Chapter V: Part II

Of a blind beggars daughter so bright,[L1]
That late was betrothed to a young knight,
All the whole discourse therof you did see,
But now comes the wedding of pretty Bessee.

It was in a gallant palace most brave, 5
Adorned with all the cost they could have,
This wedding it was kept most sumptuously,
And all for the love of pretty Bessee.

And all kind of dainties and delicates sweet
Was brought to their banquet, as it was thought meet; 10
Partridge, and plover, and venison most free,
Against the brave wedding of pretty Bessee.

The wedding thro' England was spread by report,
So that a great number thereto did resort,
Of nobles and gentles of every degree, 15
And all for the fame of pretty Bessee.

To church then away went this gallant young knight,
His bride followed after, an angel most bright,
With troops of ladies, the like was ne'er seen,
As went with sweet Bessee of Bednall Green. 20

This wedding being solemnized then,
With music performed by skilfullest men,
The nobles and gentles sat down at that tide,[L23]
Each one beholding the beautiful bride.

But after the sumptuous dinner was done, 25
To talk and to reason a number begun,
And of the Blind Beggars daughter most bright,
And what with his daughter he gave to the knight.

Then spoke the nobles, "Much marvel have we
This jolly blind beggar we cannot yet see!" 30
"My lords," quoth the bride, "my father so base
Is loathe with his presence these states to disgrace."

"The praise of a woman in question to bring,
Before her own face, is a flattering thing;
But we think thy fathers baseness," quoth they, 35
"Might by thy beauty be clean put away."

They no sooner this pleasant word spoke,
But in comes the beggar in a silken cloak,
A velvet cap and a feather had he,
And now a musician, forsooth, he would be. 40

And being led in, from catching of harm,
He had a dainty lute under his arm;
Said, "Please you to hear any music of me,
A song I will give you of pretty Bessee."

With that his lute he twanged straightway, 45
And thereon began most sweetly to play,
And after a lesson was played two or three,
He strained out this song most delicately:--

_"A beggars daughter did dwell on a green,
Who for her beauty might well be a queen,[L50] 50
A blythe bonny lass, and dainty was she,
And many one called her pretty Bessee._

_"Her father he had no goods nor no lands,
But begged for a penny all day with his hands,
And yet for her marriage gave thousands three, 55
Yet still he hath somewhat for pretty Bessee._

_"And here if any one do her disdain,
Her father is ready with might and with main,
To prove she is come of noble degree,
Therefore let none flout at my pretty Bessee."_ 60

With that the lords and the company round
With a hearty laughter were ready to swound;
At last said the lords, "Full well we may see,
The bride and the bridegroom's beholden to thee."

With that the fair bride all blushing did rise, 65
With chrystal water all in her bright eyes;
"Pardon my father, brave nobles," quoth she,
"That through blind affection thus doats upon me."

"If this be thy father," the nobles did say,
"Well may he be proud of this happy day, 70
Yet by his countenance well may we see,
His birth with his fortune could never agree.

"And therefore, blind beggar, we pray thee bewray,
And look that the truth to us thou dost say,[L74]
Thy birth and thy parentage what it may be, 75
E'en for the love thou bearest to pretty Bessee."

"Then give me leave, ye gentles each one,
A song more to sing and then I'll begone;
And if that I do not win good report,
Then do not give me one groat for my sport:-- 80

_"When first our king his fame did advance,
And sought his title in delicate France,
In many places great perils past he,
But then was not born my pretty Bessee._

_"And at those wars went over to fight, 85
Many a brave duke, a lord, and a knight,
And with them young Monford of courage so free,
But then was not born my pretty Bessee._

_"And there did young Monford with a blow on the face
Lose both his eyes in a very short space; 90
His life had been gone away with his sight,
Had not a young woman gone forth in the night._

_"Among the slain men, her fancy did move[L93]
To search and to seek for her own true love,
Who seeing young Monford there gasping to die, 95
She saved his life through her charity._

_"And then all our victuals in beggars attire,
At the hands of good people we then did require;
At last into England, as now it is seen,
We came, and remained in Bednall Green._ 100

_"And thus we have lived in Fortune's despyght,
Though poor, yet contented, with humble delight,
And in my old years, a comfort to me,
God sent me a daughter, called pretty Bessee._

_"And thus, ye nobles, my song I do end, 105
Hoping by the same no man to offend;
Full forty long winters thus I have been,
A silly blind beggar of Bednall Green."_

Now when the company every one
Did hear the strange tale he told in his song, 110
They were amazed, as well as they might be,
Both at the blind beggar and pretty Bessee.

With that the fair bride they all bid embrace,
Saying, "You are come of an honourable race;
Thy father likewise is of high degree, 115
And thou art right worthy a lady to be."

Thus was the feast ended with joy and delight;
A happy bridegroom was made the young knight,
Who lived in great joy and felicity,
With his fair lady, dear pretty Bessee. 120

1-4. This stanza is wrongly placed at the end of the First Part in the copy from which we reprint. In ed. 1723 it does not occur. v. 3. therof you did, Percy, for, _therefore you may_.

23. gentlemen down at the side.

50. may.

74. look to us then the truth.

93. said men.

THE FAMOUS FLOWER OF SERVING-MEN

OR,

THE LADY TURNED SERVING-MAN.

From _A Collection of Old Ballads_, i. 216. Percy's edition, (iii. 126,) was from a written copy, "containing some improvements, (perhaps modern ones.") Mr. Kinloch has printed a fragment of this piece in its Scottish dress, as taken down from the recitation of an old woman in Lanark,--_Sweet Willie_, p. 96. Several of the verses in the following are found also in _The Lament of the Border Widow_; see _ante_, iii. 86.

A similar story is found in Swedish and Danish: _Liten Kerstin_, or _Stolts Botelid, Stalldr[:a]ng, Svenska Folk-Visor_, ii. 15, 20, Arwidsson, ii. 179: _Stolt Ingeborgs Forkl[ae]dning, Danske Viser_, No. 184.

You beauteous ladies, great and small,
I write unto you one and all,
Whereby that you may understand
What I have suffer'd in this land.

I was by birth a lady fair, 5
My father's chief and only heir,
But when my good old father died,
Then I was made a young knight's bride.

And then my love built me a bower,
Bedeck'd with many a fragrant flower; 10
A braver bower you ne'er did see,
Than my true love did build for me.

But there came thieves late in the night,
They robb'd my bower, and slew my knight,
And after that my knight was slain, 15
I could no longer there remain.

My servants all from me did fly,
In the midst of my extremity,
And left me by myself alone,
With a heart more cold than any stone. 20

Yet, though my heart was full of care,
Heaven would not suffer me to despair;
Wherefore in haste I chang'd my name
From Fair Elise to Sweet William.

And therewithall I cut my hair, 25
And dress'd myself in man's attire,
My doublet, hose, and beaver hat,
And a golden band about my neck.

With a silver rapier by my side,
So like a gallant I did ride; 30
The thing that I delighted on,
It was to be a serving-man.

