XII.THE BRIDE'S BURIAL.

[There has been considerable difference of opinion among ballad collectors relative to this beautiful song. Some suppose it to be a portion of the ballad entitledLord Jamie Douglas, which relates to James Douglas, second Marquis of Douglas, who married Lady Barbara Erskine, eldest daughter of John, ninth Earl of Mar, on the seventh of September, 1670, and afterwards repudiated her on account of a false accusation of adultery made against her by Lowrie, laird of Blackwood. Prof. Aytoun, however, believes that certain verses ofWaly Walyhave wrongly been mixed up withLord Jamie Douglas. There is very little doubt that the song was in existence long before 1670, and it also appears to be the lamentation of a forsaken girl rather than of a wife. Mr. Stenhouse and others considered it to belong to the age of Queen Mary and to refer to some affair at Court. Aytoun writes, "there is also evidence that it was composed before 1566, for there is extant a MS. of that year in which some of the lines are transcribed," but Mr. Maidment gives the following opinion—"that the ballad is of ancient date is undoubted, but we are not quite prepared to admit that it goes back as far as 1566, the date of the manuscript transcribed by Thomas Wode from an ancient church music book compiled by Dean John Angus, Andrew Blackhall, and others, in which it said the first [second] stanza is thus parodied:—

Hey trollie lollie, love is jollie,A quhile, quhil itt is newQuhen it is old, it grows full cold,Wae worth the love untrue.

Never having had access to the MS., we may be permitted to remark that the phraseology of the burlesque is not exactly that of the reign of Queen Mary" (Scottish Ballads and Songs, 1868, vol. ii. p. 49.)Allan Ramsay was the first to publish the song, and he marked it as ancient.

Allan Ramsay was the first to publish the song, and he marked it as ancient.

"When cockle shells turn silver bells,When wine drieps red frae ilka tree,When frost and snaw will warm us a'Then I'll cum down and dine wi' thee,"

is the fourth stanza ofJamie Douglas, printed by John Finlay, in hisScottish Historical and Romantic Ballads(vol. ii.)]

O waly[382]waly up the bank,And waly waly down the brae,And waly waly yon burn side,Where I and my love wer wont to gae.I leant my back unto an aik,5I thought it was a trusty tree;But first it bow'd, and syne it brak,Sae my true love did lichtly me.O waly, waly, gin love be bonny,A little time while it is new;10But when its auld, it waxeth cauld,And fades awa' like morning dew.O wherfore shuld I busk my head?Or wherfore shuld I kame my hair?For my true love has me forsook,15And says he'll never loe me mair.Now Arthur-seat sall be my bed,The sheets shall neir be fyl'd[383]by me:Saint Anton's well sall be my drink,Since my true love has forsaken me.20Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw,And shake the green leaves aff the tree?O gentle death, whan wilt thou cum?For of my life I am wearìe.Tis not the frost, that freezes fell,25Nor blawing snaws inclemencìe;'Tis not sic cauld, that makes me cry,But my loves heart grown cauld to me.When we came in by Glasgowe town,We were a comely sight to see,30My love was cled in black velvet,And I my-sell in cramasie.[384]But had I wist, before I kisst,That love had been sae ill to win;I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd,35And pinnd it with a siller pin.And, oh! if my young babe were born,And set upon the nurses knee,And I my sell were dead and gane!For a maid again Ise never be.40

O waly, waly, gin love be bonny,A little time while it is new;10But when its auld, it waxeth cauld,And fades awa' like morning dew.O wherfore shuld I busk my head?Or wherfore shuld I kame my hair?For my true love has me forsook,15And says he'll never loe me mair.

Now Arthur-seat sall be my bed,The sheets shall neir be fyl'd[383]by me:Saint Anton's well sall be my drink,Since my true love has forsaken me.20Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw,And shake the green leaves aff the tree?O gentle death, whan wilt thou cum?For of my life I am wearìe.

Tis not the frost, that freezes fell,25Nor blawing snaws inclemencìe;'Tis not sic cauld, that makes me cry,But my loves heart grown cauld to me.When we came in by Glasgowe town,We were a comely sight to see,30My love was cled in black velvet,And I my-sell in cramasie.[384]

But had I wist, before I kisst,That love had been sae ill to win;I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd,35And pinnd it with a siller pin.And, oh! if my young babe were born,And set upon the nurses knee,And I my sell were dead and gane!For a maid again Ise never be.40

FOOTNOTES:[382][interjection of lamentation.][383][defiled.][384][crimson.]

[382][interjection of lamentation.]

[383][defiled.]

[384][crimson.]

Fromtwo ancient copies in black-letter: one in the Pepys Collection; the other in the British Museum.

To the tune ofThe Lady's Fall.

