My conscience clere my chiefe defence:
I never seeke by brybes to please,
Nor by desert to give offence:
Thus do I live, thus will I die; 65
Would all did so as well as I!
FOOTNOTES:
[972] [_The Courtly Poets, from Raleigh to Montrose._ Edited by J.
Hannah, D.C.L., London, 1870. (Aldine Poets.)]
VI.
THE PATIENT COUNTESS.
The subject of this tale is taken from that entertaining Colloquy of
_Erasmus_, intitled, "Uxor #Mempsigamos#, sive Conjugium:" which has
been agreeably modernized by the late Mr. _Spence_, in his little
Miscellaneous Publication, intitled, "_Moralities_, &c. by Sir Harry
Beaumont," 1753, 8vo. pag. 42.
The following stanzas are extracted from an ancient poem intitled
_Albion's England_, written by _W. Warner_, a celebrated poet in the
reign of Q. Elizabeth, though his name and works are now equally
forgotten. The reader will find some account of him in vol. ii. book
ii. song 24.
The following stanzas are printed from the author's improved edition
of his work, printed in 1602, 4to.; the third impression of which
appeared so early as 1592, in bl. let. 4to. The edition in 1602 is in
thirteen books; and so it is reprinted in 1612, 4to.; yet, in 1606, was
published "A Continuance of Albion's England, by the first author, W.
W. Lond. 4to.:" this contains Books xiv. xv. xvi. There is also extant,
under the name of Warner, "Syrinx, or a seven-fold Historie, pleasant,
and profitable, comical, and tragical," 4to.
* * * * *
[The title of this poem challenges comparison with _Patient_
_Griselda_, but it is in fact a totally different story, and as Mr.
Hales says, "represents rather tact and management than patience in
the wife of an unfaithful (not a tempting and essaying) husband."
The first edition of Warner's poem was published in 1586, and the
numerous impressions of it prove its popularity. The full title
is as follows: "Albion's England, a continued History of the same
Kingdome from the Originals of the first inhabitants thereof, unto
the raigne of Queen Elizabeth."]
* * * * *
Impatience chaungeth smoke to flame, but jelousie is hell;
Some wives by patience have reduc'd ill husbands to live well:
As did the ladie of an earle, of whom I now shall tell.
An earle 'there was' had wedded, lov'd; was lov'd, and lived long
Full true to his fayre countesse; yet at last he did her wrong. 5
Once hunted he untill the chace, long fasting, and the heat
Did house him in a peakish graunge[973] within a forest great.
Where knowne and welcom'd (as the place and persons might afforde)
Browne bread, whig,[974] bacon, curds and milke were set him on
the borde.
A cushion made of lists, a stoole halfe backed with a hoope 10
Were brought him, and he sitteth down besides a sorry coupe.[975]
The poore old couple wisht their bread were wheat, their whig
were perry,
Their bacon beefe, their milke and curds were creame, to make him
merry.
Meane while (in russet neatly clad, with linen white as swanne,
Herselfe more white, save rosie where the ruddy colour ranne: 15
Whome naked nature, not the aydes of arte made to excell)
The good man's daughter sturres to see that all were feat[976]
and well;
The earle did marke her, and admire such beautie there to dwell.
Yet fals he to their homely fare, and held him at a feast:
But as his hunger slaked, so an amorous heat increast.
When this repast was past, and thanks, and welcome too; he sayd 21
Unto his host and hostesse, in the hearing of the mayd:
Yee know, quoth he, that I am lord of this, and many townes;
I also know that you be poore, and I can spare you pownes.[977]
Soe will I, so yee will consent, that yonder lasse and I 25
May bargaine for her love; at least, doe give me leave to trye.
Who needs to know it? nay who dares into my doings pry?
First they mislike, yet at the length for lucre were misled;
And then the gamesome earle did wowe[978] the damsell for his bed.
He took her in his armes, as yet so coyish to be kist, 30
As mayds that know themselves belov'd, and yieldingly resist.
In few, his offers were so large she lastly did consent;
With whom he lodged all that night, and early home he went.
He tooke occasion oftentimes in such a sort to hunt.
Whom when his lady often mist, contrary to his wont, 35
And lastly was informed of his amorous haunt elsewhere;
It greev'd her not a little, though she seem'd it well to beare.
And thus she reasons with herselfe, some fault perhaps in me;
Somewhat is done, that so he doth: alas! what may it be?
How may I winne him to myself? he is a man, and men 40
Have imperfections; it behooves me pardon nature then.
To checke him were to make him checke,[979] although hee now were
chaste:
A man controuled of his wife, to her makes lesser haste,
If duty then, or daliance may prevayle to alter him;
I will be dutifull, and make my selfe for daliance trim. 45
So was she, and so lovingly did entertaine her lord,
As fairer, or more faultles none could be for bed or bord.
Yet still he loves his leiman,[980] and did still pursue that game,
Suspecting nothing less, than that his lady knew the same:
Wherefore to make him know she knew, she this devise did frame: 50
When long she had been wrong'd, and sought the foresayd meanes
in vaine,
She rideth to the simple graunge, but with a slender traine.
She lighteth, entreth, greets them well, and then did looke about her:
The guiltie houshold knowing her did wish themselves without her;
Yet, for she looked merily, the lesse they did misdoubt[981] her. 55
When she had seen the beauteous wench (then blushing fairnes fairer)
Such beauty made the countesse hold them both excus'd the rather.
Who would not bite at such a bait? thought she: and who (though loth)
So poore a wench, but gold might tempt? sweet errors lead them both.
Scarse one in twenty that had bragg'd of proffer'd gold denied, 60
Or of such yeelding beautie baulkt, but, tenne to one, had lied.
Thus thought she: and she thus declares her cause of coming thether;
My lord, oft hunting in these partes, through travel, night or wether,
Hath often lodged in your house; I thanke you for the same;
For why? it doth him jolly ease to lie so neare his game. 65
But, for you have not furniture beseeming such a guest,
I bring his owne, and come myselfe to see his lodging drest.
With that two sumpters were discharg'd, in which were hangings brave,
Silke coverings, curtens, carpets, plate, and al such turn should have.
When all was handsomly dispos'd, she prayes them to have care 70
That nothing hap in their default,[982] that might his health impair:
And, Damsell, quoth shee, for it seemes this houshold is but three,
And for thy parents age, that this shall chiefely rest on thee;
Do me that good, else would to God he hither come no more.
So tooke she horse, and ere she went bestowed gould good store. 75
Full little thought the countie[983] that his countesse had done so;
Who now return'd from far affaires did to his sweetheart go.
No sooner sat he foote within the late deformed cote,[984]
But that the formall change of things his wondring eies did note.
But when he knew those goods to be his proper goods; though late, 80
Scarce taking leave, he home returnes the matter to debate.
The countesse was a-bed, and he with her his lodging tooke;
Sir, welcome home (quoth shee); this night for you I did not looke.
Then did he question her of such his stuffe bestowed soe.
Forsooth, quoth she, because I did your love and lodging knowe; 85
Your love to be a proper wench, your lodging nothing lesse;
I held it for your health, the house more decently to dresse.
Well wot I, notwithstanding her, your lordship loveth me;
And greater hope to hold you such by quiet, then brawles, 'you' see.
Then for my duty, your delight, and to retaine your favour, 90
All done I did, and patiently expect your wonted 'haviour.
Her patience, witte and answer wrought his gentle teares to fall:
When (kissing her a score of times) amend, sweet wife, I shall:
He said, and did it; 'so each wife her husband may' recall.
FOOTNOTES:
[973] [rude and lone country house.]
[974] [buttermilk or sour whey.]
[975] [pen for poultry.]
[976] [nice or neat.]
[977] [pounds.]
[978] [woo.]
[979] To _check_ is a term in falconry, applied when a hawk stops
and turns away from his proper pursuit: to _check_ also signifies to
reprove or chide. It is in this verse used in both senses.
[980] [mistress.]
[981] [suspect.]
[982] [happen from their neglect.]
[983] [earl.]
[984] [cottage.]
VII
DOWSABELL.
The following stanzas were written by _Michael Drayton_, a poet of some
eminence in the reigns of Q. Elizabeth, James I. and Charles I.[985]
They are inserted in one of his Pastorals, the first edition of which
bears this whimsical title, "Idea. The Shepheards Garland fashioned in
nine Eglogs. Rowlands sacrifice to the nine muses. Lond. 1593." 4to.
They are inscribed with the author's name at length "To the noble and
valerous gentleman master Robert Dudley, &c." It is very remarkable
that when Drayton reprinted them in the first folio edit. of his works,
1619, he had given those Eclogues so thorough a revisal, that there is
hardly a line to be found the same as in the old edition. This poem had
received the fewest corrections, and therefore is chiefly given from
the ancient copy, where it is thus introduced by one of his Shepherds:
"Listen to mee, my lovely shepheards joye.
And thou shall heare, with mirth and mickle glee,
A pretie tale, which when I was a boy,
My toothles grandame oft hath tolde to me."
The author has professedly imitated the style and metre of some of
the old metrical romances, particularly that of _Sir Isenbras_[986]
(alluded to in v. 3), as the reader may judge from the following
specimen:
"Lordynges, lysten, and you shal here, &c.
