Francis James Child

KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY.

Stories resembling that contained in the following ballad are to be met with in the literature of most of the nations of Europe; for example, in the Gesta Romanorum, (No. XIX. and [XXXV.] of Madden's Old English Versions,) in the amusing German tale Der Phaffe Amis, 98-180, in Eulenspiegel, (Marbach, p. 28,) and the English Owlglass (31st Adventure in the recent edition), in the Grimm's Kinder-und-Haus-marchen, No. 152, in Sacchetti's Novels, No. 4, the PatraÑuelo of Juan Timoneda, Alcala, 1576 (Ritson, Anc. Songs, ii. 183), the Contes À rire, i. 182, (Gent. Mag. 65, i. 35,) etc., etc. King John and the Abbot, says Grundtvig (ii. 650), is universally known in Denmark in the form of a prose tale; and a copy is printed in Gamle danske Minder (1854) No. 111, The King and the Miller.

Wynken de Worde, printed in 1511, a little collection of riddles, translated from the French, like those propounded by King John to the Abbot, with the title Demaundes Joyous. By this link the present ballad is connected with a curious class of compositions, peculiar to the Middle Ages—the Disputations, or Wit-Combats, of which the dialogues of Salomon and Marcolf (existing in many languages) are the most familiar, and those of Salomon and Saturn (in Anglo-Saxon) the oldest preserved specimens. These dialogues, in their earlier shape grave contests for superiority in knowledge and wisdom, underwent a change about the twelfth century, by which they became essentially comic. The serious element, represented by Salomon, was retained after this, merely to afford material, or contrast, for the coarse humor of Marcolf, whose part it is, under the character of a rude and clownish person, "facie deformis et turpissimus," to turn the sententious observations of the royal sage into ludicrous parodies.[1]

The hint, and possibly a model, for these disputations may have been found in Jewish tradition. We learn from Josephus, (Antiquities, Book VIII. ch. v.) that Hiram of Tyre and Solomon sent one another sophistical puzzles and enigmas to be solved, on condition of forfeiting large sums of money in case of failure, and that Solomon's riddles were all guessed by AbdÆmon of Tyre, or by Abdimus, his son, for authorities differ. This account coincides with what we read in Chronicles, (Book II. ch. ii. 13, 14,) of the man sent by Hiram to Solomon, who, besides a universal knowledge of the arts, was skilful "to find out every device that might be put to him" by cunning men—that is, apparently, "hard questions," such as the Queen of Sheba came to prove Solomon with, (1 Kings, x. i.) some account of which is given in the Talmud.—See, on the whole subject, Kemble's masterly essay on Salomon and Saturn, printed by the Ælfric Society: also GrÄsse, Sagenkreise des Mittelalters, p. 406-471; the Grimms' Kinder-und-HausmÄrchen, vol. iii. p. 236, ed. 1856; F. W. V. Schmidt, Taschenbuch deutscher Romanzen, p. 82.

Examples of the riddle-song pure and simple will be found under Captain Wedderburn's Courtship.

This ballad is taken from Percy's Reliques, ii. 329. The copy in Durfey's Pills to Purge Melancholy, iv. 29, or A Collection of Old Ballads, ii. 49, is vastly inferior to the present.

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

"The archness of the following questions and answers hath been much admired by our old ballad-makers; for besides the two copies above mentioned, there is extant another ballad on the same subject, (but of no great antiquity or merit,) entitled King Olfrey and the Abbot. [Old Ball. ii. 55.] Lastly, about the time of the civil wars, when the cry ran against the bishops, some puritan worked up the same story into a very doleful ditty, to a solemn tune, concerning King Henry and a Bishop; with this stinging moral:

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

[1] Among those nations who originated and developed the character of Marcolf (the German and the French) his fame has declined, but in Italy, where the legend was first introduced towards the end of the sixteenth century, his shrewd sayings, like the kindred jests of the Eulenspiegel in Germany, have an undiminished popularity, and his story, both in the form of a chap-book and of a satirical epic, (the Bertoldo,) is circulated throughout the length and breadth of the country, whence it has also been transplanted into Greece.

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

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

And Ile tell you a story, a story so merrye, 5
Concerning the Abbott of CanterbÙrye;
How for his house-keeping and high renowne,
They rode poste for him to fair London towne.

An hundred men, the king did heare say,
The abbot kept in his house every day; 10
And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt,
In velvet coates waited the abbot about.

"How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee,
Thou keepest a farre better house than mee;
And for thy house-keeping and high renowne, 15
I feare thou work'st treason against my crown."

"My liege," quo' the abbot, "I would it were knowne
I never spend nothing, but what is my owne;
And I trust your grace will doe me no deere,
For spending of my owne true-gotten geere." 20

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

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

"Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt,
How soone I may ride the whole world about; 30
And at the third question thou must not shrink,
But tell me here truly what I do think."

"O these are hard questions for my shallow witt,
Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet:
But if you will give me but three weekes space, 35
Ile do my endeavour to answer your grace."

"Now three weeks space to thee will I give,
And that is the longest time thou hast to live;
For if thou dost not answer my questions three,
Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to mee." 40

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

Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold, 45
And he mett his shepheard a going to fold:
"How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home;
What newes do you bring us from good King John?"

"Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must give,
That I have but three days more to live; 50
For if I do not answer him questions three,
My head will be smitten from my bodÌe.

"The first is to tell him there in that stead,
With his crowne of golde so fair on his head,
Among all his liege men so noble of birth, 55
To within one penny of what he is worth.

"The seconde, to tell him, without any doubt,
How soone he may ride this whole world about:
And at the third question I must not shrinke,
But tell him there truly what he does thinke." 60

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

"Nay frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee, 65
I am like your lordship, as ever may bee;
And if you will but lend me your gowne,
There is none shall knowe us at fair London towne."

"Now horses and serving-men thou shalt have,
With sumptuous array most gallant and brave, 70
With crozier, and miter, and rochet, and cope,
Fit to appear 'fore our fader the pope."

"Now, welcome, sire abbot," the king he did say,
"Tis well thou'rt come back to keepe thy day:
For and if thou canst answer my questions three,75
Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee.

"And first, when thou seest me here in this stead,
With my crowne of golde so fair on my head,
Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,
Tell me to one penny what I am worth." 80

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

The king he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel, 85
"I did not think I had been worth so littel!
—Now secondly tell me, without any doubt,
How soone I may ride this whole world about."

"You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same
Until the next morning he riseth againe; 90
And then your grace need not make any doubt
But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about."

The king he laughed, and swore by St. Jone,
"I did not think it could be gone so soone!
—Now from the third question thou must not shrinke, 95
But tell me here truly what I do thinke."

"Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry;
You thinke I'm the abbot of Canterbury;
But I'm his poor shepheard, as plain you may see,
That am come to beg pardon for him and for mee." 100

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

"Four nobles a week, then I will give thee, 105
For this merry jest thou hast showne unto mee;
And tell the old abbot when thou comest home,
Thou hast brought him a pardon from good King John."

85, Meaning probably St. Botolph.

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CAPTAIN WEDDERBURN'S COURTSHIP.

The two following ballads, in connection with the foregoing, will serve as specimens of the anciently highly-popular class of riddle songs. No ballad, says Motherwell, is even now more frequently met with on the stalls than Captain Wedderburn's Courtship. It was first published in The New British Songster, Falkirk, 1785, and afterwards in Jamieson's Popular Ballads, ii. 154, from which the present copy is taken. Chambers gives a few different readings from a copy furnished by Mr. Kinloch—Scottish Ballads, p. 331.

A fragment of this piece is given in Minstrelsy of the English Border, p. 230, under the title of The Laird of Roslin's Daughter. Riddles like those in the following ballads are found in Proud Lady Margaret, p. 83 of this volume, The Courteous Knight, in the Appendix, and The Bonny Hind Squire, in Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, p. 42, Percy Society, vol. xvii.—three varieties of one original: and in Gifts from over Sea, Appendix, p. 290. Also, in several of the ancient Norse poems; in the ancient Danish ballad Svend Vonved, Grundtvig, No. 18; in Sven Svanehvit, Svenska F. V., No. 45; Hammershaimb's FÆrÖiske KvÆder, ii. No. 4; Landstad's Norske Folkeviser, p. 369; Erk's Liederhort, No. 153; Uhland, No. 1, 2, 3; Erlach, iii. 37; Wunderhorn, ii. 407; Tschischka and Schottky, Oesterreichische Volksl. p. 28; Haupt and Schmaler, Volksl. der Wenden, i. No. 150, ii. No. 74; Talvj, Volksl. der Serben, ii. 77; Goetze, Stimmen des russischen Volkes, p. 163; etc., etc. See especially Grundtvig, i. 237, ii. 648, from whom we have borrowed some of these references.

"The following copy was furnished from Mr. Herd's MS. by the editor of the Border Minstrelsy, and the present writer has supplied a few readings of small importance from his own recollection, as it was quite familiar to him in his early youth." Jamieson.

