Chapter XIII: Part V (1)

Now in the fifth part I'll endeavour to shew,
How things with her parents and sister did go;
Her mother and sister of life [are] bereft, 195
And all alone the old knight he was left.

And hearing his daughter being married so brave,
He said, "In my noddle a fancy I have;
Drest like a poor man a journey I'll make,
And see if on me some pity she'll take. 200

Then drest like a beggar he goes to the gate,
Where stood his daughter, who appear'd very great;
He said, "Noble lady, a poor man I be,
And am now forced to crave charity."

With a blush she asked him from whence he came, 205
With that then he told her, and also his name;
She said, "I'm your daughter, whom you slighted so,
Yet, nevertheless, to you kindness I'll shew.

"Thro' mercy the Lord hath provided for me.
Now, father, come in and sit down," then said she. 210
Then the best of provisions the house could afford,
For to make him welcome was set on the board.

She said, "Thou art welcome; feed hearty, I pray;
And, if you are willing, with me you shall stay
So long as you live." Then he made this reply; 215
"I am only come thy love for to try.

"Thro' mercy, my child, I am rich, and not poor;
I have gold and silver enough now in store;
And for the love that at thy house I have found,
For a portion I'll give thee ten thousand pounds." 220

So in a few days after, as I understand,
This man he went home and sold off his land;
And ten thousand pounds to his daughter did give,
And now altogether in love they do live.

61. thee.

62. upon me.

98. answered him.

141. protest.

THE TAMING OF A SHREW.

Ritson's _Ancient Songs and Ballads_, ii. 242. "From one of the Sloan MSS. in the Museum, No. 1489. The writing of Charles the First's time." A far superior poem on the very popular subject of the disciplining of wives is that of _The Wife Lapped in Morels Skin_, printed in Utterson's _Select Pieces of Early Popular Poetry_, ii. 173, and as an appendix to the Shakespeare Society's edition of the old _Taming of a Shrew_. As a counterpart to these pieces may be mentioned the amusing poem called _Ane Ballad of Matrymonie_, in Laing's _Select Remains_, or, _The Honeymoon_, Aytoun's _Ballads of Scotland_, i. 284.

Al you that are assembled heere,
Come listen to my song,
But first a pardon I must crave,
For feare of further wrong;
I must entreat thes good wyves al 5
They wil not angrye be,
And I will sing a merrye song,
If they thereto agree.

Because the song I mean to sing
Doth touch them most of all, 10
And loth I were that any one
With me shold chide and brawle.
I have anough of that at home,
At boarde, and eake in bed;
And once for singing this same song 15
My wyfe did breake my head.

But if thes good wyves all be pleasd,
And pleased be the men,
Ile venture one more broken pate,
To sing it once agayne. 20
But first Ile tell you what it's cald,
For feare you heare no more;
'Tis calde the Taming of a Shrew,
Not often sung before.

And if I then shall sing the rest, 25
A signe I needs must have;
Hold but your finger up to me,
Or hem,--that's al I crave--
Then wil I sing it with a harte,
And to it roundelye goe; 30
You know my mynde, now let me see
Whether I shal sing't or no. _Hem._

Well then, I see you willing are
That I shall sing the reste;
To pleasure al thes good wyves heire 35
I meane to do my best.
For I do see even by their lookes
No hurte to me they thinke,
And thus it chancte upon a tyme,
(But first give me a drinke.) 40

Not long agoe a lustye lad
Did woe a livelye lasse,
And long it was before he cold
His purpose bring to passe;
Yet at the lenth it thus fell out, 45
She granted his petition,
That she would be his wedded wyfe,
But yet on this condicion.

That she shold weare the breeches on
For one yeare and a day, 50
And not to be controld of him
Whatsoere she'd do or say.[L52]
She rulde, shee raignd, she had hir wil
Even as she wold require;
But marke what fell out afterwards, 55
Good wyves I you desyre.

She made him weary of his lyfe;
He wisht that death wold come,
And end his myserye at once,
Ere that the yeare was run; 60
He thought it was the longest yeare
That was since he was borne,
But he cold not the matter mend,
For he was thereto sworne.

Yet hath the longest day his date; 65
For this we al do know,
Although the day be neer soe long,
To even soone wil it goe.
So fell it out with hir at lenth,
The yeare was now come out; 70
The sun, and moone, and all the starres,
Their race had run about.

Then he began to rouse himselfe,
And to his wyfe he saide,
"Since that your raigne is at an end, 75
Now know me for your heade."
But she that had borne swaye so long
Wold not be under brought,
But stil hir tounge on pattens ran,
Though many blowes she caught. 80

He bet hir backe, he bet hir syde,
He bet hir blacke and blew;
But for all this she wolde not mend,
But worse and worse she grew.
When that he saw she wolde not mend, 85
Another way wrought hee;
He mewde hir up as men mew hawkes,
Where noe light she cold see.

And kept hir without meate or drinke
For four dayes space and more; 90
Yet for all this she was as ill
As ere she was before.
When that he saw she wold not mend,
Nor that she wold be quiet,
Neither for stroakes nor locking up, 95
Nor yet for want of dyet,

He was almost at his wits end,
He knew not what to doe;
So that with gentlenes againe
He gane his wyfe to woo. 100
But she soone bad him holde his peace,
And sware it was his best,
But then he thought him of a wyle
Which made him be at rest.

He told a frend or two of his 105
What he had in his mynde;
Who went with him into his house,
And when they all had dynde,
"Good wyfe," quoth he, "thes frends of myne
Come hither for your good; 110
There lyes a vayne under your toung,
Must now be letten blood."