* * * * *
Ye shall well heare of a knight,
That was in warre full wyght,
And doughtye of his dede:
His name was Syr Isenbras,
Man nobler then he was
Lyved none with breade.
He was lyvely, large, and longe,
With shoulders broade, and armes stronge,
That myghtie was to se:
He was a hardye man, and hye,
All men hym loved that hym se,
For a gentyll knight was he:
Harpers loved him in hall,
With other minstrells all,
For he gave them golde and fee," &c.
This ancient legend was printed in black-letter, 4to. by Wyllyam
Copland; no date.[987] In the Cotton Library (Calig. A 2) is a MS.
copy of the same romance containing the greatest variations. They are
probably two different translations of some French original.
* * * * *
Farre in the countrey of Arden,
There won'd[988] a knight, hight Cassemen,
As bolde as Isenbras:
Fell[989] was he, and eger bent,
In battell and in tournament, 5
As was the good Sir Topas.
He had, as antique stories tell,
A daughter cleaped[990] Dowsabel,
A mayden fayre and free:
And for she was her fathers heire, 10
Full well she was y-cond the leyre[991]
Of mickle curtesie.
The silke well couth she twist and twine,
And make the fine march-pine,[992]
And with the needle werke: 15
And she couth helpe the priest to say
His mattins on a holy-day,
And sing a psalme in kirke.
She ware a frock of frolicke greene,
Might well beseeme a mayden queene, 20
Which seemly was to see;
A hood to that so neat and fine,
In colour like the colombine,
Y-wrought full featously.[993]
Her features all as fresh above, 25
As is the grasse that growes by Dove;
And lyth[994] as lasse of Kent.
Her skin as soft as Lemster wooll,[995]
As white as snow on Peakish Hull,[996]
Or swanne that swims in Trent. 30
This mayden in a morne betime
Went forth, when May was in her prime,
To get sweete cetywall,[997]
The honey-suckle, the harlocke,[998]
The lilly and the lady-smocke, 35
To deck her summer hall.
Thus, as she wandred here and there,
Y-picking of the bloomed breere,
She chanced to espie
A shepheard sitting on a bancke, 40
Like chanteclere he crowed crancke,[999]
And pip'd full merrilie.
He lear'd[1000] his sheepe as he him list,
When he would whistle in his fist,
To feede about him round; 45
Whilst he full many a carroll sung,
Untill the fields and medowes rung,
And all the woods did sound.
In favour this same shepheards swayne
Was like the bedlam Tamburlayne,[1001] 50
Which helde prowd kings in awe:
But meeke he was as lamb mought be;
An innocent of ill as he[1002]
Whom his lewd brother slaw.
The shepheard ware a sheepe-gray cloke, 55
Which was of the finest loke,[1003]
That could be cut with sheere:
His mittens were of bauzens[1004] skinne,
His cockers[1005] were of cordiwin,[1006]
His hood of meniveere.[1007] 60
His aule and lingell[1008] in a thong,
His tar-boxe on his broad belt hong,
His breech of coyntrie[1009] blewe:
Full crispe and curled were his lockes,
His browes as white as Albion rocks: 65
So like a lover true,
And pyping still he spent the day,
So merry as the popingay;[1010]
Which liked Dowsabel:
That would she ought, or would she nought, 70
This lad would never from her thought;
She in love-longing fell.
At length she tucked up her frocke,
White as a lilly was her smocke,
She drew the shepheard nye; 75
But then the shepheard pyp'd a good,
That all his sheepe forsooke their foode,
To heare his melodye.
Thy sheepe, quoth she, cannot be leane,
That have a jolly shepheards swayne, 80
The which can pipe so well:
Yea but, sayth he, their shepheard may,
If pyping thus he pine away
In love of Dowsabel.
Of love, fond boy, take thou no keepe,[1011] 85
Quoth she; looke thou unto thy sheepe,
Lest they should hap to stray.
Quoth he, so had I done full well,
Had I not seen fayre Dowsabell
Come forth to gather maye. 90
With that she gan to vaile her head,
Her cheeks were like the roses red,
But not a word she sayd:
With that the shepheard gan to frowne,
He threw his pretie pypes adowne, 95
And on the ground him layd.
Sayth she, I may not stay till night,
And leave my summer-hall undight,[1012]
And all for long of thee.
My coate,[1013] sayth he, nor yet my foulde 100
Shall neither sheepe nor shepheard hould,
Except thou favour mee.
Sayth she, Yet lever were I dead,
Then I should lose my mayden-head,
And all for love of men. 105
Sayth he, Yet are you too unkind.
If in your heart you cannot finde
To love us now and then.
And I to thee will be as kinde
As Colin was to Rosalinde, 110
Of curtesie the flower.
Then will I be as true, quoth she,
As ever mayden yet might be
Unto her paramour.
With that she bent her snow-white knee, 115
Downe by the shepheard kneeled shee,
And him she sweetely kist:
With that the shepheard whoop'd for joy,
Quoth he, ther's never shepheards boy
That ever was so blist. 120
FOOTNOTES:
[985] He was born in 1563, and died in 1631. _Biog. Brit._
[986] As also Chaucer's _Rhyme of Sir Topas_, v. 6.
[987] [Reprinted by Utterson. The _Romance of Sir Isumbras_ was printed
from the MS. by Mr. Halliwell in the _Thornton Romance_ (Camden
Society, 1844).]
[988] [dwelt.]
[989] [keen.]
[990] [named.]
[991] [she was taught the learning.]
[992] [march-pane, a kind of biscuit.]
[993] [dexterously.]
[994] [gentle or tender.]
[995] Leominster, or Lemster, was long famous for its wool, and Skelton
refers to "good Lemster wool" in his _Elynour Rummin_.
[996] Peakish hill; this may refer to the well-known Derbyshire
mountain called the Peak.
[997] herb valerian, or mountain spikenard.
[998] perhaps charlock, or wild rape.
[999] exultingly.
[1000] pastured.
[1001] Alluding to _Tamburlaine the great, or the Scythian Shepheard_,
1590, 8vo. an old ranting play ascribed to Marlowe.
[1002] Sc. Abel.
[1003] [fleece of wool.]
[1004] [sheepskin gloves with the wool on the inside.]
[1005] [short boots.]
[1006] [leather.]
[1007] [mixed fur.]
[1008] [rosined thread.]
[1009] [Coventry.]
[1010] [parrot.]
[1011] [heed.]
[1012] [undecked.]
[1013] [cot.]
VIII.
THE FAREWELL TO LOVE.
From Beaumont and Fletcher's play, intitled _The Lover's Progress_.
act iii. sc. 1.
Adieu, fond love, farewell you wanton powers;
I am free again.
Thou dull disease of bloud and idle hours,
Bewitching pain,
Fly to fools, that sigh away their time: 5
My nobler love to heaven doth climb,
And there behold beauty still young,
That time can ne'er corrupt, nor death destroy,
Immortal sweetness by fair angels sung,
And honoured by eternity and joy: 10
There lies my love, thither my hopes aspire,
Fond love declines, this heavenly love grows higher.
IX.
ULYSSES AND THE SYREN,
Affords a pretty poetical contest between Pleasure and Honour. It is
found at the end of _Hymen's Triumph: a pastoral tragicomedie_,
written by Daniel, and printed among his works, 4to. 1623.[1014]
_Daniel_, who was a contemporary of Drayton's, and is said to have been
poet laureat to Queen Elizabeth, was born in 1562, and died in 1619.
_Anne_, Countess of Dorset, Pembroke, and Montgomery (to whom Daniel
had been tutor), has inserted a small portrait of him in a full-length
picture of herself, preserved at Appleby Castle, in Cumberland.
This little poem is the rather selected for a specimen of Daniel's
poetic powers, as it is omitted in the later edition of his works, 2
vols. 12mo. 1718.
* * * * *
[Samuel Daniel was born in Somersetshire, and educated at Magdalen
Hall, Oxford. He left college without a degree, "his geny being,"
according to Ant. à Wood, "more prone to easier and smoother
subjects than in pecking and hewing at logic." He was tutor to Lady
Anne Clifford, subsequently Countess of Pembroke, and afterwards
groom of the privy chamber to Anne, queen of James I. Browne calls
him in _Britannia's Pastorals_, "Wel-languaged Daniel," and the
union of power of thought with sweetness and grace of expression
exhibited by him is highly praised by Southey and Coleridge. He
was free from indelicacy in his writings, and Fuller says of him
that "he carried in his Christian and surname two holy prophets,
his monitors, so to qualify his raptures that he abhorred all
profaneness."]
* * * * *
SYREN.
Come, worthy Greeke, Ulysses come,
Possesse these shores with me,
The windes and seas are troublesome,
And here we may be free.
Here may we sit and view their toyle, 5
That travaile in the deepe,
Enjoy the day in mirth the while,
And spend the night in sleepe.
ULYSSES.
Faire nymph, if fame or honour were
To be attain'd with ease, 10
Then would I come and rest with thee.
And leave such toiles as these:
But here it dwels, and here must I
With danger seek it forth;
To spend the time luxuriously 15
Becomes not men of worth.
SYREN.
Ulysses, O be not deceiv'd
With that unreall name:
This honour is a thing conceiv'd,
And rests on others' fame. 20
Begotten only to molest
Our peace, and to beguile
(The best thing of our life) our rest,
And give us up to toyle!
