POLITICAL SONGS.

KING JOHN. 1199–1216.

The thirteenth century opens amid the violence of party feelings, and the few political songs which we find during the reign of King John are full of keenness. Early in his reign the English Monarch suffered himself to be robbed of his possessions in Normandy, and the poetry of the Troubadours contains many expressions of regret at their separation from England, and bitter reflections on the King’s cowardice and weakness. The following song seems to have been written when Thouars was in danger, during Philippe Auguste’s incursions into Poitou, in 1206. Savary of Mauleon is famous in contemporary history, and was himself a poet of no small renown. He was a firm adherent to the English party.

SONG ON THE SIEGE OF THOUARS.

[Royal Library at Paris, MS. du fonds de St. Germain, No. 1989, fol. 111, v^o. 13th cent.]

Translation.—The world will shortly come to nought,—if the king overcome Thouars.—On this account it fares ill with it,—that the three earls desert it,—and the old man of Bouaing—would have there great shame,—that after the death of the viscount—he should die in such evil case.

Savary of Mauleon,—a good knight at the quintain,—if you fail us in this need,—we have lost our labour;—and you, Seneschal,—both of Anjou and of Maine,—they have placed a seneschal in Touraine—other than you.

And you, Sir Seneschal,—you and Sir John of Maine,—and Hugh, between you three,—send word to the King of Almain,—that this king and him of France,—deign not to love us,—when for a mule of Spain—he left the Bordelois.

And you, Sir bachelors,—who love praise and prowess,—when you were wont to war—Thouars was your fortress.—Now God hinder you from bearing—sleeves or tresses,—if Thouars in such distress—you allow to be forgotten.

John’s own friends, disgusted with his weakness, began to desert him; and the following bitter song was addressed by the younger Bertrand de Born, to Savary de Mauleon, to persuade him to follow their example.

A SIRVENTE ON KING JOHN.

[Raynouard, Choix, tom. iv. p. 201.]

Translation.—When I see the fair weather return,—and leaf and flower appear,—love gives me hardiesse—and heart and skill to sing;—then, since I do not want matter,—I will make a stinging sirvente,—which I will send yonder for a present,—to King John, to make him ashamed.

And well he ought to be ashamed,—if he remember his ancestors,—how he has left here Poitou and Touraine—to King Philip, without asking for them.—Wherefore all Guienne laments—King Richard, who in its defence—would have laid out much gold and much silver;—but this man does not appear to me to care much for it.

He loves better fishing and hunting,—pointers, greyhounds, and hawks,—and repose, wherefore he loses his property,—and his fief escapes out of his hands;—Galvaing seems ill-furnished with courage,—so that we beat him here most frequently;—and since he takes no other counsel,—let him leave his land to the lord of the Groing.

Louis knew better how to deliver—William, and gives him rich succour—at Orange, when the Almassor—had caused Tiebald to besiege him;—glory and honour he had with profit;—I say it for a lesson—to King John who loses his people,—because he succours them not near or far off.

Barons, on this side my lesson of correction aims—at you, whose delinquencies it blames—that I have seen you do, and I am grieved thereat,—for it falls to me to speak of you,—who have let your credit fall into the mud,—and afterwards have a foolish sentiment,—that you do not fear correction,—but he who told you ill, it is he who disgraces you.

Lady, whom I desire and hold dear,—and fear and flatter above the best,—so true is your praise,—that I know not how to say it or to relate it;—that, as gold is more worth than tin,—you are worth more than the best hundred,—and you are better worth to a young man,—than are they (the monks) of Caen to God.

Savary, a king without a heart,—will hardly make a successful invasion,—and since he has a heart soft and cowardly,—let no man put his trust in him.

The dishonours which John suffered abroad, were, however, soon forgotten in the troubles which broke out at home. The following virulent libel on the three bishops of Norwich, Bath, and Winchester, who adhered to the King in his quarrel with the Pope about the presentation to the see of Canterbury, was no doubt the work of one of his ecclesiastical opponents.

SONG ON THE BISHOPS.

[Flacius Illyricus, p. 161.]

Planctus super Episcopis.

Translation.—Complain, O England! and suspend the melody of thine organ, and more especially thou, Kent, for the delay of thy Stephen. But thou hast another Thomas; thou hast again a second Stephen, who putting on a fortitude beyond that of man, performs signs among the people. O metropolis! who grievest over the plots which the cunning people bring forth, bereaved of thine inhabitants, whom they treacherously have ejected, thou givest vent to heavy groans, being utterly deprived of thy father. But when thou shalt have Stephen, thou wilt take up the timbrel, and touch the harp to measure.

Where art thou, I ask, O Moses! through whom may the rupture cease? Where Phineas, zealous for the law, through whom the scourging may have an end? Who is there to accuse the son of David? Who is there that may set the sign of Thau on the threshold and the door-posts, that thus, her enemies being confused, Israel may be liberated? Abraham, father of many people, arise, lord, expel the son of Agar, the waiting-maid of her mistress Sarah; for after she shall deceive the other. Now the gates of Tartarus prevail against the Church: now Isaac and Ismael play at an unequal game.

Balthasar drinks again out of the vessels of the Lord’s temple: the vessel of iniquities carries away the vessels dedicated to God’s name. I perceive the hand, writing, and involved in the written letters, “Mane, Techel, Phares;” what this thing may mean, the event of the thing will prove. Now it appears in the court, both to the low and the high, that at present the division and end of the kingdom is at the gate. The mass of evils increases; the priest is as the people; they, bold and fearless, hasten to that which is unlawful, each according to his will.

The people serves in the coffer of Egypt, and anxiously sweats under the rule of Pharaoh: various edicts fly about: the collector exacts the work, Israel collects clay. There is no one who may rescue him, or who may overwhelm the horses of Pharaoh with their riders. Assur scatters and overthrows the stones of the Sanctuary. Why? because the Stone of Help does not oppose itself. Nay, they who ought to oppose, and to shed their blood for justice’s sake, are occupied with avarice, whom I signalise by these marks.

