\n And terrible in fight.\n\n \"His name advanc'd in future times\n On banners shall be worn: 90\n But lo! thy lady's life must passe\n Before he can be born.\"\n\n All sore opprest with fear and doubt\n Long time lord Albert stood;\n At length he winds his doubtful way 95\n Back thro' the dreary wood.\n\n Eager to clasp his lovely dame\n Then fast he travels back:\n But when he reach'd his castle gate,\n His gate was hung with black. 100\n\n In every court and hall he found\n A sullen silence reigne;\n Save where, amid the lonely towers,\n He heard her maidens 'plaine;\n\n And bitterly lament and weep, 105\n With many a grievous grone:\n Then sore his bleeding heart misgave,\n His lady's life was gone.\n\n With faultering step he enters in,\n Yet half affraid to goe; 110\n With trembling voice asks why they grieve,\n Yet fears the cause to knowe.\n\n \"Three times the sun hath rose and set;\"\n They said, then stopt to weep:\n \"Since heaven hath laid thy lady deare 115\n In death's eternal sleep.\n\n \"For, ah! in travel sore she fell,\n So sore that she must dye;\n Unless some shrewd and cunning leech\n Could ease her presentlye. 120\n\n \"But when a cunning leech was fet,\n Too soon declared he,\n She, or her babe must lose its life;\n Both saved could not be.\n\n \"Now take my life, thy lady said, 125\n My little infant save:\n And O commend me to my lord,\n When I am laid in grave.\n\n \"O tell him how that precious babe\n Cost him a tender wife: 130\n And teach my son to lisp her name,\n Who died to save his life.\n\n \"Then calling still upon thy name,\n And praying still for thee;\n Without repining or complaint, 135\n Her gentle soul did flee.\"\n\n What tongue can paint lord Albret's woe,\n The bitter tears he shed,\n The bitter pangs that wrung his heart,\n To find his lady dead? 140\n\n He beat his breast: he tore his hair;\n And shedding many a tear,\n At length he askt to see his son;\n The son that cost so dear.\n\n New sorrowe seiz'd the damsells all: 145\n At length they faultering say;\n \"Alas! my lord, how shall we tell?\n Thy son is stoln away.\n\n \"Fair as the sweetest flower of spring,\n Such was his infant mien: 150\n And on his little body stampt\n Three wonderous marks were seen:\n\n \"A blood-red cross was on his arm;\n A dragon on his breast:\n A little garter all of gold 155\n Was round his leg exprest.\n\n \"Three carefull nurses we provide\n Our little lord to keep:\n One gave him sucke, one gave him food,\n And one did lull to sleep. 160\n\n \"But lo! all in the dead of night,\n We heard a fearful sound:\n Loud thunder clapt; the castle shook;\n And lightning flasht around.\n\n \"Dead with affright at first we lay; 165\n But rousing up anon,\n We ran to see our little lord:\n Our little lord was gone!\n\n \"But how or where we could not tell;\n For lying on the ground, 170\n In deep and magic slumbers laid,\n The nurses there we found.\"\n\n O grief on grief! lord Albret said:\n No more his tongue cou'd say,\n When falling in a deadly swoone, 175\n Long time he lifeless lay.\n\n At length restor'd to life and sense\n He nourisht endless woe,\n No future joy his heart could taste,\n No future comfort know. 180\n\n So withers on the mountain top\n A fair and stately oake,\n Whose vigorous arms are torne away,\n By some rude thunder-stroke.\n\n At length his castle irksome grew, 185\n He loathes his wonted home;\n His native country he forsakes\n In foreign lands to roame.\n\n There up and downe he wandered far,\n Clad in a palmer's gown; 190\n Till his brown locks grew white as wool,\n His beard as thistle down.\n\n At length, all wearied, down in death\n He laid his reverend head.\n Meantime amid the lonely wilds 195\n His little son was bred.\n\n There the we\u00efrd lady of the woods\n Had borne him far away,\n And train'd him up in feates of armes,\n And every martial play. 200\n\n [***]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[422] Mr. Warton. Vid. Observations on the _Fairy Queen_, 2 vol. 1762,\n12mo. _passim._\n\n\n\n\nII.\n\nST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.\n\n\nThe following ballad is given (with some corrections) from two ancient\nblack-letter copies in the _Pepys Collection_: one of which is in\n12mo., the other in folio.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [The story of _St. George and the Dragon_ is found in many forms in\n the northern languages.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n Of Hector's deeds did Homer sing;\n And of the sack of stately Troy,\n What griefs fair Helena did bring,\n Which was sir Paris' only joy:\n And by my pen I will recite 5\n St. George's deeds, and English knight.\n\n Against the Sarazens so rude\n Fought he full long and many a day,\n Where many gyants he subdu'd,\n In honour of the christian way: 10\n And after many adventures past\n To Egypt land he came at last.\n\n Now, as the story plain doth tell,\n Within that countrey there did rest\n A dreadful dragon fierce and fell, 15\n Whereby they were full sore opprest;\n Who by his poisonous breath each day,\n Did many of the city slay.\n\n The grief whereof did grow so great\n Throughout the limits of the land, 20\n That they their wise-men did intreat\n To shew their cunning out of hand;\n What way they might this fiend destroy,\n That did the countrey thus annoy.\n\n The wise-men all before the king 25\n This answer fram'd incontinent;\n The dragon none to death might bring\n By any means they could invent:\n His skin more hard than brass was found,\n That sword nor spear could pierce nor wound. 30\n\n When this the people understood,\n They cryed out most piteouslye,\n The dragon's breath infects their blood,\n That every day in heaps they dye:\n Among them such a plague it bred, 35\n The living scarce could bury the dead.\n\n No means there were, as they could hear,\n For to appease the dragon's rage,\n But to present some virgin clear,\n Whose blood his fury might asswage; 40\n Each day he would a maiden eat,\n For to allay his hunger great.\n\n This thing by art the wise-men found,\n Which truly must observed be;\n Wherefore throughout the city round 45\n A virgin pure of good degree\n\n Was by the king's commission still\n Taken up to serve the dragon's will.\n\n Thus did the dragon every day\n Untimely crop some virgin flowr, 50\n Till all the maids were worn away,\n And none were left him to devour:\n Saving the king's fair daughter bright,\n Her father's only heart's delight.\n\n Then came the officers to the king 55\n That heavy message to declare,\n Which did his heart with sorrow sting;\n She is, quoth he, my kingdom's heir:\n O let us all be poisoned here,\n Ere she should die, that is my dear. 60\n\n Then rose the people presently,\n And to the king in rage they went;\n They said his daughter dear should dye,\n The dragon's fury to prevent:\n Our daughters all are dead, quoth they, 65\n And have been made the dragon's prey:\n\n And by their blood we rescued were,\n And thou hast sav'd thy life thereby;\n And now in sooth it is but faire,\n For us thy daughter so should die. 70\n O save my daughter, said the king;\n And let ME feel the dragon's sting.\n\n Then fell fair Sabra on her knee,\n And to her father dear did say,\n O father, strive not thus for me, 75\n But let me be the dragon's prey;\n It may be, for my sake alone\n This plague upon the land was thrown.\n\n Tis better I should dye, she said,\n Than all your subjects perish quite; 80\n Perhaps the dragon here was laid,\n For my offence to work his spite:\n And after he hath suckt my gore,\n Your land shall feel the grief no more.\n\n What hast thou done, my daughter dear, 85\n For to deserve this heavy scourge?\n It is my fault, as may appear,\n Which makes the gods our state to purge;\n Then ought I die, to stint the strife,\n And to preserve thy happy life. 90\n\n Like mad-men, all the people cried,\n Thy death to us can do no good;\n Our safety only doth abide\n In making her the dragon's food.\n Lo! here I am, I come, quoth she, 95\n Therefore do what you will with me.\n\n Nay stay, dear daughter, quoth the queen,\n And as thou art a virgin bright,\n That hast for vertue famous been,\n So let me cloath thee all in white; 100\n And crown thy head with flowers sweet,\n An ornament for virgins meet.\n\n And when she was attired so,\n According to her mother's mind,\n Unto the stake then did she go; 105\n To which her tender limbs they bind:\n And being bound to stake a thrall\n She bade farewell unto them all.\n\n Farewell, my father dear, quoth she,\n And my sweet mother meek and mild; 110\n Take you no thought nor weep for me,\n For you may have another child:\n\n Since for my country's good I dye,\n Death I receive most willinglye.\n\n The king and queen and all their train 115\n With weeping eyes went then their way,\n And let their daughter there remain,\n To be the hungry dragon's prey:\n But as she did there weeping lye,\n Behold St. George came riding by. 120\n\n And seeing there a lady bright\n So rudely tyed unto a stake,\n As well became a valiant knight,\n He straight to her his way did take:\n Tell me, sweet maiden, then quoth he, 125\n What caitif thus abuseth thee?\n\n And, lo! by Christ his cross I vow,\n Which here is figured on my breast,\n I will revenge it on his brow,\n And break my lance upon his chest: 130\n And speaking thus whereas he stood,\n The dragon issued from the wood.\n\n The lady that did first espy\n The dreadful dragon coming so,\n Unto St. George aloud did cry, 135\n And willed him away to go;\n Here comes that cursed fiend, quoth she;\n That soon will make an end of me.\n\n St. George then looking round about,\n The fiery dragon soon espy'd, 140\n And like a knight of courage stout,\n Against him did most fiercely ride;\n And with such blows he did him greet,\n He fell beneath his horse's feet.\n\n For with his launce that was so strong, 145\n As he came gaping in his face,\n In at his mouth he thrust along;\n For he could pierce no other place:\n And thus within the lady's view\n This mighty dragon straight he slew. 150\n\n The savour of his poisoned breath\n Could do this holy knight no harm.\n Thus he the lady sav'd from death,\n And home he led her by the arm;\n Which when king Ptolemy did see, 155\n There was great mirth and melody.\n\n When as that valiant champion there\n Had slain the dragon in the field,\n To court he brought the lady fair,\n Which to their hearts much joy did yield. 160\n He in the court of Egypt staid\n Till he most falsely was betray'd.\n\n That lady dearly lov'd the knight,\n He counted her his only joy; 165\n But when their love was brought to light\n It turn'd unto their great annoy:\n Th' Morocco king was in the court,\n Who to the orchard did resort,\n\n Dayly to take the pleasant air, 170\n For pleasure sake he us'd to walk,\n Under a wall he oft did hear\n St. George with lady Sabra talk:\n Their love he shew'd unto the king,\n Which to St. George great woe did bring. 175\n\n Those kings together did devise\n To make the christian knight away,\n With letters him in curteous wise\n They straightway sent to Persia:\n\n But wrote to the sophy him to kill, 180\n And treacherously his blood to spill.\n\n Thus they for good did him reward\n With evil, and most subtilly\n By much vile meanes they had regard\n To work his death most cruelly; 185\n Who, as through Persia land he rode,\n With zeal destroy'd each idol god.\n\n For which offence he straight was thrown\n Into a dungeon dark and deep;\n Where, when he thought his wrongs upon, 190\n He bitterly did wail and weep:\n Yet like a knight of courage stout,\n At length his way he digged out.\n\n Three grooms of the king of Persia\n By night this valiant champion slew, 195\n Though he had fasted many a day;\n And then away from thence he flew\n On the best steed the sophy had;\n Which when he knew he was full mad.\n\n Towards Christendom he made his flight, 200\n But met a gyant by the way,\n With whom in combat he did fight\n Most valiantly a summer's day:\n Who yet, for all his bats of steel,\n Was forc'd the sting of death to feel. 205\n\n Back o'er the seas with many bands\n Of warlike souldiers soon he past,\n Vowing upon those heathen lands\n To work revenge; which at the last,\n Ere thrice three years were gone and spent, 210\n He wrought unto his heart's content.\n\n Save onely Egypt land he spar'd\n For Sabra bright her only sake,\n And, ere for her he had regard,\n He meant a tryal kind to make: 215\n Mean while the king o'ercome in field\n Unto saint George did quickly yield.\n\n Then straight Morocco's king he slew,\n And took fair Sabra to his wife,\n But meant to try if she were true 220\n Ere with her he would lead his life:\n And, tho' he had her in his train,\n She did a virgin pure remain.\n\n Toward England then that lovely dame\n The brave St. George conducted strait, 225\n An eunuch also with them came,\n Who did upon the lady wait;\n These three from Egypt went alone.\n Now mark St. George's valour shown.\n\n When as they in a forest were, 230\n The lady did desire to rest;\n Mean while St. George to kill a deer,\n For their repast did think it best:\n Leaving her with the eunuch there,\n Whilst he did go to kill the deer. 235\n\n But lo! all in his absence came\n Two hungry lyons fierce and fell,\n And tore the eunuch on the same\n In pieces small, the truth to tell;\n Down by the lady then they laid, 240\n Whereby they shew'd, she was a maid.\n\n But when he came from hunting back,\n And did behold this heavy chance,\n Then for his lovely virgin's sake\n His courage strait he did advance, 245\n\n And came into the lions sight,\n Who ran at him with all their might.\n\n Their rage did him no whit dismay,\n Who, like a stout and valiant knight,\n Did both the hungry lyons slay 250\n Within the lady Sabra's sight:\n Who all this while sad and demure,\n There stood most like a virgin pure.\n\n Now when St. George did surely know\n This lady was a virgin true, 255\n His heart was glad, that erst was woe,\n And all his love did soon renew:\n He set her on a palfrey steed,\n And towards England came with speed.\n\n Where being in short space arriv'd 260\n Unto his native dwelling-place;\n Therein with his dear love he liv'd,\n And fortune did his nuptials grace:\n They many years of joy did see,\n And led their lives at Coventry. 265\n\n\n\n\nIII.\n\nLOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY.\n\n\nThis excellent song is ancient: but we could only give it from a modern\ncopy.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [Earlier editions of this spirited song are printed in Evans's _Old\n Ballads_, iii. 282 (1810), and Rimbault's _Little Book of Songs\n and Ballads_, p. 137. It is quoted in Brome's _Sparagus Garden_,\n acted in 1635, and Shirley's _Constant Maid_ was republished in\n 1661, under the title of _Love will find out the Way_, by T. B.\n\n Dr. Rimbault has the following note in his _Musical Illustrations_,\n \"The old black-letter copy of this ballad is called '_Truth's\n Integrity: or, a curious Northerne Ditty_, called _Love will\n finde out the Way_. To a pleasant new Tune Printed at London for\n F. Coules, dwelling in the Old Bailey.' There is a second part\n consisting of six stanzas, which Percy has not reprinted. The tune\n is here given (translated from the _Tablature_) from _Musicks\n Recreation on the Lyra Viol_, published by Playford in 1652. It is\n also preserved in Forbes's _Cantus_, 1662; in _Musick's Delight on\n the Cithren_, 1666; and in D'Urfey's _Pills to Purge Melancholy_,\n 1719. The _Pepysian Collection_ contains several ballads to this\n tune.\"\n\n Mr. Chappell writes, \"The air is still current, for in the summer\n of 1855, Mr. Jennings, Organist of All Saints' Church, Maidstone,\n noted it down from the wandering hop-pickers singing a song to it\n on their entrance into that town.\" _Popular Music_, vol. i. p. 304.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n Over the mountains,\n And over the waves;\n Under the fountains,\n And under the graves;\n Under the floods that are deepest, 5\n Which Neptune obey;\n Over rocks that are steepest,\n Love will find out the way.\n\n Where there is no place\n For the glow-worm to lye; 10\n Where there is no space\n For receipt of a fly;\n Where the midge dares not venture,\n Lest herself fast she lay;\n If love come, he will enter, 15\n And soon find out his way.\n\n You may esteem him\n A child for his might;\n Or you may deem him\n A coward from his flight; 20\n\n But if she, whom love doth honour,\n Be conceal'd from the day,\n Set a thousand guards upon her,\n Love will find out the way.\n\n Some think to lose him, 25\n By having him confin'd;\n And some do suppose him,\n Poor thing, to be blind;\n But if ne'er so close ye wall him,\n Do the best that you may, 30\n Blind love, if so ye call him,\n Will find out his way.\n\n You may train the eagle\n To stoop to your fist;\n Or you may inveigle 35\n The phenix of the east;\n The lioness, ye may move her\n To give o'er her prey;\n But you'll ne'er stop a lover:\n He will find out his way.\n\n [***]\n\n\n\n\nIV.\n\nLORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET,\n\n\n A SCOTTISH BALLAD,\n\nSeems to be composed (not without improvements) out of two ancient\nEnglish ones, printed in the former part of this volume. See book i.\nballad xv. and book ii. ballad iv.--If this had been the original,\nthe authors of those two ballads would hardly have adopted two such\ndifferent stories: besides, this contains enlargements not to be found\nin either of the others. It is given with some corrections, from a MS.\ncopy transmitted from Scotland.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [Jamieson prints a version of this ballad which was taken down from\n the recitation of Mrs. W. Arrot of Aberbrothick, and is entitled\n _Sweet Willie and Fair Annie_. He contends that it is \"pure and\n entire,\" and expresses his opinion that the text of Percy's copy\n had been \"adjusted\" previous to its leaving Scotland.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n Lord Thomas and fair Annet\n Sate a' day on a hill;\n Whan night was cum, and sun was sett,\n They had not talkt their fill.\n\n Lord Thomas said a word in jest, 5\n Fair Annet took it ill:\n A'! I will nevir wed a wife\n Against my ain friends will.\n\n Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife,\n A wife wull neir wed yee. 10\n Sae he is hame to tell his mither,\n And knelt upon his knee:\n\n O rede, O rede, mither, he says,\n A gude rede gie to mee:\n O sall I tak the nut-browne bride, 15\n And let faire Annet bee?\n\n The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear,\n Fair Annet she has gat nane;\n And the little beauty fair Annet has,\n O it wull soon be gane! 20\n\n And he has till his brother gane:\n Now, brother, rede ye mee;\n A' sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,\n And let fair Annet bee?\n\n The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother,\n The nut-browne bride has kye;\n I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride,\n And cast fair Annet bye.\n\n Her oxen may dye i' the house, Bill\u00ece,\n And her kye into the byre; 30\n And I sall hae nothing to my sell,\n Bot a fat fadge[423] by the fyre.\n\n And he has till his sister gane:\n Now, sister, rede ye mee;\n O sall I marrie the nut-browne bride, 35\n And set fair Annet free?\n\n Ise rede ye tak fair Annet, Thomas,\n And let the browne bride alane;\n Lest ye sould sigh and say, Alace!\n What is this we brought hame? 40\n\n No, I will tak my mithers counsel,\n And marrie me owt o' hand;\n And I will tak the nut-browne bride;\n Fair Annet may leive the land.\n\n Up then rose fair Annets father 45\n Twa hours or it wer day,\n And he is gane into the bower,\n Wherein fair Annet lay.\n\n Rise up, rise up, fair Annet, he says,\n Put on your silken sheene; 50\n Let us gae to St. Maries kirke,\n And see that rich weddeen.\n\n My maides, gae to my dressing roome,\n And dress to me my hair;\n Whair-eir yee laid a plait before,\n See yee lay ten times mair.\n\n My maids, gae to my dressing room,\n And dress to me my smock;\n The one half is o' the holland fine,\n The other o' needle-work. 60\n\n The horse fair Annet rade upon,\n He amblit like the wind,\n Wi' siller he was shod before,\n Wi' burning gowd behind.\n\n Four and twanty siller bells 65\n Wer a' tyed till his mane,\n And yae tift[424] o' the norland wind,\n They tinkled ane by ane.\n\n Four and twanty gay gude knichts\n Rade by the fair Annets side, 70\n And four and twanty fair ladies,\n As gin she had bin a bride.\n\n And whan she cam to Maries kirk,\n She sat on Maries stean:\n The cleading that fair Annet had on 75\n It skinkled in their een.\n\n And whan she cam into the kirk,\n She shimmer'd like the sun;\n The belt that was about her waist,\n Was a' wi' pearles bedone. 80\n\n She sat her by the nut-browne bride,\n And her een they wer sae clear,\n Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride,\n Whan fair Annet she drew near.\n\n He had a rose into his hand, 95\n And he gave it kisses three,\n And reaching by the nut-browne bride,\n Laid it on fair Annets knee\n\n Up than spak the nut-browne bride,\n She spak wi' meikle spite; 90\n And whair gat ye that rose-water,\n That does mak yee sae white?\n\n O I did get the rose-water,\n Whair ye wull neir get nane,\n For I did get that very rose-water 95\n Into my mithers wame.\n\n The bride she drew a long bodkin,\n Frae out her gay head-gear,\n And strake fair Annet unto the heart,\n That word she nevir spak mair. 100\n\n Lord Thomas he saw fair Annet wex pale,\n And marvelit what mote bee:\n But whan he saw her dear hearts blude,\n A' wood-wroth[425] wexed hee.\n\n He drew his dagger, that was sae sharp, 105\n That was sae sharp and meet,\n And drave into the nut-browne bride,\n That fell deid at his feit.\n\n Now stay for me, dear Annet, he sed,\n Now stay, my dear, he cry'd; 110\n Then strake the dagger untill his heart,\n And fell deid by her side.\n\n Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa',\n Fair Annet within the quiere;\n And o' the tane thair grew a birk, 115\n The other a bonny briere.\n\n And ay they grew, and ay they threw,\n As they wad faine be neare;\n And by this ye may ken right weil,\n They ware twa luvers deare. 120\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[423] [bundle of sticks.]\n\n[424] [gust of wind.]\n\n[425] [furiously enraged.]\n\n\n\n\nV.\n\nUNFADING BEAUTY.\n\n\nThis little beautiful sonnet is reprinted from a small volume\nof \"_Poems_ by _Thomas Carew_, Esq. one of the gentlemen of the\nprivie-chamber, and sewer in ordinary to his majesty (Charles I.) Lond.\n1640.\" This elegant, and almost-forgotten writer, whose poems have been\ndeservedly revived, died in the prime of his age, in 1639.\n\nIn the original follows a third stanza; which, not being of general\napplication, nor of equal merit, I have ventured to omit.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [Dr. Rimbault informs us that the original music was composed by\n Henry Lawes, and is included in his _Ayres and Dialogues for one,\n two and three Voyces_, 1653.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n Hee, that loves a rosie cheeke,\n Or a corall lip admires,\n Or from star-like eyes doth seeke\n Fuell to maintaine his fires,\n As old time makes these decay, 5\n So his flames must waste away.\n\n But a smooth and stedfast mind,\n Gentle thoughts, and calme desires,\n Hearts with equal love combin'd\n Kindle never-dying fires: 10\n Where these are not I despise\n Lovely cheekes, or lips, or eyes.\n * * * * *\n\n\n\n\nVI.\n\nGEORGE BARNWELL.\n\n\nThe subject of this ballad is sufficiently popular from the modern\nplay which is founded upon it. This was written by _George Lillo_, a\njeweller of London, and first acted about 1730.--As for the ballad it\nwas printed at least as early as the middle of the last century.\n\nIt is here given from three old printed copies, which exhibit a\nstrange intermixture of Roman and black letter. It is also collated\nwith another copy in the _Ashmole Collection_ at Oxford, which is thus\nintitled, \"An excellent ballad of _George Barnwell_, an apprentice of\nLondon, who ... thrice robbed his master and murdered his uncle in\nLudlow.\" The tune is _The Merchant_.\n\nThis tragical narrative seems to relate a real fact; but when it\nhappened I have not been able to discover.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [Ritson writes as follows concerning certain improvements made\n by Percy in the following ballad (_Ancient Songs_, 1829, vol.\n ii. p. 165, note):--\"Throughout this 'second part' (except in a\n single instance) the metre of the first line of each stanza is in\n the old editions lengthened by a couple of syllables, which are,\n occasionally at least, a manifest interpolation. The person also is\n for the most part changed from the first to the third, with evident\n impropriety. Dr. Percy has very ingeniously restored the measure by\n ejecting the superfluous syllables, and given consistency to the\n whole by the restoration of the proper person; and as it is now\n highly improbable that any further ancient copy will be found, and\n those which exist are manifestly corrupt, it seemed justifiable to\n adopt the judicious emendations of this ingenious editor.\"\n\n Dr. Rimbault observes, \"This curious tune (_The Merchant_) which\n has been quite overlooked by antiquaries, is found, together with\n the original ballad, _The Merchant and the Fiddler's Wife_, in\n D'Urfey's _Pills to Purge Melancholy_, vol. v. p. 77, edit. 1719.\"\n\n The former great popularity of the story of the wicked young\n prentice is shown by James Smith's parody in the _Rejected\n Addresses_ and Thackeray's caricature romance--_George de\n Barnwell_.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n\nTHE FIRST PART.\n\n All youths of fair Engl\u00e0nd\n That dwell both far and near,\n Regard my story that I tell,\n And to my song give ear.\n\n A London lad I was, 5\n A merchant's prentice bound;\n My name George Barnwell; that did spend\n My master many a pound.\n\n Take heed of harlots then,\n And their enticing trains; 10\n For by that means I have been brought\n To hang alive in chains.\n\n As I, upon a day,\n Was walking through the street\n About my master's business, 15\n A wanton I did meet.\n\n A gallant dainty dame,\n And sumptuous in attire;\n With smiling look she greeted me,\n And did my name require. 20\n\n Which when I had declar'd,\n She gave me then a kiss,\n And said, if I would come to her,\n I should have more than this.\n\n Fair mistress, then quoth I, 25\n If I the place may know,\n This evening I will be with you,\n For I abroad must go\n\n To gather monies in,\n That are my master's due: 30\n And ere that I do home return,\n I'll come and visit you.\n\n Good Barnwell, then quoth she,\n Do thou to Shoreditch come,\n And ask for Mrs. Millwood's house, 35\n Next door unto the Gun.\n\n And trust me on my truth,\n If thou keep touch with me,\n My dearest friend, as my own heart\n Thou shall right welcome be. 40\n\n Thus parted we in peace,\n And home I passed right;\n Then went abroad, and gathered in,\n By six o'clock at night,\n\n An hundred pound and one: 45\n With bag under my arm\n I went to Mrs. Millwood's house,\n And thought on little harm;\n\n And knocking at the door,\n Straightway herself came down; 50\n Rustling in most brave attire,\n With hood and silken gown.\n\n Who, through her beauty bright,\n So gloriously did shine,\n That she amaz'd my dazzling eyes, 55\n She seemed so divine.\n\n She took me by the hand,\n And with a modest grace,\n Welcome, sweet Barnwell, then quoth she,\n Unto this homely place. 60\n\n And since I have thee found\n As good as thy word to be:\n A homely supper, ere we part,\n Thou shalt take here with me.\n\n O pardon me, quoth I, 65\n Fair mistress, I you pray;\n For why, out of my master's house,\n So long I dare not stay.\n\n Alas, good Sir, she said,\n Are you so strictly ty'd, 70\n You may not with your dearest friend\n One hour or two abide?\n\n Faith, then the case is hard:\n If it be so, quoth she,\n I would I were a prentice bound, 75\n To live along with thee:\n\n Therefore, my dearest George,\n List well what I shall say,\n And do not blame a woman much,\n Her fancy to bewray. 80\n\n Let not affection's force\n Be counted lewd desire;\n Nor think it not immodesty,\n I should thy love require.\n\n With that she turn'd aside, 85\n And with a blushing red,\n A mournful motion she bewray'd\n By hanging down her head.\n\n A handkerchief she had,\n All wrought with silk and gold: 90\n Which she to stay her trickling tears\n Before her eyes did hold.\n\n This thing unto my sight\n Was wondrous rare and strange;\n And in my soul and inward thought 95\n It wrought a sudden change:\n\n That I so hardy grew,\n To take her by the hand:\n Saying, Sweet mistress, why do you\n So dull and pensive stand? 100\n\n Call me no mistress now,\n But Sarah, thy true friend,\n Thy servant, Millwood, honouring thee,\n Until her life hath end.\n\n If thou wouldst here alledge, 105\n Thou art in years a boy;\n So was Adonis, yet was he\n Fair Venus' only joy.\n\n Thus I, who ne'er before\n Of woman found such grace, 110\n But seeing now so fair a dame\n Give me a kind embrace,\n\n I supt with her that night,\n With joys that did abound;\n And for the same paid presently, 115\n In money twice three pound.\n\n An hundred kisses then,\n For my farewel she gave;\n Crying, Sweet Barnwell, when shall I\n Again thy company have? 120\n\n O stay not hence too long,\n Sweet George, have me in mind.\n Her words bewicht my childishness,\n She uttered them so kind:\n\n So that I made a vow, 125\n Next Sunday without fail,\n With my sweet Sarah once again\n To tell some pleasant tale.\n\n When she heard me say so,\n The tears fell from her eye; 130\n O George, quoth she, if thou dost fail,\n Thy Sarah sure will dye.\n\n Though long, yet loe! at last,\n The appointed day was come,\n That I must with my Sarah meet; 135\n Having a mighty sum\n\n Of money in my hand,[426]\n Unto her house went I,\n Whereas my love upon her bed\n In saddest sort did lye. 140\n\n What ails my heart's delight,\n My Sarah dear? quoth I;\n Let not my love lament and grieve,\n Nor sighing pine, and die.\n\n But tell me, dearest friend, 145\n What may thy woes amend,\n And thou shalt lack no means of help,\n Though forty pound I spend.\n\n With that she turn'd her head,\n And sickly thus did say, 150\n Oh me, sweet George, my grief is great,\n Ten pound I have to pay\n\n Unto a cruel wretch;\n And God he knows, quoth she,\n I have it not. Tush, rise, I said, 155\n And take it here of me.\n\n Ten pounds, nor ten times ten,\n Shall make my love decay.\n Then from my bag into her lap,\n I cast ten pound straightway. 160\n\n All blithe and pleasant then,\n To banqueting we go;\n She proffered me to lye with her,\n And said it should be so.\n\n And after that same time, 165\n I gave her store of coyn,\n Yea, sometimes fifty pound at once;\n All which I did purloyn.\n\n And thus I did pass on;\n Until my master then 170\n Did call to have his reckoning in\n Cast up among his men.\n\n The which when as I heard,\n I knew not what to say:\n For well I knew that I was out 175\n Two hundred pound that day.\n\n Then from my master straight\n I ran in secret sort;\n And unto Sarah Millwood there\n My case I did report. 180\n\n \"But how she us'd this youth,\n In this his care and woe,\n And all a strumpet's wiley ways,\n The SECOND PART may showe.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\n\nTHE SECOND PART.\n\n Young Barnwell comes to thee,\n Sweet Sarah, my delight;\n I am undone unless thou stand\n My faithful friend this night.\n\n Our master to accompts, 5\n Hath just occasion found;\n And I am caught behind the hand,\n Above two hundred pound:\n\n And now his wrath to 'scape,\n My love, I fly to thee, 10\n Hoping some time I may remaine\n In safety here with thee.\n\n With that she knit her brows,\n And looking all aquoy,[427]\n Quoth she, What should I have to do 15\n With any prentice boy?\n\n And seeing you have purloyn'd\n Your master's goods away,\n The case is bad, and therefore here\n You shall no longer stay. 20\n\n Why, dear, thou knowst, I said,\n How all which I could get,\n I gave it, and did spend it all\n Upon thee every whit.\n\n Quoth she, Thou art a knave, 25\n To charge me in this sort,\n Being a woman of credit fair,\n And known of good report:\n\n Therefore I tell thee flat,\n Be packing with good speed; 30\n I do defie thee from my heart,\n And scorn thy filthy deed.\n\n Is this the friendship, that\n You did to me protest?\n Is this the great affection, which 35\n You so to me exprest?\n\n Now fie on subtle shrews!\n The best is, I may speed\n To get a lodging any where,\n For money in my need. 40\n\n False woman, now farewell,\n Whilst twenty pound doth last,\n My anchor in some other haven\n With freedom I will cast.\n\n When she perceiv'd by this, 45\n I had store of money there:\n Stay, George, quoth she, thou art too quick:\n Why, man, I did but jeer:\n\n Dost think for all my speech,\n That I would let thee go? 50\n Faith no, said she, my love to thee\n I wiss is more than so.\n\n You scorne a prentice boy,\n I heard you just now swear,\n Wherefore I will not trouble you.---- 55\n ----Nay, George, hark in thine ear;\n\n Thou shalt not go to-night,\n What chance so e're befall:\n But man we'll have a bed for thee,\n O else the devil take all. 60\n\n So I by wiles bewitcht,\n And snar'd with fancy still,\n Had then no power to 'get' away,\n Or to withstand her will.\n\n For wine on wine I call'd, 65\n And cheer upon good cheer;\n And nothing in the world I thought\n For Sarah's love too dear.\n\n Whilst in her company,\n I had such merriment; 70\n All, all too little I did think,\n That I upon her spent.\n\n A fig for care and thought!\n When all my gold is gone,\n In faith, my girl, we will have more, 75\n Whoever I light upon.\n\n My father's rich, why then\n Should I want store of gold?\n Nay with a father sure, quoth she,\n A son may well make bold. 80\n\n I've a sister richly wed,\n I'll rob her ere I'll want.\n Nay, then quoth Sarah, they may well\n Consider of your scant.\n\n Nay, I an uncle have; 85\n At Ludlow he doth dwell:\n He is a grazier, which in wealth\n Doth all the rest excell.\n\n Ere I will live in lack,\n And have no coyn for thee: 90\n I'll rob his house, and murder him,\n Why should you not? quoth she:\n\n Was I a man, ere I\n Would live in poor estate;\n On father, friends, and all my kin, 95\n I would my talons grate.\n\n For without money, George,\n A man is but a beast:\n But bringing money, thou shalt be\n Always my welcome guest. 100\n\n For shouldst thou be pursued\n With twenty hues and cryes,\n And with a warrant searched for\n With Argus' hundred eyes,\n\n Yet here thou shalt be safe; 105\n Such privy ways there be,\n That if they sought an hundred years,\n They could not find out thee.\n\n And so carousing both\n Their pleasures to content: 110\n George Barnwell had in little space\n His money wholly spent.\n\n Which done, to Ludlow straight\n He did provide to go,\n To rob his wealthy uncle there; 115\n His minion would it so.\n\n And once he thought to take\n His father by the way,\n But that he fear'd his master had\n Took order for his stay[428]. 120\n\n Unto his uncle then\n He rode with might and main,\n Who with a welcome and good cheer,\n Did Barnwell entertain.\n\n One fortnight's space he stayed, 125\n Until it chanced so,\n His uncle with his cattle did\n Unto a market go.\n\n His kinsman rode with him,\n Where he did see right plain, 130\n Great store of money he had took:\n When coming home again,\n\n Sudden within a wood,\n He struck his uncle down,\n And beat his brains out of his head; 135\n So sore he crackt his crown.\n\n Then seizing fourscore pound,\n To London straight he hyed,\n And unto Sarah Millwood all\n The cruell fact descryed. 140\n\n Tush,'tis no matter, George,\n So we the money have\n To have good cheer in jolly sort,\n And deck us fine and brave.\n\n Thus lived in filthy sort, 145\n Until their store was gone:\n When means to get them any more,\n I wis, poor George, had none.\n\n Therefore in railing sort,\n She thrust him out of door: 150\n Which is the just reward of those,\n Who spend upon a whore.\n\n O! do me not disgrace\n In this my need, quoth he\n She call'd him thief and murderer, 155\n With all the spight might be:\n\n To the constable she sent,\n To have him apprehended;\n And shewed how far, in each degree,\n He had the laws offended. 160\n\n When Barnwell saw her drift,\n To sea he got straightway;\n Where fear and sting of conscience\n Continually on him lay.\n\n Unto the lord mayor then, 165\n He did a letter write;\n In which his own and Sarah's fault\n He did at large recite.\n\n Whereby she seized was,\n And then to Ludlow sent: 170\n Where she was judg'd, condemn'd, and hang'd,\n For murder incontinent.\n\n There dyed this gallant quean,\n Such was her greatest gains:\n For murder in Polonia, 175\n Was Barnwell hang'd in chains.\n\n Lo! here's the end of youth,\n That after harlots haunt;\n Who in the spoil of other men,\n About the streets do flaunt. 180\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[426] The having a sum of money with him on Sunday, &c. shews this\nnarrative to have been penned before the civil wars: the strict\nobservance of the sabbath was owing to the change of manners at that\nperiod.\n\n[427] [coy, shy.]\n\n[428] _i.e._ for stopping, and apprehending him at his father's.\n\n\n\n\nVII.\n\nTHE STEDFAST SHEPHERD.\n\n\nThese beautiful stanzas were written by _George Wither_, of whom some\naccount was given in the former part of this volume; see the song\nintitled, _The Shepherd's Resolution_, book ii. song xxi. In the\nfirst edition of this work only a small fragment of this sonnet was\ninserted. It was afterwards rendered more compleat and intire by the\naddition of five stanzas more, extracted from Wither's pastoral poem,\nintitled, _The Mistress of Philarete_, of which this song makes a part.\nIt is now given still more correct and perfect by comparing it with\nanother copy, printed by the author in his improved edition of _The\nShepherd's Hunting_, 1620, 8vo.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [The Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. iii. p. 360) contains\n only the fifth and sixth stanzas slightly varied, which were\n printed in the first edition of the _Reliques_, with the title of\n _The Aspiring Shepherd_.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n Hence away, thou Syren, leave me,\n Pish! unclaspe these wanton armes;\n Sugred words can ne'er deceive me,\n (Though thou prove a thousand charmes).\n Fie, fie, forbeare; 5\n No common snare\n Can ever my affection chaine:\n Thy painted baits,\n And poore deceits,\n Are all bestowed on me in vaine. 10\n\n I'me no slave to such, as you be;\n Neither shall that snowy brest,\n Rowling eye, and lip of ruby\n Ever robb me of my rest:\n\n Goe, go display 15\n Thy beautie's ray\n To some more soone-enamour'd swaine;\n Those common wiles\n Of sighs and smiles\n Are all bestowed on me in vaine. 20\n\n I have elsewhere vowed a dutie;\n Turne away thy tempting eye:\n Shew not me a painted beautie;\n These impostures I defie:\n My spirit lothes 25\n Where gawdy clothes\n And fained othes may love obtaine:\n I love her so,\n Whose looke sweares No;\n That all your labours will be vaine. 30\n\n Can he prize the tainted posies,\n Which on every brest are worne;\n That may plucke the virgin roses\n From their never-touched thorne?\n I can goe rest 35\n On her sweet brest,\n That is the pride of Cynthia's traine:\n Then stay thy tongue;\n Thy mermaid song\n Is all bestowed on me in vaine. 40\n\n Hee's a foole, that basely dallies,\n Where each peasant mates with him:\n Shall I haunt the thronged vallies,\n Whilst ther's noble hills to climbe?\n No, no, though clownes 45\n Are scar'd with frownes,\n I know the best can but disdaine;\n And those Ile prove:\n So will thy love\n Be all bestowed on me in vaine. 50\n\n I doe scorne to vow a dutie,\n Where each lustfull lad may wooe:\n Give me her, whose sun-like beautie\n Buzzards dare not soar unto:\n Shee, shee it is 55\n Affoords that blisse\n For which I would refuse no paine:\n But such as you,\n Fond fooles, adieu;\n You seeke to captive me in vaine. 60\n\n Leave me then, you Syrens, leave me;\n Seeke no more to worke my harmes:\n Craftie wiles cannot deceive me,\n Who am proofe against your charmes:\n You labour may 65\n To lead astray\n The heart, that constant shall remaine:\n And I the while\n Will sit and smile\n To see you spend your time in vaine. 70\n\n\n\n\nVIII.\n\nTHE SPANISH VIRGIN, OR EFFECTS OF JEALOUSY.\n\n\nThe subject of this ballad is taken from a folio collection of tragical\nstories, intitled, _The theatre of God's judgments_, by Dr. Beard and\nDr. Taylor, 1642. Pt. ii. p. 89.--The text is given (with corrections)\nfrom two copies; one of them in black-letter in the Pepys collection.\nIn this every stanza is accompanied with the following distich by way\nof burden:\n\n \"Oh jealousie! thou art nurst in hell:\n Depart from hence, and therein dwell.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\n All tender hearts, that ake to hear\n Of those that suffer wrong;\n All you, that never shed a tear,\n Give heed unto my song.\n\n Fair Isabella's tragedy 5\n My tale doth far exceed:\n Alas! that so much cruelty\n In female hearts should breed!\n\n In Spain a lady liv'd of late,\n Who was of high degree; 10\n Whose wayward temper did create\n Much woe and misery.\n\n Strange jealousies so fill'd her head\n With many a vain surmize,\n She thought her lord had wrong'd her bed, 15\n And did her love despise.\n\n A gentlewoman passing fair\n Did on this lady wait;\n With bravest dames she might compare;\n Her beauty was compleat. 20\n\n Her lady cast a jealous eye\n Upon this gentle maid;\n And taxt her with disloyaltye;\n And did her oft upbraid.\n\n In silence still this maiden meek 25\n Her bitter taunts would bear,\n While oft adown her lovely cheek\n Would steal the falling tear.\n\n In vain in humble sort she strove\n Her fury to disarm; 30\n As well the meekness of the dove\n The bloody hawke might charm.\n\n Her lord of humour light and gay,\n And innocent the while,\n As oft as she came in his way, 35\n Would on the damsell smile.\n\n And oft before his lady's face,\n As thinking her her friend,\n He would the maiden's modest grace\n And comeliness commend. 40\n\n All which incens'd his lady so\n She burnt with wrath extreame;\n At length the fire that long did glow,\n Burst forth into a flame.\n\n For on a day it so befell, 45\n When he was gone from home,\n The lady all with rage did swell,\n And to the damsell come.\n\n And charging her with great offence,\n And many a grievous fault; 50\n She bade her servants drag her thence,\n Into a dismal vault,\n\n That lay beneath the common-shore:\n A dungeon dark and deep:\n Where they were wont, in days of yore, 55\n Offenders great to keep.