[Pg 248]
[Pg 249] I.
THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY CHACE. At the beginning of this volume we gave the old original Song of Chevy Chace. The reader has here the more improved edition of that fine heroic ballad. It will afford an agreeable entertainment to the curious to compare them together, and to see how far the latter bard has excelled his predecessor, and where he has fallen short of him. For tho' he has every where improved the versification, and generally the sentiment and diction; yet some few passages retain more dignity in the ancient copy; at least the obsoleteness of the style serves as a veil to hide whatever might appear too familiar or vulgar in them. Thus, for instance, the catastrophe of the gallant Witherington is in the modern copy exprest in terms which never fail at present to excite ridicule: whereas in the original it is related with a plain and pathetic simplicity, that is liable to no such unlucky effect: See the stanza in page 32, which, in modern orthography, &c. would run thus. "For Witherington my heart is woe,
That ever he slain should be:
For when his legs were hewn in two,
He knelt and fought on his knee."
So again the stanza which describes the fall of Montgomery is somewhat more elevated in the ancient copy: "The dint it was both sad and sore,
He on Montgomery set:
The swan-feathers his arrow bore
With his hearts blood were wet."
p. 31. We might also add, that the circumstances of the battle are more clearly conceived and the several incidents more distinctly marked in the old original, than in the improved copy. It is well known that the ancient English weapon was the long bow, and that this nation excelled all others in archery; while the Scottish warriours chiefly depended on the use of the spear: this characteristic difference never escapes our ancient bard, whose description of the first onset is to the following effect: "The proposal of the two gallant earls to determine the dispute by single combat being over-ruled; the English, says he, who stood with their bows ready bent, gave a general discharge of their arrows, which slew seven score spearmen of the enemy: but, notwithstanding so severe a loss, Douglas like a brave captain kept his ground. He had divided his forces into three columns, who, as soon as the English had discharged the first volley, bore down upon them with their spears, and breaking through their ranks reduced them to close fighting. The archers upon this dropt their bows and had recourse to their swords, and there followed so sharp a conflict, that multitudes on both sides lost their lives." In the midst of this general engagement, at length, the two great earls meet, and after a spirited rencounter agree to breathe; upon which a parley ensues, that would do honour to Homer himself. Nothing can be more pleasingly distinct and circumstantial than this: whereas, the modern copy, tho' in general it has great merit, is here unluckily both confused and obscure. Indeed the original words seem here to have been totally misunderstood. "Yet bydys the yerl Douglas upon the Bent," evidently signifies, "Yet the earl Douglas abides in the Field:" whereas the more modern bard seems to have understood by Bent, the inclination of his mind, and accordingly runs quite off from the subject[893]: "To drive the deer with hound and horn
Earl Douglas had the bent."
v. 109. One may also observe a generous impartiality in the old original bard, when in the conclusion of his tale he represents both nations as quitting the field without any reproachful reflection on either: though he gives to his own countrymen the credit of being the smaller number. "Of fifteen hundred archers of England
Went away but fifty and three;
Of twenty hundred spearmen of Scotland,
But even five and fifty."
p. 32. He attributes Flight to neither party, as hath been done in the modern copies of this ballad, as well Scotch as English. For, to be even with our latter bard, who makes the Scots to flee, some reviser of North Britain has turned his own arms against him, and printed an edition at Glasgow, in which the lines are thus transposed: "Of fifteen hundred Scottish speirs
Went hame but fifty-three:
Of twenty hundred Englishmen
Scarce fifty-five did flee."
And to countenance this change he has suppressed the two stanzas between ver. 240 and ver. 249.—From that Edition I have here reformed the Scottish names, which in the modern English ballad appeared to be corrupted. When I call the present admired ballad modern, I only mean that it is comparatively so; for that it could not be writ much later than the time of Q. Elizabeth, I think may be made appear; nor yet does it seem to be older than the beginning of the last century.[894] Sir Philip Sidney, when he complains of the antiquated phrase of Chevy Chase, could never have seen this improved copy, the language of which is not more ancient than that he himself used. It is probable that the encomiums of so admired a writer excited some bard to revise the ballad, and to free it from those faults he had objected to it. That it could not be much later than that time, appears from the phrase doleful dumps: which in that age carried no ill sound with it, but to the next generation became ridiculous. We have seen it pass uncensured in a sonnet that was at that time in request, and where it could not fail to have been taken notice of, had it been in the least exceptionable: see above, book ii. song v. ver. 2. Yet, in about half a century after, it was become burlesque. Vide Hudibras, Part I. c. 3, v. 95. This much premised, the reader that would see the general beauties of this ballad set in a just and striking light, may consult the excellent criticism of Mr. Addison.[895] With regard to its subject: it has already been considered in page 20. The conjectures there offered will receive confirmation from a passage in the Memoirs of Carey Earl of Monmouth, 8vo. 1759, p. 165; whence we learn that it was an ancient custom with the borderers of the two kingdoms, when they were at peace, to send to the Lord Wardens of the opposite Marches for leave to hunt within their districts. If leave was granted, then towards the end of summer they would come and hunt for several days together "with their greyhounds for deer:" but if they took this liberty unpermitted, then the Lord Warden of the border so invaded, would not fail to interrupt their sport and chastise their boldness. He mentions a remarkable instance that happened while he was Warden, when some Scotch gentlemen coming to hunt in defiance of him, there must have ensued such an action as this of Chevy Chace, if the intruders had been proportionably numerous and well-armed; for, upon their being attacked by his men at arms, he tells us, "some hurt was done, tho' he had given especiall order that they should shed as little blood as possible." They were in effect overpowered and taken prisoners, and only released on their promise to abstain from such licentious sporting for the future. Since the former impression of these volumes hath been published, a new edition of Collins's Peerage, 1779, &c., 9 Vols. 8vo. which contains, in volume ii. p. 334, an historical passage, which may be thought to throw considerable light on the subject of the preceding ballad: viz. "In this ... year, 1436, according to Hector Boethius, was fought the Battle of Pepperden, not far from the Cheviot Hills, between the Earl of Northumberland (IId Earl, son of Hotspur,) and Earl William Douglas, of Angus, with a small army of about four thousand men each, in which the latter had the advantage. As this seems to have been a private conflict between these two great chieftains of the Borders, rather than a national war, it has been thought to have given rise to the celebrated old Ballad of Chevy-Chase; which, to render it more pathetic and interesting, has been heightened with tragical incidents wholly fictitious." See Ridpath's Border Hist. 4to, p. 401. The following text is given from a copy in the Editor's folio MS. compared with two or three others printed in black-letter.—In the second volume of Dryden's Miscellanies may be found a translation of Chevy-Chace into Latin rhymes. The translator, Mr. Henry Bold, of New College, undertook it at the command of Dr. Compton, bishop of London; who thought it no derogation to his episcopal character, to avow a fondness for this excellent old ballad. See the preface to Bold's Latin Songs, 1685, 8vo.
[The following version varies in certain particulars from the one in the MS. folio (ed. Hales and Furnivall, 1867, vol. ii. p. i), and the most important variations are noted at the foot of the page. Some of the alterations in the arrangement of the words are improvements, but others are the reverse, for instance verses 129-132. Percy follows the copy printed in the Collection of Old Ballads, 1723 (vol. i. p. 108), much more closely than the MS.]
God prosper long our noble king,
Our lives and safetyes all!
A woefull hunting once there did[896]
In Chevy-Chace befall;
To drive the deere with hound and horne,5
Erle Percy took his way;[897]
The child may rue that is unborne,
The hunting of that day.
The stout Erle of Northumberland
A vow to God did make,10
His pleasure in the Scottish woods
Three summers days to take;
The cheefest harts in Chevy-Chace
To kill and beare away.
These tydings to Erle Douglas came,15
In Scottland where he lay:
Who sent Erle Percy present word,
He wold prevent his sport.
The English Erle, not fearing that,
Did to the woods resort20
With fifteen hundred bow-men bold;
All chosen men of might,
Who knew full well in time of neede
To ayme their shafts arright.
The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran,25
To chase the fallow deere:
On munday they began to hunt,
Ere day-light did appeare;
And long before high noone they had
An hundred fat buckes slaine;30
Then having dined, the drovyers went
To rouze the deare againe.
The bow-men mustered on the hills,
Well able to endure;
Theire backsides all, with speciall care,35
That day were guarded sure.[898]
The hounds ran swiftly through the woods,
The nimble deere to take,[899]
That with their cryes the hills and dales
An eccho shrill did make.40
Lord Percy to the quarry[900] went,
To view the slaughter'd deere;[901]
Quoth he, Erle Douglas promised
This day to meet me heere:
But if I thought he wold not come,45
Noe longer wold I stay.
With that, a brave younge gentleman
Thus to the Erle did say:
Loe, yonder doth Erle Douglas come,
His men in armour bright;50
Full twenty hundred Scottish speres
All marching in our sight;
All men of pleasant Tivydale,
Fast by the river Tweede:
O cease your sports, Erle Percy said,55
And take your bowes with speede;
And now with me, my countrymen,
Your courage forth advance;
For there was never champion yett,
In Scotland or in France,60
That ever did on horsebacke come,
But if my hap[902] it were,
I durst encounter man for man,
With him to break a spere.
Erle Douglas on his milke-white steede,65
Most like a baron bold,
Rode formost of his company,
Whose armour shone like gold.
Show me, sayd hee, whose men you bee,
That hunt soe boldly heere,70
That, without my consent, doe chase
And kill my fallow-deere.
The first man that did answer make,
Was noble Percy hee;
Who sayd, Wee list not to declare,75
Nor shew whose men wee bee:
Yet wee will spend our deerest blood,
Thy cheefest harts to slay.
Then Douglas swore a solempne oathe,
And thus in rage did say,80
Ere thus I will out-braved bee,
One of us two shall dye:
I know thee well, an erle thou art;
Lord Percy, soe am I.
But trust me, Percy, pittye it were,85
And great offence to kill
Any of these our guiltlesse men,
For they have done no ill.
Let thou and I the battell trye,
And set our men aside.90
Accurst bee [he], Erle Percy sayd,
By whome this is denyed.[903]
Then stept a gallant squier forth,
Witherington was his name,
Who said, I wold not have it told95
To Henry our king for shame,
That ere my captaine fought on foote,
And I stood looking on.[904]
You bee two erles, sayd Witherington,
And I a squier alone:100
Ile doe the best that doe I may,
While I have power to stand:
While I have power to weeld my sword,
Ile fight with hart and hand.
Our English archers bent their bowes,[905]105
Their harts were good and trew;
Att the first flight of arrowes sent,
Full four-score Scots they slew.
[906][Yet bides Earl Douglas on the bent,[907]
As Chieftain stout and good.110
As valiant Captain, all unmov'd
The shock he firmly stood.
His host he parted had in three,
As Leader ware and try'd,
As soon his spearmen on their foes115
Bare down on every side.
Throughout the English archery
They dealt full many a wound:
But still our valiant Englishmen
All firmly kept their ground:120
And throwing strait their bows away,
They grasp'd their swords so bright:
And now sharp blows, a heavy shower,
On shields and helmets light.]
They closed full fast on everye side,125
Noe slacknes there was found;
And many a gallant gentleman
Lay gasping on the ground.
O Christ! it was a griefe to see,[908]
And likewise for to heare,130
The cries of men lying in their gore,
And scattered here and there.
At last these two stout erles did meet,
Like captaines of great might:
Like lyons wood,[909] they layd on lode,135
And made a cruell fight:
They fought untill they both did sweat,
With swords of tempered steele;
Until the blood, like drops of rain,
They trickling downe did feele.140
Yeeld thee, O Percy, Douglas sayd;
In faith I will thee bringe,
Where thou shalt high advanced bee
By James our Scottish king:
Thy ransome I will freely give,145
And this report of thee,
Thou art the most couragious knight,
That ever I did see.
Noe, Douglas, quoth Erle Percy then,
Thy proffer I doe scorne;150
I will not yeelde to any Scott,
That ever yett was borne.
With that, there came an arrow keene
Out of an English bow,
Which struck Erle Douglas to the heart,[910]155
A deepe and deadlye blow:
Who never spake more words than these,[911]
Fight on, my merry men all;
For why, my life is at an end;
Lord Percy sees my fall.160
Then leaving liffe, Erle Percy tooke
The dead man by the hand;
And said, Erle Douglas, for thy life[912]
Wold I had lost my land.
O Christ! my verry hart doth bleed165
With sorrow for thy sake;
For sure, a more redoubted knight
Mischance cold never take.
A knight amongst the Scotts there was,
Which saw Erle Douglas dye,170
Who streight in wrath did vow revenge
Upon the Lord Percye:
Sir Hugh Mountgomery was he call'd,
Who, with a spere most bright,
Well-mounted on a gallant steed,175
Ran fiercely through the fight;
And past the English archers all,
Without all dread or feare;
And through Earl Percyes body then
He thrust his hatefull spere;180
With such a vehement force and might
He did his body gore,
The staff ran through the other side
A large cloth-yard, and more.
So thus did both these nobles dye,185
Whose courage none could staine:
An English archer then perceiv'd
The noble erle was slaine;
He had a bow bent in his hand,[913]
Made of a trusty tree;190
An arrow of a cloth-yard long
Up to the head drew hee:[914]
Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerye,
So right the shaft he sett,
The grey goose-winge that was thereon,195
In his harts bloode was wett.
