AS I CAME FROM WALSINGHAM.

Gentle heardsman, tell to me,Of curtesy I thee pray,Unto the towne of WalsinghamWhich is the right and ready way."Unto the towne of Walsingham5The way is hard for to be gon;And verry crooked are those pathesFor you to find out all alone."Weere the miles doubled thrise,And the way never soe ill,10Itt were not enough for mine offence,Itt is soe grievous and soe ill."Thy yeeares are young, thy face is faire,Thy witts are weake, thy thoughts are greene;Time hath not given thee leave, as yett,15For to committ so great a sinne."Yes, heardsman, yes, soe woldest thou say,If thou knewest soe much as I;My witts, and thoughts, and all the rest,Have well deserved for to dye.20I am not what I seeme to bee,My clothes and sexe doe differ farr:I am a woman, woe is me!Bornto greeffe and irksome care.Formy beloved, and well-beloved,25My wayward cruelty could kill:And though my teares will nought avail,Most dearely I bewail himstill.He was the flower of noble wights,None ever more sincere coldebee;30Of comely mien and shapehee was,And tenderlye hee loved mee.When thus I saw he loved me well,I grewe so proud his paine to see,That I, who did notknow myselfe,35Thought scorneofsuch a youthas hee.And grew soe coy and nice to please,As women's lookes are often soe,He might not kisse, nor hand forsooth,Unlesse I willed him soe to doe.40Thus being wearyed with delayesTo see I pittyed not his greeffe,He gott him to a secrett place,And there he dyed without releeffe.And for his sake these weeds I weare,45And sacriffice my tender age;And every day Ile begg my bread,To undergoe this pilgrimage.Thus every day I fast and pray,And ever will doe till I dye;50And gett me to some secrett place,For soe did hee, and soe will I.Now, gentle heardsman, aske no more,But keepe my secretts I thee pray:Unto the towne of Walsingham55Show me the right and readye way."Now goe thy wayes, and God before!For he must ever guide thee still:Turne downe that dale, the right hand path,And soe, faire pilgrim, fare thee well!"60

Gentle heardsman, tell to me,Of curtesy I thee pray,Unto the towne of WalsinghamWhich is the right and ready way.

"Unto the towne of Walsingham5The way is hard for to be gon;And verry crooked are those pathesFor you to find out all alone."

Weere the miles doubled thrise,And the way never soe ill,10Itt were not enough for mine offence,Itt is soe grievous and soe ill.

"Thy yeeares are young, thy face is faire,Thy witts are weake, thy thoughts are greene;Time hath not given thee leave, as yett,15For to committ so great a sinne."

Yes, heardsman, yes, soe woldest thou say,If thou knewest soe much as I;My witts, and thoughts, and all the rest,Have well deserved for to dye.20

I am not what I seeme to bee,My clothes and sexe doe differ farr:I am a woman, woe is me!Bornto greeffe and irksome care.

Formy beloved, and well-beloved,25My wayward cruelty could kill:And though my teares will nought avail,Most dearely I bewail himstill.

He was the flower of noble wights,None ever more sincere coldebee;30Of comely mien and shapehee was,And tenderlye hee loved mee.

When thus I saw he loved me well,I grewe so proud his paine to see,That I, who did notknow myselfe,35Thought scorneofsuch a youthas hee.

And grew soe coy and nice to please,As women's lookes are often soe,He might not kisse, nor hand forsooth,Unlesse I willed him soe to doe.40

Thus being wearyed with delayesTo see I pittyed not his greeffe,He gott him to a secrett place,And there he dyed without releeffe.

And for his sake these weeds I weare,45And sacriffice my tender age;And every day Ile begg my bread,To undergoe this pilgrimage.

Thus every day I fast and pray,And ever will doe till I dye;50And gett me to some secrett place,For soe did hee, and soe will I.

Now, gentle heardsman, aske no more,But keepe my secretts I thee pray:Unto the towne of Walsingham55Show me the right and readye way.

"Now goe thy wayes, and God before!For he must ever guide thee still:Turne downe that dale, the right hand path,And soe, faire pilgrim, fare thee well!"60

41-52. Stanzas 11, 12, 13, have been paraphrased by Goldsmith in his ballad ofEdwin and Emma.

FromThe Garland of Good Will, as reprinted by the Percy Society, vol.XXX.p. 111. Percy's copy was communicated to him by Shenstone, and was retouched by that poet.

"The pilgrimage to Walsingham," remarks the Bishop, "suggested the plan of many popular pieces. In the Pepys collection, vol. i. p. 226, is a kind of interlude in the old ballad style, of which the first stanza alone is worth reprinting.