Come mourne, come mourne with mee,You loyall lovers all;Lament my loss in weeds of woe,Whom griping grief doth thrall.Like to the drooping vine,5Cut by the gardener's knife,Even so my heart, with sorrow slaine,Doth bleed for my sweet wife.By death, that grislye ghost,My turtle dove is slaine,10And I am left, unhappy man,To spend my dayes in paine.Her beauty late so bright,Like roses in their prime,Is wasted like the mountain snowe,15Before warme Phebus' shine.Her faire red colour'd cheeksNow pale and wan; her eyes,That late did shine like crystal stars;Alas, their light it dies:20Her prettye lilly hands,With fingers long and small,In colour like the earthly claye,Yea, cold and stiff withall.When as the morning star25Her golden gates had spred,And that the glittering sun aroseForth from fair Thetis' bed;Then did my love awake,Most like a lilly-flower,30And as the lovely queene of heaven,So shone shee in her bower.Attired was shee then,Like Flora in her pride,Like one of bright Diana's nymphs,35So look'd my loving bride.And as fair Helen's face,Did Grecian dames besmirche,So did my dear exceed in sight,All virgins in the church.40When we had knitt the knottOf holy wedlock-band,Like alabaster joyn'd to jett,So stood we hand in hand;Then lo! a chilling cold45Strucke every vital part,And griping grief, like pangs of death,Seiz'd on my true love's heart.Down in a swoon she fell,As cold as any stone;50Like Venus picture lacking life,So was my love brought home.At length her rosye red,Throughout her comely face,As Phœbus beames with watry cloudes55Was cover'd for a space.When with a grievous groane,And voice both hoarse and drye,Farewell, quoth she, my loving friend,For I this daye must dye;60The messenger of God,With golden trumpe I see,With manye other angels more,Which sound and call for mee.Instead of musicke sweet,65Go toll my passing-bell;And with sweet flowers strow my grave,That in my chamber smell.Strip off my bride's arraye,My cork shoes from my feet;70And, gentle mother, be not coyeTo bring my winding-sheet.My wedding dinner drest,Bestowe upon the poor,And on the hungry, needy, maimde,75Now craving at the door.Instead of virgins yong,My bride-bed for to see,Go cause some cunning carpenter,To make a chest for mee.80My bride laces of silkBestowd, for maidens meet,May fitly serve, when I am dead,To tye my hands and feet.And thou, my lover true,85My husband and my friend,Let me intreat thee here to staye,Until my life doth end.Now leave to talk of love,And humblye on your knee,90Direct your prayers unto God:But mourn no more for mee.In love as we have livde,In love let us depart;And I, in token of my love,95Do kiss thee with my heart.O staunch those bootless teares,Thy weeping tis in vaine;I am not lost, for wee in heavenShall one daye meet againe.100With that shee turn'd aside,As one dispos'd to sleep,And like a lamb departed life;Whose friends did sorely weep.Her true love seeing this,105Did fetch a grievous groane,As tho' his heart would burst in twaine,And thus he made his moane.O darke and dismal daye,A daye of grief and care,110That hath bereft the sun so bright,Whose beams refresht the air.Now woe unto the world,And all that therein dwell,O that I were with thee in heaven,115For here I live in hell.And now this lover livesA discontented life,Whose bride was brought unto the graveA maiden and a wife.120A garland fresh and faireOf lillies there was made,In sign of her virginitye,And on her coffin laid.[385]Six maidens, all in white,125Did beare her to the ground:The bells did ring in solemn sort,And made a dolefull sound.In earth they laid her then,For hungry wormes a preye;130So shall the fairest face aliveAt length be brought to claye.

Come mourne, come mourne with mee,You loyall lovers all;Lament my loss in weeds of woe,Whom griping grief doth thrall.

Like to the drooping vine,5Cut by the gardener's knife,Even so my heart, with sorrow slaine,Doth bleed for my sweet wife.

By death, that grislye ghost,My turtle dove is slaine,10And I am left, unhappy man,To spend my dayes in paine.

Her beauty late so bright,Like roses in their prime,Is wasted like the mountain snowe,15Before warme Phebus' shine.

Her faire red colour'd cheeksNow pale and wan; her eyes,That late did shine like crystal stars;Alas, their light it dies:20

Her prettye lilly hands,With fingers long and small,In colour like the earthly claye,Yea, cold and stiff withall.

When as the morning star25Her golden gates had spred,And that the glittering sun aroseForth from fair Thetis' bed;

Then did my love awake,Most like a lilly-flower,30And as the lovely queene of heaven,So shone shee in her bower.

Attired was shee then,Like Flora in her pride,Like one of bright Diana's nymphs,35So look'd my loving bride.

And as fair Helen's face,Did Grecian dames besmirche,So did my dear exceed in sight,All virgins in the church.40

When we had knitt the knottOf holy wedlock-band,Like alabaster joyn'd to jett,So stood we hand in hand;

Then lo! a chilling cold45Strucke every vital part,And griping grief, like pangs of death,Seiz'd on my true love's heart.

Down in a swoon she fell,As cold as any stone;50Like Venus picture lacking life,So was my love brought home.

At length her rosye red,Throughout her comely face,As Phœbus beames with watry cloudes55Was cover'd for a space.

When with a grievous groane,And voice both hoarse and drye,Farewell, quoth she, my loving friend,For I this daye must dye;60

The messenger of God,With golden trumpe I see,With manye other angels more,Which sound and call for mee.

Instead of musicke sweet,65Go toll my passing-bell;And with sweet flowers strow my grave,That in my chamber smell.

Strip off my bride's arraye,My cork shoes from my feet;70And, gentle mother, be not coyeTo bring my winding-sheet.