The Lord of Roslin's daughter
Walk'd thro' the wood her lane,
And by came Captain Wedderburn,
A servant to the king.
He said unto his serving men, 5
"Were't not against the law,
I would tak her to my ain bed,
And lay her neist the wa'."

"I am walking here alone," she says,
"Amang my father's trees; 10
And you must let me walk alane,
Kind sir, now, if you please;
The supper bell it will be rung,
And I'll be mist awa';
Sae I winna lie in your bed, 15
Either at stock or wa'."

He says, "My pretty lady,
I pray lend me your hand,
And you shall hae drums and trumpets
Always at your command; 20
And fifty men to guard you with,
That well their swords can draw;
Sae we'se baith lie in ae bed,
And ye'se lie neist the wa'."

"Haud awa frae me," she said, 25
"And pray lat gae my hand;
The supper bell it will be rung,
I can nae langer stand;
My father he will angry be,
Gin I be miss'd awa; 30
Sae I'll nae lie in your bed,
Either at stock or wa'."

Then said the pretty lady,
"I pray tell me your name:"
"My name is Captain Wedderburn, 35
A servant to the king.
Tho' thy father and his men were here,
Of them I'd have nae awe;
But tak you to my ain bed,
And lay you neist the wa'." 40

He lighted aff his milk-white steed,
And set this lady on,
And held her by the milk-white hand,
Even as they rade along;
He held her by the middle jimp, 45
For fear that she should fa',
To tak her to his ain bed,
And lay her neist the wa'.

He took her to his lodging-house;
His landlady look'd ben; 50
Says, "Mony a pretty lady
In Edenbruch I've seen,
But sic a lovely face as thine
In it I never saw;
Gae mak her down a down-bed, 55
And lay her neist the wa'."

"O haud awa' frae me," she says,
"I pray ye lat me be;
I winna gang into your bed,
Till ye dress me dishes three: 60
Dishes three ye maun dress to me,
Gin I should eat them a',
Afore that I lie in your bed,
Either at stock or wa'.

"Its ye maun get to my supper 65
A cherry without a stane;
And ye maun get to my supper
A chicken without a bane;
And ye maun get to my supper
A bird without a ga'; 70
Or I winna lie in your bed,
Either at stock or wa'."

"Its whan the cherry is in the flirry,
I'm sure it has nae stane;
And whan the chicken's in the egg, 75
I'm sure it has nae bane;
And sin the flood o' Noah,
The dow she had nae ga';
Sae we'll baith lie in ae bed,
And ye'se lie neist the wa'." 80

"O haud your tongue, young man," she says,
"Nor that gait me perplex;
For ye maun tell me questions yet,
And that is questions six:
Questions six ye tell to me, 85
And that is three times twa,
Afore I lie in your bed,
Either at stock or wa'.

"What's greener than the greenest grass?
What hicher than the trees? 90
What's war nor an ill woman's wish?
What's deeper than the seas?
What bird sings first? and whareupon
The dew doth first down fa'?
Ye sall tell afore I lay me down 95
Between you and the wa'."

"Vergris is greener than the grass;
Heaven's hicher than the trees;
The deil's warse nor a woman's wish;
Hell's deeper than the seas; 100
The cock craws first; on cedar top
The dew down first doth fa';
And we'll lie baith in ae bed,
And ye'se lie neist the wa'."

"O haud your tongue, young man," she says, 105
"And gi'e your fleechin' o'er,
Unless you'll find me ferlies,
And that is ferlies four;
Ferlies four ye maun find me,
And that is twa and twa; 110
Or I'll never lie in your bed,
Either at stock or wa'.

"And ye maun get to me a plumb
That in December grew;
And get to me a silk mantel, 115
That waft was ne'er ca'd thro';
A sparrow's horn; a priest unborn,
This night to join us twa;
Or I'll nae lie in your bed,
Either at stock or wa'." 120

"My father he has winter fruit
That in December grew;
My mither has an Indian gown,
That waft was ne'er ca'd thro';
A sparrow's horn is quickly found; 125
There's ane on every claw;
There's ane upon the neb o' him;
Perhaps there may be twa.

"The priest he's standing at the door,
Just ready to come in; 130
Nae man can say that he was born,
To lie it were a sin;
A wild bore tore his mither's side,
He out o' it did fa';
Then we'll baith lie in ae bed, 135
And thou's lie neist the wa'."

Little kend Girzy Sinclair
That morning whan she raise,
That this wad be the hindermaist
O' a' her maiden days; 140
But now there's nae within the realm,
I think, a blyther twa;
And they baith lie in ae bed,
And she lies neist the wa'.

78. The peasants in Scotland say that the dove that was sent out of the Ark by Noah flew till she burst her gall, and that no dove since that time ever had a gall. J.

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LAY THE BENT TO THE BONNY BROOM.

From Durfey's Pills to Purge Melancholy, iv. 129, with the title A Riddle wittily expounded. The same in Jamieson's Popular Ballads, ii. 155, and in The Borderer's Table Book, vii. 83. A fragment of this ballad, called The Three Sisters, is printed in Gilbert's Ancient Christmas Carols, (2d ed.) p. 65, and has a different burden. It begins

There were three sisters fair and bright,
Jennifer gentle and Rosemaree,
And they three loved one valiant knight,
As the dew flies over the mulberry tree.

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There was a lady in the North-country,
Lay the bent to the bonny broom,
And she had lovely daughters three,
Fa, la la la, fa, la la la ra re.

There was a knight of noble worth,
Which also lived at the North.

The knight, of courage stout and brave, 5
A wife he did desire to have.

He knocked at the lady's gate,
One evening when it was late.

The eldest sister let him in,
And pinn'd the door with a silver pin. 10

The second sister, she made his bed,
And laid soft pillows under his head.

The youngest [sister] that same night,
She went to bed to this young knight.

And in the morning when it was day, 15
These words unto him she did say.

"Now you have had your will," quoth she,
"I pray, Sir Knight, you marry me."

This young brave knight to her reply'd.
"Thy suit, fair maid, shall not be deny'd, 20

"If thou canst answer me questions three,
This very day will I marry thee."

"Kind sir, in love, O then," quoth she,
"Tell me what your three questions be."

"O what is longer than the way? 25
Or what is deeper than the sea?

"Or what is louder than a horn?
Or what is sharper than a thorn?

"Or what is greener than the grass?
Or what is worse than a woman was?" 30

"O love is longer than the way,
And hell is deeper than the sea.

"And thunder's louder than the horn,
And hunger's sharper than a thorn.

"And poyson's greener than the grass, 35
And the devil's worse than the woman was."

When she these questions answered had,
The knight became exceeding glad.

And having truly try'd her wit,
He much commended her for it. 40

And after, as 'tis verified,
He made of her his lovely bride.

So now, fair maidens all, adieu;
This song I dedicate to you.

I wish that you may constant prove 45
Unto the man that you do love.

9. youngest.25. i.e. the milky way.35. "Vergris is greener than the grass." C. W.'s Courtship, v. 97.

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KING EDWARD FOURTH AND THE TANNER OF TAMWORTH.

The next two ballads belong to a class of tales extremely numerous in England, in which the sovereign is represented as conversing on terms of good fellowship with one of his humbler subjects who is unacquainted with the royal person. In several of the best of these stories, the monarch is benighted in the forest, and obliged to demand hospitality of the first man he meets. He is at first viewed with suspicion and treated with rudeness, but soon wins favor by his affability and good humor, and is invited to partake of a liberal supper, composed in part of his own venison. In due time the king reveals his true character to his astonished and mortified host, who looks to be punished alike for his familiarity and for deer-stealing, but is pardoned for both, and even handsomely rewarded for his entertainment.

The earliest of these stories seems to be that of King Alfred and the Neatherd, in which the herdsman's wife plays the offending part, and the peasant himself is made Bishop of Winchester. Others of very considerable antiquity are the tales of Henry II. and the Cistercian Abbot in the Speculum EcclesiÆ of Giraldus Cambrensis, (an. 1220,) printed in ReliquiÆ AntiquÆ, i. 147; King Edward and the Shepherd, and The King [Edward] and the Hermit, in Hartshorne's Metrical Tales, (p. 35, p. 293, the latter previously in The British Bibliographer, iv. 81;) Rauf Coilzear, how he harbreit King Charlis, in Laing's Select Remains; John the Reeve, an unprinted piece in the Percy MS., founded on an adventure between King Edward I. and one of his bailiffs, which is highly commended by Dr. Percy "for its genuine humor, diverting incidents, and faithful picture of rustic manners;" and The King and the Barker, the original of the present ballad. (See also the seventh and eighth fits of the Little Gest of Robin Hood.) More recent specimens are the two pieces here given, and others mentioned by Percy: King Henry and the Soldier, King Henry VIII. and the Cobbler, King James I. and the Tinker, King William and the Forester, &c. It is obvious that a legend of immemorial antiquity has been transferred by successive minstrels or story-tellers to the reigning monarch of their own times. An anecdote of the same character is related by Mr. Wright of Prince George of Denmark, and a poor artisan of Bristol, (Essays, ii. 172.)

