FOOTNOTES:[386]This will remind the reader of the livery and device of Charles Brandon, a private gentleman, who married the Queen Dowager of France, sister of Henry VIII. At a tournament which he held at his wedding, the trappings of his horse were half Cloth of gold, and half Frieze, with the following Motto:—"Cloth of Gold, do not despise,Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Frize,Cloth of Frize, be not too bold,Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Gold."See Sir W. Temple'sMisc.vol. iii. p. 356.[387]i.e.describing.
[386]This will remind the reader of the livery and device of Charles Brandon, a private gentleman, who married the Queen Dowager of France, sister of Henry VIII. At a tournament which he held at his wedding, the trappings of his horse were half Cloth of gold, and half Frieze, with the following Motto:—"Cloth of Gold, do not despise,Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Frize,Cloth of Frize, be not too bold,Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Gold."See Sir W. Temple'sMisc.vol. iii. p. 356.
[386]This will remind the reader of the livery and device of Charles Brandon, a private gentleman, who married the Queen Dowager of France, sister of Henry VIII. At a tournament which he held at his wedding, the trappings of his horse were half Cloth of gold, and half Frieze, with the following Motto:—
"Cloth of Gold, do not despise,Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Frize,Cloth of Frize, be not too bold,Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Gold."
"Cloth of Gold, do not despise,Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Frize,Cloth of Frize, be not too bold,Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Gold."
See Sir W. Temple'sMisc.vol. iii. p. 356.
[387]i.e.describing.
[387]i.e.describing.
Thislittle madrigal (extracted from Ben. Jonson'sSilentWoman, act i. sc. 1, first acted in 1609) is in imitation of a Latin Poem printed at the end of the Variorum Edit. of Petronius, beginning,Semper munditias, semperBasilissa, decoras, &c. See Whalley'sBen Jonson, vol. ii. p. 420.
Still to be neat, still to be drest,As you were going to a feast:Still to be pou'dred, still perfum'd:Lady, it is to be presum'd,Though art's hid causes are not found,5All is not sweet, all is not sound.Give me a looke, give me a face,That makes simplicitie a grace;Robes loosely flowing, haire as free:Such sweet neglect more taketh me,10Than all th' adulteries of art,That strike mine eyes, but not my heart.
Still to be neat, still to be drest,As you were going to a feast:Still to be pou'dred, still perfum'd:Lady, it is to be presum'd,Though art's hid causes are not found,5All is not sweet, all is not sound.
Give me a looke, give me a face,That makes simplicitie a grace;Robes loosely flowing, haire as free:Such sweet neglect more taketh me,10Than all th' adulteries of art,That strike mine eyes, but not my heart.
Thesubject of this very popular ballad (which has been set in so favourable a light by theSpectator, No. 85.) seems to be taken from an old play, intitled,Two lamentable Tragedies; The one of the murderof Maister Beech, a chandler in Thames streete, &c. The otherof a young child murthered in a wood by two ruffins, with theconsent of his unkle.By Rob. Yarrington, 1601, 4to. Our ballad-maker has strictly followed the play in the description of the father and mother's dying charge: in the uncle's promise to take care of their issue: his hiring two ruffians to destroy his ward, under pretence of sending him to school: their chusing a wood to perpetrate the murder in: one of the ruffians relenting, and a battle ensuing, &c. In other respects he has departed from the play. In the latter the scene is laid in Padua: there is but one child: which is murdered by a sudden stab of the unrelenting ruffian: he is slain himself by his less bloody companion; but ere he dies gives the other a mortal wound: the latter living just long enough to impeach the uncle; who, in consequence of this impeachment, is arraigned and executed by the hand of justice, &c. Whoever compares the play with the ballad, will have no doubt but the former is the original: the language is far more obsolete, and such a vein of simplicity runs through the whole performance, that, had the ballad been written first, there is no doubt but every circumstance of it would have been received into the drama: whereas this was probably built on some Italian novel.
Printed from two ancient copies, one of them in black-letter in the Pepys Collection. Its title at large is,The Children in theWood; or, The Norfolk Gentleman's Last Will and Testament: Tothe tune of Rogero, &c.
[Ritson thought he had refuted Percy's statement that the play was older than the ballad by pointing out that the latter was entered in the Stationers' books in 1595, but I find in Baker'sBiographia Dramaticaan assertion that Yarrington's play was not printed "till many years after it was written." The following is the form of the entry at Stationers' Hall, "15 Oct. 1595. Thomas Millington entred for his copie under th[e h]andes of bothe the Wardens a ballad intituledThe Norfolk Gent, his Will and Testamentand howe he commytted the keepinge of his children to his ownebrother whoe delte most wickedly with them and howe God plaguedhim for it." Sharon Turner and Miss Halsted favoured the rather untenable opinion that the wicked uncle was intended to represent Richard III., and therefore that the date of the ballad was much earlier than that usually claimed for it. Turner writes in hisHistoryof England, "I have sometimes fancied that the popular ballad may have been written at this time on Richard and his nephews before it was quite safe to stigmatize him more openly."Wailing, or Wayland Wood, a large cover near Walton in Norfolk is the place which tradition assigns to the tragedy, but the people of Wood Dalling also claim the honour for their village.Addison speaks of the ballad as "one of the darling songs of the common people, [which] has been the delight of most Englishmen in some part of their age," and points out that the circumstance
[Ritson thought he had refuted Percy's statement that the play was older than the ballad by pointing out that the latter was entered in the Stationers' books in 1595, but I find in Baker'sBiographia Dramaticaan assertion that Yarrington's play was not printed "till many years after it was written." The following is the form of the entry at Stationers' Hall, "15 Oct. 1595. Thomas Millington entred for his copie under th[e h]andes of bothe the Wardens a ballad intituledThe Norfolk Gent, his Will and Testamentand howe he commytted the keepinge of his children to his ownebrother whoe delte most wickedly with them and howe God plaguedhim for it." Sharon Turner and Miss Halsted favoured the rather untenable opinion that the wicked uncle was intended to represent Richard III., and therefore that the date of the ballad was much earlier than that usually claimed for it. Turner writes in hisHistoryof England, "I have sometimes fancied that the popular ballad may have been written at this time on Richard and his nephews before it was quite safe to stigmatize him more openly."
