"thou must tell me thy name," sais Charl_Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, Volume 2 (of 3) Consisting of Old Heroic Ballads, Songs and Other Pieces of Our Earlier Poets Together With Some Few of Later Date

"or who thou art, or ffrom whence thou came,

yea, & where thy dwelling is,

to whom & where thy shipp does belong." 76

"My name," sayes hee," is Henery Hunt,

with a pure hart & a penitent mind;

I and my shipp they doe belong

vnto the New castle that stands vpon tine." 80

"Now thou must tell me, Harry Hunt,

as thou hast sayled by day & by night,

hast thou not heard of a stout robber?

men calls him Sir Andrew Bartton, Knight." 84

but euer he sighed, & sayd, "alas!

ffull well, my Lord, I know that wight!

he robd me of my merchants ware,

& I was his prisoner but yesternight. 88

"as I was sayling vppon the sea,

& Burdeaux voyage as I did ffare,

he Clasped me to his Archborde

& robd me of all my merchants ware; 92

& I am a man both poore & bare,

& euery man will haue his owne of me,

& I am bound towards London to ffare,

to complaine to my Prince Henerye." 96

"that shall not need," sais my Lord Haward;

"if thou canst lett me this robber see,

ffor euery peny he hath taken thee ffroe,

thou shalt be rewarded a shilling," quoth hee. 100

"Now god ffore-fend," saies Henery Hunt,

"my Lord, you shold worke soe ffarr amisse!

god keepe you out of that Traitors hands!

for you wott ffull litle what a man hee is. 104

"hee is brasse within, & steele without,

& beanes hee beares in his Topcastle stronge;

his shipp hath ordinance cleane round about;

besids, my Lord, hee is verry well mand; 108

he hath a pinnace is deerlye dight,

Saint Andrews crosse, that is his guide;

his pinnace beares 9 score men & more,

besids 15 cannons on euery side. 112

"if you were 20 shippes, & he but one,

either in charke-bord or in hall,

he wold ouercome you euerye one,

& if his beanes they doe downe ffall." 116

"this is cold comfort," sais my Lord Haward,

"to wellcome a stranger thus to the sea;

He bring him & his shipp to shore,

or else into Scottland hee shall carrye mee." 120

"then you must gett a noble gunner, my Lord,

that can sett well with his eye

& sinke his pinnace into the sea,

& soone then ouercome will hee bee 124

& when that you haue done this,

if you chance Sir Andrew for to bord,

lett no man to his Topcastle goe;

& I will giue you a glasse, my Lord, 128

"& then you need to fferae no Scott,

whether you sayle by day or by night;

& to-morrow by 7 of the clocke,

you shall meete with Sir Andrew Bartton, Knight. 132

I was his prisoner but yester night,

& he hath taken mee sworne;" quoth hee,

"I trust my L[ord] god will me fforgiue

& if that oath then broken bee. 136

"you must lend me sixe peeces, my Lord," quoth hee,

"into my shipp to sayle the sea,

& to-morrow by 9 of the clocke

your honour againe then will I see." 140

And the hache-bord where Sir Andrew Lay,

is hached with gold deerlye dight:

"now by my ffaith," sais Charles, my Lord Haward,

"then yonder Scott is a worthye wight!" 144

{ Take in your ancyents & your standards,

2^{d}. parte { yea that no man shall them see,

{ & put me fforth a white willow wand,

{ as Merchants vse to sayle the sea. 148

But they stirred neither top nor mast,

but Sir Andrew they passed by.

"whatt English are yonder," said Sir Andrew,

"that can so litle curtesye? 152

"I haue beene Admirall ouer the sea

more then these yeeres three;

there is neuer an English dog, nor Portingall,

can passe this way without leaue of mee. 156

But now yonder pedlers, they are past,

which is no litle greffe to me:

ffeich them backe," sayes Sir Andrew Bartton,

"they shall all hang att my maine-mast tree." 160

with that they pinnace itt shott of,

that my Lord Haward might itt well ken,

itt strokes downe my Lords fforemast,

& killed 14 of my Lord his men. 164

"come hither, Simon!" sayes my Lord Haward,

"looke that thy words be true thou sayd;

Ile hang thee att my maine-mast tree

if thou misse thy marke past 12^d. bread." 168

Simon was old, but his hart itt was bold,

hee tooke downe a peece, & layd itt ffull lowe;

he put in chaine yeards 9,

besids other great shott lesse and more. 172

with that hee lett his gun shott goe;

soe well hee settled itt with his eye,

the ffirst sight that Sir Andrew sawe,

hee see his pinnace sunke in the sea. 176

when hee saw his pinace sunke,

Lord! in his hart hee was not well:

"cutt my ropes! itt is time to be gon!

Ile goe ffeitch yond pedlers backe my selfe!" 180

when my Lord Haward saw Sir Andrew loose,

lord! in his hart that hee was ffaine:

"strike on your drummes, spread out your ancyents!

sound out your trumpetts! sound out amaine!" 184

"ffight on, my men!" sais Sir Andrew Bartton;

"weate, howsoeuer this geere will sway,

itt is my Lord Adm[i]rall of England

is come to seeke mee on the sea." 188

Simon had a sonne, with shott of a gunn,--

well Sir Andrew might itt Ken,--

he shott itt in att a priuye place,

& killed 60 more of Sir Andrews men. 192

Harry Hunt came in att the other syde,

& att Sir Andrew hee shott then,

he droue downe his fformost tree,

& killed 80 more of Sir Andirwes men. 196

"I haue done a good turne," sayes Harry Hunt,

"Sir Andrew is not our Kings ffreind;

he hoped to haue vndone me yesternight,

but I hope I haue quitt him well in the end." 200

"Euer alas!" sayd Sir Andrew Barton,

"what shold a man either thinke or say?

yonder ffalse theeffe is my strongest Enemye,

who was my prisoner but yesterday. 204

come hither to me, thou Gourden good,

& be thou readye att my call,

& I will giue thee 300^{li}.

if thou wilt lett my beanes downe ffall." 208

with that hee swarned the maine-mast tree,

soe did he itt with might and maine:

Horseley with a bearing arrow

stroke the Gourden through the braine, 212

And he ffell into the haches againe,

& sore of this wound that he did bleed.

then word went throug Sir Andrews men,

that they Gourden hee was dead. 216

"come hither to me, Iames Hambliton,--

thou art my sisters sonne, I haue no more,--

I will giue [thee] 600^{li}.

If thou will lett my beanes downe ffall." 220

with that hee swarned the maine-mast tree,

soe did hee itt with might and maine:

Horseley with an-other broad Arrow

strake the yeaman through the braine, 224

that hee ffell downe to the haches againe:

sore of his wound that hee did bleed.

itt is verry true, as the welchman sayd,

couetousness getts no gaine. 228

but when hee saw his sisters sonne slaine,

Lord! in his heart hee was not well.

"goe ffeitch me downe my armour of proue,

ffor I will to the topcastle my-selfe. 232

goe ffeitch me downe my armour of prooffe,

for itt is guilded with gold soe cleere.

god be with my brother, Iohn of Bartton!

amongst the Portingalls hee did itt weare." 236

but when hee had his armour of prooffe,

& on his body hee had itt on,

euery man that looked att him

sayd, "gunn nor arrow hee neede feare none!" 240

"come hither, Horsley!" sayes my Lord Haward,

"& looke your shaft that itt goe right;

shoot a good shoote in the time of need,

& ffor thy shooting thoust be made a Knight." 244

"Ile doe my best," sayes Horslay then,

"your honor shall see beffore I goe;

if I shold be hanged att your mainemast,

I haue in my shipp but arrowes tow." 248

but att Sir Andrew hee shott then;

hee made sure to hitt his marke;

vnder the spole of his right arme

hee smote Sir Andrew quite throw the hart. 252

yett ffrom the tree hee wold not start,

but hee clinged to itt with might & maine.

vnder the coller then of his Iacke,

he stroke Sir Andrew thorrow the braine. 256

"ffight on my men," sayes Sir Andrew Bartton,

"I am hurt, but I am not slaine;

Ile lay mee downe & bleed a-while,

& then Ile rise & ffight againe. 260

ffight on my men," sayes Sir Andrew Bartton,

"these English doggs they bite soe lowe;

ffight on ffor Scottland & Saint Andrew

till you heare my whistle blowe!" 264

but when thé cold not heare his whistle blow,

sayes Harry Hunt, "Ile lay my head

you may bord yonder noble shipp, my Lord,

for I know Sir Andrew hee is dead." 268

with that they borded this noble shipp,

soe did they itt with might & maine;

thé ffound 18 score Scotts aliue,

besids the rest were maimed & slaine. 272

My Lord Haward tooke a sword in his hand,

& smote of Sir Andrews head.

the Scotts stood by, did weepe & mourne,

but neuer a word durst speake or say. 276

he caused his body to be taken downe,

& ouer the hatch-bord cast into the sea,

& about his middle 300 crownes:

"wheresoeuer thou lands, itt will bury thee." 280

with his head they sayled into England againe

with right good will & fforce & meanye,

& the day beffore New yeeres euen

& into Thames mouth againe they came. 284

My Lord Haward wrote to King Heneryes grace,

with all the newes hee cold him bring:

"such a new yeeres gifft I haue brought to your gr[ace],

As neuer did subiect to any King. 288

"ffor Merchandyes and Manhood,

the like is nott to be ffound;

the sight of these wold doe you good,

ffor you haue not the Like in your English ground." 292

but when hee heard tell that they were come,

full royally hee welcomed them home:

Sir Andrews shipp was the Kings New yeeres guifft;

A brauer shipp you neuer saw none. 296

Now hath our King Sir Andrews shipp

besett with pearles and precyous stones;

Now hath England 2 shipps of warr,

2 shipps of warr, before but one. 300

"who holpe to this?" sayes King Henerye,

"that I may reward him ffor his paine,"

"Harry Hunt and Peeter Simon,

William Horseleay, & I the same." 304

"Harry Hunt shall haue his whistle & chaine,

& all his Iewells, whatsoeuer they bee,

& other rich giffts that I will not name,

for his good service he hath done mee. 308

Horslay, right thoust be a Knight;

Lands and liuings thou shalt haue store.

Howard shalbe Erle of Nottingham,

& soe was neuer Haward before. 312

"Now Peeter Simon, thou art old,

I will maintaine thee & thy sonne,

thou shalt haue 500^{li}. all in gold

ffor the good service that thou hast done." 316

then King Henerye shiffted his roome;

in came the Queene & ladyes bright;

other arrands they had none

but to see Sir Andrew Bartton, Knight. 320

but when they see his deadly fface,

his eyes were hollow in his head,

"I wold giue a 100^{li}." sais King Henerye,

"the man were aliue as hee is dead! 324

yett ffor the manfull part that hee hath playd

both heere & beyond the sea

his men shall haue halfe a crowne a day

to bring them to my brother King Iamye." 328

ffinis.]

FOOTNOTES:

[580] [Copied literally from Lord Herbert's (of Cherbury) _History of

Henry VIII._, p. 116.]

[581] Thomas Howard, afterwards created Duke of Norfolk.

[582] Called by old historians lord Howard, afterwards created earl of

Surrey in his father's lifetime. He was father of the poetical earl of

Surrey.

[583] From the pr. copy.

[584] Ver. 15, 83. robber, MS.

[585] Ver. 29. lord Charles Howard, MS.

[586] An old Eng. word for breadth.

[587] Pr. copy.

[588] Mr. Lambe, in his notes to the poem on the _Battle of Flodden

Field_, contends that this expert bowman's name was not Horseley,

but Hustler, of a family long seated near Stockton, in Cleveland,

Yorkshire. Vid. p. 5.

[589] Ver. 70. Journey, MS.

[590] Ver. 91. The MS. has here Archborde, but in pt. ii. ver. 5

Hachebord: [= ship or side of the ship.]

[591] [richly fitted out.]

[592] It should seem from hence, that before our marine artillery was

brought to its present perfection, some naval commanders had recourse

to instruments or machines, similar in use, though perhaps unlike in

construction, to the heavy dolphins made of lead or iron used by the

ancient Greeks; which they suspended from beams or yards fastened to

the masts, and which they precipitately let fall on the enemies ships,

in order to sink them, by beating holes through the bottoms of their

undecked triremes, or otherwise damaging them. These are mentioned

by Thucydides, lib. vii. p. 256, ed. 1564, folio, and are more fully

explained in _Schefferi de Militiâ Navali_, lib. ii. cap. v. p. 136,

ed. 1653, 4to.

N.B. It everywhere in the MS. seems to be written "beanes."

[593] Ver. 5. "hached with gold," MS.

[594] [flags.]

[595] _i.e._ did not salute.

[596] Ver. 35. _i.e._ discharged chain-shot.

[597] Ver. 67. 84 pounds, MS.

[598] [climbed.]

[599] V. 75. bearinge, sc. that carries well, &c.

[600] [shoulder.]

[601] [For a reference to whistles used by naval commanders, see

Statute of apparel, 24 Hen. VIII. c. 13 (Anstis's _Order of the

Garter_, vol. ii. p. 121.)]

[602] Ver. 175, 6.... Erle of Nottingham, And soe was never, &c., MS.

XIII.

LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT.

A SCOTTISH SONG.

The subject of this pathetic ballad the Editor once thought might

possibly relate to the Earl of Bothwell, and his desertion of his wife

Lady Jean Gordon, to make room for his marriage with the Queen of Scots.

But this opinion he now believes to be groundless; indeed Earl

Bothwell's age, who was upwards of 60 at the time of that marriage,

renders it unlikely that he should be the object of so warm a passion

as this elegy supposes. He has been since informed, that it entirely

refers to a private story: A young lady of the name of _Bothwell_, or

rather _Boswell_, having been, together with her child, deserted by her

husband or lover, composed these affecting lines herself; which here

are given from a copy in the Editor's folio MS. corrected by another in

Allan Ramsay's _Miscellany_.

* * * * *

[The young lady alluded to above has since been set aside for the

Hon. Anne Bothwell, daughter of Adam Bothwell, Bishop of Orkney.

Mr. James Maidment, in his elegant edition of _Scottish Ballads

and Songs_ (vol. ii. 1868), writes: "The late Charles Kirkpatrick

Sharpe, Esquire, whose knowledge of antiquated scandal was

extraordinary, found in a MS. history of the family of Bothwell by

Father Hay, that Adam Bothwell, Bishop of Orkney, had a daughter

named 'Anne, who fell with child to a son of the Earl of Marre.'"

