Chapter XVI: Part THE THIRD

As they sat in Englyshe wood,
Under the green-wode tre,
They thought they herd a woman wepe,
But her they mought[744] not se.

Sore then syghed the fayre Alyce: 5
'That ever I sawe thys day!'
For nowe is my dere husband slayne:
Alas! and wel-a-way!

Myght I have spoken wyth hys dere brethren,
Or with eyther of them twayne, 10
To show them what him befell,
My hart were out of payne.

Cloudeslè walked a lytle beside,
He looked under the grene wood lynde,
He was ware of his wife, and chyldren three, 15
Full wo in harte and mynde.

Welcome, wyfe, then sayde Wyllyam,
Under 'this' trusti tre:
I had wende[745] yesterday, by swete saynt John,
Thou sholdest me never 'have' se.[746] 20

"Now well is me that ye be here,
My harte is out of wo."
Dame, he sayde, be mery and glad,
And thanke my brethren two.

Herof to speake, said Adam Bell, 25
I-wis it is no bote:
The meate, that we must supp withall,
It runneth yet fast on fote.

Then went they downe into a launde,[747]
These noble archares all thre; 30
Eche of them slew a hart of greece,[748]
The best that they cold se.

Have here the best, Alyce, my wyfe,
Sayde Wyllyam of Cloudeslye;
By cause ye so bouldly stode by me 35
When I was slayne full nye.

Then went they to suppère
Wyth suche meate as they had;
And thanked God of ther fortune:
They were both mery and glad. 40

And when they had supped well,
Certayne withouten lease,[749]
Cloudeslè sayd, We wyll to our kyng,
To get us a charter of peace.

Alyce shal be at our sojournyng 45
In a nunnery here besyde;
My tow sonnes shall wyth her go,
And there they shall abyde.

Myne eldest son shall go wyth me;
For hym have 'you' no care:[750] 50
And he shall bring you worde agayn,
How that we do fare.

Thus be these yemen to London gone,
As fast as they myght 'he,'[751]
Tyll they came to the kynges pallàce, 55
Where they woulde nedes be.

And whan they came to the kynges courte,
Unto the pallace gate,
Of no man wold they aske no leave,
But boldly went in therat. 60

They preced prestly[752] into the hall,
Of no man had they dreade:
The porter came after, and dyd them call,
And with them began to chyde.

The usher sayde, Yemen, what wold ye have? 65
I pray you tell to me:
You myght thus make offycers shent:[753]
Good syrs, of whence be ye?

Syr, we be out-lawes of the forest
Certayne withouten lease; 70
And hether we be come to the kyng,
To get us a charter of peace.

And whan they came before the kyng,
As it was the lawe of the lande,
The kneled downe without lettyng, 75
And eche held up his hand.

The sayed, Lord, we beseche the here,
That ye wyll graunt us grace;
For we have slayne your fat falow dere
In many a sondry place. 80

What be your nams, then said our king,
Anone that you tell me?
They sayd, Adam Bell, Clim of the Clough,
And Wyllyam of Cloudeslè.

Be ye those theves, then sayd our kyng, 85
That men have tolde of to me?
Here to God I make an avowe,
Ye shal be hanged al thre.

Ye shal be dead without mercy,
As I am kynge of this lande. 90
He commanded his officers everich-one,
Fast on them to lay hande.

There they toke these good yemen,
And arested them al thre:
So may I thryve, sayd Adam Bell, 95
Thys game lyketh not me.

But, good lorde, we beseche you now,
That yee graunt us grace,
Insomuche as 'frely' we be to you come,
'As frely' we may fro you passe, 100

With such weapons, as we have here,
Tyll we be out of your place;
And yf we lyve this hundreth yere,
We wyll aske you no grace.

Ye speake proudly, sayd the kynge; 105
Ye shall be hanged all thre.
That were great pitye, then sayd the quene,
If any grace myght be.

My lorde, whan I came fyrst into this lande
To be your wedded wyfe, 110
The fyrst boone that I wold aske,[754]
Ye would graunt it me belyfe:[755]

And I asked you never none tyll now;
Therefore good lorde, graunt it me,
Now aske it, madam, sayd the kynge, 115
And graunted it shal be.

Then, good my lord, I you beseche,
These yemen graunt ye me.
Madame, ye myght have asked a boone,
That shuld have been worth them all thre. 120

Ye myght have asked towres, and townes,
Parkes and forestes plentè.
None soe pleasant to my pay,[756] shee sayd;
Nor none so lefe[757] to me.

Madame, sith it is your desyre, 125
Your askyng graunted shal be;
But I had lever have geven you
Good market townes thre.

The quene was a glad woman,
And sayde, Lord, gramarcy:[758][759] 130
I dare undertake for them,
That true men shal they be.

But good my lord, speke som mery word,
That comfort they may se.
I graunt you grace, then sayd our king; 135
Washe, felos, and to meate go ye.

They had not setten but a whyle
Certayne without lesynge,[760]
There came messengers out of the north
With letters to our kyng. 140

And whan the came before the kynge,
They knelt downe on theyr kne;
And sayd, Lord, your officers grete you well,
Of Carleile in the north cuntrè.

How fareth my justice, sayd the kyng, 145
And my sherife also?
Syr, they be slayne without leasynge,
And many an officer mo.

Who hath them slayne, sayd the kyng;
Anone that thou tell me? 150
"Adam Bell, and Clime of the Clough,
And Wyllyam of Cloudeslè."

