Chapter XIV: Part THE SECOND (3)

The skyes shee did fill with the smoke of her shott,
in her enemies bodyes with bulletts soe hott;
for one of her owne men, a sckore killed shee;
was not this a braue bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 48

Then did her gunner spoyle her intent,
pelletts & powder away had he sent:
then with her sword shee cutt him in 3,
was not this a braue bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 52

Then was shee caused to make a retyre,
being falsely betrayd, as itt doth appeare;
then to saue her selfe into a castle went shee;
was not this a braue bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 56

Her foes thé besett her on euerye side,
thinking in that castle shee wold not abyde;
to beate downe those walls they all did agree;
was not that a braue bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 60

She tooke her sword & her targett in hand,
shee came to the walls, and vpon them did stand,
their daring their Captaine to match any 3,
was not that a braue bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 64

"Thou English Captain, what woldest thou giue
to ransome thy liffe which else must not liue?
come downe quickly, & yeeld thee to mee!"
then smiled sweetlye Mary Aumbree; 68

"Good gentle Captain, what thinke you by mee,
or whom in my likenesse you take mee to bee?"
"a knight, sir, of England, & Captain soe free,
that I meane to take away prisoner with me." 72

"Good gentle Captain, behold in your sight
2 brests in my bosome, & therfore no knight;
noe knight, Sir, of England, nor Captain soe free,
but eue[n]e a pore bony Lasse, Mary Aumbree." 76

"If thou beest a woman as thou dost declare,
that hast mangled our soliders, & made them soe bare;
the like in my liffe I neuer did see;
therfore Ile honor thee, Mary Aumbree." 80

"Giue I be a woman, as well thou doest see,
Captain, thou gettst noe redemption of mee
without thou wilt fight with blowes 2 or 3."
was not this a braue bonye lasse, Mary Aumbree? 84

God send in warrs, such euent I abide,
god send such a solider to stand by my side!
then safely preserued my person wilbe;
there was neuer none like to Mary Aumbree!] 88

FOOTNOTES:

[671] So MS. _Serjeant Major_ in _PC._

[672] A peculiar kind of armour, composed of small rings of iron, and worn under the cloaths. It is mentioned by Spencer, who speaks of the Irish Gallowglass or Foot-soldier as "armed in a long Shirt of Mayl." (_View of the State of Ireland._)

XX.

BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBEY.

Peregrine Bertie, lord Willoughby of Eresby, had, in the year 1586, distinguished himself at the siege of Zutphen, in the Low Countries. He was the year after made general of the English forces in the United Provinces, in room of the earl of Leicester, who was recalled. This gave him an opportunity of signalizing his courage and military skill in several actions against the Spaniards. One of these, greatly exaggerated by popular report, is probably the subject of this old ballad, which, on account of its flattering encomiums on English valour, hath always been a favourite with the people.

"My lord Willoughbie (says a contemporary writer) was one of the queenes best swordsmen: ... he was a great master of the art military ... I have heard it spoken, that had he not slighted the court, but applied himself to the queene, he might have enjoyed a plentifull portion of her grace; and it was his saying, and it did him no good, that he was none of the _Reptilia_; intimating, that he could not creepe on the ground, and that the court was not his element; for indeed, as he was a great souldier, so he was of suitable magnanimitie, and could not brooke the obsequiousnesse and assiduitie of the courte." (_Naunton._)

Lord Willoughbie died in 1601.--Both Norris and Turner were famous among the military men of that age.

The subject of this ballad (which is printed from an old black-letter copy, with some conjectural emendations,) may possibly receive illustration from what _Chapman_ says in the Dedicat. to his version of Homer's _Frogs and Mice_, concerning the brave and memorable Retreat of Sir John Norris, with only 1000 men, thro' the whole Spanish army, under the duke of Parma, for three miles together.

* * * * *

[Lord Willoughby was the son of Katherine, daughter of Lord
Willoughby of Eresby and widow of Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk,
and of her second husband, Richard Bertie. They were protestants
and were forced to fly from persecution in 1553, taking refuge
first in the Low Countries and afterwards in Poland. They called
their son in consequence Peregrine, a name that has ever since
remained in the family. Mr. Hales has drawn my attention to the
fact that Spenser, when in Ireland, named one of his sons Peregrine
for a similar reason. A ballad was written entitled _The Duchess
of Suffolk's Calamity_, which contains these lines:

"A sonne she had in Germanie,
Peregrine Bartue cald by name,
Surnamde The Good Lord Willobie,
Of courage great and worthie fame."

Mr. Chappell informs us that the tune of the following ballad
occurs in Lady Neville's Virginal Book (MS. 1591), and in
Robinson's _School of Music_ (1603), where it is called "Lord
Willobie's Welcome Home."]

* * * * *

The fifteenth day of July,
With glistering spear and shield,
A famous fight in Flanders
Was foughten in the field:
The most couragious officers 5
Were English captains three;
But the bravest man in battel
Was brave lord Willoughbèy.

The next was captain Norris,
A valiant man was hee: 10
The other captain Turner,
From field would never flee.
With fifteen hundred fighting men,
Alas! there were no more,
They fought with fourteen thousand then, 15
Upon the bloody shore.

Stand to it noble pikemen,
And look you round about:
And shoot you right you bow-men,
And we will keep them out: 20
You musquet and calliver[673] men,
Do you prove true to me,
I'le be the formost man in fight,
Says brave lord Willoughbèy.

And then the bloody enemy 25
They fiercely did assail,
And fought it out most furiously,
Not doubting to prevail;
The wounded men on both sides fell
Most pitious for to see, 30
Yet nothing could the courage quell
Of brave lord Willoughbèy.