The meeting of King Richard with Friar Tuck in Ivanhoe, was suggested by the tale of King Edward and the Hermit. "The general tone of the story," says Scott, "belongs to all ranks and to all countries, which emulate each other in describing the rambles of a disguised sovereign, who, going in search of information or amusement into the lower ranks of life, meets with adventures diverting to the reader or hearer, from the contrast betwixt the monarch's outward appearance and his real character. The Eastern tale-teller has for his theme the disguised expeditions of Haroun Alraschid, with his faithful attendants Mesrour and Giafar, through the midnight streets of Bagdad, and Scottish tradition dwells upon the similar exploits of James V., distinguished during such excursions by the travelling name of the Goodman of Ballengeigh, as the Commander of the Faithful, when he desired to be incognito, was known by that of Il Bondocani."

The King and the Barker is printed in Ritson's Anc. Pop. Poetry, p. 61; the modern ballad of King Alfred and the Shepherd, in Old Ballads, i. 41; King James and the Tinkler, in Richardson's Borderer's Table Book, vii. 8, and in the Percy Soc. Publications, vol. xvii., Ancient Poems, &c. p. 109.

"The following text is selected (with such other corrections as occurred) from two copies in black letter. The one in the Bodleian library, entitled A merrie, pleasant, and delectable historie betweene King Edward the Fourth, and a Tanner of Tamworth, &c., printed at London by John Danter, 1596. This copy, ancient as it now is, appears to have been modernized and altered at the time it was published; and many vestiges of the more ancient readings were recovered from another copy (though more recently printed) in one sheet folio, without date, in the Pepys collection." Percy's Reliques, ii. 87.

The old copies, according to Ritson, contain a great many stanzas which Percy "has not injudiciously suppressed." King Henry the Fourth and the Tanner of Tamworth stands in the Registers of the Stationers' Company, as licensed in 1564-5. The Tanner of Tamworth is introduced into the First Part of Heywood's play of Edward the Fourth.

In summer time, when leaves grow greene,
And blossoms bedecke the tree,
King Edward wolde a hunting ryde,
Some pastime for to see.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Awaye with a vengeance!" quoth the tanner:
"I hold thee out of thy witt:
All daye have I rydden on Brocke my mare, 35
And I am fasting yett."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What craftsman art thou?" sayd the king; 65
"I praye thee tell me trowe:"
"l am a barker, sir, by my trade;
Nowe tell me what art thou?"

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

"Marrye heaven forfend," the tanner replyde,
"That thou my prentise were;
Thou woldst spend more good than I shold winne75
By fortye shilling a yere."

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

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

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

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

"What boote wilt thou have?" our king reply'd;
"Now tell me in this stound;"
"Noe pence, nor half-pence, by my faye, 95
But a noble in gold so round."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nowe, out alas," the tanner he cryde,
"That ever I sawe this daye!
Thou art a strong thiefe; yon come thy fellowes 155
Will beare my cowe-hide away."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gramercye, my liege," the tanner replyde;
"For the favour thou hast me showne,
If ever thou comest to merry TamwÒrth,
Neates leather shall clout thy shoen."

16. In the reign of Edward IV. Dame Cecill, lady of Torboke, in her will dated March 7, A.D. 1466, among many other bequests, has this: "Also I will that my sonne Thomas of Torboke have 13s. 4d. to buy him an horse." Vide Harleian Catalogue, 2176, 27.—Now if 13s. 4d. would purchase a steed fit for a person of quality, a tanner's horse might reasonably be valued at four or five shillings.—Percy.56. i. e. hast no other wealth, but what thou carriest about thee.—Percy.176. This stanza is restored from a quotation of this ballad in Selden's Titles of Honour, who produces it as a good authority to prove, that one mode of creating Esquires at that time, was by the imposition of a collar. His words are, "Nor is that old pamphlet of the Tanner of Tamworth and King Edward the Fourth so contemptible, but that wee may thence note also an observable passage, wherein the use of making Esquires, by giving collars, is expressed." (Sub. Tit. Esquire; & vide in Spelmanni Glossar. Armiger.) This form of creating Esquires actually exists at this day among the Sergeants at Arms, who are invested with a collar (which they wear on Collar Days) by the King himself.

This information I owe to Samuel Pegge, Esq., to whom the public is indebted for that curious work, the Curialia, 4to.—Percy.

---

THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD.

"The following is printed, with corrections from the Editor's folio MS. collated with an old black-letter copy in the Pepys collection, entitled A pleasant ballad of King Henry II. and the Miller of Mansfield, &c."—Percy's Reliques, iii. 22.

Other copies, slightly different, in A Collection of Old Ballads, i. 53, and Ritson's Ancient Songs, ii. 173.

PART THE FIRST.

Henry, our royall king, would ride a hunting
To the greene forest so pleasant and faire;
To see the harts skipping, and dainty does tripping,
Unto merry Sherwood his nobles repaire:
Hawke and hound were unbound, all things prepar'd 5
For the game, in the same, with good regard.

All a long summers day rode the king pleasantlye,
With all his princes and nobles eche one;
Chasing the hart and hind, and the bucke gallantlye,
Till the dark evening forc'd all to turne home. 10
Then at last, riding fast, he had lost quite
All his lords in the wood, late in the night.

Wandering thus wearilye, all alone, up and downe,
With a rude miller he mett at the last;
Asking the ready way unto faire Nottingham, 15
"Sir," quoth the miller, "I meane not to jest,
Yet I thinke, what I thinke, sooth for to say;
You doe not lightlye ride out of your way."

"Why, what dost thou think of me," quoth our king merrily,
"Passing thy judgment upon me so briefe?" 20
"Good faith," sayd the miller, "I mean not to flatter thee,
I guess thee to bee but some gentleman thiefe;
Stand thee backe, in the darke; light not adowne,
Lest that I presentlye crack thy knaves crowne."

"Thou dost abuse me much," quoth the king, "saying thus; 25
I am a gentleman; lodging I lacke."
"Thou hast not," quoth th' miller, "one groat in thy purse;
All thy inheritance hanges on thy backe."
"I have gold to discharge all that I call;
If it be forty pence, I will pay all." 30

"If thou beest a true man," then quoth the miller,
"I sweare by my toll-dish, I'll lodge thee all night."
"Here's my hand," quoth the king; "that was I ever."
"Nay, soft," quoth the miller, "thou may'st be a sprite.
Better I'll know thee, ere hands we will shake; 35
With none but honest men hands will I take."

Thus they went all along unto the millers house,
Where they were seething of puddings and souse;
The miller first enter'd in, after him went the king;
Never came hee in soe smoakye a house. 40
"Now," quoth hee, "let me see here what you are:"
Quoth the king, "Looke your fill, and doe not spare."

"I like well thy countenance, thou hast an honest face:
With my son Richard this night thou shalt lye."
Quoth his wife, "By my troth, it is a handsome youth, 45
Yet it's best, husband, to deal warilye.
Art thou no run-away, prythee, youth, tell?
Shew me thy passport, and all shal be well."

Then our king presentlye, making lowe courtesye,
With his hatt in his hand, thus he did say; 50
"I have no passport, nor never was servitor,
But a poor courtyer, rode out of my way:
And for your kindness here offered to mee,
I will requite you in everye degree."

Then to the miller his wife whisper'd secretlye, 55
Saying, "It seemeth, this youth's of good kin,
Both by his apparel, and eke by his manners;
To turne him out, certainlye were a great sin."
"Yea," quoth hee, "you may see he hath some grace,
When he doth speake to his betters in place." 60

"Well," quo' the millers wife, "young man, ye're welcome here;
And, though I say it, well lodged shall be:
Fresh straw will I have laid on thy bed so brave,
And good brown hempen sheets likewise," quoth shee.
"Aye," quoth the good man; "and when that is done, 65
Thou shalt lye with no worse than our own sonne."

"Nay, first," quoth Richard, "good-fellowe, tell me true,
Hast thou noe creepers within thy gay hose?
Or art thou not troubled with the scabbado?"
"I pray," quoth the king, "what creatures are those?" 70
"Art thou not lowsy nor scabby?" quoth he:
"If thou beest, surely thou lyest not with mee."

This caus'd the king, suddenlye, to laugh most heartilye,
Till the teares trickled fast downe from his eyes.
Then to their supper were they set orderlye, 75
With hot bag-puddings, and good apple-pyes;
Nappy ale, good and stale, in a browne bowle,
Which did about the board merrilye trowle.

"Here," quoth the miller, "good fellowe, I drinke to thee,
And to all courtnalls that courteous be." 80
"I pledge thee," quoth our king, "and thanke thee heartilye
For my good welcome in everye degree:
And here, in like manner, I drinke to thy sonne."
"Do then," quoth Richard, "and quicke let it come."

