with that he cast him gods penny;
    then he tooke to his baggs of bread,
      & they were full of the gold soe redd,                         108

    he told him the gold then over the borde;
      it wanted neuer a broad pennye:
    "that gold is thine, the land is mine,
      & the heire of Linne againe I wilbee."                         112

    "Now welladay!" said John o the Scales wife,
      "welladay, & woe is me!
    Yesterday I was the lady of Linne,
      & now I am but John o the Scales wiffe!"                       116

    saies, "haue thou heere, thou good fellow,
      40 pence thou did lend me,
    [40 pence thou did lend me,]
      & 40^{l}. I will giue thee,                                    120
    Ile make thee keeper of my forrest,
      both of the wild deere & the tame."

    but then bespake the heire of Linne,
      these were the words, & thus said hee,                         124
    "Christs curse light vpon my crowne
      if ere my land stand in any Jeopardye!"

                                                                  ffins]

FOOTNOTES:

[539] [attend.]

[540] [property.]

[541] _i.e._ earnest-money; from the French _Denier à Dieu_. At this
day, when application is made to the Dean and Chapter of Carlisle to
accept an exchange of the tenant under one of their leases, a piece
of silver is presented by the new tenant, which is still called a
"Gods-penny."

[542] [forest.]

[543] Ver. 63, 4, 5, &c. _Sic_ MS.

[544] [forest.]

[545] [loathsome.]

[546] [abashed.]

[547] [letter.]

[548] in-fere, _i.e._ together.

[549] _i.e._ unless I amend.

[550] _i.e._ advice, counsel.

[551] [lingered.]

[552] Ver. 60. an old northern phrase.

[553] Perhaps the hole in the door or window, by which it was speered,
_i.e._ sparred, fastened, or shut. In Bale's second part of the _Acts
of Eng. Votaries_, we have this phrase (f. 38), "The dore therof oft
tymes opened and _speared_ agayne."

[554] [worthless fellow.]

[555] [furious.]

[556] Ver. 34, 102. cast, is the reading of the MS.

[557] [unless.]

VI.

GASCOIGNE'S PRAISE OF THE FAIR BRIDGES, AFTERWARDS LADY SANDS,

                 ON HER HAVING A SCAR IN HER FOREHEAD.

George Gascoigne was a celebrated poet in the early part of Queen
Elizabeth's reign, and appears to great advantage among the
miscellaneous writers of that age. He was author of three or four
plays, and of many smaller poems; one of the most remarkable of which
is a satire in blank verse, called the _Steele-glass_, 1576, 4to.

Gascoigne was born in Essex, educated in both universities, whence he
removed to Gray's-inn; but, disliking the study of the law, became
first a dangler at court, and afterwards a soldier in the wars of the
Low Countries. He had no great success in any of these pursuits, as
appears from a poem of his, intitled "Gascoigne's Wodmanship, written
to lord Gray of Wilton." Many of his epistles dedicatory are dated in
1575, 1576, from "his poore house in Walthamstoe:" where he died a
middle-aged man in 1578, according to Anth. Wood: or rather in 1577, if
he is the person meant in an old tract, intitled, "A remembrance of the
well employed Life and godly End of Geo. Gascoigne, Esq.; who deceased
at Stamford in Lincolnshire, Oct. 7, 1577, by Geo. Whetstone, Gent. an
eye-witness of his godly and charitable end in this world," 4to. no
date. [From a MS. of Oldys.]

Mr. Thomas Warton thinks "Gascoigne has much exceeded all the poets
of his age, in smoothness and harmony of versification."[558] But the
truth is, scarce any of the earlier poets of Q. Elizabeth's time are
found deficient in harmony and smoothness, tho' those qualities appear
so rare in the writings of their successors. In the _Paradise of Dainty
Devises_,[559] (the _Dodsley's Miscellany_ of those times) will hardly
be found one rough, or inharmonious line:[560] whereas the numbers of
Jonson, Donne, and most of their contemporaries, frequently offend
the ear like the filing of a saw. Perhaps this is in some measure to
be accounted for from the growing pedantry of that age, and from the
writers affecting to run their lines into one another, after the manner
of the Latin and Greek poets.

The following poem (which the elegant writer above quoted hath
recommended to notice, as possessed of a delicacy rarely to be seen
in that early state of our poetry) properly consists of Alexandrines
of twelve and fourteen syllables, and is printed from two quarto
black-letter collections of Gascoigne's pieces; the first intitled, "A
hundreth sundrie flowres, bounde up in one small posie, &c. London,
imprinted for Richarde Smith:" without date, but from a letter of H. W.
(p. 202), compared with the printer's epist. to the reader, it appears
to have been published in 1572, or 3. The other is intitled, "The
Posies of George Gascoigne, Esq.; corrected, perfected, and augmented
by the author; 1575.--Printed at Lond. for Richard Smith, &c." No year,
but the epist. dedicat. is dated 1576.

In the title-page of this last (by way of printer's,[561] or
bookseller's device) is an ornamental wooden cut, tolerably well
executed, wherein Time is represented drawing the figure of Truth
out of a pit or cavern, with this legend, _Occulta veritas tempore
patet_ [R. S.] This is mentioned because it is not improbable but the
accidental sight of this or some other title-page containing the same
device, suggested to Rubens that well-known design of a similar kind,
which he has introduced into the Luxemburg gallery,[562] and which has
been so justly censured for the unnatural manner of its execution.

The lady here celebrated was Catharine, daughter of Edmond second Lord
Chandos, wife of William Lord Sands. See Collins's _Peerage_, vol. ii.
p. 133, ed. 1779.

  [George Gascoigne, soldier and poet, had many enemies, and when
  objection was made to the Privy Council against his return as a
  burgess for Midhurst, they termed him "a common rymer, ruffian,
  atheist," &c. Mr. W. C. Hazlitt printed a complete collection of
  his poems in the Roxburghe Library, 2 vols. London, 1869-70.]

    In court whoso demaundes
      What dame doth most excell;
    For my conceit I must needes say,
      Faire Bridges beares the bel.

    Upon whose lively cheeke,                                          5
      To prove my judgment true,
    The rose and lillie seeme to strive
      For equall change of hewe:

    And therewithall so well
      Hir graces all agree;                                           10
    No frowning cheere dare once presume
      In hir sweet face to bee.

    Although some lavishe lippes
      Which like some other best,
    Will say, the blemishe on hir browe                               15
      Disgraceth all the rest.

    Thereto I thus replie;
      God wotte, they little knowe
    The hidden cause of that mishap,
      Nor how the harm did growe:                                     20

    For when dame Nature first
      Had framde hir heavenly face,
    And thoroughly bedecked it
      With goodly gleames of grace;

    It lyked hir so well:                                             25
      Lo here, quod she, a peece
    For perfect shape, that passeth all
      Appelles' worke in Greece.

    This bayt may chaunce to catche
      The greatest God of love,                                       30
    Or mightie thundring Jove himself,
      That rules the roast above.

    But out, alas! those wordes
      Were vaunted all in vayne;
    And some unseen wer present there,                                35
      Pore Bridges, to thy pain.

    For Cupide, crafty boy,
      Close in a corner stoode,
    Not blyndfold then, to gaze on hir:
      I gesse it did him good.                                        40

    Yet when he felte the flame
      Gan kindle in his brest,
    And herd dame Nature boast by hir
      To break him of his rest,

    His hot newe-chosen love                                          45
      He chaunged into hate,
    And sodeynly with mightie mace
      Gan rap hir on the pate.

    It greeved Nature muche
      To see the cruell deede:                                        50
    Mee seemes I see hir, how she wept
      To see hir dearling bleede.

    Wel yet, quod she, this hurt
      Shal have some helpe I trowe:
    And quick with skin she coverd it,                                55
      That whiter is than snowe.

    Wherwith Dan Cupide fled,
      For feare of further flame,
    When angel-like he saw hir shine,
      Whome he had smit with shame.                                   60

    Lo, thus was Bridges hurt
      In cradel of hir kind.[563]
    The coward Cupide brake hir browe
      To wreke his wounded mynd.

    The skar still there remains;                                     65
      No force, there let it bee:
    There is no cloude that can eclipse
      So bright a sunne, as she.

FOOTNOTES:

[558] Observations on the _Faerie Queen_, vol. ii. p. 168.

[559] Printed in 1576, 1577, 1578, 1580, 1585, 1596, 1600, and perhaps
oftener, in 4to. black-letter.

[560] The same is true of most of the poems in the _Mirrour of
Magistrates_, 1563, 4to. and also of Surrey's Poems, 1557.

[561] Henrie Binneman.

[562] Le Tems découvre la Vérité.

[563] Ver. 62. In cradel of hir kind: _i.e._ in the cradle of her
family. See Warton's _Observations_, vol. ii. p. 137.

VII.

FAIR ROSAMOND.

Most of the circumstances in this popular story of king Henry II.
and the beautiful Rosamond have been taken for fact by our English
historians; who, unable to account for the unnatural conduct of queen
Eleanor in stimulating her sons to rebellion, have attributed it to
jealousy, and supposed that Henry's amour with Rosamond was the object
of that passion.

Our old English annalists seem, most of them, to have followed Higden
the monk of Chester, whose account, with some enlargements, is thus
given by Stow:--"Rosamond the fayre daughter of Walter lord Clifford,
concubine to Henry II. (poisoned by queen Elianor, as some thought)
dyed at Woodstocke [A.D. 1177] where king Henry had made for her a
house of wonderfull working; so that no man or woman might come to
her, but he that was instructed by the king, or such as were right
secret with him touching the matter. This house after some was named
Labyrinthus, or Dedalus worke, which was wrought like unto a knot in
a garden, called a maze;[564] but it was commonly said, that lastly
the queene came to her by a clue of thridde, or silke, and so dealt
with her, that she lived not long after: but when she was dead, she
was buried at Godstow in an house of nunnes, beside Oxford, with these
verses upon her tombe:--

    'Hic jacet in tumba, Rosa mundi, non Rosa munda:
      Non redolet, sed olet, quæ redolere solet.'

"In English thus:--

    'The rose of the world, but not the cleane flowre,
      Is now here graven; to whom beauty was lent:
    In this grave full darke nowe is her bowre,
      That by her life was sweete and redolent:
    But now that she is from this life blent,
      Though she were sweete, now foully doth she stinke.
    A mirrour good for all men, that on her thinke.'"

                                     STOWE'S _Annals_, ed. 1631, p. 154.

How the queen gained admittance into Rosamond's bower is differently
related. Hollinshed speaks of it, as "the common report of the people,
that the queene ... founde hir out by a silken thread, which the king
had drawne after him out of hir chamber with his foot, and dealt with
hir in such sharpe and cruell wise, that she lived not long after."
Vol. iii. p. 115. On the other hand, in Speede's _Hist._ we are told
that the jealous queen found her out "by a clew of silke, fallen from
Rosamund's lappe, as shee sate to take ayre, and suddenly fleeing from
the sight of the searcher, the end of her silke fastened to her foot,
and the clew still unwinding, remained behinde: which the queene
followed, till she had found what she sought, and upon Rosamund so
vented her spleene, as the lady lived not long after." 3rd edit. p.
509. Our ballad-maker with more ingenuity, and probably as much truth,
tells us the clue was gained by surprise, from the knight who was left
to guard her bower.

It is observable, that none of the old writers attribute Rosamond's
death to poison (Stow, above, mentions it merely as a slight
conjecture); they only give us to understand, that the queen treated
her harshly; with furious menaces, we may suppose, and sharp
expostulations, which had such effect on her spirits, that she did not
long survive it. Indeed on her tomb-stone, as we learn from a person of
credit,[565] among other fine sculptures, was engraven the figure of a
cup. This, which perhaps at first was an accidental ornament (perhaps
only the chalice) might in after times suggest the notion that she was
poisoned; at least this construction was put upon it, when the stone
came to be demolished after the nunnery was dissolved. The account is,
that "the tomb-stone of Rosamund Clifford was taken up at Godstow, and
broken in pieces, and that upon it were interchangeable weavings drawn
out and decked with roses red and green, and the picture of the _cup_,
out of which she drank the poison given her by the queen, carved in
stone."

Rosamond's father having been a great benefactor to the nunnery of
Godstow, where she had also resided herself in the innocent part of
her life, her body was conveyed there, and buried in the middle of the
choir; in which place it remained till the year 1191, when Hugh bishop
of Lincoln caused it to be removed. The fact is recorded by Hoveden,
a contemporary writer, whose words are thus translated by Stow: "Hugh
bishop of Lincolne came to the abbey of nunnes, called Godstow, ... and
when he had entred the church to pray, he saw a tombe in the middle of
the quire, covered with a pall of silke, and set about with lights of
waxe: and demanding whose tomb it was, he was answered, that it was
the tombe of Rosamond, that was some time lemman to Henry II.... who
for the love of her had done much good to that church. Then quoth the
bishop, take out of this place the harlot, and bury her without the
church, lest christian religion should grow in contempt, and to the
end that, through example of her, other women being made afraid may
beware, and keepe themselves from unlawfull and advouterous company
with men."--_Annals_, p. 159.

History further informs us, that king John repaired Godstow nunnery,
and endowed it with yearly revenues, "that these holy virgins might
releeve with their prayers, the soules of his father king Henrie,
and of lady Rosamund there interred."[566] ... In what situation her
remains were found at the dissolution of the nunnery, we learn from
Leland: "Rosamundes tumbe at Godstowe nunnery was taken up [of] late;
it is a stone with this inscription, TUMBA ROSAMUNDÆ. Her bones were
closid in lede, and withyn that bones were closyd yn lether. When
it was opened a very swete smell came owt of it."[567] See Hearne's
discourse above quoted, written in 1718; at which time he tells us,
were still seen by the pool at Woodstock the foundations of a very
large building, which were believed to be the remains of Rosamond's
labyrinth.

