Chapter X: Part THE FIRST

Henry, our royall king, would ride a hunting
To the greene forest so pleasant and faire;
To see the harts skipping, and dainty does tripping:
Unto merry Sherwood his nobles repaire:
Hawke and hound were unbound, all things prepar'd 5
For the game, in the same, with good regard.

All a long summers day rode the king pleasantlye,
With all his princes and nobles eche one;

Chasing the hart and hind, and the bucke gallantlye,
Till the dark evening forc'd all to turne home. 10
Then at last, riding fast, he had lost quite
All his lords in the wood, late in the night.

Wandering thus wearilye, all alone, up and downe,
With a rude miller he mett at the last:
Asking the ready way unto faire Nottingham; 15
Sir, quoth the miller, I meane not to jest,
Yet I thinke, what I thinke, sooth for to say,
You doe not lightlye ride out of your way.

Why, what dost thou think of me, quoth our king merrily,
Passing thy judgment upon me so briefe? 20
Good faith, sayd the miller, I meane not to flatter thee;
I guess thee to be but some gentleman thiefe;
Stand thee backe, in the darke; light not adowne,
Lest that I presentlye cracke thy knaves crowne.

Thou dost abuse me much, quoth the king, saying thus; 25
I am a gentleman; lodging I lacke.
Thou hast not, quoth th' miller, one groat in thy purse;
All thy inheritance hanges on thy backe.[395]
I have gold to discharge all that I call;
If it be forty pence, I will pay all. 30

If thou beest a true man, then quoth the miller,
I sweare by my toll-dish, I'll lodge thee all night.
Here's my hand, quoth the king, that was I ever.
Nay, soft, quoth the miller, thou may'st be a sprite.
Better I'll know thee, ere hands we will shake; 35
With none but honest men hands will I take.

Thus they went all along unto the miller's house;
Where they were seething of puddings and souse:[396]
The miller first enter'd in, after him went the king;
Never came hee in soe smoakye a house. 40
Now, quoth hee, let me see here what you are.
Quoth our king, looke your fill, and doe not spare.

I like well thy countenance, thou hast an honest face
With my son Richard this night thou shalt lye.
Quoth his wife, by my troth, it is a handsome youth, 45
Yet it's best, husband, to deal warilye.
Art thou no run away, prythee, youth, tell?
Shew me thy passport, and all shal be well.

Then our king presentlye, making lowe courtesye,
With his hatt in his hand, thus he did say; 50
I have no passport, nor never was servitor,
But a poor courtyer, rode out of my way:
And for your kindness here offered to mee,
I will requite you in everye degree.

Then to the miller his wife whisper'd secretlye, 55
Saying, It seemeth, this youth's of good kin,
Both by his apparel, and eke by his manners;
To turne him out, certainlye, were a great sin.
Yea, quoth hee, you may see, he hath some grace
When he doth speake to his betters in place. 60

Well, quo' the millers wife, young man, ye're welcome here;
And, though I say it, well lodged shall be:
Fresh straw will I have, laid on thy bed so brave,
And good brown hempen sheets likewise, quoth shee.
Aye, quoth the good man; and when that is done, 65
Thou shalt lye with no worse, than our own sonne.

Nay, first, quoth Richard, good-fellowe, tell me true,
Host thou noe creepers within thy gay hose?
Or art thou not troubled with the scabbado?
I pray, quoth the king, what creatures are those? 70
Art thou not lowsy, nor scabby? quoth he:
If thou beest, surely thou lyest not with mee.

This caus'd the king, suddenlye, to laugh most heartilye,
Till the teares trickled fast downe from his eyes.
Then to their supper were they set orderlye, 75
With hot bag-puddings, and good apple-pyes;
Nappy ale, good and stale, in a browne bowle,
Which did about the board merrilye trowle.

Here, quoth the miller, good fellowe, I drinke to thee,
And to all 'cuckholds, wherever they bee.'[397] 80
I pledge thee, quotth our king, and thanke thee heartilye
For my good welcome in everye degree:
And here, in like manner, I drinke to thy sonne.
Do then, quoth Richard, and quicke let it come.

Wife, quoth the miller, fetch me forth lightfoote, 85
And of his sweetnesse a little we'll taste.
A fair ven'son pastye brought she out presentlye.
Eate, quoth the miller, but, sir, make no waste.
Here's dainty lightfoote! In faith, sayd the king,
I never before eat so daintye a thing. 90

I wis, quoth Richard, no daintye at all it is,
For we doe eate of it everye day.
In what place, sayd our king, may be bought like to this?
We never pay pennye for itt, by my fay;
From merry Sherwood we fetch it home here; 95
Now and then we make bold with our kings deer.

Then I thinke, sayd our king, that it is venison.
Eche foole, quoth Richard, full well may know that:
Never are wee without two or three in the roof,
Very well fleshed, and excellent fat: 100
But, prythee, say nothing wherever thou goe;
We would not, for two pence, the king should it knowe.

Doubt not, then sayd the king, my promist secresye;
The king shall never know more on't for mee.
A cupp of lambs-wool[398] they dranke unto him then, 105
And to their bedds they past presentlie.
The nobles, next morning, went all up and down,
For to seeke out the king in everye towne.

At last, at the miller's 'cott,' soone they espy'd him out,
As he was mounting upon his faire steede; 110
To whom they came presently, falling down on their knee;
Which made the millers heart wofully bleede;
Shaking and quaking, before him he stood,
Thinking he should have been hang'd, by the rood.

