Chapter VIII: Book II: I (1)

THE LEGEND OF SIR GUY

Contains a short summary of the exploits of this famous champion, as recorded in the old story books; and is commonly intitled, "A pleasant song of the valiant deeds of chivalry atchieved by that noble knight sir Guy of Warwick, who, for the love of fair Phelis, became a hermit, and dyed in a cave of craggy rocke, a mile distant from Warwick."

The history of Sir Guy, tho' now very properly resigned to children, was once admired by all readers of wit and taste: for taste and wit had once their childhood. Although of English growth, it was early a favourite with other nations: it appeared in French in 1525; and is alluded to in the old Spanish romance _Tirante el Blanco_, which, it is believed, was written not long after the year 1430. See advertisement to the French translation, 2 vols. 12mo.

The original whence all these stories are extracted is a very ancient romance in old English verse, which is quoted by Chaucer as a celebrated piece even in his time (viz.:--

"Men speken of romances of price,
Of Horne childe and Ippotis,
Of Bevis, and sir Guy," &c.--_R. of Thop._)

and was usually sung to the harp at Christmas dinners and brideales, as we learn from Puttenham's _Art of Poetry_, 4to. 1589.

This ancient romance is not wholly lost. An imperfect copy in black letter, "Imprynted at London----for Wylliam Copland," in 34 sheets 4to. without date, is still preserved among Mr. Garrick's collection of old plays. As a specimen of the poetry of this antique rhymer, take his description of the dragon mentioned in v. 105 of the following ballad:--

"----A messenger came to the king.
Syr king, he sayd, lysten me now,
For bad tydinges I bring you,
In Northumberlande there is no man,
But that they be slayne everychone:
For there dare no man route,
By twenty myle rounde aboute,
For doubt of a fowle dragon,
That sleath men and beastes downe.
He is blacke as any cole,
Rugged as a rough fole;
His bodye from the navill upwarde
No man may it pierce it is so harde;
His neck is great as any summere;
He renneth as swifte as any distrere;
Pawes he hath as a lyon:
All that he toucheth he sleath dead downe.
Great winges he hath to flight,
That is no man that bare him might.
There may no man fight him agayne,
But that he sleath him certayne:
For a fowler beast then is he,
Ywis of none never heard ye."

Sir William Dugdale is of opinion that the story of Guy is not wholly apocryphal, tho' he acknowledges the monks have sounded out his praises too hyperbolically. In particular, he gives the duel fought with the Danish champion as a real historical truth, and fixes the date of it in the year 926, Ætat. Guy, 67. See his _Warwickshire_.

The following is written upon the same plan as ballad v. book i., but which is the original and which the copy cannot be decided. This song is ancient, as may be inferred from the idiom preserved in the margin, v. 94, 102: and was once popular, as appears from Fletcher's _Knight of the Burning Pestle_, act 2, sc. ult.

It is here published from an ancient MS. copy in the editor's old folio volume, collated with two printed ones, one of which is in black letter in the Pepys collection.

* * * * *

[Guy was one of the most popular of the heroes of romance, and the
Folio MS. contains three pieces upon his history, viz., the two
printed here and _Guy and Colbrand_.

The original of the present ballad in the Folio MS., entitled _Guy
and Phillis_ (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 201), is a mere
fragment beginning with verse 89. Percy tore out certain leaves
to send to the printer, and in consequence the whole of _King
Estmere_ and the beginning of this ballad are lost. Alterations
have been made in nearly every verse by the help of the printed
copies. _Guy and Phillis_ was entered on the Stationers' books, 5th
January, 1591-2.

We are told by Dugdale that an English traveller, about the
year 1410, was hospitably received at Jerusalem by the Soldan's
lieutenant, who, hearing that Lord Beauchamp "was descended from
the famous Guy of Warwick, whose story they had in books of their
own language, invited him to his palace; and royally feasting him,
presented him with three precious stones of great value, besides
divers cloaths of silk and gold given to his servants." Dugdale's
authority for this story was John Rous, a priest of the chapel at
Guy's Cliff, near Warwick, who compiled a biography of the hero, in
which all the incidents of the romance are narrated as sober fact.
The constant praises of the hero bored some people, and Corbet, in
his _Iter Boreale_, expressed the hope that he should hear no more
of him--

"May all the ballads be call'd in and dye
Which sing the warrs of Colebrand and Sir Guy."

Much valuable information on this subject will be found in Mr.
Hale's interesting introduction to the Guy poems in the Folio MS.]

* * * * *

Was ever knight for ladyes sake
Soe tost in love, as I sir Guy
For Phelis fayre, that lady bright
As ever man beheld with eye?

She gave me leave myself to try,
The valiant knight with sheeld and speare,
Ere that her love shee wold grant me;
Which made mee venture far and neare.

Then proved I a baron bold,[257]
In deeds of armes the doughtyest knight
That in those dayes in England was,
With sworde and speare in feild to fight.

An English man I was by birthe:
In faith of Christ a christyan true:
The wicked lawes of infidells 15
I sought by prowesse to subdue.

'Nine' hundred twenty yeere and odde[258]
After our Saviour Christ his birth,
When king Athèlstone wore the crowne,
I lived heere upon the earth. 20

Sometime I was of Warwicke erle,
And, as I sayd, of very truth
A ladyes love did me constraine
To seeke strange ventures in my youth.

To win me fame by feates of armes 25
In strange and sundry heathen lands;
Where I atchieved for her sake
Right dangerous conquests with my hands.

For first I sayled to Normandye,
And there I stoutlye wan in fight 30
The emperours daughter of Almaine,
From manye a vallyant worthye knight.

Then passed I the seas to Greece
To helpe the emperour in his right;
Against the mightye souldans hoaste 35
Of puissant Persians for to fight.

Where I did slay of Sarazens,
And heathen pagans, manye a man;
And slew the souldans cozen deere,
Who had to name doughtye Coldràn. 40

Eskeldered a famous knight
To death likewise I did pursue:
And Elmayne king of Tyre alsoe,
Most terrible in fight to viewe.

I went into the souldans hoast, 45
Being thither on embassage sent,
And brought his head awaye with mee;
I having slaine him in his tent.