Then she began to use hir tearmes,
And rayléd at them fast;
Yet bound they hir for al hir strenth 115
Unto a poaste at laste,
And let hir blood under the toung,
And tho she bled full sore,
Yet did she rayle at them as fast
As ere she raylde before. 120

"Wel then," quoth he, "the faulte I see,
She hath it from her mother;
It is hir teeth infects hir toung,
And it can be noe other;
And since I now doe know the cause, 125
Whatsoever to me befall,
Ile plucke hir teeth out of hir toung,
Perhaps hir toung and all."

And with a payre of pinsers strong
He pluckt a great tooth out, 130
And for to plucke another thence,
He quicklye went about.
But then she held up both her hands,
And did for mercye pray,
Protesting that against his will, 135
She wold not doe nor saye.

Whereat hir husband was right glad,
That she had changde hir mynde,
For from that tyme unto hir death
She proved both good and kynde. 140
Then did he take hir from the poast,
And did unbind hir then;
I wold al shrews were served thus;
Al good wyves say Amen.

52. she did or said.

TITUS ANDRONICUS'S COMPLAINT.

On the 6th of February, 1593-4, _A noble Roman Historye of Tytus Andronicus_, was entered in the Stationers' Registers, to John Danter, and also "the ballad thereof." The earliest known edition of Shakespeare's play was in 1600. The differences between this play and the ballad are thus stated by Percy.

"In the ballad is no mention of the contest for the empire between the two brothers, the composing of which makes the ungrateful treatment of Titus afterwards the more flagrant: neither is there any notice taken of his sacrificing one of Tamora's sons, which the tragic poet has assigned as the original cause of all her cruelties. In the play, Titus loses twenty-one of his sons in war, and kills another for assisting Bassianus to carry off Lavinia; the reader will find it different in the ballad. In the latter she is betrothed to the Emperor's son: in the play to his brother. In the tragedy, only two of his sons fall into the pit, and the third, being banished, returns to Rome with a victorious army, to avenge the wrongs of his house: in the ballad, all three are entrapped, and suffer death. In the scene, the Emperor kills Titus, and is in return stabbed by Titus's surviving son. Here Titus kills the Emperor, and afterwards himself." * * * * *

"The following is given from a copy in _The Golden Garland_, entitled as above; compared with three others, two of them in black letter in the Pepys collection, entitled _The Lamentable and Tragical History of Titus Andronicus_, &c. To the Tune of _Fortune_. Printed for E. Wright.--Unluckily, none of these have any dates." Percy's _Reliques_, i. 238.

You noble minds, and famous martiall wights,
That in defence of native country fights,
Give eare to me, that ten yeeres fought for Rome,
Yet reapt disgrace at my returning home.

In Rome I lived in fame fulle threescore yeeres, 5
My name beloved was of all my peeres;
Fulle five-and-twenty valiant sonnes I had,
Whose forwarde vertues made their father glad.

For when Romes foes their warlike forces bent,
Against them stille my sonnes and I were sent; 10
Against the Goths full ten yeeres weary warre
We spent, receiving many a bloudy scarre.

Just two-and-twenty of my sonnes were slaine
Before we did returne to Rome againe:
Of five-and-twenty sonnes, I brought but three 15
Alive, the stately towers of Rome to see.

When wars were done, I conquest home did bring,
And did present my prisoners to the king,
The queene of Goths, her sons, and eke a Moore,
Which did such murders, like was nere before. 20

The emperour did make this queene his wife,
Which bred in Rome debate and deadly strife;
The Moore, with her two sonnes, did growe soe proud,
That none like them in Rome might bee allowd.

The Moore soe pleas'd this new-made empress' eie, 25
That she consented to him secretlye
For to abuse her husbands marriage bed,
And soe in time a blackamore she bred.

Then she, whose thoughts to murder were inclinde,
Consented with the Moore of bloody minde, 30
Against myselfe, my kin, and all my friendes,
In cruell sort to bring them to their endes.

Soe when in age I thought to live in peace,
Both care and griefe began then to increase:
Amongst my sonnes I had one daughter bright, 35
Which joy'd and pleased best my aged sight.

My deare Lavinia was betrothed than
To Cesars sonne, a young and noble man:
Who, in a hunting, by the emperours wife,
And her two sonnes, bereaved was of life. 40

He, being slaine, was cast in cruel wise
Into a darksome den from light of skies:
The cruell Moore did come that way as then
With my three sonnes, who fell into the den.

The Moore then fetcht the emperour with speed, 45
For to accuse them of that murderous deed;
And when my sonnes within the den were found,
In wrongfull prison they were cast and bound.

But nowe behold what wounded most my mind:
The empresses two sonnes, of savage kind, 50
My daughter ravished without remorse,
And took away her honour, quite perforce.

When they had tasted of soe sweete a flowre,
Fearing this sweete should shortly turne to sowre,
They cutt her tongue, whereby she could not tell 55
How that dishonoure unto her befell.

Then both her hands they basely cutt off quite,
Whereby their wickednesse she could not write,
Nor with her needle on her sampler sowe
The bloudye workers of her direfull woe. 60

My brother Marcus found her in the wood,
Staining the grassie ground with purple bloud,
That trickled from her stumpes, and bloudlesse armes:
Noe tongue at all she had to tell her harmes.

But when I sawe her in that woefull case, 65
With teares of bloud I wet mine aged face:
For my Lavinia I lamented more
Then for my two-and-twenty sonnes before.

When as I sawe she could not write nor speake,
With grief mine aged heart began to breake; 70
We spred an heape of sand upon the ground,
Whereby those bloudy tyrants out we found.

For with a staffe, without the helpe of hand,
She writt these wordes upon the plat of sand:
"The lustfull sonnes of the proud emperesse 75
Are doers of this hateful wickednesse."

I tore the milk-white hairs from off mine head,
I curst the houre wherein I first was bred;
I wisht this hand, that fought for countries fame,
In cradle rockt, had first been stroken lame. 80

The Moore, delighting still in villainy,
Did say, to sett my sonnes from prison free,
I should unto the king my right hand give,
And then my three imprisoned sonnes should live.

