That were against reafon, fayd the king,
I fweare, fo mote I thee:

My horfe is better than thy mare,

And that thou well mayft fee.
"Yea, fir, but Brocke is gentle and mild,
And foftly the will fare:

Thy horfe is unrulye and wild, I wifs;
Aye kipping here and theare."

What boote wilt thou have? our king replied;

Now tell me in this stounde.
"Noe pence, nor half-pence, by my faye,
But a noble in gold fo rounde."

Here's twentye groates of white moneyè,
Sith thou wilt have it of mee,"

I would have fworne now, quoth the tanner,
Thou hadst not had one pennie.

But fince we two have made a change,
A change we must abide;
Although thou haft gotten Brocke my mare,
Thou getteft not my cowe-hyde.

I will not have it, fayde the kynge,
I fweare, fo mote I thee;
Thy foule cow-hide I would not beare,
If thou woldft give it to mee.

The tanner he took his good cowc-hide,
That of the cowe was hilt;
And threwe it upon the king's faddèlle,
That was foe fayrelye gilte.

Now helpe me up, thou fine fellowe,
'Tis time that I were gone;
When I come home to Gyllian my wife,
Sheel fay I'm a gentilmon.'

The kinge he took him by the legge;
The tanner a felett fall.

Now marrye, good fellowe, faid the kinge,
Thy courtelye is but small.

When the tanner he was in the kinges faddelle,
And his foote in the ftirrup was;
He marvelled greatlye in his minde,

Whether it were golde or brafs.

But when his fteede faw the cows taile wagge,
And eke the black cowc-horne ;
He ftamped, and ftared, and awaye he ranne,
As the devill had him borne.

The tanner he pulld, the tanner he fweat,
And held by the pummil faft;

At length the tanner came tumbling downe;
His necke he had well-nye braft.

Take thy horfe again with a vengeance, he fayd,
With mee he fhall not by de.

"My horfe would have borne thee well enoughe,
But he knewe not of thy cowe-hide.
Yet if againe thou faine woldft change,
As change full well may wee,

By the faith of my bodye, thou jolly tannèr,
I will have fome boote of thee.'

What boote wilt thou have, the tanner replyd,

Nowe tell me in this ftounde? “Noe pence, nor half-pence, fir, by my faye, But i will have twentye pounde."

"Here's twentye groates out of my purse;

And twentye I have of thine:
And I have one more, which we will spend
Together at the wine."

The kinge fet a bugle horne to his mouthe,
And blewe bothe loude and thrille :
And foone came lords, and foone came knights,
Faft ryding over the hille.

Nowe, out alas! the tanner he cryde,

That ever I fawe this daye!

Thou art a strong thefe, yon come thy fellowes Will beare my cowe-hide away.

They are no thieves, the king replyde,

I fweare, fo mote 1 thee:

But they are the lords of the north countrèy,
Here come to hunt with mee.

And foone before our king they came,
And knelt downe on the grounde:
Then might the tanner have beene awaye,
He had lever than twentye pounde.

A coller, a coller, here, fayd the kinge,
A coller, he loud did crye:

Then woulde he lever than twentye pounds
He had not been fo nighe.

A coller, a coller, the tanner he fayd,
I trowe it will breede forrowe:
After a coller comes a halter,

And I fhall be hanged to-morrowe.
"Away with thy feare, thou jolly tannèr,
For the fport thou haft fhewn to ince,
I wote noe halter thou fhalt weare,
But thou fhalt have a knight's fee.
For Plumpton parke I will give thee,
With tenements faire befide:
'Tis worth three hundred markes by the yeare,
To maintaine thy good cowe-hide."
Gramercye, my liege, the tanner replyde,

For the favour thou haft me thowne; If ever thou comeft to merry Tamworth, Neates leather shall clout thy fhoen.

§ 116. Lady Ann Bothwell's Lament. Å Sedtijh Song.

The fubject of this pathetic ballad is, A lady of
quality of the name of BornWELL, or rather
BOSWELL, having been, together with her
child, deferted by her husband or lover, com-
pofed thefe affecting lines he felf.
BALOW, my babe, ly ftil and fleipe!

It grieves me fair to fee thee weipe;
If thouft be filent, Ife be glad,
Thy maining maks my heart ful fad.
Balow, my boy, thy mithers joy,
Thy father breides me great annoy.

Balow, my babe, ly ftil and fleipe!
It grieves me fair to fee thee weipe.
When he began to court my luve,
And with his fugred wordes to muve,
His faynings fals, and flettering cheire,
To me that time did not appeire:
But now I fee, moft cruell hee
Cares neither for my babe nor mee.

