"Bevis was so beloved of the king that none durst speak against

him; nay _Josian_ the King's daughter was in love with him." But it

happened, one Christmas Day, Bevis met sixty Saracens, who, taunting

him with his religion, he encountered, and slew them all. At which

the king swore he should die. But Josian on her knees begged his life,

which was granted; she dressed his wounds, nursed him, and he was in

as great favour as ever.

He next, after many difficulties, slew a mighty wild boar of cannibal

propensities, and won great honour thereby.

Josian must have been fair indeed, for, all through the story, Bevis

is perpetually getting into trouble through her fatal beauty. It now

happened to have attracted King Brandmond, who sent to King Ermine

demanding her hand, or he would depose him. The nobles were for

yielding; but Josian suggested that if Bevis were made general, and

invested with command, things would speedily be righted. This was

done; he was dubbed knight, and Josian armed him, and gave him a

sword, Morglay, and a wonderful steed, Arundel. He defeated Brandmond,

and took him prisoner. "So Bevis returned with great Victory and was

royally entertained by the King, and then _Josian_ broke her mind to

_Bevis_; quoth she, by _Mahomed_, I do desire to be thy Love: Not so,

Lady, said _Bevis_, I'll wed no Heatheness; which words she took very

scornfully." But her love prevailed, and she went to Bevis, offering

to do anything, even turn Christian, could she but win his love. Sir

Bevis could only act as he did--take her in his arms, and kiss her.

Her speech and behaviour being reported to the king, he was mad, and

wrote letters to Brandmond, to put Sir Bevis to death, and gave them

to him, to be the unconscious bearer of his own death-warrant.

Meanwhile, Sir Sabere had sent his son, Terry, travelling in search of

Sir Bevis, and the two met near Damas; but Bevis did not make himself

known. He rode into Damas, insulted the inhabitants by asking them,

"What devil do you serve here?" and pulled down their idol Mahomed,

throwing it into the gutter. This naturally exasperated the Saracens,

and they set upon him; but before they could secure him, two hundred

of them were slain. He was brought before the king, who read the

letters of which he was the bearer. Bevis, finding he had only himself

to trust to, went Berserk again and killed sixty more Saracens,

was overpowered and thrown into a dungeon with two dragons, which,

however, he slew with the truncheon of a spear he opportunely found,

"and then he was at rest awhile."

Josian's fatal beauty was to bring trouble. "Father, said _Josian_

where is _Bevis_? He reply'd he is gone to his own country. At

this Time came King _Jour_, Intending for to wed _Josian_ which he

obtained. And _Ermine_ gave _Jour_, _Arundel_ and _Morglay_, which

belonged to Bevis; this _Josian_ could in no way avoid."

Bevis's captors thought they would go and see him, and as he had been

in prison seven years, fed only on bread and water, they thought

he would be weak; but he killed them all, and seizing on a horse,

escaped. He met with a giant whom he slew, and then proceeded on his

search for Josian. He met a poor palmer who told him that in that

castle opposite lived King Jour and his wife, the fair Josian. They

exchanged clothes, and Bevis entered the castle. He saw and conversed

with Josian, who did not know him; but when Arundel heard him

speak, he "broke seven Chains asunder, and neighed;" and then Josian

recognized him. The sequel may be imagined. King Jour was sent off on

an imaginary errand, and Josian and Bevis eloped, taking with them

the chamberlain Boniface. They were pursued, and hid in a cave, where,

Bevis being absent hunting for their sustenance, two lions entered,

killed and eat Boniface, and then meekly laid their heads in Josian's

lap. On Bevis's return, she called out to him the state of things,

when he told her to let the lions loose, and he killed them.

They then continued their journey, until they were stopped by

Ascapart, "an ugly Giant, who was thirty Foot high, and a Foot between

his Eyebrows; he was bristled like a Swine, and his Blubber Lips hung

on one side." Naturally he had to be fought and overcome, and on his

life being spared, he promised to be a faithful servant. They reached

the shore, where they wanted to take ship, but, being unable to

procure a boat, they first had to fight and slay many Saracens, and

then Ascapart waded to the ship, carrying Sir Bevis and Josian, and

tucking Arundel under his arm. They reached the land of Colen, where

the bishop was a relation of Bevis. Josian was baptized, but Ascapart

refused the rite.

"_Bevis_ being in bed heard a Knight cry, I rot, I rot, at which Noise

_Bevis_ wondered; and the next Morning he ask'd what was the Cause

of that Noise; He was a Knight, they said, that coming through the

street, the Dragon met him and cast her Venom upon him, whereof

he rotted and died." Bevis could not stand this, but sought and

encountered the dragon, which he slew, after the hardest of his many

fights.

Then he set about recovering his lost inheritance, and sailed for

England, landing near Southampton. But no sooner was his back turned

than the Earl of Milo, having got rid of Ascapart by stratagem,

married Josian; but she strangled him in bed, whereupon she was

sentenced to be burned. Ascapart, however, had broken prison, joined

Bevis, and they together arrived just in the nick of time to save

Josian.

Sir Bevis and Sir Sabere then seriously took Sir Murdure in hand,

defeated him, and boiled him in a cauldron of pitch and brimstone;

which treatment had such an effect on the mother of Sir Bevis, that

she threw herself from the top of her castle and broke her neck. Sir

Bevis then, somewhat tardily, married Josian, and went to do homage to

Edgar; but the king's son, having been refused Arundel at any price,

went to take him by force, and had his brains kicked out by the horse.

Sir Bevis was banished, and having left his estates in the hands of

his uncle Sabere, started on his journey, when Josian, whilst passing

through a forest, was taken ill and delivered of twins. She had

requested her husband, Terry, and Ascapart to leave her alone for a

time; so the former two went one way, and the latter another. But when

Sir Bevis and Terry returned, they found the two boys, but not the

mother, who had been carried off by Ascapart. Bevis left his children

with a forester, with strict injunctions to return them to one Bevis

of Hampton in seven years' time; but Sabere and twelve knights tracked

and slew the villain Ascapart, and restored Josian to her husband.

They redeemed the children; and then, finding there was war between

the kings Ermine and Jour, Bevis naturally helped his father-in-law,

and captured Jour, whose ransom was "twenty Tun of Gold and three

hundred White Steeds."

King Ermine turned Christian, and before his death crowned his

grandson Guy King of Armony, and knighted his grandson Miles. Not

unnaturally King Jour hated Sir Bevis, and beseiging him in Armony,

was of course overcome and slain, and Bevis took possession of his

kingdom, and converted all the inhabitants to Christianity.

But his troubled life was drawing to a close. King Edgar had

disinherited Sabere's wife, so he, Bevis, and Josian, with their two

sons Guy and Miles, marched to London with a great army, fought the

king, slew two thousand of his men, and then went back to Southampton.

The king wisely parleyed with them, and ultimately agreed to marry

his eldest daughter to Miles, whom he created Earl of Cornwall; after

which they all separated and went home. Bevis and Josian retired to

the late King Jour's capital of Mambrant, where both he and Josian

fell sick, and died the same day. "They were solemnly interred in one

Grave, by Guy their Son, who raised a stately Tomb over them, to the

everlasting Memory of so gallant a Knight, and his most royal and

constant Lady.

So I conclude his famous Acts here penn'd,

For Time and Death brings all Things to an End."

THE

LIFE AND DEATH

OF

=St. George=

THE NOBLE

CHAMPION OF ENGLAND.

[Illustration]

PRINTED AND SOLD IN ALDERMARY CHURCH YARD

BOW LANE LONDON

Although there are, as may be expected from the great popularity of

this patron saint of England, very numerous illustrations of him

in manuscripts, even as far back as the eleventh century, yet there

seems, with the exception of the "Legenda Aurea" of Caxton and Wynkyn

de Worde, to be very little early printed matter about him, although

Dibdin (Ames) notices "The Lyfe of that glorious Martyr Saint George,"

quarto, printed by Pynson.

Alban Butler gives a very etherealized life of this saint, and says,

"George is usually painted on horseback and tilting at a dragon under

his feet; but this representation is no more than an emblematical

figure, purporting, that by his faith and Christian fortitude he

conquered the Devil, called the Dragon in the Apocalypse."

Caxton's "Legenda Aurea" ("Westmestre, 1483") gives the following

account of the Cappadocian saint, and his encounter with the

Dragon:--"Saynt George was a knyght and borne in capadose / On a tyme

he came to the prouynce of Lybye to a cyte which is sayd Sylene /

And by this cyte was a stagne or a ponde lyke a see / wherein was a

dragon whyche envenymed alle the contre / And on a tyme the peple were

assemblid for to slee hym / And whan they sawe hym they fledde / And

whan he came nyghe the citte / he venymed the peple wyth his breeth

/ And therfore the peple of the citte gaue to hym euery day two sheep

for to fede hym / by cause he shold doo no harme to the peple / And

whan the sheep fayled there was taken a man and a sheep /

"Thenne was an ordenaunce made in the towne / that there shold be

taken the chyldren and yonge peple of them of the towne by lotte / And

eueryche as it fyl were he gentil or poure shold be delyuered whan the

lotte fyl on hym or hyr / So it happed that many of them of the towne

were thenne delyuerd / In soo moche that the lotte fyl vpon the kynges

doughter / Wherrof the kyng was sory and sayd vnto the people /

"For the loue of the goddes take golde and syluer and alle that I haue

/ and lett me haue my doughter / they sayd how syr ye haue made and

ordeyned the lawe / and our chyldren been now deed / And now ye wold

doo the contrarye / your doughter shal be gyuen / or ellys we shal

breune you & your hows. Whan the kyng saw he myght nomore doo he

began to wepe and sayd to his doughter / Now shal I neuer see thyn

espousayls / Thenne retorned he to the peple and demauded viij dayes

respyte And they graunted hit to hym / and whan the viij dayes were

passed they came to hym and sayd / thou seest that the cyte perissheth

/ Th[=en]e dyd the kyng doo[4] araye his doughter / lyke as she shold

be wedded / and embraced hyr kyssed hir and gaue hir his benedyccion

/ And after ledde hyr to the place where the dragon was / whan she

was there / saynt george passed by / And whan he sawe the lady / he

demaunded the lady what she made there, And she sayd / goo ye your

waye fayre yonge man / that ye perysshe not also /

"Thenne sayd he telle to me what haue ye / and why ye were / and

doubte ye of no thynge / whan she sawe that he wold knowe she sayde to

hym how she was delyuered to the dragon / Thenne sayd saynt george /

Fayre doughter doubte ye no thynge herof / For I shall helpe the in

the name of Jhesu Cryste / She said for goddes sake good knyght goo

your waye / and abyde not wyth me / for ye may not delyuer me /

"Thus as they spake to gyder the dragon apperyd & came rennyng to them

and saynt George was vpon his hors & drewe out his swerde & garnysshed

hym wyth the signe of the Crosse / and rode hardely ageynst the dragon

which came toward hym and smote hym with hys spere and hurte hym sore

& threwe hym to the grounde / And after sayde to the mayde / delyuer

to me your gyrdel and bynde hit about the necke of the dragon / and

be not aferde / whan she had doon soo the dragon folowed hyr as it had

been a make beest and debonayr / Thenne she ledde hym in to the cyte /

& the peple fledde by mountayns and valeyes / and sayd / alas / alas /

we shal be alle deed / Thenne saynt George sayd to them / ne doubte ye

no thynge / without more byleue ye in god Jhesu Cryste / and doo you

to be baptysed / and I shal slee the dragon /

"Thenne the kyng was baptysed and al his peple / and saynt george

slewe the dragon and smote of his heed / And commaunded thathe shold

be throwen in the feldes / and they took iiij cartes wyth oxen that

drewe hym out of the cyte / Thenne were there wel fyftene thousand

men baptised without wymmen and chyldren / And the kyng dyd doo make

a chirche there of our lady and of saynt George / In the whiche yet

sourdeth a founteyn of lyuynge water whiche heleth seek peple that

drynke therof / After this the kyng offred to Saint george as moche

money as there myght be nombred / but he refused alle and commaunded

that it shold be gyuen to poure peple for goddes sake / and enioyned

the kynge iiij thynges / that is / that he shold haue charge of the

Chyrches / and that he shold honoure the preestes / and here theyr

seruyce dylygently / and that he shold haue pite on the poure peple /

And after kyssed the kyng and departed /"

[Footnote 4: Dyd doo, _i.e._ caused to be.]

