"An ordinary song or ballad, that is the delight of the common people, cannot fail to please all such readers, as are not unqualified for the entertainment by their affectation or their ignorance; and the reason is plain, because the same paintings of nature which recommend it to the most ordinary reader, will appear beautiful to the most refined."—Addison, in Spectator, No. 70.
POEMS ON KING ARTHUR, etc. The third volume being chiefly devoted to romantic subjects, may not be improperly introduced with a few slight strictures on the old metrical romances: a subject the more worthy attention, as it seems not to have been known to such as have written on the nature and origin of books of chivalry, that the first compositions of this kind were in verse, and usually sung to the harp.[1]
I.
THE BOY AND THE MANTLE Is printed verbatim from the old MS. described in the Preface.[2] The Editor believes it more ancient than it will appear to be at first sight; the transcriber of that manuscript having reduced the orthography and style in many instances to the standard of his own times. The incidents of the Mantle and the Knife have not, that I can recollect, been borrowed from any other writer. The former of these evidently suggested to Spenser his conceit of Florimel's Girdle, b. iv. c. 5, st. 3. "That girdle gave the virtue of chaste love
And wivehood true to all that did it beare;
But whosoever contrarie doth prove,
Might not the same about her middle weare,
But it would loose or else asunder teare."
So it happened to the false Florimel, st. 16, when "Being brought, about her middle small
They thought to gird, as best it her became,
But by no means they could it thereto frame,
For ever as they fastned it, it loos'd
And fell away, as feeling secret blame, &c.
That all men wondred at the uncouth sight
And each one thought as to their fancies came.
But she herself did think it done for spight,
And touched was with secret wrath and shame
Therewith, as thing deviz'd her to defame:
Then many other ladies likewise tride
About their tender loynes to knit the same,
But it would not on none of them abide,
But when they thought it fast, eftsoones it was untide.
Thereat all knights gan laugh and ladies lowre,
Till that at last the gentle Amoret
Likewise assayed to prove that girdle's powre.
And having it about her middle set
Did find it fit withouten breach or let,
Whereat the rest gan greatly to envie.
But Florimel exceedingly did fret
And snatching from her hand," &c.
As for the trial of the Horne, it is not peculiar to our poet: it occurs in the old romance, intitled Morte Arthur, which was translated out of French in the time of K. Edw. IV., and first printed anno 1484. From that romance Ariosto is thought to have borrowed his tale of the Enchanted Cup, c. 42, &c. See Mr. Warton's Observations on the Faerie Queen, &c. The story of the Horn in Morte Arthur varies a good deal from this of our poet, as the reader will judge from the following extract:—"By the way they met with a knight that was sent from Morgan la Faye to king Arthur, and this knight had a fair horne all garnished with gold, and the horne had such a virtue, that there might no ladye or gentlewoman drinke of that horne, but if she were true to her husband: and if shee were false she should spill all the drinke, and if shee were true unto her lorde, shee might drink peaceably: and because of queene Guenever and in despite of Sir Launcelot du Lake, this horne was sent unto king Arthur." This horn is intercepted and brought unto another king named Marke, who is not a whit more fortunate than the British hero, for he makes "his qeene drinke thereof and an hundred ladies moe, and there were but foure ladies of all those that drank cleane," of which number the said queen proves not to be one (book ii. chap. 22, ed. 1632). In other respects the two stories are so different, that we have just reason to suppose this ballad was written before that romance was translated into English. As for queen Guenever, she is here represented no otherwise than in the old histories and romances. Holinshed observes, that "she was evil reported of, as noted of incontinence and breach of faith to hir husband" (vol. i. p. 93). Such readers, as have no relish for pure antiquity, will find a more modern copy of this ballad at the end of the volume.
[For Percy's further notes on this ballad see the modernized version (book iii. No. 18). Professor Child prints the ballad in his English and Scottish Ballads (vol. i. p. 1) with a full notice of the various forms of the story by way of introduction. He writes:—"No incident is more common in romantic fiction than the employment of some magical contrivance as a test of conjugal fidelity, or of constancy in love. In some romances of the Round Table, and tales founded upon them, this experiment is performed by means either of an enchanted horn, of such properties that no dishonoured husband or unfaithful wife can drink from it without spilling, or of a mantle which will fit none but chaste women. The earliest known instances of the use of these ordeals are afforded by the Lai du Corn, by Robert Bikez, a French minstrel of the twelfth or thirteenth century, and the Fabliau du Mantel MautaillÉ, which, in the opinion of a competent critic, dates from the second half of the thirteenth century, and is only the older lay worked up into a new shape (Wolf, Ueber die Lais, 327, sq., 342, sq.). We are not to suppose, however, that either of these pieces presents us with the primitive form of this humorous invention. Robert Bikez tells us that he learned his story from an abbot, and that 'noble ecclesiast' stood but one further back in a line of tradition which curiosity will never follow to its source." Here follows a list of "the most remarkable cases of the use of these and similar talismans in imaginative literature." To these may be added the garland described in the curious old story of the Wright's Wife, which has been printed since the publication of Mr. Child's work. "Haue here thys garlond of roses ryche,
In alle thys lond ys none yt lyche;
For ytt wylle euer be newe.
Wete Þou wele withowtyn fable,
Alle the whyle thy wyfe ys stable
The chaplett wolle hold hewe;
And yf thy wyfe vse putry,
Or tolle eny man to lye her by,
Than wolle yt change hewe;
And by the garlond Þou may see,
Fekylle or fals yf Þat sche be,
Or ellys yf sche be trewe."
The Wright's Chaste Wife (E. E. Text Soc. 1865, 1. 55-66).]
In the third day of may,
To Carleile did come
A kind curteous child,
That cold[3] much of wisdome.
A kirtle and a mantle 5
This child had uppon,
With 'brouches' and ringes[4]
Full richelye bedone.[5]
He had a sute of silke
About his middle drawne; 10
Without he cold of curtesye
He thought itt much shame.
God speed thee, king Arthur,
Sitting at thy meate:
And the goodly queene GuenÉver, 15
I cannott her forgett.
I tell you, lords, in this hall;
I hett[6] you all to 'heede';[7]
Except you be the more surer
Is you for to dread. 20
He plucked out of his 'poterner,'[8][9]
And longer wold not dwell,
He pulled forth a pretty mantle,
Betweene two nut-shells.
Have thou here, king Arthur; 25
Have thou heere of mee:
Give itt to thy comely queene
Shapen as itt is alreadye.
Itt shall never become that wiffe,
That hath once done amisse. 30
Then every knight in the kings court
Began to care for 'his.'[10]
Forth came dame GuÉnever;
To the mantle shee her 'hied';[11]
The ladye shee was newfangle, 35
But yett shee was affrayd.
When shee had taken the mantle;
She stoode as shee had beene madd:
It was from the top to the toe
As sheeres had itt shread. 40
One while was itt 'gule';[12][13]
Another while was itt greene;
Another while was itt wadded:[14]
Ill itt did her beseeme.
Another while was it blacke 45
And bore the worst hue:
By my troth, quoth king Arthur,
I thinke thou be not true.
Shee threw downe the mantle,
That bright was of blee;[15] 50
Fast with a rudd[16] redd,
To her chamber can[17] shee flee.
She curst the weaver, and the walker,[18]
That clothe that had wrought;
And bade a vengeance on his crowne, 55
That hither hath itt brought.
I had rather be in a wood,
Under a greene tree;
Then in king Arthurs court
Shamed for to bee. 60
Kay called forth his ladye,
And bade her come neere;
Saies, Madam, and thou be guiltye,
I pray thee hold thee there.
Forth came his ladye 65
Shortlye and anon;
Boldlye to the mantle
Then is shee gone.
When she had tane the mantle,
And cast it her about; 70
Then was shee bare
'Before all the rout.'[19]
Then every knight,
That was in the kings court,
Talked, laughed, and showted[20] 75
Full oft att that sport.
Shee threw downe the mantle,
That bright was of blee;
Fast, with a red rudd,
To her chamber can[1] shee flee. 80
Forth came an old knight
Pattering ore a creede,
And he proferred to this litle boy
Twenty markes to his meede;
And all the time of the Christmasse 85
Willinglye to ffeede;
For why this mantle might
Doe his wiffe some need.
When she had tane the mantle,
Of cloth that was made, 90
Shee had no more left on her,
But a tassell and a threed:
Then every knight in the kings court
Bade evill might shee speed.
Shee threw downe the mantle, 95
That bright was of blee;
And fast, with a redd rudd,
To her chamber can[21] shee flee.
Craddocke called forth his ladye,
And bade her come in; 100
Saith, Winne this mantle, ladye,
With a litle dinne.
Winne this mantle, ladye,
And it shal be thine,
If thou never did amisse 105
Since thou wast mine.
Forth came Craddockes ladye
Shortlye and anon;
But boldlye to the mantle
Then is shee gone. 110
When shee had tane the mantle,
And cast itt her about,
Upp att her great toe
It began to crinkle and crowt:[22]
Shee said, bowe downe, mantle, 115
And shame me not for nought.
Once I did amisse,
I tell you certainlye,
When I kist Craddockes mouth
Under a greene tree; 120
When I kist Craddockes mouth
Before he marryed mee.
When shee had her shreeven,
And her sines shee had tolde;
The mantle stoode about her 125
Right as shee wold:
Seemelye of coulour
Glittering like gold:
Then every knight in Arthurs court
Did her behold. 130
Then spake dame GuÉnever
To Arthur our king;
She hath tane yonder mantle
Not with right, but with wronge.[23]
See you not yonder woman, 135
That maketh her self soe 'cleane'?[24]
I have seene tane out of her bedd
Of men fiveteene;
Priests, clarkes, and wedded men
From her bedeene:[25][26] 140
Yett shee taketh the mantle,
And maketh her self cleane.
Then spake the litle boy,
That kept the mantle in hold;
Sayes, king, chasten thy wiffe, 145
Of her words shee is to bold:
Shee is a bitch and a witch,
And a whore bold:
King, in thine owne hall
Thou art a cuckold. 150
The litle boy stoode[27]
Looking out a dore;[28]
[And there as he was lookinge
He was ware of a wyld bore.]
He was ware of a wyld bore,[29] 155
Wold have werryed a man:[29]
He pulld forth a wood kniffe,
Fast thither that he ran:
He brought in the bores head,
And quitted him like a man. 160
He brought in the bores head,
And was wonderous bold:
He said there was never a cuckolds kniffe
Carve itt that cold.
Some rubbed their knives 165
Uppon a whetstone:
Some threw them under the table,
And said they had none.
King Arthur, and the child
Stood looking upon them;
All their knives edges
Turned backe againe.[30] 170
Craddocke had a litle knive
Of iron and of steele;
He britled[31] the bores head[32] 175
Wonderous weele;
That every knight in the kings court
Had a morssell.
The litle boy had a horne,
Of red gold that ronge: 180
He said, there was noe cuckolde
Shall drinke of my horne;
But he shold it sheede[33]
Either behind or beforne.
Some shedd on their shoulder, 185
And some on their knee;
He that cold not hitt his mouthe,
Put it in his eye:
And he that was a cuckold
Every man might him see. 190
Craddocke wan the horne,
And the bores head:
His ladie wan the mantle
Unto her meede.
Everye such a lovely ladye 195
God send her well to speede.
II.
THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE Is chiefly taken from the fragment of an old ballad in the Editor's MS., which he has reason to believe more ancient than the time of Chaucer, and what furnished that bard with his Wife of Bath's Tale. The original was so extremely mutilated, half of every leaf being torn away, that without large supplements, &c. it was deemed improper for this collection: these it has therefore received, such as they are. They are not here particularly pointed out, because the Fragment itself will now be found printed at the end of this volume.
[Sir Frederic Madden supposed this ballad to be founded upon the Weddynge of Syr Gawen and Dame Ragnell, which he printed from the Rawlinson MS. c. 86, fol. 128 b, in his Syr Gawaine. Mr. Hales writes as follows respecting the various forms in which the story appears in literature. "The wonderful 'metamorphosis' on which this story turns is narrated in Gower's Confessio Amantis, as the story of Florent and the King of Sicily's Daughter, taken by him, as Tyrwhitt conjectures, from the Gesta Romanorum, or some such collection. It appears again, as the reader will remember, in Chaucer's Wyf of Bathes Tale. 'Worked over,' says Prof. Child, 'by some ballad-monger of the sixteenth century, and of course reduced to ditch-water, this tale has found its way into the Crown Garland of Golden Roses, part i. p. 68 (Percy Society, vol. vi.), 'Of a Knight and a Faire Virgin.' On a similar transformation depends the story of 'King Henrie' in Scott's Minstrelsy, edited from Mrs. Brown's MS., with corrections from a recited fragment, and modernized as 'Courteous King Jamie' in Lewis's Tales of Wonder. 'The prime original,' says Scott, 'is to be found in an Icelandic Saga.'"[34] Mr. Child prints (English and Scottish Ballads, vol. viii. p. 139) two versions of a Scotch ballad entitled Kempy Kaye, which he supposes to be an extravagant parody of The Marriage of Sir Gawaine.]
Part the First. King Arthur lives in merry Carleile,
And seemely is to see;
And there with him queene Guenever,
That bride soe bright of blee.[35]
And there with him queene Guenever, 5
That bride so bright in bowre:
And all his barons about him stoode,
That were both stiffe and stowre.[36]
The king a royale Christmasse kept,
With mirth and princelye cheare; 10
To him repaired many a knighte,
That came both farre and neare.
And when they were to dinner sette,
And cups went freely round;
Before them came a faire damsÈlle, 15
And knelt upon the ground.
A boone, a boone, O kinge ArthÙre,
I beg a boone of thee;
Avenge me of a carlish knighte,
Who hath shent[37] my love and mee. 20
At Tearne-Wadling[38] his castle stands,
Near to that lake so fair,
And proudlye rise the battlements,
And streamers deck the air.
Noe gentle knighte, nor ladye gay, 25
May pass that castle-walle:
But from that foule discurteous knighte,
Mishappe will them befalle.
Hee's twyce the size of common men,
Wi' thewes, and sinewes stronge, 30
And on his backe he bears a clubbe,
That is both thicke and longe.
This grimme barÒne 'twas our harde happe,
But yester morne to see;
When to his bowre he bare my love, 35
And sore misused mee.
And when I told him, king ArthÙre
As lyttle shold him spare;
Goe tell, sayd hee, that cuckold kinge,
To meete mee if he dare. 40
Upp then sterted king ArthÙre,
And sware by hille and dale,
He ne'er wolde quitt that grimme barÒne,
Till he had made him quail.