This fight did last from breake of day,
Till setting of the sun;
For when they rung the evening-bell,[915]
The battel scarce was done.200
With stout Erle Percy, there was slaine
Sir John of Egerton,[916]
Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John,[917]
Sir James that bold barrÔn:
And with Sir George and stout Sir James,205
Both knights of good account,
Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slaine,
Whose prowesse did surmount.
For Witherington needs must I wayle,
As one in doleful dumpes;[918]210
For when his leggs were smitten off,
He fought upon his stumpes.
And with Erle Douglas, there was slaine
Sir Hugh Mountgomerye,
Sir Charles Murray, that from the feeld[919]215
One foote wold never flee.
Sir Charles Murray, of Ratcliff, too,[920]
His sisters sonne was hee;
Sir David Lamb, so well esteem'd,[921]
Yet saved cold not bee.220
And the Lord Maxwell in like case
Did with Erle Douglas dye:
Of twenty hundred Scottish speres,
Scarce fifty-five did flye.
Of fifteen hundred Englishmen,225
Went home but fifty-three;
The rest were slaine in Chevy-Chase,
Under the greene woode tree.
Next day did many widdowes come,
Their husbands to bewayle;230
They washt their wounds in brinish teares,
But all wold not prevayle.
Theyr bodyes, bathed in purple gore,[922]
They bare with them away:
They kist them dead a thousand times,235
Ere they were cladd in clay.
The newes was brought to Eddenborrow,
Where Scottlands king did raigne,
That brave Erle Douglas suddenlye
Was with an arrow slaine:240
O heavy newes, King James did say,
Scottland may witnesse bee,
I have not any captaine more
Of such account as hee.
Like tydings to King Henry came,245
Within as short a space,
That Percy of Northumberland
Was slaine in Chevy-Chese:
Now God be with him, said our king,
Sith it will noe better bee;250
I trust I have, within my realme,
Five hundred as good as hee:
Yett shall not Scotts nor Scotland say,
But I will vengeance take:
I'll be revenged on them all,255
For brave Erle Percyes sake.
This vow full well the king perform'd
After, at Humbledowne;
In one day, fifty knights were slayne,
With lords of great renowne:260
And of the rest, of small account,
Did many thousands dye:[923]
Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chase,
Made by the Erle Percy.
God save our king, and bless this land265
With plentye, joy, and peace;
And grant henceforth, that foule debate
'Twixt noblemen may cease.
The surnames in the foregoing Ballad are altered, either by accident or design, from the old original copy, and in common editions extremely corrupted. They are here rectified, as much as they could be. Thus, [Ver. 202, Egerton.] This name is restored (instead of Ogerton, com. ed.) from the Editor's folio MS. The pieces in that MS. appear to have been collected, and many of them composed (among which might be this ballad) by an inhabitant of Cheshire; who was willing to pay a compliment here to one of his countrymen, of the eminent family De or Of Egerton (so the name was first written) ancestors of the present Duke of Bridgwater: and this he could do with the more propriety, as the Percies had formerly great interest in that county. At the fatal battle of Shrewsbury all the flower of the Cheshire gentlemen lost their lives fighting in the cause of Hotspur. [Ver. 203, Ratcliff.] This was a family much distinguished in Northumberland. Edw. Radcliffe, mil. was sheriff of that county in the 17 of Hen. VII. and others of the same surname afterwards. (See Fuller, p. 313.) Sir George Ratcliff, Knt. was one of the commissioners of inclosure in 1552. (See Nicholson, p. 330.) Of this family was the late Earl of Derwentwater, who was beheaded in 1715. The Editor's folio MS. however, reads here, Sir Robert Harcliffe and Sir William. The Harcleys were an eminent family in Cumberland. (See Fuller, p. 224.) Whether this may be thought to be the same name, I do not determine. [Ver. 204. Baron.] This is apparently altered, (not to say corrupted) from Hearone, in p. 32, ver. 114. [Ver. 207. Raby.] This might be intended to celebrate one of the ancient possessors of Raby Castle, in the county of Durham. Yet it is written Rebbye, in the fol. MS. and looks like a corruption of Rugby or Rokeby, an eminent family in Yorkshire, see pp. 32, 52. It will not be wondered that the Percies should be thought to bring followers out of that county, where they themselves were originally seated, and had always such extensive property and influence.[924] [Ver. 215. Murray.] So the Scottish copy. In the com. edit. it is Carrel or Currel; and Morrell in the fol. MS. [Ver. 217. Murray.] So the Scot. edit.—The common copies read Murrel. The fol. MS. gives the line in the following peculiar manner, "Sir Roger Heuer of Harcliffe too."
[Ver. 219. Lamb.] The folio MS. has "Sir David Lambwell, well esteemed."
This seems evidently corrupted from Lwdale or Liddell, in the old copy, see ver. 125. (pp. 32, 52).
II.
DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST. These fine moral stanzas were originally intended for a solemn funeral song, in a play of James Shirley's, intitled, "The Contention of Ajax and Ulysses:"[925] no date, 8vo.—Shirley flourished as a dramatic writer early in the reign of Charles I.: but he outlived the Restoration. His death happened October 29, 1666. Æt. 72. This little poem was written long after many of these that follow, but is inserted here as a kind of Dirge to the foregoing piece. It is said to have been a favourite song with K. Charles II. [to whom, according to Oldys, it was often sung by "old" Bowman.]
The glories of our birth and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against fate:
Death lays his icy hands on kings:
Scepter and crown5
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill:10
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still.
Early or late
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuring breath,15
When they pale captives creep to death.
The garlands wither on your brow,
Then boast no more your mighty deeds;
Upon death's purple altar now
See where the victor victim bleeds:20
All heads must come
To the cold tomb,
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust.
III.
THE RISING IN THE NORTH. The subject of this ballad is the great Northern Insurrection in the 12th year of Elizabeth, 1569; which proved so fatal to Thomas Percy, the seventh Earl of Northumberland. There had not long before been a secret negotiation entered into between some of the Scottish and English nobility, to bring about a marriage between Mary Q. of Scots, at that time a prisoner in England, and the Duke of Norfolk, a nobleman of excellent character, and firmly attached to the Protestant religion. This match was proposed to all the most considerable of the English nobility, and among the rest to the Earls of Northumberland and Westmoreland, two noblemen very powerful in the North. As it seemed to promise a speedy and safe conclusion of the troubles in Scotland, with many advantages to the crown of England, they all consented to it, provided it should prove agreeable to Q. Elizabeth. The Earl of Leicester (Elizabeth's favourite) undertook to break the matter to her, but before he could find an opportunity, the affair had come to her ears by other hands, and she was thrown into a violent flame. The Duke of Norfolk, with several of his friends, was committed to the Tower, and summons were sent to the Northern Earls instantly to make their appearance at court. It is said that the Earl of Northumberland, who was a man of a mild and gentle nature, was deliberating with himself whether he should not obey the message, and rely upon the queen's candour and clemency, when he was forced into desperate measures by a sudden report at midnight, Nov. 14, that a party of his enemies were come to seize on his person.[926] The Earl was then at his house at Topcliffe in Yorkshire. When rising hastily out of bed, he withdrew to the Earl of Westmoreland, at Brancepeth, where the country came in to them, and pressed them to take arms in their own defence. They accordingly set up their standards, declaring their intent was to restore the ancient religion, to get the succession of the crown firmly settled, and to prevent the destruction of the ancient nobility, &c. Their common banner[927] (on which was displayed the cross, together with the five wounds of Christ) was borne by an ancient gentleman, Richard Norton, Esq., of Norton-conyers; who, with his sons (among whom, Christopher, Marmaduke, and Thomas, are expressly named by Camden), distinguished himself on this occasion. Having entered Durham, they tore the Bible, &c., and caused mass to be said there: they then marched on to Clifford-moor near Wetherbye, where they mustered their men. Their intention was to have proceeded on to York, but, altering their minds, they fell upon Barnard's castle, which Sir George Bowes held out against them for eleven days. The two earls, who spent their large estates in hospitality, and were extremely beloved on that account, were masters of little ready money; the E. of Northumberland bringing with him only 8000 crowns, and the E. of Westmoreland nothing at all for the subsistence of their forces, they were not able to march to London, as they had at first intended. In these circumstances, Westmoreland began so visibly to despond, that many of his men slunk away, tho' Northumberland still kept up his resolution, and was master of the field till December 13, when the Earl of Sussex, accompanied with Lord Hunsden and others, having marched out of York at the head of a large body of forces, and being followed by a still larger army under the command of Ambrose Dudley, Earl of Warwick, the insurgents retreated northward towards the borders, and there dismissing their followers, made their escape into Scotland. Tho' this insurrection had been suppressed with so little bloodshed, the Earl of Sussex and Sir George Bowes, marshal of the army, put vast numbers to death by martial law, without any regular trial. The former of these caused sixty-three constables to be hanged at once. And the latter made his boast, that, for sixty miles in length, and forty in breadth, betwixt Newcastle and Wetherby, there was hardly a town or village wherein he had not executed some of the inhabitants. This exceeds the cruelties practised in the West after Monmouth's rebellion: but that was not the age of tenderness and humanity. Such is the account collected from Stow, Speed, Camden, Guthrie, Carte, and Rapin; it agrees in most particulars with the following ballad, which was apparently the production of some northern minstrel, who was well affected to the two noblemen. It is here printed from two MS. copies, one of them in the Editor's folio collection. They contained considerable variations, out of which such readings were chosen as seemed most poetical and consonant to history.
[The Northern Rebellion of 1569 has been nobly commemorated in verse. Besides the two following ballads there is the one entitled the Earle of Westmorlande, in the folio MS. which was printed for the first time in 1867, and also Wordsworth's matchless poem of the White Doe of Rylstone. Those readers who wish for further particulars respecting this ill-starred insurrection, should see Mr. Hales's interesting introduction to the Earl of Westmoreland (Folio MS., ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. i. p. 292). Percy acknowledges above that he has not followed the folio MS. very closely, and his variations will be seen by comparing his version with the copy now printed at the end.]
Listen, lively lordings all,
Lithe and listen unto mee,
And I will sing of a noble earle,
The noblest earle in the north countrie.
Earle Percy is into his garden gone,5
And after him walkes his faire ladÌe:[928]
I heard a bird sing in mine eare,
That I must either fight, or flee.
Now heaven forefend, my dearest lord,
That ever such harm should hap to thee:10
But goe to London to the court,
And faire fall truth and honestÌe.
Now nay, now nay, my ladye gay,
Alas! thy counsell suits not mee;
Mine enemies prevail so fast,15
That at the court I may not bee.
O goe to the court yet, good my lord,
And take thy gallant men with thee:
If any dare to doe you wrong,
Then your warrant they may bee.20
Now nay, now nay, thou lady faire,
The court is full of subtiltÌe;
And if I goe to the court, lady,
Never more I may thee see.
Yet goe to the court, my lord, she sayes,25
And I myselfe will ryde wi' thee:
At court then for my dearest lord,
His faithfull borrowe[929] I will bee
Now nay, now nay, my lady deare;
Far lever[930] had I lose my life,30
Than leave among my cruell foes
My love in jeopardy and strife.
But come thou hither, my little foot-page,
Come thou hither unto mee,
To maister Norton thou must goe35
In all the haste that ever may bee.
Commend me to that gentlemÀn,
And beare this letter here fro mee;
And say that earnestly I praye,
He will ryde in my companÌe.40
One while the little foot-page went,
And another while he ran;
Untill he came to his journeys end,
The little foot-page never blan.[931]
When to that gentleman he came,45
Down he kneeled on his knee;
And tooke the letter betwixt his hands,
And lett the gentleman it see.
And when the letter it was redd
Affore that goodlye companye,50
I wis, if you the truthe wold know,
There was many a weeping eye.
He sayd, Come thither, Christopher Norton,
A gallant youth thou seemst to bee;
What doest thou counsell me, my sonne,55
Now that good erle's in jeopardy?
Father, my counselle's fair and free;
That erle he is a noble lord,
And whatsoever to him you hight,
I wold not have you breake your word.60
Gramercy, Christopher, my sonne,
Thy counsell well it liketh mee,
And if we speed and scape with life,
Well advanced shalt thou bee.
Come you hither, my nine good sonnes,[932]65
Gallant men I trowe you bee:
How many of you, my children deare,
Will stand by that good erle and mee?
Eight of them did answer make,
Eight of them spake hastilie,70
O father, till the daye we dye
We'll stand by that good erle and thee.
Gramercy now, my children deare,
You showe yourselves right bold and brave;
And whethersoe'er I live or dye,75
A fathers blessing you shal have.
But what sayst thou, O Francis Norton,
Thou art mine eldest sonn and heire:
Somewhat lyes brooding in thy breast;
Whatever it bee, to mee declare.80
Father, you are an aged man,
Your head is white, your bearde is gray;
It were a shame at these your yeares
For you to ryse in such a fray.
Now fye upon thee, coward Francis,85
Thou never learnedst this of mee:
When thou wert yong and tender of age,
Why did I make soe much of thee?
But, father, I will wend with you,
Unarm'd and naked will I bee;90
And he that strikes against the crowne,
Ever an ill death may he dee.
Then rose that reverend gentleman,
And with him came a goodlye band
To join with the brave Erle Percy,95
And all the flower o' Northumberland.