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

The pilgrimages undertaken on pretence of religion were often productive of affairs of gallantry, and led the votaries to no other shrine than that of Venus.[1]"

"The following ballad was once very popular; it is quoted in Fletcher's 'Knight of the Burning Pestle,' Act ii. sc. ult., and in another old play, called "Hans Beer-pot, his invisible Comedy, &c. 4to 1618, Act i."

"As I went to Walsinghamis quoted in Nashe'sHave with you to Saffron-Walden, 1596, sign.L."—Chappell.

[1]'Hermets on a heape, with hoked staves,Wenten to Walsingham, and her wenches after.'Visions of Pierce Plowman, fo. i.

[1]

'Hermets on a heape, with hoked staves,Wenten to Walsingham, and her wenches after.'Visions of Pierce Plowman, fo. i.

"As you came from the holy-landOf Walsingham,Met you not with my true loveBy the way as you came?""How should I know your true love,5That have met many a one,As I came from the holy-land,That have come, that have gone?""She is neither white nor brown,But as the heavens fair;10There is none hath a form so divine,On the earth, in the air.""Such a one did I meet, good sir,With angellike face,Who like a queen did appear15In her gait, in her grace.""She hath left me here all alone,All alone and unknown,Who sometime lov'd me as her life,And call'd me her own."20"What's the cause she hath left thee alone,And a new way doth take,That sometime did love thee as her life,And her joy did thee make?""I loved her all my youth,25But now am old, as you see;Love liketh not the fallen fruit,Nor the withered tree."For love is a careless child,And forgets promise past;30He is blind, he is deaf, when he list,And in faith never fast."For love is a great delight,And yet a trustless joy;He is won with a word of despair,35And is lost with a toy."Such is the love of womankind,Or the word abus'd,Under which many childish desiresAnd conceits are excus'd.40"But love is a durable fire,In the mind ever burning;Never sick, never dead, never cold,From itself never turning."

"As you came from the holy-landOf Walsingham,Met you not with my true loveBy the way as you came?"

"How should I know your true love,5That have met many a one,As I came from the holy-land,That have come, that have gone?"

"She is neither white nor brown,But as the heavens fair;10There is none hath a form so divine,On the earth, in the air."

"Such a one did I meet, good sir,With angellike face,Who like a queen did appear15In her gait, in her grace."

"She hath left me here all alone,All alone and unknown,Who sometime lov'd me as her life,And call'd me her own."20

"What's the cause she hath left thee alone,And a new way doth take,That sometime did love thee as her life,And her joy did thee make?"

"I loved her all my youth,25But now am old, as you see;Love liketh not the fallen fruit,Nor the withered tree.

"For love is a careless child,And forgets promise past;30He is blind, he is deaf, when he list,And in faith never fast.

"For love is a great delight,And yet a trustless joy;He is won with a word of despair,35And is lost with a toy.

"Such is the love of womankind,Or the word abus'd,Under which many childish desiresAnd conceits are excus'd.40

"But love is a durable fire,In the mind ever burning;Never sick, never dead, never cold,From itself never turning."

From Richard Johnson'sCrowne-Garland of Goulden Roses, (1612,) as reprinted by the Percy Society, vi. 45. It is there simply entitledA Song of a Beggar and a King. Given in Percy'sReliques, i. 202, "corrected by another copy."

This story, and it would appear this very ballad, is alluded to by Shakespeare and others of the dramatists.

Thus, the 13th verse is partly quoted inRomeo and Juliet, A. ii. sc. 1:

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

Again inLove's Labour's Lost, (printed in 1598,) A. i. sc. 2.

Arm.Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar?Moth.The world was very guilty of such a ballad some three ages since, but, I think, now 'tis not to be found.

Arm.Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar?

Moth.The world was very guilty of such a ballad some three ages since, but, I think, now 'tis not to be found.

See alsoHenry Fourth, P. ii. A. v. sc. 3,Richard Second, A. v. sc. 3, and Ben Jonson'sEvery Man in his Humour, A. iii. sc. 4,—all these cited by Percy.

InA Collection of Old Ballads, i. 138, is arifacimentoof this piece, in a different stanza, but following the story closely and preserving much of the diction. It is also printed in Evans'sOld Ballads, ii. 361.

