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An Airfield Remembered Read Poem

We were hungry, tired and dirty,
From our shoulders rifles hung,
Our clothes were torn, our faces bronzed
By long hours in the sun.

Here was to be our station,
For the war was not yet won,
When we came to Little Snoring
That fateful June had just begun.

Living here among you.

We would join you at your play,
And, in the quiet of your church
We knelt with you to pray.

We filled your lanes and byways
With laughter and with song.

We shared each others sorrows
As through life we journeyed on.

Here both men and maidens tended
To the harsh and warlike needs
Of men, who through the dark hours
Flew their man-made steeds.

The sky at night their hunting ground
In which they sought their prey,
Returning only when the night
Gave way to breaking day.

At time when hope was fading
They would patient vigil keep,
Rejoicing if their crew returned,
But often they would weep.

They wept for those who ‘ere the sun
Had warmed the fresh-turned clod,
Had fought their last battle
And were at peace with God.

I returned to Snoring airfield,
The way was hard to find,
For over paths and taxiways
Nature had thrown a blind
Of grass and twisted bramble,
Willow herb and clinging vine,
No longer there the Nissen huts
In which men slept and dined.

Forsaken, then the hangars stood,
Empty, broken, gaunt and grey,
Only wheeling birds were there
To welcome me that day.

And when some silent mystic hand
Rolled back the fleeting years,
I saw this dead place filled with life,
And my eyes were wet with tears.

For one vibrant moment
This vast airfield was reborn,
Through musty eyes, I saw it rise
From amid the standing corn.

Men and buildings filled the skyline,
At dispersal stood the planes,
Then  like a wraith all sank to rest
Beneath a quilt of grain.

I trod the winding path,
Unlatched the old oak door,
And found there in the house of God
That men had kept the score
Of all the kills the Squadron made,
The honours men had won,
A humbled man I closed the door,
My visit almost done.

I tried to find the work of him
Who, when released from duties,
Took pain and brush and from his hand
There grew a thing of beauty.

His gallery was the airmen’s mess,
His canvas bare brick wall,
All we who served at Snoring
His pictures can recall.

The ploughshares men shall beat their swords,
To pruning hooks their spears,
For us the artist there portrayed
Our hopes for future years.

I knew him well the artist
Who did those colours blend,
I knew what had inspired him
For you see he was my friend.

From my full well of memories
I drew long and deep that day,
Recalled the bitterness of war
And the price we had to pay
That we might live in freedom,
To worship without fear,
Is that not what we fought for
And why were we stationed here?

A revisit to the World War 2 RAF Little Snoring airfield (1943-58).

http://www.

raf.

mod.

uk/bombercommand/s24.

html
for more details of the Airfield
http://www.

controltowers.

co.

uk/L/Little_Snoring.

htm

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A Broken Friendship Read Poem

In friendship unbroken
The happy months passed,
With never a token
That 'twas not to last.

For as time should lengthen
From months into years
The trust should but strengthen
Secure from all fears.

Alas for such dreaming!
It took but a day
This friendship fair seeming,
To bring to decay.

It sudden destroyal
'Twas wrought by a breath!
Can no two be loyal
In friendship till death?

Ah well! it is over ---
Begun but to end;
But no gain will cover
The loss of a friend.

A Chant of Army Cooks Read Poem

We never were made to be seen on parade
When sweethearts and such line the streets;
When the band starts to blare, look for us we ain't there--
We're mussing around with the eats.

It's fun to step out to the echoing shout
Of a crowd that forgets how you're fed,
While we're soiling our duds hacking eyes out of spuds--
You know what Napoleon said.

When the mess sergeant's gay, you can bet hell's to pay
For the boys who are standing in line;
When the boys get a square, then the sergeant is there
With your death warrant ready to sign.

If you're long on the grub, then you're damned for a dub,
If you're short, you're a miser instead,
But, however you feel, you must get the next meal--
You know what Napoleon said.

You think it's a cinch when you come to the clinch
For the man who is grinding the meat;
In the heat of the fight, why the cook's out of sight
With plenty of room to retreat
But a plump of a shell in a kitchen is hell
When the roof scatters over your head,
And you crawl on your knees to pick up the K.

's--
You know what Napoleon said.

If the war ever ends, we'll go back to our friends--
In the army we've nary a one;
We'll list to the prattle of this or that battle,
And then, when the story is done,
We'll say, when they ask, "Now what was your task,
And what is the glory you shed?

"
"You see how they thrive--well, we kept 'em alive!
You know what Napoleon said.

"
From Great Poems of the World War, edited by W.

Eaton, Chicago: T.

Denison & Company, 1922, p.

66.

There are many specialist references within this piece that would indicate it was truly written by an old soldier
get a square - On early sailing ships sailors would be served on square wooden plates which were easy to stow away safely.

Marine soldiers carried on board ship would pick up the term square meal in this way.

Napoleon is famous for saying "an army marches on its stomach"
KP is often thought of as an abbreviation of Kitchen Patrol or Kitchen Punishment and is an oft used military expression for a punishment duty.

In this sense police has its old meaning of watching or cleaning.

So picking up the KPs means collecting those on this "extra duty"
The use of the word gay is also old fashioned meaning blithe or happy and does not hold its modern sexual meaning here.

A Creature Is That Humane Flesh Deuoures Read Poem

A creature is that humane flesh deuoures,
From out whose bowels fatnesse may be taken,
That being dried by fire, a certaine houres
Will waxe as hard, as crust of bread well baken,
Which fat dissolued, and with the leane confused
Of that bodie, from whom you must it take,
May be with skill and industrie so vsed,
That a confection thereof we doe make
Greatly helping, though it be held no woonder
Against all tempest, lightning and thunder.

A Dialogue Between The Husbandman And The Servingman Read Poem

Servingman
Well met, my brother friend, all at this highway end,
So simple all alone, as you can,
I pray you tell to me, what may your calling be,
Are you not a servingman?

Husbandman
No, no, my brother dear, what makes you to inquire
Of any such a thing at my hand?

Indeed I shall not feign, but I will tell you plain,
I am a downright husbandman.

Servingman
If a husbandman you be, then go along with me,
And quickly you shall see out of hand,
How in a little space I will help you to a place,
Where you may be a servingman.

Husbandman
Kind sir! I 'turn you thanks for your intelligence,
These things I receive at your hand;
But something pray now show, that first I may plainly know
The pleasures of a servingman.

Servingman
Why a servingman has pleasure beyond all sort of measure,
With his hawk on his fist, as he does stand;
For the game that he does kill, and the meat that does him fill,
Are pleasures for the servingman.

Husbandman
And my pleasure's more than that, to see my oxen fat,
And a good stock of hay by them stand;
My plowing and my sowing, my reaping and my mowing,
Are pleasures for the husbandman.

Servingman
Why it is a gallant thing to ride out with a king,
With a lord, duke, or any such man;
To hear the horns to blow, and see the hounds all in a row,
That is pleasure for the servingman.

Husbandman
But my pleasure's more I know, to see my corn to grow,
So thriving all over my land;
And, therefore, I do mean, with my plowing with my team,
To keep myself a husbandman.

Servingman
Why the diet that we eat is the choicest of all meat,
Such as pig, goose, capon, and swan;
Our pastry is so fine, we drink sugar in our wine,
That is living for the servingman.

Husbandman
Talk not of goose nor capon, give me good beef or bacon,
And good bread and cheese, now at hand;
With pudding, brawn, and souse, all in a farmer's house,
That is living for the husbandman.

Servingman
Why the clothing that we wear is delicate and rare,
With our coat, lace, buckles, and band;
Our shirts are white as milk, and our stockings they are silk,
That is clothing for a servingman.

Husbandman
But I value not a hair your delicate fine wear,
Such as gold is laced upon;
Give me a good grey coat, and in my purse a groat,
That is clothing for the husbandman.

Servingman
Kind sir! it would be bad if none could be had
Those tables for to wait upon;
There is no lord, duke, nor squire, nor member for the shire,
Can do without a servingman.

Husbandman
But, Jack! it would be worse if there was none of us
To follow the plowing of the land;
There is neither king, lord, nor squire, nor member for the shire,
Can do without the husbandman.

Servingman
Kind sir! I must confess't, and I humbly protest
I will give you the uppermost hand;
Although your labour's painful, and mine it is so very gainful,
I wish I were a husbandman.

Husbandman
So come now, let us all, both great as well as small,
Pray for the grain of our land;
And let us, whatsoever, do all our best endeavour,
For to maintain the good husbandman.

This version taken from
Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of England by Robert Bell
1857 John W.

Parker and Son
where it is accompanied by a note:-
[This traditional version of the preceding ancient dialogue has long been popular at country festivals.

At a harvest-home feast at Selborne, in Hampshire, in 1836, we heard it recited by two countrymen, who gave it with considerable humour, and dramatic effect.

It was delivered in a sort of chant, or recitative.

Davies Gilbert published a very similar copy in his Ancient Christmas Carols.

In the modern printed editions, which are almost identical with ours, the term 'servantman' has been substituted for the more ancient designation.

]
The alternative title for this ballad is
God Speed The Plow, And Bless The Corn-Mow.

A Dialogue Betwixt An Exciseman And Death Read Poem

Upon a time when Titan's steeds were driven
To drench themselves beneath the western heaven;
And sable Morpheus had his curtains spread,
And silent night had laid the world to bed;
'Mongst other night-birds which did seek for prey,
A blunt exciseman, which abhorred the day,
Was rambling forth to seek himself a booty
'Mongst merchant's goods which had not paid the duty;
But walking all alone, Death chanced to meet him,
And in this manner did begin to greet him.

Death
Stand, who comes here?

what means this knave to peep
And skulk abroad, when honest men should sleep?

Speak, what's thy name?

and quickly tell me this,
Whither thou goest, and what thy business is?

Exciseman
Whate'er my business is, thou foul-mouthed scold,
I'd have you know I scorn to be controlled
By any man that lives; much less by thou,
Who blurtest out thou know'st not what, nor how;
I go about my lawful business; and
I'll make you smart for bidding of me stand.

Death
Imperious coxcomb! is your stomach vexed?

Pray slack your rage, and hearken what comes next:
I have a writ to take you up; therefore,
To chafe your blood, I bid you stand, once more.

Exciseman
A writ to take ME up! excuse me, sir,
You do mistake, I am an officer
In public service, for my private wealth;
My business is, if any seek by stealth
To undermine the state, I do discover
Their falsehood; therefore hold your hand,--give over.

Death
Nay, fair and soft! 'tis not so quickly done
As you conceive it is: I am not gone
A jot the sooner for your hasty chat,
Nor bragging language; for I tell you flat
'Tis more than so, though fortune seem to thwart us,
Such easy terms I don't intend shall part us.

With this impartial arm I'll make you feel
My fingers first, and with this shaft of steel
I'll peck thy bones! AS THOU ALIVE WERT HATED,
SO DEAD, TO DOGS THOU SHALT BE SEGREGATED.

Exciseman
I'd laugh at that; I would thou didst but dare
To lay thy fingers on me; I'd not spare
To hack thy carcass till my sword was broken,
I'd make thee eat the words which thou hast spoken;
All men should warning take by thy transgression,
How they molested men of my profession.

My service to the State is so well known,
That should I but complain, they'd quickly own
My public grievances; and give me right
To cut your ears, before tomorrow night.

Death
Well said, indeed! but bootless all, for I
Am well acquainted with thy villany;
I know thy office, and thy trade is such,
Thy service little, and thy gains are much:
Thy brags are many; but 'tis vain to swagger,
And think to fight me with thy gilded dagger:
AS I ABHOR THY PERSON, PLACE, AND THREAT,
So now I'll bring thee to the judgment-seat.

Exciseman
The judgment-seat! I must confess that word
Doth cut my heart, like any sharpened sword:
What! come t' account! methinks the dreadful sound
Of every word doth make a mortal wound,
Which sticks not only in my outward skin,
But penetrates my very soul within.

'Twas least of all my thoughts that ever Death
Would once attempt to stop excisemen's breath.

But since 'tis so, that now I do perceive
You are in earnest, then I must relieve
Myself another way: come, we'll be friends;
If I have wronged thee, I'll make th' amends.

Let's join together; I'll pass my word this night
Shall yield us grub, before the morning light.

Or otherwise (to mitigate my sorrow),
Stay here, I'll bring you gold enough to-morrow.

Death
To-morrow's gold I will not have; and thou
Shalt have no gold upon to-morrow: now
My final writ shall to th' execution have thee,
All earthly treasure cannot help or save thee.

Exciseman
Then woe is me! ah! how was I befooled!
I thought that gold (which answereth all things) could
Have stood my friend at any time to bail me!
But grief grows great, and now my trust doth fail me.

Oh! that my conscience were but clear within,
Which now is racked with my former sin;
With horror I behold my secret stealing,
My bribes, oppression, and my graceless dealing;
My office-sins, which I had clean forgotten,
Will gnaw my soul when all my bones are rotten:
I must confess it, very grief doth force me,
Dead or alive, both God and man doth curse me.

LET ALL EXCISEMEN hereby warning take,
To shun their practice for their conscience sake.

This version taken from
Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of England by Robert Bell
1857 John W.

Parker and Son
where it is accompanied by a note:-
[Transcribed from a copy in the British Museum, printed in London by J.

C[larke].

, 1659.

The idea of Death being employed to execute a writ, recalls an epitaph which we remember to have seen in a village church-yard at the foot of the Wrekin, in Shropshire, commencing thus:-
'The King of Heaven a warrant got,
And sealed it without delay,
And he did give the same to Death,
For him to serve straightway,' &c.

]
[This poem belongs to a class of publications which have always been peculiar favourites with the peasantry, in whose cottages they may be frequently seen, neatly framed and glazed, and suspended from the white-washed walls.

They belong to the school of Quarles, and can be traced to the time when that writer was in the height of his popularity.

These religious dialogues are numerous, but the majority of them are very namby-pamby productions, and unworthy of a reprint.

The modern editions preserve the old form of the broadside of the seventeenth century, and are adorned with rude woodcuts, probably copies of ruder originals -

A Drinking Song Read Poem

Fill the cup, the bowl, the glass,
With wine and spirits high,
And we will drink, while round they pass,
To -- Vice and Misery!
Push quickly round the draught again
And drink the goblet low:
And drink in revelry's swelling strain,
To -- Reason's overthrow.

Push round, push round, in quickest time,
The lowest drop be spent,
In one loud round, to -- Guilt and Crime
And Crime's just punishment!
Fill fill again! -- fill to the brim;
To -- Loss of honest fame!
Quaff -- deeper quaff -- while now we drink
Our Wives' and Children's shame!
Push round, and round, with loudest cheers
Of mirth and revelry--
We drink to -- Woman's sighs and tears,
And -- Children's poverty.

Once more! while power shall yet remain,
E'en with its latest breath,
Drink! -- To Ourselves Disease and Pain,
And Infamy and Death!

A Dyttie To Hey Downe Read Poem

Who sekes to tame the blustering winde,
Or causse the floods bend to his wyll,
Or els against dame nature's kinde
To 'change' things frame by cunning skyll:
That man I thinke bestoweth paine,
Thoughe that his laboure be in vaine.

Who strives to breake the sturdye steele,
Or goeth about to staye the sunne;
Who thinks to causse an oke to reele,
Which never can by force be done:
That man likewise bestoweth paine,
Thoughe that his laboure be in vaine.

Who thinks to stryve against the streame,
And for to sayle without a maste;
Unlesse he thinks perhapps to faine,
His travell ys forelorne and waste;
And so in cure of all his paine,
His travell ys his cheffest gaine.

So he lykewise, that goes about
To please eche eye and every eare,
Had nede to have withouten doubt
A golden gyft with him to beare;
For evyll report shall be his gaine,
Though he bestowe both toyle and paine.

God grant eche man one to amend;
God send us all a happy place;
And let us pray unto the end
That we may have our princes grace.

Amen, amen! so shall we gaine
A dewe reward for all our paine.

A Hymn to the Virgin Read Poem

Of on that is so fayr and bright
Velut maris stella,
Brighter than the day is light,
Parens et puella:
Ic crie to the, thou see to me,
Levedy, preye thi Sone for me,
Tam pia,
That ic mote come to thee
Maria.

Al this world was for-lore
Eva peccatrice,
Tyl our Lord was y-bore
De te genetrice.

With
ave
it went away
Thuster nyth and cometh the day
Salutis;
The welle springeth ut of the
Virtutis.

Levedy, flour of alle thing,
Rosa sine spina,
Thu bere Jhesu, hevene king,
Gratia divina:
Of all thu berst the pris,
Levedy, quene of paradys
Electa:
Mayde milde, Moder
es
Effecta.

on: one
levedy: lady.

thuster: dark.

pris: prize.

A Hymn To The Virgin Read Poem

Of on that is so fayr and bright
Velut maris stella,
Brighter than the day is light,
Parens et puella:
Ic crie to the, thou see to me,
Levedy, preye thi Sone for me,
Tam pia,
That ic mote come to thee
Maria.

Al this world was for-lore
Eva peccatrice,
Tyl our Lord was y-bore
De te genetrice.

With
ave
it went away
Thuster nyth and cometh the day
Salutis;
The welle springeth ut of the
Virtutis.

Levedy, flour of alle thing,
Rosa sine spina,
Thu bere Jhesu, hevene king,
Gratia divina:
Of all thu berst the pris,
Levedy, quee of paradys
Electa:
Mayde milde, Moder
es
Effecta.

A Lamentable Ballad Of The Lady's Fall. To The Tune Of In Pescod Time Read Poem

Marke well my heavy, dolefull tale,
You loyall lovers all,
And heedfully beare in your brest
A gallant ladyes fall.

Long was she wooed, ere shee was wonne
To lead a wedded life,
But folly wrought her overthrowe
Before shee was a wife.

Too soone, alas! shee gave consent
And yeelded to his will,
Though he protested to be true
And faithfull to her still.

Shee felt her body altered quite,
Her bright hue waxed pale,
Her lovelye cheeks chang'd color white,
Her strength began to fayle.

Soe that with many a sorrowful sigh,
This beauteous ladye milde,
With greeved hart, perceived herselfe
To have conceived with childe.

Shee kept it from her parents sight
As close as close might bee,
And soe put on her silken gowne
None might her swelling see.

Unto her lover secretly
Her greefe she did bewray,
And, walking with him hand in hand,
These words to him did say:
'Behold,' quoth shee, a maids distresse
By love brought to thy bowe;
Behold I goe with childe by thee,
Tho none thereof doth knowe.

'The litle babe springs in my wombe
To heare its fathers voyce,
Lett it not be a bastard called,
Sith I made thee my choyce.

Come, come, my love, perform thy vowe,
And wed me out of hand;
O leave me not in this extreme
Of griefe, alas! to stand.

'Think on thy former promises,
Thy oathes and vowes eche one;
Remember with what bitter teares
To mee thou madest thy moane.

Convay me to some secrett place
And marry me with speede;
Or with thy rapyer end my life,
Ere further shame proceede.

'
'Alacke! my beauteous love,' quoth hee,
'My joye and only dear,
Which way can I convay thee hence,
When dangers are so near?

Thy friends are all of hye degree,
And I of meane estate;
Full hard it is to gett thee forthe
Out of thy fathers gate.

'
'Dread not thy life to save my fame,
For, if thou taken bee,
My selfe will step betweene the swords,
And take the harme on mee:
Soe shall I scape dishonor quite,
And if I should be slaine,
What could they say but that true love
Had wrought a ladyes bane.

'But feare not any further harme;
My selfe will soe devise
That I will ryde away with thee
Unknowen of mortall eyes;
Disguised like some pretty page
Ile meet thee in the darke,
And all alone Ile come to thee
Hard by my fathers parke.

'
'And there,' quoth hee, 'Ile meete my deare,
If God soe lend me life,
On this day month without all fayle
I will make thee my wife.

'
Then with a sweet and loving kisse
They parted presentlye,
And att their partinge brinish teares
Stoode in eche others eye.

Att length the wished day was come
On which this beauteous mayd,
With longing eyes and strange attire,
For her true lover stayd.

When any person shee espyed
Come ryding ore the plaine,
She hop'd it was her owne true love;
But all her hopes were vaine.

Then did shee weepe and sore bewayle
Her most unhappy fate;
Then did shee speake these woefull words,
As succourless she sate;
'O false, forsworne, and faithlesse man,
Disloyall in thy love,
Hast thou forgott thy promise past
And wilt thou perjured prove?

'And hast thou now forsaken mee
In this my great distresse,
To end my dayes in open shame,
Which thou mightst well redresse?

Woe worth the time I eer believ'd
That flattering tongue of thine;
Wold God that I had never seene
The teares of thy false eyne.

'
And thus with many a sorrowful sigh
Homewarde shee went againe;
Noe rest came in her waterye eyes,
Shee felt such privye paine.

In travail strong shee felt that night,
With many a bitter throwe;
What woefull paines shee then did feel
Doth eche good woman knowe.

Shee called up her waiting mayd
That lay at her bedds feete,
Who, musing at her mistress woe,
Began full fast to weepe.

'Weepe not,' said shee, 'but shutt the dores
And windowes round about,
Let none bewray my wretched state,
But keepe all persons out.

'
'O mistress, call your mother deare,
Of women you have neede,
And of some skilfull midwifes helpe
That better may you speed.

'
'Call not my mother for thy life,
Nor fetch no woman here;
The midwifes helpe comes all too late,
My death I doe not feare.

'
With that the babe sprang from her wombe
No creature being nye,
And with one sighe, which brake her hart,
This gentle dame did dye.

The lovely litle infant younge,
The mother being dead,
Resigned its new received breath
To him that had it made.

Next morning came her own true love,
Affrighted at the newes,
And he for sorrow slew himselfe,
Whom eche one did accuse.

The mother with her new borne babe
Were laide both in one grave;
Their parents overworne with woe,
No joy thenceforth cold have.

Take heed,you dayntye damsells all,
Of flattering words beware,
And to the honour of your name
Have an especial care.

Too true, alas! this story is,
As many one can tell;
By others harmes learne to be wise,
And you shall do full well.

A Looking-Glass For Ladies, Or A Mirrour For Married Women. Tune, Queen Dido, Or Troy Town Read Poem

When Greeks and Trojans fell at strife,
And lords in armour bright were seen,
When many a gallant lost his life
Ulysses, general so free,
Did leave his dear Penelope.

When she this wofull news did hear,
That he would to the warrs of Troy,
For grief she shed full many a tear
At parting from her only joy;
Her ladies all about her came,
To comfort up this Grecian dame.

Ulysses, with a heavy heart,
Unto her then did mildly say:
"The time is come that we must part;
My honour calls me hence away;
Yet in my absence, dearest, be
My constant wife, Penelope.

"
"Let me no longer live," she sayd,
"Then to my lord I true remain;
My honour shall not be betray'd
Until I see my love again;
For I will ever constant prove,
As is the loyal turtle-dove.

"
Thus did they part with heavy chear,
And to the ships his way be took;
Her tender eyes dropt many a tear;
Still casting many a longing look,
She saw him on the surges glide,
And unto Neptune thus she cry'd:
"Thou god, whose power is in the deep
And rulest in the ocean main,
My loving lord in safety keep
Till he return to me again;
That I his person may behold,
To me more precious far than gold.

"
Then straight the ships with nimble sails
Were all convey'd out of her sight;
Her cruel fate she then bewails,
Since she had lost her heart's delight.

"Now shall my practice be," quoth she,
"True vertue and humility.

"My patience I will put in ure,
My charity I will extend;
Since for my woe there is no cure,
The helpless now I will befriend:
The widow and the fatherless
I will relieve, when in distress.

"
Thus she continued year by year
In doing good to every one;
Her fame was noised every where,
To young and old the same was known,
That she no company would mind
Who were to vanity inclin'd.

Mean while Ulysses fought for fame
'Mongst Trojans hazarding his life;
Young gallants, hearing of her name,
Came flocking for to tempt his wife:
For she was lovely, young, and fair,
No lady might with her compare.

With costly gifts and jewels fine
They did endeavour her to win;
With banquets and the choicest wine,
For to allure her unto sin;
Most persons were of high degree
Who courted fair Penelope.

With modesty and comely grace
Their wanton suits she did denye;
No tempting charms could e'er deface
Her dearest husband's memorye;
But constant she would still remain,
Hopeing to see him once again.

Her book her dayly comfort was,
And that she often did peruse;
She seldom looked in her glass;
Powder and paint she ne'er would use.

I wish all ladies were as free
From pride as was Penelope!
She in her needle took delight,
And likewise in her spinning-wheel;
Her maids about her every night
Did use the distaff and the reel;
The spiders, that on rafters twine,
Scarce spin a thread more soft and fine.

Sometimes she would bewail the loss
And absence of her dearest love;
Sometimes she thought the seas to cross,
Her fortune on the waves to prove.

"I fear my lord is slain," quoth she,
"He stays so from Penelope.

"
At length the ten years siege of Troy
Did end; in flames the city burn'd;
And to the Grecians was great joy
To see the towers to ashes turn'd;
Then came Ulysses home to see
His constant, dear Penelope.

O blame her not if she was glad
When she her lord again had seen.

"Thrice-welcome home, my dear," she said,
"A long time absent thou hast been;
The wars shall never more deprive
Me of my lord whilst I'm alive.

"
Fair ladies all, example take;
And hence a worthy lesson learn,
All youthful follies to forsake,
And vice from virtue to discern;
And let all women strive to be
As constant as Penelope.

A Lost Land Read Poem

A childhood land of mountain ways,
Where earthy gnomes and forest fays,
Kind, foolish giants, gentle bears,
Sport with the peasant as he fares
Affrighted through the forest glades,
And lead sweet, wistful little maids
Lost in the woods, forlorn, alone,
To princely lovers and a throne.

Dear haunted land of gorge and glen,
Ah me! the dreams, the dreams of men!
A learned law of wise old books
And men with meditative looks,
Who move in quaint red-gabled towns,
And sit in gravely-folded gowns,
Divining in deep-laden speech
The world's supreme arcana—each
A homely god to listening youth,
Eager to tear the veil of Truth;
Mild votaries of book and pen—
Alas, the dreams, the dreams of men!
A music land whose life is wrought
In movements of melodious thought;
In symphony, great wave on wave—
Or fugue elusive, swift and grave;
A singing land, whose lyric rhymes
Float on the air like village chimes;
Music and verse—the deepest part
Of a whole nation's thinking heart!
Oh land of Now, oh land of Then!
Dear God! the dreams, the dreams of men!
Slave nation in a land of hate,
Where are the things that made you great?

Child-hearted once—oh, deep defiled,
Dare you look now upon a child?

Your lore—a hideous mask wherein
Self-worship hides its monstrous sin—
Music and verse, divinely wed—
How can these live where love is dead?

Oh depths beneath sweet human ken,
God help the dreams, the dreams of men!
This poem appeared in Mr Punch's History Of The Great War in 1919.

It was published by the editors of the Punch Magazine.

A Lover of Late Read Poem

A lover of late was I,
For Cupid would have it soe,
The boy that hath never an eye,
As every man doth know.

I sighed, and sobbed, and cryed, alas!
For her that laught and called me ass.

Then knew not I what to doe
When I saw itt was in vaine
A lady oe coy to wooe,
Who gave me the asse so plaine.

Yet would I her asse freelye bee,
Soe shee would helpe and beare with mee.

An I were as faire as shee,
Or shee were as kind as I,
What payre cold have made, as wee,
Soe prettye a sympathye?

I was as kind as she was faire,
But for all this wee cold not paire.

Paire with her that will, for mee!
With her I will never paire
That cunningly can be coy,
For being a little faire.

The asse Ile leave to her disdaine,
And now I am myselfe againe.

A Lyke-Wake Dirge Read Poem

This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
Every nighte and alle,
Fire, and sleet, and candle-lighte,
And Christe receive thye saule.

When thou from hence away art paste,
Every nighte and alle,
To Whinny-muir thou comest at laste;
And Christe receive thye saule.

If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon,
Every nighte and alle,
Sit thee down and put them on;
And Christe receive thye saule.

If hosen and shoon thou ne'er gavest nane,
Every nighte and alle,
The whinnes sall pricke thee to the bare bane;
And Christe receive thye saule.

From Whinny-muir when thou mayst passe,
Every nighte and alle,
To Brigg o' Dread thou comest at laste,
And Christe receive thye saule.

From Brigg o' Dread when thou mayst passe,
Every nighte and alle,
To Purgatory fire thou comest at last,
And Christe receive thye saule.

If ever thou gavest meat or drink,
Every nighte and alle,
The fire sall never make thee shrinke;
And Christe receive thye saule.

If meate or drinke thou never gavest nane,
Every nighte and alle,
The fire will burn thee to the bare bane;
And Christe receive thye saule.

This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
Every nighte and alle,
Fire, and sleet, and candle-lighte,
And Christe receive thye saule.

A Monument In A Church In Sutton Read Poem

This monument presents unto your viewe
A woman rare, in whom all grace divine,
Faith, Love, Zeal, Piety, in splendid hue,
With sacred knowledge perfectly did shine.

Since, then, examples teach, learn you by this
To mount the steppes of everlasting blisse.

A Newe Ballade Made Of Thomas Crumwel, Called Trolle On Away Read Poem

Trolle on away, trolle on awaye,
Synge heave and howe rombelowe trolle on away.

Both man and chylde is glad to here tell
Of that false traytoure Thomas Crumwell,
Now that he is set to learn to spell.

Synge trolle on away.

When fortune lokyd the in thy face,
Thou haddyst fayre tyme, but thou lackydyst grace;
Thy cofers with golde thou fyllydst a pace.

Synge trolle on away.

Both plate and chalys came to thy fyst,
Thou lockydst them vp where no man wyst,
Tyll in the kynges treasoure suche thinges were myst.

Synge trolle on away.

Both crust and crumme came thorowe thy handes,
Thy marchaundyse sayled over the sandes,
Therfore nowe thou art layde fast in bandes.

Synge trolle on away.

Fyrste when Kynge Henry, God saue his Grace!
Perceyud myschefe kyndlyd in thy face,
Then it was tyme to purchase the a place.

Synge trolle on away.

Hys grace was euer of gentyll nature,
Mouyed with petye, and made the hys seruyture;
But thou, as a wretche, suche thinges dyd procure.

Synge trolle on away.

Thou dyd not remembre, false heretyke,
One God, one fayth, and one kynge catholyke,
For thou hast bene so long a scysmatyke.

Synge trolle on away.

Thou woldyst not learne to knowe these thre;
But euer was full of iniquite:
Wherfore all this lande hathe ben troubled with the.

Synge trolle on away.

All they, that were of the new trycke,
Agaynst the churche thou baddest them stycke;
Wherfore nowe thou hast touchyd the quycke.

Synge trolle on away.

Both sacramentes and sacrementalles
Thou woldyst not suffre within thy walles;
Nor let vs praye for all chrysten soules.

Synge trolle on away.

Of what generacyon thou were no tonge can tell,
Whyther of Chayme, or Syschemell,
Or else sent vs frome the deuyll of hell.

Synge trolle on away.

Thou woldest neuer to vertue applye,
But couetyd euer to clymme to hye,
And nowe haste thou trodden thy shoo awrye.

Synge trolle on away.

Who-so-euer dyd winne thou wolde not lose;
Wherfore all Englande doth hate the, as I suppose,
Bycause thou wast false to the redolent rose.

Synge trolle on away.

Thou myghtest have learned thy cloth to flocke
Upon thy gresy fullers stocke;
Wherfore lay downe thy heade vpon this blocke.

Synge trolle on away.

Yet saue that soule, that God hath bought,
And for thy carcas care thou nought,
Let it suffre payne, as it hath wrought.

Synge trolle on away.

God saue Kyng Henry with all his power,
And Prynce Edwarde, that goodly flower,
With al hys lordes of great honoure.

Synge trolle on away.

Hevye and how rombelowe trolle on awaye.

A Norfolk Proverb Read Poem

In April the cuckoo shows his bill,
In May he sing, night and day,
In June he changes his tune,
In July away he fly,
In August away he must.

Found in Wm.

Hone's The Year Book of Daily Recreation and Information, 1838.

A Norrible Tale Read Poem

A norrible tale I'm going to tell
Of the woeful tragedy which befell
A family that once resided
In the very same thoroughfare as I did;
Indeed it is a norrible tale,
'Twill make your faces all turn pale,
And your cheeks with tears will be overcome,
Tweedle twaddle, tweedle twaddle twum.

The father in the garden went to walk,
And he cut his throat with a piece of chalk;
The mother, at this was so cut-up
She drowned herself in the water-butt.

The eldest sister, on bended knees
Strangled herself with toasted cheese;
The eldest brother, a charming fella,
Blew out his brains with a gingham umbrella.

The innocent infant lying in the cradle,
Shot itself dead with a silver ladle;
And the maid-servant, not knowing what she did,
Strangled herself with the saucepan lid.

The cat sitting down by the kitchen fire,
Chewed up the fender and did expire;
And a fly on the ceiling - the case is the worst 'un -
Blew itself up with spontaneous combustion.

Now this here family of which I've sung,
If they had not died should have all been hung;
For had they ne'er done themselves any wrong
Why, they might have been here to have heard this song.

A Place Of Arms Read Poem

I knew a garden green and fair,
Flanking our London river's tide,
And you would think, to breathe its air
And roam its virgin lawns beside,
All shimmering in their velvet fleece,
"Nothing can hurt this haunt of Peace.

"
No trespass marred that close retreat;
Privileged were the few that went
Pacing its walks with measured beat
On legal contemplation bent;
And Inner Templars used to say:
"How well our garden looks to-day!"
But that which changes all has changed
This guarded pleasaunce, green and fair,
And soldier-ranks therein have ranged
And trod its beauties hard and bare,
Have tramped and tramped its fretted floor,
Learning the discipline of War.

And many a moon of Peace shall climb
Above that mimic field of Mars,
Before the healing touch of Time
With springing green shall hide its scars;
But Inner Templars smile and say:
"Our barrack-square looks well to-day!"
Good was that garden in their eyes,
Lovely its spell of long-ago;
Now waste and mired its glory lies,
And yet they hold it dearer so,
Who see beneath the wounds it bears
A grace no other garden wears.

For still the memory, never sere,
But fresh as after fallen rain,
Of those who learned their lesson here
And may not ever come again,
Gives to this garden, bruised and browned,
A greenness as of hallowed ground.

This poem first appeared in the magazine Punch during the 1914-1918 World War.

JS

A Pleasant Ballad Of King Henry II. And The Miller Of Mansfield Read Poem

Part the First.

Henry, our royall kind, would ride a hunting
To the greene forest so pleasant and faire;
To see the harts skipping, and dainty does tripping,
Unto merry Sherwood his nobles repaire:
Hawke and hound were unbound, all things prepar'd
For the game, in the same, with good regard.

All a long summers day rode the king pleasantlye,
With all his princes and nobles eche one;
Chasing the hart and hind, and the bucke gallantlye,
Till the dark evening forc'd all to turne home.

Then at last, riding fast, he had lost quite
All his lords in the wood, late in the night.

Wandering thus wearilye, all alone, up and downe,
With a rude miller he mett at the last;
Asking the ready way unto faire Nottingham,
"Sir," quoth the miller, "I meane not to jest,
Yet I thinke, what I thinke, sooth for to say;
You doe not lightlye ride out of your way.

"
"Why, what dost thou tihnk of me," quoth our king merrily,
"Passing thy judgement upon me so briefe?

"
"Good faith," sayd the miller, "I meane not to flatter thee,
I guess thee to bee but some gentleman thiefe;
Stand thee backe, in the darke; light not adowne,
Lest that I presently crack thy knaves crowne.

"
"Thou dost abuse me much," quoth the king, "saying thus;
I am a gentleman; lodging I lacke.

"
"Thou hast not," quoth th' miller, "one groat in thy purse;
All thy inheritance hanges on thy backe.

"
"I have gold to discharge all that I call;
If it be forty pence, I will pay all.

"
"If thou beest a true man," then quoth the miller,
"I sweare by my toll-dish, I'll lodge thee all night.

"
"Here's my hand," quoth the king, "that was I ever.

"
"Nay, soft," quoth the miller, "thou may'st be a sprite.

Better I'll know thee, ere hands we will shake;
With none but honest men hands will I take.

"
Thus they went all along unto the millers house,
Where they were seething of puddings and souse;
The miller first enter'd in, after him went the king;
Never came hee in soe smoakye a house.

"Now," quoth hee, "let me see here what you are.

"
Quoth our king, "Looke your fill, and do not spare.

"
"I like well thy countenance, thou hast an honest face:
With my son Richard this night thou shalt lye.

"
Quoth his wife, "By my troth, it is a handsome youth,
Yet it's best, husband, to deal warilye.

Art thou no run-away, prythee, youth, tell?

Shew me thy passport, and all shal be well.

"
Then our king presentlye, making lowe courtesye,
WIth his hatt in his hand, thus he did say;
"I have no passport, nor never was servitor,
But a poor courtyer rode out of my way:
And for your kindness here offered to mee,
I will requite you in everye degree.

"
Then to the miller his wife whisper'd secretlye,
Saying, "It seemeth, this youth's of good kin,
Both by his apparel, and eke by his manners;
To turne him out, certainlye were a great sin.

"
"Yea," quoth hee, "you may see he hath some grace,
When he doth speake to his betters in place.

"
"Well," quo' the millers wife, "young man, ye're welcome here;
And, though I say it, well lodged shall be:
Fresh straw will I have, laid on thy bed so brave
And good brown hempen sheets likewise," quoth shee.

"Aye," quoth the good man; "and when that is done,
Thou shalt lye with no worse than our own sonne.

"
"Nay, first," quoth Richard, "good-fellowe, tell me true,
Hast thou noe creepers within thy gay hose?

Or art thou not troubled with the scabbado?

"
"I pray," quoth the king, "what creatures are those?

"
"Art thou not lowsy, nor scabby?

" quoth he:
"If you beest, surely thou lyest not with mee.

"
This caus'd the king, suddenlye, to laugh most hartilye,
Till the teares trickled fast downe from his eyes.

Then to their supper were they set orderlye,
With hot bag-puddings, and good apple-pyes;
Nappy ale, good and stale, in a browne bowle,
Which did about the board merrilye trowle.

"Here," quoth the miller, "good fellowe, I drinke to thee,
And to all 'cuckholds, wherever they bee.

'"
"I pledge thee," quoth our king, "and thanke thee heartilye
For my good welcome in everye degree:
And here, in like manner, I drinke to thy sonne.

"
"Do then," quoth Richard, "and quicke let it come.

"
"Wife," quoth the miller, "fetch me forth lightfoote,
And of his sweetnesse a little we'll taste,"
A fair ven'son pastye brought she out presentlye,
"Eate," quoth the miller, "but, sir, make no waste.

Here's dainty lightfoote!" "In faith," sayd the king,
"I never before eat so daintye a thing.

"
"I-wis," quoth Richard, "no daintye at all it is,
For we doe eate of it everye day.

"
"In what place," sayd our king, "may be bought like to this?

"
"We never pay pennye for itt, by my fay:
From merry Sherwood we fetch it home here;
Now and then we make bold with our kings deer.

"
"Then I thinke," sayd our king, "that it is venison.

"
"Eche foole," quoth Richard, "full well may know that;
Never are wee without two or three in the roof,
Very well fleshed, and excellent fat:
But, prythee, say nothing wherever thou goe;
We would not, for two pence, the king should it knowe.

"
"Doubt not," then sayd the king, "my promist secresye;
The king shall never know more on't for mee.

"
A cupp of lambs-wool they dranke unto him then,
And to their bedds they past presentlie.

The nobles, next morning, went all up and down,
For to seeke out the king in everye towne.

At last, at the millers 'cott,' soone they espy'd him out,
As he was mounting upon his faire steede;
To whom they came presently, falling down on their knee;
Which made the millers heart wofully bleede;
Shaking and quaking, before him he stood,
Thinking he should have been hang'd, by the rood.

The king perceiving him fearfully trembling,
Drew forth his sword, but nothing he sed:
The miller downe did fall, crying before them all,
Doubting the king would have cut off his head.

But he his kind courtesye for to requite,
Gave him great living, and dubb'd him a knight.

Part the Second.

When as our royall king came home from Nottingham,
And with his nobles at Westminster lay,
Recounting the sports and pastimes they had taken,
In this late progress along the way,
Of them all, great and small, he did protest,
The miller of Mansfields sport liked him best.

"And now, my lords," quoth the king, "I am determined
Against St.

Georges next sumptuous feast,
That this old miller, our new confirm'd knight,
With his son Richard, shall here be my guest:
For, in this merryment, 'tis my desire
To Talke with the jolly knight, and the young squire.

"
When as the noble lords saw the kinges pleasantness,
They were right joyfull and glad in their hearts:
A pursuivant there was sent straighte on the business,
The which had often-times been in those parts.

When he came to the place where they did dwell,
His message orderlye then 'gan he tell.

"God save your worshippe," then said the messenger,
"And grant your ladye her own hearts desire;
And to your sonne Richard good fortune and happiness,
That sweet, gentle, and gallant young squire.

Our king greets you well, and thus he doth say,
You must come to the court on St.

George's day.

"Therefore, in any case, faile not to be in place.

"
"I-wis," quoth the miller, "this is an odd jest:
What should we doe there?

faith, I am halfe afraid.

"
"I doubt," quoth Richard, "to be hang'd at the least.

"
"Nay," quoth the messenger, "you doe mistake;
Our king he provides a great feast for your sake.

"
Then sayd the miller, "By my troth, messenger,
Thou hast contented my worshippe full well:
Hold, here are three farthings, to quite thy gentleness,
For these happy tydings which thou dost tell.

Let me see, hear thou mee; tell to our king,
We'll wayt on his mastershipp in everye thing.

"
The pursuivant smiled at their simplicitye,
And making many leggs, tooke their reward,
And his leave taking with great humilitye,
To the kings court againe he repair'd;
Shewing unto his grace, merry and free,
The knightes most liberall gift and bountie.

When he was gone away, thus gan the miller say:
"Here comes expenses and charges indeed;
Now must we needs be brave, tho' we spend all we have,
For of new garments we have great need.

Of horses and serving-men we must have store,
With bridles and saddles, and twentye things more.

"
"Tushe, Sir John," quoth his wife, "why should you frett or frowne?

You shall ne'er be att no charges for mee;
For I will turne and trim up my old russet gowne,
With everye thing else as fine as may bee;
And on our mill-horses swift we will ride,
With pillowes and pannells, as we shall provide.

"
In this most statelye sort, rode they unto the court;
Their jolly sonne Richard rode foremost of all,
Who set up, for good hap, a cocks feather in his cap,
And so they jetted downe to the kings hall;
The merry old miller with hands on his side;
His wife like maid Merian did mince at that tide.

The king and his nobles, that heard of their coming,
Meeting this gallant knight with his brave traine,
"Welcome, sir knight," quoth he, "with your gay lady;
Good Sir John Cockle, once welcome againe;
And so is the squire of courage soe free.

"
Quoth Dicke, "A bots on you! do you know mee?

"
Quoth our king gentlye, "How should I forget thee?

Thou wast my owne bed-fellowe, well it I wot.

"
"Yea, sir," quoth Richard, "and by the same token,
Thou with thy farting didst make the bed hot.

"
"Thou whore-son unhappy knave," then quoth the knight,
"Speake cleanly to our king, or else go sh***.

"
The king and his courtiers laugh at this heartily,
While the king taketh them both by the hand;
With the court-dames and maids, like to the queen of spades,
The millers wife did soe orderly stand,
A milk-maids courtesye at every word;
And downe all the folkes were set to the board.

There the king royally, in princelye majestye,
Sate at his dinner with joy and delight;
When they had eaten well, then he to jesting fell,
And in a bowle of wine dranke to the knight.

"Here's to you both, in wine, ale, and beer;
Thanking you heartilye for my good cheer.

"
Quoth Sir John Cockle, "I'll pledge you a pottle,
Were it the best ale in Nottinghamshire;"
But then sayd our king, "Now I think of a thing;
Some of your lightfoote I would we had here.

"
"Ho! ho!" quoth Richard, "full well I may say it,
'Tis knavery to eate it, and then to betray it.

"
"Why art thou angry?

" quoth our king merrilye;
"In faith, I take it now very unkind:
I thought thou wouldst pledge me in ale and wine heartily.

"
Quoth Dicke, "You are like to stay till I have din'd:
You feed us with twatling dishes to small;
Zounds, a blacke-pudding is better than all.

"
"Aye, marry," quoth our king, "that were a daintye thing,
Could a man get but one here for to eate:"
With that Dicke straite arose, and pluckt one from his hose,
Which with heat of his breech gan to sweate.

The king made a proffer to snatch it away:—
"'Tis meat for your master: good sir, you must stay.

"
Thus in great merriment was the time wholly spent,
And then the ladyes prepared to dance.

Old Sir John Cockle, and Richard, incontinent
Unto their places the king did advance.

Here with the ladyes such sport they did make,
The nobles with laughing did make their sides ake.

Many thankes for their paines did the king give them,
Asking young Richard then, if he would wed;
"Among these ladyes free, tell me which liketh thee?

"
Quoth he, "Jugg Grumball, Sir, with the red head,
She's my love, she's my life, her will I wed;
She hath sworn I shall have her maidenhead.

"
Then Sir John Cockle the king call'd unto him,
And of merry Sherwood made him o'er seer,
And gave him out of hand three hundred pound yearlye:
"Take heed now you steale no more of my deer;
And once a quarter let's here have your view;
And now, Sir John Cockle, I bid you adieu.

"

A Pleasant Ballad Of King Henry Ii. And The Miller Of Mansfield Read Poem

Part the First.

Henry, our royall kind, would ride a hunting
To the greene forest so pleasant and faire;
To see the harts skipping, and dainty does tripping,
Unto merry Sherwood his nobles repaire:
Hawke and hound were unbound, all things prepar'd
For the game, in the same, with good regard.

All a long summers day rode the king pleasantlye,
With all his princes and nobles eche one;
Chasing the hart and hind, and the bucke gallantlye,
Till the dark evening forc'd all to turne home.

Then at last, riding fast, he had lost quite
All his lords in the wood, late in the night.

Wandering thus wearilye, all alone, up and downe,
With a rude miller he mett at the last;
Asking the ready way unto faire Nottingham,
'Sir,' quoth the miller, 'I meane not to jest,
Yet I thinke, what I thinke, sooth for to say;
You doe not lightlye ride out of your way.

'
'Why, what dost thou tihnk of me,' quoth our king merrily,
'Passing thy judgement upon me so briefe?

'
'Good faith,' sayd the miller, 'I meane not to flatter thee,
I guess thee to bee but some gentleman thiefe;
Stand thee backe, in the darke; light not adowne,
Lest that I presently crack thy knaves crowne.

'
'Thou dost abuse me much,' quoth the king, 'saying thus;
I am a gentleman; lodging I lacke.

'
'Thou hast not,' quoth th' miller, 'one groat in thy purse;
All thy inheritance hanges on thy backe.

'
'I have gold to discharge all that I call;
If it be forty pence, I will pay all.

'
'If thou beest a true man,' then quoth the miller,
'I sweare by my toll-dish, I'll lodge thee all night.

'
'Here's my hand,' quoth the king, 'that was I ever.

'
'Nay, soft,' quoth the miller, 'thou may'st be a sprite.

Better I'll know thee, ere hands we will shake;
With none but honest men hands will I take.

'
Thus they went all along unto the millers house,
Where they were seething of puddings and souse;
The miller first enter'd in, after him went the king;
Never came hee in soe smoakye a house.

'Now,' quoth hee, 'let me see here what you are.

'
Quoth our king, 'Looke your fill, and do not spare.

'
'I like well thy countenance, thou hast an honest face:
With my son Richard this night thou shalt lye.

'
Quoth his wife, 'By my troth, it is a handsome youth,
Yet it's best, husband, to deal warilye.

Art thou no run-away, prythee, youth, tell?

Shew me thy passport, and all shal be well.

'
Then our king presentlye, making lowe courtesye,
WIth his hatt in his hand, thus he did say;
'I have no passport, nor never was servitor,
But a poor courtyer rode out of my way:
And for your kindness here offered to mee,
I will requite you in everye degree.

'
Then to the miller his wife whisper'd secretlye,
Saying, 'It seemeth, this youth's of good kin,
Both by his apparel, and eke by his manners;
To turne him out, certainlye were a great sin.

'
'Yea,' quoth hee, 'you may see he hath some grace,
When he doth speake to his betters in place.

'
'Well,' quo' the millers wife, 'young man, ye're welcome here;
And, though I say it, well lodged shall be:
Fresh straw will I have, laid on thy bed so brave
And good brown hempen sheets likewise,' quoth shee.

'Aye,' quoth the good man; 'and when that is done,
Thou shalt lye with no worse than our own sonne.

'
'Nay, first,' quoth Richard, 'good-fellowe, tell me true,
Hast thou noe creepers within thy gay hose?

Or art thou not troubled with the scabbado?

'
'I pray,' quoth the king, 'what creatures are those?

'
'Art thou not lowsy, nor scabby?

' quoth he:
'If you beest, surely thou lyest not with mee.

'
This caus'd the king, suddenlye, to laugh most hartilye,
Till the teares trickled fast downe from his eyes.

Then to their supper were they set orderlye,
With hot bag-puddings, and good apple-pyes;
Nappy ale, good and stale, in a browne bowle,
Which did about the board merrilye trowle.

'Here,' quoth the miller, 'good fellowe, I drinke to thee,
And to all 'cuckholds, wherever they bee.

''
'I pledge thee,' quoth our king, 'and thanke thee heartilye
For my good welcome in everye degree:
And here, in like manner, I drinke to thy sonne.

'
'Do then,' quoth Richard, 'and quicke let it come.

'
'Wife,' quoth the miller, 'fetch me forth lightfoote,
And of his sweetnesse a little we'll taste,'
A fair ven'son pastye brought she out presentlye,
'Eate,' quoth the miller, 'but, sir, make no waste.

Here's dainty lightfoote!' 'In faith,' sayd the king,
'I never before eat so daintye a thing.

'
'I-wis,' quoth Richard, 'no daintye at all it is,
For we doe eate of it everye day.

'
'In what place,' sayd our king, 'may be bought like to this?

'
'We never pay pennye for itt, by my fay:
From merry Sherwood we fetch it home here;
Now and then we make bold with our kings deer.

'
'Then I thinke,' sayd our king, 'that it is venison.

'
'Eche foole,' quoth Richard, 'full well may know that;
Never are wee without two or three in the roof,
Very well fleshed, and excellent fat:
But, prythee, say nothing wherever thou goe;
We would not, for two pence, the king should it knowe.

'
'Doubt not,' then sayd the king, 'my promist secresye;
The king shall never know more on't for mee.

'
A cupp of lambs-wool they dranke unto him then,
And to their bedds they past presentlie.

The nobles, next morning, went all up and down,
For to seeke out the king in everye towne.

At last, at the millers 'cott,' soone they espy'd him out,
As he was mounting upon his faire steede;
To whom they came presently, falling down on their knee;
Which made the millers heart wofully bleede;
Shaking and quaking, before him he stood,
Thinking he should have been hang'd, by the rood.

The king perceiving him fearfully trembling,
Drew forth his sword, but nothing he sed:
The miller downe did fall, crying before them all,
Doubting the king would have cut off his head.

But he his kind courtesye for to requite,
Gave him great living, and dubb'd him a knight.

Part the Second.

When as our royall king came home from Nottingham,
And with his nobles at Westminster lay,
Recounting the sports and pastimes they had taken,
In this late progress along the way,
Of them all, great and small, he did protest,
The miller of Mansfields sport liked him best.

'And now, my lords,' quoth the king, 'I am determined
Against St.

Georges next sumptuous feast,
That this old miller, our new confirm'd knight,
With his son Richard, shall here be my guest:
For, in this merryment, 'tis my desire
To Talke with the jolly knight, and the young squire.

'
When as the noble lords saw the kinges pleasantness,
They were right joyfull and glad in their hearts:
A pursuivant there was sent straighte on the business,
The which had often-times been in those parts.

When he came to the place where they did dwell,
His message orderlye then 'gan he tell.

'God save your worshippe,' then said the messenger,
'And grant your ladye her own hearts desire;
And to your sonne Richard good fortune and happiness,
That sweet, gentle, and gallant young squire.

Our king greets you well, and thus he doth say,
You must come to the court on St.

George's day.

'Therefore, in any case, faile not to be in place.

'
'I-wis,' quoth the miller, 'this is an odd jest:
What should we doe there?

faith, I am halfe afraid.

'
'I doubt,' quoth Richard, 'to be hang'd at the least.

'
'Nay,' quoth the messenger, 'you doe mistake;
Our king he provides a great feast for your sake.

'
Then sayd the miller, 'By my troth, messenger,
Thou hast contented my worshippe full well:
Hold, here are three farthings, to quite thy gentleness,
For these happy tydings which thou dost tell.

Let me see, hear thou mee; tell to our king,
We'll wayt on his mastershipp in everye thing.

'
The pursuivant smiled at their simplicitye,
And making many leggs, tooke their reward,
And his leave taking with great humilitye,
To the kings court againe he repair'd;
Shewing unto his grace, merry and free,
The knightes most liberall gift and bountie.

When he was gone away, thus gan the miller say:
'Here comes expenses and charges indeed;
Now must we needs be brave, tho' we spend all we have,
For of new garments we have great need.

Of horses and serving-men we must have store,
With bridles and saddles, and twentye things more.

'
'Tushe, Sir John,' quoth his wife, 'why should you frett or frowne?

You shall ne'er be att no charges for mee;
For I will turne and trim up my old russet gowne,
With everye thing else as fine as may bee;
And on our mill-horses swift we will ride,
With pillowes and pannells, as we shall provide.

'
In this most statelye sort, rode they unto the court;
Their jolly sonne Richard rode foremost of all,
Who set up, for good hap, a cocks feather in his cap,
And so they jetted downe to the kings hall;
The merry old miller with hands on his side;
His wife like maid Merian did mince at that tide.

The king and his nobles, that heard of their coming,
Meeting this gallant knight with his brave traine,
'Welcome, sir knight,' quoth he, 'with your gay lady;
Good Sir John Cockle, once welcome againe;
And so is the squire of courage soe free.

'
Quoth Dicke, 'A bots on you! do you know mee?

'
Quoth our king gentlye, 'How should I forget thee?

Thou wast my owne bed-fellowe, well it I wot.

'
'Yea, sir,' quoth Richard, 'and by the same token,
Thou with thy farting didst make the bed hot.

'
'Thou whore-son unhappy knave,' then quoth the knight,
'Speake cleanly to our king, or else go sh***.

'
The king and his courtiers laugh at this heartily,
While the king taketh them both by the hand;
With the court-dames and maids, like to the queen of spades,
The millers wife did soe orderly stand,
A milk-maids courtesye at every word;
And downe all the folkes were set to the board.

There the king royally, in princelye majestye,
Sate at his dinner with joy and delight;
When they had eaten well, then he to jesting fell,
And in a bowle of wine dranke to the knight.

'Here's to you both, in wine, ale, and beer;
Thanking you heartilye for my good cheer.

'
Quoth Sir John Cockle, 'I'll pledge you a pottle,
Were it the best ale in Nottinghamshire;'
But then sayd our king, 'Now I think of a thing;
Some of your lightfoote I would we had here.

'
'Ho! ho!' quoth Richard, 'full well I may say it,
'Tis knavery to eate it, and then to betray it.

'
'Why art thou angry?

' quoth our king merrilye;
'In faith, I take it now very unkind:
I thought thou wouldst pledge me in ale and wine heartily.

'
Quoth Dicke, 'You are like to stay till I have din'd:
You feed us with twatling dishes to small;
Zounds, a blacke-pudding is better than all.

'
'Aye, marry,' quoth our king, 'that were a daintye thing,
Could a man get but one here for to eate:'
With that Dicke straite arose, and pluckt one from his hose,
Which with heat of his breech gan to sweate.

The king made a proffer to snatch it away:-
''Tis meat for your master: good sir, you must stay.

'
Thus in great merriment was the time wholly spent,
And then the ladyes prepared to dance.

Old Sir John Cockle, and Richard, incontinent
Unto their places the king did advance.

Here with the ladyes such sport they did make,
The nobles with laughing did make their sides ake.

Many thankes for their paines did the king give them,
Asking young Richard then, if he would wed;
'Among these ladyes free, tell me which liketh thee?

'
Quoth he, 'Jugg Grumball, Sir, with the red head,
She's my love, she's my life, her will I wed;
She hath sworn I shall have her maidenhead.

'
Then Sir John Cockle the king call'd unto him,
And of merry Sherwood made him o'er seer,
And gave him out of hand three hundred pound yearlye:
'Take heed now you steale no more of my deer;
And once a quarter let's here have your view;
And now, Sir John Cockle, I bid you adieu.

'

A Poem, By A Lady Of New England On Reading Mr. Erskine's Gosple Sonnets Read Poem

Erskine, thou blessed herald sound,
Till sin's black empire totter to the ground.

Well hast thou Sinai's awful flames display'd
And rebel's doom before their conscience laid:
From sin, from self, from trust in duty fly,
Commit thy naked soul to Christ, or die.

Go on and prosper in the name of God,
Seraphic preacher, through the thorny road;
The gracious Christ thy labours will reward:
His angel bands be thy perpetual guard;
Though hell's dark regions at the present hiss,
The God of glory thy strong refuge is.

Mere moral preachers have no power to charm
Thy lines are such my nobler passions warm;
These glorious truths have set my soul on fire,
And while I read, I'm love and pure desire.

May the black train of errors hatch'd in hell
No longer on this globe in quiet dwell;
May more like you be rais'd to show their shame,
And call them by their diabolic name.

Exalt the Lamb in lovely white and red,
Angels and saints his lasting honours spread;
My trembling soul shall bear her feeble part,
'Tis he hath charm'd my soul and won my heart,
Bless'd be the Father for electing love,
Bless'd be the Son who does my guilt remove,
Bless'd be the Dove who does his grace apply.

Oh! may I praising live, and praising die!

A Praise of his Lady Read Poem

GIVE place, you ladies, and begone!
Boast not yourselves at all!
For here at hand approacheth one
Whose face will stain you all.

The virtue of her lively looks
Excels the precious stone;
I wish to have none other books
To read or look upon.

In each of her two crystal eyes
Smileth a naked boy;
It would you all in heart suffice
To see that lamp of joy.

I think Nature hath lost the mould
Where she her shape did take;
Or else I doubt if Nature could
So fair a creature make.

She may be well compared
Unto the Phoenix kind,
Whose like was never seen or heard,
That any man can find.

In life she is Diana chaste,
In troth Penelopey;
In word and eke in deed steadfast.

--What will you more we say?

If all the world were sought so far,
Who could find such a wight?

Her beauty twinkleth like a star
Within the frosty night.

Her rosial colour comes and goes
With such a comely grace,
More ruddier, too, than doth the rose,
Within her lively face.

At Bacchus' feast none shall her meet,
Ne at no wanton play,
Nor gazing in an open street,
Nor gadding as a stray.

The modest mirth that she doth use
Is mix'd with shamefastness;
All vice she doth wholly refuse,
And hateth idleness.

O Lord! it is a world to see
How virtue can repair,
And deck in her such honesty,
Whom Nature made so fair.

Truly she doth so far exceed
Our women nowadays,
As doth the jeliflower a weed;
And more a thousand ways.

How might I do to get a graff
Of this unspotted tree?

--For all the rest are plain but chaff,
Which seem good corn to be.

This gift alone I shall her give;
When death doth what he can,
Her honest fame shall ever live
Within the mouth of man.

A Praise Of His Lady Read Poem

GIVE place, you ladies, and begone!
Boast not yourselves at all!
For here at hand approacheth one
Whose face will stain you all.

The virtue of her lively looks
Excels the precious stone;
I wish to have none other books
To read or look upon.

In each of her two crystal eyes
Smileth a naked boy;
It would you all in heart suffice
To see that lamp of joy.

I think Nature hath lost the mould
Where she her shape did take;
Or else I doubt if Nature could
So fair a creature make.

She may be well compared
Unto the Phoenix kind,
Whose like was never seen or heard,
That any man can find.

In life she is Diana chaste,
In troth Penelopey;
In word and eke in deed steadfast.

--What will you more we say?

If all the world were sought so far,
Who could find such a wight?

Her beauty twinkleth like a star
Within the frosty night.

Her rosial colour comes and goes
With such a comely grace,
More ruddier, too, than doth the rose,
Within her lively face.

At Bacchus' feast none shall her meet,
Ne at no wanton play,
Nor gazing in an open street,
Nor gadding as a stray.

The modest mirth that she doth use
Is mix'd with shamefastness;
All vice she doth wholly refuse,
And hateth idleness.

O Lord! it is a world to see
How virtue can repair,
And deck in her such honesty,
Whom Nature made so fair.

Truly she doth so far exceed
Our women nowadays,
As doth the jeliflower a weed;
And more a thousand ways.

How might I do to get a graff
Of this unspotted tree?

--For all the rest are plain but chaff,
Which seem good corn to be.

This gift alone I shall her give;
When death doth what he can,
Her honest fame shall ever live
Within the mouth of man.

A Robyn, Jolly Robyn Read Poem

A Robyn,
Jolly Robyn,
Tell me how thy leman doeth,
And thou shalt knowe of myn.

'My lady is unkynde, perde.

'
Alack! why is she so?

'She loveth an other better than me;
And yet she will say no.

'
I fynde no such doublenes;
I fynde women true;
My lady loveth me dowtles,
And will change for no newe.

'Thou art happy while that deeth last:
But I say, as I fynde,
That women's love is but a blast,
And torneth with the wynde.

'
Suche folkes can take no harme by love,
That can abide their torn.

'But I alas can no way prove
In love, but lake and morne.

'
But if thou wilt avoyde thy harme,
Lerne this lessen of me:
At others fieres thy selfe to warme,
And let them warme with the.

A Set of Bells cast in the time of Queen Anne, from St. Helen's Church, at Worcester Read Poem

1.

Blenheim.

First is my note, and Blenheim is my name;
For Blenheim's story will be first in fame.

2.

Barcelona.

Let me relate how Louis did bemoan
His grandson Philip's flight from Barcelon.

3.

Ramilies.

Deluged in blood, I, Ramilies, advance
Britannia's glory on the fall of France.

4.

Menin.

Let Menin on my sides engraven be;
And Flanders freed from Gallic slavery.

5.

Turin.

When in harmonious peal I roundly go,
Think on Turin, and triumphs on the Po.

6.

Eugene.

With joy I hear illustrious Eugene's name;
Fav'rite of fortune and the boast of fame.

7.

Marlborough.

But I for pride, the greater Marlborough bear;
Terror of tyrants, and the soul of war.

8.

Queen Anne.

The immortal praises of queen Anne I sound,
With union blest, and all these glories crowned.

Quoted from Hone's Year Book, 1838, 'St.

Helen's church, at Worcester, has a set of bells cast in the time of queen Anne, with names and insertions which record the victories gained in that reign, as follow: -- [above printed].

.

.

.

The inscriptions on these bells are dated 1706, except that on the seventh, which is dated 1712.

A Song Bewailing The Time Of Christmas, So Much Decayed In England Read Poem

Christmas is my name, for have I gone, have I gone, have I gone,
Have I gone without regard;
Whereas great men by flocks they be flown to Londonward
Where in pomp and pleasure do waste
That which Christmas had wont to feast,
Welladay!
Houses where music was wonted to ring,
Nothing but bats and owls now do sing.

Welladay, welladay, welladay, where should I stay?

Christmas bread and beef is turned into stones, into stones, into stones,
Into stones and silken rags.

And Lady Money, it doth sleep, it doth sleep, it doth sleep,
It doth sleep in misers' bags.

Where many gallants once abound,
Nought but a dog and shepherd is found,
Welladay!
Places where Christmas revels did keep
Are now become habitations for sheep.

Welladay, welladay, welladay, where should I stay?

Pan, the shepherds' god, doth deface, doth deface, doth deface,
Doth deface Lady Ceres' crown;
And tillages doth decay, doth decay, doth decay,
Doth decay in every town;
Landlords their rents so highly enhance
That Piers the ploughman barefoot doth dance,
Welladay!
Farmers that Christmas would entertain
Hath scarcely withal themselves to maintain.

Welladay, welladay, welladay, where should I stay?

Go to the Protestant, he'll protest, he'll protest, he'll protest,
He will protest and boldly boast;
And to the Puritan, he is so hot, he is so hot, he is so hot,
He is so hot he will burn the roast.

The Catholic good deeds will not scorn,
Nor will he see poor Christmas forlorn,
Welladay!
Since holiness no good deeds will do,
Protestants had best turn Papists too.

Welladay, welladay, welladay, where should I stay?

Pride and luxury doth devour, doth devour, doth devour,
Doth devour housekeeping quite,
And beggary doth beget, doth beget, doth beget,
Doth beget in many a knight.

Madam, forsooth, in coach must she reel
Although she wear her hose out at heel,
Welladay!
And on her back were that for her weed
That would both me and many other feed,
Welladay, welladay, welladay, where should I stay?

Briefly for to end, here I find, here I find, here I find,
Here I find such great vacation
That some great houses do seem to have, seem to have, seem to have,
For to have some great purgation:
With purging pills such effects they have showed
That out of doors their owners they have spewed.

Welladay!
And when Christmas goes by and calls,
Nothing but solitude and naked walls.

Welladay, welladay, welladay, where should I stay?

Philomel's cottages are turned into gold, into gold,
Into gold for harboring Joan;
And great men's houses up for to hold, up for to hold,
Up for to hold, make great men moan;
But in the city they say they do live
Where gold by handfuls away they do give,
Welladay!
And, therefore, thither I purpose to pass,
Hoping at London to find the Golden Ass.

I'll away, I'll away, I'll away, I'll no longer stay.

A Story of Today Read Poem

An open drawer, a woman lowly kneeling,
Some little crimson shoes, a lock of hair,
Some childish toys, an engine and a trumpet,
A headless horse, a battered Teddy bear.

Some school-boy books all inky, torn and thumb-marked,
A treasured bat, his favourite cricket ball,
The things he loved, the letters that he wrote to her –
And now she places on top of all
A soldier's sword, his photograph, in khaki –
The boyish eyes smile back into her eyes,
While in her hand she holds a V.

C.

tightly.

And in her heart a grave in Flanders lies.

A Westminster Wedding, Or The Town Mouth; Alias, The Recorder Of London And His Lady: Feb. 17, 1679 Read Poem

'Tis said when George did dragon slay,
He saved a maid from cruel fray:
But this Sir George, whom knaves do brag on,
Mist of the maid, and caught the dragon;
Since which, the furious beast so fell,
Stares, roars, and yawns like mouth of hell:
He raves and tears, his bad condition
Distracts his mind, as late petition.

Peace man, or beast (or both) to please ye,
A parliament will surely ease ye.

Marriage and hanging both do go
By destiny; Sir George, if so,
You stand as fairly both to have,
As ever yet did fool or knave:
The first your wife hath help'd ye to;
The other as a rogue's your due:
No other way is left to tame ye;
And if you have it not, then blame me.

But ere it comes, and things are fitting,
Judge of his merit by his getting:
He's got a ven'mous heart, and tongue
With vipers, snakes, and adders hung,
By which, in court he plays the fury,
Hectors complainant, law, and jury:
His imprudence hath all laws broken,
(To the judges honour be it spoken,)
For which he got a name that stinks
Worse than the common jakes or sinks:
But to allay the scent so hot,
George from the court has knighthood got
Bestow'd upon him for his bawling,—
A royal mark for caterwauling:
But certain, George must never boast on't,
'Cause traitors, cheats, and pimps have most on't.

Now rogue enough he got in favour,
To bind good men to worse behaviour,
And bark aloud they will deceive ye,
In that he matches tribe of Levi;
Who now with Pope bear all before 'em,
Priests made just-asses of the quorum.

Faith make 'em judges too, most fine-o,
And then they'll preach it all Divino.

There's somewhat more that George has got,
(For Trevor left him, who knows what)
A teeming lady-wife * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
But one thing more I can't let pass,
When George with Clodpate feasted last,
(I must say Clodpate was a sinner,
To jerk his brother so at dinner,)
He by his almanack did discover,
His wife scarce thirty weeks went over,
Ere she (poor thing!) in pieces fell,
Which made Mouth stare and bawl like hell.

What then, you fool! some wives miscarry,
And reckon June for January.

This Clodpate did assert as true,
Which he by old experience knew,
But all his canting would not do.

George put him to t'upon denial,
Which set him hard as Wakeman's trial:
They rail'd, and bawl'd, and kept a pother,
And like two curs did bite each other.

Which brought some sport, but no repentance;
So off they went to Harris sentence,
Which soon they pass'd against all laws,
To glut their rage and popish cause:
For which injustice, knaves! we hope
You'll end together in the rope:
And when the gallows shall you swallow,
We'll throw up caps, and once more holloa,
If this we wish from private grudge,
Or as their merit, England's judge:
Who seek the nation to enthrall
Are treacherous slaves and villains all.

And when confusion such does follow,
We'll throw up caps, and once more holloa,
That's their exit,
Tho' they rex-it,
We shall grex-it.

The Town Mouth: Sir George Jeffreys, at this time Recorder of the City of London, he called himself the "mouth-piece of the city.

"
Trevor: Sir John Trevor, said to be Jeffreys wife's gallant in the time of her widowhood previous to her marrying Jeffreys.

She was brought to bed much too quickly after their marriage.

Scroggs: Lord chief justice of the King's Bench.

Harris: Benjamin Harris, the bookseller.

Adam Bell, Clym of the Clough, and William of Cloudesly Read Poem

Part the First
Mery it was in the grene forest
Amonge the leves grene,
Wheras men hunt east and west,
Wyth bowes and arrowes kene,
To ryse the dere out of theyr denne,
Suche sightes hath ofte bene sene,
As by thre yemen of the north countrey,
By them it is I meane.

The one of them hight Adam Bel,
The other Clym of the Clough,
The thyrd was William of Cloudesly,
An archer good ynough.

They were outlawed for venyson,
These yemen everychone;
They swore them brethren upon a day,
To Englyshe-wood for to gone.

Now lith and lysten, gentylmen,
That of myrthes loveth to here:
Two of them were single men,
The third had a wedded fere.

Wyllyam was the wedded man,
Muche more then was hys care:
He sayde to hys brethren upon a day,
To Carleile he would fare,
For to speke with fayre Alyce his wife,
And with hys chyldren thre.

"By my trouth," sayde Adam Bel,
"Not by the counsell of me.

"For if ye go to Carleile, brother,
And from thys wylde wode wende,
If the justice may you take,
Your lyfe were at an ende.

"
"If that I come not to-morrowe, brother,
By pryme to you agayne,
Truste you then that I am 'taken,'
Or else that I am slayne.

"
He toke hys leave of hys brethren two,
And to Carleile he is gon;
There he knocked at hys owne windowe,
Shortlye and anone.

"Wher be you, fayre Alyce," he sayd,
"My wife and chyldren thre?

Lyghtly let in thyne owne husbande,
Wyllyam of Cloudesle.

"
"Alas!" then sayde fayre Alyce,
And syghed wonderous sore,
"Thys place hath been besette for you,
Thys halfe yere and more.

"
"Now am I here," sayde Cloudesle,
"I would that in I were:
Now fetche us meate and drynke ynoughe,
And lets make good chere.

"
She fetched hym meate and drynke plentye,
Lyke a true wedded wyfe,
And pleased hym wyth that she had,
Whome she loved as her lyfe.

There lay an old wyfe in that place,
A lytle besyde the fyre,
Whych Wyllyam had found, of charytye,
More than seven yere.

Up she rose and forth she goes,
Evill mote she speede therfore,
For she had sett no fote on ground
In seven yere before.

She went unto the justice-hall,
As fast as she could hye:
"Thys night," shee sayd, "is come to town
Wyllyam of Cloudesle.

"
Thereof the justice was full fayne,
And so was the shirife also;
"Thou shalt not trauaile hether, dame, for nought,
Thy meed thou shalt have ore thou go.

"
They gave to her a ryght good goune
Of scarlate, 'and of graine:'
She toke the gyft and home she wente,
And couched her doune agayne.

They rysed the towne of mery Carleile
In all the haste they can,
And came thronging to Wyllyames house,
As fast as they might gone.

There they besette that good yeman,
Round about on every syde,
Wyllyam hearde great noyse of folkes,
That thither-ward fast hyed.

Alyce opened a back-wyndow,
And loked all aboute,
She was ware of the justice and shirife bothe,
Wyth a full great route.

"Alas! treason," cryed Alyce,
"Ever wo may thou be!
Goe into my chamber, husband," she sayd,
"Swete Wyllyam of Cloudesle.

"
He toke hys sweard and hys bucler,
Hys bow and hys chyldren thre,
And wente into hys strongest chamber,
Where he thought the surest to be.

Fayre Alyce, like a lover true,
Took a pollaxe in her hande:
Said, "He shal dye that cometh in
Thys dore, whyle I may stand.

"
Cloudesle bente a right good bowe,
That was of a trusty tre,
He smot the justise on the brest,
That hys arowe brest in thre.

"'A' curse on his harte," saide William,
"Thys day thy cote dyd on;
If it had ben no better then meyne,
It had gone nere thy bone.

"
"Yelde the, Cloudesle," sayd the justise,
"And thy bowe and thy arrowes the fro.

"
"'A' curse on hys hart," sayd fair Alyce,
"That my husband councelleth so.

"
"Set fyre on the house," saide the sherife,
"Syth it wyll no better be,
And brenne we therin William," he saide,
"Hys wyfe and chyldren thre.

"
They fyred the house in many a place,
The fyre flew up on hye;
"Alas!" then cryed fayre Alice,
"I se we here shall dy.

"
William openyd a backe wyndow,
That was in hys chamber hye,
And there with sheetes he did let downe
His wyfe and chyldren thre.

"Have here my treasure," sayde William,
"My wyfe and my chyldren thre,
For Christes love do them no harme,
But wreke you all on me.

"
Wyllyam shot so wondrous well,
Tyll hys arrowes were all agoe,
And the fyre so fast upon hym fell,
That hys bowstryng brent in two.

The sparkles brent and fell upon
Good Wyllyam of Cloudesle;
Than was he a wofull man, and sayde,
"This is a cowardes death to me.

"Lever had I," sayde Wyllyam,
"With my sworde in the route to renne,
Then here among myne enemyes wode,
Thus cruelly to bren.

"
He toke hys sweard and hys buckler,
And among them all he ran;
Where the people were most in prece,
He smot downe many a man.

There myght no man abyde hys stroke,
So fersly on them he ran;
Then they threw wyndowes and dores on him,
And so toke that good yeman.

There they hym bounde both hand and fote,
And in depe dungeon hym cast;
"Now Cloudesle," sayd the justice,
"Thou shalt be hanged in hast.

"
"'A payre of new gallowes,'" sayd the sherife,
"'Now shal I for the make;'
And the gates of Carleil shal be shutte:
No man shal come in therat.

"Then shall not helpe Clym of the Cloughe,
Nor yet shall Adam Bell,
Though they came with a thousand mo,
Nor all the devels in hell.

"
Early in the mornynge the justice uprose,
To the gates first gan he gon,
And commaunded to be shut full close
Lightile everychone.

Then went he to the market place,
As fast as he coulde hye;
A payre of new gallowes there he set up
Besyde the pyllorye.

A lytle boy 'amonge them asked,'
"What meaneth that gallow-tre?

"
They sayde "to hange a good yeman,
Called Wyllyam of Cloudesle.

"
That lytle boye was the towne swyne-heard,
And kept fayre Alyces swyne;
Oft he had seene William in the wodde,
And geuen hym there to dyne.

He went out att a crevis in the wall,
And lightly to the woode dyd gone;
There met he with these wightye yemen
Shortly and anone.

"Alas!" then sayde that lytle boye,
"Ye tary here all to longe;
Cloudesle is taken and dampned to death,
All readye for to honge.

"
"Alas!" then sayd good Adam Bell,
"That ever we see thys daye!
He had better with us have taryed,
So ofte as we dyd hym praye.

"He myght have dwelt in grene foreste,
Under the shadowes grene,
And have kepte both hym and us in reste,
Out of trouble and teene.

"
Adam bent a ryght good bow,
A great hart sone hee had slayne;
"Take that, chylde," he sayed, "to thy dynner,
And bryng me myne arrowe agayne.

"
"Now go we hence," sayd these wightye yeomen,
"Tary we no lenger here;
We shall hym borowe, by God his grace,
Though we bye it full dere.

"
To Caereil wente these good yemen,
All in a mornyng of Maye.

Here is a Fyt of Cloudeslye,
And another is for to saye.

Part the Second
And when they came to mery Carleile,
All in 'the' mornynge tyde,
They founde the gates shut them untyll
About on every syde.

"Alas!" then sayd good Adam Bell,
"That ever we were made men!
These gates be shut so wonderous fast,
We may not come therein.

"
Then bespake him Clym of the Clough,
"Wyth a wyle we wyl us in bryng;
Let us saye we be messengers,
Streyght come nowe from our king.

"
Adam said, "I have a letter written,
Now let us wysely werke,
We wyl saye we have the kynges seale;
I holde the porter no clerke.

"
Then Adam Bell bete on the gate,
With strokes great and stronge;
The porter marveiled who was therat,
And to the gate he throng.

"Who is there nowe," sayd the porter
"That maketh all thys knockinge?

"
"We be tow messengers," quoth Clim of the Clough,
"Be come ryght from our kyng.

"
"We have a letter," sayd Adam Bel,
"To the justice we must it bryng;
Let us in, our message to do,
That we were agayne to the kyng.

"
"Here commeth none in," sayd the porter,
"By Hym that dyed on a tre,
Tyll a false thefe be hanged up,
Called Wyllyam of Cloudesle.

"
Then spake the good yeman Clym of the Clough,
And swore by Mary fre,
"And if that we stande long wythout,
Lyke a thefe hanged thou shalt be.

"Lo! here we have the kynges seale;
What, lurden, art thou wode?

"
The porter went it had ben so,
And lyghtly dyd off hys hode.

"Welcome be my lordes seale," he saide;
"For that ye shall come in.

"
He opened the gate full shortlye,
And euyl openyng for him.

"Now are we in," sayde Adam Bell,
"Whereof we are full faine,
But Christ he knowes, that harowed hell,
How we shall com out agayne.

"
"Had we the keys," said Clim of the Clough,
"Ryght wel then shoulde we spede;
Then might we come out wel ynough
When we se tyme and nede.

"
They called the porter to counsell,
And wrange hys necke in two,
And caste hym in a depe dongeon,
And toke hys keys hym fro.

"Now am I porter," sayd Adam Bel,
"Se, brother, the keys are here;
The worst porter to merry Carleile,
That ye had thys hundred yere.

"And now wyll we our bowes bend,
Into the towne wyll we go,
For to delyuer our dere brother,
That lyeth in care and wo.

"
Then they bent theyr good ewe bowes,
And loked theyr stringes were round;
The markett place in mery Carleile
They beset in that stound.

And as they loked them besyde,
A paire of new galowes 'they' see,
And the justice with a quest of squyers,
Had judged William hanged to be.

And Cloudesle lay redy there in a carte,
Fast bound both fote and hande,
And a stronge rop about hys necke,
All readye for to hange.

The justice called to him a ladde,
Cloudesles clothes hee shold have,
To take the measure of that yeman,
Thereafter to make hys grave.

"I have sene as great mervaile," saild Cloudesle,
"As betweyne thys and pryme,
He that maketh a grave for me,
Hymselfe may lye therin.

"
"Thou speakest proudlye," said the justice,
"I shall the hange with my hande.

"
Full wel herd this his brethren two,
There styll as they dyd stande.

Then Cloudesle cast hys eyen asyde,
And saw hys 'brethren twaine'
At a corner of the market place,
Redy the justice for to slaine.

"I se comfort," sayd Cloudesle,
"Yet hope I well to fare;
If I might have my handes at wyll,
Ryght lytle wolde  Icare.

"
Then spake good Adam Bell
To Clym of the Clough so free,
"Brother, se ye marke the justyce wel,
Lo yonder you may him se.

"And at the shyrife shote I wyll,
Stronglyt wyth an arrowe kene;
A better shote in mery Carleile
Thys seven yere was not sene.

"
They loosed their arrowes both at once,
Of no man had they dread;
The one hyt the justice, the other sheryfe,
That both theyr sides gan blede.

All men voyded, that them stode nye,
When the justice fell to the grounde,
And the sherife nye hym by,
Eyther had his deathes wounde.

All the citizens fast gan flye,
They durst no longer abyde;
There lyghtly they loosed Cloudeslee,
Where he with ropes lay tyde.

Wyllyam start to an officer of the towne,
Hys axe out of hys hande he wronge,
On eche syde he smote them downe,
Hee thought he taryed to long.

Wyllyam sayde to hys brethren two,
"Thys daye let us lyve and de;
If ever you have nede as I have now,
The same shall you finde by me.

"
They shot so well in that tyde,
For theyr stringes were of silke ful sure,
That they kept the stretes on every side:
That batayle did long endure.

The fought together as brethren tru,
Lyke hardy men and bolde;
Many a man to the ground they thrue,
And many a herte made colde.

But when their arrowes were all gon,
Men preced to them full fast;
They draw theyr swordes then anone,
And theyr bowes from them they cast.

They went lyghtlye on theyr way,
Wyth swordes and buclers round;
By that it was myd of the day,
They made many a wound.

There was many an out-horne in Carleil blowen,
And the belles bacward dyd ryng;
Many a woman sayde alas!
And many theyr handes dyd wryng.

The mayre of Carleile forth was com,
Wyth hym a ful great route;
These yemen dred hym full sore,
Of theyr lyves they stode in great doute.

The mayre came armed a full great pace,
With a pollaxe in hys hande;
Many a strong man wyth him was,
There in that stowre to stande.

The mayre smot at Cloudesle with his bil,
Hys bucler he brast in two;
Full many a yeman with great evyll,
"Alas! treason" they cryed for wo.

"Kepe we the gates fast," they bad,
"That these traytours thereout not go.

"
But al for nought was that they wrought,
For so fast they downe were layde,
Tyll they all thre, that so manfulli fought,
Were gotten without at a braide.

"Have here your keyes," sayd Adam Bel,
"Myne office I here forsake;
If you do by my counsell,
A new porter do ye make.

"
He threw theyr keys at theyr heads,
And bad them evell to thryve;
And all that letteth any good yeman
To come and comfort his wyfe.

Thus be these good yemen gon to the wod,
And lyghtly as lefe on lynde;
The lough and be mery in theyr mode,
Theyr enemyes were ferr behynd.

And when they came to Englyshe-wode,
Under the trusty tre,
There they found bowes full good,
And arrowes full great plentye.

"So God me help," sayd Adam Bell
And Clym of the Clough so fre,
"I would we were in mery Carleile,
Before that fayre meynye.

"
They set them downe and made good chere,
And eate and dranke full well:
A second Fyt of the wightye yeomen:
Another I wyll you tell.

Part the Third.

As they sat in Englyshe-wood,
Under the green-wode tre,
They thought they herd a woman wepe,
But her they mought not se.

Sore then syghed the fayre Alyce:
"That ever I sawe thys day!
For nowe is my dere husband slayne,
Alas! and wel-a-way!
"Myght I have spoken wyth hys dere brethren,
Or with eyther of them twayne,
To shew to them what him befell,
My heart were out of payne.

"
Cloudesle walked a lytle beside,
He looked under the grene wood linde,
He was ware of his wyfe, and chyldren thre,
Full wo in harte and mynde.

"Welcome, wyfe," then sayde Wyllyam,
"Under 'this' trusti tre;
I had wende yesterdaye, by swete Saynt John,
Thou sholdest me never 'have' se.

"
"Now well is me that ye be here,
My harte is out of wo.

"
"Dame," he sayde, "be mery and glad,
And thanke my brethren two.

"
"Herof to speake," said Adam Bell,
"I-wis it is no bote;
The meate, that we must supp withall,
It runneth yet fast on fote.

"
Then went they downe into a launde,
These noble archares all thre,
Eche of them slew a hart of greece,
The best that they cold se.

"Have here the best, Alyce, my wyfe,"
Sayd Wyllyam of Cloudesle;
"By cause ye so bouldly stode by me,
When I was slayne full nye.

"
Then went they to suppere,
Wyth suche meate as they had,
And thanked God of ther fortune;
They were both mery and glad.

And when they had supped well,
Certayne wythouten lease,
Cloudesle sayd, "We wyll to our kyng,
To get us a charter of peace.

"Alyce shal be at sojournyng
In a nunnery here besyde;
My tow sonnes shall wyth her go,
And ther they shall abyde.

"Myne eldest son shall go wyth me,
For hym have 'you' no care,
And he shall breng you worde agayn,
How that we do fare.

"
Thus be these yemen to London gone,
As fast as they myght 'he',
Tyll they came to the kynges palace,
Where they woulde nedes be.

And whan they came to the kynges courte,
Unto the pallace gate,
Of no man wold they aske no leave,
But boldly went in therat.

They preced prestly into the hall,
Of no man had they dreade;
The porter came after and dyd them call,
And with them gan to chyde.

The usher sayde, "Yemen, what wold ye have?

I pray you tell to me;
You myght thus make offycers shent:
Good Syrs, of whence be ye?

"
"Syr, we be out-lawes of the forest,
Certayne withouten lease,
And hether we be come to our kyng,
To get us a charter of peace.

"
And when they came before the kyng,
As it was the lawe of lande
The kneled downe without lettyng,
And eche held up his hand.

The sayed, "Lorde, we beseche the here,
That ye wyll graunt us grace,
For we have slayne your fate falow dere
In many a sondry place.

"
"What be your nams?

" then said our king,
"Anone that you tell me:"
They sayd, "Adam Bell, Clim of the Clough,
And Wyllyam of Cloudesle.

"
"Be ye those theves," then sayd our kyng,
"That men have tolde of to me?

Here to God I make an avowe,
Ye shal be hanged al thre.

"Ye shal be dead without mercy,
As I am kynge of this lande.

"
He commanded his officers everichone
Fast on them to lay hande.

There they toke these good yemen,
And arested them al thre:
"So may I thryve," sayd Adam Bell,
"Thys game lyketh not me.

"But, good Lorde, we beseche you now,
That yee graunt us grace.

Insomuche as we do to you come,
Or els that we may fro you passe,
"With such weapons as we have here,
Tyll we be out of your place;
And yf we lyve this hundreth yere,
We wyll aske you no grace.

"
"Ye speake proudly," sayd the kynge,
"Ye shall be hanged all thre.

"
"That were great pitye," then sayd the quene,
"If any grace myght be.

"My Lorde, whan I came fyrst into this lande,
To be your wedded wyfe,
The fyrst boone that I wold aske,
Ye would graunt it me belyfe;
"And I never asked none tyll now,
Therefore, good Lorde, graunt it me.

"
"Now aske it, madam," sayd the kynge,
"And graunted it shal be.

"
"Then, good my Lord, I you beseche,
These yemen graunt ye me.

"
"Madame, ye might have asked a boone
That shuld have been worth them all thre.

"Ye myght have asked towres and townes,
Parkes and forestes plente.

"
"None soe pleasant to my pay," shee sayd;
"Nor none so lefe to me.

"
"Madame, sith it is your desyre,
Your askyng graunted shal be;
But I had lever have given you
Good market townes thre.

"
The quene was a glad woman,
And sayde, "Lord, gramarcy;
I dare undertake for them,
That true men shal they be.

"But, good my Lord, speke som mery word,
That comfort they may se.

"
"I graunt you grace," then sayd our king,
"Washe, felos, and to meate go ye.

"
They had not setten but a whyle,
Certayne without lesynge,
There came messengers out of the north,
With letters to our kynge.

And whan the came before the kynge,
They knelt downe on theyr kne,
And sayd, "Lord, your officers grete you well,
Of Carleile in the north cuntre.

"
"How fareth my justice," sayd the kyng,
"And my sherife also?

"
"Syr, they be slayne, without leasynge,
And many an officer mo.

"
"Who hath them slayne?

" sayd the kyng;
"Anone thou tell to me:"
"Adam Bell, and Clime of the Clough,
And Wyllyam of Cloudesle.

"
"Alas for rewth!" then sayd our kynge,
"My hart is wonderous sore;
I had lever than a thousande pounde,
I had knowne of thys before.

"For I have graunted them grace,
And that forthynketh me,
But had I knowne all thys before,
They had been hanged all thre.

"
The kyng hee opened the letter anone,
Hymselfe he red it thro,
And founde how these outlawes had slain
Thre hundred men and mo.

Fyrst the justice and the sheryfe,
And the mayre of Carleile towne;
Of all the constables and catchipolles
Alyve were 'scant' left one.

The baylyes and the bedyls both,
And the sergeauntes of the law,
And forty fosters of the fe,
These outlawes had yslaw,
And broke his parks, and slayne his dere;
Of all they chose the best;
So perelous out-lawes as they were,
Walked not by easte nor west.

When the kynge this letter had red,
In hys harte he syghed sore;
"Take up the tables, anone," he bad,
"For I may eat no more.

"
The kyng called hys best archars,
To the buttes wyth hym to go;
"I wyll se these felowes shote," he sayd,
"In the north have wrought this wo.

"
The kynges bowmen buske them blyve,
And the quenes archers also,
So dyd these thre wyghtye yemen,
With them they thought to go.

There twyse or thryse they shote about,
For to assay theyr hande;
There was no shote these yemen shot,
That any prycke myght stand.

Then spake Wyllyam of Cloudesle,
"By Him that for me dyed,
I hold hym never no good archar,
That shoteth at buttes so wyde.

"
"At what a butte now wold ye shote,
I pray thee tell to me?

"
"At suche a but, Syr," he sayd,
"As men use in my countre.

"
Wyllyam wente into a fyeld,
And 'with him' his two brethren:
There they set up two hasell roddes,
Full twenty score betwene.

"I hold him an archar," said Cloudesle,
"That yonder wande cleveth in two;"
"Here is none suche," sayd the kyng,
"Nor none that can so do.

"
"I shall assaye, Syr," sayd Cloudesle,
"Or that I farther go.

"
Cloudesly, with a bearyng arowe,
Clave the wand in two.

"Thou art the best archer," then said the king,
"For sothe that ever I se.

"
"And yet for your love," sayd Wyllyam,
"I wyll do more maystery.

"
"I have a sonne is seven yere olde,
He is to me full deare;
I wyll hym tye to stake,
All shall se that be here,
"And lay an apple upon hys head,
And go syxe score hym fro,
And I my selfe, with a brode arrow,
Shall cleve the apple in two.

"
"Now haste the," then sayd the kyng,
"By Hym that dyed on a tre;
By yf thou do not as thou hest sayde,
Hanged shalt thou be.

"And thou touche his head or gowne,
In syght that men may se,
By all the sayntes that be in heaven,
I shall hange you all thre.

"
"That I have promised," said William,
"That I wyll never forsake:"
And there even before the kynge,
In the earth he drove a stake,
And bound thereto his eldest sonne,
And bad hym stand styll therat,
And turned the childes face him fro,
Because he should not start.

An apple upon his head he set,
And then his bowe he bent;
Syxe score paces they were meaten,
And thether Cloudesle went.

There he drew out a fayr brode arrowe,
Hys bowe was great and longe,
He set that arrowe in his bowe,
That was both styffe and stronge.

He prayed the people, that wer there,
That they would still stand,
"For he that shoteth for such a wager,
Behoveth a stedfast hand.

"
Muche people prayed for Cloudesle,
That hys lyfe saved myght be,
And whan he made hym redy to shote,
There was many weeping ee.

'But' Cloudesle clefte the apple in two,
As many a man myght se.

"Over Gods forbode," sayde the kinge,
"That thou shold shote at me.

"I geve thee eightene pence a day,
And my bowe shalt thou bere,
And over all the north countre,
I make thee chyfe rydere.

"
"And I thyrtene pence a day," said the quene,
"By God and by my fay;
Come feche thy payment when thou wylt,
No man shall say the nay.

"
"Wyllyam, I make the a gentleman,
Of clthyng and of fe,
And thy two brethren, yemen of my chambre,
For they are so semely to se.

"Your sonne, for he is tendre of age,
Of my wyne-seller he shall be,
And when he commeth to mans estate,
Better avaunced shall he be.

"
"And, Wyllyam, bring to me your wife," said the quene.

"Me longeth her sore to se;
She shall be my chefe gentlewoman,
To governe my nurserye.

"
The yemen thanked them full curteously,
"To some byshop wyl we wend,
Of all the synnes that we have done
To be assoyld at his hand.

"
So forth be gone these good yemen,
As fast as they might 'he;'
And after came and dwelled with the kynge,
And dyed good men all thre.

Thus endeth the lives of these good yemen,
God send them eternall blysse,
And all that with a hand-bowe shoteth,
That of heven they may never mysse.

Amen.

Adam Bell, Clym Of The Clough, And William Of Cloudesly Read Poem

Part the First
Mery it was in the grene forest
Amonge the leves grene,
Wheras men hunt east and west,
Wyth bowes and arrowes kene,
To ryse the dere out of theyr denne,
Suche sightes hath ofte bene sene,
As by thre yemen of the north countrey,
By them it is I meane.

The one of them hight Adam Bel,
The other Clym of the Clough,
The thyrd was William of Cloudesly,
An archer good ynough.

They were outlawed for venyson,
These yemen everychone;
They swore them brethren upon a day,
To Englyshe-wood for to gone.

Now lith and lysten, gentylmen,
That of myrthes loveth to here:
Two of them were single men,
The third had a wedded fere.

Wyllyam was the wedded man,
Muche more then was hys care:
He sayde to hys brethren upon a day,
To Carleile he would fare,
For to speke with fayre Alyce his wife,
And with hys chyldren thre.

'By my trouth,' sayde Adam Bel,
'Not by the counsell of me.

'For if ye go to Carleile, brother,
And from thys wylde wode wende,
If the justice may you take,
Your lyfe were at an ende.

'
'If that I come not to-morrowe, brother,
By pryme to you agayne,
Truste you then that I am 'taken,'
Or else that I am slayne.

'
He toke hys leave of hys brethren two,
And to Carleile he is gon;
There he knocked at hys owne windowe,
Shortlye and anone.

'Wher be you, fayre Alyce,' he sayd,
'My wife and chyldren thre?

Lyghtly let in thyne owne husbande,
Wyllyam of Cloudesle.

'
'Alas!' then sayde fayre Alyce,
And syghed wonderous sore,
'Thys place hath been besette for you,
Thys halfe yere and more.

'
'Now am I here,' sayde Cloudesle,
'I would that in I were:
Now fetche us meate and drynke ynoughe,
And lets make good chere.

'
She fetched hym meate and drynke plentye,
Lyke a true wedded wyfe,
And pleased hym wyth that she had,
Whome she loved as her lyfe.

There lay an old wyfe in that place,
A lytle besyde the fyre,
Whych Wyllyam had found, of charytye,
More than seven yere.

Up she rose and forth she goes,
Evill mote she speede therfore,
For she had sett no fote on ground
In seven yere before.

She went unto the justice-hall,
As fast as she could hye:
'Thys night,' shee sayd, 'is come to town
Wyllyam of Cloudesle.

'
Thereof the justice was full fayne,
And so was the shirife also;
'Thou shalt not trauaile hether, dame, for nought,
Thy meed thou shalt have ore thou go.

'
They gave to her a ryght good goune
Of scarlate, 'and of graine:'
She toke the gyft and home she wente,
And couched her doune agayne.

They rysed the towne of mery Carleile
In all the haste they can,
And came thronging to Wyllyames house,
As fast as they might gone.

There they besette that good yeman,
Round about on every syde,
Wyllyam hearde great noyse of folkes,
That thither-ward fast hyed.

Alyce opened a back-wyndow,
And loked all aboute,
She was ware of the justice and shirife bothe,
Wyth a full great route.

'Alas! treason,' cryed Alyce,
'Ever wo may thou be!
Goe into my chamber, husband,' she sayd,
'Swete Wyllyam of Cloudesle.

'
He toke hys sweard and hys bucler,
Hys bow and hys chyldren thre,
And wente into hys strongest chamber,
Where he thought the surest to be.

Fayre Alyce, like a lover true,
Took a pollaxe in her hande:
Said, 'He shal dye that cometh in
Thys dore, whyle I may stand.

'
Cloudesle bente a right good bowe,
That was of a trusty tre,
He smot the justise on the brest,
That hys arowe brest in thre.

''A' curse on his harte,' saide William,
'Thys day thy cote dyd on;
If it had ben no better then meyne,
It had gone nere thy bone.

'
'Yelde the, Cloudesle,' sayd the justise,
'And thy bowe and thy arrowes the fro.

'
''A' curse on hys hart,' sayd fair Alyce,
'That my husband councelleth so.

'
'Set fyre on the house,' saide the sherife,
'Syth it wyll no better be,
And brenne we therin William,' he saide,
'Hys wyfe and chyldren thre.

'
They fyred the house in many a place,
The fyre flew up on hye;
'Alas!' then cryed fayre Alice,
'I se we here shall dy.

'
William openyd a backe wyndow,
That was in hys chamber hye,
And there with sheetes he did let downe
His wyfe and chyldren thre.

'Have here my treasure,' sayde William,
'My wyfe and my chyldren thre,
For Christes love do them no harme,
But wreke you all on me.

'
Wyllyam shot so wondrous well,
Tyll hys arrowes were all agoe,
And the fyre so fast upon hym fell,
That hys bowstryng brent in two.

The sparkles brent and fell upon
Good Wyllyam of Cloudesle;
Than was he a wofull man, and sayde,
'This is a cowardes death to me.

'Lever had I,' sayde Wyllyam,
'With my sworde in the route to renne,
Then here among myne enemyes wode,
Thus cruelly to bren.

'
He toke hys sweard and hys buckler,
And among them all he ran;
Where the people were most in prece,
He smot downe many a man.

There myght no man abyde hys stroke,
So fersly on them he ran;
Then they threw wyndowes and dores on him,
And so toke that good yeman.

There they hym bounde both hand and fote,
And in depe dungeon hym cast;
'Now Cloudesle,' sayd the justice,
'Thou shalt be hanged in hast.

'
''A payre of new gallowes,'' sayd the sherife,
''Now shal I for the make;'
And the gates of Carleil shal be shutte:
No man shal come in therat.

'Then shall not helpe Clym of the Cloughe,
Nor yet shall Adam Bell,
Though they came with a thousand mo,
Nor all the devels in hell.

'
Early in the mornynge the justice uprose,
To the gates first gan he gon,
And commaunded to be shut full close
Lightile everychone.

Then went he to the market place,
As fast as he coulde hye;
A payre of new gallowes there he set up
Besyde the pyllorye.

A lytle boy 'amonge them asked,'
'What meaneth that gallow-tre?

'
They sayde 'to hange a good yeman,
Called Wyllyam of Cloudesle.

'
That lytle boye was the towne swyne-heard,
And kept fayre Alyces swyne;
Oft he had seene William in the wodde,
And geuen hym there to dyne.

He went out att a crevis in the wall,
And lightly to the woode dyd gone;
There met he with these wightye yemen
Shortly and anone.

'Alas!' then sayde that lytle boye,
'Ye tary here all to longe;
Cloudesle is taken and dampned to death,
All readye for to honge.

'
'Alas!' then sayd good Adam Bell,
'That ever we see thys daye!
He had better with us have taryed,
So ofte as we dyd hym praye.

'He myght have dwelt in grene foreste,
Under the shadowes grene,
And have kepte both hym and us in reste,
Out of trouble and teene.

'
Adam bent a ryght good bow,
A great hart sone hee had slayne;
'Take that, chylde,' he sayed, 'to thy dynner,
And bryng me myne arrowe agayne.

'
'Now go we hence,' sayd these wightye yeomen,
'Tary we no lenger here;
We shall hym borowe, by God his grace,
Though we bye it full dere.

'
To Caereil wente these good yemen,
All in a mornyng of Maye.

Here is a Fyt of Cloudeslye,
And another is for to saye.

Part the Second
And when they came to mery Carleile,
All in 'the' mornynge tyde,
They founde the gates shut them untyll
About on every syde.

'Alas!' then sayd good Adam Bell,
'That ever we were made men!
These gates be shut so wonderous fast,
We may not come therein.

'
Then bespake him Clym of the Clough,
'Wyth a wyle we wyl us in bryng;
Let us saye we be messengers,
Streyght come nowe from our king.

'
Adam said, 'I have a letter written,
Now let us wysely werke,
We wyl saye we have the kynges seale;
I holde the porter no clerke.

'
Then Adam Bell bete on the gate,
With strokes great and stronge;
The porter marveiled who was therat,
And to the gate he throng.

'Who is there nowe,' sayd the porter
'That maketh all thys knockinge?

'
'We be tow messengers,' quoth Clim of the Clough,
'Be come ryght from our kyng.

'
'We have a letter,' sayd Adam Bel,
'To the justice we must it bryng;
Let us in, our message to do,
That we were agayne to the kyng.

'
'Here commeth none in,' sayd the porter,
'By Hym that dyed on a tre,
Tyll a false thefe be hanged up,
Called Wyllyam of Cloudesle.

'
Then spake the good yeman Clym of the Clough,
And swore by Mary fre,
'And if that we stande long wythout,
Lyke a thefe hanged thou shalt be.

'Lo! here we have the kynges seale;
What, lurden, art thou wode?

'
The porter went it had ben so,
And lyghtly dyd off hys hode.

'Welcome be my lordes seale,' he saide;
'For that ye shall come in.

'
He opened the gate full shortlye,
And euyl openyng for him.

'Now are we in,' sayde Adam Bell,
'Whereof we are full faine,
But Christ he knowes, that harowed hell,
How we shall com out agayne.

'
'Had we the keys,' said Clim of the Clough,
'Ryght wel then shoulde we spede;
Then might we come out wel ynough
When we se tyme and nede.

'
They called the porter to counsell,
And wrange hys necke in two,
And caste hym in a depe dongeon,
And toke hys keys hym fro.

'Now am I porter,' sayd Adam Bel,
'Se, brother, the keys are here;
The worst porter to merry Carleile,
That ye had thys hundred yere.

'And now wyll we our bowes bend,
Into the towne wyll we go,
For to delyuer our dere brother,
That lyeth in care and wo.

'
Then they bent theyr good ewe bowes,
And loked theyr stringes were round;
The markett place in mery Carleile
They beset in that stound.

And as they loked them besyde,
A paire of new galowes 'they' see,
And the justice with a quest of squyers,
Had judged William hanged to be.

And Cloudesle lay redy there in a carte,
Fast bound both fote and hande,
And a stronge rop about hys necke,
All readye for to hange.

The justice called to him a ladde,
Cloudesles clothes hee shold have,
To take the measure of that yeman,
Thereafter to make hys grave.

'I have sene as great mervaile,' saild Cloudesle,
'As betweyne thys and pryme,
He that maketh a grave for me,
Hymselfe may lye therin.

'
'Thou speakest proudlye,' said the justice,
'I shall the hange with my hande.

'
Full wel herd this his brethren two,
There styll as they dyd stande.

Then Cloudesle cast hys eyen asyde,
And saw hys 'brethren twaine'
At a corner of the market place,
Redy the justice for to slaine.

'I se comfort,' sayd Cloudesle,
'Yet hope I well to fare;
If I might have my handes at wyll,
Ryght lytle wolde Icare.

'
Then spake good Adam Bell
To Clym of the Clough so free,
'Brother, se ye marke the justyce wel,
Lo yonder you may him se.

'And at the shyrife shote I wyll,
Stronglyt wyth an arrowe kene;
A better shote in mery Carleile
Thys seven yere was not sene.

'
They loosed their arrowes both at once,
Of no man had they dread;
The one hyt the justice, the other sheryfe,
That both theyr sides gan blede.

All men voyded, that them stode nye,
When the justice fell to the grounde,
And the sherife nye hym by,
Eyther had his deathes wounde.

All the citizens fast gan flye,
They durst no longer abyde;
There lyghtly they loosed Cloudeslee,
Where he with ropes lay tyde.

Wyllyam start to an officer of the towne,
Hys axe out of hys hande he wronge,
On eche syde he smote them downe,
Hee thought he taryed to long.

Wyllyam sayde to hys brethren two,
'Thys daye let us lyve and de;
If ever you have nede as I have now,
The same shall you finde by me.

'
They shot so well in that tyde,
For theyr stringes were of silke ful sure,
That they kept the stretes on every side:
That batayle did long endure.

The fought together as brethren tru,
Lyke hardy men and bolde;
Many a man to the ground they thrue,
And many a herte made colde.

But when their arrowes were all gon,
Men preced to them full fast;
They draw theyr swordes then anone,
And theyr bowes from them they cast.

They went lyghtlye on theyr way,
Wyth swordes and buclers round;
By that it was myd of the day,
They made many a wound.

There was many an out-horne in Carleil blowen,
And the belles bacward dyd ryng;
Many a woman sayde alas!
And many theyr handes dyd wryng.

The mayre of Carleile forth was com,
Wyth hym a ful great route;
These yemen dred hym full sore,
Of theyr lyves they stode in great doute.

The mayre came armed a full great pace,
With a pollaxe in hys hande;
Many a strong man wyth him was,
There in that stowre to stande.

The mayre smot at Cloudesle with his bil,
Hys bucler he brast in two;
Full many a yeman with great evyll,
'Alas! treason' they cryed for wo.

'Kepe we the gates fast,' they bad,
'That these traytours thereout not go.

'
But al for nought was that they wrought,
For so fast they downe were layde,
Tyll they all thre, that so manfulli fought,
Were gotten without at a braide.

'Have here your keyes,' sayd Adam Bel,
'Myne office I here forsake;
If you do by my counsell,
A new porter do ye make.

'
He threw theyr keys at theyr heads,
And bad them evell to thryve;
And all that letteth any good yeman
To come and comfort his wyfe.

Thus be these good yemen gon to the wod,
And lyghtly as lefe on lynde;
The lough and be mery in theyr mode,
Theyr enemyes were ferr behynd.

And when they came to Englyshe-wode,
Under the trusty tre,
There they found bowes full good,
And arrowes full great plentye.

'So God me help,' sayd Adam Bell
And Clym of the Clough so fre,
'I would we were in mery Carleile,
Before that fayre meynye.

'
They set them downe and made good chere,
And eate and dranke full well:
A second Fyt of the wightye yeomen:
Another I wyll you tell.

Part the Third.

As they sat in Englyshe-wood,
Under the green-wode tre,
They thought they herd a woman wepe,
But her they mought not se.

Sore then syghed the fayre Alyce:
'That ever I sawe thys day!
For nowe is my dere husband slayne,
Alas! and wel-a-way!
'Myght I have spoken wyth hys dere brethren,
Or with eyther of them twayne,
To shew to them what him befell,
My heart were out of payne.

'
Cloudesle walked a lytle beside,
He looked under the grene wood linde,
He was ware of his wyfe, and chyldren thre,
Full wo in harte and mynde.

'Welcome, wyfe,' then sayde Wyllyam,
'Under 'this' trusti tre;
I had wende yesterdaye, by swete Saynt John,
Thou sholdest me never 'have' se.

'
'Now well is me that ye be here,
My harte is out of wo.

'
'Dame,' he sayde, 'be mery and glad,
And thanke my brethren two.

'
'Herof to speake,' said Adam Bell,
'I-wis it is no bote;
The meate, that we must supp withall,
It runneth yet fast on fote.

'
Then went they downe into a launde,
These noble archares all thre,
Eche of them slew a hart of greece,
The best that they cold se.

'Have here the best, Alyce, my wyfe,'
Sayd Wyllyam of Cloudesle;
'By cause ye so bouldly stode by me,
When I was slayne full nye.

'
Then went they to suppere,
Wyth suche meate as they had,
And thanked God of ther fortune;
They were both mery and glad.

And when they had supped well,
Certayne wythouten lease,
Cloudesle sayd, 'We wyll to our kyng,
To get us a charter of peace.

'Alyce shal be at sojournyng
In a nunnery here besyde;
My tow sonnes shall wyth her go,
And ther they shall abyde.

'Myne eldest son shall go wyth me,
For hym have 'you' no care,
And he shall breng you worde agayn,
How that we do fare.

'
Thus be these yemen to London gone,
As fast as they myght 'he',
Tyll they came to the kynges palace,
Where they woulde nedes be.

And whan they came to the kynges courte,
Unto the pallace gate,
Of no man wold they aske no leave,
But boldly went in therat.

They preced prestly into the hall,
Of no man had they dreade;
The porter came after and dyd them call,
And with them gan to chyde.

The usher sayde, 'Yemen, what wold ye have?

I pray you tell to me;
You myght thus make offycers shent:
Good Syrs, of whence be ye?

'
'Syr, we be out-lawes of the forest,
Certayne withouten lease,
And hether we be come to our kyng,
To get us a charter of peace.

'
And when they came before the kyng,
As it was the lawe of lande
The kneled downe without lettyng,
And eche held up his hand.

The sayed, 'Lorde, we beseche the here,
That ye wyll graunt us grace,
For we have slayne your fate falow dere
In many a sondry place.

'
'What be your nams?

' then said our king,
'Anone that you tell me:'
They sayd, 'Adam Bell, Clim of the Clough,
And Wyllyam of Cloudesle.

'
'Be ye those theves,' then sayd our kyng,
'That men have tolde of to me?

Here to God I make an avowe,
Ye shal be hanged al thre.

'Ye shal be dead without mercy,
As I am kynge of this lande.

'
He commanded his officers everichone
Fast on them to lay hande.

There they toke these good yemen,
And arested them al thre:
'So may I thryve,' sayd Adam Bell,
'Thys game lyketh not me.

'But, good Lorde, we beseche you now,
That yee graunt us grace.

Insomuche as we do to you come,
Or els that we may fro you passe,
'With such weapons as we have here,
Tyll we be out of your place;
And yf we lyve this hundreth yere,
We wyll aske you no grace.

'
'Ye speake proudly,' sayd the kynge,
'Ye shall be hanged all thre.

'
'That were great pitye,' then sayd the quene,
'If any grace myght be.

'My Lorde, whan I came fyrst into this lande,
To be your wedded wyfe,
The fyrst boone that I wold aske,
Ye would graunt it me belyfe;
'And I never asked none tyll now,
Therefore, good Lorde, graunt it me.

'
'Now aske it, madam,' sayd the kynge,
'And graunted it shal be.

'
'Then, good my Lord, I you beseche,
These yemen graunt ye me.

'
'Madame, ye might have asked a boone
That shuld have been worth them all thre.

'Ye myght have asked towres and townes,
Parkes and forestes plente.

'
'None soe pleasant to my pay,' shee sayd;
'Nor none so lefe to me.

'
'Madame, sith it is your desyre,
Your askyng graunted shal be;
But I had lever have given you
Good market townes thre.

'
The quene was a glad woman,
And sayde, 'Lord, gramarcy;
I dare undertake for them,
That true men shal they be.

'But, good my Lord, speke som mery word,
That comfort they may se.

'
'I graunt you grace,' then sayd our king,
'Washe, felos, and to meate go ye.

'
They had not setten but a whyle,
Certayne without lesynge,
There came messengers out of the north,
With letters to our kynge.

And whan the came before the kynge,
They knelt downe on theyr kne,
And sayd, 'Lord, your officers grete you well,
Of Carleile in the north cuntre.

'
'How fareth my justice,' sayd the kyng,
'And my sherife also?

'
'Syr, they be slayne, without leasynge,
And many an officer mo.

'
'Who hath them slayne?

' sayd the kyng;
'Anone thou tell to me:'
'Adam Bell, and Clime of the Clough,
And Wyllyam of Cloudesle.

'
'Alas for rewth!' then sayd our kynge,
'My hart is wonderous sore;
I had lever than a thousande pounde,
I had knowne of thys before.

'For I have graunted them grace,
And that forthynketh me,
But had I knowne all thys before,
They had been hanged all thre.

'
The kyng hee opened the letter anone,
Hymselfe he red it thro,
And founde how these outlawes had slain
Thre hundred men and mo.

Fyrst the justice and the sheryfe,
And the mayre of Carleile towne;
Of all the constables and catchipolles
Alyve were 'scant' left one.

The baylyes and the bedyls both,
And the sergeauntes of the law,
And forty fosters of the fe,
These outlawes had yslaw,
And broke his parks, and slayne his dere;
Of all they chose the best;
So perelous out-lawes as they were,
Walked not by easte nor west.

When the kynge this letter had red,
In hys harte he syghed sore;
'Take up the tables, anone,' he bad,
'For I may eat no more.

'
The kyng called hys best archars,
To the buttes wyth hym to go;
'I wyll se these felowes shote,' he sayd,
'In the north have wrought this wo.

'
The kynges bowmen buske them blyve,
And the quenes archers also,
So dyd these thre wyghtye yemen,
With them they thought to go.

There twyse or thryse they shote about,
For to assay theyr hande;
There was no shote these yemen shot,
That any prycke myght stand.

Then spake Wyllyam of Cloudesle,
'By Him that for me dyed,
I hold hym never no good archar,
That shoteth at buttes so wyde.

'
'At what a butte now wold ye shote,
I pray thee tell to me?

'
'At suche a but, Syr,' he sayd,
'As men use in my countre.

'
Wyllyam wente into a fyeld,
And 'with him' his two brethren:
There they set up two hasell roddes,
Full twenty score betwene.

'I hold him an archar,' said Cloudesle,
'That yonder wande cleveth in two;'
'Here is none suche,' sayd the kyng,
'Nor none that can so do.

'
'I shall assaye, Syr,' sayd Cloudesle,
'Or that I farther go.

'
Cloudesly, with a bearyng arowe,
Clave the wand in two.

'Thou art the best archer,' then said the king,
'For sothe that ever I se.

'
'And yet for your love,' sayd Wyllyam,
'I wyll do more maystery.

'
'I have a sonne is seven yere olde,
He is to me full deare;
I wyll hym tye to stake,
All shall se that be here,
'And lay an apple upon hys head,
And go syxe score hym fro,
And I my selfe, with a brode arrow,
Shall cleve the apple in two.

'
'Now haste the,' then sayd the kyng,
'By Hym that dyed on a tre;
By yf thou do not as thou hest sayde,
Hanged shalt thou be.

'And thou touche his head or gowne,
In syght that men may se,
By all the sayntes that be in heaven,
I shall hange you all thre.

'
'That I have promised,' said William,
'That I wyll never forsake:'
And there even before the kynge,
In the earth he drove a stake,
And bound thereto his eldest sonne,
And bad hym stand styll therat,
And turned the childes face him fro,
Because he should not start.

An apple upon his head he set,
And then his bowe he bent;
Syxe score paces they were meaten,
And thether Cloudesle went.

There he drew out a fayr brode arrowe,
Hys bowe was great and longe,
He set that arrowe in his bowe,
That was both styffe and stronge.

