BOOK II. BALLADS THAT ILLUSTRATE SHAKESPEARE.
Reading edition
Our great dramatic poet having occasionally quoted many ancient ballads, and even taken the plot of one, if not more, of his plays from among them, it was judged proper to preserve as many of these as could be recovered, and, that they might be the more easily found, to exhibit them in one collective view. This Second Book is therefore set apart for the reception of such ballads as are quoted by Shakespeare, or contribute in any degree to illustrate his writings: this being the principal point in view, the candid reader will pardon the admission of some pieces that have no other kind of merit.
I. ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH, AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLEY,
Were three noted outlaws, whose skill in archery rendered them formerly as famous in the north of England, as Robin Hood and his fellows were in the midland counties. Their place of residence was in the forest of Englewood, not far from Carlisle (called corruptly in the ballad Englishwood, whereas Engle, or Ingle-wood, signifies wood for firing). At what time they lived does not appear. The author of the common ballad on "The Pedigree, Education and Marriage of Robin Hood," makes them contemporary with Robin Hood's father, in order to give him the honour of beating them, viz.:
"The father of Robin a Forester was, and he shot in a lusty long-bow, Two north-country miles and an inch at a shot, as the Pinder of Wakefield does know: For he brought Adam Bell, and Clim of the Clugh, and William a Clowdéslee, To shoot with our Forester for forty mark; and the Forester beat them all three."
Collect. of Old Ballads, vol. i. (1723), p. 67.
This seems to prove that they were commonly thought to have lived before the popular hero of Sherwood.
Our northern archers were not unknown to their southern countrymen: their excellence at the long-bow is often alluded to by our ancient poets. Shakespeare, in his comedy of Much adoe about nothing, act i., makes Benedick confirm his resolves of not yielding to love, by this protestation, "If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat,[682] and shoot at me, and he that hits me, let him be clapt on the shoulder, and called Adam:" meaning Adam Bell, as Theobald rightly observes, who refers to one or two other passages in our old poets wherein he is mentioned. The Oxford editor has also well conjectured, that "Abraham Cupid" in Romeo and Juliet, act ii. sc. 1, should be "Adam Cupid," in allusion to our archer. Ben Jonson has mentioned Clym o' the Clough in his Alchemist, act i. sc. 2. And Sir William Davenant, in a mock poem of his, called "The long vacation in London," describes the Attorneys and Proctors, as making matches to meet in Finsbury fields.
"With loynes in canvas bow-case tyde:[683] Where arrowes stick with mickle pride; ... Like ghosts of Adam Bell and Clymme. Sol sets for fear they'l shoot at him."
Works, 1673, fol. p. 291.
I have only to add further concerning the principal hero of this Ballad, that the Bells were noted rogues in the North so late as the time of Q. Elizabeth. See in Rymer's Fœdera, a letter from lord William Howard to some of the officers of state, wherein he mentions them.
As for the following stanzas, which will be judged from the style, orthography, and numbers, to be of considerable antiquity, they were here given (corrected in some places by a MS. copy in the Editor's old folio) from a black-letter 4to. Imprinted at London in Lothburye by Wyllyam Copland (no date). That old quarto edition seems to be exactly followed in Pieces of Ancient Popular Poetry, &c. Lond. 1791,[684] 8vo., the variations from which that occur in the following copy, are selected from many others in the folio MS. above-mentioned, and when distinguished by the usual inverted 'comma,' have been assisted by conjecture.
In the same MS. this Ballad is followed by another, intitled Younge Cloudeslee, being a continuation of the present story, and reciting the adventures of Willian of Cloudesly's son: but greatly inferior to this both in merit and antiquity.
[The version here printed differs but slightly from the one in the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, 1868, vol. iii. p. 76), and as the latter is of no critical value it has been thought unnecessary to point out the various readings. A fragment of an older edition than Copland's mentioned above has been recovered by Mr. Payne Collier, which is attributed to the press of Wynkyn de Worde by Mr. W. C. Hazlitt.
This spirited ballad is mentioned by Laneham in his Catalogue of Captain Cox's ballads, and the various editions it has passed through, and the frequent references to it in literature, prove its great and deserved popularity.
The circumstances of the second Fit resemble closely the rescue of Robin Hood by Little John, as related in "Robin Hood and the Monk," and the incident of the shot at the apple in the third Fit bears a curious likeness to the very ancient myth which is associated with William Tell. "Allane Bell" is mentioned by Dunbar in company with Robin Hood, Guy of Gisborne, and others, which proves that in his time these names had become mere abstractions.]
PART THE FIRST.
Mery it was in the grene forest Amonge the levès grene, Wheras men hunt east and west Wyth bowes and arrowes kene; To raise the dere out of theyr denne;5 Suche fightes hath ofte bene sene; As by thre yemen of the north countrèy, By them it is I meane. The one of them hight Adam Bel, The other Clym of the Clough,[685]10 The thyrd was William of Cloudesly, An archer good ynough. They were outlawed for venyson, These yemen everych-one; They swore them brethren upon a day,15 To Englyshe wood for to gone. Now lith[686] and lysten, gentylmen, That of myrthes loveth to here: Two of them were single men, The third had a wedded fere.[687]20 Wyllyam was the wedded man, Muche more then was hys care: He sayde to hys brethren upon a day, To Carleile he would fare;[688] For to speke with fayre Alyce his wife,25 And with hys chyldren thre. By my trouth, sayde Adam Bel, Not by the counsell of me: For if ye go to Carlile, brother, And from thys wylde wode wende,[689]30 If that the justice may you take, Your lyfe were at an ende. If that I come not to-morowe, brother, By pryme[690] to you agayne, Truste you then that I am 'taken,'[691]35 Or else that I am slayne. He toke hys leave of hys brethren two, And to Carlile he is gon: There he knocked at his owne windòwe Shortlye and anone.40 Wher be you, fayre Alyce, he sayd, My wife and chyldren three? Lyghtly let in thyne owne husbànde, Wyllyam of Cloudeslee. Alas! then sayde fayre Alyce,45 And syghed wonderous sore, Thys place hath ben besette for you Thys halfe a yere and more. Now am I here, sayde Cloudeslee, I would that in I were.50 Now fetche us meate and drynke ynoughe, And let us make good chere. She fetched hym meate and drynke plentye, Lyke a true wedded wyfe; And pleased hym with that she had,55 Whome she loved as her lyfe. There lay an old wyfe in that place, A lytle besyde the fyre, Whych Wyllyam had found of charytyè More than seven yere.60 Up she rose, and forth shee goes, Evill mote[692] shee speede therfore; For shee had sett no foote on ground In seven yere before. She went unto the justice hall,65 As fast as she could hye: Thys night, shee sayd, is come to town Wyllyam of Cloudeslyè. Thereof the justice was full fayne,[693] And so was the shirife also.70 Thou shalt not trauaile hither, dame, for nought, Thy meed thou shalt have ere thou go. They gave to her a ryght good goune, Of scarlate, 'and of graine': She toke the gyft, and home she wente,75 And couched her doune agayne. They raysed the towne of mery Carleile In all the haste they can; And came thronging to Wyllyames house, As fast as they might gone.80 There they besette that good yemàn Round about on every syde: Wyllyam hearde great noyse of folkes, That thither-ward fast hyed. Alyce opened a backe wyndòwe,[694]85 And loked all aboute, She was ware of the justice and shirife bothe, Wyth a full great route.[695] Alas! treason, cryed Alyce, Ever wo may thou be!90 Goe into my chamber, my husband, she sayd, Swete Wyllyam of Cloudeslee. He toke hys sword and hys bucler, Hys bow and hys chyldren thre, And wente into hys strongest chamber,95 Where he thought surest to be. Fayre Alyce, like a lover true, Took a pollaxe in her hande: Said, He shall dye that cometh in Thys dore, whyle I may stand.100 Cloudeslee bente a right good bowe, That was of a trusty tre, He smot the justise on the brest, That hys arowe burst in three. 'A' curse on his harte, saide William,105 Thys day thy cote dyd on! If it had ben no better then myne, It had gone nere thy bone. Yelde the Cloudeslè, sayd the justise, And thy bowe and thy arrowes the fro.[696]110 'A' curse on hys hart, sayd fair Alyce, That my husband councelleth so. Set fyre on the house, saide the sherife, Syth it wyll no better be, And brenne[697] we therin William, he saide,115 Hys wyfe and chyldren thre. They fyred the house in many a place, The fyre flew up on hye: Alas! then cryed fayre Alìce, I se we here shall dye.120 William openyd a backe wyndòw, That was in hys chamber hie, And there with sheetes he did let downe His wyfe and children three. Have you here my treasure, sayde William,125 My wyfe and my chyldren thre: For Christès love do them no harme, But wreke you all on me. Wyllyam shot so wonderous well, Tyll hys arrowes were all agoe,130 And the fyre so fast upon hym fell, That hys bowstryng brent[698] in two. The sparkles brent and fell upon Good Wyllyam of Cloudeslè: Than was he a wofull man, and sayde,135 Thys is a cowardes death to me. Leever[699] had I, sayde Wyllyam, With my sworde in the route to renne,[700] Then here among myne enemyes wode[701] Thus cruelly to bren.140 He toke hys sword and hys buckler, And among them all he ran, Where the people were most in prece,[702] He smot downe many a man. There myght no man abyde hys stroakes,145 So fersly[703] on them he ran: Then they threw wyndowes, and dores on him, And so toke that good yemàn. There they hym bounde both hand and fote, And in a deepe dungeon him cast:150 Now Cloudesle, sayd the justice,[704] Thou shalt be hanged in hast. 'A payre of new gallowes, sayd the sherife,[705] Now shal I for thee make;' And the gates of Carleil shal be shutte:155 No man shal come in therat. Then shall not helpe Clym of the Cloughe, Nor yet shall Adam Bell, Though they came with a thousand mo, Nor all the devels in hell.160 Early in the mornynge the justice uprose, To the gates first can he gone, And commaunded to be shut full close Lightilè[706] everych-one. Then went he to the markett place,165 As fast as he coulde hye; There a payre of new gallowes he set up Besyde the pyllorye. A lytle boy 'among them asked,' What meaned that gallow-tre?170 They sayde to hange a good yemàn, Called Wyllyam of Cloudeslè. That lytle boye was the towne swyne-heard, And kept fayre Alyces swyne; Oft he had seene William in the wodde,175 And geuen hym there to dyne. He went out att a crevis of the wall, And lightly to the woode dyd gone; There met he with these wightye[707] yemen[708] Shortly and anone.180 Alas! then sayde the lytle boye, Ye tary here all too longe; Cloudeslee is taken, and dampned[709] to death, And readye for to honge.[710] Alas! then sayd good Adam Bell,185 That ever we saw thys daye! He had better have tarryed with us, So ofte as we dyd hym praye. He myght have dwelt in grene forèste, Under the shadowes greene,[711]190 And have kepte both hym and us att reste, Out of all trouble and teene.[712] Adam bent a ryght good bow, A great hart sone hee had slayne: Take that, chylde, he sayde, to thy dynner,195 And bryng me myne arrowe agayne. Now go we hence, sayed these wightye yeomen,[713] Tarry we no longer here; We shall hym borowe[714] by God his grace, Though we buy itt full dere.200 To Caerleil wente these bold yemen, All in a mornyng of maye. Here is a FYT of Cloudeslye, And another is for to saye.
