Chapter IV: Part THE FIRST

Henry, our royall king, would ride a hunting
To the greene forest so pleasant and faire;
To see the harts skipping, and dainty does tripping,
Unto merry Sherwood his nobles repaire:
Hawke and hound were unbound, all things prepar'd 5
For the game, in the same, with good regard.

All a long summers day rode the king pleasantlye,
With all his princes and nobles eche one;
Chasing the hart and hind, and the bucke gallantlye,
Till the dark evening forc'd all to turne home. 10
Then at last, riding fast, he had lost quite
All his lords in the wood, late in the night.

Wandering thus wearilye, all alone, up and downe,
With a rude miller he mett at the last;
Asking the ready way unto faire Nottingham, 15
"Sir," quoth the miller, "I meane not to jest,
Yet I thinke, what I thinke, sooth for to say;
You doe not lightlye ride out of your way."

"Why, what dost thou think of me," quoth our king merrily,
"Passing thy judgment upon me so briefe?" 20
"Good faith," sayd the miller, "I mean not to flatter thee,
I guess thee to bee but some gentleman thiefe;
Stand thee backe, in the darke; light not adowne,
Lest that I presentlye crack thy knaves crowne."

"Thou dost abuse me much," quoth the king, "saying thus; 25
I am a gentleman; lodging I lacke."
"Thou hast not," quoth th' miller, "one groat in thy purse;
All thy inheritance hanges on thy backe."
"I have gold to discharge all that I call;
If it be forty pence, I will pay all." 30

"If thou beest a true man," then quoth the miller,
"I sweare by my toll-dish, I'll lodge thee all night."
"Here's my hand," quoth the king; "that was I ever."
"Nay, soft," quoth the miller, "thou may'st be a sprite.
Better I'll know thee, ere hands we will shake; 35
With none but honest men hands will I take."

Thus they went all along unto the millers house,
Where they were seething of puddings and souse;
The miller first enter'd in, after him went the king;
Never came hee in soe smoakye a house. 40
"Now," quoth hee, "let me see here what you are:"
Quoth the king, "Looke your fill, and doe not spare."

"I like well thy countenance, thou hast an honest face:
With my son Richard this night thou shalt lye."
Quoth his wife, "By my troth, it is a handsome youth, 45
Yet it's best, husband, to deal warilye.
Art thou no run-away, prythee, youth, tell?
Shew me thy passport, and all shal be well."

Then our king presentlye, making lowe courtesye,
With his hatt in his hand, thus he did say; 50
"I have no passport, nor never was servitor,
But a poor courtyer, rode out of my way:
And for your kindness here offered to mee,
I will requite you in everye degree."

Then to the miller his wife whisper'd secretlye, 55
Saying, "It seemeth, this youth's of good kin,
Both by his apparel, and eke by his manners;
To turne him out, certainlye were a great sin."
"Yea," quoth hee, "you may see he hath some grace,
When he doth speake to his betters in place." 60

"Well," quo' the millers wife, "young man, ye're welcome here;
And, though I say it, well lodged shall be:
Fresh straw will I have laid on thy bed so brave,
And good brown hempen sheets likewise," quoth shee.
"Aye," quoth the good man; "and when that is done, 65
Thou shalt lye with no worse than our own sonne."

"Nay, first," quoth Richard, "good-fellowe, tell me true,
Hast thou noe creepers within thy gay hose?
Or art thou not troubled with the scabbado?"
"I pray," quoth the king, "what creatures are those?" 70
"Art thou not lowsy nor scabby?" quoth he:
"If thou beest, surely thou lyest not with mee."

This caus'd the king, suddenlye, to laugh most heartilye,
Till the teares trickled fast downe from his eyes.
Then to their supper were they set orderlye, 75
With hot bag-puddings, and good apple-pyes;
Nappy ale, good and stale, in a browne bowle,
Which did about the board merrilye trowle.

"Here," quoth the miller, "good fellowe, I drinke to thee,
And to all courtnalls that courteous be." 80
"I pledge thee," quoth our king, "and thanke thee heartilye
For my good welcome in everye degree:
And here, in like manner, I drinke to thy sonne."
"Do then," quoth Richard, "and quicke let it come."

