[Pg 126]
[Pg 127] I.
A BALLAD OF LUTHER, THE POPE, A CARDINAL, AND A HUSBANDMAN. In the former Book we brought down this second Series of poems, as low as about the middle of the sixteenth century. We now find the Muses deeply engaged in religious controversy. The sudden revolution, wrought in the opinions of mankind by the Reformation, is one of the most striking events in the history of the human mind. It could not but engross the attention of every individual in that age, and therefore no other writings would have any chance to be read, but such as related to this grand topic. The alterations made in the established religion by Henry VIII., the sudden changes it underwent in the three succeeding reigns within so short a space as eleven or twelve years, and the violent struggles between expiring Popery, and growing Protestantism, could not but interest all mankind. Accordingly every pen was engaged in the dispute. The followers of the Old and New Profession (as they were called) had their respective Ballad-makers; and every day produced some popular sonnet for or against the Reformation. The following ballad, and that intitled Little John Nobody, may serve for specimens of the writings of each party. Both were written in the reign of Edward VI.; and are not the worst that were composed upon the occasion. Controversial divinity is no friend to poetic flights. Yet this ballad of Luther and the Pope is not altogether devoid of spirit; it is of the dramatic kind, and the characters are tolerably well sustained; especially that of Luther, which is made to speak in a manner not unbecoming the spirit and courage of that vigorous Reformer. It is printed from the original black-letter copy (in the Pepys collection, vol. i. folio,) to which is prefixed a large wooden cut, designed and executed by some eminent master. We are not to wonder that the ballad-writers of that age should be inspired with the zeal of controversy, when the very stage teemed with polemic divinity. I have now before me two very ancient quarto black-letter plays: the one published in the time of Henry VIII., intitled, Every Man; the other called Lusty Juventus, printed in the reign of Edward VI. In the former of these, occasion is taken to inculcate great reverence for old mother church and her superstitions:[513] in the other, the poet (one R. Wever) with great success attacks both. So that the Stage in those days literally was, what wise men have always wished it, a supplement to the pulpit:—This was so much the case, that in the play of Lusty Juventus, chapter and verse are every where quoted as formally as in a sermon; take an instance: "The Lord by his prophet Ezechiel sayeth in this wise playnlye,
As in the xxxiij chapter it doth appere:
Be converted, O ye children, &c."
From this play we learn that most of the young people were New Gospellers, or friends to the Reformation; and that the old were tenacious of the doctrines imbibed in their youth: for thus the Devil is introduced lamenting the downfal of superstition: "The olde people would believe stil in my lawes,
But the yonger sort leade them a contrary way,
They wyl not beleve, they playnly say,
In olde traditions, and made by men, &c."
And in another place Hypocrisy urges, "The worlde was never meri
Since chyldren were so boulde:
Now every boy will be a teacher,
The father a foole, the chyld a preacher."
Of the plays abovementioned, to the first is subjoined the following Printer's Colophon, ¶ Thus endeth this moral playe of Every Man, ¶ Imprynted at London in Powles chyrche yarde by me John Skot. In Mr. Garrick's collection is an imperfect copy of the same play, printed by Richarde Pynson. The other is intitled, An enterlude called Lusty Juventus: and is thus distinguished at the end: Finis. quod R. Wever. Imprinted at London in Paules churche yeard, by Abraham Vele at the signe of the Lambe. Of this too Mr. Garrick has an imperfect copy of a different edition. Of these two plays the reader may find some further particulars in the former volume, Appendix II., see The Essay on the Origin of the English Stage; and the curious reader will find the plays themselves printed at large in Hawkins's Origin of the English Drama, 3 vols. Oxford, 1773, 12mo.
The Husbandman. Let us lift up our hartes all,
And prayse the lordes magnificence
Which hath given the wolues a fall,
And is become our strong defence:
For they thorowe a false pretens
From Christes bloude dyd all us leade,[514] 5
Gettynge from every man his pence,
As satisfactours for the deade.
For what we with our Flayles coulde get
To kepe our house, and servauntes; 10
That did the Freers[515] from us fet,
And with our soules played the merchauntes:
And thus they with theyr false warrantes
Of our sweate have easelye lyved,
That for fatnesse theyr belyes pantes, 15
So greatlye have they us deceaued.
They spared not the fatherlesse,
The carefull, nor the pore wydowe;
They wolde have somewhat more or lesse,
If it above the ground did growe: 20
But now we Husbandmen do knowe
Al their subteltye, and their false caste;[516]
For the lorde hath them overthrowe
With his swete word now at the laste.
Doctor Martin Luther. Thou antichrist, with thy thre crownes, 25
Hast usurped kynges powers,
As having power over realmes and townes,
Whom thou oughtest to serve all houres:
Thou thinkest by thy jugglyng colours
Thou maist lykewise Gods word oppresse; 30
As do the deceatful foulers,
When they theyr nettes craftelye dresse.
Thou flatterest every prince, and lord,
Thretening poore men with swearde and fyre;
All those, that do followe Gods worde, 35
To make them cleve to thy desire,
Theyr bokes thou burnest in flaming fire;
Cursing with boke, bell, and candell,
Such as to reade them have desyre,
Or with them are wyllynge to meddell. 40
Thy false power wyl I bryng down,
Thou shalt not raygne many a yere,
I shall dryve the from citye and towne,
Even with this PEN that thou seyste here:
Thou fyghtest with swerd, shylde, and speare, 45
But I wyll fyght with Gods worde;
Which is now so open and cleare,
That it shall brynge the under the borde.[517]
The Pope. Though I brought never so many to hel,
And to utter dampnacion, 50
Throughe myne ensample, and consel,
Or thorow any abhominacion,
Yet doth our lawe excuse my fashion.
And thou, Luther, arte accursed;
For blamynge me, and my condicion, 55
The holy decres have the condempned.
Thou stryvest against my purgatory,
Because thou findest it not in scripture;
As though I by myne auctorite
Myght not make one for myne honoure. 60
Knowest thou not, that I have power
To make, and mar, in heaven and hell,
In erth, and every creature?
Whatsoever I do it must be well.
As for scripture, I am above it; 65
Am not I Gods hye vicare?
Shulde I be bounde to folowe it,
As the carpenter his ruler?[518]
Nay, nay, hereticks ye are,
That will not obey my auctoritie. 70
With this SWORDE I wyll declare,
That ye shal al accursed be.
The Cardinal. I am a Cardinall of Rome,
Sent from Christes hye vicary,
To graunt pardon to more, and sume, 75
That wil Luther resist strongly:
He is a greate hereticke treuly,
And regardeth to much the scripture;
For he thinketh onely thereby
To subdue the popes high honoure. 80
Receive ye this PARDON devoutely,
And loke that ye agaynst him fight;
Plucke up youre herts, and be manlye,
For the pope sayth ye do but ryght:
And this be sure, that at one flyghte, 85
Allthough ye be overcome by chaunce,
Ye shall to heaven go with greate myghte;
God can make you no resistaunce.
But these heretikes for their medlynge
Shall go down to hel every one; 90
For they have not the popes blessynge,
Nor regarde his holy pardÒn:
They thinke from all destruction
By Christes bloud to be saved,
Fearynge not our excommunicacion, 95
Therefore shall they al be dampned.
II.
JOHN ANDERSON MY JO. A Scottish Song. While in England verse was made the vehicle of controversy, and popery was attacked in it by logical argument, or stinging satire; we may be sure the zeal of the Scottish Reformers would not suffer their pens to be idle, but many a pasquil was discharged at the Romish priests, and their enormous encroachments on property. Of this kind perhaps is the following, (preserved in Maitland's MS. Collection of Scottish poems in the Pepysian library:) "Tak a Wobster, that is leill,
And a Miller, that will not steill,
With ane Priest, that is not gredy,
And lay ane deid corpse thame by,
And, throw virtue of thame three,
That deid corpse sall qwyknit be."
Thus far all was fair: but the furious hatred of popery led them to employ their rhymes in a still more licentious manner. It is a received tradition in Scotland, that at the time of the Reformation, ridiculous and obscene songs were composed to be sung by the rabble to the tunes of the most favourite hymns in the Latin service. Green sleeves and pudding pies (designed to ridicule the popish clergy) is said to have been one of these metamorphosed hymns: Maggy Lauder was another: John Anderson my jo was a third. The original music of all these burlesque sonnets was very fine. To give a specimen of their manner, we have inserted one of the least offensive. The reader will pardon the meanness of the composition for the sake of the anecdote, which strongly marks the spirit of the times. In the present Edition this song is much improved by some new readings communicated by a friend; who thinks by the "Seven Bairns," in st. 2d. are meant the Seven Sacraments; five of which were the spurious offspring of Mother Church: as the first stanza contains a satirical allusion to the luxury of the popish clergy. The adaptation of solemn church music to these ludicrous pieces and the jumble of ideas thereby occasioned, will account for the following fact.—From the Records of the General Assembly in Scotland, called, The Book of the Universal Kirk, p. 90, 7th July, 1568, it appears, that Thomas Bassendyne printer in Edinburgh, printed "a psalme buik, in the end whereof was found printit ane baudy sang, called, Welcome Fortunes."[519]
[In the first edition of the Reliques the number of the bairns is fixed at five instead of seven, and the rhyme to five is thrive instead of threven. The last line is "For four of them were gotten, quhan Willie was awa."
The present copy has thus been altered to support the untenable position that the seven bairns were meant to represent the seven sacraments. According to tradition John Anderson was formerly the town crier of Kelso, and the song is not of any great antiquity, for it is first found in the Skene MS., the date of which Dauney (Ancient Scottish Melodies, p. 219) fixes at the beginning of the seventeenth century, but which includes, according to Mr. Chappell, an English country dance that first appeared in 1698 (Popular Music of the Olden Time, vol. ii. p. 770). Burns wrote his song— "John Anderson my jo John
When we were first acquent,"
to the old tune, for Johnson's Musical Museum.]
Woman. John Anderson my jo, cum in as ye gae bye,
And ye sall get a sheips heid weel baken in a pye;
Weel baken in a pye, and the haggis in a pat:
John Anderson my jo, cum in, and ye's get that.
Man. And how doe ye, Cummer?[520] and how hae ye threven?
And how mony bairns hae ye? Wom. Cummer, I hae seven.
Man. Are they to your awin gude man? Wom. Na, Cummer, na;
For five of tham were gotten, quhan he was awa.'
III.
LITTLE JOHN NOBODY. We have here a witty libel on the Reformation under king Edward VI. written about the year 1550, and preserved in the Pepys collection, British Museum, and Strype's Mem. of Cranmer. The author artfully declines entering into the merits of the cause, and wholly reflects on the lives and actions of many of the Reformed. It is so easy to find flaws and imperfections in the conduct of men, even the best of them, and still easier to make general exclamations about the profligacy of the present times, that no great point is gained by arguments of that sort, unless the author could have proved that the principles of the Reformed Religion had a natural tendency to produce a corruption of manners: whereas he indirectly owns, that their reverend father [archbishop Cranmer] had used the most proper means to stem the torrent, by giving the people access to the Scriptures, by teaching them to pray with understanding, and by publishing homilies, and other religious tracts. It must however be acknowledged, that our libeller had at that time sufficient room for just satire. For under the banners of the Reformed had enlisted themselves, many concealed papists, who had private ends to gratify; many that were of no religion; many greedy courtiers, who thirsted after the possessions of the church; and many dissolute persons, who wanted to be exempt from all ecclesiastical censures. And as these men were loudest of all others in their cries for Reformation, so in effect, none obstructed the regular progress of it so much, or by their vicious lives brought vexation and shame more on the truly venerable and pious Reformers. The reader will remark the fondness of our satirist for alliteration: in this he was guilty of no affectation or singularity; his versification is that of Pierce Plowman's Visions, in which a recurrence of similar letters is essential: to this he has only superadded rhyme, which in his time began to be the general practice. See an Essay on this very peculiar kind of metre, in the appendix to this Volume.
In december, when the dayes draw to be short,
After november, when the nights wax noysome and long;
As I past by a place privily at a port,
I saw one sit by himself making a song:
His last[521] talk of trifles, who told with his tongue
That few were fast i'th' faith. I 'freyned'[522] that freake,[523]
Whether he wanted wit, or some had done him wrong.
He said, he was little John Nobody, that durst not speake.
John Nobody, quoth I, what news? thou soon note and tell
What maner men thou meane, thou are so mad.
He said, These gay gallants, that wil construe the gospel,
As Solomon the sage, with semblance full sad;
To discusse divinity they nought adread;
More meet it were for them to milk kye at a fleyke.[524]
Thou lyest, quoth I, thou losel,[525] like a leud lad.
He said, he was little John Nobody, that durst not speake.
Its meet for every man on this matter to talk,
And the glorious gospel ghostly to have in mind;
It is sothe said, that sect but much unseemly skalk,
As boyes babble in books, that in scripture are blind:
Yet to their fancy soon a cause will find;
As to live in lust, in lechery to leyke:[526]
Such caitives count to be come of Cains kind;[527]
But that I little John Nobody durst not speake.
For our reverend father hath set forth an order,
Our service to be said in our seignours tongue;
As Solomon the sage set forth the scripture;
Our suffrages, and services, with many a sweet song,
With homilies, and godly books us among,
That no stiff, stubborn stomacks we should freyke:[528]
But wretches nere worse to do poor men wrong;
But that I little John Nobody dare not speake.
For bribery was never so great, since born was our Lord,
And whoredom was never les hated, sith Christ harrowed[529] hel,
And poor men are so sore punished commonly through the world,
That it would grieve any one, that good is, to hear tel.
For al the homilies and good books, yet their hearts be so quel,[530]
That if a man do amisse, with mischiefs they wil him wreake;[531]
The fashion of these new fellows it is so vile and fell:
But that I little John Nobody dare not speake.
Thus to live after their lust, that life would they have,
And in lechery to leyke al their long life;
For al the preaching of Paul, yet many a proud knave
Wil move mischiefe in their mind both to maid and wife
To bring them in advoutry,[532] or else they wil strife,
And in brawling about baudery, Gods commandments breake:
But of these frantic il fellowes, few of them do thrife;
Though I little John Nobody dare not speake.
If thou company with them, they wil currishly carp,[533] and not care
According to their foolish fantacy; but fast wil they naught:
Prayer with them is but prating; therefore they it forbear:
Both almes deeds, and holiness, they hate it in their thought:
Therefore pray we to that prince, that with his bloud us bought,
That he wil mend that is amiss: for many a manful freyke[534]
Is sorry for these sects, though they say little or nought;
And that I little John Nobody dare not once speake.
Thus in NO place, this Nobody, in NO time I met,
Where NO man, 'ne'[535] NOUGHT was, nor NOTHING did appear;
Through the sound of a synagogue for sorrow I swett,
That 'Aeolus'[536] through the eccho did cause me to hear.
Then I drew me down into a dale, whereas the dumb deer
Did shiver for a shower; but I shunted[537] from a freyke:
For I would no wight in this world wist who I were,
But little John Nobody, that dare not once speake.
IV.
Q. ELIZABETH'S VERSES, WHILE PRISONER AT WOODSTOCK, Writ with Charcoal on a Shutter, Are preserved by Hentzner, in that part of his Travels which has been reprinted in so elegant a manner at Strawberry-hill. In Hentzner's book they were wretchedly corrupted, but are here given as amended by his ingenious editor. The old orthography, and one or two ancient readings of Hentzner's copy, are here restored.
Oh, Fortune! how thy restlesse wavering state
Hath fraught with cares my troubled witt!
Witnes this present prisonn, whither fate
Could beare me, and the joys I quit.[538]
Thou causedest the guiltie to be losed 5
From bandes, wherein are innocents inclosed:
Causing the guiltles to be straite reserved,
And freeing those that death had well deserved.
But by her envie can be nothing wroughte,
So God send to my foes all they have thoughte. 10
A.D. MDLV.
Elizabethe, Prisonner.
V.
THE HEIR OF LINNE. The original of this ballad is found in the Editor's folio MS., the breaches and defects in which rendered the insertion of supplemental stanzas necessary. These, it is hoped, the reader will pardon, as indeed the completion of the story was suggested by a modern ballad on a similar subject. From the Scottish phrases here and there discernible in this poem, it should seem to have been originally composed beyond the Tweed. The Heir of Linne appears not to have been a Lord of Parliament, but a Laird, whose title went along with his estate.
[In the folio MS. Percy wrote the following note: "This old copy (tho' a very indifferent fragment) I thought deserving of some attention. I have therefore bestowed an entire revisal of the subject for my Reliques, &c." In this revisal, the Bishop swelled out the 125 lines of the original into the 216 of his own version. It has, therefore, been necessary to print a copy of the original at the end of the present ballad. The modern ballad referred to above is the Drunkard's Legacy, printed in J. H. Dixon's Ballads of the Peasantry, but it is only comparatively modern, as it dates back to a period long before Percy's time. The portion which Percy interpolated and took from this ballad, forms the end of the first part and beginning of the second part of the following version. The incident by which the hidden treasure is discovered occurs in one of the stories of Cinthio's Heccatomithi (Dec. ix. Nov. 8), but the arguments of the two tales are in other respects different. The Scotch claim this ballad as their own. Some suppose the hero to have been an Ayrshire laird, and others that he was from Galloway. Motherwell gives the following verses as the commencement of the traditionary version extant in Scotland: "The bonnie heir, the weel-faur'd heir,
And the weary heir o' Linne,
Yonder he stands at his father's gate,
And naebody bids him come in,
O see whare he gaup and see whare he stands,
The weary heir o' Linne,
O see whare he stands on the cauld causey,
Some ane wuld ta'en him in.
But if he had been his father's heir,
Or yet the heir o' Linne,
He wadna stand on the cauld causey,
Some ane wuld ta'en him in."]
Part the First. Lithe[539] and listen, gentlemen,
To sing a song I will beginne:
It is of a lord of faire ScotlÀnd,
Which was the unthrifty heire of Linne.
His father was a right good lord, 5
His mother a lady of high degree;
But they, alas! were dead, him froe,
And he lov'd keeping companie.
To spend the daye with merry cheare,
To drinke and revell every night, 10
To card and dice from eve to morne,
It was, I ween, his hearts delighte
To ride, to runne, to rant, to roare,
To alwaye spend and never spare,
I wott, an' it were the king himselfe, 15
Of gold and fee he mote be bare.
Soe fares the unthrifty lord of Linne
Till all his gold is gone and spent;
And he maun sell his landes so broad,
His house, and landes, and all his rent. 20
His father had a keen stewÀrde,
And John o' the Scales was called hee:
But John is become a gentel-man,
And John has gott both gold and fee.[540]
Sayes, Welcome, welcome, lord of Linne, 25
Let nought disturb thy merry cheere;
Iff thou wilt sell thy landes soe broad,
Good store of gold Ile give thee heere.
My gold is gone, my money is spent;
My lande nowe take it unto the: 30
Give me the golde, good John o' the Scales,
And thine for aye my lande shall bee.
Then John he did him to record draw,
And John he cast him a gods-pennie;[541]
But for every pounde that John agreed, 35
The lande, I wis, was well worth three.
He told him the gold upon the borde,
He was right glad his land to winne:
The gold is thine, the land is mine,
And now Ile be the lord of Linne. 40
Thus he hath sold his land soe broad,
Both hill and holt,[542] and moore and fenne,
All but a poore and lonesome lodge,
That stood far off in a lonely glenne.
For soe he to his father hight. 45
My sonne, when I am gonne, sayd hee,
Then thou wilt spend thy lande so broad,
And thou wilt spend thy gold so free:
But sweare me nowe upon the roode,
That lonesome lodge thou'lt never spend; 50
For when all the world doth frown on thee,
Thou there shalt find a faithful friend.
The heire of Linne is full of golde:
And come with me, my friends, sayd hee,
Let's drinke, and rant, and merry make, 55
And he that spares, ne'er mote he thee.
They ranted, drank, and merry made,
Till all his gold it waxed thinne;
And then his friendes they slunk away;
They left the unthrifty heire of Linne. 60
He had never a penny left in his purse,
Never a penny left but three,
And one was brass, another was lead,[543]
And another it was white monÈy.[543]
Nowe well-aday, sayd the heire of Linne,[543] 65
Nowe well-aday, and woe is mee,
For when I was the lord of Linne,
I never wanted gold nor fee.
But many a trustye friend have I,
And why shold I feel dole or care? 70
Ile borrow of them all by turnes,
Soe need I not be never bare.
But one, I wis, was not at home;
Another had payd his gold away;
Another call'd him thriftless loone, 75
And bade him sharpely wend his way.
Now well-aday, sayd the heire of Linne,
Now well-aday, and woe is me!
For when I had my landes so broad,
On me they liv'd right merrilee. 80
To beg my bread from door to door
I wis, it were a brenning shame:
To rob and steal it were a sinne:
To worke my limbs I cannot frame.
Now Ile away to lonesome lodge, 85
For there my father bade me wend;
When all the world should frown on mee,
I there shold find a trusty friend.
Part the Second. †‡† In the present edition of this ballad several ancient readings are restored from the folio MS. The following original version of the Heir of Linne is reprinted from Hales and Furnivall's edition of the folio MS. vol. i. p. 174: Off all the lords in faire Scottland
a song I will begin:
amongst them all there dweld a Lord
which was the vnthrifty Lord of linne. 4
his father & mother were dead him froe,
& soe was the head of all his kinne;
he did neither cease nor bl?nne
to the cards & dice that he did run, 8
to drinke the wine that was soe cleere,
with euery man he wold make merry.
and then bespake him John of the Scales,
vnto the heire of Linne sayd hee, 12
sayes, "how dost thou, Lord of Linne,
doest either want gold or fee?
wilt thou not sell thy lands soe brode
to such a good fellow as me? 16
"ffor ... I ..." he said,
"my land, take it vnto thee,
I draw you to record, my Lord[e]s all:"
with that he cast him a good-se peny, 20
he told him the gold vpon the bord,
it wanted neuer a bare penny.
"that gold is thine, the land is mine,
the heire of Linne I wilbee." 24
"heeres gold inoughe," saithe the heire of Linne,
"both for me & my company."
he drunke the wine that was soe cleere,
& with euery man he made merry. 28
with-in 3 quarters of a yeere
his gold & fee it waxed thinne,
his merry men were from him gone,
& left him himselfe all alone. 32
he had neuer a penny left in his pursse,
neuer a penny but 3,
& one was brasse, & another was lead,
& another was white mony. 36
"Now well-a day!" said the heire of Linne,
"now welladay, & woe is mee!
for when I was the lord of Linne,
I neither wanted gold nor fee; 40
"for I haue sold my lands soe broad,
& haue not left me one penny!