PART THE SECOND.
And when they came to mery Carleile, All in 'the' mornyng tyde, They founde the gates shut them untyll[715] About on every syde. Alas! then sayd good Adam Bell,5 That ever we were made men! These gates be shut so wonderous fast, We may not come therein. Then bespake him Clym of the Clough, Wyth a wyle we wyl us in bryng;10 Let us saye we be messengers, Streyght come nowe from our king. Adam said, I have a letter written, Now let us wysely werke, We wyl saye we have the kynges seale;15 I holde the porter no clerke. Then Adam Bell bete on the gates With strokes great and stronge: The porter marveiled, who was therat, And to the gates he thronge.[716]20 Who is there now, sayde the porter, That maketh all thys knockinge? We be tow messengers, quoth Clim of the Clough, Be come ryght from our kyng. We have a letter, sayd Adam Bel,25 To the justice we must itt bryng; Let us in our message to do, That we were agayne to the kyng. Here commeth none in, sayd the porter, By hym that dyed on a tre,30 Tyll a false thefe be hanged, Called Wyllyam of Cloudeslè. Then spake the good yeman Clym of the Clough, And swore by Mary fre, And if that we stande long wythout,35 Like a thefe hanged shalt thou be. Lo! here we have the kynges seale: What, Lurden,[717] art thou wode?[718][719] The porter went[720] it had ben so, And lyghtly dyd off hys hode.[721]40 Welcome is my lordes seale, he saide; For that ye shall come in. He opened the gate full shortlye: An euyl openyng for him. Now are we in, sayde Adam Bell,45 Wherof we are full faine;[722] But Christ he knowes, that harowed[723] hell, How we shall com out agayne. Had we the keys, said Clim of the Clough, Ryght wel then shoulde we spede,50 Then might we come out wel ynough When we se tyme and nede. They called the porter to counsell, And wrang his necke in two, And caste hym in a depe dungeon,55 And toke hys keys hym fro. Now am I porter, sayd Adam Bel, Se brother the keys are here, The worst porter to merry Carleile That 'the' had thys hundred yere.60 And now wyll we our bowes bend, Into the towne wyll we go, For to delyuer our dere brothèr, That lyeth in care and wo. Then they bent theyr good ewe bowes,65 And loked theyr stringes were round,[724] The markett place in mery Carleile They beset that stound.[725] And, as they loked them besyde, A paire of new galowes 'they' see,70 And the justice with a quest[726] of squyers, That judged William hanged to be. And Cloudeslè lay redy there in a cart, Fast bound both fote and hand; And a stronge rop about hys necke,75 All readye for to hange. The justice called to him a ladde, Cloudeslees clothes hee shold have, To take the measure of that yemàn, Therafter to make hys grave.80 I have sene as great mervaile, said Cloudesle, As betweyne thys and pryme, He that maketh a grave for mee, Hymselfe may lye therin. Thou speakest proudlye, said the justice,85 I will thee hange with my hande. Full wel herd this his brethren two, There styll as they dyd stande. Then Cloudeslè cast his eyen asyde, And saw hys 'brethren twaine'90 At a corner of the market place, Redy the justice for to slaine. I se comfort, sayd Cloudeslè, Yet hope I well to fare, If I might have my handes at wyll95 Ryght lytle wolde I care. Then spake good Adam Bell To Clym of the Clough so free, Brother, se you marke the justyce wel; Lo! yonder you may him se:100 And at the shyrife shote I wyll Strongly wyth an arrowe kene; A better shote in mery Carleile Thys seven yere was not sene. They loosed their arrowes both at once,[727]105 Of no man had they dread; The one hyt the justice, the other the sheryfe, That both theyr sides gan blede.[728] All men voyded,[729] that them stode nye, When the justice fell to the grounde,110 And the sherife nye hym by; Eyther had his deathes wounde. All the citezens fast gan flye, They durst no longer abyde: There lyghtly they losed Cloudeslee,115 Where he with ropes lay tyde. Wyllyam start to an officer of the towne, Hys axe 'from' hys hand he wronge, On eche syde he smote them downe, Hee thought he taryed to long.120 Wyllyam sayde to hys brethren two, Thys daye let us lyve and die, If ever you have nede, as I have now, The same shall you finde by me. They shot so well in that tyde,125 Theyr stringes were of silke ful sure, That they kept the stretes on every side; That batayle did long endure. They fought together as brethren true, Lyke hardy men and bolde,130 Many a man to the ground they threw, And many a herte made colde. But when their arrowes were all gon, Men preced[730] to them full fast, They drew theyr swordès then anone,135 And theyr bowes from them cast. They went lyghtlye on theyr way, Wyth swordes and buclers round; By that it was mydd of the day, They made many a wound.140 There was an out-horne[731] in Carleil blowen, And the belles backwàrd dyd ryng, Many a woman sayde, Alas! And many theyr handes dyd wryng. The mayre of Carleile forth com was,145 Wyth hym a ful great route:[732] These yemen dred hym full sore, Of theyr lyves they stode in great doute.[733][734] The mayre came armed a full great pace, With a pollaxe in hys hande;150 Many a strong man wyth him was, There in that stowre[735] to stande. The mayre smot at Cloudeslee with his bil,[736] Hys bucler he brast[737] in two, Full many a yeman with great evyll,155 Alas! Treason they cryed for wo. Kepe well the gates fast, they bad, That these traytours therout not go. But al for nought was that they wrought, For so fast they downe were layde,160 Tyll they all thre, that so manfulli fought, Were gotten without, abraide.[738] Have here your keys, sayd Adam Bel, Myne office I here forsake, And yf you do by my counsell165 A new porter do ye make. He threw theyr keys at theyr heads, And bad them well to thryve,[739] And all that letteth any good yeman To come and comfort his wyfe.170 Thus be these good yeman gon to the wod As lyghtly, as lefe on lynde;[740] The lough and be mery in theyr mode, Theyr enemyes were ferr behynd. When they came to Englyshe wode,[741]175 Under the trusty tre, There they found bowes full good, And arrowes full great plentye. So God me help, sayd Adam Bell, And Clym of the Clough so fre,180 I would we were in mery Carleile, Before that fayre meynye.[742] They set them downe, and made good chere, And eate and dranke full well. A second FYT of the wightye yeomen:[743]185 Another I wyll you tell.
PART THE THIRD.