Wailing, or Wayland Wood, a large cover near Walton in Norfolk is the place which tradition assigns to the tragedy, but the people of Wood Dalling also claim the honour for their village.
Addison speaks of the ballad as "one of the darling songs of the common people, [which] has been the delight of most Englishmen in some part of their age," and points out that the circumstance
... robin-red-breast piouslyDid cover them with leaves,
... robin-red-breast piouslyDid cover them with leaves,
has a parallel in Horace, who tells us that when he was a child, fallen asleep in a desert wood, the turtle doves took pity on him and covered him with leaves.The popular belief that the robin covers dead bodies with leaves (probably founded on the habits of the bird) is of considerable antiquity. The passage in Cymbeline (act iv. sc. 2) naturally occurs as the chief illustration:—
has a parallel in Horace, who tells us that when he was a child, fallen asleep in a desert wood, the turtle doves took pity on him and covered him with leaves.
The popular belief that the robin covers dead bodies with leaves (probably founded on the habits of the bird) is of considerable antiquity. The passage in Cymbeline (act iv. sc. 2) naturally occurs as the chief illustration:—
... "the ruddock would,With charitable bill....... bring thee all this,Yea and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none,To winter-ground thy corse."
... "the ruddock would,With charitable bill....... bring thee all this,Yea and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none,To winter-ground thy corse."
In Webster'sWhite Devil, act v., we read:—
In Webster'sWhite Devil, act v., we read:—
"Call for the robin red breast and the wrenSince o'er shady groves they hoverAnd with leaves and flowers do coverThe friendless bodies of unburied men."
"Call for the robin red breast and the wrenSince o'er shady groves they hoverAnd with leaves and flowers do coverThe friendless bodies of unburied men."
The critics suppose Webster to have imitated Shakespere here, but there is no ground for any such supposition. The industry of Reed, Steevens, and Douce has supplied us with several passages from old literature in which this characteristic of the robin is referred to.In "Cornucopiæ, or, divers Secrets; wherein is contained the rare secrets of man, beasts, fowles, fishes, trees, plants, stones, and such like, most pleasant and profitable, and not before committed to bee printed in English. Newlie drawen out of divers Latine Authors into English by Thomas Johnson," 4to. London, 1596, occurs the following passage:—"The robin red-breast if he find a man or woman dead will cover all his face with mosse, and some thinke that if the body should remaine unburied that hee woulde cover the whole body also."This little secret of Johnson is copied by Thomas Lupton into hisA Thousand Notable Things of sundrie sorts newly corrected, 1601, where it appears as No. 37 of book i.Michael Drayton has the following lines in his poem,The Owl:
The critics suppose Webster to have imitated Shakespere here, but there is no ground for any such supposition. The industry of Reed, Steevens, and Douce has supplied us with several passages from old literature in which this characteristic of the robin is referred to.
In "Cornucopiæ, or, divers Secrets; wherein is contained the rare secrets of man, beasts, fowles, fishes, trees, plants, stones, and such like, most pleasant and profitable, and not before committed to bee printed in English. Newlie drawen out of divers Latine Authors into English by Thomas Johnson," 4to. London, 1596, occurs the following passage:—"The robin red-breast if he find a man or woman dead will cover all his face with mosse, and some thinke that if the body should remaine unburied that hee woulde cover the whole body also."
This little secret of Johnson is copied by Thomas Lupton into hisA Thousand Notable Things of sundrie sorts newly corrected, 1601, where it appears as No. 37 of book i.
Michael Drayton has the following lines in his poem,The Owl:
"Cov'ring with moss the dead's unclosed eyeThe little red-breast teacheth charitie."
"Cov'ring with moss the dead's unclosed eyeThe little red-breast teacheth charitie."
In Dekker'sVillanies discovered by lanthorn and candlelight, 1616, we read, "They that cheere up a prisoner but with their sight are Robin red-breasts, that bring strawes in their bils to cover a dead man in extremitìe." This is sufficient evidence that the belief was wide-spread.]
In Dekker'sVillanies discovered by lanthorn and candlelight, 1616, we read, "They that cheere up a prisoner but with their sight are Robin red-breasts, that bring strawes in their bils to cover a dead man in extremitìe." This is sufficient evidence that the belief was wide-spread.]
