Chapter XVII: Part THE SECOND

Lowe lay'd by my sorrow, begot by disdaine;
O willow, willow, willow!
Against her too cruell, still still I complaine,
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow! 5
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd!

O love too injurious, to wound my poore heart!
O willow, &c.
To suffer the triumph, and joy in my smart:
O willow, &c. 10
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

O willow, willow, willow! the willow garlànd,
O willow, &c.
A sign of her falsenesse before me doth stand:
O willow, &c. 15
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

As here it doth bid to despair and to dye,
O willow, &c.
So hang it, friends, ore me in grave where I lye:
O willow, &c. 20
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd.

In grave where I rest mee, hang this to the view
O willow, &c.
Of all that doe knowe her, to blaze her untrue.
O willow, &c. 25
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

With these words engraven, as epitaph meet,
O willow, &c.
"Here lyes one, drank poyson for potion most sweet."
O willow, &c. 30
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

Though she thus unkindly hath scorned my love,
O willow, &c.
And carelesly smiles at the sorrowes I prove;
O willow, &c. 35
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

I cannot against her unkindly exclaim,
O willow, &c.
Cause once well I loved her, and honoured her name:
O willow, &c. 40
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

The name of her sounded so sweete in mine eare,
O willow, &c.
It rays'd my heart lightly, the name of my deare;
O willow, &c. 45
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd.

As then 'twas my comfort, it now is my griefe;
O willow, &c.
It now brings me anguish, then brought me reliefe.
O willow, &c. 50
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

Farewell, faire false hearted: plaints end with my breath!
O willow, willow, willow!
Thou dost loath me, I love thee, though cause of my death.
O willow, willow, willow! 55
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd.

FOOTNOTES:

[854] [Rimbault's _Musical Illustrations of Percy's Reliques_, 1850, p. 9.]

[855] [faithless.]

[856] [change.]

IX.

SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE.

This ballad is quoted in Shakespeare's second Part of _Henry IV._ act ii. The subject of it is taken from the ancient romance of K. Arthur (commonly called _Morte Arthur_) being a poetical translation of chap. cviii. cix. cx. in Pt. 1st, as they stand in ed. 1634, 4to. In the older editions the chapters are differently numbered.--This song is given from a printed copy, corrected in part by a fragment in the Editor's folio MS.

In the same play of _2 Hen. IV. Silence_ hums a scrap of one of the old ballads of Robin Hood. It is taken from the following stanza of _Robin Hood and the Pindar of Wakefield_.

"All this beheard three wighty yeomen,
Twas Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John:
With that they espy'd the jolly Pindàr
As he sate under a thorne."

That ballad may be found on every stall, and therefore is not here reprinted.

* * * * *

[This is a rhymed version of some chapters in Malory's _Mort_
_d'Arthur_ (Book vi. of Caxton's edition), said to have been
written by Thomas Deloney towards the end of Elizabeth's reign. It
first occurs in the _Garland of Good Will_, reprinted by the Percy
Society (vol. xxx.)

The ballad appears to have been highly popular, and it is quoted
by Marston in the _Malcontent_ and by Beaumont and Fletcher in the
_Little French Lawyer_, as well as by Shakspere.

The copy in the Percy MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, 1867, vol. i.
p. 84) is imperfect in two places, and lines 30 to 60, 73 to 76,
and 95 to 124 are not to be found there, but with these exceptions
it is much the same as the ballad printed here.]

* * * * *

When Arthur first in court began,
And was approved king,
By force of armes great victorys wanne,
And conquest home did bring.

Then into England straight he came 5
With fifty good and able
Knights, that resorted unto him,
And were of his round table:

And he had justs and turnaments,
Whereto were many prest,[857] 10
Wherin some knights did farr excell
And eke surmount the rest.

But one Sir Lancelot du Lake,
Who was approved well,
He for his deeds and feats of armes, 15
All others did excell.

When he had rested him a while,
In play, and game, and sportt,[858]
He said he wold goe prove himselfe
In some adventurous sort. 20

He armed rode in a forrest wide,
And met a damsell faire,
Who told him of adventures great,
Wherto he gave great eare.

Such wold I find, quoth Lancelott: 25
For that cause came I hither.
Thou seemst, quoth shee, a knight full good,
And I will bring thee thither.

Wheras a mighty knight doth dwell,[859]
That now is of great fame: 30
Therfore tell me what wight thou art,
And what may be thy name.

"My name is Lancelot du Lake."
Quoth she, it likes me than:[860]
Here dwelles a knight who never was 35
Yet matcht with any man:

Who has in prison threescore knights
And four, that he did wound;
Knights of king Arthurs court they be,
And of his table round. 40

She brought him to a river side.
And also to a tree,
Whereon a copper bason hung,
And many shields to see.

He struck soe hard, the bason broke; 45
And Tarquin soon he spyed:
Who drove a horse before him fast,
Whereon a knight lay tyed.

Sir knight, then sayd Sir Lancelôtt,
Bring me that horse-load hither, 50
And lay him downe, and let him rest:
Weel try our force together:

For, as I understand, thou hast,
Soe far as thou art able,
Done great despite and shame unto 55
The knights of the Round Table.

If thou be of the Table Round,
Quoth Tarquin speedilye,
Both thee and all thy fellowship
I utterly defye. 60

That's over much, quoth Lancelott tho,[861]
Defend thee by and by.
They sett their speares[862] unto their steeds,
And eache att other flie.

They coucht theire speares, (their horses ran, 65
As though there had beene thunder)
And strucke them each immidst their shields,
Wherewith they broke in sunder.

Their horsses backes brake under them,
The knights were both astound:[863] 70
To avoyd their horsses they made haste
And light upon the ground.

