Appendix
I
THE KING AND THE BARKER
Library of the University of Cambridge, MS. Ee. iv, 35. 1, fol. 19 b. Written mostly in couplets of long lines, sometimes in stanzas of four short lines, with omissions, transpositions, and other faults.
It will be observed that neither in this tale nor in the “history” which follows does the tanner become aware that he has been dealing with “our kyng.” In both he calls the king “good fellow” to the very last. What happens at the meeting with Lord Basset, 30, is not made quite intelligible. It must be that Lord Basset and his men fall on their knees, but the conviction that “this” is the king seems to make no great difference in the tanner’s bearing.
1 Well yow here a god borde to make yow all low, How het ffell apon a tyme, or en_e_y man het know?
2 The kyng rod a hontyng, as þat tyme was; Ffor to hont a der_e_ Y trow hes hope was.
3 As he rode, he houer- toke yn the wey A tannar off Dantre, yn a queynte ar_a_ye.
4 Blake kow-heydes sat he apon, the hornys heyng be seyde; The kyng low and had god game to se the tannar reyde.
5 Howr_e_ kyng bad hes men abeyde, and he welde sper of hem the wey; ‘Yffe Y may her_e_ eney now tythyng, Y schall het to yow saye.’
6 Howr_e_ kyng prekyd and seyde, Ser, God the saffe! The tannar seyde, Well mot yow ffar_e_!
7 ‘God ffellow,’ seyde yowr_e_ kyng, ‘offe on thyng Y þe pray; To Drayton Baset well Y reyde, wych_e_ ys the wey?’
8 ‘That can Y tell the ffro hens þ_a_t Y stonde; When þow comest to the galow-tre, torne vpon þe lyft honde.’
9 ‘Gram_e_rcy, ffellow,’ seyde owr_e_ kyng, ‘w_i_t_h_owtyn eney wone, I schall prey the lord Baset thanke the sone.
10 ‘God ffellow,’ seyde owr_e_ kyng, ‘reyde þow w_i_t_h_ me Tell Y com to Drayton Baset, Now Y het se.’
11 ‘Nay, be mey ffeyt,’ seyde the barker thoo, ‘Thow may sey Y wer_e_ a ffole, and Y dyd so.
12 ‘I hast yn mey wey as well as þow hast yn theyne; Reyde fforthe and seke they wey; þi hors ys bett_er_ nar meyne.’
13 The tanner seyde, What maner man ar ye? ‘A preker abowt,’ seyd _þ_e kyng, ‘yn maney a contre.’
14 Than spake the tanner, ffoll scrodel_e_y ayen; Y had a brother vowsed the same, tell he cowde never the[n].
15 Than _yo_wr_e_ kyng smotley gan smeyle: ‘Y prey the, ffelow, reyde w_i_t_h_ me a meyle.’
16 ‘What, devell!’ q_uo_d the tann_er_, ‘art þ_o_u owt off they wet? Y most hom to mey deyner_e_, ffor I am ffastyng yet.’
17 ‘Good ffelow,’ seyde owr_e_ kyng, ‘Car_e_ _þ_e not ffor no mete; _Þo_u schalt haffe mete ynow to neyȝt, and yeffe _þo_u welt ette.’
18 The tanner toke gret skorne of hem, and sware be Creystys pyne, Y trow Y hafe mor_e_ money yn mey pors nar thow hast yn theyne.
19 ‘Wenest thow Y well be owt on neyȝt? nay, and God beffore; Was Y neuer owt a-neyt sen Y was bor_e_.’
20 The tanner lokyd a bake tho; the heydes began to ffall; He was war of the keyng_es_ men, where they cam reydyng all.
21 Thes ys a theffe, thowt the tann_er_, Y prey to God geffe hem car_e_; He well haffe mey hors, mey heydes, and all mey chaffar_e_.
22 ‘Ffor ffeleyschepe,’ seyde the tannar, ‘y[e]t well Y reyde w_i_t_h_ the; Y wot, war_e_ Y mete w_i_t_h_ the afft_er_ward, thow mast do as meche ffor me.’
23 ‘God amar[sey],’ seyde owr_e_ kyng, ‘w_i_t_h_owt eney wone, Y schall prey þe lord Baset to thanke the sone.’
24 Owr_e_ kyng seyde, What now tydyng herest [_þo_u] as _þo_u [dost] ryd? I wolde ffayne wot, ffor _þo_w reydest weyde.
25 ‘Y know [no] now teytheyng,’ þe tanner seyde, herke and _þo_u schalt her_e_; Off al the chaffar that Y know, kow-heydys beyt der_e_.’
26 _O_wr_e_ keyng seyde, On theyng on mey loffe Y the prey; What herest sey be the lord Baset yn thes contrey?
27 ‘I know hem not,’ seyde the tann_er_, ‘w_i_t_h_ hem Y hafe lytyll to don; Wolde he neuer bey of me clot-lether to clowt w_i_t_h_ schon.’
28 How_re_ kyng seyde, Y loffe the well, of on thyng I þe praye; Thow hast harde hes s_er_vantes speke, what wolde þey saye?
29 ‘Ye, ffor God,’ seyde the tann_er_, ‘þ_a_t tell Y can; Thay sey thay leke hem well, for he ys a god man.’
30 Thos they reyd together talkyng, for soyt Y yow tell, Tell he met þe lord Baset; on kneys downe þey ffell.
31 Alas, the tann_er_ thowt, the kyng Y leue thes be; Y schall be honged, well Y wot, at men may me se.
32 He had no meynde of his hode nor cape ner_e_ a dell [more], Al ffor drede off hes leyffe he wende to haffe lo_re_.
33 The tann_er_ wolde a stole awey, whyle he began to speke; How_re_ kyng had yever an ey on hem, that he meyt not skape.
34 ‘God ffelow’, seyd owr_e_ kyng, ‘w_i_t_h_ me thow most abeyde, Ffor þow and Y most an hontyng reyde.’
35 Whan they com to Kyng Chas, meche game þey saye; Howr_e_ kyng seyde, Ffelow, what schall Y do, my hors ys so hey?
36 ‘God ffelow,’ [seyde owr_e_ kyng,] lend þow me theyne, . . . . . . . and hafe here meyne.’
37 Tho the tannar leyt do[w]ne and cast a downe hes heydys; Howr_e_ kyng was yn hes sadell, no leyngg_er_ he beydes.
38 Alas, þeyn the tanner thowt, w_i_t_h_ mey hors he well reyde awey; Y well aft_er_, to get hem and Y may.
39 He welde not leffe his heydys beheynde ffor no theyng. ..; He cast them yn the kyng_es_ schadyll; Þat was a neys seyte.
40 Þo he sat aboffe them, as Y [y]ouw saye, He prekyd ffast aft_er_, and ffond þe redey wey.
41 The hors lokyd abowt hem, and sey on eu_er_y seyde . . . . . . the kow-hornes blake and wheyte.
42 The hors went he had bor_e_ þe deuell on hes bake; The hors prekyd as he was wode, het mestoret to spor hem not.
43 The barker cleynt on hem ffast, he was sore afferde ffor to ffall; . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
44 The kyng lowhe [and had gode game,] and was glad to ffollow þe chas; Lest þe tann_er_ wolde ber_e_ hem downe yette he was agast.
45 The hors sped hem sweythyli, he sped hem wonderley ffast; Ayen a bow of an oke the tann_er_es hed he brast.
46 W_i_t_h_ a stombellyng as he rode, þe tann_er_ downe he cast; The kyng lowhe and had god game, and seyde, S_er_, _þo_u rydyst to ffast.
47 The kyng lowhe and had god game, and swar_e_ be Sent John, Seche another horsman say Y neuer_e_ none.
48 Owr_e_ kyng lowhe and had god bord, and swar_e_ be Sent Jame, Y most nedys lawhe, and thow wer_e_ mey dame.
49 ‘Y bescro the same son,’ seyde the barker tho, ‘_Þa_t seche a bord welde haffe to se hes dame so wo.’
50 When her hontyng was ydo, þey changyd hors agen; Þo the barker had hes howyn, þeyrof he was ffayne.
51 ‘God a marsey,’ seyd owr_e_ kyng, ‘of þey s_er_ueyse to daye; Yeffe thow hafe awt to do w_i_t_h_ me, or owt to saye,
52 They ffrende schall Y yeffor be, Be God [þat] ys bet on; . . . . . . . . . . . . .
53 ‘God a marsey,’ seyde þe barker þo, ‘thow semyst a ffelow god; Yeffe Y met the yn Dantre, þow schalt dreynke, be [þe] rode.’
54 ‘Be mey ffeyt,’ seyde owr_e_ kyng, ‘or els wer_e_ Y to blame, Yeffe Y met the yn Lecheffelde, þow schalt hafe the same.’
55 Þus they rode talkyng togeder to Drayton Hall; Tho the barker toke hes leffe of the lordes all.
56 Owr_e_ kyng comand þe barker yn that tyde A c. s’. yn hes pors, to mend hes kow-heydys.
57 There owr_e_ kyng and the barker p_ar_tyd ffeyr_e_ atwyn; God _þa_t set yn heffen so hey breyng os owt of sen!
Explycy_t_ þe Kyng and the Barker.
* * * * *
1^2. lawhe all. For low, cf. 4^3; lowhe, 44^1, 46^3, 47^1, 48^1.
6^4. ffare. Read, perhaps, with rhyme, haffe.
7^1, 15^1. yowre = owre: cf. yever, yeffor, 33^3, 52^1.
9^2. eney woyt: see 23^2.
9^3. they.
11^1. be meyt; cf. 54^1.
12^1. I haffe hast?
14^1, 25^1, 31^1, 33^1, 37^1, 38^1, 46^2. thanner, thannar (the th caught from the preceding the).
14^3. yow (struck through) vowsed (that is, used).
19^2. be ffore.
22^3. y not: methe.
25^1. no has been inserted because it occurs in the
other versions, but now (new), simply, makes some sense.
26^2. as mey. Perhaps, as thow me loffe.
27^4. schoys.
28^2. of 1.
34^{1,2}. God ffelow w_i_t_h_ me thow most abeyde seyd owr_e_ kyng.
38^2. he well reyde awey w_i_t_h_ mey hors.
39^1. le leffe.
39^2. Words seem to have dropped out at the end.
42. The rhyme might be restored thus:
The hors went the deuell on hes bake he had bor_e_; The hors prekyd as he was wode, het mestoret not hem to spor.
44^{3,4}. yeffe he was agast lest þe tann_er_ wolde ber_e_ hem downe.
45^3. a noke.
45^4. thann_er_es: barst.
48^2. Jane.
48^3. nedyst.
50^4. of ffayne.
55^1. to gederff.
II
KING EDWARD THE FOURTH AND A TANNER OF TAMWORTH
A merrie, pleasant and delectable Historie, betweene King Edward the Fourth and a Tanner of Tamworth, etc.
=a.= London, John Danter, 1596, Bodleian Library, 4°, C. 39. Art. Seld. =b.= London, W. White, 1613, Corpus Christi College Library, X. G. 2. 11. 4th tract.
1 In summer-time, when leaues grou greene, and blossoms bud on euery tree, King Edward would a hunting ride, some pastime for to see.
2 With hawke and hound he made him bound, with horne and eke with bow; Toward Drayton Basset he tooke his way, whosoeuer doth it know.
3 But as our king on his way rode forth, by eight a clocke of the day, He was ware of a tanner of mery Tamworth, was in a quaint aray.
4 A good russet coat the tanner had on, he thought it mickle pride; He rode on a mare cost foure shillings, and vnder him a good cow-hide.
5 A paire of rough mittens the tanner did weare, his hood was buckled vnder his chin; ‘Yonder comes a good fellow,’ said our king, ‘that cares not whether he lose or win.’
6 The tanner came singing on his mare, with one so merry a note; He sung out of tune, he was past care, he had no neede to grease his throte.
7 ‘Stand you here still, my lordes now, vnder the greene wood spray, And I will ride to yonder fellow, to wit what he will say.
8 ‘God speede, good fellow,’ said our king; ‘thou art welcom, sir,’ quoth he; ‘Which is the way to Drayton Basset, I pray thee tell to me.’
9 ‘Marry, that I will,’ quoth the tanner, ‘right as here I stand; The next paire of gallows that thou comes to, turne in vpon thy right hand.’
10 ‘It is an vnready way,’ said our king, ‘I tell you, so mote I thee; I pray you show me the readiest way the towne that I may see.’
11 ‘Go play the great jauel!’ quoth the tanner, ‘I hold thee out of thy wit; All day haue I ridden on Brocke, my mare, and I am fasting yet.’
12 ‘Why, we will to the towne,’ said our king, ‘and of dainties [we will none lacke]; We will eate and drinke and fare of the best, and I will pay for the shot.’
13 ‘God haue mercy for nothing,’ quoth the tanner, ‘thou paiest for none of mine, For I haue as many nobles in my purse as thou hast pence in thine.’
14 ‘God giue you ioy of yours,’ said our king, ‘and send thee well to priefe;’ The tanner would faine haue beene away, for he wend he had beene a thiefe.
15 ‘What art thou, good fellow?’ quoth the tanner, ‘of thee I am in great feare, For the clothes that thou wearest on thy back are not for a lord to weare.’
16 ‘I neuer stole them,’ said our king, ‘I tell you, sir, by the rood;’ ‘No, thou plaiest as many an vnthrift doth, thou standst in the mids of thy good.’
17 ‘What tidings heare you,’ said our king, ‘as you ride farre and neare?’ ‘I heare no tidings,’ quoth the tanner, ‘but that cow-hides are deare.’
18 ‘Cow-hides? cow-hides?’ then said our king, ‘I know not what they be;’ ‘Lo, here thou maist see one;’ quoth the tanner, ‘here lyeth one vnder me.
19 ‘Knowst thou not a cow-hide,’ quoth the tanner, ‘and hast gone so long to schoole? If euer thou come to dwell in the country, thou wilt be made a foole.’
20 ‘What craftsman are you?’ said our king, ‘I pray you tell me now;’ ‘I am a barker,’ quoth the tanner, [‘What craftsman art thou?’]
21 ‘I am a courtier,’ said our king, ‘forth of seruice I am worne; Full faine I would be your prentise,’ he said, ‘your cunning for to learne.’
22 ‘Marrie, God forbid,’ quoth the tanner, ‘that such a prentise I should haue; He wold spend me more than he would get by fortie shillings a yere.’
23 ‘One thing would I wit,’ said our king, ‘if you will not seeme strange; Thou my horse be better than your mare, with you faine would I change.’
24 ‘Nay, there thou liest yet,’ quoth the tanner, ‘by Christ, thou shalt abide; For, if thou haue Brocke, my mare, thou gets not my good cow-hide.’
25 ‘I will not haue it,’ said our king, ‘I tell thee, so mote I thee; I will not carrie it away though you would giue it me.’
26 ‘Why, then we must change,’ quoth the tanner, ‘as needs me thinke thou woot; But if you haue Brocke, my mare, I will looke to haue some boote.’
27 ‘That were against reason,’ said our king, ‘I tell you, so mote I thee; My horse is much better than your mare, and that you may well see.’
28 ‘Avise a vous now,’ sayd the tanner, ‘whether thou wilt or no, For my mare is gentle and will not kicke, but softlie she will go.
29 ‘And thy horse is vnhappie and vnwieldie, [and will neuer goe in rest,] But alwaies skipping here and there, and therefore my mare is best.’
30 ‘What boot will you haue?’ then said our king, ‘tell me now in this tide;’ ‘Neuer a single pennie,’ quoth the tanner, ‘but a noble of gold so red.’