I read that once in AffricaA prince that there did raine,Who had to name Cophetua,As poets they did faine.From natures workes he did incline,5For sure he was not of my minde,He cared not for women-kind,But did them all disdain.But marke what happen'd by the way;As he out of his window lay,10He saw a beggar all in grey,Which did increase his paine.The blinded boy that shootes so trimFrom heaven downe so high,He drew a dart and shot at him,15In place where he did lye:Which soone did pierce him to the quick,For when he felt the arrow prick,Which in his tender heart did stick,He looketh as he would dye.20"What sudden change is this," quoth he,"That I to love must subject be,Which never thereto would agree,But still did it defie?"Then from his window he did come,25And laid him on his bed;A thousand heapes of care did runneWithin his troubled head.For now he means to crave her love,And now he seeks which way to proove30How he his fancie might remove,And not this beggar wed.But Cupid had him so in snare,That this poore beggar must prepareA salve to cure him of his care,35Or els he would be dead.And as he musing thus did lie,He thought for to deviseHow he might have her company,That so did maze his eyes.40"In thee," quoth he, "doth rest my life;For surely thou shalt be my wife,Or else this hand with bloody knife,The gods shall sure suffice."Then from his bed he 'soon' arose,45And to his pallace gate he goes;Full little then this beggar knowesWhen she the kingespies."The gods preserve your majesty,"The beggars all gan cry;50"Vouchsafe to give your charity,Our childrens food to buy!"The king to them his purse did cast,And they to part it made great haste;This silly woman was the last55That after them did hye.The king he cal'd her back again,And unto her he gave his chaine;And said, "With us you shall remainTill such time as we dye.60"For thou," quoth he, "shalt be my wife,And honoured like the queene;With thee I meane to lead my life,As shortly shall be seene:Our wedding day shall appointed be,65And every thing in their degree;Come on," quoth he, "and follow me,Thou shalt go shift thee cleane.What is thy name?—go on," quoth he."Penelophon, O King!" quoth she;70With that she made a lowe courtsey;A trim one as I weene.Thus hand in hand along they walkeUnto the kings palace:The king with courteous, comly talke75This beggar doth embrace.The beggar blusheth scarlet read,And straight againe as pale as lead,But not a word at all she said,She was in such amaze.80At last she spake with trembling voyce,And said, "O King, I do rejoyceThat you will take me for your choice,And my degree so base!"And when the wedding day was come,85The king commanded straightThe noblemen, both all and some,Upon the queene to waight.And she behavd herself that dayAs if she had never walkt the way;90She had forgot her gowne of gray,Which she did wear of late.The proverb old is come to passe,The priest, when he begins the masse,Forgets that ever clarke he was;95He knowth not his estate.Here you may read Cophetua,Through fancie long time fed,Compelled by the blinded boyThe beggar for to wed:100He that did lovers lookes disdaine,To do the same was glad and fain,Or else he would himself have slaine,In stories as we read.Disdaine no whit, O lady deere,105But pitty now thy servant heere,Lest that it hap to thee this yeare,As to the king it did.And thus they lead a quiet lifeDuring their princely raigne,110And in a tombe were buried both,As writers shew us plaine.The lords they tooke it grievously,The ladies tooke it heavily,The commons cryed pittiously,115Their death to them was pain.Their fame did sound so passingly,That it did pierce the starry sky,And throughout all the world did flyeTo every princes realme.120

The blinded boy that shootes so trimFrom heaven downe so high,He drew a dart and shot at him,15In place where he did lye:Which soone did pierce him to the quick,For when he felt the arrow prick,Which in his tender heart did stick,He looketh as he would dye.20"What sudden change is this," quoth he,"That I to love must subject be,Which never thereto would agree,But still did it defie?"

Then from his window he did come,25And laid him on his bed;A thousand heapes of care did runneWithin his troubled head.For now he means to crave her love,And now he seeks which way to proove30How he his fancie might remove,And not this beggar wed.But Cupid had him so in snare,That this poore beggar must prepareA salve to cure him of his care,35Or els he would be dead.

And as he musing thus did lie,He thought for to deviseHow he might have her company,That so did maze his eyes.40"In thee," quoth he, "doth rest my life;For surely thou shalt be my wife,Or else this hand with bloody knife,The gods shall sure suffice."Then from his bed he 'soon' arose,45And to his pallace gate he goes;Full little then this beggar knowesWhen she the kingespies.

"The gods preserve your majesty,"The beggars all gan cry;50"Vouchsafe to give your charity,Our childrens food to buy!"The king to them his purse did cast,And they to part it made great haste;This silly woman was the last55That after them did hye.The king he cal'd her back again,And unto her he gave his chaine;And said, "With us you shall remainTill such time as we dye.60

"For thou," quoth he, "shalt be my wife,And honoured like the queene;With thee I meane to lead my life,As shortly shall be seene:Our wedding day shall appointed be,65And every thing in their degree;Come on," quoth he, "and follow me,Thou shalt go shift thee cleane.What is thy name?—go on," quoth he."Penelophon, O King!" quoth she;70With that she made a lowe courtsey;A trim one as I weene.