As they sat in Englyshe wood, Under the green-wode tre, They thought they herd a woman wepe, But her they mought[744] not se. Sore then syghed the fayre Alyce:5 'That ever I sawe thys day!' For nowe is my dere husband slayne: Alas! and wel-a-way! Myght I have spoken wyth hys dere brethren, Or with eyther of them twayne,10 To show them what him befell, My hart were out of payne. Cloudeslè walked a lytle beside, He looked under the grene wood lynde, He was ware of his wife, and chyldren three,15 Full wo in harte and mynde. Welcome, wyfe, then sayde Wyllyam, Under 'this' trusti tre: I had wende[745] yesterday, by swete saynt John, Thou sholdest me never 'have' se.[746]20 "Now well is me that ye be here, My harte is out of wo." Dame, he sayde, be mery and glad, And thanke my brethren two. Herof to speake, said Adam Bell,25 I-wis it is no bote: The meate, that we must supp withall, It runneth yet fast on fote. Then went they downe into a launde,[747] These noble archares all thre;30 Eche of them slew a hart of greece,[748] The best that they cold se. Have here the best, Alyce, my wyfe, Sayde Wyllyam of Cloudeslye; By cause ye so bouldly stode by me35 When I was slayne full nye. Then went they to suppère Wyth suche meate as they had; And thanked God of ther fortune: They were both mery and glad.40 And when they had supped well, Certayne withouten lease,[749] Cloudeslè sayd, We wyll to our kyng, To get us a charter of peace. Alyce shal be at our sojournyng45 In a nunnery here besyde; My tow sonnes shall wyth her go, And there they shall abyde. Myne eldest son shall go wyth me; For hym have 'you' no care:[750]50 And he shall bring you worde agayn, How that we do fare. Thus be these yemen to London gone, As fast as they myght 'he,'[751] Tyll they came to the kynges pallàce,55 Where they woulde nedes be. And whan they came to the kynges courte, Unto the pallace gate, Of no man wold they aske no leave, But boldly went in therat.60 They preced prestly[752] into the hall, Of no man had they dreade: The porter came after, and dyd them call, And with them began to chyde. The usher sayde, Yemen, what wold ye have?65 I pray you tell to me: You myght thus make offycers shent:[753] Good syrs, of whence be ye? Syr, we be out-lawes of the forest Certayne withouten lease;70 And hether we be come to the kyng, To get us a charter of peace. And whan they came before the kyng, As it was the lawe of the lande, The kneled downe without lettyng,75 And eche held up his hand. The sayed, Lord, we beseche the here, That ye wyll graunt us grace; For we have slayne your fat falow dere In many a sondry place.80 What be your nams, then said our king, Anone that you tell me? They sayd, Adam Bell, Clim of the Clough, And Wyllyam of Cloudeslè. Be ye those theves, then sayd our kyng,85 That men have tolde of to me? Here to God I make an avowe, Ye shal be hanged al thre. Ye shal be dead without mercy, As I am kynge of this lande.90 He commanded his officers everich-one, Fast on them to lay hande. There they toke these good yemen, And arested them al thre: So may I thryve, sayd Adam Bell,95 Thys game lyketh not me. But, good lorde, we beseche you now, That yee graunt us grace, Insomuche as 'frely' we be to you come, 'As frely' we may fro you passe,100 With such weapons, as we have here, Tyll we be out of your place; And yf we lyve this hundreth yere, We wyll aske you no grace. Ye speake proudly, sayd the kynge;105 Ye shall be hanged all thre. That were great pitye, then sayd the quene, If any grace myght be. My lorde, whan I came fyrst into this lande To be your wedded wyfe,110 The fyrst boone that I wold aske,[754] Ye would graunt it me belyfe:[755] And I asked you never none tyll now; Therefore good lorde, graunt it me, Now aske it, madam, sayd the kynge,115 And graunted it shal be. Then, good my lord, I you beseche, These yemen graunt ye me. Madame, ye myght have asked a boone, That shuld have been worth them all thre.120 Ye myght have asked towres, and townes, Parkes and forestes plentè. None soe pleasant to my pay,[756] shee sayd; Nor none so lefe[757] to me. Madame, sith it is your desyre,125 Your askyng graunted shal be; But I had lever have geven you Good market townes thre. The quene was a glad woman, And sayde, Lord, gramarcy:[758][759]130 I dare undertake for them, That true men shal they be. But good my lord, speke som mery word, That comfort they may se. I graunt you grace, then sayd our king;135 Washe, felos, and to meate go ye. They had not setten but a whyle Certayne without lesynge,[760] There came messengers out of the north With letters to our kyng.140 And whan the came before the kynge, They knelt downe on theyr kne; And sayd, Lord, your officers grete you well, Of Carleile in the north cuntrè. How fareth my justice, sayd the kyng,145 And my sherife also? Syr, they be slayne without leasynge, And many an officer mo. Who hath them slayne, sayd the kyng; Anone that thou tell me?150 "Adam Bell, and Clime of the Clough, And Wyllyam of Cloudeslè." Alas for rewth![761] then sayd our kynge: My hart is wonderous sore; I had lever[762] than a thousande pounde,155 I had knowne of thys before; For I have graunted them grace, And that forthynketh[763] me: But had I knowne all thys before, They had been hanged all thre.160 The kyng hee opened the letter anone, Himselfe he red it thro, And founde how these outlawes had slain Thre hundred men and mo: Fyrst the justice, and the sheryfe,165 And the mayre of Carleile towne; Of all the constables and catchipolles Alyve were 'scant' left one:[764] The baylyes, and the bedyls both, And the sergeauntes of the law,170 And forty fosters of the fe,[765] These outlawes had yslaw:[766] And broke his parks, and slayne his dere; Of all they chose the best; So perelous out-lawes, as they were,175 Walked not by easte nor west. When the kynge this letter had red, In hys harte he syghed sore: Take up the tables anone he bad, For I may eat no more.180 The kyng called hys best archars To the buttes wyth hym to go: I wyll se these felowes shote, he sayd, In the north have wrought this wo. The kynges bowmen buske them blyve,[767][768]185 And the quenes archers also; So dyd these thre wyghtye yemen; With them they thought to go. There twyse, or thryse they shote about For to assay theyr hande;190 There was no shote these yemen shot, That any prycke[769] myght stand. Then spake Wyllyam of Cloudeslè; By him that for me dyed, I hold hym never no good archar,195 That shoteth at buttes so wyde. 'At what a butte now wold ye shote,' I pray thee tell to me? At suche a but, syr, he sayd, As men use in my countree.200 Wyllyam wente into a fyeld, And 'with him' his two brethren:[770] There they set up two hasell roddes[771][770] Twenty score paces betwene.[772] I hold him an archar, said Cloudeslè,205 That yonder wande cleveth in two. Here is none suche, sayd the kyng, Nor no man can so do.[773] I shall assaye, syr, sayd Cloudeslè, Or that I farther go.210 Cloudesly with a bearyng arowe[774] Clave the wand in two.[770] Thou art the best archer, then said the king, Forsothe that ever I se. And yet for your love, sayd Wyllyam,215 I wyll do more maystery.[775] I have a sonne is seven yere olde, He is to me full deare; I wyll hym tye to a stake; All shall se, that be here;220 And lay an apple upon hys head, And go syxe score paces hym fro,[776] And I my selfe with a brode aròw Shall cleve the apple in two. Now haste the, then sayd the kyng,225 By hym that dyed on a tre, But yf thou do not, as thou hest sayde, Hanged shalt thou be. And thou touche his head or gowne, In fyght that men may se,230 By all the sayntes that be in heaven, I shall hange you all thre. That I have promised, said William, That I wyll never forsake. And there even before the kynge235 In the earth he drove a stake: And bound thereto his eldest sonne, And bad hym stand styll thereat; And turned the childes face him fro, Because he should not start.240 An apple upon his head he set, And then his bowe he bent: Syxe score paces they were meaten,[777] And thether Cloudeslè went. There he drew out a fayr brode arrowe,245 Hys bowe was great and longe, He set that arrowe in his bowe, That was both styffe and stronge He prayed the people, that wer there, That they 'all still wold' stand,250 For he that shoteth for such a wager, Behoveth a stedfast hand.[778] Muche people prayed for Cloudeslè, That his lyfe saved myght be, And whan he made hym redy to shote,255 There was many weeping ee. 'But' Cloudeslè clefte the apple in two, 'His sonne he did not nee.'[779] Over Gods forbode, sayde the kinge, That thou shold shote at me.260 I geve thee eightene pence a day, And my bowe shalt thou bere, And over all the north countrè I make the chyfe rydère.[780] And I thyrtene pence a day, said the quene,[781]265 By God, and by my fay;[782] Come feche thy payment when thou wylt, No man shall say the nay. Wyllyam, I make the a gentleman Of clothyng, and of fe:270 And thy two brethren, yemen of my chambre, For they are so semely to se. Your sonne, for he is tendre of age, Of my wyne-seller he shall be; And when he commeth to mans estate,275 Better avaunced shall he be. And, Wyllyam, bring me your wife, said the quene, Me longeth her sore to se: She shall be my chefe gentlewoman, To governe my nurserye.280 The yemen thanked them all curteously. To some byshop wyl we wend,[783] Of all the synnes, that we have done, To be assoyld[784] at his hand. So forth be gone these good yemen,285 As fast as they might 'he[785]'; And after came and dwelled with the kynge, And dyed good men all thre. Thus endeth the lives of these good yemen; God send them eternall blysse;290 And all, that with a hand-bowe shoteth: That of heven may never mysse. Amen.
FOOTNOTES:
II. THE AGED LOVER RENOUNCETH LOVE.
The Grave-digger's song in Hamlet, act v. is taken from three stanzas of the following poem, though greatly altered and disguised, as the same were corrupted by the ballad-singers of Shakespeare's time; or perhaps so designed by the poet himself, the better to suit the character of an illiterate clown. The original is preserved among Surrey's Poems, and is attributed to Lord Vaux, by George Gascoigne, who tells us, it "was thought by some to be made upon his death-bed;" a popular error which he laughs at. (See his Epist. to Yong Gent. prefixed to his Posies, 1575, 4to.) It is also ascribed to Lord Vaux in a manuscript copy preserved in the British Museum.[786] This Lord was remarkable for his skill in drawing feigned manners, &c. for so I understand an ancient writer. "The Lord Vaux his commendation lyeth chiefly in the facilitie of his meetre, and the aptnesse of his descriptions such as he taketh upon him to make, namely in sundry of his Songs, wherein he showeth the counterfait action very lively and pleasantly." Arte of Eng. Poesie, 1589, p. 51. See another Song by this Poet in vol. ii. No. viii.