If the question were perchance asked of the bishop of Bath, “How many marks come in to the King’s purse in the Exchequer?” he would answer readily, “A thousand, a hundred, and so on, I collect into the King’s purse,” learned as he is in this decalogue, blind in the form of the canon. Thou, beast of Norwich! hear what the Truth saith: “He who enters not by the door is a thief.” Dost thou doubt of this? Alas! thou hast fallen more heavily than once the third Cato, since thy presumed election falls by just judgment, having been bought by the craft of Simon.

The arm-bearer of Winchester presides at the Exchequer, diligent in computing, sluggish at the Gospel, turning over the King’s roll; thus lucre overcomes Luke; he makes a marc weigh heavier than Mark, and subjects the bible to the scales. These are they who fore-show Belphegor; they subject the seat to Baal; that they may profit better, they make Baal their lord; they embrace black for white, dung instead of saffron. These three are insatiable—very like unto leeches; they cry, “Give! there is not enough!”

There are three opposed to these, but very unlike them, endowed with the flower of virtues, noble in the vigour of good-breeding—Noah, David, and Daniel, whom Ezechiel paints. These thirst after justice; for this they oppose themselves as a wall for God’s house. John arises the dean of England of our time, hoary in mind: with the might of oak, he proceeds on the way of justice; he sings the proclamations of praises, who rightly takes his name from the church of Mary, while he undertakes this conflict in devotion to the Holy Virgin.

He of Ely advances; he is given to this battle, as he is called the Sword of Hely, sparing few or none. Helias, draw forth the sword, and bruise the three impious ones, and lay prostrate the prince of Babylon, the participater in this plot, with a single blow. Thou, who walkest in the place of Wolstan, art the third in the conflict: robust as thou art, press on sedulously, certain of a true triumph. Thou art called the heir of Wolstan; if thou be truly so, thou art seen: sooner resign the staff, and the ephod, and the ring, than be willing to bow to Baal.

I know nothing ill to say of the bishop of Rochester. I lie, and cut the matter short; he is here, and here by his side the poor man of Salisbury also, who sleeps till to-day; he carries about fire and water, nor pleads for, nor bewails, the desolated vineyard. Go to Rome, little book, nor delay thy return; salute them all diligently; and carry a salutation to the Pope: tell what I think of the three: let him give judgment, whether in his opinion they be free from vice; and let pardon be granted to me.

It was during these religious dissensions that arose up, or at least became strong, that powerful spirit of opposition to the papal tyranny, which produced during the whole of this century so much satirical poetry; much of it attributed, perhaps with little reason, to Walter Mapes. The following song is supposed to have been written during the interdict. In the fourth line the lion is said to designate King John, and the asses the Bishops, and at the end the King is represented by Jupiter, whilst the Pope receives the contemptuous designation of Pluto.

SONG ON THE TIMES.

[MS. Harl. 978, fol. 108, r^o. Reign of Hen. III.]

Invectio contra avaritiam.

Translation.—I will use against vices rebelling song; others put forward honey, while under the honey they lay on gall; the iron breast is concealed under the gilt skin, and asses put on the lion’s spoil.—The rebelling face disputes with the soul within; honey flows from the mouth, the mind is full of gall; it is not all sweet that looks like honey; the breast has a different countenance from the skin.—While vice is in the work, virtue is in the face; they cover the pitchy blackness of the mind with a white colour; each of the members suffers by the pain of the head, and the flavour of the apple depends upon the root from whence it springs.—Rome is the head of the world; but it receives nothing clean; all that depends from the head is unclean; for the first vice passes on into the second, and that which is near the bottom smells of the bottom.—Rome receives all, and the goods of all; the court of the Romans is but a market. There are offered for sale the rights of the senators, and abundance of money dissolves all differences of opinion.—Here, in the consistory, if any body plead a cause, be it his own or another’s, let him first read this,—“Unless he give money, Rome denies every thing; he who gives most money will come off the best.”—The Romans have a chapter in the decretals, that they should listen to petitions from those who come with their hands full; thou shalt give, or nothing shall be granted thee; they ask because thou askest; by the same measure as you sow, you shall reap.—A bribe and a petition go side by side, and it is with a bribe that you must work if you wish to succeed: then you need have no fear, even of Tully, were he pleading against you; for money possesses a singular eloquence.—There is nobody in this court who does not look after money: the cross on the coin pleases them; the roundness of it, and the whiteness thereof, pleases them; and since every part of it pleases, and it is the Romans whom it pleases, where money speaks, there all law is silent.—If you only feed the hand well with some goodly bribe, it will be in vain even to quote Justinian against you, or the canons of the saints, because they would throw them away as vanity and chaff, and pocket the grain.—Penurious Rome claims acquaintance with nothing but avarice; she spares to him who brings gifts, but she spares not to him who is penurious: money stands in the place of God, and a marc for Mark, and the altar is less attended than the coffer.—When you come to the Pope, take it as a rule, that there is no place for the poor, he favours only the giver; or if there is not a bribe of some value or another forthcoming, he answers you, “I am not able.”—The Pope, if we come to the truth of the matter, has his name from the fact, that, whatever others have, he alone will suck the pap; or if you like to apocopate a French word, “pay, pay,” saith the word, if you wish to obtain anything.—The Pope begs, the brief begs, the bull begs, the gate begs, the cardinal begs, the cursor begs,—all beg! and if you have not wherewith to bribe them all, your right is wrong, and the whole cause comes to nothing.—You give to these, you give to the others, you add gifts to those already given, and when you should have given enough, they seek as much more. O, you full purses, come to Rome! at Rome there is choice medicine for costive pockets.—They all prey upon the purse by little and little; great, greater, or greatest, gradually becomes a prey to them. Why should I go through all the particulars? I will put it in a few words; they all choke the purse, and it expires immediately.—Yet the purse imitates the liver of Tityus; the substance flies in order to return; dies that it may be born: and on this condition Rome preys upon the pocket, that when it has given all, it may all be filled again.—They return from the court with mitred heads; Jupiter is placed in the Infernal Regions, Pluto holds Heaven, and dignity is given to a brute animal, as a jewel to the dung and a picture to the mud.—The rich give to the rich, that they may receive again, and gifts mutually meet one another: that law is most in use, which they have caused to be written, “If you give to me, I will give to you.”