They tooke them to their shields full fast,
Their swords they drew out than,
With mighty strokes most eagerlye 75
Each at the other ran.

They wounded were, and bled full sore,
They both for breath did stand,
And leaning on their swords awhile,
Quoth Tarquine, Hold thy hand, 80

And tell to me what I shall aske.
Say on, quoth Lancelot tho.
Thou art, quoth Tarquine, the best knight
That ever I did know;

And like a knight, that I did hate: 85
Soe that thou be not hee,
I will deliver all the rest,
And eke accord with thee.

That is well said, quoth Lancelott;
But sith it must be soe, 90
What knight is that thou hatest thus?
I pray thee to me show.

His name is Lancelot du Lake,
He slew my brother deere;
Him I suspect of all the rest: 95
I would I had him here.

Thy wish thou hast, but yet unknowne,
I am Lancelot du Lake,
Now knight of Arthurs Table Round;
King Hauds son of Schuwake;[864] 100

And I desire thee do thy worst,
Ho, ho, quoth Tarquin tho,
One of us two shall end our lives
Before that we do go.

If thou be Lancelot du Lake, 105
Then welcome shalt thou bee:
Wherfore see thou thyself defend,
For now defye I thee.

They buckled then together so,
Like unto wild boares rashing;[865] 110
And with their swords and shields they ran
At one another slashing:

The ground besprinkled was with blood:
Tarquin began to yield;
For he gave backe for wearinesse, 115
And lowe did beare his shield.

This soone Sir Lancelot espyde,
He leapt upon him then,
He pull'd him downe upon his knee,
And rushing off his helm, 120

Forthwith he strucke his necke in two,
And, when he had soe done,
From prison threescore knights and four
Delivered everye one.

FOOTNOTES:

[857] [ready.]

[858] Ver. 18. _to sportt_, MS.

[859] Ver. 29. _Where_ is often used by our old writers for _whereas_: here it is just the contrary.

[860] [then.]

[861] [then.]

[862] [spurs?]

[863] [stunned.]

[864] [Ver. 100. "King Ban's son of Benwick." _Malory._]

[865] _Rashing_ seems to be the old hunting term to express the stroke made by the wild boar with his fangs. To _rase_ has apparently a meaning something similar. See Mr. _Steevens's_ Note on _K. Lear_, act iii. sc. 7, (ed. 1793, vol. xiv. p. 193) where the quartos read,

"Nor thy fierce sister
In his anointed flesh _rash_ boarish fangs."

So in _K. Richard III._ act iii. sc. 2, (vol. x. p. 567, 583.)

"He dreamt
To night the Boar had _rased_ off his helm."

X.

CORYDON'S FAREWELL TO PHILLIS,

Is an attempt to paint a lover's irresolution, but so poorly executed, that it would not have been admitted into this collection, if it had not been quoted in Shakespeare's _Twelfth-Night_, act ii. sc. 3.--It is found in a little ancient miscellany, intituled, _The Golden Garland of Princely Delights_, 12mo. bl. let.

In the same scene of the _Twelfth-Night_, _Sir Toby_ sings a scrap of an old ballad, which is preserved in the Pepys Collection (vol. i. pp. 33, 496), but as it is not only a poor dull performance, but also very long, it will be sufficient here to give the first stanza:

THE BALLAD OF CONSTANT SUSANNA.

There dwelt a man in Babylon
Of reputation great by fame;
He took to wife a faire womàn,
Susanna she was callde by name:
A woman fair and vertuous;
Lady, lady:
Why should we not of her learn thus
To live godly?

If this song of _Corydon_, &c. has not more merit, it is at least an evil of less magnitude.

* * * * *

[Dr. Rimbault refers to an earlier copy of this song in a rare
musical volume entitled _The First Booke of Ayres, composed by
Robert Jones_, 1601, where it is accompanied by the original
music for four voices. This tune appears to have been a very
popular one, and several Scottish songs are to be sung to the
"toon of sal I let her go." The air is also to be found in a Dutch
collection of Songs published at Haarlem in 1626.

In Brome's comedy of _The Jovial Crew_, acted in 1641 at the
Cockpit in Drury Lane, there is an allusion perhaps to this song:

"Let her go, let her go,
I care not if I have her, I have her or no."]

* * * * *

Farewell, dear love; since thou wilt needs be gone,
Mine eyes do shew, my life is almost done.
Nay I will never die, so long as I can spie
There be many mo, though that she doe goe,
There be many mo, I fear not: 5
Why then let her goe, I care not.

Farewell, farewell; since this I find is true,
I will not spend more time in wooing you:
But I will seek elsewhere, if I may find love there:
Shall I bid her goe? what and if I doe? 10
Shall I bid her goe and spare not?
O no, no, no, I dare not.

Ten thousand times farewell;--yet stay a while:--
Sweet, kiss me once; sweet kisses time beguile: 14
I have no power to move. How now am I in love?
Wilt thou needs be gone? Go then, all is one.
Wilt thou needs be gone? Oh, hie thee!
Nay stay, and do no more deny me.

Once more adieu, I see loath to depart
Bids oft adieu to her, that holds my heart. 20
But seeing I must lose thy love, which I did choose,
Goe thy way for me, since that may not be.
Goe thy ways for me. But whither?
Goe, oh, but where I may come thither.

What shall I doe? my love is now departed. 25
She is as fair, as she is cruel-hearted.
She would not be intreated, with prayers oft repeated,
If she come no more, shall I die therefore?
If she come no more, what care I?
Faith, let her goe, or come, or tarry. 30

XI.

GERNUTUS THE JEW OF VENICE.