[Illustration]

The Chap-book version is far more marvellous, and is, as the reader

will note, strangely similar, in some places, to the romance of Sir

Bevis.

Coventry, not Cappadocia, is made his birth-place; his father was

"a renowned peer named Lord Albert," and his mother was the King's

daughter, who before St. George's birth dreamed her child would be a

dragon. So Lord Albert went to consult the enchantress Kalyb, which

he did by blowing a trumpet at the entrance of her cave, when a voice

replied that his son should be as fierce as a dragon in deeds of

chivalry. The mother died in childbirth, and St. George was stolen in

his infancy by Kalyb, which so grieved Lord Albert that he died.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Kalyb grew very fond of the boy, and in a moment of confidence

she showed him the brazen castle where the other six champions of

Christendom were confined, and made him a present of some invincible

armour. She also lent him her magic wand, a kindness which he requited

by enclosing her in a rock. He then released the six champions, who

went their several ways, and he went to Egypt. There he found the

whole kingdom desolate because of a dragon which every day devoured

a virgin, and had destroyed all but the king's daughter, who was that

day to be given to him unless some one should slay the dragon, in

which case she would be given in marriage to her deliverer. St.

George, of course, undertook the adventure, and reached the place soon

after the king and queen had taken leave of their daughter.

[Illustration]

St. George held a short parley with the damsel, whose name was Sabra,

when the dragon approached and the combat took place. We know its

issue--St. George cut off the dragons head, released Sabra, and

entered the city, but was withstood by some of the inhabitants,

stirred up by Aminder, King of Morocco, in love with Sabra, whom he

had to fight and overcome.

[Illustration]

The king, however, received him graciously; but Aminder spread reports

of St. George trying to convert the princess to Christianity, and the

king wrote a letter to the Sultan of Persia, making St. George the

bearer, asking him to slay him. On its delivery St. George was thrown

into a dungeon, and when he had been there two days, they let down two

hungry lions to devour him, but he killed them with an old sword he

found.

He was seven years in prison, during which time Sabra had been forced

by her father to marry Aminder, when one day he found an iron crowbar

and effected his release, stole a horse, was stopped by and fought

with a giant, whom he killed. He journeyed on till he came to where

Sabra lived, changed clothes with a peasant, applied to her for

alms, showed her a ring which she had given him, and was immediately

recognized.

Accompanied by a servant, they fled; met with two lions, who eat the

servant but did Sabra no harm, and were duly killed by St. George.

[Illustration]

He returned to Coventry, where he was but a little while, when St.

David and the other champions asked him for his assistance against the

pagans who had invaded Hungary. He went with them, leaving Sabra

at home, and duly overthrew the pagans. Then came messengers to him

saying that Sabra, who it appears the Earl of Coventry had attempted

to seduce, had stabbed and killed him, and was condemned to die unless

a champion could be found to fight for her. St. George came at the

right moment, fought, conquered, and freed Sabra. They now lived

quietly, and three sons, Guy, Alexander, and David, were born to them,

who were sent to Rome, England, and Bohemia, to be educated at the

Courts of the several sovereigns. After eighteen years' absence

they all returned, and after they had rested a few days a hunt was

proposed, in which Sabra joined. Her horse, however, fell and threw

her "into a thorny briar, which tore her tender flesh so terribly,

that she found she had not long to live, whereupon calling to St.

George and her sons, she very affectionately embraced them, not being

able to speak, and soon died."

St. George undertook a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and on his return

home he fought with a dragon on Dunsmore Heath and slew it. "But this

proved the most fatal of all his adventures, for the vast quantities

of poison thrown upon him by that monsterous beast, so infected his

vital spitals, that two days afterwards he died in his own house."

PATIENT GRISSEL.

"I wol you tell a Tale which that I

Lerned at Padowe of a worthy clerk

As preved by his wordes and his werk:

He is now ded and nailed in his cheste,

I pray to God to yeve his soule reste.

Fraunceis Petrark, the Laureate poete,

Hight this clerk whos retherike swete

Enlumined all Itaille of poetrie"--

so says Chaucer in the prologue to the "Clerkes Tale," but Petrarch

was not the author of this ever favourite story. It seems to have been

the undoubted offspring of Boccaccio's fancy, even Mr. Baring Gould

failing to trace an Indian source for it, as he has done in so many

tales of the "Decameron."[5] In fact, Petrarch, although intimately

acquainted with Boccaccio, never saw the tale until 1374, just before

his death at Arquà. He at once fell in love with it, and translated it

into Latin, with alterations. This translation was never printed,

but there is a copy in the library at Paris, and another at Magdalen

College, Oxford. It was dramatized in France in 1393, under the title

of "Le Mystere de Griseildis Marquis de Salucas;" again in England,

"The Pleasant Comedie of Patient Grissill. As it hath been sundrie

times lately plaid by the right honorable the Erle of Nottingham (Lord

high Admirall) his seruants. London: Imprinted for Henry Rocket,

and are to be solde at the long Shop vnder S. Mildreds Church in the

Poultry. 1603."[6] There was also a comedy by Ralph Radcliffe, called

"Patient Griseld," but this was never printed; and in modern times it

has been dramatized by Mr. Edwin Arnold.

[Footnote 5: "Bouchet, in his _Annales d'Aquitaine_, I. iii.,

maintains that Griselda flourished about the year 1025, and

that her real history exists in manuscript under the title of

'Parement des Dames.'"--_Notes and Queries_, 3rd Series, vol.

iii. p. 389.]

[Footnote 6: Of this play only two copies are known.]

THE

_HISTORY_

OF THE NOBLE

MARQUIS OF SALUS

AND

PATIENT GRISSEL

[Illustration]

PRINTED AND SOLD IN ALDERMARY CHURCH

YARD, BOW LANE LONDON.

CHAP. 1.

THE MARQUIS OF SALUS IS SOLLICITED BY HIS NOBLES TO MARRY; HE

CONSENTS, AND FALLS IN LOVE WITH A POOR COUNTRYMAN'S DAUGHTER.

Between the mountains of Italy and France, towards the South, lies the

territory of Salus, a country flourishing with excellent towns,

and some castles, and peopled with the best sort of gentry and

peasants.--Among them lived not long since a nobleman of great

reputation and honour, who was Lord of the country, and by name

GUALTER, Marquis of Salus; to whom, as the government appertained by

his right of inheritance, so their obedience attended by desert of his

worthiness. He was young in years and never had thought of marriage

until pressed to it by the desires and petitions of his people, who

often importuned him thereto.--At last he consented to it, and fame

soon spread the report abroad, and each Princess was filled with hopes

of being the Marquis's happy partner.

[Illustration]

All this time the Marquis continued his hunting, and usually resorted

to a little village not far from Selus where lived a poor countryman

named Janicola, overworn in years, and overcome with distress, having

nothing to make his life comfortable but an only daughter, who was

exceedingly beautiful, modest, and virtuous. But as fire will not

lay hid where there is matter of combustibles, so virtue cannot be

obscured if there is tongues and ears; for the report of her reached

the Marquis, who being satisfied of the truth, and finding her a fit

woman to be his wife, resolved to forward the business.--In the mean

time the Court was furnished, a Crown and rich apparel prepared for

the Queen; but who she was the Nobles all wondered, and the damsels

marvelled; while the people in general flocked to see who was to be

the happy woman.

At last the nuptial day arrived, and each one looked for a bride, but

who she was the next Chapter must discover.

CHAP. 2.

THE MARQUIS DEMANDS, AND MARRIES THE OLD MAN'S DAUGHTER.

[Illustration]

When all things were prepared, the Noble Marquis took with him a

great Company of Earls Lords Knights Squires, Gentlemen, Ladies,

and Attendants, and went from the palace into the country, towards

Janicola's house, where the fair maid Grissel, ignorant of what had

happened, or of what was to come, had made herself and house clean,

determining with the rest of the neighbouring virgins to see this

solemnity; at which instant arrived the Marquis with his Company,

meeting Grissel with two pitchers of Water which she was carrying

home. He asked where her father was? She answered, in the house--Go

then, replied he, and tell him I would speak with him. The poor man

came forth to him somewhat abashed, until the Marquis taking him by

the hand, said That he had a secret to impart to him; and taking him

from the rest of the Company spoke to him in the following manner:

"Janicola,

I know thou always lovedst me, and I am satisfied thou dost not hate

me now; you have been pleased when I have been pleased, and you will

not now be sorrowful if I am satisfied; nay I am sure if it lies

in your power, you will further my delight; for I am come with the

intention of begging your daughter to be my wife; and I to be your son

in law, will you take me for your friend, as I have chose you for a

father."

The poor old man was so astonished, that he could not speak for Joy,

but when the extasy was over, he thus faintly replied;

"Most gracious Sovereign,

You are my Lord, and therefore I must agree to your will; but you are

generous, and therefore take her in God's name, and make me a glad

father; and let that God which raiseth up the humble and meek, make

her a befitting wife and a fruitful mother."

Why then, quoth the Marquis, let us enter your house, for I must ask

her a question before you. So he went in, the company tarrying

without in vast astonishment--The fair maid was busied in making it as

handsome as she could, and proud to have such a guest under her roof,

amazed why he came so accompanied, little conjecturing so great a

blessing; but at last the Marquis took hold of her hand and used these

speeches. To tell you this blush becomes you, were but a folly;

or that your modesty has graced your comliness, is unbecoming my

greatness; but in one word, your father and I have agreed to make you

my wife, therefore, delays shall not entangle you with suspicion, nor

two days longer protract the kindness, only I must be satisfied in

this, if your heart affords willing entertainment to the motion, and

your virtue and constancy to the following resolution; that is, not to

repine at my pleasure in anything, nor presume on contradiction when

I command; for as good soldiers must obey without disputing the

business, so must virtuous wives dutifully consent without reproof;

therefore be advised how you answer, and I charge thee take heed that

thy tongue utters no more than thy heart conceits. All this time was

Grissel wondering at these words; but thinking nothing impossible with

God, made the Marquis the following answer:

"My gracious Lord,

I am not ignorant of your greatness, and know my own weakness. There

is nothing worthy in me to be your servant, therefore can have no

desert to be your wife. Notwithstanding, because God is the author of

Miracles, I yield to your pleasure, and praise him for the fortune.

Only this I will be bold to say. That your will shall be my delight;

and death shall be more welcome to me, than a word of displeasure

against you."

After this the Ladies adorned Grissel with robes befitting her state;

the Marquis and all the company returned back to Salus, where in the

Cathedral, in the sight of the people according to the fullness

of religious ceremonies they were by the priest essentially joined

together.

[Illustration]

CHAP. 3.

LADY GRISSELS PATIENCE TRIED BY THE MARQUIS.

To the other blessinge in process of time, there was added the birth

of a daughter, that rejoiced the mother and gladded the father;

the country triumphed, and the people clapped their hands with

joy--Notwithstanding this, fortune had a trick to check her pride; and

prosperity must be seasoned with some crosses or else it would corrupt

us too much. Whereupon the Marquis determined to prove his wife,

and to make trial of her virtues indeed; and so taking a convenient

season, after the child was weaned, he one day repaired secretly to

her chamber, and seeming angry, imparted to her some of his mind.

The lady hearing him, sorrowfully apprehended the Marquis's resolution

to her grief (though every word was like an arrow in her side) yet

admitted of the temptation, and disputing with herself to what end the

virtues of patience, modesty, forbearance, fortitude and magnanimity

was ordained, if they had not proper subjects to work upon.

When the Marquis saw her constancy, he was pleased with her modest

behaviour, and said but little at that time, but between joy and fear

departed; resolving to make a farther trial of her.

CHAP. 4.

THE MARQUIS'S DAUGHTER IS TAKEN FROM HER MOTHER AND SENT TO BOLOGNE TO

BE THERE BROUGHT UP.

[Illustration]

Not long after this Conference between the Marquis and his Lady, he

called a faithful servant, to whom he imparted the secret, and what

he meant to do with his child; and then sent him to his wife with

an unsavoury message--When she had heard him out, remembering the

conference the Marquis had with her, and apprehending there was no

room for dispute, feared it was ordained to die; so taking it up in

her arms with a mothers blessing she kissed it, being not once amazed

or troubled, since her lord would have it so, only she said, I must,

friend, intreat one thing at your hand, that out of humanity and

Christian love, you leave not the body to be devoured by beasts and

birds, for she is worthy of a grave.