The king perceiving him fearfully trembling, 115
Drew forth his sword, but nothing he sed:
The miller downe did fall, crying before them all,
Doubting the king would have cut off his head.
But he his kind courtesye for to requite,
Gave him great living, and dubb'd him a knight. 120

* * * * *

PART THE SECONDE.

When as our royall king came home from Nottingham,
And with his nobles at Westminster lay;
Recounting the sports and pastimes they had taken,
In this late progress along on the way;
Of them all, great and small, he did protest, 5
The miller of Mansfield's sport liked him best.

And now, my lords, quoth the king, I am determined
Against St. Georges next sumptuous feast,
That this old miller, our new confirm'd knight,
With his son Richard, shall here be my guest: 10
For, in this merryment, 'tis my desire
To talke with the jolly knight, and the young squire.

When as the noble lords saw the kinges pleasantness,
They were right joyfull and glad in their hearts:
A pursuivant there was sent straighte on the business, 15
The which had often-times been in those parts.
When he came to the place, where they did dwell,
His message orderlye then 'gan he tell.

God save your worshippe, then said the messenger,
And grant your ladye her own hearts desire; 20
And to your sonne Richard good fortune and happiness;
That sweet, gentle, and gallant young squire.
Our king greets you well, and thus he doth say,
You must come to the court on St. George's day;

Therfore, in any case, faile not to be in place. 25
I wis, quoth the miller, this is an odd jest:
What should we doe there? faith, I am halfe afraid.
I doubt, quoth Richard, to be hang'd at the least.
Nay, quoth the messenger, you doe mistake;
Our king he provides a great feast for your sake. 30

Then sayd the miller, By my troth, messenger,
Thou hast contented my worshippe full well.
Hold here are three farthings, to quite thy gentleness,
For these happy tydings, which thou dost tell.
Let me see, hear thou mee; tell to our king, 35
We'll wayt on his mastershipp in everye thing.

The pursuivant smiled at their simplicitye,
And, making many leggs, tooke their reward;
And his leave taking with great humilitye
To the kings court againe he repair'd; 40
Shewing unto his grace, merry and free,
The knightes most liberall gift and bountie.

When he was gone away, thus gan the miller say,
Here come expences and charges indeed;
Now must we needs be brave, tho' we spend all we have; 45
For of new garments we have great need:
Of horses and serving-men we must have store,
With bridles and saddles, and twentye things more.

Tushe, sir John, quoth his wife, why should you frett, or frowne?
You shall ne'er be att no charges for mee; 50
For I will turne and trim up my old russet gowne,
With everye thing else as fine as may bee;
And on our mill-horses swift we will ride,
With pillowes and pannells, as we shall provide.

In this most statelye sort, rode they unto the court, 55
Their jolly sonne Richard rode foremost of all;

Who set up, for good hap, a cocks feather in his cap,[399]
And so they jetted[400] downe to the kings hall;
The merry old miller with hands on his side;
His wife, like maid Marian, did mince at that tide.[401] 60

The king and his nobles that heard of their coming,
Meeting this gallant knight with his brave traine;
Welcome, sir knight, quoth he, with your gay lady:
Good sir John Cockle, once welcome againe:
And soe is the squire of courage soe free. 65
Quoth Dicke, A bots on you! do you know mee?

Quoth our king gentlye, how should I forget thee?
That wast my owne bed-fellowe, well it I wot.
Yea, sir, quoth Richard, and by the same token,
Thou with thy farting didst make the bed hot. 70
Thou whore-son unhappy knave, then quoth the knight,
Speake cleanly to our king, or else go sh***.

The king and his courtiers laugh at this heartily,
While the king taketh them both by the hand;
With the court-dames, and maids, like to the queen of spades 75
The millers wife did soe orderlye stand.
A milk-maids courtesye at every word;
And downe all the folkes were set to the board.

There the king royally, in princelye majestye,
Sate at his dinner with joy and delight; 80
When they had eaten well, then he to jesting fell,
And in a bowle of wine dranke to the knight:
Here's to you both, in wine, ale and beer;
Thanking you heartilye for my good cheer.

Quoth sir John Cockle, I'll pledge you a pottle, 85
Were it the best ale in Nottinghamshire:
But then said our king, now I think of a thing;
Some of your lightfoote I would we had here.
Ho! ho! quoth Richard, full well I may say it,
'Tis knavery to eate it, and then to betray it. 90

Why art thou angry? quoth our king merrilye;
In faith, I take it now very unkind:
I thought thou wouldst pledge me in ale and wine heartily.
Quoth Dicke, You are like to stay till I have din'd:
You feed us with twatling dishes soe small; 95
Zounds, a blacke-pudding is better than all.

Aye, marry, quoth our king, that were a daintye thing,
Could a man get but one here for to eate.
With that Dicke straite arose, and pluckt one from his hose,
Which with heat of his breech gan to sweate. 100
The king made a proffer to snatch it away:--
'Tis meat for your master: good sir, you must stay.

Thus in great merriment was the time wholly spent;
And then the ladyes prepared to dance.
Old Sir John Cockle, and Richard, incontinent[402] 105
Unto their places the king did advance.
Here with the ladyes such sport they did make,
The nobles with laughing did make their sides ake.

Many thankes for their paines did the king give them,
Asking young Richard then, if he would wed; 110
Among these ladyes free, tell me which liketh thee?
Quoth he, Jugg Grumball, Sir, with the red head:
She's my love, she's my life, her will I wed;
She hath sworn I shall have her maidenhead.

