XXV.THE FAIRY QUEEN.

FOOTNOTES:[416][Ver. 61. this begins the second part in the Roxburghe copy.][417][gills=rivulets,Roxb. copy.][418][a misprint for heydegies=rustic dances. The word occurs in Lily'sEndymion, 1591, and in Wm. Bulleyn'sDialogue, 1564, where the minstrel daunces "Trenchmore" and "Heie de gie."—Chappell.]

[416][Ver. 61. this begins the second part in the Roxburghe copy.]

[417][gills=rivulets,Roxb. copy.]

[418][a misprint for heydegies=rustic dances. The word occurs in Lily'sEndymion, 1591, and in Wm. Bulleyn'sDialogue, 1564, where the minstrel daunces "Trenchmore" and "Heie de gie."—Chappell.]

Wehave here a short display of the popular belief concerningFairies. It will afford entertainment to a contemplative mind to trace these whimsical opinions up to their origin. Whoever considers, how early, how extensively, and how uniformly, they have prevailed in thesenations, will not readily assent to the hypothesis of those, who fetch them from the east so late as the time of the Croisades. Whereas it is well known that our Saxon ancestors, long before they left their German forests, believed the existence of a kind of diminutive demons, or middle species between men and spirits, whom they calledDuergarorDwarfs, and to whom they attributed many wonderful performances, far exceeding human art. Vid. Hervarer Saga Olaj Verelj. 1675. Hickes' Thesaur., &c.

This Song is given (with some corrections by another copy) from a book intitled,The Mysteries of Love and Eloquence, &c.Lond. 1658, 8vo.

[Dr. Rimbault points out that this song occurs in a rare tract published more than twenty years before the book mentioned above. It is entitled,A description of the King and Queen of theFayries, their habit, fare, abode, pomp and state, being very delightfulto the sense and full of mirth. London, 1635. The song was to be sung to the tune of theSpanish Gypsie, which began—

"O follow, follow meFor we be gypsies three."

Martin Parker wrote a sort of parody calledThe three merryCobblers, commencing—

"Come follow, follow meTo the alehouse we'll march all three;Leave awl, last, thread and leather,And let's go all together."

Mr. Chappell prints the first, eighth, fourteenth and last stanzas (Popular Music, vol. i. p. 272.)]

Come, follow, follow me,You, fairy elves that be:Which circle on the greene,Come follow Mab your queene.Hand in hand let's dance around,5For this place is fairye ground.When mortals are at rest,And snoring in their nest;Unheard, and un-espy'd,Through key-holes we do glide;10Over tables, stools, and shelves.We trip it with our fairy elves.And, if the house be foul[419]With platter, dish or bowl,Up stairs we nimbly creep,15And find the sluts asleep:There we pinch their armes and thighes;None escapes, nor none espies.But if the house be swept,And from uncleanness kept,20We praise the household maid,And duely she is paid:For we use before we goeTo drop a tester[420]in her shoe.Upon a mushroomes head25Our table-cloth we spread;A grain of rye, or wheat,Is manchet,[421]which we eat;Pearly drops of dew we drinkIn acorn cups fill'd to the brink.30The brains of nightingales,With unctuous fat of snailes,Between two cockles stew'd,Is meat that's easily chew'd;Tailes of wormes, and marrow of mice35Do make a dish, that's wonderous nice.The grashopper, gnat, and fly,Serve for our minstrelsie;Grace said, we dance a while,And so the time beguile;40And if the moon doth hide her head,The gloe-worm lights us home to bed.On tops of dewie grasseSo nimbly do we passe,The young and tender stalk45Ne'er bends when we do walk:Yet in the morning may be seenWhere we the night before have been.

Come, follow, follow me,You, fairy elves that be:Which circle on the greene,Come follow Mab your queene.Hand in hand let's dance around,5For this place is fairye ground.

When mortals are at rest,And snoring in their nest;Unheard, and un-espy'd,Through key-holes we do glide;10Over tables, stools, and shelves.We trip it with our fairy elves.

And, if the house be foul[419]With platter, dish or bowl,Up stairs we nimbly creep,15And find the sluts asleep:There we pinch their armes and thighes;None escapes, nor none espies.

But if the house be swept,And from uncleanness kept,20We praise the household maid,And duely she is paid:For we use before we goeTo drop a tester[420]in her shoe.

Upon a mushroomes head25Our table-cloth we spread;A grain of rye, or wheat,Is manchet,[421]which we eat;Pearly drops of dew we drinkIn acorn cups fill'd to the brink.30

The brains of nightingales,With unctuous fat of snailes,Between two cockles stew'd,Is meat that's easily chew'd;Tailes of wormes, and marrow of mice35Do make a dish, that's wonderous nice.

The grashopper, gnat, and fly,Serve for our minstrelsie;Grace said, we dance a while,And so the time beguile;40And if the moon doth hide her head,The gloe-worm lights us home to bed.

On tops of dewie grasseSo nimbly do we passe,The young and tender stalk45Ne'er bends when we do walk:Yet in the morning may be seenWhere we the night before have been.

FOOTNOTES:[419][Puck's speech inMidsummer Night's Dream(act v. sc. 2)—"I am sent with broom beforeTo sweep the dust behind the door,"illustrates the delight of the fairies in cleanliness, which is dwelt upon in this and the following song.][420][tester or teston=sixpence.][421][best kind of white bread.]

[419][Puck's speech inMidsummer Night's Dream(act v. sc. 2)—"I am sent with broom beforeTo sweep the dust behind the door,"illustrates the delight of the fairies in cleanliness, which is dwelt upon in this and the following song.]

[419][Puck's speech inMidsummer Night's Dream(act v. sc. 2)—

"I am sent with broom beforeTo sweep the dust behind the door,"

illustrates the delight of the fairies in cleanliness, which is dwelt upon in this and the following song.]

[420][tester or teston=sixpence.]

[421][best kind of white bread.]

Thishumorous old song fell from the hand of the witty Dr.Corbet(afterwards bishop of Norwich, &c.) and is printed from hisPoëtica Stromata, 1648, 12mo. (compared with the third edition of his poems, 1672.) It is there called,A proper new Ballad, intitled, The Fairies Farewell,or God-a-mercy Will, to be sung or whistled to the tune of The Meddowbrow, by the learned; by the unlearned, to the tune of Fortune.