For seven hours to all mens view
This fight endured sore,
Until our men so feeble grew 35
That they could fight no more;
And then upon dead horses
Full savourly they eat,
And drank the puddle water,
They could no better get. 40

When they had fed so freely,
They kneeled on the ground,
And praised God devoutly
For the favour they had found;
And beating up their colours, 45
The fight they did renew,
And turning tow'rds the Spaniard,
A thousand more they slew.

The sharp steel-pointed arrows,
And bullets thick did fly; 50
Then did our valiant soldiers
Charge on most furiously;
Which made the Spaniards waver,
They thought it best to flee,
They fear'd the stout behaviour 55
Of brave lord Willoughbèy.

Then quoth the Spanish general,
Come let us march away,
I fear we shall be spoiled all
If here we longer stay; 60
For yonder comes lord Willoughbey
With courage fierce and fell,
He will not give one inch of way
For all the devils in hell.

And then the fearful enemy 65
Was quickly put to flight,
Our men persued couragiously,
And caught their forces quite;
But at last they gave a shout,
Which ecchoed through the sky, 70
God, and St. George for England!
The conquerers did cry.

This news was brought to England
With all the speed might be,
And soon our gracious queen was told 75
Of this same victory.
O this is brave lord Willoughbey,
My love that ever won,
Of all the lords of honour
'Tis he great deeds hath done. 80

To the souldiers that were maimed,
And wounded in the fray,
The queen allowed a pension
Of fifteen pence a day;
And from all costs and charges 85
She quit and set them free:
And this she did all for the sake
Of brave lord Willoughbèy.

Then courage, noble Englishmen,
And never be dismaid; 90
If that we be but one to ten,
We will not be afraid
To fight with foraign enemies,
And set our nation free.
And thus I end the bloody bout 95
Of brave lord Willoughbèy.

FOOTNOTES:

[673] [a large pistol or blunderbuss.]

XXI.

VICTORIOUS MEN OF EARTH.

This little moral sonnet hath such a pointed application to the heroes of the foregoing and following ballads, that I cannot help placing it here, tho' the date of its composition is of a much later period. It is extracted from _Cupid and Death, a masque by J. S. (James Shirley) presented Mar._ 26, 1653. _London printed 1653, 4to._

* * * * *

[Dr. Rimbault informs us that this masque was represented at the
Military Ground in Leicester Fields, with music by Matthew Locke
and Dr. Christopher Gibbons. (_Musical Illustrations_, p. 22.)]

* * * * *

Victorious men of earth, no more
Proclaim how wide your empires are;
Though you binde in every shore,
And your triumphs reach as far
As night or day; 5
Yet you proud monarchs must obey,
And mingle with forgotten ashes, when
Death calls yee to the croud of common men.

Devouring famine, plague, and war,
Each able to undo mankind, 10
Death's servile emissaries are;
Nor to these alone confin'd,
He hath at will
More quaint and subtle wayes to kill;
A smile or kiss, as he will use the art, 15
Shall have the cunning skill to break a heart.

XXII.

THE WINNING OF CALES.

The subject of this ballad is the taking of the city of _Cadiz_, (called by our sailors corruptly _Cales_) on June 21, 1596, in a descent made on the coast of Spain, under the command of the Lord Howard admiral, and the earl of Essex general.

The valour of Essex was not more distinguished on this occasion than his generosity: the town was carried sword in hand, but he stopt the slaughter as soon as possible, and treated his prisoners with the greatest humanity, and even affability and kindness. The English made a rich plunder in the city, but missed of a much richer, by the resolution which the Duke of Medina, the Spanish admiral, took, of setting fire to the ships, in order to prevent their falling into the hands of the enemy [see v. 27]. It was computed, that the loss which the Spaniards sustained from this enterprize, amounted to twenty millions of ducats. See Hume's _Hist_.

The Earl of Essex knighted on this occasion not fewer than sixty persons, which gave rise to the following sarcasm:

"A gentleman of Wales, a knight of Cales,
And a laird of the North country;
But a yeoman of Kent with his yearly rent
Will buy them out all three."

The ballad is printed, with some corrections, from the Editor's folio MS. and seems to have been composed by some person, who was concerned in the expedition. Most of the circumstances related in it will be found supported by history.

* * * * *

[Philip II. was meditating the dispatch of a second armada, but
before he could set his schemes in motion his strongest fortress
was razed to the ground. Macaulay calls this "the most brilliant
military exploit that was achieved on the continent by English
arms during the long interval which elapsed between the battle of
Agincourt and that of Blenheim." No wonder then that the English
sang with enthusiasm of the glories of their success. Raleigh and
Sir Francis Vere were among the leaders under Essex.

It will be seen by the foot notes that Percy follows his MS.
original pretty faithfully. Child prints a version from Deloney's
_Garland of Goodwill_ as reprinted by the Percy Society (vol. xxx.
p. 113). The earliest notice of the tune (the new Tantara) to which
this ballad was to be sung is in the year 1590.]

* * * * *

Long the proud Spaniards had vaunted to conquer us,
Threatning our country with fyer and sword;
Often preparing their navy most sumptuous
With as great plenty as Spain could afford.
Dub a dub, dub a dub, thus strike their drums;
Tantara, tantara, the Englishman comes.[674] 6

To the seas presentlye went our lord admiral,
With knights couragious and captains full good;
The brave Earl of Essex, a prosperous general,
With him prepared to pass the salt flood. 10
Dub a dub, &c.

At Plymouth speedilye, took they ship valiantlye,
Braver ships never were seen under sayle,
With their fair colours spread, and streamers ore their head,
Now bragging Spaniards, take heed of your tayle.
Dub a dub, &c. 15

Unto Cales cunninglye, came we most speedilye,
Where the kinges navy securelye did ryde;
Being upon their backs, piercing their butts of sacks,
Ere any Spaniards our coming descryde. 20
Dub a dub, &c.