The man, having got the Child, durst not tarry, but returned to

his master, repeating every circumstance of her answer that might

aggrandise her constancy.

The Marquis considering the great virtue of his wife, and looking on

the beauty of his daughter, began to entertain some compassion, and to

retract his wilfulness; but at last resolution won the field of pity,

and having, as he thought so well begun, would not soon give over. But

with the same secrecy he had taken her from his wife, he sent her away

to his sister the Dutchess of Bologne, with presents of worth, and

letters of recommendation, containing in them the nature of the

business, and the manner of her bringing up, which she accordingly put

into practice.

CHAP. 5.

THE MARQUIS MAKES A FARTHER TRIAL OF HIS WIFE'S PATIENCE.

As this patient and wonderful lady was one day sporting with her

infant son, like a tempest did this messenger of death interpose; yet

as if he was conscious of disquieting her greatness, he came forward

with preamble, craving pardon of the lady, that the message might

seem blameless. He was not so sudden in his demand, as she was in her

despatch; for she immediately gave him this child also, with the same

enforcements as she had done the former.--

In the like manner he returned to the Marquis, who had still more

cause for astonishment, and less reason to abuse so obedient a

wife; but for a time sent this child likewise to his sister, who

understanding her brother's mind brought up the children in such a

manner, that tho' no man ever knew whose children they were, yet they

supposed them to belong to some great potentate.

The ordering the business in this manner, made the Marquis once again

settle himself in Salus, where he kept an open house to all comers,

and was proud of nothing but the love of his wife; for although he

had more than once tried her patience, yet she never complained, but

seemed to love him the more.

By this time his unkindness to her got spread among the people, who

all admired and wondered at her for her constancy and patience.

CHAP. 6.

GRISSEL DISROBED, AND SENT HOME TO HER FATHER BY HER HUSBAND;

HER SON AND DAUGHTER BROUGHT HOME, UNDER PRETENCE OF

THE MARQUIS'S MARRYING HER; GRISSEL IS SENT FOR TO MAKE

PREPARATIONS, AND HER CONDESCENSION THEREON.

After this the Marquis was resolved to put her to another trial,

so sent for her cloaths, and commanded her to go home again to her

father's naked, except her shift; when, being in the midst of her

nobility she disrobed herself, and returned back to her father's

Cottage. They could not but deplore the alteration of fortune; yet she

could not but smile that her virtue was predominant over her passion.

They all exclaimed against the cruelty of her Lord; but she used no

invective. They wondered at her so great virtue and patience; she

answered, They were befitting a modest woman.

By this time they approached the house and old Janicola having been

acquainted with it; and seeing his daughter only in her smock, amidst

such honourable company, he ran into the house and brought the robes

she formerly wore, and putting them on said Now, thou art in thy

element, and kissing her bid her welcome. The Company was in amaze at

his moderation, and wondered how nature could be so restrained from

passion, and that any woman could have so much grace and virtue. In

which amaze not without some reprehension of fortune and their Lord's

cruelty, they left her to the poverty of the Cell, and returned to

the glory of the palace, where they recounted to the Marquis how she

continued in her moderation and patience; and the father comforting

her in her condition.

[Illustration]

Not long after came the Dutchess of Bologne, with her glorious

company, she sending word beforehand she should be at Salus such a

day. Whereupon the Marquis sent a troop to welcome her, and prepared a

court for her entertainment. The effects of which were not agreeable;

some condemned the Marquis whilst others deplored his wife's

misfortunes. Some were transported with the gallant youth and comely

virgin that came along with the Dutchess, the latter of whom it was

reported the Marquis was going to marry; nor did the Duke nor Princess

know themselves to be the Children of the Marquis, but appeared as

strangers designed to be at this new Marriage.

The next morning after their arrival he sent a messenger for Grissel

bidding her come and speak with him just in the dress she then was;

upon which she immediately waited upon her Lord. At her appearance

he was somewhat abashed, but recovering his spirits he thus addressed

her:

Grissel, the Lady with whom I must marry will be here to-morrow by

this time, and the feast is prepared according--Now, because there is

none so well acquainted with the secrets of my palace and disposition

of myself but you, I would have you, for all this base attire, address

your wisdom to the ordering of the business, appointing such officers

as are befitting, and disposing of the rooms according to the degrees

and estates of the persons. Let the Lady have the privilege of the

marriage chamber, and the young Lord the pleasure of the gallery. Let

the wines be plentiful, and the ceremonies be maintained--In a word,

let nothing be wanting which may set forth my honour and delight the

people.

[Illustration]

My Lord, said she, I ever told you, That I took pleasure in nothing

but your Contentment, and in whatsoever might conform to your delight.

Herein consisted my joy and happiness, therefore make no question of

my diligence and duty in this or anything you shall please to impose

upon me. And so, like a poor servant she presently addressed herself

to the business of the house performing all things with such dispatch

and quickness that each one wondered at her goodness and fair

demeanor; and many murmured to see her put to such a trial. But the

day of entertainment being come, and when the fair lady approached,

she looked exceeding beautiful, insomuch that some began not to blame

the Marquis for his change. At length Grissel, taking the lady by the

hand, thus addressed her: Lady, if it were not his pleasure, that

may command, to bid you welcome, yet methinks there is a kind of over

ruling grace from nature in you, which must extort a respect unto

you.--And as for you young Lord, I can say no more, but if I might

have my desires, they should be employed to wish you well--To the rest

I afford all that is fit for entertainment, hoping they will excuse

whatever they see amiss. And so conducted them to their several

apartments, where they agreeably reposed themselves till it was dinner

time. When all things were thus prepared, the Marquis sent for his

Grissel, and standing up, took her by the hand, and thus expressed

himself to her:

You see the Lady is here I mean to marry, and the Company assembled

to witness it; are you therefore contented I shall thus dispose of

myself? and do you submit quietly to the alteration?

My Lord, replied she, before them all, in what as a woman I might be

found faulty, I will not now dispute; but because I am your wife, and

have devoted myself to obedience, I am resolved to delight myself

in your pleasure; so, if this match be designed for your good, I am

satisfied and more than much contented. And as for your lady, I wish

her the delights of marriage, the honour of her husband, many years

happiness, and the fruits of true and chaste wedlock--Only, great

Lord, take care of one thing, That you try not your new bride, as you

did your old wife; for she is young, and perhaps wants the patience

which poor I have endured.

Till this he held out bravely, but now could not forbear bursting into

tears, and all the company wondered at it; but the next Chapter will

happily conclude the whole Story.

CHAP. 7.

THE MARQUIS'S SPEECH TO HIS WIFE AND THE DISCOVERY OF THE CHILDREN.

After the Marquis had recovered himself, he thus addressed his patient

wife Grissel:--Thou Wonder of Women, and Champion of true Virtue! I am

ashamed of my imperfections, and tired with abusing thee; I have tried

thee beyond all modesty.--Believe me therefore, I will have no

wife but thyself, and therefore seeing I have used you so unkindly

heretofore, I protest never to disquiet thee any more; and wherein my

cruelty extended against thee in bereaving thee of thy Children, my

love shall now make amends in restoring thee thy son and daughter; for

this my new bride is she, and this young Lord, her brother. Thank this

good Lady my sister for the bringing them up; and this man, you know

him well enough, for his secrecy. I have related the truth, and will

confirm it with my honour and this kiss; only sit down till the dinner

is come, and then bid the company welcome even in this poor array.

The Marquis thus tenderly treating her, and discovering who the young

Lord and Lady was, gave the Nobility a fresh opportunity to shew their

obedience; the which they immediately did to all three; and the dinner

being over, none was so ready to attire Grissel, as her daughter, who

was more glad than disappointed by this so sudden a change--Janicola

was sent for to Court, and ever afterwards he was the Marquis's

counsellor. The servant was also well rewarded for his fidelity; and

the Dutchess returned to her palace, leaving her brother and sister to

reign in peace.--In length of time the Marquis died, and Grissel lived

thirty three years after him, and then died in a good old age; being

a pattern for all women after, who might have their virtue or patience

tried in the like, or other manner, not to distrust an all wise

Providence, who, when he seemeth most to frown, oftentimes is about

blessing his creatures with the Sunshine of prosperity.--On the other

hand her example should teach us Content, though in meek and abject

circumstances; considering it is not the pleasure of the Divine Will

to bless all people alike with affluence.

FINIS.

The Pleasant and Delightful

_HISTORY_

OF

JACK AND THE GIANTS

PART THE FIRST

[Illustration]

NOTTINGHAM

PRINTED FOR THE RUNNING STATIONERS.

THE SECOND PART OF

JACK and the GIANTS

GIVING

A full Account of his Victorious Conquests over the North Country

Giants; destroying the inchanted Castle kept by Galligantus; dispers'd

the fiery Griffins; put the Conjuror to Flight; and released not only

many Knights and Ladies, but likewise a Duke's Daughter, to whom he

was honourably married.

[Illustration]

NEWCASTLE: PRINTED AND SOLD BY J. WHITE. 1711

THE

_HISTORY_

OF

JACK and the GIANTS

[Illustration]

PRINTED AND SOLD IN ALDERMARY CHURCH

YARD. BOW LANE. LONDON

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

The origin of this romance is undoubtedly Northern.

The Edda of Snorro contains a similar story to that of the Welsh

Giant. Thor and the giant Skrimner were travelling together, and when

they slept, Skrimner substituted a rock, as Jack did a billet, for

his person. Thor smote it with his mighty hammer, and the giant asked

whether a leaf had fallen from a tree. Again he smote, and this time

the giant suggested an acorn had fallen. Yet still one mightier blow

than all, but the provoking Skrimner thought it was only some moss

fallen on his face.

Also in the second relation of Ssidi Kur, a Calmuck romance, the

wonderful shoes of swiftness are to be found.[7]

This romance used to be a never-failing source of delight to children,

but a long version of it is now seldom found. The Chap-books give two

parts, and all agree in their story. The date is laid in King Arthur's

time, and Jack was the son of a wealthy farmer near Land's End in

Cornwall, and he was of great strength and extremely subtle. The

country at that time seems to have been under the terrorism of a race

of giants, and Jack's mission was their destruction. For the greater

part, as we shall see, they were a very simple and foolish race,

very ferocious, but with no brains, and they fell an easy prey to the

astute Jack. He tried his 'prentice hand on a fine specimen, the Giant

Cormoran, eighteen feet high and three yards in circumference, who

dwelt on the Mount of Cornwall. Jack's preparations were simple. He

took a horn, a pickaxe, and a shovel, and with the two latter dug a

pit twenty-two feet deep, and covered it over; then he blew his horn.

The Giant came out and fell into the pit, when Jack killed him with

his axe (Plates Nos. 1 and 2). This earned him his sobriquet of the

Giant-Killer. The Giant Blunderbore, hearing of this feat, vowed

vengeance, and meeting Jack in a lonely part of Wales, he carried

him on his shoulders to his castle, locked him in an upper room, and

started off to invite a brother giant to supper. But, alas for the

blindness of these huge dunderheads! two strong cords had been left

most imprudently in Jack's room, in which he made running nooses, and,

as the giants were unlocking the gates, he threw the ropes over their

heads and strangled them, cut off their heads, and delivered their

captives.

In Flintshire he met with an abnormal specimen, a giant with two

heads; and, as perhaps they were "better than one," this giant was

crafty, pretended friendship, and took Jack home with him to sleep.

Luckily for Jack, the giant had a bad habit of soliloquy, and he

overheard him say--

"Tho' here you lodge with me this night,

You shall not see the morning's light.

My club shall dash your brains out quite."

"Forewarned is forearmed;" so Jack substituted a billet of wood for

himself, which the giant duly belaboured, and, being utterly astounded

at seeing Jack alive and well in the morning, asked him how he

slept--whether he had been disturbed? "No," said the self-possessed

Jack; "a rat gave me three or four flaps with his tail."

Crafty Jack, however, made the foolish giant destroy himself, as

follows:--"Soon after the Giant went to breakfast on a great bowl of

hasty pudding, giving Jack but little quantity; who being loath to

let him know he could not eat with him, got a leather bag, putting it

artfully under his coat, into which he put his pudding, telling the

Giant he would shew him a trick; so taking a large knife he ripped

open the bag which the Giant thought to be his belly, and out came the

hasty pudding; which the Welsh Giant seeing, cried out, Cot's plut,

hur can do that hurself; and taking up the knife he ripped open his

belly from top to bottom, and out dropped his tripes and trullibubs,

so that he immediately fell down dead."

