IX.SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE.

"My mother had a maid call'd Barbara:She was in love; and he, she lov'd, prov'd mad,Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd!And did forsake her. She had a Song of—Willow.An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune,And she died singing it."

This is given from a black-letter copy in the Pepys collection, thus intitled,A Lover's Complaint, being forsaken of his Love. To apleasant tune.

["Willow, willow" was a favourite burden for songs in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and one of John Heywood's songs has the following—

"All a grene wyllow; wyllow, wyllow, wyllow,All a grene wyllow is my garland."

In theGorgeous Gallery of Gallant Inventions(1578) there is a slightly different burden—

"Willow, willow, willow, sing all of green willow,Sing all of green willow, shall be my garland."

There is another copy of the following song in the Roxburghe Collection (i. 54, 55) printed inRoxburghe Ballads(ed. W. Chappell, 1869, Part I. p. 171). Both these are of the first half of the seventeenth century, and an earlier copy than either is printed by Mr. Chappell in hisPopular Music of the Olden Time, i. 206.Dr. Rimbault[854]has drawn attention to the following parody, dated 1668—

Dr. Rimbault[854]has drawn attention to the following parody, dated 1668—

"A poore soule sat sighing near a ginger-bread stall,O ginger-bread O, ginger-bread O!With his hands in his pockets, his head on the wall,O ginger-bread O, ginger-bread O!You pye-wifes of Smithfield, what would ye be at!Who talks of plum-pudding? here's better than that,For here's ginger-bread O, ginger-bread O!"]

A poore soule sat sighing under a sicamore tree;O willow, willow, willow!With his hand on his bosom, his head on his knee:O willow, willow, willow!O willow, willow, willow!5Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd.He sigh'd in his singing, and after each grone,Come willow, &c.I am dead to all pleasure, my true-love is gone;O willow, &c.10Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd.My love she is turned; untrue she doth prove:O willow, &c.She renders me nothing but hate for my love.O willow, &c.15Sing, O the greene willow, &c.O pitty me, (cried he) ye lovers, each one;O willow, &c.Her heart's hard as marble; she rues not my mone.O willow, &c.20Sing, O the greene willow, &c.The cold streams ran by him, his eyes wept apace;O willow, &c.The salt tears fell from him, which drowned his face:O willow, &c.25Sing, O the greene willow, &c.The mute birds sate by him, made tame by his mones:O willow, &c.The salt tears fell from him, which softened the stones.O willow, &c.30Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd!Let nobody blame me, her scornes I do prove;O willow, &c.She was borne to be faire; I, to die for her love.O willow, &c.35Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd.O that beauty should harbour a heart that's so hard!Sing willow, &c.My true love rejecting without all regard.O willow, &c.40Sing, O the greene willow, &c.Let love no more boast him in palace, or bower;O willow, &c.For women are trothles,[855]and flote[856]in an houre.O willow, &c.45Sing, O the greene willow, &c.But what helps complaining? In vaine I complaine:O willow, &c.I must patiently suffer her scorne and disdaine.O willow, &c.50Sing, O the greene willow, &c.Come, all you forsaken, and sit down by me,O willow, &c.He that 'plaines of his false love, mine's falser than she.O willow, &c.55Sing, O the greene willow, &c.The willow wreath weare I, since my love did fleet;O willow, &c.A Garland for lovers forsaken most meete.O willow, &c.60Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd!

He sigh'd in his singing, and after each grone,Come willow, &c.I am dead to all pleasure, my true-love is gone;O willow, &c.10Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd.

My love she is turned; untrue she doth prove:O willow, &c.She renders me nothing but hate for my love.O willow, &c.15Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

O pitty me, (cried he) ye lovers, each one;O willow, &c.Her heart's hard as marble; she rues not my mone.O willow, &c.20Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

The cold streams ran by him, his eyes wept apace;O willow, &c.The salt tears fell from him, which drowned his face:O willow, &c.25Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

The mute birds sate by him, made tame by his mones:O willow, &c.The salt tears fell from him, which softened the stones.O willow, &c.30Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd!

Let nobody blame me, her scornes I do prove;O willow, &c.She was borne to be faire; I, to die for her love.O willow, &c.35Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd.

