BOOK III. (continued 2)
Reading edition
"What need we brag or boast at all Of Arthur and his knights."]
Why doe you boast of Arthur and his knightes, Knowing 'well' how many men have endured fightes? For besides king Arthur, and Lancelot du lake, Or sir Tristram de Lionel, that fought for ladies sake; Read in old histories, and there you shall see How St. George, St. George the dragon made to flee. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. Mark our father Abraham, when first he resckued Lot Onely with his household, what conquest there he got: David was elected a prophet and a king, He slew the great Goliah, with a stone within a sling: Yet these were not knightes of the table round; Nor St. George, St. George, who the dragon did confound. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. Jephthah and Gideon did lead their men to fight, They conquered the Amorites, and put them all to flight: Hercules his labours 'were' on the plaines of Basse; And Sampson slew a thousand with the jawbone of an asse, And eke he threw a temple downe, and did a mighty spoyle: But St. George, St. George he did the dragon foyle. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. The warres of ancient monarchs it were too long to tell, And likewise of the Romans, how farre they did excell; Hannyball and Scipio in many a fielde did fighte: Orlando Furioso he was a worthy knighte: Remus and Romulus, were they that Rome did builde: But St. George, St. George the dragon made to yielde. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. The noble Alphonso, that was the Spanish king, The order of the red scarffes and bandrolles in did bring:[435] He had a troope of mighty knightes, when first he did begin, Which sought adventures farre and neare, that conquest they might win: The ranks of the Pagans he often put to flight: But St. George, St. George did with the dragon fight. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. Many 'knights' have fought with proud Tamberlaine. Cutlax the Dane, great warres he did maintaine: Rowland of Beame, and good 'sir' Olivere In the forest of Acon slew both woolfe and beare: Besides that noble Hollander, 'sir' Goward with the bill: But St. George, St. George the dragon's blood did spill. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. Valentine and Orson were of king Pepin's blood: Alfride and Henry they were brave knightes and good: The four sons of Aymon, that follow'd Charlemaine: Sir Hughon of Burdeaux, and Godfrey of Bullaine: These were all French knightes that lived in that age: But St. George, St. George the dragon did assuage. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. Bevis conquered Ascapart, and after slew the boare, And then he crost beyond the seas to combat with the moore: Sir Isenbras, and Eglamore they were knightes most bold; And good Sir John Mandeville of travel much hath told: There were many English knights that Pagans did convert: But St. George, St. George pluckt out the dragon's heart. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. The noble earl of Warwick, that was call'd sir Guy, The infidels and pagans stoutlie did defie; He slew the giant Brandimore, and after was the death Of that most ghastly dun cowe, the divell of Dunsmore heath; Besides his noble deeds all done beyond the seas: But St George, St. George the dragon did appease. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. Richard Cœur-de-lion erst king of this land, He the lion gored with his naked hand:[436] The false duke of Austria nothing did he feare; But his son he killed with a boxe on the eare; Besides his famous actes done in the holy lande: But St. George, St. George the dragon did withstande. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. Henry the fifth he conquered all France, And quartered their arms, his honour to advance: He their cities razed, and threw their castles downe, And his head he honoured with a double crowne: He thumped the French-men, and after home he came: But St. George, St. George he did the dragon tame. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. St. David of Wales the Welsh-men much advance: St. Jaques of Spaine, that never yet broke lance: St. Patricke of Ireland, which was St. Georges boy, Seven yeares he kept his horse, and then stole him away: For which knavish act, as slaves they doe remaine: But St. George, St. George the dragon he hath slaine. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
FOOTNOTES:
XV. ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND.
The Second Part.
Was written by John Grubb, M.A. of Christ Church, Oxford. The occasion of its being composed is said to have been as follows. A set of gentlemen of the university had formed themselves into a club, all the members of which were to be of the name of George: Their anniversary feast was to be held on St. George's day. Our author solicited strongly to be admitted; but his name being unfortunately John, this disqualification was dispensed with only upon this condition, that he would compose a song in honour of their Patron Saint, and would every year produce one or more new stanzas, to be sung on their annual festival. This gave birth to the following humorous performance, the several stanzas of which were the produce of many successive anniversaries.[437]
This diverting poem was long handed about in manuscript, at length a friend of Grubb's undertook to get it printed, who, not keeping pace with the impatience of his friends, was addressed in the following whimsical macaronic lines, which, in such a collection as this, may not improperly accompany the poem itself.
Expostulatiuncula, sive Querimoniuncula ad Antonium [Atherton] ob Poema Johannis Grubb, Viri του πανυ ingeniosissimi in lucem nondum editi.
Toni! Tune sines divina poemata Grubbi Intomb'd in secret thus still to remain any longer, Τουνομα σου shall last, Ω Γρυββε διαμπερες αει, Grubbe tuum nomen vivet dum nobilis ale-a Efficit heroas, dignamque heroe puellam. Est genus heroum, quos nobilis efficit alea-a Qui pro niperkin clamant, quaternque liquoris Quem vocitant Homines Brandy, Superi Cherry-brandy, Sæpe illi longcut, vel small-cut flare Tobacco Sunt soliti pipos. Ast si generosior herba (Per varios casus, per tot discrimina rerum) Mundungus desit, tum non funcare recusant Brown-paper tostâ, vel quod fit arundine bed-mat. Hic labor, hoc opus est heroum ascendere sedes! Ast ego quo rapiar! quo me feret entheus ardor Grubbe, tui memorem? Divinum expande poema. Quæ mora? quæ ratio est, quin Grubbi protinus anser Virgilii, Flaccique simul canat inter olores?
At length the importunity of his friends prevailed, and Mr. Grubb's song was published at Oxford, under the following title:
The British Heroes. A New Poem in honour of St. George, By Mr. John Grubb, School-master of Christ-Church, Oxon. 1688.