To conclude this (perhaps too prolix) account, Henry had two sons by
Rosamond, from a computation of whose age, a modern historian has
endeavoured to invalidate the received story. These were William
Longue-espé (or Long-sword), earl of Salisbury, and Geoffrey, bishop of
Lincolne.[568] Geoffrey was the younger of Rosamond's sons, and yet is
said to have been twenty years old at the time of his election to that
see in 1173. Hence this writer concludes, that king Henry fell in love
with Rosamond in 1149, when in king Stephen's reign he came over to be
knighted by the king of Scots; he also thinks it probable that Henry's
commerce with this lady "broke off upon his marriage with Eleanor
(in 1152) and that the young lady, by a natural effect of grief and
resentment at the defection of her lover, entered on that occasion into
the nunnery of Godstowe, where she died probably before the rebellion
of Henry's sons in 1173." (Carte's _Hist._ vol. i. p. 652.) But let it
be observed, that Henry was but sixteen years old when he came over to
be knighted; that he staid but eight months in this island, and was
almost all the time with the king of Scots; that he did not return
back to England till 1153, the year after his marriage with Eleanor;
and that no writer drops the least hint of Rosamond's having ever been
abroad with her lover, nor indeed is it probable that a boy of sixteen
should venture to carry over a mistress to his mother's court. If all
these circumstances are considered, Mr. Carte's account will be found
more incoherent and improbable than that of the old ballad; which is
also countenanced by most of our old historians.

Indeed the true date of Geoffrey's birth, and consequently of Henry's
commerce with Rosamond, seems to be best ascertained from an ancient
manuscript in the Cotton library: wherein it is thus registered of
Geoffrey Plantagenet: "Natus est 5° Hen. II. [1159.] Factus est miles
25° Hen. II. [1179.] Elect. in Episcop. Lincoln. 28° Hen. II. [1182]."
Vid. _Chron. de Kirkstall_ (Domitian XII.) Drake's _Hist. of York_, p.
422.

The ballad of _Fair Rosamond_ appears to have been first published in
"Strange Histories, or Songs and Sonnets, of Kinges, Princes, Dukes,
Lords, Ladyes, Knights, and Gentlemen, &c. By Thomas Delone. Lond.
1607." 12mo.

It is here printed (with conjectural emendations), from four ancient
copies in black-letter; two of them in the Pepys library.

  [It is also printed in the _Crown Garland of Golden Roses, and_
  _Garland of Goodwill_. Reprinted by the Percy Society.

  In the _Collection of Old Ballads_, 1723, vol. i. p. 1, is another
  ballad on the same subject, with the title, _The Unfortunate
  Concubine, or Rosamond's Overthrow_.

  The story is also treated in Warner's _Albion's England_ (ch. 41).]

    When as king Henry rulde this land,
      The second of that name,
    Besides the queene, he dearly lovde
      A faire and comely dame.

    Most peerlesse was her beautye founde,                             5
      Her favour, and her face;
    A sweeter creature in this worlde
      Could never prince embrace.

    Her crisped lockes like threads of golde
      Appeard to each mans sight;                                     10
    Her sparkling eyes, like Orient pearles,
      Did cast a heavenlye light.

    The blood within her crystal cheekes
      Did such a colour drive,
    As though the lillye and the rose                                 15
      For mastership did strive.

    Yea Rosamonde, fair Rosamonde,
      Her name was called so,
    To whom our queene, dame Ellinor,
      Was known a deadlye foe.                                        20

    The king therefore, for her defence,
      Against the furious queene,
    At Woodstocke builded such a bower,
      The like was never seene.

    Most curiously that bower was built                               25
      Of stone and timber strong,
    An hundered and fifty doors
      Did to this bower belong:

    And they so cunninglye contriv'd
      With turnings round about,                                      30
    That none but with a clue of thread,
      Could enter in or out.

    And for his love and ladyes sake,
      That was so faire and brighte,
    The keeping of this bower he gave                                 35
      Unto a valiant knighte.

    But fortune, that doth often frowne
      Where she before did smile,
    The kinges delighte and ladyes joy
      Full soon shee did beguile:                                     40

    For why, the kinges ungracious sonne,
      Whom he did high advance,
    Against his father raised warres
      Within the realme of France.

    But yet before our comelye king                                   45
      The English land forsooke,
    Of Rosamond, his lady faire,
      His farewelle thus he tooke:

    "My Rosamonde, my only Rose,
      That pleasest best mine eye:                                    50
    The fairest flower in all the worlde
      To feed my fantasye:

    The flower of mine affected heart,
      Whose sweetness doth excelle:
    My royal Rose, a thousand times                                   55
      I bid thee nowe farwelle!

    For I must leave my fairest flower,
      My sweetest Rose, a space,
    And cross the seas to famous France,
      Proud rebelles to abase.                                        60

    But yet, my Rose, be sure thou shalt
      My coming shortlye see,
    And in my heart, when hence I am,
      Ile beare my Rose with mee."

    When Rosamond, that ladye brighte,                                65
      Did heare the king saye soe,
    The sorrowe of her grieved heart
      Her outward lookes did showe;

    And from her cleare and crystall eyes
      The teares gusht out apace,                                     70
    Which like the silver-pearled dewe
      Ranne downe her comely face.

    Her lippes, erst like the corall redde,
      Did waxe both wan and pale,
    And for the sorrow she conceivde                                  75
      Her vitall spirits faile;

    And falling down all in a swoone
      Before king Henryes face,
    Full oft he in his princelye armes
      Her bodye did embrace:                                          80

    And twentye times, with watery eyes,
      He kist her tender cheeke,
    Untill he had revivde againe
      Her senses milde and meeke.

    Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose?                            85
      The king did often say.
    Because, quoth shee, to bloodye warres
      My lord must part awaye.

    But since your grace on forrayne coastes
      Amonge your foes unkinde                                        90
    Must goe to hazard life and limbe,
      Why should I staye behinde?

    Nay rather, let me, like a page,
      Your sworde and target beare;
    That on my breast the blowes may lighte,                          95
      Which would offend you there.

    Or lett mee, in your royal tent,
      Prepare your bed at nighte,
    And with sweete baths refresh your grace,
      At your returne from fighte.                                   100

    So I your presence may enjoye
      No toil I will refuse;
    But wanting you, my life is death;
      Nay, death Ild rather chuse!

    "Content thy self, my dearest love;                              105
      Thy rest at home shall bee
    In Englandes sweet and pleasant isle;
      For travell fits not thee.

    Faire ladies brooke not bloodye warres;
      Soft peace their sexe delightes;                               110
    'Not rugged campes, but courtlye bowers;
      Gay feastes, not cruell fightes.'

    My Rose shall safely here abide,
      With musicke passe the daye;
    Whilst I, amonge the piercing pikes,                             115
      My foes seeke far awaye.

    My Rose shall shine in pearle, and golde,
      Whilst Ime in armour dighte;
    Gay galliards here my love shall dance,
      Whilst I my foes goe fighte.                                   120

    And you, sir Thomas, whom I truste
      To bee my loves defence;
    Be carefull of my gallant Rose
      When I am parted hence."

    And therewithall he fetcht a sigh,                               125
      As though his heart would breake:
    And Rosamonde, for very griefe,
      Not one plaine word could speake.

    And at their parting well they mighte
      In heart be grieved sore:                                      130
    After that daye faire Rosamonde
      The king did see no more.

    For when his grace had past the seas,
      And into France was gone,
    With envious heart, queene Ellinor,                              135
      To Woodstocke came anone.

    And forth she calles this trustye knighte,
      In an unhappy houre;
    Who with his clue of twined thread,
      Came from this famous bower.                                   140

    And when that they had wounded him,
      The queene this thread did gette,
    And went where ladye Rosamonde
      Was like an angell sette.

    But when the queene with stedfast eye                            145
      Beheld her beauteous face,
    She was amazed in her minde
      At her exceeding grace.

    Cast off from thee those robes, she said,
      That riche and costlye bee;                                    150
    And drinke thou up this deadlye draught,
      Which I have brought to thee.

    Then presentlye upon her knees
      Sweet Rosamonde did falle;
    And pardon of the queene she crav'd                              155
      For her offences all.

    "Take pitty on my youthfull yeares,
      Faire Rosamonde did crye;
    And lett mee not with poison stronge
      Enforced bee to dye.                                           160

    I will renounce my sinfull life,
      And in some cloyster bide;
    Or else be banisht, if you please,
      To range the world soe wide.

    And for the fault which I have done,                             165
      Though I was forc'd theretoe,
    Preserve my life, and punish mee
      As you thinke meet to doe."

    And with these words, her lillie handes
      She wrunge full often there;                                   170
    And downe along her lovely face
      Did trickle many a teare.

    But nothing could this furious queene
      Therewith appeased bee;
    The cup of deadlye poyson stronge,                               175
      As she knelt on her knee,

    Shee gave this comelye dame to drinke;
      Who tooke it in her hand,
    And from her bended knee arose,
      And on her feet did stand:                                     180

    And casting up her eyes to heaven,
      Shee did for mercye calle;
    And drinking up the poyson stronge,
      Her life she lost withalle.

    And when that death through everye limbe                         185
      Had showde its greatest spite,
    Her chiefest foes did plaine confesse
      Shee was a glorious wighte.

    Her body then they did entomb,
      When life was fled away,                                       190
    At Godstowe, neare to Oxford towne,
      As may be seene this day.

                                                                       *

FOOTNOTES:

[564] Consisting of vaults under ground, arched and walled with brick
and stone, according to Drayton. See note on his Epistle of Rosamond.

[565] Tho. Allen of Gloc. Hall, Oxon. who died in 1632, aged 90. See
Hearne's rambling discourse concerning Rosamond, at the end of _Gul.
Neubrig. Hist._ vol. iii. p. 739.

[566] Vid. reign of Henry II. in Speed's _Hist._ writ by Dr. Barcham,
Dean of Bocking.

[567] This would have passed for miraculous, if it had happened in the
tomb of any clerical person, and a proof of his being a saint.

[568] Afterwards Archbishop of York, temp. Rich. I.

VIII.

QUEEN ELEANOR'S CONFESSIÓN.

"Eleanor, the daughter and heiress of William duke of Guienne, and
count of Poictou, had been married sixteen years to Louis VII. king
of France, and had attended him in a croisade, which that monarch
commanded against the infidels; but having lost the affections of
her husband, and even fallen under some suspicions of gallantry with
a handsome Saracen, Louis, more delicate than politic, procured a
divorce from her, and restored her those rich provinces, which by her
marriage she had annexed to the crown of France. The young count of
Anjou, afterwards Henry II. king of England, tho' at that time but in
his nineteenth year, neither discouraged by the disparity of age, nor
by the reports of Eleanor's gallantry, made such successful courtship
to that princess, that he married her six weeks after her divorce,
and got possession of all her dominions as a dowery. A marriage thus
founded upon interest was not likely to be very happy: it happened
accordingly, Eleanor, who had disgusted her first husband by her
gallantries, was no less offensive to her second by her jealousy:
thus carrying to extremity, in the different parts of her life, every
circumstance of female weakness. She had several sons by Henry, whom
she spirited up to rebel against him; and endeavouring to escape to
them disguised in man's apparel in 1173, she was discovered and thrown
into a confinement, which seems to have continued till the death of her
husband in 1189. She however survived him many years: dying in 1204,
in the sixth year of the reign of her youngest son, John." See Hume's
_Hist._ 4to. vol. i. pp. 260, 307. Speed, Stow, &c.

It is needless to observe, that the following ballad (given, with some
corrections, from an old printed copy) is altogether fabulous; whatever
gallantries Eleanor encouraged in the time of her first husband, none
are imputed to her in that of her second.

  [The idea of the unlucky shrift exhibited in the following ballad
  is taken from some old story-teller. It occurs among the tales
  of Boccaccio, Bandello, Barbazan, La Fontaine, and several other
  writers.

  A copy of this ballad, differing very considerably from the present
  version, is to be found in Kinloch's _Ancient Scottish Ballads_.
  The first stanza is as follows:--

    "The queen fell sick, and very, very sick
      She was sick and like to dee
    And she sent for a frier oure frae France
      Her confessour to be."

  The last stanza but four reads:--

    "And do you see yon pretty little girl
      That's a beclad in green?
    She's a friar's daughter oure in France
      And I hoped to see her a queen."

  And the end as follows:--

    "The king look'd over his left shoulder,
      An angry man was he:--
    An it werna for the oath I sware
      Earl Marshall, thou shouldst dee."

  Another version, recovered from recitation, and more like Percy's
  than Kinloch's, is printed by Motherwell in his _Minstrelsy_, under
  the title of "Earl Marshall."]

    Queene Elianor was a sicke womàn.
      And afraid that she should dye:
    Then she sent for two fryars of France
      To speke with her speedilye.

    The king calld downe his nobles all,                               5
      By one, by two, by three;
    "Earl marshall, Ile goe shrive the queene,
      And thou shalt wend with mee."

    A boone, a boone; quoth earl marshàll,
      And fell on his bended knee;                                    10
    That whatsoever queene Elianor saye,
      No harme therof may bee.

    Ile pawne my landes, the king then cryd,
      My sceptre, crowne, and all,
    That whatsoere queen Elianor sayes                                15
      No harme thereof shall fall.

    Do thou put on a fryars coat,
      And Ile put on another;
    And we will to queen Elianor goe
      Like fryar and his brother.                                     20

    Thus both attired then they goe:
      When they came to Whitehall,
    The bells did ring, and the quiristers sing,
      And the torches did lighte them all.

    When that they came before the queene                             25
      They fell on their bended knee;
    A boone, a boone, our gracious queene,
      That you sent so hastilee.

    Are you two fryars of France, she sayd,
      As I suppose you bee,                                           30
    But if you are two Englishe fryars,
      You shall hang on the gallowes tree.

    We are two fryars of France, they sayd,
      As you suppose we bee,
    We have not been at any masse                                     35
      Sith we came from the sea.

    The first vile thing that ever I did
      I will to you unfolde;
    Earl marshall had my maidenhed,
      Beneath this cloth of golde.                                    40

    Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king;
      May God forgive it thee!
    Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall;
      With a heavye heart spake hee.

    The next vile thing that ever I did,                              45
      To you Ile not denye,
    I made a boxe of poyson strong,
      To poison king Henrye.

    Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king,
      May God forgive it thee!                                        50
    Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall;
      And I wish it so may bee.

