FOOTNOTES:[426]The having a sum of money with him on Sunday, &c. shews this narrative to have been penned before the civil wars: the strict observance of the sabbath was owing to the change of manners at that period.[427][coy, shy.][428]i.e.for stopping, and apprehending him at his father's.
[426]The having a sum of money with him on Sunday, &c. shews this narrative to have been penned before the civil wars: the strict observance of the sabbath was owing to the change of manners at that period.
[426]The having a sum of money with him on Sunday, &c. shews this narrative to have been penned before the civil wars: the strict observance of the sabbath was owing to the change of manners at that period.
[427][coy, shy.]
[427][coy, shy.]
[428]i.e.for stopping, and apprehending him at his father's.
[428]i.e.for stopping, and apprehending him at his father's.
Thesebeautiful stanzas were written byGeorge Wither, of whom some account was given in the former part of this volume; see the song intitled,The Shepherd'sResolution, book ii. song xxi. In the first edition of this work only a small fragment of this sonnet was inserted. It was afterwards rendered more compleat and intire by the addition of five stanzas more, extracted from Wither's pastoral poem, intitled,The Mistress of Philarete, of which this song makes a part. It is now given still more correct and perfect by comparing it with another copy, printed by the author in his improved edition ofThe Shepherd's Hunting, 1620, 8vo.
[The Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. iii. p. 360) contains only the fifth and sixth stanzas slightly varied, which were printed in the first edition of theReliques, with the title ofTheAspiring Shepherd.]
[The Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. iii. p. 360) contains only the fifth and sixth stanzas slightly varied, which were printed in the first edition of theReliques, with the title ofTheAspiring Shepherd.]
Hence away, thou Syren, leave me,Pish! unclaspe these wanton armes;Sugred words can ne'er deceive me,(Though thou prove a thousand charmes).Fie, fie, forbeare;5No common snareCan ever my affection chaine:Thy painted baits,And poore deceits,Are all bestowed on me in vaine.10I'me no slave to such, as you be;Neither shall that snowy brest,Rowling eye, and lip of rubyEver robb me of my rest:Goe, go display15Thy beautie's rayTo some more soone-enamour'd swaine;Those common wilesOf sighs and smilesAre all bestowed on me in vaine.20I have elsewhere vowed a dutie;Turne away thy tempting eye:Shew not me a painted beautie;These impostures I defie:My spirit lothes25Where gawdy clothesAnd fained othes may love obtaine:I love her so,Whose looke sweares No;That all your labours will be vaine.30Can he prize the tainted posies,Which on every brest are worne;That may plucke the virgin rosesFrom their never-touched thorne?I can goe rest35On her sweet brest,That is the pride of Cynthia's traine:Then stay thy tongue;Thy mermaid songIs all bestowed on me in vaine.40Hee's a foole, that basely dallies,Where each peasant mates with him:Shall I haunt the thronged vallies,Whilst ther's noble hills to climbe?No, no, though clownes45Are scar'd with frownes,I know the best can but disdaine;And those Ile prove:So will thy loveBe all bestowed on me in vaine.50I doe scorne to vow a dutie,Where each lustfull lad may wooe:Give me her, whose sun-like beautieBuzzards dare not soar unto:Shee, shee it is55Affoords that blisseFor which I would refuse no paine:But such as you,Fond fooles, adieu;You seeke to captive me in vaine.60Leave me then, you Syrens, leave me;Seeke no more to worke my harmes:Craftie wiles cannot deceive me,Who am proofe against your charmes:You labour may65To lead astrayThe heart, that constant shall remaine:And I the whileWill sit and smileTo see you spend your time in vaine.70
Hence away, thou Syren, leave me,Pish! unclaspe these wanton armes;Sugred words can ne'er deceive me,(Though thou prove a thousand charmes).Fie, fie, forbeare;5No common snareCan ever my affection chaine:Thy painted baits,And poore deceits,Are all bestowed on me in vaine.10
I'me no slave to such, as you be;Neither shall that snowy brest,Rowling eye, and lip of rubyEver robb me of my rest:
Goe, go display15Thy beautie's rayTo some more soone-enamour'd swaine;Those common wilesOf sighs and smilesAre all bestowed on me in vaine.20
I have elsewhere vowed a dutie;Turne away thy tempting eye:Shew not me a painted beautie;These impostures I defie:My spirit lothes25Where gawdy clothesAnd fained othes may love obtaine:I love her so,Whose looke sweares No;That all your labours will be vaine.30
Can he prize the tainted posies,Which on every brest are worne;That may plucke the virgin rosesFrom their never-touched thorne?I can goe rest35On her sweet brest,That is the pride of Cynthia's traine:Then stay thy tongue;Thy mermaid songIs all bestowed on me in vaine.40
