Chapter VI: Book 1 (3)

It seems to be the latter of these ballads (which was too licentious to be admitted into this collection) that is meant in the _Catalogue of Royal and Noble Authors_,[350] where the ingenious writer remarks, that "there is something very ludicrous in the young woman's distress when she thought her first favour had been thrown away upon a beggar."

Bishop Tanner has attributed to James V. the celebrated ballad of _Christ's Kirk on the Green_, which is ascribed to King James I. in Bannatyne's MS. written in 1568: and, notwithstanding that authority, the editor of this book is of opinion that Bishop Tanner was right.

King James V. died Dec. 13th, 1542, aged 33.

* * * * *

[James V. was called the _King of the Commons_, from his popular
manners and vagrant habit, and many stories are told of his
adventures when in disguise. One of these is worth relating here.
On a certain occasion he heard himself abused by a country lad
as a tyrant and a man odious in every respect, until, unable to
restrain himself, he threw off his disguise, and told his accuser
that he was the king. "Are you really the king?" said the lad,
retaining his self-possession; "weel, ye'll maybe hae heard o'
my father: he gaed daft three days regularly every year, and
in a' that time spoke naething but lies and nonsense: now I'm
exactly the same way, and this is _one of my three days_." There
is no authority for attributing the present song to James V.,
except ancient and universal tradition. The word _gaberlunyie_ is
compounded of _gaber_, a wallet, and _lunyie_, the loins: hence
a travelling tinker or beggar carrying a wallet by his side, was
called a "gaberlunyie man." Scott has sketched a vivid portrait of
one of these privileged beggars in his _Antiquary_, Edie Ochiltree,
to wit. The _Jolly Beggar_ is printed in Herd's _Scottish Songs_,
ii. 164, and in Ritson's _Scottish Songs_, i. 168. Competent
authorities are not willing to take the credit of the authorship of
_Christ's Kirk on the Green_ from James I. and give it to James V.]

* * * * *

The pauky auld Carle[351] came ovir the lee
Wi' mony good-eens and days to mee,
Saying, Goodwife, for your courtesie,
Will ye lodge a silly[352] poor man?
The night was cauld, the carle was wat, 5
And down ayont the ingle[353] he sat;
My dochters shoulders he gan to clap,
And cadgily[354] ranted and sang.

O wow![355] quo he, were I as free,
As first when I saw this countrie, 10
How blyth and merry wad I bee!
And I wad nevir think lang.
He grew canty,[356] and she grew fain;[357]
But little did her auld minny ken[358]
What thir slee twa[359] togither were say'n, 15
When wooing they were sa thrang.[360]

And O! quo he, ann ye were as black,
As evir the crown of your dadyes hat,
Tis I wad lay thee by my back,
And awa wi' me thou sould gang. 20
And O! quoth she, ann I were as white,
As evir the snaw lay on the dike,
Ild clead me braw,[361] and lady-like,
And awa with thee Ild gang.

Between the twa was made a plot; 25
They raise a wee before the cock,
And wyliely they shot the lock,
And fast to the bent are they gane.
Up the morn the auld wife raise,[362]
And at her leisure put on her claiths, 30
Syne to the servants bed she gaes
To speir for the silly poor man.

She gaed to the bed, whair the beggar lay,
The strae was cauld, he was away,
She clapt her hands, cryd, Dulefu' day! 35
For some of our geir will be gane.
Some ran to coffer, and some to kist,[363]
But nought was stown[364] that could be mist.
She dancid her lane,[365] cryd, Praise be blest,
I have lodgd a leal poor man. 40

Since naithings awa, as we can learn,
The kirns to kirn,[366] and milk to earn,
Gae butt the house,[367] lass, and waken my bairn,
And bid her come quickly ben.[368]
The servant gaed where the dochter lay, 45
The sheets was cauld, she was away,
And fast to her goodwife can say,
Shes aff with the gaberlunyie-man.

O fy gar ride, and fy gar rin,
And hast ye, find these traitors agen; 50
For shees be burnt, and hees be slein,
The wearyfou[369] gaberlunyie-man.
Some rade upo horse, some ran a fit,
The wife was wood,[370] and out o' her wit;
She could na gang, nor yet could she sit, 55
But ay did curse and did ban.

Mean time far hind out owre the lee,
For snug in a glen, where nane could see,
The twa, with kindlie sport and glee,
Cut frae a new cheese a whang.[371] 60
The priving[372] was gude, it pleas'd them baith,
To lo'e her for ay, he gae her his aith.
Quo she, to leave thee, I will be laith,
My winsome gaberlunyie-man.

O kend my minny I were wi' you, 65
Illfardly[373] wad she crook her mou,[374]
Sic a poor man sheld nevir trow,
Aftir the gaberlunyie-mon.
My dear, quo he, yee're yet owre yonge;
And hae na learnt the beggars tonge, 70
To follow me frae toun to toun,
And carrie the gaberlunyie on.

Wi' kauk and keel,[375] Ill win your bread,
And spindles and whorles[376] for them wha need,
Whilk is a gentil trade indeed 75
The gaberlunyie to carrie--o.
Ill bow my leg and crook my knee,
And draw a black clout owre my ee,
A criple or blind they will cau me:
While we sail sing and be merrie--o. 80

FOOTNOTES:

[349] Sc. of a tinker, beggar, &c. Thus he used to visit a smith's daughter at Niddry, near Edinburgh.

[350] Vol. ii. p. 203.

[351] [sly old man.]

[352] [simple or poor.]

[353] [beyond the fire.]

[354] [merrily.]

[355] [exclamation of admiration or surprise.]

[356] [merry.]

[357] [fond.]

[358] [mother know.]

[359] [these sly two.]

[360] [so close.]

[361] [clad me handsomely.]

[362] Ver. 29. The carline, other copies.

[363] [chest.]

[364] [stolen.]

[365] [alone by herself.]

[366] [churns to churn.]

[367] [go to the outer apartment.]

[368] [in.]

[369] [troublesome.]

[370] [mad.]

[371] [slice.]

[372] [proof.]

[373] [ill-favouredly.]

[374] [mouth.]

[375] [chalk and ruddle.]

[376] [instruments used for spinning in Scotland.]

XI.

ON THOMAS LORD CROMWELL.

