FOOTNOTES:[887]Mrs. Lennox.Shakespeare illustrated, vol. iii. p. 302.[888]See Jeffery of Monmouth, Holinshed, &c. who relate Leir's history in many respects the same as the ballad.
[887]Mrs. Lennox.Shakespeare illustrated, vol. iii. p. 302.
[887]Mrs. Lennox.Shakespeare illustrated, vol. iii. p. 302.
[888]See Jeffery of Monmouth, Holinshed, &c. who relate Leir's history in many respects the same as the ballad.
[888]See Jeffery of Monmouth, Holinshed, &c. who relate Leir's history in many respects the same as the ballad.
Isfound in the little collection of Shakespeare's Sonnets, intitled thePassionate Pilgrime,[889]the greatest part of which seems to relate to the amours of Venus and Adonis, being little effusions of fancy, probably written while he was composing his larger poem on that subject. The following seems intended for the mouth of Venus, weighing the comparative merits of youthful Adonis and aged Vulcan. In theGarland of Good Willit is reprinted, with the addition of four more such stanzas, but evidently written by a meaner pen.
Crabbed Age and YouthCannot live together;Youth is full of pleasance,Age is full of care:Youth like summer morn,5Age like winter weather,Youth like summer brave,Age like winter bare:Youth is full of sport,Ages breath is short;10Youth is nimble, Age is lame:Youth is hot and bold,Age is weak and cold;Youth is wild, and Age is tame.Age, I do abhor thee,15Youth, I do adore thee;O, my love, my love is young:Age, I do defie thee;Oh sweet shepheard, hie thee,For methinks thou stayst too long.20
Crabbed Age and YouthCannot live together;Youth is full of pleasance,Age is full of care:Youth like summer morn,5Age like winter weather,Youth like summer brave,Age like winter bare:Youth is full of sport,Ages breath is short;10Youth is nimble, Age is lame:Youth is hot and bold,Age is weak and cold;Youth is wild, and Age is tame.Age, I do abhor thee,15Youth, I do adore thee;O, my love, my love is young:Age, I do defie thee;Oh sweet shepheard, hie thee,For methinks thou stayst too long.20
FOOTNOTES:[889]Mentioned above, Song XI. B. II.
[889]Mentioned above, Song XI. B. II.
[889]Mentioned above, Song XI. B. II.
Thefollowing ballad is upon the same subject as theInductionto Shakespeare'sTaming of the Shrew: whether it may be thought to have suggested the hint to the dramatic poet, or is not rather of later date, the reader must determine.
The story is told[890]ofPhiliptheGood, Duke of Burgundy; and is thus related by an old English writer: "The said Duke, at themarriage of Eleonora, sister to the king of Portugall, at Bruges in Flanders, which was solemnised in the deepe of winter; when as by reason of unseasonable weather he could neither hawke nor hunt, and was now tired with cards, dice, &c. and such other domestick sports, or to see ladies dance; with some of his courtiers, he would in the evening walke disguised all about the towne. It so fortuned, as he was walking late one night, he found a countrey fellow dead drunke, snorting on a bulke; he caused his followers to bring him to his palace, and there stripping him of his old clothes, and attyring him after the court fashion, when he wakened, he and they were all ready to attend upon his excellency, and persuade him that he was some great Duke. The poor fellow admiring how he came there, was served in state all day long: after supper he saw them dance, heard musicke, and all the rest of those court-like pleasures: but late at night, when he was well tipled, and again fast asleepe, they put on his old robes, and so conveyed him to the place, where they first found him. Now the fellow had not made them so good sport the day before, as he did now, when he returned to himself: all the jest was to see how he looked upon it. In conclusion, after some little admiration, the poore man told his friends he had seen a vision; constantly believed it; would not otherwise be persuaded, and so the jest ended." Burton'sAnatomyof Melancholy, pt. ii. sect. 2. Memb. 4, 2nd ed. 1624, fol.
This ballad is given from a black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, which is intitled as above. "To the tune ofFond Boy."
[The story of this ballad is of Eastern origin, and is the same as the tale ofthe Sleeper awakenedin theArabian Nights. The story crops up in many places, some of which are pointed out in Prof. Child'sEnglish and Scottish Ballads(vol. viii. p. 54). The question, however, of its origin is not of immediate interest in the discussion of Shakspere's plots, because the author of the old play,Tamingof a Shrew, had already used the subject and named the tinker Slie, so that we have not far to seek for Shakspere's original.]
[The story of this ballad is of Eastern origin, and is the same as the tale ofthe Sleeper awakenedin theArabian Nights. The story crops up in many places, some of which are pointed out in Prof. Child'sEnglish and Scottish Ballads(vol. viii. p. 54). The question, however, of its origin is not of immediate interest in the discussion of Shakspere's plots, because the author of the old play,Tamingof a Shrew, had already used the subject and named the tinker Slie, so that we have not far to seek for Shakspere's original.]