The Moore I caus'd to strike it off with speede, 85
Whereat I grieved not to see it bleed,
But for my sonnes would willingly impart,
And for their ransome send my bleeding heart.

But as my life did linger thus in paine,
They sent to me my bootlesse hand againe, 90
And therewithal the heades of my three sonnes,
Which filled my dying heart with fresher moanes.

Then past reliefe, I upp and downe did goe,
And with my teares writ in the dust my woe:
I shot my arrowes towards heaven hie, 95
And for revenge to hell often did crye.

The empresse then, thinking that I was mad,
Like Furies she and both her sonnes were clad,
(She nam'd Revenge, and Rape and Murder they)
To undermine and heare what I would say. 100

I fed their foolish veines a certaine space,[L101]
Untill my friendes did find a secret place,
Where both her sonnes unto a post were bound,
And just revenge in cruell sort was found.

I cut their throates, my daughter held the pan 105
Betwixt her stumpes, wherein the bloud it ran:
And then I ground their bones to powder small,
And made a paste for pyes streight therewithall.

Then with their fleshe I made two mighty pyes,
And at a banquet, served in stately wise, 110
Before the empresse set this loathsome meat;
So of her sonnes own flesh she well did eat.

Myselfe bereav'd my daughter then of life,
The empresse then I slewe with bloudy knife,
And stabb'd the emperour immediatelie, 115
And then myself: even soe did Titus die.

Then this revenge against the Moore was found;
Alive they sett him halfe in the ground,
Whereas he stood untill such time he starv'd:
And soe God send all murderers may be serv'd. 120

101. i. e. encouraged them in their foolish humours, or fancies. P.

JOHN DORY.

This ballad, formerly a very great favorite, and continually alluded to in works of the 16th and 17th centuries, is found among the "Freemen's Songs of three voices" in _Deuteromelia_, 1609; also in Playford's _Musical Companion_, 1687, and for one voice in _Wit and Mirth, or Pills to Purge Melancholy_, vol. i. 1698 and 1707. It is, however, much older than any of these books.

Carew, in his _Survey of Cornwall_, 1602, p. 135, writes: "Moreover, the prowess of one Nicholas, son to a widow near Foy, is descanted upon in an old three-man's song, namely, how he fought bravely at sea with John Dory, (a Genowey, as I conjecture,) set forth by John, the French King, and, after much bloodshed on both sides, took, and slew him, in revenge of the great ravine and cruelty which he had fore committed upon the Englishmen's goods and bodies." The only King John that could be meant here is of course John II. the Good, (see v. 10,) who was taken prisoner at Poitiers, and died in 1364. No John Doria is mentioned as being in the service of John the Good.--Ritson's _Ancient Songs_, ii. 57, and Chappell's _Popular Music_, p. 67.

As it fell on a holy-day,
And upon 'a' holy-tide-a,
John Dory bought him an ambling nag,
To Paris for to ride-a.

And when John Dory to Paris was come, 5
A little before the gate-a,
John Dory was fitted, the porter was witted,
To let him in thereat-a.

The first man that John Dory did meet,
Was good king John of France-a; 10
John Dory could well of his courtesie,
But fell downe in a trance-a.

"A pardon, a pardon, my liege and my king,
For my merie men and for me-a;
And all the churles in merie England, 15
Ile bring them all bound to thee-a."

And Nicholl was then a Cornish man,
A little beside Bohide-a,
And he mande forth a good blacke barke,
With fifty good oares on a side-a. 20

"Run up, my boy, unto the maine top,
And looke what thou canst spie-a:"
"Who ho! who ho! a goodly ship I do see,
I trow it be John Dory-a."

They hoist their sailes, both top and top, 25
The meisseine and all was tride-a;
And every man stood to his lot,
Whatever should betide-a.

The roring cannons then were plide,
And dub-a-dub went the drumme-a; 30
The braying trumpets lowd they cride,
To courage both all and some-a.

The grapling-hooks were brought at length,
The browne bill and the sword-a;
John Dory at length, for all his strength, 35
Was clapt fast under board-a.

SIR EGLAMORE.

Courage Crowned with Conquest: Or, a brief relation how that valiant
knight and heroick champion, Sir Eglamore, bravely fought with, and
manfully slew, a terrible huge great monstrous dragon. To a pleasant
new tune.

This ballad is found in _The Melancholie Knight_, by Samuel Rowlands, 1615; in the _Antidote to Melancholy_, 1661; in _Merry Drollery Complete_, 1661; in Dryden's _Miscellany Poems_, iv. 104; in the "Bagford and Roxburghe collections of Ballads," &c. (Chappell.) The various editions differ considerably. The following is from Ritson's _Ancient Songs_, (ed. 1790,) p. 211, where it was reprinted from a black-letter copy dated 1672.

Sir Eglamore, that valiant knight,
_With his fa, la, lanctre down dilie_,
He fetcht his sword and he went to fight,
_With his fa, la, lanctre, &c._
As he went over hill and dale,
All cloathed in his coat of male,
_With his fa, la, lanctre, &c._

A huge great dragon leapt out of his den, 5
Which had killed the Lord knows how many men;
But when he saw Sir Eglamore,
Good lack had ye seen how this dragon did roare!

This dragon he had a plaguy hide,
Which could both sword and spear abide; 10
He could not enter with hacks and cuts,
Which vext the knight to the very hearts blood and guts.

All the trees in the wood did shake,
Stars did tremble, and men did quake;
But had ye seen how the birds lay peeping, 15
'Twould have made a mans heart to fall a-weeping.

But it was too late to fear,
For now it was come to fight dog, fight bear;
And as a yawning he did fall,
He thrust his sword in, hilt and all. 20

But now as the knight in choler did burn,
He owed the dragon a shrewd good turn:
In at his mouth his sword he bent,
The hilt appeared at his fundament.