Favete linguis: carmina non prius Audita, musarum sucerdos Canto.—
Hor.
Sold by Henry Clements. Oxon.
The story of king Arthur old Is very memorable, The number of his valiant knights, And roundness of his table: The knights around his table in 5 A circle sate d'ye see: And altogether made up one Large hoop of chivalry. He had a sword, both broad and sharp, Y-clepd Caliburn, 10 Would cut a flint more easily, Than pen-knife cuts a corn; As case-knife does a capon carve, So would it carve a rock, And split a man at single slash, 15 From noddle down to nock. As Roman Augur's steel of yore Dissected Tarquin's riddle, So this would cut both conjurer And whetstone thro' the middle. 20 He was the cream of Brecknock, And flower of all the Welsh: But George he did the dragon fell, And gave him a plaguy squelsh.[438] St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; 25 Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. Pendragon, like his father Jove, Was fed with milk of goat; And like him made a noble shield Of she-goat's shaggy coat: 30 On top of burnisht helmet he Did wear a crest of leeks; And onions' heads, whose dreadful nod Drew tears down hostile cheeks. Itch, and Welsh blood did make him hot, 35 And very prone to ire; H' was ting'd with brimstone, like a match, And would as soon take fire. As brimstone he took inwardly When scurf gave him occasion, 40 His postern puff of wind was a Sulphureous exhalation. The Briton never tergivers'd, But was for adverse drubbing, And never turn'd his back to aught, 45 But to a post for scrubbing. His sword would serve for battle, or For dinner, if you please; When it had slain a Cheshire man, 'Twould toast a Cheshire cheese. 50 He wounded, and, in their own blood Did anabaptize Pagans: But George he made the dragon an Example to all dragons. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; 55 Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. Brave Warwick Guy, at dinner time, Challeng'd a gyant savage; And streight came out the unweildy lout Brim-full of wrath and cabbage: 60 He had a phiz of latitude, And was full thick i' th' middle; The chekes of puffed trumpeter, And paunch of squire Beadle.[439] But the knight fell'd him, like an oak, 65 And did upon his back tread; The valiant knight his weazon cut, And Atropos his packthread. Besides he fought with a dun cow, As say the poets witty, 70 A dreadful dun, and horned too, Like dun of Oxford city: The fervent dog-days made her mad, By causing heat of weather, Syrius and Procyon baited her, 75 As bull-dogs did her father: Grafiers, nor butchers this fell beast, E'er of her frolick hindered; John Dosset[440] she'd knock down as flat, As John knocks down her kindred: 80 Her heels would lay ye all along, And kick into a swoon; Frewin's[441] cow-heels keep up your corpse, But hers would beat you down. She vanquisht many a sturdy wight, 85 And proud was of the honour; Was pufft by mauling butchers so, As if themselves had blown her. At once she kickt, and pusht at Guy, But all that would not fright him; 90 Who wav'd his winyard o'er sir-loyn, As if he'd gone to knight him. He let her blood, frenzy to cure, And eke he did her gall rip; His trenchant blade, like cook's long spit, 95 Ran thro' the monster's bald-rib: He rear'd up the vast crooked rib, Instead of arch triumphal: But George hit th' dragon such a pelt, As made him on his bum fall. 100 St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. Tamerlain, with Tartarian bow, The Turkish squadrons slew; And fetch'd the pagan crescent down, 105 With half-moon made of yew: His trusty bow proud Turks did gall, With showers of arrows thick, And bow-strings, without strangling, sent Grand Viziers to old Nick: 110 Much turbants, and much Pagan pates He made to humble in dust; And heads of Saracens he fixt On spear, as on a sign-post: He coop'd in cage Bajazet the prop 115 Of Mahomet's religion, As if't been the whispering bird, That prompted him; the pigeon. In Turkey leather scabbard, he Did sheathe his blade so trenchant: 120 But George he swinged the dragon's tail, And cut off every inch on't. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. The amazon Thalestris was 125 Both beautiful, and bold; She sear'd her breasts with iron hot, And bang'd her foes with cold. Her hand was like the tool, wherewith Jove keeps proud mortals under: 130 It shone just like his lightning, And batter'd like his thunder. Her eye darts lightning, that would blast The proudest he that swagger'd, And melt the rapier of his soul, 135 In its corporeal scabbard. Her beauty, and her drum to foes Did cause amazement double; As timorous larks amazed are With light, and with a low-bell: 140 With beauty, and that lapland-charm,[442] Poor men she did bewitch all; Still a blind whining lover had, As Pallas had her scrich-owl. She kept the chastness of a nun 145 In armour, as in cloyster: But George undid the dragon just As you'd undo an oister. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 150 Stout Hercules, was offspring of Great Jove, and fair Alcmene: One part of him celestial was, One part of him terrene. To scale the hero's cradle walls 155 Two fiery snakes combin'd, And, curling into swaddling cloaths, About the infant twin'd: But he put out these dragons' fires, And did their hissing stop; 160 As red-hot iron with hissing noise Is quencht in blacksmith's shop. He cleans'd a stable, and rubb'd down The horses of new-comers; And out of horse-dung he rais'd fame, 165 As Tom Wrench[443] does cucumbers. He made a river help him through; Alpheus was under-groom; The stream, disgust at office mean, Ran murmuring thro' the room: 170 This liquid ostler to prevent Being tired with that long work, His father Neptune's trident took, Instead of three-tooth'd dung-fork. This Hercules, as soldier, and 175 As spinster, could take pains; His club would sometimes spin ye flax, And sometimes knock out brains: H' was forc'd to spin his miss a shift By Juno's wrath and hér-spite; 180 Fair Omphale whipt him to his wheel, As cook whips barking turn-spit. From man, or churn he well knew how To get him lasting fame: He'd pound a giant, till the blood, 185 And milk till butter came. Often he fought with huge battoon, And oftentimes he boxed; Tapt a fresh monster once a month, As Hervey[444] doth fresh hogshead. 190 He gave Anteus such a hug, As wrestlers give in Cornwall: But George he did the dragon kill, As dead as any door-nail. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; 195 Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. The Gemini, sprung from an egg, Were put into a cradle: Their brains with knocks and bottled ale, Were often-times full addle: 200 And, scarcely hatch'd, these sons of him, That hurls the bolt trisulcate, With helmet-shell on tender head, Did tustle with red-ey'd pole-cat. Castor a horseman, Pollux tho' 205 A boxer was, I wist: The one was fam'd for iron heel; Th' other for leaden fist. Pollux to shew he was god, When he was in a passion 210 With fist made noses fall down flat By way of adoration: This fist, as sure as French disease, Demolish'd noses' ridges: He like a certain lord[445] was famd' 215 For breaking down of bridges. Castor the flame of fiery steed, With well-spur'd boots took down; As men, with leathern buckets, quench A fire in country town. 220 His famous horse, that liv'd on oats, Is sung on oaten quill; By bards' immortal provender The nag surviveth still. This shelly brood on none but knaves 225 Employ'd their brisk artillery: And flew as naturally at rogues, As eggs at thief in pillory.[446] Much sweat they spent in furious fight, Much blood they did effund: 230 Their whites they vented thro' the pores; Their yolks thro' gaping wound: Then both were cleans'd from blood and dust To make a heavenly sign; The lads were, like their armour, scowr'd, 235 And then hung up to shine; Such were the heavenly double-Dicks, The sons of Jove and Tyndar: But George he cut the dragon up, As he had bin duck or windar.[447] 240 St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. Gorgon a twisted adder wore For knot upon her shoulder: She kemb'd her hissing periwig, 245 And curling snakes did powder. These snakes they made stiff changelings Of all the folks they hist on; They turned barbars into hones, And masons into free-stone: 250 Sworded magnetic Amazon Her shield to load-stone changes; Then amorous sword by magic belt Clung fast unto her haunches. This shield long village did protect, 255 And kept the army from-town, And chang'd the bullies into rocks, That came t' invade Long-Compton.[448] She post-diluvian stores unmans, And Pyrrha's work unravels; 260 And stares Deucalion's hardy boys Into their primitive pebbles. Red noses she to rubies turns, And noddles into bricks: But George made dragon laxative; 265 And gave him a bloody flix. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. By boar-spear Meleager got, An everlasting name, 270 And out of haunch of basted swine, He hew'd eternal fame. This beast each hero's trouzers ript, And rudely shew'd his bare-breech, Prickt but the wem, and out there came 275 Heroic guts and garbadge. Legs were secur'd by iron boots No more, than peas by peascods: Brass helmets, with inclosed sculls, Wou'd crackle in's mouth like chestnuts. 280 His tawny hairs erected were By rage, that was resistless; And wrath, instead of cobler's wax, Did stiffen his rising bristles. His tusk lay'd dogs so dead asleep, 285 Nor horn, nor whip cou'd wake 'um: It made them vent both their last blood, And their last album-grecum. But the knight gor'd him with his spear, To make of him a tame one, 290 And arrows thick, instead of cloves, He stuck in monster's gammon. For monumental pillar, that His victory might be known, He rais'd up, in cylindric form, 295 A collar of the brawn. He sent his shade to shades below, In Stygian mud to wallow: And eke the stout St. George eftsoon, He made the dragon follow. 300 St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. Achilles of old Chiron learnt The great horse for to ride; H' was taught by th' Centaur's rational part, 305 The hinnible to bestride. Bright silver feet, and shining face Had that stout hero's mother; As rapier's silver'd at one end, And wounds you at the other. 310 Her feet were bright, his feet were swift, As hawk pursuing sparrow: Her's had the metal, his the speed Of Braburn's[449] silver arrow. Thetis to double pedagogue 315 Commits her dearest boy; Who bred him from a slender twig To be the scourge of Troy: But ere he lash't the Trojans, h' was In Stygian waters steept; 320 As birch is soaked first in piss, When boys are to be whipt. With skin exceeding hard, he rose From lake, so black and muddy, As lobsters from the ocean rise, 325 With shell about their body: And, as from lobster's broken claw, Pick out the fish you might: So might you from one unshell'd heel Dig pieces of the knight. 330 His myrmidons robb'd Priam's barns And hen-roosts, says the song; Carried away both corn and eggs, Like ants from whence they sprung. Himself tore Hector's pantaloons, 335 And sent him down bare-breech'd To pedant Radamanthus, in A posture to be switch'd. But George he made the dragon look, As if he had been bewitch'd. 340 St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. Full fatal to the Romans was The Carthaginian Hanni- bal; him I mean, who gave them such 345 A devilish thump at Cannæ: Moors thick, as goats on Penmenmure, Stood on the Alpes's front: Their one-eyed guide,[450] like blinking mole, Bor'd thro' the hindring mount: 350 Who, baffled by the massy rock, Took vinegar for relief; Like plowmen, when they hew their way Thro' stubborn rump of beef. As dancing louts from humid toes 355 Cast atoms of ill favour To blinking Hyatt,[451] when on vile crowd He merriment does endeavour, And saws from suffering timber out Some wretched tune to quiver: 360 So Romans slunk and squeak'd at sight Of Affrican carnivor. The tawny surface of his phiz Did serve instead of vizzard: But George he made the dragon have 365 A grumbling in his gizzard. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. The valour of Domitian, It must not be forgotten; 370 Who from the jaws of worm-blowing flies, Protected veal and mutton. A squadron of flies errant, Against the foe appears; With regiments of buzzing knights, 375 And swarms of volunteers: The warlike wasp encourag'd 'em, With animating hum; And the loud brazen hornet next, He was their kettle-drum: 380 The Spanish don Cantharido Did him most sorely pester, And rais'd on skin of vent'rous knight Full many a plaguy blister. A bee whipt thro' his button hole, 385 As thro' key hole a witch, And stabb'd him with her little tuck Drawn out of scabbard breech: But the undaunted knight lifts up An arm both big and brawny, 390 And slasht her so, that here lay head, And there lay bag and honey: Then 'mongst the rout he flew as swift, As weapon made by Cyclops, And bravely quell'd seditious buz, 395 By dint of massy fly-flops. Surviving flies do curses breathe, And maggots too at Cæsar: But George he shav'd the dragon's beard, And Askelon[452] was his razor. 400 St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
John Grubb, the facetious writer of the foregoing song, makes a distinguished figure among the Oxford wits so humorously enumerated in the following distich:
Alma novem genuit célebres Rhedycina poetas Bub, Stubb, Grubb, Crabb, Trap, Young, Carey, Tickel, Evans.