Now as fame does report a young duke keeps a court,One that please his fancy with frolicksome sport:But amongst all the rest, here is one I protest,Which will make you to smile when you hear the true jest:A poor tinker he found, lying drunk on the ground,5As secure in a sleep as if laid in a swound.The duke said to his men, William, Richard, and Ben,Take him home to my palace, we'll sport with him then.O'er a horse he was laid, and with care soon convey'dTo the palace, altho' he was poorly arrai'd:10Then they stript off his cloaths, both his shirt, shoes and hose,And they put him to bed for to take his repose.Having pull'd off his shirt, which was all over durt,They did give him clean holland, this was no great hurt:On a bed of soft down, like a lord of renown,15They did lay him to sleep the drink out of his crown.In the morning when day, then admiring he lay,For to see the rich chamber both gaudy and gay.Now he lay something late, in his rich bed of state,Till at last knights and squires they on him did wait;20And the chamberling bare, then did likewise declare,He desir'd to know what apparel he'd ware:The poor tinker amaz'd, on the gentleman gaz'd,And admired how he to this honour was rais'd.Tho' he seem'd something mute, yet he chose a rich suit,25Which he straitways put on without longer dispute;With a star on his side, which the tinker offt ey'd,And it seem'd for to swell him 'no' little with pride;For he said to himself, Where is Joan my sweet wife?Sure she never did see me so fine in her life.30From a convenient place, the right duke his good graceDid observe his behaviour in every caseTo a garden of state, on the tinker they wait,Trumpets sounding before him: thought he, this is great:Where an hour or two, pleasant walks he did view,35With commanders and squires in scarlet and blew.A fine dinner was drest, both for him and his guests,He was plac'd at the table above all the rest,In a rich chair 'or bed,' lin'd with fine crimson red,With a rich golden canopy over his head:40As he sat at his meat, the musick play'd sweet,With the choicest of singing his joys to compleat.While the tinker did dine, he had plenty of wine,Rich canary with sherry and tent superfine.Like a right honest soul, faith, he took off his bowl,45Till at last he began for to tumble and roulFrom his chair to the floor, where he sleeping did snore,Being seven times drunker than ever before.Then the duke did ordain, they should strip him amain,And restore him his old leather garments again:50'Twas a point next the worst, yet perform it they must,And they carry'd him strait, where they found him at first;Then he slept all the night, as indeed well he might;But when he did waken, his joys took their flight.For his glory 'to him' so pleasant did seem,55That he thought it to be but a meer golden dream;Till at length he was brought to the duke, where he soughtFor a pardon, as fearing he had set him at nought;But his highness he said, Thou'rt a jolly bold blade,Such a frolick before I think never was plaid.60Then his highness bespoke him a new suit and cloak,Which he gave for the sake of this frolicksome joak;Nay, and five-hundred pound, with ten acres of ground,Thou shalt never, said he, range the counteries round,Crying old brass to mend, for I'll be thy good friend,65Nay, and Joan thy sweet wife shall my duchess attend.Then the tinker reply'd, What! must Joan my sweet brideBe a lady in chariots of pleasure to ride?Must we have gold and land ev'ry day at command?Then I shall be a squire I well understand:70Well I thank your good grace, and your love I embrace,I was never before in so happy a case.
Now as fame does report a young duke keeps a court,One that please his fancy with frolicksome sport:But amongst all the rest, here is one I protest,Which will make you to smile when you hear the true jest:A poor tinker he found, lying drunk on the ground,5As secure in a sleep as if laid in a swound.
The duke said to his men, William, Richard, and Ben,Take him home to my palace, we'll sport with him then.O'er a horse he was laid, and with care soon convey'dTo the palace, altho' he was poorly arrai'd:10Then they stript off his cloaths, both his shirt, shoes and hose,And they put him to bed for to take his repose.
Having pull'd off his shirt, which was all over durt,They did give him clean holland, this was no great hurt:On a bed of soft down, like a lord of renown,15They did lay him to sleep the drink out of his crown.In the morning when day, then admiring he lay,For to see the rich chamber both gaudy and gay.
Now he lay something late, in his rich bed of state,Till at last knights and squires they on him did wait;20And the chamberling bare, then did likewise declare,He desir'd to know what apparel he'd ware:The poor tinker amaz'd, on the gentleman gaz'd,And admired how he to this honour was rais'd.
Tho' he seem'd something mute, yet he chose a rich suit,25Which he straitways put on without longer dispute;With a star on his side, which the tinker offt ey'd,And it seem'd for to swell him 'no' little with pride;For he said to himself, Where is Joan my sweet wife?Sure she never did see me so fine in her life.30
From a convenient place, the right duke his good graceDid observe his behaviour in every caseTo a garden of state, on the tinker they wait,Trumpets sounding before him: thought he, this is great:Where an hour or two, pleasant walks he did view,35With commanders and squires in scarlet and blew.
A fine dinner was drest, both for him and his guests,He was plac'd at the table above all the rest,In a rich chair 'or bed,' lin'd with fine crimson red,With a rich golden canopy over his head:40As he sat at his meat, the musick play'd sweet,With the choicest of singing his joys to compleat.
While the tinker did dine, he had plenty of wine,Rich canary with sherry and tent superfine.Like a right honest soul, faith, he took off his bowl,45Till at last he began for to tumble and roulFrom his chair to the floor, where he sleeping did snore,Being seven times drunker than ever before.
Then the duke did ordain, they should strip him amain,And restore him his old leather garments again:50'Twas a point next the worst, yet perform it they must,And they carry'd him strait, where they found him at first;Then he slept all the night, as indeed well he might;But when he did waken, his joys took their flight.
For his glory 'to him' so pleasant did seem,55That he thought it to be but a meer golden dream;Till at length he was brought to the duke, where he soughtFor a pardon, as fearing he had set him at nought;But his highness he said, Thou'rt a jolly bold blade,Such a frolick before I think never was plaid.60
Then his highness bespoke him a new suit and cloak,Which he gave for the sake of this frolicksome joak;Nay, and five-hundred pound, with ten acres of ground,Thou shalt never, said he, range the counteries round,Crying old brass to mend, for I'll be thy good friend,65Nay, and Joan thy sweet wife shall my duchess attend.
Then the tinker reply'd, What! must Joan my sweet brideBe a lady in chariots of pleasure to ride?Must we have gold and land ev'ry day at command?Then I shall be a squire I well understand:70Well I thank your good grace, and your love I embrace,I was never before in so happy a case.