Hee's a foole, that basely dallies,Where each peasant mates with him:Shall I haunt the thronged vallies,Whilst ther's noble hills to climbe?No, no, though clownes45Are scar'd with frownes,I know the best can but disdaine;And those Ile prove:So will thy loveBe all bestowed on me in vaine.50
I doe scorne to vow a dutie,Where each lustfull lad may wooe:Give me her, whose sun-like beautieBuzzards dare not soar unto:Shee, shee it is55Affoords that blisseFor which I would refuse no paine:But such as you,Fond fooles, adieu;You seeke to captive me in vaine.60
Leave me then, you Syrens, leave me;Seeke no more to worke my harmes:Craftie wiles cannot deceive me,Who am proofe against your charmes:You labour may65To lead astrayThe heart, that constant shall remaine:And I the whileWill sit and smileTo see you spend your time in vaine.70
Thesubject of this ballad is taken from a folio collection of tragical stories, intitled,The theatre of God's judgments, by Dr. Beard and Dr. Taylor, 1642. Pt. ii. p. 89.—The text is given (with corrections) from two copies; one of them in black-letter in the Pepys collection. In this every stanza is accompanied with the following distich by way of burden:
"Oh jealousie! thou art nurst in hell:Depart from hence, and therein dwell."
"Oh jealousie! thou art nurst in hell:Depart from hence, and therein dwell."
All tender hearts, that ake to hearOf those that suffer wrong;All you, that never shed a tear,Give heed unto my song.Fair Isabella's tragedy5My tale doth far exceed:Alas! that so much crueltyIn female hearts should breed!In Spain a lady liv'd of late,Who was of high degree;10Whose wayward temper did createMuch woe and misery.Strange jealousies so fill'd her headWith many a vain surmize,She thought her lord had wrong'd her bed,15And did her love despise.A gentlewoman passing fairDid on this lady wait;With bravest dames she might compare;Her beauty was compleat.20Her lady cast a jealous eyeUpon this gentle maid;And taxt her with disloyaltye;And did her oft upbraid.In silence still this maiden meek25Her bitter taunts would bear,While oft adown her lovely cheekWould steal the falling tear.In vain in humble sort she stroveHer fury to disarm;30As well the meekness of the doveThe bloody hawke might charm.Her lord of humour light and gay,And innocent the while,As oft as she came in his way,35Would on the damsell smile.And oft before his lady's face,As thinking her her friend,He would the maiden's modest graceAnd comeliness commend.40All which incens'd his lady soShe burnt with wrath extreame;At length the fire that long did glow,Burst forth into a flame.For on a day it so befell,45When he was gone from home,The lady all with rage did swell,And to the damsell come.And charging her with great offence,And many a grievous fault;50She bade her servants drag her thence,Into a dismal vault,That lay beneath the common-shore:A dungeon dark and deep:Where they were wont, in days of yore,55Offenders great to keep.There never light of chearful dayDispers'd the hideous gloom;But dank and noisome vapours playAround the wretched room:60And adders, snakes, and toads therein,As afterwards was known,Long in this loathsome vault had bin,And were to monsters grown.Into this foul and fearful place,65The fair one innocentWas cast, before her lady's face;Her malice to content.This maid no sooner enter'd is,But strait, alas! she hears70The toads to croak, and snakes to hiss:Then grievously she fears.Soon from their holes the vipers creep,And fiercely her assail:Which makes the damsel sorely weep,75And her sad fate bewail.With her fair hands she strives in vainHer body to defend:With shrieks and cries she doth complain,But all is to no end.80A servant listning near the door,Struck with her doleful noise,Strait ran his lady to implore;But she'll not hear his voice.With bleeding heart he goes agen85To mark the maiden's groans;And plainly hears, within the den,How she herself bemoans.Again he to his lady hiesWith all the haste he may:90She into furious passion flies,And orders him away.Still back again does he returnTo hear her tender cries;The virgin now had ceas'd to mourn;95Which fill'd him with surprize.In grief, and horror, and affright,He listens at the walls;But finding all was silent quite,He to his lady calls.100Too sure, O lady, now quoth he,Your cruelty hath sped;Make hast, for shame, and come and see;I fear the virgin's dead.She starts to hear her sudden fate,105And does with torches run:But all her haste was now too late,For death his worst had done.The door being open'd strait they foundThe virgin stretch'd along:110Two dreadful snakes had wrapt her round,Which her to death had stung.One round her legs, her thighs, her waistHad twin'd his fatal wreath:The other close her neck embrac'd,115And stopt her gentle breath.The snakes, being from her body thrust,Their bellies were so fill'd,That with excess of blood they burst,Thus with their prey were kill'd.120The wicked lady at this sight,With horror strait ran mad;So raving dy'd, as was most right,'Cause she no pity had.Let me advise you, ladies all,125Of jealousy beware:It causeth many a one to fall,And is the devil's snare.