Then sir John Cockle the king called unto him, 115
And of merry Sherwood made him o'er seer;
And gave him out of hand three hundred pound yearlye:
Take heed now you steale no more of my deer:
And once a quarter let's here have your view;
And now, sir John Cockle, I bid you adieu. 120

FOOTNOTES:

[394] [See vol. ii. book i. No. 15.]

[395] The king says this.

[396] [The head, feet, and ears of swine boiled and pickled for eating.--_Halliwell's Dictionary._]

[397] [Ver. 80. courtnalls, that courteous be. _MS. and P._]

[398] [A favourite liquor among the common people, composed of ale and roasted apples, the pulp of the apple worked up with the ale till the mixture formed a smooth beverage. _Nares' Glossary._]

[399] [Ver. 57. _for good hap_: _i.e._ for good luck; they were going on an hazardous expedition.]

[400] [strutted.]

[401] [Ver. 60. Maid Marian in the Morris dance, was represented by a man in woman's cloaths, who was to take short steps in order to sustain the female character.]

[402] [forthwith.]

XXI.

THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION.

This beautiful old song was written by a poet, whose name would have been utterly forgotten, if it had not been preserved by _Swift_, as a term of contempt. _Dryden_ and _Wither_ are coupled by him like the _Bavius_ and _Mævius_ of Virgil. _Dryden_, however, has had justice done him by posterity: and as for _Wither_, though of subordinate merit, that he was not altogether devoid of genius, will be judged from the following stanzas. The truth is, _Wither_ was a very voluminous party-writer: and as his political and satyrical strokes rendered him extremely popular in his life-time; so afterwards, when these were no longer relished, they totally consigned his writings to oblivion.

_George Wither_ was born June 11, 1588, and in his younger years distinguished himself by some pastoral pieces, that were not inelegant; but growing afterwards involved in the political and religious disputes in the times of James I. and Charles I. he employed his poetical vein in severe pasquils on the court and clergy, and was occasionally a sufferer for the freedom of his pen. In the civil war that ensued, he exerted himself in the service of the Parliament, and became a considerable sharer in the spoils. He was even one of those provincial tyrants, whom Oliver distributed over the kingdom, under the name of Major Generals; and had the fleecing of the county of Surrey: but surviving the Restoration, he outlived both his power and his affluence; and giving vent to his chagrin in libels on the court, was long a prisoner in Newgate and the Tower. He died at length on the 2d of May, 1667.

During the whole course of his life, _Wither_ was a continual publisher; having generally for opponent, _Taylor_ the Water-poet. The long list of his productions may be seen in Wood's _Athenæ._ _Oxon._ vol. ii. His most popular satire is intitled, _Abuses whipt_ _and stript_, 1613. His most poetical pieces were eclogues, intitled, _The Shepherd's Hunting_, 1615, 8vo. and others printed at the end of Browne's _Shepherd's Pipe_, 1614, 8vo. The following sonnet is extracted from a long pastoral piece of his, intitled, _The Mistresse_ _of Philarete_, 1622, 8vo. which is said in the preface to be one of the Author's first poems; and may therefore be dated as early as any of the foregoing.

* * * * *

[This favourite song appeared in 1619, appended to Wither's
_Fidelia_, and again in his _Juvenilia_ in 1633 in _Fair Virtue
the mistress of Philarete_. It was reprinted again and again, and
occurs in the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 50).

Mr. Chappell refers to a copy in the Pepys Collection entitled, _A
New Song of a young man's opinion of the difference between good_
_and bad women_, the first line of which is, "Shall I _wrestling_
in despaire?" This reading seems to have been pretty popular, as
Mr. Chappell gives two instances of the tune being called "_Shall_
_I wrastle in despair?_" Mr. Chappell prints a song in the same
metre and with a similar burden, which has been attributed on
insufficient evidence to Sir Walter Raleigh. The first stanza is as
follows:--

"Shall I like a hermit dwell
On a rock or in a cell?
Calling home the smallest part
That is missing of my heart,
To bestow it where I may
Meet a rival every day?
If she undervalues me
What care I how fair she be."

_Popular Music of the Olden Time_, vol. i. p. 315.]

* * * * *

Shall I, wasting in dispaire,
Dye because a woman's faire?
Or make pale my cheeks with care,
'Cause another's rosie are?
Be shee fairer then the day, 5
Or the flowery meads in may;
If she be not so to me,[403]
What care I how faire shee be?

Shall my foolish heart be pin'd,
'Cause I see a woman kind? 10
Or a well-disposed nature
Joyned with a lovely feature?
Be she meeker, kinder, than
The turtle-dove or pelican:
If shee be not so to me, 15
What care I how kind shee be?

Shall a woman's virtues move
Me to perish for her love?
Or, her well-deservings knowne,
Make me quite forget mine owne? 20
Be shee with that goodnesse blest,
Which may merit name of Best;
If she be not such to me,[404]
What care I how good she be?

Cause her fortune seems too high,[405] 25
Shall I play the foole and dye?[405]
Those that beare a noble minde,[405]
Where they want of riches find,[405]
Think what with them they would doe,[405]
That without them dare to woe;[405] 30
And, unlesse that minde I see,[405]
What care I how great she be?[405]

Great or good, or kind or faire,
I will ne'er the more dispaire:
If she love me, this beleeve; 35
I will die ere she shall grieve.
If she slight me when I wooe,
I can scorn and let her goe:
If shee be not fit for me,
What care I for whom she be? 40

FOOTNOTES:

[403] [Ver. 7. if shee thinke not well of mee, MS.]