FOOTNOTES:[890]By Ludov. Vives inEpist., and by Pont. Heuter.Rerum Burgund.l. 4.
[890]By Ludov. Vives inEpist., and by Pont. Heuter.Rerum Burgund.l. 4.
[890]By Ludov. Vives inEpist., and by Pont. Heuter.Rerum Burgund.l. 4.
Dispersedthro' Shakespeare's plays are innumerable little fragments of ancient ballads, the entire copies of which could not be recovered. Many of these being of the most beautiful and pathetic simplicity, the Editor was tempted to select some of them, and with a few supplemental stanzas to connect them together, and form them into a littletale, which is here submitted to the reader's candour.
One small fragment was taken from Beaumont and Fletcher.
[Ritson exhibits a bit of grim humour in hisAncient Songs, vol. ii. ed. 1829, p. 64, where he prints a parody of Percy'sFriar ofOrders Gray, under the title of theJovial Tinker, and prefixes to it the exact words that Percy uses above. The parody commences—
[Ritson exhibits a bit of grim humour in hisAncient Songs, vol. ii. ed. 1829, p. 64, where he prints a parody of Percy'sFriar ofOrders Gray, under the title of theJovial Tinker, and prefixes to it the exact words that Percy uses above. The parody commences—
"It was a jovial tinker,All of the north countrie,As he walk'd forth, along the wayHe sung right merrily."]
"It was a jovial tinker,All of the north countrie,As he walk'd forth, along the wayHe sung right merrily."]
It was a friar of orders grayWalkt forth to tell his beades;And he met with a lady faireClad in a pilgrime's weedes.Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar,5I pray thee tell to me,If ever at yon holy shrineMy true love thou didst see.And how should I know your true loveFrom many another one?10O by his cockle hat, and staff,And by his sandal shoone.[891]But chiefly by his face and mien,That were so fair to view;His flaxen locks that sweetly curl'd,15And eyne of lovely blue.O lady, he is dead and gone!Lady, he's dead and gone!And at his head a green grass turfe,And at his heels a stone.20Within these holy cloysters longHe languisht, and he dyed,Lamenting of a ladyes love,And 'playning of her pride.Here bore him barefac'd on his bier25Six proper youths and tall,And many a tear bedew'd his graveWithin yon kirk-yard wall.And art thou dead, thou gentle youth!And art thou dead and gone!30And didst thou dye for love of me!Break, cruel heart of stone!O weep not, lady, weep not soe;Some ghostly comfort seek:Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart,35Ne teares bedew thy cheek.O do not, do not, holy friar,My sorrow now reprove;For I have lost the sweetest youth,That e'er wan ladyes love.40And nowe, alas! for thy sad losse,I'll evermore weep and sigh;For thee I only wisht to live,For thee I wish to dye.Weep no more, lady, weep no more,45Thy sorrowe is in vaine:For violets pluckt the sweetest showersWill ne'er make grow againe.Our joys as winged dreams doe flye,Why then should sorrow last?50Since grief but aggravates thy losse,Grieve not for what is past.O say not soe, thou holy friar;I pray thee, say not soe:For since my true-love dyed for mee,55'Tis meet my tears should flow.And will he ne'er come again?Will he ne'er come again?Ah! no, he is dead and laid in his grave,For ever to remain.60His cheek was redder than the rose;The comliest youth was he!But he is dead and laid in his grave:Alas, and woe is me!Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more,65Men were deceivers ever:One foot on sea and one on land,To one thing constant never.Hadst thou been fond, he had been false,And left thee sad and heavy;70For young men ever were fickle found,Since summer trees were leafy.Now say not so, thou holy friar,I pray thee say not soe;My love he had the truest heart:75O he was ever true!And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd youth,And didst thou dye for mee?Then farewell home; for ever-moreA pilgrim I will bee.80But first upon my true-loves graveMy weary limbs I'll lay,And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf,That wraps his breathless clayYet stay, fair lady; rest awhile85Beneath this cloyster wall:See through the hawthorn blows the cold wind.And drizzly rain doth fall.O stay me not, thou holy friar;O stay me not, I pray;90No drizzly rain that falls on me,Can wash my fault away.Yet stay, fair lady, turn again,And dry those pearly tears;For see beneath this gown of gray95Thy owne true-love appears.Here forc'd by grief, and hopeless love,These holy weeds I sought;And here amid these lonely wallsTo end my days I thought.100But haply for my year of grace[892]Is not yet past away,Might I still hope to win thy love,No longer would I stay.Now farewell grief, and welcome joy105Once more unto my heart;For since I have found thee, lovely youth,We never more will part.
It was a friar of orders grayWalkt forth to tell his beades;And he met with a lady faireClad in a pilgrime's weedes.
Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar,5I pray thee tell to me,If ever at yon holy shrineMy true love thou didst see.
And how should I know your true loveFrom many another one?10O by his cockle hat, and staff,And by his sandal shoone.[891]
But chiefly by his face and mien,That were so fair to view;His flaxen locks that sweetly curl'd,15And eyne of lovely blue.
O lady, he is dead and gone!Lady, he's dead and gone!And at his head a green grass turfe,And at his heels a stone.20
Within these holy cloysters longHe languisht, and he dyed,Lamenting of a ladyes love,And 'playning of her pride.
Here bore him barefac'd on his bier25Six proper youths and tall,And many a tear bedew'd his graveWithin yon kirk-yard wall.
And art thou dead, thou gentle youth!And art thou dead and gone!30And didst thou dye for love of me!Break, cruel heart of stone!
O weep not, lady, weep not soe;Some ghostly comfort seek:Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart,35Ne teares bedew thy cheek.