Anne was the sister of the first Lord Holyroodhouse (created in

1607), and her seducer was Alexander, third son of John, seventh

Earl of Mar, a cousin of her own, considered one of the handsomest

men of his day. This is all very well for conjecture, but it is

nothing more. The ballad does not appear to have been associated

with a Bothwell, or in fact with any named person, until more than

a century after it was written. In the Folio MS. it is simply

called _Balowe_, and Percy therefore might well have hesitated

before he gave it the heading he has, and before he Scotticised all

the English words. The four earliest versions are in the following

books: 1. Richard Brome's Comedy of the _Northern Lass, or the

Nest of Fools_, printed in 1632, but acted somewhat earlier; 2.

Percy Folio; 3. Pinkerton's MS. (1625-49), in the possession of

David Laing; 4. John Gamble's MS., 1649; 5. Elizabeth Rogers' MS.,

1658. Mr. Chappell drew up the following very valuable note for

the edition of the Percy Folio (vol. iii. p. 518), which puts the

matter very clearly:--

"Baloo is a sixteenth-century ballad, not a seventeenth. It is

alluded to by several of our early dramatists, and the tune is to

be found in an early Elizabethan MS. known as William Ballet's

Lute Book, as well as in Morley's _Consort Lessons_, printed in

1599. The words and tune are together in John Gamble's Music Book,

a MS. in the possession of Dr. Rimbault, (date 1649,) and in

Elizabeth Rogers's Virginal Book, in the library of the British

Museum (Addit. MS. 10,337). The last is dated 1658, but the copy

may have been taken some few years after. Baloo was so popular a

subject that it was printed as a street ballad, with additional

stanzas, just as 'My lodging it is on the cold ground' and other

popular songs were lengthened for the same purpose. It has been

reprinted in that form by Evans, in his _Old Ballads, Historical

and Narrative_, edit. 1810, vol. i. p. 259. The title is 'The New

Balow; or A Wenches Lamentation for the loss of her Sweetheart:

he having left her a babe to play with, being the fruits of her

folly.' The particular honour of having been the 'wench' in

question was first claimed for 'Lady Anne Bothwell' in Part iii. of

_Comic and Serious Scots Poems_, published by Watson in Edinburgh

in 1711. Since that date Scotch antiquaries have been very busy in

searching into the scandalous history of the Bothwell family, to

find out which of the Lady Annes might have been halla-balooing.

"May we not release the whole race from this imputation? The sole

authority for the charge is Watson's _Collection_! the same book

that ascribes to the unfortunate Montrose the song of 'My dear and

only love, take heed,' and tacks it as a second part to his 'My

dear and only love, I pray.' Shade of Montrose! how must you be

ashamed of your over-zealous advocate! Let us examine whether the

spirit of 'Lady Anne Bothwel' has more reason to be grateful. Among

the stanzas ascribed to her by Watson are the two following, which

are not to be found in any English copy:--

'I take my fate from best to worse

That I must needs now be a nurse,

And lull my young son in my lap.

From me, sweet orphan, take the pap:

Balow, my boy, thy mother mild

Shall sing, as from all bliss exil'd.'

"In the second we find the inducement supposed to have been offered

by Lady Anne's lover:

'I was too credulous at the first

To grant thee that a maiden durst,

And in thy bravery thou didst vaunt

That I no maintenance should want:(!)

Thou swear thou lov'd, thy mind is moved,

Which since no otherwise has proved.'

"Comment is unnecessary. Can any one believe that such lines were

written by or for any lady of rank? Yet they were copied as Lady

Anne's by Allan Ramsay, and polished in his usual style. They have

been polished and repolished by subsequent editors, but to little

avail, for they remain great blots upon a good English ballad.

There is not a Scotch word, nor even one peculiar to the North of

England, in the whole of Watson's version."

This attempt to dispute the Scottish origin of the ballad is

strongly resented by the editor of the _Ballad Minstrelsy of

Scotland_, Glasgow, 1871. At all events the fact remains that the

title "Lady Anne Bothwell's Balow" cannot be traced farther back

than Watson's _Collection_, published in 1711.]

* * * * *

Balow,[603] my babe, lye still and sleipe!

It grieves me sair to see thee weipe:

If thoust be silent, Ise be glad,

Thy maining[604] maks my heart ful sad.

Balow, my boy, thy mothers joy, 5

Thy father breides me great annoy.

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe,

It grieves me sair to see thee weepe.

Whan he began to court my luve,

And with his sugred wordes[605] to muve, 10

His faynings fals, and flattering cheire

To me that time did not appeire:

But now I see, most cruell hee

Cares neither for my babe nor mee.

Balow, &c. 15

Lye still, my darling, sleipe a while,

And when thou wakest, sweitly smile:

But smile not, as thy father did,

To cozen maids: nay God forbid!

Bot yett I feire, thou wilt gae neire 20

Thy fatheris hart, and face to beire.

Balow, &c.

I cannae chuse, but ever will

Be luving to thy father still:

Whair-eir he gae, whair-eir he ryde, 25

My luve with him doth still abyde:

In weil or wae, whair-eir he gae,

Mine hart can neire depart him frae.

Balow, &c.

Bot doe not, doe not, prettie mine, 30

To faynings fals thine hart incline:

Be loyal to thy luver trew,

And nevir change hir for a new:

If gude or faire, of hir have care,

For womens banning's[606] wonderous sair. 35

Balow, &c.

Bairne, sin thy cruel father is gane,

Thy winsome smiles maun eise my paine;

My babe and I'll together live,

He'll comfort me when cares doe grieve: 40

My babe and I right saft will ly,

And quite forgeit man's cruelty.

Balow, &c.

Fareweil, fareweil, thou falsest youth,

That evir kist a womans mouth! 45

I wish all maides be warnd by mee

Nevir to trust mans curtesy;

For if we doe bot chance to bow,

They'le use us then they care not how.

Balow, my babe, ly stil, and sleipe, 50

It grives me sair to see thee weipe.

FOOTNOTES:

[603] [hush.]

[604] [moaning.]

[605] When _sugar_ was first imported into Europe, it was a very great

dainty; and therefore the epithet _sugred_ is used by all our old

writers metaphorically to express extreme and delicate sweetness. (See

above, No. XI. v. 10.) _Sugar_ at present is cheap and common; and

therefore suggests now a coarse and vulgar idea.

[606] [cursing.]

XIV.

THE MURDER OF THE KING OF SCOTS.

The catastrophe of Henry Stewart, lord Darnley, the unfortunate

husband of Mary Q. of Scots, is the subject of this ballad. It is here

related in that partial, imperfect manner in which such an event would

naturally strike the subjects of another kingdom, of which he was a

native. Henry appears to have been a vain, capricious, worthless young

man, of weak understanding, and dissolute morals. But the beauty of

his person, and the inexperience of his youth, would dispose mankind

to treat him with an indulgence, which the cruelty of his murder would

afterwards convert into the most tender pity and regret: and then

imagination would not fail to adorn his memory with all those virtues

he ought to have possessed. This will account for the extravagant

elogium bestowed upon him in the first stanza, &c.

Henry lord Darnley was eldest son of the earl of Lennox, by the lady

Margaret Douglas, niece of Henry VIII. and daughter of Margaret queen

of Scotland by the earl of Angus, whom that princess married after the

death of James IV.--Darnley, who had been born and educated in England,

was but in his 21st year, when he was murdered, Feb. 9, 1567-8. This

crime was perpetrated by the E. of Bothwell, not out of respect to the

memory of Riccio, but in order to pave the way for his own marriage

with the queen.

This ballad (printed, with a few corrections, from the Editor's folio

MS.) seems to have been written soon after Mary's escape into England

in 1568, see v. 65.--It will be remembered at v. 5, that this princess

was Q. dowager of France, having been first married to Francis II. who

died Dec. 4, 1560.

* * * * *

[In the above note Percy takes the ordinary unfavourable view

of Darnley's character, which is not entirely borne out by

contemporary evidence. Darnley was unfortunate both in having all

Mary's friends as his enemies and in having no supporters among

her opponents because he was a Roman Catholic. It is not fair to

dispose of such a ballad as the present with the inference that

the writer could know nothing of Darnley's character. It does not

stand alone, and it appears from the broadsides that circulated

through the country after his murder that the people had a real

liking for him although he had been amongst them only a couple of

years. Robert Lekprevik, the most celebrated Edinburgh printer

of his time, printed in 1567, _The Testament and Tragedie of

umquhile King Henrie Stewart of gude memorie_, a powerful poem,

which discovers clearly the popular feeling against Mary. Mr.

Froude also found one of these ballads among the Scottish State

Papers, in which curses are heaped upon Mary, who is called Dalila,

Clytemnestra and Semiramis for her murder of "ane bonny boy." One

of the verses is as follows:--

"At ten houris on Sunday late at een,

When Dalila and Bothwell bade good night,

Off her finger false she threw ane ring,

And said, My Lord ane token you I plight."

If the circumstances of the English ballad are related in a partial

and imperfect manner, what shall we say of the much more severe

tone of those written in Scotland. Mr. Maidment[607] has gathered

together a few facts that show how much may be said in favour of

the unfortunate prince. It appears from Colville's _Historie and

Life of King James the sext_, that Secretary Maitland inflamed

Darnley's mind with the insinuation that Rizzio was too intimate

with the queen. The criminal familiarity of her majesty with

Rizzio appears to have been generally suspected, so that Darnley's

conduct was that of a jealous husband who was fascinated with his

wife. Colville gives the following portrait of him:--"He was a

cumlie Prince, of a fayre and large stature of bodie, pleasant in

countenance and affable to all men and devote, weill excercesit in

martiall pastymis uponn horsback as ony prince of that age, bot was

sa facile as he could concele no secreit although it myght tend to

his awin weill."[608]

He was certainly accomplished and had been carefully educated.

He wrote a little tale called _Utopia Nova_ when he was between

eight and nine years of age, which he presented to his cousin, Mary

Tudor. The queen in return presented him with a gold chain, which

he acknowledged in a letter remarkable for the extreme beauty of

its caligraphy. He also completed a translation into English of

Valerius Maximus. Mr. Froude severely condemns the character of

Darnley in the following terms: "He was at once meddlesome and

incapable, weak and cowardly, yet insolent and unmanageable,"

and adds that Randolph described him as "a conceited, arrogant,

intolerant fool." Nevertheless "the death of the husband of the

Queen of Scots belongs to that rare class of incidents which, like

the murder of Cæsar, have touched the interests of the entire

educated world. Perhaps there is no single recorded act, arising

merely out of private or personal passions, of which the public

consequences have been so considerable."[609]

Darnley was the second son of the Earl and Countess of Lennox, and

not, as stated above, by Percy, the eldest. Their first-born died

on the 28th of November, 1545, nine months after his birth.

The following ballad is entitled _Earle Bodwell_ in the Folio MS.

(ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 260). In the first three

editions of the _Reliques_ there were more alterations from the MS.

than in the fourth, for in the latter Percy restored several of the

old readings. The retained alterations are judicious, and no more

than the Editor might well feel himself justified in making.]

* * * * *

Woe worth, woe worth thee, false Scotlànde![610]

For thou hast ever wrought by sleight;[611]

The worthyest prince that ever was borne,[612]

You hanged under a cloud by night.

The queene of France a letter wrote, 5

And sealed itt with harte and ringe;

And bade him come Scotland within,

And shee wold marry and crowne him kinge.[613]

To be a king is a pleasant thing,[614]

To bee a prince unto a peere: 10

But you have heard, and soe have I too,

A man may well buy gold too deare.

There was an Italyan in that place,

Was as well beloved as ever was hee,

Lord David was his name,[615] 15

Chamberlaine to the queene was hee.[616]

If the king had risen forth of his place,[617]

He wold have sate him downe in the cheare,[618]

And tho itt beseemed him not so well,

Altho the kinge had beene present there. 20

Some lords in Scotlande waxed wroth,[619]

And quarrelled with him for the nonce;

I shall you tell how it befell,

Twelve daggers were in him att once.[620]

When the queene saw her chamberlaine was slaine,[621] 25

For him her faire cheeks shee did weete,[622]

And made a vowe for a yeare and a day[623]

The king and shee wold not come in one sheete.

Then some of the lords they waxed wrothe,[624]

And made their vow all vehementlye; 30

For the death of the queenes chamberlaine,

The king himselfe, how he shall dye.[625]

With gun-powder they strewed his roome,[626]

And layd greene rushes in his way;

For the traitors thought that very night[627] 35

This worthye king for to betray.[628]

To bedd the king he made him bowne;[629][630]

To take his rest was his desire;[631]

He was noe sooner cast on sleepe,

But his chamber was on a biasing fire. 40

Up he lope,[632] and the window brake;[633]

And hee had thirtye foote to fall:[634]

Lord Bodwell kept a privy watch,

Underneath his castle wall.

Who have wee here? lord Bodwell sayd:[635] 45

Now answer me, that I may know.[636]

"King Henry the eighth my uncle was;

For his sweete sake some pitty show."[637]

Who have we here? lord Bodwell sayd,[638]

Now answer me when I doe speake.[638] 50

"Ah, lord Bodwell, I know thee well;

Some pitty on me I pray thee take."

Ile pitty thee as much, he sayd,

And as much favor show to thee,[639]

As thou didst to the queenes chamberlaine,[640] 55

That day thou deemedst[641] him to die.[642]

Through halls and towers the king they ledd,[643]

Through towers and castles that were nye,[644]

Through an arbor into an orchàrd,

There on a peare-tree hanged him hye.[645] 60

When the governor of Scotland heard[646]

How that the worthye king was slaine;[647]

He persued the queen so bitterlye,

That in Scotland shee dare not remaine.[648]

But she is fledd into merry England, 65

And here her residence hath taine;[649]

And through the queene of Englands grace,[650]

In England now shee doth remaine.[651]

FOOTNOTES:

[607] James Maidment's _Scottish Ballads and Songs_, 1868, vol. ii. p.

12.

[608] Quoted in Maidment's _Ballads_, 1868, vol. ii. p. 8.

[609] [Froude's _History of England_ (Elizabeth), vol. iii. pp. 1-2.]

[610] [Ver. 1. woe worth thee, woe worth thee, MS.]

[611] [V. 2. by a sleight.]

[612] [V. 3. for the worthyest.]

[613] [V. 8. wold marry him.]

[614] [Ver. 9. it is a pleasant.]

[615] V. 15. _sic_ MS.

[616] [V. 16. chamberlaine unto.]