[Thomas second Lord Vaux, the author of this poem, was born in the year 1510. He wrote several small pieces of the same character which evince taste and feeling, and his contributions to the Paradise of Dainty Devices exceed in number those of Richard Edwards himself, whose name appears upon the original title-page as the chief author. Lord Vaux was a courtier as well as a poet, and was one of the splendid retinue which attended Wolsey in his embassy, in the 19th Henry VIII., 1527, to the Court of France to negotiate a peace. He took his seat in the House of Lords in the 22nd Henry VIII., and two years afterwards, 1532, waited on the king to Calais and thence to Boulogne. He was rewarded with the Order of the Bath at the Coronation of Anne Boleyn, and was also appointed Captain of the Island of Jersey, which office he surrendered in the 28th Henry VIII.]
I loth that I did love, In youth that I thought swete, As time requires: for my behove[787] Me thinkes they are not mete.[788] My lustes they do me leave,5 My fansies all are fled;[789] And tract of time begins to weave Gray heares upon my hed. For Age with steling steps, Hath clawde me with his crowch,[790][791]10 And lusty 'Youthe' awaye he leapes,[792] As there had bene none such. My muse doth not delight Me, as she did before: My hand and pen are not in plight,15 As they have bene of yore. For Reason me denies, 'All' youthly idle rime;[793] And day by day to me she cries, Leave off these toyes in tyme.20 The wrinkles in my brow, The furrowes in my face Say, Limping age will 'lodge' him now,[794] Where youth must geve him place. The harbenger of death,25 To me I se him ride, The cough, the cold, the gasping breath, Doth bid me to provide A pikeax and a spade, And eke a shrowding shete,[795]30 A house of clay for to be made For such a guest most mete. Me thinkes I heare the clarke, That knoles the carefull knell;[796] And bids me leave my 'wearye' warke,[797]35 Ere nature me compell. My kepers[798] knit the knot, That youth doth laugh to scorne,[799] Of me that 'shall bee cleane' forgot,[800] As I had 'ne'er' bene borne.[801]40 Thus must I youth geve up, Whose badge I long did weare: To them I yeld the wanton cup, That better may it beare. Lo here the bared skull;[802]45 By whose balde signe I know, That stouping age away shall pull 'What' youthful yeres did sow.[803] For Beautie with her band, These croked cares had wrought,50 And shipped me into the land, From whence I first was brought. And ye that bide behinde, Have ye none other trust: As ye of claye were cast by kinde,55 So shall ye 'turne' to dust.[804]
FOOTNOTES:
III. JEPHTHAH JUDGE OF ISRAEL.
In Shakespeare's Hamlet, act ii. the hero of the play takes occasion to banter Polonius with some scraps of an old Ballad, which has never appeared yet in any collection: for which reason, as it is but short, it will not perhaps be unacceptable to the reader; who will also be diverted with the pleasant absurdities of the composition. It was retrieved from utter oblivion by a lady, who wrote it down from memory as she had formerly heard it sung by her father. I am indebted for it to the friendship of Mr. Steevens.
It has been said, that the original Ballad, in black-letter, is among Anthony à Wood's Collections in the Ashmolean Museum. But, upon application lately made, the volume which contained this Song was missing, so that it can only now be given as in the former Edition.
The Banter of Hamlet is as follows:
"Hamlet. 'O Jeptha, Judge of Israel,' what a treasure hadst thou?
Polonius. What a treasure had he, my Lord?
Ham. Why, 'One faire daughter, and no more, the which he loved passing well.'
Polon. Still on my daughter.
Ham. Am not I i' th' right, old Jeptha?
Polon. If you call me Jeptha, my Lord, I have a daughter, that I love passing well.
Ham. Nay, that follows not.
Polon. What follows then, my Lord?
Ham. Why, 'As by lot, God wot:' and then you know, 'It came to passe, As most like it was.' The first row of the pious chanson will shew you more."—Act ii. sc. 2.
[A more perfect copy of this ballad was reprinted by Evans in his Collection of Old Ballads from a black-letter broadside, and is included by Child in his Collection of English and Scottish Ballads (vol. viii. p. 198).
The wording is rather different in the two versions, and Evans's has two additional stanzas. It does not appear that anything is left out at line 18 of Percy's version, but in place of the stars at line 41 Evans's copy reads—
"A sacrifice to God on high; My promise must be finishéd."]
Have you not heard these many years ago Jeptha was judge of Israel? He had one only daughter and no mo, The which he loved passing well: And, as by lott,5 God wot, It so came to pass, As Gods will was, That great wars there should be, And none should be chosen chief but he10 And when he was appointed judge, And chieftain of the company, A solemn vow to God he made; If he returned with victory, At his return15 To burn The first live thing, * * * * * That should meet with him then, Off his house, when he should return agen.20 It came to pass, the wars was oer, And he returned with victory; His dear and only daughter first of all Came to meet her father foremostly: And all the way25 She did play On tabret and pipe, Full many a stripe, With note so high, For joy that her father is come so nigh.30 But when he saw his daughter dear Coming on most foremostly, He wrung his hands, and tore his hair, And cryed out most piteously; Oh! it's thou, said he,35 That have brought me Low, And troubled me so, That I know not what to do. For I have made a vow, he sed, The which must be replenished:40 * * * * * "What thou hast spoke Do not revoke: What thou hast said, Be not affraid;45 Altho' it be I; Keep promises to God on high. But, dear father, grant me one request, That I may go to the wilderness, Three months there with my friends to stay;50 There to bewail my virginity; And let there be, Said she, Some two or three Young maids with me."55 So he sent her away, For to mourn, for to mourn, till her dying day.
IV. A ROBYN JOLLY ROBYN.
In his Twelfth Night, Shakespeare introduces the clown singing part of the two first stanzas of the following Song; which has been recovered from an antient MS. of Dr. Harrington's at Bath, preserved among the many literary treasures transmitted to the ingenious and worthy possessor by a long line of most respectable ancestors. Of these only a small part hath been printed in the Nugæ Antiquæ, 3 vols. 12mo; a work which the publick impatiently wishes to see continued.
The song is thus given by Shakespeare, act iv. sc. 2:—
"Clown. 'Hey Robin, jolly Robin. [singing.] Tell me how thy lady does.' Malvolio. Fool—— Clown. 'My lady is unkind, perdy.' Malvolio. Fool—— Clown. 'Alas, why is she so?' Malvolio. Fool, I say—— Clown. 'She loves another.'—Who calls, ha?"
Dr. Farmer has conjectured that the song should begin thus:
"Hey, jolly Robin, tell to me How does thy lady do? My lady is unkind perdy— Alas, why is she so?"
But this ingenious emendation is now superseded by the proper readings of the old song itself, which is here printed from what appears the most ancient of Dr. Harrington's poetical MSS. and which has, therefore, been marked No. I. (Scil. p. 68.) That volume seems to have been written in the reign of King Henry VIII. and, as it contains many of the Poems of Sir Thomas Wyat, hath had almost all the contents attributed to him by marginal directions written with an old but later hand, and not always rightly, as, I think, might be made appear by other good authorities. Among the rest this song is there attributed to Sir Thomas Wyat also; but the discerning reader will probably judge it to belong to a more obsolete writer.
In the old MS. to the 3rd and 5th stanzas is prefixed this title, Responce, and to the 4th and 6th, Le Plaintif; but in the last instance so evidently wrong, that it was thought better to omit these titles, and to mark the changes of the Dialogue by inverted commas. In other respects the MS. is strictly followed, except where noted in the margin.—Yet the first stanza appears to be defective, and it should seem that a line is wanting, unless the four first words were lengthened in the tune.
A Robyn, Jolly Robyn, Tell me how thy leman[805] doeth, And thou shalt knowe of myn.[806] 'My lady is unkynde perde.'[807]5 Alack! why is she so? 'She loveth an other better than me; And yet she will say no.' I fynde no such doublenes: I fynde women true.10 My lady loveth me dowtles, And will change for no newe. 'Thou art happy while that doeth last; But I say, as I fynde, That women's love is but a blast,15 And torneth with the wynde.' Suche folkes can take no harme by love, That can abide their torn.[808] 'But I alas can no way prove In love but lake and morn.'20 But if thou wilt avoyde thy harme Lerne this lessen of me, At others fieres thy selfe to warme, And let them warme with the.
FOOTNOTES:
V. A SONG TO THE LUTE IN MUSICKE.
This sonnet (which is ascribed to Richard Edwards,[809] in the Paradise of Daintie Devises, fo. 31, b.) is by Shakespeare made the subject of some pleasant ridicule in his Romeo and Juliet, act iv. sc. 5, where he introduces Peter putting this question to the musicians.
"Peter ... why 'Silver Sound?' why 'Musicke with her silver sound?' what say you, Simon Catling?
I. Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.
Pet. Pretty! what say you, Hugh Rebecke?
2. Mus. I say, silver sound, because musicians sound for silver.
Pet. Pretty too! what say you, James Sound-post.
3. Mus. Faith, I know not what to say.
Pet. ... I will say for you: It is 'Musicke with her silver sound,' because musicians have no gold for sounding."
This ridicule is not so much levelled at the song itself (which for the time it was written is not inelegant) as at those forced and unnatural explanations often given by us painful editors and expositors of ancient authors.
This copy is printed from an old quarto MS. in the Cotton Library (Vesp. A. 25), intitled, "Divers things of Hen. viij's time:" with some corrections from The Paradise of Dainty Devises, 1596.
[Richard Edwards, one of the chief contributors to the Paradise of Dainty Devises, was a facile and elegant poet much appreciated by his contemporaries but unjustly neglected now. Meres in his Wits Treasury, 1598, praises him, as "one of the best for comedy," and Puttenham gives him the same commendation. Thomas Twyne and George Turberville, wrote epitaphs upon him, and the latter says in the terms of unmeasured eulogy then fashionable—
"From Plautus he the palme and learned Terence won."
