Volume 4 / Part 2 — PART II.

Of a blind beggars daughter so bright, That late was betrothed to a young knight, All the whole discourse therof you did see, But now comes the wedding of pretty Bessee. It was in a gallant palace most brave,5 Adorned with all the cost they could have, This wedding it was kept most sumptuously, And all for the love of pretty Bessee. And all kind of dainties and delicates sweet Was brought to their banquet, as it was thought meet;10 Partridge, and plover, and venison most free, Against the brave wedding of pretty Bessee. The wedding thro' England was spread by report, So that a great number thereto did resort, Of nobles and gentles of every degree,15 And all for the fame of pretty Bessee. To church then away went this gallant young knight, His bride followed after, an angel most bright, With troops of ladies, the like was ne'er seen, As went with sweet Bessee of Bednall Green.20 This wedding being solemnized then, With music performed by skilfullest men, The nobles and gentles sat down at that tide, Each one beholding the beautiful bride. But after the sumptuous dinner was done,25 To talk and to reason a number begun, And of the Blind Beggars daughter most bright, And what with his daughter he gave to the knight. Then spoke the nobles, "Much marvel have we This jolly blind beggar we cannot yet see!"30 "My lords," quoth the bride, "my father so base Is loathe with his presence these states to disgrace." "The praise of a woman in question to bring, Before her own face, is a flattering thing; But we think thy fathers baseness," quoth they,35 "Might by thy beauty be clean put away." They no sooner this pleasant word spoke, But in comes the beggar in a silken cloak, A velvet cap and a feather had he, And now a musician, forsooth, he would be.40 And being led in, from catching of harm, He had a dainty lute under his arm; Said, "Please you to hear any music of me, A song I will give you of pretty Bessee." With that his lute he twanged straightway,45 And thereon began most sweetly to play, And after a lesson was played two or three, He strained out this song most delicately:— "A beggars daughter did dwell on a green, Who for her beauty might well be a queen,50 A blythe bonny lass, and dainty was she, And many one called her pretty Bessee. "Her father he had no goods nor no lands, But begged for a penny all day with his hands, And yet for her marriage gave thousands three,55 Yet still he hath somewhat for pretty Bessee. "And here if any one do her disdain, Her father is ready with might and with main, To prove she is come of noble degree, Therefore let none flout at my pretty Bessee."60 With that the lords and the company round With a hearty laughter were ready to swound; At last said the lords, "Full well we may see, The bride and the bridegroom's beholden to thee." With that the fair bride all blushing did rise,65 With chrystal water all in her bright eyes; "Pardon my father, brave nobles," quoth she, "That through blind affection thus doats upon me." "If this be thy father," the nobles did say, "Well may he be proud of this happy day,70 Yet by his countenance well may we see, His birth with his fortune could never agree. "And therefore, blind beggar, we pray thee bewray, And look that the truth to us thou dost say, Thy birth and thy parentage what it may be,75 E'en for the love thou bearest to pretty Bessee." "Then give me leave, ye gentles each one, A song more to sing and then I'll begone; And if that I do not win good report, Then do not give me one groat for my sport:—80 "When first our king his fame did advance, And sought his title in delicate France, In many places great perils past he, But then was not born my pretty Bessee. "And at those wars went over to fight,85 Many a brave duke, a lord, and a knight, And with them young Monford of courage so free, But then was not born my pretty Bessee. "And there did young Monford with a blow on the face Lose both his eyes in a very short space;90 His life had been gone away with his sight, Had not a young woman gone forth in the night. "Among the slain men, her fancy did move To search and to seek for her own true love, Who seeing young Monford there gasping to die,95 She saved his life through her charity. "And then all our victuals in beggars attire, At the hands of good people we then did require; At last into England, as now it is seen, We came, and remained in Bednall Green.100 "And thus we have lived in Fortune's despyght, Though poor, yet contented, with humble delight, And in my old years, a comfort to me, God sent me a daughter, called pretty Bessee. "And thus, ye nobles, my song I do end,105 Hoping by the same no man to offend; Full forty long winters thus I have been, A silly blind beggar of Bednall Green." Now when the company every one Did hear the strange tale he told in his song,110 They were amazed, as well as they might be, Both at the blind beggar and pretty Bessee. With that the fair bride they all bid embrace, Saying, "You are come of an honourable race; Thy father likewise is of high degree,115 And thou art right worthy a lady to be." Thus was the feast ended with joy and delight; A happy bridegroom was made the young knight, Who lived in great joy and felicity, With his fair lady, dear pretty Bessee.120

You beauteous ladies, great and small, I write unto you one and all, Whereby that you may understand What I have suffer'd in this land. I was by birth a lady fair,5 My father's chief and only heir, But when my good old father died, Then I was made a young knight's bride. And then my love built me a bower, Bedeck'd with many a fragrant flower;10 A braver bower you ne'er did see, Than my true love did build for me. But there came thieves late in the night, They robb'd my bower, and slew my knight, And after that my knight was slain,15 I could no longer there remain. My servants all from me did fly, In the midst of my extremity, And left me by myself alone, With a heart more cold than any stone.20 Yet, though my heart was full of care, Heaven would not suffer me to despair; Wherefore in haste I chang'd my name From Fair Elise to Sweet William. And therewithall I cut my hair,25 And dress'd myself in man's attire, My doublet, hose, and beaver hat, And a golden band about my neck. With a silver rapier by my side, So like a gallant I did ride;30 The thing that I delighted on, It was to be a serving-man. Thus in my sumptuous man's array I bravely rode along the way; And at the last it chanced so,35 That I to the king's court did go. Then to the king I bow'd full low, My love and duty for to show; And so much favour I did crave, That I a serving-man's place might have.40 "Stand up, brave youth," the king replied, "Thy service shall not be denied; But tell me first what thou canst do; Thou shalt be fitted thereunto. "Wilt thou be usher of my hall,45 To wait upon my nobles all? Or wilt thou be taster of my wine, To wait on me when I do dine? "Or wilt thou be my chamberlain, To make my bed both soft and fine?50 Or wilt thou be one of my guard? And I will give thee thy reward." Sweet William, with a smiling face, Said to the king, "If't please your grace To show such favour unto me,55 Your chamberlain I fain would be." The king then did the nobles call, To ask the counsel of them all; Who gave consent Sweet William he The king's own chamberlain should be.60 Now mark what strange thing came to pass: As the king one day a hunting was, With all his lords and noble train, Sweet William did at home remain. Sweet William had no company then65 With him at home, but an old man; And when he saw the house was clear, He took a lute which he had there: Upon the lute Sweet William play'd, And to the same he sung and said,70 With a sweet and noble voice, Which made the old man to rejoice: "My father was as brave a lord As ever Europe did afford, My mother was a lady bright,75 My husband was a valiant knight: "And I myself a lady gay, Bedeck'd with gorgeous rich array; The bravest lady in the land Had not more pleasure at command.80 "I had my music every day, Harmonious lessons for to play; I had my virgins fair and free, Continually to wait on me. "But now, alas! my husband's dead,85 And all my friends are from me fled; My former joys are pass'd and gone, For I am now a serving-man." At last the king from hunting came, And presently, upon the same,90 He called for this good old man, And thus to speak the king began: "What news, what news, old man?" quoth he; "What news hast thou to tell to me?" "Brave news," the old man he did say,95 "Sweet William is a lady gay." "If this be true thou tell'st to me I'll make thee lord of high degree; But if thy words do prove a lie, Thou shall be hang'd up presently."100 But when the king the truth had found, His joys did more and more abound: According as the old man did say, Sweet William was a lady gay. Therefore the king without delay105 Put on her glorious rich array, And upon her head a crown of gold, Which was most famous to behold. And then, for fear of further strife, He took Sweet William for his wife:110 The like before was never seen,— A serving-man to be a queen.