Thus hand in hand along they walkeUnto the kings palace:The king with courteous, comly talke75This beggar doth embrace.The beggar blusheth scarlet read,And straight againe as pale as lead,But not a word at all she said,She was in such amaze.80At last she spake with trembling voyce,And said, "O King, I do rejoyceThat you will take me for your choice,And my degree so base!"

And when the wedding day was come,85The king commanded straightThe noblemen, both all and some,Upon the queene to waight.And she behavd herself that dayAs if she had never walkt the way;90She had forgot her gowne of gray,Which she did wear of late.The proverb old is come to passe,The priest, when he begins the masse,Forgets that ever clarke he was;95He knowth not his estate.

Here you may read Cophetua,Through fancie long time fed,Compelled by the blinded boyThe beggar for to wed:100He that did lovers lookes disdaine,To do the same was glad and fain,Or else he would himself have slaine,In stories as we read.Disdaine no whit, O lady deere,105But pitty now thy servant heere,Lest that it hap to thee this yeare,As to the king it did.

And thus they lead a quiet lifeDuring their princely raigne,110And in a tombe were buried both,As writers shew us plaine.The lords they tooke it grievously,The ladies tooke it heavily,The commons cryed pittiously,115Their death to them was pain.Their fame did sound so passingly,That it did pierce the starry sky,And throughout all the world did flyeTo every princes realme.120

48, espied.

FromThe Garland of Good-Will, as reprinted by the Percy Society, xxx. 125. Other copies, slightly different, inA Collection of Old Ballads, ii. 191, and in Percy'sReliques, ii. 246.

Percy conjectures that this ballad "took its rise from one of those descents made on the Spanish coasts in the time of Queen Elizabeth." The weight of tradition is decidedly, perhaps entirely, in favor of the hero's having been one of Essex's comrades in the Cadiz expedition, butwhichof his gallant captains achieved the double conquest of the Spanish Lady is by no means satisfactorily determined. Among the candidates put forth are Sir Richard Levison of Trentham, Staffordshire, Sir John Popham of Littlecot, Wilts, Sir Urias Legh of Adlington, Cheshire, and Sir John Bolle of Thorpe Hall, Lincolnshire. The right of the last to this distinction has been recently warmly contended for, and, as is usual in similar cases, strong circumstantial evidence is urged in his favor. The reader will judge for himself of its probable authenticity.

"On Sir John Bolle's departure from Cadiz," it is said, "the Spanish Lady sent as presents to hiswife a profusion of jewels and other valuables, among which was her portrait drawn in green; plate, money, and other treasures." Some of these articles are maintained to be still in possession of the family, and also a portrait of Sir John, drawn in 1596, at the age of thirty-six, in which he wears the gold chain given him by his enamored prisoner. SeeThe Timesnewspaper of April 30 and May 1, 1846, (the latter article cited inNotes and Queries, ix. 573,) and theQuarterly Review, Sept. 1846, Art. III. The literary merits of the ballad are also considered in theEdinburgh Review, of April, 1846.

Shenstone has essayed in hisMoral Tale of Love and Honourto bring out "the Spanish Ladye and her Knight in less grovelling accents than the simple guise of ancient record," while Wordsworth, in a more reverential spirit, has taken this noble old romance as the model of hisArmenian Lady's Love.

