Chapter XVI: Book III: I (1)

THE COMPLAINT OF CONSCIENCE.

I shall begin this third book with an old allegoric Satire; a manner of moralizing, which, if it was not first introduced by the author of _Pierce Plowman's Visions_,[745] was at least chiefly brought into repute by that ancient Satirist. It is not so generally known that the kind of verse used in this ballad hath any affinity with the peculiar metre of that writer, for which reason I shall throw together some cursory remarks on that very singular species of versification, the nature of which has been so little understood.[746]

The following Song, intitled, _The Complaint of Conscience_, is printed from the Editor's folio Manuscript: Some corruptions in the old copy are here corrected; but with notice to the Reader, wherever it was judged necessary, by inclosing the corrections between inverted 'commas.'

* * * * *

[This poem entitled _Conscience_ is printed in Hales and
Furnivall's edition of the Percy folio MS. (vol. ii. p. 174), with
a long preface by Mr. Furnivall, on the earnest side of Early
English literature.

It will be seen from the foot-notes that Percy left many of his
corrections unnoticed.]

* * * * *

As I walked of late by 'an' wood side,[747]
To God for to meditate was my entent;
Where under a hawthorne I suddenlye spyed[748]
A silly poore creature ragged and rent,
With bloody teares his face was besprent,[749] 5
His fleshe and his color consumed away,[749]
And his garments they were all mire, mucke, and clay.[750]

This made me muse, and much 'to' desire
To know what kind of man hee shold bee;
I stept to him straight, and did him require 10
His name and his secretts to shew unto mee.
His head he cast up, and wooful was hee,
My name, quoth he, is the cause of my care,
And makes me scorned, and left here so bare.

Then straightway he turn'd him, and pray'd 'me' sit downe,[751] 15
And I will, saithe he, declare my whole greefe;
My name is called CONSCIENCE:--wheratt he did frowne,
He pined to repeate it, and grinded his teethe,
'Thoughe now, silly wretche, I'm denyed all releef,'[752]
'Yet' while I was young, and tender of yeeres,[753] 20
I was entertained with kinges, and with peeres.

There was none in the court that lived in such fame,[754]
For with the kings councell 'I' sate in commission;[755]
Dukes, earles, and barrons esteem'd of my name;
And how that I liv'd there needs no repetition: 25
I was ever holden in honest condition,
For howsoever the lawes went in Westminster-hall,
When sentence was given, for me they wold call.

No incomes at all the landlords wold take,
But one pore peny, that was their fine; 30
And that they acknowledged to be for my sake.
The poore wold doe nothing without councell mine:
I ruled the world with the right line:
For nothing was passed betweene foe and friend,[756]
But Conscience was called to bee at 'the' end.[757] 35

Noe bargaines, nor merchandize merchants wold make[758]
But I was called a wittenesse therto:
No use for noe money, nor forfett wold take,
But I wold controule them, if that they did soe:
'And' that makes me live now in great woe, 40
For then came in Pride, Sathan's disciple,
That is now entertained with all kind of people.[759]

He brought with him three, whose names 'thus they call'[760]
That is Covetousnes, Lecherye, Usury, beside:
They never prevail'd, till they had wrought my downefall; 45
Soe Pride was entertained, but Conscience decried,[761]
And 'now ever since' abroad have I tryed[762]
To have had entertainment with some one or other;
But I am rejected, and scorned of my brother.

Then went I to the Court the gallants to winn, 50
But the porter kept me out of the gate:[763]
To Bartlemew Spittle[764] to pray for my sinne,[765]
They bade me goe packe, it was fitt for my state;[766]
Goe, goe, threed-bare Conscience, and seeke thee a mate.
Good Lord, long preserve my king, prince, and queene, 55
With whom evermore I esteemed have been.[767]

Then went I to London, where once I did 'dwell':[768]
But they bade away with me, when they knew my name;
For he will undoe us to bye and to sell! 59
They bade me goe packe me, and hye me for shame;
They lought[769] at my raggs, and there had good game;
This is old threed-bare Conscience, that dwelt with saint Peter:
But they wold not admitt me to be a chimney-sweeper.

Not one wold receive me, the Lord 'he' doth know;[770]
I having but one poor pennye in my purse, 65
On an awle and some patches I did it bestow;[771]
'For' I thought better cobble shooes than doe worse.[772]
Straight then all the coblers began for to curse,[773]
And by statute wold prove me a rogue, and forlorne,[774]
And whipp me out of towne to 'seeke' where I was borne.[775] 70

Then did I remember, and call to my minde,
The Court of Conscience where once I did sit:[776]
Not doubting but there I some favor shold find,[777]
For my name and the place agreed soe fit;
But there of my purpose I fayled a whit, 75
For 'thoughe' the judge us'd my name in everye 'commission,'[778]
The lawyers with their quillets[779] wold get 'my' dismission.[780]

Then Westminster-hall was noe place for me;
Good lord! how the Lawyers began to assemble,[781]
And fearfull they were, lest there I shold bee! 80
The silly poore clarkes began for to tremble;
I showed them my cause, and did not dissemble;
Soe they gave me some money my charges to beare,[782]
But swore me on a booke I must never come there.

Next the Merchants said, Counterfeite, get thee away,[783] 85
Dost thou remember how wee thee found?
We banisht thee the country beyond the salt sea,
And sett thee on shore in the New-found land;
And there thou and wee most friendly shook hand,[784]
And we were right glad when thou didst refuse us;[785]
For when we wold reape profitt here thou woldst accuse
us.[786] 91

Then had I noe way, but for to goe on[787]
To Gentlemens houses of an ancyent name;
Declaring my greeffes, and there I made moane,
'Telling' how their forefathers held me in fame:[788] 95
And at letting their farmes 'how always I came'.[789]
They sayd, Fye upon thee! we may thee curse:
'Theire' leases continue, and we fare the worse.[790]

And then I was forced a begging to goe
To husbandmens houses, who greeved right sore, 100
And sware that their landlords had plagued them so[791]
That they were not able to keepe open doore,
Nor nothing had left to give to the poore:[792]
Therefore to this wood I doe me repayre,[793]
Where hepps and hawes, that is my best fare. 105

Yet within this same desert some comfort I have
Of Mercy, of Pittye, and of Almes-deeds;
Who have vowed to company me to my grave.
Wee are 'all' put to silence, and live upon weeds,[794]
'And hence such cold house-keeping proceeds':[795] 110
Our banishment is its utter decay,[796]
The which the riche glutton will answer one day.