My wedding dinner drest,Bestowe upon the poor,And on the hungry, needy, maimde,75Now craving at the door.

Instead of virgins yong,My bride-bed for to see,Go cause some cunning carpenter,To make a chest for mee.80

My bride laces of silkBestowd, for maidens meet,May fitly serve, when I am dead,To tye my hands and feet.

And thou, my lover true,85My husband and my friend,Let me intreat thee here to staye,Until my life doth end.

Now leave to talk of love,And humblye on your knee,90Direct your prayers unto God:But mourn no more for mee.

In love as we have livde,In love let us depart;And I, in token of my love,95Do kiss thee with my heart.

O staunch those bootless teares,Thy weeping tis in vaine;I am not lost, for wee in heavenShall one daye meet againe.100

With that shee turn'd aside,As one dispos'd to sleep,And like a lamb departed life;Whose friends did sorely weep.

Her true love seeing this,105Did fetch a grievous groane,As tho' his heart would burst in twaine,And thus he made his moane.

O darke and dismal daye,A daye of grief and care,110That hath bereft the sun so bright,Whose beams refresht the air.

Now woe unto the world,And all that therein dwell,O that I were with thee in heaven,115For here I live in hell.

And now this lover livesA discontented life,Whose bride was brought unto the graveA maiden and a wife.120

A garland fresh and faireOf lillies there was made,In sign of her virginitye,And on her coffin laid.[385]

Six maidens, all in white,125Did beare her to the ground:The bells did ring in solemn sort,And made a dolefull sound.

In earth they laid her then,For hungry wormes a preye;130So shall the fairest face aliveAt length be brought to claye.

FOOTNOTES:[385]["It was an ancient and pleasing custom to place a garland made of white flowers and white riband upon the coffin of a maiden; it was afterwards hung up over her customary seat in church. Sometimes a pair of white gloves, or paper cut to the shape of gloves, was hung beneath the garland. Chaplets of the kind still hang in some of the Derbyshire churches, and at Hathersage in that county the custom is still retained."—(Transactions ofthe Essex Archælogical Society, vol. i. 1858, p. 118.) SeeCorydon'sDoleful Knell, vol. ii. book ii. No. 27, p. 275. Ophelia is "allowed her virgin crants" (or garland)—Hamlet, act v. sc. 1. See also an interesting article onFuneral Garlandsby Llewellyn Jewitt in theReliquary, vol. i. (1860), p. 5.]

[385]["It was an ancient and pleasing custom to place a garland made of white flowers and white riband upon the coffin of a maiden; it was afterwards hung up over her customary seat in church. Sometimes a pair of white gloves, or paper cut to the shape of gloves, was hung beneath the garland. Chaplets of the kind still hang in some of the Derbyshire churches, and at Hathersage in that county the custom is still retained."—(Transactions ofthe Essex Archælogical Society, vol. i. 1858, p. 118.) SeeCorydon'sDoleful Knell, vol. ii. book ii. No. 27, p. 275. Ophelia is "allowed her virgin crants" (or garland)—Hamlet, act v. sc. 1. See also an interesting article onFuneral Garlandsby Llewellyn Jewitt in theReliquary, vol. i. (1860), p. 5.]

Givenfrom two ancient copies, one in black-print, in the Pepys Collection: the other in the Editor's folio MS. Each of these contained a stanza not found in the other. What seemed the best readings were selected from both.

This song is quoted as very popular in Walton'sCompleat Angler, chap. ii. It is more ancient than the ballad ofRobin Good-Fellowprinted below, which yet is supposed to have been written by Ben. Jonson.

[The Milk-woman in Walton'sAnglersays, "What song was it, I pray you? Was itCome shepherds deck your heads, orAs atnoon Dulcina rested?"In the Registers of the Stationers' Company, under date of May 22, 1615, there is an entry transferring the right of publication from one printer to another ofA Ballett of Dulcina to the tune ofForgoe me nowe, come to me sone. Mr. Chappell also tells us thatDulcinawas one of the tunes to the "Psalms and Songs of Sion, turned into the language and set to the tunes of a strange land," 1642.The editors of the Folio MS., more scrupulous than the bishop, have not printed this song in its proper place, but have turned it into the Supplement ofLoose and Humourous Songs(p.32). The third stanza of the MS. beginning

[The Milk-woman in Walton'sAnglersays, "What song was it, I pray you? Was itCome shepherds deck your heads, orAs atnoon Dulcina rested?"

In the Registers of the Stationers' Company, under date of May 22, 1615, there is an entry transferring the right of publication from one printer to another ofA Ballett of Dulcina to the tune ofForgoe me nowe, come to me sone. Mr. Chappell also tells us thatDulcinawas one of the tunes to the "Psalms and Songs of Sion, turned into the language and set to the tunes of a strange land," 1642.

The editors of the Folio MS., more scrupulous than the bishop, have not printed this song in its proper place, but have turned it into the Supplement ofLoose and Humourous Songs(p.32). The third stanza of the MS. beginning

"Words whose hopes might have enjoyned"

is not printed in the present copy. The third stanza here is the fourth of the MS., and the fourth stanza is not in the MS. at all.Cayley and Ellis attribute this song to Raleigh, but without sufficient authority.]

is not printed in the present copy. The third stanza here is the fourth of the MS., and the fourth stanza is not in the MS. at all.