Thus in my sumptuous man's array
I bravely rode along the way;
And at the last it chanced so, 35
That I to the king's court did go.

Then to the king I bow'd full low,
My love and duty for to show;
And so much favour I did crave,
That I a serving-man's place might have. 40

"Stand up, brave youth," the king replied,
"Thy service shall not be denied;
But tell me first what thou canst do;
Thou shalt be fitted thereunto.

"Wilt thou be usher of my hall, 45
To wait upon my nobles all?
Or wilt thou be taster of my wine,
To wait on me when I do dine?

"Or wilt thou be my chamberlain,
To make my bed both soft and fine? 50
Or wilt thou be one of my guard?
And I will give thee thy reward."

Sweet William, with a smiling face,
Said to the king, "If't please your grace
To show such favour unto me, 55
Your chamberlain I fain would be."

The king then did the nobles call,
To ask the counsel of them all;
Who gave consent Sweet William he
The king's own chamberlain should be. 60

Now mark what strange thing came to pass:
As the king one day a hunting was,
With all his lords and noble train,
Sweet William did at home remain.

Sweet William had no company then 65
With him at home, but an old man;
And when he saw the house was clear,
He took a lute which he had there:

Upon the lute Sweet William play'd,
And to the same he sung and said, 70
With a sweet and noble voice,
Which made the old man to rejoice:

"My father was as brave a lord
As ever Europe did afford,
My mother was a lady bright, 75
My husband was a valiant knight:

"And I myself a lady gay,
Bedeck'd with gorgeous rich array;
The bravest lady in the land
Had not more pleasure at command. 80

"I had my music every day,
Harmonious lessons for to play;
I had my virgins fair and free,
Continually to wait on me.

"But now, alas! my husband's dead, 85
And all my friends are from me fled;
My former joys are pass'd and gone,
For I am now a serving-man."

At last the king from hunting came,
And presently, upon the same, 90
He called for this good old man,
And thus to speak the king began:

"What news, what news, old man?" quoth he;
"What news hast thou to tell to me?"
"Brave news," the old man he did say, 95
"Sweet William is a lady gay."

"If this be true thou tell'st to me
I'll make thee lord of high degree;
But if thy words do prove a lie,
Thou shall be hang'd up presently." 100

But when the king the truth had found,
His joys did more and more abound:
According as the old man did say,
Sweet William was a lady gay.

Therefore the king without delay 105
Put on her glorious rich array,
And upon her head a crown of gold,
Which was most famous to behold.

And then, for fear of further strife,
He took Sweet William for his wife: 110
The like before was never seen,--
A serving-man to be a queen.

THE FAIR FLOWER OF NORTHUMBERLAND.

_Ritson's Ancient Songs and Ballads_, ii. 75.

Preserved in Thomas Deloney's _History of Jack of Newbery_, whence it was extracted by Ritson. In that extraordinary book, _The Minstrelsy of the English Border_, (p. 201,) Ritson's copy is inserted without acknowledgment, and with a few alterations for the worse. Scottish versions of this ballad are given by Kinloch, (_The Provost's Dochter_, p. 131,) and by Buchan, (_The Betrayed Lady_, ii. 208.) The former of these is printed in our Appendix.

It was a Knight in Scotland born,
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_,
Was taken prisoner, and left forlorn,
Even by the good Earl of Northumberland.

Then was he cast in prison strong, 5
_Follow, my love, 'come' over the strand_,
Where he could not walk nor lye along,
Even by the good Earl of Northumberland.

And as in sorrow thus he lay,
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_, 10
The Earl [s] sweet daughter walks that way,
And she is the fair Flower of Northumberland.

And passing by like an angel bright,
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_,
The prisoner had of her a sight, 15
And she the fair Flower of Northumberland.

And aloud to her this knight did cry,
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_,
The salt tears standing in his eye,
And she the fair Flower of Northumberland.

"Fair lady," he said, "take pity on me, 21
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_,
And let me not in prison die,
And you the fair Flower of Northumberland."

"Fair Sir, how should I take pity on thee, 25
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_,
Thou being a foe to our country,
And I the fair Flower of Northumberland."

"Fair lady, I am no foe," he said,
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_, 30
"Through thy sweet love here was I stay'd,
For thee, the fair Flower of Northumberland."

"Why shouldst thou come here for love of me,
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_,
Having wife and children in thy country, 35
And I the fair Flower of Northumberland."

"I swear by the blessed Trinity,
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_,
I have no wife nor children, I,
Nor dwelling at home in merry Scotland. 40

"If courteously thou wilt set me free,
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_,
I vow that I will marry thee,
So soon as I come in fair Scotland.

"Thou shalt be a lady of castles and towers, 45
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_,
And sit like a queen in princely bowers,
Were I at home in fair Scotland."

Then parted hence this lady gay,
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_, 50
And got her fathers ring away,
To help this knight into fair Scotland.

Likewise much gold she got by sleight,
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_,
And all to help this forlorn knight, 55
To wend from her father to fair Scotland.

Two gallant steeds, both good and able,
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_,
She likewise took out of the stable,
To ride with the knight into fair Scotland. 60

And to the jaylor she sent this ring,
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_,
The knight from prison forth 'to' bring,
To wend with her into fair Scotland.

This token set the prisoner free, 65
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_,
Who straight went to this fair lady,
To wend with her into fair Scotland.

A gallant steed he did bestride,
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_, 70
And with the lady away did ride,
And she the fair Flower of Northumberland.

They rode till they came to a water clear,
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_,
"Good Sir, how should I follow you here, 75
And I the fair Flower of Northumberland?

"The water is rough and wonderful deep,
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_,
And on my saddle I shall not keep,
And I the fair Flower of Northumberland." 80

"Fear not the foard, fair lady," quoth he,
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_,
"For long I cannot stay for thee,
And thou the fair Flower of Northumberland."

The lady prickt her wanton steed, 85
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_,
And over the river swom with speed,
And she the fair Flower of Northumberland.

From top to toe all wet was she,
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_; 90
"Thus have I done for love of thee,
And I the fair Flower of Northumberland."

Thus rode she all one winters night,
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_,
Till Edenborough they saw in sight, 95
The fairest town in all Scotland.

"Now chuse," quoth he, "thou wanton flower,
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_,
'Whether' thou wilt be my paramour,
Or get thee home to Northumberland. 100

"For I have wife, and children five,
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_;
In Edenborough they be alive,
Then get thee home to fair England.

"This favour thou shalt have to boot, 105
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_;
I'le have 'thy' horse, go thou on foot,
Go, get thee home to Northumberland."

"O false and faithless knight," quoth she,
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_, 110
"And canst thou deal so bad with me,
And I the fair Flower of Northumberland?

"Dishonour not a ladies name,
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_,
But draw thy sword and end my shame, 115
And I the fair Flower of Northumberland."

He took her from her stately steed,
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_,
And left her there in extream need,
And she the fair Flower of Northumberland. 120

Then sat she down full heavily,
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_;
At length two knights came riding by,
Two gallant knights of fair England.

