[Illustration]
[Illustration]
I.
THE COMPLAINT OF CONSCIENCE.
I shall begin this third book with an old allegoric Satire; a manner
of moralizing, which, if it was not first introduced by the author of
_Pierce Plowman's Visions_,[745] was at least chiefly brought into
repute by that ancient Satirist. It is not so generally known that the
kind of verse used in this ballad hath any affinity with the peculiar
metre of that writer, for which reason I shall throw together some
cursory remarks on that very singular species of versification, the
nature of which has been so little understood.[746]
The following Song, intitled, _The Complaint of Conscience_, is
printed from the Editor's folio Manuscript: Some corruptions in the
old copy are here corrected; but with notice to the Reader, wherever
it was judged necessary, by inclosing the corrections between inverted
'commas.'
* * * * *
[This poem entitled _Conscience_ is printed in Hales and
Furnivall's edition of the Percy folio MS. (vol. ii. p. 174), with
a long preface by Mr. Furnivall, on the earnest side of Early
English literature.
It will be seen from the foot-notes that Percy left many of his
corrections unnoticed.]
* * * * *
As I walked of late by 'an' wood side,[747]
To God for to meditate was my entent;
Where under a hawthorne I suddenlye spyed[748]
A silly poore creature ragged and rent,
With bloody teares his face was besprent,[749] 5
His fleshe and his color consumed away,[749]
And his garments they were all mire, mucke, and clay.[750]
This made me muse, and much 'to' desire
To know what kind of man hee shold bee;
I stept to him straight, and did him require 10
His name and his secretts to shew unto mee.
His head he cast up, and wooful was hee,
My name, quoth he, is the cause of my care,
And makes me scorned, and left here so bare.
Then straightway he turn'd him, and pray'd 'me' sit downe,[751] 15
And I will, saithe he, declare my whole greefe;
My name is called CONSCIENCE:--wheratt he did frowne,
He pined to repeate it, and grinded his teethe,
'Thoughe now, silly wretche, I'm denyed all releef,'[752]
'Yet' while I was young, and tender of yeeres,[753] 20
I was entertained with kinges, and with peeres.
There was none in the court that lived in such fame,[754]
For with the kings councell 'I' sate in commission;[755]
Dukes, earles, and barrons esteem'd of my name;
And how that I liv'd there needs no repetition: 25
I was ever holden in honest condition,
For howsoever the lawes went in Westminster-hall,
When sentence was given, for me they wold call.
No incomes at all the landlords wold take,
But one pore peny, that was their fine; 30
And that they acknowledged to be for my sake.
The poore wold doe nothing without councell mine:
I ruled the world with the right line:
For nothing was passed betweene foe and friend,[756]
But Conscience was called to bee at 'the' end.[757] 35
Noe bargaines, nor merchandize merchants wold make[758]
But I was called a wittenesse therto:
No use for noe money, nor forfett wold take,
But I wold controule them, if that they did soe:
'And' that makes me live now in great woe, 40
For then came in Pride, Sathan's disciple,
That is now entertained with all kind of people.[759]
He brought with him three, whose names 'thus they call'[760]
That is Covetousnes, Lecherye, Usury, beside:
They never prevail'd, till they had wrought my downefall; 45
Soe Pride was entertained, but Conscience decried,[761]
And 'now ever since' abroad have I tryed[762]
To have had entertainment with some one or other;
But I am rejected, and scorned of my brother.
Then went I to the Court the gallants to winn, 50
But the porter kept me out of the gate:[763]
To Bartlemew Spittle[764] to pray for my sinne,[765]
They bade me goe packe, it was fitt for my state;[766]
Goe, goe, threed-bare Conscience, and seeke thee a mate.
Good Lord, long preserve my king, prince, and queene, 55
With whom evermore I esteemed have been.[767]
Then went I to London, where once I did 'dwell':[768]
But they bade away with me, when they knew my name;
For he will undoe us to bye and to sell! 59
They bade me goe packe me, and hye me for shame;
They lought[769] at my raggs, and there had good game;
This is old threed-bare Conscience, that dwelt with saint Peter:
But they wold not admitt me to be a chimney-sweeper.
Not one wold receive me, the Lord 'he' doth know;[770]
I having but one poor pennye in my purse, 65
On an awle and some patches I did it bestow;[771]
'For' I thought better cobble shooes than doe worse.[772]
Straight then all the coblers began for to curse,[773]
And by statute wold prove me a rogue, and forlorne,[774]
And whipp me out of towne to 'seeke' where I was borne.[775] 70
Then did I remember, and call to my minde,
The Court of Conscience where once I did sit:[776]
Not doubting but there I some favor shold find,[777]
For my name and the place agreed soe fit;
But there of my purpose I fayled a whit, 75
For 'thoughe' the judge us'd my name in everye 'commission,'[778]
The lawyers with their quillets[779] wold get 'my' dismission.[780]
Then Westminster-hall was noe place for me;
Good lord! how the Lawyers began to assemble,[781]
And fearfull they were, lest there I shold bee! 80
The silly poore clarkes began for to tremble;
I showed them my cause, and did not dissemble;
Soe they gave me some money my charges to beare,[782]
But swore me on a booke I must never come there.
Next the Merchants said, Counterfeite, get thee away,[783] 85
Dost thou remember how wee thee found?
We banisht thee the country beyond the salt sea,
And sett thee on shore in the New-found land;
And there thou and wee most friendly shook hand,[784]
And we were right glad when thou didst refuse us;[785]
For when we wold reape profitt here thou woldst accuse
us.[786] 91
Then had I noe way, but for to goe on[787]
To Gentlemens houses of an ancyent name;
Declaring my greeffes, and there I made moane,
'Telling' how their forefathers held me in fame:[788] 95
And at letting their farmes 'how always I came'.[789]
They sayd, Fye upon thee! we may thee curse:
'Theire' leases continue, and we fare the worse.[790]
And then I was forced a begging to goe
To husbandmens houses, who greeved right sore, 100
And sware that their landlords had plagued them so[791]
That they were not able to keepe open doore,
Nor nothing had left to give to the poore:[792]
Therefore to this wood I doe me repayre,[793]
Where hepps and hawes, that is my best fare. 105
Yet within this same desert some comfort I have
Of Mercy, of Pittye, and of Almes-deeds;
Who have vowed to company me to my grave.
Wee are 'all' put to silence, and live upon weeds,[794]
'And hence such cold house-keeping proceeds':[795] 110
Our banishment is its utter decay,[796]
The which the riche glutton will answer one day.
Why then, I said to him, me-thinks it were best
To goe to the Clergie; for dailye they preach
Eche man to love you above all the rest;[797] 115
Of Mercye, and Pittie, and Almes-'deeds', they teach.
O, said he, noe matter of a pin what they preach,[798]
For their wives and their children soe hange them upon,[799]
That whosoever gives almes they will[800] give none.[801]
Then laid he him down, and turned him away, 120
'And' prayd me to goe, and leave him to rest.
I told him, I haplie might yet see the day[802]
For him and his fellowes to live with the best.[803]
First, said he, banish Pride, then all England were blest;[804]
For then those wold love us, that now sell their land,[805] 125
And then good 'house-keeping wold revive' out of hand.[806]
FOOTNOTES:
[745] [The correct title is _William's Vision of Piers Plowman_. It is
William (the author) who has the vision of Piers Plowman.]
[746] [This essay is printed as an Appendix.]
[747] Ver. 1. one, MS.
[748] [V. 3. espyed, MS.]
[749] [Between vv. 5, 6 the MS. has this line, "with turning and
winding his bodye was toste."]
[750] [After v. 7, the MS. has the following lines:--
"good lord! of my liffe deprive me, I pray
for I silly wretch am ashamed of my name!
my name, "quoth hee," is the cause of my care,
and I cursse my godfathers that gave me the same!"
Percy omits three of these, and transfers the third line to v. 13.]
[751] V. 15. him, MS.
[752] V. 19. not in MS.
[753] [V. 20. _for_ in place of _yet_, MS.]
[754] [Ver. 22. in all the court.]
[755] V. 23. he sate, MS.
[756] [V. 34. that was passed.]
[757] V. 35. an end, MS.
[758] [V. 36. Noe merchandize nor bargaines the merchants wold make.]
[759] [V. 42. now is.]
[760] V. 43. they be these, MS.
[761] V. 46. was deride, MS.
[762] [V. 47. Yet still abroad have I tried.]
[763] [Ver. 51. gates.]
[764] [St. Bartholomew's Hospital.]
[765] [V. 52. sinnes.]
[766] V. 53. packe me, MS.
[767] [V. 56. have esteemed.]
[768] V. 57. wonne, MS.
[769] [laughed.]
[770] [V. 64. the Lord God doth.]
[771] [V. 66. of an.]
[772] [V. 67. I thought better to cobble shoes than to doe worse.]
[773] [V. 68. all they cobblers.]
[774] [V. 69. and by statute thé wold prove me I was a rouge and
forlorne.]
[775] [V. 70. And they whipt me out of towne to see where I was borne.]
[776] [Ver. 72. they Court.]
[777] [V. 73. some favor I.]
[778] [V. 76. did use my name in everye condicion.]
[779] [quibbles.]
[780] [V. 77. for lawyers get a.]
[781] [V. 79. good god.]
[782] [V. 83. soe then they.]
[783] [V. 85. then the merchants.]
[784] [V. 89. hands.]
[785] [V. 90. verry glad ... did ...]
[786] [V. 91. wold.]
[787] [V. 92. goe an.]
[788] [V. 95. and how ... had held, MS.]
[789] [Ver. 96. and in letting of their ffarmes I always used the same.]
[790] [V. 98. they have leases.]
[791] [V. 101. who sware ... so sore.]
[792] [V. 103. thé had.]
[793] [V. 104. doe repayre.]
[794] V. 109. ill, MS.
