Quhy dois your brand sae drop wi' bluid,[411]

Edward, Edward?

Quhy dois your brand sae drop wi' bluid?

And quhy sae sad gang yee, O?[412]

O, I hae killed my hauke sae guid, 5

Mither, mither:

O, I hae killed my hauke sae guid:

And I had nae mair bot hee,[413] O.

Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,

Edward, Edward. 10

Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,

My deir son I tell thee, O.

O, I hae killed my reid-roan steid,

Mither, Mither:

O, I hae killed my reid-roan steid, 15

That erst was sae fair and free, O.

Your steid was auld, and ye hae gat mair,

Edward, Edward:

Your steid was auld, and ye hae gat mair,

Sum other dule ye drie,[414] O. 20

O, I hae killed my fadir deir,

Mither, mither:

O, I hae killed my fadir deir,

Alas! and wae is me, O!

And quhatten penance wul ye drie[415] for that, 25

Edward, Edward?

And quhatten penance will ye drie for that?

My deir son, now tell me, O.

Ile set my feit in yonder boat,

Mither, mither: 30

Ile set my feit in yonder boat,

And Ile fare[416] ovir the sea, O.

And quhat wul ye doe wi' your towirs and your ha',[417]

Edward, Edward?

And quhat wul ye doe wi' your towirs and your ha', 35

That were sae fair to see, O?

Ile let thame stand til they doun fa',[418]

Mither, mither:

Ile let thame stand til they doun fa',

For here nevir mair maun I bee, O. 40

And quhat wul ye leive to your bairns and your wife,

Edward, Edward?

And quhat wul ye leive to your bairns and your wife,

Quhan ye gang ovir the sea, O?

The warldis room,[419] let thame beg throw life, 45

Mither, mither:

The warldis room, let thame beg throw life,

For thame nevir mair wul I see, O.

And quhat wul ye leive to your ain mither deir,

Edward, Edward? 50

And quhat wul ye leive to your ain mither deir?

My deir son, now tell me, O.

The curse of hell frae me sall ye beir,

Mither, mither:

The curse of hell frae me sall ye beir, 55

Sic counseils ye gave to me, O.

* * * * *

This curious song was transmitted to the editor by Sir David Dalrymple,

Bart., late Lord Hailes.

FOOTNOTES:

[411] [why does your sword so drop with blood.]

[412] [and why so sad go ye.]

[413] [no other but he.]

[414] [some other grief you suffer.]

[415] [undergo.]

[416] [pass.]

[417] [hall.]

[418] [fall.]

[419] [the world's large.]

VI.

KING ESTMERE.

This old Romantic Legend (which is given from two copies, one of them

in the editor's folio MS., but which contained very great variations),

bears marks of considerable antiquity, and, perhaps, ought to have

taken place of any in this volume. It would seem to have been written

while part of Spain was in the hands of the Saracens or Moors: whose

empire there was not fully extinguished before the year 1491. The

Mahometans are spoken of in v. 49, &c., just in the same terms as in

all other old romances. The author of the ancient Legend of _Sir Bevis_

represents his hero, upon all occasions, breathing out defiance against

"Mahound and Termagaunte;"[420]

and so full of zeal for his religion, as to return the following polite

message to a Paynim king's fair daughter, who had fallen in love with

him, and sent two Saracen knights to invite him to her bower,

"I wyll not ones stirre off this grounde,

To speake with an heathen hounde.

Unchristen houndes, I rede you fle.

Or I your harte bloud shall se."[421]

Indeed they return the compliment by calling him elsewhere "A christen

hounde."[422]

This was conformable to the real manners of the barbarous ages: perhaps

the same excuse will hardly serve our bard, for that Adland should be

found lolling or leaning at his gate (v. 35) may be thought, perchance,

a little out of character. And yet the great painter of manners, Homer,

did not think it inconsistent with decorum to represent a king of the

Taphians leaning at the gate of Ulysses to inquire for that monarch,

when he touched at Ithaca as he was taking a voyage with a ship's cargo

of iron to dispose in traffic.[423] So little ought we to judge of

ancient manners by our own.

Before I conclude this article, I cannot help observing, that the

reader will see, in this ballad, the character of the old Minstrels

(those successors of the Bards) placed in a very respectable

light:[424] here he will see one of them represented mounted on a

fine horse, accompanied with an attendant to bear his harp after him,

and to sing the poems of his composing. Here he will see him mixing

in the company of kings without ceremony: no mean proof of the great

antiquity of this poem. The farther we carry our inquiries back, the

greater respect we find paid to the professors of poetry and music

among all the Celtic and Gothic nations. Their character was deemed

so sacred, that under its sanction our famous king Alfred (as we have

already seen)[425] made no scruple to enter the Danish camp, and was at

once admitted to the king's headquarters.[426] Our poet has suggested

the same expedient to the heroes of this ballad. All the histories of

the North are full of the great reverence paid to this order of men.

Harold Harfagre, a celebrated King of Norway, was wont to seat them

at his table above all the officers of his court: and we find another

Norwegian king placing five of them by his side in a day of battle,

that they might be eye-witnesses of the great exploits they were to

celebrate.[427] As to Estmere's riding into the hall while the kings

were at table, this was usual in the ages of chivalry; and even to this

day we see a relic of this custom still kept up, in the champion's

riding into Westminster Hall during the coronation dinner.[428]

Some liberties have been taken with this tale by the editor, but none

without notice to the reader in that part which relates to the subject

of the harper and his attendant.

* * * * *

[Percy refers to two copies of this ballad, but there is every

reason to believe that one of these was the bishop's own

composition, as it was never seen by others and has not since been

found. The copy from the folio MS. was torn out by Percy when he

was preparing the fourth edition of the _Reliques_ for the press,

and is now unfortunately lost, so that we have no means of telling

what alterations he made in addition to those which he mentions in

the footnotes. The readings in the fourth edition are changed in

several places from those printed in the first edition.]

* * * * *

Hearken to me, gentlemen,

Come and you shall heare;

Ile tell you of two of the boldest brethren[429]

That ever borne y-were.

The tone[430] of them was Adler younge, 5

The tother was kyng Estmere;

The were as bolde men in their deeds,

As any were farr and neare.

As they were drinking ale and wine

Within kyng Estmeres halle:[431] 10

When will ye marry a wyfe, brothèr,

A wyfe to glad us all?

Then bespake him kyng Estmere,

And answered him hastilee:[432]

I know not that ladye in any land 15

That's able[433] to marrye with mee.

Kyng Adland hath a daughter, brother,

Men call her bright and sheene;[434]

If I were kyng here in your stead,

That ladye shold be my queene. 20

Saies, Reade me,[435] reade me, deare brother,

Throughout merry Englànd,

Where we might find a messenger

Betwixt us towe to sende.

Saies, You shal ryde yourselfe, brothèr, 25

Ile beare you companye;

Many throughe fals messengers are deceived,[436]

And I feare lest soe shold wee.

Thus the renisht[437] them to ryde

Of twoe good renisht[438] steeds, 30

And when the came to king Adlands halle,

Of redd gold shone their weeds.[439]

And when the came to kyng Adlands hall

Before the goodlye gate,

There they found good kyng Adlànd 35

Rearing[440] himselfe theratt.

Now Christ thee save, good kyng Adlànd;

Now Christ you save and see.

Sayd, You be welcome, king Estmere,

Right hartilye to mee. 40

You have a daughter, said Adler younge,

Men call her bright and sheene,

My brother wold marrye her to his wiffe,

Of Englande to be queene.

Yesterday was att my deere daughtèr 45

Syr Bremor the kyng of Spayne;[441]

And then she nicked[442] him of naye,

And I doubt sheele[443] do you the same.

The kyng of Spayne is a foule paynim,[444]

And 'leeveth[445] on Mahound; 50

And pitye it were that fayre ladyè

Shold marrye a heathen hound.

But grant to me, sayes kyng Estmere,

For my love I you praye;

That I may see your daughter deere 55

Before I goe hence awaye.

Although itt is seven yeers and more

Since my daughter was in halle,

She shall come once downe for your sake

To glad my guestès alle. 60

Downe then came that mayden fayre,

With ladyes laced in pall,[446]

And halfe a hundred of bold knightes,

To bring her from bowre to hall;

And as many gentle squiers, 65

To tend upon them all.

The talents of golde were on her head sette,

Hanged low downe to her knee;

And everye ring on her small fingèr,

Shone of the chrystall free. 70

Saies, God you save, my deere madàm;

Saies, God you save and see.

Said, You be welcome, kyng Estmere,

Right welcome unto mee.

And if you love me, as you saye, 75

Soe well and hartilèe,

All that ever you are comen about

Soone sped now itt shal bee.

Then bespake her father deare:

My daughter, I saye naye; 80

Remember well the kyng of Spayne,

What he sayd yesterdaye.

He wold pull downe my halles and castles,

And reave[447] me of my lyfe

I cannot blame him if he doe, 85

If I reave him of his wyfe.

Your castles and your towres, father,

Are stronglye built aboute;

And therefore of the king of Spaine[448]

Wee neede not stande in doubt. 90

Plight me your troth, nowe, kyng Estmère,

By heaven and your righte hand,

That you will marrye me to your wyfe,

And make me queene of your land.

Then kyng Estmere he plight his troth 95

By heaven and his righte hand,

That he wolde marrye her to his wyfe,

And make her queene of his land.

And he tooke leave of that ladye fayre,

To goe to his owne countree, 100

To fetche him dukes and lordes and knightes,

That marryed the might bee.

They had not ridden scant a myle,

A myle forthe of the towne,

But in did come the kyng of Spayne, 105

With kempès[449] many one.

But in did come the kyng of Spayne,

With manye a bold baròne,

Tone day to marrye kyng Adlands daughter,

Tother daye to carrye her home. 110

Shee sent one after kyng Estmère

In all the spede might bee,

That he must either turne againe and fighte,

Or goe home and loose his ladyè.

One whyle then the page he went, 115

Another while he ranne;

Till he had oretaken king Estmere,

I wis, he never blanne.[450]

Tydings, tydings, kyng Estmere!

What tydinges nowe, my boye? 120

O tydinges I can tell to you,

That will you sore annoye.

You had not ridden scant a mile,

A mile out of the towne,

But in did come the kyng of Spayne 125

With kempès many a one:

But in did come the kyng of Spayne

With manye a bold baròne,

Tone daye to marrye king Adlands daughter,

Tother daye to carry her home. 130

My ladye fayre she greetes you well,

And ever-more well by mee:

You must either turne againe and fighte,

Or goe home and loose your ladyè.

Saies, Reade me, reade me, deere brothèr, 135

My reade shall ryde[451] at thee,

Whether it is better to turne and fighte,

Or goe home and loose my ladye.

Now hearken to me, sayes Adler yonge,

And your reade must rise[452] at me, 140

I quicklye will devise a waye

To sette thy ladye free.

My mother was a westerne woman,

And learned in gramaryè.[453]

And when I learned at the schole, 145

Something shee taught itt mee.

There growes an hearbe within this field,

And iff it were but knowne,

His color, which is whyte and redd,

It will make blacke and browne: 150

His color, which is browne and blacke,

Itt will make redd and whyte;

That sworde is not in all Englande,

Upon his coate will byte.

And you shal be a harper, brother, 155

Out of the north countrye;

And Ile be your boy, soe faine of fighte,[454]

And beare your harpe by your knee.

And you shal be the best harpèr,

That ever tooke harpe in hand; 160

And I wil be the best singèr,

That ever sung in this lande.

Itt shal be written in our forheads

All and in grammaryè,

That we towe are the boldest men, 165

That are in all Christentyè.

And thus they renisht them to ryde,

On tow good renish steedes:

And when they came to king Adlands hall,

Of redd gold shone their weedes. 170

And whan the came to kyng Adlands hall,

Untill the fayre hall yate,[455]

There they found a proud portèr

Rearing himselfe thereatt.

Sayes, Christ thee save, thou proud portèr; 175

Sayes, Christ thee save and see.

Nowe you be welcome, sayd the portèr,

Of what land soever ye bee.

Wee beene harpers, sayd Adler younge,

Come out of the northe countrye; 180

Wee beene come hither untill this place,

This proud weddinge for to see.

Sayd, And your color were white and redd,

As it is blacke and browne,

I wold saye king Estmere and his brother 185

Were comen untill this towne.

Then they pulled out a ryng of gold,

Layd itt on the porters arme:

And ever we will thee, proud portèr,

Thow wilt saye us no harme. 190

Sore he looked on kyng Estmère,

And sore he handled the ryng,

Then opened to them the fayre hall yates,

He lett[456] for no kind of thyng.