King Arthur's son was travelling about, and meeting with Jack, they

joined company. The prince seems to have been too lavish with his

money, and soon was in want. Jack then proposed they should sup

and sleep at the house of a _three_-headed giant, who rather prided

himself upon his fighting qualities. Stratagem succeeded; Jack made

the giant believe that the prince was coming with a thousand men to

destroy him, and the human Cerberus (who, although he was a match

for five hundred, did not dare to overweight himself with double that

number) begged Jack to bolt and bar him in a vault till the prince had

gone. Jack and the prince ate and drank of the best, slept well, and

in the morning took the giant's cash. When the prince was well on his

way, Jack let the big stupid lubber out, and he out of gratitude gave

his preserver a coat which would render him invisible, a cap which

would furnish him with knowledge, a miraculously sharp sword, and

shoes of incredible swiftness.[8] Jack took them and followed the

prince, whose life he afterwards saved, and, besides, made himself

useful in casting an evil spirit out of a lad.

In the Second Part Jack turns professional giant-slaughterer, and of

course these overgrown simpletons had no chance against Jack's magic

paraphernalia. They had to give up their prisoners (Plate 4); they

were cut in pieces without seeing their assailant (Plate 3); their

very weight sometimes proved their destruction--notably one Thundel,

who will always live in memory as the talented author of

"Fe, fa, fum

I smell the blood of an Englishman,

Be he alive, or be he dead,

I'll grind his bones to make me bread."

This Thundel was beguiled on to a drawbridge, which broke with his

weight (see frontispiece, Newcastle edition), and, floundering in the

moat, fell an easy prey. But Jack's supreme effort was masterly, and

well rewarded him. A hermit told him of a giant, one Galligantus, who

lived in an enchanted castle, in which, by the aid of a conjuror and

two fiery dragons, he had imprisoned a duke's daughter, transforming

her into a deer. Could Jack resist this charming adventure?

Impossible. Clad in his invisible coat, he got into the castle, found

that the way to break the enchantment was to blow a certain trumpet,

did so--an act which had the effect of temporarily depriving the

giant and sorcerer of their presence of mind, a fact which Jack took

advantage of by decapitating Galligantus; at which sight the conjuror

mounted in the air, and disappeared in a whirlwind. The two dragons,

considering these proceedings equivalent to a notice of ejectment,

promptly took their departure; whilst a quantity of beasts and birds

resumed their former shapes of knights and ladies, and the castle

vanished.

Needless to say, King Arthur prevailed on the duke to reward Jack with

his daughter's hand, and he himself gave him "plentiful estate;" so

there is very little reason to doubt the announcement which closes

this veracious history, that "he and his Lady lived the residue of

their days in joy and content.

[Footnote 7: The Chan steals a pair from the Tchadkurrs, or

evil spirits, by means of a cap which made him invisible,

which he won from some quarrelling children whom he met in a

forest.]

[Footnote 8: To show the northern origin of this tale, it is

only necessary to point out that the coat is identical with

the magic garment known in ancient German as the "Nebel

Kappe," or cloud cloak, fabled to belong to King Alberich and

the other dwarfs of the Teutonic Cycle of Romance, who, clad

therein, could walk invisible. To them also belongs the "Tarn

hut," or Hat of Darkness. Velent, the smith of the Edda of

Sæmund, forged a "Sword of Sharpness," which in the Wilkina

Saga is called Balmung. It was so sharp that when Velent cleft

his rival Æmilius, it merely seemed to the latter like cold

water running down him. "Shake thyself," said Velent. He did

so, and fell in two halves, one on each side of the chair.

The Shoes of Swiftness were worn by Loke when he escaped from

Valhalla.]

A pleasant and delightful

HISTORY

OF

=Thomas Hickathrift=

[Illustration]

NEWCASTLE, PRINTED BY AND FOR M. ANGUS AND SON, IN THE SIDE--

_Where is always kept on Sale, a choice and extensive Assortment

of Histories,

Songs, Children's Story Books, School Books &c &c._

This worthy does not seem to have been an absolute myth, if we can

trust Sir Henry Spelman, who in his "Icenia sive Norfolciæ Descriptio

Topographica," p. 138, speaking of Tilney in Marshland Hundred,

says, "Hic se expandit insignis area, quæ à planitie nuncupatur

_Tylney-smeeth_, pinguis adeo & luxurians ut Padua pascua videatur

superasse.... Tuentur eum indigenæ velut Aras and Focos, fabellamque

recitant longa petitam vetustate de _Hikifrico_ (nescio quo,) _Haii_

illius instar in Scotorum Chronicis, qui Civium suorum dedignatus

fugam, Aratrum quod agebat, solvit; arrepto que Temone furibundus

insiliit in hostes, victoriamque ademit exultantibus. Sic cum de agri

istius finibus acriter olim dimicatum esset inter fundi Dominum et

Villarum Incolas, nec valerent hi adversus eum consistere; cedentibus

occurrit _Hikifricus_, axem que excutiens a Curru quem agebat, eo

vice Gladii usus; Rotâ, Clypei; invasores repulit ad ipsos quibus nunc

funguntur terminos. Ostendunt in cæmeterio Tilniensi, Sepulcrum sui

pugilis, Axem cum Rota insculptum exhibens."

Sir William Dugdale also says, "They to this day shew a large

gravestone near the east end of the Chancel in Tilney Churchyard,

whereon the form of a Cross is so cut or carved, as that the upper

part thereof (wherewith the carver had adorned it) being circular

they will therefore have it to be the gravestone of Hickifrick as a

memorial of his Courage."

In Chambers's "History of Norfolk," vol. i. p. 492, it says, "The

stone coffin which stands out of the ground in Tilney Churchyard, on

the north side of the Church, will not receive a person above six

feet in length; and this is shewn as belonging formerly to the giant

Hickafric. The cross said to be a representation of the cart wheel,

is a cross pattée on the head of a staff, which staff is styled an

axletree."

THE

HISTORY

OF

THOMAS HICKATHRIFT

_PART THE FIRST_

[Illustration]

PRINTED IN ALDERMARY CHURCH YARD. LONDON

CHAP. 1.

TOM'S BIRTH AND PARENTAGE.

In the reign of William the Conqueror I have read in antient records,

there lived in the Isle of Ely in Cambridgeshire, a man named Thomas

Hickathrift, a poor labourer, yet he was an honest stout man, and able

to do as much work in a day as two ordinary men. Having only one Son

he called him after his own name Thomas. The old man put his son to

School, but he would learn nothing.

God called the old man aside, his Mother being tender of her son,

maintained him by her own labour as well as she could; but all his

delight was in the chimney corner, and he eat as much at once as would

serve five ordinary men. At ten years old he was six feet high and

three in thickness, his hand was like a shoulder of mutton, and every

other part proportionable; but his great strength was yet unknown.

CHAP. 2.

HOW TOM HICKATHRIFT'S GREAT STRENGTH CAME TO BE KNOWN.

[Illustration]

Tom's Mother being a poor widow, went to a rich farmer's house, to

beg a bundle of straw, to shift herself and her son Thomas. The farmer

being an honest charitable man, bid her take what she wanted. She,

going home to her son Thomas said, Pray go to such a place and fetch

me a bundle of straw; I have asked leave.--He swore he would not

go--Nay, prythee go, said his poor old Mother.--Again he swore he

would not go, unless she would borrow him a cart rope, she being

willing to pleasure him, went and borrowed one.

Then taking the Cart rope, away he went, and coming to the farmer's

house, the master was in the barn, and two men threshing.

Tom said, I am come for a burden of Straw. Tom, said the farmer, take

as much as thou can'st carry. So he laid down his Cart rope, and began

to make up his burden.

Your rope, Tom, said they is too short, and jeered him. But he fitted

the farmer well for his joke; for when he had made up his burthen,

it was supposed it might be two thousand weight--But says they, what a

fool art thou? for thou can'st not carry the tythe of it.--But however

he took up his burthen, and made no more of it than we do an hundred

pound weight, to the great admiration of master and men.

Now Tom's strength beginning to be known in the town, they would not

let him lie basking in the chimney corner, everyone hirting him to

work, seeing he had so much strength, all telling him, it was a shame

for him to lie idle as he did from day to day; so that Tom finding

them bate at him as they did, went first to one work and then to

another.

At last a man came to him and desired him to go to the wood to help

him to bring a tree home; so Tom went with him and four other men.

And when they came to the wood, they set the cart by the tree, and

began to draw it by pullies; but Tom seeing them not able to stir it,

said aloud, stand aside fools--And set it on one end, and then put

it in to the cart--There, said he, see what a man can do? Marry, said

they, that's true.

Having done, and come through the wood they met the woodman, and Tom

asked him for a stick to make his mother a fire with.

Aye, said the woodman, take one.

[Illustration]

So Tom took up a tree bigger than that on the cart, and put it on his

shoulder, and walked home with it faster than the six horses in the

cart drew the other.

This was the second instance of Tom's shewing his strength; by which

time he began to know that he had more natural strength than twenty

common men; and from this time Tom began to grow very tractable; he

would jump, run, and take delight in young company, and go to fairs

and meetings, to see sports and diversions.

[Illustration]

One day going to the wake, where the young men were met, some went to

wrestling, and some to cudgels, some to throwing the hammer and the

like.

Tom stood awhile to see the sport, and at last he joined the company

throwing the hammer; at length he took the hammer in his hand, and

felt the weight of it, bidding them stand out of the way, for he would

try how far he could throw it--Aye, said the old smith, you will throw

it a great way I warrant you--

[Illustration]

Tom took the hammer, and giving it a swing, threw it into a river five

or six furlongs distant, and bid them fetch it out.

After this Tom joined the wrestlers; and though he had no more skill

than an ass, yet by main strength he flung all he grappled with; if

once he laid hold, they were gone; some he threw over his head, and

others he laid down gently. He did not attempt to lock or strike at

their heels, but threw them down two or three yards from him, and

sometimes on their heads, ready to break their necks. So that at last

none durst enter the ring to wrestle with him; for they took him to be

some devil among them.

CHAP. 3.

TOM BECOMES A BREWER'S SERVANT; AND OF HIS KILLING A GIANT, AND

GAINING THE TITLE OF MR. HICKATHRIFT.

Tom's fame being spread, no one durst give him an angry word; for

being fool hardy, he cared not what he did; so that those who knew him

would not displease him. At last a brewer of Lynn, who wanted a lusty

man to carry beer to the Marsh, and to Wisbeach, hearing of Tom,

came to hire him; but Tom would not hire himself, until his friends

persuaded him, and the master promised him a new suit of cloaths from

top to toe, and besides that he should eat and drink of the best. At

last Tom consented to be his man, and the master shewed him which way

he was to go; for there was a monsterous Giant, who kept part of the

Marsh, and none durst go that way; for if the Giant found them, he

would either kill them, or make them his slaves.

[Illustration]

But to come to Tom and his master; Tom did more in one day than all

the rest of his men did in three; so that his master seeing him so

tractable, and careful in his business, made him his head man, and

trusted him to carry beer by himself, for he needed none to help him;

Thus Tom went each day to Wisbeach, which was a long Journey of twenty

miles.

Tom going this journey so often, and finding the other road, the Giant

kept, nearer by the half, and Tom having encreased his strength by

being so well kept, and improved his courage by drinking so much

strong ale; one day as he was going to Wisbeach, without saying any

thing to his master, or any of his fellow servants, he resolved to

make the nearest road, or lose his life; to win the horse, or lose the

saddle; to kill or be killed if he met the Giant.

Thus resolved, he goes the nearest way with his cart, flinging open

the gates in order to go through; but the Giant soon espied him, and

seeing him a daring fellow, vowed to stop his journey, and make a

prize of his beer; but Tom cared nothing for him; and the Giant met

him like a roaring lion, as though he would have swallowed him.

Sirrah, said he, who gave you authority to come this way? Do you

not know that I make all stand in fear of my sight; and you, like an

impudent rogue, must come and fling open my gates at pleasure. Are you

so careless of your life that you care not what you do? I'll make you

an example to all rogues under the sun. Dost thou not see how many

heads hang on yonder tree, that have offended my laws? thine shall

hang above them all.