It is ever the fate of a disgraced minister to be forsaken by his friends, and insulted by his enemies, always reckoning among the latter the giddy inconstant multitude. We have here a spurn at fallen greatness from one of the angry partisans of declining popery, who could never forgive the downfall of their Diana and loss of their craft. The ballad seems to have been composed between the time of Cromwell's commitment to the Tower, June 10th, 1540, and that of his being beheaded, July 28 following. A short interval! but Henry's passion for Catharine Howard would admit of no delay. Notwithstanding our libeller, Cromwell had many excellent qualities; his great fault was too much obsequiousness to the arbitrary will of his master; but let it be considered that this master had raised him from obscurity, and that the high-born nobility had shewn him the way in every kind of mean and servile compliance. The original copy, printed at London in 1540, is intitled, _A newe ballade made of Thomas Crumwel, called_ "_Trolle on away_." To it is prefixed this distich by way of burthen:

"Trolle on away, trolle on awaye.
Synge heave and howe rombelowe trolle on away."

The following piece gave rise to a poetic controversy, which was carried on thro' a succession of seven or eight ballads, written for and against Lord Cromwell. These are all preserved in the archives of the Antiquarian Society, in a large folio collection of proclamations, &c., made in the reigns of King Henry VIII., King Edward VI., Queen Mary, Queen Elizabeth, King James I., &c.

* * * * *

[Thomas Cromwell, called _Malleus Monachorum_, came of a good old
Lincolnshire family. He was born about the year 1490 at Putney,
where his father carried on the business of an iron-founder, which
his enemies reduced to that of a blacksmith. His father died early,
and in consequence of the re-marriage of his mother, he became a
wanderer.

The author of the poor play, entitled _The Life and Death of_
_Thomas Lord Cromwell_, which has been absurdly attributed to
Shakspere, makes "old Cromwell, a blacksmith, of Putney," live to
see his son "made lord keeper."

There is a fragment of a ballad on Cromwell without any beginning
in the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. i. p. 127), which
ends as follows:

"How now? How now? the king did say,
Thomas how is it with thee?
Hanging and drawing O King! he saide;
You shall never gett more from me."

Mr. Hales points out a coincidence not mentioned by Mr. Froude,
viz. that the minister was beheaded and the king married to
Catherine Howard on one and the same day. In 1525 Cromwell
undertook for Wolsey the work of visiting and breaking up the
small monasteries which the Pope had granted for the foundation of
Wolsey's new colleges, thus commencing the work which gained him
the enmity of the adherents of the old faith. He was the first to
cause Bibles in the English language to be deposited in all the
churches, and to him we owe the institution of parish registers.]

* * * * *

Both man and chylde is glad to here tell
Of that false traytoure Thomas Crumwell,
Now that he is set to learne to spell.
Synge trolle on away.

When fortune lokyd the in thy face,
Thou haddyst fayre tyme, but thou lackydyst grace; 5
Thy cofers with golde thou fyllydst a pace.
Synge, &c.

Both plate and chalys came to thy fyst,
Thou lockydst them vp where no man wyst,
Tyll in the kynges treasoure suche thinges were myst.
Synge, &c.

Both crust and crumme came thorowe thy handes, 10
Thy marchaundyse sayled over the sandes,
Therfore nowe thou art layde fast in bandes.
Synge, &c.

Fyrste when kynge Henry, God saue his grace!
Perceyud myschefe kyndlyd in thy face,
Then it was tyme to purchase the a place. 15
Synge, &c.

Hys grace was euer of gentyll nature,
Mouyd with petye, and made the hys seruyture;
But thou, as a wretche, suche thinges dyd procure.
Synge, &c.

Thou dyd not remembre, false heretyke,
One God, one fayth, and one kynge catholyke, 20
For thou hast bene so long a scysmatyke.
Synge, &c.

Thou woldyst not learne to knowe these thre;
But euer was full of iniquite:
Wherfore all this lande hathe ben troubled with the.
Synge, &c.

All they, that were of the new trycke, 25
Agaynst the churche thou baddest them stycke;
Wherfore nowe thou haste touchyd the quycke.
Synge, &c.

Bothe sacramentes and sacramentalles
Thou woldyst not suffre within thy walles;
Nor let vs praye for all chrysten soules. 30
Synge, &c.

Of what generacyon thou were no tonge can tell,
Whyther of Chayme, or Syschemell,[377]
Or else sent vs frome the deuyll of hell.
Synge, &c.

Thou woldest neuer to vertue applye,
But couetyd euer to clymme to hye, 35
And nowe haste thou trodden thy shoo awrye.
Synge, &c.

Who-so-euer dyd winne thou wolde not lose;
Wherfore all Englande doth hate the, as I suppose,
Bycause thou wast false to the redolent rose.
Synge, &c.

Thou myghtest have learned thy cloth to flocke 40
Upon thy gresy fullers stocke;[378]
Wherfore lay downe thy heade vpon this blocke.

Yet saue that soule, that God hath bought,
And for thy carcas care thou nought,
Let it suffre payne, as it hath wrought. 45
Synge, &c.

God saue kyng Henry with all his power,
And prynce Edwarde that goodly flowre,
With al hys lordes of great honoure.
Synge trolle on awaye, syng trolle on away.
Hevye and how rombelowe[379] trolle on awaye. 50

FOOTNOTES:

[377] Ver. 32. _i.e._ Cain, or Ishmael. See below, the note, book ii. No. III. stanza 3rd.

[378] V. 41. Cromwell's father is generally said to have been a blacksmith at Putney: but the author of this ballad would insinuate that either he himself or some of his ancestors were fullers by trade.

[379] [The burden of an old song.]

XII.

HARPALUS.

AN ANCIENT ENGLISH PASTORAL.

This beautiful poem, which is perhaps the first attempt at pastoral writing in our language, is preserved among the _Songs and Sonnettes_ of the Earl of Surrey, &c., 4to. in that part of the collection which consists of pieces by _uncertain auctours_. These poems were first published in 1557, ten years after that accomplished nobleman fell a victim to the tyranny of Henry VIII.; but it is presumed most of them were composed before the death of Sir Thomas Wyatt in 1541. See Surrey's Poems, 4to. fol. 19, 49.

Tho' written perhaps near half a century before the _Shepherd's Calendar_,[380] this will be found far superior to any of those eclogues, in natural unaffected sentiments, in simplicity of style, in easy flow of versification, and all other beauties of pastoral poetry. Spenser ought to have profited more by so excellent a model.

