The Pictorial Balladist: a collection of ballads of various ages and countries, etc

Preface

. The Pictorial Book of Ballads is intended to supply what is conceived to be a desideratum in English literature, by gather ing together, in one ' local habitation,' the ballad lore in which that literature is so rich ; and thus presenting the general reader, in a compact form and at a moderate price, with that which has hitherto lain scattered through numerous and costly volumes. Nothing critical, therefore, or recondite, is to be looked for in the work, the object of which is simply to bring under the notice of those who might be considered unlikely to go in quest of it themselves, the ballad literature of their country. At a time, too, when the press teems with cheap publications, — some of them, by the way, of a character calcu lated to excite in the warmest advocates for its liberty doubts whether that liberty is not degenerating into licentiousness, — ■ it was hoped that those whom it is now the fashion to call ' the million,' might be seduced into purchasing a work of this kind ; and so be led gradually, and as it were involuntarily, if not indeed in spite of themselves, to exchange the garbage with which they are but too prodigally gorged, for more wholesome food.

The plan of periodical publication was therefore adopted, and at a price which would put it in the power of every one; and, as seeming likely to aid in effecting the object in view, Pictorial Illustrations were employed, with a profusion and ex cellence never before attempted in similar circumstances. The hope, however, on which this plan was founded, has not been realized; ' the million' have too long ' battened on the moor' to be able to breathe the bracing air of the mountain; the work

PREFACE.

. has found its patrons amongst a higher class than those for whom it was designed; and it has consequently been determined to discontinue the periodical publication, without, however, in anywise altering the character of the work, which still professes to be, and is, essentially and exclusively popular. With regard to the sources from which its materials are derived, it may be sufficient to say here, that they are invari ably pointed out and referred to in the Introductory Notice prefixed to each ballad ; by reference to which it will be seen that not only Percy, Ritson, and such well known sources, have been resorted to, but some others not so accessible and familiar. For these, as far as the present volume is concerned, the Editor is principally indebted to the kindness of his friend, J. H. Dixon, Esq., an active and zealous member of the Percy Society, to whom he begs thus publicly to return his thanks for the warm interest he has ever taken in the success of the work, and the many valuable suggestions by which he has improved it.

To the Second Series, now preparing for publication, will be added a Glossary; in compiling which, the Editor has pre ferred making it too full to leaving it too scanty ; a remark which he makes here by way of deprecating the criticism of any learned philologist into whose hands it may happen to fall. In an Appendix to the Second Series will be found, what to some readers will, perhaps, prove not the least interesting part of the work — namely, more ancient, and therefore probably more genuine, versions of some of the ballads, of which the more popular ones are given in the text. Of the work as originally conceived, the present volume, constituting the First Series, is an instalment, which it is intended, under favourable circumstances, to follow up with as many more as may be necessary to fulfil the original design, which was, as has been said, to furnish a pretty full, if not complete collection of the Ballad Literature of England.

London, — March 1, 1847. CONTENTS. PAGE Chevy Chase . . . . . 1 The Nut-Browne Mayde . . . .9 The Mermaid . . . . .18 Robin Hood. His Birth, Breeding, Valour, and Marriage . 26 The Blind Beggar's Daughter of Bednal Green . . 33 The Lists of Naseby Wold ; or the White Armed Lady e's Oath . 41 The Children in the Wood . . . .48 Sir Turlough ; or, The Churchyard Bride . . .53 Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne . . .59 Sir Aldingar . . . . .66 Glenfinlas; or, Lord Ronald's Coronach . . .73 King Estmere . . . . .81 The Cout of Keeldar . . . .89 Lord Soulis . . . . .97 John Gilpin . . . . .105 The Bristowe Tragedie ; or, The Dethe of Sir Charles Bawdin . 113 The Feaste of Alle Deuiles . . . .124 The Child of Elle . . . . .131 Sir Cauline . . . . . .137 The Lady of The Black Tower . . . .148 Robin Hood and Little John . . . .156 Sir Guy, the Seeker . . . . .161 The Heir of Linne . . . . . 1 70 Roprecht the Robber . . . . .177 Gil Morrice . . . . .188 Robin Hood and the Beggar . . . .194 The Wandering Jew ..... 205 Hardyknute (Part I.) . . . . . 209 (Part II.) . . . .219 CONTENTS.