Cayley and Ellis attribute this song to Raleigh, but without sufficient authority.]

As at noone Dulcina restedIn her sweete and shady bower;Came a shepherd, and requestedIn her lapp to sleepe an hour.But from her looke5A wounde he tookeSoe deepe, that for a further booneThe nymph he prayes.Wherto shee sayes,Forgoe me now, come to me soone.10But in vayne shee did conjure himTo depart her presence soe;Having a thousand tongues to allure him,And but one to bid him goe:Where lipps invite,15And eyes delight,And cheekes, as fresh as rose in june,Persuade delay;What boots, she say,Forgoe me now, come to me soone?20He demands what time for pleasureCan there be more fit than now:She sayes, night gives love that leysure,Which the day can not allow.He sayes, the sight25'Improves delight.'Which she denies: Nights mirkie nooneIn Venus' playesMakes bold, shee sayes;Forgoe me now, come to mee soone.30But what promise or professionFrom his hands could purchase scope?Who would sell the sweet possessionOf suche beautye for a hope?Or for the sight35Of lingering nightForegoe the present joyes of noone?Though ne'er soe faireHer speeches were,Forgoe me now, come to me soone.40How, at last, agreed these lovers?Shee was fayre, and he was young:The tongue may tell what th'eye discovers;Joyes unseene are never sung.Did shee consent,45Or he relent;Accepts he night, or grants shee noone;Left he her a mayd,Or not; she saydForgoe me now, come to me soone.50

As at noone Dulcina restedIn her sweete and shady bower;Came a shepherd, and requestedIn her lapp to sleepe an hour.But from her looke5A wounde he tooke

Soe deepe, that for a further booneThe nymph he prayes.Wherto shee sayes,Forgoe me now, come to me soone.10

But in vayne shee did conjure himTo depart her presence soe;Having a thousand tongues to allure him,And but one to bid him goe:Where lipps invite,15And eyes delight,And cheekes, as fresh as rose in june,Persuade delay;What boots, she say,Forgoe me now, come to me soone?20

He demands what time for pleasureCan there be more fit than now:She sayes, night gives love that leysure,Which the day can not allow.He sayes, the sight25'Improves delight.'Which she denies: Nights mirkie nooneIn Venus' playesMakes bold, shee sayes;Forgoe me now, come to mee soone.30

But what promise or professionFrom his hands could purchase scope?Who would sell the sweet possessionOf suche beautye for a hope?Or for the sight35Of lingering nightForegoe the present joyes of noone?Though ne'er soe faireHer speeches were,Forgoe me now, come to me soone.40

How, at last, agreed these lovers?Shee was fayre, and he was young:The tongue may tell what th'eye discovers;Joyes unseene are never sung.Did shee consent,45Or he relent;Accepts he night, or grants shee noone;Left he her a mayd,Or not; she saydForgoe me now, come to me soone.50

Thisballad is given from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, collated with another in the British Museum, H. 263, folio. It is there intitled, "The LadyIsabella's Tragedy, or the Step-Mother's Cruelty: being a relation of a lamentable and cruel murther, committed on the body of the lady Isabella, the only daughter of a noble duke, &c. To the tune of,The Lady's Fall." To some copies are annexed eight more modern stanzas, intitled,The Dutchess's and Cook'sLamentation.

There was a lord of worthy fame,And a hunting he would ride,Attended by a noble traineOf gentrye by his side.And while he did in chase remaine,5To see both sport and playe;His ladye went, as she did feigne,Unto the church to praye.This lord he had a daughter deare,Whose beauty shone so bright,10She was belov'd, both far and neare,Of many a lord and knight.Fair Isabella was she call'd,A creature faire was shee;She was her father's only joye;15As you shall after see.Therefore her cruel step-mothèrDid envye her so much;That daye by daye she sought her life,Her malice it was such.20She bargain'd with the master-cook,To take her life awaye:And taking of her daughters book,She thus to her did saye.Go home, sweet daughter, I thee praye,25Go hasten presentlie;And tell unto the master-cookThese wordes that I tell thee.And bid him dresse to dinner streightThat faire and milk-white doe,30That in the parke doth shine so bright,There's none so faire to showe.This ladye fearing of no harme,Obey'd her mothers will;And presentlye she hasted home,35Her pleasure to fulfill.She streight into the kitchen went,Her message for to tell;And there she spied the master-cook,Who did with malice swell.40Nowe, master-cook, it must be soe,Do that which I thee tell:You needes must dresse the milk-white doe,Which you do knowe full well.Then streight his cruell bloodye hands,45He on the ladye layd;Who quivering and shaking stands,While thus to her he sayd:Thou art the doe, that I must dresse;See here, behold my knife;50For it is pointed presentlyTo rid thee of thy life.O then, cried out the scullion-boye,As loud as loud might bee;O save her life, good master-cook,55And make your pyes of mee!For pityes sake do not destroyeMy ladye with your knife;You know shee is her father's joye,For Christes sake save her life.60I will not save her life, he sayd,Nor make my pyes of thee;Yet if thou dost this deed bewraye,Thy butcher I will bee.Now when this lord he did come home65For to sit downe and eat;He called for his daughter deare,To come and carve his meat.Now sit you downe, his ladye sayd,O sit you downe to meat:70Into some nunnery she is gone;Your daughter deare forget.Then solemnlye he made a vowe,Before the companìe:That he would neither eat nor drinke,75Until he did her see.O then bespake the scullion-boye,With a loud voice so hye:If now you will your daughter see,My lord, cut up that pye:80Wherein her fleshe is minced small,And parched with the fire:All caused by her step-mothèr,Who did her death desire.And cursed bee the master-cook,85O cursed may he bee!I proffered him my own hearts blood,From death to set her free.Then all in blacke this lord did mourne;And for his daughters sake,90He judged her cruell step-mothèrTo be burnt at a stake.Likewise he judg'd the master-cookIn boiling lead to stand;And made the simple scullion-boye95The heire of all his land.