"Wife," quoth the miller, "fetch me forth lightfoote, 85
And of his sweetnesse a little we'll taste."
A fair ven'son pastye brought she out presentlye,
"Eate," quoth the miller, "but, sir, make no waste.
Here's dainty lightfoote!" "In faith," sayd the king,
"I never before eat so daintye a thing." 90

"I-wis," quoth Richard, "no daintye at all it is,
For we doe eate of it everye day."
"In what place," sayd our king, "may be bought like to this?"
"We never pay pennye for itt, by my fay:
From merry Sherwood we fetch it home here; 95
Now and then we make bold with our kings deer."

"Then I thinke," sayd our king, "that it is venison."
"Eche foole," quoth Richard, "full well may know that:
Never are wee without two or three in the roof,
Very well fleshed, and excellent fat: 100
But, prythee, say nothing wherever thou goe;
We would not, for two pence, the king should it knowe."

"Doubt not," then sayd the king, "my promist secresye;
The king shall never know more on't for mee:"
A cupp of lambs-wool they dranke unto him then, 105
And to their bedds they past presentlie.
The nobles, next morning, went all up and down,
For to seeke out the king in everye towne.

At last, at the millers 'cott,' soone they espy'd him out,
As he was mounting upon his faire steede; 110
To whom they came presently, falling down on their knee;
Which made the millers heart wofully bleede;
Shaking and quaking, before him he stood,
Thinking he should have been hang'd, by the rood.

The king perceiving him fearfully trembling, 115
Drew forth his sword, but nothing he sed:
The miller downe did fall, crying before them all,
Doubting the king would have cut off his head.
But he his kind courtesye for to requite,
Gave him great living, and dubb'd him a knight. 120

PART THE SECONDE.

When as our royall king came home from Nottingham,
And with his nobles at Westminster lay,
Recounting the sports and pastimes they had taken,
In this late progress along on the way,
Of them all, great and small, he did protest, 5
The miller of Mansfields sport liked him best.

"And now, my lords," quoth the king, "I am determined
Against St. Georges next sumptuous feast,
That this old miller, our new confirm'd knight,
With his son Richard, shall here be my guest: 10
For, in this merryment, 'tis my desire
To talke with the jolly knight, and the young squire."

When as the noble lords saw the kinges pleasantness,
They were right joyfull and glad in their hearts:
A pursuivant there was sent straighte on the business, 15
The which had often-times been in those parts.
When he came to the place where they did dwell,
His message orderlye then 'gan he tell.

"God save your worshippe," then said the messenger,
"And grant your ladye her own hearts desire; 20
And to your sonne Richard good fortune and happiness,
That sweet, gentle, and gallant young squire.
Our king greets you well, and thus he doth say,
You must come to the court on St. George's day.

"Therefore, in any case, faile not to be in place." 25
"I-wis," quoth the miller, "this is an odd jest:
What should we doe there? faith, I am halfe afraid."
"I doubt," quoth Richard, "to be hang'd at the least."
"Nay," quoth the messenger, "you doe mistake;
Our king he provides a great feast for your sake." 30

Then sayd the miller, "By my troth, messenger,
Thou hast contented my worshippe full well:
Hold, here are three farthings, to quite thy gentleness,
For these happy tydings which thou dost tell.
Let me see, hear thou mee; tell to our king, 35
We'll wayt on his mastershipp in everye thing."

The pursuivant smiled at their simplicitye,
And making many leggs, tooke their reward,
And his leave taking with great humilitye,
To the kings court againe he repair'd; 40
Shewing unto his grace, merry and free,
The knightes most liberall gift and bountie.

When he was gone away, thus gan the miller say:
"Here come expences and charges indeed;
Now must we needs be brave, tho' we spend all we have, 45
For of new garments we have great need.
Of horses and serving-men we must have store,
With bridles and saddles, and twentye things more."

"Tushe, Sir John," quoth his wife, "why should you frett or frowne?
You shall ne'er be att no charges for mee; 50
For I will turne and trim up my old russet gowne,
With everye thing else as fine as may bee;
And on our mill-horses swift we will ride,
With pillowes and pannells, as we shall provide."

In this most statelye sort, rode they unto the court; 55
Their jolly sonne Richard rode foremost of all,
Who set up, for good hap, a cocks feather in his cap,
And so they jetted downe to the kings hall;
The merry old miller with hands on his side;
His wife like maid Marian did mince at that tide. 60

The king and his nobles, that heard of their coming,
Meeting this gallant knight with his brave traine,
"Welcome, sir knight," quoth he, "with your gay lady;
Good Sir John Cockle, once welcome againe;
And so is the squire of courage soe free." 65
Quoth Dicke, "A bots on you! do you know mee?"

Quoth our king gentlye, "How should I forget thee?
That wast my owne bed-fellowe, well it I wot."
"Yea, sir," quoth Richard, "and by the same token,
Thou with thy farting didst make the bed hot." 70
"Thou whore-son unhappy knave," then quoth the knight,
"Speake cleanly to our king, or else go sh***."

The king and his courtiers laugh at this heartily,
While the king taketh them both by the hand;
With the court-dames and maids, like to the queen of spades, 75
The millers wife did soe orderly stand,
A milk-maids courtesye at every word;
And downe all the folkes were set to the board.

There the king royally, in princelye majestye,
Sate at his dinner with joy and delight; 80
When they had eaten well, then he to jesting fell,
And in a bowle of wine dranke to the knight:
"Here's to you both, in wine, ale, and beer;
Thanking you heartilye for my good cheer."

Quoth Sir John Cockle, "I'll pledge you a pottle, 85
Were it the best ale in Nottinghamshire:"
But then said our king, "Now I think of a thing;
Some of your lightfoote I would we had here."
"Ho! ho!" quoth Richard, "full well I may say it
'Tis knavery to eate it, and then to betray it." 90

"Why art thou angry?" quoth our king merrilye;
"In faith, I take it now very unkind:
I thought thou wouldst pledge me in ale and wine heartily."
Quoth Dicke, "You are like to stay till I have din'd:
You feed us with twatling dishes soe small; 95
Zounds, a blacke-pudding is better than all."

"Aye, marry," quoth our king, "that were a daintye thing,
Could a man get but one here for to eate:"
With that Dicke straite arose, and pluckt one from his hose,
Which with heat of his breech gan to sweate.
The king made a proffer to snatch it away:— 100
"'Tis meat for your master: good sir, you must stay."

Thus in great merriment was the time wholly spent,
And then the ladyes prepared to dance:
Old Sir John Cockle, and Richard, incontinent 105
Unto their places the king did advance.
Here with the ladyes such sport they did make,
The nobles with laughing did make their sides ake.

Many thankes for their paines did the king give them,
Asking young Richard then, if he would wed; 110
"Among these ladyes free, tell me which liketh thee?"
Quoth he, "Jugg Grumball, Sir, with the red head,
She's my love, she's my life, her will I wed;
She hath sworn I shall have her maidenhead."

Then Sir John Cockle the king call'd unto him, 115
And of merry Sherwood made him o'erseer,
And gave him out of hand three hundred pound yearlye:
"Take heed now you steele no more of my deer;
And once a quarter let's here have your view;
And now, Sir John Cockle, I bid you adieu." 120

57. for good hap: i. e. for good luck; they were going on a hazardous expedition. P.60. Maid Marian in the Morris dance, was represented by a man in woman's clothes, who was to take short steps in order to sustain the female character. P.

---

GERNUTUS THE JEW OF VENICE.

Percy's Reliques, i. 224.

In Douce's Illustrations of Shakespeare, (i. 278,) and Malone's Shakespeare, (v. 3, 154, ed. 1821,) we are referred to a great many stories resembling that of the present ballad. Two or three of these are found in the Persian, and there can be no doubt that the original tale is of eastern invention. The oldest European forms of the story are in the Gesta Romanorum, (Wright's Latin Stories, Percy Soc. viii. 114, Madden's Old English Versions, p. 130,) the French romance of Dolopathos (v. 7096, et seq.), and the Pecorone of Ser Giovanni Fiorentino, written in 1378, but not printed till 1558.

Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice is known to have been played before 1598, and there is some reason to believe that it was produced as early as 1594. The resemblance in many particulars between the play and the narrative in the Pecorone is conclusive to the fact that Shakespeare was acquainted with the Italian novel, directly or by a translation. In Gosson's School of Abuse, (1579,) mention is made of a play called The Jew, in which was represented "the greediness of worldly choosers, and bloody minds of usurers." It is possible that Shakespeare may have made use of the incidents of this forgotten piece in the construction of his plot, but as our knowledge of the older play amounts literally to the description of it given by Gosson, nothing positive is to be said on that point. Silvayn's Orator, translated from the French by Anthony Munday in 1596, affords the earliest discovered printed notice, in English, of the bond and forfeiture, in a "Declamation, Of a Jew, who would for his debt have a pound of flesh of a Christian;" and a striking coincidence between the Jew's plea for the execution of the contract, and the reasoning of Shylock before the Senate, may be regarded by some as of weight sufficient to offset the evidence presented to show that the Merchant of Venice was on the stage in 1594.

