I

IWhen captains couragious, whom death could not daunte,Did march to the siege of the citty of Gaunt[1301],They muster’d their souldiers by two and by three,And the foremost in battle was Mary Ambree.IIWhen brave Sir John Major was slaine in her sight,Who was her true lover, her joy, and delight,Because he was slaine most treacherouslie,She vow’d to revenge him, did Mary Ambree.IIIShe clothèd herselfe from the top to the toeIn buffe of the bravest, most seemelye to showe;A faire shirt of mail then slippèd on she;Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?IVA helmet of proofe she strait did provide,A strong arminge sword she girt by her side,And on each hand a goodly faire gauntlett put shee;Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?VThen tooke she her sworde and her target in hand,Bidding all such as wo’ld to be sworn of her band;To wayte on her person came thousand and three:Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?VI‘My soldiers,’ she saith, ‘soe valiant and bold,Nowe follow your captaine, whom you doe beholde;Still foremost in battel myself will I be’:Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?VIIThen cry’d out her souldiers, and loude they did say,‘Soe well thou becomest this gallant array,Thy harte and thy weapons soe well do agree,There was none that was ever like Mary Ambree.’VIIIShe chearèd her souldiers, that foughten for life,With ancyent[1302]and standard, with drum and with fyfe,With brave clanging trumpetts, that sounded so free;Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?IX‘Before I will see the worst of you allTo come into danger of death or of thrall,This hand and this life I will venture so free’:Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?XShe led up her souldiers in battaile arrayGainst three times theyr number by break of the daye;Seven howers in skirmish continuèd shee:Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?XIShe fillèd the skyes with the smoke of her shott,And her enemyes bodyes with bullets soe hott;For one of her owne men a score killèd shee:Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?XIIAnd when her false gunner, to spoyle her intent,Away all her pellets and powder had sent,Straight with her keen weapon she slasht him in three:Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree!XIIIBeing falselye betrayèd for lucre of hyre,At length she was forcèd to make a retyre;Then her souldiers into a strong castle drew she:Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?XIVHer foes they beset her on everye side,As thinking close siege shee co’ld never abide;To beate down the wallès they all did decree:But stoutlye defyed them brave Mary Ambree.XVThen tooke she her sword and her target in hand,And mounting the walls all undaunted did stand,There daring their captaines to match any three:O what a brave captaine was Mary Ambree!XVI‘Now saye, English captaine, what woldest thou giveTo ransome thy selfe, which else must not live?Come yield thy selfe quicklye, or slaine thou must bee.’—O then smilèd sweetlye brave Mary Ambree.XVII‘Ye captaines couragious, of valour so bold,Whom thinke you before you now you doe behold?’—‘A knight, sir, of England, and captaine soe free,Who shortèlye with us a pris’ner must bee.’—XVIII‘No captaine of England; behold in your sightTwo brests in my bosome, and therfore no knight:Noe knight, sirs, of England, nor captaine you see,But a poor simple lass, callèd Mary Ambree.’—XIX‘But art thou a woman, as thou dost declare,Whose valor hath prov’d so undaunted in warre?If England doth yield such brave lasses as thee,Full well may they conquer, faire Mary Ambree!’XXThen to her owne country shee backe did returne,Still holding the foes of faire England in scorne:Therfore, English captaines of every degree,Sing forth the brave valours of Mary Ambree!

When captains couragious, whom death could not daunte,Did march to the siege of the citty of Gaunt[1301],They muster’d their souldiers by two and by three,And the foremost in battle was Mary Ambree.

When brave Sir John Major was slaine in her sight,Who was her true lover, her joy, and delight,Because he was slaine most treacherouslie,She vow’d to revenge him, did Mary Ambree.

She clothèd herselfe from the top to the toeIn buffe of the bravest, most seemelye to showe;A faire shirt of mail then slippèd on she;Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?

A helmet of proofe she strait did provide,A strong arminge sword she girt by her side,And on each hand a goodly faire gauntlett put shee;Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?

Then tooke she her sworde and her target in hand,Bidding all such as wo’ld to be sworn of her band;To wayte on her person came thousand and three:Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?

‘My soldiers,’ she saith, ‘soe valiant and bold,Nowe follow your captaine, whom you doe beholde;Still foremost in battel myself will I be’:Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?

Then cry’d out her souldiers, and loude they did say,‘Soe well thou becomest this gallant array,Thy harte and thy weapons soe well do agree,There was none that was ever like Mary Ambree.’

She chearèd her souldiers, that foughten for life,With ancyent[1302]and standard, with drum and with fyfe,With brave clanging trumpetts, that sounded so free;Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?

‘Before I will see the worst of you allTo come into danger of death or of thrall,This hand and this life I will venture so free’:Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?

She led up her souldiers in battaile arrayGainst three times theyr number by break of the daye;Seven howers in skirmish continuèd shee:Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?

She fillèd the skyes with the smoke of her shott,And her enemyes bodyes with bullets soe hott;For one of her owne men a score killèd shee:Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?

And when her false gunner, to spoyle her intent,Away all her pellets and powder had sent,Straight with her keen weapon she slasht him in three:Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree!

Being falselye betrayèd for lucre of hyre,At length she was forcèd to make a retyre;Then her souldiers into a strong castle drew she:Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?

Her foes they beset her on everye side,As thinking close siege shee co’ld never abide;To beate down the wallès they all did decree:But stoutlye defyed them brave Mary Ambree.