O that beauty should harbour a heart that's so hard!Sing willow, &c.My true love rejecting without all regard.O willow, &c.40Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

Let love no more boast him in palace, or bower;O willow, &c.For women are trothles,[855]and flote[856]in an houre.O willow, &c.45Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

But what helps complaining? In vaine I complaine:O willow, &c.I must patiently suffer her scorne and disdaine.O willow, &c.50Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

Come, all you forsaken, and sit down by me,O willow, &c.He that 'plaines of his false love, mine's falser than she.O willow, &c.55Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

The willow wreath weare I, since my love did fleet;O willow, &c.A Garland for lovers forsaken most meete.O willow, &c.60Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd!

Lowe lay'd by my sorrow, begot by disdaine;O willow, willow, willow!Against her too cruell, still still I complaine,O willow, willow, willow!O willow, willow, willow!5Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd!O love too injurious, to wound my poore heart!O willow, &c.To suffer the triumph, and joy in my smart:O willow, &c.10Sing, O the greene willow, &c.O willow, willow, willow! the willow garlànd,O willow, &c.A sign of her falsenesse before me doth stand:O willow, &c.15Sing, O the greene willow, &c.As here it doth bid to despair and to dye,O willow, &c.So hang it, friends, ore me in grave where I lye:O willow, &c.20Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd.In grave where I rest mee, hang this to the viewO willow, &c.Of all that doe knowe her, to blaze her untrue.O willow, &c.25Sing, O the greene willow, &c.With these words engraven, as epitaph meet,O willow, &c."Here lyes one, drank poyson for potion most sweet."O willow, &c.30Sing, O the greene willow, &c.Though she thus unkindly hath scorned my love,O willow, &c.And carelesly smiles at the sorrowes I prove;O willow, &c.35Sing, O the greene willow, &c.I cannot against her unkindly exclaim,O willow, &c.Cause once well I loved her, and honoured her name:O willow, &c.40Sing, O the greene willow, &c.The name of her sounded so sweete in mine eare,O willow, &c.It rays'd my heart lightly, the name of my deare;O willow, &c.45Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd.As then 'twas my comfort, it now is my griefe;O willow, &c.It now brings me anguish, then brought me reliefe.O willow, &c.50Sing, O the greene willow, &c.Farewell, faire false hearted: plaints end with my breath!O willow, willow, willow!Thou dost loath me, I love thee, though cause of my death.O willow, willow, willow!55O willow, willow, willow!Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd.

O love too injurious, to wound my poore heart!O willow, &c.To suffer the triumph, and joy in my smart:O willow, &c.10Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

O willow, willow, willow! the willow garlànd,O willow, &c.A sign of her falsenesse before me doth stand:O willow, &c.15Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

As here it doth bid to despair and to dye,O willow, &c.So hang it, friends, ore me in grave where I lye:O willow, &c.20Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd.

In grave where I rest mee, hang this to the viewO willow, &c.Of all that doe knowe her, to blaze her untrue.O willow, &c.25Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

With these words engraven, as epitaph meet,O willow, &c."Here lyes one, drank poyson for potion most sweet."O willow, &c.30Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

Though she thus unkindly hath scorned my love,O willow, &c.And carelesly smiles at the sorrowes I prove;O willow, &c.35Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

I cannot against her unkindly exclaim,O willow, &c.Cause once well I loved her, and honoured her name:O willow, &c.40Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

The name of her sounded so sweete in mine eare,O willow, &c.It rays'd my heart lightly, the name of my deare;O willow, &c.45Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd.

As then 'twas my comfort, it now is my griefe;O willow, &c.It now brings me anguish, then brought me reliefe.O willow, &c.50Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

Farewell, faire false hearted: plaints end with my breath!O willow, willow, willow!Thou dost loath me, I love thee, though cause of my death.O willow, willow, willow!55O willow, willow, willow!Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd.

FOOTNOTES:[854][Rimbault'sMusical Illustrations of Percy's Reliques, 1850, p. 9.][855][faithless.][856][change.]

[854][Rimbault'sMusical Illustrations of Percy's Reliques, 1850, p. 9.]

[855][faithless.]

[856][change.]

Thisballad is quoted in Shakespeare's second Part ofHenry IV.act ii. The subject of it is taken from the ancient romance of K. Arthur (commonly calledMorteArthur) being a poetical translation of chap. cviii. cix. cx. in Pt. 1st, as they stand in ed. 1634, 4to. In the older editions the chapters are differently numbered.—This song is given from a printed copy, corrected in part by a fragment in the Editor's folio MS.

In the same play of2 Hen. IV.Silencehums a scrap of one of the old ballads of Robin Hood. It is taken from the following stanza ofRobin Hood and the Pindar of Wakefield.