Now ponder well, you parents deare,These wordes, which I shall write;A doleful story you shall heare,In time brought forth to light.A gentleman of good account5In Norfolke dwelt of late,Who did in honour far surmountMost men of his estate.Sore sicke he was, and like to dye,No helpe his life could save;10His wife by him as sicke did lye,And both possest one grave.No love between these two was lost,Each was to other kinde,In love they liv'd, in love they dyed,15And left two babes behinde:The one a fine and pretty boy,Not passing three yeares olde;The other a girl more young than he,And fram'd in beautyes molde.20The father left his little son,As plainlye doth appeare,When he to perfect age should come,Three hundred poundes a yeare.And to his little daughter Jane25Five hundred poundes in gold,To be paid down on marriage-day,Which might not be controll'd:But if the children chance to dye,Ere they to age should come,30Their uncle should possesse their wealth;For so the wille did run.Now, brother, said the dying man,Look to my children deare;Be good unto my boy and girl,35No friendes else have they here:To God and you I recommendMy children deare this daye;But little while be sure we haveWithin this world to staye.40You must be father and mother both,And uncle all in one;God knowes what will become of them,When I am dead and gone.With that bespake their mother deare,45O brother kinde, quoth shee,You are the man must bring our babesTo wealth or miserie:And if you keep them carefully,Then God will you reward;50But if you otherwise should deal,God will your deedes regard.With lippes as cold as any stone,They kist their children small:God bless you both, my children deare;55With that the teares did fall.These speeches then their brother spakeTo this sicke couple there,The keeping of your little onesSweet sister, do not feare;60God never prosper me nor mine,Nor aught else that I have,If I do wrong your children deare,When you are layd in grave.The parents being dead and gone,65The children home he takes,And bringes them straite unto his house,Where much of them he makes.He had not kept these pretty babesA twelvemonth and a daye,70But, for their wealth, he did deviseTo make them both awaye.He bargain'd with two ruffians strong,Which were of furious mood,That they should take these children young,75And slaye them in a wood.He told his wife an artful tale,He would the children sendTo be brought up in faire Londòn,With one that was his friend.80Away then went those pretty babes,Rejoycing at that tide,Rejoycing with a merry minde,They should on cock-horse ride.They prate and prattle pleasantly,85As they rode on the waye,To those that should their butchers be,And work their lives decaye:So that the pretty speeche they had,Made Murder's heart relent;90And they that undertooke the deed,Full sore did now repent.Yet one of them more hard of heart,Did vowe to do his charge,Because the wretch, that hired him,95Had paid him very large.The other won't agree thereto,So here they fall to strife;With one another they did fight,About the childrens life:100And he that was of mildest mood,Did slaye the other there,Within an unfrequented wood;The babes did quake for feare!He took the children by the hand,105Teares standing in their eye,And bad them straitwaye follow him,And look they did not crye:And two long miles he ledd them on,While they for food complaine:110Staye here, quoth he, I'll bring you bread,When I come back againe.These pretty babes, with hand in hand,Went wandering up and downe;But never more could see the man115Approaching from the town:Their prettye lippes with black-berries,Were all besmear'd and dyed,And when they sawe the darksome night,They sat them downe and cryed.120Thus wandered these poor innocents,Till deathe did end their grief,In one anothers armes they dyed,As wanting due relief:No burial 'this' pretty 'pair'[388]125Of any man receives,Till Robin-red-breast piouslyDid cover them with leaves.And now the heavy wrathe of GodUpon their uncle fell;130Yea, fearfull fiends did haunt his house,His conscience felt an hell:His barnes were fir'd, his goodes consum'd,His landes were barren made,His cattle dyed within the field,135And nothing with him stayd.And in a voyage to Portugal[389]Two of his sonnes did dye;And to conclude, himselfe was broughtTo want and miserye:140He pawn'd and mortgaged all his landEre seven yeares came about.And now at length this wicked actDid by this meanes come out:The fellowe, that did take in hand145These children for to kill,Was for a robbery judg'd to dye,Such was God's blessed will:Who did confess the very truth,As here hath been display'd:150Their uncle having dyed in gaol,Where he for debt was layd.You that executors be made,And overseers ekeOf children that be fatherless,155And infants mild and meek;Take you example by this thing,And yield to each his right,Lest God with such like miseryeYour wicked minds requite.160
Now ponder well, you parents deare,These wordes, which I shall write;A doleful story you shall heare,In time brought forth to light.A gentleman of good account5In Norfolke dwelt of late,Who did in honour far surmountMost men of his estate.
Sore sicke he was, and like to dye,No helpe his life could save;10His wife by him as sicke did lye,And both possest one grave.No love between these two was lost,Each was to other kinde,In love they liv'd, in love they dyed,15And left two babes behinde:
The one a fine and pretty boy,Not passing three yeares olde;The other a girl more young than he,And fram'd in beautyes molde.20The father left his little son,As plainlye doth appeare,When he to perfect age should come,Three hundred poundes a yeare.
And to his little daughter Jane25Five hundred poundes in gold,To be paid down on marriage-day,Which might not be controll'd:
But if the children chance to dye,Ere they to age should come,30Their uncle should possesse their wealth;For so the wille did run.
Now, brother, said the dying man,Look to my children deare;Be good unto my boy and girl,35No friendes else have they here:To God and you I recommendMy children deare this daye;But little while be sure we haveWithin this world to staye.40
You must be father and mother both,And uncle all in one;God knowes what will become of them,When I am dead and gone.With that bespake their mother deare,45O brother kinde, quoth shee,You are the man must bring our babesTo wealth or miserie:
And if you keep them carefully,Then God will you reward;50But if you otherwise should deal,God will your deedes regard.With lippes as cold as any stone,They kist their children small:God bless you both, my children deare;55With that the teares did fall.
These speeches then their brother spakeTo this sicke couple there,The keeping of your little onesSweet sister, do not feare;60God never prosper me nor mine,Nor aught else that I have,If I do wrong your children deare,When you are layd in grave.
The parents being dead and gone,65The children home he takes,And bringes them straite unto his house,Where much of them he makes.He had not kept these pretty babesA twelvemonth and a daye,70But, for their wealth, he did deviseTo make them both awaye.
He bargain'd with two ruffians strong,Which were of furious mood,That they should take these children young,75And slaye them in a wood.He told his wife an artful tale,He would the children sendTo be brought up in faire Londòn,With one that was his friend.80
Away then went those pretty babes,Rejoycing at that tide,Rejoycing with a merry minde,They should on cock-horse ride.They prate and prattle pleasantly,85As they rode on the waye,To those that should their butchers be,And work their lives decaye:
So that the pretty speeche they had,Made Murder's heart relent;90And they that undertooke the deed,Full sore did now repent.Yet one of them more hard of heart,Did vowe to do his charge,Because the wretch, that hired him,95Had paid him very large.
The other won't agree thereto,So here they fall to strife;With one another they did fight,About the childrens life:100
And he that was of mildest mood,Did slaye the other there,Within an unfrequented wood;The babes did quake for feare!