Alas for rewth![761] then sayd our kynge:
My hart is wonderous sore;
I had lever[762] than a thousande pounde, 155
I had knowne of thys before;

For I have graunted them grace,
And that forthynketh[763] me:
But had I knowne all thys before,
They had been hanged all thre. 160

The kyng hee opened the letter anone,
Himselfe he red it thro,
And founde how these outlawes had slain
Thre hundred men and mo:

Fyrst the justice, and the sheryfe, 165
And the mayre of Carleile towne;
Of all the constables and catchipolles
Alyve were 'scant' left one:[764]

The baylyes, and the bedyls both,
And the sergeauntes of the law, 170
And forty fosters of the fe,[765]
These outlawes had yslaw:[766]

And broke his parks, and slayne his dere;
Of all they chose the best;
So perelous out-lawes, as they were, 175
Walked not by easte nor west.

When the kynge this letter had red,
In hys harte he syghed sore:
Take up the tables anone he bad,
For I may eat no more. 180

The kyng called hys best archars
To the buttes wyth hym to go:
I wyll se these felowes shote, he sayd,
In the north have wrought this wo.

The kynges bowmen buske them blyve,[767][768] 185
And the quenes archers also;
So dyd these thre wyghtye yemen;
With them they thought to go.

There twyse, or thryse they shote about
For to assay theyr hande; 190
There was no shote these yemen shot,
That any prycke[769] myght stand.

Then spake Wyllyam of Cloudeslè;
By him that for me dyed,
I hold hym never no good archar, 195
That shoteth at buttes so wyde.

'At what a butte now wold ye shote,'
I pray thee tell to me?
At suche a but, syr, he sayd,
As men use in my countree. 200

Wyllyam wente into a fyeld,
And 'with him' his two brethren:[770]
There they set up two hasell roddes[771][770]
Twenty score paces betwene.[772]

I hold him an archar, said Cloudeslè, 205
That yonder wande cleveth in two.
Here is none suche, sayd the kyng,
Nor no man can so do.[773]

I shall assaye, syr, sayd Cloudeslè,
Or that I farther go. 210
Cloudesly with a bearyng arowe[774]
Clave the wand in two.[770]

Thou art the best archer, then said the king,
Forsothe that ever I se.
And yet for your love, sayd Wyllyam, 215
I wyll do more maystery.[775]

I have a sonne is seven yere olde,
He is to me full deare;
I wyll hym tye to a stake;
All shall se, that be here; 220

And lay an apple upon hys head,
And go syxe score paces hym fro,[776]
And I my selfe with a brode aròw
Shall cleve the apple in two.

Now haste the, then sayd the kyng, 225
By hym that dyed on a tre,
But yf thou do not, as thou hest sayde,
Hanged shalt thou be.

And thou touche his head or gowne,
In fyght that men may se, 230
By all the sayntes that be in heaven,
I shall hange you all thre.

That I have promised, said William,
That I wyll never forsake.
And there even before the kynge 235
In the earth he drove a stake:

And bound thereto his eldest sonne,
And bad hym stand styll thereat;
And turned the childes face him fro,
Because he should not start. 240

An apple upon his head he set,
And then his bowe he bent:
Syxe score paces they were meaten,[777]
And thether Cloudeslè went.

There he drew out a fayr brode arrowe, 245
Hys bowe was great and longe,
He set that arrowe in his bowe,
That was both styffe and stronge

He prayed the people, that wer there,
That they 'all still wold' stand, 250
For he that shoteth for such a wager,
Behoveth a stedfast hand.[778]

Muche people prayed for Cloudeslè,
That his lyfe saved myght be,
And whan he made hym redy to shote, 255
There was many weeping ee.

'But' Cloudeslè clefte the apple in two,
'His sonne he did not nee.'[779]
Over Gods forbode, sayde the kinge,
That thou shold shote at me. 260

I geve thee eightene pence a day,
And my bowe shalt thou bere,
And over all the north countrè
I make the chyfe rydère.[780]

And I thyrtene pence a day, said the quene,[781] 265
By God, and by my fay;[782]
Come feche thy payment when thou wylt,
No man shall say the nay.

Wyllyam, I make the a gentleman
Of clothyng, and of fe: 270
And thy two brethren, yemen of my chambre,
For they are so semely to se.

Your sonne, for he is tendre of age,
Of my wyne-seller he shall be;
And when he commeth to mans estate, 275
Better avaunced shall he be.

And, Wyllyam, bring me your wife, said the quene,
Me longeth her sore to se:
She shall be my chefe gentlewoman,
To governe my nurserye. 280

The yemen thanked them all curteously.
To some byshop wyl we wend,[783]
Of all the synnes, that we have done,
To be assoyld[784] at his hand.

So forth be gone these good yemen, 285
As fast as they might 'he[785]';
And after came and dwelled with the kynge,
And dyed good men all thre.

Thus endeth the lives of these good yemen;
God send them eternall blysse; 290
And all, that with a hand-bowe shoteth:
That of heven may never mysse. Amen.

FOOTNOTES:

[682] Bottles formerly were of leather; though perhaps a wooden bottle might be here meant. It is still a diversion in Scotland to hang up a cat in a small cask or firkin, half filled with soot: and then a parcel of clowns on horseback try to beat out the ends of it, in order to show their dexterity in escaping before the contents fall upon them.

[683] _i.e._ Each with a canvas bow-case tied round his loins.

[684] [Ritson's book.]

[685] _Clym of the Clough_, means Clem. [Clement] of the Cliff: for so Clough signifies in the North.

[686] [attend.]

[687] [companion or wife.]

[688] Ver. 24. _Caerlel_, in _PC. passim_.

[689] [from this wild wood depart.]

[690] [six o'clock in the morning.]