O do not, do not, holy friar,My sorrow now reprove;For I have lost the sweetest youth,That e'er wan ladyes love.40
And nowe, alas! for thy sad losse,I'll evermore weep and sigh;For thee I only wisht to live,For thee I wish to dye.
Weep no more, lady, weep no more,45Thy sorrowe is in vaine:For violets pluckt the sweetest showersWill ne'er make grow againe.
Our joys as winged dreams doe flye,Why then should sorrow last?50Since grief but aggravates thy losse,Grieve not for what is past.
O say not soe, thou holy friar;I pray thee, say not soe:For since my true-love dyed for mee,55'Tis meet my tears should flow.
And will he ne'er come again?Will he ne'er come again?Ah! no, he is dead and laid in his grave,For ever to remain.60
His cheek was redder than the rose;The comliest youth was he!But he is dead and laid in his grave:Alas, and woe is me!
Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more,65Men were deceivers ever:One foot on sea and one on land,To one thing constant never.
Hadst thou been fond, he had been false,And left thee sad and heavy;70For young men ever were fickle found,Since summer trees were leafy.
Now say not so, thou holy friar,I pray thee say not soe;My love he had the truest heart:75O he was ever true!
And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd youth,And didst thou dye for mee?Then farewell home; for ever-moreA pilgrim I will bee.80
But first upon my true-loves graveMy weary limbs I'll lay,And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf,That wraps his breathless clay
Yet stay, fair lady; rest awhile85Beneath this cloyster wall:See through the hawthorn blows the cold wind.And drizzly rain doth fall.
O stay me not, thou holy friar;O stay me not, I pray;90No drizzly rain that falls on me,Can wash my fault away.
Yet stay, fair lady, turn again,And dry those pearly tears;For see beneath this gown of gray95Thy owne true-love appears.
Here forc'd by grief, and hopeless love,These holy weeds I sought;And here amid these lonely wallsTo end my days I thought.100
But haply for my year of grace[892]Is not yet past away,Might I still hope to win thy love,No longer would I stay.
Now farewell grief, and welcome joy105Once more unto my heart;For since I have found thee, lovely youth,We never more will part.
⁂ As the foregoing song has been thought to have suggested to our late excellent PoetDr. Goldsmith, the plan of his beautiful ballad ofEdwin and Emma(first printed in hisVicar of Wakefield) it is but justice to his memory to declare, that his poem was written first, and that if there is any imitation in the case, they will be found both to be indebted to the beautiful old balladGentle Herdsman, &c. printed in the second volume of this Work, which the Doctor had much admired in manuscript, and has finely improved. See vol. ii. book i. song xiv. ver. 37.
⁂ As the foregoing song has been thought to have suggested to our late excellent PoetDr. Goldsmith, the plan of his beautiful ballad ofEdwin and Emma(first printed in hisVicar of Wakefield) it is but justice to his memory to declare, that his poem was written first, and that if there is any imitation in the case, they will be found both to be indebted to the beautiful old balladGentle Herdsman, &c. printed in the second volume of this Work, which the Doctor had much admired in manuscript, and has finely improved. See vol. ii. book i. song xiv. ver. 37.
FOOTNOTES:[891]These are the distinguishing marks of a pilgrim. The chief places of devotion being beyond sea, the pilgrims were wont to put cockle-shells in their hats to denote the intention or performance of their devotion.Warb. Shakesp.vol. viii., p. 224.[892]The year of probation, or noviciate.
[891]These are the distinguishing marks of a pilgrim. The chief places of devotion being beyond sea, the pilgrims were wont to put cockle-shells in their hats to denote the intention or performance of their devotion.Warb. Shakesp.vol. viii., p. 224.
[891]These are the distinguishing marks of a pilgrim. The chief places of devotion being beyond sea, the pilgrims were wont to put cockle-shells in their hats to denote the intention or performance of their devotion.Warb. Shakesp.vol. viii., p. 224.
[892]The year of probation, or noviciate.
[892]The year of probation, or noviciate.
THE END OF THE SECOND BOOK
RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY, ETC.
SERIES THE FIRST.
Atthe beginning of this volume we gave the old original Song ofChevy Chace. The reader has here the more improved edition of that fine heroic ballad. It will afford an agreeable entertainment to the curious to compare them together, and to see how far the latter bard has excelled his predecessor, and where he has fallen short of him. For tho' he has every where improved the versification, and generally the sentiment and diction; yet some few passages retain more dignity in the ancient copy; at least the obsoleteness of the style serves as a veil to hide whatever might appear too familiar or vulgar in them. Thus, for instance, the catastrophe of the gallant Witherington is in the modern copy exprest in terms which never fail at present to excite ridicule: whereas in the original it is related with a plain and pathetic simplicity, that is liable to no such unlucky effect: See the stanza in page32, which, in modern orthography, &c. would run thus.
"For Witherington my heart is woe,That ever he slain should be:For when his legs were hewn in two,He knelt and fought on his knee."
"For Witherington my heart is woe,That ever he slain should be:For when his legs were hewn in two,He knelt and fought on his knee."
So again the stanza which describes the fall of Montgomery is somewhat more elevated in the ancient copy:
"The dint it was both sad and sore,He on Montgomery set:The swan-feathers his arrow boreWith his hearts blood were wet."
"The dint it was both sad and sore,He on Montgomery set:The swan-feathers his arrow boreWith his hearts blood were wet."
p.31.