Why then, I said to him, me-thinks it were best
To goe to the Clergie; for dailye they preach
Eche man to love you above all the rest;[797] 115
Of Mercye, and Pittie, and Almes-'deeds', they teach.
O, said he, noe matter of a pin what they preach,[798]
For their wives and their children soe hange them upon,[799]
That whosoever gives almes they will[800] give none.[801]

Then laid he him down, and turned him away, 120
'And' prayd me to goe, and leave him to rest.
I told him, I haplie might yet see the day[802]
For him and his fellowes to live with the best.[803]
First, said he, banish Pride, then all England were blest;[804]
For then those wold love us, that now sell their land,[805] 125
And then good 'house-keeping wold revive' out of hand.[806]

FOOTNOTES:

[745] [The correct title is _William's Vision of Piers Plowman_. It is William (the author) who has the vision of Piers Plowman.]

[746] [This essay is printed as an Appendix.]

[747] Ver. 1. one, MS.

[748] [V. 3. espyed, MS.]

[749] [Between vv. 5, 6 the MS. has this line, "with turning and winding his bodye was toste."]

[750] [After v. 7, the MS. has the following lines:--

"good lord! of my liffe deprive me, I pray
for I silly wretch am ashamed of my name!
my name, "quoth hee," is the cause of my care,
and I cursse my godfathers that gave me the same!"

Percy omits three of these, and transfers the third line to v. 13.]

[751] V. 15. him, MS.

[752] V. 19. not in MS.

[753] [V. 20. _for_ in place of _yet_, MS.]

[754] [Ver. 22. in all the court.]

[755] V. 23. he sate, MS.

[756] [V. 34. that was passed.]

[757] V. 35. an end, MS.

[758] [V. 36. Noe merchandize nor bargaines the merchants wold make.]

[759] [V. 42. now is.]

[760] V. 43. they be these, MS.

[761] V. 46. was deride, MS.

[762] [V. 47. Yet still abroad have I tried.]

[763] [Ver. 51. gates.]

[764] [St. Bartholomew's Hospital.]

[765] [V. 52. sinnes.]

[766] V. 53. packe me, MS.

[767] [V. 56. have esteemed.]

[768] V. 57. wonne, MS.

[769] [laughed.]

[770] [V. 64. the Lord God doth.]

[771] [V. 66. of an.]

[772] [V. 67. I thought better to cobble shoes than to doe worse.]

[773] [V. 68. all they cobblers.]

[774] [V. 69. and by statute thé wold prove me I was a rouge and forlorne.]

[775] [V. 70. And they whipt me out of towne to see where I was borne.]

[776] [Ver. 72. they Court.]

[777] [V. 73. some favor I.]

[778] [V. 76. did use my name in everye condicion.]

[779] [quibbles.]

[780] [V. 77. for lawyers get a.]

[781] [V. 79. good god.]

[782] [V. 83. soe then they.]

[783] [V. 85. then the merchants.]

[784] [V. 89. hands.]

[785] [V. 90. verry glad ... did ...]

[786] [V. 91. wold.]

[787] [V. 92. goe an.]

[788] [V. 95. and how ... had held, MS.]

[789] [Ver. 96. and in letting of their ffarmes I always used the same.]

[790] [V. 98. they have leases.]

[791] [V. 101. who sware ... so sore.]

[792] [V. 103. thé had.]

[793] [V. 104. doe repayre.]

[794] V. 109. ill, MS.

[795] V. 110. not in MS.

[796] [V. 111. their utter.]

[797] [V. 115. of pittie and of almes they doe teach.]

[798] [V. 117. doe preach.]

[799] [V. 118. hangs.]

[800] We ought in justice and truth to read '_can_

[801] V. 119. almes-deeds, MS.

[802] [Ver. 122. I might happen to see.]

[803] [V. 123. to have him.]

[804] [V. 124. you must banish pride and then.]

[805] [V. 125. and then ... sells their lands.]

[806] V. 126. houses every where wold be kept, MS.

II.

PLAIN TRUTH AND BLIND IGNORANCE.

This excellent old ballad is preserved in the little ancient miscellany, intitled, _The Garland of Goodwill_.--_Ignorance_ is here made to speak in the broad Somersetshire dialect. The scene we may suppose to be Glastonbury Abbey.

* * * * *

TRUTH.

God speed you, ancient father,
And give you a good daye;
What is the cause, I praye you
So sadly here you staye?
And that you keep such gazing 5
On this decayed place,
The which, for superstition,
Good princes down did raze?

IGNORANCE.

Chill[807] tell thee, by my vazen[808],
That zometimes che[809] have knowne 10
A vair and goodly abbey
Stand here of bricke and stone;
And many a holy vrier[810],
As ich[811] may say to thee,
Within these goodly cloysters
Che did full often zee. 15

TRUTH.

Then I must tell thee, father,
In truthe and veritiè,
A sorte of greater hypocrites
Thou couldst not likely see; 20
Deceiving of the simple
With false and feigned lies:
But such an order truly
Christ never did devise.

IGNORANCE.

Ah! ah! che zmell thee now, man; 25
Che know well what thou art;
A vellow of mean learning,
Thee was not worth a vart:
Vor when we had the old lawe,
A merry world was then; 30
And every thing was plenty
Among all zorts of men.

TRUTH.

Thou givest me an answer,
As did the Jewes sometimes
Unto the prophet Jeremye, 35
When he accus'd their crimes;
'Twas merry, sayd the people,
And joyfull in our rea'me,
When we did offer spice-cakes
Unto the queen of heav'n. 40

IGNORANCE.