With them the noble Nevill came,
The erle of Westmorland was hee:
At Wetherbye they mustred their host,
Thirteen thousand faire to see.100
Lord Westmorland his ancyent[933] raisde,
The Dun Bull he rays'd on hye,
And three Dogs with golden collars
Were there sett out most royallye.[934]
Erle Percy there his ancyent spred,105
The Halfe-Moone shining all soe faire:[935]
The Nortons ancyent had the crosse,
And the five wounds our Lord did beare.
Then Sir George Bowes he straitwaye rose,
After them some spoyle to make:110
Those noble erles turn'd backe againe,
And aye they vowed that knight to take.
The baron he to his castle fled,
To Barnard castle then fled hee.
The uttermost walles were eathe[936] to win,115
The earles have wonne them presentlie.
The uttermost walles were lime and bricke;
But thoughe they won them soon anone,
Long e'er they wan the innermost walles,
For they were cut in rocke of stone.120
Then newes unto leeve[937] London came
In all the speede that ever might bee,
And word is brought to our royall queene
Of the rysing in the North countrie.
Her grace she turned her round about,125
And like a royall queene shee swore,[938]
I will ordayne them such a breakfast,
As never was in the North before.
Shee caus'd thirty thousand men berays'd,
With horse and harneis[939] faire to see;130
She caused thirty thousand men be raised,
To take the earles i'th' North countrie.
Wi' them the false Erle Warwick went,
Th' erle Sussex and the lord HunsdÈn;
Untill they to Yorke castle came135
I wiss, they never stint ne blan.[940]
Now spred thy ancyent, Westmorland,
Thy dun bull faine would we spye:
And thou, the Erle o' Northumberland,
Now rayse thy half moone up on hye.140
But the dun bulle is fled and gone,
And the halfe moone vanished away:
The Erles, though they were brave and bold,
Against soe many could not stay.
Thee, Norton, wi' thine eight good sonnes,145
They doom'd to dye, alas! for ruth!
Thy reverend lockes thee could not save,
Nor them their faire and blooming youthe.
Wi' them full many a gallant wight
They cruellye bereav'd of life:150
And many a childe made fatherlesse,
And widowed many a tender wife.
[The following version of this ballad is from the Folio MS (ed. Hales and Furnivall, 1867, vol. ii. p. 210.) Listen liuely lordings all,
and all that beene this place within!
if youle giue eare vnto my songe,
I will tell you how this geere did begin.4
It was the good Erle of Westmorlande,
a noble Erle was called hee;
and he wrought treason against the crowne;
alas, itt was the more pittye!8
and soe itt was the Erle of Northumberland,
another good Noble Erle was hee,
they tooken both vpon on part,
against their crowne they wolden bee.12
Earle Pearcy is into his garden gone,
and after walks his awne ladye;
"I heare a bird sing in my eare
that I must either ffight or fflee."16
"God fforbidd," shee sayd, "good my Lord,
that euer soe that it shalbee!
but goe to London to the court,
and faire ffall truth and honestye!"20
"but nay, now nay, my Ladye gay,
that euer it shold soe bee;
my treason is knowen well enoughe;
att the court I must not bee."24
"but goe to the Court! yet, good my Lord,
take men enowe with thee;
if any man will doe you wronge,
your warrant they may bee."28
"but nay, now nay, my Lady gay,
for soe itt must not bee;
If I goe to the court, Ladye,
death will strike me, and I must dye."32
"but goe to the Court! yett, [good] my Lord,
I my-selfe will ryde with thee;
if any man will doe you wronge,
your borrow I shalbee."36
"but nay, now nay, my Lady gay,
for soe it must not bee;
for if I goe to the Court, Ladye,
thou must me neuer see.40
"but come hither, thou litle footpage,
come thou hither vnto mee,
for thou shalt goe a Message to Master Norton
in all the hast that euer may bee:44
"comend me to that gentleman;
bring him here this letter from mee,
and say, 'I pray him earnestlye
that hee will ryde in my companye.'"48
but one while the foote page went,
another while he rann;
vntill he came to Master Norton,
the ffoot page neuer blanne;52
and when he came to Master Nortton
he kneeled on his knee,
and tooke the letter betwixt his hands,
and lett the gentleman it see.56
and when the letter itt was reade
affore all his companye,
I-wis, if you wold know the truth,
there was many a weeping eye.60
he said, "come hither, Kester Nortton,
a ffine ffellow thou seemes to bee;
some good councell, Kester Nortton,
this day doe thou giue to mee."64
"Marry, Ile giue you councell, ffather,
if youle take councell att me,
that if you haue spoken the word, father,
that backe againe you doe not flee."68
"god amercy, Christopher Nortton,
I say, god amercye!
if I doe liue and scape with liffe,
well advanced shalt thou bee;72
"but come you hither, my nine good sonnes,
in mens estate I thinke you bee;
how many of you, my children deare,
on my part that wilbe?"76
but eight of them did answer soone,
and spake ffull hastilye,
sayes "we willbe on your part, ffather,
till the day that we doe dye."80
"but god amercy, my children deare,
and euer I say god amercy!
and yett my blessing you shall have,
whether-so euer I liue or dye.84
"but what sayst thou, thou ffrancis Nortton,
mine eldest sonne and mine heyre trulye?
some good councell, ffrancis Nortton,
this day thou giue to me."88
"but I will giue you councell, ffather,
if you will take councell att mee;
for if you wold take my councell, father,
against the crowne you shold not bee."92
"but ffye vpon thee, ffrancis Nortton!
I say ffye vpon thee!
when thou was younge and tender of age
I made ffull much of thee."96
"but your head is white, ffather," he sayes,
"and your beard is wonderous gray;
itt were shame ffor your countrye
if you shold rise and fflee away."100
"but ffye vpon thee, thou coward ffrancis!
thou neuer tookest that of mee!
when thou was younge and tender of age
I made too much of thee."104
"but I will goe with you, father," Quoth hee;
"like a naked man will I bee;
he that strikes the first stroake against the crowne,
an ill death may hee dye!"108
but then rose vpp Master Nortton that Esquier
with him a ffull great companye;
and then the Erles they comen downe
to ryde in his companye.112
att whethersbye thÉ mustered their men
vpon a ffull fayre day;
13000 there were seene
to stand in battel ray.116
the Erle of Westmoreland, he had in his ancyent
the Dume bull in sight most hye,
and 3 doggs with golden collers
were sett out royallye.120
the Erle of Northumberland, he had in his ancyent
the halfe moone in sight soe hye,
as the Lord was crucifyed on the crosse,
and sett forthe pleasantlye.124
and after them did rise good Sir George Bowes,
after them a spoyle to make;
the Erles returned backe againe,
thought euer that Knight to take128
this Barron did take a Castle then,
was made of lime and stone;
the vttermost walls were ese to be woon;
the Erles haue woon them anon;132
but tho they woone the vttermost walls
quickly and anon,
the innermost walles thÉ cold not winn,
thÉ were made of a rocke of stone.136
but newes itt came to leeue London
in all they speede that euer might bee;
and word it came to our royall Queene
of all the rebells in the north countrye.140
shee turned her grace then once about,
and like a royall Queene shee sware,
sayes, "I will ordaine them such a breake-fast
as was not in the North this 1000 yeere!"144
shee caused 30000 men to be made
with horsse and harneis all quicklye;
and shee caused 30000 men to be made
to take the rebells in the North countrye.148
they took with them the false Erle of Warwicke,
soe did they many another man;
vntill they came to yorke Castle,
I-wis they neuer stinted nor blan.152
"spread thy ancyent, Erle of Westmoreland!
The halfe moone ffaine wold wee see!"
but the halfe moone is fled and gone,
and the Dun bull vanished awaye;156
and ffrancis Nortton and his 8 sonnes
are ffled away most cowardlye.
Ladds with mony are counted men
men without mony are counted none;160
but hold your tounge! why say you soe?
men wilbe men when mony is gone.
ffins.] [926] This circumstance is overlooked in the ballad. IV.
NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS. This ballad may be considered as the sequel of the preceding. After the unfortunate Earl of Northumberland had seen himself forsaken of his followers, he endeavoured to withdraw into Scotland, but falling into the hands of the thievish borderers, was stript and otherwise ill-treated by them. At length he reached the house of Hector, of Harlaw, an Armstrong, with whom he hoped to lie concealed: for, Hector had engaged his honour to be true to him, and was under great obligations to this unhappy nobleman. But this faithless wretch betrayed his guest for a sum of money to Murray the Regent of Scotland, who sent him to the castle of Lough-leven, then belonging to William Douglas. All the writers of that time assure us that Hector, who was rich before, fell shortly after into poverty, and became so infamous, that to take Hector's cloak, grew into a proverb to express a man who betrays his friend. See Camden, Carleton, Holinshed, &c. Lord Northumberland continued in the castle of Lough-leven till the year 1572; when James Douglas, Earl of Morton, being elected Regent, he was given up to the Lord Hunsden at Berwick, and being carried to York suffered death. As Morton's party depended on Elizabeth for protection, an elegant historian thinks "it was scarce possible for them to refuse putting into her hands a person who had taken up arms against her. But, as a sum of money was paid on that account, and shared between Morton and his kinsman Douglas, the former of whom, during his exile in England, had been much indebted to Northumberland's friendship, the abandoning this unhappy nobleman to inevitable destruction was deemed an ungrateful and mercenary act." Robertson's Hist. So far history coincides with this ballad, which was apparently written by some Northern bard soon after the event. The interposal of the witch-lady (v. 53) is probably his own invention: yet, even this hath some countenance from history; for about 25 years before, the Lady Jane Douglas, Lady Glamis, sister of the earl of Angus, and nearly related to Douglas of Lough-leven, had suffered death for the pretended crime of witchcraft; who, it is presumed, is the Witch-lady alluded to in verse 133. The following is selected (like the former) from two copies, which contained great variations; one of them in the Editor's folio MS. In the other copy some of the stanzas at the beginning of this Ballad are nearly the same with what in that MS. are made to begin another Ballad on the escape of the E. of Westmoreland, who got safe into Flanders, and is feigned in the ballad to have undergone a great variety of adventures.
[Percy wrote the following note on the version of this ballad in his folio MS. "To correct this by my other copy which seems more modern. The other copy in many parts preferable to this." It will be seen by comparing the text with the folio MS. copy, now printed at the end, that the alterations are numerous. The first three stanzas are taken with certain changes from the ballad of "The Erle of Westmoreland" (Folio MS. vol. i. p. 300). The alterations made in them are not improvements, as, for instance, the old reading of verse 2 is— "And keepe me heare in deadlye feare,"
which is preferable to the line below— "And harrowe me with fear and dread."]
How long shall fortune faile me nowe,
And harrowe[941] me with fear and dread?
How long shall I in bale[942] abide,
In misery my life to lead?
To fall from my bliss, alas the while!5
It was my sore and heavye lott:
And I must leave my native land,
And I must live a man forgot.
One gentle Armstrong I doe ken,
A Scot he is much bound to mee:10
He dwelleth on the border side,
To him I'll goe right privilÌe.
Thus did the noble Percy 'plaine,
With a heavy heart and wel-away,
When he with all his gallant men15
On Bramham moor had lost the day.
But when he to the Armstrongs came,
They dealt with him all treacherouslye;
For they did strip that noble earle:
And ever an ill death may they dye.20
False Hector to Earl Murray sent,
To shew him where his guest did hide:
Who sent him to the Lough-levÈn,
With William Douglas to abide.
And when he to the Douglas came,25
He halched[943] him right curteouslie:
Say'd, Welcome, welcome, noble earle,
Here thou shalt safelye bide with mee.
When he had in Lough-leven been
Many a month and many a day;30
To the regent[944] the lord warden[945] sent,
That bannisht earle for to betray.
He offered him great store of gold,
And wrote a letter fair to see:
Saying, Good my lord, grant me my boon,35
And yield that banisht man to mee.
Earle Percy at the supper sate
With many a goodly gentleman:
The wylie Douglas then bespake,
And thus to flyte[946] with him began:40
What makes you be so sad, my lord,
And in your mind so sorrowfullyÈ?
To-morrow a shootinge will bee held
Among the lords of the North countryÈ.
The butts are sett, the shooting's made,45
And there will be great royaltye:
And I am sworne into my bille,[947]
Thither to bring my lord Percye.
I'll give thee my hand, thou gentle Douglas,
And here by my true faith, quoth hee,50
If thou wilt ryde to the worldes end,
I will ryde in thy companye.
And then bespake a lady faire,
Mary À Douglas was her name:
You shall byde here, good English lord,55
My brother is a traiterous man.
He is a traitor stout and stronge,
As I tell you in privitie:
For he hath tane liverance[948] of the erle,[949]
Into England nowe to 'liver thee.60
Now nay, now nay, thou goodly lady,
The regent is a noble lord:
Ne for the gold in all EnglÀnd,
The Douglas wold not break his word
When the regent was a banisht man,65
With me he did faire welcome find;
And whether weal or woe betide,
I still shall find him true and kind.
Betweene England and Scotland it wold breake truce,
And friends againe they wold never bee,70
If they shold 'liver a banisht erle
Was driven out of his own countrie.
Alas! alas! my lord, she sayes,
Nowe mickle is their traitorie;
Then lett my brother ryde his wayes,75
And tell those English lords from thee,
How that you cannot with him ryde,
Because you are in an ile of the sea,[950]
Then ere my brother come againe
To Edenborow castle[951] Ile carry thee.80
To the Lord Hume I will thee bring,
He is well knowne a true Scots lord,
And he will lose both land and life,
Ere he with thee will break his word.