In the "_Life of Pope Sixtus V._ translated from the Italian of Greg. Leti, by the Rev. Mr. Farneworth, folio," is a remarkable passage to the following effect:

"It was reported in Rome, that Drake had taken and plundered St. Domingo in Hispaniola, and carried off an immense booty. This account came in a private letter to Paul Secchi, a very considerable merchant in the city, who had large concerns in those parts, which he had insured. Upon receiving this news, he sent for the insurer Sampson Ceneda, a Jew, and acquainted him with it. The Jew, whose interest it was to have such a report thought false, gave many reasons why it could not possibly be true, and at last worked himself into such a passion, that he said, I'll lay you a pound of flesh it is a lye. Secchi, who was of a fiery hot temper, replied, I'll lay you a thousand crowns against a pound of your flesh that it is true. The Jew accepted the wager, and articles were immediately executed betwixt them, That, if Secchi won, he should himself cut the flesh with a sharp knife from whatever part of the Jew's body he pleased. The truth of the account was soon confirmed; and the Jew was almost distracted, when he was informed, that Secchi had solemnly swore he would compel him to an exact performance of his contract. A report of this transaction was brought to the Pope, who sent for the parties, and, being informed of the whole affair, said, When contracts are made, it is but just they should be fulfilled, as this shall: Take a knife, therefore, Secchi, and cut a pound of flesh from any part you please of the Jew's body. We advise you, however, to be very careful; for, if you cut but a scruple more or less than your due, you shall certainly be hanged."

The editor of that book is of opinion that the scene between Shylock and Antonio in the _Merchant of Venice_ is taken from this incident. But Mr. Warton, in his ingenious _Observations on the Faerie Queen_, vol. i. p. 128, has referred it to the following ballad. Mr. Warton thinks this ballad was written before Shakespeare's play, as being not so circumstantial, and having more of the nakedness of an original. Besides, it differs from the play in many circumstances, which a meer copyist, such as we may suppose the ballad-maker to be, would hardly have given himself the trouble to alter. Indeed he expressly informs us that he had his story from the Italian writers. See the _Connoisseur_, vol. i. No. 16.

After all, one would be glad to know what authority _Leti_ had for the foregoing fact, or at least for connecting it with the taking of St. Domingo by Drake; for this expedition did not happen till 1585, and it is very certain that a play of the _Jewe_, "representing the greedinesse of worldly chusers, and bloody minds of usurers," had been exhibited at the playhouse called the _Bull_ before the year 1579, being mentioned in Steph. Gosson's _Schoole of Abuse_,[866] which was printed in that year.

As for Shakespeare's _Merchant of Venice_, the earliest edition known of it is in quarto 1600; though it had been exhibited in the year 1598, being mentioned, together with eleven others of his plays, in Meres's _Wits Treasury_, &c. 1598, 12mo. fol. 282.

Since the first edition of this book was printed, the editor hath had reason to believe that both _Shakespeare_ and the author of this ballad are indebted for their story of the Jew (however they came by it) to an Italian novel, which was first printed at Milan in the year 1558, in a book intitled, _Il Pecorone, nel quale si contengono Cinquanta Novelle antiche, &c._ republished at Florence about the year 1748, or 9.[867] The author was _Ser. Giovanni Fiorentino_, who wrote in 1378; thirty years after the time in which the scene of Boccace's _Decameron_ is laid. (Vid. _Manni, Istoria del Decamerone di Giov. Boccac._ 4to. Fior. 1744.)

That Shakespeare had his plot from the novel itself, is evident from his having some incidents from it, which are not found in the ballad: and I think it will also be found that he borrowed from the ballad some hints that were not suggested by the novel. (See pt. ii. ver. 25, &c. where, instead of that spirited description of _the whetted blade_, &c. the prose narrative coldly says, "The Jew had prepared a razor, &c." See also some other passages in the same piece.) This however is spoken with diffidence, as I have at present before me only the abridgement of the novel which Mr. _Johnson_ has given us at the end of his Commentary on Shakespeare's Play. The translation of the Italian story at large is not easy to be met with, having I believe never been published, though it was printed some years ago with this title,--"_The Novel_, from which the _Merchant of Venice_ written by Shakespeare is taken, translated from the Italian. To which is added a translation of a novel from the _Decamerone_ of Boccaccio. London, Printed for M. Cooper, 1755, 8vo."

The following is printed from an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys collection,[868] intitled, "_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."

* * * * *

[This is the first of four ballads printed by Percy as probable
sources for the plots of four of Shakspere's plays, but as we are
unable to fix any satisfactory date for the first appearance of the
ballads, it is well-nigh impossible to settle their claim to such
distinction.

The story of the Jew who bargained for a pound of a Christian's
flesh in payment of his debt is so widely spread, that there is no
necessity for us to believe that Shakspere used this rather poor
ballad, more especially as it is probable from the extract from
Gosson mentioned above that Shakspere found the two plots of the
bond and the caskets already joined together. There is, however,
something in Percy's note about the whetting of the knife in
verses 25-26, and it would be quite in accordance with the poet's
constant practice for him to take this one point from the ballad
of Gernutus. The ballad was probably versified from one of the
many stories extant, because, even if it be later than Shakspere's
play, it is impossible to believe that the ballad-writer could
have written so bald a narration had he had the _Merchant of
Venice_ before him.

Some forms of the story are to be found in Persian, and there is
no doubt that the original tale is of Eastern origin. The oldest
European forms are in the English _Cursor Mundi_ and _Gesta_
_Romanorum_, and the French romance of _Dolopathos_. See Miss
Toulmin Smith's paper "On the Bond-story in the _Merchant of_
_Venice_," "Transactions of the New Shakspere Society," 1875-6 p.
181. Professor Child prints a ballad entitled _The Northern Lord
and Cruel Jew_ (_English and Scottish Ballads_, vol. viii. p. 270),
which contains the same incident of the "bloody minded Jew."