Goe fetch my sword Excalibar: 45
Goe saddle mee my steede;
Nowe, by my faye, that grimme barÒne
Shall rue this ruthfulle deede.
And when he came to Tearne Wadlinge
Benethe the castle walle: 50
"Come forth; come forth; thou proude barÒne,
Or yielde thyself my thralle."
On magicke grounde that castle stoode,
And fenc'd with many a spelle:
Noe valiant knighte could tread thereon, 55
But straite his courage felle.
Forth then rush'd that carlish[39] knight,
King Arthur felte the charme:
His sturdy sinewes lost their strengthe,
Downe sunke his feeble arme. 60
Nowe yield thee, yield thee, kinge ArthÙre,
Now yield thee, unto mee:
Or fighte with mee, or lose thy lande,
Noe better termes maye bee,
Unlesse thou sweare upon the rood, 65
And promise on thy faye,
Here to returne to Tearne-Wadling,
Upon the new-yeare's daye;
And bringe me worde what thing it is
All women moste desyre; 70
This is thy ransome, Arthur, he sayes,
He have noe other hyre.
King Arthur then helde up his hande,
And sware upon his faye,[40]
Then tooke his leave of the grimme barone 75
And faste hee rode awaye.
And he rode east, and he rode west,
And did of all inquyre,
What thing it is all women crave,
And what they most desyre. 80
Some told him riches, pompe, or state;
Some rayment fine and brighte;
Some told him mirthe; some flatterye;
And some a jollye knighte.
In letters all king Arthur wrote, 85
And seal'd them with his ringe:
But still his minde was helde in doubte,
Each tolde a different thinge.
As ruthfulle he rode over a more,
He saw a ladye sette 90
Betweene an oke, and a greene hollÉye,
All clad in red[41] scarlette.
Her nose was crookt and turnd outwÀrde,
Her chin stoode all awrye;
And where as sholde have been her mouthe, 95
Lo! there was set her eye:
Her haires, like serpents, clung aboute
Her cheekes of deadlye hewe:
A worse-form'd ladye than she was,
No man mote ever viewe. 100
To hail the king in seemelye sorte
This ladye was fulle faine;
But king ArthÙre all sore amaz'd,
No aunswere made againe.
What wight art thou, the ladye sayd, 105
That wilt not speake to mee;
Sir, I may chance to ease thy paine,
Though I be foule to see.
If thou wilt ease my paine, he sayd,
And helpe me in my neede; 110
Ask what thou wilt, thou grimme ladyÈ,
And it shall bee thy meede.
O sweare mee this upon the roode,
And promise on thy faye;
And here the secrette I will telle, 115
That shall thy ransome paye.
King Arthur promis'd on his faye,
And sware upon the roode;
The secrette then the ladye told,
As lightlye well shee cou'de. 120
Now this shall be my paye, sir king,
And this my guerdon bee,
That some yong fair and courtlye knight,
Thou bringe to marrye mee.
Fast then pricked king ArthÙre 125
Ore hille, and dale, and downe:
And soone he founde the barone's bowre:
And soone the grimme baroÙne.
He bare his clubbe upon his backe,
Hee stoode bothe stiffe and stronge; 130
And, when he had the letters reade,
Awaye the lettres flunge.
Nowe yielde thee, Arthur, and thy lands,
All forfeit unto mee;
For this is not thy paye, sir king, 135
Nor may thy ransome bee.
Yet hold thy hand, thou proud barÒne,
I praye thee hold thy hand;
And give mee leave to speake once more
In reskewe of my land. 140
This morne, as I came over a more,
I saw a ladye sette
Betwene an oke, and a greene hollÈye,
All clad in red scarlÈtte.
Shee sayes, all women will have their wille, 145
This is their chief desyre;
Now yield, as thou art a barone true,
That I have payd mine hyre.
An earlye vengeaunce light on her!
The carlish baron swore: 150
Shee was my sister tolde thee this,
And shee's a mishapen whore.
But here I will make mine avowe,
To do her as ill a turne:
For an ever I may that foule theefe gette, 155
In a fyre I will her burne.
Part the Seconde. Homewarde pricked king ArthÙre,
And a wearye man was hee;
And soone he mette queene Guenever,
That bride so bright of blee.
What newes! what newes! thou noble king, 5
Howe, Arthur, hast thou sped?
Where hast thou hung the carlish knighte?
And where bestow'd his head?
The carlish knight is safe for mee,
And free fro mortal harme: 10
On magicke grounde his castle stands,
And fenc'd with many a charme.
To bowe to him I was fulle faine,
And yielde mee to his hand:
And but for a lothly ladye, there 15
I sholde have lost my land.
And nowe this fills my hearte with woe,
And sorrowe of my life;
I swore a yonge and courtlye knight,
Sholde marry her to his wife. 20
Then bespake him sir GawÀine,
That was ever a gentle knighte:
That lothly ladye I will wed;
Therefore be merrye and lighte.
Nowe naye, nowe naye, good sir GawÀine; 25
My sister's sonne yee bee;
This lothlye ladye's all too grimme,
And all too foule for yee.
Her nose is crookt and turn'd outwÀrde;
Her chin stands all awrye; 30
A worse form'd ladye than shee is
Was never seen with eye.
What though her chin stand all awrye.
And shee be foule to see:
I'll marry her, unkle, for thy sake, 35
And I'll thy ransome bee.
Nowe thankes, nowe thankes, good sir GawÀine;
And a blessing thee betyde!
To-morrow wee'll have knights and squires,
And wee'll goe fetch thy bride. 40
And wee'll have hawkes and wee'll have houndes,
To cover our intent;
And wee'll away to the greene forÈst,
As wee a hunting went.
Sir Lancelot, sir Stephen[42] bolde, 45
They rode with them that daye;
And foremoste of the companye
There rode the stewarde Kaye:
Soe did sir Banier[43] and sir Bore,[44]
And eke sir Garratte[45] keene; 50
Sir Tristram too, that gentle knight,
To the forest freshe and greene.
And when they came to the greene forrÈst,
Beneathe a faire holley tree
There sate that ladye in red scarlÈtte 55
That unseemelye was to see.
Sir Kay beheld that lady's face,
And looked upon her sweere;[46]
Whoever kisses that ladye, he sayes,
Of his kisse he stands in feare. 60
Sir Kay beheld that ladye againe,
And looked upon her snout;
Whoever kisses that ladye, he sayes,
Of his kisse he stands in doubt.
Peace, brother Kay, sayde sir GawÀine, 65
And amend thee of thy life:
For there is a knight amongst us all,
Must marry her to his wife.
What marry this foule queane, quoth Kay,
I' the devil's name anone; 70
Gett mee a wife wherever I maye,
In sooth shee shall be none.
Then some tooke up their hawkes in haste,
And some took up their houndes;
And sayd they wolde not marry her, 75
For cities, nor for townes.
Then bespake him king ArthÙre,
And sware there by this daye;
For a little foule sighte and mislikÌnge,
Yee shall not say her naye. 80
Peace, lordings, peace; sir Gawaine sayd;
Nor make debate and strife;
This lothlye ladye I will take,
And marry her to my wife.
Nowe thankes, nowe thankes, good sir Gawaine, 85
And a blessinge be thy meede!
For as I am thine owne ladyÈ,
Thou never shalt rue this deede.
Then up they took that lothly dame,
And home anone they bringe: 90
And there sir Gawaine he her wed,
And married her with a ringe.
And when they were in wed-bed laid,
And all were done awaye:
"Come turne to mee, mine owne wed-lord 95
Come turne to mee I praye."
Sir Gawaine scant could lift his head,
For sorrowe and for care;
When, lo! instead of that lothelye dame,
Hee sawe a young ladye faire. 100
Sweet blushes stayn'd her rud-red cheeke,
Her eyen were blacke as sloe:
The ripening cherrye swellde her lippe,
And all her necke was snowe.
Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady faire, 105
Lying upon the sheete:
And swore, as he was a true knighte,
The spice was never soe sweete.
Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady brighte,
Lying there by his side: 110
"The fairest flower is not soe faire:
Thou never can'st bee my bride."
I am thy bride, mine owne deare lorde,
The same whiche thou didst knowe,
That was soe lothlye, and was wont 115
Upon the wild more to goe.
Nowe, gentle Gawaine, chuse, quoth shee,
And make thy choice with care;
Whether by night, or else by daye,
Shall I be foule or faire? 120
"To have thee foule still in the night,
When I with thee should playe!
I had rather farre, my lady deare,
To have thee foule by daye."
What when gaye ladyes goe with their lordes 125
To drinke the ale and wine;
Alas! then I must hide myself,
I must not goe with mine?
"My faire ladyÈ, sir Gawaine sayd,
I yield me to thy skille; 130
Because thou art mine owne ladyÈ
Thou shalt have all thy wille."
Nowe blessed be thou, sweete GawÀine,
And the daye that I thee see;
For as thou seest mee at this time, 135
Soe shall I ever bee.
My father was an aged knighte,
And yet it chanced soe,
He tooke to wife a false ladyÈ,
Whiche broughte me to this woe. 140
Shee witch'd mee, being a faire yonge maide,
In the greene forÈst to dwelle;
And there to abide in lothlye shape,
Most like a fiend of helle.
Midst mores and mosses; woods, and wilds; 145
To lead a lonesome life:
Till some yong faire and courtlye knighte
Wolde marrye me to his wife:
Nor fully to gaine mine owne trewe shape,
Such was her devilish skille; 150
Until he wolde yielde to be rul'd by mee,
And let mee have all my wille.
She witchd my brother to a carlish boore,
And made him stiffe and stronge;
And built him a bowre on magicke grounde, 155
To live by rapine and wronge.
But now the spelle is broken throughe,
And wronge is turnde to righte;
Henceforth I shall bee a faire ladyÈ,
And hee be a gentle knighte. 160
?
III.
KING RYENCE'S CHALLENGE. This song is more modern than many of those which follow it, but is placed here for the sake of the subject. It was sung before queene Elizabeth at the grand entertainment at Kenelworth-castle in 1575, and was probably composed for that occasion. In a letter describing those festivities, it is thus mentioned: "A Minstral came forth with a sollem song, warranted for story out of K. Arthur's acts, whereof I gat a copy, and is this: "So it fell out on a Pentecost, &c."
After the song the narrative proceeds: "At this the Minstrell made a pause and a curtezy for Primus Passus. More of the song is thear, but I gatt it not." The story in Morte Arthur, whence it is taken, runs as follows: "Came a messenger hastely from king Ryence of North-Wales,—saying, that king Ryence had discomfited and overcomen eleaven kings, and everiche of them did him homage, and that was this: they gave him their beards cleane flayne off.—wherefore the messenger came for king Arthur's beard, for king Ryence had purfeled a mantell with kings beards, and there lacked for one a place of the mantell, wherefore he sent for his beard, or else he would enter into his lands, and brenn and slay, and never leave till he have thy head and thy beard. Well, said king Arthur, thou hast said thy message, which is the most villainous and lewdest message that ever man heard sent to a king. Also thou mayest see my beard is full young yet for to make a purfell of, but tell thou the king that—or it be long he shall do to me homage on both his knees, or else he shall leese his head." [B. i. c. 24. See also the same Romance, b. i. c. 92.] The thought seems to be originally taken from Jeff. Monmouth's Hist. b. x. c. 3. which is alluded to by Drayton in his Poly-Olb. Song. 4 and by Spenser in Faer. Qu. 6. 1. 13. 15. See the Observations on Spenser, vol. ii. p. 223. The following text is composed of the best readings selected from three different copies. The first in Enderbie's Cambria Triumphans, p. 197. The second in the Letter abovementioned. And the third inserted in MS. in a copy of Morte Arthur, 1632, in the Bodleian Library. Stow tells us, that king Arthur kept his round table at "diverse places, but especially at Carlion, Winchester, and Camalet in Somersetshire." This Camalet, sometimes a famous towne or castle, is situate on a very high tor or hill, &c. (See an exact description in Stowe's Annals, ed. 1631, p. 55.)
As it fell out on a Pentecost day,
King Arthur at Camelot kept his court royall,
With his faire queene dame Guenever the gay;
And many bold barons sitting in hall;
With ladies attired in purple and pall; 5
And heraults in hewkes,[47] hooting on high,
Cryed, Largesse, Largesse, Chevaliers tres-hardie.[48]
A doughty dwarfe to the uppermost deas[49]
Right pertlye gan pricke, kneeling on knee;
With steven[50] fulle stoute amids all the preas,[51] 10
Sayd, Nowe sir king Arthur, God save thee, and see!
Sir Ryence of North-gales[52] greeteth well thee,
And bids thee thy beard anon to him send,
Or else from thy jaws he will it off rend.
For his robe of state is a rich scarlet mantle, 15
With eleven kings beards bordered[53] about,
And there is room lefte yet in a kantle,[54]
For thine to stande, to make the twelfth out:
This must be done, be thou never so stout;
This must be done, I tell thee no fable, 20
Maugre[55] the teethe of all thy round table.
When this mortal message from his mouthe past,
Great was the noyse bothe in hall and in bower:
The king fum'd; the queene screecht; ladies were aghast;
Princes puffd; barons blustred; lords began lower;
Knights stormed; squires startled, like steeds in a stower; 26
Pages and yeomen yell'd out in the hall,
Then in came sir Kay, the 'king's' seneschal.
Silence, my soveraignes, quoth this courteous knight,
And in that stound the stowre[56] began still: 30
'Then' the dwarfe's dinner full deerely was dight;[57]
Of wine and wassel he had his wille:
And, when he had eaten and drunken his fill,
An hundred pieces of fine coyned gold
Were given this dwarf for his message bold. 35
But say to sir Ryence, thou dwarf, quoth the king,
That for his bold message I do him defye;
And shortlye with basins and pans will him ring
Out of North-gales; where he and I
With swords, and not razors, quickly shall trye, 40
Whether he, or king Arthur will prove the best barbor:
And therewith he shook his good sword ExcalÀbor.
* * * * *
†‡† Strada, in his Prolusions, has ridiculed the story of the Giant's Mantle, made of the Beards of Kings.
IV.
KING ARTHUR'S DEATH. A Fragment. The subject of this ballad is evidently taken from the old romance Morte Arthur, but with some variations, especially in the concluding stanzas; in which the author seems rather to follow the traditions of the old Welsh Bards, who believed that King Arthur was not dead, "but conveied awaie by the Fairies into some pleasant place, where he should remaine for a time, and then returne againe and reign in as great authority as ever." Holinshed, b. 5, c. 14, or as it is expressed in an old Chronicle printed at Antwerp 1493, by Ger. de Leew, "The Bretons supposen, that he [K. Arthur]—shall come yet and conquere all Bretaigne, for certes this is the prophicye of Merlyn: He sayd, that his deth shall be doubteous; and sayd soth, for men thereof yet have doubte, and shullen for ever more,—for men wyt not whether that he lyveth or is dede." See more ancient testimonies in Selden's Notes on Polyolbion, Song III. This fragment being very incorrect and imperfect in the original MS. hath received some conjectural emendations, and even a supplement of three or four stanzas composed from the romance of Morte Arthur.