31 ‘Why, there is your noble,’ said our king, ‘well paid looke that you be;’ ‘I would haue sworne on a book,’ quoth the tanner, ‘thou hadst not one pennie.’
32 Now hath the king the tanner’s mare, she is nothing faire, fat nor round, And the tanner hath the king’s good steede, the saddle is worth fortie pound.
33 The tanner tooke vp the good cow-hide, off the ground where he stood, He threw it vpon the king’s steede, in the saddle that was so good.
34 The steed stared vpon the hornes, vnder the greene wood spraie; He had weende the diuell of hell had bin come, to carrie him thence away.
35 The tanner looked as fast on the stirrops, astonied sore he was; He meruailed greatly in his minde whether they were gold or bras.
36 ‘Help me [vp], good fellow,’ quoth the tanner, ‘lightly that I were gone; My wife and my neighbours more and lesse will say I am a gentleman.’
37 The king tooke the tanner by the leg, and lift him vp a loft; The tanner girded out a good round fart, his belly it was so soft.
38 ‘You make great waste,’ said our king, ‘your curtesie is but small;’ ‘Thy horse is so high,’ quoth the tanner againe, ‘I feare me of a fall.’
39 But when the tanner was in the saddle the steede began to blow and blast, And against the roote of an old tree the tanner downe he cast.
40 ‘Abide, good fellow,’ said our king, ‘ye make ouer great hast;’ ‘Thou shalt haue thy horse, with a vengeance, againe, for my necke is well nigh brast.’
41 ‘Why then we must change,’ said our king, ‘as me thinke needs thou woot; But if you haue your mare againe I will looke to haue some boote.’
42 ‘What boote wilt thou haue?’ quoth the tanner, ‘tell me in this stound; ‘Neuer a groat nor pennie,’ said our king, ‘but of thy gold twentie pound.’
43 ‘Nay, here is thy noble,’ quoth the tanner again, ‘and Christ’s blessing and mine; ‘Yea, here is twentie good groats more, goe drinke them at the wine.’
44 ‘So mote I thee,’ then said our king, ‘it shall not slacke my woe; For when a noble is in small monie full soone it is agoe.’
45 ‘Dost thou loue to keepe gold?’ quoth the tanner, the king answered and said, Ye; ‘Then I would thou were my neere kinsman, for I thinke thou wilt thriue and thee.’
46 Now hath the tanner Brocke, his mare, and vnder him his good cowhide, Our noble king his horse againe, which was a well faire steede.
47 ‘Now farewell, good fellow,’ quoth the tanner, ‘I will bide no longer with thee;’ ‘Tarrie yet a little while,’ said our king, ‘and some pastime we will see.’
48 Our king set a bugle to his mouth, and blew a blast lowd and small; Seuen score lords, knights, squires and yeome_n_ came riding ouer a dale.
49 ‘Now out alas!’ quoth the tanner, ‘that euer I saw this tide; Thou art a strong thiefe, yonder be thy fellowes, will haue my mare and my cowhide.’
50 ‘They are no theeues,’ then said our king, ‘I tell you, so mote I thee; It is my lord of Drayton Basset is come a hunting to me.’
51 But when before the king they came, they fell downe on their knees; The tanner had leuer than a thousand pound he had beene from their companies.
52 ‘A coller! a coller!’ our king gan call, quoth the tanner, It will breede sorrow; For after a coller commeth a halter, I trow I shall be hangd tomorrow.
53 ‘Be not afraid, tanner,’ said our king, ‘I tell thee, so mote I thee; Lo, here I make thee the best esquier in all the North Countrie.
54 ‘And Plumton Parke I will giue thee, and Iacie in [t]his tide-- It is worth three hundred pounds by yeare-- to prepare thy good cowhide.’
55 ‘God a mercie, good fellow,’ quoth the tanner, ‘for this that thou hast done; The next time thou comest to Tamworth town, thou shalt haue clouting-leather for thy shon.’
56 Now God aboue speed well the plough, and keepe vs from care and woe, Vntill euerie tanner in [t]his countrie [doe ride a hunting so.]
A merrie, pleasant and delectable Historie, betvveene King Edvvard the fourth and a Tanner of Tamworth, as he rode vpon a time with his nobles a (=b=, on) hunting toward Drayton Basset:
Verie pleasant and merrie to read.
=a.= Printed at London by John Danter, 1596. (8 pages.)
=b.= At London, printed by W. White, 1613. (8 pages.)
=b= has for a heading The King and the Tanner.
=a.=
3^4. quaint of aray.
11^1. play thee.
12^2. Defect supplied from =b=.
20^4. Cut off; supplied from =b=.
26^2. thou wilt. Cf. 41^2.
29^2, 56^4. Cut off; supplied from =b=.
43^1. quath.
=b.=
3^1. as the.
3^2. eight of the.
3^4. quaint of ray.
6^1. tanner he.
7^1. here wanting.
8^4. tell it me.
9^4. vp vpon.
10^2. so might.
11^1. play thee.
12^2. we will none lacke.
13^1. Godamercy.
15^2. I stand.
16^4. middes.
18^4. lies.
19^3. thou happen.
20^4. what craft-man art thou.
22^3. than I should.
23^1. I wish.
23^2. thou wilt.
23^3. then thy.
23^4. would I faine.
25^2, 27^2, 44^1, 50^2. mought.
25^4. thou wouldst.
26^2. thinkes thou wilt.
26^3. if thou.
27^3. than thy.
29^2. and will neuer goe in rest.
31^1. Why heere: said the.
31^3. would asworne.
33^3. king’s faire steed.
35^2. sore that he.
36^1. me up.
38^3. so hie.
40^4. welnie.
41^2. mee thinkes: thou wilt.
45^2. yea.
45^3. wert.
46^2. and wanting.
47^2. will no longer abide.
48^2. and he.
50^1. then wanting.
51^1. when they all before the king came.
51^3. had rather.
53^2. might.
53^4. that is in the.
54^2. Jackie in this.
56^3. Till: in this.
56^4. doe ride a hunting so.
III
KING HENRY II AND THE MILLER OF MANSFIELD
=a.= ‘Kinge and Miller,’ Percy MS., p. 235; Hales and Furnivall, II, 147. =b.= The Pleasant History of the Miller of Mansfield, in Sherwood, and Henry the Second, King of England, etc., Wood, 254, iv. Small octavo of twelve pages. Printed for F. Coles, J. Wright, T. Vere, and William Gilbertson, 1655.
1 Henery, our royall k_ing_, wold goe a huntinge, To the greene fforrest soe pleasant and fayre; To haue the harts chased, the daintye does tripping, To merry Sherwood his nobles repayre; Hauke and hound was vnbound, all things p_re_pared For the same to the game w_i_th good regard.
2 All a longe sum_m_ers day rode the k_ing_ pleasantlye, W_i_th all his princes and nobles eche one, Chasing the hart and hind and the bucke gallantlye, Till the darke euening inforced them turne home. Then at last, ryding fast, he had lost quite All his lords in the wood in the darke night.
3 Wandering thus wearilye, all alone vp and downe, W_i_th a rude miller he mett att the last; Asking the ready way vnto fayre Nottingham, ‘S_i_r,’ q_uo_th the miller, ‘I meane not to iest, Yett I thinke what I thinke; truth for to say, You doe not lightlye goe out of yo_u_r way.’
4 ‘Why, what dost thou thinke of me?’ q_uo_th our k_ing_ merrily, ‘Passing thy iudgment vpon me soe breefe.’ ‘Good faith,’ q_uo_th the miller, ‘I meane not to flatter thee, I gesse thee to bee some gentleman-theefe; Stand thee backe in the darke! light not adowne, Lest I p_re_sentlye cracke thy knaues cro[wn]e!’
5 ‘Thou doest abuse me much,’ q_uo_th our k_ing_, ‘saying thus; I am a gentleman, and lodging doe lacke.’ ‘Thou hast not,’ q_uo_th the miller, ‘a groat in thy pursse; All thine inheritance hanges on thy backe.’ ‘I haue gold to discharge for _tha_t I call; If itt be forty pence, I will pay all.’
6 ‘If thou beest a true man,’ then said the miller, ‘I sweare by my tole-dish I’le lodge thee all night.’ ‘Heere’s my hand,’ q_uo_th our k_ing_, ‘_tha_t was I eu_er_.’ ‘Nay, soft,’ q_uo_th the miller, ‘thou mayst be a sprite; Better I’le know thee ere hands I will shake; W_i_th none but honest men hands will I take.’
7 Thus they went all alonge unto the millers house, Where they were seething of puddings and souce. The miller first entered in, then after went the k_ing_; Neu_er_ came he in soe smoakye a house. ‘Now,’ q_uo_th hee, ‘let me see heere what you are;’ Q_uo_th our k_ing_, Looke you[r] fill, and doe not spare.
8 ‘I like well thy countenance; thou hast an honest fac[e]; With my sonne Richard this night thou shalt lye.’ Q_uo_th his wiffe, By my troth, it is a good hansome yout[h]; Yet it is best, husband, to deale warrilye. Art thou not a runaway? I pray thee, youth, tell; Show vs thy pasport and all shalbe well.
9 Then our k_ing_ p_re_sentlye, making lowe curtesie, W_i_th his hatt in his hand, this he did say: I haue noe pasport, nor neu_er_ was seruitor, But a poore courtyer, rode out of the way; And for yo_u_r kindnesse now offered to me, I will requite it in eu_er_ye degree.
10 Then to the miller his wiffe whisp_er_ed secretlye, Saing, It seemeth the youth is of good kin, Both by his apparell and by his manners; To turne him out, certainely it were a great sin. ‘Yea,’ q_uo_th hee, ‘you may see hee hath some grace, When as he speaks to his betters in place.’
11 ‘Well,’ q_uo_th the millers wiffe, ‘younge man, welcome heer! And tho I say’t, well lodged shalt thou be; Fresh straw I will lay vpon yo_u_r bed soe braue, Good browne hempen sheetes likwise,’ q_uo_th shee. ‘I,’ q_uo_th the goodman, ‘and when _tha_t is done, Thou shalt lye [with] noe worse then our owne sonne.’
12 ‘Nay first,’ q_uo_th Richard, ‘good fellowe, tell me true, Hast thou noe creep_er_s in thy gay hose? Art thou not troubled w_i_th the scabbado?’ ‘Pray you,’ q_uo_th the k_ing_, ‘what things are those?’ ‘Art thou not lowsye nor scabbed?’ q_uo_th hee; ‘If thou beest, surely thou lyest not with me.’
13 This caused our k_ing_ suddenly to laugh most hartilye Till the teares trickled downe from his eyes. Then to there supp_er_ were thé sett orderlye, To hott bag-puddings and good apple-pyes; Nappy ale, good and stale, in a browne bowle, Wh_ic_h did about the bord merrilye troule.
14 ’Heere,’ q_uo_th the miller, ’good fellowe, I’le drinke to thee, And to all the courtnolls _tha_t curteous bee.’ ’I pledge thee,’ q_uo_th our k_ing_, ’and thanke thee heartilye For my good welcome in eu_er_ye degree; And heere in like manner I drinke to thy sonne.’ ’Doe then,’ saies Rich_ard_, ’and quicke let it come.’
15 ’Wiffe,’ q_uo_th the miller, ’feitch me forth lightfoote, _Tha_t wee of his sweetnesse a litle may tast.’ A faire venson pastye shee feiched forth p_re_sentlye. ’Eate,’ q_uo_th the miller, ’but first, make noe wast; Heer is dainty lightfoote.’ ’Infaith,’ q_uo_th our k_ing_, ’I neu_er_ before eate of soe dayntye a thinge.’
16 ’Iwis,’ said Richard, ’noe dayntye att all it is, For wee doe eate of it eu_er_ye day.’ ’In what place,’ sayd our k_ing_, ’may be bought lik to th[is?]’ ’Wee neu_er_ pay peennye for it, by my fay; From merry Sherwood wee feitch it home heere; Now and then we make bold w_i_th our kings deere.’
17 ’Then I thinke,’ q_uo_th our king, ’_tha_t it is venison.’ ’Eche foole,’ q_uo_th Richard, ’full well may see _tha_t; Neu_er_ are we w_i_thout two or three in the rooffe, Verry well fleshed and exellent ffatt. But I pray thee say nothing where-ere thou goe; We wold not for two pence the k_ing_ shold it know.’
18 ’Doubt not,’ said our k_ing_, ’my p_ro_mised secresye; The k_ing_ shall neu_e_r know more on’t for mee.’ A cupp of lambes woole they dranke vnto him, And to their bedds thé past p_re_sentlye. The nobles next morning went all vp and downe For to seeke the k_ing_ in eu_er_ye towne.
19 At last, att the millers house soone thé did spye him plaine, As he was mounting vpon his faire steede; To whome thé came p_re_sentlye, falling downe on their knees, W_hi_ch made the millers hart wofullye bleed. Shaking and quaking before him he stood, Thinking he shold be hanged by the rood.
20 The k[ing] p_er_ceiuing him fearfully tremblinge, Drew forth his sword, but nothing he said; The miller downe did fall crying before them all, Doubtinge the k_ing_ wold cut of his head. But he, his kind curtesie for to requite, Gaue him great liuing, and dubd him a k_nigh_t.
21 When as our noble k_ing_ came from Nottingam, And w_i_th his nobles in Westminster lay, Recounting the sports and the pastime thé had tane In this late p_ro_gresse along on the way, Of them all, great and small, hee did p_ro_test The miller of Mansfeild liked him best.
22 ’And now, my l_or_ds,’ q_uo_th the k_ing_, ’I am determined, Against St Georges next sumptuous feast, _Tha_t this old miller, o_u_r youngest confirmed k_nigh_t, W_i_th his sonne Richard, shalbe both my guest; For in this merryment it is my desire To talke w_i_th this iollye k_nigh_t and the younge squier.’
23 When as the noble lords saw the k_ing_s merriment, Thé were right ioyfull and glad in their harts; A pursiuant thé sent straight on this busines, The w_hi_ch oftentimes vsed those p_ar_ts. When he came to the place where he did dwell, His message merrilye then he did tell.
24 ’God saue yo_u_r worshippe,’ then said the messenger, ’And grant yo_u_r ladye her owne harts desire; And to yo_u_r sonne Rich_ard_ good fortune and happinesse, _Tha_t sweet younge gentleman and gallant squier! Our k_ing_ greets you well, and thus doth say; You must come to the court on St Georges day.
25 ’Therfore in any case fayle not to be in place.’ ’I-wis,’ q_uo_th the miller, ’it is an odd iest! What shold wee doe there?’ he sayd, ’infaith I am halfe afraid.’ ’I doubt,’ q_uo_th Richard, ’to be hanged att the least.’ ’Nay,’ q_uo_th the messenger, ’you doe mistake; Our k_ing_ p_re_pares a great feast for yo_u_r sake.’
26 ’Then,’ said the miller, ’now by my troth, messenger, Thou hast contented my worshipp full well: Hold! there is three farthings to quite thy great gentleness For these happy tydings w_hi_ch thou dost me tell. Let me see! hearest thou me? tell to our k_ing_, Wee’le wayte on his mastershipp in eu_e_rye thing.’
27 The pursivant smyled at their simplicitye, And making many leggs, tooke their reward, And takeing then his leaue with great humilitye To the k_ing_s court againe hee repayred, Showing vnto his Grace in eu_e_rye degree The k_nigh_ts most liberall giffts and great bountye.
28 When hee was gone away, thus can the miller say; Heere comes expences and charges indeed! Now must wee needs be braue, tho wee spend all wee haue; For of new garments wee haue great need. Of horsses and serving-men wee must haue store, W_i_th bridles and sadles and twentye things more.