I must goe now & take some read
vnto Edenborrow, & begg my bread." 44
he had not beene in Edenborrow
not 3 qwarters of a yeere,
but some did giue him & some said nay,
& some bid "to the deele gang yee! 48
"for if we shold hang any Land selfeer,
the first we wold begin with thee."
"Now welladay!" said the heire of Linne,
no[w] welladay, & woe is mee! 52
"for now I have sold my lands soe broad,
that mery man is irke with mee;
but when that I was the Lord of Linne,
then on my land I liued merrily; 56
"& now I have sold my land soe broade
that I haue not left me one pennye!
god be with my father!" he said,
"on his land he liued merrily." 60
Still in a study there as he stood,
he vnbethought him of [a] bill
[he vnbethought him of a bill]
which his father had left with him, 64
bade him he shold neuer on it looke
till he was in extreame neede,
"& by my faith," said the heire of Linne,
"then now I had neuer more neede." 68
he tooke the bill, & looked it on,
good comfort that he found there;
itt told him of a Castle wall
where there stood 3 chests in feare: 72
2 were full of the beaten gold,
the 3 was full of white mony.
he turned then downe his baggs of bread,
& filled them full of gold soe red; 76
then he did neuer cease nor blinne
till John of the Scales house he did winne.
when that he came to John of the Scales,
vpp at the speere he looked then: 80
there sate 3 lords vpon a rowe,
and John o the Scales sate at the bords head,
[and John o the Scales sate at the bords head]
because he was the Lord of Linne. 84
and then bespake the heire of Linne,
to John o the Scales wiffe thus sayd hee:
sayd, "Dame, wilt thou not trust me one shott
that I may sitt downe in this company?" 88
"now, christs curse on my head," shee said,
"if I do trust thee one pennye."
then bespake a good fellowe,
which sate by John o the Scales his knee, 92
Said, "haue thou here, thou heire of linne,
40 pence I will lend thee,—
some time a good fellow thou hast beene,—
& other 40 if neede bee," 96
thÉ druken wine that was soe cleere,
& euery man thÉ made merry;
& then bespake him John o the Scales,
vnto the Lord of linne said hee: 100
said, "how doest thou, heire of Linne,
since I did buy thy Lands of thee?
I will sell it to thee 20li better cheepe
nor euer I did buy it of thee. 104
"I draw you to recorde, lord[e]s all;"
with that he cast him gods penny;
then he tooke to his baggs of bread,
& they were full of the gold soe redd, 108
he told him the gold then over the borde;
it wanted neuer a broad pennye:
"that gold is thine, the land is mine,
& the heire of Linne againe I wilbee." 112
"Now welladay!" said John o the Scales wife,
"welladay, & woe is me!
Yesterday I was the lady of Linne,
& now I am but John o the Scales wiffe!" 116
saies, "haue thou heere, thou good fellow,
40 pence thou did lend me,
[40 pence thou did lend me,]
& 40^{l}. I will giue thee, 120
Ile make thee keeper of my forrest,
both of the wild deere & the tame."
but then bespake the heire of Linne,
these were the words, & thus said hee, 124
"Christs curse light vpon my crowne
if ere my land stand in any Jeopardye!"
ffins]
VI.
GASCOIGNE'S PRAISE OF THE FAIR BRIDGES, AFTERWARDS LADY SANDS, On Her having a Scar in Her Forehead. George Gascoigne was a celebrated poet in the early part of Queen Elizabeth's reign, and appears to great advantage among the miscellaneous writers of that age. He was author of three or four plays, and of many smaller poems; one of the most remarkable of which is a satire in blank verse, called the Steele-glass, 1576, 4to. Gascoigne was born in Essex, educated in both universities, whence he removed to Gray's-inn; but, disliking the study of the law, became first a dangler at court, and afterwards a soldier in the wars of the Low Countries. He had no great success in any of these pursuits, as appears from a poem of his, intitled "Gascoigne's Wodmanship, written to lord Gray of Wilton." Many of his epistles dedicatory are dated in 1575, 1576, from "his poore house in Walthamstoe:" where he died a middle-aged man in 1578, according to Anth. Wood: or rather in 1577, if he is the person meant in an old tract, intitled, "A remembrance of the well employed Life and godly End of Geo. Gascoigne, Esq.; who deceased at Stamford in Lincolnshire, Oct. 7, 1577, by Geo. Whetstone, Gent. an eye-witness of his godly and charitable end in this world," 4to. no date. [From a MS. of Oldys.] Mr. Thomas Warton thinks "Gascoigne has much exceeded all the poets of his age, in smoothness and harmony of versification."[558] But the truth is, scarce any of the earlier poets of Q. Elizabeth's time are found deficient in harmony and smoothness, tho' those qualities appear so rare in the writings of their successors. In the Paradise of Dainty Devises,[559] (the Dodsley's Miscellany of those times) will hardly be found one rough, or inharmonious line:[560] whereas the numbers of Jonson, Donne, and most of their contemporaries, frequently offend the ear like the filing of a saw. Perhaps this is in some measure to be accounted for from the growing pedantry of that age, and from the writers affecting to run their lines into one another, after the manner of the Latin and Greek poets. The following poem (which the elegant writer above quoted hath recommended to notice, as possessed of a delicacy rarely to be seen in that early state of our poetry) properly consists of Alexandrines of twelve and fourteen syllables, and is printed from two quarto black-letter collections of Gascoigne's pieces; the first intitled, "A hundreth sundrie flowres, bounde up in one small posie, &c. London, imprinted for Richarde Smith:" without date, but from a letter of H. W. (p. 202), compared with the printer's epist. to the reader, it appears to have been published in 1572, or 3. The other is intitled, "The Posies of George Gascoigne, Esq.; corrected, perfected, and augmented by the author; 1575.—Printed at Lond. for Richard Smith, &c." No year, but the epist. dedicat. is dated 1576. In the title-page of this last (by way of printer's,[561] or bookseller's device) is an ornamental wooden cut, tolerably well executed, wherein Time is represented drawing the figure of Truth out of a pit or cavern, with this legend, Occulta veritas tempore patet [R. S.] This is mentioned because it is not improbable but the accidental sight of this or some other title-page containing the same device, suggested to Rubens that well-known design of a similar kind, which he has introduced into the Luxemburg gallery,[562] and which has been so justly censured for the unnatural manner of its execution. The lady here celebrated was Catharine, daughter of Edmond second Lord Chandos, wife of William Lord Sands. See Collins's Peerage, vol. ii. p. 133, ed. 1779.
[George Gascoigne, soldier and poet, had many enemies, and when objection was made to the Privy Council against his return as a burgess for Midhurst, they termed him "a common rymer, ruffian, atheist," &c. Mr. W. C. Hazlitt printed a complete collection of his poems in the Roxburghe Library, 2 vols. London, 1869-70.]
In court whoso demaundes
What dame doth most excell;
For my conceit I must needes say,
Faire Bridges beares the bel.
Upon whose lively cheeke, 5
To prove my judgment true,
The rose and lillie seeme to strive
For equall change of hewe:
And therewithall so well
Hir graces all agree; 10
No frowning cheere dare once presume
In hir sweet face to bee.
Although some lavishe lippes
Which like some other best,
Will say, the blemishe on hir browe 15
Disgraceth all the rest.
Thereto I thus replie;
God wotte, they little knowe
The hidden cause of that mishap,
Nor how the harm did growe: 20
For when dame Nature first
Had framde hir heavenly face,
And thoroughly bedecked it
With goodly gleames of grace;
It lyked hir so well: 25
Lo here, quod she, a peece
For perfect shape, that passeth all
Appelles' worke in Greece.
This bayt may chaunce to catche
The greatest God of love, 30
Or mightie thundring Jove himself,
That rules the roast above.
But out, alas! those wordes
Were vaunted all in vayne;
And some unseen wer present there, 35
Pore Bridges, to thy pain.
For Cupide, crafty boy,
Close in a corner stoode,
Not blyndfold then, to gaze on hir:
I gesse it did him good. 40
Yet when he felte the flame
Gan kindle in his brest,
And herd dame Nature boast by hir
To break him of his rest,
His hot newe-chosen love 45
He chaunged into hate,
And sodeynly with mightie mace
Gan rap hir on the pate.
It greeved Nature muche
To see the cruell deede: 50
Mee seemes I see hir, how she wept
To see hir dearling bleede.
Wel yet, quod she, this hurt
Shal have some helpe I trowe:
And quick with skin she coverd it, 55
That whiter is than snowe.
Wherwith Dan Cupide fled,
For feare of further flame,
When angel-like he saw hir shine,
Whome he had smit with shame. 60
Lo, thus was Bridges hurt
In cradel of hir kind.[563]
The coward Cupide brake hir browe
To wreke his wounded mynd.
The skar still there remains; 65
No force, there let it bee:
There is no cloude that can eclipse
So bright a sunne, as she.
VII.
FAIR ROSAMOND. Most of the circumstances in this popular story of king Henry II. and the beautiful Rosamond have been taken for fact by our English historians; who, unable to account for the unnatural conduct of queen Eleanor in stimulating her sons to rebellion, have attributed it to jealousy, and supposed that Henry's amour with Rosamond was the object of that passion. Our old English annalists seem, most of them, to have followed Higden the monk of Chester, whose account, with some enlargements, is thus given by Stow:—"Rosamond the fayre daughter of Walter lord Clifford, concubine to Henry II. (poisoned by queen Elianor, as some thought) dyed at Woodstocke [A.D. 1177] where king Henry had made for her a house of wonderfull working; so that no man or woman might come to her, but he that was instructed by the king, or such as were right secret with him touching the matter. This house after some was named Labyrinthus, or Dedalus worke, which was wrought like unto a knot in a garden, called a maze;[564] but it was commonly said, that lastly the queene came to her by a clue of thridde, or silke, and so dealt with her, that she lived not long after: but when she was dead, she was buried at Godstow in an house of nunnes, beside Oxford, with these verses upon her tombe:— 'Hic jacet in tumba, Rosa mundi, non Rosa munda:
Non redolet, sed olet, quÆ redolere solet.'
"In English thus:— 'The rose of the world, but not the cleane flowre,
Is now here graven; to whom beauty was lent:
In this grave full darke nowe is her bowre,
That by her life was sweete and redolent:
But now that she is from this life blent,
Though she were sweete, now foully doth she stinke.
A mirrour good for all men, that on her thinke.'"
Stowe's Annals, ed. 1631, p. 154. How the queen gained admittance into Rosamond's bower is differently related. Hollinshed speaks of it, as "the common report of the people, that the queene ... founde hir out by a silken thread, which the king had drawne after him out of hir chamber with his foot, and dealt with hir in such sharpe and cruell wise, that she lived not long after." Vol. iii. p. 115. On the other hand, in Speede's Hist. we are told that the jealous queen found her out "by a clew of silke, fallen from Rosamund's lappe, as shee sate to take ayre, and suddenly fleeing from the sight of the searcher, the end of her silke fastened to her foot, and the clew still unwinding, remained behinde: which the queene followed, till she had found what she sought, and upon Rosamund so vented her spleene, as the lady lived not long after." 3rd edit. p. 509. Our ballad-maker with more ingenuity, and probably as much truth, tells us the clue was gained by surprise, from the knight who was left to guard her bower. It is observable, that none of the old writers attribute Rosamond's death to poison (Stow, above, mentions it merely as a slight conjecture); they only give us to understand, that the queen treated her harshly; with furious menaces, we may suppose, and sharp expostulations, which had such effect on her spirits, that she did not long survive it. Indeed on her tomb-stone, as we learn from a person of credit,[565] among other fine sculptures, was engraven the figure of a cup. This, which perhaps at first was an accidental ornament (perhaps only the chalice) might in after times suggest the notion that she was poisoned; at least this construction was put upon it, when the stone came to be demolished after the nunnery was dissolved. The account is, that "the tomb-stone of Rosamund Clifford was taken up at Godstow, and broken in pieces, and that upon it were interchangeable weavings drawn out and decked with roses red and green, and the picture of the cup, out of which she drank the poison given her by the queen, carved in stone." Rosamond's father having been a great benefactor to the nunnery of Godstow, where she had also resided herself in the innocent part of her life, her body was conveyed there, and buried in the middle of the choir; in which place it remained till the year 1191, when Hugh bishop of Lincoln caused it to be removed. The fact is recorded by Hoveden, a contemporary writer, whose words are thus translated by Stow: "Hugh bishop of Lincolne came to the abbey of nunnes, called Godstow, ... and when he had entred the church to pray, he saw a tombe in the middle of the quire, covered with a pall of silke, and set about with lights of waxe: and demanding whose tomb it was, he was answered, that it was the tombe of Rosamond, that was some time lemman to Henry II.... who for the love of her had done much good to that church. Then quoth the bishop, take out of this place the harlot, and bury her without the church, lest christian religion should grow in contempt, and to the end that, through example of her, other women being made afraid may beware, and keepe themselves from unlawfull and advouterous company with men."—Annals, p. 159. History further informs us, that king John repaired Godstow nunnery, and endowed it with yearly revenues, "that these holy virgins might releeve with their prayers, the soules of his father king Henrie, and of lady Rosamund there interred."[566] ... In what situation her remains were found at the dissolution of the nunnery, we learn from Leland: "Rosamundes tumbe at Godstowe nunnery was taken up [of] late; it is a stone with this inscription, Tumba RosamundÆ. Her bones were closid in lede, and withyn that bones were closyd yn lether. When it was opened a very swete smell came owt of it."[567] See Hearne's discourse above quoted, written in 1718; at which time he tells us, were still seen by the pool at Woodstock the foundations of a very large building, which were believed to be the remains of Rosamond's labyrinth. To conclude this (perhaps too prolix) account, Henry had two sons by Rosamond, from a computation of whose age, a modern historian has endeavoured to invalidate the received story. These were William Longue-espÉ (or Long-sword), earl of Salisbury, and Geoffrey, bishop of Lincolne.[568] Geoffrey was the younger of Rosamond's sons, and yet is said to have been twenty years old at the time of his election to that see in 1173. Hence this writer concludes, that king Henry fell in love with Rosamond in 1149, when in king Stephen's reign he came over to be knighted by the king of Scots; he also thinks it probable that Henry's commerce with this lady "broke off upon his marriage with Eleanor (in 1152) and that the young lady, by a natural effect of grief and resentment at the defection of her lover, entered on that occasion into the nunnery of Godstowe, where she died probably before the rebellion of Henry's sons in 1173." (Carte's Hist. vol. i. p. 652.) But let it be observed, that Henry was but sixteen years old when he came over to be knighted; that he staid but eight months in this island, and was almost all the time with the king of Scots; that he did not return back to England till 1153, the year after his marriage with Eleanor; and that no writer drops the least hint of Rosamond's having ever been abroad with her lover, nor indeed is it probable that a boy of sixteen should venture to carry over a mistress to his mother's court. If all these circumstances are considered, Mr. Carte's account will be found more incoherent and improbable than that of the old ballad; which is also countenanced by most of our old historians. Indeed the true date of Geoffrey's birth, and consequently of Henry's commerce with Rosamond, seems to be best ascertained from an ancient manuscript in the Cotton library: wherein it is thus registered of Geoffrey Plantagenet: "Natus est 5° Hen. II. [1159.] Factus est miles 25° Hen. II. [1179.] Elect. in Episcop. Lincoln. 28° Hen. II. [1182.]" Vid. Chron. de Kirkstall (Domitian XII.) Drake's Hist. of York, p. 422. The ballad of Fair Rosamond appears to have been first published in "Strange Histories, or Songs and Sonnets, of Kinges, Princes, Dukes, Lords, Ladyes, Knights, and Gentlemen, &c. By Thomas Delone. Lond. 1607." 12mo. It is here printed (with conjectural emendations), from four ancient copies in black-letter; two of them in the Pepys library.
[It is also printed in the Crown Garland of Golden Roses, and Garland of Goodwill. Reprinted by the Percy Society. In the Collection of Old Ballads, 1723, vol. i. p. 1, is another ballad on the same subject, with the title, The Unfortunate Concubine, or Rosamond's Overthrow. The story is also treated in Warner's Albion's England (ch. 41).]
When as king Henry rulde this land,
The second of that name,
Besides the queene, he dearly lovde
A faire and comely dame.
Most peerlesse was her beautye founde, 5
Her favour, and her face;
A sweeter creature in this worlde
Could never prince embrace.
Her crisped lockes like threads of golde
Appeard to each mans sight; 10
Her sparkling eyes, like Orient pearles,
Did cast a heavenlye light.
The blood within her crystal cheekes
Did such a colour drive,
As though the lillye and the rose 15
For mastership did strive.
Yea Rosamonde, fair Rosamonde,
Her name was called so,
To whom our queene, dame Ellinor,
Was known a deadlye foe. 20
The king therefore, for her defence,
Against the furious queene,
At Woodstocke builded such a bower,
The like was never seene.
Most curiously that bower was built 25
Of stone and timber strong,
An hundered and fifty doors
Did to this bower belong:
And they so cunninglye contriv'd
With turnings round about, 30
That none but with a clue of thread,
Could enter in or out.
And for his love and ladyes sake,
That was so faire and brighte,
The keeping of this bower he gave 35
Unto a valiant knighte.
But fortune, that doth often frowne
Where she before did smile,
The kinges delighte and ladyes joy
Full soon shee did beguile: 40
For why, the kinges ungracious sonne,
Whom he did high advance,
Against his father raised warres
Within the realme of France.
But yet before our comelye king 45
The English land forsooke,
Of Rosamond, his lady faire,
His farewelle thus he tooke:
"My Rosamonde, my only Rose,
That pleasest best mine eye: 50
The fairest flower in all the worlde
To feed my fantasye:
The flower of mine affected heart,
Whose sweetness doth excelle:
My royal Rose, a thousand times 55
I bid thee nowe farwelle!
For I must leave my fairest flower,
My sweetest Rose, a space,
And cross the seas to famous France,
Proud rebelles to abase. 60
But yet, my Rose, be sure thou shalt
My coming shortlye see,
And in my heart, when hence I am,
Ile beare my Rose with mee."
When Rosamond, that ladye brighte, 65
Did heare the king saye soe,
The sorrowe of her grieved heart
Her outward lookes did showe;
And from her cleare and crystall eyes
The teares gusht out apace, 70
Which like the silver-pearled dewe
Ranne downe her comely face.
Her lippes, erst like the corall redde,
Did waxe both wan and pale,
And for the sorrow she conceivde 75
Her vitall spirits faile;
And falling down all in a swoone
Before king Henryes face,
Full oft he in his princelye armes
Her bodye did embrace: 80
And twentye times, with watery eyes,
He kist her tender cheeke,
Untill he had revivde againe
Her senses milde and meeke.
Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose? 85
The king did often say.
Because, quoth shee, to bloodye warres
My lord must part awaye.
But since your grace on forrayne coastes
Amonge your foes unkinde 90
Must goe to hazard life and limbe,
Why should I staye behinde?
Nay rather, let me, like a page,
Your sworde and target beare;
That on my breast the blowes may lighte, 95
Which would offend you there.
Or lett mee, in your royal tent,
Prepare your bed at nighte,
And with sweete baths refresh your grace,
At your returne from fighte. 100
So I your presence may enjoye
No toil I will refuse;
But wanting you, my life is death;
Nay, death Ild rather chuse!
"Content thy self, my dearest love; 105
Thy rest at home shall bee
In Englandes sweet and pleasant isle;
For travell fits not thee.
Faire ladies brooke not bloodye warres;
Soft peace their sexe delightes; 110
'Not rugged campes, but courtlye bowers;
Gay feastes, not cruell fightes.'
My Rose shall safely here abide,
With musicke passe the daye;
Whilst I, amonge the piercing pikes, 115
My foes seeke far awaye.
My Rose shall shine in pearle, and golde,
Whilst Ime in armour dighte;
Gay galliards here my love shall dance,
Whilst I my foes goe fighte. 120
And you, sir Thomas, whom I truste
To bee my loves defence;
Be carefull of my gallant Rose
When I am parted hence."
And therewithall he fetcht a sigh, 125
As though his heart would breake:
And Rosamonde, for very griefe,
Not one plaine word could speake.
And at their parting well they mighte
In heart be grieved sore: 130
After that daye faire Rosamonde
The king did see no more.
For when his grace had past the seas,
And into France was gone,
With envious heart, queene Ellinor, 135
To Woodstocke came anone.
And forth she calles this trustye knighte,
In an unhappy houre;
Who with his clue of twined thread,
Came from this famous bower. 140
And when that they had wounded him,
The queene this thread did gette,
And went where ladye Rosamonde
Was like an angell sette.
But when the queene with stedfast eye 145
Beheld her beauteous face,
She was amazed in her minde
At her exceeding grace.
Cast off from thee those robes, she said,
That riche and costlye bee; 150
And drinke thou up this deadlye draught,
Which I have brought to thee.
Then presentlye upon her knees
Sweet Rosamonde did falle;
And pardon of the queene she crav'd 155
For her offences all.
"Take pitty on my youthfull yeares,
Faire Rosamonde did crye;
And lett mee not with poison stronge
Enforced bee to dye. 160
I will renounce my sinfull life,
And in some cloyster bide;
Or else be banisht, if you please,
To range the world soe wide.
And for the fault which I have done, 165
Though I was forc'd theretoe,
Preserve my life, and punish mee
As you thinke meet to doe."
And with these words, her lillie handes
She wrunge full often there; 170
And downe along her lovely face
Did trickle many a teare.
But nothing could this furious queene
Therewith appeased bee;
The cup of deadlye poyson stronge, 175
As she knelt on her knee,
Shee gave this comelye dame to drinke;
Who tooke it in her hand,
And from her bended knee arose,
And on her feet did stand: 180
And casting up her eyes to heaven,
Shee did for mercye calle;
And drinking up the poyson stronge,
Her life she lost withalle.
And when that death through everye limbe 185
Had showde its greatest spite,
Her chiefest foes did plaine confesse
Shee was a glorious wighte.