Great was the crying, the running and ryding,[675]
Which at that season was made in that place;
The beacons were fyred, as need then required;
To hyde their great treasure they had little space.
Dub a dub, &c. 26

There you might see their ships, how they were fyred fast,
And how their men drowned themselves in the sea;
There might you hear them cry, wayle and weep piteously,
When they saw no shift to scape thence away. 30
Dub a dub, &c.

The great St. Phillip, the pryde of the Spaniards,
Was burnt to the bottom, and sunk in the sea;
But the St. Andrew, and eke the St. Matthew,
Wee took in fight manfullye and brought away.[676] 35
Dub a dub, &c.

The Earl of Essex most valiant and hardye,
With horsemen and footmen march'd up to the town;[677]
The Spanyards, which saw them, were greatly alarmed,
Did fly for their savegard, and durst not come down.
Dub a dub, &c. 41

Now, quoth the noble Earl, courage my soldiers all,
Fight and be valiant, the spoil you shall have;
And bè well rewarded all from the great to the small;[678]
But looke that the women and children you save.[679]
Dub a dub, &c. 46

The Spaniards at that sight, thinking it vain to fight,[680]
Hung upp flags of truce and yielded the towne;[681]
Wee marched in presentlye, decking the walls on hye,
With English colours which purchas'd renowne.[682] 50
Dub a dub, &c.

Entering the houses then, of the most richest men,
For gold and treasure we searched eche day;
In sòme places wè did find, pyes baking left behind,[683]
Meate at fire rosting, and folkes run away.[684] 55
Dub a dub, &c.

Full of rich merchandize, every shop catch'd our eyes,[685]
Damasks and sattens and velvets full fayre:
Wh[^i]ch soldiers mèasur'd out by the length of their swords;
Of all commodities eche had a share.[686] 60
Dub a dub, &c.

Thus Cales was taken, and our brave general
March'd to the market-place, where he did stand:
There many prisoners fell to our several shares,[687]
Many crav'd mercye, and mercye they fannd.[688] 65
Dub a dub, &c.

When our brave general saw they delayed all,[689]
And would not ransome their towne as they said,
With their fair wanscots, their presses and bedsteds,
Their joint-stools and tables a fire we made;[690] 70
And when the town burned all in a flame,
With tara, tantara, away wee all came.[691]

FOOTNOTES:

[674] [Ver. 6. tantara, ra-ra, MS.]

[675] [V. 22. _the_ before _running_ not in MS.]

[676] [Ver. 35. brought _them_ away, MS.]

[677] [V. 38. marched toward the town.]

[678] [V. 44. _all_ not in MS.]

[679] [V. 45. no _the_ in MS.]

[680] [V. 47. thought in vaine twas to fight.]

[681] [V. 48. _and_ not in MS.]

[682] [V. 50. with our English.]

[683] [Ver. 54. baking in the oven.]

[684] [V. 55. meate att the fire rosting & ffolkes ffled away.]

[685] [V. 57. shop wee did see.]

[686] [V. 60. each one.]

[687] [V. 64. prisoners of good account were tooke.]

[688] [V. 65. they found.]

[689] [V. 67. delayed time.]

[690] [V. 70. a ffire were made.]

[691] [V. 72. away wee came.]

XXIII.

THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE.

This beautiful old ballad most probably took its rise from one of these descents made on the Spanish coasts in the time of queen Elizabeth; and in all likelihood from that which is celebrated in the foregoing ballad.

It was a tradition in the West of England, that the person admired by the Spanish lady was a gentleman of the Popham family [Sir John Popham], and that her picture, with the pearl necklace mentioned in the ballad, was not many years ago preserved at Littlecot, near Hungerford, Wilts, the seat of that respectable family.

Another tradition hath pointed out Sir Richard Levison, of Trentham, in Staffordshire, as the subject of this ballad; who married Margaret daughter of Charles Earl of Nottingham; and was eminently distinguished as a naval officer and commander in all the expeditions against the Spaniards in the latter end of Q. Elizabeth's reign, particularly in that to Cadiz in 1596, when he was aged 27. He died in 1605, and has a monument, with his effigy in brass, in Wolverhampton church.

It is printed from an ancient black-letter copy, corrected in part by the Editor's folio MS.

* * * * *

[Sir John Popham and Sir Richard Levison are not the only
candidates for the honour of being associated with the Spanish
Lady, for strong claims have also been brought forward in favour
of Sir Urias Legh of Adlington, Cheshire, and of Sir John Bolle of
Thorpe Hall, Lincolnshire. A descendant of the latter worthy wrote
a letter in his favour, which appeared in the _Times_ of May 1,
1846, and from which the following particulars are extracted:--"In
Illingworth's _Topographical Account of Scampton, with Anecdotes_
_of the family of Bolles_, it is stated, 'the portrait of Sir
John, drawn in 1596, at the age of thirty-six years, having on
him the gold chain given him by the Spanish Lady, &c., is still
in the possession of Captain Birch.' That portrait is now in the
possession of Captain Birch's successor, Thomas Bosvile, Esq.,
of Ravensfield Park, Yorkshire." The writer of the letter signs
himself Charles Lee, and dates from Coldrey, Hants. He adds another
extract from Illingworth's _Scampton_, which is as follows: "On
Sir John Bolle's departure from Cadiz, the Spanish Lady sent as
presents to his wife, a profusion of jewels, and other valuables,
amongst which was her portrait, drawn in green, plate, money, and
other treasure. Some articles are still in the possession of the
family, though her picture was unfortunately and by accident,
disposed of about half a century since. This portrait being drawn
in green, gave occasion to her being called in the neighbourhood
of Thorpe Hall, the Green Lady, where to this day there is a
traditionary superstition among the vulgar that Thorpe Hall was
haunted by the Green Lady, who used nightly to take her seat in a
particular tree near the mansion."

