BOOK 1. (continued 2)
Reading edition
FOOTNOTES:
XI. ON THOMAS LORD CROMWELL.
It is ever the fate of a disgraced minister to be forsaken by his friends, and insulted by his enemies, always reckoning among the latter the giddy inconstant multitude. We have here a spurn at fallen greatness from one of the angry partisans of declining popery, who could never forgive the downfall of their Diana and loss of their craft. The ballad seems to have been composed between the time of Cromwell's commitment to the Tower, June 10th, 1540, and that of his being beheaded, July 28 following. A short interval! but Henry's passion for Catharine Howard would admit of no delay. Notwithstanding our libeller, Cromwell had many excellent qualities; his great fault was too much obsequiousness to the arbitrary will of his master; but let it be considered that this master had raised him from obscurity, and that the high-born nobility had shewn him the way in every kind of mean and servile compliance. The original copy, printed at London in 1540, is intitled, A newe ballade made of Thomas Crumwel, called "Trolle on away." To it is prefixed this distich by way of burthen:
"Trolle on away, trolle on awaye. Synge heave and howe rombelowe trolle on away."
The following piece gave rise to a poetic controversy, which was carried on thro' a succession of seven or eight ballads, written for and against Lord Cromwell. These are all preserved in the archives of the Antiquarian Society, in a large folio collection of proclamations, &c., made in the reigns of King Henry VIII., King Edward VI., Queen Mary, Queen Elizabeth, King James I., &c.
[Thomas Cromwell, called Malleus Monachorum, came of a good old Lincolnshire family. He was born about the year 1490 at Putney, where his father carried on the business of an iron-founder, which his enemies reduced to that of a blacksmith. His father died early, and in consequence of the re-marriage of his mother, he became a wanderer.
The author of the poor play, entitled The Life and Death of Thomas Lord Cromwell, which has been absurdly attributed to Shakspere, makes "old Cromwell, a blacksmith, of Putney," live to see his son "made lord keeper."
There is a fragment of a ballad on Cromwell without any beginning in the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. i. p. 127), which ends as follows:
"How now? How now? the king did say, Thomas how is it with thee? Hanging and drawing O King! he saide; You shall never gett more from me."
Mr. Hales points out a coincidence not mentioned by Mr. Froude, viz. that the minister was beheaded and the king married to Catherine Howard on one and the same day. In 1525 Cromwell undertook for Wolsey the work of visiting and breaking up the small monasteries which the Pope had granted for the foundation of Wolsey's new colleges, thus commencing the work which gained him the enmity of the adherents of the old faith. He was the first to cause Bibles in the English language to be deposited in all the churches, and to him we owe the institution of parish registers.]
Both man and chylde is glad to here tell Of that false traytoure Thomas Crumwell, Now that he is set to learne to spell. Synge trolle on away. When fortune lokyd the in thy face, Thou haddyst fayre tyme, but thou lackydyst grace; 5 Thy cofers with golde thou fyllydst a pace. Synge, &c. Both plate and chalys came to thy fyst, Thou lockydst them vp where no man wyst, Tyll in the kynges treasoure suche thinges were myst. Synge, &c. Both crust and crumme came thorowe thy handes, 10 Thy marchaundyse sayled over the sandes, Therfore nowe thou art layde fast in bandes. Synge, &c. Fyrste when kynge Henry, God saue his grace! Perceyud myschefe kyndlyd in thy face, Then it was tyme to purchase the a place. 15 Synge, &c. Hys grace was euer of gentyll nature, Mouyd with petye, and made the hys seruyture; But thou, as a wretche, suche thinges dyd procure. Synge, &c. Thou dyd not remembre, false heretyke, One God, one fayth, and one kynge catholyke, 20 For thou hast bene so long a scysmatyke. Synge, &c. Thou woldyst not learne to knowe these thre; But euer was full of iniquite: Wherfore all this lande hathe ben troubled with the. Synge, &c. All they, that were of the new trycke, 25 Agaynst the churche thou baddest them stycke; Wherfore nowe thou haste touchyd the quycke. Synge, &c. Bothe sacramentes and sacramentalles Thou woldyst not suffre within thy walles; Nor let vs praye for all chrysten soules. 30 Synge, &c. Of what generacyon thou were no tonge can tell, Whyther of Chayme, or Syschemell,[377] Or else sent vs frome the deuyll of hell. Synge, &c. Thou woldest neuer to vertue applye, But couetyd euer to clymme to hye, 35 And nowe haste thou trodden thy shoo awrye. Synge, &c. Who-so-euer dyd winne thou wolde not lose; Wherfore all Englande doth hate the, as I suppose, Bycause thou wast false to the redolent rose. Synge, &c. Thou myghtest have learned thy cloth to flocke 40 Upon thy gresy fullers stocke;[378] Wherfore lay downe thy heade vpon this blocke. Yet saue that soule, that God hath bought, And for thy carcas care thou nought, Let it suffre payne, as it hath wrought. 45 Synge, &c. God saue kyng Henry with all his power, And prynce Edwarde that goodly flowre, With al hys lordes of great honoure. Synge trolle on awaye, syng trolle on away. Hevye and how rombelowe[379] trolle on awaye. 50
FOOTNOTES:
XII. HARPALUS.
An Ancient English Pastoral.
This beautiful poem, which is perhaps the first attempt at pastoral writing in our language, is preserved among the Songs and Sonnettes of the Earl of Surrey, &c., 4to. in that part of the collection which consists of pieces by uncertain auctours. These poems were first published in 1557, ten years after that accomplished nobleman fell a victim to the tyranny of Henry VIII.; but it is presumed most of them were composed before the death of Sir Thomas Wyatt in 1541. See Surrey's Poems, 4to. fol. 19, 49.
Tho' written perhaps near half a century before the Shepherd's Calendar,[380] this will be found far superior to any of those eclogues, in natural unaffected sentiments, in simplicity of style, in easy flow of versification, and all other beauties of pastoral poetry. Spenser ought to have profited more by so excellent a model.
[Warton describes this poem as "perhaps the first example in our language now remaining of the pure and unmixed pastoral, and in the erotic species for ease of numbers, elegance of rural allusion excelling everything of the kind in Spenser, who is erroneously ranked as our earliest English bucolic." He did not, however, take into account Robin and Makine, which follows Harpalus in this book, but was written more than half a century before it. Spenser-lovers also are not likely to agree with Percy's and Warton's summary judgments upon the Shepherd's Calendar.]