He took the children by the hand,105Teares standing in their eye,And bad them straitwaye follow him,And look they did not crye:And two long miles he ledd them on,While they for food complaine:110Staye here, quoth he, I'll bring you bread,When I come back againe.
These pretty babes, with hand in hand,Went wandering up and downe;But never more could see the man115Approaching from the town:Their prettye lippes with black-berries,Were all besmear'd and dyed,And when they sawe the darksome night,They sat them downe and cryed.120
Thus wandered these poor innocents,Till deathe did end their grief,In one anothers armes they dyed,As wanting due relief:No burial 'this' pretty 'pair'[388]125Of any man receives,Till Robin-red-breast piouslyDid cover them with leaves.
And now the heavy wrathe of GodUpon their uncle fell;130Yea, fearfull fiends did haunt his house,His conscience felt an hell:His barnes were fir'd, his goodes consum'd,His landes were barren made,His cattle dyed within the field,135And nothing with him stayd.
And in a voyage to Portugal[389]Two of his sonnes did dye;And to conclude, himselfe was broughtTo want and miserye:140He pawn'd and mortgaged all his landEre seven yeares came about.And now at length this wicked actDid by this meanes come out:
The fellowe, that did take in hand145These children for to kill,Was for a robbery judg'd to dye,Such was God's blessed will:Who did confess the very truth,As here hath been display'd:150Their uncle having dyed in gaol,Where he for debt was layd.
You that executors be made,And overseers ekeOf children that be fatherless,155And infants mild and meek;Take you example by this thing,And yield to each his right,Lest God with such like miseryeYour wicked minds requite.160
FOOTNOTES:[388]Ver. 125. these ... babes.P.P.[389][Ritson has the following note (Ancient Songs, 1829, vol. ii. P. 155): "thevoyage,A.D.1588. See the Catalogue of the Harl. MSS. No. 167 (15). Dr. Percy, not knowing that the text alludes to a particular event, has altered it toavoyage."]
[388]Ver. 125. these ... babes.P.P.
[388]Ver. 125. these ... babes.P.P.
[389][Ritson has the following note (Ancient Songs, 1829, vol. ii. P. 155): "thevoyage,A.D.1588. See the Catalogue of the Harl. MSS. No. 167 (15). Dr. Percy, not knowing that the text alludes to a particular event, has altered it toavoyage."]
[389][Ritson has the following note (Ancient Songs, 1829, vol. ii. P. 155): "thevoyage,A.D.1588. See the Catalogue of the Harl. MSS. No. 167 (15). Dr. Percy, not knowing that the text alludes to a particular event, has altered it toavoyage."]
Printed, with a few slight corrections, from the Editor's folio MS.
[This song is printed, Hales and Furnivall's edition of the MS. vol. iii. p. 389.]
[This song is printed, Hales and Furnivall's edition of the MS. vol. iii. p. 389.]
A lover of late was I,For Cupid would have it soe,The boy that hath never an eye,As every man doth know:I sighed and sobbed, and cryed, alas!5For her that laught, and called me ass.Then knew not I what to doe,When I saw itt was in vaine[390]A lady soe coy to wooe,Who gave me the asse soe plaine:[391]10Yet would I her asse freelye bee,Soe shee would helpe, and beare with mee.An' I were as faire as shee,[392]Or shee were as kind as I,[393]What payre cold have made, as wee,15Soe prettye a sympathye:I was as kind as she was faire,But for all this wee cold not paire.Paire with her that will for mee,With her I will never paire;20That cunningly can be coy,For being a little faire.The asse Ile leave to her disdaine;And now I am myselfe againe.
A lover of late was I,For Cupid would have it soe,The boy that hath never an eye,As every man doth know:I sighed and sobbed, and cryed, alas!5For her that laught, and called me ass.
Then knew not I what to doe,When I saw itt was in vaine[390]A lady soe coy to wooe,Who gave me the asse soe plaine:[391]10Yet would I her asse freelye bee,Soe shee would helpe, and beare with mee.
An' I were as faire as shee,[392]Or shee were as kind as I,[393]What payre cold have made, as wee,15Soe prettye a sympathye:I was as kind as she was faire,But for all this wee cold not paire.
Paire with her that will for mee,With her I will never paire;20That cunningly can be coy,For being a little faire.The asse Ile leave to her disdaine;And now I am myselfe againe.
FOOTNOTES:[390][Ver. 8. when I see itt was vaine.][391][V. 10. and gave.][392][V. 13. faine, MS.][393][V. 14. and shee, MS.]
[390][Ver. 8. when I see itt was vaine.]
[390][Ver. 8. when I see itt was vaine.]
[391][V. 10. and gave.]
[391][V. 10. and gave.]
[392][V. 13. faine, MS.]
[392][V. 13. faine, MS.]
[393][V. 14. and shee, MS.]
[393][V. 14. and shee, MS.]
Ithas been a favourite subject with our English ballad-makers to represent our kings conversing, either by accident or design, with the meanest of their subjects. Of the former kind, besides this song of the King and the Miller; we have K. Henry and the Soldier; K. James I. and the Tinker; K. William III. and the Forrester &c. Of the latter sort, are K. Alfred and the Shepherd; K. Edward IV. and the Tanner;[394]K. Henry VIII. and the Cobler, &c.—A few of the best of these are admitted into this collection. Both the author of the following ballad, and others who have written on the same plan, seem to have copied a very ancient poem, intitledJohnthe Reeve, which is built on an adventure of the same kind, that happened between K. Edward Longshanks, and one of his Reeves or Bailiffs. This is a piece of great antiquity, being written before the time of Edward IV. and for its genuine humour, diverting incidents, and faithful picture of rustic manners, is infinitely superior to all that have been since written in imitation of it. The Editor has a copy in his ancient folio MS. but its length rendered it improper for this volume, it consisting of more than 900 lines. It contains also some corruptions, and the Editor chuses to defer its publication in hopes that some time or other he shall be able to remove them.