Edwards was born in Somersetshire about 1523, was educated at Oxford, and, in 1561, was constituted by Queen Elizabeth a Gentleman of the Royal Chapel and Master of the Singing Boys there. He attended the Queen on her visit to Oxford in 1566, and was employed to compose a play called Palamon and Arcite, which was acted before her Majesty in Christ Church Hall.]
Where gripinge grefes the hart would wounde, And dolefulle dumps[810] the mynde oppresse, There musicke with her silver sound With spede is wont to send redresse: Of trobled mynds, in every sore,5 Swete musicke hathe a salve in store. In joye yt maks our mirthe abounde, In woe yt cheres our hevy sprites; Be-strawghted[811] heads relyef hath founde, By musickes pleasaunt swete delightes:10 Our senses all, what shall I say more? Are subjecte unto musicks lore. The Gods by musicke have theire prayse; The lyfe, the soul therein doth joye: For, as the Romayne poet sayes,15 In seas, whom pyrats would destroy, A dolphin saved from death most sharpe Arion playing on his harpe. O heavenly gyft, that rules the mynd, Even as the sterne dothe rule the shippe!20 O musicke, whom the gods assinde To comforte manne, whom cares would nippe! Since thow both man and beste doest move, What beste ys he, wyll the[812] disprove?
FOOTNOTES:
VI. KING COPHETUA AND THE BEGGAR-MAID
Is a story often alluded to by our old Dramatic Writers. Shakespeare, in his Romeo and Juliet, act ii. sc. 1, makes Mercutio say,
----"Her (Venus's) purblind son and heir, Young Adam[813] Cupid, he that shot so true, When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid."
As the 13th line of the following ballad seems here particularly alluded to, it is not improbable but Shakespeare wrote it shot so trim, which the players or printers, not perceiving the allusion, might alter to true. The former, as being the more humorous expression, seems most likely to have come from the mouth of Mercutio.[814]
In the 2d Part of Hen. IV. A. 5, Sc. 3, Falstaff is introduced affectedly saying to Pistoll,
"O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news? Let king Cophetua know the truth thereof."
These lines, Dr. Warburton thinks, were taken from an old bombast play of King Cophetua. No such play is, I believe, now to be found; but it does not therefore follow that it never existed. Many dramatic pieces are referred to by old writers,[815] which are not now extant, or even mentioned in any list. In the infancy of the stage, plays were often exhibited that were never printed.
It is probably in allusion to the same play that Ben Jonson says, in his Comedy of Every Man in his Humour, A. 3, Sc. 4:
"I have not the heart to devour thee, an' I might be made as rich as King Cophetua."
At least there is no mention of King Cophetua's riches in the present ballad, which is the oldest I have met with on the subject.
It is printed from Rich. Johnson's Crown Garland of Goulden Roses, 1612,[816] 12mo. (where it is intitled simply A Song of a Beggar and a King:) corrected by another copy.
[In the Collection of Old Ballads, 1723 (vol. i. p. 138) there is a ballad on the same subject as the following popular one. It is entitled "Cupid's Revenge, or an account of a king who slighted all women, and at length was constrained to marry a beggar, who proved a fair and virtuous queen."]
I read that once in Affrica A princely wight[817] did raine, Who had to name Cophetua, As poets they did faine: From natures lawes he did decline,5 For sure he was not of my mind, He cared not for women-kinde, But did them all disdaine. But, marke, what hapned on a day, As he out of his window lay,10 He saw a beggar all in gray, The which did cause his paine. The blinded boy, that shootes so trim,[818] From heaven downe did hie; He drew a dart and shot at him,15 In place where he did lye: Which soone did pierse him to the quicke, And when he felt the arrow pricke, Which in his tender heart did sticke, He looketh as he would dye.20 What sudden chance is this, quoth he, That I to love must subject be, Which never thereto would agree, But still did it defie? Then from the 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 meanes to crave her love, And now he seekes which way to proove30 How he his fancie might remoove, And not this beggar wed. But Cupid had him so in snare, That this poor begger must prepare A salve to cure him of his care,35 Or els he would be dead. And, as he musing thus did lye, He thought for to devise How he might have her companye, 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 begger knowes When she the king espies. The gods preserve your majesty, The beggers all gan cry:50 Vouchsafe to give your charity Our childrens food to buy. The king to them his pursse 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 againe, And unto her he gave his chaine; And said, With us you shal remaine Till such time as we dye:60 For thou, quoth he, shalt be my wife, And honoured for my queene; With thee I meane to lead my life, As shortly shall be seene: Our wedding shall appointed be,65 And every thing in its degree: Come on, quoth he, and follow me, Thou shalt go shift thee cleane. What is thy name, faire maid? quoth he. Penelophon,[819] O king, quoth she:70 With that she made a lowe courtsèy; A trim one as I weene. Thus hand in hand along they walke Unto the king's pallàce: The king with courteous comly talke75 This begger doth imbrace: The begger blusheth scarlet red, 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 doe rejoyce That you wil take me for your choyce, And my degree's so base. And when the wedding day was come,85 The king commanded strait The noblemen both all and some Upon the queene to wait. And she behaved herself that day, As if she had never walkt the way;[820]90 She had forgot her gowne of gray, Which she did weare of late. The proverbe old is come to passe, The priest, when he begins his masse, Forgets that ever clerke he was;95 He knowth not his estate. Here you may read, Cophetua, Though long time fancie-fed, Compelled by the blinded boy The begger for to wed:100 He that did lovers lookes disdaine, To do the same was glad and faine, Or else he would himselfe have slaine, In storie, as we read. Disdaine no whit, O lady deere,[821]105 But pitty now thy servant heere, Least that it hap to thee this yeare, As to that king it did. And thus they led a quiet life During their princely raigne;110 And in a tombe were buried both, As writers sheweth plaine.[822] The lords they tooke it grievously, The ladies tooke it heavily, The commons cryed pitiously,115 Their death to them was paine, Their fame did sound so passingly, That it did pierce the starry sky, And throughout all the world did flye To every princes realme.[823]120
FOOTNOTES:
VII. TAKE THY OLD CLOAK ABOUT THEE,
Is supposed to have been originally a Scotch ballad. The reader here has an ancient copy in the English idiom, with an additional stanza (the 2d.) never before printed. This curiosity is preserved in the Editor's folio MS. but not without corruptions, which are here removed by the assistance of the Scottish Edit. Shakespeare, in his Othello, act ii. has quoted one stanza, with some variations, which are here adopted: the old MS. readings of that stanza are however given in the margin.
[The Scottish version referred to above was printed in Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany, and the king mentioned on line 49 is there named Robert instead of Stephen. He is King Harry in the folio MS.
The "corruptions" to which Percy alludes are all noted at the foot of the page, and in one instance at least (line 15) the MS. gives an important new reading. Mr. Hales thinks that the MS. version is the oldest form of the ballad, because the definite mention of the court looks more original than the use of the general term of town, and he says, "the poem naturally grew vaguer as it grew generally popular."[824]
Besides the reference to this ballad in Othello mentioned by Percy above, Mr. Hales has pointed out to me another evident allusion in the Tempest, act iv. sc. 1, where Trinculo says,
"O King Stephano, O Peere: O worthy Stephano, Looke what a wardrobe here is for thee."
(Folio 1623, Booth's ed. p. 15, col. 2.)
The cloak that had been in wear for forty-four years was likely to be a sorry clout at the end of that time, but the clothes of all classes were then expected to last from year to year without renewal. Woollen cloths were of old the chief material of male and female attire. When new the nap was very long, and after being worn for some time, it was customary to have it shorn, a process which was repeated as often as the stuff would bear it. Thus we find the Countess of Leicester (Eleanor third daughter of King John, and wife of Simon de Montfort) in 1265, sending Hicque the tailor to London to get her robes re-shorn.[825]]
This winters weather itt waxeth cold, And frost doth freese on every hill, And Boreas blowes his blasts soe bold, That all our cattell are like to spill;[826] Bell my wiffe, who loves noe strife,5 She sayd unto me quietlye, Rise up, and save cow Crumbockes liffe, Man, put thine old cloake about thee.
He.
O Bell, why dost thou flyte[827] 'and scorne'?[828] Thou kenst my cloak is very thin:[829]10 Itt is soe bare and overworne A cricke[830] he theron cannot renn:[831] Then Ile noe longer borrowe nor lend, 'For once Ile new appareld bee,[832] To-morrow Ile to towne and spend,'15 For Ile have a new cloake about mee.
She.
Cow Crumbocke is a very good cowe, Shee ha beene alwayes true to the payle, Shee has helpt us to butter and cheese, I trow, And other things shee will not fayle;20 I wold be loth to see her pine,[833] Good husband, councell take of mee,[834] It is not for us to go soe fine,[835] Man, take thine old cloake about thee.
He.
My cloake it was a verry good cloake,25 Itt hath been alwayes true to the weare, But now it is not worth a groat;[836] I have had it four and forty yeere: Sometime itt was of cloth in graine,[837] 'Tis now but a sigh clout[838] as you may see,30 It will neither hold out winde nor raine; And Ile have a new cloake about mee.
She.
It is four and fortye yeeres agoe Since the one of us the other did ken, And we have had betwixt us towe35 Of children either nine or ten; Wee have brought them up to women and men; In the feare of God I trow they bee; And why wilt thou thyselfe misken?[839] Man, take thine old cloake about thee.40
He.
O Bell my wiffe, why dost thou 'floute!'[840] Now is nowe, and then was then: Seeke now all the world throughout, Thou kenst not clownes from gentlemen. They are cladd in blacke, greene, yellowe, or 'gray',[841]45 Soe far above their owne degree: Once in my life Ile 'doe as they,'[842] For Ile have a new cloake about mee.