"Wife," quoth the miller, "fetch me forth lightfoote, 85
And of his sweetnesse a little we'll taste."
A fair ven'son pastye brought she out presentlye,
"Eate," quoth the miller, "but, sir, make no waste.
Here's dainty lightfoote!" "In faith," sayd the king,
"I never before eat so daintye a thing." 90

"I-wis," quoth Richard, "no daintye at all it is,
For we doe eate of it everye day."
"In what place," sayd our king, "may be bought like to this?"
"We never pay pennye for itt, by my fay:
From merry Sherwood we fetch it home here; 95
Now and then we make bold with our kings deer."

"Then I thinke," sayd our king, "that it is venison."
"Eche foole," quoth Richard, "full well may know that:
Never are wee without two or three in the roof,
Very well fleshed, and excellent fat: 100
But, prythee, say nothing wherever thou goe;
We would not, for two pence, the king should it knowe."

"Doubt not," then sayd the king, "my promist secresye;
The king shall never know more on't for mee:"
A cupp of lambs-wool they dranke unto him then, 105
And to their bedds they past presentlie.
The nobles, next morning, went all up and down,
For to seeke out the king in everye towne.

At last, at the millers 'cott,' soone they espy'd him out,
As he was mounting upon his faire steede; 110
To whom they came presently, falling down on their knee;
Which made the millers heart wofully bleede;
Shaking and quaking, before him he stood,
Thinking he should have been hang'd, by the rood.

The king perceiving him fearfully trembling, 115
Drew forth his sword, but nothing he sed:
The miller downe did fall, crying before them all,
Doubting the king would have cut off his head.
But he his kind courtesye for to requite,
Gave him great living, and dubb'd him a knight. 120

PART THE SECONDE.

When as our royall king came home from Nottingham,
And with his nobles at Westminster lay,
Recounting the sports and pastimes they had taken,
In this late progress along on the way,
Of them all, great and small, he did protest, 5
The miller of Mansfields sport liked him best.

"And now, my lords," quoth the king, "I am determined
Against St. Georges next sumptuous feast,
That this old miller, our new confirm'd knight,
With his son Richard, shall here be my guest: 10
For, in this merryment, 'tis my desire
To talke with the jolly knight, and the young squire."

When as the noble lords saw the kinges pleasantness,
They were right joyfull and glad in their hearts:
A pursuivant there was sent straighte on the business, 15
The which had often-times been in those parts.
When he came to the place where they did dwell,
His message orderlye then 'gan he tell.

"God save your worshippe," then said the messenger,
"And grant your ladye her own hearts desire; 20
And to your sonne Richard good fortune and happiness,
That sweet, gentle, and gallant young squire.
Our king greets you well, and thus he doth say,
You must come to the court on St. George's day.

"Therefore, in any case, faile not to be in place." 25
"I-wis," quoth the miller, "this is an odd jest:
What should we doe there? faith, I am halfe afraid."
"I doubt," quoth Richard, "to be hang'd at the least."
"Nay," quoth the messenger, "you doe mistake;
Our king he provides a great feast for your sake." 30

Then sayd the miller, "By my troth, messenger,
Thou hast contented my worshippe full well:
Hold, here are three farthings, to quite thy gentleness,
For these happy tydings which thou dost tell.
Let me see, hear thou mee; tell to our king, 35
We'll wayt on his mastershipp in everye thing."

The pursuivant smiled at their simplicitye,
And making many leggs, tooke their reward,
And his leave taking with great humilitye,
To the kings court againe he repair'd; 40
Shewing unto his grace, merry and free,
The knightes most liberall gift and bountie.

When he was gone away, thus gan the miller say:
"Here come expences and charges indeed;
Now must we needs be brave, tho' we spend all we have, 45
For of new garments we have great need.
Of horses and serving-men we must have store,
With bridles and saddles, and twentye things more."

"Tushe, Sir John," quoth his wife, "why should you frett or frowne?
You shall ne'er be att no charges for mee; 50
For I will turne and trim up my old russet gowne,
With everye thing else as fine as may bee;
And on our mill-horses swift we will ride,
With pillowes and pannells, as we shall provide."

In this most statelye sort, rode they unto the court; 55
Their jolly sonne Richard rode foremost of all,
Who set up, for good hap, a cocks feather in his cap,[L57]
And so they jetted downe to the kings hall;
The merry old miller with hands on his side;
His wife like maid Marian did mince at that tide.[L60] 60

The king and his nobles, that heard of their coming,
Meeting this gallant knight with his brave traine,
"Welcome, sir knight," quoth he, "with your gay lady;
Good Sir John Cockle, once welcome againe;
And so is the squire of courage soe free." 65
Quoth Dicke, "A bots on you! do you know mee?"