He prayed the people, that wer there,
That they would still stand,
'For he that shoteth for such a wager,
Behoveth a stedfast hand.

'
Muche people prayed for Cloudesle,
That hys lyfe saved myght be,
And whan he made hym redy to shote,
There was many weeping ee.

'But' Cloudesle clefte the apple in two,
As many a man myght se.

'Over Gods forbode,' sayde the kinge,
'That thou shold shote at me.

'I geve thee eightene pence a day,
And my bowe shalt thou bere,
And over all the north countre,
I make thee chyfe rydere.

'
'And I thyrtene pence a day,' said the quene,
'By God and by my fay;
Come feche thy payment when thou wylt,
No man shall say the nay.

'
'Wyllyam, I make the a gentleman,
Of clthyng and of fe,
And thy two brethren, yemen of my chambre,
For they are so semely to se.

'Your sonne, for he is tendre of age,
Of my wyne-seller he shall be,
And when he commeth to mans estate,
Better avaunced shall he be.

'
'And, Wyllyam, bring to me your wife,' said the quene.

'Me longeth her sore to se;
She shall be my chefe gentlewoman,
To governe my nurserye.

'
The yemen thanked them full curteously,
'To some byshop wyl we wend,
Of all the synnes that we have done
To be assoyld at his hand.

'
So forth be gone these good yemen,
As fast as they might 'he;'
And after came and dwelled with the kynge,
And dyed good men all thre.

Thus endeth the lives of these good yemen,
God send them eternall blysse,
And all that with a hand-bowe shoteth,
That of heven they may never mysse.

Amen.

Adam Lay Ibounden Read Poem

Adam lay ibounden,
Bounden in a bond.

Four thousand winter
Thoght he not too long.

And all was for an appil,
And appil that he tok,
As clerkes finden
Wreten in here book.

Ne hadde the appil take ben,
The appil taken ben,
Ne hadde never our lady
A ben hevene quene.

Blessed be the time
That appil take was,
Therefore we moun singen
Deo gracias.

Admiral Hosier's Ghost Read Poem

As, near Porto Bello lying,
On the gently swelling flood,
At midnight, with streamers flying,
Our triumphant navy rode;
There, while Vernon sate, all glorious
From the Spaniards' late defeat,
And his crew, with shouts victorious,
Drank success to England's fleet,
On a sudden, shrilly sounding,
Hideous yells and shrieks were heard;
Then, each heart with fears confounding,
A sad troop of ghosts appear'd;
All in dreary hammocks shrouded,
Which for winding sheets they wore;
And with looks by sorrow clouded,
Frowning on that hostile shore.

On them gleam'd the moon's wan lustre,
When the shade of Hosier brave,
His pale band was seen to muster,
Rising from their wat'ry grave:
O'er the glimmering wave he hied him,
Where the Burford rear'd her sail,
With three thousand ghosts beside him,
And in groans did Vernon hail.

'Heed, oh heed! my fatal story,
'I am Hosier's injur'd ghost;
'You who now have purchas'd glory
'At this place where I was lost;
'Tho' in Porto Bello's ruin
'You now triumph, free from fears,
'Yet to hear of my undoing,
'You will mix your joys with tears.

'See yon mournful spectres sweeping,
'Ghastly, o'er this hated wave,
'Whose wan cheeks are stain'd with weeping;
'These were English captains brave;
'And these numbers pale and horrid,
'Were my sailors once so bold;
'Lo, each hangs his drooping forehead,
'While his dismal fate is told.

'I, by twenty sail attended,
'Did this Spanish town affright,
'Nothing then its wealth defended
'But my orders not to fight;
'Oh that, with my wrath complying,
'I had cast them in the main,
'Then, no more unactive lying,
'I had low'red the pride of Spain.

'For resistance I could fear none,
'But with twenty ships had done,
'What thou, brave and happy Vernon,
'Did'st achieve with six alone.

'Then the Bastimento's never
'Had our foul dishonour seen,
'Nor the sea the sad receiver
'Of these gallant men had been.

'Thus, like thee, proud Spain dismaying,
'And her galleons leading home,
'Tho', condemn'd for disobeying,
'I had met a traitor's doom;
'To have fall'n, my country crying,
'He has play'd an English part,
'Had been better far than dying
'Of a griev'd and broken heart.

'Unrepining at thy glory,
'Thy successful arms we hail,
'But remember our sad story,
'When to Britain back you sail!
'All your country's foes subduing,
'When your patriot friends you see,
'Think on vengeance for my ruin,
'And for England sham'd in me.

Advice to a Lover Read Poem

The sea hath many thousand sands,
The sun hath motes as many;
The sky is full of stars, and Love
As full of woes as any:
Believe me, that do know the elf,
And make no trial by thyself!
It is in truth a pretty toy
For babes to play withal:
But O, the honies of our youth
Are oft our age's gall:
Self-proof in time will make thee know
He was a prophet told thee so:
A prophet that, Cassandra-like,
Tells truth without belief;
For headstrong Youth will run his race,
Although his goal be grief: -
Love's Martyr, when his heat is past,
Proves Care's Confessor at the last.

Ali Baba Moorshead Read Poem

Jerry had us on the run, the news was far from hot,
He had his feet in Egypt and the Sphinx was on the spot,
So Auchinleck despondent sent signals out in sheaves
To Ali Baba Moorshead and his twenty thousand thieves.

So Leslie called his officers and whispered in their ears,
And his message went to Auchy "Have a spot and drown your fears.

We'll make that blinking Rommel think he's got the desert heaves,
With Ali Baba Moorshead and his twenty thousand thieves.

"
So we travelled down from Syria by tank and truck and car,
Leaving Tel Aviv and Haifa and pleasant towns afar.

Both Cairo and Alex were left to grieve
For losing Ali Baba Moorshead and his twenty thousand thieves.

So we came back to the desert, well-known from days of yore,
And stopped the foe at Alamein close by the Meddy shore.

The Eyeties were pathetic, the Huns fell back like leaves
From Ali Baba Moorshead and his twenty thousand thieves.

Now Rommel's got a headache, his tanks can't take a trick,
His Afrik' Corps are not so hot and his air force makes us sick;
His dreams of looting Egypt are ditched and he is peeved
With Ali Baba Moorshead and his twenty thousand thieves.

We have Kittyhawks and Hurricanes and bombers by the score,
Dropping loads on Jerry's bases and rushing back for more.

And it's sure that Rommel's stonkered, whatever plans he weaves
'Gainst Ali Baba Moorshead and his twenty thousand thieves.

This was one of several poems submitted by unknown contributors, which were circulated hand-to-hand in Cairo and the Desert.

Often several versions co-existed.

The poem commemorates the exploits of the Australian general Leslie James Morshead (note: the spelling of the name in the poem is incorrect) and the Australian 9th Division.

Morshead and his soldiers, having proven themselves in the defense of the Libyan port of Tobruk in 1941, were recalled from Syria to fight in the battle for El Alamein, the subject of this poem.

Alison Read Poem

Bytuene Mershe and Averil
When spray biginneth to springe,
The lutel foul hath hire wyl
On hyre lud to synge:
Ich libbe in love-longinge
For semlokest of alle thynge,
He may me blisse bringe,
Ich am in hire baundoun.

An hendy hap ichabbe y-hent,
Ichot from hevene it is me sent,
From alle wymmen my love is lent
And lyht on Alysoun.

On heu hire her is fayr ynoh,
Hire browe broune, hire eye blake;
With lossum chere he on me loh;
With middel smal and wel y-make;
Bote he me wolle to hire take
For to buen hire owen make,
Long to lyven ichulle forsake
And feye fallen adoun.

An hendy hap ichabbe y-hent,
Ichot from hevene it is me sent,
From alle wymmen my love is lent
And lyht on Alysoun.

Nihtes when I wende and wake,
For-thi myn wonges waxeth won,
Levedi, al for thine sake
Longinge is y-lent me on.

In world nis non so wyter mon
That al hire bounte telle con;
Hire swyre is whittore than the swon,
And feyrest may in toune.

An hendy hap ichabbe y-hent,
Ichot from hevene it is me sent,
From alle wymmen my love is lent
And lyht on Alysoun.

Ich am for wowyng al for-wake,
Wery so water in wore;
lest eny reve me my make
Ichabbe y-yerned yore.

betere is tholien whyle sore
Then mournen evermore.

Geynest under gore,
Herkne to my roun.

An hendy hap ichabbe y-hent,
Ichot from hevene it is me sent,
From alle wymmen my love is lent
And lyht on Alysoun.

Alli Verifiglioli Delle Muse Read Poem

Ye moderne Lawreats famousd for your writ,
VVho for your pregnance may in Delos dwelt,
On your sweete lines eternitie doth sit,
Their browes enobling with applause and lawrell.

Triumph and honor ay inuest your writ,
Ye fett your penns from wing of singing swanne,
VVhen sweetely warbling to her selfe she flotes
Adowne Meander streames, and like to Organ
Imparts into her quils melodious notes.

Ye from the father of delicious phrases,
Borrow such hymns as make your mistresse liue
VVhen time is dead, nay Hermes tunes the praises,
VVhich ye in sonnets to your mistresse giue.

Report throughout our westerne Isle doth ring,
The sweete tun'd accents of your Delian sonnetrie,
VVhich to Apollos violine ye sing,
Oh then your high straines drowne his melodie.

From forth dead sleepe of euerlasting darke,
Fame with her trumps shrill summon hath awakt
The Romayne Naso and the Tuskan Petrarch,
Your spirit-rauishing lines to wonder at.

Oh theame befitting high mus'd Astrophil,
He to your siluerie songs lent sweetest touch,
Your songs the immortall spirit of your quill,
Oh pardon, for my artlesse pen to much
Doth dimme your glories through his infant skill.

Though may J not with you the spoyles deuide
(Ye sacred of-spring of Mnemosyne)
Of endlesse praise which haue your pens atchiu'd,
(Your pens the trumps to immortallitie)
Yet be it leyfull that like maymes I bide
Like brunts and skarres in your loues warfare,
And here though in my home-spun verse of them declare.

Alliterations Read Poem

Ten thousand trippers took twenty three trains
To take them to Trincomalee.

They talked, they tittered then took their tea,
The tales they told together then!
The tricks they tried till ten to ten!
Till tardy time told them the tale
To take themselves to the Townwatd trail.

One of the longest (sensible) poems where each word starts with the same letter.

Amergin Read Poem

I AM the wind which breathes upon the sea,
I am the wave of the ocean,
I am the murmur of the billows,
I am the ox of the seven combats,
I am the vulture upon the rocks,
I am a beam of the sun,
I am the fairest of plants,
I am a wild boar in valour,
I am a salmon in the water,
I am a lake in the plain,
I am a word of science,
I am the point of the lance in battle,
I am the God who creates in the head the fire.

Who is it who throws light into the meeting on the mountain?

Who announces the ages of the moon?

Who teaches the place where couches the sun?

1917 is the publication date of 'The Oxford Book of English Mystical Verse'

An Elegy Upon the late Learned and Laborious Servant of Christ, John Owen Read Poem

When such a Father doth in Israel die,
Who can forbear to sound an Elegy?

Which may at once His Worth and Praise rehearse,
And Our great Loss lament in mournful Verse,
With tributary Tears doe to His Hearse;
Who was a piercing, burning, beautious Light,
Whose Rays enliven'd, warm'd, and shin'd most bright!
Not that this Venerable Person's Hearse
Doth need (at all) the Ornament of Verse;
But this Respect is paid, due by the Laws
Of Gratitude; His Name asks no Applause;
He rais'd Himself a Monument of His own,
Which will out-last those of the hardest Stone:
His Fame will live to late Posterity
In's Theo-Christo-Pneuma-tology,
And various Volumes more, where we may find
How in His Soul rich Gifts and Grace were joyn'd:
His Learned Tongue, which living, did impart
Words from His own unto His Hearers Heart,
And taught those Truths, whose Worth and Excellence
Were felt before in His Experience,
Alas! is silenc'd now! But still his Pen
Does and will preach to multitudes of Men:
Such sound and weighty Doctrines does unfold,
As try'd by Scripture Touch-stone, prove true Gold.

Which shew the Dross, the false, the vile Opinions
Of Atheists, Deists, Papists, and Arminians,
Of Neonomians, Quakers, and Socinians!
This skilful Architect, who built upon
The only Fundamental Corner-stone,
Took no small Care the Diff'rence to descry
Between true Grace, and meer Morality:
Did not, as most, the Outside only scower,
But to the form of Piety joyn'd the Power:
Not only taught, but trod the Gospel Path,
And both defended and adorn'd the Faith.

His zealous Love to Father, Son, and Spirit,
From all true Christian Hearts Esteem did merit!
Where shall we find on Earth His Parallel,
Who Spoke, and Wrote, and Liv'd, and Dy'd so well?

Many there are that have by Him been fed,
Instructed, Help'd, Rais'd, Cur'd, and Comforted:
These might have made His Hearse with Tears to swim,
But that their Loss prov'd greatest Gain to Him;
Who long had travell'd in the Narrow way,
And borne the heat and burden of the Day;
Tho' to our Loss, we needs must yield, that such
Should go to Rest, who bore an did so much;
And may we learn of Him to conquer Death,
Who, when His Work was finish'd here beneath.

Lay down in Peace; and as the Sun (we say)
Setting serene, foretels 'twill shine next Day;
So This great Luminary's lightsom Even,
Shew'd with what Splendor He now shines in Heav'n!
EPITAPH.

In this Place sleeps One who in Grace did shine,
One who Religion made His chief Design!
Printed in John Owen's Seventeen Sermons, volume 1, {printed for, and sold by William and Joseph Marshall at the Bible in Newgate-street.

1720}, placed after the "Death Sermon" on Owen by David Clarkson.

The Rev.

John Owen, who was born in Oxfordshire (of Welsh extraction) was Oliver Cromwell's favourite preacher.

Perhaps the most controversial action of Owen's career was preaching to Parliament the very day after King Charles I.

was executed.

Owen does not condemn them, nor even does he directly mention the execution.

Instead he deftly hints at his approval.

He was an extremely learned man, an expert in the ancient languages, and also a tutor to the famous Richard Baxter.

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

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.

863.

An Excellent Ballad Of George Barnwell, An Apprentice Of London Read Poem

An excellent ballad of George Barnwell, an Apprentice of London, who…thrice robbed his master and murdered his vncle in Ludlow.

To the tune of The Merchant.

The First Part.

All youths of fair England
That dwell both far and near,
Regard my story that I tell,
And to my song give ear.

A London lad I was,
A merchant's prentice bound;
My name George Barnwell; that did spend
My master many a pound.

Take heed of harlots then,
And their enticing trains;
For by that means I have been brought
To hang alive in chains.

As I upon a day,
Was walking through the street,
About my master's business,
A wanton I did meet.

A gallant dainty dame
And sumptuous in attire;
With smiling look she greeted me,
And did my name require.

Which when I had declar'd,
She gave me then a kiss,
And said, if I would come to her,
I should have more than this.

"Fair mistress," then quoth I,
"If I the place may know,
This evening I will be with you;
For I abroad must go,
"To gather monies in,
That are my master's due:
And ere that I do home return
I'll come and visit you.

"
"Good Barnwell," then quoth she,
"Do thou to Shoreditch come,
And ask for Mrs.

Millwood's house,
Next door unto the Gun.

"And trust me on my truth,
If thou keep touch with me,
My dearest friend, as my own heart
Thou shalt right welcome be.

"
Thus parted we in peace,
And home I passed right;
Then went abroad, and gathered in,
By six o'clock at night,
An hundred pound and one:
With bag under my arm
I went to Mrs.

Millwood's house,
And thought on little harm.

And knocking at the door,
Straightway herself came down;
Rustling in most brave attire,
With hood and silken gown.

Who, through her beauty bright,
So gloriously did shine,
That she amaz'd my dazzling eyes,
She seemed so divine.

She took me by the hand,
And with a modest grace,
"Welcome, sweet Barnwell," then quoth she,
"Unto this homely place.

"And since I have thee found
As good as thy word to be,
A homely supper, ere we part,
Thou shalt take here with me.

"
"O pardon me," quoth I,
"Fair mistress, I you pray;
For why, out of my master's house
So long I dare not stay.

"
"Alas, good sir," she said,
"Are you so strictly ty'd,
You may not with your dearest friend
One hour or two abide?

"Faith, then the case is hard;
If it be so," quoth she,
"I would I were a prentice bound,
To live along with thee.

"Therefore, my dearest George,
List well what I shall say,
And do not blame a woman much,
Her fancy to bewray.

"Let not affection's force
Be counted lewd desire;
Nor think it not immodesty,
I should thy love require.

"
With that she turn'd aside,
And with a blushing red,
A mournful motion she bewray'd
By hanging down her head.

A handkerchief she had,
All wrought with silk and gold,
Which she to stay her trickling tears,
Before her eyes did hold.

This thing unto my sight
Was wondrous rare and strange,
And in my soul and inward thought
It wrought a sudden change:
That I so hardy grew
To take her by the hand,
Saying, "Sweet mistress, why do you
So dull and pensive stand?

"
"Call me no mistress now,
But Sarah, thy true friend,
Thy servant, Millwood, honouring thee,
Until her life hath end.

"If thou wouldst here alledge
Thou art in years a boy;
So was Adonis, yet was he
Fair Venus' only joy.

"
Thus I, who ne'er before
Of woman found such grace,
But seeing now so faire a dame
Give me a kind embrace,
I supt with her that night,
With joys that did abound;
And for the same paid presently,
In money twice three pound.

An hundred kisses then,
For my farewel she gave;
Crying, "Sweet Barnwell, when shall I
Again thy company have?

"Oh stay not hence too long;
Sweet George, have me in mind:"
Her words bewicht my childishness,
She uttered them so kind.

So that I made a vow,
Next Sunday, without fail,
With my sweet Sarah once again
To tell some pleasant tale.

When she heard me say so,
The tears fell from her eye;
"O George," quoth she, "if thou dost fail,
Thy Sarah sure will dye.

"
Though long, yet loe! at last,
The appointed day was come,
That I must with my Sarah meet;
Having a mighty sum
Of money in my hand,
Unto her house went I,
Whereas my love upon her bed
In saddest sort did lye.

"What ails my heart's delight,
My Sarah dear?

" quoth I;
"Let not my love lament and grieve,
Nor sighing pine and die.

"But tell me, dearest friend,
What may thy woes amend,
And thou shalt lack no means of help,
Though forty pound I spend.

"
With that she turn'd her head,
And sickly thus did say:
"Oh me, sweet George, my grief is great,
Ten pounds I have to pay
Unto a cruel wretch;
And God he knows," quoth she,
"I have it not.

" "Tush, rise," I said,
"And take it here of me.

"Ten pounds, nor ten times ten,
Shall make my love decay;"
Then from my bag into her lap,
I cast ten pound straightway.

All blithe and pleasant then,
To banqueting we go;
She proffered me to lye with her,
And said it should be so.

And after that same time,
I gave her store of coyn,
Yea, sometimes fifty pound at once;
All which I did purloyn.

And thus I did pass on;
Until my master then
Did call to have his reckoning in
Cast up among his men.

The which when as I heard,
I knew not what to say:
For well I knew that I was out
Two hundred pound that day.

Then from my master straight
I ran in secret sort;
And unto Sarah Millwood there
My case I did report.

But how she us'd this youth,
In this his care and woe,
And all a strumpet's wiley ways,
The Second Part may showe.

The Second Part.

"Young Barnwell comes to thee,
Sweet Sarah, my delight;
I am undone, unless thou stand
My faithful friend this night.

"Our master to accompts
Hath just occasion found;
And I am caught behind the hand
Above two hundred pound.

"And now his wrath to 'scape,
My love, I fly to thee,
Hoping some time I may remaine
In safety here with thee.

"
With that she knit her brows,
And looking all aquoy,
Quoth she, "What should I have to do
With any prentice boy?

"And seeing you have purloyn'd
Your master's goods away,
The case is bad, and therefore here
You shall no longer stay.

"
"Why, dear, thou know'st," I said,
"How all which I could get,
I gave it, and did spend it all
Upon thee every whit.

"
Quoth she, "Thou art a knave,
To charge me in this sort,
Being a woman of credit fair,
And known of good report.

"Therefore I tell thee flat,
Be packing with good speed;
I do defie thee from my heart,
And scorn thy filthy deed.

"
"Is this the friendship, that
You did to me protest?

Is this the great affection, which
You so to me exprest?

"Now fie on subtle shrews!
The best is, I may speed
To get a lodging any where
For money in my need.

"False woman, now farewell;
Whilst twenty pound doth last,
My anchor in some other haven
With freedom I will cast.

"
When she perceiv'd by this,
I had store of money there,
"Stay, George," quoth she, "thou art too quick:
Why, man, I did but jeer.

"Dost think for all my speech,
That I would let thee go?

Faith no," said she, "my love to the
I-wiss is more than so.

"
"You scorne a prentice boy,
I heard you just now swear:
Wherefore I will not trouble you.

"—
— "Nay, George, hark in thine ear;
"Thou shalt not go to-night,
What chance soe'er befall;
But man, we'll have a bed for thee,
Or else the devil take all.

"
So I by wiles bewitcht,
And snar'd with fancy still,
Had then no power to 'get' away,
Or to withstand her will.

For wine on wine I call'd,
And cheer upon good cheer;
And nothing in the world I thought
For Sarah's love too dear.

Whilst in her company,
I had such merriment,
All, all too little I did think,
That I upon her spent.

"A fig for care and thought!
When all my gold is gone,
In faith, my girl, we will have more,
Whoever I light upon.

"My father's rich; why then
Should I want store of gold?

"
"Nay, with a father, sure," quoth she,
"A son may well make bold.

"
"I've a sister richly wed;
I'll rob her ere I'll want.

"
"Nay, then," quoth Sarah, "they may well
Consider of your scant.

"
"Nay, I an uncle have;
At Ludlow he doth dwell;
He is a grazier, which in wealth
Doth all the rest excell.

"Ere I will live in lack,
And have no coyn for thee,
I'll rob his house, and murder him.

"
"Why should you not?

" quoth she:
"Was I a man, ere I
Would live in poor estate,
On father, friends, and all my kin
I would my talons grate.

"For without money, George,
A man is but a beast:
But bringing money, thou shalt be
Always my welcome guest.

"For shouldst thou be pursued
With twenty hues and cryes,
And with a warrant searched for
With Argus' hundred eyes,
"Yet here thou shalt be safe;
Such privy ways there be,
That if they sought an hundred years,
They could not find out thee.

"
And so carousing both
Their pleasures to content,
George Barnwell had in little space
His money wholly spent.

Which done, to Ludlow straight
He did provide to go,
To rob his wealthy uncle there;
His minion would it so.

And once he thought to take
His father by the way,
But that he fear'd his master had
Took order for his stay.

Unto his uncle then
He rode with might and main,
Who with a welcome and good cheer
Did Barnwell entertain.

One fortnight's space he stayed,
Until it chanced so,
His uncle with his cattle did
Unto a market go.

His kinsman rode with him,
Where he did see right plain,
Great store of money he had took:
When coming home again,
Sudden within a wood,
He struck his uncle down,
And beat his brains out of his head;
So sore he crackt his crown.

Then seizing fourscore pound,
To London straight he hyed,
And unto Sarah Millwood all
The cruel fact descryed.

"Tush, 'tis no matter, George,
So we the money have
To have good cheer in jolly sort,
And deck us fine and brave.

"
Thus lived in filthy sort,
Until their store was gone:
When means to get them any more,
I-wis poor George had none.

Therefore in railing sort,
She thrust him out of door;
Which is the just reward of those,
Who spend upon a whore.

"O do me not disgrace
In this my need," quoth he:
She call'd him thief and murderer,
With all the spight might be.

To the constable she sent,
To have him apprehended;
And showed how ar, in each degree,
He had the laws offended.

When Barnwell saw her drift,
To sea he got straightway;
Where fear and sting of conscience
Continually on him lay.

Unto the lord mayor then,
He did a letter write,
In which his own and Sarah's fault
He did at large recite.

Whereby she seized was,
And then to Ludlow sent,
Where she was judg'd, condemn'd, and hang'd,
For murder incontinent.

There dyed this gallant quean,
Such was her greatest gains;
For murder in Polonia,
Was Barnwell hang'd in chains.

Lo! here's the end of youth
That after harlots haunt,
Who in the spoil of other men
About the streets do flaunt.

Quoted from Percy's Reliques, 'The subject of this ballad is sufficiently popular from the modern play which is founded upon it.

[The play] was written by George Lillo, a jeweller of London, and first acted about 1730.

As for the ballad, it was printed at least as early as the middle of the last century.

An Inscription On An Old Monumental Stone, In Lee, Kent Read Poem

"Come gentle Reader you shall know what is
Beneath this stone, HERE's natures rarities --
(Grand-Parents joy; The ANGells charge (to keepe)
The saint's companion, But now laid to sleepe
in a cold bed of clay (prepared by death)
Till God restore to him An Heavenly breath
NOT, ten yeares old (so young he was) and yet
Pregnant in learning, memory Retent,
So DOCible that few so EXcellent.

Should I say All (was truly good) in him
I should come shorte in hymning forth this stem
Nor would this stone conteynt, therefore no more
So greene a roote more ripened fruite nere bore
Now if yould know who 'tis deserues this praise
Reade the next lines  And's name and vertues Raise.

"
"Here lyes Thomas Garnet, eldest sonne
of Kathirine, the wife of William Garnet,
of Lond: gent.

, one of the daughters of
Thomas Foxall  by Elizabeth his wife, late of
this parrish.

He departed this life the ----
day of December 1648, being not fully ten
years of age and his grandmother Elizabeth
before named ------- in her love to him
and for the imitation of his vertues in others
cavsed this incription.

"
Found in the Year Book of Daily Recreation and Information, 1838, with the above inscription, which followed after this, 'Lee, in Kent.

-- In the church-yard at Lee, a pleasant village on the south side of Blackheath, an old monumental stone (probably displaced from the ancient church which was standing within recollection) lies neglected in an obscure corner; on it is inscribed the following quaint lines:'

An Old Epitaph Found In Bedford Read Poem

Mary Wryte and her mother
Her father ande brother--
Was Alle of them drowned,
Inn Bvckstones povnde.

6 Febrry : An.

Dm.

----
O GODD
IN.

MERCYE.

THER
SOVLES
PRAYRE.

TAKE=TO.

HEVENYS,
FOR THYE DEARE SONNE'S
IESUS'S SAKE.

Anagram Read Poem

If you transpose what Ladies wear,
'Twill plainly shew what harlots are:
Again, if you transpose the same,
You'll see an ancient Hebrew name:
Change it again, and it will shew
What all on earth desire to do:
Transpose the letters yet once more,
What bad men do, you'll then explore.

If you transpose what Ladies wear: A Veil.

'Twill plainly shew what harlots are: Vile.

You'll see an ancient Hebrew name: Levi.

What all on earth desire to do: Live.

What bad men do, you'll then explore: Evil.

Ancient Boar's Head Carol. In die natiuitat Read Poem

Nowell, nowell, nowell, nowell,
Tydyng' gode y thyngke to telle
The borys hede that we bryng here,
Betokeneth a p'nce with owte pere,
Ys born this day to bye v' dere,
Nowell, &c.

A bore ys a souerayn beste,
And acceptable in eu'y feste,
So mote thys lorde be to moste & leste,
Nowell, &c.

This borys hede we bryng with song,
In worchyp of hym that thus sprang
Of a virgine to redresse all wrong,
Nowell, &c.

'The Boar's Head is probably the oldest continuing festival of the Christmas season.

This pageant is rooted in ancient times when the boar was sovereign of the forest.

A ferocious beast and menace to humans it was hunted as a public enemy.

At Roman feasts, boar was the first dish served.

Like our Thanksgiving turkey, roasted boar was a staple of medieval banquets.

As Christian beliefs overtook pagan customs in Europe, the presentation of a boar's head at Christmas came to symbolize the triumph of the Christ Child over sin.

The Festival we know today originated at Queen's College, Oxford, England in 1340.

Legend has it that a scholar was studying a book of Aristotle while walking through the forest on his way to Christmas Mass.

Suddenly, he was confronted by an angry wild boar.

Having no other weapon, the resourceful Oxonian rammed his metal-bound philosophy book down the throat of the charging animal, whereupon the brute choked to death.

That night the boar's head, finely dressed and garnished, was borne in procession to the dining room, accompanied by carolers singing "in honor of the King of bliss.

"
By 1607, an expansive ceremony was in use at St.

John's College, Cambridge, England.

There, the boar's head was accompanied by "mustard for the eating" and decorated with flags and sprigs of evergreen, bay rosemary and holly.

It was carried in state to the strains of the Boar's Head carol, still sung in the Christ Church ceremony.

' --
http://www.

boarsheadfestival.

com/tradition/index.

shtml

Ancient Boar's Head Carol. In Die Natiuitat Read Poem

Nowell, nowell, nowell, nowell,
Tydyng' gode y thyngke to telle
The borys hede that we bryng here,
Betokeneth a p'nce with owte pere,
Ys born this day to bye v' dere,
Nowell, &c.

A bore ys a souerayn beste,
And acceptable in eu'y feste,
So mote thys lorde be to moste & leste,
Nowell, &c.

This borys hede we bryng with song,
In worchyp of hym that thus sprang
Of a virgine to redresse all wrong,
Nowell, &c.

Anecdotes and Adventures of Fifteen Gentlemen Read Poem

As a little fat man of Bombay
Was smoking one very hot day,
A bird called a Snipe,
Flew away with his pipe,
Which vex'd the fat man of Bombay.

A merry old man of Oporto,
Had long had the gout in his fore toe;
And oft when he spoke
To relate a good joke,
A terrible twinge cut it short O!
Said a very proud Farmer at Rye-gate,
When the Squire rode up to his high gate,
With your horse and your hound,
You had better go round,
For, I say, you shan't jump over my gate.

There was a rich Squire of Southwark,
From morning to night did his mouth work,
So much and so fast,
That he greatly surpass'd,
Westminster, London and Southwark.

There was an old captain of Dover,
Whom all the physicians gave over;
At the sound of the drum
And "The enemy's come"
Up jump'd the bold captain of Dover.

A butcher there was at Athlone,
Whom a beggar once ask'd for a bone;
But he drove him away
With a blow of his tray --
O! his heart was as hard as a stone.

There was a young man at St.

Kitts,
Who was very much troubled with fits;
An eclipse of the moon
Threw him into a swoon;
Alas! poor young man of St.

Kitts.

A Tailor who sailed from Quebec,
In a storm ventur'd once upon deck,
But the waves of the sea,
Were as strong as could be,
And he tumbled in up to his neck.

There was an Old Miser at Reading,
Had a house, with a yard with a shed in,
'Twas meant for a cow,
But so small that I vow,
The poor creature could scarce get its head in.

There was an old soldier of Bicester,
Was walking one day with his sister,
A bull, with one poke,
Toss'd her into an oak,
Before the old gentleman miss'd her.

There was a sick man of Tobago,
Liv'd long on rice-gruel and sago;
But at last to his bliss,
The physician said this --
"To a roast leg of mutton you may go.

"
An old gentleman living at Harwich,
At ninety was thinking of marriage,
In came his granson,
Who was just twenty-one,
And went off with the bride in his carriage.

There was a poor man of Jamaica,
He open'd a shop as a baker;
The nice biscuits he made
Procured him much trade,
With the little black boys of Jamaica.

A lively old man at Madeira,
Thought that wine of the heart was a cheerer,
He often would say,
"Put the bottle this way --
Absent friends! -- and I wish they were nearer.

"
There was and old merchant at Malta,
Very cross but too stubborn to alter,
He flew in a rage
With poor Dr.

Sage,
Who attended sick people at Malta.

Appletrees Read Poem

I
Sweet appletree, your branches delight me,
Luxuriantly budding my pride and joy!
I will put before the lord of Macreu,
That on Wednesday, in the valley of Machawy
Blood will flow.

Lloegyr's (England's) blades will shine.

But hear, O little pig! on Thursday
The Cymry will rejoyce
In their defence of Cymimawd,
Furiously cutting and thrusting.

The Saesons (Saxons) will be slaughtered by our ashen spears,
And their heads used as footballs.

I prophesy the unvarnished truth -
The rising of a child in the secluded South.

II
Sweet and luxuriant appletree,
Great its branches, beautiful its form!
I predict a battle that fills me with far.

At Pengwern, men drink mead,
But around Cyminawd is a deadly hewing
By a chieftain from Eryri - til only hatred remains.

III
Sweet yellow appletree,
Growing in Tal Ardd,
I predict a battle at Prydyn,
In defense of frontiers.

Seven ships will come
Across a wide lake,
Seven hundred men come to conquer.

Of those who come, only seven will return
According to my prophecy.

IV
Sweet appletree of luxuriant growth!
I used to find food at its foot,
When because of a maid,
I slept alone in the woods of Celyddon,
Shield on shoulder, sword on ,
Hear, 0 little pig! listen to my
As sweet as birds that sing on Monday
When the sovereigns come across the sea,
Blessed by the Cymry (Welsh), because of their strength.

V
Sweet appletree in the glade,
Trodden is the earth around its base.

The men of Rhydderch see me not,
Gwendyyd no longer loves nor greets me
I am hated by Rhydderch's strongest scion.

I have despoiled both his son and daughter:
Death visits them all - why not me?

After Gwnddoleu no one shall honour me,
No diversions attend me,
No fair women visit me.

Though at Arderydd (Arthuret) I wore a golden torque
The swan-white woman despises me now.

VI
Sweet appletree, growing by the river,
Who will thrive on its wondrous fruit?

When my reason was intact
I used to lie at its foot
With a fair wanton maid, of slender form.

Fifty years the plaything of lawless en
I have wandered in gloom among spirits
After great wealth, and gregarious minstrels,
I have been here so long not even sprites
Can lead me astray.

I never sleep, but tremble at the thought
Of my Lord Gwenddoleu, and y own native people.

Long have I suffered unease and longing-
May I be given freedom in the end.

VII
Sweet appletree, with delicate blossom,
Growing concealed, in the wind!
At the tale was told to me
That my words had offended the most powerful minister,
Not once, not twice, but thrice in a single day.

Christ! that my end has come
Before the killing of Gwndydd's son
Was upon my hands!
VIII
Sweet appletree with your delicate blossom,
Growing amid the thickets of trees!
Chwyfleian foretells,
A tale that will come to pass
A staff of gold, signifying bravery
Will be given by the glorious Dragon Kings.

The grateful one will vanquish the profaner,
Before the child, bright and bold,
The Saesons shall fall, and bards will flourish
IX
Sweet appletree of crimson colour,
Growing, concealed in the wood of Celyddon:
Though men seek your fruit, their search is vain
Until Cadwaladyr comes from Cadfaon's meeting
To Teiwi river and Tywi's lands,
Till anger and anguish come from Arawynion,
And the long-hairs are tamed.

X
Sweet appletree of crimson colour,
Crowing, concealed, in the wood of Celyddon
Though men seek your fruit, their search is vain,
Till Cadwalad comes from Rhyd Rheon's meeting,
And with Cynon advances against the Saeson.

Victorious Cymry, glorious their leaden,
All shall how their rights again,
All Britons rejoice, sounding joyful horns.

Chanting songs of happiness and peace!

April Day Read Poem

This day to common love is dear,
And many a tale will sooth thine ear,
Fond hope or frolic wit to prove;
The theme of minstrelsy I change,
I bring a tribute new and strange.

A tale of hatred, not of love.

I love thee not! -- did ever zeal
A rare miracle reveal,
Thy pity or thy mirth to move?

'Tis true; -- for all thy faults I guess,
And strive to make thy beauties less--
What more is hate, if this be love?

Thy wit is false, for, when my cheek
Fades with the fear that cannot speak,
My pangs thy sparkling jest improve;
And, while I tremble, how much guile
Lurks in thy lip and points thy smile--
The smile which stings, yet wakens love!
Thine eye -- a scorching fire is there;
For, though I chide, I never dare
The keenness of its flash to prove.

Thy voice has won the Elf-Harp's sound--
I hear it, and my tongue is bound,
Or wanders into words of love.

Behold thy faults! -- yet keep them all,
That I my senses may recall,
When spell-bound in thy sphere they rove
My malice as thy pride is great--
There is no language fits my hate,
Unless it tells thee -- that I love!
Found in Wm.

Hone's The Year Book of Daily Recreation and Information, for April 1, 1838, which says, "In some parts of North America the First of April is observed like St.

Valentine's day, with this difference, that the boys are allowed to chastise the girls, if they think fit, either with words or blows.

The practice is referred to in the following verses by a native, extracted from an American Journal.

"

As I ganged by the Luckenbooths Read Poem

As I ganged by the Luckenbooths I saw a lady fair,
She had lang pendles in her ears and jewels in her hair,
And when she cam tae oor hoose she spiered at wha was ben,
"O hae ye seen my lost love, wi his braw Hieland men?

"
The smile about her bonny face was sweeter than the bee,
Her voice was like the lintie's sang aboon the birken tree,
But when the minister cam oot her mare began tae prance,
And rade intae the sunset - beyont the coast o France.

The Luckenbooths were a row of shops in the High Street in Edinburgh.

pendles - earrings
spiered - asked
ben - indoors
lintie - linnet
birken - birch
The last line is very odd.

How can the sun set in the direction of the French coast when seen from Edinburgh?

The fact that the lady could not face the minister suggests there was something magic about her.

As ye came from the Holy Land Read Poem

As ye came from the holy land
Of Walsinghame,
Met you not with my true love
By the way as you came?

How should I know your true love,
That have met many a one
As I came from the holy land,
That have come, that have gone?

She is neither white nor brown,
But as the heavens fair;
There is none hath her form divine
In the earth or the air.

Such a one did I meet, good sir,
Such an angelic face,
Who like a nymph, like a queen, did appear
In her gait, in her grace.

She hath left me here alone
All alone, as unknown,
Who sometime did me lead with herself,
And me loved as her own.

What's the cause that she leaves you alone
And a new way doth take,
That sometime did love you as her own,
And her joy did you make?

I have loved her all my youth,
But now am old, as you see:
Love likes not the falling fruit,
Nor the withered tree.

Know that Love is a careless child,
And forgets promise past:
He is blind, he is deaf when he list,
And in faith never fast.

His desire is a dureless content,
And a trustless joy;
He is won with a world of despair,
And is lost with a toy.

Of womenkind such indeed is the love,
Or the word love abused,
Under which many childish desires
And conceits are excused.

But true love is a durable fire,
In the mind ever burning,
Never sick, never dead, never cold,
From itself never turning.

As Ye Came From The Holy Land Read Poem

As ye came from the holy land
Of Walsinghame,
Met you not with my true love
By the way as you came?

How should I know your true love,
That have met many a one
As I came from the holy land,
That have come, that have gone?

She is neither white nor brown,
But as the heavens fair;
There is none hath her form divine
In the earth or the air.

Such a one did I meet, good sir,
Such an angelic face,
Who like a nymph, like a queen, did appear
In her gait, in her grace.

She hath left me here alone
All alone, as unknown,
Who sometime did me lead with herself,
And me loved as her own.

What's the cause that she leaves you alone
And a new way doth take,
That sometime did love you as her own,
And her joy did you make?

I have loved her all my youth,
But now am old, as you see:
Love likes not the falling fruit,
Nor the withered tree.

Know that Love is a careless child,
And forgets promise past:
He is blind, he is deaf when he list,
And in faith never fast.

His desire is a dureless content,
And a trustless joy;
He is won with a world of despair,
And is lost with a toy.

Of womenkind such indeed is the love,
Or the word love abused,
Under which many childish desires
And conceits are excused.

But true love is a durable fire,
In the mind ever burning,
Never sick, never dead, never cold,
From itself never turning.

Athelston Read Poem

Lord that is off myghtys most,
Fadyr and Sone and Holy Gost,
Bryng us out of synne
And lene us grace so for to wyrke
To love bothe God and Holy Kyrke
That we may hevene wynne.

Lystnes, lordyngys, that ben hende,
Of falsnesse, hou it wil ende
A man that ledes hym therin.

Of foure weddyd bretheryn I wole yow tell
That wolden yn Yngelond go dwel,
That sybbe were nought of kyn.

And all foure messangeres they were,
That wolden yn Yngelond lettrys bere,
As it wes here kynde.

By a forest gan they mete
With a cros, stood in a strete
Be leff undyr a lynde,
And, as the story telles me,
Ylke man was of dyvers cuntrie
In book iwreten we fynde —
For love of here metyng thare,
They swoor hem weddyd bretheryn for evermare,
In trewthe trewely dede hem bynde.

The eldeste of hem ylkon,
He was hyght Athelston,
The kyngys cosyn dere;
He was of the kyngys blood,
Hys eemes sone, I undyrstood;
Therefore he neyghyd hym nere.

And at the laste, weel and fayr,
The kyng him dyyd withouten ayr.

Thenne was ther non hys pere
But Athelston, hys eemes sone;
To make hym kyng wolde they nought schone,
To corowne hym with gold so clere.

Now was he kyng semely to se:
He sendes afftyr his bretheryn thre
And gaff hem here warysoun.

The eldest brothir he made Eerl of Dovere —
And thus the pore man gan covere —
Lord of tour and toun.

That other brother he made Eerl of Stane —
Egelond was hys name,
A man of gret renoun —
And gaff him tyl hys weddyd wyff
Hys owne sustyr, Dame Edyff,
With gret devocyoun.

The ferthe brothir was a clerk,
Mekyl he cowde of Goddys werk.

Hys name it was Alryke.

Cauntyrbury was vacant
And fel into that kyngys hand;
He gaff it hym that wyke,
And made hym bysschop of that stede,
That noble clerk, on book cowde rede —
In the world was non hym lyche.

Thus avaunsyd he hys brother thorwgh Goddys gras,
And Athelston hymselven was
A good kyng and a ryche.

And he that was Eerl of Stane —
Sere Egeland was hys name —
Was trewe, as ye schal here.

Thorwgh the myght off Goddys gras,
He gat upon the countas
Twoo knave-chyldren dere.

That on was fyfftene wyntyr old,
That other thryttene, as men me told:
In the world was non here pere —
Also whyt so lylye-flour,
Red as rose off here colour,
As bryght as blosme on brere.

Bothe the Eerl and hys wyff,
The kyng hem lovede as hys lyff,
And here sones twoo;
And offtensythe he gan hem calle
Bothe to boure and to halle,
To counsayl whenne they scholde goo.

Therat Sere Wymound hadde gret envye,
That Eerle of Dovere, wyttyrlye.

In herte he was ful woo.

He thoughte al for here sake
False lesyngys on hem to make,
To don hem brenne and sloo.

And thanne Sere Wymound hym bethoughte:
'Here love thus endure may noughte;
Thorwgh wurd oure werk may sprynge.

'
He bad hys men maken hem yare;
Unto Londone wolde he fare
To speke with the kynge.

Whenne that he to Londone come,
He mette with the kyng ful sone.

He sayde, 'Welcome, my derelyng.

'
The kyng hym fraynyd seone anon,
By what way he hadde igon,
Withouten ony dwellyng.

'Come thou ought by Cauntyrbury,
There the clerkys syngen mery
Bothe erly and late?

Hou faryth that noble clerk,
That mekyl can on Goddys werk?

Knowest thou ought hys state?

And come thou ought be the Eerl of Stane,
That wurthy lord in hys wane?

Wente thou ought that gate?

Hou fares that noble knyght,
And hys sones fayr and bryght
My sustyr, yiff that thou wate?

'
'Sere,' thanne he sayde, 'withouten les,
Be Cauntyrbery my way I ches;
There spak I with that dere.

Ryght weel gretes thee that noble clerk,
That mykyl can of Goddys werk;
In the world is non hys pere.

And also be Stane my way I drowgh;
With Egelond I spak inowgh,
And with the countesse so clere.

They fare weel, is nought to layne,
And bothe here sones.

' The king was fayne
And in his herte made glad chere.

'Sere kyng,' he saide, 'yiff it be thi wille
To chaumbyr that thou woldest wenden tylle,
Consayl for to here,
I schal thee telle a swete tydande,
There comen nevere non swyche in this lande
Of all this hundryd yere.

'
The kyngys herte than was ful woo
With that traytour for to goo;
They wente bothe forth in fere;
And whenne that they were the chaumbyr withinne,
False lesyngys he gan begynne
On hys weddyd brother dere.

'Sere kyng,' he saide, 'woo were me,
Ded that I scholde see thee,
So moot I have my lyff!
For by Hym that al this worl wan,
Thou has makyd me a man,
And iholpe me for to thryff.

For in thy land, sere, is a fals traytour.

He wole doo thee mykyl dyshonour
And brynge thee of lyve.

He wole deposen thee slyly,
Sodaynly than schalt thou dy
By Chrystys woundys fyve!'
Thenne sayde the kyng, 'So moot thou the,
Knowe I that man, and I hym see?

His name thou me telle.

'
'Nay,' says that traytour, 'that wole I nought
For al the gold that evere was wrought —
Be masse-book and belle —
But yiff thou me thy trowthe will plyght
That thou schalt nevere bewreye the knyght
That thee the tale schal telle.

'
Thanne the kyng his hand up raughte,
That false man his trowthe betaughte,
He was a devyl of helle!
'Sere kyng,' he sayde, 'thou madyst me knyght,
And now thou hast thy trowthe me plyght
Oure counsayl for to layne:
Sertaynly, it is non othir
But Egelane, thy weddyd brothir —
He wolde that thou were slayne;
He dos thy sustyr to undyrstand
He wole be kyng of thy lande,
And thus he begynnes here trayne.

He wole thee poysoun ryght slyly;
Sodaynly thanne schalt thou dy,
By Him that suffryd payne.

'
Thanne swoor the kyng be Cros and Roode:
'Meete ne drynk schal do me goode
Tyl that he be dede;
Bothe he and hys wyf, hys soones twoo,
Schole they nevere be no moo
In Yngelond on that stede.

'
'Nay,' says the traytour, 'so moot I the,
Ded wole I nought my brother se;
But do thy beste rede.

'
No lengere there then wolde he lende;
He takes hys leve, to Dovere gan wende.

God geve hym schame and dede!
Now is that traytour hom iwent.

A messanger was afftyr sent
To speke with the kyng.

I wene he bar his owne name:
He was hoten Athelstane;
He was foundelyng.

The lettrys were imaad fullyche thare,
Unto Stane for to fare
Withouten ony dwellyng,
To fette the eerl and his sones twoo,
And the countasse alsoo,
Dame Edyve, that swete thyng.

And in the lettre yit was it tolde,
That the kyng the eerlys sones wolde
Make hem bothe knyght;
And therto his seel he sette.

The messanger wolde nought lette;
The way he rydes ful ryght.

The messanger, the noble man,
Takes hys hors and forth he wan,
And hyes a ful good spede.

The eerl in hys halle he fande;
He took hym the lettre in his hande
Anon he bad hym rede:
'Sere,' he sayde also swythe,
'This lettre oughte to make thee blythe:
Thertoo thou take good hede.

The kyng wole for the cuntas sake
Bothe thy sones knyghtes make —
To London I rede thee spede.

The kyng wole for the cuntas sake
Bothe thy sones knyghtes make,
The blythere thou may be.

Thy fayre wyff with thee thou bryng —
And ther be ryght no lettyng —
That syghte that sche may see.

'
Thenne sayde that eerl with herte mylde,
'My wyff goth ryght gret with chylde,
And forthynkes me,
Sche may nought out of chaumbyr wyn,
To speke with non ende of here kyn
Tyl sche delyveryd be.

'
But into chaumbyr they gunne wende,
To rede the lettrys before that hende
And tydingys tolde here soone.

Thanne sayde the cuntasse, 'So moot I the,
I wil nought lette tyl I there be,
Tomorwen or it be noone.

To see hem knyghtes, my sones fre,
I wole nought lette tyl I there be;
I schal no lengere dwelle.

Cryst foryelde my lord the kyng,
That has grauntyd hem here dubbyng.

Myn herte is gladyd welle.

'
The eerl hys men bad make hem yare;
He and hys wyff forth gunne they fare,
To London faste they wente.

At Westemynstyr was the kyngys wone;
There they mette with Athelstone,
That afftyr hem hadde sente.

The goode eerl soone was hent
And feteryd faste, verrayment,
And hys sones twoo.

Ful lowde the countasse gan to crye,
And sayde, 'Goode brothir, mercy!
Why wole ye us sloo?

What have we ayens yow done,
That ye wole have us ded so soone?

Me thynkith ye arn ourn foo.

'
The kyng as wood ferde in that stede;
He garte hys sustyr to presoun lede —
In herte he was ful woo.

Thenne a squyer, was the countasses frende,
To the qwene he gan wende,
And tydyngys tolde here soone.

Gerlondes of chyryes off sche caste,
Into the halle sche come at the laste,
Longe or it were noone.

'Sere kyng, I am before thee come
With a child, doughtyr or a sone.

Graunte me my bone,
My brothir and sustyr that I may borwe
Tyl the nexte day at morwe,
Out of here paynys stronge;
That we mowe wete by comoun sent
In the playne parlement.

'
'Dame,' he saide, 'goo fro me!
Thy bone shall nought igraunted be,
I doo thee to undyrstande.

For, be Hym that weres the corowne of thorn,
They schole be drawen and hangyd tomorn,
Yyff I be kyng of lande!'
And whenne the qwene these wurdes herde,
As sche hadde be beten with yerde,
The teeres sche leet doun falle.

Sertaynly, as I yow telle,
On here bare knees doun she felle,
And prayde yit for hem alle.

'A, dame,' he sayde, 'verrayment
Hast thou broke my comaundement
Abyyd ful dere thou schalle.

'
With hys foot — he wolde nought wonde —
He slowgh the chyld ryght in here wombe;
She swownyd amonges hem alle.

Ladyys and maydenys that there were,
The qwene to here chaumbyr bere,
And there was dool inowgh.

Soone withinne a lytyl spase
A knave-chyld iborn ther wase,
As bryght as blosme on bowgh.

He was bothe whyt and red;
Of that dynt was he ded —
His owne fadyr hym slowgh!
Thus may a traytour baret rayse
And make manye men ful evele at ayse,
Hymselff nought afftyr it lowgh.

But yit the qwene, as ye schole here,
Sche callyd upon a messangere,
Bad hym a lettre fonge.

And bad hym wende to Cauntyrbery,
There the clerkys syngen mery
Bothe masse and evensonge.

'This lettre thou the bysschop take,
And praye hym for Goddys sake,
Come borewe hem out off here bande.

He wole doo more for hym, I wene,
Thanne for me, though I be qwene —
I doo thee to undyrstande.

An eerldom in Spayne I have of land;
Al I sese into thyn hand,
Trewely, as I thee hyght,
And hundryd besauntys of gold red.

Thou may save hem from the ded,
Yyff that thyn hors be wyght.

'
'Madame, brouke weel thy moregeve,
Also longe as thou may leve.

Therto have I no ryght.

But of thy gold and of thy fee,
Cryst in hevene foryelde it thee;
I wole be there tonyght.

Madame, thrytty myles of hard way
I have reden syth it was day.

Ful sore I gan me swynke;
And for to ryde now fyve and twenti thertoo
An hard thyng it were to doo,
Forsothe, ryght as me thynke.

Madame, it is nerhande passyd prime,
And me behoves al for to dyne,
Bothe wyn and ale to drynke.

Whenne I have dynyd, thenne wole I fare.

God may covere hem of here care,
Or that I slepe a wynke.

'
Whenne he hadde dynyd, he wente his way,
Also faste as that he may,
He rod be Charynge-cross
And entryd into Flete-strete
And sithen thorwgh Londone, I yow hete,
Upon a noble hors.

The messanger, that noble man,
On Loundone-brygge sone he wan —
For his travayle he hadde no los —
From Stone into Steppyngebourne,
Forsothe, his way nolde he nought tourne;
Sparyd he nought for myre ne mos.

And thus hys way wendes he
Fro Osprynge to the Blee.

Thenne myghte he see the toun
Of Cauntyrbery, that noble wyke,
Therin lay that bysschop ryke,
That lord of gret renoun.

And whenne they runggen undernbelle,
He rod in Londone, as I yow telle:
He was non er redy;
And yit to Cauntyrbery he wan,
Longe or evensong began;
He rod mylys fyffty.

The messanger nothing abod;
Into the palays forth he rod,
There that the bysschop was inne.

Ryght welcome was the messanger,
That was come from the qwene so cleer,
Was of so noble kynne.

He took hym a lettre ful good speed
And saide, 'Sere bysschop, have this and reed,'
And bad hym come with hym.

Or he the lettre hadde halff iredde,
For dool, hym thoughte hys herte bledde;
The teeres fyl ovyr hys chyn.

The bysschop bad sadele hys palfray:
'Also faste as thay may,
Bydde my men make hem yare;
And wendes before,' the bysschop dede say,
'To my maneres in the way;
For nothyng that ye spare,
And loke at ylke fyve mylys ende
A fresch hors that I fynde,
Schod and nothing bare;
Blythe schal I nevere be,
Tyl I my weddyd brother see,
To kevere hym out of care.

'
On nyne palfrays the bysschop sprong,
Ar it was day, from evensong —
In romaunce as we rede.

Sertaynly, as I yow telle,
On Londone-brygge ded doun felle
The messangeres stede.

'Allas,' he sayde, 'that I was born!
Now is my goode hors forlorn,
Was good at ylke a nede;
Yistyrday upon the grounde,
He was wurth an hundryd pounde,
Ony kyng to lede.

'
Thenne bespak the erchebysschop.

Oure gostly fadyr undyr God,
Unto the messangere:
'Lat be thy menyng of thy stede,
And thynk upon oure mykyl nede,
The whylys that we ben here;
For yiff that I may my brother borwe
And bryngen hym out off mekyl sorwe,
Thou may make glad chere;
And thy warysoun I schal thee geve,
And God have grauntyd thee to leve
Unto an hundryd yere.

'
The bysschop thenne nought ne bod:
He took hys hors, and forth he rod
Into Westemynstyr so lyght;
The messanger on his foot alsoo:
With the bysschop come no moo,
Nether squyer ne knyght.

Upon the morwen the kyng aros,
And takes the way, to the kyrke he gos,
As man of mekyl myght.

With hym wente bothe preest and clerk,
That mykyl cowde of Goddys werk,
To praye God for the ryght.

Whenne that he to the kyrke com;
Tofore the Rode he knelyd anon,
And on hys knees he felle:
'God, that syt in Trynyt鼯nobr>
A bone that thou graunte me,
Lord, as Thou harewyd helle —
Gyltless men yiff thay be,
That are in my presoun free,
Forcursyd there to yelle,
Of the gylt and thay be clene,
Leve it moot on hem be sene,
That garte hem there to dwelle.

'
And whenne he hadde maad his prayer,
He lokyd up into the qweer;
The erchebysschop sawgh he stande.

He was forwondryd of that caas,
And to hym he wente apas,
And took hym be the hande.

'Welcome,' he sayde, 'thou erchebysschop,
Oure gostly fadyr undyr God.

'
He swoor be God levande,
'Weddyd brother, weel moot thou spede,
For I hadde nevere so mekyl nede,
Sith I took cros on hande.

Goode weddyd brother, now turne thy rede;
Doo nought thyn owne blood to dede
But yiff it wurthy were.

For Hym that weres the corowne of thorn,
Lat me borwe hem tyl tomorn,
That we mowe enquere,
And weten alle be comoun asent
In the playne parlement
Who is wurthy be schent.

And, but yiff ye wole graunte my bone,
It schal us rewe bothe or none,
Be God that alle thyng lent.

'
Thanne the kyng wax wrothe as wynde,
A wodere man myghte no man fynde
Than he began to bee:
He swoor othis be sunne and mone:
'They scholen be drawen and hongyd or none —
With eyen thou schalt see!
Lay doun thy cros and thy staff,
Thy mytyr and thy ryng that I thee gaff;
Out of my land thou flee!
Hyghe thee faste out of my syght!
Wher I thee mete, thy deth is dyght;
Non othir then schal it bee!'
Thenne bespak that erchebysschop,
Oure gostly fadyr undyr God,
Smertly to the kyng:
'Weel I wot that thou me gaff
Bothe the cros and the staff,
The mytyr and eke the ryng;
My bysschopryche thou reves me,
And Crystyndom forbede I thee!
Preest schal ther non syngge;
Neyther maydynchyld ne knave
Crystyndom schal ther non have;
To care I schal thee brynge.

I schal gare crye thorwgh ylke a toun
That kyrkys schole be broken doun
And stoken agayn with thorn.

And thou shalt lygge in an old dyke,
As it were an heretyke,
Allas that thou were born!
Yiff thou be ded, that I may see,
Assoylyd schalt thou nevere bee;
Thanne is thy soule in sorwe.

And I schal wende in uncouthe lond,
And gete me stronge men of hond;
My brothir yit schal I borwe.

I schal brynge upon thy lond
Hungyr and thyrst ful strong,
Cold, drougthe, and sorwe;
I schal nought leve on thy lond
Wurth the gloves on thy hond
To begge ne to borwe.

'
The bysschop has his leve tan.

By that his men were comen ylkan:
They sayden, 'Sere, have good day.

'
He entryd into Flete-strete;
With lordys of Yngelond gan he mete
Upon a noble aray.

On here knees they kneleden adoun,
And prayden hym of hys benysoun,
He nykkyd hem with nay.

Neyther of cros neyther of ryng
Hadde they non kyns wetyng;
And thanne a knyght gan say.

A knyght thanne spak with mylde voys:
'Sere, where is thy ryng?

Where is thy croys?

Is it fro thee tan?

'
Thanne he sayde, 'Youre cursyd kyng
Hath me refft of al my thyng,
And of al my worldly wan;
And I have entyrdytyd Yngelond:
Ther schal no preest synge Masse with hond,
Chyld schal be crystenyd non,
But yiff he graunte me that knyght,
His wyff and chyldryn fayr and bryght:
He wolde with wrong hem slon.

'
The knyght sayde, 'Bysschop, turne agayn;
Of thy body we are ful fayn;
Thy brothir yit schole we borwe.

And, but he graunte us oure bone,
Hys presoun schal be broken soone,
Hymselff to mekyl sorwe.

We schole drawe doun both halle and boures,
Bothe hys castelles and hys toures,
They schole lygge lowe and holewe.

Though he be kyng and were the corown,
We scholen hym sette in a deep dunjoun:
Oure Crystyndom we wole folewe.

'
Thanne, as they spoken of this thyng,
Ther comen twoo knyghtes from the kyng,
And sayden, 'Bysschop, abyde,
And have thy cros and thy ryng,
And welcome whyl that thou wylt lyng,
It is nought for to hyde.

Here he grauntys thee the knyght,
Hys wyff and chyldryn fayr and bryght;
Again I rede thou ryde.

He prayes thee pur charyt鼯nobr>
That he myghte asoylyd be,
And Yngelond long and wyde.

'
Hereof the bysschop was ful fayn,
And turnys hys brydyl and wendes agayn —
Barouns gunne with hym ryde —
Unto the Brokene-cros of ston;
Thedyr com the kyng ful soone anon,
And there he gan abyde.

Upon hys knees he knelyd adoun,
And prayde the bysschop of benysoun,
And he gaff hym that tyde.

With holy watyr and orysoun,
He asoylyd the kyng that weryd the coroun,
And Yngelond long and wyde.

Than sayde the kyng anon ryght:
'Here I graunte thee that knyght,
And hys sones free,
And my sustyr hende in halle.

Thou hast savyd here lyvys alle:
Iblessyd moot thou bee.

'
Thenne sayde the bysschop also soone:
'And I schal geven swylke a dome —
With eyen that thou schalt see!
Yiff thay be gylty off that dede,
Sorrere the doome thay may drede,
Thanne schewe here schame to me.

'
Whanne the bysschop hadde sayd soo,
A gret fyr was maad ryght thoo,
In romaunce as we rede —
It was set, that men myghte knawe,
Nyne plowgh-lengthe on rawe,
As red as ony glede.

Thanne sayde the kyng: 'What may this mene?

'
'Sere, of gylt and thay be clene,
This doom hem thar nought drede.

'
Thanne sayde the good Kyng Athelston:
'An hard doome now is this on:
God graunte us alle weel to spede.

'
They fetten forth Sere Egelan —
A trewere eerl was ther nan —
Before the fyr so bryght.

From hym they token the rede scarlet,
Bothe hosyn and schoon that weren hym met,
That fel al for a knyght.

Nyne sythe the bysschop halewid the way
That his weddyd brother scholde goo that day,
To praye God for the ryght.

He was unblemeschyd foot and hand;
That sawgh the lordes of the land,
And thankyd God of Hys myght.

They offeryd him with mylde chere
Unto Saint Powlys heyghe awtere,
That mekyl was of myght.

Doun upon hys knees he felle,
And thankyd God that harewede helle
And Hys modyr so bryght.

And yit the bysschop tho gan say:
'Now schal the chyldryn gon the way
That the fadyr yede.

'
Fro hem they tooke the rede scarlete,
The hosen and schoon that weren hem mete,
And al here worldly wede.

The fyr was bothe hydous and rede,
The chyldryn swownyd as they were ded;
The bysschop tyl hem yede;
With careful herte on hem gan look;
Be hys hand he hem up took:
'Chyldryn, have ye no drede.

'
Thanne the chyldryn stood and lowgh:
'Sere, the fyr is cold inowgh.

'
Thorwghout they wente apase.

They weren unblemeschyd foot and hand:
That sawgh the lordys of the land,
And thankyd God of His grace.

They offeryd hem with mylde chere
To Seynt Poulys hyghe awtere
This myracle schewyd was there.

And yit the bysschop efft gan say:
'Now schal the countasse goo the way
There that the chyldryn were.

'
They fetten forth the lady mylde;
Sche was ful gret igon with chylde
In romaunce as we rede —
Before the fyr whan that sche come,
To Jesu Cryst he prayde a bone,
That leet His woundys blede:
'Now, God lat nevere the kyngys foo
Quyk out of the fyr goo.

'
Therof hadde sche no drede.

Whenne sche hadde maad here prayer,
Sche was brought before the feer,
That brennyd bothe fayr and lyght.

Sche wente fro the lengthe into the thrydde;
Stylle sche stood the fyr amydde,
And callyd it merye and bryght.

Hard schourys thenne took here stronge
Bothe in bak and eke in wombe;
And sithen it fell at syght.

Whenne that here paynys slakyd was,
And sche hadde passyd that hydous pas,
Here nose barst on bloode.

Sche was unblemeschyd foot and hand:
That sawgh the lordys of the land,
And thankyd God on Rode.

They comaundyd men here away to drawe,
As it was the landys lawe;
And ladyys thanne tyl here yode.

She knelyd doun upon the ground
And there was born Seynt Edemound:
Iblessed be that foode!
And whanne this chyld iborn was,
It was brought into the plas;
It was bothe hool and sound
Bothe the kyng and bysschop free
They crystnyd the chyld, that men myght see,
And callyd it Edemound.

'Halff my land,' he sayde, 'I thee geve,
Also longe as I may leve,
With markys and with pounde;
And al afftyr my dede —
Yngelond to wysse and rede.

'
Now iblessyd be that stounde!
Thanne sayde the bysschop to the Kyng:
'Sere, who made this grete lesyng,
And who wroughte al this bale?

'
Thanne sayde the kyng, 'So moot I thee,
That schalt thou nevere wete for me,
In burgh neyther in sale;
For I have sworn be Seynt Anne
That I schal nevere bewreye that manne,
That me gan telle that tale.

They arn savyd thorwgh thy red;
Now lat al this be ded,
And kepe this counseyl hale.

'
Thenne swoor the bysschop, 'So moot I the,
Now I have power and dignyt鼯nobr>
For to asoyle thee as clene
As thou were hoven off the fount-ston.

Trustly trowe thou therupon,
And holde it for no wene:
I swere bothe be book and belle,
But yiff thou me his name telle,
The ryght doom schal I deme:
Thyselff schalt goo the ryghte way
That thy brother wente today,
Though it thee evele beseme.

'
Thenne sayde the kyng, 'So moot I the,
Be schryffte of mouthe telle I it thee;
Therto I am unblyve.

Sertaynly, it is non othir
But Wymound, oure weddyd brother;
He wole nevere thryve.

'
'Allas,' sayde the bysschop than,
I wende he were the treweste man,
That evere yit levyd on lyve.

And he with this ateynt may bee,
He schal be hongyd on trees three,
And drawen with hors fyve.

'
And whenne that the bysschop the sothe hade
That that traytour that lesyng made,
He callyd a messangere,
Bad hym to Dovere that he scholde founde,
For to fette that Eerl Wymounde:
(That traytour has no pere!)
Sey Egelane and hys sones be slawe,
Bothe ihangyd and to-drawe.

(Doo as I thee lere!)
The countasse is in presoun done;
Schal sche nevere out of presoun come,
But yiff it be on bere.

'
Now with the messanger was no badde;
He took his hors, as the bysschop radde,
To Dovere tyl that he come.

The eerl in hys halle he fand:
He took hym the lettre in his hand
On hygh, wolde he nought wone:
'Sere Egelane and his sones be slawe,
Bothe ihangyd and to-drawe:
Thou getyst that eerldome.

The countasse is in presoun done;
Schal sche nevere more out come,
Ne see neyther sunne ne mone.

'
Thanne that eerl made hym glade,
And thankyd God that lesyng was made:
'It hath gete me this eerldome.

'
He sayde, 'Felawe, ryght weel thou bee!
Have here besauntys good plent鼯nobr>
For thyn hedyr-come.

'
Thanne the messanger made his mon:
'Sere, of youre goode hors lende me on:
Now graunte me my bone;
For yystyrday deyde my nobyl stede,
On youre arende as I yede,
Be the way as I come.

'
'Myn hors be fatte and cornfed,
And of thy lyff I am adred.

'
That eerl sayde to him than,
'Thanne yiff min hors sholde thee sloo,
My lord the kyng wolde be ful woo
To lese swylk a man.

'
The messanger yit he broughte a stede,
On of the beste at ylke a nede
That evere on grounde dede gange,
Sadelyd and brydelyd at the beste.

The messanger was ful preste,
Wyghtly on hym he sprange.

'Sere,' he sayde, 'have good day;
Thou schalt come whan thou may;
I schal make the kyng at hande.

'
With sporys faste he strook the stede;
To Gravysende he come good spede,
Is fourty myle to fande.

There the messanger the traytour abood,
And sethyn bothe insame they rod
To Westemynstyr wone.

In the palays there thay lyght;
Into the halle they come ful ryght,
And mette with Athelstone.

He wolde have kyssyd his lord swete.

He sayde: 'Traytour, nought yit! lete!
Be God and be Seynt Jhon!
For thy falsnesse and thy lesyng
I slowgh myn heyr, scholde have ben kyng,
When my lyf hadde ben gon.

'
There he denyyd faste the kyng,
That he made nevere that lesyng,
Among hys peres alle.

The bysschop has hym be the hand tan;
Forth insame they are gan
Into the wyde halle.

Myghte he nevere with crafft ne gynne,
Gare hym shryven of hys synne,
For nought that myghte befalle.

Thenne sayde the goode Kyng Athelston:
'Lat hym to the fyr gon,
To preve the trewthe with alle.

'
Whenne the kyng hadde sayd soo,
A gret fyr was maad thoo,
In romaunce as we rede.

It was set, that men myghten knawe,
Nyne plowgh-lenge on rawe,
As red as ony glede.

Nyne sythis the bysschop halewes the way
That that traytour schole goo that day:
The wers him gan to spede.

He wente fro the lengthe into the thrydde,
And doun he fell the fyr amydde:
Hys eyen wolde hym nought lede.

Than the eerlys chyldryn were war ful smerte,
And wyghtly to the traytour sterte,
And out of the fyr him hade;
And sworen bothe be book and belle:
'Or that thou deye, thou schalt telle
Why thou that lesyng made.

'
'Certayn, I can non other red,
Now I wot I am but ded:
I telle yow nothyng gladde —
Certayn, ther was non other wyte:
He lovyd him to mekyl and me to lyte;
Therfore envye I hadde.

'
Whenne that traytour so hadde sayde,
Fyve good hors to hym were tayde,
Alle men myghten see with yghe —
They drowen him thorwgh ylke a strete,
And sethyn to the Elmes, I yow hete,
And hongyd him ful hyghe.

Was ther nevere man so hardy,
That durste felle hys false body:
This hadde he for hys lye.

Now Jesu, that is Hevene-kyng,
Leve nevere traytour have betere endyng,
But swych dome for to dye.

Explicit

Baa, Baa, Black Sheep Read Poem

Baa, baa, black sheep,
Have you any wool?

Yes, many have I,
Three bags full;
One for my master,
One for my dame,
And one for the little boy
Who lives down the lane.

There are many versions of this poem.

Baa Baa black sheep
Have you any wool?

Yes Sir! Yes Sir!
Three bags full.

One for the master,
And one for the dame,
But none for the little boy
Who cries in the lane.

Then there is the additional final verse that has been added by another anonymous writer.

Trying to teach good manners obviously.

Thank you said the master,
Thank you said the dame
And thank you said the little boy
Who lived down the lane.

.

.

.

.

.

The lyrical form of this poem is abcbdefe.

1.

Cf.

The Oxford Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes, ed.

Iona and
Peter Opie (1951\; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1966), no.

55, p.

88,
whose version, based on Tommy Thumb's Pretty Song Book
(1744), ends "And one for the little boy / Who lives down the lane.

"

Balade In Praise of Chaucer Read Poem

Master Geffray Chauser, that now lyth in grave,
The nobyll rethoricien, and poet of Gret Bretayne,
That worthy was the lawrer of poetry have
For thys hys labour, and the palme attayne;
Whych furst made to dystyll and reyne
The gold dew-dropys of speche and eloquence
In-to Englyssh tong, thorow hys excellence.

Explicit

Balade In Praise Of Chaucer Read Poem

Master Geffray Chauser, that now lyth in grave,
The nobyll rethoricien, and poet of Gret Bretayne,
That worthy was the lawrer of poetry have
For thys hys labour, and the palme attayne;
Whych furst made to dystyll and reyne
The gold dew-dropys of speche and eloquence
In-to Englyssh tong, thorow hys excellence.

Explicit

Balow Read Poem

BALOW, my babe, lie still and sleep!
It grieves me sore to see thee weep.

Wouldst thou be quiet I'se be glad,
Thy mourning makes my sorrow sad:
Balow my boy, thy mother's joy,
Thy father breeds me great annoy—
Balow, la-low!
When he began to court my love,
And with his sugred words me move,
His faynings false and flattering cheer
To me that time did not appear:
But now I see most cruellye
He cares ne for my babe nor me—
Balow, la-low!
Lie still, my darling, sleep awhile,
And when thou wak'st thoo'le sweetly smile:
But smile not as thy father did,
To cozen maids: nay, God forbid!
But yet I fear thou wilt go near
Thy father's heart and face to bear—
Balow, la-low!
I cannot choose but ever will
Be loving to thy father still;
Where'er he go, where'er he ride,
My love with him doth still abide;
In weal or woe, where'er he go,
My heart shall ne'er depart him fro—
Balow, la-low!
But do not, do not, pretty mine,
To faynings false thy heart incline!
Be loyal to thy lover true,
And never change her for a new:
If good or fair, of her have care
For women's banning 's wondrous sare—
Balow, la-low!
Bairn, by thy face I will beware;
Like Sirens' words, I'll come not near;
My babe and I together will live;
He'll comfort me when cares do grieve.

My babe and I right soft will lie,
And ne'er respect man's crueltye—
Balow, la-low!
Farewell, farewell, the falsest youth
That ever kist a woman's mouth!
I wish all maids be warn'd by me
Never to trust man's curtesye;
For if we do but chance to bow,
They'll use us then they care not how—
Balow, la-low!

Barbara Allen Read Poem

In Scarlet town, where I was born,
There was a fair maid dwellin',
Made every youth cry Well-a-day!
Her name was Barbara Allen.

All in the merry month of May,
When the green buds they were swellin',
Young Jemmy Grove on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen
He sent his men down to her then,
To the town where she was dwelling:
"O haste and come to my master dear,
Gin ye be Barbara Allen.

"
So slowly, slowly rase she up,
And slowly she came nigh him,
And when she drew the curtains by--
"Young man, I think you're dyin'.

"
"O it's I am sick and very very sick,
And 'tis a' for Barbara Allen.

" --
"O the better for me ye'se never be,
Tho your heart's blood were a-spillin'!.

"O dinna ye mind, young man," said she,
"When the red wine ye were fillin',
That ye made the healths gae round and round,
And slighted Barbara Allen?

"
He turned his face unto the wall,
And death was with him dealin':
"Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,
And be kind to Barbara Allen!"
And slowly, slowly raise she up,
And slowly, slowly left him,
And sighing said she could not stay,
Since death of life had reft him.

As she was walkin o'er the fields
She heard the dead-bell knellin',
And every jow that the dead-bell geid,
Cried, "Woe to Barbara Allen!"
"O mother, mother, make my bed!
O make it saft and narrow:
My love has died for me today,
I'll die for him to-morrow.

"
"Farewell", she said, "ye virgins all,
And shun the fault I fell in:
Henceforward take warning by the fall
Of cruel Barbara Allen.

"

Battle Of Otterbourne Read Poem

It fell about the Lammas tide,
When the muir-men win their hay,
The doughty Douglas bound him to ride
Into England, to drive a prey.

He chose the Gordons and the Graemes,
With them the Lindesays, light and gay;
But the Jardines wald nor with him ride,
And they rue it to this day.

And he has burn'd the dales of Tyne,
And part of Bambrough shire:
And three good towers on Reidswire fells,
He left them all on fire.

And he march'd up to Newcastle,
And rode it round about:
"O wha's the lord of this castle?

Or wha's the lady o't ?

"
But up spake proud Lord Percy then,
And O but he spake hie!
"I am the lord of this castle,
My wife's the lady gaye.

"
"If thou'rt the lord of this castle,
Sae weel it pleases me!
For, ere I cross the Border fells,
The tane of us sall die.

"
He took a lang spear in his hand,
Shod with the metal free,
And for to meet the Douglas there,
He rode right furiouslie.

But O how pale his lady look'd,
Frae aff the castle wa',
When down, before the Scottish spear,
She saw proud Percy fa'.

"Had we twa been upon the green,
And never an eye to see,
I wad hae had you, flesh and fell;
But your sword sall gae wi' mee.

"
"But gae ye up to Otterbourne,
And wait there dayis three;
And, if I come not ere three dayis end,
A fause knight ca' ye me.

"
"The Otterbourne's a bonnie burn;
'Tis pleasant there to be;
But there is nought at Otterbourne,
To feed my men and me.

"The deer rins wild on hill and dale,
The birds fly wild from tree to tree;
But there is neither bread nor kale,
To feed my men and me.

"Yet I will stay it Otterbourne,
Where you shall welcome be;
And, if ye come not at three dayis end,
A fause lord I'll ca' thee.

"
"Thither will I come," proud Percy said,
"By the might of Our Ladye!"--
"There will I bide thee," said the Douglas,
"My troth I plight to thee.

"
They lighted high on Otterbourne,
Upon the bent sae brown;
They lighted high on Otterbourne,
And threw their pallions down.

And he that had a bonnie boy,
Sent out his horse to grass,
And he that had not a bonnie boy,
His ain servant he was.

But up then spake a little page,
Before the peep of dawn:
"O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord,
For Percy's hard at hand.

"
"Ye lie, ye lie, ye liar loud!
Sae loud I hear ye lie;
For Percy had not men yestreen,
To dight my men and me.

"But I have dream'd a dreary dream,
Beyond the Isle of Sky;
I saw a dead man win a fight,
And I think that man was I.

"
He belted on his guid braid sword,
And to the field he ran;
But he forgot the helmet good,
That should have kept his brain.

When Percy wi the Douglas met,
I wat he was fu fain!
They swakked their swords, till sair they swat,
And the blood ran down like rain.

But Percy with his good broad sword,
That could so sharply wound,
Has wounded Douglas on the brow,
Till he fell to the ground.

Then he calld on his little foot-page,
And said--"Run speedilie,
And fetch my ain dear sister's son,
Sir Hugh Montgomery.

"My nephew good," the Douglas said,
"What recks the death of ane!
Last night I dreamd a dreary dream,
And I ken the day's thy ain.

"My wound is deep; I fain would sleep;
Take thou the vanguard of the three,
And hide me by the braken bush,
That grows on yonder lilye lee.

"O bury me by the braken-bush,
Beneath the blooming brier;
Let never living mortal ken
That ere a kindly Scot lies here.

"
He lifted up that noble lord,
Wi the saut tear in his e'e;
He hid him in the braken bush,
That his merrie men might not see.

The moon was clear, the day drew near,
The spears in flinders flew,
But mony a gallant Englishman
Ere day the Scotsmen slew.

The Gordons good, in English blood,
They steepd their hose and shoon;
The Lindesays flew like fire about,
Till all the fray was done.

The Percy and Montgomery met,
That either of other were fain;
They swapped swords, and they twa swat,
And aye the blood ran down between.

"Yield thee, now yield thee, Percy," he said,
"Or else I vow I'll lay thee low!"
"To whom must I yield," quoth Earl Percy,
"Now that I see it must be so ?

"
"Thou shalt not yield to lord nor loun,
Nor yet shalt thou yield to me;
But yield thee to the braken-bush,
That grows upon yon lilye lee!"
"I will not yield to a braken-bush,
Nor yet will I yield to a brier;
But I would yield to Earl Douglas,
Or Sir Hugh the Montgomery, if he were here.

"
As soon as he knew it was Montgomery,
He stuck his sword's point in the gronde;
The Montgomery was a courteous knight,
And quickly took him by the honde.

This deed was done at Otterbourne,
About the breaking of the day;
Earl Douglas was buried at the braken bush,
And the Percy led captive away.

Beleeue Me Now I Tell It For No Tale Read Poem

Beleeue me now I tell it for no tale,
There is a Queene, or else a Goddesse t'one,
That without helpe of man, or any male
Conceaueth daughters by her selfe alone:
But at their birth, be it by night or day,
Some skilfull man, the midwiues part doth play.

When they be borne, and perfectly brought foorth,
Both olde and yong doe greatly them desire;
Their beautie and their power is of such woorth,
That all mens harts, therewith are set on fire:
And in all times they beare as great a sway
As if on earth, there were no queenes but they.

Beowulf (The Prelude) Read Poem

PRELUDE OF THE FOUNDER OF THE DANISH HOUSE
LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings
of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped,
we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!
Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes,
from many a tribe, the mead-bench tore,
awing the earls.

Since erst he lay
friendless, a foundling, fate repaid him:
for he waxed under welkin, in wealth he throve,
till before him the folk, both far and near,
who house by the whale-path, heard his mandate,
gave him gifts: a good king he!
To him an heir was afterward born,
a son in his halls, whom heaven sent
to favor the folk, feeling their woe
that erst they had lacked an earl for leader
so long a while; the Lord endowed him,
the Wielder of Wonder, with world's renown.

Famed was this Beowulf: far flew the boast of him,
son of Scyld, in the Scandian lands.

So becomes it a youth to quit him well
with his father's friends, by fee and gift,
that to aid him, aged, in after days,
come warriors willing, should war draw nigh,
liegemen loyal: by lauded deeds
shall an earl have honor in every clan.

Forth he fared at the fated moment,
sturdy Scyld to the shelter of God.

Then they bore him over to ocean's billow,
loving clansmen, as late he charged them,
while wielded words the winsome Scyld,
the leader beloved who long had ruled….

In the roadstead rocked a ring-dight vessel,
ice-flecked,
outbound, atheling's barge:
there laid they down their darling lord
on the breast of the boat, the breaker-of-r
ings,
by the mast the mighty one.

Many a treasure
fetched from far was freighted with him.

No ship have I known so nobly dight
with weapons of war and weeds of battle,
with breastplate and blade: on his bosom lay
a heaped hoard that hence should go
far o'er the flood with him floating away.

No less these loaded the lordly gifts,
thanes' huge treasure, than those had done
who in former time forth had sent him
sole on the seas, a suckling child.

High o'er his head they hoist the standard,
a gold-wove banner; let billows take him,
gave him to ocean.

Grave were their spirits,
mournful their mood.

No man is able
to say in sooth, no son of the halls,
no hero 'neath heaven, — who harbored that freight!

Beowulf (Episode 01) Read Poem

Now Beowulf bode in the burg of the Scyldings,
leader beloved, and long he ruled
in fame with all folk, since his father had gone
away from the world, till awoke an heir,
haughty Healfdene, who held through life,
sage and sturdy, the Scyldings glad.

Then, one after one, there woke to him,
to the chieftain of clansmen, children four:
Heorogar, then Hrothgar, then Halga brave;
and I heard that — was — 's queen,
the Heathoscylfi ng's helpmate dear.

To Hrothgar was given such glory of war,
such honor of combat, that all his kin
obeyed him gladly till great grew his band
of youthful comrades.

It came in his mind
to bid his henchmen a hall uprear,
ia master mead-house, mightier far
than ever was seen by the sons of earth,
and within it, then, to old and young
he would all allot that the Lord had sent him,
save only the land and the lives of his men.

Wide, I heard, was the work commanded,
for many a tribe this mid-earth round,
to fashion the folkstead.

It fell, as he ordered,
in rapid achievement that ready it stood there,
of halls the noblest: Heorot he named it
whose message had might in many a land.

Not reckless of promise, the rings he dealt,
treasure at banquet: there towered the hall,
high, gabled wide, the hot surge waiting
of furious flame.

Nor far was that day
when father and son-in-law stood in feud
for warfare and hatred that woke again.

With envy and anger an evil spirit
endured the dole in his dark abode,
that he heard each day the din of revel
high in the hall: there harps rang out,
clear song of the singer.

He sang who knew
tales of the early time of man,
how the Almighty made the earth,
fairest fields enfolded by water,
set, triumphant, sun and moon
for a light to lighten the land-dweller s,
and braided bright the breast of earth
with limbs and leaves, made life for all
of mortal beings that breathe and move.

So lived the clansmen in cheer and revel
a winsome life, till one began
to fashion evils, that field of hell.

Grendel this monster grim was called,
march-riever  mighty, in moorland living,
in fen and fastness; fief of the giants
the hapless wight a while had kept
since the Creator his exile doomed.

On kin of Cain was the killing avenged
by sovran God for slaughtered Abel.

Ill fared his feud, and far was he driven,
for the slaughter's sake, from sight of men.

Of Cain awoke all that woful breed,
Etins and elves and evil-spirits ,
as well as the giants that warred with God
weary while: but their wage was paid them!
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Beowulf (Episode 02) Read Poem

WENT he forth to find at fall of night
that haughty house, and heed wherever
the Ring-Danes, outrevelled,  to rest had gone.

Found within it the atheling band
asleep after feasting and fearless of sorrow,
of human hardship.

Unhallowed wight,
grim and greedy, he grasped betimes,
wrathful, reckless, from resting-plac es,
thirty of the thanes, and thence he rushed
fain of his fell spoil, faring homeward,
laden with slaughter, his lair to seek.

Then at the dawning, as day was breaking,
the might of Grendel to men was known;
then after wassail was wail uplifted,
loud moan in the morn.

The mighty chief,
atheling excellent, unblithe sat,
labored in woe for the loss of his thanes,
when once had been traced the trail of the fiend,
spirit accurst: too cruel that sorrow,
too long, too loathsome.

Not late the respite;
with night returning, anew began
ruthless murder; he recked no whit,
firm in his guilt, of the feud and crime.

They were easy to find who elsewhere sought
in room remote their rest at night,
bed in the bowers, when that bale was shown,
was seen in sooth, with surest token, —
the hall-thane's  hate.

Such held themselves
far and fast who the fiend outran!
Thus ruled unrighteous and raged his fill
one against all; until empty stood
that lordly building, and long it bode so.

Twelve years' tide the trouble he bore,
sovran of Scyldings, sorrows in plenty,
boundless cares.

There came unhidden
tidings true to the tribes of men,
in sorrowful songs, how ceaselessly Grendel
harassed Hrothgar, what hate he bore him,
what murder and massacre, many a year,
feud unfading, — refused consent
to deal with any of Daneland's earls,
make pact of peace, or compound for gold:
still less did the wise men ween to get
great fee for the feud from his fiendish hands.

But the evil one ambushed old and young
death-shadow  dark, and dogged them still,
lured, or lurked in the livelong night
of misty moorlands: men may say not
where the haunts of these Hell-Runes be.

Such heaping of horrors the hater of men,
lonely roamer, wrought unceasing,
harassings heavy.

O'er Heorot he lorded,
gold-bright hall, in gloomy nights;
and ne'er could the prince approach his throne,
— 'twas judgment of God, — or have joy in his hall.

Sore was the sorrow to Scyldings'-f riend,
heart-rendin g misery.

Many nobles
sat assembled, and searched out counsel
how it were best for bold-hearted  men
against harassing terror to try their hand.

Whiles they vowed in their heathen fanes
altar-offeri ngs, asked with words
that the slayer-of-so uls would succor give them
for the pain of their people.

Their practice this,
their heathen hope; 'twas Hell they thought of
in mood of their mind.

Almighty they knew not,
Doomsman of Deeds and dreadful Lord,
nor Heaven's-Hel met heeded they ever,
Wielder-of-W onder.

— Woe for that man
who in harm and hatred hales his soul
to fiery embraces; — nor favor nor change
awaits he ever.

But well for him
that after death-day may draw to his Lord,
and friendship find in the Father's arms!
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Beowulf (Episode 03) Read Poem

THUS seethed unceasing the son of Healfdene
with the woe of these days; not wisest men
assuaged his sorrow; too sore the anguish,
loathly and long, that lay on his folk,
most baneful of burdens and bales of the night.

This heard in his home Hygelac's thane,
great among Geats, of Grendel's doings.

He was the mightiest man of valor
in that same day of this our life,
stalwart and stately.

A stout wave-walker
he bade make ready.

Yon battle-king,  said he,
far o'er the swan-road he fain would seek,
the noble monarch who needed men!
The prince's journey by prudent folk
was little blamed, though they loved him dear;
they whetted the hero, and hailed good omens.

And now the bold one from bands of Geats
comrades chose, the keenest of warriors
e'er he could find; with fourteen men
the sea-wood he sought, and, sailor proved,
led them on to the land's confines.

Time had now flown; afloat was the ship,
boat under bluff.

On board they climbed,
warriors ready; waves were churning
sea with sand; the sailors bore
on the breast of the bark their bright array,
their mail and weapons: the men pushed off,
on its willing way, the well-braced craft.

Then moved o'er the waters by might of the wind
that bark like a bird with breast of foam,
till in season due, on the second day,
the curved prow such course had run
that sailors now could see the land,
sea-cliffs shining, steep high hills,
headlands broad.

Their haven was found,
their journey ended.

Up then quickly
the Weders' clansmen climbed ashore,
anchored their sea-wood, with armor clashing
and gear of battle: God they thanked
or passing in peace o'er the paths of the sea.

Now saw from the cliff a Scylding clansman,
a warden that watched the water-side,
how they bore o'er the gangway glittering shields,
war-gear in readiness; wonder seized him
to know what manner of men they were.

Straight to the strand his steed he rode,
Hrothgar's henchman; with hand of might
he shook his spear, and spake in parley.

"Who are ye, then, ye armed men,
mailed folk, that yon mighty vessel
have urged thus over the ocean ways,
here o'er the waters?

A warden I,
sentinel set o'er the sea-march here,
lest any foe to the folk of Danes
with harrying fleet should harm the land.

No aliens ever at ease thus bore them,
linden-wield ers: yet word-of-leav e
clearly ye lack from clansmen here,
my folk's agreement.

— A greater ne'er saw I
of warriors in world than is one of you, —
yon hero in harness! No henchman he
worthied by weapons, if witness his features,
his peerless presence! I pray you, though, tell
your folk and home, lest hence ye fare
suspect to wander your way as spies
in Danish land.

Now, dwellers afar,
ocean-travel lers, take from me
simple advice: the sooner the better
I hear of the country whence ye came.

"
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Beowulf (Episode 04) Read Poem

To him the stateliest spake in answer;
the warriors' leader his word-hoard unlocked: —
"We are by kin of the clan of Geats,
and Hygelac's own hearth-fello ws we.

To folk afar was my father known,
noble atheling, Ecgtheow named.

Full of winters, he fared away
aged from earth; he is honored still
through width of the world by wise men all.

To thy lord and liege in loyal mood
we hasten hither, to Healfdene's son,
people-prote ctor: be pleased to advise us!
To that mighty-one come we on mickle errand,
to the lord of the Danes; nor deem I right
that aught be hidden.

We hear — thou knowest
if sooth it is — the saying of men,
that amid the Scyldings a scathing monster,
dark ill-doer, in dusky nights
shows terrific his rage unmatched,
hatred and murder.

To Hrothgar I
in greatness of soul would succor bring,
so the Wise-and-Bra ve may worst his foes, —
if ever the end of ills is fated,
of cruel contest, if cure shall follow,
and the boiling care-waves cooler grow;
else ever afterward anguish-days
he shall suffer in sorrow while stands in place
high on its hill that house unpeered!"
Astride his steed, the strand-ward answered,
clansman unquailing: "The keen-souled thane
must be skilled to sever and sunder duly
words and works, if he well intends.

I gather, this band is graciously bent
to the Scyldings' master.

March, then, bearing
weapons and weeds the way I show you.

I will bid my men your boat meanwhile
to guard for fear lest foemen come, —
your new-tarred ship by shore of ocean
faithfully watching till once again
it waft o'er the waters those well-loved thanes,
— winding-neck 'd wood, — to Weders' bounds,
heroes such as the hest of fate
shall succor and save from the shock of war.

"
They bent them to march, — the boat lay still,
fettered by cable and fast at anchor,
broad-bosome d ship.

— Then shone the boars
over the cheek-guard;  chased with gold,
keen and gleaming, guard it kept
o'er the man of war, as marched along
heroes in haste, till the hall they saw,
broad of gable and bright with gold:
that was the fairest, 'mid folk of earth,
of houses 'neath heaven, where Hrothgar lived,
and the gleam of it lightened o'er lands afar.

The sturdy shieldsman showed that bright
burg-of-the- boldest; bade them go
straightway thither; his steed then turned,
hardy hero, and hailed them thus: —
"Tis time that I fare from you.

Father Almighty
in grace and mercy guard you well,
safe in your seekings.

Seaward I go,
'gainst hostile warriors hold my watch.

"
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Beowulf (Episode 05) Read Poem

STONE-BRIGHT  the street: it showed the way
to the crowd of clansmen.

Corselets glistened
hand-forged,  hard; on their harness bright
the steel ring sang, as they strode along
in mail of battle, and marched to the hall.

There, weary of ocean, the wall along
they set their bucklers, their broad shields, down,
and bowed them to bench: the breastplates  clanged,
war-gear of men; their weapons stacked,
spears of the seafarers stood together,
gray-tipped ash: that iron band
was worthily weaponed! — A warrior proud
asked of the heroes their home and kin.

"Whence, now, bear ye burnished shields,
harness gray and helmets grim,
spears in multitude?

Messenger, I,
Hrothgar's herald! Heroes so many
ne'er met I as strangers of mood so strong.

'Tis plain that for prowess, not plunged into exile,
for high-hearted  valor, Hrothgar ye seek!"
Him the sturdy-in-wa r bespake with words,
proud earl of the Weders answer made,
hardy 'neath helmet: — "Hygelac's, we,
fellows at board; I am Beowulf named.

I am seeking to say to the son of Healfdene
this mission of mine, to thy master-lord,
the doughty prince, if he deign at all
grace that we greet him, the good one, now.

"
Wulfgar spake, the Wendles' chieftain,
whose might of mind to many was known,
his courage and counsel: "The king of Danes,
the Scyldings' friend, I fain will tell,
the Breaker-of-R ings, as the boon thou askest,
the famed prince, of thy faring hither,
and, swiftly after, such answer bring
as the doughty monarch may deign to give.

"
Hied then in haste to where Hrothgar sat
white-haired  and old, his earls about him,
till the stout thane stood at the shoulder there
of the Danish king: good courtier he!
Wulfgar spake to his winsome lord: —
"Hither have fared to thee far-come men
o'er the paths of ocean, people of Geatland;
and the stateliest there by his sturdy band
is Beowulf named.

This boon they seek,
that they, my master, may with thee
have speech at will: nor spurn their prayer
to give them hearing, gracious Hrothgar!
In weeds of the warrior worthy they,
methinks, of our liking; their leader most surely,
a hero that hither his henchmen has led.

"
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Beowulf (Episode 06) Read Poem

HROTHGAR answered, helmet of Scyldings: —
"I knew him of yore in his youthful days;
his aged father was Ecgtheow named,
to whom, at home, gave Hrethel the Geat
his only daughter.

Their offspring bold
fares hither to seek the steadfast friend.

And seamen, too, have said me this, —
who carried my gifts to the Geatish court,
thither for thanks, — he has thirty men's
heft of grasp in the gripe of his hand,
the bold-in-batt le.

Blessed God
out of his mercy this man hath sent
to Danes of the West, as I ween indeed,
against horror of Grendel.

I hope to give
the good youth gold for his gallant thought.

Be thou in haste, and bid them hither,
clan of kinsmen, to come before me;
and add this word, — they are welcome guests
to folk of the Danes.

"
[To the door of the hall
Wulfgar went] and the word declared: —
"To you this message my master sends,
East-Danes' king, that your kin he knows,
hardy heroes, and hails you all
welcome hither o'er waves of the sea!
Ye may wend your way in war-attire,
and under helmets Hrothgar greet;
but let here the battle-shiel ds bide your parley,
and wooden war-shafts wait its end.

"
Uprose the mighty one, ringed with his men,
brave band of thanes: some bode without,
battle-gear guarding, as bade the chief.

Then hied that troop where the herald led them,
under Heorot's roof: [the hero strode,]
hardy 'neath helm, till the hearth he neared.

Beowulf spake, — his breastplate gleamed,
war-net woven by wit of the smith: —
"Thou Hrothgar, hail! Hygelac's I,
kinsman and follower.

Fame a plenty
have I gained in youth! These Grendel-deed s
I heard in my home-land heralded clear.

Seafarers say how stands this hall,
of buildings best, for your band of thanes
empty and idle, when evening sun
in the harbor of heaven is hidden away.

So my vassals advised me well, —
brave and wise, the best of men, —
O sovran Hrothgar, to seek thee here,
for my nerve and my might they knew full well.

Themselves had seen me from slaughter come
blood-flecke d from foes, where five I bound,
and that wild brood worsted.

I' the waves I slew
nicors by night, in need and peril
avenging the Weders, whose woe they sought, —
crushing the grim ones.

Grendel now,
monster cruel, be mine to quell
in single battle! So, from thee,
thou sovran of the Shining-Dane s,
Scyldings'-b ulwark, a boon I seek, —
and, Friend-of-th e-folk, refuse it not,
O Warriors'-sh ield, now I've wandered far, —
that I alone with my liegemen here,
this hardy band, may Heorot purge!
More I hear, that the monster dire,
in his wanton mood, of weapons recks not;
hence shall I scorn — so Hygelac stay,
king of my kindred, kind to me! —
brand or buckler to bear in the fight,
gold-colored  targe: but with gripe alone
must I front the fiend and fight for life,
foe against foe.

Then faith be his
in the doom of the Lord whom death shall take.

Fain, I ween, if the fight he win,
in this hall of gold my Geatish band
will he fearless eat, — as oft before, —
my noblest thanes.

Nor need'st thou then
to hide my head; for his shall I be,
dyed in gore, if death must take me;
and my blood-covere d body he'll bear as prey,
ruthless devour it, the roamer-lonel y,
with my life-blood redden his lair in the fen:
no further for me need'st food prepare!
To Hygelac send, if Hild should take me,
best of war-weeds, warding my breast,
armor excellent, heirloom of Hrethel
and work of Wayland.

Fares Wyrd as she must.

"
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Beowulf (Episode 07) Read Poem

HROTHGAR spake, the Scyldings'-h elmet: —
"For fight defensive, Friend my Beowulf,
to succor and save, thou hast sought us here.

Thy father's combat a feud enkindled
when Heatholaf with hand he slew
among the Wylfings; his Weder kin
for horror of fighting feared to hold him.

Fleeing, he sought our South-Dane folk,
over surge of ocean the Honor-Scyldi ngs,
when first I was ruling the folk of Danes,
wielded, youthful, this widespread realm,
this hoard-hold of heroes.

Heorogar was dead,
my elder brother, had breathed his last,
Healfdene's bairn: he was better than I!
Straightway the feud with fee I settled,
to the Wylfings sent, o'er watery ridges,
treasures olden: oaths he swore me.

Sore is my soul to say to any
of the race of man what ruth for me
in Heorot Grendel with hate hath wrought,
what sudden harryings.

Hall-folk fail me,
my warriors wane; for Wyrd hath swept them
into Grendel's grasp.

But God is able
this deadly foe from his deeds to turn!
Boasted full oft, as my beer they drank,
earls o'er the ale-cup, armed men,
that they would bide in the beer-hall here,
Grendel's attack with terror of blades.

Then was this mead-house at morning tide
dyed with gore, when the daylight broke,
all the boards of the benches blood-bespri nkled,
gory the hall: I had heroes the less,
doughty dear-ones that death had reft.

— But sit to the banquet, unbind thy words,
hardy hero, as heart shall prompt thee.

"
Gathered together, the Geatish men
in the banquet-hall  on bench assigned,
sturdy-spiri ted, sat them down,
hardy-hearte d.

A henchman attended,
carried the carven cup in hand,
served the clear mead.

Oft minstrels sang
blithe in Heorot.

Heroes revelled,
no dearth of warriors, Weder and Dane.

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Beowulf (Episode 08) Read Poem

UNFERTH spake, the son of Ecglaf,
who sat at the feet of the Scyldings' lord,
unbound the battle-runes .

— Beowulf's quest,
sturdy seafarer's, sorely galled him;
ever he envied that other men
should more achieve in middle-earth
of fame under heaven than he himself.

—
"Art thou that Beowulf, Breca's rival,
who emulous swam on the open sea,
when for pride the pair of you proved the floods,
and wantonly dared in waters deep
to risk your lives?

No living man,
or lief or loath, from your labor dire
could you dissuade, from swimming the main.

Ocean-tides with your arms ye covered,
with strenuous hands the sea-streets measured,
swam o'er the waters.

Winter's storm
rolled the rough waves.

In realm of sea
a sennight strove ye.

In swimming he topped thee,
had more of main! Him at morning-tide
billows bore to the Battling Reamas,
whence he hied to his home so dear
beloved of his liegemen, to land of Brondings,
fastness fair, where his folk he ruled,
town and treasure.

In triumph o'er thee
Beanstan's bairn his boast achieved.

So ween I for thee a worse adventure
— though in buffet of battle thou brave hast been,
in struggle grim, — if Grendel's approach
thou darst await through the watch of night!"
Beowulf spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: —
"What a deal hast uttered, dear my Unferth,
drunken with beer, of Breca now,
told of his triumph! Truth I claim it,
that I had more of might in the sea
than any man else, more ocean-endura nce.

We twain had talked, in time of youth,
and made our boast, — we were merely boys,
striplings still, — to stake our lives
far at sea: and so we performed it.

Naked swords, as we swam along,
we held in hand, with hope to guard us
against the whales.

Not a whit from me
could he float afar o'er the flood of waves,
haste o'er the billows; nor him I abandoned.

Together we twain on the tides abode
five nights full till the flood divided us,
churning waves and chillest weather,
darkling night, and the northern wind
ruthless rushed on us: rough was the surge.

Now the wrath of the sea-fish rose apace;
yet me 'gainst the monsters my mailed coat,
hard and hand-linked,  help afforded, —
battle-sark braided my breast to ward,
garnished with gold.

There grasped me firm
and haled me to bottom the hated foe,
with grimmest gripe.

'Twas granted me, though,
to pierce the monster with point of sword,
with blade of battle: huge beast of the sea
was whelmed by the hurly through hand of mine.

"Began the fight.

" Breca.

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Beowulf (Episode 09) Read Poem

ME thus often the evil monsters
thronging threatened.

With thrust of my sword,
the darling, I dealt them due return!
Nowise had they bliss from their booty then
to devour their victim, vengeful creatures,
seated to banquet at bottom of sea;
but at break of day, by my brand sore hurt,
on the edge of ocean up they lay,
put to sleep by the sword.

And since, by them
on the fathomless sea-ways sailor-folk
are never molested.

— Light from east,
came bright God's beacon; the billows sank,
so that I saw the sea-cliffs high,
windy walls.

For Wyrd oft saveth
earl undoomed if he doughty be!
And so it came that I killed with my sword
nine of the nicors.

Of night-fought  battles
ne'er heard I a harder 'neath heaven's dome,
nor adrift on the deep a more desolate man!
Yet I came unharmed from that hostile clutch,
though spent with swimming.

The sea upbore me,
flood of the tide, on Finnish land,
the welling waters.

No wise of thee
have I heard men tell such terror of falchions,
bitter battle.

Breca ne'er yet,
not one of you pair, in the play of war
such daring deed has done at all
with bloody brand, — I boast not of it! —
though thou wast the bane of thy brethren dear,
thy closest kin, whence curse of hell
awaits thee, well as thy wit may serve!
For I say in sooth, thou son of Ecglaf,
never had Grendel these grim deeds wrought,
monster dire, on thy master dear,
in Heorot such havoc, if heart of thine
were as battle-bold as thy boast is loud!
But he has found no feud will happen;
from sword-clash dread of your Danish clan
he vaunts him safe, from the Victor-Scyld ings.

He forces pledges, favors none
of the land of Danes, but lustily murders,
fights and feasts, nor feud he dreads
from Spear-Dane men.

But speedily now
shall I prove him the prowess and pride of the Geats,
shall bid him battle.

Blithe to mead
go he that listeth, when light of dawn
this morrow morning o'er men of earth,
ether-robed sun from the south shall beam!"
Joyous then was the Jewel-giver,
hoar-haired,  war-brave; help awaited
the Bright-Danes ' prince, from Beowulf hearing,
folk's good shepherd, such firm resolve.

Then was laughter of liegemen loud resounding
with winsome words.

Came Wealhtheow forth,
queen of Hrothgar, heedful of courtesy,
gold-decked,  greeting the guests in hall;
and the high-born lady handed the cup
first to the East-Danes' heir and warden,
bade him be blithe at the beer-carouse ,
the land's beloved one.

Lustily took he
banquet and beaker, battle-famed  king.

Through the hall then went the Helmings' Lady,
to younger and older everywhere
carried the cup, till come the moment
when the ring-graced queen, the royal-hearte d,
to Beowulf bore the beaker of mead.

She greeted the Geats' lord, God she thanked,
in wisdom's words, that her will was granted,
that at last on a hero her hope could lean
for comfort in terrors.

The cup he took,
hardy-in-war , from Wealhtheow's  hand,
and answer uttered the eager-for-co mbat.

Beowulf spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: —
"This was my thought, when my thanes and I
bent to the ocean and entered our boat,
that I would work the will of your people
fully, or fighting fall in death,
in fiend's gripe fast.

I am firm to do
an earl's brave deed, or end the days
of this life of mine in the mead-hall here.

"
Well these words to the woman seemed,
Beowulf's battle-boast .

— Bright with gold
the stately dame by her spouse sat down.

Again, as erst, began in hall
warriors' wassail and words of power,
the proud-band's  revel, till presently
the son of Healfdene hastened to seek
rest for the night; he knew there waited
fight for the fiend in that festal hall,
when the sheen of the sun they saw no more,
and dusk of night sank darkling nigh,
and shadowy shapes came striding on,
wan under welkin.

The warriors rose.

Man to man, he made harangue,
Hrothgar to Beowulf, bade him hail,
let him wield the wine hall: a word he added: —
"Never to any man erst I trusted,
since I could heave up hand and shield,
this noble Dane-Hall, till now to thee.

Have now and hold this house unpeered;
remember thy glory; thy might declare;
watch for the foe! No wish shall fail thee
if thou bidest the battle with bold-won life.

"
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Beowulf (Episode 10) Read Poem

THEN Hrothgar went with his hero-train,
defence-of-S cyldings, forth from hall;
fain would the war-lord Wealhtheow seek,
couch of his queen.

The King-of-Glor y
against this Grendel a guard had set,
so heroes heard, a hall-defende r,
who warded the monarch and watched for the monster.

In truth, the Geats' prince gladly trusted
his mettle, his might, the mercy of God!
Cast off then his corselet of iron,
helmet from head; to his henchman gave, —
choicest of weapons, — the well-chased sword,
bidding him guard the gear of battle.

Spake then his Vaunt the valiant man,
Beowulf Geat, ere the bed be sought: —
"Of force in fight no feebler I count me,
in grim war-deeds, than Grendel deems him.

Not with the sword, then, to sleep of death
his life will I give, though it lie in my power.

No skill is his to strike against me,
my shield to hew though he hardy be,
bold in battle; we both, this night,
shall spurn the sword, if he seek me here,
unweaponed, for war.

Let wisest God,
sacred Lord, on which side soever
doom decree as he deemeth right.

"
Reclined then the chieftain, and cheek-pillow s held
the head of the earl, while all about him
seamen hardy on hall-beds sank.

None of them thought that thence their steps
to the folk and fastness that fostered them,
to the land they loved, would lead them back!
Full well they wist that on warriors many
battle-death  seized, in the banquet-hall ,
of Danish clan.

But comfort and help,
war-weal weaving, to Weder folk
the Master gave, that, by might of one,
over their enemy all prevailed,
by single strength.

In sooth 'tis told
that highest God o'er human kind
hath wielded ever! — Thro' wan night striding,
came the walker-in-sh adow.

Warriors slept
whose hest was to guard the gabled hall, —
all save one.

'Twas widely known
that against God's will the ghostly ravager
him could not hurl to haunts of darkness;
wakeful, ready, with warrior's wrath,
bold he bided the battle's issue.

Beowulf, — the "one.

"
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Beowulf (Episode 11) Read Poem

THEN from the moorland, by misty crags,
with God's wrath laden, Grendel came.

The monster was minded of mankind now
sundry to seize in the stately house.

Under welkin he walked, till the wine-palace there,
gold-hall of men, he gladly discerned,
flashing with fretwork.

Not first time, this,
that he the home of Hrothgar sought, —
yet ne'er in his life-day, late or early,
such hardy heroes, such hall-thanes,  found!
To the house the warrior walked apace,
parted from peace; the portal opended,
though with forged bolts fast, when his fists had
struck it,
and baleful he burst in his blatant rage,
the house's mouth.

All hastily, then,
o'er fair-paved floor the fiend trod on,
ireful he strode; there streamed from his eyes
fearful flashes, like flame to see.

He spied in hall the hero-band,
kin and clansmen clustered asleep,
hardy liegemen.

Then laughed his heart;
for the monster was minded, ere morn should dawn,
savage, to sever the soul of each,
life from body, since lusty banquet
waited his will! But Wyrd forbade him
to seize any more of men on earth
after that evening.

Eagerly watched
Hygelac's kinsman his cursed foe,
how he would fare in fell attack.

Not that the monster was minded to pause!
Straightway he seized a sleeping warrior
for the first, and tore him fiercely asunder,
the bone-frame bit, drank blood in streams,
swallowed him piecemeal: swiftly thus
the lifeless corse was clear devoured,
e'en feet and hands.

Then farther he hied;
for the hardy hero with hand he grasped,
felt for the foe with fiendish claw,
for the hero reclining, — who clutched it boldly,
prompt to answer, propped on his arm.

Soon then saw that shepherd-of- evils
that never he met in this middle-world ,
in the ways of earth, another wight
with heavier hand-gripe; at heart he feared,
sorrowed in soul, — none the sooner escaped!
Fain would he flee, his fastness seek,
the den of devils: no doings now
such as oft he had done in days of old!
Then bethought him the hardy Hygelac-than e
of his boast at evening: up he bounded,
grasped firm his foe, whose fingers cracked.

The fiend made off, but the earl close followed.

The monster meant — if he might at all —
to fling himself free, and far away
fly to the fens, — knew his fingers' power
in the gripe of the grim one.

Gruesome march
to Heorot this monster of harm had made!
Din filled the room; the Danes were bereft,
castle-dwell ers and clansmen all,
earls, of their ale.

Angry were both
those savage hall-guards:  the house resounded.

Wonder it was the wine-hall firm
in the strain of their struggle stood, to earth
the fair house fell not; too fast it was
within and without by its iron bands
craftily clamped; though there crashed from sill
many a mead-bench — men have told me —
gay with gold, where the grim foes wrestled.

So well had weened the wisest Scyldings
that not ever at all might any man
that bone-decked,  brave house break asunder,
crush by craft, — unless clasp of fire
in smoke engulfed it.

— Again uprose
din redoubled.

Danes of the North
with fear and frenzy were filled, each one,
who from the wall that wailing heard,
God's foe sounding his grisly song,
cry of the conquered, clamorous pain
from captive of hell.

Too closely held him
he who of men in might was strongest
in that same day of this our life.

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Beowulf (Episode 12) Read Poem

NOT in any wise would the earls'-defen ce
suffer that slaughterous  stranger to live,
useless deeming his days and years
to men on earth.

Now many an earl
of Beowulf brandished blade ancestral,
fain the life of their lord to shield,
their praised prince, if power were theirs;
never they knew, — as they neared the foe,
hardy-hearte d heroes of war,
aiming their swords on every side
the accursed to kill, — no keenest blade,
no farest of falchions fashioned on earth,
could harm or hurt that hideous fiend!
He was safe, by his spells, from sword of battle,
from edge of iron.

Yet his end and parting
on that same day of this our life
woful should be, and his wandering soul
far off flit to the fiends' domain.

Soon he found, who in former days,
harmful in heart and hated of God,
on many a man such murder wrought,
that the frame of his body failed him now.

For him the keen-souled kinsman of Hygelac
held in hand; hateful alive
was each to other.

The outlaw dire
took mortal hurt; a mighty wound
showed on his shoulder, and sinews cracked,
and the bone-frame burst.

To Beowulf now
the glory was given, and Grendel thence
death-sick his den in the dark moor sought,
noisome abode: he knew too well
that here was the last of life, an end
of his days on earth.

— To all the Danes
by that bloody battle the boon had come.

From ravage had rescued the roving stranger
Hrothgar's hall; the hardy and wise one
had purged it anew.

His night-work pleased him,
his deed and its honor.

To Eastern Danes
had the valiant Geat his vaunt made good,
all their sorrow and ills assuaged,
their bale of battle borne so long,
and all the dole they erst endured
pain a-plenty.

— 'Twas proof of this,
when the hardy-in-fig ht a hand laid down,
arm and shoulder, — all, indeed,
of Grendel's gripe, — 'neath the gabled roof.

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Beowulf (Episode 13) Read Poem

MANY at morning, as men have told me,
warriors gathered the gift-hall round,
folk-leaders  faring from far and near,
o'er wide-stretch ed ways, the wonder to view,
trace of the traitor.

Not troublous seemed
the enemy's end to any man
who saw by the gait of the graceless foe
how the weary-hearte d, away from thence,
baffled in battle and banned, his steps
death-marked  dragged to the devils' mere.

Bloody the billows were boiling there,
turbid the tide of tumbling waves
horribly seething, with sword-blood hot,
by that doomed one dyed, who in den of the moor
laid forlorn his life adown,
his heathen soul, and hell received it.

Home then rode the hoary clansmen
from that merry journey, and many a youth,
on horses white, the hardy warriors,
back from the mere.

Then Beowulf's glory
eager they echoed, and all averred
that from sea to sea, or south or north,
there was no other in earth's domain,
under vault of heaven, more valiant found,
of warriors none more worthy to rule!
(On their lord beloved they laid no slight,
gracious Hrothgar: a good king he!)
From time to time, the tried-in-bat tle
their gray steeds set to gallop amain,
and ran a race when the road seemed fair.

From time to time, a thane of the king,
who had made many vaunts, and was mindful of verses,
stored with sagas and songs of old,
bound word to word in well-knit rime,
welded his lay; this warrior soon
of Beowulf's quest right cleverly sang,
and artfully added an excellent tale,
in well-ranged words, of the warlike deeds
he had heard in saga of Sigemund.

Strange the story: he said it all, —
the Waelsing's wanderings wide, his struggles,
which never were told to tribes of men,
the feuds and the frauds, save to Fitela only,
when of these doings he deigned to speak,
uncle to nephew; as ever the twain
stood side by side in stress of war,
and multitude of the monster kind
they had felled with their swords.

Of Sigemund grew,
when he passed from life, no little praise;
for the doughty-in-c ombat a dragon killed
that herded the hoard: under hoary rock
the atheling dared the deed alone
fearful quest, nor was Fitela there.

Yet so it befell, his falchion pierced
that wondrous worm, — on the wall it struck,
best blade; the dragon died in its blood.

Thus had the dread-one by daring achieved
over the ring-hoard to rule at will,
himself to pleasure; a sea-boat he loaded,
and bore on its bosom the beaming gold,
son of Waels; the worm was consumed.

He had of all heroes the highest renown
among races of men, this refuge-of-wa rriors,
for deeds of daring that decked his name
since the hand and heart of Heremod
grew slack in battle.

He, swiftly banished
to mingle with monsters at mercy of foes,
to death was betrayed; for torrents of sorrow
had lamed him too long; a load of care
to earls and athelings all he proved.

Oft indeed, in earlier days,
for the warrior's wayfaring wise men mourned,
who had hoped of him help from harm and bale,
and had thought their sovran's son would thrive,
follow his father, his folk protect,
the hoard and the stronghold, heroes' land,
home of Scyldings.

— But here, thanes said,
the kinsman of Hygelac kinder seemed
to all: the other was urged to crime!
And afresh to the race, the fallow roads
by swift steeds measured! The morning sun
was climbing higher.

Clansmen hastened
to the high-built hall, those hardy-minded ,
the wonder to witness.

Warden of treasure,
crowned with glory, the king himself,
with stately band from the bride-bower strode;
and with him the queen and her crowd of maidens
measured the path to the mead-house fair.

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Beowulf (Episode 14) Read Poem

HROTHGAR spake, — to the hall he went,
stood by the steps, the steep roof saw,
garnished with gold, and Grendel's hand: —
"For the sight I see to the Sovran Ruler
be speedy thanks! A throng of sorrows
I have borne from Grendel; but God still works
wonder on wonder, the Warden-of-Gl ory.

It was but now that I never more
for woes that weighed on me waited help
long as I lived, when, laved in blood,
stood sword-gore-s tained this stateliest house, —
widespread woe for wise men all,
who had no hope to hinder ever
foes infernal and fiendish sprites
from havoc in hall.

This hero now,
by the Wielder's might, a work has done
that not all of us erst could ever do
by wile and wisdom.