There was a dragon in that land
Most fiercelye mett me by the waye 50
As hee a lyon did pursue,
Which I myself did alsoe slay.

Then soon I past the seas from Greece,
And came to Pavye land aright:
Where I the duke of Pavye killed, 55
His hainous treason to requite.

To England then I came with speede,
To wedd faire Phelis lady bright:
For love of whome I travelled farr
To try my manhood and my might. 60

But when I had espoused her,
I stayd with her but fortye dayes,
Ere that I left this ladye faire,
And went from her beyond the seas.

All cladd in gray, in pilgrim sort, 65
My voyage from her I did take
Unto the blessed Holy-land,
For Jesus Christ my Saviours sake.

Where I erle Jonas did redeeme,
And all his sonnes which were fifteene, 70
Who with the cruell Sarazens
In prison for long time had beene.

I slew the gyant Amarant
In battel fiercelye hand to hand:
And doughty Barknard killed I, 75
A treacherous knight of Pavye land.

Then I to England came againe,
And here with Colbronde fell I fought:
An ugly gyant, which the Danes
Had for their champion hither brought. 80

I overcame him in the feild,
And slewe him soone right valliantlye;
Wherebye this land I did redeeme
From Danish tribute utterlye.

And afterwards I offered upp 85
The use of weapons solemnlye
At Winchester, whereas I fought,
In sight of manye farr and nye.

'But first,' neare Winsor, I did slaye
A bore of passing might and strength; 90
Whose like in England never was
For hugenesse both in bredth, and length.

Some of his bones in Warwicke yett,
Within the castle there doe lye:[259]
One of his sheeld-bones to this day 95
Hangs in the citye of Coventrye.

On Dunsmore heath I alsoe slewe
A monstrous wyld and cruell beast,
Calld the Dun-cow of Dunsmore heath;
Which manye people had opprest. 100

Some of her bones in Warwicke yett
Still for a monument doe lye;[259]
And there exposed to lookers viewe
As wonderous strange, they may espye.

A dragon in Northumberland, 105
I alsoe did in fight destroye,
Which did bothe man and beast oppresse,
And all the countrye sore annoye.

At length to Warwicke I did come,
Like pilgrim poore and was not knowne; 110
And there I lived a hermitts life
A mile and more out of the towne.

Where with my hands I hewed a house
Out of a craggy rocke of stone;
And lived like a palmer poore 115
Within that cave myself alone:

And daylye came to begg my bread
Of Phelis att my castle gate;
Not knowne unto my loved wiffe
Who dailye mourned for her mate. 120

Till att the last I fell sore sicke,
Yea sicke soe sore that I must dye;
I sent to her a ring of golde,
By which shee knew me presentlye.

Then shee repairing to the cave 125
Before that I gave up the ghost;
Herself closd up my dying eyes:
My Phelis faire, whom I lovd most.

Thus dreadful death did me arrest,
To bring my corpes unto the grave; 130
And like a palmer dyed I,
Wherby I sought my soule to save.

My body that endured this toyle,
Though now it be consumed to mold;
My statue faire engraven in stone, 135
In Warwicke still you may behold.

FOOTNOTES:

[257] Ver. 9. The proud Sir Guy, _PC._

[258] Ver. 17. Two hundred, MS. and P.

[259] Ver. 94, 102, doth lye, MS.

II.

GUY AND AMARANT.

The Editor found this Poem in his ancient folio manuscript among the old ballads; he was desirous therefore that it should still accompany them; and as it is not altogether devoid of merit, its insertion here will be pardoned.

Although this piece seems not imperfect, there is reason to believe that it is only part of a much larger poem, which contained the whole history of sir Guy: for upon comparing it with the common story book 12mo. we find the latter to be nothing more than this poem reduced to prose: which is only effected by now and then altering the rhyme, and throwing out some few of the poetical ornaments. The disguise is so slight, that it is an easy matter to pick complete stanzas in any page of that book.

The author of this poem has shown some invention. Though he took the subject from the old romance quoted before, he has adorned it afresh, and made the story intirely his own.

This poem has been discovered to be a fragment of, "The famous historie of Guy earl of Warwicke, by _Samuel Rowlands_, London, printed by J. Bell, 1649, 4to." in xii cantos, beginning thus:

"When dreadful Mars in armour every day."

Whether the edition in 1649, was the first, is not known, but the author _Sam. Rowlands_ was one of the minor poets who lived in the reigns of Q. Elizabeth and James I. and perhaps later. His other poems are chiefly of the religious kind, which makes it probable that the hist. of Guy was one of his earliest performances.--There are extant of his (1.) "_The betraying of Christ, Judas in dispaire, the seven words of our Saviour on the crosse, with other poems on the passion, &c._ 1598, 4to. (Ames Typ. p. 428.)--(2.) _A Theatre of delightful Recreation._ Lond. printed for A. Johnson, 1605," 4to. (Penes editor.) This is a book of poems on subjects chiefly taken from the old Testament. (3.) "_Memory of Christ's miracles, in verse._ Lond. 1618, 4to." (4.) "_Heaven's glory, earth's vanity, and hell's horror._ Lond. 1638, 8vo." (These two in Bod. Cat.)

In the present edition the following poem has been much improved from the printed copy.

* * * * *

[This poem is a very poor thing and looks very like a joke in some
parts. In the Folio MS. Percy has written "By the elegance of
language and easy flow of the versification this poem should be
more modern than the rest."

Mr. Furnivall adds to this expression of opinion the following
note, "the first bombastic rhodomontade affair in the book.
Certainly modern and certainly bad" (Folio MS. ed. Hales and
Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 136.) Collations from the MS. are added at
the foot of the page.]

* * * * *

Guy journeyes towards that sanctifyed ground,[260]
Whereas the Jewes fayre citye sometime stood,
Wherin our Saviour's sacred head was crowned,
And where for sinfull man he shed his blood:
To see the sepulcher was his intent, 5
The tombe that Joseph unto Jesus lent.

With tedious miles he tyred his wearye feet,
And passed desart places full of danger,
At last with a most woefull wight[261] did meet,
A man that unto sorrow was noe stranger: 10
For he had fifteen sonnes, made captives all
To slavish bondage, in extremest thrall.