Then tooke she her sword and her target in hand,And mounting the walls all undaunted did stand,There daring their captaines to match any three:O what a brave captaine was Mary Ambree!

‘Now saye, English captaine, what woldest thou giveTo ransome thy selfe, which else must not live?Come yield thy selfe quicklye, or slaine thou must bee.’—O then smilèd sweetlye brave Mary Ambree.

‘Ye captaines couragious, of valour so bold,Whom thinke you before you now you doe behold?’—‘A knight, sir, of England, and captaine soe free,Who shortèlye with us a pris’ner must bee.’—

‘No captaine of England; behold in your sightTwo brests in my bosome, and therfore no knight:Noe knight, sirs, of England, nor captaine you see,But a poor simple lass, callèd Mary Ambree.’—

‘But art thou a woman, as thou dost declare,Whose valor hath prov’d so undaunted in warre?If England doth yield such brave lasses as thee,Full well may they conquer, faire Mary Ambree!’

Then to her owne country shee backe did returne,Still holding the foes of faire England in scorne:Therfore, English captaines of every degree,Sing forth the brave valours of Mary Ambree!

FOOTNOTES:[1301]Gaunt = Ghent.[1302]ancyent = ensign.

[1301]Gaunt = Ghent.

[1302]ancyent = ensign.

IYou beauteous ladies great and small,I write unto you, one and all,Whereby that you may understandWhat I have suffer’d in this land.III was by birth a lady fair,My father’s chief and only heir;But when my good old father died,Then I was made a young knight’s bride.IIIAnd then my love built me a bower,Bedeck’d with many a fragrant flower;A braver bower you ne’er did seeThan my true love did build for me.IVBut there came thieves late in the night,They robb’d my bower, and slew my knight,And after that my knight was slainI could no longer there remain.VMy servants all from me did flyIn the midst of my extremity,And left me by myself aloneWith a heart more cold than any stone.VIYet, though my heart was full of care,Heaven would not suffer me to despair;Wherefore in haste I changed my nameFrom fair Elise to Sweet William.VIIAnd therewithal I cut my hair,And dress’d myself in man’s attire;And in my beaver, hose, and band,I travell’d far through many a land.VIIIWith a silver rapier by my side,So like a gallant I did ride;The thing that I delighted on,It was to be a serving-man.IXThus in my sumptuous man’s arrayI bravely rode along the way;And at the last it chancèd soThat I to the King’s court did go.XThen to the King I bow’d full low,My love and duty for to show;And so much favour I did crave,That I a serving-man’s place might have.XI‘Stand up, brave youth,’ the King replied,‘Thy service shall not be denied;But tell me first what thou canst do;Thou shalt be fitted thereunto.XII‘Wilt thou be usher of my hall,To wait upon my nobles all?Or wilt thou be taster of my wine,To wait on me when I do dine?XIII‘Or wilt thou be my chamberlain,To make my bed both soft and fine?Or wilt thou be one of my guard?And I will give thee thy reward.’XIVSweet William, with a smiling face,Said to the King, ‘If’t please your GraceTo show such favour unto me,Your chamberlain I fain would be.’XVThe King then did the nobles call,To ask the counsel of them all;Who gave consent Sweet William heThe King’s own chamberlain should be.XVINow mark what strange thing came to pass:As the King one day a-hunting was,With all his lords and noble train,Sweet William did at home remain.XVIISweet William had no company thenWith him at home, but an old man:And when he saw the house was clear,He took a lute which he had there:XVIIIUpon the lute Sweet William play’d,And to the same he sang and said,With a sweet and noble voiceWhich made the old man to rejoice:XIX‘My father was as brave a lordAs ever Europe did afford,My mother was a lady bright,My husband was a valiant knight:XX‘And I myself a lady gay,Bedeck’d with gorgeous rich array;The bravest lady in the landHad not more pleasure at command.XXI‘I had my music every day,Harmonious lessons for to play;I had my virgins fair and freeContinually to wait on me.XXII‘But now, alas! my husband’s dead,And all my friends are from me fled;My former joys are pass’d and gone,For I am now a serving-man.’XXIIIAt last the King from hunting came,And presently, upon the same,He callèd for this good old man,And thus to speak the King began:XXIV‘What news, what news, old man?’ quoth he;‘What news hast thou to tell to me?’—‘Brave news,’ the old man he did say,‘Sweet William is a lady gay.’—XXV‘If this be true thou tell’st to me,I’ll make thee lord of high degree;But if thy words do prove a lie,Thou shall be hang’d up presently.’XXVIBut when the King the truth had found,His joys did more and more abound:According as the old man did say,Sweet William was a lady gay.XXVIITherefore the King without delayPut on her glorious rich array,And upon her head a crown of goldWhich was most famous to behold.XXVIIIAnd then, for fear of further strife,He took Sweet William for his wife:The like before was never seen,A serving-man to be a queen.

You beauteous ladies great and small,I write unto you, one and all,Whereby that you may understandWhat I have suffer’d in this land.

I was by birth a lady fair,My father’s chief and only heir;But when my good old father died,Then I was made a young knight’s bride.

And then my love built me a bower,Bedeck’d with many a fragrant flower;A braver bower you ne’er did seeThan my true love did build for me.