The following is printed, with corrections, from the editor's folio MS. collated with an old black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, intitledA pleasant ballad of K. Henry II. and the Millerof Mansfield, &c.
[This ballad ofHenry II. and the Miller of Mansfieldcannot be traced farther back than the end of Elizabeth's reign or the beginning of James's. One of the three copies in the Roxburghe Collection is dated by Mr. Chappell between 1621 and 1655, and the copy in the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 147) was written about the same period. (See RoxburgheBallads, ed. Chappell, vol. i. p. 538.)As there are earlier copies than the one in the Folio MS. it has not been thought necessary to add Collations.John the Reeve, referred to above, is one of the earliest and most interesting of this large class of tales. It was printed for the first time in Hales and Furnivall's edition of the MS. (vol. ii. p. 550) with a valuable introduction.This spirited poem was probably written originally in the middle of the fifteenth century. "It professes to describe an incident that took place in the days of King Edward. It adds:
[This ballad ofHenry II. and the Miller of Mansfieldcannot be traced farther back than the end of Elizabeth's reign or the beginning of James's. One of the three copies in the Roxburghe Collection is dated by Mr. Chappell between 1621 and 1655, and the copy in the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 147) was written about the same period. (See RoxburgheBallads, ed. Chappell, vol. i. p. 538.)
As there are earlier copies than the one in the Folio MS. it has not been thought necessary to add Collations.
John the Reeve, referred to above, is one of the earliest and most interesting of this large class of tales. It was printed for the first time in Hales and Furnivall's edition of the MS. (vol. ii. p. 550) with a valuable introduction.
This spirited poem was probably written originally in the middle of the fifteenth century. "It professes to describe an incident that took place in the days of King Edward. It adds:
Of that name were KingsthreeBut Edward with the long shanks was he,A lord of great renown.
Of that name were KingsthreeBut Edward with the long shanks was he,A lord of great renown.
The poem then was written after the death of Edward III.; that is, after 1377, and before the accession of Edward IV., that is before 1461."]
The poem then was written after the death of Edward III.; that is, after 1377, and before the accession of Edward IV., that is before 1461."]
Henry, our royall king, would ride a huntingTo the greene forest so pleasant and faire;To see the harts skipping, and dainty does tripping:Unto merry Sherwood his nobles repaire:Hawke and hound were unbound, all things prepar'd5For the game, in the same, with good regard.All a long summers day rode the king pleasantlye,With all his princes and nobles eche one;Chasing the hart and hind, and the bucke gallantlye,Till the dark evening forc'd all to turne home.10Then at last, riding fast, he had lost quiteAll his lords in the wood, late in the night.Wandering thus wearilye, all alone, up and downe,With a rude miller he mett at the last:Asking the ready way unto faire Nottingham;15Sir, quoth the miller, I meane not to jest,Yet I thinke, what I thinke, sooth for to say,You doe not lightlye ride out of your way.Why, what dost thou think of me, quoth our king merrily,Passing thy judgment upon me so briefe?20Good faith, sayd the miller, I meane not to flatter thee;I guess thee to be but some gentleman thiefe;Stand thee backe, in the darke; light not adowne,Lest that I presentlye cracke thy knaves crowne.Thou dost abuse me much, quoth the king, saying thus;25I am a gentleman; lodging I lacke.Thou hast not, quoth th' miller, one groat in thy purse;All thy inheritance hanges on thy backe.[395]I have gold to discharge all that I call;If it be forty pence, I will pay all.30If thou beest a true man, then quoth the miller,I sweare by my toll-dish, I'll lodge thee all night.Here's my hand, quoth the king, that was I ever.Nay, soft, quoth the miller, thou may'st be a sprite.Better I'll know thee, ere hands we will shake;35With none but honest men hands will I take.Thus they went all along unto the miller's house;Where they were seething of puddings and souse:[396]The miller first enter'd in, after him went the king;Never came hee in soe smoakye a house.40Now, quoth hee, let me see here what you are.Quoth our king, looke your fill, and doe not spare.I like well thy countenance, thou hast an honest faceWith my son Richard this night thou shalt lye.Quoth his wife, by my troth, it is a handsome youth,45Yet it's best, husband, to deal warilye.Art thou no run away, prythee, youth, tell?Shew me thy passport, and all shal be well.Then our king presentlye, making lowe courtesye,With his hatt in his hand, thus he did say;50I have no passport, nor never was servitor,But a poor courtyer, rode out of my way:And for your kindness here offered to mee,I will requite you in everye degree.Then to the miller his wife whisper'd secretlye,55Saying, It seemeth, this youth's of good kin,Both by his apparel, and eke by his manners;To turne him out, certainlye, were a great sin.Yea, quoth hee, you may see, he hath some graceWhen he doth speake to his betters in place.60Well, quo' the millers wife, young man, ye're welcome here;And, though I say it, well lodged shall be:Fresh straw will I have, laid on thy bed so brave,And good brown hempen sheets likewise, quoth shee.Aye, quoth the good man; and when that is done,65Thou shalt lye with no worse, than our own sonne.Nay, first, quoth Richard, good-fellowe, tell me true,Host thou noe creepers within thy gay hose?Or art thou not troubled with the scabbado?I pray, quoth the king, what creatures are those?70Art thou not lowsy, nor scabby? quoth he:If thou beest, surely thou lyest not with mee.This caus'd the king, suddenlye, to laugh most heartilye,Till the teares trickled fast downe from his eyes.Then to their supper were they set orderlye,75With hot bag-puddings, and good apple-pyes;Nappy ale, good and stale, in a browne bowle,Which did about the board merrilye trowle.Here, quoth the miller, good fellowe, I drinke to thee,And to all 'cuckholds, wherever they bee.'