[The two ballads here entitled King Arthur's Death and The Legend of King Arthur are united in the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. i. p. 497), but they are evidently two distinct songs. The first ballad forms part ii. of the MS. copy, which has fourteen verses at the end not printed here. The last four verses are printed at the end of the next ballad. Percy has taken great liberties with his original, and has not left a single line unaltered, as will be seen by comparing it with the original printed at the end. Additional lines are also interpolated which are now enclosed within brackets, and it will be seen that these unnecessary amplifications do not improve the effect of the poem. It will also be seen that in vv. 41-44 the father and son of the original are changed into uncle and nephew. This last scene in the life of King Arthur is the most beautiful and touching portion of his history, and the romancers and minstrels were never tired of telling it in every form. According to one tradition Arthur still sleeps under St. Michael's Mount ("the guarded Mount" of Milton's Lycidas), and according to another beneath Richmond Castle, Yorkshire. Mr. Willmott, in his edition of the Reliques, writes, "according to popular superstition in Sicily, Arthur is preserved alive by his sister la Fata Morgana, whose fairy palace is occasionally seen from Reggio in the opposite sea of Messina."]
* * * * *
On Trinitye Mondaye in the morne,
This sore battayle was doom'd to bee;
Where manye a knighte cry'd, Well-awaye!
Alacke, it was the more pittÌe.
Ere the first crowinge of the cocke, 5
When as the kinge in his bed laye,
He thoughte sir Gawaine to him came,[58]
And there to him these wordes did saye.
Nowe, as you are mine unkle deare,
And as you prize your life, this daye 10
O meet not with your foe in fighte;
Putt off the battayle, if yee maye.
For sir Launcelot is now in Fraunce,
And with him many an hardye knighte:
Who will within this moneth be backe, 15
And will assiste yee in the fighte.
The kinge then call'd his nobles all,
Before the breakinge of the daye;
And tolde them howe sir Gawaine came,
And there to him these wordes did saye. 20
His nobles all this counsayle gave,
That earlye in the morning, hee
Shold send awaye an herauld at armes,
To aske a parley faire and free.
Then twelve good knightes king Arthure chose, 25
The best of all that with him were:
To parley with the foe in field,
And make with him agreement faire.
The king he charged all his hoste,
In readinesse there for to bee: 30
But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre,
Unlesse a sword drawne they shold see
And Mordred on the other parte,
Twelve of his knights did likewise bringe;
The beste of all his companye, 35
To hold the parley with the kinge.
Sir Mordred alsoe charged his hoste,
In readinesse there for to bee;
But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre,
But if a sworde drawne they shold see. 40
For he durste not his unkle truste,[59]
Nor he his nephewe, sothe to tell:[59]
Alacke! it was a woefulle case,
As ere in Christentye befelle.
But when they were together mette, 45
And both to faire accordance broughte;
And a month's league betweene them sette,
Before the battayle sholde be foughte;
An addere crept forth of a bushe,
Stunge one o' th' king's knightes on the knee: 50
Alacke! it was a woefulle chance,
As ever was in ChristentÌe.
When the knighte found him wounded sore,
And sawe the wild-worme[60] hanginge there;
His sworde he from his scabberde drewe; 55
A piteous case as ye shall heare.
For when the two hostes sawe the sworde,
They joyned battayle instantlye;
Till of soe manye noble knightes,
On one side there were left but three. 60
For all were slain that durst abide,
And but some fewe that fled awaye:
Ay mee! it was a bloodye fielde,
As ere was foughte on summer's daye.
Upon king Arthur's own partyÈ, 65
Onlye himselfe escaped there,
And Lukyn duke of Gloster free,
And the king's butler Bedevere.
And when the king beheld his knightes,
All dead and scattered on the molde; 70
[The teares fast trickled downe his face;
That manlye face in fight so bolde.
Nowe reste yee all, brave knights, he said,
Soe true and faithful to your trust:
And must yee then, ye valiant hearts, 75
Be lefte to moulder into dust!
Most loyal have yee been to mee,
Most true and faithful unto deathe:
And, oh! to rayse yee up againe,
How freelye could I yield my breathe!] 80
But see the traitor's yet alive,
Lo where hee stalkes among the deade!
Nowe bitterlye he shall abye:[61]
And vengeance fall upon his head.
O staye, my liege, then sayd the duke; 85
O staye for love and charitÌe;
[Remember what the vision spake,
Nor meete your foe, if it may bee.
O, staye mee not, thou worthye wight,
This debt my loyal knights I owe: 90
Betide me life, betide me death,
I will avenge them of their foe.]
Then straite he grasp'd his trustye speare,
And on his horse then mounted hee:
As his butler holpe him to his horse, 95
His bowels gushed to his knee.
Alas! then sayd the noble king,
That I should live this sight to see!
To see this good knight here be slaine,
All for his love in helping mee! 100
He put his speare into his reste,
And to sir Mordred loud gan crye;
[Nowe sette thyself upon thy guarde,
For, traitor, nowe thy death is nye.
Sir Mordred lifted up his sworde, 105
And fierce to meet the king ran hee:]
The king his speare he through him thrust;
A fathom thorow his bodÌe.
When Mordered felt the stroke of death,
And found that he was wounded soe; 110
He thruste himselfe upon the speare,
And strucke the king a deadlye blowe.
Then grimmlye dyed sir Mordered,
Presentlye upon that tree:
And bloody streames ranne from the kinge 115
Ere to the duke returned hee.
Sir Lukyn then he thus bespake,
Sir knighte, thou hast beene faithfulle tryde,
Nowe take my sword Excalibar,[62]
That hangs so freelye by my syde: 120
O take my sword Excalibar,
And there into the river throwe:
For here, henceforth, benethe this tree,
All use of weapons I foregoe.
[And fare thee well, thou trustye sword, 125
A better neer had valiant knighte,
With thee full ofte, and manye a daye,
Have I withstood my foe in fighte.
With this good fauchion in my hande,
Oft have I reapd the bloody feelde: 130
But nowe the fatalle houre is come,
That never more I may thee weelde.]
The duke to the river side he went,
And there his owne sword in threwe he:
But he kept back Excalibar, 135
He kept it back in privitie.
[For all of coleyne[63] was the blade;
And all the hilte of precious stone:
And ever alacke! then sayd the knighte,
Must such a sword awaye be throwne?] 140
Then backe he came unto the kinge,
Who sayd, Sir Lukyn, what did yee see?
Nothing, my liege, save that the winde
Blewe oer the waters faire and free.
O goe againe, then said the kinge, 145
O good sir Lukyn, goe againe:
Into the rivere throwe my sword,
Nor keepe me lingering here in paine.
The duke then to the river went,
And the kings scabberd in threwe hee; 150
But hee kept backe Excalibar,
And hid it undernethe a tree.
Then backe he came to tell the kinge,
Who sayde, Sir Lukyn sawe ye oughte?
Nothinge, my liege, save that the winde 155
Nowe with the angrye waters fought.
O Lukyn, Lukyn, said the kinge,
[Twice haste thou dealt deceytfullye:
Alacke, whom may wee ever truste,
When suche a knighte soe false can bee? 160
Saye, wouldst thou have thy master dead;
All for a sword, that wins thine eye:
Nowe goe againe, and throwe it in,
Or here the one of us shall dye.]
The duke, all shent with this rebuke, 165
No aunswere made unto the kinge:
But to the rivere tooke the sworde,
And threwe it far as he coulde flinge.
A hande and an arme did meete the sworde,
And flourishd three times in the air; 170
[Then sunke benethe the renninge streme,
And of the duke was seene noe mair.
All sore astonied stood the duke;
He stood as still, as still mote bee:]
Then hastend backe to telle the kinge; 175
But he was gone from under the tree.
But to what place he cold not tell,
For never after hee did him spye:[64]
But hee sawe a barge goe from the land,
And hee heard ladyes howle and crye[65]. 180
And whether the kinge were there, or not,
Hee never knewe, nor ever colde:
[For from that sad and direfulle daye,
Hee never more was scene on molde.]
? [The following forms Part II. of a ballad entitled King Arthur's Death, in the folio MS. ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. i. p. 501. but vpon a Monday after Trinity Sonday
this battaile foughten cold bee,
where many a Knight cryed well-away!
alacke, the more pittye!
but vpon Sunday in the euening then, 5
when the King in his bedd did Lye,
he thought Sir Gawaine to him came,
& thus to him did say:
"Now as you are my vnckle deere,
I pray you be ruled by mee, 10
doe not fight as to-morrow day,
but put the battelle of if you may;
"for Sir Lancelott is now in france,
& many Knights with him full hardye,
& with-in this Month here hee wilbe, 15
great aide wilbe to thee."
hee wakened forth of his dreames;
to his Nobles that told hee,
how he thought Sir Gawaine to him came,
& these words sayd Certainly. 20
& then thÉ gaue the King councell all,
vpon Munday Earlye
that hee shold send one of his heralds of armes
to parle with his sonne, if itt might bee.
& 12 knights King Arthur chose, 25
the best in his companye,
that they shold goe to meete his sonne,
to agree if itt cold bee.
& the King charged all his host
in readynesse for to bee, 30
that Noe man shold noe weapons stur
with-out a sword drawne amongst his Knights thÉ see.
& Mordred vpon the other part,
12 of his Knights chose hee
that they shold goe to meete his father 35
betweene those 2 hosts fayre & free.
& Mordred charged his ost
in like mannor most certaÍnely,
that noe man shold noe weapons sturr
with-out a sword drawne amongst them thÉ see; 40
for he durst not his father trust,
nor the father the sonne certainley.
Alacke! this was a woefull case
as euer was in christentye!
but when they were mett together there, 45
& agreed of all things as itt shold bee,
& a monthes League then there was
before the battele foughten shold bee,
an Adder came forth of Bush,
stunge one of king Arthirs Knights below his knee; 50
alacke! this was a woefull chance
as euer was in christentye!
the Knight he found him wounded there,
& see the wild worme there to bee;
his sword out of his scabberd he drew; 55
alas! itt was the more pittye!
& when these 2 osts saw they sword drawen,
thÉ Ioyned battell certainlye,
Till of a 100: 1000: men
of one side was left but 3. 60
but all were slaine that durst abyde,
but some awaye that did flee.
King Arthur upon his owne partye
himselfe aliue cold be,
& Lukin the Duke of Gloster, 65
& Bedever his Butler certainlye
the King looked about him there
& saw his Knights all slaine to bee;
"Alas!" then sayd noble King Arthur
"that ever this sight I see! 70
to see all my good Knights lye slaine,
& the traitor yett aliue to bee!
loe where he leanes vpon his sword hillts
amongst his dead men certainlye!
I will goe slay him att this time; 75
neuer att better advantage I shall him see."
"Nay! stay here, my Leege!" then said the Duke,
"for loue and charitye!
for wee haue the battell woone,
for yett aliue we are but 3:" 80
the king wold not be perswaded then,
but his horsse then mounted hee;
his Butler [that] helped him to horsse,
his bowells gushed to his knee.
"Alas!" then said noble king Arthur, 85
"that this sight I euer see,
to see this good knight for to be slaine
for loue for to helpe mee!"
he put his speare into his rest,
& att his sonne he ryd feirclye, 90
& through him there his speare he thrust
a fatham thorrow his body.
the sonne he felld him wounded there,
& knew his death then to bee;
he thrust himselfe vpon his speare, 95
& gaue his father a wound certainlye.
but there dyed Sir Mordred
presently vpon that tree.
but or ere the King returned againe,
his butler was dead certainlye. 100
then bespake him Noble King Arthur,
these were the words sayd hee,
sayes "take my sword Escalberd
from my side fayre & free,
& throw itt into this riuer heere; 105
for all the vse of weapons Ile deliuer vppe,
heere vnderneath this tree."
the Duke to the riuer side he went,
& his sword in threw hee;
& then he kept Escalberd, 110
I tell you certainlye;
& then he came to tell the King,
the king said, "Lukin what did thou see?"
noe thing, my leege," the[n] sayd the duke,
"I tell you certainlye." 115
"O goe againe," said the king
"for loue & charitye,
& throw my sword into that riuer,
that neuer I doe itt see."
the Duke to the riuer side he went, 120
& the kings scaberd in threw hee;
& still he kept Escalberd
for vertue sake faire & free.
he came againe to tell the King;
the King sayd, "Lukin what did thou see?" 125
"nothing my leege," then sayd the Duke,
"I tell you certainlye."
"O goe againe Lukin," said the King,
"or the one of vs shall dye."
then the Duke to the riuer sid went, 130
& then Kings sword then threw hee:
A hand & an arme did meete that sword,
& flourished 3 times certainlye
he came againe to tell the King,
but the king was gone from vnder the tree 135
but to what place, he cold not tell,
for neuer after hee did him see,
but he see a barge from the land goe,
& hearde Ladyes houle & cry certainlye;
but whether the king was there or noe 140
he knew not certainlye.
the Duke walked by that Riuers side
till a chappell there found hee,
& a preist by the aulter side there stood.
the Duke kneeled downe there on his knee 145
& prayed the preists, "for Christs sake
the rights of the church bestow on mee!"
for many dangerous wounds he had vpon him
& liklye he was to dye.
& there the Duke liued in prayer 150
till the time that hee did dye.
King Arthur liued King 22 yeere
in honor and great fame,
& thus by death suddenlye
was depriued from the same. 155
ffins.]
V.
THE LEGEND OF KING ARTHUR. We have here a short summary of K. Arthur's History as given by Jeff. of Monmouth and the old chronicles, with the addition of a few circumstances from the romance Morte Arthur.—The ancient chronicle of Ger. de Leew (quoted above in p. 28), seems to have been chiefly followed: upon the authority of which we have restored some of the names which were corrupted in the MS. and have transposed one stanza, which appeared to be misplaced, (viz. that beginning at ver. 49, which in the MS. followed ver. 36.) Printed from the Editor's ancient folio Manuscript.
[This ballad as previously stated is the first part of the poem in the MS. and precedes the one here printed before it. Percy made comparatively few alterations in this part and all of them are now noted at the foot of the page.]
Of Brutus' blood, in Brittaine borne,[66]
King Arthur I am to name;
Through Christendome, and Heathynesse,[67]
Well knowne is my worthy fame.