Quoth our king gentlye, "How should I forget thee?
That wast my owne bed-fellowe, well it I wot."
"Yea, sir," quoth Richard, "and by the same token,
Thou with thy farting didst make the bed hot." 70
"Thou whore-son unhappy knave," then quoth the knight,
"Speake cleanly to our king, or else go sh***."

The king and his courtiers laugh at this heartily,
While the king taketh them both by the hand;
With the court-dames and maids, like to the queen of spades, 75
The millers wife did soe orderly stand,
A milk-maids courtesye at every word;
And downe all the folkes were set to the board.

There the king royally, in princelye majestye,
Sate at his dinner with joy and delight; 80
When they had eaten well, then he to jesting fell,
And in a bowle of wine dranke to the knight:
"Here's to you both, in wine, ale, and beer;
Thanking you heartilye for my good cheer."

Quoth Sir John Cockle, "I'll pledge you a pottle, 85
Were it the best ale in Nottinghamshire:"
But then said our king, "Now I think of a thing;
Some of your lightfoote I would we had here."
"Ho! ho!" quoth Richard, "full well I may say it
'Tis knavery to eate it, and then to betray it." 90

"Why art thou angry?" quoth our king merrilye;
"In faith, I take it now very unkind:
I thought thou wouldst pledge me in ale and wine heartily."
Quoth Dicke, "You are like to stay till I have din'd:
You feed us with twatling dishes soe small; 95
Zounds, a blacke-pudding is better than all."

"Aye, marry," quoth our king, "that were a daintye thing,
Could a man get but one here for to eate:"
With that Dicke straite arose, and pluckt one from his hose,
Which with heat of his breech gan to sweate.
The king made a proffer to snatch it away:-- 100
"'Tis meat for your master: good sir, you must stay."

Thus in great merriment was the time wholly spent,
And then the ladyes prepared to dance:
Old Sir John Cockle, and Richard, incontinent 105
Unto their places the king did advance.
Here with the ladyes such sport they did make,
The nobles with laughing did make their sides ake.

Many thankes for their paines did the king give them,
Asking young Richard then, if he would wed; 110
"Among these ladyes free, tell me which liketh thee?"
Quoth he, "Jugg Grumball, Sir, with the red head,
She's my love, she's my life, her will I wed;
She hath sworn I shall have her maidenhead."

Then Sir John Cockle the king call'd unto him, 115
And of merry Sherwood made him o'erseer,
And gave him out of hand three hundred pound yearlye:
"Take heed now you steele no more of my deer;
And once a quarter let's here have your view;
And now, Sir John Cockle, I bid you adieu." 120

57. for good hap: i. e. for good luck; they were going on a hazardous expedition. P.

60. Maid Marian in the Morris dance, was represented by a man in woman's clothes, who was to take short steps in order to sustain the female character. P.

GERNUTUS THE JEW OF VENICE.

Percy's _Reliques_, i. 224.

In Douce's _Illustrations of Shakespeare_, (i. 278,) and Malone's _Shakespeare_, (v. 3, 154, ed. 1821,) we are referred to a great many stories resembling that of the present ballad. Two or three of these are found in the Persian, and there can be no doubt that the original tale is of eastern invention. The oldest European forms of the story are in the _Gesta Romanorum_, (Wright's _Latin Stories_, Percy Soc. viii. 114, Madden's _Old English Versions_, p. 130,) the French romance of _Dolopathos_ (v. 7096, _et seq._), and the _Pecorone_ of Ser Giovanni Fiorentino, written in 1378, but not printed till 1558.

Shakespeare's _Merchant of Venice_ is known to have been played before 1598, and there is some reason to believe that it was produced as early as 1594. The resemblance in many particulars between the play and the narrative in the _Pecorone_ is conclusive to the fact that Shakespeare was acquainted with the Italian novel, directly or by a translation. In Gosson's _School of Abuse_, (1579,) mention is made of a play called _The Jew_, in which was represented "the greediness of worldly choosers, and bloody minds of usurers." It is possible that Shakespeare may have made use of the incidents of this forgotten piece in the construction of his plot, but as our knowledge of the older play amounts literally to the description of it given by Gosson, nothing positive is to be said on that point. Silvayn's _Orator_, translated from the French by Anthony Munday in 1596, affords the earliest discovered _printed_ notice, in English, of the bond and forfeiture, in a "Declamation, Of a Jew, who would for his debt have a pound of flesh of a Christian;" and a striking coincidence between the Jew's plea for the execution of the contract, and the reasoning of Shylock before the Senate, may be regarded by some as of weight sufficient to offset the evidence presented to show that the _Merchant of Venice_ was on the stage in 1594.