There was a lord of worthy fame,And a hunting he would ride,Attended by a noble traineOf gentrye by his side.

And while he did in chase remaine,5To see both sport and playe;His ladye went, as she did feigne,Unto the church to praye.

This lord he had a daughter deare,Whose beauty shone so bright,10She was belov'd, both far and neare,Of many a lord and knight.

Fair Isabella was she call'd,A creature faire was shee;She was her father's only joye;15As you shall after see.

Therefore her cruel step-mothèrDid envye her so much;That daye by daye she sought her life,Her malice it was such.20

She bargain'd with the master-cook,To take her life awaye:And taking of her daughters book,She thus to her did saye.

Go home, sweet daughter, I thee praye,25Go hasten presentlie;And tell unto the master-cookThese wordes that I tell thee.

And bid him dresse to dinner streightThat faire and milk-white doe,30That in the parke doth shine so bright,There's none so faire to showe.

This ladye fearing of no harme,Obey'd her mothers will;And presentlye she hasted home,35Her pleasure to fulfill.

She streight into the kitchen went,Her message for to tell;And there she spied the master-cook,Who did with malice swell.40

Nowe, master-cook, it must be soe,Do that which I thee tell:You needes must dresse the milk-white doe,Which you do knowe full well.

Then streight his cruell bloodye hands,45He on the ladye layd;Who quivering and shaking stands,While thus to her he sayd:

Thou art the doe, that I must dresse;See here, behold my knife;50For it is pointed presentlyTo rid thee of thy life.

O then, cried out the scullion-boye,As loud as loud might bee;O save her life, good master-cook,55And make your pyes of mee!

For pityes sake do not destroyeMy ladye with your knife;You know shee is her father's joye,For Christes sake save her life.60

I will not save her life, he sayd,Nor make my pyes of thee;Yet if thou dost this deed bewraye,Thy butcher I will bee.

Now when this lord he did come home65For to sit downe and eat;He called for his daughter deare,To come and carve his meat.

Now sit you downe, his ladye sayd,O sit you downe to meat:70Into some nunnery she is gone;Your daughter deare forget.

Then solemnlye he made a vowe,Before the companìe:That he would neither eat nor drinke,75Until he did her see.

O then bespake the scullion-boye,With a loud voice so hye:If now you will your daughter see,My lord, cut up that pye:80

Wherein her fleshe is minced small,And parched with the fire:All caused by her step-mothèr,Who did her death desire.

And cursed bee the master-cook,85O cursed may he bee!I proffered him my own hearts blood,From death to set her free.

Then all in blacke this lord did mourne;And for his daughters sake,90He judged her cruell step-mothèrTo be burnt at a stake.

Likewise he judg'd the master-cookIn boiling lead to stand;And made the simple scullion-boye95The heire of all his land.

Thissong is a kind of translation of a pretty poem of Tasso's, calledAmore fuggitivo, generally printed with hisAminta, and originally imitated from the first Idyllium of Moschus.

It is extracted from Ben Jonson's Masque at the marriage of lord viscount Hadington, on Shrove-Tuesday, 1608. One stanza full of dry mythology is here omitted, as it had been dropped in a copy of this song printed in a small volume calledLe Princed'Amour. Lond. 1660, 8vo.

[The stanza of the first Grace which Percy left out is as follows:—

"At his sight the sun hath turn'd,Neptune in the waters burn'd;Hell hath felt a greater heat;Jove himself forsook his seat:From the centre to the skyAre his trophies reared high."]