It was a Knight in Scotland born, Follow, my love, come over the strand, Was taken prisoner, and left forlorn, Even by the good Earl of Northumberland. Then was he cast in prison strong,5 Follow, my love, 'come' over the strand, Where he could not walk nor lye along, Even by the good Earl of Northumberland. And as in sorrow thus he lay, Follow, my love, come over the strand,10 The Earl [s] sweet daughter walks that way, And she is the fair Flower of Northumberland. And passing by like an angel bright, Follow, my love, come over the strand, The prisoner had of her a sight,15 And she the fair Flower of Northumberland. And aloud to her this knight did cry, Follow, my love, come over the strand, The salt tears standing in his eye, And she the fair Flower of Northumberland. "Fair lady," he said, "take pity on me,21 Follow, my love, come over the strand, And let me not in prison die, And you the fair Flower of Northumberland." "Fair Sir, how should I take pity on thee,25 Follow, my love, come over the strand, Thou being a foe to our country, And I the fair Flower of Northumberland." "Fair lady, I am no foe," he said, Follow, my love, come over the strand,30 "Through thy sweet love here was I stay'd, For thee, the fair Flower of Northumberland." "Why shouldst thou come here for love of me, Follow, my love, come over the strand, Having wife and children in thy country,35 And I the fair Flower of Northumberland." "I swear by the blessed Trinity, Follow, my love, come over the strand, I have no wife nor children, I, Nor dwelling at home in merry Scotland.40 "If courteously thou wilt set me free, Follow, my love, come over the strand, I vow that I will marry thee, So soon as I come in fair Scotland. "Thou shalt be a lady of castles and towers,45 Follow, my love, come over the strand, And sit like a queen in princely bowers, Were I at home in fair Scotland." Then parted hence this lady gay, Follow, my love, come over the strand,50 And got her fathers ring away, To help this knight into fair Scotland. Likewise much gold she got by sleight, Follow, my love, come over the strand, And all to help this forlorn knight,55 To wend from her father to fair Scotland. Two gallant steeds, both good and able, Follow, my love, come over the strand, She likewise took out of the stable, To ride with the knight into fair Scotland.60 And to the jaylor she sent this ring, Follow, my love, come over the strand, The knight from prison forth 'to' bring, To wend with her into fair Scotland. This token set the prisoner free,65 Follow, my love, come over the strand, Who straight went to this fair lady, To wend with her into fair Scotland. A gallant steed he did bestride, Follow, my love, come over the strand,70 And with the lady away did ride, And she the fair Flower of Northumberland. They rode till they came to a water clear, Follow, my love, come over the strand, "Good Sir, how should I follow you here,75 And I the fair Flower of Northumberland? "The water is rough and wonderful deep, Follow, my love, come over the strand, And on my saddle I shall not keep, And I the fair Flower of Northumberland."80 "Fear not the foard, fair lady," quoth he, Follow, my love, come over the strand, "For long I cannot stay for thee, And thou the fair Flower of Northumberland." The lady prickt her wanton steed,85 Follow, my love, come over the strand, And over the river swom with speed, And she the fair Flower of Northumberland. From top to toe all wet was she, Follow, my love, come over the strand;90 "Thus have I done for love of thee, And I the fair Flower of Northumberland." Thus rode she all one winters night, Follow, my love, come over the strand, Till Edenborough they saw in sight,95 The fairest town in all Scotland. "Now chuse," quoth he, "thou wanton flower, Follow, my love, come over the strand, 'Whether' thou wilt be my paramour, Or get thee home to Northumberland.100 "For I have wife, and children five, Follow, my love, come over the strand; In Edenborough they be alive, Then get thee home to fair England. "This favour thou shalt have to boot,105 Follow, my love, come over the strand; I'le have 'thy' horse, go thou on foot, Go, get thee home to Northumberland." "O false and faithless knight," quoth she, Follow, my love, come over the strand,110 "And canst thou deal so bad with me, And I the fair Flower of Northumberland? "Dishonour not a ladies name, Follow, my love, come over the strand, But draw thy sword and end my shame,115 And I the fair Flower of Northumberland." He took her from her stately steed, Follow, my love, come over the strand, And left her there in extream need, And she the fair Flower of Northumberland.120 Then sat she down full heavily, Follow, my love, come over the strand; At length two knights came riding by, Two gallant knights of fair England. She fell down humbly on her knee,125 Follow, my love, come over the strand, Saying, "Courteous 'knights,' take pity on me, And I the fair Flower of Northumberland. "I have offended my father dear, Follow, my love, come over the strand,130 And by a false knight, who brought me here From the good Earl of Northumberland." They took her up behind them then Follow, my love, come over the strand, And brought her to her father again,135 And he the good Earl of Northumberland. All you fair maidens be warned by me, Follow, my love, come over the strand, Scots never were true, nor never will be, To lord, nor lady, nor fair England.140