IV PAGE The Admiral Guarino . • ■ • • 231 Gernutus the Jew . . • ■ • ,236 The Witch of Fife . . • • ■ 241 Robin Hood and the Monk . • • ■ 250 The Death of Parcy Reed . • • • 26° Lenora . . ■ • ■ ■ 265 Adam Bel, Clym of the Cloughe, and Wyllyam of Cloudesle . 273 The Red-Cross Knight . • • ■ 292 Valentine and Ursine . • • • • 303 Our Ladye's Girdle . • • ■ • 314 The Felon Sow of Rokeby and the Friars of Richmond . 323 The Birth of St. George . • ■ • 331 111 May-day . • • • • 337 The Worme of Lambton . . • • 342 Sir James the Rose . • • • • 354 Gondoline . . • ■ " • 361 The Battle of Otterbourne . • • • 370 Robin Hood and the Stranger . . ■ • 378 Sir Delaval and the Monk . • ■ • S88 The Gay Goss-Hawk . . • ... 396 The Hermit of Warkworth . . • -401 (fifeio)fs®iM^&> [There are two versions of this ballad.

The older, which le calls the ' genuine antique poem, the true original song,' Bishop Percy thinks, was written not later than the time of Henry VI. ; and the more modern one, which we have idopted, as more intelligible to the general reader, * not Tiuch later than the time of Queen Elizabeth.' When— if ;ver — the ' woefull hunting' befell, can only be conjectured. ; This celebrated lay,' says Mr. Hallam, ' relates a totally fic titious event with all historical particularity, and with real It.' Perhaps, however, the ballad had, originally, le foundation in fact. It was a law of the Marches mt neither party should hunt on the other's borers without leave from the proprietors or their eputies. Some transgression of this law may be ommemorated in ' The Hunting a' the Cheviat* — >r such was the original title — and this ' hunting* lay have led to the battle of Otterbourne, in 1388, he only one mentioned in history wherein a Douglas iras slain fighting with a Percy.

Be this, however, s it may, the ballad itself has ever been a general ivourite. Sidney, ' the soul of chivalry,' never eard the old song of Percie and Douglas, that he md not his heart moved more than with the sound of umpet,' and Mr. Addison wrote an elaborate comry upon it. (Spectator, 70, 74.) '^OyOD prosper long our noble king, ■ CO M^ hyes an(l safetyes all; \i(fjffr^ A. woefull hunting once there did A^y In Chevy-Chase befall. CHEVY-CHASE. 2 •> To drive the deere with hound and home, Erie Percy took his way; The child may rue that is unborne The hunting of that day. The stout Erie of Northumberland A vow to God did make, His pleasure in the Scottish woods Three summers days to take; The cheefest harts in Chevy-Chase To kill and beare away. These tydings to Erie Douglas came, In Scotland where he lay: Who sent Erie Percy present word, He would prevent his sport.

The English erle, not fearing that, Did to the woods resort, With fifteen hundred bowmen bold, All chosen men of might, Who knew full well in time of neede To ayme their shafts aright. The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran To chase the fallow deere: On Munday they began to hunt Ere daylight did appeare; And long before high noone they had An hundred fat buckes slain; Then having dined, the drovyers went To rouse the deere again. The bowmen mustered on the hills, Well able to endure; Their backsides all, with speciall care, That day were guarded sure. The hounds ran swiftly through the woods. The nimble deere to take; That with their cryes the hills and dales An eccho shrill did make. Lord Percy to the quarry went, To view the slaughterd deere; Quoth he, Erie Douglas promised This day to meet me heere: CHEVY-CHASE. 3 But if I thought he wold not come, Noe longer wold I stay.