But there came thieves late in the night,They robb’d my bower, and slew my knight,And after that my knight was slainI could no longer there remain.

My servants all from me did flyIn the midst of my extremity,And left me by myself aloneWith a heart more cold than any stone.

Yet, though my heart was full of care,Heaven would not suffer me to despair;Wherefore in haste I changed my nameFrom fair Elise to Sweet William.

And therewithal I cut my hair,And dress’d myself in man’s attire;And in my beaver, hose, and band,I travell’d far through many a land.

With a silver rapier by my side,So like a gallant I did ride;The thing that I delighted on,It was to be a serving-man.

Thus in my sumptuous man’s arrayI bravely rode along the way;And at the last it chancèd soThat I to the King’s court did go.

Then to the King I bow’d full low,My love and duty for to show;And so much favour I did crave,That I a serving-man’s place might have.

‘Stand up, brave youth,’ the King replied,‘Thy service shall not be denied;But tell me first what thou canst do;Thou shalt be fitted thereunto.

‘Wilt thou be usher of my hall,To wait upon my nobles all?Or wilt thou be taster of my wine,To wait on me when I do dine?

‘Or wilt thou be my chamberlain,To make my bed both soft and fine?Or wilt thou be one of my guard?And I will give thee thy reward.’

Sweet William, with a smiling face,Said to the King, ‘If’t please your GraceTo show such favour unto me,Your chamberlain I fain would be.’

The King then did the nobles call,To ask the counsel of them all;Who gave consent Sweet William heThe King’s own chamberlain should be.

Now mark what strange thing came to pass:As the King one day a-hunting was,With all his lords and noble train,Sweet William did at home remain.

Sweet William had no company thenWith him at home, but an old man:And when he saw the house was clear,He took a lute which he had there:

Upon the lute Sweet William play’d,And to the same he sang and said,With a sweet and noble voiceWhich made the old man to rejoice:

‘My father was as brave a lordAs ever Europe did afford,My mother was a lady bright,My husband was a valiant knight:

‘And I myself a lady gay,Bedeck’d with gorgeous rich array;The bravest lady in the landHad not more pleasure at command.

‘I had my music every day,Harmonious lessons for to play;I had my virgins fair and freeContinually to wait on me.

‘But now, alas! my husband’s dead,And all my friends are from me fled;My former joys are pass’d and gone,For I am now a serving-man.’

At last the King from hunting came,And presently, upon the same,He callèd for this good old man,And thus to speak the King began:

‘What news, what news, old man?’ quoth he;‘What news hast thou to tell to me?’—‘Brave news,’ the old man he did say,‘Sweet William is a lady gay.’—

‘If this be true thou tell’st to me,I’ll make thee lord of high degree;But if thy words do prove a lie,Thou shall be hang’d up presently.’

But when the King the truth had found,His joys did more and more abound:According as the old man did say,Sweet William was a lady gay.

Therefore the King without delayPut on her glorious rich array,And upon her head a crown of goldWhich was most famous to behold.

And then, for fear of further strife,He took Sweet William for his wife:The like before was never seen,A serving-man to be a queen.

IO the Ploughboy was a-ploughingWith his horses on the plain,And was singing of a song as on went he:‘Since that I have fall’n in love,If the parents disapprove,’Tis the first thing that will send me to the sea.’IIWhen the parents came to knowThat their daughter loved him so,Then they sent a gang, and press’d him for the sea.And they made of him a tar,To be slain in cruel war;Of the simple Ploughboy singing on the lea.IIIThe maiden sore did grieve,And without a word of leave,From her father’s house she fled secretlie,In male attire dress’d,With a star upon her breast,All to seek her simple Ploughboy on the sea.IVThen she went o’er hill and plain,And she walked in wind and rain,Till she came to the brink of the blue sea,Saying, ‘I am forced to rove,For the loss of my true love,Who is but a simple Ploughboy from the lea.’VNow the first she did behold,O it was a sailor bold,‘Have you seen my simple Ploughboy?’ then said she.‘They have press’d him to the fleet,Sent him tossing on the deep,Who is but a simple Ploughboy from the lea.’VIThen she went to the Captaìn,And to him she made complain,‘O a silly Ploughboy’s run away from me!’Then the Captain smiled and said,‘Why Sir! surely you’re a maid!So the Ploughboy I will render up to thee.’VIIThen she pullèd out a store,Of five hundred crowns and more,And she strew’d them on the deck, did she.Then she took him by the hand,And she row’d him to the land,Where she wed the simple Ploughboy back from sea.

O the Ploughboy was a-ploughingWith his horses on the plain,And was singing of a song as on went he:‘Since that I have fall’n in love,If the parents disapprove,’Tis the first thing that will send me to the sea.’

When the parents came to knowThat their daughter loved him so,Then they sent a gang, and press’d him for the sea.And they made of him a tar,To be slain in cruel war;Of the simple Ploughboy singing on the lea.

The maiden sore did grieve,And without a word of leave,From her father’s house she fled secretlie,In male attire dress’d,With a star upon her breast,All to seek her simple Ploughboy on the sea.

Then she went o’er hill and plain,And she walked in wind and rain,Till she came to the brink of the blue sea,Saying, ‘I am forced to rove,For the loss of my true love,Who is but a simple Ploughboy from the lea.’