These were Bub Dodington (the late lord Melcombe), Dr. Stubbes, our poet Grubb, Mr. Crabb, Dr. Trapp the poetry-professor, Dr. Edw. Young, the author of Night-Thoughts, Walter Carey, Thomas Tickel, Esq., and Dr. Evans the epigrammatist.
As for our poet Grubb, all that we can learn further of him is contained in a few extracts from the University Register, and from his epitaph. It appears from the former that he was matriculated in 1667, being the son of John Grubb, "de Acton Burnel in comitatu Salop. pauperis." He took his degree of Bachelor of Arts, June 28, 1671: and became Master of Arts, June 28, 1675. He was appointed Head Master of the Grammar School at Christ Church: and afterwards chosen into the same employment at Gloucester, where he died in 1697, as appears from his monument in the church of St. Mary de Crypt in Gloucester, which is inscribed with the following epitaph:—
H. S. E. Johannes Grubb, A. M. Natus apud Acton Burnel in agro Salopiensi Anno Dom. 1645. Cujus variam in linguis notitiam, et felicem erudiendis pueris industriam, gratâ adhuc memoriâ testatur Oxonium: Ibi enim Ædi Christi initiatus, artes excoluit; Pueros ad easdem mox excolendas accuratè formavit: Huc demum unanimi omnium consensu accitus, eandem suscepit provinciam, quam feliciter adeo absolvit, ut nihil optandum sit nisi ut diutius nobis interfuisset: Fuit enim propter festivam ingenij suavitatem, simplicem morum candorem, et præcipuam erga cognatos benevolentiam, omnibus desideratissimus. Obiit 2do die Aprilis, Anno Dni. 1697. Ætatis suæ 51.
FOOTNOTES:
XVI. MARGARET'S GHOST.
This ballad, which appeared in some of the public newspapers in or before the year 1724, came from the pen of David Mallet, Esq. who in the edition of his poems, 3 vols. 1759, informs us that the plan was suggested by the four verses quoted above in page 124, which he supposed to be the beginning of some ballad now lost.
"These lines, says he, naked of ornament and simple, as they are, struck my fancy; and bringing fresh into my mind an unhappy adventure much talked of formerly, gave birth to the following poem, which was written many years ago."
The two introductory lines (and one or two others elsewhere) had originally more of the ballad simplicity, viz.
"When all was wrapt in dark midnight, And all were fast asleep," &c.
In a late publication, intitled, The Friends, &c. Lond. 1773, 2 vols. 12mo. (in the first volume, p. 71) is inserted a copy of the foregoing ballad, with very great variations, which the editor of that work contends was the original; and that Mallet adopted it for his own and altered it, as here given.—But the superior beauty and simplicity of the present copy, gives it so much more the air of an original, that it will rather be believed that some transcriber altered it from Mallet's, and adapted the lines to his own taste; than which nothing is more common in popular songs and ballads.
[This ballad, more generally known as William and Margaret, is supposed to have been printed for the first time in Aaron Hill's Plain Dealer (No. 36, July 24, 1724), when the author was a very young man. Hill introduced it to the reader as the work of an old poet, and wrote, "I am sorry I am not able to acquaint my readers with his name to whom we owe this melancholy piece of finished poetry under the humble title of a ballad." In the following month the editor announced that "he had discovered the author to be still alive." The verses were probably written in 1723, in the August of which year Mallet left Scotland, for Allan Ramsay, in his Stanzas to Mr. David Mallock on his departure from Scotland, alludes to them:—
"But he that could, in tender strains, Raise Margaret's plaining shade, And paints distress that chills the veins, While William's crimes are red."
The ballad at once became popular, and was printed in several collections, undergoing many alterations for the worse by the way. Sundry attempts were made to rob Mallet of the credit of his song. Besides the one mentioned above by Percy, Captain Thompson, the editor of Andrew Marvell's Works, claimed it for Marvell, but this claim was even more ridiculous than those he set up against Addison and Watts. Although Mallet doubtless knew the ballads Fair Margaret and Sweet William (book ii. No. 4) and Sweet William's Ghost (No. 6), he is said to have founded his own upon a true story which came under his observation. A daughter of Professor James Gregory of St. Andrews, and afterwards of Edinburgh, was seduced by a son of Sir William Sharp of Strathyrum, who had promised to marry her, but heartlessly deserted her.