Kyng Estmere he stabled his steede 195

Soe fayre att the hall bord;

The froth, that came from his brydle bitte,

Light in kyng Bremors beard.

Saies, Stable thy steed, thou proud harpèr,

Saies, Stable him in the stalle; 200

It doth not beseeme a proud harpèr

To stable 'him' in a kyngs halle.[457]

My ladde he is so lither,[458] he said,

He will doe nought that's meete;

And is there any man in this hall 205

Were able him to beate.

Thou speakst proud words, sayes the king of Spaine,

Thou harper here to mee:

There is a man within this halle,

Will beate thy ladd and thee. 210

O let that man come downe, he said,

A sight of him wold I see;

And when hee hath beaten well my ladd,

Then he shall beate of mee.

Downe then came the kemperye man,[459] 215

And looked him in the eare;

For all the gold, that was under heaven,

He durst not neigh him neare.[460]

And how nowe, kempe, said the kyng of Spaine,

And how what aileth thee? 220

He saies, It is writt in his forhead

All and in gramaryè,

That for all the gold that is under heaven,

I dare not neigh him nye.

Then kyng Estmere pulld forth his harpe, 225

And plaid a pretty thinge:

The ladye upstart from the borde,

And wold have gone from the king.

Stay thy harpe, thou proud harpèr,

For Gods love I pray thee 230

For and thou playes as thou beginns,

Thou'lt till[461] my bryde from mee.

He stroake upon his harpe againe,

And playd a pretty thinge;

The ladye lough[462] a loud laughter, 235

As shee sate by the king.

Saies, sell me thy harpe, thou proud harper,

And thy stringès all,

For as many gold nobles 'thou shalt have'

As heere bee ringes in the hall. 240

What wold ye doe with my harpe, 'he sayd,

If I did sell itt yee?

"To playe my wiffe and me a Fitt,[463]

When abed together wee bee."

Now sell me, quoth hee, thy bryde soe gay, 245

As shee sitts by thy knee,

And as many gold nobles I will give,

As leaves been on a tree.

And what wold ye doe with my bryde soe gay,

Iff I did sell her thee? 250

More seemelye it is for her fayre bodye

To lye by mee then thee.

Hee played agayne both loud and shrille,[464]

And Adler he did syng,

"O ladye, this is thy owne true love; 255

Noe harper, but a kyng.

"O ladye, this is thy owne true love,

As playnlye thou mayest see;

And Ile rid thee of that foule paynim,

Who partes thy love and thee." 260

The ladye looked, the ladye blushte,

And blushte and lookt agayne,

While Adler he hath drawne his brande,

And hath the Sowdan slayne.

Up then rose the kemperye men, 265

And loud they gan to crye:

Ah! traytors, yee have slayne our kyng,

And therefore yee shall dye.

Kyng Estmere threwe the harpe asyde,

And swith[465] he drew his brand;[466] 270

And Estmere he, and Adler yonge

Right stiffe in stour[467] can stand.

And aye their swordes soe sore can byte,

Throughe help of Gramaryè

That soone they have slayne the kempery men, 275

Or forst them forth to flee.

Kyng Estmere tooke that fayre ladyè,

And marryed her to his wiffe,

And brought her home to merry Englànd

With her to leade his life. 280

[Illustration]

[***] The word _Gramaryè_,[468] which occurs several times in

the foregoing poem, is probably a corruption of the French word

_Grimoire_, which signifies a conjuring book in the old French

romances, if not the art of necromancy itself.

[+±+] _Termagaunt_ (mentioned above, p. 85) is the name given

in the old romances to the god of the Saracens, in which he is

constantly linked with _Mahound_ or Mahomet. Thus, in the legend

of _Syr Guy_, the Soudan (Sultan), swears

"So helpe me _Mahowne_ of might,

And _Termagaunt_ my god so bright."

_Sign._ p. iii. b.

This word is derived by the very learned editor of Junius from the

Anglo-Saxon +Tyr+ very, and +Magan+ mighty. As this word had so

sublime a derivation, and was so applicable to the true God, how

shall we account for its being so degraded? Perhaps +Tyr-magan+ or

_Termagant_ had been a name originally given to some Saxon idol,

before our ancestors were converted to Christianity; or had been the

peculiar attribute of one of their false deities; and therefore the

first Christian missionaries rejected it as profane and improper to

be applied to the true God. Afterwards, when the irruptions of the

Saracens into Europe, and the Crusades into the East, had brought them

acquainted with a new species of unbelievers, our ignorant ancestors,

who thought all that did not receive the Christian law were necessarily

pagans and idolaters, supposed the Mahometan creed was in all respects

the same with that of their pagan forefathers, and therefore made no

scruple to give the ancient name of _Termagant_ to the god of the

Saracens, just in the same manner as they afterwards used the name of

_Sarazen_ to express any kind of pagan or idolater. In the ancient

romance of _Merline_ (in the editor's folio MS.) the Saxons themselves

that came over with Hengist, because they were not Christians, are

constantly called Sarazens.

However that be, it is certain that, after the times of the Crusades,

both _Mahound_ and _Termagaunt_ made their frequent appearance in the

pageants and religious interludes of the barbarous ages; in which they

were exhibited with gestures so furious and frantic, as to become

proverbial. Thus Skelton speaks of Wolsey:--

"Like _Mahound_ in a play,

No man dare him withsay."

Ed. 1736, p. 158.

In like manner Bale, describing the threats used by some papist

magistrates to his wife, speaks of them as "grennyng upon her lyke

_Termagauntes_ in a playe." (_Actes of Engl. Votaryes_, pt. ii. fo.

83, Ed. 1550, 12mo.) Accordingly in a letter of Edward Alleyn, the

founder of Dulwich College, to his wife or sister, who, it seems, with

all her fellows (the players), had been "by my Lorde Maiors officer[s]

mad to rid in a cart," he expresses his concern that she should "fall

into the hands of suche _Tarmagants_." (So the orig. dated May 2,

1593, preserved by the care of the Rev. Thomas Jenyns Smith, Fellow of

Dulw. Coll.) Hence we may conceive the force of Hamlet's expression

in Shakspeare, where, condemning a ranting player, he says, "I could

have such a fellow whipt for ore-doing _Termagant_: it out-herods

Herod" (Act iii. sc. 3). By degrees the word came to be applied to

an outrageous turbulent person, and especially to a violent brawling

woman; to whom alone it is now confined, and this the rather as, I

suppose, the character of _Termagant_ was anciently represented on the

stage after the eastern mode, with long robes or petticoats.

Another frequent character in the old pageants or interludes of our

ancestors, was the _sowdan_ or _soldan_, representing a grim eastern

tyrant. This appears from a curious passage in Stow's _Annals_ (p.

458). In a stage-play "the people know right well that he that plaieth

the _sowdain_, is percase a sowter [shoe-maker]; yet if one should

cal him by his owne name, while he standeth in his majestie, one

of his tormenters might hap to break his head." The _sowdain_, or

_soldan_, was a name given to the Sarazen king (being only a more rude

pronunciation of the word _sultan_), as the soldan of Egypt, the soudan

of Persia, the sowdan of Babylon, &c., who were generally represented

as accompanied with grim Sarazens, whose business it was to punish and

torment Christians.

I cannot conclude this short memoir, without observing that the French

romancers, who had borrowed the word _Termagant_ from us, and applied

it as we in their old romances, corrupted it into _Tervagaunte_; and

from them La Fontaine took it up, and has used it more than once in his

tales. This may be added to the other proofs adduced in these volumes

of the great intercourse that formerly subsisted between the old

minstrels and legendary writers of both nations, and that they mutually

borrowed each other's romances.

FOOTNOTES:

[420] See a short Memoir at the end of this Ballad, Note [+±+].

[421] Sign C. ii. b.

[422] Sign C. i. b.

[423] Odyss. _a._ 105.

[424] See vol. ii., note subjoined to 1st part of _Beggar of Bednal_,

&c.

[425] See the _Essay on the Antient Minstrels_ (Appendix I.)

[426] Even so late as the time of Froissart, we find minstrels and

heralds mentioned together, as those who might securely go into an

enemy's country. Cap. cxl.

[427] _Bartholini Antiq. Dan._ p. 173. _Northern Antiquities_, &c.,

vol. i. pp. 386, 389, &c.

[428] See also the account of Edw. II. in the _Essay on the Minstrels_,

and Note [X].

[429] Ver. 3. brether, f. MS.

[430] [the one.]

[431] V. 10. his brother's hall f. MS.

[432] V. 14. hartilye, f. MS.

[433] He means fit, suitable.

[434] [shining.]

[435] [advise me.]

[436] Ver. 27. many a man ... is, f. MS.

[437] [they got ready?]

[438] [harnessed.]

[439] [garments.]

[440] [leaning.]

[441] V. 46. the king his sonne of Spayn, f. MS.

[442] [refused.]

[443] [she will.]

[444] [pagan.]

[445] [believeth.]

[446] [robe of state.]

[447] [bereave.]

[448] Ver. 89. of the King his sonne of Spaine, f. MS.

[449] [soldiers or knights.]

[450] [stopped.]

[451] _sic_ MS. It should probably be _ryse_, _i.e._ my counsel shall

arise from thee. See ver. 140.

[452] _sic_ MS.

[453] See at the end of this ballad, note [***].

[454] [fond of fighting.]

[455] [gate.]

[456] [he left? _or_ he let be opened?]

[457] Ver. 202. to stable his steede, f. MS.

[458] [lazy or wicked.]

[459] [soldier or fighting man.]

[460] [approach him near.]

[461] _i.e._ entice.

[462] [laughed.]

[463] _i.e._ a tune, or strain of music.

[464] Ver. 253. Some liberties have been taken in the following

stanzas; but wherever this edition differs from the preceding, it hath

been brought nearer to the folio MS.

[465] [quickly.]

[466] [sword.]

[467] [fight.]

[468] [or grammar, and hence used for any abstruse learning.]

VII.

SIR PATRICK SPENCE,

A SCOTTISH BALLAD,

Is given from two MS. copies transmitted from Scotland. In what age

the hero of this ballad lived, or when this fatal expedition happened

that proved so destructive to the Scots nobles, I have not been

able to discover; yet am of opinion, that their catastrophe is not

altogether without foundation in history, though it has escaped my own

researches. In the infancy of navigation, such as used the northern

seas were very liable to shipwreck in the wintry months: hence a law

was enacted in the reign of James III. (a law which was frequently

repeated afterwards), "That there be na schip frauched out of the realm

with any staple gudes, fra the feast of Simons day and Jude, unto the

feast of the purification of our Lady called Candelmess." _Jam. III.

Parlt. 2, ch. 15._

In some modern copies, instead of Patrick Spence hath been substituted

the name of Sir Andrew Wood, a famous Scottish admiral who flourished

in the time of our Edward IV., but whose story has nothing in common

with this of the ballad. As Wood was the most noted warrior of

Scotland, it is probable that, like the Theban Hercules, he hath

engrossed the renown of other heroes.

* * * * *

[The fact that this glorious ballad was never heard of before

Percy printed it in 1765, caused some to throw doubts upon its

authenticity, and their scepticism was strengthened by the note at

p. 102, which refers to the author of _Hardyknute_. It was thought

that the likeness in expression and sentiment there mentioned might

easily be explained if the two poems were both by Lady Wardlaw.

This view, advocated by Robert Chambers in his general attack on

the authenticity of all _The Romantic Scottish Ballads_ (1859),

has not met with much favour, and Professor Child thinks that the

arguments against the genuineness of _Sir Patrick Spence_ are so

trivial as hardly to admit of statement. He writes, "If not ancient

it has been always accepted as such by the most skilful judges,

and is a solitary instance of a successful imitation in manner

and spirit of the best specimens of authentic minstrelsy."[469]

Coleridge, no mean judge of a ballad, wrote--

"The bard be sure was weather-wise who framed

The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spens."

Antiquaries have objected that Spence is not an early Scottish

name, but in this they are wrong, for Professor Aytoun found it in

a charter of Robert III. and also in Wyntoun's _Chronicle_.

There has been considerable discussion as to the historical event

referred to in the ballad, and the present version does not contain

any mention of one of the points that may help towards a settlement

of the question. The version in Scott's _Minstrelsy_ contains the

following stanza:--

"To Noroway, to Noroway

To Noroway o'er the faem

The king's daughter of Noroway

'Tis thou maun bring her hame."

P rofessor Aytoun would change the third line to

"The king's daughter _to_ Noroway,"

as he agrees with Motherwell in the view that the ballad refers

to the fate of the Scottish nobles who in 1281 conveyed Margaret,

daughter of Alexander III., to Norway, on the occasion of her

nuptials with King Eric.