Much is my woe, Lord Percy sayd,85
When I thinkie on my own countrie,
When I thinke on the heavye happe[952]
My friends have suffered there for mee.
Much is my woe, Lord Percy sayd,
And sore those wars my minde distresse;90
Where many a widow lost her mate,
And many a child was fatherlesse.
And now that I a banisht man,
Shold bring such evil happe with mee,
To cause my faire and noble friends95
To be suspect of treacherie:
This rives[953] my heart with double woe;
And lever had I dye this day,
Than thinke a Douglas can be false,
Or ever he will his guest betray.100
If you'll give me no trust, my lord,
Nor unto mee no credence yield;
Yet step one moment here aside,
Ile showe you all your foes in field.
Lady, I never loved witchcraft,105
Never dealt in privy wyle;
But evermore held the high-waye
Of truth and honour, free from guile
If you'll not come yourselfe my lorde,
Yet send your chamberlaine with mee;110
Let me but speak three words with him,
And he shall come again to thee.
James Swynard with that lady went,
She showed him through the weme[954] of her ring
How many English lords there were115
Waiting for his master and him.
And who walkes yonder, my good lady,
So royallyÈ on yonder greene?
O yonder is the lord HunsdÈn:[955]
Alas! he'll doe you drie and teene.[956]120
And who beth yonder, thou gay ladye,
That walkes so proudly him beside?
That is Sir William Drury,[957] shee sayd,
A keene captÀine hee is and tryde.
How many miles is itt, madÀme,125
Betwixt yond English lords and mee?
Marry it is thrice fifty miles,
To saile to them upon the sea.
I never was on English ground,
Ne never sawe it with mine eye,130
But as my book it sheweth mee,
And through my ring I may descrye.
My mother shee was a witch ladye,
And of her skille she learned[958] mee;
She wold let me see out of Lough-leven135
What they did in London citÌe.
But who is yond, thou lady faire,
That looketh with sic an austerne[959] face?
Yonder is Sir John Foster,[960] quoth shee,
Alas! he'll do ye sore disgrace.140
He pulled his hatt down over his browe;
He wept; in his heart he was full of woe:
And he is gone to his noble Lord,
Those sorrowful tidings him to show.
Now nay, now nay, good James SwynÀrd,145
I may not believe that witch ladÌe:
The Douglasses were ever true,
And they can ne'er prove false to mee.
I have now in Lough-leven been
The most part of these years three,150
Yett have I never had noe outrake,[961]
Ne no good games that I cold see.
Therefore I'll to yond shooting wend,
As to the Douglas I have hight:[962]
Betide me weale, betide me woe,155
He ne'er shall find my promise light.
He writhe[963] a gold ring from his finger,
And gave itt to that gay ladÌe:
Sayes, It was all that I cold save,
In Harley woods where I cold bee.[964]160
And wilt thou goe, thou noble lord,
Then farewell truth and honestÌe;
And farewell heart and farewell hand;
For never more I shall thee see.
The wind was faire, the boatmen call'd,165
And all the saylors were on borde;
Then William Douglas took to his boat,
And with him went that noble lord.
Then he cast up a silver wand,
Says, Gentle lady, fare thee well!170
The lady fett[965] a sigh soe deep,
And in a dead swoone down shee fell.
Now let us goe back, Douglas, he sayd,
A sickness hath taken yond faire ladÌe;
If ought befall yond lady but good,175
Then blamed for ever I shall bee.
Come on, come on, my lord, he sayes;
Come on, come on, and let her bee:
There's ladyes enow in Lough-leven
For to cheere that gay ladÌe.180
If you'll not turne yourself, my lord,
Let me goe with my chamberlaine;
We will but comfort that faire lady,
And wee will return to you againe.
Come on, come on, my lord, he sayes,185
Come on, come on, and let her bee:
My sister is craftye, and wold beguile
A thousand such as you and mee.
When they had sayled[966] fifty myle,
Now fifty mile upon the sea;190
Hee sent his man to ask the Douglas,
When they shold that shooting see.
Faire words, quoth he, they make fooles faine,[967]
And that by thee and thy lord is seen:
You may hap[968] to thinke itt soone enough,195
Ere you that shooting reach, I ween.
Jamye his hatt pulled over his browe,
He thought his lord then was betray'd;
And he is to Erle Percy againe,
To tell him what the Douglas sayd.200
Hold upp thy head, man, quoth his lord;
Nor therefore lett thy courage fayle,
He did it but to prove thy heart,
To see if he cold make it quail.
When they had other fifty sayld,205
Other fifty mile upon the sea,
Lord Percy called to Douglas himselfe,
Sayd, What wilt thou nowe doe with mee?
Looke that your brydle be wight,[969] my lord,
And your horse goe swift as shipp att sea:210
Looke that your spurres be bright and sharpe,
That you may pricke her while she'll away.
What needeth this, Douglas, he sayth;
What needest thou to flyte[970] with mee?
For I was counted a horseman good215
Before that ever I mett with thee.
A false Hector hath my horse,
Who dealt with mee so treacherouslÌe:
A false Armstrong hath my spurres,
And all the geere belongs to mee.220
When they had sayled other fifty mile,
Other fifty mile upon the sea;
They landed low by Berwicke side,
A deputed 'laird' landed Lord Percye.[971]
Then he at Yorke was doomde to dye,225
It was, alas! a sorrowful sight:
Thus they betrayed that noble earle,
Who ever was a gallant wight.
[The following version of the Betrayal of Northumberland is from the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 218.) Now list and lithe you gentlemen,
and Ist tell you the veretye,
how they haue delt with a banished man,
driuen out of his countrye.4
when as hee came on Scottish ground
as woe and wonder be them amonge,
ffull much was there traitorye
thÉ wrought the Erle of Northumberland.8
when they were att the supper sett,
beffore many goodly gentlemen
thÉ ffell a fflouting and mocking both,
and said to the Erle of Northumberland,12
"What makes you be soe sad, my Lord,
and in your mind soe sorrowffullye?
in the North of Scotland to-morrow theres a shooting,
and thither thoust goe, my Lord Percye.16
"the buttes are sett, and the shooting is made,
and there is like to be great royaltye,
and I am sworne into my bill
thither to bring my Lord Pearcy."20
"Ile giue thee my land, Douglas," he sayes,
"and be the faith in my bodye,
if that thou wilt ryde to the worlds end,
Ile ryde in thy companye."24
and then bespake the good Ladye,—
Marry a Douglas was her name,—
"you shall byde here, good English Lord;
my brother is a traiterous man;28
"he is a traitor stout and stronge,
as Ist tell you the veretye,
for he hath tane liuerance of the Erle,
and into England he will liuor thee."32
"Now hold thy tounge, thou goodlye Ladye,
and let all this talking bee;
ffor all the gold thats in Loug Leuen,
william wold not Liuor mee!36
"it wold breake truce betweene England & Scottland,
and friends againe they wold neuer bee
if he shold liuor a bani[s]ht Erle
was driuen out of his owne countrye."40
"hold your tounge, my Lord," shee sayes,
"there is much ffalsehood them amonge;
when you are dead, then they are done,
soone they will part them friends againe.44
"if you will giue me any trust, my Lord,
Ile tell you how you best may bee;
youst lett my brother ryde his wayes,
and tell those English Lords trulye48
"how that you cannot with them ryde
because you are in an Ile of the sea,
then, ere my Brother come againe,
to Edenborrow castle Ile carry thee,52
"Ile liuor you vnto the Lord Hume,
and you know a trew Scothe Lord is hee,
for he hath lost both Land and goods
in ayding of your good bodye."56
"Marry! I am woe! woman," he sayes,
"that any freind fares worse for mee;
for where one saith 'it is a true tale,'
then two will say it is a Lye.60
"when I was att home in my [realme]
amonge my tennants all trulye,
in my time of losse, wherin my need stoode,
they came to ayd me honestlye;64
"therfore I left many a child ffatherlese,
and many a widdow to looke wanne;
and therfore blame nothing, Ladye,
but the woeffull warres which I began."68
"If you will giue me noe trust, my Lord,
nor noe credence you will give mee,
and youle come hither to my right hand,
indeed, my Lord, Ile lett you see."72
saies, "I neuer loued noe witchcraft,
nor neuer dealt with treacherye,
but euermore held the hye way;
alas! that may be seene by mee!"76
"if you will not come your selfe, my Lord,
youle lett your chamberlaine goe with mee,
three words that I may to him speake,
and soone he shall come againe to thee."80
when James Swynard came that Lady before,
shee let him see thorrow the weme of her ring
how many there was of English lords
to wayte there for his Master and him.84
"but who beene yonder, my good Ladye,
that walkes soe royallye on yonder greene?"
"yonder is Lord Hunsden, Jamye," she saye;
"alas! heele doe you both tree and teene!"88
"and who beene yonder, thou gay Ladye,
that walkes soe royallye him beside?"
"yond is Sir William Drurye, Jamy," shee sayd,
"and a keene Captain hee is, and tryde."92
"how many miles is itt, thou good Ladye,
betwixt yond English Lord and mee?"
"marry thrise fifty mile, Jamy," shee sayd,
"and euen to seale and by the sea:96
"I neuer was on English ground,
nor neuer see itt with mine eye,
but as my witt and wisedome serues,
and as [the] booke it telleth mee.100
"my mother, shee was a witch woman,
and part of itt shee learned mee;
shee wold let me see out of Lough Leuen
what they dyd in London cytye."104
"but who is yond, thou good Layde,
that comes yonder with an Osterne fface?"
"yonds Sir John fforster, Jamye," shee sayd;
"methinks thou sholdest better know him then I."108
"Euen soe I doe, my goodlye Ladye,
and euer alas, soe woe am I!"
he pulled his hatt ouer his eyes,
and, lord, he wept soe tenderlye!
he is gone to his Master againe,
and euen to tell him the veretye.
"Now hast thou beene with Marry, Jamy," he sayd,
"Euen as thy tounge will tell to mee;116
but if thou trust in any womans words,
thou must refraine good companye."
"It is noe words, my Lord," he sayes,
"yonder the men shee letts mee see,120
how many English Lords there is
is wayting there for you and mee;
"yonder I see the Lord Hunsden,
and hee and you is of the third degree;124
a greater enemye, indeed, my Lord,
in England none haue yee,"
"and I haue beene in Lough Leven
the most part of these yeeres three:128
yett had I neuer noe out-rake,
nor good games that I cold see;
"and I am thus bidden to yonder shooting
by William Douglas all trulye;132
therfore speake neuer a word out of thy mouth
That thou thinkes will hinder mee."
then he writhe the gold ring of his ffingar
and gaue itt to that Ladye gay;136
sayes, "that was a Legacye left vnto mee
in Harley woods where I cold bee."
"then ffarewell hart, and farewell hand,
and ffarwell all good companye!140
that woman shall neuer beare a sonne
shall know soe much of your privitye."
"now hold thy tounge, Ladye," hee sayde,
"and make not all this dole for mee,144
for I may well drinke, but Ist neuer eate,
till againe in Lough Leuen I bee."
he tooke his boate att the Lough Leuen
for to sayle now ouer the sea,148
and he hath cast vpp a siluer wand,
saies "fare thou well, my good Ladye!"
the Ladye looked ouer her left sholder;
in a dead swoone there fell shee.152
"goe backe againe, Douglas!" he sayd,
"and I will goe in thy companye.
for sudden sicknesse yonder Lady has tane,
and euer, alas, shee will but dye!156
"if ought come to yonder Ladye but good,
then blamed fore that I shall bee,
because a banished man I am,
and driuen out of my owne countrye."160
"come on, come on, my Lord," he sayes,
"and lett all such talking bee;
theres Ladyes enow in Lough Leuen,
and for to cheere yonder gay Ladye."164
"and you will not goe your selfe, my Lord,
you will lett my chamberlaine goe with me;
wee shall now take our boate againe,
and soone wee shall ouertake thee."168
"come on, come on, my Lord," he sayes,
"and lett now all this talking bee!
ffor my sister is craftye enoughe
for to beguile thousands such as you and mee."172
When they had sayled fifty myle,
now fifty mile vpon the sea,
hee had fforgotten a message that hee
shold doe in lough Leuen trulye:176
hee asked 'how ffar it was to that shooting,
that William Douglas promised me.'
"now faire words makes fooles faine;
and that may be seene by thy Master and thee,180
ffor you may happen think itt soone enoughe
when-euer you that shooting see."
Jamye pulled his hatt now ouer his browe;
I wott the teares fell in his eye;184
and he is to his Master againe,
and ffor to tell him the veretye
he sayes, "fayre words makes fooles faine,
and that may be seene by you and mee,188
ffor wee may happen thinke itt soone enoughe
when-euer wee that shooting see."
"hold vpp thy head, Jamye," the Erle sayd,
"and neuer lett thy hart fayle thee;192
he did itt but to prove thee with,
and see how thow wold take with death trulye."
when they had sayled other fifty mile,
other fifty mile vpon the sea,196
Lord Peercy called to him, himselfe,
and sayd, "Douglas what wilt thou doe with mee?"
"looke that your brydle be wight, my Lord,
that you may goe as a shipp att sea;200
looke that your spurres be bright and sharpe,
that you may pricke her while sheele awaye."