Chill tell thee what, good vellowe,
Before the vriers went hence,
A bushell of the best wheatè
Was zold vor vourteen pence;
And vorty egges a penny, 45
That were both good and newe;
And this che zay my zelf have zeene,
And yet ich am no Jewe.

TRUTH.

Within the sacred bible
We find it written plain, 50
The latter days should troublesome
And dangerous be, certaine;
That we should be self-lovers,
And charity wax colde;
Then 'tis not true religion 55
That makes thee grief to holde.

IGNORANCE.

Chill tell thee my opinion plaine,
And choul'd[812] that well ye knewe,
Ich care not for the bible booke;
Tis too big to be true.
Our blessed ladyes psalter
Zhall for my money goe;
Zuch pretty prayers, as there bee[813],
The bible cannot zhowe.

TRUTH.

Nowe hast thou spoken trulye, 65
For in that book indeede
No mention of our lady,
Or Romish saint we read:
For by the blessed Spirit
That book indited was, 70
And not by simple persons,
As was the foolish masse.

IGNORANCE.

Cham[814] zure they were not voolishe
That made the masse, che trowe;
Why, man,'tis all in Latine, 75
And vools no Latine knowe.
Were not our fathers wise men,
And they did like it well;
Who very much rejoyced
To heare the zacring bell?[815] 80

TRUTH.

But many kinges and prophets,
As I may say to thee,
Have wisht the light that you have,
And could it never see:
For what art thou the better 85
A Latin song to heare,
And understandest nothing,
That they sing in the quiere?

IGNORANCE.

O hold thy peace, che pray thee,
The noise was passing trim 90
To heare the vriers zinging,
As we did enter in;
And then to zee the rood-loft
Zo bravely zet with zaints;--
But now to zee them wandring 95
My heart with zorrow vaints.

TRUTH.

The Lord did give commandment,
No image thou shouldst make,
Nor that unto idolatry
You should your self betake: 100
The golden calf of Israel
Moses did therefore spoile;
And Baal's priests and temple
Were brought to utter foile.

IGNORANCE.

But our lady of Walsinghame 105
Was a pure and holy zaint,
And many men in pilgrimage
Did shew to her complaint.
Yea with zweet Thomas Becket,
And many other moe: 110
The holy maid of Kent[816] likewise
Did many wonders zhowe.

TRUTH.

Such saints are well agreeing
To your profession sure;
And to the men that made them 115
So precious and so pure;
The one for being a traytoure,
Met an untimely death;
The other eke for treason
Did end her hateful breath. 120

IGNORANCE.

Yea, yea, it is no matter,
Dispraise them how you wille:
But zure they did much goodnesse;
Would they were with us stille!
We had our holy water, 125
And holy bread likewise,
And many holy reliques
We zaw before our eyes.

TRUTH.

And all this while they fed you
With vain and empty showe, 130
Which never Christ commanded,
As learned doctors knowe:
Search then the holy scriptures,
And thou shalt plainly see
That headlong to damnation 135
They alway trained thee.

IGNORANCE.

If it be true, good vellowe,
As thou dost zay to mee,
Unto my heavenly fader
Alone then will I flee: 140
Believing in the Gospel,
And passion of his zon,
And with the zubtil papistes
Ich have for ever done.

FOOTNOTES:

[807] [I will.]

[808] _i.e._ faithen: as in the Midland counties they say housen, closen, for houses, closes. _A._

[809] [I.]

[810] [friar.]

[811] [I.]

[812] [I would.]

[813] Probably alluding to the illuminated Psalters, Missals, &c.

[814] [I am.]

[815] [the sacring bell was rung to give notice of the elevation of the host.]

[816] By name Eliz. Barton, executed Apr. 21, 1534. Stow, p. 570.

III.

THE WANDERING JEW.

The story of the Wandering Jew is of considerable antiquity: it had obtained full credit in this part of the world before the year 1228, as we learn from Mat. Paris. For in that year, it seems, there came an Armenian archbishop into England, to visit the shrines and reliques preserved in our churches; who, being entertained at the monastery of St. Albans, was asked several questions relating to his country, &c. Among the rest a monk, who sat near him, inquired, "if he had ever seen or heard of the famous person named Joseph, that was so much talked of; who was present at our Lord's crucifixion and conversed with him, and who was still alive in confirmation of the Christian faith." The archbishop answered, That the fact was true. And afterwards one of his train, who was well known to a servant of the abbot's, interpreting his master's words, told them in French, "That his lord knew the person they spoke of very well: that he had dined at his table but a little while before he left the East: that he had been Pontius Pilate's porter, by name Cartaphilus; who, when they were dragging Jesus out of the door of the Judgment-hall, struck him with his fist on the back, saying, 'Go faster, Jesus, go faster: why dost thou linger?' Upon which Jesus looked at him with a frown and said, 'I indeed am going, but thou shall tarry till I come.' Soon after he was converted, and baptized by the name of Joseph. He lives for ever, but at the end of every hundred years falls into an incurable illness, and at length into a fit or ecstacy, out of which when he recovers, he returns to the same state of youth he was in when Jesus suffered, being then about thirty years of age. He remembers all the circumstances of the death and resurrection of Christ, the saints that arose with him, the composing of the apostles' creed, their preaching, and dispersion; and is himself a very grave and holy person." This is the substance of Matthew Paris's account, who was himself a monk of St. Albans, and was living at the time when this Armenian archbishop made the above relation.

Since his time several impostors have appeared at intervals under the name and character of the _Wandering Jew_; whose several histories may be seen in Calmet's _Dictionary of the Bible_. See also the _Turkish Spy_, vol. ii. book 3, let. 1. The story that is copied in the following ballad is of one, who appeared at Hamburgh in 1547, and pretended he had been a Jewish shoemaker at the time of Christ's crucifixion.--The ballad however seems to be of later date. It is preserved in black-letter in the Pepys collection.