KING HENRY III. 1216–1272.

The death of King John offered an opportunity of putting an end to the distractions that had become so universal during the latter years of his reign, which most of the belligerents were glad to embrace. The following short, but highly spirited poem, was probably written immediately after the pacification which followed the taking of Lincoln, apparently by a churchman, and certainly a partizan of King Henry. Some of the expressions in it, such as “the iron-girt bees of war,” and the like, remind us of the lofty metaphors of Saxon verse.

THE TAKING OF LINCOLN.

[From MS. Cotton. Vespas. B. XIII. fol. 130, v^o. in a hand of the beginning of the 14th Cent.]

¶ Incipiunt versus de Guerra Regis Johannis.

Translation.—A four-fold rage had crept upon the English nation. Conspiring against its own government, and threatening rebellion, the degenerate nation,—that it may change freedom for slavery,—that it may fall from its high position, from health to sickness, from safety to danger,—lays claim to ancient laws under a hostile governor; not governed by the balance of the law, not by the light of justice, nor by the fire of holy counsel, nor yet by the file of reason, the will, in despite of reason, darts like lightning into what is forbidden. ¶ The first rage was conceived by its own pride; the second drew hither the warlike legions of the French; the third conducted the black troops of the Scots; the fourth bent the inconstant Welsh under their light garment. ¶ The leagues of peace are broken, and the threatening thunders follow; corrupt licence has crept into the astonished towers, in which Faith lay hid and sick, and long waiting a physician of health, at length by the generosity of Christ she recovered, and drew out her bands to the wars. ¶ This rage, by the sufferance of God, was permitted for a while, but not allowed that the lightnings should burn the effeminate minds, or that the anger of God should confound the defenceless. But the Searcher of hearts recalled by his own love the sheep which sought the desert and were long wandering, that he might correct the deserving faults with a healing lash, and reconciling his divine threats with paternal mercy, softened the corrections of a father with the love of a mother. ¶ The honour of the English bowed, and the comeliness of the Kingdom; its bending head had felt the anger of the divine judge, and feared to serve the proud tyrant. The balanced palm, long held out with dubious favour, now smiled on the French, now turned its smile to the English, applauding with more truth these latter, more deceitful to the others. ¶ The anger of an avenging God allowed no longer the furious king to reign; he fell, struck by him whose temples and houses he had burnt with threatening fire. From this torch arises the torch of fate, and the avenging fever, while it raged against the king, drove away the rage of the flame. That death was the highest honour, and was accompanied with the highest glory, that he was in nothing overcome by the enemy, amidst so many enemies; vanquished by the conqueror who is above, and unconquered, he bit his own enemies even in his death. ¶ Let proud anger cease; let power learn to serve and to bow to God, in submitting the neck to whom she elevates herself; in rising she falls: short is the power of man; and let it learn that the end approaches in a few days. ¶ The widowed state had mourned the death of John, and, fearing to bow the neck to a degenerate husband, the tear of the English calls up the strength of England; the heavier the grief, the nearer is its cure. ¶ Meanwhile had shone forth the minute spark of most small beauty, the royal offspring, sole hope of the torn Kingdom, a star, as it were, lit by God, it had divested itself of the cloud that obscured its father, shining forth a new light, and the candle of the child called back the stars which had been scared by the father’s thunder. ¶ O precious piety of God! who masters things that are great, confounds those that are strong, raises such as are infirm, strikes ferocity with lightning, breaks the haughty, who himself having come a child out of the virgin’s womb, thus took a child to nourish, gave it to the bosom of the Church, which the gentle parent receives in a mother’s arms, rendered gentle by the obedience now newly born, and about to place on its head a tender crown. It was heavenly ordinance, that the consonant union of holy counsel feared not to obey a boy king, and feared more to serve a tyrant. ¶ Sacred union matures the new king to lofty things; utility, and piety, and faith, swear together to concur with the fates, and to sign them all with the seal of the Cross; they had raised together the standard of the Cross and had ranged themselves round the new King, and the white cross decorating the bearers of the Cross fixed the unstable troops in the foundation of faith. ¶ O famous legation of a man! file of blessed council! star of right! mirror of reason! helmet of the worship of God! crested with the plume of care! England hath grasped her conquering swords by impulse of God; her castles pour forth for the common good the standard-bearing troops, fierce in war, and threatening the enemy. ¶ What time the Earth had begun to bloom with new fruitfulness, and had spread out her fresh grass in locks, redolent of flowers had painted the young fleece of the fields, and, whilst the new verdure curled the renascent woods, recalled innumerable tongues of birds to the song; then the Gallic fury had resolved to join the English of the north, the band having conspired to pass through the midst of the English, having issued from their London, the army of Louis deserted the long shades, and the proud earls have the shame of going the way that is open to them, and they carry fierce aid to Mountsorrel; for as a greater victory attends it, so has the anger of God ordained that it should not undergo a greater ruin. But with more caution retires thence the nobility of earls, the flower of the faith, the royal strength, the shield of Chester, until with roaring tumult the rage of the others had passed the famous castle on the heights (Nottingham), and the bank of Trent, and the pride of long war had flown to the besieged citadel of the noble matron (Lincoln). ¶ Hither when the fates have turned the fierce troops with a murmuring noise, Fame flies, and calls the earls, and the Cestrensian companions of the earls, and the shielded harvest of men increases. The royal standards glitter, and the conspiring bands follow, when clear faith at last draws out their faces, the bright signs of the Cross paint the excelling breasts of the youth, a common will strengthens their hearts; there was one sole hope of conquering; victory was already stamped on all their faces; and with a shout, ominous of good, they put forth their associated hands to the accordant battle. ¶ The sabbath was at hand in which the festival of the high God is performed, and the eve celebrates the triune honour of the deity; the sun was touching the earth with his first light, when the trumpet with its terrible song had given the flourish; the leaders move iron war; many were the standards you might see with tremulous flight above the nodding helms, many the shields changing their ensigns with various colours. The beauty of the sun shone upon the armed troops; the coward became feverish; the brave strengthened their hearts. When the constancy of war came to the astonished town, the youth encircled the walls with a fearful wreath, and seek new approaches; nor do the leaders immediately attack the city; a legation is sent in to summon the sacrilegious men to the league of peace. Yet no peace satisfied these fierce men; they utter insults, despise the messengers, and add threatening words. ¶ When the messengers bring back the angry message, the leaders order their bold followers to the attack; then the horror of war roared, the trumpets thundered, a fearful noise rose into the air, and in the resounding tumult the clouds might wonder at earthly thunders. They leap over the fosses, mount over the walls, break the gates, force the passages, and join battle. And they made way with their swords; a merited confusion strikes the sacrilegious men; the hives of Christ send forth the iron-girt bees of war, and with fearful stings they penetrate the hostile shirts, and cut the scaly textures of iron, and draw Sauls to the chains of Paul, and the holy conversion turned hares into lions. ¶ Here stood Moses in the Mount; here Josua had fixed the station of the sun; there the sling and stone of David overcome the great Golias; the honour of Lincoln sees the venerable wonder; the rage of the sea sees the imperial trophy of God; the four-fold plague sees the standards rise again against it with conquering palm. It saw, and was astonished; and the pride of war felt that God fought for the boy; nor was it quiet by its own will, but it burst, and received the feet of peace on its neck. ¶ O famous day, to be venerated through our age! in which the rage of war hid itself,—in which the peace-bringing sword subdued our pestiferous divisions,—in which the grace of Christ washed out the dishonour that had been brought forth, and, with the font of faith, cleansed from the averted brow the disgrace which had been inscribed on it.