ULYSSES.
Delicious nymph, suppose there were 25
Nor honor, nor report,
Yet manlinesse would scorne to weare
The time in idle sport:
For toyle doth give a better touch
To make us feele our joy; 30
And ease findes tediousnes, as much
As labour yeelds annoy.
SYREN.
Then pleasure likewise seemes the shore,
Whereto tendes all your toyle;
Which you forego to make it more, 35
And perish oft the while.
Who may disport them diversly,
Find never tedious day;
And ease may have variety,
As well as action may. 40
ULYSSES.
But natures of the noblest frame
These toyles and dangers please;
And they take comfort in the same,
As much as you in ease:
And with the thought of actions past 45
Are recreated still:
When pleasure leaves a touch at last
To shew that it was ill.
SYREN.
That doth opinion only cause,
That's out of custom bred; 50
Which makes us many other laws,
Than ever nature did.
No widdowes waile for our delights,
Our sports are without blood;
The world we see by warlike wights 55
Receives more hurt than good.
ULYSSES.
But yet the state of things require
These motions of unrest,
And these great spirits of high desire
Seem borne to turne them best: 60
To purge the mischiefes, that increase
And all good order mar:
For oft we see a wicked peace,
To be well chang'd for war.
SYREN.
Well, well, Ulysses, then I see 65
I shall not have thee here;
And therefore I will come to thee,
And take my fortune there.
I must be wonne that cannot win,
Yet lost were I not wonne: 70
For beauty hath created bin
T' undoo or be undone.
FOOTNOTES:
[1014] In this edition it is collated with a copy printed at the end of
his "_Tragedie of Cleopatra_. London, 1607, 12mo."
X.
CUPID'S PASTIME.
This beautiful poem, which possesses a classical elegance hardly to
be expected in the age of James I. is printed from the 4th edition
of Davison's Poems,[1015] &c. 1621. It is also found in a later
miscellany, intitled, "Le Prince d'Amour," 1660, 8vo. Francis Davison,
editor of the poems above referred to, was son of that unfortunate
secretary of state who suffered so much from the affair of Mary Q.
of Scots. These poems, he tells us in his preface, were written by
himself, by his brother [Walter], who was a soldier in the wars of the
Low Countries, and by some dear friends "anonymoi." Among them are
found some pieces by Sir J. Davis, the Countess of Pembroke, Sir Philip
Sidney, Spenser, and other wits of those times.
In the fourth vol. of _Dryden's Miscellanies_, this poem is attributed
to Sydney Godolphin, Esq.; but erroneously, being probably written
before he was born. One edit. of Davison's book was published in 1608.
Godolphin was born in 1610, and died in 1642-3. Ath. Ox. ii. 23.
* * * * *
It chanc'd of late a shepherd swain,
That went to seek his straying sheep,
Within a thicket on a plain
Espied a dainty nymph asleep.
Her golden hair o'erspred her face; 5
Her careless arms abroad were cast;
Her quiver had her pillows place;
Her breast lay bare to every blast.
The shepherd stood and gaz'd his fill;
Nought durst he do; nought durst he say; 10
Whilst chance, or else perhaps his will,
Did guide the god of love that way.
The crafty boy that sees her sleep,
Whom if she wak'd he durst not see;
Behind her closely seeks to creep, 15
Before her nap should ended bee.
There come, he steals her shafts away,
And puts his own into their place;
Nor dares he any longer stay,
But, ere she wakes, hies thence apace. 20
Scarce was he gone, but she awakes,
And spies the shepherd standing by:
Her bended bow in haste she takes,
And at the simple swain lets flye.
Forth flew the shaft, and pierc'd his heart, 25
That to the ground he fell with pain:
Yet up again forthwith he start,
And to the nymph he ran amain.
Amazed to see so strange a sight,
She shot, and shot, but all in vain; 30
The more his wounds, the more his might
Love yielded strength amidst his pain.
Her angry eyes were great with tears,
She blames her hand, she blames her skill;
The bluntness of her shafts she fears, 35
And try them on herself she will.
Take heed, sweet nymph, trye not thy shaft,
Each little touch will pierce thy heart:
Alas! thou know'st not Cupids craft;
Revenge is joy; the end is smart. 40
Yet try she will, and pierce some bare;
Her hands were glov'd, but next to hand
Was that fair breast, that breast so rare,
That made the shepherd senseless stand.
That breast she pierc'd; and through that breast 45
Love found an entry to her heart;
At feeling of this new-come guest,
Lord! how this gentle nymph did start?
She runs not now; she shoots no more;
Away she throws both shaft and bow: 50
She seeks for what she shunn'd before,
She thinks the shepherds haste too slow.
Though mountains meet not, lovers may:
What other lovers do, did they:
The god of love sate on a tree, 55
And laught that pleasant sight to see.
FOOTNOTES:
[1015] See the full title in Vol. ii. Book iii. No. iv.
XI.
THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE.
This little moral poem was writ by Sir _Henry Wotton_, who died Provost
of Eton in 1639. Æt. 72. It is printed from a little collection of his
pieces, intitled. _Reliquiæ Wottonianæ_, 1651, 12mo.; compared with one
or two other copies. [Ben Jonson is said to have greatly admired these
verses, and to have known them by heart.]
* * * * *
How happy is he born or taught,
That serveth not anothers will;
Whose armour is his honest thought,
And simple truth his highest skill:
Whose passions not his masters are; 5
Whose soul is still prepar'd for death;
Not ty'd unto the world with care
Of princes ear, or vulgar breath:
Who hath his life from rumours freed;
Whose conscience is his strong retreat: 10
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruine make oppressors great:
Who envies none, whom chance doth raise,
Or vice: Who never understood
How deepest wounds are given with praise; 15
Nor rules of state, but rules of good:
Who God doth late and early pray
More of his grace than gifts to lend;
And entertaines the harmless day
With a well-chosen book or friend. 20
This man is freed from servile bands
Of hope to rise, or feare to fall;
Lord of himselfe, though not of lands;
And having nothing, yet hath all.
XII.
GILDEROY
Was a famous robber, who lived about the middle of the last century, if
we may credit the histories and storybooks of highwaymen, which relate
many improbable feats of him, as his robbing Cardinal Richelieu, Oliver
Cromwell, &c. But these stories have probably no other authority than
the records of Grub-street. At least the _Gilderoy_, who is the hero
of Scottish songsters, seems to have lived in an earlier age; for,
in Thompson's _Orpheus Caledonius_, vol. ii. 1733, 8vo. is a copy of
this ballad, which, tho' corrupt and interpolated, contains some lines
that appear to be of genuine antiquity: in these he is represented as
contemporary with Mary Q. of Scots: _ex. gr._
"The Queen of Scots possessed nought,
That my love let me want:
For cow and ew he to me brought,
And een whan they were scant.
All these did honestly possess
He never did annoy,
Who never fail'd to pay their cess
To my love Gilderoy."
These lines perhaps might safely have been inserted among the following
stanzas, which are given from a written copy, that appears to have
received some modern corrections. Indeed, the common popular ballad
contained some indecent luxuriances that required the pruning-hook.
* * * * *
[The subject of this ballad was a ruffian totally unworthy of the
poetic honours given to him, and the poem itself can in no way
be looked upon as historic. To mention but one instance of its
departure from truth--the song is said to have been written by a
young woman of a superior station in society who had been induced
to live with the freebooter, but the fact was that one thousand
marks having been offered for his apprehension, he was betrayed by
his mistress Peg Cunningham, and captured after killing eight of
the men sent against him, and stabbing the woman.
He was one of the proscribed clan Gregor, and a notorious lifter of
cattle in the Highlands of Perthshire for some time before 1636. In
February of that year seven of his accomplices were taken, tried,
condemned, and executed at Edinburgh. These men were apprehended
chiefly through the exertions of the Stewarts of Athol, and in
revenge Gilderoy burned several of the houses belonging to the
Stewarts. In a few months, however, he was captured, as before
mentioned, and in July, 1636, was hanged with five accomplices at
the Gallowlee, between Leith and Edinburgh. As a mark of unenviable
distinction, Gilderoy was hanged on a gallows higher than the rest.
It is curious that this wretched miscreant, who robbed the poor and
outraged all women who came in his way, should have become popular
in the south of Britain. His adventures, with the various details
noticed above by Percy, are related in Captain Alexander Smith's
_History of Highwaymen_, &c., 1719, and in Johnson's _Lives and
Exploits of Highwaymen_, 1734.
The earliest known version of this song was printed in London in
1650, and another is included in _Westminster Drollery_, 1671. The
latter consists of five stanzas, the first being:
"Was ever grief so great as mine
Then speak dear bearn, I prethee,
That thus must leave my Gilderoy,
O my benison gang with thee.
Good speed be with you then Sir she said
For gone is all my joy:
And gone is he whom I love best,
My handsome Gilderoy."
The second stanza is Percy's fifth, with some of the "luxuriances"
he refers to. The third stanza is a variation of Percy's first.
"Now Gilderoy was bonny boy
Would needs to th' King be gone
With his silken garters on his legs,
And the roses on his shoone.
