Chapter XIX: Book III: I (2)

The butts are sett, the shooting's made, 45
And there will be great royaltye:
And I am sworne into my bille,[947]
Thither to bring my lord Percye.

I'll give thee my hand, thou gentle Douglas,
And here by my true faith, quoth hee, 50
If thou wilt ryde to the worldes end,
I will ryde in thy companye.

And then bespake a lady faire,
Mary à Douglas was her name:
You shall byde here, good English lord, 55
My brother is a traiterous man.

He is a traitor stout and stronge,
As I tell you in privitie:
For he hath tane liverance[948] of the erle,[949]
Into England nowe to 'liver thee. 60

Now nay, now nay, thou goodly lady,
The regent is a noble lord:
Ne for the gold in all Englànd,
The Douglas wold not break his word

When the regent was a banisht man, 65
With me he did faire welcome find;
And whether weal or woe betide,
I still shall find him true and kind.

Betweene England and Scotland it wold breake truce,
And friends againe they wold never bee, 70
If they shold 'liver a banisht erle
Was driven out of his own countrie.

Alas! alas! my lord, she sayes,
Nowe mickle is their traitorie;
Then lett my brother ryde his wayes, 75
And tell those English lords from thee,

How that you cannot with him ryde,
Because you are in an ile of the sea,[950]
Then ere my brother come againe
To Edenborow castle[951] Ile carry thee. 80

To the Lord Hume I will thee bring,
He is well knowne a true Scots lord,
And he will lose both land and life,
Ere he with thee will break his word.

Much is my woe, Lord Percy sayd, 85
When I thinkie on my own countrie,
When I thinke on the heavye happe[952]
My friends have suffered there for mee.

Much is my woe, Lord Percy sayd,
And sore those wars my minde distresse; 90
Where many a widow lost her mate,
And many a child was fatherlesse.

And now that I a banisht man,
Shold bring such evil happe with mee,
To cause my faire and noble friends 95
To be suspect of treacherie:

This rives[953] my heart with double woe;
And lever had I dye this day,
Than thinke a Douglas can be false,
Or ever he will his guest betray. 100

If you'll give me no trust, my lord,
Nor unto mee no credence yield;
Yet step one moment here aside,
Ile showe you all your foes in field.

Lady, I never loved witchcraft, 105
Never dealt in privy wyle;
But evermore held the high-waye
Of truth and honour, free from guile

If you'll not come yourselfe my lorde,
Yet send your chamberlaine with mee; 110
Let me but speak three words with him,
And he shall come again to thee.

James Swynard with that lady went,
She showed him through the weme[954] of her ring
How many English lords there were 115
Waiting for his master and him.

And who walkes yonder, my good lady,
So royallyè on yonder greene?
O yonder is the lord Hunsdèn:[955]
Alas! he'll doe you drie and teene.[956] 120

And who beth yonder, thou gay ladye,
That walkes so proudly him beside?
That is Sir William Drury,[957] shee sayd,
A keene captàine hee is and tryde.

How many miles is itt, madàme, 125
Betwixt yond English lords and mee?
Marry it is thrice fifty miles,
To saile to them upon the sea.

I never was on English ground,
Ne never sawe it with mine eye, 130
But as my book it sheweth mee,
And through my ring I may descrye.

My mother shee was a witch ladye,
And of her skille she learned[958] mee;
She wold let me see out of Lough-leven 135
What they did in London citìe.

But who is yond, thou lady faire,
That looketh with sic an austerne[959] face?
Yonder is Sir John Foster,[960] quoth shee,
Alas! he'll do ye sore disgrace. 140

He pulled his hatt down over his browe;
He wept; in his heart he was full of woe:
And he is gone to his noble Lord,
Those sorrowful tidings him to show.

Now nay, now nay, good James Swynàrd, 145
I may not believe that witch ladìe:
The Douglasses were ever true,
And they can ne'er prove false to mee.

I have now in Lough-leven been
The most part of these years three, 150
Yett have I never had noe outrake,[961]
Ne no good games that I cold see.

Therefore I'll to yond shooting wend,
As to the Douglas I have hight:[962]
Betide me weale, betide me woe, 155
He ne'er shall find my promise light.

He writhe[963] a gold ring from his finger,
And gave itt to that gay ladìe:
Sayes, It was all that I cold save,
In Harley woods where I cold bee.[964] 160

And wilt thou goe, thou noble lord,
Then farewell truth and honestìe;
And farewell heart and farewell hand;
For never more I shall thee see.

The wind was faire, the boatmen call'd, 165
And all the saylors were on borde;
Then William Douglas took to his boat,
And with him went that noble lord.

Then he cast up a silver wand,
Says, Gentle lady, fare thee well! 170
The lady fett[965] a sigh soe deep,
And in a dead swoone down shee fell.

Now let us goe back, Douglas, he sayd,
A sickness hath taken yond faire ladìe;
If ought befall yond lady but good, 175
Then blamed for ever I shall bee.

Come on, come on, my lord, he sayes;
Come on, come on, and let her bee:
There's ladyes enow in Lough-leven
For to cheere that gay ladìe. 180

If you'll not turne yourself, my lord,
Let me goe with my chamberlaine;
We will but comfort that faire lady,
And wee will return to you againe.

Come on, come on, my lord, he sayes, 185
Come on, come on, and let her bee:
My sister is craftye, and wold beguile
A thousand such as you and mee.

When they had sayled[966] fifty myle,
Now fifty mile upon the sea; 190
Hee sent his man to ask the Douglas,
When they shold that shooting see.

Faire words, quoth he, they make fooles faine,[967]
And that by thee and thy lord is seen:
You may hap[968] to thinke itt soone enough, 195
Ere you that shooting reach, I ween.

Jamye his hatt pulled over his browe,
He thought his lord then was betray'd;
And he is to Erle Percy againe,
To tell him what the Douglas sayd. 200

Hold upp thy head, man, quoth his lord;
Nor therefore lett thy courage fayle,
He did it but to prove thy heart,
To see if he cold make it quail.