* * * * *

[This wondrous myth has found its way into many literatures, and
numerous theories have been brought forward to account for its
universality; but the only foundation for it appears to be in
Christ's words--"tarry till I come." Mons. Paul Lacroix, however,
suggests that it took its rise in a grand and beautiful allegory
in which the Hebrew race were personified under the figure of the
Everlasting Wanderer. Professor Child makes the following pertinent
remark in his _English and Scottish Ballads_ (vol. viii. p. 78).
"It will be noticed that in the second form of the legend, the
punishment of perpetual existence, which gives rise to the old
names, _Judæus non mortalis_, _Ewiger Jude_, is aggravated by a
condemnation to incessant change of place, which is indicated by a
corresponding name, _Wandering Jew_, _Juif Errant_, &c."

In the Middle Ages it was supposed by some that Cain was the
Wandering Jew, but the Mahometan belief was fixed upon Samiri, who,
during the absence of Moses, enticed the people to worship the
golden calf. In G. Weil's _The Bible, the Koran, and the Talmud_,
1846 (p. 127), we read, "Moses then summoned Samiri, and would have
put him to death instantly, but Allah directed that he should be
sent into banishment. Ever since that time he roams like a wild
beast throughout the world; everyone shuns him and purifies the
ground on which his feet have stood; and he himself, whenever he
approaches men, exclaims, 'Touch me not.'" (Quoted in Buckle's
_Common Place Book_. _Works_, vol. ii. p. 502, 1872.)

The legend has been localized in various parts of the world and
connected with other myths. According to Mr. Baring Gould, a
similar curse to that under which the Wandering Jew is living is
supposed to have been inflicted upon the gipsies, on account of
their refusal to shelter the Virgin and Child in the flight into
Egypt.

The last recorded appearance of the Wandering Jew was at Brussels
in April, 1774, and the wanderer's name was Isaac Laquedem. The
name of the Hamburgh impostor, mentioned above by Percy, was
Ahasuerus.]

* * * * *

When as in faire Jerusalem
Our Saviour Christ did live,
And for the sins of all the worlde
His own deare life did give;
The wicked Jewes with scoffes and scornes 5
Did dailye him molest,
That never till he left his life,
Our Saviour could not rest.

When they had crown'd his head with thornes,
And scourg'd him to disgrace, 10
In scornfull sort they led him forthe
Unto his dying place;
Where thousand thousands in the streete
Beheld him passe along,
Yet not one gentle heart was there, 15
That pityed this his wrong.

Both old and young reviled him,
As in the streete he wente,
And nought he found but churlish tauntes,
By every ones consente: 20
His owne deare crosse he bore himselfe,
A burthen far too great,
Which made him in the street to fainte,
With blood and water sweat.

Being weary thus, he sought for rest, 25
To ease his burthened soule,
Upon a stone; the which a wretch
Did churlishly controule;
And sayd, Awaye, thou king of Jewes,
Thou shalt not rest thee here; 30
Pass on; thy execution place
Thou seest nowe draweth neare.

And thereupon he thrust him thence;
At which our Saviour sayd,
I sure will rest, but thou shalt walke, 35
And have no journey stayed.
With that this cursed shoemaker,
For offering Christ this wrong,
Left wife and children, house and all,
And went from thence along. 40

Where after he had seene the bloude
Of Jesus Christ thus shed,
And to the crosse his bodye nail'd,
Awaye with speed he fled
Without returning backe againe 45
Unto his dwelling place,
And wandred up and downe the worlde,
A runnagate most base.

No resting could he finde at all,
No ease, nor hearts content; 50
No house, nor home, nor biding place:
But wandring forth he went
From towne to towne in foreigne landes,
With grieved conscience still,
Repenting for the heinous guilt 55
Of his fore-passed ill.

Thus after some fewe ages past
In wandring up and downe;
He much again desired to see
Jerusalems renowne, 60
But finding it all quite destroyd,
He wandred thence with woe,
Our Saviours wordes, which he had spoke,
To verifie and showe.

"I'll rest, sayd hee, but thou shalt walke," 65
So doth this wandring Jew
From place to place, but cannot rest
For seeing countries newe;
Declaring still the power of him,
Whereas he comes or goes, 70
And of all things done in the east,
Since Christ his death, he showes.

The world he hath still compast round
And seene those nations strange,
That hearing of the name of Christ, 75
Their idol gods doe change:
To whom he hath told wondrous thinges
Of time forepast, and gone,
And to the princes of the worlde
Declares his cause of moane: 80

Desiring still to be dissolv'd,
And yeild his mortal breath;
But, if the Lord hath thus decreed,
He shall not yet see death.
For neither lookes he old nor young, 85
But as he did those times,
When Christ did suffer on the crosse
For mortall sinners crimes.

He hath past through many a foreigne place,
Arabia, Egypt, Africa, 90
Grecia, Syria, and great Thrace,
And throughout all Hungaria.
Where Paul and Peter preached Christ,
Those blest apostles deare;
There he hath told our Saviours wordes, 95
In countries far, and neare.

And lately in Bohemia,
With many a German towne;
And now in Flanders, as tis thought,
He wandreth up and downe: 100
Where learned men with him conferre
Of those his lingering dayes,
And wonder much to heare him tell
His journeyes, and his wayes.

If people give this Jew an almes, 105
The most that he will take
Is not above a groat a time:
Which he, for Jesus' sake,
Will kindlye give unto the poore,
And thereof make no spare, 110
Affirming still that Jesus Christ
Of him hath dailye care.

He ne'er was seene to laugh nor smile,
But weepe and make great moane;
Lamenting still his miseries, 115
And dayes forepast and gone:
If he heare any one blaspheme,
Or take God's name in vaine,
He telles them that they crucifie
Their Saviour Christe againe. 120

If you had seene his death, saith he,
As these mine eyes have done,
Ten thousand thousand times would yee
His torments think upon:
And suffer for his sake all paine 125
Of torments, and all woes.
These are his wordes and eke his life
Whereas he comes or goes.