"All this beheard three wighty yeomen,Twas Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John:With that they espy'd the jolly PindàrAs he sate under a thorne."

That ballad may be found on every stall, and therefore is not here reprinted.

[This is a rhymed version of some chapters in Malory'sMortd'Arthur(Book vi. of Caxton's edition), said to have been written by Thomas Deloney towards the end of Elizabeth's reign. It first occurs in theGarland of Good Will, reprinted by the Percy Society (vol. xxx.)The ballad appears to have been highly popular, and it is quoted by Marston in theMalcontentand by Beaumont and Fletcher in theLittle French Lawyer, as well as by Shakspere.The copy in the Percy MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, 1867, vol. i. p. 84) is imperfect in two places, and lines 30 to 60, 73 to 76, and 95 to 124 are not to be found there, but with these exceptions it is much the same as the ballad printed here.]

The ballad appears to have been highly popular, and it is quoted by Marston in theMalcontentand by Beaumont and Fletcher in theLittle French Lawyer, as well as by Shakspere.

The copy in the Percy MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, 1867, vol. i. p. 84) is imperfect in two places, and lines 30 to 60, 73 to 76, and 95 to 124 are not to be found there, but with these exceptions it is much the same as the ballad printed here.]

When Arthur first in court began,And was approved king,By force of armes great victorys wanne,And conquest home did bring.Then into England straight he came5With fifty good and ableKnights, that resorted unto him,And were of his round table:And he had justs and turnaments,Whereto were many prest,[857]10Wherin some knights did farr excellAnd eke surmount the rest.But one Sir Lancelot du Lake,Who was approved well,He for his deeds and feats of armes,15All others did excell.When he had rested him a while,In play, and game, and sportt,[858]He said he wold goe prove himselfeIn some adventurous sort.20He armed rode in a forrest wide,And met a damsell faire,Who told him of adventures great,Wherto he gave great eare.Such wold I find, quoth Lancelott:25For that cause came I hither.Thou seemst, quoth shee, a knight full good,And I will bring thee thither.Wheras a mighty knight doth dwell,[859]That now is of great fame:30Therfore tell me what wight thou art,And what may be thy name."My name is Lancelot du Lake."Quoth she, it likes me than:[860]Here dwelles a knight who never was35Yet matcht with any man:Who has in prison threescore knightsAnd four, that he did wound;Knights of king Arthurs court they be,And of his table round.40She brought him to a river side.And also to a tree,Whereon a copper bason hung,And many shields to see.He struck soe hard, the bason broke;45And Tarquin soon he spyed:Who drove a horse before him fast,Whereon a knight lay tyed.Sir knight, then sayd Sir Lancelôtt,Bring me that horse-load hither,50And lay him downe, and let him rest:Weel try our force together:For, as I understand, thou hast,Soe far as thou art able,Done great despite and shame unto55The knights of the Round Table.If thou be of the Table Round,Quoth Tarquin speedilye,Both thee and all thy fellowshipI utterly defye.60That's over much, quoth Lancelott tho,[861]Defend thee by and by.They sett their speares[862]unto their steeds,And eache att other flie.They coucht theire speares, (their horses ran,65As though there had beene thunder)And strucke them each immidst their shields,Wherewith they broke in sunder.Their horsses backes brake under them,The knights were both astound:[863]70To avoyd their horsses they made hasteAnd light upon the ground.They tooke them to their shields full fast,Their swords they drew out than,With mighty strokes most eagerlye75Each at the other ran.They wounded were, and bled full sore,They both for breath did stand,And leaning on their swords awhile,Quoth Tarquine, Hold thy hand,80And tell to me what I shall aske.Say on, quoth Lancelot tho.Thou art, quoth Tarquine, the best knightThat ever I did know;And like a knight, that I did hate:85Soe that thou be not hee,I will deliver all the rest,And eke accord with thee.That is well said, quoth Lancelott;But sith it must be soe,90What knight is that thou hatest thus?I pray thee to me show.His name is Lancelot du Lake,He slew my brother deere;Him I suspect of all the rest:95I would I had him here.Thy wish thou hast, but yet unknowne,I am Lancelot du Lake,Now knight of Arthurs Table Round;King Hauds son of Schuwake;[864]100And I desire thee do thy worst,Ho, ho, quoth Tarquin tho,One of us two shall end our livesBefore that we do go.If thou be Lancelot du Lake,105Then welcome shalt thou bee:Wherfore see thou thyself defend,For now defye I thee.They buckled then together so,Like unto wild boares rashing;[865]110And with their swords and shields they ranAt one another slashing:The ground besprinkled was with blood:Tarquin began to yield;For he gave backe for wearinesse,115And lowe did beare his shield.This soone Sir Lancelot espyde,He leapt upon him then,He pull'd him downe upon his knee,And rushing off his helm,120Forthwith he strucke his necke in two,And, when he had soe done,From prison threescore knights and fourDelivered everye one.