Lo, well can she say
whoso of women this warrior bore
among sons of men, if still she liveth,
that the God of the ages was good to her
in the birth of her bairn.

Now, Beowulf, thee,
of heroes best, I shall heartily love
as mine own, my son; preserve thou ever
this kinship new: thou shalt never lack
wealth of the world that I wield as mine!
Full oft for less have I largess showered,
my precious hoard, on a punier man,
less stout in struggle.

Thyself hast now
fulfilled such deeds, that thy fame shall endure
through all the ages.

As ever he did,
well may the Wielder reward thee still!"
Beowulf spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: —
"This work of war most willingly
we have fought, this fight, and fearlessly dared
force of the foe.

Fain, too, were I
hadst thou but seen himself, what time
the fiend in his trappings tottered to fall!
Swiftly, I thought, in strongest gripe
on his bed of death to bind him down,
that he in the hent of this hand of mine
should breathe his last: but he broke away.

Him I might not — the Maker willed not —
hinder from flight, and firm enough hold
the life-destroy er: too sturdy was he,
the ruthless, in running! For rescue, however,
he left behind him his hand in pledge,
arm and shoulder; nor aught of help
could the cursed one thus procure at all.

None the longer liveth he, loathsome fiend,
sunk in his sins, but sorrow holds him
tightly grasped in gripe of anguish,
in baleful bonds, where bide he must,
evil outlaw, such awful doom
as the Mighty Maker shall mete him out.

"
More silent seemed the son of Ecglaf
in boastful speech of his battle-deeds ,
since athelings all, through the earl's great prowess,
beheld that hand, on the high roof gazing,
foeman's fingers, — the forepart of each
of the sturdy nails to steel was likest, —
heathen's "hand-spear, " hostile warrior's
claw uncanny.

'Twas clear, they said,
that him no blade of the brave could touch,
how keen soever, or cut away
that battle-hand bloody from baneful foe.

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Beowulf (Episode 15) Read Poem

THERE was hurry and hest in Heorot now
for hands to bedeck it, and dense was the throng
of men and women the wine-hall to cleanse,
the guest-room to garnish.

Gold-gay shone the hangings
that were wove on the wall, and wonders many
to delight each mortal that looks upon them.

Though braced within by iron bands,
that building bright was broken sorely;
rent were its hinges; the roof alone
held safe and sound, when, seared with crime,
the fiendish foe his flight essayed,
of life despairing.

— No light thing that,
the flight for safety, — essay it who will!
Forced of fate, he shall find his way
to the refuge ready for race of man,
for soul-possess ors, and sons of earth;
and there his body on bed of death
shall rest after revel.

Arrived was the hour
when to hall proceeded Healfdene's son:
the king himself would sit to banquet.

Ne'er heard I of host in haughtier throng
more graciously gathered round giver-of-rin gs!
Bowed then to bench those bearers-of-g lory,
fain of the feasting.

Featly received
many a mead-cup the mighty-in-sp irit,
kinsmen who sat in the sumptuous hall,
Hrothgar and Hrothulf.

Heorot now
was filled with friends; the folk of Scyldings
ne'er yet had tried the traitor's deed.

To Beowulf gave the bairn of Healfdene
a gold-wove banner, guerdon of triumph,
broidered battle-flag,  breastplate and helmet;
and a splendid sword was seen of many
borne to the brave one.

Beowulf took
cup in hall: for such costly gifts
he suffered no shame in that soldier throng.

For I heard of few heroes, in heartier mood,
with four such gifts, so fashioned with gold,
on the ale-bench honoring others thus!
O'er the roof of the helmet high, a ridge,
wound with wires, kept ward o'er the head,
lest the relict-of-fi les should fierce invade,
sharp in the strife, when that shielded hero
should go to grapple against his foes.

Then the earls'-defen ce on the floor bade lead
coursers eight, with carven head-gear,
adown the hall: one horse was decked
with a saddle all shining and set in jewels;
'twas the battle-seat of the best of kings,
when to play of swords the son of Healfdene
was fain to fare.

Ne'er failed his valor
in the crush of combat when corpses fell.

To Beowulf over them both then gave
the refuge-of-In gwines right and power,
o'er war-steeds and weapons: wished him joy of them.

Manfully thus the mighty prince,
hoard-guard for heroes, that hard fight repaid
with steeds and treasures contemned by none
who is willing to say the sooth aright.

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Beowulf (Episode 16) Read Poem

AND the lord of earls, to each that came
with Beowulf over the briny ways,
an heirloom there at the ale-bench gave,
precious gift; and the price bade pay
in gold for him whom Grendel erst
murdered, — and fain of them more had killed,
had not wisest God their Wyrd averted,
and the man's brave mood.

The Maker then
ruled human kind, as here and now.

Therefore is insight always best,
and forethought of mind.

How much awaits him
of lief and of loath, who long time here,
through days of warfare this world endures!
Then song and music mingled sounds
in the presence of Healfdene's head-of-armi es
and harping was heard with the hero-lay
as Hrothgar's singer the hall-joy woke
along the mead-seats, making his song
of that sudden raid on the sons of Finn.

Healfdene's hero, Hnaef the Scylding,
was fated to fall in the Frisian slaughter.

Hildeburh needed not hold in value
her enemies' honor! Innocent both
were the loved ones she lost at the linden-play,
bairn and brother, they bowed to fate,
stricken by spears; 'twas a sorrowful woman!
None doubted why the daughter of Hoc
bewailed her doom when dawning came,
and under the sky she saw them lying,
kinsmen murdered, where most she had kenned
of the sweets of the world! By war were swept, too,
Finn's own liegemen, and few were left;
in the parleying-pl ace he could ply no longer
weapon, nor war could he wage on Hengest,
and rescue his remnant by right of arms
from the prince's thane.

A pact he offered:
another dwelling the Danes should have,
hall and high-seat, and half the power
should fall to them in Frisian land;
and at the fee-gifts, Folcwald's son
day by day the Danes should honor,
the folk of Hengest favor with rings,
even as truly, with treasure and jewels,
with fretted gold, as his Frisian kin
he meant to honor in ale-hall there.

Pact of peace they plighted further
on both sides firmly.

Finn to Hengest
with oath, upon honor, openly promised
that woful remnant, with wise-men's aid,
nobly to govern, so none of the guests
by word or work should warp the treaty,
or with malice of mind bemoan themselves
as forced to follow their fee-giver's slayer,
lordless men, as their lot ordained.

Should Frisian, moreover, with foeman's taunt,
that murderous hatred to mind recall,
then edge of the sword must seal his doom.

Oaths were given, and ancient gold
heaped from hoard.

— The hardy Scylding,
battle-thane  best, on his balefire lay.

All on the pyre were plain to see
the gory sark, the gilded swine-crest,
boar of hard iron, and athelings many
slain by the sword: at the slaughter they fell.

It was Hildeburh's hest, at Hnaef's own pyre
the bairn of her body on brands to lay,
his bones to burn, on the balefire placed,
at his uncle's side.

In sorrowful dirges
bewept them the woman: great wailing ascended.

Then wound up to welkin the wildest of death-fires,
roared o'er the hillock: heads all were melted,
gashes burst, and blood gushed out
from bites of the body.

Balefire devoured,
greediest spirit, those spared not by war
out of either folk: their flower was gone.

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Beowulf (Episode 17) Read Poem

THEN hastened those heroes their home to see,
friendless, to find the Frisian land,
houses and high burg.

Hengest still
through the death-dyed winter dwelt with Finn,
holding pact, yet of home he minded,
though powerless his ring-decked prow to drive
over the waters, now waves rolled fierce
lashed by the winds, or winter locked them
in icy fetters.

Then fared another
year to men's dwellings, as yet they do,
the sunbright skies, that their season ever
duly await.

Far off winter was driven;
fair lay earth's breast; and fain was the rover,
the guest, to depart, though more gladly he pondered
on wreaking his vengeance than roaming the deep,
and how to hasten the hot encounter
where sons of the Frisians were sure to be.

So he escaped not the common doom,
when Hun with "Lafing," the light-of-bat tle,
best of blades, his bosom pierced:
its edge was famed with the Frisian earls.

On fierce-heart  Finn there fell likewise,
on himself at home, the horrid sword-death;
for Guthlaf and Oslaf of grim attack
had sorrowing told, from sea-ways landed,
mourning their woes.

Finn's wavering spirit
bode not in breast.

The burg was reddened
with blood of foemen, and Finn was slain,
king amid clansmen; the queen was taken.

To their ship the Scylding warriors bore
all the chattels the chieftain owned,
whatever they found in Finn's domain
of gems and jewels.

The gentle wife
o'er paths of the deep to the Danes they bore,
led to her land.

The lay was finished,
the gleeman's song.

Then glad rose the revel;
bench-joy brightened.

Bearers draw
from their "wonder-vats " wine.

Comes Wealhtheow forth,
under gold-crown goes where the good pair sit,
uncle and nephew, true each to the other one,
kindred in amity.

Unferth the spokesman
at the Scylding lord's feet sat: men had faith in his spirit,
his keenness of courage, though kinsmen had found him
unsure at the sword-play.

The Scylding queen spoke:
"Quaff of this cup, my king and lord,
breaker of rings, and blithe be thou,
gold-friend of men; to the Geats here speak
such words of mildness as man should use.

Be glad with thy Geats; of those gifts be mindful,
or near or far, which now thou hast.

Men say to me, as son thou wishest
yon hero to hold.

Thy Heorot purged,
jewel-hall brightest, enjoy while thou canst,
with many a largess; and leave to thy kin
folk and realm when forth thou goest
to greet thy doom.

For gracious I deem
my Hrothulf, willing to hold and rule
nobly our youths, if thou yield up first,
prince of Scyldings, thy part in the world.

I ween with good he will well requite
offspring of ours, when all he minds
that for him we did in his helpless days
of gift and grace to gain him honor!"
Then she turned to the seat where her sons wereplaced,
Hrethric and Hrothmund, with heroes' bairns,
young men together: the Geat, too, sat there,
Beowulf brave, the brothers between
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Beowulf (Episode 18) Read Poem

A CUP she gave him, with kindly greeting
and winsome words.

Of wounden gold,
she offered, to honor him, arm-jewels twain,
corselet and rings, and of collars the noblest
that ever I knew the earth around.

Ne'er heard I so mighty, 'neath heaven's dome,
a hoard-gem of heroes, since Hama bore
to his bright-built  burg the Brisings' necklace,
jewel and gem casket.

— Jealousy fled he,
Eormenric's hate: chose help eternal.

Hygelac Geat, grandson of Swerting,
on the last of his raids this ring bore with him,
under his banner the booty defending,
the war-spoil warding; but Wyrd o'erwhelmed him
what time, in his daring, dangers he sought,
feud with Frisians.

Fairest of gems
he bore with him over the beaker-of-wa ves,
sovran strong: under shield he died.

Fell the corpse of the king into keeping of Franks,
gear of the breast, and that gorgeous ring;
weaker warriors won the spoil,
after gripe of battle, from Geatland's lord,
and held the death-field.

Din rose in hall.

Wealhtheow spake amid warriors, and said: —
"This jewel enjoy in thy jocund youth,
Beowulf lov'd, these battle-weeds  wear,
a royal treasure, and richly thrive!
Preserve thy strength, and these striplings here
counsel in kindness: requital be mine.

Hast done such deeds, that for days to come
thou art famed among folk both far and near,
so wide as washeth the wave of Ocean
his windy walls.

Through the ways of life
prosper, O prince! I pray for thee
rich possessions.

To son of mine
be helpful in deed and uphold his joys!
Here every earl to the other is true,
mild of mood, to the master loyal!
Thanes are friendly, the throng obedient,
liegemen are revelling: list and obey!"
Went then to her place.

— That was proudest of feasts;
flowed wine for the warriors.

Wyrd they knew not,
destiny dire, and the doom to be seen
by many an earl when eve should come,
and Hrothgar homeward hasten away,
royal, to rest.

The room was guarded
by an army of earls, as erst was done.

They bared the bench-boards ; abroad they spread
beds and bolsters.

— One beer-carouse r
in danger of doom lay down in the hall.

—
At their heads they set their shields of war,
bucklers bright; on the bench were there
over each atheling, easy to see,
the high battle-helme t, the haughty spear,
the corselet of rings.

'Twas their custom so
ever to be for battle prepared,
at home, or harrying, which it were,
even as oft as evil threatened
their sovran king.

— They were clansmen good.

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Beowulf (Episode 19) Read Poem

THEN sank they to sleep.

With sorrow one bought
his rest of the evening, — as ofttime had happened
when Grendel guarded that golden hall,
evil wrought, till his end drew nigh,
slaughter for sins.

'Twas seen and told
how an avenger survived the fiend,
as was learned afar.

The livelong time
after that grim fight, Grendel's mother,
monster of women, mourned her woe.

She was doomed to dwell in the dreary waters,
cold sea-courses, since Cain cut down
with edge of the sword his only brother,
his father's offspring: outlawed he fled,
marked with murder, from men's delights
warded the wilds.

— There woke from him
such fate-sent ghosts as Grendel, who,
war-wolf horrid, at Heorot found
a warrior watching and waiting the fray,
with whom the grisly one grappled amain.

But the man remembered his mighty power,
the glorious gift that God had sent him,
in his Maker's mercy put his trust
for comfort and help: so he conquered the foe,
felled the fiend, who fled abject,
reft of joy, to the realms of death,
mankind's foe.

And his mother now,
gloomy and grim, would go that quest
of sorrow, the death of her son to avenge.

To Heorot came she, where helmeted Danes
slept in the hall.

Too soon came back
old ills of the earls, when in she burst,
the mother of Grendel.

Less grim, though, that terror,
e'en as terror of woman in war is less,
might of maid, than of men in arms
when, hammer-forged, the falchion hard,
sword gore-stained, through swine of the helm,
crested, with keen blade carves amain.

Then was in hall the hard-edge drawn,
the swords on the settles, and shields a-many
firm held in hand: nor helmet minded
nor harness of mail, whom that horror seized.

Haste was hers; she would hie afar
and save her life when the liegemen saw her.

Yet a single atheling up she seized
fast and firm, as she fled to the moor.

He was for Hrothgar of heroes the dearest,
of trusty vassals betwixt the seas,
whom she killed on his couch, a clansman famous,
in battle brave.

— Nor was Beowulf there;
another house had been held apart,
after giving of gold, for the Geat renowned.

—
Uproar filled Heorot; the hand all had viewed,
blood-flecked, she bore with her; bale was returned,
dole in the dwellings: 'twas dire exchange
where Dane and Geat were doomed to give
the lives of loved ones.

Long-tried king,
the hoary hero, at heart was sad
when he knew his noble no more lived,
and dead indeed was his dearest thane.

To his bower was Beowulf brought in haste,
dauntless victor.

As daylight broke,
along with his earls the atheling lord,
with his clansmen, came where the king abode
waiting to see if the Wielder-of-All
would turn this tale of trouble and woe.

Strode o'er floor the famed-in-strife,
with his hand-companions, — the hall resounded, —
wishing to greet the wise old king,
Ingwines' lord; he asked if the night
had passed in peace to the prince's mind.

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Beowulf (Episode 20) Read Poem

HROTHGAR spake, helmet-of-Scyldings: —
"Ask not of pleasure! Pain is renewed
to Danish folk.

Dead is Aeschere,
of Yrmenlaf the elder brother,
my sage adviser and stay in council,
shoulder-comrade in stress of fight
when warriors clashed and we warded our heads,
hewed the helm-boars; hero famed
should be every earl as Aeschere was!
But here in Heorot a hand hath slain him
of wandering death-sprite.

I wot not whither,
proud of the prey, her path she took,
fain of her fill.

The feud she avenged
that yesternight, unyieldingly,
Grendel in grimmest grasp thou killedst, —
seeing how long these liegemen mine
he ruined and ravaged.

Reft of life,
in arms he fell.

Now another comes,
keen and cruel, her kin to avenge,
faring far in feud of blood:
so that many a thane shall think, who e'er
sorrows in soul for that sharer of rings,
this is hardest of heart-bales.

The hand lies low
that once was willing each wish to please.

Land-dwellers here and liegemen mine,
who house by those parts, I have heard relate
that such a pair they have sometimes seen,
march-stalkers mighty the moorland haunting,
wandering spirits: one of them seemed,
so far as my folk could fairly judge,
of womankind; and one, accursed,
in man's guise trod the misery-track
of exile, though huger than human bulk.

Grendel in days long gone they named him,
folk of the land; his father they knew not,
nor any brood that was born to him
of treacherous spirits.

Untrod is their home;
by wolf-cliffs haunt they and windy headlands,
fenways fearful, where flows the stream
from mountains gliding to gloom of the rocks,
underground flood.

Not far is it hence
in measure of miles that the mere expands,
and o'er it the frost-bound forest hanging,
sturdily rooted, shadows the wave.

By night is a wonder weird to see,
fire on the waters.

So wise lived none
of the sons of men, to search those depths!
Nay, though the heath-rover, harried by dogs,
the horn-proud hart, this holt should seek,
long distance driven, his dear life first
on the brink he yields ere he brave the plunge
to hide his head: 'tis no happy place!
Thence the welter of waters washes up
wan to welkin when winds bestir
evil storms, and air grows dusk,
and the heavens weep.

Now is help once more
with thee alone! The land thou knowst not,
place of fear, where thou findest out
that sin-flecked being.

Seek if thou dare!
I will reward thee, for waging this fight,
with ancient treasure, as erst I did,
with winding gold, if thou winnest back.

"
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Beowulf (Episode 21) Read Poem

BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:
"Sorrow not, sage! It beseems us better
friends to avenge than fruitlessly mourn them.

Each of us all must his end abide
in the ways of the world; so win who may
glory ere death! When his days are told,
that is the warrior's worthiest doom.

Rise, O realm-warder! Ride we anon,
and mark the trail of the mother of Grendel.

No harbor shall hide her — heed my promise! —
enfolding of field or forested mountain
or floor of the flood, let her flee where she will!
But thou this day endure in patience,
as I ween thou wilt, thy woes each one.

"
Leaped up the graybeard: God he thanked,
mighty Lord, for the man's brave words.

For Hrothgar soon a horse was saddled
wave-maned steed.

The sovran wise
stately rode on; his shield-armed men
followed in force.

The footprints led
along the woodland, widely seen,
a path o'er the plain, where she passed, and trod
the murky moor; of men-at-arms
she bore the bravest and best one, dead,
him who with Hrothgar the homestead ruled.

On then went the atheling-born
o'er stone-cliffs steep and strait defiles,
narrow passes and unknown ways,
headlands sheer, and the haunts of the Nicors.

Foremost he fared, a few at his side
of the wiser men, the ways to scan,
till he found in a flash the forested hill
hanging over the hoary rock,
a woful wood: the waves below
were dyed in blood.

The Danish men
had sorrow of soul, and for Scyldings all,
for many a hero, 'twas hard to bear,
ill for earls, when Aeschere's head
they found by the flood on the foreland there.

Waves were welling, the warriors saw,
hot with blood; but the horn sang oft
battle-song bold.

The band sat down,
and watched on the water worm-like things,
sea-dragons strange that sounded the deep,
and nicors that lay on the ledge of the ness —
such as oft essay at hour of morn
on the road-of-sails their ruthless quest, —
and sea-snakes and monsters.

These started away,
swollen and savage that song to hear,
that war-horn's blast.

The warden of Geats,
with bolt from bow, then balked of life,
of wave-work, one monster, amid its heart
went the keen war-shaft; in water it seemed
less doughty in swimming whom death had seized.

Swift on the billows, with boar-spears well
hooked and barbed, it was hard beset,
done to death and dragged on the headland,
wave-roamer wondrous.

Warriors viewed
the grisly guest.

Then girt him Beowulf
in martial mail, nor mourned for his life.

His breastplate broad and bright of hues,
woven by hand, should the waters try;
well could it ward the warrior's body
that battle should break on his breast in vain
nor harm his heart by the hand of a foe.

And the helmet white that his head protected
was destined to dare the deeps of the flood,
through wave-whirl win: 'twas wound with chains,
decked with gold, as in days of yore
the weapon-smith worked it wondrously,
with swine-forms set it, that swords nowise,
brandished in battle, could bite that helm.

Nor was that the meanest of mighty helps
which Hrothgar's orator offered at need:
"Hrunting" they named the hilted sword,
of old-time heirlooms easily first;
iron was its edge, all etched with poison,
with battle-blood hardened, nor blenched it at fight
in hero's hand who held it ever,
on paths of peril prepared to go
to folkstead of foes.

Not first time this
it was destined to do a daring task.

For he bore not in mind, the bairn of Ecglaf
sturdy and strong, that speech he had made,
drunk with wine, now this weapon he lent
to a stouter swordsman.

Himself, though, durst not
under welter of waters wager his life
as loyal liegeman.

So lost he his glory,
honor of earls.

With the other not so,
who girded him now for the grim encounter.

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Beowulf (Episode 22) Read Poem

BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: —
"Have mind, thou honored offspring of Healfdene
gold-friend of men, now I go on this quest,
sovran wise, what once was said:
if in thy cause it came that I
should lose my life, thou wouldst loyal bide
to me, though fallen, in father's place!
Be guardian, thou, to this group of my thanes,
my warrior-friends, if War should seize me;
and the goodly gifts thou gavest me,
Hrothgar beloved, to Hygelac send!
Geatland's king may ken by the gold,
Hrethel's son see, when he stares at the treasure,
that I got me a friend for goodness famed,
and joyed while I could in my jewel-bestower.

And let Unferth wield this wondrous sword,
earl far-honored, this heirloom precious,
hard of edge: with Hrunting I
seek doom of glory, or Death shall take me.

"
After these words the Weder-Geat lord
boldly hastened, biding never
answer at all: the ocean floods
closed o'er the hero.

Long while of the day
fled ere he felt the floor of the sea.

Soon found the fiend who the flood-domain
sword-hungry held these hundred winters,
greedy and grim, that some guest from above,
some man, was raiding her monster-realm.

She grasped out for him with grisly claws,
and the warrior seized; yet scathed she not
his body hale; the breastplate hindered,
as she strove to shatter the sark of war,
the linked harness, with loathsome hand.

Then bore this brine-wolf, when bottom she touched,
the lord of rings to the lair she haunted
whiles vainly he strove, though his valor held,
weapon to wield against wondrous monsters
that sore beset him; sea-beasts many
tried with fierce tusks to tear his mail,
and swarmed on the stranger.

But soon he marked
he was now in some hall, he knew not which,
where water never could work him harm,
nor through the roof could reach him ever
fangs of the flood.

Firelight he saw,
beams of a blaze that brightly shone.

Then the warrior was ware of that wolf-of-the-deep,
mere-wife monstrous.

For mighty stroke
he swung his blade, and the blow withheld not.

Then sang on her head that seemly blade
its war-song wild.

But the warrior found
the light-of-battle was loath to bite,
to harm the heart: its hard edge failed
the noble at need, yet had known of old
strife hand to hand, and had helmets cloven,
doomed men's fighting-gear.

First time, this,
for the gleaming blade that its glory fell.

Firm still stood, nor failed in valor,
heedful of high deeds, Hygelac's kinsman;
flung away fretted sword, featly jewelled,
the angry earl; on earth it lay
steel-edged and stiff.

His strength he trusted,
hand-gripe of might.

So man shall do
whenever in war he weens to earn him
lasting fame, nor fears for his life!
Seized then by shoulder, shrank not from combat,
the Geatish war-prince Grendel's mother.

Flung then the fierce one, filled with wrath,
his deadly foe, that she fell to ground.

Swift on her part she paid him back
with grisly grasp, and grappled with him.

Spent with struggle, stumbled the warrior,
fiercest of fighting-men, fell adown.

On the hall-guest she hurled herself, hent her short sword,
broad and brown-edged, the bairn to avenge,
the sole-born son.

— On his shoulder lay
braided breast-mail, barring death,
withstanding entrance of edge or blade.

Life would have ended for Ecgtheow's son,
under wide earth for that earl of Geats,
had his armor of war not aided him,
battle-net hard, and holy God
wielded the victory, wisest Maker.

The Lord of Heaven allowed his cause;
and easily rose the earl erect.

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Beowulf (Episode 23) Read Poem

'MID the battle-gear saw he a blade triumphant,
old-sword of Eotens, with edge of proof,
warriors' heirloom, weapon unmatched,
— save only 'twas more than other men
to bandy-of-battle could bear at all —
as the giants had wrought it, ready and keen.

Seized then its chain-hilt the Scyldings' chieftain,
bold and battle-grim, brandished the sword,
reckless of life, and so wrathfully smote
that it gripped her neck and grasped her hard,
her bone-rings breaking: the blade pierced through
that fated-one's flesh: to floor she sank.

Bloody the blade: he was blithe of his deed.

Then blazed forth light.

'Twas bright within
as when from the sky there shines unclouded
heaven's candle.

The hall he scanned.

By the wall then went he; his weapon raised
high by its hilts the Hygelac-thane,
angry and eager.

That edge was not useless
to the warrior now.

He wished with speed
Grendel to guerdon for grim raids many,
for the war he waged on Western-Danes
oftener far than an only time,
when of Hrothgar's hearth-companions
he slew in slumber, in sleep devoured,
fifteen men of the folk of Danes,
and as many others outward bore,
his horrible prey.

Well paid for that
the wrathful prince! For now prone he saw
Grendel stretched there, spent with war,
spoiled of life, so scathed had left him
Heorot's battle.

The body sprang far
when after death it endured the blow,
sword-stroke savage, that severed its head.

Soon, then, saw the sage companions
who waited with Hrothgar, watching the flood,
that the tossing waters turbid grew,
blood-stained the mere.

Old men together,
hoary-haired, of the hero spake;
the warrior would not, they weened, again,
proud of conquest, come to seek
their mighty master.

To many it seemed
the wolf-of-the-waves had won his life.

The ninth hour came.

The noble Scyldings
left the headland; homeward went
the gold-friend of men.

But the guests sat on,
stared at the surges, sick in heart,
and wished, yet weened not, their winsome lord
again to see.

Now that sword began,
from blood of the fight, in battle-droppings,
war-blade, to wane: 'twas a wondrous thing
that all of it melted as ice is wont
when frosty fetters the Father loosens,
unwinds the wave-bonds, wielding all
seasons and times: the true God he!
Nor took from that dwelling the duke of the Geats
save only the head and that hilt withal
blazoned with jewels: the blade had melted,
burned was the bright sword, her blood was so hot,
so poisoned the hell-sprite who perished within there.

Soon he was swimming who safe saw in combat
downfall of demons; up-dove through the flood.

The clashing waters were cleansed now,
waste of waves, where the wandering fiend
her life-days left and this lapsing world.

Swam then to strand the sailors'-refuge,
sturdy-in-spirit, of sea-booty glad,
of burden brave he bore with him.

Went then to greet him, and God they thanked,
the thane-band choice of their chieftain blithe,
that safe and sound they could see him again.

Soon from the hardy one helmet and armor
deftly they doffed: now drowsed the mere,
water 'neath welkin, with war-blood stained.

Forth they fared by the footpaths thence,
merry at heart the highways measured,
well-known roads.

Courageous men
carried the head from the cliff by the sea,
an arduous task for all the band,
the firm in fight, since four were needed
on the shaft-of-slaughter strenuously
to bear to the gold-hall Grendel's head.

So presently to the palace there
foemen fearless, fourteen Geats,
marching came.

Their master-of-clan
mighty amid them the meadow-ways trod.

Strode then within the sovran thane
fearless in fight, of fame renowned,
hardy hero, Hrothgar to greet.

And next by the hair into hall was borne
Grendel's head, where the henchmen were drinking,
an awe to clan and queen alike,
a monster of marvel: the men looked on.

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Beowulf (Episode 24) Read Poem

BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: —
"Lo, now, this sea-booty, son of Healfdene,
Lord of Scyldings, we've lustily brought thee,
sign of glory; thou seest it here.

Not lightly did I with my life escape!
In war under water this work I essayed
with endless effort; and even so
my strength had been lost had the Lord not shielded me.

Not a whit could I with Hrunting do
in work of war, though the weapon is good;
yet a sword the Sovran of Men vouchsafed me
to spy on the wall there, in splendor hanging,
old, gigantic, — how oft He guides
the friendless wight! — and I fought with that brand,
felling in fight, since fate was with me,
the house's wardens.

That war-sword then
all burned, bright blade, when the blood gushed o'er it,
battle-sweat hot; but the hilt I brought back
from my foes.

So avenged I their fiendish deeds
death-fall of Danes, as was due and right.

And this is my hest, that in Heorot now
safe thou canst sleep with thy soldier band,
and every thane of all thy folk
both old and young; no evil fear,
Scyldings' lord, from that side again,
aught ill for thy earls, as erst thou must!"
Then the golden hilt, for that gray-haired leader,
hoary hero, in hand was laid,
giant-wrought, old.

So owned and enjoyed it
after downfall of devils, the Danish lord,
wonder-smiths' work, since the world was rid
of that grim-souled fiend, the foe of God,
murder-marked, and his mother as well.

Now it passed into power of the people's king,
best of all that the oceans bound
who have scattered their gold o'er Scandia's isle.

Hrothgar spake — the hilt he viewed,
heirloom old, where was etched the rise
of that far-off fight when the floods o'erwhelmed,
raging waves, the race of giants
(fearful their fate!), a folk estranged
from God Eternal: whence guerdon due
in that waste of waters the Wielder paid them.

So on the guard of shining gold
in runic staves it was rightly said
for whom the serpent-traced sword was wrought,
best of blades, in bygone days,
and the hilt well wound.

— The wise-one spake,
son of Healfdene; silent were all: —
"Lo, so may he say who sooth and right
follows 'mid folk, of far times mindful,
a land-warden old, that this earl belongs
to the better breed! So, borne aloft,
thy fame must fly, O friend my Beowulf,
far and wide o'er folksteads many.

Firmly thou
shalt all maintain,
mighty strength with mood of wisdom.

Love of
mine will I assure thee,
as, awhile ago, I promised; thou shalt prove a stay
in future,
in far-off years, to folk of thine,
to the heroes a help.

Was not Heremod thus
to offspring of Ecgwela, Honor-Scyldings,
nor grew for their grace, but for grisly slaughter,
for doom of death to the Danishmen.

He slew, wrath-swollen, his shoulder-comrades,
companions at board! So he passed alone,
chieftain haughty, from human cheer.

Though him the Maker with might endowed,
delights of power, and uplifted high
above all men, yet blood-fierce his mind,
his breast-hoard, grew, no bracelets gave he
to Danes as was due; he endured all joyless
strain of struggle and stress of woe,
long feud with his folk.

Here find thy lesson!
Of virtue advise thee! This verse I have said for thee,
wise from lapsed winters.

Wondrous seems
how to sons of men Almighty God
in the strength of His spirit sendeth wisdom,
estate, high station: He swayeth all things.

Whiles He letteth right lustily fare
the heart of the hero of high-born race, —
in seat ancestral assigns him bliss,
his folk's sure fortress in fee to hold,
puts in his power great parts of the earth,
empire so ample, that end of it
this wanter-of-wisdom weeneth none.

So he waxes in wealth, nowise can harm him
illness or age; no evil cares
shadow his spirit; no sword-hate threatens
from ever an enemy: all the world
wends at his will, no worse he knoweth,
till all within him obstinate pride
waxes and wakes while the warden slumbers,
the spirit's sentry; sleep is too fast
which masters his might, and the murderer nears,
stealthily shooting the shafts from his bow!
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Beowulf (Episode 25) Read Poem

"UNDER harness his heart then is hit indeed
by sharpest shafts; and no shelter avails
from foul behest of the hellish fiend.

Him seems too little what long he possessed.

Greedy and grim, no golden rings
he gives for his pride; the promised future
forgets he and spurns, with all God has sent him,
Wonder-Wielder, of wealth and fame.

Yet in the end it ever comes
that the frame of the body fragile yields,
fated falls; and there follows another
who joyously the jewels divides,
the royal riches, nor recks of his forebear.

Ban, then, such baleful thoughts, Beowulf dearest,
best of men, and the better part choose,
profit eternal; and temper thy pride,
warrior famous! The flower of thy might
lasts now a while: but erelong it shall be
that sickness or sword thy strength shall minish,
or fang of fire, or flooding billow,
or bite of blade, or brandished spear,
or odious age; or the eyes' clear beam
wax dull and darken: Death even thee
in haste shall o'erwhelm, thou hero of war!
So the Ring-Danes these half-years a hundred I ruled,
wielded 'neath welkin, and warded them bravely
from mighty-ones many o'er middle-earth,
from spear and sword, till it seemed for me
no foe could be found under fold of the sky.

Lo, sudden the shift! To me seated secure
came grief for joy when Grendel began
to harry my home, the hellish foe;
for those ruthless raids, unresting I suffered
heart-sorrow heavy.

Heaven be thanked,
Lord Eternal, for life extended
that I on this head all hewn and bloody,
after long evil, with eyes may gaze!
— Go to the bench now! Be glad at banquet,
warrior worthy! A wealth of treasure
at dawn of day, be dealt between us!"
Glad was the Geats' lord, going betimes
to seek his seat, as the Sage commanded.

Afresh, as before, for the famed-in-battle,
for the band of the hall, was a banquet dight
nobly anew.

The Night-Helm darkened
dusk o'er the drinkers.

The doughty ones rose:
for the hoary-headed would hasten to rest,
aged Scylding; and eager the Geat,
shield-fighter sturdy, for sleeping yearned.

Him wander-weary, warrior-guest
from far, a hall-thane heralded forth,
who by custom courtly cared for all
needs of a thane as in those old days
warrior-wanderers wont to have.

So slumbered the stout-heart.

Stately the hall
rose gabled and gilt where the guest slept on
till a raven black the rapture-of-heaven
blithe-heart boded.

Bright came flying
shine after shadow.

The swordsmen hastened,
athelings all were eager homeward
forth to fare; and far from thence
the great-hearted guest would guide his keel.

Bade then the hardy-one Hrunting be brought
to the son of Ecglaf, the sword bade him take,
excellent iron, and uttered his thanks for it,
quoth that he counted it keen in battle,
"war-friend" winsome: with words he slandered not
edge of the blade: 'twas a big-hearted man!
Now eager for parting and armed at point
warriors waited, while went to his host
that Darling of Danes.

The doughty atheling
to high-seat hastened and Hrothgar greeted.

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Beowulf (Episode 26) Read Poem

BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: —
"Lo, we seafarers say our will,
far-come men, that we fain would seek
Hygelac now.

We here have found
hosts to our heart: thou hast harbored us well.

If ever on earth I am able to win me
more of thy love, O lord of men,
aught anew, than I now have done,
for work of war I am willing still!
If it come to me ever across the seas
that neighbor foemen annoy and fright thee, —
as they that hate thee erewhile have used, —
thousands then of thanes I shall bring,
heroes to help thee.

Of Hygelac I know,
ward of his folk, that, though few his years,
the lord of the Geats will give me aid
by word and by work, that well I may serve thee,
wielding the war-wood to win thy triumph
and lending thee might when thou lackest men.

If thy Hrethric should come to court of Geats,
a sovran's son, he will surely there
find his friends.

A far-off land
each man should visit who vaunts him brave.

"
Him then answering, Hrothgar spake: —
"These words of thine the wisest God
sent to thy soul! No sager counsel
from so young in years e'er yet have I heard.

Thou art strong of main and in mind art wary,
art wise in words! I ween indeed
if ever it hap that Hrethel's heir
by spear be seized, by sword-grim battle,
by illness or iron, thine elder and lord,
people's leader, — and life be thine, —
no seemlier man will the Sea-Geats find
at all to choose for their chief and king,
for hoard-guard of heroes, if hold thou wilt
thy kinsman's kingdom! Thy keen mind pleases me
the longer the better, Beowulf loved!
Thou hast brought it about that both our peoples,
sons of the Geat and Spear-Dane folk,
shall have mutual peace, and from murderous strife,
such as once they waged, from war refrain.

Long as I rule this realm so wide,
let our hoards be common, let heroes with gold
each other greet o'er the gannet's-bath,
and the ringed-prow bear o'er rolling waves
tokens of love.

I trow my landfolk
towards friend and foe are firmly joined,
and honor they keep in the olden way.

"
To him in the hall, then, Healfdene's son
gave treasures twelve, and the trust-of-earls
bade him fare with the gifts to his folk beloved,
hale to his home, and in haste return.

Then kissed the king of kin renowned,
Scyldings' chieftain, that choicest thane,
and fell on his neck.

Fast flowed the tears
of the hoary-headed.

Heavy with winters,
he had chances twain, but he clung to this, —
that each should look on the other again,
and hear him in hall.

Was this hero so dear to him.

his breast's wild billows he banned in vain;
safe in his soul a secret longing,
locked in his mind, for that loved man
burned in his blood.

Then Beowulf strode,
glad of his gold-gifts, the grass-plot o'er,
warrior blithe.

The wave-roamer bode
riding at anchor, its owner awaiting.

As they hastened onward, Hrothgar's gift
they lauded at length.

— 'Twas a lord unpeered,
every way blameless, till age had broken
— it spareth no mortal — his splendid might.

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Beowulf (Episode 27) Read Poem

CAME now to ocean the ever-courageous
hardy henchmen, their harness bearing,
woven war-sarks.

The warden marked,
trusty as ever, the earl's return.

From the height of the hill no hostile words
reached the guests as he rode to greet them;
but "Welcome!" he called to that Weder clan
as the sheen-mailed spoilers to ship marched on.

Then on the strand, with steeds and treasure
and armor their roomy and ring-dight ship
was heavily laden: high its mast
rose over Hrothgar's hoarded gems.

A sword to the boat-guard Beowulf gave,
mounted with gold; on the mead-bench since
he was better esteemed, that blade possessing,
heirloom old.

— Their ocean-keel boarding,
they drove through the deep, and Daneland left.

A sea-cloth was set, a sail with ropes,
firm to the mast; the flood-timbers moaned;
nor did wind over billows that wave-swimmer blow
across from her course.

The craft sped on,
foam-necked it floated forth o'er the waves,
keel firm-bound over briny currents,
till they got them sight of the Geatish cliffs,
home-known headlands.

High the boat,
stirred by winds, on the strand updrove.

Helpful at haven the harbor-guard stood,
who long already for loved companions
by the water had waited and watched afar.

He bound to the beach the broad-bosomed ship
with anchor-bands, lest ocean-billows
that trusty timber should tear away.

Then Beowulf bade them bear the treasure,
gold and jewels; no journey far
was it thence to go to the giver of rings,
Hygelac Hrethling: at home he dwelt
by the sea-wall close, himself and clan.

Haughty that house, a hero the king,
high the hall, and Hygd right young,
wise and wary, though winters few
in those fortress walls she had found a home,
Haereth's daughter.

Nor humble her ways,
nor grudged she gifts to the Geatish men,
of precious treasure.

Not Thryth's pride showed she,
folk-queen famed, or that fell deceit.

Was none so daring that durst make bold
(save her lord alone) of the liegemen dear
that lady full in the face to look,
but forged fetters he found his lot,
bonds of death! And brief the respite;
soon as they seized him, his sword-doom was spoken,
and the burnished blade a baleful murder
proclaimed and closed.

No queenly way
for woman to practise, though peerless she,
that the weaver-of-peace from warrior dear
by wrath and lying his life should reave!
But Hemming's kinsman hindered this.

—
For over their ale men also told
that of these folk-horrors fewer she wrought,
onslaughts of evil, after she went,
gold-decked bride, to the brave young prince,
atheling haughty, and Offa's hall
o'er the fallow flood at her father's bidding
safely sought, where since she prospered,
royal, throned, rich in goods,
fain of the fair life fate had sent her,
and leal in love to the lord of warriors.

He, of all heroes I heard of ever
from sea to sea, of the sons of earth,
most excellent seemed.

Hence Offa was praised
for his fighting and feeing by far-off men,
the spear-bold warrior; wisely he ruled
over his empire.

Eomer woke to him,
help of heroes, Hemming's kinsman,
Grandson of Garmund, grim in war.

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Beowulf (Episode 28-30) Read Poem

HASTENED the hardy one, henchmen with him,
sandy strand of the sea to tread
and widespread ways.

The world's great candle,
sun shone from south.

They strode along
with sturdy steps to the spot they knew
where the battle-king young, his burg within,
slayer of Ongentheow, shared the rings,
shelter-of-heroes.

To Hygelac
Beowulf's coming was quickly told, —
that there in the court the clansmen's refuge,
the shield-companion sound and alive,
hale from the hero-play homeward strode.

With haste in the hall, by highest order,
room for the rovers was readily made.

By his sovran he sat, come safe from battle,
kinsman by kinsman.

His kindly lord
he first had greeted in gracious form,
with manly words.

The mead dispensing,
came through the high hall Haereth's daughter,
winsome to warriors, wine-cup bore
to the hands of the heroes.

Hygelac then
his comrade fairly with question plied
in the lofty hall, sore longing to know
what manner of sojourn the Sea-Geats made.

"What came of thy quest, my kinsman Beowulf,
when thy yearnings suddenly swept thee yonder
battle to seek o'er the briny sea,
combat in Heorot?

Hrothgar couldst thou
aid at all, the honored chief,
in his wide-known woes?

With waves of care
my sad heart seethed; I sore mistrusted
my loved one's venture: long I begged thee
by no means to seek that slaughtering monster,
but suffer the South-Danes to settle their feud
themselves with Grendel.

Now God be thanked
that safe and sound I can see thee now!"
Beowulf spake, the bairn of Ecgtheow: —
"'Tis known and unhidden, Hygelac Lord,
to many men, that meeting of ours,
struggle grim between Grendel and me,
which we fought on the field where full too many
sorrows he wrought for the Scylding-Victors,
evils unending.

These all I avenged.

No boast can be from breed of Grendel,
any on earth, for that uproar at dawn,
from the longest-lived of the loathsome race
in fleshly fold! — But first I went
Hrothgar to greet in the hall of gifts,
where Healfdene's kinsman high-renowned,
soon as my purpose was plain to him,
assigned me a seat by his son and heir.

The liegemen were lusty; my life-days never
such merry men over mead in hall
have I heard under heaven! The high-born queen,
people's peace-bringer, passed through the hall,
cheered the young clansmen, clasps of gold,
ere she sought her seat, to sundry gave.

Oft to the heroes Hrothgar's daughter,
to earls in turn, the ale-cup tendered, —
she whom I heard these hall-companions
Freawaru name, when fretted gold
she proffered the warriors.

Promised is she,
gold-decked maid, to the glad son of Froda.

Sage this seems to the Scylding's-friend,
kingdom's-keeper: he counts it wise
the woman to wed so and ward off feud,
store of slaughter.

But seldom ever
when men are slain, does the murder-spear sink
but briefest while, though the bride be fair!
"Nor haply will like it the Heathobard lord,
and as little each of his liegemen all,
when a thane of the Danes, in that doughty throng,
goes with the lady along their hall,
and on him the old-time heirlooms glisten
hard and ring-decked, Heathobard's treasure,
weapons that once they wielded fair
until they lost at the linden-play
liegeman leal and their lives as well.

Then, over the ale, on this heirloom gazing,
some ash-wielder old who has all in mind
that spear-death of men, — he is stern of mood,
heavy at heart, — in the hero young
tests the temper and tries the soul
and war-hate wakens, with words like these: —
Canst thou not, comrade, ken that sword
which to the fray thy father carried
in his final feud, 'neath the fighting-mask,
dearest of blades, when the Danish slew him
and wielded the war-place on Withergild's fall,
after havoc of heroes, those hardy Scyldings?

Now, the son of a certain slaughtering Dane,
proud of his treasure, paces this hall,
joys in the killing, and carries the jewel
that rightfully ought to be owned by thee!_
Thus he urges and eggs him all the time
with keenest words, till occasion offers
that Freawaru's thane, for his father's deed,
after bite of brand in his blood must slumber,
losing his life; but that liegeman flies
living away, for the land he kens.

And thus be broken on both their sides
oaths of the earls, when Ingeld's breast
wells with war-hate, and wife-love now
after the care-billows cooler grows.

"So I hold not high the Heathobards' faith
due to the Danes, or their during love
and pact of peace.

— But I pass from that,
turning to Grendel, O giver-of-treasure,
and saying in full how the fight resulted,
hand-fray of heroes.

When heaven's jewel
had fled o'er far fields, that fierce sprite came,
night-foe savage, to seek us out
where safe and sound we sentried the hall.

To Hondscio then was that harassing deadly,
his fall there was fated.

He first was slain,
girded warrior.

Grendel on him
turned murderous mouth, on our mighty kinsman,
and all of the brave man's body devoured.

Yet none the earlier, empty-handed,
would the bloody-toothed murderer, mindful of bale,
outward go from the gold-decked hall:
but me he attacked in his terror of might,
with greedy hand grasped me.

A glove hung by him
wide and wondrous, wound with bands;
and in artful wise it all was wrought,
by devilish craft, of dragon-skins.

Me therein, an innocent man,
the fiendish foe was fain to thrust
with many another.

He might not so,
when I all angrily upright stood.

'Twere long to relate how that land-destroyer
I paid in kind for his cruel deeds;
yet there, my prince, this people of thine
got fame by my fighting.

He fled away,
and a little space his life preserved;
but there staid behind him his stronger hand
left in Heorot; heartsick thence
on the floor of the ocean that outcast fell.

Me for this struggle the Scyldings'-friend
paid in plenty with plates of gold,
with many a treasure, when morn had come
and we all at the banquet-board sat down.

Then was song and glee.

The gray-haired Scylding,
much tested, told of the times of yore.

Whiles the hero his harp bestirred,
wood-of-delight; now lays he chanted
of sooth and sadness, or said aright
legends of wonder, the wide-hearted king;
or for years of his youth he would yearn at times,
for strength of old struggles, now stricken with age,
hoary hero: his heart surged full
when, wise with winters, he wailed their flight.

Thus in the hall the whole of that day
at ease we feasted, till fell o'er earth
another night.

Anon full ready
in greed of vengeance, Grendel's mother
set forth all doleful.

Dead was her son
through war-hate of Weders; now, woman monstrous
with fury fell a foeman she slew,
avenged her offspring.

From Aeschere old,
loyal councillor, life was gone;
nor might they e'en, when morning broke,
those Danish people, their death-done comrade
burn with brands, on balefire lay
the man they mourned.

Under mountain stream
she had carried the corpse with cruel hands.

For Hrothgar that was the heaviest sorrow
of all that had laden the lord of his folk.

The leader then, by thy life, besought me
(sad was his soul) in the sea-waves' coil
to play the hero and hazard my being
for glory of prowess: my guerdon he pledged.

I then in the waters — 'tis widely known —
that sea-floor-guardian savage found.

Hand-to-hand there a while we struggled;
billows welled blood; in the briny hall
her head I hewed with a hardy blade
from Grendel's mother, — and gained my life,
though not without danger.

My doom was not yet.

Then the haven-of-heroes, Healfdene's son,
gave me in guerdon great gifts of price.

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Beowulf (Episode 31) Read Poem

"So held this king to the customs old,
that I wanted for nought in the wage I gained,
the meed of my might; he made me gifts,
Healfdene's heir, for my own disposal.

Now to thee, my prince, I proffer them all,
gladly give them.

Thy grace alone
can find me favor.

Few indeed
have I of kinsmen, save, Hygelac, thee!"
Then he bade them bear him the boar-head standard,
the battle-helm high, and breastplate gray,
the splendid sword; then spake in form: —
"Me this war-gear the wise old prince,
Hrothgar, gave, and his hest he added,
that its story be straightway said to thee.

—
A while it was held by Heorogar king,
for long time lord of the land of Scyldings;
yet not to his son the sovran left it,
to daring Heoroweard, — dear as he was to him,
his harness of battle.

— Well hold thou it all!"
And I heard that soon passed o'er the path of this treasure,
all apple-fallow, four good steeds,
each like the others, arms and horses
he gave to the king.

So should kinsmen be,
not weave one another the net of wiles,
or with deep-hid treachery death contrive
for neighbor and comrade.

His nephew was ever
by hardy Hygelac held full dear,
and each kept watch o'er the other's weal.

I heard, too, the necklace to Hygd he presented,
wonder-wrought treasure, which Wealhtheow gave him
sovran's daughter: three steeds he added,
slender and saddle-gay.

Since such gift
the gem gleamed bright on the breast of the queen.

Thus showed his strain the son of Ecgtheow
as a man remarked for mighty deeds
and acts of honor.

At ale he slew not
comrade or kin; nor cruel his mood,
though of sons of earth his strength was greatest,
a glorious gift that God had sent
the splendid leader.

Long was he spurned,
and worthless by Geatish warriors held;
him at mead the master-of-clans
failed full oft to favor at all.

Slack and shiftless the strong men deemed him,
profitless prince; but payment came,
to the warrior honored, for all his woes.

—
Then the bulwark-of-earls bade bring within,
hardy chieftain, Hrethel's heirloom
garnished with gold: no Geat e'er knew
in shape of a sword a statelier prize.

The brand he laid in Beowulf's lap;
and of hides assigned him seven thousand,
with house and high-seat.

They held in common
land alike by their line of birth,
inheritance, home: but higher the king
because of his rule o'er the realm itself.

Now further it fell with the flight of years,
with harryings horrid, that Hygelac perished,
and Heardred, too, by hewing of swords
under the shield-wall slaughtered lay,
when him at the van of his victor-folk
sought hardy heroes, Heatho-Scilfings,
in arms o'erwhelming Hereric's nephew.

Then Beowulf came as king this broad
realm to wield; and he ruled it well
fifty winters, a wise old prince,
warding his land, until One began
in the dark of night, a Dragon, to rage.

In the grave on the hill a hoard it guarded,
in the stone-barrow steep.

A strait path reached it,
unknown to mortals.

Some man, however,
came by chance that cave within
to the heathen hoard.

In hand he took
a golden goblet, nor gave he it back,
stole with it away, while the watcher slept,
by thievish wiles: for the warden's wrath
prince and people must pay betimes!
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Beowulf (Episode 01) Read Poem

Now Beowulf bode in the burg of the Scyldings,
leader beloved, and long he ruled
in fame with all folk, since his father had gone
away from the world, till awoke an heir,
haughty Healfdene, who held through life,
sage and sturdy, the Scyldings glad.

Then, one after one, there woke to him,
to the chieftain of clansmen, children four:
Heorogar, then Hrothgar, then Halga brave;
and I heard that -- was -- 's queen,
the Heathoscylfing's helpmate dear.

To Hrothgar was given such glory of war,
such honor of combat, that all his kin
obeyed him gladly till great grew his band
of youthful comrades.

It came in his mind
to bid his henchmen a hall uprear,
ia master mead-house, mightier far
than ever was seen by the sons of earth,
and within it, then, to old and young
he would all allot that the Lord had sent him,
save only the land and the lives of his men.

Wide, I heard, was the work commanded,
for many a tribe this mid-earth round,
to fashion the folkstead.

It fell, as he ordered,
in rapid achievement that ready it stood there,
of halls the noblest: Heorot he named it
whose message had might in many a land.

Not reckless of promise, the rings he dealt,
treasure at banquet: there towered the hall,
high, gabled wide, the hot surge waiting
of furious flame.

Nor far was that day
when father and son-in-law stood in feud
for warfare and hatred that woke again.

With envy and anger an evil spirit
endured the dole in his dark abode,
that he heard each day the din of revel
high in the hall: there harps rang out,
clear song of the singer.

He sang who knew
tales of the early time of man,
how the Almighty made the earth,
fairest fields enfolded by water,
set, triumphant, sun and moon
for a light to lighten the land-dwellers,
and braided bright the breast of earth
with limbs and leaves, made life for all
of mortal beings that breathe and move.

So lived the clansmen in cheer and revel
a winsome life, till one began
to fashion evils, that field of hell.

Grendel this monster grim was called,
march-riever mighty, in moorland living,
in fen and fastness; fief of the giants
the hapless wight a while had kept
since the Creator his exile doomed.

On kin of Cain was the killing avenged
by sovran God for slaughtered Abel.

Ill fared his feud, and far was he driven,
for the slaughter's sake, from sight of men.

Of Cain awoke all that woful breed,
Etins and elves and evil-spirits,
as well as the giants that warred with God
weary while: but their wage was paid them!

Beowulf (Episode 02) Read Poem

WENT he forth to find at fall of night
that haughty house, and heed wherever
the Ring-Danes, outrevelled, to rest had gone.

Found within it the atheling band
asleep after feasting and fearless of sorrow,
of human hardship.

Unhallowed wight,
grim and greedy, he grasped betimes,
wrathful, reckless, from resting-places,
thirty of the thanes, and thence he rushed
fain of his fell spoil, faring homeward,
laden with slaughter, his lair to seek.

Then at the dawning, as day was breaking,
the might of Grendel to men was known;
then after wassail was wail uplifted,
loud moan in the morn.

The mighty chief,
atheling excellent, unblithe sat,
labored in woe for the loss of his thanes,
when once had been traced the trail of the fiend,
spirit accurst: too cruel that sorrow,
too long, too loathsome.

Not late the respite;
with night returning, anew began
ruthless murder; he recked no whit,
firm in his guilt, of the feud and crime.

They were easy to find who elsewhere sought
in room remote their rest at night,
bed in the bowers, when that bale was shown,
was seen in sooth, with surest token, --
the hall-thane's hate.

Such held themselves
far and fast who the fiend outran!
Thus ruled unrighteous and raged his fill
one against all; until empty stood
that lordly building, and long it bode so.

Twelve years' tide the trouble he bore,
sovran of Scyldings, sorrows in plenty,
boundless cares.

There came unhidden
tidings true to the tribes of men,
in sorrowful songs, how ceaselessly Grendel
harassed Hrothgar, what hate he bore him,
what murder and massacre, many a year,
feud unfading, -- refused consent
to deal with any of Daneland's earls,
make pact of peace, or compound for gold:
still less did the wise men ween to get
great fee for the feud from his fiendish hands.

But the evil one ambushed old and young
death-shadow dark, and dogged them still,
lured, or lurked in the livelong night
of misty moorlands: men may say not
where the haunts of these Hell-Runes be.

Such heaping of horrors the hater of men,
lonely roamer, wrought unceasing,
harassings heavy.

O'er Heorot he lorded,
gold-bright hall, in gloomy nights;
and ne'er could the prince approach his throne,
-- 'twas judgment of God, -- or have joy in his hall.

Sore was the sorrow to Scyldings'-friend,
heart-rending misery.

Many nobles
sat assembled, and searched out counsel
how it were best for bold-hearted men
against harassing terror to try their hand.

Whiles they vowed in their heathen fanes
altar-offerings, asked with words
that the slayer-of-souls would succor give them
for the pain of their people.

Their practice this,
their heathen hope; 'twas Hell they thought of
in mood of their mind.

Almighty they knew not,
Doomsman of Deeds and dreadful Lord,
nor Heaven's-Helmet heeded they ever,
Wielder-of-Wonder.

-- Woe for that man
who in harm and hatred hales his soul
to fiery embraces; -- nor favor nor change
awaits he ever.

But well for him
that after death-day may draw to his Lord,
and friendship find in the Father's arms!

Beowulf (Episode 03) Read Poem

THUS seethed unceasing the son of Healfdene
with the woe of these days; not wisest men
assuaged his sorrow; too sore the anguish,
loathly and long, that lay on his folk,
most baneful of burdens and bales of the night.

This heard in his home Hygelac's thane,
great among Geats, of Grendel's doings.

He was the mightiest man of valor
in that same day of this our life,
stalwart and stately.

A stout wave-walker
he bade make ready.

Yon battle-king, said he,
far o'er the swan-road he fain would seek,
the noble monarch who needed men!
The prince's journey by prudent folk
was little blamed, though they loved him dear;
they whetted the hero, and hailed good omens.

And now the bold one from bands of Geats
comrades chose, the keenest of warriors
e'er he could find; with fourteen men
the sea-wood he sought, and, sailor proved,
led them on to the land's confines.

Time had now flown; afloat was the ship,
boat under bluff.

On board they climbed,
warriors ready; waves were churning
sea with sand; the sailors bore
on the breast of the bark their bright array,
their mail and weapons: the men pushed off,
on its willing way, the well-braced craft.

Then moved o'er the waters by might of the wind
that bark like a bird with breast of foam,
till in season due, on the second day,
the curved prow such course had run
that sailors now could see the land,
sea-cliffs shining, steep high hills,
headlands broad.

Their haven was found,
their journey ended.

Up then quickly
the Weders' clansmen climbed ashore,
anchored their sea-wood, with armor clashing
and gear of battle: God they thanked
or passing in peace o'er the paths of the sea.

Now saw from the cliff a Scylding clansman,
a warden that watched the water-side,
how they bore o'er the gangway glittering shields,
war-gear in readiness; wonder seized him
to know what manner of men they were.

Straight to the strand his steed he rode,
Hrothgar's henchman; with hand of might
he shook his spear, and spake in parley.

"Who are ye, then, ye armed men,
mailed folk, that yon mighty vessel
have urged thus over the ocean ways,
here o'er the waters?

A warden I,
sentinel set o'er the sea-march here,
lest any foe to the folk of Danes
with harrying fleet should harm the land.

No aliens ever at ease thus bore them,
linden-wielders: yet word-of-leave
clearly ye lack from clansmen here,
my folk's agreement.

-- A greater ne'er saw I
of warriors in world than is one of you, --
yon hero in harness! No henchman he
worthied by weapons, if witness his features,
his peerless presence! I pray you, though, tell
your folk and home, lest hence ye fare
suspect to wander your way as spies
in Danish land.

Now, dwellers afar,
ocean-travellers, take from me
simple advice: the sooner the better
I hear of the country whence ye came.

"

Beowulf (Episode 04) Read Poem

To him the stateliest spake in answer;
the warriors' leader his word-hoard unlocked: --
"We are by kin of the clan of Geats,
and Hygelac's own hearth-fellows we.

To folk afar was my father known,
noble atheling, Ecgtheow named.

Full of winters, he fared away
aged from earth; he is honored still
through width of the world by wise men all.

To thy lord and liege in loyal mood
we hasten hither, to Healfdene's son,
people-protector: be pleased to advise us!
To that mighty-one come we on mickle errand,
to the lord of the Danes; nor deem I right
that aught be hidden.

We hear -- thou knowest
if sooth it is -- the saying of men,
that amid the Scyldings a scathing monster,
dark ill-doer, in dusky nights
shows terrific his rage unmatched,
hatred and murder.

To Hrothgar I
in greatness of soul would succor bring,
so the Wise-and-Brave may worst his foes, --
if ever the end of ills is fated,
of cruel contest, if cure shall follow,
and the boiling care-waves cooler grow;
else ever afterward anguish-days
he shall suffer in sorrow while stands in place
high on its hill that house unpeered!"
Astride his steed, the strand-ward answered,
clansman unquailing: "The keen-souled thane
must be skilled to sever and sunder duly
words and works, if he well intends.

I gather, this band is graciously bent
to the Scyldings' master.

March, then, bearing
weapons and weeds the way I show you.

I will bid my men your boat meanwhile
to guard for fear lest foemen come, --
your new-tarred ship by shore of ocean
faithfully watching till once again
it waft o'er the waters those well-loved thanes,
-- winding-neck'd wood, -- to Weders' bounds,
heroes such as the hest of fate
shall succor and save from the shock of war.

"
They bent them to march, -- the boat lay still,
fettered by cable and fast at anchor,
broad-bosomed ship.

-- Then shone the boars
over the cheek-guard; chased with gold,
keen and gleaming, guard it kept
o'er the man of war, as marched along
heroes in haste, till the hall they saw,
broad of gable and bright with gold:
that was the fairest, 'mid folk of earth,
of houses 'neath heaven, where Hrothgar lived,
and the gleam of it lightened o'er lands afar.

The sturdy shieldsman showed that bright
burg-of-the-boldest; bade them go
straightway thither; his steed then turned,
hardy hero, and hailed them thus: --
"Tis time that I fare from you.

Father Almighty
in grace and mercy guard you well,
safe in your seekings.

Seaward I go,
'gainst hostile warriors hold my watch.

"

Beowulf (Episode 05) Read Poem

STONE-BRIGHT the street: it showed the way
to the crowd of clansmen.

Corselets glistened
hand-forged, hard; on their harness bright
the steel ring sang, as they strode along
in mail of battle, and marched to the hall.

There, weary of ocean, the wall along
they set their bucklers, their broad shields, down,
and bowed them to bench: the breastplates clanged,
war-gear of men; their weapons stacked,
spears of the seafarers stood together,
gray-tipped ash: that iron band
was worthily weaponed! -- A warrior proud
asked of the heroes their home and kin.

"Whence, now, bear ye burnished shields,
harness gray and helmets grim,
spears in multitude?

Messenger, I,
Hrothgar's herald! Heroes so many
ne'er met I as strangers of mood so strong.

'Tis plain that for prowess, not plunged into exile,
for high-hearted valor, Hrothgar ye seek!"
Him the sturdy-in-war bespake with words,
proud earl of the Weders answer made,
hardy 'neath helmet: -- "Hygelac's, we,
fellows at board; I am Beowulf named.

I am seeking to say to the son of Healfdene
this mission of mine, to thy master-lord,
the doughty prince, if he deign at all
grace that we greet him, the good one, now.

"
Wulfgar spake, the Wendles' chieftain,
whose might of mind to many was known,
his courage and counsel: "The king of Danes,
the Scyldings' friend, I fain will tell,
the Breaker-of-Rings, as the boon thou askest,
the famed prince, of thy faring hither,
and, swiftly after, such answer bring
as the doughty monarch may deign to give.

"
Hied then in haste to where Hrothgar sat
white-haired and old, his earls about him,
till the stout thane stood at the shoulder there
of the Danish king: good courtier he!
Wulfgar spake to his winsome lord: --
"Hither have fared to thee far-come men
o'er the paths of ocean, people of Geatland;
and the stateliest there by his sturdy band
is Beowulf named.

This boon they seek,
that they, my master, may with thee
have speech at will: nor spurn their prayer
to give them hearing, gracious Hrothgar!
In weeds of the warrior worthy they,
methinks, of our liking; their leader most surely,
a hero that hither his henchmen has led.

"

Beowulf (Episode 06) Read Poem

HROTHGAR answered, helmet of Scyldings: --
"I knew him of yore in his youthful days;
his aged father was Ecgtheow named,
to whom, at home, gave Hrethel the Geat
his only daughter.

Their offspring bold
fares hither to seek the steadfast friend.

And seamen, too, have said me this, --
who carried my gifts to the Geatish court,
thither for thanks, -- he has thirty men's
heft of grasp in the gripe of his hand,
the bold-in-battle.

Blessed God
out of his mercy this man hath sent
to Danes of the West, as I ween indeed,
against horror of Grendel.

I hope to give
the good youth gold for his gallant thought.

Be thou in haste, and bid them hither,
clan of kinsmen, to come before me;
and add this word, -- they are welcome guests
to folk of the Danes.

"
[To the door of the hall
Wulfgar went] and the word declared: --
"To you this message my master sends,
East-Danes' king, that your kin he knows,
hardy heroes, and hails you all
welcome hither o'er waves of the sea!
Ye may wend your way in war-attire,
and under helmets Hrothgar greet;
but let here the battle-shields bide your parley,
and wooden war-shafts wait its end.

"
Uprose the mighty one, ringed with his men,
brave band of thanes: some bode without,
battle-gear guarding, as bade the chief.

Then hied that troop where the herald led them,
under Heorot's roof: [the hero strode,]
hardy 'neath helm, till the hearth he neared.

Beowulf spake, -- his breastplate gleamed,
war-net woven by wit of the smith: --
"Thou Hrothgar, hail! Hygelac's I,
kinsman and follower.

Fame a plenty
have I gained in youth! These Grendel-deeds
I heard in my home-land heralded clear.

Seafarers say how stands this hall,
of buildings best, for your band of thanes
empty and idle, when evening sun
in the harbor of heaven is hidden away.

So my vassals advised me well, --
brave and wise, the best of men, --
O sovran Hrothgar, to seek thee here,
for my nerve and my might they knew full well.

Themselves had seen me from slaughter come
blood-flecked from foes, where five I bound,
and that wild brood worsted.

I' the waves I slew
nicors by night, in need and peril
avenging the Weders, whose woe they sought, --
crushing the grim ones.

Grendel now,
monster cruel, be mine to quell
in single battle! So, from thee,
thou sovran of the Shining-Danes,
Scyldings'-bulwark, a boon I seek, --
and, Friend-of-the-folk, refuse it not,
O Warriors'-shield, now I've wandered far, --
that I alone with my liegemen here,
this hardy band, may Heorot purge!
More I hear, that the monster dire,
in his wanton mood, of weapons recks not;
hence shall I scorn -- so Hygelac stay,
king of my kindred, kind to me! --
brand or buckler to bear in the fight,
gold-colored targe: but with gripe alone
must I front the fiend and fight for life,
foe against foe.

Then faith be his
in the doom of the Lord whom death shall take.

Fain, I ween, if the fight he win,
in this hall of gold my Geatish band
will he fearless eat, -- as oft before, --
my noblest thanes.

Nor need'st thou then
to hide my head; for his shall I be,
dyed in gore, if death must take me;
and my blood-covered body he'll bear as prey,
ruthless devour it, the roamer-lonely,
with my life-blood redden his lair in the fen:
no further for me need'st food prepare!
To Hygelac send, if Hild should take me,
best of war-weeds, warding my breast,
armor excellent, heirloom of Hrethel
and work of Wayland.

Fares Wyrd as she must.

"

Beowulf (Episode 07) Read Poem

HROTHGAR spake, the Scyldings'-helmet: --
"For fight defensive, Friend my Beowulf,
to succor and save, thou hast sought us here.

Thy father's combat a feud enkindled
when Heatholaf with hand he slew
among the Wylfings; his Weder kin
for horror of fighting feared to hold him.

Fleeing, he sought our South-Dane folk,
over surge of ocean the Honor-Scyldings,
when first I was ruling the folk of Danes,
wielded, youthful, this widespread realm,
this hoard-hold of heroes.

Heorogar was dead,
my elder brother, had breathed his last,
Healfdene's bairn: he was better than I!
Straightway the feud with fee I settled,
to the Wylfings sent, o'er watery ridges,
treasures olden: oaths he swore me.

Sore is my soul to say to any
of the race of man what ruth for me
in Heorot Grendel with hate hath wrought,
what sudden harryings.

Hall-folk fail me,
my warriors wane; for Wyrd hath swept them
into Grendel's grasp.

But God is able
this deadly foe from his deeds to turn!
Boasted full oft, as my beer they drank,
earls o'er the ale-cup, armed men,
that they would bide in the beer-hall here,
Grendel's attack with terror of blades.

Then was this mead-house at morning tide
dyed with gore, when the daylight broke,
all the boards of the benches blood-besprinkled,
gory the hall: I had heroes the less,
doughty dear-ones that death had reft.

-- But sit to the banquet, unbind thy words,
hardy hero, as heart shall prompt thee.

"
Gathered together, the Geatish men
in the banquet-hall on bench assigned,
sturdy-spirited, sat them down,
hardy-hearted.

A henchman attended,
carried the carven cup in hand,
served the clear mead.

Oft minstrels sang
blithe in Heorot.

Heroes revelled,
no dearth of warriors, Weder and Dane.

Beowulf (Episode 08) Read Poem

UNFERTH spake, the son of Ecglaf,
who sat at the feet of the Scyldings' lord,
unbound the battle-runes.

-- Beowulf's quest,
sturdy seafarer's, sorely galled him;
ever he envied that other men
should more achieve in middle-earth
of fame under heaven than he himself.

--
"Art thou that Beowulf, Breca's rival,
who emulous swam on the open sea,
when for pride the pair of you proved the floods,
and wantonly dared in waters deep
to risk your lives?

No living man,
or lief or loath, from your labor dire
could you dissuade, from swimming the main.

Ocean-tides with your arms ye covered,
with strenuous hands the sea-streets measured,
swam o'er the waters.

Winter's storm
rolled the rough waves.

In realm of sea
a sennight strove ye.

In swimming he topped thee,
had more of main! Him at morning-tide
billows bore to the Battling Reamas,
whence he hied to his home so dear
beloved of his liegemen, to land of Brondings,
fastness fair, where his folk he ruled,
town and treasure.

In triumph o'er thee
Beanstan's bairn his boast achieved.

So ween I for thee a worse adventure
-- though in buffet of battle thou brave hast been,
in struggle grim, -- if Grendel's approach
thou darst await through the watch of night!"
Beowulf spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: --
"What a deal hast uttered, dear my Unferth,
drunken with beer, of Breca now,
told of his triumph! Truth I claim it,
that I had more of might in the sea
than any man else, more ocean-endurance.

We twain had talked, in time of youth,
and made our boast, -- we were merely boys,
striplings still, -- to stake our lives
far at sea: and so we performed it.

Naked swords, as we swam along,
we held in hand, with hope to guard us
against the whales.

Not a whit from me
could he float afar o'er the flood of waves,
haste o'er the billows; nor him I abandoned.

Together we twain on the tides abode
five nights full till the flood divided us,
churning waves and chillest weather,
darkling night, and the northern wind
ruthless rushed on us: rough was the surge.

Now the wrath of the sea-fish rose apace;
yet me 'gainst the monsters my mailed coat,
hard and hand-linked, help afforded, --
battle-sark braided my breast to ward,
garnished with gold.

There grasped me firm
and haled me to bottom the hated foe,
with grimmest gripe.

'Twas granted me, though,
to pierce the monster with point of sword,
with blade of battle: huge beast of the sea
was whelmed by the hurly through hand of mine.

"Began the fight.

" Breca.

Beowulf (Episode 09) Read Poem

ME thus often the evil monsters
thronging threatened.

With thrust of my sword,
the darling, I dealt them due return!
Nowise had they bliss from their booty then
to devour their victim, vengeful creatures,
seated to banquet at bottom of sea;
but at break of day, by my brand sore hurt,
on the edge of ocean up they lay,
put to sleep by the sword.

And since, by them
on the fathomless sea-ways sailor-folk
are never molested.

-- Light from east,
came bright God's beacon; the billows sank,
so that I saw the sea-cliffs high,
windy walls.

For Wyrd oft saveth
earl undoomed if he doughty be!
And so it came that I killed with my sword
nine of the nicors.

Of night-fought battles
ne'er heard I a harder 'neath heaven's dome,
nor adrift on the deep a more desolate man!
Yet I came unharmed from that hostile clutch,
though spent with swimming.

The sea upbore me,
flood of the tide, on Finnish land,
the welling waters.

No wise of thee
have I heard men tell such terror of falchions,
bitter battle.

Breca ne'er yet,
not one of you pair, in the play of war
such daring deed has done at all
with bloody brand, -- I boast not of it! --
though thou wast the bane of thy brethren dear,
thy closest kin, whence curse of hell
awaits thee, well as thy wit may serve!
For I say in sooth, thou son of Ecglaf,
never had Grendel these grim deeds wrought,
monster dire, on thy master dear,
in Heorot such havoc, if heart of thine
were as battle-bold as thy boast is loud!
But he has found no feud will happen;
from sword-clash dread of your Danish clan
he vaunts him safe, from the Victor-Scyldings.

He forces pledges, favors none
of the land of Danes, but lustily murders,
fights and feasts, nor feud he dreads
from Spear-Dane men.

But speedily now
shall I prove him the prowess and pride of the Geats,
shall bid him battle.

Blithe to mead
go he that listeth, when light of dawn
this morrow morning o'er men of earth,
ether-robed sun from the south shall beam!"
Joyous then was the Jewel-giver,
hoar-haired, war-brave; help awaited
the Bright-Danes' prince, from Beowulf hearing,
folk's good shepherd, such firm resolve.

Then was laughter of liegemen loud resounding
with winsome words.

Came Wealhtheow forth,
queen of Hrothgar, heedful of courtesy,
gold-decked, greeting the guests in hall;
and the high-born lady handed the cup
first to the East-Danes' heir and warden,
bade him be blithe at the beer-carouse,
the land's beloved one.

Lustily took he
banquet and beaker, battle-famed king.

Through the hall then went the Helmings' Lady,
to younger and older everywhere
carried the cup, till come the moment
when the ring-graced queen, the royal-hearted,
to Beowulf bore the beaker of mead.

She greeted the Geats' lord, God she thanked,
in wisdom's words, that her will was granted,
that at last on a hero her hope could lean
for comfort in terrors.

The cup he took,
hardy-in-war, from Wealhtheow's hand,
and answer uttered the eager-for-combat.

Beowulf spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: --
"This was my thought, when my thanes and I
bent to the ocean and entered our boat,
that I would work the will of your people
fully, or fighting fall in death,
in fiend's gripe fast.

I am firm to do
an earl's brave deed, or end the days
of this life of mine in the mead-hall here.

"
Well these words to the woman seemed,
Beowulf's battle-boast.

-- Bright with gold
the stately dame by her spouse sat down.

Again, as erst, began in hall
warriors' wassail and words of power,
the proud-band's revel, till presently
the son of Healfdene hastened to seek
rest for the night; he knew there waited
fight for the fiend in that festal hall,
when the sheen of the sun they saw no more,
and dusk of night sank darkling nigh,
and shadowy shapes came striding on,
wan under welkin.

The warriors rose.

Man to man, he made harangue,
Hrothgar to Beowulf, bade him hail,
let him wield the wine hall: a word he added: --
"Never to any man erst I trusted,
since I could heave up hand and shield,
this noble Dane-Hall, till now to thee.

Have now and hold this house unpeered;
remember thy glory; thy might declare;
watch for the foe! No wish shall fail thee
if thou bidest the battle with bold-won life.

"

Beowulf (Episode 10) Read Poem

THEN Hrothgar went with his hero-train,
defence-of-Scyldings, forth from hall;
fain would the war-lord Wealhtheow seek,
couch of his queen.

The King-of-Glory
against this Grendel a guard had set,
so heroes heard, a hall-defender,
who warded the monarch and watched for the monster.

In truth, the Geats' prince gladly trusted
his mettle, his might, the mercy of God!
Cast off then his corselet of iron,
helmet from head; to his henchman gave, --
choicest of weapons, -- the well-chased sword,
bidding him guard the gear of battle.

Spake then his Vaunt the valiant man,
Beowulf Geat, ere the bed be sought: --
"Of force in fight no feebler I count me,
in grim war-deeds, than Grendel deems him.

Not with the sword, then, to sleep of death
his life will I give, though it lie in my power.

No skill is his to strike against me,
my shield to hew though he hardy be,
bold in battle; we both, this night,
shall spurn the sword, if he seek me here,
unweaponed, for war.

Let wisest God,
sacred Lord, on which side soever
doom decree as he deemeth right.

"
Reclined then the chieftain, and cheek-pillows held
the head of the earl, while all about him
seamen hardy on hall-beds sank.

None of them thought that thence their steps
to the folk and fastness that fostered them,
to the land they loved, would lead them back!
Full well they wist that on warriors many
battle-death seized, in the banquet-hall,
of Danish clan.

But comfort and help,
war-weal weaving, to Weder folk
the Master gave, that, by might of one,
over their enemy all prevailed,
by single strength.

In sooth 'tis told
that highest God o'er human kind
hath wielded ever! -- Thro' wan night striding,
came the walker-in-shadow.

Warriors slept
whose hest was to guard the gabled hall, --
all save one.

'Twas widely known
that against God's will the ghostly ravager
him could not hurl to haunts of darkness;
wakeful, ready, with warrior's wrath,
bold he bided the battle's issue.

Beowulf, -- the "one.

"

Beowulf (Episode 11) Read Poem

THEN from the moorland, by misty crags,
with God's wrath laden, Grendel came.

The monster was minded of mankind now
sundry to seize in the stately house.

Under welkin he walked, till the wine-palace there,
gold-hall of men, he gladly discerned,
flashing with fretwork.

Not first time, this,
that he the home of Hrothgar sought, --
yet ne'er in his life-day, late or early,
such hardy heroes, such hall-thanes, found!
To the house the warrior walked apace,
parted from peace; the portal opended,
though with forged bolts fast, when his fists had
struck it,
and baleful he burst in his blatant rage,
the house's mouth.

All hastily, then,
o'er fair-paved floor the fiend trod on,
ireful he strode; there streamed from his eyes
fearful flashes, like flame to see.

He spied in hall the hero-band,
kin and clansmen clustered asleep,
hardy liegemen.

Then laughed his heart;
for the monster was minded, ere morn should dawn,
savage, to sever the soul of each,
life from body, since lusty banquet
waited his will! But Wyrd forbade him
to seize any more of men on earth
after that evening.

Eagerly watched
Hygelac's kinsman his cursed foe,
how he would fare in fell attack.

Not that the monster was minded to pause!
Straightway he seized a sleeping warrior
for the first, and tore him fiercely asunder,
the bone-frame bit, drank blood in streams,
swallowed him piecemeal: swiftly thus
the lifeless corse was clear devoured,
e'en feet and hands.

Then farther he hied;
for the hardy hero with hand he grasped,
felt for the foe with fiendish claw,
for the hero reclining, -- who clutched it boldly,
prompt to answer, propped on his arm.

Soon then saw that shepherd-of-evils
that never he met in this middle-world,
in the ways of earth, another wight
with heavier hand-gripe; at heart he feared,
sorrowed in soul, -- none the sooner escaped!
Fain would he flee, his fastness seek,
the den of devils: no doings now
such as oft he had done in days of old!
Then bethought him the hardy Hygelac-thane
of his boast at evening: up he bounded,
grasped firm his foe, whose fingers cracked.

The fiend made off, but the earl close followed.

The monster meant -- if he might at all --
to fling himself free, and far away
fly to the fens, -- knew his fingers' power
in the gripe of the grim one.

Gruesome march
to Heorot this monster of harm had made!
Din filled the room; the Danes were bereft,
castle-dwellers and clansmen all,
earls, of their ale.

Angry were both
those savage hall-guards: the house resounded.

Wonder it was the wine-hall firm
in the strain of their struggle stood, to earth
the fair house fell not; too fast it was
within and without by its iron bands
craftily clamped; though there crashed from sill
many a mead-bench -- men have told me --
gay with gold, where the grim foes wrestled.

So well had weened the wisest Scyldings
that not ever at all might any man
that bone-decked, brave house break asunder,
crush by craft, -- unless clasp of fire
in smoke engulfed it.

-- Again uprose
din redoubled.

Danes of the North
with fear and frenzy were filled, each one,
who from the wall that wailing heard,
God's foe sounding his grisly song,
cry of the conquered, clamorous pain
from captive of hell.

Too closely held him
he who of men in might was strongest
in that same day of this our life.

Beowulf (Episode 12) Read Poem

NOT in any wise would the earls'-defence
suffer that slaughterous stranger to live,
useless deeming his days and years
to men on earth.

Now many an earl
of Beowulf brandished blade ancestral,
fain the life of their lord to shield,
their praised prince, if power were theirs;
never they knew, -- as they neared the foe,
hardy-hearted heroes of war,
aiming their swords on every side
the accursed to kill, -- no keenest blade,
no farest of falchions fashioned on earth,
could harm or hurt that hideous fiend!
He was safe, by his spells, from sword of battle,
from edge of iron.

Yet his end and parting
on that same day of this our life
woful should be, and his wandering soul
far off flit to the fiends' domain.

Soon he found, who in former days,
harmful in heart and hated of God,
on many a man such murder wrought,
that the frame of his body failed him now.

For him the keen-souled kinsman of Hygelac
held in hand; hateful alive
was each to other.

The outlaw dire
took mortal hurt; a mighty wound
showed on his shoulder, and sinews cracked,
and the bone-frame burst.

To Beowulf now
the glory was given, and Grendel thence
death-sick his den in the dark moor sought,
noisome abode: he knew too well
that here was the last of life, an end
of his days on earth.

-- To all the Danes
by that bloody battle the boon had come.

From ravage had rescued the roving stranger
Hrothgar's hall; the hardy and wise one
had purged it anew.

His night-work pleased him,
his deed and its honor.

To Eastern Danes
had the valiant Geat his vaunt made good,
all their sorrow and ills assuaged,
their bale of battle borne so long,
and all the dole they erst endured
pain a-plenty.

-- 'Twas proof of this,
when the hardy-in-fight a hand laid down,
arm and shoulder, -- all, indeed,
of Grendel's gripe, -- 'neath the gabled roof.

Beowulf (Episode 13) Read Poem

MANY at morning, as men have told me,
warriors gathered the gift-hall round,
folk-leaders faring from far and near,
o'er wide-stretched ways, the wonder to view,
trace of the traitor.

Not troublous seemed
the enemy's end to any man
who saw by the gait of the graceless foe
how the weary-hearted, away from thence,
baffled in battle and banned, his steps
death-marked dragged to the devils' mere.

Bloody the billows were boiling there,
turbid the tide of tumbling waves
horribly seething, with sword-blood hot,
by that doomed one dyed, who in den of the moor
laid forlorn his life adown,
his heathen soul, and hell received it.

Home then rode the hoary clansmen
from that merry journey, and many a youth,
on horses white, the hardy warriors,
back from the mere.

Then Beowulf's glory
eager they echoed, and all averred
that from sea to sea, or south or north,
there was no other in earth's domain,
under vault of heaven, more valiant found,
of warriors none more worthy to rule!
(On their lord beloved they laid no slight,
gracious Hrothgar: a good king he!)
From time to time, the tried-in-battle
their gray steeds set to gallop amain,
and ran a race when the road seemed fair.

From time to time, a thane of the king,
who had made many vaunts, and was mindful of verses,
stored with sagas and songs of old,
bound word to word in well-knit rime,
welded his lay; this warrior soon
of Beowulf's quest right cleverly sang,
and artfully added an excellent tale,
in well-ranged words, of the warlike deeds
he had heard in saga of Sigemund.

Strange the story: he said it all, --
the Waelsing's wanderings wide, his struggles,
which never were told to tribes of men,
the feuds and the frauds, save to Fitela only,
when of these doings he deigned to speak,
uncle to nephew; as ever the twain
stood side by side in stress of war,
and multitude of the monster kind
they had felled with their swords.

Of Sigemund grew,
when he passed from life, no little praise;
for the doughty-in-combat a dragon killed
that herded the hoard: under hoary rock
the atheling dared the deed alone
fearful quest, nor was Fitela there.

Yet so it befell, his falchion pierced
that wondrous worm, -- on the wall it struck,
best blade; the dragon died in its blood.

Thus had the dread-one by daring achieved
over the ring-hoard to rule at will,
himself to pleasure; a sea-boat he loaded,
and bore on its bosom the beaming gold,
son of Waels; the worm was consumed.

He had of all heroes the highest renown
among races of men, this refuge-of-warriors,
for deeds of daring that decked his name
since the hand and heart of Heremod
grew slack in battle.

He, swiftly banished
to mingle with monsters at mercy of foes,
to death was betrayed; for torrents of sorrow
had lamed him too long; a load of care
to earls and athelings all he proved.

Oft indeed, in earlier days,
for the warrior's wayfaring wise men mourned,
who had hoped of him help from harm and bale,
and had thought their sovran's son would thrive,
follow his father, his folk protect,
the hoard and the stronghold, heroes' land,
home of Scyldings.

-- But here, thanes said,
the kinsman of Hygelac kinder seemed
to all: the other was urged to crime!
And afresh to the race, the fallow roads
by swift steeds measured! The morning sun
was climbing higher.

Clansmen hastened
to the high-built hall, those hardy-minded,
the wonder to witness.

Warden of treasure,
crowned with glory, the king himself,
with stately band from the bride-bower strode;
and with him the queen and her crowd of maidens
measured the path to the mead-house fair.

Beowulf (Episode 14) Read Poem

HROTHGAR spake, -- to the hall he went,
stood by the steps, the steep roof saw,
garnished with gold, and Grendel's hand: --
"For the sight I see to the Sovran Ruler
be speedy thanks! A throng of sorrows
I have borne from Grendel; but God still works
wonder on wonder, the Warden-of-Glory.

It was but now that I never more
for woes that weighed on me waited help
long as I lived, when, laved in blood,
stood sword-gore-stained this stateliest house, --
widespread woe for wise men all,
who had no hope to hinder ever
foes infernal and fiendish sprites
from havoc in hall.

This hero now,
by the Wielder's might, a work has done
that not all of us erst could ever do
by wile and wisdom.

Lo, well can she say
whoso of women this warrior bore
among sons of men, if still she liveth,
that the God of the ages was good to her
in the birth of her bairn.

Now, Beowulf, thee,
of heroes best, I shall heartily love
as mine own, my son; preserve thou ever
this kinship new: thou shalt never lack
wealth of the world that I wield as mine!
Full oft for less have I largess showered,
my precious hoard, on a punier man,
less stout in struggle.

Thyself hast now
fulfilled such deeds, that thy fame shall endure
through all the ages.

As ever he did,
well may the Wielder reward thee still!"
Beowulf spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: --
"This work of war most willingly
we have fought, this fight, and fearlessly dared
force of the foe.

Fain, too, were I
hadst thou but seen himself, what time
the fiend in his trappings tottered to fall!
Swiftly, I thought, in strongest gripe
on his bed of death to bind him down,
that he in the hent of this hand of mine
should breathe his last: but he broke away.

Him I might not -- the Maker willed not --
hinder from flight, and firm enough hold
the life-destroyer: too sturdy was he,
the ruthless, in running! For rescue, however,
he left behind him his hand in pledge,
arm and shoulder; nor aught of help
could the cursed one thus procure at all.

None the longer liveth he, loathsome fiend,
sunk in his sins, but sorrow holds him
tightly grasped in gripe of anguish,
in baleful bonds, where bide he must,
evil outlaw, such awful doom
as the Mighty Maker shall mete him out.

"
More silent seemed the son of Ecglaf
in boastful speech of his battle-deeds,
since athelings all, through the earl's great prowess,
beheld that hand, on the high roof gazing,
foeman's fingers, -- the forepart of each
of the sturdy nails to steel was likest, --
heathen's "hand-spear," hostile warrior's
claw uncanny.

'Twas clear, they said,
that him no blade of the brave could touch,
how keen soever, or cut away
that battle-hand bloody from baneful foe.

Beowulf (Episode 15) Read Poem

THERE was hurry and hest in Heorot now
for hands to bedeck it, and dense was the throng
of men and women the wine-hall to cleanse,
the guest-room to garnish.

Gold-gay shone the hangings
that were wove on the wall, and wonders many
to delight each mortal that looks upon them.

Though braced within by iron bands,
that building bright was broken sorely;
rent were its hinges; the roof alone
held safe and sound, when, seared with crime,
the fiendish foe his flight essayed,
of life despairing.

-- No light thing that,
the flight for safety, -- essay it who will!
Forced of fate, he shall find his way
to the refuge ready for race of man,
for soul-possessors, and sons of earth;
and there his body on bed of death
shall rest after revel.

Arrived was the hour
when to hall proceeded Healfdene's son:
the king himself would sit to banquet.

Ne'er heard I of host in haughtier throng
more graciously gathered round giver-of-rings!
Bowed then to bench those bearers-of-glory,
fain of the feasting.

Featly received
many a mead-cup the mighty-in-spirit,
kinsmen who sat in the sumptuous hall,
Hrothgar and Hrothulf.

Heorot now
was filled with friends; the folk of Scyldings
ne'er yet had tried the traitor's deed.

To Beowulf gave the bairn of Healfdene
a gold-wove banner, guerdon of triumph,
broidered battle-flag, breastplate and helmet;
and a splendid sword was seen of many
borne to the brave one.

Beowulf took
cup in hall: for such costly gifts
he suffered no shame in that soldier throng.

For I heard of few heroes, in heartier mood,
with four such gifts, so fashioned with gold,
on the ale-bench honoring others thus!
O'er the roof of the helmet high, a ridge,
wound with wires, kept ward o'er the head,
lest the relict-of-files should fierce invade,
sharp in the strife, when that shielded hero
should go to grapple against his foes.

Then the earls'-defence on the floor bade lead
coursers eight, with carven head-gear,
adown the hall: one horse was decked
with a saddle all shining and set in jewels;
'twas the battle-seat of the best of kings,
when to play of swords the son of Healfdene
was fain to fare.

Ne'er failed his valor
in the crush of combat when corpses fell.

To Beowulf over them both then gave
the refuge-of-Ingwines right and power,
o'er war-steeds and weapons: wished him joy of them.

Manfully thus the mighty prince,
hoard-guard for heroes, that hard fight repaid
with steeds and treasures contemned by none
who is willing to say the sooth aright.

Beowulf (Episode 16) Read Poem

AND the lord of earls, to each that came
with Beowulf over the briny ways,
an heirloom there at the ale-bench gave,
precious gift; and the price bade pay
in gold for him whom Grendel erst
murdered, -- and fain of them more had killed,
had not wisest God their Wyrd averted,
and the man's brave mood.

The Maker then
ruled human kind, as here and now.

Therefore is insight always best,
and forethought of mind.

How much awaits him
of lief and of loath, who long time here,
through days of warfare this world endures!
Then song and music mingled sounds
in the presence of Healfdene's head-of-armies
and harping was heard with the hero-lay
as Hrothgar's singer the hall-joy woke
along the mead-seats, making his song
of that sudden raid on the sons of Finn.

Healfdene's hero, Hnaef the Scylding,
was fated to fall in the Frisian slaughter.

Hildeburh needed not hold in value
her enemies' honor! Innocent both
were the loved ones she lost at the linden-play,
bairn and brother, they bowed to fate,
stricken by spears; 'twas a sorrowful woman!
None doubted why the daughter of Hoc
bewailed her doom when dawning came,
and under the sky she saw them lying,
kinsmen murdered, where most she had kenned
of the sweets of the world! By war were swept, too,
Finn's own liegemen, and few were left;
in the parleying-place he could ply no longer
weapon, nor war could he wage on Hengest,
and rescue his remnant by right of arms
from the prince's thane.

A pact he offered:
another dwelling the Danes should have,
hall and high-seat, and half the power
should fall to them in Frisian land;
and at the fee-gifts, Folcwald's son
day by day the Danes should honor,
the folk of Hengest favor with rings,
even as truly, with treasure and jewels,
with fretted gold, as his Frisian kin
he meant to honor in ale-hall there.

Pact of peace they plighted further
on both sides firmly.

Finn to Hengest
with oath, upon honor, openly promised
that woful remnant, with wise-men's aid,
nobly to govern, so none of the guests
by word or work should warp the treaty,
or with malice of mind bemoan themselves
as forced to follow their fee-giver's slayer,
lordless men, as their lot ordained.

Should Frisian, moreover, with foeman's taunt,
that murderous hatred to mind recall,
then edge of the sword must seal his doom.

Oaths were given, and ancient gold
heaped from hoard.

-- The hardy Scylding,
battle-thane best, on his balefire lay.

All on the pyre were plain to see
the gory sark, the gilded swine-crest,
boar of hard iron, and athelings many
slain by the sword: at the slaughter they fell.

It was Hildeburh's hest, at Hnaef's own pyre
the bairn of her body on brands to lay,
his bones to burn, on the balefire placed,
at his uncle's side.

In sorrowful dirges
bewept them the woman: great wailing ascended.

Then wound up to welkin the wildest of death-fires,
roared o'er the hillock: heads all were melted,
gashes burst, and blood gushed out
from bites of the body.

Balefire devoured,
greediest spirit, those spared not by war
out of either folk: their flower was gone.

Beowulf (Episode 17) Read Poem

THEN hastened those heroes their home to see,
friendless, to find the Frisian land,
houses and high burg.

Hengest still
through the death-dyed winter dwelt with Finn,
holding pact, yet of home he minded,
though powerless his ring-decked prow to drive
over the waters, now waves rolled fierce
lashed by the winds, or winter locked them
in icy fetters.

Then fared another
year to men's dwellings, as yet they do,
the sunbright skies, that their season ever
duly await.

Far off winter was driven;
fair lay earth's breast; and fain was the rover,
the guest, to depart, though more gladly he pondered
on wreaking his vengeance than roaming the deep,
and how to hasten the hot encounter
where sons of the Frisians were sure to be.

So he escaped not the common doom,
when Hun with "Lafing," the light-of-battle,
best of blades, his bosom pierced:
its edge was famed with the Frisian earls.

On fierce-heart Finn there fell likewise,
on himself at home, the horrid sword-death;
for Guthlaf and Oslaf of grim attack
had sorrowing told, from sea-ways landed,
mourning their woes.

Finn's wavering spirit
bode not in breast.

The burg was reddened
with blood of foemen, and Finn was slain,
king amid clansmen; the queen was taken.

To their ship the Scylding warriors bore
all the chattels the chieftain owned,
whatever they found in Finn's domain
of gems and jewels.

The gentle wife
o'er paths of the deep to the Danes they bore,
led to her land.

The lay was finished,
the gleeman's song.

Then glad rose the revel;
bench-joy brightened.

Bearers draw
from their "wonder-vats" wine.

Comes Wealhtheow forth,
under gold-crown goes where the good pair sit,
uncle and nephew, true each to the other one,
kindred in amity.

Unferth the spokesman
at the Scylding lord's feet sat: men had faith in his spirit,
his keenness of courage, though kinsmen had found him
unsure at the sword-play.

The Scylding queen spoke:
"Quaff of this cup, my king and lord,
breaker of rings, and blithe be thou,
gold-friend of men; to the Geats here speak
such words of mildness as man should use.

Be glad with thy Geats; of those gifts be mindful,
or near or far, which now thou hast.

Men say to me, as son thou wishest
yon hero to hold.

Thy Heorot purged,
jewel-hall brightest, enjoy while thou canst,
with many a largess; and leave to thy kin
folk and realm when forth thou goest
to greet thy doom.

For gracious I deem
my Hrothulf, willing to hold and rule
nobly our youths, if thou yield up first,
prince of Scyldings, thy part in the world.

I ween with good he will well requite
offspring of ours, when all he minds
that for him we did in his helpless days
of gift and grace to gain him honor!"
Then she turned to the seat where her sons wereplaced,
Hrethric and Hrothmund, with heroes' bairns,
young men together: the Geat, too, sat there,
Beowulf brave, the brothers between

Beowulf (Episode 18) Read Poem

A CUP she gave him, with kindly greeting
and winsome words.

Of wounden gold,
she offered, to honor him, arm-jewels twain,
corselet and rings, and of collars the noblest
that ever I knew the earth around.

Ne'er heard I so mighty, 'neath heaven's dome,
a hoard-gem of heroes, since Hama bore
to his bright-built burg the Brisings' necklace,
jewel and gem casket.

-- Jealousy fled he,
Eormenric's hate: chose help eternal.

Hygelac Geat, grandson of Swerting,
on the last of his raids this ring bore with him,
under his banner the booty defending,
the war-spoil warding; but Wyrd o'erwhelmed him
what time, in his daring, dangers he sought,
feud with Frisians.

Fairest of gems
he bore with him over the beaker-of-waves,
sovran strong: under shield he died.

Fell the corpse of the king into keeping of Franks,
gear of the breast, and that gorgeous ring;
weaker warriors won the spoil,
after gripe of battle, from Geatland's lord,
and held the death-field.

Din rose in hall.

Wealhtheow spake amid warriors, and said: --
"This jewel enjoy in thy jocund youth,
Beowulf lov'd, these battle-weeds wear,
a royal treasure, and richly thrive!
Preserve thy strength, and these striplings here
counsel in kindness: requital be mine.

Hast done such deeds, that for days to come
thou art famed among folk both far and near,
so wide as washeth the wave of Ocean
his windy walls.

Through the ways of life
prosper, O prince! I pray for thee
rich possessions.

To son of mine
be helpful in deed and uphold his joys!
Here every earl to the other is true,
mild of mood, to the master loyal!
Thanes are friendly, the throng obedient,
liegemen are revelling: list and obey!"
Went then to her place.

-- That was proudest of feasts;
flowed wine for the warriors.

Wyrd they knew not,
destiny dire, and the doom to be seen
by many an earl when eve should come,
and Hrothgar homeward hasten away,
royal, to rest.

The room was guarded
by an army of earls, as erst was done.

They bared the bench-boards; abroad they spread
beds and bolsters.

-- One beer-carouser
in danger of doom lay down in the hall.

--
At their heads they set their shields of war,
bucklers bright; on the bench were there
over each atheling, easy to see,
the high battle-helmet, the haughty spear,
the corselet of rings.

'Twas their custom so
ever to be for battle prepared,
at home, or harrying, which it were,
even as oft as evil threatened
their sovran king.

-- They were clansmen good.

Beowulf (Episode 19) Read Poem

THEN sank they to sleep.

With sorrow one bought
his rest of the evening, -- as ofttime had happened
when Grendel guarded that golden hall,
evil wrought, till his end drew nigh,
slaughter for sins.

'Twas seen and told
how an avenger survived the fiend,
as was learned afar.

The livelong time
after that grim fight, Grendel's mother,
monster of women, mourned her woe.

She was doomed to dwell in the dreary waters,
cold sea-courses, since Cain cut down
with edge of the sword his only brother,
his father's offspring: outlawed he fled,
marked with murder, from men's delights
warded the wilds.

-- There woke from him
such fate-sent ghosts as Grendel, who,
war-wolf horrid, at Heorot found
a warrior watching and waiting the fray,
with whom the grisly one grappled amain.

But the man remembered his mighty power,
the glorious gift that God had sent him,
in his Maker's mercy put his trust
for comfort and help: so he conquered the foe,
felled the fiend, who fled abject,
reft of joy, to the realms of death,
mankind's foe.

And his mother now,
gloomy and grim, would go that quest
of sorrow, the death of her son to avenge.

To Heorot came she, where helmeted Danes
slept in the hall.

Too soon came back
old ills of the earls, when in she burst,
the mother of Grendel.

Less grim, though, that terror,
e'en as terror of woman in war is less,
might of maid, than of men in arms
when, hammer-forged, the falchion hard,
sword gore-stained, through swine of the helm,
crested, with keen blade carves amain.

Then was in hall the hard-edge drawn,
the swords on the settles, and shields a-many
firm held in hand: nor helmet minded
nor harness of mail, whom that horror seized.

Haste was hers; she would hie afar
and save her life when the liegemen saw her.

Yet a single atheling up she seized
fast and firm, as she fled to the moor.

He was for Hrothgar of heroes the dearest,
of trusty vassals betwixt the seas,
whom she killed on his couch, a clansman famous,
in battle brave.

-- Nor was Beowulf there;
another house had been held apart,
after giving of gold, for the Geat renowned.

--
Uproar filled Heorot; the hand all had viewed,
blood-flecked, she bore with her; bale was returned,
dole in the dwellings: 'twas dire exchange
where Dane and Geat were doomed to give
the lives of loved ones.

Long-tried king,
the hoary hero, at heart was sad
when he knew his noble no more lived,
and dead indeed was his dearest thane.

To his bower was Beowulf brought in haste,
dauntless victor.

As daylight broke,
along with his earls the atheling lord,
with his clansmen, came where the king abode
waiting to see if the Wielder-of-All
would turn this tale of trouble and woe.

Strode o'er floor the famed-in-strife,
with his hand-companions, -- the hall resounded, --
wishing to greet the wise old king,
Ingwines' lord; he asked if the night
had passed in peace to the prince's mind.

Beowulf (Episode 20) Read Poem

HROTHGAR spake, helmet-of-Scyldings: --
"Ask not of pleasure! Pain is renewed
to Danish folk.

Dead is Aeschere,
of Yrmenlaf the elder brother,
my sage adviser and stay in council,
shoulder-comrade in stress of fight
when warriors clashed and we warded our heads,
hewed the helm-boars; hero famed
should be every earl as Aeschere was!
But here in Heorot a hand hath slain him
of wandering death-sprite.

I wot not whither,
proud of the prey, her path she took,
fain of her fill.

The feud she avenged
that yesternight, unyieldingly,
Grendel in grimmest grasp thou killedst, --
seeing how long these liegemen mine
he ruined and ravaged.

Reft of life,
in arms he fell.

Now another comes,
keen and cruel, her kin to avenge,
faring far in feud of blood:
so that many a thane shall think, who e'er
sorrows in soul for that sharer of rings,
this is hardest of heart-bales.

The hand lies low
that once was willing each wish to please.

Land-dwellers here and liegemen mine,
who house by those parts, I have heard relate
that such a pair they have sometimes seen,
march-stalkers mighty the moorland haunting,
wandering spirits: one of them seemed,
so far as my folk could fairly judge,
of womankind; and one, accursed,
in man's guise trod the misery-track
of exile, though huger than human bulk.

Grendel in days long gone they named him,
folk of the land; his father they knew not,
nor any brood that was born to him
of treacherous spirits.

Untrod is their home;
by wolf-cliffs haunt they and windy headlands,
fenways fearful, where flows the stream
from mountains gliding to gloom of the rocks,
underground flood.

Not far is it hence
in measure of miles that the mere expands,
and o'er it the frost-bound forest hanging,
sturdily rooted, shadows the wave.

By night is a wonder weird to see,
fire on the waters.

So wise lived none
of the sons of men, to search those depths!
Nay, though the heath-rover, harried by dogs,
the horn-proud hart, this holt should seek,
long distance driven, his dear life first
on the brink he yields ere he brave the plunge
to hide his head: 'tis no happy place!
Thence the welter of waters washes up
wan to welkin when winds bestir
evil storms, and air grows dusk,
and the heavens weep.

Now is help once more
with thee alone! The land thou knowst not,
place of fear, where thou findest out
that sin-flecked being.

Seek if thou dare!
I will reward thee, for waging this fight,
with ancient treasure, as erst I did,
with winding gold, if thou winnest back.

"

Beowulf (Episode 21) Read Poem

BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:
"Sorrow not, sage! It beseems us better
friends to avenge than fruitlessly mourn them.

Each of us all must his end abide
in the ways of the world; so win who may
glory ere death! When his days are told,
that is the warrior's worthiest doom.

Rise, O realm-warder! Ride we anon,
and mark the trail of the mother of Grendel.

No harbor shall hide her -- heed my promise! --
enfolding of field or forested mountain
or floor of the flood, let her flee where she will!
But thou this day endure in patience,
as I ween thou wilt, thy woes each one.

"
Leaped up the graybeard: God he thanked,
mighty Lord, for the man's brave words.

For Hrothgar soon a horse was saddled
wave-maned steed.

The sovran wise
stately rode on; his shield-armed men
followed in force.

The footprints led
along the woodland, widely seen,
a path o'er the plain, where she passed, and trod
the murky moor; of men-at-arms
she bore the bravest and best one, dead,
him who with Hrothgar the homestead ruled.

On then went the atheling-born
o'er stone-cliffs steep and strait defiles,
narrow passes and unknown ways,
headlands sheer, and the haunts of the Nicors.

Foremost he fared, a few at his side
of the wiser men, the ways to scan,
till he found in a flash the forested hill
hanging over the hoary rock,
a woful wood: the waves below
were dyed in blood.

The Danish men
had sorrow of soul, and for Scyldings all,
for many a hero, 'twas hard to bear,
ill for earls, when Aeschere's head
they found by the flood on the foreland there.

Waves were welling, the warriors saw,
hot with blood; but the horn sang oft
battle-song bold.

The band sat down,
and watched on the water worm-like things,
sea-dragons strange that sounded the deep,
and nicors that lay on the ledge of the ness --
such as oft essay at hour of morn
on the road-of-sails their ruthless quest, --
and sea-snakes and monsters.

These started away,
swollen and savage that song to hear,
that war-horn's blast.

The warden of Geats,
with bolt from bow, then balked of life,
of wave-work, one monster, amid its heart
went the keen war-shaft; in water it seemed
less doughty in swimming whom death had seized.

Swift on the billows, with boar-spears well
hooked and barbed, it was hard beset,
done to death and dragged on the headland,
wave-roamer wondrous.

Warriors viewed
the grisly guest.

Then girt him Beowulf
in martial mail, nor mourned for his life.

His breastplate broad and bright of hues,
woven by hand, should the waters try;
well could it ward the warrior's body
that battle should break on his breast in vain
nor harm his heart by the hand of a foe.

And the helmet white that his head protected
was destined to dare the deeps of the flood,
through wave-whirl win: 'twas wound with chains,
decked with gold, as in days of yore
the weapon-smith worked it wondrously,
with swine-forms set it, that swords nowise,
brandished in battle, could bite that helm.

Nor was that the meanest of mighty helps
which Hrothgar's orator offered at need:
"Hrunting" they named the hilted sword,
of old-time heirlooms easily first;
iron was its edge, all etched with poison,
with battle-blood hardened, nor blenched it at fight
in hero's hand who held it ever,
on paths of peril prepared to go
to folkstead of foes.

Not first time this
it was destined to do a daring task.

For he bore not in mind, the bairn of Ecglaf
sturdy and strong, that speech he had made,
drunk with wine, now this weapon he lent
to a stouter swordsman.

Himself, though, durst not
under welter of waters wager his life
as loyal liegeman.

So lost he his glory,
honor of earls.

With the other not so,
who girded him now for the grim encounter.

Beowulf (Episode 22) Read Poem

BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: --
"Have mind, thou honored offspring of Healfdene
gold-friend of men, now I go on this quest,
sovran wise, what once was said:
if in thy cause it came that I
should lose my life, thou wouldst loyal bide
to me, though fallen, in father's place!
Be guardian, thou, to this group of my thanes,
my warrior-friends, if War should seize me;
and the goodly gifts thou gavest me,
Hrothgar beloved, to Hygelac send!
Geatland's king may ken by the gold,
Hrethel's son see, when he stares at the treasure,
that I got me a friend for goodness famed,
and joyed while I could in my jewel-bestower.

And let Unferth wield this wondrous sword,
earl far-honored, this heirloom precious,
hard of edge: with Hrunting I
seek doom of glory, or Death shall take me.

"
After these words the Weder-Geat lord
boldly hastened, biding never
answer at all: the ocean floods
closed o'er the hero.

Long while of the day
fled ere he felt the floor of the sea.

Soon found the fiend who the flood-domain
sword-hungry held these hundred winters,
greedy and grim, that some guest from above,
some man, was raiding her monster-realm.

She grasped out for him with grisly claws,
and the warrior seized; yet scathed she not
his body hale; the breastplate hindered,
as she strove to shatter the sark of war,
the linked harness, with loathsome hand.

Then bore this brine-wolf, when bottom she touched,
the lord of rings to the lair she haunted
whiles vainly he strove, though his valor held,
weapon to wield against wondrous monsters
that sore beset him; sea-beasts many
tried with fierce tusks to tear his mail,
and swarmed on the stranger.

But soon he marked
he was now in some hall, he knew not which,
where water never could work him harm,
nor through the roof could reach him ever
fangs of the flood.

Firelight he saw,
beams of a blaze that brightly shone.

Then the warrior was ware of that wolf-of-the-deep,
mere-wife monstrous.

For mighty stroke
he swung his blade, and the blow withheld not.

Then sang on her head that seemly blade
its war-song wild.

But the warrior found
the light-of-battle was loath to bite,
to harm the heart: its hard edge failed
the noble at need, yet had known of old
strife hand to hand, and had helmets cloven,
doomed men's fighting-gear.

First time, this,
for the gleaming blade that its glory fell.

Firm still stood, nor failed in valor,
heedful of high deeds, Hygelac's kinsman;
flung away fretted sword, featly jewelled,
the angry earl; on earth it lay
steel-edged and stiff.

His strength he trusted,
hand-gripe of might.

So man shall do
whenever in war he weens to earn him
lasting fame, nor fears for his life!
Seized then by shoulder, shrank not from combat,
the Geatish war-prince Grendel's mother.

Flung then the fierce one, filled with wrath,
his deadly foe, that she fell to ground.

Swift on her part she paid him back
with grisly grasp, and grappled with him.

Spent with struggle, stumbled the warrior,
fiercest of fighting-men, fell adown.

On the hall-guest she hurled herself, hent her short sword,
broad and brown-edged, the bairn to avenge,
the sole-born son.

-- On his shoulder lay
braided breast-mail, barring death,
withstanding entrance of edge or blade.

Life would have ended for Ecgtheow's son,
under wide earth for that earl of Geats,
had his armor of war not aided him,
battle-net hard, and holy God
wielded the victory, wisest Maker.

The Lord of Heaven allowed his cause;
and easily rose the earl erect.

Beowulf (Episode 24) Read Poem

BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: --
"Lo, now, this sea-booty, son of Healfdene,
Lord of Scyldings, we've lustily brought thee,
sign of glory; thou seest it here.

Not lightly did I with my life escape!
In war under water this work I essayed
with endless effort; and even so
my strength had been lost had the Lord not shielded me.

Not a whit could I with Hrunting do
in work of war, though the weapon is good;
yet a sword the Sovran of Men vouchsafed me
to spy on the wall there, in splendor hanging,
old, gigantic, -- how oft He guides
the friendless wight! -- and I fought with that brand,
felling in fight, since fate was with me,
the house's wardens.

That war-sword then
all burned, bright blade, when the blood gushed o'er it,
battle-sweat hot; but the hilt I brought back
from my foes.

So avenged I their fiendish deeds
death-fall of Danes, as was due and right.

And this is my hest, that in Heorot now
safe thou canst sleep with thy soldier band,
and every thane of all thy folk
both old and young; no evil fear,
Scyldings' lord, from that side again,
aught ill for thy earls, as erst thou must!"
Then the golden hilt, for that gray-haired leader,
hoary hero, in hand was laid,
giant-wrought, old.

So owned and enjoyed it
after downfall of devils, the Danish lord,
wonder-smiths' work, since the world was rid
of that grim-souled fiend, the foe of God,
murder-marked, and his mother as well.

Now it passed into power of the people's king,
best of all that the oceans bound
who have scattered their gold o'er Scandia's isle.

Hrothgar spake -- the hilt he viewed,
heirloom old, where was etched the rise
of that far-off fight when the floods o'erwhelmed,
raging waves, the race of giants
(fearful their fate!), a folk estranged
from God Eternal: whence guerdon due
in that waste of waters the Wielder paid them.

So on the guard of shining gold
in runic staves it was rightly said
for whom the serpent-traced sword was wrought,
best of blades, in bygone days,
and the hilt well wound.

-- The wise-one spake,
son of Healfdene; silent were all: --
"Lo, so may he say who sooth and right
follows 'mid folk, of far times mindful,
a land-warden old, that this earl belongs
to the better breed! So, borne aloft,
thy fame must fly, O friend my Beowulf,
far and wide o'er folksteads many.

Firmly thou
shalt all maintain,
mighty strength with mood of wisdom.

Love of
mine will I assure thee,
as, awhile ago, I promised; thou shalt prove a stay
in future,
in far-off years, to folk of thine,
to the heroes a help.

Was not Heremod thus
to offspring of Ecgwela, Honor-Scyldings,
nor grew for their grace, but for grisly slaughter,
for doom of death to the Danishmen.

He slew, wrath-swollen, his shoulder-comrades,
companions at board! So he passed alone,
chieftain haughty, from human cheer.

Though him the Maker with might endowed,
delights of power, and uplifted high
above all men, yet blood-fierce his mind,
his breast-hoard, grew, no bracelets gave he
to Danes as was due; he endured all joyless
strain of struggle and stress of woe,
long feud with his folk.

Here find thy lesson!
Of virtue advise thee! This verse I have said for thee,
wise from lapsed winters.

Wondrous seems
how to sons of men Almighty God
in the strength of His spirit sendeth wisdom,
estate, high station: He swayeth all things.

Whiles He letteth right lustily fare
the heart of the hero of high-born race, --
in seat ancestral assigns him bliss,
his folk's sure fortress in fee to hold,
puts in his power great parts of the earth,
empire so ample, that end of it
this wanter-of-wisdom weeneth none.

So he waxes in wealth, nowise can harm him
illness or age; no evil cares
shadow his spirit; no sword-hate threatens
from ever an enemy: all the world
wends at his will, no worse he knoweth,
till all within him obstinate pride
waxes and wakes while the warden slumbers,
the spirit's sentry; sleep is too fast
which masters his might, and the murderer nears,
stealthily shooting the shafts from his bow!

Beowulf (Episode 25) Read Poem

"UNDER harness his heart then is hit indeed
by sharpest shafts; and no shelter avails
from foul behest of the hellish fiend.

Him seems too little what long he possessed.

Greedy and grim, no golden rings
he gives for his pride; the promised future
forgets he and spurns, with all God has sent him,
Wonder-Wielder, of wealth and fame.

Yet in the end it ever comes
that the frame of the body fragile yields,
fated falls; and there follows another
who joyously the jewels divides,
the royal riches, nor recks of his forebear.

Ban, then, such baleful thoughts, Beowulf dearest,
best of men, and the better part choose,
profit eternal; and temper thy pride,
warrior famous! The flower of thy might
lasts now a while: but erelong it shall be
that sickness or sword thy strength shall minish,
or fang of fire, or flooding billow,
or bite of blade, or brandished spear,
or odious age; or the eyes' clear beam
wax dull and darken: Death even thee
in haste shall o'erwhelm, thou hero of war!
So the Ring-Danes these half-years a hundred I ruled,
wielded 'neath welkin, and warded them bravely
from mighty-ones many o'er middle-earth,
from spear and sword, till it seemed for me
no foe could be found under fold of the sky.

Lo, sudden the shift! To me seated secure
came grief for joy when Grendel began
to harry my home, the hellish foe;
for those ruthless raids, unresting I suffered
heart-sorrow heavy.

Heaven be thanked,
Lord Eternal, for life extended
that I on this head all hewn and bloody,
after long evil, with eyes may gaze!
-- Go to the bench now! Be glad at banquet,
warrior worthy! A wealth of treasure
at dawn of day, be dealt between us!"
Glad was the Geats' lord, going betimes
to seek his seat, as the Sage commanded.

Afresh, as before, for the famed-in-battle,
for the band of the hall, was a banquet dight
nobly anew.

The Night-Helm darkened
dusk o'er the drinkers.

The doughty ones rose:
for the hoary-headed would hasten to rest,
aged Scylding; and eager the Geat,
shield-fighter sturdy, for sleeping yearned.

Him wander-weary, warrior-guest
from far, a hall-thane heralded forth,
who by custom courtly cared for all
needs of a thane as in those old days
warrior-wanderers wont to have.

So slumbered the stout-heart.

Stately the hall
rose gabled and gilt where the guest slept on
till a raven black the rapture-of-heaven
blithe-heart boded.

Bright came flying
shine after shadow.

The swordsmen hastened,
athelings all were eager homeward
forth to fare; and far from thence
the great-hearted guest would guide his keel.

Bade then the hardy-one Hrunting be brought
to the son of Ecglaf, the sword bade him take,
excellent iron, and uttered his thanks for it,
quoth that he counted it keen in battle,
"war-friend" winsome: with words he slandered not
edge of the blade: 'twas a big-hearted man!
Now eager for parting and armed at point
warriors waited, while went to his host
that Darling of Danes.

The doughty atheling
to high-seat hastened and Hrothgar greeted.

