But, lo! what sudden danger

35

For thee-my dearest jewell,

95

Would God! that I had dyed for thee. 100

His pale lippes, alas !

To this princely stranger

Chanced, as he sate alone!

By outlawes he was robbed,
And with ponyards stabbed,
Uttering many a dying grone.

The princesse, arm'd by love,
And by chaste desire,
All the night did rove

Without dread at all:

Still unknowne she past

In her strange attire ;

Coming at the last

Within echoes call,

You faire woods, quoth shee,
Honoured may you bee,

Harbouring my hearts delight;

Which encompass here

My joye and only deare,

My trustye friend, and comelye knight.

Sweete, I come unto thee,

Twentye times she kissed,

Sweete, I come to woo thee;

In this great distresse

That thou mayst not angry bee

Weeping, wayling ever,

For my long delaying;

Oft shee cryed, alas!

For thy curteous staying

What will become of mee?

Soone amends Ile make to thee.

Passing thus alone

But in lowlye sort

Through the silent forest,

I will a servant bee.

Many a grievous grone

While thus she made her mone,

Sounded in her ears:

Weeping all alone

130

This little madrigal (extrated from Ben. Jonson's Silent Woman, act. 1. sc. 1. first acted in 1609.) is in imitation of a Latin poem printed at the end of the variorum Edit. of Petronius, beginning," Semper munditias, semper Basilissa decoras &c." See Whalley's Ben. Jonson, vol. II. p. 420.

This will remind the reader of the livery and device of Charles Brandon, a private .gentleman, who married the Queen Dowager of France, sister of Henry VIII. At a tournament which he held at his wedding, the trappings of his horse were half cloth of gold, and half frieze, with the following motto:

"Cloth of Gold, do not despise,

Tho' thou art match with Cloth of Frize;
Cloth of Frize, be not too bold,

Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Gold."
See Sir W. Temple's Misc. vol. III. p. 356.

"

XVIII.

In

The subject of this very popular ballad (which has been set in so favourable a light by the Spectator, No. 85,) seems to be taken from an old play, entitled, Two lamentable Tragedies; the one of the murder of Maister Beech, a chandler in Thamesstreete, &c. The other of a young child murthered in a wood by two ruffins, with the consent of his unkle. By Rob. Yarrington, 1601, 4to." Our ballad-maker has strictly followed the play in the description of the father and mother's dying charge: in the uncle's promise to take care of their issue: his hiring two ruffians to destroy his ward, under pretence of sending him to school: their choosing a wood to perpetrate the murder in: one of the ruffians relenting, and a battle ensuing, &c. other respects he has departed from the play. In the latter the scene is laid in Padua: there is but one child which is murdered by a sudden stab of the unrelenting ruffian: he is slain himself by his less bloody companion; but ere he dies gives the other a mortal wound: the latter living just long enough to impeach the uncle; who, in consequence of this impeachment, is arraigned and executed by the hand of justice, &c. Whoever compares the play with the ballad, will have no doubt but the former is the original: the language is far more obsolete, and such a vein of simplicity runs through the whole performance, that, had the ballad been written first, there is no doubt but every circumstance of it would have been received into the drama: whereas this was probably built on so Italian novel.

some

Printed from two ancient copies, one of them in black letter in the Pepys collection. Its title at large is, "The Children in the Wood: or, the No. folk Gentleman's Last Will and Testament: to the tune of Rogero, &c."

Now ponder well, you parents deare,
These wordes, which I shall write;

A doleful story you shall heare,

In time brought forth to light.

God never prosper me nor mine,

In Norfolke dwelt of late,

Nor aught else that I have,

Who did in honour far surmount

Most men of his estate.

If I do wrong your children deare, When you are layd in grave.

It has been a favourite subject with our English ballad-makers to represent our kings conversing, either by accident or design, with the meanest of their subjects. Of the former kind, besides this song of the King and the Miller, we have King Henry and the Soldier; King James I. and the Tinker; King William III. and the Forester, &c. Of the latter sort, are King Alfred and the Shepherd; King Edward IV. and the Tanner; King Henry VIII and the Cobler, &c.-A few of the best of these are admitted into this collection. Both the author of the following ballad, and others who have written on the same plan, seem to have copied a very ancient poem, intitled "John the Reeve," which is built on an adventure of the same kind, that happened between King Edward Longshanks and one of his Reeves or Bailiffs. This is a piece of great antiquity, being written before the time of Edward IV. and for its genuine humour, diverting incidents, and faithful picture of rustic manners, is infinitely superior to all that have been since written in imitation of it. The Editor has a copy in his ancient folio MS. but its length rendered it improper for this volume, it consisting of more than 900 lines. It contains also some corruptions, and the Editor chuses to defer its publication, in hopes that some time or other he shall be able to remove them.

The following is printed, with corrections, from the Editor's folio MS. collated with an old blackletter copy in the Pepys collection, intitled, "A pleasant ballad of "King Henry II. and the Miller of Mansfield, &c."

PART THE FIRST.

HENRY, our royall king, would ride a hunting

To the greene forest so pleasant and faire;
To see the harts skipping, and dainty does tripping:
Unto merry Sherwood his nobles repaire :
Hawke and hound were unbound, all things prepar'd
For the game, in the same, with good regard.

All a long summers day rode the king pleasantlye,
With all his princes and nobles eche one;
Chasing the hart and hind, and the buck gallantlye,
Till the dark evening forc'd all to turn home.
Then at last, riding fast, he had lost quite
All his lords in the wood, late in the night.

Wandering thus wearilye, all alone, up and downe,
With a rude miller he mett at the last;
Asking the ready way unto faire Nottingham;
Sir, quoth the miller, I meane not to jest,
Yet I thinke, what I thinke, sooth for to say,
You doe not lightlye ride out of your way.

6

10

15

Nay, first, quoth Richard, good-fellowe, tell me true.
Hast thou noe creepers within thy gay hose?
Or art thou not troubled with the scabbado?

71

pray, quoth the king, what creatures are those? Art thou not lowsy, nor scabby? quoth he: If thou beest, surely thou lyest not with mee.

The king says this.