* * * * *

[Warton describes this poem as "perhaps the first example in our
language now remaining of the pure and unmixed pastoral, and in
the erotic species for ease of numbers, elegance of rural allusion
excelling everything of the kind in Spenser, who is erroneously
ranked as our earliest English bucolic." He did not, however,
take into account _Robin and Makine_, which follows _Harpalus_
in this book, but was written more than half a century before
it. Spenser-lovers also are not likely to agree with Percy's and
Warton's summary judgments upon the _Shepherd's Calendar_.]

* * * * *

Phylida was a faire mayde,
As fresh as any flowre;
Whom Harpalus the herdman prayde
To be his paramour.

Harpalus, and eke Corin, 5
Were herdmen both yfere:[381]
And Phylida could twist and spinne,
And thereto sing full clere.

But Phylida was all tò coye,
For Harpalus to winne: 10
For Corin was her onely joye,
Who forst[382] her not a pinne.

How often would she flowers twine?
How often garlandes make
Of couslips and of colombine? 15
And al for Corin's sake.

But Corin, he had haukes to lure,
And forced more the field:[383]
Of lovers lawe he toke no cure;
For once he was begilde. 20

Harpalus prevailed nought,
His labour all was lost;
For he was fardest from her thought,
And yet he loved her most.

Therefore waxt he both pale and leane, 25
And drye as clot of clay:
His fleshe it was consumed cleane;
His colour gone away.

His beard it had not long be shave;
His heare hong all unkempt: 30
A man most fit even for the grave,
Whom spitefull love had spent.

His eyes were red and all 'forewacht;'[384][385]
His face besprent with teares:
It semde unhap had him long 'hatcht,' 35
In mids of his dispaires.

His clothes were blacke, and also bare;
As one forlorne was he;
Upon his head alwayes he ware
A wreath of wyllow tree. 40

His beastes he kept upon the hyll,
And he sate in the dale;
And thus with sighes and sorrowes shril,
He gan to tell his tale.

Oh Harpalus! (thus would he say) 45
Unhappiest under sunne!
The cause of thine unhappy day,
By love was first begunne.

For thou wentest first by sute to seeke
A tigre to make tame, 50
That settes not by thy love a leeke;
But makes thy griefe her game.

As easy it were for to convert
The frost into 'a' flame;
As for to turne a frowarde hert, 55
Whom thou so faine wouldst frame.

Corin he liveth carèlesse:
He leapes among the leaves:
He eates the frutes of thy redresse:[386]
Thou 'reapst,' he takes the sheaves. 60

My beastes, a whyle your foode refraine,
And harke your herdmans sounde:
Whom spitefull love, alas! hath slaine,
Through-girt[387] with many a wounde.

O happy be ye, beastès wilde, 65
That here your pasture takes:
I se that ye be not begilde
Of these your faithfull makes.[388]

The hart he feedeth by the hinde:
The bucke harde by the do: 70
The turtle dove is not unkinde
To him that loves her so.

The ewe she hath by her the ramme:
The yong cow hath the bull:
The calfe with many a lusty lambe 75
Do fede their hunger full.

But, wel-away! that nature wrought
The, Phylida, so faire:
For I may say that I have bought
Thy beauty all tò deare. 80

What reason is that crueltie
With beautie should have part?
Or els that such great tyranny
Should dwell in womans hart?

I see therefore to shape my death 85
She cruelly is prest;[389]
To th'ende that I may want my breath:
My dayes been at the best.

O Cupide, graunt this my request,
And do not stoppe thine eares; 90
That she may feele within her brest
The paines of my dispaires:

Of Corin 'who' is carèlesse,
That she may crave her fee:
As I have done in great distresse, 95
That loved her faithfully.

But since that I shal die her slave;
Her slave, and eke her thrall:[390]
Write you, my frendes, upon my grave
This chaunce that is befall. 100

"Here lieth unhappy Harpalus
By cruell love now slaine:
Whom Phylida unjustly thus
Hath murdred with disdaine."

FOOTNOTES:

[380] First published in 1579.

[381] [together.]

[382] [regarded.]

[383] [cared more for field sports.]

[384] Ver. 33, &c. The corrections are from ed. 1574.

[385] [overwakeful.]

[386] [care.]

[387] [pierced through.]

[388] [mates.]

[389] [ready.]

[390] [captive.]

XIII.

ROBIN AND MAKYNE.

AN ANCIENT SCOTTISH PASTORAL.

The palm of pastoral poesy is here contested by a contemporary writer with the author of the foregoing. The critics will judge of their respective merits; but must make some allowance for the preceding ballad, which is given simply as it stands in the old editions; whereas this, which follows, has been revised and amended throughout by Allan Ramsay, from whose _Evergreen_, vol. i. it is here chiefly printed. The curious reader may, however, compare it with the more original copy, printed among _Ancient Scottish Poems_, from the MS. of George Bannatyne, 1568, Edinburgh, 1770, 12mo. Mr. Robert Henryson (to whom we are indebted for this poem) appears to so much advantage among the writers of eclogue, that we are sorry we can give little other account of him besides what is contained in the following eloge, written by W. Dunbar, a Scottish poet, who lived about the middle of the sixteenth century:

"In Dunfermline he [Death] hes done roun
Gud Maister Robert Henrisoun."

Indeed, some little further insight into the history of this Scottish bard is gained from the title prefixed to some of his poems preserved in the British Museum, viz. _The morall Fabillis of Esop_, compylit be Maister Robert Henrisoun, scolmaister of Dumfermling, 1571. Harl. MSS. 3865, § 1.

In Ramsay's _Evergreen_, vol. i. are preserved two other little Doric pieces by Henryson: the one intitled _The Lyon and the Mouse_, the other _The garment of gude Ladyis_. Some other of his poems may be seen in the _Ancient Scottish Poems_, printed from Bannatyne's MS. above referred to.

* * * * *

[This remarkable poem is peculiarly interesting as being the
earliest specimen of pastoral poetry in the language. Campbell
calls it "the first known pastoral, and one of the best in a
dialect rich with the favours of the pastoral muse." Langhorne
writes justly:

"In gentle Henryson's unlaboured strain
Sweet Arethusa's shepherd breath'd again."