The departure of Fairies is here attributed to the abolition of monkery: Chaucer has, with equal humour, assigned a cause the very reverse, in hisWife of Bath's Tale.

"In olde dayes of the king Artour,Of which that Bretons speken gret honour,All was this lond fulfilled of faerie;The elf-quene, with hire joly compagnieDanced ful oft in many a grene mede.This was the old opinion as I rede;I speke of many hundred yeres ago;But now can no man see non elves mo,For now the grete charitee and prayeresOf limitoures and other holy freres,That serchen every land and every streme,As thikke as motes in the sonne beme,Blissing halles, chambres, kichenes, and boures,Citees and burghes, castles high and toures,Thropes and bernes, shepenes and dairies,This maketh that ther ben no faeries:For ther as wont to walken was an elf,Ther walketh now the limitour himself,In undermeles and in morweninges,And sayth his Matines and his holy thinges,As he goth in his limitatioun.Women may now go safely up and doun,In every bush, and under every tree,Ther is non other incubus but he,And he ne will don hem no dishonour."

Tyrwhitt'sChaucer, i. p. 255.

Dr. Richard Corbet, having been bishop of Oxford about three years, and afterwards as long bishop of Norwich, died in 1635, Ætat. 52.

Farewell rewards and Fairies!Good housewives now may say;For now foule sluts in dairies,Doe fare as well as they:And though they sweepe their hearths no less5Than mayds were wont to doe,Yet who of late for cleanelinessFinds sixe-pence in her shoe?Lament, lament old Abbies,The fairies lost command;10They did but change priests babies,But some have chang'd your land:And all your children stoln from thenceAre now growne Puritanes,Who live as changelings ever since,15For love of your demaines.At morning and at evening bothYou merry were and glad,So little care of sleepe and sloth,These prettie ladies had.20When Tom came home from labour,Or Ciss to milking rose,Then merrily went their tabour,And nimbly went their toes.Witness those rings and roundelayes25Of theirs, which yet remaine;Were footed in queene Maries dayesOn many a grassy playne.But since of late ElizabethAnd later James came in;30They never danc'd on any heath,As when the time hath bin.By which wee note the fairies35Were of the old profession:Their songs wereAve Maries,Their dances were procession.But now, alas! they all are dead,Or gone beyond the seas,Or farther for religion fled,Or else they take their ease.40A tell-tale in their companyThey never could endure;And whoso kept not secretlyTheir mirth, was punish'd sure:It was a just and christian deed45To pinch such blacke and blue:O how the common-welth doth needSuch justices, as you!Now they have left our quarters;A Register they have,50Who can preserve their charters;A man both wise and grave.An hundred of their merry pranksBy one that I could nameAre kept in store; con twenty thanks55To William for the same.To William Churne of StaffordshireGive laud and praises due,Who every meale can mend your cheareWith tales both old and true:60To William all give audience,And pray yee for his noddle:For all the fairies evidenceWere lost, if it were addle.

Lament, lament old Abbies,The fairies lost command;10They did but change priests babies,But some have chang'd your land:

And all your children stoln from thenceAre now growne Puritanes,Who live as changelings ever since,15For love of your demaines.

At morning and at evening bothYou merry were and glad,So little care of sleepe and sloth,These prettie ladies had.20When Tom came home from labour,Or Ciss to milking rose,Then merrily went their tabour,And nimbly went their toes.

Witness those rings and roundelayes25Of theirs, which yet remaine;Were footed in queene Maries dayesOn many a grassy playne.But since of late ElizabethAnd later James came in;30They never danc'd on any heath,As when the time hath bin.

By which wee note the fairies35Were of the old profession:Their songs wereAve Maries,Their dances were procession.But now, alas! they all are dead,Or gone beyond the seas,Or farther for religion fled,Or else they take their ease.40

A tell-tale in their companyThey never could endure;And whoso kept not secretlyTheir mirth, was punish'd sure:

It was a just and christian deed45To pinch such blacke and blue:O how the common-welth doth needSuch justices, as you!

Now they have left our quarters;A Register they have,50Who can preserve their charters;A man both wise and grave.An hundred of their merry pranksBy one that I could nameAre kept in store; con twenty thanks55To William for the same.

To William Churne of StaffordshireGive laud and praises due,Who every meale can mend your cheareWith tales both old and true:60To William all give audience,And pray yee for his noddle:For all the fairies evidenceWere lost, if it were addle.

⁂ After theseSongson theFairies, the reader may be curious to see the manner in which they were formerly invoked and bound to human service. In Ashmole'sCollection of MSS.at Oxford (Num. 8259. 1406. 2), are the papers of some alchymist, which contain a variety of Incantations and Forms of Conjuring bothFairies,Witches, andDemons, principally, as it should seem, to assist him in his Great Work of transmuting Metals. Most of them are too impious to be reprinted: but the two following may be very innocently laughed at.Whoever looks into Ben Jonson'sAlchymist, will find that these impostors, among their other secrets, affected to have a power overFairies: and that they were commonly expected to be seen in a christal glass appears from that extraordinary book,The Relationof Dr. John Dee's actions with Spirits, 1659, folio."An excellent wayto gett aFayrie. (For myself I callMargarettBarrance; but this will obteine any one that is not allready bownd.)"First, gett a broad square christall or Venice glasse, in length and breadth 3 inches. Then lay that glasse or christall in the bloud of a white henne, 3 Wednesdayes, or 3 Fridayes. Then take it out, and wash it with holy aq. and fumigate it. Then take 3 hazle sticks, or wands of an yeare groth: pill them fayre and white; and make 'them' soe longe, as you write theSpirittsname, orFayriesname, which you call, 3 times on every sticke being made flatt on one side. Then bury them under some hill, whereas you supposeFayrieshaunt, the Wednesday before you call her: and the Friday followinge take them uppe, and call her at 8 or 3 or 10 of the clocke, which be good planetts and houres for that turne: but when you call, be in cleane life, and turne thy face towards the east. And when you have her, bind her to that stone or glasse.""An Unguent to annoynt under the Eyelids, and upon the Eyelids eveninge and morninge: but especially when you call; or find your sight not perfect."R. A pint of sallet-oyle, and put it into a viall glasse: but first wash it with rose-water, and marygold-water; the flowers 'to' be gathered towards the east. Wash it till the oyle come white; then put it into the glasse,ut supra: and then put thereto the budds of holyhocke, the flowers of marygold, the flowers or toppes of wild thime, the budds of young hazle: and the thime must be gathered neare the side of a hill whereFayriesuse to be: and 'take' the grasse of a fayrie throne, there. All these put into the oyle, into the glasse: and set it to dissolve 3 dayes in the sunne, and then keep it for thy use;ut supra."After this receipt for the unguent follows a form of incantation, wherein the alchymist conjures a fairy, namedElaby Gathon, to appear to him in that chrystal glass, meekly and mildly; to resolve him truly in all manner of questions; and to be obedient to all his commands, under pain of damnation, &c.One of the vulgar opinions about fairies is, that they cannot be seen by human eyes, without a particular charm exerted in favour of the person who is to see them: and that they strike with blindness such as having the gift of seeing them, take notice of themmal-à-propos.As to the hazle sticks mentioned above, they were to be probably of that species called thewitch hazle; which received its name from this manner of applying it in incantations.

