And she behaved herself that day,
As if she had never walkt1 the way;
She had forgot her gown of gray,
Which she did weare of late.
The proverbe old is come to passe,
The priest, when he begins his masse,
Forgets that ever clerke he was;
He knowth not his estate.

Here you may read, Cophetua,
Though long time fancie-fed,
Compelled by the blinded boy
The begger for to wed:

He that did lovers lookes disdaine,
To do the same was glad and faine,
Or else he would himselfe have slaine,
In storie, as we read.

Disdaine no whit, O lady deere,?
But pitty now thy servant heere,
Least that it hap to thee this yeare,
As to that king it did.

And thus they led a quiet life

Duringe their princely raigne;
And in a tombe were buried both,
As writers sheweth plaine.
The lords they tooke it grievously,
The ladies tooke it heavily,
The commons cryed pitiously,

Their death to them was paine,

Their fame did sound so passingly,
That it did pierce the starry sky,
And throughout all the world did flye
To every princes realme.1

VII. TAKE THY AULD CLOAK ABOUT THEE

This is supposed to have been originally a Scotch ballad. The reader here has an ancient copy in the English idiom, with an additional stanza (the second) never before printed. This curiosity is preserved in the Editor's folio manuscript, but not without corruptions, which are

1 i. e. tramped the streets.

2 Here the poet addresses himself to his mistress.

8 "Sheweth" was anciently the plural number.

◄ An ingenious friend thinks the two last stanzas should change place.

could be...

here removed by the assistance of the Scottish edition. Shakspeare, in his "Othello," act ii. has quoted one stanza, with some variations, which are here adopted: the old manuscript readings of that stanza are however given in the margin.

THIS winters weather it waxeth cold,
And frost doth freese on every hill,
And Boreas blowes his blasts sae bold,
That all our cattell are like to spill;
Bell my wiffe, who loves noe strife,
She sayd unto me quietlye,

Rise up, and save cow Crumbockes liffe,
Man, put thine old cloake about thee.

HE

O Bell, why dost thou flyte 'and scorne?'
Thou kenst my cloak is very thin:

Itt is soe bare and overworne

A cricke he theron cannot renn:
Then Ile noe longer borrowe nor lend,
'For once Ile new appareld bee,
To-morrow Ile to towne and spend,'
For Ile have a new cloake about mee.

SHE

Cow Crumbocke is a very good cowe,

Shee has beene alwayes true to the payle,
Shee has helpt us to butter and cheese, I trow,
And other things shee will not fayle;

I wold be loth to see her pine,

Good husband, councell take of mee,

It is not for us to go soe fine,

Man, take thine old cloake about thee.

HE

My cloake it was a verry good cloake,
Itt hath been alwayes true to the weare,
But now it is not worth a groat;

I have had it four and forty yeere:
Sometime itt was of cloth in graine,

'Tis now but a sigh clout as you may see,
It will neither hold out winde nor raine;
And Ile have a new cloake about mee.

SHE

It is four and fortye yeeres agoe

Since the one of us the other did ken, And we have had betwixt us towe

Of children either nine or ten;

Wee have brought them up to women and men ;
In the feare of God I trow they bee;
And why wilt thou thyselfe misken?
Man, take thine old cloake about thee.

HE

O Bell my wiffe, why dost thou 'floute !'1
Now is nowe, and then was then :
Seeke now all the world throughout,

Thou kenst not clownes from gentlemen.

They are cladd in blacke, greene, yellowe, or 'gray,' Soe far above their owne degree :

Once in my life Ile 'doe as they,'

For Ile have a new cloake about mee.

SHE

King Stephen 2 was a worthy peere,

His breeches cost him but 3 a crowne, He held them sixpence all too deere ; * Therefore he calld the taylor Lowne.5 He was a wight of high renowne,

6

And thouse but of a low degree:
Itt's pride that putts this countrye downe,
Man, take thine old cloake about thee.

HE

'Bell my wife she loves not strife,

Yet she will lead me if she can ;

And oft, to live a quiet life,

I am forced to yield, though Ime good-man;' Itt's not for a man with a woman to threape, Unlesse he first gave oer the plea :

As wee began wee now will leave,

And Ile take mine old cloake about mee.

1 "Flyte." MS.

2 "King Harry

a verry good king." MS.

3 "I trow his hose cost but." MS.

"He thought them 12d to deere."

5 "Clowne.' MS.

MS.

6"He was king and wore the crowne." MS.

WILLOW, WILLOW, WILLOW

of

It is from the following stanzas that Shakspeare has taken his song the "Willow," in his "Othello," act iv. sc. 3, though somewhat varied and applied by him to a female character. He makes Desdemona introduce it in this pathetic and affecting manner :

My mother had a maid call'd Barbara:

She was in love; and he she lov'd prov'd mad,
And did forsake her. She had a song of-Willow.
An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune,
And she died singing it.

Ed. 1793, vol. xv. p. 613.

This is given from a black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, thus intitled, "A Lovers Complaint being forsaken of his Love." To a pleasant tune.

A POORE Soule sat sighing under a sicamore tree;

O willow, willow, willow!

With his hand on his bosom, his head on his knee:
O willow, willow, willow!

O willow, willow, willow!

Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland.

He sigh'd in his singing, and after each grone,
Come willow, &c.

I am dead to all pleasure, my true-love is gone;
O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland.

My love she is turned; untrue she doth prove:
O willow, &c.

She renders me nothing but hate for my love.
O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

O pitty me (cried he), ye lovers, each one;

O willow, &c.

Her heart's hard as marble; she rues not my mone.
O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

The cold streams ran by him, his eyes wept apace;

O willow, &c.

The salt tears fell from him, which drowned his face:
O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

VOL. I.

The mute birds sate by him, made tame by his mones: O willow, &c.

The salt tears fell from him, which softened the stones. O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland!

Let nobody blame me, her scornes I do prove;
O willow, &c.

She was borne to be faire; I, to die for her love.
O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland.

O that beauty should harbour a heart that's so hard! O willow, &c.

My true love rejecting without all regard.

O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

Let love no more boast him in palace, or bower;

O willow, &c.

For women are trothles, and flote in an houre.

O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

But what helps complaining? In vaine I complaine :

O willow, &c.

I must patiently suffer her scorne and disdaine.

O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

Come, all you forsaken, and sit down by me,

O willow, &c.

He that 'plaines of his false love, mine's falser than she. O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

The willow wreath weare I, since my love did fleet ;

O willow, &c.

A Garland for lovers forsaken most meete.

O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland!

PART THE SECOND

Lowe lay'd by my sorrow, begot by disdaine;
O willow, willow, willow!