Then the dragon, like a coward, began to fly 25
Unto his den, that was hard by;
And there he laid him down and roar'd;
The knight was vexed for his sword.

"The sword, that was a right good blade,
As ever Turk or Spaniard made, 30
I for my part do forsake it,
And he that will fetch it, let him take it."

When all this was done, to the ale-house he went,
And by and by his two pence he spent;
For he was so hot with tugging with the dragon, 35
That nothing would quench him but a whole flaggon.

Now God preserve our King and Queen,
And eke in London may be seen
As many knights, and as many more,
And all so good as Sir Eglamore. 40

JEPHTHAH, JUDGE OF ISRAEL.

We have thought it necessary to include in this collection one or two specimens of ballads founded on stories in the Jewish Scriptures. Besides those here selected, it may be well to refer to the following: _The Constancy of Susanna_, (cited in _Twelfth Night_,) Evans, i. 11; _David and Bathsheba_, _id._ p. 291; _Tobias_, _Old Ballads_, ii. 158; _Holofernes_, _The Garland of Goodwill_, p. 85, and _Old Ballads_, ii. 166.

Every one will remember that the ballad of _Jephthah_ is quoted in _Hamlet_ (Act II. sc. 2). Percy published an imperfect copy of this piece, written down from the recollection of a lady (_Reliques_, i. 193). The following is from a black-letter copy reprinted in Evans, i. 7, which was entitled "_Jepha, Judge of Israel_."

I have read that many years agoe,
When Jeph[th]a, judge of Israel,
Had one fair daughter and no moe,[L3]
Whom he loved passing well.
And as by lot, God wot, 5
It came to passe, most like it was,
Great warrs there should be,
And who should be the chiefe but he, but he.

When Jeph[th]a was appointed now
Chiefe captain of the company, 10
To God the Lord he made a vow,
If he might have the victory,
At his return, to burn,
For his offering, the first quick thing,
Should meet with him then, 15
From his house when he came agen, agen.

It chanced so these warrs were done,
And home he came with victory;
His daughter out of doors did run
To meet her father speedily: 20
And all the way did play
To taber and pipe, and many a stripe,
And notes full high,
For joy that he was so nigh, so nigh.

When Jeph[th]a did perceive and see 25
His daughter firm and formostly,
He rent his cloths, and tore his haire,
And shrieked out most piteously:
"For thou art she," quoth he,
"Hath brought me low--alas, for woe! 30
And troubled me so,
That I cannot tell what to doe, to doe.

"For I have made a vow," quoth he,
Which must not be diminishéd;
A sacrifice to God on high; 35
My promise must be finishéd."
"As ye have spoke, provoke
No further care, but to prepare
Your will to fulfill,
According to God's will, God's will. 40

"For sithence God has given you might
To overcome your enemies,
Let one be offer'd up, as right,
For to perform all promises.
And this let be," quoth she, 45
"As thou hast said; be not afraid;
Although it be I,
Keep promise with God on high, on high.

"But father, do so much for me
As let me go to wildernesse, 50
There to bewaile my virginity,
Three months to bemoan my heavinesse.
And let there go some moe,
Like maids with me." "Content," quoth he,
And sent her away, 55
To mourn till her latter day, her day.

And when that time was come and gone
That she should sacrificed be,
This virgin sacrificed was,
For to fulfill all promises. 60
As some say, for aye
The virgins there, three times a year,
Like sorrow fulfill
For the daughter of Jeph[th]a still, still, still.

3. more

SAMSON.

Evans's _Old Ballads_, i. 283, from a black-letter copy.

When Samson was a tall young man,
His power and strength increased then,
And in the host and tribe of Dan
The Lord did bless him still.
It chanced so upon a day, 5
As he was walking on his way,
He saw a maiden fresh and gay
In Timnath.

With whom he fell so sore in love,
That he his fancy could not move; 10
His parents therefore he did prove,
And craved their good wills:
"I have found out a wife," quoth he;
"I pray ye, father, give her me;
Though she a stranger's daughter be, 15
I pass not."

Then did bespeak his parents dear,
"Have we not many maidens here,
Of country and acquaintance near,
For thee to love and like?" 20
"O no," quoth Samson presently,
"Not one so pleasant in my eye,
Whom I could find so faithfully
To fancy."

At length they granted their consent, 25
And so with Samson forth they went;
To see the maid was their intent,
Which was so fair and bright.
But as they were a-going there,
A lion put them in great fear, 30
Whom Samson presently did tear
In pieces.

When they were come unto the place,
They were agreed in the case;
The wedding day appointed was, 35
And when the time was come,
As Samson went for beauty's fees,
The lion's carcass there he sees,
Wherein a sort of honey bees
Had swarmed. 40

Then closely Samson went his way,
And not a word thereof did say,
Untill the merry feasting-day,
Unto the company.
"A riddle I will shew," quoth he; 45
"The meaning if you tell to me,
Within seven days I will give ye
Great riches.

"But if the meaning you do miss,
And cannot shew me what it is, 50
Then shall you give to me i-wiss
So much as I have said."
"Put forth the riddle then," quoth they,
"And we will tell it by our day,
Or we will lose, as thou dost say, 55
The wager."

"Then make," quoth he, "the total sum.
Out of the eater meat did come,
And from the strong did sweetness run;
Declare it, if you can." 60
And when they heard the riddle told,
Their hearts within them waxed cold,
For none of them could then unfold
The meaning.

Then unto Samson's wife went they, 65
And threatened her, without delay,
If she would not the thing bewray,
To burn her father's house.
Then Samson's wife, with grief and woe,
Desired him the same to shew,
And when she knew, she straight did go, 70
To tell them.