In Jesus Christ I doe beleeve; 5
I am a christyan bore:[68][69]
The Father, Sone, and Holy Gost
One God, I doe adore.
In the four hundred ninetieth yeere,[70]
Over Brittaine I did rayne, 10
After my savior Christ his byrth:
What time I did maintaine
The fellowshipp of the table round,
Soe famous in those dayes;
Whereatt a hundred noble knights, 15
And thirty sat alwayes:[71]
Who for their deeds and martiall feates,
As bookes done yett record,
Amongst all other nations[72]
Wer feared throwgh the world. 20
And in the castle off Tyntagill[73]
King Uther mee begate
Of Agyana a bewtyous ladye,[74]
And come of "hie" estate.[75]
And when I was fifteen yeere old, 25
Then was I crowned kinge:
All Brittaine that was att an uprÒre,
I did to quiett bringe.
And drove the Saxons from the realme,
Who had opprest this land; 30
All Scotland then throughe manly feats[76]
I conquered with my hand.[76]
Ireland, Denmarke, Norway,
These countryes wan I all;
Iseland, Gotheland, and Swethland; 35
And made their kings my thrall.
I conquered all Gallya,
That now is called France;
And slew the hardye Froll in feild[77]
My honor to advance. 40
And the ugly gyant Dynabus[78]
Soe terrible to vewe,
That in Saint Barnards mount did lye,
By force of armes I slew:
And Lucyus the emperour of Rome 45
I brought to deadly wracke;
And a thousand more of noble knightes
For feare did turne their backe:
Five kinges of "paynims"[79] I did kill[80][81]
Amidst that bloody strife;[81] 50
Besides the Grecian emperour[81]
Who alsoe lost his liffe.[81]
Whose carcasse I did send to Rome
Cladd poorlye on a beere;
And afterward I past Mount-Joye 55
The next approaching yeere.
Then I came to Rome, where I was mett
Right as a conquerour,
And by all the cardinalls solempnelye
I was crowned an emperour. 60
One winter there I made abode:
Then word to mee was brought
How Mordred had oppressd the crowne:
What treason he had wrought
Att home in Brittaine with my queene; 65
Therfore I came with speede
To Brittaine backe, with all my power,
To quitt that traiterous deede:
And soone at Sandwiche I arrivde,[82]
Where Mordred me withstoode: 70
But yett at last I landed there,
With effusion of much blood.
For there my nephew sir Gawaine dyed,
Being wounded in that sore,[83]
The whiche sir Lancelot in fight[84] 75
Had given him before.
Thence chased I Mordered away,
Who fledd to London right,
From London to Winchester, and
To Cornewalle tooke his flyght.[85] 80
And still I him pursued with speed
Till at the last we mett:
Whereby an appointed day of fight[86]
Was there agreed and sett.[87]
Where we did fight, of mortal life[88] 85
Eche other to deprive,[88]
Till of a hundred thousand men
Scarce one was left a live.
There all the noble chivalrye
Of Brittaine tooke their end. 90
O see how fickle is their state
That doe on feates depend![89][90]
There all the traiterous men were slaine
Not one escapte away;
And there dyed all my vallyant knightes. 95
Alas! that woefull day![91]
Two and twenty yeere I ware the crowne
In honor and great fame;
And thus by death was suddenlye
Deprived of the same. 100
VI.
A DYTTIE TO HEY DOWNE. Copied from an old MS. in the Cotton Library [British Museum] (Vesp. A. xxv. fol. 170), intitled, "Divers things of Hen. viij's time."
Who sekes to tame the blustering winde,
Or causse the floods bend to his wyll,
Or els against dame nature's kinde
To "change" things frame by cunning skyll:[92]
That man I thinke bestoweth paine, 5
Thoughe that his laboure be in vaine.
Who strives to breake the sturdye steele,
Or goeth about to staye the sunne;
Who thinks to causse an oke to reele,
Which never can by force be done: 10
That man likewise bestoweth paine,
Thoughe that his laboure be in vaine.
Who thinks to stryve against the streame,
And for to sayle without a maste;
Unlesse he thinks perhapps to faine, 15
His travell ys forelorne and waste;
And so in cure of all his paine,
His travell ys his cheffest gaine.
So he lykewise, that goes about
To please eche eye and every eare,
Had nede to have withouten doubt
A golden gyft with hym to beare;
For evyll report shall be his gaine,
Though he bestowe both toyle and paine.
God grant eche man one to amend; 25
God send us all a happy place;
And let us pray unto the end,
That we may have our princes grace:
Amen, Amen! so shall we gaine
A dewe reward for all our paine. 30
VII.
GLASGERION. An ingenious Friend thinks that the following old Ditty (which is printed from the Editor's folio MS.) may possibly have given birth to the Tragedy of the Orphan, in which Polidore intercepts Monimia's intended favours to Castalio. See what is said concerning the hero of this song, (who is celebrated by Chaucer under the name of Glaskyrion) in the Essay affixed to vol. i. note H. pt. iv. (2).
[The hero of this ballad is the same as "gret Glascurion," placed by Chaucer in the House of Fame by the side of Orpheus, and also associated with Orpheus by Gawain Douglas in the Palice of Honour. Percy's note in the Folio MS. is "It was not necessary to correct this much for the press;" (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. i. p. 246). It will be seen, however, by the collations at the foot of the page that several corrections were made, not always for the better. Thus ver. 96, "who did his ladye grieve," is certainly weaker than the original,— "And asked noe man noe leave."
Jamieson (Popular Ballads, 1806, vol. i. p. 91) prints an inferior version under the name of Glenkindie. Mr. Hale points out, however, that "the Scotch version is more perfect in one point—in the test question put to the page before the assignation is disclosed to him:— 'O mith I tell you, Gib my man,
Gin I a man had slain?'
Some such question perhaps would give more force to vv. 85-88 of our version." He also very justly observes, "perhaps there is no ballad that represents more keenly the great gulf fixed between churl and noble—a profounder horror at the crossing over it."]
Glasgerion was a kings owne sonne,
And a harper he was goode:
He harped in the kinges chambere,
Where cuppe and candle stoode.[93]
And soe did hee in the queens chamber, 5
Till ladies waxed "glad."[94]
And then bespake the kinges daughter;
And these wordes thus shee sayd.[95]
Strike on, strike on, GlasgÈrion,[96]
Of thy striking doe not blinne:[97] 10
Theres never a stroke comes oer thy harpe,[98]
But it glads my hart withinne.
Faire might he fall,[99] ladye, quoth hee,[100]
Who taught you nowe to speake!
I have loved you, ladye, seven longe yeere[101] 15
My minde I neere durst breake.[102]
But come to my bower, my GlasgÈrion,
When all men are att rest:
As I am a ladie true of my promise,
Thou shalt bee a welcome guest. 20
Home then came GlasgÈrion,[103]
A glad man, lord! was hee.
And, come thou hither, Jacke my boy;
Come hither unto mee.[104]
For the kinges daughter of Normandye 25
Hath granted mee my boone:
And att her chambere must I bee
Beffore the cocke have crowen.
O master, master, then quoth hee,[105]
Lay your head downe on this stone: 30
For I will waken you, master deere,
Afore it be time to gone.
But up then rose that lither[106] ladd,
And hose and shoone did on:[107]
A coller he cast upon his necke, 35
Hee seemed a gentleman.
And when he came to the ladies chamber,
He thrild upon a pinn.[108]
The lady was true of her promise,
Rose up and lett him in. 40
He did not take the lady gaye
To boulster nor to bed:[109]
"Nor thoughe hee had his wicked wille,[110]
"A single word he sed."[110]
He did not kisse that ladyes mouthe,[111] 45
Nor when he came, nor youd:[112][113]
And sore mistrusted that ladye gay,
He was of some churls bloud.
But home then came that lither ladd,
And did off his hose and shoone; 50
And cast the coller from off his necke:[114]
He was but a churlÈs sonne.
Awake, awake, my deere master,[115]
[The cock hath well-nigh crowen.[116]
Awake, awake, my master deere,][116] 55
I hold it time to be gone.
For I have saddled your horsse, mastÈr,
Well bridled I have your steede:
And I have served you a good breakfast:[117]
For thereof ye have need.[118] 60
Up then rose, good GlasgeriÒn,[119]
And did on hose and shoone;
And cast a coller about his necke:
For he was a kinge his sonne.[120]
And when he came to the ladyes chamber,[121] 65
He thrild upon the pinne:[122]
The ladye was more than true of promise,
And rose and let him in.[123]
Saies, whether have you left with me
Your bracelett or your glove? 70
Or are you returned backe againe[124]
To know more of my love?
GlasgÈrion swore a full great othe
By oake, and ashe, and thorne;
Lady, I was never in your chambÈr. 75
Sith the time that I was borne.
O then it was your lither foot-page,[125]
He hath beguiled mee.[126]
Then shee pulled forth a little pen-kniffe,[127]
That hanged by her knee: 80
Sayes, there shall never noe churlÈs blood
Within my bodye spring:[128]
[No churlÈs blood shall ever defile[129]
The daughter of a kinge.][129]
Home then went GlasgÈrion,[130] 85
And woe, good lord, was hee.[131]
Sayes, come thou hither, Jacke my boy,[132]
Come hither unto mee.[133]
If I had killed a man to night,[134]
Jacke, I would tell it thee: 90
But if I have not killed a man to night
Jacke, thou hast killed three.
And he puld out his bright browne sword,
And dryed it on his sleeve,
And he smote off that lither ladds head, 95
Who did his ladye grieve.[135]
He sett the swords poynt till his brest,
The pummil untill a stone:[136]
Throw the falsenesse of that lither ladd,
These three lives werne all gone. 100
[93] [Ver. 4. where cappe and candle yoode, MS.]
VIII.
OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE. From an ancient copy in the Editor's folio MS. which was judged to require considerable corrections. In the former edition the hero of this piece had been called Sir Robin, but that title not being in the MS. is now omitted. Giles, steward to a rich old merchant trading to Portugal, is qualified with the title of Sir, not as being a knight, but rather, I conceive, as having received an inferior order of priesthood.
[Percy's note in the MS. is as follows, "When I first set to examine this I had not yet learnt to hold this old MS. in much regard." Every line is altered, so that it has been necessary to add a copy of the original, although the interest of the ballad itself is not very great. Percy's most notable correction is the introduction of 20 good knights to help Robin against his wife's twenty-four traitors.]
Let never again soe old a man
Marrye soe yonge a wife,
As did old Robin of Portingale;
Who may rue all the dayes of his life.
For the mayors daughter of Lin, god wott, 5
He chose her to his wife,
And thought with her to have lived in love,
By they fell to hate and strife.
They scarce were in their wed-bed laid,
And scarce was hee asleepe, 10
But upp shee rose, and forth shee goes,
To the steward, and gan to weepe.
Sleepe you, wake you, faire sir Gyles?
Or be you not within?
Sleepe you, wake you, faire sir Gyles, 15
Arise and let me inn.
O, I am waking, sweete, he said,
Sweete ladye, what is your will?
I have unbethought me of a wile[137]
How my wed-lord weell spill.[138] 20
Twenty-four good knights, shee sayes.
That dwell about this towne,
Even twenty-four of my next cozÈns,
Will helpe to dinge[139] him downe.
All that beheard his litle footepage, 25
As he watered his masters steed;
And for his masters sad perille
His verry heart did bleed.
He mourned still, and wept full sore;
I sweare by the holy roode 30
The teares he for his master wept
Were blent water and bloude.[140]
And that beheard his deare mastÈr
As he stood at his garden pale:
Sayes, Ever alacke, my litle foot-page, 35
What causes thee to wail?
Hath any one done to thee wronge
Any of thy fellowes here?
Or is any of thy good friends dead,
That thou shedst manye a teare? 40
Or, if it be my head bookes-man,[141]
Aggrieved he shal bee:
For no man here within my howse,
Shall doe wrong unto thee.
O, it is not your head bookes-man, 45
Nor none of his degree:
But, on to-morrow ere it be noone[142]
All deemed[143] to die are yee.
And of that bethank your head stewÀrd,
And thank your gay ladie. 50
If this be true, my litle foot-page,
The heyre of my land thoust bee.
If it be not true, my dear mastÈr,
No good death let me die.
If it be not true, thou litle foot-page, 55
A dead corse shalt thou lie.[144]
O call now downe my faire ladye,
O call her downe to mee:
And tell my ladye gay how sicke,
And like to die I bee. 60
Downe then came his ladye faire,
All clad in purple and pall:
The rings that were on her fingÈrs,
Cast light thorrow the hall.
What is your will, my owne wed-lord? 65
What is your will with mee?
O see, my ladye deere, how sicke,
And like to die I bee.
And thou be sicke, my own wed-lord,
Soe sore it grieveth me: 70
But my five maydens and myselfe
Will "watch thy" bedde for thee:[145]
And at the waking of your first sleepe,
We will a hott drinke make:
And at the waking of your "next" sleepe,[146] 75
Your sorrowes we will slake.
He put a silk cote on his backe,
And mail of manye a fold:
And hee putt a steele cap on his head,
Was gilt with good red gold. 80
He layd a bright browne sword by his side,
And another att his feete:
"And twentye good knights he placed at hand,
To watch him in his sleepe."
And about the middle time of the night, 85
Came twentye-four traitours inn:
Sir Giles he was the foremost man,
The leader of that ginn.[147]
Old Robin with his bright browne sword,
Sir Gyles head soon did winn: 90
And scant of all those twenty-four,
Went out one quick[148] agenn.
None save only a litle foot page,
Crept forth at a window of stone:
And he had two armes when he came in, 95
And he went back with one.
Upp then came that ladie gaye
With torches burning bright:
She thought to have brought sir Gyles a drinke,
Butt she found her owne wedd knight. 100
The first thinge that she stumbled on
It was sir Gyles his foote:
Sayes, Ever alacke, and woe is mee!
Here lyes my sweete hart-roote.
The next thinge that she stumbled on 105
It was sir Gyles his heade;
Sayes, Ever, alacke, and woe is me!
Heere lyes my true love deade.
Hee cutt the pappes beside her brest,
And did her body spille;[149] 110
He cutt the eares beside her heade,
And bade her love her fille.
He called then up his litle foot-page,
And made him there his heyre;
And sayd henceforth my worldlye goodes 115
And countrye I forsweare.