We might also add, that the circumstances of the battle are more clearly conceived and the several incidents more distinctlymarked in the old original, than in the improved copy. It is well known that the ancient English weapon was the long bow, and that this nation excelled all others in archery; while the Scottish warriours chiefly depended on the use of the spear: this characteristic difference never escapes our ancient bard, whose description of the first onset is to the following effect:
"The proposal of the two gallant earls to determine the dispute by single combat being over-ruled; the English, says he, who stood with their bows ready bent, gave a general discharge of their arrows, which slew seven score spearmen of the enemy: but, notwithstanding so severe a loss, Douglas like a brave captain kept his ground. He had divided his forces into three columns, who, as soon as the English had discharged the first volley, bore down upon them with their spears, and breaking through their ranks reduced them to close fighting. The archers upon this dropt their bows and had recourse to their swords, and there followed so sharp a conflict, that multitudes on both sides lost their lives." In the midst of this general engagement, at length, the two great earls meet, and after a spirited rencounter agree to breathe; upon which a parley ensues, that would do honour to Homer himself.
Nothing can be more pleasingly distinct and circumstantial than this: whereas, the modern copy, tho' in general it has great merit, is here unluckily both confused and obscure. Indeed the original words seem here to have been totally misunderstood. "Yet bydys the yerl Douglas upon theBent," evidently signifies, "Yet the earl Douglas abides in theField:" whereas the more modern bard seems to have understood byBent, the inclination of his mind, and accordingly runs quite off from the subject[893]:
"To drive the deer with hound and hornEarl Douglas had the bent."
"To drive the deer with hound and hornEarl Douglas had the bent."
v. 109.
One may also observe a generous impartiality in the old original bard, when in the conclusion of his tale he represents both nations as quitting the field without any reproachful reflection on either: though he gives to his own countrymen the credit of being the smaller number.
"Of fifteen hundred archers of EnglandWent away but fifty and three;Of twenty hundred spearmen of Scotland,But even five and fifty."
"Of fifteen hundred archers of EnglandWent away but fifty and three;Of twenty hundred spearmen of Scotland,But even five and fifty."
p.32.
He attributesFlightto neither party, as hath been done in the modern copies of this ballad, as well Scotch as English. For, to be even with our latter bard, who makes the Scots toflee, some reviser of North Britain has turned his own arms against him, and printed an edition at Glasgow, in which the lines are thus transposed:
"Of fifteen hundred Scottish speirsWent hame but fifty-three:Of twenty hundred EnglishmenScarce fifty-five did flee."
"Of fifteen hundred Scottish speirsWent hame but fifty-three:Of twenty hundred EnglishmenScarce fifty-five did flee."
And to countenance this change he has suppressed the two stanzas between ver. 240 and ver. 249.—From that Edition I have here reformed the Scottish names, which in the modern English ballad appeared to be corrupted.
When I call the present admired ballad modern, I only mean that it is comparatively so; for that it could not be writ much later than the time of Q. Elizabeth, I think may be made appear; nor yet does it seem to be older than the beginning of the last century.[894]Sir Philip Sidney, when he complains of the antiquated phrase ofChevy Chase, could never have seen this improved copy, the language of which is not more ancient than that he himself used. It is probable that the encomiums of so admired a writer excited some bard to revise the ballad, and to free it from those faults he had objected to it. That it could not be much later than that time, appears from the phrasedoleful dumps: which in that age carried no ill sound with it, but to the next generation became ridiculous. We have seen it pass uncensured in a sonnet that was at that time in request, and where it could not fail to have beentaken notice of, had it been in the least exceptionable: see above, book ii. song v. ver. 2. Yet, in about half a century after, it was become burlesque. VideHudibras, Part I. c. 3, v. 95.
This much premised, the reader that would see the general beauties of this ballad set in a just and striking light, may consult the excellent criticism of Mr. Addison.[895]With regard to its subject: it has already been considered in page20. The conjectures there offered will receive confirmation from a passage in theMemoirs ofCarey Earl of Monmouth, 8vo. 1759, p. 165; whence we learn that it was an ancient custom with the borderers of the two kingdoms, when they were at peace, to send to the Lord Wardens of the opposite Marches for leave to hunt within their districts. If leave was granted, then towards the end of summer they would come and hunt for several days together "with theirgreyhoundsfor deer:" but if they took this liberty unpermitted, then the Lord Warden of the border so invaded, would not fail to interrupt their sport and chastise their boldness. He mentions a remarkable instance that happened while he was Warden, when some Scotch gentlemen coming to hunt in defiance of him, there must have ensued such an action as this of Chevy Chace, if the intruders had been proportionably numerous and well-armed; for, upon their being attacked by his men at arms, he tells us, "some hurt was done, tho' he had given especiall order that they should shed as little blood as possible." They were in effect overpowered and taken prisoners, and only released on their promise to abstain from such licentious sporting for the future.
Since the former impression of these volumes hath been published, a new edition ofCollins's Peerage, 1779, &c., 9 Vols. 8vo. which contains, in volume ii. p. 334, an historical passage, which may be thought to throw considerable light on the subject of the preceding ballad: viz.
"In this ... year, 1436, according to Hector Boethius, was fought the Battle of Pepperden, not far from the Cheviot Hills, between the Earl of Northumberland (IId Earl, son of Hotspur,) and Earl William Douglas, of Angus, with a small army of about four thousand men each, in which the latter had the advantage. As this seems to have been a private conflict between these two great chieftains of the Borders, rather than a national war, it has been thought to have given rise to the celebrated old Ballad ofChevy-Chase; which, to render it more pathetic and interesting, has been heightened with tragical incidents wholly fictitious." SeeRidpath's Border Hist.4to, p. 401.
The following text is given from a copy in the Editor's folio MS.compared with two or three others printed in black-letter.—In the second volume ofDryden's Miscellaniesmay be found a translation of Chevy-Chace into Latin rhymes. The translator, Mr. Henry Bold, of New College, undertook it at the command of Dr. Compton, bishop of London; who thought it no derogation to his episcopal character, to avow a fondness for this excellent old ballad. See the preface toBold's Latin Songs, 1685, 8vo.