[1 Grace.] Beauties have yee seen a toy,Called Love, a little boy,Almost naked, wanton, blinde;Cruel now; and then as kinde?If he be amongst yee, say;5He is Venus' run away.[2 Grace.] Shee, that will but now discoverWhere the winged wag doth hover,Shall to-night receive a kisse,How and where herselfe would wish:10But who brings him to his motherShall have that kisse, and another.[3 Grace.] Markes he hath about him plentie;You may know him among twentie:All his body is a fire,15And his breath a flame entire:Which, being shot, like lightning, in,Wounds the heart, but not the skin.* * * * *[2 Grace.] Wings he hath, which though yee clip,He will leape from lip to lip,20Over liver, lights, and heart;Yet not stay in any part.And, if chance his arrow misses,He will shoot himselfe in kisses.[3 Grace.] He doth beare a golden bow,25And a quiver hanging low,Full of arrowes, which outbraveDian's shafts; where, if he haveAny head more sharpe than other,With that first he strikes his mother.30[1 Grace.] Still the fairest are his fuell,When his daies are to be cruell;Lovers hearts are all his food,And his baths their warmest bloud:Nought but wounds his hand doth season,35And he hates none like to Reason.[2 Grace.] Trust him not: his words, though sweet,Seldome with his heart doe meet:All his practice is deceit;Everie gift is but a bait;40Not a kisse but poyson beares;And most treason's in his teares.[3 Grace.] Idle minutes are his raigne;Then the straggler makes his gaine,By presenting maids with toyes45And would have yee thinke hem joyes;'Tis the ambition of the elfeTo have all childish as himselfe.[1 Grace.] If by these yee please to know him,Beauties, be not nice, but show him.50[2 Grace.] Though ye had a will to hide him,Now, we hope, yee'le not abide him.[3 Grace.] Since yee heare this falser's play,And that he is Venus' run-away.

[1 Grace.] Beauties have yee seen a toy,Called Love, a little boy,Almost naked, wanton, blinde;Cruel now; and then as kinde?If he be amongst yee, say;5He is Venus' run away.

[2 Grace.] Shee, that will but now discoverWhere the winged wag doth hover,Shall to-night receive a kisse,How and where herselfe would wish:10But who brings him to his motherShall have that kisse, and another.

[3 Grace.] Markes he hath about him plentie;You may know him among twentie:All his body is a fire,15And his breath a flame entire:Which, being shot, like lightning, in,Wounds the heart, but not the skin.* * * * *

[2 Grace.] Wings he hath, which though yee clip,He will leape from lip to lip,20Over liver, lights, and heart;Yet not stay in any part.And, if chance his arrow misses,He will shoot himselfe in kisses.

[3 Grace.] He doth beare a golden bow,25And a quiver hanging low,Full of arrowes, which outbraveDian's shafts; where, if he haveAny head more sharpe than other,With that first he strikes his mother.30

[1 Grace.] Still the fairest are his fuell,When his daies are to be cruell;Lovers hearts are all his food,And his baths their warmest bloud:Nought but wounds his hand doth season,35And he hates none like to Reason.

[2 Grace.] Trust him not: his words, though sweet,Seldome with his heart doe meet:All his practice is deceit;Everie gift is but a bait;40Not a kisse but poyson beares;And most treason's in his teares.

[3 Grace.] Idle minutes are his raigne;Then the straggler makes his gaine,By presenting maids with toyes45And would have yee thinke hem joyes;'Tis the ambition of the elfeTo have all childish as himselfe.

[1 Grace.] If by these yee please to know him,Beauties, be not nice, but show him.50[2 Grace.] Though ye had a will to hide him,Now, we hope, yee'le not abide him.[3 Grace.] Since yee heare this falser's play,And that he is Venus' run-away.

Thestory of this ballad seems to be taken from an incident in the domestic history of Charles the Bald, king of France. His daughter Judith was betrothed to Ethelwulph king of England: but before the marriage was consummated, Ethelwulph died, and she returned to France: whence she was carried off by Baldwyn, Forester of Flanders; who, after many crosses and difficulties, at length obtained the king's consent to their marriage, and was made Earl of Flanders. This happened aboutA.D.863.—See Rapin, Henault, and the French historians.

The following copy is given from the Editor's ancient folio MS. collated with another in black-letter in the Pepys Collection, intitled,An excellent Ballad of a prince of England's courtship to theking of France's daughter, &c.To the tune ofCrimson Velvet.

Many breaches having been made in this old song by the hand of time, principally (as might be expected) in the quick returns of the rhime; an attempt is here made to repair them.

[This ballad was written by Thomas Deloney, who included it in hisGarland of Goodwill(Percy Society, vol. xxx. p. 52). It is, as Percy points out, founded on history, but Deloney paid little attention to facts. All the first part of the poem, which tells of the miserable end of the English prince of suitable age to the youngFrench princess, is fiction. Judith was Ethelwulf's wife for about two years, and on the death of her husband she married his son Ethelbert. The only historical fact that is followed in the ballad is the marriage of Judith with Baldwin, Great Forester of France, from which union descended Matilda, the wife of William the Conqueror.The copy in the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. iii. p. 441) is entitled "In the Dayes of Olde." Percy altered it considerably, sometimes following the printed copy and sometimes the MS.Mr. Hales suggests that the name of the tune is derived from the dress of the princess, described in vv. 185-6,—

The copy in the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. iii. p. 441) is entitled "In the Dayes of Olde." Percy altered it considerably, sometimes following the printed copy and sometimes the MS.

Mr. Hales suggests that the name of the tune is derived from the dress of the princess, described in vv. 185-6,—

"Their mothers riche arrayWas of crimson velvet,"

and Mr. Chappell agrees with him.]