A gyant called Amarant detaind them,
Whom noe man durst encounter for his strength:
Who in a castle, which he held, had chaind them: 15
Guy questions, where? and understands at length
The place not farr.--Lend me thy sword, quoth hee,
Ile lend my manhood all thy sonnes to free.

With that he goes, and lays upon the dore,
Like one that sayes, I must, and will come in:[262] 20
The gyant never was soe rowz'd before;[263]
For noe such knocking at his gate had bin:
Soe takes his keyes, and clubb, and cometh out
Staring with ireful countenance about.

Sirra, quoth hee, what busines hast thou heere?[264] 25
Art come to feast the crowes about my walls?[265]
Didst never heare, noe ransome can him cleere,[266]
That in the compasse of my furye falls:
For making me to take a porters paines,
With this same clubb I will dash out thy braines. 30

Gyant, quoth Guy, y'are quarrelsome I see,[267]
Choller and you seem very neere of kin:[268]
Most dangerous at the clubb belike you bee;[269]
I have bin better armed, though nowe goe thin;
But shew thy utmost hate, enlarge thy spight, 35
Keene is my weapon, and shall doe me right.[270]

Soe draws his sword, salutes him with the same[271]
About the head, the shoulders, and the side:[272]
Whilst his erected clubb doth death proclaime,
Standinge with huge Colossus' spacious stride, 40
Putting such vigour to his knotty beame,
That like a furnace he did smoke extreame.

But on the ground he spent his strokes in vaine,
For Guy was nimble to avoyde them still,
And ever ere he heav'd his clubb againe,[273] 45
Did brush his plated coat against his will:[274]
Att such advantage Guy wold never fayle,
To bang him soundlye in his coate of mayle.[275]

Att last through thirst the gyant feeble grewe,[276]
And sayd to Guy, As thou'rt of humane race, 50
Shew itt in this, give natures wants their dewe,[277]
Let me but goe, and drinke in yonder place:
Thou canst not yeeld to "me" a smaller thing,
Than to graunt life, thats given by the spring.[278]

I graunt thee leave, quoth Guye, goe drink thy last,[279] 55
Go pledge the dragon, and the salvage bore[280]:[281]
Succeed the tragedyes that they have past,
But never thinke to taste cold water more:[282]
Drinke deepe to Death and unto him carouse:[283]
Bid him receive thee in his earthen house. 60

Soe to the spring he goes, and slakes his thirst;
Takeing the water in extremely like
Some wracked shipp that on a rocke is burst,[284]
Whose forced hulke against the stones does stryke;[285]
Scooping it in soe fast with both his hands, 65
That Guy admiring to behold it stands.[286]

Come on, quoth Guy, let us to worke againe,[287]
Thou stayest about thy liquor overlong;
The fish, which in the river doe remaine,
Will want thereby; thy drinking doth them wrong:
But I will see their satisfaction made, 71
With gyants blood they must, and shall be payd.

Villaine, quoth Amarant, Ile crush thee streight;
Thy life shall pay thy daring toungs offence:
This clubb, which is about some hundred weight, 75
Is deathes commission to dispatch thee hence:[288]
Dresse thee for ravens dyett I must needes;
And breake thy bones, as they were made of reedes.

Incensed much by these bold pagan bostes,[289]
Which worthye Guy cold ill endure to heare, 80
He hewes upon those bigg supporting postes,
Which like two pillars did his body beare:
Amarant for those wounds in choller growes
And desperatelye att Guy his clubb he throwes:

Which did directly on his body light, 85
Soe violent, and weighty there-withall,[290]
That downe to ground on sudden came the knight;
And, ere he cold recover from the fall,[291]
The gyant gott his clubb againe in fist,[292]
And aimd a stroke that wonderfullye mist.[293] 90

Traytor, quoth Guy, thy falshood Ile repay,
This coward act to intercept my bloode.
Sayes Amarant, Ile murther any way,
With enemyes all vantages are good:
O could I poyson in thy nostrills blowe, 95
Besure of it I wold dispatch thee soe.[294]

Its well, said Guy, thy honest thoughts appeare,
Within that beastlye bulke where devills dwell;
Which are thy tenants while thou livest heare,
But will be landlords when thou comest in hell: 100
Vile miscreant, prepare thee for their den,
Inhumane monster, hatefull unto men.[295]

But breathe thy selfe a time, while I goe drinke,
For flameing Ph[oe]bus with his fyerye eye
Torments me soe with burning heat, I thinke 105
My thirst wold serve to drinke an ocean drye:
Forbear a litle, as I delt with thee.
Quoth Amarant, 'Thou hast noe foole of mee.

Noe, sillye wretch, my father taught more witt,
How I shold use such enemyes as thou; 110
By all my gods I doe rejoice at itt,
To understand that thirst constraines thee now;
For all the treasure, that the world containes,
One drop of water shall not coole thy vaines.

Releeve my foe! why, 'twere a madmans part: 115
Refresh an adversarye to my wrong!
If thou imagine this, a child thou art:
Noe, fellow, I have known the world too long
To be soe simple: now I know thy want,
A minutes space of breathing I'll not grant.[296] 120

And with these words heaving aloft his clubb
Into the ayre, he swings the same about:
Then shakes his lockes, and doth his temples rubb,
And, like the Cyclops, in his pride doth strout:[297]
Sirra, sayes hee, I have you at a lift, 125
Now you are come unto your latest shift.

Perish forever: with this stroke I send thee
A medicine, that will doe thy thirst much good;[298]
Take noe more care for drinke before I end thee,
And then wee'll have carouses of thy blood: 130
Here's at thee with a butchers downright blow,
To please my furye with thine overthrow.

Infernall, false, obdurate feend, said Guy,[299]
That seemst a lumpe of crueltye from hell;[300]
Ungratefull monster, since thou dost deny[301] 135
The thing to mee wherin I used thee well:
With more revenge, than ere my sword did make,
On thy accursed head revenge Ile take.

Thy gyants longitude shall shorter shrinke,
Except thy sun-scorcht skin be weapon proof:[302] 140
Farewell my thirst; I doe disdaine to drinke,
Streames keepe your waters to your owne behoof;[303]
Or let wild beasts be welcome thereunto;
With those pearle drops I will not have to do.