Beowulf (Episode 26) Read Poem

BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: --
"Lo, we seafarers say our will,
far-come men, that we fain would seek
Hygelac now.

We here have found
hosts to our heart: thou hast harbored us well.

If ever on earth I am able to win me
more of thy love, O lord of men,
aught anew, than I now have done,
for work of war I am willing still!
If it come to me ever across the seas
that neighbor foemen annoy and fright thee, --
as they that hate thee erewhile have used, --
thousands then of thanes I shall bring,
heroes to help thee.

Of Hygelac I know,
ward of his folk, that, though few his years,
the lord of the Geats will give me aid
by word and by work, that well I may serve thee,
wielding the war-wood to win thy triumph
and lending thee might when thou lackest men.

If thy Hrethric should come to court of Geats,
a sovran's son, he will surely there
find his friends.

A far-off land
each man should visit who vaunts him brave.

"
Him then answering, Hrothgar spake: --
"These words of thine the wisest God
sent to thy soul! No sager counsel
from so young in years e'er yet have I heard.

Thou art strong of main and in mind art wary,
art wise in words! I ween indeed
if ever it hap that Hrethel's heir
by spear be seized, by sword-grim battle,
by illness or iron, thine elder and lord,
people's leader, -- and life be thine, --
no seemlier man will the Sea-Geats find
at all to choose for their chief and king,
for hoard-guard of heroes, if hold thou wilt
thy kinsman's kingdom! Thy keen mind pleases me
the longer the better, Beowulf loved!
Thou hast brought it about that both our peoples,
sons of the Geat and Spear-Dane folk,
shall have mutual peace, and from murderous strife,
such as once they waged, from war refrain.

Long as I rule this realm so wide,
let our hoards be common, let heroes with gold
each other greet o'er the gannet's-bath,
and the ringed-prow bear o'er rolling waves
tokens of love.

I trow my landfolk
towards friend and foe are firmly joined,
and honor they keep in the olden way.

"
To him in the hall, then, Healfdene's son
gave treasures twelve, and the trust-of-earls
bade him fare with the gifts to his folk beloved,
hale to his home, and in haste return.

Then kissed the king of kin renowned,
Scyldings' chieftain, that choicest thane,
and fell on his neck.

Fast flowed the tears
of the hoary-headed.

Heavy with winters,
he had chances twain, but he clung to this, --
that each should look on the other again,
and hear him in hall.

Was this hero so dear to him.

his breast's wild billows he banned in vain;
safe in his soul a secret longing,
locked in his mind, for that loved man
burned in his blood.

Then Beowulf strode,
glad of his gold-gifts, the grass-plot o'er,
warrior blithe.

The wave-roamer bode
riding at anchor, its owner awaiting.

As they hastened onward, Hrothgar's gift
they lauded at length.

-- 'Twas a lord unpeered,
every way blameless, till age had broken
-- it spareth no mortal -- his splendid might.

Beowulf (Episode 27) Read Poem

CAME now to ocean the ever-courageous
hardy henchmen, their harness bearing,
woven war-sarks.

The warden marked,
trusty as ever, the earl's return.

From the height of the hill no hostile words
reached the guests as he rode to greet them;
but "Welcome!" he called to that Weder clan
as the sheen-mailed spoilers to ship marched on.

Then on the strand, with steeds and treasure
and armor their roomy and ring-dight ship
was heavily laden: high its mast
rose over Hrothgar's hoarded gems.

A sword to the boat-guard Beowulf gave,
mounted with gold; on the mead-bench since
he was better esteemed, that blade possessing,
heirloom old.

-- Their ocean-keel boarding,
they drove through the deep, and Daneland left.

A sea-cloth was set, a sail with ropes,
firm to the mast; the flood-timbers moaned;
nor did wind over billows that wave-swimmer blow
across from her course.

The craft sped on,
foam-necked it floated forth o'er the waves,
keel firm-bound over briny currents,
till they got them sight of the Geatish cliffs,
home-known headlands.

High the boat,
stirred by winds, on the strand updrove.

Helpful at haven the harbor-guard stood,
who long already for loved companions
by the water had waited and watched afar.

He bound to the beach the broad-bosomed ship
with anchor-bands, lest ocean-billows
that trusty timber should tear away.

Then Beowulf bade them bear the treasure,
gold and jewels; no journey far
was it thence to go to the giver of rings,
Hygelac Hrethling: at home he dwelt
by the sea-wall close, himself and clan.

Haughty that house, a hero the king,
high the hall, and Hygd right young,
wise and wary, though winters few
in those fortress walls she had found a home,
Haereth's daughter.

Nor humble her ways,
nor grudged she gifts to the Geatish men,
of precious treasure.

Not Thryth's pride showed she,
folk-queen famed, or that fell deceit.

Was none so daring that durst make bold
(save her lord alone) of the liegemen dear
that lady full in the face to look,
but forged fetters he found his lot,
bonds of death! And brief the respite;
soon as they seized him, his sword-doom was spoken,
and the burnished blade a baleful murder
proclaimed and closed.

No queenly way
for woman to practise, though peerless she,
that the weaver-of-peace from warrior dear
by wrath and lying his life should reave!
But Hemming's kinsman hindered this.

--
For over their ale men also told
that of these folk-horrors fewer she wrought,
onslaughts of evil, after she went,
gold-decked bride, to the brave young prince,
atheling haughty, and Offa's hall
o'er the fallow flood at her father's bidding
safely sought, where since she prospered,
royal, throned, rich in goods,
fain of the fair life fate had sent her,
and leal in love to the lord of warriors.

He, of all heroes I heard of ever
from sea to sea, of the sons of earth,
most excellent seemed.

Hence Offa was praised
for his fighting and feeing by far-off men,
the spear-bold warrior; wisely he ruled
over his empire.

Eomer woke to him,
help of heroes, Hemming's kinsman,
Grandson of Garmund, grim in war.

Beowulf (Episode 28-30) Read Poem

HASTENED the hardy one, henchmen with him,
sandy strand of the sea to tread
and widespread ways.

The world's great candle,
sun shone from south.

They strode along
with sturdy steps to the spot they knew
where the battle-king young, his burg within,
slayer of Ongentheow, shared the rings,
shelter-of-heroes.

To Hygelac
Beowulf's coming was quickly told, --
that there in the court the clansmen's refuge,
the shield-companion sound and alive,
hale from the hero-play homeward strode.

With haste in the hall, by highest order,
room for the rovers was readily made.

By his sovran he sat, come safe from battle,
kinsman by kinsman.

His kindly lord
he first had greeted in gracious form,
with manly words.

The mead dispensing,
came through the high hall Haereth's daughter,
winsome to warriors, wine-cup bore
to the hands of the heroes.

Hygelac then
his comrade fairly with question plied
in the lofty hall, sore longing to know
what manner of sojourn the Sea-Geats made.

"What came of thy quest, my kinsman Beowulf,
when thy yearnings suddenly swept thee yonder
battle to seek o'er the briny sea,
combat in Heorot?

Hrothgar couldst thou
aid at all, the honored chief,
in his wide-known woes?

With waves of care
my sad heart seethed; I sore mistrusted
my loved one's venture: long I begged thee
by no means to seek that slaughtering monster,
but suffer the South-Danes to settle their feud
themselves with Grendel.

Now God be thanked
that safe and sound I can see thee now!"
Beowulf spake, the bairn of Ecgtheow: --
"'Tis known and unhidden, Hygelac Lord,
to many men, that meeting of ours,
struggle grim between Grendel and me,
which we fought on the field where full too many
sorrows he wrought for the Scylding-Victors,
evils unending.

These all I avenged.

No boast can be from breed of Grendel,
any on earth, for that uproar at dawn,
from the longest-lived of the loathsome race
in fleshly fold! -- But first I went
Hrothgar to greet in the hall of gifts,
where Healfdene's kinsman high-renowned,
soon as my purpose was plain to him,
assigned me a seat by his son and heir.

The liegemen were lusty; my life-days never
such merry men over mead in hall
have I heard under heaven! The high-born queen,
people's peace-bringer, passed through the hall,
cheered the young clansmen, clasps of gold,
ere she sought her seat, to sundry gave.

Oft to the heroes Hrothgar's daughter,
to earls in turn, the ale-cup tendered, --
she whom I heard these hall-companions
Freawaru name, when fretted gold
she proffered the warriors.

Promised is she,
gold-decked maid, to the glad son of Froda.

Sage this seems to the Scylding's-friend,
kingdom's-keeper: he counts it wise
the woman to wed so and ward off feud,
store of slaughter.

But seldom ever
when men are slain, does the murder-spear sink
but briefest while, though the bride be fair!
"Nor haply will like it the Heathobard lord,
and as little each of his liegemen all,
when a thane of the Danes, in that doughty throng,
goes with the lady along their hall,
and on him the old-time heirlooms glisten
hard and ring-decked, Heathobard's treasure,
weapons that once they wielded fair
until they lost at the linden-play
liegeman leal and their lives as well.

Then, over the ale, on this heirloom gazing,
some ash-wielder old who has all in mind
that spear-death of men, -- he is stern of mood,
heavy at heart, -- in the hero young
tests the temper and tries the soul
and war-hate wakens, with words like these: --
Canst thou not, comrade, ken that sword
which to the fray thy father carried
in his final feud, 'neath the fighting-mask,
dearest of blades, when the Danish slew him
and wielded the war-place on Withergild's fall,
after havoc of heroes, those hardy Scyldings?

Now, the son of a certain slaughtering Dane,
proud of his treasure, paces this hall,
joys in the killing, and carries the jewel
that rightfully ought to be owned by thee!_
Thus he urges and eggs him all the time
with keenest words, till occasion offers
that Freawaru's thane, for his father's deed,
after bite of brand in his blood must slumber,
losing his life; but that liegeman flies
living away, for the land he kens.

And thus be broken on both their sides
oaths of the earls, when Ingeld's breast
wells with war-hate, and wife-love now
after the care-billows cooler grows.

"So I hold not high the Heathobards' faith
due to the Danes, or their during love
and pact of peace.

-- But I pass from that,
turning to Grendel, O giver-of-treasure,
and saying in full how the fight resulted,
hand-fray of heroes.

When heaven's jewel
had fled o'er far fields, that fierce sprite came,
night-foe savage, to seek us out
where safe and sound we sentried the hall.

To Hondscio then was that harassing deadly,
his fall there was fated.

He first was slain,
girded warrior.

Grendel on him
turned murderous mouth, on our mighty kinsman,
and all of the brave man's body devoured.

Yet none the earlier, empty-handed,
would the bloody-toothed murderer, mindful of bale,
outward go from the gold-decked hall:
but me he attacked in his terror of might,
with greedy hand grasped me.

A glove hung by him
wide and wondrous, wound with bands;
and in artful wise it all was wrought,
by devilish craft, of dragon-skins.

Me therein, an innocent man,
the fiendish foe was fain to thrust
with many another.

He might not so,
when I all angrily upright stood.

'Twere long to relate how that land-destroyer
I paid in kind for his cruel deeds;
yet there, my prince, this people of thine
got fame by my fighting.

He fled away,
and a little space his life preserved;
but there staid behind him his stronger hand
left in Heorot; heartsick thence
on the floor of the ocean that outcast fell.

Me for this struggle the Scyldings'-friend
paid in plenty with plates of gold,
with many a treasure, when morn had come
and we all at the banquet-board sat down.

Then was song and glee.

The gray-haired Scylding,
much tested, told of the times of yore.

Whiles the hero his harp bestirred,
wood-of-delight; now lays he chanted
of sooth and sadness, or said aright
legends of wonder, the wide-hearted king;
or for years of his youth he would yearn at times,
for strength of old struggles, now stricken with age,
hoary hero: his heart surged full
when, wise with winters, he wailed their flight.

Thus in the hall the whole of that day
at ease we feasted, till fell o'er earth
another night.

Anon full ready
in greed of vengeance, Grendel's mother
set forth all doleful.

Dead was her son
through war-hate of Weders; now, woman monstrous
with fury fell a foeman she slew,
avenged her offspring.

From Aeschere old,
loyal councillor, life was gone;
nor might they e'en, when morning broke,
those Danish people, their death-done comrade
burn with brands, on balefire lay
the man they mourned.

Under mountain stream
she had carried the corpse with cruel hands.

For Hrothgar that was the heaviest sorrow
of all that had laden the lord of his folk.

The leader then, by thy life, besought me
(sad was his soul) in the sea-waves' coil
to play the hero and hazard my being
for glory of prowess: my guerdon he pledged.

I then in the waters -- 'tis widely known --
that sea-floor-guardian savage found.

Hand-to-hand there a while we struggled;
billows welled blood; in the briny hall
her head I hewed with a hardy blade
from Grendel's mother, -- and gained my life,
though not without danger.

My doom was not yet.

Then the haven-of-heroes, Healfdene's son,
gave me in guerdon great gifts of price.

Beowulf (Episode 31) Read Poem

"So held this king to the customs old,
that I wanted for nought in the wage I gained,
the meed of my might; he made me gifts,
Healfdene's heir, for my own disposal.

Now to thee, my prince, I proffer them all,
gladly give them.

Thy grace alone
can find me favor.

Few indeed
have I of kinsmen, save, Hygelac, thee!"
Then he bade them bear him the boar-head standard,
the battle-helm high, and breastplate gray,
the splendid sword; then spake in form: --
"Me this war-gear the wise old prince,
Hrothgar, gave, and his hest he added,
that its story be straightway said to thee.

--
A while it was held by Heorogar king,
for long time lord of the land of Scyldings;
yet not to his son the sovran left it,
to daring Heoroweard, -- dear as he was to him,
his harness of battle.

-- Well hold thou it all!"
And I heard that soon passed o'er the path of this treasure,
all apple-fallow, four good steeds,
each like the others, arms and horses
he gave to the king.

So should kinsmen be,
not weave one another the net of wiles,
or with deep-hid treachery death contrive
for neighbor and comrade.

His nephew was ever
by hardy Hygelac held full dear,
and each kept watch o'er the other's weal.

I heard, too, the necklace to Hygd he presented,
wonder-wrought treasure, which Wealhtheow gave him
sovran's daughter: three steeds he added,
slender and saddle-gay.

Since such gift
the gem gleamed bright on the breast of the queen.

Thus showed his strain the son of Ecgtheow
as a man remarked for mighty deeds
and acts of honor.

At ale he slew not
comrade or kin; nor cruel his mood,
though of sons of earth his strength was greatest,
a glorious gift that God had sent
the splendid leader.

Long was he spurned,
and worthless by Geatish warriors held;
him at mead the master-of-clans
failed full oft to favor at all.

Slack and shiftless the strong men deemed him,
profitless prince; but payment came,
to the warrior honored, for all his woes.

--
Then the bulwark-of-earls bade bring within,
hardy chieftain, Hrethel's heirloom
garnished with gold: no Geat e'er knew
in shape of a sword a statelier prize.

The brand he laid in Beowulf's lap;
and of hides assigned him seven thousand,
with house and high-seat.

They held in common
land alike by their line of birth,
inheritance, home: but higher the king
because of his rule o'er the realm itself.

Now further it fell with the flight of years,
with harryings horrid, that Hygelac perished,
and Heardred, too, by hewing of swords
under the shield-wall slaughtered lay,
when him at the van of his victor-folk
sought hardy heroes, Heatho-Scilfings,
in arms o'erwhelming Hereric's nephew.

Then Beowulf came as king this broad
realm to wield; and he ruled it well
fifty winters, a wise old prince,
warding his land, until One began
in the dark of night, a Dragon, to rage.

In the grave on the hill a hoard it guarded,
in the stone-barrow steep.

A strait path reached it,
unknown to mortals.

Some man, however,
came by chance that cave within
to the heathen hoard.

In hand he took
a golden goblet, nor gave he it back,
stole with it away, while the watcher slept,
by thievish wiles: for the warden's wrath
prince and people must pay betimes!

Beowulf (Episode 32) Read Poem

THAT way he went with no will of his own,
in danger of life, to the dragon's hoard,
but for pressure of peril, some prince's thane.

He fled in fear the fatal scourge,
seeking shelter, a sinful man,
and entered in.

At the awful sight
tottered that guest, and terror seized him;
yet the wretched fugitive rallied anon
from fright and fear ere he fled away,
and took the cup from that treasure-hoard.

Of such besides there was store enough,
heirlooms old, the earth below,
which some earl forgotten, in ancient years,
left the last of his lofty race,
heedfully there had hidden away,
dearest treasure.

For death of yore
had hurried all hence; and he alone
left to live, the last of the clan,
weeping his friends, yet wished to bide
warding the treasure, his one delight,
though brief his respite.

The barrow, new-ready,
to strand and sea-waves stood anear,
hard by the headland, hidden and closed;
there laid within it his lordly heirlooms
and heaped hoard of heavy gold
that warden of rings.

Few words he spake:
"Now hold thou, earth, since heroes may not,
what earls have owned! Lo, erst from thee
brave men brought it! But battle-death seized
and cruel killing my clansmen all,
robbed them of life and a liegeman's joys.

None have I left to lift the sword,
or to cleanse the carven cup of price,
beaker bright.

My brave are gone.

And the helmet hard, all haughty with gold,
shall part from its plating.

Polishers sleep
who could brighten and burnish the battle-mask;
and those weeds of war that were wont to brave
over bicker of shields the bite of steel
rust with their bearer.

The ringed mail
fares not far with famous chieftain,
at side of hero! No harp's delight,
no glee-wood's gladness! No good hawk now
flies through the hall! Nor horses fleet
stamp in the burgstead! Battle and death
the flower of my race have reft away.

"
Mournful of mood, thus he moaned his woe,
alone, for them all, and unblithe wept
by day and by night, till death's fell wave
o'erwhelmed his heart.

His hoard-of-bliss
that old ill-doer open found,
who, blazing at twilight the barrows haunteth,
naked foe-dragon flying by night
folded in fire: the folk of earth
dread him sore.

'Tis his doom to seek
hoard in the graves, and heathen gold
to watch, many-wintered: nor wins he thereby!
Powerful this plague-of-the-people thus
held the house of the hoard in earth
three hundred winters; till One aroused
wrath in his breast, to the ruler bearing
that costly cup, and the king implored
for bond of peace.

So the barrow was plundered,
borne off was booty.

His boon was granted
that wretched man; and his ruler saw
first time what was fashioned in far-off days.

When the dragon awoke, new woe was kindled.

O'er the stone he snuffed.

The stark-heart found
footprint of foe who so far had gone
in his hidden craft by the creature's head.

—
So may the undoomed easily flee
evils and exile, if only he gain
the grace of The Wielder! — That warden of gold
o'er the ground went seeking, greedy to find
the man who wrought him such wrong in sleep.

Savage and burning, the barrow he circled
all without; nor was any there,
none in the waste….

Yet war he desired,
was eager for battle.

The barrow he entered,
sought the cup, and discovered soon
that some one of mortals had searched his treasure,
his lordly gold.

The guardian waited
ill-enduring till evening came;
boiling with wrath was the barrow's keeper,
and fain with flame the foe to pay
for the dear cup's loss.

— Now day was fled
as the worm had wished.

By its wall no more
was it glad to bide, but burning flew
folded in flame: a fearful beginning
for sons of the soil; and soon it came,
in the doom of their lord, to a dreadful end.

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Beowulf (Episode 33) Read Poem

THEN the baleful fiend its fire belched out,
and bright homes burned.

The blaze stood high
all landsfolk frighting.

No living thing
would that loathly one leave as aloft it flew.

Wide was the dragon's warring seen,
its fiendish fury far and near,
as the grim destroyer those Geatish people
hated and hounded.

To hidden lair,
to its hoard it hastened at hint of dawn.

Folk of the land it had lapped in flame,
with bale and brand.

In its barrow it trusted,
its battling and bulwarks: that boast was vain!
To Beowulf then the bale was told
quickly and truly: the king's own home,
of buildings the best, in brand-waves melted,
that gift-throne of Geats.

To the good old man
sad in heart, 'twas heaviest sorrow.

The sage assumed that his sovran God
he had angered, breaking ancient law,
and embittered the Lord.

His breast within
with black thoughts welled, as his wont was never.

The folk's own fastness that fiery dragon
with flame had destroyed, and the stronghold all
washed by waves; but the warlike king,
prince of the Weders, plotted vengeance.

Warriors'-bulwark, he bade them work
all of iron — the earl's commander —
a war-shield wondrous: well he knew
that forest-wood against fire were worthless,
linden could aid not.

— Atheling brave,
he was fated to finish this fleeting life,
his days on earth, and the dragon with him,
though long it had watched o'er the wealth of thehoard! —
Shame he reckoned it, sharer-of-rings,
to follow the flyer-afar with a host,
a broad-flung band; nor the battle feared he,
nor deemed he dreadful the dragon's warring,
its vigor and valor: ventures desperate
he had passed a-plenty, and perils of war,
contest-crash, since, conqueror proud,
Hrothgar's hall he had wholly purged,
and in grapple had killed the kin of Grendel,
loathsome breed! Not least was that
of hand-to-hand fights where Hygelac fell,
when the ruler of Geats in rush of battle,
lord of his folk, in the Frisian land,
son of Hrethel, by sword-draughts died,
by brands down-beaten.

Thence Beowulf fled
through strength of himself and his swimming power,
though alone, and his arms were laden with thirty
coats of mail, when he came to the sea!
Nor yet might Hetwaras haughtily boast
their craft of contest, who carried against him
shields to the fight: but few escaped
from strife with the hero to seek their homes!
Then swam over ocean Ecgtheow's son
lonely and sorrowful, seeking his land,
where Hygd made him offer of hoard and realm,
rings and royal-seat, reckoning naught
the strength of her son to save their kingdom
from hostile hordes, after Hygelac's death.

No sooner for this could the stricken ones
in any wise move that atheling's mind
over young Heardred's head as lord
and ruler of all the realm to be:
yet the hero upheld him with helpful words,
aided in honor, till, older grown,
he wielded the Weder-Geats.

— Wandering exiles
sought him o'er seas, the sons of Ohtere,
who had spurned the sway of the Scylfings'-helmet,
the bravest and best that broke the rings,
in Swedish land, of the sea-kings' line,
haughty hero.

Hence Heardred's end.

For shelter he gave them, sword-death came,
the blade's fell blow, to bairn of Hygelac;
but the son of Ongentheow sought again
house and home when Heardred fell,
leaving Beowulf lord of Geats
and gift-seat's master.

— A good king he!
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Beowulf (Episode 34) Read Poem

THE fall of his lord he was fain to requite
in after days; and to Eadgils he proved
friend to the friendless, and forces sent
over the sea to the son of Ohtere,
weapons and warriors: well repaid he
those care-paths cold when the king he slew.

Thus safe through struggles the son of Ecgtheow
had passed a plenty, through perils dire,
with daring deeds, till this day was come
that doomed him now with the dragon to strive.

With comrades eleven the lord of Geats
swollen in rage went seeking the dragon.

He had heard whence all the harm arose
and the killing of clansmen; that cup of price
on the lap of the lord had been laid by the finder.

In the throng was this one thirteenth man,
starter of all the strife and ill,
care-laden captive; cringing thence
forced and reluctant, he led them on
till he came in ken of that cavern-hall,
the barrow delved near billowy surges,
flood of ocean.

Within 'twas full
of wire-gold and jewels; a jealous warden,
warrior trusty, the treasures held,
lurked in his lair.

Not light the task
of entrance for any of earth-born men!
Sat on the headland the hero king,
spake words of hail to his hearth-companions,
gold-friend of Geats.

All gloomy his soul,
wavering, death-bound.

Wyrd full nigh
stood ready to greet the gray-haired man,
to seize his soul-hoard, sunder apart
life and body.

Not long would be
the warrior's spirit enwound with flesh.

Beowulf spake, the bairn of Ecgtheow: —
"Through store of struggles I strove in youth,
mighty feuds; I mind them all.

I was seven years old when the sovran of rings,
friend-of-his-folk, from my father took me,
had me, and held me, Hrethel the king,
with food and fee, faithful in kinship.

Ne'er, while I lived there, he loathlier found me,
bairn in the burg, than his birthright sons,
Herebeald and Haethcyn and Hygelac mine.

For the eldest of these, by unmeet chance,
by kinsman's deed, was the death-bed strewn,
when Haethcyn killed him with horny bow,
his own dear liege laid low with an arrow,
missed the mark and his mate shot down,
one brother the other, with bloody shaft.

A feeless fight, and a fearful sin,
horror to Hrethel; yet, hard as it was,
unavenged must the atheling die!
Too awful it is for an aged man
to bide and bear, that his bairn so young
rides on the gallows.

A rime he makes,
sorrow-song for his son there hanging
as rapture of ravens; no rescue now
can come from the old, disabled man!
Still is he minded, as morning breaks,
of the heir gone elsewhere; another he hopes not
he will bide to see his burg within
as ward for his wealth, now the one has found
doom of death that the deed incurred.

Forlorn he looks on the lodge of his son,
wine-hall waste and wind-swept chambers
reft of revel.

The rider sleepeth,
the hero, far-hidden; no harp resounds,
in the courts no wassail, as once was heard.

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Beowulf (Episode 35) Read Poem

'THEN he goes to his chamber, a grief-song chants
alone for his lost.

Too large all seems,
homestead and house.

So the helmet-of-Weders
hid in his heart for Herebeald
waves of woe.

No way could he take
to avenge on the slayer slaughter so foul;
nor e'en could he harass that hero at all
with loathing deed, though he loved him not.

And so for the sorrow his soul endured,
men's gladness he gave up and God's light chose.

Lands and cities he left his sons
(as the wealthy do)  when he went from earth.

There was strife and struggle 'twixt Swede and Geat
o'er the width of waters; war arose,
hard battle-horror, when Hrethel died,
and Ongentheow's offspring grew
strife-keen, bold, nor brooked o'er the seas
pact of peace, but pushed their hosts
to harass in hatred by Hreosnabeorh.

Men of my folk for that feud had vengeance,
for woful war ('tis widely known) ,
though one of them bought it with blood of his heart,
a bargain hard: for Haethcyn proved
fatal that fray, for the first-of-Geats.

At morn, I heard, was the murderer killed
by kinsman for kinsman, with clash of sword,
when Ongentheow met Eofor there.

Wide split the war-helm: wan he fell,
hoary Scylfing; the hand that smote him
of feud was mindful, nor flinched from the death-blow.

-  'For all that he gave me, my gleaming sword
repaid him at war, -  such power I wielded, -
for lordly treasure: with land he entrusted me,
homestead and house.

He had no need
from Swedish realm, or from Spear-Dane folk,
or from men of the Gifths, to get him help, -
some warrior worse for wage to buy!
Ever I fought in the front of all,
sole to the fore; and so shall I fight
while I bide in life and this blade shall last
that early and late hath loyal proved
since for my doughtiness Daeghrefn fell,
slain by my hand, the Hugas' champion.

Nor fared he thence to the Frisian king
with the booty back, and breast-adornments;
but, slain in struggle, that standard-bearer
fell, atheling brave.

Not with blade was he slain,
but his bones were broken by brawny gripe,
his heart-waves stilled.

-  The sword-edge now,
hard blade and my hand, for the hoard shall strive.

'
Beowulf spake, and a battle-vow made
his last of all: 'I have lived through many
wars in my youth; now once again,
old folk-defender, feud will I seek,
do doughty deeds, if the dark destroyer
forth from his cavern come to fight me! '
Then hailed he the helmeted heroes all,
for the last time greeting his liegemen dear,
comrades of war: 'I should carry no weapon,
no sword to the serpent, if sure I knew
how, with such enemy, else my vows
I could gain as I did in Grendel's day.

But fire in this fight I must fear me now,
and poisonous breath; so I bring with me
breastplate and board.

From the barrow's keeper
no footbreadth flee I.

One fight shall end
our war by the wall, as Wyrd allots,
all mankind's master.

My mood is bold
but forbears to boast o'er this battling-flyer.

-  Now abide by the barrow, ye breastplate-mailed,
ye heroes in harness, which of us twain
better from battle-rush bear his wounds.

Wait ye the finish.

The fight is not yours,
nor meet for any but me alone
to measure might with this monster here
and play the hero.

Hardily I
shall win that wealth, or war shall seize,
cruel killing, your king and lord! '
Up stood then with shield the sturdy champion,
stayed by the strength of his single manhood,
and hardy 'neath helmet his harness bore
under cleft of the cliffs: no coward's path!
Soon spied by the wall that warrior chief,
survivor of many a victory-field
where foemen fought with furious clashings,
an arch of stone; and within, a stream
that broke from the barrow.

The brooklet's wave
was hot with fire.

The hoard that way
he never could hope unharmed to near,
or endure those deeps, for the dragon's flame.

Then let from his breast, for he burst with rage,
the Weder-Geat prince a word outgo;
stormed the stark-heart; stern went ringing
and clear his cry 'neath the cliff-rocks gray.

The hoard-guard heard a human voice;
his rage was enkindled.

No respite now
for pact of peace! The poison-breath
of that foul worm first came forth from the cave,
hot reek-of-fight: the rocks resounded.

Stout by the stone-way his shield he raised,
lord of the Geats, against the loathed-one;
while with courage keen that coiled foe
came seeking strife.

The sturdy king
had drawn his sword, not dull of edge,
heirloom old; and each of the two
felt fear of his foe, though fierce their mood.

Stoutly stood with his shield high-raised
the warrior king, as the worm now coiled
together amain: the mailed-one waited.

Now, spire by spire, fast sped and glided
that blazing serpent.

The shield protected,
soul and body a shorter while
for the hero-king than his heart desired,
could his will have wielded the welcome respite
but once in his life! But Wyrd denied it,
and victory's honors.

-  His arm he lifted
lord of the Geats, the grim foe smote
with atheling's heirloom.

Its edge was turned
brown blade, on the bone, and bit more feebly
than its noble master had need of then
in his baleful stress.

-  Then the barrow's keeper
waxed full wild for that weighty blow,
cast deadly flames; wide drove and far
those vicious fires.

No victor's glory
the Geats' lord boasted; his brand had failed,
naked in battle, as never it should,
excellent iron! -  'Twas no easy path
that Ecgtheow's honored heir must tread
over the plain to the place of the foe;
for against his will he must win a home
elsewhere far, as must all men, leaving
this lapsing life! -  Not long it was
ere those champions grimly closed again.

The hoard-guard was heartened; high heaved hisbreast
once more; and by peril was pressed again,
enfolded in flames, the folk-commander!
Nor yet about him his band of comrades,
sons of athelings, armed stood
with warlike front: to the woods they bent them,
their lives to save.

But the soul of one
with care was cumbered.

Kinship true
can never be marred in a noble mind!

Beowulf (Episode 36) Read Poem

WIGLAF his name was, Weohstan's son,
linden-thane loved, the lord of Scylfings,
Aelfhere's kinsman.

His king he now saw
with heat under helmet hard oppressed.

He minded the prizes his prince had given him,
wealthy seat of the Waegmunding line,
and folk-rights that his father owned
Not long he lingered.

The linden yellow,
his shield, he seized; the old sword he drew: —
as heirloom of Eanmund earth-dwellers knew it,
who was slain by the sword-edge, son of Ohtere,
friendless exile, erst in fray
killed by Weohstan, who won for his kin
brown-bright helmet, breastplate ringed,
old sword of Eotens, Onela's gift,
weeds of war of the warrior-thane,
battle-gear brave: though a brother's child
had been felled, the feud was unfelt by Onela.

For winters this war-gear Weohstan kept,
breastplate and board, till his bairn had grown
earlship to earn as the old sire did:
then he gave him, mid Geats, the gear of battle,
portion huge, when he passed from life,
fared aged forth.

For the first time now
with his leader-lord the liegeman young
was bidden to share the shock of battle.

Neither softened his soul, nor the sire's bequest
weakened in war.

So the worm found out
when once in fight the foes had met!
Wiglaf spake, — and his words were sage;
sad in spirit, he said to his comrades: —
"I remember the time, when mead we took,
what promise we made to this prince of ours
in the banquet-hall, to our breaker-of-rings,
for gear of combat to give him requital,
for hard-sword and helmet, if hap should bring
stress of this sort! Himself who chose us
from all his army to aid him now,
urged us to glory, and gave these treasures,
because he counted us keen with the spear
and hardy 'neath helm, though this hero-work
our leader hoped unhelped and alone
to finish for us, — folk-defender
who hath got him glory greater than all men
for daring deeds! Now the day is come
that our noble master has need of the might
of warriors stout.

Let us stride along
the hero to help while the heat is about him
glowing and grim! For God is my witness
I am far more fain the fire should seize
along with my lord these limbs of mine!
Unsuiting it seems our shields to bear
homeward hence, save here we essay
to fell the foe and defend the life
of the Weders' lord.

I wot 'twere shame
on the law of our land if alone the king
out of Geatish warriors woe endured
and sank in the struggle! My sword and helmet,
breastplate and board, for us both shall serve!"
Through slaughter-reek strode he to succor his chieftain,
his battle-helm bore, and brief words spake: —
"Beowulf dearest, do all bravely,
as in youthful days of yore thou vowedst
that while life should last thou wouldst let no wise
thy glory droop! Now, great in deeds,
atheling steadfast, with all thy strength
shield thy life! I will stand to help thee.

"
At the words the worm came once again,
murderous monster mad with rage,
with fire-billows flaming, its foes to seek,
the hated men.

In heat-waves burned
that board to the boss, and the breastplate failed
to shelter at all the spear-thane young.

Yet quickly under his kinsman's shield
went eager the earl, since his own was now
all burned by the blaze.

The bold king again
had mind of his glory: with might his glaive
was driven into the dragon's head, —
blow nerved by hate.

But Naegling was shivered,
broken in battle was Beowulf's sword,
old and gray.

'Twas granted him not
that ever the edge of iron at all
could help him at strife: too strong was his hand,
so the tale is told, and he tried too far
with strength of stroke all swords he wielded,
though sturdy their steel: they steaded him nought.

Then for the third time thought on its feud
that folk-destroyer, fire-dread dragon,
and rushed on the hero, where room allowed,
battle-grim, burning; its bitter teeth
closed on his neck, and covered him
with waves of blood from his breast that welled.

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Beowulf (Episode 37) Read Poem

'TWAS now, men say, in his sovran's need
that the earl made known his noble strain,
craft and keenness and courage enduring.

Heedless of harm, though his hand was burned,
hardy-hearted, he helped his kinsman.

A little lower the loathsome beast
he smote with sword; his steel drove in
bright and burnished; that blaze began
to lose and lessen.

At last the king
wielded his wits again, war-knife drew,
a biting blade by his breastplate hanging,
and the Weders'-helm smote that worm asunder,
felled the foe, flung forth its life.

So had they killed it, kinsmen both,
athelings twain: thus an earl should be
in danger's day! — Of deeds of valor
this conqueror's-hour of the king was last,
of his work in the world.

The wound began,
which that dragon-of-earth had erst inflicted,
to swell and smart; and soon he found
in his breast was boiling, baleful and deep,
pain of poison.

The prince walked on,
wise in his thought, to the wall of rock;
then sat, and stared at the structure of giants,
where arch of stone and steadfast column
upheld forever that hall in earth.

Yet here must the hand of the henchman peerless
lave with water his winsome lord,
the king and conqueror covered with blood,
with struggle spent, and unspan his helmet.

Beowulf spake in spite of his hurt,
his mortal wound; full well he knew
his portion now was past and gone
of earthly bliss, and all had fled
of his file of days, and death was near:
"I would fain bestow on son of mine
this gear of war, were given me now
that any heir should after me come
of my proper blood.

This people I ruled
fifty winters.

No folk-king was there,
none at all, of the neighboring clans
who war would wage me with 'warriors'-friends'
and threat me with horrors.

At home I bided
what fate might come, and I cared for mine own;
feuds I sought not, nor falsely swore
ever on oath.

For all these things,
though fatally wounded, fain am I!
From the Ruler-of-Man no wrath shall seize me,
when life from my frame must flee away,
for killing of kinsmen! Now quickly go
and gaze on that hoard 'neath the hoary rock,
Wiglaf loved, now the worm lies low,
sleeps, heart-sore, of his spoil bereaved.

And fare in haste.

I would fain behold
the gorgeous heirlooms, golden store,
have joy in the jewels and gems, lay down
softlier for sight of this splendid hoard
my life and the lordship I long have held.

"
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Beowulf (Episode 38) Read Poem

I HAVE heard that swiftly the son of Weohstan
at wish and word of his wounded king, —
war-sick warrior, — woven mail-coat,
battle-sark, bore 'neath the barrow's roof.

Then the clansman keen, of conquest proud,
passing the seat, saw store of jewels
and glistening gold the ground along;
by the wall were marvels, and many a vessel
in the den of the dragon, the dawn-flier old:
unburnished bowls of bygone men
reft of richness; rusty helms
of the olden age; and arm-rings many
wondrously woven.

— Such wealth of gold,
booty from barrow, can burden with pride
each human wight: let him hide it who will! —
His glance too fell on a gold-wove banner
high o'er the hoard, of handiwork noblest,
brilliantly broidered; so bright its gleam,
all the earth-floor he easily saw
and viewed all these vessels.

No vestige now
was seen of the serpent: the sword had ta'en him.

Then, I heard, the hill of its hoard was reft,
old work of giants, by one alone;
he burdened his bosom with beakers and plate
at his own good will, and the ensign took,
brightest of beacons.

— The blade of his lord
— its edge was iron — had injured deep
one that guarded the golden hoard
many a year and its murder-fire
spread hot round the barrow in horror-billows
at midnight hour, till it met its doom.

Hasted the herald, the hoard so spurred him
his track to retrace; he was troubled by doubt,
high-souled hero, if haply he'd find
alive, where he left him, the lord of Weders,
weakening fast by the wall of the cave.

So he carried the load.

His lord and king
he found all bleeding, famous chief
at the lapse of life.

The liegeman again
plashed him with water, till point of word
broke through the breast-hoard.

Beowulf spake,
sage and sad, as he stared at the gold.

—
"For the gold and treasure, to God my thanks,
to the Wielder-of-Wonders, with words I say,
for what I behold, to Heaven's Lord,
for the grace that I give such gifts to my folk
or ever the day of my death be run!
Now I've bartered here for booty of treasure
the last of my life, so look ye well
to the needs of my land! No longer I tarry.

A barrow bid ye the battle-fanned raise
for my ashes.

'Twill shine by the shore of the flood,
to folk of mine memorial fair
on Hrones Headland high uplifted,
that ocean-wanderers oft may hail
Beowulf's Barrow, as back from far
they drive their keels o'er the darkling wave.

"
From his neck he unclasped the collar of gold,
valorous king, to his vassal gave it
with bright-gold helmet, breastplate, and ring,
to the youthful thane: bade him use them in joy.

"Thou art end and remnant of all our race
the Waegmunding name.

For Wyrd hath swept them,
all my line, to the land of doom,
earls in their glory: I after them go.

"
This word was the last which the wise old man
harbored in heart ere hot death-waves
of balefire he chose.

From his bosom fled
his soul to seek the saints' reward.

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Beowulf (Episode 39) Read Poem

IT was heavy hap for that hero young
on his lord beloved to look and find him
lying on earth with life at end,
sorrowful sight.

But the slayer too,
awful earth-dragon, empty of breath,
lay felled in fight, nor, fain of its treasure,
could the writhing monster rule it more.

For edges of iron had ended its days,
hard and battle-sharp, hammers' leaving;
and that flier-afar had fallen to ground
hushed by its hurt, its hoard all near,
no longer lusty aloft to whirl
at midnight, making its merriment seen,
proud of its prizes: prone it sank
by the handiwork of the hero-king.

Forsooth among folk but few achieve,
— though sturdy and strong, as stories tell me,
and never so daring in deed of valor, —
the perilous breath of a poison-foe
to brave, and to rush on the ring-board hall,
whenever his watch the warden keeps
bold in the barrow.

Beowulf paid
the price of death for that precious hoard;
and each of the foes had found the end
of this fleeting life.

Befell erelong
that the laggards in war the wood had left,
trothbreakers, cowards, ten together,
fearing before to flourish a spear
in the sore distress of their sovran lord.

Now in their shame their shields they carried,
armor of fight, where the old man lay;
and they gazed on Wiglaf.

Wearied he sat
at his sovran's shoulder, shieldsman good,
to wake him with water.

Nowise it availed.

Though well he wished it, in world no more
could he barrier life for that leader-of-battles
nor baffle the will of all-wielding God.

Doom of the Lord was law o'er the deeds
of every man, as it is to-day.

Grim was the answer, easy to get,
from the youth for those that had yielded to fear!
Wiglaf spake, the son of Weohstan, —
mournful he looked on those men unloved: —
"Who sooth will speak, can say indeed
that the ruler who gave you golden rings
and the harness of war in which ye stand
— for he at ale-bench often-times
bestowed on hall-folk helm and breastplate,
lord to liegemen, the likeliest gear
which near of far he could find to give, —
threw away and wasted these weeds of battle,
on men who failed when the foemen came!
Not at all could the king of his comrades-in-arms
venture to vaunt, though the Victory-Wielder,
God, gave him grace that he got revenge
sole with his sword in stress and need.

To rescue his life, 'twas little that I
could serve him in struggle; yet shift I made
(hopeless it seemed) to help my kinsman.

Its strength ever waned, when with weapon I struck
that fatal foe, and the fire less strongly
flowed from its head.

— Too few the heroes
in throe of contest that thronged to our king!
Now gift of treasure and girding of sword,
joy of the house and home-delight
shall fail your folk; his freehold-land
every clansman within your kin
shall lose and leave, when lords highborn
hear afar of that flight of yours,
a fameless deed.

Yea, death is better
for liegemen all than a life of shame!"
Back to episode 38
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Beowulf (Episode 40) Read Poem

THAT battle-toil bade he at burg to announce,
at the fort on the cliff, where, full of sorrow,
all the morning earls had sat,
daring shieldsmen, in doubt of twain:
would they wail as dead, or welcome home,
their lord beloved?

Little kept back
of the tidings new, but told them all,
the herald that up the headland rode.

—
"Now the willing-giver to Weder folk
in death-bed lies; the Lord of Geats
on the slaughter-bed sleeps by the serpent's deed!
And beside him is stretched that slayer-of-men
with knife-wounds sick: no sword availed
on the awesome thing in any wise
to work a wound.

There Wiglaf sitteth,
Weohstan's bairn, by Beowulf's side,
the living earl by the other dead,
and heavy of heart a head-watch keeps
o'er friend and foe.

— Now our folk may look
for waging of war when once unhidden
to Frisian and Frank the fall of the king
is spread afar.

— The strife began
when hot on the Hugas Hygelac fell
and fared with his fleet to the Frisian land.

Him there the Hetwaras humbled in war,
plied with such prowess their power o'erwhelming
that the bold-in-battle bowed beneath it
and fell in fight.

To his friends no wise
could that earl give treasure! And ever since
the Merowings' favor has failed us wholly.

Nor aught expect I of peace and faith
from Swedish folk.

'Twas spread afar
how Ongentheow reft at Ravenswood
Haethcyn Hrethling of hope and life,
when the folk of Geats for the first time sought
in wanton pride the Warlike-Scylfings.

Soon the sage old sire of Ohtere,
ancient and awful, gave answering blow;
the sea-king he slew, and his spouse redeemed,
his good wife rescued, though robbed of her gold,
mother of Ohtere and Onela.

Then he followed his foes, who fled before him
sore beset and stole their way,
bereft of a ruler, to Ravenswood.

With his host he besieged there what swords had left,
the weary and wounded; woes he threatened
the whole night through to that hard-pressed throng:
some with the morrow his sword should kill,
some should go to the gallows-tree
for rapture of ravens.

But rescue came
with dawn of day for those desperate men
when they heard the horn of Hygelac sound,
tones of his trumpet; the trusty king
had followed their trail with faithful band.

Back to episode 39
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Beowulf (Episode 41) Read Poem

"THE bloody swath of Swedes and Geats
and the storm of their strife, were seen afar,
how folk against folk the fight had wakened.

The ancient king with his atheling band
sought his citadel, sorrowing much:
Ongentheow earl went up to his burg.

He had tested Hygelac's hardihood,
the proud one's prowess, would prove it no longer,
defied no more those fighting-wanderers
nor hoped from the seamen to save his hoard,
his bairn and his bride: so he bent him again,
old, to his earth-walls.

Yet after him came
with slaughter for Swedes the standards of Hygelac
o'er peaceful plains in pride advancing,
till Hrethelings fought in the fenced town.

Then Ongentheow with edge of sword,
the hoary-bearded, was held at bay,
and the folk-king there was forced to suffer
Eofor's anger.

In ire, at the king
Wulf Wonreding with weapon struck;
and the chieftain's blood, for that blow, in streams
flowed 'neath his hair.

No fear felt he,
stout old Scylfing, but straightway repaid
in better bargain that bitter stroke
and faced his foe with fell intent.

Nor swift enough was the son of Wonred
answer to render the aged chief;
too soon on his head the helm was cloven;
blood-bedecked he bowed to earth,
and fell adown; not doomed was he yet,
and well he waxed, though the wound was sore.

Then the hardy Hygelac-thane,
when his brother fell, with broad brand smote,
giants' sword crashing through giants'-helm
across the shield-wall: sank the king,
his folk's old herdsman, fatally hurt.

There were many to bind the brother's wounds
and lift him, fast as fate allowed
his people to wield the place-of-war.

But Eofor took from Ongentheow,
earl from other, the iron-breastplate,
hard sword hilted, and helmet too,
and the hoar-chief's harness to Hygelac carried,
who took the trappings, and truly promised
rich fee 'mid folk, — and fulfilled it so.

For that grim strife gave the Geatish lord,
Hrethel's offspring, when home he came,
to Eofor and Wulf a wealth of treasure,
Each of them had a hundred thousand
in land and linked rings; nor at less price reckoned
mid-earth men such mighty deeds!
And to Eofor he gave his only daughter
in pledge of grace, the pride of his home.

"Such is the feud, the foeman's rage,
death-hate of men: so I deem it sure
that the Swedish folk will seek us home
for this fall of their friends, the fighting-Scylfings,
when once they learn that our warrior leader
lifeless lies, who land and hoard
ever defended from all his foes,
furthered his folk's weal, finished his course
a hardy hero.

— Now haste is best,
that we go to gaze on our Geatish lord,
and bear the bountiful breaker-of-rings
to the funeral pyre.

No fragments merely
shall burn with the warrior.

Wealth of jewels,
gold untold and gained in terror,
treasure at last with his life obtained,
all of that booty the brands shall take,
fire shall eat it.

No earl must carry
memorial jewel.

No maiden fair
shall wreathe her neck with noble ring:
nay, sad in spirit and shorn of her gold,
oft shall she pass o'er paths of exile
now our lord all laughter has laid aside,
all mirth and revel.

Many a spear
morning-cold shall be clasped amain,
lifted aloft; nor shall lilt of harp
those warriors wake; but the wan-hued raven,
fain o'er the fallen, his feast shall praise
and boast to the eagle how bravely he ate
when he and the wolf were wasting the slain.

"
So he told his sorrowful tidings,
and little he lied, the loyal man
of word or of work.

The warriors rose;
sad, they climbed to the Cliff-of-Eagles,
went, welling with tears, the wonder to view.

Found on the sand there, stretched at rest,
their lifeless lord, who had lavished rings
of old upon them.

Ending-day
had dawned on the doughty-one; death had seized
in woful slaughter the Weders' king.

There saw they, besides, the strangest being,
loathsome, lying their leader near,
prone on the field.

The fiery dragon,
fearful fiend, with flame was scorched.

Reckoned by feet, it was fifty measures
in length as it lay.

Aloft erewhile
it had revelled by night, and anon come back,
seeking its den; now in death's sure clutch
it had come to the end of its earth-hall joys.

By it there stood the stoups and jars;
dishes lay there, and dear-decked swords
eaten with rust, as, on earth's lap resting,
a thousand winters they waited there.

For all that heritage huge, that gold
of bygone men, was bound by a spell,
so the treasure-hall could be touched by none
of human kind, — save that Heaven's King,
God himself, might give whom he would,
Helper of Heroes, the hoard to open, —
even such a man as seemed to him meet.

Back to episode 40
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Beowulf (Episode 42) Read Poem

A PERILOUS path, it proved, he trod
who heinously hid, that hall within,
wealth under wall! Its watcher had killed
one of a few, and the feud was avenged
in woful fashion.

Wondrous seems it,
what manner a man of might and valor
oft ends his life, when the earl no longer
in mead-hall may live with loving friends.

So Beowulf, when that barrow's warden
he sought, and the struggle; himself knew not
in what wise he should wend from the world at last.

For princes potent, who placed the gold,
with a curse to doomsday covered it deep,
so that marked with sin the man should be,
hedged with horrors, in hell-bonds fast,
racked with plagues, who should rob their hoard.

Yet no greed for gold, but the grace of heaven,
ever the king had kept in view.

Wiglaf spake, the son of Weohstan: —
"At the mandate of one, oft warriors many
sorrow must suffer; and so must we.

The people's-shepherd showed not aught
of care for our counsel, king beloved!
That guardian of gold he should grapple not, urged we,
but let him lie where he long had been
in his earth-hall waiting the end of the world,
the hest of heaven.

— This hoard is ours
but grievously gotten; too grim the fate
which thither carried our king and lord.

I was within there, and all I viewed,
the chambered treasure, when chance allowed me
(and my path was made in no pleasant wise)
under the earth-wall.

Eager, I seized
such heap from the hoard as hands could bear
and hurriedly carried it hither back
to my liege and lord.

Alive was he still,
still wielding his wits.

The wise old man
spake much in his sorrow, and sent you greetings
and bade that ye build, when he breathed no more,
on the place of his balefire a barrow high,
memorial mighty.

Of men was he
worthiest warrior wide earth o'er
the while he had joy of his jewels and burg.

Let us set out in haste now, the second time
to see and search this store of treasure,
these wall-hid wonders, — the way I show you, —
where, gathered near, ye may gaze your fill
at broad-gold and rings.

Let the bier, soon made,
be all in order when out we come,
our king and captain to carry thither
— man beloved — where long he shall bide
safe in the shelter of sovran God.

"
Then the bairn of Weohstan bade command,
hardy chief, to heroes many
that owned their homesteads, hither to bring
firewood from far — o'er the folk they ruled —
for the famed-one's funeral.

" Fire shall devour
and wan flames feed on the fearless warrior
who oft stood stout in the iron-shower,
when, sped from the string, a storm of arrows
shot o'er the shield-wall: the shaft held firm,
featly feathered, followed the barb.

"
And now the sage young son of Weohstan
seven chose of the chieftain's thanes,
the best he found that band within,
and went with these warriors, one of eight,
under hostile roof.

In hand one bore
a lighted torch and led the way.

No lots they cast for keeping the hoard
when once the warriors saw it in hall,
altogether without a guardian,
lying there lost.

And little they mourned
when they had hastily haled it out,
dear-bought treasure! The dragon they cast,
the worm, o'er the wall for the wave to take,
and surges swallowed that shepherd of gems.

Then the woven gold on a wain was laden —
countless quite! — and the king was borne,
hoary hero, to Hrones-Ness.

Back to episode 41
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Beowulf (Episode 43) Read Poem

THEN fashioned for him the folk of Geats
firm on the earth a funeral-pile,
and hung it with helmets and harness of war
and breastplates bright, as the boon he asked;
and they laid amid it the mighty chieftain,
heroes mourning their master dear.

Then on the hill that hugest of balefires
the warriors wakened.

Wood-smoke rose
black over blaze, and blent was the roar
of flame with weeping (the wind was still),
till the fire had broken the frame of bones,
hot at the heart.

In heavy mood
their misery moaned they, their master's death.

Wailing her woe, the widow old,
her hair upbound, for Beowulf's death
sung in her sorrow, and said full oft
she dreaded the doleful days to come,
deaths enow, and doom of battle,
and shame.

— The smoke by the sky was devoured.

The folk of the Weders fashioned there
on the headland a barrow broad and high,
by ocean-farers far descried:
in ten days' time their toil had raised it,
the battle-brave's beacon.

Round brands of the pyre
a wall they built, the worthiest ever
that wit could prompt in their wisest men.

They placed in the barrow that precious booty,
the rounds and the rings they had reft erewhile,
hardy heroes, from hoard in cave, —
trusting the ground with treasure of earls,
gold in the earth, where ever it lies
useless to men as of yore it was.

Then about that barrow the battle-keen rode,
atheling-born, a band of twelve,
lament to make, to mourn their king,
chant their dirge, and their chieftain honor.

They praised his earlship, his acts of prowess
worthily witnessed: and well it is
that men their master-friend mightily laud,
heartily love, when hence he goes
from life in the body forlorn away.

Thus made their mourning the men of Geatland,
for their hero's passing his hearth-companions:
quoth that of all the kings of earth,
of men he was mildest and most beloved,
to his kin the kindest, keenest for praise.

Back to episode 42
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Beowulf (The Prelude) Read Poem

PRELUDE OF THE FOUNDER OF THE DANISH HOUSE
LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings
of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped,
we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!
Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes,
from many a tribe, the mead-bench tore,
awing the earls.

Since erst he lay
friendless, a foundling, fate repaid him:
for he waxed under welkin, in wealth he throve,
till before him the folk, both far and near,
who house by the whale-path, heard his mandate,
gave him gifts: a good king he!
To him an heir was afterward born,
a son in his halls, whom heaven sent
to favor the folk, feeling their woe
that erst they had lacked an earl for leader
so long a while; the Lord endowed him,
the Wielder of Wonder, with world's renown.

Famed was this Beowulf: far flew the boast of him,
son of Scyld, in the Scandian lands.

So becomes it a youth to quit him well
with his father's friends, by fee and gift,
that to aid him, aged, in after days,
come warriors willing, should war draw nigh,
liegemen loyal: by lauded deeds
shall an earl have honor in every clan.

Forth he fared at the fated moment,
sturdy Scyld to the shelter of God.

Then they bore him over to ocean's billow,
loving clansmen, as late he charged them,
while wielded words the winsome Scyld,
the leader beloved who long had ruled.

.

.

.

In the roadstead rocked a ring-dight vessel,
ice-flecked, outbound, atheling's barge:
there laid they down their darling lord
on the breast of the boat, the breaker-of-rings,
by the mast the mighty one.

Many a treasure
fetched from far was freighted with him.

No ship have I known so nobly dight
with weapons of war and weeds of battle,
with breastplate and blade: on his bosom lay
a heaped hoard that hence should go
far o'er the flood with him floating away.

No less these loaded the lordly gifts,
thanes' huge treasure, than those had done
who in former time forth had sent him
sole on the seas, a suckling child.

High o'er his head they hoist the standard,
a gold-wove banner; let billows take him,
gave him to ocean.

Grave were their spirits,
mournful their mood.

No man is able
to say in sooth, no son of the halls,
no hero 'neath heaven, -- who harbored that freight!

Biby's Epitaph Read Poem

A muvver was barfin' 'er biby one night,
The youngest of ten and a tiny young mite,
The muvver was poor an' the biby was thin,
Only a skelington covered in skin;
The muvver turned rahnd for the soap off the rack,
She was but a moment, but when she turned back,
The biby was gorn; and in anguish she cried,
"Oh, where is my biby?

" — The angels replied:
"Your biby 'as fell dahn the plug-'ole,
Your biby 'as gorn dahn the plaug;
The poor little thing was so skinny an' thin
'E oughter been barfed in a jug;
Your biby is perfekly 'appy,
'E won't need a barf any more,
Your biby 'as fell dahn the plug-'ole,
Not lorst, but gorn before.

"
AN ALTERNATE VERSION
A mother was bathin' her baby one night
The youngest of ten, a poor little mite
The mother was fat and the baby was fin
T'was nawt but a skellington wrapped up in skin
The mother turned round for the soap from the rack
She weren't gone a minute, but when she got back
Her baby had gone, and in anguish she cried
"Oh, where is my baby?

", and the angels replied
Your baby has gorn dahn the plug'ole
Your baby has gorn dahn the plug
The poor little thing was so skinny and thin
He shoulda been bathed in a jug
Your baby is perfik'ly happy
He won't need no bathin' no more
He's workin' his way through the sewers
Not lost, just gone on before
Your baby has gorn dahn the drainpipe
And the chlorine is bad for his eyes
He's havin' a swim, and it's healthy for him
He needed the exercise
Don't worry 'baht 'im, just be 'appy
For I know he is suff'rin' no pain
Your baby has gorn dahn the plug'ole
Let's hope he don't stop up the drain
Your baby is perfik'ly 'appy
He won't need a bath any more
He's muckin' abaht with the angels above
Not lost but gone before
This was a popular music hall recitation at one time.

In the 1960's 70's it was sung in folk circles by such notables as Eric Clapton, Cream Martin carthy, Wally Whyton and a host of others.

Blessed Are They That Have Not Seen, And Yet Have Believed Read Poem

We saw Thee not, when Thou didst tread,
O Saviour, this our sinful earth;
Nor heard Thy voice restore the dead,
And waken them to second birth;
Yet we believe that Thou didst come,
And quit for us Thy glorious home.

We were not with the faithful few,
Who stood Thy bitter cross around;
Nor heard Thy prayer for those who slew,
Nor felt that earthquake rock the ground.

We saw no spear-wound pierce Thy side;
But we believe that Thou hast died.

No angel's message met our ear,
On that first glorious Easter-day;
"The Lord is risen.

He is not here;
"Come see the place where Jesus lay.

"
But we believe, that Thou didst quell
The banded powers of death and hell.

We saw Thee not return on high;
And now, our longing sight to bless,
No ray of glory from the sky
Shines down upon our wilderness;
But we believe, that Thou art there,
And seek Thee, Lord, in praise and prayer.

Blow, Northern Wind Read Poem

Ichot a burde in boure bryht,
That fully semly is on syht,
Menskful maiden of myht;
Feir ant fre to fonde;
In al this wurhliche won
A burde of blod ant of bon
Never yete y nuste non
Lussomore in londe.

Blow northerne wynd!
Send thou me my suetyng!
Blow northerne wynd! blow, blow, blow!
With lokkes lefliche ant longe,
With frount ant face feir to fonge,
With murthes monie mote heo monge,
That brid so breme in boure.

With lossom eye grete ant gode,
With browen blysfol under hode,
He that reste him on the rode,
That leflych lyf honoure.

Blow northerne wynd!
Send thou me my suetyng!
Blow northerne wynd! blow, blow, blow!
Hire lure lumes liht,
Ase a launterne a-nyht,
Hire bleo blykyeth so bryht,
So feyr heo is ant fyn.

A suetly swyre heo hath to holde,
With armes, shuldre ase mon wolde,
Ant fingres feyre for to folde,
Gold wolde hue were myn!
Blow northerne wynd!
Send thou me my suetyng!
Blow northerne wynd! blow, blow, blow!
Heo is coral of godnesse,
Heo is rubie of ryhtfulnesse,
Heo is cristal of clannesse,
Ant baner of bealte.

Heo is lilie of largesse,
Heo is parvenke of prouesse,
Heo is solsecle of suetnesse,
Ant lady of lealte.

For hire love y carke ant care,
For hire love y droupne ant dare,
For hire love my blisse is bare
Ant al ich waxe won.

For hire love in slep y slake,
For hire love al nyht ich wake,
For hire love mournynge y make
More then eny mon.

Blow northerne wynd!
Send thou me my suetyng!
Blow northerne wynd! blou, blou, blou!
Ichot: I know.

burde: maiden.

menskful: worshipful.

feir: fair.

fonde: deal with.

wurhliche: noble.

won: multitude.

y nuste: I knew not.

lussomore in londe: lovelier on earth.

suetyng: sweetheart.

lefliche: lovely.

fonge: take between hands.

murthes: mirths, joys.

Mote heo monge: may she mingle.

brid: bird.

breme: glorious.

rode: the Cross.

lure: face.

lumes: beams.

bleo: colour.

suetly swyre: darling neck.

hue, heo: she.

clannesse: cleanness, purity.

parvenke: periwinkle.

solsecle: sunflower.

dare: am in dismay.

won: wan.

Bonaparte At St. Helena Read Poem

Far from the battle shock, fate has fast bound thee,
Chained to the rugged rock, waves dash around thee,
Instead of the trumpet's sound, seabirds are shrieking;
Hoarse, on the ramparts bound, billows are breaking.

For ensigns unfurling, like sunbeams, in brightness
Are ocean waves curling, like snow wreaths in whiteness,
No sycophants mock thee with dreams of dominion,
But loud tempests rock thee and ruffle thy pinion.

Bonnie George Campbell Read Poem

Hie upon Hielands,
and laigh upon Tay,
Bonnie George Campbell
rode out on a day.

He saddled, he bridled,
and gallant rode he,
And hame cam his guid horse,
but never cam he.

Out cam his mother dear,
greeting fu sair,
And out cam his bonnie bryde,
riving her hair.

‘My meadow lies green,
and my corn is unshorn,
My barn is to build,
and my babe is unborn.

Saddled and bridled
and booted rode he,
A plume in his helmet,
a sword at his knee.

But toom cam his saddle,
all bloody to see,
Oh, hame cam his guid horse,
but never cam he!
riving - tearing
toom - empty

Bonny Barbara Allen. A Scottish Ballad Read Poem

It was in and about the Martinmas time,
When the greene leaves we a fallan,
That Sir John Grehme o' the west contrye
Fell in luve wi' Barbara Allan.

He sent his man down throw the towne,
To the plaice wher she was dwellan:
"O haste and cum to my maister deare,
Gin ye bin Barbara Allan.

"
O hooly, hooly raise she up,
To the plaice wher he was lyand;
And whan she drew the curtain by,
"Young man, I think ye're dyand.

"
"O its I'm sick, and very, very sick,
And its a' for Barbara Allan.

"
"O the better for me ye'se never be,
Though your harts blude wer spillan.

"Remember ye nat in the tavern, sir,
Whan ye the cups wer fillan,
How ye made the healths gae round and round,
And slighted Barbara Allan?

"
He turn'd his face unto the wa',
And death was with him dealan;
"Adiew! adiew! my dear friends a',
Be kind to Barbara Allan.

"
Then hooly, hooly raise she up,
And hooly, hooly left him;
And sighan said, she could not stay,
Since death of life had reft him.

She had not gane a mile but twa,
Whan she heard the deid-bell knellan;
And everye jow the deid-bell geid,
Cried, "Wae to Barbara Allan!"
"O mither, mither, mak my bed,
O make it saft and narrow;
Since my love dy’d for me to-day,
Ise die for him to-morrowe.

"

Bonny Mermaid III Read Poem

UP and spoke the bonny mermaid,
Wi the comb and the glass in her hand;
Says, Cheer up your hearts, my mariners all,
You are not very far from the land.

And the raging seas do foam, foam,
And the stormy winds do blow,
While we poor sailors must mount to the top,
When the landsmen they lye low.

Out and spoke the captain of our ship,
And a fine little man was he;
‘O I’ve a wife in fair London town,
And a widow this night she shall be.

’
Out and spoke the mate of our ship,
And a tight little man was he;
‘O I’ve a wife in Dublin city,
And a widow this night she shall be.

’
Out and spoke our second mate,
And a clever little man was he;
‘Oh I have a wife in Greenoch town,
And a widow this night she shall be.

’
Out and spoke our little prentice boy,
And a fine little boy was he;
‘Oh I am sorry for my mother,’ he said,
‘As you are for your wives all three.

’
Out and spoke the cook of our ship,
And a rusty old dog was he;
Says, I am as sorry for my pats and my pans
As you are for your wives all three.

Lyrical Ballad

Boys and Girls Come out to Play Read Poem

Boys and girls come out to play,
The moon does shine as bright as day;
Come with a hoop, and come with a call,
Come with a good will or not at all.

Loose your supper, and loose your sleep,
Come to your playfellows in the street;
Up the ladder and down the wall.

A halfpenny loaf will serve us all.

But when the loaf is gone, what will you do?

Those who would eat must work — 'tis true.

Composition date is unknown - the above date represents the first publication date.

The lyrical form of this poem is couplets.

1.

Cf.

The Oxford Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes, ed.

Iona and
Peter Opie (1951\; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1966), no.

75, pp.

99-100.

10.

The last two words and the dash are missing and supplied
from the edition of Isaiah Thomas (Worcester, Mass.

,
ca.

1785).

Brave Lord Willoughbey Read Poem

The fifteenth day of July,
With glistering spear and shield,
A famous fight in Flanders
Was foughten in the field:
The most couragious officers
Were English captains three;
But the bravest man in battel
Was brave Lord Willoughbey.

The next was Captain Norris,
A valiant man was hee;
The other Captain Turner,
With fifteen hundred fighting men,
Alas! there were no more,
They fought with fourteen thousand then,
Upon the bloody shore.

"Stand to it, noble pikemen,
And look you round about:
And shoot you right, you bow-men,
And we will keep them out.

You musquet and calliver men,
Do you prove true to me:
I'le be the formost man in fight,"
Says brave Lord Willoughbey.

And then the bloody enemy
They fiercely did assail,
And fought it out most furiously,
Not doubting to prevail.

The wounded men on both sides fell,
Most piteous for to see,
Yet nothing could the courage quell
Of brave Lord Willoughbey.

For seven hours, to all mens view,
This fight endured sore,
Until our men so feeble grew
That they could fight no more;
And then upon dead horses,
Full savourly they eat,
And drank the puddle water,
They could no better get.

When they had fed so freely,
They kneeled on the ground,
And praised God devoutly
For the favour they had found;
And beating up their colours,
The fight they did renew,
And turning tow'rds the Spaniard,
A thousand more they slew.

The sharp steel-pointed arrows,
And bullets thick did fly;
Then did our valiant soldiers
Charge on most furiously:
Which made the Spaniards waver;
They thought it best to flee;
They fear'd the stout behaviour
Of brave Lord Willoughbey.

Then quoth the Spanish general,
"Come, let us march away;
I fear we shall be spoiled all
If here we longer stay;
For yonder comes Lord Willoughbey,
With courage fierce and fell;
He will not give one inch of way
For all the devils in hell.

"
And then the fearful enemy
Was quickly put to flight,
Our men persued couragiously,
And caught their forces quite;
But at last they gave a shout,
Which ecchoed through the sky:
"God, and St.

George for England!"
The conquerers did cry.

This news was brought to England
With all the speed might be,
And soon our gracious quen was told
Of this same victory.

"O this is brave Lord Willoughbey,
My love that ever won;
Of all the lords of honour,
'Tis he great deeds hath done.

"
To the souldiers that were maimed
And wounded in the fray,
The queen allowed a pension
Of fifteen pence a day;
And from all costs and charges
She quit and set them free:
And this she did all for the sake
Of brave Lord Willoughbey.

Then courage, noble Englishmen,
And never be dismaid;
If that we be but one to ten,
We will not be afraid
To fight with foraign enemies,
And set our nation free:
And thus I end the bloody bout
Of brave Lord Willoughbey.

Caesar's Song Read Poem

Bow, wow, wow,
Whose dog art thou?

Little Tom Tinker's dog,
Bow, wow, wow.

Composition date is unknown - the above date represents the first publication date.

The lyrical form of this poem is aaba.

1.

See The Oxford Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes, ed.

Iona and
Peter Opie (1951\; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1966), no.

138, p.

151.

Camo-Gillie Read Poem

Camo-Gillie
Pawnie birks
My men-engni shall be;
Yackors my dudes
Like ruppeney shine:
Atch meery chi!
Mā jal away:
Perhaps I may not dick tute
Kek komi.

LOVE-SONG
Your breasts as white as snow
Will be my pillows;
Those eyes of yours that shine
Like silver, will be the lamps of mine.

Stop, my dear girl!
Don't send me away:
Perhaps I'll never see
Your lovely face again.

Author notes
A translation from the Anglo-Rom of another nineteenth century love poem

Carol Read Poem

I sing of a maiden
That is makeles;
King of all kings
To her son she ches.

He came al so still
There his mother was,
As dew in April
That falleth on the grass.

He came al so still
To his mother's bour,
As dew in April,
That falleth on the flour.

He came al so still
There his mother lay,
As dew in April
That falleth on the spray.

Mother and maiden
Was never none but she;
Well may such a lady
Goddes mother be.

Chevy-Chase Read Poem

The Perse owt off Northombarlonde,
And a vowe to God mayd he
That he wold hunte in the mowntayns
Off Chyviat within days thre,
In the magger of doughte Dogles,
And all that ever with him be.

The fattiste hartes in all Cheviat
He sayd he wold kyll, and cary them away:
'Be my feth,' sayd the doughteti Doglas agayn,
'I wyll let that hontyng yf that I may.

Then the Perse owt off Banborowe cam,
With him a myghtee meany,
With fifteen hondrith archares bold off blood and bone;
The wear chosen owt of shyars thre.

This begane on a Monday at morn,
In Cheviat the hyllys so he;
They chylde may rue that ys un-born,
It wos the mor pitte.

The dryvars thorowe the woodes went,
For to reas the dear;
Bomen byckarte uppone the bent
With ther browd aros cleare.

Then the wyld thorowe the woodes went,
On every syde shear;
Greahondes thorowe the grevis glent,
For to kyll thear dear.

This began in Chyviat the hyls abone,
yerly on a Monnyn-day;
Be that it drewe to the oware off none,
A hondrith fat hartes ded ther lay.

The blewe a mort uppone the bent,
The semblyde on sydis shear;
To the quyrry then the Perse went,
To se the bryttlynge off the deare.

He sayd, 'It was the Doglas promys
This day to met me hear;
But I wyste he wolde faylle, verament;'
A great oth the Perse swear.

At the laste a squyar off Northomberlonde
Lokyde at his hand full ny;
He was war a the doughetie Doglas commynge,
With him a mygtte meany.

Both with spear, bylle, and brande,
Yt was a myghtti sight to se;
Hardyar men, both off hart nor hande,
Wear not in Cristiante.

The wear twenti hondrith spear-men good;
Without any feale;
The wear borne along be the watter a Twynde,
Yth bowndes of Tividale.

'Leave of the brytlyng of the dear,' he sayd,
'and to your boys lock ye tayk good hede;
For never sithe ye wear on your mothars borne
Had ye never so mickle nede.

'
The doughtei Dogglas on a stede,
He rode alle his men beforne;
His armour glytteryde as dyd a glede;
A boldar barne was never born.

'Tell me whos men ye ar', he says,
'Or whos men that ye be:
Who gave youe leave to hunte in this Cyviat chays,
In the spyt of myn and of me.

'
The first mane that ever him an answear mayd,
Yt was the good lord Perse:
'We wyll not tell the whoys men we ar,' he says
'Nor whos men that we be;
But we wyll hounte hear in this chays,
In the spyt of thyne and of the.

'The fattiste hartes in all Chyviat
We have kyld, and cast to carry them away:'
'Be my troth,' sayd the doughete Dogglas agayn,
'Therefor the ton of us shall de this day.

'
Then sayd the doughte Doglas
Unto the lord Perse:
'To kyll alle thes giltles men,
Alas, it wear great pitte!
'But, Perse, Thowe art a lorde of lande,
I am a yerle callyd within my contre;
Let all our men uppone a parti stande,
And do the battell off the and of me.

'
Nowe Cristes cors on his crowne', sayd the lorde Perse,
'Who-so-ever ther-to says nay!
Be my troth, doughtte Doglas,' he says,
'Thou shalt never se that day.

'Nethar in Ynglonde, Skottlonde, nar France,
Nor for no man of a woman born,
But, and fortune be my chance,
I dar met him, on man for on.

'
Then bespayke a squyar off Northombarlonde,
Richard Wytharynton was his nam;
'It shall never be told in Sothe-Ynglonde,' he says,
'To Kyng Herry the Fourth for sham.

'I wat youe byn great lordes twaw,
I am a poor squyar of lande;
I wylle never se my captayne fyght on a fylde,
And stande my selffe and loocke on,
But whylle I may my weppone welde,
I wylle no fayle both hart and hande.

'
That day, that day, that dredfull day!
The first fit here I fynde;
And youe wyll here any more a the hountynge a the Chyviat,
Yet ys there mor behynde.

The Yngglyshe men hade ther bowys yebent,
Ther hartes wer good yenoughe;
The first off arros that the shote off,
Seven skore spear-men the sloughe.

Yet byddys the yerle Doglas uppon the bent,
A captayne good yenoughe,
And that was sene verament,
For he wrought hom both woo and wouche.

The Dogglas partyd his ost in thre,
Lyk a cheffe cheften off pryde;
With suar spears off mygtte tre,
The bunny in on every syde;
Thrughe our Yngglyshe archery
Gave many a wounde fulle wyde;
Many a doughete the garde to dy,
Which ganyde them no pryde.

The Ynglyshe men let ther boys be,
And pulde owt brandes that were brighte;
It was a hevy syght to se
Bryght swordes on basnites lyght.

Thorowe ryche male and myneyeple,
Many sterne the strocke done streght;
Many a freyke that was fulle fre,
Ther under foot dyd lyght.

At last the Duglas and the Perse met,
Lyk to captayns of myght and of mayne;
The swapte togethar tylle the both swat,
With swordes that wear of fyn myllan.

Thes worthe freckys for to fyght,
Ther-to the wear fulle fayne,
Tylle the bloode owte off thear basnetes sprente,
'Yelde the,Perse,' sayde the Doglas,
And i feth I shalle the brynge
Wher thowe shalte have a yerls wagis
Of Jamy our Skottish kynge.

'Thou shalte have they ransom fre,
I hight the hear this thinge;
Forr the manfullyste man yet art thowe
That ever I conqueryd in filde fighttynge.

'
'Nay,' sayd the lord Perse,
'I told it the beforne,
That I wolde never yeldyde be
To no man of a woman born.

'
With that ther cam an arrowe hastely,
Forthe off a myghtte wane;
Hit hathe strekene the yerle Duglas
In at the brest-bane.

Thorowe lyvar and longes bathe
The sharpte arrowe ys gane,
That never after in all his lyffe-days
He spayke mo wordes but ane:
That was, 'Fygte ye, my myrry men, whyllys ye may,
For my lyff-days ben gan.

'
The Perse leanyde on his brande,
And saw the Duglas de;
He tooke the dede mane by the hande,
And sayd, 'Wo ys me for the!'
To have savyde thy lyffe, I wolde have partyde with
My landes for years thre,
For a beter man, of hart nare of hande,
Was nat in all the north contre.

'
Off all that se a Skottishe knyght,
Was callyd Ser Hewe the Monggombyrry;
He saw the Duglas to the deth was dyght,
He spendyd a spear, a trusti tre.

He rod uppone a corsiare
Throughe a hondrith archery:
He never synttyde, nar never blane,
Tylle he cam to the good lord Perse.

He set uppone the lorde Perse
A dynte that was full soare;
With a suar spear of a myghtte tre
Clean thorow the body he the Perse ber,
A the tothar syde that a man myght se
A large cloth-yard and mare:
Towe bettar captayns wear nat in Cristiante
Then that day slan wear ther.

An archar off Northomberlonde
Say slean was the lord Perse;
He bar a bende bowe in his hand,
Was made off trusti tre.

An arow that a cloth-yarde was lang
To the harde stele halyde he;
A dynt that was both sad and soar
He sat on Ser Hewe the Monggombyrry.

The dynt yt was both sad and sar
That he of Monggomberry sete;
The swane-fethars that his arrowe bar
With his hart-blood the wear wete.

Ther was never a freake wone foot wolde fle,
but still in stour dyd stand,
Heawyng on yche othar, whylle the myghte dre,
With many a balfull brande.

This battell begane in Chyviat
An owar befor the none,
And when even-songe bell was rang,
The battell was nat half done.

The tocke on ethar hande
Be the lyght off the mone;
Many hade no strenght for to stande,
In Chyviat the hillys abon.

Of fifteen hondrith archars of Ynglonde
West away but seventi and thre;
Of twenti hondrith spear-men of Skotlonde,
But even five and fifti.

But all wear slayne Cheviat within;
The hade no strenthe to stand on hy;
The chylde may rue that ys unborne,
It was the more pitte.

Thear was slayne, withe the lord Perse,
Ser Johan of Agerstone,
Ser Rogar, the hinde Hartly,
Ser Wyllyam, the bolde Hearone.

Ser Jorg, the worthe Loumle,
A knyghte of great renowen,
Ser Raff, the ryche Rugbe,
With dyntes wear beaten dowene.

For Wetharryngton my harte was wo,
That ever he slayne shulde be;
For when both his leggis wear hewyne in to,
yet he knyled and fought on hys kny.

Ther was slayne, with the dougheti Duglas,
Ser Hewe the Monggombyrry,
Ser Davvy Lwdale, that worthe was,
His sistars son was he.

Ser Charls a Murre in that place,
That never a foot wolde fle;
Ser Hewe Maxwelle, a lorde he was,
With the Doglas dyd he dey.

So on the morrowe the mayde them byears
Off birch and hasell so gray;
Many wedous, with wepying tears,
Cam to fache ther makys away.

Tivydale may carpe off care,
Northombarlond may mayk grea mon,
For towe such captayns as slayne wear thear
On the March-parti shall never be non.

Word ys commen to Eddenburrowe,
To Jamy the Skottishe kynge,
That dougheti Duglas, lyff-tenant of the Marches,
He lay slean Chyviot within.

His handdes dyd he weal and wryng,
He sayd, 'Alas, and woe ys me!
Such an othar captayn Skotland within,'
He sayd, 'ye-feth shuld never be.

'
Worde ys commyn to lovly Londone,
Till the fourth Harry our kynge,
That lord Perse, leyff-tenante of the Marchis,
He lay slayne Chyviat within.

'God have merci on his solle,' sayde Kyng Harry,
'Good lord, yf thy will it be!
I have a hondrith captayns in Ynglonde,' he sayd,
'As good as ever was he:
but, Perse, and I brook my lyffe,
Thy deth well quyte shall be.

'
As our noble kynge mayd his avowe,
lyke a noble prince of renowen,
For the deth of the lord Perse
He dyde the battel of Hombylldown;
Wher syx and thritte Skottishe knyghtes
On a day wear beaten down;
Glendale glytteryde on ther amour bryght,
Over castille, towar and town.

This was the hontyne off the Cheaviat,
That tear begane this spurn;
Old men that knowen the grownde well yenoughe
Call it the battell of Otterburn.

At Otterburn begane this spurne,
Uppone a Monnynday;
Ther was the doughte Doglas slean,
The Perse never went away.

Ther was never a tym on the Marchepartes
Sen the Doglas and the Perse met,
But yt ys mervele and the rede blude ronne not,
As the reane doys in the stret.

Jhesue Crist our balys bete,
And to the blys us brynge!
Thus was the hountynge of the Chivyat:
God sen us alle good endyng!

Childe Waters Read Poem

Childe Waters in his stable stoode
And stroakt his milke-white steede;
To him a fayre yonge ladye came
As ever ware womans weede.

Sayes, 'Christ you save, good Childe Waters,'
Sayes, 'Christ you save and see;
My girdle of gold that was too longe,
Is now too short for mee.

'And all is with one childe of yours
I feele sturre at my side;
My gowne of greene it is too straighte;
Before, it was too wide.

'
'If the childe be mine, faire Ellen,' he sayd,
'Be mine, as you tell mee,
Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,
Take them your owne to bee.

'If the childe be mine, faire Ellen,' he sayd,
'Be mine, as you doe sweare,
Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,
And make that childe your heyre.

'
Shee sayes, 'I had rather have one kisse,
Childe Waters, of thy mouth,
Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both,
That lye by north and southe.

'And I had rather have one twinkling,
Childe Waters, of thine ee,
Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both,
To take them mine owne to bee.

'
'To-morrowe, Ellen, I must forth ryde
Farr into the north countree;
The fayrest ladye that I can finde,
Ellen, must goe with mee.

'
''Thoughe I am not that ladye fayre,
Yet let me goe with thee:'
And ever I pray you, Childe Waters,
Your foot-page let me bee.

'
'If you will my foot-page bee, Ellen,
As you doe tell to mee,
Then you must cut your gowne of greene
An inch above your knee:
'Soe must you doe your yellowe lockes,
An inch above your ee;
You must tell no man what is my name;
My foot-page then you shall bee.

'
Shee, all the longe daye Childe Waters rode,
Ran barefoote by his syde,
Yet was he never soe courteous a knighte,
To say, 'Ellen, will you ryde?

'
Shee, all the long daye Childe Waters rode,
Ran barefoote thorow the broome,
Yet was hee never soe courteous a knighte,
To say, 'put on your shoone.

'
'Ride softlye,' shee sayd, 'O Childe Waters,
Why doe you ryde so fast?

The childe, which is no mans but thine,
My bodye itt will brast.

'
Hee sayth, 'Seest thou yonder water, Ellen,
That flows from banke to brimme?

' -
'I trust in God, O Childe Waters,
You never will see me swimme.

'
But when shee came to the water side,
She sayled to the chinne:
'Nowe the Lord of heaven be my speede,
For I must learne to swimme.

'
The salt waters bare up her clothes;
Our Ladye bare up her chinne;
Childe Waters was a woeman, good Lord,
To see faire Ellen swimme!
And when shee over the water was,
Shee then came to his knee:
Hee sayd, 'Come hither, thou fayre Ellen,
Loe yonder what I see.

'Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen?

Of redd gold shines the yate:
Of twenty-foure faire ladyes there,
The fairest is my mate.

'Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen?

Of redd golde shines the towre:
There are twenty-four fayre ladyes there,
The fayrest is my paramoure.

'
'I see the hall now, Childe Waters,
Of redd golde shines the yate:
God give you good now of yourselfe,
And of your worthye mate.

'I see the hall now, Childe Waters,
Of redd golde shines the towre:
God give you good now of yourselfe,
And of your paramoure.

'
There twenty-four fayre ladyes were
A playing at the ball,
And Ellen, the fayrest ladye there,
Must bring his steed to the stall.

There twenty-four fayre ladyes were
A playinge at the chesse,
And Ellen, the fayrest ladye there,
Must bring his horse to gresse.

And then bespake Childe Waters sister,
These were the wordes sayd shee:
'You have the prettyest page, brother,
That ever I did see;
'But that his bellye it is so bigge,
His girdle stands soe hye;
And ever I pray you, Childe Waters,
Let him in my chamber lye.

'
'It is not fit for a little foot-page,
That has run throughe mosse and myre,
To lye in the chamber of any ladye,
That weares soe riche attyre.

'It is more meete for a little foot-page,
That has run throughe moss and myre,
To take his supper upon his knee,
And lye by the kitchen fyre.

'
Now when they had supped every one,
To bedd they tooke theyr waye:
He sayd, 'Come hither, my little foot-page,
And hearken what I saye.

'Goe thee downe into yonder towne,
And lowe into the streete;
The fayrest ladye that thou canst finde,
Hyre in mine armes to sleepe;
And take her up in thine armes twaine,
For filing of her feete.

'
Ellen is gone into the towne,
And lowe into the streete;
The fayrest ladye that shee colde finde
She hyred in his armes to sleepe;
And tooke her up in her armes twaine,
For filing of her feete.

'I praye you nowe, good Childe Waters,
Let mee lye at your feete;
For there is noe place about this house,
Where I may 'saye a sleepe.

'
'He gave her leave, and fair Ellen
'Down at his beds feet laye;
This done the nighte drove on apace,
And when it was neare the daye,
Hee sayd, 'Rise up, my little foot-page,
Give my steede corne and haye;
And give him nowe the good black oates,
To carry mee better awaye.

'
Up then rose the faire Ellen,
And gave his steed corne and haye;
And soe shee did the good black oates,
To carry him the better awaye.

She leaned her back to the manger side,
And grievouslye did groane;
She leaned her back to the manger side,
And there shee made her moane.

And that beheard his mother deare,
Shee heard 'her woefull woe:'
She sayd, 'Rise up, thou Childe Waters,
And into thy stable goe.

'For in thy stable is a ghost,
That grievouslye doth grone;
Or else some woman laboures with childe,
Shee is soe woe-begone.

'
Up then rose Childe Waters soone,
And did on his shirte of silke;
And then he put on his other clothes,
On his bodye as white as milke.

And when he came to the stable dore,
Full still there hee did stand,
That hee mighte heare his fayre Ellen,
Howe shee made her monand.

She sayd, 'Lullabye, mine own dear childe,
Lullabye, deare childe, deare;
I wolde thy father were a kinge,
Thy mothere ladye on a biere.

'
'Peace nowe,' hee sayd, 'good, faire Ellen,
Bee of good cheere, I praye;
And the bridale and the churchinge bothe
Shall bee upon one daye.

'

Children Of Consolation Read Poem

By the red road of storm and stress
Their fathers' footsteps trod,
They come, a cloud of witnesses,
The messengers of God.

Cradled upon some radiant gleam,
Like living hopes they lie,
The rainbow beauty of a dream
Against a stormy sky.

Before the tears of love were dried,
Or anguish comfort knew,
The gates of home were opened wide
To let the pilgrims through.

Pledges of faith, divinely fair,
From peaceful worlds above
Against the onslaught of despair
They hold the fort of love.

This poem appeared in Mr Punch's History Of The Great War in 1919.

It was published by the editors of the Punch Magazine.

Christ And His Cross Read Poem

Christ and his cross are all our theme:
The mysteries that we speak
Are scandal in the Jews' esteem,
And folly to the Greek.

But souls enlightened from above
With joy receive the word;
They see what wisdom, power, and love
Shine in their dying Lord.

The vital savour of his name
Restores their fainting breath;
But unbelief perverts the same
To guilt, despair, and death.

Till God diffuse his graces down,
Like showers of heavenly rain,
In vain Apollos sows the ground;
And Paul may plant in vain.

Christmas Out Of Town Read Poem

For many a winter in Billiter Lane
My wife, Mrs.

Brown, was ne'er heard to complain:
At Christmas the family met there to dine
On beef and plum-pudding, and turkey, and chine;
Our bark has now taken a contrary heel,
My wife has found Out that the sea is genteel;
To Brighton we duly go scampering down
For nobody now spends his Christmas in town.

In Billiter Lane, at this mirth-moving time,
The lamp-lighter brought us his annual rhyme;
The tricks of Grimaldi were sure to be seen
We carved a twelfth-cake, and we drew king and queen:
Now we lodge on the Steine, in a bow-windowed box,
That beckons up stairs every zephyr that knocks;
The Sun hides his head, and the elements frown--
Still, nobody now spends his Christmas in town.

At Brighton I'm stuck up in Lucombe's Loo-shop,
Or walk upon bricks, till I'm ready to drop;
Throw stones at an anchor,--look out for a skiff,
Or view the chain pier from the top of the cliff;
Till winds from all quarters oblige me to halt,
With sand in my eyes, and my mouth full of salt:
Yet, still, I am suffering with folks of renown--
For nobody now spends his Christmas in town.

The wind gallops in at the full of the moon,
And puffs up the carpet like Sadler's balloon:
My drawing-room rug is besprinkled with soot,
And there is not a lock in the house that will shut.

At Mahomet's steam bath I lean on my cane,
And mutter in secret,-- "Ah, Billiter Lane!"
But would not express what I think for a crown--
For nobody now spends his Christmas in town.

The duke and the earl are not cronies-of mine;
His majesty never invites me to dine;
The marquess don't speak when we meet on the pier;
Which makes me suspect that I'm nobody here:
If that be the case,-- why then -- welcome again
Twelfth-cake and snap-dragon in Billiter Lane;
Next winter I'll prove to my dear Mrs.

Brown
That Nobody now spends his Christmas in town.

Clark Sanders Read Poem

Whan bells war rung, an mass was sung,
A wat a’ man to bed were gone,
Clark Sanders came to Margret’s window,
With mony a sad sigh and groan.

“Are ye sleeping, Margret,” he says,
“Or are ye waking, presentlie?

Give me my faith and trouthe again,
A wat, trew-love, I gied to thee.

”
“Your faith and trouth ye’s never get,
Nor our trew love shall never twain,
Till ye come with me in my bower,
And kiss me both cheek and chin.

”
“My mouth it is full cold, Margret,
It has the smell now of the ground;
And if I kiss thy comely mouth,
Thy life-days will not be long.

“Cocks are crowing a merry mid-larf,
I wat the wild fule boded day;
Gie me my faith and trouthe again,
And let me fare me on my way.

”
“Thy faith and trouth thou shall na get,
Nor our trew love shall never twin,
Till ye tell me what comes of women
A wat that dy’s in strong travelling.

”
“Their beds are made in the heavens high,
Down at the foot of our good Lord’s knee,
Well set about wi gilly-flowers,
A wat sweet company for to see.

“O cocks are crowing a merry mid-larf,
A wat the wilde foule boded day;
The salms of Heaven will be sung,
And ere now I’le be misst away.

”
Up she has tain a bright long wand,
And she has straked her trouth thereon;
She has given (it) him out at the shot-window,
Wi many a sad sigh and heavy groan.

“I thank you, Margret, I thank you, Margret,
And I thank you hartilie;
Gine ever the dead come for the quick,
Be sure, Margret, I’ll come again for thee.

”
It’s hose an shoon and gound alane
She clame the wall and followed him,
Until she came to a green forest,
On this she lost the sight of him.

“Is there any room at your head, Sanders?

Is there any room at your feet?

Or any room at your twa sides?

Whare fain, fain woud I sleep.

”
“Their is na room at my head, Margret,
Their is na room at my feet;
There is room at my twa sides,
For ladys for to sleep.

“Cold meal is my covering owre,
But an my winding sheet;
My bed it is full low, I say,
Down among the hongerey worms I sleep.

“Cold meal is my covering owre,
But an my winding sheet;
The dew it falls na sooner down
Then ay it is full weet.

”
A wat - I think
fule, foule - fowl
gine - if
hose an shoon and gound - stockings and shoes and gown
meal - mould
This touching ballad portrays a ghost unable to rest until his sweetheart has released him from the promise he gave her in life.

Clerk Saunders and May Margaret Read Poem

Clerk Saunders and may Margaret
Walk'd owre yon garden green;
And deep and heavy was the love
That fell thir twa between.

'A bed, a bed,' Clerk Saunders said,
'A bed for you and me!'
'Fye na, fye na,' said may Margaret,
'Till anes we married be!'
For in may come my seven brothers,
Wi' torches burning bright:
And say, 'We hae but one sister,
And behold her lying with a knight!'
'Then I'll take the sword frae my scabbard
And slowly lift the pin;
And you may swear, and save your aith,
Ye ne'er let Clerk Saunders in.

'Take you a napkin in your hand,
And tie up baith your bonnie e'en,
And you may swear, and save your aith,
Ye saw me na since late yestreen.

'
It was about the midnight hour,
When they asleep were laid,
When in and came her seven brothers,
Wi' torches burning red:
When in and came her seven brothers,
Wi' torches burning bright:
They said, 'We hae but one sister,
And behold her lying with a knight!'
Then out and spake the first o' them,
'I bear the sword shall gar him die.

'
And out and spake the second o' them,
'His father has nae mair but he.

'
And out and spake the third o' them,
'I wot that they are lovers dear.

'
And out and spake the fourth o' them,
'They hae been in love this mony a year.

'
Then out and spake the fifth o' them,
'It were great sin true love to twain.

'
And out and spake the sixth o' them,
'It were shame to slay a sleeping man.

'
Then up and gat the seventh o' them,
And never a word spake he;
But he has striped his bright brown brand
Out through Clerk Saunders' fair bodye.

Clerk Saunders he started, and Margaret she turn'd
Into his arms as asleep she lay;
And sad and silent was the night
That was atween thir twae.

And they lay still and sleepit sound
Until the day began to daw';
And kindly she to him did say,
'It is time, true love, you were awa'.

'
But he lay still, and sleepit sound,
Albeit the sun began to sheen;
She look'd atween her and the wa',
And dull and drowsie were his e'en.

Then in and came her father dear;
Said, 'Let a' your mourning be;
I'll carry the dead corse to the clay,
And I'll come back and comfort thee.

'
'Comfort weel your seven sons,
For comforted I will never be:
I ween 'twas neither knave nor loon
Was in the bower last night wi' me.

'
The clinking bell gaed through the town,	 
  To carry the dead corse to the clay;	 
And Clerk Saunders stood at may Margaret's window,	 
  I wot, an hour before the day.

'Are ye sleeping, Marg'ret?

' he says,	  
  'Or are ye waking presentlie?

Give me my faith and troth again,	 
  I wot, true love, I gied to thee.

'	 
 
'Your faith and troth ye sall never get,	 
  Nor our true love sall never twin,	  
Until ye come within my bower,	 
  And kiss me cheik and chin.

'	 
 
'My mouth it is full cold, Marg'ret;	 
  It has the smell, now, of the ground;	 
And if I kiss thy comely mouth,	  
  Thy days of life will not be lang.

'O cocks are crowing a merry midnight;	 
  I wot the wild fowls are boding day;	 
Give me my faith and troth again,	 
  And let me fare me on my way.

'	  
 
'Thy faith and troth thou sallna get,	 
  And our true love sall never twin,	 
Until ye tell what comes o' women,	 
  I wot, who die in strong traivelling?

'	 
 
'Their beds are made in the heavens high,	  
  Down at the foot of our good Lord's knee,	 
Weel set about wi' gillyflowers;	 
  I wot, sweet company for to see.

'O cocks are crowing a merry midnight;	 
  I wot the wild fowls are boding day;	  
The psalms of heaven will soon be sung,	 
  And I, ere now, will be miss'd away.

'	 
 
Then she has taken a crystal wand,	 
  And she has stroken her troth thereon;	 
She has given it him out at the shot-window,	  
  Wi' mony a sad sigh and heavy groan.

'I thank ye, Marg'ret; I thank ye, Marg'ret;	 
  And ay I thank ye heartilie;	 
Gin ever the dead come for the quick,	 
  Be sure, Marg'ret, I'll come for thee.

'	 
 
It 's hosen and shoon, and gown alone,	 
  She climb'd the wall, and follow'd him,	 
Until she came to the green forest,	 
And there she lost the sight o' him.

'Is there ony room at your head, Saunders?

Is there ony room at your feet?

Or ony room at your side, Saunders,	 
  Where fain, fain, I wad sleep?

'	 
 
'There 's nae room at my head, Marg'ret,	 
  There 's nae room at my feet;	 
My bed it is fu' lowly now,	 
  Amang the hungry worms I sleep.

'Cauld mould is my covering now,	 
  But and my winding-sheet;	 
The dew it falls nae sooner down	 
  Than my resting-place is weet.

'But plait a wand o' bonny birk,	 
  And lay it on my breast;	 
And shed a tear upon my grave,	 
  And wish my saul gude rest.

'	 
 
Then up and crew the red, red cock,	 
  And up and crew the gray:	 
''Tis time, 'tis time, my dear Marg'ret,	 
  That you were going away.

'And fair Marg'ret, and rare Marg'ret,	 
  And Marg'ret o' veritie,	 
Gin e'er ye love another man,	 
  Ne'er love him as ye did me.

'

Cock Lorrelle's Bote Read Poem

She had a desyre ofte to be wedde
And also to lye in an other mannes bedde
Lytell rought she therfore
She is as softe as a lamme yf one do her meue
And lyke to ye deuyll wan a ma dothe her greue
So well is she sette
O good condycyon to her housbonde
Yf he call her calat she calleth hy knaue agayne
She shyll not dye in his dette
By saynt Ione sayd Cocke than
These be fayre vertues in a woman
Thou shalte be my launder
To wasshe and kepe clene all my gere
Our two beddes togyder shall be sette
Without ony lette
The nexte that came was a coryar
And a cobeler his brother
As ryche as a newe shorne shepe
They offred Cocke a blechynge pot
Other Iewelles they had not
Scant shoes to theyr fete
The coryer dresseth so well his lether
That it wolde drynke water in fayre weder
Therfore he hath many a crystes curse
And the cobeler for his cloutynge
The people blesseth hym with euyll cheuynge
To knytte fast in his purse
A shomaker came to these other two
Bytwene them two was moche a do
For a pyese of lether
Cocke Lorell.

They togged with theyr teth & gnewe it there
And pulde as it had ben grehondes at a hare
It was a shepes skyne of a wether
And than they tanned it whan they had done
To make lether to hym with mennes shone
And all for theyr auayle
For as sone as the hemme is tore
The sho is lost for euermore
And it is lytell meruayle
A tanner for euyll tannynge of leder
They foure with sorowe Cocke dyde set togyder
And neuer a good without fayle
Than came one wt two bolddogges at his tayle
And that was a bocher without fayle
All be gored in reed blode
In his hande he bare a flap for flyes
His hosen gresy vpon his thyes
That place for magottes was very good
On his necke he bare a cole tre logge
He had as moche pyte as a dogge
And he were ones wrothe
He loked perysshe and also rowe
A man wolde take hym for a shrewe I trowe
And of his company be lothe
Than came a gonge fermourer
Other wyse called a masser scourer
With hym a canyell raker
Theyr presence made Cocke & his me to spewe
For as swete was they brethe as henka or rewe
To wasshe them they laked water
On these Irysshe cople I wyll not tare
Cocke dyde set the there as knaues sholde be
Amonge the slouenly sorte
Than came two false towlers in nexte
He set them by pykers of the best
For there sholde they abyde
But before yt they were plonged in the ryuer
To searche theyr bodyes fayre and clere
Therof they had good sporte
A myller dustypoll than dyde come
A Ioly felowe with a golden thome
On his necke a sacke was
Many sayd that he with reprefe
Cocke Lorell.

Of all craftes was nexte a thefe
In that Cocke founde no lacke
He sayd that the touled twys for forgetynge
And stele floure and put chauke therin
Be sherewe hym that taught hym that
Cocke bad hym grynde cherystones & peson
To make his men brede for a season
By cause whete was very dere
Than came a pardoner with his boke
His quaterage of euery man he toke
But Cocke wolde theyr names here
The pardoner sayd I wyll rede my roll
And ye shall here the names poll by poll
There of ye nede not fere
Here is fyrst Cocke Lorell the knyght
And symkyn emery mayntenauce agayne ryght
With slyngethryfte fleshemonger
Also fabyane flaterer
And sesly claterer
With adam auerus flayle swenger
And frauces flaperoche of stewys captayne late
With gylys vnyeste mayer of newgate
And lewes vnlusty the lesynge monger
Here also baude baudyn boller
And his brother copyn coler
With mathew marchaunte of shoters hyll
Cry stofer catchepoll a crystes course gaderer
And wat welbelyne of ludgate Iayler
With laurence lorell of clerken well
Here is gylys Iogeler of ayebery
And hym sougelder of lothe bery
With wallys the wrangler
Pers potter of brydge water
Saunder fely the mustarde maker
With Ielyan Iangeler
Here is Ienkyne berwarde of Barwycke
And tom tombler of warwyke
With Phyllyp fletcher of fernam
Here is wyll wyly the mylpeker
And patrycke peuysshe heerbeter
With lusty hary hange man
Also mathewe tothe drawer of London
And sybly sole mylke wyfe of Islyngton
With dauy drawelache of rokyngame
Cocke Lorell.

Here is maryone marchauntes at all gate
Her husbode dwelleth at ye sygne of ye cokeldes pate
Nexte house to Robyn renawaye
Also hycke crokenee the rope maker
And steuen mesyll mouthe muskyll taker
With Iacke basket seler of alwelay
Here is george of podynge lane carpenter
And patrycke peuysshe a conynge dyrte dauber
Worshypfull wardayn of slouens In
There is maryn peke small fremason
And pers peuterer that knocketh a basyn
With gogle eyed tomson shepster of lyn
Here is glyed wolby of gylforde squyere
Andrewe of habyngedon apell byer
With alys esy a gay tale teller
Also peter paten maker
With gregory loue good of rayston mayer
And hary halter seler at tyborn the ayer
Here is kate with the croked fote
That is colsys doughter the dronken koke
A lusty pye baker
Here is faunder sadeler of froge strete corner
With Ielyan Ioly at sygne of the bokeler
And mores moule taker
Also annys angry with the croked buttocke
That dwelled at ye sygne of ye dogges hede in ye pot
By her crafte a breche maker
Cocke sayd pardoner now ho and sease
Thou makeste me wery holde thy pease
A thynge tell thou me
What profyte is to take thy pardon
Shewe vs what mede is to come
To be in this fraternyte
Syr this pardon is newe founde
By syde London brydge in a holy grounde
Late called the stewes banke
Ye knowe well all that there was
Some relygyous women in that place
To whome men offred many a franke
And bycause they were so kynde and lyberall
A merueylous auenture there is be fall
Yf ye lyst to here how
There came suche a wynde fro wynchester
That blewe these women ouer the ryuer
In wherye as I wyll you tell
Some at saynt Kateryns stroke a grounde
And many in holborne were founde
Some at saynt Gyles I trowe
Also in aue maria aly and at westmenster
And some in shordyche drewe theder
With grete lamentacyon
And by cause they haue lost that fayre place
They wyll bylde at colman hedge in space
Another noble mansyon
Fayrer and euer the halfe strete was
For euery house newe paued is with gras
Shall be full of fayre floures
The walles shall be of hauthorne I wote well
And hanged wt whyte motly yt swete doth smell
Grene shall be the coloures
And as for this olde place these wenches holy
They wyll not haue it called the stewys for foly
But maketh it strabery banke
And there is yet a chapell saue
Of whiche ye all the pardon haue
The saynt is of symme trollanke
I wyll reherse here in generall
The indulgences that ye haue shall
Is these that foloweth with more
At the oure of deth whan ye haue nede
Ye shall be assoyled of euery good dede
That you haue done before
And ye shall be parte taker of as many good dedde
As is done euery nyght a bedde
And also ferthermore
At euery tauerne in the yere
A solempne dyryge is songe there
With a grete drynkynge
At all ale houses trewely
Ye shall be prayed for hertely
With a Ioyefull wepynge
And the pope darlaye hath grauted in his byll
That euery brother may do what he wyll
Whyle that they be wakynge
And the pardone gyueth you that hath the pose
On your owne sleue to wype your nose
Without rebuke takynge
Also pope nycoll graunteth you all in this texte
The coughe and the colyke the gout and the flyxe
With the holsome tothe ache
Also it is graunted by our bulles of lede
That whan ony brother is dede
To the chyrche dogges shall cary hym
A ryche pal to ly on ye corse late fro rome is come
Made of an olde payre of blewe medly popley hosone
For ye worshyppe of all ye bretherne.

Theyr knylles shall be roge in ye myddes of tese
And theyr masse songe at shoters hyll amonge the elmes
With grete deuocyon in dede
And many thynges elles shall be done
The resydewe I wyll reherse soone
For drynke fyrst must I nede
Than Cocke cast a syde his hede
And sawe the stretes all ouer sprede
That to his bote wolde come
Of all craftes there were one or other
I wyll shewe how many or I passe ferther
And reken them one by one
The fyrst was golde smythes & grote clyppers
Multyplyers and clothe thyckers
Called fullers euerychone
There is taylers/tauerners and/drapers
Potycaryes/ale brewers/and bakers
Mercers/fletchers/and sporyers
Boke prynters/peynters/bowers
Myllers/carters/and botyll makers
Waxechaundelers/clothers/and grocers
Wolle men vynteners/and flesshemongers
Salters/Iowelers/and habardashers
Drouers/cokes/and pulters
Yermongers/pybakers/and waferers
Fruyters/chese mongers/and mynstrelles
Talowe chaundelers/hostelers/and glouers
Owchers/skynners/and cutlers
Blade smythes/fosters/and sadelers
Coryers/cordwayners/and cobelers
Gyrdelers/forborers/and webbers
Quylte makers/shermen/and armorers
Borlers/tapstry workemakers/and dyers
Brouderers/strayners and carpyte makers
Sponers/torners/and hatters
Lyne webbers/setters with lyne drapers
Roke makers/coper smythes/and lorymers
Brydelbytters/blacke smythes/and ferrars
Bokell smythes/horse leches/and golde beters
Fyners/plommers/and penters
Bed makers/fedbed makers/& wyre drawers
Founders/laten workers/and broche makers
Pauyers/bell makers/and brasyers
Pynners/nedelers/and glasyers
Bokeler makers/dyers/and lether sellers
Whyte tanners/galyors/and shethers
Masones/male makers/and merbelers
Tylers/brycke leyers/harde hewers
Parys plasterers/daubers/and lyme borners
Carpenters/coupers/and Ioyners
Pype makers/wode mogers/& orgyn makers
Coferers/carde makers/and caruers
Shyppe wryghtes/whele wryghtes/& sowers
Harpe makers/leches/and vpholsters
Porters/fesycyens/and corsers
Parchemente makers/skynners/and plowers
Barbers/bokebynders/and lymners
Repers/faners/and horners
Pouche makers/belowfarmes/& cage sellers
Lanterners/stryngers/grynders
Arowe heders/malte men and corne mongers
Balancers/tynne casters/and skryueners
Stacyoners/vestyment swoers/and ymagers
Sylke women/pursers/and garnysshers
Table makers/sylke dyers/and shepsters
Golde sheres/keuerchef launds/& rebe makers
Tankarde berers/bouge men/& spere planers
Spynsters/carders and cappe knytters
Sargeauntes/katche pollys and somners
Carryers/carters/and horskepers
Courte holders/bayles/and honters
Constables/hede borowes/and katers
Butlers/sterchers/and musterde makers
Harde waremen/mole sekers/and ratte takers
Bewardes/bryckeborners/and canelrakers
Potters/bromesellers/pedelers
S hepherdes/cowe herdes/and swyne kepers
Broche makers/glas blowers cadelstycke casts
Hedgers/dykers/and mowers
Gonners maryners/and shyp maysters
Chymney swepers/and costerde mongers
Lode men/and bere brewers
Fysshers of the see/and muskeltakers
Schouyll chepers/gardeners/& rake fetters
Players/purse cutters money baterers
Golde washers/tomblers Iogelers
pardoners kyges beche gatherers & lether dyers
There were theues hores & baudes wt mortherers
Crakers/facers and chylderne quellers
Spyes/lyers and grete sclaunderers
Cursers chyders & grete vengeaunce cryers
Dyssy mulynge beggers hede brekers borders
Nette makers and harlote takers
Swerers and outragyous laughers
Surmowsers yll thynkers and make brasers
With lollers lordaynes and fagot herers
Luskes slouens and kechen knaues
Barge men whery rowers and dysers
Tyburne collopes and peny pryckers
Bowlers mas shoters and quayters
Flaterers and two face berers.

Sluttes drabbes and counseyll whystelers
With smoggy colyers & stykyge goge fermers
Of euery crafte some there was
Shorte or longe more or lasse
All these rehersed here before
In Cockes bote eche man had an ore
All tho that offyces had
Some woude at ye capstayne as Cocke the bad
Some stode at ye slyge some dyde trusse & thryge
Some pulde at the beryll some sprede ye mayne myssyll
Some howysed the mayne sayle
Some veryed showte a very slayle
Some roped ye hoke some ye pope & some ye lauce
Some ye loge bote dyde lauce some mede ye corse
Mayne corte toke in a refe byforce
And they that were abyll drewe at the cabyll
Some the anker layde some at the plope a sayll
One kept ye compas & watched ye our glasse
Some ye lodysshestoe dyd seke some ye bote dyd swepe
Cocke Lorell.

Some made knottes of lynkes endes
Some the stay rope suerly byndes
Some a satte borte a stare borde
Some the standerdes out dyde brynge
Some one the shrowedes dyde clyme
Some couched a hogges heed vnder a hatche
Some threwe out bayte fysshe to catche
Some pulled vp the bonauenture
Some to howes the tope sayle dyde entre
Some stered at the helme behynde
Some whysteled after the wynde
There was non that there was
But he had an offyce more or lasse
Than Cocke Lorell dyde his whystell blowe
That all his men sholde hym knowe
With that they cryed and made a shoute
That the water shoke all aboute
Than men myght here the ores classhe
And on the water gaue many a dasshe
They sprede theyr sayles as voyde of sorowe
Forthe they rowed saynt George to borowe
For Ioye theyr trupettes dyde they blowe
And some songe heue and howe rombelowe
They sayled fro garlyke hede to knaues in
And a pele of gonnes gan they rynge
Of colman hedge a syght they had
That made his company very glad
For there they thought all to play
Bytwene tyborne and chelsay
With this man was a lusty company
For all raskyllers fro them they dyde trye
They banysshed prayer peas and sadnes
And toke with them myrthe sporte & gladnes
They wolde not haue vertu ne yet deuocyon
Cocke Lorell.

But ryotte and reuell with Ioly rebellyon
They songe and daunsed full merely
With swerynge and starynge heuen hye
Some sayd yt they were getylme of grete myght
That ther purses were so lyght
And some wente in fured gownes & gaye shone
That had no mo faces than had the mone
Of this daye gladde was many a brothell
That myght haue an ore with Cocke Lorell
Thus they daunsed with all theyr myght
Tyll that phebus had lost his lyght
But than came lucyna with all her pale hewe
To take her sporte amonge the cloudes blewe
And marcury he trewe downe his golde bemes
And sperus her syluer stremes
That in the worlde gaue so grete lyght
As all the erth had be paued with whyte
Tha Cocke wayed anker and housed his sayle
And forthe he rowed without fayle
They sayled Englande thorowe and thorowe
Uyllage towne cyte and borowe
They blessyd theyr shyppe whan they had done
And dranke aboute saynt Iulyans torne
Than euery man pulled at his ore
With that I coude se them no more
But as they rowed vp the hyll
The bote swayne blewe his whystell full shryll
And I wente homwarde to mowe shame stere
With a company dyde I mete
As ermytes monkes and freres
Chanons chartores and Inholders
And many whyte nonnes with whyte vayles
That was full wanton of theyr tayles
To mete with Cocke they asked how to do
And I tolde them he was a go
Than were they sad euerychone
And went agayne to theyr home
Cocke Lorell.

But my counseyll I gaue them there
To mete with Cocke another yere
No more of Cocke now I wryte
But mery it is whan knaues done mete
Cocke had in his hande a grete route
The thyrde persone of Englande
Thus of Cocke Lorell I make an ende
And to heuen god your soules sende
That redeth this boke ouer all
Chryst couer you with his mantell perpetuall.

Here endeth Cocke Lorelles bote.

Inpryted at London in the Flete Strete at the sygne of the sonne by Wynkyn de Worde.

Come Morir Read Poem

He leaves the earth, and says, enough and more
Unto thee have I given, oh Earth.

-- For all
With hand free and ungrudging gave I up,--
But now I leave thy pale hopes and dear pains,
The rude fields where so many years I've tilled,
And where no other feeling gave me strength,
Save that from them my home was aye in view,
For only transient clouds could hide from me
My spirit's home, whence it came, where should go;--
Enough, more than enough, now let me rest.

Command of the Air Read Poem

A thousand years between the sun and sea
Britannia held her court of liberty,
And cradled heroes in the questing waves
That were for lesser men but wandering graves.

Then did the British airman's sea-born skill
Teach wood and metal to foresee his will;
In every cog and joint his spirit stirred;
The Thing possessed was man as well as bird.

A falcon among timorous fowl he flies,
And bears Britannia's battle to the skies;
Vainly the Hun seeks covert in a cloud -
The clinging mist is made his ghostly shroud.

Thus at the ringing gates of heaven's glory
Begin new chapters of our island-story,
And clarion voices of the void declare:
"She who has ruled the sea shall rule the air.

"
The only signatue applied to this poem is 'O' - all that is known  is that  'O' belonged to the British Armed forces during World War 1

Corin's Fate Read Poem

Corin, most unhappy swaine,
Whither wilt thou drive thy flocke?

Little foode is on the plaine;
Full of danger is the rocke.

Wolfes and beares doe kepe the woodes;
Forests tangled are with brakes:
Meadowes subject are to floodes;
Moores are full of miry lakes.

Yet to shun all plain and hill,
Forest, moore, and meadow-ground,
Hunger will as surely kill:
How may then reliefe be found?

Such is hapless Corins fate:
Since my waywarde love begunne,
Equall doubts begett debate
What to seeke and what to shunne.

Spare to speke, and spare to speed;
Yet to speke will move disdaine:
If I see her not I bleed,
Yet her sight augments my paine.

What may then poor Corin doe?

Tell me, shepherdes, quicklye tell;
For to linger thus in woe
Is the lover's sharpest hell.

Corp'rals Chevrons Read Poem

OH, the General with his epaulets, leadin' a parade;
The Colonel and the Adjutant a-sportin' of their braid;
The Major and the Skipper--none of 'em look so fine
As a newly minted corp'ral, cumin' down the line.

Oh, the Bishop in his miter pacin' up the aisle;
The Governor, frock-coated, with a votes-for-women smile;
The Congressman, the Mayor--aren't in it, I opine,
With a newly minted corp'ral comin' down the line.

Corydon's Doleful Knell Read Poem

My Phillida, adieu love!
For evermore farewel!
Ay me! I've lost my true love,
And thus I ring her knell,
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong,
My Phillida is dead!
I'll stick a branch of willow
At my fair Phillis' head.

For my fair Phillida
Our bridal bed was made;
But 'stead of silkes so gay,
She in her shroud is laid.

Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.

Her corpse shall be attended
By maides in fair array,
Till the obsequies are ended,
And she is wrapt in clay.

Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.

Her herse it shall be carried
By youths that do excell;
And when that she is buried,
I thus will ring her knell.

Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.

A garland shall be framed
By art and natures skill,
Of sundry-colour'd flowers,
In token of good-will.

Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.

And sundry-colour'd ribbands
On it I will bestow;
But chiefly black and yellowe
With her to grave shall go.

Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.

I'll decke her tomb with flowers,
The rarest ever seen,
And with my tears, as showers,
I'll keepe them fresh and green.

Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.

Instead of fairest colours,
Set forth with curious art,
Her image shall be painted
On my distressed heart.

Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.

And thereon shall be graven,
Her epitaph so faire,
'Here lies the loveliest maiden,
That e'er gave shepheard care.

'
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.

In sable will I mourne;
Blacke shall be all my weede:
Ay me! I am forlorne
Now Phillida is dead!
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong,
My Phillida is dead!
I'll stick a branch of willow
At my fair Phillis' head.

Corydon's Farewell To Phillis Read Poem

Farewell, dear love; since thou wilt needs be gone,
Mine eyes do shew, my life is almost done.

Nay I will never die, so long as I can spie
There be many mo, though that she doe goe,
There be many mo, I fear not:
Why then let her goe, I care not.

Farewell, farewell; since this I find is true,
I will not spend more time in wooing you;
But I will seek elsewhere, if I may find love there.

Shall I bid her goe?

what and if I doe?

Shall I bid her goe and spare not?

O no, no, no, I dare not.

Ten thousand times farewell; - yet stay a while: -
Sweet, kiss me once; sweet kisses time beguile.

I have no power to move.

How now am I in love?

Wilt thou needs be gone?

Go then, all is one.

Wilt thou needs be gone?

Oh, hie thee!
Nay stay, and do no more deny me.

Once more adieu, I see loath to depart
Bids oft adieu to her, that holds my heart.

But seeing I must love thy love, which I did choose,
Goe thy way for me, since that may not be.