[617] [V. 17. ffor if the king.]

[618] [V. 18. have sitt him.]

[619] [V. 21. wonderous wroth.]

[620] [V. 24. all att once.]

[621] [V. 25. when this queen see the chamberlaine.]

[622] [V. 26. her cheeks.]

[623] [V. 27. vow for a 12 month.]

[624] [V. 29. Lords of Scottland waxed.]

[625] [V. 32. the king himselfe he shall dye.]

[626] [V. 33. they strowed his chamber over with gun-powder.]

[627] [V. 35. that night.]

[628] [V. 36. the worthye.]

[629] [ready.]

[630] [Ver. 37. the worthy king made.]

[631] [V. 38. that was his desire.]

[632] [leapt.]

[633] [V. 41. and a glasse window broke.]

[634] [V. 42. he had 30 foote for to ffall.]

[635] [V. 45. sayd Lord Bodwell.]

[636] [V. 46. answer me, now I doe call.]

[637] [V. 48. some pitty show for his sweet sake.]

[638] [V. 49, 50. these two lines are not in the MS., but are here

introduced to equalize the stanzas.]

[639] [V. 54. Ile show to thee.]

[640] [V. 55. As thou had on the.]

[641] [doomedst.]

[642] Pronounced after the northern manner dee.

[643] [V. 57. this king.]

[644] [V. 58. through castles and towers that were hye.]

[645] [V. 60. and there hanged him in a peare tree.]

[646] [Ver. 61. Scottland he heard tell.]

[647] [V. 62. that the worthye king he was slaine.]

[648] [V. 64. he hath banished the queene.]

[649] [V. 66. and Scottland to aside hath laine.]

[650] [V. 67. good grace.]

[651] [V. 68. now in England, MS.]

XV.

A SONNET BY Q. ELIZABETH.

The following lines, if they display no rich vein of poetry, are yet so

strongly characteristic of their great and spirited authoress, that the

insertion of them will be pardoned. They are preserved in Puttenham's

_Arte of English Poesie_; a book in which are many sly addresses to

the queen's foible of shining as a poetess. The extraordinary manner in

which these verses are introduced shews what kind of homage was exacted

from the courtly writers of that age, viz.

"I find," says this antiquated critic, "none example in English metre,

so well maintaining this figure [_Exargasia_, or the Gorgeous, Lat.

_Expolitio_] as that dittie of her majesties owne making, passing

sweete and harmonicall; which figure beyng as his very originall name

purporteth the most bewtifull and gorgious of all others, it asketh

in reason to be reserved for a last complement, and desciphred by a

ladies penne herselfe beyng the most bewtifull, or rather bewtìe of

queenes.[652] And this was the occasion: our soveraigne lady perceiving

how the Scottish queenes residence within this realme at so great

libertie and ease (as were skarce meete for so great and dangerous

a prysoner) bred secret factions among her people, and made many of

the nobilitie incline to favour her partie: some of them desirous

of innovation in the state: others aspiring to greater fortunes by

her libertie and life. The queene our soveraigne ladie to declare

that she was nothing ignorant of those secret practizes, though she

had long with great wisdome and pacience dissembled it, writeth this

dittie most sweete and sententious, not hiding from all such aspiring

minds the daunger of their ambition and disloyaltie: which afterward

fell out most truly by th' exemplary chastisement of sundry persons,

who in fauour of the said Sc. Q. declining from her Maiestie, sought

to interrupt the quiet of the Realme by many euill and vndutiful

practizes." (p. 207.)

This sonnet was probably written in 1584, not long before Hen. Percy

8th E. of Northumberland was imprisoned on suspicion of plotting with

F. Throckmorton, Tho. Lord Paget, and the Guises, for invading England,

and liberating the Q. of Scots, &c. (See Collins's _Peerage_, 1779,

ii. 405.) The original is written in long lines or alexandrines, each

of which is here, on account of the narrowness of the page, subdivided

into two: but her majesty's orthography, or at least that of her

copyist, is exactly followed.

In the first edition of Harrington's _Nugæ Antiquæ_, 1st vol. 1769,

12mo. p. 58, is a copy of this poem, with great variations, the best

of which are noted below. It is there accompanied with a very curious

letter, in which this sonnet is said to be "of her Highness own

enditing ... My Lady Willoughby did covertly get it on her Majesties

tablet, and had much hazard in so doing; for the Queen did find out the

thief, and chid for spreading evil bruit of her writing such toyes,

when other matters did so occupy her employment at this time; and was

fearful of being thought too lightly of for so doing." ***

* * * * *

The doubt of future foes,[653]

Exiles my present ioy,

And wit me warnes to shun such snares

As threaten mine annoy.

For falshood now doth flow, 5

And subiect faith doth ebbe,[654]

Which would not be, if reason rul'd[655]

Or wisdome weu'd the webbe.[656]

But clowdes of iois vntried,[657]

Do cloake aspiring mindes, 10

Which turne to raine of late repent,[658]

By course of changed windes.

The toppe of hope supposed,

The roote of ruthe wil be,

And frutelesse all their graffed guiles, 15

As shortly ye shall see.

Then dazeld eyes with pride,

Which great ambition blinds,

Shalbe vnseeld by worthy wights,

Whose foresight falshood finds. 20

The daughter of debate,[659]

That eke discord doth sowe,[660]

Shal reap no gaine where former rule[661]

Hath taught stil peace to growe.

No forreine bannisht wight 25

Shall ancre in this port,

Our realme it brookes no strangers force,[662]

Let them elsewhere resort.

Our rusty sworde with rest,

Shall first his edge employ, 30

To polle their toppes, that seeke such change

And gape for 'such like' ioy.[663]

* * * * *

[+±+] I cannot help subjoining to the above sonnet another distich

of Elizabeth's preserved by Puttenham (p. 197) "which (says he) our

soveraigne lady wrote in defiance of fortune."

"Never thinke you, Fortune can beare the sway,

Where Vertue's force can cause her to obay."

The slightest effusion of such a mind deserves attention.

FOOTNOTES:

[652] She was at this time near three-score.

[653] Ver. 1. dread, Harrington's ed.

[654] V. 6. subjects, Har.

[655] V. 7. should, Har.

[656] V. 8. wove, Har.

[657] Ver. 9. joys, Har.

[658] V. 11. raigne, Puttenham.

[659] _Scil._ the Queen of Scots.

[660] V. 22. That discorde aye, Har.

[661] V. 23. formor, Put.

[662] V. 27. realme brookes no seditious Sects, Har.

[663] V. 32. "such like" is supplied from Harrington's ed., in which

are other variations, that seem meer mistakes of the transcriber or

printer.

XVI.

KING OF SCOTS AND ANDREW BROWNE.

This ballad is a proof of the little intercourse that subsisted between

the Scots and English, before the accession of James I. to the crown of

England. The tale which is here so circumstantially related does not

appear to have had the least foundation in history, but was probably

built upon some confused hearsay report of the tumults in Scotland

during the minority of that prince, and of the conspiracies formed by

different factions to get possession of his person. It should seem from

ver. 97 to have been written during the regency, or at least before the

death, of the earl of Morton, who was condemned and executed June 2,

1581; when James was in his 15th year.

The original copy (preserved in the archives of the Antiquarian

Society, London) is intitled, _A new Ballad, declaring the great

treason conspired against the young king of Scots, and how one Andrew

Browne an Englishman, which was the king's chamberlaine, prevented

the same. To the tune of Milfield, or els to Green-sleeves._ At the

end is subjoined the name of the author "W. Elderton. Imprinted at

London for Yarathe James, dwelling in Newgate Market, over against Ch.

Church," in black-letter, folio.

This _Elderton_, who had been originally an attorney in the sheriffs'

courts of London, and afterwards (if we may believe Oldys) a comedian,

was a facetious fuddling companion, whose tippling and rhymes rendered

him famous among his contemporaries. He was author of many popular

songs and ballads: and probably other pieces in these volumes, besides

the following, are of his composing. He is believed to have fallen

a victim to his bottle before the year 1592. His epitaph has been

recorded by Camden, and translated by Oldys:--

"Hic situs est sitiens, atque ebrius Eldertonus,

Quid dico hic situs est? hic potius sitis est,"

"Dead drunk here Elderton doth lie;

Dead as he is, he still is dry:

So of him it may well be said,

Here he, but not his thirst, is laid."

See Stow's _Lond._ [_Guild Hall_].--_Biog. Brit._ [_Drayton_, by Oldys

Note B.] Ath. Ox.--Camden's _Remains_.--_The Exale-tation of Ale_,

among Beaumont's _Poems_, 8vo. 1653.

* * * * *

[This ballad was licensed to Y. James on the 30th of May, 1581.

Percy does not mention in the above note the fact that the ballad

is included in the Folio MS., where it is entitled _Bishoppe and_

_Browne_ (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 265). It only

consists of ten stanzas in place of fifteen, and two of them are

incomplete. There is a sort of second part, probably also by

Elderton, called _King James and Brown_, in the MS. (vol. i. p.

135), the villain of which is the same Douglas who is warned in the

98th verse of the present ballad to "take heede you do not offend

the king."]

* * * * *

Out alas!' what a griefe is this

That princes subjects cannot be true,

But still the devill hath some of his,

Will play their parts whatsoever ensue;

Forgetting what a grievous thing 5

It is to offend the anointed king?

Alas for woe, why should it be so,

This makes a sorrowful heigh ho.

In Scotland is a bonnie kinge,

As proper a youth as neede to be, 10

Well given to every happy thing,

That can be in a kinge to see:

Yet that unluckie country still,

Hath people given to craftie will.

Alas for woe, &c. 15

On Whitsun eve it so befell,

A posset was made to give the king,

Whereof his ladie nurse hard tell,

And that it was a poysoned thing:

She cryed, and called piteouslie; 20

Now help, or els the king shall die!

Alas for woe, &c.

One Browne, that was an English man,

And hard the ladies piteous crye,

Out with his sword, and bestir'd him than, 25

Out of the doores in haste to flie;

But all the doores were made so fast,

Out of a window he got at last

Alas for woe, &c.

He met the bishop coming fast, 30

Having the posset in his hande:

The sight of Browne made him aghast,

Who bad him stoutly staie and stand.

With him were two that ranne awa,

For feare that Browne would make a fray. 35

Alas for woe, &c.

Bishop, quoth Browne, what hast thou there?

Nothing at all, my friend, sayde he;

But a posset to make the king good cheere.

Is it so? sayd Browne, that will I see, 40

First I will have thyself begin,

Before thou go any further in;

Be it weale or woe, it shall be so,

This makes a sorrowful heigh ho.

The bishop sayde, Browne I doo know, 45

Thou art a young man poore and bare;

Livings on thee I will bestowe:

Let me go on, take thou no care.

No, no, quoth Browne, I will not be

A traitour for all Christiantie: 50

Happe well or woe, it shall be so,

Drink now with a sorrowfull, &c.

The bishop dranke, and by and by

His belly burst and he fell downe:

A just rewarde for his traitery. 55

This was a posset indeed, quoth Brown!

He serched the bishop, and found the keyes,

To come to the kinge when he did please.

Alas for woe, &c.

As soon as the king got word of this, 60

He humbly fell uppon his knee,

And praysed God that he did misse

To tast of that extremity:

For that he did perceive and know,

His clergie would betray him so: 65

Alas for woe, &c.

Alas, he said, unhappie realme,[664]

My father, and grandfather slaine:

My mother banished, O extreame!

Unhappy fate, and bitter bayne! 70

And now like treason wrought for me,

What more unhappie realme can be!

Alas for woe, &c.

The king did call his nurse to his grace,

And gave her twenty poundes a yeere; 75

And trustie Browne too in like case,

He knighted him with gallant geere;

And gave him 'lands and' livings great,

For dooing such a manly feat,

As he did showe, to the bishop's woe, 80

Which made, &c.

When all this treason done and past,

Tooke not effect of traytery;

Another treason at the last,

They sought against his majestie: 85

How they might make their kinge away,

By a privie banket[665] on a daye.

Alas for woe, &c.

'Another time' to sell the king

Beyonde the seas they had decreede: 90

Three noble Earles heard of this thing.

And did prevent the same with speede.

For a letter came, with such a charme,

That they should doo their king no harme:

For further woe, if they did soe, 95

Would make a sorrowful heigh hoe.

The Earle Mourton told the Douglas then,

Take heede you do not offend the king;

But shew yourselves like honest men

Obediently in every thing: 100

For his godmother[666] will not see

Her noble childe misus'd to be

With any woe; for if it be so,

She will make, &c.

God graunt all subjects may be true, 105

In England, Scotland, every where:

That no such daunger may ensue,

To put the prince or state in feare:

That God the highest king may see

Obedience as it ought to be, 110

In wealth or woe, God graunt it be so

To avoide the sorrowful heigh ho.

FOOTNOTES:

[664] Ver. 67. His father was Henry Lord Darnley. His grandfather the

old Earl of Lenox, regent of Scotland, and father of Lord Darnley, was

murdered at Stirling, Sept. 5, 1571.

[665] [banquet.]

[666] Q. Elizabeth.

XVII.

THE BONNY EARL OF MURRAY.

A SCOTTISH SONG.

In December, 1591, Francis Stewart, Earl of Bothwell, had made an

attempt to seize on the person of his sovereign James VI., but being

disappointed, had retired towards the north. The king unadvisedly gave

a commission to George Gordon Earl of Huntley, to pursue Bothwell and

his followers with fire and sword. Huntley, under cover of executing

that commission, took occasion to revenge a private quarrel he had

against James Stewart Earl of Murray, a relation of Bothwell's. In

the night of Feb. 7, 1592, he beset Murray's house, burnt it to the

ground, and slew Murray himself; a young nobleman of the most promising

virtues, and the very darling of the people. See Robertson's _Hist._

The present Lord Murray hath now in his possession a picture of his

ancestor naked and covered with wounds, which had been carried about,

according to the custom of that age, in order to inflame the populace

to revenge his death. If this picture did not flatter, he well deserved

the name of the _bonny Earl_, for he is there represented as a tall

and comely personage. It is a tradition in the family, that Gordon of

Bucky gave him a wound in the face: Murray half expiring, said, "You

hae spilt a better face than your awin." Upon this, Bucky pointing his

dagger at Huntley's breast, swore, "You shall be as deep as I;" and

forced him to pierce the poor defenceless body.

K. James, who took no care to punish the murtherers, is said by some

to have privately countenanced and abetted them, being stimulated by

jealousy for some indiscreet praises which his Queen had too lavishly

bestowed on this unfortunate youth. See the preface to the next ballad.