No dated copy of the ballad of _Gernutus_ is known. It is on the whole more likely that the ballad is older than Shakespeare's comedy, but it _may_ have been called forth by the popularity of that very piece. To judge by the first stanza alone, the writer had derived his materials from an Italian novel.

We give in the Appendix another ballad, presenting considerable diversity in the incidents, which we presume to be the one mentioned by Douce under the title of _The Cruel Jews Garland_.

In 1664, we are informed by Mr. Collier, Thomas Jordan made a ballad out of the story of the Merchant of Venice, in his _Royal Arbor of Loyal Poesie_, taking some liberties with the original plot.

The following was printed from an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys collection, (compared with the Ashmole copy,) entitled,

"A new Song, shewing the crueltie of 'Gernutus, a Jewe,' who, lending
to a merchant an hundred crowns, would have a pound of his fleshe,
because he could not pay him at the time appointed. To the tune of
_Black and Yellow_."

THE FIRST PART.

In Venice towne not long agoe
A cruel Jew did dwell,
Which lived all on usurie,
As Italian writers tell.

Gernutus called was the Jew, 5
Which never thought to dye,
Nor ever yet did any good
To them in streets that lie.

His life was like a barrow hogge,
That liveth many a day, 10
Yet never once doth any good,
Until men will him slay.

Or like a filthy heap of dung,
That lyeth in a whoard;
Which never can do any good, 15
Till it be spread abroad.

So fares it with the usurer,
He cannot sleep in rest
For feare the thiefe will him pursue,
To plucke him from his nest. 20

His heart doth thinke on many a wile
How to deceive the poore;
His mouth is almost ful of mucke,
Yet still he gapes for more.

His wife must lend a shilling, 25
For every weeke a penny;
Yet bring a pledge that is double worth,
If that you will have any.

And see, likewise, you keepe your day,
Or else you loose it all: 30
This was the living of the wife,
Her cow she did it call.

Within that citie dwelt that time
A marchant of great fame,
Which being distressed in his need, 35
Unto Gernutus came:

Desiring him to stand his friend
For twelvemonth and a day;
To lend to him an hundred crownes;
And he for it would pay 40

Whatsoever he would demand of him,
And pledges he should have:
"No," quoth the Jew, with flearing lookes,
"Sir, aske what you will have.

"No penny for the loane of it 45
For one year you shall pay;
You may doe me as good a turne,
Before my dying day.

"But we will have a merry jeast,
For to be talked long: 50
You shall make me a bond," quoth he,
"That shall be large and strong.

"And this shall be the forfeyture,--
Of your owne fleshe a pound:
If you agree, make you the bond, 55
And here is a hundred crownes."

"With right good will," the marchant he says,
And so the bond was made.
When twelve month and a day drew on,
That backe it should be payd, 60

The marchants ships were all at sea,
And money came not in;
Which way to take, or what to doe,
To thinke he doth begin.

And to Gernutus strait he comes, 65
With cap and bended knee;
And sayde to him, "Of curtesie,
I pray you beare with mee.

"My day is come, and I have not
The money for to pay; 70
And little good the forfeyture
Will doe you, I dare say."

"With all my heart," Gernutus sayd,
"Commaund it to your minde:
In thinges of bigger waight then this 75
You shall me ready finde."

He goes his way; the day once past,
Gernutus doth not slacke
To get a sergiant presently,
And clapt him on the backe. 80

And layd him into prison strong,
And sued his bond withall;
And when the judgement day was come,
For judgement he did call.

The marchants friends came thither fast, 85
With many a weeping eye,
For other means they could not find,
But he that day must dye.

THE SECOND PART.

Of the Jews crueltie; setting foorth the mercifulnesse of the Judge
towards the Marchant. To the tune of _Black and Yellow_.

Some offered for his hundred crownes
Five hundred for to pay;
And some a thousand, two or three,
Yet still he did denay.

And at the last ten thousand crownes 5
They offered, him to save:
Gernutus sayd, "I will no gold,
My forfeite I will have.

"A pound of fleshe is my demand,
And that shall be my hire." 10
Then sayd the judge, "Yet, good my friend,
Let me of you desire

"To take the fleshe from such a place,
As yet you let him live:
Do so, and lo! an hundred crownes 15
To thee here will I give."