All tender hearts, that ake to hearOf those that suffer wrong;All you, that never shed a tear,Give heed unto my song.
Fair Isabella's tragedy5My tale doth far exceed:Alas! that so much crueltyIn female hearts should breed!
In Spain a lady liv'd of late,Who was of high degree;10Whose wayward temper did createMuch woe and misery.
Strange jealousies so fill'd her headWith many a vain surmize,She thought her lord had wrong'd her bed,15And did her love despise.
A gentlewoman passing fairDid on this lady wait;With bravest dames she might compare;Her beauty was compleat.20
Her lady cast a jealous eyeUpon this gentle maid;And taxt her with disloyaltye;And did her oft upbraid.
In silence still this maiden meek25Her bitter taunts would bear,While oft adown her lovely cheekWould steal the falling tear.
In vain in humble sort she stroveHer fury to disarm;30As well the meekness of the doveThe bloody hawke might charm.
Her lord of humour light and gay,And innocent the while,As oft as she came in his way,35Would on the damsell smile.
And oft before his lady's face,As thinking her her friend,He would the maiden's modest graceAnd comeliness commend.40
All which incens'd his lady soShe burnt with wrath extreame;At length the fire that long did glow,Burst forth into a flame.
For on a day it so befell,45When he was gone from home,The lady all with rage did swell,And to the damsell come.
And charging her with great offence,And many a grievous fault;50She bade her servants drag her thence,Into a dismal vault,
That lay beneath the common-shore:A dungeon dark and deep:Where they were wont, in days of yore,55Offenders great to keep.
There never light of chearful dayDispers'd the hideous gloom;But dank and noisome vapours playAround the wretched room:60
And adders, snakes, and toads therein,As afterwards was known,Long in this loathsome vault had bin,And were to monsters grown.
Into this foul and fearful place,65The fair one innocentWas cast, before her lady's face;Her malice to content.
This maid no sooner enter'd is,But strait, alas! she hears70The toads to croak, and snakes to hiss:Then grievously she fears.
Soon from their holes the vipers creep,And fiercely her assail:Which makes the damsel sorely weep,75And her sad fate bewail.
With her fair hands she strives in vainHer body to defend:With shrieks and cries she doth complain,But all is to no end.80
A servant listning near the door,Struck with her doleful noise,Strait ran his lady to implore;But she'll not hear his voice.
With bleeding heart he goes agen85To mark the maiden's groans;And plainly hears, within the den,How she herself bemoans.
Again he to his lady hiesWith all the haste he may:90She into furious passion flies,And orders him away.
Still back again does he returnTo hear her tender cries;The virgin now had ceas'd to mourn;95Which fill'd him with surprize.
In grief, and horror, and affright,He listens at the walls;But finding all was silent quite,He to his lady calls.100
Too sure, O lady, now quoth he,Your cruelty hath sped;Make hast, for shame, and come and see;I fear the virgin's dead.
She starts to hear her sudden fate,105And does with torches run:But all her haste was now too late,For death his worst had done.
The door being open'd strait they foundThe virgin stretch'd along:110Two dreadful snakes had wrapt her round,Which her to death had stung.
One round her legs, her thighs, her waistHad twin'd his fatal wreath:The other close her neck embrac'd,115And stopt her gentle breath.