She fell down humbly on her knee, 125
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_,
Saying, "Courteous 'knights,' take pity on me,
And I the fair Flower of Northumberland.

"I have offended my father dear,
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_, 130
And by a false knight, who brought me here
From the good Earl of Northumberland."

They took her up behind them then
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_,
And brought her to her father again, 135
And he the good Earl of Northumberland.

All you fair maidens be warned by me,
_Follow, my love, come over the strand_,
Scots never were true, nor never will be,
To lord, nor lady, nor fair England. 140

GENTLE HERDSMAN, TELL TO ME.

From _Reliques of Ancient English Poetry_, ii. 82.

"The scene of this beautiful old ballad is laid near Walsingham, in Norfolk, where was anciently an image of the Virgin Mary, famous over all Europe for the numerous pilgrimages made to it, and the great riches it possessed. Erasmus has given a very exact and humorous description of the superstitions practised there in his time. See his account of the Virgo Parathalassia, in his colloquy entitled, _Peregrinatio Religionis Ergo_. He tells us, the rich offerings in silver, gold, and precious stones that were there shown him were incredible, there being scarce a person of any note in England, but what some time or other paid a visit or sent a present to Our Lady of Walsingham. At the dissolution of the monasteries in 1538, this splendid image, with another from Ipswich, was carried to Chelsea, and there burnt in the presence of commissioners; who, we trust, did not burn the jewels and the finery.

"This poem is printed from a copy in the Editor's folio MS. which had greatly suffered by the hand of time; but vestiges of several of the lines remaining, some conjectural supplements have been attempted, which, for greater exactness, are in this one ballad distinguished by italics." PERCY.

Gentle heardsman, tell to me,
Of curtesy I thee pray,
Unto the towne of Walsingham
Which is the right and ready way.

"Unto the towne of Walsingham 5
The way is hard for to be gon;
And verry crooked are those pathes
For you to find out all alone."

Weere the miles doubled thrise,
And the way never soe ill, 10
Itt were not enough for mine offence,
Itt is soe grievous and soe ill.

"Thy yeeares are young, thy face is faire,
Thy witts are weake, thy thoughts are greene;
Time hath not given thee leave, as yett, 15
For to committ so great a sinne."

Yes, heardsman, yes, soe woldest thou say,
If thou knewest soe much as I;
My witts, and thoughts, and all the rest,
Have well deserved for to dye. 20

I am not what I seeme to bee,
My clothes and sexe doe differ farr:
I am a woman, woe is me!
_Born_ to greeffe and irksome care.

_For_ my beloved, and well-beloved, 25
_My wayward cruelty could kill:
And though my teares will nought avail,
Most dearely I bewail him_ still.

_He was the flower of n_oble wights,
_None ever more sincere colde_ bee; 30
_Of comely mien and shape_ hee was,
_And tenderlye he_e loved mee.

_When thus I saw he lo_ved me well,
_I grewe so proud his pa_ine to see,
_That I, who did not_ know myselfe, 35
_Thought scorne_ of _such a youth_ as hee.

And grew soe coy and nice to please,
As women's lookes are often soe,
He might not kisse, nor hand forsooth,
Unlesse I willed him soe to doe. 40

Thus being wearyed with delayes[L41]
To see I pittyed not his greeffe,
He gott him to a secrett place,
And there he dyed without releeffe.

And for his sake these weeds I weare, 45
And sacriffice my tender age;
And every day Ile begg my bread,
To undergoe this pilgrimage.

Thus every day I fast and pray,
And ever will doe till I dye; 50
And gett me to some secrett place,
For soe did hee, and soe will I.

Now, gentle heardsman, aske no more,
But keepe my secretts I thee pray:
Unto the towne of Walsingham 55
Show me the right and readye way.

"Now goe thy wayes, and God before!
For he must ever guide thee still:
Turne downe that dale, the right hand path,
And soe, faire pilgrim, fare thee well!" 60

41-52. Stanzas 11, 12, 13, have been paraphrased by Goldsmith in his ballad of _Edwin and Emma_.

AS I CAME FROM WALSINGHAM.

From _The Garland of Good Will_, as reprinted by the Percy Society, vol. XXX. p. 111. Percy's copy was communicated to him by Shenstone, and was retouched by that poet.

"The pilgrimage to Walsingham," remarks the Bishop, "suggested the plan of many popular pieces. In the Pepys collection, vol. i. p. 226, is a kind of interlude in the old ballad style, of which the first stanza alone is worth reprinting.

As I went to Walsingham,
To the shrine with speede,
Met I with a jolly palmer
In a pilgrimes weede.
'Now God you save, you jolly palmer!'
'Welcome, lady gay!
Oft have I sued to thee for love.'
'Oft have I said you nay.'

The pilgrimages undertaken on pretence of religion were often productive of affairs of gallantry, and led the votaries to no other shrine than that of Venus.[1]"

"The following ballad was once very popular; it is quoted in Fletcher's '_Knight of the Burning Pestle_,' Act ii. sc. ult., and in another old play, called "_Hans Beer-pot, his invisible Comedy_, &c. 4to 1618, Act i."

"_As I went to Walsingham_ is quoted in Nashe's _Have with you to Saffron-Walden_, 1596, sign. L."

CHAPPELL.

[1]

'Hermets on a heape, with hoked staves,
Wenten to Walsingham, and her wenches after.'

_Visions of Pierce Plowman_, fo. i.

"As you came from the holy-land
Of Walsingham,
Met you not with my true love
By the way as you came?"

"How should I know your true love, 5
That have met many a one,
As I came from the holy-land,
That have come, that have gone?"

"She is neither white nor brown,
But as the heavens fair; 10
There is none hath a form so divine,
On the earth, in the air."

"Such a one did I meet, good sir,
With angellike face,
Who like a queen did appear 15
In her gait, in her grace."

"She hath left me here all alone,
All alone and unknown,
Who sometime lov'd me as her life,
And call'd me her own." 20

"What's the cause she hath left thee alone,
And a new way doth take,
That sometime did love thee as her life,
And her joy did thee make?"

"I loved her all my youth, 25
But now am old, as you see;
Love liketh not the fallen fruit,
Nor the withered tree.

"For love is a careless child,
And forgets promise past; 30
He is blind, he is deaf, when he list,
And in faith never fast.

"For love is a great delight,
And yet a trustless joy;
He is won with a word of despair, 35
And is lost with a toy.

"Such is the love of womankind,
Or the word abus'd,
Under which many childish desires
And conceits are excus'd. 40

"But love is a durable fire,
In the mind ever burning;
Never sick, never dead, never cold,
From itself never turning."

KING COPHETUA AND THE BEGGAR-MAID.

From Richard Johnson's _Crowne-Garland of Goulden Roses_, (1612,) as reprinted by the Percy Society, vi. 45. It is there simply entitled _A Song of a Beggar and a King_. Given in Percy's _Reliques_, i. 202, "corrected by another copy."