[Illustration]

Who cares for you, said Tom, you shall not find me like one of them.

No, said the Giant, why you are but a fool, if you come to fight me,

and bring no weapon to defend yourself. Cries Tom I have got a weapon

here shall make you know I am your Master. Aye, say you so, Sirrah,

said the Giant, and then ran to his Cave to fetch his Club, intending

to dash out his brains at one blow. While the Giant was gone for his

club, Tom turned his cart upside down, taking the axle tree and wheel

for his sword and buckler, and excellent weapons they was on such an

emergence.

The Giant coming out again began to stare at Tom to see him take the

wheel in one hand and the axle tree in the other.

Oh! Oh! said the Giant, you are like to do great things with these

instruments. I have a twig here that will beat thee and thy axle tree,

and thy wheel to the ground. Now that which the giant called a twig

was as thick as a millpost; with this the giant made a blow at Tom

with such force as made his wheel crack. Tom nothing daunted, gave him

as brave a blow on the side of his head, which made him reel again.

What, said Tom, are you got drunk with my small beer already? The

Giant recovering, made many hard blows at Tom; but still, as they

came, he kept them off with his wheel, so that he received but very

little hurt.

[Illustration]

In the mean time Tom plied him so well with blows, that the sweat and

blood ran together down the Giant's face; who being fat and foggy, was

almost spent with fighting so long, begged Tom to let him drink, and

then he would fight him again. No said Tom, my mother did not teach me

such wit; who is fool then? whereupon finding the Giant grow weak,

Tom redoubled his blows till he brought him to the ground. The Giant

finding himself overcome, roared hediously, and begged Tom to spare

his life, and he would perform anything he should desire, even yield

himself unto him, and be his servant.

But Tom having no more mercy on him than a bear upon a dog, laid on

him till he found him breathless, and then Cut off his head, after

which he went into the cave and there found great store of gold and

silver, which made his heart leap for Joy.

When he had rumaged the cave and refreshed himself a little, he

restored the wheel and axletree to their former places, and loaded his

beer on his cart, and went to Wisbeach, where he delivered his beer

and returned home the same night as usual.

Upon his return to his master, he told him what he had done, which

though he was rejoiced to hear, he could not altogether believe, till

he had seen it was true. Next morning Tom's master went with him

to the place, to be convinced of the truth; as did most of the

inhabitants of Lynn. When they came to the place they were rejoiced to

find the giant dead: and when Tom shewed them the head, and what gold

and silver there was in the Cave, all of them leaped for joy; for the

giant had been a great enemy to that part of the Country.

News was soon spread that Thomas Hickathrift had killed the giant,

and happy was he that could come to see the giant's cave; and bonfires

were made all round the country for Tom's success.

Tom by the general consent of the country took possession of the

giant's cave, and the riches. He pulled down the Cave and built

himself a handsome house on the spot. Part of the Giant's lands

he gave to the poor for their Common, and the rest he divided and

enclosed for an estate, to maintain him and his mother. Now Tom's fame

spread more and more thro' the country, and he was no longer called

plain Tom but Mr. Hickathrift; and they feared his anger now, almost

as much as they did that of the Giant before.

Tom now finding himself very rich, resolved his neighbours should be

the better for it; he enclosed himself a park and kept deer; and

just by his house he built a church, which he dedicated to St. James,

because on that Saint's day he killed the Giant.

CHAP. 4.

HOW TOM KEPT A PACK OF HOUNDS, AND OF HIS BEING ATTACKED BY FOUR

HIGHWAYMEN.

Tom not being used to have such a stock of riches could hardly tell

how to dispose of it; but he used means to do it; for he kept a pack

of hounds and men to hunt them; and who but Tom! he took such delight

in sports and exercises, that he would go far and near to a merry

meeting.

[Illustration]

One day as Tom was riding, he saw a company at Football, and

dismounted to see them play for a wager; but he spoiled all their

sport, for meeting the football he gave it such a kick that they never

found it more; whereupon they began to quarrel with Tom, but some of

them got little good by it; for he got a Spar, which belonged to an

old house that had been blown down, with which he drove all opposition

before him, and made way wherever he came.

[Illustration]

After this, going home late in the evening, he was met by four

highwaymen well mounted, who had robbed all the passengers that

travelled this road. When they saw Tom, and found he was alone, they

were cock sure of his money, and bid him stand and deliver--What must

I deliver, cries Tom?--Your money, sirrah, says they.--Aye, said Tom,

but you shall give me better words for it first, and be better armed

too.--Come, come, said they, we came not here to prate, but for your

money, and Money we will have before we go. Is it so said Tom, then

get it and take it.

Whereupon one of them made at him with a trusty sword, which Tom

immediately wrenched out of his hand, and attacked the whole four

with it, and made them set spurs to their horses; but seeing one had

a portmantua behind him, and supposing it contained money, he more

closely pursued them, and cut their journey short, killing two of

them, and sadly wounding the other two; who begging hard for their

lives, he let them go; but took away all their money, which was above

two hundred pounds, to bear his expenses home.

When Tom came home, he told them how he had served the poor football

players; and also related his engagement with the four thieves; which

produced much laughter amongst the whole company.

CHAP. 5.

TOM MEETS WITH A TINKER AND OF THE BATTLE THEY FOUGHT.

[Illustration]

Some time afterwards as Tom was walking about his estate, to see

how his workmen went on, he met upon the skirts of the forest a very

sturdy Tinker, having a good staff on his shoulder, and a great dog to

carry his budget of tools. So Tom asked the Tinker from whence he came

and whither he was going? as that was no highway. And the Tinker being

a very sturdy fellow, bid him go look, what was that to him? but fools

must always be meddling--Hold said Tom, before you and I part I will

make you know who I am.--Ay--said the Tinker, it is three Years since

I had a combat with any man; I have challenged many a one, but none

dare face me, so I think they are all cowards in this part of

the country; but I hear there is a man hereabouts named Thomas

Hickathrift, who killed a Giant; him I'd willingly see to have a bout

with.--Aye, said Tom, I am the man, what have you to say to me? Truly

said the Tinker, I am glad we are so happily met that we may have one

touch--Surely, said Tom, you are but in jest--Marry said the Tinker,

I am in earnest--A match, said Tom--It is done, said the Tinker.--But,

said Tom, will you give me leave to let me get a twig--Aye, said the

Tinker, I hate him that fights with a man unarmed.

So Tom stepped to a gate, and took a rail for a staff. To it they

fell, the Tinker at Tom, and Tom at the Tinker like two Giants. The

Tinker had a leather coat on, so that every blow Tom gave him made him

roar again; yet the Tinker did not give way an inch, till Tom gave him

such a bang on the side of the head as felled him to the ground.--Now,

Tinker, where art thou? said Tom.--But the Tinker being a nimble

fellow leaped up again, and gave Tom a bang, which made him reel, and

following his blow took Tom on the other side, which made him throw

down his weapon, and yield the Tinker the best of it.

After this Tom took the Tinker home to his house, where we shall leave

them to improve their acquaintance, and get themselves cured of the

bruises they gave each other.

FINIS.

TOM THUMB.

This prose version is made from the ballad, the original of which

was printed for John Wright in 1630; the second and third parts were

written about 1700. Like most of its class, it seems to have had a

northern origin. The German "Daumerling," or little Thumb, was, like

Tom, swallowed by a cow; and there is a Danish book which treats of

"Svend Tomling, a man no bigger than a thumb, who would be married to

a woman three ells and three quarters long." But tradition has it

that Tom died at Lincoln, which was one of the five Danish towns of

England, and there was a little blue flagstone in the cathedral,

said to be his tombstone, which got lost, or at least never replaced,

during some repairs early in this century. The first mention of him is

in Scot's "Discoverie of Witchcraft," 1584, where he is classed with

"the puckle, hobgobblin, _Tom Tumbler_ boneles, and such other bugs,"

or bugbears.

The Famous History of

TOM THUMB

_Wherein is declared_,

=His Marvellous Acts of Manhood=

FULL OF WONDER AND MERRIMENT

PART THE FIRST.

[Illustration]

PRINTED AND SOLD IN ALDERMARY CHURCH YARD, LONDON.

"In Arthur's court Tom Thumb did live

A man of mickle might,

Who was the best of the table round,

And eke a worthy Knight.

"In stature but an inch in height,

Or quarter of a span,

How think you that this valiant knight

Was proved a valiant man.

"His father was a ploughman plain,

His mother milked the Cow,

And yet the way to get a son

This couple knew not how.--

"Until the time the good old man

To learned Merlin goes,

And there to him in deep distress,

In secret manner shews,

"How in his heart he'd wish to have

A child in time to come,

To be his heir, though it might be

No bigger than his Thumb.

"Of this old Merlin then foretold,

How he his wish should have;

And so a son of stature small

This charmer to him gave."

It is needless to say that this marvellous being was under special

fairy protection.

"Tom Thumb, the which the Fairy Queen

Did give him to his name,

Who with her train of goblins grim

Unto the Christening came."

Of his childhood nothing very particular is told until

"Whereas about Christmas time,

His mother a hog had kill'd,

And Tom would see the pudding made,

For fear it should be spoil'd.

[Illustration]

"He sat the candle for to light

Upon the pudding bowl,

Of which there is unto this day,

A pretty Story told.

"For Tom fell in and could not be

For some time after found,

For in the blood and batter he

Was lost and almost drown'd."

In cooking, the pudding behaved so curiously--

"As if the devil had been boil'd

Such was the mother's fear,"

that she at once gave it to a passing tinker, who put it in his

"budget;" but hearing Tom cry out, threw both bag and pudding away;

and Tom, by some unexplained means having got out, returned home,

where his mother, when she went milking, tied him to a thistle to keep

him safe. Whilst she was busy milking, the cow eat the thistle,

and Tom with it; but his mother missed him, and calling for him was

answered by Tom from the cow's interior. Naturally unaccustomed to

such internal commotion, the cow took the earliest opportunity of

getting rid of Tom by natural means, and

[Illustration]

"Now all besmeared as he was

His mother took him up

And home to bear him hence, poor Lad,

She in her apron put."

[Illustration]

[Illustration: [9]]

But Tom from his size was a prey to accidents from which ordinary

mortals were exempt, for we find--

"Now by a raven of great strength,

Away poor Tom was borne,

And carried in the Carrion's beak,

Just like a grain of corn.

"Unto a Giant's castle top

Whereon he let him fall

And soon the Giant swallowed up

His body, cloaths and all."

[Illustration]

But Tom, like most small men, was rather self-assertive.

"But in his belly did Tom Thumb

So great a rumbling make

That neither night nor day he could

The smallest quiet take.

"Until the Giant him had spew'd

Full three miles in the sea;

There a large fish took him up,

And bore him hence away."

[Illustration]

The fish was sent to King Arthur; Tom was discovered, and taken into

high favour at Court.

"Among the deeds of courtship done,

His Highness did command

That he should dance a galliard brave

Upon the Queen's left hand.

[Illustration]

"All which he did, and for the same

Our king his signet gave,

Which Tom about his middle wore

Long time a girdle brave."

The king used to take him out hunting, and Tom was made proficient in

martial exercises--so much so that at one tourney we read:

"And good Sir Lancelot du Lake

Sir Tristram and Sir Guy,

Yet none compar'd to brave Tom Thumb

In acts of Cavalry."

[Illustration]

Nay, his prowess was such that he beat all comers, "Sir Khion and the

rest;" even the invincible Lancelot had his horse clean run through.

Indeed, it was through his exertions in this manner that he fell

sick and finally died, and was buried with great pomp. His death is

forcibly and graphically told.

"He being both slender and tall,

The cunning Doctors took

A fine perspective glass thro' which

They took a careful look,

"Into his sickly body down,

And therein saw that death

Stood ready in his wasted guts

To take away his breath."

But to a being so wonderful, ordinary death was a mere nothing.

"The Fairy Queen she lov'd him so

As you shall understand,

That once again she let him go

Down to the Fairy Land.

"The very time that he return'd

Unto the Court again,

It was, as we are well inform'd,

In good King Arthur's reign.

"When in the presence of the King,

He many wonders wrought,

Recited in the Second Part,

Which now is to be bought

"In Bow Church Yard, where is sold

Diverting Histories many;

And pleasant tales as e'er was told

For purchase of One Penny."

[Footnote 9: This illustration is from another edition.]