Fordun relates this incident as follows:--"In the year 1281

Margaret, daughter of Alexander III., was married to the King of

Norway, who, leaving Scotland in the last day of July, was conveyed

thither in noble style in company with many knights and nobles. In

returning home after the celebration of her nuptials, the Abbot of

Balmerinoch, Bernard of Monte-alto, and many other persons, were

drowned." As to the scene of the disaster, Aytoun brings forward an

interesting illustration of the expression "half over to Aberdour,"

in line 41. He says that in the little island of Papa Stronsay one

of the Orcadian group lying over against Norway, there is a large

grave or tumulus which has been known to the inhabitants from time

immemorial as "the grave of Sir Patrick Spens," and he adds, that

as the Scottish ballads were not early current in Orkney, it is

unlikely that the poem originated the name.

The other suggestions as to an historical basis for the ballad

are not borne out by history. It is well, however, to note in

illustration of line 1, that the Scottish kings chiefly resided in

their palace of Dunfermline from the time of Malcolm Canmore to

that of Alexander III.

The present copy of the ballad is the shortest of the various

versions, but this is not a disadvantage, as it gains much in force

by the directness of its language.

Buchan prints a ballad called _Young Allan_, which is somewhat like

_Sir Patrick Spence_.]

* * * * *

The king sits in Dumferling toune,

Drinking the blude-reid wine:

O quhar will I get guid sailòr,

To sail this schip of mine?

Up and spak an eldern knicht, 5

Sat at the kings richt kne:

Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailòr,

That sails upon the se.

The king has written a braid letter,[470]

And signd it wi' his hand; 10

And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence,

Was walking on the sand.

The first line that Sir Patrick red,

A loud lauch lauched he:

The next line that Sir Patrick red, 15

The teir blinded his ee.

O quha is this has don this deid,

This ill deid don to me;

To send me out this time o'the yeir,

To sail upon the se? 20

Mak hast, mak haste, my mirry men all,

Our guid schip sails the morne.[471]

O say na sae, my master deir,

For I feir a deadlie storme.

Late late yestreen I saw the new moone 25

Wi' the auld moone in hir arme;

And I feir, I feir, my deir mastèr,

That we will com to harme.

O our Scots nobles wer richt laith[472]

To weet their cork-heild schoone;[473] 30

Bot lang owre[474] a' the play wer playd,

Thair hats they swam aboone.[475]

O lang, lang, may thair ladies sit

Wi' thair fans into their hand,

Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence 35

Cum sailing to the land.

O lang, lang, may the ladies stand

Wi' thair gold kems[476] in their hair,

Waiting for thair ain deir lords,

For they'll se thame na mair. 40

Have owre,[477] have owre to Aberdour,[478]

It's fiftie fadom deip:

And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence,

Wi' the Scots lords at his feit.[479]

FOOTNOTES:

[469] [_English and Scottish Ballads_, vol. iii. p. 149.]

[470] _A braid letter_, _i.e._ open, or patent; in opposition to close

rolls.

[471] [to-morrow morning.]

[472] [loth.]

[473] [to wet their cork-heeled shoes.]

[474] [long ere.]

[475] [above the water.]

[476] [combs.]

[477] [half over.]

[478] A village lying upon the river Forth, the entrance to which is

sometimes denominated _De mortuo mari_.

[Finlay observes that Percy's note is incorrect. The truth is that De

Mortuo Mari is the designation of a family (Mortimer) who were lords of

Aberdour. They are believed to have received their name from the Dead

Sea, in Palestine, during the times of the Crusades.]

[479] An ingenious friend thinks the author of _Hardyknute_ has

borrowed several expressions and sentiments from the foregoing and

other old Scottish songs in this collection.

VIII.

ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE.

We have here a ballad of Robin Hood (from the editor's folio MS.) which

was never before printed, and carries marks of much greater antiquity

than any of the common popular songs on this subject.

The severity of those tyrannical forest laws that were introduced by

our Norman kings, and the great temptation of breaking them by such

as lived near the royal forests at a time when the yeomanry of this

kingdom were everywhere trained up to the long-bow, and excelled all

other nations in the art of shooting, must constantly have occasioned

great numbers of outlaws, and especially of such as were the best

marksmen. These naturally fled to the woods for shelter, and, forming

into troops, endeavoured by their numbers to protect themselves from

the dreadful penalties of their delinquency. The ancient punishment for

killing the king's deer was loss of eyes and castration, a punishment

far worse than death. This will easily account for the troops of

banditti which formerly lurked in the royal forests, and, from their

superior skill in archery and knowledge of all the recesses of those

unfrequented solitudes, found it no difficult matter to resist or elude

the civil power.

Among all those, none was ever more famous than the hero of

this ballad, whose chief residence was in Shirewood forest, in

Nottinghamshire, and the heads of whose story, as collected by Stow,

are briefly these.

"In this time [about the year 1190, in the reign of Richard I.] were

many robbers, and outlawes, among the which Robin Hood, and Little

John, renowned theeves, continued in woods, despoyling and robbing the

goods of the rich. They killed none but such as would invade them; or

by resistance for their own defence.

"The saide Robert entertained an hundred tall men and good archers with

such spoiles and thefts as he got, upon whom four hundred (were they

ever so strong) durst not give the onset. He suffered no woman to be

oppressed, violated, or otherwise molested: poore mens goods he spared,

abundantlie relieving them with that which by theft he got from abbeys

and the houses of rich carles: whom Maior (the historian) blameth for

his rapine and theft, but of all theeves he affirmeth him to be the

prince, and the most gentle theefe."--_Annals_, p. 159.

The personal courage of this celebrated outlaw, his skill in archery,

his humanity, and especially his levelling principle of taking from

the rich and giving to the poor, have in all ages rendered him the

favourite of the common people, who, not content to celebrate his

memory by innumerable songs and stories, have erected him into the

dignity of an earl. Indeed, it is not impossible but our hero, to

gain the more respect from his followers, or they to derive the more

credit to their profession, may have given rise to such a report

themselves: for we find it recorded in an epitaph, which, if genuine,

must have been inscribed on his tombstone near the nunnery of Kirklees

in Yorkshire; where (as the story goes) he was bled to death by a

treacherous nun to whom he applied for phlebotomy:--

"Hear undernead dis laitl stean

lai[gh] robert earl of huntingtun

nea arcir ver a[gh] hie sae geud

an pipl kauld im Robin Heud

sick utlaws as hi an is men

vil England nivir si agen.

obiit 24 kal. dekembris. 1247."[480]

This epitaph appears to me suspicious; however, a late antiquary has

given a pedigree of _Robin Hood_, which, if genuine, shows that he had

real pretensions to the Earldom of Huntingdon, and that his true name

was _Robert Fitz-ooth_.[481] Yet the most ancient poems on Robin Hood

make no mention of this earldom. He is expressly asserted to have been

a yeoman[482] in a very old legend in verse, preserved in the archives

of the public library at Cambridge,[483] in eight _fyttes_, or parts,

printed in black letter, quarto, thus inscribed: "¶ Here begynneth a

lytell geste of Robyn hode and his meyne, and of the proude sheryfe of

Notyngham." The first lines are--

"Lithe and lysten, gentylmen,

That be of fre-bore blode:

I shall you tell of a good _yeman_,

His name was Robyn hode.

"Robyn was a proude out-lawe,

Whiles he walked on grounde;

So curteyse an outlawe as he was one,

Was never none yfounde," &c.

The printer's colophon is, "¶ Explicit Kinge Edwarde and Robin hode

and Lyttel Johan. Enprented at London in Flete-strete at the sygne of

the sone by Wynkin de Worde." In Mr. Garrick's Collection[484] is a

different edition of the same poem, "¶ Imprinted at London upon the

thre Crane wharfe by Wyllyam Copland," containing at the end a little

dramatic piece on the subject of Robin Hood and the Friar, not found in

the former copy, called, "A newe playe for to be played in Maye games

very plesaunte and full of pastyme. ¶([···])[r¶]."

I shall conclude these preliminary remarks with observing, that the

hero of this ballad was the favourite subject of popular songs so early

as the time of King Edward III. In the _Visions of Pierce Plowman_,

written in that reign, a monk says:--

"I can rimes of Roben Hod, and Randal of Chester,

But of our Lorde and our Lady, I lerne nothyng at all."

Fol. 26, ed. 1550.

See also in Bishop Latimer's _Sermons_[485] a very curious and

characteristic story, which shows what respect was shown to the memory

of our archer in the time of that prelate.

The curious reader will find many other particulars relating to this

celebrated outlaw, in Sir John Hawkins's _Hist. of Music_, vol. iii. p.

410, 4to.

For the catastrophe of Little John, who, it seems, was executed for a

robbery on Arbor-hill, Dublin (with some curious particulars relating

to his skill in archery), see Mr. J. C. Walker's ingenious _Memoir

on the Armour and Weapons of the Irish_, p. 129, annexed to his

_Historical Essay on the Dress of the Ancient and Modern Irish_.

Dublin, 1788, 4to.

Some liberties were, by the editor, taken with this ballad; which, in

this edition, hath been brought nearer to the folio MS.

* * * * *

[Robin Hood is first mentioned in literature in _Piers Plowman_,

the earliest of the three forms of which poem was written probably

about the year 1362. The ballad of _Robin Hood and the Monk_,

printed in Child's _English and Scottish Ballads_, as the oldest

of its class, and possibly as old as the reign of Edward II.,

commences:--

"In somer when the shawes be sheyne

And leves be large and longe

Hit is full mery in feyre foreste

To here the foulys song."

Verses which bear a strong likeness to the opening lines of the

present ballad.

Gisborne is a market town in the West Riding of the county of York

on the borders of Lancashire, and Guy of that place is mentioned by

William Dunbar in a satirical piece on "Schir Thomas Nory," where

he is named in company with Adam Bell and other well-known worthies.

It is not needful to extend this note with any further particulars

of Robin Hood, as he possesses, in virtue of his position as a

popular hero, a literature of his own. Those who wish to know more

of his exploits should consult Ritson's (1795) and Gutch's (1847)

Collections of _Robin Hood Ballads_, Child's _Ballads_, vol. v. and

Chappell's _Popular Music of the Olden Time_, vol. i. pp. 387-400.

There are several Robin Hood Ballads in the folio MS., but Percy

only chose the one containing an account of the encounter with

Guy for printing. Ritson copied this ballad from Percy's book,

but indulged at the same time in a tirade against the bishop's

treatment of his original.]

* * * * *

When shaws beene sheene,[486] and shradds[487] full fayre,[488]

And leaves both large and longe,

Itt is merrye walking in the fayre forrèst

To heare the small birdes songe.[489]

The woodweele[490] sang, and wold not cease,[491] 5

[Sitting upon the spraye,[492]

Soe lowde, he wakened Robin Hood,[492]

In the greenwood where he lay.[492]

Now by my faye,[493] sayd jollye Robìn,[492]

A sweaven[494] I had this night;[492] 10

I dreamt me of tow wighty[495] yemen,[492]

That fast with me can fight.][492]

Methought they did mee beate and binde,

And tooke my bow mee froe;[496]

If I be Robin alive in this lande, 15

Ile be wroken[497] on them towe.

Sweavens are swift, Master, quoth John,

As the wind that blowes ore a hill;

For if itt be never so loude this night,

To-morrow itt may be still. 20

Buske yee, bowne yee,[498] my merry men all,

And John shall goe with mee,

For Ile goe seeke yond wight yeomen,

In greenwood where thé bee.

Thé cast on their gownes of grene, 25

[And tooke theyr bowes each one;

And they away to the greene forrèst]

A shooting forth are gone;[499]

Untill they came to the merry greenwood,

Where they had gladdest bee, 30

There were thé ware[500] of a wight yeomàn,

His body leaned to a tree.

A sword and a dagger he wore by his side,

Of manye a man the bane;[501]

And he was clad in his capull hyde[502] 35

Topp and tayll and mayne.

Stand you still, master, quoth Litle John,

Under this tree so grene,

And I will go to yond wight yeoman

To know what he doth meane.[503] 40

Ah! John, by me thou settest noe store,

And that I farley[504] finde:[505]

How offt send I my men beffore,

And tarry my selfe behinde?

It is no cunning a knave to ken, 45

And a man but heare him speake;

And itt were not for bursting of my bowe,

John, I thy head wold breake.

As often wordes they breeden bale,[506]

So they parted Robin and John; 50

And John is gone to Barnesdale:

The gates[507] he knoweth eche one.