In the dayes of old,When faire France did flourish,Storyes plaine have told,Lovers felt annoye.The queene a daughter bare,5Whom beautye's queene did nourish:She was lovelye faireShe was her father's joye.A prince of England came,Whose deeds did merit fame,10But he was exil'd, and outcast:Love his soul did fire,Shee granted his desire,Their hearts in one were linked fast.Which when her father proved,15Sorelye he was moved,And tormented in his minde.He sought for to prevent them;And, to discontent them,Fortune cross'd these lovers kinde.20When these princes twaineWere thus barr'd of pleasure,Through the kinges disdaine,Which their joyes withstoode:The lady soone prepar'd25Her jewells and her treasure;Having no regardFor state and royall bloode;In homelye poore arrayShe went from court away,30To meet her joye and hearts delight;Who in a forest greatHad taken up his seat,To wayt her coming in the night.But, lo! what sudden danger35To this princely strangerChanced, as he sate alone!By outlawes he was robbed,And with ponyards stabbed,Uttering many a dying grone.40The princesse, arm'd by love,And by chaste desire,All the night did roveWithout dread at all:Still unknowne she past45In her strange attire;Coming at the lastWithin echoes call,—You faire woods, quoth shee,Honoured may you bee,50Harbouring my heart's delight;Which encompass hereMy joye and only deare,My trustye friend, and comelye knight.Sweete, I come unto thee,55Sweete, I come to woo thee;That thou mayst not angry beeFor my long delaying;For thy curteous stayingSoone amendes Ile make to thee.60Passing thus aloneThrough the silent forest,Many a grievous groneSounded in her eares:She heard one complayne65And lament the sorest,Seeming all in payne,Shedding deadly teares.Farewell, my deare, quoth hee,Whom I must never see;70For why my life is att an end,Through villaines crueltye:For thy sweet sake I dye,To show I am a faithfull friend.Here I lye a bleeding,75While my thoughts are feedingOn the rarest beautye found.O hard happ, that may be!Little knows my ladyeMy heartes blood lyes on the ground.80With that a grone he sendsWhich did burst in sunderAll the tender bandsOf his gentle heart.She, who knewe his voice,85At his wordes did wonder;All her former joyesDid to griefe convert.Strait she ran to see,Who this man shold bee,90That soe like her love did seeme:Her lovely lord she foundLye slaine upon the ground,Smear'd with gore a ghastlye streame.Which his lady spying,95Shrieking, fainting, crying,Her sorrows could not uttered bee:Fate, she cryed, too cruell:For thee—my dearest jewell,Would God! that I had dyed for thee.100His pale lippes, alas!Twentye times she kissed,And his face did washWith her trickling teares:Every gaping wound105Tenderlye she pressed,And did wipe it roundWith her golden haires.Speake, faire love, quoth shee,Speake, fair prince, to mee,110One sweete word of comfort give:Lift up thy deare eyes,Listen to my cryes,Thinke in what sad griefe I live.All in vain she sued,115All in vain she wooed,The prince's life was fled and gone.There stood she still mourning,Till the suns retourning,And bright day was coming on.120In this great distresseWeeping, wayling ever,Oft shee cryed, alas!What will become of mee?To my fathers court125I returne will never:But in lowlye sortI will a servant bee.While thus she made her mone,Weeping all alone,130In this deepe and deadlye feare:A for'ster all in greene,Most comelye to be seene,Ranging the woods did find her there.Moved with her sorrowe,135Maid, quoth hee, good morrowe,What hard happ has brought thee here?Harder happ did neverTwo kinde hearts dissever:Here lyes slaine my brother deare.140Where may I remaine,Gentle for'ster, shew me,'Till I can obtaineA service in my neede?Paines I will not spare:145This kinde favour doe me,It will ease my care;Heaven shall be thy meede.The for'ster all amazed,On her beautye gazed,150Till his heart was set on fire.If, faire maid, quoth hee,You will goe with mee,You shall have your hearts desire.He brought her to his mother,155And above all otherHe sett forth this maidens praise.Long was his heart inflamed,At length her love he gained,And fortune crown'd his future dayes.160Thus unknowne he weddeWith a kings faire daughter;Children seven they had,'Ere she told her birth.Which when once he knew,165Humblye he besought her,He to the world might shewHer rank and princelye worth.He cloath'd his children then,(Not like other men)170In partye-colours strange to see;The right side cloth of gold,The left side to behold,Of woollen cloth still framed hee[386].Men thereat did wonder;175Golden fame did thunderThis strange deede in every place:The king of France came thither,It being pleasant weather,In those woods the hart to chase.180The children then they bring,So their mother will'd it,Where the royall kingMust of force come bye:Their mothers riche array,185Was of crimson velvet:Their fathers all of gray,Seemelye to the eye.Then this famous king,Noting every thing,190Askt how he durst be so boldTo let his wife soe weare,And decke his children thereIn costly robes of pearl and gold.The forrester replying,195And the cause descrying[387],To the king these words did say,Well may they, by their mother,Weare rich clothes with other,Being by birth a princesse gay.200The king aroused thus,More heedfullye beheld them,Till a crimson blushHis remembrance crost.The more I fix my mind205On thy wife and children,The more methinks I findThe daughter which I lost.Falling on her knee,I am that child, quoth shee;210Pardon mee, my soveraine liege.The king perceiving this,His daughter deare did kiss,While joyfull teares did stopp his speeche.With his traine he tourned,215And with them sojourned.Strait he dubb'd her husband knight;Then made him erle of Flanders,And chiefe of his commanders:Thus were their sorrowes put to flight.220