Her body then they did entomb,
When life was fled away, 190
At Godstowe, neare to Oxford towne,
As may be seene this day.
*
VIII.
QUEEN ELEANOR'S CONFESSIÓN. "Eleanor, the daughter and heiress of William duke of Guienne, and count of Poictou, had been married sixteen years to Louis VII. king of France, and had attended him in a croisade, which that monarch commanded against the infidels; but having lost the affections of her husband, and even fallen under some suspicions of gallantry with a handsome Saracen, Louis, more delicate than politic, procured a divorce from her, and restored her those rich provinces, which by her marriage she had annexed to the crown of France. The young count of Anjou, afterwards Henry II. king of England, tho' at that time but in his nineteenth year, neither discouraged by the disparity of age, nor by the reports of Eleanor's gallantry, made such successful courtship to that princess, that he married her six weeks after her divorce, and got possession of all her dominions as a dowery. A marriage thus founded upon interest was not likely to be very happy: it happened accordingly, Eleanor, who had disgusted her first husband by her gallantries, was no less offensive to her second by her jealousy: thus carrying to extremity, in the different parts of her life, every circumstance of female weakness. She had several sons by Henry, whom she spirited up to rebel against him; and endeavouring to escape to them disguised in man's apparel in 1173, she was discovered and thrown into a confinement, which seems to have continued till the death of her husband in 1189. She however survived him many years: dying in 1204, in the sixth year of the reign of her youngest son, John." See Hume's Hist. 4to. vol. i. pp. 260, 307. Speed, Stow, &c. It is needless to observe, that the following ballad (given, with some corrections, from an old printed copy) is altogether fabulous; whatever gallantries Eleanor encouraged in the time of her first husband, none are imputed to her in that of her second.
[The idea of the unlucky shrift exhibited in the following ballad is taken from some old story-teller. It occurs among the tales of Boccaccio, Bandello, Barbazan, La Fontaine, and several other writers. A copy of this ballad, differing very considerably from the present version, is to be found in Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads. The first stanza is as follows:— "The queen fell sick, and very, very sick
She was sick and like to dee
And she sent for a frier oure frae France
Her confessour to be."
The last stanza but four reads:— "And do you see yon pretty little girl
That's a beclad in green?
She's a friar's daughter oure in France
And I hoped to see her a queen."
"The king look'd over his left shoulder,
An angry man was he:—
An it werna for the oath I sware
Earl Marshall, thou shouldst dee."
Another version, recovered from recitation, and more like Percy's than Kinloch's, is printed by Motherwell in his Minstrelsy, under the title of "Earl Marshall."]
Queene Elianor was a sicke womÀn.
And afraid that she should dye:
Then she sent for two fryars of France
To speke with her speedilye.
The king calld downe his nobles all, 5
By one, by two, by three;
"Earl marshall, Ile goe shrive the queene,
And thou shalt wend with mee."
A boone, a boone; quoth earl marshÀll,
And fell on his bended knee; 10
That whatsoever queene Elianor saye,
No harme therof may bee.
Ile pawne my landes, the king then cryd,
My sceptre, crowne, and all,
That whatsoere queen Elianor sayes 15
No harme thereof shall fall.
Do thou put on a fryars coat,
And Ile put on another;
And we will to queen Elianor goe
Like fryar and his brother. 20
Thus both attired then they goe:
When they came to Whitehall,
The bells did ring, and the quiristers sing,
And the torches did lighte them all.
When that they came before the queene 25
They fell on their bended knee;
A boone, a boone, our gracious queene,
That you sent so hastilee.
Are you two fryars of France, she sayd,
As I suppose you bee, 30
But if you are two Englishe fryars,
You shall hang on the gallowes tree.
We are two fryars of France, they sayd,
As you suppose we bee,
We have not been at any masse 35
Sith we came from the sea.
The first vile thing that ever I did
I will to you unfolde;
Earl marshall had my maidenhed,
Beneath this cloth of golde. 40
Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king;
May God forgive it thee!
Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall;
With a heavye heart spake hee.
The next vile thing that ever I did, 45
To you Ile not denye,
I made a boxe of poyson strong,
To poison king Henrye.
Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king,
May God forgive it thee! 50
Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall;
And I wish it so may bee.
The next vile thing that ever I did,
To you I will discover;
I poysoned fair Rosamonde, 55
All in fair Woodstocke bower.
Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king;
May God forgive it thee!
Amen, amen, quoth earl marshal;
And I wish it so may bee. 60
Do you see yonders little boye,
A tossing of the balle?
That is earl marshalls eldest sonne,[569]
And I love him the best of all.
Do you see yonders little boye, 65
A catching of the balle?
That is king Henryes youngest sonne,[569]
And I love him the worst of all.
His head is fashyon'd like a bull; 70
His nose is like a boare.
No matter for that, king Henrye cryd,
I love him the better therfore.
The king pulled off his fryars coate,
And appeared all in redde: 75
She shrieked, and cryd, and wrung her hands,
And sayd she was betrayde.
The king lookt over his left shoulder,
And a grimme look looked hee,
Earl marshall, he sayd, but for my oathe, 80
Or hanged thou shouldst bee.
IX.
THE STURDY ROCK. This poem, subscribed M. T. (perhaps invertedly for T. Marshall[570]) is preserved in The Paradise of Daintie Devises. The two first stanzas may be found accompanied with musical notes in "An howres recreation in musicke, &c. by Richard Alison, Lond. 1606, 4to." usually bound up with three or four sets of "Madrigals set to music by Tho. Weelkes, Lond. 1597, 1600, 1608, 4to." One of these madrigals is so compleat an example of the bathos, that I cannot forbear presenting it to the reader:— "Thule, the period of cosmographie,
Doth vaunt of Hecla, whose sulphureous fire
Doth melt the frozen clime, and thaw the skie,
Trinacrian Ætna's flames ascend not hier:
These things seeme wondrous, yet more wondrous I,
Whose heart with feare doth freeze, with love doth fry.
"The Andelusian merchant, that returnes
Laden with cutchinele and china dishes,
Reports in Spaine, how strangely Fogo burnes
Amidst an ocean full of flying fishes:
These things seeme wondrous, yet more wondrous I,
Whose heart with feare doth freeze, with love doth fry."
Mr. Weelkes seems to have been of opinion, with many of his brethren of later times, that nonsense was best adapted to display the powers of musical composure.
[Percy's conjecture that the author is Marshall is not a happy one. Sir Egerton Brydges, in his edition of the Paradise, 1810 (British Bibliographer, vol. iii.), attributes it to M. Thorn, whose name is signed to another poem, numbered 52:— "Now mortall man beholde and see,
This worlde is but a vanitie,"
written in much the same spirit. The heading to the Sturdy Rock is:— "Man's flitting life fyndes surest stay,
Where sacred vertue beareth sway."]
The sturdy rock for all his strength
By raging seas is rent in twaine:
The marble stone is pearst at length,
With little drops of drizling rain:
The oxe doth yeeld unto the yoke, 5
The steele obeyeth the hammer stroke.
The stately stagge, that seemes so stout,
By yalping hounds at bay is set:
The swiftest bird, that flies about,
Is caught at length in fowlers net: 10
The greatest fish, in deepest brooke,
Is soon deceived by subtill hooke.
Yea man himselfe, unto whose will
All things are bounden to obey,
For all his wit and worthie skill, 15
Doth fade at length, and fall away.
There is nothing but time doeth waste;
The heavens, the earth consume at last.
But vertue sits triumphing still
Upon the throne of glorious fame: 20
Though spiteful death mans body kill,
Yet hurts he not his vertuous name:
By life or death what so betides,
The state of vertue never slides.
X.
THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN. This popular old ballad was written in the reign of Elizabeth, as appears not only from ver. 23, where the arms of England are called the "Queenes armes;" but from its tune's being quoted in other old pieces, written in her time. See the ballad on Mary Ambree in this volume. The late Mr. Guthrie assured the editor that he had formerly seen another old song on the same subject, composed in a different measure from this; which was truly beautiful, if we may judge from the only stanza he remembered. In this it was said of the old beggar, that "down his neck "——his reverend lockes
In comelye curles did wave;
And on his aged temples grewe
The blossomes of the grave."
The following ballad is chiefly given from the Editor's folio MS. compared with two ancient printed copies: the concluding stanzas, which contain the old beggar's discovery of himself, are not however given from any of these, being very different from those of the vulgar ballad. Nor yet does the Editor offer them as genuine, but as a modern attempt to remove the absurdities and inconsistencies, which so remarkably prevailed in this part of the song, as it stood before: whereas by the alteration of a few lines, the story is rendered much more affecting, and is reconciled to probability and true history. For this informs us, that at the decisive battle of Evesham (fought Aug. 4, 1265), when Simon de Montfort, the great Earl of Leicester, was slain at the head of the barons, his eldest son Henry fell by his side, and in consequence of that defeat, his whole family sunk for ever, the king bestowing their great honours and possessions on his second son, Edmund earl of Lancaster.
[This charming old ballad has enjoyed a long life of popularity, and according to Mr. Chappell it is still kept in print in Seven Dials, and sung about the country. As it is to be found in most collections, it has not been thought necessary to take note of the various trifling alterations which Percy made, but the six stanzas which he ejected in favour of the eight between brackets are printed at the end. A few of the alterations are improvements, but most of them are the reverse; thus, in place of the received reading of verse 28, "Was straightway in love with pretty Bessee,"
"Was straightway enamourd of pretty Bessee."
Mr. John Pickford (Notes and Queries, 4th Series, vol. ix. p. 64) once possessed an old mezzotint engraving of the Blind Beggar of a large folio size, on the margin of which were inscribed the lines referred to above. In Robert Greene's Pandosto (1588), from which Shakspere drew the plot of his Winter's Tale, there is the same simile as is used in these verses. Egistus says:—"Thou seest my white hayres are blossomes for the grave." Pepys in his Diary (25th June, 1663), speaks of going to dinner with Sir William and Lady Batten and Sir J. Minnes to Sir William Ryder's at Bethnall Green, and adds: "This very house was built by the blind beggar of Bednall Green, so much talked of and sang in ballads, but they say it was only some outhouse of it." The mansion was built by John Kirby, a citizen of London, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and afterwards became the residence of Sir Hugh Platt, author of The Jewell House of Art and Nature, 1594; The Garden of Eden, &c. Ryder died there in 1669.]
Part the First. Itt was a blind beggar, had long lost his sight,
He had a faire daughter of bewty most bright;
And many a gallant brave suiter had shee,
For none was soe comelye as pretty Bessee.
And though shee was of favor most faire, 5
Yett seeing shee was but a poor beggars heyre,
Of ancyent housekeepers despised was shee,
Whose sonnes came as suitors to prettye Bessee.
Wherefore in great sorrow faire Bessy did say,
Good father, and mother, let me goe away 10
To seeke out my fortune, whatever itt bee.
This suite then they granted to prettye Bessee.
Then Bessy, that was of bewtye soe bright,
All cladd in gray russett, and late in the night
From father and mother alone parted shee; 15
Who sighed and sobbed for prettye Bessee.
Shee went till shee came to Stratford-le-Bow;
Then knew shee not whither, nor which way to goe:
With teares shee lamented her hard destinÌe,
So sadd and soe heavy was pretty Bessee. 20
Shee kept on her journey untill it was day,
And went unto Rumford along the hye way;
Where at the Queenes armes entertained was shee:
Soe faire and wel favoured was pretty Bessee.
Shee had not beene there a month to an end, 25
But master and mistres and all was her friend:
And every brave gallant, that once did her see,
Was straight-way enamourd of pretty Bessee.
Great gifts they did send her of silver and gold,
And in their songs daylye her love was extold; 30
Her beawtye was blazed in every degree;
Soe faire and soe comelye was pretty Bessee.
The young men of Rumford in her had their joy;
Shee shewed herself curteous, and modestlye coye;
And at her commandment still wold they bee; 35
Soe fayre and soe comlye was pretty Bessee.
Foure suitors att once unto her did goe;
They craved her favor, but still she sayd noe;
I wold not wish gentles to marry with mee.
Yett ever they honored prettye Bessee. 40
The first of them was a gallant young knight,
And he came unto her disguisde in the night:
The second a gentleman of good degree,
Who wooed and sued for prettye Bessee.
A merchant of London, whose wealth was not small, 45
He was the third suiter, and proper withall:
Her masters own sonne the fourth man must bee,
Who swore he would dye for pretty Bessee.
And, if thou wilt marry with mee, quoth the knight,
Ile make thee a ladye with joy and delight; 50
My hart's so inthralled by thy bewtÌe,
That soone I shall dye for prettye Bessee.
The gentleman sayd, Come, marry with mee,
As fine as a ladye my Bessy shal bee:
My life is distressed: O heare me, quoth hee; 55
And grant me thy love, my prettye Bessee.
Let me bee thy husband, the merchant cold say,
Thou shalt live in London both gallant and gay;
My shippes shall bring home rych jewells for thee,
And I will for ever love pretty Bessee. 60
Then Bessy shee sighed, and thus shee did say,
My father and mother I meane to obey;
First gett their good will, and be faithfull to mee,
And you shall enjoye your prettye Bessee.
To every one this answer shee made, 65
Wherfore unto her they joyfullye sayd,
This thing to fulfill wee all doe agree;
But where dwells thy father, my prettye Bessee?
My father, shee said, is soone to be seene:
The seely blind beggar of Bednall-greene, 70
That daylye sits begging for charitÌe,
He is the good father of pretty Bessee.
His markes and his tokens are knowen very well;
He alwayes is led with a dogg and a bell:
A seely olde man, God knoweth, is hee, 75
Yett hee is the father of pretty Bessee.
Nay then, quoth the merchant, thou art not for mee:
Nor, quoth the innholder, my wiffe thou shalt bee:
I lothe, sayd the gentle, a beggars degree,
And therefore, adewe, my pretty Bessee! 80
Why then, quoth the knight, hap better or worse,
I waighe not true love by the waight of the pursse,
And bewtye is bewtye in every degree;
Then welcome unto me, my pretty Bessee.
With thee to thy father forthwith I will goe. 85
Nay soft, quoth his kinsmen, it must not be soe;
A poor beggars daughter noe ladye shal bee,
Then take thy adew of pretty Bessee.
But soone after this, by breake of the day
The knight had from Rumford stole Bessy away. 90
The younge men of Rumford, as thicke [as] might bee,
Rode after to feitch againe pretty Bessee.
As swifte as the winde to ryde they were seene,
Untill they came neare unto Bednall-greene;
And as the knight lighted most courteouslÌe, 95
They all fought against him for pretty Bessee.
But rescew came speedilye over the plaine,
Or else the young knight for his love had been slaine.
This fray being ended, then straitway he see
His kinsmen come rayling at pretty Bessee. 100
Then spake the blind beggar, Although I bee poore,
Yett rayle not against my child at my own doore:
Though shee be not decked in velvett and pearle,
Yett will I dropp angells with you for my girle.
And then, if my gold may better her birthe, 105
And equall the gold that you lay on the earth,
Then neyther rayle nor grudge you to see
The blind beggars daughter a lady to bee.
But first you shall promise, and have itt well knowne,
The gold that you drop shall all be your owne. 110
With that they replyed, Contented bee wee.
Then here's, quoth the beggar, for pretty Bessee.
With that an angell he cast on the ground,
And dropped in angels full three thousand[571] pound;
And oftentimes itt was proved most plaine, 115
For the gentlemens one the beggar dropt twayne:
Soe that the place, wherin they did sitt,
With gold it was covered every whitt.
The gentlemen then having dropt all their store,
Sayd, Now, beggar, hold, for wee have noe more. 120
Thou hast fulfilled thy promise arright.
Then marry, quoth he, my girle to this knight;
And heere, added hee, I will now throwe you downe
A hundred pounds more to buy her a gowne.
The gentlemen all, that this treasure had seene, 125
Admired the beggar of Bednall-greene:
And all those, that were her suitors before,
Their fleshe for very anger they tore.
Thus was faire Besse matched to the knight,
And then made a ladye in others despite: 130
A fairer ladye there never was seene,
Than the blind beggars daughter of Bednall-greene.
But of their sumptuous marriage and feast,
What brave lords and knights thither were prest,
The second fitt[572] shall set forth to your sight 135
With marveilous pleasure, and wished delight.
Part the Second. [The following stanzas (ll. 217-240 of the whole ballad), were rejected by Percy in favour of the verses above which are between brackets, and were written by Robert Dodsley, the bookseller and author:— "When ffirst our king his ffame did Advance,
& fought for his title in delicate ffrance,
in many a place many perills past hee:
then was not borne my pretty Bessye.
"And then in those warres went over to fight
many a braue duke, a Lord, & a Knight,
& with them younge Mountford, his courage most free:
but then was not borne my pretty Bessye.
"Att Bloyes there chanced a terrible day,
where many braue ffrenchmen vpon the ground Lay;
amonge them Lay Mountford for companye:
but then was not borne my pretty Bessye.[575]
"But there did younge Mountford, by blow on the face,
loose both his eyes in a very short space;
& alsoe his liffe had beene gone with his sight,
had not a younge woman come forth in the night
"Amongst the slaine men, as fancy did moue,
to search & to seeke for her owne true loue;
& seeing young Mountford there gasping to bee,
shee saued his liffe through charitye.
"And then all our vittalls, in Beggar attire
att hands of good people wee then did require.
att last into England, as now it is seene,
wee came, & remained att Bednall greene."[576]
†‡† The word fit for part, often occurs in our ancient ballads and metrical romances: which being divided into several parts for the convenience of singing them at public entertainments, were in the intervals of the feast sung by fits, or intermissions. So Puttenham in his Art of English Poesie, 1589, says: "the Epithalamie was divided by breaches into three partes to serve for three several fits, or times to be sung." P. 41. From the same writer we learn some curious particulars relative to the state of ballad-singing in that age, that will throw light on the present subject: speaking of the quick returns of one manner of tune in the short measures used by common rhymers; these, he says, "glut the eare, unless it be in small and popular musickes, sung by these Cantabanqui, upon benches and barrels heads, where they have none other audience then boys or countrey fellowes, that passe by them in the streete; or else by blind harpers, or such like taverne minstrels, that give a fit of mirth for a groat, ... their matter being for the most part stories of old time, as the tale of Sir Topas, the reportes of Bevis of Southampton, Guy of Warwicke, Adam Bell and Clymme of the Clough, and such other old romances or historical rimes, made purposely for recreation of the common people at Christmasse dinners and brideales, and in tavernes and alehouses, and such other places of base resorte." P. 69. This species of entertainment, which seems to have been handed down from the ancient bards, was in the time of Puttenham falling into neglect; but that it was not, even then, wholly excluded from more genteel assemblies, he gives us room to infer from another passage: "We ourselves," says this courtly[577] writer, "have written for pleasure a little brief romance, or historical ditty in the English tong of the Isle of Great Britaine in short and long meetres, and by breaches or divisions (i.e. fits), to be more commodiously sung to the harpe in places of assembly, where the company shal be desirous to heare of old adventures, and valiaunces of noble knights in times past, as are those of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table, Sir Bevys of Southampton, Guy of Warwicke, and others like." P. 33. In more ancient times no grand scene of festivity was compleat without one of these reciters to entertain the company with feats of arms, and tales of knighthood, or, as one of these old minstrels says, in the beginning of an ancient romance on Guy and Colbronde, in the Editor's folio MS. p. 349 [ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii., p. 527]: "When meate and drinke is great plentyÈ,
And lords and ladyes still wil bee,
And sitt and solace lythe;[578]
Then itt is time for mee to speake
Of keene knightes, and kempÈs great,
Such carping for to kythe."
If we consider that a groat in the age of Elizabeth was more than equivalent to a shilling now, we shall find that the old harpers were even then, when their art was on the decline, upon a far more reputable footing than the ballad-singers of our time. The reciting of one such ballad as this of the Beggar of Bednal Green, in two parts, was rewarded with half-a-crown of our money. And that they made a very respectable appearance, we may learn from the dress of the old beggar, in the preceding ballad, p. 178, where he comes into company in the habit and character of one of these minstrels, being not known to be the bride's father till after her speech, ver. 63. The exordium of his song, and his claiming a groat for his reward, v. 76, are peculiarly characteristic of that profession. Most of the old ballads begin in a pompous manner, in order to captivate the attention of the audience, and induce them to purchase a recital of the song: and they seldom conclude the first part without large promises of still greater entertainment in the second. This was a necessary piece of art to incline the hearers to be at the expense of a second groat's-worth. Many of the old romances extend to eight or nine fits, which would afford a considerable profit to the reciter. To return to the word fit; it seems at one time to have peculiarly signified the pause, or breathing-time, between the several parts (answering to Passus in the Visions of Pierce Plowman): thus in the ancient ballad of Chevy-Chase (vol. i. p. 27), the first part ends with this line: "The first fit here I fynde:"
i.e. here I come to the first pause or intermission. (See also vol. i. p. 44.) By degrees it came to signify the whole part or division preceding the pause. (See vol. i. pp. 162, 169.) This sense it had obtained so early as the time of Chaucer; who thus concludes the first part of his rhyme of Sir Thopas (writ in ridicule of the old ballad romances):— "Lo! lordis mine, here is a fitt;
If ye woll any more of it,
To tell it woll I fonde."
The word fit indeed appears originally to have signified a poetic strain, verse, or poem; for in these senses it is used by the Anglo-Saxon writers. Thus K. Ælfred in his Boethius, having given a version of lib. 3, metr. 5, adds, Ða ?e p???om Þa Þa? ????e a?un?en hÆ??e, p. 65, i.e. "When wisdom had sung these (Fitts) verses." And in the proem to the same book, Fon on ????e, "Put into (fitt) verse." So in Cedmon, p. 45. Feon? on ????e, seems to mean "composed a song," or "poem." The reader will trace this old Saxon phrase, in the application of the word fond, in the foregoing passage of Chaucer. Spencer has used the word fit to denote "a strain of music;" see his poem, intitled, Collin Clout's come home again, where he says:— "The Shepherd of the ocean [Sir Walt. Raleigh]
Provoked me to play some pleasant fit.
And when he heard the music which I made
He found himself full greatlye pleas'd at it," &c.