When they had other fifty sayld, 205
Other fifty mile upon the sea,
Lord Percy called to Douglas himselfe,
Sayd, What wilt thou nowe doe with mee?

Looke that your brydle be wight,[969] my lord,
And your horse goe swift as shipp att sea: 210
Looke that your spurres be bright and sharpe,
That you may pricke her while she'll away.

What needeth this, Douglas, he sayth;
What needest thou to flyte[970] with mee?
For I was counted a horseman good 215
Before that ever I mett with thee.

A false Hector hath my horse,
Who dealt with mee so treacherouslìe:
A false Armstrong hath my spurres,
And all the geere belongs to mee. 220

When they had sayled other fifty mile,
Other fifty mile upon the sea;
They landed low by Berwicke side,
A deputed 'laird' landed Lord Percye.[971]

Then he at Yorke was doomde to dye, 225
It was, alas! a sorrowful sight:
Thus they betrayed that noble earle,
Who ever was a gallant wight.

[The following version of the Betrayal of Northumberland is from
the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 218.)

Now list and lithe you gentlemen,
and Ist tell you the veretye,
how they haue delt with a banished man,
driuen out of his countrye. 4

when as hee came on Scottish ground
as woe and wonder be them amonge,
ffull much was there traitorye
thé wrought the Erle of Northumberland. 8

when they were att the supper sett,
beffore many goodly gentlemen
thé ffell a fflouting and mocking both,
and said to the Erle of Northumberland, 12

"What makes you be soe sad, my Lord,
and in your mind soe sorrowffullye?
in the North of Scotland to-morrow theres a shooting,
and thither thoust goe, my Lord Percye. 16

"the buttes are sett, and the shooting is made,
and there is like to be great royaltye,
and I am sworne into my bill
thither to bring my Lord Pearcy." 20

"Ile giue thee my land, Douglas," he sayes,
"and be the faith in my bodye,
if that thou wilt ryde to the worlds end,
Ile ryde in thy companye." 24

and then bespake the good Ladye,--
Marry a Douglas was her name,--
"you shall byde here, good English Lord;
my brother is a traiterous man; 28

"he is a traitor stout and stronge,
as Ist tell you the veretye,
for he hath tane liuerance of the Erle,
and into England he will liuor thee." 32

"Now hold thy tounge, thou goodlye Ladye,
and let all this talking bee;
ffor all the gold thats in Loug Leuen,
william wold not Liuor mee! 36

"it wold breake truce betweene England & Scottland,
and friends againe they wold neuer bee
if he shold liuor a bani[s]ht Erle
was driuen out of his owne countrye." 40

"hold your tounge, my Lord," shee sayes,
"there is much ffalsehood them amonge;
when you are dead, then they are done,
soone they will part them friends againe. 44

"if you will giue me any trust, my Lord,
Ile tell you how you best may bee;
youst lett my brother ryde his wayes,
and tell those English Lords trulye 48

"how that you cannot with them ryde
because you are in an Ile of the sea,
then, ere my Brother come againe,
to Edenborrow castle Ile carry thee, 52

"Ile liuor you vnto the Lord Hume,
and you know a trew Scothe Lord is hee,
for he hath lost both Land and goods
in ayding of your good bodye." 56

"Marry! I am woe! woman," he sayes,
"that any freind fares worse for mee;
for where one saith 'it is a true tale,'
then two will say it is a Lye. 60

"when I was att home in my [realme]
amonge my tennants all trulye,
in my time of losse, wherin my need stoode,
they came to ayd me honestlye; 64

"therfore I left many a child ffatherlese,
and many a widdow to looke wanne;
and therfore blame nothing, Ladye,
but the woeffull warres which I began." 68

"If you will giue me noe trust, my Lord,
nor noe credence you will give mee,
and youle come hither to my right hand,
indeed, my Lord, Ile lett you see." 72

saies, "I neuer loued noe witchcraft,
nor neuer dealt with treacherye,
but euermore held the hye way;
alas! that may be seene by mee!" 76

"if you will not come your selfe, my Lord,
youle lett your chamberlaine goe with mee,
three words that I may to him speake,
and soone he shall come againe to thee." 80

when James Swynard came that Lady before,
shee let him see thorrow the weme of her ring
how many there was of English lords
to wayte there for his Master and him. 84

"but who beene yonder, my good Ladye,
that walkes soe royallye on yonder greene?"
"yonder is Lord Hunsden, Jamye," she saye;
"alas! heele doe you both tree and teene!" 88

"and who beene yonder, thou gay Ladye,
that walkes soe royallye him beside?"
"yond is Sir William Drurye, Jamy," shee sayd,
"and a keene Captain hee is, and tryde." 92

"how many miles is itt, thou good Ladye,
betwixt yond English Lord and mee?"
"marry thrise fifty mile, Jamy," shee sayd,
"and euen to seale and by the sea: 96

"I neuer was on English ground,
nor neuer see itt with mine eye,
but as my witt and wisedome serues,
and as [the] booke it telleth mee. 100

"my mother, shee was a witch woman,
and part of itt shee learned mee;
shee wold let me see out of Lough Leuen
what they dyd in London cytye." 104

"but who is yond, thou good Layde,
that comes yonder with an Osterne fface?"
"yonds Sir John fforster, Jamye," shee sayd;
"methinks thou sholdest better know him then I." 108
"Euen soe I doe, my goodlye Ladye,
and euer alas, soe woe am I!"

he pulled his hatt ouer his eyes,
and, lord, he wept soe tenderlye!
he is gone to his Master againe,
and euen to tell him the veretye.

"Now hast thou beene with Marry, Jamy," he sayd,
"Euen as thy tounge will tell to mee; 116
but if thou trust in any womans words,
thou must refraine good companye."