When Arthur first in court began,And was approved king,By force of armes great victorys wanne,And conquest home did bring.

Then into England straight he came5With fifty good and ableKnights, that resorted unto him,And were of his round table:

And he had justs and turnaments,Whereto were many prest,[857]10Wherin some knights did farr excellAnd eke surmount the rest.

But one Sir Lancelot du Lake,Who was approved well,He for his deeds and feats of armes,15All others did excell.

When he had rested him a while,In play, and game, and sportt,[858]He said he wold goe prove himselfeIn some adventurous sort.20

He armed rode in a forrest wide,And met a damsell faire,Who told him of adventures great,Wherto he gave great eare.

Such wold I find, quoth Lancelott:25For that cause came I hither.Thou seemst, quoth shee, a knight full good,And I will bring thee thither.

Wheras a mighty knight doth dwell,[859]That now is of great fame:30Therfore tell me what wight thou art,And what may be thy name.

"My name is Lancelot du Lake."Quoth she, it likes me than:[860]Here dwelles a knight who never was35Yet matcht with any man:

Who has in prison threescore knightsAnd four, that he did wound;Knights of king Arthurs court they be,And of his table round.40

She brought him to a river side.And also to a tree,Whereon a copper bason hung,And many shields to see.

He struck soe hard, the bason broke;45And Tarquin soon he spyed:Who drove a horse before him fast,Whereon a knight lay tyed.

Sir knight, then sayd Sir Lancelôtt,Bring me that horse-load hither,50And lay him downe, and let him rest:Weel try our force together:

For, as I understand, thou hast,Soe far as thou art able,Done great despite and shame unto55The knights of the Round Table.

If thou be of the Table Round,Quoth Tarquin speedilye,Both thee and all thy fellowshipI utterly defye.60

That's over much, quoth Lancelott tho,[861]Defend thee by and by.They sett their speares[862]unto their steeds,And eache att other flie.

They coucht theire speares, (their horses ran,65As though there had beene thunder)And strucke them each immidst their shields,Wherewith they broke in sunder.

Their horsses backes brake under them,The knights were both astound:[863]70To avoyd their horsses they made hasteAnd light upon the ground.

They tooke them to their shields full fast,Their swords they drew out than,With mighty strokes most eagerlye75Each at the other ran.

They wounded were, and bled full sore,They both for breath did stand,And leaning on their swords awhile,Quoth Tarquine, Hold thy hand,80

And tell to me what I shall aske.Say on, quoth Lancelot tho.Thou art, quoth Tarquine, the best knightThat ever I did know;

And like a knight, that I did hate:85Soe that thou be not hee,I will deliver all the rest,And eke accord with thee.

That is well said, quoth Lancelott;But sith it must be soe,90What knight is that thou hatest thus?I pray thee to me show.

His name is Lancelot du Lake,He slew my brother deere;Him I suspect of all the rest:95I would I had him here.

Thy wish thou hast, but yet unknowne,I am Lancelot du Lake,Now knight of Arthurs Table Round;King Hauds son of Schuwake;[864]100

And I desire thee do thy worst,Ho, ho, quoth Tarquin tho,One of us two shall end our livesBefore that we do go.

If thou be Lancelot du Lake,105Then welcome shalt thou bee:Wherfore see thou thyself defend,For now defye I thee.

They buckled then together so,Like unto wild boares rashing;[865]110And with their swords and shields they ranAt one another slashing:

The ground besprinkled was with blood:Tarquin began to yield;For he gave backe for wearinesse,115And lowe did beare his shield.

This soone Sir Lancelot espyde,He leapt upon him then,He pull'd him downe upon his knee,And rushing off his helm,120

Forthwith he strucke his necke in two,And, when he had soe done,From prison threescore knights and fourDelivered everye one.