All authorities agree in describing the great pride and avarice and luxury of the nobles in general, but particularly of the Romish prelates, at the beginning of the thirteenth century. The following song is a fair specimen of the unsparing satire which was universally directed against them by their contemporaries.

SONG ON THE CORRUPTIONS OF THE TIME.

[MS. Harl. No. 978. fol. 105, v^o. reign of Hen. III.]

Contra avaros.

Translation.—How wide and how long is the web of crimes with which our breasts, choked with vices, are enveloped, tell, and reveal, O muse, with a mournful countenance, if you care to touch the heart of the spectator with your lament.—The wretched and profane people seem to form their wishes in consideration, not of the price of virtue, but of flax or wool: what is done in the evening is unwrought in the morning. O cares of men! O how much emptiness there is in things!—Every eye is blind to justice; every mind is large to injustice; a thousand hopes of men and the differing aspects of things depend on the dice and uses of fortune.—When chaste maidens join in dance with the strumpet, when the Arabs play the pauper under the robe of a beggar, when Tydeus denies his faith to his Polynices, then, if you are admitted to the spectacle, my friends, can you restrain your laughter?—If you are anxious to know all men by their several failings, who practise sloth, who are the plotters of treason, who the servants of Mammon, who the despisers of God, we must observe the manners of every age of life.—The boy, as he learns the use of feet, hates the doors, flies abroad; he respects things and honours less than the least; anger and joy succeed each other with short intervals, for his changes are sudden.—The youth flies from his tutor and confinement; he delights in horses, dogs, dice, and wine, a hunter of his pleasures, whose occupation is with women, a slow provider of useful things, prodigal of money.—When arrived at manhood, that he may rule the citizens and dictate to the prætor, that he may extend his possessions with a longer cable, and fill his bags with greater treasure, he seeks riches and friendships, and is a slave to honours.—Many serious troubles surround the old man, either that, from stinginess, he spares his perishing wealth, or that he handles his riches with fear, lest they should fall to the thief; he is one who delays long, depending on hope, inactive, and greedy of the future.—Thus difference of time causes variety of ages; the tender age is occupied on the affections of the heart, the man on lofty things, but he whom old age bends, his breast glows with avarice and miserable cupidity.—In this respect the whole mind of men grows old, which, while it seeks things external, is ignorant of itself in the pursuit; ambition is not quieted by success: the love of money increases as fast as the money itself increases.—But in this point alone may vice claim some credit, that it is always prevalent among the great; yet that disposition which respects no control is the more conspicuously criminal, in proportion as the sinner occupies a higher station.—Rome, lying in the depths of turpitude, ranks virtues beneath filthy lucre; fluctuating under the waves of a vacillating mind, she overthrows, builds, and changes square things for round.—She despises the bland countenances at which but now she smiled; she cherishes in her placid breast those whom before she rolled down; while she receives money, she treats and revises: what she sought she despises, and seeks again what lately she let go.—If she does not perceive rightly a thing in any manner whatever, and has not forgotten the custom which she first learnt, she smells of the custom of the cask, which will keep very long the odour with which it was once endued while fresh.—Before the cardinals and before the patriarch, a pound overcomes the Bible, money the accused, and a marc Mark, the law sparing to him who is not sparing, gives only as much grace as each has money in his purse.—If you seek the balance of the judges, you should seek it with copper, since the favour of the balance hangs from copper; you should not ask respite, but ask what they ask; whence you obtain it nobody will inquire, but you needs must have it.—When you are turned over to the notary, pour out your bribes; he will at once extricate you from your cause, when, why, or whence it may arise, and will subject the canons to the form that is round (i. e. the coin), whom prosperity delights not a little.—Rome teaches all that they should fly over to expediency, that they should offer heart and hand to Mammon rather than to God; thus it happens that the branches smell of a bad root; where the head is infirm, the other members are in pain.—The archbishops tread under foot the necks of the clergy, and extort tears in order that they may be dried by gifts; nor, if the poor wretches bring few or not good ones, do they take them in good part, or acknowledge them with favour.—If any one begins to complain of an injury, they immediately stretch their ear to the cause, their hand to the gift; if they once receive a thing of the plural number, to-morrow the same basenesses may be done as yesterday.—The bishop loves a cheerful giver, and dares either right or wrong after the smell of a bribe, unable to resume, after he has thrown shame aside, the blush once rejected from his worn brow.—Nor is there less baseness in the archdeacon; whom he has once taken up, whether in earnest or in joke, he holds; nor has he mercy for the needy or the naked; the leech which will not let go the skin till he is filled with blood.—The dean, born to everlasting wiles, that he may explore the creed (symbolum) and the things which succeed, changing the tune of his tongue and yesterday’s garments, migrates with humble speech to the obscure taverns.