[Illustration]
[Illustration]
I.
A BALLAD OF LUTHER, THE POPE, A CARDINAL, AND A HUSBANDMAN.
In the former Book we brought down this second Series of poems, as
low as about the middle of the sixteenth century. We now find the
Muses deeply engaged in religious controversy. The sudden revolution,
wrought in the opinions of mankind by the Reformation, is one of the
most striking events in the history of the human mind. It could not but
engross the attention of every individual in that age, and therefore no
other writings would have any chance to be read, but such as related to
this grand topic. The alterations made in the established religion by
Henry VIII., the sudden changes it underwent in the three succeeding
reigns within so short a space as eleven or twelve years, and the
violent struggles between expiring Popery, and growing Protestantism,
could not but interest all mankind. Accordingly every pen was engaged
in the dispute. The followers of the Old and New Profession (as they
were called) had their respective Ballad-makers; and every day produced
some popular sonnet for or against the Reformation. The following
ballad, and that intitled _Little John Nobody_, may serve for specimens
of the writings of each party. Both were written in the reign of Edward
VI.; and are not the worst that were composed upon the occasion.
Controversial divinity is no friend to poetic flights. Yet this ballad
of _Luther and the Pope_ is not altogether devoid of spirit; it is of
the dramatic kind, and the characters are tolerably well sustained;
especially that of Luther, which is made to speak in a manner not
unbecoming the spirit and courage of that vigorous Reformer. It is
printed from the original black-letter copy (in the Pepys collection,
vol. i. folio,) to which is prefixed a large wooden cut, designed and
executed by some eminent master.
We are not to wonder that the ballad-writers of that age should be
inspired with the zeal of controversy, when the very stage teemed
with polemic divinity. I have now before me two very ancient quarto
black-letter plays: the one published in the time of Henry VIII.,
intitled, _Every Man_; the other called _Lusty Juventus_, printed
in the reign of Edward VI. In the former of these, occasion is
taken to inculcate great reverence for old mother church and her
superstitions:[513] in the other, the poet (one _R. Wever_) with great
success attacks both. So that the Stage in those days literally was,
what wise men have always wished it, a supplement to the pulpit:--This
was so much the case, that in the play of _Lusty Juventus_, chapter
and verse are every where quoted as formally as in a sermon; take an
instance:
"The Lord by his prophet Ezechiel sayeth in this wise playnlye,
As in the xxxiij chapter it doth appere:
Be converted, O ye children, &c."
From this play we learn that most of the young people were New
Gospellers, or friends to the Reformation; and that the old were
tenacious of the doctrines imbibed in their youth: for thus the Devil
is introduced lamenting the downfal of superstition:
"The olde people would believe stil in my lawes,
But the yonger sort leade them a contrary way,
They wyl not beleve, they playnly say,
In olde traditions, and made by men, &c."
And in another place Hypocrisy urges,
"The worlde was never meri
Since chyldren were so boulde:
Now every boy will be a teacher,
The father a foole, the chyld a preacher."
Of the plays abovementioned, to the first is subjoined the following
Printer's Colophon, ¶ Thus endeth this moral playe of Every Man, ¶
Imprynted at London in Powles chyrche yarde by me John Skot. In Mr.
Garrick's collection is an imperfect copy of the same play, printed by
Richarde Pynson.
The other is intitled, _An enterlude called Lusty Juventus_: and is
thus distinguished at the end: Finis. quod R. Wever. Imprinted at
London in Paules churche yeard, by Abraham Vele at the signe of the
Lambe. Of this too Mr. Garrick has an imperfect copy of a different
edition.
Of these two plays the reader may find some further particulars in the
former volume, Appendix II., see _The Essay on the Origin of the
English Stage_; and the curious reader will find the plays themselves
printed at large in Hawkins's _Origin of the English Drama_, 3 vols.
Oxford, 1773, 12mo.
* * * * *
THE HUSBANDMAN.
Let us lift up our hartes all,
And prayse the lordes magnificence
Which hath given the wolues a fall,
And is become our strong defence:
For they thorowe a false pretens
From Christes bloude dyd all us leade,[514] 5
Gettynge from every man his pence,
As satisfactours for the deade.
For what we with our Flayles coulde get
To kepe our house, and servauntes; 10
That did the Freers[515] from us fet,
And with our soules played the merchauntes:
And thus they with theyr false warrantes
Of our sweate have easelye lyved,
That for fatnesse theyr belyes pantes, 15
So greatlye have they us deceaued.
They spared not the fatherlesse,
The carefull, nor the pore wydowe;
They wolde have somewhat more or lesse,
If it above the ground did growe: 20
But now we Husbandmen do knowe
Al their subteltye, and their false caste;[516]
For the lorde hath them overthrowe
With his swete word now at the laste.
DOCTOR MARTIN LUTHER.
Thou antichrist, with thy thre crownes, 25
Hast usurped kynges powers,
As having power over realmes and townes,
Whom thou oughtest to serve all houres:
Thou thinkest by thy jugglyng colours
Thou maist lykewise Gods word oppresse; 30
As do the deceatful foulers,
When they theyr nettes craftelye dresse.
Thou flatterest every prince, and lord,
Thretening poore men with swearde and fyre;
All those, that do followe Gods worde, 35
To make them cleve to thy desire,
Theyr bokes thou burnest in flaming fire;
Cursing with boke, bell, and candell,
Such as to reade them have desyre,
Or with them are wyllynge to meddell. 40
Thy false power wyl I bryng down,
Thou shalt not raygne many a yere,
I shall dryve the from citye and towne,
Even with this PEN that thou seyste here:
Thou fyghtest with swerd, shylde, and speare, 45
But I wyll fyght with Gods worde;
Which is now so open and cleare,
That it shall brynge the under the borde.[517]
THE POPE.
Though I brought never so many to hel,
And to utter dampnacion, 50
Throughe myne ensample, and consel,
Or thorow any abhominacion,
Yet doth our lawe excuse my fashion.
And thou, Luther, arte accursed;
For blamynge me, and my condicion, 55
The holy decres have the condempned.
Thou stryvest against my purgatory,
Because thou findest it not in scripture;
As though I by myne auctorite
Myght not make one for myne honoure. 60
Knowest thou not, that I have power
To make, and mar, in heaven and hell,
In erth, and every creature?
Whatsoever I do it must be well.
As for scripture, I am above it; 65
Am not I Gods hye vicare?
Shulde I be bounde to folowe it,
As the carpenter his ruler?[518]
Nay, nay, hereticks ye are,
That will not obey my auctoritie. 70
With this SWORDE I wyll declare,
That ye shal al accursed be.
THE CARDINAL.
I am a Cardinall of Rome,
Sent from Christes hye vicary,
To graunt pardon to more, and sume, 75
That wil Luther resist strongly:
He is a greate hereticke treuly,
And regardeth to much the scripture;
For he thinketh onely thereby
To subdue the popes high honoure. 80
Receive ye this PARDON devoutely,
And loke that ye agaynst him fight;
Plucke up youre herts, and be manlye,
For the pope sayth ye do but ryght:
And this be sure, that at one flyghte, 85
Allthough ye be overcome by chaunce,
Ye shall to heaven go with greate myghte;
God can make you no resistaunce.
But these heretikes for their medlynge
Shall go down to hel every one; 90
For they have not the popes blessynge,
Nor regarde his holy pardòn:
They thinke from all destruction
By Christes bloud to be saved,
Fearynge not our excommunicacion, 95
Therefore shall they al be dampned.
FOOTNOTES:
[513] Take a specimen from his high encomiums on the priesthood.
"There is no emperour, kyng, duke, ne baron
That of God hath commissyon,
As hath the leest preest in the world beynge.
* * * * *
God hath to them more power gyven,
Than to any aungell, that is in heven;
With v. words he may consecrate
Goddes body in fleshe and blode to take,
And handeleth his maker bytwene his handes.
The preest byndeth and unbindeth all bandes,
Bothe in erthe and in heven.--
Thou ministers all the sacramentes seven.
Though we kyst thy fete thou were worthy;
Thou art the surgyan that cureth synne dedly;
No remedy may we fynde under God,
But alone on preesthode.
----God gave preest that dignitè,
And letteth them in his stede amonge us be,
Thus be they above aungels in degre."
See Hawkins's _Orig. of Eng. Drama_, vol. i. p. 61.
[514] _i.e._ denied us the cup, see below, ver. 94.
[515] [friars.]
[516] [stratagem.]
[517] _i.e._ make thee knock under the table.
[518] _i.e._ his rule.
[Illustration]
II.
JOHN ANDERSON MY JO.
A SCOTTISH SONG.
While in England verse was made the vehicle of controversy, and popery
was attacked in it by logical argument, or stinging satire; we may be
sure the zeal of the Scottish Reformers would not suffer their pens to
be idle, but many a pasquil was discharged at the Romish priests, and
their enormous encroachments on property. Of this kind perhaps is the
following, (preserved in Maitland's MS. Collection of Scottish poems in
the Pepysian library:)
"Tak a Wobster, that is leill,
And a Miller, that will not steill,
With ane Priest, that is not gredy,
And lay ane deid corpse thame by,
And, throw virtue of thame three,
That deid corpse sall qwyknit be."
Thus far all was fair: but the furious hatred of popery led them to
employ their rhymes in a still more licentious manner. It is a received
tradition in Scotland, that at the time of the Reformation, ridiculous
and obscene songs were composed to be sung by the rabble to the tunes
of the most favourite hymns in the Latin service. _Green sleeves and
pudding pies_ (designed to ridicule the popish clergy) is said to have
been one of these metamorphosed hymns: _Maggy Lauder_ was another:
_John Anderson my jo_ was a third. The original music of all these
burlesque sonnets was very fine. To give a specimen of their manner,
we have inserted one of the least offensive. The reader will pardon
the meanness of the composition for the sake of the anecdote, which
strongly marks the spirit of the times.
In the present Edition this song is much improved by some new readings
communicated by a friend; who thinks by the "Seven Bairns," in st.
2d. are meant the Seven Sacraments; five of which were the spurious
offspring of Mother Church: as the first stanza contains a satirical
allusion to the luxury of the popish clergy.
The adaptation of solemn church music to these ludicrous pieces and
the jumble of ideas thereby occasioned, will account for the following
fact.--From the Records of the General Assembly in Scotland, called,
_The Book of the Universal Kirk_, p. 90, 7th July, 1568, it appears,
that Thomas Bassendyne printer in Edinburgh, printed "a psalme buik,
in the end whereof was found printit ane baudy sang, called, _Welcome
Fortunes_."[519]
* * * * *
[In the first edition of the _Reliques_ the number of the bairns
is fixed at five instead of seven, and the rhyme to five is thrive
instead of threven. The last line is
"For four of them were gotten, quhan Willie was awa."
The present copy has thus been altered to support the untenable
position that the seven bairns were meant to represent the seven
sacraments.
According to tradition John Anderson was formerly the town crier
of Kelso, and the song is not of any great antiquity, for it is
first found in the Skene MS., the date of which Dauney (_Ancient_
_Scottish Melodies_, p. 219) fixes at the beginning of the
seventeenth century, but which includes, according to Mr. Chappell,
an English country dance that first appeared in 1698 (_Popular
Music of the Olden Time_, vol. ii. p. 770).
Burns wrote his song--
"John Anderson my jo John
When we were first acquent,"
to the old tune, for Johnson's _Musical Museum_.]
* * * * *
WOMAN.
John Anderson my jo, cum in as ye gae bye,
And ye sall get a sheips heid weel baken in a pye;
Weel baken in a pye, and the haggis in a pat:
John Anderson my jo, cum in, and ye's get that.
MAN.
And how doe ye, Cummer?[520] and how hae ye threven?
And how mony bairns hae ye? WOM. Cummer, I hae seven.
MAN. Are they to your awin gude man? WOM. Na, Cummer, na;
For five of tham were gotten, quhan he was awa.'
FOOTNOTES:
[519] See also _Biograph. Britan._ 1st edit. vol. i. p. 177.
[520] [gossip.]
III.
LITTLE JOHN NOBODY.
We have here a witty libel on the Reformation under king Edward VI.
written about the year 1550, and preserved in the Pepys collection,
British Museum, and Strype's _Mem. of Cranmer_. The author artfully
declines entering into the merits of the cause, and wholly reflects on
the lives and actions of many of the Reformed. It is so easy to find
flaws and imperfections in the conduct of men, even the best of them,
and still easier to make general exclamations about the profligacy
of the present times, that no great point is gained by arguments of
that sort, unless the author could have proved that the principles of
the Reformed Religion had a natural tendency to produce a corruption
of manners: whereas he indirectly owns, that their _reverend father_
[archbishop Cranmer] had used the most proper means to stem the
torrent, by giving the people access to the Scriptures, by teaching
them to pray with understanding, and by publishing homilies, and other
religious tracts. It must however be acknowledged, that our libeller
had at that time sufficient room for just satire. For under the banners
of the Reformed had enlisted themselves, many concealed papists, who
had private ends to gratify; many that were of no religion; many greedy
courtiers, who thirsted after the possessions of the church; and many
dissolute persons, who wanted to be exempt from all ecclesiastical
censures. And as these men were loudest of all others in their cries
for Reformation, so in effect, none obstructed the regular progress of
it so much, or by their vicious lives brought vexation and shame more
on the truly venerable and pious Reformers.
The reader will remark the fondness of our satirist for alliteration:
in this he was guilty of no affectation or singularity; his
versification is that of _Pierce Plowman's Visions_, in which a
recurrence of similar letters is essential: to this he has only
superadded rhyme, which in his time began to be the general practice.
See an _Essay_ on this very peculiar kind of metre, in the appendix to
this Volume.
* * * * *
In december, when the dayes draw to be short,
After november, when the nights wax noysome and long;
As I past by a place privily at a port,
I saw one sit by himself making a song:
His last[521] talk of trifles, who told with his tongue
That few were fast i'th' faith. I 'freyned'[522] that freake,[523]
Whether he wanted wit, or some had done him wrong.