Whoever looks into Ben Jonson'sAlchymist, will find that these impostors, among their other secrets, affected to have a power overFairies: and that they were commonly expected to be seen in a christal glass appears from that extraordinary book,The Relationof Dr. John Dee's actions with Spirits, 1659, folio.

"An excellent wayto gett aFayrie. (For myself I callMargarettBarrance; but this will obteine any one that is not allready bownd.)

"First, gett a broad square christall or Venice glasse, in length and breadth 3 inches. Then lay that glasse or christall in the bloud of a white henne, 3 Wednesdayes, or 3 Fridayes. Then take it out, and wash it with holy aq. and fumigate it. Then take 3 hazle sticks, or wands of an yeare groth: pill them fayre and white; and make 'them' soe longe, as you write theSpirittsname, orFayriesname, which you call, 3 times on every sticke being made flatt on one side. Then bury them under some hill, whereas you supposeFayrieshaunt, the Wednesday before you call her: and the Friday followinge take them uppe, and call her at 8 or 3 or 10 of the clocke, which be good planetts and houres for that turne: but when you call, be in cleane life, and turne thy face towards the east. And when you have her, bind her to that stone or glasse."

"An Unguent to annoynt under the Eyelids, and upon the Eyelids eveninge and morninge: but especially when you call; or find your sight not perfect.

"R. A pint of sallet-oyle, and put it into a viall glasse: but first wash it with rose-water, and marygold-water; the flowers 'to' be gathered towards the east. Wash it till the oyle come white; then put it into the glasse,ut supra: and then put thereto the budds of holyhocke, the flowers of marygold, the flowers or toppes of wild thime, the budds of young hazle: and the thime must be gathered neare the side of a hill whereFayriesuse to be: and 'take' the grasse of a fayrie throne, there. All these put into the oyle, into the glasse: and set it to dissolve 3 dayes in the sunne, and then keep it for thy use;ut supra."

After this receipt for the unguent follows a form of incantation, wherein the alchymist conjures a fairy, namedElaby Gathon, to appear to him in that chrystal glass, meekly and mildly; to resolve him truly in all manner of questions; and to be obedient to all his commands, under pain of damnation, &c.

One of the vulgar opinions about fairies is, that they cannot be seen by human eyes, without a particular charm exerted in favour of the person who is to see them: and that they strike with blindness such as having the gift of seeing them, take notice of themmal-à-propos.

As to the hazle sticks mentioned above, they were to be probably of that species called thewitch hazle; which received its name from this manner of applying it in incantations.

THE END OF BOOK THE SECOND.

RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY, ETC.

SERIES THE THIRD.

Theincidents in this, and the other ballad ofSt. Georgeand the Dragon, are chiefly taken from the old story-book of the Seven Champions of Christendome; which, tho' now the play-thing of children, was once in high repute. Bp. Hall in hisSatires, published in 1597, ranks

"St. George's sorell, and his cross of blood,"

among the most popular stories of his time: and an ingenious critic thinks that Spencer himself did not disdain to borrow hints from it;[422]tho' I much doubt whether this popular romance were written so early as theFaery Queen.

The author of this book of theSeven Championswas one Richard Johnson, who lived in the reigns of Elizabeth and James, as we collect from his other publications: viz.—The nine worthies ofLondon: 1592, 4to.—The pleasant walks of Moor fields: 1607, 4to.—A crown garland of Goulden Roses, gathered, &c.1612, 8vo.—Thelife and death of Rob. Cecill, E. of Salisbury: 1612, 4to.—TheHist. of Tom of Lincoln, 4to. is also by R. J. who likewise reprintedDon Flores of Greece, 4to.

TheSeven Champions, tho' written in a wild inflated style, contains some strong Gothic painting; which seems, for the most part, copied from the metrical romances of former ages. At least the story ofSt. George and the fair Sabrais taken almost verbatim from the old poetical legend ofSyr Bevis of Hampton.

This very antique poem was in great fame in Chaucer's time (see above, pag. 107.), and so continued till the introduction of printing, when it ran thro' several editions; two of which are inblack letter, 4to. "imprinted by Wyllyam Copland," without date; containing great variations.

As a specimen of the poetic powers of this very old rhimist, and as a proof how closely the author of theSeven Championshas followed him, take a description of the dragon slain by sir Bevis.

"—Whan the dragon, that foule is,Had a syght of syr Bevis,He cast up a loude cry,As it had thondred in the sky;He turned his bely towarde the son;It was greater than any tonne:His scales was bryghter then the glas,And harder they were than any bras:Betwene his shulder and his tayle,Was forty fote withoute fayle.He waltred out of his denne,And Bevis pricked his stede then,And to hym a spere he thrasteThat all to shyvers he it braste:The dragon then gan Bevis assayle,And smote syr Bevis with his tayle;Then downe went horse and man,And two rybbes of Bevis brused than."

