SHE. King Stephen was a worthy peere, His breeches cost him but a crowne, 50 55 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?' 60 Itt's not for a man with a woman to threape,3 Unlesse he first give oer the plea : As wee began wee now will leave, And Ile take mine old cloake about mee. Ver. 49. King Harry.. a verry good king, MS. V. 50. I trow his hose cost but, MS. V. 51. He thought them 12d. over to deere, MS. V. 52. clowne, MS. V. 53. He was king and wore the crowne, MS. [V. 57-60 :— "O Bell my wiffe! why dost thou fflyte now is now and then was then ; wee will live now obedyent lyffe thou the woman and I the man." V. 63. wee will live nowe as wee began. V. 64. Ile have. VIII. WILLOW, WILLOW, WILLOW. T is from the following stanzas that Shakespeare has taken his song of 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, This is given from a black-letter copy in the Pepys collection, thus Το α ["Willow, willow" was a favourite burden for songs in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and one of John Heywood's songs has the following— "All a grene wyllow; wyllow, wyllow, wyllow, All a grene wyllow is my garland." In the Gorgeous Gallery of Gallant Inventions (1578) there is a slightly different burden— "Willow, willow, willow, sing all of green willow, There is another copy of the following song in the Roxburghe Dr. Rimbaulh as drawn attention to the following parody, dated 1668— [Rimbault's Musical Illustrations of Percy's Reliques, 1850, "A poore soule sat sighing near a ginger-bread stall, With his hands in his pockets, his head on the wall, You pye-wifes of Smithfield, what would ye be at ! 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; Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland. My love she is turned; untrue she doth prove: She renders me nothing but hate for my love. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. O pitty me, (cried he) ye lovers, each one; 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. 20 The salt tears fell from him, which drowned his face: O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. 25 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; She was borne to be faire; I, to die for her love. Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland. 30 35 O that beauty should harbour a heart that's so hard! Sing 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,1 and flote2 in an houre. O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. 45 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. 50 He that 'plaines of his false love, mine's falser than she. O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. [1 faithless. 2 change.] 55 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. 60 OWE lay'd by my sorrow, begot by disdaine; Against her too cruell, still still I complaine, O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland! O love too injurious, to wound my poore heart! To suffer the triumph, and joy in my smart: Sing, O the greene willow, &c. O willow, willow, willow! the willow garland, A sign of her falsenesse before me doth stand: Sing, O the greene willow, &c. As here it doth bid to despair and to dye, O willow, &c. So hang it, friends, ore me in grave where I lye: Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland. In grave where I rest mee, hang this to the view Of all that doe knowe her, to blaze her untrue. O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. 5 10 15 20 35 |