Then were they all full glad of this;
To tell the thing they did not miss;
"What stronger beast than a lion is? 75
What sweeter meat than honey?"
Then Samson answered them full round,
"If my heifer had not ploughed the ground,
So easily you had not found
My riddle. 80

Then Samson did his losses pay,
And to his father went his way:
But while with them he there did stay,[L83]
His wife forsook him quite,
And took another to her love, 85
Which Samson's anger much did move:
To plague them therefore he did prove
His cunning.

A subtle thought he then had found,
To burn their corn upon the ground; 90
Their vineyards he destroyed round,
Which made them fret and fume.
But when they knew that Samson he
Had done them all this injury,
Because his wife did him deny, 95
They killed her.

And afterward they had decreed
To murder Samson for that deed;
Three thousand men they sent with speed,
To bring him bound to them. 100
But he did break his cords apace,
And with the jaw-bone of an ass
A thousand men, ere he did pass,
He killed.

When all his foes were laid in dust, 105
Then Samson was full sore athirst;
In God therefore was all his trust,
To help his fainting heart:
For liquor thereabout was none:
The Lord therefore from the jaw-bone 110
Did make fresh water spring, alone
To help him.

Then Samson had a joyfull spright,
And in a city lay that night,
Whereas his foes, with deadly spite, 115
Did seek his life to spill:
But he at midnight then awakes,
And tearing down the city gates,
With him away the same he takes
Most stoutly. 120

Then on Delilah, fair and bright,
Did Samson set his whole delight,
Whom he did love both day and night,
Which wrought his overthrow.
For she with sweet words did entreat, 125
That for her sake he would repeat
Wherein his strength, that was so great,
Consisted.

At length, unto his bitter fall,
And through her suit, which was not small, 130
He did not let to show her all
The secrets of his heart.
"If that my hair be cut," quoth he,
"Which now so fair and long you see,
Like other men then shall I be 135
In weakness."

Then through deceit which was so deep,
She lulled Samson fast asleep;
A man she call'd, which she did keep,
To cut off all his hair. 140
Then did she call his hateful foes,
Ere Samson from her lap arose,
Who could not then withstand their blows,
For weakness.

To bind him fast they did devise, 145
Then did they put out both his eyes;
In prison wofully he lies,
And there he grinds the mill.
But God remembered all his pain,
And did restore his strength again, 150
Although that bound he did remain
In prison.

The Philistines now were glad of this;
For joy they made a feast i-wiss,
And all their princes did not miss 155
To come unto the same.
And being merry bent that day,
For Samson they did send straightway,
That they might laugh to see him play
Among them. 160

Then to the house was Samson led,
And when he had their fancies fed,
He pluck'd the house upon their head,
And down they tumbled all.
So that with grief and deadly pain, 165
Three thousand persons there were slain;
Thus Samson then, with all his train,
Was brained.

83. But wisht.

QUEEN DIDO, OR, THE WANDERING PRINCE OF TROY.

Percy's _Reliques_, iii. 240, and Ritson's _Ancient Songs and Ballads_, ii. 101.

"Such is the title given in the Editor's folio MS. to this excellent old ballad, which, in the common printed copies, is inscribed, _Eneas, wandering Prince of Troy_. It is here given from that MS. collated with two different printed copies, both in black-letter, in the Pepys Collection." PERCY.

As other ballads on classical subjects, may be mentioned _Constant Penelope, Reliques_, iii. 324; _Pyramus and Thisbe_, in _A Handfull of Pleasant Delites_, p. 42 (Park's _Heliconia_, vol. ii.); and _Hero and Leander_ in Collier's _Roxburghe Ballads_, p. 227, from which was formed the song, or ballad, in the _Tea-Table Miscellany_, ii. 138, Ritson's _Scotish Songs_, ii. 198, &c.

When Troy towne had, for ten yeeres 'past,'[L1]
Withstood the Greekes in manfull wise,
Then did their foes encrease soe fast,
That to resist none could suffice:
Wast lye those walls, that were soe good, 5
And corne now growes where Troy towne stoode.

Æneas, wandering prince of Troy,
When he for land long time had sought,
At length arriving with great joy,
To mighty Carthage walls was brought; 10
Where Dido queene, with sumptuous feast,
Did entertaine that wandering guest.

And, as in hall at meate they sate,
The queene, desirous newes to heare,
Says, "Of thy Troys unhappy fate, 15
Declare to me, thou Trojan deare:
The heavy hap and chance soe bad,
That thou, poore wandering prince, hast had."

And then anon this comelye knight,
With words demure, as he cold well, 20
Of his unhappy ten yeares 'fight,'[L21]
Soe true a tale began to tell,
With wordes soe sweete, and sighes soe deepe,
That oft he made them all to weepe.

And then a thousand sighes he fet, 25
And every sigh brought teares amaine;
That where he sate the place was wett,
As though he had seene those warrs againe:
Soe that the queene, with ruth therfore,
Said, "Worthy prince, enough, no more." 30

And then the darksome night drew on,
And twinkling starres the skye bespred,
When he his dolefull tale had done,
And every one was layd in bedd:
Where they full sweetly tooke their rest, 35
Save only Dido's boyling brest.

This silly woman never slept,
But in her chamber, all alone,
As one unhappye, alwayes wept,
And to the walls shee made her mone; 40
That she shold still desire in vaine
The thing she never must obtaine.

And thus in grieffe she spent the night,
Till twinkling starres the skye were fled,
And Ph[oe]bus, with his glistering light, 45
Through misty cloudes appeared red;
Then tidings came to her anon,
That all the Trojan shipps were gone.

And then the queene with bloody knife
Did arme, her hart as hard as stone; 50
Yet, something loth to loose her life,
In woefull wise she made her mone;
And, rowling on her carefull bed,
With sighes and sobbes, these words shee sayd:

"O wretched Dido queene!" quoth shee, 55
"I see thy end approacheth neare;
For hee is fled away from thee,
Whom thou didst love and hold so deare:
What, is he gone, and passed by?
O hart, prepare thyselfe to dye. 60

"Though reason says thou shouldst forbeare,
And stay thy hand from bloudy stroke,
Yet fancy bids thee not to fear,
Which fetter'd thee in Cupids yoke.
Come death," quoth shee, "resolve my smart!"-- 65
And with those words shee peerced her hart.