[404] [V. 23. soe to me, MS.]

[405] [V. 25-32. this stanza is not in the MS.]

XXII.

QUEEN DIDO.

Such is the title given in the editor's folio MS.[406] to this excellent old ballad, which, in the common printed copies, is inscribed, _Eneas, wandering Prince of Troy_. It is here given from that MS. collated with two different printed copies, both in black-letter, in the Pepys Collection.

The reader will smile to observe with what natural and affecting simplicity, our ancient ballad-maker has engrafted a Gothic conclusion on the classic story of Virgil, from whom, however, it is probable he had it not. Nor can it be denied, but he has dealt out his poetical justice with a more impartial hand, than that celebrated poet.

* * * * *

[This once popular ballad was entered on the Registers of the
Stationers Company in 1564-5 as "a ballett intituled _The
Wanderynge Prince_." Its great popularity is evidenced by the
frequent references in literature and the large number of ballads
sung to the tune of _Queen Dido_ or _Troy towne_. In _The Penniless
Parliament of Threadbare Poets_, 1608, ale-knights are said
to "sing _Queen Dido_ over a cup and tell strange news over an
ale-pot," and the same song is referred to in Fletcher's _Captain_
(act iii. sc. 3) and his _Bonduca_, act i. sc. 2.

The only tune that Mr. Chappell could find for the ballad was one
by Dr. John Wilson (the Jack Wilson of Shakspere's stage according
to Dr. Rimbault), which is printed in his _Cheerful Ayres or
Ballads_, Oxford, 1660.]

* * * * *

When Troy towne had, for ten yeeres "past,"[407]
Withstood the Greekes in manfull wise,
Then did their foes encrease soe fast,
That to resist none could suffice:
Wast lye those walls, that were soe good, 5
And corne now growes where Troy towne stoode.

Æneas, wandering prince of Troy,
When he for land long time had sought,
At length arriving with great joy,
To mighty Carthage walls was brought; 10
Where Dido queene, with sumptuous feast,
Did entertaine that wandering guest.

And, as in hall at meate, they sate,
The queene, desirous newes to heare,
"Says, of thy Troys unhappy fate" 15
Declare to me thou Trojan deare:
The heavy hap and chance soe bad,
That thou, poore wandering prince, hast had,

And then anon this comelye knight,
With words demure, as he cold well, 20
Of his unhappy ten yeares "fight,"
Soe true a tale began to tell,
With words soe sweete, and sighes so deepe,
That oft he made them all to weepe.

And then a thousand sighes he fet,[408] 25
And every sigh brought teares amaine;
That where he sate the place was wett,
As though he had seene those warrs againe;
Soe that the queene, with ruth therfore,
Said, worthy prince, enough, no more. 30

And then the darksome night drew on,
And twinkling starres the skye bespred;
When he his dolefull tale had done,
And every one was layd in bedd:
Where they full sweetly tooke their rest, 35
Save only Dido's boyling brest.

This silly woman never slept,
But in her chamber, all alone,
As one unhappye, alwayes wept,
And to the walls shee made her mone; 40
That she shold still desire in vaine
The thing, she never must obtaine.

And thus in grieffe she spent the night,
Till twinkling starres the skye were fled,
And Ph[oe]bus, with his glistering light, 45
Through misty cloudes appeared red;
Then tidings came to her anon,
That all the Trojan shipps were gone.

And then the queene with bloody knife
Did arme her hart as hard as stone, 50
Yet, something loth to loose her life,
In woefull wise she made her mone;
And, rowling on her carefull bed,
With sighes and sobbs, these words shee sayd:

O wretched Dido queene! quoth shee, 55
I see thy end approacheth neare;
For hee is fled away from thee,
Whom thou didst love and hold so deare:
What is he gone, and passed by?
O hart, prepare thyselfe to dye. 60

Though reason says, thou shouldst forbeare,
And stay thy hand from bloudy stroke;
Yet fancy bids thee not to fear,
Which fetter'd thee in Cupids yoke.
Come death, quoth shee, resolve my smart!-- 65
And with those words shee peerced her hart.

When death had pierced the tender hart
Of Dido, Carthaginian queene;
Whose bloudy knife did end the smart,
Which shee sustain'd in mournfull teene[409]; 70
Æneas being shipt and gone,
Whose flattery caused all her mone;

Her funerall most costly made,
And all things finisht mournfullye;
Her body fine in mold was laid, 75
Where itt consumed speedilye:
Her sisters teares her tombe bestrewde;
Her subjects griefe their kindnesse shewed.

Then was Æneas in an ile
In Grecya, where he stayd long space, 80
Wheras her sister in short while
Writt to him to his vile disgrace;
In speeches bitter to his mind
Shee told him plaine he was unkind.

False-harted wretch, quoth shee, thou art; 85
And traiterouslye thou hast betraid
Unto thy lure a gentle hart,
Which unto thee much welcome made;
My sister deare, and Carthage' joy,
Whose folly bred her deere annoy. 90

Yett on her death-bed when shee lay,
Shee prayd for thy prosperitye,
Beseeching god, that every day
Might breed thy great felicitye:
Thus by thy meanes I lost a friend; 95
Heavens send thee such untimely end.

When he these lines, full fraught with gall,
Perused had, and wayed them right,
His lofty courage then did fall;
And straight appeared in his sight 100
Queene Dido's ghost, both grim and pale;
Which made this valliant souldier quaile.