[795] V. 110. not in MS.
[796] [V. 111. their utter.]
[797] [V. 115. of pittie and of almes they doe teach.]
[798] [V. 117. doe preach.]
[799] [V. 118. hangs.]
[800] We ought in justice and truth to read '_can_
[801] V. 119. almes-deeds, MS.
[802] [Ver. 122. I might happen to see.]
[803] [V. 123. to have him.]
[804] [V. 124. you must banish pride and then.]
[805] [V. 125. and then ... sells their lands.]
[806] V. 126. houses every where wold be kept, MS.
II.
PLAIN TRUTH AND BLIND IGNORANCE.
This excellent old ballad is preserved in the little ancient
miscellany, intitled, _The Garland of Goodwill_.--_Ignorance_ is here
made to speak in the broad Somersetshire dialect. The scene we may
suppose to be Glastonbury Abbey.
* * * * *
TRUTH.
God speed you, ancient father,
And give you a good daye;
What is the cause, I praye you
So sadly here you staye?
And that you keep such gazing 5
On this decayed place,
The which, for superstition,
Good princes down did raze?
IGNORANCE.
Chill[807] tell thee, by my vazen[808],
That zometimes che[809] have knowne 10
A vair and goodly abbey
Stand here of bricke and stone;
And many a holy vrier[810],
As ich[811] may say to thee,
Within these goodly cloysters
Che did full often zee. 15
TRUTH.
Then I must tell thee, father,
In truthe and veritiè,
A sorte of greater hypocrites
Thou couldst not likely see; 20
Deceiving of the simple
With false and feigned lies:
But such an order truly
Christ never did devise.
IGNORANCE.
Ah! ah! che zmell thee now, man; 25
Che know well what thou art;
A vellow of mean learning,
Thee was not worth a vart:
Vor when we had the old lawe,
A merry world was then; 30
And every thing was plenty
Among all zorts of men.
TRUTH.
Thou givest me an answer,
As did the Jewes sometimes
Unto the prophet Jeremye, 35
When he accus'd their crimes;
'Twas merry, sayd the people,
And joyfull in our rea'me,
When we did offer spice-cakes
Unto the queen of heav'n. 40
IGNORANCE.
Chill tell thee what, good vellowe,
Before the vriers went hence,
A bushell of the best wheatè
Was zold vor vourteen pence;
And vorty egges a penny, 45
That were both good and newe;
And this che zay my zelf have zeene,
And yet ich am no Jewe.
TRUTH.
Within the sacred bible
We find it written plain, 50
The latter days should troublesome
And dangerous be, certaine;
That we should be self-lovers,
And charity wax colde;
Then 'tis not true religion 55
That makes thee grief to holde.
IGNORANCE.
Chill tell thee my opinion plaine,
And choul'd[812] that well ye knewe,
Ich care not for the bible booke;
Tis too big to be true.
Our blessed ladyes psalter
Zhall for my money goe;
Zuch pretty prayers, as there bee[813],
The bible cannot zhowe.
TRUTH.
Nowe hast thou spoken trulye, 65
For in that book indeede
No mention of our lady,
Or Romish saint we read:
For by the blessed Spirit
That book indited was, 70
And not by simple persons,
As was the foolish masse.
IGNORANCE.
Cham[814] zure they were not voolishe
That made the masse, che trowe;
Why, man,'tis all in Latine, 75
And vools no Latine knowe.
Were not our fathers wise men,
And they did like it well;
Who very much rejoyced
To heare the zacring bell?[815] 80
TRUTH.
But many kinges and prophets,
As I may say to thee,
Have wisht the light that you have,
And could it never see:
For what art thou the better 85
A Latin song to heare,
And understandest nothing,
That they sing in the quiere?
IGNORANCE.
O hold thy peace, che pray thee,
The noise was passing trim 90
To heare the vriers zinging,
As we did enter in;
And then to zee the rood-loft
Zo bravely zet with zaints;--
But now to zee them wandring 95
My heart with zorrow vaints.
TRUTH.
The Lord did give commandment,
No image thou shouldst make,
Nor that unto idolatry
You should your self betake: 100
The golden calf of Israel
Moses did therefore spoile;
And Baal's priests and temple
Were brought to utter foile.
IGNORANCE.
But our lady of Walsinghame 105
Was a pure and holy zaint,
And many men in pilgrimage
Did shew to her complaint.
Yea with zweet Thomas Becket,
And many other moe: 110
The holy maid of Kent[816] likewise
Did many wonders zhowe.
TRUTH.
Such saints are well agreeing
To your profession sure;
And to the men that made them 115
So precious and so pure;
The one for being a traytoure,
Met an untimely death;
The other eke for treason
Did end her hateful breath. 120
IGNORANCE.
Yea, yea, it is no matter,
Dispraise them how you wille:
But zure they did much goodnesse;
Would they were with us stille!
We had our holy water, 125
And holy bread likewise,
And many holy reliques
We zaw before our eyes.
TRUTH.
And all this while they fed you
With vain and empty showe, 130
Which never Christ commanded,
As learned doctors knowe:
Search then the holy scriptures,
And thou shalt plainly see
That headlong to damnation 135
They alway trained thee.
IGNORANCE.
If it be true, good vellowe,
As thou dost zay to mee,
Unto my heavenly fader
Alone then will I flee: 140
Believing in the Gospel,
And passion of his zon,
And with the zubtil papistes
Ich have for ever done.
FOOTNOTES:
[807] [I will.]
[808] _i.e._ faithen: as in the Midland counties they say housen,
closen, for houses, closes. _A._
[809] [I.]
[810] [friar.]
[811] [I.]
[812] [I would.]
[813] Probably alluding to the illuminated Psalters, Missals, &c.
[814] [I am.]
[815] [the sacring bell was rung to give notice of the elevation of the
host.]
[816] By name Eliz. Barton, executed Apr. 21, 1534. Stow, p. 570.
III.
THE WANDERING JEW.
The story of the Wandering Jew is of considerable antiquity: it had
obtained full credit in this part of the world before the year 1228,
as we learn from Mat. Paris. For in that year, it seems, there came an
Armenian archbishop into England, to visit the shrines and reliques
preserved in our churches; who, being entertained at the monastery of
St. Albans, was asked several questions relating to his country, &c.
Among the rest a monk, who sat near him, inquired, "if he had ever seen
or heard of the famous person named Joseph, that was so much talked
of; who was present at our Lord's crucifixion and conversed with him,
and who was still alive in confirmation of the Christian faith." The
archbishop answered, That the fact was true. And afterwards one of his
train, who was well known to a servant of the abbot's, interpreting his
master's words, told them in French, "That his lord knew the person
they spoke of very well: that he had dined at his table but a little
while before he left the East: that he had been Pontius Pilate's
porter, by name Cartaphilus; who, when they were dragging Jesus out of
the door of the Judgment-hall, struck him with his fist on the back,
saying, 'Go faster, Jesus, go faster: why dost thou linger?' Upon
which Jesus looked at him with a frown and said, 'I indeed am going,
but thou shall tarry till I come.' Soon after he was converted, and
baptized by the name of Joseph. He lives for ever, but at the end of
every hundred years falls into an incurable illness, and at length into
a fit or ecstacy, out of which when he recovers, he returns to the same
state of youth he was in when Jesus suffered, being then about thirty
years of age. He remembers all the circumstances of the death and
resurrection of Christ, the saints that arose with him, the composing
of the apostles' creed, their preaching, and dispersion; and is himself
a very grave and holy person." This is the substance of Matthew Paris's
account, who was himself a monk of St. Albans, and was living at the
time when this Armenian archbishop made the above relation.
Since his time several impostors have appeared at intervals under the
name and character of the _Wandering Jew_; whose several histories
may be seen in Calmet's _Dictionary of the Bible_. See also the
_Turkish Spy_, vol. ii. book 3, let. 1. The story that is copied in
the following ballad is of one, who appeared at Hamburgh in 1547, and
pretended he had been a Jewish shoemaker at the time of Christ's
crucifixion.--The ballad however seems to be of later date. It is
preserved in black-letter in the Pepys collection.
* * * * *
[This wondrous myth has found its way into many literatures, and
numerous theories have been brought forward to account for its
universality; but the only foundation for it appears to be in
Christ's words--"tarry till I come." Mons. Paul Lacroix, however,
suggests that it took its rise in a grand and beautiful allegory
in which the Hebrew race were personified under the figure of the
Everlasting Wanderer. Professor Child makes the following pertinent
remark in his _English and Scottish Ballads_ (vol. viii. p. 78).
"It will be noticed that in the second form of the legend, the
punishment of perpetual existence, which gives rise to the old
names, _Judæus non mortalis_, _Ewiger Jude_, is aggravated by a
condemnation to incessant change of place, which is indicated by a
corresponding name, _Wandering Jew_, _Juif Errant_, &c."
In the Middle Ages it was supposed by some that Cain was the
Wandering Jew, but the Mahometan belief was fixed upon Samiri, who,
during the absence of Moses, enticed the people to worship the
golden calf. In G. Weil's _The Bible, the Koran, and the Talmud_,
1846 (p. 127), we read, "Moses then summoned Samiri, and would have
put him to death instantly, but Allah directed that he should be
sent into banishment. Ever since that time he roams like a wild
beast throughout the world; everyone shuns him and purifies the
ground on which his feet have stood; and he himself, whenever he
approaches men, exclaims, 'Touch me not.'" (Quoted in Buckle's
_Common Place Book_. _Works_, vol. ii. p. 502, 1872.)
The legend has been localized in various parts of the world and
connected with other myths. According to Mr. Baring Gould, a
similar curse to that under which the Wandering Jew is living is
supposed to have been inflicted upon the gipsies, on account of
their refusal to shelter the Virgin and Child in the flight into
Egypt.