But when he came to Barnesdale,

Great heavinesse there hee hadd,

For he found tow of his owne fellòwes 55

Were slaine both in a slade.[508]

And Scarlette he was flyinge a-foote

Fast over stocke and stone,

For the sheriffe with seven score men

Fast after him is gone. 60

One shoote now I will shoote, quoth John,[509]

With Christ his might and mayne;

Ile make yond fellow that flyes soe fast,

To stopp he shall be fayne.[510]

Then John bent up his long bende-bowe,[511] 65

And fetteled[512] him to shoote:

The bow was made of a tender boughe,

And fell downe to his foote.

Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood,[513]

That ere thou grew on a tree; 70

For now this day thou art my bale,

My boote[514] when thou shold bee.

His shoote it was but loosely shott,

Yet flewe not the arrowe in vaine,[515]

For itt mett one of the sherriffes men, 75

Good William a Trent was slaine.

It had bene better of William a Trent

To have bene abed with sorrowe,[516]

Than to be that day in the green wood slade[517]

To meet with Little Johns arrowe.[518] 80

But as it is said, when men be mett

Fyve can doe more than three,[519]

The sheriffe hath taken little John,[520]

And bound him fast to a tree.

Thou shalt be drawen by dale and downe, 85

And hanged hye on a hill.

But thou mayst fayle of thy purpose, quoth John,[521]

If itt be Christ his will.[522]

Let us leave talking of Litle John,

And thinke of Robin Hood,[523] 90

How he is gone to the wight yeomàn,

Where under the leaves he stood.

Good morrowe, good fellowe, sayd Robin so fayre,[524]

"Good morrowe, good fellow, quoth he:"

Methinkes by this bowe thou beares in thy hande 95

A good archere thou sholdst bee.[525]

I am wilfull[526] of my waye, quo' the yeman,[527]

And of my morning tyde.

Ile lead thee through the wood, sayd Robin;

Good fellow, Ile be thy guide. 100

I seeke an outlàwe, the straunger sayd,[528]

Men call him Robin Hood;

Rather Ild meet with that proud outlàwe[529]

Than fortye pound soe good.[529]

[Now come with me, thou wighty yeman,[530] 105

And Robin thou soone shalt see:[530]

But first let us some pastime find[530]

Under the greenwood tree.][530]

First let us some masterye[531] make[532]

Among the woods so even,[532] 110

Wee may chance to meet with Robin Hood

Here att some unsett steven.[533]

They cutt them downe two summer shroggs,[534]

That grew both under a breere,[535]

And sett them threescore rood in twaine 115

To shoote the prickes[536] y-fere.[537]

Leade on, good fellowe, quoth Robin Hood,[538]

Leade on, I doe bidd thee.

Nay by my faith, good fellowe, hee sayd,[539]

My leader thou shalt bee.[540] 120

The first time Robin shot at the pricke,[541]

He mist but an inch it froe:[541]

The yeoman he was an archer good,[541]

But he cold never shoote soe.

The second shoote had the wightye yeman,[542] 125

He shote within the garlànde:[543]

But Robin he shott far better than hee,

For he clave the good pricke wande.[544]

A blessing upon thy heart, he sayd;[545]

Good fellowe, thy shooting is goode; 130

For an thy hart be as good as thy hand,

Thou wert better then Robin Hoode.

Now tell me thy name, good fellowe, sayd he,[546]

Under the leaves of lyne.[547]

Nay by my faith, quoth bolde Robìn,[548] 135

Till thou have told me thine.[549]

I dwell by dale and downe, quoth hee,

And Robin to take Ime sworne;

And when I am called by my right name

I am Guye of good Gisbòrne. 140

My dwelling is in this wood, sayes Robin,

By thee I set right nought:

I am Robin Hood of Barnèsdale,

Whom thou so long hast sought.[550]

He that had neither beene kithe nor kin, 145

Might have seene a full fayre sight,

To see how together these yeomen went

With blades both browne[551] and bright.

To see how these yeomen together they fought[552]

Two howres of a summers day: 150

Yett neither Robin Hood nor sir Guy[553]

Them fettled to flye away.

Robin was reachles[554] on a roote,

And stumbled at that tyde;

And Guy was quicke and nimble with-all, 155

And hitt him ore the left side.

Ah deere Lady, sayd Robin Hood, tho

That art both mother and may',[555]

I think it was never mans destinye

To dye before his day. 160

Robin thought on our ladye deere,

And soone leapt up againe,

And strait he came with a "backward" stroke,[556]

And he sir Guy hath slayne.[557]

He took sir Guys head by the hayre, 165

And sticked itt on his bowes end:

Thou hast beene a traytor all thy liffe,

Which thing must have an ende.

Robin pulled forth an Irish kniffe,

And nicked sir Guy in the face, 170

That he was never on woman born,

Cold tell whose head it was.[558]

Saies, Lye there, lye there, now sir Guye,[559]

And with me be not wrothe;

If thou have had the worse strokes at my hand, 175

Thou shalt have the better clothe.

Robin did off his gowne of greene,

And on sir Guy did it throwe,

And hee put on that capull hyde,

That cladd him topp to toe. 180

The bowe, the arrowes, and little horne,

Now with me I will beare;[560]

For I will away to Barnèsdale,

To see how my men doe fare.

Robin Hood sett Guyes home to his mouth, 185

And a loud blast in it did blow.

That beheard the sheriffe of Nottingham,

As he leaned under a lowe.[561]

Hearken, hearken, sayd the sheriffe,

I heare nowe tydings good, 190

For yonder I heare sir Guyes horne blowe,

And he hath slaine Robin Hoode.

Yonder I heare sir Guyes horne blowe,

Itt blowes soe well in tyde,

And yonder comes that wightye yeoman, 195

Cladd in his capull hyde.

Come hyther, come hyther, thou good sir Guy,

Aske what thou wilt of mee.

O I will none of thy gold, sayd Robin,[562]

Nor I will none of thy fee: 200

But now I have slaine the master, he sayes,

Let me go strike the knave;

This is all the rewarde I aske;

Nor noe other will I have.

Thou art a madman, said the sheriffe, 205

Thou sholdest have had a knights fee:

But seeing thy asking hath beene soe bad,

Well granted it shale be.

When Litle John heard his master speake,

Well knewe he it was his steven:[563] 210

Now shall I be looset, quoth Litle John,

With Christ his might in heaven.

Fast Robin hee hyed him to Little John,

He thought to loose him belive;[564]

The sheriffe and all his companye 215

Fast after him did drive.

Stand abacke, stand abacke, sayd Robin;

Why draw you mee soe neere?

Itt was never the use in our countryè,

Ones shrift another shold heere. 220

But Robin pulled forth an Irysh kniffe,

And losed John hand and foote,

And gave him sir Guyes bow into his hand,

And bade it be his boote.[565]

Then John he took Guyes bow in his hand,[566] 225

His boltes and arrowes eche one:

When the sheriffe saw Little John bend his bow,

He fettled him to be gone.

Towards his house in Nottingham towne,[567]

He fled full fast away; 230

And soe did all his companye:

Not one behind wold stay.

But he cold neither runne soe fast,[568]

Nor away soe fast cold ryde,[568]

But Litle John with an arrowe soe broad,[568] 235

He shott him into the 'backe'-syde.[568]

* * * * *

[***] The title of _Sir_ was not formerly peculiar to knights, it

was given to priests, and sometimes to very inferior personages.

Dr. Johnson thinks this title was applied to such as had taken

the degree of A. B. in the universities, who are still stiled,

_Domini_, "Sirs," to distinguish them from Undergraduates, who have

no prefix, and from Masters of Arts, who are stiled _Magistri_,

"Masters."

FOOTNOTES:

[480] See Thoresby's _Ducat. Leod._ p. 576. _Biog. Brit._ vi. 3933.

[481] Stukeley, in his _Palæographia Britannica_, No. II. 1746.

[482] See also the following ballad, v. 147.

[483] Num. D. 5. 2.

[484] _Old Plays_, 4to. K. vol. x.

[485] Ser. 6th before K. Ed. Apr. 12. fol. 75, Gilpin's _Life of Lat._,

p. 122.

[486] [when woods are bright.]

[487] [twigs.]

[488] [Ver. 1. shales, f. MS.]

[489] [V. 4. birds singe, f. MS.]

[490] [woodpecker or thrush.]

[491] [V. 5. woodweete, f. MS.]

[492] [In place of ver. 6-12 between brackets the f. MS. has--

"Amongst the leaves a lyne

[* * * * *]

And it is by two wight yeomen

By deare God that I meane."]

[493] [faith.]

[494] [dream.]

[495] [strong.]

[496] [from me.]

[497] [revenged.]

[498] [dress ye, get ye ready.]

[499] [Ver. 28. a shooting gone are they, f. MS.]

[500] [were they aware.]

[501] [V. 34. had beene many a mans bane, f. MS.]

[502] [horse-hide.]

[503] [V. 40. to know his meaning trulye, f. MS.]

[504] [strange.]

[505] [V. 42. and thats a ffarley thinge, f. MS.]

[506] [breed mischief.]

[507] _i.e._ ways, passes, paths, ridings. _Gate_ is a common word in

the north for _way_.

[508] [greensward between two woods.]

[509] [Ver. 61. yet one shoote I'le shoote, says Little John, f. MS.]

[510] [V. 64. to be both glad & ffaine, f. MS.]

[511] [V. 65. John bent up a good veiwe bowe, f. MS.]

[512] [prepared.]

[513] [V. 69. woe worth thee, wicked wood, says litle John, f. MS.]

[514] help.

[515] [Ver. 74. the arrowe flew in vaine, f. MS.]

[516] [V. 78. to hange upon a gallowe, f. MS.]

[517] [V. 79. then for to lye in the green-woode, f. MS.]

[518] [V. 80. there slaine with an arrowe, f. MS.]

[519] [V. 82. 6 can doe more then 3, f. MS.]

[520] [V. 83. and they have tane litle John, f. MS.]

[521] [V. 87. But thou may ffayle, quoth litle John, f. MS.]

[522] [V. 88. If itt be christ's own will, f. MS.]

[523] [V. 90-92. in place of these three verses the f. MS. has:--

"for hee is bound fast to a tree,

and talke of Guy and Robin Hood

In they green woode where they bee

[how these two yeomen together they mett

under the leaves of Lyne,

to see what marchandise they made

even at that same time."]]

[524] [Ver. 93. good morrow, good fellow! quoth Sir Guy, f. MS.]

[525] [V. 96. a good archer thou seems to bee, f. MS.]

[526] [ignorant.]

[527] [V. 97. quoth Sir Guye, f. MS.]

[528] [V. 101. I seeke an outlaw, quoth Sir Guye, f. MS.]

[529] [V. 103-4.--

"I had rather meet with him upon a day

Then 40li. of golde."]

[530] [V. 105-8. in place of these four verses the f. MS. has--

"Iff you tow mett itt wold be seene whether were better

afore yee did part awaye;

Let us some other pastime find,

good ffellow, I thee pray:"]

[531] [trial of skill.]

[532] [V. 109-10.

"Let us some other masteryes make,

and wee will walke in the woods even," f. MS.]

[533] [at a time not previously appointed.]

[534] [shrubs.]

[535] [briar.]

[536] [mark in the centre of the target.]

[537] [Ver. 116. prickes full near, f. MS.]

[538] [V. 117. sayd Sir Guye, f. MS.]

[539] [V. 119. nay by my faith, quoth Robin Hood, f. MS.]

[540] [V. 120. the leader, f. MS.]

[541] [V. 121-23:--

"the first good shoot that Robin ledd

did not shoote an inch the pricke ffroe.

Guy was an archer good enoughe."]

[542] [V. 125. the 2nd shoote Sir Guy shott.]

[543] [the ring within which the prick was set.]

[544] [pole.]

[545] [V. 129. gods blessing on thy heart! sayes Guye.]

[546] [Ver. 133. tell me thy name, good fellow, quoth Guy.]

[547] [lime.]

[548] [V. 135. good robin.]

[549] [V. 136-140:--

"I dwell by dale and downe, quoth Guye,

and I have done many a curst turne;

and he that calles me by my right name,

calles me Guy of good Gysborne."]

[550] V. 144. a ffellow thou hast long sought.

[551] The common epithet for a sword or other offensive weapon, in the

old metrical romances is _Brown_, as "brown brand," or "brown sword,"

"brown bill," &c., and sometimes even "bright brown sword." Chaucer

applies the word _rustie_ in the same sense; thus he describes the

reve:--

"And by his side he bare a rusty blade."

_Prol._ ver. 620.

And even thus the God _Mars_:--

"And in his hand he had a rousty sword."