With that a brave young gentleman Thus to the erle did say: Loe, yonder doth Erie Douglas come, His men in armour bright; Full twenty hundred Scottish speres All marching in our sight; All men of pleasant Tivydale, Fast by the river Tweede: O cease your sport, Erie Percy said, And take your bowes with speede: And now with me, my countrymen, Your courage forth advance; For never was there champion yett, In Scotland or in France, That ever did on horsebacke come, But if my hap it were, I durst encounter man for man, With him to break a spere. Erie Douglas on his milke-white steede, Most like a baron bold, Rode foremost of his company, Whose armour shone like gold. Show me, sayd hee, whose men you bee, That hunt so boldly heere, That, without my consent, doe chase And kill my fallow deere. The first man that did answer make, Was noble Percy hee; Who sayd, Wee list not to declare, Nor show whose men wee bee : Yet will wee spend our deerest blood, Thy cheefest harts to slay.

Then Douglas swore a solempne oathe, And thus in rage did say — Ere thus I will out-braved bee, One of us two shall dye : I know thee well, an erle thou art, Lord Percy, soe am I. CHEVY-CHASE. 4 ■j But trust me, Percy, pitye it were, And great offence to kill Any of these our guiltlesse men, For they have done no ill. Let you and me the battel trye, And set our men aside. Accurst be he, Erie Percy sayd, By whom this is denyed. Then stept a gallant squier forth, Witherington was his name, Who said, I wold not have it told To Henry, our king, for shame, That e'er my captain fought on foote, And I stood looking on. You be two erles, sayd Witherington, And I a squier alone: I'll doe the best that doe I may, While I have power to stand: While I have power to weeld my sword, I'll fight with heart and hand.

Our English archers bent their bowes, Their hearts were good and trew ; At the first flight of arrowes sent, Full fourscore Scotts they slew. Yet bides Erie Douglas on the bent, As chieftain stout and good ; As valiant captain, all unmoved, The shock he firmly stood. His host he parted had in three, As leader ware and tryd ; And soon his spearmen on their foes Bare down on every side. Throughout the English archery They dealt full many a wound ; But still our valiant Englishmen All firmly kept their ground. And throwing strait their bowes away, They graspt their swords so bright : And now sharp blows, a heavy shower, On shields and helmets light. CHEVY-CHASE. 5 '■> They closed full fast on everye side, Noe slacknes there was found ; And many a gallant gentleman Lay gasping on the ground. O Christ ! it was a griefe to see, And likewise for to heare, The cries of men lying in their gore, And scattered here and there.

At last these two stout erles did meet, Like captaines of great might : Like lions wode, they layd on lode, And made a cruel! fight. They fought untill they both did sweat, With swords of tempered steele ; Until the blood, like drops of rain, They trickling down did feele. Yeeld thee, Lord Percy, Douglas sayd ; In faith I will thee bringe Where thou shalt high advanced bee By James, our Scottish king. Thy ransome I will freely give, And thus report of thee, Thou art the most courageous knight That ever I did see. Noe, Douglas, quoth Erie Percy then, Thy proffer I doe scorne; I will not yeelde to any Scott That ever yett was borne. With that there came an arrow keene Out of an English bow, Which strucke Erie Douglas to the heart, A deep and deadlye blow : Who never spake more words than these Fight on my merry men all ; For why, my life is at an end, Lord Percy sees my fall.

Then leaving lifle, Erie Percy tooke The dead man by the hand ; And said, Erie Douglas, for thy life Wold I had lost my land. CHEVY-CHASE. 6 O Christ ! my very hart doth bleed With sorrow for thy sake ; For sure a more redoubted knight Mischance cold never take. A knight amongst the Scotts there was, Which saw Erie Douglas dye, Who streight in wrath did vow revenge Upon the Erie Percye : Sir Hugh Mountgomerye was he calld, Who, with a spere most bright, Well mounted on a gallant steed, Ran fiercely through the fight ; And past the English archers all, Without all dread or feare ; And through Erie Percye's body then He thrust his hatefull spere ; With such a vehement force and might He did his body gore, The staff went through the other side A large cloth-yard and more. So thus did both these nobles dye, Whose courage none could staine : An English archer then perceiv'd The noble erle was slaine : He had a bow bent in his hand, Made of a trusty tree ; An arrow of a cloth-yard long Up to the head drew hee : Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerye So right the shaft he sett, The gray goose wing that was thereon In his hart's bloode was wett.