But better he had staid at home
With me his only joy,
For on a gallow tree they hung
My handsome Gilderoy."
The fourth stanza is a variety of Percy's eleventh, and the fifth
of his ninth.
There is another version of this song in the _Collection of
Old Ballads_, 1723 (vol. i.), entitled "The Scotch Lover's
Lamentation, or Gilderoy's last farewell," which contains some
few "luxuriances," but is on the whole superior to the "improved"
one here printed. This was altered by Lady Wardlaw, who added the
stanzas between brackets, besides the one quoted above by Percy.
Gilderoy is now, perhaps, better known by Campbell's song than by
this ballad. The name is a corruption of the Gaelic _gille roy_,
red-haired boy.]
* * * * *
Gilderoy was a bonnie boy,
Had roses tull[1016] his shoone,
His stockings were of silken soy,[1017]
Wi' garters hanging doune:
It was, I weene, a comelie sight, 5
To see sae trim a boy;
He was my jo[1018] and hearts delight,
My handsome Gilderoy.
Oh! sike twa charming een he had,
A breath as sweet as rose, 10
He never ware a Highland plaid,
But costly silken clothes;
He gain'd the luve of ladies gay,
Nane eir tull him was coy:
Ah! wae is mee! I mourn the day 15
For my dear Gilderoy.
My Gilderoy and I were born,
Baith in one toun together,
We scant were seven years beforn,
We gan to luve each other; 20
Our dadies and our mammies thay,
Were fill'd wi' mickle joy,
To think upon the bridal day,
Twixt me and Gilderoy.
For Gilderoy that luve of mine, 25
Gude faith, I freely bought
A wedding sark[1019] of holland fine,
Wi' silken flowers wrought:
And he gied me a wedding ring,
Which I receiv'd wi' joy, 30
Nae lad nor lassie eir could sing,
Like me and Gilderoy.
Wi' mickle joy we spent our prime,
Till we were baith sixteen,
And aft we past the langsome time, 35
Among the leaves sae green;
Aft on the banks we'd sit us thair,
And sweetly kiss and toy,
Wi' garlands gay wad deck my hair
My handsome Gilderoy. 40
[Oh! that he still had been content,
Wi' me to lead his life;
But, ah! his manfu' heart was bent,
To stir in feates of strife:
And he in many a venturous deed, 45
His courage bauld wad try;
And now this gars[1020] mine heart to bleed,
For my dear Gilderoy.
And when of me his leave he tuik,
The tears they wat mine ee, 50
I gave tull him a parting luik,
"My benison gang wi' thee;
God speed thee weil, mine ain dear heart,
For gane is all my joy;
My heart is rent sith we maun part, 55
My handsome Gilderoy."]
My Gilderoy baith far and near,
Was fear'd in every toun,
And bauldly bare away the gear,[1021]
Of many a lawland loun: 60
Nane eir durst meet him man to man,
He was sae brave a boy;
At length wi' numbers he was tane,
My winsome[1022] Gilderoy.
Wae worth[1023] the loun that made the laws, 65
To hang a man for gear,
To 'reave of life for ox or ass,
For sheep, or horse, or mare:
Had not their laws been made sae strick,
I neir had lost my joy, 70
Wi' sorrow neir had wat my cheek,
For my dear Gilderoy.
Giff Gilderoy had done amisse,
He mought hae banisht been;
Ah! what fair cruelty is this, 75
To hang sike handsome men:
To hang the flower o' Scottish land,
Sae sweet and fair a boy;
Nae lady had sae white a hand,
As thee, my Gilderoy. 80
Of Gilderoy sae fraid they were,
They bound him mickle strong,
Tull Edenburrow they led him thair,
And on a gallows hung:
They hung him high aboon the rest, 85
He was sae trim a boy;
Thair dyed the youth whom I lued best,
My handsome Gilderoy.
Thus having yielded up his breath,
I bare his corpse away, 90
Wi' tears, that trickled for his death,
I washt his comelye clay;
And siker[1024] in a grave sae deep,
I laid the dear-lued boy,
And now for evir maun I weep, 95
My winsome Gilderoy.
[***]
FOOTNOTES:
[1016] [for _till_ to.]
[1017] [silk.]
[1018] [sweetheart.]
[1019] [shift.]
[1020] [makes.]
[1021] [property.]
[1022] [winning.]
[1023] [woe betide.]
[1024] [secure.]
XIII.
WINIFREDA.
This beautiful address to conjugal love, a subject too much neglected
by the libertine Muses, was, I believe, first printed in a volume of
_Miscellaneous Poems, by several hands_, published by D. [David]
Lewis, 1726, 8vo.
It is there said, how truly I know not, to be "a translation from the
ancient British language."
* * * * *
Away; let nought to love displeasing,
My Winifreda, move your care;
Let nought delay the heavenly blessing,
Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy fear.
What tho' no grants of royal donors 5
With pompous titles grace our blood;
We'll shine in more substantial honors,
And to be noble we'll be good.
Our name, while virtue thus we tender,
Will sweetly sound where-e'er 'tis spoke: 10
And all the great ones, they shall wonder
How they respect such little folk.
What though from fortune's lavish bounty
No mighty treasures we possess;
We'll find within our pittance plenty, 15
And be content without excess.
Still shall each returning season
Sufficient for our wishes give;
For we will live a life of reason,
And that's the only life to live. 20
Through youth and age in love excelling,
We'll hand in hand together tread;
Sweet-smiling peace shall crown our dwelling,
And babes, sweet-smiling babes, our bed.
How should I love the pretty creatures, 25
While round my knees they fondly clung;
To see them look their mothers features,
To hear them lisp their mothers tongue.
And when with envy time transported,
Shall think to rob us of our joys, 30
You'll in your girls again be courted,
And I'll go a wooing in my boys.
XIV.
THE WITCH OF WOKEY
Was published in a small collection of poems, intitled _Euthemia, or
the Power of Harmony_, &c. 1756, written in 1748, by the ingenious Dr.
_Harrington_, of Bath, who never allowed them to be published, and
withheld his name till it could no longer be concealed. The following
copy was furnished by the late Mr. _Shenstone_, with some variations
and corrections of his own, which he had taken the liberty to propose,
and for which the author's indulgence was intreated. In this edition
it was intended to reprint the author's own original copy; but, as
that may be seen correctly given in _Pearch's_ Collection, vol. i.
1783, p. 161, it was thought the reader of taste would wish to have the
variations preserved, they are, therefore, still retained here, which
it is hoped the worthy author will excuse with his wonted liberality.
_Wokey-hole_ is a noted cavern in Somersetshire, which has given birth
to as many wild fanciful stories as the Sybils Cave, in Italy. Thro'
a very narrow entrance, it opens into a very large vault, the roof
whereof, either on account of its height, or the thickness of the
gloom, cannot be discovered by the light of torches. It goes winding a
great way underground, is crossed by a stream of very cold water, and
is all horrid with broken pieces of rock: many of these are evident
petrifactions; which, on account of their singular forms, have given
rise to the fables alluded to in this poem.
* * * * *
In aunciente days tradition showes
A base and wicked elfe arose,
The Witch of Wokey hight:
Oft have I heard the fearfull tale
From Sue, and Roger of the vale, 5
On some long winter's night.
Deep in the dreary dismall cell,
Which seem'd and was ycleped hell,
This blear-eyed hag did hide:
Nine wicked elves, as legends sayne, 10
She chose to form her guardian trayne,
And kennel near her side.
Here screeching owls oft made their nest,
While wolves its craggy sides possest,
Night-howling thro' the rock: 15
No wholesome herb could here be found;
She blasted every plant around,
And blister'd every flock.
Her haggard face was foull to see;
Her mouth unmeet a mouth to bee; 20
Her eyne of deadly leer,
She nought devis'd, but neighbour's ill;
She wreak'd on all her wayward will,
And marr'd all goodly chear.
All in her prime, have poets sung, 25
No gaudy youth, gallant and young,
E'er blest her longing armes;
And hence arose her spight to vex,
And blast the youth of either sex,
By dint of hellish charms. 30
From Glaston came a lerned wight,
Full bent to marr her fell despight,
And well he did, I ween:
Sich mischief never had been known,
And, since his mickle lerninge shown, 35
Sich mischief ne'er has been.
He chauntede out his godlie booke,
He crost the water, blest the brooke,
Then--pater noster done,--
The ghastly hag he sprinkled o'er; 40
When lo! where stood a hag before,
Now stood a ghastly stone.
Full well 'tis known adown the dale:
Tho' passing strange indeed the tale,
And doubtfull may appear, 45
I'm bold to say, there's never a one,
That has not seen the witch in stone,
With all her household gear.
But tho' this lernede clerke did well;
With grieved heart, alas! I tell, 50
She left this curse behind:
That Wokey-nymphs forsaken quite,
Tho' sense and beauty both unite,
Should find no leman kind.
For lo! even, as the fiend did say, 55
The sex have found it to this day,
That men are wondrous scant:
Here's beauty, wit, and sense combin'd,
With all that's good and virtuous join'd,
Yet hardly one gallant. 60
Shall then sich maids unpitied moane?
They might as well, like her, be stone,
As thus forsaken dwell.
Since Glaston now can boast no clerks;
Come down from Oxenford, ye sparks, 65
And, oh! revoke the spell.