Æneas, quoth this ghastly ghost,
My whole delight when I did live,
Thee of all men I loved most; 105
My fancy and my will did give;
For entertainment I thee gave,
Unthankefully thou didst me grave.

Therfore prepare thy flitting soule
To wander with me in the aire; 110
Where deadlye griefe shall make it howle,
Because of me thou tookst no care:
Delay not time, thy glasse is run,
Thy date is past, thy life is done.

O stay a while, thou lovely sprite, 115
Be not soe hasty to convay
My soule into eternall night,
Where itt shall ne're behold bright day.
O doe not frowne; thy angry looke,
Hath "all my soule with horror shooke."[410] 120

But, woe is me! all is in vaine,
And bootless is my dismall crye;
Time will not be recalled againe,
Nor thou surcease before I dye.
O lett me live, and make amends 125
To some of thy most deerest friends.

But seeing thou obdurate art,
And wilt no pittye on me show,
Because from thee I did depart,
And left unpaid what I did owe: 130
I must content myselfe to take
What lott to me thou wilt partake.

And thus, as one being in a trance,
A multitude of uglye feinds
About this woffull prince did dance; 135
He had no helpe of any friends:
His body then they tooke away,
And no man knew his dying day.

FOOTNOTES:

[406] [Ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. iii. p. 502.]

[407] [Ver. 1. 21. war. MS. and PP.]

[408] fetched.

[409] [trouble.]

[410] Ver. 120. MS. _Hath_ made my breath my life forsooke.

XXIII.

THE WITCHES' SONG

From Ben Jonson's _Masque of Queens_ presented at Whitehall, Feb. 2, 1609.

The editor thought it incumbent on him to insert some old pieces on the popular superstition concerning witches, hobgoblins, fairies, and ghosts. The last of these make their appearance in most of the tragical ballads; and in the following songs will be found some description of the former.

It is true, this song of the Witches, falling from the learned pen of Ben Jonson, is rather an extract from the various incantations of classical antiquity, than a display of the opinions of our own vulgar. But let it be observed, that a parcel of learned wiseacres had just before busied themselves on this subject, in compliment to K. James I. whose weakness on this head is well known: and these had so ransacked all writers, ancient and modern, and so blended and kneaded together the several superstitions of different times and nations, that those of genuine English growth could no longer be traced out and distinguished.

By good luck the whimsical belief of fairies and goblins could furnish no pretences for torturing our fellow-creatures, and therefore we have this handed down to us pure and unsophisticated.

* * * * *

1 WITCH.[411]

I have been all day looking after
A raven feeding upon a quarter;
And, soone as she turn'd her beak to the south,
I snatch'd this morsell out of her mouth.

2 WITCH.

I have beene gathering wolves haires, 5
The madd dogges foames, and adders eares;
The spurging of a deadmans eyes:
And all since the evening starre did rise.

3 WITCH.

I last night lay all alone
O' the ground, to heare the mandrake grone; 10
And pluckt him up, though he grew full low:
And, as I had done, the cocke did crow.

4 WITCH.

And I ha' beene chusing out this scull
From charnell houses that were full;
From private grots, and publike pits; 15
And frighted a sexton out of his wits.

5 WITCH.

Under a cradle I did crepe
By day; and, when the childe was a-sleepe
At night, I suck'd the breath; and rose,
And pluck'd the nodding nurse by the nose. 20

6 WITCH.

I had a dagger: what did I with that?
Killed an infant to have his fat.
A piper it got at a church-ale,[412]
I bade him again blow wind i' the taile.

7 WITCH.

A murderer, yonder, was hung in chaines; 25
The sunne and the wind had shrunke his veines:
I bit off a sinew; I clipp'd his haire;
I brought off his ragges, that danc'd i' the ayre.

8 WITCH.

The scrich-owles egges and the feathers blacke,
The bloud of the frogge, and the bone in his backe 30
I have been getting; and made of his skin
A purset, to keep sir Cranion[413] in.

9 WITCH.

And I ha' beene plucking (plants among)
Hemlock, henbane, adders-tongue,
Night-shade, moone-wort, libbards-bane[414]; 35
And twise by the dogges was like to be tane.

10 WITCH.

I from the jawes of a gardiner's bitch
Did snatch these bones, and then leap'd the ditch:
Yet went I back to the house againe,
Kill'd the blacke cat, and here is the braine. 40

11 WITCH.

I went to the toad, breedes under the wall,
I charmed him out, and he came at my call;
I scratch'd out the eyes of the owle before;
I tore the batts wing: what would you have more?

DAME.[415]

Yes: I have brought, to helpe your vows, 45
Horned poppie, cypresse boughes,
The fig-tree wild, that growes on tombes,
And juice, that from the larch-tree comes,
The basiliskes bloud, and the viper's skin:
And now our orgies let's begin. 50

FOOTNOTES:

[411] [These witches are called Hags by Jonson.]

[412] [a wake or feast in commemoration of the dedication of a church.]

[413] [skull.]

[414] [the herb wolfbane.]

[415] [Jonson meant the Dame to represent Ate or the goddess of Mischief.]

XXIV.

ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW,

Alias _Pucke_, alias _Hobgoblin_, in the creed of ancient superstition, was a kind of merry sprite, whose character and atchievements are recorded in this ballad, and in those well-known lines of Milton's _L'Allegro_, which the antiquarian Peck supposes to be owing to it:

"Tells how the drudging _Goblin_ swet
To earn his creame-bowle duly set;
When in one night ere glimpse of morne,
His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn
That ten day-labourers could not end;
Then lies him down the lubber fiend,
And stretch'd out all the chimneys length,
Basks at the fire his hairy strength,
And crop-full out of doors he flings,
Ere the first cock his matins rings."