He said, he was little John Nobody, that durst not speake.
John Nobody, quoth I, what news? thou soon note and tell
What maner men thou meane, thou are so mad.
He said, These gay gallants, that wil construe the gospel,
As Solomon the sage, with semblance full sad;
To discusse divinity they nought adread;
More meet it were for them to milk kye at a fleyke.[524]
Thou lyest, quoth I, thou losel,[525] like a leud lad.
He said, he was little John Nobody, that durst not speake.
Its meet for every man on this matter to talk,
And the glorious gospel ghostly to have in mind;
It is sothe said, that sect but much unseemly skalk,
As boyes babble in books, that in scripture are blind:
Yet to their fancy soon a cause will find;
As to live in lust, in lechery to leyke:[526]
Such caitives count to be come of Cains kind;[527]
But that I little John Nobody durst not speake.
For our reverend father hath set forth an order,
Our service to be said in our seignours tongue;
As Solomon the sage set forth the scripture;
Our suffrages, and services, with many a sweet song,
With homilies, and godly books us among,
That no stiff, stubborn stomacks we should freyke:[528]
But wretches nere worse to do poor men wrong;
But that I little John Nobody dare not speake.
For bribery was never so great, since born was our Lord,
And whoredom was never les hated, sith Christ harrowed[529] hel,
And poor men are so sore punished commonly through the world,
That it would grieve any one, that good is, to hear tel.
For al the homilies and good books, yet their hearts be so quel,[530]
That if a man do amisse, with mischiefs they wil him wreake;[531]
The fashion of these new fellows it is so vile and fell:
But that I little John Nobody dare not speake.
Thus to live after their lust, that life would they have,
And in lechery to leyke al their long life;
For al the preaching of Paul, yet many a proud knave
Wil move mischiefe in their mind both to maid and wife
To bring them in advoutry,[532] or else they wil strife,
And in brawling about baudery, Gods commandments breake:
But of these frantic il fellowes, few of them do thrife;
Though I little John Nobody dare not speake.
If thou company with them, they wil currishly carp,[533] and not care
According to their foolish fantacy; but fast wil they naught:
Prayer with them is but prating; therefore they it forbear:
Both almes deeds, and holiness, they hate it in their thought:
Therefore pray we to that prince, that with his bloud us bought,
That he wil mend that is amiss: for many a manful freyke[534]
Is sorry for these sects, though they say little or nought;
And that I little John Nobody dare not once speake.
Thus in NO place, this NOBODY, in NO time I met,
Where NO man, 'ne'[535] NOUGHT was, nor NOTHING did appear;
Through the sound of a synagogue for sorrow I swett,
That 'Aeolus'[536] through the eccho did cause me to hear.
Then I drew me down into a dale, whereas the dumb deer
Did shiver for a shower; but I shunted[537] from a freyke:
For I would no wight in this world wist who I were,
But little John Nobody, that dare not once speake.
FOOTNOTES:
[521] Perhaps "he left talk."
[522] feyned, MSS. and _PC._
[523] [asked that man.]
[524] [cows at a hurdle.]
[525] [worthless fellow.]
[526] [play.]
[527] [Ver. 3. _Cain's kind._]. So in _Pierce the Plowman's Creed_, the
proud friars are said to be
"Of Caymes kind."--_Vid._ Sig. C ii. _b._
[528] [humour.]
[529] [harassed.]
[530] [cruel.]
[531] [pursue revengefully.]
[532] [adultery.]
[533] [censure.]
[534] [strong man.]
[535] then, MSS. and _PC._
[536] Hercules, MSS. and _PC._
[537] [shunned.]
IV.
Q. ELIZABETH'S VERSES, WHILE PRISONER AT WOODSTOCK,
WRIT WITH CHARCOAL ON A SHUTTER,
Are preserved by Hentzner, in that part of his _Travels_ which has been
reprinted in so elegant a manner at Strawberry-hill. In Hentzner's book
they were wretchedly corrupted, but are here given as amended by his
ingenious editor. The old orthography, and one or two ancient readings
of Hentzner's copy, are here restored.
* * * * *
Oh, Fortune! how thy restlesse wavering state
Hath fraught with cares my troubled witt!
Witnes this present prisonn, whither fate
Could beare me, and the joys I quit.[538]
Thou causedest the guiltie to be losed 5
From bandes, wherein are innocents inclosed:
Causing the guiltles to be straite reserved,
And freeing those that death had well deserved.
But by her envie can be nothing wroughte,
So God send to my foes all they have thoughte. 10
A.D. MDLV.
ELIZABETHE, PRISONNER.
FOOTNOTES:
[538] Ver. 4. "Could beare," is an ancient idiom, equivalent to "did
bear" or "hath borne." See below the _Beggar of Bednal Green_, Book 2,
No. x. v. 57. "Could say."
V.
THE HEIR OF LINNE.
The original of this ballad is found in the Editor's folio MS., the
breaches and defects in which rendered the insertion of supplemental
stanzas necessary. These, it is hoped, the reader will pardon, as
indeed the completion of the story was suggested by a modern ballad on
a similar subject.
From the Scottish phrases here and there discernible in this poem, it
should seem to have been originally composed beyond the Tweed.
The Heir of Linne appears not to have been a Lord of Parliament, but a
Laird, whose title went along with his estate.
* * * * *
[In the folio MS. Percy wrote the following note: "This old copy
(tho' a very indifferent fragment) I thought deserving of some
attention. I have therefore bestowed an entire revisal of the
subject for my _Reliques_, &c." In this revisal, the Bishop swelled
out the 125 lines of the original into the 216 of his own version.
It has, therefore, been necessary to print a copy of the original
at the end of the present ballad. The modern ballad referred
to above is the _Drunkard's Legacy_, printed in J. H. Dixon's
_Ballads of the Peasantry_, but it is only comparatively modern,
as it dates back to a period long before Percy's time. The portion
which Percy interpolated and took from this ballad, forms the end
of the first part and beginning of the second part of the following
version.
The incident by which the hidden treasure is discovered occurs
in one of the stories of Cinthio's _Heccatomithi_ (Dec. ix. Nov.
8), but the arguments of the two tales are in other respects
different. The Scotch claim this ballad as their own. Some
suppose the hero to have been an Ayrshire laird, and others that
he was from Galloway. Motherwell gives the following verses as the
commencement of the traditionary version extant in Scotland:
"The bonnie heir, the weel-faur'd heir,
And the weary heir o' Linne,
Yonder he stands at his father's gate,
And naebody bids him come in,
O see whare he gaup and see whare he stands,
The weary heir o' Linne,
O see whare he stands on the cauld causey,
Some ane wuld ta'en him in.
But if he had been his father's heir,
Or yet the heir o' Linne,
He wadna stand on the cauld causey,
Some ane wuld ta'en him in."]
* * * * *
PART THE FIRST.
Lithe[539] and listen, gentlemen,
To sing a song I will beginne:
It is of a lord of faire Scotlànd,
Which was the unthrifty heire of Linne.
His father was a right good lord, 5
His mother a lady of high degree;
But they, alas! were dead, him froe,
And he lov'd keeping companie.
To spend the daye with merry cheare,
To drinke and revell every night, 10
To card and dice from eve to morne,
It was, I ween, his hearts delighte
To ride, to runne, to rant, to roare,
To alwaye spend and never spare,
I wott, an' it were the king himselfe, 15
Of gold and fee he mote be bare.
Soe fares the unthrifty lord of Linne
Till all his gold is gone and spent;
And he maun sell his landes so broad,
His house, and landes, and all his rent. 20
His father had a keen stewàrde,
And John o' the Scales was called hee:
But John is become a gentel-man,
And John has gott both gold and fee.[540]
Sayes, Welcome, welcome, lord of Linne, 25
Let nought disturb thy merry cheere;
Iff thou wilt sell thy landes soe broad,
Good store of gold Ile give thee heere.
My gold is gone, my money is spent;
My lande nowe take it unto the: 30
Give me the golde, good John o' the Scales,
And thine for aye my lande shall bee.
Then John he did him to record draw,
And John he cast him a gods-pennie;[541]
But for every pounde that John agreed, 35
The lande, I wis, was well worth three.
He told him the gold upon the borde,
He was right glad his land to winne:
The gold is thine, the land is mine,
And now Ile be the lord of Linne. 40
Thus he hath sold his land soe broad,
Both hill and holt,[542] and moore and fenne,
All but a poore and lonesome lodge,
That stood far off in a lonely glenne.
For soe he to his father hight. 45
My sonne, when I am gonne, sayd hee,
Then thou wilt spend thy lande so broad,
And thou wilt spend thy gold so free:
But sweare me nowe upon the roode,
That lonesome lodge thou'lt never spend; 50
For when all the world doth frown on thee,
Thou there shalt find a faithful friend.
The heire of Linne is full of golde:
And come with me, my friends, sayd hee,
Let's drinke, and rant, and merry make, 55
And he that spares, ne'er mote he thee.
They ranted, drank, and merry made,
Till all his gold it waxed thinne;
And then his friendes they slunk away;
They left the unthrifty heire of Linne. 60
He had never a penny left in his purse,
Never a penny left but three,
And one was brass, another was lead,[543]
And another it was white monèy.[543]
Nowe well-aday, sayd the heire of Linne,[543] 65
Nowe well-aday, and woe is mee,
For when I was the lord of Linne,
I never wanted gold nor fee.
But many a trustye friend have I,
And why shold I feel dole or care? 70
Ile borrow of them all by turnes,
Soe need I not be never bare.
But one, I wis, was not at home;
Another had payd his gold away;
Another call'd him thriftless loone, 75
And bade him sharpely wend his way.
Now well-aday, sayd the heire of Linne,
Now well-aday, and woe is me!
For when I had my landes so broad,
On me they liv'd right merrilee. 80
To beg my bread from door to door
I wis, it were a brenning shame:
To rob and steal it were a sinne:
To worke my limbs I cannot frame.
Now Ile away to lonesome lodge, 85
For there my father bade me wend;
When all the world should frown on mee,
I there shold find a trusty friend.
* * * * *
PART THE SECOND.
Away then hyed the heire of Linne
O'er hill and holt,[544] and moor and fenne,
Untill he came to lonesome lodge,
That stood so lowe in a lonely glenne.
He looked up, he looked downe, 5
In hope some comfort for to winne:
But bare and lothly[545] were the walles.
Here's sorry cheare, quo' the heire of Linne.
The little windowe dim and darke
Was hung with ivy, brere, and yewe; 10
No shimmering sunn here ever shone;
No halesome breeze here ever blew.
No chair, ne table he mote spye,
No chearful hearth, ne welcome bed,
Nought save a rope with renning noose, 15
That dangling hung up o'er his head.
And over it in broad lettèrs,
These words were written so plain to see:
"Ah! gracelesse wretch, hast spent thine all,
And brought thyselfe to penurìe? 20
"And this my boding mind misgave,
I therefore left this trusty friend:
Let it now sheeld thy foule disgrace,
And all thy shame and sorrows end."
Sorely shent[546] wi' this rebuke, 25
Sorely shent was the heire of Linne;
His heart, I wis, was near to brast
With guilt and sorrowe, shame and sinne.
Never a word spake the heire of Linne,
Never a word he spake but three: 30
"This is a trusty friend indeed,
And is right welcome unto mee."
Then round his necke the corde he drewe,
And sprang aloft with his bodìe:[556]
When lo! the ceiling burst in twaine, 35
And to the ground came tumbling hee.
Astonyed lay the heire of Linne,
Ne knewe if he were live or dead:
At length he looked, and sawe a bille,[547]
And in it a key of gold so redd. 40
He took the bill, and lookt it on,
Strait good comfort found he there:
Itt told him of a hole in the wall,
In which there stood three chests in-fere.[548]
Two were full of the beaten golde, 45
The third was full of white monèy;
And over them in broad lettèrs
These words were written so plaine to see:
"Once more, my sonne, I sette thee clere;
Amend thy life and follies past; 50
For but thou amend thee of thy life,
That rope must be thy end at last."
And let it bee, sayd the heire of Linne;
And let it bee, but if I amend:[549]
For here I will make mine avow, 55
This reade[550] shall guide me to the end.
Away then went with a merry cheare,
Away then went the heire of Linne;
I wis, he neither ceas'd ne blanne,[551]
Till John o' the Scales house he did winne.[552] 60
And when he came to John o' the Scales,
Upp at the speere[553] then looked hee;
There sate three lords upon a rowe,
Were drinking of the wine so free.
And John himself sate at the bord-head, 65
Because now lord of Linne was hee.
I pray thee, he said, good John o' the Scales,
One forty pence for to lend mee.
Away, away, thou thriftless loone;
Away, away, this may not bee: 70
For Christs curse on my head, he sayd,
If ever I trust thee one pennìe.
Then bespake the heire of Linne,
To John o' the Scales wife then spake he:
Madame, some almes on me bestowe, 75
I pray for sweet saint Charitìe.
Away, away, thou thriftless loone,
I swear thou gettest no almes of mee;
For if we shold hang any losel[554] heere,
The first we wold begin with thee. 80
Then bespake a good fellòwe,
Which sat at John o' the Scales his bord;
Sayd, Turn againe, thou heire of Linne;
Some time thou wast a well good lord:
Some time a good fellow thou hast been, 85
And sparedst not thy gold and fee;
Therefore Ile lend thee forty pence,
And other forty if need bee.
And ever, I pray thee, John o' the Scales,
To let him sit in thy companie: 90
For well I wot thou hadst his land,
And a good bargain it was to thee.
Up then spake him John o' the Scales,
All wood[555] he answer'd him againe:
Now Christs curse on my head, he sayd, 95
But I did lose by that bargàine.
And here I proffer thee, heire of Linne,
Before these lords so faire and free,
Thou shalt have it backe again better cheape,
By a hundred markes, than I had it of thee. 100
I drawe you to record, lords, he said.