Now the first she did behold,O it was a sailor bold,‘Have you seen my simple Ploughboy?’ then said she.‘They have press’d him to the fleet,Sent him tossing on the deep,Who is but a simple Ploughboy from the lea.’

Then she went to the Captaìn,And to him she made complain,‘O a silly Ploughboy’s run away from me!’Then the Captain smiled and said,‘Why Sir! surely you’re a maid!So the Ploughboy I will render up to thee.’

Then she pullèd out a store,Of five hundred crowns and more,And she strew’d them on the deck, did she.Then she took him by the hand,And she row’d him to the land,Where she wed the simple Ploughboy back from sea.

IIn Cawsand Bay lying, with the Blue Peter flying,And all hands on deck for the anchor to weigh,When off came a lady, as fresh as a daisy,And modestly hailing, the damsel did say:II‘Ship ahoy! bear a hand there! I wants a young man there,So heave us a man-rope, or send him to me;His name’s Henry Grady, and I am a lady,Arrived to prevent him from going to sea.’IIINow the captain, his honour, when he looked upon her,He ran down the side for to hand her on board.Cried he, with emotion, ‘What son of the oceanCan thus be looked after by Helena Ford?’IVThen the lady made answer, ‘That there is a man, sir,I’ll make him as free as a Duke or a Lord.’—‘Oh no!’ says the capp’en, ‘That can’t very well happen,I’ve got sailing orders—you, sir, stop on board.’VBut up spoke the lady, ‘Don’t you mind him, Hal Grady,He once was your capp’en, but now you’re at large.You shan’t stop on board her, for all that chap’s order!’Then out of her bosom she drew his discharge.VISaid the captain, ‘I’m hang’d now, you’re cool, and I’m bang’d now!’Said Hal, ‘Here, old Weatherface, take all my clothes.’And ashore then he steer’d her; the lads they all cheer’d her;But the captain was jealous, and looked down his nose.VIIThen she got a shore tailor to rig up her sailorIn white nankeen trowsers and long blue-tail’d coat;And he looked like a squire, for all to admire,With a dimity handkercher tied round his throat.VIIIThey’d a house that was greater than any first-rater,With footmen in livery handing the drink,And a garden to go in, where flowers were blowing,The buttercup, daisy, the lily, the pink.IXAnd he got edication befitting his station(For we all of us know we’re not too old to larn);And his messmates they found him, his little ones round him,All chips of the old block from the stem to the starn.

In Cawsand Bay lying, with the Blue Peter flying,And all hands on deck for the anchor to weigh,When off came a lady, as fresh as a daisy,And modestly hailing, the damsel did say:

‘Ship ahoy! bear a hand there! I wants a young man there,So heave us a man-rope, or send him to me;His name’s Henry Grady, and I am a lady,Arrived to prevent him from going to sea.’

Now the captain, his honour, when he looked upon her,He ran down the side for to hand her on board.Cried he, with emotion, ‘What son of the oceanCan thus be looked after by Helena Ford?’

Then the lady made answer, ‘That there is a man, sir,I’ll make him as free as a Duke or a Lord.’—‘Oh no!’ says the capp’en, ‘That can’t very well happen,I’ve got sailing orders—you, sir, stop on board.’

But up spoke the lady, ‘Don’t you mind him, Hal Grady,He once was your capp’en, but now you’re at large.You shan’t stop on board her, for all that chap’s order!’Then out of her bosom she drew his discharge.

Said the captain, ‘I’m hang’d now, you’re cool, and I’m bang’d now!’Said Hal, ‘Here, old Weatherface, take all my clothes.’And ashore then he steer’d her; the lads they all cheer’d her;But the captain was jealous, and looked down his nose.

Then she got a shore tailor to rig up her sailorIn white nankeen trowsers and long blue-tail’d coat;And he looked like a squire, for all to admire,With a dimity handkercher tied round his throat.

They’d a house that was greater than any first-rater,With footmen in livery handing the drink,And a garden to go in, where flowers were blowing,The buttercup, daisy, the lily, the pink.

And he got edication befitting his station(For we all of us know we’re not too old to larn);And his messmates they found him, his little ones round him,All chips of the old block from the stem to the starn.

IIn seventeen hundred and ninety-four,On March the twentieth day;We hoist our colours to the mast,And for Greenland bore away, brave boys!And for Greenland bore away.IIWe were twelve gallant men aboard,And to the North did steer:Old England left we in our wake—We sailors knew no fear, brave boys!We sailors knew no fear.IIIOur boatswain to the mast-head went,Wi’ a spy glass in his hand;He cries, ‘A whale! a whale doth blow,She blows at every span, brave boys!She blows at every span.’IVOur Captain on the master deck(A very good man was he),‘Overhaul! overhaul! let the boat tackle fall,And launch your boat to sea, brave boys!And launch your boat to sea.’VOur boat being launch’d, and all hands in,The whale was full in view;Resolved was then each seaman boldTo steer where the whale-fish blew, brave boys!To steer where the whale-fish blew.VIThe whale was struck, and the line paid out,She gave a flash with her tail;The boat capsized, and we lost four men,And we never caught that whale, brave boys!And we never caught that whale.VIIBad news we to the Captain brought,The loss of four men true.A sorrowful man was our Captain then,And the colours down he drew, brave boys!And the colours down he drew.VIII‘The losing of this whale,’ said he,‘Doth grieve my heart full sore;But the losing of four gallant menDoth hurt me ten times more, brave boys!Doth hurt me ten times more.IX‘The winter star doth now appear,So, boys, the anchor weigh;’Tis time to leave this cold countrỳ,And for England bear away, brave boys!And for England bear away.X‘For Greenland is a barren place,A land where grows no green,But ice and snow, and the whale-fish blow,And the daylight’s seldom seen, brave boys!And the daylight’s seldom seen!’