29 ‘Tushe, S_i_r Iohn,’ q_uo_th his wiffe, ‘neither doe frett nor frowne, You shall bee att noe more charges for mee; For I will turne and trim vp my old russett gowne, W_i_th eu_er_ye thing else as fine as may bee; And on our mill-horsses full swift wee will ryd, W_i_th pillowes and pannells as wee shall p_ro_vyde.’
30 In this most statelye sort thé rod vnto the court, Their lusty sonne Rich_ard_ formost of all, Who sett vp by good hap a cockes fether in his cappe; And soe thé ietted downe towards the k_ing_s hall, The merry old miller w_i_th his hands on his side, His wiffe like Maid Marryan did mince at _tha_t tyde.
31 The k_ing_ and his nobles, _tha_t hard of their coming, Meeting this gallant k_nigh_t w_i_th this braue traine, ‘Welcome, S_i_r K_nigh_t,’ q_uo_th hee,’ w_i_th this yo_u_r gay lady! Good S_i_r Iohn Cockle, once welcome againe! And soe is this squier of courage soe free.’ Q_uo_th Dicke, A botts on you! doe you know me?
32 Q_uo_th our k_ing_ gentlye, How shall I forgett thee? Thou wast my owne bed-fellow; well _tha_t I wot.’ ‘But I doe thinke on a tricke,’--‘Tell me, pray thee, Dicke!’ ‘How w_i_th farting we made the bed hott.’ ‘Thou horson [un]happy knaue,’ the[n] q_uo_th the k_nigh_t, ‘Speake cleanly to our [king,] or else goe shite!’
33 The king and his councellors hartilye laugh at this, While the k_ing_ tooke them by the hand. W_i_th ladyes and their maids, like to the q_ueene_ of spades The millers wiffe did most orderlye stand, A milkemaids curtesye at eu_er_ye word; And downe these folkes were set to the bord.
34 Where the k_ing_ royally, w_i_th princely maiestye, Sate at his dinner w_i_th ioy and delight; When he had eaten well, to jesting then hee fell, Taking a bowle of wine, dranke to the k_nigh_t. ‘Heere’s to you both!’ he sayd, ‘in ale, wine, and beere, Thanking you hartilye for all my good cheere.’
35 Q_uo_th S_i_r Iohn Cockle, I’le pledge you a pottle, Were it the best ale in Nottingam-shire. ‘But then,’ said our k_ing_, ‘I thinke on a thinge; Some of yo_u_r lightfoote I wold we had heere.’ ‘Ho, ho!’ q_uo_th Rich_ard_, ‘full well I may say it; It’s knauerye to eate it and then to bewray it.’
36 ‘What! art thou angry?’ q_uo_th our k_ing_ merrilye, ‘Infaith I take it verry vnkind; I thought thou woldest pledg me in wine or ale heartil[y].’ ‘Yee are like to stay,’ q_uo_th Dicke, ‘till I haue dind. You feed vs w_i_th twatling dishes soe small; Zounds! a blacke pudding is better then all.’
37 ‘I, marry,’ q_uo_th our k_ing_, ‘_tha_t were a daintye thing, If wee cold gett one heere for to eate.’ W_i_th _tha_t, Dicke straight arose, and plucket one out of his h[ose,] W_hi_ch w_i_th heat of his breech began for to sweate. The k_ing_ made p_ro_fer to snatch it away; ‘It’s meate for yo_u_r m_aster_, good s_i_r, you shall stay!’
38 Thus w_i_th great merriment was the time wholy spent, And then the ladyes p_re_pared to dance. Old S_i_r Iohn Cockle and Rich_ard_ incontinent vnto this practise the k_ing_ did advance; Where w_i_th the ladyes such sport thé did make, The nobles w_i_th laughing did make their heads ake.
39 Many thankes for their paines the k_ing_ did giue them then, Asking young Richard if he wold be wed: ‘Amongst these ladyes faire, tell me w_hi_ch liketh thee.’ Q_uo_th hee, Iugg Grumball w_i_th the red head, Shee’s my loue; shee’s my liffe; her will I wed; Shee hath sworne I shall haue her maidenhead.
40 Then S_i_r Iohn Cockle the k_ing_ called vnto him; And of merry Sherwood made him ou_er_seer, And gaue him out of hand three hundred pound yearlye: ‘But now take heede you steale noe more of my deere, And once a quarter let’s heare haue yo_u_r vew; And thus, S_i_r Iohn Cockle, I bid thee adew!’
* * * * *
=a.=
5^6. 40.
7^1. into.
7^2. seeding.
17^3. 2 or 3.
17^6. 2.
18^1. saiy.
26^3. 3.
28^6. 20^{tye}_{;}.
29^2. charges of.
31^6. abotts.
34^3. resting. =b=, jesting.
36^1. hungry. =b=, angry.
40^3. 300^{li}_{:}.
=b.=
1^1. would ride.
1^3. hart: and dainty.
1^4. Unto.
2^4. him turn.
2^6. late in dark.
3^4. miller, your way you have lost.
3^6. not likely.
4^1, 5^1, 13^1. the king.
4^4. but some.
4^5. light thee not down.
4^6. Lest that: knock thy.
5^2. I lack.
5^3. one groat.
5^5. discharge all that.
6^6. I will.
7^1. unto.
7^2. seething.
7^3. after him the.
8^3. good wanting.
8^4. for to
8^5. prethee.
8^6. Shew me.
9^2. thus he.
9^4. of my.
9^5. here offered.
10^2. this youth’s.
10^3. and eke by.
10^5. Yes.
10^6. When he doth speak.
11^3. wil have laid on.
11^4. hempten.
11^6. with no.
12^2. within.
12^3. Or art.
12^4. I pray, quoth.
12^5. or.
13^4. With a hot bag-pudding.
14^1. I drink thee.
14^2. courtnols where ever they be.
14^3. Ile pledge you: thank you.
14^4. For your.
14^5. to your.
14^6. Do so, quoth Richard, but.
15^3. pasty then brought she forth.
15^4. but fir.
15^5. then said our.
17^1. said our.
17^2. said Richard.
17^4. wondrous fat.
17^5. But prethee.
18^1. not then said.
18^3. him then.
18^6. seek out.
19^1. they espy’d.
19^6. should have been.
20^1. fearfull and.
20^4. would have cut off.
20^5. But his kind curtesie there to.
20^6. him a living.
21^1. came home.
21^3. and pastime.
21^4. this his progresse along by.
21^5. this he.
21^6. Mansfields sport.
22^3. our last.
22^4. both be my guests.
22^6. with this.
23^1. kings pleasantnesse.
23^3. there was sent: on the.
23^4. Which had many times been in.
23^6. message orderly.
24^2. owne wanting.
24^4. gallant young.
24^5. he greets you all.
25^2. this is.
25^3. said, faith.
25^4. to be wanting.
26^3. here’s: great wanting.
26^5. to your.
27^5. in each.
27^6. gift: great wanting.
28^1. When as: thus did.
28^3. we must: though wee sell.
29^2. charges for.
29^4. else wanting.
30^1. rode they.
30^5. hand.
31^2. his brave.
32^1. how should.
32^2. mine own.
32^3. doe wanting: me that prethee Dick.
32^4. How we: did make.
32^5. happie: then.
32^6. our king.
33^1. laught.
33^2. both by.
33^4. so orderly.
33^6. the folks were sate at the side-board.
34^1. in princely.
34^3. jesting then they.
34^5. wine, ale.
34^6. you all for your country cheere.
35^3. I doe think.
35^6. ’Tis.
36^1. Why, art thou angry.
36^3. ale and wine.
36^4. Y’are.
37^2. If a man could get one hot.
37^3. hose.
37^4. for wanting.
37^5. made a.
37^6. ’Tis: you must.
38^5. Here with.
38^6. their hearts.
39^1. did the king give.
39^3. ladies free.
39^5. she will.
40^6. bid you.
=b= is printed with the long lines broken into two.
FOOTNOTES:
[60] 1599, August 28, two plays, being the first and second part of [Thomas Heywood’s] ‘Edward the IIIJ^{th} and the Tanner of Tamworth,’ etc. Arber, III, 147.
[61] See an appendix to this ballad. White’s edition has verbal variations from the earlier, and supplies three lines and a half-line which have been cut off in the Bodleian copy of Danter. Heber had a copy of ‘King Edward 4th and the Tanner,’ printed by Edward Allde (1602-23), whether the “history” or the “ballad” does not appear.
[62] Printed by Ritson, Pieces of Ancient Popular Poetry, 1791, p. 57. Given in an appendix.
[63] “Seemingly,” says Mr Chappell, “not one bound up with the collection of ballads.”
Selden, in the second edition of his Titles of Honor (for so he chooses to spell), 1631, p. 836, remarks: Nor is that old pamphlet of the Tanner of Tamworth and King Edward the Fourth so contemptible but that wee may thence note also an observable passage wherein the use of making Esquires by giving collars is expressed. He then quotes two stanzas from the history:
‘A coller! a coller!’ our king gan cry; Quoth the tanner, It will breed sorrow; For after a coller commeth a halter, I trow I shall be hangd to morrow.
‘Be not afraid, tanner,’ said our king; ‘I tell thee, so mought I thee, Lo, here I make thee the best esquire That is in the North Countrie!’
(This passage is not in the first edition, of 1614, as I am informed by Mr Macmath, who has copied it for me.) Percy says that he has “restored” one of his stanzas from the last of these two. The restoration might as well have been made from Danter’s history, which he was using. There is a trifling variation from Danter in the fourth verse, as given by Selden and repeated by Percy, which is found in White’s edition.
[64] ‘The King and the Barker’ is less extravagant and more rational here; the king simply orders the barker ‘a hundred shilling in his purse.’ But both the esquiring (knighting) and the estate are found in still older poems which remain to be mentioned.
[65] A pervasive boorishness, with some coarse pleasantry, distinguishes the seventeenth-century tales disadvantageously from the older ones.
[66] There is an entry of ‘Miller and King’ (among 128 ballads), December 14, 1624; another entry, June 30, 1625: Stationers’ Registers, Arber, IV, 131, 143. The broadside is in many of the collections: ‘A pleasant ballad of King Henry second and the Miller of Mansfield,’ Roxburghe, I, 178, 228, III, 853, the first reprinted by Chappell, Roxburghe Ballads, I, 537; Pepys, I, 528, No 272; Bagford, II, 25; Wood, 401, fol. 5 b, ‘A pleasant new ballad of the Miller of Mansfield in Sherwood and K. Henry the Second,’ Wood, 254, iv, ‘The pleasant history of the Miller of Mansfield,’ etc., dated 1655; Crawford, No 491. Also, ‘Kinge and Miller,’ Percy MS., p. 235, Hales and Furnivall, II, 147 (see Appendix); Percy’s Reliques, 1765, III, 179, the MS. copy “with corrections” from the Pepys.--Not in the ballad-stanza.
[67] John the Reeve is mentioned (in conjunction with Rauf Coilyear) by G. Douglas, Palice of Honour, 1501, Small, I, 65, v. 3, and by Dunbar, about 1510, Small, I, 105, v. 33; John the Reeve again by Lindsay, The Complaynt of the Papingo, 1530, Chalmers, I, 318.
[68] Reprinted in Laing’s Select Remains of the Ancient Popular Poetry of Scotland, from the edition of St Andrews, 1572; thence in Charlemagne Romances, No 6, ed. S. J. Herrtage, Early English Text Society, 1882. As to the date, see Max Tonndorf, Rauf Coilyear, Halle a. S. 1893, p. 13 ff.
[69] So far 767 verses of 975: the rest is not pertinent and is very poor stuff. ‘Rauf Coilyear’ is a clever piece, but I cannot think with Mr Herrtage that it is “quite original.” Its exaggerations suggest a second hand; the author means to pepper higher with his churl’s discourtesy than had been done before. The ‘marshalling’ in 183-86 recalls ‘John the Reeve,’ 342-50.
[70] Printed in Hartshorne’s Ancient Metrical Tales, p. 35. Professor Kittredge has called my attention to a stanza of Occleve’s which shows that the belief that Edward III went about in disguise among his subjects prevailed not long after the king’s death.
O worthy kyng benigne, Edwarde the laste, Thow hadest ofte in thyne hart a drede impressede Whiche that thyne humble goste fulle sore agaste, And to knowe yf thow cursed were or blessede, Amonge the peple ofte hast thow the dressede Into the contrey, in symple aray alone, To heere what men seide of thy persone.
Occleve, De Regimine Principum, ed. Wright (Roxb. Club), p. 92.
[71] So John the Reeve; five or six times in each.
[72] Printed in The British Bibliographer, IV, 81, thence in Hartshorne’s Metrical Tales, p. 293, and, with some improvements from the MS., in Hazlitt’s Early Popular Poetry, I, 11. ‘The King and the Hermit’ is told as ‘the romans says,’ v. 15. It is, as Scott has explained, the source of a charming chapter (the sixteenth of the first volume) of ‘Ivanhoe.’ There are many agreements with ‘The King and the Shepherd.’
[73] Giraldi Cambrensis Opera, ed. Brewer, Speculum Ecclesiæ, IV, 213-15, about 1216.
[74] See Geoffrey of Monmouth, Hist. Reg. Brit., vi, 12, Wace, Roman de Brut, 7111-44, ed. Le Roux de Lincy, I, 329, Layamon’s Brut, 14297-332, Madden, II, 174 f.; and for other drinking-calls besides these, Wace, Roman de Rou, Part iii, 7357-60, ed. Andresen, II, 320.
[75] Preface to ‘The King and Miller of Mansfield.’
[76] 1578, September 25, licensed to Ric. Jones, ‘A merry Songe of a Kinge and a Shepherd:’ Arber, II, 338.
1624, December 14, to Master Pavier and others, among 128 ballads, ‘King and Shepperd:’ Arber, IV, 131.
Wood, 401, fol. 1 b; Douce, I, fol. I b; Euing, Nos 331, 332; Pepys, I, 76, No 36, I, 506, No 260; Crawford, No 648; Roxburghe, I, 504, printed by Chappell, III, 210.
[77] This is as old as Asser; Annales, Wise, Oxford, 1722, p. 30.
[78] ‘King James and the Tinker,’ Douce, III, fol. 126 b, fol. 136 b; no printer, place, or date. ‘King James the First and the Tinker,’ Garland of Mirth and Delight; no place or date. The same: ‘King James and the Tinkler,’ Dixon, in Richardson’s Borderer’s Table-Book, VII, 7, and Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs, etc., p. 109, Percy Society, vol. xvii. ‘James V. and the Tinker,’ A. Small, Interesting Roman Antiquities recently discovered in Fife, p. 283. ‘King James the First and the fortunate Tinker,’ The King and Tinker’s Garland, containing three excellent songs, Sheffield, 1745, Halliwell, Notices of Fugitive Tracts, p. 29, No 36, Percy Society, vol. xxix (not seen). ‘The King and the Tinkler,’ a rifacimento, in Maidment’s Scotish Ballads and Songs, 1859, p. 92; Kinloch MSS, V, 293.
[79] ‘The Loyal Forrister, or Royal Pastime,’ printed for C. Bates in Pye-Corner (c. 1696), Euing, No 156. ‘King William and his Forrester,’ no imprint, c. 1690-94, Crawford, No 1421. ‘The King and the Forrester,’ Roxburghe, III, 790, Ebsworth VII, 763 (Bow Church-Yard?). ‘King William going a hunting,’ Motherwell’s MS., p. 101, from tradition.
[80] ‘The Royal Frolick,’ etc., Pepys, II, 313, in Ebsworth’s Roxburghe Ballads, VII, 756.