This story, and it would appear this very ballad, is alluded to by Shakespeare and others of the dramatists.

Thus, the 13th verse is partly quoted in _Romeo and Juliet_, A. ii. sc. 1:

"Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim,
When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid."

Again in _Love's Labour's Lost_, (printed in 1598,) A. i. sc. 2.

_Arm._ Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the
Beggar?

_Moth._ The world was very guilty of such a ballad some
three ages since, but, I think, now 'tis not to be found.

See also _Henry Fourth_, P. ii. A. v. sc. 3, _Richard Second_, A. v. sc. 3, and Ben Jonson's _Every Man in his Humour_, A. iii. sc. 4,--all these cited by Percy.

In _A Collection of Old Ballads_, i. 138, is a _rifacimento_ of this piece, in a different stanza, but following the story closely and preserving much of the diction. It is also printed in Evans's _Old Ballads_, ii. 361.

I read that once in Affrica
A prince that there did raine,
Who had to name Cophetua,
As poets they did faine.
From natures workes he did incline, 5
For sure he was not of my minde,
He cared not for women-kind,
But did them all disdain.
But marke what happen'd by the way;
As he out of his window lay, 10
He saw a beggar all in grey,
Which did increase his paine.

The blinded boy that shootes so trim
From heaven downe so high,
He drew a dart and shot at him, 15
In place where he did lye:
Which soone did pierce him to the quick,
For when he felt the arrow prick,
Which in his tender heart did stick,
He looketh as he would dye. 20
"What sudden change is this," quoth he,
"That I to love must subject be,
Which never thereto would agree,
But still did it defie?"

Then from his window he did come, 25
And laid him on his bed;
A thousand heapes of care did runne
Within his troubled head.
For now he means to crave her love,
And now he seeks which way to proove 30
How he his fancie might remove,
And not this beggar wed.
But Cupid had him so in snare,
That this poore beggar must prepare
A salve to cure him of his care, 35
Or els he would be dead.

And as he musing thus did lie,
He thought for to devise
How he might have her company,
That so did maze his eyes. 40
"In thee," quoth he, "doth rest my life;
For surely thou shalt be my wife,
Or else this hand with bloody knife,
The gods shall sure suffice."
Then from his bed he 'soon' arose, 45
And to his pallace gate he goes;
Full little then this beggar knowes
When she the king espies[L48].

"The gods preserve your majesty,"
The beggars all gan cry; 50
"Vouchsafe to give your charity,
Our childrens food to buy!"
The king to them his purse did cast,
And they to part it made great haste;
This silly woman was the last 55
That after them did hye.
The king he cal'd her back again,
And unto her he gave his chaine;
And said, "With us you shall remain
Till such time as we dye. 60

"For thou," quoth he, "shalt be my wife,
And honoured like the queene;
With thee I meane to lead my life,
As shortly shall be seene:
Our wedding day shall appointed be, 65
And every thing in their degree;
Come on," quoth he, "and follow me,
Thou shalt go shift thee cleane.
What is thy name?--go on," quoth he.
"Penelophon, O King!" quoth she; 70
With that she made a lowe courtsey;
A trim one as I weene.

Thus hand in hand along they walke
Unto the kings palace:
The king with courteous, comly talke 75
This beggar doth embrace.
The beggar blusheth scarlet read,
And straight againe as pale as lead,
But not a word at all she said,
She was in such amaze. 80
At last she spake with trembling voyce,
And said, "O King, I do rejoyce
That you will take me for your choice,
And my degree so base!"

And when the wedding day was come, 85
The king commanded straight
The noblemen, both all and some,
Upon the queene to waight.
And she behavd herself that day
As if she had never walkt the way; 90
She had forgot her gowne of gray,
Which she did wear of late.
The proverb old is come to passe,
The priest, when he begins the masse,
Forgets that ever clarke he was; 95
He knowth not his estate.

Here you may read Cophetua,
Through fancie long time fed,
Compelled by the blinded boy
The beggar for to wed: 100
He that did lovers lookes disdaine,
To do the same was glad and fain,
Or else he would himself have slaine,
In stories as we read.
Disdaine no whit, O lady deere, 105
But pitty now thy servant heere,
Lest that it hap to thee this yeare,
As to the king it did.

And thus they lead a quiet life
During their princely raigne, 110
And in a tombe were buried both,
As writers shew us plaine.
The lords they tooke it grievously,
The ladies tooke it heavily,
The commons cryed pittiously, 115
Their death to them was pain.
Their fame did sound so passingly,
That it did pierce the starry sky,
And throughout all the world did flye
To every princes realme. 120

48, espied.

THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE.

From _The Garland of Good-Will_, as reprinted by the Percy Society, xxx. 125. Other copies, slightly different, in _A Collection of Old Ballads_, ii. 191, and in Percy's _Reliques_, ii. 246.

Percy conjectures that this ballad "took its rise from one of those descents made on the Spanish coasts in the time of Queen Elizabeth." The weight of tradition is decidedly, perhaps entirely, in favor of the hero's having been one of Essex's comrades in the Cadiz expedition, but _which_ of his gallant captains achieved the double conquest of the Spanish Lady is by no means satisfactorily determined. Among the candidates put forth are Sir Richard Levison of Trentham, Staffordshire, Sir John Popham of Littlecot, Wilts, Sir Urias Legh of Adlington, Cheshire, and Sir John Bolle of Thorpe Hall, Lincolnshire. The right of the last to this distinction has been recently warmly contended for, and, as is usual in similar cases, strong circumstantial evidence is urged in his favor. The reader will judge for himself of its probable authenticity.

"On Sir John Bolle's departure from Cadiz," it is said, "the Spanish Lady sent as presents to his wife a profusion of jewels and other valuables, among which was her portrait drawn in green; plate, money, and other treasures." Some of these articles are maintained to be still in possession of the family, and also a portrait of Sir John, drawn in 1596, at the age of thirty-six, in which he wears the gold chain given him by his enamored prisoner. See _The Times_ newspaper of April 30 and May 1, 1846, (the latter article cited in _Notes and Queries_, ix. 573,) and the _Quarterly Review_, Sept. 1846, Art. III. The literary merits of the ballad are also considered in the _Edinburgh Review_, of April, 1846.

Shenstone has essayed in his _Moral Tale of Love and Honour_ to bring out "the Spanish Ladye and her Knight in less grovelling accents than the simple guise of ancient record," while Wordsworth, in a more reverential spirit, has taken this noble old romance as the model of his _Armenian Lady's Love_.

Will you hear a Spanish lady,
How she woo'd an English man?
Garments gay as rich as may be,
Decked with jewels, had she on;
Of a comely countenance and grace was she, 5
And by birth and parentage of high degree.

As his prisoner there he kept her,
In his hands her life did lie;
Cupid's bands did tie her faster,
By the liking of an eye; 10
In his courteous company was all her joy,
To favour him in any thing she was not coy.