Gentle heardsman, tell to me, Of curtesy I thee pray, Unto the towne of Walsingham Which is the right and ready way. "Unto the towne of Walsingham5 The way is hard for to be gon; And verry crooked are those pathes For you to find out all alone." Weere the miles doubled thrise, And the way never soe ill,10 Itt were not enough for mine offence, Itt is soe grievous and soe ill. "Thy yeeares are young, thy face is faire, Thy witts are weake, thy thoughts are greene; Time hath not given thee leave, as yett,15 For to committ so great a sinne." Yes, heardsman, yes, soe woldest thou say, If thou knewest soe much as I; My witts, and thoughts, and all the rest, Have well deserved for to dye.20 I am not what I seeme to bee, My clothes and sexe doe differ farr: I am a woman, woe is me! Born to greeffe and irksome care. For my beloved, and well-beloved,25 My wayward cruelty could kill: And though my teares will nought avail, Most dearely I bewail him still. He was the flower of noble wights, None ever more sincere colde bee;30 Of comely mien and shape hee was, And tenderlye hee loved mee. When thus I saw he loved me well, I grewe so proud his paine to see, That I, who did not know myselfe,35 Thought scorne of such a youth as hee. And grew soe coy and nice to please, As women's lookes are often soe, He might not kisse, nor hand forsooth, Unlesse I willed him soe to doe.40 Thus being wearyed with delayes To see I pittyed not his greeffe, He gott him to a secrett place, And there he dyed without releeffe. And for his sake these weeds I weare,45 And sacriffice my tender age; And every day Ile begg my bread, To undergoe this pilgrimage. Thus every day I fast and pray, And ever will doe till I dye;50 And gett me to some secrett place, For soe did hee, and soe will I. Now, gentle heardsman, aske no more, But keepe my secretts I thee pray: Unto the towne of Walsingham55 Show me the right and readye way. "Now goe thy wayes, and God before! For he must ever guide thee still: Turne downe that dale, the right hand path, And soe, faire pilgrim, fare thee well!"60

As I went to Walsingham, To the shrine with speede, Met I with a jolly palmer In a pilgrimes weede. 'Now God you save, you jolly palmer!' 'Welcome, lady gay! Oft have I sued to thee for love.' 'Oft have I said you nay.'

"As you came from the holy-land Of Walsingham, Met you not with my true love By the way as you came?" "How should I know your true love,5 That have met many a one, As I came from the holy-land, That have come, that have gone?" "She is neither white nor brown, But as the heavens fair;10 There is none hath a form so divine, On the earth, in the air." "Such a one did I meet, good sir, With angellike face, Who like a queen did appear15 In her gait, in her grace." "She hath left me here all alone, All alone and unknown, Who sometime lov'd me as her life, And call'd me her own."20 "What's the cause she hath left thee alone, And a new way doth take, That sometime did love thee as her life, And her joy did thee make?" "I loved her all my youth,25 But now am old, as you see; Love liketh not the fallen fruit, Nor the withered tree. "For love is a careless child, And forgets promise past;30 He is blind, he is deaf, when he list, And in faith never fast. "For love is a great delight, And yet a trustless joy; He is won with a word of despair,35 And is lost with a toy. "Such is the love of womankind, Or the word abus'd, Under which many childish desires And conceits are excus'd.40 "But love is a durable fire, In the mind ever burning; Never sick, never dead, never cold, From itself never turning."

"Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid."

I read that once in Affrica A prince that there did raine, Who had to name Cophetua, As poets they did faine. From natures workes he did incline,5 For sure he was not of my minde, He cared not for women-kind, But did them all disdain. But marke what happen'd by the way; As he out of his window lay,10 He saw a beggar all in grey, Which did increase his paine. The blinded boy that shootes so trim From heaven downe so high, He drew a dart and shot at him,15 In place where he did lye: Which soone did pierce him to the quick, For when he felt the arrow prick, Which in his tender heart did stick, He looketh as he would dye.20 "What sudden change is this," quoth he, "That I to love must subject be, Which never thereto would agree, But still did it defie?" Then from his window he did come,25 And laid him on his bed; A thousand heapes of care did runne Within his troubled head. For now he means to crave her love, And now he seeks which way to proove30 How he his fancie might remove, And not this beggar wed. But Cupid had him so in snare, That this poore beggar must prepare A salve to cure him of his care,35 Or els he would be dead. And as he musing thus did lie, He thought for to devise How he might have her company, That so did maze his eyes.40 "In thee," quoth he, "doth rest my life; For surely thou shalt be my wife, Or else this hand with bloody knife, The gods shall sure suffice." Then from his bed he 'soon' arose,45 And to his pallace gate he goes; Full little then this beggar knowes When she the king espies. "The gods preserve your majesty," The beggars all gan cry;50 "Vouchsafe to give your charity, Our childrens food to buy!" The king to them his purse did cast, And they to part it made great haste; This silly woman was the last55 That after them did hye. The king he cal'd her back again, And unto her he gave his chaine; And said, "With us you shall remain Till such time as we dye.60 "For thou," quoth he, "shalt be my wife, And honoured like the queene; With thee I meane to lead my life, As shortly shall be seene: Our wedding day shall appointed be,65 And every thing in their degree; Come on," quoth he, "and follow me, Thou shalt go shift thee cleane. What is thy name?—go on," quoth he. "Penelophon, O King!" quoth she;70 With that she made a lowe courtsey; A trim one as I weene. Thus hand in hand along they walke Unto the kings palace: The king with courteous, comly talke75 This beggar doth embrace. The beggar blusheth scarlet read, And straight againe as pale as lead, But not a word at all she said, She was in such amaze.80 At last she spake with trembling voyce, And said, "O King, I do rejoyce That you will take me for your choice, And my degree so base!" And when the wedding day was come,85 The king commanded straight The noblemen, both all and some, Upon the queene to waight. And she behavd herself that day As if she had never walkt the way;90 She had forgot her gowne of gray, Which she did wear of late. The proverb old is come to passe, The priest, when he begins the masse, Forgets that ever clarke he was;95 He knowth not his estate. Here you may read Cophetua, Through fancie long time fed, Compelled by the blinded boy The beggar for to wed:100 He that did lovers lookes disdaine, To do the same was glad and fain, Or else he would himself have slaine, In stories as we read. Disdaine no whit, O lady deere,105 But pitty now thy servant heere, Lest that it hap to thee this yeare, As to the king it did. And thus they lead a quiet life During their princely raigne,110 And in a tombe were buried both, As writers shew us plaine. The lords they tooke it grievously, The ladies tooke it heavily, The commons cryed pittiously,115 Their death to them was pain. Their fame did sound so passingly, That it did pierce the starry sky, And throughout all the world did flye To every princes realme.120