[691] V. 35. _take, PC. tane_, MS.

[692] [might.]

[693] [glad.]

[694] Ver. 85. sic MS. _shop window, PC._

[695] [company.]

[696] [from thee.]

[697] [burn.]

[698] [burnt.]

[699] [sooner.]

[700] [in the crowd to run.]

[701] [wild.]

[702] [in a crowd.]

[703] [fiercely.]

[704] Ver. 151. Sic MS. _hye Justice, PC._

[705] V. 153, 4, are contracted from the folio MS. and _PC._

[706] [quickly.]

[707] [lusty.]

[708] Ver. 179. _yonge men, PC._

[709] [condemned.]

[710] [hang.]

[711] Ver. 190. sic MS. _shadowes sheene, PC._

[712] [vexation.]

[713] V. 197. _jolly yeomen_, MS. _wight yong men, PC._

[714] [redeem.]

[715] [unto.]

[716] [hastened.]

[717] [sluggard or stupid fellow.]

[718] [mad.]

[719] Ver. 38. _Lordeyne, PC._

[720] _i. e._ weened, _thought_ (which last is the reading of the folio MS.)----Calais, or Rouen was taken from the English by showing the governor, who could not read, a letter with the king's seal, which was all he looked at.

[721] [doffed his hood.]

[722] [glad.]

[723] [despoiled.]

[724] So Ascham in his _Toxophilus_ gives a precept; "The Stringe must be rounde" (p. 149. Ed. 1761): otherwise, we may conclude from mechanical principles, the Arrow will not fly true.

[725] [hour.]

[726] [inquest.]

[727] Ver. 105. _lowsed thre, PC._

[728] V. 108. _can bled_, MS.

[729] [went off.]

[730] [pressed.]

[731] _Outhorne_, is an old term signifying the calling forth of subjects to arms by the sound of a horn. See Cole's _Lat. Dict._, Bailey, &c. [Perhaps "a nouthorne," or neat's horn, from nowt, cattle.]

[732] [company.]

[733] [fear.]

[734] Ver. 148. _For of_, MS.

[735] [fight.]

[736] [pike or halbert.]

[737] [burst.]

[738] [abroad.]

[739] This is spoken ironically.

[740] [lime tree.]

[741] Ver. 175. _merry green wood_, MS.

[742] [company.]

[743] Ver. 185. see Part I. ver. 197.

[744] [might.]

[745] [thought.]

[746] Ver. 20. _never had se, PC._ and MS.

[747] [clear space in a forest.]

[748] [fat hart.]

[749] [without lying.]

[750] Ver. 50. _have I no care, PC._

[751] _i.e._ hie, hasten.

[752] [pressed quickly.]

[753] [blamed.]

[754] Ver. 111, 119. sic. MS. _bowne, PC._

[755] [at once.]

[756] [satisfaction.]

[757] [dear.]

[758] [I thank you.]

[759] Ver. 130. _God a mercye_, MS.

[760] [lying.]

[761] [pity.]

[762] [rather.]

[763] [vexeth.]

[764] Ver. 168. _left but one_, MS. _not one, PC._

[765] [foresters of the king's demesnes.]

[766] [slain.]

[767] [get them ready instantly.]

[768] V. 185. _blythe_, MS.

[769] _i.e._ mark.

[770] Ver. 202, 203, 212. _to, PC._

[771] [hazel rods.]

[772] V. 204. _i.e._ 400 yards.

[773] V. 208. sic MS. _none that can, PC._

[774] [an arrow that carries well.]

[775] [trial of skill.]

[776] V. 222. _i.e._ 120 yards.

[777] Ver. 243. sic, MS. _out met, PC._

[778] V. 252. _steedye_, MS.

[779] [nigh.]

[780] [ranger.]

[781] Ver. 265. _And I geve the xvij pence, PC._

[782] [faith.]

[783] V. 282. _And sayd to some Bishopp wee will wend_, MS.

[784] [absolved.]

[785] _he_, _i.e._ hie, hasten.

II.

THE AGED LOVER RENOUNCETH LOVE.

The Grave-digger's song in _Hamlet_, act v. is taken from three stanzas of the following poem, though greatly altered and disguised, as the same were corrupted by the ballad-singers of Shakespeare's time; or perhaps so designed by the poet himself, the better to suit the character of an illiterate clown. The original is preserved among Surrey's Poems, and is attributed to Lord _Vaux_, by George Gascoigne, who tells us, it "was thought by some to be made upon his death-bed;" a popular error which he laughs at. (See his _Epist. to Yong Gent._ prefixed to his _Posies_, 1575, 4to.) It is also ascribed to Lord Vaux in a manuscript copy preserved in the British Museum.[786] This Lord was remarkable for his skill in drawing feigned manners, &c. for so I understand an ancient writer. "The Lord Vaux his commendation lyeth chiefly in the facilitie of his meetre, and the aptnesse of his descriptions such as he taketh upon him to make, namely in sundry of his Songs, wherein he showeth the _counterfait action_ very lively and pleasantly." _Arte of Eng. Poesie_, 1589, p. 51. See another _Song_ by this Poet in vol. ii. No. viii.

* * * * *

[Thomas second Lord Vaux, the author of this poem, was born in the
year 1510. He wrote several small pieces of the same character
which evince taste and feeling, and his contributions to the
_Paradise of Dainty Devices_ exceed in number those of Richard
Edwards himself, whose name appears upon the original title-page
as the chief author. Lord Vaux was a courtier as well as a poet,
and was one of the splendid retinue which attended Wolsey in his
embassy, in the 19th Henry VIII., 1527, to the Court of France
to negotiate a peace. He took his seat in the House of Lords in
the 22nd Henry VIII., and two years afterwards, 1532, waited on
the king to Calais and thence to Boulogne. He was rewarded with
the Order of the Bath at the Coronation of Anne Boleyn, and was
also appointed Captain of the Island of Jersey, which office he
surrendered in the 28th Henry VIII.]