Mr. Chappell points out that this ballad is quoted in _Cupid's_
_Whirligig_, 1616, and parodied in Rowley's _A Match at Midnight_,
1633. It is also quoted in Mrs. Behn's Comedy, _The Rovers, or_
_the banished Cavaliers_, and in Richard Brome's _Northern Lasse_.

Shenstone was not satisfied with the beautiful simplicity of this
charming ballad, and attempted in his _Moral Tale of Love and_
_Honour_ to place it before his readers "in less grovelling accents
than the simple guise of ancient record." The mode he adopted was
to spin it out by the frequent introduction of _Ah me_ and _'tis
true_, and addresses to the "generous maid," Elvira, Iberia, &c.
Wordsworth acted far differently, when he founded his exquisite
_Armenian Lady's Love_ upon this ballad:

"You have heard of a Spanish Lady,
How she wooed an English man;
Hear now of a fair Armenian,
Daughter of the proud Soldàn."

The copy in the folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. iii. p.
393) begins with verse 33, the early part having been torn out.]

* * * * *

Will you hear a Spanish lady,
How she wooed an English man?
Garments gay as rich as may be
Decked with jewels she had on.
Of a comely countenance and grace was she, 5
And by birth and parentage of high degree.

As his prisoner there he kept her,
In his hands her life did lye;
Cupid's bands did tye them faster
By the liking of an eye. 10
In his courteous company was all her joy,
To favour him in any thing she was not coy.

But at last there came commandment
For to set the ladies free,
With their jewels still adorned, 15
None to do them injury.
Then said this lady mild, Full woe is me;
O let me still sustain this kind captivity!

Gallant captain, shew some pity
To a ladye in distresse; 20
Leave me not within this city,
For to dye in heavinesse:
Thou hast set this present day my body free,
But my heart in prison still remains with thee.

"How should'st thou, fair lady, love me, 25
Whom thou knowst thy country's foe?
Thy fair wordes make me suspect thee:
Serpents lie where flowers grow."
All the harm I wishe to thee, most courteous knight,
God grant the same upon my head may fully light. 30

Blessed be the time and season,
That you came on Spanish ground;
If our foes you may be termed,
Gentle foes we have you found:
With our city, you have won our hearts eche one, 35
Then to your country bear away, that is your owne.

"Rest you still, most gallant lady;
Rest you still, and weep no more;
Of fair lovers there is plenty,
Spain doth yield a wonderous store." 40
Spaniards fraught with jealousy we often find,
But Englishmen through all the world are counted kind.
Leave me not unto a Spaniard,
You alone enjoy my heart;
I am lovely, young, and tender, 45
Love is likewise my desert:
Still to serve thee day and night my mind is prest;
The wife of every Englishman is counted blest.

"It wold be a shame, fair lady,
For to bear a woman hence; 50
English soldiers never carry
Any such without offence."
I'll quickly change myself, if it be so,
And like a page Ile follow thee, where'er thou go.[692]

"I have neither gold nor silver 55
To maintain thee in this case,
And to travel is great charges,
As you know in every place."
My chains and jewels every one shal be thy own,
And eke five hundred[693] pounds in gold that lies unknown. 60

"On the seas are many dangers,
Many storms do there arise,
Which wil be to ladies dreadful,
And force tears from watery eyes."
Well in troth I shall endure extremity,[694] 65
For I could find in heart to lose my life for thee.[695]

"Courteous ladye, leave this fancy,
Here comes all that breeds the strife;[696]
I in England have already
A sweet woman to my wife: 70
I will not falsify my vow for gold nor gain,
Nor yet for all the fairest dames that live in Spain."

O how happy is that woman
That enjoys so true a friend!
Many happy days God send her;[697] 75
Of my suit I make an end:[698]
On my knees I pardon crave for my offence,[699]
Which did from love and true affection first commence.[700]

Commend me to thy lovely lady,
Bear to her this chain of gold;[701] 80
And these bracelets for a token;
Grieving that I was so bold:
All my jewels in like sort take thou with thee,[702]
For they are fitting for thy wife, but not for me.[703]

I will spend my days in prayer, 85
Love and all her laws[704] defye;
In a nunnery will I shroud mee
Far from any companye:[705]
But ere my prayers have an end, be sure of this,
To pray for thee and for thy love I will not miss. 90

Thus farewell, most gallant captain!
Farewell too my heart's content![706]
Count not Spanish ladies wanton,
Though to thee my love was bent:
Joy and true prosperity goe still with thee![707] 95
"The like fall ever to thy share, most fair ladìe."

FOOTNOTES:

[692] [Ver. 54. whersoere thou go.]

[693] So the MS., 10,000_l. PC._

[694] V. 65. Well in worth [I will], MS.

[695] [V. 66. find my heart.]

[696] [V. 68. that breakes.]

[697] [Ver. 75. many dayes of joy god send you.]

[698] [V. 76. Ile make.]

[699] [V. 77. upon my knees I pardon crave for this offence.]

[700] [V. 78. which love and true affectyon did ffirst commence.]

[701] [V. 80. a chaine.]

[702] [V. 83. take with thee.]

[703] [V. 84. these are ... and not for me.]

[704] So the folio MS. Other editions read _his laws_.

[705] [V. 88. from other.]

[706] [V. 92. and ffarwell my.]

[707] [V. 95. be still.]

XXIV.

ARGENTILE AND CURAN,

Is extracted from an ancient historical poem in XIII. Books, intitled, _Albion's England_, by _William Warner_: "An author (says a former editor,) only unhappy in the choice of his subject, and measure of his verse. His poem is an epitome of the British history, and written with great learning, sense, and spirit. In some places fine to an extraordinary degree, as I think will eminently appear in the ensuing episode (of Argentile and Curan). A tale full of beautiful incidents in the romantic taste, extremely affecting, rich in ornament, wonderfully various in style; and in short, one of the most beautiful pastorals I ever met with." (_Muses Library_, 1738, 8vo.) To his merit nothing can be objected unless perhaps an affected quaintness in some of his expressions, and an indelicacy in some of his pastoral images.