Here, tyrant, take a taste of my good-will,[304] 145
For thus I doe begin my bloodye bout:
You cannot chuse but like the greeting ill;
It is not that same clubb will beare you out;
And take this payment on thy shaggye crowne.--
A blowe that brought him with a vengeance downe. 150

Then Guy sett foot upon the monsters brest,
And from his shoulders did his head divide;
Which with a yawninge mouth did gape, unblest;
Noe dragons jawes were ever scene soe wide
To open and to shut, till life was spent. 155
Then Guy tooke keyes and to the castle went.

Where manye woefull captives he did find,
Which had beene tyred with extremityes;
Whom he in freindly manner did unbind,
And reasoned with them of their miseryes:[305] 160
Eche told a tale with teares, and sighes, and cryes,
All weeping to him with complaining eyes.

There tender ladyes in darke dungeons lay,[306]
That were surprised in the desart wood,
And had noe other dyett everye day, 165
But flesh of humane creatures for their food:[307]
Some with their lovers bodyes had beene fed,
And in their wombes their husbands buryed.

Now he bethinkes him of his being there, 169
To enlarge the wronged brethren from their woes;
And, as he searcheth, doth great clamours heare,
By which sad sound's direction on he goes,
Untill he findes a darksome obscure gate,
Arm'd strongly ouer all with iron plate.

That he unlockes, and enters, where appeares, 175
The strangest object that he ever saw;
Men that with famishment of many yeares,
Were like deathes picture, which the painters draw;[308]
Divers of them were hanged by eche thombe;
Others head-downward: by the middle some. 180

With diligence he takes them from the walle,[309]
With lybertye their thraldome to acquaint:
Then the perplexed knight their father calls,[310]
And sayes, Receive thy sonnes though poore and faint:
I promisd you their lives, accept of that; 185
But did not warrant you they shold be fat.[311]

The castle I doe give thee, heere's the keyes,
Where tyranye for many yeeres did dwell:
Procure the gentle tender ladyes ease,
For pittyes sake, use wronged women well:[312] 190
Men easilye revenge the wrongs men do:[313]
But poore weake women have not strength thereto.[314]

The good old man, even overjoyed with this,
Fell on the ground, and wold have kist Guys feete:
Father, quoth he, refraine soe base a kiss, 195
For age to honor youth I hold unmeete:
Ambitious pryde hath hurt mee all it can,
I goe to mortifie a sinfull man.

FOOTNOTES:

[260] [Ver. 1. journeyed ore the.]

[261] Erle Jonas, mentioned in the foregoing ballad.

[262] [V. 20. he sayes that must. MS.]

[263] [Ver. 21. the gyant, he was neere soe.]

[264] [V. 25. sais hee.]

[265] [V. 26. my crowes about the walls.]

[266] [V. 27. cold him.]

[267] [V. 31. saies Guy your quarrelsome.]

[268] [V. 32. are something neere.]

[269] [V. 33. _most_ not in MS., a club.]

[270] [V. 36. heere is the wepon that must doe.]

[271] [V. 37. Soe takes.]

[272] [V. 38. sides.]

[273] [V. 45. and ere he cold recovers clubb againe.]

[274] [V. 46. did beate.]

[275] [V. 48. to beate.]

[276] [Ver. 49. att last through strength, Amarant feeble grew.]

[277] [V. 51. nature wants her.]

[278] [V. 54. then to grant.]

[279] [V. 55. I give.]

[280] Which Guy had slain before

[281] [V. 56. to pledge, beare.]

[282] [V. 58. to drinke cold.]

[283] [V. 59. and after that carrouse.]

[284] [V. 63. on some rocke.]

[285] [V. 64. bulke doe stryke.]

[286] [V. 66. behold him.]

[287] [V. 67. lets to one.]

[288] [V. 76. has deathes.]

[289] [Ver. 79. att this bold pagans bostes.]

[290] [V. 86. soe heavy and soe weaghtye.]

[291] [V. 88. his fall.]

[292] [V. 89. in his fist.]

[293] [V. 90. and stroke a blow.]

[294] [V. 96. I wold destroy.]

[295] [V. 102. hurtfull.]

[296] [Ver. 120. space to thee I will not.]

[297] [strut.]

[298] [V. 128. _that_ not in MS.]

[299] [V. 133. Guy said.]

[300] [V. 134. seemes.]

[301] [V. 135. ingratefull monster since thou hast denyd.]

[302] [Ver. 140. doe weapon prove.]

[303] [V. 142. behoves.]

[304] [V. 145. Hold, tyrant.]

[305] [V. 160. miserye.]

[306] [V. 163. dungeon.]

[307] [V. 166. then flesh.]

[308] [Ver. 178. Will were.]

[309] [V. 181. walls.]

[310] [V. 183. the father.]

[311] [V. 186. promise you.]

[312] [V. 190. pittye sake.]

[313] [V. 191. men may easilye revenge the deeds men doe.]

[314] [V. 192. no strength. MS.]

III.

THE AULD GOOD-MAN.

A SCOTTISH SONG.

I have not been able to meet with a more ancient copy of this humourous old song, than that printed in the _Tea-Table miscellany, &c._ which seems to have admitted some corruptions.

* * * * *

[This song is printed in Ramsay's _Tea-Table Miscellany_ as old,
and it is also given in the _Orpheus Caledonius_, 1725. "Auld
goodman" means a first husband.]

* * * * *

Late in an evening forth I went
A little before the sun gade down,
And there I chanc't, by accident,
To light on a battle new begun:
A man and his wife wer fawn[315] in a strife, 5
I canna weel tell ye how it began;
But aye she wail'd her wretched life,
Cryeng, Evir alake, mine auld goodman!

HE.

Thy auld goodman, that thou tells of,
The country kens where he was born, 10
Was but a silly poor vagabond,
And ilka ane leugh him to scorn:
For he did spend and make an end
Of gear 'his fathers nevir' wan;
He gart the poor stand frae the door; 15
Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman.

My heart, alake! is liken to break,
Whan I think on my winsome John,
His blinkan ee, and gait sae free,
Was naithing like thee, thou dosend[316] drone; 20
Wi' his rosie face, and flaxen hair,
And skin as white as ony swan,
He was large and tall, and comely withall;
Thou'lt nevir be like mine auld goodman.