FOOTNOTES:[857][ready.][858]Ver. 18.to sportt, MS.[859]Ver. 29.Whereis often used by our old writers forwhereas: here it is just the contrary.[860][then.][861][then.][862][spurs?][863][stunned.][864][Ver. 100. "King Ban's son of Benwick."Malory.][865]Rashingseems to be the old hunting term to express the stroke made by the wild boar with his fangs. Torasehas apparently a meaning something similar. See Mr.Steevens'sNote onK. Lear, act iii. sc. 7, (ed. 1793, vol. xiv. p. 193) where the quartos read,"Nor thy fierce sisterIn his anointed fleshrashboarish fangs."So inK. Richard III.act iii. sc. 2, (vol. x. p. 567, 583.)"He dreamtTo night the Boar hadrasedoff his helm."

[857][ready.]

[858]Ver. 18.to sportt, MS.

[859]Ver. 29.Whereis often used by our old writers forwhereas: here it is just the contrary.

[860][then.]

[861][then.]

[862][spurs?]

[863][stunned.]

[864][Ver. 100. "King Ban's son of Benwick."Malory.]

[865]Rashingseems to be the old hunting term to express the stroke made by the wild boar with his fangs. Torasehas apparently a meaning something similar. See Mr.Steevens'sNote onK. Lear, act iii. sc. 7, (ed. 1793, vol. xiv. p. 193) where the quartos read,"Nor thy fierce sisterIn his anointed fleshrashboarish fangs."So inK. Richard III.act iii. sc. 2, (vol. x. p. 567, 583.)"He dreamtTo night the Boar hadrasedoff his helm."

"Nor thy fierce sisterIn his anointed fleshrashboarish fangs."

So inK. Richard III.act iii. sc. 2, (vol. x. p. 567, 583.)

"He dreamtTo night the Boar hadrasedoff his helm."

Isan attempt to paint a lover's irresolution, but so poorly executed, that it would not have been admitted into this collection, if it had not been quoted in Shakespeare'sTwelfth-Night, act ii. sc. 3.—It is found in a little ancient miscellany, intituled,The Golden Garland of PrincelyDelights, 12mo. bl. let.

In the same scene of theTwelfth-Night,Sir Tobysings a scrap of an old ballad, which is preserved in the Pepys Collection (vol. i. pp. 33, 496), but as it is not only a poor dull performance, but also very long, it will be sufficient here to give the first stanza:

The Ballad of Constant Susanna.

There dwelt a man in BabylonOf reputation great by fame;He took to wife a faire womàn,Susanna she was callde by name:A woman fair and vertuous;Lady, lady:Why should we not of her learn thusTo live godly?

If this song ofCorydon, &c. has not more merit, it is at least an evil of less magnitude.

[Dr. Rimbault refers to an earlier copy of this song in a rare musical volume entitledThe First Booke of Ayres, composed by RobertJones, 1601, where it is accompanied by the original music for four voices. This tune appears to have been a very popular one, and several Scottish songs are to be sung to the "toon of sal I let her go." The air is also to be found in a Dutch collection of Songs published at Haarlem in 1626.In Brome's comedy ofThe Jovial Crew, acted in 1641 at the Cockpit in Drury Lane, there is an allusion perhaps to this song:

In Brome's comedy ofThe Jovial Crew, acted in 1641 at the Cockpit in Drury Lane, there is an allusion perhaps to this song:

"Let her go, let her go,I care not if I have her, I have her or no."]

Farewell, dear love; since thou wilt needs be gone,Mine eyes do shew, my life is almost done.Nay I will never die, so long as I can spieThere be many mo, though that she doe goe,There be many mo, I fear not:5Why then let her goe, I care not.Farewell, farewell; since this I find is true,I will not spend more time in wooing you:But I will seek elsewhere, if I may find love there:Shall I bid her goe? what and if I doe?10Shall I bid her goe and spare not?O no, no, no, I dare not.Ten thousand times farewell;—yet stay a while:—Sweet, kiss me once; sweet kisses time beguile:14I have no power to move. How now am I in love?Wilt thou needs be gone? Go then, all is one.Wilt thou needs be gone? Oh, hie thee!Nay stay, and do no more deny me.Once more adieu, I see loath to departBids oft adieu to her, that holds my heart.20But seeing I must lose thy love, which I did choose,Goe thy way for me, since that may not be.Goe thy ways for me. But whither?Goe, oh, but where I may come thither.What shall I doe? my love is now departed.25She is as fair, as she is cruel-hearted.She would not be intreated, with prayers oft repeated,If she come no more, shall I die therefore?If she come no more, what care I?Faith, let her goe, or come, or tarry.30

Farewell, farewell; since this I find is true,I will not spend more time in wooing you:But I will seek elsewhere, if I may find love there:Shall I bid her goe? what and if I doe?10Shall I bid her goe and spare not?O no, no, no, I dare not.