_Test. of Cressid._ 188

Spenser has sometimes used the same epithet. See Warton's _Observ._

vol. ii. p. 62. It should seem, from this particularity, that our

ancestors did not pique themselves upon keeping their weapons bright:

perhaps they deemed it more honourable to carry them stained with the

blood of their enemies. [As the swords are here said to be bright as

well as brown, they could not have been rusty. The expression nut-brown

sword was used to designate a Damascus blade.]

[552] [Ver. 149. "to have seen how these yeomen together fought."]

[553] [V. 151-2:--

"itt was neither Guy nor Robin Hood

that ffettled them to flye away."]

[554] [careless.]

[555] [maid.]

[556] V. 163. awkwarde, MS.

[557] [V. 164. "good sir Guy hee has slayne," f. MS.]

[558] [Ver. 172. cold tell who Sir Guye was.]

[559] [V. 173. good Sir Guye.]

[560] [V. 182:--

"and with me now Ile beare

ffor now I will goe to Barnesdale," f. MS.]

[561] [small hill.]

[562] [Ver. 199:--

"Ile none of thy gold, sayes Robin Hood

nor Ile none of itt have," f. MS.]

[563] [voice.]

[564] [quickly.]

[565] [help.]

[566] [Ver. 225-8:--

"But John tooke Guyes bow in his hand,

his arrowes were rawstye by the roote;

the sherriffe saw little John draw a bow

and ffettle him to shoote."]

[567] [V. 229. Towards his house in Nottingham.]

[568] [V. 233-6:--

"But he cold neither soe fast goe,

nor away soe fast runn,

but litle John with an arrow broade

did cleave his head in twinn," f. MS.]

[Illustration]

IX.

AN ELEGY ON HENRY FOURTH EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND.

The subject of this poem, which was written by _Skelton_, is the death

of _Henry Percy_, fourth earl of Northumberland, who fell a victim to

the avarice of Henry VII. In 1489 the parliament had granted the king

a subsidy for carrying on the war in Bretagne. This tax was found so

heavy in the North, that the whole country was in a flame. The E. of

Northumberland, then lord lieutenant for Yorkshire, wrote to inform

the king of the discontent, and praying an abatement. But nothing is

so unrelenting as avarice: the king wrote back that not a penny should

be abated. This message being delivered by the earl with too little

caution, the populace rose, and, supposing him to be the promoter of

their calamity, broke into his house, and murdered him, with several

of his attendants, who yet are charged by Skelton with being backward

in their duty on this occasion. This melancholy event happened at the

earl's seat at Cocklodge, near Thirske, in Yorkshire, April 28, 1489.

See Lord Bacon, &c.

If the reader does not find much poetical merit in this old poem (which

yet is one of Skelton's best), he will see a striking picture of the

state and magnificence kept up by our ancient nobility during the

feudal times. This great earl is described here as having, among his

menial servants, _knights_, _squires_, and even _barons_: see v. 32.

183. &c. which, however different from modern manners, was formerly not

unusual with our greater barons, whose castles had all the splendour

and offices of a royal court before the laws against retainers abridged

and limited the number of their attendants.

_John Skelton_, who commonly styled himself Poet Laureat, died June 21,

1529. The following poem, which appears to have been written soon after

the event, is printed from an ancient MS. copy preserved in the British

Museum, being much more correct than that printed among _Skelton's

Poems_ in bl. let. 12mo. 1568.--It is addressed to Henry Percy, fifth

earl of Northumberland, and is prefaced, &c. in the following manner:

POETA SKELTON LAUREATUS LIBELLUM SUUM METRICE ALLOQUITUR.

Ad dominum properato meum mea pagina Percy,

Qui Northumbrorum jura paterna gerit,

Ad nutum celebris tu prona repone leonis,

Quæque suo patri tristia justa cano.

Ast ubi perlegit, dubiam sub mente volutet

Fortunam, cuncta quæ male fida rotat.

Qui leo sit felix, & Nestoris occupet annos;

Ad libitum cujus ipse paratus ero.

* * * * *

[Percy does not do justice to Skelton's poetical powers in the

above note, as this _Elegy_ is written in a style not at all

characteristic of him and is also far from being one of his best

poems. Skelton was one of the earliest personal satirists in our

language, and he flew at high game when he attacked the powerful

Wolsey with fierce invective, in his "Why come ye nat to courte?"

His _Boke of Phyllyp Sparrowe_ is described by Coleridge as "an

exquisite and original poem," and its subject entitles him to the

designation of the modern Catullus. It was very popular in his day,

and the nursery rhyme of _Who killed Cock robin?_ was probably

paraphrased from the portion of the poem in which the funeral of

the sparrow is related. Skelton was a distinguished scholar and his

earlier poems are written in the serious strain of the _Elegy_,

but curiously enough about the time that he took orders (1498)

and became rector of Diss in Norfolk, he began to write in a more

natural, frolicsome and satirical vein, and adopted the metre now

known as Skeltonian. He was not very particular as to the words he

used, but he does not deserve the opprobrious epithet that Pope

applies to him in the couplet--

"Chaucer's worst ribaldry is learned by rote,

And beastly Skelton heads of houses quote."

Skelton graduated as poet laureate at the two Universities

of Oxford and Cambridge, and the King allowed him to wear an

appropriate decoration at court. There is a full length portrait

of the poet in Brydges' _British Bibliographer_ (vol. iv. p. 389),

taken from one on the back of the title of _A ryght delectable

tratyse upon a goodly Garlande or Chaplet of Laurell by Mayster

Skelton, Poete laureat_.

The Rev. Alexander Dyce published the first complete collected

edition of Skelton's Poetical Works in 1843 (2 vols. 8vo.)]

* * * * *

SKELTON LAUREAT UPON THE DOLORUS DETHE AND MUCH LAMENTABLE CHAUNCE OF

THE MOOST HONORABLE ERLE OF NORTHUMBERLANDE.

I wayle, I wepe, I sobbe, I sigh ful sore

The dedely fate, the dolefulle destenny

Of him that is gone, alas! withoute restore,

Of the blode[569] royall descendinge nobelly;

Whos lordshepe doutles was slayne lamentably 5

Thorow treson ageyn[570] hym compassyd and wrought;

Trew to his prince, in word, in dede, and thought.

Of hevenly poems, O Clyo calde by name

In the college of musis goddess hystoriall,

Adres the to me, whiche am both halt and lame 10

In elect uteraunce to make memoryall:

To the for soccour, to the for helpe I call

Myne homely rudnes and drighnes to expelle

With the freshe waters of Elyconys[571] welle.

Of noble actes auncyently enrolde, 15

Of famous princis and lordes of astate,[572]

By thy report ar wonte to be extold,

Regestringe trewly every formare date;

Of thy bountie after the usuall rate,

Kyndle in me suche plenty of thy noblès,[573] 20

Thes sorrowfulle dities that I may shew expres.

In sesons past who hathe harde or sene

Of formar writinge by any presidente

That vilane hastarddis[574] in ther furious tene,[575]

Fulfyld with malice of froward entente, 25

Confeterd[576] togeder of commoun concente

Falsly to slo[577] ther moste singular goode lorde?

It may be registerde of shamefull recorde.

So noble a man, so valiaunt lorde and knight,

Fulfilled with honor, as all the worlde dothe ken; 30

At his commaundement, whiche had both day and night

Knyghtis and squyers, at every season when

He calde upon them, as menyall houshold men:

Were no thes commones uncurteis karlis of kynde[578]

To slo their owne lorde? God was not in their minde. 35

And were not they to blame, I say also,

That were aboute hym, his owne servants of trust,

To suffre hym slayn of his mortall fo?

Fled away from hym, let hym ly in the dust:

They bode[579] not till the rekening were discust. 40

What shuld I flatter? what shulde I glose[580] or paynt?

Fy, fy for shame, their harts wer to faint.

In Englande and Fraunce, which gretly was redouted;[581]

Of whom both Flaunders and Scotland stode in drede;

To whome grete astates obeyde and lowttede;[582] 45

A mayny[583] of rude villayns made him for to blede:

Unkindly they slew hym, that holp them oft at nede:

He was their bulwark, their paves,[584] and their wall,

Yet shamfully they slew hym; that shame mot[585] them befal.

I say, ye commoners, why wer ye so stark mad? 50

What frantyk frensy fyll[586] in youre brayne?

Where was your wit and reson, ye shuld have had?

What willfull foly made yow to ryse agayne[587]

Your naturall lord? alas! I can not fayne.

Ye armed you with will, and left your wit behynd; 55

Well may you be called comones most unkynd.

He was your chyfteyne, your shelde, your chef defence,

Redy to assyst you in every tyme of nede:

Your worship[588] depended of his excellence:

Alas! ye mad men, to far ye did excede: 60

Your hap was unhappy, to ill was your spede:

What movyd you agayn hym to war or to fight?

What aylde you to sle your lord agyn all right?

The grounde of his quarel was for his sovereyn lord,

The welle concernyng of all the hole lande, 65

Demaundyng soche dutyes as nedis most acord

To the right of his prince which shold not be withstand;

For whos cause ye slew hym with your awne hande:

But had his nobill men done wel that day,

Ye had not been hable to have saide him nay. 70

But ther was fals packinge,[589] or els I am begylde:

How-be-it the matter was evident and playne,

For yf they had occupied[590] ther spere and ther shelde,

This noble man doutles had not be slayne.

Bot men say they wer lynked with a double chayn, 75

And held with the commouns under a cloke,

Whiche kindeled the wyld fyre that made all this smoke.

The commouns renyed[591] ther taxes to pay

Of them demaunded and asked by the kinge;

With one voice importune, they playnly said nay: 80

They buskt them on a bushment[592] themself in baile[593] to bringe:

Agayne the kings plesure to wrastle or to wringe,[594]

Bluntly as bestis withe boste[595] and with cry

They saide, they forsede[596] not, nor carede not to dy.

The noblenes of the northe this valiant lorde and knyght, 85

As man that was innocent of trechery or trayne,

Presed forthe boldly to witstand the myght,

And, lyke marciall Hector, he fauht them agayne,

Vigorously upon them with myght and with mayne,

Trustinge in noble men that wer with hym there: 90

Bot all they fled from hym for falshode or fere.

Barons, knights, squyers, one and alle,

Togeder with servaunts of his famuly,

Turnid their backis, and let ther master fall,

Of whos [life] they counted not a flye; 95

Take up whos wolde for them, they let hym ly.

Alas! his golde, his fee, his annuall rente

Upon suche a sort[597] was ille bestowde and spent.

He was envyronde aboute on every syde

Withe his enemys, that were stark mad and wode;[598] 100

Yet whils he stode he gave them woundes wyde:

Alas for routhe![599] what thouche his mynde were goode,

His corage manly, yet ther he shed his bloode!

All left alone, alas! he fawte in vayne;

For cruelly amonge them ther he was slayne. 105

Alas for pite! that Percy thus was spylt,[600]

The famous erle of Northumberlande:

Of knightly prowès the sworde pomel and hylt,

The myghty lyoun[601] doutted[602] by se and lande!

O dolorous chaunce of fortuns fruward hande! 110

What man remembring how shamfully he was slayne,

From bitter weepinge hymself kan restrayne?

O cruell Mars, thou dedly god of war!

O dolorous teusday, dedicate to thy name,

When thou shoke thy sworde so noble a man to mar! 115

O grounde ungracious, unhappy be thy fame,

Whiche wert endyed with rede blode of the same!

Moste noble erle! O fowle mysuryd[603] grounde

Whereon he gat his fynal dedely wounde!

O Atropos, of the fatall systers thre, 120

Goddes mooste cruell unto the lyf of man,

All merciles, in the ys no pitè!

O homycide, whiche sleest[604] all that thou kan,

So forcibly upon this erle thow ran,

That with thy sworde enharpid[605] of mortall drede, 125

Thou kit[606] asonder his perfight[607] vitall threde!

My wordis unpullysht be nakide and playne,

Of aureat[608] poems they want ellumynynge;[609]

Bot by them to knoulege ye may attayne

Of this lordis dethe and of his murdrynge. 130

Which whils he lyvyd had fuyson[610] of every thing,

Of knights, of squyers, chef lord of toure and toune,

Tyl fykkill[611] fortune began on hym to frowne.

Paregall[612] to dukis, with kings he myght compare,

Surmountinge in honor all erls he did excede, 135

To all cuntreis aboute hym reporte[613] me I dare.

Lyke to Eneas benygne in worde and dede,

Valiaunt as Hector in every marciall nede,

Provydent, discrete, circumspect, and wyse, 139

Tyll the chaunce ran agyne him of fortunes duble dyse.

What nedethe me for to extoll his fame

With my rude pen enkankerd all with rust?