It is also used in the old ballad of K. Estmere, vol. i. book 1, No. 6, v. 243. From being applied to music, this word was easily transferred to dancing; thus in the old play of Lusty Juventus (described in preliminary note to book 2, No. 1 in this volume), Juventus says: "By the masse I would fayne go daunce a fitte."
And from being used as a part or division in a ballad, poem, &c. it is applied by Bale to a section or chapter in a book (though I believe in a sense of ridicule or sarcasm), for thus he intitles two chapters of his English Votaryes, part 2nd, viz. fol. 49, "The fyrst fytt of Anselme with Kynge Wyllyam Rufus;" fol. 50, "An other Fytt of Anselme with kynge Wyllyam Rufus."
XI.
FANCY AND DESIRE. By the Earl of Oxford. Edward Vere, Earl of Oxford, was in high fame for his poetical talents in the reign of Elizabeth; perhaps it is no injury to his reputation that few of his compositions are preserved for the inspection of impartial posterity. To gratify curiosity, we have inserted a sonnet of his, which is quoted with great encomiums for its "excellencie and wit," in Puttenham's Arte of Eng. Poesie,[579] and found intire in the Garland of Good-will. A few more of his sonnets (distinguished by the initial letters E. O.), may be seen in the Paradise of Daintie Devises. One of these is intitled The Complaint of a Lover, wearing blacke and tawnie. The only lines in it worth notice are these:— "A crowne of baies shall that man 'beare'
Who triumphs over me;
For black and tawnie will I weare,
Which mourning colours be."
We find in Hall's Chronicle, that when Q. Catharine of Arragon dyed, Jan. 8, 1536, "Queen Anne (Bullen) ware yellowe for the mourning." And when this unfortunate princess lost her head, May 19, the same year, "on the ascencion day following, the kyng for mourning ware whyte." Fol. 227, 228. Edward, who was the seventeenth earl of Oxford, of the family of Vere, succeeded his father in his title and honours in 1563, and died an aged man in 1604. See Mr. Walpole's Noble Authors. Athen. Oxon, &c.
[Walpole was in error when he stated that Lord Oxford died an aged man, for that nobleman was only about sixty at the time of his death. Sir Egerton Brydges points out in his edition of the Paradise of Dainty Devices (British Bibliographer, vol. iii.), that the earl could not have been born earlier than 1540 or 1541, because his elder half-sister Katherine, widow of Edward, Lord Windsor, died in January, 1599, aged 60. The chief events of his life are these. In 1585 he was the chief of those who embarked with the Earl of Leicester for the relief of the states of Holland and Zealand. In 1586 he sat as Lord Great Chamberlain of England on the trial of Mary, Queen of Scots. In 1588 he hired and fitted out ships at his own charge against the Spanish Armada. In 1589 he sat on the trial of Philip Howard, Earl of Arundel, and in 1601 on the trials of the Earls of Essex and Southampton. His private character was far from good, and his honour was tarnished by his dispute with Sir Philip Sidney. He used his first wife (a daughter of the great Burleigh) cruelly, in revenge for the statesman's treatment of his great friend, Thomas, Duke of Norfolk. In his early youth he travelled in Italy, and returned from that country a finished coxcomb, bringing home with him Italian dresses, perfumes, and embroidered gloves. He presented a pair of the latter to Queen Elizabeth, who was so pleased with them that she was drawn with them on her hands. The earl was buried at Hackney, on the 6th of July, 1604. Percy might have spared rather more praise for this pretty little poem.]
Come hither shepherd's swayne:
"Sir, what do you require?"
I praye thee, shewe to me thy name.
"My name is Fond Desire."
When wert thou borne, Desire? 5
"In pompe and pryme of may."
By whom, sweet boy, wert thou begot?
"By fond Conceit men say."
Tell me, who was thy nurse?
"Fresh Youth in sugred joy." 10
What was thy meate and dayly foode?
"Sad sighes with great annoy."
What hadst thou then to drinke?
"Unsavoury lovers teares."
What cradle wert thou rocked in? 15
"In hope devoyde of feares."
What lulld thee then asleepe?
"Sweete speech, which likes me best."
Tell me, where is thy dwelling place?
"In gentle hartes I rest." 20
What thing doth please thee most?
"To gaze on beautye stille."
Whom dost thou thinke to be thy foe?
"Disdayn of my good wille."
Doth companye displease? 25
"Yes, surelye, many one."
Where doth Desire delighte to live?
"He loves to live alone."
Doth either tyme or age
Bringe him unto decaye? 30
"No, no, Desire both lives and dyes
Ten thousand times a daye."
Then, fond Desire, farewelle,
Thou art no mate for mee;
I sholde be lothe, methinkes, to dwelle 35
With such a one as thee.
XII.
SIR ANDREW BARTON. I cannot give a better relation of the fact which is the subject of the following ballad, than in an extract from the late Mr. Guthrie's Peerage,[580] which was begun upon a very elegant plan, but never finished. Vol. i. 4to. p. 22. "The transaction which did the greatest honour to the earl of Surrey[581] and his family at this time (A.D. 1511), was their behaviour in the case of Barton, a Scotch sea-officer. This gentleman's father having suffered by sea from the Portuguese, he had obtained letters of marque for his two sons to make reprisals upon the subjects of Portugal. It is extremely probable, that the court of Scotland granted these letters with no very honest intention. The council board of England, at which the earl of Surrey held the chief place, was daily pestered with complaints from the sailors and merchants, that Barton, who was called Sir Andrew Barton, under pretence of searching for Portuguese goods, interrupted the English navigation. Henry's situation at that time rendered him backward from breaking with Scotland, so that their complaints were but coldly received. The earl of Surrey, however, could not smother his indignation, but gallantly declared at the council board, that while he had an estate that could furnish out a ship, or a son that was capable of commanding one, the narrow seas should not be infested. "Sir Andrew Barton, who commanded the two Scotch ships, had the reputation of being one of the ablest sea officers of his time. By his depredations, he had amassed great wealth, and his ships were very richly laden. Henry, notwithstanding his situation, could not refuse the generous offer made by the earl of Surrey. Two ships were immediately fitted out, and put to sea with letters of marque, under his two sons, Sir Thomas[582] and Sir Edward Howard. After encountering a great deal of foul weather, Sir Thomas came up with the 'Lion,' which was commanded by Sir Andrew Barton in person; and Sir Edward came up with the 'Union,' Barton's other ship (called by Hall, the 'Bark of Scotland.') The engagement which ensued was extremely obstinate on both sides; but at last the fortune of the Howards prevailed. Sir Andrew was killed fighting bravely, and encouraging his men with his whistle, to hold out to the last; and the two Scotch ships with their crews, were carried into the river Thames. (Aug. 2, 1511.) "This exploit had the more merit, as the two English commanders were in a manner volunteers in the service, by their father's order. But it seems to have laid the foundation of Sir Edward's fortune; for, on the 7th of April, 1512, the king constituted him (according to Dugdale) admiral of England, Wales, &c. "King James 'insisted' upon satisfaction for the death of Barton, and capture of his ship: tho' Henry had generously dismissed the crews, and even agreed that the parties accused might appear in his courts of admiralty by their attornies, to vindicate themselves." This affair was in a great measure the cause of the battle of Flodden, in which James IV. lost his life. In the following ballad will be found perhaps some few deviations from the truth of history; to atone for which it has probably recorded many lesser facts, which history hath not condescended to relate. I take many of the little circumstances of the story to be real, because I find one of the most unlikely to be not very remote from the truth. In pt. 2, v. 156, it is said, that England had before "but two ships of war." Now the "Great Harry" had been built only seven years before, viz. in 1504: which "was properly speaking the first ship in the English navy. Before this period, when the prince wanted a fleet, he had no other expedient but hiring ships from the merchants."—Hume. This ballad, which appears to have been written in the reign of Elizabeth, has received great improvements from the Editor's folio MS. wherein was an ancient copy, which, though very incorrect, seemed in many respects superior to the common ballad; the latter being evidently modernized and abridged from it. The following text is, however, in some places amended and improved by the latter (chiefly from a black-letter copy in the Pepys collection), as also by conjecture.
[There is little to be added to the above preface, but those who wish to read the Scottish version will find John Lesley's (Bishop of Ross) account of the affair (Historie of Scotland, 1436-1561), quoted in Mr. Furnivall's full preface to the ballad in the folio MS. (vol. iii. p. 399). Percy fully explains how he made up his copy. There is, in fact, hardly a line that has not been altered, and the notes at the foot of the page give the reader no idea of the changes that have been made. To have noted all the differences would have loaded the page unnecessarily, and therefore in consideration of the interest of the ballad, a reprint of the folio copy has been added, although there are several printed copies. It is difficult to understand what could have induced Percy to reject the pretty lines: "As itt beffell in Midsummer time
When burds singe sweetlye on every tree,"
for the incongruous opening of Flora with her flowers, and Neptune with his showers. The greatest alterations are in vv. 33-40, 129-136; part 2, vv. 1-8, 17-64, 89-94, 113-120, 145-176.]
The First Part. When Flora with her fragrant flowers
'Bedeckt the earth so trim and gaye,
'And Neptune with his daintye showers
'Came to present the monthe of Maye;'[583]
King Henrye rode to take the ayre, 5
Over the river of Thames past hee;
When eighty merchants of London came,
And downe they knelt upon their knee.
"O yee are welcome, rich merchÀnts;
Good saylors, welcome unto mee." 10
They swore by the rood, they were saylors good,
But rich merchÀnts they cold not bee:
"To France nor Flanders dare we pass:
Nor Bourdeaux voyage dare we fare;
And all for a rover that lyes on the seas,[584] 15
Who robbs us of our merchant ware."
King Henrye frownd, and turned him rounde,
And swore by the Lord, that was mickle of might,
"I thought he had not beene in the world,
Durst have wrought England such unright." 20
The merchants sighed, and said, alas!
And thus they did their answer frame,
He is a proud Scott, that robbs on the seas,
And Sir Andrewe Barton is his name.
The king lookt over his left shouldÈr, 25
And an angrye look then looked hee:
"Have I never a lorde in all my realme,
Will feitch yond traytor unto mee?"
Yea, that dare I; lord Howard sayes;[585]
Yea, that dare I with heart and hand; 30
If it please your grace to give me leave,
Myselfe wil be the only man.
Thou art but yong; the kyng replyed:
Yond Scott hath numbred manye a yeare.
"Trust me, my liege, Ile make him quail, 35
Or before my prince I will never appeare."
Then bowemen and gunners thou shalt have,
And chuse them over my realme so free;
Besides good mariners, and shipp-boyes,
To guide the great shipp on the sea. 40
The first man, that lord Howard chose,
Was the ablest gunner in all the realm,
Thoughe he was threescore yeeres and ten:
Good Peter Simon was his name.
Peter, sais hee, I must to the sea, 45
To bring home a traytor live or dead:
Before all others I have chosen thee;
Of a hundred gunners to be the head.
If you, my lord, have chosen mee
Of a hundred gunners to be the head, 50
Then hang me up on your maine-mast tree,
If I misse my marke one shilling bread.[586]
My lord then chose a boweman rare,
Whose active hands had gained fame.[587]
In Yorkshire was this gentleman borne, 55
And William Horseley was his name.[588]
Horseley, sayd he, I must with speede
Go seeke a traytor on the sea,
And now of a hundred bowemen brave
To be the head I have chosen thee. 60
If you, quoth hee, have chosen mee
Of a hundred bowemen to be the head;
On your maine-mÀst Ile hanged bee,
If I miss twelvescore one penny bread.[586]
With pikes and gunnes, and bowemen bold, 65
This noble Howard is gone to the sea;
With a valyant heart and a pleasant cheare,
Out at Thames mouth sayled he.
And days he scant had sayled three,
Upon the 'voyage' he tooke in hand,[589] 70
But there he mett with a noble shipp,
And stoutely made itt stay and stand.
Thou must tell me, lord Howard said,
Now who thou art, and what's thy name;
And shewe me where thy dwelling is: 75
And whither bound, and whence thou came.
My name is Henry Hunt, quoth hee
With a heavye heart, and a carefull mind;
I and my shipp doe both belong
To the Newcastle, that stands upon Tyne. 80
Hast thou not heard, nowe, Henrye Hunt,
As thou hast sayled by daye and by night,
Of a Scottish rover on the seas;[584]
Men call him sir Andrew Barton, knight?
Then ever he sighed, and sayd alas! 85
With a grieved mind, and well away!
But over-well I knowe that wight,
I was his prisoner yesterday.
As I was sayling uppon the sea,
A Burdeaux voyage for to fare; 90
To his hach-borde he clasped me,[590]
And robd me of all my merchant ware:
And mickle debts, Got wot, I owe,
And every man will have his owne;
And I am nowe to London bounde, 95
Of our gracious king to beg a boone.
That shall not need, lord Howard sais;
Lett me but once that robber see,
For every penny tane thee froe
It shall be doubled shillings three. 100
Nowe God forefend, the merchant said,
That you shold seek soe far amisse!
God keepe you out of that traitors hands!
Full litle ye wott what a man hee is.
Hee is brasse within, and steele without, 105
With beames on his topcastle stronge;
And eighteen pieces of ordinance
He carries on each side along:
And he hath a pinnace deerlye dight,[591]
St. Andrewes crosse that is his guide; 110
His pinnace beareth ninescore men,
And fifteen canons on each side.
Were ye twentye shippes, and he but one;
I sweare by kirke, and bower, and hall;
He wold overcome them everye one, 115
If once his beames they doe downe fall.[592]
This is cold comfort, sais my lord,
To wellcome a stranger thus to the sea:
Yet Ile bring him and his shipp to shore,
Or to Scottland hee shall carrye mee. 120
Then a noble gunner you must have,
And he must aim well with his ee,
And sinke his pinnace into the sea,
Or else hee never orecome will bee:
And if you chance his shipp to borde, 125
This counsel I must give withall,
Let no man to his topcastle goe
To strive to let his beams downe fall.
And seven pieces of ordinance,
I pray your honour lend to mee, 130
On each side of my shipp along,
And I will lead you on the sea.
A glasse Ile sett, that may be seene,
Whether you sayle by day or night,
And to-morrowe, I sweare, by nine of the clocke 135
You shall meet with Sir Andrewe Barton knight.
The Second Part. ? [The following version is reprinted from Hales and Furnivall's edition of the folio MS., vol. iii. p. 403:— As: itt beffell in M?dsumer time
when burds singe sweetlye on euery tree,
our noble King, King Henery the 8th,
ouer the riuer of Thames past hee. 4
hee was no sooner ouer the riuer,
downe in a fforrest to take the ayre,
but 80 merchants of London cittye
came kneeling before King Henery there: 8
"O yee are welcome, rich merchants,
[Good saylors, welcome unto me!"]
they swore by the rood thÉ were saylers good,
but rich merchants they cold not bee; 12
"to ffrance nor fflanders dare we nott passe,
nor Burdeaux voyage wee dare not ffare,
& all ffor a ffalse robber that lyes on the seas,
& robb vs of our merchants ware." 16
King Henery was stout, & he turned him about,
& swore by the Lord that was mickle of might,
"I thought he had not beene in the world throughout,
that durst haue wrought England such vnright." 20
but euer they sighed, and said—alas!—
vnto King Harry this answere againe
"he is a proud Scott that will robb vs all
if wee were 20 shipps and hee but one." 24
The King looket ouer his left shoulder,
amongst his Lords & Barrons soe ffree:
"haue I neuer Lord in all my realme
will ffeitch yond traitor vnto mee?" 28
"yes, that dare I!" sayes my Lord Chareles Howard,
neere to the King wheras hee did stand;
"If that your grace will giue me leaue,
my selfe wilbe the only man." 32
"thou shalt haue 600 men," saith our King,
"& chuse them out of my realme soe ffree;
besids Marriners and boyes,
to guide the great shipp on the sea." 36
"Ile goe speake with Sir Andrew," sais Charles, my Lord Haward;
"vpon the sea, if hee be there,
I will bring him & his shipp to shore,
or before my prince I will neuer come neere." 40
the ffirst of all my Lord did call,
a noble gunner hee was one;
this man was 60 yeeres and ten,
& Peeter Simon was his name. 44
"Peeter," sais hee, "I must sayle to the sea
to seeke out an enemye; god be my speed!
before all others I haue chosen thee;
of a 100^{d}. guners thoust be my head." 48
"my Lord," sais hee," if you haue chosen mee
of a 100d. gunners to be the head,
hange me att your maine-mast tree
if I misse my marke past 3 pence bread." 52
The next of all my Lord he did call,
a noble bowman hee was one;
In yorekeshire was this gentleman borne,
& william Horsley was his name. 56
"Horsley," sayes hee, "I must sayle to the sea
to seeke out an enemye; god be my speede!
before all others I haue chosen thee;
of a 100 bowemen thoust be my head." 60
"My Lord," sais hee," if you haue chosen mee
of a 100d. bowemen to be they head,
hang me att your mainemast tree
if I misse my marke past 12^{d}. bread." 64
with pikes, and gunnes, & bowemen bold,
this Noble Howard is gone to the sea
on the day before Midsummer euen,
& out att Thames mouth sayled they. 68
They had not sayled dayes 3
vpon their Iourney they tooke in hand,
but there they mett with a Noble shipp,
& stoutely made itt both stay & stand. 72
"thou must tell me thy name," sais Charles, my Lord Haward,
"or who thou art, or ffrom whence thou came,
yea, & where thy dwelling is,
to whom & where thy shipp does belong." 76
"My name," sayes hee," is Henery Hunt,
with a pure hart & a penitent mind;
I and my shipp they doe belong
vnto the New castle that stands vpon tine." 80
"Now thou must tell me, Harry Hunt,
as thou hast sayled by day & by night,
hast thou not heard of a stout robber?
men calls him Sir Andrew Bartton, Knight." 84
but euer he sighed, & sayd, "alas!
ffull well, my Lord, I know that wight!
he robd me of my merchants ware,
& I was his prisoner but yesternight. 88
"as I was sayling vppon the sea,
& Burdeaux voyage as I did ffare,
he Clasped me to his Archborde
& robd me of all my merchants ware; 92
& I am a man both poore & bare,
& euery man will haue his owne of me,
& I am bound towards London to ffare,
to complaine to my Prince Henerye." 96
"that shall not need," sais my Lord Haward;
"if thou canst lett me this robber see,
ffor euery peny he hath taken thee ffroe,
thou shalt be rewarded a shilling," quoth hee. 100
"Now god ffore-fend," saies Henery Hunt,
"my Lord, you shold worke soe ffarr amisse!
god keepe you out of that Traitors hands!
for you wott ffull litle what a man hee is. 104
"hee is brasse within, & steele without,
& beanes hee beares in his Topcastle stronge;
his shipp hath ordinance cleane round about;
besids, my Lord, hee is verry well mand; 108
he hath a pinnace is deerlye dight,
Saint Andrews crosse, that is his guide;
his pinnace beares 9 score men & more,
besids 15 cannons on euery side. 112
"if you were 20 shippes, & he but one,
either in charke-bord or in hall,
he wold ouercome you euerye one,
& if his beanes they doe downe ffall." 116
"this is cold comfort," sais my Lord Haward,
"to wellcome a stranger thus to the sea;
He bring him & his shipp to shore,
or else into Scottland hee shall carrye mee." 120
"then you must gett a noble gunner, my Lord,
that can sett well with his eye
& sinke his pinnace into the sea,
& soone then ouercome will hee bee 124
& when that you haue done this,
if you chance Sir Andrew for to bord,
lett no man to his Topcastle goe;
& I will giue you a glasse, my Lord, 128
"& then you need to fferae no Scott,
whether you sayle by day or by night;
& to-morrow by 7 of the clocke,
you shall meete with Sir Andrew Bartton, Knight. 132
I was his prisoner but yester night,
& he hath taken mee sworne;" quoth hee,
"I trust my L[ord] god will me fforgiue
& if that oath then broken bee. 136
"you must lend me sixe peeces, my Lord," quoth hee,
"into my shipp to sayle the sea,
& to-morrow by 9 of the clocke
your honour againe then will I see." 140
And the hache-bord where Sir Andrew Lay,
is hached with gold deerlye dight:
"now by my ffaith," sais Charles, my Lord Haward,
"then yonder Scott is a worthye wight!" 144
{ Take in your ancyents & your standards,
2d. parte { yea that no man shall them see,
{ & put me fforth a white willow wand,
{ as Merchants vse to sayle the sea. 148
But they stirred neither top nor mast,
but Sir Andrew they passed by.
"whatt English are yonder," said Sir Andrew,
"that can so litle curtesye? 152
"I haue beene Admirall ouer the sea
more then these yeeres three;
there is neuer an English dog, nor Portingall,
can passe this way without leaue of mee. 156
But now yonder pedlers, they are past,
which is no litle greffe to me:
ffeich them backe," sayes Sir Andrew Bartton,
"they shall all hang att my maine-mast tree." 160
with that they pinnace itt shott of,
that my Lord Haward might itt well ken,
itt strokes downe my Lords fforemast,
& killed 14 of my Lord his men. 164
"come hither, Simon!" sayes my Lord Haward,
"looke that thy words be true thou sayd;
Ile hang thee att my maine-mast tree
if thou misse thy marke past 12^d. bread." 168
Simon was old, but his hart itt was bold,
hee tooke downe a peece, & layd itt ffull lowe;
he put in chaine yeards 9,
besids other great shott lesse and more. 172
with that hee lett his gun shott goe;
soe well hee settled itt with his eye,
the ffirst sight that Sir Andrew sawe,
hee see his pinnace sunke in the sea. 176
when hee saw his pinace sunke,
Lord! in his hart hee was not well:
"cutt my ropes! itt is time to be gon!