The last recorded appearance of the Wandering Jew was at Brussels
in April, 1774, and the wanderer's name was Isaac Laquedem. The
name of the Hamburgh impostor, mentioned above by Percy, was
Ahasuerus.]
* * * * *
When as in faire Jerusalem
Our Saviour Christ did live,
And for the sins of all the worlde
His own deare life did give;
The wicked Jewes with scoffes and scornes 5
Did dailye him molest,
That never till he left his life,
Our Saviour could not rest.
When they had crown'd his head with thornes,
And scourg'd him to disgrace, 10
In scornfull sort they led him forthe
Unto his dying place;
Where thousand thousands in the streete
Beheld him passe along,
Yet not one gentle heart was there, 15
That pityed this his wrong.
Both old and young reviled him,
As in the streete he wente,
And nought he found but churlish tauntes,
By every ones consente: 20
His owne deare crosse he bore himselfe,
A burthen far too great,
Which made him in the street to fainte,
With blood and water sweat.
Being weary thus, he sought for rest, 25
To ease his burthened soule,
Upon a stone; the which a wretch
Did churlishly controule;
And sayd, Awaye, thou king of Jewes,
Thou shalt not rest thee here; 30
Pass on; thy execution place
Thou seest nowe draweth neare.
And thereupon he thrust him thence;
At which our Saviour sayd,
I sure will rest, but thou shalt walke, 35
And have no journey stayed.
With that this cursed shoemaker,
For offering Christ this wrong,
Left wife and children, house and all,
And went from thence along. 40
Where after he had seene the bloude
Of Jesus Christ thus shed,
And to the crosse his bodye nail'd,
Awaye with speed he fled
Without returning backe againe 45
Unto his dwelling place,
And wandred up and downe the worlde,
A runnagate most base.
No resting could he finde at all,
No ease, nor hearts content; 50
No house, nor home, nor biding place:
But wandring forth he went
From towne to towne in foreigne landes,
With grieved conscience still,
Repenting for the heinous guilt 55
Of his fore-passed ill.
Thus after some fewe ages past
In wandring up and downe;
He much again desired to see
Jerusalems renowne, 60
But finding it all quite destroyd,
He wandred thence with woe,
Our Saviours wordes, which he had spoke,
To verifie and showe.
"I'll rest, sayd hee, but thou shalt walke," 65
So doth this wandring Jew
From place to place, but cannot rest
For seeing countries newe;
Declaring still the power of him,
Whereas he comes or goes, 70
And of all things done in the east,
Since Christ his death, he showes.
The world he hath still compast round
And seene those nations strange,
That hearing of the name of Christ, 75
Their idol gods doe change:
To whom he hath told wondrous thinges
Of time forepast, and gone,
And to the princes of the worlde
Declares his cause of moane: 80
Desiring still to be dissolv'd,
And yeild his mortal breath;
But, if the Lord hath thus decreed,
He shall not yet see death.
For neither lookes he old nor young, 85
But as he did those times,
When Christ did suffer on the crosse
For mortall sinners crimes.
He hath past through many a foreigne place,
Arabia, Egypt, Africa, 90
Grecia, Syria, and great Thrace,
And throughout all Hungaria.
Where Paul and Peter preached Christ,
Those blest apostles deare;
There he hath told our Saviours wordes, 95
In countries far, and neare.
And lately in Bohemia,
With many a German towne;
And now in Flanders, as tis thought,
He wandreth up and downe: 100
Where learned men with him conferre
Of those his lingering dayes,
And wonder much to heare him tell
His journeyes, and his wayes.
If people give this Jew an almes, 105
The most that he will take
Is not above a groat a time:
Which he, for Jesus' sake,
Will kindlye give unto the poore,
And thereof make no spare, 110
Affirming still that Jesus Christ
Of him hath dailye care.
He ne'er was seene to laugh nor smile,
But weepe and make great moane;
Lamenting still his miseries, 115
And dayes forepast and gone:
If he heare any one blaspheme,
Or take God's name in vaine,
He telles them that they crucifie
Their Saviour Christe againe. 120
If you had seene his death, saith he,
As these mine eyes have done,
Ten thousand thousand times would yee
His torments think upon:
And suffer for his sake all paine 125
Of torments, and all woes.
These are his wordes and eke his life
Whereas he comes or goes.
[Illustration]
IV.
THE LYE,
BY SIR WALTER RALEIGH,
Is found in a very scarce miscellany intitled "_Davison's Poems, or
a poeticall Rapsodie divided into sixe books_.... The 4th impression
newly corrected and augmented, and put into a forme more pleasing to
the reader. Lond. 1621, 12mo." This poem is reported to have been
written by its celebrated author the night before his execution, Oct.
29, 1618. But this must be a mistake, for there were at least two
editions of Davison's poems before that time, one in 1608,[817] the
other in 1611.[818] So that unless this poem was an after-insertion in
the 4th edit. it must have been written long before the death of Sir
Walter: perhaps it was composed soon after his condemnation in 1603.
See Oldys's _Life of Sir W. Raleigh_, p. 173, fol.
* * * * *
[Hallam asserted that this favourite poem had been ascribed to
Raleigh without evidence and without probability. Ritson affirmed
that F. Davison was the author, and Ellis supported the claims of
Joshua Sylvester, but Dr. Hannah has proved conclusively that it
was really written by Raleigh. It was certainly composed before
1608, and probably about the period of its author's marriage and
his consequent imprisonment in the Tower. Dr. Hannah has brought
together a large amount of illustrative evidence in his interesting
edition of the _Courtly Poets_ (1872), and he shows that the
answerers of the poem attributed it to Raleigh. One of the answers
commences as follows--
"Go, echo of the mind, a careless truth protest;
Make answer that rude Rawly no stomach can digest."
He also draws attention to a transcript of the poem among the
Chetham MSS., made not long after Raleigh's death, and signed "Wa.
Raleigh."
In that remarkable book, _Sylvester's Remains_, printed at the
end of the translation of Du Bartas, 1641, _The Soules Errand_ is
inserted with some poor additional verses.]
* * * * *
Goe, soule, the bodies guest,
Upon a thankelesse arrant;
Feare not to touche the best,
The truth shall be thy warrant:
Goe, since I needs must dye, 5
And give the world the lye.
Goe tell the court, it glowes
And shines like rotten wood;
Goe tell the church it showes
What's good, and doth no good: 10
If church and court reply,
Then give them both the lye.
Tell potentates they live
Acting by others actions;
Not lov'd unlesse they give, 15
Not strong but by their factions;
If potentates reply,
Give potentates the lye.
Tell men of high condition,
That rule affairs of state, 20
Their purpose is ambition,
Their practise onely hate;
And if they once reply,
Then give them all the lye.
Tell them that brave it most, 25
They beg for more by spending,
Who in their greatest cost
Seek nothing but commending;
And if they make reply,
Spare not to give the lye. 30
Tell zeale, it lacks devotion;
Tell love it is but lust;
Tell time, it is but motion;
Tell flesh, it is but dust;
And wish them not reply, 35
For thou must give the lye.
Tell age, it daily wasteth;
Tell honour, how it alters;
Tell beauty, how she blasteth;
Tell favour, how she falters; 40
And as they shall reply,
Give each of them the lye.
Tell wit, how much it wrangles
In tickle points of nicenesse;
Tell wisedome, she entangles 45
Herselfe in over-wisenesse;
And if they do reply,
Straight give them both the lye.
Tell physicke of her boldnesse;
Tell skill, it is pretension; 50
Tell charity of coldness;
Tell law, it is contention;
And as they yield reply,
So give them still the lye.
Tell fortune of her blindnesse; 55
Tell nature of decay;
Tell friendship of unkindnesse;
Tell justice of delay:
And if they dare reply,
Then give them all the lye. 60
Tell arts, they have no soundnesse,
But vary by esteeming;
Tell schooles, they want profoundnesse,
And stand too much on seeming:
If arts and schooles reply, 65
Give arts and schooles the lye.
Tell faith, it's fled the citie;
Tell how the countrey erreth;
Tell, manhood shakes off pitie;
Tell, vertue least preferreth: 70
And, if they doe reply,
Spare not to give the lye.
So, when thou hast, as I
Commanded thee, done blabbing,
Although to give the lye 75
Deserves no less than stabbing,
Yet stab at thee who will,
No stab the soule can kill.
FOOTNOTES:
[817] _Catalog. of T. Rawlinson_, 1727.
[818] _Cat. of Sion coll. library._ This is either lost or mislaid.
V.
VERSES BY KING JAMES I.
In the first edition of this book were inserted, by way of specimen
of his majesty's poetic talents, some Punning Verses made on the
disputations at Sterling: but it having been suggested to the Editor,
that the king only gave the quibbling commendations in prose, and
that some obsequious court-rhymer put them into metre;[819] it was
thought proper to exchange them for two _Sonnets_ of K. James's own
composition. James was a great versifier, and therefore out of the
multitude of his poems we have here selected two, which (to shew our
impartiality) are written in his best and his worst manner. The first
would not dishonour any writer of that time; the second is a most
complete example of the Bathos.
* * * * *
[James I. commenced the practice of poetry at an early age, and
his first book was printed at Edinburgh by T. Vautroullier, in
1584, under the title of _The Essays of a Prentise in the divine
art of Poesie_. The king's next poetical venture was entitled,
_His Majesty's Poeticall Exercises at Vacant Houres_. Printed at
Edinburgh, by Robert Waldegrave, printer to the King's Majesty in
1591.]
* * * * *
A SONNET ADDRESSED BY KING JAMES TO HIS SON PRINCE HENRY.
From K. James's works in folio: Where is also printed another called
_his Majesty's_ OWN _Sonnet_; it would perhaps be too cruel to infer
from thence that this was _not_ his Majesty's _own_ Sonnet.
* * * * *
God gives not kings the stile of Gods in vaine,
For on his throne his scepter do they swey:
And as their subjects ought them to obey,
So kings should feare and serve their God againe.