—The priest, whatever either the dead or the living give, carries all to his fireside-woman, to whom he gives himself and what he has; he of the holy name and the equal mind, who meditates the law of the Lord by day and by night.—The laymen resting on the words of the clergy who depart from them, pay less attention to the words than to the character of the teacher: nor can laws subdue the senses of men by threats and torments, so much as the example of the ruler.—The luxurious princes stir kingdoms and states, that they may lead armies, inflicting the punishment of a tax on the rustic and the miserable citizen; for whenever the kings run wild, the Greeks pay the piper.—They who are occupied with the cares of the kingdom or of the court, detract while they smile, and when they flatter they are plotting damage or disgrace; there is neither faith nor honesty in those who follow camps.—If a citizen perceive you, he caresses that he may burn you; if you lay down ten, he puts the payment of his stake to another time; he cheats you out of your own; look to it, while it lasts; he may perish behind the wine and the dice, who leaves care till to-morrow.—If any one going to the houses of the lawyers, carries his money openly, he also is a simpleton; for when he sleeps in his bed weary and full, people live by rapine, the guest is not safe from his host.—Thus rapine, snares, treachery, and strife, lead people into error, misery, and folly; thus ambition and luxury, and the revered possession of riches, allure the foolish minds of all men.—But what availeth luxury and power to those miserable people who, despising virtues, esteem only things that produce evil, such as gold, gems, and heaps of wealth? when our labour is expended on what is injurious to us, the misery of mortals is on the increase.—What avails it to talk of purple, gems, gold, land? With riches we have feuds, losses, pleas, fastings, fears, and justly sleepless cares come in a long train.—The poor man reigns more safely than he that amasses wealth, who, while the informer deprives the lord of his favour, or the lurking spoiler spoils him who is laden, he, an empty traveller, will sing before the thief.—They who are destitute often live more pleasantly under a slight hut of brick or mud, than those who are delicately clothed in the palaces of kings; he will be ever a slave who knows not how to use moderation.—But if you seek abundance of true property, reject superfluity, seek what is enough, strip yourself of riches, and die naked; delay not this, for those who are prepared are ever injured by delay.—If while you are on your road to what is more useful, fear dissuade hope, or delay endanger success; change not your mind, nor slacken your reins; the grateful hour will arrive when least expected.—Treasure up that which you cannot abuse, having a care of the needy, the blind, the lame, and the dumb; serve your soul, and not your mind or your skin; you owe little to pleasure, but more to your salvation.—No one is safe on a king’s throne, or in a sanctuary, since it can be expressed neither by tongue nor pen by how slender a thread the destinies of men hang under the imminent approach of death.—While you navigate prosperously the far side of the sea, weigh not the present but the future, and considering the poop more than the prow or the oar, act as though you thought every day your last.

The foreign policy of Henry III. was even less manly than that of his father. Among the many songs of the Normans and Poitevins, reclaiming the assistance of their ancient sovereign, we may give as an example the Sirvente of Bernard de Rovenac, addressed to Henry and his contemporary James I. King of Aragon, from whom Louis IX. had taken Languedoc to give it as a portion to his brother Alphonsus. There is internal evidence that it was written about 1229, the year in which Henry III. made his ill-conducted expedition into Brittany.

A SIRVENTE AGAINST KING HENRY.

[Raynouard, Choix, tom. iv. p. 203.]

Translation.—I wish neither for the gifts and favours—nor to obtain the good-will—of the rich, with their false wisdom;—but I have in my heart the intention to reproach them—with their vile deeds ill-conceived;—and I don’t wish to be agreable—my Sirventes among the cowardly idlers,—poor in heart and heavy in riches.

The English King, I pray him to hear it,—for he causes to fall—his little glory by too much timidity,—for it does not please him to defend his own people,—and thus he is so cowardly and so vile,—that he seems to be asleep,—while the French King takes from him with impunity—Tours, and Angiers, and Normans, and Bretons.

The King of Aragon, without any doubt,—ought really to have the name—of James; for he is too willing to lie down;—and whoever it be that takes his land,—he is so cowardly and caitiff,—that he does not even contradict it;—and he revenges on that side against the felon Saracens——the shame and damage which he receives on this side towards Limoux.

Until he have revenged his father,—he cannot have much esteem,—nor let him imagine that I will speak to please him,—unless he ravage and put in flames,—and unless great blows be struck.—For there will have been accomplished great honour,—if he narrows the domains of the French King,—for Don Alfonse desires to inherit his fief.

Earl of Toulouse, the rent—which you used to hold—from Beaucaire, you ought to regret,—if you make long delay to demand it,—you, and that King, because you are in league;—that undertaking will not be disgraced,—if we now see tents and pavilions,—and walls fall and high towers break.

Rich men, ill-advised,—one sees your evil sayings,—I would let you alone, if I saw you hardy and courageous,—but I do not fear you so much as to leave it on your account.