\n\n There never light of chearful day\n Dispers'd the hideous gloom;\n But dank and noisome vapours play\n Around the wretched room: 60\n\n And adders, snakes, and toads therein,\n As afterwards was known,\n Long in this loathsome vault had bin,\n And were to monsters grown.\n\n Into this foul and fearful place, 65\n The fair one innocent\n Was cast, before her lady's face;\n Her malice to content.\n\n This maid no sooner enter'd is,\n But strait, alas! she hears 70\n The toads to croak, and snakes to hiss:\n Then grievously she fears.\n\n Soon from their holes the vipers creep,\n And fiercely her assail:\n Which makes the damsel sorely weep, 75\n And her sad fate bewail.\n\n With her fair hands she strives in vain\n Her body to defend:\n With shrieks and cries she doth complain,\n But all is to no end. 80\n\n A servant listning near the door,\n Struck with her doleful noise,\n Strait ran his lady to implore;\n But she'll not hear his voice.\n\n With bleeding heart he goes agen 85\n To mark the maiden's groans;\n And plainly hears, within the den,\n How she herself bemoans.\n\n Again he to his lady hies\n With all the haste he may: 90\n She into furious passion flies,\n And orders him away.\n\n Still back again does he return\n To hear her tender cries;\n The virgin now had ceas'd to mourn; 95\n Which fill'd him with surprize.\n\n In grief, and horror, and affright,\n He listens at the walls;\n But finding all was silent quite,\n He to his lady calls. 100\n\n Too sure, O lady, now quoth he,\n Your cruelty hath sped;\n Make hast, for shame, and come and see;\n I fear the virgin's dead.\n\n She starts to hear her sudden fate, 105\n And does with torches run:\n But all her haste was now too late,\n For death his worst had done.\n\n The door being open'd strait they found\n The virgin stretch'd along: 110\n Two dreadful snakes had wrapt her round,\n Which her to death had stung.\n\n One round her legs, her thighs, her waist\n Had twin'd his fatal wreath:\n The other close her neck embrac'd, 115\n And stopt her gentle breath.\n\n The snakes, being from her body thrust,\n Their bellies were so fill'd,\n That with excess of blood they burst,\n Thus with their prey were kill'd. 120\n\n The wicked lady at this sight,\n With horror strait ran mad;\n So raving dy'd, as was most right,\n 'Cause she no pity had.\n\n Let me advise you, ladies all, 125\n Of jealousy beware:\n It causeth many a one to fall,\n And is the devil's snare.\n\n [***]\n\n\n\n\nIX.\n\nJEALOUSY TYRANT OF THE MIND.\n\n\nThis Song is by _Dryden_, being inserted in his Tragi-Comedy of _Love\nTriumphant_, &c.--On account of the subject it is inserted here.\n\n * * * * *\n\n What state of life can be so blest,\n As love that warms the gentle brest;\n Two souls in one; the same desire\n To grant the bliss, and to require?\n If in this heaven a hell we find, 5\n Tis all from thee,\n O Jealousie!\n Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind.\n\n All other ills, though sharp they prove,\n Serve to refine and perfect love: 10\n In absence, or unkind disdaine,\n Sweet hope relieves the lovers paine:\n But, oh, no cure but death we find\n To sett us free\n From jealousie, 15\n Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind.\n\n False in thy glass all objects are,\n Some sett too near, and some too far:\n Thou art the fire of endless night,\n The fire that burns, and gives no light. 20\n All torments of the damn'd we find\n In only thee,\n O Jealousie;\n Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind.\n\n\n\n\nX.\n\nCONSTANT PENELOPE.\n\n\nThe ladies are indebted for the following notable documents to the\nPepys collection, where the original is preserved in black-letter, and\nis intitled, _A lookingglass for ladies, or a mirrour for married\nwomen_. Tune _Queen Dido, or Troy town_.\n\n * * * * *\n\n When Greeks and Trojans fell at strife,\n And lords in armour bright were seen;\n When many a gallant lost his life\n About fair Hellen, beauty's queen;\n Ulysses, general so free, 5\n Did leave his dear Penelope.\n\n When she this wofull news did hear,\n That he would to the warrs of Troy;\n For grief she shed full many a tear,\n At parting from her only joy; 10\n Her ladies all about her came,\n To comfort up this Grecian dame.\n\n Ulysses, with a heavy heart,\n Unto her then did mildly say,\n The time is come that we must part; 15\n My honour calls me hence away;\n Yet in my absence, dearest, be\n My constant wife, Penelope.\n\n Let me no longer live, she sayd,\n Then to my lord I true remain; 20\n My honour shall not be betray'd\n Until I see my love again;\n For I will ever constant prove,\n As is the loyal turtle-dove.\n\n Thus did they part with heavy chear, 25\n And to the ships his way he took;\n Her tender eyes dropt many a tear;\n Still casting many a longing look:\n She saw him on the surges glide,\n And unto Neptune thus she cry'd: 30\n\n Thou god, whose power is in the deep,\n And rulest in the ocean main,\n My loving lord in safety keep\n Till he return to me again:\n That I his person may behold, 35\n To me more precious far than gold.\n\n Then straight the ships with nimble sails\n Were all convey'd out of her sight:\n Her cruel fate she then bewails,\n Since she had lost her hearts delight. 40\n Now shall my practice be, quoth she,\n True vertue and humility.\n\n My patience I will put in ure,[429]\n My charity I will extend;\n Since for my woe there is no cure, 45\n The helpless now I will befriend:\n The widow and the fatherless\n I will relieve, when in distress.\n\n Thus she continued year by year\n In doing good to every one; 50\n Her fame was noised every where,\n To young and old the same was known,\n That she no company would mind,\n Who were to vanity inclin'd.\n\n Mean while Ulysses fought for fame, 55\n 'Mongst Trojans hazarding his life:\n Young gallants, hearing of her name,\n Came flocking for to tempt his wife:\n For she was lovely, young, and fair,\n No lady might with her compare. 60\n\n With costly gifts and jewels fine,\n They did endeavour her to win;\n With banquets and the choicest wine,\n For to allure her unto sin:\n Most persons were of high degree, 65\n Who courted fair Penelope.\n\n With modesty and comely grace,\n Their wanton suits she did denye;\n No tempting charms could e'er deface\n Her dearest husband's memorye; 70\n But constant she would still remain,\n Hopeing to see him once again.\n\n Her book her dayly comfort was,\n And that she often did peruse;\n She seldom looked in her glass; 75\n Powder and paint she ne'er would use.\n I wish all ladies were as free\n From pride, as was Penelope.\n\n She in her needle took delight,\n And likewise in her spinning-wheel; 80\n Her maids about her every night\n Did use the distaff, and the reel:\n The spiders, that on rafters twine,\n Scarce spin a thread more soft and fine.\n\n Sometimes she would bewail the loss 85\n And absence of her dearest love:\n Sometimes she thought the seas to cross,\n Her fortune on the waves to prove.\n\n I fear my lord is slain, quoth she,\n He stays so from Penelope. 90\n\n At length the ten years siege of Troy\n Did end: in flames the city burn'd;\n And to the Grecians was great joy,\n To see the towers to ashes turn'd:\n Then came Ulysses home to see 95\n His constant, dear, Penelope.\n\n O blame her not if she was glad,\n When she her lord again had seen.\n Thrice-welcome home, my dear, she said,\n A long time absent thou hast been: 100\n The wars shall never more deprive\n Me of my lord whilst I'm alive.\n\n Fair ladies all example take;\n And hence a worthy lesson learn,\n All youthful follies to forsake, 105\n And vice from virtue to discern:\n And let all women strive to be,\n As constant as Penelope.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[429] [use.]\n\n\n\n\nXI.\n\nTO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS.\n\n\nBy Col. Richard Lovelace: from the volume of his poems, intitled\n_Lucasta_, (Lond. 1649. 12mo.). The elegance of this writer's manner\nwould be more admired, if it had somewhat more of simplicity.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [Percy's admirers would be glad to expunge the above unjust\n judgment. Some of Lovelace's poems may be affected, but that charge\n cannot be brought against these exquisite verses, the last two of\n which have become a world-famed quotation.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n Tell me not, sweet, I am unkinde,\n That from the nunnerie\n Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde,\n To warre and armes I flie.\n\n True, a new mistresse now I chase, 5\n The first foe in the field;\n And with a stronger faith imbrace\n A sword, a horse, a shield.\n\n Yet this inconstancy is such,\n As you too shall adore; 10\n I could not love thee, deare, so much,\n Lov'd I not honour more.\n\n\n\n\nXII.\n\nVALENTINE AND URSINE.\n\n\nThe old story-book of _Valentine and Orson_ (which suggested the plan\nof this tale, but it is not strictly followed in it) was originally a\ntranslation from the French, being one of their earliest attempts at\nromance. See _Le Biblioth\u00e8que de Romans, &c._\n\nThe circumstance of the bridge of bells is taken from the old metrical\nlegend of Sir Bevis, and has also been copied in the _Seven Champions_.\nThe original lines are,\n\n \"Over the dyke a bridge there lay,\n That man and beest might passe away:\n Under the brydge were sixty belles;\n Right as the Romans telles;\n That there might no man passe in,\n But all they rang with a gyn.\"\n\n Sign. E. iv.\n\nIn the Editor's folio MS. was an old poem on this subject, in a\nwretched corrupt state, unworthy the press: from which were taken such\nparticulars as could be adopted.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [The poem entitled _The Emperour and the Childe_ in the Folio MS.\n (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 390) only suggested the\n subject of the present ballad. It commences--\n\n Within the Grecyan land some time did dwell\n an Emperour, whose name did ffar excell;\n he tooke to wiffe the lady B[e]llefaunt,\n the only sister to the kinge of ffrance,\n with whome he liued in pleasure and delight\n vntill that ffortune came to worke them spighte.\n\n There are no particular signs of \"corruption,\" and the piece is\n probably superior to Percy's own effusion.\n\n Percy's trumpery commencement is an echo of the beginning of the\n printed copies of _Sir Andrew Barton_.\n\n The name Ursine, like that of Orson, is derived from Fr. _Ourson_,\n the diminutive of _Ours_, a bear (Latin, _ursus_.)]\n\n * * * * *\n\n PART THE FIRST.\n\n Then Flora 'gins to decke the fields\n With colours fresh and fine,\n Then holy clerkes their mattins sing\n To good Saint Valentine!\n\n The king of France that morning fair 5\n He would a hunting ride:\n To Artois forest prancing forth\n In all his princelye pride.\n\n To grace his sports a courtly train\n Of gallant peers attend; 10\n And with their loud and cheerful cryes\n The hills and valleys rend.\n\n Through the deep forest swift they pass,\n Through woods and thickets wild;\n When down within a lonely dell 15\n They found a new-born child;\n\n All in a scarlet kercher lay'd\n Of silk so fine and thin:\n A golden mantle wrapt him round\n Pinn'd with a silver pin. 20\n\n The sudden sight surpriz'd them all;\n The courtiers gather'd round;\n They look, they call, the mother seek;\n No mother could be found.\n\n At length the king himself drew near, 25\n And as he gazing stands,\n The pretty babe look'd up and smil'd,\n And stretch'd his little hands.\n\n Now, by the rood, king Pepin says,\n This child is passing fair: 30\n I wot he is of gentle blood;\n Perhaps some prince's heir.\n\n Goe bear him home unto my court\n With all the care ye may:\n Let him be christen'd Valentine, 35\n In honour of this day:\n\n And look me out some cunning nurse;\n Well nurtur'd let him bee;\n Nor ought be wanting that becomes\n A bairn of high degree. 40\n\n They look'd him out a cunning nurse;\n And nurtur'd well was hee;\n Nor ought was wanting that became\n A bairn of high degree.\n\n Thus grewe the little Valentine 45\n Belov'd of king and peers;\n And shew'd in all he spake or did\n A wit beyond his years.\n\n But chief in gallant feates of arms\n He did himself advance, 50\n That ere he grewe to man's estate\n He had no peere in France.\n\n And now the early downe began\n To shade his youthful chin;\n When Valentine was dubb'd a knight, 55\n That he might glory win.\n\n A boon, a boon, my gracious liege,\n I beg a boon of thee!\n The first adventure, that befalls,\n May be reserv'd for mee. 60\n\n The first adventure shall be thine;\n The king did smiling say.\n Nor many days, when lo! there came\n Three palmers clad in graye.\n\n Help, gracious lord, they weeping say'd; 65\n And knelt, as it was meet:\n From Artoys forest we be come,\n With weak and wearye feet.\n\n Within those deep and drearye woods\n There wends a savage boy; 70\n Whose fierce and mortal rage doth yield\n Thy subjects dire annoy.\n\n 'Mong ruthless beares he sure was bred;\n He lurks within their den:\n With beares he lives; with beares he feeds; 75\n And drinks the blood of men.\n\n To more than savage strength he joins\n A more than human skill:\n For arms, ne cunning may suffice\n His cruel rage to still:\n\n Up then rose sir Valentine,\n And claim'd that arduous deed.\n Go forth and conquer, say'd the king,\n And great shall be thy meed.\n\n Well mounted on a milk-white steed, 85\n His armour white as snow;\n As well beseem'd a virgin knight,\n Who ne'er had fought a foe;\n\n To Artoys forest he repairs\n With all the haste he may; 90\n And soon he spies the savage youth\n A rending of his prey.\n\n His unkempt hair all matted hung\n His shaggy shoulders round:\n His eager eye all fiery glow'd: 95\n His face with fury frown'd.\n\n Like eagles' talons grew his nails:\n His limbs were thick and strong;\n And dreadful was the knotted oak\n He bare with him along. 100\n\n Soon as sir Valentine approach'd,\n He starts with sudden spring;\n And yelling forth a hideous howl,\n He made the forests ring.\n\n As when a tyger fierce and fell 105\n Hath spyed a passing roe,\n And leaps at once upon his throat;\n So sprung the savage foe;\n\n So lightly leap'd with furious force\n The gentle knight to seize: 110\n But met his tall uplifted spear,\n Which sunk him on his knees.\n\n A second stroke so stiff and stern\n Had laid the savage low;\n But springing up, he rais'd his club, 115\n And aim'd a dreadful blow.\n\n The watchful warrior bent his head,\n And shun'd the coming stroke;\n Upon his taper spear it fell,\n And all to shivers broke. 120\n\n Then lighting nimbly from his steed,\n He drew his burnisht brand:\n The savage quick as lightning flew\n To wrest it from his hand.\n\n Three times he grasp'd the silver hilt; 125\n Three times he felt the blade;\n Three times it fell with furious force;\n Three ghastly wounds it made.\n\n Now with redoubled rage he roared;\n His eye-ball flash'd with fire; 130\n Each hairy limb with fury shook;\n And all his heart was ire.\n\n Then closing fast with furious gripe\n He clasp'd the champion round,\n And with a strong and sudden twist 135\n He laid him on the ground.\n\n But soon the knight, with active spring,\n O'erturn'd his hairy foe:\n And now between their sturdy fists\n Past many a bruising blow. 140\n\n They roll'd and grappled on the ground,\n And there they struggled long:\n Skilful and active was the knight;\n The savage he was strong.\n\n But brutal force and savage strength 145\n To art and skill must yield:\n Sir Valentine at length prevail'd,\n And won the well-fought field.\n\n Then binding strait his conquer'd foe\n Fast with an iron chain, 150\n He tyes him to his horse's tail,\n And leads him o'er the plain.\n\n To court his hairy captive soon\n Sir Valentine doth bring;\n And kneeling downe upon his knee, 155\n Presents him to the king.\n\n With loss of blood and loss of strength,\n The savage tamer grew;\n And to sir Valentine became\n A servant try'd and true. 160\n\n And 'cause with beares he erst was bred,\n Ursine they call his name;\n A name which unto future times\n The Muses shall proclame.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\nPART THE SECOND.\n\n In high renown with prince and peere\n Now liv'd sir Valentine:\n His high renown with prince and peere\n Made envious hearts repine.\n\n It chanc'd the king upon a day 5\n Prepar'd a sumptuous feast:\n And there came lords, and dainty dames,\n And many a noble guest.\n\n Amid their cups, that freely flow'd,\n Their revelry, and mirth; 10\n A youthful knight tax'd Valentine\n Of base and doubtful birth.\n\n The foul reproach, so grossly urg'd,\n His generous heart did wound:\n And strait he vow'd he ne'er would rest 15\n Till he his parents found.\n\n Then bidding king and peers adieu,\n Early one summer's day,\n With faithful Ursine by his side,\n From court he took his way. 20\n\n O'er hill and valley, moss and moor,\n For many a day they pass;\n At length upon a moated lake,[430]\n They found a bridge of brass.\n\n Beyond it rose a castle fair 25\n Y-built of marble stone:\n The battlements were gilt with gold,\n And glittred in the sun.\n\n Beneath the bridge, with strange device,\n A hundred bells were hung; 30\n That man, nor beast, might pass thereon,\n But strait their larum rung.\n\n This quickly found the youthful pair,\n Who boldly crossing o'er,\n The jangling sound bedeaft their ears, 35\n And rung from shore to shore.\n\n Quick at the sound the castle gates\n Unlock'd and opened wide,\n And strait a gyant huge and grim\n Stalk'd forth with stately pride. 40\n\n Now yield you, caytiffs, to my will;\n He cried with hideous roar;\n Or else the wolves shall eat your flesh,\n And ravens drink your gore.\n\n Vain boaster, said the youthful knight, 45\n I scorn thy threats and thee:\n I trust to force thy brazen gates,\n And set thy captives free.\n\n Then putting spurs unto his steed,\n He aim'd a dreadful thrust: 50\n The spear against the gyant glanc'd,\n And caus'd the blood to burst.\n\n Mad and outrageous with the pain,\n He whirl'd his mace of steel:\n The very wind of such a blow 55\n Had made the champion reel.\n\n It haply mist; and now the knight\n His glittering sword display'd,\n And riding round with whirlwind speed\n Oft made him feel the blade. 60\n\n As when a large and monstrous oak\n Unceasing axes hew:\n So fast around the gyant's limbs\n The blows quick-darting flew.\n\n As when the boughs with hideous fall 65\n Some hapless woodman crush:\n With such a force the enormous foe\n Did on the champion rush.\n\n A fearful blow, alas! there came,\n Both horse and knight it took. 70\n And laid them senseless in the dust;\n So fatal was the stroke.\n\n Then smiling forth a hideous grin,\n The gyant strides in haste,\n And, stooping, aims a second stroke: 75\n \"Now caytiff breathe thy last!\"\n\n But ere it fell, two thundering blows\n Upon his scull descend:\n From Ursine's knotty club they came,\n Who ran to save his friend. 80\n\n Down sunk the gyant gaping wide,\n And rolling his grim eyes:\n The hairy youth repeats his blows:\n He gasps, he groans, he dies.\n\n Quickly sir Valentine reviv'd 85\n With Ursine's timely care:\n And now to search the castle walls\n The venturous youths repair.\n\n The blood and bones of murder'd knights\n They found where'er they came: 90\n At length within a lonely cell\n They saw a mournful dame.\n\n Her gentle eyes were dim'd with tears;\n Her cheeks were pale with woe:\n And long sir Valentine besought 95\n Her doleful tale to know.\n\n \"Alas! young knight,\" she weeping said,\n \"Condole my wretched fate:\n A childless mother here you see;\n A wife without a mate. 100\n\n \"These twenty winters here forlorn\n I've drawn my hated breath;\n Sole witness of a monster's crimes,\n And wishing aye for death.\n\n \"Know, I am sister of a king; 105\n And in my early years\n Was married to a mighty prince,\n The fairest of his peers.\n\n \"With him I sweetly liv'd in love\n A twelvemonth and a day: 110\n When, lo! a foul and treacherous priest\n Y-wrought our loves' decay.\n\n \"His seeming goodness wan him pow'r;\n He had his master's ear:\n And long to me and all the world 115\n He did a saint appear.\n\n \"One day, when we were all alone,\n He proffer'd odious love:\n The wretch with horrour I repuls'd,\n And from my presence drove. 120\n\n \"He feign'd remorse, and piteous beg'd\n His crime I'd not reveal:\n Which, for his seeming penitence,\n I promis'd to conceal.\n\n \"With treason, villainy, and wrong 125\n My goodness he repay'd:\n With jealous doubts he fill'd my lord,\n And me to woe betray'd.\n\n \"He hid a slave within my bed,\n Then rais'd a bitter cry. 130\n My lord, possest with rage, condemn'd\n Me, all unheard, to dye.\n\n \"But 'cause I then was great with child,\n At length my life he spar'd;\n But bade me instant quit the realme, 135\n One trusty knight my guard.\n\n \"Forth on my journey I depart,\n Opprest with grief and woe;\n And tow'rds my brother's distant court,\n With breaking heart, I goe. 140\n\n \"Long time thro' sundry foreign lands\n We slowly pace along:\n At length within a forest wild\n I fell in labour strong:\n\n \"And while the knight for succour sought, 145\n And left me there forlorn,\n My childbed pains so fast increast\n Two lovely boys were born.\n\n \"The eldest fair, and smooth, as snow\n That tips the mountain hoar: 150\n The younger's little body rough\n With hairs was cover'd o'er.\n\n \"But here afresh begin my woes:\n While tender care I took\n To shield my eldest from the cold, 155\n And wrap him in my cloak;\n\n \"A prowling bear burst from the wood,\n And seiz'd my younger son:\n Affection lent my weakness wings,\n And after them I run. 160\n\n \"But all forewearied, weak and spent,\n I quickly swoon'd away;\n And there beneath the greenwood shade\n Long time I lifeless lay.\n\n \"At length the knight brought me relief, 165\n And rais'd me from the ground:\n But neither of my pretty babes\n Could ever more be found.\n\n \"And, while in search we wander'd far,\n We met that gyant grim; 170\n Who ruthless slew my trusty knight,\n And bare me off with him.\n\n \"But charm'd by heav'n, or else my griefs,\n He offer'd me no wrong;\n Save that within these lonely walls 175\n I've been immur'd so long.\"\n\n Now, surely, said the youthful knight,\n You are lady Bellisance,\n Wife to the Grecian emperor:\n Your brother's king of France. 180\n\n For in your royal brother's court\n Myself my breeding had;\n Where oft the story of your woes\n Hath made my bosom sad.\n\n If so, know your accuser's dead, 185\n And dying own'd his crime;\n And long your lord hath sought you out\n Thro' every foreign clime.\n\n And when no tidings he could learn\n Of his much-wronged wife, 190\n He vow'd thenceforth within his court\n To lead a hermit's life.\n\n Now heaven is kind! the lady said;\n And dropt a joyful tear:\n Shall I once more behold my lord? 195\n That lord I love so dear?\n\n But, madam, said sir Valentine,\n And knelt upon his knee;\n Know you the cloak that wrapt your babe,\n If you the same should see? 200\n\n And pulling forth the cloth of gold,\n In which himself was found;\n The lady gave a sudden shriek,\n And fainted on the ground.\n\n But by his pious care reviv'd, 205\n His tale she heard anon;\n And soon by other tokens found,\n He was indeed her son.\n\n But who's this hairy youth? she said;\n He much resembles thee: 210\n The bear devour'd my younger son,\n Or sure that son were he.\n\n Madam, this youth with bears was bred,\n And rear'd within their den.\n But recollect ye any mark 215\n To know you son agen?\n\n Upon his little side, quoth she,\n Was stampt a bloody rose.\n Here, lady, see the crimson mark\n Upon his body grows! 220\n\n Then clasping both her new-found sons\n She bath'd their cheeks with tears;\n And soon towards h\u00e8r brother's court\n Her joyful course she steers.\n\n What pen can paint king Pepin's joy, 225\n His sister thus restor'd!\n And soon a messenger was sent\n To cheer her drooping lord:\n\n Who came in haste with all his peers,\n To fetch her home to Greece; 230\n Where many happy years they reign'd\n In perfect love and peace.\n\n To them sir Ursine did succeed,\n And long the scepter bare.\n Sir Valentine he stay'd in France, 235\n And was his uncle's heir.\n\n [***]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[430] Ver. 23. _i.e._ a lake that served for a moat to a castle.\n\n\n\n\nXIII.\n\nTHE DRAGON OF WANTLEY.\n\n\nThis humourous song (as a former Editor[431] has well observed) is to\nold metrical romances and ballads of chivalry, what _Don Quixote_ is to\nprose narratives of that kind:--a lively satire on their extravagant\nfictions. But altho' the satire is thus general, the subject of this\nballad is local and peculiar: so that many of the finest strokes of\nhumour are lost for want of our knowing the minute circumstances to\nwhich they allude. Many of them can hardly now be recovered, altho' we\nhave been fortunate enough to learn the general subject to which the\nsatire referred, and shall detail the information, with which we have\nbeen favoured, at the end of this introduction.\n\nIn handling his subject, the Author has brought in most of the\ncommon incidents which occur in romance. The description of the\ndragon[432]--his outrages--the people flying to the knight for\nsuccour--his care in chusing his armour--his being drest for fight by a\nyoung damsel--and most of the circumstances of the battle and victory\n(allowing for the burlesque turn given to them) are what occur in every\nbook of chivalry, whether in prose or verse.\n\nIf any one piece, more than other, is more particularly levelled at,\nit seems to be the old rhiming legend of sir Bevis. There a _Dragon_\nis attacked from a _Well_ in a manner not very remote from this of the\nballad:--\n\n There was a well, so have I wynne,\n And Bevis stumbled ryght therein.\n * * * * *\n Than was he glad without fayle,\n And rested a whyle for his avayle;\n And dranke of that water his fyll;\n And then he lepte out, with good wyll,\n And with Morglay his brande\n He assayled the dragon, I understande:\n On the dragon he smote so faste,\n Where that he hit the scales braste:\n The dragon then faynted sore,\n And cast a galon and more\n Out of his mouthe of venim strong,\n And on syr Bevis he it flong:\n It was venymous y-wis.\n\nThis seems to be meant by the Dragon of Wantley's stink, ver. 110. As\nthe politick knight's creeping out, and attacking the dragon, &c. seems\nevidently to allude to the following:\n\n Bevis blessed himselfe and forth yode,\n And lepte out with haste full good;\n And Bevis unto the dragon gone is;\n And the dragon also to Bevis.\n Longe, and harde was that fyght\n Betwene the dragon, and that knyght:\n But ever whan syr Bevis was hurt sore,\n He went to the well, and washed him thore;\n He was as hole as any man,\n Ever freshe as whan he began.\n The dragon sawe it might not avayle\n Besyde the well to hold batayle;\n He thought he would, wyth some wyle,\n Out of that place Bevis begyle;\n He woulde have flowen then awaye,\n But Bevis lepte after with good Morglaye,\n And hyt him under the wynge,\n As he was in his flyenge, &c.\n\n Sign. M. jv. L. j. &c.\n\nAfter all, perhaps the writer of this ballad was acquainted with the\nabove incidents only thro' the medium of Spenser, who has assumed\nmost of them in his _Faery Queen_. At least some particulars in the\ndescription of the Dragon, &c. seem evidently borrowed from the latter.\nSee book i. canto 11, where the Dragon's \"two wynges like sayls--huge\nlong tayl--with stings--his cruel rending clawes--and yron teeth--his\nbreath of smothering smoke and sulphur\"--and the duration of the fight\nfor upwards of two days, bear a great resemblance to passages in the\nfollowing ballad; though it must be confessed that these particulars\nare common to all old writers of romance.\n\nAltho' this ballad must have been written early in the last century,\nwe have met with none but such as were comparatively modern copies.\nIt is here printed from one in Roman letter, in the Pepys collection,\ncollated with such others as could be procured.\n\nA description of the supposed scene of this ballad, which was\ncommunicated to the Editor in 1767, is here given in the words of the\nrelater:--\n\n\"In Yorkshire, 6 miles from Rotherham, is a village, called _Wortley_,\nthe seat of the late _Wortley Montague_, Esq. About a mile from this\nvillage is a lodge, named _Warncliff Lodge_, but vulgarly called\n_Wantley_: here lies the scene of the song. I was there about forty\nyears ago: and it being a woody rocky place, my friend made me clamber\nover rocks and stones, not telling me to what end, till I came to a\nsort of a cave; then asked my opinion of the place, and pointing to\none end, says, Here lay the dragon killed by _Moor_ of _Moor-hall_:\nhere lay his head; here lay his tail; and the stones we came over on\nthe hill, are those he could not crack; and yon white house you see\nhalf a mile off, is _Moor-hall_. I had dined at the lodge, and knew the\nman's name was _Matthew_, who was a keeper to Mr. Wortley, and, as he\nendeavoured to persuade me, was the same Matthew mentioned in the song:\nIn the house is the picture of the Dragon and Moor of Moor-hall, and\nnear it a well, which, says he, is the well described in the ballad.\"\n\nSince the former editions of this humorous old song were printed, the\nfollowing _Key to the Satire_ hath been communicated by _Godfrey_\n_Bosville_, Esq. of Thorp, near Malton, in Yorkshire; who, in the most\nobliging manner, gave full permission to adjoin it to the poem.\n\n_Warncliffe_ Lodge, and _Warncliffe_ Wood (vulgarly pronounced\n_Wantley_), are in the parish of Penniston, in Yorkshire. The rectory\nof Penniston was part of the dissolved monastery of St. Stephen's,\nWestminster; and was granted to the Duke of Norfolk's family: who\ntherewith endowed an hospital, which he built at Sheffield, for women.\nThe trustees let the impropriation of the great Tythes of Penniston to\nthe Wortley family, who got a great deal by it, and wanted to get still\nmore; for Mr. Nicholas Wortley attempted to take the tythes in kind,\nbut Mr. Francis Bosville opposed him, and there was a decree in favour\nof the Modus in 37th Eliz. The vicarage of Penniston did not go along\nwith the rectory, but with the copyhold rents, and was part of a large\npurchase made by Ralph Bosville, Esq. from Q. Elizabeth, in the 2d year\nof her reign: and that part he sold in 12th Eliz. to his elder brother\nGodfrey, the father of Francis; who left it, with the rest of his\nestate, to his wife, for her life, and then to Ralph, 3d son of his\nuncle Ralph. The widow married Lyonel Rowlestone, lived eighteen years,\nand survived Ralph.\n\nThis premised, the ballad apparently relates to the law-suit carried on\nconcerning this claim of tythes made by the Wortley family. \"Houses and\nchurches, were to him geese and turkeys:\" which are tytheable things,\nthe dragon chose to live on. Sir Francis Wortley, the son of Nicholas,\nattempted again to take the tythes in kind: but the parishioners\nsubscribed an agreement to defend their Modus. And at the head of the\nagreement was Lyonel Rowlestone, who is supposed to be one of \"the\nStones, dear Jack, which the Dragon could not crack.\" The agreement\nis still preserved in a large sheet of parchment, dated 1st of James\nI., and is full of names and seals, which might be meant by the coat\nof armour, \"with spikes all about, both within and without.\" _More_\nof _More-hall_ was either the attorney, or counsellor, who conducted\nthe suit. He is not distinctly remembered, but More-hall is still\nextant at the very bottom of Wantley [Warncliff] Wood, and lies so low,\nthat it might be said to be in a well: as the dragon's den [Warncliff\nLodge] was at the top of the wood, \"with Matthew's house hard by it.\"\nThe keepers belonging to the Wortley family were named, for many\ngenerations, Matthew Northall: the last of them left this lodge,\nwithin memory, to be keeper to the Duke of Norfolk. The present owner\nof More-hall still attends Mr. Bosville's Manor-Court at Oxspring,\nand pays a rose a year. \"More of More-hall, with nothing at all, slew\nthe Dragon of Wantley.\" He gave him, instead of tythes, so small a\nModus, that it was in effect nothing at all, and was slaying him with a\nvengeance. \"The poor children three,\" &c. cannot surely mean the three\nsisters of Francis Bosville, who would have been coheiresses, had he\nmade no will? The late Mr. Bosville had a contest with the descendants\nof two of them, the late Sir Geo. Saville's father, and Mr. Copley,\nabout the presentation to Penniston, they supposing Francis had not the\npower to give this part of the estate from the heirs at law; but it was\ndecided against them. The dragon (Sir Francis Wortley) succeeded better\nwith his cousin Wordesworth, the freehold lord of the manor (for it\nis the copyhold manor that belongs to Mr. Bosville) having persuaded\nhim not to join the refractory parishioners, under a promise that he\nwould let him his tythes cheap: and now the estates of Wortley and\nWordesworth are the only lands that pay tythes in the parish.\n\n * * * * *\n\nN.B. \"Two days and a night,\" mentioned in ver. 125, as the duration of\nthe combat, was probably that of the trial at law.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [In Gough's edition of Camden's _Britannia_ we learn that \"Sir\n Thomas Wortley, who was knight of the body to Edward IV.,\n Richard III., Henry VII. and VIII., built a lodge in his chace of\n Warncliffe, and had a house and park there, disparked in the Civil\n War.\"\n\n Mr. Gilfillan has the following note in his edition of the\n _Reliques_, \"A legend current in the Wortley family states the\n dragon to have been a formidable drinker, drunk dead by the\n chieftain of the opposite moors. Ellis thinks it was a wolf or some\n other fierce animal hunted down by More of More-hall.\" A writer\n in the _Notes and Queries_ (3rd S. ix. 29), who signs himself\n \"Fitzhopkins,\" expresses his disbelief in the above explanation\n communicated to Percy by Godfrey Bosville.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n Old stories tell how Hercules\n A dragon slew at Lerna,\n With seven heads, and fourteen eyes,\n To see and well discern-a:\n But he had a club, this dragon to drub, 5\n Or he had ne'er done it, I warrant ye:\n But More of More-Hall, with nothing at all,\n He slew the dragon of Wantley.\n\n This dragon had two furious wings,\n Each one upon each shoulder; 10\n With a sting in his tayl as long as a flayl,\n Which made him bolder and bolder.\n He had long claws, and in his jaws\n Four and forty teeth of iron;\n With a hide as tough, as any buff, 15\n Which did him round environ.\n\n Have you not heard how the Trojan horse\n Held seventy men in his belly?\n This dragon was not quite so big,\n But very near, I'll tell ye. 20\n Devoured he poor children three,\n That could not with him grapple;\n And at one sup he eat them up,\n As one would eat an apple.\n\n\n All sorts of cattle this dragon did eat. 25\n Some say he ate up trees,\n And that the forests sure he would\n Devour up by degrees:\n For houses and churches were to him geese and turkies;[433]\n He ate all, and left none behind, 30\n But some stones, dear Jack, that he could not crack,\n Which on the hills you will find.\n\n In Yorkshire, near fair Rotherham,[434]\n The place I know it well;\n Some two or three miles, or thereabouts, 35\n I vow I cannot tell.\n But there is a hedge, just on the hill edge,\n And Matthew's house hard by it;\n O there and then was this dragon's den,\n You could not chuse but spy it. 40\n\n Some say, this dragon was a witch;\n Some say, he was a devil,\n For from his nose a smoke arose,\n And with it burning snivel;\n Which he cast off, when he did cough, 45\n In a well that he did stand by;\n Which made it look, just like a brook\n Running with burning brandy.\n\n Hard by a furious knight there dwelt,\n Of whom all towns did ring; 50\n For he could wrestle, play at quarter-staff, kick, cuff, and huff,\n Call son of a whore, do any kind of thing:\n By the tail and the main, with his hands twain\n He swung a horse till he was dead;\n And that which is stranger, he for very anger 55\n Eat him all up but his head.\n\n These children, as I am told, being eat;\n Men, women, girls and boys,\n Sighing and sobbing, came to his lodging,\n And made a hideous noise: 60\n O save us all, More of More-Hall,\n Thou peerless knight of these woods;\n Do but slay this dragon, who won't leave us a rag on,\n We'll give thee all our goods.\n\n Tut, tut, quoth he, no goods I want; 65\n But I want, I want, in sooth,\n A fair maid of sixteen, that's brisk, and keen,\n With smiles about the mouth;\n Hair black as sloe, skin white as snow,\n With blushes her cheeks adorning; 70\n To anoynt me o'er night, ere I go to fight,\n And to dress me in the morning.\n\n This being done, he did engage\n To hew the dragon down;\n But first he went, new armour to 75\n Bespeak at Sheffield town;\n With spikes all about, not within but without,\n Of steel so sharp and strong;\n Both behind and before, arms, legs, and all o'er\n Some five or six inches long. 80\n\n Had you but seen him in this dress,\n How fierce he look'd and how big,\n You would have thought him for to be\n Some Egyptian porcupig:\n\n He frighted all, cats, dogs, and all, 85\n Each cow, each horse, and each hog:\n For fear they did flee, for they took him to be\n Some strange outlandish hedge-hog.\n\n To see this fight, all people then\n Got up on trees and houses, 90\n On churches some, and chimneys too;\n But these put on their trowses,\n Not to spoil their hose. As soon as he rose,\n To make him strong and mighty,\n He drank by the tale, six pots of ale, 95\n And a quart of aqua-vit\u00e6.\n\n It is not strength that always wins,\n For wit doth strength excell;\n Which made our cunning champion\n Creep down into a well; 100\n Where he did think, this dragon would drink,\n And so he did in truth;\n And as he stoop'd low, he rose up and cry'd, boh!\n And hit him in the mouth.\n\n O, quoth the dragon, pox take thee, come out, 105\n Thou disturb'st me in my drink:\n And then he turn'd, and s... at him;\n Good lack how he did stink!\n Beshrew thy soul, thy body's foul,\n Thy dung smells not like balsam; 110\n Thou son of a whore, thou stink'st so sore,\n Sure thy diet is unwholesome.\n\n Our politick knight, on the other side,\n Crept out upon the brink,\n And gave the dragon such a douse, 115\n He knew not what to think:\n By cock, quoth he, say you so: do you see?\n And then at him he let fly\n\n With hand and with foot, and so they went to't;\n And the word it was, Hey boys, hey! 120\n\n Your words, quoth the dragon, I don't understand:\n Then to it they fell at all,\n Like two wild boars so fierce, if I may,\n Compare great things with small.\n Two days and a night, with this dragon did fight 125\n Our champion on the ground;\n Tho' their strength it was great, their skill it was neat,\n They never had one wound.\n\n At length the hard earth began to quake,\n The dragon gave him a knock, 130\n Which made him to reel, and straitway he thought,\n To lift him as high as a rock,\n And thence let him fall. But More of More-Hall,\n Like a valiant son of Mars,\n As he came like a lout, so he turn'd him about, 135\n And hit him a kick on the a...\n\n Oh, quoth the dragon, with a deep sigh,\n And turn'd six times together,\n Sobbing and tearing, cursing and swearing\n Out of his throat of leather; 140\n More of More-Hall! O thou rasc\u00e0l!\n Would I had seen thee never;\n With the thing at thy foot, thou hast prick'd my a...gut,\n And I'm quite undone for ever.\n\n Murder, murder, the dragon cry'd, 145\n Alack, alack, for grief;\n Had you but mist that place, you could\n Have done me no mischief.\n\n Then his head he shaked, trembled and quaked,\n And down he laid and cry'd; 150\n First on one knee, then on back tumbled he,\n So groan'd, kickt, s..., and dy'd.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[431] Collection of Historical Ballads in 3 vol. 1727.\n\n[432] See above, pp. 108, 216.\n\n[433] Ver. 29. were to him gorse and birches. _Other Copies._\n\n[434] [Wharncliffe is about six miles from Rotherham.]\n\n\n\n\nXIV.\n\nST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND.\n\n\n THE FIRST PART.\n\nAs the former song is in ridicule of the extravagant incidents in old\nballads and metrical romances; so this is a burlesque of their style;\nparticularly of the rambling transitions and wild accumulations of\nunconnected parts, so frequent in many of them.\n\nThis ballad is given from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys\ncollection, \"imprinted at London, 1612.\" It is more ancient than many\nof the preceding; but we place it here for the sake of connecting it\nwith the _Second Part_.\n\n * * * * *\n\n[_Saint George that, O! did break the dragon's heart_ is one of the\nballads offered for sale by Nightingale, the ballad-singer in Ben\nJonson's comedy of _Bartholomew Fair_ (act ii. sc. 1), and according\nto Fielding's Tom Jones, _St. George, he was for England_, was one of\nSquire Western's favourite tunes.\n\nThis ballad is printed in several collections, and Mr. Chappell notices\na modernization subscribed S. S. and \"printed for W. Gilbertson in\nGiltspur Street,\" about 1659, which commences--\n\n \"What need we brag or boast at all\n Of Arthur and his knights.\"]\n\n * * * * *\n\n Why doe you boast of Arthur and his knightes,\n Knowing 'well' how many men have endured fightes?\n For besides king Arthur, and Lancelot du lake,\n Or sir Tristram de Lionel, that fought for ladies sake;\n Read in old histories, and there you shall see\n How St. George, St. George the dragon made to flee.\n St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;\n Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.\n\n Mark our father Abraham, when first he resckued Lot\n Onely with his household, what conquest there he got:\n David was elected a prophet and a king,\n He slew the great Goliah, with a stone within a sling:\n Yet these were not knightes of the table round;\n Nor St. George, St. George, who the dragon did confound.\n St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;\n Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.\n\n Jephthah and Gideon did lead their men to fight,\n They conquered the Amorites, and put them all to flight:\n Hercules his labours 'were' on the plaines of Basse;\n And Sampson slew a thousand with the jawbone of an asse,\n And eke he threw a temple downe, and did a mighty spoyle:\n But St. George, St. George he did the dragon foyle.\n St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;\n Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.\n\n The warres of ancient monarchs it were too long to tell,\n And likewise of the Romans, how farre they did excell;\n Hannyball and Scipio in many a fielde did fighte:\n Orlando Furioso he was a worthy knighte:\n Remus and Romulus, were they that Rome did builde:\n But St. George, St. George the dragon made to yielde.\n St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;\n Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.