_Warner_ is said, by A. Wood,[708] to have been a Warwickshire man, and to have been educated in Oxford, at Magdalene-hall: as also in the latter part of his life to have been retained in the service of Henry Cary Lord Hunsdon, to whom he dedicates his poem. However that may have been, new light is thrown upon his history, and the time and manner of his death are now ascertained, by the following extract from the parish register book of Amwell, in Hertfordshire; which was obligingly communicated to the Editor by Mr. _Hoole_, the very ingenious translator of Tasso, &c.

(1608--1609.) "Master William Warner, a man of good yeares and of honest reputation; by his profession an Atturnye of the Common Pleas; author of _Albions England_, diynge suddenly in the night in his bedde, without any former complaynt or sicknesse, on thursday night beeinge the 9th daye of March; was buried the satturday following, and lyeth in the church at the corner under the stone of Walter Ffader." Signed _Tho. Hassall Vicarius_.

Though now Warner is so seldom mentioned, his contemporaries ranked him on a level with Spenser, and called them the Homer and Virgil of their age.[709] But Warner rather resembled _Ovid_, whose _Metamorphoses_ he seems to have taken for his model, having deduced a perpetual poem from the deluge down to the æra of Elizabeth, full of lively digressions and entertaining episodes. And though he is sometimes harsh, affected, and obscure, he often displays a most charming and pathetic simplicity: as where he describes Eleanor's harsh treatment of Rosamond:

"With that she dasht her on the lippes
So dyed double red:
Hard was the heart that gave the blow,
Soft were those lippes that bled."

The edition of _Albion's England_ here followed was printed in 4to. 1602; said in the title-page to have been "first penned and published by William Warner, and now revised and newly enlarged by the same author." The story of _Argentile and Curan_ is I believe the poet's own invention; it is not mentioned in any of our chronicles. It was however so much admired, that not many years after he published it, came out a larger poem on the same subject in stanzas of six lines, intitled, _The most pleasant and delightful historie of Curan a prince of Danske, and the fayre princesse Argentile, daughter and heyre to Adelbright, sometime king of Northumberland, &c. by_ William Webster, _London_, 1617, in 8 sheets 4to. An indifferent paraphrase of the following poem.--This episode of Warner's has also been altered into the common ballad, _of the two young Princes on Salisbury Plain_, which is chiefly composed of Warner's lines, with a few contractions and interpolations, but all greatly for the worse. See the collection of _Hist. Ballads_, 1727, 3 vols. 12mo.

* * * * *

[Percy had already in the first volume quoted from Warner's poem
the story of the _Patient Countess_.]