Whos noble actis shew worsheply his name,

Transcendyng far myne homely muse, that must

Yet sumwhat wright supprisid with hartly lust,[614] 145

Truly reportinge his right noble astate,

Immortally whiche is immaculate.

His noble blode never disteynyd was,

Trew to his prince for to defende his right,

Doublenes hatinge, fals maters to compas, 150

Treytory[615] and treson he bannesht out of syght,

With trowth to medle was all his hole delyght,

As all his kuntrey kan testefy the same:

To slo suche a lord, alas, it was grete shame.

If the hole quere[616] of the musis nyne 155

In me all onely wer sett and comprisyde,

Enbrethed with the blast of influence dyvyne,

As perfightly as could be thought or devysyd;

To me also allthouche it were promysyde

Of laureat Phebus holy the eloquence, 160

All were to litill for his magnyficence.

O yonge lyon, bot tender yet of age,[617]

Grow and encrese, remembre thyn astate,

God the assyst unto thyn herytage,

And geve the grace to be more fortunate, 165

Agayne rebellyouns arme to make debate.

And, as the lyoune, whiche is of bestis kinge,

Unto thy subjectis be kurteis and benyngne.

I pray God sende the prosperous lyf and long,

Stabille thy mynde constant to be and fast, 170

Right to mayntein, and to resist all wronge:

All flattringe faytors[618] abhor and from the cast,

Of foule detraction God kepe the from the blast:

Let double delinge in the have no place,

And be not light of credence in no case. 175

Wythe hevy chere, with dolorous hart and mynd,

Eche man may sorrow in his inward thought,

Thys lords death, whose pere is hard to fynd

Allgyf[619] Englond and Fraunce were thorow saught.

Al kings, all princes, all dukes, well they ought 180

Bothe temporall and spirituall for to complayne

This noble man, that crewelly was slayne.

More specially barons, and those knygtes bold,

And all other gentilmen with hym enterteynd

In fee, as menyall men of his housold, 185

Whom he as lord worsheply manteynd:

To sorowfull weping they ought to be constreynd,

As oft as thei call to ther remembraunce,

Of ther good lord the fate and dedely chaunce.

O perlese prince of hevyn emperyalle, 190

That with one worde formed al thing of noughte;

Hevyn, hell, and erth obey unto thi kall;

Which to thy resemblance wondersly hast wrought

All mankynd, whom thou full dere hast boght,

With thy blode precious our finaunce[620] thou dyd pay, 195

And us redemed, from the fendys pray;[621]

To the pray we, as prince incomperable,

As thou art of mercy and pite the well,

Thou bringe unto thy joye etermynable[622]

The sowle of this lorde from all daunger of hell, 200

In endles blis with the to byde and dwell

In thy palace above the orient,

Where thou art lorde, and God omnipotent.

O quene of mercy, O lady full of grace,

Maiden moste pure, and goddis moder dere, 205

To sorowfull harts chef comfort and solace,

Of all women O floure withouten pere,

Pray to thy son above the starris clere,

He to vouchesaf by thy mediatioun

To pardon thy servant, and bringe to salvacion. 210

In joy triumphaunt the hevenly yerarchy,[623]

With all the hole sorte[624] of that glorious place,

His soule mot[625] receyve into ther company

Thorowe bounte of hym that formed all solace:

Well of pite, of mercy, and of grace, 215

The father, the son, and the holy goste

In Trinitate one God of myghts moste.

* * * * *

[+±+] I have placed the foregoing poem of _Skelton's_ before the

following extract from _Hawes_, not only because it was written

first, but because I think _Skelton_ is in general to be considered

as the earlier poet; many of his poems being written long before

_Hawes's Graunde Amour_.

FOOTNOTES:

[569] The mother of Henry, first Earl of Northumberland, was Mary

daughter to Henry E. of Lancaster, whose father Edmond was second

son of K. Henry III.--The mother and wife of the second Earl of

Northumberland were both lineal descendants of K. Edward III.--The

_Percys_ also were lineally descended from the Emperour Charlemagne

and the ancient Kings of France, by his ancestor Josceline de Lovain

(son of Godfrey Duke of Brabant), who took the name of _Percy_ on

marrying the heiress of that house in the reign of Hen. II. Vid. Camden

_Britan._, Edmondson, &c.

[570] [against.]

[571] [Helicons.]

[572] [estate.]

[573] [nobleness.]

[574] [rough fellows.]

[575] [wrath.]

[576] [confederated.]

[577] [slay.]

[578] [churls by nature.]

[579] [abode.]

[580] [gloss over.]

[581] [dreaded.]

[582] [crouched.]

[583] [a number.]

[584] [large shield.]

[585] [may.]

[586] [fell.]

[587] [against.]

[588] [honour.]

[589] [false dealing.]

[590] [used.]

[591] [refused.]

[592] [they prepared themselves for an ambush.]

[593] [trouble.]

[594] [contend.]

[595] [pride.]

[596] [heeded.]

[597] [set.]

[598] [wild.]

[599] [pity.]

[600] [destroyed.]

[601] Alluding to his crest and supporters. _Doutted_ is contracted for

_redoubted_.

[602] [dreaded.]

[603] [misused, applied to a bad purpose.]

[604] [slayest.]

[605] [hooked or edged.]

[606] [cut.]

[607] [perfect.]

[608] [golden.]

[609] [embellishing.]

[610] [abundance.]

[611] [fickle.]

[612] [equal.]

[613] [refer.]

[614] [overpowered with hearty desire.]

[615] [treachery.]

[616] [whole choir.]

[617] [the earl's son was only eleven years old at the time of his

father's death.]

[618] [deceivers.]

[619] [although.]

[620] [fine or forfeiture.]

[621] [prey of the fiends.]

[622] [interminable.]

[623] [hierarchy.]

[624] [whole company.]

[625] [may.]

X.

THE TOWER OF DOCTRINE.

The reader has here a specimen of the descriptive powers of _Stephen

Hawes_, a celebrated poet in the reign of Hen. VII. tho' now little

known. It is extracted from an allegorical poem of his (written in

1505.) intitled, _The History of Graunde Amoure and La Bel Pucell,

called the Pastime of Pleasure, &c._ 4to. 1555. See more of Hawes

in _Ath. Ox._ v. 1. p. 6. and Warton's _Observ._ v. 2. p. 105. He

was also author of a book, intitled, _The Temple of Glass. Wrote by

Stephen Hawes, gentleman of the bedchamber to K. Henry VII._ Pr. for

Caxton, 4to. no date.

The following Stanzas are taken from Chap. III. and IV. of the Hist.

above-mentioned. "How Fame departed from Graunde Amoure and left him

with Governaunce and Grace, and how he went to the Tower of Doctrine,

&c."--As we are able to give no small lyric piece of Hawes's, the

reader will excuse the insertion of this extract.

* * * * *

[Most readers will probably be satisfied with the seventy-four

lines that Percy has extracted from Hawes's long didactic poem,

but those who wish to read the whole will find it reprinted by

Mr. Thomas Wright in the fifteenth volume of the Percy Society's

publications. The account of Rhetorick and the other allegorical

nullities is weary reading, but the chapter in commendation of

Gower, Chaucer and the author's master Lydgate, "the chefe orygynal

of my lernyng," is interesting from a literary point of view. The

poem was very popular in its own day and passed through several

editions, and it has found admirers among critics of a later

age. The Rev. Dr. Hodgson in a letter to Percy, dated Sept. 22,

1800,[626] speaks of it in very extravagant terms, and regrets that

it had not then found an editor, as he regarded it "as one of the

finest poems in our own or any other language." Warton describes

Hawes as the only writer deserving the name of a poet in the reign

of Henry VII. and says that "this poem contains no common touches

of romantic and allegoric fiction." Mr. Wright however looks at it

as "one of those allegorical writings which were popular with our

forefathers, but which can now only be looked upon as monuments of

the bad taste of a bad age." Hawes was a native of Suffolk, but

the dates of his birth and death are not known. He studied in the

University of Oxford and afterwards travelled much, becoming "a

complete master of the French and Italian poetry."]

* * * * *

CAP. III.

* * * * *

I loked about and saw a craggy roche,

Farre in the west, neare to the element,

And as I dyd then unto it approche,

Upon the toppe I sawe refulgent

The royal tower of MORALL DOCUMENT, 5

Made of fine copper with turrettes fayre and hye,

Which against Phebus shone so marveylously,

That for the very perfect bryghtnes

What of the tower, and of the cleare sunne,

I could nothyng behold the goodlines 10

Of that palaice, whereas Doctrine did wonne:[627]

Tyll at the last, with mysty wyndes donne,

The radiant brightnes of golden Phebus

Auster gan cover with clowde tenebrus.[628]

Then to the tower I drewe nere and nere, 15

And often mused of the great hyghnes

Of the craggy rocke, which quadrant did appeare:

But the fayre tower, so much of ryches

Was all about, sexangled doubtles;

Gargeyld[629] with grayhoundes, and with manylyons, 20

Made of fyne golde; with divers sundry dragons.[630]

The little turrets with ymages of golde

About was set, whiche with the wynde aye moved.

Wyth propre vices,[631] the I did well beholde

About the towers, in sundry wyse they hoved[632] 25

With goodly pypes, in their mouthes i-tuned,

That with the wynde they pyped a daunce,

I-clipped[633] _Amour de la hault plesaunce_.

CAP. IV.

The toure was great and of marvelous wydnes,

To whyche ther was no way to passe but one, 30

Into the toure for to have an intres:[634]

A grece[635] there was y-chesyled all of stone

Out of the rocke, on whyche men dyd gone

Up to the toure, and in lykewyse dyd I

Wyth bothe the Grayhoundes in my company:[636] 35

Tyll that I came unto a ryall gate,

Where I sawe stondynge the goodly Portres,

Whiche axed me, from whence I came a-late?

To whome I gan in every thynge expresse

All myne adventure, chaunce, and busynesse, 40

And eke my name; I tolde her every dell:

Whan she herde this, she lyked me right well.

Her name, she sayd, was called COUNTENAUNCE;

Into the besy[637] courte she dyd me then lede,

Where was a fountayne depured[638] of pleasance, 45

A noble sprynge, a ryall conduyte hede,

Made of fyne golde enameled with reed;

And on the toppe four dragons blewe and stoute

Thys dulcet water in foure partyes dyd spout.

Of whyche there flowed foure ryvers ryght clere, 50

Sweter than Nylus[639] or Ganges was theyr odoure;

Tygrys or Eufrates unto them no pere:

I dyd than taste the aromatyke lycoure,

Fragraunt of fume, swete as any floure;

And in my mouthe it had a marveylous cent[640] 55

Of divers spyces, I knewe not what it ment.

And after thys farther forth me brought

Dame Countenaunce into a goodly Hall,

Of jasper stones it was wonderly wrought:

The wyndowes cleare depured all of crystall, 60

And in the roufe on hye over all

Of golde was made a ryght crafty vyne;

In stede of grapes the rubies there did shyne.

The flore was paved with berall clarified,

With pillers made of stones precious, 65

Like a place of pleasure so gayely glorified,

It myght be called a palaice glorious,

So muche delectable and solacious;[641]

The hall was hanged hye and circuler

With cloth of arras in the rychest maner. 70

That treated well of a ful noble story,

Of the doubty waye to the Tower Perillous;[642]

Howe a noble knyght should wynne the victory

Of many a serpente fowle and odious.

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES:

[626] Nichols' _Illustrations of Literature_, vol viii. p. 344.

[627] [dwell.]

[628] [dark.]

[629] [from gargoyle the spout of a gutter.]

[630] Greyhounds, Lions, Dragons, were at that time the royal

supporters.

[631] [devices.]

[632] [heaved.]

[633] [called.]

[634] [entrance.]

[635] [a flight of steps.]

[636] This alludes to a former part of the Poem.

[637] [busy. Percy reads base or lower court.]

[638] [purified.]

[639] Nysus. _PC._

[640] [scent.]

[641] [affording solace.]

[642] The story of the poem.

XI.

THE CHILD OF ELLE,

Is given from a fragment in the Editor's folio MS. which, tho'

extremely defective and mutilated, appeared to have so much merit,

that it excited a strong desire to attempt a completion of the story.

The Reader will easily discover the supplemental stanzas by their

inferiority, and at the same time be inclined to pardon it, when he

considers how difficult it must be to imitate the affecting simplicity

and artless beauties of the original.

_Child_ was a title sometimes given to a knight.