After a long fight, at length, as the dragon was preparing to fly, sir Bevis

"Hit him under the wynge,As he was in his flyenge,There he was tender without scale,And Bevis thought to be his bale.He smote after, as I you saye,With his good sword Morglaye.Up to the hiltes Morglay yodeThrough harte, lyver, bone, and bloude:To the ground fell the dragon,Great joye syr Bevis begon.Under the scales al on hightHe smote off his head forth right,And put it on a spere: &c."

Sign. K. iv.

Sir Bevis's dragon is evidently the parent of that in theSevenChampions, see chap, iii., viz. "The dragon no sooner had a sight of him (St. George) but he gave such a terrible peal, as though it had thundered in the elements.... Betwixt his shoulders and histail were fifty feet in distance, his scales glistering as bright as silver, but far more hard than brass; his belly of the colour of gold, but bigger than a tun. Thus weltered he from his den, &c.... The champion ... gave the dragon such a thrust with his spear, that it shivered in a thousand pieces: whereat the furious dragon so fiercely smote him with his venomous tail, that down fell man and horse: in which fall two of St. George's ribs were so bruised, &c.—At length ... St. George smote the dragon under the wing where it was tender without scale, whereby his good sword Ascalon with an easie passage went to the very hilt through both the dragon's heart, liver, bone, and blood.—Then St. George—cut off the dragon's head and pitcht it upon the truncheon of a spear, &c."

TheHistory of the Seven Champions, being written just before the decline of books of chivalry, was never, I believe, translated into any foreign language: ButLe Roman de Beuves of Hantonnewas published at Paris in 1502, 4to. Let. Gothique.

The learned Selden tell us, that about the time of the Norman invasion was Bevis famous with the title of Earl of Southampton, whose residence was at Duncton in Wiltshire; but he observes, that the monkish enlargements of his story have made his very existence doubted. SeeNotes on Poly-Olbion, Songiii.

This hath also been the case ofSt. Georgehimself; whose martial history is allowed to be apocryphal. But, to prove that there really existed an orthodox saint of this name (altho' little or nothing, it seems, is known of his genuine story) is the subject ofAn Historical and Critical Inquiry into the Existence and Characterof St. George, &c.By the Rev. J. Milner, F.S.A. 1792, 8vo.

The equestrian figure worn by the Knights of the Garter, has been understood to be an emblem of the Christian warrior, in his spiritual armour, vanquishing the old serpent.

But on this subject the inquisitive reader may consultA Dissertationon the Original of the Equestrian Figure of the George and ofthe Garter, ensigns of the most noble order of that name. Illustrated with copper-plates. By John Petingal, A.M., Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries, London, 1753, 4to. This learned and curious work the author of theHistorical and Critical Inquirywould have done well to have seen.

It cannot be denied, but that the following ballad is for the most part modern: for which reason it would have been thrown to the end of the volume, had not its subject procured it a place here.

[In respect to the last paragraph, Ritson writes, "It may be safely denied, however, that the least part of it is ancient."]

Listen, lords, in bower and hall,I sing the wonderous birthOf brave St. George, whose valorous armRid monsters from the earth:Distressed ladies to relieve5He travell'd many a day;In honour of the christian faith,Which shall endure for aye.In Coventry sometime did dwellA knight of worthy fame,10High steward of this noble realme;Lord Albert was his name.He had to wife a princely dame,Whose beauty did excell.This virtuous lady, being with child,15In sudden sadness fell:For thirty nights no sooner sleepHad clos'd her wakeful eyes,But, lo! a foul and fearful dreamHer fancy would surprize:20She dreamt a dragon fierce and fellConceiv'd within her womb;Whose mortal fangs her body rentEre he to life could come.All woe-begone, and sad was she;25She nourisht constant woe:Yet strove to hide it from her lord,Lest he should sorrow know.In vain she strove, her tender lord,Who watch'd her slightest look,30Discover'd soon her secret pain,And soon that pain partook.And when to him the fearful causeShe weeping did impart,With kindest speech he strove to heal35The anguish of her heart.Be comforted, my lady dear,Those pearly drops refrain;Betide me weal, betide me woe,I'll try to ease thy pain.40And for this foul and fearful dream,That causeth all thy woe,Trust me I'll travel far awayBut I'll the meaning knowe.Then giving many a fond embrace,45And shedding many a teare,To the weïrd lady of the woodsHe purpos'd to repaire.To the weïrd lady of the woods,Full long and many a day,50Thro' lonely shades, and thickets roughHe winds his weary way.At length he reach'd a dreary dellWith dismal yews o'erhung;Where cypress spred its mournful boughs,55And pois'nous nightshade sprung.No chearful gleams here pierc'd the gloom,He hears no chearful sound;But shrill night-ravens' yelling scream,And serpents hissing round.60The shriek of fiends, and damned ghostsRan howling thro' his ear:A chilling horror froze his heart,Tho' all unus'd to fear.Three times he strives to win his way,And pierce those sickly dews:Three times to bear his trembling corseHis knocking knees refuse.At length upon his beating breastHe signs the holy crosse;70And, rouzing up his wonted might,He treads th' unhallow'd mosse.Beneath a pendant craggy cliff,All vaulted like a grave,And opening in the solid rock,75He found the inchanted cave.An iron gate clos'd up the mouth,All hideous and forlorne;And, fasten'd by a silver chain,Near hung a brazed horne.80Then offering up a secret prayer,Three times he blowes amaine:Three times a deepe and hollow soundDid answer him againe."Sir knight, thy lady beares a son,85Who, like a dragon bright,Shall prove most dreadful to his foes,And terrible in fight."His name advanc'd in future timesOn banners shall be worn:90But lo! thy lady's life must passeBefore he can be born."All sore opprest with fear and doubtLong time lord Albert stood;At length he winds his doubtful way95Back thro' the dreary wood.Eager to clasp his lovely dameThen fast he travels back:But when he reach'd his castle gate,His gate was hung with black.100In every court and hall he foundA sullen silence reigne;Save where, amid the lonely towers,He heard her maidens 'plaine;And bitterly lament and weep,105With many a grievous grone:Then sore his bleeding heart misgave,His lady's life was gone.With faultering step he enters in,Yet half affraid to goe;110With trembling voice asks why they grieve,Yet fears the cause to knowe."Three times the sun hath rose and set;"They said, then stopt to weep:"Since heaven hath laid thy lady deare115In death's eternal sleep."For, ah! in travel sore she fell,So sore that she must dye;Unless some shrewd and cunning leechCould ease her presentlye.120"But when a cunning leech was fet,Too soon declared he,She, or her babe must lose its life;Both saved could not be."Now take my life, thy lady said,125My little infant save:And O commend me to my lord,When I am laid in grave."O tell him how that precious babeCost him a tender wife:130And teach my son to lisp her name,Who died to save his life."Then calling still upon thy name,And praying still for thee;Without repining or complaint,135Her gentle soul did flee."What tongue can paint lord Albret's woe,The bitter tears he shed,The bitter pangs that wrung his heart,To find his lady dead?140He beat his breast: he tore his hair;And shedding many a tear,At length he askt to see his son;The son that cost so dear.New sorrowe seiz'd the damsells all:145At length they faultering say;"Alas! my lord, how shall we tell?Thy son is stoln away."Fair as the sweetest flower of spring,Such was his infant mien:150And on his little body stamptThree wonderous marks were seen:"A blood-red cross was on his arm;A dragon on his breast:A little garter all of gold155Was round his leg exprest."Three carefull nurses we provideOur little lord to keep:One gave him sucke, one gave him food,And one did lull to sleep.160"But lo! all in the dead of night,We heard a fearful sound:Loud thunder clapt; the castle shook;And lightning flasht around."Dead with affright at first we lay;165But rousing up anon,We ran to see our little lord:Our little lord was gone!"But how or where we could not tell;For lying on the ground,170In deep and magic slumbers laid,The nurses there we found."O grief on grief! lord Albret said:No more his tongue cou'd say,When falling in a deadly swoone,175Long time he lifeless lay.At length restor'd to life and senseHe nourisht endless woe,No future joy his heart could taste,No future comfort know.180So withers on the mountain topA fair and stately oake,Whose vigorous arms are torne away,By some rude thunder-stroke.At length his castle irksome grew,185He loathes his wonted home;His native country he forsakesIn foreign lands to roame.There up and downe he wandered far,Clad in a palmer's gown;190Till his brown locks grew white as wool,His beard as thistle down.At length, all wearied, down in deathHe laid his reverend head.Meantime amid the lonely wilds195His little son was bred.There the weïrd lady of the woodsHad borne him far away,And train'd him up in feates of armes,And every martial play.200