The ballad has been extravagantly praised: Ritson observes, "It may be questioned whether any English writer has produced so fine a ballad as William and Margaret." Percy describes it as one of the most beautiful ballads in our own or any other language; and Allan Ramsay writes, "I know not where to seek a finer mixture of pathos and terror in the whole range of Gothic romance." Scott, on the other hand, was of opinion that "The ballad, though the best of Mallet's writing, is certainly inferior to the original, which I presume to be the very fine and terrific old Scottish tale, beginning
'There came a ghost to Margaret's door.'"
The extreme popularity of the poem is seen by the various parodies, one of which, Watty and Madge, is printed in Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany (vol. iii.). It commences—
"'Twas at the shining mid-day hour,"
and each succeeding verse is parodied in the same manner. Vincent Browne imitated the original in Latin verse, and a German version was published as Wilhelm und Gretchen.
Mallet was a native of Crieff in Perthshire, and is believed to have been born in the year 1702. He was sometime tutor to the Montrose family, through whose influence he was introduced into public life. He changed his name from Malloch to Mallet when he settled in London, and in 1742 he was appointed Under Secretary to the Prince of Wales. He died on the 21st of April, 1765. Mallet is a writer little cared for now, but he can hardly be said to be neglected, for in 1857 Mr. Frederick Dinsdale published an illustrated edition of his Ballads and Songs, chiefly made up of copious notes on William and Margaret and Edwin and Emma.]
'Twas at the silent solemn hour, When night and morning meet; In glided Margaret's grimly ghost, And stood at William's feet. Her face was like an April morn, 5 Clad in a wintry cloud: And clay-cold was her lily hand, That held her sable shrowd. So shall the fairest face appear, When youth and years are flown: 10 Such is the robe that kings must wear, When death has reft their crown. Her bloom was like the springing flower, That sips the silver dew; The rose was budded in her cheek, 15 Just opening to the view. But love had, like the canker worm, Consum'd her early prime: The rose grew pale, and left her cheek; She dy'd before her time. 20 "Awake!" she cry'd, "thy true love calls, Come from her midnight grave; Now let thy pity hear the maid, Thy love refus'd to save. "This is the dark and dreary hour, 25 When injur'd ghosts complain; Now yawning graves give up their dead, To haunt the faithless swain. "Bethink thee, William, of thy fault, Thy pledge, and broken oath: 30 And give me back my maiden vow, And give me back my troth. "Why did you promise love to me, And not that promise keep? Why did you swear mine eyes were bright, 35 Yet leave those eyes to weep? "How could you say my face was fair, And yet that face forsake? How could you win my virgin heart, Yet leave that heart to break? 40 "Why did you say my lip was sweet, And made the scarlet pale? And why did I, young witless maid, Believe the flattering tale? "That face, alas! no more is fair; 45 These lips no longer red: Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death, And every charm is fled. "The hungry worm my sister is; This winding-sheet I wear: 50 And cold and weary lasts our night, Till that last morn appear. "But hark! the cock has warn'd me hence! A long and last adieu! Come see, false man, how low she lies, 55 Who dy'd for love of you." The lark sung loud; the morning smil'd, With beams of rosy red: Pale William shook in ev'ry limb, And raving left his bed. 60 He hyed him to the fatal place, Where Margaret's body lay; And stretch'd him on the grass-green turf, That wrapt her breathless clay: And thrice he call'd on Margaret's name, 65 And thrice he wept full sore: Then laid his cheek to her cold grave, And word spake never more.
XVII. LUCY AND COLIN
Was written by Thomas Tickell, Esq. the celebrated friend of Mr. Addison, and editor of his works. He was son of a clergyman in the north of England, had his education at Queen's college, Oxon, was under secretary to Mr. Addison and Mr. Craggs, when successively secretaries of state; and was lastly (in June, 1724) appointed secretary to the Lords Justices in Ireland, which place he held till his death in 1740.[453] He acquired Mr. Addison's patronage by a poem in praise of the opera of Rosamond, written while he was at the University.
It is a tradition in Ireland, that the song was written at Castletown, in the county of Kildare, at the request of the then Mrs. Conolly—probably on some event recent in that neighbourhood.
[Gray called Lucy and Colin "the prettiest" ballad in the world, although he was not partial to Tickell's other poems.
The fine old melody given by Dr. Rimbault for this ballad is taken from "The Merry Musician; or a Cure for the Spleen; being a collection of the most diverting Songs and pleasant Ballads set to Musick," 1716.]
Of Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair, Bright Lucy was the grace; Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream Reflect so fair a face. Till luckless love, and pining care 5 Impair'd her rosy hue, Her coral lip, and damask cheek, And eyes of glossy blue. Oh! have you seen a lily pale, When beating rains descend? 10 So droop'd the slow-consuming maid; Her life now near its end. By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains Take heed, ye easy fair: Of vengeance due to broken vows, 15 Ye perjured swains, beware. Three times, all in the dead of night, A bell was heard to ring; And at her window, shrieking thrice, The raven flap'd his wing. 20 Too well the love-lorn maiden knew That solemn boding sound; And thus, in dying words, bespoke The virgins weeping round. "I hear a voice, you cannot hear, 25 Which says I must not stay: I see a hand, you cannot see, Which beckons me away. "By a false heart, and broken vows, In early youth I die. 30 Am I to blame, because his bride Is thrice as rich as I? "Ah Colin! give not her thy vows; Vows due to me alone: Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss, 35 Nor think him all thy own. "To-morrow in the church to wed, Impatient, both prepare; But know, fond maid, and know, false man, That Lucy will be there, 40 "Then, bear my corse; ye comrades, bear, The bridegroom blithe to meet; He in his wedding-trim so gay, I in my winding-sheet." She spoke, she dy'd;—her corse was borne, 45 The bridegroom blithe to meet; He in his wedding-trim so gay, She in her winding-sheet. Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts? How were those nuptials kept? 50 The bride-men flock'd round Lucy dead, And all the village wept. Confusion, shame, remorse, despair At once his bosom swell: The damps of death bedew'd his brow, 55 He shook, he groan'd, he fell. From the vain bride (ah bride no more!) The varying crimson fled, When, stretch'd before her rival's corse, She saw her husband dead. 60 Then to his Lucy's new-made grave, Convey'd by trembling swains, One mould with her, beneath one sod, For ever now remains. Oft at their grave the constant hind 65 And plighted maid are seen; With garlands gay, and true-love knots They deck the sacred green. But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art, This hallow'd spot forbear; 70 Remember Colin's dreadful fate, And fear to meet him there.