See also Mr. Walpole's _Catalogue of Royal Auth._ vol. i. p. 42.

* * * * *

[James Stewart, son of Sir James Stewart of Doune, acquired the

earldom of Murray by his marriage with Elizabeth, eldest daughter

and heiress of the Regent Murray. The earl was only twenty-one

years of age at the time of his murder, which was perpetrated at

Dinnibrissel, the seat of his mother, where he was on a visit.

Doune Castle in Menteith is now in ruins, but it is still the

property of the family, and gives the title of Viscount to the

eldest son of the Earl of Murray. The Earl of Huntley, instead of

being punished for his crime, was created a marquis, and King James

made the young earl of Murray marry the eldest daughter of his

father's murderer.

There is another version of this ballad given in Finlay's

_Scottish Ballads_ (ii. 21), which commences--

"Open the gates

And let him come in;

He is my brother Huntly,

He'll do me nae harm."

The author of this seems to have supposed that Murray married a

sister of Huntley.]

* * * * *

Ye highlands, and ye lawlands,

Oh! quhair hae ye been?

They hae slaine the Earl of Murray,

And hae laid him on the green.

Now wae be to thee, Huntley! 5

And quhairfore did you sae!

I bade you bring him wi' you,

But forbade you him to slay.

He was a braw gallant,

And he rid at the ring; 10

And the bonny Earl of Murray,

Oh! he might hae been a king.

He was a braw gallant,

And he playd at the ba';

And the bonny Earl of Murray 15

Was the flower among them a'.

He was a braw gallant,

And he playd at the gluve;

And the bonny Earl of Murray,

Oh! he was the Queenes luve. 20

Oh! lang will his lady

Luke owre the castle downe,[667]

Ere she see the Earl of Murray

Cum sounding throw the towne.

FOOTNOTES:

[667] _Castle downe_ here has been thought to mean the _Castle of

Downe_, a seat belonging to the family of Murray.

XVIII.

YOUNG WATERS.

A SCOTTISH BALLAD.

It has been suggested to the Editor, that this ballad covertly alludes

to the indiscreet partiality, which Q. Anne of Denmark is said to have

shewn for the _bonny Earl of Murray_; and which is supposed to have

influenced the fate of that unhappy nobleman. Let the reader judge for

himself.

The following account of the murder is given by a contemporary writer,

and a person of credit, Sir James Balfour, knight, Lyon King of Arms,

whose MS. of the Annals of Scotland is in the Advocates library at

Edinburgh.

"The seventh of Febry, this yeire, 1592, the Earle of Murray was

cruelly murthered by the Earle of Huntley at his house in Dunibrissel

in Fyffe-shyre, and with him Dumbar, shriffe of Murray. It [was] given

out and publickly talked, that the Earle of Huntley was only the

instrument of perpetrating this facte, to satisfie the King's jealousie

of Murray, quhum the Queine more rashely than wyslie, some few dayes

before had commendit in the King's heiringe, with too many epithets

of a proper and gallant man. The reasons of these surmises proceidit

from proclamatione of the Kings, the 18 of Marche following; inhibiting

the younge Earle of Murray to persue the Earle of Huntley, for his

father's slaughter, in respect he being wardit [imprisoned] in the

castell of Blacknesse for the same murther, was willing to abide his

tryall, averring that he had done nothing bot by the King's majesties

commissione; and was neither airt nor part of the murther."[668]

The following ballad is here given from a copy printed not long

since at Glasgow, in one sheet 8vo. The world was indebted for its

publication to the lady Jean Hume, sister to the Earl of Hume, who died

at Gibraltar [in 1761].

* * * * *

[Buchan, who printed a longer version of this ballad in thirty-nine

stanzas, believed young Waters to have been David Graham of

Fintray, who was found guilty of being concerned in a Popish plot,

and beheaded on the 16th of February, 1592. Chambers supposed that

the fate of some one of the Scottish nobles executed by James I.

after his return from captivity in England is alluded to. The

various conflicting conjectures are none of them very probable, and

there is nothing in the ballad that would conclusively connect it

with authentic Scottish history. Percy's suggestion is peculiarly

unfortunate, as young Waters was publicly executed at Stirling. Mr.

Maidment points out (_Scottish Ballads and Songs_, vol. i. p. 62)

that the first edition appeared under the following title, _Young_

_Waters, an Ancient Scotish Poem, never before printed. Glasgow:_

_printed and sold by Robert and Andrew Foulis, MDCCLV._ sm. 4to.

pp. 8; and he suggests that Lord Hailes was the editor of it.]

* * * * *

About Yule, quhen the wind blew cule,

And the round tables began,

A'! there is cum to our kings court

Mony a well-favourd man.

The queen luikt owre the castle wa, 5

Beheld baith dale and down,

And then she saw young Waters

Cum riding to the town.

His footmen they did rin before,

His horsemen rade behind, 10

Ane mantel of the burning gowd

Did keip him frae the wind.

Gowden graith'd[669] his horse before

And siller shod behind,

The horse yong Waters rade upon 15

Was fleeter than the wind.

But then spake a wylie lord,

Unto the queen said he,

O tell me quha's the fairest face

Rides in the company. 20

I've sene lord, and I've sene laird,

And knights of high degree;

Bot a fairer face than young Watèrs

Mine eyne did never see.

Out then spack the jealous king, 25

(And an angry man was he)

O, if he had been twice as fair,

You micht have excepted me.

You're neither laird nor lord, she says,

Bot the king that wears the crown; 30

Ther is not a knight in fair Scotland

Bot to thee maun bow down.

For a' that she could do or say,

Appeasd he wad nae bee;

Bot for the words which she had said 35

Young Waters he maun dee.

They hae taen young Waters, and

Put fetters to his feet;

They hae taen young Waters, and

Thrown him in dungeon deep. 40

Aft I have ridden thro' Stirling town

In the wind both and the weit;

Bot I neir rade thro' Stirling town

Wi fetters at my feet.

Aft have I ridden thro' Stirling town 45

In the wind both and the rain;

Bot I neir rade thro' Stirling town

Neir to return again.

They hae taen to the heiding-hill[670]

His young son in his craddle, 50

And they hae taen to the heiding-hill,

His horse both and his saddle.

They hae taen to the heiding-hill

His lady fair to see.

And for the words the Queen had spoke, 55

Young Waters he did dee.

FOOTNOTES:

[668] [Vol. i. Edin. 1824.]

[669] [caparisoned with golden accoutrements.]

[670] _Heiding-hill_; _i.e._ heading [beheading] hill. The place of

execution was anciently an artificial hillock.

XIX.

MARY AMBREE.

In the year 1584, the Spaniards, under the command of Alexander

Farnese, prince of Parma, began to gain great advantages in Flanders

and Brabant, by recovering many strong holds and cities from the

Hollanders, as Ghent, (called then by the English _Gaunt_,) Antwerp,

Mechlin, &c. See Stow's _Annals_, p. 711. Some attempt made with the

assistance of English volunteers to retrieve the former of those places

probably gave occasion to this ballad. I can find no mention of our

heroine in history, but the following rhymes rendered her famous among

our poets. Ben Jonson often mentions her, and calls any remarkable

virago by her name. See his _Epic[oe]ne_, first acted in 1609, act iv.

sc. 2. His _Tale of a Tub_, act i. sc. 2. And his masque intitled the

_Fortunate Isles_, 1626, where he quotes the very words of the ballad,

----"_Mary Ambree_,

(Who marched so free

To the siege of Gaunt,

And death could not daunt,

As the ballad doth vaunt)

Were a braver wight, &c."

She is also mentioned in Fletcher's _Scornful Lady_, act v. _sub

finem_.

----"My large gentlewoman, my _Mary Ambree_, had I but seen into you,

you should have had another bed-fellow."----

It is likewise evident, that she is the virago intended by Butler in

_Hudibras_ (p. i. c. iii. v. 365), by her being coupled with _Joan

d'Arc_, the celebrated _Pucelle d'Orleans_.

"A bold virago stout and tall

As _Joan_ of France, or English _Mall_."

This ballad is printed from a black letter copy in the Pepys

Collection, improved from the Editor's folio MS. and by conjecture.

The full title is, _The valorous acts performed at Gaunt by the brave

bonnie lass Mary Ambree, who in revenge of her lovers death did play

her part most gallantly_. The tune is, _The blind beggar, &c._

* * * * *

[The copy from the MS., which is printed at the end, will be found

to differ considerably from the following version.]

* * * * *

When captain's couragious, whom death cold not daunte,

Did march to the siege of the citty of Gaunt,

They mustred their souldiers by two and by three,

And the formost in battle was Mary Ambree.

When brave Sir John Major[671] was slaine in her sight, 5

Who was her true lover, her joy, and delight,

Because he was slaine most treacherouslie,

Then vowd to revenge him Mary Ambree.

She clothed herselfe from the top to the toe

In buffe of the bravest, most seemelye to showe; 10

A faire shirt of male[672] then slipped on shee;

Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?

A helmett of proofe shee strait did provide,

A strong arminge sword shee girt by her side,

On her hand a goodly faire gauntlett put shee; 15

Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?

Then tooke shee her sworde and her targett in hand,

Bidding all such, as wold, bee of her band;

To wayte on her person came thousand and three:

Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree? 20

My soldiers, she saith, soe valiant and bold,

Nowe followe your captaine, whom you doe beholde;

Still foremost in battel myselfe will I bee:

Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Then cryed out her souldiers, and loude they did say, 25

Soe well thou becomest this gallant array,

Thy harte and thy weapons soe well do agree,

There was none ever like Mary Ambree.

Shee cheared her souldiers, that foughten for life,

With ancyent and standard, with drum and with fyfe, 30

With brave clanging trumpetts, that sounded so free;

Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Before I will see the worst of you all

To come into danger of death, or of thrall,

This hand and this life I will venture so free: 35

Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Shee led upp her souldiers in battaile array,

Gainst three times theyr number by breake of the daye;

Seven howers in skirmish continued shee:

Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree? 40

She filled the skyes with the smoke of her shott,

And her enemyes bodyes with bullets soe hott;

For one of her owne men a score killed shee:

Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

And when her false gunner, to spoyle her intent, 45

Away all her pellets and powder had sent,

Straight with her keen weapon shee slasht him in three:

Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Being falselye betrayed for lucre of hyre,

At length she was forced to make a retyre; 50

Then her souldiers into a strong castle drew shee:

Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Her foes they besett her on everye side,

As thinking close siege shee cold never abide;

To beate down the walles they all did decree: 55

But stoutlye deffyd them brave Mary Ambree.

Then tooke shee her sword and her targett in hand,

And mounting the walls all undaunted did stand,

There daring their captaines to match any three:

O what a brave captaine was Mary Ambree! 60

Now saye, English captaine, what woldest thou give

To ransome thy selfe, which else must not live?

Come yield thy selfe quicklye, or slaine thou must bee.

Then smiled sweetlye brave Mary Ambree.

Ye captaines couragious, of valour so bold, 65

Whom thinke you before you now you doe behold?

A knight, sir, of England, and captaine soe free,

Who shortelye with us a prisoner must bee.

No captaine of England; behold in your sight

Two brests in my bosome, and therfore no knight: 70

Noe knight, sirs, of England, nor captaine you see,

But a poor simple lass, called Mary Ambree.

But art thou a woman, as thou dost declare,

Whose valor hath provd so undaunted in warre?

If England doth yield such brave lasses as thee, 75

Full well may they conquer, faire Mary Ambree.

The prince of Great Parma heard of her renowne,

Who long had advanced for Englands faire crowne;

Hee wooed her and sued her his mistress to bee,

And offerd rich presents to Mary Ambree. 80

But this virtuous mayden despised them all,

Ile nere sell my honour for purple nor pall:

A mayden of England, sir, never will bee

The whore of a monarcke, quoth Mary Ambree.

Then to her owne country shee backe did returne, 85

Still holding the foes of faire England in scorne:

Therfore English captaines of every degree

Sing forth the brave valours of Mary Ambree.

[Illustration]

[The following version is reprinted from Hales and Furnivall's

edition of the folio MS. vol. i. p. 516.

Captaine couragious, whome death cold daunte,

beseeged the Citye brauelye, the citty of Gaunt!

they mustered their soliders by 2 & by 3:

& the fformost in Battele was Mary Aumbree! 4

When braue Sir Iohn Maior was slaine in that fight,

that was her true louer, her Ioy & delight,

shee swore his death vnreuenged shold not bee;

was not this a braue, bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 8

The death of her trueloue shee meant to requite

with fire & ffamine [&] sword shining bright,

which lately was slaine most villanouslye;

was not this a braue, bonnye Lasse, Mary Aumbree? 12

Shee cladd her selfe from the top to the toe

in buffe of the brauest most seemlye to show,

& a faire shirt of Male slipped on shee;

was not this a braue, bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 16

A helmett of proofe shee tooke on her head,

& a strong arminge sword shee wore by her side;

a goodly fayre gauntlett on her hand put shee;

was not this a braue, bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 20

Shee tooke her sword & her targett in hand,

bidding all such as wold, wayte on her band.

to waite on her person there came 1000^{ds} 3:

was not this a braue, bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 24

"My soldiers," shee saith, "soe valiant and bold,

now ffollow your Captain which you doe beholde;

in the fight formost my selfe will I bee!"

was not this a braue, bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 28

Then cryed out her souldiers, & loude thé did say,

"soe well thou becomes this gallant array,

thy hands & thy weapons doe well soe agree,

there was neuer none like to Mary Aumbree!" 32

Shee cheared her good souldiers that foughten for life,

with the cominge of Ancyents, with drum & with fife,

that braue sonding trumpetts with ingines soe free,

att last thé made mention of Mary Aumbree. 36

"Before that I doe see the worst of you all

come in the danger of your enemyes thrall,

this hand & this sword shall first sett him free;"

was not this a braue bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 40

Shee forward went on in Battaile array,

& straight shee did make her foes flye away;

7 houres in sckirmish continued shee;

was not this a braue bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 44

The skyes shee did fill with the smoke of her shott,

in her enemies bodyes with bulletts soe hott;

for one of her owne men, a sckore killed shee;

was not this a braue bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 48

Then did her gunner spoyle her intent,

pelletts & powder away had he sent:

then with her sword shee cutt him in 3,

was not this a braue bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 52

Then was shee caused to make a retyre,

being falsely betrayd, as itt doth appeare;

then to saue her selfe into a castle went shee;

was not this a braue bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 56

Her foes thé besett her on euerye side,

thinking in that castle shee wold not abyde;

to beate downe those walls they all did agree;

was not that a braue bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 60

She tooke her sword & her targett in hand,

shee came to the walls, and vpon them did stand,

their daring their Captaine to match any 3,

was not that a braue bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 64

"Thou English Captain, what woldest thou giue

to ransome thy liffe which else must not liue?

come downe quickly, & yeeld thee to mee!"

then smiled sweetlye Mary Aumbree; 68

"Good gentle Captain, what thinke you by mee,

or whom in my likenesse you take mee to bee?"