With that he cast him a gods pennie:[556]
Now by my fay, sayd the heire of Linne,
And here, good John, is thy monèy.
And he pull'd forth three bagges of gold, 105
And layd them down upon the bord:
All woe begone was John o' the Scales,
Soe shent he cold say never a word.
He told him forth the good red gold,
He told it forth [with] mickle dinne. 110
The gold is thine, the land is mine,
And now Ime againe the lord of Linne.
Sayes, Have thou here, thou good fellòwe,
Forty pence thou didst lend mee:
Now I am againe the lord of Linne, 115
And forty pounds I will give thee.
Ile make the keeper of my forrest,
Both of the wild deere and the tame;
For but[557] I reward thy bounteous heart,
I wis, good fellowe, I were to blame. 120
Now welladay! sayth Joan o' the Scales:
Now welladay! and woe is my life!
Yesterday I was lady of Linne,
Now Ime but John o' the Scales his wife.
Now fare thee well, sayd the heire of Linne; 125
Farewell now, John o' the Scales, said hee:
Christs curse light on me, if ever again
I bring my lands in jeopardy.
[***]
* * * * *
[+±+] In the present edition of this ballad several ancient
readings are restored from the folio MS.
[Illustration]
* * * * *
The following original version of the _Heir of Linne_ is reprinted from
Hales and Furnivall's edition of the folio MS. vol. i. p. 174:
Off all the lords in faire Scottland
a song I will begin:
amongst them all there dweld a Lord
which was the vnthrifty Lord of linne. 4
his father & mother were dead him froe,
& soe was the head of all his kinne;
he did neither cease nor bl[i]nne
to the cards & dice that he did run, 8
to drinke the wine that was soe cleere,
with euery man he wold make merry.
and then bespake him John of the Scales,
vnto the heire of Linne sayd hee, 12
sayes, "how dost thou, Lord of Linne,
doest either want gold or fee?
wilt thou not sell thy lands soe brode
to such a good fellow as me? 16
"ffor ... I ..." he said,
"my land, take it vnto thee,
I draw you to record, my Lord[e]s all:"
with that he cast him a good-se peny, 20
he told him the gold vpon the bord,
it wanted neuer a bare penny.
"that gold is thine, the land is mine,
the heire of Linne I wilbee." 24
"heeres gold inoughe," saithe the heire of Linne,
"both for me & my company."
he drunke the wine that was soe cleere,
& with euery man he made merry. 28
with-in 3 quarters of a yeere
his gold & fee it waxed thinne,
his merry men were from him gone,
& left him himselfe all alone. 32
he had neuer a penny left in his pursse,
neuer a penny but 3,
& one was brasse, & another was lead,
& another was white mony. 36
"Now well-a day!" said the heire of Linne,
"now welladay, & woe is mee!
for when I was the lord of Linne,
I neither wanted gold nor fee; 40
"for I haue sold my lands soe broad,
& haue not left me one penny!
I must goe now & take some read
vnto Edenborrow, & begg my bread." 44
he had not beene in Edenborrow
not 3 qwarters of a yeere,
but some did giue him & some said nay,
& some bid "to the deele gang yee! 48
"for if we shold hang any Land selfeer,
the first we wold begin with thee."
"Now welladay!" said the heire of Linne,
no[w] welladay, & woe is mee! 52
"for now I have sold my lands soe broad,
that mery man is irke with mee;
but when that I was the Lord of Linne,
then on my land I liued merrily; 56
"& now I have sold my land soe broade
that I haue not left me one pennye!
god be with my father!" he said,
"on his land he liued merrily." 60
Still in a study there as he stood,
he vnbethought him of [a] bill
[he vnbethought him of a bill]
which his father had left with him, 64
bade him he shold neuer on it looke
till he was in extreame neede,
"& by my faith," said the heire of Linne,
"then now I had neuer more neede." 68
he tooke the bill, & looked it on,
good comfort that he found there;
itt told him of a Castle wall
where there stood 3 chests in feare: 72
2 were full of the beaten gold,
the 3 was full of white mony.
he turned then downe his baggs of bread,
& filled them full of gold soe red; 76
then he did neuer cease nor blinne
till John of the Scales house he did winne.
when that he came to John of the Scales,
vpp at the speere he looked then: 80
there sate 3 lords vpon a rowe,
and John o the Scales sate at the bords head,
[and John o the Scales sate at the bords head]
because he was the Lord of Linne. 84
and then bespake the heire of Linne,
to John o the Scales wiffe thus sayd hee:
sayd, "Dame, wilt thou not trust me one shott
that I may sitt downe in this company?" 88
"now, christs curse on my head," shee said,
"if I do trust thee one pennye."
then bespake a good fellowe,
which sate by John o the Scales his knee, 92
Said, "haue thou here, thou heire of linne,
40 pence I will lend thee,--
some time a good fellow thou hast beene,--
& other 40 if neede bee," 96
thé druken wine that was soe cleere,
& euery man thé made merry;
& then bespake him John o the Scales,
vnto the Lord of linne said hee: 100
said, "how doest thou, heire of Linne,
since I did buy thy Lands of thee?
I will sell it to thee 20^{li} better cheepe
nor euer I did buy it of thee. 104
"I draw you to recorde, lord[e]s all;"
with that he cast him gods penny;
then he tooke to his baggs of bread,
& they were full of the gold soe redd, 108
he told him the gold then over the borde;
it wanted neuer a broad pennye:
"that gold is thine, the land is mine,
& the heire of Linne againe I wilbee." 112
"Now welladay!" said John o the Scales wife,
"welladay, & woe is me!
Yesterday I was the lady of Linne,
& now I am but John o the Scales wiffe!" 116
saies, "haue thou heere, thou good fellow,
40 pence thou did lend me,
[40 pence thou did lend me,]
& 40^{l}. I will giue thee, 120
Ile make thee keeper of my forrest,
both of the wild deere & the tame."
but then bespake the heire of Linne,
these were the words, & thus said hee, 124
"Christs curse light vpon my crowne
if ere my land stand in any Jeopardye!"
ffins]
FOOTNOTES:
[539] [attend.]
[540] [property.]
[541] _i.e._ earnest-money; from the French _Denier à Dieu_. At this
day, when application is made to the Dean and Chapter of Carlisle to
accept an exchange of the tenant under one of their leases, a piece
of silver is presented by the new tenant, which is still called a
"Gods-penny."
[542] [forest.]
[543] Ver. 63, 4, 5, &c. _Sic_ MS.
[544] [forest.]
[545] [loathsome.]
[546] [abashed.]
[547] [letter.]
[548] in-fere, _i.e._ together.
[549] _i.e._ unless I amend.
[550] _i.e._ advice, counsel.
[551] [lingered.]
[552] Ver. 60. an old northern phrase.
[553] Perhaps the hole in the door or window, by which it was speered,
_i.e._ sparred, fastened, or shut. In Bale's second part of the _Acts
of Eng. Votaries_, we have this phrase (f. 38), "The dore therof oft
tymes opened and _speared_ agayne."
[554] [worthless fellow.]
[555] [furious.]
[556] Ver. 34, 102. cast, is the reading of the MS.
[557] [unless.]
VI.
GASCOIGNE'S PRAISE OF THE FAIR BRIDGES, AFTERWARDS LADY SANDS,
ON HER HAVING A SCAR IN HER FOREHEAD.
George Gascoigne was a celebrated poet in the early part of Queen
Elizabeth's reign, and appears to great advantage among the
miscellaneous writers of that age. He was author of three or four
plays, and of many smaller poems; one of the most remarkable of which
is a satire in blank verse, called the _Steele-glass_, 1576, 4to.
Gascoigne was born in Essex, educated in both universities, whence he
removed to Gray's-inn; but, disliking the study of the law, became
first a dangler at court, and afterwards a soldier in the wars of the
Low Countries. He had no great success in any of these pursuits, as
appears from a poem of his, intitled "Gascoigne's Wodmanship, written
to lord Gray of Wilton." Many of his epistles dedicatory are dated in
1575, 1576, from "his poore house in Walthamstoe:" where he died a
middle-aged man in 1578, according to Anth. Wood: or rather in 1577, if
he is the person meant in an old tract, intitled, "A remembrance of the
well employed Life and godly End of Geo. Gascoigne, Esq.; who deceased
at Stamford in Lincolnshire, Oct. 7, 1577, by Geo. Whetstone, Gent. an
eye-witness of his godly and charitable end in this world," 4to. no
date. [From a MS. of Oldys.]
Mr. Thomas Warton thinks "Gascoigne has much exceeded all the poets
of his age, in smoothness and harmony of versification."[558] But the
truth is, scarce any of the earlier poets of Q. Elizabeth's time are
found deficient in harmony and smoothness, tho' those qualities appear
so rare in the writings of their successors. In the _Paradise of Dainty
Devises_,[559] (the _Dodsley's Miscellany_ of those times) will hardly
be found one rough, or inharmonious line:[560] whereas the numbers of
Jonson, Donne, and most of their contemporaries, frequently offend
the ear like the filing of a saw. Perhaps this is in some measure to
be accounted for from the growing pedantry of that age, and from the
writers affecting to run their lines into one another, after the manner
of the Latin and Greek poets.
The following poem (which the elegant writer above quoted hath
recommended to notice, as possessed of a delicacy rarely to be seen
in that early state of our poetry) properly consists of Alexandrines
of twelve and fourteen syllables, and is printed from two quarto
black-letter collections of Gascoigne's pieces; the first intitled, "A
hundreth sundrie flowres, bounde up in one small posie, &c. London,
imprinted for Richarde Smith:" without date, but from a letter of H. W.
(p. 202), compared with the printer's epist. to the reader, it appears
to have been published in 1572, or 3. The other is intitled, "The
Posies of George Gascoigne, Esq.; corrected, perfected, and augmented
by the author; 1575.--Printed at Lond. for Richard Smith, &c." No year,
but the epist. dedicat. is dated 1576.
In the title-page of this last (by way of printer's,[561] or
bookseller's device) is an ornamental wooden cut, tolerably well
executed, wherein Time is represented drawing the figure of Truth
out of a pit or cavern, with this legend, _Occulta veritas tempore
patet_ [R. S.] This is mentioned because it is not improbable but the
accidental sight of this or some other title-page containing the same
device, suggested to Rubens that well-known design of a similar kind,
which he has introduced into the Luxemburg gallery,[562] and which has
been so justly censured for the unnatural manner of its execution.
The lady here celebrated was Catharine, daughter of Edmond second Lord
Chandos, wife of William Lord Sands. See Collins's _Peerage_, vol. ii.
p. 133, ed. 1779.
* * * * *
[George Gascoigne, soldier and poet, had many enemies, and when
objection was made to the Privy Council against his return as a
burgess for Midhurst, they termed him "a common rymer, ruffian,
atheist," &c. Mr. W. C. Hazlitt printed a complete collection of
his poems in the Roxburghe Library, 2 vols. London, 1869-70.]
* * * * *
In court whoso demaundes
What dame doth most excell;
For my conceit I must needes say,
Faire Bridges beares the bel.
Upon whose lively cheeke, 5
To prove my judgment true,
The rose and lillie seeme to strive
For equall change of hewe:
And therewithall so well
Hir graces all agree; 10
No frowning cheere dare once presume
In hir sweet face to bee.
Although some lavishe lippes
Which like some other best,
Will say, the blemishe on hir browe 15
Disgraceth all the rest.
Thereto I thus replie;
God wotte, they little knowe
The hidden cause of that mishap,
Nor how the harm did growe: 20
For when dame Nature first
Had framde hir heavenly face,
And thoroughly bedecked it
With goodly gleames of grace;
It lyked hir so well: 25
Lo here, quod she, a peece
For perfect shape, that passeth all
Appelles' worke in Greece.
This bayt may chaunce to catche
The greatest God of love, 30
Or mightie thundring Jove himself,
That rules the roast above.
But out, alas! those wordes
Were vaunted all in vayne;
And some unseen wer present there, 35
Pore Bridges, to thy pain.
For Cupide, crafty boy,
Close in a corner stoode,
Not blyndfold then, to gaze on hir:
I gesse it did him good. 40
Yet when he felte the flame
Gan kindle in his brest,
And herd dame Nature boast by hir
To break him of his rest,
His hot newe-chosen love 45
He chaunged into hate,
And sodeynly with mightie mace
Gan rap hir on the pate.
It greeved Nature muche
To see the cruell deede: 50
Mee seemes I see hir, how she wept
To see hir dearling bleede.
Wel yet, quod she, this hurt
Shal have some helpe I trowe:
And quick with skin she coverd it, 55
That whiter is than snowe.
Wherwith Dan Cupide fled,
For feare of further flame,
When angel-like he saw hir shine,
Whome he had smit with shame. 60
Lo, thus was Bridges hurt
In cradel of hir kind.[563]
The coward Cupide brake hir browe
To wreke his wounded mynd.
The skar still there remains; 65
No force, there let it bee:
There is no cloude that can eclipse
So bright a sunne, as she.
FOOTNOTES:
[558] Observations on the _Faerie Queen_, vol. ii. p. 168.
[559] Printed in 1576, 1577, 1578, 1580, 1585, 1596, 1600, and perhaps
oftener, in 4to. black-letter.
[560] The same is true of most of the poems in the _Mirrour of
Magistrates_, 1563, 4to. and also of Surrey's Poems, 1557.
[561] Henrie Binneman.
[562] Le Tems découvre la Vérité.
[563] Ver. 62. In cradel of hir kind: _i.e._ in the cradle of her
family. See Warton's _Observations_, vol. ii. p. 137.
VII.
FAIR ROSAMOND.
Most of the circumstances in this popular story of king Henry II.
and the beautiful Rosamond have been taken for fact by our English
historians; who, unable to account for the unnatural conduct of queen
Eleanor in stimulating her sons to rebellion, have attributed it to
jealousy, and supposed that Henry's amour with Rosamond was the object
of that passion.