"what needeth this, Douglas," he sayth.
"that thou needest to ffloute mee?204
for I was counted a horsseman good
before that euer I mett with thee.
"A ffalse Hector hath my horsse;
and euer an euill death may hee dye!208
and Willye Armestronge hath my spurres
and all the geere belongs to mee."
when thÉ had sayled other fifty mile,
other fifty mile vpon the sea,212
thÉ landed low by Barwicke side;
a deputed land Landed Lord Percye.
ffin[s]] [941] [harass.]
V.
MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS. This excellent philosophical song appears to have been famous in the sixteenth century. It is quoted by Ben Jonson in his play of Every Man out of his Humour, first acted in 1599, act i. sc. 1, where an impatient person says— "I am no such pil'd cynique to believe
That beggery is the onely happinesse,
Or, with a number of these patient fooles,
To sing, 'My minde to me a kingdome is,'
When the lanke hungrie belly barkes for foode."
It is here chiefly printed from a thin quarto Music book, intitled, "Psalmes, Sonets, and Songs of sadnes and pietie, made into Musicke of five parts: &c. By William Byrd, one of the Gent. of the Queenes Majesties honorable Chappell.—Printed by Thomas East, &c." 4to. no date: but Ames in his Typog. has mentioned another edit. of the same book, dated 1588, which I take to have been later than this. Some improvements and an additional stanza (sc. the 5th), were had from two other ancient copies; one of them in black letter in the Pepys Collection, thus inscribed, "A sweet and pleasant sonet, intitled, 'My Minde to me a Kingdom is.' To the tune of, In Crete, &c." Some of the stanzas in this poem were printed by Byrd separate from the rest: they are here given in what seemed the most natural order.
[The longest and apparently earliest version of this favourite poem is signed "E. Dier," in MS. Rawl. Poet. 85, fol. 17 in the Bodleian Library, and Dr. Hannah[972] attributes it to Sir Edward Dyer, the friend of Spenser and Sidney, whose little pieces were chiefly printed in England's Helicon. Sir Edward Dyer, of Sharpham Park, Somersetshire, was born about the year 1540. He was educated at Oxford, and afterwards was employed in several embassies. On the death of Sir John Wolley he was made Chancellor of the Order of the Garter, and at the same time knighted. He was an alchemist and dupe of Dr. Dee and Edward Kelly. Sir Egerton Brydges quotes from Aubrey the statement that he had four thousand pounds a year, and had four-score thousand pounds left to him, which he wasted almost all, but Sir Egerton considers the sums almost incredible for the time. In "Posthumi or Sylvesters Remains, revived out of the ashes of that silver-tongued translatour and divine Poet Laureat," at the end of the translation of the Divine Weekes of Du Bartas, 1641, there is the following parody of this favourite poem: "A Contented Minde. "I waigh not Fortunes frowne or smile,
I joy not much in earthly joyes,
I seeke not state, I reake not stile,
I am not fond of fancies Toyes:
I rest so pleased with what I have,
I wish no more, no more I crave.
"I quake not at the Thunders crack,
I tremble not at noise of warre,
I swound not at the newes of wrack,
I shrink not at a Blazing Starre;
I feare not losse, I hope not gaine;
I envie none, I none disdaine.
"I see ambition never pleas'd,
I see some Tantals starv'd in store,
I see golds dropsie seldome eas'd,
I see even Midas gape for more:
I neither want, nor yet abound,
Enough's a feast, content is crown'd.
"I faine not friendship where I hate,
I fawne not on the great (in show)
I prize, I praise a meane estate,
Neither too lofty nor too low:
This, this is all my choice, my cheere,
A minde content, a conscience cleere."]
My minde to me a kingdome is;
Such perfect joy therein I finde
As farre exceeds all earthly blisse,
That God or Nature hath assignde:
Though much I want, that most would have,5
Yet still my mind forbids to crave.
Content I live, this is my stay;
I seek no more than may suffice:
I presse to beare no haughtie sway;
Look what I lack my mind supplies.10
Loe! thus I triumph like a king,
Content with that my mind doth bring.
I see how plentie surfets oft,
And hastie clymbers soonest fall;
I see that such as sit aloft15
Mishap doth threaten most of all:
These get with toile, and keep with feare:
Such cares my mind could never beare.
No princely pompe, nor welthie store,
No force to winne the victorie,20
No wylie wit to salve a sore,
No shape to winne a lovers eye;
To none of these I yeeld as thrall,
For why my mind despiseth all.
Some have too much, yet still they crave,25
I little have, yet seek no more:
They are but poore, tho' much they have;
And I am rich with little store:
They poor, I rich; they beg, I give;
They lacke, I lend; they pine, I live.30
I laugh not at anothers losse,
I grudge not at anothers gaine;
No worldly wave my mind can tosse,
I brooke that is anothers bane:
I feare no foe, nor fawne on friend;35
I lothe not life, nor dread mine end.
I joy not in no earthly blisse;
I weigh not Cresus' welth a straw;
For care, I care not what it is;
I feare not fortunes fatall law:40
My mind is such as may not move
For beautie bright or force of love.
I wish but what I have at will;
I wander not to seeke for more,
I like the plaine, I clime no hill;45
In greatest stormes I sitte on shore,
And laugh at them that toile in vaine
To get what must be lost againe.
I kisse not where I wish to kill;
I feigne not love where most I hate;50
I breake no sleep to winne my will;
I wayte not at the mighties gate;
I scorne no poore, I feare no rich;
I feele no want, nor have too much.
The court, ne cart, I like, ne loath;55
Extreames are counted worst of all:
The golden meane betwixt them both,
Doth surest sit, and fears no fall:
This is my choyce, for why I finde,
No wealth is like a quiet minde.60
My welth is health, and perfect ease;
My conscience clere my chiefe defence:
I never seeke by brybes to please,
Nor by desert to give offence:
Thus do I live, thus will I die;65
Would all did so as well as I!
VI.
THE PATIENT COUNTESS. The subject of this tale is taken from that entertaining Colloquy of Erasmus, intitled, "Uxor ?e???a??, sive Conjugium:" which has been agreeably modernized by the late Mr. Spence, in his little Miscellaneous Publication, intitled, "Moralities, &c. by Sir Harry Beaumont," 1753, 8vo. pag. 42. The following stanzas are extracted from an ancient poem intitled Albion's England, written by W. Warner, a celebrated poet in the reign of Q. Elizabeth, though his name and works are now equally forgotten. The reader will find some account of him in vol. ii. book ii. song 24. The following stanzas are printed from the author's improved edition of his work, printed in 1602, 4to.; the third impression of which appeared so early as 1592, in bl. let. 4to. The edition in 1602 is in thirteen books; and so it is reprinted in 1612, 4to.; yet, in 1606, was published "A Continuance of Albion's England, by the first author, W. W. Lond. 4to.:" this contains Books xiv. xv. xvi. There is also extant, under the name of Warner, "Syrinx, or a seven-fold Historie, pleasant, and profitable, comical, and tragical," 4to.
[The title of this poem challenges comparison with Patient Griselda, but it is in fact a totally different story, and as Mr. Hales says, "represents rather tact and management than patience in the wife of an unfaithful (not a tempting and essaying) husband." The first edition of Warner's poem was published in 1586, and the numerous impressions of it prove its popularity. The full title is as follows: "Albion's England, a continued History of the same Kingdome from the Originals of the first inhabitants thereof, unto the raigne of Queen Elizabeth."]
Impatience chaungeth smoke to flame, but jelousie is hell;
Some wives by patience have reduc'd ill husbands to live well:
As did the ladie of an earle, of whom I now shall tell.
An earle 'there was' had wedded, lov'd; was lov'd, and lived long
Full true to his fayre countesse; yet at last he did her wrong.5
Once hunted he untill the chace, long fasting, and the heat
Did house him in a peakish graunge[973] within a forest great.
Where knowne and welcom'd (as the place and persons might afforde)
Browne bread, whig,[974] bacon, curds and milke were set him on the borde.
A cushion made of lists, a stoole halfe backed with a hoope10
Were brought him, and he sitteth down besides a sorry coupe.[975]
The poore old couple wisht their bread were wheat, their whig were perry,
Their bacon beefe, their milke and curds were creame, to make him merry.
Meane while (in russet neatly clad, with linen white as swanne,
Herselfe more white, save rosie where the ruddy colour ranne:15
Whome naked nature, not the aydes of arte made to excell)
The good man's daughter sturres to see that all were feat[976] and well;
The earle did marke her, and admire such beautie there to dwell.
Yet fals he to their homely fare, and held him at a feast:
But as his hunger slaked, so an amorous heat increast.
When this repast was past, and thanks, and welcome too; he sayd21
Unto his host and hostesse, in the hearing of the mayd:
Yee know, quoth he, that I am lord of this, and many townes;
I also know that you be poore, and I can spare you pownes.[977]
Soe will I, so yee will consent, that yonder lasse and I25
May bargaine for her love; at least, doe give me leave to trye.
Who needs to know it? nay who dares into my doings pry?
First they mislike, yet at the length for lucre were misled;
And then the gamesome earle did wowe[978] the damsell for his bed.
He took her in his armes, as yet so coyish to be kist,30
As mayds that know themselves belov'd, and yieldingly resist.
In few, his offers were so large she lastly did consent;
With whom he lodged all that night, and early home he went.
He tooke occasion oftentimes in such a sort to hunt.
Whom when his lady often mist, contrary to his wont,35
And lastly was informed of his amorous haunt elsewhere;
It greev'd her not a little, though she seem'd it well to beare.
And thus she reasons with herselfe, some fault perhaps in me;
Somewhat is done, that so he doth: alas! what may it be?
How may I winne him to myself? he is a man, and men40
Have imperfections; it behooves me pardon nature then.
To checke him were to make him checke,[979] although hee now were chaste:
A man controuled of his wife, to her makes lesser haste,
If duty then, or daliance may prevayle to alter him;
I will be dutifull, and make my selfe for daliance trim.45
So was she, and so lovingly did entertaine her lord,
As fairer, or more faultles none could be for bed or bord.
Yet still he loves his leiman,[980] and did still pursue that game,
Suspecting nothing less, than that his lady knew the same:
Wherefore to make him know she knew, she this devise did frame:50
When long she had been wrong'd, and sought the foresayd meanes in vaine,
She rideth to the simple graunge, but with a slender traine.
She lighteth, entreth, greets them well, and then did looke about her:
The guiltie houshold knowing her did wish themselves without her;
Yet, for she looked merily, the lesse they did misdoubt[981] her.55
When she had seen the beauteous wench (then blushing fairnes fairer)
Such beauty made the countesse hold them both excus'd the rather.
Who would not bite at such a bait? thought she: and who (though loth)
So poore a wench, but gold might tempt? sweet errors lead them both.
Scarse one in twenty that had bragg'd of proffer'd gold denied,60
Or of such yeelding beautie baulkt, but, tenne to one, had lied.
Thus thought she: and she thus declares her cause of coming thether;
My lord, oft hunting in these partes, through travel, night or wether,
Hath often lodged in your house; I thanke you for the same;
For why? it doth him jolly ease to lie so neare his game.65
But, for you have not furniture beseeming such a guest,
I bring his owne, and come myselfe to see his lodging drest.
With that two sumpters were discharg'd, in which were hangings brave,
Silke coverings, curtens, carpets, plate, and al such turn should have.
When all was handsomly dispos'd, she prayes them to have care70
That nothing hap in their default,[982] that might his health impair:
And, Damsell, quoth shee, for it seemes this houshold is but three,
And for thy parents age, that this shall chiefely rest on thee;
Do me that good, else would to God he hither come no more.
So tooke she horse, and ere she went bestowed gould good store.75
Full little thought the countie[983] that his countesse had done so;
Who now return'd from far affaires did to his sweetheart go.
No sooner sat he foote within the late deformed cote,[984]
But that the formall change of things his wondring eies did note.
But when he knew those goods to be his proper goods; though late,80
Scarce taking leave, he home returnes the matter to debate.
The countesse was a-bed, and he with her his lodging tooke;
Sir, welcome home (quoth shee); this night for you I did not looke.
Then did he question her of such his stuffe bestowed soe.
Forsooth, quoth she, because I did your love and lodging knowe;85
Your love to be a proper wench, your lodging nothing lesse;
I held it for your health, the house more decently to dresse.
Well wot I, notwithstanding her, your lordship loveth me;
And greater hope to hold you such by quiet, then brawles, 'you' see.
Then for my duty, your delight, and to retaine your favour,90
All done I did, and patiently expect your wonted 'haviour.
Her patience, witte and answer wrought his gentle teares to fall:
When (kissing her a score of times) amend, sweet wife, I shall:
He said, and did it; 'so each wife her husband may' recall.
VII
DOWSABELL. The following stanzas were written by Michael Drayton, a poet of some eminence in the reigns of Q. Elizabeth, James I. and Charles I.[985] They are inserted in one of his Pastorals, the first edition of which bears this whimsical title, "Idea. The Shepheards Garland fashioned in nine Eglogs. Rowlands sacrifice to the nine muses. Lond. 1593." 4to. They are inscribed with the author's name at length "To the noble and valerous gentleman master Robert Dudley, &c." It is very remarkable that when Drayton reprinted them in the first folio edit. of his works, 1619, he had given those Eclogues so thorough a revisal, that there is hardly a line to be found the same as in the old edition. This poem had received the fewest corrections, and therefore is chiefly given from the ancient copy, where it is thus introduced by one of his Shepherds: "Listen to mee, my lovely shepheards joye.