* * * * *

I loth that I did love,
In youth that I thought swete,
As time requires: for my behove[787]
Me thinkes they are not mete.[788]

My lustes they do me leave, 5
My fansies all are fled;[789]
And tract of time begins to weave
Gray heares upon my hed.

For Age with steling steps,
Hath clawde me with his crowch,[790][791] 10
And lusty 'Youthe' awaye he leapes,[792]
As there had bene none such.

My muse doth not delight
Me, as she did before:
My hand and pen are not in plight, 15
As they have bene of yore.

For Reason me denies,
'All' youthly idle rime;[793]
And day by day to me she cries,
Leave off these toyes in tyme. 20

The wrinkles in my brow,
The furrowes in my face
Say, Limping age will 'lodge' him now,[794]
Where youth must geve him place.

The harbenger of death, 25
To me I se him ride,
The cough, the cold, the gasping breath,
Doth bid me to provide

A pikeax and a spade,
And eke a shrowding shete,[795] 30
A house of clay for to be made
For such a guest most mete.

Me thinkes I heare the clarke,
That knoles the carefull knell;[796]
And bids me leave my 'wearye' warke,[797] 35
Ere nature me compell.

My kepers[798] knit the knot,
That youth doth laugh to scorne,[799]
Of me that 'shall bee cleane' forgot,[800]
As I had 'ne'er' bene borne.[801] 40

Thus must I youth geve up,
Whose badge I long did weare:
To them I yeld the wanton cup,
That better may it beare.

Lo here the bared skull;[802] 45
By whose balde signe I know,
That stouping age away shall pull
'What' youthful yeres did sow.[803]

For Beautie with her band,
These croked cares had wrought, 50
And shipped me into the land,
From whence I first was brought.

And ye that bide behinde,
Have ye none other trust:
As ye of claye were cast by kinde, 55
So shall ye 'turne' to dust.[804]

FOOTNOTES:

[786] Harl. MSS. num. 1703, § 25. [Called in that MS. "_The Image of Death_." There is another copy in the Ashmolean Library (MS. Ashm. No. 48.)] The readings gathered from that copy are distinguished here by inverted commas. The text is printed from the "_Songs, &c. of the Earl of Surrey and others_, 1557, 4to."

[787] [behoof.]

[788] [meet or fit.]

[789] Ver. 6. _be, PC._ (printed copy in 1557.)

[790] [crutch.]

[791] V. 10. _Crowch_ perhaps should be _clouch_, clutch, grasp.

[792] Ver. 11. _Life away she, PC._

[793] V. 18. _This, PC._

[794] V. 23. So Ed. 1583 'tis _hedge_ in Ed. 1557. _hath caught him_, MS.

[795] V. 30. _wyndynge-sheete_, MS.

[796] V. 34. _bell_, MS.

[797] V. 35. _wofull, PC._

[798] Alluding perhaps to Eccles. xii. 3

[799] V. 38. _did, PC._

[800] Ver. 39. _clene shal be, PC._

[801] V. 40. _not, PC._

[802] V. 45. _bare-hedde_, M. and some _PCC._

[803] V. 48. _Which, PC. That_, MS. _What_ is etc.

[804] V. 56. _wast, PC._

III.

JEPHTHAH JUDGE OF ISRAEL.

In Shakespeare's _Hamlet_, act ii. the hero of the play takes occasion to banter Polonius with some scraps of an old Ballad, which has never appeared yet in any collection: for which reason, as it is but short, it will not perhaps be unacceptable to the reader; who will also be diverted with the pleasant absurdities of the composition. It was retrieved from utter oblivion by a lady, who wrote it down from memory as she had formerly heard it sung by her father. I am indebted for it to the friendship of Mr. _Steevens_.

It has been said, that the original Ballad, in black-letter, is among Anthony à Wood's Collections in the Ashmolean Museum. But, upon application lately made, the volume which contained this Song was missing, so that it can only now be given as in the former Edition.

* * * * *

The Banter of Hamlet is as follows:

"_Hamlet._ 'O Jeptha, Judge of Israel,' what a treasure hadst thou?

_Polonius._ What a treasure had he, my Lord?

_Ham._ Why, 'One faire daughter, and no more, the which he loved
passing well.'

_Polon._ Still on my daughter.

_Ham._ Am not I i' th' right, old Jeptha?

_Polon._ If you call me Jeptha, my Lord, I have a daughter, that I
love passing well.

_Ham._ Nay, that follows not.

_Polon._ What follows then, my Lord?

_Ham._ Why, 'As by lot, God wot:' and then you know, 'It came to
passe, As most like it was.' The first row of the pious chanson
will shew you more."--_Act_ ii. _sc._ 2.

* * * * *

[A more perfect copy of this ballad was reprinted by Evans in his
_Collection of Old Ballads_ from a black-letter broadside, and
is included by Child in his _Collection of English and Scottish_
_Ballads_ (vol. viii. p. 198).

The wording is rather different in the two versions, and Evans's
has two additional stanzas. It does not appear that anything is
left out at line 18 of Percy's version, but in place of the stars
at line 41 Evans's copy reads--

"A sacrifice to God on high;
My promise must be finishéd."]