    The next vile thing that ever I did,
      To you I will discover;
    I poysoned fair Rosamonde,                                        55
      All in fair Woodstocke bower.

    Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king;
      May God forgive it thee!
    Amen, amen, quoth earl marshal;
      And I wish it so may bee.                                       60

    Do you see yonders little boye,
      A tossing of the balle?
    That is earl marshalls eldest sonne,[569]
      And I love him the best of all.

    Do you see yonders little boye,                                   65
      A catching of the balle?
    That is king Henryes youngest sonne,[569]
      And I love him the worst of all.

    His head is fashyon'd like a bull;                                70
      His nose is like a boare.
    No matter for that, king Henrye cryd,
      I love him the better therfore.

    The king pulled off his fryars coate,
      And appeared all in redde:                                      75
    She shrieked, and cryd, and wrung her hands,
      And sayd she was betrayde.

    The king lookt over his left shoulder,
      And a grimme look looked hee,
    Earl marshall, he sayd, but for my oathe,                         80
      Or hanged thou shouldst bee.

FOOTNOTES:

[569] Ver. 63, 67. She means that the eldest of these two was by the
earl marshall, the youngest by the king.

IX.

THE STURDY ROCK.

This poem, subscribed M. T. (perhaps invertedly for T. Marshall[570])
is preserved in _The Paradise of Daintie Devises_. The two first
stanzas may be found accompanied with musical notes in "An howres
recreation in musicke, &c. by Richard Alison, Lond. 1606, 4to." usually
bound up with three or four sets of "Madrigals set to music by Tho.
Weelkes, Lond. 1597, 1600, 1608, 4to." One of these madrigals is so
compleat an example of the bathos, that I cannot forbear presenting it
to the reader:--

    "Thule, the period of cosmographie,
      Doth vaunt of Hecla, whose sulphureous fire
    Doth melt the frozen clime, and thaw the skie,
      Trinacrian Ætna's flames ascend not hier:
    These things seeme wondrous, yet more wondrous I,
    Whose heart with feare doth freeze, with love doth fry.

    "The Andelusian merchant, that returnes
      Laden with cutchinele and china dishes,
    Reports in Spaine, how strangely Fogo burnes
      Amidst an ocean full of flying fishes:
    These things seeme wondrous, yet more wondrous I,
    Whose heart with feare doth freeze, with love doth fry."

Mr. Weelkes seems to have been of opinion, with many of his brethren of
later times, that nonsense was best adapted to display the powers of
musical composure.

  [Percy's conjecture that the author is Marshall is not a happy
  one. Sir Egerton Brydges, in his edition of the _Paradise_, 1810
  (_British Bibliographer_, vol. iii.), attributes it to M. Thorn,
  whose name is signed to another poem, numbered 52:--

    "Now mortall man beholde and see,
    This worlde is but a vanitie,"

  written in much the same spirit. The heading to the _Sturdy Rock_
  is:--

    "Man's flitting life fyndes surest stay,
    Where sacred vertue beareth sway."]

    The sturdy rock for all his strength
      By raging seas is rent in twaine:
    The marble stone is pearst at length,
      With little drops of drizling rain:
    The oxe doth yeeld unto the yoke,                                  5
    The steele obeyeth the hammer stroke.

    The stately stagge, that seemes so stout,
      By yalping hounds at bay is set:
    The swiftest bird, that flies about,
      Is caught at length in fowlers net:                             10
    The greatest fish, in deepest brooke,
    Is soon deceived by subtill hooke.

    Yea man himselfe, unto whose will
      All things are bounden to obey,
    For all his wit and worthie skill,                                15
      Doth fade at length, and fall away.
    There is nothing but time doeth waste;
    The heavens, the earth consume at last.

    But vertue sits triumphing still
      Upon the throne of glorious fame:                               20
    Though spiteful death mans body kill,
      Yet hurts he not his vertuous name:
    By life or death what so betides,
    The state of vertue never slides.

FOOTNOTES:

[570] Vid. _Athen. Oxon._ pp. 152, 316.

X.

THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN.

This popular old ballad was written in the reign of Elizabeth, as
appears not only from ver. 23, where the arms of England are called the
"Queenes armes;" but from its tune's being quoted in other old pieces,
written in her time. See the ballad on _Mary Ambree_ in this volume.
The late Mr. Guthrie assured the editor that he had formerly seen
another old song on the same subject, composed in a different measure
from this; which was truly beautiful, if we may judge from the only
stanza he remembered. In this it was said of the old beggar, that "down
his neck

    "----his reverend lockes
      In comelye curles did wave;
    And on his aged temples grewe
      The blossomes of the grave."

The following ballad is chiefly given from the Editor's folio MS.
compared with two ancient printed copies: the concluding stanzas,
which contain the old beggar's discovery of himself, are not however
given from any of these, being very different from those of the
vulgar ballad. Nor yet does the Editor offer them as genuine, but as
a modern attempt to remove the absurdities and inconsistencies, which
so remarkably prevailed in this part of the song, as it stood before:
whereas by the alteration of a few lines, the story is rendered much
more affecting, and is reconciled to probability and true history. For
this informs us, that at the decisive battle of Evesham (fought Aug. 4,
1265), when Simon de Montfort, the great Earl of Leicester, was slain
at the head of the barons, his eldest son Henry fell by his side, and
in consequence of that defeat, his whole family sunk for ever, the king
bestowing their great honours and possessions on his second son, Edmund
earl of Lancaster.

  [This charming old ballad has enjoyed a long life of popularity,
  and according to Mr. Chappell it is still kept in print in Seven
  Dials, and sung about the country. As it is to be found in most
  collections, it has not been thought necessary to take note of
  the various trifling alterations which Percy made, but the six
  stanzas which he ejected in favour of the eight between brackets
  are printed at the end. A few of the alterations are improvements,
  but most of them are the reverse; thus, in place of the received
  reading of verse 28,

    "Was straightway in love with pretty Bessee,"

  Percy prints

    "Was straightway enamourd of pretty Bessee."

  Mr. John Pickford (_Notes and Queries_, 4th Series, vol. ix. p. 64)
  once possessed an old mezzotint engraving of the Blind Beggar of a
  large folio size, on the margin of which were inscribed the lines
  referred to above. In Robert Greene's _Pandosto_ (1588), from which
  Shakspere drew the plot of his _Winter's Tale_, there is the same
  simile as is used in these verses. Egistus says:--"Thou seest my
  white hayres are blossomes for the grave."

  Pepys in his Diary (25th June, 1663), speaks of going to dinner
  with Sir William and Lady Batten and Sir J. Minnes to Sir William
  Ryder's at Bethnall Green, and adds: "This very house was built by
  the blind beggar of Bednall Green, so much talked of and sang in
  ballads, but they say it was only some outhouse of it." The mansion
  was built by John Kirby, a citizen of London, in the reign of Queen
  Elizabeth, and afterwards became the residence of Sir Hugh Platt,
  author of _The Jewell House of Art and Nature_, 1594; _The Garden
  of Eden_, &c. Ryder died there in 1669.]

                            PART THE FIRST.

    Itt was a blind beggar, had long lost his sight,
    He had a faire daughter of bewty most bright;
    And many a gallant brave suiter had shee,
    For none was soe comelye as pretty Bessee.

    And though shee was of favor most faire,                           5
    Yett seeing shee was but a poor beggars heyre,
    Of ancyent housekeepers despised was shee,
    Whose sonnes came as suitors to prettye Bessee.

    Wherefore in great sorrow faire Bessy did say,
    Good father, and mother, let me goe away                          10
    To seeke out my fortune, whatever itt bee.
    This suite then they granted to prettye Bessee.

    Then Bessy, that was of bewtye soe bright,
    All cladd in gray russett, and late in the night
    From father and mother alone parted shee;                         15
    Who sighed and sobbed for prettye Bessee.

    Shee went till shee came to Stratford-le-Bow;
    Then knew shee not whither, nor which way to goe:
    With teares shee lamented her hard destinìe,
    So sadd and soe heavy was pretty Bessee.                          20

    Shee kept on her journey untill it was day,
    And went unto Rumford along the hye way;
    Where at the Queenes armes entertained was shee:
    Soe faire and wel favoured was pretty Bessee.

    Shee had not beene there a month to an end,                       25
    But master and mistres and all was her friend:
    And every brave gallant, that once did her see,
    Was straight-way enamourd of pretty Bessee.

    Great gifts they did send her of silver and gold,
    And in their songs daylye her love was extold;                    30
    Her beawtye was blazed in every degree;
    Soe faire and soe comelye was pretty Bessee.

    The young men of Rumford in her had their joy;
    Shee shewed herself curteous, and modestlye coye;
    And at her commandment still wold they bee;                       35
    Soe fayre and soe comlye was pretty Bessee.

    Foure suitors att once unto her did goe;
    They craved her favor, but still she sayd noe;
    I wold not wish gentles to marry with mee.
    Yett ever they honored prettye Bessee.                            40

    The first of them was a gallant young knight,
    And he came unto her disguisde in the night:
    The second a gentleman of good degree,
    Who wooed and sued for prettye Bessee.

    A merchant of London, whose wealth was not small,                 45
    He was the third suiter, and proper withall:
    Her masters own sonne the fourth man must bee,
    Who swore he would dye for pretty Bessee.

    And, if thou wilt marry with mee, quoth the knight,
    Ile make thee a ladye with joy and delight;                       50
    My hart's so inthralled by thy bewtìe,
    That soone I shall dye for prettye Bessee.

    The gentleman sayd, Come, marry with mee,
    As fine as a ladye my Bessy shal bee:
    My life is distressed: O heare me, quoth hee;                     55
    And grant me thy love, my prettye Bessee.

    Let me bee thy husband, the merchant cold say,
    Thou shalt live in London both gallant and gay;
    My shippes shall bring home rych jewells for thee,
    And I will for ever love pretty Bessee.                           60

    Then Bessy shee sighed, and thus shee did say,
    My father and mother I meane to obey;
    First gett their good will, and be faithfull to mee,
    And you shall enjoye your prettye Bessee.

    To every one this answer shee made,                               65
    Wherfore unto her they joyfullye sayd,
    This thing to fulfill wee all doe agree;
    But where dwells thy father, my prettye Bessee?

    My father, shee said, is soone to be seene:
    The seely blind beggar of Bednall-greene,                         70
    That daylye sits begging for charitìe,
    He is the good father of pretty Bessee.

    His markes and his tokens are knowen very well;
    He alwayes is led with a dogg and a bell:
    A seely olde man, God knoweth, is hee,                            75
    Yett hee is the father of pretty Bessee.

    Nay then, quoth the merchant, thou art not for mee:
    Nor, quoth the innholder, my wiffe thou shalt bee:
    I lothe, sayd the gentle, a beggars degree,
    And therefore, adewe, my pretty Bessee!                           80

    Why then, quoth the knight, hap better or worse,
    I waighe not true love by the waight of the pursse,
    And bewtye is bewtye in every degree;
    Then welcome unto me, my pretty Bessee.

    With thee to thy father forthwith I will goe.                     85
    Nay soft, quoth his kinsmen, it must not be soe;
    A poor beggars daughter noe ladye shal bee,
    Then take thy adew of pretty Bessee.

    But soone after this, by breake of the day
    The knight had from Rumford stole Bessy away.                     90
    The younge men of Rumford, as thicke [as] might bee,
    Rode after to feitch againe pretty Bessee.

    As swifte as the winde to ryde they were seene,
    Untill they came neare unto Bednall-greene;
    And as the knight lighted most courteouslìe,                      95
    They all fought against him for pretty Bessee.

    But rescew came speedilye over the plaine,
    Or else the young knight for his love had been slaine.
    This fray being ended, then straitway he see
    His kinsmen come rayling at pretty Bessee.                       100

    Then spake the blind beggar, Although I bee poore,
    Yett rayle not against my child at my own doore:
    Though shee be not decked in velvett and pearle,
    Yett will I dropp angells with you for my girle.

    And then, if my gold may better her birthe,                      105
    And equall the gold that you lay on the earth,
    Then neyther rayle nor grudge you to see
    The blind beggars daughter a lady to bee.

    But first you shall promise, and have itt well knowne,
    The gold that you drop shall all be your owne.                   110
    With that they replyed, Contented bee wee.
    Then here's, quoth the beggar, for pretty Bessee.

    With that an angell he cast on the ground,
    And dropped in angels full three thousand[571] pound;
    And oftentimes itt was proved most plaine,                       115
    For the gentlemens one the beggar dropt twayne:

    Soe that the place, wherin they did sitt,
    With gold it was covered every whitt.
    The gentlemen then having dropt all their store,
    Sayd, Now, beggar, hold, for wee have noe more.                  120

    Thou hast fulfilled thy promise arright.
    Then marry, quoth he, my girle to this knight;
    And heere, added hee, I will now throwe you downe
    A hundred pounds more to buy her a gowne.

    The gentlemen all, that this treasure had seene,                 125
    Admired the beggar of Bednall-greene:
    And all those, that were her suitors before,
    Their fleshe for very anger they tore.

    Thus was faire Besse matched to the knight,
    And then made a ladye in others despite:                         130
    A fairer ladye there never was seene,
    Than the blind beggars daughter of Bednall-greene.

    But of their sumptuous marriage and feast,
    What brave lords and knights thither were prest,
    The second fitt[572] shall set forth to your sight               135
    With marveilous pleasure, and wished delight.

                            PART THE SECOND.

    Off a blind beggars daughter most bright,
    That late was betrothed unto a younge knight;
    All the discourse therof you did see;
    But now comes the wedding of pretty Bessee.

    Within a gorgeous palace most brave,                               5
    Adorned with all the cost they cold have,
    This wedding was kept most sumptuouslìe,
    And all for the creditt of pretty Bessee.

    All kind of dainties, and delicates sweete
    Were bought for the banquet, as it was most meete;                10
    Partridge, and plover, and venison most free,
    Against the brave wedding of pretty Bessee.

    This marriage through England was spread by report,
    Soe that a great number therto did resort
    Of nobles and gentles in every degree;                            15
    And all for the fame of prettye Bessee.