[397]80I pledge thee, quotth our king, and thanke thee heartilyeFor my good welcome in everye degree:And here, in like manner, I drinke to thy sonne.Do then, quoth Richard, and quicke let it come.Wife, quoth the miller, fetch me forth lightfoote,85And of his sweetnesse a little we'll taste.A fair ven'son pastye brought she out presentlye.Eate, quoth the miller, but, sir, make no waste.Here's dainty lightfoote! In faith, sayd the king,I never before eat so daintye a thing.90I wis, quoth Richard, no daintye at all it is,For we doe eate of it everye day.In what place, sayd our king, may be bought like to this?We never pay pennye for itt, by my fay;From merry Sherwood we fetch it home here;95Now and then we make bold with our kings deer.Then I thinke, sayd our king, that it is venison.Eche foole, quoth Richard, full well may know that:Never are wee without two or three in the roof,Very well fleshed, and excellent fat:100But, prythee, say nothing wherever thou goe;We would not, for two pence, the king should it knowe.Doubt not, then sayd the king, my promist secresye;The king shall never know more on't for mee.A cupp of lambs-wool[398]they dranke unto him then,105And to their bedds they past presentlie.The nobles, next morning, went all up and down,For to seeke out the king in everye towne.At last, at the miller's 'cott,' soone they espy'd him out,As he was mounting upon his faire steede;110To whom they came presently, falling down on their knee;Which made the millers heart wofully bleede;Shaking and quaking, before him he stood,Thinking he should have been hang'd, by the rood.The king perceiving him fearfully trembling,115Drew forth his sword, but nothing he sed:The miller downe did fall, crying before them all,Doubting the king would have cut off his head.But he his kind courtesye for to requite,Gave him great living, and dubb'd him a knight.120
Henry, our royall king, would ride a huntingTo the greene forest so pleasant and faire;To see the harts skipping, and dainty does tripping:Unto merry Sherwood his nobles repaire:Hawke and hound were unbound, all things prepar'd5For the game, in the same, with good regard.
All a long summers day rode the king pleasantlye,With all his princes and nobles eche one;
Chasing the hart and hind, and the bucke gallantlye,Till the dark evening forc'd all to turne home.10Then at last, riding fast, he had lost quiteAll his lords in the wood, late in the night.
Wandering thus wearilye, all alone, up and downe,With a rude miller he mett at the last:Asking the ready way unto faire Nottingham;15Sir, quoth the miller, I meane not to jest,Yet I thinke, what I thinke, sooth for to say,You doe not lightlye ride out of your way.
Why, what dost thou think of me, quoth our king merrily,Passing thy judgment upon me so briefe?20Good faith, sayd the miller, I meane not to flatter thee;I guess thee to be but some gentleman thiefe;Stand thee backe, in the darke; light not adowne,Lest that I presentlye cracke thy knaves crowne.
Thou dost abuse me much, quoth the king, saying thus;25I am a gentleman; lodging I lacke.Thou hast not, quoth th' miller, one groat in thy purse;All thy inheritance hanges on thy backe.[395]I have gold to discharge all that I call;If it be forty pence, I will pay all.30
If thou beest a true man, then quoth the miller,I sweare by my toll-dish, I'll lodge thee all night.Here's my hand, quoth the king, that was I ever.Nay, soft, quoth the miller, thou may'st be a sprite.Better I'll know thee, ere hands we will shake;35With none but honest men hands will I take.
Thus they went all along unto the miller's house;Where they were seething of puddings and souse:[396]The miller first enter'd in, after him went the king;Never came hee in soe smoakye a house.40Now, quoth hee, let me see here what you are.Quoth our king, looke your fill, and doe not spare.
I like well thy countenance, thou hast an honest faceWith my son Richard this night thou shalt lye.Quoth his wife, by my troth, it is a handsome youth,45Yet it's best, husband, to deal warilye.Art thou no run away, prythee, youth, tell?Shew me thy passport, and all shal be well.
Then our king presentlye, making lowe courtesye,With his hatt in his hand, thus he did say;50I have no passport, nor never was servitor,But a poor courtyer, rode out of my way:And for your kindness here offered to mee,I will requite you in everye degree.
Then to the miller his wife whisper'd secretlye,55Saying, It seemeth, this youth's of good kin,Both by his apparel, and eke by his manners;To turne him out, certainlye, were a great sin.Yea, quoth hee, you may see, he hath some graceWhen he doth speake to his betters in place.60
Well, quo' the millers wife, young man, ye're welcome here;And, though I say it, well lodged shall be:Fresh straw will I have, laid on thy bed so brave,And good brown hempen sheets likewise, quoth shee.Aye, quoth the good man; and when that is done,65Thou shalt lye with no worse, than our own sonne.
Nay, first, quoth Richard, good-fellowe, tell me true,Host thou noe creepers within thy gay hose?Or art thou not troubled with the scabbado?I pray, quoth the king, what creatures are those?70Art thou not lowsy, nor scabby? quoth he:If thou beest, surely thou lyest not with mee.
This caus'd the king, suddenlye, to laugh most heartilye,Till the teares trickled fast downe from his eyes.Then to their supper were they set orderlye,75With hot bag-puddings, and good apple-pyes;Nappy ale, good and stale, in a browne bowle,Which did about the board merrilye trowle.
Here, quoth the miller, good fellowe, I drinke to thee,And to all 'cuckholds, wherever they bee.'[397]80I pledge thee, quotth our king, and thanke thee heartilyeFor my good welcome in everye degree:And here, in like manner, I drinke to thy sonne.Do then, quoth Richard, and quicke let it come.