Listen, lords, in bower and hall,I sing the wonderous birthOf brave St. George, whose valorous armRid monsters from the earth:

Distressed ladies to relieve5He travell'd many a day;In honour of the christian faith,Which shall endure for aye.

In Coventry sometime did dwellA knight of worthy fame,10High steward of this noble realme;Lord Albert was his name.

He had to wife a princely dame,Whose beauty did excell.This virtuous lady, being with child,15In sudden sadness fell:

For thirty nights no sooner sleepHad clos'd her wakeful eyes,But, lo! a foul and fearful dreamHer fancy would surprize:20

She dreamt a dragon fierce and fellConceiv'd within her womb;Whose mortal fangs her body rentEre he to life could come.

All woe-begone, and sad was she;25She nourisht constant woe:Yet strove to hide it from her lord,Lest he should sorrow know.

In vain she strove, her tender lord,Who watch'd her slightest look,30Discover'd soon her secret pain,And soon that pain partook.

And when to him the fearful causeShe weeping did impart,With kindest speech he strove to heal35The anguish of her heart.

Be comforted, my lady dear,Those pearly drops refrain;Betide me weal, betide me woe,I'll try to ease thy pain.40

And for this foul and fearful dream,That causeth all thy woe,Trust me I'll travel far awayBut I'll the meaning knowe.

Then giving many a fond embrace,45And shedding many a teare,To the weïrd lady of the woodsHe purpos'd to repaire.

To the weïrd lady of the woods,Full long and many a day,50Thro' lonely shades, and thickets roughHe winds his weary way.

At length he reach'd a dreary dellWith dismal yews o'erhung;Where cypress spred its mournful boughs,55And pois'nous nightshade sprung.

No chearful gleams here pierc'd the gloom,He hears no chearful sound;But shrill night-ravens' yelling scream,And serpents hissing round.60

The shriek of fiends, and damned ghostsRan howling thro' his ear:A chilling horror froze his heart,Tho' all unus'd to fear.

Three times he strives to win his way,And pierce those sickly dews:Three times to bear his trembling corseHis knocking knees refuse.

At length upon his beating breastHe signs the holy crosse;70And, rouzing up his wonted might,He treads th' unhallow'd mosse.

Beneath a pendant craggy cliff,All vaulted like a grave,And opening in the solid rock,75He found the inchanted cave.

An iron gate clos'd up the mouth,All hideous and forlorne;And, fasten'd by a silver chain,Near hung a brazed horne.80

Then offering up a secret prayer,Three times he blowes amaine:Three times a deepe and hollow soundDid answer him againe.

"Sir knight, thy lady beares a son,85Who, like a dragon bright,Shall prove most dreadful to his foes,And terrible in fight.

"His name advanc'd in future timesOn banners shall be worn:90But lo! thy lady's life must passeBefore he can be born."

All sore opprest with fear and doubtLong time lord Albert stood;At length he winds his doubtful way95Back thro' the dreary wood.

Eager to clasp his lovely dameThen fast he travels back:But when he reach'd his castle gate,His gate was hung with black.100

In every court and hall he foundA sullen silence reigne;Save where, amid the lonely towers,He heard her maidens 'plaine;

And bitterly lament and weep,105With many a grievous grone:Then sore his bleeding heart misgave,His lady's life was gone.

With faultering step he enters in,Yet half affraid to goe;110With trembling voice asks why they grieve,Yet fears the cause to knowe.

"Three times the sun hath rose and set;"They said, then stopt to weep:"Since heaven hath laid thy lady deare115In death's eternal sleep.

"For, ah! in travel sore she fell,So sore that she must dye;Unless some shrewd and cunning leechCould ease her presentlye.120

"But when a cunning leech was fet,Too soon declared he,She, or her babe must lose its life;Both saved could not be.

"Now take my life, thy lady said,125My little infant save:And O commend me to my lord,When I am laid in grave.