"It is noe words, my Lord," he sayes,
"yonder the men shee letts mee see, 120
how many English Lords there is
is wayting there for you and mee;

"yonder I see the Lord Hunsden,
and hee and you is of the third degree; 124
a greater enemye, indeed, my Lord,
in England none haue yee,"

"and I haue beene in Lough Leven
the most part of these yeeres three: 128
yett had I neuer noe out-rake,
nor good games that I cold see;

"and I am thus bidden to yonder shooting
by William Douglas all trulye; 132
therfore speake neuer a word out of thy mouth
That thou thinkes will hinder mee."

then he writhe the gold ring of his ffingar
and gaue itt to that Ladye gay; 136
sayes, "that was a Legacye left vnto mee
in Harley woods where I cold bee."

"then ffarewell hart, and farewell hand,
and ffarwell all good companye! 140
that woman shall neuer beare a sonne
shall know soe much of your privitye."

"now hold thy tounge, Ladye," hee sayde,
"and make not all this dole for mee, 144
for I may well drinke, but Ist neuer eate,
till againe in Lough Leuen I bee."

he tooke his boate att the Lough Leuen
for to sayle now ouer the sea, 148
and he hath cast vpp a siluer wand,
saies "fare thou well, my good Ladye!"
the Ladye looked ouer her left sholder;
in a dead swoone there fell shee. 152

"goe backe againe, Douglas!" he sayd,
"and I will goe in thy companye.
for sudden sicknesse yonder Lady has tane,
and euer, alas, shee will but dye! 156

"if ought come to yonder Ladye but good,
then blamed fore that I shall bee,
because a banished man I am,
and driuen out of my owne countrye." 160

"come on, come on, my Lord," he sayes,
"and lett all such talking bee;
theres Ladyes enow in Lough Leuen,
and for to cheere yonder gay Ladye." 164

"and you will not goe your selfe, my Lord,
you will lett my chamberlaine goe with me;
wee shall now take our boate againe,
and soone wee shall ouertake thee." 168

"come on, come on, my Lord," he sayes,
"and lett now all this talking bee!
ffor my sister is craftye enoughe
for to beguile thousands such as you and mee." 172

When they had sayled fifty myle,
now fifty mile vpon the sea,
hee had fforgotten a message that hee
shold doe in lough Leuen trulye: 176
hee asked 'how ffar it was to that shooting,
that William Douglas promised me.'

"now faire words makes fooles faine;
and that may be seene by thy Master and thee, 180
ffor you may happen think itt soone enoughe
when-euer you that shooting see."

Jamye pulled his hatt now ouer his browe;
I wott the teares fell in his eye; 184
and he is to his Master againe,
and ffor to tell him the veretye

he sayes, "fayre words makes fooles faine,
and that may be seene by you and mee, 188
ffor wee may happen thinke itt soone enoughe
when-euer wee that shooting see."

"hold vpp thy head, Jamye," the Erle sayd,
"and neuer lett thy hart fayle thee; 192
he did itt but to prove thee with,
and see how thow wold take with death trulye."

when they had sayled other fifty mile,
other fifty mile vpon the sea, 196
Lord Peercy called to him, himselfe,
and sayd, "Douglas what wilt thou doe with mee?"

"looke that your brydle be wight, my Lord,
that you may goe as a shipp att sea; 200
looke that your spurres be bright and sharpe,
that you may pricke her while sheele awaye."

"what needeth this, Douglas," he sayth.
"that thou needest to ffloute mee? 204
for I was counted a horsseman good
before that euer I mett with thee.

"A ffalse Hector hath my horsse;
and euer an euill death may hee dye! 208
and Willye Armestronge hath my spurres
and all the geere belongs to mee."

when thé had sayled other fifty mile,
other fifty mile vpon the sea, 212
thé landed low by Barwicke side;
a deputed land Landed Lord Percye.

ffin[s]]

FOOTNOTES:

[941] [harass.]

[942] [evil.]

[943] [saluted.]

[944] James Douglas, Earl of Morton, elected regent of Scotland November 24, 1572.

[945] Of one of the English marches. Lord Hunsden.

[946] [contend.]

[947] [sworn in writing.]

[948] [money for delivering you up.]

[949] Of the Earl of Morton, the Regent.

[950] _i. e._ Lake of Leven, which hath communication with the sea.

[951] At that time in the hands of the opposite faction.

[952] [fortune.]

[953] [rends.]

[954] [hollow.]

[955] The Lord Warden of the East marches.

[956] [ill and injury.]

[957] Governor of Berwick.

[958] [taught.]

[959] [austere.]

[960] Warden of the Middle-march.

[961] [an outride or expedition.]

[962] [promised.]

[963] [twisted.]

[964] _i. e._ Where I was. An ancient idiom.

[965] [fetched.]

[966] There is no navigable stream between Lough-Leven and the sea: but a ballad-maker is not obliged to understand geography.

[967] [glad.]

[968] [chance.]

[969] [strong.]

[970] [contend.]

[971] Ver. 224. Fol. MS. reads _land_, and has not the following stanza.

V.

MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS.

This excellent philosophical song appears to have been famous in the sixteenth century. It is quoted by Ben Jonson in his play of _Every Man out of his Humour_, first acted in 1599, act i. sc. 1, where an impatient person says--

"I am no such pil'd cynique to believe
That beggery is the onely happinesse,
Or, with a number of these patient fooles,
To sing, 'My minde to me a kingdome is,'
When the lanke hungrie belly barkes for foode."

It is here chiefly printed from a thin quarto Music book, intitled, "Psalmes, Sonets, and Songs of sadnes and pietie, made into Musicke of five parts: &c. By William Byrd, one of the Gent. of the Queenes Majesties honorable Chappell.--Printed by Thomas East, &c." 4to. no date: but Ames in his _Typog._ has mentioned another edit. of the same book, dated 1588, which I take to have been later than this.

Some improvements and an additional stanza (sc. the 5th), were had from two other ancient copies; one of them in black letter in the Pepys Collection, thus inscribed, "A sweet and pleasant sonet, intitled, 'My Minde to me a Kingdom is.' To the tune of, In Crete, &c."

Some of the stanzas in this poem were printed by Byrd separate from the rest: they are here given in what seemed the most natural order.