Balow, &c. Ly

Ly ftil, my darlinge, fleipe a while,
And when theu wakeft fweitly imile:
But fimile not, as thy father did,
To cozen maids: nay, God forbid!
But
yette I feire, thou wilt gae neire
Thy fatheris hart and face to beire.
Balow, &c.

I cannae chufe, but ever will
Be luving to thy father fiil:
Whair-eir he gae, whair-cir he ryde,
My love with him maun ftil abyde ·
In weil or wac, whair-cir he gae,
Mine hart can neir depart him frae.

Balow, &c.

But doe not, doe not, prettie mine,
To faynings fals thine hart incline;
Be loyal to thy liver trew,
And nevir change hir for a new:
If gude or faire, of hir have care,
For womens banning's wonderous fair.
Balow, &c.

Bairne, fin thy cruel father is ganc,
Thy winfome firiles maun eife my paine;
My babe and I'll together live,
He'll comfort me whan cares doe grieve:
My babe and I right faft will ly,
And quite forget inan's cruelty.

Balow, &c.

Fareweil, fareweil, thou falfest youth,
That ever kift a woman's mouth!
I with all maides be warnd by mee
Nevir to truft inan's curtefy;
For if we doe bot chance to bow,
They'le ufe us than they care not how.

Balow, my babc, ly ftil and flcipe!
It grieves me fair to fee thee weipe.

§ 117. Corydon's doleful Knell. The burthen of the fong, DING, DONG, &c. is at prefent appropriated to burlefque fubjects,| and therefore may excite only ludicrous ideas in a modern reader; but in the time of our poet it ufually accompanied the most folemn and mournful trains."

MY Phillida, adieu love!

For evermore farewel!

Ay me! I've loft my true love,

And thus I ring her knell,

Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong,
My Phillida is dead!

I'll stick a branch of willow

At my fair Phillis' head.

For my fair Phillida

Our bridal bed was made:
But 'ftead of filkes fo gay,
She in her fhroud is laid.

Her corpfe fhall be attended
By maides in faire array,

Ding, &c.

Ding, &c.

Ding, &c.

Ding, &c.

Ding, &c.

§ 118. The Old and Young Courtier. The fubje&t of this excellent old fong is a comparifon between the manners of the old gentry, as till fubfifling in the times of Elizabeth, and the modern retinements affected by their fons, in the reigns of her fucceffors. AN old fong made by an aged old pate

Of an old worshipful gentleman who had a That kept a brave old houfe at a bountiful rate, greate eftate, And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate; Like an old courtier of the queen's, And the queen's old courtier. With an old lady,whofe anger one word affwages; They every quarter paid their old fervants their [footmen, nor pages, And never knew what belonged to coachmen, But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats and

wages,

badges;

With a new fashion, whenChriftmas is drawing on' On a new journey to London ftraight we all muft be gone,

And leave none to keep houfe, but our new porter John, [with a fione; Who relieves the poor with a thump on the back Like a young courtier, &c.

With a new gentleman-ufher, whofe carriage is complete, [carry up the meat, With a new coachman, footmen, and pages to With a waiting gentlewoman, whofe dretling is very neat, [not eat; Who, when her lady has din'd, lets the fervants Like a young courtier, &c.

ther's old gold,

But to his eldeft fon his houfe and land he affign'd, [full mind Charging him in his will to keep the old bountiTo be good to his old tenants, and to his neighbours be kind: [was inclin'd; But in the enfuing ditty you fhall hear how he Like a young courtier of the king's, And the king's young courtier.

Like a flourishing young gallant, newly come to his land, [command, Who keeps a brace of painted madams at his And takes up a thousand pound upon his father's land, [go nor ftand! And gets drunk in a tavern, till he can neither Like a young courtier, &c.

With a new-fangled lady, that is dainty, nice,

and fpare,

[fold; For which fundry of his ancestors old manors are Andthis is the courfe most of our new gallants hold, Which makes that good houfe-keeping is now grown fo cold, Among the young courtiers of the king, Or the king's young courtiers.

calm;

Then ftrike, Affliction, for thy wounds are balina

That which the world mifcalls a jail,

A private closet is to me:
Whilt a good confcience is my bail,
And innocence my liberty;
Locks, bars, and folitude, together met,
Make me no prifoner, but an anchoret.
I, whilft I wish'd to be retir'd,

Or

I

four or five days,

[thaws and toys;

Into this private room was turn'd; As if their wifdoms had confpir'd

The falamander fhould be burn'd; like thofe fophifts that would drown a fish, am constrain'd to fuffer what I wish.