And thou shall heare, with mirth and mickle glee,
A pretie tale, which when I was a boy,
My toothles grandame oft hath tolde to me."
The author has professedly imitated the style and metre of some of the old metrical romances, particularly that of Sir Isenbras[986] (alluded to in v. 3), as the reader may judge from the following specimen: "Lordynges, lysten, and you shal here, &c.
* * * * *
Ye shall well heare of a knight,
That was in warre full wyght,
And doughtye of his dede:
His name was Syr Isenbras,
Man nobler then he was
Lyved none with breade.
He was lyvely, large, and longe,
With shoulders broade, and armes stronge,
That myghtie was to se:
He was a hardye man, and hye,
All men hym loved that hym se,
For a gentyll knight was he:
Harpers loved him in hall,
With other minstrells all,
For he gave them golde and fee," &c.
This ancient legend was printed in black-letter, 4to. by Wyllyam Copland; no date.[987] In the Cotton Library (Calig. A 2) is a MS. copy of the same romance containing the greatest variations. They are probably two different translations of some French original.
Farre in the countrey of Arden,
There won'd[988] a knight, hight Cassemen,
As bolde as Isenbras:
Fell[989] was he, and eger bent,
In battell and in tournament,5
As was the good Sir Topas.
He had, as antique stories tell,
A daughter cleaped[990] Dowsabel,
A mayden fayre and free:
And for she was her fathers heire,10
Full well she was y-cond the leyre[991]
Of mickle curtesie.
The silke well couth she twist and twine,
And make the fine march-pine,[992]
And with the needle werke:15
And she couth helpe the priest to say
His mattins on a holy-day,
And sing a psalme in kirke.
She ware a frock of frolicke greene,
Might well beseeme a mayden queene,20
Which seemly was to see;
A hood to that so neat and fine,
In colour like the colombine,
Y-wrought full featously.[993]
Her features all as fresh above,25
As is the grasse that growes by Dove;
And lyth[994] as lasse of Kent.
Her skin as soft as Lemster wooll,[995]
As white as snow on Peakish Hull,[996]
Or swanne that swims in Trent.30
This mayden in a morne betime
Went forth, when May was in her prime,
To get sweete cetywall,[997]
The honey-suckle, the harlocke,[998]
The lilly and the lady-smocke,35
To deck her summer hall.
Thus, as she wandred here and there,
Y-picking of the bloomed breere,
She chanced to espie
A shepheard sitting on a bancke,40
Like chanteclere he crowed crancke,[999]
And pip'd full merrilie.
He lear'd[1000] his sheepe as he him list,
When he would whistle in his fist,
To feede about him round;45
Whilst he full many a carroll sung,
Untill the fields and medowes rung,
And all the woods did sound.
In favour this same shepheards swayne
Was like the bedlam Tamburlayne,[1001]50
Which helde prowd kings in awe:
But meeke he was as lamb mought be;
An innocent of ill as he[1002]
Whom his lewd brother slaw.
The shepheard ware a sheepe-gray cloke,55
Which was of the finest loke,[1003]
That could be cut with sheere:
His mittens were of bauzens[1004] skinne,
His cockers[1005] were of cordiwin,[1006]
His hood of meniveere.[1007]60
His aule and lingell[1008] in a thong,
His tar-boxe on his broad belt hong,
His breech of coyntrie[1009] blewe:
Full crispe and curled were his lockes,
His browes as white as Albion rocks:65
So like a lover true,
And pyping still he spent the day,
So merry as the popingay;[1010]
Which liked Dowsabel:
That would she ought, or would she nought,70
This lad would never from her thought;
She in love-longing fell.
At length she tucked up her frocke,
White as a lilly was her smocke,
She drew the shepheard nye;75
But then the shepheard pyp'd a good,
That all his sheepe forsooke their foode,
To heare his melodye.
Thy sheepe, quoth she, cannot be leane,
That have a jolly shepheards swayne,80
The which can pipe so well:
Yea but, sayth he, their shepheard may,
If pyping thus he pine away
In love of Dowsabel.
Of love, fond boy, take thou no keepe,[1011]85
Quoth she; looke thou unto thy sheepe,
Lest they should hap to stray.
Quoth he, so had I done full well,
Had I not seen fayre Dowsabell
Come forth to gather maye.90
With that she gan to vaile her head,
Her cheeks were like the roses red,
But not a word she sayd:
With that the shepheard gan to frowne,
He threw his pretie pypes adowne,95
And on the ground him layd.
Sayth she, I may not stay till night,
And leave my summer-hall undight,[1012]
And all for long of thee.
My coate,[1013] sayth he, nor yet my foulde100
Shall neither sheepe nor shepheard hould,
Except thou favour mee.
Sayth she, Yet lever were I dead,
Then I should lose my mayden-head,
And all for love of men.105
Sayth he, Yet are you too unkind.
If in your heart you cannot finde
To love us now and then.
And I to thee will be as kinde
As Colin was to Rosalinde,110
Of curtesie the flower.
Then will I be as true, quoth she,
As ever mayden yet might be
Unto her paramour.
With that she bent her snow-white knee,115
Downe by the shepheard kneeled shee,
And him she sweetely kist:
With that the shepheard whoop'd for joy,
Quoth he, ther's never shepheards boy
That ever was so blist.120
[985] He was born in 1563, and died in 1631. Biog. Brit.
VIII.
THE FAREWELL TO LOVE. From Beaumont and Fletcher's play, intitled The Lover's Progress. act iii. sc. 1. Adieu, fond love, farewell you wanton powers;
I am free again.
Thou dull disease of bloud and idle hours,
Bewitching pain,
Fly to fools, that sigh away their time:5
My nobler love to heaven doth climb,
And there behold beauty still young,
That time can ne'er corrupt, nor death destroy,
Immortal sweetness by fair angels sung,
And honoured by eternity and joy:10
There lies my love, thither my hopes aspire,
Fond love declines, this heavenly love grows higher.
IX.
ULYSSES AND THE SYREN, Affords a pretty poetical contest between Pleasure and Honour. It is found at the end of Hymen's Triumph: a pastoral tragicomedie, written by Daniel, and printed among his works, 4to. 1623.[1014] Daniel, who was a contemporary of Drayton's, and is said to have been poet laureat to Queen Elizabeth, was born in 1562, and died in 1619. Anne, Countess of Dorset, Pembroke, and Montgomery (to whom Daniel had been tutor), has inserted a small portrait of him in a full-length picture of herself, preserved at Appleby Castle, in Cumberland. This little poem is the rather selected for a specimen of Daniel's poetic powers, as it is omitted in the later edition of his works, 2 vols. 12mo. 1718.
[Samuel Daniel was born in Somersetshire, and educated at Magdalen Hall, Oxford. He left college without a degree, "his geny being," according to Ant. À Wood, "more prone to easier and smoother subjects than in pecking and hewing at logic." He was tutor to Lady Anne Clifford, subsequently Countess of Pembroke, and afterwards groom of the privy chamber to Anne, queen of James I. Browne calls him in Britannia's Pastorals, "Wel-languaged Daniel," and the union of power of thought with sweetness and grace of expression exhibited by him is highly praised by Southey and Coleridge. He was free from indelicacy in his writings, and Fuller says of him that "he carried in his Christian and surname two holy prophets, his monitors, so to qualify his raptures that he abhorred all profaneness."]
Syren. Come, worthy Greeke, Ulysses come,
Possesse these shores with me,
The windes and seas are troublesome,
And here we may be free.
Here may we sit and view their toyle,5
That travaile in the deepe,
Enjoy the day in mirth the while,
And spend the night in sleepe.
Ulysses. Faire nymph, if fame or honour were
To be attain'd with ease,10
Then would I come and rest with thee.
And leave such toiles as these:
But here it dwels, and here must I
With danger seek it forth;
To spend the time luxuriously15
Becomes not men of worth.
Syren. Ulysses, O be not deceiv'd
With that unreall name:
This honour is a thing conceiv'd,
And rests on others' fame.20
Begotten only to molest
Our peace, and to beguile
(The best thing of our life) our rest,
And give us up to toyle!
Ulysses. Delicious nymph, suppose there were25
Nor honor, nor report,
Yet manlinesse would scorne to weare
The time in idle sport:
For toyle doth give a better touch
To make us feele our joy;30
And ease findes tediousnes, as much
As labour yeelds annoy.
Syren. Then pleasure likewise seemes the shore,
Whereto tendes all your toyle;
Which you forego to make it more,35
And perish oft the while.
Who may disport them diversly,
Find never tedious day;
And ease may have variety,
As well as action may.40
Ulysses. But natures of the noblest frame
These toyles and dangers please;
And they take comfort in the same,
As much as you in ease:
And with the thought of actions past45
Are recreated still:
When pleasure leaves a touch at last
To shew that it was ill.
Syren. That doth opinion only cause,
That's out of custom bred;50
Which makes us many other laws,
Than ever nature did.
No widdowes waile for our delights,
Our sports are without blood;
The world we see by warlike wights55
Receives more hurt than good.
Ulysses. But yet the state of things require
These motions of unrest,
And these great spirits of high desire
Seem borne to turne them best:60
To purge the mischiefes, that increase
And all good order mar:
For oft we see a wicked peace,
To be well chang'd for war.
Syren. Well, well, Ulysses, then I see65
I shall not have thee here;
And therefore I will come to thee,
And take my fortune there.
I must be wonne that cannot win,
Yet lost were I not wonne:70
For beauty hath created bin
T' undoo or be undone.
X.
CUPID'S PASTIME. This beautiful poem, which possesses a classical elegance hardly to be expected in the age of James I. is printed from the 4th edition of Davison's Poems,[1015] &c. 1621. It is also found in a later miscellany, intitled, "Le Prince d'Amour," 1660, 8vo. Francis Davison, editor of the poems above referred to, was son of that unfortunate secretary of state who suffered so much from the affair of Mary Q. of Scots. These poems, he tells us in his preface, were written by himself, by his brother [Walter], who was a soldier in the wars of the Low Countries, and by some dear friends "anonymoi." Among them are found some pieces by Sir J. Davis, the Countess of Pembroke, Sir Philip Sidney, Spenser, and other wits of those times. In the fourth vol. of Dryden's Miscellanies, this poem is attributed to Sydney Godolphin, Esq.; but erroneously, being probably written before he was born. One edit. of Davison's book was published in 1608. Godolphin was born in 1610, and died in 1642-3. Ath. Ox. ii. 23.
It chanc'd of late a shepherd swain,
That went to seek his straying sheep,
Within a thicket on a plain
Espied a dainty nymph asleep.
Her golden hair o'erspred her face;5
Her careless arms abroad were cast;
Her quiver had her pillows place;
Her breast lay bare to every blast.
The shepherd stood and gaz'd his fill;
Nought durst he do; nought durst he say;10
Whilst chance, or else perhaps his will,
Did guide the god of love that way.
The crafty boy that sees her sleep,
Whom if she wak'd he durst not see;
Behind her closely seeks to creep,15
Before her nap should ended bee.
There come, he steals her shafts away,
And puts his own into their place;
Nor dares he any longer stay,
But, ere she wakes, hies thence apace.20
Scarce was he gone, but she awakes,
And spies the shepherd standing by:
Her bended bow in haste she takes,
And at the simple swain lets flye.
Forth flew the shaft, and pierc'd his heart,25
That to the ground he fell with pain:
Yet up again forthwith he start,
And to the nymph he ran amain.
Amazed to see so strange a sight,
She shot, and shot, but all in vain;30
The more his wounds, the more his might
Love yielded strength amidst his pain.
Her angry eyes were great with tears,
She blames her hand, she blames her skill;
The bluntness of her shafts she fears,35
And try them on herself she will.
Take heed, sweet nymph, trye not thy shaft,
Each little touch will pierce thy heart:
Alas! thou know'st not Cupids craft;
Revenge is joy; the end is smart.40
Yet try she will, and pierce some bare;
Her hands were glov'd, but next to hand
Was that fair breast, that breast so rare,
That made the shepherd senseless stand.
That breast she pierc'd; and through that breast45
Love found an entry to her heart;
At feeling of this new-come guest,
Lord! how this gentle nymph did start?
She runs not now; she shoots no more;
Away she throws both shaft and bow:50
She seeks for what she shunn'd before,
She thinks the shepherds haste too slow.
Though mountains meet not, lovers may:
What other lovers do, did they:
The god of love sate on a tree,55
And laught that pleasant sight to see.
XI.
THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE. This little moral poem was writ by Sir Henry Wotton, who died Provost of Eton in 1639. Æt. 72. It is printed from a little collection of his pieces, intitled. ReliquiÆ WottonianÆ, 1651, 12mo.; compared with one or two other copies. [Ben Jonson is said to have greatly admired these verses, and to have known them by heart.]
How happy is he born or taught,
That serveth not anothers will;
Whose armour is his honest thought,
And simple truth his highest skill:
Whose passions not his masters are;5
Whose soul is still prepar'd for death;
Not ty'd unto the world with care
Of princes ear, or vulgar breath:
Who hath his life from rumours freed;
Whose conscience is his strong retreat:10
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruine make oppressors great:
Who envies none, whom chance doth raise,
Or vice: Who never understood
How deepest wounds are given with praise;15
Nor rules of state, but rules of good:
Who God doth late and early pray
More of his grace than gifts to lend;
And entertaines the harmless day
With a well-chosen book or friend.20
This man is freed from servile bands
Of hope to rise, or feare to fall;
Lord of himselfe, though not of lands;
And having nothing, yet hath all.