At the last there came commandment
For to set the ladies free,
With their jewels still adorned, 15
None to do them injury:
"Alas," then said this lady gay, "full woe is me;
O let me still sustain this kind captivity!

"O gallant captain, shew some pity
To a lady in distress; 20
Leave me not within the city,
For to die in heaviness;
Thou hast set this present day my body free,
But my heart in prison strong remains with thee."

"How should'st thou, fair lady, love me, 25
Whom thou know'st thy country's foe?
Thy fair words make me suspect thee;
Serpents are where flowers grow."
"All the evil I think to thee, most gracious knight,
God grant unto myself the same may fully light! 30

"Blessed be the time and season,
That you came on Spanish ground;
If you may our foes be termed,
Gentle foes we have you found.
With our city, you have won our hearts each one; 35
Then to your country bear away that is your own."

"Rest you still, most gallant lady,
Rest you still, and weep no more;
Of fair lovers there are plenty;
Spain doth yield a wondrous store." 40
"Spaniards fraught with jealousie we often find;
But English men throughout the world are counted kind.

"Leave me not unto a Spaniard;
You alone enjoy my heart;
I am lovely, young, and tender, 45
And so love is my desert.
Still to serve thee day and night my mind is prest;
The wife of every English man is counted blest."

"It would be a shame, fair lady,
For to bear a woman hence; 50
English soldiers never carry
Any such without offence."
"I will quickly change myself, if it be so,
And like a page I'll follow thee, where'er thou go."

"I have neither gold nor silver 55
To maintain thee in this case,
And to travel, 'tis great charges,
As you know, in every place."
"My chains and jewels every one shall be thine own,
And eke ten thousand pounds in gold that lies unknown." 60

"On the seas are many dangers;
Many storms do there arise,
Which will be to ladies dreadful,
And force tears from wat'ry eyes."
"Well in worth I could endure extremity, 65
For I could find in heart to lose my life for thee."

"Courteous lady, be contented;
Here comes all that breeds the strife;
I in England have already
A sweet woman to my wife: 70
I will not falsifie my vow for gold or gain,
Nor yet for all the fairest dames that live in Spain."

"Oh how happy is that woman
That enjoys so true a friend!
Many days of joy God send you! 75
Of my suit I'll make an end:
On my knees I pardon crave for this offence,
Which love and true affection did first commence.

"Commend me to thy loving lady;
Bear to her this chain of gold, 80
And these bracelets for a token;
Grieving that I was so bold.
All my jewels in like sort bear thou with thee,
For these are fitting for thy wife, and not for me.

"I will spend my days in prayer, 85
Love and all her laws defie;
In a nunnery will I shroud me,
Far from other company:
But ere my prayers have end, be sure of this,
[To pray] for thee and for thy love I will not miss. 90

"Thus farewell, most gentle captain,
And farewell my heart's content!
Count not Spanish ladies wanton,
Though to thee my love was bent:
Joy and true prosperity goe still with thee!" 95
"The like fall ever to thy share, most fair lady."

PATIENT GRISSEL.

The story of Griselda was first told in the _Decameron_. Boccaccio derived the incidents from Petrarch, and Petrarch seems to have communicated them also to Chaucer, who (in his _Clerk of Oxenford's Tale_) first made known the tale to English readers. The theme was subsequently treated in a great variety of ways.[2] Two plays upon the subject are known to have been written, one of which (by Dekker, Chettle and Haughton) has been printed by the Shakespeare Society, while the other, an older production of the close of Henry VIII.'s reign, is lost. About the middle of the sixteenth century, (1565,) a _Song of Patient Grissell_ is entered in the Stationers' Registers, and a prose history the same year. The earliest edition of the popular prose history as yet recovered, dated 1619, has been reprinted in the third volume of the Percy Society's Publications.

The ballad here given is taken from Thomas Deloney's _Garland of Good Will_, a collection which was printed some time before 1596. It was circulated after that time, and probably even before the compilation of the Garland, as a broadside, in black-letter, and also, with the addition of a prose introduction and conclusion, as a tract or chap-book. In this last form it is printed in the above-mentioned volume of the Percy Society. The ballad in its proper simplicity is inserted in _A Collection of Old Ballads_, i. 252.

Percy's _Patient Countess_ (_Reliques_, i. 310) is extracted from _Albion's England_.

The title in _The Garland of Good Will_ is, _Of Patient Grissel and a Noble Marquess_. _To the tune of the Bride's Good Morrow._ Percy Society, vol. XXX. p. 82.

[2] For the bibliography see Gr[:a]sse's _Sagenkreise_, p. 282. The story is also found, says some one, in the Swedish saga of _Hakon Borkenbart_.

A noble marquess, as he did ride a-hunting,
Hard by a river side,
A proper maiden, as she did sit a-spinning,
His gentle eye espy'd:
Most fair and lovely, and of comely grace was she, 5
Although in simple attire;
She sang most sweetly, with pleasant voice melodiously,
Which set the lord's heart on fire.
The more he lookt, the more he might;
Beauty bred his hearts delight, 10
And to this damsel he went.
"God speed," quoth he, "thou famous flower,
Fair mistress of this homely bower,
Where love and vertue live with sweet content."

With comely gesture and modest mild behaviour 15
She bad him welcome then;
She entertain'd him in a friendly manner,
And all his gentlemen.
The noble marquess in his heart felt such flame
Which set his senses all at strife; 20
Quoth he, "Fair maiden, shew soon what is thy name:
I mean to take thee to my wife."
"Grissel is my name," quoth she,
"Far unfit for your degree;
A silly maiden, and of parents poor." 25
"Nay, Grissel, thou art rich," he said,
"A vertuous, fair, and comely maid;
Grant me thy love, and I will ask no more."

At length she consented, and being both contented,
They married were with speed; 30
Her country russet was turn'd to silk and velvet,
As to her state agreed:
And when that she was trimly attired in the same,
Her beauty shin'd most bright,
Far staining every other brave and comely dame 35
That did appear in sight.[L36]
Many envied her therefore,
Because she was of parents poor,
And twixt her lord and her great strife did raise:
Some said this, and some said that, 40
Some did call her beggar's brat,
And to her lord they would her oft dispraise.

"O noble marquess," quoth they, "why do you wrong us,
Thus basely for to wed,
That might have got an honourable lady 45
Into your princely bed?
Who will not now your noble issue still deride,
Which shall be hereafter born,
That are of blood so base by the mother's side,
The which will bring them to scorn? 50
Put her, therefore, quite away;
Take to you a lady gay,
Whereby your lineage may renown[e']d be."
Thus every day they seem'd to prate
At malic'd Grissel's good estate, 55
Who took all this most mild and patiently.