Leti's character as an historian stands so low that his story may
safely be dismissed as a fabrication.]

* * * * *

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,[869]
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;[870]
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.[871]

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 twelve month 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[872] 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 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 _Blacke 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.[873]

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 flesh 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: judgment 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,[874]
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.[875]

For if thou doe, like murderer,
Thou here shalt hanged be:
Likewise of flesh see that thou cut
No more than longes[876] 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[877] 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[878]
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 wealthey 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.

FOOTNOTES:

[866] Warton, _ubi supra_.

[867] [This book has been frequently reprinted.]

[868] Compared with the Ashmole Copy.

[869] [a castrated hog.]

[870] [hoard or heap.]

[871] Ver. 32. Her _Cow_, &c. seems to have suggested to Shakespeare _Shylock's_ argument for usury taken from Jacob's management of Laban's sheep, act i. to which _Antonio_ replies,

"Was this inserted to make interest good?
Or are your gold and silver _Ewes_ and rams?
_Shy._ I cannot tell, I make it _breed as fast_."

[872] [sneering.]

[873] [refuse.]

[874] The passage in Shakespeare bears so strong a resemblance to this, as to render it probable that the one suggested the other. See act iv. sc. 2.

"_Bass._ Why doest thou whet thy knife so earnestly?" &c.

[875] [destroy.]

[876] [belongs.]

[877] [knows.]

[878] Ver. 61. _griped_, Ashmol. copy.

XII.

THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE.

This beautiful sonnet is quoted in the _Merry Wives of Windsor_, act iii. sc. 1, and hath been usually ascribed (together with the _Reply_) to Shakespeare himself by the modern editors of his smaller poems. A copy of this madrigal, containing only four stanzas (the 4th and 6th being wanting), accompanied with the first stanza of the answer, being printed in "_The Passionate Pilgrime_, and _Sonnets to sundry notes of Musicke_, by Mr. _William Shakespeare, Lond._ printed for _W. Jaggard_, 1599." Thus was this sonnet, &c. published as Shakespeare's in his lifetime.

And yet there is good reason to believe that (not Shakespeare, but) _Christopher Marlow_ wrote the song, and _Sir Walter Raleigh_ the _Nymph's Reply_: For so we are positively assured by Isaac Walton, a writer of some credit, who has inserted them both in his _Compleat Angler_,[879] under the character of "that smooth song, which was made by Kit. Marlow, now at least fifty years ago; and ... an Answer to it, which was made by Sir Walter Raleigh in his younger days.... Old-fashioned poetry, but choicely good."--It also passed for Marlow's in the opinion of his contemporaries; for in the old poetical miscellany, intitled _England's Helicon_, it is printed with the name of _Chr. Marlow_ subjoined to it; and the _Reply_ is subscribed _Ignoto_, which is known to have been a signature of Sir _Walter Raleigh_. With the same signature _Ignoto_, in that collection, is an imitation of Marlow's beginning thus:

"Come live with me, and be my dear,
And we will revel all the year,
In plains and groves, &c."

Upon the whole I am inclined to attribute them to _Marlow_, and _Raleigh_; notwithstanding the authority of Shakespeare's Book of Sonnets. For it is well known that as he took no care of his own compositions, so was he utterly regardless what spurious things were fathered upon him. Sir _John Oldcastle_, The _London Prodigal_, and The _Yorkshire Tragedy_, were printed with his name at full length in the title-pages, while he was living, which yet were afterwards rejected by his first editors _Heminge_ and _Condell_, who were his intimate friends (as he mentions both in his will), and therefore no doubt had good authority for setting them aside.[880]

The following sonnet appears to have been (as it deserved) a great favourite with our earlier poets: for, besides the imitation above-mentioned, another is to be found among _Donne's_ Poems, intitled _The Bait_, beginning thus:

"Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will some new pleasures prove
Of golden sands, &c."

As for _Chr. Marlow_, who was in high repute for his dramatic writings, he lost his life by a stab received in a brothel, before the year 1593. See A. Wood, i. 138.

* * * * *

[These exquisite poems by Christopher Marlowe and Sir Walter
Raleigh at once became popular favourites, and were often
reprinted. The earliest appearance of the first was in Marlowe's
_Jew of Malta_. An imperfect copy was printed by W. Jaggard with
the _Passionate Pilgrim_ in 1599, and the first stanza of the
_Reply_ was then added to it. In the following year both poems were
correctly printed in _England's Helicon_, the first being signed
"Chr. Marlow" and the second "Ignoto." When Walton introduced the
poems into his _Angler_ he attributed the _Reply_ to Raleigh, and
printed an additional stanza to each as follows:--

_Passionate Shepherd_ (after verse 20).

"Thy silver dishes for thy meat
As precious as the gods do eat
Shall on an ivory table be
Prepared each day for thee and me."

"What should we talk of dainties then
Of better meat than's fit for men?
These are but vain, that's only good
Which God hath blest and sent for food."

In the Roxburghe Collection of Ballads (i. 205) is a street ballad
in which these two songs are united and entitled _A most excellent
ditty of the Lover's promises to his beloved_, with _the Lady's
prudent answer to her Love_. The verses referred to above as
added by Walton are here printed, but they take the place of verses
17 to 20 of each song respectively.

Mr. Chappell and Dr. Rimbault have both drawn attention to the
proofs of the popularity of Marlowe's song to be found in out
of the way places. In _Choice, Chance, and Change, or Conceits
in their Colours_ (1606), Tidero being invited to live with
his friend, replies, "Why, how now? do you take me for a woman,
that you come upon me with a ballad of _Come live with me and be
my love_?" In _The World's Folly_, 1609, there is the following
passage: "But there sat he, hanging his head, lifting up the eyes,
and with a deep sigh singing the ballad of _Come live with me and
be my love_, to the tune of _Adew my deere_." Nicholas Breton
refers to it in 1637 as "the old song," but Walton considered it
fresh enough to insert in his _Angler_ in 1653, although Marlowe
had then been dead sixty years.]