HE.

Why dost thou plein?[317] I thee maintein; 25
For meal and mawt thou disna want:
But thy wild bees I canna please,
Now whan our gear gins to grow scant:
Of houshold stuff thou hast enough;
Thou wants for neither pot nor pan; 30
Of sicklike ware he left thee bare;
Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman.

SHE.

Yes I may tell, and fret my sell,
To think on those blyth days I had,
Whan I and he, together ley 35
In armes into a well-made bed:
But now I sigh and may be sad,
Thy courage is cauld, thy colour wan,
Thou falds thy feet and fa's asleep;
Thou'lt nevir be like mine auld goodman. 40

Then coming was the night sae dark,
And gane was a' the light of day?
The carle was fear'd to miss his mark,
And therefore wad nae longer stay:
Then up he gat, and ran his way, 45
I trowe, the wife the day she wan;
And aye the owreword[318] of the fray
Was, Evir alake! mine auld goodman.

FOOTNOTES:

[315] [fallen.]

[316] [dozing or stupid.]

[317] [complain.]

[318] [last word or burden.]

IV.

FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM.

This seems to be the old song quoted in Fletcher's _Knight of the burning pestle_, acts 2d and 3d; altho' the six lines there preserved are somewhat different from those in the ballad, as it stands at present. The reader will not wonder at this, when he is informed that this is only given from a modern printed copy picked up on a stall. It's full title is _Fair Margaret's Misfortunes; or Sweet William's frightful dreams on his wedding night, with the sudden death and burial of those noble lovers_.--

The lines preserved in the play are this distich,

"You are no love for me, Margaret,
I am no love for you."

And the following stanza,

"When it was grown to dark midnight,
And all were fast asleep,
In came Margarets grimly ghost
And stood at Williams feet."

These lines have acquired an importance by giving birth to one of the most beautiful ballads in our own or any language. See the song intitled _Margaret's Ghost_, at the end of this volume.

Since the first edition some improvements have been inserted, which were communicated by a lady of the first distinction, as she had heard this song repeated in her infancy.

* * * * *

[The ballads on the two lovers Margaret and William are numerous,
culminating as they do in Mallet's _William and Margaret_. See
_Sweet William's Ghost_ (No. 6 in this book) and Mallet's ballad
(No. 16 of book iii). The present ballad is also in the Douce
Collection and in that of the late Mr. George Daniel. Jamieson
prints (_Popular Ballads and Songs_, 1806, vol. i. p. 22) a ballad
entitled _Sweet Willie and Fair Annie_, which may be divided into
two parts, the first resembling _Lord Thomas and Fair Elinor_,
and the second, _Fair Annie's Ghost_, is still more like the
following ballad.

Mr. Chappell remarks, "Another point deserving notice in the old
ballad is that one part of it has furnished the principal subject
of the modern burlesque ballad _Lord Lovel_, and another that of T.
Hood's song, _Mary's Ghost_."]

* * * * *

As it fell out on a long summer's day
Two lovers they sat on a hill;
They sat together that long summer's day,
And could not talk their fill.

I see no harm by you, Margarèt, 5
And you see none by mee;
Before to-morrow at eight o' the clock
A rich wedding you shall see.

Fair Margaret sat in her bower-windòw,
Combing her yellow hair; 10
There she spyed sweet William and his bride,
As they were a riding near.

Then down she layd her ivory combe,
And braided her hair in twain:
She went alive out of her bower, 15
But ne'er came alive in't again.

When day was gone, and night was come,
And all men fast asleep,
Then came the spirit of fair Marg'ret,
And stood at Williams feet. 20

Are you awake, sweet William? shee said;
Or, sweet William, are you asleep?
God give you joy of your gay bride-bed,
And me of my winding-sheet.

When day was come, and night was gone, 25
And all men wak'd from sleep,
Sweet William to his lady sayd,
My dear, I have cause to weep.

I dreamt a dream, my dear ladyè,
Such dreames are never good: 30
I dreamt my bower was full of red 'wine,'[319]
And my bride-bed full of blood.

Such dreams, such dreams, my honoured Sir,
They never do prove good;
To dream thy bower was full of red 'wine,'[319] 35
And thy bride-bed full of blood.

He called up his merry men all,
By one, by two, and by three;
Saying, I'll away to fair Marg'ret's bower,
By the leave of my ladiè. 40

And when he came to fair Marg'ret's bower,
He knocked at the ring;
And who so ready as her seven brethrèn
To let sweet William in.

Then he turned up the covering-sheet, 45
Pray let me see the dead;
Methinks she looks all pale and wan,
She hath lost her cherry red.

I'll do more for thee, Margarèt,
Than any of thy kin; 50
For I will kiss thy pale wan lips,
Though a smile I cannot win.

With that bespake the seven brethrèn,
Making most piteous mone:
You may go kiss your jolly brown bride, 55
And let our sister alone.

If I do kiss my jolly brown bride,
I do but what is right;
I neer made a vow to yonder poor corpse
By day, nor yet by night. 60

Deal on, deal on, my merry men all,
Deal on your cake and your wine[320]:
For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day,
Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine.

Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day, 65
Sweet William dyed the morrow:
Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love,
Sweet William dyed for sorrow.

Margaret was buryed in the lower chancèl,
And William in the higher: 70
Out of her brest there sprang a rose,
And out of his a briar.

They grew till they grew unto the church-top,
And then they could grow no higher;
And there they tyed in a true lovers knot, 75
Which made all the people admire.

Then came the clerk of the parìsh,
As you the truth shall hear,
And by misfortune cut them down,
Or they had now been there. 80

FOOTNOTES:

[319] Ver. 31, 35. Swine, _PCC._

[320] Alluding to the dole anciently given at funerals.

V.

BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY.

Given, with some corrections, from an old black letter copy, intitled, _Barbara Allen's cruelty, or the young man's tragedy_.

* * * * *

[It is not clear why Percy separated this English version of
_Barbara Allen_ from the Scottish version entitled _Sir John
Grehme and Barbara Allan_ (No. 7).