IV.

THE LYE,

BY SIR WALTER RALEIGH,

Is found in a very scarce miscellany intitled "_Davison's Poems, or a poeticall Rapsodie divided into sixe books_.... The 4th impression newly corrected and augmented, and put into a forme more pleasing to the reader. Lond. 1621, 12mo." This poem is reported to have been written by its celebrated author the night before his execution, Oct. 29, 1618. But this must be a mistake, for there were at least two editions of Davison's poems before that time, one in 1608,[817] the other in 1611.[818] So that unless this poem was an after-insertion in the 4th edit. it must have been written long before the death of Sir Walter: perhaps it was composed soon after his condemnation in 1603. See Oldys's _Life of Sir W. Raleigh_, p. 173, fol.

* * * * *

[Hallam asserted that this favourite poem had been ascribed to
Raleigh without evidence and without probability. Ritson affirmed
that F. Davison was the author, and Ellis supported the claims of
Joshua Sylvester, but Dr. Hannah has proved conclusively that it
was really written by Raleigh. It was certainly composed before
1608, and probably about the period of its author's marriage and
his consequent imprisonment in the Tower. Dr. Hannah has brought
together a large amount of illustrative evidence in his interesting
edition of the _Courtly Poets_ (1872), and he shows that the
answerers of the poem attributed it to Raleigh. One of the answers
commences as follows--

"Go, echo of the mind, a careless truth protest;
Make answer that rude Rawly no stomach can digest."

He also draws attention to a transcript of the poem among the
Chetham MSS., made not long after Raleigh's death, and signed "Wa.
Raleigh."

In that remarkable book, _Sylvester's Remains_, printed at the
end of the translation of Du Bartas, 1641, _The Soules Errand_ is
inserted with some poor additional verses.]

* * * * *

Goe, soule, the bodies guest,
Upon a thankelesse arrant;
Feare not to touche the best,
The truth shall be thy warrant:
Goe, since I needs must dye, 5
And give the world the lye.

Goe tell the court, it glowes
And shines like rotten wood;
Goe tell the church it showes
What's good, and doth no good: 10
If church and court reply,
Then give them both the lye.

Tell potentates they live
Acting by others actions;
Not lov'd unlesse they give, 15
Not strong but by their factions;
If potentates reply,
Give potentates the lye.

Tell men of high condition,
That rule affairs of state, 20
Their purpose is ambition,
Their practise onely hate;
And if they once reply,
Then give them all the lye.

Tell them that brave it most, 25
They beg for more by spending,
Who in their greatest cost
Seek nothing but commending;
And if they make reply,
Spare not to give the lye. 30

Tell zeale, it lacks devotion;
Tell love it is but lust;
Tell time, it is but motion;
Tell flesh, it is but dust;
And wish them not reply, 35
For thou must give the lye.

Tell age, it daily wasteth;
Tell honour, how it alters;
Tell beauty, how she blasteth;
Tell favour, how she falters; 40
And as they shall reply,
Give each of them the lye.

Tell wit, how much it wrangles
In tickle points of nicenesse;
Tell wisedome, she entangles 45
Herselfe in over-wisenesse;
And if they do reply,
Straight give them both the lye.

Tell physicke of her boldnesse;
Tell skill, it is pretension; 50
Tell charity of coldness;
Tell law, it is contention;
And as they yield reply,
So give them still the lye.

Tell fortune of her blindnesse; 55
Tell nature of decay;
Tell friendship of unkindnesse;
Tell justice of delay:
And if they dare reply,
Then give them all the lye. 60

Tell arts, they have no soundnesse,
But vary by esteeming;
Tell schooles, they want profoundnesse,
And stand too much on seeming:
If arts and schooles reply, 65
Give arts and schooles the lye.

Tell faith, it's fled the citie;
Tell how the countrey erreth;
Tell, manhood shakes off pitie;
Tell, vertue least preferreth: 70
And, if they doe reply,
Spare not to give the lye.

So, when thou hast, as I
Commanded thee, done blabbing,
Although to give the lye 75
Deserves no less than stabbing,
Yet stab at thee who will,
No stab the soule can kill.

FOOTNOTES:

[817] _Catalog. of T. Rawlinson_, 1727.

[818] _Cat. of Sion coll. library._ This is either lost or mislaid.

V.

VERSES BY KING JAMES I.

In the first edition of this book were inserted, by way of specimen of his majesty's poetic talents, some Punning Verses made on the disputations at Sterling: but it having been suggested to the Editor, that the king only gave the quibbling commendations in prose, and that some obsequious court-rhymer put them into metre;[819] it was thought proper to exchange them for two _Sonnets_ of K. James's own composition. James was a great versifier, and therefore out of the multitude of his poems we have here selected two, which (to shew our impartiality) are written in his best and his worst manner. The first would not dishonour any writer of that time; the second is a most complete example of the Bathos.

* * * * *

[James I. commenced the practice of poetry at an early age, and
his first book was printed at Edinburgh by T. Vautroullier, in
1584, under the title of _The Essays of a Prentise in the divine
art of Poesie_. The king's next poetical venture was entitled,
_His Majesty's Poeticall Exercises at Vacant Houres_. Printed at
Edinburgh, by Robert Waldegrave, printer to the King's Majesty in
1591.]

* * * * *

A SONNET ADDRESSED BY KING JAMES TO HIS SON PRINCE HENRY.

From K. James's works in folio: Where is also printed another called _his Majesty's_ OWN _Sonnet_; it would perhaps be too cruel to infer from thence that this was _not_ his Majesty's _own_ Sonnet.

* * * * *

God gives not kings the stile of Gods in vaine,
For on his throne his scepter do they swey:
And as their subjects ought them to obey,
So kings should feare and serve their God againe.

If then ye would enjoy a happie reigne,
Observe the statutes of our heavenly king;
And from his law make all your laws to spring;
Since his lieutenant here ye should remaine.