The cynic loves his poverty;

The pelican her wilderness;

And 'tis the Indian's pride to be
Naked on frozen Caucafus :

Like a young courtier, &c.

Make torments cafie to their apathy.

These manacles upon my arm

I as my miftrefs' favours wear; And for to keep my ancles warm,

I have fome iron fhackles there:
Thefe walls are but my garrifon; this cell,
Which men call jail, doth prove my citadel.
I'm in the cabinet lock'd up,

Like fome high-prized margarite,
Or, like the great mogul or pope,

Am cloyfter'd up from public fight:
Retiredness is a piece of majesty,

And thus, proud fultan, I'm as great as thee.
Here fin for want of food must starve,

Where tempting objects are not feen;
And thefe ftrong walls do only ferve

To keep vice out, and keep me in:
Malice of late 's grown charitable fure,
I'm not committed, but am kept fecure.
So he that ftruck a Jafon's life,

Thinking t have made his purpofe fure, By a malicious friendly knife

Did only wound him to a cure: Malice, I fee, wants wit; for what is meant Mischief, oftimes proves favour by th' event. When once my prince affliction hath, Profperity doth treafon feem; And to make fmooth fo rough a path, I can learn patience from him:

Now not to fuffer fhews no loval heart;

fter; to which he was committed by the House of Commons, in April 1642, for prefenting a petition from the county of Kent, requesting them to reftore the king to his rights, and to fettle the government. See Wood's Athenæ, vol. ii. p. 228; where may be feen at large the affecting ftory of this elegant writer; who, after having been distinguished for every gallant and polite accomplishment, the pattern of his own fex, and the darling of the ladies, died in the lowest wretchednefs, obfcurity, and want, in 1658.

WHEN love with unconfined wings.
Hovers within my gates,

And my divine Althea brings
To whifper at my grates;
When I lye tangled in her haire,
And fetter'd with her eye,
The birds that wanton in the aire
Know no fuch libertye.

When flowing cups run fwiftly round
With no allaying Thames,

Our careleffe heads with rofes crown'd,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty griefe in wine we fteepe,
When healths and draughts goe free,
Fishes, that tipple in the deepe,

Know no fuch libertie.
When, linnet-like, confined I
With fhriller note fhall fing

What though I cannot fee my king
Neither in perfon or in coin;

Yet contemplation is a thing

That renders what I have not, mine:
My king from me what adamant can part,
Whom I do wear engraven on my heart?
Have you not feen the nightingale
A prifoner like, coopt in a cage,
How doth the chant her wonted tale
In that her narrow hermitage!
Even then her charming melody doth prove
That all her bars are trees, her cage a grove.

I am that bird, whom they combine
Thus to deprive of liberty;

But though they do my corps confine,

Yet, maugre hate, my foul is free:

And glories of my king;

When I fhall voyce aloud how good
He is, how great should be,

Th' enlarged windes, that curle the flood,
Know no fuch libertìe.

Stone walls do not a prison make,

Nor iron barres a cage; Mindes, innocent and quiet, take That for an hermitage:

If I have freedom in

my

love,

And in my foul am free,

Angels alone, that foare above, Enjoy fuch libertie.

§121. The Braes of Yarrow, in Imitation of the

ancient Scots Manner :

Difgrace to rebels, glory to my king.

My foul is free as ambient air,

Although my bafer part's immew'd, Whilst loyal thoughts do ftill repair T'accompany my folitude: Although rebellion do my body binde, My king alone can captivate my minde.

$120. To Althea from Prifon. This excellent fonnet, which poffeffed a high degree of fame among the old Cavaliers, was written by Colonel Richard Lovelace during his confinement in the Gate-houfe, Weftmin

who died March 25, 1754, aged 50.

A. RUSK ye, bufk ye, my bonny bonny bride,
Bufk ye,
bufk ye, my winfome marrow,
Bufk ye, bufk ye, my bonny bonny bride,

And think no mair on the Braes of Yarrow. B. Where gat ye that bonny bonny bride ?

Where gat ye that winfome marrow? A. I gat her where I dare na weil be seen,

Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. Weep not, weep not, my bonny bonny oride! Weep not, weep not, my winfome marrow, Nor let thy heart lament to leive

Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

30

B. Why