Percy errs in describing Henryson as a contemporary of Surrey, as
the Scottish poet lived half a century before the English one. The
dates of his birth and death are not known, but he flourished in
the reign of James III. (1460-1488). "On the 10th of September,
1462, the venerable master Robert Henrysone, Licentiate in Arts and
Bachelor in Degrees, was incorporated or admitted a member of the
newly founded University of Glasgow." He was a notary public, and
probably the master of the grammar school attached to the Abbey of
Dunfermline, not as might be supposed a mere parish schoolmaster.
According to the tradition of the last century, our poet was the
representative of the family of Henryson or Henderson, of Fordell,
in the county of Fife; but Mr. David Laing thinks that it is a
gratuitous assumption to suppose that he or his predecessors ever
possessed a single acre of the lands of Fordell.

Percy has used the version given in Ramsay's _Evergreen_, which is
slightly altered in diction from the original in the Bannatyne MS.;
for instance, the last stanza occurs in the latter as follows:

"Makyne went hame blyth anneuche,
Attour the holltis hair;
Robene murnit, and Makyne leuche;
Scho sang, he sichit sair
And so left him, bayth wo and wreuch,
In dolour and in cair,
Kepand his hird under a huche
Amangis the holtis hair."

In the _Evergreen_ version, the last verse is altered to "Amang
the rushy gair," either because the words "holtis hair" occur in
verse two of the stanza, or that the Editor saw an impropriety in
the close vicinity of the similar words _holt_ and _heuch_. The two
words "holtis hair" are explained as hoary hills or hoary woods,
but Finlay (_Scottish Historical and Romantic Ballads_, 1808,
vol. ii. p. 193) holds that "hair" really means high, and derives
it from Isl. har == altus. He says that a high rock in some of
the northern counties of Scotland, where the dialect is strongly
tinctured with Danish, is called "hair craig," and that the same
word lingers on in the Hare-stone of the Borough Moor, Edinburgh,
which obtained its name in the following manner: The laird of
Pennycuik held certain lands by a strange tenure. He was obliged to
mount a large stone or rock, and salute the king with three blasts
of a horn whenever he passed that way. This rock or eminence was
called the "Hare-stone," and still exists near Morningside Church.
Hoary, however, is to be understood as grey and not as white with
snow, so that the hare-stone is probably the grey stone. The word
holt may also mean a heath, and Cædmon uses the phrase "har hæð" =
hoar or grey heath.

The date (1571) attached to Henryson's version of _Æsop's Fables_
is that of transcription. It is not known when the Fables were
first printed, but they were reprinted by Robert Lekpreuik for
Henry Charteris in 1570. They are supposed to have been written
between 1470 and 1480.

Henryson wrote several other short poems, as well as the
_Testament of Cresseid_, written as a continuation or supplement
to Chaucer's _Troilus and Cresseide_, all of which have been
collected for the first time into an elegant volume by David Laing,
who has added notes and a memoir of the poet (Edinburgh, 1865).

This _Testament_ has a particular interest for us, because
Shakspere referred to it when he wrote "Cressida was a beggar"
(_Twelfth Night_, act iii. sc. 1). The lines in Henryson's poem
which illustrate this passage, are as follows:

"Thair was na buit [help], bot furth with thame scho yeid
Fra place to place, quhill cauld and houngir sair
Compellit hir to be ane rank beggair." Ll. 481-3.]

* * * * *

Robin sat on the gude grene hill,
Keipand a flock of fie,[391]
Quhen mirry[392] Makyne said him till,[393]
"O Robin rew[394] on me:
I haif thee luivt baith loud and still,[395] 5
Thir towmonds[396] twa or thre;
My dule in dern bot gif thou dill,[397]
Doubtless but dreid Ill die."

Robin replied, Now by the rude,
Naithing of love I knaw, 10
But keip my sheip undir yon wod:
Lo quhair they raik on raw.[398]
Quhat can have mart[399] thee in thy mude,[400]
Thou Makyne to me schaw;
Or quhat is luve, or to be lude?[401] 15
Fain wald I leir[402] that law.

"The law of luve gin thou wald leir,
Tak thair an A, B, C;
Be heynd,[403] courtas, and fair of feir,[404][405]
Wyse, hardy, kind and frie, 20
Sae that nae danger do the deir,[406][407]
Quhat dule in dern thou drie;[408]
Press ay to pleis,[409] and blyth appeir,
Be patient and privie."

Robin, he answert her againe, 25
I wat not quhat is luve;
But I haif marvel in certaine
Quhat makes thee thus wanrufe.[410]
The wedder is fair, and I am fain;[411]
My sheep gais hail abuve;[412] 30
And sould we pley us on the plain,
They wald us baith repruve.

"Robin, tak tent[413] unto my tale,
And wirk[414] all as I reid;[415]
And thou sall haif my heart all hale, 35
Eik and my maiden-heid:
Sen God, he sendis bute for bale,[416]
And for murning remeid,[417]
I'dern with thee bot gif I dale,[418]
Doubtless I am but deid." 40

Makyne, to-morn be this ilk tyde,
Gif ye will meit me heir,
Maybe my sheip may gang besyde,
Quhyle we have liggd full neir;
But maugre haif I, gif I byde,[419] 45
Frae thay begin to steir,
Quhat lyes on heart I will nocht hyd,
Then Makyne mak gude cheir.

"Robin, thou reivs[420] me of my rest;
I luve bot thee alane." 50
Makyne, adieu! the sun goes west,
The day is neir-hand gane.
"Robin, in dule[421] I am so drest,
That luve will be my bane."
Makyn, gae luve quhair-eir ye list, 55
For leman I luid nane.

"Robin, I stand in sic a style,
I sich[422] and that full sair."
Makyne, I have bene here this quyle;
At hame I wish I were. 60
"Robin, my hinny, talk and smyle,
Gif thou will do nae mair."
Makyne, som other man beguyle,
For hameward I will fare.

Syne Robin on his ways he went, 65
As light as leif on tree;
But Makyne murnt and made lament,
Scho[423] trow'd him neir to see.
Robin he brayd attowre the bent:[424]
Then Makyne cried on hie, 70
"Now may thou sing, for I am shent![425]
Quhat ailis luve at me?"