* * * * *

Come live with me, and be my love,
And we wil all the pleasures prove
That hils and vallies, dale and field,
And all the craggy mountains yield.

There will we sit upon the rocks, 5
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

There will I make thee beds of roses
With a thousand fragrant posies, 10
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Imbrodered all with leaves of mirtle;

A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Slippers lin'd choicely for the cold; 15
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw, and ivie buds,
With coral clasps, and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Then live with me, and be my love. 20

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.

* * * * *

THE NYMPH'S REPLY.

If that the World and Love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's toung,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee, and be thy love.

But time drives flocks from field to fold, 5
When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold,
And Philomel becometh dumb,
And all complain of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yield: 10
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancies spring, but sorrows fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten, 15
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw, and ivie buds,
Thy coral clasps, and amber studs;
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee, and be thy love. 20

But could youth last, and love still breed,
Had joyes no date, nor age no need;
Then those delights my mind might move
To live with thee, and be thy love.

FOOTNOTES:

[879] First printed in the year 1653, but probably written some time before.

[880] Since the above was written, Mr. _Malone_, with his usual discernment, hath rejected the stanzas in question from the other sonnets, &c. of Shakespeare, in his correct edition of the _Passionate_ _Pilgrim_, &c. See his _Shakesp._ vol. x. p. 340.

XIII.

TITUS ANDRONICUS'S COMPLAINT.

The reader has here an ancient ballad on the same subject as the play of _Titus Andronicus_, and it is probable that the one was borrowed from the other: but which of them was the original it is not easy to decide. And yet, if the argument offered above for the priority of the ballad of the _Jew of Venice_ may be admitted, somewhat of the same kind may be urged here; for this ballad differs from the play in several particulars, which a simple ballad-writer would be less likely to alter than an inventive tragedian. Thus 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.

Let the reader weigh these circumstances and some others wherein he will find them unlike, and then pronounce for himself. After all, there is reason to conclude that this play was rather improved by Shakespeare with a few fine touches of his pen, than originally written by him; for, not to mention that the style is less figurative than his others generally are, this tragedy is mentioned with discredit in the Induction to Ben Jonson's _Bartholomew Fair_, in 1614, as one that had then been exhibited "five and twenty or thirty years:" which, if we take the lowest number, throws it back to the year 1589, at which time Shakespeare was but 25: an earlier date than can be found for any other of his pieces:[881] and if it does not clear him entirely of it, shews at least it was a first attempt.[882]

The following is given from a copy in _The Golden Garland_ intitled as above; compared with three others, two of them in black letter in the Pepys Collection, intitled, _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.

* * * * *

[No original from which the plot of the play of _Titus Andronicus_
could be taken has yet been discovered, and it is just possible
that this ballad may have given the hint, but the Registers of
the Stationers' Company go some way towards proving a negative to
this supposition, for on the 6th of February, 1593-4, John Danter
registered _A noble Roman Historye of Tytus Andronicus_, and also
_the ballad thereof_.]

* * * * *

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;
Full 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 deadlie 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 emperèsse 75
Are doers of this hateful wickednèsse."

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 countrie's 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 filld my dying heart with fresher moanes.

Then past reliefe I upp and downe did goe,
And with my tears writ in the dust my woe:
I shot my arrowes[883] towards heaven hie, 95
And for revenge to hell did often 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[884] a certaine space,
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 servde 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 into the ground,
Whereas he stood untill such time he starv'd.
And soe God send all murderers may be serv'd. 120

FOOTNOTES:

[881] Mr. _Malone_ thinks 1591 to be the æra when our author commenced a writer for the stage. See in his _Shakesp._ the ingenious _Attempt to ascertain the order in which the plays of Shakespeare were written_.

[882] Since the above was written, Shakespeare's memory has been fully vindicated from the charge of writing the above play by the best criticks. See what has been urged by _Steevens_ and _Malone_ in their excellent editions of Shakespeare, &c. [The question of Shakspere's authorship is not by any means so completely settled in the negative as this note would imply. The external evidence for its authenticity is as strong as for most of the other plays. See _New Shakspere Society's Transactions_, Part i. p. 126, for a list of passages which seem to bear evidence of Shakspere's hand in their composition.]

[883] If the ballad was written before the play, I should suppose this to be only a metaphorical expression, taken from that in the Psalms, "They shoot out their arrows, even bitter words." Ps. 64. 3.

[884] _i.e._ encouraged them in their foolish humours, or fancies

XIV.

TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY.

The first stanza of this little sonnet, which an eminent critic[885] justly admires for its extreme sweetness, is found in Shakespeare's _Measure for Measure_, act iv. sc. 1. Both the stanzas are preserved in Beaum. and Fletcher's _Bloody Brother_, act v. sc. 2. Sewel and Gildon have printed it among Shakespeare's smaller poems, but they have done the same by twenty other pieces that were never writ by him; their book being a wretched heap of inaccuracies and mistakes. It is not found in Jaggard's old edition of Shakespeare's _Passionate Pilgrim_,[886] &c.

* * * * *

[The second stanza is an evident addition by another and inferior
hand, so that Percy's expression above--"both the stanzas are
preserved"--gives a false impression.]

* * * * *

Take, oh take those lips away,
That so sweetlye were forsworne;
And those eyes, the breake of day,
Lights, that do misleade the morne:
But my kisses bring againe, 5
Seales of love, but seal'd in vaine

Hide, oh hide those hills of snowe,
Which thy frozen bosom beares,
On whose tops the pinkes that growe,
Are of those that April wears: 10
But first set my poor heart free,
Bound in those icy chains by thee.