    To church then went this gallant younge knight;
    His bride followed after, an angell most bright,
    With troopes of ladyes, the like nere was seene
    As went with sweete Bessy of Bednall-greene.                      20

    This marryage being solempnized then,
    With musicke performed by the skilfullest men,
    The nobles and gentles sate downe at that tyde,
    Each one admiring the beautifull bryde.

    Now, after the sumptuous dinner was done,                         25
    To talke, and to reason a number begunn:
    They talkt of the blind beggars daughter most bright,
    And what with his daughter he gave to the knight.

    Then spake the nobles, "Much marveil have wee,
    This jolly blind beggar wee cannot here see."                     30
    My lords, quoth the bride, my father's so base,
    He is loth with his presence these states to disgrace.

    "The prayse of a woman in questyon to bringe
    Before her own face, were a flattering thinge;
    But wee thinke thy father's baseness," quoth they,                35
    "Might by thy bewtye be cleane put awaye."

    They had noe sooner these pleasant words spoke,
    But in comes the beggar cladd in a silke cloke;
    A faire velvet capp, and a fether had hee,
    And now a musicyan forsooth he wold bee.                          40

    He had a daintye lute under his arme,
    He touched the strings, which made such a charme,
    Saies, Please you to heare any musicke of mee,
    Ile sing you a song of pretty Bessee.

    With that his lute he twanged straightway,                        45
    And thereon begann most sweetlye to play;
    And after that lessons were playd two or three,
    He strayn'd out this song most delicatelìe.

    "A poore beggars daughter did dwell on a greene,
    Who for her fairenesse might well be a queene:                    50
    A blithe bonny lasse, and a daintye was shee,
    And many one called her pretty Bessee.

    "Her father hee had noe goods, nor noe land.
    But beggd for a penny all day with his hand;
    And yett to her marriage hee gave thousands three,[573]           55
    And still he hath somewhat for pretty Bessee.

    "And if any one here her birth doe disdaine,
    Her father is ready, with might and with maine,
    To proove shee is come of noble degree:
    Therfore never flout att prettye Bessee."                         60

    With that the lords and the companye round
    With harty laughter were readye to swound;
    Att last said the lords, Full well wee may see,
    The bride and the beggar's behoulden to thee.

    On this the bride all blushing did rise,                          65
    The pearlie dropps standing within her faire eyes,
    O pardon my father, grave nobles, quoth shee,
    That throughe blind affection thus doteth on mee.

    If this be thy father, the nobles did say,
    Well may he be proud of this happy day;                           70
    Yett by his countenance well may wee see,
    His birth and his fortune did never agree:

    And therfore, blind man, we pray thee bewray,
    (And looke that the truth thou to us doe say)
    Thy birth and thy parentage, what itt may bee;                    75
    For the love that thou bearest to pretty Bessee."

    "Then give me leave, nobles and gentles, each one,
    One song more to sing, and then I have done;
    And if that itt may not winn good report,
    Then doe not give me a _groat_ for my sport.                      80

    "[Sir Simon de Montfort my subject shal bee;
    Once chiefe of all the great barons was hee,
    Yet fortune so cruelle this lorde did abase,
    Now loste and forgotten are hee and his race.

    "When the barons in armes did king Henrye oppose,
    Sir Simon de Montfort their leader they chose;                    86
    A leader of courage undaunted was hee,
    And oft-times he made their enemyes flee.

    "At length in the battle on Eveshame plaine[574]
    The barons were routed, and Montfort was slaine;                  90
    Moste fatall that battel did prove unto thee,
    Thoughe thou wast not borne then, my prettye Bessee!

    "Along with the nobles, that fell at that tyde,
    His eldest son Henrye, who fought by his side,
    Was fellde by a blowe, he receivde in the fight!                  95
    A blowe that deprivde him for ever of sight.

    "Among the dead bodyes all lifelesse he laye,
    Till evening drewe on of the following daye,
    When by a yong ladye discoverd was hee;
    And this was thy mother, my prettye Bessee!                      100

    "A baron's faire daughter stept forth in the nighte
    To search for her father, who fell in the fight,
    And seeing yong Montfort, where gasping he laye,
    Was moved with pitye, and brought him awaye.

    "In secrette she nurst him, and swaged his paine,                105
    While he throughe the realme was beleevd to be slaine:
    At lengthe his faire bride she consented to bee,
    And made him glad father of prettye Bessee.

    "And nowe lest oure foes our lives sholde betraye,
    We clothed ourselves in beggars arraye;                          110
    Her jewelles shee solde, and hither came wee:
    All our comfort and care was our prettye Bessee.]

    "And here have wee lived in fortunes despite,
    Thoughe poore, yet contented with humble delighte:
    Full forty winters thus have I beene                             115
    A silly blind beggar of Bednall-greene.

    "And here, noble lordes, is ended the song
    Of one, that once to your own ranke did belong:
    And thus have you learned a secrette from mee,
    That ne'er had beene knowne, but for prettye Bessee."            120

    Now when the faire companye everye one,
    Had heard the strange tale in the song he had showne,
    They all were amazed, as well they might bee,
    Both at the blinde beggar, and pretty Bessee.

    With that the faire bride they all did embrace,                  125
    Saying, Sure thou art come of an honourable race,
    Thy father likewise is of noble degree,
    And thou art well worthy a lady to bee.

    Thus was the feast ended with joye and delighte,
    A bridegroome most happy then was the young knighte,             130
    In joy and felicitie long lived hee,
    All with his faire ladye, the pretty Bessee.

                                                                   [***]

[The following stanzas (ll. 217-240 of the whole ballad), were rejected
by Percy in favour of the verses above which are between brackets, and
were written by Robert Dodsley, the bookseller and author:--

    "When ffirst our king his ffame did Advance,
    & fought for his title in delicate ffrance,
    in many a place many perills past hee:
    then was not borne my pretty Bessye.

    "And then in those warres went over to fight
    many a braue duke, a Lo_rd_, & a K_nigh_t,
    & w_i_th them younge Mountford, his courage most free:
    but then was not borne my pretty Bessye.

    "Att Bloyes there chanced a terrible day,
    where many braue ffrenchmen vpon the ground Lay;
    amonge them Lay Mountford for companye:
    but then was not borne my pretty Bessye.[575]

    "But there did younge Mountford, by blow on the face,
    loose both his eyes in a very short space;
    & alsoe his liffe had beene gone w_i_th his sight,
    had not a younge woman come forth in the night

    "Amongst the slaine men, as fancy did moue,
    to search & to seeke for her owne true loue;
    & seeing young Mountford there gasping to bee,
    shee saued his liffe through charitye.

    "And then all our vittalls, in Beggar attire
    att hands of good people wee then did require.
    att last into England, as now it is seene,
    wee came, & remained att Bednall greene."[576]

  [+±+] The word _fit_ for _part_, often occurs in our ancient
  ballads and metrical romances: which being divided into several
  parts for the convenience of singing them at public entertainments,
  were in the intervals of the feast sung by fits, or intermissions.
  So Puttenham in his _Art of English Poesie_, 1589, says: "the
  Epithalamie was divided by breaches into three partes to serve for
  three several fits, or times to be sung." P. 41.

  From the same writer we learn some curious particulars relative to
  the state of ballad-singing in that age, that will throw light on
  the present subject: speaking of the quick returns of one manner of
  tune in the short measures used by common rhymers; these, he says,
  "glut the eare, unless it be in small and popular musickes, sung
  by these Cantabanqui, upon benches and barrels heads, where they
  have none other audience then boys or countrey fellowes, that passe
  by them in the streete; or else by _blind harpers_, or such like
  taverne minstrels, that give a _fit_ of mirth for a _groat_, ...
  their matter being for the most part stories of old time, as the
  tale of _Sir Topas_, the reportes of _Bevis of Southampton_, _Guy
  of Warwicke_, _Adam Bell and Clymme of the Clough_, and such other
  old romances or historical rimes, made purposely for recreation
  of the common people at Christmasse dinners and brideales, and in
  tavernes and alehouses, and such other places of base resorte." P.
  69.

  This species of entertainment, which seems to have been handed down
  from the ancient bards, was in the time of Puttenham falling into
  neglect; but that it was not, even then, wholly excluded from more
  genteel assemblies, he gives us room to infer from another passage:
  "We ourselves," says this courtly[577] writer, "have written for
  pleasure a little brief romance, or historical ditty in the English
  tong of the _Isle of Great Britaine_ in short and long meetres, and
  by breaches or divisions (_i.e._ fits), to be more commodiously
  sung to the harpe in places of assembly, where the company shal
  be desirous to heare of old adventures, and valiaunces of noble
  knights in times past, as are those of _King Arthur and his
  Knights of the Round Table_, _Sir Bevys of Southampton_, _Guy of
  Warwicke_, and others like." P. 33.

  In more ancient times no grand scene of festivity was compleat
  without one of these reciters to entertain the company with
  feats of arms, and tales of knighthood, or, as one of these old
  minstrels says, in the beginning of an ancient romance on _Guy
  and Colbronde_, in the Editor's folio MS. p. 349 [ed. Hales and
  Furnivall, vol. ii., p. 527]:

    "When meate and drinke is great plentyè,
    And lords and ladyes still wil bee,
      And sitt and solace lythe;[578]
    Then itt is time for mee to speake
    Of keene knightes, and kempès great,
      Such carping for to kythe."

  If we consider that a _groat_ in the age of Elizabeth was more than
  equivalent to a shilling now, we shall find that the old harpers
  were even then, when their art was on the decline, upon a far more
  reputable footing than the ballad-singers of our time. The reciting
  of one such ballad as this of the _Beggar of Bednal Green_, in
  two parts, was rewarded with half-a-crown of our money. And that
  they made a very respectable appearance, we may learn from the
  dress of the old beggar, in the preceding ballad, p. 178, where
  he comes into company in the habit and character of one of these
  minstrels, being not known to be the bride's father till after
  her speech, ver. 63. The exordium of his song, and his claiming a
  groat for his reward, v. 76, are peculiarly characteristic of that
  profession. Most of the old ballads begin in a pompous manner, in
  order to captivate the attention of the audience, and induce them
  to purchase a recital of the song: and they seldom conclude the
  first part without large promises of still greater entertainment
  in the second. This was a necessary piece of art to incline the
  hearers to be at the expense of a second groat's-worth. Many of the
  old romances extend to eight or nine fits, which would afford a
  considerable profit to the reciter.

  To return to the word _fit_; it seems at one time to have
  peculiarly signified the pause, or breathing-time, between the
  several parts (answering to Passus in the _Visions of Pierce
  Plowman_): thus in the ancient ballad of _Chevy-Chase_ (vol. i. p.
  27), the first part ends with this line:

    "The first _fit_ here I fynde:"

  _i.e._ here I come to the first pause or intermission. (See also
  vol. i. p. 44.) By degrees it came to signify the whole part or
  division preceding the pause. (See vol. i. pp. 162, 169.) This
  sense it had obtained so early as the time of Chaucer; who thus
  concludes the first part of his rhyme of _Sir Thopas_ (writ in
  ridicule of the old ballad romances):--

    "Lo! lordis mine, here is a _fitt_;
    If ye woll any more of it,
      To tell it woll I fonde."

  The word _fit_ indeed appears originally to have signified a
  poetic strain, verse, or poem; for in these senses it is used
  by the Anglo-Saxon writers. Thus K. Ælfred in his _Boethius_,
  having given a version of lib. 3, metr. 5, adds, [Uncial: Ða
  [is]e p[i][is][id]om þa þa[is] [if][i][it][it]e a[is]un[gh]en
  hæ[if][id]e], p. 65, _i.e._ "When wisdom had sung these (Fitts)
  verses." And in the proem to the same book, [Uncial: Fon on
  [if][i][it][it]e], "Put into (fitt) verse." So in Cedmon, p. 45.
  [Uncial: Feon[id] on [if][i][it][it]e], seems to mean "composed a
  song," or "poem." The reader will trace this old Saxon phrase, in
  the application of the word _fond_, in the foregoing passage of
  Chaucer.

  Spencer has used the word fit to denote "a strain of music;" see
  his poem, intitled, _Collin Clout's come home again_, where he
  says:--

    "The Shepherd of the ocean [Sir Walt. Raleigh]
    Provoked me to play some pleasant _fit_.
      And when he heard the music which I made
    He found himself full greatlye pleas'd at it," &c.

  It is also used in the old ballad of _K. Estmere_, vol. i. book 1,
  No. 6, v. 243.

  From being applied to music, this word was easily transferred to
  dancing; thus in the old play of _Lusty Juventus_ (described in
  preliminary note to book 2, No. 1 in this volume), Juventus says:

    "By the masse I would fayne go daunce a _fitte_."

  And from being used as a part or division in a ballad, poem, &c.
  it is applied by Bale to a section or chapter in a book (though I
  believe in a sense of ridicule or sarcasm), for thus he intitles
  two chapters of his _English Votaryes_, part 2nd, viz. fol. 49,
  "The fyrst _fytt_ of Anselme with Kynge Wyllyam Rufus;" fol. 50,
  "An other _Fytt_ of Anselme with kynge Wyllyam Rufus."

FOOTNOTES:

[571] In the Editor's folio MS. it is _£_500.

[572] See an essay on the word _fit_ at the end of the second part.

[573] So the folio MS.

[574] The battle of Evesham was fought on August 4, 1265.

[575] [This stanza is not in the ordinary versions.]

[576] [Bessie of Bednall, Percy folio MS., ed. Hales and Furnivall,
vol. ii. p. 279.]

[577] He was one of Q. Elizabeth's gent. pensioners, at a time when the
whole band consisted of men of distinguished birth and fortune. Vid.
_Ath. Ox._

[578] Perhaps "blythe."

XI.

FANCY AND DESIRE.

                         BY THE EARL OF OXFORD.

Edward Vere, Earl of Oxford, was in high fame for his poetical talents
in the reign of Elizabeth; perhaps it is no injury to his reputation
that few of his compositions are preserved for the inspection of
impartial posterity. To gratify curiosity, we have inserted a sonnet
of his, which is quoted with great encomiums for its "excellencie and
wit," in Puttenham's _Arte of Eng. Poesie_,[579] and found intire in
the _Garland of Good-will_. A few more of his sonnets (distinguished by
the initial letters E. O.), may be seen in the _Paradise of Daintie
Devises_. One of these is intitled _The Complaint of a Lover,
wearing blacke and tawnie_. The only lines in it worth notice are
these:--

    "A crowne of baies shall that man 'beare'
      Who triumphs over me;
    For black and tawnie will I weare,
      Which mourning colours be."