[81] ‘The Royal Recreation, or A Second Part, containing the passages between the Farmer and his Wife at their return home, where they found the King with his Noble Retinue.’ Pepys, II, 326, Roxburghe, II, 397, Ebsworth, VII, 761.
[82] ‘The King and the Cobler.’ Charles Dennison, at the sign of the Stationers’ Arms within Aldgate (1685-89, Chappell). Wood, 254, xi; Pepys, Penny Merriments, vol. i; Halliwell, Notices of Popular Histories, p. 48, Percy Society, vol. xxiii, Newcastle, without date; Manchester Penny Histories (last quarter of the eighteenth century), Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde, p. 482, No 6.
[83] Kulda, Moravské n. pohádky, etc., 1874, I, 56, No 20, in Wenzig, Westslavischer Märchenschatz, p. 179.
Tonndorf, in the dissertation already cited, remarks with truth that meetings of king and subject (or the like) are quite regularly a sequel or incident of a hunt, and refers to Grimms, Deutsche Sagen, Nos 550, 563, 566; Cardonne, Mélanges de Littérature orientale, pp. 68, 87, 110; Grässe, Gesta Romanorum, cap. 56, I, 87, Anhang, No 16, II, 198; Othonis Melandri Ioco-Seria, No 338, p. 292, ed. Frankfort, 1617. In four of these cases the noble person loses his way, and has to seek hospitality. In Deutsche Sagen, No 566, we have a charcoal-burner who relieves a prince’s hunger and is afterwards entertained at the prince’s table.
274
OUR GOODMAN
=A.= Herd’s MSS, I, 140; Herd’s Ancient and Modern Scottish Songs, 1776, II, 172.
=B.= ‘The Merry Cuckold and Kind Wife,’ a broadside: Printed and Sold at the Printing-Office in Bow Church-Yard, London.
The copy in Ritson’s Scotish Song, I, 231, is from Herd, 1776; that in the Musical Museum, No 454, p. 466, is the same, with change of a few words. In Smith’s Scotish Minstrel, IV, 66, the piece is turned into a Jacobite ballad. The goodwife says she is hiding her cousin McIntosh; ‘Tories,’ says the goodman.
=B= was reprinted by Dixon in Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England, p. 211, Percy Society, vol. xvii, ‘Old Wichet and his Wife,’ from a copy “obtained in Yorkshire” and “collated” with the Aldermary broadside. The fifth adventure (in the closet) is lacking. Two or three staves, with variations for the better, are given from memory in Notes and Queries, First Series, VI, 118, as communicated by Mr R. C. Warde, of Kidderminster. (See the notes.)
Percy made =B= over in two shapes, whether for simple amusement or for the projected extension of the Reliques: ‘Old Wichet’s Discoveries,’ ‘Old Wichard’s Mistakes,’ among Percy’s papers.
=A.= Our goodman, coming home, sees successively a saddle-horse, pair of jack-boots, sword, powdered wig, muckle coat, finally a man, where none such should be. He asks the goodwife how this came about without his leave. She responds contemptuously that the things he has supposed himself to see are, respectively, a sow (milch-cow), a pair of water-stoups, a porridge-spurtle, a clocken-hen, a pair of blankets, a milking-maid, which her mother has sent her. Far has he ridden, but a saddle on a sow’s (cow’s) back, siller spurs on water-stoups, etc., long-bearded maidens, has he never seen.
=B.= In =B= Old Wichet comes upon three horses, swords, cloaks, pairs of boots, pairs of breeches, hats, and in the end three men in bed. Blind cuckold, says the wife, they are three milking-cows, roasting-spits, mantuas, pudding-bags, petticoats, skimming-dishes, milking-maids, all presents from her mother. The like was never known, exclaims Old Wichet; cows with bridles and saddles, roasting-spits with scabbards, etc., milking-maids with beards!
A song founded on this ballad was introduced into the play of “Auld Robin Gray,” produced, according to Guest’s History of the Stage, at the Haymarket, July 29, 1794. This song is a neat résumé of the ballad, with a satisfactory catastrophe.[84] See an appendix.
A Gaelic copy, taken down by Rev. Alexander Stewart, of Ballachulish, from the recitation of an old man in his parish whose father had been in the way of singing it sixty years before, is plainly based upon =A=. The goodman, coming home unexpectedly, finds a boat on the beach, a horse at the door, etc. These and other things are explained by his wife as gifts from her mother. Far has he wandered, but never saw a saddle on a cow, etc. Alexander Stewart, ’Twixt Ben Nevis and Glencoe, 1885, p. 76 ff.
A ballad known and sung throughout Flemish Belgium, ‘Mijn man komt thuis,’ is formed upon the pattern of =A=, and must have been derived from =A=, unless the two have a common source. Two copies are given in Volkskunde (Tijdschrift voor Nederlandsche Folklore), II, 49-58, by the editors, Messrs A. Gittée and Pol de Mont, a third by Pol de Mont, V, 20. A man comes home late, and sees in his bedroom a strange hat, overcoat, and other articles of clothing, and asks whose they are. His wife answers that they are a water-pot, a straw mattress, etc., which her mother has sent her. Travel the world round, he has never seen a water-pot with a band about it, a straw mattress with two sleeves, etc. In the last adventure of the first copy, the husband finds a man in the room, and his wife flatly answers, it is a lover my mother has sent me. The second copy ends a little better, but not well. The man is explained to be a foster-child sent by his wife’s mother, and so in the third. The husband has travelled the world round, but a foster-child with whiskers has he never seen. The wife packs out of the house. He has travelled the world round, but a wife like his he wishes never to see again.
Friedrich Wilhelm Meyer, in 1789, turned =B= into German in very happy style, furnishing a dénoûment in which the man gives his wife a beating and explains his cuffs as caresses which her mother has sent her. Meyer’s ballad was printed in 1790, in the Göttingen Musenalmanach, p. 61 ff., and the same year in Lieder für fröhliche Gesellschaften, p. 37 (Hamburg). It had great and immediate success, was circulated as a broadside, and was taken up by the people, in whose mouth it underwent the usual treatment of ballads traditionally propagated.[85] From Germany it spread into Scandinavia and Hungary, and perhaps elsewhere. German varieties are: ‘Des Mannes Heimkehr,’ Hoffmann u. Richter, p. 225, No 195; ‘Wind über Wind,’ Simrock, p. 375, No 241; ‘Des Ehemannes Heimkehr,’ Ditfurth, Fränkische Volkslieder, II^r Theil, p. 61, No 61; Firmenich, Germaniens Völkerstimmen, III, 66; ‘Der Bauer u. sein Weib,’ Erlach, IV, 90; ‘Der betrogene Ehemann,’ Pröhle, p. 143; Walter, p. 97; ‘O Wind, O Wind, O Wind!’ Zurmühlen (Dülkener Fiedler), p. 101. (The last four lack the beating.)
The only Scandinavian copy that I have seen is the Swedish ‘Husarerna,’ in Bergström och Nordlander, Sagor, Sägner och Visor, 1885, p. 93. For indication of others, Danish, Norwegian, and Swedish (including a broadside as early as 1799), see, particularly, Olrik, Danmarks gamle Folkeviser, V, II, 211 f., and note ***; also, Dybeck’s Runa, 1^a Samlingen, 1865, I, 89 (where the beginnings of two stanzas are cited); Afzelius, ed. 1880, II, 285.
Magyar (Szekler), Kríza, Vadrózsák, p. 242, No 483; Aigner, p. 149.
=French.= A similar ballad is common in France, especially in the south.
Poésies pop. de la France, MSS: II, fol. 54, ‘Marion;’ III, 60 (printed in Revue des Traditions pop., II, 66), 62, 64, Puy-de-Dôme; 68, Auvergne; 69, ‘Zjean et Mariou,’ Bourbonnais; 71, Pays de Caux; 72, ‘Le jaloux,’ environs de Toulouse; 74, Gascogne (Rolland, II, 211); 75, Languedoc; 76, ‘Lo surprero,’ Limousin (Rolland, II, 212); 78, ‘Le mari de Marion,’ Normandie; 80, 66, ‘Le mari jaloux,’ Bouches-du-Rhône; 82, ‘Marion,’ Provence; 83, Loiret; 84, ‘La rusade,’ Limousin;’ 87, ‘Lou jolous’ (Rolland, II, 213, Revue des Trad. pop., I, 71), Limoges; VI, 381 vo, ‘Jeannetoun’ (Rolland, II, 214), Quercy. ‘Lou jalous,’ Arbaud, Chants pop. de la Provence, II, 152. ‘Lou galant,’ Atger, Revue des Langues romanes, VI, 261, and Poésies pop. en Langue d’oc, p. 53. ‘Las finessos de la Marioun,’ Moncaut, Littérature pop. de la Gascogne, p. 316 = Bladé, Poésies pop. de la Gascogne, II, 116 f. Revue des Traditions pop., II, 64, Cévennes. Daudet, Numa Roumestan, ed. 1881, p. 178, Provence = Revue des Tr. pop., II, 65, Ouest de la France. ‘Lou Tsalous, Daymard, Bulletin de la Société des Études,’ etc., du Lot, IV, 100, 1878, Vieux chants pop. rec. en Quercy, 1889, p. 92. ‘Las rebirados de Marioun,’ Soleville, Chants pop. du Bas-Quercy, p. 22; partly, in Pouvillon, Nouvelles réalistes, ed. 1878, p. 151. Victor Smith in Romania, IX, 566-68, three copies, Forez, Velay, bas-limousin. ‘Le mari soupçonneux,’ Tarbé, Romancero de Champagne, II, 98, Ardennes. ‘La chanson de la bergère,’ Puymaigre, Chants pop. rec. dans le Pays messin, 1865, p. 215, 1881, I, 263. ‘Les répliques de Marioun,’ Almanach des Traditions pop., 1882, p. 86, in Rolland, II, 208, No 162 a, environs de Lorient. ‘Las respounsos de Marioun,’ Laroche, Folklore du Lauraguais, p. 211. “Le Chroniqueur du Périgord et du Limousin, Périgueux, 1853, p. 109.” “Le Pélerinage de Mireille, p. 173.” (The last two I have not seen.)
For the most part, the colloquy runs in this wise: ‘Where were you last evening, Marion?’ ‘In the garden, picking a salad.’ ‘Who was it you were talking with?’ ‘A gossip of mine’ (camarade, voisine, cousine, sœur, servante, etc.). ‘Do women wear a sword?’ ‘It was no sword, but a distaff.’ ‘Do women wear breeches?’ ‘She was kilted up.’ ‘Have women a moustache?’ ‘She had been eating mulberries.’ ‘It is too late for mulberries.’ ‘They were last year’s’ (an autumn branch, etc.). ‘I will cut off your head.’ ‘And what will you do with the rest?’ ‘Throw it out of the window.’ ‘Les corbeaux (cochons, chiens, chats, mouches, couteliers, capucins, anges, etc.) en feront fête.’ In a few instances, to end the more smartly, the husband is made to promise (or the wife to ask) forgiveness for this time, and the wife adds, aside, ‘and many more.’ ‘You will play off no more tricks on me.’ ‘Forgive this, and I will, a good many.’ (Rolland.) ‘Pardon this fault; to-morrow I will commit another.’ (Victor Smith.) ‘Get up: I pardon you.’ ‘What dolts men are! What can’t we make them believe!’ (MSS, III, 78.) Etc.
In some half dozen copies, Marion has been at the spring (not in the garden), and has stayed suspiciously long, which she accounts for by her having found the water muddied. After this, and in a few copies which have no garden or spring, the matter is much the same as in the English ballad; there is a sword on the mantel-shelf (a gun on the table), boots (cane) behind the door, a man where nae man should be. Nearest of all to the English is one of Victor Smith’s ballads, Romania, IX, 566: ‘Whose horse was that in the stable last night?’ ‘No horse, but our black cow.’ ‘A cow with a saddle?’ ‘No saddle; it was the shadow of her horns.’ ‘Whose breeches, boots, sabre, hat?’ ‘qui était couché à ma place?’ The mulberries are nearly a constant feature in the French ballad.
There is an approach to a serious termination in MSS, III, 87: ‘Say your prayers, without so much noise.’ ‘At least put my bones in the ground.’ And in Puymaigre: ‘I will take you to Flanders and have you hanged.’ ‘Leave the gallows for the great robbers of France.’ The copies, MSS, III, 62, 71, end, prosaically,’Jamais je n’ai vu ni fille ni femme qui sent la putain comme toi;’ ‘Femme qui m’a trompé la mort a méritée!’
The lace-makers of Vorey are wont to recite or sing this ballad winter evenings as a little drama: V. Smith, Romania, IX, 568, note. So the young girls in Lorraine during carnival, Puymaigre, I, 263; and the young fellows in Provence, Arbaud, II, 155 f.
=Italian.= ‘Le repliche di Marion,’ Nigra, Canti popolari del Piemonte, p. 422, No 85, A, B, C. The Piedmontese copies follow the French closely, beginning with picking salad in the garden, and ending with ‘your peace is made,’ as in Poésies p. de la France, MSS, III, 64. ‘Il marito geloso’ (incomplete), Ferraro, Canti p. monferrini, p. 93, No 70. ‘La sposa colta in fallo,’ Bernoni, Canti p. veneziani, puntata ix, No 8, p. 12. (Mariù goes on her knees and asks pardon, and is told to get up, for pardoned she is.) ‘Bombarion,’ Ferrari, first in Giornale di Filologia romanza, III, No 7, p. 74, 1880, and then in Archivio per le Tradizioni popolari, Canti p. in San Pietro Capofiume, VII, 398, 1888 (peace is made). All the Italian versions keep near to the French, having nothing original but an unimportant insertion, ‘Chi ti farà la minestra?’ etc., just before the end.[86]
=Catalan.= ‘La Trapassera,’ Briz y Saltó, Cants pop. catalans, II, 69. Father hears daughter talking with lover in the garden; the usual questions and replies; improved, or corrupted, at the end.
For serious ballads, Scandinavian, Spanish, etc., exhibiting similar questions and evasions, see ‘Clerk Saunders,’ No 69 =F=, and the remarks at II, 157 f., 512 a, III, 509 a, IV, 468 a. The romance ‘De Blanca-Niña’ occurs in the Cancionero de Romances of 1550. The oldest Scandinavian ballad of the class is one of Syv’s, printed in 1695.
* * * * *
Herd, 1776, is translated by Wolff, Halle der Völker, I, 96, Hausschatz, p. 230; by Fiedler, Geschichte der schottischen Liederdichtung, I, 32; by Knortz, Schottische Balladen, p. 82.
A
Herd’s MSS, I, 140.
1 Hame came our goodman, And hame came he, And then he saw a saddle-horse, Where nae horse should be.
2 ‘What’s this now, goodwife? What’s this I see? How came this horse here, Without the leave o me?’
Recitative. ‘A horse?’ quo she. ‘Ay, a horse,’ quo he.
3 ‘Shame fa your cuckold face, Ill mat ye see! ’Tis naething but a broad sow, My minnie sent to me.’
‘A broad sow?’ quo he. ‘Ay, a sow,’ quo shee.
4 ‘Far hae I ridden, And farer hae I gane, But a sadle on a sow’s back I never saw nane.’
5 Hame came our goodman, And hame came he; He spy’d a pair of jack-boots, Where nae boots should be.
6 ‘What’s this now, goodwife? What’s this I see? How came these boots here, Without the leave o me?’
‘Boots?’ quo she. ‘Ay, boots,’ quo he.
7 ‘Shame fa your cuckold face, And ill mat ye see! It’s but a pair of water-stoups, My minnie sent to me.’