* * * * *

The Bruton's 'being' departed hence seaven kingdoms here begonne,
Where diversly in divers broyles the Saxons lost and wonne.
King Edel and king Adelbright in Diria jointly raigne;
In loyal concorde during life these kingly friends remaine.
When Adelbright should leave his life, to Edel thus he sayes; 5
By those same bondes of happie love, that held us friends alwaies;
By our by-parted crowne, of which the moyetie is mine;
By God, to whom my soule must passe, and so in time may thine;
I pray thee, nay I cònjure thee, to nourish, as thine owne,
Thy niece, my daughter Argentile, till she to age be growne; 10
And then, as thou receivest it, resigne to her my throne.
A promise had for his bequest, the testatòr he dies;
But all that Edel undertooke, he afterwards denies.
Yet well he 'fosters for' a time the damsell that was growne
The fairest lady under heaven; whose beautie being knowne, 15
A many princes seeke her love; but none might her obtaine;
For grippell[710] Edel to himselfe her kingdome sought to gaine;
And for that cause from sight of such he did his ward restraine.
By chance one Curan, sonne unto a prince in Danske,[711] did see
The maid, with whom he fell in love, as much as man might bee. 20
Unhappie youth, what should he doe? his saint was kept in mewe;[712]
Nor he, nor any noble-man admitted to her vewe.
One while in melancholy fits he pines himselfe awaye;
Anon he thought by force of arms to win her if he maye:
And still against the kings restraint did secretly invay. 25
At length the high controller Love, whom none may disobay,
Imbased him from lordlines into a kitchen drudge,
That so at least of life or death she might become his judge.
Accesse so had to see and speake, he did his love bewray,
And tells his birth: her answer was, she husbandles would stay. 30
Meane while the king did beate his braines, his booty to atchieve,
Nor caring what became of her, so he by her might thrive;
At last his resolution was some pessant should her wive.
And (which was working to his wish) he did observe with joye
How Curan, whom he thought a drudge, scapt many an amorous
toye.[713] 35
The king, perceiving such his veine, promotes his vassal still,
Lest that the basenesse of the man should lett,[714] perhaps, his will.
Assured therefore of his love, but not suspecting who
The lover was, the king himselfe in his behalf did woe.
The lady resolute from love, unkindly takes that he 40
Should barre the noble, and unto so base a match agree:
And therefore shifting out of doores, departed thence by stealth;
Preferring povertie before a dangerous life in wealth.
When Curan heard of her escape, the anguish in his hart
Was more than much, and after her from court he did depart; 45
Forgetfull of himselfe, his birth, his country, friends, and all,
And only minding (whom he mist) the foundresse of his thrall.
Nor meanes he after to frequent or court, or stately townes,
But solitarily to live amongst the country grownes.[715]
A brace of years he lived thus, well pleased so to live, 50
And shepherd-like to feed a flocke himselfe did wholly give.
So wasting, love, by worke, and want, grew almost to the waine:
But then began a second love, the worser of the twaine.
A country wench, a neatherds maid, where Curan kept his sheepe,
Did feed her drove: and now on her was all the shepherds keepe. 55
He borrowed on the working daies his holy russets oft,[716]
And of the bacon's fat, to make his startops[717] blacke and soft.
And least his tarbox[718] should offend, he left it at the folde:
Sweete growte,[719] or whig,[720] his bottle had, as much as it
might holde.
A sheeve[721] of bread as browne as nut, and cheese as white as
snow, 60
And wildings,[722] or the seasons fruit he did in scrip bestow,
And whilst his py-bald curre did sleepe, and sheep-hooke lay him by,
On hollow quilles of oten straw he piped melody
But when he spyed her his saint, he wip'd his greasie shooes,
And clear'd the drivell from his beard, and thus the shepheard
wooes. 65
"I have, sweet wench, a peece of cheese, as good as tooth may chawe,
And bread and wildings souling[723] well, (and therewithall did drawe
His lardrie) and in 'yeaning' see yon crumpling[724] ewe, quoth
he,[725]
Did twinne this fall, and twin shouldst thou, if I might tup[726]
with thee.
Thou art too elvish, faith thou art, too elvish and too coy: 70
Am I, I pray thee, beggarly, that such a flock enjoye?
I wis I am not: yet that thou doest hold me in disdaine
Is brimme[727] abroad, and made a gybe to all that keepe this plaine.
There be as quaint[728] (at least that thinke themselves as
quaint) that crave
The match, that thou, I wot not why, maist, but mislik'st to
have. 75
How wouldst thou match? (for well I wot, thou art a female) I,
Her know not here that willingly with maiden-head would die.[729]
The plowmans labour hath no end, and he a churle will prove:
The craftsman hath more worke in hand then fitteth unto love:
The merchant, traffiquing abroad, suspects his wife at home: 80
A youth will play the wanton; and an old man prove a mome.[730]
Then chuse a shepheard: with the sun he doth his flocke unfold,
And all the day on hill or plaine he merrie chat can hold;
And with the sun doth folde againe; then jogging home betime,
He turnes a crab, or turnes a round, or sings some merry
ryme.[731] 85
Nor lacks he gleeful tales, whilst round the nut-brown bowl doth
trot;[732]
And sitteth singing care away, till he to bed be got:
Theare sleepes he soundly all the night, forgetting morrow-cares:
Nor feares he blasting of his corne, nor uttering of his wares;
Or storms by seas, or stirres on land, or cracke of credit lost; 90
Not spending franklier than his flocke, shall still defray the cost.
Well wot I, sooth they say, that say more quiet nights and daies
The shepheard sleeps and wakes, than he whose cattel he doth graize.
Beleeve me, lasse, a king is but a man, and so am I:
Content is worth a monarchie, and mischiefs hit the hie; 95
As late it did a king and his not dwelling far from hence,
Who left a daughter, save thyselfe, for fair a matchless wench."--
Here did he pause, as if his tongue had done his heart offence.
The neatresse,[733] longing for the rest, did egge him on to tell
How faire she was, and who she was. "She bore, quoth he, the
bell 100
For beautie: though I clownish am, I know what beautie is;
Or did I not, at seeing thee, I senceles were to mis.
* * * * *
Her stature comely, tall; her gate well graced; and her wit
To marvell at, not meddle with, as matchless I omit.
A globe-like head, a gold-like haire, a forehead smooth, and
hie, 105
An even nose; on either side did shine a grayish eie:
Two rosie cheeks, round ruddy lips, white just-set teeth within;
A mouth in meane;[734] and underneathe a round and dimpled chin.
Her snowie necke, with blewish veines, stood bolt upright upon
Her portly shoulders; beating balles her veined breasts, anon 110
Adde more to beautie. Wand-like was her middle falling still,
And rising whereas women rise: * * *--imagine nothing ill.
And more, her long, and limber armes had white and azure wrists;
And slender fingers aunswere to her smooth and lillie fists.
A legge in print, a pretie foot; conjecture of the rest:
For amorous eies, observing forme, think parts obscured best. 116
With these, O raretie! with these her tong of speech was spare;
But speaking, Venus seem'd to speake, the balle from Ide to bear.
With Ph[oe]be, Juno, and with both herselfe contends in face;
Wheare equall mixture did not want of milde and stately grace. 120
Her smiles were sober, and her lookes were chearefull unto all:
Even such as neither wanton seeme, nor waiward; mell,[735] nor gall.
A quiet minde, a patient moode, and not disdaining any;
Not gybing, gadding, gawdy: and sweete faculties had many.
A nimph, no tong, no heart, no eie, might praise, might wish,
might see; 125
For life, for love, for forme; more good, more worth, more faire
than shee.
Yea such an one, as such was none, save only she was such:
Of Argentile to say the most, were to be silent much."
I knew the lady very well, but worthles of such praise,
The neatresse said: and muse I do, a shepheard thus should
blaze 130
The 'coate' of beautie[736]. Credit me, thy latter speech bewraies
Thy clownish shape a coined shew. But wherefore dost thou weepe?
The shepheard wept, and she was woe, and both doe silence keepe.
"In troth, quoth he, I am not such, as seeming I professe:
But then for her, and now for thee, I from myselfe digresse. 135
Her loved I (wretch that I am a recreant to be)
I loved her, that hated love, but now I die for thee.
At Kirkland is my fathers court, and Curan is my name,
In Edels court sometimes in pompe, till love countrould the same:
But now--what now?--deare heart, how now? what ailest thou to
weepe?" 140
The damsell wept, and he was woe, and both did silence keepe.
I graunt, quoth she, it was too much that you did love so much:
But whom your former could not move, your second love doth touch.
Thy twice-beloved argentile submitteth her to thee,
And for thy double love presents herself a single fee,
In passion not in person chang'd, and I, my lord, am she. 146
They sweetly surfeiting in joy, and silent for a space,
When as the extasie had end, did tenderly imbrace;
And for their wedding, and their wish got fitting time and place.
Not England (for of Hengist then was named so this land) 150
Then Curan had an hardier knight; his force could none withstand:
Whose sheep-hooke laid apart, he then had higher things in hand.
First, making knowne his lawfull claime in Argentile her right,
He warr'd in Diria[737], and he wonne Bernicia[737] too in fight:
And so from trecherous Edel tooke at once his life and crowne, 155
And of Northumberland was king, long raigning in renowne.[738]

FOOTNOTES:

[708] Athen. Oxon.