Will you hear a Spanish lady, How she woo'd an English man? Garments gay as rich as may be, Decked with jewels, had she on; Of a comely countenance and grace was she,5 And by birth and parentage of high degree. As his prisoner there he kept her, In his hands her life did lie; Cupid's bands did tie her faster, By the liking of an eye;10 In his courteous company was all her joy, To favour him in any thing she was not coy. At the last there came commandment For to set the ladies free, With their jewels still adorned,15 None to do them injury: "Alas," then said this lady gay, "full woe is me; O let me still sustain this kind captivity! "O gallant captain, shew some pity To a lady in distress;20 Leave me not within the city, For to die in heaviness; Thou hast set this present day my body free, But my heart in prison strong remains with thee." "How should'st thou, fair lady, love me,25 Whom thou know'st thy country's foe? Thy fair words make me suspect thee; Serpents are where flowers grow." "All the evil I think to thee, most gracious knight, God grant unto myself the same may fully light!30 "Blessed be the time and season, That you came on Spanish ground; If you may our foes be termed, Gentle foes we have you found. With our city, you have won our hearts each one;35 Then to your country bear away that is your own." "Rest you still, most gallant lady, Rest you still, and weep no more; Of fair lovers there are plenty; Spain doth yield a wondrous store."40 "Spaniards fraught with jealousie we often find; But English men throughout the world are counted kind. "Leave me not unto a Spaniard; You alone enjoy my heart; I am lovely, young, and tender,45 And so love is my desert. Still to serve thee day and night my mind is prest; The wife of every English man is counted blest." "It would be a shame, fair lady, For to bear a woman hence;50 English soldiers never carry Any such without offence." "I will quickly change myself, if it be so, And like a page I'll follow thee, where'er thou go." "I have neither gold nor silver55 To maintain thee in this case, And to travel, 'tis great charges, As you know, in every place." "My chains and jewels every one shall be thine own, And eke ten thousand pounds in gold that lies unknown."60 "On the seas are many dangers; Many storms do there arise, Which will be to ladies dreadful, And force tears from wat'ry eyes." "Well in worth I could endure extremity,65 For I could find in heart to lose my life for thee." "Courteous lady, be contented; Here comes all that breeds the strife; I in England have already A sweet woman to my wife:70 I will not falsifie my vow for gold or gain, Nor yet for all the fairest dames that live in Spain." "Oh how happy is that woman That enjoys so true a friend! Many days of joy God send you!75 Of my suit I'll make an end: On my knees I pardon crave for this offence, Which love and true affection did first commence. "Commend me to thy loving lady; Bear to her this chain of gold,80 And these bracelets for a token; Grieving that I was so bold. All my jewels in like sort bear thou with thee, For these are fitting for thy wife, and not for me. "I will spend my days in prayer,85 Love and all her laws defie; In a nunnery will I shroud me, Far from other company: But ere my prayers have end, be sure of this, [To pray] for thee and for thy love I will not miss.90 "Thus farewell, most gentle captain, And farewell my heart's content! Count not Spanish ladies wanton, Though to thee my love was bent: Joy and true prosperity goe still with thee!"95 "The like fall ever to thy share, most fair lady."