Yet stay--nor thus despond, ye fair;
Virtue's the gods' peculiar care;
I hear the gracious voice:
Your sex shall soon be blest agen, 70
We only wait to find sich men,
As best deserve your choice.
XV.
BRYAN AND PEREENE,
A WEST INDIAN BALLAD,
Is founded on a real fact, that happened in the island of St.
Christophers about the beginning of the present reign. The Editor owes
the following stanzas to the friendship of Dr. _James Grainger_[1025]
who was an eminent physician in that island when this tragical incident
happened, and died there much honoured and lamented in 1767. To this
ingenious gentleman the public are indebted for the fine _Ode on
Solitude_, printed in the fourth vol. of Dodsley's _Miscel._ p. 229, in
which are assembled some of the sublimest images in nature. The reader
will pardon the insertion of the first stanza here, for the sake of
rectifying the two last lines, which were thus given by the author:
"O Solitude, romantic maid,
Whether by nodding towers you tread,
Or haunt the desart's trackless gloom,
Or hover o'er the yawning tomb,
Or climb the Andes' clifted side,
Or by the Nile's coy source abide,
Or starting from your half-year's sleep
From Hecla view the thawing deep,
Or at the purple dawn of day
Tadmor's marble wastes survey," &c.
alluding to the account of Palmyra published by some late ingenious
travellers, and the manner in which they were struck at the first sight
of those magnificent ruins by break of day.[1026]
* * * * *
The north-east wind did briskly blow,
The ship was safely moor'd;
Young Bryan thought the boat's-crew slow,
And so leapt over-board.
Pereene, the pride of Indian dames, 5
His heart long held in thrall;
And whoso his impatience blames,
I wot, ne'er lov'd at all.
A long long year, one month and day,
He dwelt on English land, 10
Nor once in thought or deed would stray,
Tho' ladies sought his hand.
For Bryan he was tall and strong,
Right blythsome roll'd his een,
Sweet was his voice whene'er he sung, 15
He scant had twenty seen.
But who the countless charms can draw,
That grac'd his mistress true;
Such charms the old world seldom saw,
Nor oft I ween the new. 20
Her raven hair plays round her neck,
Like tendrils of the vine;
Her cheeks red dewy rose-buds deck,
Her eyes like diamonds shine.
Soon as his well-known ship she spied, 25
She cast her weeds away,
And to the palmy shore she hied,
All in her best array.
In sea-green silk so neatly clad,
She there impatient stood; 30
The crew with wonder saw the lad
Repell the foaming flood.
Her hands a handkerchief display'd.
Which he at parting gave;
Well pleas'd the token he survey'd, 35
And manlier beat the wave.
Her fair companions one and all,
Rejoicing crowd the strand;
For now her lover swam in call,
And almost touch'd the land. 40
Then through the white surf did she haste,
To clasp her lovely swain;
When, ah! a shark bit through his waste:
His heart's blood dy'd the main!
He shriek'd! his half sprang from the wave, 45
Streaming with purple gore,
And soon it found a living grave,
And ah! was seen no more.
Now haste, now haste, ye maids, I pray,
Fetch water from the spring: 50
She falls, she swoons, she dies away,
And soon her knell they ring.
Now each May morning round her tomb
Ye fair, fresh flowerets strew,
So may your lovers scape his doom, 55
Her hapless fate scape you.
FOOTNOTES:
[1025] Author of a poem on the Culture of the _Sugar-Cane_, &c.
[1026] So in p. 235, it should be, _Turn'd her magic ray_.
XVI.
GENTLE RIVER, GENTLE RIVER,
TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH.
Although the English are remarkable for the number and variety of their
ancient ballads, and retain perhaps a greater fondness for these old
simple rhapsodies of their ancestors, than most other nations; they are
not the only people who have distinguished themselves by compositions
of this kind. The Spaniards have great multitudes of them, many of
which are of the highest merit. They call them in their language
_Romances_, and have collected them into volumes under the titles of
_El Romancero_, _El Cancionero_,[1027] &c. Most of them relate to their
conflicts with the Moors, and display a spirit of gallantry peculiar
to that romantic people. But of all the Spanish ballads none exceed
in poetical merit those inserted in a little Spanish _History of the
civil wars of Granada_, describing the dissensions which raged in that
last seat of Moorish empire before it was conquered in the reign of
Ferdinand and Isabella, in 1491. In this history (or perhaps romance) a
great number of heroic songs are inserted and appealed to as authentic
vouchers for the truth of facts. In reality the prose narrative seems
to be drawn up for no other end, but to introduce and illustrate those
beautiful pieces.
The Spanish editor pretends (how truly I know not) that they are
translations from the Arabic or Morisco language. Indeed, from the
plain unadorned nature of the verse, and the native simplicity of the
language and sentiment, which runs through these poems, one would judge
them to have been composed soon after the conquest of Granada[1028]
above mentioned; as the prose narrative in which they are inserted was
published about a century after. It should seem, at least, that they
were written before the Castillians had formed themselves so generally,
as they have done since, on the model of the Tuscan poets, or had
imported from Italy that fondness for conceit and refinement, which has
for near two centuries past so much infected the Spanish poetry, and
rendered it so frequently affected and obscure.
As a specimen of the ancient Spanish manner, which very much resembles
that of our English bards and minstrels, the reader is desired candidly
to accept the two following poems. They are given from a small
collection of pieces of this kind, which the Editor some years ago
translated for his amusement when he was studying the Spanish language.
As the first is a pretty close translation, to gratify the curious it
is accompanied with the original. The metre is the same in all these
old Spanish ballads: it is of the most simple construction, and is
still used by the common people in their extemporaneous songs, as we
learn from _Baretti's Travels_. It runs in short stanzas of four lines,
of which the second and fourth alone correspond in their terminations;
and in these it is only required that the vowels should be alike, the
consonants may be altogether different, as
pone casa meten arcos
noble cañas muere gamo
Yet has this kind of verse a sort of simple harmonious flow, which
atones for the imperfect nature of the rhyme, and renders it not
unpleasing to the ear. The same flow of numbers has been studied in
the following versions. The first of them is given from two different
originals, both of which are printed in the _Hist. de las civiles
guerras de Granada_, Mad. 1694. One of them hath the rhymes ending
in _aa_, the other in _ia_. It is the former of these that is here
reprinted. They both of them begin with the same line:
"Rio verde, rio verde,"[1029]
which could not be translated faithfully:
"Verdant river, verdant river,"
would have given an affected stiffness to the verse; the great merit
of which is easy simplicity; and therefore a more simple epithet was
adopted, though less poetical or expressive.
* * * * *
[The two following Spanish ballads are peculiarly out of place in a
collection of English ballads, and they are not very good specimens
of the class from which they are taken. Those who wish for
information on Spanish ballads must refer to Ticknor's _History of_
_Spanish Literature_; T. Rodd's _Ancient Spanish Ballads, relating_
_to the Twelve Peers of France mentioned in Don Quixote_, 2 vols.
London, 1821; and J. G. Lockhart's _Ancient Spanish Ballads,_
_historical and romantic_, 1823.]
[Illustration]
Rio verde, rio verde,
Quanto cuerpo en ti se baña
De Christianos y de Moros
Muertos por la dura espada!
Y tus ondas cristalinas 5
De roxa sangre se esmaltan:
Entre Moros y Christianos
Muy gran batalla se trava.
Murieron Duques y Condes,
Grandes señores de salva: 10
Murio gente de valia
De la nobleza de España.
En ti murio don Alonso,
Que de Aguilar se Ilamaba;
El valeroso Urdiales, 15
Con don Alonso acababa.
Por un ladera arriba
El buen Sayavedra marcha;
Naturel es de Sevilla,
De la gente mas granada. 20
Tras el iba un Renegado,
Desta manera le habla;
Date, date, Sayavedra,
No huyas de la Batalla.
Yo te conozco muy bien, 25
Gran tiempo estuve en tu casa;
Y en la Plaça de Sevilla
Bien te vide jugar cañas.
* * * * *
Gentle river, gentle river,
Lo, thy streams are stain'd with gore,
Many a brave and noble captain
Floats along thy willow'd shore.
All beside thy limpid waters, 5
All beside thy sands so bright,
Moorish Chiefs and Christian Warriors
Join'd in fierce and mortal fight.
Lords, and dukes, and noble princes
On thy fatal banks were slain: 10
Fatal banks that gave to slaughter
All the pride and flower of Spain.
There the hero, brave Alonzo
Full of wounds and glory died:
There the fearless Urdiales 15
Fell a victim by his side.
Lo! where yonder Don Saavedra
Thro' their squadrons slow retires;
Proud Seville, his native city,
Proud Seville his worth admires. 20
Close behind a renegado
Loudly shouts with taunting cry;
Yield thee, yield thee, Don Saavedra,
Dost thou from the battle fly?
Well I know thee, haughty Christian, 25
Long I liv'd beneath thy roof;
Oft I've in the lists of glory
Seen thee win the prize of proof.
Conozco a tu padre y madre,
Y a tu muger doña Clara; 30
Siete anos fui tu cautivo,
Malamente me tratabas.
Y aora lo seras mio,
Si Mahoma me ayudara;
Y tambien te tratare, 35
Como a mi me tratabas.