* * * * *

[The longest and apparently earliest version of this favourite poem
is signed "E. Dier," in MS. Rawl. Poet. 85, fol. 17 in the Bodleian
Library, and Dr. Hannah[972] attributes it to Sir Edward Dyer, the
friend of Spenser and Sidney, whose little pieces were chiefly
printed in _England's Helicon_. Sir Edward Dyer, of Sharpham Park,
Somersetshire, was born about the year 1540. He was educated at
Oxford, and afterwards was employed in several embassies. On the
death of Sir John Wolley he was made Chancellor of the Order of the
Garter, and at the same time knighted. He was an alchemist and dupe
of Dr. Dee and Edward Kelly. Sir Egerton Brydges quotes from Aubrey
the statement that he had four thousand pounds a year, and had
four-score thousand pounds left to him, which he wasted almost all,
but Sir Egerton considers the sums almost incredible for the time.

In "Posthumi or Sylvesters Remains, revived out of the ashes of
that silver-tongued translatour and divine Poet Laureat," at the
end of the translation of the _Divine Weekes_ of Du Bartas, 1641,
there is the following parody of this favourite poem:

"A CONTENTED MINDE.

"I waigh not Fortunes frowne or smile,
I joy not much in earthly joyes,
I seeke not state, I reake not stile,
I am not fond of fancies Toyes:
I rest so pleased with what I have,
I wish no more, no more I crave.

"I quake not at the Thunders crack,
I tremble not at noise of warre,
I swound not at the newes of wrack,
I shrink not at a Blazing Starre;
I feare not losse, I hope not gaine;
I envie none, I none disdaine.

"I see ambition never pleas'd,
I see some Tantals starv'd in store,
I see golds dropsie seldome eas'd,
I see even Midas gape for more:
I neither want, nor yet abound,
Enough's a feast, content is crown'd.

"I faine not friendship where I hate,
I fawne not on the great (in show)
I prize, I praise a meane estate,
Neither too lofty nor too low:
This, this is all my choice, my cheere,
A minde content, a conscience cleere."]

* * * * *

My minde to me a kingdome is;
Such perfect joy therein I finde
As farre exceeds all earthly blisse,
That God or Nature hath assignde:
Though much I want, that most would have, 5
Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

Content I live, this is my stay;
I seek no more than may suffice:
I presse to beare no haughtie sway;
Look what I lack my mind supplies. 10
Loe! thus I triumph like a king,
Content with that my mind doth bring.

I see how plentie surfets oft,
And hastie clymbers soonest fall;
I see that such as sit aloft 15
Mishap doth threaten most of all:
These get with toile, and keep with feare:
Such cares my mind could never beare.

No princely pompe, nor welthie store,
No force to winne the victorie, 20
No wylie wit to salve a sore,
No shape to winne a lovers eye;
To none of these I yeeld as thrall,
For why my mind despiseth all.

Some have too much, yet still they crave, 25
I little have, yet seek no more:
They are but poore, tho' much they have;
And I am rich with little store:
They poor, I rich; they beg, I give;
They lacke, I lend; they pine, I live. 30

I laugh not at anothers losse,
I grudge not at anothers gaine;
No worldly wave my mind can tosse,
I brooke that is anothers bane:
I feare no foe, nor fawne on friend; 35
I lothe not life, nor dread mine end.

I joy not in no earthly blisse;
I weigh not Cresus' welth a straw;
For care, I care not what it is;
I feare not fortunes fatall law: 40
My mind is such as may not move
For beautie bright or force of love.

I wish but what I have at will;
I wander not to seeke for more,
I like the plaine, I clime no hill; 45
In greatest stormes I sitte on shore,
And laugh at them that toile in vaine
To get what must be lost againe.

I kisse not where I wish to kill;
I feigne not love where most I hate; 50
I breake no sleep to winne my will;
I wayte not at the mighties gate;
I scorne no poore, I feare no rich;
I feele no want, nor have too much.

The court, ne cart, I like, ne loath; 55
Extreames are counted worst of all:
The golden meane betwixt them both,
Doth surest sit, and fears no fall:
This is my choyce, for why I finde,
No wealth is like a quiet minde. 60

My welth is health, and perfect ease;
My conscience clere my chiefe defence:
I never seeke by brybes to please,
Nor by desert to give offence:
Thus do I live, thus will I die; 65
Would all did so as well as I!

FOOTNOTES:

[972] [_The Courtly Poets, from Raleigh to Montrose._ Edited by J. Hannah, D.C.L., London, 1870. (Aldine Poets.)]

VI.

THE PATIENT COUNTESS.

The subject of this tale is taken from that entertaining Colloquy of _Erasmus_, intitled, "Uxor #Mempsigamos#, sive Conjugium:" which has been agreeably modernized by the late Mr. _Spence_, in his little Miscellaneous Publication, intitled, "_Moralities_, &c. by Sir Harry Beaumont," 1753, 8vo. pag. 42.

The following stanzas are extracted from an ancient poem intitled _Albion's England_, written by _W. Warner_, a celebrated poet in the reign of Q. Elizabeth, though his name and works are now equally forgotten. The reader will find some account of him in vol. ii. book ii. song 24.

The following stanzas are printed from the author's improved edition of his work, printed in 1602, 4to.; the third impression of which appeared so early as 1592, in bl. let. 4to. The edition in 1602 is in thirteen books; and so it is reprinted in 1612, 4to.; yet, in 1606, was published "A Continuance of Albion's England, by the first author, W. W. Lond. 4to.:" this contains Books xiv. xv. xvi. There is also extant, under the name of Warner, "Syrinx, or a seven-fold Historie, pleasant, and profitable, comical, and tragical," 4to.

* * * * *

[The title of this poem challenges comparison with _Patient_
_Griselda_, but it is in fact a totally different story, and as Mr.
Hales says, "represents rather tact and management than patience in
the wife of an unfaithful (not a tempting and essaying) husband."
The first edition of Warner's poem was published in 1586, and the
numerous impressions of it prove its popularity. The full title
is as follows: "Albion's England, a continued History of the same
Kingdome from the Originals of the first inhabitants thereof, unto
the raigne of Queen Elizabeth."]