Ile goe ffeitch yond pedlers backe my selfe!" 180
when my Lord Haward saw Sir Andrew loose,
lord! in his hart that hee was ffaine:
"strike on your drummes, spread out your ancyents!
sound out your trumpetts! sound out amaine!" 184
"ffight on, my men!" sais Sir Andrew Bartton;
"weate, howsoeuer this geere will sway,
itt is my Lord Adm?rall of England
is come to seeke mee on the sea." 188
Simon had a sonne, with shott of a gunn,—
well Sir Andrew might itt Ken,—
he shott itt in att a priuye place,
& killed 60 more of Sir Andrews men. 192
Harry Hunt came in att the other syde,
& att Sir Andrew hee shott then,
he droue downe his fformost tree,
& killed 80 more of Sir Andirwes men. 196
"I haue done a good turne," sayes Harry Hunt,
"Sir Andrew is not our Kings ffreind;
he hoped to haue vndone me yesternight,
but I hope I haue quitt him well in the end." 200
"Euer alas!" sayd Sir Andrew Barton,
"what shold a man either thinke or say?
yonder ffalse theeffe is my strongest Enemye,
who was my prisoner but yesterday. 204
come hither to me, thou Gourden good,
& be thou readye att my call,
& I will giue thee 300li.
if thou wilt lett my beanes downe ffall." 208
with that hee swarned the maine-mast tree,
soe did he itt with might and maine:
Horseley with a bearing arrow
stroke the Gourden through the braine, 212
And he ffell into the haches againe,
& sore of this wound that he did bleed.
then word went throug Sir Andrews men,
that they Gourden hee was dead. 216
"come hither to me, Iames Hambliton,—
thou art my sisters sonne, I haue no more,—
I will giue [thee] 600li.
If thou will lett my beanes downe ffall." 220
with that hee swarned the maine-mast tree,
soe did hee itt with might and maine:
Horseley with an-other broad Arrow
strake the yeaman through the braine, 224
that hee ffell downe to the haches againe:
sore of his wound that hee did bleed.
itt is verry true, as the welchman sayd,
couetousness getts no gaine. 228
but when hee saw his sisters sonne slaine,
Lord! in his heart hee was not well.
"goe ffeitch me downe my armour of proue,
ffor I will to the topcastle my-selfe. 232
goe ffeitch me downe my armour of prooffe,
for itt is guilded with gold soe cleere.
god be with my brother, Iohn of Bartton!
amongst the Portingalls hee did itt weare." 236
but when hee had his armour of prooffe,
& on his body hee had itt on,
euery man that looked att him
sayd, "gunn nor arrow hee neede feare none!" 240
"come hither, Horsley!" sayes my Lord Haward,
"& looke your shaft that itt goe right;
shoot a good shoote in the time of need,
& ffor thy shooting thoust be made a Knight." 244
"Ile doe my best," sayes Horslay then,
"your honor shall see beffore I goe;
if I shold be hanged att your mainemast,
I haue in my shipp but arrowes tow." 248
but att Sir Andrew hee shott then;
hee made sure to hitt his marke;
vnder the spole of his right arme
hee smote Sir Andrew quite throw the hart. 252
yett ffrom the tree hee wold not start,
but hee clinged to itt with might & maine.
vnder the coller then of his Iacke,
he stroke Sir Andrew thorrow the braine. 256
"ffight on my men," sayes Sir Andrew Bartton,
"I am hurt, but I am not slaine;
Ile lay mee downe & bleed a-while,
& then Ile rise & ffight againe. 260
ffight on my men," sayes Sir Andrew Bartton,
"these English doggs they bite soe lowe;
ffight on ffor Scottland & Saint Andrew
till you heare my whistle blowe!" 264
but when thÉ cold not heare his whistle blow,
sayes Harry Hunt, "Ile lay my head
you may bord yonder noble shipp, my Lord,
for I know Sir Andrew hee is dead." 268
with that they borded this noble shipp,
soe did they itt with might & maine;
thÉ ffound 18 score Scotts aliue,
besids the rest were maimed & slaine. 272
My Lord Haward tooke a sword in his hand,
& smote of Sir Andrews head.
the Scotts stood by, did weepe & mourne,
but neuer a word durst speake or say. 276
he caused his body to be taken downe,
& ouer the hatch-bord cast into the sea,
& about his middle 300 crownes:
"wheresoeuer thou lands, itt will bury thee." 280
with his head they sayled into England againe
with right good will & fforce & meanye,
& the day beffore New yeeres euen
& into Thames mouth againe they came. 284
My Lord Haward wrote to King Heneryes grace,
with all the newes hee cold him bring:
"such a new yeeres gifft I haue brought to your gr[ace],
As neuer did subiect to any King. 288
"ffor Merchandyes and Manhood,
the like is nott to be ffound;
the sight of these wold doe you good,
ffor you haue not the Like in your English ground." 292
but when hee heard tell that they were come,
full royally hee welcomed them home:
Sir Andrews shipp was the Kings New yeeres guifft;
A brauer shipp you neuer saw none. 296
Now hath our King Sir Andrews shipp
besett with pearles and precyous stones;
Now hath England 2 shipps of warr,
2 shipps of warr, before but one. 300
"who holpe to this?" sayes King Henerye,
"that I may reward him ffor his paine,"
"Harry Hunt and Peeter Simon,
William Horseleay, & I the same." 304
"Harry Hunt shall haue his whistle & chaine,
& all his Iewells, whatsoeuer they bee,
& other rich giffts that I will not name,
for his good service he hath done mee. 308
Horslay, right thoust be a Knight;
Lands and liuings thou shalt haue store.
Howard shalbe Erle of Nottingham,
& soe was neuer Haward before. 312
"Now Peeter Simon, thou art old,
I will maintaine thee & thy sonne,
thou shalt haue 500li. all in gold
ffor the good service that thou hast done." 316
then King Henerye shiffted his roome;
in came the Queene & ladyes bright;
other arrands they had none
but to see Sir Andrew Bartton, Knight. 320
but when they see his deadly fface,
his eyes were hollow in his head,
"I wold giue a 100li." sais King Henerye,
"the man were aliue as hee is dead! 324
yett ffor the manfull part that hee hath playd
both heere & beyond the sea
his men shall haue halfe a crowne a day
to bring them to my brother King Iamye." 328
ffinis.]
XIII.
LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT. A Scottish Song. The subject of this pathetic ballad the Editor once thought might possibly relate to the Earl of Bothwell, and his desertion of his wife Lady Jean Gordon, to make room for his marriage with the Queen of Scots. But this opinion he now believes to be groundless; indeed Earl Bothwell's age, who was upwards of 60 at the time of that marriage, renders it unlikely that he should be the object of so warm a passion as this elegy supposes. He has been since informed, that it entirely refers to a private story: A young lady of the name of Bothwell, or rather Boswell, having been, together with her child, deserted by her husband or lover, composed these affecting lines herself; which here are given from a copy in the Editor's folio MS. corrected by another in Allan Ramsay's Miscellany.
[The young lady alluded to above has since been set aside for the Hon. Anne Bothwell, daughter of Adam Bothwell, Bishop of Orkney. Mr. James Maidment, in his elegant edition of Scottish Ballads and Songs (vol. ii. 1868), writes: "The late Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, Esquire, whose knowledge of antiquated scandal was extraordinary, found in a MS. history of the family of Bothwell by Father Hay, that Adam Bothwell, Bishop of Orkney, had a daughter named 'Anne, who fell with child to a son of the Earl of Marre.'" Anne was the sister of the first Lord Holyroodhouse (created in 1607), and her seducer was Alexander, third son of John, seventh Earl of Mar, a cousin of her own, considered one of the handsomest men of his day. This is all very well for conjecture, but it is nothing more. The ballad does not appear to have been associated with a Bothwell, or in fact with any named person, until more than a century after it was written. In the Folio MS. it is simply called Balowe, and Percy therefore might well have hesitated before he gave it the heading he has, and before he Scotticised all the English words. The four earliest versions are in the following books: 1. Richard Brome's Comedy of the Northern Lass, or the Nest of Fools, printed in 1632, but acted somewhat earlier; 2. Percy Folio; 3. Pinkerton's MS. (1625-49), in the possession of David Laing; 4. John Gamble's MS., 1649; 5. Elizabeth Rogers' MS., 1658. Mr. Chappell drew up the following very valuable note for the edition of the Percy Folio (vol. iii. p. 518), which puts the matter very clearly:— "Baloo is a sixteenth-century ballad, not a seventeenth. It is alluded to by several of our early dramatists, and the tune is to be found in an early Elizabethan MS. known as William Ballet's Lute Book, as well as in Morley's Consort Lessons, printed in 1599. The words and tune are together in John Gamble's Music Book, a MS. in the possession of Dr. Rimbault, (date 1649,) and in Elizabeth Rogers's Virginal Book, in the library of the British Museum (Addit. MS. 10,337). The last is dated 1658, but the copy may have been taken some few years after. Baloo was so popular a subject that it was printed as a street ballad, with additional stanzas, just as 'My lodging it is on the cold ground' and other popular songs were lengthened for the same purpose. It has been reprinted in that form by Evans, in his Old Ballads, Historical and Narrative, edit. 1810, vol. i. p. 259. The title is 'The New Balow; or A Wenches Lamentation for the loss of her Sweetheart: he having left her a babe to play with, being the fruits of her folly.' The particular honour of having been the 'wench' in question was first claimed for 'Lady Anne Bothwell' in Part iii. of Comic and Serious Scots Poems, published by Watson in Edinburgh in 1711. Since that date Scotch antiquaries have been very busy in searching into the scandalous history of the Bothwell family, to find out which of the Lady Annes might have been halla-balooing. "May we not release the whole race from this imputation? The sole authority for the charge is Watson's Collection! the same book that ascribes to the unfortunate Montrose the song of 'My dear and only love, take heed,' and tacks it as a second part to his 'My dear and only love, I pray.' Shade of Montrose! how must you be ashamed of your over-zealous advocate! Let us examine whether the spirit of 'Lady Anne Bothwel' has more reason to be grateful. Among the stanzas ascribed to her by Watson are the two following, which are not to be found in any English copy:— 'I take my fate from best to worse
That I must needs now be a nurse,
And lull my young son in my lap.
From me, sweet orphan, take the pap:
Balow, my boy, thy mother mild
Shall sing, as from all bliss exil'd.'
"In the second we find the inducement supposed to have been offered by Lady Anne's lover:
'I was too credulous at the first
To grant thee that a maiden durst,
And in thy bravery thou didst vaunt
That I no maintenance should want:(!)
Thou swear thou lov'd, thy mind is moved,
Which since no otherwise has proved.'
"Comment is unnecessary. Can any one believe that such lines were written by or for any lady of rank? Yet they were copied as Lady Anne's by Allan Ramsay, and polished in his usual style. They have been polished and repolished by subsequent editors, but to little avail, for they remain great blots upon a good English ballad. There is not a Scotch word, nor even one peculiar to the North of England, in the whole of Watson's version." This attempt to dispute the Scottish origin of the ballad is strongly resented by the editor of the Ballad Minstrelsy of Scotland, Glasgow, 1871. At all events the fact remains that the title "Lady Anne Bothwell's Balow" cannot be traced farther back than Watson's Collection, published in 1711.]
Balow,[603] my babe, lye still and sleipe!
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe:
If thoust be silent, Ise be glad,
Thy maining[604] maks my heart ful sad.
Balow, my boy, thy mothers joy, 5
Thy father breides me great annoy.
Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe,
It grieves me sair to see thee weepe.
Whan he began to court my luve,
And with his sugred wordes[605] to muve, 10
His faynings fals, and flattering cheire
To me that time did not appeire:
But now I see, most cruell hee
Cares neither for my babe nor mee.
Balow, &c. 15
Lye still, my darling, sleipe a while,
And when thou wakest, sweitly smile:
But smile not, as thy father did,
To cozen maids: nay God forbid!
Bot yett I feire, thou wilt gae neire 20
Thy fatheris hart, and face to beire.
Balow, &c.
I cannae chuse, but ever will
Be luving to thy father still:
Whair-eir he gae, whair-eir he ryde, 25
My luve with him doth still abyde:
In weil or wae, whair-eir he gae,
Mine hart can neire depart him frae.
Balow, &c.
Bot doe not, doe not, prettie mine, 30
To faynings fals thine hart incline:
Be loyal to thy luver trew,
And nevir change hir for a new:
If gude or faire, of hir have care,
For womens banning's[606] wonderous sair. 35
Balow, &c.
Bairne, sin thy cruel father is gane,
Thy winsome smiles maun eise my paine;
My babe and I'll together live,
He'll comfort me when cares doe grieve: 40
My babe and I right saft will ly,
And quite forgeit man's cruelty.
Balow, &c.
Fareweil, fareweil, thou falsest youth,
That evir kist a womans mouth! 45
I wish all maides be warnd by mee
Nevir to trust mans curtesy;
For if we doe bot chance to bow,
They'le use us then they care not how.
Balow, my babe, ly stil, and sleipe, 50
It grives me sair to see thee weipe.
XIV.
THE MURDER OF THE KING OF SCOTS. The catastrophe of Henry Stewart, lord Darnley, the unfortunate husband of Mary Q. of Scots, is the subject of this ballad. It is here related in that partial, imperfect manner in which such an event would naturally strike the subjects of another kingdom, of which he was a native. Henry appears to have been a vain, capricious, worthless young man, of weak understanding, and dissolute morals. But the beauty of his person, and the inexperience of his youth, would dispose mankind to treat him with an indulgence, which the cruelty of his murder would afterwards convert into the most tender pity and regret: and then imagination would not fail to adorn his memory with all those virtues he ought to have possessed. This will account for the extravagant elogium bestowed upon him in the first stanza, &c. Henry lord Darnley was eldest son of the earl of Lennox, by the lady Margaret Douglas, niece of Henry VIII. and daughter of Margaret queen of Scotland by the earl of Angus, whom that princess married after the death of James IV.—Darnley, who had been born and educated in England, was but in his 21st year, when he was murdered, Feb. 9, 1567-8. This crime was perpetrated by the E. of Bothwell, not out of respect to the memory of Riccio, but in order to pave the way for his own marriage with the queen. This ballad (printed, with a few corrections, from the Editor's folio MS.) seems to have been written soon after Mary's escape into England in 1568, see v. 65.—It will be remembered at v. 5, that this princess was Q. dowager of France, having been first married to Francis II. who died Dec. 4, 1560.
[In the above note Percy takes the ordinary unfavourable view of Darnley's character, which is not entirely borne out by contemporary evidence. Darnley was unfortunate both in having all Mary's friends as his enemies and in having no supporters among her opponents because he was a Roman Catholic. It is not fair to dispose of such a ballad as the present with the inference that the writer could know nothing of Darnley's character. It does not stand alone, and it appears from the broadsides that circulated through the country after his murder that the people had a real liking for him although he had been amongst them only a couple of years. Robert Lekprevik, the most celebrated Edinburgh printer of his time, printed in 1567, The Testament and Tragedie of umquhile King Henrie Stewart of gude memorie, a powerful poem, which discovers clearly the popular feeling against Mary. Mr. Froude also found one of these ballads among the Scottish State Papers, in which curses are heaped upon Mary, who is called Dalila, Clytemnestra and Semiramis for her murder of "ane bonny boy." One of the verses is as follows:— "At ten houris on Sunday late at een,
When Dalila and Bothwell bade good night,
Off her finger false she threw ane ring,
And said, My Lord ane token you I plight."
If the circumstances of the English ballad are related in a partial and imperfect manner, what shall we say of the much more severe tone of those written in Scotland. Mr. Maidment[607] has gathered together a few facts that show how much may be said in favour of the unfortunate prince. It appears from Colville's Historie and Life of King James the sext, that Secretary Maitland inflamed Darnley's mind with the insinuation that Rizzio was too intimate with the queen. The criminal familiarity of her majesty with Rizzio appears to have been generally suspected, so that Darnley's conduct was that of a jealous husband who was fascinated with his wife. Colville gives the following portrait of him:—"He was a cumlie Prince, of a fayre and large stature of bodie, pleasant in countenance and affable to all men and devote, weill excercesit in martiall pastymis uponn horsback as ony prince of that age, bot was sa facile as he could concele no secreit although it myght tend to his awin weill."[608] He was certainly accomplished and had been carefully educated. He wrote a little tale called Utopia Nova when he was between eight and nine years of age, which he presented to his cousin, Mary Tudor. The queen in return presented him with a gold chain, which he acknowledged in a letter remarkable for the extreme beauty of its caligraphy. He also completed a translation into English of Valerius Maximus. Mr. Froude severely condemns the character of Darnley in the following terms: "He was at once meddlesome and incapable, weak and cowardly, yet insolent and unmanageable," and adds that Randolph described him as "a conceited, arrogant, intolerant fool." Nevertheless "the death of the husband of the Queen of Scots belongs to that rare class of incidents which, like the murder of CÆsar, have touched the interests of the entire educated world. Perhaps there is no single recorded act, arising merely out of private or personal passions, of which the public consequences have been so considerable."[609] Darnley was the second son of the Earl and Countess of Lennox, and not, as stated above, by Percy, the eldest. Their first-born died on the 28th of November, 1545, nine months after his birth. The following ballad is entitled Earle Bodwell in the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 260). In the first three editions of the Reliques there were more alterations from the MS. than in the fourth, for in the latter Percy restored several of the old readings. The retained alterations are judicious, and no more than the Editor might well feel himself justified in making.]
Woe worth, woe worth thee, false ScotlÀnde![610]
For thou hast ever wrought by sleight;[611]
The worthyest prince that ever was borne,[612]
You hanged under a cloud by night.
The queene of France a letter wrote, 5
And sealed itt with harte and ringe;
And bade him come Scotland within,
And shee wold marry and crowne him kinge.[613]
To be a king is a pleasant thing,[614]
To bee a prince unto a peere: 10
But you have heard, and soe have I too,
A man may well buy gold too deare.
There was an Italyan in that place,
Was as well beloved as ever was hee,
Lord David was his name,[615] 15
Chamberlaine to the queene was hee.[616]
If the king had risen forth of his place,[617]
He wold have sate him downe in the cheare,[618]
And tho itt beseemed him not so well,
Altho the kinge had beene present there. 20
Some lords in Scotlande waxed wroth,[619]
And quarrelled with him for the nonce;
I shall you tell how it befell,
Twelve daggers were in him att once.[620]
When the queene saw her chamberlaine was slaine,[621] 25
For him her faire cheeks shee did weete,[622]
And made a vowe for a yeare and a day[623]
The king and shee wold not come in one sheete.
Then some of the lords they waxed wrothe,[624]
And made their vow all vehementlye; 30
For the death of the queenes chamberlaine,
The king himselfe, how he shall dye.[625]
With gun-powder they strewed his roome,[626]
And layd greene rushes in his way;
For the traitors thought that very night[627] 35
This worthye king for to betray.[628]
To bedd the king he made him bowne;[629][630]
To take his rest was his desire;[631]
He was noe sooner cast on sleepe,
But his chamber was on a biasing fire. 40
Up he lope,[632] and the window brake;[633]
And hee had thirtye foote to fall:[634]
Lord Bodwell kept a privy watch,
Underneath his castle wall.
Who have wee here? lord Bodwell sayd:[635] 45
Now answer me, that I may know.[636]
"King Henry the eighth my uncle was;
For his sweete sake some pitty show."[637]
Who have we here? lord Bodwell sayd,[638]
Now answer me when I doe speake.[638] 50
"Ah, lord Bodwell, I know thee well;
Some pitty on me I pray thee take."
Ile pitty thee as much, he sayd,
And as much favor show to thee,[639]
As thou didst to the queenes chamberlaine,[640] 55
That day thou deemedst[641] him to die.[642]
Through halls and towers the king they ledd,[643]
Through towers and castles that were nye,[644]
Through an arbor into an orchÀrd,
There on a peare-tree hanged him hye.[645] 60
When the governor of Scotland heard[646]
How that the worthye king was slaine;[647]
He persued the queen so bitterlye,
That in Scotland shee dare not remaine.[648]
But she is fledd into merry England, 65
And here her residence hath taine;[649]
And through the queene of Englands grace,[650]
In England now shee doth remaine.[651]
XV.
A SONNET BY Q. ELIZABETH. The following lines, if they display no rich vein of poetry, are yet so strongly characteristic of their great and spirited authoress, that the insertion of them will be pardoned. They are preserved in Puttenham's Arte of English Poesie; a book in which are many sly addresses to the queen's foible of shining as a poetess. The extraordinary manner in which these verses are introduced shews what kind of homage was exacted from the courtly writers of that age, viz. "I find," says this antiquated critic, "none example in English metre, so well maintaining this figure [Exargasia, or the Gorgeous, Lat. Expolitio] as that dittie of her majesties owne making, passing sweete and harmonicall; which figure beyng as his very originall name purporteth the most bewtifull and gorgious of all others, it asketh in reason to be reserved for a last complement, and desciphred by a ladies penne herselfe beyng the most bewtifull, or rather bewtÌe of queenes.[652] And this was the occasion: our soveraigne lady perceiving how the Scottish queenes residence within this realme at so great libertie and ease (as were skarce meete for so great and dangerous a prysoner) bred secret factions among her people, and made many of the nobilitie incline to favour her partie: some of them desirous of innovation in the state: others aspiring to greater fortunes by her libertie and life. The queene our soveraigne ladie to declare that she was nothing ignorant of those secret practizes, though she had long with great wisdome and pacience dissembled it, writeth this dittie most sweete and sententious, not hiding from all such aspiring minds the daunger of their ambition and disloyaltie: which afterward fell out most truly by th' exemplary chastisement of sundry persons, who in fauour of the said Sc. Q. declining from her Maiestie, sought to interrupt the quiet of the Realme by many euill and vndutiful practizes." (p. 207.) This sonnet was probably written in 1584, not long before Hen. Percy 8th E. of Northumberland was imprisoned on suspicion of plotting with F. Throckmorton, Tho. Lord Paget, and the Guises, for invading England, and liberating the Q. of Scots, &c. (See Collins's Peerage, 1779, ii. 405.) The original is written in long lines or alexandrines, each of which is here, on account of the narrowness of the page, subdivided into two: but her majesty's orthography, or at least that of her copyist, is exactly followed. In the first edition of Harrington's NugÆ AntiquÆ, 1st vol. 1769, 12mo. p. 58, is a copy of this poem, with great variations, the best of which are noted below. It is there accompanied with a very curious letter, in which this sonnet is said to be "of her Highness own enditing ... My Lady Willoughby did covertly get it on her Majesties tablet, and had much hazard in so doing; for the Queen did find out the thief, and chid for spreading evil bruit of her writing such toyes, when other matters did so occupy her employment at this time; and was fearful of being thought too lightly of for so doing." ***
The doubt of future foes,[653]
Exiles my present ioy,
And wit me warnes to shun such snares
As threaten mine annoy.