The reader will observe that our simple ancestors had reduced all these whimsies to a kind of system, as regular, and perhaps more consistent, than many parts of classic mythology: a proof of the extensive influence and vast antiquity of these superstitions. Mankind, and especially the common people, could not every where have been so unanimously agreed concerning these arbitrary notions, if they had not prevailed among them for many ages. Indeed, a learned friend in Wales assures the Editor, that the existence of Fairies and Goblins is alluded to by the most ancient British Bards, who mention them under various names, one of the most common of which signifies, _The spirits of the mountains_. See also Preface to Song XXV.

This song, which Peck attributes to Ben Jonson, (tho' it is not found among his works) is chiefly printed from an ancient black-letter copy in the British Museum. It seems to have been originally intended for some Masque.

It is intitled, in the old black-letter copies, _The mad merry_ _Prankes of Robin Goodfellow_. To the tune of _Dulcina_, &c. (See No. XIII. above.)

To one, if not more of the old copies, are prefixed two wooden cuts, said to be taken from Bulwer's _Artificial Changeling, &c._, which, as they seem to correspond with the notions then entertained of the whimsical appearances of this fantastic spirit, and perhaps were copied in the dresses in which he was formerly exhibited on the stage, are, to gratify the curious, engraven below.

* * * * *

[The copy in the Roxburghe _Collection_ (ed. Chappell, vol. ii. pl.
i. p. 80) is printed by H[enry] G[osson], who was a contemporary
of Ben Jonson. Some little books in prose on _Robin Goodfellow_,
written in the seventeenth century, were printed for the Percy
Society by Mr. J. P. Collier.]

* * * * *

From Oberon, in fairye land,
The king of ghosts and shadowes there,
Mad Robin I, at his command,
Am sent to viewe the night-sports here.
What revell rout 5
Is kept about,
In every corner where I go,
I will o'ersee,
And merry bee,
And make good sport, with ho, ho, ho! 10

More swift than lightening can I flye
About this aery welkin soone,
And, in a minutes space, descrye
Each thing that's done belowe the moone,
There's not a hag 15
Or ghost shall wag,
Or cry, ware Goblins! where I go;
But Robin I
Their feates will spy,
And send them home, with ho, ho, ho! 20

Whene'er such wanderers I meete,
As from their night-sports they trudge home;
With counterfeiting voice I greete
And call them on, with me to roame
Thro' woods, thro' lakes, 25
Thro' bogs, thro' brakes;
Or else, unseene, with them I go,
All in the nicke
To play some tricke
And frolicke it, with ho, ho, ho! 30

Sometimes I meete them like a man;
Sometimes, an ox, sometimes, a hound;
And to a horse I turn me can;
To trip and trot about them round.
But if, to ride, 35
My backe they stride,
More swift than wind away I go,
Ore hedge and lands,
Thro' pools and ponds
I whirry, laughing, ho, ho, ho! 40

When lads and lasses merry be,
With possets and with juncates fine;
Unseene of all the company,
I eat their cakes and sip their wine;
And, to make sport, 45
I fart and snort;
And out the candles I do blow:
The maids I kiss;
They shrieke--Who's this?
I answer nought, but ho, ho, ho! 50

Yet now and then, the maids to please,
At midnight I card up their wooll;
And while they sleepe, and take their ease,
With wheel to threads their flax I pull.
I grind at mill 55
Their malt up still;
I dress their hemp, I spin their tow.
If any 'wake,
And would me take,
I wend me, laughing, ho, ho, ho! 60

When house or harth doth sluttish lye,[416]
I pinch the maidens blacke and blue;
The bed-clothes from the bedd pull I,
And lay them naked all to view.
'Twixt sleepe and wake, 65
I do them take,
And on the key-cold floor them throw.
If out they cry,
Then forth I fly,
And loudly laugh out, ho, ho, ho! 70

When any need to borrowe ought,
We lend them what they do require;
And for the use demand we nought;
Our owne is all we do desire.
If to repay, 75
They do delay,
Abroad amongst them then I go,
And night by night,
I them affright
With pinchings, dreames, and ho, ho, ho! 80

When lazie queans have nought to do,
But study how to cog and lye;
To make debate and mischief too,
'Twixt one another secretlye:
I marke their gloze, 85
And it disclose,
To them whom they have wronged so;
When I have done,
I get me gone,
And leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho! 90

When men do traps and engins set
In loop-holes, where the vermine creepe,
Who from their foldes and houses, get
Their duckes and geese, and lambes and sheepe:
I spy the gin, 95
And enter in,
And seeme a vermine taken so;
But when they there
Approach me neare,
I leap out laughing, ho, ho, ho! 100

By wells and rills,[417] in meadowes greene,
We nightly dance our hey-day guise;[418]
And to our fairye king, and queene,
We chant our moon-light minstrelsies.
When larks 'gin sing, 105
Away we fling;
And babes new borne steal as we go,
And else in bed,
We leave instead,
And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho! 110

From hag-bred Merlin's time have I
Thus nightly revell'd to and fro:
And for my pranks men call me by
The name of Robin Good-fellow.
Fiends, ghosts, and sprites, 115
Who haunt the nightes,
The hags and goblins do me know;
And beldames old
My feates have told;
So _Vale, Vale_; ho, ho, ho! 120

FOOTNOTES:

[416] [Ver. 61. this begins the second part in the Roxburghe copy.]