We find in Hall's _Chronicle_, that when Q. Catharine of Arragon dyed,
Jan. 8, 1536, "Queen Anne (Bullen) ware _yellowe_ for the mourning."
And when this unfortunate princess lost her head, May 19, the same
year, "on the ascencion day following, the kyng for mourning ware
_whyte_." Fol. 227, 228.

Edward, who was the seventeenth earl of Oxford, of the family of Vere,
succeeded his father in his title and honours in 1563, and died an aged
man in 1604. See Mr. Walpole's _Noble Authors_. Athen. Oxon, &c.

  [Walpole was in error when he stated that Lord Oxford died an
  aged man, for that nobleman was only about sixty at the time of
  his death. Sir Egerton Brydges points out in his edition of the
  _Paradise of Dainty Devices_ (_British Bibliographer_, vol. iii.),
  that the earl could not have been born earlier than 1540 or 1541,
  because his elder half-sister Katherine, widow of Edward, Lord
  Windsor, died in January, 1599, aged 60. The chief events of his
  life are these. In 1585 he was the chief of those who embarked with
  the Earl of Leicester for the relief of the states of Holland and
  Zealand. In 1586 he sat as Lord Great Chamberlain of England on
  the trial of Mary, Queen of Scots. In 1588 he hired and fitted out
  ships at his own charge against the Spanish Armada. In 1589 he sat
  on the trial of Philip Howard, Earl of Arundel, and in 1601 on the
  trials of the Earls of Essex and Southampton. His private character
  was far from good, and his honour was tarnished by his dispute
  with Sir Philip Sidney. He used his first wife (a daughter of the
  great Burleigh) cruelly, in revenge for the statesman's treatment
  of his great friend, Thomas, Duke of Norfolk. In his early youth
  he travelled in Italy, and returned from that country a finished
  coxcomb, bringing home with him Italian dresses, perfumes, and
  embroidered gloves. He presented a pair of the latter to Queen
  Elizabeth, who was so pleased with them that she was drawn with
  them on her hands. The earl was buried at Hackney, on the 6th of
  July, 1604.

  Percy might have spared rather more praise for this pretty little
  poem.]

    Come hither shepherd's swayne:
      "Sir, what do you require?"
    I praye thee, shewe to me thy name.
      "My name is Fond Desire."

    When wert thou borne, Desire?                                      5
      "In pompe and pryme of may."
    By whom, sweet boy, wert thou begot?
      "By fond Conceit men say."

    Tell me, who was thy nurse?
      "Fresh Youth in sugred joy."                                    10
    What was thy meate and dayly foode?
      "Sad sighes with great annoy."

    What hadst thou then to drinke?
      "Unsavoury lovers teares."
    What cradle wert thou rocked in?                                  15
      "In hope devoyde of feares."

    What lulld thee then asleepe?
      "Sweete speech, which likes me best."
    Tell me, where is thy dwelling place?
      "In gentle hartes I rest."                                      20

    What thing doth please thee most?
      "To gaze on beautye stille."
    Whom dost thou thinke to be thy foe?
      "Disdayn of my good wille."

    Doth companye displease?                                          25
      "Yes, surelye, many one."
    Where doth Desire delighte to live?
      "He loves to live alone."

    Doth either tyme or age
      Bringe him unto decaye?                                         30
    "No, no, Desire both lives and dyes
      Ten thousand times a daye."

    Then, fond Desire, farewelle,
      Thou art no mate for mee;
    I sholde be lothe, methinkes, to dwelle                           35
      With such a one as thee.

FOOTNOTES:

[579] Lond. 1589, p. 172.

XII.

SIR ANDREW BARTON.

I cannot give a better relation of the fact which is the subject of
the following ballad, than in an extract from the late Mr. Guthrie's
_Peerage_,[580] which was begun upon a very elegant plan, but never
finished. Vol. i. 4to. p. 22.

"The transaction which did the greatest honour to the earl of
Surrey[581] and his family at this time (A.D. 1511), was their
behaviour in the case of Barton, a Scotch sea-officer. This gentleman's
father having suffered by sea from the Portuguese, he had obtained
letters of marque for his two sons to make reprisals upon the subjects
of Portugal. It is extremely probable, that the court of Scotland
granted these letters with no very honest intention. The council board
of England, at which the earl of Surrey held the chief place, was daily
pestered with complaints from the sailors and merchants, that Barton,
who was called Sir Andrew Barton, under pretence of searching for
Portuguese goods, interrupted the English navigation. Henry's situation
at that time rendered him backward from breaking with Scotland, so
that their complaints were but coldly received. The earl of Surrey,
however, could not smother his indignation, but gallantly declared at
the council board, that while he had an estate that could furnish out
a ship, or a son that was capable of commanding one, the narrow seas
should not be infested.

"Sir Andrew Barton, who commanded the two Scotch ships, had the
reputation of being one of the ablest sea officers of his time. By
his depredations, he had amassed great wealth, and his ships were
very richly laden. Henry, notwithstanding his situation, could not
refuse the generous offer made by the earl of Surrey. Two ships were
immediately fitted out, and put to sea with letters of marque, under
his two sons, Sir Thomas[582] and Sir Edward Howard. After encountering
a great deal of foul weather, Sir Thomas came up with the 'Lion,'
which was commanded by Sir Andrew Barton in person; and Sir Edward came
up with the 'Union,' Barton's other ship (called by Hall, the 'Bark of
Scotland.') The engagement which ensued was extremely obstinate on both
sides; but at last the fortune of the Howards prevailed. Sir Andrew was
killed fighting bravely, and encouraging his men with his whistle, to
hold out to the last; and the two Scotch ships with their crews, were
carried into the river Thames. (Aug. 2, 1511.)

"This exploit had the more merit, as the two English commanders were
in a manner volunteers in the service, by their father's order. But it
seems to have laid the foundation of Sir Edward's fortune; for, on the
7th of April, 1512, the king constituted him (according to Dugdale)
admiral of England, Wales, &c.

"King James 'insisted' upon satisfaction for the death of Barton, and
capture of his ship: tho' Henry had generously dismissed the crews,
and even agreed that the parties accused might appear in his courts of
admiralty by their attornies, to vindicate themselves." This affair was
in a great measure the cause of the battle of Flodden, in which James
IV. lost his life.

In the following ballad will be found perhaps some few deviations from
the truth of history; to atone for which it has probably recorded many
lesser facts, which history hath not condescended to relate. I take
many of the little circumstances of the story to be real, because I
find one of the most unlikely to be not very remote from the truth. In
pt. 2, v. 156, it is said, that England had before "but two ships of
war." Now the "Great Harry" had been built only seven years before,
viz. in 1504: which "was properly speaking the first ship in the
English navy. Before this period, when the prince wanted a fleet, he
had no other expedient but hiring ships from the merchants."--Hume.

This ballad, which appears to have been written in the reign of
Elizabeth, has received great improvements from the Editor's folio MS.
wherein was an ancient copy, which, though very incorrect, seemed in
many respects superior to the common ballad; the latter being evidently
modernized and abridged from it. The following text is, however,
in some places amended and improved by the latter (chiefly from a
black-letter copy in the Pepys collection), as also by conjecture.

  [There is little to be added to the above preface, but those who
  wish to read the Scottish version will find John Lesley's (Bishop
  of Ross) account of the affair (_Historie of Scotland_, 1436-1561),
  quoted in Mr. Furnivall's full preface to the ballad in the folio
  MS. (vol. iii. p. 399). Percy fully explains how he made up his
  copy. There is, in fact, hardly a line that has not been altered,
  and the notes at the foot of the page give the reader no idea of
  the changes that have been made. To have noted all the differences
  would have loaded the page unnecessarily, and therefore in
  consideration of the interest of the ballad, a reprint of the folio
  copy has been added, although there are several printed copies. It
  is difficult to understand what could have induced Percy to reject
  the pretty lines:

    "As itt beffell in Midsummer time
    When burds singe sweetlye on every tree,"

  for the incongruous opening of Flora with her flowers, and Neptune
  with his showers. The greatest alterations are in vv. 33-40,
  129-136; part 2, vv. 1-8, 17-64, 89-94, 113-120, 145-176.]

                            THE FIRST PART.

    When Flora with her fragrant flowers
      'Bedeckt the earth so trim and gaye,
    'And Neptune with his daintye showers
      'Came to present the monthe of Maye;'[583]
    King Henrye rode to take the ayre,                                 5
      Over the river of Thames past hee;
    When eighty merchants of London came,
      And downe they knelt upon their knee.

    "O yee are welcome, rich merchànts;
      Good saylors, welcome unto mee."                                10
    They swore by the rood, they were saylors good,
      But rich merchànts they cold not bee:
    "To France nor Flanders dare we pass:
      Nor Bourdeaux voyage dare we fare;
    And all for a rover that lyes on the seas,[584]                   15
      Who robbs us of our merchant ware."

    King Henrye frownd, and turned him rounde,
      And swore by the Lord, that was mickle of might,
    "I thought he had not beene in the world,
      Durst have wrought England such unright."                       20
    The merchants sighed, and said, alas!
      And thus they did their answer frame,
    He is a proud Scott, that robbs on the seas,
      And Sir Andrewe Barton is his name.

    The king lookt over his left shouldèr,                            25
      And an angrye look then looked hee:
    "Have I never a lorde in all my realme,
      Will feitch yond traytor unto mee?"
    Yea, that dare I; lord Howard sayes;[585]
      Yea, that dare I with heart and hand;                           30
    If it please your grace to give me leave,
      Myselfe wil be the only man.

    Thou art but yong; the kyng replyed:
      Yond Scott hath numbred manye a yeare.
    "Trust me, my liege, Ile make him quail,                          35
      Or before my prince I will never appeare."
    Then bowemen and gunners thou shalt have,
      And chuse them over my realme so free;
    Besides good mariners, and shipp-boyes,
      To guide the great shipp on the sea.                            40

    The first man, that lord Howard chose,
      Was the ablest gunner in all the realm,
    Thoughe he was threescore yeeres and ten:
      Good Peter Simon was his name.
    Peter, sais hee, I must to the sea,                               45
      To bring home a traytor live or dead:
    Before all others I have chosen thee;
      Of a hundred gunners to be the head.

    If you, my lord, have chosen mee
      Of a hundred gunners to be the head,                            50
    Then hang me up on your maine-mast tree,
      If I misse my marke one shilling bread.[586]
    My lord then chose a boweman rare,
      Whose active hands had gained fame.[587]
    In Yorkshire was this gentleman borne,                            55
      And William Horseley was his name.[588]

    Horseley, sayd he, I must with speede
      Go seeke a traytor on the sea,
    And now of a hundred bowemen brave
      To be the head I have chosen thee.                              60
    If you, quoth hee, have chosen mee
      Of a hundred bowemen to be the head;
    On your maine-màst Ile hanged bee,
      If I miss twelvescore one penny bread.[586]

    With pikes and gunnes, and bowemen bold,                          65
      This noble Howard is gone to the sea;
    With a valyant heart and a pleasant cheare,
      Out at Thames mouth sayled he.
    And days he scant had sayled three,
      Upon the 'voyage' he tooke in hand,[589]                        70
    But there he mett with a noble shipp,
      And stoutely made itt stay and stand.

    Thou must tell me, lord Howard said,
      Now who thou art, and what's thy name;
    And shewe me where thy dwelling is:                               75
      And whither bound, and whence thou came.
    My name is Henry Hunt, quoth hee
      With a heavye heart, and a carefull mind;
    I and my shipp doe both belong
      To the Newcastle, that stands upon Tyne.                        80

    Hast thou not heard, nowe, Henrye Hunt,
      As thou hast sayled by daye and by night,
    Of a Scottish rover on the seas;[584]
      Men call him sir Andrew Barton, knight?
    Then ever he sighed, and sayd alas!                               85
      With a grieved mind, and well away!
    But over-well I knowe that wight,
      I was his prisoner yesterday.

    As I was sayling uppon the sea,
      A Burdeaux voyage for to fare;                                  90
    To his hach-borde he clasped me,[590]
      And robd me of all my merchant ware:
    And mickle debts, Got wot, I owe,
      And every man will have his owne;
    And I am nowe to London bounde,                                   95
      Of our gracious king to beg a boone.

    That shall not need, lord Howard sais;
      Lett me but once that robber see,
    For every penny tane thee froe
      It shall be doubled shillings three.                           100
    Nowe God forefend, the merchant said,
      That you shold seek soe far amisse!
    God keepe you out of that traitors hands!
      Full litle ye wott what a man hee is.

    Hee is brasse within, and steele without,                        105
      With beames on his topcastle stronge;
    And eighteen pieces of ordinance
      He carries on each side along:
    And he hath a pinnace deerlye dight,[591]
      St. Andrewes crosse that is his guide;                         110
    His pinnace beareth ninescore men,
      And fifteen canons on each side.

    Were ye twentye shippes, and he but one;
      I sweare by kirke, and bower, and hall;
    He wold overcome them everye one,                                115
      If once his beames they doe downe fall.[592]
    This is cold comfort, sais my lord,
      To wellcome a stranger thus to the sea:
    Yet Ile bring him and his shipp to shore,
      Or to Scottland hee shall carrye mee.                          120

    Then a noble gunner you must have,
      And he must aim well with his ee,
    And sinke his pinnace into the sea,
      Or else hee never orecome will bee:
    And if you chance his shipp to borde,                            125
      This counsel I must give withall,
    Let no man to his topcastle goe
      To strive to let his beams downe fall.

    And seven pieces of ordinance,
      I pray your honour lend to mee,                                130
    On each side of my shipp along,
      And I will lead you on the sea.
    A glasse Ile sett, that may be seene,
      Whether you sayle by day or night,
    And to-morrowe, I sweare, by nine of the clocke                  135
      You shall meet with Sir Andrewe Barton knight.

                            THE SECOND PART.

