O Yarrow fields, may never, never rain, green, Queene; and the son of a king is in the same poem CHILDE Waters in his stable stoode, The boy took out his milk-white, milk-To white steed, Unheedful of my dule and sorrow; But, ere the dewfall of the night, He lay a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow. I sang, my voice the woods returning: How canst thou, barbarous man! then My happy sisters may be, may be proud; My brother Douglas may upbraid, upbraid, My luver's blood is on thy spear! How canst thou ever bid me luve thee? Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of luve, With bridal sheets my body cuver: Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door, Let in the expected husbande luver. him a fayre yonge ladye came As ever ware womans weede. Sayes, Christ you save! good Childe Waters, And all is with one childe of yours, If the childe be mine, faire Ellen, he sayd, Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both, If the childe be mine, faire Ellen, he sayd, Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both, Shee sayes, I had rather have one kine, Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire And I had rather have one twinkling, [both, Then I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire But who the expected husband, husband is? ter: Ah me! what ghastly spectre's yon Comes in his pale shroud, bleeding after? No youth lay ever there before thee. 4. Return, return, O mournful mournful bride, § 122. Childe Waters. CHILD is frequently used by our old writers as a title. It is repeatedly given to Prince Arthur in the Faerie [both, Farr into the north countree; Soe must you doe your yellowe lockes, You must tell no man what is my name; Shee, all the long daye Childe Waters rode, Shee, all the long daye Childe Waters rode, Ride softlye, shee sayd, O Childe Waters, The childe, which is no man's but thine, Hee sayth, Seest thou yond water, Ellen, You never will see * ine swimme! But when shee came to the water syde, And when shee over the water was, Shee then came to his knee; Hee sayd, Come hither, thou fayre Ellèn, Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen? Of red gold shines the yate: Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen? Of red gold shines the towre: I see the hall now, Childe Waters, I see the hall now, Childe Waters, And then bespake Childe Waters sistèr, But that his bellye it is soe bigge, And ever, I pray you, Childe Watèrs, It is not fit for a little foot-page, That has run thro mosse and myre; + Defiling. It is more meete for a little foot-page, Goe thee downe unto yonder towne, Ellen is gone into the towne, And lowe into the streete; I pray you nowe, good Childe Watèrs, He gave her leave, and faire Ellèn Up then rose the fayre Ellen, And gave his steede corne and haye; She leaned her back to the manger side, And that beheard his mother deare, She heard her woeful woe, She sayd, Rise up, thou Childe Watèrs, For in thy stable is a ghost, That grievouslye doth grone: Or else some woman laboures with childe, Up then rose Childe Waters soone, Howe shee made her monand §. She sayd, Lullabye, mine owne deare childe, I wolde thy father were a kinge, + Essay, attempt. § Moaning, bernoaning. Peace nowe, hee sayd, good faire Ellen, § 123. The King and the Miller of Mansfield. It has been a favourite subject with our English balladmakers, to represent our kings conversing either by accident or design with the meanest of their subjects. Of the former kind, besides this song of the King and the Miller, we have King Henry and the Soldier; King James I. and the Tinker; K. William III. and the Forester, &c. Of the latter sort are K. Alfred and the Shepherd; K. Edward IV. and the Tanner; K. Henry VIII. and the Cobbler, &c.--This is a piece of great antiquity, being written before the time of Edward IV.; and for its genuine humour, diverting incidents, and faithful picture of rustic manners, is infinitely superior to all that have been since written in imitation of it. Part the First. HENRY, our royall king, would ride a hunting To the greene forest so pleasant and faire, To see the harts skipping, and dainty does tripping: Unto merry Sherwood his nobles repaire; Hawke and hound were unbound, all things prepar'd For the game, in the same, with good regard. All along summers day rode the king pleasantly, With all his prices and nobles eche one; Chasing the hart and hind, and the bucke gallantlye, [home. Till the darke evening forced all to turne Then, at last, riding fast, he had lost quite All his lords in the wood, late in the night. Wandering thus wearilye, all alone, up and downe, With a rude miller he mett at the last: Asking the ready way unto faire Nottingham: Sir, quoth the miller, I mean not to jest, Yet I think, what I thinke sooth for to say, You doe not lightlye ride out of your way. Why, what dost thou think of me, quoth our king merrily, Passing thy judgment on me so briefe ? Good faith, said the miller, I mean not to flatter thee; I guess thee to be but some gentleman thiefe; Stand thee backe, in the darke; light notadowne, Lest I presently cracke thy knaves crowne. Thou dost abuse me much, quoth the king, sayI am a gentleman; lodging I lacke. [ing thus; Thou hast not, quoth the miller, one groat in Better I'll know thee, ere hands we will shake; With none but honest men hands will I take. Thus they went all along unto the miller's house; [souse: Where they were scething of puddings and The miller first entered in, after him went the king, Never came hee in soe smoakye a house. Now, quoth he, let me see here what you are. Quoth our king, Look your fill, and do not spare, I like well thy countenance, thou hast an honest face; [lye, With my son Richard this night thou shalt Quoth his wife, By my troth, it is a handsome youth, Yet