"O tell him how that precious babeCost him a tender wife:130And teach my son to lisp her name,Who died to save his life.

"Then calling still upon thy name,And praying still for thee;Without repining or complaint,135Her gentle soul did flee."

What tongue can paint lord Albret's woe,The bitter tears he shed,The bitter pangs that wrung his heart,To find his lady dead?140

He beat his breast: he tore his hair;And shedding many a tear,At length he askt to see his son;The son that cost so dear.

New sorrowe seiz'd the damsells all:145At length they faultering say;"Alas! my lord, how shall we tell?Thy son is stoln away.

"Fair as the sweetest flower of spring,Such was his infant mien:150And on his little body stamptThree wonderous marks were seen:

"A blood-red cross was on his arm;A dragon on his breast:A little garter all of gold155Was round his leg exprest.

"Three carefull nurses we provideOur little lord to keep:One gave him sucke, one gave him food,And one did lull to sleep.160

"But lo! all in the dead of night,We heard a fearful sound:Loud thunder clapt; the castle shook;And lightning flasht around.

"Dead with affright at first we lay;165But rousing up anon,We ran to see our little lord:Our little lord was gone!

"But how or where we could not tell;For lying on the ground,170In deep and magic slumbers laid,The nurses there we found."

O grief on grief! lord Albret said:No more his tongue cou'd say,When falling in a deadly swoone,175Long time he lifeless lay.

At length restor'd to life and senseHe nourisht endless woe,No future joy his heart could taste,No future comfort know.180

So withers on the mountain topA fair and stately oake,Whose vigorous arms are torne away,By some rude thunder-stroke.

At length his castle irksome grew,185He loathes his wonted home;His native country he forsakesIn foreign lands to roame.

There up and downe he wandered far,Clad in a palmer's gown;190Till his brown locks grew white as wool,His beard as thistle down.

At length, all wearied, down in deathHe laid his reverend head.Meantime amid the lonely wilds195His little son was bred.

There the weïrd lady of the woodsHad borne him far away,And train'd him up in feates of armes,And every martial play.200

⁂

FOOTNOTES:[422]Mr. Warton. Vid. Observations on theFairy Queen, 2 vol. 1762, 12mo.passim.

[422]Mr. Warton. Vid. Observations on theFairy Queen, 2 vol. 1762, 12mo.passim.

Thefollowing ballad is given (with some corrections) from two ancient black-letter copies in thePepys Collection: one of which is in 12mo., the other in folio.

[The story ofSt. George and the Dragonis found in many forms in the northern languages.]