\n\n The noble Alphonso, that was the Spanish king,\n The order of the red scarffes and bandrolles in did bring:[435]\n He had a troope of mighty knightes, when first he did begin,\n Which sought adventures farre and neare, that conquest they might\n win:\n The ranks of the Pagans he often put to flight:\n But St. George, St. George did with the dragon fight.\n St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;\n Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.\n\n Many 'knights' have fought with proud Tamberlaine.\n Cutlax the Dane, great warres he did maintaine:\n Rowland of Beame, and good 'sir' Olivere\n In the forest of Acon slew both woolfe and beare:\n Besides that noble Hollander, 'sir' Goward with the bill:\n But St. George, St. George the dragon's blood did spill.\n St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;\n Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.\n\n Valentine and Orson were of king Pepin's blood:\n Alfride and Henry they were brave knightes and good:\n The four sons of Aymon, that follow'd Charlemaine:\n Sir Hughon of Burdeaux, and Godfrey of Bullaine:\n These were all French knightes that lived in that age:\n But St. George, St. George the dragon did assuage.\n St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;\n Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.\n\n Bevis conquered Ascapart, and after slew the boare,\n And then he crost beyond the seas to combat with the moore:\n Sir Isenbras, and Eglamore they were knightes most bold;\n And good Sir John Mandeville of travel much hath told:\n There were many English knights that Pagans did convert:\n But St. George, St. George pluckt out the dragon's heart.\n St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;\n Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.\n\n The noble earl of Warwick, that was call'd sir Guy,\n The infidels and pagans stoutlie did defie;\n He slew the giant Brandimore, and after was the death\n Of that most ghastly dun cowe, the divell of Dunsmore heath;\n Besides his noble deeds all done beyond the seas:\n But St George, St. George the dragon did appease.\n St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;\n Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.\n\n Richard C[oe]ur-de-lion erst king of this land,\n He the lion gored with his naked hand:[436]\n The false duke of Austria nothing did he feare;\n But his son he killed with a boxe on the eare;\n Besides his famous actes done in the holy lande:\n But St. George, St. George the dragon did withstande.\n St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;\n Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.\n\n Henry the fifth he conquered all France,\n And quartered their arms, his honour to advance:\n He their cities razed, and threw their castles downe,\n And his head he honoured with a double crowne:\n He thumped the French-men, and after home he came:\n But St. George, St. George he did the dragon tame.\n St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;\n Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.\n\n St. David of Wales the Welsh-men much advance:\n St. Jaques of Spaine, that never yet broke lance:\n St. Patricke of Ireland, which was St. Georges boy,\n Seven yeares he kept his horse, and then stole him away:\n For which knavish act, as slaves they doe remaine:\n But St. George, St. George the dragon he hath slaine.\n St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;\n Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[435] This probably alludes to \"An Ancient Order of Knighthood, called\nthe Order of the Band, instituted by Don Alphonsus, king of Spain, ...\nto wear a red riband of three fingers breadth,\" &c. See Ames _Typog._\np. 327.\n\n[436] Alluding to the fabulous exploits attributed to this king in the\nold romances. See the dissertation affixed to this volume.\n\n\n\n\nXV.\n\nST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND.\n\n\n THE SECOND PART.\n\nWas written by JOHN GRUBB, M.A. of Christ Church, Oxford. The occasion\nof its being composed is said to have been as follows. A set of\ngentlemen of the university had formed themselves into a club, all the\nmembers of which were to be of the name of _George_: Their anniversary\nfeast was to be held on _St. George's_ day. Our author solicited\nstrongly to be admitted; but his name being unfortunately _John_, this\ndisqualification was dispensed with only upon this condition, that\nhe would compose a song in honour of their Patron Saint, and would\nevery year produce one or more new stanzas, to be sung on their annual\nfestival. This gave birth to the following humorous performance,\nthe several stanzas of which were the produce of many successive\nanniversaries.[437]\n\nThis diverting poem was long handed about in manuscript, at length a\nfriend of _Grubb's_ undertook to get it printed, who, not keeping pace\nwith the impatience of his friends, was addressed in the following\nwhimsical macaronic lines, which, in such a collection as this, may not\nimproperly accompany the poem itself.\n\n * * * * *\n\n_Expostulatiuncula_, sive _Querimoniuncula_ ad _Antonium_ [_Atherton_]\nob Poema _Johannis Grubb_, Viri #tou pany# ingeniosissimi in lucem\nnondum editi.\n\n _Toni!_ Tune sines divina poemata Grubbi\n Intomb'd in secret thus still to remain any longer,\n #Tounoma sou# shall last, #\u00d4 Grubbe diamperes aei#,\n Grubbe tuum nomen vivet dum nobilis ale-a\n Efficit heroas, dignamque heroe puellam.\n Est genus heroum, quos nobilis efficit alea-a\n Qui pro niperkin clamant, quaternque liquoris\n Quem vocitant Homines Brandy, Superi Cherry-brandy,\n S\u00e6pe illi longcut, vel small-cut flare Tobacco\n Sunt soliti pipos. Ast si generosior herba\n (Per varios casus, per tot discrimina rerum)\n Mundungus desit, tum non funcare recusant\n Brown-paper tost\u00e2, vel quod fit arundine bed-mat.\n Hic labor, hoc opus est heroum ascendere sedes!\n Ast ego quo rapiar! quo me feret entheus ardor\n Grubbe, tui memorem? Divinum expande poema.\n Qu\u00e6 mora? qu\u00e6 ratio est, quin Grubbi protinus anser\n Virgilii, Flaccique simul canat inter olores?\n\nAt length the importunity of his friends prevailed, and Mr. Grubb's\nsong was published at Oxford, under the following title:\n\n _The British Heroes._\n A New Poem in honour of St. George,\n By Mr. _John Grubb_,\n School-master of Christ-Church,\n _Oxon._ 1688.\n\n Favete linguis: carmina non prius\n Audita, musarum sucerdos\n Canto.--\n\n HOR.\n\n Sold by Henry Clements. Oxon.\n\n * * * * *\n\n The story of king Arthur old\n Is very memorable,\n The number of his valiant knights,\n And roundness of his table:\n The knights around his table in 5\n A circle sate d'ye see:\n And altogether made up one\n Large hoop of chivalry.\n He had a sword, both broad and sharp,\n Y-clepd Caliburn, 10\n Would cut a flint more easily,\n Than pen-knife cuts a corn;\n As case-knife does a capon carve,\n So would it carve a rock,\n And split a man at single slash, 15\n From noddle down to nock.\n As Roman Augur's steel of yore\n Dissected Tarquin's riddle,\n So this would cut both conjurer\n And whetstone thro' the middle. 20\n He was the cream of Brecknock,\n And flower of all the Welsh:\n But George he did the dragon fell,\n And gave him a plaguy squelsh.[438]\n St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; 25\n Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.\n\n Pendragon, like his father Jove,\n Was fed with milk of goat;\n And like him made a noble shield\n Of she-goat's shaggy coat: 30\n On top of burnisht helmet he\n Did wear a crest of leeks;\n And onions' heads, whose dreadful nod\n Drew tears down hostile cheeks.\n Itch, and Welsh blood did make him hot, 35\n And very prone to ire;\n H' was ting'd with brimstone, like a match,\n And would as soon take fire.\n As brimstone he took inwardly\n When scurf gave him occasion, 40\n His postern puff of wind was a\n Sulphureous exhalation.\n The Briton never tergivers'd,\n But was for adverse drubbing,\n And never turn'd his back to aught, 45\n But to a post for scrubbing.\n His sword would serve for battle, or\n For dinner, if you please;\n When it had slain a Cheshire man,\n 'Twould toast a Cheshire cheese. 50\n He wounded, and, in their own blood\n Did anabaptize Pagans:\n But George he made the dragon an\n Example to all dragons.\n St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; 55\n Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.\n\n Brave Warwick Guy, at dinner time,\n Challeng'd a gyant savage;\n And streight came out the unweildy lout\n Brim-full of wrath and cabbage: 60\n He had a phiz of latitude,\n And was full thick i' th' middle;\n The chekes of puffed trumpeter,\n And paunch of squire Beadle.[439]\n But the knight fell'd him, like an oak, 65\n And did upon his back tread;\n The valiant knight his weazon cut,\n And Atropos his packthread.\n Besides he fought with a dun cow,\n As say the poets witty, 70\n A dreadful dun, and horned too,\n Like dun of Oxford city:\n The fervent dog-days made her mad,\n By causing heat of weather,\n Syrius and Procyon baited her, 75\n As bull-dogs did her father:\n Grafiers, nor butchers this fell beast,\n E'er of her frolick hindered;\n John Dosset[440] she'd knock down as flat,\n As John knocks down her kindred: 80\n Her heels would lay ye all along,\n And kick into a swoon;\n Frewin's[441] cow-heels keep up your corpse,\n But hers would beat you down.\n She vanquisht many a sturdy wight, 85\n And proud was of the honour;\n Was pufft by mauling butchers so,\n As if themselves had blown her.\n At once she kickt, and pusht at Guy,\n But all that would not fright him; 90\n Who wav'd his winyard o'er sir-loyn,\n As if he'd gone to knight him.\n He let her blood, frenzy to cure,\n And eke he did her gall rip;\n His trenchant blade, like cook's long spit, 95\n Ran thro' the monster's bald-rib:\n He rear'd up the vast crooked rib,\n Instead of arch triumphal:\n But George hit th' dragon such a pelt,\n As made him on his bum fall. 100\n St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;\n Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.\n\n Tamerlain, with Tartarian bow,\n The Turkish squadrons slew;\n And fetch'd the pagan crescent down, 105\n With half-moon made of yew:\n His trusty bow proud Turks did gall,\n With showers of arrows thick,\n And bow-strings, without strangling, sent\n Grand Viziers to old Nick: 110\n Much turbants, and much Pagan pates\n He made to humble in dust;\n And heads of Saracens he fixt\n On spear, as on a sign-post:\n He coop'd in cage Bajazet the prop 115\n Of Mahomet's religion,\n As if't been the whispering bird,\n That prompted him; the pigeon.\n In Turkey leather scabbard, he\n Did sheathe his blade so trenchant: 120\n But George he swinged the dragon's tail,\n And cut off every inch on't.\n St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;\n Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.\n\n The amazon Thalestris was 125\n Both beautiful, and bold;\n She sear'd her breasts with iron hot,\n And bang'd her foes with cold.\n Her hand was like the tool, wherewith\n Jove keeps proud mortals under: 130\n It shone just like his lightning,\n And batter'd like his thunder.\n Her eye darts lightning, that would blast\n The proudest he that swagger'd,\n And melt the rapier of his soul, 135\n In its corporeal scabbard.\n Her beauty, and her drum to foes\n Did cause amazement double;\n As timorous larks amazed are\n With light, and with a low-bell: 140\n\n With beauty, and that lapland-charm,[442]\n Poor men she did bewitch all;\n Still a blind whining lover had,\n As Pallas had her scrich-owl.\n She kept the chastness of a nun 145\n In armour, as in cloyster:\n But George undid the dragon just\n As you'd undo an oister.\n St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;\n Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_. 150\n\n Stout Hercules, was offspring of\n Great Jove, and fair Alcmene:\n One part of him celestial was,\n One part of him terrene.\n To scale the hero's cradle walls 155\n Two fiery snakes combin'd,\n And, curling into swaddling cloaths,\n About the infant twin'd:\n But he put out these dragons' fires,\n And did their hissing stop; 160\n As red-hot iron with hissing noise\n Is quencht in blacksmith's shop.\n He cleans'd a stable, and rubb'd down\n The horses of new-comers;\n And out of horse-dung he rais'd fame, 165\n As Tom Wrench[443] does cucumbers.\n He made a river help him through;\n Alpheus was under-groom;\n The stream, disgust at office mean,\n Ran murmuring thro' the room: 170\n This liquid ostler to prevent\n Being tired with that long work,\n His father Neptune's trident took,\n Instead of three-tooth'd dung-fork.\n This Hercules, as soldier, and 175\n As spinster, could take pains;\n His club would sometimes spin ye flax,\n And sometimes knock out brains:\n H' was forc'd to spin his miss a shift\n By Juno's wrath and h\u00e9r-spite; 180\n Fair Omphale whipt him to his wheel,\n As cook whips barking turn-spit.\n From man, or churn he well knew how\n To get him lasting fame:\n He'd pound a giant, till the blood, 185\n And milk till butter came.\n Often he fought with huge battoon,\n And oftentimes he boxed;\n Tapt a fresh monster once a month,\n As Hervey[444] doth fresh hogshead. 190\n He gave Anteus such a hug,\n As wrestlers give in Cornwall:\n But George he did the dragon kill,\n As dead as any door-nail.\n St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; 195\n Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.\n\n The Gemini, sprung from an egg,\n Were put into a cradle:\n Their brains with knocks and bottled ale,\n Were often-times full addle: 200\n And, scarcely hatch'd, these sons of him,\n That hurls the bolt trisulcate,\n With helmet-shell on tender head,\n Did tustle with red-ey'd pole-cat.\n Castor a horseman, Pollux tho' 205\n A boxer was, I wist:\n The one was fam'd for iron heel;\n Th' other for leaden fist.\n Pollux to shew he was god,\n When he was in a passion 210\n With fist made noses fall down flat\n By way of adoration:\n\n This fist, as sure as French disease,\n Demolish'd noses' ridges:\n He like a certain lord[445] was famd' 215\n For breaking down of bridges.\n Castor the flame of fiery steed,\n With well-spur'd boots took down;\n As men, with leathern buckets, quench\n A fire in country town. 220\n His famous horse, that liv'd on oats,\n Is sung on oaten quill;\n By bards' immortal provender\n The nag surviveth still.\n This shelly brood on none but knaves 225\n Employ'd their brisk artillery:\n And flew as naturally at rogues,\n As eggs at thief in pillory.[446]\n Much sweat they spent in furious fight,\n Much blood they did effund: 230\n Their whites they vented thro' the pores;\n Their yolks thro' gaping wound:\n Then both were cleans'd from blood and dust\n To make a heavenly sign;\n The lads were, like their armour, scowr'd, 235\n And then hung up to shine;\n Such were the heavenly double-Dicks,\n The sons of Jove and Tyndar:\n But George he cut the dragon up,\n As he had bin duck or windar.[447] 240\n St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;\n Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.\n\n Gorgon a twisted adder wore\n For knot upon her shoulder:\n She kemb'd her hissing periwig, 245\n And curling snakes did powder.\n These snakes they made stiff changelings\n Of all the folks they hist on;\n They turned barbars into hones,\n And masons into free-stone: 250\n Sworded magnetic Amazon\n Her shield to load-stone changes;\n Then amorous sword by magic belt\n Clung fast unto her haunches.\n This shield long village did protect, 255\n And kept the army from-town,\n And chang'd the bullies into rocks,\n That came t' invade Long-Compton.[448]\n She post-diluvian stores unmans,\n And Pyrrha's work unravels; 260\n And stares Deucalion's hardy boys\n Into their primitive pebbles.\n Red noses she to rubies turns,\n And noddles into bricks:\n But George made dragon laxative; 265\n And gave him a bloody flix.\n St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;\n Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.\n\n By boar-spear Meleager got,\n An everlasting name, 270\n And out of haunch of basted swine,\n He hew'd eternal fame.\n This beast each hero's trouzers ript,\n And rudely shew'd his bare-breech,\n Prickt but the wem, and out there came 275\n Heroic guts and garbadge.\n Legs were secur'd by iron boots\n No more, than peas by peascods:\n Brass helmets, with inclosed sculls,\n Wou'd crackle in's mouth like chestnuts. 280\n His tawny hairs erected were\n By rage, that was resistless;\n And wrath, instead of cobler's wax,\n Did stiffen his rising bristles.\n His tusk lay'd dogs so dead asleep, 285\n Nor horn, nor whip cou'd wake 'um:\n It made them vent both their last blood,\n And their last album-grecum.\n But the knight gor'd him with his spear,\n To make of him a tame one, 290\n And arrows thick, instead of cloves,\n He stuck in monster's gammon.\n For monumental pillar, that\n His victory might be known,\n He rais'd up, in cylindric form, 295\n A collar of the brawn.\n\n He sent his shade to shades below,\n In Stygian mud to wallow:\n And eke the stout St. George eftsoon,\n He made the dragon follow. 300\n St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;\n Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.\n\n Achilles of old Chiron learnt\n The great horse for to ride;\n H' was taught by th' Centaur's rational part, 305\n The hinnible to bestride.\n Bright silver feet, and shining face\n Had that stout hero's mother;\n As rapier's silver'd at one end,\n And wounds you at the other. 310\n Her feet were bright, his feet were swift,\n As hawk pursuing sparrow:\n Her's had the metal, his the speed\n Of Braburn's[449] silver arrow.\n Thetis to double pedagogue 315\n Commits her dearest boy;\n Who bred him from a slender twig\n To be the scourge of Troy:\n But ere he lash't the Trojans, h' was\n In Stygian waters steept; 320\n As birch is soaked first in piss,\n When boys are to be whipt.\n With skin exceeding hard, he rose\n From lake, so black and muddy,\n As lobsters from the ocean rise, 325\n With shell about their body:\n And, as from lobster's broken claw,\n Pick out the fish you might:\n So might you from one unshell'd heel\n Dig pieces of the knight. 330\n His myrmidons robb'd Priam's barns\n And hen-roosts, says the song;\n Carried away both corn and eggs,\n Like ants from whence they sprung.\n Himself tore Hector's pantaloons, 335\n And sent him down bare-breech'd\n To pedant Radamanthus, in\n A posture to be switch'd.\n But George he made the dragon look,\n As if he had been bewitch'd. 340\n St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;\n Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.\n\n Full fatal to the Romans was\n The Carthaginian Hanni-\n bal; him I mean, who gave them such 345\n A devilish thump at Cann\u00e6:\n Moors thick, as goats on Penmenmure,\n Stood on the Alpes's front:\n Their one-eyed guide,[450] like blinking mole,\n Bor'd thro' the hindring mount: 350\n Who, baffled by the massy rock,\n Took vinegar for relief;\n Like plowmen, when they hew their way\n Thro' stubborn rump of beef.\n As dancing louts from humid toes 355\n Cast atoms of ill favour\n To blinking Hyatt,[451] when on vile crowd\n He merriment does endeavour,\n And saws from suffering timber out\n Some wretched tune to quiver: 360\n So Romans slunk and squeak'd at sight\n Of Affrican carnivor.\n The tawny surface of his phiz\n Did serve instead of vizzard:\n But George he made the dragon have 365\n A grumbling in his gizzard.\n St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;\n Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.\n\n The valour of Domitian,\n It must not be forgotten; 370\n Who from the jaws of worm-blowing flies,\n Protected veal and mutton.\n A squadron of flies errant,\n Against the foe appears;\n With regiments of buzzing knights, 375\n And swarms of volunteers:\n The warlike wasp encourag'd 'em,\n With animating hum;\n And the loud brazen hornet next,\n He was their kettle-drum: 380\n The Spanish don Cantharido\n Did him most sorely pester,\n And rais'd on skin of vent'rous knight\n Full many a plaguy blister.\n A bee whipt thro' his button hole, 385\n As thro' key hole a witch,\n And stabb'd him with her little tuck\n Drawn out of scabbard breech:\n But the undaunted knight lifts up\n An arm both big and brawny, 390\n And slasht her so, that here lay head,\n And there lay bag and honey:\n\n Then 'mongst the rout he flew as swift,\n As weapon made by Cyclops,\n And bravely quell'd seditious buz, 395\n By dint of massy fly-flops.\n Surviving flies do curses breathe,\n And maggots too at C\u00e6sar:\n But George he shav'd the dragon's beard,\n And Askelon[452] was his razor. 400\n St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;\n Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n_John Grubb_, the facetious writer of the foregoing song, makes a\ndistinguished figure among the Oxford wits so humorously enumerated in\nthe following distich:\n\n Alma novem genuit c\u00e9lebres Rhedycina poetas\n Bub, Stubb, Grubb, Crabb, Trap, Young, Carey, Tickel, Evans.\n\nThese were Bub Dodington (the late lord Melcombe), Dr. Stubbes, our\npoet _Grubb_, Mr. Crabb, Dr. Trapp the poetry-professor, Dr. Edw.\nYoung, the author of Night-Thoughts, Walter Carey, Thomas Tickel, Esq.,\nand Dr. Evans the epigrammatist.\n\nAs for our poet _Grubb_, all that we can learn further of him is\ncontained in a few extracts from the University Register, and from his\nepitaph. It appears from the former that he was matriculated in 1667,\nbeing the son of John Grubb, \"_de Acton Burnel in comitatu Salop.\npauperis_.\" He took his degree of Bachelor of Arts, June 28, 1671: and\nbecame Master of Arts, June 28, 1675. He was appointed Head Master of\nthe Grammar School at Christ Church: and afterwards chosen into the\nsame employment at Gloucester, where he died in 1697, as appears from\nhis monument in the church of St. Mary de Crypt in Gloucester, which is\ninscribed with the following epitaph:--\n\n H. S. E.\n _Johannes Grubb, A. M._\n Natus apud Acton Burnel in agro Salopiensi\n Anno Dom. 1645.\n Cujus variam in linguis notitiam,\n et felicem erudiendis pueris industriam,\n grat\u00e2 adhuc memori\u00e2 testatur Oxonium:\n Ibi enim \u00c6di Christi initiatus,\n artes excoluit;\n Pueros ad easdem mox excolendas\n accurat\u00e8 formavit:\n Huc demum\n unanimi omnium consensu accitus,\n eandem suscepit provinciam,\n quam feliciter adeo absolvit,\n ut nihil optandum sit\n nisi ut diutius nobis interfuisset:\n Fuit enim\n propter festivam ingenij suavitatem,\n simplicem morum candorem, et\n pr\u00e6cipuam erga cognatos benevolentiam,\n omnibus desideratissimus.\n Obiit 2do die Aprilis, Anno Dni. 1697.\n \u00c6tatis su\u00e6 51.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[437] To this circumstance it is owing that the editor has never met\nwith two copies, in which the stanzas are arranged alike, he has\ntherefore thrown them into what appeared the most natural order. The\nverses are properly long Alexandrines, but the narrowness of the page\nmade it necessary to subdivide them: they are here printed with many\nimprovements.\n\n[438] [blow.]\n\n[439] Men of bulk answerable to their places, as is well known at\nOxford.\n\n[440] A butcher that then served the college.\n\n[441] A cook, who on fast nights was famous for selling cow-heel and\ntripe.\n\n[442] The drum.\n\n[443] Who kept Paradise gardens at Oxford.\n\n[444] A noted drawer at the Mermaid tavern in Oxford.\n\n[445] Lord Lovelace broke down the bridges about Oxford, at the\nbeginning of the Revolution. See on this subject a Ballad in Smith's\nPoems, p. 102. London, 1713.\n\n[446] It has been suggested by an ingenious correspondent that this was\na popular subject at that time:--\n\n Not carted bawd, or Dan de Foe,\n In wooden ruff ere bluster'd so.\n\n Smith's Poems, p. 117\n\n[447] [perhaps a contraction of windhover, a kind of hawk.]\n\n[448] See the account of Rolricht Stones, in Dr. Plott's _Hist. of_\n_Oxfordshire_.\n\n[449] Braburn, a gentleman commoner of Lincoln college, gave a silver\narrow to be shot for by the archers of the university of Oxford.\n\n[450] Hannibal had but one eye.\n\n[451] A one-eyed fellow, who pretended to make fiddles, as well as play\non them; well known at that time in Oxford.\n\n[452] The name of St. George's sword.\n\n\n\n\nXVI.\n\nMARGARET'S GHOST.\n\n\nThis ballad, which appeared in some of the public newspapers in or\nbefore the year 1724, came from the pen of David Mallet, Esq. who\nin the edition of his poems, 3 vols. 1759, informs us that the plan\nwas suggested by the four verses quoted above in page 124, which he\nsupposed to be the beginning of some ballad now lost.\n\n\"These lines, says he, naked of ornament and simple, as they are,\nstruck my fancy; and bringing fresh into my mind an unhappy adventure\nmuch talked of formerly, gave birth to the following poem, which was\nwritten many years ago.\"\n\nThe two introductory lines (and one or two others elsewhere) had\noriginally more of the ballad simplicity, viz.\n\n \"When all was wrapt in dark midnight,\n And all were fast asleep,\" &c.\n\nIn a late publication, intitled, _The Friends_, &c. Lond. 1773, 2 vols.\n12mo. (in the first volume, p. 71) is inserted a copy of the foregoing\nballad, with very great variations, which the editor of that work\ncontends was the original; and that Mallet adopted it for his own and\naltered it, as here given.--But the superior beauty and simplicity of\nthe present copy, gives it so much more the air of an original, that it\nwill rather be believed that some transcriber altered it from Mallet's,\nand adapted the lines to his own taste; than which nothing is more\ncommon in popular songs and ballads.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [This ballad, more generally known as _William and Margaret_, is\n supposed to have been printed for the first time in Aaron Hill's\n _Plain Dealer_ (No. 36, July 24, 1724), when the author was a very\n young man. Hill introduced it to the reader as the work of an old\n poet, and wrote, \"I am sorry I am not able to acquaint my readers\n with his name to whom we owe this melancholy piece of finished\n poetry under the humble title of a ballad.\" In the following month\n the editor announced that \"he had discovered the author to be still\n alive.\" The verses were probably written in 1723, in the August of\n which year Mallet left Scotland, for Allan Ramsay, in his _Stanzas\n to Mr. David Mallock on his departure from Scotland_, alludes to\n them:--\n\n \"But he that could, in tender strains,\n Raise Margaret's plaining shade,\n And paints distress that chills the veins,\n While William's crimes are red.\"\n\n The ballad at once became popular, and was printed in several\n collections, undergoing many alterations for the worse by the\n way. Sundry attempts were made to rob Mallet of the credit of his\n song. Besides the one mentioned above by Percy, Captain Thompson,\n the editor of Andrew Marvell's Works, claimed it for Marvell, but\n this claim was even more ridiculous than those he set up against\n Addison and Watts. Although Mallet doubtless knew the ballads _Fair\n Margaret and Sweet William_ (book ii. No. 4) and _Sweet William's\n Ghost_ (No. 6), he is said to have founded his own upon a true\n story which came under his observation. A daughter of Professor\n James Gregory of St. Andrews, and afterwards of Edinburgh, was\n seduced by a son of Sir William Sharp of Strathyrum, who had\n promised to marry her, but heartlessly deserted her.\n\n The ballad has been extravagantly praised: Ritson observes, \"It\n may be questioned whether any English writer has produced so fine\n a ballad as _William and Margaret_.\" Percy describes it as one of\n the most beautiful ballads in our own or any other language; and\n Allan Ramsay writes, \"I know not where to seek a finer mixture of\n pathos and terror in the whole range of Gothic romance.\" Scott,\n on the other hand, was of opinion that \"The ballad, though the\n best of Mallet's writing, is certainly inferior to the original,\n which I presume to be the very fine and terrific old Scottish tale,\n beginning\n\n 'There came a ghost to Margaret's door.'\"\n\n The extreme popularity of the poem is seen by the various parodies,\n one of which, _Watty and Madge_, is printed in Ramsay's _Tea_\n _Table Miscellany_ (vol. iii.). It commences--\n\n \"'Twas at the shining mid-day hour,\"\n\n and each succeeding verse is parodied in the same manner. Vincent\n Browne imitated the original in Latin verse, and a German version\n was published as _Wilhelm und Gretchen_.\n\n Mallet was a native of Crieff in Perthshire, and is believed to\n have been born in the year 1702. He was sometime tutor to the\n Montrose family, through whose influence he was introduced into\n public life. He changed his name from Malloch to Mallet when he\n settled in London, and in 1742 he was appointed Under Secretary to\n the Prince of Wales. He died on the 21st of April, 1765. Mallet\n is a writer little cared for now, but he can hardly be said to\n be neglected, for in 1857 Mr. Frederick Dinsdale published an\n illustrated edition of his Ballads and Songs, chiefly made up of\n copious notes on _William and Margaret_ and _Edwin and Emma_.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n 'Twas at the silent solemn hour,\n When night and morning meet;\n In glided Margaret's grimly ghost,\n And stood at William's feet.\n\n Her face was like an April morn, 5\n Clad in a wintry cloud:\n And clay-cold was her lily hand,\n That held her sable shrowd.\n\n So shall the fairest face appear,\n When youth and years are flown: 10\n Such is the robe that kings must wear,\n When death has reft their crown.\n\n Her bloom was like the springing flower,\n That sips the silver dew;\n The rose was budded in her cheek, 15\n Just opening to the view.\n\n But love had, like the canker worm,\n Consum'd her early prime:\n The rose grew pale, and left her cheek;\n She dy'd before her time. 20\n\n \"Awake!\" she cry'd, \"thy true love calls,\n Come from her midnight grave;\n Now let thy pity hear the maid,\n Thy love refus'd to save.\n\n \"This is the dark and dreary hour, 25\n When injur'd ghosts complain;\n Now yawning graves give up their dead,\n To haunt the faithless swain.\n\n \"Bethink thee, William, of thy fault,\n Thy pledge, and broken oath: 30\n And give me back my maiden vow,\n And give me back my troth.\n\n \"Why did you promise love to me,\n And not that promise keep?\n Why did you swear mine eyes were bright, 35\n Yet leave those eyes to weep?\n\n \"How could you say my face was fair,\n And yet that face forsake?\n How could you win my virgin heart,\n Yet leave that heart to break? 40\n\n \"Why did you say my lip was sweet,\n And made the scarlet pale?\n And why did I, young witless maid,\n Believe the flattering tale?\n\n \"That face, alas! no more is fair; 45\n These lips no longer red:\n Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death,\n And every charm is fled.\n\n \"The hungry worm my sister is;\n This winding-sheet I wear: 50\n And cold and weary lasts our night,\n Till that last morn appear.\n\n \"But hark! the cock has warn'd me hence!\n A long and last adieu!\n Come see, false man, how low she lies, 55\n Who dy'd for love of you.\"\n\n The lark sung loud; the morning smil'd,\n With beams of rosy red:\n Pale William shook in ev'ry limb,\n And raving left his bed. 60\n\n He hyed him to the fatal place,\n Where Margaret's body lay;\n And stretch'd him on the grass-green turf,\n That wrapt her breathless clay:\n\n And thrice he call'd on Margaret's name, 65\n And thrice he wept full sore:\n Then laid his cheek to her cold grave,\n And word spake never more.\n\n\n\n\nXVII.\n\nLUCY AND COLIN\n\n\nWas written by Thomas Tickell, Esq. the celebrated friend of Mr.\nAddison, and editor of his works. He was son of a clergyman in the\nnorth of England, had his education at Queen's college, Oxon, was under\nsecretary to Mr. Addison and Mr. Craggs, when successively secretaries\nof state; and was lastly (in June, 1724) appointed secretary to the\nLords Justices in Ireland, which place he held till his death in\n1740.[453] He acquired Mr. Addison's patronage by a poem in praise of\nthe opera of _Rosamond_, written while he was at the University.\n\nIt is a tradition in Ireland, that the song was written at\nCastletown, in the county of Kildare, at the request of the then Mrs.\nConolly--probably on some event recent in that neighbourhood.\n\n[Gray called _Lucy and Colin_ \"the prettiest\" ballad in the world,\nalthough he was not partial to Tickell's other poems.\n\nThe fine old melody given by Dr. Rimbault for this ballad is taken from\n\"_The Merry Musician; or a Cure for the Spleen_; being a collection of\nthe most diverting Songs and pleasant Ballads set to Musick,\" 1716.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n Of Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair,\n Bright Lucy was the grace;\n Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream\n Reflect so fair a face.\n\n Till luckless love, and pining care 5\n Impair'd her rosy hue,\n Her coral lip, and damask cheek,\n And eyes of glossy blue.\n\n Oh! have you seen a lily pale,\n When beating rains descend? 10\n So droop'd the slow-consuming maid;\n Her life now near its end.\n\n By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains\n Take heed, ye easy fair:\n Of vengeance due to broken vows, 15\n Ye perjured swains, beware.\n\n Three times, all in the dead of night,\n A bell was heard to ring;\n And at her window, shrieking thrice,\n The raven flap'd his wing. 20\n\n Too well the love-lorn maiden knew\n That solemn boding sound;\n And thus, in dying words, bespoke\n The virgins weeping round.\n\n \"I hear a voice, you cannot hear, 25\n Which says I must not stay:\n I see a hand, you cannot see,\n Which beckons me away.\n\n \"By a false heart, and broken vows,\n In early youth I die. 30\n Am I to blame, because his bride\n Is thrice as rich as I?\n\n \"Ah Colin! give not her thy vows;\n Vows due to me alone:\n Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss, 35\n Nor think him all thy own.\n\n \"To-morrow in the church to wed,\n Impatient, both prepare;\n But know, fond maid, and know, false man,\n That Lucy will be there, 40\n\n \"Then, bear my corse; ye comrades, bear,\n The bridegroom blithe to meet;\n He in his wedding-trim so gay,\n I in my winding-sheet.\"\n\n She spoke, she dy'd;--her corse was borne, 45\n The bridegroom blithe to meet;\n He in his wedding-trim so gay,\n She in her winding-sheet.\n\n Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts?\n How were those nuptials kept? 50\n The bride-men flock'd round Lucy dead,\n And all the village wept.\n\n Confusion, shame, remorse, despair\n At once his bosom swell:\n The damps of death bedew'd his brow, 55\n He shook, he groan'd, he fell.\n\n From the vain bride (ah bride no more!)\n The varying crimson fled,\n When, stretch'd before her rival's corse,\n She saw her husband dead. 60\n\n Then to his Lucy's new-made grave,\n Convey'd by trembling swains,\n One mould with her, beneath one sod,\n For ever now remains.\n\n Oft at their grave the constant hind 65\n And plighted maid are seen;\n With garlands gay, and true-love knots\n They deck the sacred green.\n\n But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art,\n This hallow'd spot forbear; 70\n Remember Colin's dreadful fate,\n And fear to meet him there.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[453] Born 1686.\n\n\n\n\nXVIII.\n\nTHE BOY AND THE MANTLE,\n\nAS REVISED AND ALTERED BY A MODERN HAND.\n\n\nMr. Warton, in his ingenious _Observations on Spenser_, has given his\nopinion, that the fiction of the _Boy and the Mantle_ is taken from\nan old French piece intitled _Le court mantel_, quoted by M. de St.\nPalaye in his curious _M\u00e9moires sur l'ancienne Chevalerie_, Paris,\n1759, 2 tom. 12mo., who tells us the story resembles that of Ariosto's\ninchanted cup. 'Tis possible our English poet may have taken the hint\nof this subject from that old French romance, but he does not appear to\nhave copied it in the manner of execution; to which (if one may judge\nfrom the specimen given in the _M\u00e9moires_) that of the ballad does not\nbear the least resemblance. After all, 'tis most likely that all the\nold stories concerning K. Arthur are originally of British growth, and\nthat what the French and other southern nations have of this kind,\nwere at first exported from this island. See _M\u00e9moires de l'Acad. des\nInscrip._ tom. xx. p. 352.\n\n(Since this volume was printed off, the _Fabliaux ou Contes_, 1781, 5\ntom. 12mo., of _M. le Grand_, have come to hand: and in tom. i. p. 54,\nhe hath printed a modern version of the old tale _Le Court Mantel_,\nunder a new title _Le Manteau maltaill\u00e9_; which contains the story of\nthis ballad much enlarged, so far as regards the _Mantle_; but without\nany mention of the _Knife_, or the _Horn_.)\n\n * * * * *\n\n [See book i. No. 1, for the original of this ballad.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n In Carleile dwelt king Arthur,\n A prince of passing might;\n And there maintain'd his table round,\n Beset with many a knight.\n\n And there he kept his Christmas 5\n With mirth and princely cheare,\n When, lo! a straunge and cunning boy\n Before him did appeare.\n\n A kirtle and a mantle\n This boy had him upon, 10\n With brooches, rings, and owches[454]\n Full daintily bedone.\n\n He had a sarke[455] of silk\n About his middle meet;\n And thus, with seemly curtesy, 15\n He did king Arthur greet.\n\n \"God speed thee, brave king Arthur,\n Thus feasting in thy bowre.\n And Guenever thy goodly queen,\n That fair and peerlesse flowre. 20\n\n \"Ye gallant lords, and lordings,\n I wish you all take heed,\n Lest, what ye deem a blooming rose\n Should prove a cankred weed.\"\n\n Then straitway from his bosome 25\n A little wand he drew;\n And with it eke a mantle\n Of wondrous shepe, and hew.\n\n \"Now have thou here, king Arthur,\n Have this here of mee, 30\n And give unto thy comely queen,\n All-shapen as you see.\n\n \"No wife it shall become,\n That once hath been to blame.\"\n Then every knight in Arthur's court 35\n Slye glaunced at his dame.\n\n And first came lady Guenever,\n The mantle she must trye.\n This dame, she was new-fangled,\n And of a roving eye. 40\n\n When she had tane the mantle,\n And all was with it cladde,\n From top to toe it shiver'd down,\n As tho' with sheers beshradde.\n\n One while it was too long, 45\n Another while too short,\n And wrinkled on her shoulders\n In most unseemly sort.\n\n Now green, now red it seemed,\n Then all of sable hue. 50\n \"Beshrew me, quoth king Arthur,\n I think thou beest not true.\"\n\n Down she threw the mantle,\n Ne longer would not stay;\n But storming like a fury, 55\n To her chamber flung away.\n\n She curst the whoreson weaver,\n That had the mantle wrought:\n And doubly curst the froward impe,\n Who thither had it brought. 60\n\n \"I had rather live in desarts\n Beneath the green-wood tree:\n Than here, base king, among thy groomes,\n The sport of them and thee.\"\n\n Sir Kay call'd forth his lady, 65\n And bade her to come near:\n \"Yet dame, if thou be guilty,\n I pray thee now forbear.\"\n\n This lady, pertly gigling,\n With forward step came on, 70\n And boldly to the little boy\n With fearless face is gone.\n\n When she had tane the mantle,\n With purpose for to wear:\n It shrunk up to her shoulder, 75\n And left her b**side bare.\n\n Then every merry knight,\n That was in Arthur's court,\n Gib'd, and laught, and flouted,\n To see that pleasant sport. 80\n\n Down she threw the mantle,\n No longer bold or gay,\n But with a face all pale and wan,\n To her chamber slunk away.\n\n Then forth came an old knight, 85\n A pattering o'er his creed;\n And proffer'd to the little boy\n Five nobles to his meed;\n\n \"And all the time of Christmass\n Plumb-porridge shall be thine, 90\n If thou wilt let my lady fair\n Within the mantle shine.\"\n\n A saint his lady seemed,\n With step demure, and slow,\n And gravely to the mantle 95\n With mincing pace doth goe,\n\n When she the same had taken,\n That was so fine and thin,\n It shrivell'd all about her,\n And show'd her dainty skin. 100\n\n Ah! little did HER mincing,\n Or HIS long prayers bestead;\n She had no more hung on her,\n Than a tassel and a thread.\n\n Down she threwe the mantle, 105\n With terror and dismay,\n And, with a face of scarlet,\n To her chamber hyed away.\n\n Sir Cradock call'd his lady,\n And bade her to come neare; 110\n \"Come win this mantle, lady,\n And do me credit here.\n\n \"Come win this mantle, lady,\n For now it shall be thine,\n If thou hast never done amiss, 115\n Sith first I made thee mine.\"\n\n The lady gently blushing,\n With modest grace came on,\n And now to trye this wondrous charm\n Courageously is gone. 120\n\n When she had tane the mantle,\n And put it on her backe,\n About the hem it seemed\n To wrinkle and to cracke.\n\n \"Lye still, shee cried, O mantle! 125\n And shame me not for nought,\n I'll freely own whate'er amiss,\n Or blameful I have wrought.\n\n \"Once I kist Sir Cradocke\n Beneathe the green wood tree: 130\n Once I kist Sir Cradocke's mouth\n Before he married me.\"\n\n When thus she had her shriven,\n And her worst fault had told,\n The mantle soon became her 135\n Right comely as it shold.\n\n Most rich and fair of colour,\n Like gold it glittering shone:\n And much the knights in Arthur's court\n Admir'd her every one. 140\n\n Then towards king Arthur's table\n The boy he turn'd his eye:\n Where stood a boar's-head garnished\n With bayes and rosemarye.\n\n When thrice he o'er the boar's head 145\n His little wand had drawne,\n Quoth he, \"There's never a cuckold's knife,\n Can carve this head of brawne.\"\n\n Then some their whittles rubbed\n On whetstone, and on hone: 150\n Some threwe them under the table,\n And swore that they had none.\n\n Sir Cradock had a little knife\n Of steel and iron made;\n And in an instant thro' the skull 155\n He thrust the shining blade.\n\n He thrust the shining blade\n Full easily and fast:\n And every knight in Arthur's court\n A morsel had to taste. 160\n\n The boy brought forth a horne,\n All golden was the rim:\n Said he, \"No cuckolde ever can\n Set mouth unto the brim.\n\n \"No cuckold can this little horne 165\n Lift fairly to his head;\n But or on this, or that side,\n He shall the liquor shed.\"\n\n Some shed it on their shoulder,\n Some shed it on their thigh; 170\n And hee that could not hit his mouth,\n Was sure to hit his eye.\n\n Thus he, that was a cuckold,\n Was known of every man:\n But Cradock lifted easily, 175\n And wan the golden can.\n\n Thus boar's head, horn and mantle\n Were this fair couple's meed:\n And all such constant lovers,\n God send them well to speed. 180\n\n Then down in rage came Guenever,\n And thus could spightful say,\n \"Sir Cradock's wife most wrongfully\n Hath borne the prize away.