A noble marquess, as he did ride a-hunting, Hard by a river side, A proper maiden, as she did sit a-spinning, His gentle eye espy'd: Most fair and lovely, and of comely grace was she,5 Although in simple attire; She sang most sweetly, with pleasant voice melodiously, Which set the lord's heart on fire. The more he lookt, the more he might; Beauty bred his hearts delight,10 And to this damsel he went. "God speed," quoth he, "thou famous flower, Fair mistress of this homely bower, Where love and vertue live with sweet content." With comely gesture and modest mild behaviour15 She bad him welcome then; She entertain'd him in a friendly manner, And all his gentlemen. The noble marquess in his heart felt such flame Which set his senses all at strife;20 Quoth he, "Fair maiden, shew soon what is thy name: I mean to take thee to my wife." "Grissel is my name," quoth she, "Far unfit for your degree; A silly maiden, and of parents poor."25 "Nay, Grissel, thou art rich," he said, "A vertuous, fair, and comely maid; Grant me thy love, and I will ask no more." At length she consented, and being both contented, They married were with speed;30 Her country russet was turn'd to silk and velvet, As to her state agreed: And when that she was trimly attired in the same, Her beauty shin'd most bright, Far staining every other brave and comely dame That did appear in sight.36 Many envied her therefore, Because she was of parents poor, And twixt her lord and her great strife did raise: Some said this, and some said that,40 Some did call her beggar's brat, And to her lord they would her oft dispraise. "O noble marquess," quoth they, "why do you wrong us, Thus basely for to wed, That might have got an honourable lady45 Into your princely bed? Who will not now your noble issue still deride, Which shall be hereafter born, That are of blood so base by the mother's side, The which will bring them to scorn?50 Put her, therefore, quite away; Take to you a lady gay, Whereby your lineage may renownèd be." Thus every day they seem'd to prate At malic'd Grissel's good estate,55 Who took all this most mild and patiently. When that the marquess did see that they were bent thus Against his faithful wife, Whom most dearly, tenderly, and intirely He loved as his life;60 Minding in secret for to prove her patient heart, Thereby her foes to disgrace; Thinking to play a hard discourteous part, That men might pity her case,— Great with child this lady was,65 And at length it came to pass, Two lovely children at one birth she had; A son and daughter God had sent, Which did their father well content, And which did make their mothers heart full glad.70 Great royal feasting was at the childrens christ'ning, And princely triumph made; Six weeks together, all nobles that came thither Were entertain'd and staid. And when that these pleasant sportings quite were done,75 The marquess a messenger sent For his young daughter and his pretty smiling son, Declaring his full intent, How that the babes must murthered be, For so the marquess did decree.80 "Come, let me have the children," he said: With that fair Grissel wept full sore, She wrung her hands, and said no more; "My gracious lord must have his will obey'd." She took the babies from the nursing-ladies,85 Between her tender arms; She often wishes, with many sorrowful kisses, That she might help their harms. "Farewel," quoth she, "my children dear; Never shall I see you again;90 'Tis long of me, your sad and woful mother dear, For whose sake you must be slain. Had I been born of royal race, You might have liv'd in happy case; But now you must die for my unworthiness.95 "Come, messenger of death," quoth she, "Take my despised babes to thee, And to their father my complaints express." He took the children, and to his noble master He brought them forth with speed;100 Who secretly sent them unto a noble lady, To be nurst up indeed. Then to fair Grissel with a heavy heart he goes, Where she sat mildly all alone; A pleasant gesture and a lovely look she shows,105 As if grief she had never known. Quoth he, "My children now are slain; What thinks fair Grissel of the same? Sweet Grissel, now declare thy mind to me." "Since you, my lord, are pleas'd with it,110 Poor Grissel thinks the action fit; Both I and mine at your command will be." "The nobles murmur, fair Grissel, at thine honour, And I no joy can have Till thou be banisht from my court and presence,115 As they unjustly crave. Thou must be stript out of thy stately garments; And as thou camest to me, In homely gray, instead of silk and purest pall, Now all thy cloathing must be.120 My lady thou must be no more, Nor I thy lord, which grieves me sore; The poorest life must now content thy mind: A groat to thee I may not give, Thee to maintain, while I do live;125 'Gainst my Grissel such great foes I find." When gentle Grissel heard these woful tidings, The tears stood in her eyes; She nothing said, no words of discontentment Did from her lips arise.130 Her velvet gown most patiently she stript off, Her girdle of silk with the same; Her russet gown was brought again with many a scoff; To bear them all, herself [she] did frame. When she was drest in this array,135 And ready was to part away, "God send long life unto my lord," quoth she; "Let no offence be found in this, To give my lord a parting kiss." With wat'ry eyes, "Farewel, my dear!" quoth he.140 From stately palace, unto her father's cottage, Poor Grissel now is gone; Full fifteen winters she lived there contented, No wrong she thought upon; And at that time thro' all the land the speeches went,145 The marquess should married be Unto a noble lady of high descent, And to the same all parties did agree. The marquess sent for Grissel fair The bride's bed-chamber to prepare,150 That nothing should therein be found awry; The bride was with her brother come, Which was great joy to all and some; And Grissel took all this most patiently. And in the morning when that they should be wedded,155 Her patience now was try'd; Grissel was charged in princely manner For to attire the bride. Most willingly she gave consent unto the same; The bride in her bravery was drest,160 And presently the noble marquess thither came, With all the ladies at his request. "Oh Grissel, I would ask of thee If to this match thou wouldst agree? Methinks thy looks are waxed wondrous coy."165 With that they all began to smile, And Grissel she replies the while, "God send lord marquess many years of joy!" The marquis was movèd to see his best belovèd Thus patient in distress;170 He stept unto her, and by the hand he took her; These words he did express: "Thou art the bride, and all the brides I mean to have; These two thy own children be." The youthful lady on her knees did blessing crave,175 The brother as willing as she. "And you that envy her estate, Whom I have made my loving mate, Now blush for shame, and honour vertuous life; The chronicles of lasting fame180 Shall evermore extol the name Of patient Grissel, my most constant wife."

In the days of old, When fair France did flourish, Stories plainly told Lovers felt annoy. The king a daughter had,5 Beauteous, fair, and lovely, Which made her father glad, She was his only joy. A prince of England came, Whose deeds did merit fame,10 He woo'd her long, and lo, at last, Look, what he did require, She granted his desire, Their hearts in one were linked fast. Which when her father proved,15 Lord, how he was moved And tormented in his mind; He sought for to prevent them, And to discontent them,— Fortune crosses lovers kind.20 Whenas these princely twain Were thus debarr'd of pleasure, Through the king's disdain, Which their joys withstood, The lady lockt up close25 Her jewels and her treasure, Having no remorse Of state or royal blood. In homely poor array, She went from court away,30 To meet her love and heart's delight; Who in a forest great, Had taken up his seat, To wait her coming in the night. But lo, what sudden danger,35 To this princely stranger, Chancèd as he sat alone, By outlaws he was robbed, And with poinard stabbed, Uttering many a dying groan.40 The princess, armed by him, And by true desire, Wandering all that night, Without dread at all, Still unknown, she past45 In her strange attire, Coming at the last Within echo's call. "You fair woods," quoth she, "Honoured may you be,50 Harbouring my heart's delight, Which doth encompass here, My joy and only dear, My trusty friend, and comely knight. Sweet, I come unto thee,55 Sweet, I come to wooe thee, That thou may'st not angry be; For my long delaying, And thy courteous staying, Amends for all I make to thee."60 Passing thus alone Through the silent forest, Many a grievous groan Sounded in her ear; Where she heard a man65 To lament the sorest Chance that ever came, Forc'd by deadly fear. "Farewel, my dear!" quoth he, "Whom I shall never see,70 For why, my life is at an end; For thy sweet sake I die, Through villain's cruelty, To shew I am a faithful friend. Here lie I a-bleeding,75 While my thoughts are feeding On the rarest beauty found; O hard hap that may be, Little knows my lady My heart-blood lies on the ground!"80 With that he gave a groan That did break asunder All the tender strings Of his gentle heart: She, who knew his voice,85 At his tale did wonder; All her former joys Did to grief convert. Straight she ran to see Who this man should be,90 That so like her love did speak; And found, whenas she came, Her lovely lord lay slain, Smeer'd in blood which life did break. Which when that she espied,95 Lord, how sore she cried! Her sorrows could not counted be; Her eyes like fountains running, While she cryed out, "My darling, Would God that I had dy'd for thee!"100 His pale lips, alas! Twenty times she kisséd, And his face did wash With her brinish tears; Every bleeding wound105 Her fair face bedewed, Wiping off the blood With her golden hairs. ["Speak, my love," quoth she,] "Speak, fair prince, to me;110 One sweet word of comfort give; Lift up thy fair eyes, Listen to my cries, Think in what great grief I live." All in vain she sued,115 All in vain she wooed, The prince's life was fled and gone; There stood she still mourning 'Till the sun's returning, And bright day was coming on.120 In this great distress Quoth this royal lady, "Who can now express What will become of me? To my father's court125 Never will I wander, But some service seek Where I may placed be." Whilst she thus made her moan, Weeping all alone,130 In this deep and deadly fear, A forester all in green, Most comely to be seen, Ranging the wood did find her there, Round beset with sorrow.135 "Maid," quoth he, "good morrow. What hard hap hath brought you here?" "Harder hap did never Chance to a maiden ever; Here lies slain my brother dear.140 "Where might I be plac'd, Gentle forester tell me; Where might I procure A service in my need? Pains I will not spare,145 But will do my duty; Ease me of my care, Help my extream need." The forester all amazed On her beauty gazed,150 'Till his heart was set on fire: "If, fair maid," quoth he, "You will go with me, You shall have your heart's desire." He brought her to his mother,155 And above all other He set forth this maiden's praise: Long was his heart inflamed, At length her love he gained, So fortune did his glory raise.160 Thus unknown he matcht With the king's fair daughter; Children seven he had, Ere she to him was known. But when he understood165 She was a royal princess, By this means at last He shewèd forth her fame: He cloath'd his children then Not like other men,170 In party colours strange to see; The right side cloth of gold, The left side to behold Of woollen cloth still framèd he. Men thereat did wonder,175 Golden fame did thunder This strange deed in every place; The king of France came thither Being pleasant weather, In the woods the hart to chase.180 The children there did stand, As their mother willèd, Where the royal king Must of force come by; Their mother richly clad185 In fair crimson velvet, Their father all in gray, Most comely to the eye. When this famous king, Noting every thing,190 Did ask him how he durst be so bold, To let his wife to wear, And deck his children there, In costly robes of pearl and gold,— The forester bold replièd,195 And the cause descrièd, And to the king he thus did say: "Well may they by their mother Wear rich gold like other, Being by birth a princess gay."200 The king upon these words More heedfully beheld them, Till a crimson blush His conceit did cross. "The more I look," quoth he,205 "Upon thy wife and children, The more I call to mind My daughter whom I lost." "I am that Child," quoth she, Falling on her knee;210 "Pardon me my soveraign liege!" The king perceiving this His daughter dear did kiss, Till joyful tears did stop his speech. With his train he turnèd,215 And with her sojournèd; Straight he dubb'd her husband knight; He made him Earl of Flanders, One of his chief commanders;— Thus was their sorrow put to flight.220