Ten thousand times farewell;—yet stay a while:—Sweet, kiss me once; sweet kisses time beguile:14I have no power to move. How now am I in love?Wilt thou needs be gone? Go then, all is one.Wilt thou needs be gone? Oh, hie thee!Nay stay, and do no more deny me.

Once more adieu, I see loath to departBids oft adieu to her, that holds my heart.20But seeing I must lose thy love, which I did choose,Goe thy way for me, since that may not be.Goe thy ways for me. But whither?Goe, oh, but where I may come thither.

What shall I doe? my love is now departed.25She is as fair, as she is cruel-hearted.She would not be intreated, with prayers oft repeated,If she come no more, shall I die therefore?If she come no more, what care I?Faith, let her goe, or come, or tarry.30

Inthe "Life of Pope Sixtus V.translated from the Italian of Greg. Leti, by the Rev. Mr. Farneworth, folio," is a remarkable passage to the following effect:

"It was reported in Rome, that Drake had taken and plundered St. Domingo in Hispaniola, and carried off an immense booty. This account came in a private letter to Paul Secchi, a very considerable merchant in the city, who had large concerns in those parts, which he had insured. Upon receiving this news, he sent for the insurer Sampson Ceneda, a Jew, and acquainted him with it. The Jew, whose interest it was to have such a report thought false, gave many reasons why it could not possibly be true, and at last worked himself into such a passion, that he said, I'll lay you a pound of flesh it is a lye. Secchi, who was of a fiery hot temper,replied, I'll lay you a thousand crowns against a pound of your flesh that it is true. The Jew accepted the wager, and articles were immediately executed betwixt them, That, if Secchi won, he should himself cut the flesh with a sharp knife from whatever part of the Jew's body he pleased. The truth of the account was soon confirmed; and the Jew was almost distracted, when he was informed, that Secchi had solemnly swore he would compel him to an exact performance of his contract. A report of this transaction was brought to the Pope, who sent for the parties, and, being informed of the whole affair, said, When contracts are made, it is but just they should be fulfilled, as this shall: Take a knife, therefore, Secchi, and cut a pound of flesh from any part you please of the Jew's body. We advise you, however, to be very careful; for, if you cut but a scruple more or less than your due, you shall certainly be hanged."

The editor of that book is of opinion that the scene between Shylock and Antonio in theMerchant of Veniceis taken from this incident. But Mr. Warton, in his ingeniousObservations on theFaerie Queen, vol. i. p. 128, has referred it to the following ballad. Mr. Warton thinks this ballad was written before Shakespeare's play, as being not so circumstantial, and having more of the nakedness of an original. Besides, it differs from the play in many circumstances, which a meer copyist, such as we may suppose the ballad-maker to be, would hardly have given himself the trouble to alter. Indeed he expressly informs us that he had his story from the Italian writers. See theConnoisseur, vol. i. No. 16.

After all, one would be glad to know what authorityLetihad for the foregoing fact, or at least for connecting it with the taking of St. Domingo by Drake; for this expedition did not happen till 1585, and it is very certain that a play of theJewe, "representing the greedinesse of worldly chusers, and bloody minds of usurers," had been exhibited at the playhouse called theBullbefore the year 1579, being mentioned in Steph. Gosson'sSchoole of Abuse,[866]which was printed in that year.

As for Shakespeare'sMerchant of Venice, the earliest edition known of it is in quarto 1600; though it had been exhibited in the year 1598, being mentioned, together with eleven others of his plays, in Meres'sWits Treasury, &c. 1598, 12mo. fol. 282.

Since the first edition of this book was printed, the editor hath had reason to believe that bothShakespeareand the author of this ballad are indebted for their story of the Jew (however they came by it) to an Italian novel, which was first printed at Milan in the year 1558, in a book intitled,Il Pecorone, nel quale si contengonoCinquanta Novelle antiche, &c.republished at Florence aboutthe year 1748, or 9.[867]The author wasSer. Giovanni Fiorentino, who wrote in 1378; thirty years after the time in which the scene of Boccace'sDecameronis laid. (Vid.Manni, Istoria del Decameronedi Giov. Boccac.4to. Fior. 1744.)