Will you hear a Spanish lady,How she woo'd an English man?Garments gay as rich as may be,Decked with jewels, had she on;Of a comely countenance and grace was she,5And by birth and parentage of high degree.As his prisoner there he kept her,In his hands her life did lie;Cupid's bands did tie her faster,By the liking of an eye;10In his courteous company was all her joy,To favour him in any thing she was not coy.At the last there came commandmentFor to set the ladies free,With their jewels still adorned,15None to do them injury:"Alas," then said this lady gay, "full woe is me;O let me still sustain this kind captivity!"O gallant captain, shew some pityTo a lady in distress;20Leave me not within the city,For to die in heaviness;Thou hast set this present day my body free,But my heart in prison strong remains with thee.""How should'st thou, fair lady, love me,25Whom thou know'st thy country's foe?Thy fair words make me suspect thee;Serpents are where flowers grow.""All the evil I think to thee, most gracious knight,God grant unto myself the same may fully light!30"Blessed be the time and season,That you came on Spanish ground;If you may our foes be termed,Gentle foes we have you found.With our city, you have won our hearts each one;35Then to your country bear away that is your own.""Rest you still, most gallant lady,Rest you still, and weep no more;Of fair lovers there are plenty;Spain doth yield a wondrous store."40"Spaniards fraught with jealousie we often find;But English men throughout the world are counted kind."Leave me not unto a Spaniard;You alone enjoy my heart;I am lovely, young, and tender,45And so love is my desert.Still to serve thee day and night my mind is prest;The wife of every English man is counted blest.""It would be a shame, fair lady,For to bear a woman hence;50English soldiers never carryAny such without offence.""I will quickly change myself, if it be so,And like a page I'll follow thee, where'er thou go.""I have neither gold nor silver55To maintain thee in this case,And to travel, 'tis great charges,As you know, in every place.""My chains and jewels every one shall be thine own,And eke ten thousand pounds in gold that lies unknown."60"On the seas are many dangers;Many storms do there arise,Which will be to ladies dreadful,And force tears from wat'ry eyes.""Well in worth I could endure extremity,65For I could find in heart to lose my life for thee.""Courteous lady, be contented;Here comes all that breeds the strife;I in England have alreadyA sweet woman to my wife:70I will not falsifie my vow for gold or gain,Nor yet for all the fairest dames that live in Spain.""Oh how happy is that womanThat enjoys so true a friend!Many days of joy God send you!75Of my suit I'll make an end:On my knees I pardon crave for this offence,Which love and true affection did first commence."Commend me to thy loving lady;Bear to her this chain of gold,80And these bracelets for a token;Grieving that I was so bold.All my jewels in like sort bear thou with thee,For these are fitting for thy wife, and not for me."I will spend my days in prayer,85Love and all her laws defie;In a nunnery will I shroud me,Far from other company:But ere my prayers have end, be sure of this,[To pray] for thee and for thy love I will not miss.90"Thus farewell, most gentle captain,And farewell my heart's content!Count not Spanish ladies wanton,Though to thee my love was bent:Joy and true prosperity goe still with thee!"95"The like fall ever to thy share, most fair lady."

As his prisoner there he kept her,In his hands her life did lie;Cupid's bands did tie her faster,By the liking of an eye;10In his courteous company was all her joy,To favour him in any thing she was not coy.

At the last there came commandmentFor to set the ladies free,With their jewels still adorned,15None to do them injury:"Alas," then said this lady gay, "full woe is me;O let me still sustain this kind captivity!

"O gallant captain, shew some pityTo a lady in distress;20Leave me not within the city,For to die in heaviness;Thou hast set this present day my body free,But my heart in prison strong remains with thee."

"How should'st thou, fair lady, love me,25Whom thou know'st thy country's foe?Thy fair words make me suspect thee;Serpents are where flowers grow.""All the evil I think to thee, most gracious knight,God grant unto myself the same may fully light!30

"Blessed be the time and season,That you came on Spanish ground;If you may our foes be termed,Gentle foes we have you found.With our city, you have won our hearts each one;35Then to your country bear away that is your own."

"Rest you still, most gallant lady,Rest you still, and weep no more;Of fair lovers there are plenty;Spain doth yield a wondrous store."40"Spaniards fraught with jealousie we often find;But English men throughout the world are counted kind.

"Leave me not unto a Spaniard;You alone enjoy my heart;I am lovely, young, and tender,45And so love is my desert.Still to serve thee day and night my mind is prest;The wife of every English man is counted blest."

"It would be a shame, fair lady,For to bear a woman hence;50English soldiers never carryAny such without offence.""I will quickly change myself, if it be so,And like a page I'll follow thee, where'er thou go."

"I have neither gold nor silver55To maintain thee in this case,And to travel, 'tis great charges,As you know, in every place.""My chains and jewels every one shall be thine own,And eke ten thousand pounds in gold that lies unknown."60

"On the seas are many dangers;Many storms do there arise,Which will be to ladies dreadful,And force tears from wat'ry eyes.""Well in worth I could endure extremity,65For I could find in heart to lose my life for thee."

"Courteous lady, be contented;Here comes all that breeds the strife;I in England have alreadyA sweet woman to my wife:70I will not falsifie my vow for gold or gain,Nor yet for all the fairest dames that live in Spain."

"Oh how happy is that womanThat enjoys so true a friend!Many days of joy God send you!75Of my suit I'll make an end:On my knees I pardon crave for this offence,Which love and true affection did first commence.

"Commend me to thy loving lady;Bear to her this chain of gold,80And these bracelets for a token;Grieving that I was so bold.All my jewels in like sort bear thou with thee,For these are fitting for thy wife, and not for me.