* * * * *

Impatience chaungeth smoke to flame, but jelousie is hell;
Some wives by patience have reduc'd ill husbands to live well:
As did the ladie of an earle, of whom I now shall tell.
An earle 'there was' had wedded, lov'd; was lov'd, and lived long
Full true to his fayre countesse; yet at last he did her wrong. 5
Once hunted he untill the chace, long fasting, and the heat
Did house him in a peakish graunge[973] within a forest great.
Where knowne and welcom'd (as the place and persons might afforde)
Browne bread, whig,[974] bacon, curds and milke were set him on
the borde.
A cushion made of lists, a stoole halfe backed with a hoope 10
Were brought him, and he sitteth down besides a sorry coupe.[975]
The poore old couple wisht their bread were wheat, their whig
were perry,
Their bacon beefe, their milke and curds were creame, to make him
merry.
Meane while (in russet neatly clad, with linen white as swanne,
Herselfe more white, save rosie where the ruddy colour ranne: 15
Whome naked nature, not the aydes of arte made to excell)
The good man's daughter sturres to see that all were feat[976]
and well;
The earle did marke her, and admire such beautie there to dwell.
Yet fals he to their homely fare, and held him at a feast:
But as his hunger slaked, so an amorous heat increast.
When this repast was past, and thanks, and welcome too; he sayd 21
Unto his host and hostesse, in the hearing of the mayd:
Yee know, quoth he, that I am lord of this, and many townes;
I also know that you be poore, and I can spare you pownes.[977]
Soe will I, so yee will consent, that yonder lasse and I 25
May bargaine for her love; at least, doe give me leave to trye.
Who needs to know it? nay who dares into my doings pry?
First they mislike, yet at the length for lucre were misled;
And then the gamesome earle did wowe[978] the damsell for his bed.
He took her in his armes, as yet so coyish to be kist, 30
As mayds that know themselves belov'd, and yieldingly resist.
In few, his offers were so large she lastly did consent;
With whom he lodged all that night, and early home he went.
He tooke occasion oftentimes in such a sort to hunt.
Whom when his lady often mist, contrary to his wont, 35
And lastly was informed of his amorous haunt elsewhere;
It greev'd her not a little, though she seem'd it well to beare.
And thus she reasons with herselfe, some fault perhaps in me;
Somewhat is done, that so he doth: alas! what may it be?
How may I winne him to myself? he is a man, and men 40
Have imperfections; it behooves me pardon nature then.
To checke him were to make him checke,[979] although hee now were
chaste:
A man controuled of his wife, to her makes lesser haste,
If duty then, or daliance may prevayle to alter him;
I will be dutifull, and make my selfe for daliance trim. 45
So was she, and so lovingly did entertaine her lord,
As fairer, or more faultles none could be for bed or bord.
Yet still he loves his leiman,[980] and did still pursue that game,
Suspecting nothing less, than that his lady knew the same:
Wherefore to make him know she knew, she this devise did frame: 50
When long she had been wrong'd, and sought the foresayd meanes
in vaine,
She rideth to the simple graunge, but with a slender traine.
She lighteth, entreth, greets them well, and then did looke about her:
The guiltie houshold knowing her did wish themselves without her;
Yet, for she looked merily, the lesse they did misdoubt[981] her. 55
When she had seen the beauteous wench (then blushing fairnes fairer)
Such beauty made the countesse hold them both excus'd the rather.
Who would not bite at such a bait? thought she: and who (though loth)
So poore a wench, but gold might tempt? sweet errors lead them both.
Scarse one in twenty that had bragg'd of proffer'd gold denied, 60
Or of such yeelding beautie baulkt, but, tenne to one, had lied.
Thus thought she: and she thus declares her cause of coming thether;
My lord, oft hunting in these partes, through travel, night or wether,
Hath often lodged in your house; I thanke you for the same;
For why? it doth him jolly ease to lie so neare his game. 65
But, for you have not furniture beseeming such a guest,
I bring his owne, and come myselfe to see his lodging drest.
With that two sumpters were discharg'd, in which were hangings brave,
Silke coverings, curtens, carpets, plate, and al such turn should have.
When all was handsomly dispos'd, she prayes them to have care 70
That nothing hap in their default,[982] that might his health impair:
And, Damsell, quoth shee, for it seemes this houshold is but three,
And for thy parents age, that this shall chiefely rest on thee;
Do me that good, else would to God he hither come no more.
So tooke she horse, and ere she went bestowed gould good store. 75
Full little thought the countie[983] that his countesse had done so;
Who now return'd from far affaires did to his sweetheart go.
No sooner sat he foote within the late deformed cote,[984]
But that the formall change of things his wondring eies did note.
But when he knew those goods to be his proper goods; though late, 80
Scarce taking leave, he home returnes the matter to debate.
The countesse was a-bed, and he with her his lodging tooke;
Sir, welcome home (quoth shee); this night for you I did not looke.
Then did he question her of such his stuffe bestowed soe.
Forsooth, quoth she, because I did your love and lodging knowe; 85
Your love to be a proper wench, your lodging nothing lesse;
I held it for your health, the house more decently to dresse.
Well wot I, notwithstanding her, your lordship loveth me;
And greater hope to hold you such by quiet, then brawles, 'you' see.
Then for my duty, your delight, and to retaine your favour, 90
All done I did, and patiently expect your wonted 'haviour.
Her patience, witte and answer wrought his gentle teares to fall:
When (kissing her a score of times) amend, sweet wife, I shall:
He said, and did it; 'so each wife her husband may' recall.

FOOTNOTES:

[973] [rude and lone country house.]

[974] [buttermilk or sour whey.]

[975] [pen for poultry.]

[976] [nice or neat.]

[977] [pounds.]

[978] [woo.]

[979] To _check_ is a term in falconry, applied when a hawk stops and turns away from his proper pursuit: to _check_ also signifies to reprove or chide. It is in this verse used in both senses.

[980] [mistress.]

[981] [suspect.]

[982] [happen from their neglect.]

[983] [earl.]

[984] [cottage.]