No dated copy of the ballad of Gernutus is known. It is on the whole more likely that the ballad is older than Shakespeare's comedy, but it may have been called forth by the popularity of that very piece. To judge by the first stanza alone, the writer had derived his materials from an Italian novel.

We give in the Appendix another ballad, presenting considerable diversity in the incidents, which we presume to be the one mentioned by Douce under the title of The Cruel Jews Garland.

In 1664, we are informed by Mr. Collier, Thomas Jordan made a ballad out of the story of the Merchant of Venice, in his Royal Arbor of Loyal Poesie, taking some liberties with the original plot.

The following was printed from an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys collection, (compared with the Ashmole copy,) entitled,

"A new Song, shewing the crueltie of 'Gernutus, a Jewe,' who, lending to a merchant an hundred crowns, would have a pound of his fleshe, because he could not pay him at the time appointed. To the tune of Black and Yellow."

THE FIRST PART.

In Venice towne not long agoe
A cruel Jew did dwell,
Which lived all on usurie,
As Italian writers tell.

Gernutus called was the Jew, 5
Which never thought to dye,
Nor ever yet did any good
To them in streets that lie.

His life was like a barrow hogge,
That liveth many a day, 10
Yet never once doth any good,
Until men will him slay.

Or like a filthy heap of dung,
That lyeth in a whoard;
Which never can do any good, 15
Till it be spread abroad.

So fares it with the usurer,
He cannot sleep in rest
For feare the thiefe will him pursue,
To plucke him from his nest. 20

His heart doth thinke on many a wile
How to deceive the poore;
His mouth is almost ful of mucke,
Yet still he gapes for more.

His wife must lend a shilling, 25
For every weeke a penny;
Yet bring a pledge that is double worth,
If that you will have any.

And see, likewise, you keepe your day,
Or else you loose it all: 30
This was the living of the wife,
Her cow she did it call.

Within that citie dwelt that time
A marchant of great fame,
Which being distressed in his need, 35
Unto Gernutus came:

Desiring him to stand his friend
For twelvemonth and a day;
To lend to him an hundred crownes;
And he for it would pay 40

Whatsoever he would demand of him,
And pledges he should have:
"No," quoth the Jew, with flearing lookes,
"Sir, aske what you will have.

"No penny for the loane of it 45
For one year you shall pay;
You may doe me as good a turne,
Before my dying day.

"But we will have a merry jeast,
For to be talked long: 50
You shall make me a bond," quoth he,
"That shall be large and strong.

"And this shall be the forfeyture,—
Of your owne fleshe a pound:
If you agree, make you the bond, 55
And here is a hundred crownes."

"With right good will," the marchant he says,
And so the bond was made.
When twelve month and a day drew on,
That backe it should be payd, 60

The marchants ships were all at sea,
And money came not in;
Which way to take, or what to doe,
To thinke he doth begin.

And to Gernutus strait he comes, 65
With cap and bended knee;
And sayde to him, "Of curtesie,
I pray you beare with mee.

"My day is come, and I have not
The money for to pay; 70
And little good the forfeyture
Will doe you, I dare say."

"With all my heart," Gernutus sayd,
"Commaund it to your minde:
In thinges of bigger waight then this 75
You shall me ready finde."

He goes his way; the day once past,
Gernutus doth not slacke
To get a sergiant presently,
And clapt him on the backe. 80

And layd him into prison strong,
And sued his bond withall;
And when the judgement day was come,
For judgement he did call.

The marchants friends came thither fast, 85
With many a weeping eye,
For other means they could not find,
But he that day must dye.

THE SECOND PART.

Of the Jews crueltie; setting foorth the mercifulnesse of the Judge towards the Marchant. To the tune of Black and Yellow.

Some offered for his hundred crownes
Five hundred for to pay;
And some a thousand, two or three,
Yet still he did denay.

And at the last ten thousand crownes 5
They offered, him to save:
Gernutus sayd, "I will no gold,
My forfeite I will have.

"A pound of fleshe is my demand,
And that shall be my hire." 10
Then sayd the judge, "Yet, good my friend,
Let me of you desire

"To take the fleshe from such a place,
As yet you let him live:
Do so, and lo! an hundred crownes 15
To thee here will I give."

"No, no," quoth he, "no, judgement here;
For this it shall be tride;
For I will have my pound of fleshe
From under his right side." 20

It grieved all the companie
His crueltie to see,
For neither friend nor foe could helpe
But he must spoyled bee.

The bloudie Jew now ready is 25
With whetted blade in hand,
To spoyle the bloud of innocent,
By forfeit of his bond.

And as he was about to strike
In him the deadly blow, 30
"Stay," quoth the judge, "thy crueltie;
I charge thee to do so.

"Sith needs thou wilt thy forfeit have,
Which is of flesh a pound,
See that thou shed no drop of bloud, 35
Nor yet the man confound.

"For if thou doe, like murderer
Thou here shalt hanged be:
Likewise of flesh see that thou cut
No more than longes to thee. 40

"For if thou take either more or lesse,
To the value of a mite,
Thou shalt be hanged presently,
As is both law and right."

Gernutus now waxt franticke mad, 45
And wotes not what to say;
Quoth he at last, "Ten thousand crownes
I will that he shall pay;

"And so I graunt to set him free."
The judge doth answere make; 50
"You shall not have a penny given;
Your forfeyture now take."

At the last he doth demaund
But for to have his owne:
"No," quoth the judge, "doe as you list, 55
Thy judgement shall be showne.

"Either take your pound of flesh," quoth he,
"Or cancell me your bond:"
"O cruell judge," then quoth the Jew,
"That doth against me stand!" 60

And so with griping grieved mind
He biddeth them fare-well:
Then all the people prays'd the Lord,
That ever this heard tell.

Good people, that doe heare this song, 65
For trueth I dare well say,
That many a wretch as ill as hee
Doth live now at this day;

That seeketh nothing but the spoyle
Of many a wealthy man, 70
And for to trap the innocent
Deviseth what they can.

From whome the Lord deliver me,
And every Christian too,
And send to them like sentence eke 75
That meaneth so to do.

61. griped, Ashmole copy.

---

THE FROLICKSOME DUKE; OR THE TINKER'S GOOD FORTUNE.

Percy's Reliques, i. 255.

The story of this ballad, like that of the preceding, was probably derived from the east. It is the same as the tale of The Sleeper Awakened in the Arabian Nights, and a like incident is found also in the tale of Xailoun in the Continuation of the Arabian Nights. Interpolations from European sources are said to have been made by the translators both of the Arabian Nights and of the Continuation, and it has been suggested that The Sleeper Awakened is one of these. (Gent. Mag. 64, I. 527.) It is even true that this story does not occur in the manuscript used by Galland. It is found, however, in one manuscript, and is accordingly admitted into the recent version.—Marco Polo relates that Ala-eddin, "the Old Man of the Mountain," was accustomed to employ a device resembling that of the ballad, to persuade his youthful votaries of his power to transport them to Paradise. (Chap. xxi. of Marsden's translation.) A similar anecdote is told as historically true by the Arabic writer El-Is-hakee, who printed his work in the early part of the 17th century (Lane's Thousand and One Nights, ii. 376), while in Europe the story is related of Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, by Heuterus, Rerum Burgund. lib. iv.; of the Emperor Charles the Fifth, by Sir Richard Barckley, in A Discourse on the Felicitie of Man, 1598; and of the Marquess of Worcester, in The Apothegms of King James, King Charles, the Marquess of Worcester, &c. 1658. Warton had seen among Collins's books a collection of prose tales in black-letter, dated 1570, among which was this story. It was until lately, and no doubt is still, found in the stalls, under the title of The Frolicksome Courtier and the Jovial Tinker. (See Douce's Illustrations, and Malone's Shakespeare.)

Which of the many forms of the story was known to the author of the old play of The Taming of a Shrew, on which Shakespeare's comedy is founded, it would be more difficult than important to determine. Mr. Halliwell mentions a Dutch comedy, called Dronkken Hansje, (1657,) having the plot of the Induction to these plays.

This ballad was given from a black-letter copy in the Pepys collection.

Now as fame does report, a young duke keeps a court,
One that pleases his fancy with frolicksome sport:
But amongst all the rest, here is one I protest,
Which will make you to smile when you hear the true jest:
A poor tinker he found, lying drunk on the ground, 5
As secure in sleep as if laid in a swound.

The duke said to his men, "William, Richard, and Ben,
Take him home to my palace, we'll sport with him then."
O'er a horse he was laid, and with care soon convey'd
To the palace, altho' he was poorly arrai'd: 10
Then they stript off his cloaths, both his shirt, shoes, and hose,
And they put him to bed for to take his repose.