If then ye would enjoy a happie reigne,
Observe the statutes of our heavenly king;
And from his law make all your laws to spring;
Since his lieutenant here ye should remaine.
Rewarde the just, be stedfast, true and plaine;
Represse the proud, maintayning aye the right;
Walke always so, as ever in HIS sight,
Who guardes the godly, plaguing the prophane.
And so ye shall in princely vertues shine,
Resembling right your mightie king divine.
* * * * *
A SONNET OCCASIONED BY THE BAD WEATHER WHICH HINDRED THE SPORTS AT
NEWMARKET IN JANUARY 1616.
This is printed from Drummond of Hawthornden's works, folio: where also
may be seen some verses of Lord Stirling's upon this Sonnet, which
concludes with the finest Anticlimax I remember to have seen.
* * * * *
How cruelly these catives do conspire?
What loathsome love breeds such a baleful band
Betwixt the cankred king of Creta land,[820]
That melancholy old and angry sire,
And him, who wont to quench debate and ire 5
Among the Romans, when his ports were clos'd?[821]
But now his double face is still dispos'd,
With Saturn's help, to freeze us at the fire.
The earth ore-covered with a sheet of snow,
Refuses food to fowl, to bird, and beast: 10
The chilling cold lets every thing to grow,
And surfeits cattle with a starving feast.
Curs'd be that love and mought[822] continue short,
Which kills all creatures, and doth spoil our sport.
FOOTNOTES:
[819] See a folio intitled _The Muses welcome to King James_.
[820] Saturn.
[821] Janus.
[822] _i.e._ may it.
VI.
K. JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY.
The common popular ballad of _King John and the Abbot_ seems to have
been abridged and modernized about the time of James I. from one much
older, intitled, _King John and the Bishop of Canterbury_. The
Editor's folio MS. contains a copy of this last, but in too corrupt a
state to be reprinted; it however afforded many lines worth reviving,
which will be found inserted in the ensuing stanzas.
The archness of the following questions and answers hath been much
admired by our old ballad-makers; for besides the two copies above
mentioned, there is extant another ballad on the same subject (but
of no great antiquity or merit), intitled, _King Olfrey and the
Abbot_.[823] Lastly, about the time of the civil wars, when the cry
ran against the Bishops, some Puritan worked up the same story into a
very doleful ditty, to a solemn tune, concerning _King Henry and a
Bishop_, with this stinging moral:
"Unlearned men hard matters out can find,
When learned bishops princes eyes do blind."
* * * * *
[All the copies of this ballad are of late date, but Mr. Chappell
says that the story upon which it is founded can be traced back
to the fifteenth century, and Dr. Rimbault so traces it to the
_Adventures of Howleglas_, printed in the Lower Saxon dialect
in 1483. Wynkyn de Worde printed in 1511 a collection of riddles
translated from the French, with the title _Demaundes Joyous_,
which are like those propounded by King John to the Abbot. Prof.
Child points out that by this link the ballad is connected with a
tolerably large literature of wit combats of the middle ages. (See
_English and Scottish Ballads_, vol. viii. p. 3.)
Copies of the puritan ballad referred to above are in the Pepys,
Douce, and Roxburghe collections. It commences as follows--
"In Popish times, when bishops proud
In England did bear sway,
Their lordships did like princes live,
And kept all at obey."
The ballad entitled _King John and Bishoppe_, in the folio MS. to
which Percy refers, is printed at the end of the following ballad.]
* * * * *
_The following is chiefly printed from an ancient black-letter
copy, to "The tune of Derry down."_
An ancient story Ile tell you anon
Of a notable prince, that was called king John;
And he ruled England with maine and with might,
For he did great wrong, and maintein'd little right.
And Ile tell you a story, a story so merrye, 5
Concerning the Abbot of Canterbùrye;
How for his house-keeping, and high renowne,
They rode poste for him to fair London towne.
An hundred men, the king did heare say,
The abbot kept in his house every day; 10
And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt,
In velvet coates waited the abbot about.
How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee,
Thou keepest a farre better house than mee,
And for thy house-keeping and high renowne, 15
I feare thou work'st treason against my crown.
My liege, quo' the abbot, I would it were knowne,
I never spend nothing, but what is my owne;
And I trust, your grace will doe me no deere,[824]
For spending of my owne true-gotten geere. 20
Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is highe,
And now for the same thou needest must dye;
For except thou canst answer me questions three,
Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodìe.
And first, quo' the king, when I'm in this stead, 25
With my crowne of golde so faire on my head,
Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,
Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe.
Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt,
How soone I may ride the whole worlde about. 30
And at the third question thou must not shrink,
But tell me here truly what I do think.
O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt,
Nor I cánnot answer your grace as yet:
But if you will give me but three weekes space, 35
Ile do my endeavour to answer your grace.
Now three weeks space to thee will I give,
And that is the longest time thou hast to live;
For if thou dost not answer my questions three,
Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to mee. 40
Away rode the abbot all sad at that word,
And he rode to Cambridge, and Oxenford;
But never a doctor there was so wise,
That could with his learning an answer devise.
Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold, 45
And he mett his shepheard a going to fold:
How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home;
What newes do you bring us from good king John?
"Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must give;
That I have but three days more to live: 50
For if I do not answer him questions three,
My head will be smitten from my bodìe.
The first is to tell him there in that stead,
With his crowne of golde so fair on his head,
Among all his liege men so noble of birth, 55
To within one penny of what he is worth.
The seconde, to tell him, without any doubt,
How soone he may ride this whole world about:
And at the third question I must not shrinke,
But tell him there truly what he does thinke." 60
Now cheare up, sire abbot, did you never hear yet,
That a fool he may learn a wise man witt?
Lend me horse, and serving men, and your apparel,
And I'll ride to London to answere your quarrel.
Nay frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee, 65
I am like your lordship, as ever may bee:
And if you will but lend me your gowne,
There is none shall knowe us at fair London towne.
"Now horses, and serving-men thou shalt have,
With sumptuous array most gallant and brave; 70
With crozier, and miter, and rochet, and cope,
Fit to appeare 'fore our fader the pope."
Now welcome, sire abbot, the king he did say,
Tis well thou'rt come back to keepe thy day;
For and if thou canst answer my questions three, 75
Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee.
And first, when thou seest me here in this stead.
With my crown of golde so fair on my head,
Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,
Tell me to one penny what I am worth. 80
"For thirty pence our Saviour was sold
Amonge the false Jewes, as I have bin told;
And twenty nine is the worth of thee,
For I thinke, thou art one penny worser than hee."
The king he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel[825], 85
I did not think I had been worth so littel!
--Now secondly tell me, without any doubt,
How soone I may ride this whole world about.
"You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same,
Until the next morning he riseth againe; 90
And then your grace need not make any doubt,
But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about."
The king he laughed, and swore by St. Jone,
I did not think, it could be gone so soone!
--Now from the third question thou must not shrinke,
But tell me here truly what I do thinke. 96
"Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry:
You thinke I'm the abbot of Canterbùry;
But I'm his poor shepheard, as plain you may see,
That am come to beg pardon for him and for mee."
The king he laughed, and swore by the masse, 101
Ile make thee lord abbot this day in his place!
"Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede,
For alacke I can neither write, ne reade."
Four nobles a weeke, then I will give thee, 105
For this merry jest thou hast showne unto mee;
And tell the old abbot when thou comest home,
Thou hast brought him a pardon from good king John.
[***]
* * * * *
[The following version is reprinted from Hales and Furnivall's
edition of the Percy Folio, vol. i. p. 508.
Off an ancient story Ile tell you anon,
of a notable prince that was called King Iohn,
in England was borne, with maine and with might
hee did much wrong, and mainteined litle right. 4
this noble prince was vexed in veretye,
for he was angry with the bishopp of canterbury
ffor his house-keeping and his good cheere,
thé rode post for him, as you shall heare; 8
they rode post for him very hastilye;
the King sayd the bishopp kept a better house then hee;
a 100 men euen, as I say,
the Bishopp kept in his house euerye day, 12
and 50 gold chaines without any doubt,
in veluett coates waited the Bishopp about.
the Bishopp, he came to the court anon
before his prince that was called King Iohn. 16
as soone as the Bishopp the King did see,
"O," quoth the King, "Bishopp, thou art welcome to mee!
there is noe man soe welcome to towne
as thou that workes treason against my crowne." 20
"My leege," quoth the Bishopp, "I wold it were knowne;
I spend, your grace, nothing but that thats my owne;
I trust your grace will doe me noe deare
for spending my owne trew gotten geere." 24
"Yes," quoth the King, "Bishopp, thou must needs dye:
eccept thou can answere mee questions 3,
thy head shalbe smitten quite from thy bodye,
and all thy liuing remayne vnto mee. 28
"first," quoth the King, "tell me in this steade,
with this crowne of gold heere vpon my head,
amongst my Nobilitye with Ioy and much Mirth,
lett me know within one pennye what I am worth: 32
Secondlye, tell me without any dowbt
how soone I may goe the whole world about:
and thirdly, tell mee or euer I stinte,
what is the thing, Bishopp, that I doe thinke. 36
20 dayes pardon thoust haue trulye,
and come againe and answere mee."
the Bishopp bade the King 'god night' att a word.
he rode betwixt Cambridge and Oxenford, 40
but neuer a Doctor there was soe wise
cold shew him these questions or enterprise;
wherewith the Bishopp was nothing gladd,
but in his hart was heauy and sadd, 44
and hyed him home to a house in the countrye
To ease some part of his Melanchollye.
hís halfe brother dwelt there, was feirce & fell,
noe better but a shepard to the Bishoppe him-sell; 48
the shepard came to the Bishopp anon,
saying, "my Lord, you are welcome home!
what ayles you," quoth the shepard, "that you are soe sadd,
and had wonte to haue beene soe merry & gladd?" 52
"Nothing," quoth the Bishopp, "I ayle att this time,
will not thee availe to know, Brother mine."