"No, no," quoth he, "no, judgement here;
For this it shall be tride;
For I will have my pound of fleshe
From under his right side." 20

It grieved all the companie
His crueltie to see,
For neither friend nor foe could helpe
But he must spoyled bee.

The bloudie Jew now ready is 25
With whetted blade in hand,
To spoyle the bloud of innocent,
By forfeit of his bond.

And as he was about to strike
In him the deadly blow, 30
"Stay," quoth the judge, "thy crueltie;
I charge thee to do so.

"Sith needs thou wilt thy forfeit have,
Which is of flesh a pound,
See that thou shed no drop of bloud, 35
Nor yet the man confound.

"For if thou doe, like murderer
Thou here shalt hanged be:
Likewise of flesh see that thou cut
No more than longes to thee. 40

"For if thou take either more or lesse,
To the value of a mite,
Thou shalt be hanged presently,
As is both law and right."

Gernutus now waxt franticke mad, 45
And wotes not what to say;
Quoth he at last, "Ten thousand crownes
I will that he shall pay;

"And so I graunt to set him free."
The judge doth answere make; 50
"You shall not have a penny given;
Your forfeyture now take."

At the last he doth demaund
But for to have his owne:
"No," quoth the judge, "doe as you list, 55
Thy judgement shall be showne.

"Either take your pound of flesh," quoth he,
"Or cancell me your bond:"
"O cruell judge," then quoth the Jew,
"That doth against me stand!" 60

And so with griping grieved mind[L61]
He biddeth them fare-well:
Then all the people prays'd the Lord,
That ever this heard tell.

Good people, that doe heare this song, 65
For trueth I dare well say,
That many a wretch as ill as hee
Doth live now at this day;

That seeketh nothing but the spoyle
Of many a wealthy man, 70
And for to trap the innocent
Deviseth what they can.

From whome the Lord deliver me,
And every Christian too,
And send to them like sentence eke 75
That meaneth so to do.

61. griped, Ashmole copy.

THE FROLICKSOME DUKE; OR THE TINKER'S GOOD FORTUNE.

Percy's _Reliques_, i. 255.

The story of this ballad, like that of the preceding, was probably derived from the east. It is the same as the tale of _The Sleeper Awakened_ in the _Arabian Nights_, and a like incident is found also in the tale of _Xailoun_ in the _Continuation of the Arabian Nights_. Interpolations from European sources are said to have been made by the translators both of the _Arabian Nights_ and of the _Continuation_, and it has been suggested that _The Sleeper Awakened_ is one of these. (_Gent. Mag._ 64, I. 527.) It is even true that this story does not occur in the manuscript used by Galland. It _is_ found, however, in one manuscript, and is accordingly admitted into the recent version.--Marco Polo relates that Ala-eddin, "the Old Man of the Mountain," was accustomed to employ a device resembling that of the ballad, to persuade his youthful votaries of his power to transport them to Paradise. (Chap. xxi. of Marsden's translation.) A similar anecdote is told as historically true by the Arabic writer El-Is-hakee, who printed his work in the early part of the 17th century (Lane's _Thousand and One Nights_, ii. 376), while in Europe the story is related of Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, by Heuterus, _Rerum Burgund._ lib. iv.; of the Emperor Charles the Fifth, by Sir Richard Barckley, in _A Discourse on the Felicitie of Man_, 1598; and of the Marquess of Worcester, in _The Apothegms of King James, King Charles, the Marquess of Worcester, &c._ 1658. Warton had seen among Collins's books a collection of prose tales in black-letter, dated 1570, among which was this story. It was until lately, and no doubt is still, found in the stalls, under the title of _The Frolicksome Courtier and the Jovial Tinker_. (See Douce's _Illustrations_, and Malone's _Shakespeare_.)

Which of the many forms of the story was known to the author of the old play of _The Taming of a Shrew_, on which Shakespeare's comedy is founded, it would be more difficult than important to determine. Mr. Halliwell mentions a Dutch comedy, called _Dronkken Hansje_, (1657,) having the plot of the Induction to these plays.

This ballad was given from a black-letter copy in the Pepys collection.

Now as fame does report, a young duke keeps a court,
One that pleases his fancy with frolicksome sport:
But amongst all the rest, here is one I protest,
Which will make you to smile when you hear the true jest:
A poor tinker he found, lying drunk on the ground, 5
As secure in sleep as if laid in a swound.