[709] _Ibid._

[710] [griping or miserly.]

[711] [Denmark.]

[712] [in confinement.]

[713] The construction is, "How that many an amorous toy, or foolery of love, 'scaped Curan;" _i.e._ escaped from him, being off his guard.

[714] [hinder.]

[715] [grounds.]

[716] Ver. 56. _i.e._ holy-day russets [or best clothes.]

[717] [buskins or half boots.]

[718] [used for anointing sores in sheep, &c.]

[719] [small beer.]

[720] [whey or buttermilk.]

[721] [slice.]

[722] [crab apples.]

[723] [victualling.]

[724] [crooked horned.]

[725] Ver. 68. Eating. _PCC._

[726] [ram.]

[727] [public.]

[728] [nice or prudent.]

[729] V. 77. Her know I not her that. 1602.

[730] [blockhead.]

[731] Ver. 85. _i.e._ roasts a crab, or apple.

[732] V. 86. to tell, whilst round the bole doth trot. Ed. 1597.

[733] [female keeper of herds.]

[734] [middle sized.]

[735] [honey.]

[736] _i.e._ emblazon beauty's coat. Ed. 1597, 1602, 1612, read Coote.

[737] During the Saxon heptarchy, the kingdom of Northumberland (consisting of 6 northern counties, besides part of Scotland) was for a long time divided into two lesser sovereignties, viz. Deira (called here Diria) which contained the southern parts, and Bernicia, comprehending those which lay north.

[738] [This poem was subdivided into stanzas by Percy, and is so printed in previous editions of the _Reliques_.]

XXV.

CORIN'S FATE.

Only the three first stanzas of this song are ancient; these are extracted from a small quarto MS. in the Editor's possession, written in the time of Q. Elizabeth. As they seemed to want application, this has been attempted by a modern hand.

* * * * *

Corin, most unhappie swaine,
Whither wilt thou drive thy flocke?
Little foode is on the plaine;
Full of danger is the rocke:

Wolfes and beares doe kepe the woodes; 5
Forests tangled are with brakes:
Meadowes subject are to floodes;
Moores are full of miry lakes.

Yet to shun all plaine, and hill,
Forest, moore, and meadow-ground, 10
Hunger will as surely kill:
How may then reliefe be found?

[Such is hapless Corins fate:
Since my waywarde love begunne,
Equall doubts begett debate 15
What to seeke, and what to shunne.

Spare to speke, and spare to speed;
Yet to speke will move disdaine:
If I see her not I bleed,
Yet her sight augments my paine. 20

What may then poor Corin doe?
Tell me, shepherdes, quicklye tell;
For to linger thus in woe
Is the lover's sharpest hell.]

[***]

XXVI.

JANE SHORE.

Though so many vulgar errors have prevailed concerning this celebrated courtezan, no character in history has been more perfectly handed down to us. We have her portrait drawn by two masterly pens; the one has delineated the features of her person, the other those of her character and story. Sir Thomas More drew from the life, and Drayton has copied an original picture of her. The reader will pardon the length of the quotations, as they serve to correct many popular mistakes relating to her catastrophe. The first is from Sir Thomas More's _History of Richard III._ written in 1513, about thirty years after the death of Edw. IV.

"Now then by and by, as it wer for anger, not for covetise, the protector sent into the house of Shores wife (for her husband dwelled not with her) and spoiled her of al that ever she had, (above the value of 2 or 3 thousand marks) and sent her body to prison. And when he had a while laide unto her, for the maner sake, that she went about to bewitch him, and that she was of counsel with the lord chamberlein to destroy him: in conclusion when that no colour could fasten upon these matters, then he layd heinously to her charge the thing that herselfe could not deny, that al the world wist was true, and that natheles every man laughed at to here it then so sodainly so highly taken,--that she was naught of her body. And for thys cause (as a goodly continent prince, clene and fautless of himself, sent oute of heaven into this vicious world for the amendment of mens maners) he caused the bishop of London to put her to open pennance, going before the crosse in procession upon a sonday with a taper in her hand. In which she went in countenance and pace demure so womanly; and albeit she was out of al array save her kyrtle only, yet went she so fair and lovely, namelye, while the wondering of the people caste a comly rud in her chekes (of which she before had most misse) that her great shame wan her much praise among those that were more amorous of her body, then curious of her soule. And many good folke also, that hated her living, and glad wer to se sin corrected, yet pittied thei more her penance then rejoiced therin, when thei considred that the protector procured it more of a corrupt intent, then any virtuous affeccion.

"This woman was born in London, worshipfully frended, honestly brought up, and very wel maryed, saving somewhat too soone; her husbande an honest citizen, yonge, and goodly, and of good substance. But forasmuche as they were coupled ere she wer wel ripe, she not very fervently loved, for whom she never longed. Which was happely the thinge, that the more easily made her encline unto the king's appetite, when he required her. Howbeit the respect of his royaltie, the hope of gay apparel, ease, plesure, and other wanton welth, was able soone to perse a soft tender hearte. But when the king had abused her, anon her husband (as he was an honest man, and one that could his good, not presuming to touch a kinges concubine) left her up to him al together. When the king died, the lord chamberlen [Hastings] toke her:[739] which in the kinges daies, albeit he was sore enamoured upon her, yet he forbare her, either for reverence, or for a certain friendly faithfulness.