FOOTNOTES:

[885] Dr. Warburton in his _Shakesp._

[886] Mr. Malone, in his improved edition of Shakespeare's _Sonnets_, &c. hath substituted this instead of Marlow's Madrigal, printed above; for which he hath assigned reasons, which the reader may see in his vol. x. p. 340.

XV.

KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS.

The reader has here an ancient ballad on the subject of _King Lear_, which (as a sensible female critic has well observed[887]) bears so exact an analogy to the argument of Shakespeare's play, that his having copied it could not be doubted, if it were certain that it was written before the tragedy. Here is found the hint of Lear's madness, which the old chronicles[888] do not mention, as also the extravagant cruelty exercised on him by his daughters. In the death of Lear they likewise very exactly coincide. The misfortune is, that there is nothing to assist us in ascertaining the date of the ballad but what little evidence arises from within; this the reader must weigh and judge for himself.

It may be proper to observe, that Shakespeare was not the first of our dramatic poets who fitted the story of _Leir_ to the stage. His first 4to. edition is dated 1608: but three years before that had been printed a play intitled, _The true Chronicle History of Leir and_ _his three daughters Gonorill, Ragan, and Cordella, as it hath been_ _divers and sundry times lately acted, 1605, 4to_.--This is a very poor and dull performance, but happily excited Shakespeare to undertake the subject, which he has given with very different incidents. It is remarkable, that neither the circumstances of Leir's madness, nor his retinue of a select number of knights, nor the affecting deaths of Cordelia and Leir, are found in that first dramatic piece: in all which Shakespeare concurs with this ballad.

But to form a true judgement of Shakespeare's merit, the curious reader should cast his eye over that previous sketch; which he will find printed at the end of _The Twenty Plays of Shakespeare_, republished from the quarto impressions by _George Steevens_, Esq.; with such elegance and exactness as led us to expect that fine edition of all the works of our great dramatic poet, which he hath since published.

The following ballad is given from an ancient copy in the _Golden_ _Garland_, bl. let. intitled, _A lamentable song of the Death of King_ _Leir and his Three Daughters_. _To the tune of When flying Fame._

* * * * *

[The old play referred to above, although printed as late as the
year 1605, was probably only a re-impression of a piece entered
in the _Stationers' Register_ in 1594, as it was a frequent
practice of the publishers to take advantage of the popularity
of Shakspere's plays on the stage, by publishing dramas having
somewhat the same titles as his.

The Cordella of the play is softened in the ballad to Cordelia, the
form used by Shakspere and Spenser, but the name Ragan is retained
in place of Shakspere's Regan.]

* * * * *

King Leir once ruled in this land
With princely power and peace;
And had all things with hearts content,
That might his joys increase.
Amongst those things that nature gave,
Three daughters fair had he,
So princely seeming beautiful,
As fairer could not be.

So on a time it pleas'd the king
A question thus to move, 10
Which of his daughters to his grace
Could shew the dearest love:
For to my age you bring content,
Quoth he, then let me hear,
Which of you three in plighted troth 15
The kindest will appear.

To whom the eldest thus began;
Dear father, mind, quoth she,
Before your face, to do you good,
My blood shall render'd be: 20
And for your sake my bleeding heart
Shall here be cut in twain,
Ere that I see your reverend age
The smallest grief sustain.

And so will I, the second said; 25
Dear father, for your sake,
The worst of all extremities
I'll gently undertake:
And serve your highness night and day
With diligence and love; 30
That sweet content and quietness
Discomforts may remove.

In doing so, you glad my soul,
The aged king reply'd;
But what sayst thou, my youngest girl, 35
How is thy love ally'd?
My love (quoth young Cordelia then)
Which to your grace I owe,
Shall be the duty of a child,
And that is all I'll show. 40

And wilt thou shew no more, quoth he,
Than doth thy duty bind?
I well perceive thy love is small,
When as no more I find.
Henceforth I banish thee my court, 45
Thou art no child of mine;
Nor any part of this my realm
By favour shall be thine.

Thy elder sisters loves are more
Than well I can demand, 50
To whom I equally bestow
My kingdome and my land,
My pompal state and all my goods,
That lovingly I may
With those thy sisters be maintain'd 55
Until my dying day.

Thus flattering speeches won renown,
By these two sisters here;
The third had causeless banishment,
Yet was her love more dear: 60
For poor Cordelia patiently
Went wandring up and down,
Unhelp'd, unpity'd, gentle maid,
Through many an English town:

Untill at last in famous France 65
She gentler fortunes found;
Though poor and bare, yet she was deem'd
The fairest on the ground:
Where when the king her virtues heard,
And this fair lady seen, 70
With full consent of all his court
He made his wife and queen.

Her father king Leìr this while
With his two daughters staid:
Forgetful of their promis'd loves, 75
Full soon the same decay'd;
And living in queen Ragan's court,
The eldest of the twain,
She took from him his chiefest means,
And most of all his train. 80

For whereas twenty men were wont
To wait with bended knee:
She gave allowance but to ten,
And after scarce to three:
Nay, one she thought too much for him; 85
So took she all away,
In hope that in her court, good king,
He would no longer stay.

Am I rewarded thus, quoth he,
In giving all I have 90
Unto my children, and to beg
For what I lately gave?
I'll go unto my Gonorell:
My second child, I know,
Will be more kind and pitiful, 95
And will relieve my woe.

Full fast he hies then to her court;
Where when she heard his moan
Return'd him answer, That she griev'd
That all his means were gone: 100
But no way could relieve his wants;
Yet if that he would stay
Within her kitchen, he should have
What scullions gave away.