* * * * *

The Second Part commences with Tom's return to earth from Fairy Land,

but his _début_ was neither agreeable nor romantic. The Fairy Queen

had determined

"To send him to the lower World,

In triumph once again;

So with a puff or blast him hurl'd

Down with a mighty pain:

With mighty force it happened,

Did fall, as some report,

Into a pan of firmity,

In good King Arthur's[10] Court.

The Cook that bore it then along

Was struck with a surprise,

For with the fall the firmity

Flew up into his eyes."

[Illustration]

The cook let the dish fall, and Tom was extricated; but the Court,

disappointed of dinner, looked very evilly on him.

"Some said he was a fairy elf

And did deserve to die."

To escape this fate, Tom, unperceived, jumped down a miller's throat,

but evidently behaved ungratefully in his asylum of safety:

"Tom often pinched him by the tripes,

And made the Miller roar,

Alas! Alas! ten thousand stripes

Could not have vexed him more."

At length the Miller got rid of him, and Tom was turned into a river,

and swallowed by a salmon. The same thing occurred to him as before.

The fish was caught, sent to the king, and Tom found by his old enemy

the cook, who had not forgiven the loss of the firmity.

"He stared strait, and said, Alas!

How comes this fellow here?

Strange things I find have come to pass,

He shall not now get clear.

Because he vow'd to go thro' stitch,

And him to Justice bring,

He stuck a fork into his breech

And bore him to the King."

The king, however, was busy, and ordered Tom to be brought before him

another time; so the cook kept him in custody in a mouse-trap.

[Illustration]

The king, on hearing Tom's story, pardoned him "for good King Arthur's

sake," took him into favour, and allowed him to go hunting with him,

mounted on a mouse.

[Illustration]

This, however, was the cause of his second death.

"For coming near a Farmer's house,

Close by a Forest side,

A Cat jump'd out and caught the mouse

Whereon Tom Thumb did ride.

She took him up between her Jaws,

And scower'd up a tree,

And as she scratch'd him with her claws,

He cry'd out, Woe is me!

He laid his hand upon his sword,

And ran her thro' and thro';

And he for fear of falling roar'd,

Puss likewise cry'd out Mew.

It was a sad and bloody fight

Between the Cat and he;

Puss valu'd not this worthy Knight,

But scratch'd him bitterly."

He was taken home; but his wounds were too bad, and he died, and

was taken again to Fairy Land, and did not reappear on earth till

Thunston's (?) reign.

[Footnote 10: The chronology is somewhat involved. The king

could not have been King Arthur, for Tom was not remembered by

him, and at the end of the book it says--

"And to his memory they built

A monument of gold

Upon King Edgars dagger hilt

Most glorious to behold."

]

* * * * *

The Third Part opens with the Fairy Queen again despatching

Tom to earth, and also, as before, his advent is unpropitious.

"Where he descended thro the Air,

This poor unhappy man,

By sad mishap as you shall hear

Fell in a close stool pan."

[Illustration] He was rescued, but narrowly escaped death, and was

brought before King Thunston.

"In shameful sort Tom Thumb appear'd

Before his Majesty,

But grown so weak could not be heard,

Which caused his malady."

[Illustration]

He recovered and was taken into high favour by the king, who

"For lodgings--Now the King resolv'd

A palace should be fram'd

The walls of this most stately place

Were lovely to behold.

For workmanship none can take place

It look'd like beaten gold

The height thereof was but a span,

And doors but one inch wide.

The inward parts were all Japan,

Which was in him great pride."

And not only was he lodged so magnificently, but the king did all in

his power to make him happy.

"All recreation thought could have

Or life could e'er afford,

All earthly Joys that he would crave,

At his desire or word.

* * * * *

"Of smallest mice that could be found,

For to draw his coach appears

Such stately steeds his wish to crown

Long tails with cropped ears."

[Illustration]

But the morals of this ungrateful little wretch had evidently grown

lax during his stay in Fairy Land, and he forgot all his obligations

to his benefactor.

"For his desires were lustful grown

Against her Majesty,

Finding of her one day alone,

Which proved his tragedy."

The queen was naturally furious.

"That nothing would her wrath appease

To free her from all strife,

Or set her mind at perfect ease,

Until she had his life."

[Illustration]

Tom hid himself, and tried to escape on the back of a butterfly; but

the insect flew into the palace, and Tom was captured. He was duly

tried, and found guilty.

[Illustration]

"So the King his sentence declar'd,

How hanged he should be,

And that a gibbet should be rear'd,

And none should set him free.

After his sentence thus was past,

Unto a prison he was led.

For in a Mousetrap he was fast,

He had no other bed.

* * * * *

"At last by chance the cat him spy'd,

And for a mouse did take,

She him attacked on each side,

And did his prison break.

The Cat perceiving her mistake,

Away she fled with speed,

Which made poor Tom to flight betake,

Being thus from prison freed.

Resolving there no more to dwell

But break the Kings decree,

Into a spider's web he fell,

And could not hence get free.

The spider watching for his prey

Took Tom to be a fly,

And seized him without delay,

Regarding not his cry.

The blood out of his body drains,

He yielded up his breath;

Thus he was freed from all his pains,

By his unlook'd for death."

Thus sadly ended the favourite of immortals and of kings; but, from

the fact that we hear no more of his going to Fairy Land, it is

probable that his immoral conduct could not be condoned by the "good

people."

=The Shoemaker's Glory=

OR THE

_PRINCELY HISTORY_

OF THE

GENTLE CRAFT

SHEWING

What renowned Princes, Heroes, and Worthies have been of the

Shoemakers Trade, both in this and in other Kingdoms. Likewise why it

is called the _Gentle Craft_; and that they say a Shoemaker's son is a

Prince born &c.

[Illustration]

NEWCASTLE: PRINTED AT THE PRINTING OFFICE IN PILGRIM STREET.

THE

SHOEMAKER'S GLORY.

_Or, The Princely History of the_

GENTLE CRAFT

SHEWING

What renowned Princes, Heroes, and Worthies have been of the

Shoemakers Trade, both in this and other Kingdoms. Likewise, Why it

is called the Gentle Craft; and that they say, A Shoemakers Son is a

Prince born.

[Illustration]

PRINTED AND SOLD IN ALDERMARY CHURCH YARD. BOW LANE LONDON.

This book is in reality two: one, the history of Sir Hugh, and the

other, of Crispin and Crispianus. Sir Hugh seems to have been the son

of Arviragus, King of Powisland in Britain, and Genevra, daughter of

a king in North Wales. He went abroad for his education, and there

distinguished himself by slaying monsters and giants, and by fighting

against the Saracens--so much so, that he was knighted by the Roman

Emperor, and promised one of his daughters as a wife; but this he

would not have, although the princess loved him dearly.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

He returned home, and whilst visiting Donvallo, King of Flintshire,

fell in love with his daughter Winnifred. Finding her one day reading

in her bower in the garden, he declared his love, but was

courteously, though firmly, declined by the princess. Grieved at

this disappointment, Sir Hugh went again abroad, was shipwrecked, and

finally returned to Harwich in a destitute condition. Here he fell

in with some shoemakers, and tarried with them a whole year, learning

their trade.

In Chap-books one does not look for extreme historical accuracy, so

we are not surprised that Diocletian came over to England, and sent

Winnifred to prison for refusing to worship idols. Sir Hugh heard

of this, and in order to join her, spoke loudly in favour of the

Christian religion, and soon had his wish gratified. In prison,

journeymen shoemakers brought him relief, and were so kind to him,

that he styled them all gentlemen of the "gentle craft;" but the tale

winds up informing us that "Sir Hugh and Winnifred remained a long

time in prison, and were at last, for their steadfastness to the

Christian religion, put to death by order of this cruel tyrant."

Crispin and Crispianus seem to have lived in Britain in the reign of

Maximinius, and were the sons of King Logrid. Maximinius sent for them

in order to slay them, but their mother, Queen Esteda, disguised them,

and caused them to flee. They wandered to Faversham, where, tired out,

they knocked at the door of a shoemaker, who took them in, and finally

apprenticed them to himself. Crispianus, however, could not "stick

to his last," so he went to assist the King of France against the

Persians; whilst Crispin, whose master was the Court shoemaker,

being a handsome young man, used to be sent there with shoes, and the

Princess Ursula fell violently in love with him, declared her passion

for him, and they were privately married under an oak tree in the

park.

Crispianus, meanwhile, had been performing prodigies of valour, and

at length returned to Maximinius with letters of commendation from the

French king; whilst the Princess Ursula, whose confinement drew nigh,

did not know how to screen herself. Love, however, is proverbially

sharp-witted; so a false rumour of an enemy having landed being spread

by means "_of firing a gun_," she escaped in the confusion, and took

refuge in the shoemaker's house, where a son was born, whence the

saying, "A shoemaker's son is a prince born." Maximinius received

Crispianus with effusion, sent for his mother, acknowledged his birth,

and would have given him his daughter in marriage could she have been

found. At this juncture the young couple turned up, were forgiven,

"and they lived very happy all their lives afterwards."

[Illustration]

The original of this book seems to have been written by Thomas

Deloney; an edition of it was printed in 1598, and it was entered

on the Stationers' Books on October 19, 1597, as "a booke called the

gentle Crafte, intreatinge of Shoomakers."

The Famous History of the Valiant

LONDON PRENTICE

[Illustration]

NEWCASTLE: PRINTED IN THIS PRESENT YEAR.

A youth named Aurelius was the son of wealthy parents in the county

of Chester, and, being of singular beauty, caused a flutter in all the

feminine hearts in his neighbourhood; one young lady, named Dorinda,

even going so far as to write him a most unmaidenlike love letter,

which, being dropped by accident, was found by one of the young lady's

lovers, who, taking counsel with three others, set upon Aurelius as

he was going through a wood. It is needless to say that he speedily

overcame them; but his parents, fearing revenge, and wishing to remove

him from the wiles of Dorinda, sent him to London, and bound him

apprentice to a Turkey merchant on London Bridge. Here the young

gentleman, after some time, must needs fall in love with his master's

daughter; but, unlike the usual course of events in such cases,

his passion was not reciprocated, so in dudgeon he applied for, and

obtained, the merchant's leave for him to go to Turkey as his factor.

He set out with a gallant equipage, and was well received by the

English merchants in Turkey. Merchants at that time do not seem to

have been of the same prosaic class as they are now; for, on the

occasion of a tournament held in honour of a marriage, Aurelius must

go fully armed, in order to take part in the joust. His blood

boiled to see the knights of other nations overthrown by the Turkish

champions; so he joined in the fray, soon disposed of the Turkish

chivalry, and killed Grodam, the son-in-law of the Great Turk, who,

in his rage, ordered "the English boy" to be sent to prison, and

afterwards to be cast alive to two lions, who were kept fasting many

days.

"The day of his death, as appointed being come, and the King, his

nobles, and all his ladies seated to behold the execution, the brave

Aurelius was immediately brought forth in his shirt of Cambric, and

the drawers of white Satin, embroidered with gold and a crimson cap on

his head, but had scarce time to bow respectfully to the ladies,

who greatly praised his manly beauty, and began highly to pity his

misfortunes ere the lions were let loose, who at the sight of their

prey, casting their eyes upon him, began to roar horridly, insomuch

that the spectators trembled and beheld Aurelius whom death could not

daunt, laying aside all fear, as they came fiercely to him, with open

mouths, he thrust his hands into their throats and ere they had power

to get from his strong Arms, he forced out their hearts, and laid

them dead at his feet, demanding of the King what other dangerous

enterprises they had to put on him, as he would gladly do it for the

Queen and his country's sake; when immediately the Emperor descended

from his throne, tenderly embracing him, swearing he was some Angel

withal pardoning him, and gave him the beautiful Teoraza his daughter

in marriage, with great riches, who for his sake became a Christian;

and after spending some time in that place, they both returned to

England with great joy, where they lived many years very loving and

happy."

THE

LOVER'S QUARREL

OR

CUPID'S TRIUMPH

_Being the Pleasant and Delightful_

HISTORY

OF

FAIR ROSAMOND

WHO WAS BORN IN

_SCOTLAND_.

[Illustration]

NEWCASTLE: PRINTED IN THIS YEAR.