She.
King Stephen was a worthy peere,[843] His breeches cost him but a crowne,[844]50 He held them sixpence all too deere;[845] Therefore he calld the taylor Lowne.[846][847] He was a wight of high renowne,[848] And thouse[849] but of a low degree: Itt's pride that putts this countrye downe,55 Man, take thine old cloake about thee.
He.
'Bell my wife she loves not strife,[850] Yet she will lead me if she can; And oft, to live a quiet life, I am forced to yield, though Ime good-man:'60 Itt's not for a man with a woman to threape,[851] Unlesse he first give oer the plea: As wee began wee now will leave,[852] And Ile take mine old cloake about mee.[853]
FOOTNOTES:
VIII. WILLOW, WILLOW, WILLOW.
It is from the following stanzas that Shakespeare has taken his song of the Willow, in his Othello, act iv. sc. 3, though somewhat varied and applied by him to a female character. He makes Desdemona introduce it in this pathetic and affecting manner:
"My mother had a maid call'd Barbara: She was in love; and he, she lov'd, prov'd mad, Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd!And did forsake her. She had a Song of—Willow. An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune, And she died singing it."
This is given from a black-letter copy in the Pepys collection, thus intitled, A Lover's Complaint, being forsaken of his Love. To a pleasant tune.
["Willow, willow" was a favourite burden for songs in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and one of John Heywood's songs has the following—
"All a grene wyllow; wyllow, wyllow, wyllow, All a grene wyllow is my garland."
In the Gorgeous Gallery of Gallant Inventions (1578) there is a slightly different burden—
"Willow, willow, willow, sing all of green willow, Sing all of green willow, shall be my garland."
There is another copy of the following song in the Roxburghe Collection (i. 54, 55) printed in Roxburghe Ballads (ed. W. Chappell, 1869, Part I. p. 171). Both these are of the first half of the seventeenth century, and an earlier copy than either is printed by Mr. Chappell in his Popular Music of the Olden Time, i. 206.
Dr. Rimbault[854] has drawn attention to the following parody, dated 1668—
"A poore soule sat sighing near a ginger-bread stall, O ginger-bread O, ginger-bread O! With his hands in his pockets, his head on the wall, O ginger-bread O, ginger-bread O! You pye-wifes of Smithfield, what would ye be at! Who talks of plum-pudding? here's better than that, For here's ginger-bread O, ginger-bread O!"]
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 garlànd. 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 garlànd. 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 garlànd! 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 shall be my garlànd. 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,[855] and flote[856] 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, &c. 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 garlànd!
Part the Second.
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 garlànd! 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, &c. 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 shall be my garlànd. 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, &c. 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 shall be my garlànd. 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 garlànd.
FOOTNOTES:
IX. SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE.
This ballad is quoted in Shakespeare's second Part of Henry IV. act ii. The subject of it is taken from the ancient romance of K. Arthur (commonly called Morte Arthur) being a poetical translation of chap. cviii. cix. cx. in Pt. 1st, as they stand in ed. 1634, 4to. In the older editions the chapters are differently numbered.—This song is given from a printed copy, corrected in part by a fragment in the Editor's folio MS.
In the same play of 2 Hen. IV. Silence hums a scrap of one of the old ballads of Robin Hood. It is taken from the following stanza of Robin Hood and the Pindar of Wakefield.
"All this beheard three wighty yeomen, Twas Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John: With that they espy'd the jolly Pindàr As he sate under a thorne."
That ballad may be found on every stall, and therefore is not here reprinted.
[This is a rhymed version of some chapters in Malory's Mort d'Arthur (Book vi. of Caxton's edition), said to have been written by Thomas Deloney towards the end of Elizabeth's reign. It first occurs in the Garland of Good Will, reprinted by the Percy Society (vol. xxx.)
The ballad appears to have been highly popular, and it is quoted by Marston in the Malcontent and by Beaumont and Fletcher in the Little French Lawyer, as well as by Shakspere.
The copy in the Percy MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, 1867, vol. i. p. 84) is imperfect in two places, and lines 30 to 60, 73 to 76, and 95 to 124 are not to be found there, but with these exceptions it is much the same as the ballad printed here.]
When Arthur first in court began, And was approved king, By force of armes great victorys wanne, And conquest home did bring. Then into England straight he came5 With fifty good and able Knights, that resorted unto him, And were of his round table: And he had justs and turnaments, Whereto were many prest,[857]10 Wherin some knights did farr excell And eke surmount the rest. But one Sir Lancelot du Lake, Who was approved well, He for his deeds and feats of armes,15 All others did excell. When he had rested him a while, In play, and game, and sportt,[858] He said he wold goe prove himselfe In some adventurous sort.20 He armed rode in a forrest wide, And met a damsell faire, Who told him of adventures great, Wherto he gave great eare. Such wold I find, quoth Lancelott:25 For that cause came I hither. Thou seemst, quoth shee, a knight full good, And I will bring thee thither. Wheras a mighty knight doth dwell,[859] That now is of great fame:30 Therfore tell me what wight thou art, And what may be thy name. "My name is Lancelot du Lake." Quoth she, it likes me than:[860] Here dwelles a knight who never was35 Yet matcht with any man: Who has in prison threescore knights And four, that he did wound; Knights of king Arthurs court they be, And of his table round.40 She brought him to a river side. And also to a tree, Whereon a copper bason hung, And many shields to see. He struck soe hard, the bason broke;45 And Tarquin soon he spyed: Who drove a horse before him fast, Whereon a knight lay tyed. Sir knight, then sayd Sir Lancelôtt, Bring me that horse-load hither,50 And lay him downe, and let him rest: Weel try our force together: For, as I understand, thou hast, Soe far as thou art able, Done great despite and shame unto55 The knights of the Round Table. If thou be of the Table Round, Quoth Tarquin speedilye, Both thee and all thy fellowship I utterly defye.60 That's over much, quoth Lancelott tho,[861] Defend thee by and by. They sett their speares[862] unto their steeds, And eache att other flie. They coucht theire speares, (their horses ran,65 As though there had beene thunder) And strucke them each immidst their shields, Wherewith they broke in sunder. Their horsses backes brake under them, The knights were both astound:[863]70 To avoyd their horsses they made haste And light upon the ground. They tooke them to their shields full fast, Their swords they drew out than, With mighty strokes most eagerlye75 Each at the other ran. They wounded were, and bled full sore, They both for breath did stand, And leaning on their swords awhile, Quoth Tarquine, Hold thy hand,80 And tell to me what I shall aske. Say on, quoth Lancelot tho. Thou art, quoth Tarquine, the best knight That ever I did know; And like a knight, that I did hate:85 Soe that thou be not hee, I will deliver all the rest, And eke accord with thee. That is well said, quoth Lancelott; But sith it must be soe,90 What knight is that thou hatest thus? I pray thee to me show. His name is Lancelot du Lake, He slew my brother deere; Him I suspect of all the rest:95 I would I had him here. Thy wish thou hast, but yet unknowne, I am Lancelot du Lake, Now knight of Arthurs Table Round; King Hauds son of Schuwake;[864]100 And I desire thee do thy worst, Ho, ho, quoth Tarquin tho, One of us two shall end our lives Before that we do go. If thou be Lancelot du Lake,105 Then welcome shalt thou bee: Wherfore see thou thyself defend, For now defye I thee. They buckled then together so, Like unto wild boares rashing;[865]110 And with their swords and shields they ran At one another slashing: The ground besprinkled was with blood: Tarquin began to yield; For he gave backe for wearinesse,115 And lowe did beare his shield. This soone Sir Lancelot espyde, He leapt upon him then, He pull'd him downe upon his knee, And rushing off his helm,120 Forthwith he strucke his necke in two, And, when he had soe done, From prison threescore knights and four Delivered everye one.
FOOTNOTES:
X. CORYDON'S FAREWELL TO PHILLIS,
Is an attempt to paint a lover's irresolution, but so poorly executed, that it would not have been admitted into this collection, if it had not been quoted in Shakespeare's Twelfth-Night, act ii. sc. 3.—It is found in a little ancient miscellany, intituled, The Golden Garland of Princely Delights, 12mo. bl. let.
In the same scene of the Twelfth-Night, Sir Toby sings a scrap of an old ballad, which is preserved in the Pepys Collection (vol. i. pp. 33, 496), but as it is not only a poor dull performance, but also very long, it will be sufficient here to give the first stanza:
The Ballad of Constant Susanna.
There dwelt a man in Babylon Of reputation great by fame; He took to wife a faire womàn, Susanna she was callde by name: A woman fair and vertuous; Lady, lady: Why should we not of her learn thus To live godly?
If this song of Corydon, &c. has not more merit, it is at least an evil of less magnitude.
[Dr. Rimbault refers to an earlier copy of this song in a rare musical volume entitled The First Booke of Ayres, composed by Robert Jones, 1601, where it is accompanied by the original music for four voices. This tune appears to have been a very popular one, and several Scottish songs are to be sung to the "toon of sal I let her go." The air is also to be found in a Dutch collection of Songs published at Haarlem in 1626.
In Brome's comedy of The Jovial Crew, acted in 1641 at the Cockpit in Drury Lane, there is an allusion perhaps to this song:
"Let her go, let her go, I care not if I have her, I have her or no."]