Goldsmith in his third Essay says, "the music of the finest singer
is dissonance to what I felt when our dairy maid sung me into tears
with _Johnny Armstrong's Last Good Night_, or the _Cruelty of
Barbara Allen_."

It has been suggested that for "Scarlet towne" in the first verse
should be read Carlisle town, but as some printed copies have
Reading town we may suppose that a pun is intended.]

* * * * *

In Scarlet towne, where I was borne,
There was a faire maid dwellin,
Made every youth crye, Wel-awaye!
Her name was Barbara Allen.

All in the merrye month of may, 5
When greene buds they were swellin,
Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen.

He sent his man unto her then,
To the town, where shee was dwellin; 10
You must come to my master deare,
Giff your name be Barbara Allen.

For death is printed on his face,
And ore his hart is stealin:
Then haste away to comfort him, 15
O lovelye Barbara Allen.

Though death be printed on his face,
And ore his harte is stealin,
Yet little better shall he bee,
For bonny Barbara Allen. 20

So slowly, slowly, she came up,
And slowly she came nye him;
And all she sayd, when there she came,
Young man, I think y'are dying.

He turnd his face unto her strait, 25
With deadlye sorrow sighing;
O lovely maid, come pity mee,
Ime on my deth-bed lying.

If on your death-bed you doe lye,
What needs the tale you are tellin: 30
I cannot keep you from your death;
Farewell, sayd Barbara Allen.

He turnd his face unto the wall,
As deadlye pangs he fell in:
Adieu! adieu! adieu to you all, 35
Adieu to Barbara Allen.

As she was walking ore the fields,
She heard the bell a knellin;
And every stroke did seem to saye,
Unworthy Barbara Allen. 40

She turnd her bodye round about,
And spied the corps a coming:
Laye down, laye down the corps, she sayd
That I may look upon him.

With scornful eye she looked downe, 45
Her cheeke with laughter swellin;
Whilst all her friends cryd out amaine,
Unworthye Barbara Allen.

When he was dead, and laid in grave,
Her harte was struck with sorrowe, 50
O mother, mother, make my bed,
For I shall dye to-morrowe.

Hard harted creature him to slight,
Who loved me so dearlye:
O that I had beene more kind to him, 55
When he was alive and neare me!

She, on her death-bed as she laye,
Beg'd to be buried by him;
And sore repented of the daye,
That she did ere denye him. 60

Farewell, she sayd, ye virgins all,
And shun the fault I fell in:
Henceforth take warning by the fall
Of cruel Barbara Allen.

VI.

SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST.

A SCOTTISH BALLAD.

From Allan Ramsay's _Tea-Table Miscellany_. The concluding stanza of this piece seems modern.

* * * * *

[In the previous ballad (No. 4) and in Mallet's _William and
Margaret_ it is Margaret who appears to William, but in the present
one and in some other versions William is made to die first. In
_Clerk Saunders_ (_Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_) Scott has
joined two distinct stories, and the second part, in which the
spirit of Clerk Saunders appears to May Margaret, closely resembles
the present ballad. Besides these there are two other versions.
Kinloch's, entitled _Sweet William and May Margaret_, and
Motherwell's _William and Marjorie_. Dr. Rimbault points out that
the chief incidents in Bürger's _Leonora_ resemble those in this
ballad.

The last two stanzas are probably Ramsay's own.]

* * * * *

There came a ghost to Margaret's door,
With many a grievous grone,
And ay he tirled at the pin;[321]
But answer made she none.

Is this my father Philip? 5
Or is't my brother John?
Or is't my true love Willie,
From Scotland new come home?

'Tis not thy father Philip;
Nor yet thy brother John: 10
But tis thy true love Willie
From Scotland new come home,

O sweet Margret! O dear Margret!
I pray thee speak to mee:
Give me my faith and troth, Margret, 15
As I gave it to thee.

Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get,
'Of me shalt nevir win,'
Till that thou come within my bower,
And kiss my cheek and chin. 20

If I should come within thy bower,
I am no earthly man:
And should I kiss thy rosy lipp,
Thy days will not be lang.

O sweet Margret, O dear Margret, 25
I pray thee speak to mee:
Give me my faith and troth, Margret,
As I gave it to thee.

Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get,
'Of me shalt nevir win,' 30
Till thou take me to yon kirk yard,
And wed me with a ring.

My bones are buried in a kirk yard
Afar beyond the sea,
And it is but my sprite, Margret, 35
That's speaking now to thee.

She stretched out her lilly-white hand,
As for to do her best:
Hae there your faith and troth, Willie,
God send your soul good rest. 40

Now she has kilted her robes of green,
A piece below her knee:
And a' the live-lang winter night
The dead corps followed shee.

Is there any room at your head, Willie? 45
Or any room at your feet?
Or any room at your side, Willie,
Wherein that I may creep?

There's nae room at my head, Margret,
There's nae room at my feet, 50
There's no room at my side, Margret,
My coffin is made so meet.

Then up and crew the red red cock,
And up then crew the gray:
Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret, 55
That 'I' were gane away.

[No more the ghost to Margret said,
But, with a grievous grone,
Evanish'd in a cloud of mist,
And left her all alone. 60

O stay, my only true love, stay,
The constant Margret cried:
Wan grew her cheeks, she clos'd her een,
Stretch'd her saft limbs, and died.]

FOOTNOTES:

[321] [See note, _ante_, p. 47.]

VII.

SIR JOHN GREHME AND BARBARA ALLAN.

A SCOTTISH BALLAD.

Printed, with a few conjectural emendations, from a written copy.

* * * * *

[Pepys, in Jan. 1665-1666, heard Mrs. Knipp, the actress, sing "her
little Scotch song of _Barbery Allen_" at Lord Brouncker's, and he
was "in perfect pleasure to hear her sing" it. It was first printed
in Ramsay's _Tea-Table Miscellany_ (ii. 171).

"I remember," says Mr. C. Kirkpatrick Sharpe, "that the peasantry
of Annandale sang many more verses of this ballad than have
appeared in print, but they were of no merit, containing numerous
magnificent offers from the lover to his mistress, and amongst
others some ships in sight, which may strengthen the belief that
this song was composed near the shores of the Solway."--_Addit._
_Illustrations to Stenhouse._]

* * * * *

It was in and about the Martinmas time,
When the greene leaves wer a fallan;
That Sir John Grehme o' the west countrye,
Fell in luve wi' Barbara Allan.