He shope[150] the crosse on his right shouldÈr,
Of the white "clothe" and the redde,[151]
And went him into the holy land,
Wheras Christ was quicke and dead. 120
[The following is the original ballad from the Folio MS. ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. i. p. 235. God! let neuer soe old a man
marry so yonge a wiffe
as did old Robin of portingale!
he may rue all the dayes of his liffe. 4
ffor the Maiors daughter of Lin, god wott,
he chose her to his wife,
& thought to haue liued in quiettnesse
with her all the dayes of his liffe. 8
they had not in their wed bed laid,
scarcly were both on sleepe,
but vpp shee rose, & forth shee goes
to Sir Gyles, & fast can weepe, 12
Saies, "sleepe you, wake you, faire Sir Gyles,
or be not you within?"
"but I am waking, sweete," he said,
"Lady, what is your will?" 16
"I haue vnbethought me of a will,
how my wed Lord we shall spill.
"24 knights, she sayes,
that dwells about this towne, 20
eene 24 of my Next Cozens,
will helpe to dinge him downe."
with that beheard his litle foote page
as he was watering his Masters steed, 24
Soe s * * * *
his verry heart did bleed;
he mourned, sist, and wept full sore;
I sweare by the holy roode, 28
the teares he for his Master wept
were blend water & bloude.
with that beheard his deare Master
as in his garden sate, 32
says, "euer alacke my litle page!
what causes thee to weepe?
"hath any one done to thee wronge,
any of thy fellowes here, 36
or is any of thy good friends dead
which makes thee shed such teares?
"or if it be my head bookes man,
grieued againe he shalbe, 40
nor noe man within my howse
shall doe wrong vnto thee."
"but it is not your head bookes man,
nor none of his degree, 44
but or to morrow, ere it be Noone,
you are deemed to die;
"& of that thanke your head Steward,
& after your gay Ladie." 48
"If it be true, my little foote page,
Ile make thee heyre of all my land."
"if it be not true, my deare Master,
god let me neuer dye." 52
"if it be not true, thou little foot page,
a dead corse shalt thou be."
he called downe his head kookes man,
cooke in kitchen super to dresse: 56
"all & anon, my deare Master,
anon at your request."
"& call you downe my faire Lady,
this night to supp with mee." 60
& downe then came that fayre Lady,
was cladd all in purple & palle,
the rings that were vpon her fingers
cast light thorrow the hall. 64
"What is your will, my owne wed Lord,
what is your will with mee?"
"I am sicke, fayre Lady,
sore sicke, & like to dye." 68
"but & you be sicke, my owne wed Lord,
soe sore it greiueth mee,
but my 5 maydens & my selfe
will goe & make your bedd, 72
"& at the wakening of your first sleepe,
you shall haue a hott drinke Made,
& at the wakening of your first sleepe
your sorrowes will haue a slake." 76
he put a silke cote on his backe,
was 13 inches folde,
& put a steele cap vpon his head,
was gilded with good red gold; 80
& he layd a bright browne sword by his side,
& another att his ffeete,
& full well knew old Robin then
whether he shold wake or sleepe. 84
& about the Middle time of the Night
came 24 good knights in,
Syr Gyles he was the formost man,
soe well he knew that ginne. 88
Old Robin with a bright browne sword
Sir Gyles head he did winne,
soe did he all those 24,
neuer a one went quicke out [agen;] 92
none but one litle foot page
crept forth at a window of stone,
& he had 2 armes when he came in
And [when he went out he had none]. 96
Vpp then came that Ladie bright
with torches burning light;
shee thought to haue brought Sir Gyles a drinke,
but shee found her owne wedd Knight, 100
& the first thinge that this Ladye stumbled vpon,
was of Sir Gyles his ffoote,
sayes, "euer alacke, and woe is me,
heere lyes my sweete hart roote!" 104
& the 2d thing that this Ladie stumbled on,
was of Sir Gyles his head,
sayes, "euer alacke, and woe is me,
heere lyes my true loue deade!" 108
hee cutt the papps beside he[r] brest,
& bad her wish her will,
& he cutt the eares beside her heade,
& bade her wish on still. 112
"Mickle is the mans blood I haue spent
to doe thee & me some good,"
sayes, "euer alacke, my fayre Lady,
I thinke that I was woode?" 116
he calld then vp his litle foote page,
& made him heyre of all his land,
& he shope the crosse in his right sholder
of the white flesh & the redd. 120
& he sent him into the holy land
wheras Christ was quicke & dead.
ffins.]
IX.
CHILD WATERS. Child is frequently used by our old writers, as a Title. It is repeatedly given to Prince Arthur in the Fairie Queen: and the son of a king is in the same poem called "Child Tristram." (B. 5. c. 11. st. 8. 13.—B. 6. c. 2. st. 36.—Ibid. c. 8. st. 15.) In an old ballad quoted in Shakespeare's K. Lear, the hero of Ariosto is called Child Roland. Mr. Theobald supposes this use of the word was received along with their romances from the Spaniards, with whom Infante signifies a "Prince." A more eminent critic tells us, that "in the old times of chivalry, the noble youth, who were candidates for knighthood, during the time of their probation were called Infans, Varlets, Damoysels, Bacheliers. The most noble of the youth were particularly called Infans." (Vid. Warb. Shakesp.) A late commentator on Spenser observes, that the Saxon word cniht, knight, signifies also a "child." (See Upton's gloss to the F. Q.) The Editor's folio MS. whence the following piece is taken (with some corrections), affords several other ballads, wherein the word Child occurs as a title: but in none of these it signifies "Prince." See the song intitled Gil Morrice, in this volume. It ought to be observed, that the Word Child or Chield is still used in North Britain to denominate a Man, commonly with some contemptuous character affixed to him, but sometimes to denote Man in general.
[This ballad gives us a curious insight into ancient manners, and shows what were our forefathers' notions of the perfection of female character. They would have agreed with the propounder of the question—What is woman's mission? answer, sub-mission. Like patient Grissel, Ellen bears worse sufferings than the Nut-Brown Maid has to hear of, and in spite of the worst usage she never swerves from her devotion. This English version was the first published, but the story is the same as Lai le FrÊne, preserved in English in the Auchinleck MS. and in Norman in the Lais of Marie, which were written about the year 1250. Jamieson (Popular Ballads and Songs, 1806, vol. i. p. 113) published his Scottish version under the more appropriate name of Burd Ellen, who is the real heroine rather than the ruffian Waters is the hero. Adopting the idea of Mrs. Hampden Pye, who wrote a ballad on the same subject, he changes the character of the catastrophe by adding three concluding stanzas to wind up the story in an unhappy manner. Another version of the ballad, which ends happily, is given in Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads under the title of Lady Margaret. A German version of this ballad was made by the poet BÜrger.]
Childe Waters in his stable stoode
And stroakt his milke white steede
To him a fayre yonge ladye came[152]
As ever ware womans weede.[153]
Sayes, Christ you save, good Childe Waters; 5
Sayes, Christ you save, and see:
My girdle of gold that was too longe,[154]
Is now too short for mee.
And all is with one chyld of yours,
I feele sturre att my side; 10
My gowne of greene it is too straighte;
Before, it was too wide.
If the child be mine, faire Ellen, he sayd,
Be mine as you tell mee;
Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,[155] 15
Take them your owne to bee.
If the childe be mine, faire Ellen, he sayd,
Be mine, as you doe sweare:
Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,
And make that child your heyre. 20
Shee saies, I had rather have one kisse,
Child Waters, of thy mouth;
Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both,
That lye by north and south.[156]
And I had rather have one twinkling,[157] 25
Childe Waters, of thine ee:[158]
Then I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both
To take them mine owne to bee.
To morrow, Ellen, I must forth ryde
Farr into the north countrie;[159] 30
The fairest lady that I can find,
Ellen, must goe with mee.
[Thoughe I am not that lady fayre,
Yet let me go with thee.]
And ever I pray you, Child WatÈrs, 35
Your foot-page let me bee.
If you will my foot-page be, EllÈn,
As you doe tell to mee;[160]
Then you must cut your gowne of greene,
An inch above your knee: 40
Soe must you doe your yellowe lockes,
An inch above your ee:[161]
You must tell no man what is my name;
My foot-page then you shall bee.
Shee, all the long day Child Waters rode,[162] 45
Ran barefoote by his side;[163]
Yett was he never so courteous a knighte,
To say, Ellen, will you ryde?
Shee, all the long day Child Waters rode,[164]
Ran barefoote thorow the broome;[165] 50
Yett hee was never soe curteous a knighte,
To say, put on your shoone.[166]
Ride softlye, shee sayd, O Childe Waters,[167]
Why doe you ryde soe fast?
The childe, which is no mans but thine,[168] 55
My bodye itt will brast.[169]
Hee sayth, seest thou yonder water, Ellen,[170]
That flows from banke to brimme.—
I trust to God, O Child Waters,[171]
You never will see[172] mee swimme. 60
But when shee came to the waters side,
Shee sayled to the chinne:
Except the Lord of heaven be my speed,
Now must I learne to swimme.
The salt waters bare up her clothes;[173] 65
Our Ladye bare upp her chinne:
Childe Waters was a woe man, good Lord,[174]
To see faire Ellen swimme.
And when shee over the water was,
Shee then came to his knee: 70
He said, Come hither, thou faire EllÈn,[175]
Loe yonder what I see.
Seest thou not yonder hall, EllÈn?
Of redd gold shines the yate:[176]
Of twenty foure faire ladyes there,[177] 75
The fairest is my mate.[178]
Seest thou not yonder hall, EllÈn?
Of redd gold shines the towre:[179]
There are twenty four faire ladyes there,[180]
The fairest is my paramoure. 80
I see the hall now, Child Waters,[181]
Of redd gold shines the yate:[182]
God give you good now of yourselfe,[183]
And of your worthye mate.[184]
I see the hall now, Child Waters,[181] 85
Of redd golde shines the towre:[182]
God give you good now of yourselfe,[183]
And of your paramoure.
There twenty four fayre ladyes were[185]
A playing att the ball:[186] 90
And Ellen the fairest ladye there,[187]
Must bring his steed to the stall.
There twenty four fayre ladyes were[188]
A playinge at the chesse;[189]
And Ellen the fayrest ladye there,[190] 95
Must bring his horse to gresse.[191]
And then bespake Childe Waters sister,
These were the wordes said shee:[192]
You have the prettyest foot-page, brother,
That ever I saw with mine ee.[193] 100
But that his bellye it is soe bigg,
His girdle goes wonderous hie:
And let him, I pray you, Childe WatÈrs,[194]
Goe into the chamber with mee.[195]
[It is not fit for a little foot-page, 105
That has run throughe mosse and myre,
To go into the chamber with any ladye.
That weares soe riche attyre.]
It is more meete for a litle foot-page,
That has run throughe mosse and myre. 110
To take his supper upon his knee,
And sitt downe by the kitchen fyer.[196]
But when they had supped every one,
To bedd they tooke theyr waye:[197]
He sayd, come hither, my little foot-page, 115
And hearken what I saye.[198]
Goe thee downe into yonder towne,[199]
And low into the street;
The fayrest ladye that thou can finde,
Hyer her in mine armes to sleepe, 120
And take her up in thine armes twaine,[200]
For filinge[201] of her feete.
Ellen is gone into the towne,
And low into the streete:
The fairest ladye that shee cold find, 125
Shee hyred in his armes to sleepe;
And tooke her up in her armes twayne,[202]
For filing of her feete.
I praye you nowe, good Childe WatÈrs,
Let mee lye at your bedds feete:[203] 130
For there is noe place about this house,
Where I may 'saye a slepe[204].
[He gave her leave, and faire EllÈn
Down at his beds feet laye:]
This done the nighte drove on apace,[205] 135
And when it was neare the daye,[205]
Hee sayd, Rise up, my litle foot-page,
Give my steede corne and haye;[206]
And soe doe thou the good black oats,
To carry mee better awaye.[207] 140
Up then rose the faire EllÈn[208]
And gave his steede corne and hay:
And soe shee did the good blacke oates,[209]
To carry him the better away.[210]
Shee leaned her backe to the manger side,[211] 145
And grievouslye did groane:
[Shee leaned her back to the manger side,
And there shee made her moane.]
And that beheard his mother deere,
Shee heard her there monand.[212] 150
Shee sayd, Rise up, thou Child WatÈrs,
I think thee a cursed man.[213]
For in thy stable is a ghost,[214]
That grievouslye doth grone.
Or else some woman laboures of childe, 155
She is soe woe-begone.
Up then rose Childe Waters soon,[215]
And did on his shirte of silke;
And then he put on his other clothes,[216]
On his body as white as milke. 160
And when he came to the stable dore,
Full still there hee did stand,[217]
That hee mighte heare his fayre EllÈn,[218]
Howe shee made her monÀnd[219].
She sayd, Lullabye, mine owne deere child,[220] 165
Lullabye, dere child, dere:
I wold thy father were a king,
Thy mother layd on a biere.
Peace now, hee said, good faire EllÈn.
Be of good cheere, I praye;[221] 170
And the bridal and the churching both
Shall bee upon one day.[222]
[152] [Ver. 3. to him came, MS.]
X.
PHILLIDA AND CORYDON. This Sonnet is given from a small quarto MS. in the Editor's possession, written in the time of Q. Elizabeth. Another Copy of it containing some variations, is reprinted in the Muses' Library, p. 295, from an ancient miscellany, intitled England's Helicon, 1600, 4to. The author was Nicholas Breton, a writer of some fame in the reign of Elizabeth; who also published an interlude intitled An old man's lesson and a young man's love, 4to., and many other little pieces in prose and verse, the titles of which may be seen in Winstanley, Ames' Typog. and Osborne's Harl. Catalog. &c.—He is mentioned with great respect by Meres, in his 2d pt. of Wit's Common-wealth, 1598, f. 283, and is alluded to in Beaumont and Fletcher's Scornful Lady, act ii., and again in Wit without Money, act iii.—See Whalley's Ben Jonson, vol. iii. p. 103. The present Edition is improved by a copy in England's Helicon, edit. 1614, 8vo. This little Pastoral is one of the Songs in "The Honourable Entertainment gieven to the Queenes Majestie in Progresse at Elvetham in Hampshire, by the R. H. the Earle of Hertford, 1591, 4to." (Printed by Wolfe. No name of author.) See in that pamphlet, "The thirde daies Entertainment. "On Wednesday morning about 9 o'clock, as her Majestie opened a casement of her gallerie window, ther were 3 excellent musitians, who being disguised in auncient country attire, did greet her with a pleasant song of Corydon and Phillida, made in 3 parts of purpose. The song, as well for the worth of the dittie as the aptnesse of the note thereto applied, it pleased her Highnesse after it had been once sung to command it againe, and highly to grace it with her cheerefull acceptance and commendation. The Plowman's Song. In the merrie month of May, &c."