* * * * *

[The _Child of Ell_, as it appears in the folio MS., is a fragment

without beginning or ending, so that Percy was forced to add some

verses in order to fit it for his book, but the above note does not

give any adequate notion of his contributions to the ballad. The

verses that are entirely due to the bishop's pen are placed between

brackets, and it will be seen from the copy of the original printed

at the end that the remaining thirty lines are much altered from

it. It is unfortunate that Percy's taste was not sufficient to save

him from adding sentimental verses so out of character with the

directness of the original as--

"Fair Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept,

And aye her heart was woe:

At length he seized her lilly-white hand,

And downe the ladder he drewe."

On the other hand, the poem as it stands is certainly elegant, and

Sir Walter Scott was justified in his high praise when he pointed

out the beauty of verses 181-184.

"The baron he stroked his dark brown cheek,

And turned his head aside

To wipe away the starting tear,

He proudly strave to hide."

Scott published a ballad called "Erlinton" for the first time

in his _Border Minstrelsy_, which he says "seems to be the rude

original, or perhaps a corrupt and imperfect copy of _The Child of

Elle_."

The original fragment from the MS. is worth reading for its own

sake as a genuine antique, which must outweigh in interest all

manufactured imitations.]

* * * * *

[On yonder hill a castle standes

With walles and towres bedight,[643]

And yonder lives the Child of Elle,

A younge and comely knighte.

The Child of Elle to his garden wente, 5

And stood at his garden pale,

Whan, lo! he beheld fair Emmelines page

Come trippinge downe the dale.

The Child of Elle he hyed him thence,

Y-wis he stoode not stille, 10

And soone he mette faire Emmelines page

Come climbing up the hille.

Nowe Christe thee save, thou little foot-page,

Now Christe thee save and see!

Oh telle me how does thy ladye gaye, 15

And what may thy tydinges bee?

My lady shee is all woe-begone,

And the teares they falle from her eyne;

And aye she laments the deadlye feude

Betweene her house and thine. 20

And here shee sends thee a silken scarfe

Bedewde with many a teare,

And biddes thee sometimes thinke on her,

Who loved thee so deare.

And here shee sends thee a ring of golde 25

The last boone thou mayst have,

And biddes thee weare it for her sake,

Whan she is layde in grave.

For, ah! her gentle heart is broke,

And in grave soone must shee bee, 30

Sith her father hath chose her a new new love,

And forbidde her to think of thee.

Her father hath brought her a carlish[644] knight,

Sir John of the north countràye,

And within three dayes shee must him wedde, 35

Or he vowes he will her slaye.

Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page,

And greet thy ladye from mee,

And telle her that I her owne true love

Will dye, or sette her free. 40

Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page,

And let thy fair ladye know

This night will I bee at her bowre-windòwe,

Betide me weale or woe.

The boye he tripped, the boye he ranne, 45

He neither stint ne stayd

Untill he came to fair Emmelines bowre,

Whan kneeling downe he sayd,

O ladye, I've been with thy own true love,

And he greets thee well by mee; 50

This night will he bee at thy bowre-windòwe,

And dye or sette thee free.

Nowe daye was gone, and night was come,

And all were fast asleepe,

All save the ladye Emmeline, 55

Who sate in her bowre to weepe:

And soone shee heard her true loves voice

Lowe whispering at the walle,

Awake, awake, my deare ladyè,

Tis I thy true love call. 60

Awake, awake, my ladye deare,

Come, mount this faire palfràye:

This ladder of ropes will lette thee downe,

Ile carrye thee hence awaye.

Nowe nay, nowe nay, thou gentle knight, 65

Nowe nay, this may not bee;

For aye shold I tint my maiden fame,

If alone I should wend with thee.

O ladye, thou with a knighte so true

Mayst safelye wend alone, 70

To my ladye mother I will thee bringe,

Where marriage shall make us one.

"My father he is a baron bolde,

Of lynage proude and hye;

And what would he saye if his daughtèr 75

Awaye with a knight should fly?

Ah! well I wot, he never would rest,]

Nor his meate should doe him no goode,

Until he had slayne thee, Child of Elle,

And seene thy deare hearts bloode." 80

O ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette,

And a little space him fro,

I would not care for thy cruel fathèr,

Nor the worst that he could doe.

O ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette, 85

And once without this walle,

I would not care for thy cruel fathèr,

Nor the worst that might befalle.

[Faire Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept,

And aye her heart was woe: 90

At length he seized her lilly-white hand,

And downe the ladder he drewe:

And thrice he clasped her to his breste,

And kist her tenderlìe:

The teares that fell from her fair eyes, 95

Ranne like the fountayne free.]

Hee mounted himselfe on his steede so talle,

And her on a fair palfràye,

And slung his bugle about his necke,

And roundlye they rode awaye. 100

[All this beheard her owne damsèlle,

In her bed whereas shee ley,

Quoth shee, My lord shall knowe of this,

Soe I shall have golde and fee.

Awake, awake, thou baron bolde! 105

Awake, my noble dame!

Your daughter is fledde with the Child of Elle,

To doe the deede of shame.

The baron he woke, the baron he rose,

And called his merrye men all: 110

"And come thou forth, Sir John the knighte,

Thy ladye is carried to thrall."[645]]

Faire Emmeline scant had ridden a mile,

A mile forth of the towne,

When she was aware of her fathers men 115

Come galloping over the downe:

[And foremost came the carlish knight,

Sir John of the north countràye:

"Nowe stop, nowe stop, thou false traitòure,

Nor carry that ladye awaye. 120

For she is come of hye lineàge,

And was of a ladye borne,

And ill it beseems thee a false churl's sonne

To carrye her hence to scorne."]

Nowe loud thou lyest, Sir John the knight, 125

Nowe thou doest lye of mee;

A knight mee gott, and a ladye me bore,

Soe never did none by thee.

But light nowe downe, my ladye faire,

Light downe, and hold my steed, 130

While I and this discourteous knighte

Doe trye this arduous deede.

But light now downe, my deare ladyè,

Light downe, and hold my horse;

While I and this discourteous knight 135

[Doe trye our valour's force.

Fair Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept,

And aye her heart was woe,

While twixt her love and the carlish knight

Past many a baleful blowe. 140

The Child of Elle hee fought soe well,

As his weapon he waived amaine,

That soone he had slaine the carlish knight,

And layd him upon the plaine.

And nowe the baron, and all his men 145

Full fast approached nye:

Ah! what may ladye Emmeline doe?

Twere nowe no boote[646] to flye.

Her lover he put his horne to his mouth,

And blew both loud and shrill, 150

And soone he saw his owne merry men

Come ryding over the hill.

"Nowe hold thy hand, thou bold baròn,

I pray thee hold thy hand,

Nor ruthless rend two gentle hearts, 155

Fast knit in true love's band.

Thy daughter I have dearly loved

Full long and many a day;

But with such love as holy kirke

Hath freelye sayd wee may. 160

O give consent, shee may be mine,

And blesse a faithfull paire:

My lands and livings are not small,

My house and lineage faire:

My mother she was an earl's daughtèr, 165

And a noble knyght my sire----

The baron he frowned, and turn'd away

With mickle dole and ire."

Fair Emmeline sighed, faire Emmeline wept,

And did all tremblinge stand: 170

At lengthe she sprang upon her knee.

And held his lifted hand.

Pardon, my lorde and father deare,

This faire yong knyght and mee:

Trust me, but for the carlish knyght, 175

I never had fled from thee.

Oft have you called your Emmeline

Your darling and your joye;

O let not then your harsh resolves

Your Emmeline destroye. 180

The baron he stroakt his dark-brown cheeke,

And turned his heade asyde

To whipe awaye the starting teare,

He proudly strave to hyde.

In deepe revolving thought he stoode, 185

And mused a little space;

Then raised faire Emmeline from the grounde,

With many a fond embrace.

Here take her, Child of Elle, he sayd,

And gave her lillye white hand; 190

Here take my deare and only child,

And with her half my land:

Thy father once mine honour wrongde

In dayes of youthful pride;

Do thou the injurye repayre 195

In fondnesse for thy bride.

And as thou love her, and hold her deare,

Heaven prosper thee and thine:

And nowe my blessing wend wi' thee,

My lovelye Emmeline.] 200

[***]

* * * * *

[+±+] From the word _kirke_ in ver. 159, this hath been thought to

be a Scottish Ballad, but it must be acknowledged that the line

referred to is among the additions supplied by the Editor: besides,

in the Northern counties of England, _kirk_ is used in the common

dialect for _church_, as well as beyond the Tweed.

* * * * *

[The following thirty-nine lines are the whole of the

fragment which Percy used as the groundwork of his poem. They

are taken from _Bishop Percy's Folio Manuscript_, vol. i. p.

133.

Sayes, Christ thee save, good child of Ell!

Christ saue thee and thy steede!

My father sayes he will noe meate,

Nor his drinke shall doe him noe good,

till he have slaine the Child of Ell

And have seene his harts blood.

I wold I were in my sadle sett,

And a mile out of the towne,

I did not care for your father

And all his merry men!

I wold I were in my sadle sett,

And a little space him froe,

I did not care for your father

And all that long him to!

He leaned ore his saddle bow

To kisse this Lady good;

The teares that went them two betweene

Were blend water and blood.

He sett himselfe on one good steed

This lady of one palfray

And sett his litle horne to his mouth

And roundlie he rode away.

He had not ridden past a mile

A mile out of the towne,

Her father was readye with her seven brether

He said, sett thou my daughter downe!

For itt ill beseemes thee, thou false churles sonne,

To carry her forth of this towne!

But lowd thou lyest, Sir John the Knight!

That now doest lye of me;

A knight me gott and a lady me bore;

Soe never did none by thee.

But light now downe, my lady gay,

Light downe and hold my horsse

Whilest I and your father and your brether

Doe play us at this crosse;

But light now downe, my owne trew loue,

And meeklye hold my steede,

Whilest your father [and your brether] bold.]

[_Half a page missing._]

FOOTNOTES:

[643] [bedecked.]

[644] [churlish.]

[645] [into captivity.]

[646] [no advantage.]

[Illustration]

XII.

EDOM O' GORDON,

A SCOTTISH BALLAD,

Was printed at Glasgow, by Robert and Andrew Foulis, MDCCLV. 8vo. 12

pages. We are indebted for its publication (with many other valuable

things in these volumes) to Sir David Dalrymple, Bart., who gave it as

it was preserved in the memory of a lady that is now dead.

The reader will here find it improved and enlarged with several fine

stanzas, recovered from a fragment of the same ballad, in the Editor's

folio MS. It is remarkable that the latter is entitled _Captain Adam

Carre_, and is in the English idiom. But whether the author was English

or Scotch, the difference originally was not great. The English

Ballads are generally of the North of England, the Scottish are of the

South of Scotland, and of consequence the country of ballad-singers

was sometimes subject to one crown, and sometimes to the other, and

most frequently to neither. Most of the finest old Scotch songs

have the scene laid within twenty miles of England, which is indeed

all poetic ground, green hills, remains of woods, clear brooks. The

pastoral scenes remain: of the rude chivalry of former ages happily

nothing remains but the ruins of the castles, where the more daring

and successful robbers resided. The house or castle of the _Rodes_

stood about a measured mile south from Duns, in Berwickshire: some of

the ruins of it may be seen to this day. The _Gordons_ were anciently

seated in the same county: the two villages of East and West Gordon lie

about ten miles from the castle of the Rodes.[647] The fact, however,

on which the ballad is founded, happened in the north of Scotland,[648]

yet it is but too faithful a specimen of the violences practised in

the feudal times in every part of this Island, and indeed all over

Europe.

From the different titles of this ballad, it should seem that the old

strolling bards or minstrels (who gained a livelihood by reciting

these poems) made no scruple of changing the names of the personages

they introduced, to humour their hearers. For instance, if a Gordon's

conduct was blameworthy in the opinion of that age, the obsequious

minstrel would, when among Gordons, change the name to Car, whose clan

or sept lay further west, and _vice versâ_. The foregoing observation,

which I owed to Sir David Dalrymple, will appear the more perfectly

well founded, if, as I have since been informed (from _Crawford's

Memoirs_), the principal Commander of the expedition was a _Gordon_,

and the immediate agent a _Car_, or _Ker_; for then the reciter might,

upon good grounds, impute the barbarity here deplored, either to a

Gordon or a Car, as best suited his purpose. In the third volume the

reader will find a similar instance. See the song of _Gil Morris_,

wherein the principal character introduced had different names given

him, perhaps from the same cause.

It may be proper to mention that, in the folio MS., instead of the

"Castle of the Rodes," it is the "Castle of Bittons-borrow," and

also "Dractons-borrow," and "Capt. Adam Carre" is called the "Lord

of Westerton-town." Uniformity required that the additional stanzas

supplied from that copy should be clothed in the Scottish orthography

and idiom: this has therefore been attempted, though perhaps

imperfectly.