Goe thy ways for me.

But whither?

Goe, oh, but where I may come thither.

What shall I doe?

my love is now departed.

She is as fair, as she is cruel-hearted.

She would not be intreated, with prayers oft repeated;
If she come no more, shall I die therefore?

If she come no more, what care I?

Faith, let her goe, or come, or tarry.

Cospatrick Read Poem

Cospatrick has sent oer the faem,
Cospatrick brought his ladye hame.

And fourscore ships have come her wi,
The ladye by the grenewood tree.

There were twal and twal wi baken bread,
And twal and twal wi gowd sae reid:
And twal and twal wi bouted flour,
And twal and twal wi the paramour.

Sweet Willy was a widow’s son,
And at her stirrup he did run.

And she was clad in the finest pall,
But aye she let the tears down fall.

‘O is your saddle set awrye?

Or rides your steed for you owre high?

‘Or are you mourning in your tide
That you suld be Cospatrick’s bride?

’
‘I am not mourning at this tide
That I suld be Cospatrick’s bride;
‘But I am sorrowing in my mood
That I suld leave my mother good.

‘But, gentle boy, come tell to me,
What is the custom of thy countrye?

’
‘The custom thereof, my dame,’ he says,
‘Will ill a gentle laydye please.

‘Seven king’s daughters has our lord wedded,
And seven king’s daughters has our lord bedded;
‘But he’s cutted their breasts frae their breast bane,
And sent them mourning hame again.

‘Yet, gin you’re sure that you’re a maid,
Ye may gae safely to his bed;
‘But gif o that ye be na sure,
Then hire some damsell o your bour.

’
The ladye’s calld her bour-maiden,
That waiting was into her train;
‘Five thousand merks I will gie thee,
To sleep this night with my lord for me.

’
When bells were rung, and mass was sayne,
And a’ men unto bed were gane,
Cospatrick and the bonny maid,
Into ae chamber they were laid.

‘Now, speak to me, blankets, and speak to me, bed,
And speak, thou sheet, inchanted web;
‘And speak up, my bonny brown sword, that winna lie,
Is this a true maiden that lies by me?

’
‘It is not a maid that you hae wedded,
But it is a maid that you hae bedded.

‘It is a liel maiden that lies by thee,
But not the maiden that it should be.

’
O wrathfully he left the bed,
And wrathfully his claiths on did.

And he has taen him thro the ha,
And on his mother he did ca.

‘I am the most unhappy man
That ever was in christen land!
‘I courted a maiden meik and mild,
And I hae gotten naething but a woman wi child.

’
‘O stay, my son, into this ha,
And sport ye wi your merrymen a’;
‘And I will to the secret bour,
To see how it fares wi your paramour.

’
The carline she was stark and sture;
She aff the hinges dang the dure.

‘O is your bairn to laird or loun?

Or is it to your father’s groom?

’
‘O hear me, mother, on my knee,
Till my sad story I tell to thee.

‘O we were sisters, sisters seven,
We were the fairest under heaven.

‘It fell on a summer’s afternoon,
‘We cast the kavils us amang,
To see which suld to the grene-wood gang.

‘O hon, alas! for I was youngest,
And aye my wierd it was the hardest.

‘The kavil it on me did fa,
Whilk was the cause of a’ my woe.

‘For to the grene-wood I maun gae,
To pu the red rose and the slae;
‘To pu the red rose and the thyme,
To deck my mother’s bour and mine.

‘I hadna pu’d a flower but ane,
When by there came a gallant hende,
‘Wi high-colld hose and laigh-colld shoon,
And he seemd to be sum king’s son.

‘And be I maid or be I nae,
He kept me there till the close o day.

‘And be I maid or be I nane,
He kept me there till the day was done.

‘He gae me a lock o his yellow hair,
And bade me keep it ever mair.

‘He gae me a carknet o bonny beads,
And bade me keep it against my needs.

‘He gae to me a gay gold ring,
And bade me keep it abune a’ thing.

’
‘What did ye wi the tokens rare
That ye gat frae theat gallant there?

’
‘O bring that coffer unto me,
And a’ the tokens ye sall see.

’
‘Now stay, daughter, your bour within,
While I gae parley wi my son.

’
O she has taen her thro the ha,
And on her son began to ca.

‘What did you wi the bonny beads
I bade ye keep against your needs?

‘What did you wi the gay gowd ring
I bade ye keep abune a’ thing?

’
‘I gae them a’ to a ladye gay
I met in grene-wood on a day.

‘But I wad gie a’ my halls and tours,
I had that ladye within my bours.

‘But I wad gie my very life,
I had that ladye to my wife.

’
‘Now keep, my son, your ha’s and tours;
Ye have that bright burd in your bours.

‘And keep, my son, your very life;
Ye have that ladye to your wife.

’
Now or a month was cum and gane,
The ladye bore a bonny son.

And ’twas weel written on his breast-bane,
‘Cospatrick is my father’s name.

’
‘O rowe my ladye in satin and silk,
And wash my son in the morning milk.

’
A merk was a Scottish coin used in the 16th and 17th centuries, worth about an English shilling.

Cradle Song Read Poem

O my deir hert, young Jesus sweit,
Prepare thy creddil in my spreit,
And I sall rock thee in my hert
And never mair from thee depart.

But I sall praise thee evermoir
With sangis sweit unto thy gloir;
The knees of my hert sall I bow,
And sing that richt
Balulalow!

Cuckoo Song Read Poem

Sumer is icumen in,
Lhude sing cuccu!
Groweth sed, and bloweth med,
And springeth the wude nu -
Sing cuccu!
Awe bleteth after lomb,
Lhouth after calve cu;
Bulluc sterteth, bucke verteth,
Murie sing cuccu!
Cuccu, cuccu, well singes thu, cuccu!
Ne swike thu naver nu;
Sing cuccu, nu, sing cuccu,
Sing cuccu, sing cuccu, nu!

Dabbling in the Dew Read Poem

Oh, where are you going to, my pretty little dear,
With your red rosy cheeks and your coal black hair?

I’m going a-milking, kind sir, she answered me:
And it’s dabbling in the dew makes the milk maids fair!
Suppose I were to clothe you, my pretty little dear,
In a green silken gown and amethyst rare?

O no, sir, O no, sir, kind sir, she answered me,
For it’s dabbling in the dew makes the milk maids fair!
Suppose I were to carry you, my pretty little dear,
In a chariot with horses, a grey gallant pair?

O no, sir, O no, sir, kind sir, she answered me,
For it’s dabbling in the dew makes the milk maids fair!
Suppose I were to feast you, my pretty little dear,
With dainties on silver, the whole of the year?

O no, sir, O no, sir, kind sir, she answered me,
For it’s dabbling in the dew makes the milk maids fair!
O but London’s a city, my pretty little dear,
And all men are gallant and brave that are there—
O no, sir, O no, sir, kind sir, she answered me,
For it’s dabbling in the dew makes the milk maids fair!
O fine clothes and dainties and carriages so rare
Bring grey to the cheeks and silver to the hair;
What’s a ring on the finger when rings are round the eye?

But it’s dabbling the dew makes the milk maids fair!
— Anonymous ballad
(see note*)
*This anonymous ballad was taken from Walter de la Mare’s book,
COME HITHER - A Collection of RHYMES and POEMS for the Young of All Ages
.

Elsewhere on the Internet, it can be found set to tunes, and it’s one of those ballads that easily attracts additional verses, but I assume Mr.

de la Mare tried to find and record the original.

Death - An Epigram Read Poem

That you must die, not Truth itself more true;
Nor less is this, that unprepar'd are you
Who careless live, although to-morrow's sun
May fix your fate, as changeless as undone!

Dickery Dickery Dock Read Poem

Dickery, dickery dock,
The mouse ran up the clock;
The clock struck one,
The mouse ran down,
Dickery, dickery dock.

Composition date is unknown - the above date represents the first publication date.

The lyrical form of this poem is aabba.

1.

Cf.

The Oxford Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes, ed.

Iona and
Peter Opie (1951\; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1966), no.

217, pp.

206-07.

The
Opies' version begins, "Hickory, dickory, dock," and the terms "dimity" and "ziccoty"
start the verse elsewhere.

Ding Dong Bell Read Poem

Ding dong bell,
The cat is in the well.

Who put her in?

Little Johnny Green.

What a naughty boy was that,
To drown poor Pussy cat.

Who never did any harm,
And kill'd the mice in his father's barn.

Composition date is unknown - the above date represents the first publication date.

The lyrical form of this poem is couplets.

1.

"Nursery rhyme reformers have recently taken
particular objection to `Ding, dong, bell', claiming that
children have been known to throw cats
into ponds through the direct influence of this
rhyme.

" The Oxford Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes, ed.

Iona and
Peter Opie (1951\; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1966), no.

134, p.

149.

Perhaps the standard version today, rendered by the Opies
as follows, mitigates the crime by adding a rescuer:
Ding, dong, bell,
Pussy's in the well.

Who put her in?

Little Johnny Green.

Who pulled her out?

Little Tommy Stout.

What a naughty boy was that,
To try to drown poor pussy cat,
Who never did him any harm,
And killed the mice in his father's barn.

Dominus Illuminatio Mea Read Poem

IN the hour of death, after this life's whim,
When the heart beats low, and the eyes grow dim,
And pain has exhausted every limb--
The lover of the Lord shall trust in Him.

When the will has forgotten the lifelong aim,
And the mind can only disgrace its fame,
And a man is uncertain of his own name--
The power of the Lord shall fill this frame.

When the last sigh is heaved, and the last tear shed,
And the coffin is waiting beside the bed,
And the widow and child forsake the dead--
The angel of the Lord shall lift this head.

For even the purest delight may pall,
And power must fail, and the pride must fall,
And the love of the dearest friends grow small--
But the glory of the Lord is all in all.

Down in yon Forest Read Poem

Down in yon forest there stands a hall:
The bells of Paradise I heard them ring:
It's covered all over with purple and pall
And I love my Lord Jesus above anything.

In that hall there stands a bed:
The bells of Paradise I heard them ring:
It's covered all over with scarlet so red:
And I love my Lord Jesus above anything.

At the bed-side there lies a stone:
The bells of Paradise I heard them ring:
Which the sweet Virgin Mary knelt upon:
And I love my Lord Jesus above anything.

Under that bed there runs a flood:
The bells of Paradise I heard them ring:
The one half runs water, the other runs blood:
And I love my Lord Jesus above anything.

At the bed's foot there grows a thorn:
The bells of Paradise I heard them ring:
Which ever blows blossom since he was born:
And I love my Lord Jesus above anything.

Over that bed the moon shines bright:
The bells of Paradise I heard them ring:
Denoting our Saviour was born this night:
And I love my Lord Jesus above anything.

Earth Has Engrossed My Love Too Long Read Poem

Earth has engrossed my love too long
'Tis time I lift mine eyes
Upward, dear Father, to thy throne,
And to my native skies.

There the blest Man, my Saviour, sits:
The God! how bright he shines!
And scatters infinite delights
On all the happy minds.

Seraphs, with elevated strains,
Circle the throne around,
And move and charm the starry plains
With an immortal sound.

Jesus, the Lord, their harps employs;
Jesus, my love, they sing!
Jesus, the life of both our joys,
Sounds sweet from every string.

Now let me mount and join their song,
And be an angel too;
My heart, my hand, my ear, my tongue,
Here's joyful work for you.

I would begin the music here,
And so my soul should rise;
O for some heavenly notes to bear
My passions to the skies!

Earthquake In London Read Poem

For sothe this was a Lord to drede,
So sodeynly mad mon agast;
Of gold and selver thei tok non hede,
But out of ther houses ful sone thei past.

Chaumbres, chymeneys, al to-brast,
Chirches and castelles foule gon fare;
Pinacles, steples, to grounde hit cast;
And al was for warnyng to be ware.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The rysyng of the comuynes in londe,
The pestilens, and the eorthe-qwake,
Theose threo thinges, I understonde,
Beoth tokenes the grete vengaunce and wrake
That schulde falle for synnes sake,
As this clerkes conne declare.

Now may we chese to leve or take,
For warnyng have we to be ware.

Edom O' Gordon Read Poem

It fell about the Martinmas,
Quhen the wind blew shril and cauld,
Said Edom o' Gordon to his men,
'We maun draw to a hauld.

'And quhat a hauld sall we draw till,
My mirry men and me?

We wul gae to the house o' the Rodes,
To see that fair ladie.

'
The lady stude on hir castle wa',
Beheld baith dale and down,
There she was ware of a host of men,
Cum ryding towards the toun.

'O see ze nat, my mirry men a'?

O see ze nat quhat I see?

Methinks I see a host of men:
I marveil quha they be.

'
She weend it had been hir luvely lord,
As he cam ryding hame;
It was the traitor Edom o' Gordon,
Quha reckt nae sin nor shame.

She had nae sooner buskit hirsel,
And putten on hir goun,
Till Edom o' Gordon and his men
Were round about the toun.

They had nae sooner supper sett,
Nae sooner said the grace,
Till Edom o' Gordon and his men
Were light about the place.

The lady ran up to hir towir head,
Sa fast as she could hie,
To see if by her fair speeches,
She could wi' him agree.

But quhan he see this lady saif,
And hir yates all locked fast,
He fell into a rage of wrath,
And his look was all aghast.

'Cum doun to me, ze lady gay,
Cum doun, cum doune to me;
This night sall ye lig within mine armes,
To-morrow my bride shall be.

'
'I winnae cum doun, ze fals Gordon,
I winnae cum doun to thee;
I winnae forsake my ain dear lord,
That is sae far frae me.

'
'Give owre zour house, ze lady fair,
Give owre zour house to me,
OR I sall brenn yoursel therein,
Bot and zour babies three.

'
'I winnae give owre, ze fals Gordon,
To nae sik traitor as zee;
And if ze brenn my ain dear babes,
My lord sall make ze drie.

'But reach me hether my guid bend-bowe,
Mine arrows one by one;
For, but an I pierce that bluidy butcher,
My babes we been undone.

'
She stude upon her castle wa',
And let twa arrows flee;
She mist that bluidy butchers hart,
And only raz'd his knee.

'Set fire to the house,' quo' fals Gordon,
All wood wi' dule and ire;
'Fals lady, ze sall rue this deid,
As ze brenn in the fire.

'
'Wae worth, wae worth ze, Jock my man,
I paid ze weil zour fee;
Quhy pow ze out the ground-wa' stane,
Lets in the reek to me?

'And ein wae worth ze, Jock my man,
I paid e weil zour hire;
Quhy pow ze out the ground-wa' stane,
To me lets in the fire?

'
'Ze paid me weil my hire, lady;
Ze paid me weil my fee;
But now I'm Edom o' Gordons man,
Maun either doe or die.

'
O than bespaik hir little son,
Sate on the nourice' knee,
Sayes, 'Mither deare, gi owre this house,
For the reek it smithers me.

'
'I wad gie a' my gowd, my childe,
Sae wad I a' my fee,
For ane blast o' the westlin wind,
To blaw the reek frae thee.

'
O then bespaik hir dochter dear,
She was baith jim[ and sma:
'O row me in a pair o' sheits,
And tow me owre the wa.

'
The rowd hir in a pair o' sheits,
And towd hir owre the wa;
But on the point of Gordons spear
She gat a deadly fa.

O bonnie, bonnie was hir mouth,
And cherry were hir cheiks,
And clear, clear was hir zellow hair,
Whereon the reid bluid dreips.

Then wi' his spear he turnd hir owre;
O gin her face was wan!
He sayd, 'Ze are the first that eir
I wisht alive again.

'
He turnd hir owre and owre again;
O gin hir skin was whyte!
'I might ha spared that bonnie face,
To hae been sum mans delyte.

'Busk and boun, my merry man a',
For ill dooms I doe guess;
I cannae luik in that bonny face,
As it lyes on the grass.

'
'Thame luiks to freits, my master deir,
Then freits wil follow thame;
Let it neir be said brave Edom o' Gordon
Was daunted by a dame.

'
But quhen the ladye see the fire
Cum flaming owre hir head,
She wept and kist her children twain,
Sayd, 'Bairns, we been but dead.

'
The Gordon then his bougill blew,
And said, 'Awa', awa';
This horse o' the Rodes is a' in flame,
I hauld it time to ga'.

'
O then he spyed hir ain dear lord,
As hee cam owr the lee;
He sied his castle all in blaze
Sa far as he could see.

Then sair, O sair his mind misgave,
And all his hart was wae;
'Put on, put on, my wighty men,
So fast as ze can gae.

'Put on, put on, my wighty men,
So fast as ze can drie;
For he that is hindmost of the thrang,
Sall neir get guid o' me.

'
Than sum they rade, and sum they rin,
Fou fast out-owr the bent;
But eir the foremost could get up,
Baith lady and babes were brent.

He wrang his hands, he rent his hair,
And wept in teenefu' muid:
'O traitors, for this cruel deid
Ze sall weep teirs o' bluid.

'
And after the Gordon he is gane,
Sa fast as he might drie;
And soon i' the Gordon's foul hartis bluid
He's wroken his dear ladie.

Edward The Confessor Read Poem

Here Edward king, lord of the English,
sent his soul strong in truth to Christ,
in God's safekeeping, his holy spirit,
He in this world dwelt for a time
in kingly power and wise counsel.

Freely the king for twenty-four
winter-times shared out wealth
and prosperous times, ruler of men,
graciously governed Welsh and Scots,
And Britons also, Aethelred's son,
with Angles and Saxons, and their warriors,
Clasped, round by cold waves,
all obeyed Edward, noble king;
they heard him faithfully, his young retainers.

The blameless king was ever happy in spirit,
though he long had been deprived of land,
walked the outcast's ways wide on the earth,
after Cnut overcame Aethelred's kin,
And Danes ruled over the dear kingdom
of the English land, sharing its wealth
for twenty-eight winter-times.

After he came forth freely bearing armour,
the best of good kings, pure and mild,
Edward the atheling defended his home,
land and people, until suddenly came
death and bitter, and took the dear one,
the atheling from the earth; the angels accompanied him,
his soul strong in truth, into the sky's light,
The wise one therefore committed the kingdom
to one high in rank, Harold himself,
noble eorl, who at all times
faithfully obeyed his lord
in words and deeds, holding back nothing
at the need of the king of the people.

Edward, Edward Read Poem

Why dois your brand sae drap wi bluid,
Edward, Edward,
Why dois your brand sae drap wi bluid,
And why sae sad gang yee O?

"
"O I hae killed my hauke sae guid,
Mither, mither,
O I hae killed my hauke sae guid,
And I had nae mair bot hee O.

"
"Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,
Edward, Edward,
Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,
My deir son I tell thee O.

"
"O I hae killed my reid-roan stied,
Mither, mither,
O I hae killed my reid-roan steid,
That erst was sae fair and frie O.

"
"Your steid was auld, and ye hae gat mair,
Edward, Edward,
Your steid was auld, and ye hae gat mair,
Sum other dule ye drie O.

"
O I hae killed my fadir deir,
Mither, mither,
O I hae killed my fadir deir,
Alas, and wae is mee O!"
"And whatten penance wul ye drie for that,
Edward, Edward,
And whatten penance will ye drie for that?

My deir son, now tell me O.

"
"Ile set my feit in yonder boat,
Mither, mither,
Ile set my feit in yonder boat,
And Ile fare ovir the sea O.

"
"And what wul ye doe wi your towirs and your ha,
Edward, Edward?

And what wul ye doe wi your towirs and your ha,
That were sae fair to see O?

"Ile let thame stand tul they doun fa,
Mither, mither,
Ile let thame stand tul they doun fa,
For here nevir mair maun I bee O.

"
"And what wul ye leive to your bairns and your wife,
Edward, Edward?

And what wul ye leive to your bairns and your wife,
Whan ye gang ovir the sea O?

"
"The warldis room, late them beg thrae life,
Mither, mither,
The warldis room, late them beg thrae life,
For thame nevir mair wul I see O.

"
"And what wul ye leive to your ain mither dear,
Edward, Edward?

And what wul ye lieve to your ain mither deir?

My deir son, now tell me O.

"
"The curse of hell frae me sall ye beir,
Mither, mither
The curse of hell frae me sall ye beir,
Sic counseils ye gave to me O.

"
Brand - sword
Dule - sorrow
Drie - endure
The remaining words may be easier to understand if the poem is read out loud.

Edward, Edward. A Scottish Ballad Read Poem

MODERN TRANSLATION (original below)
'Why does your sword so drip with blood,
Edward, Edward?

Why does your sword so drip with blood?

And why so sad are ye, O?

'
'O, I have killed my hawk so good,
Mother, mother:
O I have killed my hawk so good:
And I had no more but he, O.

'
'Your hawk's blood was never so red,
Edward, Edward:
Your hawk’s blood was never so red,
My dear son I tell thee, O.

'
'O, I have killed my red-roan steed,
Mother, mother:
O, I have killed my red-roan steed,
That once was so fair and free, O.

'
'Your steed was old, and we have got more,
Edward, Edward:
Your steed was old, and we have got more,
Some other evil ye fear, O.

'
'O, I have killed my father dear,
Mother, mother:
O, I have killed my father dear,
Alas! and woe is me, O!'
'And what penance will ye suffer for that,
Edward, Edward?

And what penance will ye suffer for that?

My dear son, now tell me, O.

'
'I'll set my feet in yonder boat,
Mother, mother:
I’ll set my feet in yonder boat,
And I’ll fare over the sea, O.

'
'And what will ye do with your towers and your halls,
Edward, Edward?

And what will ye do with your towers and your halls,
That were sae fair to see, O?

'
'I’ll let them stand till they down fall,
Mother, mother:
I’ll let them stand till they down fall,
For here never more may I be, O.

'
'And what will ye leave to your children and your wife,
Edward, Edward?

And what will ye leave to your children and your wife
When ye go over the sea, O?

'
'The world is large, let them beg through life,
Mother, mother:
The world is large, let them beg throw life,
For them never more will I see, O.

'
'And what will ye leave to your own mother dear,
Edward, Edward?

And what will ye leave to your own mother dear?

My dear son, now tell me, O.

'
'The curse of hell from me shall you bear,
Mother, mother:
The curse of hell from me shall you bear,
Such counsels you gave to me, O.

'
OLD SCOTS VERSION
'Quhy dois zour brand sae drop wi' bluid,
Edward, Edward?

Quhy dois zour brand sae drop wi' bluid?

And quhy sae sad gang zee, O?

'
'O, I hae killed my hauke sae guid,
Mither, mither:
O I hae killed my hauke sae guid:
And I had nae mair bot hee, O.

'
'Zour haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,
Edward, Edward:
Zour haukis bluid was never sae reid,
My deir son I tell thee, O.

'
'O, I hae killed my reid-roan steid,
Mither, mither:
O, I hae killed my reid-roan steid,
That erst was sae fair and free, O.

'
'Zour steid was auld, and ze hae gat mair,
Edward, Edward:
Zour steid was auld, and ze hae gat mair,
Sum other dule ze drie, O.

'
'O, I hae killed my fadir deir,
Mither, mither:
O, I hae killed my fadir deir,
Alas! and wae is mee, O!'
'And quhatten penance wul ze drie for that,
Edward, Edward?

And quhatten penance will ze drie for that?

My deir son, now tell me, O.

'
'Ile set my feit in zonder boat,
Mither, mither:
Ile set my feit in zonder boat,
And Ile fare ovir the sea, O.

'
'And quhat wul ze doe wi' zour towirs and zour ha',
Edward, Edward?

And quhat wull ze doe wi' zour towirs and zour ha',
That were sae fair to see, O?

'
'Ile let thame stand til they doun fa',
Mither, mither:
Ile let thame stand til they doun fa',
For here nevir mair maun I bee, O.

'
'And quhat wul ze leive to zour bairns and zour wife,
Edward, Edward?

And quhat wul ze leive to zour bairns and zour wife
Quhan ze gang ovir the sea, O?

'
'The warldis room, late them beg throw life,
Mither, mither:
The warldis room, let them beg throw life,
For thame nevir mair wul I see, O.

'
'And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither deir,
Edward, Edward?

And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither deir?

My deir son, now tell me, O.

'
'The curse of hell frae me sall ze beir,
Mither, mither:
The curse of hell frae me sall ze beir,
Sic counseils ze gave to me, O.

'

Elegy On The Reverend Mr. James Hervey Read Poem

Urania, speak! in pensive numbers tell
How Zion trembled when great Hervey fell!
When fail'd his strength, and when his pulse beat low,
Tell how she mourn'd to see the impending blow!
O thou, to whom all sacred themes belong,
Pour forth the sweetly melancholy song!
"Alas! grim death hath shot the fatal dart,
Which long seem'd pointed at his languid heart;
The insatiate tyrant, crown'd with funeral gloom,
In triumph drags him to the hollow tomb!
Who now so well can paint the blooming flower,
Or preach from sepulchres at midnight hour?

Who now so well the starry heavens scan,
And read the lectures nature meant for man?

No more his voice a careless world can move,
Or tell the wonders of a redeeming love;
No more shall thousands round his pulpit throng,
To hear the heavenly precepts of his tongue;
For lo! above this gross impurer air,
Released from every pain and every care,
He soars aloft (angelic hosts his guide)
On wings new plumed, which ne'er before he tried.

With rapid speed his golden pinions rise
Through starry planes, and skim the empyrean skies,
And now, where sparkling portals wide display
The blissful regions of eternal day,
His Lord receives him 'midst celestial choirs,
Who crown his head, and strike their golden lyres:
Through heaven's glad courts the greeting anthems roll,
and joys new blooming feast his ravish'd soul;
Joys which to tell all eloquence is faint,
And which the loftiest muse can never paint.

"
Note in The Whole Works of The Rev.

James Hervey, 'The reader may be assured, that these verses were wrote by a very serious and well-disposed young man, apprentice to a Jersey comber, in the town of Northampton, in a low station of life, and of no liberal education; whose mind, by Mr.

Hervey's preaching and writings, had been very early impressed with the sacred ardour of piety and poetry.

' 1834 edition.

England's Alarm. or The Pious Christian's Speedy Call To Repentance Read Poem

You sober-minded christians now draw near,
Labour to learn these pious lessons here;
For by the same you will be taught to know
What is the cause of all our grief and woe.

We have a God who sits enthroned above;
He sends us many tokens of his love:
Yet we, like disobedient children, still
Deny to yield submission to His will.

The just command which He upon us lays,
We must confess we have ten thousand ways
Transgressed; for see how men their sins pursue,
As if they did not fear what God could do.

Behold the wretched sinner void of shame,
He values not how he blasphemes the name
Of that good God who gave him life and breath,
And who can strike him with the darts of death!
The very little children which we meet,
Amongst the sports and pastimes in the street,
We very often hear them curse and swear,
Before they've learned a word of any prayer.

'Tis much to be lamented, for I fear
The same they learn from what they daily hear;
Be careful then, and don't instruct them so,
For fear you prove their dismal overthrow.

Both young and old, that dreadful sin forbear;
The tongue of man was never made to swear,
But to adore and praise the blessed name,
By whom alone our dear salvation came.

Pride is another reigning sin likewise;
Let us behold in what a strange disguise
Young damsels do appear, both rich and poor;
The like was ne'er in any age before.

What artificial ornaments they wear,
Black patches, paint, and locks of powdered hair;
Likewise in lofty hoops they are arrayed,
As if they would correct what God had made.

Yet let 'em know, for all those youthful charms,
They must lie down in death's cold frozen arms!
Oh think on this, and raise your thoughts above
The sin of pride, which you so dearly love.

Likewise, the wilful sinners that transgress
The righteous laws of God by drunkenness,
They do abuse the creatures which were sent
Purely for man's refreshing nourishment.

Many diseases doth that sin attend,
But what is worst of all, the fatal end:
Let not the pleasures of a quaffing bowl
Destroy and stupify thy active soul.

Perhaps the jovial drunkard over night,
May seem to reap the pleasures of delight,
While for his wine he doth in plenty call;
But oh! the sting of conscience, after all,
Is like a gnawing worm upon the mind.

Then if you would the peace of conscience find,
A sober conversation learn with speed,
For that's the sweetest life that man can lead.

Be careful that thou art not drawn away,
By foolishness, to break the Sabbath-day;
Be constant at the pious house of prayer,
That thou mayst learn the christian duties there.

For tell me, wherefore should we carp and care
For what we eat and drink, and what we wear;
And the meanwhile our fainting souls exclude
From that refreshing sweet celestial food?

Yet so it is, we, by experience, find
Many young wanton gallants seldom mind
The church of God, but scornfully deride
That sacred word by which they must be tried.

A tavern, or an alehouse, they adore,
And will not come within the church before
They're brought to lodge under a silent tomb,
And then who knows how dismal is their doom!
Though for awhile, perhaps, they flourish here,
And seem to scorn the very thoughts of fear,
Yet when they're summoned to resign their breath,
They can't outbrave the bitter stroke of death!
Consider this, young gallants, whilst you may,
Swift-winged time and tide for none will stay;
And therefore let it be your christian care,
To serve the Lord, and for your death prepare.

There is another crying sin likewise:
Behold young gallants cast their wanton eyes
On painted harlots, which they often meet
At every creek and corner of the street,
By whom they are like dismal captives led
To their destruction; grace and fear is fled,
Till at the length they find themselves betrayed,
And for that sin most sad examples made.

Then, then, perhaps, in bitter tears they'll cry,
With wringing hands, against their company,
Which did betray them to that dismal state!
Consider this before it is too late.

Likewise, sons and daughters, far and near,
Honour your loving friends, and parents dear;
Let not your disobedience grieve them so,
Nor cause their aged eyes with tears to flow.

What a heart-breaking sorrow it must be,
To dear indulgent parents, when they see
Their stubborn children wilfully run on
Against the wholesome laws of God and man!
Oh! let these things a deep impression make
Upon your hearts, with speed your sins forsake;
For, true it is, the Lord will never bless
Those children that do wilfully transgress.

Now, to conclude, both young and old I pray,
Reform your sinful lives this very day,
That God in mercy may his love extend,
And bring the nation's troubles to an end.

This version taken from
Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of England by Robert Bell
1857 John W.

Parker and Son
where it is accompanied by a note:-
For the many aggravating sins too much practised in our present mournful times: as Pride, Drunkenness, Blasphemous Swearing, together with the Profanation of the Sabbath; concluding with the sin of wantonness and disobedience; that upon our hearty sorrow and forsaking the same the Lord may save us for his mercy's sake.

[From the cluster of 'ornaments' alluded to in the ninth verse of the following poem, we are inclined to fix the date about 1653.

The present reprint is from an old broadside, without printer's name or date, in possession of Mr.

J.

R.

Smith.

]

England's Oak Read Poem

Let India boast her spicy trees, whose fruit and gorgeous bloom
Give, to each faint and languid breez, its rich and rare perfume;—
Let Portugal and haughty Spain display their orange groves,
And France exult, her vines to train around her trim alcoves—
Old England has a tree as strong, as stately as them all,
As worthy of a minstrel's song in cottage and in hall.

'Tis not the yew-tree, though it lends its greenness to the grave;
Nor willow, though it fondly bends its branches o'er the wave;
Nor birch, although its slender tress be beautifully fair,
As graceful in its loveliness as maiden's flowing hair.

'Tis not the poplar, though its height may from afar be seen;
Nor beech, although its boughs be tipt with leaves of glossy green.

All these are fair, but they may fling their shade unsung by me;
My favourite, and the forest's king, the British Oak shall be !
Its stem, though rough, is stout and sound; its giant branches throw
Their arms in shady blessings round, o'er man and beast below;
Its leaf, though late in spring it shares the zephyr's gentle sigh,
As late and long in autumn, wears a deeper, richer dye.

Type of an honest English heart, it opes not at a breath,
But having opened, plays its part until it sinks in death.

Its acorns, graceful to the sight, are toys to childhood dear;
Its mistletoe, with berries white, adds mirth to Christmas cheer.

And, when we reach life's closing stage, worn out with care or ill,
For childhood, youth, or hoary age, its arms are open still.

But prouder yet its glories shine, when, in a noble form,
It floats upon the heaving brine, and braves the bursting storm;
Or when, to aid the work of love, to some benighted clime
It bears glad tidings from above, of Gospel truths sublime:
Oh! then, triumphant in its might, o'er waters wild and dark,
It seems, in Heaven's approving sight, a second glorious ARK.

Hail then thou forest's honoured king! man's castle on the sea!
Who will, another tree may sing — Old England's Oak for me!

Envoy To Alison Read Poem

O lewde book, with thy foole rudenesse,
Sith thou hast neither beautee n'eloquence,
Who hath thee caused, or yeve thee hardinesse
For to appere in my ladyes presence?

I am ful siker, thou knowest her benivolence
Ful ágreable to alle hir obeyinge;
For of al goode she is the best livinge.

Allas! that thou ne haddest worthinesse
To shewe to her som plesaunt sentence,
Sith that she hath, thorough her gentilesse,
Accepted thee servant to her digne reverence!
O, me repenteth that I n'had science
And leyser als, to make thee more florisshinge;
For of al goode she is the best livinge.

Beseche her mekely, with al lowlinesse,
Though I be fer from her [as] in absence,
To thenke on my trouth to her and stedfastnesse,
And to abregge of my sorwe the violence,
Which caused is wherof knoweth your sapience;
She lyke among to notifye me her lykinge;
For of al goode she is the best livinge.

Lenvoy
Aurore of gladnesse, and day of lustinesse,
Lucerne a-night, with hevenly influence
Illumined, rote of beautee and goodnesse,
Suspiries which I effunde in silence,
Of grace I beseche, alegge let your wrytinge,
Now of al goode sith ye be best livinge.

Explicit

Epigram : If Breath Were Made For Every Man To Buy Read Poem

If breath were made for every man to buy,
The poor man could not live, rich would not die.

Episode 32 Read Poem

THAT way he went with no will of his own,
in danger of life, to the dragon's hoard,
but for pressure of peril, some prince's thane.

He fled in fear the fatal scourge,
seeking shelter, a sinful man,
and entered in.

At the awful sight
tottered that guest, and terror seized him;
yet the wretched fugitive rallied anon
from fright and fear ere he fled away,
and took the cup from that treasure-hoard.

Of such besides there was store enough,
heirlooms old, the earth below,
which some earl forgotten, in ancient years,
left the last of his lofty race,
heedfully there had hidden away,
dearest treasure.

For death of yore
had hurried all hence; and he alone
left to live, the last of the clan,
weeping his friends, yet wished to bide
warding the treasure, his one delight,
though brief his respite.

The barrow, new-ready,
to strand and sea-waves stood anear,
hard by the headland, hidden and closed;
there laid within it his lordly heirlooms
and heaped hoard of heavy gold
that warden of rings.

Few words he spake:
"Now hold thou, earth, since heroes may not,
what earls have owned! Lo, erst from thee
brave men brought it! But battle-death seized
and cruel killing my clansmen all,
robbed them of life and a liegeman's joys.

None have I left to lift the sword,
or to cleanse the carven cup of price,
beaker bright.

My brave are gone.

And the helmet hard, all haughty with gold,
shall part from its plating.

Polishers sleep
who could brighten and burnish the battle-mask;
and those weeds of war that were wont to brave
over bicker of shields the bite of steel
rust with their bearer.

The ringed mail
fares not far with famous chieftain,
at side of hero! No harp's delight,
no glee-wood's gladness! No good hawk now
flies through the hall! Nor horses fleet
stamp in the burgstead! Battle and death
the flower of my race have reft away.

"
Mournful of mood, thus he moaned his woe,
alone, for them all, and unblithe wept
by day and by night, till death's fell wave
o'erwhelmed his heart.

His hoard-of-bliss
that old ill-doer open found,
who, blazing at twilight the barrows haunteth,
naked foe-dragon flying by night
folded in fire: the folk of earth
dread him sore.

'Tis his doom to seek
hoard in the graves, and heathen gold
to watch, many-wintered: nor wins he thereby!
Powerful this plague-of-the-people thus
held the house of the hoard in earth
three hundred winters; till One aroused
wrath in his breast, to the ruler bearing
that costly cup, and the king implored
for bond of peace.

So the barrow was plundered,
borne off was booty.

His boon was granted
that wretched man; and his ruler saw
first time what was fashioned in far-off days.

When the dragon awoke, new woe was kindled.

O'er the stone he snuffed.

The stark-heart found
footprint of foe who so far had gone
in his hidden craft by the creature's head.

--
So may the undoomed easily flee
evils and exile, if only he gain
the grace of The Wielder! -- That warden of gold
o'er the ground went seeking, greedy to find
the man who wrought him such wrong in sleep.

Savage and burning, the barrow he circled
all without; nor was any there,
none in the waste.

.

.

.

Yet war he desired,
was eager for battle.

The barrow he entered,
sought the cup, and discovered soon
that some one of mortals had searched his treasure,
his lordly gold.

The guardian waited
ill-enduring till evening came;
boiling with wrath was the barrow's keeper,
and fain with flame the foe to pay
for the dear cup's loss.

-- Now day was fled
as the worm had wished.

By its wall no more
was it glad to bide, but burning flew
folded in flame: a fearful beginning
for sons of the soil; and soon it came,
in the doom of their lord, to a dreadful end.

Episode 33 Read Poem

THEN the baleful fiend its fire belched out,
and bright homes burned.

The blaze stood high
all landsfolk frighting.

No living thing
would that loathly one leave as aloft it flew.

Wide was the dragon's warring seen,
its fiendish fury far and near,
as the grim destroyer those Geatish people
hated and hounded.

To hidden lair,
to its hoard it hastened at hint of dawn.

Folk of the land it had lapped in flame,
with bale and brand.

In its barrow it trusted,
its battling and bulwarks: that boast was vain!
To Beowulf then the bale was told
quickly and truly: the king's own home,
of buildings the best, in brand-waves melted,
that gift-throne of Geats.

To the good old man
sad in heart, 'twas heaviest sorrow.

The sage assumed that his sovran God
he had angered, breaking ancient law,
and embittered the Lord.

His breast within
with black thoughts welled, as his wont was never.

The folk's own fastness that fiery dragon
with flame had destroyed, and the stronghold all
washed by waves; but the warlike king,
prince of the Weders, plotted vengeance.

Warriors'-bulwark, he bade them work
all of iron -- the earl's commander --
a war-shield wondrous: well he knew
that forest-wood against fire were worthless,
linden could aid not.

-- Atheling brave,
he was fated to finish this fleeting life,
his days on earth, and the dragon with him,
though long it had watched o'er the wealth of thehoard! --
Shame he reckoned it, sharer-of-rings,
to follow the flyer-afar with a host,
a broad-flung band; nor the battle feared he,
nor deemed he dreadful the dragon's warring,
its vigor and valor: ventures desperate
he had passed a-plenty, and perils of war,
contest-crash, since, conqueror proud,
Hrothgar's hall he had wholly purged,
and in grapple had killed the kin of Grendel,
loathsome breed! Not least was that
of hand-to-hand fights where Hygelac fell,
when the ruler of Geats in rush of battle,
lord of his folk, in the Frisian land,
son of Hrethel, by sword-draughts died,
by brands down-beaten.

Thence Beowulf fled
through strength of himself and his swimming power,
though alone, and his arms were laden with thirty
coats of mail, when he came to the sea!
Nor yet might Hetwaras haughtily boast
their craft of contest, who carried against him
shields to the fight: but few escaped
from strife with the hero to seek their homes!
Then swam over ocean Ecgtheow's son
lonely and sorrowful, seeking his land,
where Hygd made him offer of hoard and realm,
rings and royal-seat, reckoning naught
the strength of her son to save their kingdom
from hostile hordes, after Hygelac's death.

No sooner for this could the stricken ones
in any wise move that atheling's mind
over young Heardred's head as lord
and ruler of all the realm to be:
yet the hero upheld him with helpful words,
aided in honor, till, older grown,
he wielded the Weder-Geats.

-- Wandering exiles
sought him o'er seas, the sons of Ohtere,
who had spurned the sway of the Scylfings'-helmet,
the bravest and best that broke the rings,
in Swedish land, of the sea-kings' line,
haughty hero.

Hence Heardred's end.

For shelter he gave them, sword-death came,
the blade's fell blow, to bairn of Hygelac;
but the son of Ongentheow sought again
house and home when Heardred fell,
leaving Beowulf lord of Geats
and gift-seat's master.

-- A good king he!

Episode 34 Read Poem

THE fall of his lord he was fain to requite
in after days; and to Eadgils he proved
friend to the friendless, and forces sent
over the sea to the son of Ohtere,
weapons and warriors: well repaid he
those care-paths cold when the king he slew.

Thus safe through struggles the son of Ecgtheow
had passed a plenty, through perils dire,
with daring deeds, till this day was come
that doomed him now with the dragon to strive.

With comrades eleven the lord of Geats
swollen in rage went seeking the dragon.

He had heard whence all the harm arose
and the killing of clansmen; that cup of price
on the lap of the lord had been laid by the finder.

In the throng was this one thirteenth man,
starter of all the strife and ill,
care-laden captive; cringing thence
forced and reluctant, he led them on
till he came in ken of that cavern-hall,
the barrow delved near billowy surges,
flood of ocean.

Within 'twas full
of wire-gold and jewels; a jealous warden,
warrior trusty, the treasures held,
lurked in his lair.

Not light the task
of entrance for any of earth-born men!
Sat on the headland the hero king,
spake words of hail to his hearth-companions,
gold-friend of Geats.

All gloomy his soul,
wavering, death-bound.

Wyrd full nigh
stood ready to greet the gray-haired man,
to seize his soul-hoard, sunder apart
life and body.

Not long would be
the warrior's spirit enwound with flesh.

Beowulf spake, the bairn of Ecgtheow: --
"Through store of struggles I strove in youth,
mighty feuds; I mind them all.

I was seven years old when the sovran of rings,
friend-of-his-folk, from my father took me,
had me, and held me, Hrethel the king,
with food and fee, faithful in kinship.

Ne'er, while I lived there, he loathlier found me,
bairn in the burg, than his birthright sons,
Herebeald and Haethcyn and Hygelac mine.

For the eldest of these, by unmeet chance,
by kinsman's deed, was the death-bed strewn,
when Haethcyn killed him with horny bow,
his own dear liege laid low with an arrow,
missed the mark and his mate shot down,
one brother the other, with bloody shaft.

A feeless fight, and a fearful sin,
horror to Hrethel; yet, hard as it was,
unavenged must the atheling die!
Too awful it is for an aged man
to bide and bear, that his bairn so young
rides on the gallows.

A rime he makes,
sorrow-song for his son there hanging
as rapture of ravens; no rescue now
can come from the old, disabled man!
Still is he minded, as morning breaks,
of the heir gone elsewhere; another he hopes not
he will bide to see his burg within
as ward for his wealth, now the one has found
doom of death that the deed incurred.

Forlorn he looks on the lodge of his son,
wine-hall waste and wind-swept chambers
reft of revel.

The rider sleepeth,
the hero, far-hidden; no harp resounds,
in the courts no wassail, as once was heard.

Episode 36 Read Poem

WIGLAF his name was, Weohstan's son,
linden-thane loved, the lord of Scylfings,
Aelfhere's kinsman.

His king he now saw
with heat under helmet hard oppressed.

He minded the prizes his prince had given him,
wealthy seat of the Waegmunding line,
and folk-rights that his father owned
Not long he lingered.

The linden yellow,
his shield, he seized; the old sword he drew: --
as heirloom of Eanmund earth-dwellers knew it,
who was slain by the sword-edge, son of Ohtere,
friendless exile, erst in fray
killed by Weohstan, who won for his kin
brown-bright helmet, breastplate ringed,
old sword of Eotens, Onela's gift,
weeds of war of the warrior-thane,
battle-gear brave: though a brother's child
had been felled, the feud was unfelt by Onela.

For winters this war-gear Weohstan kept,
breastplate and board, till his bairn had grown
earlship to earn as the old sire did:
then he gave him, mid Geats, the gear of battle,
portion huge, when he passed from life,
fared aged forth.

For the first time now
with his leader-lord the liegeman young
was bidden to share the shock of battle.

Neither softened his soul, nor the sire's bequest
weakened in war.

So the worm found out
when once in fight the foes had met!
Wiglaf spake, -- and his words were sage;
sad in spirit, he said to his comrades: --
"I remember the time, when mead we took,
what promise we made to this prince of ours
in the banquet-hall, to our breaker-of-rings,
for gear of combat to give him requital,
for hard-sword and helmet, if hap should bring
stress of this sort! Himself who chose us
from all his army to aid him now,
urged us to glory, and gave these treasures,
because he counted us keen with the spear
and hardy 'neath helm, though this hero-work
our leader hoped unhelped and alone
to finish for us, -- folk-defender
who hath got him glory greater than all men
for daring deeds! Now the day is come
that our noble master has need of the might
of warriors stout.

Let us stride along
the hero to help while the heat is about him
glowing and grim! For God is my witness
I am far more fain the fire should seize
along with my lord these limbs of mine!
Unsuiting it seems our shields to bear
homeward hence, save here we essay
to fell the foe and defend the life
of the Weders' lord.

I wot 'twere shame
on the law of our land if alone the king
out of Geatish warriors woe endured
and sank in the struggle! My sword and helmet,
breastplate and board, for us both shall serve!"
Through slaughter-reek strode he to succor his chieftain,
his battle-helm bore, and brief words spake: --
"Beowulf dearest, do all bravely,
as in youthful days of yore thou vowedst
that while life should last thou wouldst let no wise
thy glory droop! Now, great in deeds,
atheling steadfast, with all thy strength
shield thy life! I will stand to help thee.

"
At the words the worm came once again,
murderous monster mad with rage,
with fire-billows flaming, its foes to seek,
the hated men.

In heat-waves burned
that board to the boss, and the breastplate failed
to shelter at all the spear-thane young.

Yet quickly under his kinsman's shield
went eager the earl, since his own was now
all burned by the blaze.

The bold king again
had mind of his glory: with might his glaive
was driven into the dragon's head, --
blow nerved by hate.

But Naegling was shivered,
broken in battle was Beowulf's sword,
old and gray.

'Twas granted him not
that ever the edge of iron at all
could help him at strife: too strong was his hand,
so the tale is told, and he tried too far
with strength of stroke all swords he wielded,
though sturdy their steel: they steaded him nought.

Then for the third time thought on its feud
that folk-destroyer, fire-dread dragon,
and rushed on the hero, where room allowed,
battle-grim, burning; its bitter teeth
closed on his neck, and covered him
with waves of blood from his breast that welled.

Episode 37 Read Poem

'TWAS now, men say, in his sovran's need
that the earl made known his noble strain,
craft and keenness and courage enduring.

Heedless of harm, though his hand was burned,
hardy-hearted, he helped his kinsman.

A little lower the loathsome beast
he smote with sword; his steel drove in
bright and burnished; that blaze began
to lose and lessen.

At last the king
wielded his wits again, war-knife drew,
a biting blade by his breastplate hanging,
and the Weders'-helm smote that worm asunder,
felled the foe, flung forth its life.

So had they killed it, kinsmen both,
athelings twain: thus an earl should be
in danger's day! -- Of deeds of valor
this conqueror's-hour of the king was last,
of his work in the world.

The wound began,
which that dragon-of-earth had erst inflicted,
to swell and smart; and soon he found
in his breast was boiling, baleful and deep,
pain of poison.

The prince walked on,
wise in his thought, to the wall of rock;
then sat, and stared at the structure of giants,
where arch of stone and steadfast column
upheld forever that hall in earth.

Yet here must the hand of the henchman peerless
lave with water his winsome lord,
the king and conqueror covered with blood,
with struggle spent, and unspan his helmet.

Beowulf spake in spite of his hurt,
his mortal wound; full well he knew
his portion now was past and gone
of earthly bliss, and all had fled
of his file of days, and death was near:
"I would fain bestow on son of mine
this gear of war, were given me now
that any heir should after me come
of my proper blood.

This people I ruled
fifty winters.

No folk-king was there,
none at all, of the neighboring clans
who war would wage me with 'warriors'-friends'
and threat me with horrors.

At home I bided
what fate might come, and I cared for mine own;
feuds I sought not, nor falsely swore
ever on oath.

For all these things,
though fatally wounded, fain am I!
From the Ruler-of-Man no wrath shall seize me,
when life from my frame must flee away,
for killing of kinsmen! Now quickly go
and gaze on that hoard 'neath the hoary rock,
Wiglaf loved, now the worm lies low,
sleeps, heart-sore, of his spoil bereaved.

And fare in haste.

I would fain behold
the gorgeous heirlooms, golden store,
have joy in the jewels and gems, lay down
softlier for sight of this splendid hoard
my life and the lordship I long have held.

"

Episode 38 Read Poem

I HAVE heard that swiftly the son of Weohstan
at wish and word of his wounded king, --
war-sick warrior, -- woven mail-coat,
battle-sark, bore 'neath the barrow's roof.

Then the clansman keen, of conquest proud,
passing the seat, saw store of jewels
and glistening gold the ground along;
by the wall were marvels, and many a vessel
in the den of the dragon, the dawn-flier old:
unburnished bowls of bygone men
reft of richness; rusty helms
of the olden age; and arm-rings many
wondrously woven.

-- Such wealth of gold,
booty from barrow, can burden with pride
each human wight: let him hide it who will! --
His glance too fell on a gold-wove banner
high o'er the hoard, of handiwork noblest,
brilliantly broidered; so bright its gleam,
all the earth-floor he easily saw
and viewed all these vessels.

No vestige now
was seen of the serpent: the sword had ta'en him.

Then, I heard, the hill of its hoard was reft,
old work of giants, by one alone;
he burdened his bosom with beakers and plate
at his own good will, and the ensign took,
brightest of beacons.

-- The blade of his lord
-- its edge was iron -- had injured deep
one that guarded the golden hoard
many a year and its murder-fire
spread hot round the barrow in horror-billows
at midnight hour, till it met its doom.

Hasted the herald, the hoard so spurred him
his track to retrace; he was troubled by doubt,
high-souled hero, if haply he'd find
alive, where he left him, the lord of Weders,
weakening fast by the wall of the cave.

So he carried the load.

His lord and king
he found all bleeding, famous chief
at the lapse of life.

The liegeman again
plashed him with water, till point of word
broke through the breast-hoard.

Beowulf spake,
sage and sad, as he stared at the gold.

--
"For the gold and treasure, to God my thanks,
to the Wielder-of-Wonders, with words I say,
for what I behold, to Heaven's Lord,
for the grace that I give such gifts to my folk
or ever the day of my death be run!
Now I've bartered here for booty of treasure
the last of my life, so look ye well
to the needs of my land! No longer I tarry.

A barrow bid ye the battle-fanned raise
for my ashes.

'Twill shine by the shore of the flood,
to folk of mine memorial fair
on Hrones Headland high uplifted,
that ocean-wanderers oft may hail
Beowulf's Barrow, as back from far
they drive their keels o'er the darkling wave.

"
From his neck he unclasped the collar of gold,
valorous king, to his vassal gave it
with bright-gold helmet, breastplate, and ring,
to the youthful thane: bade him use them in joy.

"Thou art end and remnant of all our race
the Waegmunding name.

For Wyrd hath swept them,
all my line, to the land of doom,
earls in their glory: I after them go.

"
This word was the last which the wise old man
harbored in heart ere hot death-waves
of balefire he chose.

From his bosom fled
his soul to seek the saints' reward.

Episode 39 Read Poem

IT was heavy hap for that hero young
on his lord beloved to look and find him
lying on earth with life at end,
sorrowful sight.

But the slayer too,
awful earth-dragon, empty of breath,
lay felled in fight, nor, fain of its treasure,
could the writhing monster rule it more.

For edges of iron had ended its days,
hard and battle-sharp, hammers' leaving;
and that flier-afar had fallen to ground
hushed by its hurt, its hoard all near,
no longer lusty aloft to whirl
at midnight, making its merriment seen,
proud of its prizes: prone it sank
by the handiwork of the hero-king.

Forsooth among folk but few achieve,
-- though sturdy and strong, as stories tell me,
and never so daring in deed of valor, --
the perilous breath of a poison-foe
to brave, and to rush on the ring-board hall,
whenever his watch the warden keeps
bold in the barrow.

Beowulf paid
the price of death for that precious hoard;
and each of the foes had found the end
of this fleeting life.

Befell erelong
that the laggards in war the wood had left,
trothbreakers, cowards, ten together,
fearing before to flourish a spear
in the sore distress of their sovran lord.

Now in their shame their shields they carried,
armor of fight, where the old man lay;
and they gazed on Wiglaf.

Wearied he sat
at his sovran's shoulder, shieldsman good,
to wake him with water.

Nowise it availed.

Though well he wished it, in world no more
could he barrier life for that leader-of-battles
nor baffle the will of all-wielding God.

Doom of the Lord was law o'er the deeds
of every man, as it is to-day.

Grim was the answer, easy to get,
from the youth for those that had yielded to fear!
Wiglaf spake, the son of Weohstan, --
mournful he looked on those men unloved: --
"Who sooth will speak, can say indeed
that the ruler who gave you golden rings
and the harness of war in which ye stand
-- for he at ale-bench often-times
bestowed on hall-folk helm and breastplate,
lord to liegemen, the likeliest gear
which near of far he could find to give, --
threw away and wasted these weeds of battle,
on men who failed when the foemen came!
Not at all could the king of his comrades-in-arms
venture to vaunt, though the Victory-Wielder,
God, gave him grace that he got revenge
sole with his sword in stress and need.

To rescue his life, 'twas little that I
could serve him in struggle; yet shift I made
(hopeless it seemed) to help my kinsman.

Its strength ever waned, when with weapon I struck
that fatal foe, and the fire less strongly
flowed from its head.

-- Too few the heroes
in throe of contest that thronged to our king!
Now gift of treasure and girding of sword,
joy of the house and home-delight
shall fail your folk; his freehold-land
every clansman within your kin
shall lose and leave, when lords highborn
hear afar of that flight of yours,
a fameless deed.

Yea, death is better
for liegemen all than a life of shame!"

Episode 40 Read Poem

THAT battle-toil bade he at burg to announce,
at the fort on the cliff, where, full of sorrow,
all the morning earls had sat,
daring shieldsmen, in doubt of twain:
would they wail as dead, or welcome home,
their lord beloved?

Little kept back
of the tidings new, but told them all,
the herald that up the headland rode.

--
"Now the willing-giver to Weder folk
in death-bed lies; the Lord of Geats
on the slaughter-bed sleeps by the serpent's deed!
And beside him is stretched that slayer-of-men
with knife-wounds sick: no sword availed
on the awesome thing in any wise
to work a wound.

There Wiglaf sitteth,
Weohstan's bairn, by Beowulf's side,
the living earl by the other dead,
and heavy of heart a head-watch keeps
o'er friend and foe.

-- Now our folk may look
for waging of war when once unhidden
to Frisian and Frank the fall of the king
is spread afar.

-- The strife began
when hot on the Hugas Hygelac fell
and fared with his fleet to the Frisian land.

Him there the Hetwaras humbled in war,
plied with such prowess their power o'erwhelming
that the bold-in-battle bowed beneath it
and fell in fight.

To his friends no wise
could that earl give treasure! And ever since
the Merowings' favor has failed us wholly.

Nor aught expect I of peace and faith
from Swedish folk.

'Twas spread afar
how Ongentheow reft at Ravenswood
Haethcyn Hrethling of hope and life,
when the folk of Geats for the first time sought
in wanton pride the Warlike-Scylfings.

Soon the sage old sire of Ohtere,
ancient and awful, gave answering blow;
the sea-king he slew, and his spouse redeemed,
his good wife rescued, though robbed of her gold,
mother of Ohtere and Onela.

Then he followed his foes, who fled before him
sore beset and stole their way,
bereft of a ruler, to Ravenswood.

With his host he besieged there what swords had left,
the weary and wounded; woes he threatened
the whole night through to that hard-pressed throng:
some with the morrow his sword should kill,
some should go to the gallows-tree
for rapture of ravens.

But rescue came
with dawn of day for those desperate men
when they heard the horn of Hygelac sound,
tones of his trumpet; the trusty king
had followed their trail with faithful band.

Episode 41 Read Poem

"THE bloody swath of Swedes and Geats
and the storm of their strife, were seen afar,
how folk against folk the fight had wakened.

The ancient king with his atheling band
sought his citadel, sorrowing much:
Ongentheow earl went up to his burg.

He had tested Hygelac's hardihood,
the proud one's prowess, would prove it no longer,
defied no more those fighting-wanderers
nor hoped from the seamen to save his hoard,
his bairn and his bride: so he bent him again,
old, to his earth-walls.

Yet after him came
with slaughter for Swedes the standards of Hygelac
o'er peaceful plains in pride advancing,
till Hrethelings fought in the fenced town.

Then Ongentheow with edge of sword,
the hoary-bearded, was held at bay,
and the folk-king there was forced to suffer
Eofor's anger.

In ire, at the king
Wulf Wonreding with weapon struck;
and the chieftain's blood, for that blow, in streams
flowed 'neath his hair.

No fear felt he,
stout old Scylfing, but straightway repaid
in better bargain that bitter stroke
and faced his foe with fell intent.

Nor swift enough was the son of Wonred
answer to render the aged chief;
too soon on his head the helm was cloven;
blood-bedecked he bowed to earth,
and fell adown; not doomed was he yet,
and well he waxed, though the wound was sore.

Then the hardy Hygelac-thane,
when his brother fell, with broad brand smote,
giants' sword crashing through giants'-helm
across the shield-wall: sank the king,
his folk's old herdsman, fatally hurt.

There were many to bind the brother's wounds
and lift him, fast as fate allowed
his people to wield the place-of-war.

But Eofor took from Ongentheow,
earl from other, the iron-breastplate,
hard sword hilted, and helmet too,
and the hoar-chief's harness to Hygelac carried,
who took the trappings, and truly promised
rich fee 'mid folk, -- and fulfilled it so.

For that grim strife gave the Geatish lord,
Hrethel's offspring, when home he came,
to Eofor and Wulf a wealth of treasure,
Each of them had a hundred thousand
in land and linked rings; nor at less price reckoned
mid-earth men such mighty deeds!
And to Eofor he gave his only daughter
in pledge of grace, the pride of his home.

"Such is the feud, the foeman's rage,
death-hate of men: so I deem it sure
that the Swedish folk will seek us home
for this fall of their friends, the fighting-Scylfings,
when once they learn that our warrior leader
lifeless lies, who land and hoard
ever defended from all his foes,
furthered his folk's weal, finished his course
a hardy hero.

-- Now haste is best,
that we go to gaze on our Geatish lord,
and bear the bountiful breaker-of-rings
to the funeral pyre.

No fragments merely
shall burn with the warrior.

Wealth of jewels,
gold untold and gained in terror,
treasure at last with his life obtained,
all of that booty the brands shall take,
fire shall eat it.

No earl must carry
memorial jewel.

No maiden fair
shall wreathe her neck with noble ring:
nay, sad in spirit and shorn of her gold,
oft shall she pass o'er paths of exile
now our lord all laughter has laid aside,
all mirth and revel.

Many a spear
morning-cold shall be clasped amain,
lifted aloft; nor shall lilt of harp
those warriors wake; but the wan-hued raven,
fain o'er the fallen, his feast shall praise
and boast to the eagle how bravely he ate
when he and the wolf were wasting the slain.

"
So he told his sorrowful tidings,
and little he lied, the loyal man
of word or of work.

The warriors rose;
sad, they climbed to the Cliff-of-Eagles,
went, welling with tears, the wonder to view.

Found on the sand there, stretched at rest,
their lifeless lord, who had lavished rings
of old upon them.

Ending-day
had dawned on the doughty-one; death had seized
in woful slaughter the Weders' king.

There saw they, besides, the strangest being,
loathsome, lying their leader near,
prone on the field.

The fiery dragon,
fearful fiend, with flame was scorched.

Reckoned by feet, it was fifty measures
in length as it lay.

Aloft erewhile
it had revelled by night, and anon come back,
seeking its den; now in death's sure clutch
it had come to the end of its earth-hall joys.

By it there stood the stoups and jars;
dishes lay there, and dear-decked swords
eaten with rust, as, on earth's lap resting,
a thousand winters they waited there.

For all that heritage huge, that gold
of bygone men, was bound by a spell,
so the treasure-hall could be touched by none
of human kind, -- save that Heaven's King,
God himself, might give whom he would,
Helper of Heroes, the hoard to open, --
even such a man as seemed to him meet.

Episode 42 Read Poem

A PERILOUS path, it proved, he trod
who heinously hid, that hall within,
wealth under wall! Its watcher had killed
one of a few, and the feud was avenged
in woful fashion.

Wondrous seems it,
what manner a man of might and valor
oft ends his life, when the earl no longer
in mead-hall may live with loving friends.

So Beowulf, when that barrow's warden
he sought, and the struggle; himself knew not
in what wise he should wend from the world at last.

For princes potent, who placed the gold,
with a curse to doomsday covered it deep,
so that marked with sin the man should be,
hedged with horrors, in hell-bonds fast,
racked with plagues, who should rob their hoard.

Yet no greed for gold, but the grace of heaven,
ever the king had kept in view.

Wiglaf spake, the son of Weohstan: --
"At the mandate of one, oft warriors many
sorrow must suffer; and so must we.

The people's-shepherd showed not aught
of care for our counsel, king beloved!
That guardian of gold he should grapple not, urged we,
but let him lie where he long had been
in his earth-hall waiting the end of the world,
the hest of heaven.

-- This hoard is ours
but grievously gotten; too grim the fate
which thither carried our king and lord.

I was within there, and all I viewed,
the chambered treasure, when chance allowed me
(and my path was made in no pleasant wise)
under the earth-wall.

Eager, I seized
such heap from the hoard as hands could bear
and hurriedly carried it hither back
to my liege and lord.

Alive was he still,
still wielding his wits.

The wise old man
spake much in his sorrow, and sent you greetings
and bade that ye build, when he breathed no more,
on the place of his balefire a barrow high,
memorial mighty.

Of men was he
worthiest warrior wide earth o'er
the while he had joy of his jewels and burg.

Let us set out in haste now, the second time
to see and search this store of treasure,
these wall-hid wonders, -- the way I show you, --
where, gathered near, ye may gaze your fill
at broad-gold and rings.

Let the bier, soon made,
be all in order when out we come,
our king and captain to carry thither
-- man beloved -- where long he shall bide
safe in the shelter of sovran God.

"
Then the bairn of Weohstan bade command,
hardy chief, to heroes many
that owned their homesteads, hither to bring
firewood from far -- o'er the folk they ruled --
for the famed-one's funeral.

" Fire shall devour
and wan flames feed on the fearless warrior
who oft stood stout in the iron-shower,
when, sped from the string, a storm of arrows
shot o'er the shield-wall: the shaft held firm,
featly feathered, followed the barb.

"
And now the sage young son of Weohstan
seven chose of the chieftain's thanes,
the best he found that band within,
and went with these warriors, one of eight,
under hostile roof.

In hand one bore
a lighted torch and led the way.

No lots they cast for keeping the hoard
when once the warriors saw it in hall,
altogether without a guardian,
lying there lost.

And little they mourned
when they had hastily haled it out,
dear-bought treasure! The dragon they cast,
the worm, o'er the wall for the wave to take,
and surges swallowed that shepherd of gems.

Then the woven gold on a wain was laden --
countless quite! -- and the king was borne,
hoary hero, to Hrones-Ness.

Episode 43 Read Poem

THEN fashioned for him the folk of Geats
firm on the earth a funeral-pile,
and hung it with helmets and harness of war
and breastplates bright, as the boon he asked;
and they laid amid it the mighty chieftain,
heroes mourning their master dear.

Then on the hill that hugest of balefires
the warriors wakened.

Wood-smoke rose
black over blaze, and blent was the roar
of flame with weeping (the wind was still),
till the fire had broken the frame of bones,
hot at the heart.

In heavy mood
their misery moaned they, their master's death.

Wailing her woe, the widow old,
her hair upbound, for Beowulf's death
sung in her sorrow, and said full oft
she dreaded the doleful days to come,
deaths enow, and doom of battle,
and shame.

-- The smoke by the sky was devoured.

The folk of the Weders fashioned there
on the headland a barrow broad and high,
by ocean-farers far descried:
in ten days' time their toil had raised it,
the battle-brave's beacon.

Round brands of the pyre
a wall they built, the worthiest ever
that wit could prompt in their wisest men.

They placed in the barrow that precious booty,
the rounds and the rings they had reft erewhile,
hardy heroes, from hoard in cave, --
trusting the ground with treasure of earls,
gold in the earth, where ever it lies
useless to men as of yore it was.

Then about that barrow the battle-keen rode,
atheling-born, a band of twelve,
lament to make, to mourn their king,
chant their dirge, and their chieftain honor.

They praised his earlship, his acts of prowess
worthily witnessed: and well it is
that men their master-friend mightily laud,
heartily love, when hence he goes
from life in the body forlorn away.

Thus made their mourning the men of Geatland,
for their hero's passing his hearth-companions:
quoth that of all the kings of earth,
of men he was mildest and most beloved,
to his kin the kindest, keenest for praise.

Epitaph Found In Otham Church, Kent Read Poem

In God is all my trust.

Here lyeth the body of Thomas Hendley, esquier by degre,
The yongest sone of Jervis Hendley, of Corsworne in Cramkebrocke, Gent'man known to be,
Who gave a house, and also land, the Fifteene for to paye,
And to relieve the people pore of this parishe for aye
He died the day of from Him that Judas sold
A thousand five hundredth and ninety yere, being eightie nine yeres ould,
Protesting often before his death, when he his faith declared,
That onlye by the death of Christ he hope to be saved.

(Query, spared!)
Christ is oure only Saviour.

Epitaph From Simonides Read Poem

Where is Timarchus gone?

His father's hands were round him,
And when he breathed his life away,
The joy of youth had crowned him.

Old man! thou wilt not forget
Thy lost one, when thine eye
Gazeth on the glowing cheek
Of hope and piety.

Epitaph In Calstock Churchyard, Cornwall Read Poem

'Twas by a fall I caught my death;
No man can tell his time or breath;
I might have died as soon as then
If I had had physician men.

Epitaph In Sevenoaks Church-yard Read Poem

Grim Death took me without any warning,
I was well at night and dead at nine in the morning.

Epitaph In The Churchyard Of Hythe Read Poem

His net old fisher George long drew,
Shoals upon shoals he caught,
'Till death came hauling for his due
And made poor George his draught.

Death fishes on through various shapes,
In vain it is to fret;
Nor fish or fisherman escapes
Death's all-enclosing net.

Found in Hone's Year Book of Daily Recreation and Information, 1838, entry for Sept.

25.

Epitaph Of Charles Parkhurst Read Poem

Here lieth the carcase
Of honest Charles Parkhurst,
Who ne're could dance or sing,
But always was true to
His Sovereign Lord the King,
Charles the First.

Ob.

Dec.

XX.

MDCCIV.

aetat.

LXXXVI.

From the cemetery of an old church in Epsom.

Epitaph of Dionysia Read Poem

Here doth Dionysia lie:
She whose little wanton foot,
Tripping (ah, too carelessly! ),
Touch’d this tomb, and fell into ’t.

Trip no more shall she, nor fall.

And her trippings were so few!
Summers only eight in all
Had the sweet child wander’d through.

But, already, life’s few suns
Love’s strong seeds had ripen’d warm.

All her ways were winning ones;
All her cunning was to charm.

And the fancy, in the flower,
While the flesh was in the bud,
Childhood’s dawning sex did dower
With warm gusts of womanhood.

Oh what joys by hope begun,
Oh what kisses kiss’d by thought,
What love-deeds by fancy done,
Death to endless dust hath wrought!
Had the fates been kind as thou,
Who, till now, was never cold,
Once Love’s aptest scholar, now
Thou hadst been his teacher bold;
But, if buried seeds upthrow
Fruits and flowers; if flower and fruit
By their nature fitly show
What the seeds are, whence they shoot,
Dionysia, o’er this tomb,
Where thy buried beauties be,
From their dust shall spring and bloom
Loves and graces like to thee.

Epitaph Of Madam Babington, 1 Read Poem

Here lyeth the body of Madam Babington, who
was laid in this sepulchre the 9th Sep.

1670.

My time is past as you may see,
I viewed the dead as you do me;
Or long you'll lie as low as I,
And some will look on thee.

[Catharine Haslerigg was the eldest daughter of Sir Arthur Haslerigg, Bart.

, of Noseley Hall in the county of Leicester.

She was born at Brooke House, London, in November 1635.

She first married Col.

Fenwick, and later Col.

Philip Babington, another celebrated character during the commonwealth, and died at Harnham, in the parish of Bolam, Northumberland, August 28th, 1670, where she was interred in a vault cut out of a rock in the garden, now called the Tomb-garden.

"She was interred in a leaden coffin, most of which, and some of the bones, were remaining when Mr.

Wallis [the first historian of Northumberland] visited the place [in 1760].

Some faws [itinerant besom-makers, tinkers or muggers], however several years since, rifled the tomb, and stole part of the coffin; but the following inscriptions, the first on stone, the second painted on wood, still remain with it:.

.

.

"] ~ The History and Antiquities of Sunderland, Bishopwearmouth, &c.

, vol.

1, pg.

495, printed 1858.

Epitaph of Madam Babington, 2 Read Poem

In hopes of future bliss contented here I lie
Though I would have been pleased to live, yet was not displeased to die;
For life hath its comforts and its sorrows too,
For which to the lord of heaven our most grateful thanks are due;
If it was otherwise our hopes here would rest
Where nature tells us we cannot be blest
How far my hopes are vain or founded well
God only knows, but the last day will tell.

[Catharine Haslerigg was the eldest daughter of Sir Arthur Haslerigg, Bart.

, of Noseley Hall in the county of Leicester.

She was born at Brooke House, London, in November 1635.

She first married Col.

Fenwick, and later Col.

Philip Babington, another celebrated character during the commonwealth, and died at Harnham, in the parish of Bolam, Northumberland, August 28th, 1670, where she was interred in a vault cut out of a rock in the garden, now called the Tomb-garden.

"She was interred in a leaden coffin, most of which, and some of the bones, were remaining when Mr.

Wallis [the first historian of Northumberland] visited the place [in 1760].

Some faws [itinerant besom-makers, tinkers or muggers], however several years since, rifled the tomb, and stole part of the coffin; but the following inscriptions, the first on stone, the second painted on wood, still remain with it:.

.

.

"] ~ The History and Antiquities of Sunderland, Bishopwearmouth, &c.

, vol.

1, pg.

495, printed 1858.

Epitaph of Robert Preston Read Poem

Bacchus, to give the toping world surprise,
Produced one sober son, and here he lies.

Though rear'd among full hogsheads, he defy'd
The charms of wine, and every one beside.

O reader, if to justice thou'rt inclined,
Keep honest Preston daily in thy mind.

He drew good wine, took care to fill his pots,
Had sundry virtues that excused his faults.

You that on Bacchus have the like dependance,
Pray copy Bob in measure and attendance.

Found in the footnotes of Washington Irving's The Sketch-book, Boar's Head Tavern, Eastcheap.

'Adjoining the church, in a small cemetery, immediately under the back window of what was once the Boar's Head, stands the tombstone of Robert Preston, whilom drawer at the tavern.

It is now nearly a century since this trusty drawer of good liquor closed his bustling career, and was thus quietly deposited within call of his customers.

As I was clearing away the weeds from his epitaph, the little sexton drew me on one side with a mysterious air, and informed me in a low voice, that once upon a time, on a dark wintry night, when the wind was unruly, howling and whistling, banging about doors and windows, and twirling weathercocks, so that the living were frightened out of their beds, and even the dead could not sleep quietly in their graves, the ghost of honest Preston, which happened to be airing itself in the churchyard, was attracted by the well-known call of ''waiter'' from the Boar's Head, and made its sudden appearance in the midst of a roaring club, just as the parish clerk was singing a stave from the ''mirre garland of Captain Death''; to the discomfiture of sundry trainband captains, and the conversion of an infidel attorney, who became a zealous Christian on the spot, and was never known to twist the truth afterwards, except in the way of business.

honest Preston's epitaph lauds him for the sobriety of his conduct, the soundness of his wine, and the fairness of his measure.

Epitaph of William Walworth Read Poem

Hereunder lyth a man of Fame,
William Walworth callyd by name;
Fishmonger he was in lyfftime here,
And twise Lord Maior, as in books appere;
Who, with courage stout and manly myght,
Slew Jack Straw in Kyng Richard's sight.

For which act done, and trew entent,
The Kyng made him knyght incontinent;
And gave him armes, as here you see,
To declare his fact and chivaldrie.

He left this lyff the yere of our God
Thirteen hundred fourscore and three odd.

Found in the footnotes of Washington Irving's The Sketch-book, Boar's Head Tavern, Eastcheap.

'I cannot but turn aside, while thus speaking of illustrious men, to observe that St.

Michael's, Crooked Lane, contains also the ashes of that doughty champion, William Walworth, knight, who so manfully clove down the sturdy wight, Wat Tyler, in Smithfield; a hero worthy of honorable blazon, as almost the only Lord Mayor on record famous for deeds of arms:-- the sovereigns of Cockney being generally renown as the most pacific of all potentates.

''footnote''
The following was the ancient inscription on the monument of this worthy; which, unhappily, was destroyed in the great conflagration.

An error in the foregoing inscription has been corrected by the venerable Stow.

''Whereas,'' saith he, ''it hath been far spread abroad by vulgar opinion, that the rebel smitten down so manfully by Sir William Walworth, the then worthy Lord Maior, was named Jack Straw, and not Wat Tyler, I thought good to reconcile this rash-conceived doubt by such testimony as I find in ancient and good records.

The principal leaders, or captains, of the commons, were Wat Tyler, as the first man; the second was John, or Jack, Straw,'' etc.

, etc.

-- Stow's London.

Epitaph Of William Walworth Read Poem

Hereunder lyth a man of Fame,
William Walworth callyd by name;
Fishmonger he was in lyfftime here,
And twise Lord Maior, as in books appere;
Who, with courage stout and manly myght,
Slew Jack Straw in Kyng Richard's sight.

For which act done, and trew entent,
The Kyng made him knyght incontinent;
And gave him armes, as here you see,
To declare his fact and chivaldrie.

He left this lyff the yere of our God
Thirteen hundred fourscore and three odd.

Epitaph On A Tombstone At Ivy Church-yard In Kent Read Poem

In Memory of
Hannah Margaret,
Daughter of Matthew and Hannah B----,
who died Nov.

27th, 1827, aged 5 years.

Great his our grief,
Great was her pain,
Great his our loss,
Great his her gain.

Also near this place lieth the Remains
of two of their infants.

Epitaph On The Late Well Beloved Sir William Middleton Read Poem

Beloved by tenant, servant, and by friend,
Such love as seldom the great man attend;
A generous heart, without affected pride,
And truth did all Sir William's actions guide.

Ye gods, attend the darling of his life,
Rememb'ring still she was Sir William's wife.

Found in The History and Antiquities of Sunderland, Bishopwearmouth, etc.

Vol.

1, printed 1858, in the footnotes of pg.

132, with the inscription J.

O.

, West Matfen, Oct.

13, 1757.

--Newcastle Courant, Oct.

15, 1757.

Eppie Morrie Read Poem

Four-and-twenty Highland men
Came a' from Carrie side
To steal awa Eppie Morrie,
For she would not be a bride.

Out it's came her mother,
It was a moonlight night,
She could not see her daughter,
Their swords they shin'd so bright.

Haud far awa frae me, mother,
Haud far awa frae me;
There's not a man in a' Strathdon
Shall wedded be with me.

'
They have taken Eppie Morrie,
And horse back bound her on,
And then awa to the Minister,
As fast as horse could gang.

He's taken out a pistol,
And set it to the minister's breast:
Marry me, marry me, minister,
Or else I'll be your priest.

'
Haud far awa frae me, good sir,
Haud far awa frae me;
For there's not a man in all Strathdon
That shall married be with me.

'
Haud far awa frae me, Willie,
Haud far awa frae me;
For I darna avow to marry you,
Except she's as willing as ye.

'
They have taken Eppie Morrie,
Since better could nae be,
And they're awa to Carrie side,
As fast as horse could flee.

When mass was sung, and bells were rung,
And all were bound for bed,
Then Willie an Eppie Morrie
In one bed they were laid.

He's taen the cap from off his head
And kicked awa his shoon
And thrown awa the chamber key
And naked he lay doon.

Haud far awa frae me, Willie,
Haud far awa frae me;
Before I'll lose my maidenhead,
I'll try my strength with thee.

He kissed her on her lily breast
And took her shoulders twa
And aye she spat and aye she grat
And turned to the wa.

Haud far awa frae me, Willie,
Haud far awa frae me;
Before I'll lose my maidenhead,
I'll fight with you till day.

Then early in the morning,
Before her clothes were on,
In came the maiden of Scalletter,
With gown and sark alone.

Get up, get up, young woman,
And drink the wine wi me;
You might have called me maiden,
I'm sure as leal as thee.

Wearie fa you, Willie,
That ye could nae prove a man
And taen the lassie's maidenhead!
She would have hired your han.

Haud far awa frae me, lady,
Haud far awa frae me;
There's not a man in a' Strathdon
The day shall wed wi me.

Soon in there came Belbordlane,
With a pistol on every side:
Come awa hame, Eppie Morrie,
And there you'll be my bride.

'
Go get to me a horse, Willie,
And get it like a man,
And send me back to my mother
A maiden as I cam.

The sun shines oer the westlin hills;
By the light lamp of the moon,
Just saddle your horse, young John Forsyth,
And whistle, and I'll come soon.

'

Evening Thoughts Read Poem

'Twas eve.

The length'ning shadows of the oak
And weeping birch swept far adown the vale;
And nought upon the hush and stillness broke,
Save the light whisp'ring of the spring-tide gale
At distance dying; and the measured stroke
Of woodmen at their toil; the feeble wail
Of some lone stock-dove, soothing, as it sank
On the lull'd ear, its melody that drank.

The sun had set; but his expiring beams
Yet linger'd in the west, and shed around
Beauty and softness o'er the wood and streams,
With coming night's first tinge of shade imbrown'd.

The light clouds mingled, brighten'd with such gleams
Of glory, as the seraph-shapes surround,
That in the vision of the good descend,
And o'er their couch of sorrow seem to bend.

'Tis thus in solitude; but sweeter far,
By those we love, in that all-soft'ning hour,
To watch with mutual eyes each coming star,
And the faint moon-rays streaming through our bower
Of foliage, wreath'd and trembling, as the car
Of night rolls duskier onward, and each flower
And shrub that droops above us, on the sense
Seems dropping fragrance more and more intense.

Everybody, Somebody, Anybody, and Nobody Read Poem

This is a little story about four people named Everybody, Somebody, Anybody, and Nobody.

There was an important job to be done and Everybody was sure that Somebody would do it.

Anybody could have done it, but Nobody did it.

Somebody got angry about that because it was Everybody's job.

Everybody thought that Anybody could do it, but Nobody realized that Everybody wouldn't do it.

It ended up that Everybody blamed Somebody when Nobody did what Anybody could have done
There are many versions of this popular piece

Fair Annie Read Poem

"It's narrow, narrow, make your bed,
And learn to lie your lane:
For I'm gaun o'er the sea, Fair Annie,
A braw bride to bring hame.

Wi her I will get gowd and gear;
Wi you I ne'er got nane.

"But wha will bake my bridal bread,
Or brew my bridal ale?

And wha will welcome my brisk bride,
That I bring o'er the dale?

"
"It's I will bake your bridal bread,
And brew your bridal ale,
And I will welcome your brisk bride,
That you bring oer the dale.

"
"But she that welcomes my brisk bride
Maun gang like maiden fair;
She maun lace on her robe sae jimp,
And braid her yellow hair.

"
"But how can I gang maiden-like,
When maiden I am nane?

Have I not born seven sons to thee,
And am with child again?

"
She's taen her young son in her arms,
Another in her hand,
And she's up to the highest tower,
To see him come to land.

"Come up, come up, my eldest son,
And look oer yon sea-strand,
And see your father's new-come bride,
Before she come to land.

"
"Come down, come down, my mother dear,
Come frae the castle wa!
I fear, if langer ye stand there,
Ye'll let yoursell down fa.

"
And she gaed down, and farther down,
Her love's ship for to see,
And the topmast and the mainmast
Shone like the silver free.

And she's gane down, and farther down,
The bride's ship to behold,
And the topmast and the mainmast
They shone just like the gold.

She's taen her seven sons in her hand,
I wot she didna fail;
She met Lord Thomas and his bride,
As they came oer the dale.

"You're welcome to your house, Lord Thomas,
You're welcome to your land;
You're welcome with your fair ladye,
That you lead by the hand.

"You're welcome to your ha's, ladye,
You're welcome to your bowers;
Your welcome to your hame, ladye,
For a' that's here is yours.

"
"I thank thee, Annie; I thank thee, Annie,
Sae dearly as I thank thee;
You're the likest to my sister Annie,
That ever I did see.

"There came a knight out oer the sea,
And steald my sister away;
The shame scoup in his company,
And land where'er he gae!"
She hang ae napkin at the door,
Another in the ha,
And a' to wipe the trickling tears,
Sae fast as they did fa.

And aye she served the lang tables
With white bread and with wine,
And aye she drank the wan water,
To had her colour fine.

And aye she served the lang tables,
With white bread and with brown;
And aye she turned her round about,
Sae fast the tears fell down.

And he's taen down the silk napkin,
Hung on a silver pin,
And aye he wipes the tear trickling
A'down her cheek and chin.

And aye he turn'd him round about,
And smiled amang his men;
Says, "Like ye best the old ladye,
Or her that's new come hame?

"
When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
And a' men bound to bed,
Lord Thomas and his new-come bride
To their chamber they were gaed.

Annie made her bed a little forbye,
To hear what they might say;
"And ever alas!" Fair Annie cried,
"That I should see this day!
"Gin my seven sons were seven young rats,
Running on the castle wa,
And I were a grey cat mysell,
I soon would worry them a'.

"Gin my young sons were seven young hares,
Running oer yon lilly lee,
And I were a grew hound mysell,
Soon worried they a' should be.

"
And wae and sad Fair Annie sat,
And drearie was her sang,
And ever, as she sobbd and grat,
"Wae to the man that did the wrang!"
"My gown is on," said the new-come bride,
"My shoes are on my feet,
And I will to Fair Annie's chamber,
And see what gars her greet.

"What ails ye, what ails ye, Fair Annie,
That ye make sic a moan?

Has your wine-barrels cast the girds,
Or is your white bread gone?

"O wha was't was your father, Annie,
Or wha was't was your mother?

And had ye ony sister, Annie,
Or had ye ony brother?

"
"The Earl of Wemyss was my father,
The Countess of Wemyss my mother;
And a' the folk about the house
To me were sister and brother.

"
"If the Earl of Wemyss was your father,
I wot sae was he mine;
And it shall not be for lack o gowd
That ye your love sall tyne.

"For I have seven ships o mine ain,
A' loaded to the brim,
And I will gie them a' to thee
Wi four to thine eldest son:
But thanks to a' the powers in heaven
That I gae maiden hame!"
jimp - slender
tyne - lose
Wemyss is pronounced 'Weemz'.

Other versions of the ballad give other names for Annie's parents, though they are always either royal or noble.

Fair Margaret and Sweet William Read Poem

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, Margaret,
And you see none by me;
Before to-morrow at eight o' the clock
A rich wedding you shall see.

"
Fair Margaret sat in her bower-window,
Combing her yellow hair;
There she spyed sweet William and his bride,
As they were a riding near.

Then down she layd her ivory combe,
And braided her hair in twain:
She went alive out of her bower,
But ne'er came alive in't again.

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?

" she 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 ladye,
Such dreames are never good:
I dreamt my bower was full of red wine,
And my bride-bed full of blood.

"
"Such dreams, such dreams, my honoured sir,
They never do prove good;
To dream thy bower was full of red wine,
And thy bride-bed full of blood.

"
He called up his merry men all,
By one, by two, and by three;
Saying, "I'll away to fair Marg'ret's bower,
By the leave of my ladie.

"
And when he came to fair Marg'ret's bower,
He knocked at the ring;
And who so ready as her seven brethren
To let sweet William in.

Then he turned up the covering-sheet;
"Pray let me see the dead;
Methinks she looks all pale and wan.

She hath lost her cherry red.

"I'll do more for thee, Margaret,
Than any of thy kin:
For I will kiss thy pale wan lips,
Though a smile I cannot win.

"
With that bespake the seven brethren,
Making most piteous mone,
"You may go kiss your jolly brown bride,
And let our sister alone.

"
"If I do kiss my jolly brown bride,
I do but what is right;
I neer made a vow to yonder poor corpse,
By day, nor yet by night.

"Deal on, deal on, my merry men all,
Deal on your cake and your wine:
For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day,
Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine.

"
Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day,
Sweet William dyed the morrow:
Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love,
Sweet William dyed for sorrow.

Margaret was buryed in the lower chancel,
And William in the higher:
Out of her brest there sprang a rose,
And out of his a briar.

They grew till they grew unto the church top,
And then they could grow no higher;
And there they tyed in a true lovers knot,
Which made all the people admire.

Then came the clerk of the parish,
As you the truth shall hear,
And by misfortune cut them down,
Or they had now been there.

Fair Rosamond Read Poem

When as King Henry rulde this land,
The second of that name,
Besides the queene, he dearly lovde
A faire and comely dame.

Most peerlesse was her beautye founde,
Her favour, and her face;
A sweeter creature in this worlde
Could never prince embrace.

Her crisped lockes lie threads of golde,
Appeard to each mans sight;
Her sparkling eyes, like Orient pearles,
Did cast a heavenlye light.

The blood within her crystal cheekes
Did such a colour drive,
As though the lillye and the rose
For mastership did strive.

Yea Rosamonde, fair Rosamonde,
Her name was called so,
To whom our queene, Dame Ellinor,
Was known a deadlye foe.

The king therefore, for her defence
Against the furious queene,
At Woodstocke builded such a bower,
The like was never seene.

Most curiously that bower was built,
Of stone and timber strong;
An hundred and fifty doors
Did to this bower belong:
And they so cunninglye contriv'd,
With turnings round about,
That none but with a clue of thread
Could enter in or out.

And for his love and ladyes sake,
That was so faire and brighte,
The keeping of this bower he gave
Unto a valiant knighte.

But fortune, that doth often frowne
Where she before did smile,
The kinges delighte and ladyes joy
Full soon shee did beguile:
For why, the kinges ungracious sonne,
Whom he did high advance,
Against his father raised warres
Within the realme of France.

But yet before our comelye king
The English land forsooke,
Of Rosamond, his lady faire,
His farewelle thus he tooke:
'My Rosamonde, my only Rose,
That pleasest best mine eye,
The fairest flower in all the worlde
To feed my fantasye, --
'The flower of mine affected heart,
Whose sweetness doth excelle,
My royal Rose, a thousand times
I bid thee nowe farewelle!
'For I must leave my fairest flower,
My sweetest Rose, a space,
And cross the seas to famous France,
Proud rebelles to abase.

'But yet, my Rose, be sure thou shalt
My coming shortlye see,
And in my heart, when hence I am,
Ile beare my Rose with mee.

'
When Rosamond, that ladye brighte,
Did heare the king saye soe,
The sorrowe of her grieved heart
Her outward lookes did showe.

And from her cleare and crystall eyes
The teares gusht out apace,
Which, like the silver-pearled dewe,
Ranne downe her comely face.

Her lippes, erst like the corall redde,
Did waxe both wan and pale,
And for the sorrow she conceivde
Her vitall spirits faile.

And falling downe all in a swoone
Before King Henryes face,
Full oft he in his princelye armes
Her bodye did embrace.

And twentye times, with watery eyes,
He kist her tender cheeke,
Untill he had revivde againe
Her senses milde and meeke.

'Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose?

'
The king did often say:
'Because,' quoth shee, 'to bloodye warres
My lord must part awaye.

'But since your Grace on forrayne coastes,
Amonge your foes unkinde,
Must goe to hazard life and limbe,
Why should I staye behinde?

'Nay, rather let me, like a page,
Your sworde and target beare;
That on my breast the blowes may lighte,
Which would offend you there.

'Or lett mee, in your royal tent,
Prepare your bed at nighte,
And with sweete baths refresh your grace,
At your returne from fighte.

'So I your presence may enjoye
No toil I will refuse;
But wanting you, my life is death:
'Nay, death Ild rather chuse.

'
'Content thy self, my dearest love,
Thy rest at home shall bee,
In Englandes sweet and pleasant isle;
For travell fits not thee.

'Faire ladies brooke not bloodye warres;
Soft peace their sexe delightes;
Not rugged campes, but courtlye bowers;
Gay feastes, not cruell fightes.

'My Rose shall safely here abide,
With musicke passe the daye,
Whilst I amonge the piercing pikes
My foes seeke far awaye.

'My Rose shall shine in pearle and golde,
Whilst Ime in armour dighte;
Gay galliards here my love shall dance,
Whilst I from foes goe fighte.

'And you, Sir Thomas, whom I truste
To bee my loves defence,
Be carefull of my gallant Rose
When I am parted hence.

'
And therewithall he fetcht a sigh,
As thugh his heart would breake;
And Rosamonde, for very griefe,
Not one plaine word could speake.

And at their parting well they mighte
In heart be grieved sore:
After that daye, faire Rosamonde
The king did see no more.

For when his Grace had past the seas,
And into France was gone,
With envious heart, Queene Ellinor
To Woodstocke came anone.

And forth she calls this trustye knighte
In an unhappy houre,
Who, with his clue of twined-thread,
Came from this famous bower.

And when that they had wounded him,
The queene this thread did gette,
And wente where Ladye Rosamonde
Was like an angell sette.

But when the queene with stedfast eye
Beheld her beauteous face,
She was amazed in her minde
At her exceeding grace.

'Cast off from thee those robes,' she said,
'That riche and costlye bee;
And drinke thou up this deadlye draught
Which I have brought to thee.

'
Then presentlye upon her knees
Sweet Rosamonde did falle;
And pardon of the queene she crav'd
For her offences all.

'Take pity on my youthfull yeares,'
Faire Rosamonde did crye;
'And lett mee not with poison strong
Enforced bee to dye.

'I will renounce my sinfull life,
And in some cloyster bide;
Or else be banisht, if you please,
To range the world soe wide.

'And for the fault which I have done,
Though I was forc'd theretoe,
Preserve my life, and punish mee
As you thinke meet to doe.

'
And with these words, her little handes
She wrunge full often there;
And downe along her lovely face
Did trickle many a teare.

But nothing could this furious queene
Therewith appeased bee;
The cup of deadlye poyson stronge,
As she knelt on her knee,
She gave this comelye dame to drinke;
Who tooke it in her hand,
And from her bended knee arose,
And on her feet did stand,
And casting up her eyes to heaven,
Shee did for mercye calle;
And drinking up the poison stronge,
Her life she lost withalle.

And when that death through everye limbe
Had showde its greatest spite,
Her chiefest foes did plaine confesse
Shee was a glorious wight.

Her body then they did entomb,
When life was fled away,
At Godstowe, neare Oxford towne,
As may be seene this day.

False Footrage Read Poem

King Easter has courted her for her gowd,
King Wester for her fee,
King Honor for her lands sae braid,
And for her fair body.

They had not been four months married,
As I have heard them tell,
Until the nobles of the land
Against them did rebel.

And they cast kaivles them amang,
And kaivles them between,
And they cast kaivles them amang
Wha shoud gae kill the king.

O some said yea, and some said nay,
Their words did not agree;
Till up it gat him Fa’se Footrage,
And sware it shoud be he.

When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
And a’ man boon to bed,
King Honor and his gay ladie
In a hie chamer were laid.

Then up it raise him Fa’se Footrage,
While a’ were fast asleep,
And slew the porter in his lodge,
That watch and ward did keep.

O four and twenty silver keys
Hang hie upon a pin,
And ay as a door he did unlock,
He has fastend it him behind.

Then up it raise him King Honor,
Says, What means a’ this din!
Now what’s the matter, Fa’se Footrage?

O wha was’t loot you in?

‘O ye my errand well shall learn
Before that I depart;’
Then drew a knife baith lang and sharp
And pierced him thro the heart.

Then up it got the Queen hersell,
And fell low down on her knee:
‘O spare my life now, Fa’se Footrage!
For I never injured thee.

‘O spare my life now, Fa’se Footrage!
Until I lighter be,
And see gin it be lad or lass
King Honor has left me wi.

’
‘O gin it be a lass,’ he says,
‘Well nursed she shall be;
But gin it be a lad-bairn,
He shall be hanged hie.

‘I winna spare his tender age,
Nor yet his hie, hie kin;
But as soon as eer he born is,
He shall mount the gallows-pin.

’
O four and twenty valiant knights
Were set the Queen to guard,
And four stood ay at her bower-door,
To keep baith watch and ward.

But when the time drew till an end
That she should lighter be,
She cast about to find a wile
To set her body free.

O she has birled these merry young men
Wi strong beer and wi wine,
Until she made them a’ as drunk
As any wallwood swine.

‘O narrow, narrow is this window,
And big, big am I grown!’
Yet thro the might of Our Ladie
Out at it she has won.

She wanderd up, she wanderd down,
She wanderd out and in,
And at last, into the very swines’ stye,
The Queen brought forth a son.

Then they cast kaivles them amang
Wha should gae seek the Queen,
And the kaivle fell upon Wise William,
And he’s sent his wife for him.

O when she saw Wise William’s wife,
The Queen fell on her knee;
‘Win up, win up, madame,’ she says,
‘What means this courtesie?

’
‘O out of this I winna rise
Till a boon ye grant to me,
To change your lass for this lad-bairn
King Honor left me wi.

‘And ye maun learn my gay gose-hawke
Well how to breast a steed,
And I shall learn your turtle-dow
As well to write and read.

‘And ye maun learn my gay gose-hawke
To wield baith bow and brand,
And I shall learn your turtle-dow
To lay gowd wi her hand.

‘At kirk or market where we meet,
We dare nae mair avow
But, Dame how does my gay gose-hawk?

Madame, how does my dow?

’
When days were gane, and years came on,
Wise William he thought long;
Out has he taen King Honor’s son,
A hunting for to gang.

It sae fell out at their hunting,
Upon a summer’s day,
That they cam by a fair castle,
Stood on a sunny brae.

‘O dinna ye see that bonny castle,
Wi wa’s and towers sae fair?

Gin ilka man had back his ain,
Of it you shoud be heir.

’
‘How I shoud be heir of that castle
In sooth I canna see,
When it belongs to Fa’se Footrage,
And he’s nae kin to me.

’
‘O gin ye shoud kill him Fa’se Footrage,
You woud do what is right;
For I wot he killd your father dear,
Ere ever you saw the light.

‘Gin you should kill him Fa’se Footrage,
There is nae man durst you blame;
For he keeps your mother a prisoner,
And she dares no take you hame.

’
The boy stared wild like a gray gose-hawke,
Says, What may a’ this mean!
‘My boy, you are King Honor’s son,
And your mother’s our lawful queen.

’
‘O gin I be King Honor’s son,
By Our Ladie I swear,
This day I will that traytour slay,
And relieve my mother dear.

’
He has sent his bent bow till his breast,
And lap the castle-wa,
And soon he’s siesed on Fa’se Footrage,
Wha loud for help gan ca.

‘O hold your tongue now, Fa’se Footrage,
Frae me you shanno flee;’
Syne pierced him through the foul fa’se heart,
And set his mother free.

And he has rewarded Wise William
Wi the best half of his land,
And sae has he the turtle-dow
Wi the truth of his right hand.

Farewell to Summer Read Poem

Thou'rt bearing hence thy roses,
Glad summer, fare thee well!
Thou'rt singing thy last melodies
In every wood and dell.

But ere the golden sunset
Of thy latest lingering day,
Oh! tell me, o'er this chequer'd earth,
How hast thou pass'd away?

Brightly, sweet summer, brightly
Thine hours have floated by,
To the joyous birds of the woodland boughs,
The rangers of the sky.

And brightly in the forests,
To the wild deer wandering free:
And brightly 'mid the garden flowers
To the happy murmuring bee;
But how to human bosoms,
With all their hopes and fears,
And thoughts that make them eagle-wings,
To pierce the unborn years?

Sweet summer! to the captive
Thou hast flown in burning dreams
Of the woods with all their whispering leaves,
And the blue rejoicing streams;
To the wasted and the weary,
On the bed of sickness bound,
In swift delirious fantasies,
That changed with every sound;
To the sailor on the billows,
In longings wild and vain,
For the gushing founts and breezy hills,
And the homes of earth again!
And unto me, glad summer!
How hast thou flown to me?

My chainless footsteps nought hath kept
From thy haunts of song and glee.

Thou hast flown in wayward visions,
In memories of the dead --
In shadows from a troubled heart,
O'er thy sunny pathway shed:
In brief and sudden strivings
To fling a weight aside --
'Midst these thy melodies have ceased,
And all thy roses died.

But oh! thou gentle summer,
If I greet thy flowers once more,
Bring me again the buoyancy,
Wherewith my soul should soar!
Give me to hail thy sunshine,
With song and spirit free;
Or in a purer air than this,
May that next meeting be!

Footprints In The Sand Read Poem

One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord.

Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.

In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand.

Sometimes there were two sets of footprints,
other times there were one set of footprints.

This bothered me because I noticed
that during the low periods of my life,
when I was suffering from
anguish, sorrow or defeat,
I could see only one set of footprints.

So I said to the Lord,
“You promised me Lord,
that if I followed you,
you would walk with me always.

But I have noticed that during the most trying periods of my life
there have only been one set of footprints in the sand.

Why, when I needed you most, you have not been there for me?

”
The Lord replied,
“The times when you have seen only one set of footprints in the sand,
is when I carried you.

”

For I Am Faint With Love Read Poem

In a valley of this restless mind
I sought in mountain and in mead.

Trusting a true love for to find.

Upon a hill then took I heed:
A voice I heard, and near I yede,
In great dolor complaining tho:
See, dear soul, how my sides bleed:
Quia amore langueo.

I am true love that false was never:
My sister, man’s soul, I loved her thus.

Because we would in no wise disserver
I left my Kingdom glorious.

I purveyed her a palace full precious:
She fled, I followed, I loved her so
That I suffered this pain piteous,
Quia amore langueo.

For The Victory At Agincourt Read Poem

Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria!
Owre kynge went forth to Normandy,
With grace and myzt of chivalry;
The God for him wrouzt marvelously,
Wherefore Englonde may calle, and cry
Deo gratias:
Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria.

He sette a sege, the sothe for to say,
To Harflue toune with ryal aray;
That toune he wan and made a fray,
That Fraunce shall rywe tyl domes day.

Deo gratias:
Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria.

Then went owre kynge with alle his oste
Thorowe Fraunce for all the Frenshe boste;
He spared 'for' drede of leste ne most,
Tyl he come to Agincourt coste.

Deo gratias:
Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria.

Than for sothe that knyzt comely
In Agincourt feld he fauzt manly,
Thorow grace of God most myzty
He had both the felde and the victory:
Deo gratias:
Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria.

Ther dukys and erlys, lorde and barone,
Were take and slayne and that wel sone,
And some were ledde in to Lundone
With joye and merthe and grete renone.

Deo gratias:
Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria.

Now gracious God he save owre kynge,
His peple and all his wel wyllynge,
Gef him gode lyfe and gode endynge,
That we with merth mowe savely synge
Deo gratias:
Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria.

Foweles In The Frith Read Poem

Foweles in the frith,
The fisses in the flod,
And I mon waxe wod;
Mulch sorwe I walke with
For best of bon and blod.

Gentle Herdsman, Tell to Me. Dialogue Between a Pilgrim and Herdsman Read Poem

Gentle heardsman, tell to me,
Of curtesy I thee pray,
Unto the towne of Walsingham
Which is the right and ready way.

"Unto the towne of Walsingham
The way is hard for to be gon;
And verry crooked are those pathes
For you to find out all alone.

"
Weere the miles doubled thrise,
And the way never soe ill,
Itt were not enough for mine offence,
Itt is soe grievous and soe ill.

"Thy yeeares are young, thy face is faire,
Thy witts are weake, thy thoughts are greene;
Time hath not given thee leave, as yett,
For to committ so great a sinne.

"
Yes, heardsman, yes, soe woldest thou say,
If thou knewest soe much as I;
My witts, and thoughts, and all the rest,
Have well deserved for to dye.

I am not what I seeme to bee,
My clothes and sexe doe differ farr;
I am a woman, woe is me!
Born
to greeffe and irksome care.

For
my beloved, and well-beloved,
My wayward cruelty could kill:
And though my teares will nought avail,
Most dearely I bewail him
still.

He was the flower of noble
wights,
None ever more sinc
ere
colde
bee;
Of comely mien and shape
hee was,
And tenderlye hee
loved mee.

When thus I saw he lov
ed me well,
I grewe so proud his pa
ine to see,
That I, who did not
know myselfe,
Thought scorne of such a youth
as hee.

And grew soe coy and nice to please,
As women's lookes are often soe,
He might not kisse, nor hand forsooth,
Unlesse I willed him soe to doe.

Thus being wearyed with delayes
To see I pittyed not his greeffe,
He gott him to a secrett place,
And there he dyed without releeffe.

And for his sake these weeds I weare,
And sacriffice my tender age;
And every day Ile begg my bread,
To undergoe this pilgrimage.

Thus every day I fast and pray,
And ever will doe till I dye;
And gett me to some secrett place,
For soe did hee, and soe will I.

Now, gentle heardsman, aske no more,
But keepe my secrets I thee pray:
Unto the towne of Walsingam
Show me the right and readye way.

"Now goe thy wayes, and God before!
For he must ever guide thee still:
Turne downe that dale, the right hand path,
And soe, faire pilgrim, fare the well!"
Quoted from Percy's Reliques, 'The scene of this beautiful old ballad is laid near Walsingham in Norfolk, where was anciently an image of the Virgin Mary, famous over all Europe for the numerous pilgrimages made to it, and the great riches it possessed.

Erasmus has given a very exact and humorous description of the superstitions practised there in his time.

See his account of the Virgo Parathalasia, in his Colloquy, entitled,
Peregrinatio Religionis Ergo.

He tells us, the rich offerings in silver, gold, and precious stones, that were there shown him, were incredible, there being scarcely a person of any note in England but what some time or other paid a visit, or sent a present, to Our Lady of Walsingham.

At the dissolution of the monasteries in 1538, this splendid image, with another from Ipswich, was carried to Chelsea, and there burnt in the presence of commissioners, who, we trust, did not burn the jewels and the finery.

This poem is printed from a copy in the Editor's folio MS.

, which had greatly suffered by the hand of time; but vestiges of several of the lines remaining, some conjectural supplements have been attempted, which, for greater exactness, are in this one ballad distinguished by italics.

Gentle Herdsman, Tell To Me. Dialogue Between A Pilgrim And Herdsman Read Poem

Gentle heardsman, tell to me,
Of curtesy I thee pray,
Unto the towne of Walsingham
Which is the right and ready way.

'Unto the towne of Walsingham
The way is hard for to be gon;
And verry crooked are those pathes
For you to find out all alone.

'
Weere the miles doubled thrise,
And the way never soe ill,
Itt were not enough for mine offence,
Itt is soe grievous and soe ill.

'Thy yeeares are young, thy face is faire,
Thy witts are weake, thy thoughts are greene;
Time hath not given thee leave, as yett,
For to committ so great a sinne.

'
Yes, heardsman, yes, soe woldest thou say,
If thou knewest soe much as I;
My witts, and thoughts, and all the rest,
Have well deserved for to dye.

I am not what I seeme to bee,
My clothes and sexe doe differ farr;
I am a woman, woe is me!
Born
to greeffe and irksome care.

For
my beloved, and well-beloved,
My wayward cruelty could kill:
And though my teares will nought avail,
Most dearely I bewail him
still.

He was the flower of noble
wights,
None ever more sinc
ere
colde
bee;
Of comely mien and shape
hee was,
And tenderlye hee
loved mee.

When thus I saw he lov
ed me well,
I grewe so proud his pa
ine to see,
That I, who did not
know myselfe,
Thought scorne of such a youth
as hee.

And grew soe coy and nice to please,
As women's lookes are often soe,
He might not kisse, nor hand forsooth,
Unlesse I willed him soe to doe.

Thus being wearyed with delayes
To see I pittyed not his greeffe,
He gott him to a secrett place,
And there he dyed without releeffe.

And for his sake these weeds I weare,
And sacriffice my tender age;
And every day Ile begg my bread,
To undergoe this pilgrimage.

Thus every day I fast and pray,
And ever will doe till I dye;
And gett me to some secrett place,
For soe did hee, and soe will I.

Now, gentle heardsman, aske no more,
But keepe my secrets I thee pray:
Unto the towne of Walsingam
Show me the right and readye way.

'Now goe thy wayes, and God before!
For he must ever guide thee still:
Turne downe that dale, the right hand path,
And soe, faire pilgrim, fare the well!'

George Nidiver Read Poem

Men have done brave deeds,
And bards have sung them well:
I of good George Nidiver
Now the tale will tell.

In Californian mountains
A hunter bold was he:
Keen his eye and sure his aim
As any you should see.

A little Indian boy
Followed him everywhere,
Eager to share the hunter's joy,
The hunter's meal to share.

And when the bird or deer
Fell by the hunter's skill,
The boy was always near
To help with right good will.

One day as through the cleft
Between two mountains steep,
Shut in both right and left,
Their questing way they keep,
They see two grizzly bears
With hunger fierce and fell
Rush at them unawares
Right down the narrow dell.

The boy turned round with screams,
And ran with terror wild;
One of the pair of savage beasts
Pursued the shrieking child.

The hunter raised his gun, -
He knew one charge was all, -
And through the boy's pursuing foe
He sent his only ball.

The other on George Nidiver
Came on with dreadful pace:
The hunter stood unarmed,
And met him face to face.

I say unarmed he stood.

Against those frightful paws
The rifle butt, or club of wood,
Could stand no more than straws.

George Nidiver stood still
And looked him in the face;
The wild beast stopped amazed,
Then came with slackening pace.

Still firm the hunter stood,
Although his heart beat high;
Again the creature stopped,
And gazed with wondering eye.

The hunter met his gaze,
Nor yet an inch gave way;
The bear turned slowly round,
And slowly moved away.

What thoughts were in his mind
It would be hard to spell:
What thoughts were in George Nidiver
I rather guess than tell.

But sure that rifle's aim,
Swift choice of generous part,
Showed in its passing gleam
The depths of a brave heart.

George Washington Read Poem

By broad Potomac's silent shore
Better than Trajan lowly lies,
Gilding her green declivities
With glory now and evermore;
Art to his fame no aid hath lent;
His country is his monument.

Gernutus the Jew of Venice Read Poem

The First Part
In Venice towne not long agoe
A cruel Jew did dwell,
Which lived all on usurie,
As Italian writers tell.

Gernutus called was the Jew,
Which never thought to dye,
Nor ever yet did any good
To them in streets that lie.

His life was like a barrow hogge,
That liveth many a day,
Yet never once doth any good
Until men will him slay.

Or like a filthy heap of dung,
That lieth in a whoard;
Which never can do any good,
Till it be spread abroad.

So fares it with the usurper,
He cannot sleep in rest,
For feare the thiefe will him pursue
To plucke him from his nest.

His hearte doth thinke on many a wile,
How to deceive the poore;
His mouth is almost ful of mucke,
Yet still he gapes for more.

His wife must lend a shilling,
For every weeke a penny,
Yet bring a pledge that is double worth,
If that you will have any.

And see, likewise, you keepe your day,
Or else you loose it all;
This was the living of the wife,
Her cow she did it call.

Within that citie dwelt that time
A marchant of great fame,
Which being distressed in his need,
Unto Gernutus came:
Desiring him to stand his friend
For twelve month and a day;
To lend to him an hundred crownes;
And he for it would pay
Whatsoever he would demand of him,
And pledges he should have:
"No" (quoth the Jew with flearing lookes),
"Sir, aske what you will have.

"No penny for the loane of it
For one you shall pay;
You may doe me as good a turne,
Before my dying day.

"But we will have a merry jeast,
For to be talked long:
You shall make me a bond," quoth he,
"That shall be large and strong:
"And this shall be the forfeyture,
Of your owne fleshe a pound:
If you agree, make you the bond,
And here is a hundred crownes.

"
"With right good will!" the marchant says:
And so the bond was made.

When twelve month and a day drew on,
That backe it should be payd,
The marchants ships were all at sea,
And money came not in;
Which way to take, or what to doe
To thinke he doth begin.

And to Gernutus strait he comes,
With cap and bended knee;
And sayde to him, "Of curtesie,
I pray you beare with mee.

"My day is come, and I have not
The money for to pay:
And little good the forfeyture
Will doe you, I dare say.

"
"With all my heart," Gernutus sayd,
"Commaund it to your minde;
In thinges of bigger waight then this
You shall me ready finde.

"
He goes his way; the day once past,
Gernutus doth not slacke
To get a sergiant presently,
And clapt him on the backe.

And layd him into prison strong,
And sued his bond withall;
And when the judgement day was come,
For judgement he did call.

The marchants friends came thither fast,
With many a weeping eye,
For other means they could not find,
But he that day must dye.

The Second Part.

"Of the Jews crueltie: setting foorth the mercfulnesse of the Judge towards the Marchant.

To the tune of
Black and Yellow.

"
Some offered for his hundred crownes
Five hundred for to pay;
And some a thousand, two or three,
Yet still he did denay.

And at the last ten thousand crownes
They offered, him to save:
Gernutus sayd, "I will no gold,
My forfeite I will have.

"A pound of fleshe is my demand,
And that shall be my hire.

"
Then sayd the judge, "Yet, good my friend,
Let me of you desire
"To take the flesh from such a place,
As yet you let him live:
Do so, and lo! an hundred crownes
To thee here will I give.

"
"No, no," quoth he, "no, judgement here;
For this it shall be tride;
For I will have my pound of fleshe
From under his right side.

"
It grieved all the companie
His crueltie to see,
For neither friend nor foe could helpe
But he must spoyled bee.

The bloudie Jew now ready is
With whetted blade in hand,
To spoyle the bloud of innocent,
By forfeit of his bond.

And as he was about to strike
In him the deadly blow,
"Stay" (quoth the judge) "thy crueltie;
I charge thee to do so.

"Sith needs thou wilt thy forfeit have,
Which is of flesh a pound,
See that thou shed no drop of bloud,
Nor yet the man confound.

"For if thou doe, like murderer
Thou here shalt hanged be:
Likewise of flesh see that thou cut
No more than longes to thee.

"For if thou take either more or lesse,
To the value of a mite,
Thou shalt be hanged presently,
As is both law and right.

"
Gernutus now waxt franticke mad,
And wotes not what to say;
Quoth he at last, "Ten thousand crownes
I will that he shall pay;
"And so I graunt to set him free.

"
The judge doth answere make;
"You shall not have a penny given;
Your forfeyture now take.

"
At the last he doth demaund
But for to have his owne:
"No," quoth the judge, "doe as you list,
Thy judgement shall be showne.

"Either take your pound of flesh," quoth he,
"Or cancell me your bond:"
"O cruell judge," then quoth the Jew,
"That doth against me stand!"
And so with griping grieved mind
He biddeth them fare-well:
'Then' all the people prays'd the Lord,
That ever this heard tell.

Good people, that doe heare this song,
For trueth I dare well say,
That many a wretch as ill as hee
Doth live now at this day;
That seeketh nothing but the spoyle
Of many a wealthey man,
And for to trap the innocent
Deviseth what they can.

From whome the Lord deliver me,
And every Christian too,
And send to them like sentence eke
That meaneth so to doe.

Quoted from Percy's Reliques, 'The following is printed from an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, [compared with the Ashmole copy], entitled, ''A new Song, shewing the crueltie of Gernutus, a Jewe, who lending to a merchant an hundred crowns, would have a pound of fleshe, because he could not pay him at the time appointed.

To the tune of
Black and Yellow.

'''

Gernutus The Jew Of Venice Read Poem

The First Part
In Venice towne not long agoe
A cruel Jew did dwell,
Which lived all on usurie,
As Italian writers tell.

Gernutus called was the Jew,
Which never thought to dye,
Nor ever yet did any good
To them in streets that lie.

His life was like a barrow hogge,
That liveth many a day,
Yet never once doth any good
Until men will him slay.

Or like a filthy heap of dung,
That lieth in a whoard;
Which never can do any good,
Till it be spread abroad.

So fares it with the usurper,
He cannot sleep in rest,
For feare the thiefe will him pursue
To plucke him from his nest.

His hearte doth thinke on many a wile,
How to deceive the poore;
His mouth is almost ful of mucke,
Yet still he gapes for more.

His wife must lend a shilling,
For every weeke a penny,
Yet bring a pledge that is double worth,
If that you will have any.

And see, likewise, you keepe your day,
Or else you loose it all;
This was the living of the wife,
Her cow she did it call.

Within that citie dwelt that time
A marchant of great fame,
Which being distressed in his need,
Unto Gernutus came:
Desiring him to stand his friend
For twelve month and a day;
To lend to him an hundred crownes;
And he for it would pay
Whatsoever he would demand of him,
And pledges he should have:
'No' (quoth the Jew with flearing lookes),
'Sir, aske what you will have.

'No penny for the loane of it
For one you shall pay;
You may doe me as good a turne,
Before my dying day.

'But we will have a merry jeast,
For to be talked long:
You shall make me a bond,' quoth he,
'That shall be large and strong:
'And this shall be the forfeyture,
Of your owne fleshe a pound:
If you agree, make you the bond,
And here is a hundred crownes.

'
'With right good will!' the marchant says:
And so the bond was made.

When twelve month and a day drew on,
That backe it should be payd,
The marchants ships were all at sea,
And money came not in;
Which way to take, or what to doe
To thinke he doth begin.

And to Gernutus strait he comes,
With cap and bended knee;
And sayde to him, 'Of curtesie,
I pray you beare with mee.

'My day is come, and I have not
The money for to pay:
And little good the forfeyture
Will doe you, I dare say.

'
'With all my heart,' Gernutus sayd,
'Commaund it to your minde;
In thinges of bigger waight then this
You shall me ready finde.

'
He goes his way; the day once past,
Gernutus doth not slacke
To get a sergiant presently,
And clapt him on the backe.

And layd him into prison strong,
And sued his bond withall;
And when the judgement day was come,
For judgement he did call.

The marchants friends came thither fast,
With many a weeping eye,
For other means they could not find,
But he that day must dye.

The Second Part.

'Of the Jews crueltie: setting foorth the mercfulnesse of the Judge towards the Marchant.

To the tune of
Black and Yellow.

'
Some offered for his hundred crownes
Five hundred for to pay;
And some a thousand, two or three,
Yet still he did denay.