"Proper she was, and faire: nothing in her body that you wold have changed, but if you would have wished her somewhat higher. Thus say thei that knew her in her youthe. Albeit some that _now see her_ (_for yet she liveth_) deme her never to have bene wel visaged. Whose jugement seemeth me somewhat like, as though men should gesse the bewty of one longe before departed, by her scalpe taken out of the charnel-house; for now is she old, lene, withered, and dried up, nothing left but ryvilde skin, and hard bone. And yet being even such, whoso wel advise her visage, might gesse and devise which partes how filled, wold make it a fair face.

"Yet delited not men so much in her bewty, as in her pleasant behaviour. For a proper wit had she, and could both rede wel and write; mery in company, redy and quick of aunswer, neither mute nor ful of bable; sometime taunting without displeasure, and not without disport. The king would say, That he had three concubines, which in three divers properties diversly excelled. One the meriest, another the wiliest, the thirde the holiest harlot in his realme, as one whom no man could get out of the church lightly to any place, but it were to his bed. The other two wer somwhat greater personages, and natheles of their humilite content to be nameles, and to forbere the praise of those properties; but the meriest was the Shoris wife, in whom the king therfore toke special pleasure. For many he had, but her he loved, whose favour, to sai the trouth (for sinne it wer to belie the devil) she never abused to any mans hurt, but to many a mans comfort and relief. Where the king toke displeasure, she would mitigate and appease his mind: where men were out of favour, she wold bring them in his grace: for many, that had highly offended, shee obtained pardon: of great forfeitures she gate men remission: and finally in many weighty sutes she stode many men in gret stede, either for none or very smal rewardes, and those rather gay than rich: either for that she was content with the dede selfe well done, or for that she delited to be sued unto, and to show what she was able to do wyth the king, or for that wanton women and welthy be not alway covetous.

"I doubt not some shal think this woman too sleight a thing to be written of, and set amonge the remembraunces of great matters: which thei shal specially think, that happely shal esteme her only by that thei _now see her_. But me semeth the chaunce so much the more worthy to be remembred, in how much she is _now_ in the more beggerly condicion, unfrended and worne out of acquaintance, after good substance, after as grete favour with the prince, after as grete sute and seeking to with al those, that in those days had busynes to spede, as many other men were in their times, which be now famouse only by the infamy of their il dedes. Her doinges were not much lesse, albeit thei be muche lesse remembred because thei were not so evil. For men use, if they have an evil turne, to write it in marble; and whoso doth us a good tourne, we write it in duste.[740] Which is not worst proved by her; for _at this daye_ shee beggeth of many at this daye living, that at this day had begged, if shee had not bene." See More's _workes_, folio, bl. let. 1557, pp. 56, 57.

_Drayton_ has written a poetical epistle from this lady to her royal lover, and in his notes thereto he thus draws her portrait: "Her stature was meane, her haire of a dark yellow, her face round and full, her eye gray, delicate harmony being betwixt each part's proportion, and each proportion's colour, her body fat, white and smooth, her countenance cheerfull and like to her condition. The picture which I have seen of hers was such as she rose out of her bed in the morning, having nothing on but a rich mantle cast under one arme over her shoulder, and sitting on a chaire, on which her naked arm did lie. What her father's name was, or where she was borne, is not certainly knowne: but Shore, a young man of right goodly person, wealth and behaviour, abandoned her bed after the king had made her his concubine. Richard III. causing her to do open penance in Paul's church-yard, _commanded that no man should relieve her_, which the tyrant did, not so much for his hatred to sinne, but that by making his brother's life odious, he might cover his horrible treasons the more cunningly." See _England's Heroical Epistles_, by Mich. Drayton, Esq; Lond. 1637, 12mo.

An original picture of _Jane Shore_ almost naked is preserved in the Provost's Lodgings at Eton; and another picture of her is in the Provost's Lodge at King's College, Cambridge: to both which foundations she is supposed to have done friendly offices with _Edward IV._ A small quarto Mezzotinto print was taken from the former of these by _J. Faber_.

The history of _Jane Shore_ receives new illustration from the following letter of _K. Richard III._ which is preserved in the _Harl. MSS._ Num. 433, Art. 2378, but of which the copy transmitted to the Editor has been reduced to modern orthography, &c. It is said to have been addressed to _Russel_ bp. of Lincoln, lord chancellor, Anno 1484.

By the _King_.

"Right Reverend Father in God, &c. signifying unto you, that it is shewed unto us, that our Servant and Solicitor Thomas Lynom, marvellously blinded and abused with the late Wife of William Shore, now living in Ludgate by our commandment, hath made Contract of Matrimony with her, as it is said, and intendeth, to our full great marvel, to effect the same. WE, for many causes, would be sorry that he should be so disposed; pray you therefore to send for him, and in that ye goodly may, exhort, and stir him to the contrary: And if ye find him utterly set for to marry her, and none otherwise would be advertized, then, if it may stand with the laws of the church, we be content the time of marriage be deferred to our coming next to London; that upon sufficient Surety found of her good abearing, ye do so send for her Keeper, and discharge him of our said commandment, by Warrant of these, committing her to the rule, and guiding of her Father, or any other, by your direction, in the mean season. Given, &c.

"_RIC._ Rex."

It appears from two articles in the same MS. that K. Richard had granted to the said _Thomas Linom_ the office of King's Solicitor (Art. 134.), and also the Manor of Colmeworth, com. Bedf. to him and his Heirs Male (Art. 596.)

The following ballad is printed (with some corrections) from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys collection. Its full title is, _The woefull lamentation of Jane Shore, a goldsmith's wife in London, sometime king Edward IV. his concubine_. To the tune of _Live with me, &c._ (See the first volume.) To every stanza is annexed the following burthen:

"Then maids and wives in time amend,
For love and beauty will have end."

* * * * *