Farewell, dear love; since thou wilt needs be gone, Mine eyes do shew, my life is almost done. Nay I will never die, so long as I can spie There be many mo, though that she doe goe, There be many mo, I fear not:5 Why then let her goe, I care not. Farewell, farewell; since this I find is true, I will not spend more time in wooing you: But I will seek elsewhere, if I may find love there: Shall I bid her goe? what and if I doe?10 Shall I bid her goe and spare not? O no, no, no, I dare not. Ten thousand times farewell;—yet stay a while:— Sweet, kiss me once; sweet kisses time beguile:14 I have no power to move. How now am I in love? Wilt thou needs be gone? Go then, all is one. Wilt thou needs be gone? Oh, hie thee! Nay stay, and do no more deny me. Once more adieu, I see loath to depart Bids oft adieu to her, that holds my heart.20 But seeing I must lose thy love, which I did choose, Goe thy way for me, since that may not be. Goe thy ways for me. But whither? Goe, oh, but where I may come thither. What shall I doe? my love is now departed.25 She is as fair, as she is cruel-hearted. She would not be intreated, with prayers oft repeated, If she come no more, shall I die therefore? If she come no more, what care I? Faith, let her goe, or come, or tarry.30
XI. GERNUTUS THE JEW OF VENICE.
In the "Life of Pope Sixtus V. translated from the Italian of Greg. Leti, by the Rev. Mr. Farneworth, folio," is a remarkable passage to the following effect:
"It was reported in Rome, that Drake had taken and plundered St. Domingo in Hispaniola, and carried off an immense booty. This account came in a private letter to Paul Secchi, a very considerable merchant in the city, who had large concerns in those parts, which he had insured. Upon receiving this news, he sent for the insurer Sampson Ceneda, a Jew, and acquainted him with it. The Jew, whose interest it was to have such a report thought false, gave many reasons why it could not possibly be true, and at last worked himself into such a passion, that he said, I'll lay you a pound of flesh it is a lye. Secchi, who was of a fiery hot temper, replied, I'll lay you a thousand crowns against a pound of your flesh that it is true. The Jew accepted the wager, and articles were immediately executed betwixt them, That, if Secchi won, he should himself cut the flesh with a sharp knife from whatever part of the Jew's body he pleased. The truth of the account was soon confirmed; and the Jew was almost distracted, when he was informed, that Secchi had solemnly swore he would compel him to an exact performance of his contract. A report of this transaction was brought to the Pope, who sent for the parties, and, being informed of the whole affair, said, When contracts are made, it is but just they should be fulfilled, as this shall: Take a knife, therefore, Secchi, and cut a pound of flesh from any part you please of the Jew's body. We advise you, however, to be very careful; for, if you cut but a scruple more or less than your due, you shall certainly be hanged."
The editor of that book is of opinion that the scene between Shylock and Antonio in the Merchant of Venice is taken from this incident. But Mr. Warton, in his ingenious Observations on the Faerie Queen, vol. i. p. 128, has referred it to the following ballad. Mr. Warton thinks this ballad was written before Shakespeare's play, as being not so circumstantial, and having more of the nakedness of an original. Besides, it differs from the play in many circumstances, which a meer copyist, such as we may suppose the ballad-maker to be, would hardly have given himself the trouble to alter. Indeed he expressly informs us that he had his story from the Italian writers. See the Connoisseur, vol. i. No. 16.
After all, one would be glad to know what authority Leti had for the foregoing fact, or at least for connecting it with the taking of St. Domingo by Drake; for this expedition did not happen till 1585, and it is very certain that a play of the Jewe, "representing the greedinesse of worldly chusers, and bloody minds of usurers," had been exhibited at the playhouse called the Bull before the year 1579, being mentioned in Steph. Gosson's Schoole of Abuse,[866] which was printed in that year.
As for Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice, the earliest edition known of it is in quarto 1600; though it had been exhibited in the year 1598, being mentioned, together with eleven others of his plays, in Meres's Wits Treasury, &c. 1598, 12mo. fol. 282.
Since the first edition of this book was printed, the editor hath had reason to believe that both Shakespeare and the author of this ballad are indebted for their story of the Jew (however they came by it) to an Italian novel, which was first printed at Milan in the year 1558, in a book intitled, Il Pecorone, nel quale si contengono Cinquanta Novelle antiche, &c. republished at Florence about the year 1748, or 9.[867] The author was Ser. Giovanni Fiorentino, who wrote in 1378; thirty years after the time in which the scene of Boccace's Decameron is laid. (Vid. Manni, Istoria del Decamerone di Giov. Boccac. 4to. Fior. 1744.)
That Shakespeare had his plot from the novel itself, is evident from his having some incidents from it, which are not found in the ballad: and I think it will also be found that he borrowed from the ballad some hints that were not suggested by the novel. (See pt. ii. ver. 25, &c. where, instead of that spirited description of the whetted blade, &c. the prose narrative coldly says, "The Jew had prepared a razor, &c." See also some other passages in the same piece.) This however is spoken with diffidence, as I have at present before me only the abridgement of the novel which Mr. Johnson has given us at the end of his Commentary on Shakespeare's Play. The translation of the Italian story at large is not easy to be met with, having I believe never been published, though it was printed some years ago with this title,—"The Novel, from which the Merchant of Venice written by Shakespeare is taken, translated from the Italian. To which is added a translation of a novel from the Decamerone of Boccaccio. London, Printed for M. Cooper, 1755, 8vo."
The following is printed from an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys collection,[868] intitled, "A New Song, shewing the crueltie of Gernutus, a Jewe, who, lending to a merchant an hundred crowns, would have a pound of his fleshe, because he could not pay him at the time appointed. To the tune of Black and Yellow."
[This is the first of four ballads printed by Percy as probable sources for the plots of four of Shakspere's plays, but as we are unable to fix any satisfactory date for the first appearance of the ballads, it is well-nigh impossible to settle their claim to such distinction.
The story of the Jew who bargained for a pound of a Christian's flesh in payment of his debt is so widely spread, that there is no necessity for us to believe that Shakspere used this rather poor ballad, more especially as it is probable from the extract from Gosson mentioned above that Shakspere found the two plots of the bond and the caskets already joined together. There is, however, something in Percy's note about the whetting of the knife in verses 25-26, and it would be quite in accordance with the poet's constant practice for him to take this one point from the ballad of Gernutus. The ballad was probably versified from one of the many stories extant, because, even if it be later than Shakspere's play, it is impossible to believe that the ballad-writer could have written so bald a narration had he had the Merchant of Venice before him.
Some forms of the story are to be found in Persian, and there is no doubt that the original tale is of Eastern origin. The oldest European forms are in the English Cursor Mundi and Gesta Romanorum, and the French romance of Dolopathos. See Miss Toulmin Smith's paper "On the Bond-story in the Merchant of Venice," "Transactions of the New Shakspere Society," 1875-6 p. 181. Professor Child prints a ballad entitled The Northern Lord and Cruel Jew (English and Scottish Ballads, vol. viii. p. 270), which contains the same incident of the "bloody minded Jew."
Leti's character as an historian stands so low that his story may safely be dismissed as a fabrication.]
The First Part.
In Venice towne not long agoe A cruel Jew did dwell, Which lived all on usurie, As Italian writers tell. Gernutus called was the Jew,5 Which never thought to dye, Nor ever yet did any good To them in streets that lie. His life was like a barrow hogge,[869] That liveth many a day,10 Yet never once doth any good, Until men will him slay. Or like a filthy heap of dung, That lyeth in a whoard;[870] Which never can do any good,15 Till it be spread abroad. So fares it with the usurer, He cannot sleep in rest, For feare the thiefe will him pursue To plucke him from his nest.20 His heart doth thinke on many a wile, How to deceive the poore; His mouth is almost ful of mucke, Yet still he gapes for more. His wife must lend a shilling,25 For every weeke a penny, Yet bring a pledge, that is double worth, If that you will have any. And see, likewise, you keepe your day, Or else you loose it all:30 This was the living of the wife, Her cow she did it call.[871] Within that citie dwelt that time A marchant of great fame, Which being distressed in his need,35 Unto Gernutus came: Desiring him to stand his friend For twelve month and a day, To lend to him an hundred crownes: And he for it would pay40 Whatsoever he would demand of him, And pledges he should have. No, (quoth the Jew with flearing[872] lookes) Sir, aske what you will have. No penny for the loane of it45 For one year you shall pay; You may doe me as good a turne, Before my dying day. But we will have a merry jeast, For to be talked long:50 You shall make me a bond, quoth he, That shall be large and strong: And this shall be the forfeyture; Of your owne fleshe a pound. If you agree, make you the bond,55 And here is a hundred crownes. With right good will! the marchant says: And so the bond was made. When twelve month and a day drew on That backe it should be payd,60 The marchants ships were all at sea, And money came not in; Which way to take, or what to doe To thinke he doth begin: And to Gernutus strait he comes65 With cap and bended knee, And sayde to him, Of curtesie I pray you beare with mee. My day is come, and I have not The money for to pay:70 And little good the forfeyture Will doe you, I dare say. With all my heart, Gernutus sayd, Commaund it to your minde: In thinges of bigger waight then this75 You shall me ready finde. He goes his way; the day once past Gernutus doth not slacke To get a sergiant presently; And clapt him on the backe80 And layd him into prison strong, And sued his bond withall; And when the judgement day was come, For judgement he did call. The marchants friends came thither fast,85 With many a weeping eye, For other means they could not find, But he that day must dye.
The Second Part.
"Of the Jews crueltie; setting foorth the mercifulnesse of the Judge towards the Marchant. To the tune of Blacke and Yellow."