The snakes, being from her body thrust,Their bellies were so fill'd,That with excess of blood they burst,Thus with their prey were kill'd.120
The wicked lady at this sight,With horror strait ran mad;So raving dy'd, as was most right,'Cause she no pity had.
Let me advise you, ladies all,125Of jealousy beware:It causeth many a one to fall,And is the devil's snare.
⁂
ThisSong is byDryden, being inserted in his Tragi-Comedy ofLove Triumphant, &c.—On account of the subject it is inserted here.
What state of life can be so blest,As love that warms the gentle brest;Two souls in one; the same desireTo grant the bliss, and to require?If in this heaven a hell we find,5Tis all from thee,O Jealousie!Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind.All other ills, though sharp they prove,Serve to refine and perfect love:10In absence, or unkind disdaine,Sweet hope relieves the lovers paine:But, oh, no cure but death we findTo sett us freeFrom jealousie,15Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind.False in thy glass all objects are,Some sett too near, and some too far:Thou art the fire of endless night,The fire that burns, and gives no light.20All torments of the damn'd we findIn only thee,O Jealousie;Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind.
What state of life can be so blest,As love that warms the gentle brest;Two souls in one; the same desireTo grant the bliss, and to require?If in this heaven a hell we find,5Tis all from thee,O Jealousie!Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind.
All other ills, though sharp they prove,Serve to refine and perfect love:10In absence, or unkind disdaine,Sweet hope relieves the lovers paine:But, oh, no cure but death we findTo sett us freeFrom jealousie,15Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind.
False in thy glass all objects are,Some sett too near, and some too far:Thou art the fire of endless night,The fire that burns, and gives no light.20All torments of the damn'd we findIn only thee,O Jealousie;Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind.
Theladies are indebted for the following notable documents to the Pepys collection, where the original is preserved in black-letter, and is intitled,A lookingglassfor ladies, or a mirrour for married women. TuneQueen Dido, or Troy town.
When Greeks and Trojans fell at strife,And lords in armour bright were seen;When many a gallant lost his lifeAbout fair Hellen, beauty's queen;Ulysses, general so free,5Did leave his dear Penelope.When she this wofull news did hear,That he would to the warrs of Troy;For grief she shed full many a tear,At parting from her only joy;10Her ladies all about her came,To comfort up this Grecian dame.Ulysses, with a heavy heart,Unto her then did mildly say,The time is come that we must part;15My honour calls me hence away;Yet in my absence, dearest, beMy constant wife, Penelope.Let me no longer live, she sayd,Then to my lord I true remain;20My honour shall not be betray'dUntil I see my love again;For I will ever constant prove,As is the loyal turtle-dove.Thus did they part with heavy chear,25And to the ships his way he took;Her tender eyes dropt many a tear;Still casting many a longing look:She saw him on the surges glide,And unto Neptune thus she cry'd:30Thou god, whose power is in the deep,And rulest in the ocean main,My loving lord in safety keepTill he return to me again:That I his person may behold,35To me more precious far than gold.Then straight the ships with nimble sailsWere all convey'd out of her sight:Her cruel fate she then bewails,Since she had lost her hearts delight.40Now shall my practice be, quoth she,True vertue and humility.My patience I will put in ure,[429]My charity I will extend;Since for my woe there is no cure,45The helpless now I will befriend:The widow and the fatherlessI will relieve, when in distress.Thus she continued year by yearIn doing good to every one;50Her fame was noised every where,To young and old the same was known,That she no company would mind,Who were to vanity inclin'd.Mean while Ulysses fought for fame,55'Mongst Trojans hazarding his life:Young gallants, hearing of her name,Came flocking for to tempt his wife:For she was lovely, young, and fair,No lady might with her compare.60With costly gifts and jewels fine,They did endeavour her to win;With banquets and the choicest wine,For to allure her unto sin:Most persons were of high degree,65Who courted fair Penelope.With modesty and comely grace,Their wanton suits she did denye;No tempting charms could e'er defaceHer dearest husband's memorye;70But constant she would still remain,Hopeing to see him once again.Her book her dayly comfort was,And that she often did peruse;She seldom looked in her glass;75Powder and paint she ne'er would use.I wish all ladies were as freeFrom pride, as was Penelope.She in her needle took delight,And likewise in her spinning-wheel;80Her maids about her every nightDid use the distaff, and the reel:The spiders, that on rafters twine,Scarce spin a thread more soft and fine.Sometimes she would bewail the loss85And absence of her dearest love:Sometimes she thought the seas to cross,Her fortune on the waves to prove.I fear my lord is slain, quoth she,He stays so from Penelope.90At length the ten years siege of TroyDid end: in flames the city burn'd;And to the Grecians was great joy,To see the towers to ashes turn'd:Then came Ulysses home to see95His constant, dear, Penelope.O blame her not if she was glad,When she her lord again had seen.Thrice-welcome home, my dear, she said,A long time absent thou hast been:100The wars shall never more depriveMe of my lord whilst I'm alive.Fair ladies all example take;And hence a worthy lesson learn,All youthful follies to forsake,105And vice from virtue to discern:And let all women strive to be,As constant as Penelope.