"I will spend my days in prayer,85Love and all her laws defie;In a nunnery will I shroud me,Far from other company:But ere my prayers have end, be sure of this,[To pray] for thee and for thy love I will not miss.90

"Thus farewell, most gentle captain,And farewell my heart's content!Count not Spanish ladies wanton,Though to thee my love was bent:Joy and true prosperity goe still with thee!"95"The like fall ever to thy share, most fair lady."

The story of Griselda was first told in theDecameron. Boccaccio derived the incidents from Petrarch, and Petrarch seems to have communicated them also to Chaucer, who (in hisClerk of Oxenford's Tale) first made known the tale to English readers. The theme was subsequently treated in a great variety of ways.[2]Two plays upon the subject are known to have been written, one of which (by Dekker, Chettle and Haughton) has been printed by the Shakespeare Society, while the other, an older production of the close of Henry VIII.'s reign, is lost. About the middle of the sixteenth century, (1565,) aSong of Patient Grissellis entered in the Stationers' Registers, and a prose history the same year. The earliest edition of the popular prose history as yet recovered, dated 1619, has been reprinted in the third volume of the Percy Society's Publications.

The ballad here given is taken from Thomas Deloney'sGarland of Good Will, a collection which was printed some time before 1596. It was circulated after that time, and probably even before the compilation of the Garland, as a broadside, in black-letter, and also, with the addition of a prose introduction and conclusion, as a tract or chap-book. In this last form it is printed in the above-mentioned volume of the Percy Society. The ballad in its proper simplicity is inserted inA Collection of Old Ballads, i. 252.

Percy'sPatient Countess(Reliques, i. 310) is extracted fromAlbion's England.

The title inThe Garland of Good Willis,Of Patient Grissel and a Noble Marquess.To the tune of the Bride's Good Morrow.Percy Society, vol.XXX.p. 82.

[2]For the bibliography see Grässe'sSagenkreise, p. 282. The story is also found, says some one, in the Swedish saga ofHakon Borkenbart.