* * * * *

Have you not heard these many years ago
Jeptha was judge of Israel?
He had one only daughter and no mo,
The which he loved passing well:
And, as by lott, 5
God wot,
It so came to pass,
As Gods will was,
That great wars there should be,
And none should be chosen chief but he 10

And when he was appointed judge,
And chieftain of the company,
A solemn vow to God he made;
If he returned with victory,
At his return 15
To burn
The first live thing,
* * * * *
That should meet with him then,
Off his house, when he should return agen. 20

It came to pass, the wars was oer,
And he returned with victory;
His dear and only daughter first of all
Came to meet her father foremostly:
And all the way 25
She did play
On tabret and pipe,
Full many a stripe,
With note so high,
For joy that her father is come so nigh. 30

But when he saw his daughter dear
Coming on most foremostly,
He wrung his hands, and tore his hair,
And cryed out most piteously;
Oh! it's thou, said he, 35
That have brought me
Low,
And troubled me so,
That I know not what to do.
For I have made a vow, he sed,
The which must be replenished: 40
* * * * *
"What thou hast spoke
Do not revoke:
What thou hast said,
Be not affraid; 45
Altho' it be I;
Keep promises to God on high.

But, dear father, grant me one request,
That I may go to the wilderness,
Three months there with my friends to stay; 50
There to bewail my virginity;
And let there be,
Said she,
Some two or three
Young maids with me." 55
So he sent her away,
For to mourn, for to mourn, till her dying day.

IV.

A ROBYN JOLLY ROBYN.

In his _Twelfth Night_, Shakespeare introduces the clown singing part of the two first stanzas of the following Song; which has been recovered from an antient MS. of Dr. Harrington's at Bath, preserved among the many literary treasures transmitted to the ingenious and worthy possessor by a long line of most respectable ancestors. Of these only a small part hath been printed in the _Nugæ Antiquæ_, 3 vols. 12mo; a work which the publick impatiently wishes to see continued.

The song is thus given by Shakespeare, act iv. sc. 2:--

"_Clown._ 'Hey Robin, jolly Robin. [singing.]
Tell me how thy lady does.'

_Malvolio._ Fool----

_Clown._ 'My lady is unkind, perdy.'

_Malvolio._ Fool----

_Clown._ 'Alas, why is she so?'

_Malvolio._ Fool, I say----

_Clown._ 'She loves another.'--Who calls, ha?"

Dr. _Farmer_ has conjectured that the song should begin thus:

"Hey, jolly Robin, tell to me
How does thy lady do?
My lady is unkind perdy--
Alas, why is she so?"

But this ingenious emendation is now superseded by the proper readings of the old song itself, which is here printed from what appears the most ancient of Dr. Harrington's poetical MSS. and which has, therefore, been marked No. I. (Scil. p. 68.) That volume seems to have been written in the reign of King Henry VIII. and, as it contains many of the Poems of Sir _Thomas Wyat_, hath had almost all the contents attributed to him by marginal directions written with an old but later hand, and not always rightly, as, I think, might be made appear by other good authorities. Among the rest this song is there attributed to Sir _Thomas Wyat_ also; but the discerning reader will probably judge it to belong to a more obsolete writer.

In the old MS. to the 3rd and 5th stanzas is prefixed this title, _Responce_, and to the 4th and 6th, _Le Plaintif_; but in the last instance so evidently wrong, that it was thought better to omit these titles, and to mark the changes of the Dialogue by inverted commas. In other respects the MS. is strictly followed, except where noted in the margin.--Yet the first stanza appears to be defective, and it should seem that a line is wanting, unless the four first words were lengthened in the tune.

* * * * *

A Robyn,
Jolly Robyn,
Tell me how thy leman[805] doeth,
And thou shalt knowe of myn.[806]

'My lady is unkynde perde.'[807] 5
Alack! why is she so?
'She loveth an other better than me;
And yet she will say no.'

I fynde no such doublenes:
I fynde women true. 10
My lady loveth me dowtles,
And will change for no newe.

'Thou art happy while that doeth last;
But I say, as I fynde,
That women's love is but a blast, 15
And torneth with the wynde.'

Suche folkes can take no harme by love,
That can abide their torn.[808]
'But I alas can no way prove
In love but lake and morn.' 20

But if thou wilt avoyde thy harme
Lerne this lessen of me,
At others fieres thy selfe to warme,
And let them warme with the.

FOOTNOTES:

[805] [mistress.]

[806] Ver. 4. _shall_, MS.

[807] [verily.]

[808] [turn.]

V.

A SONG TO THE LUTE IN MUSICKE.

This sonnet (which is ascribed to _Richard Edwards_,[809] in the _Paradise of Daintie Devises_, fo. 31, b.) is by Shakespeare made the subject of some pleasant ridicule in his _Romeo and Juliet_, act iv. sc. 5, where he introduces Peter putting this question to the musicians.

"_Peter_ ... why 'Silver Sound?' why 'Musicke with her silver
sound?' what say you, Simon Catling?

_I. Mus._ Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.

_Pet._ Pretty! what say you, Hugh Rebecke?

_2. Mus._ I say, silver sound, because musicians sound for silver.

_Pet._ Pretty too! what say you, James Sound-post.

_3. Mus._ Faith, I know not what to say.

_Pet._ ... I will say for you: It is 'Musicke with her silver
sound,' because musicians have no gold for sounding."

This ridicule is not so much levelled at the song itself (which for the time it was written is not inelegant) as at those forced and unnatural explanations often given by us painful editors and expositors of ancient authors.

This copy is printed from an old quarto MS. in the Cotton Library (Vesp. A. 25), intitled, "Divers things of Hen. viij's time:" with some corrections from _The Paradise of Dainty Devises_, 1596.