When Greeks and Trojans fell at strife,And lords in armour bright were seen;When many a gallant lost his lifeAbout fair Hellen, beauty's queen;Ulysses, general so free,5Did leave his dear Penelope.
When she this wofull news did hear,That he would to the warrs of Troy;For grief she shed full many a tear,At parting from her only joy;10Her ladies all about her came,To comfort up this Grecian dame.
Ulysses, with a heavy heart,Unto her then did mildly say,The time is come that we must part;15My honour calls me hence away;Yet in my absence, dearest, beMy constant wife, Penelope.
Let me no longer live, she sayd,Then to my lord I true remain;20My honour shall not be betray'dUntil I see my love again;For I will ever constant prove,As is the loyal turtle-dove.
Thus did they part with heavy chear,25And to the ships his way he took;Her tender eyes dropt many a tear;Still casting many a longing look:She saw him on the surges glide,And unto Neptune thus she cry'd:30
Thou god, whose power is in the deep,And rulest in the ocean main,My loving lord in safety keepTill he return to me again:That I his person may behold,35To me more precious far than gold.
Then straight the ships with nimble sailsWere all convey'd out of her sight:Her cruel fate she then bewails,Since she had lost her hearts delight.40Now shall my practice be, quoth she,True vertue and humility.
My patience I will put in ure,[429]My charity I will extend;Since for my woe there is no cure,45The helpless now I will befriend:The widow and the fatherlessI will relieve, when in distress.
Thus she continued year by yearIn doing good to every one;50Her fame was noised every where,To young and old the same was known,That she no company would mind,Who were to vanity inclin'd.
Mean while Ulysses fought for fame,55'Mongst Trojans hazarding his life:Young gallants, hearing of her name,Came flocking for to tempt his wife:For she was lovely, young, and fair,No lady might with her compare.60
With costly gifts and jewels fine,They did endeavour her to win;With banquets and the choicest wine,For to allure her unto sin:Most persons were of high degree,65Who courted fair Penelope.
With modesty and comely grace,Their wanton suits she did denye;No tempting charms could e'er defaceHer dearest husband's memorye;70But constant she would still remain,Hopeing to see him once again.
Her book her dayly comfort was,And that she often did peruse;She seldom looked in her glass;75Powder and paint she ne'er would use.I wish all ladies were as freeFrom pride, as was Penelope.
She in her needle took delight,And likewise in her spinning-wheel;80Her maids about her every nightDid use the distaff, and the reel:The spiders, that on rafters twine,Scarce spin a thread more soft and fine.
Sometimes she would bewail the loss85And absence of her dearest love:Sometimes she thought the seas to cross,Her fortune on the waves to prove.
I fear my lord is slain, quoth she,He stays so from Penelope.90
At length the ten years siege of TroyDid end: in flames the city burn'd;And to the Grecians was great joy,To see the towers to ashes turn'd:Then came Ulysses home to see95His constant, dear, Penelope.
O blame her not if she was glad,When she her lord again had seen.Thrice-welcome home, my dear, she said,A long time absent thou hast been:100The wars shall never more depriveMe of my lord whilst I'm alive.
Fair ladies all example take;And hence a worthy lesson learn,All youthful follies to forsake,105And vice from virtue to discern:And let all women strive to be,As constant as Penelope.
FOOTNOTES:[429][use.]
[429][use.]
[429][use.]
ByCol. Richard Lovelace: from the volume of his poems, intitledLucasta, (Lond. 1649. 12mo.). The elegance of this writer's manner would be more admired, if it had somewhat more of simplicity.
