2.11

And now, my lords, quoth the king, I am determinec
Against St. Georges next sumptuous feast,
That this old miller, our new confirm'd knight,
With his son Richard, shall here be my guest: 10
For, in this merryment, 'tis my desire
To talke with the jolly knight, and the young squire

When as the noble lords saw the kinges pleasantnes
They were right joyfull and glad in their hearts:
A pursuivant there was sent straighte on the busi

ness,

14 The which had often-times been in those parts. When he came to the place, where they did dwell, His message orderlye then 'gan he tell.

God save your worshippe, then said the messenger, And grant your ladye her own hearts desire; 20 And to your sonne Richard good fortune and happi

ness;

That sweet, gentle, and gallant young squire. Our king greets you well, and thus he doth say, You must come to the court on St. George's day;

2i

Therfore, in any case, faile not to be in place.
I wis, quoth the miller, this is an odd jest:
What should we doe there? faith, I am halfe afraid
I doubt, quoth Richard, to be hang'd at the least.
Nay, quoth the messenger, you doe mistake;
Our king he provides a great feast for your sake. 30

Then sayd the miller, By my troth, messenger,
Thou hast contented my worshippe full well.
Hold here are three farthings, to quite thy gentleness,
For these happy tydings, which thou dost tell.
Let me see, hear thou mee; tell to our king,
We'll wayt on his mastershipp in everye thing.

The pursuivant smiled at their simplicitye,
And making many leggs, tooke their reward;
And his leave taking with great humilitye
To the kings court againe he repair'd;
Shewing unto his grace, merry and free,
The knightes most liberall gift and bountie.

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Quoth our king gentlye, how should I forget thee? That wast my owne bed-fellowe, well it I wot. Yea, sir, quoth Richard, and by the same token, Thou with thy farting didst make the bed hot. 70 Thou whore-son unhappy knave, then quoth the knight.

Speake cleanly to our king, or else go sh***.

The king and his courtiers laugh at this heartily,
While the king taketh them both by the hand;
With the court-dames, and maids, like to the queen
of spades

The millers wife did soe orderly stand.
A milk-maids courtesye at every word;
And downe all the folkes were set to the board.

There the king royally, in princelye majestye,
Sate at his dinner with joy and delight;
When they had eaten well, then he to jesting fell,
And in a bowle of wine dranke to the knight:
Here's to you both, in wine, ale and beer;
Thanking you heartilye for my good cheer.

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80

This beautiful old song was written by a poet, whose name would have been utterly forgotten, if it had not been preserved by Swift, as a term of contempt. Dryden and Wither" are coupled by him like the "Bavius and Mævius" of Virgil. Dryden however has had justice done him by posterity: and as for Wither, though of subordinate merit, that he was not altogether devoid of genius, will be judged from the following stanzas. The truth is, Wither was a very voluminous party-writer and as his political and satirical strokes rendered him extremely popular in his life-time so afterwards, when these were no longer relished, they totally consigned his writings to oblivion.

George Wither was born June 11, 1588, and in his younger years distinguished himself by some pastoral pieces, that were not inelegant; but growing afterwards involved in the political and religious disputes in the times of James I. and Charles I. he employed his poetical vein in severe pasquils on the court and clergy, and was occasionally a sufferer for the freedom of his pen. In the civil war that ensued, he exerted himself in the service of the

Parliament, and became a considerable sharer in the spoils. He was even one of those provincial tyrants, whom Oliver distributed over the kingdom, under the name of Major Generals; and had the fleecing of the county of Surrey: but, surviving the Restoration, he outlived both his power, and his affluence; and giving vent to his chagrin in libels on the court, was long a prisoner in Newgate and the Tower. He died at length on the 2d of May, 1667.

During the whole course of his life, Wither was a continual publisher; having generally for opponent, Taylor the Water-poet. The long list of his productions may be seen in Wood's Athenæ Oxon. vol. II. His most popular satire is intitled "Abuses whipt and stript," 1613. His most poetical pieces were eclogues, intitled, "The Shepherd's Hunting," 1615, 8vo. and others printed at the end of Browne's

Shepherd's Pipe," 1614, 8vo. The following sonnet is extracted from a long pastoral piece of his, intitled, "The Mistresse of Philarete," 1622, 8vo. which is said in the preface to be one of the Author's first poems; and may therefore be dated as arly as any of the foregoing.