"a knight, sir, of England, & Captain soe free,

that I meane to take away prisoner with me." 72

"Good gentle Captain, behold in your sight

2 brests in my bosome, & therfore no knight;

noe knight, Sir, of England, nor Captain soe free,

but eue[n]e a pore bony Lasse, Mary Aumbree." 76

"If thou beest a woman as thou dost declare,

that hast mangled our soliders, & made them soe bare;

the like in my liffe I neuer did see;

therfore Ile honor thee, Mary Aumbree." 80

"Giue I be a woman, as well thou doest see,

Captain, thou gettst noe redemption of mee

without thou wilt fight with blowes 2 or 3."

was not this a braue bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 84

God send in warrs, such euent I abide,

god send such a solider to stand by my side!

then safely preserued my person wilbe;

there was neuer none like to Mary Aumbree!] 88

FOOTNOTES:

[671] So MS. _Serjeant Major_ in _PC._

[672] A peculiar kind of armour, composed of small rings of iron, and

worn under the cloaths. It is mentioned by Spencer, who speaks of the

Irish Gallowglass or Foot-soldier as "armed in a long Shirt of Mayl."

(_View of the State of Ireland._)

XX.

BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBEY.

Peregrine Bertie, lord Willoughby of Eresby, had, in the year 1586,

distinguished himself at the siege of Zutphen, in the Low Countries.

He was the year after made general of the English forces in the

United Provinces, in room of the earl of Leicester, who was recalled.

This gave him an opportunity of signalizing his courage and military

skill in several actions against the Spaniards. One of these, greatly

exaggerated by popular report, is probably the subject of this old

ballad, which, on account of its flattering encomiums on English

valour, hath always been a favourite with the people.

"My lord Willoughbie (says a contemporary writer) was one of the

queenes best swordsmen: ... he was a great master of the art

military ... I have heard it spoken, that had he not slighted the

court, but applied himself to the queene, he might have enjoyed a

plentifull portion of her grace; and it was his saying, and it did him

no good, that he was none of the _Reptilia_; intimating, that he could

not creepe on the ground, and that the court was not his element; for

indeed, as he was a great souldier, so he was of suitable magnanimitie,

and could not brooke the obsequiousnesse and assiduitie of the courte."

(_Naunton._)

Lord Willoughbie died in 1601.--Both Norris and Turner were famous

among the military men of that age.

The subject of this ballad (which is printed from an old black-letter

copy, with some conjectural emendations,) may possibly receive

illustration from what _Chapman_ says in the Dedicat. to his version of

Homer's _Frogs and Mice_, concerning the brave and memorable Retreat

of Sir John Norris, with only 1000 men, thro' the whole Spanish army,

under the duke of Parma, for three miles together.

* * * * *

[Lord Willoughby was the son of Katherine, daughter of Lord

Willoughby of Eresby and widow of Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk,

and of her second husband, Richard Bertie. They were protestants

and were forced to fly from persecution in 1553, taking refuge

first in the Low Countries and afterwards in Poland. They called

their son in consequence Peregrine, a name that has ever since

remained in the family. Mr. Hales has drawn my attention to the

fact that Spenser, when in Ireland, named one of his sons Peregrine

for a similar reason. A ballad was written entitled _The Duchess

of Suffolk's Calamity_, which contains these lines:

"A sonne she had in Germanie,

Peregrine Bartue cald by name,

Surnamde The Good Lord Willobie,

Of courage great and worthie fame."

Mr. Chappell informs us that the tune of the following ballad

occurs in Lady Neville's Virginal Book (MS. 1591), and in

Robinson's _School of Music_ (1603), where it is called "Lord

Willobie's Welcome Home."]

* * * * *

The fifteenth day of July,

With glistering spear and shield,

A famous fight in Flanders

Was foughten in the field:

The most couragious officers 5

Were English captains three;

But the bravest man in battel

Was brave lord Willoughbèy.

The next was captain Norris,

A valiant man was hee: 10

The other captain Turner,

From field would never flee.

With fifteen hundred fighting men,

Alas! there were no more,

They fought with fourteen thousand then, 15

Upon the bloody shore.

Stand to it noble pikemen,

And look you round about:

And shoot you right you bow-men,

And we will keep them out: 20

You musquet and calliver[673] men,

Do you prove true to me,

I'le be the formost man in fight,

Says brave lord Willoughbèy.

And then the bloody enemy 25

They fiercely did assail,

And fought it out most furiously,

Not doubting to prevail;

The wounded men on both sides fell

Most pitious for to see, 30

Yet nothing could the courage quell

Of brave lord Willoughbèy.

For seven hours to all mens view

This fight endured sore,

Until our men so feeble grew 35

That they could fight no more;

And then upon dead horses

Full savourly they eat,

And drank the puddle water,

They could no better get. 40

When they had fed so freely,

They kneeled on the ground,

And praised God devoutly

For the favour they had found;

And beating up their colours, 45

The fight they did renew,

And turning tow'rds the Spaniard,

A thousand more they slew.

The sharp steel-pointed arrows,

And bullets thick did fly; 50

Then did our valiant soldiers

Charge on most furiously;

Which made the Spaniards waver,

They thought it best to flee,

They fear'd the stout behaviour 55

Of brave lord Willoughbèy.

Then quoth the Spanish general,

Come let us march away,

I fear we shall be spoiled all

If here we longer stay; 60

For yonder comes lord Willoughbey

With courage fierce and fell,

He will not give one inch of way

For all the devils in hell.

And then the fearful enemy 65

Was quickly put to flight,

Our men persued couragiously,

And caught their forces quite;

But at last they gave a shout,

Which ecchoed through the sky, 70

God, and St. George for England!

The conquerers did cry.

This news was brought to England

With all the speed might be,

And soon our gracious queen was told 75

Of this same victory.

O this is brave lord Willoughbey,

My love that ever won,

Of all the lords of honour

'Tis he great deeds hath done. 80

To the souldiers that were maimed,

And wounded in the fray,

The queen allowed a pension

Of fifteen pence a day;

And from all costs and charges 85

She quit and set them free:

And this she did all for the sake

Of brave lord Willoughbèy.

Then courage, noble Englishmen,

And never be dismaid; 90

If that we be but one to ten,

We will not be afraid

To fight with foraign enemies,

And set our nation free.

And thus I end the bloody bout 95

Of brave lord Willoughbèy.

FOOTNOTES:

[673] [a large pistol or blunderbuss.]

XXI.

VICTORIOUS MEN OF EARTH.

This little moral sonnet hath such a pointed application to the heroes

of the foregoing and following ballads, that I cannot help placing it

here, tho' the date of its composition is of a much later period. It

is extracted from _Cupid and Death, a masque by J. S. (James Shirley)

presented Mar._ 26, 1653. _London printed 1653, 4to._

* * * * *

[Dr. Rimbault informs us that this masque was represented at the

Military Ground in Leicester Fields, with music by Matthew Locke

and Dr. Christopher Gibbons. (_Musical Illustrations_, p. 22.)]

* * * * *

Victorious men of earth, no more

Proclaim how wide your empires are;

Though you binde in every shore,

And your triumphs reach as far

As night or day; 5

Yet you proud monarchs must obey,

And mingle with forgotten ashes, when

Death calls yee to the croud of common men.

Devouring famine, plague, and war,

Each able to undo mankind, 10

Death's servile emissaries are;

Nor to these alone confin'd,

He hath at will

More quaint and subtle wayes to kill;

A smile or kiss, as he will use the art, 15

Shall have the cunning skill to break a heart.

XXII.

THE WINNING OF CALES.

The subject of this ballad is the taking of the city of _Cadiz_,

(called by our sailors corruptly _Cales_) on June 21, 1596, in a

descent made on the coast of Spain, under the command of the Lord

Howard admiral, and the earl of Essex general.

The valour of Essex was not more distinguished on this occasion than

his generosity: the town was carried sword in hand, but he stopt the

slaughter as soon as possible, and treated his prisoners with the

greatest humanity, and even affability and kindness. The English

made a rich plunder in the city, but missed of a much richer, by the

resolution which the Duke of Medina, the Spanish admiral, took, of

setting fire to the ships, in order to prevent their falling into the

hands of the enemy [see v. 27]. It was computed, that the loss which

the Spaniards sustained from this enterprize, amounted to twenty

millions of ducats. See Hume's _Hist_.

The Earl of Essex knighted on this occasion not fewer than sixty

persons, which gave rise to the following sarcasm:

"A gentleman of Wales, a knight of Cales,

And a laird of the North country;

But a yeoman of Kent with his yearly rent

Will buy them out all three."

The ballad is printed, with some corrections, from the Editor's folio

MS. and seems to have been composed by some person, who was concerned

in the expedition. Most of the circumstances related in it will be

found supported by history.

* * * * *

[Philip II. was meditating the dispatch of a second armada, but

before he could set his schemes in motion his strongest fortress

was razed to the ground. Macaulay calls this "the most brilliant

military exploit that was achieved on the continent by English

arms during the long interval which elapsed between the battle of

Agincourt and that of Blenheim." No wonder then that the English

sang with enthusiasm of the glories of their success. Raleigh and

Sir Francis Vere were among the leaders under Essex.

It will be seen by the foot notes that Percy follows his MS.

original pretty faithfully. Child prints a version from Deloney's

_Garland of Goodwill_ as reprinted by the Percy Society (vol. xxx.

p. 113). The earliest notice of the tune (the new Tantara) to which

this ballad was to be sung is in the year 1590.]

* * * * *

Long the proud Spaniards had vaunted to conquer us,

Threatning our country with fyer and sword;

Often preparing their navy most sumptuous

With as great plenty as Spain could afford.

Dub a dub, dub a dub, thus strike their drums;

Tantara, tantara, the Englishman comes.[674] 6

To the seas presentlye went our lord admiral,

With knights couragious and captains full good;

The brave Earl of Essex, a prosperous general,

With him prepared to pass the salt flood. 10

Dub a dub, &c.

At Plymouth speedilye, took they ship valiantlye,

Braver ships never were seen under sayle,

With their fair colours spread, and streamers ore their head,

Now bragging Spaniards, take heed of your tayle.

Dub a dub, &c. 15

Unto Cales cunninglye, came we most speedilye,

Where the kinges navy securelye did ryde;

Being upon their backs, piercing their butts of sacks,

Ere any Spaniards our coming descryde. 20

Dub a dub, &c.

Great was the crying, the running and ryding,[675]

Which at that season was made in that place;

The beacons were fyred, as need then required;

To hyde their great treasure they had little space.

Dub a dub, &c. 26

There you might see their ships, how they were fyred fast,

And how their men drowned themselves in the sea;

There might you hear them cry, wayle and weep piteously,

When they saw no shift to scape thence away. 30

Dub a dub, &c.

The great St. Phillip, the pryde of the Spaniards,

Was burnt to the bottom, and sunk in the sea;

But the St. Andrew, and eke the St. Matthew,

Wee took in fight manfullye and brought away.[676] 35

Dub a dub, &c.

The Earl of Essex most valiant and hardye,

With horsemen and footmen march'd up to the town;[677]

The Spanyards, which saw them, were greatly alarmed,

Did fly for their savegard, and durst not come down.

Dub a dub, &c. 41

Now, quoth the noble Earl, courage my soldiers all,

Fight and be valiant, the spoil you shall have;

And bè well rewarded all from the great to the small;[678]

But looke that the women and children you save.[679]

Dub a dub, &c. 46

The Spaniards at that sight, thinking it vain to fight,[680]

Hung upp flags of truce and yielded the towne;[681]

Wee marched in presentlye, decking the walls on hye,

With English colours which purchas'd renowne.[682] 50

Dub a dub, &c.

Entering the houses then, of the most richest men,

For gold and treasure we searched eche day;

In sòme places wè did find, pyes baking left behind,[683]

Meate at fire rosting, and folkes run away.[684] 55

Dub a dub, &c.

Full of rich merchandize, every shop catch'd our eyes,[685]

Damasks and sattens and velvets full fayre:

Wh[^i]ch soldiers mèasur'd out by the length of their swords;

Of all commodities eche had a share.[686] 60

Dub a dub, &c.

Thus Cales was taken, and our brave general

March'd to the market-place, where he did stand:

There many prisoners fell to our several shares,[687]

Many crav'd mercye, and mercye they fannd.[688] 65

Dub a dub, &c.

When our brave general saw they delayed all,[689]

And would not ransome their towne as they said,

With their fair wanscots, their presses and bedsteds,

Their joint-stools and tables a fire we made;[690] 70

And when the town burned all in a flame,

With tara, tantara, away wee all came.[691]

FOOTNOTES:

[674] [Ver. 6. tantara, ra-ra, MS.]

[675] [V. 22. _the_ before _running_ not in MS.]

[676] [Ver. 35. brought _them_ away, MS.]

[677] [V. 38. marched toward the town.]

[678] [V. 44. _all_ not in MS.]

[679] [V. 45. no _the_ in MS.]

[680] [V. 47. thought in vaine twas to fight.]

[681] [V. 48. _and_ not in MS.]

[682] [V. 50. with our English.]

[683] [Ver. 54. baking in the oven.]

[684] [V. 55. meate att the fire rosting & ffolkes ffled away.]

[685] [V. 57. shop wee did see.]

[686] [V. 60. each one.]

[687] [V. 64. prisoners of good account were tooke.]

[688] [V. 65. they found.]

[689] [V. 67. delayed time.]

[690] [V. 70. a ffire were made.]

[691] [V. 72. away wee came.]

XXIII.

THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE.

This beautiful old ballad most probably took its rise from one of these

descents made on the Spanish coasts in the time of queen Elizabeth; and

in all likelihood from that which is celebrated in the foregoing ballad.

It was a tradition in the West of England, that the person admired

by the Spanish lady was a gentleman of the Popham family [Sir John

Popham], and that her picture, with the pearl necklace mentioned in the

ballad, was not many years ago preserved at Littlecot, near Hungerford,

Wilts, the seat of that respectable family.