[Percy's admirers would be glad to expunge the above unjust judgment. Some of Lovelace's poems may be affected, but that charge cannot be brought against these exquisite verses, the last two of which have become a world-famed quotation.]
[Percy's admirers would be glad to expunge the above unjust judgment. Some of Lovelace's poems may be affected, but that charge cannot be brought against these exquisite verses, the last two of which have become a world-famed quotation.]
Tell me not, sweet, I am unkinde,That from the nunnerieOf thy chaste breast and quiet minde,To warre and armes I flie.True, a new mistresse now I chase,5The first foe in the field;And with a stronger faith imbraceA sword, a horse, a shield.Yet this inconstancy is such,As you too shall adore;10I could not love thee, deare, so much,Lov'd I not honour more.
Tell me not, sweet, I am unkinde,That from the nunnerieOf thy chaste breast and quiet minde,To warre and armes I flie.
True, a new mistresse now I chase,5The first foe in the field;And with a stronger faith imbraceA sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is such,As you too shall adore;10I could not love thee, deare, so much,Lov'd I not honour more.
Theold story-book ofValentine and Orson(which suggested the plan of this tale, but it is not strictly followed in it) was originally a translation from the French, being one of their earliest attempts at romance. SeeLe Bibliothèque de Romans, &c.
The circumstance of the bridge of bells is taken from the old metrical legend of Sir Bevis, and has also been copied in theSeven Champions. The original lines are,
"Over the dyke a bridge there lay,That man and beest might passe away:Under the brydge were sixty belles;Right as the Romans telles;That there might no man passe in,But all they rang with a gyn."
"Over the dyke a bridge there lay,That man and beest might passe away:Under the brydge were sixty belles;Right as the Romans telles;That there might no man passe in,But all they rang with a gyn."
Sign. E. iv.
In the Editor's folio MS. was an old poem on this subject, in a wretched corrupt state, unworthy the press: from which were taken such particulars as could be adopted.
[The poem entitledThe Emperour and the Childein the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 390) only suggested the subject of the present ballad. It commences—
[The poem entitledThe Emperour and the Childein the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 390) only suggested the subject of the present ballad. It commences—
Within the Grecyan land some time did dwellan Emperour, whose name did ffar excell;he tooke to wiffe the lady B[e]llefaunt,the only sister to the kinge of ffrance,with whome he liued in pleasure and delightvntill that ffortune came to worke them spighte.
Within the Grecyan land some time did dwellan Emperour, whose name did ffar excell;he tooke to wiffe the lady B[e]llefaunt,the only sister to the kinge of ffrance,with whome he liued in pleasure and delightvntill that ffortune came to worke them spighte.
There are no particular signs of "corruption," and the piece is probably superior to Percy's own effusion.Percy's trumpery commencement is an echo of the beginning of the printed copies ofSir Andrew Barton.The name Ursine, like that of Orson, is derived from Fr.Ourson, the diminutive ofOurs, a bear (Latin,ursus.)]
There are no particular signs of "corruption," and the piece is probably superior to Percy's own effusion.
Percy's trumpery commencement is an echo of the beginning of the printed copies ofSir Andrew Barton.
The name Ursine, like that of Orson, is derived from Fr.Ourson, the diminutive ofOurs, a bear (Latin,ursus.)]