Of Hector's deeds did Homer sing;And of the sack of stately Troy,What griefs fair Helena did bring,Which was sir Paris' only joy:And by my pen I will recite5St. George's deeds, and English knight.Against the Sarazens so rudeFought he full long and many a day,Where many gyants he subdu'd,In honour of the christian way:10And after many adventures pastTo Egypt land he came at last.Now, as the story plain doth tell,Within that countrey there did restA dreadful dragon fierce and fell,15Whereby they were full sore opprest;Who by his poisonous breath each day,Did many of the city slay.The grief whereof did grow so greatThroughout the limits of the land,20That they their wise-men did intreatTo shew their cunning out of hand;What way they might this fiend destroy,That did the countrey thus annoy.The wise-men all before the king25This answer fram'd incontinent;The dragon none to death might bringBy any means they could invent:His skin more hard than brass was found,That sword nor spear could pierce nor wound.30When this the people understood,They cryed out most piteouslye,The dragon's breath infects their blood,That every day in heaps they dye:Among them such a plague it bred,35The living scarce could bury the dead.No means there were, as they could hear,For to appease the dragon's rage,But to present some virgin clear,Whose blood his fury might asswage;40Each day he would a maiden eat,For to allay his hunger great.This thing by art the wise-men found,Which truly must observed be;Wherefore throughout the city round45A virgin pure of good degreeWas by the king's commission stillTaken up to serve the dragon's will.Thus did the dragon every dayUntimely crop some virgin flowr,50Till all the maids were worn away,And none were left him to devour:Saving the king's fair daughter bright,Her father's only heart's delight.Then came the officers to the king55That heavy message to declare,Which did his heart with sorrow sting;She is, quoth he, my kingdom's heir:O let us all be poisoned here,Ere she should die, that is my dear.60Then rose the people presently,And to the king in rage they went;They said his daughter dear should dye,The dragon's fury to prevent:Our daughters all are dead, quoth they,65And have been made the dragon's prey:And by their blood we rescued were,And thou hast sav'd thy life thereby;And now in sooth it is but faire,For us thy daughter so should die.70O save my daughter, said the king;And letMEfeel the dragon's sting.Then fell fair Sabra on her knee,And to her father dear did say,O father, strive not thus for me,75But let me be the dragon's prey;It may be, for my sake aloneThis plague upon the land was thrown.Tis better I should dye, she said,Than all your subjects perish quite;80Perhaps the dragon here was laid,For my offence to work his spite:And after he hath suckt my gore,Your land shall feel the grief no more.What hast thou done, my daughter dear,85For to deserve this heavy scourge?It is my fault, as may appear,Which makes the gods our state to purge;Then ought I die, to stint the strife,And to preserve thy happy life.90Like mad-men, all the people cried,Thy death to us can do no good;Our safety only doth abideIn making her the dragon's food.Lo! here I am, I come, quoth she,95Therefore do what you will with me.Nay stay, dear daughter, quoth the queen,And as thou art a virgin bright,That hast for vertue famous been,So let me cloath thee all in white;100And crown thy head with flowers sweet,An ornament for virgins meet.And when she was attired so,According to her mother's mind,Unto the stake then did she go;105To which her tender limbs they bind:And being bound to stake a thrallShe bade farewell unto them all.Farewell, my father dear, quoth she,And my sweet mother meek and mild;110Take you no thought nor weep for me,For you may have another child:Since for my country's good I dye,Death I receive most willinglye.The king and queen and all their train115With weeping eyes went then their way,And let their daughter there remain,To be the hungry dragon's prey:But as she did there weeping lye,Behold St. George came riding by.120And seeing there a lady brightSo rudely tyed unto a stake,As well became a valiant knight,He straight to her his way did take:Tell me, sweet maiden, then quoth he,125What caitif thus abuseth thee?And, lo! by Christ his cross I vow,Which here is figured on my breast,I will revenge it on his brow,And break my lance upon his chest:130And speaking thus whereas he stood,The dragon issued from the wood.The lady that did first espyThe dreadful dragon coming so,Unto St. George aloud did cry,135And willed him away to go;Here comes that cursed fiend, quoth she;That soon will make an end of me.St. George then looking round about,The fiery dragon soon espy'd,140And like a knight of courage stout,Against him did most fiercely ride;And with such blows he did him greet,He fell beneath his horse's feet.For with his launce that was so strong,145As he came gaping in his face,In at his mouth he thrust along;For he could pierce no other place:And thus within the lady's viewThis mighty dragon straight he slew.150The savour of his poisoned breathCould do this holy knight no harm.Thus he the lady sav'd from death,And home he led her by the arm;Which when king Ptolemy did see,155There was great mirth and melody.When as that valiant champion thereHad slain the dragon in the field,To court he brought the lady fair,Which to their hearts much joy did yield.160He in the court of Egypt staidTill he most falsely was betray'd.That lady dearly lov'd the knight,He counted her his only joy;165But when their love was brought to lightIt turn'd unto their great annoy:Th' Morocco king was in the court,Who to the orchard did resort,Dayly to take the pleasant air,170For pleasure sake he us'd to walk,Under a wall he oft did hearSt. George with lady Sabra talk:Their love he shew'd unto the king,Which to St. George great woe did bring.175Those kings together did deviseTo make the christian knight away,With letters him in curteous wiseThey straightway sent to Persia:But wrote to the sophy him to kill,180And treacherously his blood to spill.Thus they for good did him rewardWith evil, and most subtillyBy much vile meanes they had regardTo work his death most cruelly;185Who, as through Persia land he rode,With zeal destroy'd each idol god.For which offence he straight was thrownInto a dungeon dark and deep;Where, when he thought his wrongs upon,190He bitterly did wail and weep:Yet like a knight of courage stout,At length his way he digged out.Three grooms of the king of PersiaBy night this valiant champion slew,195Though he had fasted many a day;And then away from thence he flewOn the best steed the sophy had;Which when he knew he was full mad.Towards Christendom he made his flight,200But met a gyant by the way,With whom in combat he did fightMost valiantly a summer's day:Who yet, for all his bats of steel,Was forc'd the sting of death to feel.205Back o'er the seas with many bandsOf warlike souldiers soon he past,Vowing upon those heathen landsTo work revenge; which at the last,Ere thrice three years were gone and spent,210He wrought unto his heart's content.Save onely Egypt land he spar'dFor Sabra bright her only sake,And, ere for her he had regard,He meant a tryal kind to make:215Mean while the king o'ercome in fieldUnto saint George did quickly yield.Then straight Morocco's king he slew,And took fair Sabra to his wife,But meant to try if she were true220Ere with her he would lead his life:And, tho' he had her in his train,She did a virgin pure remain.Toward England then that lovely dameThe brave St. George conducted strait,225An eunuch also with them came,Who did upon the lady wait;These three from Egypt went alone.Now mark St. George's valour shown.When as they in a forest were,230The lady did desire to rest;Mean while St. George to kill a deer,For their repast did think it best:Leaving her with the eunuch there,Whilst he did go to kill the deer.235But lo! all in his absence cameTwo hungry lyons fierce and fell,And tore the eunuch on the sameIn pieces small, the truth to tell;Down by the lady then they laid,240Whereby they shew'd, she was a maid.But when he came from hunting back,And did behold this heavy chance,Then for his lovely virgin's sakeHis courage strait he did advance,245And came into the lions sight,Who ran at him with all their might.Their rage did him no whit dismay,Who, like a stout and valiant knight,Did both the hungry lyons slay250Within the lady Sabra's sight:Who all this while sad and demure,There stood most like a virgin pure.Now when St. George did surely knowThis lady was a virgin true,255His heart was glad, that erst was woe,And all his love did soon renew:He set her on a palfrey steed,And towards England came with speed.Where being in short space arriv'd260Unto his native dwelling-place;Therein with his dear love he liv'd,And fortune did his nuptials grace:They many years of joy did see,And led their lives at Coventry.265

Of Hector's deeds did Homer sing;And of the sack of stately Troy,What griefs fair Helena did bring,Which was sir Paris' only joy:And by my pen I will recite5St. George's deeds, and English knight.

Against the Sarazens so rudeFought he full long and many a day,Where many gyants he subdu'd,In honour of the christian way:10And after many adventures pastTo Egypt land he came at last.

Now, as the story plain doth tell,Within that countrey there did restA dreadful dragon fierce and fell,15Whereby they were full sore opprest;Who by his poisonous breath each day,Did many of the city slay.

The grief whereof did grow so greatThroughout the limits of the land,20That they their wise-men did intreatTo shew their cunning out of hand;What way they might this fiend destroy,That did the countrey thus annoy.

The wise-men all before the king25This answer fram'd incontinent;The dragon none to death might bringBy any means they could invent:His skin more hard than brass was found,That sword nor spear could pierce nor wound.30

When this the people understood,They cryed out most piteouslye,The dragon's breath infects their blood,That every day in heaps they dye:Among them such a plague it bred,35The living scarce could bury the dead.

No means there were, as they could hear,For to appease the dragon's rage,But to present some virgin clear,Whose blood his fury might asswage;40Each day he would a maiden eat,For to allay his hunger great.

This thing by art the wise-men found,Which truly must observed be;Wherefore throughout the city round45A virgin pure of good degree

Was by the king's commission stillTaken up to serve the dragon's will.

Thus did the dragon every dayUntimely crop some virgin flowr,50Till all the maids were worn away,And none were left him to devour:Saving the king's fair daughter bright,Her father's only heart's delight.

