Sidor som bilder

Then Guy sett foot upon the monsters brest,
And from his shoulders did his head divide,

Which with a yawninge mouth did gape unblest,-

Noe dragons jawes were ever seene soe wide

To open and to shut,-till life was spent.


Then Guy tooke keyes, and to the castle went,

Where manye woefull captives he did find,

Which had beene tyred with extremityes, Whom he in friendly manner did unbind,

And reasoned with them of their miseryes.


Eche told a tale with teares and sighes and cryes,

All weeping to him with complaining eyes.

There tender ladyes in darke dungeons lay,
That were surprised in the desart wood,

And had noe other dyett everye day


But flesh of humane creatures for their food;

Some with their lovers bodyes had beene fed,
And in their wombes their husbands buryed.

Now he bethinkes him of his being there,

To enlarge the wronged brethren from their woes; 170 And, as he searcheth, doth great clamours heare,

By which sad sound's direction on he goes

Untill he findes a darksome obscure gate,
Arm'd strongly ouer all with iron plate:

That he unlockes, and enters where appeares
The strangest object that he ever saw,


Men that with famishment of many years

Were like deathes picture, which the painters draw!

Divers of them were hanged by eche thombe;

Others head-downward; by the middle, some.


With diligence he takes them from the walls,
With lybertye their thraldome to acquaint.
Then the perplexed knight their father calls,
And sayes,


"Receive thy sonnes, though poore and

I promisd you their lives; accept of that;
But did not warrant you they shold be fat.


"The castle I doe give thee, heere's the keyes, Where tyranye for many yeeres did dwell; Procure the gentle tender ladyes ease;

For pittyes sake use wronged women well:


Men easilye revenge the wrongs men do,

But poore weake women have not strength thereto."

The good old man, even overjoyed with this,

Fell on the ground, and wold have kist Guys feete.


"Father," quoth he, "refraine soe base a kiss!
For age to honor youth, I hold unmeete;
Ambitious pryde hath hurt mee all it can,
I goe to mortifie a sinfull man.'

**The foregoing poem on Guy and Amarant has been discovered to be a fragment of "The famous historie of Guy earle of Warwicke, by Samuel Rowlands, London, printed by J. Bell, 1649,” 4to, in xii. cantos, beginning thus:

"When dreadful Mars in armour every day."

Whether the edition in 1649 was the first, is not known, but the author, Sam. Rowlands, was one of the minor poets who lived in the reigns of Queen Elizabeth and James I., and perhaps later. His other poems are chiefly of the religious kind, which makes it probable that the history of Guy was one of his earliest performances. There are extant of his: (1.) "The betraying of Christ, Judas in dispaire, the seven words of our Saviour on the crosse, with other poems on the passion, &c. 1598," 4to. [Ames Typ. p. 428.] (2.) "A Theatre of delightful Recreation, Lond. printed for A. Johnson, 1605," 4to. (Penes editor., This is a book of poems on subjects chiefly taken from the Old Testament. (3.) "Memory of Christ's miracles, in verse. Lond. 1618," 4to. (4.) "Heaven's glory, earth's vanity, and hell's horror." Lond. 1638, 8vo. [These two in Bod. Cat.]

In the present edition, the foregoing poem has been much improved from the printed copy.


The Auld Good-man.


I have not been able to meet with a more ancient copy of this humorous old song, than that printed in The Tea-Table Miscellany, &c., which seems to have admitted some corruptions.

LATE in an evening forth I went
A little before the sun gade down,
And there I chanc't, by accident,

To light on a battle new begun :
A man and his wife wer fawn in a strife,
I canna weel tell ye how it began;

But aye she wail'd her wretched life,

Cryeng, "Evir alake, mine auld goodman !"


"Thy auld goodman that thou tells of, The country kens where he was born, Was but a silly poor vagabond,

And ilka ane leugh him to scorn;
For he did spend and make an end
Of gear his fathers nevir' wan;

He gart the poor stand frae the door;
Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman."




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He was large and tall, and comely withall;
Thou'lt nevir be like mine auld goodman."


"Why dost thou plein? I thee maintein ; For meal and mawt thou disna want;


But thy wild bees I canna please

Now whan our gear gins to grow scant. Of houshold stuff thou hast enough;

Thou wants for neither pot nor pan;


Of sicklike ware he left thee bare;

Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman."


"Yes, I may tell and fret my sell
To think on those blyth days I had,
Whan I and he together ley


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And gane was a' the light of day;
The carle was fear'd to miss his mark,
And therefore wad nae longer stay.
Then up he gat and ran his way,

I trowe, the wife the day she wan;
And aye the owreword of the fray

Was," Evir alake! mine auld goodman!"



Fair Margaret and Sweet William.

This seems to be the old song quoted in Fletcher's Knight of the Burning Pestle, acts ii. and iii.; although the six lines there preserved are somewhat different from those in the ballad, as it stands at present. The reader will not wonder at this, when he is informed that this is only given from a modern printed copy picked up on a stall. Its full title is, "Fair Margaret's Misfortune; or, Sweet William's frightful dreams on his wedding-night, with the sudden death and burial ot those noble lovers."

The lines preserved in the play are this distich,

"You are no love for me, Margaret,

I am no love for you."

And the following stanza,

"When it was grown to dark midnight,
And all were fast asleep,

In came Margarets grimly ghost

And stood at Williams feet."

These lines have acquired an importance by giving birth to one of the most beautiful ballads in our own or any language. See the song entitled Margaret's Ghost, at the end of this volume.

Since the first edition some improvements have been inserted, which were communicated by a lady of the first distinction, as she had heard this song repeated in her infancy.

As it fell out on a long summer's day,

Two lovers they sat on a hill;

They sat together that long summer's day,
And could not talk their fill.

"I see no harm by you, Margarèt,
And you see none by mee;

Before to-morrow at eight o' the clock

A rich wedding you shall see."


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When day was gone, and night was come,


And all men fast asleep,

Then came the spirit of Fair Marg❜ret,

And stood at Williams feet.


"Are you awake, sweet William ?" shee said,


Or, sweet William, are you asleep?

God give you joy of your gay bride-bed,

And me of my winding sheet."

When day was come, and night was gone,


And all men wak'd from sleep,

Sweet William to his lady sayd,

"My dear, I have cause to weep.

"I dreamt a dream, my dear ladyè,
Such dreames are never good:


I dreamt my bower was full of red 'wine,'
And my bride-bed full of blood."

Ver. 31, 35, swine. P.CC.

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