When death had pierced the tender hart
Of Dido, Carthaginian queene,
Whose bloudy knife did end the smart,
Which shee sustain'd in mournfull teene, 70
Æneas being shipt and gone,
Whose flattery caused all her mone,

Her funerall most costly made,
And all things finisht mournfullye,
Her body fine in mold was laid, 75
Where itt consumed speedilye:
Her sisters teares her tombe bestrewde,
Her subjects griefe their kindnesse shewed.

Then was Æneas in an ile
In Grecya, where he stayd long space, 80
Whereas her sister in short while
Writt to him to his vile disgrace;
In speeches bitter to his mind
Shee told him plaine he was unkind.

"False-harted wretch," quoth shee, "thou art; 85
And traiterouslye thou hast betraid
Unto thy lure a gentle hart,
Which unto thee much welcome made;
My sister deare, and Carthage' joy,
Whose folly bred her deere annoy. 90

"Yett on her death-bed when shee lay,
Shee prayd for thy prosperitye,
Beseeching God, that every day
Might breed thy great felicitye:
Thus by thy meanes I lost a friend; 95
Heaven send thee such untimely end."

When he these lines, full fraught with gall,
Perused had, and wayed them right,
His lofty courage then did fall;
And straight appeared in his sight 100
Queene Dido's ghost, both grim and pale;
Which made this valliant souldier quaile.

"Æneas," quoth this ghastly ghost,
"My whole delight, when I did live,
Thee of all men I loved most; 105
My fancy and my will did give;
For entertainment I thee gave,
Unthankefully thou didst me grave.

"Therfore prepare thy flitting soule
To wander with me in the aire, 110
Where deadlye griefe shall make it howle,
Because of me thou tookst no care:
Delay not time, thy glasse is run,
Thy date is past, thy life is done."

"O stay a while, thou lovely sprite; 115
Be not soe hasty to convay
My soule into eternall night,
Where itt shall ne're behold bright day:
O doe not frowne; thy angry looke
Hath made my breath my life forsooke. 120

"But, woe is me! all is in vaine,
And bootless is my dismall crye;
Time will not be recalled againe,
Nor thou surcease before I dye.
O lett me live, and make amends 125
To some of thy most dearest friends.

"But seeing thou obdurate art,
And wilt no pittye on me show,
Because from thee I did depart,
And left unpaid what I did owe, 130
I must content myselfe to take
What lott to me thou wilt partake."

And thus, as one being in a trance,
A multitude of uglye feinds
About this woffull prince did dance: 135
He had no helpe of any friends:
His body then they tooke away,
And no man knew his dying day.

1, 21. war. MS. and pr. cop.

GEORGE BARNWELL.

Percy's _Reliques_, iii. 297.

"The subject of this ballad is sufficiently popular from the modern play which is founded upon it. This was written by George Lillo, a jeweller of London, and first acted about 1730.--As for the ballad, it was printed at least as early as the middle of the last century.

"It is here given from three old printed copies, which exhibit a strange intermixture of Roman and black-letter. It is also collated with another copy in the Ashmole Collection at Oxford, which is thus entitled: "_An excellent ballad of George Barnwell, an apprentice of London, who ... thrice robbed his master, and murdered his uncle in Ludlow_. The tune is _The Merchant_."

There is another copy in Ritson's _Ancient Songs_, ii. 156. Throughout the Second Part, the first line of each stanza has, in the old editions, two superfluous syllables, which Percy ejected; and Ritson has adopted the emendation.

THE FIRST PART.

All youths of fair Englànd
That dwell both far and near,
Regard my story that I tell,
And to my song give ear.

A London lad I was, 5
A merchant's prentice bound;
My name George Barnwell; that did spend
My master many a pound.

Take heed of harlots then,
And their enticing trains; 10
For by that means I have been brought
To hang alive in chains.

As I upon a day
Was walking through the street,
About my master's business, 15
A wanton I did meet.

A gallant dainty dame
And sumptuous in attire;
With smiling look she greeted me,
And did my name require. 20

Which when I had declar'd,
She gave me then a kiss,
And said, if I would come to her
I should have more than this.

"Fair mistress," then quoth I, 25
"If I the place may know,
This evening I will be with you;
For I abroad must go,

"To gather monies in,
That are my master's due: 30
And ere that I do home return
I'll come and visit you."

"Good Barnwell," then quoth she,
"Do thou to Shoreditch come,
And ask for Mrs. Milwood's house, 35
Next door unto the Gun.

"And trust me on my truth,
If thou keep touch with me,
My dearest friend, as my own heart
Thou shalt right welcome be." 40

Thus parted we in peace,
And home I passed right;
Then went abroad, and gathered in,
By six o'clock at night,

An hundred pound and one: 45
With bag under my arm
I went to Mrs. Millwood's house,
And thought on little harm.

And knocking at the door,
Straightway herself came down; 50
Rustling in most brave attire,
With hood and silken gown.

Who, through her beauty bright,
So gloriously did shine,
That she amaz'd my dazzling eyes, 55
She seemed so divine.

She took me by the hand,
And with a modest grace,
"Welcome, sweet Barnwell," then quoth she,
"Unto this homely place. 60

"And since I have thee found
As good as thy word to be,
A homely supper, ere we part,
Thou shalt take here with me."

"O pardon me," quoth I, 65
"Fair mistress, I you pray;
For why, out of my master's house
So long I dare not stay."

"Alas, good sir," she said,
"Are you so strictly ty'd, 70
You may not with your dearest friend
One hour or two abide?