For falshood now doth flow, 5
And subiect faith doth ebbe,[654]
Which would not be, if reason rul'd[655]
Or wisdome weu'd the webbe.[656]
But clowdes of iois vntried,[657]
Do cloake aspiring mindes, 10
Which turne to raine of late repent,[658]
By course of changed windes.
The toppe of hope supposed,
The roote of ruthe wil be,
And frutelesse all their graffed guiles, 15
As shortly ye shall see.
Then dazeld eyes with pride,
Which great ambition blinds,
Shalbe vnseeld by worthy wights,
Whose foresight falshood finds. 20
The daughter of debate,[659]
That eke discord doth sowe,[660]
Shal reap no gaine where former rule[661]
Hath taught stil peace to growe.
No forreine bannisht wight 25
Shall ancre in this port,
Our realme it brookes no strangers force,[662]
Let them elsewhere resort.
Our rusty sworde with rest,
Shall first his edge employ, 30
To polle their toppes, that seeke such change
And gape for 'such like' ioy.[663]
†‡† I cannot help subjoining to the above sonnet another distich of Elizabeth's preserved by Puttenham (p. 197) "which (says he) our soveraigne lady wrote in defiance of fortune." "Never thinke you, Fortune can beare the sway,
Where Vertue's force can cause her to obay."
The slightest effusion of such a mind deserves attention.
XVI.
KING OF SCOTS AND ANDREW BROWNE. This ballad is a proof of the little intercourse that subsisted between the Scots and English, before the accession of James I. to the crown of England. The tale which is here so circumstantially related does not appear to have had the least foundation in history, but was probably built upon some confused hearsay report of the tumults in Scotland during the minority of that prince, and of the conspiracies formed by different factions to get possession of his person. It should seem from ver. 97 to have been written during the regency, or at least before the death, of the earl of Morton, who was condemned and executed June 2, 1581; when James was in his 15th year. The original copy (preserved in the archives of the Antiquarian Society, London) is intitled, A new Ballad, declaring the great treason conspired against the young king of Scots, and how one Andrew Browne an Englishman, which was the king's chamberlaine, prevented the same. To the tune of Milfield, or els to Green-sleeves. At the end is subjoined the name of the author "W. Elderton. Imprinted at London for Yarathe James, dwelling in Newgate Market, over against Ch. Church," in black-letter, folio. This Elderton, who had been originally an attorney in the sheriffs' courts of London, and afterwards (if we may believe Oldys) a comedian, was a facetious fuddling companion, whose tippling and rhymes rendered him famous among his contemporaries. He was author of many popular songs and ballads: and probably other pieces in these volumes, besides the following, are of his composing. He is believed to have fallen a victim to his bottle before the year 1592. His epitaph has been recorded by Camden, and translated by Oldys:— "Hic situs est sitiens, atque ebrius Eldertonus,
Quid dico hic situs est? hic potius sitis est,"
"Dead drunk here Elderton doth lie;
Dead as he is, he still is dry:
So of him it may well be said,
Here he, but not his thirst, is laid."
See Stow's Lond. [Guild Hall].—Biog. Brit. [Drayton, by Oldys Note B.] Ath. Ox.—Camden's Remains.—The Exale-tation of Ale, among Beaumont's Poems, 8vo. 1653.
[This ballad was licensed to Y. James on the 30th of May, 1581. Percy does not mention in the above note the fact that the ballad is included in the Folio MS., where it is entitled Bishoppe and Browne (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 265). It only consists of ten stanzas in place of fifteen, and two of them are incomplete. There is a sort of second part, probably also by Elderton, called King James and Brown, in the MS. (vol. i. p. 135), the villain of which is the same Douglas who is warned in the 98th verse of the present ballad to "take heede you do not offend the king."]
Out alas!' what a griefe is this
That princes subjects cannot be true,
But still the devill hath some of his,
Will play their parts whatsoever ensue;
Forgetting what a grievous thing 5
It is to offend the anointed king?
Alas for woe, why should it be so,
This makes a sorrowful heigh ho.
In Scotland is a bonnie kinge,
As proper a youth as neede to be, 10
Well given to every happy thing,
That can be in a kinge to see:
Yet that unluckie country still,
Hath people given to craftie will.
Alas for woe, &c. 15
On Whitsun eve it so befell,
A posset was made to give the king,
Whereof his ladie nurse hard tell,
And that it was a poysoned thing:
She cryed, and called piteouslie; 20
Now help, or els the king shall die!
Alas for woe, &c.
One Browne, that was an English man,
And hard the ladies piteous crye,
Out with his sword, and bestir'd him than, 25
Out of the doores in haste to flie;
But all the doores were made so fast,
Out of a window he got at last
Alas for woe, &c.
He met the bishop coming fast, 30
Having the posset in his hande:
The sight of Browne made him aghast,
Who bad him stoutly staie and stand.
With him were two that ranne awa,
For feare that Browne would make a fray. 35
Alas for woe, &c.
Bishop, quoth Browne, what hast thou there?
Nothing at all, my friend, sayde he;
But a posset to make the king good cheere.
Is it so? sayd Browne, that will I see, 40
First I will have thyself begin,
Before thou go any further in;
Be it weale or woe, it shall be so,
This makes a sorrowful heigh ho.
The bishop sayde, Browne I doo know, 45
Thou art a young man poore and bare;
Livings on thee I will bestowe:
Let me go on, take thou no care.
No, no, quoth Browne, I will not be
A traitour for all Christiantie: 50
Happe well or woe, it shall be so,
Drink now with a sorrowfull, &c.
The bishop dranke, and by and by
His belly burst and he fell downe:
A just rewarde for his traitery. 55
This was a posset indeed, quoth Brown!
He serched the bishop, and found the keyes,
To come to the kinge when he did please.
Alas for woe, &c.
As soon as the king got word of this, 60
He humbly fell uppon his knee,
And praysed God that he did misse
To tast of that extremity:
For that he did perceive and know,
His clergie would betray him so: 65
Alas for woe, &c.
Alas, he said, unhappie realme,[664]
My father, and grandfather slaine:
My mother banished, O extreame!
Unhappy fate, and bitter bayne! 70
And now like treason wrought for me,
What more unhappie realme can be!
Alas for woe, &c.
The king did call his nurse to his grace,
And gave her twenty poundes a yeere; 75
And trustie Browne too in like case,
He knighted him with gallant geere;
And gave him 'lands and' livings great,
For dooing such a manly feat,
As he did showe, to the bishop's woe, 80
Which made, &c.
When all this treason done and past,
Tooke not effect of traytery;
Another treason at the last,
They sought against his majestie: 85
How they might make their kinge away,
By a privie banket[665] on a daye.
Alas for woe, &c.
'Another time' to sell the king
Beyonde the seas they had decreede: 90
Three noble Earles heard of this thing.
And did prevent the same with speede.
For a letter came, with such a charme,
That they should doo their king no harme:
For further woe, if they did soe, 95
Would make a sorrowful heigh hoe.
The Earle Mourton told the Douglas then,
Take heede you do not offend the king;
But shew yourselves like honest men
Obediently in every thing: 100
For his godmother[666] will not see
Her noble childe misus'd to be
With any woe; for if it be so,
She will make, &c.
God graunt all subjects may be true, 105
In England, Scotland, every where:
That no such daunger may ensue,
To put the prince or state in feare:
That God the highest king may see
Obedience as it ought to be, 110
In wealth or woe, God graunt it be so
To avoide the sorrowful heigh ho.
XVII.
THE BONNY EARL OF MURRAY. A Scottish Song. In December, 1591, Francis Stewart, Earl of Bothwell, had made an attempt to seize on the person of his sovereign James VI., but being disappointed, had retired towards the north. The king unadvisedly gave a commission to George Gordon Earl of Huntley, to pursue Bothwell and his followers with fire and sword. Huntley, under cover of executing that commission, took occasion to revenge a private quarrel he had against James Stewart Earl of Murray, a relation of Bothwell's. In the night of Feb. 7, 1592, he beset Murray's house, burnt it to the ground, and slew Murray himself; a young nobleman of the most promising virtues, and the very darling of the people. See Robertson's Hist. The present Lord Murray hath now in his possession a picture of his ancestor naked and covered with wounds, which had been carried about, according to the custom of that age, in order to inflame the populace to revenge his death. If this picture did not flatter, he well deserved the name of the bonny Earl, for he is there represented as a tall and comely personage. It is a tradition in the family, that Gordon of Bucky gave him a wound in the face: Murray half expiring, said, "You hae spilt a better face than your awin." Upon this, Bucky pointing his dagger at Huntley's breast, swore, "You shall be as deep as I;" and forced him to pierce the poor defenceless body. K. James, who took no care to punish the murtherers, is said by some to have privately countenanced and abetted them, being stimulated by jealousy for some indiscreet praises which his Queen had too lavishly bestowed on this unfortunate youth. See the preface to the next ballad. See also Mr. Walpole's Catalogue of Royal Auth. vol. i. p. 42.
[James Stewart, son of Sir James Stewart of Doune, acquired the earldom of Murray by his marriage with Elizabeth, eldest daughter and heiress of the Regent Murray. The earl was only twenty-one years of age at the time of his murder, which was perpetrated at Dinnibrissel, the seat of his mother, where he was on a visit. Doune Castle in Menteith is now in ruins, but it is still the property of the family, and gives the title of Viscount to the eldest son of the Earl of Murray. The Earl of Huntley, instead of being punished for his crime, was created a marquis, and King James made the young earl of Murray marry the eldest daughter of his father's murderer. There is another version of this ballad given in Finlay's Scottish Ballads (ii. 21), which commences— "Open the gates
And let him come in;
He is my brother Huntly,
He'll do me nae harm."
The author of this seems to have supposed that Murray married a sister of Huntley.]
Ye highlands, and ye lawlands,
Oh! quhair hae ye been?
They hae slaine the Earl of Murray,
And hae laid him on the green.
Now wae be to thee, Huntley! 5
And quhairfore did you sae!
I bade you bring him wi' you,
But forbade you him to slay.
He was a braw gallant,
And he rid at the ring; 10
And the bonny Earl of Murray,
Oh! he might hae been a king.
He was a braw gallant,
And he playd at the ba';
And the bonny Earl of Murray 15
Was the flower among them a'.
He was a braw gallant,
And he playd at the gluve;
And the bonny Earl of Murray,
Oh! he was the Queenes luve. 20
Oh! lang will his lady
Luke owre the castle downe,[667]
Ere she see the Earl of Murray
Cum sounding throw the towne.
XVIII.
YOUNG WATERS. A Scottish Ballad. It has been suggested to the Editor, that this ballad covertly alludes to the indiscreet partiality, which Q. Anne of Denmark is said to have shewn for the bonny Earl of Murray; and which is supposed to have influenced the fate of that unhappy nobleman. Let the reader judge for himself. The following account of the murder is given by a contemporary writer, and a person of credit, Sir James Balfour, knight, Lyon King of Arms, whose MS. of the Annals of Scotland is in the Advocates library at Edinburgh. "The seventh of Febry, this yeire, 1592, the Earle of Murray was cruelly murthered by the Earle of Huntley at his house in Dunibrissel in Fyffe-shyre, and with him Dumbar, shriffe of Murray. It [was] given out and publickly talked, that the Earle of Huntley was only the instrument of perpetrating this facte, to satisfie the King's jealousie of Murray, quhum the Queine more rashely than wyslie, some few dayes before had commendit in the King's heiringe, with too many epithets of a proper and gallant man. The reasons of these surmises proceidit from proclamatione of the Kings, the 18 of Marche following; inhibiting the younge Earle of Murray to persue the Earle of Huntley, for his father's slaughter, in respect he being wardit [imprisoned] in the castell of Blacknesse for the same murther, was willing to abide his tryall, averring that he had done nothing bot by the King's majesties commissione; and was neither airt nor part of the murther."[668] The following ballad is here given from a copy printed not long since at Glasgow, in one sheet 8vo. The world was indebted for its publication to the lady Jean Hume, sister to the Earl of Hume, who died at Gibraltar [in 1761].
[Buchan, who printed a longer version of this ballad in thirty-nine stanzas, believed young Waters to have been David Graham of Fintray, who was found guilty of being concerned in a Popish plot, and beheaded on the 16th of February, 1592. Chambers supposed that the fate of some one of the Scottish nobles executed by James I. after his return from captivity in England is alluded to. The various conflicting conjectures are none of them very probable, and there is nothing in the ballad that would conclusively connect it with authentic Scottish history. Percy's suggestion is peculiarly unfortunate, as young Waters was publicly executed at Stirling. Mr. Maidment points out (Scottish Ballads and Songs, vol. i. p. 62) that the first edition appeared under the following title, Young Waters, an Ancient Scotish Poem, never before printed. Glasgow: printed and sold by Robert and Andrew Foulis, MDCCLV. sm. 4to. pp. 8; and he suggests that Lord Hailes was the editor of it.]
About Yule, quhen the wind blew cule,
And the round tables began,
A'! there is cum to our kings court
Mony a well-favourd man.
The queen luikt owre the castle wa, 5
Beheld baith dale and down,
And then she saw young Waters
Cum riding to the town.
His footmen they did rin before,
His horsemen rade behind, 10
Ane mantel of the burning gowd
Did keip him frae the wind.
Gowden graith'd[669] his horse before
And siller shod behind,
The horse yong Waters rade upon 15
Was fleeter than the wind.
But then spake a wylie lord,
Unto the queen said he,
O tell me quha's the fairest face
Rides in the company. 20
I've sene lord, and I've sene laird,
And knights of high degree;
Bot a fairer face than young WatÈrs
Mine eyne did never see.
Out then spack the jealous king, 25
(And an angry man was he)
O, if he had been twice as fair,
You micht have excepted me.
You're neither laird nor lord, she says,
Bot the king that wears the crown; 30
Ther is not a knight in fair Scotland
Bot to thee maun bow down.
For a' that she could do or say,
Appeasd he wad nae bee;
Bot for the words which she had said 35
Young Waters he maun dee.
They hae taen young Waters, and
Put fetters to his feet;
They hae taen young Waters, and
Thrown him in dungeon deep. 40
Aft I have ridden thro' Stirling town
In the wind both and the weit;
Bot I neir rade thro' Stirling town
Wi fetters at my feet.
Aft have I ridden thro' Stirling town 45
In the wind both and the rain;
Bot I neir rade thro' Stirling town
Neir to return again.
They hae taen to the heiding-hill[670]
His young son in his craddle, 50
And they hae taen to the heiding-hill,
His horse both and his saddle.
They hae taen to the heiding-hill
His lady fair to see.
And for the words the Queen had spoke, 55
Young Waters he did dee.
XIX.
MARY AMBREE. In the year 1584, the Spaniards, under the command of Alexander Farnese, prince of Parma, began to gain great advantages in Flanders and Brabant, by recovering many strong holds and cities from the Hollanders, as Ghent, (called then by the English Gaunt,) Antwerp, Mechlin, &c. See Stow's Annals, p. 711. Some attempt made with the assistance of English volunteers to retrieve the former of those places probably gave occasion to this ballad. I can find no mention of our heroine in history, but the following rhymes rendered her famous among our poets. Ben Jonson often mentions her, and calls any remarkable virago by her name. See his Epicoene, first acted in 1609, act iv. sc. 2. His Tale of a Tub, act i. sc. 2. And his masque intitled the Fortunate Isles, 1626, where he quotes the very words of the ballad, ----"Mary Ambree,
(Who marched so free
To the siege of Gaunt,
And death could not daunt,
As the ballad doth vaunt)
Were a braver wight, &c."
She is also mentioned in Fletcher's Scornful Lady, act v. sub finem. ----"My large gentlewoman, my Mary Ambree, had I but seen into you, you should have had another bed-fellow."—— It is likewise evident, that she is the virago intended by Butler in Hudibras (p. i. c. iii. v. 365), by her being coupled with Joan d'Arc, the celebrated Pucelle d'Orleans. "A bold virago stout and tall
As Joan of France, or English Mall."
This ballad is printed from a black letter copy in the Pepys Collection, improved from the Editor's folio MS. and by conjecture. The full title is, The valorous acts performed at Gaunt by the brave bonnie lass Mary Ambree, who in revenge of her lovers death did play her part most gallantly. The tune is, The blind beggar, &c.
[The copy from the MS., which is printed at the end, will be found to differ considerably from the following version.]
When captain's couragious, whom death cold not daunte,
Did march to the siege of the citty of Gaunt,
They mustred their souldiers by two and by three,
And the formost in battle was Mary Ambree.
When brave Sir John Major[671] was slaine in her sight, 5
Who was her true lover, her joy, and delight,
Because he was slaine most treacherouslie,
Then vowd to revenge him Mary Ambree.
She clothed herselfe from the top to the toe
In buffe of the bravest, most seemelye to showe; 10
A faire shirt of male[672] then slipped on shee;
Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?
A helmett of proofe shee strait did provide,
A strong arminge sword shee girt by her side,
On her hand a goodly faire gauntlett put shee; 15
Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?
Then tooke shee her sworde and her targett in hand,
Bidding all such, as wold, bee of her band;
To wayte on her person came thousand and three:
Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree? 20
My soldiers, she saith, soe valiant and bold,
Nowe followe your captaine, whom you doe beholde;
Still foremost in battel myselfe will I bee:
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
Then cryed out her souldiers, and loude they did say, 25
Soe well thou becomest this gallant array,
Thy harte and thy weapons soe well do agree,
There was none ever like Mary Ambree.
Shee cheared her souldiers, that foughten for life,
With ancyent and standard, with drum and with fyfe, 30
With brave clanging trumpetts, that sounded so free;
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
Before I will see the worst of you all
To come into danger of death, or of thrall,
This hand and this life I will venture so free: 35
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
Shee led upp her souldiers in battaile array,
Gainst three times theyr number by breake of the daye;
Seven howers in skirmish continued shee:
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree? 40
She filled the skyes with the smoke of her shott,
And her enemyes bodyes with bullets soe hott;
For one of her owne men a score killed shee:
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
And when her false gunner, to spoyle her intent, 45
Away all her pellets and powder had sent,
Straight with her keen weapon shee slasht him in three:
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
Being falselye betrayed for lucre of hyre,
At length she was forced to make a retyre; 50
Then her souldiers into a strong castle drew shee:
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
Her foes they besett her on everye side,
As thinking close siege shee cold never abide;
To beate down the walles they all did decree: 55
But stoutlye deffyd them brave Mary Ambree.
Then tooke shee her sword and her targett in hand,
And mounting the walls all undaunted did stand,
There daring their captaines to match any three:
O what a brave captaine was Mary Ambree! 60
Now saye, English captaine, what woldest thou give
To ransome thy selfe, which else must not live?
Come yield thy selfe quicklye, or slaine thou must bee.
Then smiled sweetlye brave Mary Ambree.
Ye captaines couragious, of valour so bold, 65
Whom thinke you before you now you doe behold?
A knight, sir, of England, and captaine soe free,
Who shortelye with us a prisoner must bee.
No captaine of England; behold in your sight
Two brests in my bosome, and therfore no knight: 70
Noe knight, sirs, of England, nor captaine you see,
But a poor simple lass, called Mary Ambree.
But art thou a woman, as thou dost declare,
Whose valor hath provd so undaunted in warre?
If England doth yield such brave lasses as thee, 75
Full well may they conquer, faire Mary Ambree.
The prince of Great Parma heard of her renowne,
Who long had advanced for Englands faire crowne;
Hee wooed her and sued her his mistress to bee,
And offerd rich presents to Mary Ambree. 80
But this virtuous mayden despised them all,
Ile nere sell my honour for purple nor pall:
A mayden of England, sir, never will bee
The whore of a monarcke, quoth Mary Ambree.
Then to her owne country shee backe did returne, 85
Still holding the foes of faire England in scorne:
Therfore English captaines of every degree
Sing forth the brave valours of Mary Ambree.
[The following version is reprinted from Hales and Furnivall's edition of the folio MS. vol. i. p. 516. Captaine couragious, whome death cold daunte,
beseeged the Citye brauelye, the citty of Gaunt!
they mustered their soliders by 2 & by 3:
& the fformost in Battele was Mary Aumbree! 4
When braue Sir Iohn Maior was slaine in that fight,
that was her true louer, her Ioy & delight,
shee swore his death vnreuenged shold not bee;
was not this a braue, bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 8
The death of her trueloue shee meant to requite
with fire & ffamine [&] sword shining bright,
which lately was slaine most villanouslye;
was not this a braue, bonnye Lasse, Mary Aumbree? 12
Shee cladd her selfe from the top to the toe
in buffe of the brauest most seemlye to show,
& a faire shirt of Male slipped on shee;
was not this a braue, bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 16
A helmett of proofe shee tooke on her head,
& a strong arminge sword shee wore by her side;
a goodly fayre gauntlett on her hand put shee;
was not this a braue, bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 20
Shee tooke her sword & her targett in hand,
bidding all such as wold, wayte on her band.
to waite on her person there came 1000ds 3:
was not this a braue, bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 24
"My soldiers," shee saith, "soe valiant and bold,
now ffollow your Captain which you doe beholde;
in the fight formost my selfe will I bee!"
was not this a braue, bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 28
Then cryed out her souldiers, & loude thÉ did say,
"soe well thou becomes this gallant array,
thy hands & thy weapons doe well soe agree,
there was neuer none like to Mary Aumbree!" 32
Shee cheared her good souldiers that foughten for life,
with the cominge of Ancyents, with drum & with fife,
that braue sonding trumpetts with ingines soe free,
att last thÉ made mention of Mary Aumbree. 36
"Before that I doe see the worst of you all
come in the danger of your enemyes thrall,
this hand & this sword shall first sett him free;"
was not this a braue bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 40
Shee forward went on in Battaile array,
& straight shee did make her foes flye away;
7 houres in sckirmish continued shee;
was not this a braue bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 44
The skyes shee did fill with the smoke of her shott,
in her enemies bodyes with bulletts soe hott;
for one of her owne men, a sckore killed shee;
was not this a braue bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 48
Then did her gunner spoyle her intent,
pelletts & powder away had he sent:
then with her sword shee cutt him in 3,
was not this a braue bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 52
Then was shee caused to make a retyre,
being falsely betrayd, as itt doth appeare;
then to saue her selfe into a castle went shee;
was not this a braue bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 56
Her foes thÉ besett her on euerye side,
thinking in that castle shee wold not abyde;
to beate downe those walls they all did agree;
was not that a braue bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 60
She tooke her sword & her targett in hand,
shee came to the walls, and vpon them did stand,
their daring their Captaine to match any 3,
was not that a braue bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 64
"Thou English Captain, what woldest thou giue
to ransome thy liffe which else must not liue?
come downe quickly, & yeeld thee to mee!"
then smiled sweetlye Mary Aumbree; 68
"Good gentle Captain, what thinke you by mee,
or whom in my likenesse you take mee to bee?"