‘Water-stoups?’ quo he. ‘Ay, water-stoups,’ quo she.
8 ‘Far hae I ridden, And farer hae I gane, But siller spurs on water-stoups I saw never nane.’
9 Hame came our goodman, And hame came he, And he saw a sword, Whare a sword should na be.
10 ‘What’s this now, goodwife? What’s this I see? How came this sword here, Without the leave o me?’
‘A sword?’ quo she. ‘Ay, a sword,’ quo he.
11 ‘Shame fa your cuckold face, Ill mat ye see! It’s but a porridge-spurtle, My minnie sent to me.’
‘A spurtle?’ quo he. ‘Ay, a spurtle,’ quo she.
12 ‘Far hae I ridden, And farer hae I gane, But siller-handed spurtles I saw never nane.’
13 Hame came our goodman, And hame came he; There he spy’d a powderd wig, Where nae wig shoud be.
14 ‘What’s this now, goodwife? What’s this I see? How came this wig here, Without the leave o me?’
‘A wig?’ quo she. ‘Ay, a wig,’ quo he.
15 ‘Shame fa your cuckold face, And ill mat you see! ’Tis naething but a clocken-hen, My minnie sent to me.’
‘Clocken hen?’ quo he. ‘Ay, clocken hen,’ quo she.
16 ‘Far hae I ridden, And farer hae I gane, But powder on a clocken-hen I saw never nane.’
17 Hame came our goodman, And hame came he, And there he saw a muckle coat, Where nae coat shoud be.
18 ‘What’s this now, goodwife? What’s this I see? How came this coat here, Without the leave o me?’
‘A coat?’ quo she. ‘Ay, a coat,’ quo he.
19 ‘Shame fa your cuckold face, Ill mat ye see! It’s but a pair o blankets, My minnie sent to me.’
‘Blankets?’ quo he. ‘Ay, blankets,’ quo she.
20 ‘Far hae I ridden, And farer hae I gane, But buttons upon blankets I saw never nane.’
21 Ben went our goodman, And ben went he, And there he spy’d a sturdy man, Where nae man shoud be.
22 ‘What’s this now, goodwife? What’s this I see? How came this man here, Without the leave o me?’
‘A man?’ quo she. ‘Ay, a man,’ quo he.
23 ‘Poor blind body, And blinder mat ye be! It’s a new milking-maid, My mither sent to me.’
‘A maid?’ quo he. ‘Ay, a maid,’ quo she.
24 ‘Far hae I ridden, And farer hae I gane, But lang-bearded maidens I saw never nane.’
B
A broadside: Printed and Sold at the Printing-Office in Bow Church-Yard, London.
1 O I went into the stable, and there for to see, And there I saw three horses stand, by one, by two, and by three.
2 O I calld to my loving wife, and ‘Anon, kind sir!’ quoth she: ‘O what do these three horses here, without the leave of me?’
3 ‘Why, you old cuckold, blind cuckold, can’t you very well see? These are three milking-cows, my mother sent to me.’
4 ‘Heyday! Godzounds! Milking-cows with bridles and saddles on! the like was never known!’ Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home.
5 O I went into the kitchen, and there for to see, And there I saw three swords hang, by one, by two, and by three.
6 O I calld to my loving wife, and ‘Anon, kind sir!’ quoth she: ‘O what do these three swords do here, without the leave of me?’
7 ‘Why, you old cuckold, blind cuckold, can’t you very well see? They are three roasting-spits, my mother sent to me.’
8 ‘Heyday! Godzounds! Roasting spits with scabbards on! the like was never known!’ Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home.
9 O I went into the parlour, and there for to see, And there I saw three cloaks hang, by one, by two, and by three.
10 O I calld to my loving wife, and ‘Anon, kind sir!’ quoth she: ‘O what do these three cloaks do here, without the leave of me?’
11 ‘Why, you old cuckold, blind cuckold, can’t you very well see? These are three mantuas, my mother sent to me.’
12 ‘Heyday! Godzounds! Mantuas with capes on! the like was never known!’ Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home.
13 I went into the pantry, and there for to see, And there I saw three pair of boots hang, by one, by two, and by three.
14 O I called to my loving wife, and ‘Anon, kind sir!’ quoth she: ‘O what do these three pair of boots do here, without the leave of me?’
15 ‘Why, you old cuckold, blind cuckold, can’t you very well see? These are three pudding-bags, my mother sent to me.’
16 ‘Heyday! Godzounds! Pudding-bags with spurs on! the like was never known!’ Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home.
17 I went into my closet, and there for to see, And there I saw three pair of breeches lie, by one, by two, and by three.
18 O I calld to my loving wife, and ‘Anon, kind sir!’ quoth she: ‘O what do these three pair of breeches do here, without the leave of me?’
19 ‘Why, you old cuckold, blind cuckold, can’t you very well see? These are three petticoats, my mother sent to me.’
20 ‘Heyday! Godzounds! Petticoats with waistbands on! the like was never known!’ Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home.
21 I went into the dairy, and there for to see, And there I saw three hats hang, by one, by two, and by three.
22 I calld to my loving wife, and ‘Anon, kind sir!’ quoth she: ‘Pray what do these three hats do here, without the leave of me?’
23 ‘Why, you old cuckold, blind cuckold, can’t you very well see? They are three skimming-dishes, my mother sent to me.’
24 ‘Heyday! Godzounds! Skimming-dishes with hat-bands on! the like was never known!’ Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home.
25 I went into the chamber, and there for to see, And there I saw three men in bed lie, by one, by two, and by three.
26 I called to my loving wife, and ‘Anon, kind sir!’ quoth she: ‘O what do these three men in bed, without the leave of me?’
27 ‘Why, you old cuckold, blind cuckold, don’t you very well see? They are three milking-maids, my mother sent to me.’
28 ‘Heyday! Godzounds! Milking-maids with beards on! the like was never known!’ Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home.
* * * * *
=A.=
1^1. Or, Our goodman came hame at een.
2^1. Or, How came this horse here?
2^2. Or, How can this be?
3^1. Or, Ye ald blind dottled carl.
3^2. Or, Blind mat ye be!
3^3. Or, a bonny milk-cow.
3^4. My minny is an alternative and necessary reading for The miller.
4^1. Or, travelld.
4^2. Or, And meikle hae I seen.
4^4. [Or,] Saw I.
5^1. Or, Our goodman came hame.
7^4. The cooper sent.
9-12. At the end, with a direction as to place: not completely written out.
9^1. Hame, etc.
10^3. O how.
12^{1,2}. Weel far hae I travelled, And muckle hae I seen.
12^4. Saw I never nane.
The regular readings have been inserted or substituted. In printing, Herd gave sometimes the alternative readings, sometimes not.
=B.=
Printed in seven staves, or stanzas, of eight long lines.
1^1, 2^1. Oh.
15^3, 19^3. the three.
Notes and Queries, First Series, VI, 118 (“Shropshire Ballad”).
I went into the stable, To see what I could see; I saw three gentlemen’s horses, By one, by two, by three.
I called to my loving wife, ‘Coming, sir!’ says she: ‘What meaneth these three horses here, Without the leave of me?’
‘You old fool! you blind fool! Can’t you, won’t you, see? They are three milking-cows, That my mother sent to me.’
‘Odds bobs, here’s fun! Milking-cows with saddles on! The likes I never see! I cannot go a mile from home But a cuckold I must be.’
I went into the parlour, To see what I could see; I saw there three gentlemen, By one, by two, by three.
I called to my loving wife, ‘Coming, sir!’ said she: ‘What bringeth these three gentlemen here, Without the leave of me?’
‘You old fool! you blind fool! Can’t you, won’t you, see? They are three milking-maids, That my mother sent to me.’
‘Odds bobs, here’s fun! Milking-maids with breeches on! The likes I never see! I cannot go a mile from home But a cuckold I must be.’
The unhappy husband next wanders into the pantry, and discovers ‘three pairs of hunting-boots,’ which his spouse declares are
’ ... milking-churns, Which my mother sent to me.’
‘Odds bobs, here’s fun! Milking-churns with spurs on! The likes I never see! I cannot go a mile from home But a cuckold I must be.’
The gentlemen’s coats, discovered in the kitchen, are next disposed of, but here my memory fails me.
Appendix
‘’Twas on Christmas Day,’ found on a slip, “Sold at No 42 Long Lane,” in a volume in the British Museum, 1876. e (not paged, but at what would be p. 57), and again in The New Covent Garden Concert, London, Printed and sold by J. Evans, No 41 Long-Lane, West Smithfield, Br. Mus. 1077. g. 47 (4), dated in the catalogue “1805?”
’Twas on Christmas Day Father he did wed; Three months after that My mother was brought to bed. My father he came home, His head with liquor stord, And found in mother’s room A silver-hilted sword. Fiddle de dum de de, etc.
‘How came this sword here?’ My mother says, says she, ‘Lovee, ’tis a poker Antee sent to me.’ Father he stumbld and star’d; ’Twas the first, I ween, Silver-headed poker He had ever seen.
Father grumbled on, But getting into bed Egad! as luck fell out, A man popd up his head; ‘That’s my milk-maid,’ says she; Says dad, ‘I never heard In all my travels yet A milk-maid with a beard.’
My father found a whip, And very glad was he; ‘And how came this whip here, Without the leave of me?’ ‘Oh! that’s a nice strap-lace My antee sent to me;’ Egad! he lac’d her stays, And out of doors went she.
FOOTNOTES:
[84] I am indebted for information concerning this song, and for a copy, to Mr P. Z. Round.
[85] Hoffmann von Fallersleben, Unsere Volksthümlichen Lieder, No 478. It begins:
Ich ging in meinen Stall, da sah ich, ei! ei! An Krippen standen Pferde, eins, zwei, drei.
[86] ‘O Violina, tu hai le gote rosse,’ a very pretty little contrasto bundled by Tigri with his rispetti (Canti p. toscani, p. 284, No 1023, ed. 1856), is a skirmish between father and daughter, after the fashion of our ballad. (‘My cheeks are stained with mulberries.’ ‘Show me the mulberries.’ ‘They are on the hedges.’ ‘Show me the hedges.’ ‘The goats have eaten them.’ ‘Show me the goats,’ etc.) Ferrari, in an excellent paper in the journal referred to above, tries to make out some historical relation between the two. He seems to me to take ‘La Violina’ quite too seriously.
275
GET UP AND BAR THE DOOR
=A. a.= ‘Get up and bar the Door,’ Herd, The Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 330; Ancient and Modern Scottish Songs, 1776, II, 159. =b.= [Pinkerton], Select Scotish Ballads, 1783, II, 150.
=B.= ‘John Blunt,’ Macmath MS., p. 74.
=C.= ‘Johnie Blunt,’ Johnson’s Museum, IV, 376, No 365, 1792.
The copy in Johnson’s Museum, volume three, No 300, p. 310, 1790, is =A a= with two slight changes; that in Ritson’s Scotish Song, I, 226, 1794, is =A a=. =A b= is substituted for =A a= in the third edition of Herd, 1791, II, 63. Christie, II, 262, who follows =A a=, but with changes, gives as a refrain, “common in the North of Scotland from time immemorial,”
And the barring o our door, Weel, weel, weel! And the barring o our door, weel!
=A, B.= A housewife is boiling puddings anight; a cold wind blows in, and her husband bids her bar the door; she has her hands in her work and will not. They come to an agreement that whoever speaks first shall bar the door. Two belated travellers are guided to the house by the light which streams through an opening. They come in, and, getting no reply to their questions or response to their greetings, fall to eating and drinking what they find; the goodwife thinks much, but says naught. One of the strangers proposes to the other to take off the man’s beard, and he himself will kiss the goodwife. Hot water is wanting (for scalding), suggests the second; but the boiling pudding-bree will serve, answers the first. The goodman calls out, Will ye kiss my wife and scald me? and having spoken the first word has to bar the door.
=C.= In =C= man and wife are in bed, and the travellers haul the woman out and lay her on the floor: this makes the husband give tongue.
Stenhouse notes that this ballad furnished Prince Hoare with the principal scene in his musical entertainment of “No Song, no Supper,” produced in 1790, and long a favorite on the stage. (Musical Museum, 1853, IV, 292.)
This tale is one of a group which may or may not have had a single archetype. Of the varieties, that which comes nearest is the first story in Straparola’s Eighth Day. Husband and wife are sitting near the entrance of their house one night; the husband says, It is time to go to bed, shut the door; she says, Shut it yourself. They make a compact that the one who speaks first shall shut the door. The wife, tired of silence and growing sleepy, goes to bed; the husband stretches himself on a bench. A gentleman’s servant, whose lantern has been put out by the wind, seeing the door open, asks for a light. There is no reply. Advancing a little way into the house, he finds the man lying on the bench with his eyes open, but can get no word from him though he shakes him. Looking round, he sees the woman in bed and addresses her, but she is as dumb as her husband; he gets into the bed. The woman says nothing till the intruder goes away; then calls out, A pretty man you, to leave the door open all night and let people get into your bed. Fool, he says, now go shut the door. The same, with insignificant divergences, in L’Élite des Contes du Sieur d’Ouville, Rouen, 1699, I, 159.
A wedding-feast over, neither bridegroom nor bride will consent to shut the street-door; the lady proposes that the one who speaks first shall do this, to which the bridegroom agrees. They sit looking at each other in silence for two hours. Thieves, seeing the door open, come in, pillage the house, and even strip the young pair of everything valuable that they have on them, but neither says a word. In the morning a patrol of police find the house door open, enter, and make an inspection. The chief demands an explanation of the state of things; neither man nor woman vouchsafes a response, and he orders their heads off. The executioner is beginning with the husband; the wife cries out, Spare him! the husband exclaims, You have lost, go shut the door. (The Arabian tale of Sulayman Bey and the Three Story-Tellers, cited by Clouston, Popular Tales and Fictions, II, 29.)
Hemp-eaters, who have found a sequin and bought a mass of food, quarrel about fastening the gate of a tomb to which they have retired, to gorge unmolested. They come to an agreement that the man who first speaks shall close the gate. They let the victuals stand and sit mute. A troop of dogs rush in and eat all up clean. One of the party had secured some of the provender in advance of the rest, and bits are sticking to his mouth. A dog licks them away, and in so doing bites the lip of the fellow, who, in his pain, raps out a curse on the dog. The rest shout, Get up and shut the gate! (Turkish, Behrnauer, Die vierzig Veziere, p. 175 f.; Gibb, The History of the Forty Vezirs, p. 171 f.)
In the second Pickelheringsspiel, in the first part of Engelische Comedien und Tragedien, 1620, a married pair contend again about the shutting of a door. (R. Köhler; not seen by me.)
In other cases, speaking first entails a penalty different from shutting a door.
A young pair, lying in bed the first night after marriage, engage that whichever of the two gets up first or speaks first shall wash the dishes for a week. The husband, pretending to make his will by the process of expressing by signs his acceptance or rejection of the suggestions of a friend, bequeaths away from his wife a handsome article of dress belonging to her. The wife utters a protest, and has to wash the dishes. (Novelle di Sercambi, ed. d’Ancona, p. 16, No 3, ‘De simplicitate viri et uxoris.’)
A man complains of dry bread which his wife has given him for his supper. She tells him to get up and moisten it; he bids her do this, but she refuses. It is finally settled that the one that speaks first shall moisten the bread. A visitor comes in and can make neither of them say a word. He kisses the wife, gives the husband a blow on the cheek; no word from either. He makes complaint to the kází; the husband will say nothing when brought before the kází, and is condemned to be hanged. At the moment of execution the wife ejaculates, Alas, my unfortunate husband! You devil, says he, go home and moisten the bread! (An Arabian story in Beloe’s Oriental Apologues, cited by Clouston, II, 21.)