In seventeen hundred and ninety-four,On March the twentieth day;We hoist our colours to the mast,And for Greenland bore away, brave boys!And for Greenland bore away.

We were twelve gallant men aboard,And to the North did steer:Old England left we in our wake—We sailors knew no fear, brave boys!We sailors knew no fear.

Our boatswain to the mast-head went,Wi’ a spy glass in his hand;He cries, ‘A whale! a whale doth blow,She blows at every span, brave boys!She blows at every span.’

Our Captain on the master deck(A very good man was he),‘Overhaul! overhaul! let the boat tackle fall,And launch your boat to sea, brave boys!And launch your boat to sea.’

Our boat being launch’d, and all hands in,The whale was full in view;Resolved was then each seaman boldTo steer where the whale-fish blew, brave boys!To steer where the whale-fish blew.

The whale was struck, and the line paid out,She gave a flash with her tail;The boat capsized, and we lost four men,And we never caught that whale, brave boys!And we never caught that whale.

Bad news we to the Captain brought,The loss of four men true.A sorrowful man was our Captain then,And the colours down he drew, brave boys!And the colours down he drew.

‘The losing of this whale,’ said he,‘Doth grieve my heart full sore;But the losing of four gallant menDoth hurt me ten times more, brave boys!Doth hurt me ten times more.

‘The winter star doth now appear,So, boys, the anchor weigh;’Tis time to leave this cold countrỳ,And for England bear away, brave boys!And for England bear away.

‘For Greenland is a barren place,A land where grows no green,But ice and snow, and the whale-fish blow,And the daylight’s seldom seen, brave boys!And the daylight’s seldom seen!’

IThis winter’s weather it waxeth cold,And frost it freezeth on every hill,And Boreas blows his blast so boldThat all our cattle are like to spill.Bell, my wife, she loves no strife;She said unto me quietlye,‘Rise up, and save cow Crumbock’s life!Man, put thine old cloak about thee!’IIHe.O Bell my wife, why dost thou flyte[1303]?Thou kens my cloak is very thin:It is so bare and over worn,A crickè thereon cannot renn.Then I’ll no longer borrow nor lend;For once I’ll new apparell’d be;To-morrow I’ll to town and spend;For I’ll have a new cloak about me.IIIShe.Cow Crumbock is a very good cow:She has been always true to the pail;She has help’d us to butter and cheese, I trow,And other things she will not fail.I would be loth to see her pine.Good husband, counsel take of me:It is not for us to go so fine—Man, take thine old cloak about thee!IVHe.My cloak it was a very good cloak,It hath been always true to the wear;But now it is not worth a groat:I have had it four and forty year’.Sometime it was of cloth in grain[1304]:’Tis now but a sigh clout[1305], as you may see:It will neither hold out wind nor rain;And I’ll have a new cloak about me.VShe.It is four and forty years agoSine the one of us the other did ken;And we have had, betwixt us two,Of children either nine or ten:We have brought them up to women and men:In the fear of God I trow they be:And why wilt thou thyself misken?Man, take thine old cloak about thee!VIHe.O Bell my wife, why dost thou flyte?Now is now, and then was then:Seek now all the world throughout,Thou kens not clowns from gentlemen:They are clad in black, green, yellow and blue,So far above their own degree.Once in my life I’ll take a view;For I’ll have a new cloak about me.VIIShe.King Stephen was a worthy peer;His breeches cost him but a crown;He held them sixpence all too dear,Therefore he called the tailor ‘lown.’He was a king and wore the crown,And thou’se but of a low degree:It’s pride that puts this country down:Man, take thy old cloak about thee!VIIIHe.Bell my wife, she loves not strife,Yet she will lead me, if she can:And to maintain an easy lifeI oft must yield, though I’m good-man.It’s not for a man with a woman to threap[1306],Unless he first give o’er the plea:As we began, so will we keep,And I’ll take my old cloak about me.

This winter’s weather it waxeth cold,And frost it freezeth on every hill,And Boreas blows his blast so boldThat all our cattle are like to spill.Bell, my wife, she loves no strife;She said unto me quietlye,‘Rise up, and save cow Crumbock’s life!Man, put thine old cloak about thee!’

He.O Bell my wife, why dost thou flyte[1303]?Thou kens my cloak is very thin:It is so bare and over worn,A crickè thereon cannot renn.Then I’ll no longer borrow nor lend;For once I’ll new apparell’d be;To-morrow I’ll to town and spend;For I’ll have a new cloak about me.

She.Cow Crumbock is a very good cow:She has been always true to the pail;She has help’d us to butter and cheese, I trow,And other things she will not fail.I would be loth to see her pine.Good husband, counsel take of me:It is not for us to go so fine—Man, take thine old cloak about thee!