* * * * *

[Percy's note, which goes to prove that the historical event

referred to in this ballad occurred in the north of Scotland,

negatives the view which is expressed just before, that the

borders are the exclusive country of the ballad singers, at all

events in this particular instance. Sir David Dalrymple appears

to have altered the place of action from Towie to Rodes under a

misconception. An extract from _Crawford's Memoirs_ (an. 1571,

p. 240, ed. 1706), is a proper companion to the passage from

Spotswood, and explains the title in the folio MS. The person sent

was "one Captain Ker with a party of foot.... Nor was he ever

so much as cashiered for this inhuman action, which made Gordon

share in the scandal and the guilt." Gordon, in his _History of

the Family of Gordon_, informs us that, in the true old spirit

of Scottish family feuds, the Forbes's afterwards attempted to

assassinate Gordon in the streets of Paris.

Percy showed good taste in rejecting the termination given in

Dalrymple's version, which certainly does not improve the ballad,

and has moreover a very modern flavour. The husband is there made

to end his days as follows:--

"And round and round the wa's he went

Their ashes for to view.

At last into the flames he flew

And bad the world adieu."

This ballad is found in various versions, which proves how

wide-spread was the popularity of the striking story which it

relates. In the version given from the Cotton MS. by Ritson in his

_Ancient Songs_ (vol. ii. p. 38, ed. 1829) the husband takes

no vengeance on Captain Car. Another version, entitled _Loudoun

Castle_, is reprinted in _Child's English and Scottish Ballads_

(vol. vi. p. 254), from the _Ballads and Songs of Ayrshire_, where

the scene is changed to Loudoun Castle, which is supposed to have

been burnt about three hundred and sixty years ago by the clan

Kennedy. In Ritson's version the castle is called Crechcrynbroghe,

and in the _Genealogy of the Forbes_, by Matthew Lumsden, of

Tullikerne, written in 1580 (Inverness, 1819, p. 44), the name is

changed to Cargaffe. From this latter source we learn that the lady

of Towie was Margaret Campbell, daughter of Sir John Campbell, of

Calder, and that the husband, far from flying into the flames,

married a second wife, a daughter of Forbes of Reires, who bare him

a son named Arthur.]

[Illustration]

It fell about the Martinmas,

Quhen the wind blew shril and cauld,

Said Edom o' Gordon to his men,

We maun draw till a hauld.[649]

And quhat a hauld sall we draw till, 5

My mirry men and me?

We wul gae to the house o' the Rodes,

To see that fair ladìe.

The lady stude on hir castle wa',

Beheld baith dale and down: 10

There she was ware of a host of men

Cum ryding towards the toun.[650]

O see ye nat, my mirry men a'?

O see ye nat quhat I see?

Methinks I see a host of men: 15

I marveil quha they be.

She weend[651] it had been hir luvely lord,

As he cam ryding hame;

It was the traitor Edom o' Gordon,

Quha reckt nae sin nor shame. 20

She had nae sooner buskit[652] hirsel,

And putten on hir goun,

But Edom o' Gordon and his men

Were round about the toun.

They had nae sooner supper sett, 25

Nae sooner said the grace,

But Edom o' Gordon and his men,

Were light about the place.

The lady ran up to hir towir head,

Sa fast as she could hie, 30

To see if by hir fair speechès

She could wi' him agree.

But quhan he see this lady saif,

And hir yates[653] all locked fast,

He fell into a rage of wrath, 35

And his look was all aghast.

Cum doun to me, ye lady gay,

Cum doun, cum doun to me:

This night sall ye lig[654] within mine armes,

To-morrow my bride sall be. 40

I winnae[655] cum doun, ye fals Gordòn,

I winnae cum doun to thee;

I winnae forsake my ain dear lord,

That is sae far frae me.

Give owre your house, ye lady fair, 45

Give owre your house to me,

Or I sall brenn[656] yoursel therein,

Bot and[657] your babies three.

I winnae give owre, ye false Gordòn,

To nae sik traitor as yee; 50

And if ye brenn my ain dear babes,

My lord sall make ye drie.[658]

But reach my pistoll, Glaud, my man,[659]

And charge ye weil my gun:[659]

For, but an[660] I pierce that bluidy butcher, 55

My babes we been undone.

She stude upon hir castle wa',

And let twa bullets flee:[659]

She mist that bluidy butchers hart,

And only raz'd his knee. 60

Set fire to the house, quo' fals Gordòn,

All wood wi' dule[661] and ire:

Fals lady, ye sail rue this deid,

As ye bren in the fire.

Wae worth,[662] wae worth ye, Jock my man, 65

I paid ye weil your fee;

Quhy pu' ye out the ground-wa' stane.[663]

Lets in the reek[664] to me?

And ein[665] wae worth ye, Jock my man,

I paid ye weil your hire; 70

Quhy pu' ye out the ground-wa stane,

To me lets in the fire?

Ye paid me weil my hire, lady;

Ye paid me weil my fee:

But now I'm Edom o' Gordons man, 75

Maun either doe or die.

O than bespaik hir little son,

Sate on the nurses knee:

Sayes, Mither deare, gi' owre this house,

For the reek it smithers me. 80

I wad gie a' my gowd,[666] my childe,

Sae wald I a' my fee,

For ane blast o' the western wind,

To blaw the reek frae thee.

O then bespaik hir dochter dear, 85

She was baith jimp[667] and sma:

O row[668] me in a pair o' sheits,

And tow me[669] owre the wa.

They rowd hir in a pair o' sheits,

And towd hir owre the wa: 90

But on the point of Gordons spear,

She gat a deadly fa.

O bonnie bonnie was hir mouth,

And cherry were hir cheiks,

And clear clear was hir yellow hair, 95

Whereon the reid bluid dreips.

Then wi' his spear he turnd hir owre,

O gin hir face was wan![670]

He sayd, ye are the first that eir

I wisht alive again. 100

He turnd hir owre and owre againe,

O gin hir skin was whyte![670]

I might ha spared that bonnie face

To hae been sum mans delyte.

Busk and boun,[671] my merry men a', 105

For ill dooms I doe guess;

I cannae luik in that bonnie face,

As it lyes on the grass.

Thame, luiks to freits, my master deir,[672]

Then freits wil follow thame:[672] 110

Let it neir be said brave Edom o' Gordon

Was daunted by a dame.

But quhen the ladye see the fire

Cum flaming owre hir head,

She wept and kist her children twain, 115

Sayd, Bairns, we been but dead.

The Gordon then his bougill[673] blew,

And said, Awa', awa';

This house o' the Rodes is a' in flame,

I hauld it time to ga'. 120

O then bespyed hir ain dear lord,

As hee cam owr the lee;

He sied[674] his castle all in blaze

Sa far as he could see.

Then sair, O sair his mind misgave, 125

And all his hart was wae;

Put on, put on, my wighty men,

So fast as ye can gae.

Put on, put on, my wighty[675] men,

Sa fast as ye can drie;[676] 130

For he that is hindmost of the thrang,

Sall neir get guid o' me.

Than sum they rade, and sum they rin,

Fou fast out-owr the bent;[677]

But eir the foremost could get up, 135

Baith lady and babes were brent.

He wrang his hands, he rent his hair,

And wept in teenefu' muid:[678]

O traitors, for this cruel deid

Ye sall weep teirs o'bluid. 140

And after the Gordon he is gane,

Sa fast as he might drie;[679]

And soon i' the Gordon's foul hartis bluid,

He's wroken[680] his dear ladie.

[***]

* * * * *

[The following is the version of the ballad in the Percy Folio, which

is entitled _Captaine Carre_. Bishop Percy's Folio MS., ed. J. W. Hales

and F. J. Furnivall, 1867, vol. i., pp. 79-83.

ffaith, Master, whither you will,

whereas you like the best,

Unto the castle of Bittons borrow,

and there to take your rest.

But yonder stands a Castle faire,

is made of lyme and stone,

Yonder is in it a fayre lady,

her lord is ridden and gone.

The lady stood on her castle wall,

she looked upp and downe,

She was ware of an hoast of men

came rydinge towards the towne.

See you not my merry men all,

and see you not what I doe see?

Methinks I see a hoast of men

I muse who they shold be.

She thought it had beene her lovly Lord,

he had come ryding home:

it was the traitor, Captaine Carre

the Lord of Westerton towne

They had noe sooner super sett,

and after said the grace

but the traitor Captaine Carre

was light about the place.

Give over thy house, thou lady gay

I will make thee a band [_i.e._ bond]

all night within mine armes thoust lye,

to-morrow be the heyre of my land.

Ile not give over my house, shee said

neither for ladds nor man,

nor yet for traitor Captaine Carre,

Untill my lord come home.

But reach me my pistoll pee [_i.e._ piece]

and charge you well my gunne,

Ile shoote at the bloody bucher

the lord of westerton.

She stood uppon her castle wall

and let the bulletts flee,

and where shee mist....

[_Half a page missing._]

But then bespake the little child

that sate on the nurses knee,

saies, mother deere, give ore this house

for the smoake it smoothers me.

I wold give all my gold, my childe,

soe wold I doe all my fee,

for one blast of the westerne wind

to blow the smoke from thee.

But when shee saw the fier

came flaming ore her head,

She tooke them upp her children two

Sayes, babes we all beene dead!

But Adam then he fired the house,

a sorrowfull sight to see:

now hath he burned this lady faire

and eke her children three

Then Captain Carre he rode away,

he staid noe longer at that tide,

he thought that place it was to warme

soe neere for to abide

He calld unto his merry men all

bidd them make hast away

for we have slaine his children three

all, and his lady gay.

Word came to lovly loudon[1]

to loudon[681] wheras her lord lay,

his castle and his hall was burned

all and his lady gay.

Soe hath he done his Children three,

More dearer unto him

then either the silver or the gold

that men soe faine wold win.

But when he looket this writing on,

Lord in is hart he was woe!

saies, I will find thee, Captain Carre,

wether thou ryde or goe!

Buff yee, bowne yee, my merry men all

with tempered swords of steele,

for till I have found out Captaine Carre,

My hart it is nothing weele.

But when he came to dractons Borrow,

soe long ere it was day,

and ther he found him, Captaine Carre;

that night he ment to stay.]

[_Half a page missing._]

FOOTNOTES:

[647] This ballad is well known in that neighbourhood, where it

is intitled _Adam O'Gordon_. It may be observed, that the famous

freebooter whom Edward I. fought with, hand to hand, near Farnham, was

named _Adam Gordon_.

[648] Since this ballad was first printed, the subject of it has

been found recorded in Abp. Spotswood's _History of the Church of_

_Scotland_, p. 259, who informs us that, "Anno 1571. In the north

parts of Scotland, _Adam Gordon_ (who was deputy for his brother

the earl of Huntley) did keep a great stir; and under colour of

the queen's authority, committed divers oppressions, especially

upon the Forbes's.... Having killed Arthur Forbes, brother to the

lord Forbes.... Not long after he sent to summon the house of Tavoy

pertaining to Alexander Forbes. The _Lady_ refusing to yield without

direction from her husband, he put fire unto it, and burnt her therein,

with children and servants, being twenty-seven persons in all.

"This inhuman and barbarous cruelty made his name odious, and stained

all his former doings; otherwise he was held very active and fortunate

in his enterprizes."

This fact, which had escaped the Editor's notice, was in the most

obliging manner pointed out to him by an ingenious writer who signs his

name H. H. (Newcastle, May 9) in the _Gentleman's Magazine_ for May,

1775.

[649] [to a hold.]

[650] [dwelling-house.]

[651] [thought.]

[652] [dressed.]

[653] [gates.]

[654] [lie.]

[655] [will not.]

[656] [burn.]

[657] [and also.]

[658] [suffer.]

[659] These three lines are restored from Foulis's edition, and the

fol. MS., which last reads _the bullets_, in ver. 58.

[660] [unless.]

[661] [mad with sorrow.]

[662] [woe betide.]

[663] [ground-wall stone.]

[664] [smoke.]

[665] [even.]

[666] [gold.]

[667] [slender.]

[668] [roll.]

[669] [let me down.]

[670] Ver. 98, 102. _O gin, &c._ a Scottish idiom to express great

admiration.

[671] [make ready to go.]

[672] V. 109, 110. _Thame, &c. i.e._ Them that look after omens of

ill luck, ill luck will follow.

[673] [bugle.]

[674] [saw.]

[675] [nimble.]

[676] [endure.]

[677] [full fast over the meadows.]

[678] [in wrathful mood.]

[679] [bear.]

[680] [revenged.]

[681] [printed _London_ in the edition of the MS.]

THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK.

[Illustration]

RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY, ETC.

SERIES THE FIRST.