"Faith, then the case is hard;
If it be so," quoth she,
"I would I were a prentice bound, 75
To live along with thee.

"Therefore, my dearest George,
List well what I shall say,
And do not blame a woman much,
Her fancy to bewray. 80

"Let not affection's force
Be counted lewd desire;
Nor think it not immodesty,
I should thy love require."

With that she turn'd aside, 85
And with a blushing red,
A mournful motion she bewray'd
By hanging down her head.

A handkerchief she had,
All wrought with silk and gold, 90
Which she, to stay her trickling tears,
Before her eyes did hold.

This thing unto my sight
Was wondrous rare and strange,
And in my soul and inward thought 95
It wrought a sudden change:

That I so hardy grew
To take her by the hand,
Saying, "Sweet mistress, why do you
So dull and pensive stand?" 100

"Call me no mistress now,
But Sarah, thy true friend,
Thy servant, Milwood, honouring thee,
Until her life hath end.

"If thou wouldst here alledge 105
Thou art in years a boy;
So was Adonis, yet was he
Fair Venus' only joy."

Thus I, who ne'er before
Of woman found such grace, 110
But seeing now so fair a dame
Give me a kind embrace,

I supt with her that night,
With joys that did abound;
And for the same paid presently, 115
In mony twice three pound.

An hundred kisses then,
For my farewel she gave;
Crying, "Sweet Barnwell, when shall I
Again thy company have? 120

"O stay not hence too long;
Sweet George, have me in mind:"
Her words bewicht my childishness,
She uttered them so kind.

So that I made a vow, 125
Next Sunday, without fail,
With my sweet Sarah once again
To tell some pleasant tale.

When she heard me say so,
The tears fell from her eye; 130
"O George," quoth she, "if thou dost fail,
Thy Sarah sure will dye."

Though long, yet loe! at last,
The appointed day was come,
That I must with my Sarah meet; 135
Having a mighty sum[L136]

Of money in my hand,
Unto her house went I,
Whereas my love upon her bed
In saddest sort did lye. 140

"What ails my heart's delight,
My Sarah dear?" quoth I;
"Let not my love lament and grieve,
Nor sighing pine and die.

"But tell me, dearest friend, 145
What may thy woes amend,
And thou shalt lack no means of help,
Though forty pound I spend."

With that she turn'd her head,
And sickly thus did say: 150
"Oh me, sweet George, my grief is great;
Ten pound I have to pay

Unto a cruel wretch;
And God he knows," quoth she,
"I have it not." "Tush, rise," I said, 155
"And take it here of me.

"Ten pounds, nor ten times ten,
Shall make my love decay;"
Then from my bag into her lap,
I cast ten pound straightway. 160

All blithe and pleasant then,
To banqueting we go;
She proffered me to lye with her,
And said it should be so.

And after that same time, 165
I gave her store of coyn,
Yea, sometimes fifty pound at once;
All which I did purloyn.

And thus I did pass on;
Until my master then 170
Did call to have his reckoning in
Cast up among his men.

The which when as I heard,
I knew not what to say:
For well I knew that I was out 175
Two hundred pound that day.

Then from my master straight
I ran in secret sort;
And unto Sarah Milwood there
My case I did report. 180

_But how she used this youth,
In this his care and woe,
And all a strumpet's wiley ways,
The second part may showe._

136. The having a sum of money with him on Sunday, &c., shows this narrative to have been penned before the civil wars: the strict observance of the Sabbath was owing to the change of manners at that period. PERCY.

THE SECOND PART.

"Young Barnwell comes to thee,
Sweet Sarah, my delight;
I am undone, unless thou stand
My faithful friend this night.

"Our master to accompts 5
Hath just occasion found;
And I am caught behind the hand
Above two hundred pound.

"And now his wrath to 'scape,
My love, I fly to thee, 10
Hoping some time I may remaine
In safety here with thee."

With that she knit her brows,
And looking all aquoy,
Quoth she, "What should I have to do 15
With any prentice boy?

"And seeing you have purloyn'd
Your master's goods away,
The case is bad, and therefore here
You shall no longer stay." 20

"Why, dear, thou know'st," I said,
"How all which I could get,
"I gave it, and did spend it all
Upon thee every whit."

Quoth she, "Thou art a knave, 25
To charge me in this sort,
Being a woman of credit fair,
And known of good report.

"Therefore I tell thee flat,
Be packing with good speed; 30
I do defie thee from my heart,
And scorn thy filthy deed."

"Is this the friendship, that
You did to me protest?
Is this the great affection, which 35
You so to me exprest?

"Now fie on subtle shrews!
The best is, I may speed
To get a lodging any where
For money in my need. 40

"False woman, now farewell;
Whilst twenty pound doth last,
My anchor in some other haven
With freedom I will cast."

When she perceiv'd by this, 45
I had store of money there,
"Stay, George," quoth she, "thou art too quick:
Why, man, I did but jeer.

"Dost think for all my speech,
That I would let thee go? 50
Faith, no," said she, "my love to thee
I-wiss is more than so."

"You scorne a prentice boy,
I heard you just now swear:
Wherefore I will not trouble you:" 55
"Nay, George, hark in thine ear;

"Thou shalt not go to-night,
What chance soe're befall;
But man, we'll have a bed for thee,
Or else the devil take all." 60

So I by wiles bewitcht,
And snar'd with fancy still,
Had then no power to 'get' away,
Or to withstand her will.

For wine on wine I call'd, 65
And cheer upon good cheer;
And nothing in the world I thought
For Sarah's love too dear.

Whilst in her company,
I had such merriment, 70
All, all too little I did think,
That I upon her spent.

"A fig for care and thought!
When all my gold is gone,
In faith, my girl, we will have more, 75
Whoever I light upon.