XII.
GILDEROY Was a famous robber, who lived about the middle of the last century, if we may credit the histories and storybooks of highwaymen, which relate many improbable feats of him, as his robbing Cardinal Richelieu, Oliver Cromwell, &c. But these stories have probably no other authority than the records of Grub-street. At least the Gilderoy, who is the hero of Scottish songsters, seems to have lived in an earlier age; for, in Thompson's Orpheus Caledonius, vol. ii. 1733, 8vo. is a copy of this ballad, which, tho' corrupt and interpolated, contains some lines that appear to be of genuine antiquity: in these he is represented as contemporary with Mary Q. of Scots: ex. gr. "The Queen of Scots possessed nought,
That my love let me want:
For cow and ew he to me brought,
And een whan they were scant.
All these did honestly possess
He never did annoy,
Who never fail'd to pay their cess
To my love Gilderoy."
These lines perhaps might safely have been inserted among the following stanzas, which are given from a written copy, that appears to have received some modern corrections. Indeed, the common popular ballad contained some indecent luxuriances that required the pruning-hook.
[The subject of this ballad was a ruffian totally unworthy of the poetic honours given to him, and the poem itself can in no way be looked upon as historic. To mention but one instance of its departure from truth—the song is said to have been written by a young woman of a superior station in society who had been induced to live with the freebooter, but the fact was that one thousand marks having been offered for his apprehension, he was betrayed by his mistress Peg Cunningham, and captured after killing eight of the men sent against him, and stabbing the woman. He was one of the proscribed clan Gregor, and a notorious lifter of cattle in the Highlands of Perthshire for some time before 1636. In February of that year seven of his accomplices were taken, tried, condemned, and executed at Edinburgh. These men were apprehended chiefly through the exertions of the Stewarts of Athol, and in revenge Gilderoy burned several of the houses belonging to the Stewarts. In a few months, however, he was captured, as before mentioned, and in July, 1636, was hanged with five accomplices at the Gallowlee, between Leith and Edinburgh. As a mark of unenviable distinction, Gilderoy was hanged on a gallows higher than the rest. It is curious that this wretched miscreant, who robbed the poor and outraged all women who came in his way, should have become popular in the south of Britain. His adventures, with the various details noticed above by Percy, are related in Captain Alexander Smith's History of Highwaymen, &c., 1719, and in Johnson's Lives and Exploits of Highwaymen, 1734. The earliest known version of this song was printed in London in 1650, and another is included in Westminster Drollery, 1671. The latter consists of five stanzas, the first being: "Was ever grief so great as mine
Then speak dear bearn, I prethee,
That thus must leave my Gilderoy,
O my benison gang with thee.
Good speed be with you then Sir she said
For gone is all my joy:
And gone is he whom I love best,
My handsome Gilderoy."
The second stanza is Percy's fifth, with some of the "luxuriances" he refers to. The third stanza is a variation of Percy's first. "Now Gilderoy was bonny boy
Would needs to th' King be gone
With his silken garters on his legs,
And the roses on his shoone.
But better he had staid at home
With me his only joy,
For on a gallow tree they hung
My handsome Gilderoy."
The fourth stanza is a variety of Percy's eleventh, and the fifth of his ninth. There is another version of this song in the Collection of Old Ballads, 1723 (vol. i.), entitled "The Scotch Lover's Lamentation, or Gilderoy's last farewell," which contains some few "luxuriances," but is on the whole superior to the "improved" one here printed. This was altered by Lady Wardlaw, who added the stanzas between brackets, besides the one quoted above by Percy. Gilderoy is now, perhaps, better known by Campbell's song than by this ballad. The name is a corruption of the Gaelic gille roy, red-haired boy.]
Gilderoy was a bonnie boy,
Had roses tull[1016] his shoone,
His stockings were of silken soy,[1017]
Wi' garters hanging doune:
It was, I weene, a comelie sight,5
To see sae trim a boy;
He was my jo[1018] and hearts delight,
My handsome Gilderoy.
Oh! sike twa charming een he had,
A breath as sweet as rose,10
He never ware a Highland plaid,
But costly silken clothes;
He gain'd the luve of ladies gay,
Nane eir tull him was coy:
Ah! wae is mee! I mourn the day15
For my dear Gilderoy.
My Gilderoy and I were born,
Baith in one toun together,
We scant were seven years beforn,
We gan to luve each other;20
Our dadies and our mammies thay,
Were fill'd wi' mickle joy,
To think upon the bridal day,
Twixt me and Gilderoy.
For Gilderoy that luve of mine,25
Gude faith, I freely bought
A wedding sark[1019] of holland fine,
Wi' silken flowers wrought:
And he gied me a wedding ring,
Which I receiv'd wi' joy,30
Nae lad nor lassie eir could sing,
Like me and Gilderoy.
Wi' mickle joy we spent our prime,
Till we were baith sixteen,
And aft we past the langsome time,35
Among the leaves sae green;
Aft on the banks we'd sit us thair,
And sweetly kiss and toy,
Wi' garlands gay wad deck my hair
My handsome Gilderoy.40
[Oh! that he still had been content,
Wi' me to lead his life;
But, ah! his manfu' heart was bent,
To stir in feates of strife:
And he in many a venturous deed,45
His courage bauld wad try;
And now this gars[1020] mine heart to bleed,
For my dear Gilderoy.
And when of me his leave he tuik,
The tears they wat mine ee,50
I gave tull him a parting luik,
"My benison gang wi' thee;
God speed thee weil, mine ain dear heart,
For gane is all my joy;
My heart is rent sith we maun part,55
My handsome Gilderoy."]
My Gilderoy baith far and near,
Was fear'd in every toun,
And bauldly bare away the gear,[1021]
Of many a lawland loun:60
Nane eir durst meet him man to man,
He was sae brave a boy;
At length wi' numbers he was tane,
My winsome[1022] Gilderoy.
Wae worth[1023] the loun that made the laws,65
To hang a man for gear,
To 'reave of life for ox or ass,
For sheep, or horse, or mare:
Had not their laws been made sae strick,
I neir had lost my joy,70
Wi' sorrow neir had wat my cheek,
For my dear Gilderoy.
Giff Gilderoy had done amisse,
He mought hae banisht been;
Ah! what fair cruelty is this,75
To hang sike handsome men:
To hang the flower o' Scottish land,
Sae sweet and fair a boy;
Nae lady had sae white a hand,
As thee, my Gilderoy.80
Of Gilderoy sae fraid they were,
They bound him mickle strong,
Tull Edenburrow they led him thair,
And on a gallows hung:
They hung him high aboon the rest,85
He was sae trim a boy;
Thair dyed the youth whom I lued best,
My handsome Gilderoy.
Thus having yielded up his breath,
I bare his corpse away,90
Wi' tears, that trickled for his death,
I washt his comelye clay;
And siker[1024] in a grave sae deep,
I laid the dear-lued boy,
And now for evir maun I weep,95
My winsome Gilderoy.
?
XIII.
WINIFREDA. This beautiful address to conjugal love, a subject too much neglected by the libertine Muses, was, I believe, first printed in a volume of Miscellaneous Poems, by several hands, published by D. [David] Lewis, 1726, 8vo. It is there said, how truly I know not, to be "a translation from the ancient British language."
Away; let nought to love displeasing,
My Winifreda, move your care;
Let nought delay the heavenly blessing,
Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy fear.
What tho' no grants of royal donors5
With pompous titles grace our blood;
We'll shine in more substantial honors,
And to be noble we'll be good.
Our name, while virtue thus we tender,
Will sweetly sound where-e'er 'tis spoke:10
And all the great ones, they shall wonder
How they respect such little folk.
What though from fortune's lavish bounty
No mighty treasures we possess;
We'll find within our pittance plenty,15
And be content without excess.
Still shall each returning season
Sufficient for our wishes give;
For we will live a life of reason,
And that's the only life to live.20
Through youth and age in love excelling,
We'll hand in hand together tread;
Sweet-smiling peace shall crown our dwelling,
And babes, sweet-smiling babes, our bed.
How should I love the pretty creatures,25
While round my knees they fondly clung;
To see them look their mothers features,
To hear them lisp their mothers tongue.
And when with envy time transported,
Shall think to rob us of our joys,30
You'll in your girls again be courted,
And I'll go a wooing in my boys.
XIV.
THE WITCH OF WOKEY Was published in a small collection of poems, intitled Euthemia, or the Power of Harmony, &c. 1756, written in 1748, by the ingenious Dr. Harrington, of Bath, who never allowed them to be published, and withheld his name till it could no longer be concealed. The following copy was furnished by the late Mr. Shenstone, with some variations and corrections of his own, which he had taken the liberty to propose, and for which the author's indulgence was intreated. In this edition it was intended to reprint the author's own original copy; but, as that may be seen correctly given in Pearch's Collection, vol. i. 1783, p. 161, it was thought the reader of taste would wish to have the variations preserved, they are, therefore, still retained here, which it is hoped the worthy author will excuse with his wonted liberality. Wokey-hole is a noted cavern in Somersetshire, which has given birth to as many wild fanciful stories as the Sybils Cave, in Italy. Thro' a very narrow entrance, it opens into a very large vault, the roof whereof, either on account of its height, or the thickness of the gloom, cannot be discovered by the light of torches. It goes winding a great way underground, is crossed by a stream of very cold water, and is all horrid with broken pieces of rock: many of these are evident petrifactions; which, on account of their singular forms, have given rise to the fables alluded to in this poem.
In aunciente days tradition showes
A base and wicked elfe arose,
The Witch of Wokey hight:
Oft have I heard the fearfull tale
From Sue, and Roger of the vale,5
On some long winter's night.
Deep in the dreary dismall cell,
Which seem'd and was ycleped hell,
This blear-eyed hag did hide:
Nine wicked elves, as legends sayne,10
She chose to form her guardian trayne,
And kennel near her side.
Here screeching owls oft made their nest,
While wolves its craggy sides possest,
Night-howling thro' the rock:15
No wholesome herb could here be found;
She blasted every plant around,
And blister'd every flock.
Her haggard face was foull to see;
Her mouth unmeet a mouth to bee;20
Her eyne of deadly leer,
She nought devis'd, but neighbour's ill;
She wreak'd on all her wayward will,
And marr'd all goodly chear.
All in her prime, have poets sung,25
No gaudy youth, gallant and young,
E'er blest her longing armes;
And hence arose her spight to vex,
And blast the youth of either sex,
By dint of hellish charms.30
From Glaston came a lerned wight,
Full bent to marr her fell despight,
And well he did, I ween:
Sich mischief never had been known,
And, since his mickle lerninge shown,35
Sich mischief ne'er has been.
He chauntede out his godlie booke,
He crost the water, blest the brooke,
Then—pater noster done,—
The ghastly hag he sprinkled o'er;40
When lo! where stood a hag before,
Now stood a ghastly stone.
Full well 'tis known adown the dale:
Tho' passing strange indeed the tale,
And doubtfull may appear,45
I'm bold to say, there's never a one,
That has not seen the witch in stone,
With all her household gear.
But tho' this lernede clerke did well;
With grieved heart, alas! I tell,50
She left this curse behind:
That Wokey-nymphs forsaken quite,
Tho' sense and beauty both unite,
Should find no leman kind.
For lo! even, as the fiend did say,55
The sex have found it to this day,
That men are wondrous scant:
Here's beauty, wit, and sense combin'd,
With all that's good and virtuous join'd,
Yet hardly one gallant.60
Shall then sich maids unpitied moane?
They might as well, like her, be stone,
As thus forsaken dwell.
Since Glaston now can boast no clerks;
Come down from Oxenford, ye sparks,65
And, oh! revoke the spell.
Yet stay—nor thus despond, ye fair;
Virtue's the gods' peculiar care;
I hear the gracious voice:
Your sex shall soon be blest agen,70
We only wait to find sich men,
As best deserve your choice.
XV.
BRYAN AND PEREENE, A West Indian Ballad, Is founded on a real fact, that happened in the island of St. Christophers about the beginning of the present reign. The Editor owes the following stanzas to the friendship of Dr. James Grainger[1025] who was an eminent physician in that island when this tragical incident happened, and died there much honoured and lamented in 1767. To this ingenious gentleman the public are indebted for the fine Ode on Solitude, printed in the fourth vol. of Dodsley's Miscel. p. 229, in which are assembled some of the sublimest images in nature. The reader will pardon the insertion of the first stanza here, for the sake of rectifying the two last lines, which were thus given by the author: "O Solitude, romantic maid,
Whether by nodding towers you tread,
Or haunt the desart's trackless gloom,
Or hover o'er the yawning tomb,
Or climb the Andes' clifted side,
Or by the Nile's coy source abide,
Or starting from your half-year's sleep
From Hecla view the thawing deep,
Or at the purple dawn of day
Tadmor's marble wastes survey," &c.
alluding to the account of Palmyra published by some late ingenious travellers, and the manner in which they were struck at the first sight of those magnificent ruins by break of day.[1026]
The north-east wind did briskly blow,
The ship was safely moor'd;
Young Bryan thought the boat's-crew slow,
And so leapt over-board.