And at the last ten thousand crownes
They offered, him to save:
Gernutus sayd, 'I will no gold,
My forfeite I will have.

'A pound of fleshe is my demand,
And that shall be my hire.

'
Then sayd the judge, 'Yet, good my friend,
Let me of you desire
'To take the flesh from such a place,
As yet you let him live:
Do so, and lo! an hundred crownes
To thee here will I give.

'
'No, no,' quoth he, 'no, judgement here;
For this it shall be tride;
For I will have my pound of fleshe
From under his right side.

'
It grieved all the companie
His crueltie to see,
For neither friend nor foe could helpe
But he must spoyled bee.

The bloudie Jew now ready is
With whetted blade in hand,
To spoyle the bloud of innocent,
By forfeit of his bond.

And as he was about to strike
In him the deadly blow,
'Stay' (quoth the judge) 'thy crueltie;
I charge thee to do so.

'Sith needs thou wilt thy forfeit have,
Which is of flesh a pound,
See that thou shed no drop of bloud,
Nor yet the man confound.

'For if thou doe, like murderer
Thou here shalt hanged be:
Likewise of flesh see that thou cut
No more than longes to thee.

'For if thou take either more or lesse,
To the value of a mite,
Thou shalt be hanged presently,
As is both law and right.

'
Gernutus now waxt franticke mad,
And wotes not what to say;
Quoth he at last, 'Ten thousand crownes
I will that he shall pay;
'And so I graunt to set him free.

'
The judge doth answere make;
'You shall not have a penny given;
Your forfeyture now take.

'
At the last he doth demaund
But for to have his owne:
'No,' quoth the judge, 'doe as you list,
Thy judgement shall be showne.

'Either take your pound of flesh,' quoth he,
'Or cancell me your bond:'
'O cruell judge,' then quoth the Jew,
'That doth against me stand!'
And so with griping grieved mind
He biddeth them fare-well:
'Then' all the people prays'd the Lord,
That ever this heard tell.

Good people, that doe heare this song,
For trueth I dare well say,
That many a wretch as ill as hee
Doth live now at this day;
That seeketh nothing but the spoyle
Of many a wealthey man,
And for to trap the innocent
Deviseth what they can.

From whome the Lord deliver me,
And every Christian too,
And send to them like sentence eke
That meaneth so to doe.

Get Up and Bar the Door Read Poem

It fell about the Martinmas time,
And a gay time it was then,
When our goodwife got puddings to make,
And she ’s boild them in the pan.

The wind sae cauld blew south and north,
And blew into the floor;
Quoth our goodman to our goodwife,
“Gae out and bar the door.

”
“My hand is in my hussyfskap,
Goodman, as ye may see;
An it shoud nae be barrd this hundred year,
It ’s no be barrd for me.

”
They made a paction tween them twa,
They made it firm and sure,
That the first word whaeer shoud speak,
Shoud rise and bar the door.

Then by there came two gentlemen,
At twelve o clock at night,
And they could neither see house nor hall,
Nor coal nor candle-light.

“Now whether is this a rich man’s house,
Or whether is it a poor?

”
But neer a word wad ane o them speak,
For barring of the door.

And first they ate the white puddings,
And then they ate the black;
Tho muckle thought the goodwife to hersel,
Yet neer a word she spake.

Then said the one unto the other,
“Here, man, tak ye my knife;
Do ye tak aff the auld man’s beard,
And I ’ll kiss the goodwife.

”
“But there ’s nae water in the house,
And what shall we do than?

”
What ails thee at the pudding-broo,
That boils into the pan?

”
O up then started our goodman,
An angry man was he:
“Will ye kiss my wife before my een,
And scad me wi pudding-bree?

”
Then up and started our goodwife,
Gied three skips on the floor:
“Goodman, you’ve spoken the foremost word,
Get up and bar the door.

”
This tale occurs in many versions but almost all (like this one) involve some Scots dialect words.

Its origins would appear to be circa 17th Century
Notes
Martinmas -- The Mass for Saint Martin 11th November
sae cauld -- so cold
hussyfscap -- lierally house wife's cap but a modern term would be oven gloves?

The whole phrase "My hand is in my hussyfskap" indicates that she is busy with her chores.

"it's no" -- it will not
paction -- pact or agreement
ane -- one
two -- two
neer a wad -- never a word
muckle -- much, many or mighty
white pudding -- Oatmeal pudding popular in Scotland
black (pudding) -- blood pudding
tak aff -- take off
pudding-broo -- the pudding broth
pudding bree -- pudding broth
before my een -- in front of my eyes
scad me -- scald me
Gied -- gave

Gil Morrice. A Scottish Ballad Read Poem

Gil Morrice was an erles son,
His name it waxed wide:
It was nae for his great riches,
Nor zet was mickle pride;
Bot it was for a lady gay,
That livd on Carron side.

'Quhair sall I get a bonny boy,
That will win hose and shoen;
That will gae to Lord Barnard's ha',
And bid his lady cum?

And ze maun rin my errand, Willie,
And ze may rin wi' pride;
Quhen other boys gae on their foot,
On horse-back ze sall ride.

'
'O no! O no! my master dear!
I dare nae for my life;
I'll no gae to the bauld barons,
For to triest furth his wife.

'
'My bird Willie, my boy Willie,
My dear Willie,' he sayd:
'How can ze strive against the stream?

For I shall be obeyd.

'
'Bot, O my master dear!' he cry'd,
'In grene wod ze're zour lain;
Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ze rede,
For fear ze should be tain.

'
'Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha',
Bid hir cum here wi speid:
If ze refuse my heigh command,
Ill gar zour body bleid.

'Gae bid hir take this gay mantel,
'Tis a gowd bot the hem;
Bid hir cum to the gude grene wode,
And bring nane bot hir lain:
And there it is, a silken sarke,
Hir ain hand sewd the sleive;
And bid hir cum to Gill Morice,
Speir nae bauld barons leave.

'
'Yes, I will gae zour blacke errand,
Though it be to zour cost;
Sen ze by me well nae be warn'd,
In it ze sall find frost.

The baron he is a man of might,
He neir could bide to taunt;
As ze will see before it's nicht,
How sma' ze hae to vaunt.

'And sen I maun zour errand rin
Sae sair against my will,
I'se make a vow and keip it trow,
It sall be done for ill.

'
And quhen he came to broken brigue,
He bent his bow and swam;
And quhen he came to grass growing,
Set down his feet and ran.

And quhen he came to Barnards ha',
Would neither chap nor ca';
Bot set his bent bow to his breist,
And lichtly lap the wa'.

He wauld nae tell the man his errand,
Bot straiht into the ha' he cam,
Quhair they were set at meit.

'Hail! hail! my gentle sire and dame!
My message winna waite;
Dame, ze maun to the gude grene wod,
Before that it be late.

'Ze're bidden tak this gay mantel,
Tis a' gowd bot the hem:
Zou maun gae to the gude grene wode,
Ev'n by your sel alane.

'And there it is, a silken sarke,
Your ain hand sewd the sleive:
Ze maun gae speik to Gill Morice;
Speir nae bauld barons leave.

'
The lady stamped wi' hir foot,
And winked wi' her ee;
Bot a' that she coud say or do,
Forbidden he wad nae bee.

'Its surely to my bow'r-woman;
It neir could be to me.

'
'I brocht it to Lord Barnards lady;
I trow that ze be she.

'
Then up and spack the wylie nurse,
(The bairn upon hir knee):
'If it be cum frae Gill Morice,
It' deir welcum to mee.

'
'Ze leid, ze leid, ze filthy nurse,
Sae loud I heird ze lee;
I brocht it to Lord Barnards lady;
I trow ze be nae shee.

'
Then up and spack the bauld baron,
An angry man was hee;
He's tain the table wi' his foot,
Sae has he wi' his knee,
Till siller cup and 'mazer' dish
In flinders he gard flee.

'Gae bring a robe of zour cliding
That hings upon the pin;
And I'll gae to the gude grene wode,
And speik wi' zour lemman.

'O bide at hame, now, Lord Barnard,
I warde ze bide at hame;
Neir wyte a man for violence,
That neir wate ze wi' nane.

'
Gil Morice sate in gude grene wode,
He whistled and he sang:
'O what mean a' the folk coming?

His hair was like the threeds of gold,
Drawne frae Minerva's loome;
His lipps like roses drapping dew;
His breath was a' perfume.

His browe was like the mountains snae
Gilt by the morning beam;
His cheeks like living roses glow;
His een like azure stream.

The boy was clad in robes of grene,
Sweete as the infant spring;
And like the mavis on the bush,
He gart the vallies ring.

The baron came to the grene wode,
Wi' mickle dule and care,
And there he first spied Gill Morice
Kameing his zellow hair
That sweetly wavd around his face,
That face beyond compare;
He sang sae sweet, it might dispel
A' rage but fell despair.

'Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gill Morice,
My lady loed thee weel;
The fairest part of my bodie
Is blacker than thy heel.

Zet neir the less now, Gill Morice,
For al' thy great beautie,
Ze's rew the day ze eir was born;
That head sall gae wi' me.

'
Now he was drawn his trusty brand,
And slaited on the strae;
And thro' Gill Morice' fair body
He's gar cauld iron gae.

And he has tain Gill Morice' head
And set it on a speir:
The meanest man in a' his train
Has gotten that head to bear.

And he has tain Gill Morice up,
Laid him across his steid,
And brocht him to his painted bowr,
And laid him on a bed.

The lady sat on castil wa',
Beheld baith dale and doun;
And there she saw Gill Morice' head
Cum trailing to the toun.

'Far better I loe that bluidy head,
Both and that zellow hair,
Than Lord Barnard, and a' his lands,
As they lig here and thair.

'
And she has tain her Gill Morice,
And kissd baith mouth and chin:
'I was once as fow of Gill Morice,
As the hip is o' the stean.

'I got ze in my father's house,
Wi' mickle sin and shame;
I brocht thee up in gude grene wode,
Under the heavy rain.

Oft have I by thy cradle sitten
And fondly seen thee sleip;
But now I gae about thy grave,
The saut tears for to weip.

'
And syne she kissd his bluidy cheik,
And syne his bluidy chin:
'O better I loe my Gill Morice
Than a' my kith and kin!'
'Away, away, ze ill woman,
And an il deith mait ze dee:
Gin I had kend he'd bin zour son,
He'd neir bin slain for mee.

'
'Obraid me not, my Lord Barnard!
Obraid me not for shame!
Wi' that saim speir, O pierce my heart!
And put me out o' pain.

Since nothing bot Gill Morice' head
Thy jealous rage could quell,
Let that saim hand now tak hir life
That neir to thee did ill.

'To me nae after days nor nichts
Will eir be saft or kind;
I'll fill the air with heavy sighs,
And greet till I am blind.

'
'Enouch of blood by me's bin spilt,
Seek not zour death frae me;
I rather lourd it had been my sel
Than eather him or thee.

'With waefo wae I hear zour plaint;
Sair, sair I rew the deid,
That eir this cursed hand of mine
Had gard his body bleid.

Dry up zour tears, my winsome dame,
Ze neir can heal the wound;
Ze see his head upon the speir,
His heart's blude on the ground.

'I curse the hand that did the deid,
The heart that thocht the ill;
The feet that bore me wi' sik speid,
The comely zouth to kill.

I'll ay lament for Gill Morice,
As gin he were mine ain;
I'll neir forget the dreiry day
On which the zouth was slain.

'

Glasgerion Read Poem

Glasgerion was a kings owne sonne,
And a harper he was goode;
He harped in the kings chambere,
Where cuppe and caudle stoode,
And soe did hee in the queens chambere,
Till ladies waxed 'glad,'
And then bespake the kinges daughter,
And these wordes thus shee sayd:
'Strike on, strike on, Glasgerion,
Of thy striking doe not blinne;
Theres never a stroke comes oer thy harpe,
But it glads my hart withinne.

'
'Faire might he fall,' quoth hee,
'Who taught you nowe to speake!
I have loved you, ladye, seven longe yeere,
My minde I neere durst breake.

'
'But come to my bower, my Glasgerion,
When all men are att rest:
As I am a ladie true of my promise,
Thou shalt bee a welcome guest.

'
Home then came Glasgerion,
A glad man, lord! was hee:
'And, come thou hither, Jacke my boy,
Come hither unto mee.

'For the kinges daughter of Normandye
Hath granted mee my boone;
And att her chambere must I bee
Beffore the cocke have crowen.

'O master, master,' then quoth hee,
'Lay your head downe on this stone;
For I will waken you, master deere,
Afore it be time to gone.

'
But up then rose that lither ladd,
And hose and shoone did on;
A coller he cast upon his necke,
Hee seemed a gentleman.

And when he came to the ladyes chamber,
He thrild upon a pinn:
The lady was true of her promise,
And rose and lett him inn.

He did not take the lady gaye
To boulster nor to bed:
'Nor thoughe hee had his wicked wille,
A single word he sed.

'
He did not kisse that ladyes mouthe,
Nor when he came, nor yode:
And sore that ladye did mistrust,
He was of some churls bloud.

But home then came that lither ladd,
And did off his hose and shoone;
And cast the coller from off his necke:
He was but a churcles sonne.

'Awake, awake, my deere master,
The cock hath well-nigh crowen;
Awake, awake, my master deere,
I hold it time to be gone.

'For I have saddled your horse, master,
Well bridled I have your steede,
And I have served you a good breakfast,
For thereof ye have need.

'
Up then rose good Glasgerion,
And did on hose and shoone,
And cast a coller about his necke:
For he was a kinge his sonne.

And when he came to the ladyes chambere,
He thrilled upon the pinne;
The lady was more than true of promise,
And rose and let him inn.

'O whether have you left with me
Your bracelet of your glove?

Or are you returned backe againe
To know more of my love?

'
Glasgerion swore a full great othe,
By oake, and ashe, and thorne;
'Ladye, I was never in your chambere,
Sith the time that I was borne.

'
'O then it was your lither footpage,
He hath beguiled mee:'
Then shee pulled forth a little penkniffe,
That hanged by her knee.

Sayes, 'There shall never noe churles blood
Within my bodye spring:
No churles blood shall eer defile
The daughter of the kinge.

'
Home then went Glasgerion,
And woe, good lord! was hee:
Sayes, 'Come thou hither, Jacke my boy,
Come hither unto mee.

'If I had killed a man to-night,
Jacke, I would tell it thee:
But if I have not killed a man to-night,
Jacke, thou hast killed three.

'
And he puld out his bright browne sword,
And dryed it on his sleeve,
And he smote off that lither ladds head,
Who did his ladye grieve.

He sett the swords poynt till his brest,
The pummil until a stone:
Throw the falsenesse of that lither ladd,
These three lives were all gone.

Glenlogie Read Poem

Three score o' nobles rade up the King's ha'
But bonnie Glenogie's the flow'r o' them a'
Wi' his milk-white steed and his bonnie black e'e,
"Glenogie, dear mither, Glenogie for me!"
"O haud your tongue, dochter, there's better than he"
"O say nae sae, mither, for that canna be;
Tho' Doumlie is greater and richer than he,
Yet if I maun tak him, I'll certainly dee.

"
"Where will I get a bonnie boy, to win hose and shoon,
Will gae to Glenlogie, and come again soon?

"
"O here am I a bonnie boy, to win hose and shoon,
Will gae to Glenlogie and come again soon.

"
When he gaed to Glenlogie, 'twas "wash and go dine;"
'Twas "wash ye, my pretty boy, wash and go dine,"
"O 'twas ne'er my father's fashion, and it ne'er shall be mine
To gar a lady's hasty errand wait till I dine.

"
"But there is, Glenogie, a letter for thee;"
The first line he look'd at, a licht lauch lauched he,
The next line that he read, the tear blindit his e'e;
But the last line that he read, he gart the table flee.

"Gar saddle the black horse, gar saddle the brown;
Gar saddle the swiftest steed e'er rade frae a town;"
But lang ere the horse was drawn and brought to the green,
O bonnie Glenlogie was twa mile his lane.

When he came to Glenfeldy's but sma' mirth was there,
An bonnie Jean's mither was tearin' her hair,
"Ye're welcome, Glenogie, ye're welcome, quo' she,
"Ye're welcome, Glenogie, your Jeanie to see.

"
Pale and wan was she when Glenogie gaed ben,
But rosy red grew she when e'er he sat doun;
She turned awa' wi' a smile in her e'e.

"O dinna fear, mither, I'll maybe no dee!"

Gnomic Stanzas Read Poem

Mountain snow, everywhere white;
A raven's custom is to sing;
No good comes of too much sleep.

Mountain snow, white the ravine;
By rushing wind trees are bent;
Many a couple love one another
Though they never come together.

Mountain snow, tossed by the wind;
Broad full moon, dockleaves green;
Rarely a knave's without litigation.

Mountain snow, swift the stag;
Usual in Britain are brave chiefs;
There's need of prudence in an exile.

Mountain snow, hunted stag;
Wind whistles above the eaves of a tower;
Heavy, O man, is sin.

Mountain snow, leaping stag;
Wind whistles above a high white wall;
Usually the calm are comely.

Mountain snow, stag in the vale;
Wind whistles abowe the rooftop;
There's no hiding evil, no matter where.

Mountain snow, stag on the shore;
Old man must feel his loss of youth;
Bad eyesight puts a man in prison.

Mountain snow, stag in a ditch;
Bees are asleep and snug;
Thieves and a long night suit each other.

Mountain snow, deer are nimble;
Waves wetten the brink of a shore;
Let the skilful hide his purpose.

Mountain snow, speckled breast of a goose;
Strong are my arm and shoulder;
I hope I shall not live to a hundred.

Mountain snow, bare tops of reeds;
Bent tips of branches, fish in the deep;
Where there's no learning, cannot be talent.

Mountain snow, red feet of hens;
Where it chatters, water's but shallow;
Big words add to any disgrace.

Mountain snow, swift the stag;
Rarely a thing in the world concerns me;
To warn the unlucky does not save them.

Mountain snow, fleece of white;
It's rare that a relative's face is friendly
If you visit him too often.

Mountain snow, white house-roofs;
If tongue were to tell what the heart may know
Nobody would be neighbours.

Mountain snow, day has come;
Every sad man sick, half-naked the poor;
Every time, a fool gets hurt.

-- Anon.

(Welsh, 12th century)

God Save the Queen Read Poem

God save our gracious Queen,
Long live our noble Queen,
God save the Queen!
Send her victorious,
Happy and glorious,
Long to reign over us,
God Save the Queen.

O Lord and God arise,
Scatter her enemies,
And make them fall.

Confound their politics,
Frustrate their knavish tricks,
On Thee our hopes we fix
God save us all.

Thy choicest gifts in store
On her be pleased to pour
Long may she reign!
May she defend our laws
And ever give us cause
To sing with heart and voice
God save the Queen.

Nor on this land alone,
But be God's mercies known
From shore to shore.

Lord, make the nation see
That men should brothers be,
And form one family
The wide world o'er.

Additional Verse added
in 1946 - meant to replace
the third stanza.

The verse was written by
Rev.

W.

E.

Hickson (1803-1870).

God Speed The Plow, And Bless The Corn-Mow. A Dialogue Between The Husbandman And Servingman Read Poem

Argument
The servingman the plowman would invite
To leave his calling and to take delight;
But he to that by no means will agree,
Lest he thereby should come to beggary.

He makes it plain appear a country life
Doth far excel: and so they end the strife.

My noble friends give ear, if mirth you love to hear,
I'll tell you as fast as I can,
A story very true, then mark what doth ensue,
Concerning of a husbandman.

A servingman did meet a husbandman in the street,
And thus unto him began:
Servingman
I pray you tell to me of what calling you be,
Or if you be a servingman?

Husbandman
Quoth he, my brother dear, the coast I mean to clear,
And the truth you shall understand:
I do no one disdain, but this I tell you plain,
I am an honest husbandman.

Servingman
If a husbandman you be, then come along with me,
I'll help you as soon as I can
Unto a gallant place, where in a little space,
You shall be a servingman.

Husbandman
Sir, for your diligence I give you many thanks,
These things I receive at your hand;
I pray you to me show, whereby that I might know,
What pleasures hath a servingman?

Servingman
A servingman hath pleasure, which passeth time and measure,
When the hawk on his fist doth stand;
His hood, and his verrils brave, and other things, we have,
Which yield joy to a servingman.

Husbandman
My pleasure's more than that to see my oxen fat,
And to prosper well under my hand;
And therefore I do mean, with my horse, and with my team,
To keep myself a husbandman.

Servingman
O 'tis a gallant thing in the prime time of the spring,
To hear the huntsman now and than
His bugle for to blow, and the hounds run all a row:
This is pleasure for a servingman!
To hear the beagle cry, and to see the falcon fly,
And the hare trip over the plain,
And the huntsmen and the hound make hill and dale rebound:
This is pleasure for a servingman!
Husbandman
'Tis pleasure, too, you know, to see the corn to grow,
And to grow so well on the land;
The plowing and the sowing, the reaping and the mowing,
Yield pleasure to the husbandman.

Servingman
At our table you may eat all sorts of dainty meat,
Pig, cony, goose, capon, and swan;
And with lords and ladies fine, you may drink beer, ale, and wine!
This is pleasure for a servingman.

Husbandman
While you eat goose and capon, I'll feed on beef and bacon,
And piece of hard cheese now and than;
We pudding have, and souse, always ready in the house,
Which contents the honest husbandman.

Servingman
At the court you may have your garments fine and brave,
And cloak with gold lace laid upon,
A shirt as white as milk, and wrought with finest silk:
That's pleasure for a servingman!
Husbandman
Such proud and costly gear is not for us to wear;
Amongst the briers and brambles many a one,
A good strong russet coat, and at your need a groat,
Will suffice the husbandman.

A proverb here I tell, which likes my humour well,
And remember it well I can,
If a courtier be too bold, he'll want when he is old.

Then farewell the servingman.

Servingman
It needs must be confest that your calling is the best,
No longer discourse with you I can;
But henceforth I will pray, by night and by day,
Heaven bless the honest husbandman.

This version taken from
Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of England by Robert Bell
1857 John W.

Parker and Son
where it is accompanied by a note:-
The tune is, I am the Duke of Norfolk.

[This ancient dialogue, though in a somewhat altered form (see the ensuing poem), has long been used at country merry-makings.

It is transcribed from a black-letter copy in the third volume of the Roxburgh collection, apparently one of the imprints of Peter Brooksby, which would make the composition at least as old as the close of the fifteenth century.

There are several dialogues of a similar character.

]

Green Sleeves Read Poem

Alas my loue, ye do me wrong,
to cast me off discurteously:
And I haue loued you so long
Delighting in your companie.

Chorus:
Greensleeues was all my ioy,
Greensleeues was my delight:
Greensleeues was my heart of gold,
And who but Ladie Greensleeues.

I haue been readie at your hand,
to grant what euer you would craue.

I haue both waged life and land,
your loue and good will for to haue.

(Chorus)
I bought three kerchers to thy head,
that were wrought fine and gallantly:
I kept thee both boord and bed,
Which cost my purse wel fauouredly.

(Chorus)
I bought thee peticotes of the best,
the cloth so fine as might be:
I gaue thee iewels for thy chest,
and all this cost I spent on thee.

(Chorus)
Thy smock of silk, both faire and white,
with gold embrodered gorgeously:
Thy peticote of Sendall right:
and thus I bought thee gladly.

(Chorus)
Thy girdle of gold so red,
with pearles bedecked sumptuously:
The like no other lasses had,
and yet thou wouldst not loue me,
(Chorus)
Thy purse and eke thy gay guilt kniues,
thy pincase gallant to the eie:
No better wore the Burgesse wiues,
and yet thou wouldst not loue me.

(Chorus)
Thy crimson stockings all of silk,
with golde all wrought aboue the knee,
Thy pumps as white as was the milk,
and yet thou wouldst not loue me.

(Chorus)
Thy gown was of the grossie green,
thy sleeues of Satten hanging by:
Which made thee be our haruest Queen,
and yet thou wouldst not loue me.

(Chorus)
Thy garters fringed with the golde,
And siluer aglets hanging by,
Which made thee blithe for to beholde,
And yet thou wouldst not loue me.

(Chorus)
My gayest gelding I thee gaue,
To ride where euer liked thee,
No Ladie euer was so braue,
And yet thou wouldst not loue me.

(Chorus)
My men were clothed all in green,
And they did euer wait on thee:
Al this was gallant to be seen,
and yet thou wouldst not loue me.

(Chorus)
They set thee vp, they took thee downe,
they serued thee with humilitie,
Thy foote might not once touch the ground,
and yet thou wouldst not loue me.

(Chorus)
For euerie morning when thou rose,
I sent thee dainties orderly:
To cheare thy stomack from all woes,
and yet thou wouldst not loue me.

(Chorus)
Thou couldst desire no earthly thing.

But stil thou hadst it readily:
Thy musicke still to play and sing,
And yet thou wouldst not loue me.

(Chorus)
And who did pay for all this geare,
that thou didst spend when pleased thee?

Euen I that am reiected here,
and thou disdainst to loue me.

(Chorus)
Wel, I wil pray to God on hie,
that thou my constancie maist see:
And that yet once before I die,
thou wilt vouchsafe to loue me.

(Chorus)
Greensleeues now farewel adue,
God I pray to prosper thee:
For I am stil thy louer true,
come once againe and loue me.

Chorus:
Greensleeues was all my ioy,
Greensleeues was my delight:
Greensleeues was my heart of gold,
And who but Ladie Greensleeues.

"Greensleeves," the tune to which "What Child Is This?

" is sung, has a long history.

It was apparently first licensed or registered in 1580 to a Richard Jones as "A New Northern Dittye of the Lady Greene Sleeves.

" No copy of that printing is known.

It appears in the surviving A Handful of Pleasant Delights (1584) as "A New Courtly Sonnet of the Lady Green Sleeves.

To the new tune of Green sleeves", but it is probably older still.

The widely believed legend is that it was composed by Henry VIII.

for Anne Boleyn.

Anne, the youngest daughter of the earl of Wiltshire, rejected Henry's attempts to seduce her.

This rejection is apparently referred to in the song, when the writer's love "cast me off discourteously.

" It is not known if the legend is true, but the song is still commonly associated with Anne Boleyn in the public's mind.

In any case, Henry VIII.

's daughter Elizabeth I.

is said to have danced to it.

Shakespeare mentions it in The Merry Wives of Windsor, 1602: the character Mistress Ford refers twice to the tune of "Green Sleeves," and Falstaff later exclaims:
Let the sky rain potatoes! Let it thunder to the tune of 'Greensleeves'!

Greensleeves Read Poem

A new Courtly Sonnet, of the Ladie Greensleeves.

Alas, my love, you do me wrong
To cast me off discourteously
And I have lov-ed you so long
Delighting in your companie
(Chorus)Greensleeves was all my joy
Greensleeves was my delight
Greensleeves was my heart of gold
And who but my Ladie Greensleeves
I have been ready at your hand
To grant whatever you would crave,
I have both waged life and land,
Your love and good-will for to have.

(Chorus)
I bought thee kerchers to thy head,
That were wrought fine and gallantly
I kept thee both boord and bed
Which cost my purse well favouredly
(Chorus)
I bought thee petticoats of the best,
The cloth so fine as might be;
I gave thee jewels for thy chest,
And all this cost I spent on thee.

(Chorus)
Thy smock of silk, both fair and white,
With gold embroidered gargeously;
Thy petticoat of sendal right,
And these I bought thee gladly
(Chorus)
Thy girdle of gold so red,
With pearles bedecked sumptuously;
The like no other lasses had,
And yet thou wouldst not love me
(Chorus)
Thy purse and eke thy gay gilt knives,
Thy pincase gallant to the eye;
No better wore the Burgesse wives
And yet thou wouldst not love me.

(Chorus)
Thy crimson stockings all of silk,
With golde all wrought above the knee,
Thy pumps as white as was the milk
And yet thou wouldst not love me.

(Chorus)
Thy gown was of the grossie green,
Thy sleeves of satten hanging by,
Why made thee be our harvest Queen.

And yet thou wouldst not love me.

(Chorus)
Thy garters fringed with the golde,
And silver aglets hanging by,
Which made thee blithe for to beholde
And yet thou wouldst not love me.

(Chorus)
My gayest gelding I thee gave,
To ride where ever liked thee,
No Ladie ever was so brave
And yet thou wouldst not love me.

(Chorus)
My men were clothed all in green,
And they did ever wait on thee;
All this was gallant to be seen
And yet thou wouldst not love me.

(Chorus)
They set thee up, they took thee downe,
They served thee with humilitie,
Thy foote might not once touch the ground
And yet thou wouldst not love me.

(Chorus)
For everie morning when thou rose,
I sent thee dainties orderly;
To cheare thy stomack from all woes
And yet thou wouldst not love me.

(Chorus)
Thou couldst desire no earthly thing,
But still thou hadst it readily;
Thy musicke still to play and sing
And yet thou wouldst not love me.

(Chorus)
And who did pay for all this geare,
That thou didst spend when pleased thee,
Even I that am rejected here
And thou disdainst to love me.

(Chorus)
Well I will pray to God on high,
That thou my constancy mayst see,
And that yet once before I die
Thou wilt vouchsafe to love me.

(Chorus)
Greensleeves, now farewell! adieu!
God I pray to prosper thee,
For I am still thy lover true,
Come once again and love me.

(Chorus)

Grendel Read Poem

Then a powerful demon, a prowler through the dark,
nursed a hard grievance.

It harrowed him
to hear the din of the loud banquet
every day in the hall, the harp being struck
and the clear songs of a skilled poet
telling the mastery of man's beginnings,
How the Almighty had made the earth
a gleaming plain girdled with waters;
in his splendour He set the sun and the moon
to be earth's lamplight, lanterns for men,
and filled the broad lap of the world
with branches and leaves; and quickened life
in every other thing that moved.

So times were pleasant for the people there
until finally one, a fiend out of hell,
began to work his evil in the world.

Grendel was the name of the grim demon
haunting the marches, marauding around the heath
and the desolate fens; he had dwelt for a time
among the banished monsters,
Cain's clan, whom the Creator had outlawed
and condemned as outcasts.

For the killing of Abel
the Eternal Lord had exacted a price:
Cain got no good for committing that murder
because the Almighty made him anathema
and out of the curse of his exile there sprang
ogres and elves and evil phantoms
and the giants too who strove with God
time and again until He gave then their reward.

So, after nightfall, Grendel set out
for the lofty house, to see how the Ring-Danes
were settling into it after their drink,
and there he came upon them, a company of the best
asleep from their feasting, insensible to pain
and human sorrow.

Suddenly then
the God-cursed brute was creating havoc:
greedy and grim.

Guy and Amarant Read Poem

Guy journeyes towards that sanctifyed ground
Whereas the Jewes fayre citye sometime stood,
Wherin our Saviours sacred head was crownd,
And where for sinfull man he shed his blood.

To see the sepulcher was his intent,
The tombe that Joseph unto Jesus lent.

With tedious miles he tyred his wearye feet,
And passed desart places full of danger;
At last with a most woefull wight did meet,
A man that unto sorrow was noe stranger.

For he had fifteen sonnes made captives all
To slavish bondage, in extremest thrall.

A gyant called Amarant detaind them,
Whom noe man durst encounter for his strength,
Who, in a castle which he held, had chaind them.

Guy questions where, and understands at length
The place not farr.

— "Lend me thy sword," quoth hee;
"Ile lend my manhood all thy sonnes to free.

"
With that he goes and lays upon the dore
Like one that sayes, I must and will come in.

The gyant never was soe rowz'd before,
For noe such knocking at his gate had bin;
Soe takes his keyes and clubb, and cometh out,
Staring with ireful countenance about.

"Sirra," quoth hee, "what busines hast thou heere?

Art come to feast the crowes about my walls?

Didst never heare noe ransome can him cleere
That in the compasse of my furye falls?

For making me to take a porters paines,
With this same clubb I will dash out thy braines.

"
"Gyant," quoth Guy, "y'are quarrelsome, I see;
Choller and you seem very neere of kin;
Most dangerous at the clubb belike you bee;
I have bin better armd, though nowe goe thin.

But shew thy utmost hate, enlarge thy spight,
Keene is my weapon, and shall doe me right.

"
Soe draws his sword, salutes him with the same
About the head, the shoulders, and the side,
Whilst his erected clubb doth death proclaime,
Standinge with huge Colossus' spacious stride,
Putting such vigour to his knotty beame
That like a furnace he did smoke extreame.

But on the ground he spent his strokes in vaine,
For Guy was nimble to avoyde them still,
And ever ere he heav'd his clubb againe,
Did brush his plated coat against his will:
At such advantage Guy wold never fayle
To bang him soundlye in his coate of mayle.

Att last through thirst the gyant feeble grewe,
And sayd to Guy, "As thou'rt of humane race,
Show itt in this, give natures wants their dewe;
Let me but goe and drinke in yonder place;
Thou canst not yeeld to 'me' a smaller thing
Than to graunt life thats given by the spring.

"
"I graunt thee leave," quoth Guye, "goe drink thy last,
Go pledge the dragon and the salvage bore,
Succeed the tragedyes that they have past;
But never thinke to taste cold water more;
Drinke deepe to Death and unto him carouse;
Bid him receive thee in his earthen house.

"
Soe to the spring he goes, and slakes his thirst,
Takeing the water in extremely like
Some wracked shipp that one a rocke is burst,
Whose forced hulke against the stones does stryke;
Scooping it in soe fast with both his hands
That Guy, admiring, to behold it stands.

"Come on," quoth Guy, "let us to work againe;
Thou stayest about thy liquor overlong;
The fish which in the river doe remaine
Will want thereby; thy drinking doth them wrong;
But I will see their satisfaction made;
With gyants blood they must and shall be payd.

"
"Villaine," quoth Amarant, "Ile crush thee streight;
Thy life shall pay thy daring toungs offence!
This clubb, which is about some hundred weight,
Is deathes commission to dispatch thee hence!
Dresse thee for ravens dyett, I must needes,
And breake thy bones as they were made of reedes!"
Incensed much by these bold pagan bostes,
Which worthye Guy cold ill endure to heare,
He hewes upon those bigg supporting postes
Which like two pillars did his body beare.

Amarant for those wounds in choller growes,
And desperatelye att Guy his clubb he throwes,
Which did directly on his body light
Soe violent and weighty therewithall,
That downe to ground on sudden came the knight;
And ere he cold recover from the fall,
The gyant gott his clubb againe in fist,
And aimd a stroke that wonderfullye mist.

"Traytor," quoth Guy, "thy falshood Ile repay,
This coward act to intercept my bloode.

"
Sayes Amarant, "Ile murther any way;
With enemyes, all vantages are good;
O could I poyson in thy nostrills blowe,
Besure of it I wold dispatch thee soe!"
"Its well," said Guy, "thy honest thoughts appeare
Within that beastlye bulke where devills dwell,
Which are thy tenants while thou livest heare,
But will be landlords when thou comest in hell.

Vile miscreant, prepare thee for their den,
Inhumane monster, hatefull unto men!
"But breathe thy selfe a time while I goe drinke,
For flameing Phoebus with his fyerye eye
Torments me soe with burning heat, I thinke
My thirst wolde serve to drinke an ocean drye.

Forbear a litle, as I delt with thee.

"
Quoth Amarant, "Thou hast noe foole of mee!
"Noe, sillye wretch, my father taught more witt,
How I shold use such enemyes as thou.

By all my gods I doe rejoice at itt,
To understand that thirst constraines thee now;
For all the treasure that the world containes,
One drop of water shall not coole thy vaines.

"Releeve my foe! why, 'twere a madmans part!
Refresh an adversarye, to my wrong!
If thou imagine this, a child thou art.

Noe, fellow, I have known the world too long
To be soe simple now I know thy want;
A minutes space of breathing I'll not grant.

"
And with these words, heaving aloft his clubb
Into the ayre, he swings the same about,
Then shakes his lockes, and doth his temples rubb,
And like the Cyclops in his pride doth strout:
"Sirra," says hee, "I have you at a lift;
Now you are come unto your latest shift;
"Perish forever; with this stroke I send thee
A medicine that will doe thy thirst much good;
Take noe more care for drinke before I end thee,
And then wee'll have carouses of thy blood!
Here's at thee with a butcher's downright blow,
To please my furye with thine overthrow!"
"Infernall, false, obdurate feend," said Guy,
"That seemst a lumpe of crueltye from hell;
Ungratefull monster, since thou dost deny
The thing to mee wherein I used thee well,
With more revenge than ere my sword did make,
On thy accursed head revenge Ile take.

"The gyants longitude shall shorter shrinke,
Except thy sun-scorcht skin be weapon proof.

Farewell my thirst! I doe disdaine to drinke.

Streames, keepe your waters to your owne behoof,
Or let wild beasts be welcome thereunto;
With those pearle drops I will not have to do.

"Here, tyrant, take a taste of my good-will;
For thus I doe begin my bloodye bout;
You cannot chuse but like the greeting ill,—
It is not that same clubb will beare you out, —
And take this payment on thy shaggye crowne"—
A blowe that brought him with a vengeance downe.

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;
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 faint:
I promised 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.

"
Thought to be a fragment of Samuel Rowlands 'The famous historie of Guy earle of Warwicke,.

1649.

', printed in Percy's Reliques.

Guy And Amarant Read Poem

Guy journeyes towards that sanctifyed ground
Whereas the Jewes fayre citye sometime stood,
Wherin our Saviours sacred head was crownd,
And where for sinfull man he shed his blood.

To see the sepulcher was his intent,
The tombe that Joseph unto Jesus lent.

With tedious miles he tyred his wearye feet,
And passed desart places full of danger;
At last with a most woefull wight did meet,
A man that unto sorrow was noe stranger.

For he had fifteen sonnes made captives all
To slavish bondage, in extremest thrall.

A gyant called Amarant detaind them,
Whom noe man durst encounter for his strength,
Who, in a castle which he held, had chaind them.

Guy questions where, and understands at length
The place not farr.

- 'Lend me thy sword,' quoth hee;
'Ile lend my manhood all thy sonnes to free.

'
With that he goes and lays upon the dore
Like one that sayes, I must and will come in.

The gyant never was soe rowz'd before,
For noe such knocking at his gate had bin;
Soe takes his keyes and clubb, and cometh out,
Staring with ireful countenance about.

'Sirra,' quoth hee, 'what busines hast thou heere?

Art come to feast the crowes about my walls?

Didst never heare noe ransome can him cleere
That in the compasse of my furye falls?

For making me to take a porters paines,
With this same clubb I will dash out thy braines.

'
'Gyant,' quoth Guy, 'y'are quarrelsome, I see;
Choller and you seem very neere of kin;
Most dangerous at the clubb belike you bee;
I have bin better armd, though nowe goe thin.

But shew thy utmost hate, enlarge thy spight,
Keene is my weapon, and shall doe me right.

'
Soe draws his sword, salutes him with the same
About the head, the shoulders, and the side,
Whilst his erected clubb doth death proclaime,
Standinge with huge Colossus' spacious stride,
Putting such vigour to his knotty beame
That like a furnace he did smoke extreame.

But on the ground he spent his strokes in vaine,
For Guy was nimble to avoyde them still,
And ever ere he heav'd his clubb againe,
Did brush his plated coat against his will:
At such advantage Guy wold never fayle
To bang him soundlye in his coate of mayle.

Att last through thirst the gyant feeble grewe,
And sayd to Guy, 'As thou'rt of humane race,
Show itt in this, give natures wants their dewe;
Let me but goe and drinke in yonder place;
Thou canst not yeeld to 'me' a smaller thing
Than to graunt life thats given by the spring.

'
'I graunt thee leave,' quoth Guye, 'goe drink thy last,
Go pledge the dragon and the salvage bore,
Succeed the tragedyes that they have past;
But never thinke to taste cold water more;
Drinke deepe to Death and unto him carouse;
Bid him receive thee in his earthen house.

'
Soe to the spring he goes, and slakes his thirst,
Takeing the water in extremely like
Some wracked shipp that one a rocke is burst,
Whose forced hulke against the stones does stryke;
Scooping it in soe fast with both his hands
That Guy, admiring, to behold it stands.

'Come on,' quoth Guy, 'let us to work againe;
Thou stayest about thy liquor overlong;
The fish which in the river doe remaine
Will want thereby; thy drinking doth them wrong;
But I will see their satisfaction made;
With gyants blood they must and shall be payd.

'
'Villaine,' quoth Amarant, 'Ile crush thee streight;
Thy life shall pay thy daring toungs offence!
This clubb, which is about some hundred weight,
Is deathes commission to dispatch thee hence!
Dresse thee for ravens dyett, I must needes,
And breake thy bones as they were made of reedes!'
Incensed much by these bold pagan bostes,
Which worthye Guy cold ill endure to heare,
He hewes upon those bigg supporting postes
Which like two pillars did his body beare.

Amarant for those wounds in choller growes,
And desperatelye att Guy his clubb he throwes,
Which did directly on his body light
Soe violent and weighty therewithall,
That downe to ground on sudden came the knight;
And ere he cold recover from the fall,
The gyant gott his clubb againe in fist,
And aimd a stroke that wonderfullye mist.

'Traytor,' quoth Guy, 'thy falshood Ile repay,
This coward act to intercept my bloode.

'
Sayes Amarant, 'Ile murther any way;
With enemyes, all vantages are good;
O could I poyson in thy nostrills blowe,
Besure of it I wold dispatch thee soe!'
'Its well,' said Guy, 'thy honest thoughts appeare
Within that beastlye bulke where devills dwell,
Which are thy tenants while thou livest heare,
But will be landlords when thou comest in hell.

Vile miscreant, prepare thee for their den,
Inhumane monster, hatefull unto men!
'But breathe thy selfe a time while I goe drinke,
For flameing Phoebus with his fyerye eye
Torments me soe with burning heat, I thinke
My thirst wolde serve to drinke an ocean drye.

Forbear a litle, as I delt with thee.

'
Quoth Amarant, 'Thou hast noe foole of mee!
'Noe, sillye wretch, my father taught more witt,
How I shold use such enemyes as thou.

By all my gods I doe rejoice at itt,
To understand that thirst constraines thee now;
For all the treasure that the world containes,
One drop of water shall not coole thy vaines.

'Releeve my foe! why, 'twere a madmans part!
Refresh an adversarye, to my wrong!
If thou imagine this, a child thou art.

Noe, fellow, I have known the world too long
To be soe simple now I know thy want;
A minutes space of breathing I'll not grant.

'
And with these words, heaving aloft his clubb
Into the ayre, he swings the same about,
Then shakes his lockes, and doth his temples rubb,
And like the Cyclops in his pride doth strout:
'Sirra,' says hee, 'I have you at a lift;
Now you are come unto your latest shift;
'Perish forever; with this stroke I send thee
A medicine that will doe thy thirst much good;
Take noe more care for drinke before I end thee,
And then wee'll have carouses of thy blood!
Here's at thee with a butcher's downright blow,
To please my furye with thine overthrow!'
'Infernall, false, obdurate feend,' said Guy,
'That seemst a lumpe of crueltye from hell;
Ungratefull monster, since thou dost deny
The thing to mee wherein I used thee well,
With more revenge than ere my sword did make,
On thy accursed head revenge Ile take.

'The gyants longitude shall shorter shrinke,
Except thy sun-scorcht skin be weapon proof.

Farewell my thirst! I doe disdaine to drinke.

Streames, keepe your waters to your owne behoof,
Or let wild beasts be welcome thereunto;
With those pearle drops I will not have to do.

'Here, tyrant, take a taste of my good-will;
For thus I doe begin my bloodye bout;
You cannot chuse but like the greeting ill,-
It is not that same clubb will beare you out, -
And take this payment on thy shaggye crowne'-
A blowe that brought him with a vengeance downe.

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;
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 faint:
I promised 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.

'

Handsome She Was, And Well Beseene Read Poem

Handsome she was, and well beseene,
As fresh as any of them all,
Her rament for the most part greene,
Her stature good and meetely tall.

Mounsier did take her by the arme
And friendly entertained her,
His countenance said he meant no harme,
But well I wot he strained her,
That (as lamenting her mishap)
She cried perhaps she cracked too,
Yet Mounsier would not leaue her lap
For any thing that she could doo,
This was a scholler by S.

Anne,
A ciuill, sober, honest manne.

Hay Making Read Poem

In the merry month of June,
In the prime time of the year;
Down in yonder meadows
There runs a river clear:
And many a little fish
Doth in that river play;
And many a lad, and many a lass,
Go abroad a-making hay.

In come the jolly mowers,
To mow the meadows down;
With budget and with bottle
Of ale, both stout and brown,
All labouring men of courage bold
Come here their strength to try;
They sweat and blow, and cut and mow,
For the grass cuts very dry.

Here's nimble Ben and Tom,
With pitchfork, and with rake;
Here's Molly, Liz, and Susan,
Come here their hay to make.

While sweet, jug, jug, jug!
The nightingale doth sing,
From morning unto even-song,
As they are hay-making.

And when that bright day faded,
And the sun was going down,
There was a merry piper
Approached from the town:
He pulled out his pipe and tabor,
So sweetly he did play,
Which made all lay down their rakes,
And leave off making hay.

Then joining in a dance,
They jig it o'er the green;
Though tired with their labour,
No one less was seen.

But sporting like some fairies,
Their dance they did pursue,
In leading up, and casting off,
Till morning was in view.

And when that bright daylight,
The morning it was come,
They lay down and rested
Till the rising of the sun:
Till the rising of the sun,
When the merry larks do sing,
And each lad did rise and take his lass,
And away to hay-making.

Health to the Farmer! Read Poem

Here's a health unto our miaster
The founder of the feast,
And I hope to God wi' all my heart
His soul in heaven mid rest;
That every thing mid prosper
That ever he tiak in hand,
Vor we be all his sarvants,
And all at his command.

Found in the customs of Dorset, for Harvest Home.

Quoted from Hone's Year Book, 1838, '.

.

.

This plain English fare was eaten from wooden trenchers, by the side of which were put little cups of horn filled with beer or cider.

When the cloth was removed, one of the men, putting forth his large hand like the gauntlet of an armed knight, would grasp the horn of beer, and standing on a pair of legs which had long out-grown the largest holes of the village stocks, and with a voice which, if he had not been speaking a dialect of the English language, you might have thought came from the deep-seated lungs of a lion, he would propose the health of the farmer in the following lines: -- [above quoted] .

.

.

.

After this would follow a course of jokes, anecdotes, and songs, in some of which the whole company joined, without attention to the technicalities of counterpoint.

.

.

'

Here Begynneth A Lyttell Treatyse Cleped La Conusaunce Damours Read Poem

Forth gone the virgyns euerychone
Replet with ioye/and eke felicite
To gether floures.

And some vnto one
Haue more fantasy/whan they it se
Than to all that in the medowes be
Another shall incontrary wyse
Gether other after theyr deuyse.

So done clerkes/of great grauite
Chose maters/wheron they lyst to wryte
But I that am of small capacite
Toke on me this treatyse to endyte
Tauoyde ydelnesse/more than for delyte
And most parte therof/tolde was to me
As here after/ye may rede and se.

Thus endeth the prologue.

The thyrde idus/in the moneth of July
Phebus his beames/lustryng euery way
Gladdynge the hartes/of all our Hemyspery
And mouynge many/vnto sporte and playe
So dyd it me/the treuthe for to saye
To walke forth/I had great inclination
Per chaunce some where/to fynde recreation
And as I walked/ever I dyd beholde
Goodly yonge people/that them encouraged
In suche maner wyse/as though they wolde
Ryght gladly have songe or daunsed
Or els some other gorgious thynge deuysed
Whose demeanynge/made me ryght ioyous
For to beholde/theyr dedes amorous.

To wryte all thynges of plesure/that I se
In euery place/where I passed by
In all a day recunted it can nat be
Who coude discryue the fresshe beauty
Of dames and pusels/attyred gorgiously
So swete of loke/so amiable of face
Smilyng doulcely/on suche as stande in grace
Certaynly theyr boute/and curtesy
Ofte moueth me/for to do my payne
Some thynge to wryte/them to magnifye
Aboue the sterres.

But ay I may complayne
Ignoraunce/gouerneth so my brayne
That I ne dare/for nothynge presume
Out of my mouthe/to blowe suche a fume
It is a laboure/great and hyedous
Requirynge study/and moche experience
For my shulders/it is to ponderous
Whiche am priuate/of suche condigne science
It is for a man/of hygh eloquence
And worthynes/fame and memorie
So noble a thynge/to laude and magnifie.

But nowe to purpose/where I began
Walkyng abrode/wandryng to and fro
Beynge alone/with me was no man
Sodaynly/came in my mynde to go
Se.

A faire pusell/and two or thre mo
Of her companions.

This was myn entent
And by and by/forth thetherwarde I went.

Whan I came there/I founde at the dore
A dammusell/standyng all alone
Who I dyd salute/and ferthermore
Of her demaunded I/curtesly anone
Gentyll mayde where is your companion?

Syr she sayd (her hart on a mery pyn)
ye be welcome.

she is nat nowe within
But by her faire/and swete countenance
I perceyued lyghtly/what she ment
Dame daunger moued her to that daliaunce
But Desyre bad me go.

and in I went
And sodaynly/by the hand me hent
This most curtes mayde/who I went to se
Sayenge welcome/most derely vnto me.

And by the hande/than as she me had
In we went/talkynge joyously
Into a goodly parler/she me lad
And caused me to sytte/curtesly
Than vnto vs/came shortly by and by
Another/that me swetely dyd welcome
Bryngyng fresshe floures/and gave me some.

Than we began/to talke and deuyse
Of one and other/of olde acqueyntaunce
For comonly/of maydens is the gyse
Somtyme to demaunde for pastaunce
If that a man be in loues daunce
Or stande in grace/of any dammusell
Under suche maner/in talkynge we fell
We spake of loue/yet none of vs all
Knoweth perfectly/what loue shulde be
The one affyrmed/people veneriall
Folowynge the course/of their natiuite
Endure great sorowe/and moche aduersite
And many suffre/suche peyne and turment
That as mad folke/them selfe all to rent
Thus sayd one/and vp helde it styffely
That loue was of suche maner nature
That it myght rather be called a mad fury
Than any maner thynge of pleasure
To whiche wordes/thother mayden demure
Replyed.

Prayeng vs/to gyue her licence
In this matter/to shewe forth her sentence
Gladly (we sayd (therto we assent
In this to here/your opinion
Forsoth (sayd she) ye shall nat be myscontent
All though therin/I make obiection
Where as nowe/ye haue made conclusion
Sayeng loue was a fury or a madnesse
Without all grauite/measure/or sadnesse
Nay surely/your reason is defectyue
For this ye knowe very perfectly
That they that loue/and hate for to stryue
Lyue a thousande tymes more quietly
Than they/that hate eche other mortally
For where as is no loue/nor tranquillite
There is myschef/langour/and all aduersite.

Loue is the very true manocorde
That euery wyght shulde harpe vpon
Louyng well eche other by very concorde
To this reason/byndeth vs euerychone
And this maner loue/is nat in vs alone
For bestes that haue/sence and vnderstandynge
By companies go/to gether right louynge
Whiche doyng I repute very perfect loue
Whan by no crafte/nor male engyn
From their amite/wyll nat remoue
The one to socour other shall neuer blyn
Who can depart true louyng folkes at wyn?

Father/children/and frendes of aliaunce/
And good neyghbours helpe other i eche chauce.

This maner frendshyp/very loue I call
Other than this/or lyke no man can fynde
Abyde (sayd the other) I thynke ye shall
Here my reason/contrary to your mynde
I trowe none hence to the lande of Inde
Can be founde.

Whiche hath nat tasted
Other loue/than ye haue nowe rehersed
Harde you neuer tell/of yonge Pyramus/
And his swete loue/called fayre Thysby:
In all Babylon/the moost swete and gracious
Bothe shynyng/full of fresshe beauty
Dwellynge also/togyder very nye
Wherby the more/as I haue herde tell
Fro day to day/in feruent loue they fell
They wold both/ryght fayne haue bespoused
After suche lawe/as in that tyme they vse
But by theyr parentes/they were alway letted
Who of theyr myschief/I may well accuse
Neuer wolde one/the other of them refuse
The strayter they were kept/and inclosed
The more feruently/in loue they burned
And whan they coude nat to gyther speke
They made signes/tokyn and lokynge
By suche meanes/theyr myndz wolde they breke
That one of other had perfect vnderstandynge
Nowe it happed/as loue is euer sekynge
To fynde remedye/what therof befall
So at last they founde/a chenke in a wall
At whiche place/oft these louers two
Mette and talked/of their wo and payne
Many tymes/theder wolde they go
And on the wall/piteously complayne
That he stode/betwene them louers twayne
Nat openyng to them so moche space
To come to gether/eche other to enbrace
These and like wordes/ofte wolde they say
O enuious wall certes thou doest amysse
If thou wylt nat suffre/that we may
Ioyne our bodies/suffre vs to kysse
Agaynst the/we neuer dyd amysse
Wherfore be nat thou/to vs vnkynde
Opyn thy selfe/and obey to our mynde.

And whan they shulde part eche other fro
They toke leaue/and that ryght curtesly
yet alway/before or they wolde go
On eche syde/they kyst the wall swetely
Syghyng a lytell/very amorously
So wolde they stande/all many a longe nyght
Tyll Aurora/exild them with her lyght
And whan Phebus gan/his bemes downespred
Dryeng vp the dewes/in the medowes grene
Than wolde they stele priuely to bed
That they shulde/of no persone be sene
Where most of all/theyr sorowe sharpe and kene
At the hart/gan to prycke a pace
That they ne coude/rest in any place.

Nowe languysshe they/with syghes profoude
Nowe sorowe they/nowe they turne and wynde
Nowe fresshely bledeth/their incurable woude
Nowe cast they/right busely in mynde
Nowe they may/some crafte and maner fynde
Theyr kepers to deceyue/by some wyle
And to stele out/in the nyght by gyle.

After they had/fixed theyr myndes heron
They agreed/at theyr metyng place
That they wolde/into the feldes gon
The next nyght/and mete at a certayn place
And which, of them two/were first per case
Theder come/shulde no ferther go
Tyll the other/were ycome also.

Their metyng place/I vnderstande shulde be
At the supulchre/or tombe of kyng Ninus
(Kyng of Assiriens) vnder a goodly hye tre
Bearyng white aples/the tre cleped Morus
Growyng fast by/a fountayne delicious
In the sayd place/couenaunted to mete
yonge Pyram/and gracious Thysby swete.

Whan the longe day/was gone and past
And nyght come/every thynge at rest
The tendre mayde/hyed her ryght fast
To the dore she goth/redely and prest
And put therto/her doulce and softe brest
Openynge itso/for feare lest it shulde crake
And therwith/some of her kepars wake.

So out at the dore/gote preuely is she
And through the towne/alone is went
Into the fyldes/towarde the foresayd tre
O swete Thysbe/howe true was your entent
Howe curtesly your hart dyd assent
For the loue of gentyll Pyramus
To enterprise/a thynge so perillous.

Myghty loues power/here may we beholde
Proued on this goodly damosell
What but loue coude make her so bolde?

She feared nat/the sauage beestes fell
Wherto shulde I any longer dwell?

Upon her way she went styll apace
Castyng euer/towarde the appointed place.

One myght demaunde/who was her gyde
Bycause it was in the quyet nyght
I answere none/but the hygh lorde Cupide
Whose souerayne puysaunce/and great myght
Turneth obscure darkenesse/vnto lyght
He leadeth folkes/that way as he wyll
In great parilles/redy for to spyll.

So this lorde/of his myght and grace
Conduced Thysbe/in the wylde felde
Tyll she came vnto the foresayd place
Where she sate downe/vnder Morus selde
And as she sate/a ferre of she behelde
Towarde the wode/by lyght of the mone
A lyonesse/whiche towarde her dyd come.

This lyones/in the wode had slayne
A beest before/and deuoured hym also
And came to drynke/at the sayd fountayne
Where Thysbe sate alone with her no mo
For feare wherof/lyghtly she to go
Into a denne/that was there besyde
Swete Thysbe ran/her for to hyde.

(In moche perill/and great ieopardye
Thysbe was brought/by this sodayne fraye
For in that denne/wylde beestes vsed to lye)
For hast she fell/her kerchefe by the way
Whiche the lyones (as I haue harde say)
Founde.

And in her blody mouthe toke
Rent/tore/and out agayne it shoke.

Than forthwith she ran into the wode
And as soone as euer she was gone
Pyram came/and founde the cloth all blode
His hart gan to be/as colde as any stone
Sayeng these wordes/with most pitous mone
O nyght thou losest/and art distruction
Of two yonge louers of Babylon.

Of whiche two/she that most worthy was
For to haue lyued/is deed fyrst of all
I am the cause/swete Thysbe (her alas)
That you ben slayne/of this beest truculentall
If I had come fyrst/than had it nat befall
O wretche that I am/to suffre swete Thysbe
To come alone/and here for to dye.

O ye moost cruell/and rabbysshe lions fell
Come nowe and teare/the corps of Pyramus
ye sauage beestes/that in these rockes dwell
If blode to you be so delicious
Come and gnawe/my wretched body dolorous
And on the kerchef/with face pale and tryst
He loked ofte/and it right swetely kyst.

With deedly syghes/his swerde out he drewe
Under the vmbre/of the forsayd tre
Wherwith shortly/hym owne selfe he slewe
Sayeng/take drynke nowe the blode of me
With whiche stroke/the blode (as it had be
Water spoutynge/out of a condite heed)
Spouted vp/whan he fell downe deed.

And with the blode/in suche wyse sprynklyng
The frute of the tre/whiche that before
Was white.

Turned as blacke as any thynge
And the blode/that sanke to the more
Depeinted it/a fayre purple colore
Whiche vnto this day/so remayne
But nowe to Thysby/turne I wyll agayne.

All though her feare were neuer the las
yet bycause she wolde nat breke promesse
She came softly/towarde thappoynted place
Bothe mynde and eye/lokyng without cesse
For yonge Pyram/the floure of gentylnesse
She loked euer/her swete hart to se
Tyll she approched/and came vnder the tre.

Whan she behelde/the transformacion
Of the tre.

She was right sore abasshed
And bycause it was in suche condicion
She thought it was nat/the place appoynted
But at last/as she more nerer loked
She sawe a corps/vpon the grounde lye
Newly slayne/tremblyng and all blody.

Wherwith she gan/to be as pale as leed
And stepped backe/a lyttell sodaynly
Incontinent she perceyued the corps deed
Was her owne swete hart/the noble Pyramy
O howe she gan moost piteously to crye
Her handes strayne/and her fyngers wrynge
Enragiously/her armes out castynge.

She rent and tore/her goodly youlowe heare
And toke the corps/in her armes twayne
Desperously/wepynge many a teare
Amonge the blode/of her louer slayne
Her bytter teares/lay as thycke as rayne
And ofte she kyssed/his deedly colde visage
Styll cryeng/as though she wolde enrage.

O swete Pyram/who hath taken you me fro?

O curtesse Pyram/speke nowe vnto me
I am thyn owne Thysby/full of wo
Here thy dere loue/that speketh vnto the
Lyfte ones vp thyn eyes Pyram me to se
And as she lay/this tomblyng on the grounde
At longe her kerchefe/in the blode she founde
Than she knewe/howe he deceyued was
By the kerchefe/and the lyonesse
Agayne she cryed/o Pyram her alas
For my loue/doure of gentylnesse
Haue slayne your selfe/in peinfull distresse
O swete Pyram/syth it is for my sake
Of my dolorous lyfe/suche ende shall I make.

Of ioye with you/parttaker haue I be
What tyme ye lyued/most curtes Pyramus
Shulde deth thau departe you and me?

With you to dye/I am ryght desyrous
O parentz parentz/of our deth reous
To you our bodyes/I bequeth and take
To bury togyther/for neuer we shall forsake.

O miserable tre/with thy bowes longe
Coueryng nowe/lyeng deed on the grounde
The noble Pyram/that whilom was so strouge
Thou shalt anone/of suche another wounde
Couer my corps.

And in a littell stounde
She pulled the swerde out of Pyramy
And therwith slewe herselfe pyteously.

Thautor.

Than the damosell/that the storie tolde
Sygheh softe/and loked me vpon
Wherwith ye teares/downe on her chekes rolde
She had of theyr deth/so great compassion
That she was stryken in cogitacion
And stode a whyle/as one had ben dismayde
And these wordes/after to vs she sayd
The damosell.

O curtes Pyram/and swete Thysbe also
Herde was your fortune and destanye
your pitous deth/maketh myn hert wo
yet me thynke/I se your bodies lye
The tre and fountayne/ryght sorowfully
Unto this day/wepe and complayne
The lamentable dethe/of you louers twayne.

Here was true loue/who can it deny?

Here were the burnyng sparcles of Cupyde
Here were two hertes/closed in one truly
Here were two louers/nat swaruyng asyde
O cursed lyonesse/wo mote the betyde
Thou were the cause/that these louers twayne
Were so soone/thus miserably slayne.

O ye parentes/of these louers two
Why suffred you them/so for to spyll?

ye caused them/thether for to go
Wherof succeded/all their myschiefe and yll
ye myght haue had your goodly children styll
If ye had done/as reason doth require
To marry them/after theyr desyre.

These gentyls dyd/as christens nowe a day
Moost comonly/vse for to do
Whiche no doubt is/a moche cursed way
And causer of many yuels also
They marry/without consent of the two
Whiche mariage is nat worth an hawe
Damnable/and eke ayenst the lawe.

For to receyue this hygh sacrament
Is required moche solemnite
But one moost speciall/that is fre assent
Of both persones/of hye and lowe degre
Without whiche/mariage can nat be
Perfectly allowed/before the glorious face
Of the hygh god/in the celestiall place.

Whan two maried/ayenst their myndes be
What is the very true consequens?

Contynuall discorde/moost comenly wese
Braulyng/chidyng/and other inconuenience
And another/moost poysonfull pestilence
For therof right ofte/aduoutry doth succede
Murdre/and many a myscheuous dede.

We se oft tymes/whan two to gether come
By great loue/and longe continuaunce
yet of suche/there haue ben founde some
Whiche dayly haue ben at distaunce
To them selfe/and other great noyaunce
And coude by no meanes/togyther agre
And by deuorse/departed haue they be.

Than moche sooner/suche as by compulsion
Ben spoused/agaynst theyr owne fre wyll
Shulde nat do well.

But to make relacion
Particlerly/of all and euery yll
That clamdestinat mariage doth fulfyll
I shulde than/to longe tary you twayne
Where I was/turne I shall agayne
Before this tyme/you bothe haue harde tell
Of the trojan knyght/called Troylus
And of Creseide/the goodly damosell
On whom he was so depely amorous
For whom he was/so heuy and dolorous
That had nat ben Pandare/his trusty frende
Of his lyfe/he had lyghtly made an ende.

For one syght he had/of that fresshe may
As he walked within the temple wyde
He loked as his hart/had ben pulde away
And coude nat moche longer there abyde
The fyrie dart/of the hygh lorde Cupyde
Had made in hym/so great and large a wounde
That lytell lacked/he fell nat to the grounde.

There was none so expert phisician
That coude cure or helpe his maladye
To serche the wounde/myght no surgian
It was impossible/to come therby
None coude cure/saue the faire lady
Creseide.

On whom he loked oft
Syghyng depe/and gronyng lowe and softe.

What shulde I herof/longer processe make
Theyr great loue is wrytten all at longe
And howe he dyed onely for her sake
Out ornate Chaucer/other bokes amonge
In his lyfe dayes/dyd vnderfonge
To translate:and that most plesantly
Touchyng the mater/of the sayd story.

Of Cannace/somwhat wyll I tell
And of her brother/cleped Machareus
Howe Aeolous/her father ryght cruell
Made her dye a deth full pitous
But first she wrote/a pistoll dolorous
To her brother/of her wofull chaunce
These were her wordes to my remembraunce.

Cannace doughter/of Aeolous the kynge
Greteth Machare/her owne brother dere
In owne hande/a naked swerde holdynge
With the other writyng/as doth appere
In this epistoll that she sendeth here
Howe by naught els saue deth she can fynde
To content her fathers cruell mynde.

O my father most innaturall
This swerde to me his daughter hath he sende
With whiche swerde/shortly anone I shall
Of my lyfe and sorowe make an ende
To other pite/he wyll nat condiscende
Wherfore his fierce mynde to content
To slee my selfe I must nedes assent.

Thautor.

Than spake I/and wolde suffre her no more
Of this wofull mater/forther for to tell
Suche lamentable louers/greueth my hart sore
And also we coude nat moche longer dwell
Ryght glad was I/that it so happy fell
To here the hole of wofull Pyramus
Of her tolde/with gesture dolorous.

She wolde haue tolde/of many other mo
The great loue/and fatall destenye
Howe Phillis desolate/ofte alone wolde go
By hylles and dales/mornyng tenderly
For Demophon/and howe she dyd dye
But styll I prayed her to kepe silence
And leaue of her tragicall sentence.

A man that sweteth/and is very hote
Brought to the fyre/is nat well content
What I meane/euery man doth wote
yet for this/I wolde nothyng assent
That she had declared/appert and euydent
To our fyrst purpose/what loue shulde be
And wherupon/we gan to argue all thre.

The fyrst damosell/proued loue by reason
The other spake all by auctorite
Declaryng olde stories/of antique season
But to neyther of them wolde I agre
Without experience/proued can nat be
What is the myghty power of Cupyde
Whiche regneth through the great worlde wyde
Experience (sayd they) we desyre to here
What therby to proue/you entende
Than loked I on them/with sad chere
Castyng howe for to make an ende
Of our argument/and nat offende
Nother of them/through my negligence
For one of them/was myn experience.

Forsoth (I sayd) I nat howe it may be
But ones I behelde/with great affection
A fayre pusell/whiche happed yll for me
For neuer syth/by no compulsion
I coude nat put her in obliuion
Nor my mynde pulle from her away
Nor neuer shall/to myn endyng day.

With her regarde/and swete countenaunce
She gave me a great mortall wounde
Through whiche deth/dayly both auaunce
Towarde me/onely to confounde
My wretched corps:whiche in the grounde
Must of foule wormes be eate and gnawe
So condemned/by cruell loues lawe.

This lorde Cupide/lyst of his cruelte
Without reason/my body to turment
To mount an hylle/he constrayneth me
With his arowes/sharpe and violent
And me burnyng/with his brande ardent
yet vp the hyll/no way can be sought
To geat alone:so lowe am I brought.

O Hyppomenes/howe happy thou were?

What tyme thou wast so moche amorous
On Atalanta/that curtes damosell dere
For whose loue/ne had nat ben Venus
Thou shuldest haue dyed a deth ryght greuous
But by.

iii.

balles (that she the gaue) of golde
Thou gotest thy loue of truthe/as it is tolde
Clas suche socour/no where fynde I may
That me wyll helpe in myn heuynesse
And more encreaseth my sorowe day by day
Cruell thought on me doth neuer cesse
With feare and drede/my body to manesse
And with Dispeare/I haue so great stryfe
That gladly I wolde be reft of my lyfe
And than call I vnto the systers thre
To come out of their furious selle
And from my peyne to delyuer me
I care nat/though I with them shulde dwell
Or rauenyng wolues/hungry/fierse/and felle
My body gnawe/and to peces rent
To be losed/of my great turment.

O Pole wheron the great worlde rounde
Turneth about/by cours naturall
If a place may/vnder the be founde
I wolde gladly/therin that I shulde fall
O ye dogges/whiche to peces small
Tare Acreon/for Diana sake
I pray you of me an ende to make.

O crowes/rauons/and foules euerychone
What tyme my lyfe ended thus shalbe
Come than and take eche of you abone
And do beare them into what countre
Pleaseth you/for all is one to me
So I be out of this greuous payne
For any longer/I can it nat sustayne.

Wherwith dame Reason cometh vnto me
Very swetely lokynge in my face
With whom cometh other two or thre
Good Esperaunce/and the lady Grace
And reason begynneth for to chace
The lordens away/whiche before
Turmented my wretched body sore
Fyrst Reason to Disperaunce doth speke
Hym banysshyng out of our company
On hym she wolde gladly her angre wreke
But lady pacience standyng by
Sayeth to her very curtesly
ye must swetely shewe your selfe vntyll
This pacient here redy for to spyll.

Than by the hande Reason doth me take
Sayeng/what though the gentyle Hypsiphyle
Distroyed her selfe for prue Jasons sake
That ayenst his promes/dyd her begyle
Leape nat thou/tyll thou come to the style
For thou hast here nowe before thy face
(Whiche she lacked) the goodly lady Grace.

Reason.

Thou knowest after our hygh religion
Who that slee them selfe wylfully
By iuste sentence/of lastyng damnacion
Of helle.

Be in great ieopardye
Wherfore I aduise the/loke theron wysely
Take nat example of/Dido and Myrra.

Nor yet of Phillis/Scylla/and Phedra.

I say to the as I sayd before
They lacked Grace/ye and me also
Whiche thou hast/and shalt haue euer more
In case that thou gladly woldest do
As we shall shewe the or that we go
Principally beware of Dispayre
In no wyse abyde that sower ayre.

Another/thou shalt kepe moderacion
In all thynges/that thou gost about
Both in gladnesse/and lamentacion
Beware of thought/the villayn bolde and stout
Of heuynesse/with theyr cruell route
Feare/drede/discomfort/and mystrust
Incline the neuer after their peruers lust.

What foly is it for a womans sake
Nat knowyng your corage nor entent
Suche lamentacion/and sorowe for to make
Perauenture her swete hart wolde assent
In all honour be at your comaundement
Wherfore fyrst/ye shulde by my counsell
Knowe the pleasure of the damosell.

Thautor.

To whiche counsell/accorden an agre
Desyre/and the curtes esperaunce
They two promesse/for to go with me
Dame fauour sayth she wyll so auaunce
With the helpe of prudent Gouernaunce
To solicite my mater in best wyse
And dame Discrecion shall it deuyse.

The good holsome lady Remembraunce
Sayth recorde/was nat worthy Theseus
The hye conquerour/delyuered fro myschaunce
By socour of two ladyes gratious
For hym they were so moche pitous
That they put them selfe/in dauger of moche yll
Hym for to saue/that he shulde nat spyll.

For he had ben put to the Minataurus
Without prouise/of these ladies twayne
Within the mase/made by Dedalus
All though he had/the hidous monstre slayne
yet coude he neuer come out therof agayne
But by the ladies subttle inuencion
He slewe the beest/and came out anone.

Thou hast redde/ryght many an history
Of ladies and damosels great bounte
And howe soone they ben inclyned to mercy
As was the curtes lady/Hypermestre
For nothyng perswaded wolde she be
For all her father myght do or say
She conueyed her loue and lorde away.

And bycause this lady wolde nat do
Scelerously/as dyd her systers all
Afterwarde she suffred moche wo
But no punyisshement/to her myght fall
That she ne thought the peyne very small
Suche ioye she had/of her spouse delyueraunce
That all her payne/to her was no greuaunce
Thus tender pite/in the hart feminall
Ronneth alway/vnto mannes defence
Theyr gentyll hertes/swete and liberall
Be lyghely turned/with great diligence
To mannes socour/and beneuolence
They speke/they praye/they labour and they go
Ryght tenderly/mannes profite for to do.

Thautor.

So these ladies/debated with me styll
In whole company I was ryght ioyous
And at last/they sayd me all vntyll
Be mery and glad thou louer dolorous
For thy loue is so moche gracious
That we thynke vnto thy desyre
She wyll obey/as thou wylt requyre.

Thautor.

Than call I/vnto my remembraunce
The great promesses/that Paris of Troye
Made to Heleyn/yet scant it was his chaunce
Her loue to gette/or her to enioye
All that he sayd was of perfect foye
He was a prince/and a kynges son also
yet longe it was/or she wolde with hym go.

Whan I mynde Echates/ye woman beautious
All my sorowe begynneth to renewe
She and the fayre yonge man/called Hyrus
Betoken howe my loue shall neuer rewe
Nor pite me.

yet as Acontius vntrue
To her wyll I vse neyther fraude ne wyle
Lyke as he dyd Cydippes begyle.

Thus thought and feare/all the longe day
Turment me/tyll Phebus the hemyspery
Hath fally ronne/so that we may
Perceyue the blacke nyght aprochyng nye
To bedde I go/lasshe and eke wery
In hope some repose for to take
And by that meane/my payne for to slake.

Sone after/that I am downe layde
Morpheus/softely cometh to me
Who at the fyrst/maketh me afrayde
Tyll I knowe/what man he shulde be
He leadeth me where as I may se
My swete loue/vnto whom I wolde
Desyrously/ryght oft my mynde haue tolde.

And whan I haue ben about to speke
Cruell drede/hath stepped me before
He and feare/alway my purpose breke
yet her swete visage sheweth euermore
That of dame Pite/she knoweth well the lore
It can nat be/that her great beauty
Shulde be voyde/and without mercy.

Thus I stande debatyng a longe space
Than Morpheus/bryngeth me agayne
And whan I fynde me in the same place
Where I lay downe/with myn handes twayne
I graspe and fele/I sygh and complayne
And fynde it colde about me euery where
And perceyue that she was nat there.

O howe thought taketh me by the hert
And heuynesse/falleth me vpon
Those two from me wyll neuer departe
Tyll they make my body as colde as stone
They say to me/remedy is none
In this behalfe ferther to pursewe
For on me/my loue shall neuer rewe.

Thought and heuynesse.

Thou mayst here lye/sygh/sorowe and wayte
And on thy miserable state complayne
For her beautye/frendes/and apparayle
Causeth her to haue the in disdayne
She forceth nat/of thy wo and payne
She is a fresshe yonge swete creature
Well bequeynted/with the lady pleasure.

So stode the heuyns/whan thou were bore
And suche is thy fatall destenye
To loue one/whiche setteth lytell store
By the that art oppressed with mysery
What careth she/though thou for sorowe dye?

Or all thy lyfe/morne without a make
In wyldernesse/wandryng for her sake.

We haue tolde the ofte/and longe agone
That thy swete loue/fresshe and gorgious
Loketh to stande in grace of suche one
That may stipate/her port sumptuous
To sayle forth/with fame glorious
Lackyng nothyng/that dame Volunte
Wyll demaunde/longyng to Leberte.

For all thy lorde/who thou seruest so true
Whiche is the very blynde god Cupyde
Bearyng his signe/a face pale of hewe
As any ashes/wherto thou doest abyde
Vpholdyng it/with syghes large and wyde
yet we two shall do so moche our payne
Of Acrapos/shortly thou shalt be slayne.

Thautor.

Thus many a nyght/ofte I dryue away
Whiche me thynke longer than a yere
And whan I se the spryngynge of the day
yet somwhat gladed is my chere
For busynesse to me doth appere
Byddyng me to ryse and come lyghtly
Fye he sayth/vpon all sluggardy.

Than I ryse/and my clothes take
As preuely and soft as it may be
Wherwith diligence begynneth to awake
Whiche ones vp/a newe wyll turment me
And whan I can no other way se
With them I go/where they wyll me leade
For as than/I can no better reade.

Where euer I go/thought is neuer behynde
Nor heuynesse/they be alway present
To leaue them/I can no crafte fynde
For I beyng neuer so diligent
With busynesse/bothe mynde and eke entent
yet those two euer styll apeace
Come on me/my body to disease.

These two ofte/handle me so harde
That I am made lyke vnto a stone
To busynesse/hauyng no regarde
I leaue hym/and forth with anone
To some secrete place must I gone
A lytell whyle/my sorowe to complayne
From company/I do my selfe restrayne.

Than I begyn in this maner wyse
Lowe and softe/that none shulde here me
O Venus Venus/is this your cruell gyse?

Styll to turment vnto the extremite
My pore body/whiche as you may se
Is brought into so great miserye
That for loue/shortly must I dye.

The burnyng fyre of loue/doth me assayle
In suche wyse/that remedy is none
To quenche it/no water can auayle
Nor yet versus of cantacion
Of Pean/the artes euerychone
Nor of Mede/be nat worth a flye
I am condemned/and nedes must I dye.

Of all vnlucky/I most infortunate
Most sorowfull/most heuy and lamentable
What is my wretched body/lyfe/and state?

Nought els/but a thynge miserable
Replenisshed with paynes intollerable
To syghe/to sorowe/and morne tenderly
And by loue/condemned for to dye.

Of all louers/none can be founde
Whose case may well compared be
Vnto myn : through all the worlde rounde
Were out sought/yet shulde ye nat se
But that they had some felicite
But nought haue I/but all miserye
And by loue/condemned to dye.

Troylous/of whom men so moche tell
That he so great a louer was
Vnto hym/the case ryght happy fell
For in his armes ofte he dyd enbrace
His swete loue/and stode so in her grace
That nothyng to hym wolde she denye
But by loue/condemned I am to dye.

Many a nyght with his loue he lay
And in his armes/swetely can her holde
Of nothynge to hym sayd she nay
That he of her/aske or desyre wolde
His great ioy forsoth can nat be tolde
He had souerayne blysse/and I miserye
And by loue condemned for to dye.

What ioy had Paris we Heleyn ye fresshe quene?

Deyanira/with fierce Hercules
Briseis/the lady bryght and shene
With her lorde/the hardy Achilles
And Penelope/with her spouse Ulixes
Great gladnesse they had/with som miserye
I haue no ioy: and am condemned to dye.

Many a nyght/the friscant Leander
Lay also slept with his loue Herus
To passe Hellespont/she was his lode stere
And in all thynges to hym gracious
O these louers/fresshe and amorous
Ofte passed the tyme to gether ioyously
But by loue/condemned I am to dye.

Fayre Phillis/and eke Demophon
Had togyther ryght great felicite
So had the lady Sapho with Phaon
So had Machare/with his syster Canace
Dido with Aene/what ioy had she?

Ryght longe hym reteynyng curtesly
No ioy haue I/and am condemned to dye.

Myrra that loued her owne father dere
Wyckedly/by loue abhominable
Dyd so moche/that they lay both infere
All a nyght.

doyng the dede damnable
Se howe Cupyde was fauorable
To her stynkyng loue/and transgression
And wyll me slee/for loyall affeccion.

Wherby I se/it is predestinate
Vnto me : most wretched creature
For to haue this miserable state
And infinite sorowe to endure
Or bate of all ioy/and eke pleasure
Full of luctuous syghes and misery
And vtterly condemned for to dye.

Wherfore adieu/all worldly vanite
Adieu frayle pleasure/rollynge lyke a ball
Adieu brytell trustes/that in this worlde be
Adieu I say/disceytes great and small
Adieu slipernesse styll redy for to fall
Lastly adieu/swete hert without mercye
For whose sake/I am condemned to dye.

Thautor to the two damosels.

Lo nowe you two/haue herde to the ende
What is loue/by suche experience
As I haue had.

And nowe I you comende
Unto god/for I must depart hence
I thanke you hertely of your pacience
your curtesy/and eke your louyng chere
Of gentylnesse/that you haue made me here.

your chere here (they sayd) is but small
We wolde it were moche better for your sake
Our tanglynge/that to vs nowe hath fall
Wolde suffre vs/no chere for to make
And so theyr leaue/swetely of me they take
At the port or gate/and in they go
And I went strayght to my home also.

The prologue of the author:
In tyme of May/whan Flora the fresshe quene
Through arte and crafte/of swete zephirus
Depeynted hath/feldes and medowes grene
With sondry colours/very delicious
White/redde/and crymoysyn amorous
Tauny/youlowe/violet/and blewe
With ryght many a nother dyuers hewe

Here Foloweth Colyn Blowbols Testament Read Poem

Whan that Bachus, the myghti lorde,
And Juno eke, both by one accorde,
Hath sette a-broche of myghti wyne a tone,
And after wardys in to the brayn ran
Of Colyn Blobolle, whan he had dronke a tante
Bothe of Teynt and of wyne Alycaunt,
Till he was drounke as any swyne;
And after this, with a mery chere,
He rensyd had many an ale picher,
That he began to loken and to stare,
Like a wode bole or a wilde mare;
So toty was the brayn of his hede,
That he desirid for to go to bede,
And whan he was ones therin laide,
With hym self mervailously he fraide;
He gan to walow and turn up and downe,
And for to tell in conclucioun,
Sore he spwed, and alle vppe he kest
That he had recevyd in his brest,
So that it was grete pité for to here
His lametacionne and his hevy chere.

An hors wold wepe to se the sorow he maide,
His evy countenaunces and his colour fade.

I trow he was infecte certeyn
With the faitour, or the fever lordeyn,
Or with a sekenesse called a knave ateynt;
And anon his herte he gan to faynt,
And after ward their toke hym many a throw
Of good ale bolys that he had i-blowe;
He lokyd furyous as a wyld catt,
And pale of hew like a drowned ratte;
And in his bake their toke hym one so felle,
That after ward folowed a very stynkyng smell,
That for to cast was more vnholsam
Than aurum potab[i]le or aurum pimentum.

And whan his angwyssh some what gan apese,
He recovered of his dronken dessese;
He set hym vppe and sawe their biside
A sad man, in whom is no pride,
Right a discrete confessour, as I trow,
His name was called sir John Doclow;
He had commensed in many a worthier place
Then ever was Padow, or Boleyne de Grace;
Of so grete reverens werre the universities,
That men toke entrie knelyng on their knees;
In suche places his fader for hym had ben,
Whate shuld I tell you?

ye wotte where I mene.

And yet in phisike he cowth no skylle at alle,
Whiche men callen baas naturalle;
Good drynke he lovyd better than he did wepit,
Men called hym maister John-with-the-shorte-tipet.

Hereby menne may welle understonde and see,
That in scolys he had take degré,
And was welle laboured in the rough byble,
Ffor he loved in no wise to be idele;
An able man to be aboute a pope,
Because he coude a conscience so welle grope,
And make an man to bryng out his mynde
Every thing that he had left behynde.

He gaf me many a good certacion,
With right and holsom predicacion,
That he had laboured in Venus secrete celle,
And me exponyd many a good gossepelle,
And many a right swete epistell eke,
In hem perfite and not for to seke;
And he had them i-lerneid and i-rade,
And alle were good, I trow their were none bade.

And right like an hevynly instrument
Unto me ever his tounge wente,
It was joie for to here and see
The fructuons talkyng that he had to me;
He behavyd hym so lich a gostly leche,
Both in countenaunce and in his speche,
And bad I shuld, by cause I was seke,
Unto Lucina and to Ciraa eke
My soule byqueth, or I hens deperte,
As I wold have his prayers after ward.

He promysyd me also, that he wold syng
Foure devoite masses at my biryng,
On of Bachus, anothir of Lucina,
The third of Juno, the fourth of Ciria,
And at Venus temple with grette devocion,
I have to you so grette dilection;
And for my soule ryng many a mery pele,
In Venus temple and eke in hir chapelle,
And also in many an othir holy stede,
Where Spade may not helpe women at ther nede;
And bad me eke be of right good chere
Alle the wyle I shold abyde here,
And for any thing that he coude feele,
That was in me, I sholde do right wele.

And yet he said: Be myne avisment,
Withoute tarying ye make your Testament,
And by good avice alle thing welle besett,
Loke ye do soo: for ye shalle fare the bette;
Whylis ye have your right memorie,
Calle unto you your owne secretory,
Maister Grombold, that cane handelle a pen,
For on booke he skrapith like an hen,
That no man may his letters know nor se,
Allethough he looke trughe spectacles thre.

Lete such a man writte your Testament,
For he shalle best folow your entent.

In Bachus Nomine, Amen!
I Colyn Blowbolle, all thinges to fulfille,
Wol that this be my last welle:
First, I bequeth my goost that is bareyn,
Whan it is depertid from the careyne,
Unto the godesse called Lucina,
And to hir sustir called Ciria;
For Lucina hath the governale
Of the salt flodes, wher many a ship doith saile,
And ofentymes ther they gone to wrake;
That causeth the stormes and the wawes blake;
And Ciria eke, as Fulgenes tellys,
Abideth moste in flodis and spring wellys.

And for be cause I have sette my plesaunce
In plenté of drynke, I shalle haue in penaunce
To dwelle in wayters as for a purgatory,
Whan I deperte from this world transetory,
Unto the tyme, that Dyane of hir grace
List ordeyn me an other dwellyng place;
But every sin must have his purgacion
Here or in an nothir habitacion.

And for the swete wynes that arn so myghti,
In whom I have sette alle my glorie,
Therefor of right it must nedis be thus,
My soule to dwelle in waters troublous,
That ben salt and bitter for taste,
And them to take as for my repaste;
Ffor of right, and as old bookes doon trete,
Sharpe sawce was ordeigned for swete mete.

And I bequeth also my wrecchid cors,
Whiche of the soule gafe litelle fors,
In the temple of Bachus to have his sepulture,
That alwey hath done his best cure,
To serve hym best with alle his hole entent,
Erly and late and ay right diligent;
The cause why I shalle to you devyne,
Ffor Bachus is called the god of wyne;
And for that licour is so presious,
That oft hath made [me] dronke as any mous,
Therfor I wille that ther it beryd be
My wrecchid body afore this god, pardé,
Mighti Bachus, that is myn owen lorde,
Without variaunce to serve hym, or discorde.

And after that another throw hym toke,
And therwith alle his body alle to-shooke,
Lyke as a fever that bernned hym so hote,
And was to hym grete payne, I wote;
And other whiles such a f-- he lete,
That men wend verely he had shete;
Ther ys no storme ne tempest ay doth lest;
But also sone as his anwhushe was past,
He procedid to performe his wille:
And byqueth, as it was right and skille,
Unto the abbasse of this monestary,
I mene of Bachus, that myghti lorde in glorie;
Alas Sloth, that devoute woman,
Whiche hath the propreté of a swan,
Evyr to be in plenté of licour,
And in the morenyng by viij.

was his houre
To be as dronke as any swyne,
With wyne, or ale, or some licour devyne,
And to her sustres of that condicioun,
Wheir ever they dwelle, in citie or in towne,
Alle the londys and possessions
That I have lying within the bowns
Of Southwerke and of the stwes syde,
As wynde-melles and water-milles eke,
With alle their purtenaunces lying on every syde,
That be there redy and ar not for to seke,
Sufficient i-nough, yf they were alle told,
Ffor to serve many a grete houshold,
By a charter to have and to hold,
Under my seale of lede made the mold,
And written in the skyne of swyne,
What that it is made in parchemyne,
Be cause it shuld perpetually endure,
And unto them be both stable and sure,
Sauf only a certeyn quyte-rent,
Which that I have gevyn with good entent
To pay for me, unto my confessour,
That called is a man of grette honoure,
At the stewes side and their fast by,
To have an hous and dwelle therin yerely;
And to be paid of penaunce ten or twelve,
As good livers as he is hym selfe,
To fete it their, whan he hath need therto:
It is my wille right evyn that it be so;
And of this rent, yf that he doith faile,
I gyve hym powre to skore on the tale,
And take an[d] stresse, yf that nede be,
Upon the grounde, one, two, or thre,
And with hym home his stressis fo[r] to cary,
And in his chamber to make them for to tary,
Tille he be paid fully of the quyte-rent,
And wel i-plesid after hys owyn entent.

And at his forsaid charter maykyng,
And also at the possession takyng,
Alle good drynkers that any where may be hade,
With braynles people and other that ben made,
Shuld be at doing of this dede.

The blissing of Bachus I graunte hym to mede,
To be wittness of this cha[r]ter sealyng.

Be cause I wold they shold for no thing
Be interupt of their possessouns,
That I have gyve them lying in the bounss
Of Southewerke and of the stweys syde,
But evermore with them to abyde;
To make them haue the mor devocion
Ffor me to say many an orison,
On nightes specially whan other men do wy[n]ke,
By cause I sette my plesaunce in good drynke.

And I byqueth unto my secrytory,
Regestered a brother in the order of foly,
Ffor his labour and his diligence,
Six marke of pruce to have for his dispence,
To this entent, that he bistow it shalle
Upon good drynk, and on no mete at alle;
My custom ever hath ben to doo soo,
It is my will that he shuld the same [doo].

And I bequeth, yef that I dey shalle,
Ffor to hold my fest funeralle,
An hundredth marke of pruce money fyne,
Ffor to bistow upon bred and wyne,
With other drynkys that dilicious be,
Whiche in ordre herafter ye shall se.

And for to be at this fest funeralle,
I will have called in generalle
Alle the that ben very good drynkers,
And eke also alle feoble swyvers,
And they also that can lyft a bole,
Tille that the drynke hath take them by the polle;
And they also that ben dronkyn wyce,
And othir that arn dronken fooles nyce;
And many droken people shalbe there,
And none of these may fayle at this dyner.

And for to s[o]moun alle them to this fest,
The baily of Ro[y]ston therto is the beste;
Sauf I wille have after myn owyn entent,
An hous for them, that is convenient,
And it shalbe Didalus is hous.

And every man shalbe as drownke as any mous,
Or any of them from this fest passe.

And for to telle how this hows maide was,
Ther werre thereto sevynty and sevin
Of dores in nombre, as poets doo nevin,
And he that was ones entered in,
Coulde fynde no wey out for to wyn,
Till that he com yn to a gardeyn,
And their he shuld fynd in certeyn
A clew of yern, and therto he must wynd,
And thereof take a thred by the ende,
And make a knot about hys fynger with alle,
And with the thred wynd hym oute he shalle,
But othre wise myght no man oute wyne,
After that he was ones entered in.

And for be cause so many dores be
Unto the hous, and so fer entré,
Me thingith therfore, as by my jugement,
This is a hous for them most convenient.

But whan all folk ones be entrid in,
I will these people the high borde begyn,
Tho specially that arn droken wise,
People most able, after myne avise,
To sett their among alle other thing
To make them wise in ther owyn talkyng,
And wenith thir wittes be be yonde the mone,
And medle of thynges, that they have nought to done,
And deme them self as wise, withoute lees,
As ever was Aristotle, Plato, or Socrates;
And their thinges begyne to lye,
Ffor than they ben as dronke-lyight as a flye,
And wille telle of thinges that have be done,
Where as never shyneth sone ne mone.

I wille therfor, for myn honesty,
At the hy dees these people sette be.

And to begin also the secounde table,
I wille ther be honest men and able,
Such as wilbe as drongen as an ape,
And they wille skoff now, and jape,
And be also as fulle of nyce toyes,
As ben yong childern or elis wantown boyes;
And they whiche also both gape and gren,
Like the --- of a squirtyng hen.

And in suche caas often tymes they be,
That one may make them play with strawes thre,
And be as nyce in a mannys hous,
As is a catt playing with a mous,
Therfor I wille [not] this people sett there,
A place ther is for them elleswhere.

The thirde table shal be gyne as tyte,
They that be manly in dronkenesse for to fyte,
Whan one ther hede is sett a barly-hate,
Than arn they as manly as a ganat,
And than they wille kylle every fle and lous,
And in ther way bydith nodir ratte ne mous;
They will kylle in that grete hete
Huge Golyas, with their wordis grete,
And also the grete Gogmagog,
Cresced worme and the water ffrog.

Than they begyn to swere and to stare,
And be as braynles as a Marshe hare,
When they have one their habergon of malt,
They wene to make many a man to halt,
Ffor they be than so angry and so wraw,
And yet they wille stombile at a straw.

And every table shalle fulfilled be
[Wyth] men of worship and men of honesté;
After that they shalbe servyd wele,
Bute of drynke and mete never a dele.

And wille theire be supervysours,
With officers, as conyng surveyours,
Bakers, bruers, and buttelers of the best,
Tene them of brede and drynke, ne they rest,
Tille every man have plenté and sufficiaunce,
Of mete and drynk right large abundaunce;
Som to serve, and some for to sew
Them brede and drynke, as they sit a-rew;
And what with gestes and with servauntes eke,
I trow their shalbe an honeste felowship.

Sauf ffirst shalle they of ale have new bake bonns,
With stronge ale bruen in fattes and in tonnes,
Pyng, Drangolle, and the Braget fyne,
Methe, Mathebru, and Mathelynge,
Rede wyn, the claret, and the white,
With Teynt and Alycaunt, in whom I delite;
Wyn ryvers and wyn sake also,
Wyne of Langdoke and of Orliaunce therto,
Sengle bere, and othire that is dwobile,
Which causith the brayn of man to trouble;
Spruce beer, and the beer of Hambur,
Whiche makyth oft tymes men to stambur;
Malmasyes, Tires, and Rumneys,
With Caperikis, Campletes, and Osneys,
Vernage, Cute, and Raspays also,
Whippett and Pyngmedo, that ben lawyers therto;
And I wille have also wyne de Ryne,
With new maid Clarye, that is good and fyne,
Muscadelle, Terantyne, and Bastard,
With Ypocras and Pyment comyng after warde.

And as for mete I will that goo quyte,
Ffor I had never therin grete dylite,
So that I myyt have drynke at my wille,
Good ale or wyne my bely for to fille.

Also I will eke that John Aly,
And his brother Laurens Sty,
Be surveyours cheyff at this dynere,
And serve oute drynkes, that ben both brith and cleyre,
And se that every man have sufficiaunce,
Of alle drynkys plenté and abundaunce.

Also I wille that other men ther be
To serve the people everiche in degree:
That is to say, Robert Otwey,
Nicholas Inglond and Robert Horsley,
And Colyn Blobolle and Robert Curé;
And to gadre in the cuppys grett and smale,
Theire shalbe muster William Copyndale,
And othir such they ben to few,
Theym for to serve, and their dishes to sew.

And to se alle thinges truly doone
After my deth, dwely and right sone,
I ordeyn to be my executour
Of my last will, with a supervisour,
Aleyn Maltson, to se truly
My wille performyd wele and duly,
As I have ordeynd here after myn entent,
By good avicement in my Testament.

And I wille, that supervisour bee
Over hym a man of honesté,
Sybour Groutehed, a man fulle discrette,
Whiche wilbe dronke with myghti wynes swete,
Thaugh he non drynk but semell ones therto.

I hold hym mekly therfor to have adoo
In suche a mater of so grete a charge.

And for their labour I reward them large,
Ffor myn executour shalle have xxti marke,
And to my supervisour, for his besy warke,
And his labour, and his diligence,
He shalle have yerely viij marke for his dispence.

Thus I Colyn Blowbolle, with good avisement,
Make an end now of my Testament,
And willyng every man in his degree,
Ffor me to pray vnto the deyté
Of mighti Bachus, and of myghti Juno,
When I hens weynd, that I may com them too;
Whiche have ever be right diligent
To serve them best, with alle myn hole entent,
And so shalle I doo unto my lyves ende.

So pray for me, that I may to them wynde,
Whan Antropus shalle twyn a-two the thirde;
And or that tyme no man shalbe d[r]ede,
Of the mevyng of my mortalle body,
That I may then entre into their glorie.

And me remember with your devocion,
Hertely with alle your mencion,
With som good prayres whan ye upon me thynke,
Whiche hath ben ever a lover of goode drynke.

Thow litelle quayer, how darst thow shew thy face,
Or com yn presence of men of honesté?

Sith thow ard rude, and folowist not the trace
Of faire langage, nor haiste no bewté;
Wherefore of wysedom thus I councelle the,
To draw the bake fer out of their sight,
Lest thow be had in reproef and dispite.

Here endyth Colyn Blobollys Testament.

Hey nonny no! Read Poem

Christ Church MS.

HEY nonny no!
Men are fools that wish to die!
Is 't not fine to dance and sing
When the bells of death do ring?

Is 't not fine to swim in wine,
And turn upon the toe,
And sing hey nonny no!
When the winds blow and the seas flow?

Hey nonny no!

Hey Nonny No! Read Poem

Christ Church MS.

HEY nonny no!
Men are fools that wish to die!
Is 't not fine to dance and sing
When the bells of death do ring?

Is 't not fine to swim in wine,
And turn upon the toe,
And sing hey nonny no!
When the winds blow and the seas flow?

Hey nonny no!

High Diddle Diddle Read Poem

High diddle, diddle,
The cat and the fiddle,
The cow jump'd over the moon;
The little dog laugh'd
To see such craft,
And the dish ran away with the spoon.

Composition date is unknown.

The lyrical form of this poem is aabccb.

Illustration by Randolph Caldecott
1.

"Probably the best-known nonsense verse in the language .

.

.

"
The Oxford Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes, ed.

Iona and
Peter Opie (1951\; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1966), no.

213, pp.

203-05.

cross-reference here:
http://allpoetry-classic.

com/poem/11611693-The_Cat_and_the_Fiddle-by-Mother_Goose

Hind Horn Read Poem

IN Scotland there was a babie born,
And his name it was called young Hind Horn.

He sent a letter to our king
That he was in love with his daughter Jean.

He’s gien to her a silver wand,
With seven living lavrocks sitting thereon.

She’s gien to him a diamond ring,
With seven bright diamonds set therein.

“When this ring grows pale and wan,
You may know by it my love is gane.

”
One day as he looked his ring upon,
He saw the diamonds pale and wan.

He left the sea and came to land,
And the first that he met was an old beggar man.

“What news, what news?

” said young Hind Horn;
“No news, no news,” said the old beggar man.

“No news,” said the beggar, “no news at a’,
But there’s a wedding in the king’s ha.

“But there is a wedding in the king’s ha,
That has halden these forty days and twa.

”
“Will ye lend me your begging coat?

And I’ll lend you my scarlet cloak.

“Will you lend me your beggar’s rung?

And I’ll gie you my steed to ride upon.

“Will you lend me your wig o hair,
To cover mine, because it is fair?

”
The auld beggar man was bound for the mill,
But young Hind Horn for the king’s hall.

The auld beggar man was bound for to ride,
But young Hind Horn was bound for the bride.

When he came to the king’s gate,
He sought a drink for Hind Horn’s sake.

The bride came down with a glass of wine,
When he drank out of the glass, and dropt in the ring.

“O got ye this by sea or land?

Or got ye it off a dead man’s hand?

”
“I got not it by sea, I got it by land,
And I got it, madam, out of your own hand.

”
“O I’ll cast off my gowns of brown,
And beg wi you frae town to town.

“O I’ll cast off my gowns of red,
And I’ll beg wi you to win my bread.

”
“Ye needna cast off your gowns of brown,
For I’ll make you lady o many a town.

“Ye needna cast off your gowns of red,
It’s only a sham, the begging o my bread.

”
The bridegroom he had wedded the bride,
But young Hind Horn he took her to bed.

lavrocks - larks
halden - been held

Historical Recollections Read Poem

'Tis a glorious thing to visit lands where empire lived of yore,
To tread upon the Assyrian plain, the Greek and Latin shore,
To ponder o'er the mighty tombs of generations gone,
And dream, amid the ruins vast, of Rome and Babylon.

We sigh that widowed Carthage now lies levelled with the wave;
That Tadmor and Persepolis are silent as the grave;
But wizard fancy bids the crowds, that filled those ancient walls,
Once more arise in living pride, to throng their streets and halls.

She waves her wand — the pillar lifts aloft the sculptured dome,
And the temple, all restored and grand, appears of gods the home;
Her magic makes it pleasant still to visit foreign climes,
And see the sad memorials that speak of other times.

By W.

H.

Hush a By Baby Read Poem

Hush-a-by Baby
On the tree top,
When the wind blows
The cradle will rock;
When the bough breaks
The cradle will fall,
Down tumbles baby,
Cradle, and all.

1.

"The best-known lullaby both in England and America,
it is regularly crooned in hundreds of thousands of homes at nightfall.

"
See The Oxford Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes, ed.

Iona and Peter Opie (1951\; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1966), no.

22, p.

61.

Hush-a-ba, burdie, croon, croon Read Poem

Hush-a-ba, burdie, croon, croon
Hush-a-ba, burdie, croon;
The sheep are gane tae the siller wood,
An the coos are gane tae the broom, broom.

O it's braw milkin the kye, kye,
O it's braw milkin the kye;
The birds are singin, the bells are ringin,
An the wild deer come gallopin by.

Hush-a-ba burdie, croon, croon,
Hush-a-ba burdie, croon,
The gaits are gane tae the mountain hie,
An they'll no be hame till noon.

burdie - term of endearment for a child
kye - cattle
gaits - goats

Hymn For Saturday Evening Read Poem

Another week has pass'd away,
Another Sabbath now draws near;
Lord, with Thy blessing crown the day,
Which all Thy children hold so dear!
Deliver'd from its weekly load,
How light the happy spirit springs,
And soars to Thy divine abode,
With peace and freedom on its wings!
Now 'tis our privilege to find
A short release from all our care;
To leave the world's pursuits behind,
And breathe a more celestial air.

O Lord, those earthly thoughts destroy,
Which cling too fondly to our breast;
Through grace prepare us to enjoy
The coming hours of hallow'd rest.

And when Thy word shall set us free
From every burden that we bear,
Oh! may we rise to rest with Thee,
And hail a brighter Sabbath there.

I am Taliesin. I sing perfect metre Read Poem

I am Taliesin.

I sing perfect metre,
Which will last to the end of the world.

My patron is Elphin.

I know why there is an echo in a hollow;
Why silver gleams; why breath is black; why liver is bloody;
Why a cow has horns; why a woman is affectionate;
Why milk is white; why holly is green;
Why a kid is bearded; why the cow-parsnip is hollow;
Why brine is salt; why ale is bitter;
Why the linnet is green and berries red;
Why a cuckoo complains; why it sings;
I know where the cuckoos of summer are in winter.

I know what beasts there are at the bottom of the sea;
How many spears in battle; how may drops in a shower;
Why a river drowned Pharaoh's people;
Why fishes have scales.

Why a white swan has black feet.

I have been a blue salmon,
I have been a dog, a stag, a roebuck on the mountain,
A stock, a spade, an axe in the hand,
A stallion, a bull, a buck,
I was reaped and placed in an oven;
I fell to the ground when I was being roasted
And a hen swallowed me.

For nine nights was I in her crop.

I have been dead, I have been alive.

I am Taliesin.

-- Anon.

, (Welsh, 13th century)
From the Mabinogion.

Taliesin, by the way, means 'radiant brow'.

[About the Mabinogion]
The tales of the Mabinogion are not the product of any single hand;
rather, they evolved over the centuries, passing from storyteller to
storyteller, until some master bard put them together around the twelfth
century.

Its contents draw upon the myths and history of Celtic Britain:
four branches of a storyline set largely within the confines of Wales
and the otherworld.

The tales create a dreamlike atmosphere and preserve much of the primitive, fascinating world of Celtic myth.

They exemplify the heroic and idealistic world of Celtic literature.

The Mabinogion does not seem
to have been very well known until its translation into English in 1849 when Lady Charlotte Guest's version appeared.

The tales comprise an ensemble of parts, the first four "Pwyll", "Branwen", "Manawydan", and "Math" comprising the Four Branches of the Mabinogi.

It was Lady Charlotte who supplied the title Mabinogion.

Previously, the tales were simply identified as part of this or that manuscript.

Each of the Four Branches ends with the term 'So ends this Branch of the Mabinogi.

' The Welsh word 'mab' means 'son'.

Lady Charlotte concluded that 'mabinogi' was a noun meaning 'a story for children' and that the word 'mabinogion' was its plural.

Another interpretation is that the word mabinog refers to "a student in the bardic class" and mabinogi (pl.

mabinogion) therefore being "a tale belonging to the mabinog's repertoire".

The Mabinogion are found in the "Red Book of Hergest", a large fourteenth-century manuscript kept at Jesus College, Oxford.

An earlier manuscript called 'The White Book of Rhydderch' (c.

1325) is incomplete
but more than likely contained all the tales when it was whole.

Fragments of these tales appear elsewhere, the earliest of which is believed to be 'Peniarth 6' which dates to c.

1225.

The stories were probably drawn up in their present shape towards the end of the twelfth century, but the stories are of much greater antiquity, some belonging even to the more distant past of Celtic paganism and to the period of Gallo-Breton unity.

Welsh scholars tend to favour an earlier amalgamation, wanting to maximize the extent of their ancestors'
contribution to The Mabinogion, while French scholars argue for 1200 - 1250 CE with the same thing in mind.

Ifor Williams proposed 1060 CE as a likely date and gives a number of arguments: the occurrence of outdated
word forms in the text, the scarcity of French words, references to extinct customs, and the peaceful period 1055-63 which was a time of bards from north and south to exchange and tell their tales.

It is interesting to note that in the main "Four Branches" there is no mention of Arthur.

Besides these four tales, the Mabinogion includes two from romantic British history ("The Dream of Maxen Wledig" and "Lludd
and Llevelys"), two more interesting ones ("Rhonabwy's Dream" and "Kilhwch and Olwen"), "Taliesin", and, finally, three tales ("Owain or The Lady of the Fountain", "Gereint the Son of Erbin", "Peredur ab
Evrawc") which show a marked kinship with certain medieval French tales.

The three-volume edition with English translation by Lady Charlotte
Guest was printed by Llandovery in 1849 with the English translation
alone appearing in an edition of 1879.

The Welsh text has been printed
in a diplomatic edition, "The Red Book of Hergest", by J.

Rhys and J.

Gwenogfryn Evans (Oxford, 1887).

Lady Guest's translation has been re-edited with valuable notes by Alfred Nutt (London, 1902).

-- from an Arthurian sources page,
http://www.

gorddcymru.

com/

I Asked The Little Boy Who Cannot See Read Poem

I asked the little boy who cannot see,
"And what is colour like?

"
"Why, green," said he,
"Is like the rustle when the wind blows through
The forest; running water, that is blue;
And red is like a trumpet sound; and pink
Is like the smell of roses; and I think
That purple must be like a thunderstorm;
And yellow is like something soft and warm;
And white is a pleasant stillness when you lie
And dream.

"

I Have A Gentil Cock Read Poem

I have a gentil cock
croweth me day
he doth me risen early
my matins for to stay
I have a gentil cock
comen he is of great
his comb is of red coral
his tail is of jet
I have a gentil cock
comen he is of kind
his comb is of red sorrel
his tail is of inde
his legs be of azure
so gentil and so small
his spurs are of silver white
into the wortewale
his eyes are of crystal
locked all in amber
and every night he pertcheth him
in my lady`s chamber

I Know My Love Read Poem

I KNOW my Love by his way of walking,
And I know my love by his way of talking,
And I know my love dressed in a suit of blue,
And if my Love leaves me, what will I do?

And still she cried, “I love him the best,
And a troubled mind, sure, can know no rest,”
And still she cried, “Bonny boys are few,
And if my Love leaves me, what will I do?

”
There is a dance house in Mar’dyke,
And there my true love goes every night;
He takes a strange one upon his knee,
And don’t you think, now, that vexes me?

And still she cried, “I love him the best,
And a troubled mind, sure, can know no rest,”
And still she cried, “Bonny boys are few,
And if my Love leaves me, what will I do?

”
If my Love knew I could wash and wring,
If my Love knew I could weave and spin,
I would make a dress all of the finest kind,
But the want of money, sure, leaves me behind.

And still she cried, “I love him the best,
And a troubled mind, sure, can know no rest,”
And still she cried, “Bonny boys are few,
And if my Love leaves me, what will I do?

”
I know my Love is an arrant rover,
I know he’ll wander the wide world over,
In dear old Ireland he’ll no longer tarry,
And an English one he is sure to marry.

And still she cried, “I love him the best,
And a troubled mind, sure, can know no rest,”
And still she cried, “Bonny boys are few,
And if my Love leaves me, what will I do?

”
From Anthology of Irish Verse.

1922

I Saw A Peacock Read Poem

I Saw a Peacock, with a fiery tail,
I saw a Blazing Comet, drop down hail,
I saw a Cloud, with Ivy circled round,
I saw a sturdy Oak, creep on the ground,
I saw a Pismire, swallow up a Whale,
I saw a raging Sea, brim full of Ale,
I saw a Venice Glass, full fifteen feet deep,
I saw a well, full of men's tears that weep,
I saw red eyes, all of a flaming fire,
I saw a House, as big as the Moon and higher,
I saw the Sun, even in the midst of night,
I saw the man, that saw this wondrous sight.

Anonymous (before 1665)
pismire
is an archaic term for an ant
In
First Loves,
Margaret Atwood describes this "trick" poem as "the first poem I can remember that opened up the possibility of poetry for me.

" The trick is the two ways it can be understood; read a line at a time, or read from the middle of one line to the middle of the next.

The Oxford Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes notes that it appears in a commonplace book dated to around 1665; it seems to have been first published in the
Westminster-Drollery
in 1671.

I Sing Of A Maiden Read Poem

I syng of a mayden
That is mak{.

e}les;
Kyng of all{.

e} kyng{.

e}s
To here Son{.

e} sche ches.

He cam also stylle
There his moder was
As dew in Aprylle
That fallyt on the gras;
He cam also stylle
To his moderes bowr
As dew in Aprille
That fallyt on the flour;
He cam also stylle
There his moder lay
As dew in Aprille
That fallyt on the spray;
Moder and maydyn
Was never non but sche;
Wel may swych a lady
God{.

e}s moder be.

I will give my love an apple Read Poem

I will give my love an apple without e'er a core,
I will give my love a house without e'er a door,
I will give my love a palace wherein she may be,
And she may unlock it without any key.

My head is the apple without e'er a core,
My mind is the house without e'er a door.

My heart is the palace wherein she may be,
And she may unlock it without any key.

Ice Read Poem

The wave, over the wave, a weird thing I saw,
through-wrought, and wonderfully ornate:
a wonder on the wave --- water become bone.

If You Sit Down At Set Of Sun Read Poem

If you sit down at set of sun,
And count the acts that you have done,
And counting find
One self-denying act, or word
That eased the heart of him who heard
One glance most kind
That fell like sunshine where it went
Then you may count it at day well spent.

But, if through the livelong day
You've cheered no heart by yea or nay
If through it all
You've nothing done that you can trace
That brought the sunshine to one face,
No act that small,
That helped one soul and nothing cost
Then count that day as worse than lost.

In The North Atlantic Trade ? Read Poem

"We sweep a bit and we fight a bit—an' that's what we like the best—
But a towin' job or a salvage job, they all go in with the rest;
When we ain't too busy upsettin' old Fritz an' 'is frightfulness blockade
A bit of all sorts don't come amiss in the North Atlantic trade.

"
"And who's your skipper, and what is he like?

" "Oh, well, if you want to know,
I'm sailing under a hard-case mate as I sailed with years ago;
'E's big as a bucko an' full o' beans, the same as 'e used to be
When I knowed 'im last in the windbag days when first I followed the sea.

'E was worth two men at the lee fore brace, an' three at the bunt of a sail;
'E'd a voice you could 'ear to the royal yards in the teeth of a Cape 'Orn gale;
But now 'e's a full-blown lootenant, an' wears the twisted braid,
Commandin' one of 'is Majesty's ships in the North Atlantic trade.

"
"And what is the ship you're sailin' in?

" "Oh, she's a bit of a terror.

She ain't no bloomin' levvyathan, an' that's no fatal error!
She scoops the seas like a gravy spoon when the gales are up an' blowin',
But Fritz 'e loves 'er above a bit when 'er fightin' fangs are showin'.

The liners go their stately way an' the cruisers take their ease,
But where would they be if it wasn't for us with the water up to our knees?

We're wadin' when their soles are wet, we're swimmin' when they wade,
For I tell you small craft gets it a treat in the North Atlantic trade!"
"An' what is the port you're plying to?

" "When the last long trick is done
There'll some come back to the old 'ome port—'ere's 'opin' I'll be one;
But some 'ave made a new landfall, an' sighted another shore,
An' it ain't no use to watch for them, for they won't come 'ome no more.

There ain't no harbour dues to pay when once they're over the bar,
Moored bow and stern in a quiet berth where the lost three-deckers are.

An' there's Nelson 'oldin' is' one 'and out an' welcomin' them that's made
The roads o' Glory an' the Port of Death in the North Atlantic trade.

"
This poem appeared in Mr Punch's History Of The Great War in 1919.

It was published by the editors of the Punch Magazine.

It was introduced with the following paragraph.

Our Grand Fleet keeps its strenuous, unceasing vigil in the North Sea.

But we must not forget the merchant mariners now serving under the Windsor House Flag in the North Atlantic trade:
The Windsor House Flag is a reference to the Union Flag.

The British Royal Family changed their name from Saxe Coburg Gotha to Windsor in 1917 during the conflict.

Inscribed On The South Side Of The Altar At Otham Church, Kent Read Poem

In God is all my trust.

Here lyeth the body of Thomas Hendley, esquire by degre,
The yongest sone of Jervis Hendley, of Corsworne in Cramkebrocke,
Gent'man known to be,
Who gave a house, and also land, the Fifteene for to paye,
And to relieve the people pore of this parishe for aye
He died the ----- day of ----- from Him that Judas sold
A thousand five hundredth and ninety yere, being eightie nine yeres ould,
Protesting often before his death, when he his faith declared,
That onlye by the death of Christ he hoped to be saved.

(Query, spared!)
Christ is oure only Savior.

Inscribed To An Alderman Read Poem

Know ye the land where the leaf of the myrtle
Is bestow'd on good livers in eating sublime?

Where the rage for fat ven'son, and love of the turtle,
Preside o'er the realms of an Epicure clime?

Know ye the land where the juice of the vine,
Makes Aldermen learned, and Bishops divine?

Where each Corporation, deep flushd with its bloom,
Waxes fat o'er the eyes of the claret's perfume?

Thick spread is the table with choicest of fruit,
And the voice of the reveller never is mute:
Their rich robes, though varied, in beauty may vie,
Yet the purple of Bacchus is deepest in dye:--
'Tis the clime of the East -- the return of the sun
Looks down on the deeds which his children have done:
Then wild is the note, and discordant the yell,
When, reeling and staggering, they hiccup -- Farewell.

Inscription In Marble In The Parish Church Of Faversham, In Agro Cantiano Read Poem

Whoso him bethoft
Inwardly and oft,
How hard it were to flit
From bed unto the pit,
From pit unto pain
That ne'er shall cease again,
He would not do one sin
All the world to win.

Inscription In St Cross Near Winchester, To John Newles, On A Brass Near The West Entrance Of The Ch Read Poem

The yere of our Lord m.

ccc.

l.

and two:
Vpon the xi day in the moneth of Febever:
The soul of Jon Newles, the body passid fro:
A brother of this place restyng undir yis stone here:
Born in beame squyer and suant more yan xxx yere:
Unto Harry Beauford bushhop and cardinal:
Whos soules God convey and His Moder dere:
Vnto the blisse of Heven that is eternall.

Amen:
St Cross is a medieval almshouse near Winchester which still provides sheltered accomodation for elderly men, known as Brothers.

Henry Beaufort, who re-founded and extended it, was a cardinal and Bishop of Winchester.

However, he wasn't born until 1375, so a man who died in 1352 (mcccl and two) could not have been a follower of his.

Perhaps it is an error for 1452?

Inscription In St Cross Near Winchester, To John Newles, On A Brass Near The West Entrance Of The Church Read Poem

The yere of our Lord m.

ccc.

l.

and two:
Vpon the xi day in the moneth of Febever:
The soul of Jon Newles, the body passid fro:
A brother of this place restyng undir yis stone here:
Born in beame squyer and suant more yan xxx yere:
Unto Harry Beauford bushhop and cardinal:
Whos soules God convey and His Moder dere:
Vnto the blisse of Heven that is eternall.

