Sidor som bilder

was with great pleasure that the Editor was informed of an ancient MS. copy preserved in the Museum, [Harl. MSS. 5396,] which appeared to have been transcribed in the reign of King Henry VI., about 1456. This obliging information the Editor owed to the friendship of Thomas Tyrwhitt, Esq., and he has chiefly followed that more authentic transcript, improved however by some readings from Bedwell's book.

Or all thes kene conquerours to carpe it were kynde;
Of fele feyztyng folk ferly we fynde,

The Turnament of Totenham have we in mynde;

It were harme sych hardynes were holden byhynde,
In story as we rede

Of Hawkyn, of Herry,

Of Tomkyn, of Terry,
Of them that were dughty
And stalworth in dede.


It befel in Totenham on a dere day,


Ther was mad a shurtyng be the hy-way:

Theder com al the men of the contray,

Of Hyssylton, of Hy-gate, and of Hakenay,
And all the swete swynkers.


Ther hopped Hawkyn,

Ther daunsed Dawkyn,

Ther trumped Tomkyn,

And all were trewe drynkers.

Tyl the day was gon and evyn-song past,

That they schuld reckyn ther scot and ther counts cast; 20 Perkyn the potter into the press past,

And sayd Randol the refe, a dozter thou hast,

Tyb the dere:

Therfor faine wyt wold I,

Ver. 20. It is not very clear in the MS. whether it should be conts or conters.

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Whych of all thys bachelery

Were best worthye

To wed hur to hys fere.

Upstyrt thos gadelyngys wyth ther lang staves,
And sayd, Randol the refe, lo! thys lad raves;
Boldely amang us thy dozter he craves;

We er rycher men than he, and mor gode haves
Of cattell and corn;

Then sayd Perkyn, To Tybbe I have hyzt
That I schal be alway redy in my ryzt,

If that it schuld be thys day sevenyzt,
Or elles zet to morn.

Then sayd Randolfe the refe, Ever be he waryd,
That about thys carpyng lenger wold be taryd:
I wold not my dozter, that scho were miscaryd,
But at hur most worschip I wold scho were maryd;
Therfor a Turnament schal begynne

Thys day sevenyzt,

Wyth a flayl for to fyet:

And 'he' that is most of myght

Schal brouke hur wyth wynne.

Whoso berys hym best in the turnament,

Hym schal be granted the gre be the comon assent,

For to wynne my dozter wyth 'dughtynesse' of dent,






And 'coppell' my brode-henne 'that' was brozt out of Kent:

And my dunnyd kowe,

For no spens wyl I spare,

For no cattell wyl I care,

He schal have my gray mare,
And my spottyd sowe.

Ther was many 'a' bold lad ther bodyes to bede:



Than thay toke thayr leve, and homward they zede;

V. 48, dozty. MS. V. 49, coppeld. We still use the phrase "a copple. crowned hen."

And all the weke afterward graythed ther wede, br
Tyll it come to the day, that thay suld do ther dede.

They armed tham in matts;

Thay set on ther nollys,

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Thay sowed tham in schepeskynnes, for thay schuld not


Ilk-on toke a blak hat, insted of a crest:

'A basket or a panyer before on ther brest,' And a flayle in ther hande; for to fyght prest, Furth gon thay fare:

Ther was kyd mekyl fors,

Who schuld best fend hys cors:
He that had no gode hors,

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He gat hym a mare.

Sych another gadryng have I not sene oft,

When all the gret company com rydand to the croft:

Tyb on a gray mare was set up on loft

On a sek ful of fedyrs, for scho schuld syt soft,

And led 'till the gap.'

For cryeng of the men

Forther wold not Tyb then,

Tyl scho had hur brode hen

Set in hur Lap.

A gay gyrdyl Tyb had on, borowed for the nonys,
And a garland on hur hed ful of rounde bonys,

And a broche on hur brest ful of 'sapphyre' stonys,



Wyth the holy-rode tokenyng, was wrotyn for the nonys; 85

V. 57, gayed. P. C.

V. 66 is wanting in MS. and supplied from P.C.
V. 76, the MS. had once sedys, i. e. seeds,

V. 72, he borrowed him. P. C.
which appears to have been altered to fedyrs, or feathers. Bedwell's copy

has senvy, i. e. mustard-seed. Bedwell's P. C. has ruel-bones.

i. e. wrought. P. C. reads written.

V. 85,

V. 77, And led hur to cap. MS.
V. 84, safer stones. MS. V. 85, wrotyn,

For no 'spendings' thay had spared.
When joly Gyb saw hur thare,
He gyrd so hys gray mare,

'That scho lete a fowkin' fare
At the rereward.

I wow to God, quoth Herry, I schal not lefe behynde,
May I mete wyth Bernard on Bayard the blynde,
Ich man kepe hym out of my wynde,

For whatsoever that he be, before me I fynde,
I wot I schall hym greve.

And I wow, quoth Dawkyn,

Wele sayd, quoth Hawkyn,

May I mete wyth Tomkyn,

Hys flayle I schal hym reve.

I make a vow, quoth Hud, Tyb, son schal thou se,
Whych of all thys bachelery 'granted' is the gre:
I schal scomfet thaym all, for the love of the;
In what place so I come thay schal have dout of me,
Myn armes ar so clere:

I bere a reddyl, and a rake,
Poudred wyth a brenand drake,
And three cantells of a cake

In ycha cornere.

I vow to God, quoth Hawkyn, yf 'I' have the gowt,

Al that I fynde in the felde 'thrustand' here aboute,

Have I twyes or thryes redyn thurgh the route,






In ycha stede ther thay me se, of me thay schal have doute, When I begyn to play.

I make avowe that I ne schall,

But yf Tybbe wyl me call,

Or I be thryes don fall,

Ryzt onys com away.

V. 86, no catel [perhaps chatel] they had spared.

fax.con. MS.


V. 89,


V. 110,

V. 101, grant. MS. V. 109, yf he have. MS.

the MS. literally has th'. sand here.

Then sayd Terry, and swore be hys crede;

Saw thou never yong boy forther hys body bede,
For when thay fyzt fastest and most ar in drede,


I schall take Tyb by the hand, and hur away lede:
I am armed at the full;


myn armys I bere wele

A doz trogh, and a pele,

A sadyll wythout a panell,

Wyth a fles of woll.


I make a vow, quoth Dudman, and swor be the stra,
Whyls me ys left my 'mare,' thou gets hurr not swa;
For scho ys wele schapen, and lizt as the rae,
Ther is no capul in thys myle befor hur schal ga;
Sche wul ne nozt bėgyle:

Schewyl me bere, I dar say,

On a lang somerys day,
Fro Hyssylton to Hakenay,
Nozt other half myle.

I make a vow, quoth Perkyn, thow speks of cold rost,

I schal wyrchwyselyer' without any bost:

Five of the best capulys, that ar in thys ost,


I wot I schal thaym wynne, and bryng thaym to my cost,

And here I grant thaym Tybbe.

Wele boyes here ys he,

That wyl fyzt, and not fle,



For I am in my jolyte,

Wyth so forth, Gybbe.

When thay had ther vowes made, furth can thay hie,


Wyth flayles, and hornes, and trumpes mad of tre:
Ther were all the bachelerys of that contre;

Thay were dyzt in aray, as thaymselfes wold be:
Thayr baners were ful bryzt

Of an old rotten fell;


V. 128, merth. MS. V. 137, swyselior. MS. V. 146, failes, and

harnisse. P. C.

Percy. II.


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