* * * * *

[Richard Edwards, one of the chief contributors to the _Paradise_
_of Dainty Devises_, was a facile and elegant poet much appreciated
by his contemporaries but unjustly neglected now. Meres in his
_Wits Treasury_, 1598, praises him, as "one of the best for
comedy," and Puttenham gives him the same commendation. Thomas
Twyne and George Turberville, wrote epitaphs upon him, and the
latter says in the terms of unmeasured eulogy then fashionable--

"From Plautus he the palme and learned Terence won."

Edwards was born in Somersetshire about 1523, was educated at
Oxford, and, in 1561, was constituted by Queen Elizabeth a
Gentleman of the Royal Chapel and Master of the Singing Boys there.
He attended the Queen on her visit to Oxford in 1566, and was
employed to compose a play called _Palamon and Arcite_, which was
acted before her Majesty in Christ Church Hall.]

* * * * *

Where gripinge grefes the hart would wounde,
And dolefulle dumps[810] the mynde oppresse,
There musicke with her silver sound
With spede is wont to send redresse:
Of trobled mynds, in every sore, 5
Swete musicke hathe a salve in store.

In joye yt maks our mirthe abounde,
In woe yt cheres our hevy sprites;
Be-strawghted[811] heads relyef hath founde,
By musickes pleasaunt swete delightes: 10
Our senses all, what shall I say more?
Are subjecte unto musicks lore.

The Gods by musicke have theire prayse;
The lyfe, the soul therein doth joye:
For, as the Romayne poet sayes, 15
In seas, whom pyrats would destroy,
A dolphin saved from death most sharpe
Arion playing on his harpe.

O heavenly gyft, that rules the mynd,
Even as the sterne dothe rule the shippe! 20
O musicke, whom the gods assinde
To comforte manne, whom cares would nippe!
Since thow both man and beste doest move,
What beste ys he, wyll the[812] disprove?

FOOTNOTES:

[809] Concerning him see Wood's _Athen. Oxon._ and Tanner's _Biblioth._ also Sir John Hawkins's _Hist. of Music, &c._

[810] [sorrowful gloom.]

[811] [distracted.]

[812] [what beast is he, will thee.]

VI.

KING COPHETUA AND THE BEGGAR-MAID

Is a story often alluded to by our old Dramatic Writers. Shakespeare, in his _Romeo and Juliet_, act ii. sc. 1, makes Mercutio say,

----"Her (Venus's) purblind son and heir,
Young Adam[813] Cupid, he that shot so true,
When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid."

As the 13th line of the following ballad seems here particularly alluded to, it is not improbable but Shakespeare wrote it _shot so trim_, which the players or printers, not perceiving the allusion, might alter to _true_. The former, as being the more humorous expression, seems most likely to have come from the mouth of Mercutio.[814]

* * * * *

In the 2d Part of _Hen. IV._ A. 5, Sc. 3, Falstaff is introduced affectedly saying to Pistoll,

"O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news?
Let king Cophetua know the truth thereof."

These lines, Dr. Warburton thinks, were taken from an old bombast play of _King Cophetua_. No such play is, I believe, now to be found; but it does not therefore follow that it never existed. Many dramatic pieces are referred to by old writers,[815] which are not now extant, or even mentioned in any list. In the infancy of the stage, plays were often exhibited that were never printed.

It is probably in allusion to the same play that Ben Jonson says, in his Comedy of _Every Man in his Humour_, A. 3, Sc. 4:

"I have not the heart to devour thee, an' I might be made as _rich_
as King Cophetua."

At least there is no mention of King Cophetua's _riches_ in the present ballad, which is the oldest I have met with on the subject.

It is printed from Rich. Johnson's _Crown Garland of Goulden Roses_, 1612,[816] 12mo. (where it is intitled simply _A Song of a Beggar and a King_:) corrected by another copy.

* * * * *

[In the _Collection of Old Ballads_, 1723 (vol. i. p. 138) there is
a ballad on the same subject as the following popular one. It is
entitled "_Cupid's Revenge_, or an account of a king who slighted
all women, and at length was constrained to marry a beggar, who
proved a fair and virtuous queen."]

* * * * *

I read that once in Affrica
A princely wight[817] did raine,
Who had to name Cophetua,
As poets they did faine:
From natures lawes he did decline, 5
For sure he was not of my mind,
He cared not for women-kinde,
But did them all disdaine.
But, marke, what hapned on a day,
As he out of his window lay, 10
He saw a beggar all in gray,
The which did cause his paine.

The blinded boy, that shootes so trim,[818]
From heaven downe did hie;
He drew a dart and shot at him, 15
In place where he did lye:
Which soone did pierse him to the quicke,
And when he felt the arrow pricke,
Which in his tender heart did sticke,
He looketh as he would dye. 20
What sudden chance is this, quoth he,
That I to love must subject be,
Which never thereto would agree,
But still did it defie?

Then from the 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 meanes to crave her love,
And now he seekes which way to proove 30
How he his fancie might remoove,
And not this beggar wed.
But Cupid had him so in snare,
That this poor begger must prepare
A salve to cure him of his care, 35
Or els he would be dead.

And, as he musing thus did lye,
He thought for to devise
How he might have her companye,
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 begger knowes
When she the king espies.