Another tradition hath pointed out Sir Richard Levison, of Trentham,

in Staffordshire, as the subject of this ballad; who married Margaret

daughter of Charles Earl of Nottingham; and was eminently distinguished

as a naval officer and commander in all the expeditions against the

Spaniards in the latter end of Q. Elizabeth's reign, particularly in

that to Cadiz in 1596, when he was aged 27. He died in 1605, and has a

monument, with his effigy in brass, in Wolverhampton church.

It is printed from an ancient black-letter copy, corrected in part by

the Editor's folio MS.

* * * * *

[Sir John Popham and Sir Richard Levison are not the only

candidates for the honour of being associated with the Spanish

Lady, for strong claims have also been brought forward in favour

of Sir Urias Legh of Adlington, Cheshire, and of Sir John Bolle of

Thorpe Hall, Lincolnshire. A descendant of the latter worthy wrote

a letter in his favour, which appeared in the _Times_ of May 1,

1846, and from which the following particulars are extracted:--"In

Illingworth's _Topographical Account of Scampton, with Anecdotes_

_of the family of Bolles_, it is stated, 'the portrait of Sir

John, drawn in 1596, at the age of thirty-six years, having on

him the gold chain given him by the Spanish Lady, &c., is still

in the possession of Captain Birch.' That portrait is now in the

possession of Captain Birch's successor, Thomas Bosvile, Esq.,

of Ravensfield Park, Yorkshire." The writer of the letter signs

himself Charles Lee, and dates from Coldrey, Hants. He adds another

extract from Illingworth's _Scampton_, which is as follows: "On

Sir John Bolle's departure from Cadiz, the Spanish Lady sent as

presents to his wife, a profusion of jewels, and other valuables,

amongst which was her portrait, drawn in green, plate, money, and

other treasure. Some articles are still in the possession of the

family, though her picture was unfortunately and by accident,

disposed of about half a century since. This portrait being drawn

in green, gave occasion to her being called in the neighbourhood

of Thorpe Hall, the Green Lady, where to this day there is a

traditionary superstition among the vulgar that Thorpe Hall was

haunted by the Green Lady, who used nightly to take her seat in a

particular tree near the mansion."

Mr. Chappell points out that this ballad is quoted in _Cupid's_

_Whirligig_, 1616, and parodied in Rowley's _A Match at Midnight_,

1633. It is also quoted in Mrs. Behn's Comedy, _The Rovers, or_

_the banished Cavaliers_, and in Richard Brome's _Northern Lasse_.

Shenstone was not satisfied with the beautiful simplicity of this

charming ballad, and attempted in his _Moral Tale of Love and_

_Honour_ to place it before his readers "in less grovelling accents

than the simple guise of ancient record." The mode he adopted was

to spin it out by the frequent introduction of _Ah me_ and _'tis

true_, and addresses to the "generous maid," Elvira, Iberia, &c.

Wordsworth acted far differently, when he founded his exquisite

_Armenian Lady's Love_ upon this ballad:

"You have heard of a Spanish Lady,

How she wooed an English man;

Hear now of a fair Armenian,

Daughter of the proud Soldàn."

The copy in the folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. iii. p.

393) begins with verse 33, the early part having been torn out.]

* * * * *

Will you hear a Spanish lady,

How she wooed an English man?

Garments gay as rich as may be

Decked with jewels she had on.

Of a comely countenance and grace was she, 5

And by birth and parentage of high degree.

As his prisoner there he kept her,

In his hands her life did lye;

Cupid's bands did tye them faster

By the liking of an eye. 10

In his courteous company was all her joy,

To favour him in any thing she was not coy.

But at last there came commandment

For to set the ladies free,

With their jewels still adorned, 15

None to do them injury.

Then said this lady mild, Full woe is me;

O let me still sustain this kind captivity!

Gallant captain, shew some pity

To a ladye in distresse; 20

Leave me not within this city,

For to dye in heavinesse:

Thou hast set this present day my body free,

But my heart in prison still remains with thee.

"How should'st thou, fair lady, love me, 25

Whom thou knowst thy country's foe?

Thy fair wordes make me suspect thee:

Serpents lie where flowers grow."

All the harm I wishe to thee, most courteous knight,

God grant the same upon my head may fully light. 30

Blessed be the time and season,

That you came on Spanish ground;

If our foes you may be termed,

Gentle foes we have you found:

With our city, you have won our hearts eche one, 35

Then to your country bear away, that is your owne.

"Rest you still, most gallant lady;

Rest you still, and weep no more;

Of fair lovers there is plenty,

Spain doth yield a wonderous store." 40

Spaniards fraught with jealousy we often find,

But Englishmen through all the world are counted kind.

Leave me not unto a Spaniard,

You alone enjoy my heart;

I am lovely, young, and tender, 45

Love is likewise my desert:

Still to serve thee day and night my mind is prest;

The wife of every Englishman is counted blest.

"It wold be a shame, fair lady,

For to bear a woman hence; 50

English soldiers never carry

Any such without offence."

I'll quickly change myself, if it be so,

And like a page Ile follow thee, where'er thou go.[692]

"I have neither gold nor silver 55

To maintain thee in this case,

And to travel is great charges,

As you know in every place."

My chains and jewels every one shal be thy own,

And eke five hundred[693] pounds in gold that lies unknown. 60

"On the seas are many dangers,

Many storms do there arise,

Which wil be to ladies dreadful,

And force tears from watery eyes."

Well in troth I shall endure extremity,[694] 65

For I could find in heart to lose my life for thee.[695]

"Courteous ladye, leave this fancy,

Here comes all that breeds the strife;[696]

I in England have already

A sweet woman to my wife: 70

I will not falsify my vow for gold nor gain,

Nor yet for all the fairest dames that live in Spain."

O how happy is that woman

That enjoys so true a friend!

Many happy days God send her;[697] 75

Of my suit I make an end:[698]

On my knees I pardon crave for my offence,[699]

Which did from love and true affection first commence.[700]

Commend me to thy lovely lady,

Bear to her this chain of gold;[701] 80

And these bracelets for a token;

Grieving that I was so bold:

All my jewels in like sort take thou with thee,[702]

For they are fitting for thy wife, but not for me.[703]

I will spend my days in prayer, 85

Love and all her laws[704] defye;

In a nunnery will I shroud mee

Far from any companye:[705]

But ere my prayers have an end, be sure of this,

To pray for thee and for thy love I will not miss. 90

Thus farewell, most gallant captain!

Farewell too my heart's content![706]

Count not Spanish ladies wanton,

Though to thee my love was bent:

Joy and true prosperity goe still with thee![707] 95

"The like fall ever to thy share, most fair ladìe."

FOOTNOTES:

[692] [Ver. 54. whersoere thou go.]

[693] So the MS., 10,000_l. PC._

[694] V. 65. Well in worth [I will], MS.

[695] [V. 66. find my heart.]

[696] [V. 68. that breakes.]

[697] [Ver. 75. many dayes of joy god send you.]

[698] [V. 76. Ile make.]

[699] [V. 77. upon my knees I pardon crave for this offence.]

[700] [V. 78. which love and true affectyon did ffirst commence.]

[701] [V. 80. a chaine.]

[702] [V. 83. take with thee.]

[703] [V. 84. these are ... and not for me.]

[704] So the folio MS. Other editions read _his laws_.

[705] [V. 88. from other.]

[706] [V. 92. and ffarwell my.]

[707] [V. 95. be still.]

XXIV.

ARGENTILE AND CURAN,

Is extracted from an ancient historical poem in XIII. Books, intitled,

_Albion's England_, by _William Warner_: "An author (says a former

editor,) only unhappy in the choice of his subject, and measure of

his verse. His poem is an epitome of the British history, and written

with great learning, sense, and spirit. In some places fine to an

extraordinary degree, as I think will eminently appear in the ensuing

episode (of Argentile and Curan). A tale full of beautiful incidents in

the romantic taste, extremely affecting, rich in ornament, wonderfully

various in style; and in short, one of the most beautiful pastorals

I ever met with." (_Muses Library_, 1738, 8vo.) To his merit nothing

can be objected unless perhaps an affected quaintness in some of his

expressions, and an indelicacy in some of his pastoral images.

_Warner_ is said, by A. Wood,[708] to have been a Warwickshire man,

and to have been educated in Oxford, at Magdalene-hall: as also in the

latter part of his life to have been retained in the service of Henry

Cary Lord Hunsdon, to whom he dedicates his poem. However that may have

been, new light is thrown upon his history, and the time and manner

of his death are now ascertained, by the following extract from the

parish register book of Amwell, in Hertfordshire; which was obligingly

communicated to the Editor by Mr. _Hoole_, the very ingenious

translator of Tasso, &c.

(1608--1609.) "Master William Warner, a man of good yeares and of

honest reputation; by his profession an Atturnye of the Common Pleas;

author of _Albions England_, diynge suddenly in the night in his bedde,

without any former complaynt or sicknesse, on thursday night beeinge

the 9th daye of March; was buried the satturday following, and lyeth

in the church at the corner under the stone of Walter Ffader." Signed

_Tho. Hassall Vicarius_.

Though now Warner is so seldom mentioned, his contemporaries ranked him

on a level with Spenser, and called them the Homer and Virgil of their

age.[709] But Warner rather resembled _Ovid_, whose _Metamorphoses_ he

seems to have taken for his model, having deduced a perpetual poem from

the deluge down to the æra of Elizabeth, full of lively digressions

and entertaining episodes. And though he is sometimes harsh, affected,

and obscure, he often displays a most charming and pathetic simplicity:

as where he describes Eleanor's harsh treatment of Rosamond:

"With that she dasht her on the lippes

So dyed double red:

Hard was the heart that gave the blow,

Soft were those lippes that bled."

The edition of _Albion's England_ here followed was printed in 4to.

1602; said in the title-page to have been "first penned and published

by William Warner, and now revised and newly enlarged by the same

author." The story of _Argentile and Curan_ is I believe the poet's own

invention; it is not mentioned in any of our chronicles. It was however

so much admired, that not many years after he published it, came out

a larger poem on the same subject in stanzas of six lines, intitled,

_The most pleasant and delightful historie of Curan a prince of

Danske, and the fayre princesse Argentile, daughter and heyre to

Adelbright, sometime king of Northumberland, &c. by_ William Webster,

_London_, 1617, in 8 sheets 4to. An indifferent paraphrase of the

following poem.--This episode of Warner's has also been altered into

the common ballad, _of the two young Princes on Salisbury Plain_,

which is chiefly composed of Warner's lines, with a few contractions

and interpolations, but all greatly for the worse. See the collection

of _Hist. Ballads_, 1727, 3 vols. 12mo.

* * * * *

[Percy had already in the first volume quoted from Warner's poem

the story of the _Patient Countess_.]

* * * * *

The Bruton's 'being' departed hence seaven kingdoms here begonne,

Where diversly in divers broyles the Saxons lost and wonne.

King Edel and king Adelbright in Diria jointly raigne;

In loyal concorde during life these kingly friends remaine.

When Adelbright should leave his life, to Edel thus he sayes; 5

By those same bondes of happie love, that held us friends alwaies;

By our by-parted crowne, of which the moyetie is mine;

By God, to whom my soule must passe, and so in time may thine;

I pray thee, nay I cònjure thee, to nourish, as thine owne,

Thy niece, my daughter Argentile, till she to age be growne; 10

And then, as thou receivest it, resigne to her my throne.

A promise had for his bequest, the testatòr he dies;

But all that Edel undertooke, he afterwards denies.

Yet well he 'fosters for' a time the damsell that was growne

The fairest lady under heaven; whose beautie being knowne, 15

A many princes seeke her love; but none might her obtaine;

For grippell[710] Edel to himselfe her kingdome sought to gaine;

And for that cause from sight of such he did his ward restraine.

By chance one Curan, sonne unto a prince in Danske,[711] did see

The maid, with whom he fell in love, as much as man might bee. 20

Unhappie youth, what should he doe? his saint was kept in mewe;[712]

Nor he, nor any noble-man admitted to her vewe.

One while in melancholy fits he pines himselfe awaye;

Anon he thought by force of arms to win her if he maye:

And still against the kings restraint did secretly invay. 25

At length the high controller Love, whom none may disobay,

Imbased him from lordlines into a kitchen drudge,

That so at least of life or death she might become his judge.

Accesse so had to see and speake, he did his love bewray,

And tells his birth: her answer was, she husbandles would stay. 30

Meane while the king did beate his braines, his booty to atchieve,

Nor caring what became of her, so he by her might thrive;

At last his resolution was some pessant should her wive.

And (which was working to his wish) he did observe with joye

How Curan, whom he thought a drudge, scapt many an amorous

toye.[713] 35

The king, perceiving such his veine, promotes his vassal still,

Lest that the basenesse of the man should lett,[714] perhaps, his will.

Assured therefore of his love, but not suspecting who

The lover was, the king himselfe in his behalf did woe.

The lady resolute from love, unkindly takes that he 40

Should barre the noble, and unto so base a match agree:

And therefore shifting out of doores, departed thence by stealth;

Preferring povertie before a dangerous life in wealth.

When Curan heard of her escape, the anguish in his hart

Was more than much, and after her from court he did depart; 45

Forgetfull of himselfe, his birth, his country, friends, and all,

And only minding (whom he mist) the foundresse of his thrall.

Nor meanes he after to frequent or court, or stately townes,

But solitarily to live amongst the country grownes.[715]

A brace of years he lived thus, well pleased so to live, 50

And shepherd-like to feed a flocke himselfe did wholly give.

So wasting, love, by worke, and want, grew almost to the waine:

But then began a second love, the worser of the twaine.

A country wench, a neatherds maid, where Curan kept his sheepe,

Did feed her drove: and now on her was all the shepherds keepe. 55

He borrowed on the working daies his holy russets oft,[716]

And of the bacon's fat, to make his startops[717] blacke and soft.

And least his tarbox[718] should offend, he left it at the folde:

Sweete growte,[719] or whig,[720] his bottle had, as much as it

might holde.

A sheeve[721] of bread as browne as nut, and cheese as white as

snow, 60

And wildings,[722] or the seasons fruit he did in scrip bestow,

And whilst his py-bald curre did sleepe, and sheep-hooke lay him by,

On hollow quilles of oten straw he piped melody

But when he spyed her his saint, he wip'd his greasie shooes,

And clear'd the drivell from his beard, and thus the shepheard

wooes. 65

"I have, sweet wench, a peece of cheese, as good as tooth may chawe,

And bread and wildings souling[723] well, (and therewithall did drawe

His lardrie) and in 'yeaning' see yon crumpling[724] ewe, quoth

he,[725]

Did twinne this fall, and twin shouldst thou, if I might tup[726]

with thee.