That Shakespeare had his plot from the novel itself, is evident from his having some incidents from it, which are not found in the ballad: and I think it will also be found that he borrowed from the ballad some hints that were not suggested by the novel. (See pt. ii. ver. 25, &c. where, instead of that spirited description ofthe whetted blade, &c. the prose narrative coldly says, "The Jew had prepared a razor, &c." See also some other passages in the same piece.) This however is spoken with diffidence, as I have at present before me only the abridgement of the novel which Mr.Johnsonhas given us at the end of his Commentary on Shakespeare's Play. The translation of the Italian story at large is not easy to be met with, having I believe never been published, though it was printed some years ago with this title,—"The Novel, from which theMerchant of Venicewritten by Shakespeare is taken, translated from the Italian. To which is added a translation of a novel from theDecameroneof Boccaccio. London, Printed for M. Cooper, 1755, 8vo."

The following is printed from an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys collection,[868]intitled, "A New Song, shewing the crueltie ofGernutus, aJewe, who, lending to a merchant an hundred crowns, would have a pound of his fleshe, because he could not pay him at the time appointed. To the tune of Black and Yellow."

[This is the first of four ballads printed by Percy as probable sources for the plots of four of Shakspere's plays, but as we are unable to fix any satisfactory date for the first appearance of the ballads, it is well-nigh impossible to settle their claim to such distinction.The story of the Jew who bargained for a pound of a Christian's flesh in payment of his debt is so widely spread, that there is no necessity for us to believe that Shakspere used this rather poor ballad, more especially as it is probable from the extract from Gosson mentioned above that Shakspere found the two plots of the bond and the caskets already joined together. There is, however, something in Percy's note about the whetting of the knife in verses 25-26, and it would be quite in accordance with the poet's constant practice for him to take this one point from the ballad of Gernutus. The ballad was probably versified from one of the many stories extant, because, even if it be later than Shakspere'splay, it is impossible to believe that the ballad-writer could have written so bald a narration had he had theMerchant of Venicebefore him.Some forms of the story are to be found in Persian, and there is no doubt that the original tale is of Eastern origin. The oldest European forms are in the EnglishCursor MundiandGestaRomanorum, and the French romance ofDolopathos. See Miss Toulmin Smith's paper "On the Bond-story in theMerchant ofVenice," "Transactions of the New Shakspere Society," 1875-6 p. 181. Professor Child prints a ballad entitledThe NorthernLord and Cruel Jew(English and Scottish Ballads, vol. viii. p. 270), which contains the same incident of the "bloody minded Jew."Leti's character as an historian stands so low that his story may safely be dismissed as a fabrication.]

The story of the Jew who bargained for a pound of a Christian's flesh in payment of his debt is so widely spread, that there is no necessity for us to believe that Shakspere used this rather poor ballad, more especially as it is probable from the extract from Gosson mentioned above that Shakspere found the two plots of the bond and the caskets already joined together. There is, however, something in Percy's note about the whetting of the knife in verses 25-26, and it would be quite in accordance with the poet's constant practice for him to take this one point from the ballad of Gernutus. The ballad was probably versified from one of the many stories extant, because, even if it be later than Shakspere'splay, it is impossible to believe that the ballad-writer could have written so bald a narration had he had theMerchant of Venicebefore him.

Some forms of the story are to be found in Persian, and there is no doubt that the original tale is of Eastern origin. The oldest European forms are in the EnglishCursor MundiandGestaRomanorum, and the French romance ofDolopathos. See Miss Toulmin Smith's paper "On the Bond-story in theMerchant ofVenice," "Transactions of the New Shakspere Society," 1875-6 p. 181. Professor Child prints a ballad entitledThe NorthernLord and Cruel Jew(English and Scottish Ballads, vol. viii. p. 270), which contains the same incident of the "bloody minded Jew."

Leti's character as an historian stands so low that his story may safely be dismissed as a fabrication.]