FOOTNOTES:
XVIII. THE BOY AND THE MANTLE,
AS REVISED AND ALTERED BY A MODERN HAND.
Mr. Warton, in his ingenious Observations on Spenser, has given his opinion, that the fiction of the Boy and the Mantle is taken from an old French piece intitled Le court mantel, quoted by M. de St. Palaye in his curious Mémoires sur l'ancienne Chevalerie, Paris, 1759, 2 tom. 12mo., who tells us the story resembles that of Ariosto's inchanted cup. 'Tis possible our English poet may have taken the hint of this subject from that old French romance, but he does not appear to have copied it in the manner of execution; to which (if one may judge from the specimen given in the Mémoires) that of the ballad does not bear the least resemblance. After all, 'tis most likely that all the old stories concerning K. Arthur are originally of British growth, and that what the French and other southern nations have of this kind, were at first exported from this island. See Mémoires de l'Acad. des Inscrip. tom. xx. p. 352.
(Since this volume was printed off, the Fabliaux ou Contes, 1781, 5 tom. 12mo., of M. le Grand, have come to hand: and in tom. i. p. 54, he hath printed a modern version of the old tale Le Court Mantel, under a new title Le Manteau maltaillé; which contains the story of this ballad much enlarged, so far as regards the Mantle; but without any mention of the Knife, or the Horn.)
[See book i. No. 1, for the original of this ballad.]
In Carleile dwelt king Arthur, A prince of passing might; And there maintain'd his table round, Beset with many a knight. And there he kept his Christmas 5 With mirth and princely cheare, When, lo! a straunge and cunning boy Before him did appeare. A kirtle and a mantle This boy had him upon, 10 With brooches, rings, and owches[454] Full daintily bedone. He had a sarke[455] of silk About his middle meet; And thus, with seemly curtesy, 15 He did king Arthur greet. "God speed thee, brave king Arthur, Thus feasting in thy bowre. And Guenever thy goodly queen, That fair and peerlesse flowre. 20 "Ye gallant lords, and lordings, I wish you all take heed, Lest, what ye deem a blooming rose Should prove a cankred weed." Then straitway from his bosome 25 A little wand he drew; And with it eke a mantle Of wondrous shepe, and hew. "Now have thou here, king Arthur, Have this here of mee, 30 And give unto thy comely queen, All-shapen as you see. "No wife it shall become, That once hath been to blame." Then every knight in Arthur's court 35 Slye glaunced at his dame. And first came lady Guenever, The mantle she must trye. This dame, she was new-fangled, And of a roving eye. 40 When she had tane the mantle, And all was with it cladde, From top to toe it shiver'd down, As tho' with sheers beshradde. One while it was too long, 45 Another while too short, And wrinkled on her shoulders In most unseemly sort. Now green, now red it seemed, Then all of sable hue. 50 "Beshrew me, quoth king Arthur, I think thou beest not true." Down she threw the mantle, Ne longer would not stay; But storming like a fury, 55 To her chamber flung away. She curst the whoreson weaver, That had the mantle wrought: And doubly curst the froward impe, Who thither had it brought. 60 "I had rather live in desarts Beneath the green-wood tree: Than here, base king, among thy groomes, The sport of them and thee." Sir Kay call'd forth his lady, 65 And bade her to come near: "Yet dame, if thou be guilty, I pray thee now forbear." This lady, pertly gigling, With forward step came on, 70 And boldly to the little boy With fearless face is gone. When she had tane the mantle, With purpose for to wear: It shrunk up to her shoulder, 75 And left her b**side bare. Then every merry knight, That was in Arthur's court, Gib'd, and laught, and flouted, To see that pleasant sport. 80 Down she threw the mantle, No longer bold or gay, But with a face all pale and wan, To her chamber slunk away. Then forth came an old knight, 85 A pattering o'er his creed; And proffer'd to the little boy Five nobles to his meed; "And all the time of Christmass Plumb-porridge shall be thine, 90 If thou wilt let my lady fair Within the mantle shine." A saint his lady seemed, With step demure, and slow, And gravely to the mantle 95 With mincing pace doth goe, When she the same had taken, That was so fine and thin, It shrivell'd all about her, And show'd her dainty skin. 100 Ah! little did HER mincing, Or HIS long prayers bestead; She had no more hung on her, Than a tassel and a thread. Down she threwe the mantle, 105 With terror and dismay, And, with a face of scarlet, To her chamber hyed away. Sir Cradock call'd his lady, And bade her to come neare; 110 "Come win this mantle, lady, And do me credit here. "Come win this mantle, lady, For now it shall be thine, If thou hast never done amiss, 115 Sith first I made thee mine." The lady gently blushing, With modest grace came on, And now to trye this wondrous charm Courageously is gone. 120 When she had tane the mantle, And put it on her backe, About the hem it seemed To wrinkle and to cracke. "Lye still, shee cried, O mantle! 125 And shame me not for nought, I'll freely own whate'er amiss, Or blameful I have wrought. "Once I kist Sir Cradocke Beneathe the green wood tree: 130 Once I kist Sir Cradocke's mouth Before he married me." When thus she had her shriven, And her worst fault had told, The mantle soon became her 135 Right comely as it shold. Most rich and fair of colour, Like gold it glittering shone: And much the knights in Arthur's court Admir'd her every one. 140 Then towards king Arthur's table The boy he turn'd his eye: Where stood a boar's-head garnished With bayes and rosemarye. When thrice he o'er the boar's head 145 His little wand had drawne, Quoth he, "There's never a cuckold's knife, Can carve this head of brawne." Then some their whittles rubbed On whetstone, and on hone: 150 Some threwe them under the table, And swore that they had none. Sir Cradock had a little knife Of steel and iron made; And in an instant thro' the skull 155 He thrust the shining blade. He thrust the shining blade Full easily and fast: And every knight in Arthur's court A morsel had to taste. 