    The merchant sett my lorde a glasse
      Soe well apparent in his sight,
    And on the morrowe, by nine of the clocke,
      He shewed him Sir Andrewe Barton knight.
    His hachebord it was 'gilt' with gold,[593]                        5
      Soe deerlye dight it dazzled the ee:
    Nowe by my faith, lord Howarde sais,
      This is a gallant sight to see.

    Take in your ancyents,[594] standards eke,
      So close that no man may them see;                              10
    And put me forth a white willowe wand,
      As merchants use to sayle the sea.
    But they stirred neither top, nor mast;[595]
      Stoutly they past Sir Andrew by.
    What English churles are yonder, he sayd,                         15
      That can soe litle curtesye?

    Now by the roode, three yeares and more
      I have beene admirall over the sea;
    And never an English nor Portingall
      Without my leave can passe this way.                            20
    Then called he forth his stout pinnàce;
      "Fetch backe yond pedlars nowe to mee:
    I sweare by the masse, yon English churles
      Shall all hang att my maine-mast tree."

    With that the pinnace itt shott off,                              25
      Full well lord Howard might it ken;
    For itt stroke down my lord's fore mast,
      And killed fourteen of his men.
    Come hither, Simon, sayes my lord,
      Looke that thy word be true, thou said;                         30
    For at my maine-mast thou shalt hang,
      If thou misse thy marke one shilling bread.

    Simon was old, but his heart itt was bold.
      His ordinance he laid right lowe;
    He put in chaine full nine yardes long,[596]                      35
      With other great shott lesse, and moe;
    And he lette goe his great gunnes shott;
      Soe well he settled itt with his ee,
    The first sight that Sir Andrew sawe,
      He see his pinnace sunke in the sea.                            40

    And when he saw his pinnace sunke,
      Lord, how his heart with rage did swell!
    "Nowe cutt my ropes, itt is time to be gon;
      Ile fetch yond pedlars backe mysell."
    When my Lord sawe Sir Andrewe loose,                              45
      Within his heart hee was full faine:
    "Nowe spread your ancyents, strike up drummes,
      Sound all your trumpetts out amaine."

    Fight on, my men, Sir Andrewe sais,
      Weale howsoever this geere will sway;                           50
    Itt is my lord admirall of Englànd,
      Is come to seeke mee on the sea.
    Simon had a sonne, who shott right well,
      That did Sir Andrewe mickle scare;
    In att his decke he gave a shott,                                 55
      Killed threescore of his men of warre.

    Then Henrye Hunt with rigour hott
      Came bravely on the other side,
    Soone he drove downe his fore-mast tree,
      And killed fourscore men beside.                                60
    Nowe, out alas! Sir Andrewe cryed,
      What may a man now thinke, or say?
    Yonder merchant theefe, that pierceth mee,
      He was my prisoner yesterday.

    Come hither to me, thou Gordon good,                              65
      That aye wast readye att my call;
    I will give thee three hundred markes,[597]
      If thou wilt let my beames downe fall.
    Lord Howard hee then calld in haste,
      "Horseley see thou be true in stead;                            70
    For thou shalt at the maine-mast hang,
      If thou misse twelvescore one penny bread."

    Then Gordon swarved[598] the maine-mast tree,
      He swarved it with might and maine;
    But Horseley with a bearing arrowe,[599]                          75
      Stroke the Gordon through the braine;
    And he fell unto the haches again,
      And sore his deadlye wounde did bleed:
    Then word went through Sir Andrews men,
      How that the Gordon hee was dead.                               80

    Come hither to mee, James Hambilton,
      Thou art my only sisters sonne,
    If thou wilt let my beames downe fall,
      Six hundred nobles thou hast wonne.
    With that he swarved the maine-mast tree,                         85
      He swarved it with nimble art;
    But Horseley with a broad arròwe
      Pierced the Hambilton through the heart:

    And downe he fell upon the deck,
      That with his blood did streame amaine:                         90
    Then every Scott cryed, Well-away!
      Alas a comelye youth is slaine!
    All woe begone was Sir Andrew then,
      With griefe and rage his heart did swell:
    "Go fetch me forth my armour of proofe,                           95
      For I will to the topcastle mysell.

    "Goe fetch me forth my armour of proofe;
      That gilded is with gold soe cleare:
    God be with my brother John of Barton!
      Against the Portingalls hee it ware;                           100
    And when he had on this armour of proofe,
      He was a gallant sight to see:
    Ah! nere didst thou meet with living wight,
      My deere brothèr, could cope with thee."

    Come hither Horseley, sayes my lord,                             105
      And looke your shaft that itt goe right,
    Shoot a good shoote in time of need,
      And for it thou shalt be made a knight.
    Ile shoot my best, quoth Horseley then,
      Your honour shall see, with might and maine;                   110
    But if I were hanged at your maine-mast,
      I have now left but arrowes twaine.

    Sir Andrew he did swarve the tree,
      With right good will he swarved then:
    Upon his breast did Horseley hitt,                               115
      But the arrow bounded back agen.
    Then Horseley spyed a privye place
      With a perfect eye in a secrette part;
    Under the spole[600] of his right arme
      He smote Sir Andrew to the heart.                              120

    "Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew sayes,
      A little Ime hurt, but yett not slaine;
    Ile but lye downe and bleede a while,
      And then Ile rise and fight againe.
    Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew sayes,                              125
      And never flinche before the foe;
    And stand fast by St. Andrewes crosse
      Untill you heare my whistle blowe."[601]

    They never heard his whistle blow,----
      Which made their hearts waxe sore adread:                      130
    Then Horseley sayd, Aboard, my lord,
      For well I wott Sir Andrew's dead.
    They boarded then his noble shipp,
      They boarded it with might and maine;
    Eighteen score Scots alive they found,                           135
      The rest were either maimed or slaine.

    Lord Howard tooke a sword in hand,
      And off he smote Sir Andrewes head;
    "I must have left England many a daye,
      If thou wert alive as thou art dead."                          140
    He caused his body to be cast
      Over the hatchbord into the sea,
    And about his middle three hundred crownes:
      "Wherever thou land this will bury thee."

    Thus from the warres lord Howard came,                           145
      And backe he sayled ore the maine,
    With mickle joy and triumphìng
      Into Thames mouth he came againe.
    Lord Howard then a letter wrote,
      And sealed it with seale and ring;                             150
    "Such a noble prize have I brought to your grace,
      As never did subject to a king.

    "Sir Andrewes shipp I bring with mee;
      A braver shipp was never none:
    Nowe hath your grace two shipps of warr,                         155
      Before in England was but one."
    King Henryes grace with royall cheere
      Welcomed the noble Howard home,
    And where, said he, is this rover stout,
      That I myselfe may give the doome?                             160

    "The rover, he is safe, my leige,
      Full many a fadom in the sea;
    If he were alive as he is dead,
      I must have left England many a day:
    And your grace may thank four men i' the ship                    165
      For the victory wee have wonne,
    These are William Horseley, Henry Hunt,
      And Peter Simon, and his sonne."

    To Henry Hunt, the king then sayd,
      In lieu of what was from thee tane,                            170
    A noble a day now thou shalt have,
      Sir Andrewes jewels and his chayne.
    And Horseley thou shalt be a knight,
      And lands and livings shalt have store;
    Howard shall be erle Surrye hight,[602]                          175
      As Howards erst have beene before.[602]

    Nowe, Peter Simon, thou art old,
      I will maintaine thee and thy sonne:
    And the men shall have five hundred markes
      For the good service they have done.                           180
    Then in came the queene with ladyes fair
      To see Sir Andrewe Barton knight:
    They weend that hee were brought on shore,
      And thought to have seen a gallant sight.

    But when they see his deadlye face,                              185
      And eyes soe hollow in his head,
    I wold give, quoth the king, a thousand markes,
      This man were alive as hee is dead:
    Yett for the manfull part hee playd,
      Which fought soe well with heart and hand,                     190
    His men shall have twelvepence a day,
      Till they come to my brother kings high land.

                                                                   [***]

  [The following version is reprinted from Hales and Furnivall's
  edition of the folio MS., vol. iii. p. 403:--

    As: itt beffell in M[i]dsumer time
      when burds singe sweetlye on euery tree,
    our noble King, King Henery the 8^{th},
      ouer the riuer of Thames past hee.                               4
    hee was no sooner ouer the riuer,
      downe in a fforrest to take the ayre,
    but 80 merchants of London cittye
      came kneeling before King Henery there:                          8

    "O yee are welcome, rich merchants,
      [Good saylors, welcome unto me!"]
    they swore by the rood thé were saylers good,
      but rich merchants they cold not bee;                           12
    "to ffrance nor fflanders dare we nott passe,
      nor Burdeaux voyage wee dare not ffare,
    & all ffor a ffalse robber that lyes on the seas,
      & robb vs of our merchants ware."                               16

    King Henery was stout, & he turned him about,
      & swore by the Lord that was mickle of might,
    "I thought he had not beene in the world throughout,
      that durst haue wrought England such vnright."                  20
    but euer they sighed, and said--alas!--
      vnto King Harry this answere againe
    "he is a proud Scott that will robb vs all
      if wee were 20 shipps and hee but one."                         24

    The King looket ouer his left shoulder,
      amongst his Lords & Barrons soe ffree:
    "haue I neuer Lord in all my realme
      will ffeitch yond traitor vnto mee?"                            28
    "yes, that dare I!" sayes my Lord Chareles Howard,
      neere to the King wheras hee did stand;
    "If that your grace will giue me leaue,
      my selfe wilbe the only man."                                   32

    "thou shalt haue 600 men," saith our King,
      "& chuse them out of my realme soe ffree;
    besids Marriners and boyes,
      to guide the great shipp on the sea."                           36
    "Ile goe speake with Sir Andrew," sais Charles, my Lord Haward;
      "vpon the sea, if hee be there,
    I will bring him & his shipp to shore,
      or before my prince I will neuer come neere."                   40

    the ffirst of all my Lord did call,
      a noble gunner hee was one;
    this man was 60 yeeres and ten,
      & Peeter Simon was his name.                                    44
    "Peeter," sais hee, "I must sayle to the sea
      to seeke out an enemye; god be my speed!
    before all others I haue chosen thee;
      of a 100^{d}. guners thoust be my head."                        48

    "my Lord," sais hee," if you haue chosen mee
      of a 100^{d}. gunners to be the head,
    hange me att your maine-mast tree
      if I misse my marke past 3 pence bread."                        52
    The next of all my Lord he did call,
      a noble bowman hee was one;
    In yorekeshire was this gentleman borne,
      & william Horsley was his name.                                 56

    "Horsley," sayes hee, "I must sayle to the sea
      to seeke out an enemye; god be my speede!
    before all others I haue chosen thee;
      of a 100 bowemen thoust be my head."                            60
    "My Lord," sais hee," if you haue chosen mee
      of a 100^{d}. bowemen to be they head,
    hang me att your mainemast tree
      if I misse my marke past 12^{d}. bread."                        64

    with pikes, and gunnes, & bowemen bold,
      this Noble Howard is gone to the sea
    on the day before Midsummer euen,
      & out att Thames mouth sayled they.                             68
    They had not sayled dayes 3
      vpon their Iourney they tooke in hand,
    but there they mett with a Noble shipp,
      & stoutely made itt both stay & stand.                          72

    "thou must tell me thy name," sais Charles, my Lord Haward,
      "or who thou art, or ffrom whence thou came,
    yea, & where thy dwelling is,
      to whom & where thy shipp does belong."                         76
    "My name," sayes hee," is Henery Hunt,
      with a pure hart & a penitent mind;
    I and my shipp they doe belong
      vnto the New castle that stands vpon tine."                     80

    "Now thou must tell me, Harry Hunt,
      as thou hast sayled by day & by night,
    hast thou not heard of a stout robber?
      men calls him Sir Andrew Bartton, Knight."                      84
    but euer he sighed, & sayd, "alas!
      ffull well, my Lord, I know that wight!
    he robd me of my merchants ware,
      & I was his prisoner but yesternight.                           88

    "as I was sayling vppon the sea,
      & Burdeaux voyage as I did ffare,
    he Clasped me to his Archborde
      & robd me of all my merchants ware;                             92
    & I am a man both poore & bare,
      & euery man will haue his owne of me,
    & I am bound towards London to ffare,
      to complaine to my Prince Henerye."                             96

    "that shall not need," sais my Lord Haward;
      "if thou canst lett me this robber see,
    ffor euery peny he hath taken thee ffroe,
      thou shalt be rewarded a shilling," quoth hee.                 100
    "Now god ffore-fend," saies Henery Hunt,
      "my Lord, you shold worke soe ffarr amisse!
    god keepe you out of that Traitors hands!
      for you wott ffull litle what a man hee is.                    104

    "hee is brasse within, & steele without,
      & beanes hee beares in his Topcastle stronge;
    his shipp hath ordinance cleane round about;
      besids, my Lord, hee is verry well mand;                       108
    he hath a pinnace is deerlye dight,
      Saint Andrews crosse, that is his guide;
    his pinnace beares 9 score men & more,
      besids 15 cannons on euery side.                               112

    "if you were 20 shippes, & he but one,
      either in charke-bord or in hall,
    he wold ouercome you euerye one,
      & if his beanes they doe downe ffall."                         116

    "this is cold comfort," sais my Lord Haward,
      "to wellcome a stranger thus to the sea;
    He bring him & his shipp to shore,
      or else into Scottland hee shall carrye mee."                  120

    "then you must gett a noble gunner, my Lord,
      that can sett well with his eye
    & sinke his pinnace into the sea,
      & soone then ouercome will hee bee                             124
    & when that you haue done this,
      if you chance Sir Andrew for to bord,
    lett no man to his Topcastle goe;
      & I will giue you a glasse, my Lord,                           128

    "& then you need to fferae no Scott,
      whether you sayle by day or by night;
    & to-morrow by 7 of the clocke,
      you shall meete with Sir Andrew Bartton, Knight.               132
    I was his prisoner but yester night,
      & he hath taken mee sworne;" quoth hee,
    "I trust my L[ord] god will me fforgiue
      & if that oath then broken bee.                                136