He sent his man down throw the towne, 5
To the plaice wher she was dwellan:
O haste and cum to my maister deare,
Gin ye bin Barbara Allan.

O hooly, hooly raise she up,
To the plaice wher he was lyan; 10
And whan she drew the curtain by,
Young man, I think ye're dyan.[322]

O its I'm sick, and very very sick,
And its a' for Barbara Allan.
O the better for me ye'se never be, 15
Though your harts blude wer spillan.

Remember ye nat in the tavern, sir,
Whan ye the cups wer fillan;
How ye made the healths gae round and round,
And slighted Barbara Allan? 20

He turn'd his face unto the wa'
And death was with him dealan;
Adiew! adiew! my dear friends a',
Be kind to Barbara Allan.

Then hooly, hooly raise she up, 25
And hooly, hooly left him;
And sighan said, she could not stay,
Since death of life had reft him.

She had not gane a mile but twa,
Whan she heard the deid-bell knellan; 30
And everye jow the deid-bell geid,
Cried, Wae to Barbara Allan!

O mither, mither, mak my bed,
O make it saft and narrow:
Since my love died for me to-day, 35
Ise die for him to morrowe.

[***]

FOOTNOTES:

[322] An ingenious friend thinks the rhymes _Dyand_ and _Lyand_ ought to be transposed; as the taunt _Young man, I think ye're yand_, would be very characteristical.

VIII.

THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON.

From an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys _Collection_, with some improvements communicated by a lady as she had heard the same recited in her youth. The full title is, _True love requited: Or, the Bailiff's daughter of Islington_.

_Islington_ in Norfolk is probably the place here meant.

* * * * *

[Copies of this charming old ballad are found in all the large
collections, and two tunes are associated with it.

Percy's suggestion that Islington in Norfolk is referred to is
not a probable one, and there seems to be no reason for depriving
the better known Islington of the south of the honour of having
given birth to the bailiff's daughter. Islington at the time when
this ballad was written was a country village quite unconnected
with London, and a person who represented "a squier minstrel of
Middlesex" made a speech before Queen Elizabeth at Kenilworth in
1575, in which he declared "how the worshipful village of Islington
[was] well knooen too bee one of the most auncient and best tounz
in England, next to London."]

* * * * *

There was a youthe, and a well-beloved youthe,
And he was a squires son;
He loved the bayliffes daughter deare,
That lived in Islington.

Yet she was coye and would not believe 5
That he did love her soe,
Noe nor at any time would she
Any countenance to him showe.

But when his friendes did understand
His fond and foolish minde, 10
They sent him up to faire London
An apprentice for to binde.

And when he had been seven long yeares,
And never his love could see:
Many a teare have I shed for her sake, 15
When she little thought of mee.

Then all the maids of Islington
Went forth to sport and playe,
All but the bayliffes daughter deare;
She secretly stole awaye. 20

She pulled off her gowne of greene,
And put on ragged attire,
And to faire London she would go
Her true love to enquire.

And as she went along the high road, 25
The weather being hot and drye,
She sat her downe upon a green bank,
And her true love came riding bye.

She started up, with a colour soe redd,
Catching hold of his bridle-reine; 30
One penny, one penny, kind sir, she sayd,
Will ease me of much paine.

Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart,
Praye tell me where you were borne.
At Islington, kind sir, sayd shee, 35
Where I have had many a scorne.

I prythee, sweet-heart, then tell to mee,
O tell me, whether you knowe
The bayliffes daughter of Islington,
She is dead, sir, long agoe. 40

If she be dead, then take my horse,
My saddle and bridle also;
For I will into some farr countrye,
Where noe man shall me knowe.

O staye, O staye, thou goodlye youthe, 45
She standeth by thy side;
She is here alive, she is not dead,
And readye to be thy bride.

O farewell griefe, and welcome joye,
Ten thousand times therefore; 50
For nowe I have founde mine owne true love,
Whom I thought I should never see more.

IX.

THE WILLOW TREE.

A PASTORAL DIALOGUE.

From the small black-letter collection, intitled, _The Golden Garland of princely delights_; collated with two other copies, and corrected by conjecture.

* * * * *

[Dr. Rimbault gives the melody of this pretty little pastoral on
the favourite subject of wearing the willow from a MS. dated 1639
in the Advocate's Library, Edinburgh. It is also to be found in
the celebrated Skene MS. in the same library, and again in all the
editions of Forbes's _Cantus_.]

* * * * *

WILLY.

How now, shepherde, what meanes that?
Why that willowe in thy hat?
Why thy scarffes of red and yellowe
Turn'd to branches of greene willowe?

CUDDY.

They are chang'd, and so am I; 5
Sorrowes live, but pleasures die:
Phillis hath forsaken mee,
Which makes me weare the willowe-tree.

WILLY.

Phillis! shee that lov'd thee long?
Is shee the lass hath done thee wrong? 10
Shee that lov'd thee long and best,
Is her love turn'd to a jest?

CUDDY.

Shee that long true love profest,
She hath robb'd my heart of rest:
For she a new love loves, not mee; 15
Which makes me wear the willowe-tree.

WILLY.

Come then, shepherde, let us joine,
Since thy happ is like to mine:
For the maid I thought most true,
Mee hath also bid adieu. 20

CUDDY.

Thy hard happ doth mine appease,
Companye doth sorrowe ease:
Yet, Phillis, still I pine for thee,
And still must weare the willowe-tree.

WILLY.

Shepherde, be advis'd by mee, 25
Cast off grief and willowe-tree:
For thy grief brings her content,
She is pleas'd if thou lament.

CUDDY.

Herdsman, I'll be rul'd by thee,
There lyes grief and willowe-tree: 30
Henceforth I will do as they,
And love a new love every day.

X.

THE LADY'S FALL

Is given (with corrections) from the Editor's ancient folio MS.[323] collated with two printed copies in black-letter; one in the British Museum, the other in the Pepys Collection. Its old title is, _A lamentable ballad of the Lady's fall_. To the tune of, _In Pescod time, &c._--The ballad here referred to is preserved in the _Muses Library_, 8vo. p. 281. It is an allegory or vision, intitled, _The Shepherd's Slumber_, and opens with some pretty rural images, viz.