VII

DOWSABELL.

The following stanzas were written by _Michael Drayton_, a poet of some eminence in the reigns of Q. Elizabeth, James I. and Charles I.[985] They are inserted in one of his Pastorals, the first edition of which bears this whimsical title, "Idea. The Shepheards Garland fashioned in nine Eglogs. Rowlands sacrifice to the nine muses. Lond. 1593." 4to. They are inscribed with the author's name at length "To the noble and valerous gentleman master Robert Dudley, &c." It is very remarkable that when Drayton reprinted them in the first folio edit. of his works, 1619, he had given those Eclogues so thorough a revisal, that there is hardly a line to be found the same as in the old edition. This poem had received the fewest corrections, and therefore is chiefly given from the ancient copy, where it is thus introduced by one of his Shepherds:

"Listen to mee, my lovely shepheards joye.
And thou shall heare, with mirth and mickle glee,
A pretie tale, which when I was a boy,
My toothles grandame oft hath tolde to me."

The author has professedly imitated the style and metre of some of the old metrical romances, particularly that of _Sir Isenbras_[986] (alluded to in v. 3), as the reader may judge from the following specimen:

"Lordynges, lysten, and you shal here, &c.
* * * * *
Ye shall well heare of a knight,
That was in warre full wyght,
And doughtye of his dede:
His name was Syr Isenbras,
Man nobler then he was
Lyved none with breade.
He was lyvely, large, and longe,
With shoulders broade, and armes stronge,
That myghtie was to se:
He was a hardye man, and hye,
All men hym loved that hym se,
For a gentyll knight was he:
Harpers loved him in hall,
With other minstrells all,
For he gave them golde and fee," &c.

This ancient legend was printed in black-letter, 4to. by Wyllyam Copland; no date.[987] In the Cotton Library (Calig. A 2) is a MS. copy of the same romance containing the greatest variations. They are probably two different translations of some French original.

* * * * *

Farre in the countrey of Arden,
There won'd[988] a knight, hight Cassemen,
As bolde as Isenbras:
Fell[989] was he, and eger bent,
In battell and in tournament, 5
As was the good Sir Topas.

He had, as antique stories tell,
A daughter cleaped[990] Dowsabel,
A mayden fayre and free:
And for she was her fathers heire, 10
Full well she was y-cond the leyre[991]
Of mickle curtesie.

The silke well couth she twist and twine,
And make the fine march-pine,[992]
And with the needle werke: 15
And she couth helpe the priest to say
His mattins on a holy-day,
And sing a psalme in kirke.

She ware a frock of frolicke greene,
Might well beseeme a mayden queene, 20
Which seemly was to see;
A hood to that so neat and fine,
In colour like the colombine,
Y-wrought full featously.[993]

Her features all as fresh above, 25
As is the grasse that growes by Dove;
And lyth[994] as lasse of Kent.
Her skin as soft as Lemster wooll,[995]
As white as snow on Peakish Hull,[996]
Or swanne that swims in Trent. 30

This mayden in a morne betime
Went forth, when May was in her prime,
To get sweete cetywall,[997]
The honey-suckle, the harlocke,[998]
The lilly and the lady-smocke, 35
To deck her summer hall.

Thus, as she wandred here and there,
Y-picking of the bloomed breere,
She chanced to espie
A shepheard sitting on a bancke, 40
Like chanteclere he crowed crancke,[999]
And pip'd full merrilie.

He lear'd[1000] his sheepe as he him list,
When he would whistle in his fist,
To feede about him round; 45
Whilst he full many a carroll sung,
Untill the fields and medowes rung,
And all the woods did sound.

In favour this same shepheards swayne
Was like the bedlam Tamburlayne,[1001] 50
Which helde prowd kings in awe:
But meeke he was as lamb mought be;
An innocent of ill as he[1002]
Whom his lewd brother slaw.

The shepheard ware a sheepe-gray cloke, 55
Which was of the finest loke,[1003]
That could be cut with sheere:
His mittens were of bauzens[1004] skinne,
His cockers[1005] were of cordiwin,[1006]
His hood of meniveere.[1007] 60

His aule and lingell[1008] in a thong,
His tar-boxe on his broad belt hong,
His breech of coyntrie[1009] blewe:
Full crispe and curled were his lockes,
His browes as white as Albion rocks: 65
So like a lover true,

And pyping still he spent the day,
So merry as the popingay;[1010]
Which liked Dowsabel:
That would she ought, or would she nought, 70
This lad would never from her thought;
She in love-longing fell.

At length she tucked up her frocke,
White as a lilly was her smocke,
She drew the shepheard nye; 75
But then the shepheard pyp'd a good,
That all his sheepe forsooke their foode,
To heare his melodye.

Thy sheepe, quoth she, cannot be leane,
That have a jolly shepheards swayne, 80
The which can pipe so well:
Yea but, sayth he, their shepheard may,
If pyping thus he pine away
In love of Dowsabel.

Of love, fond boy, take thou no keepe,[1011] 85
Quoth she; looke thou unto thy sheepe,
Lest they should hap to stray.
Quoth he, so had I done full well,
Had I not seen fayre Dowsabell
Come forth to gather maye. 90

With that she gan to vaile her head,
Her cheeks were like the roses red,
But not a word she sayd:
With that the shepheard gan to frowne,
He threw his pretie pypes adowne, 95
And on the ground him layd.

Sayth she, I may not stay till night,
And leave my summer-hall undight,[1012]
And all for long of thee.
My coate,[1013] sayth he, nor yet my foulde 100
Shall neither sheepe nor shepheard hould,
Except thou favour mee.

Sayth she, Yet lever were I dead,
Then I should lose my mayden-head,
And all for love of men. 105
Sayth he, Yet are you too unkind.
If in your heart you cannot finde
To love us now and then.

And I to thee will be as kinde
As Colin was to Rosalinde, 110
Of curtesie the flower.
Then will I be as true, quoth she,
As ever mayden yet might be
Unto her paramour.