This fight did last from breake of day Till setting of the sun ; For when they rung the evening-bell, The battel scarce was done. With brave Erie Percy there was slaine Sir John of Egerton, Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John, Sir James, that bold baron. CHEVY-CHASE. 7 ■j And with Sir George and stout Sir James. Both knights of good account, Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slaine, Whose prowesse did surmount. For Witherington needs I must wailc, As one in doleful dumpes ; For when his legs were smitten off, He fought upon his stumpes. And with Erie Douglas there was slaine Sir Hugh Mountgomerye, Sir Charles Murray, that from the feeld One foote wold never flee. Sir Charles Murray of Ratcliff, too, His sister's sonne was hee; Sir David Lamb, so well esteemd, Yet saved cold not bee. And the Lord Maxwell in like case Did with Erie Douglas dye: Of twenty hundred Scottish speres, Scarce fifty-five did flye.

Of fifteen hundred Englishmen, Went home but fifty-three; The rest were slaine in Chevy-Chase, Under the greenewood tree. Next day did many widowes come, Their .husbands to bewayle; They washt their wounds in brinish teares, But all wold not prevayle. Theyr bodies, bathed in purple gore, They bare with them away; They kisst them dead a thousand times, Ere they were cladd in clay. This newes was brought to Eddenborrow, Where Scottland's king did raigne, That brave Erie Douglas suddenlye Was with an arrow slaine: O heavy newes, King James did say, Scottland can witnesse bee I have not any captaine more Of such account as hee. CHEVY-CHASE. 8 Like tydings to King Henry came ■ Within as short a space, That Percy of Northumberland Was slaine in Chevy-Chase: Now God be with him, said our 1. ing, I Sith it will noe better bee; I trust I have within my realme Five hundred as good as hee.

Yet shall not Scots or Scotland say I But I will vengeance take: 111 be revenged on them all, For brave Erie Percye's sake. This vow full well the king performdH After at Humbledowne; In one day fifty knights were slayne.M With lordes of great renowne: And of the rest, of small account, Dili many hundreds dye. Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chase, Made by the Erie Percy. God save our king, and bless this land, In plentye, joye, and peace; And grant, henceforth, that foule debate 'Twixt noblemen may cease. [This fine old ballad appears to have been first printed, about 1520, in a black-letter book, entitled, ' The Customes of London, or, Arnoldes Chronicle ;' no earlier copy having been dis- ( covered. It was probably an old piece, even then ; or an antiquary Uke Arnolde would hardly have inserted it among his historical Collections.

Indeed it has been supposed to have been written as early as the year 1400. It was revived in ' The Muses Mercury* for June, 1707; where it is said to be ' near three hundred years old.' Prior, who founded upon it his * Henry and Emma,' printed it with his Poems, (1718,) assert ing it to have been * written near three hundred years since ;' and Dr. Percy included it in his ' Reliques.' ' Its sentimental beauties,' he says, ' have always recommended it to readers of taste, notwithstanding the rust of antiquity which obscures the style and expression.* We give it in that rust ; nothing doubt ing that every reader will prefer it to any modern polish that could be put upon it.] E it ryght or wrong, these men among I On women do complayne; Affyrmynge this, how that it is A labour spent in vayne, To love them wele; for never a dele I They love a man agayne: For late a man do what he can, Theyr favour to attayne, Yet, yf a newe do them pursue, Theyr first true lover than | Laboureth for nought; for from her thought He is a banyshed man. c Stand/out.

J H'nlmtUy. I say not nay, but that all day It is bothe writ and sayd That womans faith is, as who sayth, All utterly decayd; But, neverthelesse, ryght good wytnesse In this case might be layd, That they love true and continue: Recorde the Not-browne Mayde: Which, when her love came, her to prove, To her to make his mone, Wolde not depart: for in her hart She loved but hym alone. Than betwaine us late us dyscus What was all the manere Betwayne them two: we wyll also Tell all the payne and fere That she was in. Nowe I begyn, So that ye me answere; Wherefore, all ye, that present be, I pray you, gyve an ere. I am the knyght; I come by nyght, As secret as I can; Sayinge, Alas! thus standeth the case, I am a banyshed man. And I your wyll for to fulfyll In this wyll not refuse; Trustying to shewe, in wordes fewe, That men have an yll use (To theyr own shame) women to blame, And causeless them accuse ; Therfbre, to you I answere nowe, All women to excuse, — Myne owne hart dere, with you what chere?