[417] [gills=rivulets, _Roxb. copy_.]

[418] [a misprint for heydegies=rustic dances. The word occurs in Lily's _Endymion_, 1591, and in Wm. Bulleyn's _Dialogue_, 1564, where the minstrel daunces "Trenchmore" and "Heie de gie."--_Chappell._]

XXV.

THE FAIRY QUEEN.

We have here a short display of the popular belief concerning _Fairies_. It will afford entertainment to a contemplative mind to trace these whimsical opinions up to their origin. Whoever considers, how early, how extensively, and how uniformly, they have prevailed in these nations, will not readily assent to the hypothesis of those, who fetch them from the east so late as the time of the Croisades. Whereas it is well known that our Saxon ancestors, long before they left their German forests, believed the existence of a kind of diminutive demons, or middle species between men and spirits, whom they called _Duergar_ or _Dwarfs_, and to whom they attributed many wonderful performances, far exceeding human art. Vid. Hervarer Saga Olaj Verelj. 1675. Hickes' Thesaur., &c.

This Song is given (with some corrections by another copy) from a book intitled, _The Mysteries of Love and Eloquence, &c._ Lond. 1658, 8vo.

* * * * *

[Dr. Rimbault points out that this song occurs in a rare tract
published more than twenty years before the book mentioned above.
It is entitled, _A description of the King and Queen of the_
_Fayries, their habit, fare, abode, pomp and state, being very
delightful to the sense and full of mirth_. London, 1635. The
song was to be sung to the tune of the _Spanish Gypsie_, which
began--

"O follow, follow me
For we be gypsies three."

Martin Parker wrote a sort of parody called _The three merry_
_Cobblers_, commencing--

"Come follow, follow me
To the alehouse we'll march all three;
Leave awl, last, thread and leather,
And let's go all together."

Mr. Chappell prints the first, eighth, fourteenth and last stanzas
(_Popular Music_, vol. i. p. 272.)]

* * * * *

Come, follow, follow me,
You, fairy elves that be:
Which circle on the greene,
Come follow Mab your queene.
Hand in hand let's dance around, 5
For this place is fairye ground.

When mortals are at rest,
And snoring in their nest;
Unheard, and un-espy'd,
Through key-holes we do glide; 10
Over tables, stools, and shelves.
We trip it with our fairy elves.

And, if the house be foul[419]
With platter, dish or bowl,
Up stairs we nimbly creep, 15
And find the sluts asleep:
There we pinch their armes and thighes;
None escapes, nor none espies.

But if the house be swept,
And from uncleanness kept, 20
We praise the household maid,
And duely she is paid:
For we use before we goe
To drop a tester[420] in her shoe.

Upon a mushroomes head 25
Our table-cloth we spread;
A grain of rye, or wheat,
Is manchet,[421] which we eat;
Pearly drops of dew we drink
In acorn cups fill'd to the brink. 30

The brains of nightingales,
With unctuous fat of snailes,
Between two cockles stew'd,
Is meat that's easily chew'd;
Tailes of wormes, and marrow of mice 35
Do make a dish, that's wonderous nice.

The grashopper, gnat, and fly,
Serve for our minstrelsie;
Grace said, we dance a while,
And so the time beguile; 40
And if the moon doth hide her head,
The gloe-worm lights us home to bed.

On tops of dewie grasse
So nimbly do we passe,
The young and tender stalk 45
Ne'er bends when we do walk:
Yet in the morning may be seen
Where we the night before have been.

FOOTNOTES:

[419] [Puck's speech in _Midsummer Night's Dream_ (act v. sc. 2)--

"I am sent with broom before
To sweep the dust behind the door,"

illustrates the delight of the fairies in cleanliness, which is dwelt upon in this and the following song.]

[420] [tester or teston=sixpence.]

[421] [best kind of white bread.]

XXVI.

THE FAIRIES FAREWELL.

This humorous old song fell from the hand of the witty Dr. _Corbet_ (afterwards bishop of Norwich, &c.) and is printed from his _Poëtica Stromata_, 1648, 12mo. (compared with the third edition of his poems, 1672.) It is there called, _A proper new Ballad, intitled, The Fairies Farewell, or God-a-mercy Will, to be sung or whistled to the tune of The Meddow brow, by the learned; by the unlearned, to the tune of Fortune_.

The departure of Fairies is here attributed to the abolition of monkery: Chaucer has, with equal humour, assigned a cause the very reverse, in his _Wife of Bath's Tale_.

"In olde dayes of the king Artour,
Of which that Bretons speken gret honour,
All was this lond fulfilled of faerie;
The elf-quene, with hire joly compagnie
Danced ful oft in many a grene mede.
This was the old opinion as I rede;
I speke of many hundred yeres ago;
But now can no man see non elves mo,
For now the grete charitee and prayeres
Of limitoures and other holy freres,
That serchen every land and every streme,
As thikke as motes in the sonne beme,
Blissing halles, chambres, kichenes, and boures,
Citees and burghes, castles high and toures,
Thropes and bernes, shepenes and dairies,
This maketh that ther ben no faeries:
For ther as wont to walken was an elf,
Ther walketh now the limitour himself,
In undermeles and in morweninges,
And sayth his Matines and his holy thinges,
As he goth in his limitatioun.
Women may now go safely up and doun,
In every bush, and under every tree,
Ther is non other incubus but he,
And he ne will don hem no dishonour."