In Venice towne not long agoeA cruel Jew did dwell,Which lived all on usurie,As Italian writers tell.Gernutus called was the Jew,5Which never thought to dye,Nor ever yet did any goodTo them in streets that lie.His life was like a barrow hogge,[869]That liveth many a day,10Yet never once doth any good,Until men will him slay.Or like a filthy heap of dung,That lyeth in a whoard;[870]Which never can do any good,15Till it be spread abroad.So fares it with the usurer,He cannot sleep in rest,For feare the thiefe will him pursueTo plucke him from his nest.20His heart doth thinke on many a wile,How to deceive the poore;His mouth is almost ful of mucke,Yet still he gapes for more.His wife must lend a shilling,25For every weeke a penny,Yet bring a pledge, that is double worth,If that you will have any.And see, likewise, you keepe your day,Or else you loose it all:30This was the living of the wife,Her cow she did it call.[871]Within that citie dwelt that timeA marchant of great fame,Which being distressed in his need,35Unto Gernutus came:Desiring him to stand his friendFor twelve month and a day,To lend to him an hundred crownes:And he for it would pay40Whatsoever he would demand of him,And pledges he should have.No, (quoth the Jew with flearing[872]lookes)Sir, aske what you will have.No penny for the loane of it45For one year you shall pay;You may doe me as good a turne,Before my dying day.But we will have a merry jeast,For to be talked long:50You shall make me a bond, quoth he,That shall be large and strong:And this shall be the forfeyture;Of your owne fleshe a pound.If you agree, make you the bond,55And here is a hundred crownes.With right good will! the marchant says:And so the bond was made.When twelve month and a day drew onThat backe it should be payd,60The marchants ships were all at sea,And money came not in;Which way to take, or what to doeTo thinke he doth begin:And to Gernutus strait he comes65With cap and bended knee,And sayde to him, Of curtesieI pray you beare with mee.My day is come, and I have notThe money for to pay:70And little good the forfeytureWill doe you, I dare say.With all my heart, Gernutus sayd,Commaund it to your minde:In thinges of bigger waight then this75You shall me ready finde.He goes his way; the day once pastGernutus doth not slackeTo get a sergiant presently;And clapt him on the backe80And layd him into prison strong,And sued his bond withall;And when the judgement day was come,For judgement he did call.The marchants friends came thither fast,85With many a weeping eye,For other means they could not find,But he that day must dye.

In Venice towne not long agoeA cruel Jew did dwell,Which lived all on usurie,As Italian writers tell.

Gernutus called was the Jew,5Which never thought to dye,Nor ever yet did any goodTo them in streets that lie.

His life was like a barrow hogge,[869]That liveth many a day,10Yet never once doth any good,Until men will him slay.

Or like a filthy heap of dung,That lyeth in a whoard;[870]Which never can do any good,15Till it be spread abroad.

So fares it with the usurer,He cannot sleep in rest,For feare the thiefe will him pursueTo plucke him from his nest.20

His heart doth thinke on many a wile,How to deceive the poore;His mouth is almost ful of mucke,Yet still he gapes for more.

His wife must lend a shilling,25For every weeke a penny,Yet bring a pledge, that is double worth,If that you will have any.

And see, likewise, you keepe your day,Or else you loose it all:30This was the living of the wife,Her cow she did it call.[871]

Within that citie dwelt that timeA marchant of great fame,Which being distressed in his need,35Unto Gernutus came:

Desiring him to stand his friendFor twelve month and a day,To lend to him an hundred crownes:And he for it would pay40

Whatsoever he would demand of him,And pledges he should have.No, (quoth the Jew with flearing[872]lookes)Sir, aske what you will have.

No penny for the loane of it45For one year you shall pay;You may doe me as good a turne,Before my dying day.

But we will have a merry jeast,For to be talked long:50You shall make me a bond, quoth he,That shall be large and strong:

And this shall be the forfeyture;Of your owne fleshe a pound.If you agree, make you the bond,55And here is a hundred crownes.

With right good will! the marchant says:And so the bond was made.When twelve month and a day drew onThat backe it should be payd,60

The marchants ships were all at sea,And money came not in;Which way to take, or what to doeTo thinke he doth begin:

And to Gernutus strait he comes65With cap and bended knee,And sayde to him, Of curtesieI pray you beare with mee.

My day is come, and I have notThe money for to pay:70And little good the forfeytureWill doe you, I dare say.

With all my heart, Gernutus sayd,Commaund it to your minde:In thinges of bigger waight then this75You shall me ready finde.

He goes his way; the day once pastGernutus doth not slackeTo get a sergiant presently;And clapt him on the backe80

And layd him into prison strong,And sued his bond withall;And when the judgement day was come,For judgement he did call.

The marchants friends came thither fast,85With many a weeping eye,For other means they could not find,But he that day must dye.

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