\n\n \"See yonder shameless woman, 185\n That makes herselfe so clean:\n Yet from her pillow taken\n Thrice five gallants have been.\n\n \"Priests, clarkes, and wedded men\n Have her lewd pillow prest: 190\n Yet she the wondrous prize forsooth\n Must beare from all the rest.\"\n\n Then bespake the little boy,\n Who had the same in hold:\n \"Chastize thy wife, king Arthur, 195\n Of speech she is too bold:\n\n \"Of speech she is too bold,\n Of carriage all too free;\n Sir king, she hath within thy hall\n A cuckold made of thee. 200\n\n \"All frolick light and wanton\n She hath her carriage borne:\n And given thee for a kingly crown\n To wear a cuckold's horne.\"\n\n [***]\n\n * * * * *\n\n [***] The Rev. Evan Evans, editor of the specimens of _Welsh_\n _Poetry_, 4to. affirmed that the _Boy and the Mantle_ is taken from\n what is related in some of the old Welsh MSS. of Tegan Earfron,\n one of King Arthur's mistresses. She is said to have possessed a\n mantle that would not fit any immodest or incontinent woman; this,\n (which, the old writers say, was reckoned among the curiosities of\n Britain) is frequently alluded to by the old Welsh Bards.\n\n _Carleile_, so often mentioned in the ballads of K. Arthur, the\n editor once thought might probably be a corruption of _Caer-leon_,\n an ancient British city on the river Uske, in Monmouthshire, which\n was one of the places of K. Arthur's chief residence; but he is now\n convinced, that it is no other than _Carlisle_, in Cumberland; the\n old English minstrels, being most of them northern men, naturally\n represented the hero of romance as residing in the north: And many\n of the places mentioned in the old ballads are still to be found\n there: As _Tearne-Wadling_, &c.\n\n Near Penrith is still seen a large circle, surrounded by a mound of\n earth, which retains the name of Arthur's Round Table.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [For a full statement of the claims of the \"North\" to be considered\n as the home of King Arthur, see J. S. Stuart Glennie's Essay on\n _Arthurian Localities_, in the edition of the Prose Romance of\n _Merlin_, published by the Early English Text Society.]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[454] [bosses or buttons of gold.]\n\n[455] [shirt.]\n\n\n\n\nXIX.\n\nTHE ANCIENT FRAGMENT OF THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE.[456]\n\n\nThe second poem in this volume, intitled _The Marriage of Sir\nGawaine_, having been offered to the reader with large conjectural\nsupplements and corrections, the old fragment itself is here literally\nand exactly printed from the editor's folio MS. with all its defects,\ninaccuracies, and errata; that such austere antiquaries, as complain\nthat the ancient copies have not been always rigidly adhered to, may\nsee how unfit for publication many of the pieces would have been, if\nall the blunders, corruptions, and nonsense of illiterate reciters and\ntranscribers had been superstitiously retained, without some attempt to\ncorrect and emend them.\n\nThis ballad had most unfortunately suffered by having half of every\nleaf in this part of the MS. torn away; and, as about nine stanzas\ngenerally occur in the half page now remaining, it is concluded, that\nthe other half contained nearly the same number of stanzas.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [The following poem is printed in Hales' and Furnivall's edition of\n the MS., vol. i. p. 105.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n Kinge Arthur liues in merry Carleile,\n & seemely is to see,\n & there he hath w^{th} him Queene Genev^r,\n y^t bride soe bright of blee.\n\n And there he hath w^{th} him Queene Genever,\n y^t bride soe bright in bower,\n & all his barons about him stoode\n y^t were both stiffe & stowre.\n\n The K. kept a royall Christmasse\n of mirth & great honor,\n & when....\n\n [_About Nine Stanzas wanting._]\n\n And bring me word what thing it is\n y^t a woman most desire.\n this shalbe thy ransome, Arthur, he sayes\n for Ile haue noe other hier.\n\n K. Arthur then held vp his hand\n according thene as was the law;\n he tooke his leaue of the baron there,\n & homward can he draw.\n\n And when he came to Merry Carlile,\n to his chamber he is gone,\n & ther came to him his Cozen S^r Gawaine\n as he did make his mone.\n\n And there came to him his Cozen S^r Gawaine\n y^t was a curteous knight,\n why sigh you soe sore vnckle Arthur, he said\n or who hath done thee vnright.\n\n O peace, o peace, thou gentle Gawaine,\n y^t faire may thee beffall,\n for if thou knew my sighing soe deepe,\n thou wold not meruaile att all;\n\n ffor when I came to tearne wadling,\n a bold barron there I fand,\n w^{th} a great club vpon his backe,\n standing stiffe & strong;\n\n And he asked me wether I wold fight,\n or from him I shold be gone,\n o[r] else I must him a ransome pay\n & soe dep't him from.\n\n To fight w^{th} him I saw noe cause,\n me thought it was not meet,\n ffor he was stiffe & strong w^{th} all,\n his strokes were nothing sweete.\n\n Therfor this is my ransome, Gawaine\n I ought to him to pay\n I must come againe, as I am sworne,\n vpon the Newyeers day.\n\n And I must bring him word what thing it is\n\n [_About Nine Stanzas wanting._]\n\n Then king Arthur drest him for to ryde\n in one soe rich array\n toward the foresaid Tearne wadling,\n y^t he might keepe his day.\n\n And as he rode over a more,\n hee see a lady where shee sate\n betwixt an oke & a greene hollen[457]:\n she was cladd in red scarlett.\n\n Then there as shold have stood her mouth,\n then there was sett her eye\n the other was in her forhead fast\n the way that she might see.\n\n Her nose was crooked & turnd outward,\n her mouth stood foule a wry;\n a worse formed lady then shee was,\n neuer man saw w^{th} his eye.\n\n To halch[458] vpon him, k. Arthur\n this lady was full faine\n but k. Arthur had forgott his lesson\n what he shold say againe\n\n What knight art thou, the lady sayd,\n that wilt not speake to me?\n of me be thou nothing dismayd\n tho I be vgly to see;\n\n for I haue halched you curteouslye,\n & you will not me againe,\n yett I may happen S^r knight, shee said\n to ease thee of thy paine.\n\n Giue thou ease me, lady, he said\n or helpe me any thing,\n thou shalt haue gentle Gawaine, my cozen\n & marry him w^{th} a ring.\n\n Why, if I helpe thee not, thou noble k. Arthur\n of thy owne hearts desiringe,\n of gentle Gawaine....\n\n [_About Nine Stanzas wanting._]\n\n And when he came to the tearne wadling\n the baron there cold he fimde[459]\n w^{th} a great weapon on his backe,\n standing stiffe & stronge\n\n And then he tooke k. Arthur's letters in his hands\n & away he cold them fling,\n & then he puld out a good browne sword,\n & cryd himselfe a k.\n\n And he sayd, I haue thee & thy land, Arthur\n to doe as it pleaseth me,\n for this is not thy ransome sure,\n therfore yeeld thee to mee.\n\n And then bespoke him noble Arthur,\n & bad him hold his hands,\n & give me leave to speake my mind\n in defence of all my land.\n\n He said as I came over a More,\n I see a lady where shee sate\n betweene an oke & a green hollen;\n shee was clad in red scarlett;\n\n And she says a woman will haue her will,\n & this is all her cheefe desire:\n doe me right as thou art a baron of sckill,\n this is thy ransome & and all thy hyer.\n\n He sayes an early vengeance light on her,\n she walkes on yonder more;\n it was my sister that told thee this\n & she is a misshappen hore.\n\n But heer Ile make mine avow[460] to god\n to do her an euill turne,\n for an euer I may thate fowle theefe get,\n in a fyer I will her burne.\n\n [_About Nine Stanzas wanting._]\n\n * * * * *\n\n\nTHE 2D PART.\n\n Sir Lancelott & S^r Steven bold\n they rode w^{th} them that day,\n and the formost of the company\n there rode the steward Kay,\n\n Soe did S^r Banier & S^r Bore\n S^r Garrett w^{th} them soe gay,\n soe did S^r Tristeram y^t gentle k^t,\n to the forrest fresh & gay\n\n And when he came to the greene forrest\n vnderneath a greene holly tree\n their sate that lady in red scarlet\n y^t vnseemly was to see.\n\n S^r Kay beheld this Ladys face,\n & looked vppon her smire[461]\n whosoeuer kisses this lady, he sayes\n of his kisse he standes in feare.\n\n Sir Kay beheld the lady againe,\n & looked vpon her snout,\n whosoeuer kisses this lady, he saies,\n of his kisse he stands in doubt.\n\n Peace coz. Kay, then said S^r Gawaine\n amend thee of thy life;\n for there is a knight amongst us all\n y^t must marry her to his wife.\n\n What, wedd her to wiffe, then said S^r Kay,\n in the diuells name anon,\n gett me a wiffe where ere I may,\n for I had rather be slaine.\n\n Then soome tooke vp their hawkes in hast\n & some tooke vp their hounds,\n & some sware they wold not marry her\n for Citty nor for towne.\n\n And then be spake him noble k. Arthur,\n & sware there by this day,\n for a litle foule sight and misliking\n\n [_About Nine Stanzas wanting._]\n\n Then shee said choose thee gentle Gawaine,\n truth as I doe say,\n wether thou wilt haue me in this liknesse\n in the night or else in the day.\n\n And then bespake him Gentle Gawaine,\n w^{th} one soe mild of moode,\n sayes, well I know what I wold say,\n god grant it may be good.\n\n To haue thee fowle in the night\n when I w^{th} thee shold play;\n yet I had rather, if I might\n haue thee fowle in the day.\n\n What, when Lords goe w^{th} ther seires,[462] shee said\n both to the Ale & wine\n alas then I must hyde my selfe,\n I must not goe withinne.\n\n And then bespake him gentle gawaine,\n said, Lady thats but a skill;\n And because thou art my owne lady,\n thou shalt haue all thy will.\n\n Then she said, blesed be thou gentle Gawain\n this day y^t I thee see,\n for as thou see me att this time,\n from hencforth I wilbe:\n\n My father was an old knight,\n & yett it chanced soe\n that he marryed a younge lady\n y^t brought me to this woe.\n\n Shee witched me, being a faire young Lady,\n to the greene forrest to dwell,\n & there I must walke in womans liknesse,\n most like a feend of hell.\n\n She witched my brother to a Carlist B....\n\n [_About Nine Stanzas wanting_.]\n\n that looked soe foule & that was wont\n on the wild more to goe.\n\n Come kisse her, Brother Kay, then said S^r Gawaine,\n & amend the of thy liffe;\n I sweare this is the same lady\n y^t I marryed to my wiffe.\n\n S^r Kay kissed that lady bright,\n standing vpon his ffeete;\n he swore, as he was trew knight,\n the spice was neuer soe sweete.\n\n Well, Coz. Gawaine, sayes S^r Kay,\n thy chance is fallen arright,\n for thou hast gotten one of the fairest maids\n I euer saw w^{th} my sight.\n\n It is my fortune, said S^r Gawaine;\n for my Vnckle Arthurs sake\n I am glad as grasse wold be of raine,\n great Ioy that I may take.\n\n S^r Gawaine tooke the lady by the one arme,\n S^r Kay tooke her by the tother,\n they led her straight to k. Arthur\n as they were brother & brother.\n\n K. Arthur welcomed them there all,\n & soe did lady Geneuer his queene,\n w^{th} all the knights of the round table\n most seemly to be seene.\n\n K. Arthur beheld that lady faire\n that was soe faire & bright,\n he thanked christ in trinity\n for S^r Gawaine that gentle knight;\n\n Soe did the knights, both more and lesse,\n reioyced all that day\n for the good chance y^t hapened was\n to S^r Gawaine & his lady gay.\n\n Ffins.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[456] [Printed for the first time in the fourth edition.]\n\n[457] [holly.]\n\n[458] [salute.]\n\n[459] Sic MS. = finde.\n\n[460] [my vow.]\n\n[461] [qy. for swire = neck.]\n\n[462] Sic in MS. pro _feires_, i.e. Mates.\n\n THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX I.\n\nTHE WANTON WIFE OF BATH.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n[Illustration]\n\nAPPENDIX I.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WANTON WIFE OF BATH.\n\n\nFrom an ancient copy in black-print, in the Pepys Collection. Mr.\nAddison has pronounced this an excellent ballad: see the _Spectator_,\nNo. 248.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [This ballad was printed in the third volume of the first edition\n of the _Reliques_, Book ii. No. 12, but was afterwards expunged\n by Percy. Professor Child gives the following references in his\n collection of _English and Scottish Ballads_, vol. viii. p.\n 152:--\"The same story circulates among the peasantry of England and\n Scotland in the form of a penny tract or chap-book, _Notices of_\n _Popular Histories_, p. 16, (_Percy Soc._ vol. xxiii.); _Notes and\n Queries_, New Series, vol. iii. p. 49. This jest is an old one.\n Mr. Halliwell refers to a fabliau in Barbazan's Collection, which\n contains the groundwork of this piece, _Du Vilain qui Conquist\n Paradis par Plait_, Meon's ed. iv. 114.\"]\n\n * * * * *\n\n In Bath a wanton wife did dwelle,\n As Chaucer he doth write;\n Who did in pleasure spend her dayes;\n And many a fond delight.\n\n Upon a time sore sicke she was 5\n And at the length did dye;\n And then her soul at heaven gate,\n Did knocke most mightilye.\n\n First Adam came unto the gate:\n Who knocketh there? quoth hee 10\n I am the wife of Bath, she sayd,\n And faine would come to thee.\n\n Thou art a sinner, Adam sayd,\n And here no place shalt have.\n And so art thou, I trowe, quoth shee, 15\n 'and eke a' doting knave.[463]\n\n I will come in, in spight, she sayd,\n Of all such churles as thee;\n Thou wert the causer of our woe,\n Our paine and misery; 20\n\n And first broke God's commandiments,\n In pleasure of thy wife.\n When Adam heard her tell this tale,\n He ranne away for life.\n\n Then downe came Jacob at the gate, 25\n And bids her packe to hell,\n Thou false deceiving knave, quoth she\n Thou mayst be there as well.\n\n For thou deceiv'dst thy father deare,\n And thine own brother too. 30\n Away 'slunk' Jacob presently,\n And made no more adoo.\n\n She knockes again with might and maine,\n And Lot he chides her straite,\n How now, quoth she, thou drunken ass, 35\n Who bade thee here to prate?\n\n With thy two daughters thou didst lye,\n On them two bastardes got.\n And thus most tauntingly she chaft\n Against poor silly Lot. 40\n\n Who calleth there, quoth Judith then,\n With such shrill sounding notes?\n This fine minkes surely came not here,\n Quoth she, for cutting throats.\n\n Good Lord, how Judith blush'd for shame, 45\n When she heard her say soe!\n King David hearing of the same,\n He to the gate would goe.\n\n Quoth David, who knockes there so loud,\n And maketh all this strife; 50\n You were more kinde, good sir, she sayd,\n Unto Uriah's wife.\n\n And when thy servant thou didst cause\n In battle to be slaine;\n Thou causedst far more strife than I, 55\n Who would come here so faine.\n\n The woman's mad, quoth Solomon,\n That thus doth taunt a king.\n Not half so mad as you, she sayd,\n I trowe in manye a thing. 60\n\n Thou hadst seven hundred wives at once,\n For whom thou didst provide;\n And yet God wot, three hundred whores\n Thou must maintaine beside:\n\n And they made thee forsake thy God, 65\n And worship stockes and stones;\n Besides the charge they put thee to\n In breeding of young bones.\n\n Hadst thou not bin beside thy wits,\n Thou wouldst not thus have ventur'd; 70\n And therefore I do marvel much,\n How thou this place hast enter'd.\n\n I never heard, quoth Jonas then,\n So vile a scold as this.\n Thou whore-son run-away, quoth she, 75\n Thou diddest more amiss.\n\n 'They say,' quoth Thomas, women's tongues,[464]\n Of aspen-leaves are made.\n Thou unbelieving wretch, quoth she,\n All is not true that's sayd. 80\n\n When Mary Magdalen heard her then,\n She came unto the gate.\n Quoth she, good woman, you must think\n Upon your former state.\n\n No sinner enters in this place 85\n Quoth Mary Magdalene. Then\n 'Twere ill for you, fair mistress mine,\n She answered her agen:\n\n You for your honestye, quoth she,\n Had once been ston'd to death; 90\n Had not our Saviour Christ come by,\n And written on the earth.\n\n It was not by your occupation,\n You are become divine:\n I hope my soul in Christ his passion, 95\n Shall be as safe as thine.\n\n Uprose the good apostle Paul,\n And to this wife he cryed,\n Except thou shake thy sins away,\n Thou here shalt be denyed. 100\n\n Remember, Paul, what thou hast done,\n All through a lewd desire:\n How thou didst persecute God's church,\n With wrath as hot as fire.\n\n Then up starts Peter at the last, 105\n And to the gate he hies:\n Fond fool, quoth he, knock not so fast,\n Thou weariest Christ with cries.\n\n Peter, said she, content thyselfe,\n For mercye may be won, 110\n I never did deny my Christ,\n As thou thyselfe hast done.\n\n When as our Saviour Christ heard this,\n With heavenly angels bright,\n He comes unto this sinful soul, 115\n Who trembled at his sight.\n\n Of him for mercye she did crave.\n Quoth he, thou hast refus'd\n My proffer'd grace, and mercy both,\n And much my name abus'd. 120\n\n Sore have I sinned, Lord, she sayd,\n And spent my time in vaine,\n But bring me like a wandring sheepe\n Into thy flocke againe.\n\n O Lord my God, I will amend 125\n My former wicked vice:\n The thief for one poor silly word,\n Past into Paradise.\n\n My lawes and my commandments,\n Saith Christ, were known to thee; 130\n But of the same in any wise,\n Not yet one word did yee.\n\n I grant the same, O Lord, quoth she;\n Most lewdly did I live:\n But yet the loving father did 135\n His prodigal son forgive.\n\n So I forgive thy soul, he sayd,\n Through thy repenting crye;\n Come enter then into my joy,\n I will not thee denye. 140\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[463] Ver. 16. Now gip you, _P._\n\n[464] Ver. 77. I think, _P._\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX II.\n\nON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES, &c.\n\n\nI.\n\nThe first attempts at composition among all barbarous nations are\never found to be poetry and song. The praises of their gods, and the\nachievements of their heroes, are usually chanted at their festival\nmeetings. These are the first rudiments of history. It is in this\nmanner that the savages of North America preserve the memory of past\nevents[465]; and the same method is known to have prevailed among our\nSaxon ancestors before they quitted their German forests[466]. The\nancient Britons had their Bards, and the Gothic nations their Scalds\nor popular poets[467], whose business it was to record the victories\nof their warriors, and the genealogies of their princes, in a kind of\nnarrative songs, which were committed to memory, and delivered down\nfrom one reciter to another. So long as poetry continued a distinct\nprofession, and while the Bard, or Scald, was a regular and stated\nofficer in the prince's court, these men are thought to have performed\nthe functions of the historian pretty faithfully; for though their\nnarrations would be apt to receive a good deal of embellishment, they\nare supposed to have had at the bottom so much of truth as to serve\nfor the basis of more regular annals. At least succeeding historians\nhave taken up with the relations of these rude men, and for the want of\nmore authentic records, have agreed to allow them the credit of true\nhistory[468].\n\nAfter letters began to prevail, and history assumed a more stable form,\nby being committed to plain simple prose; these songs of the Scalds\nor Bards began to be more amusing than useful. And in proportion as\nit became their business chiefly to entertain and delight, they gave\nmore and more into embellishment, and set off their recitals with such\nmarvellous fictions, as were calculated to captivate gross and ignorant\nminds. Thus began stories of adventures with giants and dragons, and\nwitches and enchanters, and all the monstrous extravagances of wild\nimagination, unguided by judgment, and uncorrected by art[469].\n\nThis seems to be the true origin of that species of romance, which\nso long celebrated feats of chivalry, and which at first in metre,\nand afterwards in prose, was the entertainment of our ancestors, in\ncommon with their contemporaries on the continent, till the satire\nof Cervantes, or rather the increase of knowledge and classical\nliterature, drove them off the stage to make room for a more refined\nspecies of fiction, under the name of French Romances, copied from the\nGreek[470].\n\nThat our old romances of chivalry may be derived in a lineal descent\nfrom the ancient historical songs of the Gothic Bards and Scalds, will\nbe shown below, and indeed appears the more evident, as many of those\nsongs are still preserved in the north, which exhibit all the seeds\nof chivalry before it became a solemn institution[471]. \"Chivalry, as\na distinct military order, conferred in the way of investiture, and\naccompanied with the solemnity of an oath, and other ceremonies,\" was\nof later date, and sprung out of the feudal constitution, as an elegant\nwriter has clearly shown[472]. But the ideas of chivalry prevailed\nlong before in all the Gothic nations, and may be discovered as in\nembriyo in the customs, manners, and opinions of every branch of that\npeople[473]. That fondness of going in quest of adventures, that spirit\nof challenging to single combat, and that respectful complaisance shewn\nto the fair sex, (so different from the manners of the Greeks and\nRomans), all are of Gothic origin, and may be traced up to the earliest\ntimes among all the northern nations[474]. These existed long before\nthe feudal ages, though they were called forth and strengthened in a\npeculiar manner under that constitution, and at length arrived to their\nfull maturity in the times of the Crusades, so replete with romantic\nadventures[475].\n\nEven the common arbitrary fictions of romance were (as is hinted\nabove) most of them familiar to the ancient Scalds of the North, long\nbefore the time of the Crusades. They believed the existence of giants\nand dwarfs[476]; they entertained opinions not unlike the more modern\nnotion of fairies[477], they were strongly possessed with the belief of\nspells and inchantment[478], and were fond of inventing combats with\ndragons and monsters[479].\n\nThe opinion therefore seems very untenable, which some learned and\ningenious men have entertained, that the turn for chivalry, and the\ntaste for that species of romantic fiction were caught by the Spaniards\nfrom the Arabians or Moors after their invasion of Spain, and from\nthe Spaniards transmitted to the bards of Armorica[480], and thus\ndiffused through Britain, France, Italy, Germany, and the North.\nFor it seems utterly incredible, that one rude people should adopt\na peculiar taste and manner of writing or thinking from another,\nwithout borrowing at the same time any of their particular stories and\nfables, without appearing to know anything of their heroes, history,\nlaws, and religion. When the Romans began to adopt and imitate the\nGrecian literature, they immediately naturalized all the Grecian\nfables, histories, and religious stories; which became as familiar to\nthe poets of Rome, as of Greece itself. Whereas all the old writers of\nchivalry, and of that species of romance, whether in prose or verse,\nwhether of the Northern nations, or of Britain, France, and Italy,\nnot excepting Spain itself[481], appear utterly unacquainted with\nwhatever relates to the Mahometan nations. Thus with regard to their\nreligion, they constantly represent them as worshipping idols, as\npaying adoration to a golden image of Mahomet, or else they confound\nthem with the ancient pagans, &c. And indeed in all other respects\nthey are so grossly ignorant of the customs, manners, and opinions of\nevery branch of that people, especially of their heroes, champions, and\nlocal stories, as almost amounts to a demonstration that they did not\nimitate them in their songs or romances: for as to dragons, serpents,\nnecromancies, &c., why should these be thought only derived from the\nMoors in Spain so late as after the eighth century? since notions of\nthis kind appear too familiar to the northern Scalds and enter too\ndeeply into all the northern mythology, to have been transmitted to\nthe unlettered Scandinavians, from so distant a country, at so late a\nperiod. If they may not be allowed to have brought these opinions with\nthem in their original migrations from the north of Asia, they will\nbe far more likely to have borrowed them from the Latin poets after\nthe Roman conquests in Gaul, Britain, Germany, &c. For, I believe one\nmay challenge the maintainers of this opinion, to produce any Arabian\npoem or history, that could possibly have been then known in Spain,\nwhich resembles the old Gothic romances of chivalry half so much as the\nMetamorphoses of Ovid.\n\nBut we well know that the Scythian nations situate in the countries\nabout Pontus, Colchis, and the Euxine sea, were in all times infamous\nfor their magic arts: and as Odin and his followers are said to have\ncome precisely from those parts of Asia; we can readily account for\nthe prevalence of fictions of this sort among the Gothic nations of\nthe North, without fetching them from the Moors in Spain; who for many\ncenturies after their irruption, lived in a state of such constant\nhostility with the unsubdued Spanish Christians, whom they chiefly pent\nup in the mountains, as gave them no chance of learning their music,\npoetry, or stories; and this, together with the religious hatred of the\nlatter for their cruel invaders, will account for the utter ignorance\nof the old Spanish romancers in whatever relates to the Mahometan\nnations, although so nearly their own neighbours.\n\nOn the other hand, from the local customs and situations, from the\nknown manners and opinions of the Gothic nations in the north, we\ncan easily account for all the ideas of chivalry and its peculiar\nfictions[482]. For, not to mention their distinguished respect for the\nfair sex, so different from the manners of the Mahometan nations[483],\ntheir national and domestic history so naturally assumes all the\nwonders of this species of fabling, that almost all their historical\nnarratives appear regular romances. One might refer in proof of this to\nthe old northern Sagas in general: but to give a particular instance\nit will be sufficient to produce the history of King Regner Lodbrog, a\ncelebrated warrior and pirate, who reigned in Denmark about the year\n800[484]. This hero signalized his youth by an exploit of gallantry.\nA Swedish prince had a beautiful daughter whom he intrusted (probably\nduring some expedition) to the care of one of his officers, assigning\na strong castle for their defence. The officer fell in love with his\nward, and detained her in his castle, spite of all the efforts of\nher father. Upon this he published a proclamation through all the\nneighbouring countries, that whoever would conquer the ravisher and\nrescue the lady should have her in marriage. Of all that undertook the\nadventure, Regner alone was so happy as to achieve it: he delivered the\nfair captive, and obtained her for his prize. It happened that the name\nof this discourteous officer was Orme, which in the Islandic language\nsignifies serpent: Wherefore the Scalds, to give the more poetical\nturn to the adventure, represent the lady as detained from her father\nby a dreadful dragon, and that Regner slew the monster to set her at\nliberty. This fabulous account of the exploit is given in a poem still\nextant, which is even ascribed to Regner himself, who was a celebrated\npoet; and which records all the valiant achievements of his life[485].\n\nWith marvelous embellishments of this kind the Scalds early began to\ndecorate their narratives: and they were the more lavish of these,\nin proportion as they departed from their original institution,\nbut it was a long time before they thought of delivering a set of\npersonages and adventures wholly feigned. Of the great multitude of\nromantic tales still preserved in the libraries of the North, most of\nthem are supposed to have had some foundation in truth, and the more\nancient they are, the more they are believed to be connected with true\nhistory[486].\n\nIt was not probably till after the historian and the bard had been\nlong disunited, that the latter ventured at pure fiction. At length\nwhen their business was no longer to instruct or inform, but merely\nto amuse, it was no longer needful for them to adhere to truth. Then\nsucceeded fabulous songs and romances in verse, which for a long time\nprevailed in France and England before they had books of chivalry in\nprose. Yet in both these countries the minstrels still retained so much\nof their original institution, as frequently to make true events the\nsubject of their songs[487]; and indeed, as during the barbarous ages,\nthe regular histories were almost all written in Latin by the monks,\nthe memory of events was preserved and propagated among the ignorant\nlaity by scarce any other means than the popular songs of the minstrels.\n\nII. The inhabitants of Sweden, Denmark, and Norway, being the latest\nconverts to Christianity, retained their original manners and opinions\nlonger than the other nations of Gothic race: and therefore they have\npreserved more of the genuine compositions of their ancient poets,\nthan their southern neighbours. Hence the progress, among them, from\npoetical history to poetical fiction is very discernible: they have\nsome old pieces, that are in effect complete Romances of Chivalry[488].\nThey have also (as hath been observed) a multitude of Sagas[489] or\nhistories on romantic subjects, containing a mixture of prose and\nverse, of various dates, some of them written since the times of the\nCrusades, others long before: but their narratives in verse only are\nesteemed the more ancient.\n\nNow as the irruption of the Normans[490] into France under Rollo\ndid not take place till towards the beginning of the tenth century,\nat which time the Scaldic art was arrived to the highest perfection\nin Rollo's native country, we can easily trace the descent of the\nFrench and English romances of chivalry from the Northern Sagas. That\nconqueror doubtless carried many Scalds with him from the north,\nwho transmitted their skill to their children and successors. These\nadopting the religion, opinions, and language of the new country,\nsubstituted the heroes of Christendom instead of those of their pagan\nancestors, and began to celebrate the feats of Charlemagne, Roland,\nand Oliver; whose true history they set off and embellished with the\nScaldic figments of dwarfs, giants, dragons, and enchantments. The\nfirst mention we have in song of those heroes of chivalry is in the\nmouth of a Norman warrior at the conquest of England[491]: and this\ncircumstance alone would sufficiently account for the propagation of\nthis kind of romantic poems among the French and English.\n\nBut this is not all; it is very certain, that both the Anglo-Saxons\nand the Franks had brought with them, at their first emigrations into\nBritain and Gaul, the same fondness for the ancient songs of their\nancestors, which prevailed among the other Gothic tribes[492], and\nthat all their first annals were transmitted in these popular oral\npoems. This fondness they even retained long after their conversion\nto Christianity, as we learn from the examples of Charlemagne and\nAlfred[493]. Now poetry, being thus the transmitter of facts, would\nas easily learn to blend them with fictions in France and England,\nas she is known to have done in the north, and that much sooner, for\nthe reasons before assigned[494]. This, together with the example and\ninfluence of the Normans, will easily account to us, why the first\nromances of chivalry that appeared both in England and France[495]\nwere composed in metre, as a rude kind of epic songs. In both kingdoms\ntales in verse were usually sung by minstrels to the harp on festival\noccasions: and doubtless both nations derived their relish for this\nsort of entertainment from their Teutonic ancestors, without either of\nthem borrowing it from the other. Among both people narrative songs on\ntrue or fictitious subjects had evidently obtained from the earliest\ntimes. But the professed romances of chivalry seem to have been first\ncomposed in France, where also they had their name.\n\nThe Latin tongue, as is observed by an ingenious writer[496], ceased\nto be spoken in France about the ninth century, and was succeeded\nby what was called the Romance tongue, a mixture of the language of\nthe Franks and bad Latin. As the songs of chivalry became the most\npopular compositions in that language, they were emphatically called\nRomans or Romants; though this name was at first given to any piece of\npoetry. The romances of chivalry can be traced as early as the eleventh\ncentury[497]. I know not if the _Roman de Brut_ written in 1155, was\nsuch: but if it was, it was by no means the first poem of the kind;\nothers more ancient are still extant[498]. And we have already seen,\nthat, in the preceding century, when the Normans marched down to the\nbattle of Hastings, they animated themselves, by singing (in some\npopular romance or ballad) the exploits of Roland and the other heroes\nof chivalry[499].\n\nSo early as this I cannot trace the songs of chivalry in English. The\nmost ancient I have seen, is that of Hornechild described below, which\nseems not older than the twelfth century. However, as this rather\nresembles the Saxon poetry than the French, it is not certain that the\nfirst English romances were translated from that language[500]. We have\nseen above, that a propensity to this kind of fiction prevailed among\nall the Gothic nations[501]; and, though after the Norman Conquest,\nthis country abounded with French romances, or with translations from\nthe French, there is good reason to believe, that the English had\noriginal pieces of their own.\n\nThe stories of King Arthur and his Round Table, may be reasonably\nsupposed of the growth of this island; both the French and the\nArmoricans probably had them from Britain[502]. The stories of Guy\nand Bevis, with some others, were probably the invention of English\nminstrels[503]. On the other hand, the English procured translations of\nsuch romances as were most current in France; and in the list given at\nthe conclusion of these remarks, many are doubtless of French original.\n\nThe first prose books of chivalry that appeared in our language, were\nthose printed by Caxton[504]; at least, these are the first I have\nbeen able to discover, and these are all translations from the French.\nWhereas romances of this kind had been long current in metre, and were\nso generally admired in the time of Chaucer, that his rhyme of Sir\nThopas was evidently written to ridicule and burlesque them[505].\n\nHe expressly mentions several of them by name in a stanza, which I have\nhad occasion to quote more than once in this volume:\n\n \"Men speken of Romaunces of pris\n Of Horn-Child, and of Ipotis\n Of Bevis, and Sire Guy\n Of Sire Libeux, and Pleindamour,\n But Sire Thopas, he bereth the flour\n Of real chevalrie\"[506].\n\nMost, if not all of these are still extant in MS. in some or other of\nour libraries, as I shall shew in the conclusion of this slight essay,\nwhere I shall give a list of such metrical histories and romances as\nhave fallen under my observation.\n\nAs many of these contain a considerable portion of poetic merit, and\nthrow great light on the manners and opinions of former times, it\nwere to be wished that some of the best of them were rescued from\noblivion. A judicious collection of them accurately published with\nproper illustrations, would be an important accession to our stock of\nancient English literature. Many of them exhibit no mean attempts at\nepic poetry, and though full of the exploded fictions of chivalry,\nfrequently display great descriptive and inventive powers in the\nbards, who composed them. They are at least generally equal to any\nother poetry of the same age. They cannot indeed be put in competition\nwith the nervous productions of so universal and commanding a genius\nas Chaucer, but they have a simplicity that makes them be read with\nless interruption, and be more easily understood: and they are far\nmore spirited and entertaining than the tedious allegories of Gower,\nor the dull and prolix legends of Lydgate. Yet, while so much stress\nwas laid upon the writings of these last, by such as treat of English\npoetry, the old metrical romances, though far more popular in their\ntime, were hardly known to exist. But it has happened unluckily, that\nthe antiquaries, who have revived the works of our ancient writers,\nhave been for the most part men void of taste and genius, and therefore\nhave always fastidiously rejected the old poetical romances, because\nfounded on fictitious or popular subjects, while they have been careful\nto grub up every petty fragment of the most dull and insipid rhymist,\nwhose merit it was to deform morality, or obscure true history. Should\nthe publick encourage the revival of some of those ancient epic songs\nof chivalry, they would frequently see the rich ore of an Ariosto or a\nTasso, though buried it may be among the rubbish and dross of barbarous\ntimes.\n\nSuch a publication would answer many important uses: It would throw new\nlight on the rise and progress of English poetry, the history of which\ncan be but imperfectly understood, if these are neglected: It would\nalso serve to illustrate innumerable passages in our ancient classic\npoets, which without their help must be for ever obscure. For, not\nto mention Chaucer and Spencer, who abound with perpetual allusions\nto them, I shall give an instance or two from Shakespeare, by way of\nspecimen of their use.\n\nIn his play of _King John_ our great dramatic poet alludes to an\nexploit of Richard I. which the reader will in vain look for in any\ntrue history. Faulconbridge says to his mother, act i. sc. 1.\n\n \"Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose ...\n Against whose furie and unmatched force,\n The awlesse lion could not wage the fight,\n Nor keepe his princely heart from Richard's hand:\n He that perforce robs Lions of their hearts\n May easily winne a woman's:\"\n\nThe fact here referred to, is to be traced to its source only in the\nold romance of _Richard Ceur[\"C[oe]ur\"?] de Lyon_[507], in which\nhis encounter with a lion makes a very shining figure. I shall give a\nlarge extract from this poem, as a specimen of the manner of these old\nrhapsodists, and to shew that they did not in their fictions neglect\nthe proper means to produce the ends, as was afterwards so childishly\ndone in the prose books of chivalry.\n\nThe poet tells us, that Richard, in his return from the Holy Land,\nhaving been discovered in the habit of \"a palmer in Almayne,\" and\napprehended as a spy, was by the king thrown into prison. Wardrewe,\nthe king's son, hearing of Richard's great strength, desires the\njailor to let him have a sight of his prisoners. Richard being the\nforemost, Wardrewe asks him, \"if he dare stand a buffet from his\nhand?\" and that on the morrow he shall return him another. Richard\nconsents, and receives a blow that staggers him. On the morrow, having\npreviously waxed his hands, he waits his antagonist's arrival. Wardrewe\naccordingly, proceeds the story, \"held forth as a trewe man,\" and\nRichard gave him such a blow on the cheek, as broke his jawbone, and\nkilled him on the spot. The king, to revenge the death of his son,\norders, by the advice of one Eldrede, that a lion, kept purposely from\nfood, shall be turned loose upon Richard. But the king's daughter\nhaving fallen in love with him, tells him of her father's resolution,\nand at his request procures him forty ells of white silk \"kerchers;\"\nand here the description of the combat begins:\n\n \"The kever-chefes[508] he toke on honde,\n And aboute his arme he wonde;\n And thought in that ylke while,\n To slee the lyon with some gyle.\n And syngle in a kyrtyll he stode,\n And abode the lyon fyers and wode,\n With that came the jaylere,\n And other men that wyth him were,\n And the lyon them amonge;\n His pawes were stiffe and stronge.\n The chambre dore they undone,\n And the lyon to them is gone.\n Rycharde sayd, Helpe lorde Jesu!\n The lyon made to hym venu,\n And wolde hym have all to rente:\n Kynge Rycharde besyde hym glente[509]\n The lyon on the breste hym spurned,\n That aboute he tourned.\n The lyon was hongry and megre,\n And bette his tayle to be egre;\n He loked aboute as he were madde;\n Abrode he all his pawes spradde.\n He cryed lowde, and yaned[510] wyde.\n Kynge Rycharde bethought hym that tyde\n What hym was beste, and to hym sterte,\n In at the throte his honde he gerte,\n And hente out the herte with his honde,\n Lounge and all that he there fonde.\n The lyon fell deed to the grounde:\n Rycharde felte no wem[511], ne wounde.\n He fell on his knees on that place,\n And thanked Jesu of his grace.\"\n * * * * *\n\nWhat follows is not so well, and therefore I shall extract no more\nof this poem.--For the above feat the author tells us, the king was\ndeservedly called\n\n \"Stronge Rycharde Cure de Lyowne.\"\n\nThat distich which Shakespeare puts in the mouth of his madman in _K.\nLear_, act iii. sc. 4.\n\n \"Mice and Rats and such small deere\n Have been Tom's food for seven long yeare,\"\n\nhas excited the attention of the critics. Instead of _deere_, one\nof them would substitute _geer_; and another _cheer_[512]. But the\nancient reading is established by the old romance of Sir Bevis, which\nShakespeare had doubtless often heard sung to the harp. This distich is\npart of a description there given of the hardships suffered by Bevis,\nwhen confined for seven years in a dungeon:\n\n \"Rattes and myse and such small dere\n Was his meate that seven yere.\"--Sign. F. iii.\n\nIII. In different parts of this work, the reader will find various\nextracts from these old poetical legends; to which I refer him for\nfarther examples of their style and metre. To complete this subject,\nit will be proper at least to give one specimen of their skill in\ndistributing and conducting their fable, by which it will be seen that\nnature and common sense had supplied to these old simple bards the want\nof critical art, and taught them some of the most essential rules of\nepic poetry.--I shall select the romance of _Libius Disconius_[513],\nas being one of those mentioned by Chaucer, and either shorter or more\nintelligible than the others he has quoted.\n\nIf an epic poem may be defined,[514] \"A fable related by a poet, to\nexcite admiration, and inspire virtue, by representing the action of\nsome one hero, favoured by heaven, who executes a great design, in\nspite of all the obstacles that oppose him:\" I know not why we should\nwithold the name of Epic Poem from the piece which I am about to\nanalyse.\n\nMy copy is divided into IX. Parts or Cantos, the several arguments of\nwhich are as follows.\n\n\nPART I.