160 The boy brought forth a horne, All golden was the rim: Said he, "No cuckolde ever can Set mouth unto the brim. "No cuckold can this little horne 165 Lift fairly to his head; But or on this, or that side, He shall the liquor shed." Some shed it on their shoulder, Some shed it on their thigh; 170 And hee that could not hit his mouth, Was sure to hit his eye. Thus he, that was a cuckold, Was known of every man: But Cradock lifted easily, 175 And wan the golden can. Thus boar's head, horn and mantle Were this fair couple's meed: And all such constant lovers, God send them well to speed. 180 Then down in rage came Guenever, And thus could spightful say, "Sir Cradock's wife most wrongfully Hath borne the prize away. "See yonder shameless woman, 185 That makes herselfe so clean: Yet from her pillow taken Thrice five gallants have been. "Priests, clarkes, and wedded men Have her lewd pillow prest: 190 Yet she the wondrous prize forsooth Must beare from all the rest." Then bespake the little boy, Who had the same in hold: "Chastize thy wife, king Arthur, 195 Of speech she is too bold: "Of speech she is too bold, Of carriage all too free; Sir king, she hath within thy hall A cuckold made of thee. 200 "All frolick light and wanton She hath her carriage borne: And given thee for a kingly crown To wear a cuckold's horne."
⁂
⁂ The Rev. Evan Evans, editor of the specimens of Welsh Poetry, 4to. affirmed that the Boy and the Mantle is taken from what is related in some of the old Welsh MSS. of Tegan Earfron, one of King Arthur's mistresses. She is said to have possessed a mantle that would not fit any immodest or incontinent woman; this, (which, the old writers say, was reckoned among the curiosities of Britain) is frequently alluded to by the old Welsh Bards.
Carleile, so often mentioned in the ballads of K. Arthur, the editor once thought might probably be a corruption of Caer-leon, an ancient British city on the river Uske, in Monmouthshire, which was one of the places of K. Arthur's chief residence; but he is now convinced, that it is no other than Carlisle, in Cumberland; the old English minstrels, being most of them northern men, naturally represented the hero of romance as residing in the north: And many of the places mentioned in the old ballads are still to be found there: As Tearne-Wadling, &c.
Near Penrith is still seen a large circle, surrounded by a mound of earth, which retains the name of Arthur's Round Table.
[For a full statement of the claims of the "North" to be considered as the home of King Arthur, see J. S. Stuart Glennie's Essay on Arthurian Localities, in the edition of the Prose Romance of Merlin, published by the Early English Text Society.]
FOOTNOTES:
XIX. THE ANCIENT FRAGMENT OF THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE.[456]
The second poem in this volume, intitled The Marriage of Sir Gawaine, having been offered to the reader with large conjectural supplements and corrections, the old fragment itself is here literally and exactly printed from the editor's folio MS. with all its defects, inaccuracies, and errata; that such austere antiquaries, as complain that the ancient copies have not been always rigidly adhered to, may see how unfit for publication many of the pieces would have been, if all the blunders, corruptions, and nonsense of illiterate reciters and transcribers had been superstitiously retained, without some attempt to correct and emend them.
This ballad had most unfortunately suffered by having half of every leaf in this part of the MS. torn away; and, as about nine stanzas generally occur in the half page now remaining, it is concluded, that the other half contained nearly the same number of stanzas.
[The following poem is printed in Hales' and Furnivall's edition of the MS., vol. i. p. 105.]
Kinge Arthur liues in merry Carleile, & seemely is to see, & there he hath wth him Queene Genevr, yt bride soe bright of blee. And there he hath wth him Queene Genever, yt bride soe bright in bower, & all his barons about him stoode yt were both stiffe & stowre. The K. kept a royall Christmasse of mirth & great honor, & when....
[About Nine Stanzas wanting.]
And bring me word what thing it is yt a woman most desire. this shalbe thy ransome, Arthur, he sayes for Ile haue noe other hier. K. Arthur then held vp his hand according thene as was the law; he tooke his leaue of the baron there, & homward can he draw. And when he came to Merry Carlile, to his chamber he is gone, & ther came to him his Cozen Sr Gawaine as he did make his mone. And there came to him his Cozen Sr Gawaine yt was a curteous knight, why sigh you soe sore vnckle Arthur, he said or who hath done thee vnright. O peace, o peace, thou gentle Gawaine, yt faire may thee beffall, for if thou knew my sighing soe deepe, thou wold not meruaile att all; ffor when I came to tearne wadling, a bold barron there I fand, wth a great club vpon his backe, standing stiffe & strong; And he asked me wether I wold fight, or from him I shold be gone, o[r] else I must him a ransome pay & soe dep't him from. To fight wth him I saw noe cause, me thought it was not meet, ffor he was stiffe & strong wth all, his strokes were nothing sweete. Therfor this is my ransome, Gawaine I ought to him to pay I must come againe, as I am sworne, vpon the Newyeers day. And I must bring him word what thing it is
[About Nine Stanzas wanting.]