He.My cloak it was a very good cloak,It hath been always true to the wear;But now it is not worth a groat:I have had it four and forty year’.Sometime it was of cloth in grain[1304]:’Tis now but a sigh clout[1305], as you may see:It will neither hold out wind nor rain;And I’ll have a new cloak about me.

She.It is four and forty years agoSine the one of us the other did ken;And we have had, betwixt us two,Of children either nine or ten:We have brought them up to women and men:In the fear of God I trow they be:And why wilt thou thyself misken?Man, take thine old cloak about thee!

He.O Bell my wife, why dost thou flyte?Now is now, and then was then:Seek now all the world throughout,Thou kens not clowns from gentlemen:They are clad in black, green, yellow and blue,So far above their own degree.Once in my life I’ll take a view;For I’ll have a new cloak about me.

She.King Stephen was a worthy peer;His breeches cost him but a crown;He held them sixpence all too dear,Therefore he called the tailor ‘lown.’He was a king and wore the crown,And thou’se but of a low degree:It’s pride that puts this country down:Man, take thy old cloak about thee!

He.Bell my wife, she loves not strife,Yet she will lead me, if she can:And to maintain an easy lifeI oft must yield, though I’m good-man.It’s not for a man with a woman to threap[1306],Unless he first give o’er the plea:As we began, so will we keep,And I’ll take my old cloak about me.

FOOTNOTES:[1303]flyte = scold.[1304]cloth in grain = scarlet cloth.[1305]sigh clout = a rag for straining.[1306]threap = argue.

[1303]flyte = scold.

[1304]cloth in grain = scarlet cloth.

[1305]sigh clout = a rag for straining.

[1306]threap = argue.

I‘Tom Pearse, Tom Pearse, lend me your grey mare,All along, down along, out along, lee.For I want for to go to Widdicombe Fair,Wi’ Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy,Dan’l Whiddon, Harry Hawk,Old Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and all.’Chorus. Old Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and all.II‘And when shall I see again my grey mare?’—All along, down along, out along, lee.‘By Friday soon, or Saturday noon,Wi’ Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer,’ &c.IIIThen Friday came, and Saturday noon,All along, down along, out along, lee.But Tom Pearse’s old mare hath not trotted home,Wi’ Bill Brewer, &c.IVSo Tom Pearse he got up to the top o’ the hill,All along, down along, out along, lee.And he seed his old mare down a-making her willWi’ Bill Brewer, &c.VSo Tom Pearse’s old mare, her took sick and her died.All along, down along, out along, lee.And Tom he sat down on a stone, and he cried.Wi’ Bill Brewer, &c.VIBut this isn’t the end o’ this shocking affair,All along, down along, out along, lee.Nor, though they be dead, of the horrid careerOf Bill Brewer, &c.VIIWhen the wind whistles cold on the moor of a night,All along, down along, out along, lee.Tom Pearse’s old mare doth appear, gashly white,Wi’ Bill Brewer, &c.VIIIAnd all the long night be heard skirling and groans,All along, down along, out along, lee.From Tom Pearse’s old mare in her rattling bones,And from Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney,Peter Davy, Dan’l Whiddon, Harry Hawk,Old Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and allChorus.Old Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and all.

‘Tom Pearse, Tom Pearse, lend me your grey mare,All along, down along, out along, lee.For I want for to go to Widdicombe Fair,Wi’ Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy,Dan’l Whiddon, Harry Hawk,Old Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and all.’Chorus. Old Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and all.

‘And when shall I see again my grey mare?’—All along, down along, out along, lee.‘By Friday soon, or Saturday noon,Wi’ Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer,’ &c.

Then Friday came, and Saturday noon,All along, down along, out along, lee.But Tom Pearse’s old mare hath not trotted home,Wi’ Bill Brewer, &c.

So Tom Pearse he got up to the top o’ the hill,All along, down along, out along, lee.And he seed his old mare down a-making her willWi’ Bill Brewer, &c.

So Tom Pearse’s old mare, her took sick and her died.All along, down along, out along, lee.And Tom he sat down on a stone, and he cried.Wi’ Bill Brewer, &c.

But this isn’t the end o’ this shocking affair,All along, down along, out along, lee.Nor, though they be dead, of the horrid careerOf Bill Brewer, &c.

When the wind whistles cold on the moor of a night,All along, down along, out along, lee.Tom Pearse’s old mare doth appear, gashly white,Wi’ Bill Brewer, &c.

And all the long night be heard skirling and groans,All along, down along, out along, lee.From Tom Pearse’s old mare in her rattling bones,And from Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney,Peter Davy, Dan’l Whiddon, Harry Hawk,Old Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and allChorus.Old Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and all.

IIt fell about the Martinmas time,And a gay time it was then,When our goodwife got puddings to make,And she’s boil’d them in the pan.IIThe wind sae cauld blew south and north,And blew into the floor;Quoth our goodman to our goodwife,‘Gae out and bar the door.’—III‘My hand is in my hussyfskap,Goodman, as ye may see;An’ it shou’dna be barr’d this hundred year,It’s no be barr’d for me’IVThey made a paction ’tween them twa,They made it firm and sure,That the first word whae’er shou’d speak,Shou’d rise and bar the door.VThen by there came two gentlemen,At twelve o’ clock at night,And they could neither see house nor hall,Nor coal nor candle-light.VI‘Now whether is this a rich man’s house,Or whether is it a poor?’But ne’er a word wad ane o’ them speak,For barring of the door.VIIAnd first they ate the white puddings,And then they ate the black.Tho’ muckle thought the goodwife to hersel’Yet ne’er a word she spake.VIIIThen said the one unto the other,‘Here, man, tak ye my knife;Do ye tak aff the auld man’s beard,And I’ll kiss the goodwife.’—IX‘But there’s nae water in the house,And what shall we do than?’—‘What ails ye at the pudding-broo,That boils into the pan?’XO up then started our goodman,An angry man was he:‘Will ye kiss my wife before my een,And sca’d me wi’ pudding-bree?’XIThen up and started our goodwife,Gied three skips on the floor:‘Goodman, you’ve spoken the foremost word!Get up and bar the door.’