Phylida was a faire mayde, As fresh as any flowre; Whom Harpalus the herdman prayde To be his paramour. Harpalus, and eke Corin, 5 Were herdmen both yfere:[381] And Phylida could twist and spinne, And thereto sing full clere. But Phylida was all tò coye, For Harpalus to winne: 10 For Corin was her onely joye, Who forst[382] her not a pinne. How often would she flowers twine? How often garlandes make Of couslips and of colombine? 15 And al for Corin's sake. But Corin, he had haukes to lure, And forced more the field:[383] Of lovers lawe he toke no cure; For once he was begilde. 20 Harpalus prevailed nought, His labour all was lost; For he was fardest from her thought, And yet he loved her most. Therefore waxt he both pale and leane, 25 And drye as clot of clay: His fleshe it was consumed cleane; His colour gone away. His beard it had not long be shave; His heare hong all unkempt: 30 A man most fit even for the grave, Whom spitefull love had spent. His eyes were red and all 'forewacht;'[384][385] His face besprent with teares: It semde unhap had him long 'hatcht,' 35 In mids of his dispaires. His clothes were blacke, and also bare; As one forlorne was he; Upon his head alwayes he ware A wreath of wyllow tree. 40 His beastes he kept upon the hyll, And he sate in the dale; And thus with sighes and sorrowes shril, He gan to tell his tale. Oh Harpalus! (thus would he say) 45 Unhappiest under sunne! The cause of thine unhappy day, By love was first begunne. For thou wentest first by sute to seeke A tigre to make tame, 50 That settes not by thy love a leeke; But makes thy griefe her game. As easy it were for to convert The frost into 'a' flame; As for to turne a frowarde hert, 55 Whom thou so faine wouldst frame. Corin he liveth carèlesse: He leapes among the leaves: He eates the frutes of thy redresse:[386] Thou 'reapst,' he takes the sheaves. 60 My beastes, a whyle your foode refraine, And harke your herdmans sounde: Whom spitefull love, alas! hath slaine, Through-girt[387] with many a wounde. O happy be ye, beastès wilde, 65 That here your pasture takes: I se that ye be not begilde Of these your faithfull makes.[388] The hart he feedeth by the hinde: The bucke harde by the do: 70 The turtle dove is not unkinde To him that loves her so. The ewe she hath by her the ramme: The yong cow hath the bull: The calfe with many a lusty lambe 75 Do fede their hunger full. But, wel-away! that nature wrought The, Phylida, so faire: For I may say that I have bought Thy beauty all tò deare. 80 What reason is that crueltie With beautie should have part? Or els that such great tyranny Should dwell in womans hart? I see therefore to shape my death 85 She cruelly is prest;[389] To th'ende that I may want my breath: My dayes been at the best. O Cupide, graunt this my request, And do not stoppe thine eares; 90 That she may feele within her brest The paines of my dispaires: Of Corin 'who' is carèlesse, That she may crave her fee: As I have done in great distresse, 95 That loved her faithfully. But since that I shal die her slave; Her slave, and eke her thrall:[390] Write you, my frendes, upon my grave This chaunce that is befall. 100 "Here lieth unhappy Harpalus By cruell love now slaine: Whom Phylida unjustly thus Hath murdred with disdaine."
FOOTNOTES:
XIII. ROBIN AND MAKYNE.
An Ancient Scottish Pastoral.
The palm of pastoral poesy is here contested by a contemporary writer with the author of the foregoing. The critics will judge of their respective merits; but must make some allowance for the preceding ballad, which is given simply as it stands in the old editions; whereas this, which follows, has been revised and amended throughout by Allan Ramsay, from whose Evergreen, vol. i. it is here chiefly printed. The curious reader may, however, compare it with the more original copy, printed among Ancient Scottish Poems, from the MS. of George Bannatyne, 1568, Edinburgh, 1770, 12mo. Mr. Robert Henryson (to whom we are indebted for this poem) appears to so much advantage among the writers of eclogue, that we are sorry we can give little other account of him besides what is contained in the following eloge, written by W. Dunbar, a Scottish poet, who lived about the middle of the sixteenth century:
"In Dunfermline he [Death] hes done roun Gud Maister Robert Henrisoun."
Indeed, some little further insight into the history of this Scottish bard is gained from the title prefixed to some of his poems preserved in the British Museum, viz. The morall Fabillis of Esop, compylit be Maister Robert Henrisoun, scolmaister of Dumfermling, 1571. Harl. MSS. 3865, § 1.
In Ramsay's Evergreen, vol. i. are preserved two other little Doric pieces by Henryson: the one intitled The Lyon and the Mouse, the other The garment of gude Ladyis. Some other of his poems may be seen in the Ancient Scottish Poems, printed from Bannatyne's MS. above referred to.
[This remarkable poem is peculiarly interesting as being the earliest specimen of pastoral poetry in the language. Campbell calls it "the first known pastoral, and one of the best in a dialect rich with the favours of the pastoral muse." Langhorne writes justly:
"In gentle Henryson's unlaboured strain Sweet Arethusa's shepherd breath'd again."
Percy errs in describing Henryson as a contemporary of Surrey, as the Scottish poet lived half a century before the English one. The dates of his birth and death are not known, but he flourished in the reign of James III. (1460-1488). "On the 10th of September, 1462, the venerable master Robert Henrysone, Licentiate in Arts and Bachelor in Degrees, was incorporated or admitted a member of the newly founded University of Glasgow." He was a notary public, and probably the master of the grammar school attached to the Abbey of Dunfermline, not as might be supposed a mere parish schoolmaster. According to the tradition of the last century, our poet was the representative of the family of Henryson or Henderson, of Fordell, in the county of Fife; but Mr. David Laing thinks that it is a gratuitous assumption to suppose that he or his predecessors ever possessed a single acre of the lands of Fordell.
Percy has used the version given in Ramsay's Evergreen, which is slightly altered in diction from the original in the Bannatyne MS.; for instance, the last stanza occurs in the latter as follows:
"Makyne went hame blyth anneuche, Attour the holltis hair; Robene murnit, and Makyne leuche; Scho sang, he sichit sair And so left him, bayth wo and wreuch, In dolour and in cair, Kepand his hird under a huche Amangis the holtis hair."
In the Evergreen version, the last verse is altered to "Amang the rushy gair," either because the words "holtis hair" occur in verse two of the stanza, or that the Editor saw an impropriety in the close vicinity of the similar words holt and heuch. The two words "holtis hair" are explained as hoary hills or hoary woods, but Finlay (Scottish Historical and Romantic Ballads, 1808, vol. ii. p. 193) holds that "hair" really means high, and derives it from Isl. har == altus. He says that a high rock in some of the northern counties of Scotland, where the dialect is strongly tinctured with Danish, is called "hair craig," and that the same word lingers on in the Hare-stone of the Borough Moor, Edinburgh, which obtained its name in the following manner: The laird of Pennycuik held certain lands by a strange tenure. He was obliged to mount a large stone or rock, and salute the king with three blasts of a horn whenever he passed that way. This rock or eminence was called the "Hare-stone," and still exists near Morningside Church. Hoary, however, is to be understood as grey and not as white with snow, so that the hare-stone is probably the grey stone. The word holt may also mean a heath, and Cædmon uses the phrase "har hæð" = hoar or grey heath.
The date (1571) attached to Henryson's version of Æsop's Fables is that of transcription. It is not known when the Fables were first printed, but they were reprinted by Robert Lekpreuik for Henry Charteris in 1570. They are supposed to have been written between 1470 and 1480.
Henryson wrote several other short poems, as well as the Testament of Cresseid, written as a continuation or supplement to Chaucer's Troilus and Cresseide, all of which have been collected for the first time into an elegant volume by David Laing, who has added notes and a memoir of the poet (Edinburgh, 1865).
This Testament has a particular interest for us, because Shakspere referred to it when he wrote "Cressida was a beggar" (Twelfth Night, act iii. sc. 1). The lines in Henryson's poem which illustrate this passage, are as follows:
"Thair was na buit [help], bot furth with thame scho yeid Fra place to place, quhill cauld and houngir sair Compellit hir to be ane rank beggair." Ll. 481-3.]