Some offered for his hundred crownes Five hundred for to pay; And some a thousand, two or three, Yet still he did denay.[873] And at the last ten thousand crownes5 They offered, him to save. Gernutus sayd, I will no gold: My forfeite I will have. A pound of fleshe is my demand, And that shall be my hire.10 Then sayd the judge, Yet, good my friend, Let me of you desire To take the flesh from such a place, As yet you let him live: Do so, and lo! an hundred crownes15 To thee here will I give. No: no: quoth he; no: judgment here: For this it shall be tride, For I will have my pound of fleshe From under his right side.20 It grieved all the companie His crueltie to see, For neither friend nor foe could helpe But he must spoyled bee. The bloudie Jew now ready is25 With whetted blade in hand,[874] To spoyle the bloud of innocent, By forfeit of his bond. And as he was about to strike In him the deadly blow:30 Stay (quoth the judge) thy crueltie; I charge thee to do so. Sith needs thou wilt thy forfeit have; Which is of flesh a pound: See that thou shed no drop of bloud,35 Nor yet the man confound.[875] For if thou doe, like murderer, Thou here shalt hanged be: Likewise of flesh see that thou cut No more than longes[876] to thee:40 For if thou take either more or lesse To the value of a mite, Thou shalt be hanged presently, As is both law and right. Gernutus now waxt franticke mad,45 And wotes[877] not what to say; Quoth he at last, Ten thousand crownes, I will that he shall pay; And so I graunt to set him free. The judge doth answere make;50 You shall not have a penny given; Your forfeyture now take. At the last he doth demaund But for to have his owne. No, quoth the judge, doe as you list,55 Thy judgement shall be showne. Either take your pound of flesh, quoth he, Or cancell me your bond. O cruell judge, then quoth the Jew, That doth against me stand!60 And so with griping grieved mind[878] He biddeth them fare-well. 'Then' all the people prays'd the Lord, That ever this heard tell. Good people, that doe heare this song,65 For trueth I dare well say, That many a wretch as ill as hee Doth live now at this day; That seeketh nothing but the spoyle Of many a wealthey man,70 And for to trap the innocent Deviseth what they can. From whome the Lord deliver me, And every Christian too, And send to them like sentence eke75 That meaneth so to do.
FOOTNOTES:
XII. THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE.
This beautiful sonnet is quoted in the Merry Wives of Windsor, act iii. sc. 1, and hath been usually ascribed (together with the Reply) to Shakespeare himself by the modern editors of his smaller poems. A copy of this madrigal, containing only four stanzas (the 4th and 6th being wanting), accompanied with the first stanza of the answer, being printed in "The Passionate Pilgrime, and Sonnets to sundry notes of Musicke, by Mr. William Shakespeare, Lond. printed for W. Jaggard, 1599." Thus was this sonnet, &c. published as Shakespeare's in his lifetime.
And yet there is good reason to believe that (not Shakespeare, but) Christopher Marlow wrote the song, and Sir Walter Raleigh the Nymph's Reply: For so we are positively assured by Isaac Walton, a writer of some credit, who has inserted them both in his Compleat Angler,[879] under the character of "that smooth song, which was made by Kit. Marlow, now at least fifty years ago; and ... an Answer to it, which was made by Sir Walter Raleigh in his younger days.... Old-fashioned poetry, but choicely good."—It also passed for Marlow's in the opinion of his contemporaries; for in the old poetical miscellany, intitled England's Helicon, it is printed with the name of Chr. Marlow subjoined to it; and the Reply is subscribed Ignoto, which is known to have been a signature of Sir Walter Raleigh. With the same signature Ignoto, in that collection, is an imitation of Marlow's beginning thus:
"Come live with me, and be my dear, And we will revel all the year, In plains and groves, &c."
Upon the whole I am inclined to attribute them to Marlow, and Raleigh; notwithstanding the authority of Shakespeare's Book of Sonnets. For it is well known that as he took no care of his own compositions, so was he utterly regardless what spurious things were fathered upon him. Sir John Oldcastle, The London Prodigal, and The Yorkshire Tragedy, were printed with his name at full length in the title-pages, while he was living, which yet were afterwards rejected by his first editors Heminge and Condell, who were his intimate friends (as he mentions both in his will), and therefore no doubt had good authority for setting them aside.[880]
The following sonnet appears to have been (as it deserved) a great favourite with our earlier poets: for, besides the imitation above-mentioned, another is to be found among Donne's Poems, intitled The Bait, beginning thus:
"Come live with me, and be my love, And we will some new pleasures prove Of golden sands, &c."
As for Chr. Marlow, who was in high repute for his dramatic writings, he lost his life by a stab received in a brothel, before the year 1593. See A. Wood, i. 138.
[These exquisite poems by Christopher Marlowe and Sir Walter Raleigh at once became popular favourites, and were often reprinted. The earliest appearance of the first was in Marlowe's Jew of Malta. An imperfect copy was printed by W. Jaggard with the Passionate Pilgrim in 1599, and the first stanza of the Reply was then added to it. In the following year both poems were correctly printed in England's Helicon, the first being signed "Chr. Marlow" and the second "Ignoto." When Walton introduced the poems into his Angler he attributed the Reply to Raleigh, and printed an additional stanza to each as follows:—
Passionate Shepherd (after verse 20).
"Thy silver dishes for thy meat As precious as the gods do eat Shall on an ivory table be Prepared each day for thee and me."
Nymph's Reply (after verse 20).
"What should we talk of dainties then Of better meat than's fit for men? These are but vain, that's only good Which God hath blest and sent for food."
In the Roxburghe Collection of Ballads (i. 205) is a street ballad in which these two songs are united and entitled A most excellent ditty of the Lover's promises to his beloved, with the Lady's prudent answer to her Love. The verses referred to above as added by Walton are here printed, but they take the place of verses 17 to 20 of each song respectively.
Mr. Chappell and Dr. Rimbault have both drawn attention to the proofs of the popularity of Marlowe's song to be found in out of the way places. In Choice, Chance, and Change, or Conceits in their Colours (1606), Tidero being invited to live with his friend, replies, "Why, how now? do you take me for a woman, that you come upon me with a ballad of Come live with me and be my love?" In The World's Folly, 1609, there is the following passage: "But there sat he, hanging his head, lifting up the eyes, and with a deep sigh singing the ballad of Come live with me and be my love, to the tune of Adew my deere." Nicholas Breton refers to it in 1637 as "the old song," but Walton considered it fresh enough to insert in his Angler in 1653, although Marlowe had then been dead sixty years.]
Come live with me, and be my love, And we wil all the pleasures prove That hils and vallies, dale and field, And all the craggy mountains yield. There will we sit upon the rocks,5 And see the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. There will I make thee beds of roses With a thousand fragrant posies,10 A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Imbrodered all with leaves of mirtle; A gown made of the finest wool, Which from our pretty lambs we pull; Slippers lin'd choicely for the cold;15 With buckles of the purest gold; A belt of straw, and ivie buds, With coral clasps, and amber studs: And if these pleasures may thee move, Then live with me, and be my love.20 The shepherd swains shall dance and sing For thy delight each May morning: If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me, and be my love.
The Nymph's Reply.
If that the World and Love were young, And truth in every shepherd's toung, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee, and be thy love. But time drives flocks from field to fold,5 When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold, And Philomel becometh dumb, And all complain of cares to come. The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward winter reckoning yield:10 A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancies spring, but sorrows fall. Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,15 In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw, and ivie buds, Thy coral clasps, and amber studs; All these in me no means can move To come to thee, and be thy love.20 But could youth last, and love still breed, Had joyes no date, nor age no need; Then those delights my mind might move To live with thee, and be thy love.
FOOTNOTES:
XIII. TITUS ANDRONICUS'S COMPLAINT.
The reader has here an ancient ballad on the same subject as the play of Titus Andronicus, and it is probable that the one was borrowed from the other: but which of them was the original it is not easy to decide. And yet, if the argument offered above for the priority of the ballad of the Jew of Venice may be admitted, somewhat of the same kind may be urged here; for this ballad differs from the play in several particulars, which a simple ballad-writer would be less likely to alter than an inventive tragedian. Thus in the ballad is no mention of the contest for the empire between the two brothers, the composing of which makes the ungrateful treatment of Titus afterwards the more flagrant: neither is there any notice taken of his sacrificing one of Tamora's sons, which the tragic poet has assigned as the original cause of all her cruelties. In the play Titus loses twenty-one of his sons in war, and kills another for assisting Bassianus to carry off Lavinia: the reader will find it different in the ballad. In the latter she is betrothed to the emperor's son: in the play to his brother. In the tragedy only two of his sons fall into the pit, and the third being banished returns to Rome with a victorious army, to avenge the wrongs of his house: in the ballad all three are entrapped and suffer death. In the scene the emperor kills Titus, and is in return stabbed by Titus's surviving son. Here Titus kills the emperor, and afterwards himself.
Let the reader weigh these circumstances and some others wherein he will find them unlike, and then pronounce for himself. After all, there is reason to conclude that this play was rather improved by Shakespeare with a few fine touches of his pen, than originally written by him; for, not to mention that the style is less figurative than his others generally are, this tragedy is mentioned with discredit in the Induction to Ben Jonson's Bartholomew Fair, in 1614, as one that had then been exhibited "five and twenty or thirty years:" which, if we take the lowest number, throws it back to the year 1589, at which time Shakespeare was but 25: an earlier date than can be found for any other of his pieces:[881] and if it does not clear him entirely of it, shews at least it was a first attempt.[882]
The following is given from a copy in The Golden Garland intitled as above; compared with three others, two of them in black letter in the Pepys Collection, intitled, The Lamentable and Tragical History of Titus Andronicus, &c. To the tune of, Fortune. Printed for E. Wright. Unluckily none of these have any dates.