It fell about the Martinmas time,And a gay time it was then,When our goodwife got puddings to make,And she’s boil’d them in the pan.

The wind sae cauld blew south and north,And blew into the floor;Quoth our goodman to our goodwife,‘Gae out and bar the door.’—

‘My hand is in my hussyfskap,Goodman, as ye may see;An’ it shou’dna be barr’d this hundred year,It’s no be barr’d for me’

They made a paction ’tween them twa,They made it firm and sure,That the first word whae’er shou’d speak,Shou’d rise and bar the door.

Then by there came two gentlemen,At twelve o’ clock at night,And they could neither see house nor hall,Nor coal nor candle-light.

‘Now whether is this a rich man’s house,Or whether is it a poor?’But ne’er a word wad ane o’ them speak,For barring of the door.

And first they ate the white puddings,And then they ate the black.Tho’ muckle thought the goodwife to hersel’Yet ne’er a word she spake.

Then said the one unto the other,‘Here, man, tak ye my knife;Do ye tak aff the auld man’s beard,And I’ll kiss the goodwife.’—

‘But there’s nae water in the house,And what shall we do than?’—‘What ails ye at the pudding-broo,That boils into the pan?’

O up then started our goodman,An angry man was he:‘Will ye kiss my wife before my een,And sca’d me wi’ pudding-bree?’

Then up and started our goodwife,Gied three skips on the floor:‘Goodman, you’ve spoken the foremost word!Get up and bar the door.’

IAn ancient story I’ll tell you anonOf a notable prince, that was callèd King John;And he rulèd England with maine and with might,For he did great wrong, and maintein’d little right.IIAnd I’ll tell you a story, a story so merrye,Concerning the Abbot of Canterbùrye;How, for his house-keeping and high renowne,They rode poste for him to fair London towne.IIIAn hundred men, the King did heare say,The Abbot kept in his house every day;And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt,In velvet coates waited the Abbot about.IV‘How now, Father Abbot, I heare it of theeThou keepest a farre better house than mee,And for thy house-keeping and high renowne,I feare thou work’st treason against my crown.’—V‘My liege,’ quo’ the Abbot, ‘I would it were knowne,I never spend nothing, but what is my owne;And I trust your Grace will doe me no deereFor spending of my owne true-gotten geere.’VI‘Yes, yes, Father Abbot, thy fault it is highe,And now for the same thou needest must dye;For except thou canst answer me questions three,Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodìe.VII‘And first,’ quo’ the King, ‘when I’m in this stead,With my crowne of golde so faire on my head,Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe.VIII‘Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt,How soone I may ride the whole worlde about.And at the third question thou must not shrinke,But tell me here truly what I do thinke.’—IX‘O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt,Nor I cannot answer your Grace as yet:But if you will give me but three weekes space,I’ll do my endeavour to answer your Grace.X‘Now three weekes space to thee will I give,And that is the longest time thou hast to live;For if thou dost not answer my questions three,Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to mee.’XIAway rode the Abbot all sad at that word,And he rode to Cambridge, and Oxenford;But never a doctor there was so wise,That could with his learning an answer devise.XIIThen home rode the Abbot of comfort so cold,And he mett with his shepheard a-going to fold:‘How now, my lord Abbot, you are welcome home;What newes do you bring us from good King John?’—XIII‘Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must give;That I have but three days more to live:For if I do not answer him questions three,My head will be smitten from my bodìe.XIV‘The first is to tell him there in that stead,With his crowne of golde so fair on his head,Among all his liege-men so noble of birthe,To within one penny of what he is worthe.XV‘The seconde, to tell him, without any doubt,How soone he may ride this whole worlde about:And at the third question I must not shrinke,But tell him there truly what he does thinke.’—XVI‘Now cheare up, sire Abbot, did you never hear yet,That a fool he may learn a wise man witt?Lend me horse, and serving-men, and your apparel,And I’ll ride to London to answere your quarrel.XVII‘Nay frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee,I am like your lordship, as ever may bee:And if you will but lend me your gowne,There is none shall knowe us at fair London towne.’—XVIII‘Now horses and serving-men thou shall have,With sumptuous array most gallant and brave,With crozier, and miter, and rochet, and cope,Fit to appeare ’fore our Father the Pope.’—XIX‘Now welcome, sire Abbot,’ the King he did say,‘’Tis well thou’rt come back to keepe thy day;For and if thou canst answer my questions three,Thy life and thy living both savèd shall bee.XX‘And first, when thou seest me here in this stead,With my crown of golde so fair on my head,Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,Tell me to one penny what I am worthe.’—XXI‘For thirty pence our Saviour was soldAmonge the false Jewes, as I have bin told;And twenty-nine is the worthe of thee,For I thinke thou art one penny worser than hee.’XXIIThe King he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel,‘I did not thinke I had been worthe so littel!—Now secondly tell me, without any doubt,How soone I may ride this whole world about.’—XXIII‘You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same,Until the next morning he riseth againe;And then your Grace need not make any doubt,But in twenty-four hours you’ll ride it about.’XXIVThe King he laughed, and swore by St. Jone,‘I did not think it could be gone so soone!—Now from the third question thou must not shrinke,But tell me here truly what I do thinke.’—XXV‘Yea, that shall I do, and make your Grace merry:You thinke I’m the Abbot of Canterbùrye;But I’m his poor shepheard, as plain you may see,That am come to beg pardon for him and for mee.’XXVIThe King he laughed, and swore by the Masse,‘I’ll make thee Lord Abbot this day in his place!’—‘Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede,For alacke I can neither write, ne reade.’—XXVII‘Four nobles a weeke, then, I will give theeFor this merry jest thou hast showne unto mee;And tell the old Abbot when thou comest home,Thou hast brought him a pardon from good King John.