Rewarde the just, be stedfast, true and plaine;
Represse the proud, maintayning aye the right;
Walke always so, as ever in HIS sight,
Who guardes the godly, plaguing the prophane.
And so ye shall in princely vertues shine,
Resembling right your mightie king divine.

* * * * *

A SONNET OCCASIONED BY THE BAD WEATHER WHICH HINDRED THE SPORTS AT NEWMARKET IN JANUARY 1616.

This is printed from Drummond of Hawthornden's works, folio: where also may be seen some verses of Lord Stirling's upon this Sonnet, which concludes with the finest Anticlimax I remember to have seen.

* * * * *

How cruelly these catives do conspire?
What loathsome love breeds such a baleful band
Betwixt the cankred king of Creta land,[820]
That melancholy old and angry sire,

And him, who wont to quench debate and ire 5
Among the Romans, when his ports were clos'd?[821]
But now his double face is still dispos'd,
With Saturn's help, to freeze us at the fire.

The earth ore-covered with a sheet of snow,
Refuses food to fowl, to bird, and beast: 10
The chilling cold lets every thing to grow,
And surfeits cattle with a starving feast.
Curs'd be that love and mought[822] continue short,
Which kills all creatures, and doth spoil our sport.

FOOTNOTES:

[819] See a folio intitled _The Muses welcome to King James_.

[820] Saturn.

[821] Janus.

[822] _i.e._ may it.

VI.

K. JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY.

The common popular ballad of _King John and the Abbot_ seems to have been abridged and modernized about the time of James I. from one much older, intitled, _King John and the Bishop of Canterbury_. The Editor's folio MS. contains a copy of this last, but in too corrupt a state to be reprinted; it however afforded many lines worth reviving, which will be found inserted in the ensuing stanzas.

The archness of the following questions and answers hath been much admired by our old ballad-makers; for besides the two copies above mentioned, there is extant another ballad on the same subject (but of no great antiquity or merit), intitled, _King Olfrey and the Abbot_.[823] Lastly, about the time of the civil wars, when the cry ran against the Bishops, some Puritan worked up the same story into a very doleful ditty, to a solemn tune, concerning _King Henry and a Bishop_, with this stinging moral:

"Unlearned men hard matters out can find,
When learned bishops princes eyes do blind."

* * * * *

[All the copies of this ballad are of late date, but Mr. Chappell
says that the story upon which it is founded can be traced back
to the fifteenth century, and Dr. Rimbault so traces it to the
_Adventures of Howleglas_, printed in the Lower Saxon dialect
in 1483. Wynkyn de Worde printed in 1511 a collection of riddles
translated from the French, with the title _Demaundes Joyous_,
which are like those propounded by King John to the Abbot. Prof.
Child points out that by this link the ballad is connected with a
tolerably large literature of wit combats of the middle ages. (See
_English and Scottish Ballads_, vol. viii. p. 3.)

Copies of the puritan ballad referred to above are in the Pepys,
Douce, and Roxburghe collections. It commences as follows--

"In Popish times, when bishops proud
In England did bear sway,
Their lordships did like princes live,
And kept all at obey."

The ballad entitled _King John and Bishoppe_, in the folio MS. to
which Percy refers, is printed at the end of the following ballad.]

* * * * *

_The following is chiefly printed from an ancient black-letter
copy, to "The tune of Derry down."_

An ancient story Ile tell you anon
Of a notable prince, that was called king John;
And he ruled England with maine and with might,
For he did great wrong, and maintein'd little right.

And Ile tell you a story, a story so merrye, 5
Concerning the Abbot of Canterbùrye;
How for his house-keeping, and high renowne,
They rode poste for him to fair London towne.

An hundred men, the king did heare say,
The abbot kept in his house every day; 10
And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt,
In velvet coates waited the abbot about.

How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee,
Thou keepest a farre better house than mee,
And for thy house-keeping and high renowne, 15
I feare thou work'st treason against my crown.

My liege, quo' the abbot, I would it were knowne,
I never spend nothing, but what is my owne;
And I trust, your grace will doe me no deere,[824]
For spending of my owne true-gotten geere. 20

Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is highe,
And now for the same thou needest must dye;
For except thou canst answer me questions three,
Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodìe.

And first, quo' the king, when I'm in this stead, 25
With my crowne of golde so faire on my head,
Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,
Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe.

Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt,
How soone I may ride the whole worlde about. 30
And at the third question thou must not shrink,
But tell me here truly what I do think.

O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt,
Nor I cánnot answer your grace as yet:
But if you will give me but three weekes space, 35
Ile do my endeavour to answer your grace.

Now three weeks space to thee will I give,
And that is the longest time thou hast to live;
For if thou dost not answer my questions three,
Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to mee. 40

Away rode the abbot all sad at that word,
And he rode to Cambridge, and Oxenford;
But never a doctor there was so wise,
That could with his learning an answer devise.

Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold, 45
And he mett his shepheard a going to fold:
How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home;
What newes do you bring us from good king John?

"Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must give;
That I have but three days more to live: 50
For if I do not answer him questions three,
My head will be smitten from my bodìe.

The first is to tell him there in that stead,
With his crowne of golde so fair on his head,
Among all his liege men so noble of birth, 55
To within one penny of what he is worth.

The seconde, to tell him, without any doubt,
How soone he may ride this whole world about:
And at the third question I must not shrinke,
But tell him there truly what he does thinke." 60

Now cheare up, sire abbot, did you never hear yet,
That a fool he may learn a wise man witt?
Lend me horse, and serving men, and your apparel,
And I'll ride to London to answere your quarrel.

Nay frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee, 65
I am like your lordship, as ever may bee:
And if you will but lend me your gowne,
There is none shall knowe us at fair London towne.

"Now horses, and serving-men thou shalt have,
With sumptuous array most gallant and brave; 70
With crozier, and miter, and rochet, and cope,
Fit to appeare 'fore our fader the pope."

Now welcome, sire abbot, the king he did say,
Tis well thou'rt come back to keepe thy day;
For and if thou canst answer my questions three, 75
Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee.