    "you must lend me sixe peeces, my Lord," quoth hee,
      "into my shipp to sayle the sea,
    & to-morrow by 9 of the clocke
      your honour againe then will I see."                           140
    And the hache-bord where Sir Andrew Lay,
      is hached with gold deerlye dight:
    "now by my ffaith," sais Charles, my Lord Haward,
      "then yonder Scott is a worthye wight!"                        144

                 { Take in your ancyents & your standards,
    2^{d}. parte {   yea that no man shall them see,
                 { & put me fforth a white willow wand,
                 {   as Merchants vse to sayle the sea.              148
    But they stirred neither top nor mast,
      but Sir Andrew they passed by.
    "whatt English are yonder," said Sir Andrew,
      "that can so litle curtesye?                                   152

    "I haue beene Admirall ouer the sea
      more then these yeeres three;
    there is neuer an English dog, nor Portingall,
      can passe this way without leaue of mee.                       156
    But now yonder pedlers, they are past,
      which is no litle greffe to me:
    ffeich them backe," sayes Sir Andrew Bartton,
      "they shall all hang att my maine-mast tree."                  160

    with that they pinnace itt shott of,
      that my Lord Haward might itt well ken,
    itt strokes downe my Lords fforemast,
      & killed 14 of my Lord his men.                                164
    "come hither, Simon!" sayes my Lord Haward,
      "looke that thy words be true thou sayd;
    Ile hang thee att my maine-mast tree
      if thou misse thy marke past 12^d. bread."                     168

    Simon was old, but his hart itt was bold,
      hee tooke downe a peece, & layd itt ffull lowe;
    he put in chaine yeards 9,
      besids other great shott lesse and more.                       172
    with that hee lett his gun shott goe;
      soe well hee settled itt with his eye,
    the ffirst sight that Sir Andrew sawe,
      hee see his pinnace sunke in the sea.                          176

    when hee saw his pinace sunke,
      Lord! in his hart hee was not well:
    "cutt my ropes! itt is time to be gon!
      Ile goe ffeitch yond pedlers backe my selfe!"                  180
    when my Lord Haward saw Sir Andrew loose,
      lord! in his hart that hee was ffaine:
    "strike on your drummes, spread out your ancyents!
      sound out your trumpetts! sound out amaine!"                   184

    "ffight on, my men!" sais Sir Andrew Bartton;
      "weate, howsoeuer this geere will sway,
    itt is my Lord Adm[i]rall of England
      is come to seeke mee on the sea."                              188
    Simon had a sonne, with shott of a gunn,--
      well Sir Andrew might itt Ken,--
    he shott itt in att a priuye place,
      & killed 60 more of Sir Andrews men.                           192

    Harry Hunt came in att the other syde,
      & att Sir Andrew hee shott then,
    he droue downe his fformost tree,
      & killed 80 more of Sir Andirwes men.                          196
    "I haue done a good turne," sayes Harry Hunt,
      "Sir Andrew is not our Kings ffreind;
    he hoped to haue vndone me yesternight,
      but I hope I haue quitt him well in the end."                  200

    "Euer alas!" sayd Sir Andrew Barton,
      "what shold a man either thinke or say?
    yonder ffalse theeffe is my strongest Enemye,
      who was my prisoner but yesterday.                             204
    come hither to me, thou Gourden good,
      & be thou readye att my call,
    & I will giue thee 300^{li}.
      if thou wilt lett my beanes downe ffall."                      208

    with that hee swarned the maine-mast tree,
      soe did he itt with might and maine:
    Horseley with a bearing arrow
      stroke the Gourden through the braine,                         212
    And he ffell into the haches againe,
      & sore of this wound that he did bleed.
    then word went throug Sir Andrews men,
      that they Gourden hee was dead.                                216

    "come hither to me, Iames Hambliton,--
      thou art my sisters sonne, I haue no more,--
    I will giue [thee] 600^{li}.
      If thou will lett my beanes downe ffall."                      220
    with that hee swarned the maine-mast tree,
      soe did hee itt with might and maine:
    Horseley with an-other broad Arrow
      strake the yeaman through the braine,                          224

    that hee ffell downe to the haches againe:
      sore of his wound that hee did bleed.
    itt is verry true, as the welchman sayd,
      couetousness getts no gaine.                                   228
    but when hee saw his sisters sonne slaine,
      Lord! in his heart hee was not well.
    "goe ffeitch me downe my armour of proue,
      ffor I will to the topcastle my-selfe.                         232

    goe ffeitch me downe my armour of prooffe,
      for itt is guilded with gold soe cleere.
    god be with my brother, Iohn of Bartton!
      amongst the Portingalls hee did itt weare."                    236
    but when hee had his armour of prooffe,
      & on his body hee had itt on,
    euery man that looked att him
      sayd, "gunn nor arrow hee neede feare none!"                   240

    "come hither, Horsley!" sayes my Lord Haward,
      "& looke your shaft that itt goe right;
    shoot a good shoote in the time of need,
      & ffor thy shooting thoust be made a Knight."                  244
    "Ile doe my best," sayes Horslay then,
      "your honor shall see beffore I goe;
    if I shold be hanged att your mainemast,
      I haue in my shipp but arrowes tow."                           248

    but att Sir Andrew hee shott then;
      hee made sure to hitt his marke;
    vnder the spole of his right arme
      hee smote Sir Andrew quite throw the hart.                     252
    yett ffrom the tree hee wold not start,
      but hee clinged to itt with might & maine.
    vnder the coller then of his Iacke,
      he stroke Sir Andrew thorrow the braine.                       256

    "ffight on my men," sayes Sir Andrew Bartton,
      "I am hurt, but I am not slaine;
    Ile lay mee downe & bleed a-while,
      & then Ile rise & ffight againe.                               260
    ffight on my men," sayes Sir Andrew Bartton,
      "these English doggs they bite soe lowe;
    ffight on ffor Scottland & Saint Andrew
      till you heare my whistle blowe!"                              264

    but when thé cold not heare his whistle blow,
      sayes Harry Hunt, "Ile lay my head
    you may bord yonder noble shipp, my Lord,
      for I know Sir Andrew hee is dead."                            268
    with that they borded this noble shipp,
      soe did they itt with might & maine;
    thé ffound 18 score Scotts aliue,
      besids the rest were maimed & slaine.                          272

    My Lord Haward tooke a sword in his hand,
      & smote of Sir Andrews head.
    the Scotts stood by, did weepe & mourne,
      but neuer a word durst speake or say.                          276
    he caused his body to be taken downe,
      & ouer the hatch-bord cast into the sea,
    & about his middle 300 crownes:
      "wheresoeuer thou lands, itt will bury thee."                  280

    with his head they sayled into England againe
      with right good will & fforce & meanye,
    & the day beffore New yeeres euen
      & into Thames mouth againe they came.                          284
    My Lord Haward wrote to King Heneryes grace,
      with all the newes hee cold him bring:
    "such a new yeeres gifft I haue brought to your gr[ace],
      As neuer did subiect to any King.                              288

    "ffor Merchandyes and Manhood,
      the like is nott to be ffound;
    the sight of these wold doe you good,
      ffor you haue not the Like in your English ground."            292
    but when hee heard tell that they were come,
      full royally hee welcomed them home:
    Sir Andrews shipp was the Kings New yeeres guifft;
      A brauer shipp you neuer saw none.                             296

    Now hath our King Sir Andrews shipp
      besett with pearles and precyous stones;
    Now hath England 2 shipps of warr,
      2 shipps of warr, before but one.                              300
    "who holpe to this?" sayes King Henerye,
      "that I may reward him ffor his paine,"
    "Harry Hunt and Peeter Simon,
      William Horseleay, & I the same."                              304

    "Harry Hunt shall haue his whistle & chaine,
      & all his Iewells, whatsoeuer they bee,
    & other rich giffts that I will not name,
      for his good service he hath done mee.                         308
    Horslay, right thoust be a Knight;
      Lands and liuings thou shalt haue store.
    Howard shalbe Erle of Nottingham,
      & soe was neuer Haward before.                                 312

    "Now Peeter Simon, thou art old,
      I will maintaine thee & thy sonne,
    thou shalt haue 500^{li}. all in gold
      ffor the good service that thou hast done."                    316
    then King Henerye shiffted his roome;
      in came the Queene & ladyes bright;
    other arrands they had none
      but to see Sir Andrew Bartton, Knight.                         320

    but when they see his deadly fface,
      his eyes were hollow in his head,
    "I wold giue a 100^{li}." sais King Henerye,
      "the man were aliue as hee is dead!                            324
    yett ffor the manfull part that hee hath playd
      both heere & beyond the sea
    his men shall haue halfe a crowne a day
      to bring them to my brother King Iamye."                       328

                                                                ffinis.]

FOOTNOTES:

[580] [Copied literally from Lord Herbert's (of Cherbury) _History of
Henry VIII._, p. 116.]

[581] Thomas Howard, afterwards created Duke of Norfolk.

[582] Called by old historians lord Howard, afterwards created earl of
Surrey in his father's lifetime. He was father of the poetical earl of
Surrey.

[583] From the pr. copy.

[584] Ver. 15, 83. robber, MS.

[585] Ver. 29. lord Charles Howard, MS.

[586] An old Eng. word for breadth.

[587] Pr. copy.

[588] Mr. Lambe, in his notes to the poem on the _Battle of Flodden
Field_, contends that this expert bowman's name was not Horseley,
but Hustler, of a family long seated near Stockton, in Cleveland,
Yorkshire. Vid. p. 5.

[589] Ver. 70. Journey, MS.

[590] Ver. 91. The MS. has here Archborde, but in pt. ii. ver. 5
Hachebord: [= ship or side of the ship.]

[591] [richly fitted out.]

[592] It should seem from hence, that before our marine artillery was
brought to its present perfection, some naval commanders had recourse
to instruments or machines, similar in use, though perhaps unlike in
construction, to the heavy dolphins made of lead or iron used by the
ancient Greeks; which they suspended from beams or yards fastened to
the masts, and which they precipitately let fall on the enemies ships,
in order to sink them, by beating holes through the bottoms of their
undecked triremes, or otherwise damaging them. These are mentioned
by Thucydides, lib. vii. p. 256, ed. 1564, folio, and are more fully
explained in _Schefferi de Militiâ Navali_, lib. ii. cap. v. p. 136,
ed. 1653, 4to.

N.B. It everywhere in the MS. seems to be written "beanes."

[593] Ver. 5. "hached with gold," MS.

[594] [flags.]

[595] _i.e._ did not salute.

[596] Ver. 35. _i.e._ discharged chain-shot.

[597] Ver. 67. 84 pounds, MS.

[598] [climbed.]

[599] V. 75. bearinge, sc. that carries well, &c.

[600] [shoulder.]

[601] [For a reference to whistles used by naval commanders, see
Statute of apparel, 24 Hen. VIII. c. 13 (Anstis's _Order of the
Garter_, vol. ii. p. 121.)]

[602] Ver. 175, 6.... Erle of Nottingham, And soe was never, &c., MS.

XIII.

LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT.

                            A SCOTTISH SONG.

The subject of this pathetic ballad the Editor once thought might
possibly relate to the Earl of Bothwell, and his desertion of his wife
Lady Jean Gordon, to make room for his marriage with the Queen of Scots.

But this opinion he now believes to be groundless; indeed Earl
Bothwell's age, who was upwards of 60 at the time of that marriage,
renders it unlikely that he should be the object of so warm a passion
as this elegy supposes. He has been since informed, that it entirely
refers to a private story: A young lady of the name of _Bothwell_, or
rather _Boswell_, having been, together with her child, deserted by her
husband or lover, composed these affecting lines herself; which here
are given from a copy in the Editor's folio MS. corrected by another in
Allan Ramsay's _Miscellany_.

  [The young lady alluded to above has since been set aside for the
  Hon. Anne Bothwell, daughter of Adam Bothwell, Bishop of Orkney.
  Mr. James Maidment, in his elegant edition of _Scottish Ballads
  and Songs_ (vol. ii. 1868), writes: "The late Charles Kirkpatrick
  Sharpe, Esquire, whose knowledge of antiquated scandal was
  extraordinary, found in a MS. history of the family of Bothwell by
  Father Hay, that Adam Bothwell, Bishop of Orkney, had a daughter
  named 'Anne, who fell with child to a son of the Earl of Marre.'"
  Anne was the sister of the first Lord Holyroodhouse (created in
  1607), and her seducer was Alexander, third son of John, seventh
  Earl of Mar, a cousin of her own, considered one of the handsomest
  men of his day. This is all very well for conjecture, but it is
  nothing more. The ballad does not appear to have been associated
  with a Bothwell, or in fact with any named person, until more than
  a century after it was written. In the Folio MS. it is simply
  called _Balowe_, and Percy therefore might well have hesitated
  before he gave it the heading he has, and before he Scotticised all
  the English words. The four earliest versions are in the following
  books: 1. Richard Brome's Comedy of the _Northern Lass, or the
  Nest of Fools_, printed in 1632, but acted somewhat earlier; 2.
  Percy Folio; 3. Pinkerton's MS. (1625-49), in the possession of
  David Laing; 4. John Gamble's MS., 1649; 5. Elizabeth Rogers' MS.,
  1658. Mr. Chappell drew up the following very valuable note for
  the edition of the Percy Folio (vol. iii. p. 518), which puts the
  matter very clearly:--

  "Baloo is a sixteenth-century ballad, not a seventeenth. It is
  alluded to by several of our early dramatists, and the tune is to
  be found in an early Elizabethan MS. known as William Ballet's
  Lute Book, as well as in Morley's _Consort Lessons_, printed in
  1599. The words and tune are together in John Gamble's Music Book,
  a MS. in the possession of Dr. Rimbault, (date 1649,) and in
  Elizabeth Rogers's Virginal Book, in the library of the British
  Museum (Addit. MS. 10,337). The last is dated 1658, but the copy
  may have been taken some few years after. Baloo was so popular a
  subject that it was printed as a street ballad, with additional
  stanzas, just as 'My lodging it is on the cold ground' and other
  popular songs were lengthened for the same purpose. It has been
  reprinted in that form by Evans, in his _Old Ballads, Historical
  and Narrative_, edit. 1810, vol. i. p. 259. The title is 'The New
  Balow; or A Wenches Lamentation for the loss of her Sweetheart:
  he having left her a babe to play with, being the fruits of her
  folly.' The particular honour of having been the 'wench' in
  question was first claimed for 'Lady Anne Bothwell' in Part iii. of
  _Comic and Serious Scots Poems_, published by Watson in Edinburgh
  in 1711. Since that date Scotch antiquaries have been very busy in
  searching into the scandalous history of the Bothwell family, to
  find out which of the Lady Annes might have been halla-balooing.