Having pull'd off his shirt, which was all over durt,
They did give him clean holland, this was no great hurt:
On a bed of soft down, like a lord of renown, 15
They did lay him to sleep the drink out of his crown.
In the morning, when day, then admiring he lay,
For to see the rich chamber, both gaudy and gay.

Now he lay something late, in his rich bed of state,
Till at last knights and squires they on him did wait; 20
And the chamberlain bare, then did likewise declare,
He desired to know what apparel he'd ware:
The poor tinker amaz'd, on the gentleman gaz'd,
And admired how he to this honour was rais'd.

Tho' he seem'd something mute, yet he chose a rich suit, 25
Which he straitways put on without longer dispute,
With a star on his side, which the tinker offt ey'd,
And it seem'd for to swell him 'no' little with pride;
For he said to himself, "Where is Joan my sweet wife?
Sure she never did see me so fine in her life." 30

From a convenient place, the right duke, his good grace,
Did observe his behaviour in every case.
To a garden of state, on the tinker they wait,
Trumpets sounding before him: thought he, this is great:
Where an hour or two, pleasant walks he did view, 35
With commanders and squires in scarlet and blew.

A fine dinner was drest, both for him and his guests;
He was plac'd at the table above all the rest,
In a rich chair 'or bed,' lin'd with fine crimson red,
With a rich golden canopy over his head: 40
As he sat at his meat, the musick play'd sweet,
With the choicest of singing his joys to compleat.

While the tinker did dine, he had plenty of wine,
Rich canary, with sherry and tent superfine.
Like a right honest soul, faith, he took off his bowl, 45
Till at last he began for to tumble and roul
From his chair to the floor, where he sleeping did snore,
Being seven times drunker than ever before.

Then the duke did ordain, they should strip him amain,
And restore him his old leather garments again: 50
'Twas a point next the worst, yet perform it they must,
And they carry'd him strait, where they found him at first,
Then he slept all the night, as indeed well he might;
But when he did waken, his joys took their flight.

For his glory 'to him' so pleasant did seem, 55
That he thought it to be but a meer golden dream;
Till at length he was brought to the duke, where he sought
For a pardon, as fearing he had set him at nought.
But his highness he said, "Thou'rt a jolly bold blade:
Such a frolick before I think never was plaid." 60

Then his highness bespoke him a new suit and cloak,
Which he gave for the sake of this frolicksome joak,
Nay, and five hundred pound, with ten acres of ground:
"Thou shalt never," said he, "range the counteries round,
Crying old brass to mend, for I'll be thy good friend, 65
Nay, and Joan thy sweet wife shall my duchess attend."

Then the tinker reply'd, "What! must Joan my sweet bride
Be a lady in chariots of pleasure to ride?
Must we have gold and land ev'ry day at command?
Then I shall be a squire, I well understand. 70
Well I thank your good grace, and your love I embrace;
I was never before in so happy a case."

---

THE HEIR OF LINNE.

Percy's Reliques, ii. 135.

"The original of this ballad," says Percy, "is found in the Editor's folio MS., the breaches and defects in which, rendered the insertion of supplemental stanzas necessary. These it is hoped the reader will pardon, as indeed the completion of the story was suggested by a modern ballad on a similar subject. From the Scottish phrases here and there discernible in this poem, it would seem to have been originally composed beyond the Tweed."

The modern ballad here mentioned is probably The Drunkards Legacy, printed from an old chap-book, in Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs, p. 151, Percy Society, vol. xvii. The Scottish version of the Heir of Linne is annexed to the present in the only form in which it is now to be obtained.

The incident by which the hidden treasure is discovered in this ballad, occurs (as observes a writer in the British Bibliographer, iv. 182) in a story of Cinthio's, Heccatomithi, Dec. ix. nov. 8: but the argument of that story is in other respects different, being in fact the following epigram:

???s?? a??? e???? e??pe ?????; a?ta? ? ???s??,
?? ??pe?, ??? e????, ?pse? ?? e??e ?????.
Brunck's Anthologia, vol. i. p. 106.

PART THE FIRST.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sayes, "Welcome, welcome, Lord of Linne, 25
Let nought disturb thy merry cheere;
Iff thou wilt sell thy landes soe broad,
Good store of gold Ile give thee heere."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Now Ile away to [the] lonesome lodge, 85
For there my father bade me wend:
When all the world should frown on mee
I there shold find a trusty friend."

34. i. e. earnest-money; from the French denier À Dieu. At this day, when application is made to the Dean and Chapter of Carlisle to accept an exchange of the tenant under one of their leases, a piece of silver is presented, by the new tenant, which is still called a God's-penny. Percy.

PART THE SECOND.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then round his necke the corde he drewe,
And sprang aloft with his bodÌe,
When lo! the ceiling burst in twaine, 35
And to the ground come tumbling hee.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Away, away, thou thriftless loone,
I sweare thou gettest no almes of mee;
For if we should hang any losel heere,
The first we wold begin with thee." 80

Then bespake a good fellÒwe,
Which sat at John o' the Scales his bord;
Sayd, "Turn againe, thou heir of Linne;
Some time thou wast a well good lord.

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

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

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

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

"I drawe you to record, lords," he said, 100
With that he cast him a gods-pennie:
"Now by my fay," sayd the heire of Linne,
"And here, good John, is thy monÈy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

THE HEIR OF LINNE.

From Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, p. 30, Percy Society, vol. xvii.

The bonny heir, and the weel-faur'd heir,
And the wearie heir o' Linne,
Yonder he stands at his father's yetts,
An naebody bids him come in.

O see for he gangs, an' see for he stands, 5
The wearie heir o' Linne;
O see for he stands on the cauld casey,
And nae an' bids him come in.

But if he had been his father's heir,
Or yet the heir o' Linne, 10
He wou'dna stand on the cauld casey,
Some an' wad taen him in.

"Sing ower again that sang, nourice,
The sang ye sang just noo;"
"I never sang a sang i' my life, 15
But I wad sing ower to you."

O see for he gangs, an' see for he stands,
The wearie heir o' Linne;
O see for he stands on the cauld casey,
An' nae an' bids him come in. 20

But if he had been his father's heir,
Or yet the heir o' Linne,
He wadna stand on the cauld casye,
Some ane wad taen him in.

When his father's lands a sellin' were, 25
His claise lay weel in fauld,
But now he wanders on the shore,
Baith hungry, weet, and cauld.

As Willie he gaed down the toun,
The gentlemen were drinkin'; 30
Some bade gie Willie a glass, a glass,
And some bade him gae nane;
Some bade gie Willie a glass, a glass,
The weary heir o' Linne.

As Willie he cam' up the toun, 35
The fishers were a sittin';
Some bade gie Willie a fish, a fish,
Some bade gie him a fin;
Some bade gie him a fish, a fish,
And lat the palmer gang. 40

He turned him richt and roun' about,
As will as a woman's son,
And taen his cane into his hand,
And on his way to Linne.

His nourice at her window look'd, 45
Beholding dale and doun,
And she beheld this distress'd young man
Come walkin' to the town.

"Come here, come here, Willie," she said,
"And set yoursel' wi me; 50
I hae seen you i' better days,
And in jovial companie."

"Gie me a sheave o' your bread, nourice,
And a bottle o' your wine,
And I'll pay you it a' ower again, 55
When I'm the laird o' Linne."

"Ye'se got a sheave o' my bread, Willie,
"And a bottle o' my wine,
An' ye'll pay me when the seas gang dry,
But ye'll ne'er be heir o' Linne." 60

Then he turn'd him richt and roun' about,
As will as woman's son;
And aff he set, and bent his way,
And straightway came to Linne.

But when he cam to that castle, 65
They were set doun to dine;
A score o' nobles there he saw,
Sat drinkin' at the wine.

Then some bad' gie him beef, the beef,
And some bad' gie him the bane; 70
And some bad' gie him naething at a',
But lat the palmer gang.

Then out it speaks the new come laird,
A saucie word spak' hee;
"Put roun' the cup, gie my rival a sup, 75
Lat him fare on his way."

Then out it speaks Sir Ned Magnew,
Ane o' young Willie's kin;
"This youth was ance a sprightlie boy
As ever lived in Linne." 80

He turned him richt and roun' about,
As will as woman's son;
Then minded him on a little wee key,
That his mither left to him.

His mither left him this little wee key 85
A little before she deed;
And bad him keep this little wee key
Till he was in maist need.

Then forth he went, an' these nobles left,
A' drinkin' in the room; 90
Wi' walkin' rod intill his hand,
He walked the castle roun'.

There he found out a little door,
For there the wee key slippit in,
An' there he got as muckle red gowd 95
As freed the lands o' Linne.

Back through the nobles then he went,
A saucie man was then;
"I'll tak' the cup frae this new-come laird,
For he ne'er bad me sit doun." 100

Then out it speaks the new-come laird,
He spak' wi' mock an' jeer;
"I'd gie a seat to the laird o' Linne,
Sae be that he were here.