"a knight, sir, of England, & Captain soe free,
that I meane to take away prisoner with me." 72
"Good gentle Captain, behold in your sight
2 brests in my bosome, & therfore no knight;
noe knight, Sir, of England, nor Captain soe free,
but eue[n]e a pore bony Lasse, Mary Aumbree." 76
"If thou beest a woman as thou dost declare,
that hast mangled our soliders, & made them soe bare;
the like in my liffe I neuer did see;
therfore Ile honor thee, Mary Aumbree." 80
"Giue I be a woman, as well thou doest see,
Captain, thou gettst noe redemption of mee
without thou wilt fight with blowes 2 or 3."
was not this a braue bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 84
God send in warrs, such euent I abide,
god send such a solider to stand by my side!
then safely preserued my person wilbe;
there was neuer none like to Mary Aumbree!] 88
[671] So MS. Serjeant Major in PC.
XX.
BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBEY. Peregrine Bertie, lord Willoughby of Eresby, had, in the year 1586, distinguished himself at the siege of Zutphen, in the Low Countries. He was the year after made general of the English forces in the United Provinces, in room of the earl of Leicester, who was recalled. This gave him an opportunity of signalizing his courage and military skill in several actions against the Spaniards. One of these, greatly exaggerated by popular report, is probably the subject of this old ballad, which, on account of its flattering encomiums on English valour, hath always been a favourite with the people. "My lord Willoughbie (says a contemporary writer) was one of the queenes best swordsmen: ... he was a great master of the art military ... I have heard it spoken, that had he not slighted the court, but applied himself to the queene, he might have enjoyed a plentifull portion of her grace; and it was his saying, and it did him no good, that he was none of the Reptilia; intimating, that he could not creepe on the ground, and that the court was not his element; for indeed, as he was a great souldier, so he was of suitable magnanimitie, and could not brooke the obsequiousnesse and assiduitie of the courte." (Naunton.) Lord Willoughbie died in 1601.—Both Norris and Turner were famous among the military men of that age. The subject of this ballad (which is printed from an old black-letter copy, with some conjectural emendations,) may possibly receive illustration from what Chapman says in the Dedicat. to his version of Homer's Frogs and Mice, concerning the brave and memorable Retreat of Sir John Norris, with only 1000 men, thro' the whole Spanish army, under the duke of Parma, for three miles together.
[Lord Willoughby was the son of Katherine, daughter of Lord Willoughby of Eresby and widow of Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, and of her second husband, Richard Bertie. They were protestants and were forced to fly from persecution in 1553, taking refuge first in the Low Countries and afterwards in Poland. They called their son in consequence Peregrine, a name that has ever since remained in the family. Mr. Hales has drawn my attention to the fact that Spenser, when in Ireland, named one of his sons Peregrine for a similar reason. A ballad was written entitled The Duchess of Suffolk's Calamity, which contains these lines:
"A sonne she had in Germanie,
Peregrine Bartue cald by name,
Surnamde The Good Lord Willobie,
Of courage great and worthie fame."
Mr. Chappell informs us that the tune of the following ballad occurs in Lady Neville's Virginal Book (MS. 1591), and in Robinson's School of Music (1603), where it is called "Lord Willobie's Welcome Home."]
The fifteenth day of July,
With glistering spear and shield,
A famous fight in Flanders
Was foughten in the field:
The most couragious officers 5
Were English captains three;
But the bravest man in battel
Was brave lord WilloughbÈy.
The next was captain Norris,
A valiant man was hee: 10
The other captain Turner,
From field would never flee.
With fifteen hundred fighting men,
Alas! there were no more,
They fought with fourteen thousand then, 15
Upon the bloody shore.
Stand to it noble pikemen,
And look you round about:
And shoot you right you bow-men,
And we will keep them out: 20
You musquet and calliver[673] men,
Do you prove true to me,
I'le be the formost man in fight,
Says brave lord WilloughbÈy.
And then the bloody enemy 25
They fiercely did assail,
And fought it out most furiously,
Not doubting to prevail;
The wounded men on both sides fell
Most pitious for to see, 30
Yet nothing could the courage quell
Of brave lord WilloughbÈy.
For seven hours to all mens view
This fight endured sore,
Until our men so feeble grew 35
That they could fight no more;
And then upon dead horses
Full savourly they eat,
And drank the puddle water,
They could no better get. 40
When they had fed so freely,
They kneeled on the ground,
And praised God devoutly
For the favour they had found;
And beating up their colours, 45
The fight they did renew,
And turning tow'rds the Spaniard,
A thousand more they slew.
The sharp steel-pointed arrows,
And bullets thick did fly; 50
Then did our valiant soldiers
Charge on most furiously;
Which made the Spaniards waver,
They thought it best to flee,
They fear'd the stout behaviour 55
Of brave lord WilloughbÈy.
Then quoth the Spanish general,
Come let us march away,
I fear we shall be spoiled all
If here we longer stay; 60
For yonder comes lord Willoughbey
With courage fierce and fell,
He will not give one inch of way
For all the devils in hell.
And then the fearful enemy 65
Was quickly put to flight,
Our men persued couragiously,
And caught their forces quite;
But at last they gave a shout,
Which ecchoed through the sky, 70
God, and St. George for England!
The conquerers did cry.
This news was brought to England
With all the speed might be,
And soon our gracious queen was told 75
Of this same victory.
O this is brave lord Willoughbey,
My love that ever won,
Of all the lords of honour
'Tis he great deeds hath done. 80
To the souldiers that were maimed,
And wounded in the fray,
The queen allowed a pension
Of fifteen pence a day;
And from all costs and charges 85
She quit and set them free:
And this she did all for the sake
Of brave lord WilloughbÈy.
Then courage, noble Englishmen,
And never be dismaid; 90
If that we be but one to ten,
We will not be afraid
To fight with foraign enemies,
And set our nation free.
And thus I end the bloody bout 95
Of brave lord WilloughbÈy.
XXI.
VICTORIOUS MEN OF EARTH. This little moral sonnet hath such a pointed application to the heroes of the foregoing and following ballads, that I cannot help placing it here, tho' the date of its composition is of a much later period. It is extracted from Cupid and Death, a masque by J. S. (James Shirley) presented Mar. 26, 1653. London printed 1653, 4to.
[Dr. Rimbault informs us that this masque was represented at the Military Ground in Leicester Fields, with music by Matthew Locke and Dr. Christopher Gibbons. (Musical Illustrations, p. 22.)]
Victorious men of earth, no more
Proclaim how wide your empires are;
Though you binde in every shore,
And your triumphs reach as far
As night or day; 5
Yet you proud monarchs must obey,
And mingle with forgotten ashes, when
Death calls yee to the croud of common men.
Devouring famine, plague, and war,
Each able to undo mankind, 10
Death's servile emissaries are;
Nor to these alone confin'd,
He hath at will
More quaint and subtle wayes to kill;
A smile or kiss, as he will use the art, 15
Shall have the cunning skill to break a heart.
XXII.
THE WINNING OF CALES. The subject of this ballad is the taking of the city of Cadiz, (called by our sailors corruptly Cales) on June 21, 1596, in a descent made on the coast of Spain, under the command of the Lord Howard admiral, and the earl of Essex general. The valour of Essex was not more distinguished on this occasion than his generosity: the town was carried sword in hand, but he stopt the slaughter as soon as possible, and treated his prisoners with the greatest humanity, and even affability and kindness. The English made a rich plunder in the city, but missed of a much richer, by the resolution which the Duke of Medina, the Spanish admiral, took, of setting fire to the ships, in order to prevent their falling into the hands of the enemy [see v. 27]. It was computed, that the loss which the Spaniards sustained from this enterprize, amounted to twenty millions of ducats. See Hume's Hist. The Earl of Essex knighted on this occasion not fewer than sixty persons, which gave rise to the following sarcasm: "A gentleman of Wales, a knight of Cales,
And a laird of the North country;
But a yeoman of Kent with his yearly rent
Will buy them out all three."
The ballad is printed, with some corrections, from the Editor's folio MS. and seems to have been composed by some person, who was concerned in the expedition. Most of the circumstances related in it will be found supported by history.
[Philip II. was meditating the dispatch of a second armada, but before he could set his schemes in motion his strongest fortress was razed to the ground. Macaulay calls this "the most brilliant military exploit that was achieved on the continent by English arms during the long interval which elapsed between the battle of Agincourt and that of Blenheim." No wonder then that the English sang with enthusiasm of the glories of their success. Raleigh and Sir Francis Vere were among the leaders under Essex. It will be seen by the foot notes that Percy follows his MS. original pretty faithfully. Child prints a version from Deloney's Garland of Goodwill as reprinted by the Percy Society (vol. xxx. p. 113). The earliest notice of the tune (the new Tantara) to which this ballad was to be sung is in the year 1590.]
Long the proud Spaniards had vaunted to conquer us,
Threatning our country with fyer and sword;
Often preparing their navy most sumptuous
With as great plenty as Spain could afford.
Dub a dub, dub a dub, thus strike their drums;
Tantara, tantara, the Englishman comes.[674] 6
To the seas presentlye went our lord admiral,
With knights couragious and captains full good;
The brave Earl of Essex, a prosperous general,
With him prepared to pass the salt flood. 10
Dub a dub, &c.
At Plymouth speedilye, took they ship valiantlye,
Braver ships never were seen under sayle,
With their fair colours spread, and streamers ore their head,
Now bragging Spaniards, take heed of your tayle.
Dub a dub, &c. 15
Unto Cales cunninglye, came we most speedilye,
Where the kinges navy securelye did ryde;
Being upon their backs, piercing their butts of sacks,
Ere any Spaniards our coming descryde. 20
Dub a dub, &c.
Great was the crying, the running and ryding,[675]
Which at that season was made in that place;
The beacons were fyred, as need then required;
To hyde their great treasure they had little space.
Dub a dub, &c. 26
There you might see their ships, how they were fyred fast,
And how their men drowned themselves in the sea;
There might you hear them cry, wayle and weep piteously,
When they saw no shift to scape thence away. 30
Dub a dub, &c.
The great St. Phillip, the pryde of the Spaniards,
Was burnt to the bottom, and sunk in the sea;
But the St. Andrew, and eke the St. Matthew,
Wee took in fight manfullye and brought away.[676] 35
Dub a dub, &c.
The Earl of Essex most valiant and hardye,
With horsemen and footmen march'd up to the town;[677]
The Spanyards, which saw them, were greatly alarmed,
Did fly for their savegard, and durst not come down.
Dub a dub, &c. 41
Now, quoth the noble Earl, courage my soldiers all,
Fight and be valiant, the spoil you shall have;
And bÈ well rewarded all from the great to the small;[678]
But looke that the women and children you save.[679]
Dub a dub, &c. 46
The Spaniards at that sight, thinking it vain to fight,[680]
Hung upp flags of truce and yielded the towne;[681]
Wee marched in presentlye, decking the walls on hye,
With English colours which purchas'd renowne.[682] 50
Dub a dub, &c.
Entering the houses then, of the most richest men,
For gold and treasure we searched eche day;
In sÒme places wÈ did find, pyes baking left behind,[683]
Meate at fire rosting, and folkes run away.[684] 55
Dub a dub, &c.
Full of rich merchandize, every shop catch'd our eyes,[685]
Damasks and sattens and velvets full fayre:
Wh[i]ch soldiers mÈasur'd out by the length of their swords;
Of all commodities eche had a share.[686] 60
Dub a dub, &c.
Thus Cales was taken, and our brave general
March'd to the market-place, where he did stand:
There many prisoners fell to our several shares,[687]
Many crav'd mercye, and mercye they fannd.[688] 65
Dub a dub, &c.
When our brave general saw they delayed all,[689]
And would not ransome their towne as they said,
With their fair wanscots, their presses and bedsteds,
Their joint-stools and tables a fire we made;[690] 70
And when the town burned all in a flame,
With tara, tantara, away wee all came.[691]
XXIII.
THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE. This beautiful old ballad most probably took its rise from one of these descents made on the Spanish coasts in the time of queen Elizabeth; and in all likelihood from that which is celebrated in the foregoing ballad. It was a tradition in the West of England, that the person admired by the Spanish lady was a gentleman of the Popham family [Sir John Popham], and that her picture, with the pearl necklace mentioned in the ballad, was not many years ago preserved at Littlecot, near Hungerford, Wilts, the seat of that respectable family. Another tradition hath pointed out Sir Richard Levison, of Trentham, in Staffordshire, as the subject of this ballad; who married Margaret daughter of Charles Earl of Nottingham; and was eminently distinguished as a naval officer and commander in all the expeditions against the Spaniards in the latter end of Q. Elizabeth's reign, particularly in that to Cadiz in 1596, when he was aged 27. He died in 1605, and has a monument, with his effigy in brass, in Wolverhampton church. It is printed from an ancient black-letter copy, corrected in part by the Editor's folio MS.
[Sir John Popham and Sir Richard Levison are not the only candidates for the honour of being associated with the Spanish Lady, for strong claims have also been brought forward in favour of Sir Urias Legh of Adlington, Cheshire, and of Sir John Bolle of Thorpe Hall, Lincolnshire. A descendant of the latter worthy wrote a letter in his favour, which appeared in the Times of May 1, 1846, and from which the following particulars are extracted:—"In Illingworth's Topographical Account of Scampton, with Anecdotes of the family of Bolles, it is stated, 'the portrait of Sir John, drawn in 1596, at the age of thirty-six years, having on him the gold chain given him by the Spanish Lady, &c., is still in the possession of Captain Birch.' That portrait is now in the possession of Captain Birch's successor, Thomas Bosvile, Esq., of Ravensfield Park, Yorkshire." The writer of the letter signs himself Charles Lee, and dates from Coldrey, Hants. He adds another extract from Illingworth's Scampton, which is as follows: "On Sir John Bolle's departure from Cadiz, the Spanish Lady sent as presents to his wife, a profusion of jewels, and other valuables, amongst which was her portrait, drawn in green, plate, money, and other treasure. Some articles are still in the possession of the family, though her picture was unfortunately and by accident, disposed of about half a century since. This portrait being drawn in green, gave occasion to her being called in the neighbourhood of Thorpe Hall, the Green Lady, where to this day there is a traditionary superstition among the vulgar that Thorpe Hall was haunted by the Green Lady, who used nightly to take her seat in a particular tree near the mansion." Mr. Chappell points out that this ballad is quoted in Cupid's Whirligig, 1616, and parodied in Rowley's A Match at Midnight, 1633. It is also quoted in Mrs. Behn's Comedy, The Rovers, or the banished Cavaliers, and in Richard Brome's Northern Lasse. Shenstone was not satisfied with the beautiful simplicity of this charming ballad, and attempted in his Moral Tale of Love and Honour to place it before his readers "in less grovelling accents than the simple guise of ancient record." The mode he adopted was to spin it out by the frequent introduction of Ah me and 'tis true, and addresses to the "generous maid," Elvira, Iberia, &c. Wordsworth acted far differently, when he founded his exquisite Armenian Lady's Love upon this ballad: "You have heard of a Spanish Lady,
How she wooed an English man;
Hear now of a fair Armenian,
Daughter of the proud SoldÀn."
The copy in the folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. iii. p. 393) begins with verse 33, the early part having been torn out.]
Will you hear a Spanish lady,
How she wooed an English man?
Garments gay as rich as may be
Decked with jewels she had on.
Of a comely countenance and grace was she, 5
And by birth and parentage of high degree.
As his prisoner there he kept her,
In his hands her life did lye;
Cupid's bands did tye them faster
By the liking of an eye. 10
In his courteous company was all her joy,
To favour him in any thing she was not coy.
But at last there came commandment
For to set the ladies free,
With their jewels still adorned, 15
None to do them injury.
Then said this lady mild, Full woe is me;
O let me still sustain this kind captivity!
Gallant captain, shew some pity
To a ladye in distresse; 20
Leave me not within this city,
For to dye in heavinesse:
Thou hast set this present day my body free,
But my heart in prison still remains with thee.
"How should'st thou, fair lady, love me, 25
Whom thou knowst thy country's foe?
Thy fair wordes make me suspect thee:
Serpents lie where flowers grow."
All the harm I wishe to thee, most courteous knight,
God grant the same upon my head may fully light. 30
Blessed be the time and season,
That you came on Spanish ground;
If our foes you may be termed,
Gentle foes we have you found:
With our city, you have won our hearts eche one, 35
Then to your country bear away, that is your owne.
"Rest you still, most gallant lady;
Rest you still, and weep no more;
Of fair lovers there is plenty,
Spain doth yield a wonderous store." 40
Spaniards fraught with jealousy we often find,
But Englishmen through all the world are counted kind.
Leave me not unto a Spaniard,
You alone enjoy my heart;
I am lovely, young, and tender, 45
Love is likewise my desert:
Still to serve thee day and night my mind is prest;
The wife of every Englishman is counted blest.
"It wold be a shame, fair lady,
For to bear a woman hence; 50
English soldiers never carry
Any such without offence."
I'll quickly change myself, if it be so,
And like a page Ile follow thee, where'er thou go.[692]
"I have neither gold nor silver 55
To maintain thee in this case,
And to travel is great charges,
As you know in every place."
My chains and jewels every one shal be thy own,
And eke five hundred[693] pounds in gold that lies unknown. 60
"On the seas are many dangers,
Many storms do there arise,
Which wil be to ladies dreadful,
And force tears from watery eyes."
Well in troth I shall endure extremity,[694] 65
For I could find in heart to lose my life for thee.[695]
"Courteous ladye, leave this fancy,
Here comes all that breeds the strife;[696]
I in England have already
A sweet woman to my wife: 70
I will not falsify my vow for gold nor gain,
Nor yet for all the fairest dames that live in Spain."
O how happy is that woman
That enjoys so true a friend!
Many happy days God send her;[697] 75
Of my suit I make an end:[698]
On my knees I pardon crave for my offence,[699]
Which did from love and true affection first commence.[700]
Commend me to thy lovely lady,
Bear to her this chain of gold;[701] 80
And these bracelets for a token;
Grieving that I was so bold:
All my jewels in like sort take thou with thee,[702]
For they are fitting for thy wife, but not for me.[703]
I will spend my days in prayer, 85
Love and all her laws[704] defye;
In a nunnery will I shroud mee
Far from any companye:[705]
But ere my prayers have an end, be sure of this,
To pray for thee and for thy love I will not miss. 90
Thus farewell, most gallant captain!
Farewell too my heart's content![706]
Count not Spanish ladies wanton,
Though to thee my love was bent:
Joy and true prosperity goe still with thee![707] 95
"The like fall ever to thy share, most fair ladÌe."
XXIV.
ARGENTILE AND CURAN, Is extracted from an ancient historical poem in XIII. Books, intitled, Albion's England, by William Warner: "An author (says a former editor,) only unhappy in the choice of his subject, and measure of his verse. His poem is an epitome of the British history, and written with great learning, sense, and spirit. In some places fine to an extraordinary degree, as I think will eminently appear in the ensuing episode (of Argentile and Curan). A tale full of beautiful incidents in the romantic taste, extremely affecting, rich in ornament, wonderfully various in style; and in short, one of the most beautiful pastorals I ever met with." (Muses Library, 1738, 8vo.) To his merit nothing can be objected unless perhaps an affected quaintness in some of his expressions, and an indelicacy in some of his pastoral images. Warner is said, by A. Wood,[708] to have been a Warwickshire man, and to have been educated in Oxford, at Magdalene-hall: as also in the latter part of his life to have been retained in the service of Henry Cary Lord Hunsdon, to whom he dedicates his poem. However that may have been, new light is thrown upon his history, and the time and manner of his death are now ascertained, by the following extract from the parish register book of Amwell, in Hertfordshire; which was obligingly communicated to the Editor by Mr. Hoole, the very ingenious translator of Tasso, &c. (1608—1609.) "Master William Warner, a man of good yeares and of honest reputation; by his profession an Atturnye of the Common Pleas; author of Albions England, diynge suddenly in the night in his bedde, without any former complaynt or sicknesse, on thursday night beeinge the 9th daye of March; was buried the satturday following, and lyeth in the church at the corner under the stone of Walter Ffader." Signed Tho. Hassall Vicarius. Though now Warner is so seldom mentioned, his contemporaries ranked him on a level with Spenser, and called them the Homer and Virgil of their age.[709] But Warner rather resembled Ovid, whose Metamorphoses he seems to have taken for his model, having deduced a perpetual poem from the deluge down to the Æra of Elizabeth, full of lively digressions and entertaining episodes. And though he is sometimes harsh, affected, and obscure, he often displays a most charming and pathetic simplicity: as where he describes Eleanor's harsh treatment of Rosamond: "With that she dasht her on the lippes
So dyed double red:
Hard was the heart that gave the blow,
Soft were those lippes that bled."
The edition of Albion's England here followed was printed in 4to. 1602; said in the title-page to have been "first penned and published by William Warner, and now revised and newly enlarged by the same author." The story of Argentile and Curan is I believe the poet's own invention; it is not mentioned in any of our chronicles. It was however so much admired, that not many years after he published it, came out a larger poem on the same subject in stanzas of six lines, intitled, The most pleasant and delightful historie of Curan a prince of Danske, and the fayre princesse Argentile, daughter and heyre to Adelbright, sometime king of Northumberland, &c. by William Webster, London, 1617, in 8 sheets 4to. An indifferent paraphrase of the following poem.—This episode of Warner's has also been altered into the common ballad, of the two young Princes on Salisbury Plain, which is chiefly composed of Warner's lines, with a few contractions and interpolations, but all greatly for the worse. See the collection of Hist. Ballads, 1727, 3 vols. 12mo.
[Percy had already in the first volume quoted from Warner's poem the story of the Patient Countess.]
The Bruton's 'being' departed hence seaven kingdoms here begonne,
Where diversly in divers broyles the Saxons lost and wonne.