\n\nOpens with a short exordium to bespeak attention: the hero is\ndescribed; a natural son of Sir Gawain a celebrated knight of king\nArthur's court, who being brought up in a forest by his mother, is\nkept ignorant of his name and descent. He early exhibits marks of\nhis courage, by killing a knight in single combat, who encountered\nhim as he was hunting. This inspires him with a desire of seeking\nadventures: therefore cloathing himself in his enemy's armour, he goes\nto K. Arthur's court, to request the order of knighthood. His request\ngranted, he obtains a promise of having the first adventure assigned\nhim that shall offer.--A damsel named Ellen, attended by a dwarf, comes\nto implore K. Arthur's assistance, to rescue a young princess, \"the\nLady of Sinadone\" their mistress, who is detained from her rights, and\nconfined in prison. The adventure is claimed by the young knight Sir\nLybius: the king assents; the messengers are dissatisfied, and object\nto his youth; but are forced to acquiesce. And here the first book\ncloses with a description of the ceremony of equipping him forth.\n\n\nPART II.\n\nSir Lybius sets out on the adventure: he is derided by the dwarf and\nthe damsel on account of his youth: they come to the bridge of Perill,\nwhich none can pass without encountering a knight called William de\nla Braunch. Sir Lybius is challenged: they just with their spears:\nDe la Braunch is dismounted: the battle is renewed on foot: Sir\nWilliam's sword breaks: he yields. Sir Lybius makes him swear to go\nand present himself to K. Arthur, as the first-fruits of his valour.\nThe conquered knight sets out for K. Arthur's court: is met by three\nknights, his kinsmen; who, informed of his disgrace, vow revenge, and\npursue the conqueror. The next day they overtake him: the eldest of\nthe three attacks Sir Lybius; but is overthrown to the ground. The\ntwo other brothers assault him: Sir Lybius is wounded; yet cuts off\nthe second brother's arm: the third yields; Sir Lybius sends them all\nto K. Arthur. In the third evening he is awaked by the dwarf, who has\ndiscovered a fire in the wood.\n\n\nPART III.\n\nSir Lybius arms himself, and leaps on horseback: he finds two giants\nroasting a wild boar, who have a fair lady their captive. Sir Lybius,\nby favour of the night, runs one of them through with his spear: is\nassaulted by the other: a fierce battle ensues: he cuts off the giant's\narm, and at length his head. The rescued lady (an Earl's daughter)\ntells him her story; and leads him to her father's castle; who\nentertains him with a great feast; and presents him at parting with a\nsuit of armour and a steed. He sends the giant's head to K. Arthur.\n\n\nPART IV.\n\nSir Lybius, maid Ellen, and the dwarf, renew their journey: they see a\ncastle stuck round with human heads; and are informed it belongs to a\nknight called Sir Gefferon, who, in honour of his lemman or mistress,\nchallenges all comers: He that can produce a fairer lady, is to be\nrewarded with a milk-white faulcon, but if overcome, to lose his head.\nSir Lybius spends the night in the adjoining town: In the morning goes\nto challenge the faulcon. The knights exchange their gloves: they\nagree to just in the market place: the lady and maid Ellen are placed\naloft in chairs: their dresses: the superior beauty of Sir Gefferon's\nmistress described: the ceremonies previous to the combat. They engage:\nthe combat described at large: Sir Gefferon is incurably hurt; and\ncarried home on his shield. Sir Lybius sends the faulcon to K. Arthur;\nand receives back a large present in florins. He stays 40 days to be\ncured of his wounds, which he spends in feasting with the neighbouring\nlords.\n\n\nPART V.\n\nSir Lybius proceeds for Sinadone: in the forest he meets a knight\nhunting, called Sir Otes de Lisle: maid Ellen charmed with a very\nbeautiful dog, begs Sir Lybius to bestow him upon her: Sir Otes meets\nthem, and claims his dog: is refused: being unarmed he rides to his\ncastle, and summons his followers: they go in quest of Sir Lybius: a\nbattle ensues: he is still victorious, and forces Sir Otes to follow\nthe other conquered knights to K. Arthur.\n\n\nPART VI.\n\nSir Lybius comes to a fair city and castle by a riverside, beset round\nwith pavilions or tents: he is informed, in the castle is a beautiful\nlady besieged by a giant named Maugys, who keeps the bridge, and will\nlet none pass without doing him homage: this Lybius refuses: a battle\nensues: the giant described: the several incidents of the battle; which\nlasts a whole summer's day; the giant is wounded: put to flight; slain.\nThe citizens come out in procession to meet their deliverer: the lady\ninvites him into her castle: falls in love with him; and seduces him\nto her embraces. He forgets the princess of Sinadone, and stays with\nthis bewitching lady a twelvemonth. This fair sorceress, like another\nAlcina, intoxicates him with all kinds of sensual pleasure; and detains\nhim from the pursuit of honour.\n\n\nPART VII.\n\nMaid Ellen by chance gets an opportunity of speaking to him; and\nupbraids him with his vice and folly: he is filled with remorse,\nand escapes the same evening. At length he arrives at the city and\ncastle of Sinadone: Is given to understand that he must challenge the\nconstable of the castle to single combat, before he can be received as\na guest. They just: the constable is worsted: Sir Lybius is feasted in\nthe castle: he declares his intention of delivering their lady; and\ninquires the particulars of her history. \"Two necromancers have built\na fine palace by sorcery, and there keep her inchanted, till she will\nsurrender her duchy to them, and yield to such base conditions as they\nwould impose.\"\n\n\nPART VIII.\n\nEarly on the morrow Sir Lybius sets out for the inchanted palace.\nHe alights in the court: enters the hall: the wonders of which are\ndescribed in strong Gothic painting. He sits down at the high table: on\na sudden all the lights are quenched: it thunders, and lightens; the\npalace shakes; the walls fall in pieces about his ears. He is dismayed\nand confounded: but presently hears horses neigh, and is challenged to\nsingle combat by the sorcerers. He gets to his steed: a battle ensues,\nwith various turns of fortune: he loses his weapon; but gets a sword\nfrom one of the necromancers, and wounds the other with it: the edge of\nthe sword being secretly poisoned, the wound proves mortal.\n\n\nPART IX.\n\nHe goes up to the surviving sorcerer, who is carried away from him by\ninchantment: at length he finds him, and cuts off his head; he returns\nto the palace to deliver the lady; but cannot find her: as he is\nlamenting, a window opens, through which enters a horrible serpent with\nwings and a woman's face: it coils round his neck and kisses him; then\nis suddenly converted into a very beautiful lady. She tells him she is\nthe Lady of Sinadone, and was so inchanted, till she might kiss Sir\nGawain, or some one of his blood: that he has dissolved the charm, and\nthat herself and her dominions may be his reward. The knight (whose\ndescent is by this means discovered) joyfully accepts the offer; makes\nher his bride, and then sets out with her for King Arthur's court.\n\nSuch is the fable of this ancient piece: which the reader may\nobserve, is as regular in its conduct, as any of the finest poems of\nclassical antiquity. If the execution, particularly as to the diction\nand sentiments, were but equal to the plan, it would be a capital\nperformance; but this is such as might be expected in rude and ignorant\ntimes, and in barbarous unpolished language.\n\nIV. I shall conclude this prolix account, with a list of such old\nmetrical romances as are still extant; beginning with those mentioned\nby Chaucer.\n\n1. The romance of _Horne Childe_ is preserved in the British Museum,\nwhere it is intitled +\u00fee geste+ kyng Horne. See Catalog.\nHarl. MSS. 2253, p. 70. The language is almost Saxon, yet from the\nmention in it of Sarazens, it appears to have been written after some\nof the Crusades. It begins thus:\n\n \"All heo ben bly\u00fee\n \u00feat to my son[gh] yly\u00fee:\n A son[gh] ychulle ou sin[gh]\n Of Allof \u00fee [gh]ode kyn[gh]e,\"[515] &c.\n\nAnother copy of this poem, but greatly altered, and somewhat\nmodernized, is preserved in the Advocates Library at Edinburgh, in a\nMS. quarto volume of old English poetry [W. 4. 1.] Num. XXXIV. in seven\nleaves or folios[516], intitled, _Horn-child and Maiden Rinivel_, and\nbeginning thus:\n\n \"Mi leve frende dere,\n Herken and ye may here.\"\n\n2. The poem of _Ipotis_ (or _Ypotis_) is preserved in the Cotton\nLibrary, Calig. A. 2, fo. 77, but is rather a religious legend, than a\nromance. Its beginning is,\n\n \"He \u00feat wyll of wysdome here\n Herkeneth nowe ye may here\n Of a tale of holy wryte\n Seynt Jon the Evangelyste wytnesseth hyt.\"\n\n3. The romance of Sir _Guy_ was written before that of Bevis, being\nquoted in it[517]. An account of this old poem is given above, p. 107.\nTo which it may be added, that the two complete copies in MS. are\npreserved at Cambridge, the one in the public library[518], the other\nin that of Caius College, Class A. 8.--In Ames's Typog. p. 153, may be\nseen the first lines of the printed copy.--The first MS. begins,\n\n \"Sythe the tyme that God was borne.\"\n\n4. _Guy and Colbronde_, an old romance in three parts, is preserved in\nthe Editor's folio MS. (p. 349.) [printed edition, vol. ii. p. 527.] It\nis in stanzas of six lines, the first of which may be seen in vol. ii.\np. 175, beginning thus:\n\n \"When meate and drinke is great plentye.\"\n\nIn the Edinburgh MS. (mentioned above) are two ancient poems on the\nsubject of _Guy of Warwick_: viz. Num. XVIII. containing 26 leaves, and\nXX. 59 leaves. Both these have unfortunately the beginnings wanting,\notherwise they would perhaps be found to be different copies of one or\nboth the preceding articles.\n\n5. From the same MS. I can add another article to this list, viz. the\nromance of _Rembrun_ son of Sir Guy; being Num. XXI. in 9 leaves: this\nis properly a continuation of the History of _Guy_: and in Art. 3, the\nHist. of Rembrun follows that of Guy as a necessary part of it. This\nEdinburgh romance of Rembrun begins thus:\n\n \"Jesu that erst of mighte most\n Fader and sone and Holy Ghost.\"\n\nBefore I quit the subject of Sir Guy, I must observe, that if we may\nbelieve Dugdale in his _Baronage_ (vol. i. p. 243, col. 2), the fame of\nour English Champion had in the time of Henry IV. travelled as far as\nthe East, and was no less popular among the Sarazens, than here in the\nWest among the nations of Christendom. In that reign a Lord Beauchamp\ntravelling to Jerusalem was kindly received by a noble person, the\nSoldan's Lieutenant, who hearing he was descended from the famous Guy\nof Warwick, \"whose story they had in books of their own language,\"\ninvited him to his palace; and royally feasting him, presented him\nthree precious stones of great value, besides divers cloaths of silk\nand gold given to his servants.\n\n6. The romance of _Syr Bevis_ is described in page 216 of this vol. Two\nmanuscript copies of this poem are extant at Cambridge, viz., in the\npublic library[519], and in that of Caius Coll. Class A. 9. (5.)--The\nfirst of these begins,\n\n \"Lordyngs lystenyth grete and smale.\"\n\nThere is also a copy of this romance of _Sir Bevis of Hamptoun_, in\nthe Edinburgh MS. Numb. XXII. consisting of twenty-five leaves, and\nbeginning thus:\n\n \"Lordinges herkneth to mi tale,\n Is merier than the nightengale.\"\n\nThe printed copies begin different from both, viz.,\n\n \"Lysten, Lordinges, and hold you styl.\"\n\n7. _Libeaux_ (_Libeaus_, or _Lybius_) _Disconius_ is preserved in the\nEditor's folio MS. (page 317) [pr. ed, vol. ii. p. 415], where the\nfirst stanza is,\n\n \"Jesus Christ christen kinge,\n And his mother that sweete thinge,\n Helpe them at their neede,\n That will listen to my tale,\n Of a Knight I will you tell,\n A doughtye man of deede.\"\n\nAn older copy is preserved in the Cotton Library (Calig. A. 2. fol. 40)\nbut containing such innumerable variations, that it is apparently a\ndifferent translation of some old French original, which will account\nfor the title of _Le Beaux Disconus_, or the Fair Unknown. The first\nline is,\n\n \"Jesu Christ our Savyour.\"\n\nAs for _Pleindamour_, or _Blandamoure_, no romance with this title has\nbeen discovered; but as the word _Blaundemere_ occurs in the romance\nof _Libius Disconius_, in the Editor's folio MS. p. 319 [pr. ed. vol.\nii. p. 420], he thought the name of _Blandamoure_ (which was in all\nthe editions of Chaucer he had then seen) might have some reference to\nthis. But _Pleindamour_, the name restored by Mr. Tyrwhitt, is more\nremote.\n\n8. _Le Morte Arthure_ is among the Harl. MSS 2252, \u00a7 49. This is judged\nto be a translation from the French; Mr. Wanley thinks it no older than\nthe time of Henry VII., but it seems to be quoted in Syr Bevis, (Sign.\nK. ij. b.) It begins,\n\n \"Lordinges, that are lesse and deare.\"\n\nIn the library of Bennet Coll. Cambridge, No. 351, is a MS. intitled in\nthe catalogue _Acta Arthuris Metrico Anglicano_, but I know not its\ncontents.\n\n9. In the Editor's folio MS. are many songs and romances about King\nArthur and his knights, some of which are very imperfect, as _King\nArthur and the King of Cornwall_ (page 24) [pr. ed. vol. i. p. 61],\nin stanzas of four lines, beginning,\n\n \"'Come here,' my cozen Gawaine so gay.\"\n\n_The Turke and Gawain_ (p. 38) [pr. ed. vol. i. p. 90], in stanzas of\nsix lines beginning thus:\n\n \"Listen lords great and small,\"[520]\n\nbut these are so imperfect that I do not make distinct articles of\nthem. See also in this volume, Book I. No. I., II., IV., V.\n\nIn the same MS. p. 203 [pr. ed. vol. ii. p. 58], is the _Greene\nKnight_, in two parts, relating a curious adventure of Sir Gawain, in\nstanzas of six lines, beginning thus:--\n\n \"List: wen Arthur he was k:\"\n\n10. _The Carle of Carlisle_ is another romantic tale about Sir Gawain,\nin the same MS. p. 448 [pr. ed. vol. iii. p. 277], in distichs:\n\n \"Listen: to me a litle stond.\"\n\nIn all these old poems the same set of knights are always represented\nwith the same manners and characters; which seem to have been as\nwell known, and as distinctly marked among our ancestors, as Homer's\nHeroes were among the Greeks: for, as _Ulysses_ is always represented\ncrafty, _Achilles_ irascible, and _Ajax_ rough; so _Sir Gawain_ is\never courteous and gentle, _Sir Kay_ rugged and disobliging, &c. \"_Sir\nGawain with his olde curtesie_\" is mentioned by Chaucer as noted to a\nproverb, in his _Squire's Tale_. _Canterb. Tales_, vol. ii. p. 104.\n\n11. _Syr Launfal_, an excellent old romance concerning another of King\nArthur's knights, is preserved in the Cotton Library, Calig. A 2, f.\n33. This is a translation from the French[521], made by one _Thomas_\n_Chestre_, who is supposed to have lived in the reign of Henry VI. (See\nTanner's Biblioth.) It is in stanzas of six lines, and begins,\n\n \"Be douyty Artours dawes.\"\n\nThe above was afterwards altered by some minstrel into the romance\nof _Sir Lambewell_, in three parts, under which title it was more\ngenerally known[522]. This is the Editor's folio MS. p. 60 [pr. ed.\nvol. i. p. 144], beginning thus:\n\n \"Doughty in king Arthures dayes.\"\n\n12. _Eger and Grime_, in six parts (in the Editor's folio MS. p. 124)\n[pr. ed. vol. i. p. 354], is a well invented tale of chivalry, scarce\ninferior to any of Ariosto's. This which was inadvertently omitted in\nthe former editions of this list, is in distichs, and begins thus:\n\n \"It fell sometimes in the Land of Beame.\"\n\n13. The romance of _Merline_, in nine parts (preserved in the same\nfolio MS. p. 145 [pr. ed. vol. i. p. 422]), gives a curious account\nof the birth, parentage, and juvenile adventures of this famous\nBritish Prophet. In this poem the _Saxons_ are called _Sarazens_; and\nthe thrusting the rebel angels out of heaven is attributed to \"_oure\nLady_.\" It is in distichs and begins thus:\n\n \"He that made with his hand.\"\n\nThere is an old romance _Of Arthour and of Merlin_, in the Edinburgh\nMS. of old English poems: I know not whether it has anything in common\nwith this last mentioned. It is in the volume numbered xxiii. and\nextends through fifty-five leaves. The two first lines are:\n\n \"Jesu Crist, heven king\n Al ous graunt gode ending.\"\n\n14. _Sir Isenbras_ (or as it is in the MS. copies, _Sir Isumbras_),\nis quoted in Chaucer's _R. of Thopas_, v. 6. Among Mr. Garrick's old\nplays is a printed copy; of which an account has been already given\nin vol. i. book iii. No. vii. It is preserved in MS. in the Library\nof Caius Coll. Camb., Class A. 9 (2), and also in the Cotton Library,\nCalig. A. 12 (f. 128). This is extremely different from the printed\ncopy. E.g.\n\n \"God \u00feat made both er\u00fee and hevene.\"\n\n15. _Emar\u00e8_, a very curious and ancient romance, is preserved in the\nsame vol. of the Cotton Library, f. 69. It is in stanzas of six lines,\nand begins thus:\n\n \"Jesu \u00feat ys kyng in trone.\"\n\n16. _Chevelere assigne_, or The Knight of the Swan, preserved in the\nCotton Library, has been already described in vol. ii. Appendix, _Essay\non P. Plowman's Metre_, &c., as hath also\n\n17. _The Sege of F[=e][=r]lam_ (or Jerusalem), which seems to have been\nwritten after the other, and may not improperly be classed among the\nromances; as may also the following, which is preserved in the same\nvolume, viz.,\n\n18. _Owaine Myles_ (fol. 90), giving an account of the wonders of St.\nPatrick's Purgatory. This is a translation into verse of the story\nrelated in Mat. Paris's _Hist._ (sub. Ann. 1153.) It is in distichs\nbeginning thus:\n\n \"God \u00feat ys so full of myght.\"\n\nIn the same manuscript are three or four other narrative poems, which\nmight be reckoned among the romances, but being rather religious\nlegends, I shall barely mention them; as _Tundale_, f. 17; _Trentale_\n_Sci Gregorii_, f. 84; _Jerome_, f. 133; _Eustache_, f. 136.\n\n19. _Octavian imperator_, an ancient romance of chivalry, is in the\nsame vol. of the Cotton Library, f. 20. Notwithstanding the name, this\nold poem has nothing in common with the history of the Roman Emperors.\nIt is in a very peculiar kind of stanza, whereof 1, 2, 3, & 5 rhyme\ntogether, as do the 4 and 6. It begins thus:\n\n \"Ihesu \u00feat was with spere ystonge.\"\n\nIn the public library at Cambridge[523], is a poem with the same title,\nand begins very differently:\n\n \"Lyttyll and mykyll, olde and yonge.\"\n\n20. _Eglamour of Artas_ (or _Artoys_) is preserved in the same vol.\nwith the foregoing, both in the Cotton Library and Public Library at\nCambridge. It is also in the Editor's folio MS. p. 295 [pr. ed. vol.\nii. p. 341], where it is divided into six parts. A printed copy in the\nBodleian Library, C. 39. Art. Seld., and also among Mr. Garrick's old\nplays, K. vol. x. It is in distichs, and begins thus:\n\n \"Ihesu Crist of heven kyng.\"\n\n21. _Syr Triamore_ (in stanzas of six lines) is preserved in MS. in the\nEditor's volume, p. 210 [pr. ed. vol. ii. p. 80], and in the Public\nLibrary at Cambridge (690, \u00a7 29. Vid. Cat. MSS. p. 394.) Two printed\ncopies are extant in the Bodleian Library, and among Mr. Garrick's\nplays in the same volumes with the last article. Both the editor's MS.\nand the printed copy begin,\n\n \"Nowe Jesu Chryste our heven kynge.\"\n\nThe Cambridge copy thus:\n\n \"Heven blys that all shall wynne.\"\n\n22. _Sir Degree_ (_Degare_, or _Degore_, which last seems the true\ntitle) in five parts, in distichs, is preserved in the Editor's folio\nMS. p. 371 [pr. ed. vol. iii. p. 20], and in the Public Library at\nCambridge (ubi supra). A printed copy is in the Bod. Library C. 39.\nArt. Seld. and among Mr. Garrick's plays, K. vol. ix. The Editor's MS.\nand the printed copies begin,\n\n \"Lordinges, and you wyl holde you styl.\"\n\nThe Cambridge MS. has it,\n\n \"Lystenyth, lordyngis, gente and fre.\"\n\n23. _Ipomydon_ (or _Chylde Ipomydon_), is preserved among the Harl.\nMSS. 2252 (44). It is in distichs, and begins,\n\n \"Mekely, lordyngis, gentylle and fre.\"\n\nIn the library of Lincoln Cathedral, K k. 3, 10, is an old imperfect\nprinted copy, wanting the whole first sheet A.\n\n24. _The Squyr of Lowe degre_, is one of those burlesqued by Chaucer in\nhis Rhyme of Thopas[524]. Mr. Garrick has a printed copy of this, among\nhis old plays, K. vol. ix. It begins,\n\n \"It was a squyer of lowe degre,\n That loved the kings daughter of Hungre.\"\n\n25. _Historye of K. Richard Cure [C[oe]ur] de Lyon._ (Impr. W. de\nWorde, 1528, 4to.) is preserved in the Bodleian Library, C. 39, Art.\nSelden. A fragment of it is also remaining in the Edinburgh MS. of old\nEnglish poems; No. xxxvi. in two leaves. A large extract from this\nromance has been given already above, p. 356. Richard was the peculiar\npatron of Chivalry, and favourite of the old minstrels and troubadours.\nSee Warton's _Observ._ vol. i. p. 29, vol. ii. p. 40.\n\n26. Of the following I have only seen No. 27, but I believe they may\nall be referred to the class of romances.\n\nThe _Knight of Courtesy and the Lady of Faguel_ (Bod. Lib. C. 39. Art.\nSheld. a printed copy). This Mr. Warton thinks is the story of Coucy's\nHeart, related in Fauchet, and in Howel's Letters. (v. i. s. 6, L. 20,\nsee Wart. _Obs._ v. ii. p. 40). The Editor has seen a very beautiful\nold ballad on this subject in French.\n\n27. The four following are all preserved in the MS. so often referred\nto in the Public Library at Cambridge, (690. Appendix to Bp. More's\nMSS. in Cat. MSS. tom. ii. p. 394), viz., _The Lay of Erle of\nTholouse_ (No. 27), of which the Editor hath also a copy from \"Cod.\nMSS. Mus. Ashmol. Oxon.\" The first line of both is,\n\n \"Jesu Chryste in Trynyte.\"\n\n28. _Roberd Kynge of Cysyll_ (or Sicily) shewing the fall of pride. Of\nthis there is also a copy among the Harl. MSS. 1703 (3). The Cambridge\nMS. begins,\n\n \"Princis that be prowde in prese.\"\n\n29. _Le bone Florence of Rome_, beginning thus:\n\n \"As ferre as men ride or gone.\"\n\n30. _Dioclesian the Emperour_, beginning,\n\n \"Sum tyme ther was a noble man.\"\n\n31. The two knightly brothers _Amys and Amelion_ (among the Harl MSS.\n2386, \u00a7. 42) is an old romance of chivalry, as is also, I believe,\nthe fragment of the _Lady Belesant, the Duke of Lombardy's fair_\n_daughter_, mentioned in the same article. See the catalog. vol. ii.\n\n32. In the Edinburgh MS. so often referred to (preserved in the\nAdvocates Library, W. 4. i.) might probably be found some other\narticles to add to this list, as well as other copies of some of the\npieces mentioned in it, for the whole volume contains not fewer than\nthirty-seven poems or romances, some of them very long. But as many of\nthem have lost the beginnings, which have been cut out for the sake of\nthe illuminations, and as I have not had an opportunity of examining\nthe MS. myself, I shall be content to mention only the articles that\nfollow[525]: viz.\n\nAn old romance about _Rouland_ (not I believe the famous Paladine, but\na champion named _Rouland Louth_; query) being in the volume, No.\nxxvii. in five leaves, and wants the beginning.\n\n33. Another romance that seems to be a kind of continuation of this\nlast, intitled, _Otuel a Knight_, (No. xxviii. in eleven leaves and a\nhalf). The two first lines are,\n\n \"Herkneth both yinge and old,\n That willen heren of battailes bold.\"\n\n34. _The King of Tars_ (No. iv. in five leaves and a half; it is also\nin the Bodleyan Library, MS. Vernon, f. 304) beginning thus:\n\n \"Herkneth to me bothe eld and ying\n For Maries love that swete thing.\"\n\n35. A tale or romance (No. i. two leaves), that wants both beginning\nand end. The first lines now remaining are,\n\n \"Th Erl him graunted his will y-wis. that the knicht him haden y told.\n The Baronnis that were of mikle pris. befor him thay weren y-cald.\"\n\n36. Another mutilated tale or romance (No. iii. four leaves). The first\nlines at present are,\n\n \"To Mr. Steward wil y gon. and tellen him the sothe of the\n Reseyved bestow sone anon. gif you will serve and with hir be.\"\n\n37. A mutilated tale or romance (No. xi. in thirteen leaves). The two\nfirst lines that occur are,\n\n \"That riche Dooke his fest gan hold\n With Erls and with Baronns bold.\"\n\nI cannot conclude my account of this curious manuscript, without\nacknowledging that I was indebted to the friendship of the Rev. Dr.\nBlair, the ingenious professor of Belles Lettres, in the University\nof Edinburgh, for whatever I learned of its contents, and for the\nimportant additions it enabled me to make to the foregoing list.\n\nTo the preceding articles two ancient metrical romances in the Scottish\ndialect may now be added, which are published in Pinkerton's _Scottish\nPoems_, reprinted \"from scarce editions,\" Lond. 1792, in 3 vols. 8vo.\nviz.\n\n38. _Gawan and Gologras_, a metrical romance; from an edition printed\nat Edinburgh, 1508, 8vo. beginning:--\n\n \"In the tyme of Arthur, as trew men me tald.\"\n\nIt is in stanzas of thirteen lines.\n\n39. _Sir Gawan and Sir Galaron of Galloway_, a metrical romance, in the\nsame stanzas as No. 38, from an ancient MS. beginning thus:\n\n \"In the tyme of Arthur an aunter[526] betydde\n By the Turnwathelan, as the boke tells;\n Whan he to Carlele was comen, and conqueror kyd,\" &c.\n\nBoth these (which exhibit the union of the old alliterative metre, with\nrhyme, &c., and in the termination of each stanza the short triplets\nof the Turnament of Tottenham), are judged to be as old as the time of\nour K. Henry VI., being apparently the production of an old poet, thus\nmentioned by Dunbar, in his _Lament for the Deth of the Makkaris_:\n\n \"Clerk of Tranent eik he hes take,\n That made the aventers of Sir Gawane.\"\n\nIt will scarce be necessary to remind the reader, that _Turnewathelan_\nis evidently _Tearne-Wadling_, celebrated in the old ballad of the\n_Marriage of Sir Gawaine_. See pp. 14 and 325 of this volume.\n\nMany new references, and perhaps some additional articles might be\nadded to the foregoing list from Mr. Warton's _History of English\nPoetry_, 3 vols. 4to. and from the notes to Mr. Tyrwhitt's improved\nedition of _Chaucer's Canterbury Tales_, &c. in 5 vols. 8vo. which have\nbeen published since this Essay, &c. was first composed; but it will be\nsufficient once for all to refer the curious reader to those popular\nworks.\n\nThe reader will also see many interesting particulars on the subject of\nthese volumes, as well as on most points of general literature, in Sir\nJohn Hawkins's curious _History of Music_, &c., in 5 volumes, 4to., as\nalso in Dr. Burney's _Hist._ &c. in 4 vols. 4to.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [Much has been written upon the subject of this Essay since\n Percy's time, but no exhaustive work has yet appeared. The reader\n may consult W. C. Hazlitt's new edition of Warton's _History_,\n 1871; Ellis's _Specimens of Early English Metrical Romances_, new\n edition, by J. O. Halliwell, 1848; Dunlop's _History of Fiction_;\n J. M. Ludlow's _Popular Epics of the Middle Ages, Norse, German,\n and Carlovingian Cycles_, 1865; G. W. Cox and E. H. Jones's\n _Popular Romances of the Middle Ages_, 1871; and also the prefaces\n of the various old English romances printed by the Percy, Camden,\n and Early English Text Societies; and by the Abbotsford, Bannatyne,\n and Roxburghe Clubs.]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[465] Vid. _Lasiteau, Moeurs de Sauvages_, t. ii. Dr. Browne's _Hist._\n_of the Rise and Progress of Poetry_.\n\n[466] \"Germani celebrant carminibus antiquis (quod unum apud illos\nmemori\u00e6 et annalium genus est) Tuistonem,\" &c. _Tacit. Germ._ c. ii.\n\n[467] _Barth. Antiq. Dan._ lib. i. cap. x. _Wormii Literatura Runica_,\nad finem.\n\n[468] See _Northern Antiquities, or a Description of the Manners,_\n_Customs, &c., of the ancient Danes and other Northern Nations,_\n_translated from the Fr. of M. Mallet_, 1770, 2 vols. 8vo. (vol. i. p.\n49, &c.)\n\n[469] _Vid. infra_, pp. 341, 342, &c.\n\n[470] Viz. _Astr\u00e6a_, _Cassandra_, _Clelia_, &c.\n\n[471] Mallet, vid. _Northern Antiquities_, vol. i. p. 318, &c.; vol.\nii. p. 234, &c.\n\n[472] _Letters concerning Chivalry_, 8vo. 1763.\n\n[473] Mallet.\n\n[474] Mallet.\n\n[475] The seeds of chivalry sprung up so naturally out of the original\nmanners and opinions of the northern nations, that it is not credible\nthey arose so late as after the establishment of the Feudal System,\nmuch less the Crusades. Nor, again, that the romances of chivalry\nwere transmitted to other nations, through the Spaniards, from the\nMoors and Arabians. Had this been the case the first French romances\nof chivalry would have been on Moorish, or at least Spanish subjects:\nwhereas the most ancient stories of this kind, whether in prose or\nverse, whether in Italian, French, English, &c., are chiefly on the\nsubjects of Charlemagne and the Paladins, or of our British Arthur\nand his Knights of the Round Table, &c., being evidently borrowed\nfrom the fabulous chronicles of the supposed Archbishop Turpin and of\nJeffery of Monmouth. Not but some of the oldest and most popular French\nromances are also on Norman subjects, as _Richard Sans-peur_, _Robert\nle Diable_, &c., whereas I do not recollect so much as one in which\nthe scene is laid in Spain, much less among the Moors, or descriptive\nof Mahometan manners. Even in _Amadis de Gaul_, said to have been the\nfirst romance printed in Spain, the scene is laid in Gaul and Britain;\nand the manners are French: which plainly shews from what school this\nspecies of fabling was learnt and transmitted to the southern nations\nof Europe.\n\n[476] Mallet. _North. Antiquities_, vol. i. p. 36; vol. ii. _passim_.\n\n[477] _Olaus Verelius, Herv. Saga_, pp. 44, 45. Hickes's _Thesaur._\nvol. ii. p. 311. _Northern Antiquities_, vol. ii. _passim_.\n\n[478] _Ibid._ vol. i. pp. 69, 374, &c.; vol. ii. p. 216, &c.\n\n[479] Rollof's _Saga_, c. 35, &c.\n\n[480] It is peculiarly unfortunate that such as maintain this opinion\nare obliged to take their first step from the Moorish provinces in\nSpain, without one intermediate resting place, to Armorica or Bretagne,\nthe province in France from them most remote, not more in situation\nthan in the manners, habits, and language of its Welsh inhabitants,\nwhich are allowed to have been derived from this island, as must\nhave been their traditions, songs, and fables; being doubtless all\nof Celtic original. See p. 3 of the _Dissertation on the Origin of\nRomantic Fiction in Europe_, prefixed to Mr. Tho. Warton's _History of\nEnglish Poetry_, vol. i. 1774, 4to. If any pen could have supported\nthis darling hypothesis of Dr. Warburton that of this ingenious critic\nwould have effected it. But under the general term Oriental, he seems\nto consider the ancient inhabitants of the north and the south of Asia,\nas having all the same manners, traditions, and fables; and because\nthe secluded people of Arabia took the lead under the religion and\nempire of Mahomet, therefore everything must be derived from them to\nthe Northern Asiatics in the remotest ages, &c. With as much reason\nunder the word Occidental, we might represent the early traditions and\nfables of the north and south of Europe to have been the same; and that\nthe Gothic mythology of Scandinavia, the Druidic or Celtic of Gaul and\nBritain, differed not from the classic of Greece and Rome.\n\nThere is not room here for a full examination of the minuter arguments,\nor rather slight coincidences, by which our agreeable dissertator\nendeavours to maintain and defend this favourite opinion of Dr. W.,\nwho has been himself so completely confuted by Mr. Tyrwhitt. (See his\nnotes on _Love's Labour Lost_, &c.) But some of his positions it will\nbe sufficient to mention: such as the referring the Gog and Magog,\nwhich our old Christian bards might have had from Scripture, to the\n_Jaguiouge_ and _Magiouge_ of the Arabians and Persians, &c. (p. 13).\nThat \"we may venture to affirm that this (Geoffrey of Monmouth's)\nChronicle, supposed to contain the ideas of the Welsh bards, entirely\nconsists of Arabian inventions\" (p. 13). And that, \"as Geoffrey's\nhistory is the grand repository of the acts of Arthur, so a fabulous\nhistory ascribed to Turpin is the groundwork of all the chimerical\nlegends which have been related concerning the conquests of Charlemagne\nand his twelve peers. Its subject is the expulsion of the Saracens\nfrom Spain, and it is filled with fictions evidently congenial to\nthose which characterize Geoffrey's History\" (p. 17). That is, as he\nafterwards expresses it, \"lavishly decorated by the Arabian fablers\"\n(p. 58). We should hardly have expected that the Arabian fablers\nwould have been lavish in decorating a history of their enemy: but\nwhat is singular, as an instance and proof of this Arabian origin of\nthe fictions of Turpin, a passage is quoted from his fourth chapter,\nwhich I shall beg leave to offer, as affording decisive evidence,\nthat they could not possibly be derived from a Mahometan source. Sc.\n\"The Christians under Charlemagne are said to have found in Spain a\ngolden idol, or image of Mahomet, as high as a bird can fly--it was\nframed by Mahomet himself of the purest metal, who, by his knowledge in\nnecromancy, had sealed up within it a legion of diabolical spirits. It\nheld in its hand a prodigious club; and the Saracens had a prophetic\ntradition, that this club should fall from the hand of the image in\nthat year when a certain king should be born in France, &c.\" (_vid._ p.\n18, note.)\n\n[481] The little narrative songs on Morisco subjects, which the\nSpaniards have at present in great abundance, and which they call\npeculiarly _romances_, (see vol. i. book iii. no. xvi. &c.), have\nnothing in common with their proper romances (or histories) of\nchivalry, which they call _Historias de Cavallerias_; these are\nevidently imitations of the French, and shew a great ignorance of\nMoorish manners: and with regard to the Morisco, or song _romances_,\nthey do not seem of very great antiquity; few of them appear, from\ntheir subjects, much earlier than the reduction of Granada, in the\nfifteenth century: from which period, I believe, may be plainly traced\namong the Spanish writers, a more perfect knowledge of Moorish customs,\n&c.\n\n[482] See _Northern Antiquities_, passim.\n\n[483] _Ibid._\n\n[484] _Saxon Gram._ p. 152, 153. Mallet, _North. Antiq._ vol. i. p. 321.\n\n[485] See a translation of this poem, among _Five pieces of Runic_\n_Poetry_, printed for Dodsley, 1764, 8vo.\n\n[486] _Vid._ Mallet, _Northern Antiquities_, passim.\n\n[487] The editor's MS. contains a multitude of poems of this latter\nkind. It was probably from this custom of the minstrels that some\nof our first historians wrote their chronicles in verse, as Rob. of\nGloucester, Harding, &c.\n\n[488] See a specimen in 2d vol. of _Northern Antiquities_, &c., p. 248,\n&c.\n\n[489] _Eccardi Hist. Stud. Etym._ 1711, p. 179, &c. Hickes's _Thesaur._\nvol. ii. p. 314.\n\n[490] _i.e._ Northern men, being chiefly emigrants from Norway,\nDenmark, &c.\n\n[491] See the account of Taillefer in vol. i. Essay, and Note.\n\n[492] \"Ipsa Carmina memori\u00e6 mandabant, & pr\u00e6lia inituri decantabant;\nqua memori\u00e2 tam fortium gestorum a majoribus patratorum ad imitationem\nanimus adderetur.\"--_Jornandes de Gothis._\n\n[493] _Eginhartus de Carolo magno._ \"Item barbara, & antiquissima\ncarmina, quibus veterum regum actus & bella canebantur, scripsit.\"--c.\n29.\n\n_Asserius de \u00c6lfredo magno._ \"Rex inter bella, &c.... Saxonicos\nlibros recitare, & _maxime carmina Saxonica_ memoriter discere,\naliis imperare, & solus assidue pro viribus, studiosissime non\ndesinebat.\"--Ed. 1722, 8vo. p. 43.\n\n[494] See above, pp. 340, 347.\n\n[495] The romances on the subject of Perceval, San Graal, Lancelot du\nLac, Tristan, &c., were among the first that appeared in the French\nlanguage in prose, yet these were originally composed in metre: the\neditor has in his possession a very old French MS. in verse, containing\n_L'ancien Roman de Perceval_, and metrical copies of the others may be\nfound in the libraries of the curious. See a note of Wanley's in _Harl.\nCatalog. Num._ 2252, p. 49, &c. Nicholson's _Eng. Hist. Library_, 3rd\ned. p. 91, &c. See also a curious collection of old French romances,\nwith Mr. Wanley's account of this sort of pieces, in _Harl. MSS.\nCatal._ 978, 106.\n\n[496] The author of the _Essay on the Genius of Pope_, p. 282.\n\n[497] _Ibid._ p. 283. _Hist. Lit._ tom. 6, 7.\n\n[498] _Voir Preface aux_ \"Fabliaux & Contes des Poetes Fran\u00e7ois des\nxii. xiii. xiv. & xv. si\u00e8cles, &c., Paris, 1756, 3 tom. 12mo.\" (a very\ncurious work).\n\n[499] _Vid. supra_, note (d), vol. i. Essay, &c. _Et vide_ Rapin,\nCarte, &c. This song of _Roland_ (whatever it was) continued for some\ncenturies to be usually sung by the French in their marches, if we may\nbelieve a modern French writer. \"Un jour qu'on chantoit la _Chanson de\nRoland_, comme c'etoit l'usage dans les marches. Il y a long temps, dit\nil (John K. of France, who died in 1364), qu'on ne voit plus de Rolands\nparmi les Fran\u00e7ois. On y verroit encore des Rolands, lui r\u00e9pondit un\nvieux capitaine, s'ils avoient un Charlemagne \u00e0 leur t\u00eate.\" _Vid._\ntom. iii. p. 202, _des Essaies Hist. sur Paris, de M. de Saintefoix_:\nwho gives as his authority, Boethius in _Hist. Scotorum_. This author,\nhowever, speaks of the complaint and repartee, as made in an Assembly\nof the States (_vocato senatu_), and not upon any march, &c. _Vid._\nBoeth. lib. xv. vol. 327. Ed. Paris, 1574.\n\n[500] See on this subject, vol. i. note, s. 2, p. 404; and in note G g,\np. 424, &c.\n\n[501] The first romances of chivalry among the Germans were in metre:\nthey have some very ancient narrative songs (which they call _Lieder_)\nnot only on the fabulous heroes of their own country, but also on those\nof France and Britain, as Tristram, Arthur, Gawain, and the knights\n_von der Tafel-ronde_ (_vid._ Goldasti Not. in _Eginhart. Vit. Car.\nMag._ 4to. 1711, p. 207.)\n\n[502] The Welsh have still some very old romances about K. Arthur; but\nas these are in prose, they are not probably their first pieces that\nwere composed on that subject.\n\n[503] It is most credible that these stories were originally of English\ninvention, even if the only pieces now extant should be found to be\ntranslations from the French. What now pass for the French originals\nwere probably only amplifications, or enlargements of the old English\nstory. That the French romances borrowed some things from the English,\nappears from the word _termagant_.\n\n[504] _Recuyel of the Hystoryes of Troy_, 1471; _Godfroye of Boloyne_,\n1481; _Le Morte de Arthur_, 1485; _The Life of Charlemagne_, 1485, &c.\nAs the old minstrelsy wore out, prose books of chivalry became more\nadmired, especially after the Spanish romances began to be translated\ninto English towards the end of Q. Elizabeth's reign: then the most\npopular metrical romances began to be reduced into prose, as _Sir Guy_,\n_Bevis_, &c.\n\n[505] See extract from a letter, written by the editor of these\nvolumes, in Mr. Warton's _Observations_, vol. ii. p. 139.\n\n[506] _Canterbury Tales_ (Tyrwhitt's edit.), vol. ii. p. 238. In all\nthe former editions which I have seen the name at the end of the fourth\nline is _Blandamoure_.\n\n[507] Dr. Grey has shewn that the same story is alluded to in Rastell's\n_Chronicle_: as it was doubtless originally had from the romance,\nthis is proof that the old metrical romances throw light on our first\nwriters in prose: many of our ancient historians have recorded the\nfictions of romance.\n\n[508] _i.e._ handkerchiefs. Here we have the etymology of the word,\nviz. \"_Couvre le Chef_.\"\n\n[509] _i.e._ slipt aside.\n\n[510] _i.e._ yawned.\n\n[511] _i.e._ hurt.\n\n[512] Dr. Warburton.--Dr. Grey.\n\n[513] So it is intitled in the editor's MS. But the true title is _Le_\n_Beaux Disconus_, or the Fair Unknown. See a note on the _Canterbury_\n_Tales_, vol. iv. p. 333.\n\n[514] Vid. _Discours sur la Poesie Epique_, prefixed to _T\u00e9l\u00e9maque_.\n\n[515] _i.e._ May all they be blithe that to my song listen: A song I\nshall you sing, Of Allof the good king, &c.\n\n[516] In each full page of this volume are forty-four lines, when the\npoem is in long metre: and eighty-eight when the metre is short, and\nthe page in two columns.\n\n[517] Sign. K. 2. b.\n\n[518] For this and most of the following, which are mentioned as\npreserved in the Public Library, I refer the reader to the _Oxon_\n_Catalogue of MSS._, 1697, vol. ii p. 394; in Appendix to Bp. More's\nMSS. No. 690, 33, since given to the University of Cambridge.\n\n[519] No. 690, \u00a7 31. Vid. _Catalog. MSS._ p. 394.\n\n[520] In the former editions, after the above, followed mention of a\nfragment in the same MS., intitled, _Sir Lionel_, in distichs (p. 32)\n[pr. ed. vol. i. p. 75]; but this being only a short ballad, and not\nrelating to K. Arthur, is here omitted.\n\n[521] The French original is preserved among the Harl. MSS. No. 978, \u00a7\n112, _Lanval_.\n\n[522] See Laneham's _Letter concern. Q. Eliz. entertainment at_\n_Killingworth_, 1575, 12mo. p. 34.\n\n[523] No. 690. (30.) _Vid. Oxon Catalog. MSS._ p. 394.\n\n[524] This is alluded to by Shakespeare in his _Hen. V._ (Act v.),\nwhere Fluellyn tells Pistol, he will make him a squire of low degree,\nwhen he means, to knock him down.\n\n[525] Some of these I give, though mutilated and divested of their\ntitles, because they may enable a curious inquirer to complete or\nimprove other copies.\n\n[526] _i.e._ adventure.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nGLOSSARY\n\nTO THE THREE VOLUMES.\n\nThis is an amalgamation of the three original glossaries, with large\nadditions and alterations, and the introduction of references. It has\nnot, however, been thought necessary to refer to every passage in which\na particular word may occur.\n\nPercy's explanatory notes are marked with the letter P.\n\nMany words which appear in a slightly varied form from the present\nspelling are not included in this glossary.\n\n\n A', _all_.\n\n A, _at_.\n\n A, i. 27, _of_. Watter a Twyde, i. 25, _water of Tweed_.\n\n Abacke, _back_.\n\n Abenche, i. 409, _on a bench_.\n\n Able, i. 87, _fit_, _suitable_.\n\n Abone, i. 24;\n aboon, i. 323;\n aboone, i. 101;\n aboun, i. 32, _above_.\n\n Aboven ous, ii. 8, _above us_.\n\n Abowght, i. 40, _about_.\n\n Abraide, i. 168, _abroad_.\n\n Abuve, ii. 83, _in the uplands_.\n\n Abye, iii. 31, _suffer_, _pay for_, _expiate_.\n\n Acton, i. 72, _a quilted leather jacket, worn under the coat of\n mail_. Fr. hacqueton.\n\n Advoutry, ii. 136, _adultery_.\n\n Aff, ii. 70, _off_.\n\n Affore, i. 269;\n afore, ii. 115, _before_.\n\n Aft, i. 321, _oft_.\n\n Agayne, i. 121, _against_.\n\n Ageyn, i. 119, _against_.\n\n Agone, ii. 41, _gone_.\n\n Ahte, ii. 11, _ought_.\n\n Aik, iii. 147, _oak_.\n\n Ail, ii. 84, _trouble_.\n\n Ain, i. 102, _own_.\n\n Aith, ii. 70, _oath_.\n\n Al, ii. 9, _albeit_, _although_.\n\n Al gife, _although_.\n\n Alace, iii. 236, _alas_.\n\n Alane, ii. 83, _alone_.\n\n Alemaigne, ii. 7, _Germany_.\n\n Allgyf, i. 125, _although_.\n\n Almaine, iii. 110, _Germany_.\n\n Alyes, ii. 33, _always_.\n\n Amang, ii. 20, _among_.