Our old English annalists seem, most of them, to have followed Higden
the monk of Chester, whose account, with some enlargements, is thus
given by Stow:--"Rosamond the fayre daughter of Walter lord Clifford,
concubine to Henry II. (poisoned by queen Elianor, as some thought)
dyed at Woodstocke [A.D. 1177] where king Henry had made for her a
house of wonderfull working; so that no man or woman might come to
her, but he that was instructed by the king, or such as were right
secret with him touching the matter. This house after some was named
Labyrinthus, or Dedalus worke, which was wrought like unto a knot in
a garden, called a maze;[564] but it was commonly said, that lastly
the queene came to her by a clue of thridde, or silke, and so dealt
with her, that she lived not long after: but when she was dead, she
was buried at Godstow in an house of nunnes, beside Oxford, with these
verses upon her tombe:--
'Hic jacet in tumba, Rosa mundi, non Rosa munda:
Non redolet, sed olet, quæ redolere solet.'
"In English thus:--
'The rose of the world, but not the cleane flowre,
Is now here graven; to whom beauty was lent:
In this grave full darke nowe is her bowre,
That by her life was sweete and redolent:
But now that she is from this life blent,
Though she were sweete, now foully doth she stinke.
A mirrour good for all men, that on her thinke.'"
STOWE'S _Annals_, ed. 1631, p. 154.
How the queen gained admittance into Rosamond's bower is differently
related. Hollinshed speaks of it, as "the common report of the people,
that the queene ... founde hir out by a silken thread, which the king
had drawne after him out of hir chamber with his foot, and dealt with
hir in such sharpe and cruell wise, that she lived not long after."
Vol. iii. p. 115. On the other hand, in Speede's _Hist._ we are told
that the jealous queen found her out "by a clew of silke, fallen from
Rosamund's lappe, as shee sate to take ayre, and suddenly fleeing from
the sight of the searcher, the end of her silke fastened to her foot,
and the clew still unwinding, remained behinde: which the queene
followed, till she had found what she sought, and upon Rosamund so
vented her spleene, as the lady lived not long after." 3rd edit. p.
509. Our ballad-maker with more ingenuity, and probably as much truth,
tells us the clue was gained by surprise, from the knight who was left
to guard her bower.
It is observable, that none of the old writers attribute Rosamond's
death to poison (Stow, above, mentions it merely as a slight
conjecture); they only give us to understand, that the queen treated
her harshly; with furious menaces, we may suppose, and sharp
expostulations, which had such effect on her spirits, that she did not
long survive it. Indeed on her tomb-stone, as we learn from a person of
credit,[565] among other fine sculptures, was engraven the figure of a
cup. This, which perhaps at first was an accidental ornament (perhaps
only the chalice) might in after times suggest the notion that she was
poisoned; at least this construction was put upon it, when the stone
came to be demolished after the nunnery was dissolved. The account is,
that "the tomb-stone of Rosamund Clifford was taken up at Godstow, and
broken in pieces, and that upon it were interchangeable weavings drawn
out and decked with roses red and green, and the picture of the _cup_,
out of which she drank the poison given her by the queen, carved in
stone."
Rosamond's father having been a great benefactor to the nunnery of
Godstow, where she had also resided herself in the innocent part of
her life, her body was conveyed there, and buried in the middle of the
choir; in which place it remained till the year 1191, when Hugh bishop
of Lincoln caused it to be removed. The fact is recorded by Hoveden,
a contemporary writer, whose words are thus translated by Stow: "Hugh
bishop of Lincolne came to the abbey of nunnes, called Godstow, ... and
when he had entred the church to pray, he saw a tombe in the middle of
the quire, covered with a pall of silke, and set about with lights of
waxe: and demanding whose tomb it was, he was answered, that it was
the tombe of Rosamond, that was some time lemman to Henry II.... who
for the love of her had done much good to that church. Then quoth the
bishop, take out of this place the harlot, and bury her without the
church, lest christian religion should grow in contempt, and to the
end that, through example of her, other women being made afraid may
beware, and keepe themselves from unlawfull and advouterous company
with men."--_Annals_, p. 159.
History further informs us, that king John repaired Godstow nunnery,
and endowed it with yearly revenues, "that these holy virgins might
releeve with their prayers, the soules of his father king Henrie,
and of lady Rosamund there interred."[566] ... In what situation her
remains were found at the dissolution of the nunnery, we learn from
Leland: "Rosamundes tumbe at Godstowe nunnery was taken up [of] late;
it is a stone with this inscription, TUMBA ROSAMUNDÆ. Her bones were
closid in lede, and withyn that bones were closyd yn lether. When
it was opened a very swete smell came owt of it."[567] See Hearne's
discourse above quoted, written in 1718; at which time he tells us,
were still seen by the pool at Woodstock the foundations of a very
large building, which were believed to be the remains of Rosamond's
labyrinth.
To conclude this (perhaps too prolix) account, Henry had two sons by
Rosamond, from a computation of whose age, a modern historian has
endeavoured to invalidate the received story. These were William
Longue-espé (or Long-sword), earl of Salisbury, and Geoffrey, bishop of
Lincolne.[568] Geoffrey was the younger of Rosamond's sons, and yet is
said to have been twenty years old at the time of his election to that
see in 1173. Hence this writer concludes, that king Henry fell in love
with Rosamond in 1149, when in king Stephen's reign he came over to be
knighted by the king of Scots; he also thinks it probable that Henry's
commerce with this lady "broke off upon his marriage with Eleanor
(in 1152) and that the young lady, by a natural effect of grief and
resentment at the defection of her lover, entered on that occasion into
the nunnery of Godstowe, where she died probably before the rebellion
of Henry's sons in 1173." (Carte's _Hist._ vol. i. p. 652.) But let it
be observed, that Henry was but sixteen years old when he came over to
be knighted; that he staid but eight months in this island, and was
almost all the time with the king of Scots; that he did not return
back to England till 1153, the year after his marriage with Eleanor;
and that no writer drops the least hint of Rosamond's having ever been
abroad with her lover, nor indeed is it probable that a boy of sixteen
should venture to carry over a mistress to his mother's court. If all
these circumstances are considered, Mr. Carte's account will be found
more incoherent and improbable than that of the old ballad; which is
also countenanced by most of our old historians.
Indeed the true date of Geoffrey's birth, and consequently of Henry's
commerce with Rosamond, seems to be best ascertained from an ancient
manuscript in the Cotton library: wherein it is thus registered of
Geoffrey Plantagenet: "Natus est 5° Hen. II. [1159.] Factus est miles
25° Hen. II. [1179.] Elect. in Episcop. Lincoln. 28° Hen. II. [1182]."
Vid. _Chron. de Kirkstall_ (Domitian XII.) Drake's _Hist. of York_, p.
422.
The ballad of _Fair Rosamond_ appears to have been first published in
"Strange Histories, or Songs and Sonnets, of Kinges, Princes, Dukes,
Lords, Ladyes, Knights, and Gentlemen, &c. By Thomas Delone. Lond.
1607." 12mo.
It is here printed (with conjectural emendations), from four ancient
copies in black-letter; two of them in the Pepys library.
* * * * *
[It is also printed in the _Crown Garland of Golden Roses, and_
_Garland of Goodwill_. Reprinted by the Percy Society.
In the _Collection of Old Ballads_, 1723, vol. i. p. 1, is another
ballad on the same subject, with the title, _The Unfortunate
Concubine, or Rosamond's Overthrow_.
The story is also treated in Warner's _Albion's England_ (ch. 41).]
* * * * *
When as king Henry rulde this land,
The second of that name,
Besides the queene, he dearly lovde
A faire and comely dame.
Most peerlesse was her beautye founde, 5
Her favour, and her face;
A sweeter creature in this worlde
Could never prince embrace.
Her crisped lockes like threads of golde
Appeard to each mans sight; 10
Her sparkling eyes, like Orient pearles,
Did cast a heavenlye light.
The blood within her crystal cheekes
Did such a colour drive,
As though the lillye and the rose 15
For mastership did strive.
Yea Rosamonde, fair Rosamonde,
Her name was called so,
To whom our queene, dame Ellinor,
Was known a deadlye foe. 20
The king therefore, for her defence,
Against the furious queene,
At Woodstocke builded such a bower,
The like was never seene.
Most curiously that bower was built 25
Of stone and timber strong,
An hundered and fifty doors
Did to this bower belong:
And they so cunninglye contriv'd
With turnings round about, 30
That none but with a clue of thread,
Could enter in or out.
And for his love and ladyes sake,
That was so faire and brighte,
The keeping of this bower he gave 35
Unto a valiant knighte.
But fortune, that doth often frowne
Where she before did smile,
The kinges delighte and ladyes joy
Full soon shee did beguile: 40
For why, the kinges ungracious sonne,
Whom he did high advance,
Against his father raised warres
Within the realme of France.
But yet before our comelye king 45
The English land forsooke,
Of Rosamond, his lady faire,
His farewelle thus he tooke:
"My Rosamonde, my only Rose,
That pleasest best mine eye: 50
The fairest flower in all the worlde
To feed my fantasye:
The flower of mine affected heart,
Whose sweetness doth excelle:
My royal Rose, a thousand times 55
I bid thee nowe farwelle!
For I must leave my fairest flower,
My sweetest Rose, a space,
And cross the seas to famous France,
Proud rebelles to abase. 60
But yet, my Rose, be sure thou shalt
My coming shortlye see,
And in my heart, when hence I am,
Ile beare my Rose with mee."
When Rosamond, that ladye brighte, 65
Did heare the king saye soe,
The sorrowe of her grieved heart
Her outward lookes did showe;
And from her cleare and crystall eyes
The teares gusht out apace, 70
Which like the silver-pearled dewe
Ranne downe her comely face.
Her lippes, erst like the corall redde,
Did waxe both wan and pale,
And for the sorrow she conceivde 75
Her vitall spirits faile;
And falling down all in a swoone
Before king Henryes face,
Full oft he in his princelye armes
Her bodye did embrace: 80
And twentye times, with watery eyes,
He kist her tender cheeke,
Untill he had revivde againe
Her senses milde and meeke.
Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose? 85
The king did often say.
Because, quoth shee, to bloodye warres
My lord must part awaye.
But since your grace on forrayne coastes
Amonge your foes unkinde 90
Must goe to hazard life and limbe,
Why should I staye behinde?
Nay rather, let me, like a page,
Your sworde and target beare;
That on my breast the blowes may lighte, 95
Which would offend you there.
Or lett mee, in your royal tent,
Prepare your bed at nighte,
And with sweete baths refresh your grace,
At your returne from fighte. 100
So I your presence may enjoye
No toil I will refuse;
But wanting you, my life is death;
Nay, death Ild rather chuse!
"Content thy self, my dearest love; 105
Thy rest at home shall bee
In Englandes sweet and pleasant isle;
For travell fits not thee.
Faire ladies brooke not bloodye warres;
Soft peace their sexe delightes; 110
'Not rugged campes, but courtlye bowers;
Gay feastes, not cruell fightes.'
My Rose shall safely here abide,
With musicke passe the daye;
Whilst I, amonge the piercing pikes, 115
My foes seeke far awaye.
My Rose shall shine in pearle, and golde,
Whilst Ime in armour dighte;
Gay galliards here my love shall dance,
Whilst I my foes goe fighte. 120
And you, sir Thomas, whom I truste
To bee my loves defence;
Be carefull of my gallant Rose
When I am parted hence."
And therewithall he fetcht a sigh, 125
As though his heart would breake:
And Rosamonde, for very griefe,
Not one plaine word could speake.
And at their parting well they mighte
In heart be grieved sore: 130
After that daye faire Rosamonde
The king did see no more.
For when his grace had past the seas,
And into France was gone,
With envious heart, queene Ellinor, 135
To Woodstocke came anone.
And forth she calles this trustye knighte,
In an unhappy houre;
Who with his clue of twined thread,
Came from this famous bower. 140
And when that they had wounded him,
The queene this thread did gette,
And went where ladye Rosamonde
Was like an angell sette.
But when the queene with stedfast eye 145
Beheld her beauteous face,
She was amazed in her minde
At her exceeding grace.
Cast off from thee those robes, she said,
That riche and costlye bee; 150
And drinke thou up this deadlye draught,
Which I have brought to thee.
Then presentlye upon her knees
Sweet Rosamonde did falle;
And pardon of the queene she crav'd 155
For her offences all.
"Take pitty on my youthfull yeares,
Faire Rosamonde did crye;
And lett mee not with poison stronge
Enforced bee to dye. 160
I will renounce my sinfull life,
And in some cloyster bide;
Or else be banisht, if you please,
To range the world soe wide.
And for the fault which I have done, 165
Though I was forc'd theretoe,
Preserve my life, and punish mee
As you thinke meet to doe."
And with these words, her lillie handes
She wrunge full often there; 170
And downe along her lovely face
Did trickle many a teare.
But nothing could this furious queene
Therewith appeased bee;
The cup of deadlye poyson stronge, 175
As she knelt on her knee,
Shee gave this comelye dame to drinke;
Who tooke it in her hand,
And from her bended knee arose,
And on her feet did stand: 180
And casting up her eyes to heaven,
Shee did for mercye calle;
And drinking up the poyson stronge,
Her life she lost withalle.
And when that death through everye limbe 185
Had showde its greatest spite,
Her chiefest foes did plaine confesse
Shee was a glorious wighte.
Her body then they did entomb,
When life was fled away, 190
At Godstowe, neare to Oxford towne,
As may be seene this day.
*
FOOTNOTES:
[564] Consisting of vaults under ground, arched and walled with brick
and stone, according to Drayton. See note on his Epistle of Rosamond.
[565] Tho. Allen of Gloc. Hall, Oxon. who died in 1632, aged 90. See
Hearne's rambling discourse concerning Rosamond, at the end of _Gul.
Neubrig. Hist._ vol. iii. p. 739.