A noble marquess, as he did ride a-hunting,Hard by a river side,A proper maiden, as she did sit a-spinning,His gentle eye espy'd:Most fair and lovely, and of comely grace was she,5Although in simple attire;She sang most sweetly, with pleasant voice melodiously,Which set the lord's heart on fire.The more he lookt, the more he might;Beauty bred his hearts delight,10And to this damsel he went."God speed," quoth he, "thou famous flower,Fair mistress of this homely bower,Where love and vertue live with sweet content."With comely gesture and modest mild behaviour15She bad him welcome then;She entertain'd him in a friendly manner,And all his gentlemen.The noble marquess in his heart felt such flameWhich set his senses all at strife;20Quoth he, "Fair maiden, shew soon what is thy name:I mean to take thee to my wife.""Grissel is my name," quoth she,"Far unfit for your degree;A silly maiden, and of parents poor."25"Nay, Grissel, thou art rich," he said,"A vertuous, fair, and comely maid;Grant me thy love, and I will ask no more."At length she consented, and being both contented,They married were with speed;30Her country russet was turn'd to silk and velvet,As to her state agreed:And when that she was trimly attired in the same,Her beauty shin'd most bright,Far staining every other brave and comely dameThat did appearin sight.36Many envied her therefore,Because she was of parents poor,And twixt her lord and her great strife did raise:Some said this, and some said that,40Some did call her beggar's brat,And to her lord they would her oft dispraise."O noble marquess," quoth they, "why do you wrong us,Thus basely for to wed,That might have got an honourable lady45Into your princely bed?Who will not now your noble issue still deride,Which shall be hereafter born,That are of blood so base by the mother's side,The which will bring them to scorn?50Put her, therefore, quite away;Take to you a lady gay,Whereby your lineage may renownèd be."Thus every day they seem'd to prateAt malic'd Grissel's good estate,55Who took all this most mild and patiently.When that the marquess did see that they were bent thusAgainst his faithful wife,Whom most dearly, tenderly, and intirelyHe loved as his life;60Minding in secret for to prove her patient heart,Thereby her foes to disgrace;Thinking to play a hard discourteous part,That men might pity her case,—Great with child this lady was,65And at length it came to pass,Two lovely children at one birth she had;A son and daughter God had sent,Which did their father well content,And which did make their mothers heart full glad.70Great royal feasting was at the childrens christ'ning,And princely triumph made;Six weeks together, all nobles that came thitherWere entertain'd and staid.And when that these pleasant sportings quite were done,75The marquess a messenger sentFor his young daughter and his pretty smiling son,Declaring his full intent,How that the babes must murthered be,For so the marquess did decree.80"Come, let me have the children," he said:With that fair Grissel wept full sore,She wrung her hands, and said no more;"My gracious lord must have his will obey'd."She took the babies from the nursing-ladies,85Between her tender arms;She often wishes, with many sorrowful kisses,That she might help their harms."Farewel," quoth she, "my children dear;Never shall I see you again;90'Tis long of me, your sad and woful mother dear,For whose sake you must be slain.Had I been born of royal race,You might have liv'd in happy case;But now you must die for my unworthiness.95"Come, messenger of death," quoth she,"Take my despised babes to thee,And to their father my complaints express."He took the children, and to his noble masterHe brought them forth with speed;100Who secretly sent them unto a noble lady,To be nurst up indeed.Then to fair Grissel with a heavy heart he goes,Where she sat mildly all alone;A pleasant gesture and a lovely look she shows,105As if grief she had never known.Quoth he, "My children now are slain;What thinks fair Grissel of the same?Sweet Grissel, now declare thy mind to me.""Since you, my lord, are pleas'd with it,110Poor Grissel thinks the action fit;Both I and mine at your command will be.""The nobles murmur, fair Grissel, at thine honour,And I no joy can haveTill thou be banisht from my court and presence,115As they unjustly crave.Thou must be stript out of thy stately garments;And as thou camest to me,In homely gray, instead of silk and purest pall,Now all thy cloathing must be.120My lady thou must be no more,Nor I thy lord, which grieves me sore;The poorest life must now content thy mind:A groat to thee I may not give,Thee to maintain, while I do live;125'Gainst my Grissel such great foes I find."When gentle Grissel heard these woful tidings,The tears stood in her eyes;She nothing said, no words of discontentmentDid from her lips arise.130Her velvet gown most patiently she stript off,Her girdle of silk with the same;Her russet gown was brought again with many a scoff;To bear them all, herself [she] did frame.When she was drest in this array,135And ready was to part away,"God send long life unto my lord," quoth she;"Let no offence be found in this,To give my lord a parting kiss."With wat'ry eyes, "Farewel, my dear!" quoth he.140From stately palace, unto her father's cottage,Poor Grissel now is gone;Full fifteen winters she lived there contented,No wrong she thought upon;And at that time thro' all the land the speeches went,145The marquess should married beUnto a noble lady of high descent,And to the same all parties did agree.The marquess sent for Grissel fairThe bride's bed-chamber to prepare,150That nothing should therein be found awry;The bride was with her brother come,Which was great joy to all and some;And Grissel took all this most patiently.And in the morning when that they should be wedded,155Her patience now was try'd;Grissel was charged in princely mannerFor to attire the bride.Most willingly she gave consent unto the same;The bride in her bravery was drest,160And presently the noble marquess thither came,With all the ladies at his request."Oh Grissel, I would ask of theeIf to this match thou wouldst agree?Methinks thy looks are waxed wondrous coy."165With that they all began to smile,And Grissel she replies the while,"God send lord marquess many years of joy!"The marquis was movèd to see his best belovèdThus patient in distress;170He stept unto her, and by the hand he took her;These words he did express:"Thou art the bride, and all the brides I mean to have;These two thy own children be."The youthful lady on her knees did blessing crave,175The brother as willing as she."And you that envy her estate,Whom I have made my loving mate,Now blush for shame, and honour vertuous life;The chronicles of lasting fame180Shall evermore extol the nameOf patient Grissel, my most constant wife."

With comely gesture and modest mild behaviour15She bad him welcome then;She entertain'd him in a friendly manner,And all his gentlemen.The noble marquess in his heart felt such flameWhich set his senses all at strife;20Quoth he, "Fair maiden, shew soon what is thy name:I mean to take thee to my wife.""Grissel is my name," quoth she,"Far unfit for your degree;A silly maiden, and of parents poor."25"Nay, Grissel, thou art rich," he said,"A vertuous, fair, and comely maid;Grant me thy love, and I will ask no more."

At length she consented, and being both contented,They married were with speed;30Her country russet was turn'd to silk and velvet,As to her state agreed:And when that she was trimly attired in the same,Her beauty shin'd most bright,Far staining every other brave and comely dameThat did appearin sight.36Many envied her therefore,Because she was of parents poor,And twixt her lord and her great strife did raise:Some said this, and some said that,40Some did call her beggar's brat,And to her lord they would her oft dispraise.

