and Tom o' Bedlam was a regular character in the seventeenth century. The madman upon the stage was regarded as a sort of clown, of a particularly spicy character; the audience generally laughed heartily at the mad-scenes, and one is not astonished to find the fool, in "King Lear," capping Edgar's verse (Act iii. Sc. 6).

"Edgar.

Fool.

Come o'er the bourn, Bessie, to me:

Her boat hath a leak,

And she must not speak

Why she dares not come over to thee."

The song, "Come O'er the Bourn, Bessie," was entered at Stationer's Hall, in 1562.

It is quite possible that Shakespeare in the madscenes made a concession to the popular taste of his time. This would place the Ophelia songs on a lower level than that which is generally assigned them, and would also deteriorate the effect of the scenes in "King Lear," just alluded to. Inferential evidence that this may have been the case may be found in Fletcher's "Two Noble Kinsmen" (Act iv. Sc. 3), where the gaoler's daughter appears in a distraught condition, and gives fragments of songs quite in the Ophelian manner, and also becomes highly indelicate in her language. The rustic revellers and the schoolmaster, in this scene, think it great sport to find a mad woman to join in their morris-dance,

and the whole scene was evidently intended to pro voke the mirth of the audience.

We may suppose, however, that Shakespeare made use of the fondness of his public for a mad-scene, and turned the hilarity into a more worthy channel. Fletcher's gaoler's daughter certainly seems but a vulgar caricature of Ophelia.

We can turn from the fragmentary musical mutter. ings of Edgar, with much delight, to the rollicking picture of ballad-singing given in connection with Autolycus, in "Winter's Tale." Here we have a minstrel such as England possessed regiments of in the ancient times; such as were persecuted by law, hounded by the Church (see Chapter IX.), yet remained to the end a set of jolly, Bohemian reprobates. The scenes in which Autolycus is prominent are here given (Act iv. Sc. 2):

“A Road near the Shepherd's Cottage.

Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing.

♦When daffodils begin to peer,

With, heigh! the doxy over the dale,

Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year;

For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.

'The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,

With, heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing! –

Doth set my pugging tooth on edge;

For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.

With, hey! with, hey! the thrush and the jay,—
Are summer songs for me and my aunts,

While we lie tumbling in the hay.'

I have served prince Florizel, and, in my time, wore threepile; but now I am out of service;

But shall I go mourn for that, my dear?

The pale moon shines by night;
And, when I wander here and there,
I then do most go right.

'If tinkers may have leave to live,
And bear the sow-skin budget;
Then my account I well may give,
And in the stocks avouch it.'

My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen. My father named me Autolycus; who being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die and drab, I purchased this caparison; and my revenue is the silly cheat: Gallows and knocks are too powerful on the highway; beating and hanging are terrors to me; for the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. A prize! a prize!"

After this delightful lyric (the music of which has unfortunately disappeared) the clown enters and is cheerfully robbed by Autolycus, who departs at the end of the scene, singing:

"Jog on, jog on, the footpath way,

And merrily hent the stile-a;
A merry heart goes all the day,

Your sad tires in a mile-a."

and of this an old melody still exists; we herewith append it. The tune is traced as far back as 1650, and probably is the one known to Shakespeare nearly a half-century before. The next scene of the play introduces Autolycus again.

Moderate Time.

Jog on, jog on the foot path way, And

mer-ri-ly hent the stile a, A mer-ry heart goes

all

the day, Your sad tires in a mile

"Enter a SERVANT.

Servant. O master, if you did but hear the pedler at the door, you would never dance again after a tabor and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you: he sings several tunes faster than you'll tell money; he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men's ears grew to his tunes.

Clown. He could never come better; he shall come in: I love a ballad but even too well; if it be doleful matter, merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed, and sung lamentably.

Servant. He hath songs, for man or woman, of all sizes; no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves: he has the prettiest love-songs for maids; so without bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate burdens of dildos and fadings,' 'jump her and thump her;' and where some stretch-mouthed rascal would, as it were, mean mischief, and break a foul jape into the matter, he makes the maid to answer, 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man;' puts him off, slights him, with Whoop, do me no harm, good man.'

Polixenes. This is a brave fellow.

Clown. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares?

Servant. He hath ribands of all the colours i' the rainbow; points, more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to him by the gross; inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns: why, he sings them over, as they were gods or goddesses: you would think, a smock were a she angel: he so chants to the sleeve hand, and the work about the square on't. Clown. Pr'ythee, bring him in; and let him approach singing.

Perdita. Forewarn him, that he use no scurrilous words in his tunes.

Clown. You have of these pedlers, that have more in 'em than you'd think, sister.

Perdita. Ay, good brother, or go about to think.