[566] Vid. reign of Henry II. in Speed's _Hist._ writ by Dr. Barcham,
Dean of Bocking.
[567] This would have passed for miraculous, if it had happened in the
tomb of any clerical person, and a proof of his being a saint.
[568] Afterwards Archbishop of York, temp. Rich. I.
VIII.
QUEEN ELEANOR'S CONFESSIÓN.
"Eleanor, the daughter and heiress of William duke of Guienne, and
count of Poictou, had been married sixteen years to Louis VII. king
of France, and had attended him in a croisade, which that monarch
commanded against the infidels; but having lost the affections of
her husband, and even fallen under some suspicions of gallantry with
a handsome Saracen, Louis, more delicate than politic, procured a
divorce from her, and restored her those rich provinces, which by her
marriage she had annexed to the crown of France. The young count of
Anjou, afterwards Henry II. king of England, tho' at that time but in
his nineteenth year, neither discouraged by the disparity of age, nor
by the reports of Eleanor's gallantry, made such successful courtship
to that princess, that he married her six weeks after her divorce,
and got possession of all her dominions as a dowery. A marriage thus
founded upon interest was not likely to be very happy: it happened
accordingly, Eleanor, who had disgusted her first husband by her
gallantries, was no less offensive to her second by her jealousy:
thus carrying to extremity, in the different parts of her life, every
circumstance of female weakness. She had several sons by Henry, whom
she spirited up to rebel against him; and endeavouring to escape to
them disguised in man's apparel in 1173, she was discovered and thrown
into a confinement, which seems to have continued till the death of her
husband in 1189. She however survived him many years: dying in 1204,
in the sixth year of the reign of her youngest son, John." See Hume's
_Hist._ 4to. vol. i. pp. 260, 307. Speed, Stow, &c.
It is needless to observe, that the following ballad (given, with some
corrections, from an old printed copy) is altogether fabulous; whatever
gallantries Eleanor encouraged in the time of her first husband, none
are imputed to her in that of her second.
* * * * *
[The idea of the unlucky shrift exhibited in the following ballad
is taken from some old story-teller. It occurs among the tales
of Boccaccio, Bandello, Barbazan, La Fontaine, and several other
writers.
A copy of this ballad, differing very considerably from the present
version, is to be found in Kinloch's _Ancient Scottish Ballads_.
The first stanza is as follows:--
"The queen fell sick, and very, very sick
She was sick and like to dee
And she sent for a frier oure frae France
Her confessour to be."
The last stanza but four reads:--
"And do you see yon pretty little girl
That's a beclad in green?
She's a friar's daughter oure in France
And I hoped to see her a queen."
And the end as follows:--
"The king look'd over his left shoulder,
An angry man was he:--
An it werna for the oath I sware
Earl Marshall, thou shouldst dee."
Another version, recovered from recitation, and more like Percy's
than Kinloch's, is printed by Motherwell in his _Minstrelsy_, under
the title of "Earl Marshall."]
* * * * *
Queene Elianor was a sicke womàn.
And afraid that she should dye:
Then she sent for two fryars of France
To speke with her speedilye.
The king calld downe his nobles all, 5
By one, by two, by three;
"Earl marshall, Ile goe shrive the queene,
And thou shalt wend with mee."
A boone, a boone; quoth earl marshàll,
And fell on his bended knee; 10
That whatsoever queene Elianor saye,
No harme therof may bee.
Ile pawne my landes, the king then cryd,
My sceptre, crowne, and all,
That whatsoere queen Elianor sayes 15
No harme thereof shall fall.
Do thou put on a fryars coat,
And Ile put on another;
And we will to queen Elianor goe
Like fryar and his brother. 20
Thus both attired then they goe:
When they came to Whitehall,
The bells did ring, and the quiristers sing,
And the torches did lighte them all.
When that they came before the queene 25
They fell on their bended knee;
A boone, a boone, our gracious queene,
That you sent so hastilee.
Are you two fryars of France, she sayd,
As I suppose you bee, 30
But if you are two Englishe fryars,
You shall hang on the gallowes tree.
We are two fryars of France, they sayd,
As you suppose we bee,
We have not been at any masse 35
Sith we came from the sea.
The first vile thing that ever I did
I will to you unfolde;
Earl marshall had my maidenhed,
Beneath this cloth of golde. 40
Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king;
May God forgive it thee!
Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall;
With a heavye heart spake hee.
The next vile thing that ever I did, 45
To you Ile not denye,
I made a boxe of poyson strong,
To poison king Henrye.
Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king,
May God forgive it thee! 50
Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall;
And I wish it so may bee.
The next vile thing that ever I did,
To you I will discover;
I poysoned fair Rosamonde, 55
All in fair Woodstocke bower.
Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king;
May God forgive it thee!
Amen, amen, quoth earl marshal;
And I wish it so may bee. 60
Do you see yonders little boye,
A tossing of the balle?
That is earl marshalls eldest sonne,[569]
And I love him the best of all.
Do you see yonders little boye, 65
A catching of the balle?
That is king Henryes youngest sonne,[569]
And I love him the worst of all.
His head is fashyon'd like a bull; 70
His nose is like a boare.
No matter for that, king Henrye cryd,
I love him the better therfore.
The king pulled off his fryars coate,
And appeared all in redde: 75
She shrieked, and cryd, and wrung her hands,
And sayd she was betrayde.
The king lookt over his left shoulder,
And a grimme look looked hee,
Earl marshall, he sayd, but for my oathe, 80
Or hanged thou shouldst bee.
FOOTNOTES:
[569] Ver. 63, 67. She means that the eldest of these two was by the
earl marshall, the youngest by the king.
IX.
THE STURDY ROCK.
This poem, subscribed M. T. (perhaps invertedly for T. Marshall[570])
is preserved in _The Paradise of Daintie Devises_. The two first
stanzas may be found accompanied with musical notes in "An howres
recreation in musicke, &c. by Richard Alison, Lond. 1606, 4to." usually
bound up with three or four sets of "Madrigals set to music by Tho.
Weelkes, Lond. 1597, 1600, 1608, 4to." One of these madrigals is so
compleat an example of the bathos, that I cannot forbear presenting it
to the reader:--
"Thule, the period of cosmographie,
Doth vaunt of Hecla, whose sulphureous fire
Doth melt the frozen clime, and thaw the skie,
Trinacrian Ætna's flames ascend not hier:
These things seeme wondrous, yet more wondrous I,
Whose heart with feare doth freeze, with love doth fry.
"The Andelusian merchant, that returnes
Laden with cutchinele and china dishes,
Reports in Spaine, how strangely Fogo burnes
Amidst an ocean full of flying fishes:
These things seeme wondrous, yet more wondrous I,
Whose heart with feare doth freeze, with love doth fry."
Mr. Weelkes seems to have been of opinion, with many of his brethren of
later times, that nonsense was best adapted to display the powers of
musical composure.
* * * * *
[Percy's conjecture that the author is Marshall is not a happy
one. Sir Egerton Brydges, in his edition of the _Paradise_, 1810
(_British Bibliographer_, vol. iii.), attributes it to M. Thorn,
whose name is signed to another poem, numbered 52:--
"Now mortall man beholde and see,
This worlde is but a vanitie,"
written in much the same spirit. The heading to the _Sturdy Rock_
is:--
"Man's flitting life fyndes surest stay,
Where sacred vertue beareth sway."]
* * * * *
The sturdy rock for all his strength
By raging seas is rent in twaine:
The marble stone is pearst at length,
With little drops of drizling rain:
The oxe doth yeeld unto the yoke, 5
The steele obeyeth the hammer stroke.
The stately stagge, that seemes so stout,
By yalping hounds at bay is set:
The swiftest bird, that flies about,
Is caught at length in fowlers net: 10
The greatest fish, in deepest brooke,
Is soon deceived by subtill hooke.
Yea man himselfe, unto whose will
All things are bounden to obey,
For all his wit and worthie skill, 15
Doth fade at length, and fall away.
There is nothing but time doeth waste;
The heavens, the earth consume at last.
But vertue sits triumphing still
Upon the throne of glorious fame: 20
Though spiteful death mans body kill,
Yet hurts he not his vertuous name:
By life or death what so betides,
The state of vertue never slides.
FOOTNOTES:
[570] Vid. _Athen. Oxon._ pp. 152, 316.
X.
THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN.
This popular old ballad was written in the reign of Elizabeth, as
appears not only from ver. 23, where the arms of England are called the
"Queenes armes;" but from its tune's being quoted in other old pieces,
written in her time. See the ballad on _Mary Ambree_ in this volume.
The late Mr. Guthrie assured the editor that he had formerly seen
another old song on the same subject, composed in a different measure
from this; which was truly beautiful, if we may judge from the only
stanza he remembered. In this it was said of the old beggar, that "down
his neck
"----his reverend lockes
In comelye curles did wave;
And on his aged temples grewe
The blossomes of the grave."
The following ballad is chiefly given from the Editor's folio MS.
compared with two ancient printed copies: the concluding stanzas,
which contain the old beggar's discovery of himself, are not however
given from any of these, being very different from those of the
vulgar ballad. Nor yet does the Editor offer them as genuine, but as
a modern attempt to remove the absurdities and inconsistencies, which
so remarkably prevailed in this part of the song, as it stood before:
whereas by the alteration of a few lines, the story is rendered much
more affecting, and is reconciled to probability and true history. For
this informs us, that at the decisive battle of Evesham (fought Aug. 4,
1265), when Simon de Montfort, the great Earl of Leicester, was slain
at the head of the barons, his eldest son Henry fell by his side, and
in consequence of that defeat, his whole family sunk for ever, the king
bestowing their great honours and possessions on his second son, Edmund
earl of Lancaster.
* * * * *
[This charming old ballad has enjoyed a long life of popularity,
and according to Mr. Chappell it is still kept in print in Seven
Dials, and sung about the country. As it is to be found in most
collections, it has not been thought necessary to take note of
the various trifling alterations which Percy made, but the six
stanzas which he ejected in favour of the eight between brackets
are printed at the end. A few of the alterations are improvements,
but most of them are the reverse; thus, in place of the received
reading of verse 28,
"Was straightway in love with pretty Bessee,"
Percy prints
"Was straightway enamourd of pretty Bessee."
Mr. John Pickford (_Notes and Queries_, 4th Series, vol. ix. p. 64)
once possessed an old mezzotint engraving of the Blind Beggar of a
large folio size, on the margin of which were inscribed the lines
referred to above. In Robert Greene's _Pandosto_ (1588), from which
Shakspere drew the plot of his _Winter's Tale_, there is the same
simile as is used in these verses. Egistus says:--"Thou seest my
white hayres are blossomes for the grave."
Pepys in his Diary (25th June, 1663), speaks of going to dinner
with Sir William and Lady Batten and Sir J. Minnes to Sir William
Ryder's at Bethnall Green, and adds: "This very house was built by
the blind beggar of Bednall Green, so much talked of and sang in
ballads, but they say it was only some outhouse of it." The mansion
was built by John Kirby, a citizen of London, in the reign of Queen
Elizabeth, and afterwards became the residence of Sir Hugh Platt,
author of _The Jewell House of Art and Nature_, 1594; _The Garden
of Eden_, &c. Ryder died there in 1669.]
* * * * *
PART THE FIRST.
Itt was a blind beggar, had long lost his sight,
He had a faire daughter of bewty most bright;
And many a gallant brave suiter had shee,
For none was soe comelye as pretty Bessee.
And though shee was of favor most faire, 5
Yett seeing shee was but a poor beggars heyre,
Of ancyent housekeepers despised was shee,
Whose sonnes came as suitors to prettye Bessee.
Wherefore in great sorrow faire Bessy did say,
Good father, and mother, let me goe away 10
To seeke out my fortune, whatever itt bee.
This suite then they granted to prettye Bessee.
Then Bessy, that was of bewtye soe bright,
All cladd in gray russett, and late in the night
From father and mother alone parted shee; 15
Who sighed and sobbed for prettye Bessee.
Shee went till shee came to Stratford-le-Bow;
Then knew shee not whither, nor which way to goe:
With teares shee lamented her hard destinìe,
So sadd and soe heavy was pretty Bessee. 20
Shee kept on her journey untill it was day,
And went unto Rumford along the hye way;
Where at the Queenes armes entertained was shee:
Soe faire and wel favoured was pretty Bessee.
Shee had not beene there a month to an end, 25
But master and mistres and all was her friend:
And every brave gallant, that once did her see,
Was straight-way enamourd of pretty Bessee.
Great gifts they did send her of silver and gold,
And in their songs daylye her love was extold; 30
Her beawtye was blazed in every degree;
Soe faire and soe comelye was pretty Bessee.
The young men of Rumford in her had their joy;
Shee shewed herself curteous, and modestlye coye;
And at her commandment still wold they bee; 35
Soe fayre and soe comlye was pretty Bessee.
Foure suitors att once unto her did goe;
They craved her favor, but still she sayd noe;
I wold not wish gentles to marry with mee.
Yett ever they honored prettye Bessee. 40
The first of them was a gallant young knight,
And he came unto her disguisde in the night:
The second a gentleman of good degree,
Who wooed and sued for prettye Bessee.
A merchant of London, whose wealth was not small, 45
He was the third suiter, and proper withall:
Her masters own sonne the fourth man must bee,
Who swore he would dye for pretty Bessee.
And, if thou wilt marry with mee, quoth the knight,
Ile make thee a ladye with joy and delight; 50
My hart's so inthralled by thy bewtìe,
That soone I shall dye for prettye Bessee.
The gentleman sayd, Come, marry with mee,
As fine as a ladye my Bessy shal bee:
My life is distressed: O heare me, quoth hee; 55
And grant me thy love, my prettye Bessee.
Let me bee thy husband, the merchant cold say,
Thou shalt live in London both gallant and gay;
My shippes shall bring home rych jewells for thee,
And I will for ever love pretty Bessee. 60
Then Bessy shee sighed, and thus shee did say,
My father and mother I meane to obey;
First gett their good will, and be faithfull to mee,
And you shall enjoye your prettye Bessee.