[The following version varies in certain particulars from the one in the MS. folio (ed. Hales and Furnivall, 1867, vol. ii. p. i), and the most important variations are noted at the foot of the page. Some of the alterations in the arrangement of the words are improvements, but others are the reverse, for instance verses 129-132. Percy follows the copy printed in theCollection of Old Ballads, 1723 (vol. i. p. 108), much more closely than the MS.]
[The following version varies in certain particulars from the one in the MS. folio (ed. Hales and Furnivall, 1867, vol. ii. p. i), and the most important variations are noted at the foot of the page. Some of the alterations in the arrangement of the words are improvements, but others are the reverse, for instance verses 129-132. Percy follows the copy printed in theCollection of Old Ballads, 1723 (vol. i. p. 108), much more closely than the MS.]
God prosper long our noble king,Our lives and safetyes all!A woefull hunting once there did[896]In Chevy-Chace befall;To drive the deere with hound and horne,5Erle Percy took his way;[897]The child may rue that is unborne,The hunting of that day.The stout Erle of NorthumberlandA vow to God did make,10His pleasure in the Scottish woodsThree summers days to take;The cheefest harts in Chevy-ChaceTo kill and beare away.These tydings to Erle Douglas came,15In Scottland where he lay:Who sent Erle Percy present word,He wold prevent his sport.The English Erle, not fearing that,Did to the woods resort20With fifteen hundred bow-men bold;All chosen men of might,Who knew full well in time of needeTo ayme their shafts arright.The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran,25To chase the fallow deere:On munday they began to hunt,Ere day-light did appeare;And long before high noone they hadAn hundred fat buckes slaine;30Then having dined, the drovyers wentTo rouze the deare againe.The bow-men mustered on the hills,Well able to endure;Theire backsides all, with speciall care,35That day were guarded sure.[898]The hounds ran swiftly through the woods,The nimble deere to take,[899]That with their cryes the hills and dalesAn eccho shrill did make.40Lord Percy to the quarry[900]went,To view the slaughter'd deere;[901]Quoth he, Erle Douglas promisedThis day to meet me heere:But if I thought he wold not come,45Noe longer wold I stay.With that, a brave younge gentlemanThus to the Erle did say:Loe, yonder doth Erle Douglas come,His men in armour bright;50Full twenty hundred Scottish speresAll marching in our sight;All men of pleasant Tivydale,Fast by the river Tweede:O cease your sports, Erle Percy said,55And take your bowes with speede;And now with me, my countrymen,Your courage forth advance;For there was never champion yett,In Scotland or in France,60That ever did on horsebacke come,But if my hap[902]it were,I durst encounter man for man,With him to break a spere.Erle Douglas on his milke-white steede,65Most like a baron bold,Rode formost of his company,Whose armour shone like gold.Show me, sayd hee, whose men you bee,That hunt soe boldly heere,70That, without my consent, doe chaseAnd kill my fallow-deere.The first man that did answer make,Was noble Percy hee;Who sayd, Wee list not to declare,75Nor shew whose men wee bee:Yet wee will spend our deerest blood,Thy cheefest harts to slay.Then Douglas swore a solempne oathe,And thus in rage did say,80Ere thus I will out-braved bee,One of us two shall dye:I know thee well, an erle thou art;Lord Percy, soe am I.But trust me, Percy, pittye it were,85And great offence to killAny of these our guiltlesse men,For they have done no ill.Let thou and I the battell trye,And set our men aside.90Accurst bee [he], Erle Percy sayd,By whome this is denyed.[903]Then stept a gallant squier forth,Witherington was his name,Who said, I wold not have it told95To Henry our king for shame,That ere my captaine fought on foote,And I stood looking on.[904]You bee two erles, sayd Witherington,And I a squier alone:100Ile doe the best that doe I may,While I have power to stand:While I have power to weeld my sword,Ile fight with hart and hand.Our English archers bent their bowes,[905]105Their harts were good and trew;Att the first flight of arrowes sent,Full four-score Scots they slew.[906][Yet bides Earl Douglas on the bent,[907]As Chieftain stout and good.110As valiant Captain, all unmov'dThe shock he firmly stood.His host he parted had in three,As Leader ware and try'd,As soon his spearmen on their foes115Bare down on every side.Throughout the English archeryThey dealt full many a wound:But still our valiant EnglishmenAll firmly kept their ground:120And throwing strait their bows away,They grasp'd their swords so bright:And now sharp blows, a heavy shower,On shields and helmets light.]They closed full fast on everye side,125Noe slacknes there was found;And many a gallant gentlemanLay gasping on the ground.O Christ! it was a griefe to see,[908]And likewise for to heare,130The cries of men lying in their gore,And scattered here and there.At last these two stout erles did meet,Like captaines of great might:Like lyons wood,[909]they layd on lode,135And made a cruell fight:They fought untill they both did sweat,With swords of tempered steele;Until the blood, like drops of rain,They trickling downe did feele.140Yeeld thee, O Percy, Douglas sayd;In faith I will thee bringe,Where thou shalt high advanced beeBy James our Scottish king:Thy ransome I will freely give,145And this report of thee,Thou art the most couragious knight,That ever I did see.Noe, Douglas, quoth Erle Percy then,Thy proffer I doe scorne;150I will not yeelde to any Scott,That ever yett was borne.With that, there came an arrow keeneOut of an English bow,Which struck Erle Douglas to the heart,[910]155A deepe and deadlye blow:Who never spake more words than these,[911]Fight on, my merry men all;For why, my life is at an end;Lord Percy sees my fall.160Then leaving liffe, Erle Percy tookeThe dead man by the hand;And said, Erle Douglas, for thy life[912]Wold I had