King Edel and king Adelbright in Diria jointly raigne;
In loyal concorde during life these kingly friends remaine.
When Adelbright should leave his life, to Edel thus he sayes; 5
By those same bondes of happie love, that held us friends alwaies;
By our by-parted crowne, of which the moyetie is mine;
By God, to whom my soule must passe, and so in time may thine;
I pray thee, nay I cÒnjure thee, to nourish, as thine owne,
Thy niece, my daughter Argentile, till she to age be growne; 10
And then, as thou receivest it, resigne to her my throne.
A promise had for his bequest, the testatÒr he dies;
But all that Edel undertooke, he afterwards denies.
Yet well he 'fosters for' a time the damsell that was growne
The fairest lady under heaven; whose beautie being knowne, 15
A many princes seeke her love; but none might her obtaine;
For grippell[710] Edel to himselfe her kingdome sought to gaine;
And for that cause from sight of such he did his ward restraine.
By chance one Curan, sonne unto a prince in Danske,[711] did see
The maid, with whom he fell in love, as much as man might bee. 20
Unhappie youth, what should he doe? his saint was kept in mewe;[712]
Nor he, nor any noble-man admitted to her vewe.
One while in melancholy fits he pines himselfe awaye;
Anon he thought by force of arms to win her if he maye:
And still against the kings restraint did secretly invay. 25
At length the high controller Love, whom none may disobay,
Imbased him from lordlines into a kitchen drudge,
That so at least of life or death she might become his judge.
Accesse so had to see and speake, he did his love bewray,
And tells his birth: her answer was, she husbandles would stay. 30
Meane while the king did beate his braines, his booty to atchieve,
Nor caring what became of her, so he by her might thrive;
At last his resolution was some pessant should her wive.
And (which was working to his wish) he did observe with joye
How Curan, whom he thought a drudge, scapt many an amorous toye.[713]35
The king, perceiving such his veine, promotes his vassal still,
Lest that the basenesse of the man should lett,[714] perhaps, his will.
Assured therefore of his love, but not suspecting who
The lover was, the king himselfe in his behalf did woe.
The lady resolute from love, unkindly takes that he 40
Should barre the noble, and unto so base a match agree:
And therefore shifting out of doores, departed thence by stealth;
Preferring povertie before a dangerous life in wealth.
When Curan heard of her escape, the anguish in his hart
Was more than much, and after her from court he did depart; 45
Forgetfull of himselfe, his birth, his country, friends, and all,
And only minding (whom he mist) the foundresse of his thrall.
Nor meanes he after to frequent or court, or stately townes,
But solitarily to live amongst the country grownes.[715]
A brace of years he lived thus, well pleased so to live, 50
And shepherd-like to feed a flocke himselfe did wholly give.
So wasting, love, by worke, and want, grew almost to the waine:
But then began a second love, the worser of the twaine.
A country wench, a neatherds maid, where Curan kept his sheepe,
Did feed her drove: and now on her was all the shepherds keepe. 55
He borrowed on the working daies his holy russets oft,[716]
And of the bacon's fat, to make his startops[717] blacke and soft.
And least his tarbox[718] should offend, he left it at the folde:
Sweete growte,[719] or whig,[720] his bottle had, as much as it might holde.
A sheeve[721] of bread as browne as nut, and cheese as white as snow,60
And wildings,[722] or the seasons fruit he did in scrip bestow,
And whilst his py-bald curre did sleepe, and sheep-hooke lay him by,
On hollow quilles of oten straw he piped melody
But when he spyed her his saint, he wip'd his greasie shooes,
And clear'd the drivell from his beard, and thus the shepheard wooes.65
"I have, sweet wench, a peece of cheese, as good as tooth may chawe,
And bread and wildings souling[723] well, (and therewithall did drawe
His lardrie) and in 'yeaning' see yon crumpling[724] ewe, quoth he,[725]
Did twinne this fall, and twin shouldst thou, if I might tup[726] with thee.
Thou art too elvish, faith thou art, too elvish and too coy: 70
Am I, I pray thee, beggarly, that such a flock enjoye?
I wis I am not: yet that thou doest hold me in disdaine
Is brimme[727] abroad, and made a gybe to all that keepe this plaine.
There be as quaint[728] (at least that thinke themselves as quaint) that crave
The match, that thou, I wot not why, maist, but mislik'st to have. 75
How wouldst thou match? (for well I wot, thou art a female) I,
Her know not here that willingly with maiden-head would die.[729]
The plowmans labour hath no end, and he a churle will prove:
The craftsman hath more worke in hand then fitteth unto love:
The merchant, traffiquing abroad, suspects his wife at home: 80
A youth will play the wanton; and an old man prove a mome.[730]
Then chuse a shepheard: with the sun he doth his flocke unfold,
And all the day on hill or plaine he merrie chat can hold;
And with the sun doth folde againe; then jogging home betime,
He turnes a crab, or turnes a round, or sings some merry ryme.[731] 85
Nor lacks he gleeful tales, whilst round the nut-brown bowl doth trot;[732]
And sitteth singing care away, till he to bed be got:
Theare sleepes he soundly all the night, forgetting morrow-cares:
Nor feares he blasting of his corne, nor uttering of his wares;
Or storms by seas, or stirres on land, or cracke of credit lost; 90
Not spending franklier than his flocke, shall still defray the cost.
Well wot I, sooth they say, that say more quiet nights and daies
The shepheard sleeps and wakes, than he whose cattel he doth graize.
Beleeve me, lasse, a king is but a man, and so am I:
Content is worth a monarchie, and mischiefs hit the hie; 95
As late it did a king and his not dwelling far from hence,
Who left a daughter, save thyselfe, for fair a matchless wench."—
Here did he pause, as if his tongue had done his heart offence.
The neatresse,[733] longing for the rest, did egge him on to tell
How faire she was, and who she was. "She bore, quoth he, the bell 100
For beautie: though I clownish am, I know what beautie is;
Or did I not, at seeing thee, I senceles were to mis.
* * * * *
Her stature comely, tall; her gate well graced; and her wit
To marvell at, not meddle with, as matchless I omit.
A globe-like head, a gold-like haire, a forehead smooth, and hie, 105
An even nose; on either side did shine a grayish eie:
Two rosie cheeks, round ruddy lips, white just-set teeth within;
A mouth in meane;[734] and underneathe a round and dimpled chin.
Her snowie necke, with blewish veines, stood bolt upright upon
Her portly shoulders; beating balles her veined breasts, anon 110
Adde more to beautie. Wand-like was her middle falling still,
And rising whereas women rise: * * *—imagine nothing ill.
And more, her long, and limber armes had white and azure wrists;
And slender fingers aunswere to her smooth and lillie fists.
A legge in print, a pretie foot; conjecture of the rest:
For amorous eies, observing forme, think parts obscured best. 116
With these, O raretie! with these her tong of speech was spare;
But speaking, Venus seem'd to speake, the balle from Ide to bear.
With Phoebe, Juno, and with both herselfe contends in face;
Wheare equall mixture did not want of milde and stately grace. 120
Her smiles were sober, and her lookes were chearefull unto all:
Even such as neither wanton seeme, nor waiward; mell,[735] nor gall.
A quiet minde, a patient moode, and not disdaining any;
Not gybing, gadding, gawdy: and sweete faculties had many.
A nimph, no tong, no heart, no eie, might praise, might wish, might see;125
For life, for love, for forme; more good, more worth, more faire than shee.
Yea such an one, as such was none, save only she was such:
Of Argentile to say the most, were to be silent much."
I knew the lady very well, but worthles of such praise,
The neatresse said: and muse I do, a shepheard thus should blaze 130
The 'coate' of beautie[736]. Credit me, thy latter speech bewraies
Thy clownish shape a coined shew. But wherefore dost thou weepe?
The shepheard wept, and she was woe, and both doe silence keepe.
"In troth, quoth he, I am not such, as seeming I professe:
But then for her, and now for thee, I from myselfe digresse. 135
Her loved I (wretch that I am a recreant to be)
I loved her, that hated love, but now I die for thee.
At Kirkland is my fathers court, and Curan is my name,
In Edels court sometimes in pompe, till love countrould the same:
But now—what now?—deare heart, how now? what ailest thou to weepe?"140
The damsell wept, and he was woe, and both did silence keepe.
I graunt, quoth she, it was too much that you did love so much:
But whom your former could not move, your second love doth touch.
Thy twice-beloved argentile submitteth her to thee,
And for thy double love presents herself a single fee,
In passion not in person chang'd, and I, my lord, am she. 146
They sweetly surfeiting in joy, and silent for a space,
When as the extasie had end, did tenderly imbrace;
And for their wedding, and their wish got fitting time and place.
Not England (for of Hengist then was named so this land) 150
Then Curan had an hardier knight; his force could none withstand:
Whose sheep-hooke laid apart, he then had higher things in hand.
First, making knowne his lawfull claime in Argentile her right,
He warr'd in Diria[737], and he wonne Bernicia[737] too in fight:
And so from trecherous Edel tooke at once his life and crowne, 155
And of Northumberland was king, long raigning in renowne.[738]
XXV.
CORIN'S FATE. Only the three first stanzas of this song are ancient; these are extracted from a small quarto MS. in the Editor's possession, written in the time of Q. Elizabeth. As they seemed to want application, this has been attempted by a modern hand.
Corin, most unhappie swaine,
Whither wilt thou drive thy flocke?
Little foode is on the plaine;
Full of danger is the rocke:
Wolfes and beares doe kepe the woodes; 5
Forests tangled are with brakes:
Meadowes subject are to floodes;
Moores are full of miry lakes.
Yet to shun all plaine, and hill,
Forest, moore, and meadow-ground, 10
Hunger will as surely kill:
How may then reliefe be found?
[Such is hapless Corins fate:
Since my waywarde love begunne,
Equall doubts begett debate 15
What to seeke, and what to shunne.
Spare to speke, and spare to speed;
Yet to speke will move disdaine:
If I see her not I bleed,
Yet her sight augments my paine. 20
What may then poor Corin doe?
Tell me, shepherdes, quicklye tell;
For to linger thus in woe
Is the lover's sharpest hell.]
?
XXVI.
JANE SHORE. Though so many vulgar errors have prevailed concerning this celebrated courtezan, no character in history has been more perfectly handed down to us. We have her portrait drawn by two masterly pens; the one has delineated the features of her person, the other those of her character and story. Sir Thomas More drew from the life, and Drayton has copied an original picture of her. The reader will pardon the length of the quotations, as they serve to correct many popular mistakes relating to her catastrophe. The first is from Sir Thomas More's History of Richard III. written in 1513, about thirty years after the death of Edw. IV. "Now then by and by, as it wer for anger, not for covetise, the protector sent into the house of Shores wife (for her husband dwelled not with her) and spoiled her of al that ever she had, (above the value of 2 or 3 thousand marks) and sent her body to prison. And when he had a while laide unto her, for the maner sake, that she went about to bewitch him, and that she was of counsel with the lord chamberlein to destroy him: in conclusion when that no colour could fasten upon these matters, then he layd heinously to her charge the thing that herselfe could not deny, that al the world wist was true, and that natheles every man laughed at to here it then so sodainly so highly taken,—that she was naught of her body. And for thys cause (as a goodly continent prince, clene and fautless of himself, sent oute of heaven into this vicious world for the amendment of mens maners) he caused the bishop of London to put her to open pennance, going before the crosse in procession upon a sonday with a taper in her hand. In which she went in countenance and pace demure so womanly; and albeit she was out of al array save her kyrtle only, yet went she so fair and lovely, namelye, while the wondering of the people caste a comly rud in her chekes (of which she before had most misse) that her great shame wan her much praise among those that were more amorous of her body, then curious of her soule. And many good folke also, that hated her living, and glad wer to se sin corrected, yet pittied thei more her penance then rejoiced therin, when thei considred that the protector procured it more of a corrupt intent, then any virtuous affeccion. "This woman was born in London, worshipfully frended, honestly brought up, and very wel maryed, saving somewhat too soone; her husbande an honest citizen, yonge, and goodly, and of good substance. But forasmuche as they were coupled ere she wer wel ripe, she not very fervently loved, for whom she never longed. Which was happely the thinge, that the more easily made her encline unto the king's appetite, when he required her. Howbeit the respect of his royaltie, the hope of gay apparel, ease, plesure, and other wanton welth, was able soone to perse a soft tender hearte. But when the king had abused her, anon her husband (as he was an honest man, and one that could his good, not presuming to touch a kinges concubine) left her up to him al together. When the king died, the lord chamberlen [Hastings] toke her:[739] which in the kinges daies, albeit he was sore enamoured upon her, yet he forbare her, either for reverence, or for a certain friendly faithfulness. "Proper she was, and faire: nothing in her body that you wold have changed, but if you would have wished her somewhat higher. Thus say thei that knew her in her youthe. Albeit some that now see her (for yet she liveth) deme her never to have bene wel visaged. Whose jugement seemeth me somewhat like, as though men should gesse the bewty of one longe before departed, by her scalpe taken out of the charnel-house; for now is she old, lene, withered, and dried up, nothing left but ryvilde skin, and hard bone. And yet being even such, whoso wel advise her visage, might gesse and devise which partes how filled, wold make it a fair face. "Yet delited not men so much in her bewty, as in her pleasant behaviour. For a proper wit had she, and could both rede wel and write; mery in company, redy and quick of aunswer, neither mute nor ful of bable; sometime taunting without displeasure, and not without disport. The king would say, That he had three concubines, which in three divers properties diversly excelled. One the meriest, another the wiliest, the thirde the holiest harlot in his realme, as one whom no man could get out of the church lightly to any place, but it were to his bed. The other two wer somwhat greater personages, and natheles of their humilite content to be nameles, and to forbere the praise of those properties; but the meriest was the Shoris wife, in whom the king therfore toke special pleasure. For many he had, but her he loved, whose favour, to sai the trouth (for sinne it wer to belie the devil) she never abused to any mans hurt, but to many a mans comfort and relief. Where the king toke displeasure, she would mitigate and appease his mind: where men were out of favour, she wold bring them in his grace: for many, that had highly offended, shee obtained pardon: of great forfeitures she gate men remission: and finally in many weighty sutes she stode many men in gret stede, either for none or very smal rewardes, and those rather gay than rich: either for that she was content with the dede selfe well done, or for that she delited to be sued unto, and to show what she was able to do wyth the king, or for that wanton women and welthy be not alway covetous. "I doubt not some shal think this woman too sleight a thing to be written of, and set amonge the remembraunces of great matters: which thei shal specially think, that happely shal esteme her only by that thei now see her. But me semeth the chaunce so much the more worthy to be remembred, in how much she is now in the more beggerly condicion, unfrended and worne out of acquaintance, after good substance, after as grete favour with the prince, after as grete sute and seeking to with al those, that in those days had busynes to spede, as many other men were in their times, which be now famouse only by the infamy of their il dedes. Her doinges were not much lesse, albeit thei be muche lesse remembred because thei were not so evil. For men use, if they have an evil turne, to write it in marble; and whoso doth us a good tourne, we write it in duste.[740] Which is not worst proved by her; for at this daye shee beggeth of many at this daye living, that at this day had begged, if shee had not bene." See More's workes, folio, bl. let. 1557, pp. 56, 57. Drayton has written a poetical epistle from this lady to her royal lover, and in his notes thereto he thus draws her portrait: "Her stature was meane, her haire of a dark yellow, her face round and full, her eye gray, delicate harmony being betwixt each part's proportion, and each proportion's colour, her body fat, white and smooth, her countenance cheerfull and like to her condition. The picture which I have seen of hers was such as she rose out of her bed in the morning, having nothing on but a rich mantle cast under one arme over her shoulder, and sitting on a chaire, on which her naked arm did lie. What her father's name was, or where she was borne, is not certainly knowne: but Shore, a young man of right goodly person, wealth and behaviour, abandoned her bed after the king had made her his concubine. Richard III. causing her to do open penance in Paul's church-yard, commanded that no man should relieve her, which the tyrant did, not so much for his hatred to sinne, but that by making his brother's life odious, he might cover his horrible treasons the more cunningly." See England's Heroical Epistles, by Mich. Drayton, Esq; Lond. 1637, 12mo. An original picture of Jane Shore almost naked is preserved in the Provost's Lodgings at Eton; and another picture of her is in the Provost's Lodge at King's College, Cambridge: to both which foundations she is supposed to have done friendly offices with Edward IV. A small quarto Mezzotinto print was taken from the former of these by J. Faber. The history of Jane Shore receives new illustration from the following letter of K. Richard III. which is preserved in the Harl. MSS. Num. 433, Art. 2378, but of which the copy transmitted to the Editor has been reduced to modern orthography, &c. It is said to have been addressed to Russel bp. of Lincoln, lord chancellor, Anno 1484. By the King. "Right Reverend Father in God, &c. signifying unto you, that it is shewed unto us, that our Servant and Solicitor Thomas Lynom, marvellously blinded and abused with the late Wife of William Shore, now living in Ludgate by our commandment, hath made Contract of Matrimony with her, as it is said, and intendeth, to our full great marvel, to effect the same. WE, for many causes, would be sorry that he should be so disposed; pray you therefore to send for him, and in that ye goodly may, exhort, and stir him to the contrary: And if ye find him utterly set for to marry her, and none otherwise would be advertized, then, if it may stand with the laws of the church, we be content the time of marriage be deferred to our coming next to London; that upon sufficient Surety found of her good abearing, ye do so send for her Keeper, and discharge him of our said commandment, by Warrant of these, committing her to the rule, and guiding of her Father, or any other, by your direction, in the mean season. Given, &c. "RIC. Rex." It appears from two articles in the same MS. that K. Richard had granted to the said Thomas Linom the office of King's Solicitor (Art. 134.), and also the Manor of Colmeworth, com. Bedf. to him and his Heirs Male (Art. 596.) The following ballad is printed (with some corrections) from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys collection. Its full title is, The woefull lamentation of Jane Shore, a goldsmith's wife in London, sometime king Edward IV. his concubine. To the tune of Live with me, &c. (See the first volume.) To every stanza is annexed the following burthen: "Then maids and wives in time amend,
For love and beauty will have end."
[The tale of Jane Shore's sufferings has found frequent narrators. The first known ballad upon her story was written by Thomas Churchyard (who died in 1604) and is included in the Mirror for Magistrates. The ballad here printed is attributed to Thomas Deloney, and was entered on the books of the Stationers' Company to William White, printer, on the 11th of June, 1603, but no copy of this edition is known to exist. Mr. Chappell remarks that no copy in any of the collections can be dated "earlier than Charles the Second's time, or at most than the Protectorate" (Roxburghe Ballads, vol. i. p. 479). It is printed in the Collection of Old Ballads, 1723 (vol. i. p. 145), and in the same collection is a burlesque song called King Edward and Jane Shore (vol. i. p. 153). The Roxburghe copy has a second part which Mr. Chappell says is "probably by another hand and of later date." Deloney has paid very little attention to facts, and many of his statements are groundless, for instance no one was hanged for succouring Jane (vv. 105-112), and instead of dying of hunger in a ditch (vv. 125-132), she survived her penance nearly fifty years. (She died in the 18th year of Henry VIII.'s reign.) Her husband is named Matthew Shore in verse 13, but we have the best authority for affirming that his true name was William. Richard III. followed Jane Shore with unrelenting hate, and not content with making her do penance, clapping her in prison and depriving her of all her property, which amounted to the value of 3000 marks, equal to about £20,000 of our present money, he prevented her from marrying a respectable man. There is no date to the paper printed above, but as John Russell, D.D., Bishop of Lincoln, was Richard's Chancellor only from Nov. 1484 to July 1485, we can fix it pretty closely. According to Mr. Nugent Bell, in his Huntingdon Peerage, the name of the father of Jane Shore was Thomas Wainstead. Granger says that the Duchess of Montagu had a lock of her hair which looked as if it had been powdered with gold dust. For further information, see Some Particulars of the Life of Jane Shore, by the Rev. Mark Noble, in Brayley's Graphic Illustrator, pp. 49-64.]
XXVII.
CORYDON'S DOLEFUL KNELL. This little simple elegy is given, with some corrections, from two copies, one of which is in The golden garland of princely delights. The burthen of the song, Ding Dong, &c. is at present appropriated to burlesque subjects, and therefore may excite only ludicrous ideas in a modern reader; but in the time of our poet it usually accompanied the most solemn and mournful strains. Of this kind is that fine aËrial Dirge in Shakespear's Tempest: "Full fadom five thy father lies,
Of his bones are corrall made;
Those are pearles that were his eyes;
Nothing of him, that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange:
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell,
Harke now I heare them, Ding dong bell."
"Burthen, Ding Dong."
I make no doubt but the poet intended to conclude the above air in a manner the most solemn and expressive of melancholy.
My Phillida, adieu love!
For evermore farewel!
Ay me! I've lost my true love,
And thus I ring her knell,
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong, 5
My Phillida is dead!
I'll stick a branch of willow
At my fair Phillis' head.
For my fair Phillida
Our bridal bed was made: 10
But 'stead of silkes so gay,
She in her shroud is laid.
Ding, &c.
Her corpse shall be attended
By maides in fair array,
Till the obsequies are ended, 15
And she is wrapt in clay.
Ding, &c.
Her herse it shall be carried
By youths, that do excell;
And when that she is buried,
I thus will ring her knell, 20
Ding, &c.
A garland shall be framed
By art and natures skill,
Of sundry-colour'd flowers,
In token of good-will[742]:
Ding, &c.
And sundry-colour'd ribbands 25
On it I will bestow;
But chiefly black and yellowe[743]:
With her to grave shall go.
Ding, &c.
I'll decke her tomb with flowers,
The rarest ever seen, 30
And with my tears, as showers,
I'll keepe them fresh and green.
Ding, &c.
Instead of fairest colours,
Set forth with curious art[744],
Ding, &c.
Her image shall be painted 35
On my distressed heart.
And thereon shall be graven
Her epitaph so faire,
"Here lies the loveliest maiden,
That e'er gave shepheard care." 40
Ding, &c.
In sable will I mourne;
Blacke shall be all my weede;
Ay me! I am forlorne,
Now Phillida is dead!
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong,
My Phillida is dead! 46
I'll stick a branch of willow
At my fair Phillis' head
THE END OF THE SECOND BOOK. RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY, ETC. SERIES THE SECOND.
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