"Brother," quoth the Shepeard, "you haue heard itt,
that a ffoole may teach a wisemane witt; 56
say me therfore what-soeuer you will,
and if I doe you noe good, Ile doe you noe ill."
Quoth the Bishop: "I have beene att thy court anon,
before my prince is called King Iohn, 60
and there he hath charged mee
against his crowne with traitorye;
if I cannot answer his misterye,
3 questions hee hath propounded to mee, 64
he will haue my Land soe faire and free,
and alsoe the head from my bodye.
the first question was, 'to tell him in that stead
with the crowne of gold vpon his head, 68
amongst his nobilitye with Ioy & much mirth,
to lett him know within one penye what hee is worth;'
and secondlye 'to tell him with-out any doubt
how soone he may goe the whole world about;' 72
and thirdlye, 'to tell him, or ere I stint,
what is the thing that he does thinke.'"
"Brother," quoth the shepard, "you are a man of Learninge;
what neede you stand in doubt of soe small a thinge? 76
lend me," quoth the shepard, "your ministers apparrell,
Ile ryde to the court and answere your quarrell;
lend me your serving men, say me not nay;
with all your best horsses that ryd on the way, 80
Ile to the court, this matter to stay;
Ile speake with King Iohn & heare what heele say."
the Bishopp with speed prepared then
to sett forth the shepard with horsse and man; 84
the shepard was liuely with-out any doubt;
I wott a royall companye came to the court.
the shepard hee came to the court anon
before (his) prince that was called King Iohn. 88
as soone as the king the shepard did see,
"O," quoth the king, "Bishopp, thou art welcome to me!"
the shepard was soe like the Bishopp his brother,
the King cold not know the one from the other. 92
Quoth the King, "Bishopp, thou art welcome to me
if thou can answer me my questions 3!"
said the shepeard, "if it please your grace,
show mee what the first quest[i]on was." 96
"first" quoth the king, "tell mee in this stead
with the crowne of gold vpon my head,
amongst my nobilitye with Ioy and much mirth,
within one pennye what I am worth." 100
Quoth the shepard, "to make your grace noe offence,
I thinke you are worth 29 pence;
for our Lord Iesus, that bought vs all,
for 30 pence was sold into thrall 104
amongst the cursed Iewes, as I to you doe showe;
but I know christ was one penye better then you."
then the King laught, and swore by St Andrew
he was not thought to bee of such a small value. 108
"Secondlye, tell mee with-out any doubt
how soone I may goe the world round about,"
saies the shepard, "it is noe time with your grace to scorne;
but rise betime with the sun in the morne, 112
and follow his course till his vprising,
and then you may know with-out any Leasing--
and this your grace shall proue the same--
you are come to the same place from whence you came; 116
24 houres, with-out any doubt,
your grace may the world goe round about;
the world round about, euen as I doe say,
if with the sun you can goe the next way." 120
"and thirdlye tell me or euer I stint,
what is the thing, Bishoppe, that I doe thinke."
"that shall I doe," quoth the shepeard, "for veretye
you thinke I am the Bishopp of Canterburye," 124
"why? art not thou? the truth tell to me;
for I doe thinke soe," quoth the king, "by St. Marye."
"not soe," quoth the shepeard; "the truth shalbe knowne,
I am his poore shepeard; my brother is att home." 128
"why," quoth the King, "if itt soe bee,
Ile make thee Bishopp here to mee."
"Noe Sir" quoth the shepard, "I pray you be still,
for Ile not bee Bishop but against my will; 132
for I am not fitt for any such deede,
for I can neither write nor reede."
"why then," quoth the king, "Ile giue thee cleere
a patten of 300 pound a yeere; 136
that I will giue thee franke and free;
take thee that, shepard, for coming to me:
free pardon Ile giue," the kings grace said,
"to saue the Bishopp, his land and his head; 140
with him nor thee Ile be nothing wrath;
here is the pardon for him and thee both."
then the shepard he had noe more to say,
but tooke the pardon and rode his way. 144
when he came to the Bishopps place,
the Bishopp asket anon how all things was:
"Brother," quoth the Shepard, "I haue well sped,
for I haue saued both your Land & your head; 148
the King with you is nothing wrath,
for heere is the pardon for you and mee both."
then the Bishopes hart was of a merry cheere,
"brother, thy paines Ile quitt them cleare, 152
for I will giue thee a patent to thee & to thine
of 50^{li}. a yeere land good and fine."
"I will to thee noe longer croche nor creepe,
nor Ile serue thee noe more to keepe thy sheepe." 156
whereeuer wist you shepard before,
that had in his head witt such store
to pleasure a Bishopp in such a like case,
to answer 3 questions to the Kings grace? 160
whereeuer wist you shepard gett cleare
350^{li}. pound a yeere?
I neuer hard of his fellow before,
nor I neuer shall, now I need to say noe more: 164
I neuer knew shepeard that gott such a liuinge
But David the shepeard that was a King.
ffins.]
FOOTNOTES:
[823] See the collection of _Hist. Ballads_, 3 vols. 1727. Mr. Wise
supposes _Olfrey_ to be a corruption of _Alfred_, in his pamphlet
concerning the _White Horse_ in Berkshire, p. 15.
[824] [harm.]
[825] Meaning probably St. Botolph.
VII.
YOU MEANER BEAUTIES.
This little Sonnet was written by Sir _Henry Wotton_, Knight, on that
amiable Princess, Elizabeth daughter of James I. and wife of the
Elector Palatine, who was chosen King of Bohemia, Sept. 5, 1619. The
consequences of this fatal election are well known: Sir Henry Wotton,
who in that and the following year was employed in several embassies
in Germany on behalf of this unfortunate lady, seems to have had an
uncommon attachment to her merit and fortunes, for he gave away a jewel
worth a thousand pounds, that was presented to him by the Emperor,
"because it came from an enemy to his royal mistress the Queen of
Bohemia." See _Biog. Britan_.
This song is printed from the _Reliquiæ Wottonianæ_, 1651, with some
corrections from an old MS. copy.
* * * * *
[This elegant little poem in praise of the Queen of Bohemia (who
was called by those who knew her and were won by her sweetness,
spirit, wit, and unselfishness--the Queen of Hearts) has been very
frequently reprinted. The unfortunate princess was also named the
_Snow Queen_ and her husband the _Winter King_, in allusion to
the fact that their reign at Prague only lasted one winter. The
poem first appeared, according to Dr. Rimbault, in "The Sixt Set
of Bookes, wherein are Anthemes for Versus and Chorus of 5 and 6
Parts; apt for Violls and Voyces: newly composed by Michaell Est,
Bachelor of Musicke, and Master of the Choristers of the Cathedrall
Church in Litchfield," London, 1624, 4to. It is printed in _Wit's
Recreations_, 1640, and _Wit's Interpreter_, 1671, and in "Songs
and Fancies to severall Musicall parts, both apt for Voices and
Viols," Aberdeen, 1682. Alterations were made in the various
copies, and in the latter book a wretched second part, quite out of
harmony with the original, was added. It has found its way, with
some variations, among Montrose's poems (see Napier's _Life of
Montrose_, 1856, _Appendix_, p. xl.), and Robert Chambers (ignorant
of the Englishman Sir Henry Wotton's claim to the authorship)
actually printed it in his _Scottish Songs_ (vol. ii. p. 631) as if
"written by Darnley in praise of the beauty of Queen Mary before
their marriage."
Percy, while copying from the _Reliquiæ Wottonianæ_, 1651,
transposed stanzas 2 and 3. In Abp. Sancroft's MS. (Tanner, 465,
fol. 43) the following verses occur as stanzas 4 and 6 of the whole
poem:--
"You rubies, that do gems adorn,
And sapphires with your azure hue
Like to the skies, or blushing morn,
How pale's your brightness in our view
When diamonds are mixed with you.
"The rose, the violet, all the spring
Unto her breath, for sweetness run;
The diamond's dark'ned in the ring
If she appear, the moon's undone,
As in the presence of the Sun."]
* * * * *
You meaner beauties of the night,
That poorly satisfie our eies
More by your number, than your light;
You common people of the skies,
What are you when the Moon shall rise? 5
Ye violets that first appeare,
By your pure purple mantles known
Like the proud virgins of the yeare,
As if the Spring were all your own;
What are you when the Rose is blown? 10
Ye curious chaunters of the wood,
That warble forth dame Nature's layes,
Thinking your passions understood
By your weak accents: what's your praise,
When Philomell her voyce shall raise? 15
So when my mistris shal be seene
In sweetnesse of her looks and minde;
By virtue first, then choyce a queen;
Tell me, if she was not design'd
Th' eclypse and glory of her kind? 20
VIII.
THE OLD AND YOUNG COURTIER.
This excellent old song, the subject of which is a comparison between
the manners of the old gentry, as still subsisting in the times of
Elizabeth, and the modern refinements affected by their sons in the
reigns of her successors, is given, with corrections, from an ancient
black-letter copy in the Pepys collection, compared with another
printed among some miscellaneous "poems and songs" in a book intitled,
_Le Prince d'amour_, or _The Prince of Love_, 1660, 8vo.
* * * * *
[This was one of the most popular of old songs, and Dr. King in
his Preface to the _Art of Cookery_ places it by the side of
_Chevy Chase_ as one of the ballads to be hung up over the carved
mantelpiece in the homes of old British hospitality. It is to be
found in broadside in nearly all the collections, and appears to
have been printed for the first time in the reign of James I. by T.
Symcocke. Pepys notices it in his _Diary_ under the date 16th June,
1668--"Come to Newbery, and there dined--and musick: a song of the
old Courtier of Queen Elizabeth's, and how he was changed upon the
coming in of the King, did please me mightily, and I did cause W.