"O noble marquess," quoth they, "why do you wrong us,Thus basely for to wed,That might have got an honourable lady45Into your princely bed?Who will not now your noble issue still deride,Which shall be hereafter born,That are of blood so base by the mother's side,The which will bring them to scorn?50Put her, therefore, quite away;Take to you a lady gay,Whereby your lineage may renownèd be."Thus every day they seem'd to prateAt malic'd Grissel's good estate,55Who took all this most mild and patiently.

When that the marquess did see that they were bent thusAgainst his faithful wife,Whom most dearly, tenderly, and intirelyHe loved as his life;60Minding in secret for to prove her patient heart,Thereby her foes to disgrace;Thinking to play a hard discourteous part,That men might pity her case,—Great with child this lady was,65And at length it came to pass,Two lovely children at one birth she had;A son and daughter God had sent,Which did their father well content,And which did make their mothers heart full glad.70

Great royal feasting was at the childrens christ'ning,And princely triumph made;Six weeks together, all nobles that came thitherWere entertain'd and staid.And when that these pleasant sportings quite were done,75The marquess a messenger sentFor his young daughter and his pretty smiling son,Declaring his full intent,How that the babes must murthered be,For so the marquess did decree.80"Come, let me have the children," he said:With that fair Grissel wept full sore,She wrung her hands, and said no more;"My gracious lord must have his will obey'd."

She took the babies from the nursing-ladies,85Between her tender arms;She often wishes, with many sorrowful kisses,That she might help their harms."Farewel," quoth she, "my children dear;Never shall I see you again;90'Tis long of me, your sad and woful mother dear,For whose sake you must be slain.Had I been born of royal race,You might have liv'd in happy case;But now you must die for my unworthiness.95"Come, messenger of death," quoth she,"Take my despised babes to thee,And to their father my complaints express."

He took the children, and to his noble masterHe brought them forth with speed;100Who secretly sent them unto a noble lady,To be nurst up indeed.Then to fair Grissel with a heavy heart he goes,Where she sat mildly all alone;A pleasant gesture and a lovely look she shows,105As if grief she had never known.Quoth he, "My children now are slain;What thinks fair Grissel of the same?Sweet Grissel, now declare thy mind to me.""Since you, my lord, are pleas'd with it,110Poor Grissel thinks the action fit;Both I and mine at your command will be."

"The nobles murmur, fair Grissel, at thine honour,And I no joy can haveTill thou be banisht from my court and presence,115As they unjustly crave.Thou must be stript out of thy stately garments;And as thou camest to me,In homely gray, instead of silk and purest pall,Now all thy cloathing must be.120My lady thou must be no more,Nor I thy lord, which grieves me sore;The poorest life must now content thy mind:A groat to thee I may not give,Thee to maintain, while I do live;125'Gainst my Grissel such great foes I find."

When gentle Grissel heard these woful tidings,The tears stood in her eyes;She nothing said, no words of discontentmentDid from her lips arise.130Her velvet gown most patiently she stript off,Her girdle of silk with the same;Her russet gown was brought again with many a scoff;To bear them all, herself [she] did frame.When she was drest in this array,135And ready was to part away,"God send long life unto my lord," quoth she;"Let no offence be found in this,To give my lord a parting kiss."With wat'ry eyes, "Farewel, my dear!" quoth he.140

From stately palace, unto her father's cottage,Poor Grissel now is gone;Full fifteen winters she lived there contented,No wrong she thought upon;And at that time thro' all the land the speeches went,145The marquess should married beUnto a noble lady of high descent,And to the same all parties did agree.The marquess sent for Grissel fairThe bride's bed-chamber to prepare,150That nothing should therein be found awry;The bride was with her brother come,Which was great joy to all and some;And Grissel took all this most patiently.

And in the morning when that they should be wedded,155Her patience now was try'd;Grissel was charged in princely mannerFor to attire the bride.Most willingly she gave consent unto the same;The bride in her bravery was drest,160And presently the noble marquess thither came,With all the ladies at his request."Oh Grissel, I would ask of theeIf to this match thou wouldst agree?Methinks thy looks are waxed wondrous coy."165With that they all began to smile,And Grissel she replies the while,"God send lord marquess many years of joy!"

The marquis was movèd to see his best belovèdThus patient in distress;170He stept unto her, and by the hand he took her;These words he did express:"Thou art the bride, and all the brides I mean to have;These two thy own children be."The youthful lady on her knees did blessing crave,175The brother as willing as she."And you that envy her estate,Whom I have made my loving mate,Now blush for shame, and honour vertuous life;The chronicles of lasting fame180Shall evermore extol the nameOf patient Grissel, my most constant wife."

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