When that the marquess did see that they were bent thus
Against his faithful wife,
Whom most dearly, tenderly, and intirely
He loved as his life; 60
Minding in secret for to prove her patient heart,
Thereby her foes to disgrace;
Thinking to play a hard discourteous part,
That men might pity her case,--
Great with child this lady was, 65
And at length it came to pass,
Two lovely children at one birth she had;
A son and daughter God had sent,
Which did their father well content,
And which did make their mothers heart full glad. 70

Great royal feasting was at the childrens christ'ning,
And princely triumph made;
Six weeks together, all nobles that came thither
Were entertain'd and staid.
And when that these pleasant sportings quite were done, 75
The marquess a messenger sent
For his young daughter and his pretty smiling son,
Declaring his full intent,
How that the babes must murthered be,
For so the marquess did decree. 80
"Come, let me have the children," he said:
With that fair Grissel wept full sore,
She wrung her hands, and said no more;
"My gracious lord must have his will obey'd."

She took the babies from the nursing-ladies, 85
Between her tender arms;
She often wishes, with many sorrowful kisses,
That she might help their harms.
"Farewel," quoth she, "my children dear;
Never shall I see you again; 90
'Tis long of me, your sad and woful mother dear,
For whose sake you must be slain.
Had I been born of royal race,
You might have liv'd in happy case;
But now you must die for my unworthiness. 95
"Come, messenger of death," quoth she,
"Take my despised babes to thee,
And to their father my complaints express."

He took the children, and to his noble master
He brought them forth with speed; 100
Who secretly sent them unto a noble lady,
To be nurst up indeed.
Then to fair Grissel with a heavy heart he goes,
Where she sat mildly all alone;
A pleasant gesture and a lovely look she shows, 105
As if grief she had never known.
Quoth he, "My children now are slain;
What thinks fair Grissel of the same?
Sweet Grissel, now declare thy mind to me."
"Since you, my lord, are pleas'd with it, 110
Poor Grissel thinks the action fit;
Both I and mine at your command will be."

"The nobles murmur, fair Grissel, at thine honour,
And I no joy can have
Till thou be banisht from my court and presence, 115
As they unjustly crave.
Thou must be stript out of thy stately garments;
And as thou camest to me,
In homely gray, instead of silk and purest pall,
Now all thy cloathing must be. 120
My lady thou must be no more,
Nor I thy lord, which grieves me sore;
The poorest life must now content thy mind:
A groat to thee I may not give,
Thee to maintain, while I do live; 125
'Gainst my Grissel such great foes I find."

When gentle Grissel heard these woful tidings,
The tears stood in her eyes;
She nothing said, no words of discontentment
Did from her lips arise. 130
Her velvet gown most patiently she stript off,
Her girdle of silk with the same;
Her russet gown was brought again with many a scoff;
To bear them all, herself [she] did frame.
When she was drest in this array, 135
And ready was to part away,
"God send long life unto my lord," quoth she;
"Let no offence be found in this,
To give my lord a parting kiss."
With wat'ry eyes, "Farewel, my dear!" quoth he. 140

From stately palace, unto her father's cottage,
Poor Grissel now is gone;
Full fifteen winters she lived there contented,
No wrong she thought upon;
And at that time thro' all the land the speeches went, 145
The marquess should married be
Unto a noble lady of high descent,
And to the same all parties did agree.
The marquess sent for Grissel fair
The bride's bed-chamber to prepare, 150
That nothing should therein be found awry;
The bride was with her brother come,
Which was great joy to all and some;
And Grissel took all this most patiently.

And in the morning when that they should be wedded, 155
Her patience now was try'd;
Grissel was charged in princely manner
For to attire the bride.
Most willingly she gave consent unto the same;
The bride in her bravery was drest, 160
And presently the noble marquess thither came,
With all the ladies at his request.
"Oh Grissel, I would ask of thee
If to this match thou wouldst agree?
Methinks thy looks are waxed wondrous coy." 165
With that they all began to smile,
And Grissel she replies the while,
"God send lord marquess many years of joy!"

The marquis was mov[e']d to see his best belov[e']d
Thus patient in distress; 170
He stept unto her, and by the hand he took her;
These words he did express:
"Thou art the bride, and all the brides I mean to have;
These two thy own children be."
The youthful lady on her knees did blessing crave, 175
The brother as willing as she.
"And you that envy her estate,
Whom I have made my loving mate,
Now blush for shame, and honour vertuous life;
The chronicles of lasting fame 180
Shall evermore extol the name
Of patient Grissel, my most constant wife."

36, G. G. W., in her sight.

THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER.

From Thomas Deloney's _Garland of Good Will_, as reprinted by the Percy Society, vol. xxx. p. 52. Other copies are in _Old Ballads_, (1723,) i. 181, Ritson's _Ancient Songs_, ii. 136, and Percy's _Reliques_, iii. 207,--the last altered by the editor.

In the days of old,
When fair France did flourish,
Stories plainly told
Lovers felt annoy.
The king a daughter had, 5
Beauteous, fair, and lovely,
Which made her father glad,
She was his only joy.
A prince of England came,
Whose deeds did merit fame, 10
He woo'd her long, and lo, at last,
Look, what he did require,[L12]
She granted his desire,
Their hearts in one were linked fast.
Which when her father proved, 15
Lord, how he was moved
And tormented in his mind;
He sought for to prevent them,
And to discontent them,--
Fortune crosses lovers kind. 20

Whenas these princely twain
Were thus debarr'd of pleasure,
Through the king's disdain,
Which their joys withstood,
The lady lockt up close 25
Her jewels and her treasure,
Having no remorse
Of state or royal blood.
In homely poor array,
She went from court away,[L30] 30
To meet her love and heart's delight;
Who in a forest great,
Had taken up his seat,
To wait her coming in the night.
But lo, what sudden danger, 35
To this princely stranger,
Chanc[e']d as he sat alone,
By outlaws he was robbed,
And with poinard stabbed,
Uttering many a dying groan. 40

The princess, armed by him,
And by true desire,
Wandering all that night,
Without dread at all,
Still unknown, she past 45
In her strange attire,
Coming at the last
Within echo's call.
"You fair woods," quoth she,
"Honoured may you be, 50
Harbouring my heart's delight,
Which doth encompass here,
My joy and only dear,
My trusty friend, and comely knight.
Sweet, I come unto thee, 55
Sweet, I come to wooe thee,
That thou may'st not angry be;
For my long delaying,
And thy courteous staying,
Amends for all I make to thee." 60

Passing thus alone
Through the silent forest,
Many a grievous groan
Sounded in her ear;
Where she heard a man 65
To lament the sorest
Chance that ever came,
Forc'd by deadly fear.
"Farewel, my dear!" quoth he,
"Whom I shall never see, 70
For why, my life is at an end;
For thy sweet sake I die,
Through villain's cruelty,
To shew I am a faithful friend.
Here lie I a-bleeding, 75
While my thoughts are feeding
On the rarest beauty found;
O hard hap that may be,
Little knows my lady
My heart-blood lies on the ground!" 80