The following Sirvente, by the same author, is also directed against Henry and James, and was written about the year 1250. It repeats the same articles of accusation, and its object was to persuade those kings to invade the dominions of Louis, while he was himself absent on his crusade.

A SIRVENTE AGAINST KING HENRY.

[Raynouard, tom. iv. p. 205.]

Translation.—I am seized by a great desire of writing a sirvente,—O rich yet cowardly men! and I know not what I shall say to you,—for there will be little room for praise;—nor dare I blame you, and a sirvente is worth little—which praises when it ought to blame:—but though it may seem all folly to you,—yet it pleases me more to blame you by telling the truth,—than if I spoke falsehood to please you.

Both the kings have resolved on one thing,—he of Aragon and he of the English,—that by them the land shall not be defended,—and that they will do ill to no one who does ill to them;—they are merciful and courteous;—for they let the King who is conquering Syria—retain their fiefs altogether in peace;—our Lord ought to be very thankful to them for it.

Shame seizes on me, when a vanquished people—holds us thus all subdued and conquered,—and such shame ought to seize—the King of Aragon, as seizes me,—and the King who loses Normandy,—but they take such company—that now they never perform their duty,—and I never saw another hold so well.

And afterwards he does not receive the tax,—which at Montpellier his burgesses take from him,—neither does he revenge himself of the disgrace he received there,—now Carcasson may no more be recovered by him;—for he would not defend his own eyes,—his only endeavour is that he may be in peace;—a noble lord with great power has no peace,—when he turns his ways to nonchalance.

To praise people too much, when valour is ill esteemed,—I do not call it peace, for it is bad war;—nor shall it now be understood by me for peace,—it ought rather to have the name of pages’ play,—and of the rich who lose every day—honour, and yet it grieves them not much,—for they lose little and need not grieve much,—for we cannot be moved much by a little thing.

The king Don Alfonso has left covetousness—to the other kings, because he will not make use of it,—and he has taken for his share largess,—he has an ill share who wishes to recover this from him;—and I tell you that it appears to me villany,—when one shares and takes the best to himself;—yet no one has done otherwise than right,—when he has taken that which others will not have.

Rich men ill-advised, if I knew any thing in you—worthy of praise, I would willingly tell you of it;—but think not to take up my leisure,—for I desire neither your thanks nor your goods.

Henry’s embarrassments at home were now becoming every day more numerous and more complicated. Scarcely any part of the nation, clergy, barons, or people, were any longer his friends. The following song (made in 1256) was evidently written by one belonging to the former of these classes, indignant at the taxes which the King, with the consent of the Pope, had levied on the clergy, in the vain hope of placing one of his sons on the throne of Sicily, and afterwards to pay the debt which he had contracted towards the supreme pontiff. The King of France, quoted as an example, was the saintly Louis IX.

THE SONG OF THE CHURCH.

[MS. Cotton. Jul. D. VII. fol. 133, v^o. of 13th century.]

Istud canticum factum fuit anno gratiæ m^occ^olvi^o supra desolatione Ecclesiæ Anglicanæ.

Translation.—Now is accomplished as I conceive—the plaint of Jeremiah, which you have often heard,—who tells how this sole—city full of people—bewailing bitterly,—is now without marriage—and put in contribution,—the Lady of the people.—That is holy church very evidently,—who is now disgraced and all put to sale;—and truly is she in ill case, we see how.—She laments and weeps,—there is none who helps her—out of her desolation.

Formerly clergy was—free and uppermost,—loved and cherished,—nothing could be more so.—Now it is enslaved,—and too much debased,—and trodden down.—By those is it disgraced,—from whom it ought to have help;—I dare not say more.

The king and the pope think of nothing else,—but how they may take from the clergy their gold and their silver.—This is the whole affair,—that the pope of Rome—yields too much to the king,—to help his crown,—the tenth of the clergy’s goods he gives him,—and with that he does his will.

I do not think that the King acts wisely,—that he lives of robbery which he commits upon the clergy.—He will never be a gainer,—by robbing holy church;—he knows it truly.—He who seeks an example,—let him regard the King of France—and his achievement.

The next Song, directed against the avarice of the Bishops, appears to be of about the same date. In the manuscript it is written, like the foregoing, as prose.

A SONG AGAINST THE BISHOPS.

[From the same folio of the same MS.]

Translation.—Although sick with those who are sick, and unknown with those who are unknown, yet I will assume all characters in turn, usurping the right of the priest: weep, ye daughters of Sion, the bishops of the church at the present day are but remote imitators of Christ!

The clerical order is debased in respect of the laity; the spouse of Christ is made venal,—she that is noble, common; the altars are for sale; the eucharist is for sale, although venal grace is vain and frivolous.

God’s gift is not given if it be not conferred gratis; and he who sells and makes merchandise of it, is, in so doing, struck with the leprosy of Syrus; the service of idols, at which his ambition thus aims, may not be engrafted on the temple of the Holy Spirit.

In their days of youth, they look forwards to old age with fear, lest, deserted by fortune, they possess no longer their sleek skin. But while they seek the mean, they turn into the contrary extreme; for vice deceives them in the guise of virtue.

Thou who holdest this course, vainly thou callest thyself a pastor; neither doest thou govern thyself like a ruler, immersed in the heat of temporary affairs; she is another—daughter of the leech, whom the venal court has taken to wife.

The following is another bitter satire on the vices of the great, during the reign of Henry III. Who were the four brothers against whom the song is more particularly directed, would not be easily ascertained without other particulars besides those here furnished.

A SONG ON THE TIMES.

[MS. Harl. No. 978. fol. 123, v^o. of the 13th cent.]