Robin sat on the gude grene hill, Keipand a flock of fie,[391] Quhen mirry[392] Makyne said him till,[393] "O Robin rew[394] on me: I haif thee luivt baith loud and still,[395] 5 Thir towmonds[396] twa or thre; My dule in dern bot gif thou dill,[397] Doubtless but dreid Ill die." Robin replied, Now by the rude, Naithing of love I knaw, 10 But keip my sheip undir yon wod: Lo quhair they raik on raw.[398] Quhat can have mart[399] thee in thy mude,[400] Thou Makyne to me schaw; Or quhat is luve, or to be lude?[401] 15 Fain wald I leir[402] that law. "The law of luve gin thou wald leir, Tak thair an A, B, C; Be heynd,[403] courtas, and fair of feir,[404][405] Wyse, hardy, kind and frie, 20 Sae that nae danger do the deir,[406][407] Quhat dule in dern thou drie;[408] Press ay to pleis,[409] and blyth appeir, Be patient and privie." Robin, he answert her againe, 25 I wat not quhat is luve; But I haif marvel in certaine Quhat makes thee thus wanrufe.[410] The wedder is fair, and I am fain;[411] My sheep gais hail abuve;[412] 30 And sould we pley us on the plain, They wald us baith repruve. "Robin, tak tent[413] unto my tale, And wirk[414] all as I reid;[415] And thou sall haif my heart all hale, 35 Eik and my maiden-heid: Sen God, he sendis bute for bale,[416] And for murning remeid,[417] I'dern with thee bot gif I dale,[418] Doubtless I am but deid." 40 Makyne, to-morn be this ilk tyde, Gif ye will meit me heir, Maybe my sheip may gang besyde, Quhyle we have liggd full neir; But maugre haif I, gif I byde,[419] 45 Frae thay begin to steir, Quhat lyes on heart I will nocht hyd, Then Makyne mak gude cheir. "Robin, thou reivs[420] me of my rest; I luve bot thee alane." 50 Makyne, adieu! the sun goes west, The day is neir-hand gane. "Robin, in dule[421] I am so drest, That luve will be my bane." Makyn, gae luve quhair-eir ye list, 55 For leman I luid nane. "Robin, I stand in sic a style, I sich[422] and that full sair." Makyne, I have bene here this quyle; At hame I wish I were. 60 "Robin, my hinny, talk and smyle, Gif thou will do nae mair." Makyne, som other man beguyle, For hameward I will fare. Syne Robin on his ways he went, 65 As light as leif on tree; But Makyne murnt and made lament, Scho[423] trow'd him neir to see. Robin he brayd attowre the bent:[424] Then Makyne cried on hie, 70 "Now may thou sing, for I am shent![425] Quhat ailis luve at me?" Makyne went hame withouten fail, And weirylie could weip; Then Robin in a full fair dale 75 Assemblit all his sheip. Be that some part of Makyne's ail, Out-throw his heart could creip; Hir fast he followt to assail, And till her tuke gude keip.[426] 80 Abyd, abyd, thou fair Makyne, A word for ony thing; For all my luve, it sall be thyne, Withouten departing.[427] All hale thy heart for till have myne, 85 Is all my coveting; My sheip to morn quhyle houris nyne, Will need of nae keiping. "Robin, thou hast heard sung and say, In gests and storys auld, 90 The man that will not when he may, Sall have nocht when he wald. I pray to heaven baith nicht and day, Be eiked[428] their cares sae cauld, That presses first with thee to play 95 Be forrest, firth, or fauld."[429] Makyne, the nicht is soft and dry, The wether warm and fair, And the grene wod richt neir-hand by,[430] To walk attowre all where: 100 There may nae janglers[431] us espy, That is in luve contrair; Therin, Makyne, baith you and I Unseen may mak repair. "Robin, that warld is now away, 105 And quyt brocht till an end: And nevir again thereto, perfay, Sall it be as thou wend; For of my pain thou made but play; I words in vain did spend: 110 As thou hast done, sae sall I say, Murn on, I think to mend." Makyne, the hope of all my heil,[432] My heart on thee is set; I'll evermair to thee be leil,[433] 115 Quhyle I may live but lett,[434] Never to fail as uthers feill,[435] Quhat grace so eir I get. "Robin, with thee I will not deill; Adieu, for thus we met." 120 Makyne went hameward blyth enough, Attowre the holtis hair;[436] Pure Robin murnd, and Makyne leugh;[437] Scho sang, and he sicht sair:[438] And so left him bayth wo and wreuch,[439] 125 In dolor and in care, Keipand his herd under a heuch,[440] Amang the rushy gair.[441]
FOOTNOTES:
XIV. GENTLE HERDSMAN, TELL TO ME.
Dialogue Between a Pilgrim and Herdsman.
The scene of this beautiful old ballad is laid near Walsingham, in Norfolk, where was anciently an image of the Virgin Mary, famous over all Europe for the numerous pilgrimages made to it, and the great riches it possessed. Erasmus has given a very exact and humorous description of the superstitions practised there in his time. See his account of the Virgo parathalassia, in his colloquy, intitled, Peregrinatio religionis ergo. He tells us, the rich offerings in silver, gold, and precious stones, that were there shewn him, were incredible, there being scarce a person of any note in England, but what some time or other paid a visit, or sent a present to our lady of Walsingham.[442] At the dissolution of the monasteries in 1538, this splendid image, with another from Ipswich, was carried to Chelsea, and there burnt in the presence of commissioners; who, we trust, did not burn the jewels and the finery.
This poem is printed from a copy in the Editor's folio MS. which had greatly suffered by the hand of time; but vestiges of several of the lines remaining, some conjectural supplements have been attempted, which, for greater exactness, are in this one ballad distinguished by italicks.[443]
[The shrine of the Virgin at Walsingham was the favourite English resort of pilgrims for nearly four hundred years, and the people of Norfolk were in great distress when their image was taken away from them, and the stream of votaries was suddenly stopped. In a copy of the Reliques in the library of the British Museum, there is a MS. note by William Cole to the following effect: "I was lately informed that the identical image of our lady of Walsingham being mured up in an old wall, and there discovered on pulling it down, was presented by the Earl of Leicester (Coke) to a relative of his of the Roman Catholic religion."
The shrine was connected with a Priory of Augustinian Canons, which was founded during the episcopate of William Turbus, Bishop of Norwich (1146-1174). When Henry III. made his pilgrimage to the shrine in the year 1241, it had long been famous, and was probably more frequented even than the tomb of St. Thomas a Becket at Canterbury. Foreigners of all nations came hither on pilgrimage, and in number and quality the devotees appear to have equalled those who toiled to the Lady of Loretto in Italy. Several of our kings visited the shrine after Henry III. had set the example. Edward I. was there in 1280 and in 1296, Edward II. in 1315, and Edward IV. and his queen in 1469. Henry VII. offered his prayers in "our Lady's Church" at Christmas time 1486-7, and in the following summer, after the battle of Stoke, "he sent his banner to be offered to our Lady of Walsingham, where before he made his vows." Spelman gives on hearsay evidence the report that Henry VIII., in the second year of his reign, walked barefoot to Walsingham from a neighbouring village, and then presented a valuable necklace to the image. Bartholomew, Lord Burghersh, K.G., by his will made in 1369, ordered a statue of himself on horseback to be made in silver, and offered to our Lady of Walsingham; and Henry VII., in his lifetime, gave a kneeling figure of himself. There are numerous references to Walsingham in the Paston Letters, and in 1443 we find Margaret Paston writing to her husband to tell him that her mother had vowed another image of wax of his own weight, to "our Lady of Walsingham," and that she herself had vowed to go on pilgrimage there for him. (Ed. Fenn, iii. 22.)
The total income of the place (including the offerings) was reported to be £650 in the twenty-sixth year of Henry VIII.'s reign, and Roger Ascham, when visiting Cologne in 1550, makes this remark: "The Three Kings be not so rich, I believe, as was the Lady of Walsingham." Now the treasures at Cologne are said to have been worth six millions of francs (£240,000).
The road to Walsingham was a well-frequented one, and a cross was set up in every town it passed through. An old track running by Newmarket, Brandon, and Castle Acre, which was used by the pilgrims, was known as the "Palmer's Way" or "Walsingham Green Way."