To every one this answer shee made, 65
Wherfore unto her they joyfullye sayd,
This thing to fulfill wee all doe agree;
But where dwells thy father, my prettye Bessee?
My father, shee said, is soone to be seene:
The seely blind beggar of Bednall-greene, 70
That daylye sits begging for charitìe,
He is the good father of pretty Bessee.
His markes and his tokens are knowen very well;
He alwayes is led with a dogg and a bell:
A seely olde man, God knoweth, is hee, 75
Yett hee is the father of pretty Bessee.
Nay then, quoth the merchant, thou art not for mee:
Nor, quoth the innholder, my wiffe thou shalt bee:
I lothe, sayd the gentle, a beggars degree,
And therefore, adewe, my pretty Bessee! 80
Why then, quoth the knight, hap better or worse,
I waighe not true love by the waight of the pursse,
And bewtye is bewtye in every degree;
Then welcome unto me, my pretty Bessee.
With thee to thy father forthwith I will goe. 85
Nay soft, quoth his kinsmen, it must not be soe;
A poor beggars daughter noe ladye shal bee,
Then take thy adew of pretty Bessee.
But soone after this, by breake of the day
The knight had from Rumford stole Bessy away. 90
The younge men of Rumford, as thicke [as] might bee,
Rode after to feitch againe pretty Bessee.
As swifte as the winde to ryde they were seene,
Untill they came neare unto Bednall-greene;
And as the knight lighted most courteouslìe, 95
They all fought against him for pretty Bessee.
But rescew came speedilye over the plaine,
Or else the young knight for his love had been slaine.
This fray being ended, then straitway he see
His kinsmen come rayling at pretty Bessee. 100
Then spake the blind beggar, Although I bee poore,
Yett rayle not against my child at my own doore:
Though shee be not decked in velvett and pearle,
Yett will I dropp angells with you for my girle.
And then, if my gold may better her birthe, 105
And equall the gold that you lay on the earth,
Then neyther rayle nor grudge you to see
The blind beggars daughter a lady to bee.
But first you shall promise, and have itt well knowne,
The gold that you drop shall all be your owne. 110
With that they replyed, Contented bee wee.
Then here's, quoth the beggar, for pretty Bessee.
With that an angell he cast on the ground,
And dropped in angels full three thousand[571] pound;
And oftentimes itt was proved most plaine, 115
For the gentlemens one the beggar dropt twayne:
Soe that the place, wherin they did sitt,
With gold it was covered every whitt.
The gentlemen then having dropt all their store,
Sayd, Now, beggar, hold, for wee have noe more. 120
Thou hast fulfilled thy promise arright.
Then marry, quoth he, my girle to this knight;
And heere, added hee, I will now throwe you downe
A hundred pounds more to buy her a gowne.
The gentlemen all, that this treasure had seene, 125
Admired the beggar of Bednall-greene:
And all those, that were her suitors before,
Their fleshe for very anger they tore.
Thus was faire Besse matched to the knight,
And then made a ladye in others despite: 130
A fairer ladye there never was seene,
Than the blind beggars daughter of Bednall-greene.
But of their sumptuous marriage and feast,
What brave lords and knights thither were prest,
The second fitt[572] shall set forth to your sight 135
With marveilous pleasure, and wished delight.
* * * * *
PART THE SECOND.
Off a blind beggars daughter most bright,
That late was betrothed unto a younge knight;
All the discourse therof you did see;
But now comes the wedding of pretty Bessee.
Within a gorgeous palace most brave, 5
Adorned with all the cost they cold have,
This wedding was kept most sumptuouslìe,
And all for the creditt of pretty Bessee.
All kind of dainties, and delicates sweete
Were bought for the banquet, as it was most meete; 10
Partridge, and plover, and venison most free,
Against the brave wedding of pretty Bessee.
This marriage through England was spread by report,
Soe that a great number therto did resort
Of nobles and gentles in every degree; 15
And all for the fame of prettye Bessee.
To church then went this gallant younge knight;
His bride followed after, an angell most bright,
With troopes of ladyes, the like nere was seene
As went with sweete Bessy of Bednall-greene. 20
This marryage being solempnized then,
With musicke performed by the skilfullest men,
The nobles and gentles sate downe at that tyde,
Each one admiring the beautifull bryde.
Now, after the sumptuous dinner was done, 25
To talke, and to reason a number begunn:
They talkt of the blind beggars daughter most bright,
And what with his daughter he gave to the knight.
Then spake the nobles, "Much marveil have wee,
This jolly blind beggar wee cannot here see." 30
My lords, quoth the bride, my father's so base,
He is loth with his presence these states to disgrace.
"The prayse of a woman in questyon to bringe
Before her own face, were a flattering thinge;
But wee thinke thy father's baseness," quoth they, 35
"Might by thy bewtye be cleane put awaye."
They had noe sooner these pleasant words spoke,
But in comes the beggar cladd in a silke cloke;
A faire velvet capp, and a fether had hee,
And now a musicyan forsooth he wold bee. 40
He had a daintye lute under his arme,
He touched the strings, which made such a charme,
Saies, Please you to heare any musicke of mee,
Ile sing you a song of pretty Bessee.
With that his lute he twanged straightway, 45
And thereon begann most sweetlye to play;
And after that lessons were playd two or three,
He strayn'd out this song most delicatelìe.
"A poore beggars daughter did dwell on a greene,
Who for her fairenesse might well be a queene: 50
A blithe bonny lasse, and a daintye was shee,
And many one called her pretty Bessee.
"Her father hee had noe goods, nor noe land.
But beggd for a penny all day with his hand;
And yett to her marriage hee gave thousands three,[573] 55
And still he hath somewhat for pretty Bessee.
"And if any one here her birth doe disdaine,
Her father is ready, with might and with maine,
To proove shee is come of noble degree:
Therfore never flout att prettye Bessee." 60
With that the lords and the companye round
With harty laughter were readye to swound;
Att last said the lords, Full well wee may see,
The bride and the beggar's behoulden to thee.
On this the bride all blushing did rise, 65
The pearlie dropps standing within her faire eyes,
O pardon my father, grave nobles, quoth shee,
That throughe blind affection thus doteth on mee.
If this be thy father, the nobles did say,
Well may he be proud of this happy day; 70
Yett by his countenance well may wee see,
His birth and his fortune did never agree:
And therfore, blind man, we pray thee bewray,
(And looke that the truth thou to us doe say)
Thy birth and thy parentage, what itt may bee; 75
For the love that thou bearest to pretty Bessee."
"Then give me leave, nobles and gentles, each one,
One song more to sing, and then I have done;
And if that itt may not winn good report,
Then doe not give me a _groat_ for my sport. 80
"[Sir Simon de Montfort my subject shal bee;
Once chiefe of all the great barons was hee,
Yet fortune so cruelle this lorde did abase,
Now loste and forgotten are hee and his race.
"When the barons in armes did king Henrye oppose,
Sir Simon de Montfort their leader they chose; 86
A leader of courage undaunted was hee,
And oft-times he made their enemyes flee.
"At length in the battle on Eveshame plaine[574]
The barons were routed, and Montfort was slaine; 90
Moste fatall that battel did prove unto thee,
Thoughe thou wast not borne then, my prettye Bessee!
"Along with the nobles, that fell at that tyde,
His eldest son Henrye, who fought by his side,
Was fellde by a blowe, he receivde in the fight! 95
A blowe that deprivde him for ever of sight.
"Among the dead bodyes all lifelesse he laye,
Till evening drewe on of the following daye,
When by a yong ladye discoverd was hee;
And this was thy mother, my prettye Bessee! 100
"A baron's faire daughter stept forth in the nighte
To search for her father, who fell in the fight,
And seeing yong Montfort, where gasping he laye,
Was moved with pitye, and brought him awaye.
"In secrette she nurst him, and swaged his paine, 105
While he throughe the realme was beleevd to be slaine:
At lengthe his faire bride she consented to bee,
And made him glad father of prettye Bessee.
"And nowe lest oure foes our lives sholde betraye,
We clothed ourselves in beggars arraye; 110
Her jewelles shee solde, and hither came wee:
All our comfort and care was our prettye Bessee.]
"And here have wee lived in fortunes despite,
Thoughe poore, yet contented with humble delighte:
Full forty winters thus have I beene 115
A silly blind beggar of Bednall-greene.
"And here, noble lordes, is ended the song
Of one, that once to your own ranke did belong:
And thus have you learned a secrette from mee,
That ne'er had beene knowne, but for prettye Bessee." 120
Now when the faire companye everye one,
Had heard the strange tale in the song he had showne,
They all were amazed, as well they might bee,
Both at the blinde beggar, and pretty Bessee.
With that the faire bride they all did embrace, 125
Saying, Sure thou art come of an honourable race,
Thy father likewise is of noble degree,
And thou art well worthy a lady to bee.
Thus was the feast ended with joye and delighte,
A bridegroome most happy then was the young knighte, 130
In joy and felicitie long lived hee,
All with his faire ladye, the pretty Bessee.
[***]
[Illustration]
* * * * *
[The following stanzas (ll. 217-240 of the whole ballad), were rejected
by Percy in favour of the verses above which are between brackets, and
were written by Robert Dodsley, the bookseller and author:--
"When ffirst our king his ffame did Advance,
& fought for his title in delicate ffrance,
in many a place many perills past hee:
then was not borne my pretty Bessye.
"And then in those warres went over to fight
many a braue duke, a Lo_rd_, & a K_nigh_t,
& w_i_th them younge Mountford, his courage most free:
but then was not borne my pretty Bessye.
"Att Bloyes there chanced a terrible day,
where many braue ffrenchmen vpon the ground Lay;
amonge them Lay Mountford for companye:
but then was not borne my pretty Bessye.[575]
"But there did younge Mountford, by blow on the face,
loose both his eyes in a very short space;
& alsoe his liffe had beene gone w_i_th his sight,
had not a younge woman come forth in the night
"Amongst the slaine men, as fancy did moue,
to search & to seeke for her owne true loue;
& seeing young Mountford there gasping to bee,
shee saued his liffe through charitye.
"And then all our vittalls, in Beggar attire
att hands of good people wee then did require.
att last into England, as now it is seene,
wee came, & remained att Bednall greene."[576]
* * * * *
[+±+] The word _fit_ for _part_, often occurs in our ancient
ballads and metrical romances: which being divided into several
parts for the convenience of singing them at public entertainments,
were in the intervals of the feast sung by fits, or intermissions.
So Puttenham in his _Art of English Poesie_, 1589, says: "the
Epithalamie was divided by breaches into three partes to serve for
three several fits, or times to be sung." P. 41.
From the same writer we learn some curious particulars relative to
the state of ballad-singing in that age, that will throw light on
the present subject: speaking of the quick returns of one manner of
tune in the short measures used by common rhymers; these, he says,
"glut the eare, unless it be in small and popular musickes, sung
by these Cantabanqui, upon benches and barrels heads, where they
have none other audience then boys or countrey fellowes, that passe
by them in the streete; or else by _blind harpers_, or such like
taverne minstrels, that give a _fit_ of mirth for a _groat_, ...
their matter being for the most part stories of old time, as the
tale of _Sir Topas_, the reportes of _Bevis of Southampton_, _Guy
of Warwicke_, _Adam Bell and Clymme of the Clough_, and such other
old romances or historical rimes, made purposely for recreation
of the common people at Christmasse dinners and brideales, and in
tavernes and alehouses, and such other places of base resorte." P.
69.
This species of entertainment, which seems to have been handed down
from the ancient bards, was in the time of Puttenham falling into
neglect; but that it was not, even then, wholly excluded from more
genteel assemblies, he gives us room to infer from another passage:
"We ourselves," says this courtly[577] writer, "have written for
pleasure a little brief romance, or historical ditty in the English
tong of the _Isle of Great Britaine_ in short and long meetres, and
by breaches or divisions (_i.e._ fits), to be more commodiously
sung to the harpe in places of assembly, where the company shal
be desirous to heare of old adventures, and valiaunces of noble
knights in times past, as are those of _King Arthur and his
Knights of the Round Table_, _Sir Bevys of Southampton_, _Guy of
Warwicke_, and others like." P. 33.
In more ancient times no grand scene of festivity was compleat
without one of these reciters to entertain the company with
feats of arms, and tales of knighthood, or, as one of these old
minstrels says, in the beginning of an ancient romance on _Guy
and Colbronde_, in the Editor's folio MS. p. 349 [ed. Hales and
Furnivall, vol. ii., p. 527]:
"When meate and drinke is great plentyè,
And lords and ladyes still wil bee,
And sitt and solace lythe;[578]
Then itt is time for mee to speake
Of keene knightes, and kempès great,
Such carping for to kythe."
If we consider that a _groat_ in the age of Elizabeth was more than
equivalent to a shilling now, we shall find that the old harpers
were even then, when their art was on the decline, upon a far more
reputable footing than the ballad-singers of our time. The reciting
of one such ballad as this of the _Beggar of Bednal Green_, in
two parts, was rewarded with half-a-crown of our money. And that
they made a very respectable appearance, we may learn from the
dress of the old beggar, in the preceding ballad, p. 178, where
he comes into company in the habit and character of one of these
minstrels, being not known to be the bride's father till after
her speech, ver. 63. The exordium of his song, and his claiming a
groat for his reward, v. 76, are peculiarly characteristic of that
profession. Most of the old ballads begin in a pompous manner, in
order to captivate the attention of the audience, and induce them
to purchase a recital of the song: and they seldom conclude the
first part without large promises of still greater entertainment
in the second. This was a necessary piece of art to incline the
hearers to be at the expense of a second groat's-worth. Many of the
old romances extend to eight or nine fits, which would afford a
considerable profit to the reciter.