[Illustration]

This metrical romance is more commonly known by the name of "Tommy

Potts," and somewhat extravagantly recounts the love between him and

fair Rosamond, daughter of the Earl of Arundel, who, being wooed by

Lord Ph[oe]nix, confessed her passion to him, to his natural and great

disgust; but their marriage being settled by their friends, as a last

resource she sent her little foot page to Tommy Potts, telling him of

her dilemma, and begging him to meet her on Guildford Green. Tommy,

whose position was only that of a servant at Strawberry Hall, sent

back word by her messenger that he would be there, and went and asked

his master for leave, which his master not only readily granted, but

offered to enrich him so that their fortunes might be equalized; also,

he wished to furnish him with an armed force--both of which offers

Tommy declined. He met Rosamond and Lord Ph[oe]nix at Guildford Green,

was taunted by the latter with his menial position, and challenged him

to a course of spears, at a future day, on that very spot. His master

behaved very kindly to him, and reiterated his offers, which were

again refused, Potts only accepting the loan of an old white horse

and a suit of armour. The combatants duly met, and Tom Potts was

run through the thick of the thigh. He bound up his wound with

his handkerchief, and continued the combat, this time running Lord

Ph[oe]nix through the right arm. He doctored Lord Ph[oe]nix, and

offered to resume the fight, which his lordship refused, and they

agreed to refer their claims to the lady herself. She, of course,

chose Tommy; but to prove her still more, Lord Ph[oe]nix pretended to

fight with Tommy behind a wall, and reported to her that he had slain

him. The lady declared she would spend all her fortune rather than

Lord Ph[oe]nix should not be hanged, and then swooned. From this time

everything prospered with the lovers. Lord Arundel joyfully gave his

consent to their marriage, and made Tommy his heir.

There is a Second Part, but it lacks the interest of the first.

I cannot trace any connection between the Chap-book and the

frontispiece; but it is evidently the proper thing, as it occurs

in the same place in the black-letter edition of 1675, which is the

earliest I can find. It is entitled, "The Lovers Quarrel, or _Cupid's

Triumph_ being The Pleasant History of fair Rosamond of Scotland.

Being Daughter to the Lord _Arundel_ whose Love was obtained by the

Valour of _Tommy Pots_: who conquered the Lord _Phenix_,

and wounded him, and after obtained her to be his wife. Being very

delightful to read. London. Printed by A. P. for F. Coles, T. Vere and

J. Wright."

THE

_HISTORY_

OF THE

KING and the COBLER

PART THE FIRST

[Illustration]

PRINTED AND SOLD AT THE LONDON AND MIDDLESEX PRINTING

OFFICE 81. SHOE LANE HOLBORN.

"It was the custom of King Henry 8 to walk late in the night into

the City disguised, to observe how the constables and watch performed

their duty; not only in guarding the City gates but also diligently

watching the inner part of the city, that they might prevent those

dangers and casualities that happens to great and populous Cities, in

the night time--This he did oftentimes, without the least discovery

who he was, returning home to Whitehall early in the morning.--Now on

his return home through the Strand he took notice of a certain Cobler,

who was always up at work whistling and singing every morning, so he

resolved to see him, in order which he immediately knocks the heel off

his shoe by hitting it against the Stones."

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

The King gives the shoe to be mended, and tells the cobbler to bring

it to him at the opposite inn when done. The cobbler obeys. The king

gives him liquor, and they hobnob in the most familiar manner; the

king telling him his name was Harry Tudor, that he belonged to the

Court, and should be very glad to see the cobbler whenever he liked to

call. In fact, they became so friendly, that the cobbler would insist

on the king's going over to his cellar, and trying some wonderful

brown ale and a Cheshire cheese; and there they kept it up until Joan,

the cobbler's wife (who slept in the same apartment), awoke, and then

the King retired.

The cobbler sadly missed his boon companion, and at length, with his

wife's permission, he started to pay him a visit, Joan having made him

as spruce as possible.

[Illustration]

On his arrival at Whitehall, he asked for Harry Tudor, and by the

King's express command, was immediately ushered into his presence.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: [11]]

[Footnote 11: This illustration is from another edition.]

This so bewildered the cobbler that he turned and fled; but being

captured, and once more brought to the king, the latter, on hearing

his tale, bids him go to the cellar and he will send Harry Tudor to

him.

The king disguises himself and joins the cobbler, and they have a

jovial tune together, until their noise attracts some of the nobility,

who enter, and then the cobbler discovers who his boon companion

really is.

[Illustration]

Bluff King Hal, however, must needs reward his humble friend, so he

gave him a pension of forty marks yearly, with the freedom of his

cellar, and made him "one of the courtiers"--a position which he

must have graced, judging by his deportment as depicted in the

illustrations.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: [12]]

[Footnote 12: This illustration is from another edition.]

The earliest book on this subject I can find, is the "Cobler turned

Courtier, being a Pleasant Humour between K. Henry 8th and a Cobler,"

1680, quarto.

The First Part of the

FRYAR AND BOY.

OR THE

_Young PIPERS pleasant Pastime_

CONTAINING

The witty Adventures betwixt the Fryar and Boy in relation to his Step

Mother, whom he fairly fitted for her unmerciful cruelty.

[Illustration]

NEWCASTLE: PRINTED IN THIS YEAR.

THE

FRIAR AND BOY

OR THE

_Young PIPER'S_

PLEASANT PASTIME

CONTAINING

His witty Pranks in Relation to his Step Mother,

whom he fitted for her unkind Treatment.

PART THE FIRST

[Illustration]

PRINTED AND SOLD IN ALDERMARY CHURCH YARD LONDON

The father of the "boy" Jack had married a second time, and Jack's

stepmother behaved most harshly to him, and half starved him.

"Nay, tho' his meat and drink was poor

He had not half enough.

Yet, if he seem'd to crave for more

His ears she strait did cuff."

[Illustration]

His father, however, behaved kindly, and to get the lad away, proposed

he should look after the cows all day, taking his provision with him.

One day, an old man came to him and begged for food, on which Jack

offered him his dinner, which the old man thankfully took and eat.

[Illustration]

Indeed, he was so grateful that he told Jack he would give him three

things, whatever he liked to choose. Jack replied--

"The first thing I'd have thee bestow

On me without dispute,

Pray let it be a cunning bow,

With which I birds may shoot.

Well thou shalt have a bow, my son,

I have it here in store,

No archer ever yet had one

Which shot so true before.

Take notice well of what I say.

Such virtues are in this

That wink or look another way

The mark you shall not miss."

Jack also asked for a pipe, and the old man said--

"A pipe I have for thee my son,

The like was never known,

So full of mirth and mickle joy,

That whensoe'er 'tis blown,

All living creatures that shall hear

The sweet and pleasant sound

They shan't be able to forbear

But dance and skip around."

The third thing Jack chose was, that whenever his stepmother looked

crossly at him, she should, against her will, behave in a rude and

unseemly manner, which was also granted.

[Illustration]

The old man left him; and at evening Jack took the cattle home, and as

he went, he tried his pipe with wonderful effect.

"His Cows began to caper then,

The Bulls and Oxen too,

And so did five and twenty men

Who came this sight to view,

Along the road he piping went,

The Bulls came dancing after,

Which was a fit of merriment,

That caus'd a deal of laughter.

For why, a friar in his gown

Bestrides the red cow's back,

And so rides dancing thro' the town,

After this young wag Jack."

[Illustration]

He found his father at home, and telling him how he had disposed

of his dinner, the good man handed him a capon; at which his

mother-in-law frowned, and, to her great disgust, her punishment

was prompt, and she had to retire, Jack bantering her. She vowed

vengeance, and

"A Friar whom she thought a saint,

Came there to lodge that night;

To whom she made a sad complaint,

How Jack had sham'd her quite.

Said she, For sweet St. Francis sake,

To-morrow in the field,

Pray thrash him till his bones you break

No shew of comfort yield."

[Illustration]

[Illustration: [13]]

[Footnote 13: This illustration is from another edition.]

The friar went the next morning to give Jack his thrashing, but Jack

begged him not to be angry, and he would show him something; so he

took his bow and shot a pheasant, which fell in a thorn bush. The

friar ran to secure the bird, and when well in the bush, Jack played

his pipe, with woeful effects as regards the friar, who in his

involuntary dancing got literally torn to pieces, till he begged

Jack--

"For Good St. Francis sake,

Let me not dancing die."

He naturally told his pitiful tale when he reached Jack's father's

house, and the father asked him if it were true, and if so, to play

the pipe and make them dance. The friar had already experienced the

sensation, and

"The Friar he did quake for fear

And wrung his hands withal.

He cry'd, and still his eyes did wipe,

That work kills me almost;

Yet if you needs must hear the pipe,

Pray bind me to a post."

This was done; the pipe struck up, and every one began their

involuntary dance, to the delight of the father, and the great disgust

of the stepmother and the friar, who

"was almost dead,

While others danced their fill

Against the post he bang'd his head,

For he could not stand still.

His ragged flesh the rope did tear,

And likewise from his crown,

With many bangs and bruises there

The blood did trickle down."

[Illustration]

The lad led them all into the street, where every one joined in the

mad scene, until his father asked him to stop. Then the friar summoned

him before the proctor, and the gravity of the court was disturbed by

Jack's playing his pipe at the proctor's request. All had to dance,

nor would Jack desist until he had a solemn promise that he should go

free. Here the First Part ends, as also does the first printed version

of the romance, which is entitled, "Here begynneth a mery Geste of the

Frere and the Boye, emprynted at London in Flete strete at the sygne

of the sonne by Wynkyn de Worde." There is no date, and there is a

copy in the public library, Cambridge. It has been reprinted both by

Ritson and Hazlitt. Ritson says, "From the mention made in v. 429 of

the city of 'Orlyance,' and the character of the 'Offycial,' it may be

conjectured that this poem is of French extraction; and, indeed, it is

not at all improbable that the original is extant in some collection

of old Fabliaux."

It is a most popular Chap-book, and went through many editions. A

Second Part was afterwards added, but it is coarser in its humour. The

Newcastle frontispiece is extremely quaint.

_The Pleasant History of_

JACK HORNER

CONTAINING

His witty tricks and pleasant pranks, which he

play'd from his youth to his riper years: Right

pleasant and delightful for winter and summer

recreations.

[Illustration]

NEWCASTLE: PRINTED IN THIS PRESENT YEAR.

This is somewhat similar to "The Friar and the Boy," but is even

coarser.

"Jack Horner was a pretty lad,

Near London he did dwell,

His father's heart he made full glad

His mother lov'd him well;

She often set him on her lap,

To turn him dry beneath

And fed him with sweet sugar'd pap,

Because he had no teeth.

While little Jack was sweet and young,

If he by chance should cry,

His mother pretty sonnets sung,

With a Lulla ba by;

With such a dainty, curious tone,

As Jack sat on her knee,

So that e'er he could go alone,

He sung as well as she.

A pretty boy, of curious wit,

All people spoke his praise

And in the corner he would sit

In Christmas holy-days:

When friends they did together meet,

To pass away the time;

Why, little Jack, he sure would eat

His Christmas pye in rhime.

And said, Jack Horner, in the corner,

Eats good Christmas pye,

And with his thumbs pulls out the plumbs,

And said Good boy am I.

These pretty verses which he made

Upon his Christmas cheer,

Did gain him love, as it is said,

Of all both far and near."

Jack Horner was a dwarf, and never exceeded thirteen inches in height.

His first exploit was to frighten a tailor who stole some of his

cloth, by putting on the head of a goat lately killed, and pretending

to be the devil. He had a fight with a cook-maid who chastised him for

making a sop in the dripping-pan, in which he got the best of it. An

old hermit being desirous of a jug of beer, Jack brought it to him,

and in return the hermit presented him with a coat in which he should

be invisible, and a pair of enchanted pipes, both of which he tried

on some fiddlers, making them dance sorely against their will. He

had many adventures, but his last was with a giant who had seized and

imprisoned a knight's daughter. Jack armed himself, and mounting on

a badger, rode down the giant's throat, and with his pipes and sword

created such a disturbance in his inside, that the giant died, and

Jack delivered the lady, whom he afterwards married.

THE

MAD PRANKS

OF

TOM TRAM

Son in Law to Mother Winter

TO WHICH IS ADDED.

_His Merry Jests, odd Conceits and Pleasant Tales, being

very delightful to read._

[Illustration]

NEWCASTLE: PRINTED IN THIS PRESENT YEAR.