The Milky Way ("the Watling-street of the heavens," as Chaucer has it) has been associated with pilgrimages in several countries. In Norfolk, the long streaming path of light was supposed to point the pilgrim on his road to Walsingham, and was in consequence called the "Walsingham Way." In Italy, in France, and in the north of Europe it has been called "St. Jago's Way," "Jacobsstrasse," &c., as pointing the way to Compostella, and one of its Turkish names is "The Hadji's Way," as indicating the road to Mecca.[444]
Among the Rawlinson MSS. in the Bodleian Library is A Lament for Walsingham, in the handwriting of Philip, Earl of Arundel, the third stanza of which is as follows:
"Bitter, bitter, oh! to behould the grasse to growe Where the walles of Walsingam So statly did sheue. Such were the workes of Walsingam While shee did stand! Such are the wrackes as now do shewe of that holy land! Levell, Levell with the ground the towres doe lye."
The whole poem is printed in the Folio MS. ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. iii. p. 470.
The late Mr. John Gough Nichols published in 1849 a very interesting volume, containing a translation of the Colloquy of Erasmus, with valuable notes in illustration of it, under the following title: "Pilgrimages to Saint Mary of Walsingham and Saint Thomas of Canterbury, by Desiderius Erasmus, newly translated ... and illustrated by J. G. Nichols. Westminster. 1849." sm. 8vo. This work has lately been reprinted.
An excellent description of Walsingham Priory, with an account of the excavations made on its site in 1853, will be found in Henry Harrod's Gleanings among the Castles and Convents of Norfolk, 8vo. Norwich, 1857, pp. 155-197.]
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 Walsingham 5 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[445] 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. [446]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 Walsingam 55 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
⁂ To shew what constant tribute was paid to Our Lady of Walsingham, I shall give a few extracts from the "Houshold-Book of Henry Algernon Percy, 5th Earl of Northumberland." Printed 1770, 8vo.
Sect. xliii. p. 337, &c.
Item, My Lorde usith yerly to send afor Michaelmas for his Lordschip's Offerynge to our Lady of Walsyngeham.—iiij d.
Item, My Lorde usith ande accustumyth to sende yerely for the upholdynge of the Light of Wax which his Lordschip fyndith birnynge yerly befor our Lady of Walsyngham, contenynge xj lb. of Wax in it after vij d. ob. for the fyndynge of every lb. redy wrought by a covenaunt maid with the Channon by great, for the hole yere, for the fyndinge of the said Lyght byrnning,—vi s. viiij d.
Item, My Lord useth and accustomith to syende yerely to the Channon that kepith the Light before our Lady of Walsyngham, for his reward for the hole yere, for kepynge of the said Light, lightynge of it at all service tymes dayly thorowt the yere,—xij d.
Item, My Lord usith and accustomyth yerely to send to the Prest that kepith the Light, lyghtynge of it at all service tymes daily thorowt the yere,—iij s. iiij d.
FOOTNOTES:
XV. K. EDWARD IV. AND TANNER OF TAMWORTH
Was a story of great fame among our ancestors. The author of the Art of English poesie, 1589, 4to, seems to speak of it as a real fact.—Describing that vicious mode of speech, which the Greeks called Acyron, i.e. "When we use a dark and obscure word, utterly repugnant to that we should express;" he adds, "Such manner of uncouth speech did the Tanner of Tamworth use to king Edward the fourth; which Tanner, having a great while mistaken him, and used very broad talke with him, at length perceiving by his traine that it was the king, was afraide he should be punished for it, [and] said thus, with a certain rude repentance,
'I hope I shall be hanged to-morrow,'
for [I feare me] I shall be hanged; whereat the king laughed a good,[447] not only to see the Tanner's vaine feare, but also to heare his illshapen terme: and gave him for recompence of his good sport, the inheritance of Plumpton-parke. I am afraid," concludes this sagacious writer, "the poets of our times that speake more finely and correctedly, will come too short of such a reward," p. 214.—The phrase, here referred to, is not found in this ballad at present,[448] but occurs with some variation in another old poem, intitled John the Reeve, described in the following volume (see the Preface to the King and the Miller),[449] viz.
"Nay, sayd John, by Gods grace, And Edward wer in this place, Hee shold not touch this tonne: He wold be wroth with John I hope, Thereffore I beshrew the soupe, That in his mouth shold come." Pt. ii. st. 24.
The following text is selected (with such other corrections as occurred) from two copies in black-letter. The one in the Bodleyan library, intitled, "A merrie, pleasant, and delectable historie betweene K. Edward the Fourth, and a Tanner of Tamworth, &c. printed at London, by John Danter, 1596." This copy, ancient as it now is, appears to have been modernized and altered at the time it was published; and many vestiges of the more ancient readings were recovered from another copy, (though more recently printed,) in one sheet folio, without date, in the Pepys collection.
But these are both very inferior in point of antiquity to the old ballad of The King and the Barker, reprinted with other "Pieces of Ancient Popular Poetry from Authentic Manuscripts and old Printed Copies, &c." Lond. 1791, 8vo. As that very antique Poem had never occurred to the Editor of the Reliques, till he saw it in the above collection, he now refers the curious reader to it, as an imperfect and incorrect copy of the old original ballad.
[This ballad was a great favourite with our ancestors and is probably of considerable antiquity.
The earliest entry of it upon the Registers of the Stationers' Company is to William Griffith in 1564, but no such edition is known to bibliographers. It is possible, however, that Puttenham may have found the line quoted above—
"I hope I shall be hanged to-morrow"
in that edition.
It belongs to the large class of tales in which the sovereign is made to converse on terms of good fellowship with a humble subject.
The interesting ballad of John the Reeve referred to by Percy is printed for the first time in Hales and Furnivall's edition of the Folio Manuscript (vol. ii. p. 550.)
The Tanner of Tamworth is introduced into the first part of Heywood's Edward IV. The ballad Under the greenwood tree, among the Ashmole MSS. at Oxford, Robin Hood and the Curtal Friar, and Robin Hood and the Monk, all begin with the same words as this ballad—
"In summer time when leaves grow green."
The present version is an eclectic copy, polished and reversified by Percy.]