Makyne went hame withouten fail,
And weirylie could weip;
Then Robin in a full fair dale 75
Assemblit all his sheip.
Be that some part of Makyne's ail,
Out-throw his heart could creip;
Hir fast he followt to assail,
And till her tuke gude keip.[426] 80

Abyd, abyd, thou fair Makyne,
A word for ony thing;
For all my luve, it sall be thyne,
Withouten departing.[427]
All hale thy heart for till have myne, 85
Is all my coveting;
My sheip to morn quhyle houris nyne,
Will need of nae keiping.

"Robin, thou hast heard sung and say,
In gests and storys auld, 90
The man that will not when he may,
Sall have nocht when he wald.
I pray to heaven baith nicht and day,
Be eiked[428] their cares sae cauld,
That presses first with thee to play 95
Be forrest, firth, or fauld."[429]

Makyne, the nicht is soft and dry,
The wether warm and fair,
And the grene wod richt neir-hand by,[430]
To walk attowre all where: 100
There may nae janglers[431] us espy,
That is in luve contrair;
Therin, Makyne, baith you and I
Unseen may mak repair.

"Robin, that warld is now away, 105
And quyt brocht till an end:
And nevir again thereto, perfay,
Sall it be as thou wend;
For of my pain thou made but play;
I words in vain did spend: 110
As thou hast done, sae sall I say,
Murn on, I think to mend."

Makyne, the hope of all my heil,[432]
My heart on thee is set;
I'll evermair to thee be leil,[433] 115
Quhyle I may live but lett,[434]
Never to fail as uthers feill,[435]
Quhat grace so eir I get.
"Robin, with thee I will not deill;
Adieu, for thus we met." 120

Makyne went hameward blyth enough,
Attowre the holtis hair;[436]
Pure Robin murnd, and Makyne leugh;[437]
Scho sang, and he sicht sair:[438]
And so left him bayth wo and wreuch,[439] 125
In dolor and in care,
Keipand his herd under a heuch,[440]
Amang the rushy gair.[441]

FOOTNOTES:

[391] [keeping a flock of sheep.]

[392] [when merry.]

[393] [unto.]

[394] [take pity.]

[395] [openly and secretly.]

[396] [these twelvemonths.]

[397] [unless thou share my secret woe.]

[398] [they extend themselves in a row.]

[399] [marred.]

[400] [mood.]

[401] [loved.]

[402] [learn.]

[403] [gentle.]

[404] [fair of countenance.]

[405] Ver. 19. Bannatyne's MS. reads as above, _heynd_, not _keynd_, as in the Edinb. ed. 1770.

[406] [do thee hurt.]

[407] V. 21. So that no danger, Bannatyne's MS.

[408] [whatever sorrow you may endure in secret.]

[409] [be eager to please.]

[410] [uneasy.]

[411] [glad.]

[412] [go healthful in the uplands.]

[413] [heed.]

[414] [do.]

[415] [advise.]

[416] [since God sends good for evil.]

[417] [for mourning remedy.]

[418] [in secret with thee, unless I share thy favour.]

[419] [But ill will may I have if I stay.]

[420] [bereavest.]

[421] [sorrow.]

[422] [sigh.]

[423] [she.]

[424] [he hastened over the field.]

[425] [confounded.]

[426] [and took good watch of her.]

[427] [dividing.]

[428] [enlarged.]

[429] [by forest, copse, or field.]

[430] Ver. 99. Bannatyne's MS. has _woid_, not _woud_, as in ed. 1770.

[431] [tell-tales.]

[432] [health or happiness.]

[433] [true.]

[434] [live without hindrance.]

[435] Ver. 117. Bannatyne's MS. reads as above feill, not faill, as in ed. 1770.

[436] [over the grey woods (see p. 81).]

[437] [laughed.]

[438] [sighed sore.]

[439] [wretchedness.]

[440] [height or hill.]

[441] [rushy strip of land.]

XIV.

GENTLE HERDSMAN, TELL TO ME.

DIALOGUE BETWEEN A PILGRIM AND HERDSMAN.

The scene of this beautiful old ballad is laid near Walsingham, in Norfolk, where was anciently an image of the Virgin Mary, famous over all Europe for the numerous pilgrimages made to it, and the great riches it possessed. Erasmus has given a very exact and humorous description of the superstitions practised there in his time. See his account of the _Virgo parathalassia_, in his colloquy, intitled, _Peregrinatio religionis ergo_. He tells us, the rich offerings in silver, gold, and precious stones, that were there shewn him, were incredible, there being scarce a person of any note in England, but what some time or other paid a visit, or sent a present to _our lady of Walsingham_.[442] At the dissolution of the monasteries in 1538, this splendid image, with another from Ipswich, was carried to Chelsea, and there burnt in the presence of commissioners; who, we trust, did not burn the jewels and the finery.

This poem is printed from a copy in the Editor's folio MS. which had greatly suffered by the hand of time; but vestiges of several of the lines remaining, some conjectural supplements have been attempted, which, for greater exactness, are in this one ballad distinguished by italicks.[443]

* * * * *

[The shrine of the Virgin at Walsingham was the favourite English
resort of pilgrims for nearly four hundred years, and the people of
Norfolk were in great distress when their image was taken away from
them, and the stream of votaries was suddenly stopped. In a copy
of the _Reliques_ in the library of the British Museum, there is
a MS. note by William Cole to the following effect: "I was lately
informed that the identical image of our lady of Walsingham being
mured up in an old wall, and there discovered on pulling it down,
was presented by the Earl of Leicester (Coke) to a relative of his
of the Roman Catholic religion."

The shrine was connected with a Priory of Augustinian Canons, which
was founded during the episcopate of William Turbus, Bishop of
Norwich (1146-1174). When Henry III. made his pilgrimage to the
shrine in the year 1241, it had long been famous, and was probably
more frequented even than the tomb of St. Thomas a Becket at
Canterbury. Foreigners of all nations came hither on pilgrimage,
and in number and quality the devotees appear to have equalled
those who toiled to the Lady of Loretto in Italy. Several of our
kings visited the shrine after Henry III. had set the example.
Edward I. was there in 1280 and in 1296, Edward II. in 1315, and
Edward IV. and his queen in 1469. Henry VII. offered his prayers in
"our Lady's Church" at Christmas time 1486-7, and in the following
summer, after the battle of Stoke, "he sent his banner to be
offered to our Lady of Walsingham, where before he made his vows."
Spelman gives on hearsay evidence the report that Henry VIII., in
the second year of his reign, walked barefoot to Walsingham from
a neighbouring village, and then presented a valuable necklace to
the image. Bartholomew, Lord Burghersh, K.G., by his will made
in 1369, ordered a statue of himself on horseback to be made in
silver, and offered to our Lady of Walsingham; and Henry VII., in
his lifetime, gave a kneeling figure of himself. There are numerous
references to Walsingham in the _Paston Letters_, and in 1443
we find Margaret Paston writing to her husband to tell him that
her mother had vowed another image of wax of his own weight, to
"our Lady of Walsingham," and that she herself had vowed to go on
pilgrimage there for him. (Ed. Fenn, iii. 22.)