An ancient story I’ll tell you anonOf a notable prince, that was callèd King John;And he rulèd England with maine and with might,For he did great wrong, and maintein’d little right.

And I’ll tell you a story, a story so merrye,Concerning the Abbot of Canterbùrye;How, for his house-keeping and high renowne,They rode poste for him to fair London towne.

An hundred men, the King did heare say,The Abbot kept in his house every day;And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt,In velvet coates waited the Abbot about.

‘How now, Father Abbot, I heare it of theeThou keepest a farre better house than mee,And for thy house-keeping and high renowne,I feare thou work’st treason against my crown.’—

‘My liege,’ quo’ the Abbot, ‘I would it were knowne,I never spend nothing, but what is my owne;And I trust your Grace will doe me no deereFor spending of my owne true-gotten geere.’

‘Yes, yes, Father Abbot, thy fault it is highe,And now for the same thou needest must dye;For except thou canst answer me questions three,Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodìe.

‘And first,’ quo’ the King, ‘when I’m in this stead,With my crowne of golde so faire on my head,Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe.

‘Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt,How soone I may ride the whole worlde about.And at the third question thou must not shrinke,But tell me here truly what I do thinke.’—

‘O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt,Nor I cannot answer your Grace as yet:But if you will give me but three weekes space,I’ll do my endeavour to answer your Grace.

‘Now three weekes space to thee will I give,And that is the longest time thou hast to live;For if thou dost not answer my questions three,Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to mee.’

Away rode the Abbot all sad at that word,And he rode to Cambridge, and Oxenford;But never a doctor there was so wise,That could with his learning an answer devise.

Then home rode the Abbot of comfort so cold,And he mett with his shepheard a-going to fold:‘How now, my lord Abbot, you are welcome home;What newes do you bring us from good King John?’—

‘Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must give;That I have but three days more to live:For if I do not answer him questions three,My head will be smitten from my bodìe.

‘The first is to tell him there in that stead,With his crowne of golde so fair on his head,Among all his liege-men so noble of birthe,To within one penny of what he is worthe.

‘The seconde, to tell him, without any doubt,How soone he may ride this whole worlde about:And at the third question I must not shrinke,But tell him there truly what he does thinke.’—

‘Now cheare up, sire Abbot, did you never hear yet,That a fool he may learn a wise man witt?Lend me horse, and serving-men, and your apparel,And I’ll ride to London to answere your quarrel.

‘Nay frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee,I am like your lordship, as ever may bee:And if you will but lend me your gowne,There is none shall knowe us at fair London towne.’—

‘Now horses and serving-men thou shall have,With sumptuous array most gallant and brave,With crozier, and miter, and rochet, and cope,Fit to appeare ’fore our Father the Pope.’—

‘Now welcome, sire Abbot,’ the King he did say,‘’Tis well thou’rt come back to keepe thy day;For and if thou canst answer my questions three,Thy life and thy living both savèd shall bee.

‘And first, when thou seest me here in this stead,With my crown of golde so fair on my head,Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,Tell me to one penny what I am worthe.’—

‘For thirty pence our Saviour was soldAmonge the false Jewes, as I have bin told;And twenty-nine is the worthe of thee,For I thinke thou art one penny worser than hee.’

The King he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel,‘I did not thinke I had been worthe so littel!—Now secondly tell me, without any doubt,How soone I may ride this whole world about.’—

‘You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same,Until the next morning he riseth againe;And then your Grace need not make any doubt,But in twenty-four hours you’ll ride it about.’

The King he laughed, and swore by St. Jone,‘I did not think it could be gone so soone!—Now from the third question thou must not shrinke,But tell me here truly what I do thinke.’—

‘Yea, that shall I do, and make your Grace merry:You thinke I’m the Abbot of Canterbùrye;But I’m his poor shepheard, as plain you may see,That am come to beg pardon for him and for mee.’

The King he laughed, and swore by the Masse,‘I’ll make thee Lord Abbot this day in his place!’—‘Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede,For alacke I can neither write, ne reade.’—

‘Four nobles a weeke, then, I will give theeFor this merry jest thou hast showne unto mee;And tell the old Abbot when thou comest home,Thou hast brought him a pardon from good King John.

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