In summer time, when leaves grow greene, And blossoms bedecke the tree, King Edward wolde a hunting ryde, Some pastime for to see. With hawke and hounde he made him bowne,[450] 5 With horne, and eke with bowe; To Drayton Basset he tooke his waye, With all his lordes a rowe. And he had ridden ore dale and downe By eight of clocke in the day, 10 When he was ware of a bold tannèr, Come ryding along the waye. A fayre russet coat the tanner had on Fast buttoned under his chin, And under him a good cow-hide, 15 And a mare of four shilling.[451] Nowe stand you still, my good lordes all, Under the grene wood spraye; And I will wend to yonder fellowe, To weet[452] what he will saye. 20 God speede, God speede thee, said our king, Thou art welcome, sir, sayd hee. "The readyest waye to Drayton Basset I praye thee to shewe to mee." "To Drayton Basset woldst thou goe, 25 Fro the place where thou dost stand? The next payre of gallowes thou comest unto, Turne in upon thy right hand." That is an unreadye waye, sayd our king, Thou doest but jest I see: 30 Nowe shewe me out the nearest waye, And I pray thee wend with mee. Awaye with a vengeance! quoth the tanner: I hold thee out of thy witt: All daye have I rydden on Brocke my mare, 35 And I am fasting yett. "Go with me downe to Drayton Basset, No daynties we will spare; All daye shalt thou eate and drinke of the best, And I will paye thy fare." 40 Gramercye[453] for nothing, the tanner replyde, Thou payest no fare of mine: I trowe I've more nobles in my purse, Than thou hast pence in thine. God give thee joy of them, sayd the king, 45 And send them well to priefe.[454] The tanner wolde faine have beene away, For he weende he had beene a thiefe. What art thou, hee sayde, thou fine fellòwe, Of thee I am in great feare, 50 For the cloathes, thou wearest upon thy backe, Might beseeme a lord to weare. I never stole them, quoth our king, I tell you, sir, by the roode. "Then thou playest, as many an unthrift doth, 55 And standest in midds of thy goode."[455] What tydinges heare you, sayd the kynge, As you ryde farre and neare? "I heare no tydinges, sir, by the masse, But that cowe-hides are deare." 60 "Cowe-hides! cowe-hides! what things are those? I marvell what they bee?" What art thou a foole? the tanner reply'd; I carry one under mee. What craftsman art thou, said the king, 65 I praye thee tell me trowe. "I am a barker,[456] sir, by my trade; Nowe tell me what art thou?" I am a poore courtier, sir, quoth he, That am forth of service worne; 70 And faine I wolde thy prentise bee, Thy cunninge for to learne. Marrye heaven forfend,[457] the tanner replyde, That thou my prentise were: Thou woldst spend more good than I shold winne 75 By fortye shilling a yere. Yet one thinge wolde I, sayd our king, If thou wilt not seeme strange: Thoughe my horse be better than thy mare, Yet with thee I faine wold change. 80 "Why if with me thou faine wilt change, As change full well maye wee, By the faith of my bodye, thou proude fellòwe, I will have some boot[458] of thee." That were against reason, sayd the king, 85 I sweare, so mote I thee:[459] My horse is better than thy mare, And that thou well mayst see. "Yea, sir, but Brocke is gentle and mild, And softly she will fare: 90 Thy horse is unrulye and wild, I wiss; Aye skipping here and theare." What boote wilt thou have? our king reply'd; Now tell me in this stound.[460] "Noe pence, nor half pence, by my faye, 95 But a noble in gold so round." "Here's twentye groates of white moneyè, Sith thou will have it of mee." I would have sworne now, quoth the tanner, Thou hadst not had one penniè. 100 But since we two have made a change, A change we must abide, Although thou hast gotten Brocke my mare, Thou gettest not my cowe-hide. I will not have it, sayd the kynge, 105 I sweare, so mought I thee; Thy foule cowe-hide I wolde not beare, If thou woldst give it to mee. The tanner hee tooke his good cowe-hide, That of the cow was hilt; 110 And threwe it upon the king's sadèlle, That was soe fayrelye gilte. "Now help me up, thou fine fellòwe, 'Tis time that I were gone: When I come home to Gyllian my wife, 115 Sheel say I am a gentilmon." The king he tooke him up by the legge; The tanner a f ** lett fall. Nowe marrye, good fellowe, sayd the kyng, Thy courtesye is but small. 120 When the tanner he was in the kinges sadèlle, And his foote in the stirrup was; He marvelled greatlye in his minde, Whether it were golde or brass. But when his steede saw the cows taile wagge, 125 And eke the blacke cowe-horne; He stamped, and stared, and awaye he ranne, As the devill had him borne. The tanner he pulld, the tanner he sweat, And held by the pummil fast: 130 At length the tanner came tumbling downe; His necke he had well-nye brast.[461] Take thy horse again with a vengeance, he sayd, With mee he shall not byde. "My horse wolde have borne thee well enoughe, 135 But he knewe not of thy cowe-hide. Yet if againe thou faine woldst change, As change full well may wee, By the faith of my bodye, thou jolly tannèr, I will have some boote of thee." 140 What boote wilt thou have, the tanner replyd, Nowe tell me in this stounde? "Noe pence nor halfpence, sir, by my faye, But I will have twentye pound." "Here's twentye groates out of my purse; 145 And twentye I have of thine: And I have one more, which we will spend Together at the wine." The king set a bugle horne to his mouthe, And blewe both loude and shrille: 150 And soone came lords, and soone came knights, Fast ryding over the hille. Nowe, out alas! the tanner he cryde, That ever I sawe this daye! Thou art a strong thiefe, yon come thy fellowes 155 Will beare my cowe-hide away. They are no thieves, the king replyde, I sweare, soe mote I thee: But they are the lords of the north countrèy, Here come to hunt with mee. 160 And soone before our king they came, And knelt downe on the grounde: Then might the tanner have beene awaye, He had lever than twentye pounde. A coller, a coller, here: sayd the king, 165 A coller he loud gan crye; Then woulde he lever then twentye pound, He had not beene so nighe. A coller, a coller, the tanner he sayd, I trowe it will breed sorrowe: 170 After a coller commeth a halter, I trow I shall be hang'd to-morrowe. Be not afraid Tanner, said our king; I tell thee, so mought I thee, Lo here I make thee the best esquire 175 That is in the North countrie.[462] For Plumpton-parke I will give thee, With tenements faire beside: 'Tis worth three hundred markes by the yeare, To maintaine thy good cowe-hide. 180 Gramercye, my liege, the tanner replyde, For the favour thou hast me showne; If ever thou comest to merry Tamwòrth, Neates leather shall clout thy shoen.[463]
⁂
FOOTNOTES:
XVI. AS YE CAME FROM THE HOLY LAND.
Dialogue between a Pilgrim and Traveller.
The scene of this song is the same as in Num. XIV. The pilgrimage to Walsingham suggested the plan of many popular pieces. In the Pepys collection, vol. i. p. 226, is a kind of Interlude in the old ballad style, of which the first stanza alone is worth reprinting.
"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."
The pilgrimages undertaken on pretence of religion, were often productive of affairs of gallantry, and led the votaries to no other shrine than that of Venus.[464]
The following ballad was once very popular; it is quoted in Fletcher's Knt. of the burning pestle, act ii. sc. ult. and in another old play, called, Hans Beer-pot, his invisible Comedy, &c. 4to. 1618; act i.—The copy below was communicated to the Editor by the late Mr. Shenstone as corrected by him from an ancient copy, and supplied with a concluding stanza.
We have placed this, and Gentle Herdsman, &c. thus early in the volume, upon a presumption that they must have been written, if not before the dissolution of the monasteries, yet while the remembrance of them was fresh in the minds of the people.
[Although Percy does not mention his folio MS. this song is there, and a copy from it is now printed at the end of Percy's version. With the exception of the last three lines there are little but verbal differences, but these are numerous. The ending is strikingly inferior to that of the MS. and does very little credit to Shenstone's poetical taste. A copy of the song in the Bodleian library (MS. Rawl. 85 fol. 124) is signed W. R., and Dr. Bliss in consequence claimed it for Sir Walter Raleigh in his edition of Wood's Athenæ. It is inserted in the Oxford edition of Raleigh's Works, vol. viii. p. 733, with the title—False Love and True Love. Dr. Hannah also includes it in his edition of the Courtly Poets, but believes it highly improbable that Raleigh wrote the song.
Mr. Chappell points out that the first line of the ballad quoted above is introduced in Nashe's Have with you to Saffron Walden, 1596. In The Weakest goes to the Wall, 1600, we read
"King Richard's gone to Walsingham, to the Holy Land."
The tune of Walsingham was highly popular, and numerous songs have been set to it.]