The splendour and magnificence of Elizabeth's reign is nowhere more strongly painted than in these little diaries of some of her summer excursions to the houses of her nobility; nor could a more acceptable present be given to the world, than a republication of a select number of such details as this of the entertainment at Elvetham, that at Killingworth, &c., &c., which so strongly mark the spirit of the times, and present us with scenes so very remote from modern manners. Since the above was written, the public hath been gratified with a most compleat work on the foregoing subject, intitled, The Progresses and Public Processions of Queen Elizabeth, &c. By John Nichols, F.A.S., Edinb. and Perth, 1788, 2 vols. 4to.
[The author of this elegant little poem was a most voluminous author, and "is supposed to be the same Capt. Nicholas Breton, who was of Norton in Northamptonshire, and dying there June 22, 1624, has a monument in that church."[223] Dr. Rimbault (Musical Illustrations of Percy's Reliques) writes as follows of the music:—"We have here two settings of this beautiful pastoral, the first as it was sung by the 'three excellent musitians' before Queen Elizabeth in 1591; the second as it was reset in the following century. The first is extracted from Madrigals to 3, 4, and 5 parts, apt for viols and voices, newly composed by Michael Este, 1604; the second from Cheerfull Ayres or Ballads, set for three voyces, by Dr. John Wilson, Oxford, 1660. The latter became extremely popular, and is included in D'Urfey's Pills to Purge Melancholy, 1719, and several other musical miscellanies of subsequent date."]
In the merrie moneth of Maye,
In a morne by break of daye,
With a troope of damselles playing
Forthe "I yode" forsooth a maying:[224]
When anon by a wood side, 5
Where as Maye was in his pride,
I espied all alone
Phillida and Corydon.
Much adoe there was, god wot;
He wold love, and she wold not. 10
She sayde, never man was trewe;
He sayes, none was false to you.
He sayde, hee had lovde her longe:
She sayes, love should have no wronge.
Corydon wold kisse her then: 15
She sayes, maydes must kisse no men,
Tyll they doe for good and all.
When she made the shepperde call
All the heavens to wytnes truthe,
Never loved a truer youthe. 20
Then with manie a prettie othe,
Yea and nay, and, faith and trothe;
Suche as seelie shepperdes use
When they will not love abuse;
Love, that had bene long deluded, 25
Was with kisses sweete concluded;
And Phillida with garlands gaye
Was made the lady of the Maye.
XI.
LITTLE MUSGRAVE AND LADY BARNARD. This ballad is ancient, and has been popular; we find it quoted in many old plays. See Beaum. and Fletcher's Knight of the Burning Pestle, 4to. 1613, act v. sc. iii. The Varietie, a comedy, 12mo. 1649, act iv. &c. In Sir William Davenant's play, The Witts, a. iii. a gallant thus boasts of himself: "Limber and sound! besides I sing Musgrave,
And for Chevy-chace no lark comes near me."
In the Pepys Collection, vol. iii. p. 314, is an imitation of this old song, in 33 stanzas, by a more modern pen, with many alterations, but evidently for the worse. This is given from an old printed copy in the British Museum, with corrections; some of which are from a fragment in the Editor's folio MS. It is also printed in Dryden's Collection of Miscellaneous Poems.
[The copy of this ballad in the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. i. p. 119) is a mutilated fragment consisting of only ten complete stanzas and three half ones. The oldest entire copy is to be found in Wit Restor'd, 1658, where it is called the old ballad of little Musgrave, which is given by Professor Child (English and Scottish Ballads, vol. ii. p. 15) in preference to Percy's. This version, not very exactly transcribed, is printed in Dryden's Miscellany Poems (1716, vol. iii. 312), and Ritson (Ancient Songs and Ballads, vol. ii. p. 116) copied it from thence. Ritson writes of one of Percy's statements above: "Dr. Percy indeed, by some mistake, gives it as from an old printed copy in the British Museum; observing that 'In the Pepys collection is an imitation of this old song in a different measure, by a more modern pen, with many alterations, but evidently for the worse.' It is very true, and not less so that the only copies in the museum (for there are two) are more recent impressions of this identical imitation." It is the 14th stanza slightly altered which is quoted in the Knight of the Burning Pestle. "And some they whistled, and some they sung,
Hey down down!
And some did loudly say
Ever as Lord Barnet's horn blew,
Away Musgrave, away."
There are several Scottish versions, in which the reciters have altered the locality. Jamieson has printed one which he calls Lord Barnaby (Popular Ballads and Songs, i. 170). He states that he had heard it repeated both in Morayshire and in the southern counties. Motherwell gives the air in his Minstrelsy which he noted down from oral communication, and this verse— "It fell upon a Martinmas time
When the nobles were a drinking wine,
That little Mushiegrove to the kirk he did go
For to see the ladies come in."
Mr. J. H. Dixon includes a version entitled Lord Burnett and Little Munsgrove in his Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads (Percy Society, vol. xvii.) Home adopted the name of Lady Barnard in his Douglas before he took that of Lady Randolph, see No. 18, Gil Morrice. There is another ballad called The Bonny Birdy, with a similar story. Jamieson (i. 162) prints it and alters the title to Lord Randal.]
As it fell out on a highe holye daye,
As many bee in the yeare,
When yong men and maides together do goe
Their masses and mattins to heare,
Little MusgrÀve came to the church door, 5
The priest was at the mass;
But he had more mind of the fine womÈn,
Then he had of our Ladyes grace.
And some of them were clad in greene,
And others were clad in pall; 10
And then came in my lord Barnardes wife,
The fairest among them all.
Shee cast an eye on little MusgrÀve
As bright as the summer sunne:
O then bethought him little MusgrÀve, 15
This ladyes heart I have wonne.
Quoth she, I have loved thee, little MusgrÀve,
Fulle long and manye a daye.
So have I loved you, ladye faire,
Yet word I never durst saye. 20
I have a bower at Bucklesford-Bury,[225]
Full daintilye bedight,
If thoult wend thither, my little MusgrÀve,
Thoust lig in mine armes all night.
Quoth hee, I thanke yee, ladye faire, 25
This kindness yee shew to mee;
And whether it be to my weale or woe,
This night will I lig with thee.
All this beheard a litle foot-page,
By his ladyes coach as he ranne: 30
Quoth he, thoughe I am my ladyes page,
Yet Ime my lord Barnardes manne.
My lord BarnÀrd shall knowe of this,
Although I lose a limbe.
And ever whereas the bridges were broke, 35
He layd him downe to swimme.
Asleep or awake, thou lord BarnÀrd,
As thou art a man of life,
Lo! this same night at Bucklesford-Bury
Litle Musgrave's in bed with thy wife. 40
If it be trew, thou litle foote-page,
This tale thou hast told to mee,
Then all my lands in Bucklesford-Bury
I freelye will give to thee.
But and it be a lye, thou litle foot-page, 45
This tale thou hast told to mee,
On the highest tree in Bucklesford-Bury
All hanged shalt thou bee.
Rise up, rise up, my merry men all,
And saddle me my good steede; 50
This night must I to Bucklesford-bury;
God wott, I had never more neede.
Then some they whistled, and some they sang,
And some did loudlye saye,
Whenever lord Barnardes horne it blewe, 55
Awaye, MusgrÀve, away.
Methinkes I heare the throstle cocke,
Methinkes I heare the jay,
Methinkes I heare lord Barnards home;
I would I were awaye. 60
Lye still, lye still, thou little MusgrÀve,
And huggle me from the cold;
For it is but some shephardes boye
A whistling his sheepe to the fold.[226]
Is not thy hawke upon the pearche, 65
Thy horse eating corne and haye?
And thou a gay lady within thine armes:
And wouldst thou be awaye?
By this lord Barnard was come to the dore,
And lighted upon a stone: 70
And he pulled out three silver keyes,
And opened the dores eche one.
He lifted up the coverlett,
He lifted up the sheete;
How now, how now, thou little MusgrÀve, 75
Dost find my gaye ladye sweete?
I find her sweete, quoth little MusgrÀve,
The more is my griefe and paine;
Ide gladlye give three hundred poundes
That I were on yonder plaine. 80
Arise, arise, thou little MusgrÀve,
And put thy cloathes nowe on,
It shall never be said in my countree,
That I killed a naked man.
I have two swordes in one scabbÀrde, 85
Full deare they cost my purse;
And thou shalt have the best of them,
And I will have the worse.
The first stroke that little Musgrave strucke,
He hurt lord Barnard sore; 90
The next stroke that lord Barnard strucke,
Little Musgrave never strucke more.
With that bespake the ladye faire,
In bed whereas she laye,
Althoughe thou art dead, my little MusgrÀve, 95
Yet for thee I will praye:
And wishe well to thy soule will I,
So long as I have life;
So will I not do for thee, BarnÀrd,
Thoughe I am thy wedded wife. 100
He cut her pappes from off her brest;
Great pitye it was to see
The drops of this fair ladyes bloode
Run trickling downe her knee.
Wo worth, wo worth ye, my merrye men all, 105
You never were borne for my goode:
Why did you not offer to stay my hande,
When you sawe me wax so woode?[227]
For I have slaine the fairest sir knighte,
That ever rode on a steede; 110
So have I done the fairest lady,
That ever ware womans weede.[228]
A grave, a grave, Lord Barnard cryde,
To putt these lovers in;
But lay my ladye o' the upper hande, 115
For she comes o' the better kin.
†‡† That the more modern copy is to be dated about the middle of the last century, will be readily conceived from the tenor of the concluding stanza, viz. "This sad Mischief by Lust was wrought;
Then let us call for Grace,
That we may shun the wicked vice,
And fly from Sin a-pace."
XII.
THE EW-BUGHTS, MARION. A Scottish Song. This sonnet appears to be ancient: that and its simplicity of sentiment have recommended it to a place here.
[This is marked in Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany as an old song with additions. It is not known who wrote the song or who composed the air belonging to it. They are both old.]
Will ye gae to the ew-bughts,[229] Marion,
And wear in[230] the sheip wi' mee?
The sun shines sweit, my Marion,
But nae half sae sweit as thee.
O Marion's a bonnie lass; 5
And the blyth blinks[231] in her ee:
And fain wad I marrie Marion,
Gin Marion wad marrie mee.
Theire's gowd in your garters, Marion;
And siller on your white hauss-bane[232]: 10
Fou faine wad I kisse my Marion
At eene quhan I cum hame.
Theire's braw lads in Earnslaw, Marion,
Quha gape and glowr wi' their ee
At kirk, quhan they see my Marion; 15
Bot nane of them lues[233] like mee.
Ive nine milk-ews, my Marion,
A cow and a brawney quay;[234]
Ise gie tham au to my Marion,
Just on her bridal day. 20
And yees get a grein sey[235] apron,
And waistcote o' London broun;
And wow bot ye will be vaporing
Quhaneir ye gang to the toun.
Ime yong and stout, my Marion, 25
None dance lik mee on the greine;
And gin ye forsak me, Marion,
Ise een gae draw up wi' Jeane.
Sae put on your pearlins,[236] Marion,
And kirtle oth' cramasie;[237] 30
And sune as my chin has nae haire on,
I sall cum west, and see yee.
XIII.
THE KNIGHT, AND SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER. This ballad (given from an old black-letter copy, with some corrections) was popular in the time of Q. Elizabeth, being usually printed with her picture before it, as Hearne informs us in his preface to Gul. Neubrig. Hist. Oxon. 1719, 8vo. vol. i. p. lxx. It is quoted in Fletcher's comedy of the Pilgrim, act iv. sc. 2.
[It is also quoted in The Knight of the Burning Pestle: "He set her on a milk white steed." (l. 85.)
There are several Scottish versions given by Buchan, Kinloch, and Motherwell. The latter claims greater antiquity for his over Percy's. It appears, however, to be a southern ballad adapted by the Scotch and improved in its humour. The heroine practices various artifices to maintain the character of a "beggar's brat" when riding back with Earl Richard.]
There was a shepherd's daughter
Came tripping on the waye;
And there by chance a knighte shee mett,
Which caused her to staye.
Good morrowe to you, beauteous maide, 5
These words pronounced hee:
O I shall dye this daye, he sayd,
If Ive not my wille of thee.
The Lord forbid, the maide replyde,
That you shold waxe so wode! 10
"But for all that shee could do or saye,
He wold not be withstood."
Sith you have had your wille of mee,
And put me to open shame,
Now, if you are a courteous knighte, 15
Tell me what is your name?
Some do call mee Jacke, sweet heart,
And some do call mee Jille;[238]
But when I come to the kings faire courte
They call me Wilfulle Wille. 20
He sett his foot into the stirrup,
And awaye then he did ride;
She tuckt her girdle about her middle,
And ranne close by his side.
But when she came to the brode watÈr, 25
She sett her brest and swamme;
And when she was got out againe,
She tooke to her heels and ranne.
He never was the courteous knighte,
To saye, faire maide, will ye ride? 30
"And she was ever too loving a maide"
To saye, sir knighte abide.
When she came to the kings faire courte,
She knocked at the ring;
So readye was the king himself 35
To let this faire maide in.
Now Christ you save, my gracious liege,
Now Christ you save and see,
You have a knighte within your courte
This daye hath robbed mee. 40
What hath he robbed thee of, sweet heart?
Of purple or of pall?
Or hath he took thy gaye gold ring
From off thy finger small?
He hath not robbed mee, my leige, 45
Of purple nor of pall:
But he hath gotten my maiden head,
Which grieves mee worst of all.
Now if he be a batchelor,
His bodye Ile give to thee;[239] 50
But if he be a married man,
High hanged he shall bee.
He called downe his merrye men all,
By one, by two, by three;
Sir William used to bee the first, 55
But nowe the last came hee.
He brought her downe full fortye pounde,
Tyed up withinne a glove:
Faire maid, Ile give the same to thee;
Go, seeke thee another love. 60
O Ile have none of your gold, she sayde,
Nor Ile have none of your fee;
But your faire bodye I must have,
The king hath granted mee.
Sir William ranne and fetchd her then 65
Five hundred pound in golde,
Saying, faire maide, take this to thee,
Thy fault will never be tolde.
Tis not the gold that shall mee tempt,
These words then answered shee, 70
But your own bodye I must have,
The king hath granted mee.
Would I had dranke the water cleare,
When I did drinke the wine,
Rather than any shepherds brat 75
Shold bee a ladye of mine!
Would I had drank the puddle foule,
When I did drink the ale,
Rather than ever a shepherds brat
Shold tell me such a tale! 80
A shepherds brat even as I was,
You mote have let me bee,
I never had come othe kings faire courte,
To crave any love of thee.
He sett her on a milk-white steede, 85
And himself upon a graye;
He hung a bugle about his necke,
And soe they rode awaye.