A shoemaker and his wife agree that the one who speaks first shall carry back a frying-pan that they have borrowed. A soldier who requires a girth for his horse asks the shoemaker to cut him one, but gets no answer, though he threatens to take off the man’s head. Enraged at last, he seizes the shoemaker by the head to do what he had menaced, when the wife cries out, For mercy’s sake, don’t! Well done! says the husband, now carry back the pan. (Bernoni, Fiabe pop. veneziane, p. 67, No 13, ‘La Scomessa;’ Crane, Italian Popular Tales, p. 284.)
John makes terms with his wife that which of the two eats first of a soup which she has brought in, or speaks the first word, shall have a beating. William, of whom the husband is jealous, comes to offer his company to go to a fight which is to come off. Man and wife will neither eat nor speak, and he thinks them possessed. He takes the woman by the hand, and she goes with him. John cries out, Let my wife be! She says, John, you have spoken and lost. (Ayrers Dramen, ed. von Keller, III, 2006-08.)
A man who has been taunting his wife as a cackler is challenged by her to a trial at silence. A tinker comes in asking for kettles to mend. He can make neither of them open their mouth, and, as a last resource, offers to kiss the woman. The husband cannot contain himself; the wife says, You have lost! and remains mistress of the house, as she had been before. (Farce d’un Chauldronnier, Viollet Le Duc, Ancien Théâtre François, II, 109 ff.)[87]
* * * * *
A
=a.= Herd, The Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 330. =b.= [Pinkerton], Select Scotish Ballads, 1783, II, 150.
1 It fell about the Martinmas time, And a gay time it was then, When our goodwife got puddings to make, And she’s boild them in the pan.
2 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.’
3 ‘My hand is in my hussyfskap, Goodman, as ye may see; An it shoud nae be barrd this hundred year, It’s no be barrd for me.’
4 They made a paction tween them twa, They made it firm and sure, That the first word whaeer shoud speak, Shoud rise and bar the door.
5 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.
6 ‘Now whether is this a rich man’s house, Or whether is it a poor?’ But neer a word wad ane o them speak, For barring of the door.
7 And first they ate the white puddings, And then they ate the black; Tho muckle thought the goodwife to hersel, Yet neer a word she spake.
8 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.’
9 ‘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?’
10 O up then started our goodman, An angry man was he: ‘Will ye kiss my wife before my een, And scad me wi pudding-bree?’
11 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.’
B
Macmath MS. p. 74. “From the singing of Miss Jane Webster, 15th October, 1886, and 26th August, 1887, who learned it at Airds of Kells, Kirkcudbrightshire, many years ago, from James McJannet.”
1 There leeved a wee man at the fit o yon hill, John Blunt it was his name, O And he selld liquor and ale o the best, And bears a wondrous fame. O Tal lara ta lilt, tal lare a lilt, Tal lara ta lilt, tal lara
2 The wind it blew frae north to south, It blew into the floor; Says auld John Blunt to Janet the wife, Ye maun rise up and bar the door.
3 ‘My hans are in my husseyskep, I canna weel get them free, And if ye dinna bar it yersel It’ll never be barred by me.’
4 They made it up atween them twa, They made it unco sure, That the ane that spoke the foremost word Was to rise and bar the door.
5 There was twa travellers travelling late, Was travelling cross the muir, And they cam unto wee John Blunt’s, Just by the light o the door.
6 ‘O whether is this a rich man’s house, Or whether is it a puir?’ But never a word would the auld bodies speak, For the barring o the door.
7 First they bad good een to them, And syne they bad good morrow; But never a word would the auld bodies speak, For the barring o the door, O.
8 First they ate the white puddin, And syne they ate the black, And aye the auld wife said to hersel, May the deil slip down wi that!
9 And next they drank o the liquor sae strong, And syne they drank o the yill: ‘And since we hae got a house o our ain I’m sure we may tak our fill.’
10 It’s says the ane unto the ither, Here, man, tak ye my knife, An ye’ll scrape aff the auld man’s beard, While I kiss the gudewife.
11 ‘Ye hae eaten my meat, ye hae drucken my drink, Ye’d make my auld wife a whore!’ ‘John Blunt, ye hae spoken the foremost word, Ye maun rise up and bar the door.’
C
Johnson’s Museum, IV, 376, No 365, 1792. Contributed by Robert Burns.
1 There livd a man in yonder glen, And John Blunt was his name; O He maks gude maut and he brews gude ale, And he bears a wondrous fame. O
2 The wind blew in the hallan ae night, Fu snell out oer the moor; ‘Rise up, rise up, auld Luckie,’ he says, ‘Rise up, and bar the door.’
3 They made a paction tween them twa, They made it firm and sure, Whaeer sud speak the foremost word Should rise and bar the door.
4 Three travellers that had tint their gate, As thro the hills they foor, They airted by the line o light Fu straught to Johnie Blunt’s door.
5 They haurld auld Luckie out o her bed And laid her on the floor, But never a word auld Luckie wad say, For barrin o the door.
6 ‘Ye’ve eaten my bread, ye hae druken my ale, And ye’ll mak my auld wife a whore!’ ‘A ha, Johnie Blunt! ye hae spoke the first word, Get up and bar the door.’
* * * * *
=A. a.=
Johnson’s Museum has these variations:
2^4. Gat up and.
4^3. first who should speak the foremost word.
=b.=
1^3. That our gudewife had.
1^4. she boild.
2^1. wind blew cauld frae east.
2^4. Get up and.
3^3. hunder.
3^4. Its neer be barrd by.
4^2. word whaever spak.
5^1. come.
5^3. Whan they can see na ither house.
5^4. And at the door they light.
7^2. And syne.
7^3. Tho wanting.
8^1. Then ane unto the ither said.
9^3. bree.
11^1. O up then started.
11^3. you have spak the first word.
O is added to the second and fourth lines for singing, in both of the Museum copies and in =B=.
FOOTNOTES:
[87] All the above have been cited by Reinhold Köhler, Jahrbuch für romanische u. englische Literatur, XII, 348 f., or by Clouston, Popular Tales and Fictions, II, 15 ff.Return to passage
276
THE FRIAR IN THE WELL
=A. a.= ‘The Fryer well fitted,’ etc., Rawlinson Ballads, 566, fol. 63, 4°. =b.= ‘The Fryer well fitted,’ etc., Roxburghe Ballads, II, 172; Ebsworth, Roxburghe Ballads, VII, 222. =c.= ‘The Fryer and the Maid,’ Wit and Mirth, or, Pills to purge Melancholy, “I, 340, 1707,” III, 325, 1719.
=B. a.= ‘The Friar and Fair Maid,’ Buchan’s MSS, II, 351. =b.= ‘The Friar,’ Kinloch MSS, VI, 97. =c.= Kinloch MSS, V, 60.
The broadside, =A a=, =b=, is found in many other collections: Pepys, III, 145, No 143; Crawford, No 94, etc. (see Ebsworth). =B=, the Scottish ballad (an improvement on the English), is without doubt derived from print, but not directly from =A a=, =b=. In =B= the maid feigns to be afraid of her master, as in =A c=, not of her father. From Halliwell’s Notices of Fugitive Tracts, p. 37, No 49, Percy Society, vol. xxix, we learn that The Royal Garland of Protestant Delight, London, 1689, has a ballad with the title ‘The witty lass of Somersetshire, or the fryer servd in his kind,’ with an “answer,” in the last stanza of which ‘the inn-keeper, her master,’ laughs at the fryer’s disaster.
The tune of ‘The Friar in the Well’ occurs in The Dancing Master, from 1650 to 1686: Chappell’s Popular Music, p. 274. Munday, in his ‘Downfall of Robert, Earl of Huntington,’ Act iv, Scene 2, 1598, refers to the ‘merry jest ... how the friar fell into the well, for love of Jenny, that fair bonny belle.’ A reference of Skelton’s in his Colyn Cloute[88] carries the story, and almost certainly the ballad, back to the first quarter of the sixteenth century.
The copy in Kinloch’s Ballad Book, p. 25, was compounded by the editor from =B b=, =c=.
A maid, solicited by a friar, says that she fears hell-fire; the friar reminds her that if she were in hell he could sing her out. She stipulates for money in advance; while the friar is gone to fetch some, she hangs (spreads) a cloth before (over) a well. The money in band, she calls out that her father (master) is coming; the friar runs to hide behind the cloth (a screen), and falls into the well. The friar cries for help; he is left to sing himself out. Extricated after a sufficient cooling, he asks his money back, but is told that he must pay for fouling the water.
This story, one might safely say, is not beyond the “imaginary forces” of any Western people, but an open well inside of an English house is at least of unusual occurrence, and if we find something of the kind to our hand in an Eastern tale of similar character, a borrowing seems more plausible than an invention. There is a considerable class of tales, mostly Oriental, in which a chaste wife discomfits two or three would-be seducers, bringing them to shame and ridicule in the end. In some, she exacts or receives money from her suitors at the outset; in some, an allegation that her husband is coming is the pretext for her concealing them. An example in English is ‘The Wright’s Chaste Wife,’ by Adam of Cobsam, edited for the Early English Text Society, in 1865, by Dr Furnivall. In this, three men successively are tumbled through a trap door into an underground room. But in the Persian Tútí Náma, or Book of the Parrot, of Nakhshabí, the wife lays a bed over a dry well, her suitors are invited to sit on it, and they fall in; and here, it is not extravagant to suppose, we may have the remote source of the trick in our ballad.[89]
There is a French ballad of the same general type: ‘Le lourdaud moine,’ Tarbé, Romancero de Champagne, II, 135; ‘Le moine Nicolas,’ Bujeaud, II, 284. A monk, enamored of a married woman, is appointed to come to her while her husband is away; he is told to lay off his frock, which she secures, and she takes money which he has brought. He is then sent to the door to see if the husband be coming, and is locked out. He asks to have his frock and money returned; she will keep them for her husband. The convent jeer at him when he comes back: ‘Dieu bénisse la commère qui t’a joué ce tour-là!’
‘Munken i Vaande,’ a rather flat Danish ballad from a MS. of the 16th century, tells of a monk who knocks at the door of a woman whom he has been courting, and calls to her to keep her word; she tells her husband to slip under the bed, and lets the monk in; the monk hands the woman gold rings which he had promised; the goodman comes out and gives him a beating; the monk leaps out of the window and goes to his cloister; his superior asks why he has been away; he has been shriving the farmer’s wife, and it has nearly cost him his life.
* * * * *
A
=a.= Rawlinson, 566, fol. 63, 4^o. =b.= Roxburghe, II, 172; Ebsworth, Roxburghe Ballads, VII, 222. =c.= D’Urfey’s Pills to purge Melancholy, ed. 1719, III, 325.
1 As I lay musing all alone, fa, la, la, la, la A pretty jeast I thought upon; fa, la, la, la, la Then listen a while, and I will you tell Of a fryer that loved a bonny lass well. fa, la, la, la, la fa, la, la, lang-tre-down-dilly
2 He came to the maid when she went to bed, Desiring to have her maidenhead, But she denyëd his desire, And told him that she feard hell-fire.
3 ‘Tush,’ quoth the fryer, ‘thou needst not doubt If thou wert in hell I could sing thee out:’ ‘Then,’ quoth the maid, ‘thou shalt have thy request;’ The fryer was glad as a fox in his nest.
4 ‘But one thing,’ quoth she, ‘I do desire, Before you have what you require; Before that you shall do the thing, An angel of mony thou shalt me bring.’
5 ‘Tush,’ quoth the fryer, ‘we shall agree, No mony shall part my love and me; Before that I will see thee lack, I’le pawn the grey gown from my back.’
6 The maid bethought her of a wile How she the fryer might beguile; While he was gone, the truth to tell, She hung a cloth before the well.
7 The fryer came, as his covenant was, With money to his bonny lass; ‘Good morrow, fair maid!’ ‘Good morrow!’ quoth she. ‘Here is the mony I promised thee.’
8 She thankt the man, and she took his mony: ‘Now let us go to ’t,’ quoth he, ‘sweet hony:’ ‘O stay,’ quoth she, ‘some respite make, My father comes, he will me take.’
9 ‘Alas!’ quoth the fryer, ‘where shall I run, To hide me till that he be gone?’ ‘Behinde the cloath run thou,’ quoth she, ‘And there my father cannot thee see.’
10 Behind the cloath the fryer crept, And into the well on the sudden he leapt; ‘Alas,’ quoth he, ‘I am in the well!’ ‘No matter,’ quoth she,’ if thou wert in hell.
11 ‘Thou sayst thou couldst sing me out of hell, Now prithee sing thy self out of the well:’ The fryer sung with a pittiful sound, Oh help me out, or I shall be dround!
12 ‘I trow,’ quoth she, ‘your courage is coold.’ Quoth the fryer, I was never so foold, I never was served so before. ‘Then take heed,’ quoth she, ‘thou comst there no more.’
13 Quoth he, For sweet Saint Francis sake On his disciple some pitty take: Quoth she, Saint Francis never taught His scholars to tempt young maids to naught.
14 The fryer did entreat her still That she should help him out of the well; She heard him make such pittious moan She helpd him out, and bid him be gone.
15 Quoth he, Shall I have my mony again, Which thou from me hast beforehand tane? ‘Good sir,’ said she, ‘there’s no such matter; I’le make you pay for fouling my water.’
16 The fryer went all along the street, Droping wet, like a new-washd sheep; Both old and young commended the maid That such a witty prank had plaid.
B
=a.= Buchan’s MSS, II 351. =b.= Kinloch MSS, VI, 97, in Kinloch’s handwriting. =c.= Kinloch MSS, V, 60, in the handwriting of James Beattie.
1 O hearken and hear, and I will you tell Sing, Faldidae, faldidadi Of a friar that loved a fair maiden well. Sing, Faldi dadi di di (bis)
2 The friar he came to this maiden’s bedside, And asking for her maidenhead.
3 ‘O I would grant you your desire, If ’t werena for fear o hell’s burning fire.’
4 ‘O hell’s burning fire ye need have no doubt; Altho you were in, I could whistle you out.’
5 ‘O if I grant to you this thing, Some money you unto me must bring.’
6 He brought her the money, and did it down tell; She had a white cloth spread over the well.
7 Then the fair maid cried out that her master was come; ‘O,’ said the friar, ‘then where shall I run?’
8 ‘O ye will go in behind yon screen, And then by my master ye winna be seen.’
9 Then in behind the screen she him sent, But he fell into the well by accident.
10 Then the friar cried out with a piteous moan, O help! O help me! or else I am gone.
11 ‘Ye said ye wad whistle me out o hell; Now whistle your ain sel out o the well.’
12 She helped him out and bade him be gone; The friar he asked his money again.
13 ‘As for your money, there is no much matter To make you pay more for jumbling our water.’
14 Then all who hear it commend this fair maid For the nimble trick to the friar she played.
15 The friar he walked on the street, And shaking his lugs like a well-washen sheep.
* * * * *
=A.= =a=, =b=.
The Fryer well fitted, or, A pretty jest that once befell, How a Maid put a Fryer to cool in the well. To a merry tune.
=a.= London. Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, and J. Wright.
=b.= Printed for W. Thackeray and T. Passinger.
=a.=
3^{1,3}, 7^3, 8^2, 3, 9^{1,3}, 10^4, 12^4, qd. for quoth.
7^3. qd. he.
8^2. too’t.
8^3. Oh.
10^1. did crept.
16^2. Drooping.
=b.=
5^4. my grey.
7^3. quoth she.
10^1. fryer crept.
10^2. on a.
11^3. sung on.
12^2. never was.