"In pescod time when hound to horn
Gives eare till buck be kil'd,
And little lads with pipes of corne
Sate keeping beasts a-field."

"I went to gather strawberries
By woods and groves full fair, &c."

* * * * *

[Mr. Hales thinks it possible that this ballad was written by the
same author as _The Children in the Wood_--"the same facility of
language and of rhyme, the same power of pathos, the same extreme
simplicity characterise both ballads."

Mr. Chappell says that _Chevy Chace_ was sometimes sung to the tune
of _In Pescod time_, as were the _Bride's burial_ (No. 12), and
_Lady Isabella's Tragedy_ (No. 14). The various readings from the
original MS. are noted at the foot of the page.]

* * * * *

Marke well my heavy dolefull tale,
You loyall lovers all,
And heedfully beare in your brest,
A gallant ladyes fall.
Long was she wooed, ere shee was wonne, 5
To lead a wedded life,
But folly wrought her overthrowe
Before she was a wife.

Too soone, alas! shee gave consent
And yeelded to his will, 10
Though he protested to be true,
And faithfull to her still.
Shee felt her body altered quite,
Her bright hue waxed pale,
Her lovelye cheeks chang'd color white,[324] 15
Her strength began to fayle.

Soe that with many a sorrowful sigh,[325]
This beauteous ladye milde,
With greeved hart, perceived herselfe
To have conceived with childe.[326] 20
Shee kept it from her parents sight
As close as close might bee,
And soe put on her silken gowne
None might her swelling see.[327]

Unto her lover secretly 25
Her greefe shee did bewray,
And walking with him hand in hand,
These words to him did say;
Behold, quoth shee, a maids distresse[328]
By love brought to thy bowe;[329] 30
Behold I goe with childe by thee,[330]
Tho none thereof doth knowe.

The litle babe springs in my wombe[331]
To heare its fathers voyce,
Lett it not be a bastard called,[332] 35
Sith I made thee my choyce:
[Come, come, my love, perform thy vowe[333]
And wed me out of hand;[333]
O leave me not in this extreme[333]
Of griefe, alas! to stand.][333] 40

Think on thy former promises,
Thy oathes and vowes eche one;[334]
Remember with what bitter teares
To mee thou madest thy moane.
Convay me to some secrett place, 45
And marry me with speede;
Or with thy rapyer end my life,
Ere further shame proceede.[335]

Alacke! my beauteous love, quoth hee,[336]
My joye, and only dear;[337] 50
Which way can I convay thee hence,[338]
When dangers are so near?[339]
Thy friends are all of hye degree,[340]
And I of meane estate;
Full hard it is to gett thee forthe[341] 55
Out of thy fathers gate.[342]

Dread not thy life to save my fame,[343]
For if thou taken bee,[344]
My selfe will step betweene the swords,[345]
And take the harme on mee:[346] 60
Soe shall I scape dishonor quite;[347]
And if I should be slaine[348]
What could they say, but that true love
Had wrought a ladyes bane.[349]

But feare not any further harme; 65
My selfe will soe devise,
That I will ryde away with thee[350]
Unknowen of mortall eyes:
Disguised like some pretty page
Ile meete thee in the darke, 70
And all alone Ile come to thee
Hard by my fathers parke.

And there, quoth hee, Ile meete my deare
If God soe lend me life,
On this day month without all fayle 75
I will make thee my wife.[351]
Then with a sweet and loving kisse,[352]
They parted presentlye,
And att their partinge brinish teares
Stoode in eche others eye, 80

Att length the wished day was come,[353]
On which this beauteous mayd,
With longing eyes, and strange attire,
For her true lover stayd.
When any person shee espyed[354] 85
Come ryding ore the plaine,[355]
She hop'd it was her owne true love:[356]
But all her hopes were vaine.

Then did shee weepe and sore bewayle
Her most unhappy fate; 90
Then did shee speake these woefull words,
As succourless she sate;[357]
O false, forsworne, and faithlesse man,[358]
Disloyall in thy love,
Hast thou forgott thy promise past, 95
And wilt thou perjured prove?

And hast thou now forsaken mee
In this my great distresse,
To end my dayes in open shame,[359]
Which thou mightst well redresse?[360] 100
Woe worth the time I eer believ'd[361]
That flattering tongue of thine:
Wold God that I had never seene
The teares of thy false eyne.

And thus with many a sorrowful sigh,[362] 105
Homewards shee went againe;[363]
Noe rest came in her waterye eyes,
Shee felt such privye paine.[364]
In travail strong shee fell that night,
With many a bitter throwe;[365] 110
What woefull paines shee then did feel,[366]
Doth eche good woman knowe.

Shee called up her waiting mayd,[367]
That lay at her bedds feete,[368]
Who musing at her mistress woe,[369] 115
Began full fast to weepe.
Weepe not, said shee, but shutt the dores,[370]
And windowes round about,[371]
Let none bewray my wretched state,
But keepe all persons out. 120

O mistress, call your mother deare;
Of women you have neede,
And of some skilfull midwifes helpe,[372]
That better may you speed.[373]
Call not my mother for thy life, 125
Nor fetch no woman here;
The midwives helpe comes all too late,
My death I doe not feare.

With that the babe sprang from her wombe
No creature being nye,[374] 130
And with one sighe, which brake her hart,
This gentle dame did dye.[375]
The lovely litle infant younge,[376]
[The mother being dead,][377]
Resigned its new received breath, 135
To him that had it made.

Next morning came her own true love,
Affrighted at the newes,[378]
And he for sorrow slew himselfe,
Whom eche one did accuse. 140
The mother with her new borne babe,
Were laide both in one grave:
Their parents overworne with woe,
No joy thenceforth cold have.[379]

Take heed, you dayntye damsells all, 145
Of flattering words beware,
And to the honour of your name
Have an especial care.[380]
[Too true, alas! this story is,[381]
As many one can tell:[381] 150
By others harmes learne to be wise,[381]
And you shall do full well.][381]