Anonymous British

An Excellent Ballad Of A Prince Of England's Courtship To The King Of France's Daughter, &c. To The

In the dayes of old, When raire France did flourish, Storyes plaine have told Lovers felt annoye. The queene a daughter bare, Whom beautye's queen did nourish; She was lovelye faire, She was her father's joye. A prince of England came, Whose deeds did merit fame, But he was exil'd and outcast; Love his soul did fire, Shee granted his desire, Their hearts in one were linked fast. Which when her father proved, Sorelye he was moved And tormented in his minde. He sought for to prevent them, And, to discontent them, — Fortune cross'd these lovers kinde. When these princes twaine Were thus barr'd of pleasure, Through the kings disdaine, Which their joyes withstoode, The lady soone prepar'd Her jewells and her treasure, Having no regard For state and royall bloode. In homelye poore array She went from court away, To meet her joye and hearts delight; Who in a forrest great Had taken up his seat, To wayt her coming in the night. But, lo! what sudden danger, To this princely stranger, Chanced as he sate alone! By outlawes he was robbed, And with ponyards stabbed, Uttering many a dying grone. The princesse, arm'd by love, And by chaste desire, All the night did rove Without dread at all, Still unknowne, she past In her strange attire, Coming at the last Within echoes call. — "You faire woods," quoth shee, "Honoured may you bee, Harbouring my heart's delight, Which encompasses here My joye and only deare, My trustye friend, and comelye knight. Sweete, I come unto thee, Sweete, I come to woo thee That thou mayst not angry bee For thy curteous staying Soone amenes Ile make to thee. " Passing thus alone Through the silent forest, Many a grievous grone Sounded in her eares; She heard one complayne And lament the sorest, Seeming all in payne, Shedding deadly teares. "Farewell, my deare," quoth hee, "Whom I must never see, For why, my life is att an end Through villaines crueltye; For thy sweet sake I dye, To show I am a faithfull friend. Here I lye a bleeding, While my thoughts are feeding On the rarest beautye found. O harp happ that may be! Little knowes my ladye My heartes-blood lyes on the ground. " With that a grone he sends Which did burst in sunder All the tender hands Of his gentle heart. She, who knewe his voice, At his wordes did wonder; All her former joyes Did to griefe convert. Strait she ran to see Who this man shold bee, That soe like her love did seeme; Her lovely lord she found Lye slaine upon the ground, Smear'd with gore a ghastlye streame. Which his lady spying, Shrieking, fainting, crying, Her sorrows could not uttered bee; "Fate," she cryed, "too cruell! For thee — my dearest jewell, Would God! that I had dyed for thee. " His pale lippes, alas! Twentye times she kissed, And his face did wash With her trickling teares; Every gaping wound Tenderlye she pressed, And did wipe it round With her golden haires. "Speake, fair love," quoth shee, "Speake, faire prince, to mee; One sweete word of comfort give; Lift up thy deare eyes, Listen to my cryes, Thinke in what sad griefe I live. " All in vaine she sued, All in vaine she wooed, The prince's life was fled and gone; There stood she still mourning Till the suns retourning, And bright day was coming on. In this great distresse Weeping, wayling ever, Oft shee cryed, alas! "What will become of mee? To my fathers court I returne will never, But in lowlye sort I will a servant bee. " While thus she made her mone, Weeping all alone, In this deepe and deadlye feare: A fors'ter all in greene, Most comelye to be seene, Ranging the woods did find her there. Moved with her sorrowe, "Maid," quoth hee, "good morrowe, What hard happ has brought thee here? " "Harder happ did never Two kinde hearts dissever; Here lies slaine my brother deare. "Where may I remaine, Gentle for'ster, shew me, 'Till I can obtaine A service in my neede? Paines I will not spare; This kinde favour doe mee, It will ease my care; Heaven shall by thy meede. " The for'ster all amazed, On her beautye gazed, Till his heart was set on fire: "If, faire maid," quoth hee, "You will goe with mee, You shall have your hearts desire. " He brought her to his mother, And above all other He sett forth this maidens praise. Long was his heart inflamed, At length her love he gained, And fortune crown'd his future dayes. Thus unknowne he wedde With a kings faire daughter; Children seven they had, Ere she told her birth, Which when once he knew, Humblye he besought her, He to the world might shew Her rank and princelye worth. He cloath'd his children then, (Not like other men) In partye-colours strange to see; The right side cloth of gold, The left side to behold Of woollen cloth still framed hee. Men thereatt did wonder, Golden fame did thunder This strange deede in every place; The King of France came thither, It being pleasant weather, In those woods the hart to chase. The children then they bring, So their mother will'd it, Where the royall king Must of force come bye. Their mothers riche array Was of crimson velvet; Their fathers all of gray, Seemelye to the eye. Then this famous king, Noting every thing, Askt how he durst be so bold To let his wife woe weare, And decke his children there In costly robes of pearl and gold. The forrester replying, And the cause descrying, To the king these words did say, "Well may they, by their mother, Weare rich clothes with other, Being by birth a princesse gay. " The king aroused thus, More headfullye beheld them, Till a crimson blush His remembrance crost. "The more I fix my mind On thy wife and children, The more methinks I find The daugter which I lost. " Falling on her knee, "I am that child," quoth shee, "Pardon mee, my soveraine liege!" The king perceiving this His daughter deare did kiss, While joyfull teares did stopp his speeche. With this traine he tourned, And with them sojourned; Strait he dubb'd her husband knight; Then make him Erle of Flanders, And chiefe of his commanders;— Thus were their sorrowes put to flight. Quoted from Percy's Reliques, 'The story of this ballad seems to be taken from an incident in the domestic history of Charles the Bald, king of France. His daughter Judith was betrothed to Ethelwulph, king of England: but before the marriage was consummated, Ethelwulph died, and she returned to France; whence she was carried off by Baldwin, Forester of Flanders; who, after many crosses and difficulties, at length obtained the king's consent to their marriage, and was made Earl of Flanders. This happened about a. d. 863. '