14^2. she would.
15^2. Which from me thou.
16^2. Dropping.
=c.= The variations are insignificant until we come to 8^3; from that point this copy (which is abridged) runs as follows:
8^3. ‘Nay, stay a while, some respite make; If my master should come he would us take.
9 ‘Alas,’ quoth the maid, ‘my master doth come!’ ‘Alas!’ quoth the fryer, ‘where shall I run?’ ‘Behind yon cloth run thou,’ quoth she, ‘For there my master cannot see.’
10. Behind the cloth the fryer went, And was in the well incontinent. ‘Alas,’ quoth he, ‘I’m in the well!’ ‘No matter,’ quoth she, ‘if thou wert in hell.
11^{1,2}. ‘Thou saidst thou could sing me out of hell, I prithee sing thy self out of the well. Sing out,’ quoth she, ‘with all thy might, Or else thou’rt like to sing there all night.’
11^{3,4}. The fryer sang out with a pitiful sound, Oh help me out, or I shall be drownd!
14^{3,4}. She heard him make such pitiful moan She hope [=holp] him out and bid him go home.
12^{3,4}. Quoth the fryer, I never was servd so before: ‘Away,’ quoth the wench, ‘come here no more.’
16^{1,2}. The fryer he walkd along the street As if he had been a new-washd sheep.
Sing, hey down a derry, and let’s be merry, And from such sin ever keep.
The fa la burden is not given.
=B. b.= Apparently =a= revised by Kinloch.
4^2. sing for whistle.
7^2. then wanting.
10^1. a wanting.
15^2. sheet for sheep.
=c.=
1. Listen and I will you tell Wi a falaldirry, falaldirry How a friar in love wi a lassie fell. Wi a falee and latee and a lee-tiddle-tiddle-tee
7. The lassie cries, My master comes! The friar cries, Where shall I run?
8. ‘O you’ll do you in below this cloth; That you be seen I wad be loth.’
10. The friar cries, I’m in the well! ‘I care na tho you were in hell.
11. ‘You said you w[a]d sing me out of hell; Sing yoursell out o the well.’
12. ‘If you’ll help me out, I will be gone, Back to you I’ll neuer come.’
She helped him out, and he was begone; Back to her he never came.
15. The frier he gaed up the street, Hanging his lugs like a washen sheet.
2-6, 9, 13, 14, wanting.
FOOTNOTES:
[88]
But when the freare fell in the well He coud not syng himselfe therout But by the helpe of Christyan Clout.
(vv. 879-91.)
[89] For the class of tales referred to, see von der Hagen, Gesammtabenteuer, III, XXXV f., LXXXIII f.; Reinhold Köhler, in Jahrbuch für romanische und englische Literatur, VIII, 44-65; Clouston, Popular Tales and Fictions, II, 289-310.Return to passage
277
THE WIFE WRAPT IN WETHER’S SKIN
=A. a.= ‘Sweet Robin,’ Jamieson’s Popular Ballads, I, 319. =b.= Macmath MS., p. 100, three stanzas.
=B.= ‘Robin he’s gane to the wude,’ Harris MS., fol. 26 =b.=
=C.= ‘The Cooper of Fife,’ Whitelaw, The Book of Scottish Song, p. 333.
=D.= Jamieson-Brown MS., Appendix, p. iii.
=E.= Jamieson’s Popular Ballads, I, 324.
Jamieson cites the first two stanzas of =A a= in a letter of inquiry to The Scots Magazine, October, 1803, p. 700, and the first half of =D= (with alterations) in his preface, Popular Ballads, I, 320. The ballad, he says, is very popular all over Scotland.
Robin has married a wife of too high kin to bake or brew, wash or wring. He strips off a wether’s skin and lays it on her back, or prins her in it. He dares not beat her, for her proud kin, but he may beat the wether’s skin, and does. This makes an ill wife good.
A fragment in Herd’s MSS, I, 105, II, 161, belongs, if not to this ballad, at least to one in which an attempt is made to tame a shrew by castigation.
‘Now tak a cud in ilka hand And bace[90] her up and doun, man, And she’ll be an o the best wives That ever took the town, man.’
* * * * *
And Jammie’s turnd him round about, He’s done a manly feat: ‘Get up, get up, ye dirty slut, And gie to me my meat.’
* * * * *
‘Say’t oer again, say’t oer again, Ye thief, that I may hear ye; I’se gar ye dance upon a peat, Gin I sall cum but near ye.’
The story of the ballad was in all likelihood traditionally derived from the good old tale of the wife lapped in Morrel’s skin.[91] Here a husband, who has put up with a great deal from an excessively restive wife, flays his old horse Morrell and salts the hide, takes the shrew down cellar, and, after a sharp contest for mastery, beats her with birchen rods till she swoons, then wraps her in the salted hide: by which process the woman is perfectly reformed.[92]
A
Jamieson’s Popular Ballads, I, 319. “From the recitation of a friend of the editor’s in Morayshire.”
1 She wadna bake, she wadna brew, Hollin, green hollin For spoiling o her comely hue. Bend your bow, Robin
2 She wadna wash, she wadna wring, For spoiling o her gay goud ring.
3 Robin he’s gane to the fald And catched a weather by the spauld.
4 And he has killed his weather black And laid the skin upon her back.
5 ‘I darena pay you, for your kin, But I can pay my weather’s skin.
6 ‘I darena pay my lady’s back, But I can pay my weather black.’
7 ‘O Robin, Robin, lat me be, And I’ll a good wife be to thee.
8 ‘It’s I will wash, and I will wring, And never mind my gay goud ring.
9 ‘It’s I will bake, and I will brew, And never mind my comely hue.
10 ‘And gin ye thinkna that eneugh, I’se tak the goad and I’se ca the pleugh.
11 ‘Gin ye ca for mair whan that is doon, I’ll sit i the neuk and I’ll dight your shoon.’
B
Harris MS., fol. 26 b, No 25, from Miss Harris.
1 Robin he’s gane to the wast, Hollin, green hollin He’s waled a wife amang the warst. Bend your bows, Robin
2 She could neither bake nor brew, For spoilin o her bonnie hue.
3 She could neither spin nor caird, But fill the cup, an sair the laird.
4 She could neither wash nor wring, For spoilin o her gay goud ring.
5 Robin’s sworn by the rude That he wald mak an ill wife gude.
6 Robin he’s gaun to the fauld, An taen his blaik [wither] by the spauld.
7 He’s taen aff his wither’s skin An he has preened his ain wife in.
8 ‘I daurna beat my wife, for a’ her kin, But I may beat my wither’s skin.’
9 ‘I can baith bake an brew; What care I for my bonnie hue?
10 ‘I can baith wash an wring; What care I for my gay gowd ring?
11 ‘I can baith spin an caird; Lat onybodie sair the laird.’
12 Robin’s sworn by the rude That he has made an ill wife gude.
C
Whitelaw’s Book of Scottish Song, p. 333.
1 There was a wee cooper who lived in Fife, Nickity, nackity, noo, noo, noo And he has gotten a gentle wife. Hey Willie Wallacky, how John Dougall, Alane, quo Rushety, roue, roue, roue
2 She wadna bake, nor she wadna brew, For the spoiling o her comely hue.
3 She wadna card, nor she wadna spin, For the shaming o her gentle kin.
4 She wadna wash, nor she wadna wring, For the spoiling o her gouden ring.
5 The cooper’s awa to his woo-pack And has laid a sheep-skin on his wife’s back.
6 ‘It’s I’ll no thrash ye, for your proud kin, But I will thrash my ain sheep-skin.’
7 ‘Oh, I will bake, and I will brew, And never mair think on my comely hue.
8 ‘Oh, I will card, and I will spin, And never mair think on my gentle kin.
9 ‘Oh, I will wash, and I will wring, And never mair think on my gouden ring.’
10 A’ ye wha hae gotten a gentle wife Send ye for the wee cooper o Fife.
D
Jamieson-Brown MS., Appendix, p. iii, letter of R. Scott to Jamieson, June 9, 1805.
1 There livd a laird down into Fife, Riftly, raftly, now, now, now An he has married a bonny young wife. Hey Jock Simpleton, Jenny[’s] white petticoat, Robin a Rashes, now, now, now
2 He courted her and he brought her hame, An thought she would prove a thrifty dame.
3 She could neither spin nor caird, But sit in her chair and dawt the laird.
4 She wadna bake and she wadna brew, An a’ was for spoiling her delicate hue.
5 She wadna wash nor wad she wring, For spoiling o her gay goud ring.
6 But he has taen him to his sheep-fauld, An taen the best weather by the spauld.
7 Aff o the weather he took the skin, An rowt his bonny lady in.
8 ‘I dare na thump you, for your proud kin, But well sall I lay to my ain weather’s skin.’ * * * * *
E
Jamieson’s Popular Ballads, I, 324.
1 There lives a landart laird in Fife, And he has married a dandily wife.
2 She wadna shape, nor yet wad she sew, But sit wi her cummers and fill hersell fu.
3 She wadna spin, nor yet wad she card, But she wad sit and crack wi the laird.
4 He is down to his sheep-fald And cleckit a weather by the back-spald.
5 He’s whirpled aff the gude weather’s-skin And wrappit the dandily lady therein.
6 ‘I darena pay you, for your gentle kin, But weel I may skelp my weather’s-skin.’ * * * * *
=A.=
=a.= The refrain, altered by Jamieson, has been restored from his preface. Five stanzas added by him at the end have been dropped.
=b.= From the recitation of Miss Agnes Macmath, 29th April, 1893; learned by her from her mother, who had it from her mother, Janet Spark, Kirkcudbrightshire.
2. She could na wash and she could na wring, Hey, Wullie Wyliecot, noo, noo, noo For the spoiling o her gay gold ring. Wi my Hey, Wullie Wyliecot, tangie dooble, That robes in the rassiecot, noo, noo, noo
(Refrain perhaps corrupt.)
3. He’s gane oot unto the fauld, He’s catched a wather by the spaul.
5. ‘I darena thrash ye, for yer kin, But I may thrash my ain wather-skin.’
FOOTNOTES:
[90] Bace in the second copy, rightly, that is, bash, beat; bare in the first (probably mistranscribed).Return to passage
[91] A merry jeste of a shrewde and curste wyfe lapped in Morrelles skin for her good behauyour. Imprinted at London in Fleetestreete, beneath the Conduite, at the signe of Saint John Euangelist, by H. Jackson; without date, but earlier than 1575, since the book was in Captain Cox’s library. Reprinted in Utterson’s Select Pieces of Early Popular Poetry, 1825, II, 169; The Old Taming of the Shrew, edited by T. Amyot for the Shakespeare Society, 1844, p. 53; W. C. Hazlitt’s Early Popular Poetry, IV, 179.Return to passage
[92] These passages are worth noting:Return to passage
She can carde, she can spin, She can thresh and she can fan. (v. 419 f.)
In euery hand a rod he gate And layd vpon her a right good pace. (v. 955 f.)
Where art thou, wife? shall I haue any meate? (v. 839.)
(Compare Herd’s fragments with the last two, and with 903-10.)
278
THE FARMER’S CURST WIFE
=A.= ‘The Farmer’s Old Wife,’ Dixon, Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England, p. 210, Percy Society, vol. xvii. The same in Bell, p. 204.
=B.= Macmath MS., p. 96.
The devil comes for a farmer’s wife and is made welcome to her by the husband. The woman proves to be no more controllable in hell than she had been at home; she kicks the imps about, and even brains a set of them with her pattens or a maul. For safety’s sake, the devil is constrained to take her back to her husband.
=B.= The ballad of ‘Kellyburnbraes,’ Johnson’s Museum, No 379, p. 392, was composed by Burns, as he has himself informed us, “from the old traditional version.” “The original ballad, still preserved by tradition,” says David Laing, “was much improved in passing through Burns’s hands:” Museum, IV, *389, 1853. Cromek, Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song, p. 83, 1810, gives us what he calls the “Original of Burns’s Carle of Kelly-Burn Braes,” remarking, with some effrontery, that there is reason to believe that Burns had not seen the whole of the verses which constitute this copy. Allan Cunningham, Songs of Scotland, II, 199, undertook “to make a more complete version than has hitherto appeared” out of Burns, Cromek, and some “fugitive copies.” So we get the original from none of them, but are, rather, further from it at each step. Whether =B= has come down pure, unaffected by Burns and Cromek, it is impossible to say. That it shows resemblances to both copies is not against its genuineness, if there was a fair leaven of the popular ballad in each of these reconstructions; and it is probable that there would be, at least in Burns’s.
A curst wife who was a terror to demons is a feature in a widely spread and highly humorous tale, Oriental and European. See Benfey, Pantschatantra, I, 519-34; and, for a variety which is, at the beginning, quite close to our ballad, Ralston, Russian Folk-Tales, p. 39 (Afanasief, I, No 9).
* * * * *
Cromek’s ballad is translated by Wolff, Halle der Völker, I, 93, Hausschatz, p. 230.
A
Dixon, Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs, p. 210, Percy Society, vol. xvii.
1 There was an old farmer in Sussex did dwell, (Chorus of whistlers) There was an old farmer in Sussex did dwell, And he had a bad wife, as many knew well. (Chorus of whistlers)
2 Then Satan came to the old man at the plough: ‘One of your family I must have now.
3 ‘It is not your eldest son that I crave, But it is your old wife, and she I will have.’
4 ‘O welcome, good Satan, with all my heart! I hope you and she will never more part.’
5 Now Satan has got the old wife on his back, And he lugged her along, like a pedlar’s pack.
6 He trudged away till they came to his hall-gate; Says he, Here, take in an old Sussex chap’s mate.
7 O then she did kick the young imps about; Says one to the other, Let’s try turn her out.
8 She spied thirteen imps all dancing in chains, She up with her pattens and beat out their brains.
9 She knocked the old Satan against the wall: ‘Let’s turn her out, or she’ll murder us all.’
10 Now he’s bundled her up on his back amain, And to her old husband he took her again.
11 ‘I have been a tormentor the whole of my life, But I neer was tormented so as with your wife.’
B
Macmath MS., p. 96. Taken down by Mr Macmath from the recitation of his aunt, Miss Jane Webster, Crossmichael, Kirkcudbrightshire, August 27th, 1892; learned many years ago, at Airds of Kells, from the singing of Samuel Galloway.
1 The auld Deil cam to the man at the pleugh, Rumchy ae de aidie Saying, I wish ye gude luck at the making o yer sheugh. Mushy toorin an ant tan aira.
2 ‘It’s neither your oxen nor you that I crave; It’s that old scolding woman, it’s her I must have.’
3 ‘Ye’re welcome to her wi a’ my gude heart; I wish you and her it’s never may part.’
4 She jumped on to the auld Deil’s back, And he carried her awa like a pedlar’s pack.
5 He carried her on till he cam to hell’s door, He gaed her a kick till she landed in the floor.
6 She saw seven wee deils a sitting in a raw, She took up a mell and she murdered them a’.
7 A wee reekit deil lookit owre the wa: ‘O tak her awa, or she’ll ruin us a’.’
8 ‘O what to do wi her I canna weel tell; She’s no fit for heaven, and she’ll no bide in hell.’
* * * * *
9 She jumpit on to the auld Deil’s back, And he carried her back like a pedlar’s pack.
* * * * *
10 She was seven years gaun, and seven years comin, And she cried for the sowens she left in the pot.
279
THE JOLLY BEGGAR
=A.= ‘Ther was a wife in yon toun,’ “Old Lady’s Collection,” No. 36.