"My father's rich; why then
Should I want store of gold?"
"Nay, with a father, sure," quoth she,
"A son may well make bold." 80

"I've a sister richly wed;
I'll rob her ere I'll want."
"Nay then," quoth Sarah, "they may well
Consider of your scant."

"Nay, I an uncle have; 85
At Ludlow he doth dwell;
He is a grazier, which in wealth
Doth all the rest excell.

"Ere I will live in lack,
And have no coyn for thee, 90
I'll rob his house, and murder him."
"Why should you not?" quoth she.

"Was I a man, ere I
Would live in poor estate,
On father, friends, and all my kin, 95
I would my talons grate.

"For without money, George,
A man is but a beast:
But bringing money, thou shalt be
Always my welcome guest. 100

"For shouldst thou be pursued
With twenty hues and cryes,
And with a warrant searched for
With Argus' hundred eyes,

"Yet here thou shalt be safe; 105
Such privy wayes there be,
That if they sought an hundred years,
They could not find out thee."

And so carousing both
Their pleasures to content, 110
George Barnwell had in little space
His money wholly spent.

Which done, to Ludlow straight
He did provide to go,
To rob his wealthy uncle there; 115
His minion would it so.

And once he thought to take
His father by the way,
But that he fear'd his master had
Took order for his stay.[L120] 120

Unto his uncle then
He rode with might and main,
Who with a welcome and good cheer
Did Barnwell entertain.

One fortnight's space he stayed, 125
Until it chanced so,
His uncle with his cattle did
Unto a market go.

His kinsman rode with him,
Where he did see right plain, 130
Great store of money he had took:
When, coming home again,

Sudden within a wood,
He struck his uncle down,
And beat his brains out of his head; 135
So sore he crackt his crown.

Then seizing fourscore pound,
To London straight he hyed,
And unto Sarah Millwood all
The cruell fact descryed. 140

"Tush, 'tis no matter, George,
So we the money have
To have good cheer in jolly sort,
And deck us fine and brave."

Thus lived in filthy sort, 145
Until their store was gone:
When means to get them any more,
I-wis poor George had none.

Therefore in railing sort,
She thrust him out of door; 150
Which is the just reward of those,
Who spend upon a whore.

"O do me not disgrace
In this my need," quoth he:
She called him thief and murderer, 155
With all the spight might be.

To the constable she sent,
To have him apprehended;
And shewed how far, in each degree,
He had the laws offended. 160

When Barnwell saw her drift,
To sea he got straightway;
Where fear and sting of conscience
Continually on him lay.

Unto the lord mayor then, 165
He did a letter write,
In which his own and Sarah's fault
He did at large recite.

Whereby she seized was,
And then to Ludlow sent, 170
Where she was judg'd, condemn'd, and hang'd,
For murder incontinent.

There dyed this gallant quean,
Such was her greatest gains;
For murder in Polonia, 175
Was Barnwell hang'd in chains.

Lo! here's the end of youth
That after harlots haunt,
Who in the spoil of other men
About the streets do flaunt. 180

120. i.e. for stopping and apprehending him at his father's. P.

THE DUKE OF ATHOL'S NURSE.

From Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, ii. 23. Annexed is a less perfect copy from Kinloch's collection. A fragment of this piece is printed in Cromek's _Select Scottish Songs by R. Burns_, (ii. 196,) with some stanzas of _Willy's drowned in Yarrow_, (vol. ii. p. 181, of this collection.) Mr. Aytoun has made up a very good ballad from several copies; _Ballads of Scotland_, 2, 236.

As I gaed in yon greenwood side,
I heard a fair maid singing;
Her voice was sweet, she sang sae complete,
That all the woods were ringing.

"O I'm the Duke o' Athole's nurse, 5
My post is well becoming;
But I wou'd gie a' my half-year's fee,
For ae sight o' my leman."

"Ye say, ye're the Duke o' Athole's nurse,
Your post is well becoming; 10
Keep well, keep well your half-year's fee,
Ye'se hae twa sights o' your leman."

He lean'd him ower his saddle bow,
And cannilie kiss'd his dearie;
"Ohon, and alake! anither has my heart, 15
And I darena mair come near thee!"

"Ohon, and alake! if anither hae your heart,
These words hae fairly undone me;
But let us set a time, tryst to meet again,
Then in gude friends you will twine me!" 20

"Ye will do you down to yon tavern house,
And drink till the day be dawing;
And, as sure as I ance had a love for you,
I'll come there and clear your lawing.

"Ye'll spare not the wine, altho' it be fine, 25
Nae Malago, tho' it be rarely;
But ye'll aye drink the bonnie lassie's health
That's to clear your lawing fairly."

Then he's done him down to yon tavern house,
And drank till day was dawing; 30
And aye he drank the bonny lassie's health
That was coming to clear his lawing.

And aye as he birled, and aye as he drank
The gude beer and the brandy,
He spar'd not the wine, altho' it was fine, 35
The sack nor the sugar candy.

"It's a wonder to me," the knight he did say,
"My bonnie lassie's sae delaying;
She promis'd, as sure as she loved me ance,
She wou'd be here by the dawing." 40

He's done him to a shott window,
A little before the dawing,
And there he spied her nine brothers bauld,
Were coming to betray him.

"Where shall I rin, where shall I gang, 45
Or where shall I gang hide me?
She that was to meet me in friendship this day,
Has sent nine men to slay me!"

He's gane to the landlady o' the house,
Says, "O can you supply me? 50
For she that was to meet me in friendship this day,
Has sent nine men to slay me!

She gae him a suit o' her ain female claise,
And set him to the baking;
The bird never sang mair sweet on the bush, 55
Nor the knight sung at the baking.

As they came in at the ha' door,
Sae loudly as they rappit,
And when they came upon the floor,
Sae loudly as they chappit! 60

"O had ye a stranger here last night,
Who drank till the day was dawing?
Come, show us the chamber where he lyes in,
We'll shortly clear his lawing."