Thou art too elvish, faith thou art, too elvish and too coy: 70

Am I, I pray thee, beggarly, that such a flock enjoye?

I wis I am not: yet that thou doest hold me in disdaine

Is brimme[727] abroad, and made a gybe to all that keepe this plaine.

There be as quaint[728] (at least that thinke themselves as

quaint) that crave

The match, that thou, I wot not why, maist, but mislik'st to

have. 75

How wouldst thou match? (for well I wot, thou art a female) I,

Her know not here that willingly with maiden-head would die.[729]

The plowmans labour hath no end, and he a churle will prove:

The craftsman hath more worke in hand then fitteth unto love:

The merchant, traffiquing abroad, suspects his wife at home: 80

A youth will play the wanton; and an old man prove a mome.[730]

Then chuse a shepheard: with the sun he doth his flocke unfold,

And all the day on hill or plaine he merrie chat can hold;

And with the sun doth folde againe; then jogging home betime,

He turnes a crab, or turnes a round, or sings some merry

ryme.[731] 85

Nor lacks he gleeful tales, whilst round the nut-brown bowl doth

trot;[732]

And sitteth singing care away, till he to bed be got:

Theare sleepes he soundly all the night, forgetting morrow-cares:

Nor feares he blasting of his corne, nor uttering of his wares;

Or storms by seas, or stirres on land, or cracke of credit lost; 90

Not spending franklier than his flocke, shall still defray the cost.

Well wot I, sooth they say, that say more quiet nights and daies

The shepheard sleeps and wakes, than he whose cattel he doth graize.

Beleeve me, lasse, a king is but a man, and so am I:

Content is worth a monarchie, and mischiefs hit the hie; 95

As late it did a king and his not dwelling far from hence,

Who left a daughter, save thyselfe, for fair a matchless wench."--

Here did he pause, as if his tongue had done his heart offence.

The neatresse,[733] longing for the rest, did egge him on to tell

How faire she was, and who she was. "She bore, quoth he, the

bell 100

For beautie: though I clownish am, I know what beautie is;

Or did I not, at seeing thee, I senceles were to mis.

* * * * *

Her stature comely, tall; her gate well graced; and her wit

To marvell at, not meddle with, as matchless I omit.

A globe-like head, a gold-like haire, a forehead smooth, and

hie, 105

An even nose; on either side did shine a grayish eie:

Two rosie cheeks, round ruddy lips, white just-set teeth within;

A mouth in meane;[734] and underneathe a round and dimpled chin.

Her snowie necke, with blewish veines, stood bolt upright upon

Her portly shoulders; beating balles her veined breasts, anon 110

Adde more to beautie. Wand-like was her middle falling still,

And rising whereas women rise: * * *--imagine nothing ill.

And more, her long, and limber armes had white and azure wrists;

And slender fingers aunswere to her smooth and lillie fists.

A legge in print, a pretie foot; conjecture of the rest:

For amorous eies, observing forme, think parts obscured best. 116

With these, O raretie! with these her tong of speech was spare;

But speaking, Venus seem'd to speake, the balle from Ide to bear.

With Ph[oe]be, Juno, and with both herselfe contends in face;

Wheare equall mixture did not want of milde and stately grace. 120

Her smiles were sober, and her lookes were chearefull unto all:

Even such as neither wanton seeme, nor waiward; mell,[735] nor gall.

A quiet minde, a patient moode, and not disdaining any;

Not gybing, gadding, gawdy: and sweete faculties had many.

A nimph, no tong, no heart, no eie, might praise, might wish,

might see; 125

For life, for love, for forme; more good, more worth, more faire

than shee.

Yea such an one, as such was none, save only she was such:

Of Argentile to say the most, were to be silent much."

I knew the lady very well, but worthles of such praise,

The neatresse said: and muse I do, a shepheard thus should

blaze 130

The 'coate' of beautie[736]. Credit me, thy latter speech bewraies

Thy clownish shape a coined shew. But wherefore dost thou weepe?

The shepheard wept, and she was woe, and both doe silence keepe.

"In troth, quoth he, I am not such, as seeming I professe:

But then for her, and now for thee, I from myselfe digresse. 135

Her loved I (wretch that I am a recreant to be)

I loved her, that hated love, but now I die for thee.

At Kirkland is my fathers court, and Curan is my name,

In Edels court sometimes in pompe, till love countrould the same:

But now--what now?--deare heart, how now? what ailest thou to

weepe?" 140

The damsell wept, and he was woe, and both did silence keepe.

I graunt, quoth she, it was too much that you did love so much:

But whom your former could not move, your second love doth touch.

Thy twice-beloved argentile submitteth her to thee,

And for thy double love presents herself a single fee,

In passion not in person chang'd, and I, my lord, am she. 146

They sweetly surfeiting in joy, and silent for a space,

When as the extasie had end, did tenderly imbrace;

And for their wedding, and their wish got fitting time and place.

Not England (for of Hengist then was named so this land) 150

Then Curan had an hardier knight; his force could none withstand:

Whose sheep-hooke laid apart, he then had higher things in hand.

First, making knowne his lawfull claime in Argentile her right,

He warr'd in Diria[737], and he wonne Bernicia[737] too in fight:

And so from trecherous Edel tooke at once his life and crowne, 155

And of Northumberland was king, long raigning in renowne.[738]

FOOTNOTES:

[708] Athen. Oxon.

[709] _Ibid._

[710] [griping or miserly.]

[711] [Denmark.]

[712] [in confinement.]

[713] The construction is, "How that many an amorous toy, or foolery of

love, 'scaped Curan;" _i.e._ escaped from him, being off his guard.

[714] [hinder.]

[715] [grounds.]

[716] Ver. 56. _i.e._ holy-day russets [or best clothes.]

[717] [buskins or half boots.]

[718] [used for anointing sores in sheep, &c.]

[719] [small beer.]

[720] [whey or buttermilk.]

[721] [slice.]

[722] [crab apples.]

[723] [victualling.]

[724] [crooked horned.]

[725] Ver. 68. Eating. _PCC._

[726] [ram.]

[727] [public.]

[728] [nice or prudent.]

[729] V. 77. Her know I not her that. 1602.

[730] [blockhead.]

[731] Ver. 85. _i.e._ roasts a crab, or apple.

[732] V. 86. to tell, whilst round the bole doth trot. Ed. 1597.

[733] [female keeper of herds.]

[734] [middle sized.]

[735] [honey.]

[736] _i.e._ emblazon beauty's coat. Ed. 1597, 1602, 1612, read Coote.

[737] During the Saxon heptarchy, the kingdom of Northumberland

(consisting of 6 northern counties, besides part of Scotland) was

for a long time divided into two lesser sovereignties, viz. Deira

(called here Diria) which contained the southern parts, and Bernicia,

comprehending those which lay north.

[738] [This poem was subdivided into stanzas by Percy, and is so

printed in previous editions of the _Reliques_.]

XXV.

CORIN'S FATE.

Only the three first stanzas of this song are ancient; these are

extracted from a small quarto MS. in the Editor's possession, written

in the time of Q. Elizabeth. As they seemed to want application, this

has been attempted by a modern hand.

* * * * *

Corin, most unhappie swaine,

Whither wilt thou drive thy flocke?

Little foode is on the plaine;

Full of danger is the rocke:

Wolfes and beares doe kepe the woodes; 5

Forests tangled are with brakes:

Meadowes subject are to floodes;

Moores are full of miry lakes.

Yet to shun all plaine, and hill,

Forest, moore, and meadow-ground, 10

Hunger will as surely kill:

How may then reliefe be found?

[Such is hapless Corins fate:

Since my waywarde love begunne,

Equall doubts begett debate 15

What to seeke, and what to shunne.

Spare to speke, and spare to speed;

Yet to speke will move disdaine:

If I see her not I bleed,

Yet her sight augments my paine. 20

What may then poor Corin doe?

Tell me, shepherdes, quicklye tell;

For to linger thus in woe

Is the lover's sharpest hell.]

[***]

XXVI.

JANE SHORE.

Though so many vulgar errors have prevailed concerning this celebrated

courtezan, no character in history has been more perfectly handed down

to us. We have her portrait drawn by two masterly pens; the one has

delineated the features of her person, the other those of her character

and story. Sir Thomas More drew from the life, and Drayton has copied

an original picture of her. The reader will pardon the length of the

quotations, as they serve to correct many popular mistakes relating

to her catastrophe. The first is from Sir Thomas More's _History of

Richard III._ written in 1513, about thirty years after the death of

Edw. IV.

"Now then by and by, as it wer for anger, not for covetise, the

protector sent into the house of Shores wife (for her husband dwelled

not with her) and spoiled her of al that ever she had, (above the value

of 2 or 3 thousand marks) and sent her body to prison. And when he had

a while laide unto her, for the maner sake, that she went about to

bewitch him, and that she was of counsel with the lord chamberlein to

destroy him: in conclusion when that no colour could fasten upon these

matters, then he layd heinously to her charge the thing that herselfe

could not deny, that al the world wist was true, and that natheles

every man laughed at to here it then so sodainly so highly taken,--that

she was naught of her body. And for thys cause (as a goodly continent

prince, clene and fautless of himself, sent oute of heaven into this

vicious world for the amendment of mens maners) he caused the bishop

of London to put her to open pennance, going before the crosse in

procession upon a sonday with a taper in her hand. In which she went in

countenance and pace demure so womanly; and albeit she was out of al

array save her kyrtle only, yet went she so fair and lovely, namelye,

while the wondering of the people caste a comly rud in her chekes (of

which she before had most misse) that her great shame wan her much

praise among those that were more amorous of her body, then curious

of her soule. And many good folke also, that hated her living, and

glad wer to se sin corrected, yet pittied thei more her penance then

rejoiced therin, when thei considred that the protector procured it

more of a corrupt intent, then any virtuous affeccion.

"This woman was born in London, worshipfully frended, honestly brought

up, and very wel maryed, saving somewhat too soone; her husbande

an honest citizen, yonge, and goodly, and of good substance. But

forasmuche as they were coupled ere she wer wel ripe, she not very

fervently loved, for whom she never longed. Which was happely the

thinge, that the more easily made her encline unto the king's appetite,

when he required her. Howbeit the respect of his royaltie, the hope

of gay apparel, ease, plesure, and other wanton welth, was able soone

to perse a soft tender hearte. But when the king had abused her, anon

her husband (as he was an honest man, and one that could his good, not

presuming to touch a kinges concubine) left her up to him al together.

When the king died, the lord chamberlen [Hastings] toke her:[739]

which in the kinges daies, albeit he was sore enamoured upon her,

yet he forbare her, either for reverence, or for a certain friendly

faithfulness.

"Proper she was, and faire: nothing in her body that you wold have

changed, but if you would have wished her somewhat higher. Thus say

thei that knew her in her youthe. Albeit some that _now see her_

(_for yet she liveth_) deme her never to have bene wel visaged. Whose

jugement seemeth me somewhat like, as though men should gesse the

bewty of one longe before departed, by her scalpe taken out of the

charnel-house; for now is she old, lene, withered, and dried up,

nothing left but ryvilde skin, and hard bone. And yet being even such,

whoso wel advise her visage, might gesse and devise which partes how

filled, wold make it a fair face.

"Yet delited not men so much in her bewty, as in her pleasant

behaviour. For a proper wit had she, and could both rede wel and

write; mery in company, redy and quick of aunswer, neither mute nor

ful of bable; sometime taunting without displeasure, and not without

disport. The king would say, That he had three concubines, which in

three divers properties diversly excelled. One the meriest, another

the wiliest, the thirde the holiest harlot in his realme, as one whom

no man could get out of the church lightly to any place, but it were

to his bed. The other two wer somwhat greater personages, and natheles

of their humilite content to be nameles, and to forbere the praise of

those properties; but the meriest was the Shoris wife, in whom the

king therfore toke special pleasure. For many he had, but her he

loved, whose favour, to sai the trouth (for sinne it wer to belie the

devil) she never abused to any mans hurt, but to many a mans comfort

and relief. Where the king toke displeasure, she would mitigate and

appease his mind: where men were out of favour, she wold bring them in

his grace: for many, that had highly offended, shee obtained pardon: of

great forfeitures she gate men remission: and finally in many weighty

sutes she stode many men in gret stede, either for none or very smal

rewardes, and those rather gay than rich: either for that she was

content with the dede selfe well done, or for that she delited to be

sued unto, and to show what she was able to do wyth the king, or for

that wanton women and welthy be not alway covetous.

"I doubt not some shal think this woman too sleight a thing to be

written of, and set amonge the remembraunces of great matters: which

thei shal specially think, that happely shal esteme her only by

that thei _now see her_. But me semeth the chaunce so much the more

worthy to be remembred, in how much she is _now_ in the more beggerly

condicion, unfrended and worne out of acquaintance, after good

substance, after as grete favour with the prince, after as grete sute

and seeking to with al those, that in those days had busynes to spede,

as many other men were in their times, which be now famouse only by the

infamy of their il dedes. Her doinges were not much lesse, albeit thei

be muche lesse remembred because thei were not so evil. For men use,

if they have an evil turne, to write it in marble; and whoso doth us a

good tourne, we write it in duste.[740] Which is not worst proved by

her; for _at this daye_ shee beggeth of many at this daye living, that

at this day had begged, if shee had not bene." See More's _workes_,

folio, bl. let. 1557, pp. 56, 57.

_Drayton_ has written a poetical epistle from this lady to her royal

lover, and in his notes thereto he thus draws her portrait: "Her

stature was meane, her haire of a dark yellow, her face round and full,

her eye gray, delicate harmony being betwixt each part's proportion,

and each proportion's colour, her body fat, white and smooth, her

countenance cheerfull and like to her condition. The picture which I

have seen of hers was such as she rose out of her bed in the morning,

having nothing on but a rich mantle cast under one arme over her

shoulder, and sitting on a chaire, on which her naked arm did lie.

What her father's name was, or where she was borne, is not certainly

knowne: but Shore, a young man of right goodly person, wealth and

behaviour, abandoned her bed after the king had made her his concubine.