Sayavedra que lo oyera,
Al Moro bolvio la cara;
Tirole el Moro una flecha,
Pero nunca le acertaba. 40
Hiriole Sayavedra
De una herida muy mala:
Muerto cayo el Renegado
Sin poder hablar palabra.
Sayavedra fue cercado 45
De mucha Mora canalla,
Y al cabo cayo alli muerto
De una muy mala lançada.
Don Alonso en este tiempo
Bravamente peleava, 50
Y el cavallo le avian muerto,
Y le tiene por muralla.
Mas cargaron tantos Moros
Que mal le hieren y tratan:
De la sangre, que perdia, 55
Don Alonso se desmaya.
Al fin, al fin cayo muerto
Al pie de un pena alta.----
----Muerto queda don Alonso,
Eterna fama ganara. 60
* * * * *
Well I know thy aged parents,
Well thy blooming bride I know; 30
Seven years I was thy captive,
Seven years of pain and woe.
May our prophet grant my wishes,
Haughty chief, thou shalt be mine:
Thou shalt drink that cup of sorrow, 35
Which I drank when I was thine.
Like a lion turns the warrior,
Back he sends an angry glare:
Whizzing came the Moorish javelin,
Vainly whizzing thro' the air. 40
Back the hero full of fury
Sent a deep and mortal wound:
Instant sunk the Renegado,
Mute and lifeless on the ground.
With a thousand Moors surrounded, 45
Brave Saavedra stands at bay:
Wearied out but never daunted,
Cold at length the warrior lay.
Near him fighting great Alonzo
Stout resists the Paynim bands; 50
From his slaughter'd steed dismounted
Firm intrench'd behind him stands.
Furious press the hostile squadron,
Furious he repels their rage:
Loss of blood at length enfeebles: 55
Who can war with thousands wage!
Where yon rock the plain o'ershadows
Close beneath its foot retir'd,
Fainting sunk the bleeding hero,
And without a groan expir'd. 60
* * * * *
[***] In the Spanish original of the foregoing ballad follow a few
more stanzas, but being of inferior merit were not translated.
_Renegado_ properly signifies an Apostate; but it is sometimes used
to express an Infidel in general; as it seems to do above in ver.
21, &c.
The image of the _Lion_, &c. in ver. 37, is taken from the other
Spanish copy, the rhymes of which end in _ia_, viz.
"Sayavedra, que lo oyera,
"Como un leon rebolbia."
FOOTNOTES:
[1027] _i.e._ The ballad-singer.
[1028] See vol. iii. Appendix.
[1029] Literally, _Green river, green river_. [Percy found out, after
writing this, that _Rio Verde_ is the name of a river in Spain, a fact,
which he writes, "ought to have been attended to by the translator, had
he known it."]
XVII.
ALCANZOR AND ZAYDA,
A MOORISH TALE,
IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH.
The foregoing version was rendered as literal as the nature of the
two languages would admit. In the following a wider compass hath been
taken. The Spanish poem that was chiefly had in view is preserved in
the same history of the _Civil Wars of Granada_, f. 22, and begins with
these lines:
"Por la calle de su dama
"Passeando se anda," &c.
* * * * *
Softly blow the evening breezes,
Softly fall the dews of night;
Yonder walks the Moor Alcanzor,
Shunning every glare of light.
In yon palace lives fair Zaida, 5
Whom he loves with flame so pure:
Loveliest she of Moorish ladies;
He a young and noble Moor.
Waiting for the appointed minute,
Oft he paces to and fro; 10
Stopping now, now moving forwards,
Sometimes quick, and sometimes slow.
Hope and fear alternate teize him,
Oft he sighs with heart-felt care.----
See, fond youth, to yonder window 15
Softly steps the timorous fair.
Lovely seems the moon's fair lustre
To the lost benighted swain,
When all silvery bright she rises,
Gilding mountain, grove, and plain. 20
Lovely seems the sun's full glory
To the fainting seaman's eyes,
When some horrid storm dispersing
O'er the wave his radiance flies.
But a thousand times more lovely 25
To her longing lover's sight
Steals half-seen the beauteous maiden
Thro' the glimmerings of the night.
Tip-toe stands the anxious lover,
Whispering forth a gentle sigh: 30
Alla[1030] keep thee, lovely lady;
Tell me, am I doom'd to die?
Is it true the dreadful story,
Which thy damsel tells my page,
That seduc'd by sordid riches 35
Thou wilt sell thy bloom to age?
An old lord from Antiquera
Thy stern father brings along;
But canst thou, inconstant Zaida,
Thus consent my love to wrong? 40
If 'tis true now plainly tell me,
Nor thus trifle with my woes;
Hide not then from me the secret,
Which the world so clearly knows.
Deeply sigh'd the conscious maiden, 45
While the pearly tears descend:
Ah! my lord, too true the story;
Here our tender loves must end.
Our fond friendship is discover'd,
Well are known our mutual vows: 50
All my friends are full of fury;
Storms of passion shake the house.
Threats, reproaches, fears surround me;
My stern father breaks my heart:
Alla knows how dear it costs me, 55
Generous youth, from thee to part.
Ancient wounds of hostile fury
Long have rent our house and thine;
Why then did thy shining merit
Win this tender heart of mine? 60
Well thou know'st how dear I lov'd thee
Spite of all their hateful pride,
Tho' I fear'd my haughty father
Ne'er would let me be thy bride.
Well thou know'st what cruel chidings 65
Oft I've from my mother borne;
What I've suffered here to meet thee
Still at eve and early morn.
I no longer may resist them;
All, to force my hand combine; 70
And to-morrow to thy rival
This weak frame I must resign.
Yet think not thy faithful Zaida
Can survive so great a wrong;
Well my breaking heart assures me 75
That my woes will not be long.
Farewell then, my dear Alcanzor!
Farewell too my life with thee!
Take this scarf a parting token;
When thou wear'st it think on me. 80
Soon, lov'd youth, some worthier maiden
Shall reward thy generous truth;
Sometimes tell her how thy Zaida
Died for thee in prime of youth.
--To him all amaz'd, confounded, 85
Thus she did her woes impart:
Deep he sigh'd, then cry'd,--O Zaida!
Do not, do not break my heart.
Canst thou think I thus will lose thee?
Canst thou hold my love so small? 90
No! a thousand times I'll perish!----
My curst rival too shall fall.
Canst thou, wilt thou yield thus to them?
O break forth, and fly to me!
This fond heart shall bleed to save thee, 95
These fond arms shall shelter thee.
'Tis in vain, in vain, Alcanzor,
Spies surround me, bars secure:
Scarce I steal this last dear moment,
While my damsel keeps the door. 100
Hark, I hear my father storming!
Hark, I hear my mother chide!
I must go: farewell for ever!
Gracious Alla be thy guide!
FOOTNOTES:
[1030] _Alla_ is the Mahometan name of God.
THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK.
[Illustration]
APPENDIX I.
AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS IN ENGLAND.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
APPENDIX I.
AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS IN ENGLAND.
I.
The Minstrels[A][1031] were an order of men in the middle ages, who
subsisted by the arts of poetry and music, and sang to the harp verses
composed by themselves, or others.[1032] They also appear to have
accompanied their songs with mimicry and action; and to have practised
such various means of diverting as were much admired in those rude
times, and supplied the want of more refined entertainment.[B] These
arts rendered them extremely popular and acceptable in this and all the
neighbouring countries; where no high scene of festivity was esteemed
complete, that was not set off with the exercise of their talents; and
where, so long as the spirit of chivalry subsisted, they were protected
and caressed, because their songs tended to do honour to the ruling
passion of the times, and to encourage and foment a martial spirit.
The Minstrels seem to have been the genuine successors of the ancient
Bards,[C] who under different names were admired and revered, from
the earliest ages, among the people of Gaul, Britain, Ireland,
and the North; and indeed by almost all the first inhabitants of
Europe, whether of Celtic or Gothic race;[1033] but by none more
than by our own Teutonic ancestors,[1034] particularly by all the
Danish tribes.[1035] Among these they were distinguished by the
name of Scalds, a word which denotes "Smoothers and Polishers of
language."[1036] The origin of their art was attributed to Odin or
Woden, the father of their gods; and the professors of it were held in
the highest estimation. Their skill was considered as something divine;
their persons were deemed sacred; their attendance was solicited by
kings; and they were everywhere loaded with honours and rewards.
In short, Poets and their art were held among them in that rude
admiration, which is ever shewn by an ignorant people to such as excel
them in intellectual accomplishments.