With that she bent her snow-white knee, 115
Downe by the shepheard kneeled shee,
And him she sweetely kist:
With that the shepheard whoop'd for joy,
Quoth he, ther's never shepheards boy
That ever was so blist. 120

FOOTNOTES:

[985] He was born in 1563, and died in 1631. _Biog. Brit._

[986] As also Chaucer's _Rhyme of Sir Topas_, v. 6.

[987] [Reprinted by Utterson. The _Romance of Sir Isumbras_ was printed from the MS. by Mr. Halliwell in the _Thornton Romance_ (Camden Society, 1844).]

[988] [dwelt.]

[989] [keen.]

[990] [named.]

[991] [she was taught the learning.]

[992] [march-pane, a kind of biscuit.]

[993] [dexterously.]

[994] [gentle or tender.]

[995] Leominster, or Lemster, was long famous for its wool, and Skelton refers to "good Lemster wool" in his _Elynour Rummin_.

[996] Peakish hill; this may refer to the well-known Derbyshire mountain called the Peak.

[997] herb valerian, or mountain spikenard.

[998] perhaps charlock, or wild rape.

[999] exultingly.

[1000] pastured.

[1001] Alluding to _Tamburlaine the great, or the Scythian Shepheard_, 1590, 8vo. an old ranting play ascribed to Marlowe.

[1002] Sc. Abel.

[1003] [fleece of wool.]

[1004] [sheepskin gloves with the wool on the inside.]

[1005] [short boots.]

[1006] [leather.]

[1007] [mixed fur.]

[1008] [rosined thread.]

[1009] [Coventry.]

[1010] [parrot.]

[1011] [heed.]

[1012] [undecked.]

[1013] [cot.]

VIII.

THE FAREWELL TO LOVE.

From Beaumont and Fletcher's play, intitled _The Lover's Progress_.
act iii. sc. 1.

Adieu, fond love, farewell you wanton powers;
I am free again.
Thou dull disease of bloud and idle hours,
Bewitching pain,
Fly to fools, that sigh away their time: 5
My nobler love to heaven doth climb,
And there behold beauty still young,
That time can ne'er corrupt, nor death destroy,
Immortal sweetness by fair angels sung,
And honoured by eternity and joy: 10
There lies my love, thither my hopes aspire,
Fond love declines, this heavenly love grows higher.

IX.

ULYSSES AND THE SYREN,

Affords a pretty poetical contest between Pleasure and Honour. It is found at the end of _Hymen's Triumph: a pastoral tragicomedie_, written by Daniel, and printed among his works, 4to. 1623.[1014] _Daniel_, who was a contemporary of Drayton's, and is said to have been poet laureat to Queen Elizabeth, was born in 1562, and died in 1619. _Anne_, Countess of Dorset, Pembroke, and Montgomery (to whom Daniel had been tutor), has inserted a small portrait of him in a full-length picture of herself, preserved at Appleby Castle, in Cumberland.

This little poem is the rather selected for a specimen of Daniel's poetic powers, as it is omitted in the later edition of his works, 2 vols. 12mo. 1718.

* * * * *

[Samuel Daniel was born in Somersetshire, and educated at Magdalen
Hall, Oxford. He left college without a degree, "his geny being,"
according to Ant. à Wood, "more prone to easier and smoother
subjects than in pecking and hewing at logic." He was tutor to Lady
Anne Clifford, subsequently Countess of Pembroke, and afterwards
groom of the privy chamber to Anne, queen of James I. Browne calls
him in _Britannia's Pastorals_, "Wel-languaged Daniel," and the
union of power of thought with sweetness and grace of expression
exhibited by him is highly praised by Southey and Coleridge. He
was free from indelicacy in his writings, and Fuller says of him
that "he carried in his Christian and surname two holy prophets,
his monitors, so to qualify his raptures that he abhorred all
profaneness."]

* * * * *

SYREN.

Come, worthy Greeke, Ulysses come,
Possesse these shores with me,
The windes and seas are troublesome,
And here we may be free.
Here may we sit and view their toyle, 5
That travaile in the deepe,
Enjoy the day in mirth the while,
And spend the night in sleepe.

ULYSSES.

Faire nymph, if fame or honour were
To be attain'd with ease, 10
Then would I come and rest with thee.
And leave such toiles as these:
But here it dwels, and here must I
With danger seek it forth;
To spend the time luxuriously 15
Becomes not men of worth.

SYREN.

Ulysses, O be not deceiv'd
With that unreall name:
This honour is a thing conceiv'd,
And rests on others' fame. 20
Begotten only to molest
Our peace, and to beguile
(The best thing of our life) our rest,
And give us up to toyle!

ULYSSES.

Delicious nymph, suppose there were 25
Nor honor, nor report,
Yet manlinesse would scorne to weare
The time in idle sport:
For toyle doth give a better touch
To make us feele our joy; 30
And ease findes tediousnes, as much
As labour yeelds annoy.

SYREN.

Then pleasure likewise seemes the shore,
Whereto tendes all your toyle;
Which you forego to make it more, 35
And perish oft the while.
Who may disport them diversly,
Find never tedious day;
And ease may have variety,
As well as action may. 40

ULYSSES.

But natures of the noblest frame
These toyles and dangers please;
And they take comfort in the same,
As much as you in ease:
And with the thought of actions past 45
Are recreated still:
When pleasure leaves a touch at last
To shew that it was ill.

SYREN.

That doth opinion only cause,
That's out of custom bred; 50
Which makes us many other laws,
Than ever nature did.
No widdowes waile for our delights,
Our sports are without blood;
The world we see by warlike wights 55
Receives more hurt than good.

ULYSSES.

But yet the state of things require
These motions of unrest,
And these great spirits of high desire
Seem borne to turne them best: 60
To purge the mischiefes, that increase
And all good order mar:
For oft we see a wicked peace,
To be well chang'd for war.

SYREN.

Well, well, Ulysses, then I see 65
I shall not have thee here;
And therefore I will come to thee,
And take my fortune there.
I must be wonne that cannot win,
Yet lost were I not wonne: 70
For beauty hath created bin
T' undoo or be undone.