Then Flora 'gins to decke the fieldsWith colours fresh and fine,Then holy clerkes their mattins singTo good Saint Valentine!The king of France that morning fair5He would a hunting ride:To Artois forest prancing forthIn all his princelye pride.To grace his sports a courtly trainOf gallant peers attend;10And with their loud and cheerful cryesThe hills and valleys rend.Through the deep forest swift they pass,Through woods and thickets wild;When down within a lonely dell15They found a new-born child;All in a scarlet kercher lay'dOf silk so fine and thin:A golden mantle wrapt him roundPinn'd with a silver pin.20The sudden sight surpriz'd them all;The courtiers gather'd round;They look, they call, the mother seek;No mother could be found.At length the king himself drew near,25And as he gazing stands,The pretty babe look'd up and smil'd,And stretch'd his little hands.Now, by the rood, king Pepin says,This child is passing fair:30I wot he is of gentle blood;Perhaps some prince's heir.Goe bear him home unto my courtWith all the care ye may:Let him be christen'd Valentine,35In honour of this day:And look me out some cunning nurse;Well nurtur'd let him bee;Nor ought be wanting that becomesA bairn of high degree.40They look'd him out a cunning nurse;And nurtur'd well was hee;Nor ought was wanting that becameA bairn of high degree.Thus grewe the little Valentine45Belov'd of king and peers;And shew'd in all he spake or didA wit beyond his years.But chief in gallant feates of armsHe did himself advance,50That ere he grewe to man's estateHe had no peere in France.And now the early downe beganTo shade his youthful chin;When Valentine was dubb'd a knight,55That he might glory win.A boon, a boon, my gracious liege,I beg a boon of thee!The first adventure, that befalls,May be reserv'd for mee.60The first adventure shall be thine;The king did smiling say.Nor many days, when lo! there cameThree palmers clad in graye.Help, gracious lord, they weeping say'd;65And knelt, as it was meet:From Artoys forest we be come,With weak and wearye feet.Within those deep and drearye woodsThere wends a savage boy;70Whose fierce and mortal rage doth yieldThy subjects dire annoy.'Mong ruthless beares he sure was bred;He lurks within their den:With beares he lives; with beares he feeds;75And drinks the blood of men.To more than savage strength he joinsA more than human skill:For arms, ne cunning may sufficeHis cruel rage to still:Up then rose sir Valentine,And claim'd that arduous deed.Go forth and conquer, say'd the king,And great shall be thy meed.Well mounted on a milk-white steed,85His armour white as snow;As well beseem'd a virgin knight,Who ne'er had fought a foe;To Artoys forest he repairsWith all the haste he may;90And soon he spies the savage youthA rending of his prey.His unkempt hair all matted hungHis shaggy shoulders round:His eager eye all fiery glow'd:95His face with fury frown'd.Like eagles' talons grew his nails:His limbs were thick and strong;And dreadful was the knotted oakHe bare with him along.100Soon as sir Valentine approach'd,He starts with sudden spring;And yelling forth a hideous howl,He made the forests ring.As when a tyger fierce and fell105Hath spyed a passing roe,And leaps at once upon his throat;So sprung the savage foe;So lightly leap'd with furious forceThe gentle knight to seize:110But met his tall uplifted spear,Which sunk him on his knees.A second stroke so stiff and sternHad laid the savage low;But springing up, he rais'd his club,115And aim'd a dreadful blow.The watchful warrior bent his head,And shun'd the coming stroke;Upon his taper spear it fell,And all to shivers broke.120Then lighting nimbly from his steed,He drew his burnisht brand:The savage quick as lightning flewTo wrest it from his hand.Three times he grasp'd the silver hilt;125Three times he felt the blade;Three times it fell with furious force;Three ghastly wounds it made.Now with redoubled rage he roared;His eye-ball flash'd with fire;130Each hairy limb with fury shook;And all his heart was ire.Then closing fast with furious gripeHe clasp'd the champion round,And with a strong and sudden twist135He laid him on the ground.But soon the knight, with active spring,O'erturn'd his hairy foe:And now between their sturdy fistsPast many a bruising blow.140They roll'd and grappled on the ground,And there they struggled long:Skilful and active was the knight;The savage he was strong.But brutal force and savage strength145To art and skill must yield:Sir Valentine at length prevail'd,And won the well-fought field.Then binding strait his conquer'd foeFast with an iron chain,150He tyes him to his horse's tail,And leads him o'er the plain.To court his hairy captive soonSir Valentine doth bring;And kneeling downe upon his knee,155Presents him to the king.With loss of blood and loss of strength,The savage tamer grew;And to sir Valentine becameA servant try'd and true.160And 'cause with beares he erst was bred,Ursine they call his name;A name which unto future timesThe Muses shall proclame.
Then Flora 'gins to decke the fieldsWith colours fresh and fine,Then holy clerkes their mattins singTo good Saint Valentine!
The king of France that morning fair5He would a hunting ride:To Artois forest prancing forthIn all his princelye pride.
To grace his sports a courtly trainOf gallant peers attend;10And with their loud and cheerful cryesThe hills and valleys rend.
Through the deep forest swift they pass,Through woods and thickets wild;When down within a lonely dell15They found a new-born child;
All in a scarlet kercher lay'dOf silk so fine and thin:A golden mantle wrapt him roundPinn'd with a silver pin.20
The sudden sight surpriz'd them all;The courtiers gather'd round;They look, they call, the mother seek;No mother could be found.