"When the lands o' Linne a sellin' were, 105
A' men said they were free;
This lad shall hae them frae me this day,
If he'll gie the third pennie."

"I tak' ye witness, nobles a',
Gude witnesses ye'll be; 110
I'm promis'd the lands o' Linne this day,
If I gie the third pennie."

"Ye've taen us witnesses, Willie," they said,
"Gude witnesses we'll be;
Buy the lands o' Linne who likes, 115
They'll ne'er be bought by thee."

He's done him to a gamin' table,
For it stood fair and clean;
There he tauld doun as much rich gowd
As freed the lands o' Linne. 120

Thus having done, he turn'd about,
A saucie man was he;
"Tak' up your monie, my lad," he says,
"Tak' up your third pennie.

"Aft hae I gane wi' barefeet cauld, 125
Likewise wi' legs fu' bare,
And mony day walk'd at these yetts
Wi' muckle dool an' care.

"But now my sorrow's past and gane,
And joy's returned to me; 130
And here I've gowd enough forbye,
Ahin this third pennie."

As Willie he gaed doun the toun,
There he craw'd wonderous crouse;
He ca'd the may afore them a', 135
The nourice o' the house.

"Come here, come here, my nurse," he says,
"I'll pay your bread and wine;
Seas ebb and flow as they wont to do,
Yet I'm the laird o' Linne." 140

An' he gaed up the Gallowgate port,
His hose aboon his shoon;
But lang ere he cam down again
Was convoyed by lords fifteen.

58. your wine.

THE WANDERING JEW.

In the year 1228, we are informed by Matthew Paris, an Armenian archbishop visited England, with letters from the Pope, to make the tour of the holy places. During a sojourn at the monastery of St. Albans, he was asked by one of the brethren if he knew anything of the famous Joseph, so much spoken of, who had been present at the crucifixion, and was still living as a witness to the truth of the Christian faith. The archbishop responded that the fact was indeed as reported, and one of his retinue added, that his master had personally known this extraordinary character, and had admitted him to his table only a short time before setting out for the West; that he had been porter to Pontius Pilate, and was named Cartaphilus; that when the Jews were dragging Christ from the judgment-hall, he had struck him in the back with his fist, saying, "Go faster, Jesus: why dost thou tarry?"—whereupon Christ turned to him and said, "I go, but thou shalt tarry till my coming." After the death of Jesus, Cartaphilus had been converted, and baptized by Ananias, under the name of Joseph. Still the sentence pronounced upon him by the Saviour was not revoked, and he remained in the world, awaiting the Lord's second advent, living in Armenia, or some other country of the East. Whenever he reached the age of a hundred, he fell into a trance, and when he revived, found himself again about thirty years old, as he had been at the epoch of Christ's suffering.

This story Matthew Paris heard at St. Albans, of which monastery he was himself a brother, a few years after the memorable visit of the Armenian prelate. His contemporary, Philippe Mouskes, Bishop of Tournay, has incorporated the substance of his narrative into his rhymed chronicle, edited by the Baron de Reiffenberg, v. 25524, et seq. We hear nothing more of the Wandering Jew from this time until the middle of the 16th century, when he presents himself at Hamburgh, (in 1547,) calling himself Ahasuerus, who had been a shoemaker at Jerusalem. The ballad which follows is founded upon some narrative of this event, many of which were published. It will be noticed that in the second form of the legend, the punishment of perpetual existence, which gives rise to the old names, JudÆus non mortalis, Ewiger Jude, is aggravated by a condemnation to incessant change of place, which is indicated by a corresponding name, Wandering Jew, Juif Errant, etc.

It is unnecessary, and would be impossible, to specify the various times and places at which the Wandering Jew has successively reappeared. The legend being firmly believed by the vulgar throughout Christendom, an opportunity for imposture was afforded which could not fail to be improved. The last recorded apparition was at Brussels, in April, 1774, and on this occasion the wanderer had again changed his name to Isaac Laquedem. Of the origin of the tradition we know nothing. M. Lacroix has suggested that it took its rise in a grand and beautiful allegory in which the Hebrew race were personified under the figure of the Everlasting Wanderer. See Calmet's Bible Dictionary, GrÄsse, Die Sage vom Ewigen Juden, Dresden and Leipsic, 1844, Paul Lacroix's Bibliographical Preface to DorÉ's Designs, La LÉgende du Juif Errant, etc. Paris, 1856.

This ballad is taken from Percy's Reliques, ii. 317, and was from a black-letter copy in the Pepys collection.

PROUD LADY MARGARET.

From Minstrelsy of the Scotish Border, iii. 32. This copy of the ballad is imperfect. A complete version is inserted in the Appendix from Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, i. 91. There is another, also defective, called The Bonny Hind Squire, in Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, p. 42, Percy Soc. vol. xvii.

REEDISDALE AND WISE WILLIAM.

Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 298, and Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, ii. 70: from recitation.

GEORDIE.

From the Musical Museum, p. 357.

"Geordie, an old Ballad," was first printed in Johnson's Museum, from a copy furnished by Burns. The occasion of the ballad has not been satisfactorily determined. In the opinion of Mr. Kinloch, it is to be found in the factions of the family of Huntly during the reign of Queen Mary. George Gordon, Earl of Huntly, having been sent by the Queen to apprehend a notorious robber, was thought not to have been faithful to his trust. He returned without accomplishing the object of his expedition, and was committed to prison because of his failure. Some of the Queen's council were in favor of banishing him to France, others of putting him to death, but he was released, on condition of paying a fine and performing certain other stipulations. Motherwell states that there is much variation in the recited copies of this piece, and mentions one styled Geordie Luklie. Kinloch prints a version not materially different from that of the Museum. Allan Cunningham has reprinted the Museum copy with less change than is customary with him; Songs of Scotland, ii. 186. We give in the Appendix a ballad from Buchan, called Gight's Lady, which contains a story widely diverse from that which follows. In Ritson's Northumberland Garland, p. 43, there is a "lamentable ditty" on the death of one George Stoole, which appears to be an imitation of the Scottish ballad.

GEORDIE.

Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 192.

THE GABERLUNZIE-MAN.

Tea-Table Miscellany, i. 104; Old Ballads, iii. 259.

It is tradition that King James the Fifth of Scotland was in the habit of wandering about his dominions in disguise, and engaging in amours with country girls. One of these is thought to be described in the witty ballad of The Jolly Beggar, (Herd's Scotish Songs, ii. 164, Ritson's Scotish Songs, i. 168,) and another in The Gaberlunzie-Man, both of which are universally attributed (though without evidence) to James's pen. The character of James V., it has been remarked (Gent. Mag. Oct. 1794, p. 913,) resembled both in licentiousness and genius, that of the troubadour sovereign, William the Ninth, Count of Poitiers, who appears to have had the same vagrant habits.

With The Jolly Beggar may be compared Der Bettelmann, in Hoffmann's Schlesische Volkslieder, p. 45.

THE TURNAMENT OF TOTENHAM.

The Turnament of Totenham was first printed in the History of Totenham, (1631,) by the Rev. Wilhelm Bedwell, rector of the parish, who, says Percy, "so little entered into the spirit of the poem he was publishing, that he contends for its being a serious narrative of a real event, and thinks it must have been written before the time of Edward III., because turnaments were prohibited in that reign." The simple parson derived his copy from a manuscript lent him by George Withers. In the first edition of the Reliques, Percy reprinted Bedwell's text, with some conjectural emendations, but for the revised edition he employed a manuscript in the Harleian collection (No. 5396), pointed out to him by Tyrwhitt. This manuscript is thought to have been written in the reign of Henry VI. Since the publication of the Harleian text, the manuscript used by Bedwell has been found in the Public Library of the University of Cambridge, (Ff. 5, 48,) and a correct copy published by Mr. Wright in a miniature volume. We have given this last text, as on the whole the best, though in places it requires emendation from the Harleian copy. The Cambridge manuscript (the same as that which contains the ballad of Robin Hood and the Monk,) Mr. Wright believes to have been written as early as the reign of Edward II. In this MS. there is subjoined to the Turnament an extravagantly burlesque account of the feast mentioned in the last stanzas.

Percy's copy will be found in the Reliques, ii. 13. Ritson's (Ancient English Songs, i. 85,) is nearly identical.

This ballad, it has been observed, appears to be "a burlesque upon the old feudal custom of marrying an heiress to the knight who should vanquish all his opponents, at a solemn assembly holden for that purpose." See the remarks in the Gentleman's Magazine for July, 1794, p. 613.

18. sic MS. Harl. according to Percy.24-27. MS. Harl.

v. 27 should be divided into two.35-36. MS. Harl.

36. Wright. tomorowe.41. sic MS. Harl.47. Wright, He.65. MS. Harl. Ilk on toke a blak hat.72. MS. Harl. He gat hym a mare.73. MS. Harl. gadryng.78-81. MS. Harl.