its best, husband, to deal warilye. Art thou no runaway, prythee, youth, tell? Shew me thy passport, and all shal be well. Then our king presentlye, making lowe cour tesye With his hatt in his hand, thus he did say: I have no passport, nor never was servitor, But a poor courtyer rode out of my way: And for your kindness here offered to mee, I will requite you in everye degree. Then to the miller his wife whispered secretlye, Saying, It seemeth this youth's of good kin, Both by his apparel, and eke by his manners; To turne him out, certainlye, were a great sin. Yea, quoth hee, you may see, he hath some grace, When he doth speake to his betters in place. Well, quo' the miller's wife, young man, ye're welcome here; And, though I say it, well lodged shall be: Fresh straw will I have laid on thy bed so brave, And good brown hempen sheets likewise, quoth shee. Aye, quoth the good man, and when that is Thou shalt lye with no worse than our own done, [sonne. Nay, first, quoth Richard, goode-fellowe, tell me true, Hast thou noe creepers within thy gay hose? Or art thou not troubled with the scabbado? I pray, quoth the king, what creatures are those? And of his sweetnesse a little we'll taste. Then I thinke, sayd our king, that it is venison. know that: WHENAS Our royall king was come home from And with his nobles at Westminster lay; Against St. George's next sumptuous feast, Whenas the noble lords sawe the kinges plea santness, hearts: They were right joyfull and glad in their And grant your ladye her owne hearts desire; And to your sonne Richard good fortune and happiness; That sweet, gentle, and gallant young squire! I doubt, quoth Richard, to be hang'd at the Thou hast contented my worshippe full well. Hold, here are three farthings, to quite thy gentleness For these happy tydings which thou dost tell. Let me see, heare thou mee; tell to our king, We'll wait on his mastershipp in every e thing. The pursuivant smiled at their simplicitye, And, making many leggs, tooke their reward; To the kings court againe he repair'd'; Now must we needs be brave, tho' we spend all we have; For of new garments we have great need: Of horses and serving-men we must have store, With bridles and saddles, and twenty things more. Tushe! sir John, quoth his wife, why should you frett or frown? You shall ne'er be att no charges for mee; For I will turn and trim up my old russet gowne, With every thing else as fine as may bee: And on our mill-horses swift we will ride, With pillowes and pannells as we shall provide. In this most stately sort rode they unto the court, Their jolly son Richard rode foremost of all; Who set up, for good hap, a cocks feather in his cap, And so they jetted downe to the king's hall; The merry old miller with hands on his side; His wife like maid Marian did mince at that tide. The king and his nobles, that heard of their coming, traine; Meeting this gallant knight with his brave [lady ; Welcome, sir knighte, quoth he, with your gay Good sir John Cockle, once welcome againe: That wast my own bed-fellowe, well it I wot. Yea, sir, quoth Richard, and by the same token, Thou with thy farting didst make the bed hot. Thou whoreson unhappy knave, then quoth the knight, Speak cleanly to our king, or else go sh*t*. The king and his courtiers laugh at this heartily, Whilethe king taketh them both by the hand; With the court dames' and maids, like to the queen of spades, The miller's wife did so orderly stand, A milkmaids courtesye at every word; And downe all the folkes were set to the board. There the king royally, in princelye majestye, Sate at his dinner with joy and delight; When they had eaten well, then he to jesting fell, And in a bowle of wine dranke to the knight: Here's to you both, in wine, ale, and beer; Thanking you heartilye for my good cheer. Quoth sir John Cockle, I'll pledge you a pottle, Were it the best ale in Nottinghamshire. But then, said our king, now I think of a thing, Some of your Lightfoot I would we had here. Ho! ho! quoth Richard, full well I may say it, "Tis knavery to eate it, and then to betray it. Why art thou angry? quoth our king merrilye; In faith, I take it now very unkind : I thought thou wouldst pledge me in ale and wine heartily. Quoth Dicke, You are like to stay till I have You feed us with twatling dishes so small; Aye, marry, quoth our king, that were a daintye thing, Could a man get but one here for to eat. With that Dick straight arose, and pluck'd one from his hose, Which with heat of his breech gan for to $124. The Witches' Song. From Ben Jonson's Masque of Queens, presented at Whitehall, Feb. 2, 1609. It is true, this song of the Witches, falling from the learned pen of Ben Jonson, is rather an extract from the various incantations of classic antiquity, than a display of the opinions of our own vulgar. But let it be observed, that a parcel of learned wiseacres had just before busied themselves on this subject, with our Bri tish Solomon, James I., at their head; and these had so ransacked all writers, ancient and modern, and so blended and kneaded together the several superstitions of different times and nations, that those of genuine English growth could no longer be traced out and distinguished. By good luck the whimsical belief of fairies and goblins could furnish no pretences for torturing our fellowcreatures, and therefore we have this handed down to us pure and unsophisticated. 1 Witch. I HAVE beene all day looking after A raven feeding upon a quarter; I snatch'd this morsell out of her mouth. And, soone as she turn'd her back to the south; 2 Witch I have beene gathering wolves haires, 4 Witch. And I h' beene chusing out this scull, Under a cradle I did creepe By day, and when the childe was a-sleepe I had a dagger: what did I with that? 7 Witch. A murderer yonder was hung in chaines; |