\n\n Amangis, ii. 81, _amongst_.\n\n Amblit, iii. 237, _ambled_.\n\n Among, ii. 35, _at intervals_, _sometimes_.\n\n An, _and_.\n\n An, i, 60, _if_.\n\n Ancyent, i. 271, _flag_, _banner_, _standard_.\n\n And, _if_, but and, i. 27;\n _but if_;\n and youe, _if you_.\n\n And but, ii. 15, _and unless_.\n\n Ane, i. 30, ii. 118, _one_, _an_, _a_.\n\n Anes, ii. 112, _once_, ii. 109. (?)\n\n Angel, ii. 176, _a gold coin varying in value from 6s. 8d. to 10s._\n\n Ann, ii. 69, _if_.\n\n Anneuche, ii. 81, _enough_.\n\n Annoy, ii. 211, _trouble_.\n\n Ant, ii. 7, _and_.\n\n Aplyht, al aplyht, ii. 14, _entirely_.\n\n Aquoy, iii. 247, _coy_, _shy_.\n\n Ar, ii. 24, _are_.\n\n Aras, i. 24, _arrows_.\n\n Archeborde, ii. 193, 203, _side of the ship?_ See Hach-borde.\n\n Arcir, i. 103, _archer_.\n\n Argabushe, ii. 53, _harquebuse, an old-fashioned kind of musket_.\n\n Arrand, i. 80, _errand_.\n\n Arros, i. 28, _arrows_.\n\n Ase, ii. 8, _as_.\n\n Aslake, ii. 37, _abate_.\n\n Assay, i. 80, _essay_, assayed, ii. 44.\n\n Assoyld, i. 179, _absolved_.\n\n Astate, i. 119, _estate_.\n\n Astonied, iii. 34, _astonished_, _stunned_.\n\n Astound, i. 207, _stunned_.\n\n Ath, i. 25, _of the_.\n\n Att me, i. 207, _from me_.\n\n Attour, ii. 81;\n attowre, ii. 84, 86, _over_.\n\n Au, iii. 75, _all_.\n\n Auld, i. 83, 101, ii. 68, _old_.\n\n Aule, i. 308, _awl_.\n\n Aureat, i. 123, _golden_.\n\n Austerne, i. 285, _stern_, _austere_.\n\n Avaunce, ii. 49, _advance_.\n\n Avow, iii. 327;\n avowe, i. 23, 34, 47, 172;\n ii. 23, 58, _vow_.\n\n Aw, iii. 145, _all_.\n\n Awa', ii. 69, _away_.\n\n Awin, ii. 133, _own_.\n\n Awne, i. 121, 274, _own_.\n\n Axed, i. 129, _asked_.\n\n Ay, ii. 70, _ever_;\n also _ah! alas!_\n\n Ayein, ii. 12, _against_.\n\n Ayont the ingle, ii. 68, _beyond the fire_. _The fire was in the\n middle of the room_.\n\n \"In the west of Scotland, at this present time, in many cottages,\n they pile their peats and turfs upon stones in the middle of the\n room. There is a hole above the fire in the ridge of the house to\n let the smoke out at. In some places are cottage-houses, from the\n front of which a very wide chimney projects like a bow-window: the\n fire is in a grate, like a malt-kiln grate, round which the people\n sit: sometimes they draw this grate into the middle of the room.\"\n (Mr. Lambe.) P.\n\n Ba', i. 59, _ball._\n\n Bacheleere, i. 64, 78, _knight_;\n bachelary, ii. 28;\n bachelery, ii. 23, _company of bachelors_.\n\n Badena, iii. 93, _delayed not_.\n\n Baile, i. 122, _bale_, _evil_, _mischief_, _misery_, _trouble_.\n\n Bairn, ii. 70;\n bairne, i. 59, _child_.\n\n Baith, i. 143, 321, _both_.\n\n Bale, i. 108, 280, ii. 8, 59, _evil_, _hurt_, _mischief_, _misery_;\n baleful, i. 136.\n\n Balow, ii. 211 (a nursery term), _hush_, _lullaby_.\n\n Balys bete, i. 35, _remedy our evils_.\n\n Ban, ii. 70, _curse_.\n\n Band, i. 70, 148, _bond_, _covenant_.\n\n Bandrolles, iii. 290, _streamers_, _little flags_.\n\n Bane, i. 29, _bone_.\n\n Banket, ii. 225, _banquet_.\n\n Banning, ii. 212, _cursing_.\n\n Barker, ii. 96, _dealer in bark_.\n\n Barne, i. 26, _child_, _man_, _person_.\n\n Barrow hogge, i. 214, _gelded hog_.\n\n Basnete, i. 29, basnite, i. 28, bassonett, i. 48, _helmet_.\n\n Bason, _helmet_.\n\n Batchilere, i. 68, _knight_.\n\n Bathe, i. 30, _both_.\n\n Bats, ii. 21, _cudgels_.\n\n Bauld, i. 321, _bold_.\n\n Bauzen's skinne, i. 308, _Sheepskin gloves with the wool on the\n inside_.\n\n Bayard, ii. 22, _a noted horse in the old romances_.\n\n Be, ii. 9, _by_.\n\n Beanes, ii. 203, _beams_.\n\n Bearing arowe, i. 176, _an arrow that carries well_.\n\n Bed, ii. 13, _bade_.\n\n Bede, ii. 21, 23, _bid_, _offer_, _engage_.\n\n Bedeaft, iii. 272, _deafened_.\n\n Bedeene, ii. 57, iii. 11, _immediately_.\n\n Bedight, i. 132, _bedecked_.\n\n Bedone, iii. 6, 237, _wrought_, _made-up_, _ornamented_.\n\n Beere, i. 50, iii. 42, _bier_.\n\n Beforn, i. 321;\n beforne, i. 29, 65, _before_.\n\n Begilde, ii. 76;\n begylde, ii. 44, _beguiled_, _deceived_.\n\n Beheard, i. 114, _heard_.\n\n Behove, i. 180, _behoof_.\n\n Beir, i. 84;\n beire, ii. 212, _bear_.\n\n Belive, i. 115;\n belyfe, i. 173, _immediately_, _presently_, _shortly_.\n\n Ben, ii. 15, 16, iii. 208, _been_, _be_, _are_.\n\n Ben, ii. 70, _within doors_, _the inner room_.\n (The \"but\" is the outer room. \"A but and a ben\" is a house\n containing two rooms.)\n\n Bene, ii. 16, _bean, an expression of contempt_.\n\n Benison, i. 322, _blessing_.\n\n Bent, bents, _long coarse grass_, i. 24, 25, 28;\n _also wild fields_, i. 41, 43, 65, 78.\n\n Beoth, ii. 11, _be_, _are_.\n\n Ber, ii. 13, _bare_.\n\n Ber the prys, ii. 11, _bare the prize_.\n\n Berne, i. 41, _man_.\n\n Bernes, iii. 208, _barns_.\n\n Berys, ii. 21, _beareth_.\n\n Beseeme, _become_.\n\n Besene, ii. 25, _dressed_.\n\n Beshradde, iii. 317, _cut into shreds_.\n\n Besmirche, _to soil_, _discolour_.\n\n Bespake, iii. 158, _spoke_.\n\n Besprent, ii. 52, _besprinkled_.\n\n Beste, _beest_, _art_.\n\n Beste, i. 189, _beast_.\n\n Bested, _abode_.\n\n Bestis, i. 122, _beasts_.\n\n Bestrawghted, i. 189, _distracted_.\n\n Besy, i. 129, _busy_.\n\n Bet, _better_.\n\n Beth, i. 284, _be_, _is_, _are_.\n\n Bett, ii. 63, _lighted_. A.S. b\u00e9tan fyr, _to make or light a fire_.\n\n Bette, iii. 356, _did beat_.\n\n Beuche, ii. 391, _bough_.\n\n Bewray, ii. 179, _discover_.\n\n Bi mi leaut\u00e8, ii. 7, _by my loyalty_, _honesty_.\n\n Bickarte, i. 24, _skirmished_;\n also _swiftly_ coursed.\n\n Mr. Lambe also interprets \"Bickering,\" by rattling, _e.g._,\n\n And on that slee Ulysses head\n Sad curses down does BICKER.\n\n Translat. of Ovid. P.\n\n Bide at hame, iii. 97, _remain at home_.\n\n Biilt, ii. 63, _built_.\n\n Bil, i. 168, _pike or halbert_.\n\n Bille, i. 282, 289, ii. 143, _writing_.\n\n Biqueth, ii. 12, _bequeath_.\n\n Bird, iii. 94, _child_, _term of affection usually applied to a woman_.\n\n Birk, ii. 363, iii. 238, _birch-tree_.\n\n Blak, ii. 21;\n blake, ii. 21, _black_.\n\n Blan, i. 269;\n blane, i. 30;\n blanne, i. 68, 91, 275, ii. 144, _lingered_, _stopped_.\n\n Blaw, i. 145, iii. 147, _blow_;\n blawing, iii. 147, _blowing_.\n\n Blaze, ii. 260, _emblazon_, _display_.\n\n Blee, i. 72, ii. 56, _colour_, _complexion_.\n\n Bleid, iii. 94, _bleed_;\n bleids, ii. 116, _bleeds_.\n\n Blend, iii. 55;\n blent, iii. 51, _blended_.\n\n Blent, _ceased_.\n\n Blink, ii. 120, _a glimpse of light_.\n\n Blinkan, iii. 123, _twinkling_.\n\n Blinks, iii. 74, _twinkles_, _sparkles_.\n\n Blinne, iii. 46, _cease_, _give over_.\n\n Blissing, iii. 208, _blessing_.\n\n Blist, i. 310, _blessed_.\n\n Blude, i. 34, _blood_;\n blude reid, i. 100, _blood red_.\n\n Bluid, i. 59, 83 _blood_;\n bluidy, i. 144, _bloody_;\n reid bluid, _red blood_, i. 146.\n\n Blyth, ii. 68, _joyous_, _sprightly_.\n\n Blyth, iii. 74, _joy_, _sprightliness_.\n\n Blyve, i. 175, _instantly_.\n\n Bode, i. 120, _abode_, _stayed_.\n\n Boist, boisteris, _boast_, _boasters_.\n\n Boke, ii. 16, _book_.\n\n Bollys, ii. 21, _bowls_.\n\n Boltes, _shafts_, _arrows_.\n\n Bomen, i. 24, _bowmen_.\n\n Bonny, iii. 147, _handsome_, _comely_.\n\n Bonys, ii. 22, _bones_.\n Roundebonys, ii. 22.\n\n Bookes-man, iii. 52, _clerk_, _secretary_.\n\n Boot, ii. 97;\n boote, i. 109, 115, 136, ii. 59;\n boots, iii. 154, _gain_, _advantage_, _help_, _assistance_.\n\n Bore, iii. 112, _boar_.\n\n Bore, iii. 40, _born_.\n\n Borowe, i. 162, _to redeem_.\n\n Borrow, i. 275, borrowe, i. 269, _pledge_, _surety_.\n\n Bost, ii. 24, boste, i. 122, _pride_;\n _boast_, ii. 8.\n\n Bot, ii. 60, _but_.\n\n Bot, ii. 109, _without_;\n bot and, i. 144, _and also_;\n bot dreid, _without dread, or certainly_;\n bot gif, ii. 83, _unless_.\n\n Bots, iii. 186, _a worm troublesome to horses_.\n\n Bougill, i. 147, _bugle-horn_, _hunting-horn_.\n\n Boun, i. 146, _ready_.\n\n Bowen, ii. 44, _ready_.\n\n Bower, iii. 125, 126, 131, _parlour_, _chamber_.\n\n Bower-window, iii. 125, _chamber window_.\n\n Bowne, i. 63, 77, ii. 94, _ready_;\n bowned, _prepared_;\n bowne ye, i. 107, _prepare ye_, _get ready_;\n bowne to dine, _going to dine_.\n Bowne _is a common word in the North for \"going,\"_ e.g. Where are\n you bowne to? _Where are you going to?_ P.\n\n Bow're-woman, iii. 96, _chambermaid_.\n\n Bowyn, i. 41, _ready_.\n\n Bowynd, i. 40, _prepared_.\n\n Bowys, i. 28, _bows_.\n\n Brade, ii. 107, 112, _broad_.\n\n Brae, iii. 147, _the brow or side of a hill_, _a declivity_.\n Braes of Yarrow, ii. 363, _hilly banks of the river Yarrow_.\n\n Braid, _broad_.\n\n Braid, i. 100, _open_.\n\n Brand, i. 83, 96;\n brande, i. 25, 30, 40, 48, 67, _sword_.\n\n Brast, i. 66, 168, ii. 56, 98, iii. 61, _burst_.\n\n Braw, ii. 227, _brave_.\n\n Braw, ii. 69, _bravely_, _handsomely_.\n\n Brayd attowre the bent, ii. 84, _hastened over the field_.\n\n Brayn-pannes, ii. 25, _skulls_.\n\n Bread, ii. 192, _breadth_.\n\n Bred, i. 43, _broad_.\n\n Breeden, i. 108, _breed_.\n\n Breere, i. 111, _briar_.\n\n Bren, i. 80, 145;\n brenn, ii. 57, _burn_.\n\n Brenand drake, ii. 23, _fiery dragon_.\n\n Brenn, i. 144;\n brenne, i. 73, 159, _burn_;\n brent, i. 160, ii. 55, iii. 87, _burnt_;\n brenning, ii. 142, _burning_.\n\n Brest, i. 29, _breast_.\n\n Brest, ii. 21, _burst_.\n\n Brether, i. 87, _brethren_.\n\n Bridal (bride-ale), _nuptial feast_.\n\n Brigue, iii. 95;\n briggs, iii. 92, _bridge_.\n\n Brimme, ii. 257, _public_, _universally known_;\n A.-S. bryme.\n\n Britled, iii. 12, _carved_.\n\n Broche, ii. 22, _any ornamental trinket_. _Stone buckles of silver\n or gold with which gentlemen and ladies clasp their shirt-bosoms,\n and handkerchiefs, are called in the North_ broches, _from the_ Fr.\n broche, _a spit_. P.\n\n Brocht, ii. 85, _brought_.\n\n Broder, ii. 360, _brother_.\n\n Broding, i. 64, 78, _pricking_.\n\n Broht, ii. 13;\n brohte, ii. 8, _brought_.\n\n Bronde, i. 49, _sword_.\n\n Brooche, brouche, _a spit_, _a bodkin_.\n\n Brooke, _enjoy_;\n and I brook, i. 34, _if I enjoy_.\n\n Brouke hur wyth wynne, ii. 20, _enjoy her with pleasure_.\n\n Browd, i. 24, _broad_.\n\n Broyt, ii. 21, _brought_.\n\n Bryttlynge, i. 25, _cutting up_, _quartering_, _carving_.\n\n Buen, ii. 12;\n bueth, ii. 13, _been_, _be_, _are_.\n\n Buff, i. 150, _arm_, _dress_.\n\n Bugle, i. 65, 78, _bugle horn_, _hunting horn_ (_being the horn of\n a bugle or wild bull_).\n\n Buik, _book_.\n\n Buit, ii. 81, _help_.\n\n Burgens, ii. 383, _buds_, _young shoots_.\n\n Burn, iii. 147, bourne, _brook_.\n\n Bushment, i. 122, _ambush_, _snare_.\n\n Busk, i. 146, _dress_, _deck_;\n busk ye, i. 107, ii. 363, _dress ye_;\n busk and boun, i. 146, _make yourselves ready to go_;\n buske them blyve, i. 175, _get them ready instantly_;\n buskit, i. 143, _dressed_;\n buskt them, i. 122, _prepared themselves_, _made themselves ready_.\n\n But, _without_;\n but let, _without hindrance_.\n\n But, i. 75, ii. 144, _unless_;\n but an, i. 144, _unless_;\n but yf, ii. 23, _unless_.\n\n Bute, ii. 83, _boot_, _good_, _advantage_.\n\n Butt, ii. 70, _the outer room_.\n See Ben.\n\n By three, _of three_.\n\n Byde, ii. 83, _stay_.\n\n Bydys, i. 28, _bides_, _abides_.\n\n Bye, _buy_, _pay for_.\n\n Byears, i. 33, beeres, _biers_.\n\n Byhynde, ii. 19, _behind_.\n\n Byre, iii. 236, _cow-house_.\n\n Byste, i. 41, _beest_, _art_.\n\n\n Ca', iii. 93, _call_.\n\n Caddis, i. 376, _worsted ribbon_.\n\n Cadgily, ii. 68, _merrily_, _cheerfully_.\n\n Caitif, iii. 228;\n caitive, ii. 135, _wretch_.\n\n Cales, ii. 243, _Cadiz_.\n\n Calliver, _a large pistol or blunderbuss_.\n\n Camscho, iii. 385. (Glossary--_Eldridge_) _grim_.\n\n Can, i. 44, 77, ii. 24, 70;\n cane, i. 47, _gan_, _began_.\n\n Can, ii. 37, _know_.\n\n Canna, iii. 123;\n cann\u00e6, i. 59, 146, _cannot_.\n\n Cannes, _wooden cups_, _bowls_.\n\n Cantabanqui, i. 374, _ballad-singers_, _singers on benches_.\n\n Cantells, ii. 23, _pieces_, _corners_.\n\n Canty, ii. 69, _cheerful_, _chatty_.\n\n Capul, ii. 24, _a poor horse_;\n capulys, ii. 24, _horses_.\n\n Capull hyde, i. 107, 114, _horse hide_.\n\n Carle, ii. 68, iii. 123, _clown_, _a strong, hale old man_.\n\n Carlish, i. 133, iii. 14, _churlish_, _discourteous_.\n\n Carlist, iii. 329, _churlish_?\n\n Carp, ii. 136;\n carpe, ii. 19, _to speak_, _recite_, also _to censure_, i. 33,\n _complain_.\n\n Carpyng, ii. 20, _tumult_.\n\n Cast, i. 26, _mean_, _intend_.\n\n Caste, ii. 128, _stratagem_.\n\n Catives, ii. 302, _wretches_.\n\n Cau, ii. 71, _call_.\n\n Cauld, i. 143, ii. 68, _cold_.\n\n Causey, ii. 139, _causeway_.\n\n Cawte and kene, i. 44, _cautious and active_.\n\n Cent, i. 130, _scent_.\n\n Cetywall, i. 307, _setiwall_, _the herb valerian_, _or mountain\n spikenard_.\n\n Cham, ii. 288, _I am, in Somersetshire dialect_.\n\n Chanteclere, i. 307, _the cock_.\n\n Chap, iii. 93, 95, _knock_.\n\n Charke-bord, ii. 203? same as archeborde, _side of the ship_.\n See Hach-borde.\n\n Chayme, ii. 74, _Cain_, or _Ham_.\n\n Chays, i. 26, _chase_.\n\n Che, ii. 286, _I. in Somersetshire dialect_.\n\n Cheare, ii. 216, _chair_.\n\n Checke, i. 301, _to stop_, _to chide_.\n\n Cheefe, _the upper part of the scutcheon in heraldry_.\n\n Cheffe, i. 28, _chief_;\n cheffest, iii. 44, _chiefest_.\n\n Cheften, i. 28, _chieftain_.\n\n Cheis, _choose_.\n\n Chevaliers, _knights_.\n\n Cheveron, ii. 25, _upper part of the scutcheon in heraldry_.\n\n Chevy Chase, i. 19, _Cheviot chase or hunt_.\n See same contraction in Tividale.\n\n Chield, _fellow_.\n\n Child, iii. 58, _knight_.\n\n Children, i. 66, 77, _knights_.\n\n Chill, ii. 286, _I will, in Somersetshire dialect_.\n\n Cholde, y-cholde, ii. 12, _I would_.\n\n Choul'd, ii. 287, _I would, in Som. dialect_.\n\n Christentie, christentye, i. 92, ii. 61;\n christiant\u00e9, i. 31,\n _Christendom_.\n\n Church-ale, iii. 198, _a wake or feast in commemoration of the\n dedication of a church_.\n\n Chyf, chyfe, _chief_.\n\n Chylded, ii. 382, _brought forth_, _was delivered_.\n\n Chylder, ii. 25, _children's_.\n\n Chyviat chays, i. 26. (See Chevy Chase.)\n\n Claiths, ii. 69, _clothes_.\n\n Clattered, _beat so as to rattle_.\n\n Clawde, _clawed_, _tore_, _scratched_;\n figuratively, _beat_.\n\n Clead, ii. 69, _clad_, _clothe_;\n cleading, iii. 237, _clothing_.\n\n Cleaped, i. 306, _called_, _named_.\n\n Cled, iii. 147, _clad_, _clothed_.\n\n Clepe, ii. 13, _call_;\n cleped, ii. 14, _called_.\n\n Cliding, iii. 97, _clothing_.\n\n Clim, i. 155, _contraction of Clement_.\n\n Clough, i. 155, _a broken cliff_.\n\n Clout, i. 197, _a cloth to strain milk through_;\n _rag_, ii. 71.\n\n Clout, ii. 100, _mend_.\n\n Clowch, _clutch_, _grasp_.\n\n Clymme, ii. 74, _climb_.\n\n Coate, i. 309, _cot_, _cottage_.\n\n Cockers, i. 308, _a sort of buskins or short boots fastened with\n laces or buttons, worn by farmers or shepherds_.\n Cokers, _fishermen's boots_ (Littleton's Dict.)\n\n Cog, iii. 203, _to lie_, _cheat_.\n\n Cohorted, ii. 382, _incited_, _exhorted_.\n\n Cokenay, ii. 28, explained by Percy to be a diminutive of cook,\n from the Latin coquinator, or coquinarius;\n it really means _a lean chicken_.\n\n Cold, ii. 232;\n colde, ii. 55, _could_.\n\n Cold, iii. 6, _knew_,\n where I cold be;\n i. 286, _where I was_.\n\n Cold rost, _nothing to the purpose_.\n\n Cole, iii. 108, _coal_.\n\n Coleyne, iii. 33, _Cologne steel_.\n\n Collayne, i. 48, _Cologne steel_.\n\n Com, ii. 12;\n come, ii. 21, _came_;\n comen, i. 89;\n commen, i. 33, _come_.\n\n Con, ii. 27, _can_.\n\n Con fare, _went_, _passed_.\n\n Con springe, ii. 11, _spread abroad_.\n\n Con twenty thanks, iii. 210, _give twenty thanks_.\n\n Confeterd, i. 120, _confederated_.\n\n Confound, i. 218, _destroy_.\n\n Contray, ii. 19, _country_.\n\n Cop, ii. 9, _head_, _the top of anything_.\n\n Coppell, ii. 21, _name of a hen_.\n\n Cordiwin, i. 318, _originally Spanish or Cordovan leather,\n afterwards commoner leather_.\n\n Cors, ii. 21, _body_.\n\n Cors, i. 26, _curse_.\n\n Corsiare, i. 30, _courser_, _steed_.\n\n Coste, ii. 30, _coast_, _side_, _region_.\n\n Cote, i. 303;\n cott, iii. 183, _cottage_.\n\n Cote, iii. 53, _coat_.\n\n Cotydyallye, ii. 381, _daily_, _every day_.\n\n Could bear, ii. 137, did _bare_.\n\n Could be, _was_.\n\n Could dye, _died_.\n\n Could his good, _knew what was good for him_.\n\n Could weip, _wept_.\n\n Coulde, _cold_.\n\n Counsayl, _secret_.\n\n Countie, i. 303, _count_, _earl_.\n\n Coupe, i. 300, _coop, or a pen for poultry_.\n\n Courtas, ii. 82, _courteous_.\n\n Courteys, ii. 46, _courteous_.\n\n Courtnalls, iii. 182, _courtiers_.\n\n Couth, i. 306, _could_.\n\n Couthen, ii. 13, _knew_.\n\n Cowde, i. 44, _could_.\n\n Coyntrie, i. 308, _Coventry_.\n\n Cramasie, iii. 75, 147, _crimson_.\n\n Crancke, i. 307, _exultingly_.\n\n Cranion, iii. 198, _skull_.\n\n Crech, ii. 27. This word is incorrectly explained in the text as\n _crutch_. It is really a form of the French _cr\u00e8che_, a crib or\n manger. It occurs as _cracche_ in the \"Promptorium Parv.\" (1440).\n\n Crepyls, ii. 24, _cripples_.\n\n Cricke, i. 196, _properly an ant, but used for any small insect_.\n\n Crinkle, iii. 10, _run in and out_, _run into flexures_, _wrinkle_.\n\n Cristes cors, _Christ's corse_.\n\n Croche, ii. 312, _crouch_.\n\n Croft, ii. 22, _inclosure near a house_.\n\n Crois, ii. 13;\n croiz, ii. 12, _cross_.\n\n Crook, ii. 70, _twist_, _wrinkle_, _distort_;\n crook my knee, ii. 71, _make lame my knee_.\n They say in the North \"the horse is crookit,\" _i.e._ lame;\n the \"horse crooks,\" _i.e._ goes lame. P.\n\n Crouneth, ii. 12, _crown ye_.\n\n Crowch, i. 180, _crutch_.\n\n Crown, i. 26, _head_.\n\n Crowt, iii. 10, _to pucker up_, _draw close together_. (Another\n form of crowd.)\n\n Crumpling, ii. 257, _crooked_, _horned_.\n\n Cryance, i. 65, 66, 78, _fear_.\n\n Cule, ii. 229, _cool_.\n\n Cum, i. 28, 59, 101, 143;\n ii. 132, _come_, _came_.\n\n Cummer, ii. 133, _gossip_, _friend_;\n Fr. comm\u00e8re, comp\u00e8re.\n\n Cure, ii. 76, _care_, _heed_, _regard_.\n\n\n Dale, _deal_;\n bot gif I dale, ii. 83, _unless I share_.\n\n Dampned, i. 161, _damned_, _condemned_.\n\n Dan, _an ancient title of respect_, from Lat. Dominus.\n\n Danske, ii. 254, _Denmark_.\n\n Dare, ii. 360, _their_;\n ii. 361, _there_.\n\n Darh, ii. 14, _need_.\n\n Darr'd, ii. 118, _hit_.\n\n Dart the tree, ii. 115, _hit the tree_.\n\n Dat, ii. 360, _that_.\n\n Daunger halt, ii. 16, _fear holdeth_.\n\n Dawes, iii. 368, _days_.\n\n Dawkin, ii. 19, diminutive of David.\n\n De, ii. 360, _the_.\n\n De, i. 26, 30, _die_.\n\n Dealan, iii. 134, _dealing_.\n\n Deare, ii. 308, _hurt_.\n\n Deare, iii. 82, _dearly_.\n\n Deas, iii. _the high table in a hall_. F. dais, a canopy.\n\n Ded, ii. 26;\n dede, i. 30, _dead_.\n\n Dede is do, ii. 36, _deed is done_.\n\n Dee, iii. 99, _die_.\n\n Deemed, iii. 52;\n deemedst, ii. 217, _doomed_, _judged_;\n _thus in the Isle of Man judges are called Deemsters_. P.\n\n Deere, ii. 304, _hurt_, _mischief_.\n\n Deerely, ii. 194, iii. 27;\n _preciously_, _richly_.\n\n Default, i. 303, _neglect_.\n\n Deid, ii. 83, _dead_;\n deid bell, iii. 134, _passing bell_.\n\n Deid, i. 101, 147, _deed_.\n\n Deip, i. 60;\n _deep_.\n\n Deir, i. 83, 101;\n _dear_.\n\n Deir, iii. 96, _dearly_.\n\n Deir, ii. 82, _hurt_, _trouble_.\n\n Deie, ii. 35, _deal_, _bit_.\n\n Dele, ii. 45, _to deal_.\n\n Dell, _deal, part_;\n every dell, _every part_.\n\n Delt, iii. 119, _dealt_.\n\n Dem, ii. 361, _them_.\n\n Demaines, iii. 209, _demesnes_, _estates_.\n\n Deme, ii. 265, _judged_, _doomed_.\n\n Denay, i. 217, _deny_, _refuse_.\n\n Dent, ii. 21, _a dint_, _blow_.\n\n Deol, ii. 13, _dole_, _grief_.\n\n Depart, ii. 37, _separate_;\n departing, ii. 84, _dividing_.\n\n Depured, i. 129, _purified_, _run clear_.\n\n Deray, ii. 28, _confusion_.\n\n Dere, ii. 20, _dear_, also _hurt_.\n\n Dere, ii. 19, _dire or sad_.\n A.-S. derian, to hurt. \"My dearest foe\"--_Hamlet_.\n\n Dere, iii. 357, _wild animals_.\n\n Derked, ii. 37, _darkened_.\n\n Dern, ii. 82, _secret_;\n I'dern, ii. 83, _in secret_.\n\n Descreeve, i. 63, _describe_;\n descrying, iii. 168, _describing_.\n\n Devys, ii. 12, _devise_, _the act of bequeathal by will_.\n\n Dey, ii. 361, _they_.\n\n Dey, i. 33;\n deye, ii. 12, _die_.\n\n Did off, i. 114, _took off_;\n did on, iii. 65, _put on_.\n\n Dight, i. 63, 74;\n dighte, ii. 162, _decked_, _dressed_, _prepared_, _wrought_,\n _fitted out_, _done_.\n\n Diht, ii. 11, _wrought_;\n ii. 12, _sent_.\n\n Dill, ii. 82, _share_.\n\n Dill, _still_, _calm_, _mitigate_.\n\n Dill, i. 63, 77, 78, _dole_, _grief_, _pain_, _sorrow_;\n dill I drye, i. 64, _pain I suffer_;\n dill was dight, _grief was upon him_.\n\n Dinge, iii. 51, _knock_, _beat_.\n\n Dis, _this_.\n\n Discreeve, i. 77, _describe_, or _discover_.\n\n Disna, iii. 123, _does not_.\n\n Disteynyd, i. 124, _stained_.\n\n Distrere, iii. 108, _the horse ridden by a knight in the tournament_.\n\n Do, ii. 36, _done_.\n\n Dochter, i. 59, 145, ii. 68, _daughter_.\n\n Dois, i. 59, 83, _does_.\n\n Dois, _days_.\n\n Dol, ii. 13;\n dole, i. 63, 137, 292, _dole_, _grief_, _sorrow_.\n\n Doleful dumps, i. 188, 261, _sorrowful gloom or heaviness of heart_.\n\n Dolours, _dolorous_, _mournful_.\n\n Don, iii. 208, _do_.\n\n Don, ii. 23, _be made_.\n\n Done roun, ii. 80, _run down_.\n\n Dosend, iii. 123, _dosing_, _drowsy_, _torpid_, _benumbed_.\n\n Doth, dothe, doeth, _do_.\n\n Doubt, iii. 327, _fear_.\n\n Doubteous, _doubtful_.\n\n Dough, ii. 360, _though_.\n\n Doughty, iii. 26;\n doughtye, i. 305;\n dowghtye, i. 40;\n _formidable_.\n\n Doughete, i. 28,_ a doughty man_.\n\n Dounae, i. 60, _cannot_.\n\n Dout, ii. 23, _fear_.\n\n Doute, i. 167, _doubt_.\n\n Doutted, i. 123, _redoubted_, _feared_.\n\n Douyty, _doughty_.\n\n Doy-trogh, ii. 24, _dough trough_, _a kneading trough_.\n\n Doys, i. 34, _does_.\n\n Doyter, ii. 20, _daughter_.\n\n Drake;\n brenand drake, ii. 23, _burning, fire-breathing dragon_.\n\n Drap, _drop_;\n draping, ii. 114, drapping, iii. 97, _dropping_.\n\n Dre, i. 31, 83, _suffer_.\n\n Dreid, ii. 82, _dread_.\n\n Dreips, i. 146, _drips_, _drops_.\n\n Dreiry, iii. 100, _dreary_.\n\n Drieps, iii. 146, _drips_, _drops_.\n\n Drie, i. 144, _suffer_;\n _ill_, i. 284;\n _undergo_, i. 83.\n\n Drighnes, i. 119, _dryness_.\n\n Drogh, ii. 26, _drew_.\n\n Drovyers, i. 254, _drovers_, _cattle-drivers_.\n\n Drye, i. 49, 64, 78, _suffer_, _endure_.\n\n Dryng, ii. 8, _drink_.\n\n Duble dyse, _double or false dice_.\n\n Dude, ii. 7, _did_;\n dudest, ii. 9, _didst_.\n\n Duel, ii. 11, _grief_.\n\n Dughty, ii. 19, 26, _doughty_;\n dughtynesse of dent, ii. 21, _sturdiness of blows_.\n\n Dule, i. 83, 145, _dole_, _grief_, _sorrow_;\n dulefu', ii. 69, _doleful_.\n\n Dumps, i. 188, 261, ii. 69, _heaviness of heart_.\n\n Dwellan, iii. 134, _dwelling_.\n\n Dy, _die_;\n dyan, iii. 134, _dying_.\n\n Dyd on, i. 159, _put on_;\n dyd off, i. 164, _doffed_, _put off_.\n\n Dyght, i. 30, _dressed_, _put on_.\n\n Dyht, ii. 14, _to dispose_, _order_.\n\n Dynt, i. 30, dynte, i. 31, dyntes, i. 32, _dint_, _blow_, _stroke_.\n\n Dystrayne, ii. 37, _afflict_.\n\n Dyyt, ii. 24, _dight_, _dressed_.\n\n Eame, _uncle_.\n\n Eard, _earth_.\n\n Earn, ii. 70, _to curdle_, _make cheese_.\n\n Eathe, i. 273, _easy_.\n\n Eather, iii. 100, _either_.\n\n Eche, ii. 246, _each_.\n\n Ee, i. 101, 178, ii. 60;\n een, i. 320, _eye_, _eyes_.\n\n Eene, iii. 75, _even_.\n\n Effund, iii. 301, _pour forth_.\n\n Eftsoon, iii. 304, _in a short time_.\n\n Egge, ii. 259, _to urge on_.\n\n Eik, ii. 83, _also_.\n\n Eiked, ii. 85, _added_, _enlarged_.\n\n Ein, i. 145, _even_.\n\n Eir, i. 101, 146, 320, _ever_.\n\n Eise, ii. 212, _ease_.\n\n Eke, ii. 13, _also_.\n\n Eldridge, i. 64, 78, _wild_, _hideous_, _ghostly_, _lonesome_,\n _uninhabited_.\n\n \"In the ballad of _Sir Cauline_ we have 'Eldridge Hills,' p. 65,\n 'Eldridge Knight,' p. 65, 'Eldridge Sword,' p. 67. So Gawin Douglas\n calls the Cyclops the 'Elriche Brethir,' _i.e._ brethren (b. ii. p.\n 91, l. 16), and in his Prologue to b. vii. (p. 202, l. 3) he thus\n describes the Night-Owl:--\n\n \"'Laithely of forme, with crukit camscho beik,\n 'Ugsome to here was his wyld _elrische_ skreik.'\n\n \"In Bannatyne's MS. Poems (fol. 135, in the Advocate's Library\n at Edinburgh) is a whimsical rhapsody of a deceased old woman\n travelling in the other world; in which\n\n \"'Scho wanderit, and yeid by, to an _Elrich_ well.'\n\n \"In the Glossary to G. Douglas, Elriche, &c. is explained by 'Wild,\n hideous: Lat. _Trux_, _immanis_;' but it seems to imply somewhat\n more, as in Allan Ramsay's Glossaries.\" P.\n\n Elke, _each_.\n\n Elles, ii. 20, _else_.\n\n Ellumynynge, i. 123, _embellishing_.\n\n Elyconys, i. 119, _Helicon's_.\n\n Elvish, _peevish_, _fantastical_.\n\n Eme, i. 44, ii. 9, _uncle_, _kinsman_.\n\n Endyed, i. 123, _dyed_.\n\n Ene, eyn, _eyes_.\n\n Ene, _even_.\n\n Enharpid, i. 123, _hooked or edged_.\n\n Enkankered, _cankered_.\n\n Enouch, iii. 100, _enough_.\n\n Enowe, i. 275, _enough_.\n\n Ensue, ii. 43, _follow_.\n\n Entendement, ii. 382, _understanding_.\n\n Entent, ii. 49, _intent_.\n\n Ententifly, ii, 382, _to the intent_, _purposely_.\n\n Envie;\n envye, i. 42, _malice_, _ill-will_, _injury_.\n\n Er, ii. 20, 26, _are_.\n\n Ere, ii. 36, 42, _ear_.\n\n Erlys, ii. 47;\n erl\u00e9s, iii. 94, _earls_.\n\n Erst, i. 83, _heretofore_.\n\n Etermynable, i. 126, _interminable_, _unlimited_.\n\n Ettled, ii. 116, _aimed_.\n\n Evanished, iii. 133, _vanished_.\n Everych, ii. 27, _every_;\n everychone, i. 156;\n iii. 108, _every one_.\n\n Ew-bughts, iii. 74, _pens for milch-ewes_.\n\n Eyen, i. 72;\n eyn, ii. 15;\n eyne, i. 132, _eyes_.\n\n Ezar, iii. 97, _maple_.\n\n\n Fa', i. 84, 146, _fall_;\n fa's, iii. 123, _falls_.\n\n Fach, i. 33, feche, _fetch_.\n\n Fader, iii. 365;\n fadir, i. 83;\n fatheris, _father_, _father's_.\n\n Fadge, iii. 236, _a bundle of sticks_, _a thick loaf of bread_,\n _coarse heap of stuff_.\n\n Fadom, i. 102, _fathom_.\n\n Fae, ii. 109, _foe_.\n\n Fain, ii. 69;\n faine, i. 164, 287;\n fayne, i. 157, _glad_, _fond_, _well pleased_;\n faine of fighte, i. 92, _fond of fighting_.\n\n Fair of feir, _of a fair and healthful look_;\n perhaps, far off (free from) fear. P.\n\n Falds, iii. 123, _thou foldest_.\n\n Fallan, iii. 133, _falling_.\n\n Fals, ii. 212, _false_.\n\n Falser, iii. 161, _a deceiver_, _hypocrite_.\n\n Falsing, ii. 61, _dealing in falsehood_.\n\n Fand, iii. 324, _found_.\n\n Fang, ii. 26, _make off_.\n\n Fann'd, ii. 246, _found_.\n\n Fannes, _instruments for winnowing corn_.\n\n Fantacy, ii. 136;\n fantasye, ii. 160, _fancy_.\n\n Farden, i. 72, _flashed_.\n\n Fare, i. 84, ii. 21, _go forth_, _pass_, _travel_.\n\n Fare, _the price of a passage_, _shot_, _reckoning_.\n\n Farley, i. 107, _strange_.\n\n Fauht, i. 122, _fought_.\n\n Fauld, ii. 85, _field_.\n\n Fauyt, ii. 30, _fought_.\n\n Fawkon, i. 42, _falcon_.\n\n Fawn, iii. 122, _fallen_.\n\n Fawte, i. 122, _fought_.\n\n Fay, i. 178;\n faye, i. 106, _faith_.\n\n Fayrere, ii. 45, _fairer_.\n\n Faytors, i. 215, _deceivers_, _dissemblers_, _cheats_.\n\n Fe, i. 178, _fee_, _reward_, also _bribe_.\n Applied to lands and tenements which are held by perpetual right,\n and by acknowledgment of superiority to a higher lord.\n\n Feare. In feare, ii. 149, _company_.\n\n Feat, i. 300, _nice_, _neat_.\n\n Featously, i. 306, _neatly_, _dexterously_.\n\n Fedyrs, ii. 22, _feathers_.\n\n Fee, ii. 140, _property_.\n\n Feere, i. 63, 76, _mate_, _companion_.\n\n Feill, ii. 86, _fail_(?).\n\n Feil, fele, _many_.\n\n Feirs, ii. 114, _companions_.\n\n Feir, i. 101, ii. 82;\n feire, ii. 212, _fear_.\n\n Feit, i. 84, 102, _feet_.\n\n Felawe, ii. 44, _fellow_.\n\n Feld, ii. 25, _field_.\n\n Fell, i. 65, 78;\n ii. 19, _furious_, _fierce_, _keen_, i. 306.\n\n Fell, ii. 25, _hide_.\n\n Feloy, ii. 25, _fellow_.\n\n Fend, ii. 21;\n fende, ii. 59, _defend_.\n\n Fendys pray, i. 125, _the prey of the fiends_.\n\n Fere, ii. 36, _fear_.\n\n Fere, i. 64, 68, 73, 156, ii. 20, _mate_, play-feres, i. 59,\n _play-fellows_.\n\n Ferly, ii. 19, _wonder_;\n also _wonderfully_, ii, 25.\n\n Ferlyng, ii. 8, _furlong_.\n\n Ferr, i. 62, _far_.\n\n Fersly, i. 160, _fiercely_.\n\n Fesaunt, i. 42, _pheasant_.\n\n Fest, ii. 27, _feast_.\n\n Fet, ii. 128, iii. 193;\n fett, i. 286;\n fette, i. 50, 68, _fetched_;\n deepe-fette, i. 76, _deep-drawn_.\n\n Fethe, i. 29, _faith_.\n\n Fettle, i. 116;\n fetteled, i. 108;\n fettled, i. 113, 116, _prepared_, _addressed_, _made ready_.\n\n Fey, ii. 118, _predestinated to some misfortune_.\n\n Feyytyng, ii. 19, _fighting_.\n\n Fie, ii. 82, _sheep or cattle_.\n\n Fier, i. 149, _fire_.\n\n Filde, _field_.\n\n Filinge, iii. 63, _defiling_.\n\n Fillan, iii. 134, _filling_.\n\n Finaunce, i. 125, _fine_, _forfeiture_.\n\n Find frost, _find mischance or disaster_.\n\n Firth, ii. 85, _copse_, _wood_.\n\n Fit, i. 27;\n fitt, ii. 177;\n fytte, i. 44, _part or division of a song_.\n\n Fitts, _i.e._ divisions or parts in music, are alluded to in\n \"Troilus and Cressida,\" act. iii. sc. 1.\n (See Steevens's note.) P.\n\n Fit, _foot, feet_;\n a fit, ii. 70, _on foot_.\n\n Flatred, ii. 25, _slit_.\n\n Flayne, iii. 25, _flayed_.\n\n Flearing, i. 215, _sneering_.\n\n Flee, iii. 97, _fly_.\n\n Fles, ii. 24, _fleece_.\n\n Fleyke, ii. 134, _a large kind of hurdle_;\n cows are frequently milked in hovels made of fleyks.\n\n Flindars, iii. 97, _pieces_, _splinters_.\n\n Flix, iii. _flux_.\n\n Flote, i. 201.\n To flote is to flete or fleet, to flit, to change position easily,\n to move away quickly; as fleeting moments, flitting birds\n\n Flote and flete are two forms of the same word; and flutter bears\n the same relation to flote that flitter does to flete.\n In the Roxburghe copy of the ballad of _Willow, Willow_ this word\n is printed as \"fleet.\" (Roxb. Ballads, ed. Chappell, part i. p.\n 172.)\n\n Flout, ii. 179;\n floute, i. 197, _to sneer_;\n fflouting, i. 289.\n\n Flowan, ii. 364, _flowing_.\n\n Flude, ii. 364, _flood_.\n\n Flyte, i. 196, 281, 288, _to contend with words_, _scold_.\n\n Fole, iii. 108, _foal_.\n\n Fonde, ii. 12, _contrive_, _endeavour_, _try_.\n\n Foo, i. 50, _foe_.\n\n Fooder, ii. 66, _wine tun_;\n Germ. _fuder_.\n\n For, _on account of_.\n\n For but, ii. 146, _unless_.\n\n Forbode, _commandment_.\n\n Force, no force, _no matter_.\n\n Forced, ii. 76, _regarded_, _heeded_.\n\n Forefend, i. 268;\n forfend, ii. 97, _prevent_, _defend_, _avert_, _hinder_.\n\n Forewearied, _over-wearied_.\n\n Forfeebled, ii. 107, _enfeebled_.\n\n For-fought, ii. 25, _over-fought_.\n\n Fors, ii. 21, _strength_.\n\n Fors. I do no fors, ii. 16, _I don't care_.\n\n Forsede, i. 122, _heeded_, _regarded_.\n\n Forst, ii. 76, _regarded_.\n\n Forthynketh, i. 174, _repenteth_, _vexeth_, _troubleth_.\n\n Forthy, _therefore_.\n\n Forwarde, i. 44, _van_.\n\n Forewatcht, ii. 77, _over-wakeful_, _kept awake_.\n\n Fosters of the fe, i. 175, _foresters of the king's demesnes_.\n\n Fot pot, ii. 9, _with his foot push on_.\n\n Fote, i. 49, _foot_.\n\n Fou, i. 147, iii. 75;\n fow, iii. 99, _full_, also _fuddled_.\n\n Fowkin, ii. 22, _crepitus ventris_.\n\n Fox't, _drunk_.\n\n Frae, i. 144, _from_.\n\n Fraemang, ii. 107, _from among_.\n\n Fraid i. 323, _afraid_.\n\n Freake, i. 31, _man_, _person_, _human creature_.\n\n Freake, _a whim or maggot_.\n\n Freckys, i. 29, _men_.\n\n Freers, ii. 128;\n fryars, _friars_.\n\n Freits, i. 146, _ill omens_, _ill-luck_.\n\n Freke, i. 49, ii. 25, _man_;\n frekys, ii. 25, _men_.\n\n Freyke, ii. 135, _humour_, _freak_.\n\n Freyke, i. 29, _strong man_.\n\n Freyned, ii. 134, _asked_;\n freyned that freake, ii. 134, _asked that man_.\n\n Frie, ii. 82;\n _free_.\n\n Fro, i. 159;\n froe, i. 106, 139, _from_.\n\n Fruward, _forward_.\n\n Furth, ii. 21, _forth_.\n\n Fuyson, i. 123;\n foyson, _plenty_, also _substance_.\n\n Fyer, ii. 55, 105, _fire_;\n fyerye, iii. 118, _fiery_.\n\n Fyers, _fierce_.\n\n Fyhte, ii. 12, _fight_.\n\n Fykkill, i. 123, _fickle_.\n\n Fyl'd, iii. 147, _defiled_.\n\n Fyll, i. 121, _fell_.\n\n\n Ga, ii. 24;\n _go_;\n gais, ii. 83, _goes_.\n\n Ga, ii. 113, _gave_.\n\n Gaberlunyie, ii. 71, _a wallet_;\n gaberlunyie man, ii. 67, _a tinker_, _beggar_, _one who carried a\n wallet_.\n\n Gade, iii. 122, _went_.\n\n Gadelyngys, ii. 20, _gadders_, _idle fellows_.\n\n Gaderyd, ii. 27, _gathered_.\n\n Gadryng, ii. 22, _gathering_.\n\n Gae, ii. 70, _gave_.\n\n Gae, i. 143;\n gaes, ii. 69, _go_, _goes_.\n\n Gaed, ii. 69, _went_.\n\n Gair, ii. 86, _strip of land_.\n\n Gair, i. 59, _geer_, _dress_.\n\n Gait, iii. 95, _gate_.\n\n Galliard, ii. 162, _a sprightly kind of dance_.\n\n Gamon, i. 67, _to make game_, _to sport_.\n A.-S. gamenian _jocari_.\n\n Gan, i. 63, 129, 309, ii. 68, _began_.\n\n Gan, i. 30;\n gane, i. 30, ii. 69, _gone_.\n\n Gang, i. 83, ii. 69, _go_.\n\n Ganyde, i. 28, _gained_.\n\n Gar, ii. 70;\n iii. 94, gare, garre, i. 44, _make_, _cause_, _force_, &c.;\n gars, i. 321, _makes_.\n\n Gard, iii. 97;\n garde, i. 28;\n garred, garr'd, ii. 117;\n gart, iii. 97, _made_.\n\n Gargeyld, i. 128, from _gargouille_, _the spout of a gutter_. The\n tower was adorned with spouts cut in the figures of greyhounds,\n lions, &c.\n\n Garland, i. 111, _the ring within which the prick or mark was set\n to be shot at_.\n\n Garth, ii. 391 _garden_, _yard_.\n\n Gat, i. 146, _got_.\n\n Gate, i. 108, _way_.\n\n Gaup, ii. 139, _gapes_, _waits_.\n\n Gear, i. 322, iii. 122, _goods_, _effects_, _stuff_.\n\n Gederede ys host, ii. 8, _gathered his host_.\n\n Geere, i. 274, 288, _property_.\n\n Gef, ii. 31, _give_.\n\n Geid, _gave_.\n\n Geir, ii. 69, _gear_, _property_.\n\n Gerte, iii. 357, _pierced_.\n\n Gesse, ii. 49, _guess_.\n\n Gest, ii. 85, _act_, _feat_, _story_, _history_.\n\n Gettyng, i. 43, _booty_.\n\n Geud, i. 103, _good_.\n\n Geve, ii. 53, _give_.\n\n Gibed, _jeered_.\n\n Gi', i. 145;\n gie, i. 145, _give_;\n gied, i. 321, _gave_.\n\n Giff, i. 322;\n giffe, ii. 57, _if_.\n\n Gilderoy, i. 320, _red boy_ (or gillie);\n Gaelic, _Gille ruadh_ (pronounced _roy_).\n\n Gillore, ii. 361, _plenty_.\n\n Gimp, ii. 110, _neat_, _slender_.\n\n Gin, i. 60, iii. 74, _if_.\n\n Gin, iii. 203;\n Ginn, iii. 53;\n _engine_, _contrivance_.\n\n Gins, ii. 53, _begins_.\n\n Give, ii. 237;\n _if_.\n\n Glave, ii. 115, _sword_.\n\n Glede, i. 26, _a red-hot coal_.\n\n Glent, i. 24, _glanced_.\n\n Glente, iii. 356, _slipped aside_.\n\n Gleyinge, i. 408, _minstrelsy_.\n\n Glist, ii. 110, _glistered_.\n\n Glose, i. 120, _gloss over_.\n\n Glowr, iii. 75, _stare_ or _frown_.\n\n Gloze, iii. 203, _canting_, _dissimulation_, _fair outside_.\n\n God before, _God be thy guide_, a form of blessing.\n So in Shakespeare's \"King Hen. V.\" (A. iii. sc. 8) the King says:--\n \"My army's but a weak and sickly guard;\n Yet, God before, tell him we will come on.\" P.\n\n Gode, ii. 21, _good_.\n\n Gods-pennie, ii. 140, _earnest money_.\n\n Gon, ii. 21, _began_.\n\n Gone, _go_.\n\n Good, _a good deal_.\n\n Good-e'ens, ii. 68, _good evenings_.\n\n Good-se peny, ii. 147, _earnest money_.\n\n Gorget, ii. 57, _the dress of the neck_.\n\n Gorrel-bellyed, ii. 346, _pot-bellied_.\n\n Gowan, ii. 364, _the common yellow crowfoot or gold cup_, _daisy_.\n\n Gowd, i. 145, iii. 75, _gold_;\n gowden glist, ii. 110, _shone like gold_;\n gowden graith'd, ii. 230, _caparisoned with golden accoutrements_.\n\n Graine, i. 158, i. 197, _scarlet_.\n\n Graith'd, ii. 230, _caparisoned_.\n\n Gramarye, i. 91;\n grammarye, i. 92, _grammar_, _abstruse learning_.\n\n Gramercy, i. 173;\n gramercye, ii. 95, _I thank you_.\n Fr. grand-mercie.\n\n Graunge;\n peakish graunge, i. 299, _a lone country house_.\n\n Graythed, ii. 21, _made ready_.\n\n Gre, ii. 21, _prize_.\n\n Grea-hondes, i. 24, _grey-hounds_.\n\n Grece, i. 129, _step_, _flight of steps_.\n\n Greece, _fat_;\n hart of greece, i. 170, _a fat hart_. Fr. graisse.\n\n Greet, iii. 100, _weep_.\n\n Grein, iii. 75, _green_.\n\n Gresse, i. 43, iii. 62, _grass_.\n\n Gret, ii. 12, _grieved_.\n\n Greves, i. 24, _groves_, _bushes_.\n\n Grippel, ii. 254, _griping_, _tenacious_, _miserly_.\n\n Grone, iii. _groan_.\n\n Ground-wa', i. 145, _groundwall_.\n\n Growynde, i. 48, 49, _ground_.\n\n Grownes, ii. 256, _grounds_.\n\n Growte, ii. 256. In Northamptonshire is a kind of small beer\n extracted from the malt after the strength has been drawn off. In\n Devon it is a kind of sweet ale medicated with eggs, said to be\n a Danish liquor. (Growte is a kind of fare much used by Danish\n sailors, being boiled groats, _i.e._ hulled oats, or else shelled\n barley, served up very thick, and butter added to it.--_Mr.\n Lambe._) P.\n\n Grype, ii. 57, _a griffin_.\n\n Grysely groned, i. 49, _dreadfully groaned_.\n\n Gude, ii. 70, 82, _good_.\n\n Guerdon, iii. 18, _reward_.\n\n Guid, i. 83, _good_.\n\n Gule, iii. 7, _red_.\n\n Gyb, ii. 22, _nickname of Gilbert_.\n\n Gybe, ii. 257, _jibe_, _jest_, _joke_;\n gybing, ii. 260.\n\n Gyle, gyles, _guile_, _guiles_.\n\n Gyn, ii. 9, _engine_, _contrivance_.\n\n Gyrd, ii. 22, _girded_, _lashed_.\n\n Gyrdyl, ii. 22, _girdle_.\n\n Gyse, _guise_, _form_, _fashion_.\n\n\n Ha, i. 196, _has_;\n hae, ii. 71, _have_;\n haes, iii. 235, _has_.\n\n Ha', i. 84, iii. 94, _hall_;\n ha's, ii. 109, _halls_.\n\n Habbe ase he brew, ii. 8, _have as he brews_.\n\n Habergeon, _a lesser coat of mail_.\n\n Hable, i. 121, _able_.\n\n Hach-borde, ii. 193, _probably that part of the bulwark of\n the ship which is removed to form the gangway or entrance on\n board,--in fact, the \"hatch\"--(or half-door) \"board.\"_\n\n Haif, ii. 82, _have_.\n\n Haggis, ii. 132, _a sheep's stomach stuffed with a pudding made\n of mince-meat, &c_.\n\n Hail, ii. 83, _healthful_.\n\n Hair, ii. 81, 86, _hoar or grey_.\n\n Halch, iii. 325, _salute_.\n\n Halched, i. 280, _saluted_, _embraced_, _fell on his neck_.\n\n Halesome, ii. 142, _wholesome healthy_.\n\n Halse, iii. 75, _the neck_, _throat_.\n\n Halt, ii. 16, _holdeth_.\n\n Ham, ii. 21, _them_.\n\n Hame, i. 143, _home_;\n hameward, ii. 84, _homeward_.\n\n Han, ii. 13, _have_.\n\n Handbow, _the long-bow or common bow, as distinguished from the\n cross-bow_.\n\n Hap, i. 255;\n happ, iii. 138;\n happe, i. 283, _fortune_;\n hap, i. 287, _chance_, _happen_, i. 303.\n\n Hard, ii. 312, _heard_.\n\n Hare ... swerdes, ii. 8, _their ... swords_.\n\n Harflue, ii. 30, _Harfleur_.\n\n Harlocke, i. 307, _perhaps charlock, or wild rape, which bears a\n yellow flower, and grows among corn, &c_.\n\n Harneis, i. 273, _armour_.\n\n Harnisine, ii. 112, _harness_, _armour_.\n\n Harrowe, i. 280, _harass_.\n\n Harowed, i. 164, _harassed_, _disturbed_.\n\n Hart, iii. 128, _heart_;\n hartes, i. 50;\n harts, i. 138;\n hartis, i. 147.\n\n Hartely, ii. 38, _earnestly_.\n\n Hartly lust, i. 124, _hearty desire_.\n\n Harwos, ii. 27, _harrows_.\n\n Haryed, i. 41, 22, _pillaged_.\n\n Hastarddis, i. 120, _perhaps hasty, rash fellows, or upstarts_.\n\n Hatcht, ii. 77, _seized_.\n\n Hauld, i. 143, _hold_.\n\n Hauss bone, iii. 75, _the neck bone (halse bone), a phrase for the neck_.\n\n Have owre, i. 102, _half over_.\n\n Haves, ii. 20, _effects_, _substance_, _riches_.\n\n Haveth, ii. 8, _has_.\n\n Haviour, i. 304, _behaviour_.\n\n Hawberke, i. 66, _a coat of mail, consisting of iron rings, &c._\n\n Hawkin, ii. 19, _diminutive of Harry, from Halkin_.\n\n Haylle, i. 43, _hale_, _strong_.\n\n He, i. 171, _hie_, _hasten_.\n\n He, i. 24, _high_.\n\n Heal, i. 29, _hail_.\n\n Hear, i. 103, _here_.\n\n Heare, ii. 77;\n heares, _hair_, _hairs_.\n\n Heathynesse, iii. 40, _heathendom._\n\n Heawying, i. 31, _hewing_, _hacking._\n\n Hech, ii. 27, _hatch_, _half door of a cottage_ (sometimes spelt heck).\n\n \"Dogs leap the hatch,\" _King Lear_, act. iii. sc. 6.\n\n \"'He'll have to ride the _hatch_' is a familiar phrase about\n Looe, and signifies 'He'll be brought to trial.' It is\n generally used jocosely in the case of any loud professor of\n religion who has been 'overtaken in a fault;' and the idea is\n that his trial will be the ordeal of attempting to ride or sit\n on the top or narrow edge of a hatch or half-door, when if he\n maintain his seat he will be pronounced innocent, if he fall\n he is guilty. If he fall inwards (_i.e._ within the room or\n building), he will be pardoned, but if he fall outwards, he\n will be excommunicated.\" W. Pengelly (_Devonshire Association\n Report_, vol. vii. p. 488).\n\n Hecht to lay thee law, _promised (engaged) to lay the law_.\n\n Hed, hede, _head_;\n hedys, ii. 25, _heads_.\n\n Hede, ii. 12, _had_.\n\n Hede, _hied_.\n\n Hee, i. 42, _high_.\n\n Heele, i. 291, _he will_.\n\n Hees, ii. 70, _he is_.\n\n Heght, ii. 117, _promised_.\n\n Heiding hill, ii. 231, the _heading (or beheading) hill_. The\n place of execution was anciently an artificial hillock.\n\n Heigh, iii. 94, _high_.\n\n Heil, ii. 81, _health_.\n\n Heir, ii. 83, _here_;\n also _hear_;\n herid, iii. 96, _heard_.\n\n Hele, ii. 42, _health_.\n\n Helen, ii. 15, _heal_.\n\n Helpeth, ii. 12, _help ye_.\n\n Hem, ii. 13, _them_.\n\n Hend, i. 72, i. 74, 80, _kind_, _gentle_, _courteous_.\n\n Henne, ii. 8, _hence_.\n\n Hent, ii. 26, _laid hold of_.\n\n Hepps and hawes, ii. 284, _hips and haws_.\n\n Herault, ii. 59, _herald_.\n\n Her, ii. 393, _hear_.\n\n Her, ii. 35, _their_.\n\n Here, ii. 42, _hair_.\n\n Herkneth, ii. 7, _hearken ye_.\n\n Herry, ii. 19, _Harry_.\n\n Hert, i. 59, _heart_.\n\n Hes, ii. 80, _has_.\n\n Hest, _hast_.\n\n Hest, i. 67, _command_, _injunction_.\n\n Het, ii. 346, _heated_.\n\n Hete, ii. 41, _heat_.\n\n Hether, _hither_.\n\n Hether, _heather_, _heath_.\n\n Hett, iii. 6, _bid_, _call_, _command_.\n\n Heuch, ii. 86, _rock or steep hill_.\n\n Hevede, ii. 9, _had_, _hadst_;\n hevedest, ii. 12.\n\n Hevenriche, ii. 12, _heavenly_.\n\n Hewberke, i. 72, _coat of mail_.\n\n Hewkes, iii. 26, _party-coloured coats of the heralds_.\n\n Hewyns in to, _hewn in two_.\n\n Hey-day guise, iii. 204, _rustic dances_, _a corruption of \"heydegies.\"_\n\n Heynd, ii. 82, _gentle_, _obliging_.\n\n Heyye, ii. 13, _high_.\n\n Hi, hie, _he_.\n\n Hicht, a-hicht, _on height_.\n\n Hie, i. 32, _high_;\n hier, ii. 169, _higher_;\n _hire_, iii. 324.\n\n Hight, i. 29, 270, 286, _promise_, _promised_, _engaged_, also\n _named_, _called_.\n\n Hilt, ii. 98, _taken off_, _flayed_.\n\n Hinch boys, _pages of honour_.\n\n Hind, ii. 70, _behind_.\n\n Hinde, i. 32, _gentle_.\n\n Hings, iii. 97, _hangs_.\n\n Hinnible, iii. 304, _horse_, or _pony_.\n\n Hinny, ii. 84, _honey_.\n\n Hip, iii. 99, _the berry which contains the stones or seeds of\n the dog-rose_.\n\n Hir, i. 143;\n hire, iii. 207, _her_;\n hir lain, iii. 95, _herself alone_.\n\n Hird, ii. 81, _herd_.\n\n Hirsel, i. 143, _herself_.\n\n Hit, ii. 13, _it_;\n hit be write, ii. 12, _it be written_.\n\n Hode, i. 164, _hood_, _cap_.\n\n Holden, ii. 14, _hold_.\n\n Hole, i. 124, 126, iii. 280, _whole_.\n\n Hollen, iii. 325, _holly_.\n\n Holp, i. 120, _help_;\n holpe, iii. 32, _helped_.\n\n Holt, ii. 140, _wood_.\n\n Holtes, i. 42, _woods_, _groves_.\n In Norfolk a plantation of cherry-trees is called a \"cherry holt.\" P.\n\n Holtis hair, ii. 81, 86, _hoary or grey woods or heaths_.\n \"Holtes seems evidently to signify hills in the following passage\n from Turberville's \"Songs and Sonnets,\" 12mo. 1567, fol. 56:--\n\n \"Yee that frequent the hilles,\n And highest Holtes of all;\n Assist me with your skilfull quilles,\n And listen when I call.\"\n\n \"As also in this other verse of an ancient poet:--\n\n \"Underneath the Holtes so hoar.\" P.\n\n Holy, _wholly_.\n\n Holy-rode, ii. 22, _holy cross_;\n holye rood, ii. 56.\n\n Honde, _hand_;\n honden wrynge, ii. 11, _hands wring_.\n\n Hondert, i. 50, _hundred_.\n\n Hondrith, i. 24, 25, 30, 32, 34, _hundred_.\n\n Hong, ii. 77;\n honge, i. 161, _hang_;\n _hung_, i. 308.