When he had heard, with bitter tears, 105
He made his answer then;
In what I did let me be made
Example to all men.
I will return again, quoth he,
Unto my Ragan's court; 110
She will not use me thus, I hope,
But in a kinder sort.

Where when he came, she gave command
To drive him thence away:
When he was well within her court 115
(She said) he would not stay.
Then back again to Gonorell,
The woeful king did hie,
That in her kitchen he might have
What scullion boys set by. 120

But there of that he was deny'd,
Which she had promis'd late:
For once refusing, he should not
Come after to her gate.
Thus twixt his daughters, for relief 125
He wandred up and down;
Being glad to feed on beggars food,
That lately wore a crown.

And calling to remembrance then
His youngest daughters words, 130
That said the duty of a child
Was all that love affords:
But doubting to repair to her,
Whom he had banish'd so,
Grew frantick mad; for in his mind 135
He bore the wounds of woe:

Which made him rend his milk-white locks,
And tresses from his head,
And all with blood bestain his cheeks,
With age and honour spread. 140
To hills and woods and watry founts,
He made his hourly moan,
Till hills and woods, and sensless things,
Did seem to sigh and groan.

Even thus possest with discontents, 145
He passed o're to France,
In hopes from fair Cordelia there,
To find some gentler chance;
Most virtuous dame! which when she heard
Of this her father's grief, 150
As duty bound, she quickly sent
Him comfort and relief:

And by a train of noble peers,
In brave and gallant sort,
She gave in charge he should be brought 155
To Aganippus' court;
Whose royal king, with noble mind
So freely gave consent,
To muster up his knights at arms,
To fame and courage bent. 160

And so to England came with speed,
To repossesse king Leir,
And drive his daughters from their thrones
By his Cordelia dear.
Where she, true-hearted noble queen, 165
Was in the battel slain:
Yet he good king, in his old days,
Possest his crown again.

But when he heard Cordelia's death,
Who died indeed for love 170
Of her dear father, in whose cause
She did this battle move;
He swooning fell upon her breast,
From whence he never parted:
But on her bosom left his life, 175
That was so truly hearted.

The lords and nobles when they saw
The end of these events,
The other sisters unto death
They doomed by consents; 180
And being dead, their crowns they left
Unto the next of kin:
Thus have you seen the fall of pride,
And disobedient sin.

FOOTNOTES:

[887] Mrs. Lennox. _Shakespeare illustrated_, vol. iii. p. 302.

[888] See Jeffery of Monmouth, Holinshed, &c. who relate Leir's history in many respects the same as the ballad.

XVI.

YOUTH AND AGE,

Is found in the little collection of Shakespeare's Sonnets, intitled the _Passionate Pilgrime_,[889] the greatest part of which seems to relate to the amours of Venus and Adonis, being little effusions of fancy, probably written while he was composing his larger poem on that subject. The following seems intended for the mouth of Venus, weighing the comparative merits of youthful Adonis and aged Vulcan. In the _Garland of Good Will_ it is reprinted, with the addition of four more such stanzas, but evidently written by a meaner pen.

* * * * *

Crabbed Age and Youth
Cannot live together;
Youth is full of pleasance,
Age is full of care:
Youth like summer morn, 5
Age like winter weather,
Youth like summer brave,
Age like winter bare:
Youth is full of sport,
Ages breath is short; 10
Youth is nimble, Age is lame:
Youth is hot and bold,
Age is weak and cold;
Youth is wild, and Age is tame.
Age, I do abhor thee, 15
Youth, I do adore thee;
O, my love, my love is young:
Age, I do defie thee;
Oh sweet shepheard, hie thee,
For methinks thou stayst too long. 20

FOOTNOTES:

[889] Mentioned above, Song XI. B. II.

XVII.

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

The following ballad is upon the same subject as the _Induction_ to Shakespeare's _Taming of the Shrew_: whether it may be thought to have suggested the hint to the dramatic poet, or is not rather of later date, the reader must determine.

The story is told[890] of _Philip_ the _Good_, Duke of Burgundy; and is thus related by an old English writer: "The said Duke, at the marriage of Eleonora, sister to the king of Portugall, at Bruges in Flanders, which was solemnised in the deepe of winter; when as by reason of unseasonable weather he could neither hawke nor hunt, and was now tired with cards, dice, &c. and such other domestick sports, or to see ladies dance; with some of his courtiers, he would in the evening walke disguised all about the towne. It so fortuned, as he was walking late one night, he found a countrey fellow dead drunke, snorting on a bulke; he caused his followers to bring him to his palace, and there stripping him of his old clothes, and attyring him after the court fashion, when he wakened, he and they were all ready to attend upon his excellency, and persuade him that he was some great Duke. The poor fellow admiring how he came there, was served in state all day long: after supper he saw them dance, heard musicke, and all the rest of those court-like pleasures: but late at night, when he was well tipled, and again fast asleepe, they put on his old robes, and so conveyed him to the place, where they first found him. Now the fellow had not made them so good sport the day before, as he did now, when he returned to himself: all the jest was to see how he looked upon it. In conclusion, after some little admiration, the poore man told his friends he had seen a vision; constantly believed it; would not otherwise be persuaded, and so the jest ended." Burton's _Anatomy of Melancholy_, pt. ii. sect. 2. Memb. 4, 2nd ed. 1624, fol.

This ballad is given from a black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, which is intitled as above. "To the tune of _Fond Boy_."

* * * * *

[The story of this ballad is of Eastern origin, and is the same as
the tale of _the Sleeper awakened_ in the _Arabian Nights_. The
story crops up in many places, some of which are pointed out in
Prof. Child's _English and Scottish Ballads_ (vol. viii. p. 54).
The question, however, of its origin is not of immediate interest
in the discussion of Shakspere's plots, because the author of the
old play, _Taming of a Shrew_, had already used the subject
and named the tinker Slie, so that we have not far to seek for
Shakspere's original.]