Amen:

Inscription On A Wall In St. Edmund's Church In Lombard Street, London Read Poem

Man, thee behoveth oft to have this in mind,
That thou givest with thine hand, that thou shalt find;
For widows be slothful, and children be unkind,
Executors be covetous, and keep all that they find
If anybody ask where the dead's goods became?

So God help me and Halidam, he died a poor man.

Inscription On Melrose Abbey Read Poem

The earth goes on the earth glittering in gold,
The earth goes to the earth sooner than it would;
The earth builds on the earth castles and towers,
The earth says to the earth -- All is ours.

It Seemes That Tunis Is An Auncient Towne Read Poem

It seemes that Tunis is an auncient towne
Neere to the ruines of Carthage once so prowde,
Whose stately buildings now are cleane pulled downe,
And calmde her bruit, that sounded sometime lowde:
But roome, that is their auncient far away
Doth holde, and shall, though cities all decay.

Roome is more large, then spacious Millaine faire,
Or Venice or the Tartars great Camball,
Boeams three Prages, or Egypts rich Alcaire,
Or Quinset in Cataie biggest of them all,
And more I say, after the day of doome
Hell shall be no where, vnles it be in roome.

It’s Raining, It’s Pouring Read Poem

It’s Raining, It’s Pouring,
The old man is snoring;
He went to bed sand bumped his head
And couldn’t get up in the morning.

Jack and Jill Read Poem

Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water
Jack fell down and broke his crown
And Jill came tumbling after.

Up got Jack, and home did trot
As fast as he could caper
He went to bed and bound his head
With vinegar and brown paper.

Jack and Jill story - The French (history) connection!
The roots of the story, or poem,  of Jack and Jill  are in France.

Jack and Jill referred to are said to be King Louis XVI - Jack -who was beheaded (lost his crown) followed by his Queen Marie Antoinette - Jill - (who came tumbling after).

The words and lyrics to the Jack and Jill  poem were made more acceptable as a story for children by providing a happy ending! The actual beheadings occurred in during the Reign of Terror in 1793.

The first publication date for the lyrics of Jack and Jill  rhyme is 1795 - which ties-in with the history and origins.

Jack Sprat Read Poem

Jack Sprat
Could eat no fat,
His wife could eat no lean;
And so betwixt them both, you see,
They lick'd the platter clean.

Composition date is unknown; collected in "Mother Goose: The Original Volland Edition"
Illustration by Frederick Richardson
1.

See The Oxford Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes, ed.

Iona and
Peter Opie (1951\; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1966), no.

264, p.

238.

Jellon Grame Read Poem

O Jellon Grame sat in Silver Wood,
He whistled and he sang,
And he has calld his little foot-page,
His errand for to gang.

‘Win up, my bonny boy,’ he says,
‘As quick as eer you may;
For ye maun gang for Lillie Flower,
Before the break of day.

’
The boy he’s buckled his belt about,
And thro the green-wood ran,
And he came to the ladie’s bower-door,
Before the day did dawn.

‘O sleep ye, or wake ye, Lillie Flower?

The red run’s i the rain:’
‘I sleep not aft, I wake right aft;
Wha’s that that kens my name?

’
‘Ye are bidden come to Silver Wood,
But I fear you’ll never win hame;
Ye are bidden come to Silver Wood,
And speak wi Jellon Grame.

’
‘O I will gang to Silver Wood,
Though I shoud never win hame;
For the thing I most desire on earth
Is to speak wi Jellon Grame.

’
She had no ridden a mile, a mile,
A mile but barely three,
Ere she came to a new made grave,
Beneath a green oak tree.

O then up started Jellon Grame,
Out of a bush hard bye:
‘Light down, light down now, Lillie Flower,
For it’s here that ye maun ly.

’
She lighted aff her milk-white steed,
And knelt upon her knee:
‘O mercy, mercy, Jellon Grame!
For I’m nae prepar’d to die.

‘Your bairn, that stirs between my sides,
Maun shortly see the light;
But to see it weltring in my blude
Woud be a piteous sight.

’
‘O shoud I spare your life,’ he says,
‘Until that bairn be born,
I ken fu well your stern father
Woud hang me on the morn.

’
‘O spare my life now, Jellon Grame!
My father ye neer need dread;
I’ll keep my bairn i the good green wood,
Or wi it I’ll beg my bread.

’
He took nae pity on that ladie,
Tho she for life did pray;
But pierced her thro the fair body,
As at his feet she lay.

He felt nae pity for that ladie,
Tho she was lying dead;
But he felt some for the bonny boy,
Lay weltring in her blude.

Up has he taen that bonny boy,
Gien him to nurices nine,
Three to wake, and three to sleep,
And three to go between.

And he’s brought up that bonny boy,
Calld him his sister’s son;
He thought nae man would eer find out
The deed that he had done.

But it sae fell out upon a time,
As a hunting they did gay,
That they rested them in Silver Wood,
Upon a summer-day.

Then out it spake that bonny boy,
While the tear stood in his eye,
‘O tell me this now, Jellon Grame,
And I pray you dinna lie.

‘The reason that my mother dear
Does never take me hame?

To keep me still in banishment
Is baith a sin and shame.

’
‘You wonder that your mother dear
Does never send for thee;
Lo, there’s the place I slew thy mother,
Beneath that green oak tree.

’
Wi that the boy has bent his bow,
It was baith stout and lang,
And through and thro him Jellon Grame
He’s gard an arrow gang.

Says, Lye you thare now, Jellon Grame,
My mellison you wi;
The place my mother lies buried in
Is far too good for thee.

Mellison - curse

Jephthah Judge of Israel Read Poem

Have you not heard these many years ago,
Jeptha was judge of Israel?

He had one only daughter and no mo,
The which he loved passing well.

And as by lott,
God wot,
It so came to pass,
As Gods will was,
That great wars there should be,
And none should be chosen chief but he.

And when he was appointed judge,
And chieftain of the company,
A solemn vow to God he made,
If he returned with victory,
At his return,
To burn
The first live thing,
****
That should meet with him then,
Off his house when he should return agen.

It came to pass, the wars was o'er,
And he returned with victory;
His dear and only daughter first of all
Came to meet her father foremostly:
And all the way
She did play
On tabret and pipe,
Full many a stripe,
With note so high,
For joy that her father is come so nigh.

But when he saw his daughter dear
Coming on most foremostly,
He wrung his hands, and tore his hair,
And cryed out most piteously:
"Oh! it's thou," said he,
"That have brought me Low,
And troubled me so,
That I know not what to do.

"For I have made a vow," he sed,
"The which must be replenished;"
****
"What thou hast spoke
Do not revoke,
What thou hast said;
Be not afraid;
Altho' it be I,
Keep promises to God on high.

"But, dear father, grant me one request,
That I may go to the wilderness,
Three months there with my friends to stay;
There to bewail my virginity;
And let there be,"
Said he,
"Some two or three
Young maids with me.

"
So he sent her away,
For to mourn, for to mourn, till her dying day.

Jephthah Judge Of Israel Read Poem

Have you not heard these many years ago,
Jeptha was judge of Israel?

He had one only daughter and no mo,
The which he loved passing well.

And as by lott,
God wot,
It so came to pass,
As Gods will was,
That great wars there should be,
And none should be chosen chief but he.

And when he was appointed judge,
And chieftain of the company,
A solemn vow to God he made,
If he returned with victory,
At his return,
To burn
The first live thing,
****
That should meet with him then,
Off his house when he should return agen.

It came to pass, the wars was o'er,
And he returned with victory;
His dear and only daughter first of all
Came to meet her father foremostly:
And all the way
She did play
On tabret and pipe,
Full many a stripe,
With note so high,
For joy that her father is come so nigh.

But when he saw his daughter dear
Coming on most foremostly,
He wrung his hands, and tore his hair,
And cryed out most piteously:
'Oh! it's thou,' said he,
'That have brought me Low,
And troubled me so,
That I know not what to do.

'For I have made a vow,' he sed,
'The which must be replenished;'
****
'What thou hast spoke
Do not revoke,
What thou hast said;
Be not afraid;
Altho' it be I,
Keep promises to God on high.

'But, dear father, grant me one request,
That I may go to the wilderness,
Three months there with my friends to stay;
There to bewail my virginity;
And let there be,'
Said he,
'Some two or three
Young maids with me.

'
So he sent her away,
For to mourn, for to mourn, till her dying day.

John Highlandman Read Poem

A Highland lad my love was born,
The lowland laws he held in scorn,
But he still was faithfu' to his clan,
My Gallant, braw John Highlandman!
Wi his philibeg an' tartan plaid
An' guid claymore down by his side,
The ladies' hearts he did trepan,
My gallant braw John Highlandman!
But och, they catch'd him at the last
And bound him in a dungeon fast.

My curse upon them every one,
They've hanged my braw John Highlandman.

There is not a lad in a' the lan'
Was match for my John Highlandman!
Robert Burns took the tune for this traditional song and wrote new lyrics called 'The White Cockade'.

Johnny Armstrong Read Poem

There dwelt a man in faire Westmerland
Ionne Armstrong men did him call
He had nither lands nor rents coming in
Yet he kept eight score men in his hall
He had horses and harness for them all,
Goodly steeds were all milk white;
O the golden bands an about their necks,
And their weapons, they were all alike.

Newes then was brought unto the king
That there was sicke a won as hee,
That lived (I]yke a bold out-law,
And robbed all the north country.

The king he writt an a letter then,
A letter which was large and long;
He signed it with his owne hand,
And he promised to doe him no wrong.

When this letter carne Ionne untill,
His heart it was as blythe as birds on the tree:
'Never was I sent for before any king,
My father, my grandfather, nor none but mee.

'And if wee goe the king before,
I would we went most orderly;
Every man of you shall have his scarlet cloak,
Laced with silver laces three.

'Every one of you shall have his velvett coat,
Laced with silver lace so white;
O the golden bands an about your necks,
Black hatts, white feathers, all alyke''
By the morrow morninge at ten of the clock,
Towards Edenburough gon was hee,
And with him all his eight score men;
Good lord, it was a goodly sight for to see!
When Ionne came befower the king,
He fell downe on his knee;
'O pardon, my soveraine leige; he said,
'O pardon my eight score men and mee!-
'Thou shalt have no pardon, thou traytor strong,
For thy eight score men nor thee;
For to-morrow morning by ten of the clock,
Both thou and them shall hang on the gallow-tree'
But Ionne lookd over his left shoulder,
Good Lord, what a grievous look looked hee!
Saying, 'Asking grace of a graceles face-
Why there is none for you nor me'
But Ionne had a bright sword by his side,
And it was made of the mettle so free,
That had not the king stept his foot aside,
He had smitten his head from his faire bodde.

Saying, 'fight on, my merry men all,
And see that none of you be taine;
For rather then men shall say we were hanged,
Let them report how we were slaine.

'
Then, God wott, faire Eddenburrough rose,
And so besett poore Ionne rounde,
That fowerscore and tenn of Ionne's best men
Lay gasping all upon the ground.

Then like a mad man Ionne laid about,
And like a mad man then fought hee,
Until a falce Scot came Ionne behinde,
And runn him through the faire boddee.

Saying, 'fight on, my merry men all,
And see that none o you be taine;
For I will stand by and bleed but awhile,
And then will I come and fight againe!'
Newes then was brought to young Ionne Armstrong,
As he stood by his nurse's knee,
Who vowed if ere he lived for to be a man,
O' the treacherous Scots revengd hee'd be.

Johnny Armstrong (original) Read Poem

Sum speiks of lords, sum speiks of lairds,
And siclyke men of hie degrie;
Of a gentleman I sing a sang,
Sumtyme calld Laird of Giluockie.

The king he wrytes a laving letter,
With his ain hand see tenderly:
And he hath sent it to Johnnie Armstrang,
To cum and speik with him speidily.

The Eliots and Armstrangs did convene,
They were a gallant company:
'We'ill ryde and meit our lawful king,
And bring him safe to Gilnockiel'
'Make kinnen(1) and capon ready, then,
And venison in great plenty;
We'ill welcome hame our royal king;
I hope he'ill dyne at Gilnockiel'
They ran their horse on the Langum howm(2)
And brake their speirs with mekle main;
The ladys lukit free their loft-windows,
'God bring our men weil back again!'
When Johnnie came before the king,
With all his men see brave to see,
The King he movit his bonnet to him;
He weind he was a king as well as he.

'May I find grace, my sovereign liege,
Grace for my loyal men and me?

For my name it is Johnnie Armstrang,
And subject of yours, my liege,' said he.

'Away, away, thou traytor, strang!
Out of my sicht thou mayst sune be!
I grantit nevir a traytors lyfe,
And now I'll not begin with thee.

'
"Grant me my lyfe, my liege, my king,
And a bony gift I will give to thee:
Full four-and-twenty milk-whyt  steids.

Were a' foald in a yeir to me.

'I'll gie thee all these milk-whyt steids,
that prance and nicher at a speir,
With as mekle gude Inglis gilt
As four of their braid backs dow beir.

'
'Away, away, thou traytor strang!
Out o' my sicht thou mayst sune be!
I grantit nevir a traytors Iyfe,
And now I'll not begin with thee.

'
'Grant me my lyfe, my liege, my king,
And a bony gift I'll gie to thee;
Gude four-and-twenty ganging mills,
That gang throw a' the yeir to me.

'These four-and-twenty mills complete
Sall gang for thee throw all the yeir,
And as mekle of gude reid wheit
As all their trappers dow to bear.

'
'Away, away, thou traytor, strang!
Out of my sicht thou mayst sune be!
I grantit nevir a traytors lyfe,
And now I'll not begin with thee.

'
'Grant me my lyfe, my liege, my king,
And a great gift I'll gie to thee;
Bauld four-and-twenty sisters sons,
Sall for the fecht, tho all  sould flee.

'
'Away, away, thou traytor, strang!
Out of my sicht thou mayst sune be!
I grantit nevir a traytors lyfe,
And now I'll not begin with thee.

'
'Grant me my lyfe, my liege, my king,
And a brave gift I'll gie to thee;
All betwene heir and Newcastle town
Sall pay chair yeirly rent to thee.

'
Away, away, thou traytor, strang!
Out of my sicht thou mayst sune be!
I grantit nevir a traytors lyfe,
And now I'll not begin with thee.

'
'Ye lied, ye lied, now, king,' he says,
'Althocht a king and prince ye be,
For I luid naithing in all my lyfe,
I dare well say it, but honesty;
'But a fat horse, and a fair woman,
Twa bony dogs to kill a deir:
But Ingland suld half found me meil and malt,
Gif I had livd this hundred yeir!
'Scho suld half found me meil and malt,
And beif and mutton in all plentie;
But neir a Scots wyfe could half said
That eir I skaithd her a pure flie.

(3)
'To seik het water beneth cauld yce,
Surely it is a great folie;
I half asked grace at a graceless face,
But there is nane for my men and me.

'But had I kend, or I came free hame,
How thou unkynd wadst bene to me,
I wad half kept the border-syde,
In spyte of all they force and thee.

'Wist Englands king that I was tane,
O gin a blyth man wald he be!
For anes I slew his sisters son,
And on his breist-bane brak a tree.

'
John wore a girdle about his midle,
Imbroidered owre with burning gold,
Bespangled with the same mettle,
Maist beautiful! was to behold.

Ther hang nine targets at Johnnies hat,
And ilk an worth three hundred pound:
'What wants that knave that a king suld haif,
But the sword of honour and the crown!
'O whair get thou these targets, Johnnie,
That blink see brawly abune thy brie?

'
'I get them in the field fechting,
Wher, cruel king, thou durst not be.

'Had I my horse, and my harness gude,
And ryding as I wont to be,
It sould half bene tald this hundred yeir
The meiting of my king and me.

'God be withee, Kirsty, my brither,
Lang live thou Laird of Mangertoun!
Lang mayst thou live on the border-syde
Or thou se thy brither ryde up and doun.

'And God be withee, Kirsty, my son,
Whair thou sits on thy nurses knee!
But and thou live this hundred yeir,
Thy fathers better thoult never be.

'Farweil, my bonny Gilnock-Hall,
Whair on Esk-syde thou standest stout!
Gif I had lived but seven yeirs mair,
I wad haff gilt thee round about.

'
John murdred was at Carlinrigg,
And all his galant companie,
But Scotlands heart was never sae wae,
To see sae mony brave men die.

Because they savd their country deir
Frae Englishmen; nane were sae bauld,
Whyle Johnnie livd on the border-syde,
Nane of them durst cum neir his hald.

Johnny Armstrong (Original) Read Poem

Sum speiks of lords, sum speiks of lairds,
And siclyke men of hie degrie;
Of a gentleman I sing a sang,
Sumtyme calld Laird of Giluockie.

The king he wrytes a laving letter,
With his ain hand see tenderly:
And he hath sent it to Johnnie Armstrang,
To cum and speik with him speidily.

The Eliots and Armstrangs did convene,
They were a gallant company:
'We'ill ryde and meit our lawful king,
And bring him safe to Gilnockiel'
'Make kinnen(1) and capon ready, then,
And venison in great plenty;
We'ill welcome hame our royal king;
I hope he'ill dyne at Gilnockiel'
They ran their horse on the Langum howm(2)
And brake their speirs with mekle main;
The ladys lukit free their loft-windows,
'God bring our men weil back again!'
When Johnnie came before the king,
With all his men see brave to see,
The King he movit his bonnet to him;
He weind he was a king as well as he.

'May I find grace, my sovereign liege,
Grace for my loyal men and me?

For my name it is Johnnie Armstrang,
And subject of yours, my liege,' said he.

'Away, away, thou traytor, strang!
Out of my sicht thou mayst sune be!
I grantit nevir a traytors lyfe,
And now I'll not begin with thee.

'
'Grant me my lyfe, my liege, my king,
And a bony gift I will give to thee:
Full four-and-twenty milk-whyt steids.

Were a' foald in a yeir to me.

'I'll gie thee all these milk-whyt steids,
that prance and nicher at a speir,
With as mekle gude Inglis gilt
As four of their braid backs dow beir.

'
'Away, away, thou traytor strang!
Out o' my sicht thou mayst sune be!
I grantit nevir a traytors Iyfe,
And now I'll not begin with thee.

'
'Grant me my lyfe, my liege, my king,
And a bony gift I'll gie to thee;
Gude four-and-twenty ganging mills,
That gang throw a' the yeir to me.

'These four-and-twenty mills complete
Sall gang for thee throw all the yeir,
And as mekle of gude reid wheit
As all their trappers dow to bear.

'
'Away, away, thou traytor, strang!
Out of my sicht thou mayst sune be!
I grantit nevir a traytors lyfe,
And now I'll not begin with thee.

'
'Grant me my lyfe, my liege, my king,
And a great gift I'll gie to thee;
Bauld four-and-twenty sisters sons,
Sall for the fecht, tho all sould flee.

'
'Away, away, thou traytor, strang!
Out of my sicht thou mayst sune be!
I grantit nevir a traytors lyfe,
And now I'll not begin with thee.

'
'Grant me my lyfe, my liege, my king,
And a brave gift I'll gie to thee;
All betwene heir and Newcastle town
Sall pay chair yeirly rent to thee.

'
Away, away, thou traytor, strang!
Out of my sicht thou mayst sune be!
I grantit nevir a traytors lyfe,
And now I'll not begin with thee.

'
'Ye lied, ye lied, now, king,' he says,
'Althocht a king and prince ye be,
For I luid naithing in all my lyfe,
I dare well say it, but honesty;
'But a fat horse, and a fair woman,
Twa bony dogs to kill a deir:
But Ingland suld half found me meil and malt,
Gif I had livd this hundred yeir!
'Scho suld half found me meil and malt,
And beif and mutton in all plentie;
But neir a Scots wyfe could half said
That eir I skaithd her a pure flie.

(3)
'To seik het water beneth cauld yce,
Surely it is a great folie;
I half asked grace at a graceless face,
But there is nane for my men and me.

'But had I kend, or I came free hame,
How thou unkynd wadst bene to me,
I wad half kept the border-syde,
In spyte of all they force and thee.

'Wist Englands king that I was tane,
O gin a blyth man wald he be!
For anes I slew his sisters son,
And on his breist-bane brak a tree.

'
John wore a girdle about his midle,
Imbroidered owre with burning gold,
Bespangled with the same mettle,
Maist beautiful! was to behold.

Ther hang nine targets at Johnnies hat,
And ilk an worth three hundred pound:
'What wants that knave that a king suld haif,
But the sword of honour and the crown!
'O whair get thou these targets, Johnnie,
That blink see brawly abune thy brie?

'
'I get them in the field fechting,
Wher, cruel king, thou durst not be.

'Had I my horse, and my harness gude,
And ryding as I wont to be,
It sould half bene tald this hundred yeir
The meiting of my king and me.

'God be withee, Kirsty, my brither,
Lang live thou Laird of Mangertoun!
Lang mayst thou live on the border-syde
Or thou se thy brither ryde up and doun.

'And God be withee, Kirsty, my son,
Whair thou sits on thy nurses knee!
But and thou live this hundred yeir,
Thy fathers better thoult never be.

'Farweil, my bonny Gilnock-Hall,
Whair on Esk-syde thou standest stout!
Gif I had lived but seven yeirs mair,
I wad haff gilt thee round about.

'
John murdred was at Carlinrigg,
And all his galant companie,
But Scotlands heart was never sae wae,
To see sae mony brave men die.

Because they savd their country deir
Frae Englishmen; nane were sae bauld,
Whyle Johnnie livd on the border-syde,
Nane of them durst cum neir his hald.

Johnny Green's Wedding, And Description Of Manchester College Read Poem

Neaw lads where ar yo beawn so fast,
Yo happun ha no yerd whot's past;
Au gettun wed sin au'r here last,
Just three week sin come Sunday.

Au ax'd th' owd folk, an aw wur reet,
So Nan an me agreet tat neet,
Ot if we could mak both eends meet,
We'd wed o' Easter Monday.

That morn, as prim as pewter quarts,
Aw th' wenches coom an browt th' sweet-hearts
Au fund we'r loike to ha three carts,
'Twur thrunk as Eccles Wakes, mon
We donn'd eawr tits i' ribbins too,
One red, one green, and tone wur blue,
So hey! lads, hey! away we flew,
Loike a race for th' Ledger sakes, mon.

Reet merrily we drove, full bat,
An eh! heaw Duke and Dobbin swat;
Owd Grizzle wur so lawm an fat,
Fro soide to soide hoo jow'd um:
Deawn Withy-Grove at last we coom,
An stopt at Seven Stars, by gum,
An drunk as mich warm ale and rum,
As'd dreawn o' th' folk i' Owdham.

When th' shot wur paid an drink wur done,
Up Fennel-Street, to th' church, for fun,
We donc'd loike morris-dancers dun,
To th' best of aw meh knowledge:
So th' job wur done i' hoave a crack,
Boh eh! whot fun to get th' first smack!
So neaw meh lads 'fore we gun back,
Says au, we'll look at th' college.

We seed a clock-case, first, good laws!
Where death stons up wi' great lung claws,
His legs, and wings, and lantern jaws,
They really look'd quite fearink.

There's snakes, an watch-bills just loike poikes
Ot Hunt an aw the reformink toikes
An thee an me, an Sam o Moiks,
Onc't took a blanketecrink.

Eh! lorjus days, booath far an woide,
There's yard's o' books at every stroide,
Fro' top to bothum, eend an soide,
Sich plecks there's very few so:
Au axt him if they wurn for t'sell,
For Nan loikes readink vastly well,
Boh th' measter wur eawt, so he couldna tell,
Or au'd bowt hur Robinson Crusoe.

There's a trumpet speyks and maks a din,
An a shute o clooas made o tin,
For folk to goo a feightink in,
Just loike thoose chaps o' Boney's:
An there's a table carv'd so queer,
Wi' os mony planks os days i' th' year,
An crinkum crankums here an there,
Loike th' clooas press at meh gronney's.

There's Oliver Crumill's bums an balls,
An Frenchman's guns, they'd tean i' squalls,
An swords, os lunk os me, on th' walls,
An bows an arrows too, mon:
Au didna moind his fearfo words,
Nor skeletons o men an birds,
Boh au fair hate seet o greyt lung swords
Sin th' feyght at Peterloo, mon.

We seed a wooden cock loikewise,
Boh dang it, mon, theas college boys,
They tell'n a pack of starink loies,
Os sure os teaw'r a sinner;
That cock when it smells roast beef'll crow
Says he; boh, au said, teaw lies, au know,
An au con prove it plainly so,
Au've peawnd i' meh hat for meh dinner.

Boh th' hairy mon had missed meh thowt,
An th' clog fair crackt by thunner bowt,
An th' woman noather lawmt nor nowt,
Thew ne'er seed th' loike sin t'ur born, mon.

There's crocodiles, an things indeed
Au colours, mak, shap, size, an breed,
An if au moot tell ton hoave au seed
We moot sit an smook till morn, mon.

Then dewn Lung-Mill-Gate we did steer
To owd Moike Wilson's goods-shop there,
To bey cawr Nan a rockink chear,
An pots, an spoons, an ladles:
Nan bowt a glass for lookink in,
A tin Dutch oon for cookink in,
Au bowt a cheer for smookink in,
An Nan ax'd proice o' th' cradles.

Then th' fiddler struck up th' honey-moon,
An off we seet for Owdham soon,
We made owd Grizzle trot to th' tune,
Every yard o' th' way, mon.

At neet oich lad an bonny lass,
Laws heaw they donc'd an drunk their glass,
So tiert wur Nan am I, by th' mass,
Ot we lay till twelve next day, mon.

Found in Wm.

Hone's The Year Book of Daily Recreation and Information, 1838, for January 13th, which says, "The following ballad, in the Lancashire dialect, contains an account of a holiday trip to see the 'curiosities,' and is characteristic of the provincial manners.

"

Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ye Read Poem

WHILE going the road to sweet Athy,
Hurroo! hurroo!
While going the road to sweet Athy,
Hurroo! hurroo!
While going the road to sweet Athy,
A stick in my hand and a drop in my eye,
A doleful damsel I heard cry:
“Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!
“With drums and guns, and guns and drums,
The enemy nearly slew ye;
My darling dear, you look so queer,
Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!
“Where are your eyes that looked so mild?

Hurroo! hurroo!
Where are your eyes that looked so mild?

Hurroo! hurroo!
Where are your eyes that looked so mild,
When my poor heart you first beguiled?

Why did you run from me and the child?

Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!
With drums, etc.

“Where are the legs with which you run?

Hurroo! hurroo!
Where are thy legs with which you run?

Hurroo! hurroo!
Where are the legs with which you run
When first you went to carry a gun?

Indeed, your dancing days are done!
Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!
With drums, etc.

It grieved my heart to see you sail,
Hurroo! hurroo!
It grieved my heart to see you sail,
Hurroo! hurroo!
It grieved my heart to see you sail,
Though from my heart you took leg-bail;
Like a cod you’re doubled up head and tail,
Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!
With drums, etc.

“You haven’t an arm and you haven’t a leg,
Hurroo! hurroo!
You haven’t an arm and you haven’t a leg,
Hurroo! hurroo!
You haven’t an arm and you haven’t a leg,
You’re an eyeless, noseless, chickenless egg;
You’ll have to be put with a bowl to beg:
Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!
With drums, etc.

“I’m happy for to see you home,
Hurroo! hurroo!
I’m happy for to see you home,
Hurroo! hurroo!
I’m happy for to see you home,
All from the Island of Sulloon;
So low in flesh, so high in bone;
Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!
With drums, etc.

“But sad it is to see you so,
Hurroo! hurroo!
But sad it is to see you so,
Hurroo! hurroo!
But sad it is to see you so,
And to think of you now as an object of woe,
Your Peggy’ll still keep you on as her beau;
Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!
With drums and guns, and guns and drums,
The enemy nearly slew ye;
My darling dear, you look so queer,
Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye.

From 'Anthology of Irish Verse.

1922.

'

Katie Bairdie Read Poem

Katie Bairdie had a coo,
Black an' white aboot the mou' ;
Wisna that a dainty coo ?

Dance Katie Bairdie.

Katie Bairdie had a cat,
She could catch baith moose and rat ;
Wisna that a dainty cat ?

Dance Katie Bairdie.

Katie Bairdie had a hen,
She could lay baith but an' ben ;
Wisna that a dainty hen ?

Dance Katie Bairdie.

Katie Bairdie had a wife,
She could use baith fork an' knife ;
Wisna that a dainty wife ?

Dance Kaitie Bairdie.

Katie Bairdie had a wean,
Widna play whan it cam' on rain ;
Wisna that a dainty wean ?

Dance Katie Bairdie.

but and ben - 'in the inner and outer rooms of the house' or 'outside and inside the house'
wean - child

Kemp Owyne Read Poem

Her mother died when she was young,
Which gave her cause to make great moan;
Her father married the warst woman
That ever lived in Christendom.

She served her with foot and hand,
In every thing that she could dee,
Till once, in an unlucky time,
She threw her in ower Craigy's sea.

Says, 'Lie you there, dove Isabel,
And all my sorrows lie with thee;
Till Kemp Owyne come ower the sea,
And borrow you with kisses three,
Let all the warld do what they will,
Oh borrowed shall you never be!
Her breath grew strang, her hair grew lang,
And twisted thrice about the tree,
And all the people, far and near,
Thought that a savage beast was she.

These news did come to Kemp Owyne,
Where he lived, far beyond the sea;
He hasted him to Craigy's sea,
And on the savage beast lookd he.

Her breath was strang, her hair was lang,
And twisted was about the tree,
And with a swing she came about:
'Come to Craigy's sea, and kiss with me.

'Here is a royal belt,' she cried,
'That I have found in the green sea;
And while your body it is on,
Drawn shall your blood never be;
But if you touch me, tail or fin,
I vow my belt your death shall be.

'
He stepped in, gave her a kiss,
The royal belt he brought him wi;
Her breath was strang, her hair was lang,
And twisted twice about the tree,
And with a swing she came about:
'Come to Craigy's sea, and kiss with me.

'
'Here is a royal ring,' she said,
'That I have found in the green sea;
And while your finger it is on,
Drawn shall your blood never be;
But if you touch me, tail or fin,
I swear my ring your death shall be.

'
He stepped in, gave her a kiss,
The royal ring he brought him wi;
Her breath was strang, her hair was lang,
And twisted ance about the tree,
And with a swing she came about:
'Come to Craigy's sea, and kiss with me.

'Here is a royal brand,' she said,
'That I have found in the green sea;
And while your body it is on,
Drawn shall your blood never be;
But if you touch me, tail or fin,
I swear my brand your death shall be.

'
He stepped in, gave her a kiss,
The royal brand he brought him wi;
Her breath was sweet, her hair grew short,
And twisted nane about the tree,
And smilingly she came about,
As fair a woman as fair could be.

King Arthur's Death. A Fragment. Read Poem

On Trinitye Mondaye in the morne,
This sore battayle was doom'd to bee,
Where manye a knighte cry'd, Well-awaye!
Alacke, it was the more pittie.

Ere the first crowinge of the cocke,
When as the kinge in his bed laye,
He thoughte Sir Gawaine to him came,
And there to him these wordes did saye:
'Nowe, as you are mine unkle deare,
And as you prize your life, this daye
O meet not with your foe in fighte;
Putt off the battayle, if yee maye.

'For Sir Launcelot is nowe in Fraunce,
And with him many an hardye knighte:
Who will within this moneth be backe,
And will assiste ye in the fighte.

'
The kinge then call'd his nobles all,
Before the breakinge of the daye;
And told them howe Sir Gawaine came,
And there to him these wordes did saye.

His nobles all this counsayle gave,
That earlye in the morning, hee
Shold send awaye an herauld-at-armes,
To aske a parley faire and free.

Then twelve good knightes King Arthur chose,
The best of all that with him were,
To parley with the foe in field,
And make with him agreement faire.

The king he charged all his hoste,
In readinesse there for to bee;
But noe man shold noe weapon sturre,
Unlesse a sword drawne they shold see.

And Mordred, on the other parte,
Twelve of his knights did likewise bringe,
The best of all his companye,
To hold the parley with the kinge.

Sir Mordred alsoe charged his hoste,
In readinesse there for to bee;
But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre,
But if a sworde drawne they shold see.

For he durste not his unkle truste,
Nor he his nephewe, sothe to tell;
Alacke! it was a woefulle case,
As ere in Christentye befelle.

But when they were together mette,
And both to faire accordance broughte,
And a month's league betweene them sette,
Before the battayle sholde be foughte,
An addere crept forth of a bushe,
Stunge one o' th' king's knightes on the knee;
Alacke! it was a woefulle chance,
As ever was in Christentie.

When the knighte found him wounded sore,
And sawe the wild-worm hanginge there,
His sworde he from his scabbarde drewe;
A piteous case, as ye shall heare.

For when the two hosts sawe the sworde,
They joyned battayle instantlye;
Till of soe manye noble knights,
On one side there were left but three.

For all were slain that durst abide,
And but some fewe that fled awaye:
Ay mee! it was a bloodye fielde,
As ere was foughte on a summer's daye.

Upon King Arthur's own partye,
Onlye himselfe escaped there,
And Lukyn Duke of Gloster free,
And the king's butler Bedevere.

And when the king beheld his knights
All dead and scattered on the molde,
The teares fast trickled downe his face;
That manlye face in fight so bolde.

'Nowe reste yee all, brave knights,' he said,
'Soe true and faithful to your trust:
And must yee then, ye valiant hearts,
Be lefte to moulder into dust!
'Most loyal have yee been to mee,
Most true and faithful unto deathe:
And, oh! to rayse yee up againe,
How freelye could I yield my breathe!
'But see, the traitor's yet alive!
Lo where hee stalkes among the deade!
Nowe bitterlye he shall abye:
And vengeance fall upon his head.

'
'O staye, my liege,' then sayd the duke;
'O staye for love and charitie;
Remember what the vision spake,
Nor meete your foe, if it may bee.

'
'O staye mee not, thou worthye wight,
This debt my loyal knights I owe:
Betide me life, betide me death,
I will avenge them of their foe.

'
Then straite he grasp'd his trustye speare,
And on his horse then mounted hee:
As his butler holpe him to his horse,
His bowels gushed to his knee.

'Alas!' then sayd the noble king,
'That I should live this sight to see!
To see this good knight here be slaine,
All for his love in helping mee!'
He put his speare into his reste,
And to Sir Mordred loud gan crye;
'Nowe sette thyself upon thy guarde
For, traitor, nowe thy death is nye.

'
Sir Mordred lifted up his sworde,
And fierce to meet the king ran hee:
The king his speare he through him thrust,
A fathom thorow his bodie.

When Mordred felt the stroke of death,
And found that he was sounded soe,
He thrust himselfe upon the speare,
And strucke the king a deadlye blowe.

Then grimmlye dyed Sir Mordered,
Presentlye upon that tree:
And bloody streames ranne from the kinge,
Ere to the duke returned hee.

Sir Lukyn then he thus bespake:
'Sir Knighte, thou hast been faithfulle tryde;
Nowe take my sword Excalibar,
That hangs so freelye by my syde;
'O take my sword Excalibar,
And there into the river throwe:
For here, henceforth, benethe this tree,
All use of weapons I foregoe.

'And fare thee well, thou trustye sword,
A better neer had valiant knighte;
With thee full ofte, and many a daye,
Have I withstood my foe in fighte.

'With this good fauchion in my hande,
Oft have I reapd the bloody feelde:
But nowe the fatalle houre is come,
That never more I may thee weelde.

'
The duke to the river side he went,
And there his owne sword in threwe he;
But he kept back Excalibar,
He kept it back in privitie.

For all of coleyne was the blade,
And all the hilte of precious stone:
'And ever alacke!' then sayd the knighte,
'Must such a sword awaye be throwne?

'
Then backe he came unto the kinge,
Who sayd, 'Sir Lukyn, what did yee see?

'
'Nothing, my liefe, save that winde
Blind oer the waters faire and free.

'
'O goe againe,' then said the kinge,
'O good Sir Lukyn, goe againe:
Into the rivers throwe my sword,
Nor keepe me lingering here in paine.

'
The duke then to the river went,
And the kings scabberd in threwe hee;
But hee kept backe Excalibar,
And hid it undernethe a tree.

Then backe he came to tell the kinge,
Who sayde, 'Sir Lukyn, sawe ye oughte?

'
'Nothinge, my liege, save that the winde
Nowe with the angrye waters fought.

'
'O Lukyn, Lukyn,' said the kinge,
'Twice haste thou dealt deceytfullye:
Alacke, whom may wee ever truste,
When suche a knighte soe false can bee!
'Saye, wouldst thou have thy master dead,
All for a sword that wins thine eye?

Now goe againe, and throwe it in,
Or here the one of us shall dye.

'
The duke, all shent with this rebuke,
No aunswere made unto the kinge;
But to the rivere tooke the sworde,
And threwe it far as he coulde flinge.

A hande and an arme did meete the sworde,
And flourishd three times in the air;
Then sunke benethe the renninge streme,
And of the duke was seene noe mair.

All sore astonied stood the duke,
He stood as still, as still mote bee;
Then hastend backe to telle the kinge,
But he was gone from under the tree.

But to what place he cold not tell,
For never after hee did him spye;
But hee sawe a barge goe from the land,
And hee heard ladyes howle and crye.

And whether the kinge were there or not,
Hee never knewe, nor ever colde;
For from that sad and direfulle daye,
Hee never more was seene on molde.

King Cophetua and the Beggar-Maid Read Poem

I read that once in Affrica
A princely wight did raine,
Who had to name Cophetua,
As poets they did faine.

From natures lawes he did decline,
For sure he was not of my minde,
He cared not for women-kind,
But did them all disdaine.

But marke what hapned on a day;
As he out of his window lay,
He saw a beggar all in gray,
The which did cause his paine.

The blinded boy that shootes so trim
From heaven downe did hie,
He drew a dart and shot at him,
In place where he did lye:
Which soone did pierse him to the quicke,
And when he felt the arrow pricke,
Which in his tender heart did sticke,
He looketh as he would dye.

"What suden chance is this," quoth he,
"That I to love must subject be,
Which never thereto would agree,
But still did it defie?

"
Then from the window he did come,
And laid him on his bed;
A thousand heapes of care did runne
Without his troubled head.

For now he meanes to crave her love,
And now he seekes which way to proove
How he his fancie might remoove,
And not this beggar wed.

But Cupid had him so in snare,
That this poor beggar must prepare
A salve to cure him of his care,
Or els he would be dead.

And as he musing thus did lye,
He thought for to devise
How he might have her companye,
That so did 'maze his eyes.

"In thee," quoth he, "doth rest my life;
For surely thou shalt be my wife,
Or else this hand with bloody knife,
The Gods shall sure suffice.

"
Then from his bed he soon arose,
And to his pallace gate he goes;
Full little then this begger knowes
When she the king espies.

"The gods preserve your majesty,"
The beggers all gan cry;
"Vouchsafe to give your charity,
Our childrens food to buy.

"
The king to them his purse did cast,
And they to part it made great haste;
This silly woman was the last
That after them did hye.

The king he cal'd her back againe,
And unto her he gave his chaine;
And said, "With us you shal remaine
Till such time as we dye.

"For thou," quoth he, "shalt be my wife,
And honoured for my queene;
With thee I meane to lead my life,
As shortly shall be seene:
Our wedding shall appointed be,
And every thing in its degree;
Come on," quoth he, "and follow me,
Thou shalt go shift thee cleane.

What is thy name, faire maid?

" quoth he.

"Penelophon, O King," quoth she;
With that she made a lowe courtsey;
A trim one as I weene.

Thus hand in hand along they walke
Unto the king's pallace:
The king with courteous, comly talke
This begger doth embrace.

The begger blusheth scarlet red,
And straight againe as pale as lead,
But not a word at all she said,
She was in such amaze.

As last she spake with trembling voyce,
And said, "O King, I doe rejoyce
That you wil take me for your choyce,
And my degree so base.

"
And when the wedding day was come,
The king commanded straight
The noblemen, both all and some,
Upon the queene to wait.

And she behaved herself that day
As if she had never walkt the way;
She had forgot her gowne 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 knoweth not his estate.

Here you may read Cophetua,
Through 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
During their princely raine,
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.

Quoted from Percy's Reliques, on the last 2 stanzas: 'An ingenious friend things the two last stanzas should change place.

' Indeed it would make more sense; but for sake of purity it's been left.

King Cophetua And The Beggar-Maid Read Poem

I read that once in Affrica
A princely wight did raine,
Who had to name Cophetua,
As poets they did faine.

From natures lawes he did decline,
For sure he was not of my minde,
He cared not for women-kind,
But did them all disdaine.

But marke what hapned on a day;
As he out of his window lay,
He saw a beggar all in gray,
The which did cause his paine.

The blinded boy that shootes so trim
From heaven downe did hie,
He drew a dart and shot at him,
In place where he did lye:
Which soone did pierse him to the quicke,
And when he felt the arrow pricke,
Which in his tender heart did sticke,
He looketh as he would dye.

'What suden chance is this,' quoth he,
'That I to love must subject be,
Which never thereto would agree,
But still did it defie?

'
Then from the window he did come,
And laid him on his bed;
A thousand heapes of care did runne
Without his troubled head.

For now he meanes to crave her love,
And now he seekes which way to proove
How he his fancie might remoove,
And not this beggar wed.

But Cupid had him so in snare,
That this poor beggar must prepare
A salve to cure him of his care,
Or els he would be dead.

And as he musing thus did lye,
He thought for to devise
How he might have her companye,
That so did 'maze his eyes.

'In thee,' quoth he, 'doth rest my life;
For surely thou shalt be my wife,
Or else this hand with bloody knife,
The Gods shall sure suffice.

'
Then from his bed he soon arose,
And to his pallace gate he goes;
Full little then this begger knowes
When she the king espies.

'The gods preserve your majesty,'
The beggers all gan cry;
'Vouchsafe to give your charity,
Our childrens food to buy.

'
The king to them his purse did cast,
And they to part it made great haste;
This silly woman was the last
That after them did hye.

The king he cal'd her back againe,
And unto her he gave his chaine;
And said, 'With us you shal remaine
Till such time as we dye.

'For thou,' quoth he, 'shalt be my wife,
And honoured for my queene;
With thee I meane to lead my life,
As shortly shall be seene:
Our wedding shall appointed be,
And every thing in its degree;
Come on,' quoth he, 'and follow me,
Thou shalt go shift thee cleane.

What is thy name, faire maid?

' quoth he.

'Penelophon, O King,' quoth she;
With that she made a lowe courtsey;
A trim one as I weene.

Thus hand in hand along they walke
Unto the king's pallace:
The king with courteous, comly talke
This begger doth embrace.

The begger blusheth scarlet red,
And straight againe as pale as lead,
But not a word at all she said,
She was in such amaze.

As last she spake with trembling voyce,
And said, 'O King, I doe rejoyce
That you wil take me for your choyce,
And my degree so base.

'
And when the wedding day was come,
The king commanded straight
The noblemen, both all and some,
Upon the queene to wait.

And she behaved herself that day
As if she had never walkt the way;
She had forgot her gowne 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 knoweth not his estate.

Here you may read Cophetua,
Through 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
During their princely raine,
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.

King Edward IV. And The Tanner of Tamworth Read Poem

In summer time, when leaves grow greene,
And blossoms bedecke the tree,
King Edward wolde a hunting ryde,
Some pastime for to see.

With hawke and hounde he made him bowne,
With horne, and eke with bowe;
To Drayon Basset he tooke his waye,
With all his lordes a rowe.

And he had ridden ore dale and downe
By eight of clocke in the day,
When he was ware of a bold tanner,
Come ryding along the waye.

A fayre russet coat the tanner had on,
Fast buttoned under his chin,
And under him a good cow-hide,
And a mare of four shilling.

"Nowe stand you still, my good lordes all,
Under the grene wood spraye;
And I will wend to yonder fellowe,
To weet what he will saye.

"God speede, God speede thee," said our king,
"Thou art welcome, sir," sayd hee.

"The readyest waye to Drayton Basset
I praye thee to shewe to mee.

"
"To Drayton Basset woldst thou goe,
Fro the place where thou dost stand?

The next payre of gallowes thou comest unto,
Turne in upon thy right hand.

"
"That is an unreadye waye," sayd our king,
"Thou doest but jest I see;
Nowe shewe me out the nearest waye,
And I pray thee wend with mee.

"
"Awaye with a vengeance!" quoth the tanner:
"I hold thee out of thy witt:
All day have I rydden on Brocke, my mare,
And I am fasting yett.

"
"Go with me downe to Drayton Basset,
No daynties we will spare;
All daye shalt thou eate and drinke of the best,
And I will paye thy fare.

"
"Gramercye for nothing," the tanner replyde,
"Thou payest no fare of mine:
I trowe I've more nobles in my purse,
Than thou hast pence in thine.

"
"God give thee joy of them," sayd the king,
"And send them well to priefe;"
The tanner wolde fame have beene away,
For he weende he had beene a thiefe.

"What art thou," he sayde, "thou fine fellowe?

Of thee I am in great feare;
For the cloathes thou wearest upon thy backe
Might beseeme a lord to weare.

"
"I never stole them," quoth our king,
"I tell you, sir, by the roode.

"
"Then thou playest, as many an unthrift doth,
And standest in midds of thy goode.

"
"What tydinges heare you," sayd the kynge,
"As you ryde farre and neare?

"
"I heare no tydinges, sir, by the masse,
But that cowe-hides are deare.

"
"Cowe-hides! cowe-hides! what things are those?

I marvell what they bee?

"
"What, art thou a foole?

" the tanner reply'd;
"I carry one under mee.

"
"What craftsman art thou," sayd the king;
"I praye thee tell me trowe.

"
"I am a barker, sir, by my trade;
Nowe tell me what art thou?

"
"I am a poore courtier, sir," quoth he,
"That am forth of service worne;
And faine I wolde thy prentise bee,
Thy cunninge for the learne.

"
"Marrye heaven forfend," the tanner replyde,
"That thou my prentise were;
Thou woldst spend more good than I shold winne
By fortye shilling a yere.

"
"Yet one thinge wold I," sayd our king,
"If thou wilt not seeme strange;
Thoughe my horse be better than thy mare,
Yet with thee I faine wold change.

"
"Why if with me thou faine wilt change,
As change full well maye wee,
By the faith of my bodye, thou proude fellowe,
I will have some boot of thee.

"
"That were against reason," sayd the king,
"I sweare, so mote I thee;
My horse is better than thy mare,
And that thou well mayst see.

"
"Yea, sir, but Brocke is gentle and mild,
And softly she will fare;
Thy horse is unrulye and wild, I wiss,
Aye skipping here and theare.

"
"What boote wilt thou have?

" our king reply'd;
"Now tell me in this stound.

"
"Noe pence, nor half pence, by my faye,
But a noble in gold so round.

"
"Here's twentye groates of white moneye,
Sith thou will have it mee.

"
"I would have sworne now," quoth the tanner,
"Thou hadst not had one pennie.

"But since we too have made a change,
A change we must abide;
Although thou hast gotten Brocke, my mare,
Thou gettest not my cowe-hide.

"
"I will not have it," sayd the kynge,
"I sweare, so mought I thee;
Thy foule cowe-hide I wolde not beare,
If thou woldst give it to mee.

"
The tanner hee tooke his good cowe-hide,
That of the cow was hilt,
And threwe it upon the king's sadelle,
That was soe fayrelye gilte.

"Now help me up, thou fine fellowe,
'Tis time that I were gone:
When I come home to Gyllian, my wife,
Sheel say I am gentilmon.

"
The king he tooke him up by the legge
The tanner a f** lett fall;
"Nowe marrye, goode fellowe," sayd the kyng,
"Thy courtesye is but small.

"
When the tanner he was in the kinges sadelle,
And his foote in the stirrup was,
He marvelled greatlye in his minde,
Whether it were golde or brass.

But when his steede saw the cows toile wagge,
And eke the blacke cowe-horne,
He stamped, and stared, and awaye he ranne,
As the devill had him borne.

The tanner he pulld, the tanner he sweat,
And held by the pummil fast;
At length the tanner came tumbling downe,
His necke he had well-nye brast.

"Take thy horse again with a vengeance," he sayd,
"With mee he shall not byde.

"
"My horse wolde have borne thee well enoughe,
But he knewe not of thy cowe-hide.

"Yet if againe thou faine woldst change,
As change full well may wee,
By the faith of my bodye, thou jolly tanner,
I will have some boote of thee.

"
"What boote wilt thou have," the tanner replyd,
"Nowe tell me in this stounde?

"
"No pence nor half-pence, sir, by my faye,
But I will have twentye pound.

"
"Here's twentye groates out of my purse,
And twentye I have of thine;
And I have one more, which we will spend
Together at the wine.

"
The king set a bugle-horne to his mouthe,
And blewe both loude and shrille;
And soone came lords, and soone came knights,
Fast ryding over the hille.

"Nowe, out alas!" the tanner he cryde,
"That ever I sawe this daye!
Thou art a strong thiefe; yon come thy fellowes
Will beare my cowe-hide away.

"
"They are no thieves," the king replyde,
"I sweare, soe mote I thee;
But they are the lords of the north countrey,
Here come to hunt with mee.

"
And soone before our king they came,
And knelt downe on the grounde;
Then might the tanner have beene awaye,
He had lever than twentye pounde.

"A coller, a coller, here," sayd the king,
"A coller," he loud gan crye;
Then woulde he lever then twentye pound,
He had not beene so nighe.

"A coller, a coller!" the tanner he sayd,
"I trowe it will breed sorrowe;
After a coller commeth a halter;
I trowe I shall be hang'd to-morrowe.

"
"Be not afraid, tanner," said our king;
"I tell thee, so mought I thee,
Lo here I make thee the best esquire
That is in the north countrie.

"
"For Plumpton-Parke I will give thee,
With tenements faire beside,—
'Tis worth three hundred markes by the yeare,—
To maintaine thy good cowe-hide.

"
"Gramercye, my liege," the tanner replyde;
"For the favour thou hast me showne,
If ever thou comest to merry Tamworth,
Neates leather shall clout thy shoen.

"

King Edward Iv. And The Tanner Of Tamworth Read Poem

In summer time, when leaves grow greene,
And blossoms bedecke the tree,
King Edward wolde a hunting ryde,
Some pastime for to see.

With hawke and hounde he made him bowne,
With horne, and eke with bowe;
To Drayon Basset he tooke his waye,
With all his lordes a rowe.

And he had ridden ore dale and downe
By eight of clocke in the day,
When he was ware of a bold tanner,
Come ryding along the waye.

A fayre russet coat the tanner had on,
Fast buttoned under his chin,
And under him a good cow-hide,
And a mare of four shilling.

'Nowe stand you still, my good lordes all,
Under the grene wood spraye;
And I will wend to yonder fellowe,
To weet what he will saye.

'God speede, God speede thee,' said our king,
'Thou art welcome, sir,' sayd hee.

'The readyest waye to Drayton Basset
I praye thee to shewe to mee.

'
'To Drayton Basset woldst thou goe,
Fro the place where thou dost stand?

The next payre of gallowes thou comest unto,
Turne in upon thy right hand.

'
'That is an unreadye waye,' sayd our king,
'Thou doest but jest I see;
Nowe shewe me out the nearest waye,
And I pray thee wend with mee.

'
'Awaye with a vengeance!' quoth the tanner:
'I hold thee out of thy witt:
All day have I rydden on Brocke, my mare,
And I am fasting yett.

'
'Go with me downe to Drayton Basset,
No daynties we will spare;
All daye shalt thou eate and drinke of the best,
And I will paye thy fare.

'
'Gramercye for nothing,' the tanner replyde,
'Thou payest no fare of mine:
I trowe I've more nobles in my purse,
Than thou hast pence in thine.

'
'God give thee joy of them,' sayd the king,
'And send them well to priefe;'
The tanner wolde fame have beene away,
For he weende he had beene a thiefe.

'What art thou,' he sayde, 'thou fine fellowe?

Of thee I am in great feare;
For the cloathes thou wearest upon thy backe
Might beseeme a lord to weare.

'
'I never stole them,' quoth our king,
'I tell you, sir, by the roode.

'
'Then thou playest, as many an unthrift doth,
And standest in midds of thy goode.

'
'What tydinges heare you,' sayd the kynge,
'As you ryde farre and neare?

'
'I heare no tydinges, sir, by the masse,
But that cowe-hides are deare.

'
'Cowe-hides! cowe-hides! what things are those?

I marvell what they bee?

'
'What, art thou a foole?

' the tanner reply'd;
'I carry one under mee.

'
'What craftsman art thou,' sayd the king;
'I praye thee tell me trowe.

'
'I am a barker, sir, by my trade;
Nowe tell me what art thou?

'
'I am a poore courtier, sir,' quoth he,
'That am forth of service worne;
And faine I wolde thy prentise bee,
Thy cunninge for the learne.

'
'Marrye heaven forfend,' the tanner replyde,
'That thou my prentise were;
Thou woldst spend more good than I shold winne
By fortye shilling a yere.

'
'Yet one thinge wold I,' sayd our king,
'If thou wilt not seeme strange;
Thoughe my horse be better than thy mare,
Yet with thee I faine wold change.

'
'Why if with me thou faine wilt change,
As change full well maye wee,
By the faith of my bodye, thou proude fellowe,
I will have some boot of thee.

'
'That were against reason,' sayd the king,
'I sweare, so mote I thee;
My horse is better than thy mare,
And that thou well mayst see.

'
'Yea, sir, but Brocke is gentle and mild,
And softly she will fare;
Thy horse is unrulye and wild, I wiss,
Aye skipping here and theare.

'
'What boote wilt thou have?

' our king reply'd;
'Now tell me in this stound.

'
'Noe pence, nor half pence, by my faye,
But a noble in gold so round.

'
'Here's twentye groates of white moneye,
Sith thou will have it mee.

'
'I would have sworne now,' quoth the tanner,
'Thou hadst not had one pennie.

'But since we too have made a change,
A change we must abide;
Although thou hast gotten Brocke, my mare,
Thou gettest not my cowe-hide.

'
'I will not have it,' sayd the kynge,
'I sweare, so mought I thee;
Thy foule cowe-hide I wolde not beare,
If thou woldst give it to mee.

'
The tanner hee tooke his good cowe-hide,
That of the cow was hilt,
And threwe it upon the king's sadelle,
That was soe fayrelye gilte.

'Now help me up, thou fine fellowe,
'Tis time that I were gone:
When I come home to Gyllian, my wife,
Sheel say I am gentilmon.

'
The king he tooke him up by the legge
The tanner a f** lett fall;
'Nowe marrye, goode fellowe,' sayd the kyng,
'Thy courtesye is but small.

'
When the tanner he was in the kinges sadelle,
And his foote in the stirrup was,
He marvelled greatlye in his minde,
Whether it were golde or brass.

But when his steede saw the cows toile wagge,
And eke the blacke cowe-horne,
He stamped, and stared, and awaye he ranne,
As the devill had him borne.

The tanner he pulld, the tanner he sweat,
And held by the pummil fast;
At length the tanner came tumbling downe,
His necke he had well-nye brast.

'Take thy horse again with a vengeance,' he sayd,
'With mee he shall not byde.

'
'My horse wolde have borne thee well enoughe,
But he knewe not of thy cowe-hide.

'Yet if againe thou faine woldst change,
As change full well may wee,
By the faith of my bodye, thou jolly tanner,
I will have some boote of thee.

'
'What boote wilt thou have,' the tanner replyd,
'Nowe tell me in this stounde?

'
'No pence nor half-pence, sir, by my faye,
But I will have twentye pound.

'
'Here's twentye groates out of my purse,
And twentye I have of thine;
And I have one more, which we will spend
Together at the wine.

'
The king set a bugle-horne to his mouthe,
And blewe both loude and shrille;
And soone came lords, and soone came knights,
Fast ryding over the hille.

'Nowe, out alas!' the tanner he cryde,
'That ever I sawe this daye!
Thou art a strong thiefe; yon come thy fellowes
Will beare my cowe-hide away.

'
'They are no thieves,' the king replyde,
'I sweare, soe mote I thee;
But they are the lords of the north countrey,
Here come to hunt with mee.

'
And soone before our king they came,
And knelt downe on the grounde;
Then might the tanner have beene awaye,
He had lever than twentye pounde.

'A coller, a coller, here,' sayd the king,
'A coller,' he loud gan crye;
Then woulde he lever then twentye pound,
He had not beene so nighe.

'A coller, a coller!' the tanner he sayd,
'I trowe it will breed sorrowe;
After a coller commeth a halter;
I trowe I shall be hang'd to-morrowe.

'
'Be not afraid, tanner,' said our king;
'I tell thee, so mought I thee,
Lo here I make thee the best esquire
That is in the north countrie.

'
'For Plumpton-Parke I will give thee,
With tenements faire beside,-
'Tis worth three hundred markes by the yeare,-
To maintaine thy good cowe-hide.

'
'Gramercye, my liege,' the tanner replyde;
'For the favour thou hast me showne,
If ever thou comest to merry Tamworth,
Neates leather shall clout thy shoen.

'

King Estmere Read Poem

Hearken to me, gentlemen,
Come and you shall heare;
He tell you of two of the boldest brethren,
That ever born y-were.

The tone of them as Adler yonge,
The tother was Kyng Estmere;
The were as bolde men in their deedes,
As any were, farr and neare.

As they were drinking ale and wine
Within Kyng Estmeres halle:
'When will ye marry a wyfe, brother,
A wyfe to gladd us all?

'
Then bespake him Kyng Estmere,
And answered him hatilee
'I know not that ladye in any lande,
That is able to marry with mee.

'
'Kyng Adland hath a daughter, brother,
Men call her bright and sheene;
If I were kyng here in your stead,
That ladye shold be queene.

'
Sayes, 'Reade me, reade me, deare brother,
Throughout merry England,
Where we might find a messenger
Betweene us two to sende.

'
Sayes, 'You shall ryde yourselfe, brother,
He beare you companee;
Many throughe fals messengers are deceived,
And I feare lest soe shold wee.

'
Thus the renisht them to ryde
Of twoe good renisht steedes,
And when they came to Kyng Adlands halle,
Of red golde shone their weedes.

And when the came to Kyng Adlands halle
Before the goodlye yate,
Ther they found good Kyng Adland
Rearing himselfe theratt.

'Nowe Christ thee save, good Kyng Adland,
Nowe Christ thee save and see.

'
Sayd, 'You be welcome, Kyng Estmere,
Right hartilye to mee.

'
'You have a daughter,' sayd Adler yonge,
'Men call her bright and sheene;
My brother wold marrye her to his wiffe,
Of Englande to be queene.

'
'Yesterdaye was att my dere daughter
Syr Bremor the Kyng of Spayne;
And then she nicked him of naye;
I feare sheele do youe the same.

'
'The Kyng of Spayne is a foule paynim,
And leevith on Mahound;
And pitye it were that fayre ladye
Shold marrye a heathen hound.

'
'But grant to me,' sayes Kyng Estmere,
'For my love I you praye,
That I may see your daughter dere
Before I goe hence awaye.

'
'Althoughe itt is seven yeare and more
Syth my daughter was in halle,
She shall come downe once for your sake,
To glad my guestes alle.

'
Downe then came that mayden fayre,
With ladyes lacede in pall,
And halfe a hondred of bolde knightes,
To bring her from bowre to hall,
And eke as manye gentle squieres,
To waite upon them all.

The talents of golde were on her head sette,
Hunge low downe to her knee;
And everye rynge on her small finger
Shone of the chrystall free.

Sayes, 'Christ you save, my deare Madame;'
Sayes, 'Christ you save and see;'
Sayes, 'You be welcome, Kyng Estmere,
Right welcome unto mee.

'And iff you love me, as you saye,
So well and hartilee,
All that ever you are comen about
Soone sped now itt may bee.

'
Then bespake her father deare:
'My daughter, I saye naye;
Remember well the Kyng of Spayne,
What he sayd yesterdaye.

'He wold pull downe my halles and castles,
And reave me of my lyfe:
And ever I feare that paynim kyng,
Iff I reave him of his wyfe.

'
'Your castles and your towres, father,
Are stronglye built aboute;
And therefore of that foule paynim
Wee neede not stande in doubte.

'Plyght me your troth nowe, Kyng Estmere,
By heaven and your right hande,
That you will marrye me to your wyfe,
And make me queene of your land.

'
Then Kyng Estmere he plight his troth
By heaven and his righte hand,
That he wolde marrye her to his wyfe,
And make her queene of his land.

And he tooke leave of that ladye fayre,
To goe to his owne countree,
To fetche him dukes and lordes and knightes,
That marryed the might bee.

They had not ridden scant a myle,
A myle forthe of the towne,
But in did come the Kynge of Spayne,
With kempes many a one:
But in did come the Kyng of Spayne,
With manye a grimme barone,
Tone day to marrye Kyng Adlands daughter,
Tother daye to carrye her home.

Then shee sent after Kyng Estmere,
In all the spede might bee,
That he must either returne and fighte,
Or goe home and lose his ladye.

One whyle then the page he went,
Another whyle he ranne;
Till he had oretaken Kyng Estmere,
I wis, he never blame.

'Tydinges, tydinges, Kyng Estmere!'
'What tydinges nowe, my boye?

'
'O tydinges I can tell you,
That will you sore annoye.

'You had not ridden scant a myle,
A myle out of the towne,
But in did come the Kyng of Spayne
With kempes many a one:
'But in did come the Kyng of Spayne
With manye a grimme barone,
Tone day to marrye Kyng Adlands daughter,
Tother daye to carrye her home.

'That ladye fayre she greetes you well,
And ever-more well by mee:
You must either turne againe and fighte,
Or goe home and lose your ladye.

'
Sayes, 'Reade me, reade me, deare brother,
My reade shall ryde at thee,
Whiche way we best may turne and fighte,
To save this fayre ladye.

'
'Now hearken to me,' sayes Adler yonge,
'And your reade must rise at me:
I quicklye will devise a waye
To sette thy ladye free.

'My mother was a westerne woman,
And learned in gramarye,
And when I learned at the schole,
Something shee taught itt me.

'There groweth an hearbe within this fielde,
And iff it were but knowne,
His color which is whyte and redd,
It will make blacke and browne:
'His color which is browe and blacke,
Itt will make redd and whyte;
That sword is not in all Englande,
Upon his coate will byte.

'And you shal be a harper, brother,
Out of the north countree;
And Ile be your boye, so faine of fighte,
To beare your harpe by your knee.

'And you shall be the best harper,
That ever tooke harpe in hande;
And I will be the best singer,
That ever sung in this land.

'Itt shal be written in your forheads,
All and in grammarye,
That we towe are the boldest men
That are in all Christentye.

'
And thus they renisht them to ryde,
On towe good renish steedes;
And whan the came to Kyng Adlands hall,
Of redd gold shone their weedes.

And whan the came to Kyng Adlands hall,
Untill the fayre hall yate,
There they found a proud porter,
Rearing himselfe thereatt.

Sayes, 'Christ thee save, thou proud porter;'
Sayes, 'Christ thee save and see.

'
'Nowe you be welcome,' sayd the porter,
'Of what land soever ye bee.

'
'We been harpers,' sayd Alder yonge,
'Come out of the northe countree;
We been come hither untill this place,
This proud weddinge for to see.

'
Sayd, 'And your color were white and redd,
As it is blacke and browne.

Ild saye Kyng Estmere and his brother
Were comen untill this towne.

'
Then they pulled out a ryng of gold,
Layd itt on the porters arme:
'And ever we will thee, proud porter,
Thow wilt saye us no harme.

'
Sore he looked on Kyng Estmere,
And sore he handled the ryng,
Then opened to them the fayre hall yates,
He lett for no kind of thyng.

Kyng Estmere he light off his steede,
Up att the fayre hall board;
The frothe that came from his brydle bitte
Light on Kyng Bremors beard.

Sayes, 'Stable thy steede, thou proud harper,
Go stable him in the stalle;
Itt doth not beseeme a proud harper
To stable him in a kyngs halle.

'
'My ladd he is so lither,' he sayd,
'He will do nought that's meete;
And aye that I cold but find the man,
Were able him to beate.

'
'Thou speakst proud words,' sayd the paynim kyng,
'Thou harper here to mee:
There is a man within this halle,
That will beate thy lad and thee.

'
'O lett that man come downe,' he sayd,
'A sight of him wold I see;
And whan hee hath beaten well my ladd,
Then he shall beate of mee.

'
Downe they came the kemperye man,
And looked him in the eare;
For all the gold, that was under heaven,
He durst not neigh him neare.

'And how nowe, kempe,' sayd the Kyng of Spayne,
'And how that aileth thee?

'
He sayes, 'Itt is written in his forhead
All and in gramarye,
That for all the gold that is under heaven,
I dare not neigh him nye.

'
Kying Estmere then pulled forth his harpe,
And played thereon so sweete:
Upstarte the ladye from the kynge,
As hee sate at the meate.

'Now stay thy harpe, thou proud harper,
Now stay thy harpe, I say;
For an thou playest as thou beginnest,
Thou'lt till my bride awaye.

'
He strucke upon his harpe agayne,
And playd both fayre and free;
The ladye was so pleasde thereatt,
She laught loud laughters three.

'Nowe sell me thy harpe,' sayd the Kyng of Spayne,
'Thy harpe and stryngs eche one,
And as many gold nobles thou shalt have,
As there be stryngs thereon.

'
'And what wold ye doe with my harpe,' he sayd,
'Iff I did sell it yee?

'
'To playe my wiffe and me a Fitt,
When abed together we bee.

'
'Now sell me,' quoth hee, 'thy bryde soe gay,
As shee sitts laced in pall,
And as many gold nobles I will give,
As there be rings in the hall.

'
'And what wold ye doe with my bryde soe gay,
Iff I did sell her yee?

More seemelye it is for her fayre bodye
To lye by mee than thee.

'
Hee played agayne both loud and shrille,
And Adler he did syng,
'O ladye, this is thy owne true love;
Noe harper, but a kyng.

'O ladye, this is thy owne true love,
As playnlye thou mayest see;
And Ile rid thee of that foule paynim,
Who partes thy love and thee.

'
The ladye looked, the ladye blushte,
And blushte and lookt agayne,
While Adler he hath drawne his brande,
And hath the Sowdan slayne.

Up then rose the kemperye men,
And loud they gan to crye:
'Ah! traytors, yee have slayne our kyng,
And therefore yee shall dye.

'
Kyng Estmere threwe the harpe asyde,
And swith he drew his brand;
And Estmere he, and Adler yonge,
Right stiffe in stour can stand.

And aye their swordes soe sore can byte,
Throughe help of Gramarye,
That soone they have slayne the kempery men,
Or forst them forth to flee.

Kyng Estmere tooke that fayre ladye,
And marryed her to his wiffe,
And brought her home to merrye England
With her to leade his life.

King John And The Abbot Of Canterbury Read Poem

An ancient story Ile tell you anon
Of a notable prince, that was called King John;
And he ruled England with maine and with might,
For he did great wrong, and maintein'd little right.

And Ile tell you a story, a story so merrye,
Concerning the Abbot of Canterburye,
How for his house-keeping and high renowne,
They rode poste for him to fair London towne.

An hundred men, the king did heare say,
The abbot kept in his house every day;
And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt,
In velvet coates waited the abbot about.

'How now, father abbot, I heare if of thee,
Thou keepest a farre better house than mee;
And for thy house-keeping and high renowne,
I feare thou work'st treason against my crown.

'
'My liege,' quo' the abbot, 'I would it were knowne
I never spend nothing, but what is my owne;
And I trust your grace will doe me no deere,
For spending of my owne true-gotten geere.

'
'Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault is highe,
And now for the same thou needest must dye;
For except thou canst answer me questions three,
Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie.

'And first,' quo' the king, 'when I'm in this stead,
With my crowne of golde so faire on my head,
Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,
Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe.

'Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt,
How soone I may ride the whole world about;
And at the third question thou must not shrink,
But tell me here truly what I do think.

'
'O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt,
Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet:
But if you will give me but three weekes space,
Ile do my endeavour to answer your grace.

'
'Now three weeks space to thee will I give,
And this is the longest time thou hast to live;
For if thou dost not answer my questions three,
Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to mee.

'
Away rode the abbot all sad at that word,
And he rode to Cambridge, and Oxenford;
But never a doctor there was so wise,
That could with his learning an answer devise.

Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold,
And he mett his shepheard a going to fold:
'How now, my lord abbot, you welcome home;
What newes do you bring us from good King John?

'
'Sad newes, sad newes, shepeard, I must give,
That I must but three days more to live;
For if I do not answer him questions three,
My head will be smitten from my bodie.

'The first is to tell him there in that stead,
With his crowne of golde so fair on his head,
Among all his liege-men so noble of birth,
To within one penny of what he is worth.

'The seconde, to tell him, without any doubt,
How soone he may ride this whole world about;
And at the third question I must not shrinke,
But tell him there truly what he does thinke.

'
'Now cheare up, sire abbot, did you never hear yet,
That a fool he may learn a wise man witt?

Lend me horse, and serving men, and your apparel,
And I'll ride to London to answere your quarrel.

'Nay frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee,
I am like your lordship, as ever may bee;
And if you will but lend me your gowne,
There is none shall knowe us at fair London towne.

'
'Now horses and serving-men thou shalt have,
With sumptuous array most gallant and brave,
With crozier, and miter, and rochet, and cope,
Fit to appeare 'fore our fader the pope.

'
'Now, welcome, sire abbot,' the king he did say,
'Tis well thou'rt come back to keepe thy day:
For and if thou canst answer my questions three,
Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee.

'And first, when thou seest me here in this stead,
With my crown of golde so fair on my head,
Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,
Tell me to one penny what I am worth.

'
'For thirty pence our Saviour was sold
Amonge the false Jewes, as I have bin told:
And twenty-nine is the worth of thee,
For I thinke thou art one penny worser than hee.

'
The king he laughed, and swore by St.

Bittel,
'I did not think I had been worth so littel!
- Now secondly tell mee, without any doubt,
How soone I may ride this whole world about.

'
'You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same,
Until the next morning he riseth againe;
And then your grace need not make any doubt
But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about.

'
The king he laughed, and swore by St.

Jone,
'I did not think it could be gone so soone!
- Now from the third question thou must not shrinke,
But tell me here truly what I do thinke.

'
'Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry;
You thinke I'm the Abbot of Canterbury;
But I'm this poor shepheard, as plain you may see,
That am come to bed pardon for him and for mee.

'
The king he laughed, and swore by the masse,
'Ile make thee lord abbot this day in his place!'
'Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede,
For alacke I can neither write ne reade.

'
'Four nobles a weeke, then, I will give thee,
For this merry jest thou hast showne unto mee;
And tell the old abbot when thou comest home,
Thou hast brought him a pardon from good King John.

'

King Leir and His Three Daughters Read Poem

A lamentable Song of the Death of King Leir and his Three Daughters
.

To the tune of
When flying Fame.

King Leir once ruled in this land
With princely power and peace,
And had all things with hearts content,
That might his joys increase.

Amongst those things that nature gave,
Three daughters fair had he,
So princely seeming beautiful,
As fairer could not be.

So on a time it pleas'd the king
A question thus to move,
Which of his daughters to his grace
Could shew the dearest love:
"For to my age you bring content,"
Quoth he, "then let me hear,
Which of you three in plighted troth
The kindest will appear.

"
To whom the eldest thus began:
"Dear father, mind," quoth she,
"Before your face, to do you good,
My blood shall render'd be.

And for your sake my bleeding heart
Shall here be cut in twain,
Ere that I see your reverend age
The smallest grief sustain.

"
"And so will I," the second said;
"Dear father, for your sake,
The worst of all extremities
I'll gently undertake:
And serve your highness night and day
With diligence and love;
That sweet content and quietness
Discomforts may remove.

"
"In doing so, you glad my soul,"
The aged king reply'd;
"But what sayst thou, my youngest girl,
How is thy love ally'd?

"
"My love (quoth young Cordelia then),
"Which to your grace I owe,
Shall be the duty of a child,
And that is all I'll show.

"
"And wilt thou shew no more," quoth he,
"Than doth thy duty bind?

I well perceive thy love is small,
When as no more I find.

Henceforth I banish thee my court;
Thou art no child of mine;
Nor any part of this my realm
By favour shall be thine.

"Thy elder sisters loves are more
Than well I can demand;
To whom I equally bestow
My kingdome and my land,
My pompal state and all my goods,
That lovingly I may
With those thy sisters be maintain'd
Until my dying day.

"
Thus flattering speeches won renown,
By these two sisters here;
The third had causeless banishment,
Yet was her love more dear.

For poor Cordelia patiently
Went wandring up and down,
Unhelp'd, unpity'd, gentle maid,
Through many an English town:
Untill at last in famous France
She gentler fortunes found;
Though poor and bare, yet she was deem'd
The fairest on the ground:
Where when the king her virtues heard,
And this fair lady seen,
With full consent of all his court
He made his wife and queen.

Her father, old King Leir, this while
With his two daughters staid;
Forgetful of their promis'd loves,
Full soon the same decay'd;
And living in Queen Ragan's court,
The eldest of the twain,
She took from him his chiefest means,
And most of all his train.

For whereas twenty men were wont
To wait with bended knee,
She gave allowance but to ten,
And after scarce to three,
Nay, one she thought too much for him;
So took she all away,
In hope that in her court, good king,
He would no longer stay.

"Am I rewarded thus," quoth he,
"In giving all I have
Unto my children, and to beg
For what I lately gave?

I'll go unto my Gonorell:
My second child, I know,
Will be more kind and pitiful,
And will relieve my woe.

"
Full fast he hies then to her court;
Where when she heard his moan,
Return'd him answer, that she griev'd
That all his means were gone,
But no way could relieve his wants;
Yet if that he would stay
Within her kitchen, he should have
What scullions gave away.

When he had heard, with bitter tears,
He made his answer then;
"In what I did, let me be made
Example to all men.

I will return again," quoth he,
"Unto my Ragan's court;
She will not use me thus, I hope,
But in a kinder sort.

"
Where when he came, she gave command
To drive him thence away:
When he was well within her court,
(She said) he would not stay.

Then back again to Gonorell
The woeful king did hie,
That in her kitchen he might have
What scullion boys set by.

But there of that he was deny'd
Which she had promis'd late:
For once refusing, he should not,
Come after to her gate.

Thus twixt his daughters for relief
He wandred up and down,
Being glad to feed on beggars food
Than lately wore a crown.

And calling to remembrance then
His youngest daughters words,
That said, the duty of a child
Was all that love affords —
But doubting to repair to her,
Whom he had banish'd so,
Grew frantic mad; for in his mind
He bore the wounds of woe.

Which made him rend his milk-white locks
And tresses from his head,
And all with blood bestain his cheeks,
With age and honour spread.

To hills and woods and watry founts,
He made his hourly moan,
Till hills and woods and senseless things
Did seem to sigh and groan.

Even thus possest with discontents,
He passed o're to France,
In hopes from fair Cordelia there
To find some gentler chance.

Most virtuous dame! which, when she heard
Of this her father's grief,
As duty bound, she quickly sent
Him comfort and relief.

And by a train of noble peers,
In brave and gallant sort,
She gave in charge he should be brought
To Aganippus' court;
Whose royal king, with noble mind,
So freely gave consent
To muster up his knights at arms,
To fame and courage bent.

And so to England came with speed,
To repossesse King Leir,
And drive his daughters from their thrones
By his Cordelia dear.

Where she, true-hearted, noble queen,
Was in the battel slain;
Yet he, good king, in his old days,
Possest his crown again.

But when he heard Cordelia's death,
Who died indeed for love
Of her dear father, in whose cause
She did this battle move,
He swooning fell upon her breast,
From whence he never parted;
But on her bosom left his life
That was so truly hearted.

The lords and nobles, when they saw
The end of these events,
The other sisters unto death
They doomed by consents;
And being dead, their crowns they left
Unto the next of kin:
Thus have you seen the fall of pride,
And disobedient sin.

Quoted from Percy's Reliques, 'The reader has here an ancient ballad on the subject of King Lear, which.

bears so exact an analogy to the argument of Shakspeare's play, that his having copied it could not be doubted, if it were certain that it was written before the tragedy.

It may be proper to observe, that Shakspeare was not the first of our dramatic poets who fitted the story of Leir to the stage.

His first 4to edition is dated 1608; but three years before that, had been printed a play entitled
The true Chronicle History of Leir and his three Daughters Gonorill, Ragan, and Cordella, as it hath been divers and sundry times lately acted,
1605, 4to.

This is a very poor and dull performance, but happily excited Shakspeare to undertake the subject, which he has given with very different incidents.

The following ballad is given from an ancient copy in the
Golden Garland
, bl.

let.

entitled,
A lamentable Song of the Death of King Leir and his Three Daughters
.

To the tune of
When flying Fame.

King Leir And His Three Daughters Read Poem

A lamentable Song of the Death of King Leir and his Three Daughters
.

To the tune of
When flying Fame.

King Leir once ruled in this land
With princely power and peace,
And had all things with hearts content,
That might his joys increase.

Amongst those things that nature gave,
Three daughters fair had he,
So princely seeming beautiful,
As fairer could not be.

So on a time it pleas'd the king
A question thus to move,
Which of his daughters to his grace
Could shew the dearest love:
'For to my age you bring content,'
Quoth he, 'then let me hear,
Which of you three in plighted troth
The kindest will appear.

'
To whom the eldest thus began:
'Dear father, mind,' quoth she,
'Before your face, to do you good,
My blood shall render'd be.

And for your sake my bleeding heart
Shall here be cut in twain,
Ere that I see your reverend age
The smallest grief sustain.

'
'And so will I,' the second said;
'Dear father, for your sake,
The worst of all extremities
I'll gently undertake:
And serve your highness night and day
With diligence and love;
That sweet content and quietness
Discomforts may remove.

'
'In doing so, you glad my soul,'
The aged king reply'd;
'But what sayst thou, my youngest girl,
How is thy love ally'd?

'
'My love (quoth young Cordelia then),
'Which to your grace I owe,
Shall be the duty of a child,
And that is all I'll show.

'
'And wilt thou shew no more,' quoth he,
'Than doth thy duty bind?

I well perceive thy love is small,
When as no more I find.

Henceforth I banish thee my court;
Thou art no child of mine;
Nor any part of this my realm
By favour shall be thine.

'Thy elder sisters loves are more
Than well I can demand;
To whom I equally bestow
My kingdome and my land,
My pompal state and all my goods,
That lovingly I may
With those thy sisters be maintain'd
Until my dying day.

'
Thus flattering speeches won renown,
By these two sisters here;
The third had causeless banishment,
Yet was her love more dear.

For poor Cordelia patiently
Went wandring up and down,
Unhelp'd, unpity'd, gentle maid,
Through many an English town:
Untill at last in famous France
She gentler fortunes found;
Though poor and bare, yet she was deem'd
The fairest on the ground:
Where when the king her virtues heard,
And this fair lady seen,
With full consent of all his court
He made his wife and queen.

Her father, old King Leir, this while
With his two daughters staid;
Forgetful of their promis'd loves,
Full soon the same decay'd;
And living in Queen Ragan's court,
The eldest of the twain,
She took from him his chiefest means,
And most of all his train.

For whereas twenty men were wont
To wait with bended knee,
She gave allowance but to ten,
And after scarce to three,
Nay, one she thought too much for him;
So took she all away,
In hope that in her court, good king,
He would no longer stay.

'Am I rewarded thus,' quoth he,
'In giving all I have
Unto my children, and to beg
For what I lately gave?

I'll go unto my Gonorell:
My second child, I know,
Will be more kind and pitiful,
And will relieve my woe.

'
Full fast he hies then to her court;
Where when she heard his moan,
Return'd him answer, that she griev'd
That all his means were gone,
But no way could relieve his wants;
Yet if that he would stay
Within her kitchen, he should have
What scullions gave away.

When he had heard, with bitter tears,
He made his answer then;
'In what I did, let me be made
Example to all men.

I will return again,' quoth he,
'Unto my Ragan's court;
She will not use me thus, I hope,
But in a kinder sort.

'
Where when he came, she gave command
To drive him thence away:
When he was well within her court,
(She said) he would not stay.

Then back again to Gonorell
The woeful king did hie,
That in her kitchen he might have
What scullion boys set by.

But there of that he was deny'd
Which she had promis'd late:
For once refusing, he should not,
Come after to her gate.

Thus twixt his daughters for relief
He wandred up and down,
Being glad to feed on beggars food
Than lately wore a crown.

And calling to remembrance then
His youngest daughters words,
That said, the duty of a child
Was all that love affords -
But doubting to repair to her,
Whom he had banish'd so,
Grew frantic mad; for in his mind
He bore the wounds of woe.

Which made him rend his milk-white locks
And tresses from his head,
And all with blood bestain his cheeks,
With age and honour spread.

To hills and woods and watry founts,
He made his hourly moan,
Till hills and woods and senseless things
Did seem to sigh and groan.

Even thus possest with discontents,
He passed o're to France,
In hopes from fair Cordelia there
To find some gentler chance.

Most virtuous dame! which, when she heard
Of this her father's grief,
As duty bound, she quickly sent
Him comfort and relief.

And by a train of noble peers,
In brave and gallant sort,
She gave in charge he should be brought
To Aganippus' court;
Whose royal king, with noble mind,
So freely gave consent
To muster up his knights at arms,
To fame and courage bent.

And so to England came with speed,
To repossesse King Leir,
And drive his daughters from their thrones
By his Cordelia dear.

Where she, true-hearted, noble queen,
Was in the battel slain;
Yet he, good king, in his old days,
Possest his crown again.

But when he heard Cordelia's death,
Who died indeed for love
Of her dear father, in whose cause
She did this battle move,
He swooning fell upon her breast,
From whence he never parted;
But on her bosom left his life
That was so truly hearted.

The lords and nobles, when they saw
The end of these events,
The other sisters unto death
They doomed by consents;
And being dead, their crowns they left
Unto the next of kin:
Thus have you seen the fall of pride,
And disobedient sin.

King Ryence's Challenge Read Poem

As it fell out on a Pentecost day,
King Arthur at Camelot kept his court royall,
With his faire queen dame Guenever the gay,
And many bold barons sitting in hall,
With ladies attired in purple and pall,
And heraults in hewkes, hooting on high,
Cryed, Largesse, Largesse, Chevaliers tres-hardie.

A doughty dwarfe to the uppermost deas
Right pertlye gan pricke, kneeling on knee;
With steven fulle stoute amids all the preas,
Say'd, 'Nowe Sir King Arthur, God save thee and see!
Sir Ryence of North-Gales greeteth well thee,
And bids thee thy beard anon to him send,
Or else from thy jaws he will it off rend.

'For his robe of state is a rich scarlet mantle,
With eleven kings beards bordered about,
And there is room lefte yet in a kantle,
For thine to stande, to make the twelfth out.

This must be done, be thou never so stout;
This must be done, I tell thee no fable,
Maugre the teethe of all thy Round Table.

'
When this mortal message from his mouthe past,
Great was the noyse bothe in hall and in bower:
The king fum'd; the queene screecht; ladies were aghast;
Princes puff'd; barons blustred; lords began lower;
Knights stormed; squires startled, like steeds in a stower;
Pages and yeoman yell'd out in the hall;
Then in came Sir Kay, the 'king's' seneschal.

'Silence, my soveraignes,' quoth this courteous knight,
And in that stound the stowre began still:
'Then' the dwarfe's diner full deerely was dight;
Of wine and wassel he had his wille,
And when he had eaten and drunken his fill,
An hundred pieces of fine coyned gold
Were given this dwarf for this message bold.

'But say to Sir Ryence, thou dwarf,' quoth the king,
'That for his bold message I do him defye,
And shortlye with basins and pans will him ring
Out of North-Gales; where he and I
With swords, and not razors, quickly shall trye,
Whether he, or King Arthur, will prove the best barbor:'
And therewith he shook his good sword Escalabor.

*******

King Shall Hold Kingdom. (Anglo-Saxon Chronicles) Read Poem

King shall hold kingdom.

A castle is seen from afar,
artful work of giants yet on earth
wonderful wall-stone work.

Wind is swiftest in sky,
thunder betimes most loud.

Many are Christ's powers.

Wyrd is strongest.

Winter is coldest,
Lent frostiest and longest cold,
summer sun-brightest, when sky is hottest,
and autumn most glorious, giving to men
the year's fruits which God sends.

Truth is clearest, treasure dearest,
gold to each man.

The greyhair is wisest,
ancient in years, who has much endured.

Grief clings; clouds glide.

Young chief shall encourage good companions
in grim war and ring-giving.

Courage shall be in eorl, edge shall in battle
meet helm.

Hawk shall on glove
stay wild.

Wolf shall on hill
be lone.

Boar shall dwell in holt
with great tusks.

Good man shall in homeland
work judgement.

Spear shall in hand
be gold-adorned.

Gem shall in ring
stand broad and brilliant.

Brook shall in wave
mingle with sea-flood.

Mast shall in ship
swing sailyard.

Sword shall lie on breast,
lordly iron.

Dragon shall in barrow dwell
old, proud of his treasure.

Fish shall in water
beget his kind.

King shall bright ring
give in hall.

Bear shall on heath
dwell old and dangerous, river come down
from hill flood-grey, armed force together
stand firm, victorious, good faith in eorl
and wisdom in man.

Woods shall on earth
bloom with flowers, hill on plain
stand green.

God shall be in heaven
the judge of deeds.

Door shall on hall
be house's wide mouth.

Boss on buckler
shall shield the fingers.

Flying bird
shall soar in sky, salmon in pool
slide swiftly.

Shower in heaven
mingled with wind shall come in this world.

Thief shall go in dark weather.

Demon shall in fen
live alone inland.

A lady shall with secret arts
seek her friend, if she would not be fulfilled
and brought in marriage with rings.

Sea shall well with brine,
circling sky and wave be round all land,
mountain-streams course.

Cattle shall on earth
conceive and bring forth.

Star shall with dark,
army with army, enemy with another,
injury with injury oppose round the land,
accuse of wrong.

Always the wise man
shall think on this world's contention, the criminal hang,
fairly repaid for wrongdoing
against mankind.

The Maker alone knows
where the soul shall afterwards shift,
and all the ghosts who turned to God
after their deathday, awaiting their doom
in the Father's lap.

The future
is locked and lightless.

The Lord alone knows it,
saving Father.

No one steps back
hither under roof who could reveal
truly to men the Maker's design,
the home of the triumphant, where He himself dwells.

Knees Up, Mother Brown Read Poem

Oh, knees up, Mother Brown,
Knees up, Mother Brown.

Come along, dearie, let it go,
Ee-I-Ee-I-Ee-I-O.

It's your blooming birthday,
Let's wake up all the town,
So, knees up, knees up,
Don't get the breeze up,
Knees up, Mother Brown.

Knyghthode and Bataile Read Poem

A XVth Century Verse Paraphrase of Flavius Vegetius Renatus' Treatise "DE RE MILITARI"
Proemium.

Salue, festa dies
i martis,
Mauortis! auete
Kalende.

Qua Deus
ad celum subleuat
ire Dauid.

Hail, halyday deuout! Alhail Kalende
Of Marche, wheryn Dauid the Confessour
Commaunded is his kyngis court ascende;
Emanuel, Jhesus the Conquerour,
This same day as a Tryumphatour,
Sette in a Chaire & Throne of Maiestee,
To London is comyn.

O Saviour,
Welcome a thousand fold to thi Citee!
And she, thi modir Blessed mot she be
That cometh eke, and angelys an ende,
Wel wynged and wel horsed, hidir fle,
Thousendys on this goode approche attende;
And ordir aftir ordir thei commende,
As Seraphin, as Cherubyn, as Throne,
As Domynaunce, and Princys hidir sende;
And, at o woord, right welcom euerychone!
But Kyng Herry the Sexte, as Goddes Sone
Or themperour or kyng Emanuel,
To London, welcomer be noo persone;
O souuerayn Lord, welcom! Now wel, Now wel!
Te Deum to be songen, wil do wel,
And Benedicta Sancta Trinitas!
Now prosperaunce and peax perpetuel
Shal growe,—and why?

ffor here is Vnitas.

Therof to the Vnitee "Deo gracias"
In Trinitee! The Clergys and Knyghthode
And Comynaltee better accorded nas
Neuer then now; Now nys ther noon abode,
But out on hem that fordoon Goddes forbode,
Periurous ar, Rebellovs and atteynte,
So forfaytinge her lyif and lyvelode,
Although Ypocrisie her faytys peynte.

Now, person of Caleys, pray euery Seynte
In hevenys & in erth of help Thavaile.

It is, That in this werk nothing ne feynte,
But that beforn good wynde it go ful sayle;
And that not oonly prayer But travaile
Heron be sette, Enserche & faste inquere.

Thi litil book of knyghthode & bataile,
What Chiualer is best, on it bewere.

Whil Te Deum Laudamus vp goth there
At Paulis, vp to Westmynster go thee;
The Kyng comyng, Honor, Virtus the Quene,
So glad goth vp that blisse it is to see.

Thi bille vnto the Kyng is red, and He
Content withal, and wil it not foryete.

What seith my lord Beaumont?

"Preste, vnto me
Welcom.

" (here is tassay, entre to gete).

"Of knyghthode & Bataile, my lord, as trete
The bookys olde, a werk is made now late,
And if it please you, it may be gete.

"
"What werk is it?

" "Vegetius translate
Into Balade.

" "O preste, I pray the, late
Me se that werk.

" "Therto wil I you wise.

Lo, here it is!" Anon he gan therate
To rede, thus: 'Sumtyme it was the gise'—
And red therof a part.

"For my seruyse
Heer wil I rede (he seith) as o psaultier.

"
"It pleaseth you right wel; wil your aduyse
Suppose that the kyng heryn pleasier
May haue?

" "I wil considir the matier;
I fynde it is right good and pertynente
Vnto the kyng; his Celsitude is hier;
I halde it wel doon, hym therwith presente.

Almyghti Maker of the firmament,
O mervailous in euery creature,
So singuler in this most excellent
Persone, our Souuerayn Lord! Of what stature
Is he, what visagynge, how fair feture,
How myghti mad, and how strong in travaile!
In oonly God & hym it is tassure
As in a might, that noo wight dar assaile.

Lo, Souuerayn Lord, of Knyghthode & bataile
This litil werk your humble oratour,
Ye, therwithal your Chiualers, travaile,
Inwith your hert to Crist the Conquerour
Offreth for ye.

Ther, yeueth him thonour;
His true thought, accepte it, he besecheth,
Accepte; it is to this Tryumphatour,
That myghti werre exemplifying techeth.

He redeth, and fro poynt to poynt he secheth,
How hath be doon, and what is now to done;
His prouidence on aftirward he strecheth,
By see & lond; he wil provide sone
To chace his aduersaryes euerychone;
Thei hem by lond, thei hem by see asseyle;—
The Kyng his Oratoure, God graunt his bone,
Ay to prevaile in knyghthode & bataile.

Amen.

I.

Sumtyme it was the gise among the wise
To rede and write goode and myghti thingis,
And have therof the dede in exercise;
Pleasaunce heryn hadde Emperour and Kingis.

O Jesse flour, whos swete odour our Kinge is,
Do me to write of knyghthode and bataile
To thin honour and Chiualers tavaile.

Mankyndys lyfe is mylitatioun,
And she, thi wife, is named Militaunce,
Ecclesia; Jhesu, Saluatioun,
My poore witte in thi richesse avaunce,
Cast out therof the cloude of ignoraunce,
Sette vp theryn thi self, the verrey light,
Therby to se thi Militaunce aright.

O Lady myn, Maria, Lode sterre,
Condite it out of myst & nyght, that dark is,
To write of al by see & lond the werre.

Help, Angelys, of knyghthode ye Ierarkys
In heven & here; o puissaunt Patriarkys,
Your valiaunce and werre in see & londe
Remembering, to this werk putte your honde.

Apostolys, ye, with thalmyghti swoorde
Of Goddis woord, that were Conquerourys
Of al the world, and with the same woorde
Ye Martirys that putte of sharpe shourys,
Ye Virgynys pleasaunt and Confessourys
That with the same sworde haue had victory,
Help heer to make of werre a good memory.

And euery werreour wil I beseche,
Impropurly where of myn ignoraunce
Of werre I write, as putte in propre speche
And mende me, prayinge herof pleasaunce
To God be first, by Harry Kyng of Fraunce
And Englond, and thenne ereither londe,
Peasibilly that God putte in his honde.

Thus seide an humble Inuocatioun
To Criste, his Modir, and his Sayntis alle,
With confidence of illustratioun,
Criste me to spede, and prayer me to walle,
Myn inwit on this werk wil I let falle,
And sey what is kynyghthode, and in bataile,
By lond & see, what feat may best prevaile.

Knyghthode an ordir is, the premynent;
Obeysaunt in God, and rather deye
Then disobeye; and as magnificent
As can be thought; exiled al envye;
As confident the right to magnifie
As wil the lawe of Goddis mandement,
And as perseueraunt and patient.

The premynent is first thalmyghti Lord,
Emanuel, that euery lord is vndir
And good lyver; but bataile and discord
With him hath Sathanas; thei are asondir
As day & nyght, and as fier wasteth tundir,
So Sathanas his flok; and Cristis oste
In gemmy gold goth ardent, euery cooste.

Themanuel, this Lord of Sabaoth,
Hath ostis angelik that multitude,
That noon of hem, nor persone erthly, woote
Their numbir or vertue or pulcritude;
Our chiualers of hem similitude
Take as thei may, but truely ?

fer is,
As gemmys are ymagyned to sterrys.

Folk angelik, knyghthode archangelike,
And the terrible tourmys pryncipaunt,
The Potestates myght, ho may be like,—
The vigoroux vertue so valyaunt,
The Regalye of thordir domynaunt,
The Thronys celsitude of Cherubyn?

Who hath the light or flamme of Seraphyn?

Yit true it is, Man shal ben angelike;
Forthi their hosteyinye the Lord hath shewed
Ofte vnto man, the crafte therof to pike,
In knyghthode aftir hem man to be thewed:
By Lucyfer falling, rebate and fewed
Her numbir was, and it is Goddis wille,
That myghti men her numbir shal fulfille.

Of myghty men first is thelectioun
To make, & hem to lerne, & exercise
An ooste of hem for his perfectioun,
Be numbred thenne; and aftir se the gise
Of strong bataile, fighting in dyuers wise;
In craft to bilde, and art to make engyne
For see & lond, this tretys I wil fyne.

Thelectioun of werreours is good
In euery londe; and southward ay the more,
The more wit thei haue & lesse blood,
Forthi to blede thei drede it, and therfore
Reserue theim to labour & to lore,
And northeward hath more blood and lesse
Wit, and to fight & blede an hardinesse.

But werreours to worthe wise & bolde,
Is good to take in mene atwix hem twayne,
Where is not ouer hote nor ouer colde;
And to travaile & swete in snow & rayne,
In colde & hete, in wode & feeldys playne,
With rude fode & short, thei that beth vsed,
To chere it is the Citesens seclused.

And of necessitee, if thei be take
To that honour as to be werreourys,
In grete travaile her sleuth is of to shake,
And tolleraunce of sonne & dust & shourys,
To bere & drawe, & dayes delve and hourys
First vse thei, and reste hem in a cave,
And throute among, and fode a smal to haue.

In soden case emergent hem elonge
Fro their Cite, streyt out of that pleasaunce;
So shal thei worthe, ye, bothe bolde & stronge;
But feithfully the feld may most avaunce
A myghti ooste; of deth is his doubtaunce
Ful smal, that hath had smal felicite.

To lyve, and lande-men such lyuers be.

Of yonge folk is best electioun,
In puberte thing lightlier is lerned,
Of tendre age vp goth perfectioun
Of chiualers, as it is wel gouerned;
Alacrite to lepe & renne vnwerned,
Not oonly be, but therto sette hem stronge
And chere theim therwith, whil thei beth yonge.

For better is ?

ge men compleyne
On yerys yet commyng and nat fulfilled,
Then olde men dolorouxly disdeyne,
That thei here yougthe in negligence haspilde.

The yonge may seen alle his daies filde
In disciplyne of were and exercise,
That age may not haue in eny wise.

Not litil is the discipline of werre,
O fote, on hors, with sword or shild or spere,
The place & poort to kepe and not to erre,
Ne truble make, and his shot wel bewere,
To dike and voyde a dike, and entir there,
As is to do; lerned this gouernaunce,
No fere is it to fight, but pleasaunce.

The semelyest, sixe foote or litil lesse,
The first arayes of the legyoun,
Or wyngys horsyd, it is in to dresse;
Yet is it founde in euery regioun,
That smale men have had myght & renoun:
Lo, Tideus, as telleth swete Homere,
That litil man in vigour had no pere.

And him, that is to chese, it is to se
The look, the visagynge, the lymys stronge,
That thei be sette to force & firmytee;
For bellatours, men, horsis, hondis yonge,
As thei be wel fetured, is to fonge,
As in his book seith of the bee Virgile,
Too kyndis are, a gentil and a vile.

The gentil is smal, rutilaunt, glad-chered,
That other horribil, elenge and sloggy,
Drawinge his wombe abrede, and vgly-hered,
To grete the bolk, and tremulent and droggy,
The lymes hery, scabious & ruggy;
That be wil litil do, but slepe & ete,
And al deuoure, as gentil bees gete.

So for bataile adolescentys yonge
Of grym visage and look pervigilaunt,
Vpright-necked, brod-brested, boned stronge.

Brawny, bigge armes, fyngeres elongaunt,
Kne deep, smal wombe, and leggys valiaunt,
To renne & lepe: of these and suche signys
Thelectioun to make ascribed digne is.

For better is, of myghti werryourys
To haue ynogh, then ouer mych of grete.

—
What crafty men tabide on werrys shourys,
It is to se; fisshers, foulers, forlete
Hem alle, and pigmentaryes be foryete,
And alle they that are of idil craftys,
Their insolence & feet to be forlafte is.

The ferrour and the smyth, the carpenter,
The huntere of the hert & of the boor,
The bocher & his man, bed hem com nere,
For alle tho may do and kepe stoor.

An old prouerbe is it: Stoor is not soor,
And commyn wele it is, a werreour
To have aswel good crafte as grete vigour.

The reaumys myght, the famys fundament,
Stont in the first examynatioun
Or choys, wheryn is good be diligent.

Of the provynce that is defensioun;
A wysdom and a just intensioun
Is him to have, an ost that is to chese,
Wheryn is al to wynne or al to lese.

If chiualers, a land that shal defende,
Be noble born, and have lond & fee,
With thewys goode, as can noman amende,
Thei wil remembir ay their honeste,
And shame wil refreyne hem not to fle;
Laude & honour, hem sporynge on victory,
To make fame eternal in memory.

What helpeth it, if ignobilitee
Have exercise in werre and wagys large;
A traitour or a coward if he be,
Thenne his abode is a disceypt & charge;
If cowardise hym bere away by barge
Or ship or hors, alway he wil entende
To marre tho that wolde make or mende.

Ciuilians or officers to make
Of hem that have habilite to werre,
Is not the worship of a lond tawake,
Sumtyme also lest noughti shuld com nerre,
Thei sette hym to bataile, & theryn erre;
Therfore it is by good discretioun
And grete men to make electioun.

And not anoon to knyghthode is to lyft
A bacheler elect; let first appare
And preve it wel that he be stronge & swift
And wil the discipline of werrys lere,
With confidence in conflict as he were.

Ful oftyn he that is right personabil,
Is aftir pref reported right vnabil.

He putte apart, putte in his place an other;
Conflicte is not so sure in multitude,
As in the myght.

Thus proved oon & other
Of werre an entre or similitude,
In hem to shewe.

But this crafte dissuetude
Hath take away; here is noon exercise
Of disciplyne, as whilom was the gise.

How may I lerne of hym that is vnlerned,
How may a thing informal fourme me?

Thus I suppose is best to be gouerned:
Rede vp thistories of auctoritee,
And how thei faught, in theym it is to se,
Or better thus: Celsus Cornelius
Be red, or Caton, or Vegetius.

Vegetius it is, that I entende
Aftir to goon in lore of exercise,
Besechinge hem that fynde a faut, amende
It to the best, or me tamende it wise;
As redy wil I be with my seruyce
Tamende that, as ferther to procede.

Now wel to go, the good angel vs lede.

First is to lerne a chiualerys pace,
That is to serue in journey & bataile;
Gret peril is, if they theryn difface,
That seyn: our enemye wil our oste assaile
And jumpe light; to goon is gret availe,
And pace in howrys fyve
Wel may they goon, and not goon ouer blyve.

And wightly may thei go moo,
But faster and they passe, it is to renne;
In rennyng exercise is good also,
To smyte first in fight, and also whenne
To take a place our foomen wil, forrenne,
And take it erst; also to serche or sture,
Lightly to come & go, rennynge is sure.

Rennynge is also right good at the chace,
And forto lepe a dike, is also good,
To renne & lepe and ley vppon the face,
That it suppose a myghti man go wood
And lose his hert withoute sheding blood;
For myghtily what man may renne & lepe,
May wel devicte and saf his party kepe.

To swymme is eek to lerne in somer season;
Men fynde not a brigge as ofte as flood,
Swymmyng to voide and chace an oste wil eson;
Eeke aftir rayn the ryueres goth wood;
That euery man in thoost can swymme, is good.

Knyght, squyer, footman, cook & cosynere
And grome & page in swymmyng is to lere.

Of fight the disciplyne and exercise
Was this: to haue a pale or pile vpright
Of mannys hight, thus writeth olde wyse;
Therwith a bacheler or a yong knyght
Shal first be taught to stonde & lerne fight;
A fanne of doubil wight tak him his shelde,
Of doubil wight a mace of tre to welde.

This fanne & mace, which either doubil wight is
Of shelde & sword in conflicte or bataile,
Shal exercise as wel swordmen as knyghtys,
And noo man (as thei seyn) is seyn prevaile
In felde or in gravel though he assaile,
That with the pile nath first gret exercise;
Thus writeth werreourys olde & wise.

Have vche his pile or pale vpfixed faste,
And, as in werre vppon his mortal foo,
With wightynesse & wepon most he caste
To fighte stronge, that he ne shape him fro,—
On him with shild & sword avised so,
That thou be cloos, and prest thi foo to smyte,
Lest of thin owne deth thou be to wite.

Empeche his hed, his face, have at his gorge,
Bere at the breste, or serue him on the side
With myghti knyghtly poort, eue as Seynt George,
Lepe o thi foo, loke if he dar abide;
Wil he nat fle, wounde him; mak woundis wide,
Hew of his honde, his legge, his thegh, his armys;
It is the Turk: though he be sleyn, noon harm is.

And forto foyne is better then to smyte;
The smyter is deluded mony oonys,
The sword may nat throgh steel & bonys bite,
Thentrailys ar couert in steel & bonys,
But with a foyn anoon thi foo fordoon is;
Tweyne vnchys entirfoyned hurteth more
Then kerf or ege, although it wounde sore.

Eek in the kerf, thi right arm is disclosed,
Also thi side; and in the foyn, couert
Is side & arm, and er thou be supposed
Redy to fight, the foyn is at his hert
Or ellys where, a foyn is euer smert;
Thus better is to foyne then to kerve;
In tyme & place ereither is tobserue.

This fanne & mace ar ay of doubil wight,
That when the Bacheler hath exercise
Of hevy gere, and aftir taketh light
Herneys, as sheeld & sword of just assise,
His hert avaunceth, hardynes tarise.

My borthon is delyuered, thinketh he,
And on he goth, as glad as he may be.

And ouer this al, exercise in armys
The doctour is to teche and discipline,
For double wage a wurthi man of armys
Was wont to take, if he wer proved digne
Aforn his prince, ye, tymes VIII or IX;
And whete he had, and barly had the knyght
That couthe nat as he in armys fight.

Res publica right commendabil is,
If chiualers and armys there abounde,
For, they present, may nothing fare amys,
And ther thei are absent, al goth to grounde;
In gemme, in gold, in silk be thei fecounde,
It fereth not; but myghti men in armys,
They fereth with the drede of deth & harmys.

Caton the Wise seith: where as men erre
In other thinge, it may be wel amended;
But emendatioun is noon in werre;
The cryme doon, forthwith the grace is spended,
Or slayn anoon is he that there offended,
Or putte to flight, and euer aftir he
Is lesse worth then they that made him fle.

But turne ageyn, Inwit, to thi preceptys!
With sword & sheld the lerned chiualer
At pale or pile, in artilaunce excepte is;
A dart of more wight then is mester,
Tak him in honde, and teche hym it to ster,
And caste it at that pile, as at his foo,
So that it route, and right vppon hym go.

Of armys is the doctour heer tattende,
That myghtily this dart be take & shake,
And shot as myghtily, forthright on ende,
And smyte sore, or nygh, this pile or stake;
Herof vigour in tharmys wil awake
And craft to caste & smyte shal encrece;
The werreours thus taught, shal make peax.

But bachilers, the thridde or firthe part,
Applied ar to shote in bowes longe
With arowys; heryn is doctryne & art,
The stringys vp to breke in bowes stronge,
And swift and craftily the taclis fonge,
Starkly the lifte arm holde with the bowe,
Drawe with the right, and smyte, and ouerthrowe.

Set hert & eye vppon that pile or pale,
Shoot nygh or on, and if so be thou ride
On hors, is eek the bowys bigge vp hale;
Smyte in the face or breste or bak or side,
Compelle fle, or falle, if that he bide.

Cotidian be mad this exercise,
On fote & hors, as writeth olde wise.

That archery is grete vtilitee,
It nedeth not to telle eny that here is;
Caton, therof in bookys writeth he,
Among the discipline of chiualerys,
And Claudius, that werred mony yeres,
Wel seide, and Affricanus Scipio
With archerys confounded ofte his foo.

Vse eek the cast of stoon with slynge or honde;
It falleth ofte, if other shot ther noon is,
Men herneysed in steel may not withstonde
The multitude & myghti caste of stonys;
It breketh ofte & breseth flesh & bonys,
And stonys in effecte are euerywhere,
And slyngys ar not noyous forto bere.

And otherwhile in stony stede is fight,
A mountayn otherwhile is to defende,
An hil, a toun, a tour, and euery knyght
And other wight may caste stoon on ende.

The stonys axe, if other shot be spende,
Or ellys thus: save other shot with stonys,
Or vse hem, as requireth, both atonys.

The barbulys that named ar plumbatys,
Set in the sheld is good to take fyve,
That vsed hem of old, wer grete estatys;
As archerys, they wolde shote and dryve
Her foo to flight, or leve him not alyve;
This shot commended Dioclisian
And his Coemperour Maxymyan.

The Chiualers and werreourys alle,
Quicly to lepe on hors, and so descende
Vppon the right or lyft side, if it falle,
That exercise is forto kepe an ende;
Vnarmed first, and armed thenne ascende,
And aftir with a spere or sword & shelde,
This feet is good, when troubled is the felde.

And LX pounde of weght it hade to bere
And go therwith a chiualerys pace,
Vitaile & herneysing and sword & spere,
Frely to bere; al this is but solace;
Thinge exercised ofte in tyme & space,
Hard if it be, with vse it wil ben eased,
The yonge men herwith beth best appesed.

And exercise him vche in his armure,
As is the gise adayes now to were,
And se that euery peece herneys be sure,
Go quycly in, and quyk out of the gere,
And kepe it cler, as gold or gemme it were;
Corraged is that hath his herneys bright,
And he that is wel armed, dar wel fight.

To warde & wacche an oste it is to lerne
Both holsom is that fvlly and necessary,
Withinne a pale an oste is to gouerne,
That day & nyght saftly theryn they tary
And take reste, and neuer oon myscary;
For faute of wacch, ha worthi not myscheved
Now late, and al to rathe?

Is this nat preved?

To make a fortresse, if the foon be nygh,
Assure a grounde, and se that ther be fode
For man & beest, and watir deep mydthigh,
Not fer; and se there wode or grovys goode.

Now signe it, lyne it out by yerde or rode,
An hil if ther be nygh, wherby the foo
May hurte, anoon set of the ground therfro.

Ther flood is wont the felde to ouer flete,
Mak ther noo strength; and as is necessary
Vnto thyn oste, as mych is out to mete,
And cariage also theryn most tary;
Men dissipat, here enemy may myscary,
And combred is an oste that is compressed;
Tak eue ynough, and hoom have vch man dressed.

Trianguler, or square, or dymyrounde
The strength it is to make of hosteyinge;
Thavis therof is taken at the grounde;—
And estward, or vppon thi foo comynge,
The yatys principal have vssuynge,
To welcom him; and if an ost journey,
The yatis ar to sette vppon his wey.

The centenaryes thervppon shal picche
Her pavilons, and dragonys and signys
Shal vp be set, and Gorgona the wicche
Vpsette they; to juste batail condigne is
Vch helply thing; another yate & signe is,
Ther trespassers shal go to their juesse,
That oponeth north, or westward, as I gesse.

In maneer a strengthe is to be walled,
If ther oppresse noo necessitee:
Delve vp the torf, have it togedir malled,
Therof the wal be mad high footys
Above grounde; the dike withouten be
IX foote brode, and deep dounright;
Thus dike & wal is wel fote in hight.

This werk they calle a dike tumultuary;
To stynte a rore, and if the foo be kene,
Legytymat dykinge is necessary;
XII foote brod that dike is to demene,
And nyne deep; his sidys to sustene,
And hege it as is best on either side,
That diked erth vpheged stonde & bide.

Above grounde arise it foure foote;
Thus hath the dike in brede footys XII,
And XIII is it high fro crop to roote,
That stake of pith which euery man him selve
Hath born, on oneward is it forto delve.

And this to do, pikens, mattok and spade
And tole ynough ther most be redy made.

But and the foo lene on forwith to fight,
The hors men alle, and half the folk ofoote
Embataile hem, to showve away their myght,
That other half, to dike foot by foote,
Be sette, and an heraude expert by roote,
The Centrions other the Centenaryis
In ordre forth hem calle, as necessary is.

And ay among the centrions enserch,
The werk, if it be wrought, kept the mesure,
In brede & deep & high, perch aftir perch,
And chastise him, that hath nat doon his cure.

An hoste thus exercised may ensure
In prevalence, whos debellatioun
Shal not be straught by perturbatioun.

Wel knowen is, nothinge is more in fight
Then exercise and daily frequentaunce;
Vch werreour therfore do his myght
To knowe it wel and kepe his ordynaunce;
An ooste to thicke, I sette, is encombraunce,
And also perilous is ouer thynne,
Thei sone fle that be to fer atwynne.

We werreours, forthi go we to feelde;
And as our name in ordir in the rolle is,
Our ordynaunt, so sette vs, dart & sheelde
And bowe & axe, and calle vs first by pollys;
Triangulys, quadrangulys, and rollys,
We may be made; and thus vs embataile,
Gouerned, vndir grate to prevaile.

A sengil ege is first to strecch in longe,
Withoute bosomynge or curuature,
With dowbeling forwith let make it stronge,
That also fele assiste, in like mesure,
And with a woord turne hem to quadrature,
And efte trianguler, and then hem rounde,
And raunge hem efte, and keep euerych his grounde.

This ordynaunce of right is to prevaile;
Doctryne hem eek, whenne it is best to square,
And when a triangul may more availe,
And orbys, how they necessary are;
How may be to condense, and how to rare;
The werreours that ha this exercise,
Be preste with hardynesse, & stronge & wise.

And ouer this, an olde vsage it was
To make walk thryes in euery mone,
And tho they wente a chiualerys paas
X myle outward, the men of armys, none
Vnharneysed; the footmen euerychone
Bowed, tacled, darted, jacked, saladed;
Vitaile eke born withal, her hertis gladed.

In hom comynge, among thei wente faste
And ranne among.

Eek tourmys of ryderys
Sumtyme journeyed on foote in haste,
Shelded & herneysed with myghti sperys;
Not oonly in the playn, but also where is
A mountayn or a clif or streyt passagys.

Thus hadde thei both exercise and wagys.

Ereithre ege in this wise exercised
Was by & by, so that no chaunce of newe
Nas to be thought, that thei nere of avised,
And hadde way the daungerys teschewe
Vndaungered; and this wisdom thei knewe
By discipline of their doctour of armys,
To wynne honour withouten hate or harmys.

Thelectioun and exercise anended,
An ooste is now to numbre & dyvide,
And seen vch officer his part commended,
And how to sette a feeld to fight & bide.

Goode Angelys and Sayntys, ye me gide
And lighte me, o Lady Saynte Mary!
To write wel this werk & not to tary.

—
II.

Electrix ita Milicie pars prima recedit,
Et pars partitrix ecce secunda subit.

The firste parte of IIII is here at ende;
Now to the part secounde! er we procede
To knowe this, His grace God vs sende!
Myn auctour ofte aduiseth vs to rede
And to the sense of it to taken hede;
To rede a thinge withoute intelligence,
As seith Cato the Wise, is negligence.

But this I leve vnto the sapience
Of chiualers, and to my werk retorne,
Theryn to do my feithful diligence
For their pleasaunce, out of this prosis storne
The resonaunce of metris wolde I borne.

As myghti herte in ryngynge herneysinge,
So gentil wit wil in good metris springe.

And for thonour of theuerlastyng kynge,
Our saviour Jhesus and his Ierarkys,
His Angelys, and for that swete thinge,
His Modre, patronesse of al my warkys,
For His prophetys love and patriarkys,
And for thapostolis that made our Crede,
As do me fauour, ye that wil me rede.

Virgile seith (an high poete is he)
That werre in armys stont and mannys myght,
The man on hors, o fote, or on the see;
Riders be wyngis clept, for swift & light,
On either half of thege eke ar thei dight;
But now that ege is called the banere
Or banerye, hauyng his banereer.

Also ther are riders legyonaryis;
Thei are annexed to the legioun.

In too maner of shippes men to cary is,
Their namys ar couth in this regioun;
Orthwart go they the flood, and vp & doun;
Riders in playn, footmen goth euery where,
By theyme the commyn wele is to conquere;
Riders a fewe, and haue o foote fele,
Thei spende smal, and horsmen spende fre.

Footmen o tweyne is to dyuide & dele:
Or legiaunt or aydaunt for to be.

Confederat men aydaunt is to se,
That is to say, by trewce or toleraunce,
As Frensh ar suffred here, and we in Fraunce.

Aydaunt be they, but in the legioun
Lith thordinaunce in werre to prevaile.

A legioun out of electioun
Hath take his name, as elect to bataile.

Her diligence and feith is not to faile;
Thi legyaunt forthi to multiplie
Is right, but aydauntys a fewe applie.

Thousant werreours was a phalange
In dayis olde, and of men
Was a caterve, but this diagalange
Is, as to this, not worth a pulled hen.