With that he gave a groan
That did break asunder
All the tender strings
Of his gentle heart:
She, who knew his voice, 85
At his tale did wonder;
All her former joys
Did to grief convert.
Straight she ran to see
Who this man should be, 90
That so like her love did speak;
And found, whenas she came,
Her lovely lord lay slain,
Smeer'd in blood which life did break.
Which when that she espied, 95
Lord, how sore she cried!
Her sorrows could not counted be;
Her eyes like fountains running,
While she cryed out, "My darling,
Would God that I had dy'd for thee!" 100

His pale lips, alas!
Twenty times she kiss['e]d,
And his face did wash
With her brinish tears;
Every bleeding wound 105
Her fair face bedewed,
Wiping off the blood
With her golden hairs.
["Speak, my love," quoth she,][L109]
"Speak, fair prince, to me; 110
One sweet word of comfort give;
Lift up thy fair eyes,
Listen to my cries,
Think in what great grief I live."
All in vain she sued, 115
All in vain she wooed,
The prince's life was fled and gone;
There stood she still mourning
'Till the sun's returning,
And bright day was coming on. 120

In this great distress
Quoth this royal lady,
"Who can now express
What will become of me?
To my father's court 125
Never will I wander,
But some service seek
Where I may placed be."
Whilst she thus made her moan,
Weeping all alone, 130
In this deep and deadly fear,
A forester all in green,
Most comely to be seen,
Ranging the wood did find her there,
Round beset with sorrow. 135
"Maid," quoth he, "good morrow.
What hard hap hath brought you here?"
"Harder hap did never
Chance to a maiden ever;
Here lies slain my brother dear. 140

"Where might I be plac'd,
Gentle forester tell me;
Where might I procure
A service in my need?
Pains I will not spare, 145
But will do my duty;
Ease me of my care,
Help my extream need."
The forester all amazed
On her beauty gazed, 150
'Till his heart was set on fire:
"If, fair maid," quoth he,
"You will go with me,
You shall have your heart's desire."
He brought her to his mother, 155
And above all other
He set forth this maiden's praise:
Long was his heart inflamed,
At length her love he gained,
So fortune did his glory raise. 160

Thus unknown he matcht
With the king's fair daughter;
Children seven he had,
Ere she to him was known.
But when he understood 165
She was a royal princess,
By this means at last
He shew[e']d forth her fame:
He cloath'd his children then[L169]
Not like other men, 170
In party colours strange to see;
The right side cloth of gold,
The left side to behold
Of woollen cloth still fram[e']d he.
Men thereat did wonder, 175
Golden fame did thunder
This strange deed in every place;
The king of France came thither[L178]
Being pleasant weather,
In the woods the hart to chase. 180

The children there did stand,
As their mother will[e']d,
Where the royal king
Must of force come by;
Their mother richly clad 185
In fair crimson velvet,
Their father all in gray,
Most comely to the eye.
When this famous king,
Noting every thing, 190
Did ask him how he durst be so bold,
To let his wife to wear,
And deck his children there,
In costly robes of pearl and gold,--
The forester bold repli[e']d, 195
And the cause descri[e']d,
And to the king he thus did say:
"Well may they by their mother
Wear rich gold like other,
Being by birth a princess gay." 200

The king upon these words
More heedfully beheld them,
Till a crimson blush
His conceit did cross.
"The more I look," quoth he, 205
"Upon thy wife and children,
The more I call to mind
My daughter whom I lost."
"I am that Child," quoth she,
Falling on her knee; 210
"Pardon me my soveraign liege!"
The king perceiving this
His daughter dear did kiss,
Till joyful tears did stop his speech.
With his train he turn[e']d, 215
And with her sojourn[e']d;
Straight he dubb'd her husband knight;
He made him Earl of Flanders,
One of his chief commanders;--
Thus was their sorrow put to flight. 220

12, Took.

30, to court.

109, from _Old Ballads_, 1723.

169-174. "This will remind the reader of the livery and device of Charles Brandon, a private gentleman, who married the Queen Dowager of France, sister of Henry VIII. At a tournament which he held at his wedding, the trappings of his horse were half cloth of gold, and half frieze, with the following motto:

'Cloth of Gold, do not despise,
Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Frize;
Cloth of Frize, be not too bold,
Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Gold.'

See Sir W. Temple's Misc. vol. iii. p. 356." PERCY.

178, king he coming.

CONSTANCE OF CLEVELAND.

From Collier's _Book of Roxburghe Ballads_, p. 163.

"This romantic ballad, in a somewhat plain and unpretending style, relates incidents that may remind the reader of the old story of Titus and Gisippus, which was told in English verse by Edw. Lewicke, as early as 1562: the ballad is not so ancient by, perhaps, thirty or forty years; and the printed copy that has come down to our day is at least fifty years more recent than the date when we believe the ballad to have been first published. The title the broadside ('Printed for F. Coles, J. W., T. Vere, W. Gilbertson,') bears is, '_Constance of Cleveland: A very excellent Sonnet of the most fair Lady Constance of Cleveland, and her disloyal Knight_.' We conclude that the incidents are mere invention, but _Constance of Rome_ is the name of a play, by Drayton, Munday and Hathway, mentioned in Henslowe's Diary under the year 1600, (p. 171.) The tune of _Crimson Velvet_ was highly popular in the reigns of Elizabeth and her successor."

To the Tune of _Crimson Velvet_.

It was a youthfull knight
Lov'd a gallant lady;
Fair she was and bright,
And of vertues rare:
Herself she did behave 5
So courteously as may be;
Wedded they were brave;
Joy without compare.
Here began the grief,
Pain without relief: 10
Her husband soon her love forsook,
To women lewd of mind,
Being bad inclin'd,
He only lent a pleasant look.
The lady she sate weeping, 15
While that he was keeping
Company with others moe:
Her words, "My love, beleeve not,
Come to me, and grieve not;
Wantons will thee overthrow." 20

His fair Ladie's words
Nothing he regarded;
Wantonnesse affords
Such delightfull sport.
While they dance and sing, 25
With great mirth prepared,
She her hands did wring
In most grievous sort.
"O what hap had I
Thus to wail and cry, 30
Unrespected every day,
Living in disdain,
While that others gain
All the right I should enjoy!
I am left forsaken, 35
Others they are taken:
Ah my love! why dost thou so?
Her flatteries beleeve not,
Come to me, and grieve not;
Wantons will thee overthrow." 40

The Knight with his fair peece
At length the Lady spied,
Who did him daily fleece
Of his wealth and store:
Secretly she stood, 45
While she her fashions tryed,
With a patient mind,
While deep the strumpet swore.
"O Sir Knight, O Sir Knight," quoth she,
"So dearly I love thee, 50
My life doth rest at thy dispose:
By day, and eke by night,
For thy sweet delight,
Thou shalt me in thy arms inclose.
I am thine for ever; 55
Still I will persever
True to thee, where ere I go."
"Her flatteries believe not,
Come to me, and grieve not;
Wantons will thee overthrow." 60