When these princes twaineWere thus barr'd of pleasure,Through the kinges disdaine,Which their joyes withstoode:The lady soone prepar'd25Her jewells and her treasure;Having no regardFor state and royall bloode;In homelye poore arrayShe went from court away,30To meet her joye and hearts delight;Who in a forest greatHad taken up his seat,To wayt her coming in the night.But, lo! what sudden danger35To this princely strangerChanced, as he sate alone!By outlawes he was robbed,And with ponyards stabbed,Uttering many a dying grone.40

The princesse, arm'd by love,And by chaste desire,All the night did roveWithout dread at all:Still unknowne she past45In her strange attire;Coming at the lastWithin echoes call,—You faire woods, quoth shee,Honoured may you bee,50Harbouring my heart's delight;Which encompass hereMy joye and only deare,My trustye friend, and comelye knight.Sweete, I come unto thee,55Sweete, I come to woo thee;That thou mayst not angry beeFor my long delaying;For thy curteous stayingSoone amendes Ile make to thee.60

Passing thus aloneThrough the silent forest,Many a grievous groneSounded in her eares:She heard one complayne65And lament the sorest,Seeming all in payne,Shedding deadly teares.Farewell, my deare, quoth hee,Whom I must never see;70For why my life is att an end,Through villaines crueltye:For thy sweet sake I dye,To show I am a faithfull friend.Here I lye a bleeding,75While my thoughts are feedingOn the rarest beautye found.O hard happ, that may be!Little knows my ladyeMy heartes blood lyes on the ground.80

With that a grone he sendsWhich did burst in sunderAll the tender bandsOf his gentle heart.She, who knewe his voice,85At his wordes did wonder;All her former joyesDid to griefe convert.Strait she ran to see,Who this man shold bee,90That soe like her love did seeme:

Her lovely lord she foundLye slaine upon the ground,Smear'd with gore a ghastlye streame.Which his lady spying,95Shrieking, fainting, crying,Her sorrows could not uttered bee:Fate, she cryed, too cruell:For thee—my dearest jewell,Would God! that I had dyed for thee.100

His pale lippes, alas!Twentye times she kissed,And his face did washWith her trickling teares:Every gaping wound105Tenderlye she pressed,And did wipe it roundWith her golden haires.Speake, faire love, quoth shee,Speake, fair prince, to mee,110One sweete word of comfort give:Lift up thy deare eyes,Listen to my cryes,Thinke in what sad griefe I live.All in vain she sued,115All in vain she wooed,The prince's life was fled and gone.There stood she still mourning,Till the suns retourning,And bright day was coming on.120

In this great distresseWeeping, wayling ever,Oft shee cryed, alas!What will become of mee?To my fathers court125I returne will never:But in lowlye sortI will a servant bee.While thus she made her mone,Weeping all alone,130In this deepe and deadlye feare:A for'ster all in greene,Most comelye to be seene,Ranging the woods did find her there.Moved with her sorrowe,135Maid, quoth hee, good morrowe,What hard happ has brought thee here?Harder happ did neverTwo kinde hearts dissever:Here lyes slaine my brother deare.140

Where may I remaine,Gentle for'ster, shew me,'Till I can obtaineA service in my neede?Paines I will not spare:145This kinde favour doe me,It will ease my care;Heaven shall be thy meede.The for'ster all amazed,On her beautye gazed,150Till his heart was set on fire.If, faire maid, quoth hee,You will goe with mee,You shall have your hearts desire.He brought her to his mother,155And above all otherHe sett forth this maidens praise.Long was his heart inflamed,At length her love he gained,And fortune crown'd his future dayes.160

Thus unknowne he weddeWith a kings faire daughter;Children seven they had,'Ere she told her birth.Which when once he knew,165Humblye he besought her,He to the world might shewHer rank and princelye worth.He cloath'd his children then,(Not like other men)170In partye-colours strange to see;The right side cloth of gold,The left side to behold,Of woollen cloth still framed hee[386].Men thereat did wonder;175Golden fame did thunderThis strange deede in every place:The king of France came thither,It being pleasant weather,In those woods the hart to chase.180

The children then they bring,So their mother will'd it,Where the royall kingMust of force come bye:Their mothers riche array,185Was of crimson velvet:Their fathers all of gray,Seemelye to the eye.Then this famous king,Noting every thing,190Askt how he durst be so boldTo let his wife soe weare,And decke his children thereIn costly robes of pearl and gold.The forrester replying,195And the cause descrying[387],To the king these words did say,Well may they, by their mother,Weare rich clothes with other,Being by birth a princesse gay.200

The king aroused thus,More heedfullye beheld them,Till a crimson blushHis remembrance crost.The more I fix my mind205On thy wife and children,The more methinks I findThe daughter which I lost.Falling on her knee,I am that child, quoth shee;210Pardon mee, my soveraine liege.The king perceiving this,His daughter deare did kiss,While joyfull teares did stopp his speeche.With his traine he tourned,215And with them sojourned.Strait he dubb'd her husband knight;Then made him erle of Flanders,And chiefe of his commanders:Thus were their sorrowes put to flight.220

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