At length the king himself drew near,25And as he gazing stands,The pretty babe look'd up and smil'd,And stretch'd his little hands.
Now, by the rood, king Pepin says,This child is passing fair:30I wot he is of gentle blood;Perhaps some prince's heir.
Goe bear him home unto my courtWith all the care ye may:Let him be christen'd Valentine,35In honour of this day:
And look me out some cunning nurse;Well nurtur'd let him bee;Nor ought be wanting that becomesA bairn of high degree.40
They look'd him out a cunning nurse;And nurtur'd well was hee;Nor ought was wanting that becameA bairn of high degree.
Thus grewe the little Valentine45Belov'd of king and peers;And shew'd in all he spake or didA wit beyond his years.
But chief in gallant feates of armsHe did himself advance,50That ere he grewe to man's estateHe had no peere in France.
And now the early downe beganTo shade his youthful chin;When Valentine was dubb'd a knight,55That he might glory win.
A boon, a boon, my gracious liege,I beg a boon of thee!The first adventure, that befalls,May be reserv'd for mee.60
The first adventure shall be thine;The king did smiling say.Nor many days, when lo! there cameThree palmers clad in graye.
Help, gracious lord, they weeping say'd;65And knelt, as it was meet:From Artoys forest we be come,With weak and wearye feet.
Within those deep and drearye woodsThere wends a savage boy;70Whose fierce and mortal rage doth yieldThy subjects dire annoy.
'Mong ruthless beares he sure was bred;He lurks within their den:With beares he lives; with beares he feeds;75And drinks the blood of men.
To more than savage strength he joinsA more than human skill:For arms, ne cunning may sufficeHis cruel rage to still:
Up then rose sir Valentine,And claim'd that arduous deed.Go forth and conquer, say'd the king,And great shall be thy meed.
Well mounted on a milk-white steed,85His armour white as snow;As well beseem'd a virgin knight,Who ne'er had fought a foe;
To Artoys forest he repairsWith all the haste he may;90And soon he spies the savage youthA rending of his prey.
His unkempt hair all matted hungHis shaggy shoulders round:His eager eye all fiery glow'd:95His face with fury frown'd.
Like eagles' talons grew his nails:His limbs were thick and strong;And dreadful was the knotted oakHe bare with him along.100
Soon as sir Valentine approach'd,He starts with sudden spring;And yelling forth a hideous howl,He made the forests ring.
As when a tyger fierce and fell105Hath spyed a passing roe,And leaps at once upon his throat;So sprung the savage foe;
So lightly leap'd with furious forceThe gentle knight to seize:110But met his tall uplifted spear,Which sunk him on his knees.
A second stroke so stiff and sternHad laid the savage low;But springing up, he rais'd his club,115And aim'd a dreadful blow.
The watchful warrior bent his head,And shun'd the coming stroke;Upon his taper spear it fell,And all to shivers broke.120
Then lighting nimbly from his steed,He drew his burnisht brand:The savage quick as lightning flewTo wrest it from his hand.
Three times he grasp'd the silver hilt;125Three times he felt the blade;Three times it fell with furious force;Three ghastly wounds it made.
Now with redoubled rage he roared;His eye-ball flash'd with fire;130Each hairy limb with fury shook;And all his heart was ire.
Then closing fast with furious gripeHe clasp'd the champion round,And with a strong and sudden twist135He laid him on the ground.
But soon the knight, with active spring,O'erturn'd his hairy foe:And now between their sturdy fistsPast many a bruising blow.140
They roll'd and grappled on the ground,And there they struggled long:Skilful and active was the knight;The savage he was strong.
But brutal force and savage strength145To art and skill must yield:Sir Valentine at length prevail'd,And won the well-fought field.
Then binding strait his conquer'd foeFast with an iron chain,150He tyes him to his horse's tail,And leads him o'er the plain.
To court his hairy captive soonSir Valentine doth bring;And kneeling downe upon his knee,155Presents him to the king.
With loss of blood and loss of strength,The savage tamer grew;And to sir Valentine becameA servant try'd and true.160
And 'cause with beares he erst was bred,Ursine they call his name;A name which unto future timesThe Muses shall proclame.