The duke said to his men, "William, Richard, and Ben,
Take him home to my palace, we'll sport with him then."
O'er a horse he was laid, and with care soon convey'd
To the palace, altho' he was poorly arrai'd: 10
Then they stript off his cloaths, both his shirt, shoes, and hose,
And they put him to bed for to take his repose.

Having pull'd off his shirt, which was all over durt,
They did give him clean holland, this was no great hurt:
On a bed of soft down, like a lord of renown, 15
They did lay him to sleep the drink out of his crown.
In the morning, when day, then admiring he lay,
For to see the rich chamber, both gaudy and gay.

Now he lay something late, in his rich bed of state,
Till at last knights and squires they on him did wait; 20
And the chamberlain bare, then did likewise declare,
He desired to know what apparel he'd ware:
The poor tinker amaz'd, on the gentleman gaz'd,
And admired how he to this honour was rais'd.

Tho' he seem'd something mute, yet he chose a rich suit, 25
Which he straitways put on without longer dispute,
With a star on his side, which the tinker offt ey'd,
And it seem'd for to swell him 'no' little with pride;
For he said to himself, "Where is Joan my sweet wife?
Sure she never did see me so fine in her life." 30

From a convenient place, the right duke, his good grace,
Did observe his behaviour in every case.
To a garden of state, on the tinker they wait,
Trumpets sounding before him: thought he, this is great:
Where an hour or two, pleasant walks he did view, 35
With commanders and squires in scarlet and blew.

A fine dinner was drest, both for him and his guests;
He was plac'd at the table above all the rest,
In a rich chair 'or bed,' lin'd with fine crimson red,
With a rich golden canopy over his head: 40
As he sat at his meat, the musick play'd sweet,
With the choicest of singing his joys to compleat.

While the tinker did dine, he had plenty of wine,
Rich canary, with sherry and tent superfine.
Like a right honest soul, faith, he took off his bowl, 45
Till at last he began for to tumble and roul
From his chair to the floor, where he sleeping did snore,
Being seven times drunker than ever before.

Then the duke did ordain, they should strip him amain,
And restore him his old leather garments again: 50
'Twas a point next the worst, yet perform it they must,
And they carry'd him strait, where they found him at first,
Then he slept all the night, as indeed well he might;
But when he did waken, his joys took their flight.

For his glory 'to him' so pleasant did seem, 55
That he thought it to be but a meer golden dream;
Till at length he was brought to the duke, where he sought
For a pardon, as fearing he had set him at nought.
But his highness he said, "Thou'rt a jolly bold blade:
Such a frolick before I think never was plaid." 60

Then his highness bespoke him a new suit and cloak,
Which he gave for the sake of this frolicksome joak,
Nay, and five hundred pound, with ten acres of ground:
"Thou shalt never," said he, "range the counteries round,
Crying old brass to mend, for I'll be thy good friend, 65
Nay, and Joan thy sweet wife shall my duchess attend."

Then the tinker reply'd, "What! must Joan my sweet bride
Be a lady in chariots of pleasure to ride?
Must we have gold and land ev'ry day at command?
Then I shall be a squire, I well understand. 70
Well I thank your good grace, and your love I embrace;
I was never before in so happy a case."

THE HEIR OF LINNE.

Percy's _Reliques_, ii. 135.

"The original of this ballad," says Percy, "is found in the Editor's folio MS., the breaches and defects in which, rendered the insertion of supplemental stanzas necessary. These it is hoped the reader will pardon, as indeed the completion of the story was suggested by a modern ballad on a similar subject. From the Scottish phrases here and there discernible in this poem, it would seem to have been originally composed beyond the Tweed."

The modern ballad here mentioned is probably _The Drunkards Legacy_, printed from an old chap-book, in _Ancient Poems, Ballads_, and _Songs_, p. 151, Percy Society, vol. xvii. The Scottish version of the _Heir of Linne_ is annexed to the present in the only form in which it is now to be obtained.

The incident by which the hidden treasure is discovered in this ballad, occurs (as observes a writer in the _British Bibliographer_, iv. 182) in a story of Cinthio's, _Heccatomithi_, Dec. ix. nov. 8: but the argument of that story is in other respects different, being in fact the following epigram:

[Greek: Chryson anêr heurôn elipe brochon; autar ho chryson,
hon lipen, ouch heurôn, êpsen hon eure brochon.]

Brunck's _Anthologia_, vol. i. p. 106.