Hewer to write it out."
The song was parodied and altered into many forms. About the
middle of the last century it was revived and sung by Mr. Vernon
in Shadwell's comedy, _The Squire of Alsatia_, with a new burden,
"moderation and alteration," and finally it has been again revived
in the present century, with still greater alterations, under the
title of _The Old English Gentleman_.
Mr. Chappell has the following note on the object of the
song:--"Southey remarks very justly on the complaints of the decay
of hospitality, that 'while rents were received in kind they
must have been chiefly consumed in kind; at least there could be
no accumulation of disposable wealth.' He supposes this mode of
payment to have fallen generally into disuse during the reign of
James I. Without doubt, many of the poor would feel the change."
_Popular Music of the Olden Time_, vol. ii. p. 778.]
* * * * *
An old song made by an aged old pate,
Of an old worshipful gentleman, who had a greate estate,
That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate,
And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate;
Like an old courtier of the queen's,
And the queen's old courtier.
With an old lady, whose anger one word asswages;
They every quarter paid their old servants their wages,
And never knew what belong'd to coachmen, footmen, nor pages,
But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats and badges;
Like an old courtier, &c.
With an old study fill'd full of learned old books,
With an old reverend chaplain, you might know him by his looks.
With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the hooks,
And an old kitchen, that maintain'd half a dozen old cooks:
Like an old courtier, &c.
With an old hall, hung about with pikes, guns, and bows,
With old swords, and bucklers, that had borne many shrewde blows,
And an old frize coat, to cover his worship's trunk hose,
And a cup of old sherry, to comfort his copper nose;
Like an old courtier, &c.
With a good old fashion, when Christmasse was come,
To call in all his old neighbours with bagpipe and drum,
With good chear enough to furnish every old room,
And old liquor able to make a cat speak, and man dumb,
Like an old courtier, &c.
With an old falconer, huntsman, and a kennel of hounds,
That never hawked, nor hunted, but in his own grounds,
Who, like a wise man, kept himself within his own bounds,
And when he dyed gave every child a thousand good pounds;
Like an old courtier, &c.
But to his eldest son his house and land he assign'd,
Charging him in his will to keep the old bountifull mind,
To be good to his old tenants, and to his neighbours be kind:
But in the ensuing ditty you shall hear how he was inclin'd;
Like a young courtier of the king's,
And the king's young courtier.
Like a flourishing young gallant, newly come to his land,
Who keeps a brace of painted madams at his command,
And takes up a thousand pound upon his father's land,
And gets drunk in a tavern, till he can neither go nor stand;
Like a young courtier, &c.
With a new-fangled lady, that is dainty, nice, and spare,
Who never knew what belong'd to good house-keeping, or care,
Who buyes gaudy-color'd fans to play with wanton air,
And seven or eight different dressings of other womens hair;
Like a young courtier, &c.
With a new-fashion'd hall, built where the old one stood,
Hung round with new pictures, that do the poor no good,
With a fine marble chimney, wherein burns neither coal nor wood,
And a new smooth shovelboard, whereon no victuals ne'er stood;
Like a young courtier, &c.
With a new study, stuft full of pamphlets, and plays,
And a new chaplain, that swears faster than he prays,
With a new buttery hatch, that opens once in four or five days,
And a new French cook, to devise fine kickshaws, and toys;
Like a young courtier, &c.
With a new fashion, when Christmas is drawing on,
On a new journey to London straight we all must begone,
And leave none to keep house, but our new porter John,
Who relieves the poor with a thump on the back with a stone;
Like a young courtier, &c.
With a new gentleman-usher, whose carriage is compleat,
With a new coachman, footmen, and pages to carry up the meat,
With a waiting-gentlewoman, whose dressing is very neat,
Who when her lady has din'd, lets the servants not eat;
Like a young courtier, &c.
With new titles of honour bought with his father's old gold,
For which sundry of his ancestors old manors are sold;
And this is the course most of our new gallants hold,
Which makes that good house-keeping is now grown so cold,
Among the young courtiers of the king,
Or the king's young courtiers.
[***]
IX.
SIR JOHN SUCKLING'S CAMPAIGNE.
When the Scottish covenanters rose up in arms, and advanced to the
English borders in 1639, many of the courtiers complimented the
king by raising forces at their own expence. Among these none were
more distinguished than the gallant Sir John Suckling, who raised a
troop of horse, so richly accoutred, that it cost him _£_12,000. The
like expensive equipment of other parts of the army, made the king
remark, that "the Scots would fight stoutly, if it were but for the
Englishmen's fine cloaths." (Lloyd's _Memoirs_.) When they came to
action, the rugged Scots proved more than a match for the fine shewy
English: many of whom behaved remarkably ill, and among the rest this
splendid troop of Sir John Suckling's.
This humorous pasquil has been generally supposed to have been written
by Sir John, as a banter upon himself. Some of his contemporaries
however attributed it to Sir John Mennis, a wit of those times, among
whose poems it is printed in a small poetical miscellany, intitled,
_Musarum deliciæ: or the Muses recreation, containing several pieces
of poetique wit_, 2d edition.--By Sir J. M. (_Sir John Mennis_) and Ja.
S. (_James Smith_.) Lond. 1656, 12mo.--(See Wood's _Athenæ_. ii. 397,
418.) In that copy is subjoined an additional stanza, which probably
was written by this Sir John Mennis, viz.:--
"But now there is peace, he's return'd to increase
His money, which lately he spent-a,
But his lost honour must lye still in the dust;
At Barwick away it went-a."
* * * * *
[This song is a parody of the famous old song, _John Dory_,
commencing.--
"As it fell on a holiday
And upon a holytide-a
John Dory bought him an ambling nag
To Paris for to ride-a."
Suckling's satirical powers made him peculiarly odious to
the Parliamentarians, as they were turned against them, and
consequently Mennis's lampoon was a great favourite with the
Roundheads. In _Le Prince d'Amour_, 1660, there is a song _Upon
Sir John Suckling's 100 Horse_, and the following are two of the
seven stanzas of which it consists:--
"I tell thee, Jack, thou gav'st the king
So rare a present, that nothing
Could welcomer have been;
A hundred horse! beshrew my heart,
It was a brave heroic part,
The like will scarce be seen.
"For ev'ry horse shall have on's back
A man as valiant as Sir Jack,
Although not half so witty:
Yet I did hear the other day
Two tailors made seven run away
Good faith, the more's the pity."
The uniform adopted by Suckling for his troop consisted of a white
doublet, and scarlet coat and breeches, with a scarlet feather in
the bonnet. The men were vigorous, well mounted and armed, and
these famous 100 horsemen were considered to be the finest sight in
his majesty's army. Mr. W. C. Hazlitt points out that the earliest
news of them appears to be in a letter of Jan. 29, 1638-9, from the
Earl of Northumberland to Lord Conway, in which the writer speaks
of Suckling having then engaged himself to raise the troop "within
these three days." (_Calendar of State Papers_ (_Domestic_,)
1638-9, p. 378.) The army was badly commanded, and no greater
disgrace attached to Suckling's troop than to the rest.]
* * * * *
Sir John he got him an ambling nag,
To Scotland for to ride-a,
With a hundred horse more, all his own he swore,
To guard him on every side-a.
No Errant-knight ever went to fight 5
With halfe so gay a bravada,
Had you seen but his look, you'ld have sworn on a book,
Hee'ld have conquer'd a whole armada.
The ladies ran all to the windows to see
So gallant and warlike a sight-a, 10
And as he pass'd by, they said with a sigh,
Sir John, why will you go fight-a?
But he, like a cruel knight, spurr'd on;
His heart would not relent-a,
For, till he came there, what had he to fear? 15
Or why should he repent-a?
The king (God bless him!) had singular hopes
Of him and all his troop-a:
The borderers they, as they met him on the way,
For joy did hollow, and whoop-a. 20
None lik'd him so well, as his own colonell,
Who took him for John de Wert-a;[826]
But when there were shows of gunning and blows,
My gallant was nothing so pert-a.
For when the Scots army came within sight, 25
And all prepared to fight-a,
He ran to his tent, they ask'd what he meant,
He swore he must needs goe sh*te-a.
The colonell sent for him back agen,
To quarter him in the van-a, 30
But Sir John did swear, he would not come there,
To be kill'd the very first man-a.
To cure his fear, he was sent to the reare,
Some ten miles back, and more-a;
Where Sir John did play at trip and away, 35
And ne'er saw the enemy more-a.
FOOTNOTES:
[826] Ver. 22. _John de Wert_ was a German general of great reputation,
and the terror of the French in the reign of Louis XIII. Hence his
name became proverbial in France, where he was called _De Vert_. See
Bayle's _Dict._
X.
TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON.
This excellent sonnet, which possessed a high degree of fame among
the old Cavaliers, was written by Colone, Richard Lovelace during his
confinement in the gatehouse, Westminster: to which he was committed
by the House of Commons, in April 1642, for presenting a petition from
the county of Kent, requesting them to restore the king to his rights,
and to settle the government. See Wood's _Athenæ_, vol. ii. p. 228,
and Lysons' _Environs of London_, vol. i. p. 109; where may be seen at
large the affecting story of this elegant writer, who after having
been distinguished for every gallant and polite accomplishment, the
pattern of his own sex, and the darling of the ladies, died in the
lowest wretchedness, obscurity, and want, in 1658.
This song is printed from a scarce volume of his poems intitled,
_Lucasta_, 1649, 12mo. collated with a copy in the Editor's folio MS.
* * * * *
[As Percy mentions, the folio MS. collations have been added
from it (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 17), but it will
at once be seen that they are of little value. The music to this
most exquisite of prison songs was composed by the celebrated Dr.
John Wilson, and first printed (according to Dr. Rimbault) in his
_Cheerful Ayres or Ballads set for three Voices_, Oxford, 1660.