Pereene, the pride of Indian dames,5
His heart long held in thrall;
And whoso his impatience blames,
I wot, ne'er lov'd at all.
A long long year, one month and day,
He dwelt on English land,10
Nor once in thought or deed would stray,
Tho' ladies sought his hand.
For Bryan he was tall and strong,
Right blythsome roll'd his een,
Sweet was his voice whene'er he sung,15
He scant had twenty seen.
But who the countless charms can draw,
That grac'd his mistress true;
Such charms the old world seldom saw,
Nor oft I ween the new.20
Her raven hair plays round her neck,
Like tendrils of the vine;
Her cheeks red dewy rose-buds deck,
Her eyes like diamonds shine.
Soon as his well-known ship she spied,25
She cast her weeds away,
And to the palmy shore she hied,
All in her best array.
In sea-green silk so neatly clad,
She there impatient stood;30
The crew with wonder saw the lad
Repell the foaming flood.
Her hands a handkerchief display'd.
Which he at parting gave;
Well pleas'd the token he survey'd,35
And manlier beat the wave.
Her fair companions one and all,
Rejoicing crowd the strand;
For now her lover swam in call,
And almost touch'd the land.40
Then through the white surf did she haste,
To clasp her lovely swain;
When, ah! a shark bit through his waste:
His heart's blood dy'd the main!
He shriek'd! his half sprang from the wave,45
Streaming with purple gore,
And soon it found a living grave,
And ah! was seen no more.
Now haste, now haste, ye maids, I pray,
Fetch water from the spring:50
She falls, she swoons, she dies away,
And soon her knell they ring.
Now each May morning round her tomb
Ye fair, fresh flowerets strew,
So may your lovers scape his doom,55
Her hapless fate scape you.
XVI.
GENTLE RIVER, GENTLE RIVER, Translated from the Spanish. Although the English are remarkable for the number and variety of their ancient ballads, and retain perhaps a greater fondness for these old simple rhapsodies of their ancestors, than most other nations; they are not the only people who have distinguished themselves by compositions of this kind. The Spaniards have great multitudes of them, many of which are of the highest merit. They call them in their language Romances, and have collected them into volumes under the titles of El Romancero, El Cancionero,[1027] &c. Most of them relate to their conflicts with the Moors, and display a spirit of gallantry peculiar to that romantic people. But of all the Spanish ballads none exceed in poetical merit those inserted in a little Spanish History of the civil wars of Granada, describing the dissensions which raged in that last seat of Moorish empire before it was conquered in the reign of Ferdinand and Isabella, in 1491. In this history (or perhaps romance) a great number of heroic songs are inserted and appealed to as authentic vouchers for the truth of facts. In reality the prose narrative seems to be drawn up for no other end, but to introduce and illustrate those beautiful pieces. The Spanish editor pretends (how truly I know not) that they are translations from the Arabic or Morisco language. Indeed, from the plain unadorned nature of the verse, and the native simplicity of the language and sentiment, which runs through these poems, one would judge them to have been composed soon after the conquest of Granada[1028] above mentioned; as the prose narrative in which they are inserted was published about a century after. It should seem, at least, that they were written before the Castillians had formed themselves so generally, as they have done since, on the model of the Tuscan poets, or had imported from Italy that fondness for conceit and refinement, which has for near two centuries past so much infected the Spanish poetry, and rendered it so frequently affected and obscure. As a specimen of the ancient Spanish manner, which very much resembles that of our English bards and minstrels, the reader is desired candidly to accept the two following poems. They are given from a small collection of pieces of this kind, which the Editor some years ago translated for his amusement when he was studying the Spanish language. As the first is a pretty close translation, to gratify the curious it is accompanied with the original. The metre is the same in all these old Spanish ballads: it is of the most simple construction, and is still used by the common people in their extemporaneous songs, as we learn from Baretti's Travels. It runs in short stanzas of four lines, of which the second and fourth alone correspond in their terminations; and in these it is only required that the vowels should be alike, the consonants may be altogether different, as | pone | casa | meten | arcos | | noble | caÑas | muere | gamo | Yet has this kind of verse a sort of simple harmonious flow, which atones for the imperfect nature of the rhyme, and renders it not unpleasing to the ear. The same flow of numbers has been studied in the following versions. The first of them is given from two different originals, both of which are printed in the Hist. de las civiles guerras de Granada, Mad. 1694. One of them hath the rhymes ending in aa, the other in ia. It is the former of these that is here reprinted. They both of them begin with the same line: which could not be translated faithfully: "Verdant river, verdant river,"
would have given an affected stiffness to the verse; the great merit of which is easy simplicity; and therefore a more simple epithet was adopted, though less poetical or expressive.
[The two following Spanish ballads are peculiarly out of place in a collection of English ballads, and they are not very good specimens of the class from which they are taken. Those who wish for information on Spanish ballads must refer to Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature; T. Rodd's Ancient Spanish Ballads, relating to the Twelve Peers of France mentioned in Don Quixote, 2 vols. London, 1821; and J. G. Lockhart's Ancient Spanish Ballads, historical and romantic, 1823.]
Rio verde, rio verde,
Quanto cuerpo en ti se baÑa
De Christianos y de Moros
Muertos por la dura espada!
Y tus ondas cristalinas5
De roxa sangre se esmaltan:
Entre Moros y Christianos
Muy gran batalla se trava.
Murieron Duques y Condes,
Grandes seÑores de salva:10
Murio gente de valia
De la nobleza de EspaÑa.
En ti murio don Alonso,
Que de Aguilar se Ilamaba;
El valeroso Urdiales,15
Con don Alonso acababa.
Por un ladera arriba
El buen Sayavedra marcha;
Naturel es de Sevilla,
De la gente mas granada.20
Tras el iba un Renegado,
Desta manera le habla;
Date, date, Sayavedra,
No huyas de la Batalla.
Yo te conozco muy bien,25
Gran tiempo estuve en tu casa;
Y en la PlaÇa de Sevilla
Bien te vide jugar caÑas.
Gentle river, gentle river,
Lo, thy streams are stain'd with gore,
Many a brave and noble captain
Floats along thy willow'd shore.
All beside thy limpid waters,5
All beside thy sands so bright,
Moorish Chiefs and Christian Warriors
Join'd in fierce and mortal fight.
Lords, and dukes, and noble princes
On thy fatal banks were slain:10
Fatal banks that gave to slaughter
All the pride and flower of Spain.
There the hero, brave Alonzo
Full of wounds and glory died:
There the fearless Urdiales15
Fell a victim by his side.
Lo! where yonder Don Saavedra
Thro' their squadrons slow retires;
Proud Seville, his native city,
Proud Seville his worth admires.20
Close behind a renegado
Loudly shouts with taunting cry;
Yield thee, yield thee, Don Saavedra,
Dost thou from the battle fly?
Well I know thee, haughty Christian,25
Long I liv'd beneath thy roof;
Oft I've in the lists of glory
Seen thee win the prize of proof.
Conozco a tu padre y madre,
Y a tu muger doÑa Clara;30
Siete anos fui tu cautivo,
Malamente me tratabas.
Y aora lo seras mio,
Si Mahoma me ayudara;
Y tambien te tratare,35
Como a mi me tratabas.
Sayavedra que lo oyera,
Al Moro bolvio la cara;
Tirole el Moro una flecha,
Pero nunca le acertaba.40
Hiriole Sayavedra
De una herida muy mala:
Muerto cayo el Renegado
Sin poder hablar palabra.
Sayavedra fue cercado45
De mucha Mora canalla,
Y al cabo cayo alli muerto
De una muy mala lanÇada.
Don Alonso en este tiempo
Bravamente peleava,50
Y el cavallo le avian muerto,
Y le tiene por muralla.
Mas cargaron tantos Moros
Que mal le hieren y tratan:
De la sangre, que perdia,55
Don Alonso se desmaya.
Al fin, al fin cayo muerto
Al pie de un pena alta.——
----Muerto queda don Alonso,
Eterna fama ganara.60
Well I know thy aged parents,
Well thy blooming bride I know;30
Seven years I was thy captive,
Seven years of pain and woe.
May our prophet grant my wishes,
Haughty chief, thou shalt be mine:
Thou shalt drink that cup of sorrow,35
Which I drank when I was thine.
Like a lion turns the warrior,
Back he sends an angry glare:
Whizzing came the Moorish javelin,
Vainly whizzing thro' the air.40
Back the hero full of fury
Sent a deep and mortal wound:
Instant sunk the Renegado,
Mute and lifeless on the ground.
With a thousand Moors surrounded,45
Brave Saavedra stands at bay:
Wearied out but never daunted,
Cold at length the warrior lay.
Near him fighting great Alonzo
Stout resists the Paynim bands;50
From his slaughter'd steed dismounted
Firm intrench'd behind him stands.
Furious press the hostile squadron,
Furious he repels their rage:
Loss of blood at length enfeebles:55
Who can war with thousands wage!
Where yon rock the plain o'ershadows
Close beneath its foot retir'd,
Fainting sunk the bleeding hero,
And without a groan expir'd.60
* * * * *
? In the Spanish original of the foregoing ballad follow a few more stanzas, but being of inferior merit were not translated. Renegado properly signifies an Apostate; but it is sometimes used to express an Infidel in general; as it seems to do above in ver. 21, &c. The image of the Lion, &c. in ver. 37, is taken from the other Spanish copy, the rhymes of which end in ia, viz. "Sayavedra, que lo oyera,
"Como un leon rebolbia."
XVII.
ALCANZOR AND ZAYDA, A MOORISH TALE, Imitated from the Spanish. The foregoing version was rendered as literal as the nature of the two languages would admit. In the following a wider compass hath been taken. The Spanish poem that was chiefly had in view is preserved in the same history of the Civil Wars of Granada, f. 22, and begins with these lines: "Por la calle de su dama
"Passeando se anda," &c.
Softly blow the evening breezes,
Softly fall the dews of night;
Yonder walks the Moor Alcanzor,
Shunning every glare of light.
In yon palace lives fair Zaida,5
Whom he loves with flame so pure:
Loveliest she of Moorish ladies;
He a young and noble Moor.
Waiting for the appointed minute,
Oft he paces to and fro;10
Stopping now, now moving forwards,
Sometimes quick, and sometimes slow.
Hope and fear alternate teize him,
Oft he sighs with heart-felt care.——
See, fond youth, to yonder window15
Softly steps the timorous fair.
Lovely seems the moon's fair lustre
To the lost benighted swain,
When all silvery bright she rises,
Gilding mountain, grove, and plain.20
Lovely seems the sun's full glory
To the fainting seaman's eyes,
When some horrid storm dispersing
O'er the wave his radiance flies.
But a thousand times more lovely25
To her longing lover's sight
Steals half-seen the beauteous maiden
Thro' the glimmerings of the night.
Tip-toe stands the anxious lover,
Whispering forth a gentle sigh:30
Alla[1030] keep thee, lovely lady;
Tell me, am I doom'd to die?
Is it true the dreadful story,
Which thy damsel tells my page,
That seduc'd by sordid riches35
Thou wilt sell thy bloom to age?
An old lord from Antiquera
Thy stern father brings along;
But canst thou, inconstant Zaida,
Thus consent my love to wrong?40
If 'tis true now plainly tell me,
Nor thus trifle with my woes;
Hide not then from me the secret,
Which the world so clearly knows.
Deeply sigh'd the conscious maiden,45
While the pearly tears descend:
Ah! my lord, too true the story;
Here our tender loves must end.
Our fond friendship is discover'd,
Well are known our mutual vows:50
All my friends are full of fury;
Storms of passion shake the house.
Threats, reproaches, fears surround me;
My stern father breaks my heart:
Alla knows how dear it costs me,55
Generous youth, from thee to part.
Ancient wounds of hostile fury
Long have rent our house and thine;
Why then did thy shining merit
Win this tender heart of mine?60
Well thou know'st how dear I lov'd thee
Spite of all their hateful pride,
Tho' I fear'd my haughty father
Ne'er would let me be thy bride.
Well thou know'st what cruel chidings65
Oft I've from my mother borne;
What I've suffered here to meet thee
Still at eve and early morn.
I no longer may resist them;
All, to force my hand combine;70
And to-morrow to thy rival
This weak frame I must resign.
Yet think not thy faithful Zaida
Can survive so great a wrong;
Well my breaking heart assures me75
That my woes will not be long.
Farewell then, my dear Alcanzor!
Farewell too my life with thee!
Take this scarf a parting token;
When thou wear'st it think on me.80
Soon, lov'd youth, some worthier maiden
Shall reward thy generous truth;
Sometimes tell her how thy Zaida
Died for thee in prime of youth.
—To him all amaz'd, confounded,85
Thus she did her woes impart:
Deep he sigh'd, then cry'd,—O Zaida!
Do not, do not break my heart.
Canst thou think I thus will lose thee?
Canst thou hold my love so small?90
No! a thousand times I'll perish!——
My curst rival too shall fall.
Canst thou, wilt thou yield thus to them?
O break forth, and fly to me!
This fond heart shall bleed to save thee,95
These fond arms shall shelter thee.
'Tis in vain, in vain, Alcanzor,
Spies surround me, bars secure:
Scarce I steal this last dear moment,
While my damsel keeps the door.100
Hark, I hear my father storming!
Hark, I hear my mother chide!
I must go: farewell for ever!
Gracious Alla be thy guide!
THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK.
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