The vertuous Lady mild
Enters then among them,
Being big with child
As ever she might be:
With distilling tears 65
She looked then upon them;
Filled full of fears,
Thus replyed she:
"Ah, my love and dear!
Wherefore stay you here, 70
Refusing me, your loving wife,
For an harlot's sake,
Which each one will take;
Whose vile deeds provoke much strife?
Many can accuse her: 75
O my love, O my love, refuse her!
With thy lady home return.
Her flatteries beleeve not,
Come to me, and grieve not;
Wantons will thee overthrow." 80

All in a fury then
The angry Knight up started,
Very furious when
He heard his Ladie's speech.
With many bitter terms 85
His wife he ever thwarted,
Using hard extreams,
While she did him beseech.
From her neck so white
He took away in spite 90
Her curious chain of purest gold,
Her jewels and her rings,
And all such costly things
As he about her did behold.
The harlot in her presence 95
He did gently reverence,
And to her he gave them all:
He sent away his Lady,
Full of wo as may be,
Who in a swound with grief did fall. 100

At the Ladie's wrong
The harlot fleer'd and laughed;
Enticements are so strong,
They overcome the wise.
The Knight nothing regarded 105
To see the Lady scoffed:
Thus was she rewarded
For her enterprise.
The harlot, all this space,
Did him oft embrace; 110
She flatters him, and thus doth say:
"For thee Ile dye and live,
For thee my faith Ile give,
No wo shall work my love's decay;
Thou shalt be my treasure, 115
Thou shalt be my pleasure,
Thou shalt be my heart's delight:
I will be thy darling,
I will be thy worldling,
In despight of fortune's spight." 120

Thus he did remain
In wastfull great expences,
Till it bred his pain,
And consumed him quite.
When his lands were spent, 125
Troubled in his sences,
Then he did repent
Of his late lewd life.
For relief he hies,
For relief he flyes 130
To them on whom he spent his gold:
They do him deny,
They do him defie;
They will not once his face behold.
Being thus distressed, 135
Being thus oppressed,
In the fields that night he lay;
Which the harlot knowing,
Through her malice growing,
Sought to take his life away. 140

A young and proper lad
They had slain in secret
For the gold he had,
Whom they did convey
By a ruffian lewd 145
To that place directly,
Where the youthful Knight
Fast a sleeping lay.
The bloody dagger than,
Wherewith they kill'd the man, 150
Hard by the Knight he likewise laid,
Sprinkling him with blood,
As he thought it good,
And then no longer there he stayd.
The Knight, being so abused, 155
Was forthwith accused
For this murder which was done;
And he was condemned
That had not offended;
Shamefull death he might not shun. 160

When the Lady bright
Understood the matter,
That her wedded Knight
Was condemn'd to dye,
To the King she went 165
With all the speed that might be,
Where she did lament
Her hard destiny.
"Noble King!" quoth she,
"Pitty take on me, 170
And pardon my poor husbands life;
Else I am undone,
With my little son:
Let mercy mitigate this grief."
"Lady fair, content thee; 175
Soon thou wouldst repent thee,
If he should be saved so:
Sore he hath abus'd thee,
Sore he hath misus'd thee;
Therefore, Lady, let him go." 180

"O my liege!" quoth she,
"Grant your gracious favour:
Dear he is to me,
Though he did me wrong."
The King reply'd again, 185
With a stern behaviour,
"A subject he hath slain,
Dye he shall ere long:
Except thou canst find
Any one so kind, 190
That will dye and set him free."
"Noble King!" she said,
"Glad am I apaid;
That same person will I be.
I will suffer duly, 195
I will suffer truly,
For my love and husbands sake."
The King thereat amazed,
Though he her beauty praised,
He bad from thence they should her take.

It was the King's command, 201
On the morrow after
She should out of hand
To the scaffold go:
Her husband was 205
To bear the sword before her;
He must eke, alas!
Give the deadly blow.
He refus'd the deed;
She bid him to proceed, 210
With a thousand kisses sweet.
In this wofull case
They did both imbrace,
Which mov'd the ruffians in that place
Straight for to discover 215
This concealed murder;
Whereby the lady saved was.
The harlot then was hanged,
As she well deserved:
This did vertue bring to passe. 220

WILLOW, WILLOW, WILLOW.

From Percy's _Reliques_, i. 210.

This is the "song of willow" from which Desdemona sings snatches in the Fourth Act of _Othello_, (Sc. 3.) The portions which occur in Shakespeare are the first stanza, and fragments of the fifth, sixth, and seventh; he also introduces a couplet which does not belong to the ballad as here given.

The Second Part is very likely a separate composition. Songs upon this model or with the same burden were not infrequent. See one in Park's _Heliconia_, Part i. 132, and another in _The Moral Play of Wit and Science_, (Shakespeare Society,) p. 86.

Percy gave this song from a black-letter copy in the Pepys collection, entitled _A Lover's Complaint, being forsaken of his Love_. Another version, differing principally in arrangement, is printed in the above cited publication of the Shakespeare Society, p. 126, from a MS. in the British Museum, "written about the year 1633."

A poore soule sat sighing under a sicamore tree;
_O willow, willow, willow!_
With his hand on his bosom, his head on his knee.
_O willow, willow, willow!_
_O willow, willow, willow!_ 5
_Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland._

He sigh'd in his singing, and after each grone,
_Come willow, &c._
"I am dead to all pleasure, my true-love is gone.
_O willow, &c._ 10
_Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland._

"My love she is turned; untrue she doth prove;
_O willow, &c._
She renders me nothing but hate for my love.
_O willow, &c._ 15
_Sing, O the greene willow, &c._

"O pitty me," cried he, "ye lovers, each one;
_O willow, &c._
Her heart's hard as marble; she rues not my mone.
_O willow, &c._ 20
_Sing, O the greene willow, &c."_

The cold streams ran by him, his eyes wept apace;
_O willow, &c._
The salt tears fell from him, which drowned his face.
_O willow, &c._ 25
_Sing, O the greene willow, &c._

The mute birds sate by him, made tame by his mones;
_O willow, &c._
The salt tears fell from him, which softened the stones.
_O willow, &c._ 30
_Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland._

"Let nobody blame me, her scornes I do prove;
_O willow, &c._
She was borne to be faire; I, to die for her love.
_O willow, &c._ 35
_Sing, O the greene willow, &c._

"O that beauty should harbour a heart that's so hard!
_Sing willow, &c._
My true love rejecting without all regard.
_O willow, &c._ 40
_Sing, O the greene willow, &c._

"Let love no more boast him in palace or bower;
_O willow, &c._
For women are trothles, and flote in an houre.
_O willow, &c._ 45
_Sing, O the greene willow, &c._

"But what helps complaining? In vaine I complaine:
_O willow, &c._
I must patiently suffer her scorne and disdaine.
_O willow, &c._ 50
_Sing, O the greene willow, &c._

"Come, all you forsaken, and sit down by me,
_O willow, &c._
He that 'plaines of his false love, mine's falser than she.
_O willow, &c._ 55
_Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland._

"The willow wreath weare I, since my love did fleet;
_O willow, &c._
A garland for lovers forsaken most meete.
_O willow, &c._ 60
_Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland!_"