FOOTNOTES:

[1014] In this edition it is collated with a copy printed at the end of his "_Tragedie of Cleopatra_. London, 1607, 12mo."

X.

CUPID'S PASTIME.

This beautiful poem, which possesses a classical elegance hardly to be expected in the age of James I. is printed from the 4th edition of Davison's Poems,[1015] &c. 1621. It is also found in a later miscellany, intitled, "Le Prince d'Amour," 1660, 8vo. Francis Davison, editor of the poems above referred to, was son of that unfortunate secretary of state who suffered so much from the affair of Mary Q. of Scots. These poems, he tells us in his preface, were written by himself, by his brother [Walter], who was a soldier in the wars of the Low Countries, and by some dear friends "anonymoi." Among them are found some pieces by Sir J. Davis, the Countess of Pembroke, Sir Philip Sidney, Spenser, and other wits of those times.

In the fourth vol. of _Dryden's Miscellanies_, this poem is attributed to Sydney Godolphin, Esq.; but erroneously, being probably written before he was born. One edit. of Davison's book was published in 1608. Godolphin was born in 1610, and died in 1642-3. Ath. Ox. ii. 23.

* * * * *

It chanc'd of late a shepherd swain,
That went to seek his straying sheep,
Within a thicket on a plain
Espied a dainty nymph asleep.

Her golden hair o'erspred her face; 5
Her careless arms abroad were cast;
Her quiver had her pillows place;
Her breast lay bare to every blast.

The shepherd stood and gaz'd his fill;
Nought durst he do; nought durst he say; 10
Whilst chance, or else perhaps his will,
Did guide the god of love that way.

The crafty boy that sees her sleep,
Whom if she wak'd he durst not see;
Behind her closely seeks to creep, 15
Before her nap should ended bee.

There come, he steals her shafts away,
And puts his own into their place;
Nor dares he any longer stay,
But, ere she wakes, hies thence apace. 20

Scarce was he gone, but she awakes,
And spies the shepherd standing by:
Her bended bow in haste she takes,
And at the simple swain lets flye.

Forth flew the shaft, and pierc'd his heart, 25
That to the ground he fell with pain:
Yet up again forthwith he start,
And to the nymph he ran amain.

Amazed to see so strange a sight,
She shot, and shot, but all in vain; 30
The more his wounds, the more his might
Love yielded strength amidst his pain.

Her angry eyes were great with tears,
She blames her hand, she blames her skill;
The bluntness of her shafts she fears, 35
And try them on herself she will.

Take heed, sweet nymph, trye not thy shaft,
Each little touch will pierce thy heart:
Alas! thou know'st not Cupids craft;
Revenge is joy; the end is smart. 40

Yet try she will, and pierce some bare;
Her hands were glov'd, but next to hand
Was that fair breast, that breast so rare,
That made the shepherd senseless stand.

That breast she pierc'd; and through that breast 45
Love found an entry to her heart;
At feeling of this new-come guest,
Lord! how this gentle nymph did start?

She runs not now; she shoots no more;
Away she throws both shaft and bow: 50
She seeks for what she shunn'd before,
She thinks the shepherds haste too slow.

Though mountains meet not, lovers may:
What other lovers do, did they:
The god of love sate on a tree, 55
And laught that pleasant sight to see.

FOOTNOTES:

[1015] See the full title in Vol. ii. Book iii. No. iv.

XI.

THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE.

This little moral poem was writ by Sir _Henry Wotton_, who died Provost of Eton in 1639. Æt. 72. It is printed from a little collection of his pieces, intitled. _Reliquiæ Wottonianæ_, 1651, 12mo.; compared with one or two other copies. [Ben Jonson is said to have greatly admired these verses, and to have known them by heart.]

* * * * *

How happy is he born or taught,
That serveth not anothers will;
Whose armour is his honest thought,
And simple truth his highest skill:

Whose passions not his masters are; 5
Whose soul is still prepar'd for death;
Not ty'd unto the world with care
Of princes ear, or vulgar breath:

Who hath his life from rumours freed;
Whose conscience is his strong retreat: 10
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruine make oppressors great:

Who envies none, whom chance doth raise,
Or vice: Who never understood
How deepest wounds are given with praise; 15
Nor rules of state, but rules of good:

Who God doth late and early pray
More of his grace than gifts to lend;
And entertaines the harmless day
With a well-chosen book or friend. 20

This man is freed from servile bands
Of hope to rise, or feare to fall;
Lord of himselfe, though not of lands;
And having nothing, yet hath all.

XII.

GILDEROY

Was a famous robber, who lived about the middle of the last century, if we may credit the histories and storybooks of highwaymen, which relate many improbable feats of him, as his robbing Cardinal Richelieu, Oliver Cromwell, &c. But these stories have probably no other authority than the records of Grub-street. At least the _Gilderoy_, who is the hero of Scottish songsters, seems to have lived in an earlier age; for, in Thompson's _Orpheus Caledonius_, vol. ii. 1733, 8vo. is a copy of this ballad, which, tho' corrupt and interpolated, contains some lines that appear to be of genuine antiquity: in these he is represented as contemporary with Mary Q. of Scots: _ex. gr._

"The Queen of Scots possessed nought,
That my love let me want:
For cow and ew he to me brought,
And een whan they were scant.
All these did honestly possess
He never did annoy,
Who never fail'd to pay their cess
To my love Gilderoy."

These lines perhaps might safely have been inserted among the following stanzas, which are given from a written copy, that appears to have received some modern corrections. Indeed, the common popular ballad contained some indecent luxuriances that required the pruning-hook.

* * * * *

[The subject of this ballad was a ruffian totally unworthy of the
poetic honours given to him, and the poem itself can in no way
be looked upon as historic. To mention but one instance of its
departure from truth--the song is said to have been written by a
young woman of a superior station in society who had been induced
to live with the freebooter, but the fact was that one thousand
marks having been offered for his apprehension, he was betrayed by
his mistress Peg Cunningham, and captured after killing eight of
the men sent against him, and stabbing the woman.