The gods preserve your majesty,
The beggers all gan cry: 50
Vouchsafe to give your charity
Our childrens food to buy.
The king to them his pursse 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 againe,
And unto her he gave his chaine;
And said, With us you shal remaine
Till such time as we dye: 60

For thou, quoth he, shalt be my wife,
And honoured for my queene;
With thee I meane to lead my life,
As shortly shall be seene:
Our wedding shall appointed be, 65
And every thing in its degree:
Come on, quoth he, and follow me,
Thou shalt go shift thee cleane.
What is thy name, faire maid? quoth he.
Penelophon,[819] O king, quoth she: 70
With that she made a lowe courtsèy;
A trim one as I weene.

Thus hand in hand along they walke
Unto the king's pallàce:
The king with courteous comly talke 75
This begger doth imbrace:
The begger blusheth scarlet red,
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 doe rejoyce
That you wil take me for your choyce,
And my degree's so base.

And when the wedding day was come, 85
The king commanded strait
The noblemen both all and some
Upon the queene to wait.
And she behaved herself that day,
As if she had never walkt the way;[820] 90
She had forgot her gowne of gray,
Which she did weare of late.
The proverbe old is come to passe,
The priest, when he begins his masse,
Forgets that ever clerke he was; 95
He knowth not his estate.

Here you may read, Cophetua,
Though long time fancie-fed,
Compelled by the blinded boy
The begger for to wed: 100
He that did lovers lookes disdaine,
To do the same was glad and faine,
Or else he would himselfe have slaine,
In storie, as we read.
Disdaine no whit, O lady deere,[821] 105
But pitty now thy servant heere,
Least that it hap to thee this yeare,
As to that king it did.

And thus they led a quiet life
During their princely raigne; 110
And in a tombe were buried both,
As writers sheweth plaine.[822]
The lords they tooke it grievously,
The ladies tooke it heavily,
The commons cryed pitiously, 115
Their death to them was paine,
Their fame did sound so passingly,
That it did pierce the starry sky,
And throughout all the world did flye
To every princes realme.[823] 120

FOOTNOTES:

[813] See above, Preface to Song I. Book II. of this vol.

[814] Since this conjecture first occurred, it has been discovered that _shot so trim_ was the genuine reading.

[815] See _Meres Wits Treas._ f. 283; _Arte of Eng. Poes._ 1589, p. 51, 111, 143, 169.

[816] [Reprinted by the Percy Society in the sixth volume of their publications.]

[817] [man.]

[818] [exact.]

[819] Shakespeare (who alludes to this ballad in his _Love's Labour's_ _Lost_, act iv. sc. 1.) gives the beggar's name _Zenelophon_, according to all the old editions: but this seems to be a corruption; for _Penelophon_, in the text, sounds more like the name of a woman.--The story of the King and the Beggar is also alluded to in _K. Rich. II_ act v, sc. 3.

[820] Ver. 90. _i.e._ tramped the streets.

[821] Ver. 105. Here the poet addresses himself to his mistress.

[822] V. 112. _Sheweth_ was anciently the plur. numb.

[823] An ingenious friend thinks the two last stanzas should change place.

VII.

TAKE THY OLD CLOAK ABOUT THEE,

Is supposed to have been originally a Scotch ballad. The reader here has an ancient copy in the English idiom, with an additional stanza (the 2d.) never before printed. This curiosity is preserved in the Editor's folio MS. but not without corruptions, which are here removed by the assistance of the Scottish Edit. Shakespeare, in his _Othello_, act ii. has quoted one stanza, with some variations, which are here adopted: the old MS. readings of that stanza are however given in the margin.

* * * * *

[The Scottish version referred to above was printed in Ramsay's
_Tea Table Miscellany_, and the king mentioned on line 49 is there
named Robert instead of Stephen. He is King Harry in the folio MS.

The "corruptions" to which Percy alludes are all noted at the foot
of the page, and in one instance at least (line 15) the MS. gives
an important new reading. Mr. Hales thinks that the MS. version is
the oldest form of the ballad, because the definite mention of the
court looks more original than the use of the general term of town,
and he says, "the poem naturally grew vaguer as it grew generally
popular."[824]

Besides the reference to this ballad in _Othello_ mentioned by
Percy above, Mr. Hales has pointed out to me another evident
allusion in the _Tempest_, act iv. sc. 1, where Trinculo says,

"_O King Stephano, O Peere_: O worthy Stephano,
Looke what a _wardrobe_ here is for thee."

(Folio 1623, Booth's ed. p. 15, col. 2.)

The cloak that had been in wear for forty-four years was likely
to be a sorry clout at the end of that time, but the clothes of
all classes were then expected to last from year to year without
renewal. Woollen cloths were of old the chief material of male and
female attire. When new the nap was very long, and after being worn
for some time, it was customary to have it shorn, a process which
was repeated as often as the stuff would bear it. Thus we find the
Countess of Leicester (Eleanor third daughter of King John, and
wife of Simon de Montfort) in 1265, sending Hicque the tailor to
London to get her robes re-shorn.[825]]

* * * * *

This winters weather itt waxeth cold,
And frost doth freese on every hill,
And Boreas blowes his blasts soe bold,
That all our cattell are like to spill;[826]
Bell my wiffe, who loves noe strife, 5
She sayd unto me quietlye,
Rise up, and save cow Crumbockes liffe,
Man, put thine old cloake about thee.

HE.

O Bell, why dost thou flyte[827] 'and scorne'?[828]
Thou kenst my cloak is very thin:[829] 10
Itt is soe bare and overworne
A cricke[830] he theron cannot renn:[831]
Then Ile noe longer borrowe nor lend,
'For once Ile new appareld bee,[832]
To-morrow Ile to towne and spend,' 15
For Ile have a new cloake about mee.

SHE.