Tyrwhitt's _Chaucer_, i. p. 255.

Dr. Richard Corbet, having been bishop of Oxford about three years, and afterwards as long bishop of Norwich, died in 1635, Ætat. 52.

* * * * *

Farewell rewards and Fairies!
Good housewives now may say;
For now foule sluts in dairies,
Doe fare as well as they:
And though they sweepe their hearths no less 5
Than mayds were wont to doe,
Yet who of late for cleaneliness
Finds sixe-pence in her shoe?

Lament, lament old Abbies,
The fairies lost command; 10
They did but change priests babies,
But some have chang'd your land:

And all your children stoln from thence
Are now growne Puritanes,
Who live as changelings ever since, 15
For love of your demaines.

At morning and at evening both
You merry were and glad,
So little care of sleepe and sloth,
These prettie ladies had. 20
When Tom came home from labour,
Or Ciss to milking rose,
Then merrily went their tabour,
And nimbly went their toes.

Witness those rings and roundelayes 25
Of theirs, which yet remaine;
Were footed in queene Maries dayes
On many a grassy playne.
But since of late Elizabeth
And later James came in; 30
They never danc'd on any heath,
As when the time hath bin.

By which wee note the fairies 35
Were of the old profession:
Their songs were _Ave Maries_,
Their dances were procession.
But now, alas! they all are dead,
Or gone beyond the seas,
Or farther for religion fled,
Or else they take their ease. 40

A tell-tale in their company
They never could endure;
And whoso kept not secretly
Their mirth, was punish'd sure:

It was a just and christian deed 45
To pinch such blacke and blue:
O how the common-welth doth need
Such justices, as you!

Now they have left our quarters;
A Register they have, 50
Who can preserve their charters;
A man both wise and grave.
An hundred of their merry pranks
By one that I could name
Are kept in store; con twenty thanks 55
To William for the same.

To William Churne of Staffordshire
Give laud and praises due,
Who every meale can mend your cheare
With tales both old and true: 60
To William all give audience,
And pray yee for his noddle:
For all the fairies evidence
Were lost, if it were addle.

* * * * *

[***] After these _Songs_ on the _Fairies_, the reader may be
curious to see the manner in which they were formerly invoked
and bound to human service. In Ashmole's _Collection of MSS._ at
Oxford (Num. 8259. 1406. 2), are the papers of some alchymist,
which contain a variety of Incantations and Forms of Conjuring both
_Fairies_, _Witches_, and _Demons_, principally, as it should seem,
to assist him in his Great Work of transmuting Metals. Most of them
are too impious to be reprinted: but the two following may be very
innocently laughed at.

Whoever looks into Ben Jonson's _Alchymist_, will find that these
impostors, among their other secrets, affected to have a power over
_Fairies_: and that they were commonly expected to be seen in a
christal glass appears from that extraordinary book, _The Relation_
_of Dr. John Dee's actions with Spirits_, 1659, folio.

_"An excellent way_ to gett a _Fayrie_. (For myself I call
_Margarett Barrance_; but this will obteine any one that is not
allready bownd.)

"First, gett a broad square christall or Venice glasse, in length
and breadth 3 inches. Then lay that glasse or christall in the
bloud of a white henne, 3 Wednesdayes, or 3 Fridayes. Then take it
out, and wash it with holy aq. and fumigate it. Then take 3 hazle
sticks, or wands of an yeare groth: pill them fayre and white;
and make 'them' soe longe, as you write the _Spiritts_ name, or
_Fayries_ name, which you call, 3 times on every sticke being made
flatt on one side. Then bury them under some hill, whereas you
suppose _Fayries_ haunt, the Wednesday before you call her: and the
Friday followinge take them uppe, and call her at 8 or 3 or 10 of
the clocke, which be good planetts and houres for that turne: but
when you call, be in cleane life, and turne thy face towards the
east. And when you have her, bind her to that stone or glasse."

"An Unguent to annoynt under the Eyelids, and upon the
Eyelids eveninge and morninge: but especially when you call;
or find your sight not perfect.

"R. A pint of sallet-oyle, and put it into a viall glasse: but
first wash it with rose-water, and marygold-water; the flowers 'to'
be gathered towards the east. Wash it till the oyle come white;
then put it into the glasse, _ut supra_: and then put thereto the
budds of holyhocke, the flowers of marygold, the flowers or toppes
of wild thime, the budds of young hazle: and the thime must be
gathered neare the side of a hill where _Fayries_ use to be: and
'take' the grasse of a fayrie throne, there. All these put into the
oyle, into the glasse: and set it to dissolve 3 dayes in the sunne,
and then keep it for thy use; _ut supra_."

After this receipt for the unguent follows a form of incantation,
wherein the alchymist conjures a fairy, named _Elaby Gathon_, to
appear to him in that chrystal glass, meekly and mildly; to resolve
him truly in all manner of questions; and to be obedient to all his
commands, under pain of damnation, &c.

One of the vulgar opinions about fairies is, that they cannot be
seen by human eyes, without a particular charm exerted in favour of
the person who is to see them: and that they strike with blindness
such as having the gift of seeing them, take notice of them
_mal-à-propos_.

As to the hazle sticks mentioned above, they were to be probably of
that species called the _witch hazle_; which received its name from
this manner of applying it in incantations.

THE END OF BOOK THE SECOND.

RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY, ETC.

SERIES THE THIRD.