Lucasta (= Lux casta, Lucy Sacheverell), misled by a report
that Lovelace had died of his wounds received at Dunkirk while
commanding a regiment of his own forming in the service of the
French king, married another lover.
Although doubtless Lovelace died in great trouble, we may hope
that Wood's account of his extreme poverty is exaggerated, for his
daughter and sole heir married the son of Lord Chief Justice Coke,
and brought to her husband the estates of her father at Kingsdown
in Kent.]
* * * * *
When love with unconfined wings
Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at my grates;
When I lye tangled in her haire, 5
And fetter'd with her eye,
The birds that wanton in the aire,
Know no such libertye.[827]
When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames,[828] 10
Our carelesse heads with roses crown'd,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty griefe in wine we steepe,[829]
When healths and draughts goe free,[830]
Fishes, that tipple in the deepe, 15
Know no such libertìe.[827]
When, linnet-like, confined I
With shriller note shall sing
The mercye, sweetness, majestye,[831]
And glories of my king;[832] 20
When I shall voyce aloud how good
He is, how great should be,
Th' enlarged windes, that curle the flood,[833]
Know no such libertìe.[827]
Stone walls doe not a prison make, 25
Nor iron barres a cage,
Mindes, innocent, and quiet, take[834]
That for an hermitage:[835]
If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soule am free, 30
Angels alone, that soare above,[836]
Enjoy such libertìe.[837]
FOOTNOTES:
[827] [Ver. 8, 16, 24. enjoyes such lybertye, MS.]
[828] V. 10. with woe-allaying theames, MS. Thames is here used for
water in general.
[829] [Ver. 13. thirsty soules, MS.]
[830] [V. 14. when cupps and bowles goe free.]
[831] [V. 19. the mercy, goodnesse, maiestye.]
[832] [V. 20. glory.]
[833] [V. 23. curles the floods.]
[834] [V. 27. the spotlesse soule and inocent.]
[835] [V. 28. Calls this an.]
[836] [V. 31. sores.]
[837] [V. 32. enjoyes. The second and third stanzas are transposed in
the MS.]
XI.
THE DOWNFALL OF CHARING-CROSS.
Charing-Cross, as it stood before the civil wars, was one of those
beautiful Gothic obelisks erected to conjugal affection by Edward I.,
who built such a one wherever the herse of his beloved Eleanor rested
in its way from Lincolnshire to Westminster. But neither its ornamental
situation, the beauty of its structure, nor the noble design of its
erection (which did honour to humanity), could preserve it from the
merciless zeal of the times: For, in 1647, it was demolished by order
of the House of Commons, as popish and superstitious. This occasioned
the following not unhumorous sarcasm, which has been often printed
among the popular sonnets of those times.
The plot referred to in ver. 17, was that entered into by Mr. Waller
the poet, and others, with a view to reduce the city and tower to the
service of the king; for which two of them, Nath. Tomkins and Rich.
Chaloner, suffered death July 5, 1643. Vid. _Ath. Ox._ ii. 24.
Whitlocke says, "May 3, 1643, Cheapside cross and other crosses were
voted down," &c.--But this Vote was not put in execution with regard
to _Charing Cross_ till four years after, as appears from Lilly's
_Observations on the Life, &c. of K. Charles_, viz. "Charing-Cross, we
know, was pulled down, 1647, in June, July, and August. Part of the
Stones were converted to pave before Whitehall. I have seen Knife-hafts
made of some of the stones, which, being well-polished, looked like
marble." Ed, 1715, p. 18, 12mo.
[In Laud's Diary it is written, "1643 Maii 2 Tuesday The cross in
Cheapside taken down."]
See an Account of the pulling down Cheapside Cross, in the Supplement
to _Gent. Mag._ 1764.
* * * * *
[Charing Cross was the largest and most beautiful of the series of
Eleanor crosses, and the architects employed in the construction of
it were paid _£_450. The work was formerly attributed to Cavalini,
but that artist was not born until the year 1279, and was therefore
about eleven years old when the Queen died. Since the publication
of the very interesting rolls of payments made by the executors
of Queen Eleanor (_Manners and Household Expenses of England in
the 13th and 15th centuries._ Roxburghe Club, 1841), it has been
known that Charing Cross was commenced by Richard de Crundale and
completed, after his death, by Roger de Crundale.
The site of the old cross was made use of as a place of execution,
and several of the regicides were put to death there.
The Cheapside cross, which was taken down in 1643, was the third
which occupied the site, and it had only been erected in 1600. The
original cross was found to be in a bad condition in 1441, and a
new one was therefore commenced, which was not finished until 1486.
This was replaced in 1600 by the third cross.
Dr. Rimbault informs us that this ballad is printed with the music
for three voices by "Mr. F. Farmeloe" in "The Second Book of the
_Pleasant Musical Companion_," 1687.]
* * * * *
Undone, undone the lawyers are,
They wander about the towne,
Nor can find the way to Westminster,
Now Charing-cross is downe:
At the end of the Strand, they make a stand, 5
Swearing they are at a loss,
And chaffing say, that's not the way,
They must go by Charing-cross.
The parliament to vote it down
Conceived it very fitting, 10
For fear it should fall, and kill them all,
In the house, as they were sitting.
They were told god-wot, it had a plot,
Which made them so hard-hearted,
To give command, it should not stand, 15
But be taken down and carted.
Men talk of plots, this might have been worse
For any thing I know,
Than that Tomkins, and Chaloner,
Were hang'd for long agoe. 20
Our parliament did that prevent,
And wisely them defended,
For plots they will discover still,
Before they were intended.
But neither man, woman, nor child, 25
Will say, I'm confident,
They ever heard it speak one word
Against the parliament.
An informer swore, it letters bore,
Or else it had been freed; 30
I'll take, in troth, my Bible oath,
It could neither write, nor read.
The committee said, that verily
To popery it was bent;
For ought I know, it might be so, 35
For to church it never went.
What with excise, and such device,
The kingdom doth begin
To think you'll leave them ne'er a cross,
Without doors nor within. 40
Methinks the common-council shou'd
Of it have taken pity,
'Cause, good old cross, it always stood
So firmly to the city.
Since crosses you so much disdain, 45
Faith, if I were as you,
For fear the king should rule again,
I'd pull down Tiburn too.
XII.
LOYALTY CONFINED.
This excellent old song is preserved in David Lloyd's _Memoires of
those that suffered in the cause of Charles I._ Lond. 1668, fol. p. 96.
He speaks of it as the composition of a worthy personage, who suffered
deeply in those times, and was still living with no other reward
than the conscience of having suffered. The author's name he has not
mentioned, but, if tradition may be credited, this song was written by
Sir _Roger L'Estrange_.--Some mistakes in Lloyd's copy are corrected by
two others, one in MS., the other in the _Westminster Drollery, or a
choice Collection of Songs and Poems_, 1671, 12mo.
* * * * *
[The ascription of this song to L'Estrange is improbable, and we
must therefore seek elsewhere for an author.]
* * * * *
Beat on, proud billows; Boreas blow;
Swell, curled waves, high as Jove's roof;
Your incivility doth show,
That innocence is tempest proof;
Though surly Nereus frown, my thoughts are calm; 5
Then strike, Affliction, for thy wounds are balm.
That which the world miscalls a jail,
A private closet is to me:
Whilst a good conscience is my bail,
And innocence my liberty: 10
Locks, bars, and solitude, together met,
Make me no prisoner, but an anchoret.
I, whilst I wisht to be retir'd,
Into this private room was turn'd;
As if their wisdoms had conspir'd 15
The salamander should be burn'd;
Or like those sophists, that would drown a fish,
I am constrain'd to suffer what I wish.
The cynick loves his poverty;
The pelican her wilderness; 20
And 'tis the Indian's pride to be
Naked on frozen Caucasus:
Contentment cannot smart, Stoicks we see
Make torments easie to their apathy.
These manacles upon my arm 25
I, as my mistress' favours, wear;
And for to keep my ancles warm,
I have some iron shackles there:
These walls are but my garrison; this cell,
Which men call jail, doth prove my citadel. 30
I'm in the cabinet lockt up,
Like some high-prized margarite,[838]
Or, like the great mogul or pope,
Am cloyster'd up from publick sight:
Retiredness is a piece of majesty, 35
And thus, proud sultan, I'm as great as thee.
Here sin for want of food must starve,
Where tempting objects are not seen;
And these strong walls do only serve
To keep vice out, and keep me in: 40
Malice of late's grown charitable sure,
I'm not committed, but am kept secure.
So he that struck at Jason's life,[839]
Thinking t'have made his purpose sure,
By a malicious friendly knife 45
Did only wound him to a cure:
Malice, I see, wants wit; for what is meant
Mischief, oft-times proves favour by th' event.
When once my prince affliction hath,
Prosperity doth treason seem; 50
And to make smooth so rough a path,
I can learn patience from him:
Now not to suffer shews no loyal heart,
When kings want ease subjects must bear a part.
What though I cannot see my king 55
Neither in person or in coin;
Yet contemplation is a thing
That renders what I have not, mine;
My king from me what adamant can part,
Whom I do wear engraven on my heart? 60
Have you not seen the nightingale,
A prisoner like, coopt in a cage,
How doth she chaunt her wonted tale
In that her narrow hermitage?
Even then her charming melody doth prove, 65
That all her bars are trees, her cage a grove.
I am that bird, whom they combine
Thus to deprive of liberty;
But though they do my corps confine,
Yet maugre hate, my sould is free: 70
And though immur'd yet can I chirp, and sing
Disgrace to rebels, glory to my king.
My soul is free, as ambient air,
Although my baser part's immew'd,
Whilst loyal thoughts do still repair 75
T' accompany my solitude:
Although rebellion do my body binde,
My king alone can captivate my minde.
FOOTNOTES:
[838] [pearl.]