Wife, quoth the miller, fetch me forth lightfoote,85And of his sweetnesse a little we'll taste.A fair ven'son pastye brought she out presentlye.Eate, quoth the miller, but, sir, make no waste.Here's dainty lightfoote! In faith, sayd the king,I never before eat so daintye a thing.90
I wis, quoth Richard, no daintye at all it is,For we doe eate of it everye day.In what place, sayd our king, may be bought like to this?We never pay pennye for itt, by my fay;From merry Sherwood we fetch it home here;95Now and then we make bold with our kings deer.
Then I thinke, sayd our king, that it is venison.Eche foole, quoth Richard, full well may know that:Never are wee without two or three in the roof,Very well fleshed, and excellent fat:100But, prythee, say nothing wherever thou goe;We would not, for two pence, the king should it knowe.
Doubt not, then sayd the king, my promist secresye;The king shall never know more on't for mee.A cupp of lambs-wool[398]they dranke unto him then,105And to their bedds they past presentlie.The nobles, next morning, went all up and down,For to seeke out the king in everye towne.
At last, at the miller's 'cott,' soone they espy'd him out,As he was mounting upon his faire steede;110To whom they came presently, falling down on their knee;Which made the millers heart wofully bleede;Shaking and quaking, before him he stood,Thinking he should have been hang'd, by the rood.
The king perceiving him fearfully trembling,115Drew forth his sword, but nothing he sed:The miller downe did fall, crying before them all,Doubting the king would have cut off his head.But he his kind courtesye for to requite,Gave him great living, and dubb'd him a knight.120
When as our royall king came home from Nottingham,And with his nobles at Westminster lay;Recounting the sports and pastimes they had taken,In this late progress along on the way;Of them all, great and small, he did protest,5The miller of Mansfield's sport liked him best.And now, my lords, quoth the king, I am determinedAgainst St. Georges next sumptuous feast,That this old miller, our new confirm'd knight,With his son Richard, shall here be my guest:10For, in this merryment, 'tis my desireTo talke with the jolly knight, and the young squire.When as the noble lords saw the kinges pleasantness,They were right joyfull and glad in their hearts:A pursuivant there was sent straighte on the business,15The which had often-times been in those parts.When he came to the place, where they did dwell,His message orderlye then 'gan he tell.God save your worshippe, then said the messenger,And grant your ladye her own hearts desire;20And to your sonne Richard good fortune and happiness;That sweet, gentle, and gallant young squire.Our king greets you well, and thus he doth say,You must come to the court on St. George's day;Therfore, in any case, faile not to be in place.25I wis, quoth the miller, this is an odd jest:What should we doe there? faith, I am halfe afraid.I doubt, quoth Richard, to be hang'd at the least.Nay, quoth the messenger, you doe mistake;Our king he provides a great feast for your sake.30Then sayd the miller, By my troth, messenger,Thou hast contented my worshippe full well.Hold here are three farthings, to quite thy gentleness,For these happy tydings, which thou dost tell.Let me see, hear thou mee; tell to our king,35We'll wayt on his mastershipp in everye thing.The pursuivant smiled at their simplicitye,And, making many leggs, tooke their reward;And his leave taking with great humilityeTo the kings court againe he repair'd;40Shewing unto his grace, merry and free,The knightes most liberall gift and bountie.When he was gone away, thus gan the miller say,Here come expences and charges indeed;Now must we needs be brave, tho' we spend all we have;45For of new garments we have great need:Of horses and serving-men we must have store,With bridles and saddles, and twentye things more.Tushe, sir John, quoth his wife, why should you frett, or frowne?You shall ne'er be att no charges for mee;50For I will turne and trim up my old russet gowne,With everye thing else as fine as may bee;And on our mill-horses swift we will ride,With pillowes and pannells, as we shall provide.In this most statelye sort, rode they unto the court,55Their jolly sonne Richard rode foremost of all;Who set up, for good hap, a cocks feather in his cap,[399]And so they jetted[400]downe to the kings hall;The merry old miller with hands on his side;His wife, like maid Marian, did mince at that tide.[401]60The king and his nobles that heard of their coming,Meeting this gallant knight with his brave traine;Welcome, sir knight, quoth he, with your gay lady:Good sir John Cockle, once welcome againe:And soe is the squire of courage soe free.65Quoth Dicke, A bots on you! do you know mee?Quoth our king gentlye, how should I forget thee?That wast my owne bed-fellowe, well it I wot.Yea, sir, quoth Richard, and by the same token,Thou with thy farting didst make the bed hot.70Thou whore-son unhappy knave, then quoth the knight,Speake cleanly to our king, or else go sh***.The king and his courtiers laugh at this heartily,While the king taketh them both by the hand;With the court-dames, and maids, like to the queen of spades75The millers wife did soe orderlye stand.A milk-maids courtesye at every word;And downe all the folkes were set to the board.There the king royally, in princelye majestye,Sate at his dinner with joy and delight;80When they had eaten well, then he to jesting fell,And in a bowle of wine dranke to the knight:Here's to you both, in wine, ale and beer;Thanking you heartilye for my good cheer.Quoth sir John Cockle, I'll pledge you a pottle,85Were it the best ale in Nottinghamshire:But then said our king, now I think of a thing;Some of your lightfoote I would we had here.Ho! ho! quoth Richard, full well I may say it,'Tis knavery to eate it, and then to betray it.90Why art thou angry? quoth our king merrilye;In faith, I take it now very unkind:I thought thou wouldst pledge me in ale and wine heartily.Quoth Dicke, You are like to stay till I have din'd:You feed us with twatling dishes soe small;95Zounds, a blacke-pudding is better than all.Aye, marry, quoth our king, that were a daintye thing,Could a man get but one here for to eate.With that Dicke straite arose, and pluckt one from his hose,Which with heat of his breech gan to sweate.100The king made a proffer to snatch it away:—'Tis meat for your master: good sir, you must stay.Thus in great merriment was the time wholly spent;And then the ladyes prepared to dance.Old Sir John Cockle, and Richard, incontinent[402]105Unto their places the king did advance.Here with the ladyes such sport they did make,The nobles with laughing did make their sides ake.Many thankes for their paines did the king give them,Asking young Richard then, if he would wed;110Among these ladyes free, tell me which liketh thee?Quoth he, Jugg Grumball, Sir, with the red head:She's my love, she's my life, her will I wed;She hath sworn I shall have her maidenhead.Then sir John Cockle the king called unto him,115And of merry Sherwood made him o'er seer;And gave him out of hand three hundred pound yearlye:Take heed now you steale no more of my deer:And once a quarter let's here have your view;And now, sir John Cockle, I bid you adieu.120
When as our royall king came home from Nottingham,And with his nobles at Westminster lay;Recounting the sports and pastimes they had taken,In this late progress along on the way;Of them all, great and small, he did protest,5The miller of Mansfield's sport liked him best.