* * * * *

Now as fame does report a young duke keeps a court,
One that please 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 a 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 chamberling bare, then did likewise declare,
He desir'd 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.

FOOTNOTES:

[890] By Ludov. Vives in _Epist._, and by Pont. Heuter. _Rerum Burgund._ l. 4.

XVIII.

THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY.

Dispersed thro' Shakespeare's plays are innumerable little fragments of ancient ballads, the entire copies of which could not be recovered. Many of these being of the most beautiful and pathetic simplicity, the Editor was tempted to select some of them, and with a few supplemental stanzas to connect them together, and form them into a little _tale_, which is here submitted to the reader's candour.

One small fragment was taken from Beaumont and Fletcher.

* * * * *

[Ritson exhibits a bit of grim humour in his _Ancient Songs_, vol.
ii. ed. 1829, p. 64, where he prints a parody of Percy's _Friar of_
_Orders Gray_, under the title of the _Jovial Tinker_, and prefixes
to it the exact words that Percy uses above. The parody commences--

"It was a jovial tinker,
All of the north countrie,
As he walk'd forth, along the way
He sung right merrily."]

* * * * *

It was a friar of orders gray
Walkt forth to tell his beades;
And he met with a lady faire
Clad in a pilgrime's weedes.

Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar, 5
I pray thee tell to me,
If ever at yon holy shrine
My true love thou didst see.

And how should I know your true love
From many another one? 10
O by his cockle hat, and staff,
And by his sandal shoone.[891]

But chiefly by his face and mien,
That were so fair to view;
His flaxen locks that sweetly curl'd, 15
And eyne of lovely blue.

O lady, he is dead and gone!
Lady, he's dead and gone!
And at his head a green grass turfe,
And at his heels a stone. 20

Within these holy cloysters long
He languisht, and he dyed,
Lamenting of a ladyes love,
And 'playning of her pride.

Here bore him barefac'd on his bier 25
Six proper youths and tall,
And many a tear bedew'd his grave
Within yon kirk-yard wall.

And art thou dead, thou gentle youth!
And art thou dead and gone! 30
And didst thou dye for love of me!
Break, cruel heart of stone!

O weep not, lady, weep not soe;
Some ghostly comfort seek:
Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart, 35
Ne teares bedew thy cheek.

O do not, do not, holy friar,
My sorrow now reprove;
For I have lost the sweetest youth,
That e'er wan ladyes love. 40

And nowe, alas! for thy sad losse,
I'll evermore weep and sigh;
For thee I only wisht to live,
For thee I wish to dye.

Weep no more, lady, weep no more, 45
Thy sorrowe is in vaine:
For violets pluckt the sweetest showers
Will ne'er make grow againe.

Our joys as winged dreams doe flye,
Why then should sorrow last? 50
Since grief but aggravates thy losse,
Grieve not for what is past.

O say not soe, thou holy friar;
I pray thee, say not soe:
For since my true-love dyed for mee, 55
'Tis meet my tears should flow.

And will he ne'er come again?
Will he ne'er come again?
Ah! no, he is dead and laid in his grave,
For ever to remain. 60

His cheek was redder than the rose;
The comliest youth was he!
But he is dead and laid in his grave:
Alas, and woe is me!

Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more, 65
Men were deceivers ever:
One foot on sea and one on land,
To one thing constant never.

Hadst thou been fond, he had been false,
And left thee sad and heavy; 70
For young men ever were fickle found,
Since summer trees were leafy.

Now say not so, thou holy friar,
I pray thee say not soe;
My love he had the truest heart: 75
O he was ever true!

And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd youth,
And didst thou dye for mee?
Then farewell home; for ever-more
A pilgrim I will bee. 80

But first upon my true-loves grave
My weary limbs I'll lay,
And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf,
That wraps his breathless clay

Yet stay, fair lady; rest awhile 85
Beneath this cloyster wall:
See through the hawthorn blows the cold wind.
And drizzly rain doth fall.

O stay me not, thou holy friar;
O stay me not, I pray; 90
No drizzly rain that falls on me,
Can wash my fault away.

Yet stay, fair lady, turn again,
And dry those pearly tears;
For see beneath this gown of gray 95
Thy owne true-love appears.

Here forc'd by grief, and hopeless love,
These holy weeds I sought;
And here amid these lonely walls
To end my days I thought. 100

But haply for my year of grace[892]
Is not yet past away,
Might I still hope to win thy love,
No longer would I stay.

Now farewell grief, and welcome joy 105
Once more unto my heart;
For since I have found thee, lovely youth,
We never more will part.

* * * * *

[***] As the foregoing song has been thought to have suggested
to our late excellent Poet _Dr. Goldsmith_, the plan of his
beautiful ballad of _Edwin and Emma_ (first printed in his _Vicar
of Wakefield_) it is but justice to his memory to declare, that
his poem was written first, and that if there is any imitation in
the case, they will be found both to be indebted to the beautiful
old ballad _Gentle Herdsman_, &c. printed in the second volume of
this Work, which the Doctor had much admired in manuscript, and has
finely improved. See vol. ii. book i. song xiv. ver. 37.

FOOTNOTES:

[891] These are the distinguishing marks of a pilgrim. The chief places of devotion being beyond sea, the pilgrims were wont to put cockle-shells in their hats to denote the intention or performance of their devotion. _Warb. Shakesp._ vol. viii., p. 224.

[892] The year of probation, or noviciate.

THE END OF THE SECOND BOOK

RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY, ETC.

SERIES THE FIRST.