But when they came unto the place,
Where marriage-rites were done, 90
She proved herself a dukes daughtÈr,
And he but a squires sonne.
Now marrye me, or not, sir knight.
Your pleasure shall be free:
If you make me ladye of one good towne, 95
Ile make you lord of three.
Ah! cursed bee the gold, he sayd.
If thou hadst not been trewe.
I shold have forsaken my sweet love,
And have changed her for a newe. 100
And now their hearts being linked fast,
They joyned hand in hande:
Thus he had both purse, and person too,
And all at his commande.
* [238] [Jill is sometimes used as a woman's name and at other times as a man's.]
XIV.
THE SHEPHERD'S ADDRESS TO HIS MUSE. This poem, originally printed from the small MS. volume, mentioned above in No. X., has been improved by a more perfect copy in England's Helicon, where the author is discovered to be N. Breton.
Good Muse, rocke me aslepe
With some sweete harmony:
This wearie eyes is not to kepe
Thy wary company.
Sweete Love, begon a while,
Thou seest my heavines: 5
Beautie is borne but to beguyle
My harte of happines.
See howe my little flocke,
That lovde to feede on highe, 10
Doe headlonge tumble downe the rocke,
And in the valley dye.
The bushes and the trees,
That were so freshe and greene,
Doe all their deintie colors leese, 15
And not a leafe is seene.
The blacke birde and the thrushe,
That made the woodes to ringe,
With all the rest, are now at hushe,
And not a note they singe. 20
Swete Philomele, the birde
That hath the heavenly throte,
Doth nowe, alas! not once afforde
Recordinge of a note.
The flowers have had a frost, 25
The herbs have loste their savoure;
And Phillida the faire hath lost
"For me her wonted" favour.
Thus all these careful sights,
So kill me in conceit; 30
That now to hope upon delights,
It is but meere deceite.
And therefore, my sweete Muse,
That knowest what helpe is best,
Doe nowe thy heavenlie conninge use 35
To sett my harte at rest:
And in a dreame bewraie
What fate shal be my frende;
Whether my life shall still decaye,
Or when my sorrowes ende. 40
XV.
LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ELLINOR Is given (with corrections) from an ancient copy in black letter, in the Pepys collection, intitled, A tragical ballad on the unfortunate love of lord Thomas and fair Ellinor, together with the downfall of the browne girl.—In the same collection may be seen an attempt to modernize this old song, and reduce it to a different measure: A proof of its popularity. The reader will find a Scottish song on a similar subject to this, towards the end of this volume, intitled, Lord Thomas and Lady Annet.
[This is one of the ballads still kept in print in Seven Dials, and Ritson describes it as having "every appearance of being originally a minstrel song." There is a series of ballads on the same subject— 1. Lord Thomas and Fair Annet, (see book iii. No. 4.) 2. Fair Margaret and Sweet William, (see book ii. No. 4.) 3. Sweet Willie and Fair Annie, (Jamieson's Popular Ballads, l. 22.) The last named ballad is a combination of the first two, the first part being similar to Lord Thomas, and the second part to Fair Margaret.]
Lord Thomas he was a bold forrestÈr,
And a chaser of the kings deere;
Faire Ellinor was a fine womÀn,
And lord Thomas he loved her deare.
Come riddle my riddle, dear mother, he sayd, 5
And riddle us both as one;
Whether I shall marrye with faire EllinÒr,
And let the browne girl alone?
The browne girl she has got houses and lands,
Faire Ellinor she has got none, 10
And therefore I charge thee on my blessÌng,
To bring me the browne girl home.
And as it befelle on a high holidaye,
As many there are beside,
Lord Thomas he went to faire EllinÒr, 15
That should have been his bride.
And when he came to faire Ellinors bower,
He knocked there at the ring,
And who was so readye as faire EllinÒr,
To lett lord Thomas withinn. 20
What newes, what newes, lord Thomas, she sayd?
What newes dost thou bring to mee?
I am come to bid thee to my weddÌng,
And that is bad newes for thee.
O God forbid, lord Thomas, she sayd, 25
That such a thing should be done;
I thought to have been the bride my selfe,
And thou to have been the bridegrome.
Come riddle my riddle, dear mother, she sayd,[240]
And riddle it all in one; 30
Whether I shall goe to lord Thomas his wedding,
Or whether shall tarry at home?
There are manye that are your friendes, daughtÈr,
And manye a one your foe,
Therefore I charge you on my blessing, 35
To lord Thomas his wedding don't goe.
There are manye that are my friendes, mothÈr;
But were every one my foe,
Betide me life, betide me death,
To lord Thomas his wedding I'ld goe. 40
She cloathed herself in gallant attire,
And her merrye men all in greene;
And as they rid through every towne,
They took her to be some queene.
But when she came to lord Thomas his gate, 45
She knocked there at the ring;
And who was so readye as lord ThomÀs,
To lett faire Ellinor in.
Is this your bride, fair Ellinor sayd?
Methinks she looks wonderous browne; 50
Thou mightest have had as faire a womÀn,
As ever trod on the grounde.
Despise her not, fair Ellin, he sayd,
Despise her not unto mee;
For better I love thy little fingÈr, 55
Than all her whole bodÈe.
This browne bride had a little penknife,
That was both long and sharpe,
And betwixt the short ribs and the long,
She prickd faire Ellinor's harte. 60
O Christ thee save, lord Thomas, hee sayd,
Methinks thou lookst wonderous wan;
Thou usedst to look with as fresh a colÒur,
As ever the sun shone on.
Oh, art thou blind, lord Thomas? she sayd, 65
Or canst thou not very well see?
Oh! dost thou not see my owne hearts bloode
Run trickling down my knee.
Lord Thomas he had a sword by his side;
As he walked about the halle, 70
He cut off his brides head from her shouldÈrs,
And threw it against the walle.
He set the hilte against the grounde,
And the point against his harte.
There never three lovers together did meete, 75
That sooner againe did parte.
XVI.
CUPID AND CAMPASPE. This elegant little sonnet is found in the third act of an old play intitled Alexander and Campaspe, written by John Lilye, a celebrated writer in the time of queen Elizabeth. That play was first printed in 1591; but this copy is given from a later edition.
[These pretty epigrammatic verses occur in act iii. sc. 5. of Lilly's play as a song by Apelles. The first edition of Campaspe was printed in 1584, and that of 1591, mentioned above, is the second edition. This song, however, was omitted in all the editions printed before that of E. Blount (Six Court Comedies, 1632.)]
Cupid and my Campaspe playd
At cardes for kisses; Cupid payd:
He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows,
His mothers doves, and teame of sparrows;
Loses them too; then down he throws 5
The coral of his lippe, the rose
Growing on's cheek (but none knows how)
With these, the crystal of his browe,
And then the dimple of his chinne;
All these did my Campaspe winne. 10
At last he set her both his eyes,
She won, and Cupid blind did rise.
O Love! has she done this to thee?
What shall, alas! become of mee?
XVII.
THE LADY TURNED SERVING-MAN Is given from a written copy, containing some improvements (perhaps modern ones), upon the popular ballad, intitled, The famous flower of Serving-men: or the Lady turned Serving-man.
[It is printed in the Collection of Old Ballads (i. 216) without the improvements. After verse 56 the first person is changed to the third in the original, but Percy altered this and made the first person run on throughout. Kinloch (Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 95) gives a very mutilated and varied version of this ballad in the Scottish dress under the title of Sweet Willie, which was taken down from the recitation of an old woman in Lanark. There is a similar story in Swedish and Danish.]
You beauteous ladyes, great and small,
I write unto you one and all,
Whereby that you may understand
What I have suffered in the land.
I was by birth a lady faire, 5
An ancient barons only heire,
And when my good old father dyed,
Then I became a young knightes bride.
And there my love built me a bower,
Bedeck'd with many a fragrant flower; 10
A braver bower you ne'er did see
Then my true-love did build for mee.
And there I livde a ladye gay,
Till fortune wrought our loves decay;
For there came foes so fierce a band, 15
That soon they over-run the land.
They came upon us in the night,
And brent my bower, and slew my knight;
And trembling hid in mans array,
I scant with life escap'd away. 20
In the midst of this extremitÌe,
My servants all did from me flee:
Thus was I left myself alone,
With heart more cold than any stone.
Yet though my heart was full of care, 25
Heaven would not suffer me to dispaire,
Wherefore in haste I chang'd my name
From faire Elise, to sweet Williame:
And therewithall I cut my haire,
Resolv'd my man's attire to weare; 30
And in my beaver, hose and band,
I travell'd far through many a land.
At length all wearied with my toil,
I sate me downe to rest awhile;
My heart it was so fill'd with woe, 35
That downe my cheeke the teares did flow.
It chanc'd the king of that same place
With all his lords a hunting was,
And seeing me weepe, upon the same
Askt who I was, and whence I came. 40
Then to his grace I did replye,
I am a poore and friendlesse boye,
Though nobly borne, nowe forc'd to bee
A serving-man of lowe degree.
Stand up, faire youth, the king reply'd, 45
For thee a service I'll provyde:
But tell me first what thou canst do;
Thou shalt be fitted thereunto.
Wilt thou be usher of my hall,
To wait upon my nobles all? 50
Or wilt be taster of my wine,
To 'tend on me when I shall dine?
Or wilt thou be my chamberlaine,
About my person to remaine?
Or wilt thou be one of my guard, 55
And I will give thee great reward?
Chuse, gentle youth, said he, thy place.
Then I reply'd, If it please your grace
To shew such favour unto mee,
Your chamberlaine I faine would bee. 60
The king then smiling gave consent,
And straitwaye to his court I went;
Where I behavde so faithfullÌe,
That hee great favour showd to mee.
Now marke what fortune did provide; 65
The king he would a hunting ride
With all his lords and noble traine,
Sweet William must at home remaine.
Thus being left alone behind,
My former state came in my mind: 70
I wept to see my mans array;
No longer now a ladye gay.
And meeting with a ladyes vest,
Within the same myself I drest;
With silken robes, and jewels rare, 75
I deckt me, as a ladye faire:
And taking up a lute straitwaye,
Upon the same I strove to play;
And sweetly to the same did sing,
As made both hall and chamber ring. 80
"My father was as brave a lord,
As ever Europe might afford;
My mother was a lady bright;
My husband was a valiant knight:
"And I myself a ladye gay, 85
Bedeckt with gorgeous rich array;
The happiest lady in the land,
Had not more pleasure at command.
"I had my musicke every day
Harmonious lessons for to play; 90
I had my virgins fair and free,
Continually to wait on mee.
"But now, alas! my husband's dead,
And all my friends are from me fled,
My former days are past and gone, 95
And I am now a serving-man."
And fetching many a tender sigh,
As thinking no one then was nigh,
In pensive mood I laid me lowe,
My heart was full, the tears did flowe. 100
The king, who had a huntinge gone,
Grewe weary of his sport anone,
And leaving all his gallant traine,
Turn'd on the sudden home againe:
And when he reach'd his statelye tower, 105
Hearing one sing within his bower,
He stopt to listen, and to see
Who sung there so melodiouslÌe.
Thus heard he everye word I sed,
And saw the pearlye teares I shed, 110
And found to his amazement there,
Sweete William was a ladye faire.
Then stepping in, Faire ladye, rise,
And dry, said he, those lovelye eyes,
For I have heard thy mournful tale, 115
The which shall turne to thy availe.
A crimson dye my face orespred,
I blusht for shame, and hung my head,
To find my sex and story knowne,
When as I thought I was alone. 120
But to be briefe, his royall grace
Grewe so enamour'd of my face,
The richest gifts he proffered mee,
His mistress if that I would bee.
Ah! no, my liege, I firmlye sayd, 125
I'll rather in my grave be layd,
And though your grace hath won my heart,
I ne'er will act soe base a part.
Faire ladye, pardon me, sayd hee,
Thy virtue shall rewarded bee, 130
And since it is soe fairly tryde
Thou shalt become my royal bride.
Then strait to end his amorous strife,
He tooke sweet William to his wife.
The like before was never seene, 135
A serving-man became a queene.
?
XVIII.
GIL MORRICE. A Scottish Ballad. The following piece hath run thro' two editions in Scotland: the second was printed at Glasgow in 1755, 8vo. Prefixed to them both is an advertisement, setting forth that the preservation of this poem was owing "to a lady, who favoured the printers with a copy, as it was carefully collected from the mouths of old women and nurses;" and "any reader that can render it more correct or complete," is desired to oblige the public with such improvements. In consequence of this advertisement sixteen additional verses have been produced and handed about in manuscript, which are here inserted in their proper places: (these are from ver. 109, to ver. 121, and from ver. 124, to ver. 129, but are perhaps, after all, only an ingenious interpolation.) As this poem lays claim to a pretty high antiquity, we have assigned it a place among our early pieces: though, after all, there is reason to believe it has received very considerable modern improvements: for in the Editor's ancient MS. collection is a very old imperfect copy of the same ballad: wherein though the leading features of the story are the same, yet the colouring here is so much improved and heightened, and so many additional strokes are thrown in, that it is evident the whole has undergone a revisal. This little pathetic tale suggested the plot of the tragedy of Douglas. Since it was first printed, the Editor has been assured that the foregoing ballad is still current in many parts of Scotland, where the hero is universally known by the name of Child Maurice, pronounced by the common people Cheild or Cheeld; which occasioned the mistake. It may be proper to mention that other copies read ver. 110, thus: "Shot frae the golden sun"
And ver. 116, as follows: "His een like azure sheene."
N.B. The Editor's MS. instead of "lord Barnard," has "John Stewart;" and instead of "Gil Morrice," Child Maurice, which last is probably the original title. See above, p. 58.