As ye came from the holy land Of blessed Walsingham, O met you not with my true love As by the way ye came? "How should I know your true love, 5 That have met many a one, As I came from the holy land, That have both come and gone?" My love is neither white[466], nor browne, But as the heavens faire; 10 There is none hath her form divine, Either in earth, or ayre. "Such an one did I meet, good sir, With an angelicke face; Who like a nymphe, a queene appeard 15 Both in her gait, her grace." Yes: she hath cleane forsaken me, And left me all alone; Who some time loved me as her life, And called me her owne. 20 "What is the cause she leaves thee thus, And a new way doth take, That some times loved thee as her life, And thee her joy did make?" I that loved her all my youth, 25 Growe old now as you see; Love liketh not the falling fruite, Nor yet the withered tree. For love is like a carelesse childe, Forgetting promise past: 30 He is blind, or deaf, whenere he list; His faith is never fast. His fond desire is fickle found, And yieldes a trustlesse joye; Wonne with a world of toil and care, 35 And lost ev'n with a toye. Such is the love of womankinde, Or Loves faire name abusde, Beneathe which many vaine desires, And follyes are excusde. 40 But true love is a lasting fire, [Which viewless vestals[467] tend, That burnes for ever in the soule, And knowes nor change, nor end.']
⁂
[The following version is reprinted from the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. iii. p. 471.)
"As: yee came ffrom the holy Land of Walsingham, Mett you not with my true loue by the way as you came?" 4 "how shold I know your true loue, that haue mett many a one as I cam ffrom the holy Land, that haue come, that haue gone?" 8 "Shee is neither white nor browne, but as the heauens ffaire; there is none hathe their fforme diuine on the earth or the ayre." 12 "such a one did I meete, good Sir, with an angellike fface, who like a nimph, like a queene, did appeare in her gate, in her grace." 16 "Shee hath left me heere alone, all alone as vnknowne, who sometime loued me as her liffe and called me her owne." 20 "What is the cause shee hath left thee alone, and a new way doth take, that sometime did loue thee as her selfe, and her ioy did thee make?" 24 "I haue loued her all my youth, but now am old, as you see. loue liketh not the ffalling ffruite nor the whithered tree; 28 for loue is like a carlesse child, and fforgetts promise past: he is blind, he is deaffe when he list, and infaith neuer ffast; 32 "his desire is ffickle, ffond, and a trustles ioye; he is won with a world of dispayre, and lost with a toye. 36 such is the [fate of all man] kind, or the word loue abused, under which many childish desires and conceipts are excused." 40 "But loue is a durabler ffyer in the mind euer Burninge, euer sicke, neuer dead, neuer cold, ffrom itt selfe neuer turninge." 44
ffinis.]
FOOTNOTES:
XVII. HARDYKNUTE.
A Scottish Fragment.
As this fine morsel of heroic poetry hath generally past for ancient, it is here thrown to the end of our earliest pieces; that such as doubt of its age, may the better compare it with other pieces of genuine antiquity. For after all, there is more than reason to suspect, that it owes most of its beauties (if not its whole existence) to the pen of a lady, within the present century. The following particulars may be depended on. Mrs. Wardlaw, whose maiden name was Halket (aunt to the late Sir Peter Halket, of Pitferran, in Scotland, who was killed in America, along with general Bradock, in 1755), pretended she had found this poem, written on shreds of paper, employed for what is called the bottoms of clues. A suspicion arose that it was her own composition. Some able judges asserted it to be modern. The lady did in a manner acknowledge it to be so. Being desired to shew an additional stanza, as a proof of this, she produced the 2 last beginning with "There's nae light," &c. which were not in the copy that was first printed. The late Lord President Forbes, and Sir Gilbert Elliot of Minto (late Lord Justice Clerk for Scotland) who had believed it ancient, contributed to the expence of publishing the first edition, in folio, 1719.—This account was transmitted from Scotland by Sir David Dalrymple, the late Lord Hailes, who yet was of opinion, that part of the ballad may be ancient; but retouched and much enlarged by the lady abovementioned. Indeed he had been informed, that the late William Thomson, the Scottish musician, who published the Orpheus Caledonius, 1733, 2 vols. 8vo. declared he had heard fragments of it repeated in his infancy, before Mrs. Wardlaw's copy was heard of.
The poem is here printed from the original edition, as it was prepared for the press with the additional improvements.
In an elegant publication, intitled, Scottish Tragic Ballads, printed by and for J. Nichols, 1781, 8vo. may be seen a continuation of the Ballad of Hardyknute, by the addition of a Second Part, which hath since been acknowledged to be his own composition, by the ingenious Editor [John Pinkerton]—To whom the late Sir D. Dalrymple communicated (subsequent to the account drawn up above) extracts of a letter from Sir John Bruce, of Kinross, to Lord Binning, which plainly proves the pretended discoverer of the fragment of Hardyknute to have been Sir John Bruce himself. His words are, "To perform my promise, I send you a true copy of the Manuscript I found some weeks ago in a vault at Dumferline. It is written on vellum in a fair Gothic character, but so much defaced by time, as you'll find that the tenth part is not legible." He then gives the whole fragment as it was first published in 1719, save one or two stanzas, marking several passages as having perished by being illegible in the old MS. Hence it appears, that Sir John was the author of Hardyknute, but afterwards used Mrs. Wardlaw to be the midwife of his poetry, and suppressed the story of the vault; as is well observed by the Editor of the Tragic Ballads, and of Maitland's Scot. Poets, vol. i. p. cxxvii.
To this gentleman we are indebted for the use of the copy, whence the second edition was afterwards printed, as the same was prepared for the press by John Clerk, M.D. of Edinburgh, an intimate companion of Lord President Forbes.
The title of the first edition was, "Hardyknute, a Fragment. Edinburgh, printed for James Watson, &c. 1719," folio, 12 pages.
Stanzas not in the first edition are, Nos. 17, 18, 20, 21, 22, 23, 34, 35, 36, 37, 41, 42.
In the present impression the orthography of Dr. Clerk's copy has been preserved, and his readings carefully followed, except in a few instances, wherein the common edition appeared preferable: viz. He had in ver. 20. but.—v. 56. of harm.—v. 64. every.—v. 67. lo down.—v. 83. That omitted.—v. 89. And omitted.—v. 143. With argument but vainly strave Lang.—v. 148. say'd.—v. 155. incampit on the plain.—v. 156. Norse squadrons.—v. 158. regand revers.—v. 170. his strides he bent.—v. 171. minstrals playand Pibrochs fine.—v. 172. stately went.—v. 182. mon.—v. 196. sharp and fatal.—v. 219. which.—v. 241. stood wyld.—Stanza 39 preceded stanza 38.—v. 305. There.—v. 313. blew westling.—v. 336. had originally been, He fear'd a' cou'd be fear'd.
The Editor was also informed, on the authority of Dr. David Clerk, M.D. of Edinburgh (son of the aforesaid Dr. John Clerk), that between the present stanzas 36 and 37, the two following had been intended, but were on maturer consideration omitted, and do not now appear among the MS. additions:
"Now darts flew wavering through slaw speed, Scarce could they reach their aim; Or reach'd, scarce blood the round point drew, 'Twas all but shot in vain: Right strengthy arms forfeebled grew, Sair wreck'd wi' that day's toils: E'en fierce-born minds now lang'd for peace, And curs'd war's cruel broils. "Yet still wars horns sounded to charge, Swords clash'd and harness rang; But saftly sae ilk blaster blew The hills and dales fraemang. Nae echo heard in double dints, Nor the lang-winding horn, Nae mair she blew out brade as she Did eir that summers morn."
[Elizabeth Halket, second daughter of Sir Charles Halket of Pitfirrane, Fife, and wife of Sir Henry Wardlaw of Pitrivie, Fife and Balmulie near Dunfermline, who was born in the year 1677, married in 1696, and died in 1727, is now known to have been the authoress of Hardyknute, although it was many years before the question of the authorship was finally settled.