And now, my lords, quoth the king, I am determinedAgainst St. Georges next sumptuous feast,That this old miller, our new confirm'd knight,With his son Richard, shall here be my guest:10For, in this merryment, 'tis my desireTo talke with the jolly knight, and the young squire.
When as the noble lords saw the kinges pleasantness,They were right joyfull and glad in their hearts:A pursuivant there was sent straighte on the business,15The which had often-times been in those parts.When he came to the place, where they did dwell,His message orderlye then 'gan he tell.
God save your worshippe, then said the messenger,And grant your ladye her own hearts desire;20And to your sonne Richard good fortune and happiness;That sweet, gentle, and gallant young squire.Our king greets you well, and thus he doth say,You must come to the court on St. George's day;
Therfore, in any case, faile not to be in place.25I wis, quoth the miller, this is an odd jest:What should we doe there? faith, I am halfe afraid.I doubt, quoth Richard, to be hang'd at the least.Nay, quoth the messenger, you doe mistake;Our king he provides a great feast for your sake.30
Then sayd the miller, By my troth, messenger,Thou hast contented my worshippe full well.Hold here are three farthings, to quite thy gentleness,For these happy tydings, which thou dost tell.Let me see, hear thou mee; tell to our king,35We'll wayt on his mastershipp in everye thing.
The pursuivant smiled at their simplicitye,And, making many leggs, tooke their reward;And his leave taking with great humilityeTo the kings court againe he repair'd;40Shewing unto his grace, merry and free,The knightes most liberall gift and bountie.
When he was gone away, thus gan the miller say,Here come expences and charges indeed;Now must we needs be brave, tho' we spend all we have;45For of new garments we have great need:Of horses and serving-men we must have store,With bridles and saddles, and twentye things more.
Tushe, sir John, quoth his wife, why should you frett, or frowne?You shall ne'er be att no charges for mee;50For I will turne and trim up my old russet gowne,With everye thing else as fine as may bee;And on our mill-horses swift we will ride,With pillowes and pannells, as we shall provide.
In this most statelye sort, rode they unto the court,55Their jolly sonne Richard rode foremost of all;
Who set up, for good hap, a cocks feather in his cap,[399]And so they jetted[400]downe to the kings hall;The merry old miller with hands on his side;His wife, like maid Marian, did mince at that tide.[401]60
The king and his nobles that heard of their coming,Meeting this gallant knight with his brave traine;Welcome, sir knight, quoth he, with your gay lady:Good sir John Cockle, once welcome againe:And soe is the squire of courage soe free.65Quoth Dicke, A bots on you! do you know mee?
Quoth our king gentlye, how should I forget thee?That wast my owne bed-fellowe, well it I wot.Yea, sir, quoth Richard, and by the same token,Thou with thy farting didst make the bed hot.70Thou whore-son unhappy knave, then quoth the knight,Speake cleanly to our king, or else go sh***.
The king and his courtiers laugh at this heartily,While the king taketh them both by the hand;With the court-dames, and maids, like to the queen of spades75The millers wife did soe orderlye stand.A milk-maids courtesye at every word;And downe all the folkes were set to the board.
There the king royally, in princelye majestye,Sate at his dinner with joy and delight;80When they had eaten well, then he to jesting fell,And in a bowle of wine dranke to the knight:Here's to you both, in wine, ale and beer;Thanking you heartilye for my good cheer.
Quoth sir John Cockle, I'll pledge you a pottle,85Were it the best ale in Nottinghamshire:But then said our king, now I think of a thing;Some of your lightfoote I would we had here.Ho! ho! quoth Richard, full well I may say it,'Tis knavery to eate it, and then to betray it.90
Why art thou angry? quoth our king merrilye;In faith, I take it now very unkind:I thought thou wouldst pledge me in ale and wine heartily.Quoth Dicke, You are like to stay till I have din'd:You feed us with twatling dishes soe small;95Zounds, a blacke-pudding is better than all.
Aye, marry, quoth our king, that were a daintye thing,Could a man get but one here for to eate.With that Dicke straite arose, and pluckt one from his hose,Which with heat of his breech gan to sweate.100The king made a proffer to snatch it away:—'Tis meat for your master: good sir, you must stay.
Thus in great merriment was the time wholly spent;And then the ladyes prepared to dance.Old Sir John Cockle, and Richard, incontinent[402]105Unto their places the king did advance.Here with the ladyes such sport they did make,The nobles with laughing did make their sides ake.
Many thankes for their paines did the king give them,Asking young Richard then, if he would wed;110Among these ladyes free, tell me which liketh thee?Quoth he, Jugg Grumball, Sir, with the red head:She's my love, she's my life, her will I wed;She hath sworn I shall have her maidenhead.
Then sir John Cockle the king called unto him,115And of merry Sherwood made him o'er seer;And gave him out of hand three hundred pound yearlye:Take heed now you steale no more of my deer:And once a quarter let's here have your view;And now, sir John Cockle, I bid you adieu.120