But when he knew those goods to be
His proper goods; though late,
Scarce taking leave, he home returnes

The matter to debate.

160

The countesse was a-bed, and he

With her his lodging tooke;

Sir, welcome home (quoth shee); this night

165

For you I did not looke.

VII.
Dowsabell.

THE following stanzas were written by Michael Drayton, a poet of some eminence in the reigns of Queen Elizabeth, James I., and Charles I.1 They are inserted in one of his Pastorals, the first edition of which bears this whimsical title. "Idea. The Shepheards Garland fashioned in nine Eglogs. Rowlands sacrifice to the nine muses. Lond. 1593, 4to." They are inscribed with the author's name at length, "To the noble and valerous gentleman master Robert Dudley," &c. It is very remarkable, that when Drayton reprinted them in the first folio edition of his works, 1619, he had given those Eclogues so thorough a revisal, that there is hardly a line to be found the same as in the old edition. This poem had received the fewest corrections, and therefore is chiefly given from the ancient copy, where it is thus introduced by one of his shepherds:

Listen to mee, my lovely shepheards joye,

And thou shalt heare, with mirth and mickle glee,

A prettie tale, which when I was a boy,

My toothles grandame oft hath tolde to me.

The author has professedly imitated the style and metre of some of the old metrical romances; particularly that of Sir Isenbras2, (alluded to in v. 3,) as the reader may judge from the following specimen:

Lordynges, lysten, and you shal here, &c.

1 He was born in 1563, and died in 1631.- Biog. Brit.
2 As also Chaucer's Rhyme of Sir Topas, v. 6.

He was a hardye man, and hye,
All men hym loved that hym se,
For a gentyll knight was he:
Harpers loved him in halı,
With other minstrells all,

For he gave them golde and fee, &c.

20

This ancient legend was printed in black letter, 4to, by Myllyam Covland: no date. In the Cotton Library (Calig. A. 2,) is a MS. copy of the same romance containing the greatest variations. They are probably two different translations of some French original.

FARRE in the countrey of Arden,
There won'd a knight, hight Cassemen,

As bolde as Isenbras:
Fell was he, and eger bent,
In battell and in tournament,
As was the good Sir Topas.

He had, as antique stories tell,
A daughter cleaped Dowsabel,
A mayden fayre and free:
And for she was her fathers heire,
Full well she was y-cond the leyre

Of mickle curtesie.

The silke well couth she twist and twine,

5

10

Her features all as fresh above,

As is the grasse that growes by Dove;
And lyth as lasse of Kent.
Her skin as soft as Lemster wooll,
As white as snow on Peakish Hull,
Or swanne that swims in Trent.

This mayden in a morne betime
Went forth, when May was in her prime,
To get sweete cetywall,

The honey-suckle, the harlocke,

The lilly and the lady-smocke,

To deck her summer hall.

Thus, as she wandred here and there,

25

30

35

Y-picking of the bloomed breere,

In favour this same shepheards swayne
Was like the bedlam Tamburlayne3,

Which helde prowd kings in awe:

But meeke he was as lamb mought be:
And innocent of ill as he 4

Whom his lewd brother slaw.

45

50

3 Alluding to Tamburlaine the Great, or the Scythian Shepheard, 1590, 8vo. an old ranting play ascribed to Marlowe.

4 Sc. Abel.

The shepheard ware a sheepe-gray cloke,
Which was of the finest loke,

That could be cut with sheere:

His mittens were of bauzens skinne,
His cockers were of cordiwin,
His hood of meniveere.

His aule and lingell in a thong,

55

60

His tar-boxe on his broad belt hong,
His breech of coyntrie blewe:
Full crispe and curled were his lockes,
His browes as white as Albion rocks:
So like a lover true,

65

And pyping still he spent the day,
So merry as the popingay;

Which liked Dowsabel:

That would she ought, or would she nought,
This lad would never from her thought;

She in love-longing fell.

At length she tucked up her frocke,
White as a lilly was her smocke,
She drew the shepheard nye;

But then the shepheard pyp'd a good,

That all his sheepe forsooke their foode,
To heare his melodye.

Thy sheepe, quoth she, cannot be leane,

That have a jolly shepheards swayne,

80

The which can pipe so well:

Yea but, sayth he, their shepheard may,

If pyping thus he pine away,

In love of Dowsabel.

Of love, fond boy, take thou no keepe,
Quoth she; looke thou unto thy sheepe,
Lest they should hap to stray.

85