[839] See this remarkable story in _Cicero de Nat. Deorum_, lib. 3, c.
28. _Cic. de Offic._ lib. 1, c. 30; see also _Val. Max._ 1, 8.
XIII.
VERSES BY K. CHARLES I.
"This prince, like his father, did not confine himself to prose:
Bishop Burnet has given us a pathetic elegy, said to be written by
Charles in Carisbrook castle (in 1648). The poetry is most uncouth and
unharmonious, but there are strong thoughts in it, some good sense, and
a strain of majestic piety." Mr. Walpole's _Royal and Noble Authors_,
vol. i.
It is in his _Memoirs of the Duke of Hamilton_, p. 379, that Burnet
hath preserved this elegy, which he tells us he had from a gentleman,
who waited on the king at the time when it was written, and copied it
out from the original. It is there intitled, _Majesty in Misery: or
An Imploration to the King of Kings_.
Hume hath remarked of these stanzas, "That the truth of the sentiment,
rather than the elegance of expression, renders them very pathetic."
See his _Hist._ 1763, 4to. vol. v. pp. 437, 442, which is no bad
comment upon them.--These are almost the only verses known of Charles's
composition. Indeed a little Poem _On a quiet Conscience_, printed in
the _Poetical Calendar_, 1763, vol. viii. is attributed to _K. Charles
I._; being reprinted from a thin 8vo. published by Nahum Tate, called
_Miscellanea Sacra, or Poems on Divine and Moral Subjects_.
* * * * *
Great monarch of the world, from whose power springs
The potency and power of kings,
Record the royal woe my suffering sings;
And teach my tongue, that ever did confine
Its faculties in truth's seraphick line, 5
To track the treasons of thy foes and mine.
Nature and law, by thy divine decree,
(The only root of righteous royaltie)
With this dim diadem invested me:
With it, the sacred scepter, purple robe, 10
The holy unction, and the royal globe:
Yet am I levell'd with the life of Job.
The fiercest furies, that do daily tread
Upon my grief, my grey discrowned head,
Are those that owe my bounty for their bread. 15
They raise a war, and christen it THE CAUSE,
While sacrilegious hands have best applause,
Plunder and murder are the kingdom's laws;
Tyranny bears the title of taxation,
Revenge and robbery are reformation, 20
Oppression gains the name of sequestration.
My loyal subjects, who in this bad season
Attend me (by the law of God and reason),
They dare impeach, and punish for high treason.
Next at the clergy do their furies frown, 25
Pious episcopacy must go down,
They will destroy the crosier and the crown.
Churchmen are chain'd, and schismaticks are freed,
Mechanicks preach, and holy fathers bleed,
The crown is crucified with the creed. 30
The church of England doth all factions foster,
The pulpit is usurpt by each impostor,
_Extempore_ excludes the _Paternoster_.
The Presbyter, and Independent seed
Springs with broad blades. To make religion bleed
Herod and Pontius Pilate are agreed. 36
The corner stone's misplac'd by every pavier:
With such a bloody method and behaviour
Their ancestors did crucifie our Saviour.
My royal consort, from whose fruitful womb 40
So many princes legally have come,
Is forc'd in pilgrimage to seek a tomb.
Great Britain's heir is forced into France,
Whilst on his father's head his foes advance:
Poor child! he weeps out his inheritance. 45
With my own power my majesty they wound,
In the king's name the king himself's uncrown'd:
So doth the dust destroy the diamond.
With propositions daily they enchant
My people's ears, such as do reason daunt, 50
And the Almighty will not let me grant.
They promise to erect my royal stem,
To make me great, t' advance my diadem,
If I will first fall down, and worship them!
But for refusal they devour my thrones, 55
Distress my children, and destroy my bones;
I fear they'll force me to make bread of stones.
My life they prize at such a slender rate,
That in my absence they draw bills of hate,
To prove the king a traytor to the state. 60
Felons obtain more privilege than I,
They are allow'd to answer ere they die;
'Tis death for me to ask the reason, why.
But, sacred Saviour, with thy words I woo
Thee to forgive, and not be bitter to 65
Such, as thou know'st do not know what they do.
For since they from their lord are so disjointed,
As to contemn those edicts he appointed,
How can they prize the power of his anointed?
Augment my patience, nullifie my hate, 70
Preserve my issue, and inspire my mate,
Yet, though we perish, BLESS THIS CHURCH and STATE.
XIV.
THE SALE OF REBELLIOUS HOUSHOLD-STUFF.
This sarcastic exultation of triumphant loyalty, is printed from an old
black-letter copy in the Pepys collection, corrected by two others, one
of which is preserved in _A choice collection of_ 120 _loyal songs,
&c._ 1684, 12mo.--To the tune of _Old Simon the king_.
* * * * *
[This triumph over the downfall of the Rump Parliament is one of
the best of the numerous songs that were set to the favourite tune
of _Old Simon the King_, the full burden of which is--
"Says old Sir Symon the King,
Says old Sir Symon the King,
With his threadbare clothes
And his malmsey nose
Sing hey ding, ding a ding, ding."]
* * * * *
Rebellion hath broken up house,
And hath left me old lumber to sell;
Come hither, and take your choice,
I'll promise to use you well:
Will you buy the old speaker's chair? 5
Which was warm and easie to sit in,
And oft hath been clean'd I declare,
When as it was fouler than fitting.
Says old Simon the king, &c.
Will you buy any bacon-flitches, 10
The fattest, that ever were spent?
They're the sides of the old committees,
Fed up in the long parliament.
Here's a pair of bellows, and tongs,
And for a small matter I'll sell ye 'um; 15
They are made of the presbyters lungs,
To blow up the coals of rebellion.
Says old Simon, &c.
I had thought to have given them once
To some black-smith for his forge; 20
But now I have considered on't,
They are consecrate to the church:
So I'll give them unto some quire,
They will make the big organs roar,
And the little pipes to squeeke higher, 25
Than ever they could before.
Says old Simon, &c.
Here's a couple of stools for sale,
One's square, and t'other is round;
Betwixt them both the tail 30
Of the RUMP fell down to the ground.
Will you buy the states council-table,
Which was made of the good wain Scot?
The frame was a tottering Babel
To uphold the Independent plot, 35
Says old Simon, &c.
Here's the beesom of Reformation,
Which should have made clean the floor,
But it swept the wealth out of the nation,
And left us dirt good store. 40
Will you buy the states spinning-wheel,
Which spun for the ropers trade?
But better it had stood still,
For now it has spun a fair thread.
Says old Simon, &c. 45
Here's a glyster-pipe well try'd,
Which was made of a butcher's stump,[840]
And has been safely apply'd,
To cure the colds of the rump.
Here's a lump of Pilgrims-Salve, 50
Which once was a justice of peace,
Who Noll and the Devil did serve;
But now it is come to this.
Says old Simon, &c.
Here's a roll of the states tobacco, 55
If any good fellow will take it;
No Virginia had e'er such a smack-o,
And I'll tell you how they did make it:
'Tis th' Engagement, and Covenant cookt
Up with the Abjuration oath; 60
And many of them, that have took't,
Complain it was foul in the mouth.
Says old Simon, &c.
Yet the ashes may happily serve
To cure the scab of the nation, 65
Whene'er 't has an itch to swerve
To Rebellion by innovation.
A Lanthorn here is to be bought,
The like was scarce ever gotten,
For many plots it has found out 70
Before they ever were thought on.
Says old Simon, &c.
Will you buy the RUMP'S great saddle,
With which it jocky'd the nation?
And here is the bitt, and the bridle, 75
And curb of Dissimulation:
And here's the trunk-hose of the RUMP,
And their fair dissembling cloak,
And a Presbyterian jump,
With an Independent smock. 80
Says old Simon, &c.
Will you buy a Conscience oft turn'd,
Which serv'd the high-court of justice,
And stretch'd until England it mourn'd:
But Hell will buy that if the worst is. 85
Here's Joan Cromwell's kitching-stuff tub,[841]
Wherein is the fat of the Rumpers,
With which old Noll's horns she did rub,
When he was got drunk with false bumpers.
Says old Simon, &c. 90
Here's the purse of the public faith;
Here's the model of the Sequestration,
When the old wives upon their good troth,
Lent thimbles to ruine the nation.[842]
Here's Dick Cromwell's Protectorship, 95
And here are Lambert's commissions,
And here is Hugh Peters his scrip
Cramm'd with the tumultuous Petitions
Says old Simon, &c.
And here are old Noll's brewing vessels,[843] 100
And here are his dray, and his slings;
Here are Hewson's awl, and his bristles;[843]
With diverse other odd things:
And what is the price doth belong
To all these matters before ye? 105
I'll sell them all for an old song,
And so I do end my story.
Says old Simon, &c.
FOOTNOTES:
[840] Alluding probably to Major-General Harrison a butcher's son, who
assisted Cromwell in turning out the long parliament, April 20, 1653.
[841] Ver. 86. This was a cant name given to Cromwell's wife by the
Royalists, though her name was Elizabeth. She was taxed with exchanging
the kitchen-stuff for the candles used in the Protector's houshold, &c.
See _Gent. Mag._ for March, 1788, p. 242.
[842] Ver. 94. See Grey's _Hudibras_, pt. i. cant. 2, ver. 570, &c.
[843] V. 100, 102. Cromwell had in his younger years followed the
brewing trade at Huntingdon. Col. Hewson is said to have been
originally a cobler.
XV.
THE BAFFLED KNIGHT, OR LADY'S POLICY.
Given (with some corrections) from a MS. copy, and collated with two
printed ones in Roman character in the Pepys collection.
* * * * *
[There are several versions of this story, but the earliest known
to Mr. Chappell is the one printed by Ritson in his _Ancient Songs_
(vol. ii. ed. 1829, p. 54), beginning--
"Yonder comes a courteous knight,"