'Cloth of Gold, do not despise, Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Frize; Cloth of Frize, be not too bold, Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Gold.'

It was a youthfull knight Lov'd a gallant lady; Fair she was and bright, And of vertues rare: Herself she did behave5 So courteously as may be; Wedded they were brave; Joy without compare. Here began the grief, Pain without relief:10 Her husband soon her love forsook, To women lewd of mind, Being bad inclin'd, He only lent a pleasant look. The lady she sate weeping,15 While that he was keeping Company with others moe: Her words, "My love, beleeve not, Come to me, and grieve not; Wantons will thee overthrow."20 His fair Ladie's words Nothing he regarded; Wantonnesse affords Such delightfull sport. While they dance and sing,25 With great mirth prepared, She her hands did wring In most grievous sort. "O what hap had I Thus to wail and cry,30 Unrespected every day, Living in disdain, While that others gain All the right I should enjoy! I am left forsaken,35 Others they are taken: Ah my love! why dost thou so? Her flatteries beleeve not, Come to me, and grieve not; Wantons will thee overthrow."40 The Knight with his fair peece At length the Lady spied, Who did him daily fleece Of his wealth and store: Secretly she stood,45 While she her fashions tryed, With a patient mind, While deep the strumpet swore. "O Sir Knight, O Sir Knight," quoth she, "So dearly I love thee,50 My life doth rest at thy dispose: By day, and eke by night, For thy sweet delight, Thou shalt me in thy arms inclose. I am thine for ever;55 Still I will persever True to thee, where ere I go." "Her flatteries believe not, Come to me, and grieve not; Wantons will thee overthrow."60 The vertuous Lady mild Enters then among them, Being big with child As ever she might be: With distilling tears65 She looked then upon them; Filled full of fears, Thus replyed she: "Ah, my love and dear! Wherefore stay you here,70 Refusing me, your loving wife, For an harlot's sake, Which each one will take; Whose vile deeds provoke much strife? Many can accuse her:75 O my love, O my love, refuse her! With thy lady home return. Her flatteries beleeve not, Come to me, and grieve not; Wantons will thee overthrow."80 All in a fury then The angry Knight up started, Very furious when He heard his Ladie's speech. With many bitter terms85 His wife he ever thwarted, Using hard extreams, While she did him beseech. From her neck so white He took away in spite90 Her curious chain of purest gold, Her jewels and her rings, And all such costly things As he about her did behold. The harlot in her presence95 He did gently reverence, And to her he gave them all: He sent away his Lady, Full of wo as may be, Who in a swound with grief did fall.100 At the Ladie's wrong The harlot fleer'd and laughed; Enticements are so strong, They overcome the wise. The Knight nothing regarded105 To see the Lady scoffed: Thus was she rewarded For her enterprise. The harlot, all this space, Did him oft embrace;110 She flatters him, and thus doth say: "For thee Ile dye and live, For thee my faith Ile give, No wo shall work my love's decay; Thou shalt be my treasure,115 Thou shalt be my pleasure, Thou shalt be my heart's delight: I will be thy darling, I will be thy worldling, In despight of fortune's spight."120 Thus he did remain In wastfull great expences, Till it bred his pain, And consumed him quite. When his lands were spent,125 Troubled in his sences, Then he did repent Of his late lewd life. For relief he hies, For relief he flyes130 To them on whom he spent his gold: They do him deny, They do him defie; They will not once his face behold. Being thus distressed,135 Being thus oppressed, In the fields that night he lay; Which the harlot knowing, Through her malice growing, Sought to take his life away.140 A young and proper lad They had slain in secret For the gold he had, Whom they did convey By a ruffian lewd145 To that place directly, Where the youthful Knight Fast a sleeping lay. The bloody dagger than, Wherewith they kill'd the man,150 Hard by the Knight he likewise laid, Sprinkling him with blood, As he thought it good, And then no longer there he stayd. The Knight, being so abused,155 Was forthwith accused For this murder which was done; And he was condemned That had not offended; Shamefull death he might not shun.160 When the Lady bright Understood the matter, That her wedded Knight Was condemn'd to dye, To the King she went165 With all the speed that might be, Where she did lament Her hard destiny. "Noble King!" quoth she, "Pitty take on me,170 And pardon my poor husbands life; Else I am undone, With my little son: Let mercy mitigate this grief." "Lady fair, content thee;175 Soon thou wouldst repent thee, If he should be saved so: Sore he hath abus'd thee, Sore he hath misus'd thee; Therefore, Lady, let him go."180 "O my liege!" quoth she, "Grant your gracious favour: Dear he is to me, Though he did me wrong." The King reply'd again,185 With a stern behaviour, "A subject he hath slain, Dye he shall ere long: Except thou canst find Any one so kind,190 That will dye and set him free." "Noble King!" she said, "Glad am I apaid; That same person will I be. I will suffer duly,195 I will suffer truly, For my love and husbands sake." The King thereat amazed, Though he her beauty praised, He bad from thence they should her take. It was the King's command,201 On the morrow after She should out of hand To the scaffold go: Her husband was205 To bear the sword before her; He must eke, alas! Give the deadly blow. He refus'd the deed; She bid him to proceed,210 With a thousand kisses sweet. In this wofull case They did both imbrace, Which mov'd the ruffians in that place Straight for to discover215 This concealed murder; Whereby the lady saved was. The harlot then was hanged, As she well deserved: This did vertue bring to passe.220