Translation.—Everybody has a right to satirize the world’s vices; for now I see many in the world err, despise what is good, love what is bad, and most frequently turning off spontaneously to evil.—Because the world is depraved, it knows how to do injury; it knows how to act ill, but not how to repent; the flesh will do all it can to possess whatever it desires, but is unable to fulfill God’s commandments.—Now nobody is esteemed unless he knows how to litigate; unless he can cavil cunningly in law-suits; unless he can overreach the simple; unless he know how to amass abundance of money.—The state of the world is at the present day constantly changing; it is always becoming miserably worse; for he who spares nobody, and who is bent most on gain, is most beloved and most commended.—The King and his nobles are sufficiently bitter; almost all the rich men are too avaricious; the poor man, who possesses little, must be robbed and spoiled of his property to enrich the wealthy.—The rich man is blinded by superfluous wealth; his whole mind is occupied with temporal matters; and, since he is too much pleased with vanities, he puts off the doing of good, but avoids not the evil.—Of the prelates, there are very many who, having no fear of God, do evil under the mask of good, and they often do more injury than the laymen; they take great care of the body, but feed ill the mind.—Now impiety reigns, piety is driven away, and noble liberality is sent into far exile; for narrow stinginess is the companion of many, and thus in many charity is become cold.—Right and wrong march nearly on an equal footing; there is now scarcely one who is ashamed of doing what is unlawful; the man is held dear who knows how to flatter, and he enjoys a singular privilege.—Lucre is a thing too much sought after; whoever has an eye to it, is considered prudent; he who keeps very close what he has, is called a wise man; he who gives liberally, is set down for a fool.—Treachery accompanies avarice; perfidy is now put on equality with honesty; for he who knows how to deceive, is proclaimed a prudent man; and he who does most ill is most prized.—There are four persons in particular who work thus; who, even while doing ill, are meditating to do worse, whose crimes are sufficiently declared below, and whose names are as follows:—They are four brothers, Robert, and Richard; next Gilbert, a true Wandelard; the fourth is a bastard brother, Geoffrey, who is a sluggard, and slow to do anything good.—Each of them has a very appropriate name, by which his own character is described; for if any one interpret rightly the names, he may know most accurately what each signifies.—By Robert, is very sufficiently indicated a robber; and by Richard, with much fitness, a rich hard man; Gilbert is not without reason called a guiler; and Geoffrey is, if we come to the point, changed into jo frai (i. e. I will do it).—By these people’s names, which are thus described, are denoted the habit, and fraud, and works, of many men; and in order that these may be made more manifest to all, they are here published better and more fully—Robert fleeces, extorts, and threatens; and Richard keeps all he gains; Gilbert deceives, and afterwards boasts of it; Geoffrey procrastinates, and does nothing.—I will follow up the truth now in full cry: every ravenous man is the companion of Robert; a false and miserly man is similar to Gilbert; a slow and listless man is, without doubt, a Geoffrey.—The latter idly protracts the time, behindhand at whatever hour is appointed, he neglects to do what is good, and by putting off the good he falls into that which is evil, and he is always backward in acting well:—he promises anything, but will perform nothing; he always says, “I will do,” but never does; but when death is at hand, he begins to lament: there is great danger in repenting so late.—Let every one take care that he is not himself deceived; let him try to repent before his end, that he may merit well while he is in health, lest by putting it off, he chance to die before it is done.—The Lord, who is the fountain and author of the highest degree of piety, give us here the inclination so to mourn for our faults, and to be penitent spontaneously while we are in health, that in the next world we may be in joy with the saints!

A perpetual subject of popular outcry against the great, during this and the following centuries, was afforded by the foreign and extravagant fashions in dress, which were prevalent. A glance at the illuminations in contemporary manuscripts will show us that these complaints were not without foundation. We, even at the present day, can with difficulty conceive the immense sums which were in former days expended on the toilet. This profusion was frequently and severely commented upon in the prose writings of the clergy, and was not uncommonly the subject of popular satire. The following song upon the tailors is very playful.

SONG UPON THE TAILORS.

[MS. Harl. 978. fol. 99, v^o. reign of Hen. III.]

In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas Corpora, Dii cœptis, nam vos mutastis et illas, Aspirate meis.

Translation.—I have said, ye are gods; why should I omit the service which should be said on festival days? Gods certainly ye are, who can transform an old garment into the shape of a new one.—The cloth, while fresh and new, is made either a cape or mantle; but, in order of time, first it is a cape, after a little space this is transformed into the other; thus ye “change bodies.”—When it becomes old, the collar is cut off; when deprived of the collar, it is made a mantle: thus, in the manner of Proteus, are garments changed; nor is the law of metamorphosis a new discovery.—With their shape they change their sex; the primates of the church privately close up again what was before torn; nor is it given, assuredly, till it has first undergone the fortune of Tiresias.—When, at length, winter returns, many engraft immediately upon the cape a capuce; then it is squared; after being squared it is rounded; and so it becomes an aumuce.—If there remain any morsels of the cloth or skin which is cut, it does not want a use: of these are made gloves; a glove is called in Greek “the placing of the hands.”—This is the general manner they all make one robe out of another, English, Germans, French, and Normans, with scarcely an exception. Thus cape is declined; but mantle otherwise.—In the first year, while it is still fresh, the skin and the cloth being both new, it is laid up in a box; when, however, the fur begins to be worn off, and the thread of the seams broken, the skin is circumcised.—Thus the mantle is made a Jew; here lays the cloth, there the skin, after the first divorce: being separated from its former husband, after separation it passes in reparation to marriage with a second husband.—But what will you say is a greater crime? this is clearly against right; for if she have married a second, the marriage is broken, when a new conjunction is made in spite of the reclamations of the old partner.—It is neither canonic nor wise to marry two cloths to one fur, and so we judge it. Do the decretals permit this? No: on the contrary, every canon declares, that it is no marriage.—The cloth having been first circumcised, then widowed and separated from its skin, now having experienced Judaism, is cleansed by baptism, from every stain (i. e. it is dyed).—Being circumcised and cleaned, and having obtained the testimony of both laws, he whom baptism has cleansed, contracts a new marriage with a second skin.—Being devoid of hair, and worn by use, from Esau having become Jacob, when the hair is fallen from it, the process is inverted, and again conversely from Jacob it becomes Esau.—The hairy part is turned out, but the old part, concealed inwardly, is bare of hairs. Now the hypocritical mantle, in order that there may be nothing lost, is given to the servant for his wages.