The total income of the place (including the offerings) was
reported to be _£_650 in the twenty-sixth year of Henry VIII.'s
reign, and Roger Ascham, when visiting Cologne in 1550, makes this
remark: "The Three Kings be not so rich, I believe, as was the Lady
of Walsingham." Now the treasures at Cologne are said to have been
worth six millions of francs (_£_240,000).

The road to Walsingham was a well-frequented one, and a cross
was set up in every town it passed through. An old track running
by Newmarket, Brandon, and Castle Acre, which was used by the
pilgrims, was known as the "Palmer's Way" or "Walsingham Green Way."

The Milky Way ("the Watling-street of the heavens," as Chaucer has
it) has been associated with pilgrimages in several countries. In
Norfolk, the long streaming path of light was supposed to point the
pilgrim on his road to Walsingham, and was in consequence called
the "Walsingham Way." In Italy, in France, and in the north of
Europe it has been called "St. Jago's Way," "Jacobsstrasse," &c.,
as pointing the way to Compostella, and one of its Turkish names is
"The Hadji's Way," as indicating the road to Mecca.[444]

Among the Rawlinson MSS. in the Bodleian Library is _A Lament for
Walsingham_, in the handwriting of Philip, Earl of Arundel, the
third stanza of which is as follows:

"Bitter, bitter, oh! to behould
the grasse to growe
Where the walles of Walsingam
So statly did sheue.
Such were the workes of Walsingam
While shee did stand!
Such are the wrackes as now do shewe
of that holy land!
Levell, Levell with the ground
the towres doe lye."

The whole poem is printed in the Folio MS. ed. Hales and Furnivall,
vol. iii. p. 470.

The late Mr. John Gough Nichols published in 1849 a very
interesting volume, containing a translation of the _Colloquy of
Erasmus_, with valuable notes in illustration of it, under the
following title: "Pilgrimages to Saint Mary of Walsingham and Saint
Thomas of Canterbury, by Desiderius Erasmus, newly translated ...
and illustrated by J. G. Nichols. Westminster. 1849." sm. 8vo. This
work has lately been reprinted.

An excellent description of Walsingham Priory, with an account of
the excavations made on its site in 1853, will be found in Henry
Harrod's _Gleanings among the Castles and Convents of Norfolk_,
8vo. Norwich, 1857, pp. 155-197.]

* * * * *

Gentle heardsman, tell to me,
Of curtesy I thee pray,
Unto the towne of Walsingham
Which is the right and ready way.

"Unto the towne of Walsingham 5
The way is hard for to be gon;
And verry crooked are those pathes
For you to find out all alone."

Weere the miles doubled thrise,
And the way never soe ill, 10
Itt were not enough for mine offence;
Itt is soe grievous and soe ill.

"Thy yeeares are young, thy face is faire,
Thy witts are weake, thy thoughts are greene;
Time hath not given thee leave, as yett, 15
For to committ so great a sinne."

Yes, heardsman, yes, soe woldest thou say,
If thou knewest soe much as I;
My witts, and thoughts, and all the rest,
Have well deserved for to dye. 20

I am not what I seeme to bee,
My clothes and sexe doe differ farr:
I am a woman, woe is me!
_Born_[445] to greeffe and irksome care.

_For my_ beloved, and well-beloved, 25
_My wayward cruelty could kill:_
_And though my teares will nought avail,_
_Most dearely I bewail him_ still.

_He was the flower of n_oble wights,
_None ever more sincere colde_ bee; 30
_Of comely mien and shape_ hee was,
_And tenderlye he_e loved mee.

_When thus I saw he lo_ved me well,
_I grewe so proud his pa_ine to see,
_That I, who did not_ know myselfe, 35
_Thought scorne of such a youth_ as hee.

[446]And grew soe coy and nice to please,
As women's lookes are often soe,
He might not kisse, nor hand forsooth,
Unlesse I willed him soe to doe. 40

Thus being wearyed with delayes
To see I pittyed not his greeffe,
He gott him to a secrett place,
And there he dyed without releeffe.

And for his sake these weeds I weare, 45
And sacriffice my tender age;
And every day Ile begg my bread,
To undergoe this pilgrimage.

Thus every day I fast and pray,
And ever will doe till I dye; 50
And gett me to some secrett place,
For soe did hee, and soe will I.

Now, gentle heardsman, aske no more,
But keepe my secretts I thee pray;
Unto the towne of Walsingam 55
Show me the right and readye way.

"Now goe thy wayes, and God before!
For he must ever guide thee still:
Turne downe that dale, the right hand path,
And soe, faire pilgrim, fare thee well!" 60

* * * * *

[***] To shew what constant tribute was paid to _Our Lady of_
_Walsingham_, I shall give a few extracts from the "_Houshold-Book_
_of Henry Algernon Percy_, 5th Earl of Northumberland." Printed
1770, 8vo.

Sect. xliii. p. 337, &c.

_Item_, My Lorde usith yerly to send afor Michaelmas for his
Lordschip's Offerynge to our Lady of Walsyngeham.--_iiij_ d.

_Item_, My Lorde usith ande accustumyth to sende yerely for the
upholdynge of the Light of Wax which his Lordschip fyndith
birnynge yerly befor our Lady of Walsyngham, contenynge _xj_
lb. of Wax in it after _vij_ d. ob. for the fyndynge of every
lb. redy wrought by a covenaunt maid with the Channon by
great, for the hole yere, for the fyndinge of the said Lyght
byrnning,--_vi_ s. _viiij_ d.

_Item_, My Lord useth and accustomith to syende yerely to the
Channon that kepith the Light before our Lady of Walsyngham,
for his reward for the hole yere, for kepynge of the said
Light, lightynge of it at all service tymes dayly thorowt the
yere,--_xij_ d.