THE

MAD PRANKS

OF

=Tom Tram=

_Son in Law to Mother Winter_

TO WHICH IS ADDED.

His Merry Jests, odd Conceits and pleasant

Tales, very delightful to Read.

THE FIRST PART.

[Illustration]

PRINTED AND SOLD IN ALDERMARY CHURCH YARD,

BOW LANE LONDON.

"There was an old woman, named Mother Winter, who had a son in Law,

whose name was Thomas, who though he was at man's estate, yet would

do nothing but what he pleased, which grieved his mother to the heart.

One day being at market, she heard a proclamation that those who would

not work should be whipped; On this she ran home and told Tom of the

proclamation that was issued out; replied Tom, I will not break the

decree. Upon which the old woman left her son, and went to market.

"She was no sooner gone, but Tom looked into a stone pot she used to

keep her small beer in, and seeing the beer did not work, he with his

cartwhip lays on the pot as hard as he could. The people seeing him,

told his mother, who said, The knave will be hanged, and in that note

went home--Tom seeing her coming, laid on as hard as he could drive,

and broke the pots, which made the old woman say, O what hast

thou done, thou villain? O dear mother said he, you told me it was

proclaimed, that those who did not work must be whipped; and I have

so often seen our pots work so hard that they foamed at the mouth; but

these two lazy knaves will never work. So I have whipped them to death

to shew their fellows to work, or never look me in the face again."

[Illustration]

Mother Winter once sent him to buy a pennyworth of soap, and bade him

be sure, and bring her the change back safely; so he got two men with

a hand barrow to carry the soap, and hired four men with "brown bills"

to guard it, and gave them the elevenpence for their pains. But Tom

was quite as much knave as fool, and, as the anecdotes relating to him

are not very amusing, only those illustrating the Newcastle title-page

will be made use of.

[Illustration]

Whilst staying at an inn, he saw some turkeys in the yard. He killed

two of them by running pins into their heads, and then persuaded his

hostess to throw them away, as there was a sickness among the birds.

Of course he took them away with him, but, finding them heavy to

carry, had recourse to stratagem to help himself. He saw a man leading

his horse down the hill, and "Tom fell down, crying as if he had broke

a leg and made great lamentation of his being five or six miles from

any town, and was likely to perish. The man asked where he lived? Tom

replied, With such a Knight. He, knowing the gentleman, set him on

his horse. Tom then bid him give him his master's turkies, and then

galloped away as fast as he could, crying out I shall be killed, I

shall be killed--The man seeing he was gone without the turkies,

knew not what to do, for he thought if he left the turkies behind

the Knight might take it amiss. So carrying them on foot, lugging,

fretting, and sweating to the next town, where he hired a horse to

overtake Tom, but could not till he arrived at the Knight's house,

where Tom stood ready, calling to him, Oh! now I see thou art an

honest fellow; I had thought you had set me on a headstrong horse on

purpose to deceive me of my two turkies. But he replied Pox on your

turkies and you too; I hope you will pay me for the horse I got."

The story of the house on fire in the top left hand of the title-page

is thus told: "It happened one evening there came a number of Gypsies

to town, whom Tom meeting, asked what they did there? they said, To

tell people their fortunes, that they might avoid approaching danger.

Where do you lie to night said Tom? We cannot tell, said they. If you

can be content to lie in the straw, says Tom, I will show you where

you may lie dry and warm. They thanked him, and said they would tell

him his fortune for nothing. He thanked them, and conveyed them to a

little thatched house filled with straw, and which had a ditch round

it, close to the wall of the house, and there left them to take their

rest, drawing up the bridge after him. In the dead of the night he got

a long pole with a large whisp of straw, and set the house on fire.

One of the Gypsies seeing the house in flames, calling to the rest,

and thinking to cross the bridge, fell into the ditch, crying out for

help; while by Tom's means great part of the town stood to see the

Jest. As the Gypsies came out of the ditch, the people let them go

to the fire to warm themselves; when Tom told them, That seeing they

could not foretel their own fortunes he would, which was on the morrow

morning they should be whipt for cheats, and in the afternoon charged

for setting the house on fire.

"The Gypsies hearing this having made haste to dry themselves, got out

of the town before day break, and never came there afterwards."

The right-hand upper portion of the engraving represents Tom cutting

some shavings of wood from the gallows, to put in the ale of some

persons who had played a practical joke upon him.

There are three parts, but the other two are uninteresting both as to

matter and illustrations.

THE

=Birth, Life, and Death=

OF

JOHN FRANKS

_With the Pranks he played

Though a meer Fool_

[Illustration]

PRINTED AND SOLD IN ALDERMARY CHURCH YARD. LONDON.

From the preface, and its general internal evidence, this Chap-book

seems to be recollections of a real person, who was locally famous,

and whose actions were traditionally handed down. Only a few of the

sayings and deeds of this half-witted jester are worth repeating.

THE PREFACE.

"John Franks, the reputed son of John Ward, was born at Much Eaton in

Essex, within three miles of Dunmow. He had no friends to take care

of him, but his being such a fool was the cause of his well being; for

every one was in love with the sport he made.

"When he was grown to be of man's stature, there was a worthy Knight,

who took him to keep, where he did many strange pranks.

"He was a comely person, and had a good complexion, his hair was of a

dark flaxen. He was of a middle stature, and good countenance. If his

tongue had not betrayed his folly, he might have been taken for a wise

man."

"The Knight where Jack lived kept a poor taylor in his house, who lay

with the fool.

[Illustration]

"One morning they wondered that the taylor nor Jack did not come down;

one of the servants going up, found the door fast, and calling to

them, Jack only answered them; so calling more assistance and breaking

open the door, they found the taylor dead in his bed with his neck

broke, and the fool set astride on a high beam, whence he could not

come down without help. They asked Jack how it was? he said the Devil

came upstairs, clink, clink, clink, and came to my bed side, and I

cried, Good devil do not take me take the taylor; so the devil

broke the taylor's neck, and set me upon the beam. Jack was strictly

examined at Chelmsford Assizes, and several times after; but he always

kept in one story, and never seemed concerned."

[Illustration]

"Jack was often upon the ramble; one day he went up to a yeoman's

house, who loved to make sport with him. The servants being all busy

and abroad, none but the fool and he was together. Mr. Sorrel, says

Jack, shall we play at Blind Man's Buff? Ay, says he, with all my

heart, Jack--You shall be blinded says Jack--That I will, Jack, says

he. So pinning a napkin about his eyes and head; Now turn about, says

Jack; but you see Mr. Sorrel, you see; No, Jack, said he I do not see.

Jack shuffled about the kitchen, in order to catch him, still crying,

you see, but when he found he did not see he ran to the chimney and

whipt down some puddings, and put them into his pockets; this he did

every time he came to that end of the room, till he had filled his

pockets and breeches. The doors being open, away runs Jack, leaving

the good man blindfolded, who wondering he did not hear the fool,

cried out, Jack, Jack; but finding no answer, he pulled off the

napkin, and seeing the fool gone, and that he had taken so many

puddings with him, was so enraged that he sent his blood hounds after

him; which when Jack perceived, he takes a pudding and flings it at

them; the dogs smelling the pudding, Jack gained ground the time: and

still as the dogs pursued, he threw a pudding at them; and this he

did till he come to an house. This was spread abroad to the shame and

vexation of the farmer.

"Some time after Mr. Sorrel and some other tenants went to see the

fool's master. Jack espying them, went and told his Lady that Mr.

Sorrel was come. The lady being afraid the fool might offend him

by speaking of the puddings, told Jack he should be whipped if he

mentioned them. But when they were at dinner, Jack went and shaked

Mr. Sorel by the hand, saying, How is it Mr. Sorel then, seeming to

whisper, but speaking so loud that all the Company heard him, said,

Not a word of the puddings, Mr. Sorel.--At this they all burst into a

laughter, but the honest man was so ashamed, that he never came

there again. Ever since it is a bye-word to say, Not a word of the

puddings."

[Illustration]

"A Justice of the Peace being at his Lord's table one day, who

delighted to jest with every one, and Jack being in the room to make

them some sport, and having then a new calfskin suit on, red and white

spotted, and a young puppy in his arms, much of the same colour; he

said to the justice, as he jogged him, Is not this puppy like me?

The justice said It is very much like thee; now there are two puppies

Jack, ha! ha! ha!--Jack after going downstairs to dinner, returned

again and striking the Justice on the back with his fist the Justice

seemed angry. How is it Justice, said Jack, are you angry, let us

shake hands and be friends. The Justice gave him his hand, and the

fool cried out laughing, Now here are two fools, Justice, two fools,

two fools. At this they all laughed heartily, to see this great wit

affronted by a fool; especially a gentleman whom the Justice had but

a few minutes before abused by his jesting; for he was of that temper

that he would jest but never take one.

It is not safe to play with edged tools

Nor is it good to Jest too much with fools."

SIMPLE SIMON'S MISFORTUNES

AND HIS

=Wife Margery's Cruelty=

WHICH BEGAN

_The very next Morning after their

Marriage_

[Illustration]

PRINTED AND SOLD IN ALDERMARY CHURCH YARD

LONDON

Simple Simon married a shrew named Margery, who brought him a

"considerable fortune; forty shillings in money, and a good milch cow,

four fat weathers, with half a dozen ewes and lambs, likewise geese,

hens, and turkies; also a sow and pigs, with other moveables." She

began scolding him the day after marriage, and the poor fellow found

out he had a hard bargain. "Ud swaggers, I think I have a woeful

one now." He went out, and meeting with one Jobson, an old friend,

proceeded to an alehouse with him; but his wife, coming there with her

gossips, "snatched up Jobsons oaken staff from off the table, and gave

poor Simon such a clank upon the noddle, as made the blood spin," and

afterwards treated Jobson to a sound thrashing, and then she and her

gossips got "as drunk as fishwomen."

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Simon sneaked away, but when he got home he found his wife before him,

and "not forgetting the fault he had committed, she invented a new

kind of punishment; for having a wide chimney, wherein they used to

dry bacon, she, taking him at a disadvantage, tied him hand and foot,

bound him in a basket, and by the help of a rope drew him up to the

beam of the chimney, and left him there to take his lodging the second

night after his wedding; with a small smoaky fire under him; so that

in the morning he was reezed like a red herring. But at length he

caused his wife to shew him so much pity as to let him down."

He was undoubtedly a great fool, for, his wife having sent him to the

mill with a sack of corn, he was induced by a stranger to lay it on

the back of his spare horse, and of course the man made off with it.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Simon had to take a basket of eggs to market, but finding that "two

butter women had fallen out, and to that degree, that they had taken

one another by the quoif, their hair and their fillets flying about

their ears," he essayed to part them, but got pushed down, and his

eggs were all broken. The constable, coming up, thought they were

drunk, and clapped them in the stocks, where, being between the

combatants, he had to endure their scolding. On his release he went

home, only to endure his customary beating. So he lay all night in the

hog-stye, and on the morrow, "in the presence of some of his dearest

friends he begged pardon on his knees, of his sweet wife Margery."

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

One day his wife went to a "gossiping," leaving Simon at home to fill

and boil the kettle. He made the fire and hung the kettle over it,

then started to fill his pail at the well. He put down his pail in

order to stop a runaway ox, which led him a chase of three or four

miles. On his return he found his pail stolen, and, when he reached

home, the bottom was burnt out of the kettle. When his wife came back,

it is needless to say that "she let fly an earthen pot at his head,

which made the blood run about his ears. This done she took him by the

collar and cuft him about the kitchen at a most horrid rate."

No doubt he was very vexing, as he could not be trusted with the

most ordinary concerns of life. He had to get some soap, but, whilst

passing over a bridge, he was frightened by some crows, and dropped

the money into the water. Knowing what the consequences would be, he

stripped and went into the water to search after it, but a larcenous

old ragman came by and stole his clothes. He had to go home naked,

where his wife administered his usual correction--"taking the dog

whip, she jerked poor Simon about, making him dance the Canaries for

two hours."

[Illustration]

Many more mishaps and punishments happened to the poor wretch, until

at last even he could stand it no longer; so he attempted to poison

himself, but, by mistake, drank his wife's bottle of sack (_vide_

frontispiece), and consequently got drunk. He was duly cudgelled; but,

either this determination of his, frightened his wife, or she saw the

folly of going on in the way they were doing, for the tale winds up

with, "For now he leads a happy life."