And first, when thou seest me here in this stead.
With my crown of golde so fair on my head,
Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,
Tell me to one penny what I am worth. 80

"For thirty pence our Saviour was sold
Amonge the false Jewes, as I have bin told;
And twenty nine is the worth of thee,
For I thinke, thou art one penny worser than hee."

The king he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel[825], 85
I did not think I had been worth so littel!
--Now secondly tell me, without any doubt,
How soone I may ride this whole world about.

"You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same,
Until the next morning he riseth againe; 90
And then your grace need not make any doubt,
But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about."

The king he laughed, and swore by St. Jone,
I did not think, it could be gone so soone!
--Now from the third question thou must not shrinke,
But tell me here truly what I do thinke. 96

"Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry:
You thinke I'm the abbot of Canterbùry;
But I'm his poor shepheard, as plain you may see,
That am come to beg pardon for him and for mee."

The king he laughed, and swore by the masse, 101
Ile make thee lord abbot this day in his place!
"Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede,
For alacke I can neither write, ne reade."

Four nobles a weeke, then I will give thee, 105
For this merry jest thou hast showne unto mee;
And tell the old abbot when thou comest home,
Thou hast brought him a pardon from good king John.

[***]

* * * * *

[The following version is reprinted from Hales and Furnivall's
edition of the Percy Folio, vol. i. p. 508.

Off an ancient story Ile tell you anon,
of a notable prince that was called King Iohn,
in England was borne, with maine and with might
hee did much wrong, and mainteined litle right. 4

this noble prince was vexed in veretye,
for he was angry with the bishopp of canterbury
ffor his house-keeping and his good cheere,
thé rode post for him, as you shall heare; 8

they rode post for him very hastilye;
the King sayd the bishopp kept a better house then hee;
a 100 men euen, as I say,
the Bishopp kept in his house euerye day, 12

and 50 gold chaines without any doubt,
in veluett coates waited the Bishopp about.
the Bishopp, he came to the court anon
before his prince that was called King Iohn. 16

as soone as the Bishopp the King did see,
"O," quoth the King, "Bishopp, thou art welcome to mee!
there is noe man soe welcome to towne
as thou that workes treason against my crowne." 20

"My leege," quoth the Bishopp, "I wold it were knowne;
I spend, your grace, nothing but that thats my owne;
I trust your grace will doe me noe deare
for spending my owne trew gotten geere." 24

"Yes," quoth the King, "Bishopp, thou must needs dye:
eccept thou can answere mee questions 3,
thy head shalbe smitten quite from thy bodye,
and all thy liuing remayne vnto mee. 28

"first," quoth the King, "tell me in this steade,
with this crowne of gold heere vpon my head,
amongst my Nobilitye with Ioy and much Mirth,
lett me know within one pennye what I am worth: 32

Secondlye, tell me without any dowbt
how soone I may goe the whole world about:

and thirdly, tell mee or euer I stinte,
what is the thing, Bishopp, that I doe thinke. 36
20 dayes pardon thoust haue trulye,
and come againe and answere mee."

the Bishopp bade the King 'god night' att a word.
he rode betwixt Cambridge and Oxenford, 40
but neuer a Doctor there was soe wise
cold shew him these questions or enterprise;

wherewith the Bishopp was nothing gladd,
but in his hart was heauy and sadd, 44
and hyed him home to a house in the countrye
To ease some part of his Melanchollye.

hís halfe brother dwelt there, was feirce & fell,
noe better but a shepard to the Bishoppe him-sell; 48
the shepard came to the Bishopp anon,
saying, "my Lord, you are welcome home!

what ayles you," quoth the shepard, "that you are soe sadd,
and had wonte to haue beene soe merry & gladd?" 52
"Nothing," quoth the Bishopp, "I ayle att this time,
will not thee availe to know, Brother mine."

"Brother," quoth the Shepeard, "you haue heard itt,
that a ffoole may teach a wisemane witt; 56
say me therfore what-soeuer you will,
and if I doe you noe good, Ile doe you noe ill."

Quoth the Bishop: "I have beene att thy court anon,
before my prince is called King Iohn, 60
and there he hath charged mee
against his crowne with traitorye;

if I cannot answer his misterye,
3 questions hee hath propounded to mee, 64
he will haue my Land soe faire and free,
and alsoe the head from my bodye.

the first question was, 'to tell him in that stead
with the crowne of gold vpon his head, 68
amongst his nobilitye with Ioy & much mirth,
to lett him know within one penye what hee is worth;'

and secondlye 'to tell him with-out any doubt
how soone he may goe the whole world about;' 72
and thirdlye, 'to tell him, or ere I stint,
what is the thing that he does thinke.'"

"Brother," quoth the shepard, "you are a man of Learninge;
what neede you stand in doubt of soe small a thinge? 76
lend me," quoth the shepard, "your ministers apparrell,
Ile ryde to the court and answere your quarrell;

lend me your serving men, say me not nay;
with all your best horsses that ryd on the way, 80
Ile to the court, this matter to stay;
Ile speake with King Iohn & heare what heele say."

the Bishopp with speed prepared then
to sett forth the shepard with horsse and man; 84
the shepard was liuely with-out any doubt;
I wott a royall companye came to the court.

the shepard hee came to the court anon
before (his) prince that was called King Iohn. 88
as soone as the king the shepard did see,
"O," quoth the king, "Bishopp, thou art welcome to me!"

the shepard was soe like the Bishopp his brother,
the King cold not know the one from the other. 92
Quoth the King, "Bishopp, thou art welcome to me
if thou can answer me my questions 3!"

said the shepeard, "if it please your grace,
show mee what the first quest[i]on was." 96
"first" quoth the king, "tell mee in this stead
with the crowne of gold vpon my head,

amongst my nobilitye with Ioy and much mirth,
within one pennye what I am worth." 100
Quoth the shepard, "to make your grace noe offence,
I thinke you are worth 29 pence;

for our Lord Iesus, that bought vs all,
for 30 pence was sold into thrall 104
amongst the cursed Iewes, as I to you doe showe;
but I know christ was one penye better then you."

then the King laught, and swore by St Andrew
he was not thought to bee of such a small value. 108
"Secondlye, tell mee with-out any doubt
how soone I may goe the world round about,"

saies the shepard, "it is noe time with your grace to scorne;
but rise betime with the sun in the morne, 112
and follow his course till his vprising,
and then you may know with-out any Leasing--

and this your grace shall proue the same--
you are come to the same place from whence you came; 116
24 houres, with-out any doubt,
your grace may the world goe round about;

the world round about, euen as I doe say,
if with the sun you can goe the next way." 120
"and thirdlye tell me or euer I stint,
what is the thing, Bishoppe, that I doe thinke."