I pray you tell anone; For, in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone. It standeth so; a deed is do, Whereof grete harm shall growe ; My destiny is for to dy A shames ull deth, I trowe; Or elles to flee: the one must be. None other way I knowe, But to withdrawe, as an outlawe, And take me to my bowe. Wherefore adue, my owne hart true! None other rede I can: For I must to the grene wode go, Alone, a banyshed man. 0 Lord, what is thys worldys blysse, That changeth as the mone! My somers day in lusty May Is derked before the none. I hear you say, Farewell! Nay, nay, We depart not so sone. Why say ye so? wheder wyll ye go? Alas! what have ye done? All my welfare to sorrowe and care Sholde chaunge yf ye were gone; For, in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone. I can beleve, it shall you greve, And somewhat you dystrayne : But aftyrwarde, your paynes harde Within a day or twayne Shall sone aslake; and ye shall take Comfort to you agayne.

Why sholde ye ought? for to make thought, Your labour were in vayne. And thus I do, and pray you to, As hartely as I can ; For I must to the grene wode go, Alone, a banyshed man. Now syth that ye have shewed to me The secret of your mynde, I shall be playne to you agayne, Lyke as ye shall me fynde. Syth it is so that ye wyll go, I wolle not leve behynde ; Shall never be sayd, the Not-Browne Mayde Was to her love unkynde : Make you redy, for so am I, Allthough it were anone ; For, in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone. Yet I you rede to take good hede What men wyll thynke, and say : Of yonge and olde it shall be tolde, That ye be gone away, Your wanton wyll for to fulfyll, In grene wode you to play ; And that ye myght from your delyght No longer make delay. Rather than ye sholde thus for me Be called an yll woman, Yet wolde I to the grene wode go, Alone, a banyshed man.

Though it be songe of old and yonge, That I sholde be to blame, Theyrs be the charge, that speke so large In hurtynge of my name : For I wyll prove, that faythfulle love It is devoyd of shame ; In your dystresse, and hevynesse, To part with you, the same : And sure all tho, that do not so, True lovers are they none; For in my mynde, of all mankynde, I love but you alone. I counceyle you, remember howe It is no may den's lawe Nothynge to dout, but to renne out To wode with an outlawe ; For ye must there in your hand bere A bowe, redy to drawe ; And as a these, thus must you lyve. Ever in drede and awe. Whereby to you grete harme myght growe Yet had I lever than, That I had to the grene wode go, Alone, a banyshed man. I thynke not nay, but as ye say, It is no mayden's lore : But love may make me for your sake, As I have sayd before, To come on fote, to hunt and shote To get us mete in store ; For so that I your company May have, I aske no more : From which to part it maketh my hart As cold as ony stone ; For, in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone. .

For an outlawe this is the lawe, That men hym take and bynde ; Without pyte, hanged to be, And waver with the wynde. If I had nede, (as God forbede !) What rescous coud ye fynde ? Forsoth, I trowe, ye and your bowe For fere wolde draw behynde : And no mervayle ; for lytell avayle Were in your counceyle than : Wherefore I wyll to the grene wode go, Alone, a banyshed man. Ryght wele knowe ye, that women be But feble for to fyght ; No womanhede it is indede To be bolde as a knyght : Yet, in such fere, yf that ye were With enemyes day or nyght, I wolde withstande, with bowe in hande. To greve them as I myght, And you to save; as women have From deth many one : For in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone. Yet take good hede, for ever I drede That ye coude not sustayne The thornie wayes, the depe valeies, The snowe, the frost, the rayne.