  "May we not release the whole race from this imputation? The sole
  authority for the charge is Watson's _Collection_! the same book
  that ascribes to the unfortunate Montrose the song of 'My dear and
  only love, take heed,' and tacks it as a second part to his 'My
  dear and only love, I pray.' Shade of Montrose! how must you be
  ashamed of your over-zealous advocate! Let us examine whether the
  spirit of 'Lady Anne Bothwel' has more reason to be grateful. Among
  the stanzas ascribed to her by Watson are the two following, which
  are not to be found in any English copy:--

    'I take my fate from best to worse
    That I must needs now be a nurse,
    And lull my young son in my lap.
    From me, sweet orphan, take the pap:
    Balow, my boy, thy mother mild
    Shall sing, as from all bliss exil'd.'

  "In the second we find the inducement supposed to have been offered
  by Lady Anne's lover:

    'I was too credulous at the first
    To grant thee that a maiden durst,
    And in thy bravery thou didst vaunt
    That I no maintenance should want:(!)
    Thou swear thou lov'd, thy mind is moved,
    Which since no otherwise has proved.'

  "Comment is unnecessary. Can any one believe that such lines were
  written by or for any lady of rank? Yet they were copied as Lady
  Anne's by Allan Ramsay, and polished in his usual style. They have
  been polished and repolished by subsequent editors, but to little
  avail, for they remain great blots upon a good English ballad.
  There is not a Scotch word, nor even one peculiar to the North of
  England, in the whole of Watson's version."

  This attempt to dispute the Scottish origin of the ballad is
  strongly resented by the editor of the _Ballad Minstrelsy of
  Scotland_, Glasgow, 1871. At all events the fact remains that the
  title "Lady Anne Bothwell's Balow" cannot be traced farther back
  than Watson's _Collection_, published in 1711.]

    Balow,[603] my babe, lye still and sleipe!
    It grieves me sair to see thee weipe:
    If thoust be silent, Ise be glad,
    Thy maining[604] maks my heart ful sad.
    Balow, my boy, thy mothers joy,                                    5
    Thy father breides me great annoy.
          Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe,
          It grieves me sair to see thee weepe.

    Whan he began to court my luve,
    And with his sugred wordes[605] to muve,                          10
    His faynings fals, and flattering cheire
    To me that time did not appeire:
    But now I see, most cruell hee
    Cares neither for my babe nor mee.
                                Balow, &c.                            15

    Lye still, my darling, sleipe a while,
    And when thou wakest, sweitly smile:
    But smile not, as thy father did,
    To cozen maids: nay God forbid!
    Bot yett I feire, thou wilt gae neire                             20
    Thy fatheris hart, and face to beire.
                                Balow, &c.

    I cannae chuse, but ever will
    Be luving to thy father still:
    Whair-eir he gae, whair-eir he ryde,                              25
    My luve with him doth still abyde:
    In weil or wae, whair-eir he gae,
    Mine hart can neire depart him frae.
                                Balow, &c.

    Bot doe not, doe not, prettie mine,                               30
    To faynings fals thine hart incline:
    Be loyal to thy luver trew,
    And nevir change hir for a new:
    If gude or faire, of hir have care,
    For womens banning's[606] wonderous sair.                         35
                                Balow, &c.

    Bairne, sin thy cruel father is gane,
    Thy winsome smiles maun eise my paine;
    My babe and I'll together live,
    He'll comfort me when cares doe grieve:                           40
    My babe and I right saft will ly,
    And quite forgeit man's cruelty.
                                Balow, &c.

    Fareweil, fareweil, thou falsest youth,
    That evir kist a womans mouth!                                    45
    I wish all maides be warnd by mee
    Nevir to trust mans curtesy;
    For if we doe bot chance to bow,
    They'le use us then they care not how.
        Balow, my babe, ly stil, and sleipe,                          50
        It grives me sair to see thee weipe.

FOOTNOTES:

[603] [hush.]

[604] [moaning.]

[605] When _sugar_ was first imported into Europe, it was a very great
dainty; and therefore the epithet _sugred_ is used by all our old
writers metaphorically to express extreme and delicate sweetness. (See
above, No. XI. v. 10.) _Sugar_ at present is cheap and common; and
therefore suggests now a coarse and vulgar idea.

[606] [cursing.]

XIV.

THE MURDER OF THE KING OF SCOTS.

The catastrophe of Henry Stewart, lord Darnley, the unfortunate
husband of Mary Q. of Scots, is the subject of this ballad. It is here
related in that partial, imperfect manner in which such an event would
naturally strike the subjects of another kingdom, of which he was a
native. Henry appears to have been a vain, capricious, worthless young
man, of weak understanding, and dissolute morals. But the beauty of
his person, and the inexperience of his youth, would dispose mankind
to treat him with an indulgence, which the cruelty of his murder would
afterwards convert into the most tender pity and regret: and then
imagination would not fail to adorn his memory with all those virtues
he ought to have possessed. This will account for the extravagant
elogium bestowed upon him in the first stanza, &c.

Henry lord Darnley was eldest son of the earl of Lennox, by the lady
Margaret Douglas, niece of Henry VIII. and daughter of Margaret queen
of Scotland by the earl of Angus, whom that princess married after the
death of James IV.--Darnley, who had been born and educated in England,
was but in his 21st year, when he was murdered, Feb. 9, 1567-8. This
crime was perpetrated by the E. of Bothwell, not out of respect to the
memory of Riccio, but in order to pave the way for his own marriage
with the queen.

This ballad (printed, with a few corrections, from the Editor's folio
MS.) seems to have been written soon after Mary's escape into England
in 1568, see v. 65.--It will be remembered at v. 5, that this princess
was Q. dowager of France, having been first married to Francis II. who
died Dec. 4, 1560.

  [In the above note Percy takes the ordinary unfavourable view
  of Darnley's character, which is not entirely borne out by
  contemporary evidence. Darnley was unfortunate both in having all
  Mary's friends as his enemies and in having no supporters among
  her opponents because he was a Roman Catholic. It is not fair to
  dispose of such a ballad as the present with the inference that
  the writer could know nothing of Darnley's character. It does not
  stand alone, and it appears from the broadsides that circulated
  through the country after his murder that the people had a real
  liking for him although he had been amongst them only a couple of
  years. Robert Lekprevik, the most celebrated Edinburgh printer
  of his time, printed in 1567, _The Testament and Tragedie of
  umquhile King Henrie Stewart of gude memorie_, a powerful poem,
  which discovers clearly the popular feeling against Mary. Mr.
  Froude also found one of these ballads among the Scottish State
  Papers, in which curses are heaped upon Mary, who is called Dalila,
  Clytemnestra and Semiramis for her murder of "ane bonny boy." One
  of the verses is as follows:--

    "At ten houris on Sunday late at een,
    When Dalila and Bothwell bade good night,
    Off her finger false she threw ane ring,
    And said, My Lord ane token you I plight."

  If the circumstances of the English ballad are related in a partial
  and imperfect manner, what shall we say of the much more severe
  tone of those written in Scotland. Mr. Maidment[607] has gathered
  together a few facts that show how much may be said in favour of
  the unfortunate prince. It appears from Colville's _Historie and
  Life of King James the sext_, that Secretary Maitland inflamed
  Darnley's mind with the insinuation that Rizzio was too intimate
  with the queen. The criminal familiarity of her majesty with
  Rizzio appears to have been generally suspected, so that Darnley's
  conduct was that of a jealous husband who was fascinated with his
  wife. Colville gives the following portrait of him:--"He was a
  cumlie Prince, of a fayre and large stature of bodie, pleasant in
  countenance and affable to all men and devote, weill excercesit in
  martiall pastymis uponn horsback as ony prince of that age, bot was
  sa facile as he could concele no secreit although it myght tend to
  his awin weill."[608]

  He was certainly accomplished and had been carefully educated.
  He wrote a little tale called _Utopia Nova_ when he was between
  eight and nine years of age, which he presented to his cousin, Mary
  Tudor. The queen in return presented him with a gold chain, which
  he acknowledged in a letter remarkable for the extreme beauty of
  its caligraphy. He also completed a translation into English of
  Valerius Maximus. Mr. Froude severely condemns the character of
  Darnley in the following terms: "He was at once meddlesome and
  incapable, weak and cowardly, yet insolent and unmanageable,"
  and adds that Randolph described him as "a conceited, arrogant,
  intolerant fool." Nevertheless "the death of the husband of the
  Queen of Scots belongs to that rare class of incidents which, like
  the murder of Cæsar, have touched the interests of the entire
  educated world. Perhaps there is no single recorded act, arising
  merely out of private or personal passions, of which the public
  consequences have been so considerable."[609]

  Darnley was the second son of the Earl and Countess of Lennox, and
  not, as stated above, by Percy, the eldest. Their first-born died
  on the 28th of November, 1545, nine months after his birth.

  The following ballad is entitled _Earle Bodwell_ in the Folio MS.
  (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 260). In the first three
  editions of the _Reliques_ there were more alterations from the MS.
  than in the fourth, for in the latter Percy restored several of the
  old readings. The retained alterations are judicious, and no more
  than the Editor might well feel himself justified in making.]

    Woe worth, woe worth thee, false Scotlànde![610]
      For thou hast ever wrought by sleight;[611]
    The worthyest prince that ever was borne,[612]
      You hanged under a cloud by night.

    The queene of France a letter wrote,                               5
      And sealed itt with harte and ringe;
    And bade him come Scotland within,
      And shee wold marry and crowne him kinge.[613]

    To be a king is a pleasant thing,[614]
      To bee a prince unto a peere:                                   10
    But you have heard, and soe have I too,
      A man may well buy gold too deare.

    There was an Italyan in that place,
      Was as well beloved as ever was hee,
    Lord David was his name,[615]                                     15
      Chamberlaine to the queene was hee.[616]

    If the king had risen forth of his place,[617]
      He wold have sate him downe in the cheare,[618]
    And tho itt beseemed him not so well,
      Altho the kinge had beene present there.                        20

    Some lords in Scotlande waxed wroth,[619]
      And quarrelled with him for the nonce;
    I shall you tell how it befell,
      Twelve daggers were in him att once.[620]

    When the queene saw her chamberlaine was slaine,[621]             25
      For him her faire cheeks shee did weete,[622]
    And made a vowe for a yeare and a day[623]
      The king and shee wold not come in one sheete.

    Then some of the lords they waxed wrothe,[624]
      And made their vow all vehementlye;                             30
    For the death of the queenes chamberlaine,
      The king himselfe, how he shall dye.[625]

    With gun-powder they strewed his roome,[626]
      And layd greene rushes in his way;
    For the traitors thought that very night[627]                     35
      This worthye king for to betray.[628]

    To bedd the king he made him bowne;[629][630]
      To take his rest was his desire;[631]
    He was noe sooner cast on sleepe,
      But his chamber was on a biasing fire.                          40

    Up he lope,[632] and the window brake;[633]
      And hee had thirtye foote to fall:[634]
    Lord Bodwell kept a privy watch,
      Underneath his castle wall.

    Who have wee here? lord Bodwell sayd:[635]                        45
      Now answer me, that I may know.[636]
    "King Henry the eighth my uncle was;
      For his sweete sake some pitty show."[637]

    Who have we here? lord Bodwell sayd,[638]
      Now answer me when I doe speake.[638]                           50
    "Ah, lord Bodwell, I know thee well;
      Some pitty on me I pray thee take."

    Ile pitty thee as much, he sayd,
      And as much favor show to thee,[639]
    As thou didst to the queenes chamberlaine,[640]                   55
      That day thou deemedst[641] him to die.[642]

    Through halls and towers the king they ledd,[643]
      Through towers and castles that were nye,[644]
    Through an arbor into an orchàrd,
      There on a peare-tree hanged him hye.[645]                      60

    When the governor of Scotland heard[646]
      How that the worthye king was slaine;[647]
    He persued the queen so bitterlye,
      That in Scotland shee dare not remaine.[648]

    But she is fledd into merry England,                              65
      And here her residence hath taine;[649]
    And through the queene of Englands grace,[650]
      In England now shee doth remaine.[651]

FOOTNOTES:

[607] James Maidment's _Scottish Ballads and Songs_, 1868, vol. ii. p.
12.

[608] Quoted in Maidment's _Ballads_, 1868, vol. ii. p. 8.

[609] [Froude's _History of England_ (Elizabeth), vol. iii. pp. 1-2.]

[610] [Ver. 1. woe worth thee, woe worth thee, MS.]

[611] [V. 2. by a sleight.]

[612] [V. 3. for the worthyest.]

[613] [V. 8. wold marry him.]

[614] [Ver. 9. it is a pleasant.]

[615] V. 15. _sic_ MS.

[616] [V. 16. chamberlaine unto.]

[617] [V. 17. ffor if the king.]

[618] [V. 18. have sitt him.]

[619] [V. 21. wonderous wroth.]

[620] [V. 24. all att once.]

[621] [V. 25. when this queen see the chamberlaine.]

[622] [V. 26. her cheeks.]

[623] [V. 27. vow for a 12 month.]

[624] [V. 29. Lords of Scottland waxed.]

[625] [V. 32. the king himselfe he shall dye.]

[626] [V. 33. they strowed his chamber over with gun-powder.]

[627] [V. 35. that night.]

[628] [V. 36. the worthye.]

[629] [ready.]

[630] [Ver. 37. the worthy king made.]

[631] [V. 38. that was his desire.]

[632] [leapt.]

[633] [V. 41. and a glasse window broke.]

[634] [V. 42. he had 30 foote for to ffall.]

[635] [V. 45. sayd Lord Bodwell.]