lost my land.O Christ! my verry hart doth bleed165With sorrow for thy sake;For sure, a more redoubted knightMischance cold never take.A knight amongst the Scotts there was,Which saw Erle Douglas dye,170Who streight in wrath did vow revengeUpon the Lord Percye:Sir Hugh Mountgomery was he call'd,Who, with a spere most bright,Well-mounted on a gallant steed,175Ran fiercely through the fight;And past the English archers all,Without all dread or feare;And through Earl Percyes body thenHe thrust his hatefull spere;180With such a vehement force and mightHe did his body gore,The staff ran through the other sideA large cloth-yard, and more.So thus did both these nobles dye,185Whose courage none could staine:An English archer then perceiv'dThe noble erle was slaine;He had a bow bent in his hand,[913]Made of a trusty tree;190An arrow of a cloth-yard longUp to the head drew hee:[914]Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerye,So right the shaft he sett,The grey goose-winge that was thereon,195In his harts bloode was wett.This fight did last from breake of day,Till setting of the sun;For when they rung the evening-bell,[915]The battel scarce was done.200With stout Erle Percy, there was slaineSir John of Egerton,[916]Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John,[917]Sir James that bold barrôn:And with Sir George and stout Sir James,205Both knights of good account,Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slaine,Whose prowesse did surmount.For Witherington needs must I wayle,As one in doleful dumpes;[918]210For when his leggs were smitten off,He fought upon his stumpes.And with Erle Douglas, there was slaineSir Hugh Mountgomerye,Sir Charles Murray, that from the feeld[919]215One foote wold never flee.Sir Charles Murray, of Ratcliff, too,[920]His sisters sonne was hee;Sir David Lamb, so well esteem'd,[921]Yet saved cold not bee.220And the Lord Maxwell in like caseDid with Erle Douglas dye:Of twenty hundred Scottish speres,Scarce fifty-five did flye.Of fifteen hundred Englishmen,225Went home but fifty-three;The rest were slaine in Chevy-Chase,Under the greene woode tree.Next day did many widdowes come,Their husbands to bewayle;230They washt their wounds in brinish teares,But all wold not prevayle.Theyr bodyes, bathed in purple gore,[922]They bare with them away:They kist them dead a thousand times,235Ere they were cladd in clay.The newes was brought to Eddenborrow,Where Scottlands king did raigne,That brave Erle Douglas suddenlyeWas with an arrow slaine:240O heavy newes, King James did say,Scottland may witnesse bee,I have not any captaine moreOf such account as hee.Like tydings to King Henry came,245Within as short a space,That Percy of NorthumberlandWas slaine in Chevy-Chese:Now God be with him, said our king,Sith it will noe better bee;250I trust I have, within my realme,Five hundred as good as hee:Yett shall not Scotts nor Scotland say,But I will vengeance take:I'll be revenged on them all,255For brave Erle Percyes sake.This vow full well the king perform'dAfter, at Humbledowne;In one day, fifty knights were slayne,With lords of great renowne:260And of the rest, of small account,Did many thousands dye:[923]Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chase,Made by the Erle Percy.God save our king, and bless this land265With plentye, joy, and peace;And grant henceforth, that foule debate'Twixt noblemen may cease.
God prosper long our noble king,Our lives and safetyes all!A woefull hunting once there did[896]In Chevy-Chace befall;
To drive the deere with hound and horne,5Erle Percy took his way;[897]The child may rue that is unborne,The hunting of that day.
The stout Erle of NorthumberlandA vow to God did make,10His pleasure in the Scottish woodsThree summers days to take;
The cheefest harts in Chevy-ChaceTo kill and beare away.These tydings to Erle Douglas came,15In Scottland where he lay:
Who sent Erle Percy present word,He wold prevent his sport.The English Erle, not fearing that,Did to the woods resort20
With fifteen hundred bow-men bold;All chosen men of might,Who knew full well in time of needeTo ayme their shafts arright.
The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran,25To chase the fallow deere:On munday they began to hunt,Ere day-light did appeare;
And long before high noone they hadAn hundred fat buckes slaine;30Then having dined, the drovyers wentTo rouze the deare againe.
The bow-men mustered on the hills,Well able to endure;Theire backsides all, with speciall care,35That day were guarded sure.[898]
The hounds ran swiftly through the woods,The nimble deere to take,[899]That with their cryes the hills and dalesAn eccho shrill did make.40
Lord Percy to the quarry[900]went,To view the slaughter'd deere;[901]Quoth he, Erle Douglas promisedThis day to meet me heere:
But if I thought he wold not come,45Noe longer wold I stay.With that, a brave younge gentlemanThus to the Erle did say:
Loe, yonder doth Erle Douglas come,His men in armour bright;50Full twenty hundred Scottish speresAll marching in our sight;
All men of pleasant Tivydale,Fast by the river Tweede:O cease your sports, Erle Percy said,55And take your bowes with speede;
And now with me, my countrymen,Your courage forth advance;For there was never champion yett,In Scotland or in France,60
That ever did on horsebacke come,But if my hap[902]it were,I durst encounter man for man,With him to break a spere.
Erle Douglas on his milke-white steede,65Most like a baron bold,Rode formost of his company,Whose armour shone like gold.
Show me, sayd hee, whose men you bee,That hunt soe boldly heere,70That, without my consent, doe chaseAnd kill my fallow-deere.
The first man that did answer make,Was noble Percy hee;Who sayd, Wee list not to declare,75Nor shew whose men wee bee:
Yet wee will spend our deerest blood,Thy cheefest harts to slay.Then Douglas swore a solempne oathe,And thus in rage did say,80
Ere thus I will out-braved bee,One of us two shall dye:I know thee well, an erle thou art;Lord Percy, soe am I.