Then came the officers to the king55That heavy message to declare,Which did his heart with sorrow sting;She is, quoth he, my kingdom's heir:O let us all be poisoned here,Ere she should die, that is my dear.60

Then rose the people presently,And to the king in rage they went;They said his daughter dear should dye,The dragon's fury to prevent:Our daughters all are dead, quoth they,65And have been made the dragon's prey:

And by their blood we rescued were,And thou hast sav'd thy life thereby;And now in sooth it is but faire,For us thy daughter so should die.70O save my daughter, said the king;And letMEfeel the dragon's sting.

Then fell fair Sabra on her knee,And to her father dear did say,O father, strive not thus for me,75But let me be the dragon's prey;It may be, for my sake aloneThis plague upon the land was thrown.

Tis better I should dye, she said,Than all your subjects perish quite;80Perhaps the dragon here was laid,For my offence to work his spite:And after he hath suckt my gore,Your land shall feel the grief no more.

What hast thou done, my daughter dear,85For to deserve this heavy scourge?It is my fault, as may appear,Which makes the gods our state to purge;Then ought I die, to stint the strife,And to preserve thy happy life.90

Like mad-men, all the people cried,Thy death to us can do no good;Our safety only doth abideIn making her the dragon's food.Lo! here I am, I come, quoth she,95Therefore do what you will with me.

Nay stay, dear daughter, quoth the queen,And as thou art a virgin bright,That hast for vertue famous been,So let me cloath thee all in white;100And crown thy head with flowers sweet,An ornament for virgins meet.

And when she was attired so,According to her mother's mind,Unto the stake then did she go;105To which her tender limbs they bind:And being bound to stake a thrallShe bade farewell unto them all.

Farewell, my father dear, quoth she,And my sweet mother meek and mild;110Take you no thought nor weep for me,For you may have another child:

Since for my country's good I dye,Death I receive most willinglye.

The king and queen and all their train115With weeping eyes went then their way,And let their daughter there remain,To be the hungry dragon's prey:But as she did there weeping lye,Behold St. George came riding by.120

And seeing there a lady brightSo rudely tyed unto a stake,As well became a valiant knight,He straight to her his way did take:Tell me, sweet maiden, then quoth he,125What caitif thus abuseth thee?

And, lo! by Christ his cross I vow,Which here is figured on my breast,I will revenge it on his brow,And break my lance upon his chest:130And speaking thus whereas he stood,The dragon issued from the wood.

The lady that did first espyThe dreadful dragon coming so,Unto St. George aloud did cry,135And willed him away to go;Here comes that cursed fiend, quoth she;That soon will make an end of me.

St. George then looking round about,The fiery dragon soon espy'd,140And like a knight of courage stout,Against him did most fiercely ride;And with such blows he did him greet,He fell beneath his horse's feet.

For with his launce that was so strong,145As he came gaping in his face,In at his mouth he thrust along;For he could pierce no other place:And thus within the lady's viewThis mighty dragon straight he slew.150

The savour of his poisoned breathCould do this holy knight no harm.Thus he the lady sav'd from death,And home he led her by the arm;Which when king Ptolemy did see,155There was great mirth and melody.

When as that valiant champion thereHad slain the dragon in the field,To court he brought the lady fair,Which to their hearts much joy did yield.160He in the court of Egypt staidTill he most falsely was betray'd.

That lady dearly lov'd the knight,He counted her his only joy;165But when their love was brought to lightIt turn'd unto their great annoy:Th' Morocco king was in the court,Who to the orchard did resort,

Dayly to take the pleasant air,170For pleasure sake he us'd to walk,Under a wall he oft did hearSt. George with lady Sabra talk:Their love he shew'd unto the king,Which to St. George great woe did bring.175

Those kings together did deviseTo make the christian knight away,With letters him in curteous wiseThey straightway sent to Persia:

But wrote to the sophy him to kill,180And treacherously his blood to spill.

Thus they for good did him rewardWith evil, and most subtillyBy much vile meanes they had regardTo work his death most cruelly;185Who, as through Persia land he rode,With zeal destroy'd each idol god.

For which offence he straight was thrownInto a dungeon dark and deep;Where, when he thought his wrongs upon,190He bitterly did wail and weep:Yet like a knight of courage stout,At length his way he digged out.

Three grooms of the king of PersiaBy night this valiant champion slew,195Though he had fasted many a day;And then away from thence he flewOn the best steed the sophy had;Which when he knew he was full mad.

Towards Christendom he made his flight,200But met a gyant by the way,With whom in combat he did fightMost valiantly a summer's day:Who yet, for all his bats of steel,Was forc'd the sting of death to feel.205

Back o'er the seas with many bandsOf warlike souldiers soon he past,Vowing upon those heathen landsTo work revenge; which at the last,Ere thrice three years were gone and spent,210He wrought unto his heart's content.

Save onely Egypt land he spar'dFor Sabra bright her only sake,And, ere for her he had regard,He meant a tryal kind to make:215Mean while the king o'ercome in fieldUnto saint George did quickly yield.

Then straight Morocco's king he slew,And took fair Sabra to his wife,But meant to try if she were true220Ere with her he would lead his life:And, tho' he had her in his train,She did a virgin pure remain.

Toward England then that lovely dameThe brave St. George conducted strait,225An eunuch also with them came,Who did upon the lady wait;These three from Egypt went alone.Now mark St. George's valour shown.

When as they in a forest were,230The lady did desire to rest;Mean while St. George to kill a deer,For their repast did think it best:Leaving her with the eunuch there,Whilst he did go to kill the deer.235

But lo! all in his absence cameTwo hungry lyons fierce and fell,And tore the eunuch on the sameIn pieces small, the truth to tell;Down by the lady then they laid,240Whereby they shew'd, she was a maid.

But when he came from hunting back,And did behold this heavy chance,Then for his lovely virgin's sakeHis courage strait he did advance,245

And came into the lions sight,Who ran at him with all their might.

Their rage did him no whit dismay,Who, like a stout and valiant knight,Did both the hungry lyons slay250Within the lady Sabra's sight:Who all this while sad and demure,There stood most like a virgin pure.

Now when St. George did surely knowThis lady was a virgin true,255His heart was glad, that erst was woe,And all his love did soon renew:He set her on a palfrey steed,And towards England came with speed.

Where being in short space arriv'd260Unto his native dwelling-place;Therein with his dear love he liv'd,And fortune did his nuptials grace:They many years of joy did see,And led their lives at Coventry.265

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