Richard III. causing her to do open penance in Paul's church-yard,

_commanded that no man should relieve her_, which the tyrant did, not

so much for his hatred to sinne, but that by making his brother's life

odious, he might cover his horrible treasons the more cunningly." See

_England's Heroical Epistles_, by Mich. Drayton, Esq; Lond. 1637,

12mo.

An original picture of _Jane Shore_ almost naked is preserved in the

Provost's Lodgings at Eton; and another picture of her is in the

Provost's Lodge at King's College, Cambridge: to both which foundations

she is supposed to have done friendly offices with _Edward IV._ A small

quarto Mezzotinto print was taken from the former of these by _J.

Faber_.

The history of _Jane Shore_ receives new illustration from the

following letter of _K. Richard III._ which is preserved in the _Harl.

MSS._ Num. 433, Art. 2378, but of which the copy transmitted to the

Editor has been reduced to modern orthography, &c. It is said to have

been addressed to _Russel_ bp. of Lincoln, lord chancellor, Anno 1484.

By the _King_.

"Right Reverend Father in God, &c. signifying unto you, that it

is shewed unto us, that our Servant and Solicitor Thomas Lynom,

marvellously blinded and abused with the late Wife of William Shore,

now living in Ludgate by our commandment, hath made Contract of

Matrimony with her, as it is said, and intendeth, to our full great

marvel, to effect the same. WE, for many causes, would be sorry that he

should be so disposed; pray you therefore to send for him, and in that

ye goodly may, exhort, and stir him to the contrary: And if ye find him

utterly set for to marry her, and none otherwise would be advertized,

then, if it may stand with the laws of the church, we be content the

time of marriage be deferred to our coming next to London; that upon

sufficient Surety found of her good abearing, ye do so send for her

Keeper, and discharge him of our said commandment, by Warrant of these,

committing her to the rule, and guiding of her Father, or any other, by

your direction, in the mean season. Given, &c.

"_RIC._ Rex."

It appears from two articles in the same MS. that K. Richard had

granted to the said _Thomas Linom_ the office of King's Solicitor (Art.

134.), and also the Manor of Colmeworth, com. Bedf. to him and his

Heirs Male (Art. 596.)

The following ballad is printed (with some corrections) from an old

black-letter copy in the Pepys collection. Its full title is, _The

woefull lamentation of Jane Shore, a goldsmith's wife in London,

sometime king Edward IV. his concubine_. To the tune of _Live with

me, &c._ (See the first volume.) To every stanza is annexed the

following burthen:

"Then maids and wives in time amend,

For love and beauty will have end."

* * * * *

[The tale of Jane Shore's sufferings has found frequent narrators.

The first known ballad upon her story was written by Thomas

Churchyard (who died in 1604) and is included in the _Mirror for_

_Magistrates_. The ballad here printed is attributed to Thomas

Deloney, and was entered on the books of the Stationers' Company

to William White, printer, on the 11th of June, 1603, but no copy

of this edition is known to exist. Mr. Chappell remarks that no

copy in any of the collections can be dated "earlier than Charles

the Second's time, or at most than the Protectorate" (_Roxburghe

Ballads_, vol. i. p. 479). It is printed in the _Collection of

Old Ballads_, 1723 (vol. i. p. 145), and in the same collection

is a burlesque song called _King Edward and Jane Shore_ (vol. i.

p. 153). The Roxburghe copy has a second part which Mr. Chappell

says is "probably by another hand and of later date." Deloney has

paid very little attention to facts, and many of his statements are

groundless, for instance no one was hanged for succouring Jane (vv.

105-112), and instead of dying of hunger in a ditch (vv. 125-132),

she survived her penance nearly fifty years. (She died in the

18th year of Henry VIII.'s reign.) Her husband is named Matthew

Shore in verse 13, but we have the best authority for affirming

that his true name was William. Richard III. followed Jane Shore

with unrelenting hate, and not content with making her do penance,

clapping her in prison and depriving her of all her property, which

amounted to the value of 3000 marks, equal to about _£_20,000 of

our present money, he prevented her from marrying a respectable man.

There is no date to the paper printed above, but as John Russell,

D.D., Bishop of Lincoln, was Richard's Chancellor only from Nov.

1484 to July 1485, we can fix it pretty closely.

According to Mr. Nugent Bell, in his _Huntingdon Peerage_, the name

of the father of Jane Shore was Thomas Wainstead. Granger says

that the Duchess of Montagu had a lock of her hair which looked as

if it had been powdered with gold dust. For further information,

see _Some Particulars of the Life of Jane Shore_, by the Rev. Mark

Noble, in Brayley's _Graphic Illustrator_, pp. 49-64.]

* * * * *

Of Rosamonde that was so faire,

Had cause her sorrowes to declare,

Then let Jane Shore with sorrowe sing,

That was beloved of a king.

In maiden yeares my beautye bright 5

Was loved dear of lord and knight;

But yet the love that they requir'd,

It was not as my friends desir'd.

My parents they, for thirst of gaine,

A husband for me did obtaine; 10

And I, their pleasure to fulfille,

Was forc'd to wedd against my wille.

To Matthew Shore I was a wife,

Till lust brought ruine to my life;

And then my life I lewdlye spent, 15

Which makes my soul for to lament.

In Lombard-street I once did dwelle,

As London yet can witness welle;

Where many gallants did beholde

My beautye in a shop of golde. 20

I spred my plumes, as wantons doe,

Some sweet and secret friende to wooe,

Because chast love I did not finde

Agreeing to my wanton minde.

At last my name in court did ring 25

Into the eares of Englandes king,

Who came and lik'd, and love requir'd,

But I made coye what he desir'd;

Yet Mistress Blague, a neighbour neare,

Whose friendship I esteemed deare, 30

Did saye, It was a gallant thing

To be beloved of a king.

By her persuasions I was led,

For to defile my marriage-bed,

And wronge my wedded husband Shore, 35

Whom I had married yeares before.

In heart and mind I did rejoyce,

That I had made so sweet a choice;

And therefore did my state resigne,

To be king Edward's concubine. 40

From city then to court I went,

To reape the pleasures of content;

There had the joyes that love could bring,

And knew the secrets of a king.

When I was thus advanc'd on highe 45

Commanding Edward with mine eye,

For Mrs. Blague I in short space

Obtainde a livinge from his grace.

No friende I had but in short time

I made unto a promotion climbe; 50

But yet for all this costlye pride,

My husbande could not mee abide.

His bed, though wronged by a king,

His heart with deadlye griefe did sting;

From England then he goes away 55

To end his life beyond the sea.

He could not live to see his name

Impaired by my wanton shame;

Although a prince of peerlesse might

Did reape the pleasure of his right. 60

Long time I lived in the courte,

With lords and ladies of great sorte;

And when I smil'd all men were glad,

But when I frown'd my prince grewe sad.

But yet a gentle minde I bore 65

To helplesse people, that were poore;

I still redrest the orphans crye,

And sav'd their lives condemnd to dye.

I still had ruth on widowes tears,

I succour'd babes of tender yeares; 70

And never look'd for other gaine

But love and thankes for all my paine.

At last my royall king did dye,

And then my dayes of woe grew nighe;

When crook-back Richard got the crowne, 75

King Edwards friends were soon put downe.

I then was punisht for my sin,

That I so long had lived in;

Yea, every one that was his friend,

This tyrant brought to shamefull end. 80

Then for my lewd and wanton life,

That made a strumpet of a wife,

I penance did in Lombard-street,

In shamefull manner in a sheet.

Where many thousands did me viewe, 85

Who late in court my credit knewe;

Which made the teares run down my face,

To thinke upon my foul disgrace.

Not thus content, they took from mee

My goodes, my livings, and my fee, 90

And charg'd that none should me relieve,

Nor any succour to me give.

Then unto Mrs. Blague I went,

To whom my jewels I had sent,

In hope therebye to ease my want, 95

When riches fail'd, and love grew scant:

But she denyed to me the same

When in my need for them I came:

To recompence my former love,

Out of her doores shee did me shove. 100

So love did vanish with my state,

Which now my soul repents too late;

Therefore example take by mee,

For friendship parts in povertie.

But yet one friend among the rest, 105

Whom I before had seen distrest,

And sav'd his life, condemn'd to die,

Did give me food to succour me:

For which, by lawe, it was decreed

That he was hanged for that deed; 110

His death did grieve me so much more,

Than had I dyed myself therefore.

Then those to whom I had done good,

Durst not afford me any food;

Whereby I begged all the day, 115

And still in streets by night I lay.

My gowns beset with pearl and gold,

Were turn'd to simple garments old;

My chains and gems and golden rings,

To filthy rags and loathsome things. 120

Thus was I scorn'd of maid and wife,

For leading such a wicked life;

Both sucking babes and children small,

Did make their pastime at my fall.

I could not get one bit of bread, 125

Whereby my hunger might be fed:

Nor drink, but such as channels yield,

Or stinking ditches in the field.

Thus, weary of my life, at lengthe

I yielded up my vital strength 130

Within a ditch of loathsome scent,

Where carrion dogs did much frequent:

The which now since my dying daye,

Is Shoreditch call'd, as writers saye[741];

Which is a witness of my sinne, 135

For being concubine to a king.

You wanton wives, that fall to lust,

Be you assur'd that God is just;

Whoredome shall not escape his hand,

Nor pride unpunish'd in this land. 140

If God to me such shame did bring,

That yielded only to a king,

How shall they scape that daily run

To practise sin with every one?

You husbands, match not but for love, 145

Lest some disliking after prove;

Women, be warn'd when you are wives,

What plagues are due to sinful lives:

Then, maids and wives, in time amend,

For love and beauty will have end. 150

FOOTNOTES:

[739] After the death of Hastings, she was kept by the marquis of

Dorset, son to Edward IV.'s queen. In Rymer's _F[oe]dera_ is a

proclamation of Richard's, dated at Leicester, Oct. 23, 1483, wherein

a reward of 1000 marks in money, or 100 a year in land is offered for

taking "Thomas late marquis of Dorset," who, "not having the fear of

God, nor the salvation of his own soul, before his eyes, has damnably

debauched and defiled many maids, widows, and wives, and _lived in

actual adultery with the wife of Shore_." Buckingham was at that

time in rebellion, but as Dorset was not with him, Richard could not

accuse him of treason, and therefore made a handle of these pretended

debaucheries to get him apprehended. Vide _Rym. F[oe]d._ tom. xij. pag.

204.

[The Rev. Mark Noble writes as follows of the charge made by

Richard of Dorset's living in adultery with Jane Shore.--"It could

not be before she was taken by Edward; it could not be during that

king's life; it could not be afterwards, by Richard's own account,

for by his proclamation she then was the mistress of Hastings to

the night preceding his being put to death. It could not be after

that catastrophe, for ever after then Richard kept her either in

the Tower or in Ludgate a close prisoner."--_Brayley's Graphic

and Historical Illustrator_, 1834, p. 55.]

[740] These words of Sir Thomas More probably suggested to Shakespeare

that proverbial reflection in _Hen. VIII._ act iv. sc. 2.

"Men's evill manners live in brass: their virtues

We write in water."

Shakesp. in his play of _Rich. III._ follows More's _Hist._ of that

reign, and therefore could not but see this passage.

[741] But it had this name long before; being so called from its being

a common Sewer (vulgarly Shore) or drain. See Stow.

[Weever states that it was named from the Lord of the Manor. Sir John

de Sordig was Ambassador from Edward III. to the Pope, to remonstrate

with his Holiness on his claim to present foreigners to English

livings.]

XXVII.

CORYDON'S DOLEFUL KNELL.

This little simple elegy is given, with some corrections, from two

copies, one of which is in _The golden garland of princely delights_.

The burthen of the song, _Ding Dong_, &c. is at present appropriated

to burlesque subjects, and therefore may excite only ludicrous ideas

in a modern reader; but in the time of our poet it usually accompanied

the most solemn and mournful strains. Of this kind is that fine aërial

Dirge in Shakespear's _Tempest_:

"Full fadom five thy father lies,

Of his bones are corrall made;

Those are pearles that were his eyes;

Nothing of him, that doth fade,

But doth suffer a sea-change

Into something rich and strange:

Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell,

Harke now I heare them, Ding dong bell."

"Burthen, Ding Dong."

I make no doubt but the poet intended to conclude the above air in a

manner the most solemn and expressive of melancholy.

* * * * *

My Phillida, adieu love!

For evermore farewel!

Ay me! I've lost my true love,

And thus I ring her knell,

Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong, 5

My Phillida is dead!

I'll stick a branch of willow

At my fair Phillis' head.

For my fair Phillida

Our bridal bed was made: 10

But 'stead of silkes so gay,

She in her shroud is laid.

Ding, &c.

Her corpse shall be attended

By maides in fair array,

Till the obsequies are ended, 15

And she is wrapt in clay.

Ding, &c.

Her herse it shall be carried

By youths, that do excell;

And when that she is buried,

I thus will ring her knell, 20

Ding, &c.

A garland shall be framed

By art and natures skill,

Of sundry-colour'd flowers,

In token of good-will[742]:

Ding, &c.

And sundry-colour'd ribbands 25

On it I will bestow;

But chiefly black and yellowe[743]:

With her to grave shall go.

Ding, &c.

I'll decke her tomb with flowers,

The rarest ever seen, 30

And with my tears, as showers,

I'll keepe them fresh and green.

Ding, &c.

Instead of fairest colours,

Set forth with curious art[744],

Ding, &c.

Her image shall be painted 35

On my distressed heart.

And thereon shall be graven

Her epitaph so faire,

"Here lies the loveliest maiden,

That e'er gave shepheard care." 40

Ding, &c.

In sable will I mourne;

Blacke shall be all my weede;

Ay me! I am forlorne,

Now Phillida is dead!

Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong,

My Phillida is dead! 46

I'll stick a branch of willow

At my fair Phillis' head

FOOTNOTES:

[742] It is a custom in many parts of England, to carry a flowery

garland before the corpse of a woman who dies unmarried. [For further

note on this custom, see _The Bride's Burial_, vol iii. Book II. No.

13.]

[743] See above, preface to No. XI. Book II.

[744] This alludes to the painted effigies of alabaster, anciently

erected upon tombs and monuments.

THE END OF THE SECOND BOOK.

[Illustration]

RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY, ETC.

SERIES THE SECOND.

Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, Volume 2 (of 3) Consisting of Old Heroic Ballads, Songs and Other Pieces of Our Earlier Poets Together With Some Few of Later Date · 第 4 / 6 章

"thou must tell me thy name," sais Charles, my Lord Haward,