"that shall I doe," quoth the shepeard, "for veretye
you thinke I am the Bishopp of Canterburye," 124
"why? art not thou? the truth tell to me;
for I doe thinke soe," quoth the king, "by St. Marye."

"not soe," quoth the shepeard; "the truth shalbe knowne,
I am his poore shepeard; my brother is att home." 128
"why," quoth the King, "if itt soe bee,
Ile make thee Bishopp here to mee."

"Noe Sir" quoth the shepard, "I pray you be still,
for Ile not bee Bishop but against my will; 132
for I am not fitt for any such deede,
for I can neither write nor reede."

"why then," quoth the king, "Ile giue thee cleere
a patten of 300 pound a yeere; 136
that I will giue thee franke and free;
take thee that, shepard, for coming to me:

free pardon Ile giue," the kings grace said,
"to saue the Bishopp, his land and his head; 140
with him nor thee Ile be nothing wrath;
here is the pardon for him and thee both."

then the shepard he had noe more to say,
but tooke the pardon and rode his way. 144
when he came to the Bishopps place,
the Bishopp asket anon how all things was:

"Brother," quoth the Shepard, "I haue well sped,
for I haue saued both your Land & your head; 148
the King with you is nothing wrath,
for heere is the pardon for you and mee both."

then the Bishopes hart was of a merry cheere,
"brother, thy paines Ile quitt them cleare, 152
for I will giue thee a patent to thee & to thine
of 50^{li}. a yeere land good and fine."

"I will to thee noe longer croche nor creepe,
nor Ile serue thee noe more to keepe thy sheepe." 156
whereeuer wist you shepard before,
that had in his head witt such store

to pleasure a Bishopp in such a like case,
to answer 3 questions to the Kings grace? 160
whereeuer wist you shepard gett cleare
350^{li}. pound a yeere?

I neuer hard of his fellow before,
nor I neuer shall, now I need to say noe more: 164
I neuer knew shepeard that gott such a liuinge
But David the shepeard that was a King.

ffins.]

FOOTNOTES:

[823] See the collection of _Hist. Ballads_, 3 vols. 1727. Mr. Wise supposes _Olfrey_ to be a corruption of _Alfred_, in his pamphlet concerning the _White Horse_ in Berkshire, p. 15.

[824] [harm.]

[825] Meaning probably St. Botolph.

VII.

YOU MEANER BEAUTIES.

This little Sonnet was written by Sir _Henry Wotton_, Knight, on that amiable Princess, Elizabeth daughter of James I. and wife of the Elector Palatine, who was chosen King of Bohemia, Sept. 5, 1619. The consequences of this fatal election are well known: Sir Henry Wotton, who in that and the following year was employed in several embassies in Germany on behalf of this unfortunate lady, seems to have had an uncommon attachment to her merit and fortunes, for he gave away a jewel worth a thousand pounds, that was presented to him by the Emperor, "because it came from an enemy to his royal mistress the Queen of Bohemia." See _Biog. Britan_.

This song is printed from the _Reliquiæ Wottonianæ_, 1651, with some corrections from an old MS. copy.

* * * * *

[This elegant little poem in praise of the Queen of Bohemia (who
was called by those who knew her and were won by her sweetness,
spirit, wit, and unselfishness--the Queen of Hearts) has been very
frequently reprinted. The unfortunate princess was also named the
_Snow Queen_ and her husband the _Winter King_, in allusion to
the fact that their reign at Prague only lasted one winter. The
poem first appeared, according to Dr. Rimbault, in "The Sixt Set
of Bookes, wherein are Anthemes for Versus and Chorus of 5 and 6
Parts; apt for Violls and Voyces: newly composed by Michaell Est,
Bachelor of Musicke, and Master of the Choristers of the Cathedrall
Church in Litchfield," London, 1624, 4to. It is printed in _Wit's
Recreations_, 1640, and _Wit's Interpreter_, 1671, and in "Songs
and Fancies to severall Musicall parts, both apt for Voices and
Viols," Aberdeen, 1682. Alterations were made in the various
copies, and in the latter book a wretched second part, quite out of
harmony with the original, was added. It has found its way, with
some variations, among Montrose's poems (see Napier's _Life of
Montrose_, 1856, _Appendix_, p. xl.), and Robert Chambers (ignorant
of the Englishman Sir Henry Wotton's claim to the authorship)
actually printed it in his _Scottish Songs_ (vol. ii. p. 631) as if
"written by Darnley in praise of the beauty of Queen Mary before
their marriage."

Percy, while copying from the _Reliquiæ Wottonianæ_, 1651,
transposed stanzas 2 and 3. In Abp. Sancroft's MS. (Tanner, 465,
fol. 43) the following verses occur as stanzas 4 and 6 of the whole
poem:--

"You rubies, that do gems adorn,
And sapphires with your azure hue
Like to the skies, or blushing morn,
How pale's your brightness in our view
When diamonds are mixed with you.

"The rose, the violet, all the spring
Unto her breath, for sweetness run;
The diamond's dark'ned in the ring
If she appear, the moon's undone,
As in the presence of the Sun."]

* * * * *

You meaner beauties of the night,
That poorly satisfie our eies
More by your number, than your light;
You common people of the skies,
What are you when the Moon shall rise? 5