A poore soule sat sighing under a sicamore tree; O willow, willow, willow! With his hand on his bosom, his head on his knee. O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow!5 Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland. He sigh'd in his singing, and after each grone, Come willow, &c. "I am dead to all pleasure, my true-love is gone. O willow, &c.10 Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland. "My love she is turned; untrue she doth prove; O willow, &c. She renders me nothing but hate for my love. O willow, &c.15 Sing, O the greene willow, &c. "O pitty me," cried he, "ye lovers, each one; O willow, &c. Her heart's hard as marble; she rues not my mone. O willow, &c.20 Sing, O the greene willow, &c." The cold streams ran by him, his eyes wept apace; O willow, &c. The salt tears fell from him, which drowned his face. O willow, &c.25 Sing, O the greene willow, &c. The mute birds sate by him, made tame by his mones; O willow, &c. The salt tears fell from him, which softened the stones. O willow, &c.30 Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland. "Let nobody blame me, her scornes I do prove; O willow, &c. She was borne to be faire; I, to die for her love. O willow, &c.35 Sing, O the greene willow, &c. "O that beauty should harbour a heart that's so hard! Sing willow, &c. My true love rejecting without all regard. O willow, &c.40 Sing, O the greene willow, &c. "Let love no more boast him in palace or bower; O willow, &c. For women are trothles, and flote in an houre. O willow, &c.45 Sing, O the greene willow, &c. "But what helps complaining? In vaine I complaine: O willow, &c. I must patiently suffer her scorne and disdaine. O willow, &c.50 Sing, O the greene willow, &c. "Come, all you forsaken, and sit down by me, O willow, &c. He that 'plaines of his false love, mine's falser than she. O willow, &c.55 Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland. "The willow wreath weare I, since my love did fleet; O willow, &c. A garland for lovers forsaken most meete. O willow, &c.60 Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland!"

"Lowe lay'd by my sorrow, begot by disdaine, O willow, willow, willow! Against her too cruell, still, still I complaine. O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow!5 Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland! "O love too injurious, to wound my poore heart, O willow, &c. To suffer the triumph, and joy in my smart! O willow, &c.10 Sing, O the greene willow, &c. "O willow, willow, willow! the willow garlànd, O willow, &c. A sign of her falsenesse before me doth stand. O willow, &c.15 Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland. "As here it doth bid to despair and to dye, O willow, &c. So hang it, friends, ore me in grave where I lye. O willow, &c.20 Sing, O the greene willow, &c. "In grave where I rest mee, hang this to the view, O willow, &c. Of all that doe knowe her, to blaze her untrue. O willow, &c.25 Sing, O the greene willow, &c. "With these words engraven, as epitaph meet, O willow, &c. 'Here lyes one, drank poyson for potion most sweet.' O willow, &c.30 Sing, O the greene willow, &c. "Though she thus unkindly hath scorned my love, O willow, &c. And carelesly smiles at the sorrowes I prove; O willow, &c.35 Sing, O the greene willow, &c. "I cannot against her unkindly exclaim, O willow, &c. Cause once well I loved her, and honoured her name. O willow, &c.40 Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland. "The name of her sounded so sweete in mine eare, O willow, &c. It rays'd my heart lightly, the name of my deare; O willow, &c.45 Sing, O the greene willow, &c. "As then 'twas my comfort, it now is my griefe; O willow, &c. It now brings me anguish; then brought me reliefe. O willow, &c.50 Sing, O the greene willow, &c. "Farewell, faire false hearted, plaints end with my breath! O willow, willow, willow! Thou dost loath me, I love thee, though cause of my death. O willow, willow, willow!55 O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland."