Mr. David Laing once possessed a copy of this ballad printed in a duodecimo of eight pages without date, which is supposed to be the original edition. Besides various differences, some important and others minute, it does not contain stanzas 27, 28 and 40, which are printed in the folio of 1719. It was reprinted several times before Percy included it in his book, and its antiquity does not seem to have been doubted, for the editor of the edition of 1740 speaks of it as a specimen of the true sublime, and believes that "it can only be the work of an author highly smitten with the fury of a poetical genius." Allan Ramsay's Evergreen, 1724, vol. ii. contains this ballad with the twelve additional stanzas noted above by Percy.
When Percy first printed the ballad suspicions of its authenticity had been expressed, which soon led to the discovery of the writer, but after having stated who was the real author, he threw doubts upon his statement on account of Pinkerton's truthless report. Pinkerton was never to be depended upon, and he had previously affirmed that the common people of Lanarkshire "repeat scraps of both parts," although the second was his own composition. Sir John Hope Bruce had nothing to do with the composition of the ballad, and it is even doubtful whether his supposed letter to Lord Binning ever had any existence. If it had, it was merely a mystification. On the second of December, 1785, Lord Hailes wrote to Pinkerton as follows, "You mistook if you suppose that I reckoned Sir John Bruce to be the author of Hardyknute. It is his sister-in-law, Lady Wardlaw, who is said to have been the author." Yet Pinkerton made Percy believe that Bruce was the author. Great difference of opinion has been expressed as to the merit of the ballad by various critics. Mathias was fascinated with it, and printed it privately with an encomiastic criticism. Scott wrote on the fly-leaf of his copy of Ramsay's Evergreen, "Hardyknute was the first poem I ever learnt—the last that I shall forget," and in his Minstrelsy of the Border he terms it "a most spirited and beautiful imitation of the ancient ballad." Thomas Warton was deceived by it, and describes it as genuine in the first edition of his Observations on Spenser. In the second edition he assigns the ballad to its true author, but adds, "I am apt to think that the first stanza is old and gave the hint for writing the rest." On the other side Dr. Johnson considered it to have "no great merit," and Aytoun esteemed it a very poor performance. It has not been popular with the ordinary devourers of ballads, and Mr. James Maidment never had the good luck to pick up a stall copy—he writes, "The flying stationers, the best judges of what suited their customers, not considering it an eligible republication." The ballad is supposed to refer to the battle of Largs, fought on the second of October, 1263, between the invading force led by Haco, King of Norway, and the Scottish army commanded in person by Alexander III., but it would, in fact, suit any conflict between Scots and Northmen. The effect of this battle was the loss to Scandinavia of the Hebrides and the Isle of Man, which dependencies were relinquished to Alexander III. by terms of a treaty concluded in 1266, with Magnus, the successor of Haco. The victory was largely due to the Lord High Steward of Scotland, who is supposed to be represented by Hardyknute. Mr. Gilfillan notes that "Fairly Castle, the residence of Hardyknute, stands three miles south of the battle field. It is a single square tower, by the side of a wild stream tumbling over a rock into a deep ravine."]
I.
Stately stept he east the wa',[468] And stately stept he west, Full seventy years he now had seen, Wi' scarce seven years of rest. He liv'd when Britons breach of faith 5 Wrought Scotland mickle wae: And ay his sword tauld to their cost, He was their deadlye fae.
II.
High on a hill his castle stood, With ha's[469] and tow'rs a height, 10 And goodly chambers fair to se, Where he lodged mony a knight. His dame sae peerless anes and fair, For chast and beauty deem'd, Nae marrow[470] had in all the land, 15 Save Elenor[471] the queen.
III.
Full thirteen sons to him she bare, All men of valour stout; In bloody fight with sword in hand Nine lost their lives bot[472] doubt: 20 Four yet remain, lang may they live To stand by liege and land; High was their fame, high was their might, And high was their command.
IV.
Great love they bare to Fairly fair, 25 Their sister saft and dear, Her girdle shaw'd her middle gimp,[473] And gowden glist[474] her hair. What waefu' wae her beauty bred? Waefu' to young and auld, 30 Waefu' I trow to kyth and kin, As story ever tauld.
V.
The king of Norse in summer tyde, Puff'd up with pow'r and might, Landed in fair Scotland the isle 35 With mony a hardy knight. The tydings to our good Scots king Came, as he sat at dine, With noble chiefs in brave aray, Drinking the blood-red wine. 40
VI.
"To horse, to horse, my royal liege, Your faes stand on the strand, Full twenty thousand glittering spears The king of Norse commands." Bring me my steed Mage dapple gray, 45 Our good king rose and cry'd, A trustier beast in a' the land A Scots king nevir try'd.
VII.
Go little page, tell Hardyknute, That lives on hill sae hie, 50 To draw his sword, the dread of faes, And haste and follow me. The little page flew swift as dart Flung by his master's arm, "Come down, come down, lord Hardyknute, 55 And rid your king frae harm."
VIII.
Then red red grew his dark-brown cheeks, Sae did his dark-brown brow; His looks grew keen, as they were wont In dangers great to do; 60 He's ta'en a horn as green as grass, And gi'en five sounds sae shill,[475] That trees in green wood shook thereat, Sae loud rang ilka hill.
IX.
His sons in manly sport and glee, 65 Had past that summer's morn, When low down in a grassy dale, They heard their father's horn. That horn, quo' they, ne'er sounds in peace, We've other sport to bide. 70 And soon they hy'd them up the hill, And soon were at his side.
X.
"Late late the yestreen[476] I ween'd in peace To end my lengthened life, My age might well excuse my arm 75 Frae manly feats of strife; But now that Norse do's proudly boast Fair Scotland to inthrall, It's ne'er be said of Hardyknute, He fear'd to fight or fall. 80
XI.
"Robin of Rothsay, bend thy bow Thy arrows shoot sae leel,[477] That mony a comely countenance They've turnd to deadly pale. Brade[478] Thomas take you but your lance, 85 You need nae weapons mair, If you fight wi't as you did anes 'Gainst Westmoreland's fierce heir.
XII.
"And Malcolm, light of foot as stag That runs in forest wild, 90 Get me my thousands three of men Well bred to sword and shield: Bring me my horse and harnisine,[479] My blade of mettal clear. If faes but ken'd the hand it bare, 95 They soon had fled for fear.
XIII.
"Farewell my dame sae peerless good, (And took her by the hand), Fairer to me in age you seem, Than maids for beauty fam'd. 100 My youngest son shall here remain To guard these stately towers, And shut the silver bolt that keeps Sae fast your painted bowers."
XIV.
And first she wet her comely cheiks, 105 And then her boddice green, Her silken cords of twirtle twist,[480] Well plett with silver sheen; And apron set with mony a dice Of needle-wark sae rare, 110 Wove by nae hand, as ye may guess, Save that of Fairly fair.
XV.
And he has ridden o'er muir and moss, O'er hills and mony a glen, When he came to a wounded knight 115 Making a heavy mane; "Here maun I lye, here maun I dye, By treacherie's false guiles; Witless I was that e'er ga faith To wicked woman's smiles." 120
XVI.
"Sir knight, gin you were in my bower, To lean on silken seat, My lady's kindly care you'd prove, Who ne'er knew deadly hate: Herself wou'd watch you a' the day, 125 Her maids a dead of night; And Fairly fair your heart wou'd chear, As she stands in your sight.
XVII.