_Item_, My Lord usith and accustomyth yerely to send to the Prest
that kepith the Light, lyghtynge of it at all service tymes
daily thorowt the yere,--_iij_ s. _iiij_ d.

FOOTNOTES:

[442] See at the end of this ballad an account of the annual offerings of the Earls of Northumberland.

[443] [In the Folio MS. is the following note by Percy:--"Since I first transcribed this song for the press part of the leaf has been worne away. It was once exactly as I have represented it in my book." Ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. iii. p. 526.]

[444] [R. J. King's _Sketches and Studies_, 1874, p. 262.]

[445] [Mr. Furnivall suggests _a prey_.]

[446] Three of the following stanzas have been finely paraphrased by Dr. _Goldsmith_, in his charming ballad of _Edwin and Emma_; the reader of taste will have a pleasure in comparing them with the original.

"'And' still I try'd each fickle art,
Importunate and vain;
And while his passion touch'd my heart,
I triumph'd in his pain.

"'Till quite dejected with my scorn,
He left me to my pride,
And sought a solitude forlorn,
In secret, where he dy'd.

"But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,
And well my life shall pay;
I'll seek the solitude he sought,
And stretch me where he lay.

"And there forlorn despairing hid,
I'll lay me down and die:
'Twas so for me that Edwin did
And so for him will I."

[Goldsmith did not follow the last two verses, but made his ending
much more sentimental than that of the old ballad.]

XV.

K. EDWARD IV. AND TANNER OF TAMWORTH

Was a story of great fame among our ancestors. The author of the _Art of English poesie_, 1589, 4to, seems to speak of it as a real fact.--Describing that vicious mode of speech, which the Greeks called _Acyron_, _i.e._ "When we use a dark and obscure word, utterly repugnant to that we should express;" he adds, "Such manner of uncouth speech did the Tanner of Tamworth use to king Edward the fourth; which Tanner, having a great while mistaken him, and used very broad talke with him, at length perceiving by his traine that it was the king, was afraide he should be punished for it, [and] said thus, with a certain rude repentance,

'_I hope I shall be hanged to-morrow_,'

for [_I feare me_] _I shall be hanged_; whereat the king laughed a good,[447] not only to see the Tanner's vaine feare, but also to heare his illshapen terme: and gave him for recompence of his good sport, the inheritance of Plumpton-parke. _I am afraid_," concludes this sagacious writer, "_the poets of our times that speake more finely and correctedly, will come too short of such a reward_," p. 214.--The phrase, here referred to, is not found in this ballad at present,[448] but occurs with some variation in another old poem, intitled _John the Reeve_, described in the following volume (see the Preface to _the King and the Miller_),[449] viz.

"Nay, sayd John, by Gods grace,
And Edward wer in this place,
Hee shold not touch this tonne:
He wold be wroth with John _I hope_,
Thereffore I beshrew the soupe,
That in his mouth shold come." Pt. ii. st. 24.

The following text is selected (with such other corrections as occurred) from two copies in black-letter. The one in the Bodleyan library, intitled, "A merrie, pleasant, and delectable historie betweene K. Edward the Fourth, and a Tanner of Tamworth, &c. printed at London, by John Danter, 1596." This copy, ancient as it now is, appears to have been modernized and altered at the time it was published; and many vestiges of the more ancient readings were recovered from another copy, (though more recently printed,) in one sheet folio, without date, in the Pepys collection.

But these are both very inferior in point of antiquity to the old ballad of _The King and the Barker_, reprinted with other "Pieces of Ancient Popular Poetry from Authentic Manuscripts and old Printed Copies, &c." Lond. 1791, 8vo. As that very antique Poem had never occurred to the Editor of the Reliques, till he saw it in the above collection, he now refers the curious reader to it, as an imperfect and incorrect copy of the old original ballad.

* * * * *

[This ballad was a great favourite with our ancestors and is
probably of considerable antiquity.

The earliest entry of it upon the Registers of the Stationers'
Company is to William Griffith in 1564, but no such edition is
known to bibliographers. It is possible, however, that Puttenham
may have found the line quoted above--

"I hope I shall be hanged to-morrow"

in that edition.

It belongs to the large class of tales in which the sovereign is
made to converse on terms of good fellowship with a humble subject.

The interesting ballad of _John the Reeve_ referred to by Percy is
printed for the first time in Hales and Furnivall's edition of the
Folio Manuscript (vol. ii. p. 550.)

The Tanner of Tamworth is introduced into the first part of
Heywood's _Edward IV._ The ballad _Under the greenwood tree_, among
the Ashmole MSS. at Oxford, _Robin Hood and the Curtal Friar_,
and _Robin Hood and the Monk_, all begin with the same words as
this ballad--

"In summer time when leaves grow green."

The present version is an eclectic copy, polished and reversified
by Percy.]

* * * * *

In summer time, when leaves grow greene,
And blossoms bedecke the tree,
King Edward wolde a hunting ryde,
Some pastime for to see.

With hawke and hounde he made him bowne,[450] 5
With horne, and eke with bowe;
To Drayton Basset he tooke his waye,
With all his lordes a rowe.

And he had ridden ore dale and downe
By eight of clocke in the day, 10
When he was ware of a bold tannèr,
Come ryding along the waye.

A fayre russet coat the tanner had on
Fast buttoned under his chin,
And under him a good cow-hide, 15
And a mare of four shilling.[451]

Nowe stand you still, my good lordes all,
Under the grene wood spraye;
And I will wend to yonder fellowe,
To weet[452] what he will saye. 20

God speede, God speede thee, said our king,
Thou art welcome, sir, sayd hee.
"The readyest waye to Drayton Basset
I praye thee to shewe to mee."

"To Drayton Basset woldst thou goe, 25
Fro the place where thou dost stand?
The next payre of gallowes thou comest unto,
Turne in upon thy right hand."

That is an unreadye waye, sayd our king,
Thou doest but jest I see: 30
Nowe shewe me out the nearest waye,
And I pray thee wend with mee.

Awaye with a vengeance! quoth the tanner:
I hold thee out of thy witt:
All daye have I rydden on Brocke my mare, 35
And I am fasting yett.

"Go with me downe to Drayton Basset,
No daynties we will spare;
All daye shalt thou eate and drinke of the best,
And I will paye thy fare." 40

Gramercye[453] for nothing, the tanner replyde,
Thou payest no fare of mine:
I trowe I've more nobles in my purse,
Than thou hast pence in thine.