\n\n Hooly, iii. 134, _slowly_, _gently_.\n\n Hophalt, _limping, hopping, and halting_.\n\n Hore, iii. 327, _whore_.\n\n Hount, i. 26, _hunt_.\n\n Houzle, ii. 60, _give the sacrament_.\n\n Hoved, i. 129, _heaved_;\n _hovered_, i. 43.\n\n Howers, ii. 234, _hours_.\n\n Huche, ii. 81, _wood, or a shed_.\n\n Hud, ii. 23, _proper name_.\n\n Hue, ii. 12, _she_.\n A.-S. heo; refers to huerte, which is feminine. It is an\n interesting example of the continuance of a grammatical gender\n in English.\n\n Huerte trewe, ii. 11, _true heart_.\n\n Huggle, iii. 72, _hug_, _clasp_.\n\n Hull, i. 307, _hill_.\n\n Hur, ii. 20;\n hurr, ii. 24, _her_.\n\n Hye, i. 136, _high_, _highest_;\n hyest, ii. 59;\n hyer, iii. 63, _hire_.\n\n Hyght, i. 44, _promised or engaged_.\n\n Hyght, _high_;\n on hyght, i. 41, 47, _aloud_.\n\n Hyllys, i. 32, _hills_.\n\n Hynd out o'er, ii. 115, _over the country_.\n\n Hyp-halte, ii. 27, _lame in the hip_.\n\n Hyrdyllys, ii. 27, _hurdles_.\n\n Hys, ii. 20, _his_.\n\n Hyssylton, ii. 19, _Islington_.\n\n Hyt, hytt, ii. 49, _it_.\n\n Hyyt, ii. 20, _promised_.\n\n\n I-clipped, i. 129, _called_.\n\n I-feth, i. 29, _in faith_.\n\n I-lore, ii. 13, _lost_.\n\n I-strike, ii. 16, _stricken_, _struck_.\n\n I-trowe, _verily_.\n\n I-tuned, _tuned_.\n\n I-ween, _verily_.\n\n I-wis, i. 276, _verily_;\n I-wys, i. 68, 70.\n\n I-wot, _verily_.\n\n Ich, ii. 286, _I_;\n ich biqueth, ii. 12, _I bequeath_.\n\n Ich, ii. 22;\n icha, ii. 25, _each_.\n\n Ide, iii. 72, _I would_.\n\n Ild, ii. 69, _I'd_, _I would_.\n\n Ile, i. 196, _I'll_, _I will_.\n\n Illfardly, ii. 70, _ill-favouredly_, _uglily_.\n\n Ilk, _same_;\n this ilk, _this same_.\n\n Ilk on, ii. 21, _each one_;\n ilka, ilke, _every_;\n ilka ane, iii. 122, _every one_.\n\n Im, i. 103, _him_.\n\n Ime, i. 198, ii. 57, _I am_.\n\n Incontinent, iii. 187, _forthwith_.\n\n In fere, ii. 36, _together_, _in company_.\n\n Ingle, ii. 68, _fire_.\n\n Inogh, ii. 26, _enough_;\n inoughe, ii. 147, _enough_.\n\n Into, iii. 238, _in_.\n\n Intres, i. 129, _entrance_, _admittance_.\n\n Irke, ii. 148, _angry_.\n\n Is, i. 149, ii. 8, _his_.\n\n Ise, ii. 211, iii. 236, _I shall_.\n\n I'st, i. 289, 292, _I'll_.\n\n It's neir, _it shall never_.\n\n Iye, i. 432, _eye_.\n\n\n Janglers, ii. 85, _talkative persons_, _wranglers_, _tell-tales_.\n\n Jear, ii. 118, _derision_.\n\n Jetted, iii. 186, _strutted, or went proudly_.\n\n Jille, iii. 77, _used here as a man's name_.\n\n Jimp, i. 145, _slender_.\n\n Jo, i. 320, ii. 132, _sweetheart_, _friend_, contraction of _joy_.\n\n Jogelers, i. 441, _jugglers_.\n\n Jow, iii. 134, _single stroke in tolling_.\n\n Juncates, iii. 202, _junket_, _curds and clouted cream_.\n\n Jupe, ii. 116, _an upper garment_.\n\n\n Kall, i. 125, _call_.\n\n Kame, iii. 147, _comb_;\n kameing, iii. 97, _combing_.\n\n Kan, i. 123, 430, _can_.\n\n Kantle, iii. 26, _piece_, _corner_.\n\n Karlis of kynde, i. 120, _churls by nature_.\n\n Kauk, ii. 71, _chalk_.\n\n Kauld, i. 103, _called_.\n\n Keel, ii. 71, _ruddle_.\n\n Keepe, i. 309, ii. 256, _care_, _heed_.\n So in the old play of \"Hick Scorner,\" \"I keepe not to clymbe so\n hye;\" _i.e._ I study not, care not, &c.\n\n Keip, ii. 82, _keep_;\n ii. 84, _watch_.\n\n Keipand, ii. 82, _keeping_.\n\n Kell, iii. 101, _net for a woman's hair_.\n\n Kembe, iii. 100, 186, _to comb_;\n kembing, iii. 102, _combing_;\n kemb'd, iii. 302, _combed_.\n\n Kempe, i. 90, 94, ii. 183, _soldier_, _warrior_.\n\n Kemperye man, i. 94, _soldier_, _fighting man_.\n\n \"_Germanis_ Camp, _Exercitum, aut Locum ubi Exercitus_\n _castrametatur, significat: inde ipsis Vir Castrensis et\n Militaris_ kemffer, _et_ kempher, _et_ kemper, _et_ kimber, _et_\n kamper, _pro varietate dialectorum, vocatur: Vocabulum hoc\n nostro sermone nondum penitus exolevit; Nor folcienses enim\n plebeio et proletario sermone dicunt_. 'He is a kemper old man,\n _i.e. Senex Vegetus est:' Hinc_ Cimbris _suum nomen_: 'kimber\n _enim Homo bellicosus, pugil, robustus miles, &c. significat_.'\n Sheringham de Anglor. gentis. orig. pag. 57. _Rectius autem\n Lazius_ [apud eundem, p. 49]. 'Cimbros _a bello quod_ kamff, _et\n Saxonice_ kamp _nuncupatos crediderim: unde bellatores viri_\n Die Kempffer, Die Kemper.'\" P.\n\n Kems, i. 102, _combs_.\n\n Ken, ii. 69, _know_;\n kens, iii. 122, _knows_;\n kenst, i. 196, _knowest_.\n\n Kend, ii. 70, _knew_;\n _known_, iii. 99;\n kenn'd, ii. 365.\n\n Kene, ii. 15, _keen_.\n\n Kepand, ii. 81, _keeping_.\n\n Kepers, i. 181. \"Those that watch by the corpse shall tye up my\n winding-sheet.\" P.\n\n Kester, i. 276, _nickname for Christopher_.\n\n Kever chefes, _kerchiefs_ or _head covers_.\n (See vol. 3, p. 356.)\n\n Kexis, ii. 27, _elder sticks used for candles_.\n\n Kilted, iii. 132, _tucked up_.\n\n Kind, _nature_. To carp is our kind, _it is natural for us to talk of_;\n of hir kind, ii. 154, _of her family_.\n\n Kirk, iii. 75;\n kirke, i. 137, _church_;\n kirk wa', iii. 238, _church wall, or churchyard wall_;\n kirkyard, i. 243, iii. 132, _churchyard_.\n\n Kirns to kirn, ii. 70, _churns to churn_.\n\n Kirtle, i. 222, _a petticoat_, _a woman's gown_.\n\n Kist, ii. 69, _chest_.\n\n Kit, i. 123, _cut_.\n\n Knave, _servant_.\n\n Knaw, ii. 82, _know_.\n\n Knellan, iii. 134, _knelling_, _ringing the knell_.\n\n Knicht, iii. 237, _knight_.\n\n Knight's fe, _such a portion of land as required the possessor to\n serve with man and horse_.\n\n Knowles, _knolls_, _little hills_.\n\n Knyled, i. 32, _knelt_.\n\n Kowarde, i. 46, _coward_.\n\n Kowe, ii. 21, _cow_.\n\n Kuntrey, i. 124, _country_.\n\n Kurteis, i. 125, _courteous_.\n\n Kyd, ii. 21, _shown_.\n\n Kye, ii. 134, _kine_, _cows_.\n\n Kyrtel, ii. 42;\n kyrtell, i. 65, _petticoat_, _gown_, _a man's under garment_.\n\n \"Bale, in his 'Actes of Eng. Votaries' (part ii. fol. 53), uses\n the word Kyrtle to signify a monk's frock. He says, Roger, Earl of\n Shrewsbury, when he was dying, sent 'to Clunyake, in France, for\n the kyrtle of holy Hugh the abbot there,' &c.\" P.\n\n Kythe, i. 427, _make appear_, _show_, _declare_.\n\n Kythed, _appeared_.\n\n\n Laigh, ii. 117, _low_.\n\n Laith, i. 101, ii. 70, _loth_.\n\n Laithly, _loathsome_, _hideous_.\n\n Laitl, i. 103, _little_.\n\n Lamb's wool, iii. 183, _a liquor composed of ale and roasted apples_.\n\n Lane, lain, _lone_;\n her lane, ii. 69;\n hir lain, iii. 95, _alone by herself_.\n\n Lang, i. 101, ii. 20, _long_.\n\n Lang'd, ii. 107, _longed_.\n\n Langsome, i. 321, _long_, _tedious_.\n\n Lap, iii. 93, 95, _leaped_.\n\n Largesse, iii. 26, _gift_, _liberality_.\n\n Lasse, ii. 13, _less_.\n\n Late, ii. 47, _let_.\n\n Latte, ii. 12, _hinder_.\n\n Lauch, i. 101, _laugh_;\n lauched, i. 101, _laughed_.\n\n Launde, i. 170, _clear space in a forest_.\n\n Lawlands, ii. 227, _lowlands_.\n\n Lay, i. 79, _law_.\n\n Layde, i. 291, _lady_.\n\n Layden, i. 66, _laid_.\n\n Layland, i. 66, 67, 79, _green sward_.\n\n Laylands, i. 73, _lands in general_.\n\n Layne, lain, _laid_.\n\n Layne, i. 45, 46, _deceive_, _break one's word_.\n\n Lazar, ii. 55, _leper_.\n\n Leal, ii. 69, _loyal_, _honest_, _true_.\n\n Leane, _conceal_, _hide_.\n\n Lear'd, i. 307, _pastured_.\n\n Lease, _lying_, _falsehood_;\n withouten lease, i. 170, _verily_, _without lying_.\n\n Lease, iii. 102, _leash_, _thong_, _cord_.\n\n Leasynge, _lying_, _falsehood_.\n\n Leaute, ii. 7, _loyalty_.\n\n Lee, ii. 68, _lea_, _field_, _pasture_.\n\n Lee, iii. 96, _lie_.\n\n Leeche, i. 63, 75, 77, _physician_.\n\n Leechinge, i. 63;\n leedginge, i. 77, _doctoring_, _medicinal care_.\n\n Leek, _phrase of contempt_.\n\n Leel, ii. 112, _true_.\n\n Leer, _look_.\n\n Leeve London, i. 273, iii. 101, _dear London_.\n\n Leever, i. 160, _sooner_.\n\n Leeveth, i. 88, _believeth_.\n\n Lefe, i. 173, _dear_.\n\n Lefe, _leave_;\n leves, _leaves_.\n\n Leffe, leefe, _dear_.\n\n Leid, iii. 96, _lyed_.\n\n Leil, ii. 85, _loyal_, _true_.\n\n Leir, ii. 82, _learn_;\n lere, i. 306, _learning_.\n\n Leive, i. 84, iii. 236, _leave_.\n\n Leman, i. 186, 327;\n leiman, i. 301;\n lemman, iii. 97, _lover_, _mistress_.\n\n Lemster wooll, i. 307, _Leominster wool_.\n\n Lene, ii. 13, _give_.\n\n Lenger, i. 64, ii. 20, _longer_.\n\n Lengeth in, _resideth in_.\n\n Lere, i. 72, _face_, _countenance_, _complexion_.\n\n Lese, ii. 26, _lose_.\n\n Lesynge, i. 174;\n leasing, _lying_, _falsehood_.\n\n Let, i. 24, _hinder_;\n lett, ii. 85, _hindrance_.\n\n Lett, i. 93, _left or let be opened_.\n\n Lettest, i. 74, _hinderest_, _detainest_.\n\n Letteth, i. 168, _hindereth_.\n\n Lettyng, i. 172, _hindrance_, _without delay_.\n\n Leugh, ii. 118;\n leuche, ii. 81, _laughed_.\n\n Leve, ii. 38, _remain_.\n\n Lever, i. 46, 71, 75, 173, _rather_;\n lever than, ii. 39, _rather then_.\n\n Leves and bowes, ii. 42, _leaves and boughs_.\n\n Lewd, i. 308;\n leud, ii. 134, _ignorant_, _scandalous_.\n\n Ley, iii. 123, _lay_.\n\n Leyke, ii. 135, _play_.\n\n Leyre, lere, _learning_, _lore_.\n\n Libbard, _leopard_;\n libbard's bane, iii. 198, _the herb wolfbane_.\n\n Lichtly, iii. 147, _lightly_, _easily_.\n\n Lig, i. 144, iii. 70, _lie_;\n ligge, ii. 11;\n liggd, ii. 83, _lay_.\n\n Lightfoote, iii. 182, _venison_.\n\n Lightile, i. 161, _quickly_.\n\n Lightsome, i. 65, _cheerful_, _sprightly_.\n\n Limber, ii. 260, _supple_, _flexible_.\n\n Limitoures, iii. 208, _friars licensed to beg within certain limits_.\n\n Limitatioun, iii. 208, _a certain precinct allowed to a limitour_.\n\n Lingell, i. 308, _a thread of hemp rubbed with resin, &c., used\n by rustics for mending their shoes_.\n\n Lire, _flesh_, _complexion_.\n\n List, i. 256;\n lith, ii. 11, _lieth_.\n\n Lith, i. 156;\n lithe, i. 268;\n lythe, _attend_, _hearken_, _listen_.\n\n Lither, i. 94, iii. 47, _idle_, _lazy_, _naughty_, _worthless_, _wicked_.\n\n Live-lang, iii. 132, _live-long_.\n\n Liver, i. 282, _deliver_.\n\n Liverance, i. 282, 289, _deliverance_ (_money or a pledge for\n delivering you up_).\n\n Livor, i. 289, _deliver_.\n\n Load;\n lay on load, i. 74, _give blows_.\n\n Lodly, ii. 63;\n lodlye, ii. 56, _loathsome_.\n\n Loe, ii. 70, iii. 99, _love_;\n lo'ed, iii. 98, _loved_.\n\n Logeyng, i. 43, _lodging_.\n\n Loht, ii. 9;\n be the luef, be the loht, _whether you like it or loathe it_.\n\n Loke, i. 308, _lock of wool_.\n\n Lokyd, ii. 73;\n lokyde, i. 25, _looked_.\n\n Lome, ii. 63, _man_, _object_.\n\n Lond, iii. 207, _land_.\n\n Longes, i. 218, _belongs_;\n longeth, ii. 43, _belongeth_.\n\n Longs, i. 30, _lungs_.\n\n Looket, i. 149, _looked_.\n\n Loone, ii. 145, _idle fellow_.\n\n Looset, i. 115, _loosed_.\n\n Lope, i. 65, 80, ii. 217, _leapt_.\n\n Lore, ii. 9, 13, _teaching_, _lesson_, _doctrine_, _learning_.\n\n Lore, _lost_.\n\n Lorrel, i. 441, _a sorry, worthless person_.\n\n Losel, ii. 134, 145, _the same as Lorrel_.\n\n Lothly, ii. 142, _loathsome_.\n\n \"The adverbial terminations _-some_ and _-ly_ were applied\n indifferently by our old writers: thus, as we have _lothly_ for\n _loathsome_ above, so we have _ugsome_ in a sense not very remote\n from _ugly_ in Lord Surrey's version of \u00c6n. 2nd, viz.--\n\n \"'In every place the ugsome sightes I saw' (p. 29).\" P.\n\n Loud and still, ii. 82, _openly and secretly_.\n\n Lough, i. 95, _laugh_;\n lought, ii. 282, _laughed_.\n\n Loun, i. 322, _loon_, _rascal_.\n\n Lounge, iii. 357, _lung_.\n\n Lourd, iii. 100, _rather (?)_\n\n Lout, ii. 117;\n loute, ii. 26, _stoop_.\n\n Louted, i. 72;\n lowtede, _bowed_, _did obeisance_.\n\n Lowe, i. 114, _a little hill_.\n\n Lowne, i. 198, _rascal_.\n\n Lowns, ii. 113, _blazes_.\n\n Lowttede, i. 120, _crouched_.\n\n Lude, ii. 82, _loved_.\n\n Lued, i. 323, _loved_.\n\n Luef, ii. 9, _love_.\n\n Lues, iii. 75, _loves_, _love_.\n\n Lugh, ii. 26, _laughed_.\n\n Luik, i. 146, _look_;\n luiks, i. 146, _looks_;\n luikt, ii. 229, _looked_.\n\n Luivt, ii. 82, _loved_.\n\n Lung, ii. 28, _long_.\n\n Lurden, i. 163;\n lurdeyne, _sluggard_, _drone_.\n\n Lust, ii. 42, _desire_.\n\n Luve, i. 320, _love_;\n luver, ii. 212, _lover_.\n\n Luvely, i. 143, _lovely_.\n\n Lyan, iii. 134, _lying_.\n\n Lyard, ii. 9, _grey;\n a name given to a horse from its grey colour, as Bayard from bay_.\n\n Lyff, ii. 49, _life_.\n\n Lyk, i. 28;\n lyke, ii. 38, _like_.\n\n Lynde, i. 168;\n lyne, i. 112, _the lime-tree_.\n\n Lys, ii. 12, _lies_.\n\n Lystenyth, iii. 371, _listen_.\n\n Lyth, i. 306, _easy_, _gentle_, _pliant_, _flexible_, _lithesome_.\n\n Lyvar, i. 30, _liver_\n\n Lyven na more, _live no more_, _no longer_.\n\n Lyyt, ii. 27, _light_;\n lyytly, ii. 26, _lightly_.\n\n\n Mad, ii. 24, _made_.\n\n Mahound, i. 88, _Mahomet_.\n\n Maining, ii. 211, _moaning_.\n\n Mair, ii. 84, _more_, _most_.\n\n Maist, i. 42, _mayest_.\n\n Mait, iii. 99, _might_, _may_.\n\n Majeste, maist, mayeste, _may'st_.\n\n Makes, i. 50, ii. 78, _mates_.\n\n Making, _versifying_.\n\n Makys, i. 33, _mates_.\n\n \"As the words make and mate were, in some cases, used promiscuously\n by ancient writers, so the words cake and cate seem to have been\n applied with the same indifferency; this will illustrate that\n common English proverb, 'to turn cat (_i.e._ cate) in pan.' A\n pancake is in Northamptonshire still called a pancate.\" P.\n\n Male, i. 28, _coat of mail_;\n shirt of male, ii. 233.\n\n Manchet, iii. 206, _best kind of white bread_.\n\n Mane, i. 26, _man_.\n\n Mangonel, ii. 8, _a military engine used for discharging great\n stones, arrows, &c., before the invention of gunpowder_.\n\n March perti, i. 33;\n march partes, i. 34, _in the parts lying upon\n the marches_.\n\n March-pine, i. 306;\n marchpane, _a kind of biscuit_.\n\n Mare ii. 25, _more_.\n\n Margarite, ii. 328, _a pearl_.\n\n Mark, _a coin, in value 13s. 4d._\n\n Marke hym to the Trenit\u00e9, _commit himself to God_.\n\n Marrow, ii. 109, 363, _match, or equal companion_.\n\n Mart, ii. 82, _marred_, _hurt_, _damaged_.\n\n Marvelit, iii. 238, _marvelled_.\n\n Mast, maste, _may'st_.\n\n Masterye, i. 110;\n maystery, i. 176, _a trial of skill_.\n\n Maugre, ii. 8;\n mauger, i. 23, _in spite of_.\n\n Maugre, ii. 83, _ill will_.\n\n Maun, i. 84, 143, 145, _must_.\n\n Mavis, iii. 97, _a thrush_.\n\n Mawt, iii. 123, _malt_.\n\n May, i. 63, 113;\n maye, i. 46, _maid_.\n\n Mayne, i. 122, _force_, _strength_.\n\n Mayne, _a horse's mane_.\n\n Mayny, i. 120, _a company_.\n\n Maze, _a labyrinth_, _anything entangled or intricate_.\n\n \"On the top of Catherine-hill, Winchester (the usual play-place of\n the school), was a very perplexed and winding path, running in a\n very small space over a great deal of ground, called a Miz-Maze.\n The senior boys obliged the juniors to tread it, to prevent\n the figure from being lost, as I am informed by an ingenious\n correspondent.\" P.\n\n Mazer, in. 97, _drinking cup of maple_.\n\n Me, _men_;\n me con, ii. 13, _men began_.\n\n Me-thuncketh, ii. 11, _methinks_.\n\n Meane, ii. 259, _moderate_, _middle-sized_.\n\n Meany, i. 24, 25, _retinue_, _train_, _company_.\n\n Mease, ii. 119, _soften_, _mollify_.\n\n Meed, meede, i. 74, iii. 22, _reward_.\n\n Meet, in. 132, _even_.\n\n Meid, _mood_.\n\n Meikle, iii. 238, _much_.\n\n Meit, iii. 95, _meat_.\n\n Meit, ii. 83, 115, _meet_, _fit_, _proper_.\n\n Mekyl, ii. 21, _much_.\n\n Mell, ii. 260, _honey_.\n\n Mell, _meddle_, _mingle_.\n\n Meniveere, i. 308, _a species of fur_.\n\n Mense the faught, ii. 116, _to measure the battle_.\n\n \"To give to the mense is to give above the measure. Twelve and one\n to the mense is common with children in their play.\" P.\n\n Menzie, ii. 133, _retinue_, _company_.\n\n Merch, ii. 115, _march_.\n\n Merchis, i. 34, _marches_.\n\n Merth, merthe, ii. 31, _mirth_.\n\n Messager, ii. 12, _messenger_.\n\n Mete, i. 180, _meet_, _fit_, _proper_.\n\n Mewe, ii. 254, _confinement_.\n\n Micht, ii. 230, _might_.\n\n Mickle, i. 65, 66, 72, 76, 137, 306, _much_, _great_.\n\n Midge, iii. 233, _a small insect_, _a kind of gnat_.\n\n Mids, ii. 77, _midst_.\n\n Minged, i. 66, 79, _mentioned_.\n\n Minny, ii. 69, _mother_.\n\n Mirk, ii. 120;\n mirkie, iii. 154, _dark_, _black_.\n\n Mirry, i. 101, 143, ii. 82, _merry_;\n mirriest, ii. 391, _merriest_.\n\n Mirry-land toune, i. 59.\n\n Misconster, ii. 349, _misconstrue_.\n\n Misdoubt, i. 302, _suspect_, _doubt_.\n\n Miskaryed, _miscarried_.\n\n Misken, i. 197, _mistake_.\n\n Mister, _to need_.\n\n Mith, iii. 45, _might_.\n\n Mither, i. 60, 83, 145, _mother_.\n\n Mo, i. 30, 161, ii. 16;\n moe, ii. 289, _more_.\n\n Moche, ii. 47, _much_.\n\n Mode, _mood_.\n\n Moder, i. 126, _mother_.\n\n Moiening, ii. 382, _by means of_.\n\n Mome, ii. 258, _blockhead_.\n\n Mon, ii. 11, _man_.\n\n Mone, ii. 37, _moon_.\n\n Mone lyyt, ii. 25, _moonlight_.\n\n Mone, ii. 35, iii. 127, _moan_.\n\n Monand, iii. 64, _moaning_, _bemoaning_.\n\n Monnynday, i. 24, 34, _Monday_.\n\n Mony, ii. 8, 13, 68, _many_.\n\n More, iii. 17,\n\n \"originally and properly signified _a hil_l (from A.-S. mor,\n _mons_), but the hills of the north being generally full of bogs, a\n moor came to signify boggy, marshy, ground in general.\" P.\n\n Mores and the fenne, ii. 8, _hill and dale_;\n mores brodinge, i. 64, 78, _wide moors_.\n\n Morne, i. 101;\n to morn, ii. 20, 83, _on the morrow_, _in the morning_.\n\n Mornyng, ii. 49, _mourning_.\n\n Morwenynges, iii. 208, _mornings_.\n\n Mort, i. 25, _dead stag_.\n\n Most, _must_.\n\n Mot, i. 121, 126, _may_.\n\n Mote, i. 157, _might_;\n mote I thee, ii. 97, _may I thrive_.\n\n Mou, ii. 70, _mouth_.\n\n Mought, i. 68, 169, 308, _might_, _may it_, ii. 302.\n\n Mowe, ii. 13, 31, _may_.\n\n Muchele bost, ii. 8, _great boast_.\n\n Mude, ii. 82, _mood_.\n\n Muid, i. 147, _mood_.\n\n Mulne, ii. 8, _mill_.\n\n Mun, i. 63, 66, _must_.\n\n Mure, mures, _wild downs_, _heaths_, &c.\n\n Murn, ii. 85;\n murnd, ii. 86;\n murnit, ii. 81;\n murnt, ii. 84;\n murning, ii. 83, _mourn_, _mourned_, _mourning_.\n\n Muve, ii. 366, _move_;\n muvit, ii. 39, _moved_.\n\n Mykel, i. 46, _great_.\n\n Myllan, i. 29, _Milan steel_.\n\n Myn, ii. 12, _my_.\n\n Myne-ye-ple, i. 28, _probably a corruption of manople, a large gauntlet_.\n\n Myrry, _merry_.\n\n Mysuryd, i. 123, _misused_, _applied to a bad purpose_.\n\n Myyt, ii. 26, _might_;\n myyty, _mighty_.\n\n\n Na, ii. 12;\n nae, _no_, _not_, _none_.\n\n Naebody, ii. 139, _nobody_.\n\n Naithing, ii. 70, _nothing_.\n\n Nane, i. 320, ii. 70, iii. 75, _none_.\n\n Nappy, iii. 182, _strong, as ale_.\n\n Nar, i. 25, 27;\n nare, i. 30, _nor_.\n\n Nat, i. 143, ii. 35, _not_.\n\n Natheless, ii. 264, _nevertheless_\n\n N'availeth not, ii. 16, _availeth not_.\n\n Ne, ii. 12, _no_, _nor_, _not_.\n\n Near, ner, nere, _ne'er_, _never_.\n\n Neat, _oxen_, _cows_, _large cattle_;\n neates leather, ii. 100, _cowhide_.\n\n Neatherd, _a keeper of cattle_.\n\n Neatresse, ii. 259, _female keeper of cattle_.\n\n Nee, i. 71, 178, _nigh_.\n\n Neigh him neare, i. 94, _approach him near_.\n\n Neir, i. 146, _ne'er_, _never_.\n\n Neire, ii. 212;\n nere, _near_.\n\n Nemped, i. 409, _named_.\n\n Nere, ii. 135;\n ne were, _were it not for_.\n\n Nest, ii. 12, _next_, _nearest_.\n\n Nethar, _neither_.\n\n Neven, i. 396, _name_.\n\n New fangle, iii. 7, _new-fangled_, _fond of novelty_.\n\n Nicht, ii. 85, _night_.\n\n Nicked him of naye, i. 88, _nicked him with a refusal_.\n\n Nipt, _pinched_.\n\n No, _not_.\n\n Noble, _a gold coin in value twenty groats, or 6s. 8d._\n\n Nobles, i. 120, _nobleness_.\n\n Nocht, ii. 83, _not_.\n\n Nock, iii. 295, _the posteriors_.\n\n Nollys, ii. 21, _noddles_, _heads_.\n\n Nom, ii. 12, _took_.\n\n Nome, ii. 11, _name_.\n\n Non, ii. 16, _none_.\n\n None, i. 25, 31, ii. 37, _noon_.\n\n Nones, ii. 27, _nonce_.\n\n Nonys, ii. 22, _nonce or occasion_.\n\n Norland, iii. 237, _northern_.\n\n Norse, _Norway_.\n\n Norss menzie, ii. 114, _the Norse army_.\n\n North-gales, iii. 26, _North Wales_.\n\n Nou, ii. 9, _now_.\n\n Nourice, _nurse_.\n\n Nout, ii. 8, _nought_, also _not_, ii. 14.\n\n Nowght, _nought_.\n\n Nowls, _noddles_, _heads_.\n\n Noye, ii. 26, _hurt_.\n\n Noyt, ii. 24, _nought_, _not_.\n\n Ny, ii. 49;\n nye, i. 136, _nigh_;\n nyest, ii. 59, _nighest_.\n\n Nyyt, ii. 27, _night_.\n\n\n O, ii. 8, _one_;\n O', iii. 99, _of_;\n O, ii. 9, _on_.\n\n O wow, ii. 68, _an exclamation_.\n\n Obraid, iii. 99, _upbraid_.\n\n Occupied, i. 121, _used_.\n\n Ocht, _ought_.\n\n Off, ii. 177, _of_.\n\n Oloft, ii. 25, _on horseback_.\n\n On, ii. 49, _one_, _an_.\n\n On loft, ii. 22, _aloft_.\n\n Onfowghten, unfoughten, _unfought_.\n\n Ony, ii. 84, _any_.\n\n Onys, ii, 23, _once_.\n\n Opon, ii. 8, _upon_.\n\n Or, ii. 42, _before ever_.\n\n Ore, iii. 128, _over_.\n\n Orisons, _prayers_.\n\n Ost, i. 28, ii. 24, iii. 36;\n oste, i. 42, 43, 44;\n ooste, i. 272, _host_.\n\n Osterne, i. 291, _austere_.\n\n Oth, othe, iii. 49, _oath_.\n\n Ou, ii. 12, _you_.\n\n Ous, ii. 8, _us_.\n\n Out-owr, i. 147, _quite over_, _over_.\n\n Outbrayd, ii. 45, _drew out_, _unsheathed_.\n\n Outhorne, i. 167, _the summoning to arms by the sound of a horn_.\n\n Outrake, i. 285, 292, _an out ride or expedition_;\n _to raik is to go fast_.\n\n \"Outrake is a common term among shepherds. When their sheep have a\n free passage from enclosed pastures into open and airy grounds they\n call it a good outrake.\" (Mr. Lambe.) P.\n\n Owar, i. 31, _hour_.\n\n Oware of none, i. 25, _hour of noon_.\n\n Owches, iii. 316, _bosses_.\n\n Owre, i. 144, ii. 70;\n _over_, _o'er_;\n _ere_, i. 101.\n\n Owreword, iii. 124, _the last word_, _burden of a song_.\n\n\n Pa, i. 59.\n\n Packing, i. 121, _dealing_.\n\n Pall, i, 89;\n palle, i. 71, _a cloak or robe of state_.\n\n Palmer, iii. 113, _a pilgrim who, having been in the Holy Land,\n carried a palm branch in his hand_.\n\n Paramour, i. 310, _gallant_, _lover_;\n _mistress_, ii. 45.\n\n Pard\u00e8, ii. 41;\n perdie, _verily_ (par Dieu).\n\n Paregall, i. 124, _equal_.\n\n Parle, iii. 36, _speak or parley_.\n\n Parti, party;\n a parti, i. 26, _apart or aside_.\n\n Partynere, ii. 41, _partner_.\n\n Pat, ii. 132, _pot_.\n\n Pattering, iii. 9,\n\n \"_murmuring, mumbling, from the manner in which the Paternoster\n was anciently hurried over in a low inarticulate voice_.\" P.\n\n Pauky, ii. 68, _shrewd_, _cunning_, _sly_.\n\n Paves, i. 121, _a pavice, a large shield that covered the whole\n body_. Fr. pavois.\n\n Pavilliane, _pavilion_, _tent_.\n\n Pay, i. 173, _liking_, _satisfaction_.\n\n Paynim, i. 65, 88, iii. 41, _pagan_.\n\n Peakish, i. 299, _rude_, _simple_;\n peakish hull, i. 307, _perhaps the Derbyshire Peak_.\n\n Peare, i. 80, _peer_, _equal_.\n\n Pearlins, iii. 75, _coarse sort of bone-lace_.\n\n Pece, _piece of cannon_.\n\n Pee, i. 148, _piece_.\n\n Peere, i. 73, 77, _equal_.\n\n Pees, ii. 7, _peace_.\n\n Pele, ii. 24, _a baker's long-handled shovel_.\n\n Penon, _a banner or streamer borne at the top of a lance_.\n\n Pentarchye, ii. 345, _five heads_.\n\n Perchmine, _parchment_.\n\n Perde, i. 187, _verily_.\n\n Perelous, parlous, _perilous_, _dangerous_.\n\n Perfay, ii. 85, _verily_.\n\n Perfight, i. 123, _perfect_;\n perfightly, i. 124, _perfectly_.\n\n Perfytte, i. 272, _perfect_.\n\n Perkyn, ii. 20, _diminutive of Peter_.\n\n Perlese, i. 125, _peerless_.\n\n Perte, i. 50, _part_, _side_.\n\n Pertyd, i. 28, _parted_, _divided_.\n\n Pese, ii. 45, _peace_.\n\n Petye, i. 50, ii. 73, _pity_.\n\n Peyn, ii. 16, _pain_.\n\n Peyses, i. 48, _pieces_.\n\n Peysse, i. 44, _peace_.\n\n Peyters, ii. 13, _Peter's_.\n\n Philomele, iii. 81, _the nightingale_.\n\n Piece, _a little_.\n\n Pil'd, _peeled_, _bald_.\n\n Pine, i. 196, _famish_, _starve_.\n\n Pinner, ii. 337, _pinder, or impounder of cattle._\n\n Pious chanson, i. 183, _a godly song or ballad_.\n\n \"Mr. Rowe's Edition of Shakespeare has 'The first Row of the\n Rubrick;' which has been supposed by Dr. Warburton to refer to the\n red-lettered titles of old ballads. In the large collection made by\n Mr. Pepys, I do not remember to have seen one single ballad with\n its title printed in red letters.\" P.\n\n Pipl, i. 103, _people_.\n\n Playand, ii. 115, _playing_.\n\n Play-feres, i. 59, _play-fellows_.\n\n Playning, i. 243, _complaining_.\n\n Plein, iii. 123, _complain_.\n\n Pleis, ii. 82, _please_.\n\n Plett, ii. 112, _plaited_.\n\n Pley, i. 59, ii. 83, _play_.\n\n Pleyn, ii. 16, _complain_.\n\n Plyyt, ii. 27, _plight_.\n\n Plowmell, ii. 25, _a small wooden hammer occasionally fixed to\n the plough_.\n\n Poll-cat, _cant word for a prostitute_.\n\n Pollys, ii. 21, _polls_, _heads_.\n\n Pompal, i. 233, _proud_, _pompous_.\n\n Popingay, i. 308, _a parrot_.\n\n Porcupig, iii. 285, _porcupine_.\n\n Portingale, iii. 50, _Portugal_.\n\n Portingalls, ii. 198, _Portuguese_.\n\n Portres, _porteress_.\n\n Poterner, iii. 7, _probably a pouch or bag._\n\n Pottle, iii. 187, _a measure of two quarts_.\n\n Poudered, ii. 23, _a term in heraldry for sprinkled over_.\n\n Pow'd, i. 59, _pulled_.\n\n Powlls, _polls_, _heads_.\n\n Pownes, i. 300, _pounds_.\n\n Praat, ii. 360, _prate_.\n\n Pray, i. 125, _prey_.\n\n Prayse-folk, ii. 27, _singing men and women_.\n\n Preas, iii. 26, _press_.\n\n Prece, i. 160, _crowd_, _press_;\n preced, i. 167, 171, _pressed_.\n\n Prest, i. 205, ii. 21, _ready_;\n prestly, i. 171;\n prestlye, i. 72, _readily_, _quickly_.\n\n Prickes, i. 111, _mark in the centre of the target_.\n\n Pricke-wande, _pole set up for a mark_.\n\n Pricked, i. 68, _spurred on_, _hasted_.\n\n Priefe, ii. 96, _prove_.\n\n Priving, ii. 70, _proving_, _testing_.\n\n Prove, ii. 46, _proof_.\n\n Prude, ii. 8, _pride_.\n\n Prycke, i. 175, _the mark_, _commonly a hazel wand_.\n\n Prycked, i. 43, _spurred_.\n\n Pryme, i. 156, _daybreak, or six o'clock in the morning_.\n\n Prys, ii. 11, _prize_.\n\n Pu, i. 145, _pull_.\n\n Puing, ii. 363, _pulling_.\n\n Puissant, iii. 110, _strong_, _powerful_.\n\n Purfell, iii. 25, _ornament, or border of embroidery_.\n\n Purfelled, iii. 25, _embroidered_.\n\n Purvayed, ii. 45, _provided_.\n\n Putry, iii. 6, _whoredom_.\n\n Pyght, i. 43, _pitched_.\n\n\n Quadrant, _four-square_.\n\n Quaint, ii. 257, _nice_, _fantastical_.\n\n Quarry, i. 255, _the slaughtered game in hunting or hawking_.\n\n Quat, ii. 116, _quitted_.\n\n Quay, iii. 75, _a young heifer, called a whie in Yorkshire_.\n\n Quean, iii. 21, 203, 252, _a sorry, base woman_, _a slut_.\n\n Quel, ii. 135, _cruel_, _murderous_.\n\n Quelch, _a blow or bang_.\n\n Quere, i. 124, _quire_, _choir_.\n\n Quest, i. 165, _inquest_.\n\n Quha, i. 101, _who_.\n\n Quhair, ii. 82, _where_.\n\n Quhair-eir, ii. 84, _wherever_.\n\n Quhan, i. 144, iii. 75, _when_.\n\n Quhaneir, iii. 75, _whenever_.\n\n Quhar, i. 100, _where_.\n\n Quhat, i. 143, _what_.\n\n Quhatten, i. 83, _what_.\n\n Quhen, i. 143, ii. 82, _when_.\n\n Quhilk, ii. 116, _which_.\n\n Quhy, i. 145, _why_.\n\n Quhyle, ii. 83, _while_.\n\n Quick, iii. 53, _alive_, _living_.\n\n Quiere, ii. 288, _choir_.\n\n Quillets, ii. 283, _quibbles_.\n\n Quiristers, ii. 166, _choristers_.\n\n Quitt, ii. 311, _requite_.\n\n Quo, ii. 69, _quoth_.\n\n Quyle, ii. 84, _while_.\n\n Quyrry, i. 25, _quarry of slaughtered game_.\n\n Quyt, ii. 85, _quite_.\n\n Quyte, i. 34, _requited_.\n\n Qwyknit, ii. 131, _quickened_, _restored to life_.\n\n\n Rade, i. 147, _rode_.\n\n Rae, ii. 24, _roe_.\n\n Raigne, ii. 253, _reign_.\n\n Raik, _to go apace_;\n raik on raw, ii. 82, _extend in a row_.\n\n Raise, ii. 69, _rose_.\n\n Rampire, ii. 52, _rampart_.\n\n Ranted, ii. 68, _made merry_.\n\n Rashing, i. 208, _the old hunting term for the stroke made by a\n wild boar with his fangs_.\n\n Raught, _reached_, _gained_, _obtained_.\n\n Raw, ii. 82, _row_.\n\n Rawstye, i. 116, _damp_(?)\n\n Rayt, ii. 26, _raught or reached_.\n\n Reachles, i. 113, _careless_.\n\n Read, ii. 148;\n reade, ii. 144, _advice_;\n reade me, i. 87, _advise me_.\n\n Rea'me, ii. 287, _realm_.\n\n Reane, i. 34, _rain_.\n\n Rearing, i. 88, _leaning against_.\n\n Reas, i. 24, _raise_.\n\n Reave, i. 89, 322, _bereave_.\n\n Reckt, i. 143, _regarded_.\n\n Reckyn, ii. 20, _reckon_.\n\n Red, i. 101, _read_.\n\n Redd, i. 79, _advise_.\n\n Reddyl, ii. 23, _riddle or sieve_.\n\n Rede, iii. 208;\n redde, ii. 13, _read_.\n\n Rede, i. 41, 66, iii. 94, _advise_;\n rede I can, ii. 37, _advice I know_.\n\n Rede, i. 48, _guessed_.\n\n Redouted, i. 120, _dreaded_.\n\n Redresse, ii. 78, _care_, _labour_.\n\n Redyn, ii. 23, _moved_.\n\n Reek, i. 145, _smoke_.\n\n Reev, ii. 17;\n reeve, iii. 179, _bailiff_.\n\n Refe, ii. 20, _bailiff_.\n\n Refe, _bereave_.\n\n Reft, ii. 26, _bereft_.\n\n Register, iii. 210, _the officer who keeps the public register_.\n\n Reid, ii. 83, _advise_.\n\n Reid, i. 59, 83, 146, _red_;\n reid roan, i. 83, _red roan_.\n\n Reivs, ii. 83, _bereavest_.\n\n Rekeles, i. 42, _regardless_, _rash_.\n\n Remeid, ii. 83, _remedy_.\n\n Renisht, i. 88, _harnessed_.\n\n Renn, i. 196;\n renne, i. 160, ii. 89, _run_.\n\n Renneth, iii. 108, _runneth_;\n renning, ii. 142, _running_.\n\n Renyed, i. 122, _refused_.\n\n Reporte, i. 124, _refer_.\n\n Rescous, ii. 40, _rescues_;\n rescew, ii. 175, _rescue_.\n\n Reve, ii. 23, _bereave_, _deprive_.\n\n Revers, ii. 114, _robbers_, _pirates_, _rovers_.\n\n Rew, ii. 82, _take pity_.\n\n Rew, iii. 98;\n rewe, i. 70, ii. 46, _regret_;\n reweth, ii. 9, _regrets_;\n rewyth, i. 42, _regrets_.\n\n Rewth, i. 174, _ruth_, _pity_.\n\n Riall, _royal_.\n\n Richt, i. 101, _right_.\n\n Riddle, _vulgar idiom for unriddle, or corruption of reade_, _to advise_.\n\n Rin, i. 147;\n rinn, i. 60, _run_;\n rins, i. 59, _runs_;\n rinnes, i. 42, _runs_.\n\n Rise, _shoot_, _bush_, _shrub_.\n\n Rive, i. 244, _rend_;\n rives, i. 284;\n _rends_.\n\n Rive, ii. 386, _rife_, _abounding_.\n\n Roche, i. 128, _rock_.\n\n Rofe, ii. 41, _roof_.\n\n Roke, i. 48, _steam or smoke_.\n\n Ronne, _ran_;\n roone, _run_.\n\n Roo, i. 42, _roe_.\n\n Roode, i. 76, _cross_, _crucifix_.\n\n Rood loft, _the place in the church where the images were set up_.\n\n Room, i. 84, _large_.\n\n Roun, ii. 80, _run_.\n\n Route, i. 158, _company_.\n\n Route, iii. 108, _go about_, _travel_.\n\n Routhe, i. 122, _ruth_, _pity_.\n\n Row, i. 145;\n rowd, i. 60,146, _roll_, _rolled_.\n\n Rowght, i. 45;\n rowte, ii. 26, _rout_.\n\n Rowyned, _round_.\n\n Rowned, rownyd, _whispered_.\n\n Rudd, iii. 8, _red_, _ruddy_;\n rud-red, iii. 22.\n\n Rude, ii. 82;\n _rood_, _cross_.\n\n Ruell bones, ii. 22.\n\n Rues, _pitieth_.\n\n Rugged, ii. 27, _pulled with violence_.\n\n Runnagate, ii. 294, _runaway_.\n\n Rushy gair, ii. 86, _rushy strip of land_.\n\n Ruthe, ii. 46, _pity_, _woe_.\n\n Ryal, ii. 30;\n ryall, i. 45, 129, _royal_.\n\n Ryd, iii. 36, _rode_;\n rydand, ii. 22, _riding_.\n\n Ryde, i. 91, _for ryse_ (?)\n\n Rydere, i. 178, _ranger_.\n\n Ryghtwes, i. 427, _righteous_.\n\n Ryhte, ii. 9, _right_.\n\n Rynde, i. 46, _rent_, _flayed_.\n\n Ryschys, ii. 27, _rushes_.\n\n Rywe, ii. 30, _rue_.\n\n Ryyt, ii. 20, _right_;\n _even_, ii. 23.\n\n\n Sa, i. 144, ii. 26;\n sae, i. 144, _so_.\n\n Safer, _sapphire_.\n\n Saft, ii. 110, _soft_;\n saftly, ii. 107, _softly_.\n\n Saif, i. 144, _safe_.\n\n Saim, iii. 99, _same_.\n\n Sair, i. 60, 147, _sore_.\n\n Saisede, ii. 8, _seized_.\n\n Sall, i. 60, 84, 143, _shall_.\n\n Salvage, iii. 117, _savage_.\n\n Sar, i. 31, _sore_.\n\n Sarke, iii. 95, _shirt_;\n _shift_, i. 321.\n\n Sat, i. 31, _set_.\n\n Sauls, ii. 114, _souls_.\n\n Saut, iii. 99, _salt_.\n\n Saw, say, _speech_, _discourse_.\n\n Say, i. 30, _saw_.\n\n Saye, iii. 64, _essay_, _attempt_.\n\n Say us no harme, _say no ill of us_.\n\n Say'n, ii. 69, _saying_.\n\n Scant, i. 90, 321, _scarce_.\n\n Scath, i. 65, _hurt_, _injury_.\n\n Schadow, ii. 25, _shadow_.\n\n Schal, ii. 20;\n schall, i. 42, _shall_.\n\n Schapen, ii. 24, _shaped_.\n\n Schapped, i. 48, _swapped_ (?), _i.e. smote_.\n\n Scharpe, i. 46, 48, _sharp_.\n\n Schatred, ii. 25, _shattered_.\n\n Schaw, ii. 82, _show_.\n\n Sche, i. 42, ii. 24, _she_.\n\n Schene, _sheen_, also _brightness_.\n\n Schepeskynnes, ii. 21, _sheepskins_.\n\n Schip, i. 100, _ship_;\n schiples, _shipless_.\n\n Scho, i. 59, ii. 20, _she_.\n\n Schone, i. 41, _shone_.\n\n Schoone, i. 101, _shoes_.\n\n Schoote, i. 45, _shot_, _let go_.\n\n Schowte, i. 47;\n schowtte, _shout_.\n\n Schrill, _shrill_.\n\n Schuke, _shook_.\n\n Schuld, ii. 20;\n schulde, i. 46, _should_.\n\n Schulder, ii. 27, _shoulder_.\n\n Sckill, iii. 327, _skill_.\n\n Sckirmish, ii. 236, _skirmish_.\n\n Sckore, ii. 236, _score_.\n\n Sclat, ii. 16, _slate_.\n\n Scomfet, ii. 23, _discomfit_.\n\n Scorke, i. 259, _struck_.\n\n Scot, ii. 9, _tax_, _revenue_;\n also _shot_, _reckoning_, ii. 20.\n\n See, ii. 8, _sea_.\n\n Sed, iii. 47, _said_.\n\n Seely, ii. 174;\n seelie, iii. 68, _poor_, _simple_.\n\n Seignour, ii. 135, _Lord_.\n\n Seik, i. 60, _seek_.\n\n Seires, iii. 328, _for feires_, _i.e. mates_.\n\n Sek-ful, ii. 22, _sackful_.\n\n Sel, iii. 96;\n sell, iii. 123, _self_.\n\n Selcouthe, ii. 391, _strange_.\n\n Selven, ii. 32, _self_.\n\n Selver, ii. 8, _silver_.\n\n Sely, ii. 53, _simple_.\n\n Semblyd, i. 25, _assembled_.\n\n Sen, i. 34, ii. 83, iii. 95, _since_.\n\n Seneschall, _steward_.\n\n Senvy, _mustard seed_. Fr. senev\u00e9.\n\n Serrett, i. 79, _closed fist_ (?)\n\n Sertayne, i. 48, _certain_;\n sertenly, i. 49, 50, _certainly_.\n\n Sese, ii. 49, _seize_.\n\n Setywall, _the herb valerian_.\n\n Sey, iii. 75, _a kind of woollen stuff_.\n\n Sey yow, ii. 15, _say to you_;\n I sey yow soth, ii. 16, _I tell you truth_.\n\n Sey'd, ii. 114, _tried_.\n\n Sey'd, _saw_.\n\n Seyde, ii. 12, _said_.\n\n Sha' na bide, ii. 116, _shall not endure_.\n\n Shaint, ii. 360, _saint_.\n\n Shave;\n be shave, ii. 77, _be shaven_.\n\n Shaw, ii. 114, _show_;\n shaw'd, ii. 110, _showed_.\n\n Shaws, i. 106, _little woods_.\n\n Shear, i. 24, _entirely_.\n\n Sheede, iii. 12, _shed_.\n\n Sheel, ii. 98;\n sheele, i. 88, 294, _she'll_, _she will_.\n\n Sheene, i. 87, 106;\n iii. 236, _bright_, _brightness_, _beauty_.\n Germ. _sch\u00f6n_.\n\n Shees, ii. 70, _she is_.\n\n Sheeve, ii. 256, _shive_, _a great slice of bread_.\n\n Sheip, ii. 82, _sheep_;\n sheips heid, ii. 132, _sheep's head_.\n\n Sheits, i. 145, _sheets_.\n\n Sheid, ii. 70, _she would_.\n\n Shent, i. 72, 171, _disgraced_;\n _abashed_, ii. 49;\n _confounded_, ii. 84.\n\n Shepenes, iii. 208, _cowhouses_, _sheep pens_. A.-S. scypen.\n\n Shield bone, _the blade bone_, a common phrase in the north.\n\n Shill, ii. 111, _shrill_.\n\n Shimmer'd, iii. 237, _glittered_;\n shimmering, ii. 142, _shining by glances_, _glittering_.\n\n Sho, ii. 49, _she_.\n\n Shoen, ii. 100, _shoes_.\n\n Shold, sholde, _should_.\n\n Shoone, i. 243, 320;\n iii. 47, _shoes_.\n\n Shope, iii. 54, _shaped_.\n\n Shorte, ii. 43, _shorten_.\n\n Shote, ii. 40, _shoot_.\n\n Shott, ii. 149, _reckoning_.\n\n Shoul, ii. 360, _soul_.\n\n Shradds, i. 106, _twigs_.\n\n Shreeven, iii. 10, _shriven_, _confessed_.\n\n Shreward, ii. 9, _a male shrew_.\n\n Shrive, ii. 60, _confess_;\n _hear confession_, ii. 166.\n\n Shroggs, i. 111, _shrubs_, _thorns_, _briars_.\n\n Shuld, iii. 147;\n shulde, i. 32, _should_.\n\n Shullen, _shall_.\n\n Shunted, ii. 137, _shunned_.\n\n Shuntyng, ii. 19, _recreation_, _diversion_, _sport_.\n\n Shyars, i. 24, _shires_.\n\n Shynand, ii. 113, _shining_.\n\n Sib, _kin_, _akin_.\n\n Sic, i. 84;\n sich, i. 327, _such_.\n\n Sich, ii. 84, _sigh_;\n sichit, ii. 81, sicht, ii. 86, _sighed_.\n\n Sicht, ii. 114, _sight_.\n\n Sick-like, iii. 123, _such like_.\n\n Side, i. 375, _long_.\n\n Sied, i. 147, _saw_.\n\n Sigh clout, i. 197, _a cloth to strain milk through_.\n\n Sighan, iii. 134, _sighing_.\n\n Sik, i. 144;\n sike, i. 320, _such_.\n\n Siker, i. 323, _secure_, _surely_, _certainly_.\n\n Silk, iii. 100, _such_.\n\n Siller, ii. 230;\n iii. 97, _silver_.\n\n Silly, i. 192;\n ii. 68, _simple_.\n\n Silven, iii. 100, _silver_.\n\n Sindle, ii. 115, _seldom_.\n\n Sist, iii. 55, _sighed_.\n\n Sith, i. 68, 133, _since_.\n\n Sitten, iii. 99, _sat_.\n\n Sitteth, ii. 7, _sit ye_.\n\n Skaith, ii. 115, _scath_, _harm_, _mischief_.\n\n Skinker, _one that serves drink_.\n\n Skinkled, iii. 237, _glittered_.\n\n Skore, i. 28, _score_.\n\n Slade, i. 108, _a breadth of greensward between ploughlands or woods_.\n\n Slaited, iii. 98, _wiped_.\n\n Slatred, ii. 25, _broke into splinters_.\n\n Slaw, i. 308, _slew_.\n\n Slaw, ii. 107, _slow_.\n\n Sle, i. 15, _slay_;\n sleest, _slayest_, i. 123.\n\n Slee, ii. 69, _sly_.\n\n Slean, i. 31, 33, 34, _slain_.\n\n Sleath, iii. 108, _slayeth_.\n\n Slein, ii. 70, _slain_.\n\n Sleip, i. 60;\n sleipe, ii. 211, _sleep_.\n\n Sleive, iii. 95, _sleeve_.\n\n Slo, i. 120;\n sloe, i. 69, _slay_.\n\n Slode, i. 66, 79, slit, _split_.\n\n Slone, i. 49, 67, _slain_.\n\n Sloughe, i. 28, _slew_.\n\n Sma', i. 145, _small_;\n _little_, iii. 95.\n\n Smire, iii. 327 (? for swire = neck).\n\n Smithers, i. 145, _smothers_.\n\n Snae, iii. 97;\n snaw, ii. 69, _snow_.\n\n Soar, i. 31, _sore_.\n\n Sodenly, ii. 15, _suddenly_.\n\n Solacious, i. 130;\n _affording solace_.\n\n Soldan, i. 73, 74, 80;\n sowdan, i. 96, _sultan_.\n\n Soll, i. 34, _soul_.\n\n Son, ii. 23, _soon_;\n sone, ii. 44, _soon_.\n\n Sond, ii. 26, sending, _present_.\n\n Sone, ii. 41, _soon_.\n\n Soothe, ii. 55, _truth_, _true_.\n\n Sort, i. 122, 126, _set_, _company_.\n\n Soth, i. 43, 49, 50, 51;\n ii. 16;\n iii. 30, _truth_, _true_.\n\n Sothe, i. 27, _south_.\n\n Sould, ii. 69, _should_.\n\n Souldan, iii. 110, _sultan_.\n\n Souling, ii. 257, _victualling_.\n\n Sowle is still used in the north for anything eaten with bread. P.\n\n Souse, iii. 181, _the head, feet and ears of swine boiled and\n pickled for eating_.\n\n Souter, i. 416, _psaltry_.\n\n Sowne, ii. 52, _sound_.\n\n Sowre, _sour_.\n\n Sowre, _sore_.\n\n Sowter, i. 416, _a shoemaker_.\n\n Soy, i. 320, _silk_.\n\n Spack, ii. 230;\n iii. 96, _spake_.\n\n Spec, ii. 13, _spake_.\n\n Speere, ii. 144;\n speered, ii. 144, _sparred_, _fastened_, _shut_.\n\n So in an old \"Treatyse agaynst Pestilence, etc. 4to Emprynted by\n Wynkyn de Worde:\" we are exhorted to \"Spere [i.e. shut or bar] the\n wyndowes ayenst the south.\" fol. 5. P.\n\n Speid, iii. 94, _speed_.\n\n Speik, iii. 96, _speak_.\n\n Speir, ii. 69;\n iii. 95, _ask_, _inquire_.\n\n So Chaucer, in his Rhyme of Sir Thopas--\n\n ----\"He foughte north and south,\n And oft he spired with his mouth.\"\n\n _i.e._ \"inquired.\" Not spied, as in the new edit. of Cant. Tales,\n vol. ii. p. 234. P.\n\n Speir, iii. 98, _spear_.\n\n Spek, ii. 12, _spoke_;\n speken, iii. 207, _speak_.\n\n Spence, ii. 52;\n spens, ii. 21, _expense_.\n\n Spendyd, _grasped_.\n\n Spill, i. 196, iii. 51;\n spille, i. 75, _spoil_, _kill_.\n\n Spillan, iii. 134, _spilling_.\n\n Spindles and whorles, ii. 71, _the instruments used for spinning\n in Scotland instead of spinning-wheels_.\n\n \"The Rock, Spindles, and Whorles are very much used in Scotland and\n the northern parts of Northumberland at this time. The thread for\n shoemakers, and even some linen webs, and all the twine of which\n the Tweed salmon-nets are made, are spun upon spindles. They are\n said to make a more even and smooth thread than spinning-wheels.\"\n (_Mr. Lambe._) P.\n\n Spittle, ii. 282, _hospital_.\n\n Splene;\n on the splene, ii. 46, _in haste_.\n\n Spole, ii. 198, _shoulder_.\n\n Sporeles, ii. 9, _spurless_, _without spurs_.\n\n Sprente, i. 29, _spurted out_, _sprung out_.\n\n Sprite, iii. 132, _spirit_.\n\n Spurging, ii. 197, _drivelling froth_.\n\n Spurn, i. 34, _a kick_.\n\n Spylt, i. 123, _spoiled_, _destroyed_.\n\n Squelsh, iii. 295, _a blow or bang_.\n\n Squyer, ii. 44;\n squyere, ii. 44, _squire_.\n\n Stalworth, ii. 19, _stout_.\n\n Stalwurthlye, i. 41, _stoutly_.\n\n Stane, i. 145, _stone_.\n\n Starke, i. 72, _stout_, _strong_.\n\n Startopes, ii. 256, _buskins or half boots_.\n\n Stean, i. 103, iii. 99, _stone_.\n\n Stede, ii. 23, _place_.\n\n Steid, i. 83, iii. 98, _steed_.\n\n Steill, ii. 131, _steel_.\n\n Steir, ii. 83, _stir_.\n\n Stel, ii. 8, _steel_.\n\n Stele, ii. 46, _steal_.\n\n Sterne, i. 28, _fierce ones_.\n\n Sterris, _stars_.\n\n Sterte, i. 69, 73, _start_;\n sterted, iii. 15, _started_.\n\n Sterve, ii. 16, _die_, _perish_.\n\n Steven, i. 115, iii. 26, _voice_, _sound_.\n\n Steven, i. 111, _time_.\n\n Stint, i. 68, 133, 273, _stop_, _stopped_.\n\n Stond, ii. 26, _stand_.\n\n Stonderes, _standers by_.\n\n Stonds, i. 44, _stands_.\n\n Stound, i. 165, _hour_.\n\n Stounde, i. 48, _time_;\n _for awhile_, ii. 11.\n\n Stoup, ii. 117, _stoop_.\n\n Stoup of weir, ii. 115, _a pillar of war_.\n\n Stour, i. 31, 96;\n stower, i. 66, iii. 26;\n stowre, i. 49, 74, 168, iii. 14, _strong_, _fierce_, _stir_, _fight_.\n\n This word is applied in the North to signify dust agitated and put\n in motion, as by the sweeping of a room, &c. P.\n\n Stown, ii. 69, _stolen_.\n\n Stra, ii. 24;\n strae, ii. 69, iii. 98, _straw_.\n\n Strake, ii. 117, _struck_.\n\n Strekene, i. 29, _stricken_, _struck_.\n\n Stret, _street_.\n\n Strick, i. 322, _strict_.\n\n Strike, _stricken_.\n\n Stroke, i. 28;\n stroken, i. 228, _struck_.\n\n Strout, iii. 119, _strut_.\n\n Stude, i. 143, iii. 95, _stood_.\n\n Styntyde, i. 30, _stinted_, _stayed_, _stopped_.\n\n Styrande, i. 40, _stirring_.\n\n Styrt, ii. 26, _started_.\n\n Suar, i. 28, 30, _sure_.\n\n Suld, ii. 21, _should_.\n\n Sum, i. 83, 146, ii. 25, _some_.\n\n Summere, iii. 108, _a sumpter horse_.\n\n Sumpters, i. 302, _horses that carry clothes, furniture, &c._\n\n Sune, _soon_.\n\n Surmount, iii. 172, _surpass_.\n\n Suore bi ys chyn, ii. 9, _sworn by his chin_.\n\n Supprised, i. 124, _overpowered_.\n\n Suraunce, ii. 49, _assurance_.\n\n Suthe, ii. 386, _soon_, _quickly_.\n\n Swa, ii. 24, _so_.\n\n Swage, ii. 342, _assuage_;\n swaged, ii. 180, _assuaged_.\n\n Swapte, i. 29;\n _swapped_, i. 48, _struck violently_, _exchanged blows_.\n\n Sware, ii. 12, ii. 361, _swearing_, _oath_.\n\n Swarned, ii. 206, _climbed_.\n\n Swarved, ii. 197, _climbed_, _swarmed_.\n\n To swarm, in the midland counties, is to draw oneself up a tree or\n any other thing, clinging to it with the legs and arms. P.\n\n Swat, i. 29, _did sweat_.\n\n Swear, _sware_.\n\n Swearde, ii. 128, _sword_.\n\n Sweaven, i. 106, ii. 63;\n sweven, ii. 56, _a dream_.\n\n Sweere, iii. 21, _neck_.\n\n Sweit, iii. 74;\n swete, ii. 19, _sweet_;\n sweitly, ii. 212, _sweetly_.\n\n Swepyls, ii. 25,\n\n \"a swepyl is that staff of the flail with which the corn is beaten\n out. Vulg. a supple (called in the midland counties a swindgell,\n where the other part is termed the hand-staff).\" P.\n\n Swerdes, ii. 8, _swords_.\n\n Swiche, i. 430, _such_.\n\n Swith, i. 96, ii. 119, _quickly_, _instantly_, _at once_.\n\n Swound, i. 240, 296, ii. 179, _swoon_.\n\n Swyke, _sigh_.\n\n Swynkers, ii. 19, _labourers_.\n\n Swyppyng, ii. 25, _striking fast_.\n\n Swyving, ii. 8, _wenching_, _lechery_.\n\n Sych, ii. 19, _such_.\n\n Syd, _side_;\n on sydis shear, i. 25, _on all sides_.\n\n Syn, ii. 16, _since_.\n\n Syne, i. 43, ii. 114, iii. 147, _then_, _afterwards_.\n\n Syns, _since_.\n\n Syschemell, ii. 74, _Ishmael_.\n\n Syth, ii. 38, _since_.\n\n Syyt, ii. 27, _sight_.\n\n\n Taiken, ii. 118, _taken_.\n\n Tain, iii. 94;\n taine, i. 59, _taken_.\n\n Tane, i. 289, ii. 193, _taken_.\n\n Tane, iii. 238, _the one_.\n\n Tarbox, ii. 256, _box containing tar for anointing sores in sheep, &c._\n\n Targe, ii. 53, _target_, _shield_.\n\n Tauld, ii. 109, _told_.\n\n Tayne, i. 50, _taken_.\n\n Te, ii. 7, _to_;\n te-knowe, ii. 11, _to know_;\n te-make, _to make_.\n\n Te-he, ii. 26, _interjection of laughing_.\n\n Tear, i. 34, _tearing or pulling_.\n\n Teene, i. 162, _vexation_;\n i. 284, 291, _injury_;\n iii. 194, _trouble_;\n teenefu, i. 147, _wrathful_.\n\n Teene, i. 77, _vex_.\n\n Teir, i. 101, _tear_.\n\n Tene, i. 120, _wrath_.\n\n Tenebrus, i. 128, _dark_.\n\n Tent, ii. 83, _heed_.