82. on. MS. Harl.85. MS. Harl. With the holy, &c. wrotyn.86. Wolde they spare. Wright.

v. 91-99. Stands thus in MS. Harl.

104-108. Here stand vs. 113-117 in MS. Harl.109-117. This stanza is written as follows in MS. Harl.:

122-126. Here stand v. 104-108 in MS. Harl.128. Whyls me ys left my merth. MS. Harl. Whil I am most mery. Wright.

We must obviously read "mer," i. e. mare, with Percy and Ritson; otherwise the rest of the stanza is nonsense. The th which is added in the MS. Harl., was caught from the thou following.132-3. MS. Harl.

141. MS. H. wele.144. MS. H. Wyth so forth, Gybbe.
Wright. Joo forth.145. hie, MS. Harl.
te, Wright.150-151. MS. H.

153. MS. H. Poudred.159-161. MS. H. slatred—flatred—schatred.175. my noye. MS. H.
myn one. Wright.191-194. MS. Harl.

201-207. Here evidently corrupted. In MS. Harl. as follows:

212. MS. H. And thay ifere assent.215. MS. H. The prayse-folk that hur led.224-5. MS. H.

226. MS. H. with a ryche aray.229. MS. H.

N. B. The letter z in our reprint of this poem often represents the old character ?, which has generally the force of gh (aspirated g), sometimes of y.

THE WYF OF AUCHTIRMUCHTY.

This ballad has been handed down, through manuscript and oral tradition, in several forms. The oldest copy is furnished by the Bannatyne MS., and this has been often printed, with more or less correctness: as in Ramsay's Evergreen, ii. 137; Lord Hailes's Ancient Scotish Poems, &c. p. 215; Herd's Scotish Songs, ii. 237; Pinkerton's Select Scottish Ballads, ii. 97. Our text is that of Laing, Select Remains, &c., which professes to be carefully given from the manuscript. Mr. Laing has added in the margin the most important variations of other editions. Allan Ramsay altered several verses and added others.

In the Bannatyne MS. this piece is subscribed with the name of "Mofat," and on this ground the authorship has been attributed to Sir John Moffat, who is supposed to have lived in the earlier part of the 16th century.

Ritson, who intended to insert the Wife of Auchtermuchty in a projected volume of Select Scotish Poems, says in a manuscript note, "The subject of this poem seems to be borrowed from the first part of a story in the Silva Sermonum Jucundissimorum, Basil. 1568, 8vo. p. 116, though certainly from a more ancient authority." (Laing.) This story is cited at the end of the volume from which we print. In Wright and Halliwell's ReliquiÆ AntiquÆ, ii. 195, is the first fit of an English ballad on the same subject, "from a MS. on paper, of the reign of Henry VII," (Ballad of a Tyrannical Husband.) John Grumlie in Cunningham's Songs of Scotland, ii. 123, is another variety. See also Nursery Rhymes of England, p. 32, Per. Soc. vol. iv. In 1803, there appeared at Edinburgh a translation of Ramsay's ballad into Latin rhyme.

81-88. This stanza, which does not occur in the Bannatyne MS., or in the ordinary printed copies, is given by Laing from a MS. "written in a hand not much later than the year 1600."106. MS. cray.122. MS. dur.

THE FRIAR IN THE WELL.

An old story, often referred to, e. g. in Skelton's Colyn Cloute, v. 879. The ballad is found in various collections in the British Museum, and is cited in part from one of these, in Dyce's note to the passage in Skelton. There is a Scottish version in Kinloch's Ballad Book, p. 25. The following is from Durfey's Pills to Purge Melancholy, iii. 325 (The Fryer and the Maid), but as that copy is abridged, we have supplied the omitted stanzas from Chappell's Popular Music, p. 273.

GET UP AND BAR THE DOOR.

Herd's Scottish Songs, ii. 63.

First printed by Herd in a slightly different form, ed. 1776, ii. 159; also Johnson's Museum, p. 310, and Ritson's Scottish Songs, i. 226. The hero of this story is traditionally known as one Johnie Blunt, who lived on Crawford Moor. Several versions of a song called by his name are current among the Scottish peasantry, one of which is given in Johnson's Museum, p. 376.—This ballad, says Stenhouse, furnished Prince Hoare with one of the principal scenes in his musical entertainment of No Song, no Supper, "acted at Drury Lane in 1790, and since throughout the United Kingdom with great success."

THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY.

Percy's Reliques, iii. 350. Old Ballads, i. 37.

This in its way most admirable ballad is clearly a parody of some ancient K[oe]mpevise. The armor studded with spikes connects this story with the legend of the Worm of Lambton (see vol. i. p. 281, and post, p. 136), which, we are inclined to think with Grundtvig (i. 346), may have some radical connection with Regner Lodbrog's fight with the snake that guarded Thora's bower. The well in v. 100 corresponds to the pit in which the hero stands in Ormekampen, Grundtvig, i. 342.—Printed by Percy from a copy in Roman letter, in the Pepys Collection, "collated with such others as could be procured." Percy.

? In the improved edition of the Reliques, a most extraordinary attempt to explain the foregoing burlesque as an allegory (!) is made in a "Key" appended to the ballad, and said to be "communicated by Godfrey Bosville, Esq., of Thorp, near Malton, in Yorkshire."

"Warncliff Lodge, and Warncliff Wood (vulgarly pronounced Wantley), are in the parish of Penniston, in Yorkshire. The rectory of Penniston was part of the dissolved monastery of St. Stephen's, Westminster; and was granted to the Duke of Norfolk's family: who therewith endowed an hospital, which he built at Sheffield, for women. The trustees let the impropriation of the great tithes of Penniston to the Wortley family, who got a great deal by it, and wanted to get still more: for Mr. Nicholas Wortley attempted to take the tithes in kind, but Mr. Francis Bosville opposed him, and there was a decree in favour of the modus in 37th Eliz. The vicarage of Penniston did not go along with the rectory, but with the copyhold rents, and was part of a large purchase made by Ralph Bosville, Esq., from Queen Elizabeth, in the 2d year of her reign: and that part he sold in 12th Eliz. to his elder brother Godfrey, the father of Francis; who left it, with the rest of his estate, to his wife, for her life, and then to Ralph, third son of his uncle Ralph. The widow married Lyonel Rowlestone, lived eighteen years, and survived Ralph.

"This premised, the ballad apparently relates to the lawsuit carried on concerning this claim of tithes made by the Wortley family. 'Houses and churches were to him geese and turkeys:' which are titheable things, the Dragon chose to live on. Sir Francis Wortley, the son of Nicholas, attempted again to take the tithes in kind: but the parishioners subscribed an agreement to defend their modus. And at the head of the agreement was Lyonel Rowlestone, who is supposed to be one of 'the stones, dear Jack, which the Dragon could not crack.' The agreement is still preserved in a large sheet of parchment, dated 1st of James I., and is full of names and seals, which might be meant by the coat of armour, "with spikes all about, both within and without." More of More-hall was either the attorney, or counsellor, who conducted the suit. He is not distinctly remembered, but More-hall is still extant at the very bottom of Wantley [Warncliff] Wood, and lies so low, that it might be said to be in a well: as the Dragon's den [Warncliff Lodge] was at the top of the wood 'with Matthew's house hard by it.' The keepers belonging to the Wortley family were named, for many generations, Matthew Northall: the last of them left this lodge, within memory, to be keeper to the Duke of Norfolk. The present owner of More-hall still attends Mr. Bosville's Manor Court at Oxspring, and pays a rose a year. 'More of More-Hall, with nothing at all, slew the Dragon of Wantley.' He gave him, instead of tithes, so small a modus, that it was in effect, nothing at all, and was slaying him with a vengeance. 'The poor children three,' &c., cannot surely mean the three sisters of Francis Bosville, who would have been coheiresses, had he made no will? The late Mr. Bosville had a contest with the descendants of two of them, the late Sir George Saville's father, and Mr. Copley, about the presentation to Penniston, they supposing Francis had not the power to give this part of the estate from the heirs at law; but it was decided against them. The Dragon (Sir Francis Wortley) succeeded better with his cousin Wordesworth, the freehold lord of the manor, (for it is the copyhold manor that belongs to Mr. Bosville,) having persuaded him not to join the refractory parishioners, under a promise that he would let him his tithes cheap: and now the estates of Wortley and Wordesworth are the only lands that pay tithes in the parish.

"N. B. The 'two days and a night,' mentioned in ver. 125, as the duration of the combat, was probably that of the trial at law."

Note to p. 128, and p. 131, v. 75-80. Grundtvig, ii. 653, refers to a B[oe]otian legend in Pausanias ix. 26, 5, for an instance of a similar contrivance. The story goes, that one Menestratus, to save a friend who was about to be exposed in due course to a dragon, made himself a brazen breastplate, which had on every scale a hook with the point bent upwards. Armed in this, he went voluntarily to meet the monster, and destroyed him, though at the expense of his own life.