As these honours were paid to Poetry and Song, from the earliest times,
in those countries which our Anglo-Saxon ancestors inhabited before
their removal into Britain, we may reasonably conclude that they
would not lay aside all their regard for men of this sort immediately
on quitting their German forests. At least so long as they retained
their ancient manners and opinions, they would still hold them in high
estimation. But as the Saxons, soon after their establishment in this
island, were converted to Christianity; in proportion as literature
prevailed among them, this rude admiration would begin to abate, and
Poetry would be no longer a peculiar profession. Thus the Poet and the
Minstrel early with us became two persons.[D] Poetry was cultivated by
men of letters indiscriminately, and many of the most popular rhymes
were composed amidst the leisure and retirement of monasteries. But
the Minstrels continued a distinct order of men for many ages after
the Norman Conquest, and got their livelihood by singing verses to the
harp at the houses of the great.[E] There they were still hospitably
and respectfully received, and retained many of the honours shewn to
their predecessors, the Bards and Scalds.[F] And though, as their
art declined, many of them only recited the compositions of others,
some of them still composed songs themselves, and all of them could
probably invent a few stanzas on occasion. I have no doubt but most of
the old heroic ballads in this collection were composed by this order
of men; for although some of the larger metrical romances might come
from the pen of the monks or others, yet the smaller narratives were
probably composed by the minstrels who sang them. From the amazing
variations which occur in different copies of the old pieces, it is
evident they made no scruple to alter each other's productions; and the
reciter added or omitted whole stanzas according to his own fancy or
convenience.
In the early ages, as was hinted above, the profession of oral
itinerant poet was held in the utmost reverence among all the Danish
tribes; and therefore we might have concluded that it was not unknown
or unrespected among their Saxon brethren in Britain, even if history
had been altogether silent on this subject. The original country of
our Anglo-Saxon ancestors is well known to have lien chiefly in the
Cimbric Chersonese, in the tracts of land since distinguished by the
name of Jutland, Angelen, and Holstein.[1037] The Jutes and Angles in
particular, who composed two-thirds of the conquerors of Britain, were
a Danish people, and their country at this day belongs to the crown of
Denmark;[1038] so that when the Danes again infested England, three or
four hundred years after, they made war on the descendants of their own
ancestors.[1039] From this near affinity we might expect to discover
a strong resemblance between both nations in their customs, manners,
and even language; and, in fact, we find them to differ no more than
would naturally happen between a parent country and its own colonies,
that had been severed in a rude, uncivilized state, and had dropt all
intercourse for three or four centuries, especially if we reflect that
the colony here settled had adopted a new religion, extremely opposite
in all respects to the ancient paganism of the mother country; and that
even at first, along with the original Angli, had been incorporated a
large mixture of Saxons from the neighbouring parts of Germany; and
afterwards, among the Danish invaders, had come vast multitudes of
adventurers from the more northern parts of Scandinavia. But all these
were only different tribes of the same common Teutonic stock, and spoke
only different dialects of the same Gothic language.[1040]
From this sameness of original and similarity of manners we might
justly have wondered if a character so dignified and distinguished
among the ancient Danes as the Scald or Bard, had been totally unknown
or unregarded in this sister nation. And, indeed, this argument is so
strong, and, at the same time, the early annals of the Anglo-Saxons
are so scanty and defective,[G] that no objections from their silence
could be sufficient to overthrow it. For if these popular bards were
confessedly revered and admired in those very countries which the
Anglo-Saxons inhabited before their removal into Britain, and if they
were afterwards common and numerous among the other descendants of
the same Teutonic ancestors, can we do otherwise than conclude that
men of this order accompanied such tribes as migrated hither, that
they afterwards subsisted here, though perhaps with less splendor than
in the North, and that there never was wanting a succession of them
to hand down the art, though some particular conjunctures may have
rendered it more respectable at one time than another? And this was
evidently the case; for though much greater honours seem to have been
heaped upon the northern Scalds, in whom the characters of historian,
genealogist, poet, and musician were all united, than appear to have
been paid to the minstrels and harpers[H] of the Anglo-Saxons, whose
talents were chiefly calculated to entertain and divert, while the
Scalds professed to inform and instruct, and were at once the moralists
and theologues of their pagan countrymen. Yet the Anglo-Saxon minstrels
continued to possess no small portion of public favour, and the arts
they professed were so extremely acceptable to our ancestors that the
word "Glee," which particularly denoted their art, continues still
in our own language to be of all others the most expressive of that
popular mirth and jollity, that strong sensation of delight, which is
felt by unpolished and simple minds.[I]
* * * * *
II. Having premised these general considerations, I shall now proceed
to collect from history such particular incidents as occur on this
subject; and, whether the facts themselves are true or not, they are
related by authors who lived too near the Saxon times, and had before
them too many recent monuments of the Anglo-Saxon nation, not to
know what was conformable to the genius and manners of that people;
and therefore we may presume that their relations prove at least the
existence of the customs and habits they attribute to our forefathers
before the Conquest, whatever becomes of the particular incidents and
events themselves. If this be admitted, we shall not want sufficient
proofs to show that minstrelsy and song were not extinct among the
Anglo-Saxons, and that the professor of them here, if not quite so
respectable a personage as the Danish Scald, was yet highly favoured
and protected, and continued still to enjoy considerable privileges.
Even so early as the first invasion of Britain by the Saxons an
incident is recorded to have happened, which, if true, shews that
the minstrel or bard was not unknown among this people, and that
their princes themselves could, upon occasion, assume that character.
Colgrin, son of that Ella who was elected king or leader of the Saxons
in the room of Hengist,[1041] was shut up in York, and closely besieged
by Arthur and his Britons. Baldulph, brother of Colgrin, wanted to
gain access to him, and to apprize him of a reinforcement which was
coming from Germany. He had no other way to accomplish his design but
to assume the character of a minstrel. He therefore shaved his head and
beard, and dressing himself in the habit of that profession, took his
harp in his hand. In this disguise he walked up and down the trenches
without suspicion, playing all the while upon his instrument as an
harper. By little and little he advanced near to the walls of the city,
and, making himself known to the sentinels, was in the night drawn up
by a rope.
Although the above fact comes only from the suspicious pen of Geoffry
of Monmouth,[K] the judicious reader will not too hastily reject it,
because, if such a fact really happened, it could only be known to
us through the medium of the British writers: for the first Saxons,
a martial but unlettered people, had no historians of their own; and
Geoffry, with all his fables, is allowed to have recorded many true
events that have escaped other annalists.
We do not, however, want instances of a less fabulous æra, and more
indubitable authority: for later history affords us two remarkable
facts,[L] which I think clearly shew that the same arts of poetry and
song, which were so much admired among the Danes, were by no means
unknown or neglected in this sister nation, and that the privileges and
honours which were so lavishly bestowed upon the northern Scalds, were
not wholly withheld from the Anglo-Saxon minstrels.
Our great King Alfred, who is expressly said to have excelled in
music,[1042] being desirous to learn the true situation of the Danish
army, which had invaded his realm, assumed the dress and character of a
minstrel,[M] when, taking his harp, and one of the most trusty of his
friends disguised as a servant[1043] (for in the early times it was not
unusual for a minstrel to have a servant to carry his harp), he went
with the utmost security into the Danish camp; and, though he could not
but be known to be a Saxon by his dialect, the character he had assumed
procured him a hospitable reception. He was admitted to entertain
the king at table, and staid among them long enough to contrive that
assault which afterwards destroyed them. This was in the year 878.
About fifty years after,[1044] a Danish king made use of the same
disguise to explore the camp of our king Athelstan. With his harp in
his hand, and dressed like a minstrel,[N] Aulaff,[1045] king of the
Danes, went among the Saxon tents; and, taking his stand near the
king's pavilion, began to play, and was immediately admitted. There he
entertained Athelstan and his lords with his singing and his music,
and was at length dismissed with an honourable reward, though his
songs must have discovered him to have been a Dane.[O] Athelstan was
saved from the consequences of this stratagem by a soldier, who had
observed Aulaff bury the money which had been given him, either from
some scruple of honour or motive of superstition. This occasioned a
discovery.
Now, if the Saxons had not been accustomed to have minstrels of their
own, Alfred's assuming so new and unusual a character would have
excited suspicions among the Danes. On the other hand, if it had not
been customary with the Saxons to shew favour and respect to the Danish
Scalds, Aulaff would not have ventured himself among them, especially
on the eve of a battle.[P] From the uniform procedure, then, of both
these kings, we may fairly conclude that the same mode of entertainment
prevailed among both people, and that the minstrel was a privileged
character with each.
But if these facts had never existed, it can be proved from undoubted
records that the minstrel was a regular and stated officer in the court
of our Anglo-Saxon kings: for in Doomesday book, "Joculator Regis,"
the king's minstrel, is expressly mentioned in Gloucestershire, in
which county it should seem that he had lands assigned him for his
maintenance.[Q]
* * * * *
III. We have now brought the inquiry down to the Norman Conquest; and
as the Normans had been a late colony from Norway and Denmark, where
the Scalds had arrived to the highest pitch of credit before Rollo's
expedition into France, we cannot doubt but this adventurer, like the
other northern princes, had many of these men in his train, who settled
with him in his new duchy of Normandy, and left behind them successors
in their art; so that when his descendant, William the Bastard,
invaded this kingdom in the following century,[1046] that mode of
entertainment could not but be still familiar with the Normans. And
that this is not mere conjecture will appear from a remarkable fact,
which shews that the arts of poetry and song were still as reputable
among the Normans in France as they had been among their ancestors in
the north; and that the profession of Minstrel, like that of Scald, was
still aspired to by the most gallant soldiers. In William's army was
a valiant warrior, named Taillefer, who was distinguished no less for
the minstrel-arts,[R] than for his courage and intrepidity. This man
asked leave of his commander to begin the onset, and obtained it. He
accordingly advanced before the army, and with a loud voice animated
his countrymen with songs in praise of Charlemagne and Roland, and
other heroes of France; then rushing among the thickest of the English,
and valiantly fighting, lost his life.