=B.= =a.= ‘The Jolly Beggar,’ Herd, The Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 46; ed. 1776, II, 26. =b.= ‘The Jolly Beggars,’ Curious Tracts, Scotland, British Museum, 1078. m. 24. No 30 (a collection made by James Mitchell at Aberdeen in 1828). =c.= ‘The Jolly Beggar-Man,’ Macmath MS., p. 103, a fragment. =d.= The same, a fragment.
I have not found this piece in any printed collection older than Herd, 1769, but it is cited in the second edition of Percy’s Reliques, 1767, II, 59 (preface to ‘The Gaberlunyie-Man’) and was known before that to Horace Walpole, who, as Percy remarks, confounds it with ‘The Gaberlunyie-Man,’ or gives it that title: Catalogue of Royal and Noble Authors, II, 202 f., second edition, 1759 (not mentioned in the first edition). It was probably in circulation as a flying-sheet.[93]
We are regularly informed by editors that tradition imputes the authorship of both ‘The Jolly Beggar’ and ‘The Gaberlunyie-Man’ to James Fifth of Scotland. ‘The Gaberlunyie-Man’ was, so far as can be ascertained, first printed in the Tea-Table Miscellany (in 1724), and I am not aware that it is mentioned anywhere before that date. Ramsay speaks of it as an old piece, but says nothing about the authorship. The tradition as to James Fifth is, perhaps, not much older than the publication in either case, and has no more plausibility than it has authority.
The copies in Pinkerton’s Select Scotish Ballads, II, 35, 1783, Johnson’s Museum, p. 274, No 266, 1790, Ritson’s Scotish Songs, I, 168, 1794, etc., are all from Herd’s second edition, 1776. In this we have, instead of the Fa la la burden, the following, presumably later (see Herd’s MSS, I, 5):
And we’ll gang nae mair a roving, Sae late into the night, And we’ll gang nae mair a roving, boys, Let the moon shine neer sae bright, And we’ll gang nae mair a roving.
Motherwell’s MS., p. 124, has a recited copy which seems to be =B a= as in Herd, 1776, corrupted by oral transmission. It does not seriously differ from the original until we come to the end, where we find an absurd stanza which is derived from =B b=.
The variations of =B b= are not the accidents of tradition, but deliberate alterations. ‘The Jovial Beggarman,’ in The Forsaken Lover’s Garland, No 15 of a collection of garlands, British Museum, 11621. e. 1 (“Newcastle? 1750?”), is a rifacimento, and a very inferior piece. Of this Rev. S. Baring-Gould took down a copy from the singing of a laborer on Dartmoor, in 1889.[94]
‘The Jovial Tinker and Farmer’s Daughter,’ British Museum, 1346. m. 7 (31), ‘The Tinker and Farmer’s Daughter’s Garland,’ British Museum, 11621. a. 6 (34), is another rifacimento, with less of the original in it. The tinker, we are told at the outset, is a noble lord disguised.
An English broadside ballad of the second half of the seventeenth century, Pepys, III, 73, No 71, has the same story as the Scottish popular ballad, and may have been the foundation of it, but the Scottish ballad is a far superior piece of work. The English broadside is given, substantially, in the notes.
‘Der Bettelman,’ Hoffmann u. Richter, Schlesische Volkslieder, p. 45, No 24, has a generic resemblance to this ballad.[95] So, more remotely, a Flemish ballad, ‘Ein schöner Krüppel,’ Hoffmann, Niederländische Volkslieder, p. 129 and elsewhere. Again, a very pretty and innocent Portuguese ballad, ‘O Cego,’ Almeida-Garrett, III, 191, No 35, Braga, Romanceiro Geral, p. 147, No 55, and Cantos pop. do Archipelago Açoriano, p. 372, No 76 (all in Hartung, II, 103 ff.), which Almeida-Garrett, quite extravagantly, supposed might be derived from ‘The Gaberlunyie-Man,’ brought home from Scotland by Portuguese sailors. There is an accidental similarity in one or two points with the Spanish ballad ‘Tiempo es, el caballero,’ Duran, I, 163, No 307, Primavera, II, 91, No 158.
‘The Gaberlunyie-Man’ is given in an appendix.
* * * * *
A
“Old Lady’s Collection,” No 36.
1 ‘Ther is a wife in yone toun-end, an she has dothers three, An I wad be a beager for ony of a’ the three.’
2 He touk his clouty clok him about, his peak-staff in his hand, An he is awa to yon toun-end, leak ony peare man.
3 ‘I ha ben about this fish-toun this years tua or three, Ha ye ony quarters, deam, that ye coud gie me?’
4 ‘Awa, ye pear carl, ye dinne kean my name; Ye sudd ha caed me mistress fan ye called me bat deam.’
5 He tuke his hat in his hand an gied her juks three: ‘An ye want manners, misstres, quarters ye’ll gie me.’
6 ‘Awa, ye pear carle, in ayont the fire, An sing to our Lord Gray’s men to their hearts’ disire.’
7 Some lowked to his goudie lowks, some to his milk-whit skine, Some to his ruffled shirt, the gued read gold hang in.
8 Out spak our madin, an she was ay shay, Fatt will the jolly beager gett afore he gaa to lay?
9 Out spak our goudwife, an she was not sae shay, He’se gett a dish of lang kell, besids a puss pay.
10 Out spak the jolly beager, That dish I dou denay; I canne sup yer lang kell nor yet yer puss pay.
11 Bat ye gett to my supper a capon of the best, Tuo or three bottels of yer wine, an bear, an we sall ha a merry feast.
12 ‘Ha ye ony siler, carll, to bint the bear an wine?’ ‘O never a peney, misstress, had I lang sine.’
13 The beager wadne lay in the barn, nor yett in the bayr, Bat in ahind the haa-dor, or att the kitchen-fire.
14 The beager’s bed was well [made] of gued clean stray an hay, . . . . . . . . .
15 The madin she rose up to bar the dor, An ther she spayed a naked man, was rinen throu the flour.
16 He tuke her in his arms an to his bed he ran; ‘Hollie we me, sir,’ she says, ‘or ye’ll waken our pear man.’
17 The begger was a cuning carle, an never a word he spake Till he got his turn dean, an sayn began to crak.
18 ‘Is ther ony dogs about this toun? madin, tell me nou:’ ‘Fatt wad ye dee we them, my hony an my dou?’
19 ‘They wad ravie a’ my meall-poks an die me mukell wrang:’ ‘O doll for the deaing o it! are ye the pear man?
20 ‘I thought ye had ben some gentelman, just leak the leard of Brody! I am sorry for the doing o itt! are ye the pore boddie?’
21 She tuke the meall-poks by the strings an thrue them our the waa: ‘Doll gaa we meall-poks, madinhead an a’!’
22 She tuke him to her press, gave him a glass of wine; He tuke her in his arms, says, Honey, ye’ss be mine.
23 He tuke a horn fra his side an he blue loud an shill, An four-an-tuenty belted knights came att the beager’s will.
24 He tuke out a pean-kniff, lute a’ his dudes faa, An he was the braest gentelman that was among them a’.
25 He patt his hand in his poket an gaa her ginnes three, An four-an-tuenty hunder mark, to pay the nires feea.
26 ‘Gin ye had ben a gued woman, as I thought ye had ben, I wad haa made ye lady of castels eaght or nine.’
B
=a.= Herd, The Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 46. =b.= Curious Tracts, Scotland, British Museum, 1078, m. 24, No 30.
1 There was a jolly beggar, and a begging he was bound, And he took up his quarters into a landart town. Fa la la, etc.
2 He wad neither ly in barn, nor yet wad he in byre, But in ahint the ha-door, or else afore the fire.
3 The beggar’s bed was made at een wi good clean straw and hay, And in ahint the ha-door, and there the beggar lay.
4 Up raise the goodman’s dochter, and for to bar the door, And there she saw the beggar standin i the floor.
5 He took the lassie in his arms and to the bed he ran, ‘O hooly, hooly wi me, sir! ye’ll waken our goodman.’
6 The beggar was a cunnin loon, and neer a word he spake Until he got his turn done, syne he began to crack.
7 ‘Is there ony dogs into this town? maiden, tell me true.’ ‘And what wad ye do wi them, my hinny and my dow?’
8 ‘They’ll rive a’ my mealpocks, and do me meikle wrang.’ ‘O dool for the doing o’t! are ye the poor man?’
9 Then she took up the mealpocks and flang them oer the wa: ‘The d--l gae wi the mealpocks, my maidenhead and a’!
10 ‘I took ye for some gentleman, at least the Laird of Brodie; O dool for the doing o’t! are ye the poor bodie?’
11 He took the lassie in his arms and gae her kisses three, And four-and-twenty hunder merk to pay the nurice-fee.
12 He took a horn frae his side and blew baith loud and shrill, And four-and-twenty belted knights came skipping oer the hill.
13 And he took out his little knife, loot a’ his duddies fa, And he was the brawest gentleman that was amang them a’.
14 The beggar was a cliver loon and he lap shoulder height: ‘O ay for sicken quarters as I gat yester-night!’
=A.=
6^2. disere.
9^2. puss might be russ here, but is unquestionable in the next stanza.
24^2. blaest for braest. 26^2. ninge (nigne may be what was intended).
=B. b.= A slip with no imprint. Dated in the Museum catalogue 1800?
1 There was a jolly beggar, and a begging he had been, With his fal de diddle de dal dal And he took up his quarters in a house in Aberdeen. With his toran oran ad de odi
2 This beggar would not lye in barn nor yet would he in byre, But he would lye into the ha, or beyond the kitchen-fire.
3 The beggar’s bed it was well made, with clean straw and hay, And beyond the kitchen-fire, there the jolly beggar lay.
4 The lassie then she did get up to bar the kitchen-door, An there she met the jolly beggar, standing naked on the floor.
5 He gript the lassie by the middle jimp, laid her against the wa, ‘O kind sir,’ she said, ‘be civil, for ye will wake my dadda.’
6 He never minded what she said, but carried on his stroke, Till he got his job done, then he began to joke.
7 ‘Have you got any dogs about the house, or any cats ava? For I’m feared she’ll cut my mealpocks before I gang awa.’
8 The lassie took up the mealpocks, threw them against the wa, ‘O deil tak your mealpocks! my maidenhead’s awa.’
9 The lassie she got up again the hour before ’twas day, For to gie the beggar hansel before he went away.
10 She went into the cellar, to draw a pot of ale, The beggar followed after, and did the job again.
11 He laid her on the ringle-tree, and gave her kisses three, And he gave her twenty guineas, to pay the nurse’s fee.
12 ‘Had you been an honest lass, as I took you to be, You might have rode in your carriage and gone along with me.’
13 The beggar he took a horn and blew it wondrous shrill; There was four-and-twenty belted knights came riding oer the hill.
14 ‘Now if you are afraid you should miscall your child, You may call him for the daddy o’t, the great Duke of Argyle.’
1^1, jelly: but
3^2, 4^2, jolly.
3^1. hay and straw.
9^1. hours.
13^2. kinpa for knights.
There are many other misprints; some, perhaps, which are not corrected, as she’ll cut, 7^2.
The copy in Motherwell’s MS, p. 124, ends:
He louted oure the saddle to her and gave her kisses three, And he gave her fifty guineas, to pay the nourice-fee.
‘Oh had you been an honest maid, as I thocht ye wud hae been, I would have made you lady of a’ the land, and then the Scotish queen.’
=B. c.=
From the recitation of Miss Jane Webster, Crossmichael, August 8, 1893; learned by her many years ago from her mother, Janet Spark.
1 There was a jolly beggar, as mony a ane has been, An he’s taen up his lodging in a house near Aberdeen. Wi his yi yi yanti O, his eerie eerie an Wi his fine tan taraira, the jolly beggar-man
2 He wadna lie in barn, nor he wadna lie in byre, But he wad lie at the ha-door or the back o the kitchen-fire.
=B. d.=
From the recitation of the same, on the same occasion; learned in youth at Airds of Kells, from the singing of Thomas Duffy, joiner, Parton.
Refrain:
Wi his long staff, and ragged coat, and breeches to his knee, And he was the bauldest beggar-man that eer my eyes did see.
=a.=
4 Up rose the farmer’s daughter, for to bar the door, There she beheld a naked man, was standing on the floor.
* * * * *
7 ‘Hae ye ony cats or dogs, or hae ye eer a grew? I’m feared they rive my meal-pokes, when I am kissing you.’
9 She’s taen up his meal-pokes an thrown them owre the wa: ‘O the deil gang wi your meal-pokes! for my maidenhead’s awa.’
* * * * *
‘It’s fare ye weel, gudewife, an it’s fare ye weel, gudeman, Ye hae a gude fat doughter, an I rattled on her pan.
=b.=
12 ‘If she had been an honest lass, as I took her to be, She micht hae ridden in her coach-an-four this day along wi me.’
=a.=
12 Then he took oot a whistle, an he’s blawn baith loud and shrill, There was four-an-twenty foresters cam at their master’s will.
13 Then he took oot a wee pen-knife, an let his duddies fa, And he was the brawest gentleman that was amang them a’.
The English broadside, Pepys Ballads, III, 73, No 71.
THE POLLITICK BEGGER-MAN.
Who got the love of a pretty maid And on her cittern sweetly plaid; At last she slung her milk-pail over the wall, And bid the De’l take milk-pail, maidenhead and all.
Tune is, There was a jovial begger.[96]
Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, J. Wright, and J. Clarke.
1 There was a jovial begger-man, a begging he was bound, And he did seek his living in country and in town. With a long staff and a patcht coat, he prancd along the pad, And by report of many a one he was a proper lad. His cheeks were like the crimson rose, his forehead smooth and high, And he was the bravest begger-man that ever I saw with eye.
2 He came unto a farmer’s gate and for an alms did crave; The maid did like the begger-man and good relief she gave. She took him by the lilly hand and set him to the fire, Which was as well as tongue could tell Or heart of man desire.
3 A curious mess of firmaty for him she did provide, With a lovely cup of nut-brown and sugar sops beside. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
4 ‘Sweet-heart, give me some lodging, that I all night may stay, Or else give me my answer, that I may go away.’ The maid went to the hay-mow and fetcht a bottle of hay, And laid it behind the parlor-door, On which the begger-man lay.
5 ‘Resolve me,’ said the maiden, ‘if that you will or can, For I do verily believe thou art a gentleman.’ ‘In truth then,’ said the begger, ‘my parents they are poor, And I do seek my living each day from door to door.’
6 ‘’Tis pity,’ said this maiden fair, ‘that such a lively lad Should be a begger’s only heir, a fortune poor and bad. I wish that my condition were of the same degree, Then hand in hand I’de quickly wend throughout the world with thee.’
7 When he perceivd the maiden’s mind, and that her heart was his, He did embrace her in his arms And sweetly did her kiss. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
8 In lovely sport and merriment the night away they spent In Venus game, for their delight and both their hearts content: . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
9 Betimes in the morning then, as soon as it was day, He left the damosel fast asleep and nimbly budgd away. When he from her an hour was gone the damosel she did wake, And seeing the begger-man not there her heart began to ake.
10 Then did she sigh and wring her hands, the tears did trickling pour, For loosing her virginity and virgins maiden flower. When twenty weeks were come and gone her heart was something sad, Because she found herself with barn, and does not know the dad.
11 ‘There is, I see, no remedy for what is past and gone, And many a one that laughs at me may do as I have done.’ Then did she take her milk-pail, and flung it over the wall: ‘O the Devil go with my milk-pail, my maidenhead and all!’
12 You maidens fair, where ere you are, Keep up your store and goods, For when that some have got their wills They’l leave you in the suds. Let no man tempt you nor entice, be not too fond and coy, But soon agree to loyalty, Your freedom to enjoy.
4^4. go that way.