Be shee with that goodnesse blest,
Which may merit name of Best;
If she be not such to me,
What care I how good she be?
Cause her fortune seems too high,
Shall I play the foole and dye?
Those that beare a noble minde,
Where they want of riches find,
Thinke what with them they would doe,
That without them dare to woe;

And, unlesse that minde I see,
What care I how great she be?

Great or good, or kind or faire,
I will ne'er the more dispaire :
If she love me, this beleeve;
I will die ere she shall grieve.
If she slight me when I wooe,
I can scorne and let her goe:
If shee be not fit for me,
What care I for whom she be?

SHALL I, wasting in dispaire,
Dye because a woman's faire?

Or make pale my cheeks with care
'Cause another's rosie are?

Be shee fairer then the day,

Or the flowry meads in may;
If she be not so to me,
What care I how faire shce be?

Shall my foolish heart be pin'd
'Cause I see a woman kind?
Or a well-disposed nature
Joyned with a lovely feature?
Be shee meeker, kinder, than
The turtle-dove or pelican:

If shee be not so to me,

What care I how kind shee be?

Shall a woman's virtues move
Me to perish for her love?

Or, her well-deservings knowne,
Make me quite forget mine owne?

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Such is the title given in the Editor's folio MS. to this excellent old ballad, which, in the common printed copies, is inscribed, " Eneas wandering Prince of Troy." It is here given from that MS. collated with two different printed copies, both in black letter, in the Pepys collection.

The reader will smile to observe with what natural and affecting simplicity, our ancient balladmaker has engrafted a Gothic conclusion on the classic story of Virgil, from whom, however, it is probable he had it not. Nor can it be denied, but he has dealt out his poetical justice with a more impartial hand than that celebrated poet.

WHEN Troy towne had, for ten yeeres ‘past,' Withstood the Greekes in manfull wise,

Then did their foes encrease soe fast,

That to resist none could suffice:

Wast lye those walls, that were sce good,

And corne now growes where Troy towne stoode.

Æneas, wandering prince of Troy,

When he for land long time had sought,

And, as in hall at meate they sate,

And to the walls shee made her mone; That she shold still desire in vaine The thing, she never must obtaine.

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15

At length arriving with great joy,

To mighty Carthage walls was brought;

Where Dido queene, with sumptuous feast, Did entertaine that wandering guest.

The queene, desirous newes to heare,

'Says, of thy Troys unhappy fate'
Declare to me thou Trojan deare:

The heavy hap and chance soe bad,
That thou, poore wandering prince, hast had.

Ver. 1, 21, war, MS and PP

--alias PUCKE, alias HOBGOBLIN, in the creed of ancient superstition, was a kind of merry sprite, whose character and achievements are recorded in this ballad, and in those well-known lines of Milton's L'Allegro, which the antiquarian Peck supposes to be owing to it:

"Tells how the drudging GOBLIN Swet To earn his creame-bowle duly set : When in one night, ere glimpse of morne, His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn That ten day-labourers could not end; Then lies him down the lubber fiend, And stretch'd out all the chimneys length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength, And crop-full out of doors he flings, Ere the first cock his matins rings." The reader will observe that our simple ancestors had reduced all these whimsies to a kind of system, as regular, and perhaps more consistent, than many parts of classic mythology: a proof of the extensive

influence and vast antiquity of these superstitions. Mankind, and especially the common people, could not every where have been so unanimously agreed concerning these arbitrary notions, if they had not prevailed among them for many ages. Indeed, a learned friend in Wales assures the Editor, that the existence of Fairies and Goblins is alluded to by the most ancient British Bards, who mention them under various names, one of the most common of which signifies "The spirits of the mountains." See also Preface to Song XXV.

This song, which Peck attributes to Ben Jonson (though it is not found among his works) is chiefly printed from an ancient black-letter copy in the British Museum. It seems to have been originally intended for some Masque.

This Ballad is intitled, in the old black-letter copies, "The merry Pranks of Robin Goodfellow To the tune of Dulcina," &c. (See No. XIII above.)