Alas, my love, ye do me wrong To cast me oft discurteously, And I have loved you so long, Delighting in your companie. Greensleeves was all my joy, Greensleeves was my delight, Greensleeves was my heart of gold, And who but Ladie Greensleeves. I have been readie at your hand5 To grant what ever you would crave; I have both waged life and land, Your love and good will for to have. Greensleeves was all my joy, &c. I bought thee kerchers to thy head That were wrought fine and gallantly;10 I kept thee both at boord and bed, Which cost my purse well favouredly. Greensleeves was all my joie, &c. I bought thee peticotes of the best, The cloth so fine as fine might be; I gave thee jewels for thy chest,15 And all this cost I spent on thee. Greensleeves was all my joie, &c. Thy smock of silke, both faire and white, With gold embrodered gorgeously, Thy peticote of sendall right, And this I bought thee gladly.20 Greensleeves was all my joie, &c. Thy girdle of gold so red, With pearles bedecked sumtuously,— The like no other lasses had,— And yet thou wouldest not love me. Greensleeves was all my joie, &c. Thy purse, and eke thy gay guilt knives,25 Thy pincase, gallant to the eie,— No better wore the burgesse wives,— And yet thou wouldst not love me. Greensleeves was all my joy, &c. Thy crimson stockings, all of silk, With golde all wrought above the knee;30 Thy pumps, as white as was the milk, And yet thou wouldst not love me. Greensleeves was all my joie, &c. Thy gown was of the grassie green, Thy sleeves of satten hanging by, Which made thee be our harvest queen,35 And yet thou wouldst not love me. Greensleeves was all my joie, &c. Thy garters fringed with the golde, And silver aglets hanging by, Which made thee blithe for to beholde,— And yet thou wouldst not love me.40 Greensleeves was all my joie, &c. My gayest gelding I thee gave, To ride where ever liked thee, No ladie ever was so brave, And yet thou wouldst not love me. Greensleeves was all my joie, &c. My men were clothed all in green,45 And they did ever wait on thee; All this was gallant to be seen, And yet thou wouldst not love me. Greensleeves was all my joie, &c. They set thee up, they took thee downe, They served thee with humilitie;50 Thy foote might not once touch the ground, And yet thou wouldst not love me. Greensleeves was all my joie, &c. For everie morning, when thou rose, I sent thee dainties, orderly, To cheare thy stomack from all woes,55 And yet thou wouldst not love me. Greensleeves was all my joie, &c. Thou couldst desire no earthly thing But stil thou hadst it readily; Thy musicke still to play and sing, And yet thou wouldst not love me.60 Greensleeves was all my joie, &c. And who did pay for all this geare, That thou didst spend when pleased thee? Even I that am rejected here, And thou disdainst to love me. Greensleeves was all my joie, &c. Wel, I wil pray to God on hie65 That thou my constancie maist see, And that yet once before I die Thou will vouchsafe to love me. Greensleeves was all my joie, &c. Greensleeves, now farewel, adue! God I pray to prosper thee,70 For I am stil thy lover true; Come once againe, and love me! Greensleeves was all my joie, &c.

Robene sat on gud grene hill, Keipand a flok of fie: Mirry Makyne said him till, "Robene, thow rew on me; I haif thé luvit, lowd and still,5 Thir yeiris two or thré; My dule in dern bot gif thow dill, Doutles bot dreid I dé." Robene answerit, "Be the rude, Na thing of lufe I knaw,10 Bot keipis my scheip undir yone wud; Lo quhair thay raik on raw. Quhat hes marrit thé in thy mude, Makyne, to me thow schaw; Or quhat is love, or to be lude?15 Faine wald I leir that law." "At luvis lair gife thow will leir, Tak thair ane A, B, C; Be kynd, courtas, and fair of feir, Wyse, hardy, and fré.20 Sé that no denger do thé deir, Quhat dule in dern thow dré; Preiss thé with pane at all poweir, Be patient and previe." Robene answerit her agane:25 "I wait nocht quhat is luve, Bot I haif mervell in certaine, Quhat makis thé this wanrufe; The weddir is fair, and I am fane, My scheip gois haill aboif,30 And we wald play us in this plane, They wald us bayth reproif." "Robene, tak tent unto my taill, And wirk all as I reid, And thow sall haif my hairt all haill,35 Eik and my madinheid. Sen God sendis bute for baill, And for murning remeid, I dern with thé bot gif I daill, Dowbtles I am bot deid."40 "Makyne, to morne this ilka tyde, And ye will meit me heir; Perventure my scheip ma gang besyd, Quhyll we haif liggit full neir: Bot maugre haif I, and I byd,45 Fra they begin to steir; Quhat lyis on hairt I will nocht hyd; Makyne, than mak gud cheir." "Robene, thou reivis me roiss and rest; I luve bot thé allone."50 "Makyne, adew, the sone gois west, The day is neirhand gone." "Robene, in dule I am so drest, That lufe will be my bone." "Ga lufe, Makyne, quhair evir thou list,55 For leman I lue none." "Robene, I stand in sic a style, I sicht, and that full sair." "Makyne, I haif bene heir this quyle: At hame God gif I wair!"60 "My hinny, Robene, talk ane quhyle, Gif thou wilt do na mair." "Makyne, sum uthir man begyle, For hamewart I will fair." Robene on his wayis went,65 As licht as leif of tré; Makyne murnit in her intent, And trowd him nevir to sé. Robene brayd attour the bent; Than Makyne cryit on hie,70 "Now ma thow sing, for I am schent! Quhat alis lufe with me?" Makyne went hame withouttin faill, Full werry eftir cowth weip: Than Robene in a ful fair daill75 Assemblit all his scheip. Be that sum parte of Makyne's ail Out throw his hairt cowd creip; He followit hir fast thair till assail, And till her tuke gude keep.80 "Abyd, abyd, thou fair Makyne, A word for ony thing; For all my luve it sall be thyne, Withouttin departing. All haill! thy harte for till haif myne,85 Is all my cuvating; My scheip to morn, quhill houris nyne, Will neid of no keping." "Robene, thou hes hard soung and say, In gestis and storeis auld,90 The man that will not quhen he may, Sall haif nocht quhen he wald. I pray to Jesu every day, Mot eik thair cairis cauld, That first preissis with thé to play,95 Be firth, forrest, or fawld." "Makyne, the nicht is soft and dry, The wedder is warme and fair, And the grene woud rycht neir us by To walk attour all quhair:100 Thair ma na janglour us espy, That is to lufe contrair; Thairin, Makyne, bath ye and I, Unsene we ma repair." "Robene, that warld is all away,105 And quyt brocht till ane end, And nevir again thereto, perfay, Sall it be as thou wend; For of my pane thou maide it play, And all in vane I spend:110 As thou hes done, sa sall I say, Murne on, I think to mend." "Makyne, the howp of all my heill, My hairt on thé is sett, And evir mair to thé be leill,115 Quhile I may leif but lett; Nevir to faill, as utheris faill, Quhat grace that evir I gett." "Robene, with thé I will not deill; Adew, for thus we mett."120 Makyne went hame blyth anewche, Attoure the holtis hair; Robene murnit, and Makyne lewche; Scho sang, he sichit sair: And so left him, bayth wo and wreuch,125 In dolour and in cair, Kepand his hird under a huche, Amang the holtis hair.