To return to the word _fit_; it seems at one time to have
peculiarly signified the pause, or breathing-time, between the
several parts (answering to Passus in the _Visions of Pierce
Plowman_): thus in the ancient ballad of _Chevy-Chase_ (vol. i. p.
27), the first part ends with this line:
"The first _fit_ here I fynde:"
_i.e._ here I come to the first pause or intermission. (See also
vol. i. p. 44.) By degrees it came to signify the whole part or
division preceding the pause. (See vol. i. pp. 162, 169.) This
sense it had obtained so early as the time of Chaucer; who thus
concludes the first part of his rhyme of _Sir Thopas_ (writ in
ridicule of the old ballad romances):--
"Lo! lordis mine, here is a _fitt_;
If ye woll any more of it,
To tell it woll I fonde."
The word _fit_ indeed appears originally to have signified a
poetic strain, verse, or poem; for in these senses it is used
by the Anglo-Saxon writers. Thus K. Ælfred in his _Boethius_,
having given a version of lib. 3, metr. 5, adds, [Uncial: Ða
[is]e p[i][is][id]om þa þa[is] [if][i][it][it]e a[is]un[gh]en
hæ[if][id]e], p. 65, _i.e._ "When wisdom had sung these (Fitts)
verses." And in the proem to the same book, [Uncial: Fon on
[if][i][it][it]e], "Put into (fitt) verse." So in Cedmon, p. 45.
[Uncial: Feon[id] on [if][i][it][it]e], seems to mean "composed a
song," or "poem." The reader will trace this old Saxon phrase, in
the application of the word _fond_, in the foregoing passage of
Chaucer.
Spencer has used the word fit to denote "a strain of music;" see
his poem, intitled, _Collin Clout's come home again_, where he
says:--
"The Shepherd of the ocean [Sir Walt. Raleigh]
Provoked me to play some pleasant _fit_.
And when he heard the music which I made
He found himself full greatlye pleas'd at it," &c.
It is also used in the old ballad of _K. Estmere_, vol. i. book 1,
No. 6, v. 243.
From being applied to music, this word was easily transferred to
dancing; thus in the old play of _Lusty Juventus_ (described in
preliminary note to book 2, No. 1 in this volume), Juventus says:
"By the masse I would fayne go daunce a _fitte_."
And from being used as a part or division in a ballad, poem, &c.
it is applied by Bale to a section or chapter in a book (though I
believe in a sense of ridicule or sarcasm), for thus he intitles
two chapters of his _English Votaryes_, part 2nd, viz. fol. 49,
"The fyrst _fytt_ of Anselme with Kynge Wyllyam Rufus;" fol. 50,
"An other _Fytt_ of Anselme with kynge Wyllyam Rufus."
FOOTNOTES:
[571] In the Editor's folio MS. it is _£_500.
[572] See an essay on the word _fit_ at the end of the second part.
[573] So the folio MS.
[574] The battle of Evesham was fought on August 4, 1265.
[575] [This stanza is not in the ordinary versions.]
[576] [Bessie of Bednall, Percy folio MS., ed. Hales and Furnivall,
vol. ii. p. 279.]
[577] He was one of Q. Elizabeth's gent. pensioners, at a time when the
whole band consisted of men of distinguished birth and fortune. Vid.
_Ath. Ox._
[578] Perhaps "blythe."
XI.
FANCY AND DESIRE.
BY THE EARL OF OXFORD.
Edward Vere, Earl of Oxford, was in high fame for his poetical talents
in the reign of Elizabeth; perhaps it is no injury to his reputation
that few of his compositions are preserved for the inspection of
impartial posterity. To gratify curiosity, we have inserted a sonnet
of his, which is quoted with great encomiums for its "excellencie and
wit," in Puttenham's _Arte of Eng. Poesie_,[579] and found intire in
the _Garland of Good-will_. A few more of his sonnets (distinguished by
the initial letters E. O.), may be seen in the _Paradise of Daintie
Devises_. One of these is intitled _The Complaint of a Lover,
wearing blacke and tawnie_. The only lines in it worth notice are
these:--
"A crowne of baies shall that man 'beare'
Who triumphs over me;
For black and tawnie will I weare,
Which mourning colours be."
We find in Hall's _Chronicle_, that when Q. Catharine of Arragon dyed,
Jan. 8, 1536, "Queen Anne (Bullen) ware _yellowe_ for the mourning."
And when this unfortunate princess lost her head, May 19, the same
year, "on the ascencion day following, the kyng for mourning ware
_whyte_." Fol. 227, 228.
Edward, who was the seventeenth earl of Oxford, of the family of Vere,
succeeded his father in his title and honours in 1563, and died an aged
man in 1604. See Mr. Walpole's _Noble Authors_. Athen. Oxon, &c.
* * * * *
[Walpole was in error when he stated that Lord Oxford died an
aged man, for that nobleman was only about sixty at the time of
his death. Sir Egerton Brydges points out in his edition of the
_Paradise of Dainty Devices_ (_British Bibliographer_, vol. iii.),
that the earl could not have been born earlier than 1540 or 1541,
because his elder half-sister Katherine, widow of Edward, Lord
Windsor, died in January, 1599, aged 60. The chief events of his
life are these. In 1585 he was the chief of those who embarked with
the Earl of Leicester for the relief of the states of Holland and
Zealand. In 1586 he sat as Lord Great Chamberlain of England on
the trial of Mary, Queen of Scots. In 1588 he hired and fitted out
ships at his own charge against the Spanish Armada. In 1589 he sat
on the trial of Philip Howard, Earl of Arundel, and in 1601 on the
trials of the Earls of Essex and Southampton. His private character
was far from good, and his honour was tarnished by his dispute
with Sir Philip Sidney. He used his first wife (a daughter of the
great Burleigh) cruelly, in revenge for the statesman's treatment
of his great friend, Thomas, Duke of Norfolk. In his early youth
he travelled in Italy, and returned from that country a finished
coxcomb, bringing home with him Italian dresses, perfumes, and
embroidered gloves. He presented a pair of the latter to Queen
Elizabeth, who was so pleased with them that she was drawn with
them on her hands. The earl was buried at Hackney, on the 6th of
July, 1604.
Percy might have spared rather more praise for this pretty little
poem.]
* * * * *
Come hither shepherd's swayne:
"Sir, what do you require?"
I praye thee, shewe to me thy name.
"My name is Fond Desire."
When wert thou borne, Desire? 5
"In pompe and pryme of may."
By whom, sweet boy, wert thou begot?
"By fond Conceit men say."
Tell me, who was thy nurse?
"Fresh Youth in sugred joy." 10
What was thy meate and dayly foode?
"Sad sighes with great annoy."
What hadst thou then to drinke?
"Unsavoury lovers teares."
What cradle wert thou rocked in? 15
"In hope devoyde of feares."
What lulld thee then asleepe?
"Sweete speech, which likes me best."
Tell me, where is thy dwelling place?
"In gentle hartes I rest." 20
What thing doth please thee most?
"To gaze on beautye stille."
Whom dost thou thinke to be thy foe?
"Disdayn of my good wille."
Doth companye displease? 25
"Yes, surelye, many one."
Where doth Desire delighte to live?
"He loves to live alone."
Doth either tyme or age
Bringe him unto decaye? 30
"No, no, Desire both lives and dyes
Ten thousand times a daye."
Then, fond Desire, farewelle,
Thou art no mate for mee;
I sholde be lothe, methinkes, to dwelle 35
With such a one as thee.
FOOTNOTES:
[579] Lond. 1589, p. 172.
XII.
SIR ANDREW BARTON.
I cannot give a better relation of the fact which is the subject of
the following ballad, than in an extract from the late Mr. Guthrie's
_Peerage_,[580] which was begun upon a very elegant plan, but never
finished. Vol. i. 4to. p. 22.
"The transaction which did the greatest honour to the earl of
Surrey[581] and his family at this time (A.D. 1511), was their
behaviour in the case of Barton, a Scotch sea-officer. This gentleman's
father having suffered by sea from the Portuguese, he had obtained
letters of marque for his two sons to make reprisals upon the subjects
of Portugal. It is extremely probable, that the court of Scotland
granted these letters with no very honest intention. The council board
of England, at which the earl of Surrey held the chief place, was daily
pestered with complaints from the sailors and merchants, that Barton,
who was called Sir Andrew Barton, under pretence of searching for
Portuguese goods, interrupted the English navigation. Henry's situation
at that time rendered him backward from breaking with Scotland, so
that their complaints were but coldly received. The earl of Surrey,
however, could not smother his indignation, but gallantly declared at
the council board, that while he had an estate that could furnish out
a ship, or a son that was capable of commanding one, the narrow seas
should not be infested.
"Sir Andrew Barton, who commanded the two Scotch ships, had the
reputation of being one of the ablest sea officers of his time. By
his depredations, he had amassed great wealth, and his ships were
very richly laden. Henry, notwithstanding his situation, could not
refuse the generous offer made by the earl of Surrey. Two ships were
immediately fitted out, and put to sea with letters of marque, under
his two sons, Sir Thomas[582] and Sir Edward Howard. After encountering
a great deal of foul weather, Sir Thomas came up with the 'Lion,'
which was commanded by Sir Andrew Barton in person; and Sir Edward came
up with the 'Union,' Barton's other ship (called by Hall, the 'Bark of
Scotland.') The engagement which ensued was extremely obstinate on both
sides; but at last the fortune of the Howards prevailed. Sir Andrew was
killed fighting bravely, and encouraging his men with his whistle, to
hold out to the last; and the two Scotch ships with their crews, were
carried into the river Thames. (Aug. 2, 1511.)
"This exploit had the more merit, as the two English commanders were
in a manner volunteers in the service, by their father's order. But it
seems to have laid the foundation of Sir Edward's fortune; for, on the
7th of April, 1512, the king constituted him (according to Dugdale)
admiral of England, Wales, &c.
"King James 'insisted' upon satisfaction for the death of Barton, and
capture of his ship: tho' Henry had generously dismissed the crews,
and even agreed that the parties accused might appear in his courts of
admiralty by their attornies, to vindicate themselves." This affair was
in a great measure the cause of the battle of Flodden, in which James
IV. lost his life.
In the following ballad will be found perhaps some few deviations from
the truth of history; to atone for which it has probably recorded many
lesser facts, which history hath not condescended to relate. I take
many of the little circumstances of the story to be real, because I
find one of the most unlikely to be not very remote from the truth. In
pt. 2, v. 156, it is said, that England had before "but two ships of
war." Now the "Great Harry" had been built only seven years before,
viz. in 1504: which "was properly speaking the first ship in the
English navy. Before this period, when the prince wanted a fleet, he
had no other expedient but hiring ships from the merchants."--Hume.
This ballad, which appears to have been written in the reign of
Elizabeth, has received great improvements from the Editor's folio MS.
wherein was an ancient copy, which, though very incorrect, seemed in
many respects superior to the common ballad; the latter being evidently
modernized and abridged from it. The following text is, however,
in some places amended and improved by the latter (chiefly from a
black-letter copy in the Pepys collection), as also by conjecture.
* * * * *
[There is little to be added to the above preface, but those who
wish to read the Scottish version will find John Lesley's (Bishop
of Ross) account of the affair (_Historie of Scotland_, 1436-1561),
quoted in Mr. Furnivall's full preface to the ballad in the folio
MS. (vol. iii. p. 399). Percy fully explains how he made up his
copy. There is, in fact, hardly a line that has not been altered,
and the notes at the foot of the page give the reader no idea of
the changes that have been made. To have noted all the differences
would have loaded the page unnecessarily, and therefore in
consideration of the interest of the ballad, a reprint of the folio
copy has been added, although there are several printed copies. It
is difficult to understand what could have induced Percy to reject
the pretty lines:
"As itt beffell in Midsummer time
When burds singe sweetlye on every tree,"
for the incongruous opening of Flora with her flowers, and Neptune
with his showers. The greatest alterations are in vv. 33-40,
129-136; part 2, vv. 1-8, 17-64, 89-94, 113-120, 145-176.]
* * * * *
THE FIRST PART.
When Flora with her fragrant flowers
'Bedeckt the earth so trim and gaye,
'And Neptune with his daintye showers
'Came to present the monthe of Maye;'[583]
King Henrye rode to take the ayre, 5
Over the river of Thames past hee;
When eighty merchants of London came,
And downe they knelt upon their knee.
"O yee are welcome, rich merchànts;
Good saylors, welcome unto mee." 10
They swore by the rood, they were saylors good,
But rich merchànts they cold not bee:
"To France nor Flanders dare we pass:
Nor Bourdeaux voyage dare we fare;
And all for a rover that lyes on the seas,[584] 15
Who robbs us of our merchant ware."
King Henrye frownd, and turned him rounde,
And swore by the Lord, that was mickle of might,
"I thought he had not beene in the world,
Durst have wrought England such unright." 20
The merchants sighed, and said, alas!
And thus they did their answer frame,
He is a proud Scott, that robbs on the seas,
And Sir Andrewe Barton is his name.
The king lookt over his left shouldèr, 25
And an angrye look then looked hee:
"Have I never a lorde in all my realme,
Will feitch yond traytor unto mee?"
Yea, that dare I; lord Howard sayes;[585]
Yea, that dare I with heart and hand; 30
If it please your grace to give me leave,
Myselfe wil be the only man.
Thou art but yong; the kyng replyed:
Yond Scott hath numbred manye a yeare.
"Trust me, my liege, Ile make him quail, 35
Or before my prince I will never appeare."
Then bowemen and gunners thou shalt have,
And chuse them over my realme so free;
Besides good mariners, and shipp-boyes,
To guide the great shipp on the sea. 40
The first man, that lord Howard chose,
Was the ablest gunner in all the realm,
Thoughe he was threescore yeeres and ten:
Good Peter Simon was his name.
Peter, sais hee, I must to the sea, 45
To bring home a traytor live or dead:
Before all others I have chosen thee;
Of a hundred gunners to be the head.