[Gil Maurice is one of the most popular of the old ballads and it is also one of the most corrupt. The present copy is so tinkered that it is not surprising Burns regarded the ballad as a modern composition and classed it with Hardyknute, a position afterwards taken up by Robert Chambers in his pamphlet The Romantic Scottish Ballads, their epoch and authorship. The fact however that the story is preserved in the Folio MS. and also in several other forms obtained from tradition prove it to be an authentic ballad. Jamieson thinks it has all the appearance of being a true narrative of some incident that had really taken place. Motherwell devotes several pages of his Minstrelsy (pp. 257-286) to an account of the various versions. He says that tradition points out the "green wood" of the ballad in the ancient forest of Dundaff in Stirlingshire. The request for additions mentioned above by Percy was a tempting bait eagerly caught at, and the edition of 1755 was a made up text with additional verses. Besides vv. 109-120, 125-128, which are known to be interpolations, Professor Child (English and Scottish Ballads, vol. ii. p. 38) also degrades to the foot of the page the verses from 177 to the end, on the authority of Jamieson, who says, that "having been attentive to all the proceedings in most of the trials at the bar of ballad criticism I may venture to hazard an opinion that the genuine text ends with 'ver. 176.'" Ritson and Motherwell are of the same opinion. Sir Walter Scott notes on the interpolated verses, "In the beautiful and simple ballad of Gil Morris some affected person has stuck in one or two factitious verses which, like vulgar persons in a drawing room, betray themselves by their over-finery." The fine copy in the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 500), which Jamieson thought debased and totally unworthy of the subject, which Chambers calls "a poor, bald imperfect composition," and Mr. Hales more accurately designates as "a noble specimen of our ballad poetry in all its strength," was first printed by Jamieson (Popular Ballads and Songs, 1806, vol. i. p. 8), and is now added to the present version. The last stanza of the Folio MS. copy is identical with the last stanza but one of Little Musgrave and Lady Barnard, with which it seems to have some connection both in subject and name. Prof. Aytoun points out that vv. 51-58 of Percy's copy, which are now placed within brackets, are taken from Lady Maisry, a ballad obtained from recitation and printed by Jamieson (vol. i. p. 73). "O whan he came to broken briggs
He bent his bow and swam,
And whan he came to the green grass growin'
He slack'd his shoon and ran.
And whan he came to Lord William's yeats
He badena to chap or ca',
But set his bent bow to his breast
And lightly lap the wa'."
It is however only fair to Percy to say that he printed Gil Morice before Lady Maisry was published. Gray wrote to a friend, "I have got the old Scotch ballad on which Douglas was founded; it is divine, and as long as from hence [Cambridge] to Aston." Jamieson says, on the authority of Sir Walter Scott, that after the appearance of Home's Douglas six additional stanzas, beginning— "She heard him speak, but fell despair
Sat rooted in her heart
She heard him, and she heard nae mair
Though sair she rued the smart,"
were written to complete the ballad, and in accordance with the final catastrophe of the tragedy Lord Barnard rushes into the thickest of the fight— "and meets the death he sought."
When the play was produced in Edinburgh in 1756 the heroine was named Lady Barnard, and the alteration to Lady Randolph was made on its appearance in England in the following year. Jamieson gives three stanzas of a traditional version of the ballad, the whole of which neither he nor Motherwell could recover, although Mr. Sharpe told the latter that they were incorporated in an Annandale version which contained a novel feature in the story. Motherwell prints a version called Chield Morice, which he took down from the recitation of an old woman of 70 in 1827, and which she had learned in infancy from her grandmother. She told Motherwell "that at a later period of her life she also committed to memory Gill Morice, which began with young lasses like her to be a greater favourite, and more fashionable than the set which her grandmother and other old folks used to sing under the title of Chield Morice." He also prints Child Moryce, taken down from the singing of widow M'Cormick of Paisley in 1825, and adds his opinion that Morice and Maurice are evident corruptions of Norice—a foster child. The story of Langhorne's Owen of Carron is also taken from this ballad.]
Gil Morrice was an erlÈs son,
His name it waxed wide;
It was nae for his great richÈs,
Nor yet his mickle pride;
Bot it was for a lady gay, 5
That livd on Carron side.
Quhair sall I get a bonny boy,
That will win hose and shoen;
That will gae to lord Barnards ha',
And bid his lady cum? 10
And ye maun rin my errand, Willie;[241]
And ye may rin wi' pride;
Quhen other boys gae on their foot,
On horse-back ye sall ride.
O no! Oh no! my master dear! 15
I dare nae for my life;
I'll no gae to the bauld barÒns,
For to triest furth his wife.
My bird Willie, my boy Willie;
My dear Willie, he sayd: 20
How can ye strive against the stream?
For I sall be obeyd.
Bot, O my master dear! he cryd,
In grene wod ye're your lain;[242]
Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ye rede,[243] 25
For fear ye should be tain.
Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha',
Bid hir cum here wi speid:
If ye refuse my heigh command,
Ill gar your body bleid. 30
Gae bid hir take this gay mantÈl,
'Tis a' gowd bot the hem;[244]
Bid hir cum to the gude grene wode,
And bring nane bot hir lain:
And there it is, a silken sarke, 35
Her ain hand sewd the sleive;
And bid hir cum to Gill Morice,
Speir nae bauld barons leave.
Yes, I will gae your black errand,
Though it be to your cost; 40
Sen ye by me will nae be warn'd,
In it ye sall find frost.
The baron he is a man of might,
He neir could bide to taunt,
As ye will see before its nicht, 45
How sma' ye hae to vaunt.
And sen I maun your errand rin
Sae sair against my will,
I'se mak a vow and keip it trow,
It sall be done for ill. 50
[And quhen he came to broken brigue,
He bent his bow and swam;
And quhen he came to grass growing,
Set down his feet and ran.
And quhen he came to Barnards ha', 55
Would neither chap[245] nor ca':
Bot set his bent bow to his breist,
And lichtly lap the wa'.][246]
He wauld nae tell the man his errand,
Though he stude at the gait; 60
Bot straiht into the ha' he cam,
Quhair they were set at meit.
Hail! hail! my gentle sire and dame!
My message winna waite;
Dame, ye maun to the gude grene wod 65
Before that it be late.
Ye're bidden tak this gay mantÈl,
Tis a' gowd bot the hem:[244]
You maun gae to the gude grene wode,
Ev'n by your sel alane. 70
And there it is, a silken sarke,
Your ain hand sewd the sleive;
Ye maun gae speik to Gill MorÌce;
Speir nae bauld barons leave.
The lady stamped wi' hir foot, 75
And winked wi' hir ee;
Bot a' that she coud say or do,
Forbidden he wad nae bee.
Its surely to my bow'r-womÀn;
It neir could be to me. 80
I brocht it to lord Barnards lady;
I trow that ye be she.
Then up and spack the wylie nurse,
(The bairn upon hir knee)
If it be cum frae Gill Morice, 85
It's deir welcum to mee.
Ye leid, ye leid, ye filthy nurse,
Sae loud I heird ye lee;[247]
I brocht it to lord Barnards lady;
I trow ye be nae shee. 90
Then up and spack the bauld barÒn,
An angry man was hee;
He's tain the table wi' his foot,
Sae has he wi' his knee;
Till siller cup and 'mazer'[248] dish 95
In flinders he gard flee.[249]
Gae bring a robe of your clidÌng,[250]
That hings upon the pin;
And I'll gae to the gude grene wode,
And speik wi' your lemmÀn. 100
O bide at hame, now lord BarnÀrd,
I warde ye bide at hame;
Neir wyte[251] a man for violence,
That neir wate[252] ye wi' nane.
Gil Morice sate in gude grene wode, 105
He whistled and he sang':
O what mean a' the folk comÌng,
My mother tarries lang.
[His hair was like the threeds of gold,
Drawne frae Minervas loome: 110
His lipps like roses drapping dew,
His breath was a' perfume.
His brow was like the mountain snae
Gilt by the morning beam:
His cheeks like living roses glow: 115
His een like azure stream.
The boy was clad in robes of grene,
Sweete as the infant spring:
And like the mavis on the bush,
He gart the vallies ring.] 120
The baron came to the grene wode,
Wi' mickle dule and care,
And there he first spied Gill MorÌce
Kameing his yellow hair:
[That sweetly wavd around his face, 125
That face beyond compare:
He sang sae sweet it might dispel,
A' rage but fell despair.][253]
Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gill MorÌce,
My lady loed thee weel, 130
The fairest part of my bodie
Is blacker than thy heel.
Yet neir the less now, Gill MorÌce,
For a' thy great beautiÈ,
Ye's rew the day ye eir was born; 135
That head sall gae wi' me.
Now he has drawn his trusty brand,
And slaited on the strae;[254]
And thro' Gill Morice' fair body
He's gar cauld iron gae. 140
And he has tain Gill Morice' head
And set it on a speir;
The meanest man in a' his train
Has gotten that head to bear.
And he has tain Gill Morice up, 145
Laid him across his steid,
And brocht him to his painted bowr
And laid him on a bed.
The lady sat on castil wa',
Beheld baith dale and doun; 150
And there she saw Gill Morice' head
Cum trailing to the toun.
Far better I loe that bluidy head,
Both and that yellow hair,
Than lord Barnard, and a' his lands, 155
As they lig here and thair.
And she has tain her Gill Morice,
And kissd baith mouth and chin:
I was once as fow of Gill Morice,
As the hip is o' the stean.[255] 160
I got ye in my father's house,
Wi' mickle sin and shame;
I brocht thee up in gude grene wode,
Under the heavy rain.
Oft have I by thy cradle sitten, 165
And fondly seen thee sleip;
But now I gae about thy grave,
The saut tears for to weip.
And syne she kissd his bluidy cheik,
And syne his bluidy chin: 170
O better I loe my Gill Morice
Than a' my kith and kin!
Away, away, ye ill womÀn,
And an il deith mait ye dee:
Gin I had kend he'd bin your son, 175
He'd neir bin slain for mee.
[Obraid me not, my lord Barnard!
Obraid me not for shame!
Wi' that saim speir O pierce my heart!
And put me out o' pain. 180
Since nothing bot Gill Morice head
Thy jelous rage could quell,
Let that saim hand now tak hir life,
That neir to thee did ill.
To me nae after days nor nichts 185
Will eir be saft or kind;
I'll fill the air with heavy sighs,
And greet till I am blind.
Enouch of blood by me's bin spilt,
Seek not your death frae mee; 190
I rather lourd it had been my sel
Than eather him or thee.
With waefo wae I hear your plaint;
Sair, sair I rew the deid,
That eir this cursed hand of mine 195
Had gard his body bleid.
Dry up your tears, my winsome dame,
Ye neir can heal the wound;
Ye see his head upon the speir,
His heart's blude on the ground. 200
I curse the hand that did the deid,
The heart that thocht the ill;
The feet that bore me wi' silk speid,
The comely youth to kill.
I'll ay lament for Gill Morice, 205
As gin he were mine ain;
I'll neir forget the dreiry day
On which the youth was slain.]
[The following is copied from the Folio MS. (ed. H. & F. vol. 2. pp. 502-506.) Childe Maurice hunted ithe siluen wood,
he hunted itt round about,
& noebodye that he ffound therin,
nor none there was with-out. 4
& he tooke his siluer combe in his hand,
to kembe his yellow lockes;
he sayes, "come hither, thou litle ffoot page,
that runneth lowlye by my knee; 8
ffor thou shalt goe to Iohn stewards wiffe
& pray her speake with mee.
"& as itt ffalls out many times,
as knotts beene knitt on a kell, 12
or Marchant men gone to Leeue London
either to buy ware or sell,
"I, and greete thou doe that Ladye well,
euer soe well ffroe mee,— 16
And as itt ffalles out many times
as any hart can thinke,
"as schoole masters are in any schoole house
writting with pen and Iinke,— 20
ffor if I might, as well as shee may,
this night I wold with her speake.
"& heere I send her a mantle of greene,
as greene as any grasse, 24
& bidd her come to the siluer wood
to hunt with Child Maurice;
"& there I send her a ring of gold,
a ring of precyous stone, 28
& bidd her come to the siluer wood;
let ffor no kind of man."
one while this litle boy he yode,
another while he ran; 32
vntill he came to Iohn Stewards hall,
I-wis he neuer blan.
& of nurture the child had good;
hee ran vp hall & bower ffree, 36
& when he came to this Lady ffaire,
sayes, "god you saue and see!
"I am come ffrom Ch?ld Maurice,
a message vnto thee; 40
& Child Maurice, he greetes you well,
& euer soe well ffrom mee.
"& as itt ffalls out oftentimes,
as knotts beene knitt on a kell, 44
or Marchant men gone to leeue London,
either ffor to buy ware or sell,
"& as oftentimes he greetes you well
as any hart can thinke, 48
or schoole masters in any schoole
wryting with pen and inke;
"& heere he sends a Mantle of greene,
as greene as any grasse, 52
& he bidds you come to the siluer wood,
to hunt with Child Maurice.
"& heere he sends you a ring of gold,
a ring of the precyous stone, 56
he prayes you to come to the siluer wood,
let ffor no kind of man."
"now peace, now peace, thou litle ffootpage,
ffor Christes sake, I pray thee! 60
ffor if my lord heare one of these words,
thou must be hanged hye!"
Iohn steward stood vnder the Castle wall,
& he wrote the words euerye one, 64
& he called vnto his horskeeper,
"make readye you my steede!"
I, and soe hee did to his Chamberlaine,
"make readye then my weede!" 68
& he cast a lease[256] vpon his backe,
& he rode to the siluer wood;
& there he sought all about,
about the siluer wood, 72
& there he ffound him Child Maurice
sitting vpon a blocke,
with a siluer combe in his hand
kembing his yellow locke. 76
he sayes, "how now, how now, Child Maurice?
alacke! how may this bee?"
but then stood vp him Child Maurice,
& sayd these words trulye: 80
"I doe not know your Ladye," he said,
"if that I doe her see."
"ffor thou hast sent her loue tokens,
more now then 2 or 3; 84
"ffor thou hast sent her a mantle of greene,
as greene as any grasse,
& bade her come to the siluer woode
to hunt with Child Maurice; 88
"& thou [hast] sent her a ring of gold,
a ring of precyous stone,
& bade her come to the siluer wood,
let ffor noe kind of man. 92
"and by my ffaith, now, Child Maurice,
the tone of vs shall dye!"
"Now be my troth," sayd Child Maurice,
"& that shall not be I." 96
but hee pulled forth a bright browne sword
& dryed itt on the grasse,
& soe ffast he smote att Iohn Steward,
I-wisse he neuer rest. 100
then hee pulled fforth his bright browne sword,
& dryed itt on his sleeue;
& the ffirst good stroke Iohn Stewart stroke,
Child Maurice head he did cleeue; 104
& he pricked itt on his swords poynt,
went singing there beside,
& he rode till he came to that Ladye ffaire
wheras this ladye Lyed; 108
and sayes "dost thou know Child Maurice head
if that thou dost itt see?
& lapp itt soft, & kisse itt offt,
ffor thou louedst him better then mee." 112
but when shee looked on Child Maurice head
shee neuer spake words but 3,
"I neuer beare no Child but one,
& you haue slaine him trulye." 116
sayes, "wicked by my merry men all,
I gaue Meate, drinke, & Clothe!
but cold they not haue holden me
when I was in all that wrath? 120
"ffor I haue slaine one of the curteouse[s]t Knights
that euer bestrode a steed!
soe haue I done one [of] the fairest Ladyes
that euer ware womans weede!" 124
ffins] [Pg 104]
[Pg 105] THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK. RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY, ETC. SERIES THE THIRD.
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