Cow Crumbocke is a very good cowe,
Shee ha beene alwayes true to the payle,
Shee has helpt us to butter and cheese, I trow,
And other things shee will not fayle; 20
I wold be loth to see her pine,[833]
Good husband, councell take of mee,[834]
It is not for us to go soe fine,[835]
Man, take thine old cloake about thee.

HE.

My cloake it was a verry good cloake, 25
Itt hath been alwayes true to the weare,
But now it is not worth a groat;[836]
I have had it four and forty yeere:
Sometime itt was of cloth in graine,[837]
'Tis now but a sigh clout[838] as you may see, 30
It will neither hold out winde nor raine;
And Ile have a new cloake about mee.

SHE.

It is four and fortye yeeres agoe
Since the one of us the other did ken,
And we have had betwixt us towe 35
Of children either nine or ten;
Wee have brought them up to women and men;
In the feare of God I trow they bee;
And why wilt thou thyselfe misken?[839]
Man, take thine old cloake about thee. 40

HE.

O Bell my wiffe, why dost thou 'floute!'[840]
Now is nowe, and then was then:
Seeke now all the world throughout,
Thou kenst not clownes from gentlemen.
They are cladd in blacke, greene, yellowe, or 'gray',[841] 45
Soe far above their owne degree:
Once in my life Ile 'doe as they,'[842]
For Ile have a new cloake about mee.

SHE.

King Stephen was a worthy peere,[843]
His breeches cost him but a crowne,[844] 50
He held them sixpence all too deere;[845]
Therefore he calld the taylor Lowne.[846][847]
He was a wight of high renowne,[848]
And thouse[849] but of a low degree:
Itt's pride that putts this countrye downe, 55
Man, take thine old cloake about thee.

HE.

'Bell my wife she loves not strife,[850]
Yet she will lead me if she can;
And oft, to live a quiet life,
I am forced to yield, though Ime good-man:' 60
Itt's not for a man with a woman to threape,[851]
Unlesse he first give oer the plea:
As wee began wee now will leave,[852]
And Ile take mine old cloake about mee.[853]

FOOTNOTES:

[824] [Folio MS. ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 320.]

[825] [Botfield's _Manners and Household Expenses of England_, 1841.]

[826] [spoil or come to harm.]

[827] [scold.]

[828] [Ver. 9. O Bell my wiffe, why dost thou fflyte.]

[829] [V. 10. itt is soe sore over worne.]

[830] [insect.]

[831] [run.]

[832] [V. 14-15. in place of these two the MS. has "Ile goe ffind the court within."]

[833] [starve.]

[834] [V. 22. Therefore good husband ffollow my councell now.]

[835] [V. 23. Forsake the court and follow the ploughe.]

[836] [Ver. 27. Itt hath cost mee many a groat.]

[837] [scarlet.]

[838] [a cloth to strain milk through.]

[839] [mistake.]

[840] V. 41. _flyte_, MS.

[841] [V. 45. yellow and blew.]

[842] [V. 47. once in my life Ile take a vew.]

[843] Ver. 49. King Harry ... a verry good king, MS.

[844] V. 50. I trow his hose cost but, MS.

[845] V. 51. He thought them 12d. over to deere, MS.

[846] [rascal.]

[847] V. 52. clowne, MS.

[848] V. 53. He was king and wore the crowne, MS.

[849] [thou art.]

[850] [V. 57-60:--

"O Bell my wiffe! why dost thou fflyte
now is now and then was then;
wee will live now obedyent lyffe
thou the woman and I the man."]

[851] [argue.]

[852] [V. 63. wee will live nowe as wee began.]

[853] [V. 64. Ile have.]

VIII.

WILLOW, WILLOW, WILLOW.

It is from the following stanzas that Shakespeare has taken his song of the _Willow_, in his _Othello_, act iv. sc. 3, though somewhat varied and applied by him to a female character. He makes Desdemona introduce it in this pathetic and affecting manner:

"My mother had a maid call'd Barbara:
She was in love; and he, she lov'd, prov'd mad,
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd!And did forsake her.
She had a Song of--_Willow_.
An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune,
And she died singing it."

This is given from a black-letter copy in the Pepys collection, thus intitled, _A Lover's Complaint, being forsaken of his Love. To a_ _pleasant tune._

* * * * *

["Willow, willow" was a favourite burden for songs in the sixteenth
and seventeenth centuries, and one of John Heywood's songs has the
following--

"All a grene wyllow; wyllow, wyllow, wyllow,
All a grene wyllow is my garland."

In the _Gorgeous Gallery of Gallant Inventions_ (1578) there is a
slightly different burden--

"Willow, willow, willow, sing all of green willow,
Sing all of green willow, shall be my garland."

There is another copy of the following song in the Roxburghe
Collection (i. 54, 55) printed in _Roxburghe Ballads_ (ed. W.
Chappell, 1869, Part I. p. 171). Both these are of the first half
of the seventeenth century, and an earlier copy than either is
printed by Mr. Chappell in his _Popular Music of the Olden Time_,
i. 206.

Dr. Rimbault[854] has drawn attention to the following parody,
dated 1668--

"A poore soule sat sighing near a ginger-bread stall,
O ginger-bread O, ginger-bread O!
With his hands in his pockets, his head on the wall,
O ginger-bread O, ginger-bread O!
You pye-wifes of Smithfield, what would ye be at!
Who talks of plum-pudding? here's better than that,
For here's ginger-bread O, ginger-bread O!"]

* * * * *

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 garlànd.

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 garlànd.

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 garlànd!

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 shall be my garlànd.

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,[855] and flote[856] 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, &c.

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 garlànd!

* * * * *