If you, my lord, have chosen mee
Of a hundred gunners to be the head, 50
Then hang me up on your maine-mast tree,
If I misse my marke one shilling bread.[586]
My lord then chose a boweman rare,
Whose active hands had gained fame.[587]
In Yorkshire was this gentleman borne, 55
And William Horseley was his name.[588]
Horseley, sayd he, I must with speede
Go seeke a traytor on the sea,
And now of a hundred bowemen brave
To be the head I have chosen thee. 60
If you, quoth hee, have chosen mee
Of a hundred bowemen to be the head;
On your maine-màst Ile hanged bee,
If I miss twelvescore one penny bread.[586]
With pikes and gunnes, and bowemen bold, 65
This noble Howard is gone to the sea;
With a valyant heart and a pleasant cheare,
Out at Thames mouth sayled he.
And days he scant had sayled three,
Upon the 'voyage' he tooke in hand,[589] 70
But there he mett with a noble shipp,
And stoutely made itt stay and stand.
Thou must tell me, lord Howard said,
Now who thou art, and what's thy name;
And shewe me where thy dwelling is: 75
And whither bound, and whence thou came.
My name is Henry Hunt, quoth hee
With a heavye heart, and a carefull mind;
I and my shipp doe both belong
To the Newcastle, that stands upon Tyne. 80
Hast thou not heard, nowe, Henrye Hunt,
As thou hast sayled by daye and by night,
Of a Scottish rover on the seas;[584]
Men call him sir Andrew Barton, knight?
Then ever he sighed, and sayd alas! 85
With a grieved mind, and well away!
But over-well I knowe that wight,
I was his prisoner yesterday.
As I was sayling uppon the sea,
A Burdeaux voyage for to fare; 90
To his hach-borde he clasped me,[590]
And robd me of all my merchant ware:
And mickle debts, Got wot, I owe,
And every man will have his owne;
And I am nowe to London bounde, 95
Of our gracious king to beg a boone.
That shall not need, lord Howard sais;
Lett me but once that robber see,
For every penny tane thee froe
It shall be doubled shillings three. 100
Nowe God forefend, the merchant said,
That you shold seek soe far amisse!
God keepe you out of that traitors hands!
Full litle ye wott what a man hee is.
Hee is brasse within, and steele without, 105
With beames on his topcastle stronge;
And eighteen pieces of ordinance
He carries on each side along:
And he hath a pinnace deerlye dight,[591]
St. Andrewes crosse that is his guide; 110
His pinnace beareth ninescore men,
And fifteen canons on each side.
Were ye twentye shippes, and he but one;
I sweare by kirke, and bower, and hall;
He wold overcome them everye one, 115
If once his beames they doe downe fall.[592]
This is cold comfort, sais my lord,
To wellcome a stranger thus to the sea:
Yet Ile bring him and his shipp to shore,
Or to Scottland hee shall carrye mee. 120
Then a noble gunner you must have,
And he must aim well with his ee,
And sinke his pinnace into the sea,
Or else hee never orecome will bee:
And if you chance his shipp to borde, 125
This counsel I must give withall,
Let no man to his topcastle goe
To strive to let his beams downe fall.
And seven pieces of ordinance,
I pray your honour lend to mee, 130
On each side of my shipp along,
And I will lead you on the sea.
A glasse Ile sett, that may be seene,
Whether you sayle by day or night,
And to-morrowe, I sweare, by nine of the clocke 135
You shall meet with Sir Andrewe Barton knight.
* * * * *
THE SECOND PART.
The merchant sett my lorde a glasse
Soe well apparent in his sight,
And on the morrowe, by nine of the clocke,
He shewed him Sir Andrewe Barton knight.
His hachebord it was 'gilt' with gold,[593] 5
Soe deerlye dight it dazzled the ee:
Nowe by my faith, lord Howarde sais,
This is a gallant sight to see.
Take in your ancyents,[594] standards eke,
So close that no man may them see; 10
And put me forth a white willowe wand,
As merchants use to sayle the sea.
But they stirred neither top, nor mast;[595]
Stoutly they past Sir Andrew by.
What English churles are yonder, he sayd, 15
That can soe litle curtesye?
Now by the roode, three yeares and more
I have beene admirall over the sea;
And never an English nor Portingall
Without my leave can passe this way. 20
Then called he forth his stout pinnàce;
"Fetch backe yond pedlars nowe to mee:
I sweare by the masse, yon English churles
Shall all hang att my maine-mast tree."
With that the pinnace itt shott off, 25
Full well lord Howard might it ken;
For itt stroke down my lord's fore mast,
And killed fourteen of his men.
Come hither, Simon, sayes my lord,
Looke that thy word be true, thou said; 30
For at my maine-mast thou shalt hang,
If thou misse thy marke one shilling bread.
Simon was old, but his heart itt was bold.
His ordinance he laid right lowe;
He put in chaine full nine yardes long,[596] 35
With other great shott lesse, and moe;
And he lette goe his great gunnes shott;
Soe well he settled itt with his ee,
The first sight that Sir Andrew sawe,
He see his pinnace sunke in the sea. 40
And when he saw his pinnace sunke,
Lord, how his heart with rage did swell!
"Nowe cutt my ropes, itt is time to be gon;
Ile fetch yond pedlars backe mysell."
When my Lord sawe Sir Andrewe loose, 45
Within his heart hee was full faine:
"Nowe spread your ancyents, strike up drummes,
Sound all your trumpetts out amaine."
Fight on, my men, Sir Andrewe sais,
Weale howsoever this geere will sway; 50
Itt is my lord admirall of Englànd,
Is come to seeke mee on the sea.
Simon had a sonne, who shott right well,
That did Sir Andrewe mickle scare;
In att his decke he gave a shott, 55
Killed threescore of his men of warre.
Then Henrye Hunt with rigour hott
Came bravely on the other side,
Soone he drove downe his fore-mast tree,
And killed fourscore men beside. 60
Nowe, out alas! Sir Andrewe cryed,
What may a man now thinke, or say?
Yonder merchant theefe, that pierceth mee,
He was my prisoner yesterday.
Come hither to me, thou Gordon good, 65
That aye wast readye att my call;
I will give thee three hundred markes,[597]
If thou wilt let my beames downe fall.
Lord Howard hee then calld in haste,
"Horseley see thou be true in stead; 70
For thou shalt at the maine-mast hang,
If thou misse twelvescore one penny bread."
Then Gordon swarved[598] the maine-mast tree,
He swarved it with might and maine;
But Horseley with a bearing arrowe,[599] 75
Stroke the Gordon through the braine;
And he fell unto the haches again,
And sore his deadlye wounde did bleed:
Then word went through Sir Andrews men,
How that the Gordon hee was dead. 80
Come hither to mee, James Hambilton,
Thou art my only sisters sonne,
If thou wilt let my beames downe fall,
Six hundred nobles thou hast wonne.
With that he swarved the maine-mast tree, 85
He swarved it with nimble art;
But Horseley with a broad arròwe
Pierced the Hambilton through the heart:
And downe he fell upon the deck,
That with his blood did streame amaine: 90
Then every Scott cryed, Well-away!
Alas a comelye youth is slaine!
All woe begone was Sir Andrew then,
With griefe and rage his heart did swell:
"Go fetch me forth my armour of proofe, 95
For I will to the topcastle mysell.
"Goe fetch me forth my armour of proofe;
That gilded is with gold soe cleare:
God be with my brother John of Barton!
Against the Portingalls hee it ware; 100
And when he had on this armour of proofe,
He was a gallant sight to see:
Ah! nere didst thou meet with living wight,
My deere brothèr, could cope with thee."
Come hither Horseley, sayes my lord, 105
And looke your shaft that itt goe right,
Shoot a good shoote in time of need,
And for it thou shalt be made a knight.
Ile shoot my best, quoth Horseley then,
Your honour shall see, with might and maine; 110
But if I were hanged at your maine-mast,
I have now left but arrowes twaine.
Sir Andrew he did swarve the tree,
With right good will he swarved then:
Upon his breast did Horseley hitt, 115
But the arrow bounded back agen.
Then Horseley spyed a privye place
With a perfect eye in a secrette part;
Under the spole[600] of his right arme
He smote Sir Andrew to the heart. 120
"Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew sayes,
A little Ime hurt, but yett not slaine;
Ile but lye downe and bleede a while,
And then Ile rise and fight againe.
Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew sayes, 125
And never flinche before the foe;
And stand fast by St. Andrewes crosse
Untill you heare my whistle blowe."[601]
They never heard his whistle blow,----
Which made their hearts waxe sore adread: 130
Then Horseley sayd, Aboard, my lord,
For well I wott Sir Andrew's dead.
They boarded then his noble shipp,
They boarded it with might and maine;
Eighteen score Scots alive they found, 135
The rest were either maimed or slaine.
Lord Howard tooke a sword in hand,
And off he smote Sir Andrewes head;
"I must have left England many a daye,
If thou wert alive as thou art dead." 140
He caused his body to be cast
Over the hatchbord into the sea,
And about his middle three hundred crownes:
"Wherever thou land this will bury thee."
Thus from the warres lord Howard came, 145
And backe he sayled ore the maine,
With mickle joy and triumphìng
Into Thames mouth he came againe.
Lord Howard then a letter wrote,
And sealed it with seale and ring; 150
"Such a noble prize have I brought to your grace,
As never did subject to a king.
"Sir Andrewes shipp I bring with mee;
A braver shipp was never none:
Nowe hath your grace two shipps of warr, 155
Before in England was but one."
King Henryes grace with royall cheere
Welcomed the noble Howard home,
And where, said he, is this rover stout,
That I myselfe may give the doome? 160
"The rover, he is safe, my leige,
Full many a fadom in the sea;
If he were alive as he is dead,
I must have left England many a day:
And your grace may thank four men i' the ship 165
For the victory wee have wonne,
These are William Horseley, Henry Hunt,
And Peter Simon, and his sonne."
To Henry Hunt, the king then sayd,
In lieu of what was from thee tane, 170
A noble a day now thou shalt have,
Sir Andrewes jewels and his chayne.
And Horseley thou shalt be a knight,
And lands and livings shalt have store;
Howard shall be erle Surrye hight,[602] 175
As Howards erst have beene before.[602]
Nowe, Peter Simon, thou art old,
I will maintaine thee and thy sonne:
And the men shall have five hundred markes
For the good service they have done. 180
Then in came the queene with ladyes fair
To see Sir Andrewe Barton knight:
They weend that hee were brought on shore,
And thought to have seen a gallant sight.
But when they see his deadlye face, 185
And eyes soe hollow in his head,
I wold give, quoth the king, a thousand markes,
This man were alive as hee is dead:
Yett for the manfull part hee playd,
Which fought soe well with heart and hand, 190
His men shall have twelvepence a day,
Till they come to my brother kings high land.
[Illustration]
[***]
* * * * *
[The following version is reprinted from Hales and Furnivall's
edition of the folio MS., vol. iii. p. 403:--
As: itt beffell in M[i]dsumer time
when burds singe sweetlye on euery tree,
our noble King, King Henery the 8^{th},
ouer the riuer of Thames past hee. 4
hee was no sooner ouer the riuer,
downe in a fforrest to take the ayre,
but 80 merchants of London cittye
came kneeling before King Henery there: 8
"O yee are welcome, rich merchants,
[Good saylors, welcome unto me!"]
they swore by the rood thé were saylers good,
but rich merchants they cold not bee; 12
"to ffrance nor fflanders dare we nott passe,
nor Burdeaux voyage wee dare not ffare,
& all ffor a ffalse robber that lyes on the seas,
& robb vs of our merchants ware." 16
King Henery was stout, & he turned him about,
& swore by the Lord that was mickle of might,
"I thought he had not beene in the world throughout,
that durst haue wrought England such vnright." 20
but euer they sighed, and said--alas!--
vnto King Harry this answere againe
"he is a proud Scott that will robb vs all
if wee were 20 shipps and hee but one." 24
The King looket ouer his left shoulder,
amongst his Lords & Barrons soe ffree:
"haue I neuer Lord in all my realme
will ffeitch yond traitor vnto mee?" 28
"yes, that dare I!" sayes my Lord Chareles Howard,
neere to the King wheras hee did stand;
"If that your grace will giue me leaue,
my selfe wilbe the only man." 32
"thou shalt haue 600 men," saith our King,
"& chuse them out of my realme soe ffree;
besids Marriners and boyes,
to guide the great shipp on the sea." 36
"Ile goe speake with Sir Andrew," sais Charles, my Lord Haward;
"vpon the sea, if hee be there,
I will bring him & his shipp to shore,
or before my prince I will neuer come neere." 40
the ffirst of all my Lord did call,
a noble gunner hee was one;
this man was 60 yeeres and ten,
& Peeter Simon was his name. 44
"Peeter," sais hee, "I must sayle to the sea
to seeke out an enemye; god be my speed!
before all others I haue chosen thee;
of a 100^{d}. guners thoust be my head." 48
"my Lord," sais hee," if you haue chosen mee
of a 100^{d}. gunners to be the head,
hange me att your maine-mast tree
if I misse my marke past 3 pence bread." 52
The next of all my Lord he did call,
a noble bowman hee was one;
In yorekeshire was this gentleman borne,
& william Horsley was his name. 56
"Horsley," sayes hee, "I must sayle to the sea
to seeke out an enemye; god be my speede!
before all others I haue chosen thee;
of a 100 bowemen thoust be my head." 60
"My Lord," sais hee," if you haue chosen mee
of a 100^{d}. bowemen to be they head,
hang me att your mainemast tree
if I misse my marke past 12^{d}. bread." 64
with pikes, and gunnes, & bowemen bold,
this Noble Howard is gone to the sea
on the day before Midsummer euen,
& out att Thames mouth sayled they. 68
They had not sayled dayes 3
vpon their Iourney they tooke in hand,
but there they mett with a Noble shipp,
& stoutely made itt both stay & stand. 72