"Arise young knight, and mount your stead, Full lowns the shynand day:[481] 130 Choose frae my menzie[482] whom ye please To lead you on the way." With smileless look, and visage wan The wounded knight reply'd, "Kind chieftain, your intent pursue, 135 For here I maun abyde.
XVIII.
To me nae after day nor night Can e're be sweet or fair, But soon beneath some draping tree, Cauld death shall end my care." 140 With him nae pleading might prevail; Brave Hardyknute to gain With fairest words, and reason strong, Strave courteously in vain.
XIX.
Syne he has gane far hynd out o'er[483] 145 Lord Chattan's land sae wide; That lord a worthy wight was ay, When faes his courage sey'd:[484] Of Pictish race by mother's side, When Picts rul'd Caledon, 150 Lord Chattan claim'd the princely maid, When he sav'd Pictish crown.
XX.
Now with his fierce and stalwart train, He reach'd a rising hight, Quhair braid encampit on the dale, 155 Norss menzie[485] lay in sicht. "Yonder my valiant sons and feirs[486] Our raging revers[487] wait On the unconquert Scottish sward To try with us their fate. 160
XXI.
"Make orisons to him that sav'd Our sauls upon the rude;[488] Syne[489] bravely shaw your veins are fill'd With Caledonian blude." Then furth he drew his trusty glave,[490] 165 While thousands all around Drawn frae their sheaths glanc'd in the sun; And loud the bougles sound.
XXII.
To joyn his king adoun the hill In hast his merch he made, 170 While, playand pibrochs, minstralls meit[491] Afore him stately strade. "Thrice welcome valiant stoup of weir,[492] Thy nations shield and pride; Thy king nae reason has to fear 175 When thou art by his side."
XXIII.
When bows were bent and darts were thrawn; For thrang scarce cou'd they flee; The darts clove arrows as they met, The arrows dart[493] the tree. 180 Lang did they rage and fight fu' fierce, With little skaith to mon, But bloody bloody was the field, Ere that lang day was done.
XXIV.
The king of Scots, that sindle[494] brook'd 185 The war that look'd like play, Drew his braid sword, and brake his bow, Sin bows seem'd but delay. Quoth noble Rothsay, "Mine I'll keep, I wat it's bled a score." 190 Haste up my merry men, cry'd the king, As he rode on before.
XXV.
The king of Norse he sought to find, With him to mense[495] the faught, But on his forehead there did light 195 A sharp unsonsie[496] shaft; As he his hand put up to feel The wound, an arrow keen, O waefu' chance! there pinn'd his hand In midst between his een. 200
XXVI.
"Revenge, revenge, cry'd Rothsay's heir, Your mail-coat sha' na bide The strength and sharpness of my dart:" Then sent it through his side. Another arrow well he mark'd, 205 It pierc'd his neck in twa, His hands then quat[497] the silver reins, He low as earth did fa'.
XXVII.
"Sair bleids my liege, sair, sair he bleeds!" Again wi' might he drew 210 And gesture dread his sturdy bow, Fast the braid arrow flew: Wae to the knight he ettled at;[498] Lament now queen Elgreed; High dames too wail your darling's fall, 215 His youth and comely meed.
XXVIII.
"Take aff, take aff his costly jupe[499] (Of gold well was it twin'd, Knit like the fowler's net, through quhilk, His steelly harness shin'd) 220 Take, Norse, that gift frae me, and bid Him venge the blood it bears; Say, if he face my bended bow, He sure nae weapon fears."
XXIX.
Proud Norse with giant body tall, 225 Braid shoulders and arms strong, Cry'd, "Where is Hardyknute sae fam'd, And fear'd at Britain's throne: Tho' Britons tremble at his name, I soon shall make him wail, 230 That e'er my sword was made sae sharp, Sae saft his coat of mail."
XXX.
That brag his stout heart cou'd na bide, It lent him youthfu' micht: "I'm Hardyknute; this day, he cry'd, 235 To Scotland's king I heght[500] To lay thee low, as horses hoof; My word I mean to keep." Syne with the first stroke e'er he strake, He garr'd[501] his body bleed. 240
XXXI.
Norss' een like gray gosehawk's stair'd wyld, He sigh'd wi' shame and spite; "Disgrac'd is now my far-fam'd arm That left thee power to strike:" Then ga' his head a blow sae fell, 245 It made him doun to stoup, As laigh as he to ladies us'd In courtly guise to lout.[502]
XXXII.
Fu' soon he rais'd his bent body, His bow he marvell'd sair, 250 Sin blows till then on him but darr'd[503] As touch of Fairly fair: Norse marvell'd too as sair as he To see his stately look; Sae soon as e'er he strake a fae, 255 Sae soon his life he took.
XXXIII.
Where like a fire to heather set, Bauld Thomas did advance, Ane sturdy fae with look enrag'd Up toward him did prance; 260 He spurr'd his steid through thickest ranks The hardy youth to quell, Wha stood unmov'd at his approach His fury to repell.
XXXIV.
"That short brown shaft sae meanly trimm'd, 265 Looks like poor Scotlands gear, But dreadfull seems the rusty point!" And loud he leugh in jear.[504] "Oft Britons b[l]ood has dimm'd its shine; This point cut short their vaunt:" 270 Syne pierc'd the boasters bearded cheek; Nae time he took to taunt.
XXXV.
Short while he in his saddle swang, His stirrup was nae stay, Sae feeble hang his unbent knee 275 Sure taiken he was fey:[505] Swith[506] on the harden't clay he fell, Right far was heard the thud: But Thomas look't nae as he lay All waltering in his blud.
XXXVI.
With careless gesture, mind unmov't, On rode he north the plain; His seem in throng of fiercest strife, When winner ay the same: Not yet his heart dames dimplet cheek 285 Could mease[507] soft love to bruik, Till vengefu' Ann return'd his scorn, Then languid grew his luik.
XXXVII.
In thraws of death, with walowit[508] cheik All panting on the plain, 290 The fainting corps of warriours lay, Ne're to arise again; Ne're to return to native land, Nae mair with blithsome sounds To boast the glories of the day, 295 And shaw their shining wounds.
XXXVIII.
On Norways coast the widowit dame May wash the rocks with tears, May lang luik ow'r the shipless seas Befor her mate appears. 300 Cease, Emma, cease to hope in vain; Thy lord lyes in the clay; The valiant Scots nae revers thole[509] To carry life away.
XXXIX.
Here on a lee, where stands a cross 305 Set up for monument, Thousands fu' fierce that summer's day Fill'd keen war's black intent. Let Scots, while Scots, praise Hardyknute, Let Norse the name ay dread, 310 Ay how he faught, aft how he spar'd, Shall latest ages read.
XL.
Now loud and chill blew th' westlin wind, Sair beat the heavy shower, Mirk[510] grew the night ere Hardyknute 315 Wan[511] near his stately tower. His tow'r that us'd wi' torches blaze To shine sae far at night, Seem'd now as black as mourning weed, Nae marvel sair he sigh'd. 320
XLI.
"There's nae light in my lady's bower, There's nae light in my ha'; Nae blink shines round my Fairly fair, Nor ward[512] stands on my wa'." "What bodes it? Robert, Thomas, say;"— 325 Nae answer fitts their dread. "Stand back, my sons, I'le be your guide;" But by they past with speed.
XLII.
"As fast I've sped owre Scotlands faes,"— There ceas'd his brag of weir, 330 Sair sham'd to mind ought but his dame, And maiden Fairly fair. Black fear he felt, but what to fear He wist nae yet; wi' dread Sair shook his body, sair his limbs, 335 And a' the warrior fled. * * * * *
FOOTNOTES:
THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK.
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY, ETC.
SERIES THE SECOND.