God give thee joy of them, sayd the king, 45
And send them well to priefe.[454]
The tanner wolde faine have beene away,
For he weende he had beene a thiefe.

What art thou, hee sayde, thou fine fellòwe,
Of thee I am in great feare, 50
For the cloathes, thou wearest upon thy backe,
Might beseeme a lord to weare.

I never stole them, quoth our king,
I tell you, sir, by the roode.
"Then thou playest, as many an unthrift doth, 55
And standest in midds of thy goode."[455]

What tydinges heare you, sayd the kynge,
As you ryde farre and neare?
"I heare no tydinges, sir, by the masse,
But that cowe-hides are deare." 60

"Cowe-hides! cowe-hides! what things are those?
I marvell what they bee?"
What art thou a foole? the tanner reply'd;
I carry one under mee.

What craftsman art thou, said the king, 65
I praye thee tell me trowe.
"I am a barker,[456] sir, by my trade;
Nowe tell me what art thou?"

I am a poore courtier, sir, quoth he,
That am forth of service worne; 70
And faine I wolde thy prentise bee,
Thy cunninge for to learne.

Marrye heaven forfend,[457] the tanner replyde,
That thou my prentise were:
Thou woldst spend more good than I shold winne 75
By fortye shilling a yere.

Yet one thinge wolde I, sayd our king,
If thou wilt not seeme strange:
Thoughe my horse be better than thy mare,
Yet with thee I faine wold change. 80

"Why if with me thou faine wilt change,
As change full well maye wee,
By the faith of my bodye, thou proude fellòwe,
I will have some boot[458] of thee."

That were against reason, sayd the king, 85
I sweare, so mote I thee:[459]
My horse is better than thy mare,
And that thou well mayst see.

"Yea, sir, but Brocke is gentle and mild,
And softly she will fare: 90
Thy horse is unrulye and wild, I wiss;
Aye skipping here and theare."

What boote wilt thou have? our king reply'd;
Now tell me in this stound.[460]
"Noe pence, nor half pence, by my faye, 95
But a noble in gold so round."

"Here's twentye groates of white moneyè,
Sith thou will have it of mee."
I would have sworne now, quoth the tanner,
Thou hadst not had one penniè. 100

But since we two have made a change,
A change we must abide,
Although thou hast gotten Brocke my mare,
Thou gettest not my cowe-hide.

I will not have it, sayd the kynge, 105
I sweare, so mought I thee;
Thy foule cowe-hide I wolde not beare,
If thou woldst give it to mee.

The tanner hee tooke his good cowe-hide,
That of the cow was hilt; 110
And threwe it upon the king's sadèlle,
That was soe fayrelye gilte.

"Now help me up, thou fine fellòwe,
'Tis time that I were gone:
When I come home to Gyllian my wife, 115
Sheel say I am a gentilmon."

The king he tooke him up by the legge;
The tanner a f ** lett fall.
Nowe marrye, good fellowe, sayd the kyng,
Thy courtesye is but small. 120

When the tanner he was in the kinges sadèlle,
And his foote in the stirrup was;
He marvelled greatlye in his minde,
Whether it were golde or brass.

But when his steede saw the cows taile wagge, 125
And eke the blacke cowe-horne;
He stamped, and stared, and awaye he ranne,
As the devill had him borne.

The tanner he pulld, the tanner he sweat,
And held by the pummil fast: 130
At length the tanner came tumbling downe;
His necke he had well-nye brast.[461]

Take thy horse again with a vengeance, he sayd,
With mee he shall not byde.
"My horse wolde have borne thee well enoughe, 135
But he knewe not of thy cowe-hide.

Yet if againe thou faine woldst change,
As change full well may wee,
By the faith of my bodye, thou jolly tannèr,
I will have some boote of thee." 140

What boote wilt thou have, the tanner replyd,
Nowe tell me in this stounde?
"Noe pence nor halfpence, sir, by my faye,
But I will have twentye pound."

"Here's twentye groates out of my purse; 145
And twentye I have of thine:
And I have one more, which we will spend
Together at the wine."

The king set a bugle horne to his mouthe,
And blewe both loude and shrille: 150
And soone came lords, and soone came knights,
Fast ryding over the hille.

Nowe, out alas! the tanner he cryde,
That ever I sawe this daye!
Thou art a strong thiefe, yon come thy fellowes 155
Will beare my cowe-hide away.

They are no thieves, the king replyde,
I sweare, soe mote I thee:
But they are the lords of the north countrèy,
Here come to hunt with mee. 160

And soone before our king they came,
And knelt downe on the grounde:
Then might the tanner have beene awaye,
He had lever than twentye pounde.

A coller, a coller, here: sayd the king, 165
A coller he loud gan crye;
Then woulde he lever then twentye pound,
He had not beene so nighe.

A coller, a coller, the tanner he sayd,
I trowe it will breed sorrowe: 170
After a coller commeth a halter,
I trow I shall be hang'd to-morrowe.

Be not afraid Tanner, said our king;
I tell thee, so mought I thee,
Lo here I make thee the best esquire 175
That is in the North countrie.[462]

For Plumpton-parke I will give thee,
With tenements faire beside:
'Tis worth three hundred markes by the yeare,
To maintaine thy good cowe-hide. 180

Gramercye, my liege, the tanner replyde,
For the favour thou hast me showne;
If ever thou comest to merry Tamwòrth,
Neates leather shall clout thy shoen.[463]

[***]

FOOTNOTES:

[447] [for good deal.]

[448] Nor in that of the _Barker_ mentioned below.

[449] [Vol. iii. Book 2, No. 20.]

[450] [ready.]

[451] In the reign of Edward IV. Dame Cecill, lady of Torboke, in her will dated March 7, A.D. 1466; among many other bequests has this, "Also I will that my sonne Thomas of Torboke have 13_s._ 4_d._ to buy him an horse." Vid. Harleian Catalog. 2176. 27.--Now if 13_s._ 4_d._ would purchase a steed fit for a person of quality, a tanner's horse might reasonably be valued at four or five shillings.

[452] [know.]

[453] [thank you.]

[454] [prove.]

[455] _i.e._ hast no other wealth, but what thou carriest about thee.

[456] _i.e._ a dealer in bark.

[457] [avert it.]

[458] [profit.]

[459] [so may I thrive.]

[460] [moment.]

[461] [broken.]