Then king Arthur drest him for to ryde in one soe rich array toward the foresaid Tearne wadling, yt he might keepe his day. And as he rode over a more, hee see a lady where shee sate betwixt an oke & a greene hollen[457]: she was cladd in red scarlett. Then there as shold have stood her mouth, then there was sett her eye the other was in her forhead fast the way that she might see. Her nose was crooked & turnd outward, her mouth stood foule a wry; a worse formed lady then shee was, neuer man saw wth his eye. To halch[458] vpon him, k. Arthur this lady was full faine but k. Arthur had forgott his lesson what he shold say againe What knight art thou, the lady sayd, that wilt not speake to me? of me be thou nothing dismayd tho I be vgly to see; for I haue halched you curteouslye, & you will not me againe, yett I may happen Sr knight, shee said to ease thee of thy paine. Giue thou ease me, lady, he said or helpe me any thing, thou shalt haue gentle Gawaine, my cozen & marry him wth a ring. Why, if I helpe thee not, thou noble k. Arthur of thy owne hearts desiringe, of gentle Gawaine....
[About Nine Stanzas wanting.]
And when he came to the tearne wadling the baron there cold he fimde[459] wth a great weapon on his backe, standing stiffe & stronge And then he tooke k. Arthur's letters in his hands & away he cold them fling, & then he puld out a good browne sword, & cryd himselfe a k. And he sayd, I haue thee & thy land, Arthur to doe as it pleaseth me, for this is not thy ransome sure, therfore yeeld thee to mee. And then bespoke him noble Arthur, & bad him hold his hands, & give me leave to speake my mind in defence of all my land. He said as I came over a More, I see a lady where shee sate betweene an oke & a green hollen; shee was clad in red scarlett; And she says a woman will haue her will, & this is all her cheefe desire: doe me right as thou art a baron of sckill, this is thy ransome & and all thy hyer. He sayes an early vengeance light on her, she walkes on yonder more; it was my sister that told thee this & she is a misshappen hore. But heer Ile make mine avow[460] to god to do her an euill turne, for an euer I may thate fowle theefe get, in a fyer I will her burne.
[About Nine Stanzas wanting.]
The 2d Part.
Sir Lancelott & Sr Steven bold they rode wth them that day, and the formost of the company there rode the steward Kay, Soe did Sr Banier & Sr Bore Sr Garrett wth them soe gay, soe did Sr Tristeram yt gentle kt, to the forrest fresh & gay And when he came to the greene forrest vnderneath a greene holly tree their sate that lady in red scarlet yt vnseemly was to see. Sr Kay beheld this Ladys face, & looked vppon her smire[461] whosoeuer kisses this lady, he sayes of his kisse he standes in feare. Sir Kay beheld the lady againe, & looked vpon her snout, whosoeuer kisses this lady, he saies, of his kisse he stands in doubt. Peace coz. Kay, then said Sr Gawaine amend thee of thy life; for there is a knight amongst us all yt must marry her to his wife. What, wedd her to wiffe, then said Sr Kay, in the diuells name anon, gett me a wiffe where ere I may, for I had rather be slaine. Then soome tooke vp their hawkes in hast & some tooke vp their hounds, & some sware they wold not marry her for Citty nor for towne. And then be spake him noble k. Arthur, & sware there by this day, for a litle foule sight and misliking
[About Nine Stanzas wanting.]
Then shee said choose thee gentle Gawaine, truth as I doe say, wether thou wilt haue me in this liknesse in the night or else in the day. And then bespake him Gentle Gawaine, wth one soe mild of moode, sayes, well I know what I wold say, god grant it may be good. To haue thee fowle in the night when I wth thee shold play; yet I had rather, if I might haue thee fowle in the day. What, when Lords goe wth ther seires,[462] shee said both to the Ale & wine alas then I must hyde my selfe, I must not goe withinne. And then bespake him gentle gawaine, said, Lady thats but a skill; And because thou art my owne lady, thou shalt haue all thy will. Then she said, blesed be thou gentle Gawain this day yt I thee see, for as thou see me att this time, from hencforth I wilbe: My father was an old knight, & yett it chanced soe that he marryed a younge lady yt brought me to this woe. Shee witched me, being a faire young Lady, to the greene forrest to dwell, & there I must walke in womans liknesse, most like a feend of hell. She witched my brother to a Carlist B....
[About Nine Stanzas wanting.]
that looked soe foule & that was wont on the wild more to goe. Come kisse her, Brother Kay, then said Sr Gawaine, & amend the of thy liffe; I sweare this is the same lady yt I marryed to my wiffe. Sr Kay kissed that lady bright, standing vpon his ffeete; he swore, as he was trew knight, the spice was neuer soe sweete. Well, Coz. Gawaine, sayes Sr Kay, thy chance is fallen arright, for thou hast gotten one of the fairest maids I euer saw wth my sight. It is my fortune, said Sr Gawaine; for my Vnckle Arthurs sake I am glad as grasse wold be of raine, great Ioy that I may take. Sr Gawaine tooke the lady by the one arme, Sr Kay tooke her by the tother, they led her straight to k. Arthur as they were brother & brother. K. Arthur welcomed them there all, & soe did lady Geneuer his queene, wth all the knights of the round table most seemly to be seene. K. Arthur beheld that lady faire that was soe faire & bright, he thanked christ in trinity for Sr Gawaine that gentle knight; Soe did the knights, both more and lesse, reioyced all that day for the good chance yt hapened was to Sr Gawaine & his lady gay.
Ffins.
FOOTNOTES:
THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK.