Indeed, the Normans were so early distinguished for their
minstrel-talents, that an eminent French writer[S] makes no scruple to
refer to them the origin of all modern poetry, and shews that they were
celebrated for their songs near a century before the troubadours of
Provence, who are supposed to have led the way to the poets of Italy,
France, and Spain.[1047]
We see then that the Norman Conquest was rather likely to favour the
establishment of the minstrel profession in this kingdom, than to
suppress it: and although the favour of the Norman conquerors would be
probably confined to such of their own countrymen as excelled in the
minstrel arts--and in the first ages after the Conquest, no other songs
would be listened to by the great nobility but such as were composed
in their own Norman French--yet as the great mass of the original
inhabitants were not extirpated, these could only understand their
own native gleemen or minstrels; who must still be allowed to exist,
unless it can be proved that they were all proscribed and massacred,
as, it is said, the Welsh Bards were afterwards by the severe policy of
King Edward I. But this we know was not the case; and even the cruel
attempts of that monarch, as we shall see below, proved ineffectual.[S2]
The honours shewn to the Norman or French minstrels by our princes
and great barons, would naturally have been imitated by their English
vassals and tenants, even if no favour or distinction had ever been
shewn here to the same order of men, in the Anglo-Saxon and Danish
reigns. So that we cannot doubt but the English harper and songster
would, at least in a subordinate degree, enjoy the same kind of
honours, and be received with similar respect among the inferior
English gentry and populace. I must be allowed, therefore, to consider
them as belonging to the same community, as subordinate members at
least of the same college; and therefore, in gleaning the scanty
materials for this slight history, I shall collect whatever incidents
I can find relating to minstrels and their art, and arrange them, as
they occur in our own annals, without distinction, as it will not
always be easy to ascertain, from the slight mention of them by our
regular historians, whether the artists were Norman or English; for
it need not be remarked that subjects of this trivial nature are but
incidentally mentioned by our ancient annalists, and were fastidiously
rejected by other grave and serious writers; so that, unless they
were accidentally connected with such events as became recorded in
history, they would pass unnoticed through the lapse of ages, and be as
unknown to posterity as other topics relating to the private life and
amusements of the greatest nations.
On this account it can hardly be expected that we should be able
to produce regular and unbroken annals of the minstrel art and its
professors, or have sufficient information whether every minstrel
or harper composed himself, or only repeated, the songs he chanted.
Some probably did the one, and some the other: and it would have
been wonderful indeed if men whose peculiar profession it was, and
who devoted their time and talents to entertain their hearers with
poetical compositions, were peculiarly deprived of all poetical genius
themselves, and had been under a physical incapacity of composing
those common popular rhymes which were the usual subjects of their
recitation. Whoever examines any considerable quantity of these, finds
them in style and colouring as different from the elaborate production
of the sedentary composer at his desk or in his cell, as the rambling
harper or minstrel was remote in his modes of life and habits of
thinking from the retired scholar, or the solitary monk.[T]
It is well known that on the Continent, whence our Norman nobles came,
the bard who composed, the harper who played and sang, and even the
dancer and the mimic, were all considered as of one community, and were
even all included under the common name of Minstrels.[1048] I must
therefore be allowed the same application of the term here without
being expected to prove that every singer composed, or every composer
chanted, his own song; much less that every one excelled in all the
arts, which were occasionally exercised by some or other of this
fraternity.
* * * * *
IV. After the Norman Conquest, the first occurrence which I have
met with relating to this order of men is the founding of a priory
and hospital by one of them: scil. the Priory and Hospital of St.
Bartholomew, in Smithfield, London, by Royer or Raherus, the King's
Minstrel, in the third year of King Henry I. A.D. 1102. He was the
first prior of his own establishment, and presided over it to the time
of his death.[T2]
In the reign of K. Henry II. we have upon record the name of Galfrid or
Jeffrey, a harper, who in 1180 received a corrody or annuity from the
Abbey of Hide, near Winchester: and, as in the early times every harper
was expected to sing, we cannot doubt but this reward was given to him
for his music and his songs; which, if they were for the solace of the
monks there, we may conclude would be in the English language.[U]
Under his romantic son, K. Richard I., the minstrel profession seems
to have acquired additional splendor. Richard, who was the great
hero of chivalry, was also the distinguished patron of poets and
minstrels. He was himself of their number, and some of his poems are
still extant.[1049] They were no less patronized by his favourites and
chief officers. His Chancellor, William Bishop of Ely, is expressly
mentioned to have invited singers and minstrels from France, whom
he loaded with rewards; and they in return celebrated him as the
most accomplished person in the world.[U2] This high distinction and
regard, although confined, perhaps, in the first instance to poets
and songsters of the French nation, must have had a tendency to do
honour to poetry and song among all his subjects, and to encourage
the cultivation of these arts among the natives, as the indulgent
favour shewn by the monarch or his great courtiers to the Provençal
_Troubadour_, or Norman _Rymour_, would naturally be imitated by their
inferior vassals to the English gleeman or minstrel. At more than a
century after the Conquest, the national distinctions must have begun
to decline, and both the Norman and English languages would be heard in
the houses of the great[U3]; so that probably about this æra, or soon
after, we are to date that remarkable intercommunity and exchange of
each other's compositions which we discover to have taken place at some
early period between the French and English minstrels: the same set of
phrases, the same species of characters, incidents, and adventures,
and often the same identical stories being found in the old metrical
romances of both nations.[V]
The distinguished service which Richard received from one of his own
minstrels, in rescuing him from his cruel and tedious captivity, is a
remarkable fact, which ought to be recorded for the honour of poets
and their art. This fact I shall relate in the following words of an
ancient writer.[1050]
"The Englishmen were more then a whole yeare, without hearing any
tydings of their king, or in what place he was kept prisoner. He had
trained up in his court a Rimer or Minstrill,[1051] called Blondell
de Nesle: who (so saith the Manuscript of old Poesies,[1052] and
an auncient manuscript French Chronicle) being so long without the
sight of his lord, his life seemed wearisome to him, and he became
confounded with melancholly. Knowne it was, that he came backe from
the Holy Land: but none could tell in what countrey he arrived.
Whereupon this Blondel, resolving to make search for him in many
countries, but he would heare some newes of him; after expence of
divers dayes in travaile, he came to a towne[1053] (by good hap) neere
to the castell where his maister king Richard was kept. Of his host he
demanded to whom the castell appertained, and the host told him, that
it belonged to the duke of Austria. Then he enquired whether there
were any prisoners therein detained or no: for alwayes he made such
secret questionings wheresoever he came. And the hoste gave answer,
there was one onely prisoner, but he knew not what he was, and yet he
had bin detained there more then the space of a yeare. When Blondel
heard this, he wrought such meanes, that he became acquainted with
them of the castell, _as Minstrels doe easily win acquaintance any
where_:[1054] but see the king he could not, neither understand that it
was he. One day he sat directly before a window of the castell, where
king Richard was kept prisoner, and began to sing a song in French,
which king Richard and Blondel had sometime composed together. When
king Richard heard the song, he knew it was Blondel that sung it: and
when Blondel paused at halfe of the song, the king '_began the other
half and completed it_.'[1055] Thus Blondel won knowledge of the king
his maister, and returning home into England, made the barons of the
countrie acquainted where the king was." This happened about the year
1193.
The following old Provençal lines are given as the very original
song:[1056] which I shall accompany with an imitation offered by Dr.
Burney (ii. 237.)
BLONDEL.
_Domna vostra beutas_ Your beauty, lady fair,
_Elas bellas faissos_ None views without delight;
_Els bels oils amoros_ But still so cold an air
_Els gens cors ben taillats_ No passion can excite:
_Don sieu empresenats_ Yet this I patient see
_De vostra amor que mi lia._ While all are shun'd like me.
RICHARD.
_Si bel trop affansia_ No nymph my heart can wound
_Ja de vos non portrai_ If favour she divide,
_Que major honorai_ And smiles on all around
_Sol en votre deman_ Unwilling to decide:
_Que sautra des beisan_ I'd rather hatred bear
_Tot can de vos volria._ Than love with others share.
The access which Blondel so readily obtained in the privileged
character of a minstrel, is not the only instance upon record of
the same nature.[V2] In this very reign of K. Richard I. the young
heiress of D'Evreux, Earl of Salisbury, had been carried abroad and
secreted by her French relations in Normandy. To discover the place
of her concealment, a knight of the Talbot family spent two years in
exploring that province: at first under the disguise of a pilgrim, till
having found where she was confined, in order to gain admittance he
assumed the dress and character of a harper, and being a jocose person
exceedingly skilled in "the Gests of the ancients"[1057]--so they
called the romances and stories which were the delight of that age--he
was gladly received into the family, whence he took an opportunity
to carry off the young lady, whom he presented to the king; and he
bestowed her on his natural brother William Longespee (son of fair
Rosamond), who became in her right Earl of Salisbury. [V3]
The next memorable event which I find in history, reflects credit on
the English minstrels; and this was their contributing to the rescue
of one of the great Earls of Chester when besieged by the Welsh. This
happened in the reign of K. John, and is related to this effect:[1058]--