\n\n Termagaunt, i. 85, 96, _the god of the Saracens_.\n\n The old French Romancers, who had corrupted _Termagant_ into\n _Tervagant_, couple it with the name of Mahomet as constantly as\n ours; thus in the old _Roman de Blanchardin_,\n\n \"Cy guerpison tuit Apolin,\n Et Mahomet et _Tervagant_.\"\n\n Hence La Fontaine, with great humour, in his Tale, intitled _La_\n _Fianc\u00e9e du Roy de Garbe_, says,\n\n \"Et reniant Mahom, Jupin, et _Tervagant_,\n Avec maint autre Dieu non moins extravagant.\"\n\n --_Mem. de l'Acad. des Inscript. tom._ 20, 4to. p. 352.\n\n As _Termagant_ is evidently of Anglo-Saxon derivation and can\n only be explained from the elements of that language, its being\n corrupted by the old French Romancers proves that they borrowed\n some things from ours. P.\n\n Terrene, iii. 299, _earthly_.\n\n Terry, ii. 19, _Thierry_, or a _diminutive of Terence_.\n\n Tester, iii. 206, _teston, or sixpence_.\n\n Tha, ii. 26, _them_.\n\n Thah, ii. 7, _though_.\n\n Thair, ii. 82, iii. 99, _there_.\n\n Tham, ii. 21;\n thame, i. 84, 102, 146, _them_.\n\n Than, i. 145, 206, _then_.\n\n Thanns, ii. 25, _thence_.\n\n Thay, i. 321, _they_.\n\n Thaym, ii. 23, _them_.\n\n Thayr, ii. 21, _their_.\n\n The, _they_;\n the wear, i. 29, _they were_.\n\n The, i. 189, ii. 13, _thee_.\n\n The God, ii. 30, _contraction for the_ he (_i.e. high_) God. P.\n\n Thear, i. 33, _there_;\n i. 29, _their_.\n\n Theder, ii. 19;\n thedyr, ii. 28, _thither_.\n\n Thee, ii. 97, _thrive_;\n so mote I thee, ii. 97, _so may I thrive_.\n\n So in Chaucer, _Cant. Tales_, vol. i. p. 308, \"God let him never\n _the_.\" P.\n\n Then, _than_.\n\n Ther, ii. 21;\n _there_ i. 289, _their_.\n\n Ther, ii. 23, _where_.\n\n Thes, ii. 19, _these_.\n\n Thether, i. 41, _thither_.\n\n They, i. 78, _the_.\n\n Theyther-ward, _thitherward_, _towards that place_.\n\n Thie, _thy_.\n\n Thii, ii. 386, _they_.\n\n Thilke, ii. 14, _this_.\n\n Thir, ii. 69, _this_, _these_;\n thir towmonds, ii. 82, _these twelve months_.\n\n Tho, i. 207, _then_;\n _those_, ii. 39.\n\n Thocht, iii. 94, _thought_.\n\n Thole, ii. 119, _suffer_.\n\n Thore, ii. 13, _there_.\n\n Thorow, ii. 30;\n thorrow, i. 291, _through_;\n thorowout, ii. 15, _throughout_.\n\n Thouse, i. 198, _thou art_;\n _thou shalt_, iii. 131.\n\n Thoust, i. 289, _thou shalt or shouldst_.\n\n Thowe, _thou_.\n\n Thrall, i. 297, ii. 79, _captive_,;\n _captivity_, i. 75, 135;\n ii. 256.\n\n Thrang, ii. 115, _throng_;\n _close_, ii. 69.\n\n Thraste, iii. 216, _thrust_.\n\n Thrawis, _throes_.\n\n Thrawn, ii. 115, _thrown_.\n\n Threape, i. 198, _to argue_, _to affirm or assert in a positive\n overbearing manner_.\n\n Threven, ii. 133, _thrived_.\n\n Threw, ii. 214, _drew_.\n\n Threw, iii. 238, _thrived_.\n\n Thrie, _three_.\n\n Thrif, _thrive_.\n\n Thrild upon a pinn, iii. 47, _twirled or twisted the door pin_.\n\n Thritt\u00e8, i. 34, _thirty_;\n thritti thou sent, ii. 7, _thirty thousand_.\n\n Thronge, i. 163, _hastened_.\n\n Thropes, iii. 208, _villages_.\n\n Through-girt, ii. 78, _pierced through_.\n\n Throw, iii. 134, _through_.\n\n Thruch, throuch, _through_.\n\n Thrughe, _through_.\n\n Thrustand, ii. 23, _thrusting_.\n\n Thryes, ii. 23, _thrice_.\n\n Thrysse, i. 47, _thrice_.\n\n Thud, ii. 119, _dull sound_.\n\n Tickle, ii. 299, _uncertain_.\n\n Tift, iii. 237, _puff of wind_.\n\n Till, i. 33, 65, 143, ii. 82, _unto_.\n\n Till, i. 94, _entice_.\n\n Timkin, _diminutive of Timothy_.\n\n Tine, i. 64, _lose_;\n tint, i. 71;\n ii. 363, _lost_.\n\n Tirled at the pin, iii. 131, _twirled or twisted the door pin_.\n\n Tividale, i. 25, _Teviotdale_.\n\n To, _too_, _two_.\n\n Tokenyng, ii. 22, _token_.\n\n Tomkyn, ii. 19, _diminutive of Thomas_.\n\n To-flatred, ii. 25, _slit_.\n\n To-rente, iii. 356, _rent_.\n\n To-schatred, ii. 25, _shattered_.\n\n To-slatered, ii. 25, _splintered_.\n\n Tone, i. 42, 87, iii. 103, _the one_.\n\n Too-fall, ii. 365, _twilight_.\n\n \"Too-fall of the night\" seems to be an image drawn from a suspended\n canopy, so let fall as to cover what is below. (_Mr. Lambe._) P.\n\n Tooken, i. 274, _took_.\n\n Tor, _a tower_;\n also _a high pointed rock or hill_.\n\n Torn, i. 187, _turn_.\n\n Tothar, i. 31, _the other_.\n\n Tother, i. 87, _the other_.\n\n Toun, i. 143;\n town, i. 321, _dwelling-house_.\n\n Tow, i. 145, _to let down with a rope_;\n towd, i. 146, _let down_.\n\n Tow, i. 106;\n towe, i. 31, 87, _two_.\n\n Towmonds, ii. 82, _twelve months_.\n\n Towyn, i. 41, _town_.\n\n Traitorye, i. 283, 289, ii. 309;\n traytery, ii. 224, _treason_.\n\n Tre, i. 28, ii. 13, _wood_;\n i. 30, _staff_.\n\n Tree, i. 291, _ill_.\n\n Trewest, ii. 11, _truest_.\n\n Treytory, i. 124, _treachery_.\n\n Trichard, ii. 7, _treacherous_.\n\n Tricthen (should be trichen), ii. 7, _deceive_.\n\n Triest furth, iii. 94, _draw forth to an assignation_.\n\n Trifulcate, _three forked_, _three pointed_.\n\n Trippand, ii. 27, _tripping_.\n\n Trim, i. 191, _exact_.\n\n Troate, ii. 360, _throat_.\n\n Trogh, ii. 24, _trough_.\n\n Trone, yn trone, i. 43, _enthroned_.\n\n Troth, iii. 131, _truth_, _faith_, _fidelity_;\n trothles, i. 201, _faithless_.\n\n Trough, trouth, _troth_.\n\n Trouth plyyt, ii. 27, _truth plight_.\n\n Trow, ii. 95, _true_.\n\n Trow, iii. 96;\n trowe, i. 270, _believe_, _trust_, also _verily_.\n\n Trumped, _boasted_, _told bragging lies_;\n a trump, _a lie_.\n\n Tuik, i. 322, _took_.\n\n Tuke gude keip, ii. 84, _took good watch_.\n\n Tull, i. 320;\n for till, _to_.\n\n Tup, ii. 257, _ram_.\n\n Turn, such turn, _such an occasion_.\n\n Turnes a crab, ii. 258, _roasts a crab apple_.\n\n Tush, ii. 57, _tusk_.\n\n Twa, i. 320;\n ii. 26, _two_.\n\n Twatling, iii. 187, _trifling_.\n\n Twaw, i. 27, _two_.\n\n Twayne, ii. 37, _two_.\n\n Twin'd, i. 59, _parted in two_.\n\n Twirtle twist, ii. 112, _twirled twist_.\n\n Twyes, ii. 23, _twice_.\n\n Tyb, ii. 20, _the diminutive of Isabel_.\n\n Tyll. com the tyll, i. 42, _come unto thee_.\n\n Tyrry, ii. 26. See _Terry_.\n\n\n Uch, ii. 14, _each_.\n\n Ugsome, _shocking_, _horrible_.\n\n 'Um, iii. 333, _them_.\n\n Unbethought, iii. 51, for _bethought_.\n\n Undermeles, iii. 208, _afternoons_.\n\n Undight, i. 309, _undecked_.\n\n Unfeeled, _opened_, a term in falconry.\n\n Unhap, ii. 77, _mishap_.\n\n Unkempt, ii. 77, _uncombed_.\n\n Unmacklye, i. 73, 80, _mis-shapen_.\n\n Unmufit, _undisturbed_.\n\n Unright, ii. 191, _wrong_.\n\n Unsett steven, i. 111, _unappointed time_, _unexpectedly_.\n\n Unsonsie, ii. 116, _unlucky_, _unfortunate_.\n\n Untill, iii. 49;\n untyll, i. 162, _unto_.\n\n Upo, ii. 70, _upon_.\n\n Ure, iii. 262, _use_.\n\n Uthers, ii. 86, _others_.\n\n\n Vaints, ii. 289, _faints_.\n\n Vair, ii. 286, _fair_.\n\n Valeies, ii. 41, _valleys_.\n\n Vart, ii. 286, _fart_.\n\n Vazen, ii. 286, for _faith_.\n\n Vellow, ii. 286;\n vellowe, ii. 287, _fellow_.\n\n Venge, ii. 117, _revenge_.\n\n Venu, iii. 356, _approach_, _coming_.\n\n Verament, i. 25, 28, _truly_.\n\n Vices, i. 129, _devices_.\n\n Vilane, _rascally_.\n\n Vitayle, ii. 42, _victual_.\n\n Vive, ii. 386, _five_.\n\n Vools, ii. 288, _fools_;\n voolish, ii. 288, _foolish_.\n\n Vor, ii. 286, _for_.\n\n Vorty, ii. 287, _forty_.\n\n Vourteen, ii. 287, _fourteen_.\n\n Voyded, i. 166, _quitted_, _left the place_.\n\n Vrier, ii. 286, _friar_.\n\n\n Wa, i. 142, 143, ii. 109, iii. 93, 95, _wall_.\n\n Wache, i. 43, _a spy_.\n\n Wad, i. 60, 145, 321, _would_.\n\n Wadded, iii. 7, _light-blue or woad-coloured_.\n\n Wadna, ii. 13, _would not_.\n\n Wae, i. 83, 320, _woe_;\n waefo', iii. 100;\n waefu', ii. 110, _woeful_.\n\n Wae worth, i. 145, 322, _woe betide_.\n\n Wald, i. 145;\n walde, iii. 94, _would_.\n\n Walker, iii. 8, _a fuller of cloth_.\n\n Walowit, ii. 119, _faded_, _withered_.\n\n Waltering, i. 75, ii. 119, _weltering_;\n waltred, _tumbled or rolled about_.\n\n Waly, iii. 147, _an interjection of lamentation_.\n\n Wame, iii. 238, _womb_, _belly_.\n\n Wan, i. 72, 244;\n ii. 26, _won_.\n\n Wan near, ii. 120, _drew near_.\n\n Wane, i. 29, _the same as_ ane, _one_, _so_ wone _is one_.\n\n In fol. 355 of Bannatyne's MS. is a short fragment, in which \"wane\"\n is used for \"ane\" or \"one,\" viz.:--\n\n \"Amongst the monsters that we find,\n There's _wane_ belovved of woman-kind,\n Renowned for antiquity,\n From Adame drivs his pedigree.\" P.\n\n The word wane in the text, however, is probably a misreading for\n mane.\n\n Wanrufe, ii. 83, _uneasy_.\n\n War, i. 25, _aware_.\n\n War ant wys, ii. 11, _wary and wise_.\n\n Ward, ii. 120, _watch_, _sentinel_, _warder_.\n\n Warde, iii. 97, _advise_, _forewarn_.\n\n Ware, i. 43, 107, 158, _aware_.\n\n Ware, i. 306, _wore_.\n\n Ware, iii. 238, _were_.\n\n Warke, _work_.\n\n Warld, ii. 85, _world_;\n warldis, i. 84, _worlds_.\n\n Waryd, ii. 20, _accursed_.\n\n Waryson, i. 46, _reward_.\n\n Wassel, iii. 27, _drinking_, _good cheer_.\n\n Wat, i. 322, ii. 68, _wet_.\n\n Wat, i. 27, _know_.\n\n Wate, iii. 97, _blamed_. (Preterite of _wyte_, to blame.)\n\n Wauld, iii. 95, _would_.\n\n Wayde, _waved_.\n\n Wayed, iii. 195, _weighed_.\n\n Weal, i. 33, _wail_.\n\n Weale, _well_.\n\n Wear, i. 29, _were_.\n\n Wear-in, iii. 74, _drive in gently_.\n\n Wearifu', ii. 70, _wearisome_, _troublesome_, _tiresome_, _disturbing_.\n\n Weddeen, iii. 236, _wedding_.\n\n Wedder, ii. 83, _weather_.\n\n Wede, ii. 21, _clothing_.\n\n Wedous, i. 33, _widows_.\n\n Wee, ii. 69, _little_.\n\n Weede, iii. 59, _clothing_, _dress_;\n weeds, i. 88, 246, _garments_.\n\n Weell, iii. 51, _we'll_, _we will_.\n\n Weel, ii. 132;\n weele, i. 150, _well_.\n\n Weel-faur'd, ii. 139, _well-favoured_.\n\n Weene, i. 193, _think_;\n ween'd, i. 143;\n weened, ii. 80;\n weende, ii. 96, _thought_.\n\n Weete, i. 101, ii. 216, _wet_.\n\n Weet, ii. 95, _know_.\n\n Weids, ii. 364, _cloathing_.\n\n Weil, i. 145, _well_.\n\n Weip, i. 60;\n weipe, ii. 211, _weep_.\n\n Weir, ii. 115, _war_.\n\n Weird, iii. 224, _witch-like_.\n\n Weit, ii. 231, _wet_.\n\n Wel longe, ii. 13, _very long_.\n\n Wel-awaye, iii. 128, _an interjection of grief_.\n\n Weldynge, _ruling_.\n\n Wele, ii. 24, _well_.\n\n Welkin, iii. 201, _the sky_.\n\n Wem, iii. 303, _spot_.\n\n Wem, iii. 357, _hurt_.\n\n Weme, i. 284, 291, _hollow_.\n\n Wend, i. 156, ii. 13, _go_.\n\n Wend, ii. 85;\n wende, i. 170, _thought_;\n wende do, ii. 8, _thought to do_.\n\n Wenden, ii. 12, _go_.\n\n Went, i. 164, _thought_.\n\n Wer, iii. 134, _were_.\n\n Wereth, _defendeth_.\n\n Werke, i. 163, 306, _work_.\n\n Werre, ii. 11, _war_.\n\n Werryed, ii. 65, _worried_.\n\n Wes, ii. 8, _was_.\n\n Westlin, ii. 120, _western_.\n\n Westlings, _whistling_.\n\n Wete, i. 31, _wet_.\n\n Wether, iii. 328, _whether_.\n\n Wex, iii. 238, _wax_, _grow_.\n\n Wha, ii. 71, _who_.\n\n Whair, ii. 69, _where_;\n whair-eir, ii. 212, _wherever_.\n\n Wham, ii. 11, _whom_.\n\n Whan, i. 318, _when_.\n\n Whang, ii. 70, _a large slice_.\n\n Wheder, ii. 37, _whither_.\n\n Whelyng, ii. 49, _wheeling_.\n\n Whig, i. 299, ii. 256, _sour whey_, _buttermilk_.\n\n While, _until_.\n\n Whilk, ii. 71, _which_.\n\n Whirry, iii. 202, _laugh_.\n\n Whittles, _knives_.\n\n Whoard, i. 214, _hoard_.\n\n Whorles (see spindles).\n\n Whyll, i. 48, _while_.\n\n Whyllys, i. 30, _whilst_.\n\n Wi', ii. 68, _with_.\n\n Wight, i. 63, 65, 72, 191, _man_, _human being_.\n\n Wight, i. 107, 288, _strong_, _lusty_.\n\n Wightlye, i. 64, 78, _swiftly_, _vigorously_.\n\n Wighty, i. 106, 147;\n wightye, i. 161, _strong_, _active_.\n\n Wild-worme, iii. 30, 36, _serpent_.\n\n Wildings, ii. 257, _wild or crab apples_.\n\n Wilfull, i. 110, _ignorant_.\n\n Windar, iii. 302, _a kind of hawk_.\n\n Windling, _winding_.\n\n Winna, iii. 96;\n winnae, i. 59, 144, _will not_.\n\n Winyard, iii. 297, _long knife or short cutlass_.\n\n Winsome, i. 323, ii. 70, 363, _agreeable_, _engaging_.\n\n Wirk, ii. 83, _do_.\n\n Wis, i. 269, _know_;\n wist, i. 72, iii. 148, _knew_.\n\n Witchd, iii. 24, _bewitched_.\n\n Withouten, i. 126;\n withowtten, i. 41;\n withowghten, i. 40, 43, _without_.\n\n Wive, ii. 255, _marry_.\n\n Wo, ii. 81, 86, _woe_.\n\n Wobster, ii. 131, _webster_, _weaver_.\n\n Wod, ii. 82;\n wode, i. 122, 160, 163, _mad_, _wild_.\n\n Wod, iii. 94;\n wode, i. 156, ii. 37, _wood_.\n\n Wodewarde, ii. 43, _towards the wood_.\n\n Woe-man, _a sorrowful man_.\n\n Woe worth, ii. 215, _woe be to thee_.\n\n Wolden, i. 274, _would_.\n\n Woll, ii. 24, _wool_.\n\n Wolle, ii. 38, _will_.\n\n Won, ii. 49, _wont_, _usage_.\n\n Won'd, i. 306, _dwelt_.\n\n Wonde, wounde, _winded_.\n\n Wonders, _wondrous_.\n\n Wondersly, i. 125, _wondrously_.\n\n Wone, i. 31, _one_.\n\n Wonne, _dwell_.\n\n Woo, i. 28, _woe_.\n\n Wood, i. 145, ii. 145;\n woode, iii. 57, _mad_, _furious_.\n\n Wood-wroth, iii. 238, _furiously enraged_.\n\n Woodweele, i. 106, _the golden ouzle_, _a bird of the thrush kind_.\n\n Worm, iii. 30, 36, _serpent_.\n\n Worship, i. 121, _honour_.\n\n Worshipfully frended, _of worshipful friends_.\n\n Wot, i. 69;\n wott, ii. 139, _know_;\n wotes, i. 219, _knows_.\n\n Wouche, i. 28, _mischief_, _wrong_.\n\n Wowe, i. 300, _woo_.\n\n Wow, iii. 75, _who_.\n\n Wow, ii. 22, _vow_.\n\n Wrack, i. 296;\n wracke, iii. 41, _wreck_, _ruin_, _destruction_;\n wracked, iii. 117, _wrecked_.\n\n Wrang, i. 147, _wrung_.\n\n Wrange, i. 41, _wrong_.\n\n Wreake, ii. 135, _pursue revengefully_.\n\n Wrench, ii. 81, 86, _wretchedness_.\n\n Wringe, i. 122, _to contend with violence_.\n\n Writhe, i. 286, _writhed_, _twisted_.\n\n Wroken, i. 106, 147, _revenged_.\n\n Wrong, i. 166, _wrung_.\n\n Wrotyn, ii. 22, _wrought_.\n\n Wrouyt, ii. 30, _wrought_.\n\n Wry, ii. 49, _turn aside_.\n\n Wul, i. 83, 143;\n wull, iii. 235, _will_.\n\n Wych, i. 44, _which_.\n\n Wyld, i. 24, _wild deer_.\n\n Wynn ther haye, i. 40, _gather in their hay_.\n\n Wynne, i. 43, ii. 20, _joy_, _pleasure_.\n\n Wynne, iii. 279, _heard_.\n\n Wynnen, ii. 12, _win_, _gain_.\n\n Wyrch wyselyer, ii. 24, _work more wisely_.\n\n Wysse, ii. 12, 14, _teach_, _govern_.\n\n Wyst, ii. 26;\n wyste, i. 25, _knew_.\n\n Wyt, _know_;\n wyt wold I, ii. 20, _know would I_.\n\n Wyte, iii. 97, _blame_.\n\n\n Y, ii. 12, _I_;\n y singe, ii. 11, _I sing_.\n\n Y-beare, ii. 57, _bear_;\n y-boren, ii. 8, _borne_.\n\n Y-bent, _bent_.\n\n Y-built, iii. 272, _built_.\n\n Y-cald, iii. 374, _called_.\n\n Y-chesyled, i. 129, _chiselled_.\n\n Y-cleped, i. 326, _named_, _called_.\n\n Y-con'd, i. 306, _taught_, _instructed_.\n\n Y-core, ii. 12, _chosen_.\n\n Y-fere, ii. 76, _together_.\n\n Y-founde, ii. 13, _found_.\n\n Y-mad, ii. 13, _made_.\n\n Y-picking, i. 307, _picking_, _culling_.\n\n Y-slaw, i. 175, _slain_.\n\n Y-told, iii. 374, _told_.\n\n Y-were, i. 87, _were_.\n\n Y-wis, i. 132;\n ii. 12, _verily_.\n\n Y-wonne, ii. 13, _won_.\n\n Y-wrought, i. 306;\n iii. 275, _wrought_.\n\n Y-yote, ii. 14, _cast_.\n\n Yae, iii. 237, _each_.\n\n Yalping, ii. 170, _yelping_.\n\n Yaned, iii. 357, _yawned_.\n\n Yate, i. 92;\n iii. 62, _gate_;\n yates, i. 144.\n\n Yave, i. 272, _gave_.\n\n Ych, i. 31, 48;\n ycha, ii. 23, _each_, _every_.\n\n Ych, ii. 26, _same_.\n\n Ycholde, ii. 12, _I would_.\n\n Ychone, i. 49, _each one_.\n\n Ychulle, iii. 363, _I shall_.\n\n Ydle, _idle_.\n\n Yeaning, ii. 257, _bringing forth young_.\n\n Yearded, ii. 384, _buried_, _earthed_.\n\n Yeats, iii. 93, _gates_.\n\n Yebent, i. 28, _bent_.\n\n Yede, ii. 21, 44, _went_.\n\n Yee, _eye_.\n\n Yef, ii. 12, _if_.\n\n Yeid, ii. 81, _went_.\n\n Yeir, i. 101, _year_.\n\n Yeme, ii. 12, _take care of_, _govern_.\n\n Yender, _yonder_.\n\n Yenoughe, i. 28, 34, _enough_.\n\n Yent, ii. 11, _through_.\n\n Yerarchy, i. 126, _hierarchy_.\n\n Yerle, i. 26, 28, 29, 48, _earl_;\n yerlle, i. 40, 44, 49.\n\n Yerly, i. 24, _early_.\n\n Yerly, i. 440, _yearly_.\n\n Ye's, ii. 132;\n ye'se, iii. 134, _ye shall_.\n\n Yestreen, ii. 111, _last evening_.\n\n Yet, ii. 20, _still_.\n\n Yf, ii. 23, _though_.\n\n Ygnoraunce, i. 441, _ignorance_.\n\n Ying, iii. 374;\n yinge, iii. 374, _young_.\n\n Yit, _yet_.\n\n Ylk, ii. 26, _same_.\n\n Yll, ii. 36, _ill_.\n\n Ylythe, _listen_.\n\n Yn, ii. 9, _house_.\n\n Yngglishe, i. 28, 47, 50, _English_.\n\n Ynglonde, i. 27, 32, 34, 43, _England_.\n\n Ynough, i. 155, _enough_.\n\n Yode, iii. 67, _went_.\n\n Yond, i. 285;\n ii. 191;\n yonds, i. 291, _yonder_.\n\n Yong, i. 271;\n yonge, ii. 38, _young_.\n\n Youd, iii. 48, _went_.\n\n Youle, i. 274, 290, _you will_.\n\n Your lane, iii. 94, _alone_, _by yourself_.\n\n Youst, i. 290, _you will_.\n\n Yow, ii. 16, _you_.\n\n Ys, i. 189;\n ii. 14, _is_;\n ii. 12, _his_.\n\n Yt, _it_.\n\n Yth, i. 25, _in the_.\n\n Yule, ii. 229, _Christmas_.\n\n * * * * *\n\n [In several of the poems Percy used the letter z to represent\n the Anglo-Saxon character [gh], but as this is incorrect, and,\n moreover, gives rise to a very frequent mispronunciation, the z\n has been replaced by y in this edition, and several words have\n therefore been left out that occurred in the original glossary.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n Zacring bell, ii. 288, _sacring bell_,\n\n a little bell rung to give notice of the elevation of the host. P.\n\n Zaints, ii. 289, _saints_.\n\n Zaw, ii. 290, _saw_.\n\n Zay, ii. 287, _say_.\n\n Zee, ii. 286, _see_;\n zeene, ii. 287 _seen_.\n\n Zelf, ii. 287, _self_.\n\n Zet, ii. 289, _set_.\n\n Zhall, ii. 288, _shall_.\n\n Zhowe, ii. 288, _show_.\n\n Zinging, ii. 289, _singing_.\n\n Zmell, ii. 286, _smell_.\n\n Zo, ii. 289, _so_.\n\n Zold, ii. 287, _sold_.\n\n Zometimes, ii. 286, _sometimes_.\n\n Zon, ii. 290, _son_.\n\n Zorrow, ii. 289, _sorrow_.\n\n Zorts, ii. 286, _sorts_.\n\n Zubtil, ii. 290, _subtil_.\n\n Zuch, ii. 288, _such_.\n\n Zure, ii. 288, _sure_.\n\n Zweet, ii. 289, _sweet_.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nINDEX TO THE THREE VOLUMES.\n\n\n The Titles of the various Poems included in the _Reliques_ are\n distinguished from the other entries by being printed in italics.\n\n _A, Robyn, jolly Robyn_, I. 185-187.\n\n _Adam Bell, Clym of the Clough, and William of Cloudesley_, I. 153-179.\n\n _Admiral Hosier's Ghost_, II. 367-371.\n\n _Aged Lover renounceth Love_, by Lord Vaux, I. 179-182.\n\n _Agincourt, For the Victory of_, II. 29-31.\n\n _Alcanzor and Zayda_, translated by Percy, I. 338-342.\n\n _Aldingar_ (_Sir_), II. 54-67.\n ---- Version from the folio MS. II. 61-67.\n\n Alexandrine or Anapestic verse, II. 386.\n\n Alfred the Great as a Harper, I. 399.\n\n Alliterative metre without rhyme, II. 377-394.\n\n _Althea_ (_To_) _from Prison_, II. 321-323.\n\n _Ambree_ (_Mary_), II. 231-237.\n ---- Version from the folio MS. II. 235-237.\n\n \"Amys and Amelion,\" III. 373.\n\n Anderson (John), the town crier of Kelso, II. 132.\n\n _Argentile and Curan_, II. 252-262.\n\n Arthour and Merlin, Romance of, III. 369.\n\n Arthur (King), Poems on, III. 3-43.\n ---- King Arthur and the King of Cornwall, III. 367.\n ---- _Legend of King Arthur_, III. 3-43.\n ---- _King Arthur's Death, a Fragment_, III. 27-35.\n ---- ---- Version from the folio MS. III. 35-39.\n ---- Le Morte Arthure, III. 366\n\n _As ye came from the Holy Land_, II. 101-103.\n ---- Copy from the folio MS. 104-105.\n\n _Auld_ (_The_) _Good-man_, III. 122-124.\n\n\n _Baffled Knight, or Lady's Policy_, II. 336-342.\n\n _Bailiff's Daughter of Islington_, III. 135-137.\n\n _Balet by the Earl of Rivers_, II. 48-49.\n\n _Ballad of Constant Susanna_, I. 209.\n\n _Ballad of Luther, the Pope, a Cardinal, and a Husbandman_, II. 125-130.\n\n Ballads and Ballad-Writers, I. xxiv.-xliv.\n ---- Imitators and Forgers of, I. xliv.-xlviii.\n ---- Authenticity of certain, I. xlviii.-lviii.\n ---- Preservers of the, I. lviii.-lxxii.\n ---- Collections of printed, I. lxiii.-lxv.\n ---- \"Collection of old Ballads,\" I. lxix.\n ---- that illustrate Shakespeare, I. 151-246.\n ---- Ballad Literature since Percy, I. xci.-xcvii.\n ---- Meaning of the word ballad, I. xxx. 423.\n ---- Ballad-singers, I. xxxiii.-xxxiv.\n\n Balowe, II. 209-213.\n\n Bannatyne MS. I. lxii.\n\n _Barbara Allan, Sir John Grehme and_, III. 133-135.\n\n _Barbara Allen's Cruelty_, III. 128-130.\n\n Bards, successors of the ancient, I. 385.\n\n _Barton_ (_Sir Andrew_), II. 188-208.\n ---- Version from the folio MS. II. 201-208.\n\n _Battle of Otterbourne_, I. 35-54.\n\n Beaumont and Fletcher, _Farewell to Love_, I. 310.\n\n _Bedlam, Old Tom of_, II. 344-347.\n\n _Bednall Green, Beggar's Daughter of_, II. 171-185.\n\n Bedwell (William), II. 19.\n\n _Beggar's Daughter of Bednall Green_, II. 171-185.\n\n \"Belesant (Lady), the Duke of Lombardy's fair Daughter,\" III. 373.\n\n \"Bevis (Sir) of Hampton,\" referred to, III. 215, 265, 279, 357, 365.\n\n _Birth of St. George_, III. 215-224.\n\n Blondell de Nesle, the Minstrell, I. 359.\n\n Bodwell (Earle), II. 215-218.\n\n Bohemia, Elizabeth, Queen of, II. 312.\n\n Bolle (Sir John), II. 247.\n\n Bond-story in the \"Merchant of Venice,\" I. 211.\n\n _Bonny Earl of Murray_, II. 226-228.\n\n Bosville's (Godfrey), explanation of the \"Dragon of Wantley,\" III. 281.\n\n _Bothwell's (Lady Anne) Lament_, II. 209-213.\n\n _Boy and the Mantle_, III. 3-12.\n\n _Boy and the Mantle, as revised and altered by a modern hand_,\n III. 315-323.\n\n _Braes of Yarrow_, II. 362-367.\n\n Brandon's (Charles) livery and device, III. 167 (note).\n\n _Brave Lord Willoughbey_, II. 238-241.\n\n Breton (Nicholas), III. 67, 80.\n\n _Bride's Burial_, III. 148-152.\n\n _Bridges, Gascoigne's Praise of the Fair_, II. 150-154.\n\n Brown, Epithet applied to a sword, I. 122.\n\n Brown (Mrs.) of Falkland, I. lxvi.\n\n _Bryan and Pereene_, by J. Grainger, I. 328-331.\n\n\n Cadiz, Taking of, by the English, II. 243.\n\n Caliburn, King Arthur's Sword, III. 32.\n\n Carew (Thomas), _Unfading Beauty_, III. 239.\n\n Carey (Henry), _Distracted Lover_, II. 355-357.\n\n Carle of Carlisle, III. 367.\n\n \"Carre (Captain)\", from the folio MS. I. 148-150.\n\n _Cauline_ (_Sir_), I. 61-81.\n ---- Copy from the folio MS. I. 76-81.\n\n Chambers (Robert), \"Romantic Scottish Ballads\" noticed, I. l.\n\n _Character of a Happy Life_, by Sir H. Wotton, I. 317-318.\n\n _Charing-Cross, Downfall of_, II. 323-326.\n\n _Charles I., Verses by_, II. 329-326.\n\n _Chaucer, Original Ballad by_, II. 14-16.\n\n \"Chevalere Assigne,\" an alliterative romance, II. 381; III. 369.\n\n Cheviot Hills, the scene of Chevy Chase, I. 254.\n\n _Chevy Chase, the Ancient Ballad of_, I. 19-35.\n ---- ---- Names mentioned in, I. 51-52.\n ---- _The more Modern Ballad of_, I. 249-264.\n ---- ---- Names mentioned in, I. 263-264.\n\n _Child of Elle_, I. 131-139.\n ---- Copy from the folio MS. I. 138-139.\n\n _Child Waters_, III. 58-65.\n\n _Children in the Wood_, III. 169-176.\n\n Chylde Ipomydon, a Romance, III. 371.\n\n Clym of the Clough, I. 153.\n\n Clyne (Norval) on the authenticity of _Sir Patrick Spence_, I. lii.\n\n _Complaint of Conscience_, II. 279-285.\n\n _Constant Penelope_, III. 261-264.\n\n _Cophetua_ (_King_) _and the Beggar-Maid_, I. 189-194.\n\n Coppe, an enthusiast, II. 349 (note).\n\n Corbet (Bishop Richard), _Fairies Farewell_, III. 207-213.\n ---- _The Distracted Puritan_, II. 347-351.\n\n _Corin's Fate_, II. 262-263.\n\n _Corydon's Doleful Knell_, II. 274-276.\n\n _Corydon's Farewell to Phillis_, I. 209-211.\n\n _Courtier, Old and Young_, II. 314-318.\n\n Crants, Ophelia's virgin, III. 152 (note).\n\n _Cromwell_ (_Thomas Lord_), II. 71-75.\n\n Cunningham's (Allan) forged Ballads, I. xlvi.\n\n _Cupid, Hue and Cry after_, III. 159-161.\n\n _Cupid and Campaspe, by John Lilye_, III. 85-86.\n\n _Cupid's Assault, by Lord Vaux_, II. 50-53.\n\n _Cupid's Pastime_, I. 314-317.\n\n Cymmortha in Wales, I. xix.\n\n\n Daniel (S.), _Ulysses and the Syren_, I. 311-314.\n\n Darnley, Ballad on his Murder, II. 213-218.\n\n _Dawson_ (_Jemmy_), II. 371-374.\n\n \"Death and Life,\" an alliterative Poem, II. 383.\n\n Degree (Sir), a Romance, III. 371.\n\n Deloney (Thomas), Ballad-Writer, I. xxxviii.\n ---- _Sir Lancelot du Lake_, I. 204-209.\n ---- _The King of France's Daughter_, III. 161-168.\n ---- _The Winning of Cales_, II. 243-246.\n\n _Dido_ (_Queen_), III. 191-196.\n\n \"Dioclesian, the Emperour,\" III. 373.\n\n _Distracted Lover_, II. 355-357.\n\n _Distracted Puritan_, II. 347-351.\n\n Douglas, Heraldic Arms of the House of, I. 47.\n\n _Downfall of Charing Cross_, II. 323-326.\n\n _Dowsabell_, by Michael Drayton, I. 304-310.\n\n _Dragon of Wantley_, III. 279-288.\n\n Drayton (Michael), _Dowsabell_, I. 304-310.\n\n _Dulcina_, III. 153-155.\n\n D'Urfey (Tom), _Frantic Lady_, II. 357-358.\n ---- _Lady distracted with Love_, II. 354-355.\n\n Dyer (Sir E.), _My Mind to Me a Kingdom is_, I. 294-298.\n\n _Dyttie to Hey Downe_, III. 44-45.\n\n\n _Edom o'Gordon_, I. 140-150.\n ---- Copy from the folio MS. I. 148-150.\n\n _Edward, Edward, a Scottish Ballad_, I. 82-84.\n\n _Edward I., on the Death of_, II. 10-14.\n\n _Edward IV. and Tanner of Tamworth_, II. 92-100.\n\n Edwards (Richard) _A Song to the Lute in Musicke_, I. 187-189.\n\n \"Eger and Grime,\" III. 368.\n\n \"Eglamour of Artas,\" a Romance, III. 370.\n\n _Eleanor's_ (_Queen_) _Confession_, II. 164-168.\n\n Elderton (William), Ballad-Writer, I. xxxvii.\n ---- his Ballad, _King of Scots and Andrew Browne_, II. 221-225.\n\n _Elizabeth_ (_Queen_), _Sonnet_ by, II. 218-220.\n\n _---- Verses while Prisoner at Woodstock_, II. 137-138.\n\n Emanuel College, Cambridge, II. 348 (note).\n\n Emar\u00e8, Romance of, III. 369.\n\n Erasmus, Colloquy on Pilgrimages, II. 86.\n\n _Estmere (King)_, I. 85-98.\n\n \"Every Man,\" I. 433.\n\n _Ew-bughts, Marion, a Scottish Song_, III. 74-75.\n\n Excalibar, King Arthur's Sword, III. 32.\n\n\n _Fair Margaret and Sweet William_, III. 124-127.\n\n _Fair Rosamond_, II. 154-164.\n\n _Fairies Farewell_, III. 207-211.\n\n Fairy, Way to Get a, III. 210.\n\n _Fairy Queen_, III. 204-207.\n\n _Fancy and Desire, by the Earl of Oxford_, II. 185-187.\n\n _Farewell to Love_, I. 310.\n\n \"Fit,\" meaning of a, I. xxiii.; II. 182.\n\n \"Florence (Le bone) of Rome,\" III. 373.\n\n Folio MS. and the _Reliques_, I. lxxxi.-xci., 5-6.\n\n Four Elements, Interlude of the, I. 441.\n\n _France's_ (_King of_) _Daughter_, III. 161-168.\n\n _Frantic Lady_, II. 357, 358.\n\n _Friar of Orders Gray_, I. 242-246.\n\n _Frolicksome Duke, or the Tinker's good Fortune_, I. 238-242.\n\n Funeral Garlands, III. 152 (note).\n\n\n _Gaberlunyie Man_, II. 67-71.\n\n Garlands of Ballads, I. 423.\n\n Garlands (Funeral), III. 152 (note).\n\n _Gascoigne's Praise of the Fair Bridges_, II. 150-154.\n\n Gawain, the Duke and, III. 367.\n\n ---- and the Greene Knight, III. 367.\n\n ---- \"Sir Gawan and Sir Galaron of Galloway,\" metrical Romance, III. 375.\n\n ---- \"Gawan and Gologras,\" metrical Romance, III. 375.\n\n ---- _Marriage of Sir Gawayne_, III. 13-24.\n\n ---- ---- Ancient Fragment from the folio MS. 323-330.\n\n _Gentle Herdsman, tell to me_, II. 86-92.\n\n _Gentle River, Gentle River_, translated by Percy, I. 331-338.\n\n _George_ (_St._ ), _Birth of_, III. 215-224.\n\n _---- and the Dragon_, III. 224-232.\n\n _---- for England_, the first part, III. 288-293.\n\n ---- ---- the second part, by John Grubb, III. 293-308.\n\n _George Barnwell_, III. 240-252.\n\n _Gernutus the Jew of Venice_, I. 211-220.\n\n _Gil Morrice_, III. 91-100.\n\n ---- Version from the folio MS. 100-103.\n\n _Gilderoy_, I. 318-323.\n\n _Glasgerion_, III. 45-49.\n\n ---- the Harper, I. 396.\n\n Gleemen, I. 392.\n\n Glover (R.), _Admiral Hosier's Ghost_, II. 367-371.\n\n _Good-Man, The Auld_, III. 122-124.\n\n Graham (David) of Fintray, II. 229.\n\n Grainger (J.), _Bryan and Pereene_, I. 328-331.\n\n Gramarye, on the word, I. 96.\n\n \"Green Knight,\" III. 367.\n\n Greenham (Richard), II. 350 (note).\n\n _Grehme_ (_Sir John_), _and Barbara Allan_, III. 133-135.\n\n Grubb (John), _St. George for England_, the second part, III. 293-308.\n\n Guy of Gisborne, I. 102.\n\n _Guy_ (_Sir_), _Legend of_, III. 107-113.\n\n ---- Romance of, III. 364.\n\n ---- Two Poems on Guy of Warwick, III. 364.\n\n _Guy and Amarant_, III. 114-121.\n\n Guy and Colbronde, Romance of, III. 364.\n\n\n Hamilton (W.), _The Braes of Yarrow_, II. 362-367.\n\n _Hardyknute, a Scottish Fragment_, II. 105-121.\n\n _Harpalus, an Ancient English Pastoral_, II. 75-79.\n\n Harpers and Minstrels, I. 390.\n\n Harrington, _Witch of Wokey_, I. 325-328.\n\n Hawes (Stephen) _Tower of Doctrine_, I. 127-130.\n\n Hawker (Rev. R. S.), Imitator of the Old Ballad, I. xlv.\n\n _Heir of Linne_, II. 138-150.\n\n ---- Version from the folio MS. II. 147-150.\n\n Henry II. and the Miller of Mansfield, III. 178-188.\n\n Henryson (Robert) _Robin and Makyne_, II. 79-86.\n\n _Hey Downe, Dyttie to_, III. 44-45.\n\n \"Hick Scorner,\" I. 435.\n\n Hock Tuesday, Coventry Play of, I. 445.\n\n Holy-land, As Ye Came from the, II. 101-105.\n\n ---- Version from the folio MS. II. 104-105.\n\n Horne Childe, Romance of, III. 363.\n\n _Hosier's_ (_Admiral_) _Ghost_, II. 367-371.\n\n Howleglas, Merye Jest of, I. 431.\n\n _Hue and Cry after Cupid_, III. 159-161.\n\n Hugh of Lincoln, Story of, I. 54.\n\n Humbledon, Battle of, I. 35.\n\n\n Ipomydon, a Romance, III. 371.\n\n Ipotis, Poem of, III. 364.\n\n _Isabella's_ (_Lady_) _Tragedy_, III 155-158.\n\n Isenbras (Sir), Romance of, III. 369.\n\n Islington, III. 135.\n\n\n James V. _Gaberlunyie Man_, II. 67-71.\n\n James I. of England, _Verses by_, II. 300-302.\n\n _---- King of Scots and Andrew Browne_, II. 221-225.\n\n _Jane Shore_, II. 263-273.\n\n _Jealousy, Spanish Virgin, or Effects of_, III. 255-259.\n\n _Jealousy Tyrant of the Mind_, III. 260.\n\n _Jemmy Dawson_, II. 371-374.\n\n _Jephthah, Judge of Israel_, I. 182-185.\n\n _Jew's Daughter_, I. 54-60.\n\n Jews supposed to crucify Christian Children, I. 54.\n\n _John_ (_King_) _and the Abbot of Canterbury_, II. 303-312.\n\n ---- Version from the folio MS. II. 308-312.\n\n _John Anderson my Jo_, II. 131-133.\n\n \"John the Reeve,\" referred to, II. 93, 179.\n\n Johnson (Richard), Ballad-Writer, I. xxxix.\n\n Jonson (Ben.) _A Hue and Cry after Cupid_, III. 159-161.\n\n _---- The Sweet Neglect_, III. 169.\n\n _---- The Witches' Song_, III. 196-199.\n\n\n King (Francis), the Skipton Minstrel, I. xxiii.\n\n _King and Miller of Mansfield_, III. 178-188.\n\n _King Arthur's Death_, III. 27-35.\n\n ---- Version from the folio MS. III. 35-39.\n\n _King Cophetua and the Beggar-Maid_, I. 189-194.\n\n _King Estmere_, I. 85-98.\n\n _King Leir and his Three Daughters_, I. 231-237.\n\n _King Ryence's Challenge_, III. 24-27.\n\n _King of France's Daughter_, III. 161-168.\n\n _King of Scots, Murder of the_, II. 213-218.\n\n _King of Scots and Andrew Browne_, II. 221-225.\n\n \"King of Tars,\" III. 374.\n\n _Knight and Shepherd's Daughter_, III. 76-80.\n\n \"Knight of Courtesy and the Lady of Faguel,\" III. 372.\n\n\n _Lady Distracted with Love_, II. 354, 355.\n\n _Lady turned Serving-Man_, III. 86-90.\n\n _Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament_, II. 209-213.\n\n _Lady Isabella's Tragedy_, III. 155-158.\n\n _Lady's Fall_, III. 139-145.\n\n Laing's (David) Opinion on the Authenticity of _Sir Patrick\n Spence_, I. xlix.\n\n Lambewell (Sir), Romance of, III. 368.\n\n _Lancelot (Sir) du Lake_, I. 204-209.\n\n Langland's Visions of Pierce Plowman, II. 377-394.\n\n Launfal (Sir), a Romance, III. 368.\n\n \"Lay of Erie of Thoulouse,\" III. 372.\n\n _Legend of King Arthur_, III. 39-43.\n\n _Legend of Sir Guy_, III. 107-113.\n\n Legh (Sir Urias), II. 247.\n\n _Leir (King) and his Three Daughters_, I. 231-237.\n\n Levison (Sir Richard), II. 247.\n\n Libius Disconius, analysis of the Romance of, III. 358, 366.\n\n _Lilli Burlero_, II. 358-362.\n\n Lilly (John), _Cupid and Campaspe_, III. 85-86.\n\n _Little John Nobody_, II. 133-137.\n\n _Little Musgrave and Lady Barnard_, III. 68-74.\n\n _Lord Thomas and Fair Annet_, III. 234-238.\n\n _Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor_, III. 82-85.\n\n _Love will find out a Way_, III. 232-234.\n\n Lovelace (Richard), _To Althea from Prison_, II. 321-323.\n\n ---- _To Lucasta on Going to the Wars_, III. 264-265.\n\n _Lover (A) of Late_, III. 177-178.\n\n _Loyalty Confined_, II. 326-329.\n\n _Lucasta (To) on Going to the Wars_, III. 264-265.\n\n _Lucy and Colin_, III. 312-315.\n\n _Lunatic Lover_, II. 351-353.\n\n _Luther, the Pope, a Cardinal, and a Husbandman, a Ballad of_,\n II. 125-130.\n\n Lusty Juventus, Interlude of, I. 442.\n\n _Lye (The), by Sir Walter Raleigh_, II. 297-300.\n\n\n Mad Songs--\n 1. Old Tom of Bedlam, II. 344-347.\n 2. The Distracted Puritan, II. 347-351.\n 3. The Lunatic Lover, II. 351-353.\n 4. The Lady Distracted with Love, II. 354-355.\n 5. The Distracted Lover, II. 355-357.\n 6. The Frantic Lady, II. 357-358.\n\n Mahound, on the word, I. 97.\n\n Maid Marian, III. 186.\n\n Maitland MS. I. lxii.\n\n Mallet (D.), _Margaret's Ghost_, III. 308-312.\n\n MS. (Folio) and the _Reliques_, I. lxxxi.-xci, 5-6.\n\n _Margaret_ (_Fair_) _and Sweet William_, III. 124-127.\n\n _Margaret's Ghost_, III. 308-312.\n\n Marlowe's (C.), _Passionate Shepherd to his Love_, I. 220-224.\n\n _Marriage of Sir Gawayne_, III. 13-24.\n\n ---- Ancient Fragment from the folio MS. III. 323-330.\n\n _Mary Ambree_, II. 231-237.\n\n ---- Version from folio MS. II. 235-237.\n\n \"Merchant of Venice,\" Bond-Story in, I. 211.\n\n Merline, Romance of, III. 369.\n\n \"Milky Way,\" Names of, II. 88.\n\n Miller of Mansfield, King and, III. 178-188.\n\n Minstrels, I. xiii.-xxiv.\n\n ---- Essay on the Ancient, in England, I. 343-381.\n\n ---- ---- Notes on, I. 382-430.\n\n Mirrour for Magistrates, I. 444.\n\n Montfort (Simon de), Earl of Leicester, II. 3.\n\n More of More-Hall, III. 283.\n\n _Morrice_ (_Gil_), III. 91-100.\n\n ---- Version from the folio MS. III. 100-103.\n\n Morte Arthure, III. 366.\n\n Munday (Anthony), Ballad-Writer, I. xxxix.\n\n _Murder of the King of Scots_, II. 213-218.\n\n _Murray, The Bonny Earl of_, II. 226-228.\n\n _Musgrave_ (_Little_) _and Lady Barnard_, III. 68-74.\n\n _My Mind to me a Kingdom is_, I. 294-298.\n\n\n \"New (The) Custom,\" I. 444.\n\n _Northumberland_ (_Henry, 4th Earl of_), _Elegy on_, by Skelton,\n I. 117-126.\n\n Northumberland (Thomas, 7th Earl of), I. 266.\n\n _Northumberland betrayed by Douglas_, I. 279-288.\n\n ---- Version from the folio MS. I. 289-294.\n\n Northumberland (Elizabeth Duchess of), Dedications to, I. 1-3.\n\n Norton (Richard) and his Sons, I. 267, 270.\n\n _Not-Browne Mayd_, II. 31-47.\n\n\n _O Nancy wilt thou go with me_, I. lxxii.\n\n \"Octavian Imperator,\" a Romance, III. 370.\n\n _Old and Young Courtier_, II. 314-318.\n\n _Old Robin of Portingale_, III. 50-54.\n\n ---- Version from the folio MS. III. 55-58.\n\n _Old Tom of Bedlam_, II. 344-347.\n\n _Otterbourne, The Battle of_, I. 35-54.\n\n \"Otuel, a Knight,\" III. 374.\n\n \"Owain Myles,\" III. 370.\n\n Oxford (Edward Vere, Earl of), _Fancy and Desire_, II. 185-187.\n\n\n Parker (Martin), Royalist Ballad-Writer, I. xl.\n\n _Passionate Shepherd to his Love_, I. 220-224.\n\n _Patient Countess_, I. 298-304.\n\n _Penelope, Constant_, III. 261-264.\n\n Pepperden, Battle of, I. 252.\n\n Percy (Bishop Thomas), Life of, I. lxxi.-lxxx.\n\n ---- Portraits of, I. lxxx.\n\n _---- Friar of Orders Gray_, I. 242-246.\n\n Perkins (William), II. 350 (note).\n\n _Phillida and Corydon_, III. 66-68.\n\n Pierce Plowman's Visions, alliterative Metre without Rhyme in,\n II. 377-394.\n\n Pipers (Town) of Scotland, I. xx.\n\n _Plain Truth and Blind Ignorance_, II. 285-290.\n\n Politick Maid, II. 337.\n\n Popham (Sir John), II. 247.\n\n Portugal, Voyage to, 1588, III. 176.\n\n Prior's Henry and Emma, II. 31.\n\n Pucke, alias Hobgoblin, III. 199.\n\n _Puritan, the Distracted_, II. 347-351.\n\n\n _Queen Dido_, III. 191-196.\n\n\n Rahere, the King's Minstrel, I. 406.\n\n Raleigh (Sir Walter), _The Lye_, II. 297-300.\n\n _---- The Nymph's Reply_, I. 233-224.\n\n \"Reliques,\" first publication of the, I. lxxv., lxxxix.\n\n ---- Sources of the, I. lxxxi.-xci.\n\n Rembrun, Romance of, III. 365.\n\n \"Richard Cure de Lyon, Historye of,\" III. 356, 372.\n\n _Richard of Almaigne_, II. 3-10.\n\n _Rising in the North_, I. 266-274.\n\n ---- Version from the folio MS. I. 274-278.\n\n Risp, or Tirling-pin, III. 47 (note).\n\n Ritson's Attack upon Percy, I. xiv.\n\n Rivers (Earl of), _Balet_, II. 45-49.\n\n \"Robert, Kynge of Cysill,\" III. 373.\n\n _Robin_ (_Old_) _of Portingale_, III. 50-54.\n\n ---- Version from the folio MS. III. 55-58.\n\n _Robin and Makyne, an Ancient Scottish Pastoral_, II. 79-86.\n\n _Robin Good-Fellow_, III. 199-204.\n\n _Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne_, I. 102-116.\n\n Robin Redbreast, popular belief relating to, III. 171-176.\n\n _Robyn_ (_A_), _jolly Robyn_, I. 185-187.\n\n Rolricht Stones, III. 302.\n\n Romances, on the Ancient Metrical, III. 339-376.\n\n Rondeau or Roundel, II. 14.\n\n _Rosamond_ (_Fair_), II. 154-164.\n\n Roxburghe Ballads, I. lxiii.\n\n _Ryence's_ (_King_) _Challenge_, III. 24-27.\n\n\n _Sale of Rebellious Household-Stuff_, II. 332-336.\n\n _Sandes (Lady)_, II. 150.\n\n Scott (Sir Walter) on the Controversy between Percy and Ritson, I. xiv.\n\n \"Scottish Feilde,\" an alliterative Poem, II. 384.\n\n \"Sege of Jerusalem,\" an alliterative Poem, II. 381; III. 369.\n\n Shakespeare, Ballads that illustrate, I. 151-246.\n\n _---- Take those Lips away_, I. 230.\n\n _---- Youth and Age_, I. 237-238.\n\n Sheale (Richard), the Preserver of _Chevy Chase_, I. xviii. 19.\n\n Shenstone (W.), _Jemmy Dawson_, II. 371-374.\n\n _Shepherd's Address to his Muse_, III. 80-81.\n\n _Shepherd's Resolution_, III. 188-191.\n\n Shirley (J.), _Death's Final Conquest_, I. 264-265.\n\n _---- Victorious Men of Earth_, II. 242.\n\n _Shore_ (_Jane_), II. 263-273.\n\n Sir, the title applied to Priests, I. 116.\n\n _Sir Aldingar_, II. 54-67.\n\n ---- Version from the folio MS. II. 61-67.\n\n _Sir Andrew Barton_, II. 188-208.\n\n ---- Version from the folio MS. II. 201-208.\n\n _Sir Cauline_, I. 61-81.\n\n ---- Copy from the folio MS. I. 76-81.\n\n Sir Degree, Degare or Degore, a Romance, III. 371.\n\n Sir Gawan and Sir Galaron of Galloway, metrical Romance, III. 375.\n\n Sir Isenbras, Romance of, III. 369.\n\n _Sir John Grehme and Barbara Allan_, III. 133-135.\n\n _Sir John Suckling's Campaigne_, II. 318-321.\n\n _Sir Lancelot du Lake_, I. 204-209.\n\n _Sir Patrick Spence_, I. 98-102.\n\n ---- Authenticity of, I. xlviii.\n\n Skeat (Rev. W. W.) on the Essay on Alliterative Metre, II. 394.\n\n Skelton's (John) _Elegy on Henry, fourth Earl of Northumberland_,\n I. 117-126.\n\n Soldan or Sowdan, on the words, I. 98.\n\n _Song to the Lute in Musicke_, I. 187-189.\n\n _Sonnet by Queen Elizabeth_, II. 218-220.\n\n Soules (The) Errand, II. 297-300.\n\n Spanish Ballads, I. 331.\n\n _Spanish Lady's Love_, II. 247-251.\n\n _Spanish Virgin, or Effects of Jealousy_, III. 255-259.\n\n Squyr of Lowe Degre, a Romance, III. 372.\n\n Stage, on the Origin of the English, I. 431-458.\n\n _Stedfast Shepherd_, III. 253-255.\n\n _Sturdy Rock_, II. 169-170.\n\n Suckling (Sir John), _Why so Pale_, II. 343-344.\n\n _---- Sir John Suckling's Campaigne_, II. 318-321.\n\n Surtees (Robert), Forger of Old Ballads, I. xlvii.\n\n Susanna, Ballad of Constant, I. 209.\n\n _Sweet Neglect_, III. 169.\n\n _Sweet William, Fair Margaret and_, III. 124-127.\n\n _Sweet William's Ghost_, III. 130-133.\n\n Syr Triamore, a Romance, III. 371.\n\n\n Taillefer the Minstrel, I. xvi. 403.\n\n _Take those Lips away_, I. 230.\n\n _Take thy old Cloak about thee_, I. 195-198.\n\n \"Taming of the Shrew,\" Story of the induction to, I. 238.\n\n Tearne-Wadling no longer a lake, III. 14 (note).\n\n Termagaunt, on the word, I. 96.\n\n _Thomas_ (_Lord_) _and Fair Annet_, III. 234-238.\n\n _Thomas_ (_Lord_) _and Fair Ellinor_, III. 82-85.\n\n Thoms (W. J.), Note on the _Reliques_, I. lxxxviii.\n\n Thorn (M.), _Sturdy Rock_, II. 169-170.\n\n \"Thoulouse, Lay of Erle of,\" III. 372.\n\n Tickell (Thomas), _Lucy and Colin_, III. 312-315.\n\n Tirling Pin or Risp, III. 47 (note).\n\n _Titus Andronicus's Complaint_, I. 224-229.\n\n _Tom_ (_Old_) _of Bedlam_, II. 344-347.\n\n _Tottenham, Turnament of_, II. 17-28.\n\n _Tower of Doctrine_, by Stephen Hawes, I. 127-130.\n\n Triamore (Syr), a Romance, III. 371.\n\n Turke and Gawain, III. 367.\n\n _Turnament of Tottenham_, II. 17-28.\n\n Turnewathelan, III. 375.\n\n Tutbury Court of Minstrels, I. 368.\n\n\n _Ulysses and the Syren_, by S. Daniel, I. 311-314.\n\n _Unfading Beauty_, III. 239.\n\n\n _Valentine and Ursine_, III. 265-279.\n\n Vaux (Thomas, Lord), _Cupid's Assault_, II. 50-53.\n\n _---- The Aged Lover renounceth Love_, I. 179-182.\n\n _Verses by K. James I._, II. 300-302.\n\n _Verses by K. Charles I._, II. 329-332.\n\n _Victorious Men of Earth_, II. 242.\n\n\n Waits attached to Corporate Towns, I. xvi.\n\n Walsingham, Shrine of the Virgin at, II. 86, 101.\n\n _Wandering Jew_, II. 291-296.\n\n _Wantley, Dragon of_, III. 279-288.\n\n _Wanton Wife of Bath_, III. 333-338.\n\n _Waly Waly, Love be Bonny_, III. 145-148.\n\n Wardlaw (Lady), Imitator of the Old Ballad, I. xliv., xlix.\n\n _---- Hardyknute_, II. 105-121.\n\n Warner (W.), _Argentile and Curan_, II. 252-262.\n\n _---- The Patient Countess_, I. 298-304.\n\n _Waters_ (_Child_), III. 58-65.\n\n _Waters_ (_Young_), II. 228-231.\n\n Westmorland (Earl of), I. 266.\n\n Wharncliffe Lodge and Wood, III. 281.\n\n Wharton (Thomas, Marquis of), _Lilli Burlero_, II. 358-362.\n\n _Why so Pale_, by Sir John Suckling, II. 343-344.\n\n _Wife_ (_Wanton_) _of Bath_, III. 333-338.\n\n William (St.) of Norwich, I. 56.\n\n William of Cloudesley, I. 153.\n\n _William_ (_Sweet_), _Fair Margaret and_, III. 124-127.\n\n _William's_ (_Sweet_) _Ghost_, III. 130-133.\n\n William and Margaret, by D. Mallet, III. 308-312.\n\n _Willoughbey_ (_Brave Lord_), II. 238-241.\n\n _Willow, Willow, Willow_, I. 199-203.\n\n _Willow Tree, a Pastoral Dialogue_, III. 137-139.\n\n _Winifreda_, I. 323-325.\n\n _Winning of Cales_, II. 243-246.\n\n _Witch of Wokey_, by Dr. Harrington, I. 325-328.\n\n _Witches' Song_, III. 196-199.\n\n Wither (George), _Shepherd's Resolution_, III. 188-191.\n\n _---- The Stedfast Shepherd_, III. 253-255.\n\n Wokey-hole in Somersetshire, I. 325.\n\n Wortley (Sir Thomas), III. 282.\n\n Wotton (Sir H.), _Character of a Happy Life_, I. 317-318.\n\n _---- You Meaner Beauties_, II. 312-314.\n\n\n _Yarrow, The Braes of_, II. 362-367.\n\n _You Meaner Beauties_, II. 312-314.\n\n _Young Waters_, II. 228-231.\n\n _Youth and Age_, I. 237-238.\n\n Ypotis, Poem of, III. 364.\n\n\n\n\n Transcriber's Notes:\n\n\n Simple spelling, grammar, and typographical errors\n were corrected.\n\n Punctuation normalized.\n\n Anachronistic and non-standard spellings retained as printed.\n\n ERRATA on p. vii were incorporated in the document.\n\n Italics markup is enclosed in _underscores_.\n\n Greek text is transliterated and enclosed in #number signs#.\n\n Anglo-Saxon uncial script is enclosed in +plus signs+.\n\n Special Characters and Symbols.\n\n Latin Abbreviation Large Sign Et [et]\n Latin small letter heng [hj]\n Latin small letter thorn with stroke [\u00fe/]\n yogh [gh]\n inverted asterism [***]\n triple dagger (center one reversed) [+\u00b1+]\n therefore sign [\u00b7\u00b7\u00b7]\n reversed pilcrow sign [r\u00b6]\n black right pointing index [-\u00bb]\n white right pointing index [->]","title":"Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, Volume 3 (of 3): Consisting of Old Heroic Ballads, Songs and Other Pieces of Our Earlier Poets Together With Some Few of Later Date","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":107967}