We are now approaching the eventful period of the Barons’ wars. The turbulent Welshmen were ever ready to seize an opportunity of invading the Marches; and the following song, whether it were composed by one of them, or be the work of one of the English who took the opportunity of satirising them, gives us a fair picture of the spirit in which they interfered.

THE SONG OF THE WELSH.

[From the Public Library of Leyden, MS. Vossius, No. 104, fol. 144, r^o. of the 13th cent.]

Translation.—The Cambrians, who are used to slay the Saxons, salute their relations the Britons and Cornish-men: they require them to come with their sharp swords to conquer their Saxon enemies.—Come now, vigorously, armed with coats of mail; a great part of the Saxons are fallen in mutual slaughter, the remainder shall be slain by us: now is the time for you to show of what blood you are sprung.—The soothsayer Merlin never said a thing that was vain; he foretold that the mad people should be expelled. And you do not keep this wise counsel; observe deceitful people of whom the whole race is accursed.—If our valiant predecessor, King Arthur, had been now alive, I am sure not one of the Saxon walls would have resisted him; he would have been hard to them, spite of their prayers, as they have deserved.—May the Omnipotent procure him a successor only similar to him, I would not desire a better, who may deliver the Britons from their old grievance, and restore to them their country and their country’s glory.—May it please the uncle of Arthur to obtain this for us, a certain very great saint, [to send] the Englishman over the sea; we know that his festival is approaching on the kalends of March (St. David’s day), may he make it his study to recall the Britons to their native land.—Sons imitate their virtuous fathers, so let the Britons take Arthur for their example in valour; they show from what a good and brave man they are descended; as Arthur was, so let them be, conquerors!—The Roman power reigned at Paris, the bold giant Frollo, with the bearish mind; him Arthur slew: every person of good faith believes it: witness the tent and the Parisian island.—He is a madman who kills the noble Britons: it seems that he holds them thus hated; for he invidiously proclaims them hateful always and incessantly, who he hears are victorious.—Of this nation there have been four great commanders, Arthur and Broinsius, powerful warriors; Constantine and Brennius, more powerful, if it were possible; these held the monarchy by reason of their being the best.—France can only boast of her Charlemaine; and England glories in the valour of King Richard; a larger number overcomes a smaller, because a four-fold glory increases the valour of the King.—To these latter it was granted to reign within their own bounds; to the others, to triumph, over commanders, governors, and kings, with whom they can in no respect claim equality: it is a far greater thing to command, than to reign.

The following fragment of what appears once to have been a long ballad, made to be sung in the halls of the Barons, seems to have been written soon after the disturbances in London in 1263, though there is not enough preserved to enable us to determine the precise occasion on which it was composed. Several nobles are here joined together, who afterwards took different sides.

THE SONG OF THE BARONS.

[A roll of parchment, of the 13th cent. in a private library.]

Translation.—But the good Earl of Warenne,—who has so much riches and property,—and has skill in war,—in Norfolk in this thought—he came conquering his enemies,—but now he has nothing to do.

Sir John Gifford ought well to be named,—who had scarcely a ...—in this riding-bout;—and he was always forward,—valiant and wise, and active,—and of great renown.

And Sir John Dayville,—who never loved treason or guile,—was in their company;—and Sir Peter de Montfort,—he held firm to their agreement,—and had great seignory.

And the good Roger de Clifford—behaved like a noble baron,—and exercised great justice;—he suffered neither little nor great,—neither behind or before,—to do any wrong.

And Sir Roger de Leyburne,—who often turns him on this side and on that,—made great progress conquering;—he laboured much to gain,—to restore his losses,—which Sir Edward had caused him before.

Right good men were the barons;—but I cannot tell all their names,—the number is so great:—therefore I return to Earl Simon,—to give the interpretation,—what is his name.

He is called de Montfort;—he is in the world (monde), and he is strong (fort);—and he has great chivalry:—this is true, and I agree to it,—he loves right and hates wrong,—and he shall have the mastery.

He is truly in the world,—there where the commons are in accord with him—which are praised of the land;—it is the Count of Leicester,—who may be glad and joyous—of this renown.

The Bishop of Hereford—knew well that the Earl was strong,—when he took the matter in hand;—before that he (the bishop) was very fierce;—he thought to eat up all the English;—but now he does not know what to do.

And the pastor of Norwich,—who devours his own sheep,—knows enough of this story;—he lost much of his goods;—it is pity they left him anything,—who was too much acquainted with shame.

And Sir John de Langley,—his property was gained,—cursed be he who complains of it;—all he had my lord Roger de Clifford—caused to be carried away;—he would let nothing remain.

Neither to Sir Matthew de Besile—did they leave one farthing,—in country or in town.—All his property was ravaged,—and neatly was he stripped—by a ‘treget’ without guile.

But Sir John de Gray—came to London, and some thing or other—made a quarrel—between London and him,—that he lost all his harness;—that was his mischance.

And Sir William le Latimer—came to London to play, * * *

The following satyrical song seems to have been written on the occasion of the intermediation of Louis IX. of France, between the contending parties in England, in the beginning of the year 1264. Much of its point consists in a rather gross play upon words which cannot always be translated; it is written in a very broad dialect; and the numerous instances of bad French, which are observed in it, were, no doubt, committed intentionally, to increase the hilarity of the listeners, at the expense of the English and their King.

SONG OF THE PEACE WITH ENGLAND.

[From a MS. of the thirteenth century, in the Bibl. du Roi, at Paris, No. 7218, fol. 220, v^o.]