The colde, the hete; for dry or wete, We must lodge on the playne; And us above, none other rose But a brake bush or twayne : Which sone sholde greve you, I beleve, And ye wolde gladly than That I had to the grenewode go, Alone, a banyshed man. Syth I have here been partynere, With you of joy and blysse, I must also parte of your wo Endure, as reson is. Yet I am sure of one plesure, And, shortely, it is this; That, where ye be, me seemeth, parde, I colde not fare amysse. Without more speche, I you beseche That we were sone agone, For, in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone. If ye go thyder, ye must consyder, When ye have lust to dyne, There shall no mete be for to gete, Nor drinke, bere, ale, ne wyne, No shetes clene, to lye betwene, Made of threde and twyne; None other house but leve3 and bowes, To cover your hed and myne.

Oh myne harte swete, this evyll dyete, Sholde make you pale and wan ; Wherfore I wyll to the grene wode go, Alone, a banyshed man. Among the wylde dere, such an archere, As men say that ye be, Ne may not fayle of good vitayle, Where is so grete plente. And water clere of the ryveVe, Shall be full swete to me. With which in hele, I shall ryght wele Endure, as ye shall see; And, or we go, a bedde or two I can provyde anone; For, in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone. Lo yet, before, ye must do more, Yf ye wyll go with me; As cut your here up by your ere, Your kyrtle by the kne; With bowe in hande, for to withstande Your enemyes, yf nede be ; And this same nyght, before day-lyght, To wode-warde wyll I fle. Yf that ye wyll all this fulfill, Doit shortely as ye can: Els wyll I to the grene wode go, Alone, a banyshed man.

I shall as nowe do more for you Than longeth to womanhede, To shorte my here, a bow to bere, To shote in tyme of nede. O, my swete mother, before all other For you I have most drede; But nowe adue! I must ensue Where fortune doth me lede. All this make ye: Now let us fle; The day cometh fast upon: For, in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone. Nay, nay, not so; ye shall not go, And I shall tell ye why: Your appetyght is to be lyght Of love, I wele espy: For lyke as ye have sayed to me, In lyke wyse, hardely, Ye wolde answere whosoever it were, In way of company. It is sayd of old, Sone hot, sone colde; And so is a woman ; Wherfore I to the wode wyll go, Alone, a banyshed man. Yf ye take hede, it is no nede Such wordes to say by me ; For oft ye prayed and longe assayed. Or I you loved, parde : And though that I, of auncestry, A baron's daughter be, Yet have you proved howe I you loved, A squyer of low degre ; And ever shall, whatso befall ; To dye therfore anone ; For, in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone.

A baron's chylde to be begylde, It were a cursed dede ! To be felawe with an outlawe Almighty God forbede ! Yt beter were, the poor squyere Alone to forest yede, Than ye sholde say, another day, That, by my cursed dede, Ye were betrayd : Wherefore, good mayd, The best rede that I can, Is, that I to the grene wode go, Alone, a banyshed man, Whatever befall, I never shall Of this thyng you upbrayd ; But, yf ye go, and leve me so, Than have ye me betrayd. Remember you wele, howe that ye dele ; For yf ye, as ye sayd, Be so unkynde to leve behynde Your love, the Not-Browne Mayd, Trust me truly, that I shall dye Sone after ye be gone ; For, in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone. Yf that ye went, ye sholde repent ; For in the forest nowe I have purvayed me of a mayd, Whom I love more than you ; Another fayrere than ever ye were, I dare it wele avowe, And of you bothe eche sholde be wrothe With other, as I trowe : It were myne ese to lyve in pese ; So wyll I, yf I can ; Wherfore I to the wode wyll go, Alone, a banyshed man.

Though in the wode I undyrstode Ye had a paramour, All this may nought remove my thought. But that I wyll be your. And she shall fynde me soft and kynde And courteys every hour; Glad to fulfyll all that she wyll Commaunde me to my power. For had ye, lo, an hundred mo, Of them I wolde be one; For, in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone. Myne own dere love, I see the prove That ye be kynde and true; Of mayde and wyfe, in all my lyfe, The best that ever I knewe. Be merry and glad; be no more sad; The case is chaunged newe; For it were ruthe, that, for your truthe, Ye sholde have cause to rewe. Be not dismayed ; whatever I sayd To you, when I began ; I wyll not to the grene wode go, I am no banyshed man. These tydings be more gladd to me, Than to be made a quene, . Yf I were sure they sholde endure : But it is often sene, When men wyll breke promyse, they speke The wordes on the splene.