But trust me, Percy, pittye it were,85And great offence to killAny of these our guiltlesse men,For they have done no ill.
Let thou and I the battell trye,And set our men aside.90Accurst bee [he], Erle Percy sayd,By whome this is denyed.[903]
Then stept a gallant squier forth,Witherington was his name,Who said, I wold not have it told95To Henry our king for shame,
That ere my captaine fought on foote,And I stood looking on.[904]You bee two erles, sayd Witherington,And I a squier alone:100
Ile doe the best that doe I may,While I have power to stand:While I have power to weeld my sword,Ile fight with hart and hand.
Our English archers bent their bowes,[905]105Their harts were good and trew;Att the first flight of arrowes sent,Full four-score Scots they slew.
[906][Yet bides Earl Douglas on the bent,[907]As Chieftain stout and good.110As valiant Captain, all unmov'dThe shock he firmly stood.
His host he parted had in three,As Leader ware and try'd,As soon his spearmen on their foes115Bare down on every side.
Throughout the English archeryThey dealt full many a wound:But still our valiant EnglishmenAll firmly kept their ground:120
And throwing strait their bows away,They grasp'd their swords so bright:And now sharp blows, a heavy shower,On shields and helmets light.]
They closed full fast on everye side,125Noe slacknes there was found;And many a gallant gentlemanLay gasping on the ground.
O Christ! it was a griefe to see,[908]And likewise for to heare,130The cries of men lying in their gore,And scattered here and there.
At last these two stout erles did meet,Like captaines of great might:Like lyons wood,[909]they layd on lode,135And made a cruell fight:
They fought untill they both did sweat,With swords of tempered steele;Until the blood, like drops of rain,They trickling downe did feele.140
Yeeld thee, O Percy, Douglas sayd;In faith I will thee bringe,Where thou shalt high advanced beeBy James our Scottish king:
Thy ransome I will freely give,145And this report of thee,Thou art the most couragious knight,That ever I did see.
Noe, Douglas, quoth Erle Percy then,Thy proffer I doe scorne;150I will not yeelde to any Scott,That ever yett was borne.
With that, there came an arrow keeneOut of an English bow,Which struck Erle Douglas to the heart,[910]155A deepe and deadlye blow:
Who never spake more words than these,[911]Fight on, my merry men all;For why, my life is at an end;Lord Percy sees my fall.160
Then leaving liffe, Erle Percy tookeThe dead man by the hand;And said, Erle Douglas, for thy life[912]Wold I had lost my land.
O Christ! my verry hart doth bleed165With sorrow for thy sake;For sure, a more redoubted knightMischance cold never take.
A knight amongst the Scotts there was,Which saw Erle Douglas dye,170Who streight in wrath did vow revengeUpon the Lord Percye:
Sir Hugh Mountgomery was he call'd,Who, with a spere most bright,Well-mounted on a gallant steed,175Ran fiercely through the fight;
And past the English archers all,Without all dread or feare;And through Earl Percyes body thenHe thrust his hatefull spere;180
With such a vehement force and mightHe did his body gore,The staff ran through the other sideA large cloth-yard, and more.
So thus did both these nobles dye,185Whose courage none could staine:An English archer then perceiv'dThe noble erle was slaine;
He had a bow bent in his hand,[913]Made of a trusty tree;190An arrow of a cloth-yard longUp to the head drew hee:[914]
Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerye,So right the shaft he sett,The grey goose-winge that was thereon,195In his harts bloode was wett.
This fight did last from breake of day,Till setting of the sun;For when they rung the evening-bell,[915]The battel scarce was done.200
With stout Erle Percy, there was slaineSir John of Egerton,[916]Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John,[917]Sir James that bold barrôn:
And with Sir George and stout Sir James,205Both knights of good account,Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slaine,Whose prowesse did surmount.
For Witherington needs must I wayle,As one in doleful dumpes;[918]210For when his leggs were smitten off,He fought upon his stumpes.
And with Erle Douglas, there was slaineSir Hugh Mountgomerye,Sir Charles Murray, that from the feeld[919]215One foote wold never flee.
Sir Charles Murray, of Ratcliff, too,[920]His sisters sonne was hee;Sir David Lamb, so well esteem'd,[921]Yet saved cold not bee.220
And the Lord Maxwell in like caseDid with Erle Douglas dye:Of twenty hundred Scottish speres,Scarce fifty-five did flye.
Of fifteen hundred Englishmen,225Went home but fifty-three;The rest were slaine in Chevy-Chase,Under the greene woode tree.
Next day did many widdowes come,Their husbands to bewayle;230They washt their wounds in brinish teares,But all wold not prevayle.
Theyr bodyes, bathed in purple gore,[922]They bare with them away:They kist them dead a thousand times,235Ere they were cladd in clay.
The newes was brought to Eddenborrow,Where Scottlands king did raigne,That brave Erle Douglas suddenlyeWas with an arrow slaine:240
O heavy newes, King James did say,Scottland may witnesse bee,I have not any captaine moreOf such account as hee.
Like tydings to King Henry came,245Within as short a space,That Percy of NorthumberlandWas slaine in Chevy-Chese:
Now God be with him, said our king,Sith it will noe better bee;250I trust I have, within my realme,Five hundred as good as hee:
Yett shall not Scotts nor Scotland say,But I will vengeance take:I'll be revenged on them all,255For brave Erle Percyes sake.
This vow full well the king perform'dAfter, at Humbledowne;In one day, fifty knights were slayne,With lords of great renowne:260
And of the rest, of small account,Did many thousands dye:[923]Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chase,Made by the Erle Percy.
God save our king, and bless this land265With plentye, joy, and peace;And grant henceforth, that foule debate'Twixt noblemen may cease.