The legioun, departed into X,
Is vs to lerne, and legions how fele
It is to haue, and how asondir dele.

The consules legiounys ladden,
Al aldermeest; but thei hadde exercise,
Wherof the felde victoriously thei hadden;
To chose a legioun, this was the gise,
In bookys as they seyn, these olde wise:
Wyis, hardy, strong, doctryned, high statured,
In feet of werre ofte vsed & wel vred.

That was the man, he was mad mylitaunt,
When al the world to the Romayn Empire
Was made obey, by knyghthod valiaunt;—
A sacramental oth doth it requyre,
To write pleyn this matere I desire,
By God & Criste and Holy Goost swar he,
And by that Emperourys maiestee.

Next God is hym to drede and hym to honour is;
Right as to God ther bodily present,
To themperour, when he mad Emperour is,
Devotioun; vch loyal ympendent
Is to be vigilaunt, his seruyent;
God serueth he, both knyght & comynere,
That loueth him, to God that regneth here.

God, Criste Jhesus, and Holy Goste; was sworn
By theim, and themperourys maiestee,
That his commaundementys shuld be born
And strenuously be doon, be what thei be;
Fro mylitaunce that thei shal neuer fle
Ner voyde deth, but rather deth desire
For themperour, and wele of his Empire.

Thus sworn, vch knyght is of the legioun.

The legioun stont in cohortys;
Cohors the Latyn is, this regioun
Tenglish it fore, help vs, good Lord! Amen.

The dignite and number of the men
Hath in the firste cohors an excellence
Of noble blood, manhode and sapience.

This feleshepe, most worshipful, most digne,
Bar thegil and thymage of themperour;
As God present was holden either signe,
Thei hadde both attendaunce & honour;
Of chiualers heryn was doon the flour,
A an and footmen,
And of wight horsmen.

The military cohors, or the choors,
Thus named it the wise, and the secounde
Cohors, like as the bonet to his coors
Is set, thei sette it footmen stronge & sounde,
And an half, and abounde
In hit, with sixe & sixti hors, and it
The Quyngentary called men of wit.

As fele & myghty choys putte in the thridde is,
For in their honde espeyre is al to thryve;
Her place in ordynaunce is in the myddys,
And for the firth choors is to discrive
Footmen and an half,
With sixe & sixti hors, and eue as fele,
With better hors, vnto the fifthe dele.

For as the first cohors is the right horn,
So in the lift horn is the fifthe choors;
For V choors stonde in the frounte aforn,
Or the vawarde; of termys is noo foors,
So the conceyt be had.

The sixt cohors
Hath, as the fifthe, yet lusty men & yonge;
To thegil next to stonde it is to fonge,
That is the right horn; in the myddil warde
The nexte choors hath eue as mony as she,
The nexte as fele, and therto is tawarde
The myghti men, amyddis forto be;
The nynth is of the same quantitie,
The tenth is eue as is the choors beforn,
But make it strong, for it is the lift horn.

The legioun in ten is thus cohorted,
And an see men on foote,
Hors, and therty therto soorted,
Of fewer hors is not to speke or moote
In eny legioun; yet, crop & roote
To seyn, of hors ther may be take moo,
Commaundement if ther be so to do.

Exployed heer thusage and ordynaunce
Of legyoun, vnto the principal
Of chiualers retourne our remembraunce;
The dignitie and name in special
Of euery prince enrolled, and who shal
Do what, and whenne, and where, it is to write;
Good angel, help vs al this werk tendite.

The grete Trybune is mad by Themperour,
And by patent, and send by jugement;
Thundir Trybune is hent of his labour.

—
An Ordyner for fighters forth present
Is forto sette; eek Themperour content
Is ofte to sende and make secoundaryis;
What name is heer for hem?

Coordinaryis.

An Egiller bar thegil, and thymage
Of themperour bar an Ymaginary;
And moo then oon ther were of those in wage;
A Banereer, tho clept a Draconary,
A Kyng Heralde, tho clept a Tesserary,—
The baner he, he bar commaundement,
Al thoost tobeye her princys hole entent.

Campigeners made exercise in feeldys,
Campymeters mesured out the grounde,
To picche pavilons, tentys and teeldys,
The forteresse triangeler or rounde
Or square to be made or dymyrounde,
His part hit was; and he that was Library,
Thaccomptys wrot, that rekenyng ne vary.

The Clarioner, Trompet, and Hornycler,
With horn, & trompe of bras, and clarioun,
In terribil batailis bloweth cleer,
That hors & man reioyceth at the soun;
The firmament therto making resoun
Or resonaunce; thus joyneth thei bataile;
God stonde with the right, that it prevaile!
A Mesurer, that is our Herbagere,
For paviloun & tent assigneth he
The grounde, and seith: 'Be ye ther, be ye here!'
Vch hostel eek, in castel and citee,
Assigneth he, vch aftir his degre.

A wreth o golde is signe of grete estate;
That wered it, was called a Torquate.

Sengil ther were of these, and duplicate
And triplicate, and so to for and fiv,
That hadde wage, vche aftir his estate.

Tho namys goon, such personys alyve,
It may be thought, therof wil I not scryve.

Ther were eek worthymen clept Candidate,
And last, the souldeours, vch othrys mate.

The principal prince of the legioun,
Sumtyme it was, and yet is a like gise,
To make a Primypile, a centurioun;
A Lieutenaunt men calle him in our wise;
And him beforn is Thegil forto arise;
Four hudred knyghtis eek of valiaunce
This prymypile hadde in his gouernaunce.

He in the frounte of al the legioun
Was as a vicaptayn, a gouernour,
And took availe at vch partitioun.

The First Spere was next, a lusty flour;
Two hundred to gouerne is his honour,
Wherof thei named him a Ducennary,
The name fro the numbir not to vary.

The Prince an hundred and an half gouerned,
Eek he gouerned al the legioun
In ordynaunce; oueral he went vnwerned.

The nexte spere, of name and of renoun,
As mony hadde in his directioun;
The First Triari hadde an hundred men;
A Chevetayn was eke of euery ten
Thus hath the first cohors fyve Ordinayris,
And euery ten an hed, a Cheveteyne,
To rewle theim; and so it necessayr is,
An hundred and fyve on this choors to reigne:
Four Ordinayris and the cheef Captayne,
That is their Ordinary General,
And seyde is ofte of him: He rewleth al.

So high honour, so gret vtilitee
Hath euerych estate of this renoun
Prouided hem by sage Antiquitee,
That euery persone in the legioun
With al labour, with al deuotioun
To that honour attended to ascende,
And that avail to wynne, her bodyis bende.

The nexte choors, named the Quyngentary,
Hath Centurions or Centenerys fyve;
Thridde choors as fele hath necessary;
The firthe fyve, and, forto spede vs blyve,
In euery choors the Centyners oo fyve
In numbir make, and so the legioun
Of hem hath fyvty-fyve vp & doun.

Not fyvty-fyve Whi?

For fyve thordinayrys
In their Estate and stede of fyve stonde;
To graunte this, me semeth, noo contrary is;
Though in my book so wryton I ne fonde,
Of LV, wel I vndirstonde
And fynde cleer, so that it most appere,
That vndir Ordynayrys V were.

The consulys, for themperour Legatys
Sende vnto the oste; to thaim obtemperaunt
Was al the legioun, and al the statys;
They were of al the werres ordynaunt;
To theim obeyed euerych aydaunt;
In stede of whom illustres Lordes, Peerys,
Be substitute, Maistrys of Chiualerys;
By whom not oonly legiounys twayn,
But grete numbrys hadde gouernaunce.

The propre juge is the Provost, certayn,
With worthinesse of the first ordynaunce;
The vilegate is he by mynystraunce
Of his power, to hym the Centeners
Obey, and the Trybune and Chiualers.

Of him the rolle of wacch and of progresse
Thei crave and haue, and if a knyght offende,
At his precepte he was put to juesse
By the trybune, in payne or deth tanende.

Hors, herneys, wage & cloth, vitail to spende,
His cure it was tordeyn, and disciplyne
Vnto euery man, seuerous or benygne.

His justising, with sobre diligence,
And pite doon vppon his legioun,
Assured hem to longh obedience
And reuerence, and high deuotioun;
Good gouernaunce at his promotioun
Kept euery man; and his honour, him thoughte
It was, when euery man dede as him oughte.

The Maister or Provost of Ordynaunce,
Although he were of lower dignitie,
His estimatioun & gouernaunce,
The bastilys, dich, & pale is to se;
And wher the tabernaculys shal be
And tent & teelde & case & paviloun
And cariage of al the legioun.

For seeke men the leche and medycyne
Procureth he, for larderye and toolys;
Of euery werk cartyng he most assigne,
For bastile or engyne or myne.

And fole is
He noon, that is expert in these scolys;
This was a wise, appreved chiualere,
That, as he dede himself, couth other lere.

And ouer this, the ferrour & the smyth,
The tymbre men, hewer & carpenter,
The peyntour, and vch other craft goth with,
To make a frame or engyne euerywhere,
Hem to defense and her foomen to fere;
Tormentys olde and carrys to repare
And make newe, as they to broken are.

Foregys and artelryis, armeryis,
To make tole, horshoon, shot & armurre;
And euery thing that nede myght aspie, is
In thooste; and eek mynours that can go sure
Vndir the dich, and al the wal demure
Or brynge in thoost; herof the Maister Smyth
Had al the rule, and euer went he with.

The legioun is seide haue choorsis X.

The military first, or miliary,
The best and gentilest and wisest men
And myghtiest, therto be necessary;
Eek letterure is good & light to cary.

Her gouernour was a Trybune of Armys,
Wise & honest, that body strong & arm is.

The choorsys aftir that, Trybunys cured
Or Maysterys, as it the prince pleased;
Vch chiualeer in exercise assured
So was, that God & man therwith was pleased;
And first to se the prince do, mych eased
The hertys alle.

Fresh herneys, armur bright,
Wit, hardinesse & myght had euery knyght.

The firste signe of al the legioun
An Egil is, born by an Egeler,
And thenne in euery Choors is a Dragoun,
Born by a Draconair or Banereer;
A baner eek had euery Centener
Other a signe, inscrived so by rowe,
His Chevetayn that euery man may knowe.

The Centeners had also werreourys,
Hardy, wel harneysed, in their salet
That had a creste of fetherys or lik flourys,
That noon errour were in the batail set,
To his Cristate and to his Baneret
And to his Decanair euerych his sight
May caste, and in his place anoon be pight.

Right as the footmen haue a Centurion,
That hath in rewle an C men & X,
So haue the riders a Decurion,
That hath in rewle XXXII horsmen.

By his banere him knoweth alle his men,
And ouer that, right as it is to chese
A myghti man for thaym, so is for these.

For theim a stronge & wel fetured man,
That can a spere, a dart, a sword wel caste,
And also fight, and rounde a sheld wel can,
And spende his wepon wel withoute waste,
Redier to fight then flite, and ner agaste,
That can be sobre, sadde, & quyk & quyver,
And with his foo com of and him delyuer;
Obeyssaunt his premynentys wille,
And rather do the feat then of it crake,
Impatient that day or tyme spille
In armys exercise and art to wake,
And of himself a sampeler to make
Among his men, wel shod, honestly dight,
And make hem fourbe her armure euer bright.

Right so it is, for these men to chese
A Decurioun, thorugh lik to him in fourme,
Impatient that thei the tyme lese,
Wel herneysed, and euerych of hys tourme
In euery poynt of armys wil enfourme,
And armed wil his hors so sone ascende,
That mervaile is, and course hym stronge anende,
And vse wel a dart, a shaft, a spere,
And teche chiualers vndir his cure,
Right as himself to torne hem in her gere,
The brigandyn, helmet, and al procure,
It oftyn wipe clene,—and knowe sure,
With herneysing and myghti poort affrayed
Is ofte a foo, and forto fight dismayed.

Is it to sey: 'he is a werrely knyght,'
Whos herneys is horribil & beduste,
Not onys vsed in a fourte nyght,
And al that iron is or steel, beruste;
Vnkept his hors, how may he fight or juste?

The knyghtis and her horsys in his tourme
This Capitayn shal procure & refourme.

III.

Tercia bellatrix pars est et pacificatrix,
In qua quosque bonos concomitatur honos.

Comprised is in smal this part secounde,
An ooste to numbir, and a legioun;
In foylis is it fewe, in fruyt fecounde;
The saluature of al religioun
Is founde heryn for euery regioun.

Wel to digeste this God graunte vs grace,
And by the werre his reste to purchace.

O gracious our Kyng! Thei fleth his face.

Where ar they now?

Summe are in Irelonde,
In Walys other are, in myghti place,
And other han Caleys with hem to stonde,
Thei robbeth & they reveth see & londe;
The kyng, or his ligeaunce or amytee,
Thei robbe anende, and sle withoute pitee.

The golden Eagle and his briddys III,
Her bellys ha they broke, and jessys lorne;
The siluer Bere his lynkys al to fle,
And bare is he behinde & eke beforne;
The lily whit lyoun, alas! forsworne
Is his colour & myght; and yet detrude
Entende thei the lond, and it conclude.

Of bestialite, lo, ye so rude,
The Noblis alle attende on the Antilope;
Your self & youris, ye yourself exclude,
And lose soule & lyif.

Aftir your coope
Axe humble grace, and sette yourself in hope,
For and ye wiste, hou hard lyif is in helle,
No lenger wolde ye with the murthre melle.

Ye se at eye, it nedeth not you telle,
Hou that the beestis and the foulys alle,
That gentil are, ar sworn your wrong to quelle;
Ypocrisie of oothis wil not walle
You fro the sword, but rather make it falle
On your auarous evel gouernaunce,
That may be called pride & arrogaunce.

This yeve I theim to kepe in remembraunce;
Goode Antilop, that eny blood shal spille,
Is not thi wille; exiled is vengeaunce
From al thi thought; hemself, alas, thei kille.

O noble pantere! of thi breth the smylle,
Swete and pleasaunt to beest & briddis alle,
It oonly fleth the dragon fild with galle.

What helpeth it, lo, thangelis wil falle
On him with al our werreours attonys;
Thei muste nede his membris al to malle.

—
Of this matere I stynte vntil eftsonys,
And fast I hast to write as it to doone is,
That myght in right vppon the wrong prevaile
In londe & see, by knyghthode & bataile.

Lo, thus thelectioun with exercise
And ordynaunce, as for a legioun,
Exployed is, as writeth olde wise.

What ha we next?

Belligeratioun.

O Jesse flour! Jhesu, Saluatioun
And Savyour, commaunde that my penne
To thin honour go right heryn & renne.

An oste of exercise "exercitus"
Hath holde of olde his name; a legioun
As an electioun is named thus,
And a choors of cohortatioun.

The princys of her mynystratioun
Her namys have, and aftir her degre
The Chevetaynys vndir named be.

Exercitus, that is to seyn an Ooste,
Is legiounys, or a legioun;
Tweyne is ynough, and IIII is with the moste,
And oon suffiseth in sum regioun;
Therof, with ayde and horsmen of renoun,
As needful is, groweth good gouernaunce
In euery londe, and parfit prosperaunce.

What is an ayde?

It is stipendiaryis
Or souldiours conduct of straunge londe,
To such a numbir as it necessary is,
Aftir the legioun thei for to stonde
In ordynaunce, to make a myghti honde;
Heryn who wil be parfit and not erre,
Tak Maysterys of armys and of werre.

This was the wit of Princys wel appreved,
And ofte it hath be seid and is conclude,
That oostis ouer grete be myscheved
More of her owne excessif multitude
Then of her foon, that thenne wil delude
Her ignoraunce, that can not modifie
The suffisaunce, an ooste to geder & gye.

To gret an oost is hurt in mony cace:
First, slough it is in journeyinge & longe;
Forthi mysaventure it may difface,
Passagis hard, and floodis hye amonge;
Expense eek of vitaile is ouer stronge,
And if thei turne bak and onys fle,
They that escape, aferd ay aftir be.

Therfore it was the gise amonge the wise,
That of ?

es had experience,
Oonly to take an oost as wil suffice,
Of preved & acheved sapience,
In chiualerys that han done diligence
In exercise of werre; a lerned ooste
Is sure, an vnlerned is cost for loste.

In light bataile, oon legioun with ayde,
That is, X Ml.

men o fote, and too
Thousand on hors, sufficed as thei saide;
They with a lord no grete estat to goo,
And with a gret Estate as mony mo;
And for an infinit rebellioun
Twey dukys and tweyn oostys went adoun.

Prouisioun be mad for sanytee
In watre, place & tyme & medycyne
And exercise.

In place ?

h be
The pestilence, his place anoon resigne,
To weet marice and feeld to hard declyne;
To high, to lough, to light, to derk, to colde,
To hoot, is ille; attemperaunce be holde.

In snow & hail & frost & wintir shouris,
An ooste beyng, most nedes kacche colde;
For wyntir colde affrayeth somer flourys,
And mareys watir is vnholsom holde;
Good drinke and holsom mete away wil folde
Infirmytee; and fer is he fro wele,
That with his foon & sekenesse shal dele.

Cotidian at honde ha medycyne,
First for the prince; as needful is his helth
To thooste, as to the world the sonne shyne;
His prosperaunce procureth euery welth;
But let not exercise goon o stelthe;
Holde euer it.

Ful seelde be thei seek
That euer vppon exercise seeke.

In ouer colde & hoot, kepe the couert,
And exercise in tymes temperate;
Footmen in high & lough, feeld & desert;
An hors to lepe a dich, an hege, a yate.

Tranquillite with peax & no debate
Be sadly kept, exiled al envie;
Grace in this gouernaunce wil multiplie.

Ha purviaunce of forage & vitaile
For man & hors; for iron smyteth not
So sore as honger doth, if foode faile.

The colde fyer of indigence is hoote,
And wood theron goth euery man, God woot;
For other wepen is ther remedie,
But on the dart of hongir is to deye.

Or have ynough, or make a litil werre,
And do the stuf in placys stronge & sure;
In more then ynough, me may not erre;
The moneyles by chevishaunce procure,
As lauful is, I mene, nat vsure;
But tak aforn the day of payment;
It loseth not, that to the prince is lent.

What man is hool in his possessioun,
If he ha no defense of men of armys?

Beseged if me be, progressioun
That ther be noon, and noo vitail in arm is,
O woful wight, ful careful thin alarm is!
Honger within, and enmytee abowte,
A warse foo withinn is then withoute.

And though thi foo withoute an honger be,
He wil abide on honger thee to sle;
Forthi comynge a foo, vitaile the,
And leve hym noght, or lite, vnworth a stre;
Whete and forage and flesh, fissh of ?

Wyn, salt & oyle, fewel and euery thinge
That helpeth man or beest to his lyvinge:
Tak al, thi foo comyng, and mak an oye
That euery man to strengthes ha ther goodis,
As thei of good & lyves wil ha joye,
And negligentys to compelle it good is.

The feriage be take away fro flodis,
The briggis on the ryverys to breke,
And passagis with falling tymbour steke.

The yatis and the wallys to repare,
The gunnys and engynys & tormente,
And forge newe, ynowe if that ther nare;
Ful late is it, if thi foo be presente,
And fere ingoth, if hardinesse absente.

Be war of this, and euery thing prouide,
That fere fle, and good corage abide.

Golde it is good to kepe, and make stoor
Of other thing, and spende in moderaunce;
More and ynough to haue, it is not soor,
And spare wel, whil ther is aboundaunce;
To spare of litil thing may lite avaunce.

By pollys dele, and not by dignitee,
So was the rewle in sage antiquytee.

And best be war, when that thin aduersary
Wil swere grete, ye by the Sacrament,
And vse that, ye and by seint Mary,
And al that is vndir the firmament:
Beleve nat his othe, his false entent
Is this: thi trewe entent for to begile.

The pref herof nys passed but a while.

Wel ofter hath fals simulatioun
Desceyved vs, then opon werre; and where
Me swereth ofte, it is deceptioun.

Judas, away from vs! cum thou no nere:
Thou gretest, Goddis child as thaugh thou were;
But into the is entred Sathanas,
And thou thi self wilt hange! an hevy cas.

Sumtyme amonge an ooste ariseth roore.

Of berth, of age, of contre, of corage
Dyuers thei are, and hoom thei longe sore,
And to bataile thei wil, or out of wage.

What salue may this bolnyng best aswage?

Wherof ariseth it?

Of ydilnesse.

What may aswage it best?

Good bisinesse.

With drede in oost to fight thei are anoyed,
And speke of fight, when theim wer leuer fle,
And with the fode and wacch thei are acloyed.

'Where is this felde?

Shal we no batail see?

Wil we goon hoom?

What say ye, sirs?

' 'Ye, ye!'
And with her hed to fighting are thei ripe
Al esily, but he the swellinge wipe.

A remedie is, when thei are asonder,
The graunt Tribune, or els his lieutenaunt,
With discipline of armys holde hem vndir
Seuerously, tech hem be moderaunte,
To God deuout, and fait of werrys haunte,
The dart, baliste, and bowe, and cast of stoon,
And swymme & renne & leep, tech euerychoon.

Armure to bere, and barrys like a sworde,
To bere on with the foyn, and not to shere,
And smyte thorgh a plank other a boorde,
And myghtily to shake and caste a spere,
And loke grym, a Ml.

men to fere,
And course a myghti hors with spere & shelde,
And daily se ho is flour of the feelde.

To falle a grove or wode, and make a gate
Thorgh it, and make a dike, and hewe a doun
A cragge, or thurl an hil, other rebate
A clyf, to make an even regioun,
Or dowbil efte the dike abowte a toun;
To bere stoon, a boolewerk forto make,
Other sum other gret werk vndirtake.

The chiualer, be he legionary,
As seide it is beforn, on hors or foote,
Or aydaunt, that is auxiliary,
On hors or foote,—if that thei talk or mote
Of werre, and reyse roore, vp by the roote
Hit shal be pulde with myghti exercise
Of werreourys, gouerned in this wise.

Commende, and exercise, and holde hem inne,
For when thei ha the verrey craft to fight,
Thei wil desire it, wel this for to wynne.

He dar go to, that hath both art & myght.

And if a tale is tolde that eny knyght
Is turbulent other sedicious,
Examyne it the duke, proceding thus:
The envious man, voide his suggestioun,
And knowe the trowth of worthi & prudent
Personys, that withouten questioun
Wil say the soth, of feith and trewe entent,
And if the duke so fynde him turbulent,
Disseuer him, and sende hym ellys where,
Sum myghti feet to doon as thaugh it were:
To kepe a castel, make a providence,
Or warde a place, and do this by thaduyce
Of counsel, and commende his sapience,
That he suppose hym self heryn so wise,
That therof hath he this honour & price;
So wittily do this, that he, reiecte,
Suppose that to honour he is electe.

For verreily, the hole multitude
Of oon assent entendeth not rebelle,
But egged ar of theim that be to rude,
And charge not of heven or of helle,
With mony folk myght thei her synnys melle;
Thei were at ease her synnys forto wynne,
Suppose thei, if mony be ther inne.

But vse not the medycyne extreme
Save in thin vtterest necessitee,
That is, the crymynous to deth to deme,
The principals; by hem that other be
Aferd to roore, yet better is to se
An oost of exercise in temperaunce
Obeysaunt, then for feere of vengeaunce.

The werriours ha myche thing to lerne;
And grace is noon, to graunte negligence,
Wher mannys helth is taken to gouerne;
To lose that, it is a gret offense;
And sikerly, the best diligence
Vnto thonour of victory tascende,
The seygnys is or tokenys tattende.

For in bataile, when al is on a roore,
The kynge or princys precept who may here
In such a multitude?

And euermore
Is thinge of weght in hond, & gret matere,
And how to doon, right nedful is to lere;
Therfore in euery oste antiquitee
Hath ordeyned III signys forto be.

Vocal is oon, and that is mannys voys,
Semyvocal is trompe & clarioun
And pipe or horn; the thridde macth no noys,
And mute it hight or dombe, as is dragoun
Or thegil or thimage or the penoun,
Baner, pensel, pleasaunce or tufte or creste
Or lyuereys on shildir, arm or breste.

Signys vocal in wacch and in bataile
Be made, as wacch woordis: 'Feith, hope & grace,'
Or 'Help vs God,' or 'Shipman, mast & saile,'
Or other such, aftir the tyme and place;
Noo ryme or geeste in hem be, ner oon trace,
Ne go thei not amonge vs, lest espyes
With wepon of our owne out putte our eyis.

Semyvocals, as Trumpe and Clarioun
And pipe or horn, an hornepipe thoo
It myghte be; the trumpe, of gretter soun,
Toward batail blewe vp 'Go to, go to!';
The clarions techeth the knyghtys do,
And signys, hornys move; and when thei fight,
Attonys vp the soun goth al on hight.

To wacch or worch or go to felde, a trumpe
Hem meved out, and to retourne; and signys
Were moved, how to do, by hornys crompe,
First to remeve, and fixe ayeyn ther digne is.

Oonly the clarioun the knyghtis signe is;
Fight & retrayt and chace or feer or neer,
The clarion his voys declareth cleer.

What so the duke commaundeth to be doon
In werk or wacch or feeld, or frith or werre,
At voys of these it was fulfild anoon.

—
The signys mute, in aventure a sterre,
A portcolys, a sonne, it wil not erre,
In hors, in armature, and in array
They signifie, and make fresh & gay.

Al this in exercise and longe vsage
Is to be knowe; and if a dust arise,
Theere is an oost, or sum maner outrage;
With fiyr a signe is mad in dyuers wise
Or with a beem, vche in his contre gise
His signys hath; and daily is to lerne,
That aftir hem men gide hem & gouerne.

Tho that of werre have had experience,
Afferme that ther is in journeyinge
Gretter peril, then is in resistence
Of fers batail; for in the counterynge
Men armed are oonly for yeynstondinge
And expugnatioun of hem present
In fight; theron oonly ther bowe hath bent.

Their sword & hert al preste ereither fight,
In journeyinge ereither lesse attente is;
Assault sodeyne a day other by nyght,
For vnavised men ful turbulent is.

Wherfore avised wel and diligent is
The duke to be purveyed for vnwist,
And redy is the forseyn to resiste.

A journal is in euery regioun
First to be had, wheryn he thinketh fight,
Wheryn haue he a pleyn descriptioun
Of euery place, and passage a forsight,
The maner, wey, both turnyng & forthright,
The dale & hil, the mountayn & the flood;
Purtreyed al to have is holdon good.

This journal is to shewe dukys wise
Of that province, or as nygh as may be,
The purtreyture & writing forto advise;
And of the contrey men a serch secre
Himself he make, and lerne in veritee
Of hem, that on her lyf wil vndirtake,
That thus it is, and vnder warde hem make.

Tak gidis out of hem, beheste hem grete,
As to be trewe, her lyif and grete rewarde,
And other if thei be, with deth hem threte,
And sette a wayt secret on hem, frowarde
Whethor thei thinke be other towarde;
Thei, this seynge, wil wel condite & lede,
Of grete rewarde & deth for hope & drede.

Tak wise and vsed men, and not to fewe;
Good is it not to sette on II or III
The doubte of al, though thei be parfit trewe;
The simpil man supposeth ofte he be
Weywiser then he is, and forthi he
Behesteth that he can not bringe aboute;
And such simpilnesse is forto doubte.

And good it is, that whidirward goth thooste,
Secret it be.

The Mynotaurys mase
Doctryned hem to sey: 'Whidir thou gooste,
Kepe it secret; whil thi foomen go gase
Aboute her bekenys, to tende her blase,
Go thou the way that thei suppose leeste
Thou woldest go; for whi?

it is sureste.

'
Espyis are, of hem be war! also
The proditours that fle from oost to ooste,
Be war of hem; for swere thei neuer so,
They wil betray, and make of it their booste.

Escurynge is to haue of euery cooste;
Men wittiest on wightiest hors by nyght
May do it best, but se the hors be wight.

In a maner himself betrayeth he,
Whos taken is by negligence thespie;
Forthi be war, and quicly charge hem se
On euery side, and fast ayeyn hem hye;
Horsmen beforn eke euer haue an eye;
On vch an half footmen, and cariage
Amyddis is to kepe in the viage.

Footmen it is to haue & of the beste
Horsmen behinde; vppon the tail a foo
Wil sette among, and sumtyme on the breste,
And on the sidis wil he sette also.

With promptitude it is to putte him fro;
Light herneysed, and myghtiest that ride,
Doubte if ther is, putte hem vppon that side.

And archery withal is good to take;
And if the foo falle on on euery side,
Good wacch on euery side it is to make;
Charge euery man in herneys fast abide,
And wepynys in hondys to prouide.

Selde hurteth it, that is wel seyn beforn,
And whos is taken sleping, hath a scorn.

Antiquitee prouided eek, that roore
Arise not in thoost, for trowbelinge
The chiualers behinde other before,
As when the folk that cariage bringe,
Ar hurt, or are aferd of on comynge,
And make noyse; herfore helmettis wight
A fewe vppon the cariours were dight.

A baner hadde thei togedre to,
Alway CC vndir oon banere;
The forfighters a-sondred so ther-fro,
That no turbatioun amonge hem were,
If that ther felle a conflicte enywhere.

And as the journeyinge hadde variaunce,
So the defense had diuers ordynaunce.

In open felde horsmen wold rather falle
On then footmen; in hil, mareys & woodis,
Footmen rather.

In feeld & frith to walle
An oost with myght, as wil the place, it good is,
And to be war that slough viage or floodis
Asondre not the chiualerys; for thynne
If that me be, ther wil the foo bygynne.

Therfore amonge it is to sette wyse
Doctours, as of the feelde, or other grete;
The forgoer to sette vnto his sise,
And hem that beth to slough, forthward to gete.

To fer aforn, and sole, a foo may bete;
He may be clipped of, that goth behinde;
And to goon hole as o man, that is kynde.

In placys as him semeth necessary,
And aduersaunt wil sette his busshement,
Not in apert, but in couert to tary,
And falle vppon; the duke heer diligent
It is to be, to haue his foomen shent;
But euery place it is the duke to knowe,
So that his witte her wylis ouerthrowe.

If thei dispose in mountayn oponly
Tassaulte, anoon ha prevely men sent
To an herre hil, that be therto neer by,
And so sette on, that of the busshement
Aboue her hed, and of thi self present
Thei be aferd, and sech away to fle,
When ouer hede and in the frount thei se.

And if the way be streyt and therwith sure,
Let hewe adoun aboute, and make it large;
In large way, peril is noo good vre;
Also this is tattende as thinge of charge,
Ye rather then gouerne ship or barge,
That wher the foo by nyght other by day
Is vsed oon to falle and make affray.

And, voyde that, it is to seen also,
What is his vse, on hors outher o foote,
With fele or fewe his feetys for to doo,
That sapience his werkys alle vnroote.

Of balys also grete is this the boote,
Dayly to gynne go in such an hour
As may be sure both oost & gouernour:
And yet bewar of simulatioun;
To festeyng call in sum fugitif
And here him wel with comendatioun,
And lerne first, hou fellen thei in strif,
And him beheste an honorabil lif;
Lerne of him al, and thenne aday or nyght,
When thei suppose leest, mak hem afright.

Agreved ofte are oostis negligent,
When it is hard passage ouer the floodys,
For if the cours be ouer violent
Or ouer deep, gret peril in that flood is.

A remedy to fynde heryn right good is,
For hevy men, pagis and cariage
Ar drowned oftyn tyme in such a rage.

The depth assay, and make of horsys hye
Tweyne eggys; oon be sette ayenst the streem,
The myght therof to breke; another plye
Benethe that, tawayte vppon the fleem
And charge theim, that thei attende on hem
That faile foote, and brynge theim alonde,
And thus til thooste be ouer, shal they stonde.

The flood is ouer deep in playn cuntre,
Departe it ofte, and make it transmeabil:
That most be doon with dykis gret plente,
And wil it not be so, sette ore a gabil,
On empti vesselling ley mony a tabil
Fro lond to lond a brigge is made anoon,
And sure ynough it is for hors & mon.

Horsmen haue had of reed or seggis shevys,
Theron carying their armure as thei swymme,
But better is, to voiden al myschevys,
Ha skafys smale, and hem togedir trymme
With coorde alonge, atteynynge either brymme,
And anchore it and tabil it at large,
And sure it is as arch or shippe or barge.

Yet war the foo; for vppon this passage
He leyt awayt; anoon thin ooste dyuide
And stakys picch, encounter their viage,
And in that stede, if good is thought tabide,
Mak vp a strong bastel on eyther side,
And there, as axeth chaunce, it is to stonde
And ha vitaile out of ereither londe.

Now castellinge in journey is to write.

Not euerywhere is founden a citee,
An ooste to loge, and vilagis to lite
For it ther ar, and siker thei ne be,
As, to be sure, it is necessitee
To take a grounde as good as may be fonde,
And thervppon to make our castel stonde.

Leve not the better grounde vnto thi foo,
Be war of that; se, watir, ayer & londe
Holsom be there, and foode ynough ther to
For man & hors, and woode ynough at honde.

No force if rounde or anguler it stonde,
But feyrest is the place and moost of strengthe,
When twey in brede is thryis in the lengthe.

Mesure a grounde, as wil thin ooste suffice;
To wide it is: thin ooste therin is rare;
To streyt: thei be to thicke; a myddil sise
Is beste.

—Now make it vp, no labour spare;
It mot be doon, theryn is our welfare;
As for a nyght, mak vp of turf a wale
And stake it on our foo, the poyntis tavale.

A turf it is, when gras & herbe is grave
Vp with the grounde, with irons mad therfore;
A foote brode, a foote & half it haue
In lengthe, and half a foote thick, no more.

But if the lond solute be, not herfore
Turf like a brik to make of necessary,
Thenne is to make a dike tumultuary.

Make it III foote deep, and V obrede,
And stake it as beforn, vtward to stonde;
O nyght to dwelle heryn it is no drede.

And if thi foo be nygh, him to yeynstonde,
A gretter werk it is to take on honde.

Sette vp in ordir euery man his sheeld,
Whil princys and prudentys parte a feeld.

Vch centyner take vp the werk footmel,
With sword igord, anoon caste vp the dich,
And IX foote obrede wil do wel,
XI is as good; but poore and rich
Most on this werk, & even worch ilich,
XIII foote obrede or XVII
Is best of alle a werre to sustene.

The numbir odde is euer to obserue,
And hege it other stake it vp to stonde,
Therto ramayle and bowys ar to kerve,
Areyse it to his hegth aboue londe,
And make it castellike with myghti honde,
With loupis, archeturis, and with tourys.

O Chiualers! in this werk your honour is.

X footemel the centeneris take
This werk to doon, and ther vppon attende,
That euery company his cant vp make
And stynte not, vntil a parfit ende
Of al be mad; and who doth mys, is shende.

Forwhi?

the prince himself goth al aboute
And by & by behaldeth euery rowte.

But lest assault felle on hem labouringe,
The hors, and thei on foote of dignitee,
That shal not worch, in circuyte a rynge
Shal make, and kepe of al hostilitie;
And first, as for the signys maiestie
Assigne place; for more venerabil
Then thei, ther is nothing, this is notabil.

And aftir that, the Duke & Erlys have
The pretory, a grounde out set therfore,
And for Trybunys out a grounde thei grave,
Her tabernaclis thei theryn tenstore
For legions & aydis, lesse & more,
On hors other o foote; a regioun
And place is had to picch her paviloun.

And IIII on hors and IIII o foote anyght
In euery centeyn hadde wacch to kepe,
And it departed was, to make it light,
That reasonabil tymys myght thei slepe;
For right as houris aftir houris crepe,
So went the wach, and kept his cours aboute,
Footmen withinne, & horsed men withoute.

Thei go to wacch by warnyng of the trumpe,
And there abide vntil their houris ende;
Away thei go by voys of hornys crumpe.

A wacch of serch also ther was tattende
That wel the tyme of wacchinge were spende;
Trybunys made of theim thelectioun,
That hadde of al the wacch directioun.

And twye a day the contrey was escured
By horsmen, in the morn and aftir noon;
Not by the same alway, for that endured
Shuld not ha been.

This feleship hath doon:
They most reste, and other wynne her shoon;
Thus bothe man & hors may be releved,
Ye, ofte ynough, and not but litil greved.

And on the duk hangeth the gouernaunce,
That in this castellinge he ha vitaile
For euery wight withoutyn variaunce,
Clooth, wepon, herneysing, that nothing faile;
And in fortressis nygh it is availe
Footmen to haue & hors; ferde is thi foo,
If thou on euery side vppon him goo.

Mortal bataile in hourys II or III
Termyned is, and hope on that oon side
Is al agoon; but a good prince is he,
That can him & his ooste so wisely gide,
With litil slaught to putte his foo fro pride;
Pluck him vnwar and fray his folk to renne
Away, and myghtily sette aftir thenne.

On this behalve it is ful necessary,
That olde & exercised sapience
The duke to counsel have, and with hem tary,
As wil the tyme, and here their sentence
Of vinqueshinge couertly by prudence
Or by apert conflict, that is, bataile;
The surer way to take and moost availe.

Here hem heryn, and what folk hath thi foo,
And charge that thei glose not, for it
Doth oftyn harm; and here theim also
Speke of her exercise, her strength & wit,
And to their aduersayrys how thei quyt
Hemself aforn, and whether his horsmen
Be myghtier in fight, or his footmen.

Also the place of conflicte is to lerne,
And what thi foo himself is, what his frendis;
Wher he be wys a werre to gouerne,
And whar thei lyue as angelis or fendis;
Wher variaunt, or vchon others frend is,
And wher thei vse fight in ordynaunce
Or foliously, withoute gouernaunce.

And euery poynt forseyd, and other moo,
Considir in thin oost, and tak avis
Of hem, what is the beste to be do;
And peyse al in balaunce, and ay be wys;
And if thin ooste is ace, and his is syis,
What so thei sey, couertly by prudence
Dispose the to make resistence.

Dischere nat thi folk in eny wise;
The ferde anoon is redy for to fle;
Be vigilaunt and holde inne exercise,
And se thin hour; ful oftyn tyme hath he
The herre hand, that kepeth him secre;
Avaunte not for colde nor for hete,
For smale dooth that speketh ouer grete.

Certeyn it is, that knyghthode & bataile
So stronge is it, that therby libertee
Receyued is with encreste and availe;
Therby the Croune is hol in Maiestee
And vche persone in his dignitee,
Chastised is therby rebellioun,
Rewarded and defensed is renoun.

Forthi the duke, that hath the gouernaunce,
Therof may thinke he is a Potestate,
To whom betakyn is the prosperaunce
Of al a lond and euerych Estate.

The Chiualers, if I be fortunate,
The Citesens, and alle men shal be
If I gouerne wel, in libertee.

And if a faut is founden in my dede,
Not oonly me, but al the commyn wele
So hurteth it, that gretly is to drede
Dampnatioun, though noman with me dele;
And forthi, negligence I wil repele
And do my cure in feithful diligence
With fauoraunce of Goddis excellence.

If al is out of vse and exercise,
As forto fight in euery legioun
Chese out the myghtiest, the wight & wise
And aydis with, of like condicioun;
With their avice vnto correctioun
Reduce it al by his auctorite
The duke, & vse a grete seueritee.

Amended al as sone as semeth the,
Make out of hem a stronge electioun;
Disparpiled lerne if thi foomen bee,
And when thei lest suppose in their reasoun,
Fal on, and putte hem to confusioun.

Therof thi folk shal take an hardinesse
And daily be desirous on prowesse.

At brigge or hard passage, or hillis browe,
Is good to falle vppon; or if ther be
Mire or mareys or woode or grovis rowe
Or aggravaunt other difficultee,
To falle vppon is thenne vtilitee;
The hors to sech vnarmed or aslepe
To falle vppon is good to take kepe.

Thus hardy hem; for whos is vnexpert
Of werre, and woundis seeth, and summe slayn,
He weneth euery strok go to his hert,
And wiste he how, he wolde fle ful fayn.

But and he fle, retourne him fast agayn.

Thus with seueritee and good vsage
Ther wil revive in theim a fyne corage.

Dissensioun among foomen to meve,
Be thei rebellious or myscreaunt,
It is to do, theim selven thei myscheve.

The traditour Judas was desperaunt,
Him self he hynge: so wulle thei that haunt
Rebellioun or ellis heresie.

Alas! to fele thus wil lyve & deye.

Oon thinge heryn is wisely to be seyn,
Of this matier that ther noman dispayre;
As hath be doon, it may be doon ayeyn;
A desolat Castel man may repayre.

In wynter colde, in somer dayis fayre
Is good to se.

So fareth exercise
Of knyghthode & of werre, as seyn the wise.

In Engelond til now was ther no werre
This LX yere, savynge at Seynt Albane,
And oon bataile aftir the blasing sterre,
And longe on hem that whirleth as the fane.

Is not their owne cryme her owne bane?

Ther leve I that, and sey that exercise
Of werre may in peax revyue & rise.

Seyde ofte it is: the wepon bodeth peax,
And in the londe is mony a chiualere,
That ha grete exercise doubtlesse
And think I wil that daily wil thei lere,
And of antiquitee the bokys here,
And that thei here, putte it in deuoyre,
That desperaunce shal fle comynge espoyre.

More esily a thing is al mad newe
In many cas, then is an olde repared;
The plauntys growe, as olde tren vp grewe,
And otherwhile a riche thing is spared.

It nedeth not to crave this declared,
But go we se, what helpeth to prevaile
Vppon the feelde in sette apert bataile.

Here is the day of conflict vncerteyn,
Here is to se deth, lif, honour & shame.

Glade vs, o Lord, this day & make vs fayn,
And make vs of this grete ernest a game!
Lord, make in vs magnificent thi name,
Thin angelis commaunde in vs tattende,
And she, thi modir, have vs recommende.

Now is the Duke the rather diligent,
That forth he goth bytwene espoyre & drede;
Now glorious the Prince is sapient,
Now thignoraunt shal deye or harde spede.

In this moment manhode & knyghtly dede
With Goddis honde is oonly to prevaile;
Now let se first, how wil our foon assaile.

The chiualers set forth first at the yate,
Whether ye dwelle in Castell or Citee,
And sette a frount or eny foo come ate,
Til thooste come out vndir securitee.

Go not to fer ne faste, for ye se,
A wery wyght hath spended half his myght,
And with the fresh is hard for him to fight.

And if thi foo the yatis ha forsette,
Delay it and attende what thei mene;
Let hem revile and gnaste & gomys whette,
And breke her ordynaunce, and when thei wene
Ye be aslepe, and they foryeton clene,
Breke on hem vnavised day or nyght;
This wisdom is to do, manhode & myght.

It is to frayne also with diligence,
Wher chiualerys think it be to fight,
Her countynaunce of fere or confidence
Wil be the juge, and truste not the knyght
That is aferd, ner hym ?

his myght
Presumeth, inexpert what is bataile,
Conforte hem yet, telle hem thei shal prevaile.

And reasounynge reherce rebellioun
Or myscreaunce, and how thei be forsake
Of alle goode, a Prynce as a lyoun
May telle that aforn thei ha be shake;
And if he may with reasounynge awake
An hardinesse in hem he may procede
And ellys vttirly he stont in drede.

The first sight is ferdfullest for tho
That neuer were in fight; and remedie
Is in beholdinge ofte vppon her foo
Out of a siker place or placys heye;
Confort therof comyng, dispayr wil deye,
Eke issuynge on hem with a prevaile
Is hardyinge to falle to bataile.

Part of the victory is for to chese
The herre grounde, and ay the herre it be,
The more myght thou hast thi foo to ceese,
And more sharp dounward the taclys fle,
Thi foon her fight is with the grounde & the;
Yet footmen hors, and hors footmen tassaile,
Theire is the cleef, the playn is hem tavaile.

And if thou may ha with the sonne & wynde,
Ereither on the bak is grete availe,
Ereither also wil thi foomen blynde;
Ayeinst the wynde to fight, it is travaile,
A cloude of dust wil therwithal assaile
Thi foomen in the frount, and stony hem so
That they her wit shal seke what to do.

Forthi the Prince it is be prouident
And haue a sight to wynde & dust & sonne,
And on the turnyng take avisement,
Remembering hou certeyn hourys ronne.

It wil not stonde, as stood when thei begonne;
West wil the sonne and happely the wynde,
But seen he wil that thei come ay behinde,
And euer smyte his foomen in the face;
And there an ende of that.

Now wil we se,
This ooste embateled vch in his place,
That noon errour in eny parti be;
Therof wel ordeyned vtilitee
Wil nede arise, and his inordynaunce
May brynge (as God defende) vs to myschaunce.

First is to sette a frounte, an Ege his name
Is.

Whi?

The foon it shal behalde & bite;
Ther chiualers, the worthiest of fame,
That wil with wisdom & with wepon smyte,
Noo knyght apostata, noon ypocrite,
Feers, feithful, ofte appreved, olde & wise
Knyghtys be thei, none other in no wise.

This ege in dayis olde a principaunt
Of wurthi men, as princys, had his name;
In thordre next personys valiaunt,
Such as ha sought honour and voyded shame
That vre haue had, to make her foomen tame,
Sette hem theryn, armure and shot & spere
That myghtily can vse and wel bewere.

Next to the firste frount this is secounde,
And as of old thei called hem hastate
By cause of vse of spere & shaftis rounde,
Of armure is noon of hem desolate.

III foote atwene had euery man his state,
So in a Ml.

pace olength stood fixe
A Ml CC LX and VI
Footmen were alle these, and stode in kynde
In duble raunge, and euerych hadde III
Foote, as byforn is seide, and VI behinde
The raungis hadde a sondir, so that he
That stood beforn, vnlatted shulde be
To drawe & welde his wepon, and to take
His veer to lepe or renne, assaut to make.

In tho tweyn orderys wer ripe & olde
Appreved werryours of confidence,
That worthi men of armys had ben holde,
With wighti herneysing for to defense;
These as a wal to make resistence
Ay stille stode, hem may noo man constreyne
Tavaunce forth or reere o foote ayeyne.

Thei trouble not, lest other troubled were,
But fixe abide, and welcom thaduersary
With sword & axe, with shot & cast of spere,
Vntil thei yeve her coors to seyntewary,
Or fle; for whi?

thei dar no lenger tary.

Thenne aftir hem that ar to go for al,
For these stille abide as doth a wal.

Tho tweyne eggys ar clept "the grete armure,"
And aftir hem the thridde cours is sette
Of wighte & yonge and light herneysed sure,
With dartys and with taclis sharpply whette,
In dayis olde thei ferentayris hette;
The firthe cours was called the scutate,
Spedy to renne and glad to go therate.

Wight archery with hem to shote stronge,
The yongest and the best and lustyeste
Archers with crankelons & bowys longe;
The ferenters and thei to gedir keste
Named the light armure, as for the beste
Thorgh shulde passe and first with shot prouoke
The aduerse part, and on hem reyse a smoke.

If foomen fle, thei and horsmen the chase
Go swift vppon, and ellis thei retrete
And thorgh the frount indresse hem to their place.

The grete armure, if thei com on an hete,
Is hem to yeve of sword and axis grete,
On hem the feeld is now for to defende.

Thei gynne wel, God graunte hem a good ende!
The fifthe cours was the carrobaliste,
Manubalistys and fundibulary
And funditours; but now it is vnwiste,
Al this aray, and bumbardys thei cary,
And gunne & serpentyn that wil not vary,
Fouler, covey, crappaude and colueryne
And other soortis moo then VIII or IXne.

Heer faughte thei, that hadde as yet no sheelde,
As bachelers, with shot of dart or spere.

The sixte cours, and last of al the feelde
Wer sheeldys, of the myghtiest that were,
The bellatourys beste in euery gere;
Antiquytee denamed hem Triayrys,
In theym, as in the thridde, al to repayre is.

Thei to be sadde in strength and requyete,
More feruently to make inuasioun,
To take her ease in ordir alwey seete,
And if aforn wer desolatioun,
In theym therof was reparatioun;
In eny part if ther wer desperaunce,
Thei turned it anoon to prosperaunce.

Now the podisme, as whos wil sey, the space
Of grounde, vpon to fight; it to se,
Aforn is seide, hou in a Ml.

pace
XVI C LX and VI may be,
So chiualers euerych ha footis III
To stonde vpon a foote and VI abacke
That for his veer and leep no rowme hym lacke.

VI eggys heer sette in a Ml.

pace
Shal holde II and XLti.

feet in brede,
And so X Ml.

wil this grounde embrace;
Thus tembataile is sure, and fer fro drede;
And to II Ml.

pas III cours for nede
In long goth out, so that the latitute
In XXI foote it self enclude.

As here is taught, X Ml.

men may stonde
In oon or ellys in II Ml.

pace,
And XXti.

Ml.

in the double londe,
And XXXti.

Ml.

in the threfolde space,
And XL Ml IIII folde is tembrace;
And this mesure is named the Pidisme,
Vntaught in doctrinal or in Grecisme.

A prince heryn expert, and hath to fight
His feelde and of his folk the multitude,
Shal seen anoon how thei shal stonde aright,
And if the feeld is short & brod, conclude
On rangis IX, and by this similitude,
Be short and huge in brede, or longe & rare,
But myghtier is brede, and mo may spare.

And rare, an ooste if thaduersary seeth,
He breketh on with hurt peraventure,
Wher thicke outholdeth him ayenst his teeth;
And ther an ende of that; but hoo shal cure
Ereither, horn and myddis, to be sure,
Ordeyne that, or aftir dignitee
Or aftir thaduersayris qualitee.

The feelde ofoote ordeyned in this gise,
To sette it is these hors at eyther horn,
As writeth in her werkys olde wise,
That herneysed sperys be sette aforn,
Vnharneysed abak, that of be born
The storm fro theym, whil myghti hors defende
Stronge archerye o foote to shote on ende.

For to defende haue horsis myghtieste,
Tho hornys in attempting is to sende
Out hors the swiftest & the wightieste,
To trouble theym sette on a pace on ende.

The duke it is to knowe & comprehende,
What hors ayenst what throngys ar to goon,
And whar he have hors as goode as his foon.

Their hors ar ouer vs; theryn is boote:
Tak wight and yonge men with sheeldis light,
With twene on hors, sette one of theim o foote;
With hem resiste our aduersayrys myght.

But this to take effecte and spede aright,
These yonge men herof grete exercise
Moste have, as telleth werreourys wise.

And aftir al his ooste, a duke shal haue
A myghti choyce of men on hors & foote,
Ereither horn and breste for to save,
That if the boorys hed in wolde wrote,
A sharre shere his groyn of by the roote.

(The boorys hed is a triangulere
Of men, a boorys hed as thaugh it were).

If that come on, with tuskys forto breke
The breste or egge or wynge or outher horn,
A sharre clippe hem of, right by the cheke,
And with the same his wrot away be shorn;
And set it al in ordir as beforn,
And if a place feynte, anoon a yawe
Of myghti men aforn it is to drawe.

Tribunys, Erlis or their lieutenauntys,
Of these, myghtiest to renne & ride
Wer mad the Capitayns & gouernauntys,
And werriours hem named the subside;
For thei releved thoost on euery side,
So that noman remeued from his place,
For so to doon, myght al an oost difface.

Eek out herof thei make a Boorys hed
And Cuneus thei name it, or a wege;
As thondirynge with leyting flammys red
It russheth on our aduersayrys egge
And shaketh of, ye mony a myghti segge,
And if it falle on either of the hornys,
It cracketh hem, as fier tocracketh thornys.

This stood behinde al other ordynaunce.

Now is to se the place of vche estate:
On the right honde, withoute variaunce
The principal Captayn or potestate,
That al the gouernaunce is taken ate,
There as the footmen and the hors dyuide,
He hath his place, al to gouerne & gide.

Footmen and hors to rewle heer stondeth he,
The potestate and al this oost to gide,
By premynence of his auctorite,
To chere theim that myghtily shal ride,
And theim o foote, as myghtily tabide.

A wynge is him to bringe aboute the horn
Him counteringe and on comynge beforn,
That is the lift horn of our aduersary,
Aboute a wynge, and on the backe hem clappe,
And thei of their comyng the tyme wary;
And if (as God defende) amys it happe,
Anoon the subside is to stoppe a gappe;
For soueraynly on hym that is tattende,
And, as the cas requyreth, come on ende.

The Duke secounde, and next in gouernaunce,
Amydde the frounte or forfrount is to stonde
And sustene it tabide in ordinaunce;
The boorys hed his part is to withstonde,
A sharre out of the subside is at honde,
Clappe it theron, and if ther nede a yawe,
Out of the same anoon it is to drawe.

The thridde Duke, right wys & vigorous,
His part it is to stonde on the lift horn
And myghti men with hym, for dangerous
Is that to kepe, as writon is beforn.

His wynge he muste extende, and hadde thei sworn
It, let hem not her wynge aboute hym clappe,
Subside at him be sone, if ought mys happe.

A clamour, clept an harrow or a shout,
Vntil the fight begynne, noon is to rere;
No werreour that wise is, out of doubt,
Wil shoute afer, therwith his foo to fere;
But when the shoute & shaftys fille his ere,
Then voyce yfere is so fel & horribil,
That for to fere, it is not incredibil.

Be redy first, and first to sette vppon,
And first to shote & shoute & make affray,
With myghti countynaunce, that is the mon,
That mornynge is to haue a ful fayr day.

This promptitude & wit & stronge aray
Thi foo seynge, is trembeling to fle,
The palme of victory goynge with the.

And ay bewar, lest his right wynge clappe
Aboute thi lift horn; this is remedie:
To rech it out; and if that wil not happe,
The wynge aboute thyn horn bacward replie
And fende hem of; now fight for the maistrye,
And if a bosh come on on eny side,
A better bosh on hem from our subside.

Here angelike valiaunce, here is puissaunce
Archangelik in ooste and legioun,
And it gouerneth Dukys principaunce
With myght, power, and dominatioun.

Omnipotens, this is his champioun;
God loueth this, his throne & sapience
Is sette heron, justice to dispence.

What is this oost, aduerse, rebelliouns
Presumptuous, periurious, mischevous,
Heresious with circumcelliouns?

A legioun attaynte, vntaken thevous,
That, as thei ar myscheved, wold myscheve vs.

Her lord is Lucifer, the kyng of pride,
In euery feeld with him doun goth his side.

Thei ha no breste, here hornys & her wyngis
Ful febil are and out of ordynaunce;
Subside is goon, no socour in their kynge is,
And moost amonge hem self is variaunce.

They wil away, now fle they to myschaunce;
Goon is their herte, and if the body dwelle,
Their hope is aftir deth and aftir helle.

Here is .

o.

breste, here hornys are & wyngys
And myghtieste in raunge & ordynaunce;
Subside is here, and socour in our kynge is,
Amonge vs is ther noo contrariaunce.

We wil abide vndir our gouernaunce,
Here is noo drede of deth or peyne of helle;
Here or with angelys is vs to dwelle.

Therfore our eye is to the kyngis signe,
We here his voys, as trumpe & clarioun,
His eyes are obeyed, we enclyne
Attonys vnto hym, his legioun
We are, and aftir God, his regioun.

His capitayn and his vicapitaynys
Tobey euerych of vs right glad & fayn is.

This champioun, this ooste & Goddis knyght
With fele and also fewe may prevaile,
Miraclis here & there God sheweth myght;
But first (as seide is erste) is hem tassaile.

The gretter ooste is this; now moste availe
Is ordinat bataile, as is beforn
Seide, and with wyngys clappe in eyther horn.

With wyngis wight hem vmbego, ley on
Behinde and holde hem streyt on euery side,
And cleche hem vp; whi wolde they be foon?

Tech hem obeyssaunce; sey: "Fy! o pride!
Com on your way, we wil our self you gide.

"
This way is good, so that this bestes ride
Be not a gret horribil multitude.

With multitude we myght been vmbegoon,
War that perile; holde of on other side
With wyngis wight, and strengthe hem faste anoon;
With myghtiest elect of the subside
Prevaile on hem; yet more is to prouide,
That if the boorys hed com in, a sharre
Be made for him, his tuskys forto marre.

But wurthi men are in this ooste afewe,
Sette hem in wise and myghti gouernaunce;
For heer the Lord wil his myracle shewe,
Their multitude or myght be noo turbaunce;
Truste in thi Lord and mak good ordynaunce;
Ordeyned wel, in fewe is to prevaile,
So that theryn no poynt or poyntis faile.

Do thus when thegys are at the congresse;
Thi lift hond, hold it from thin aduersary,
That of his shot it have noo distresse
And thi ryght wynge vppon hem wightly cary.

Theer to begynne it is most necessary;
Sette on in circuyte, and bringe abowte,
And to prevaile it nedeth nat to doubte.

But do this with thin horsmen myghtyeste
And footmen of the beste, and ha noo drede,
Thi foomen vndir foote to be keste;
And if thi foo to the the same bede,
A myghtiest subside vppon hym lede
Of horsmen and footmen, and thus delude
Hir arte with arte, and thervppon conclude.

Or otherwise, if men be myghtieste
On the lift hond, the right is to retrete
And fal on her right horn with wightieste
Footmen & hors; and til thei yelde hem, bete
Hem on the bak and breeste, and ouergete
Hem myghtily; but the right honde elonge,
That of thi foo noo forfeture it fonge.

War heer the boorys hed and euerywhere,
Or otherwise al putte in ordynaunce
CCCC or D pace yfere
Aforn the counteringe it is tavaunce
Our wyngis wight vppon their ignoraunce.

Prudence it is on hem to make affray,
Whil thei beth out of reule and of aray.

If hors be myghtiest, this wey is best
And doon anoon, and ellis is grete drede;
A remedy therfore is to be keste,
That al the light armure wightly procede,
And archerye, as sparkil out of glede.

And embataile anoon the frounte aforn,
The breste to defende, and either horn.

If this be doon, the frounte alonge is sure,
Vnlabored with fight, or otherwise,
Like as beforn is seyde, it is to cure,
That thi right wynge vppon his lift horn rise;
But myghtiest and wittiest dyuise
Vnto that feat, and archers with hem fonge
Of wighte men, ofoote that be stronge.

And this doyng, retrete thi lifte horn
Fer, al abak, and raunge it like a spere,
Dyuers heryn vnto the way beforn,
So that the foo noo strook theron bewere.

This wil devicte anoon withoute fere.

In this manere a smal & myghti ooste
Shal ouerthrowe a multitude of booste;
Or finally, this ooste is but of fewe
And not so myghti men as hath the foo:
Heer hath the werreour his craft to shewe,
And embataile hym nygh a flood that goo
On outher half; a cragge is good also,
Lake or marice or castel or citee,
A side to defende is good to se.

There embataile and putte ereither wynge
On oon side, and herwith pul of his horn,
But fro behinde aboute is beste it brynge,
And with the boorys hede route in beforn.

The myghtiest to this be not forborn,
Ner they, theryn that haue had exercise,
Thus hath be seyde of werryourys wise.

The foo peraventure is ferde and fled
Into sum holde, and ferther wolde he fle
Fayn, wiste he how.

What is the beste reed
That he go forth, or heer beseged be?

To lete hem goon is moste vtilitee
And no perile is it that foo to chace
That turneth vs the bak & nat the face.

Yet heer be wys and sende a fewe aforn,
Right aftir hem, and with a myghty honde
Another way on even or amorn
Caste to come in and in their light to stonde.

When thei that aftir go, wynne on hem londe,
Her part it is tattempte hem esily
And so departe, aferd to bide therby.

This seyn, thei wil, suppose a wayt be goon,
And disolute anoon be negligent,
Thenne is the wit, that myghti honde come on
And take hem vp aslepe or vynolent;
Thus easily we haue our owne entent,
Therof to God the commendatioun
Be madde, and doon sacrificatioun.

If part of thooste be fled, & part prevaile,
Heryn the Prince exploye his valiaunce,
Hem myghtily retournyng to bataile.

Forwhi?

the foon be fled vnto myschaunce.

Arere anoon vnto your ordynaunce;
The feelde is youre, and trumpe & clarioun
And scryis make of victory resoun.

Of knyghthode and bataile in special
Thus seide thelectioun & ordynaunce,
Here is to sette vp rewlys general,
As this: The gracious good gouernaunce
Obserueth euerywhere; al suffisaunce
Hath he that is content; al may be born
Saue wele; and: scorned is that vseth scorn;
Thi disavaile availe is to thi foo,
His hurt availeth the; voide his advice,
Do thin availe; do not as he hath do;
In thin electioun se thou be wys,
War negligence, do euery man justice,
Be vigilaunt, attende thin honour,
Thi prouidence be to thin oost socour.

Ha not to fight a knyght vnexercised;
Ha confidence in preved thing; secre
Thi counsel have; lerne of thi self disgised;
The fugitif herd and vntrested be;
Be gided wel by folk of that contre,
That thou wilt ouer ride; haue in writynge
Euery passage, and eke in purtreyinge.

Better is brede in oost to fight then lengthe;
Good is in stoor to haue a grete subside;
With sapience socoure a feebil strength,
Sende of thi foo; Let not thin oost diuide;
Whette vp thin ege; bidde horsmen wightly ride;
Fight in a raunge aforn with multitude
Ayenst a fewe, and hem anoon detrude.

A fewer oost falle on with the right horn,
And crokyng of the lift horn is telonge,
So that the myghtiest be sette beforn;
And if the lift horn be both wyce and stronge,
Sette it beforn, and bak the right be wronge;
Or on thin vnaduised foo with wight
And myghti wyngis go beforn & fight.

The light armure and euery ferentary
Aforn thi frount in nede anoon procede
With subside on the wyngys for to tary;
And he that hath a litil ooste, hath nede
Of mych wit, and myghti men in dede,
And on his honde a flood or place of strengthe,
And either wynge on his oon horn tenlengthe.

Ye truste in hors: the playn is beste; ye truste
Vppon footmen: the cleef is good.

Espie
Amongis vs to be ther is distruste:
That euery man go hoom, anoon do crye,
And which is he, forwith me shal espie.

But sodenly this most be doon be day,
The yatis shitte, lest he go stele away.

What is to doon, with mony take advice;
What shalbe doon, tak fewe or be alone;
Tak his advice that is secret & wyce,
Be juste, indifferent to euerychone;
For idelnesse haue ay sumwhat to doone;
To straunge not, not to familier,
Make of a lord; chere a good Chiualeer.

And here anende I thus the thridde part
In this Tretice of knyghthode & bataile.

What ha we next ?

Forsothe, a subtil art
To bilde a stronge Citee, and for tassaile
It and defense; and aftir, fight Navayle,
That is bataile in ship, I here entende
For chiualers to write, and make an ende.

IV.

Vltima pars vrbes parat, obsidet atque tuetur,
Bello nauali finit & ornat opus.

This IIIde part, as long as othre tweyne,
Halt prouidence of myghtiest bataile,
The morthereer to bringe vndir the cheyne.

There al his olde craft shal nought availe,
But hate of ire and angush of travaile
To fynde; and aftir al that to descende
To theuerlasting deth, if he namende.

In Brutis Albion is not to spende
This myghti knyghthode & bataile alone;
To Normandie and Fraunce it is tassende,
Til Cristis & the kyngis foos vchone
Be dryven out or chastised, and noone
Alyve ylefte, that wil not wel beleve
And vttirly the myscreaunt myscheve.

Here ende I that, and to my werk releve
The laste part, anoon to bringe an ende,
And aftir in correctioun it preve;
Criste truste I, that the kyng it wil attende
And werreours to knowe it condescende;
That leve I there, and write as is thavaile
To bilde and sette assege, and see bataile.

Nature or art assureth a Citee,
A dongeoun, a castel, or a tour,
In lake or in mareys or in the see
Sette it, that element is thi socour;
And if the lond shalbe propugnatour,
A mountayne or a clyef, a cragge, a rok
Sette it vppon, and saf it is fro strok.

And in foreste, in feelde or in champayne,
With craft or art it is tomake a strengthe,
And if nature assiste, it is tattayne
Effect anoon, as when the brede or lenghe
A rok, ryuer, mareys or see wil strengthe;
But art alone if noon herof availe,
Shal make it stronge with wisdam & travaile.

Mak bosumy and angulous the wal,
And so sette out therof the fundament
With touris and turrettis oueral,
That scale, engyne or rammer therto sent
Be ouer sette, and faile of his entent,
When he is vnbegon and al to donge
With al that may be kest fro wallis stronge.

In this manere a wal it is to make,
To stonde an infallibil thing for euer:
An interualle of XXti feet be take,
A wal on either side herof dissevre,
Caste in the moolde, sadde it with mal & lever,
Out of the dich caste it bitwix the wallys,
And ramme it doun with punchonys & mallis.

Mak the inner wal wel lower then withoute,
That esily, as by the clif, ascende
Me may vnto the loupis al aboute,
Or by an esi grice hem to defende;
Thus mad a wal, the ram may nat offende;
For thaugh he fronte awey this vttir cruste,
The grounde is stronge ynough with him to juste.

For firing of the yatis make obstacle,
Couer hem with hidys and with iron plate,
And make aforn a myghti propugnacle,
A portcolys to plumpe adoun therate,
Aftir thi foon atwixte it and the yate
Thei checked ar.

The machcoling may thenne
Chastise hem that thei shal nat sle ner brenne.

The dichis ar to make brode at al
And deep at al, so that me may not fille
Hem in no wise, and renne vppon the wal;
The myner is his labour heer to spille,
And rathest if the watir hem fulfille;
For now hath he twey grete Impedymentys;
Depnesse is oon, another thelement is.

The multitude of shot is to repelle
With sheeld, pavice an here and duble say;
Shot perceth not ther thorgh; eek wittis felle
Han cratys fild with stoon at euery bay,
And if thassault come vp, adoun go they
Out of the crate, at euery loup is oon
Of these.

It quelleth ordynaunce & mon.

In mony wise assault is and defense;
And on manere is by enfameyinge.

Hoolde foode away, and watir, kepe it thens,
And hem to honde anoon shal honger bringe.

But if we wite a seege on vs comynge,
Anoon gete al the foode within our wonys
And faste haue in the multitude of stonys.

Corn euerydel, larder, fisch, foul, forage,
And that may not be brought in, is to brenne,
Wyn, aysel, herbe, & fruyt and cariage,
Logyng, let brenne it vp, or cary it thenne;
So bare it for our foon that whenne thei renne,
Thei fynde nought; and vse we vitaile
With such attemperaunce, that it ne faile.

Glew, tar & picch and oyle incendiary,
And sulphour herwithal to brenne engyne,
Charcole & cole, and al that necessary
Is forto make armure and arowys fyne
And shelde & spere, hundirdys VIII or IX,
And coggys, cogulys & pibblis rounde,
Fil vp the wal with hem by roof & grounde.

Stoon of the flood is saddest and so best,
For fourneysinge a wal & euery loupe,
And outher with engynys to be kest
On hegh, adoun to falle on hed or croupe,
Or fro the scalyng forto make hem stoupe
And have of grene tymbour grete rollys
And loggys leyd to route vppon her pollys.

And beemys is to haue of euery sise
And boord of euery soort, and also nayl.

Ayenst engyne, engyne is to devise,
And that the stuf be prest, is thin availe.

High if it be, pulle ouer their top sail,
And if thei come in touris ambulary,
Hem myghtily to mete is necessary.

Nerf is to haue or senewis aboundaunce,
The crosbowyng to stringe and bowe of brake;
Hors her of mane & tail, if suffisaunce
Therof ther is, therto good is to take;
Of wymmen here tho stryngis eke thei make:
With stryngys of their her Romaynys wyvis
Saved her owne & her husbondis lyvis.

Raw hidis ar to kepe, and euery horn
The portcolis to couere, eek sheeld & targe
And mony a thing, it may not be forborn;
And if so be your watir be not large,
To synke a welle anoon it is to charge,
For lak therof; theym that the water brynge,
With shot defende outward & hoom comynge.

And if the welle is out of our shotinge,
Make vp a tour and putte archerys there,
For to defende tho that watir brynge;
Cisternys who can make, it is tenquere;
Make vp of theym in placis euerywhere,
Rayn watir kepe in hem; when wellys faile,
Rayn watir in cisternys may availe.

A See Citee this is, and salt is geson:
Kest watre salt in vesselling that sprede,
Salt wil the sonne it make in litil season;
But thus we dar not fette it in for drede,
The see gravel, gete it vp in this nede,
Fresh watir it, and let it drie in sonne,
And salt withoute doubte herof is wonne.

They that the wal assaulteth, bith terribil
A multitude, and trumpis proudly rynge;
The Citee nys but simpil and paisibil,
And ferde thei are at this first counteringe,
And in goth they; but if the spritis springe
And putte hem of, in comth an hardinesse,
And egal is fro now forth the congresse.

The tortoys or the snayl, the rammys grete,
The sekel or the sithe, and vyneyerd,
The cagys pluteal it is to gete
And tourys ambulary nere aferd;
The musculys eke with the pety berde,
Lo alle these wil this Citee assaile
With crafte, and yet with craft shal it prevaile.

Of tymbir and of boord it is to make
A tortoys or a shelled snail, and so
They name it; whi?

for when hem liste awake
It, out therof the hed & hornys go
And in and out ayein; oon horn or too,
Croked or streght, hath it, right as a snaile,
Right as it semeth hem their moost availe.

The bak of this tortoys, snail or testude,
Wherof it hath figure and also name,
With felt & heere & hidis rawe or crude,
Lest theron fier doun cast, brenne vp the frame.

Wel couered is, the sidis beth the same;
Pendaunt theryn, ther goth a beem alonge,
Therof the hed is iron steeled stronge.

Tweyne hornys if it have, it is a snaile;
Streght may thei stonde, or the lifte horn may croke
Outher the right, as may be moost availe,
The wal to breke & stonys out to Rooke;
And if it haue but oon horn, & it hooke
A croche, it is a sikel or a sithe,
It breketh and out bringeth stonys swithe.

And when the frount is mad to breke & brese,
It is a ram for that similitude,
To rush vppon the wal and al to crese
The stuf in it; yet wil thei this delude,
And with oo crafte thoo craftis III conclude:
Of quylt & felt a trusse thei depende,
Ther as the ram entendeth for toffende.

Or by the hed they kecch it with a gnare
And hale it vp, or by the wal endlonge,
Or turne it vpsodoun thei wil not spare;
Hem semeth it to hurte it is no wronge;
And other haue a wulf, this ram to fonge:
That wulf is as a payre of smythis tongys,
Toothed, that in a wayt alway to honge is.

That wulf gooth on the ram, and by the hed
Or necke anoon pulde is he vp so doun,
Or so suspended that his myght is deed,
And other fro the wallis of the town
Or out of tourys hye or of dongeoun
Wil caste an huge ston or a pilere
Of marbil, and so breke it al yfere.

And if the wal be thorled therwithal,
As happeth ofte, or doun it gooth anoon:
Awey with euery hous, and mak a wal
Withinne that of planke or lyme & ston;
And if thin aduersayris come vppon,
Conclude theym bitwixt the wallis tweyne,
And so be quyte of this perile & peyne.

The vyneyerde is lighter tymburynge,
VIII foote brode, VI footys high, XVI
Footys in length, and dubil couertinge
Hath it of boord & fleyk; of twyggis grene
The sidis are, and fier for to sustene,
With felt & hidis grene it couere they,
So that to brenne or breke it, is no wey.

And made ynowe of these, ar sette yfere
Vnto the wal, as summe sette a vyne,
And tre pilers vpsetting heer & there,
To make it falle, vndir the wal thei myne,
That, puld away the stulpis VIII or IXne,
Doun go the wal, this vyneyerd remeved,
Lest it and al ther vndir be myscheved.

The cage pluteal of twiggis plat,
Of heerys hath couert and hidis grene;
Not ouer high the roof ner ouer flatte,
That shot & fier suffice it to sustene.

On whelis III to go thei thise demene,
As goth a cart; and fele herof thei make
With mony a wit the wallis forto awake.

The muscle shelle is but a smal engyne,
Mightily mad on whelis for to go,
And bere away the wallis when thei myne;
Thei bringe stuf the dich to fille also;
And on the werk it may go to & fro
And sadde it vp, that tourys ambulary
May men ynowe vppon the wallis cary.

The muscul eke is good, the way to mende,
For eny thing, of tourys ambulary.

To se the crafte is now to condescende,
Thartificeer it nedeth not to vary;
Make hem like other housing necessary,
A XXXti foote or XL foote square,
And otherwhile of Lti feet thei are.

Of bemys and of boord be thei compacte,
And competent the brede hath altitude,
With hidis, grene or felt sadly coacte
The robinge & the sidis are enclude.

Their apparaile ashameth wallys rude,
At euery lyme herof ar huge whelys
And brood withal the sole of euery whel is.

Present perile is, if this tour ammoeve
Vnto the wal, the place is in a doubte;
And impossibil is it of to shove.

Of myghtieste theryn is mony a route,
And briggis in, to renne on from withoute,
And scalis of al maner farsioun,
From eny part to renne on vp & doun.

The rammys are alongh as first engyne,
And not a fewe, a wal to ouerthrowe,
And vndir as a vyneyerd they myne
And briggis in the myddis are a rowe,
And fro the toppe they shote & stonys throwe;
Thus vndir and above and euerywhere
The wall besette; who dar abide there?

Yet here ayenst is diuers medycyne:
First, if the Chiualers with confidence
Go myghti out, and fire this engyne,
First pulde away the firys resistence,
And if thei ha not this magnificence,
Shote at hem molliols, also fallayrys;
But what thei ar, to knowe it necessayir is.

A malliol, a bolt of wilde fier is,
A fallary, a shafte is of the same;
Thorgh felt & hide hem shoote: al on a fier is;
But shoote hem thorgh into the tymber frame;
With myghti alblastris go to this game,
Brymston, rosyn, glewe, oyle incendiary
With flax doon on this shafte is necessary.

Or preuely with fier out of the toun
Ouer the wal, whil this tour is asclepe,
A feleship of fewe is let adoun,
That fiere it, as noo watir may it kepe;
And triced vp at hoom thei skippe & lepe
To se this ambulary touris brenne;
This hath be doon, & yet ful seelde whenne.

And otherwise is doun, the wal tarise,
And ouer go the touris altitude;
Yet ther ayenst is vsed to deuise
A subtiltee, tho wallis to delude;
In the vtter tour, an inner tour tenclude,
And when thei sette vppon this wallis blynde
With gabils & polifs hem ouerwynde.

And beemys otherwhile, ye ouerlonge,
Ordeyne thei, and sette on iron hornys,
And as a rammys hed thei make hem honge;
This tour with hem forbeton and throgh born is,
And sette ofiere, and vtturly for lorn is;
Yet otherwise, out of the toun a myne,
Vndir the way therof, sleth this engyne.

When this engyne on that concavitee
Goth with his wight vppon his myghti whelis,
Doun goth it, into helle as it wold fle;
And this to se, the toun in joy & wele is.

But thooste withoute al in dolour & deel is,
Al desperate of help by their engyne,
And al by witty makyng of a myne.

But if this tour sauf sette vppon the wallis
With euery shot of dart, of shaft, of spere,
And dynt of axe, of swoord, billys & mallys,
And caste of stoon thei ley on euerywhere,
That fro the wal awey they fle for fere,
Now to the wal, the briggis forto avale is,
And mony oon goth doun anoon by scalys.

Thei trice in other with the Tollenon:
The tollenon a tymbir pece on ende
Is sette, another twye as long theron,
The lighter ende of it adoun thei bende;
A cageful of men therwith thei sende
Vppon the wal, when they with cordis drawe
Adoun that other ende, as is the lawe.

Sumtyme ayen this werk, the bowe of brake,
Carribalistys and Arcubalistis,
Onagris and fustibulis wer take,
And mony a dart that vncouth & vnwiste is
Amonge vs heer.

The taberinge of the fistis
Vppon the bowe, and trumpyng of the gunne
Hath famed vs as fer as shyneth sonne.

Thei trumpe adoun the tourys ambulary,
Thei ouerthrowe as wel ram as tortoys,
The cage and vyneyerd therby myscary,
The muscul may not with his dynt & voys;
And countir as it goth, ther is noo choys,
But deed or quyt; for and it onys touche,
It goth for al that hangeth in the pouche.

A conynger, that now they calle a myne,
Goth vndir erth vnwist; by that cauerne
Come in tatoun, ye, tourmys VIII or IXne,
And prevely they rise in sum tauerne
Or desolat hous, so noo wight hem werne;
And sodenly by nyght vppon the yate
They hewe, and leet their frendis in therate.

And ther ayenst, if that the dwellers be
In touris, on the wal, or housys hye,
Vppon the strete,—is ther yit comfort?

Ye,
So stonys out of numbir on hem flye,
As thaugh the buldir hailed from the skye;
They wil anoon retrete out at the yatis,
Now steke hem out; and stynted this debate is.

And if thei do not thus, anoon their foo
Of prouidence her yatis may lete stonde,
Vntil as fele as fle, wil been ago,
And thenne in ease have hous & toun & londe;
But God defende vs that we be not fonde
Aslepe so that foon lede vs away
Withoute strook, or seide hem onys nay!
Lo, man, womman and childe may keste stoon
Vppon his foo from euery place o lofte,
And ther to redy sone are euerychon
By day & nyght; this holpen hath full ofte.

Ha stonys out of flood or feeld or crofte,
Store hem on high, that in a sodeyn fere
Fynde hem ye may, and on your foo bewere.

This conynger hath eek another gise,
Vndir the wal to crepe pryvely,
And sette vp postis heer, & ther by sise
And pike away the fundament wightly,
Ramayle it wel.

the postis by & by,
And when their ooste was redy, make it brenne;
Doun goth the wall; in and vppon hem thenne!
Peraventure ther is a countir myne,
So that thei faile, and feyneth a dispayre,
And hem remeveth mylys VIII or IXne;
Now best be war, at market or at fayre,
Or day or nyght, thei thinketh to repayre,
If there appere among hem negligence;
Therfore now do grettest diligence.

Now se the wacch abide vppon the wall,
And houndis wise & grete is good to kepe;
Eek gees is good to haue in special,
For thei wil wake folke that ar aslepe,
The foo comynge her welth away to repe;
The mavlard in the dich and in the wallis,
The martilet at scaling wont to calle is.

The toun eke on thassege sodenly
Is wont to falle, if it be negligent;
Therfore a dich thei make vp myghtily,
Without shot of euerych instrument,
And stake it, pale it, toure it to thentent,
Ther to be sure hem self and holde hem inne;
Thus wayteth vch an other for to wynne.

The craft tassaulte a citee and defende
By myght and wit of knyghthode & bataile,
Honour to God, therof is mad an ende.

Now go we forth vnto this fight navaile,
That is fight on the see, no light travaile,
And not o londe; as there is so grete drede,
Therfore of gouernaunce hath it gret nede.

To make an hous, good stuf it is to take
Good farsioun, and good stuf is the hous;
But rather he that shippis is to make,
Se that his stuffe ne be nat vicious;
A feebil hous nys not so perilous
As is a feebil ship, other a barge,
Forthy therof the more it is to charge.

Fir and cipresse and the pynappul tre
Therfore is good, as seyn the bookys olde,
And ook is holden good in this cuntre;
The nayles are of bras wel better holde
Then iron.

Whi?

For ruste thei wil & olde
And kanker and consume, there as bras,
Consumed al the ship, is as it was.

Fro Juyl Kalendis vnto the Kalende
Of Janyveer, that is by monthis sixe
The seson is, tymbur to falle an ende;
Thumour dryinge in treen, now sad & fixe
Is euery pith; but fallinge is bitwixe
XV and XXIIti, when the mone
Is wanyng, dayis VII is this to done.

In other tyme or seson if me falle,
Wormeton wil it ben, eek it wil rote;
The tymbourmen of craft this knoweth alle;
Of rynde or bark is rende away the cote
And dryed thorgh, er it be put to note,
For tymbir weet, so wroght, wil aftir shrynke
And ryve and with right grete disconfort drynke.

For if the shippe vnto the maryner
Drynke of the see, sone aftir of the same
Thei drinketh al, and are of hevy cher;
Forthi, the carpenter is wurthi blame
That into shippis wil weet tymbour frame,
And wurthi thonk is he, that frameth drye,
So that in his defaulte no men deye.

The namys of the shippis as for werre
Myn auctour writeth not, save a liburne
He writeth of as mightier & herre
Of boord, and wight of foote, and light to turne.

As to the wastom of this shippis storne,
Thei hadde V or IIII ordris of ooris,
Or fewer, as the vessel lesse or more is.

And euery grete liburne a balynger
Hath had, and that a scafe exploratory
Was named, for to aspie fer & neer;
Of oorys hadde thei not but oon story.

But wight it was to go for a victory;
The seyl, the maste, and euery marynere
With see colour wer clad for to vnnapere.

A navey and an oost that wil gouerne
Vppon the see, him nedeth forto knowe
The wyndis, and the wedir to discerne;
He moste ha wit, leste he be ouerthrowe;
And first the foure cardinals arowe
Be knowe, as Est & West & North & South,
How thei amonge hem self discorde, is couth.

Theest cardinal is called subsolan,
And on his lifte hond hath he Sir Vulturne,
And Colchyas is on his right hond tan,
Septentrion, that cardinal so storne
Out of the North the see wil ouer torne,
Thocastias his right, and his lift side
Halt Aquylo, what se may theim abide.

Auster is cardinal meridian,
Nothus ful grymly goth on his right side,
And Chorus on the lift hond forth thei han,
And Zephirus that cardinal, abide
Wil in the west, and when him list to ride,
Grete Affricus shal ride on his right honde,
And Duk Fauonius on his lift honde.

If III or oon or tweyne of these vp blowe,
Tethis, of hir nater that is tranquylle,
Thei lene vppon, oppresse and ouerthrowe,
And causeth al crye out that wold be stille;
Thei ror ayeyn, of her thei haue her wille;
The shippe that this conflict seeth & hereth
(Heryn beleve me) his hert it fereth.

Sum varyaunce of tyme will refreyne
Her cruelous & feers rebellioun,
A nothir helpith hem to shake her cheyne
As all the firmament shuld falle adoun
And Occian lepe ouer Caleys Toun;
And after in a while it is tranquylle
And playne & calme, as whos seith 'husht, be stille!'
Therfore a storme is whisedom to preuyde,
And good it is forse serenyte,
And fro the storme abide or stopp atide,
And with meanabil wynd sette on the see;
Ful hard it is in peril hym to se,
That of the wyndes had inspeccioun,
Is raysonabil in direccioun.

Thenne is to se the monthis & the dayes
Of Nauygaunce, forwhy?

not al the yere
The wyndis on the shippis make affrayes,
Sum monthis euer are of mery cheer,
And summe loure a while, & after cleer
Ynough they loke, & summe ar intractabil
And ragy wood, ancour to breke & gabil.

The VIth kalende of Juyn, when Pliades
Appereth: what is that?

the sterrys VII;—
The wyndes alle ar bounden to the pees,
So that ther nys no truble vndir heuen,
Vntil the berth of Arcture al is even,
That is of Octobir the XVIIIth kalende,
Seecraft plesaunt hath at this day an ende.

Tho dayis euer are of mery cheer,
And thenne vnto the IIIde Ide of Nouembre
The dayis wil now loure and now be cleer;
For vnto now, as bookys me remembre,
Arcture, as from the first Ide of Septembre,
His reigne he hath, and in this meane while
The firmament wil loure amonge & smyle.

Nouembir in tempest is al to shake,
And aftir vnto Marchis Idus VI,
Viage thenne on see nys noon to take,
But in the woose it is tabide fixe;
Also by londe vnvsed is betwixe
Alhaleweday & March to goon or ride,
But if a grete necessitee betide.

Short is the day, the nyght is ouerlonge,
Thicke is the myst, and thestir is the mone,
And aftir in ther comth of wynde a thronge,
That forto stonde he hath ynough to done,
That is o londe; a strom is aftir sone
Of leyt, of wynd, of rayn, of hail, of thondir,
That woful is the wight that goth thervndir.

And, ovir this, in Marche, Aprile & May,
Antiquytee of Navigatioun
Dyuers sollemnytee and grete aray
Was vsed have in high deuotioun,
And eke of arte exercitatioun
To kepe in honde, and as for feat of werre,
Thei bood vntil the sonne ascended herre.

And tokenys of tranquille and tempeste,
Of wynde and rayn, thei hadden in the moone;
Of tokenys this was surest & best:
Reed is the mone, it wil be wynde right sone,
To take see theryn is good to shone;
The pale mone is lyke to haue a rayn,
The pale rede is wynde & storm, thei sayn
And when the mone ariseth glad & bright,
And namely the day that is the pryme,
Withoute humour, in hornys sharpe & light,
To take a grete viage is right good tyme.

But if the sonne telle of eny cryme,
As is if he arise vndir a cloude,
That day in rayn & wynd is wont to croude.

His bright aristh is like a mery day,
His rede aristh is like a breef to blowe,
And maculous, is shour or cloudis ay,
And pale aristh wil reyn or ellis snowe;
A tokyn eke of rayn is the raynbowe.

In wynde and ayer, in fish & foule, Virgile
The signys seyth that may noman begile.

The maryners, thei sayn, haue al this art
Of wydiringe, and thei be wedir wise,
By discipline of it ha thei no part,
But of a longe vsage or exercise.

Wel knowe thei, the Reume if it arise,
An aker is it clept, I vndirstonde,
Whos myght ther may no ship or wynd withstonde.

This Reume in Thoccian of propur kynde
Withoute wynde hath his commotioun,
The maryner therof may not be blinde,
But whenne & where in euery regioun
It regneth, he moste haue inspectioun;
For in viage it may both hast & tary
And vnaduised therof al mys cary.

The marinere, er he come at congresse
Or counturinge, vppon the see bataile,
Wil his Navey so for the Reume adresse,
As may been his aduerser dissavaile
And hindiraunce, and also his availe.

This may be doon anoon, for a liburne
With wynde or oorys, as me wil, may turne.

The Maister Marynere, the gouernour,
He knoweth euery cooste in his viage
And port saluz; and forthi grete honour
He hath, as worthi is, and therto wage.

The depper see, the gladder he; for rage
Of wynde or of bataile if ther abounde,
The surer he, the ferre he be fro grounde.

He knoweth euery rok and euery race,
The swolewys & the starrys, sonde & sholde,
And where is deep ynough his foo to chace;
And chese a feeld he can, bataile to holde,
And myghtily sette on liburnys bolde,
First with the frounte al vndir see to route,
And as a thought, anoon be brought aboute.

The maister of the shippe, he muste be wyis;
The mariners most be ful diligent,
And myghti rowing vp at point device
Is to been had at his commaundement,
That storne and ooris go by oon assent
Forth right to sette vppon, and light to turne,
Ful gret avauntage haldeth this liburne.

And as o londe an oost may be prevent
And leyde awayt vppon, right so by see
At ilis or in streytys pertynent
A bushement to falle vppon may be
Rathest; out of aray is good to se
When that thei be; the reume & strem & wynde
With you & countour hem is good to fynde.

Or wayte on hem, for wery or aslepe,
Or when thei leest of thi comynge suppose,
Or in a rode as is no wey to crepe
Away, but that ye must been in their nose.

Al that is you to wynne, is hem to lose,
And if thei can avoyde alle your cautelis,
Thenne vch his right, the feeld & fight to dele is.

Thenne in a feelde a frounte of this liburnys
It is to sette, and not as on the londe
An oost; and whi?

for inward it to turne is,
The hornys as a sharp cressaunt to stonde,
A bosomynge amyddis to be founde,
That vmbego ye may your aduersary
And close hem enviroun, and with you cary.

But on the hornys be liburnys sturne
With myghtiest & booldest men of werre,
Aboute our foon of myscreaunce to turne,
With confidence hem for to seyn: "Ye erre;
Com vndir vs, and knowe your ouer herre
Moost gracioux, knowe him your souuerayne;
And wil ye not?

At youre perile & peyne!"
The beemys, vp thei goth out of the trumpe
And euery brayn astonyeth their reson;
The firmament, lo! clariounys crumpe
To crye vppon, and lo! it comth adoun
With angelis, ye, mony a legioun,
To countour periurie & myscreaunce
And surquydrye and disobeyssaunce.

In euery man thei setteth fortitude
And high magnificence and confidence,
Perseueraunt for trouth to conclude
With adiuuaunce of myghti patience,
And on the part aduerse, an impotence
With couwardise & diffident dispayre
Wil ferdfully with trembelyng repayre.

The canonys, the bumbard & the gunne,
Thei bloweth out the voys & stonys grete,
Thorgh maste & side & other be thei runne,
In goth the serpentyne aftir his mete;
The colueryne is besy for to gete
An hole into the top, and the crappaude
Wil in; the fouler eek wil haue his laude.

The covey fleeth as foulis thorgh the sayle,
The pavice are accombred with coventys,
Yet on thei come, and vs thei wil assaile;
The bowe vnnumerabil redy bent is,
The shaft fro there an ende it goth.

Apprentys
Thonagir is and the carribaliste,
The fundubal and the manubaliste.

The catafract, plumbate & scorpioun,
The dart and arpagoun in dayis olde
Were had, and are amonge vs leyde adoun;
Crosbowys yet and crankelons ar bolde
With wilde fier to brenne al in the folde,
The malliol goth out with the fallary,
The wildefier to bere our aduersary.

Yet on they come: awaite vppon the toppe
Good archery; the storm of shot as hail
So rayketh on, thei dar not shewe her croppe
Ner in the mastys topp, ner vndir sail,
Yet haile hem in a myghti voys: 'hail, hail!
Come vndir your Kyng Harry! fy! o pride!'
Thei wil not throf attonys on hem ride.

Bende vp, breke euerych oore in the mytside
That hath a rash; help hem, lo, thei goth vndir;
To this mysaventure hemself thei gide;
Lo, how thei cracke on euery side a sondir,
What tempest is on hem, what leyt & thondir!
On grapesinge anoon let se their fleete,
What hertys are in hem with vs to mete!
Armure & axe & spere of ouer wight
Is ouer light; as sparkelys in rede,
So sparkel they on helm & herneys bright
The rammys and twibil the side out shrede
Of ship & mast; doun goth the sail in dede,
Vp goth our hook, now it is on their gabil;
Lo, ther it lyeth; this batail is notabil.

Summe into se go, fisshes forto fede,
Summe vndir hacch ar falde adoun for fere,
And summe above, her hert blood to bleede,
And summe seke, hem self they wote ner where;
And summe crye 'alas, that we come there!
Myschefe vpon mysgouernaunce betide!
Lo, pride hath vs betrapped! Fy, o pride!'
'Com on! with vs ye shal go se the kyng,
The gracious,—have of anoon this gere!
Ye muste have on another herneysing:
A gyngeling of jessis shal ye were.

Ye shal no lenger stondyn in this fere.

O siluer bere, o lilial lioun,
O goldon Eagle! where is your renoun!'
Thus may be doon, if that it be forseyn
Of our meryte in souuerayn providence;
Forthi forwith do euery wight his peyne,
Sleuth out to holde, and haue in diligence,
Sette vp the werk, and spare noon expense;
Of Goddis honde although ye have victory,
Yet in the knotte is al thonour & glory.

Knytte vp the werk, and say: 'Hail haliday!'
The werre intraneous of al this londe
Is at an ende, here nys no more affray;
Justice is heer peasibilly to stonde,
And al the world shal telle of Engelonde
And of the kyngis high magnificence,
And been adred tattempte it with offense.

But forto knytte a knotte vppon this book,
That is to sey, therof to make an ende,
What is the ram, this twibil & this hook,
That helpeth vs this shippis thus to shende?

The ram, a beem is, by the mast suspende,
That as a saylis yerde is smal & longe,
On either ende an iron hed to fonge.

A rammys or a snailis hed theron
Ther may be sette, with streght or caumber horn,
On either side it may sette on our foon,
With myghti hand adoun that thei be born.

Ther nys nothing may stonde ther beforn;
For of the shippe it breketh out the side,
Vnnethe may the mast his myght abide.

The hook of iron kene is & of strengthe,
And like a sithe vppon a myghti sperre,
And not to gret, but of an huge lengthe,
And polissed to bace & make it herre;
The gabelis that in a ship of werre
Bere vp the sail, herwith may be fordone,
So may the stay & shroudis euerychone.

The twibil is an axe with double bite,
And therwithal in myddis of the maste;
What maryneris dede, is hard to wite,
But fele it hurte, and fele it made agaste.

—
Now faste vntil and ende I wil me haste,
Yet first thonagir and carribaliste,
What thing it was, it were good we wiste.

Thonagir was an huge & myghti bowe,
Strynged with nerf, therwith the stonys grete,
In maner of a thonderynge were throwe,
And for defaute of nerf, hors heer was gete
To strynge hem with, and rather then forlete
The help therof, their heer Romaynys wyvis
Kitte of, to strynge hem with, and saue her lyvys.

Theim leuer was to haue her goode husbandis
With honestee, & with their hedis bare,
Then dishonest be led to straunge londys,
Dispareged, her mariage forfare.

O, mony oon of yon goode wyvys are,
That charge more vertue and honestee
Then worldly good or bodily beautee.

In carris had for hem, carribalistis
Wer sette; thei were, as bowis are, of brake;
Oon more of hem then X manubalistis;
Of nerf or heer stringes for hem wer take.

Their myghti shot made herte & herneys quake;
They and thonagre bowys myghtieste,
Tymbir that oon, stonys that other keste.

Of tholde world the brightest herneysinge,
Best ordinaunce and myghtieste mad were;
O Chiualers, to you this is to bringe;
The beste ye chese, and yet a point go nerre.

O Lady myn, Maria, lode sterre,
Licence me toward the lond; beholde,
See seke am I, fulfayn o lande I wolde!
Hail, porte saluz! with thi pleasaunt accesse,
Alhail Caleis! ther wolde I faynest londe;
That may not I — oo, whi so?

for thei distresse
Alle, or to deye or with her wrong to stonde.

That wil I not, to wynne al Engelonde!
What myght availe, a litil heer to dwelle,
And world withouten ende abide in helle.

O litil case, o pouere hous, my poort
Saluz thou be, vntil that ayer amende,
That is to sey, vntil an other soort
Gouerne there, that by the kyng be sende.

Yit let me se, what way my wit is wende:
In this tretys, first is thelectioun
Of werreours, as for the legioun,
Yonge, and statured wel, of vp o londe
And laborers be taught to pace & renne
And lepe and shote and with a dart in honde
Shakyng vppon the Sarrasins that grenne,
To shote quyk, and to swymme ouer, whenne
The ryuer is to deep, there euery gise
Of hosteyinge & fight hath exercise.

The part secounde hath the diuisioun
Of al an oost, wheryn is tolde of thaide,
That subsequent is to the legioun,
Wherin teuerych office his part is leyde;
Theer of a feeld al ordinaunce is seyde,
With evitatioun of al perile;
Who redeth it, therate among wil smyle.

The IIIde part prouideth and vitaileth
And paeseth thooste, and voydeth al myschaunce,
And al that in the journeyinge availeth,
Is here to rede, and what feeld may avaunce
An ooste to fighte, and euery ordinaunce
How is to sette, and in conflicte how VII
Weyis ther ar the quyckest vndir heven.

The firthe part in crafte & in nature
Strengtheth a place and techeth it tassaile,
Engynys eek to make & putte in vre,
And to resiste hemself to disavaile;
And on the see to make a stronge bataile,
Where euery feat of werre it is to spende,
And of this werk theryn is mad an ende.

Go, litil book, and humbilly beseche
The werriourys, and hem that wil the rede,
That where a fault is or impropir speche,
Thei vouchesafe amende my mysdede.

Thi writer eek, pray him to taken hede
Of thi cadence and kepe Ortographie,
That neither he take of ner multiplye.

Finis

Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament. A Scottish Song. Read Poem

Balow, my babe, lye still and sleipe!
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe:
If thoust be silent, Ise be glad,
Thy maining maks my heart ful sad.

Balow my boy, thy mothers joy,
Thy father breides me great annoy.

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe,
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.

Whan he began to court my luve,
And with his sugred wordes me muve,
His faynings fals and flattering cheire
To me that time did not appeire:
But now I see, most cruell hee
Cares neither for my babe nor mee.

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe,
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.

Lye still, my darling, sleipe a while,
And when thou wakest, sweitly smile:
But smile not, as thy father did,
To cozen maids: nay, God forbid!
But yett I feire, thou wilt gae neire
Thy fatheris hart and face to beire.

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe,
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.

I cannae chuse but ever will
Be luving to thy father still;
Whair-eir he gae, whair-eir he ryde,
My luve with him doth still abyde:
In weil or wae, whair-eir he gae,
My hart can neire depart him frae.

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe,
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.

But doe not, doe not, prettie mine,
To faynings fals thy hart incline;
Be loyal to thy luver trew,
And nevir change hir for a new:
If good or fair, of her have care,
For womens banning's wonderous sair.

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe,
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.

Bairne, sin thy cruel father is gane,
Thy winsome smiles maun else my paine:
My babe and I'll together live,
He'll comfort me when cares doe grieve:
My babe and I right saft will ly,
And quite forgeit man's cruelty.

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe,
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.

Fareweil, fareweil, the falsest youth,
That evir kist a womans mouth!
I wish all maides be warnd by mee
Nevir to trust man's curtesy;
For if we doe bot chance to bow,
They'll use us then they care not how.

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe,
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.

Lament of the Border Widow Read Poem

My love he built me a bonny bower,
And clad it a' wi' a lilye flower,
A brawer bower ye ne'er did see,
Than my true love he built for me.

There came a man, by middle day,
He spied his sport and went away,
And brought the king that very night,
Who brake my bower, and slew my knight.

He slew my knight, to me so dear;
He slew my knight, and poined his gear;
My servants all for life did flee,
And left me in extremitie.

I sewed his sheet, making my mane;
I watched the corpse, myself alane;
I watched his body, night and day;
No living creature came that way.

I took his body on my back,
And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat,
I digged a grave, and laid him in,
And happed him with the sod so green.

But think na ye my heart was sair,
When I laid the moul' on his yellow hair;
Think na ye my heart was wae,
When I turned about, away to gae?

Nae living man I'll love again,
Since that my lovely knight is slain;
Wi ae lock of his yellow hair
I'll chain my heart for evermair.

Last Christmas Day Read Poem

"Say, if such blandishments did ever greet
Thy charmed soul; hast thou not crav'd to die?

Hast not thine immaterial seem'd but air
Verging to sigh itself from thee, and share
Beatitude?

hast thou not watch'd thy breath
In meek, faint hope, that soon 'twould sink in death?

"
attribution to a Ms.

Poem and/or M.

L.

B.

Le Morte de Robin Hode Read Poem

To Kerklees stately priorie
Came an old time-worn man,
And for food and shelter prayed he,
Ye chief of a noble clan
He was -- who in Burnsdale and merrie Sherwood
Sported blithely in time agone,
And albeit full could crept his sluggish blode,
Yt ye step was firm and ye bearing proud,
Of Robin, ye outlawed one.

And ye prioress gave him a brimming bowle,
And bade him drink deep therein,
"'Twould solace" she said, "his fainting sowle;"
And her's was a deadlie sinne.

For, although he called her his sister dear,
And she smiled when she poured for him
Ye sparkling wine, there was poison there,
And herself had mingled ye druggs with care;
And she pledged her guest, with a thrill of fear,
Though she touched but ye goblet's brim,
Fearful and long was his dying groan,
As his spirit to Hades fled,
And ye prioress stood like a rooted stone
When she saw that ye erle was dede:
And her eyes grew glazed, and she uttered a yell
Too horrid for mortal ear,
And laughter rang -- 'twas the mirth of hell --
Through that pile so lone and drear.

On ye self-same night ye murdress died,
But she rotted not alone,
For they laid her carcase side by side
With Robin of Huntingdon.

And they placed a fayre stone on ye mossy bed
Of that brave but erring one,
And many a pilgrim hath wept when he read
What is written that stone upon.

In Hone's Year Book, J.

says of it in 1831, "The pedantry of the last stanza out one savors strongly of the monastery, but no monk would have called the outlaw's company 'a noble clan,' neither would any of the earlier minstrels have stolen ideas from the pagan mythology.

It may have been first composed in the sixteenth century.

Leaulte Vault Richesse Read Poem

This warldly joy is only fantasy,
Of quhich non erdly wicht can be content;
Quho most has wit, lest suld in it affy,
Quho taistis it most, most sall him repent;
Quhat valis all this richess and this rent,
Sen no man wat quho sall his tresour have?

Presume nocht gevin that god has don but lent,
Within schort tyme the quhiche he thinkis to crave.

Leslie's March To Longmaston, Or Marston Moor Read Poem

March! march!
Why the devil do ye na march?

Stand to your arms, my lads,
Fight in good order;
Front about, ye musketeers all,
Till ye come to the English border:
Stand til't, and fight like men,
True gospel to maintain.

The parliament's blythe to see us a' coming:
When to the kirk we come,
We'll purge it ilka room,
Frae popish reliques, and a' sic innovation,
That a' the warld may see
There's nane in the right but we,
Of the auld Scottish nation.

Jenny shall wear the hood,
Jacky the sark of God;
And the kist-fou of whistles,
That mak sic a cleiro,
Our pipers braw
Shall hae them a',
Whate'er come on it:
Busk up your plaids, my lads!
Cock up your bonnets!--Da Capo.

[David Leslie, a celebrated military commander during the civil wars, was the fifth son of Patrick Leslie, of Pitcairly, commendator of Lindores, by his wife, Lady Jean Stuart, second daughter of Robert, first Earl of Orkney.

Of his early life little more is known than that, like many others of his countrymen, he went into the service of Gustavus Adolphus, king of Sweden, where he distinguished himself by his military talents, and attained the rank of colonel of horse.

Returning from the continent at, or shortly after, the commencement of the civil wars, he was appointed major-general to the army that was sent into England under the command of the Earl of Leven, to the assistance of the parliament.

On the resignation of that able general, David Leslie was appointed to the chief command of the army raised on behalf of Charles II.

, after he had accepted the Covenant, and been admitted to the government.

After the restoration, he was created, in consideration of his services and sufferings in the royal cause, Lord Newark, by patent dated 31st August, 1661, to him and the heirs male of his body lawfully begotten, with a pension of 500 pounds per annum.

His lordship died in the year 1682.

He married Jean, daughter of Sir John York, by whom he had a son, David, who succeeded him as Lord Newark, and three daughters; the eldest of whom, Elizabeth, was married to Archibald Kennedy, of Cullean, and was mother to Susanna, the celebrated Countess of Eglintoune.

] ~Chambers's Scottish Biographical Dictionary, vol.

iii.

, pp.

394-8.

(And the kist-fou of whistles,.

): The hatred of the old presbyterians to the organ was, apparently, invincible.

It is here vilified with the name of a "chest-full of whistles," as the episcopal chapel at Glasgow was, by the vulgar, opprobiously termed the "whistling kirk.

" ~ Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol.

iii.

, p.

159.

In May, 1644, a new ordinance passed for abolishing all Popish reliques fixed to tombs, or other places, and all organs, images, &c.

~ Whitelocke's Memorials (1683), p.

83.

Leslie's March To Scotland Read Poem

March!--march!--pinks of election,
Why the devil don't you march onward in order?

March!--march!--dogs of redemption,
Ere the blue bonnets come over the Border.

You shall preach, you shall pray,
You shall teach night and day,
You shall prevail o'er the kirk gone a whoring;
Dance in blood to the knees
Blood of God's enemies!
The daughters of Scotland shall sing you to snoring.

March!--march!--dregs of all wickedness!
Glory that lower you can't be debased!
March!--march!--dunghills of blessedness!
March and rejoice for you shall be raised,
Not to board, not to rope,
But to faith and to hope,
Scotland's athirst for the truth to be taught her;
Her chosen virgin race,
How they will grow in grace,
Round as a neep, like calves for the slaughter.

March!--march!--scourges of heresy!
Down with the kirk and its whilliebaleery!
March!--march!--down with supremacy
And the kist fu' o' whistles, that mak's sic a cleary;
Fife-men and pipers braw,
Merry de'ils tak them a',
Gown, lace, and livery -- lickpot and ladle;
Jockey shall wear the hood,
Jenny the sark of God--
For codpiece and petticoat, dishclout and daidle.

March!--march!--blest ragamuffins!
Sing, as ye go, the hymns of rejoicing!
March!--march!--justified ruffians!
Chosen of Heaven! to glory you're rising.

Ragged and treacherous,
Lousy and lecherous,
Objects of misery, scorning, and laughter;
Never, O happy race!
Magnified so was grace;
Host of the righteous! rush to the slaughter!
[The hero of this song is the celebrated David Leslie (who is also immortalized in the song called Leslie's March to Longmaston) who commanded a division of the Whig army at the battle of Marston Moor, and contributed so materially to that victory, where the Earl of Leven, who commanded above him, fled.

His cruelties in Scotland, after his victory over Montrose and some other successes, must have provoked some of the cavaliers to write these two songs in mockery of him and his army of furious zealots.

They are both written to a tune that is well known to have been his favourite march, and to which his troopers always entered or left every town on their route.

The March to Scotland is the most perfect thing of the kind to be found in that or any other age; and, wild as some of the expressions are, must be viewed as a great curiosity.

It is the very essence of sarcasm and derision, and possesses a spirit and energy for which we may look in vain in any other song existing.

] ~Hogg's Jacobite Relics, vol.

, p.

163.

1819.

Let Me Live On Read Poem

Let me live on, I only ask to live
Until the war is ended and I see
What is the verdict that the heavens give
To wrong and force and fraud and treachery
I would outlast this strife t'were but an hour
I would see Belgium righted and repaid,
And gallant France in queenly power;
And little Serbia, free and unafraid.

And storied Italy regain her coasts,
And mighty Russia seated on the sea;
And, martyred, Montenegros' murdered hosts
Give back their sons a larger liberty.

And I would know that Poland breathed anew
Her ancient glory granted her again,
And my dear England greater than she knew,
And my dead son one hero of the slain.

Let us go to the woods Read Poem

"Let us go to the woods," says Richard to Robin,
"Let us go to the woods," says Robin to Bobbin,
"Let us go to the woods," says John all alone,
"Let us go to the woods," says every one.

"What to do there?

" says Richard to Robin,
"What to do there?

" says Robin to Bobbin,
"What to do there?

" says John all alone,
"What to do there?

" says every one.

"We will shoot a wren," says Richard to Robin,
"We will shoot a wren," says Robin to Bobbin,
"We will shoot a wren," says John all alone,
"We will shoot a wren," says every one.

"Then pounce, pounce," says Richard to Robin,
"Then pounce, pounce," says Robin to Bobbin,
"Then pounce, pounce," says John all alone,
"Then pounce, pounce," says every one.

"She is dead, she is dead," says Richard to Robin,
"She is dead, she is dead," says Robin to Bobbin,
"She is dead, she is dead," says John all alone,
"She is dead, she is dead," says every one.

"How shall we get her home?

" says Richard to Robin,
"How shall we get her home?

" says Robin to Bobbin,
"How shall we get her home?

" says John all alone,
"How shall we get her home?

" says every one.

"In a cart with six horses," says Richard to Robin,
"In a cart with six horses," says Robin to Bobbin,
"In a cart with six horses," says John all alone.

"In a cart with six horses," says every one.

"How shall we get her dressed?

" says Richard to Robin,
"How shall we get her dressed?

" says Robin to Bobbin,
"How shall we get her dressed?

" says John all alone,
"How shall we get her dressed?

" says every one.

"We will hire seven cooks," says Richard to Robin,
"We will hire seven cooks," says Robin to Bobbin,
"We will hire seven cooks," says John all alone,
"We will hire seven cooks," says every one.

There is an old tradition, possibly Celtic, of hunting and capturing a wren on St Stephen's Day (26 December).

Originally the wren would have been killed, possibly as a way of banishing winter and bringing back spring.

In the few places where this tradition is carried on today a wooden wren is used.

This strange, ritual-sounding poem still has humour in it - the cart with six horses and the seven cooks contrasting with the tiny size of the wren.

Limericks: The History of Sixteen Wonderful Old Women Read Poem

MISTRESS TOWL
There was an Old Woman named Towl
Who went out to Sea with her Owl,
But the Owl was Sea-sick
And scream'd for Physic;
Which sadly annoy'd Mistress Towl.

OLD WOMAN OF GLOSTER
There was an Old Woman at Gloster,
Whose parrot two guineas it cost her;
But his tongue never ceasing,
Was vastly displeasing
To that talkative Woman of Gloster.

OLD WOMAN OF EALING
There was an old woman of Ealing,
She jump'd till her head touch'd the ceiling;
When 2 1 6 4
Was announc'd at her door,
As a prize to th'Old Woman of Ealing.

OLD WOMAN OF NORWICH
There was an Old Woman of Norwich,
Who liv'd on nothing but porridge,
Parading the town,
She turned cloak into gown,
That thrifty Old Woman of Norwich.

OLD WOMAN OF HARROW
There was an Old Woman of Harrow,
Who visited in a Wheel barrow,
And her servant before,
Knock'd loud at each door;
To announce the Old Woman of Harrow.

OLD WOMAN OF CROYDON
There was an Old Woman of Croydon,
To look young she affected the Hoyden,
And would jump and would skip,
Till she put out her hip;
Alas poor Old Woman of Croydon.

OLD WOMAN OF GOSPORT
There was an Old woman of Gosport,
And she was one of the cross sort,
While she dress'd for the ball,
Her wig was too small;
Which enrag'd this Old Lady of Gosport.

OLD WOMAN OF LEITH
There was an Old Woman of Leith,
Who had a sad pain in her Teeth,
But the Blacksmith uncouth,
Scar'd the pain from her tooth;
Which rejoic'd the Old Woman of Leith.

OLD WOMAN OF FRANCE
There came an Old Woman from France,
Who taught grown up Children to dance,
But they were so stiff,
She sent them home in a miff,
This sprightly Old Woman from France.

OLD WOMAN OF SURREY
There was an Old Woman of Surrey,
Who was morn noon and night, in a hurry,
Call'd her husband a Fool,
Drove her children to school;
The worrying Old Woman of Surrey.

OLD WOMAN OF EXETER
There dwelt an Old Woman Exeter,
When visitors came it sore vexed her,
So for fear they should eat,
She lock'd up all the meat;
This stingy Old Woman of Exeter.

OLD WOMAN OF BATH
There was an Old woman of Bath,
And she was as thin as a Lath,
She was brown as a berry,
With a Nose like a Cherry;
This skinny Old Woman of Bath.

OLD WOMAN OF SPAIN
There was an Old Woman in Spain,
To be civil went much 'gainst the grain,
Yet she danc'd a fandango,
With General Fernando;
This whimsical Woman of Spain.

OLD WOMAN OF LEEDS
There was an Old Woman of Leeds,
Who spent all her life in Good Deeds,
She work'd for the poor,
Till her fingers were sore,
This pious Old Woman of Leeds.

OLD WOMAN OF DEVON
There was an Old Woman of Devon,
Who rose every morning at seven,
For her house to provide,
And to warm her inside;
This provident Woman of Devon.

OLD WOMAN OF LYNN
There liv'd an Old Woman at Lynn,
Whose Nose very near touch'd her chin,
You may easy suppose,
She had plenty of Beaux;
This charming Old Woman of Lynn.

Lines from Love Letters Read Poem

(i)
De Amico ad Amicam
A Celuy que pluys eyme en mounde,
Of alle tho that I have founde
Carissima,
Saluz od treye amour,
With grace and joye and alle honoure,
Dulcissima.

Sachez bien, pleysant et beele,
That I am right in goode heele
Laus Christo!
Et moun amour done vous ay,
And also thine owene, night and day
In cisto.

Ma tres duce et tres ame,
Night and day for love of thee
Suspiro.

Soyez permanent et leal;
Love me so that I it fele,
Requiro.

A vou jeo suy tut done;
Mine herte is full of love to thee
Presento;
Et pur ceo jeo vou pry,
Sweting, for thin curtesy,
Memento.

Jeo vous pry par charite
The wordes that here wreten be
Tenete;
And turne thy herte me toward
O a Dieu que vous gard!
Valente!
(ii)
Responcio
A Soun tres chere et special,
Fer and ner and overal
In mundo,
Que soy ou saltz et gre
With mouth, word and herte free
Jocundo.

Jeo vous pry sans debat
That ye wolde of myn estat
Audire;
Sertfyes a vous jeo fay
I wil in time whan I may
Venire.

Pur vostre amour, allas, allas!
I am werse than I was
Per multa:
Jeo suy dolourouse en tut manere,
Woulde God in youre armes I were
Sepulta!
Vous estes ma morte et ma vye,
I preye you for your curteisie
Amate,
Cestes maundes jeo vous pry
In youre herte stedefastly
Notate.

Lines From Love Letters Read Poem

(i)
De Amico ad Amicam
A Celuy que pluys eyme en mounde,
Of alle tho that I have founde
Carissima,
Saluz od treye amour,
With grace and joye and alle honoure,
Dulcissima.

Sachez bien, pleysant et beele,
That I am right in goode heele
Laus Christo!
Et moun amour done vous ay,
And also thine owene, night and day
In cisto.

Ma tres duce et tres ame,
Night and day for love of thee
Suspiro.

Soyez permanent et leal;
Love me so that I it fele,
Requiro.

A vou jeo suy tut done;
Mine herte is full of love to thee
Presento;
Et pur ceo jeo vou pry,
Sweting, for thin curtesy,
Memento.

Jeo vous pry par charite
The wordes that here wreten be
Tenete;
And turne thy herte me toward
O a Dieu que vous gard!
Valente!
(ii)
Responci o
A Soun tres chere et special,
Fer and ner and overal
In mundo,
Que soy ou saltz et gre
With mouth, word and herte free
Jocundo.

Jeo vous pry sans debat
That ye wolde of myn estat
Audire;
Sertfyes a vous jeo fay
I wil in time whan I may
Venire.

Pur vostre amour, allas, allas!
I am werse than I was
Per multa:
Jeo suy dolourouse en tut manere,
Woulde God in youre armes I were
Sepulta!
Vous estes ma morte et ma vye,
I preye you for your curteisie
Amate,
Cestes maundes jeo vous pry
In youre herte stedefastly
Notate.

Little Jack Horner Read Poem

Little Jack Horner
Sat in a corner,
Eating of Christmas pye;
He put in his thumb,
And pull'd out a plumb,
And what a good boy was I.

Composition date is unknown - the above date represents the first publication date.

The lyrical form of this poem is aabccb.

1.

See The Oxford Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes, ed.

Iona and
Peter Opie (1951\; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1966), no.

262, pp.

234-37.

see cross-reference Mother Goose for illustration:
http://allpoetry-classic.

com/poem/11611654-Little_Jack_Horner-by-Mother_Goose

Little Musgrave and Lady Barnard Read Poem

As it fell out on a highe holye daye,
As many bee in the yeare,
When young men and maides together do goe,
Their masses and matins to heare,
Little Musgrave came to the church door,
The priest was at the mass;
But he had more mind of the fine women,
Then he had of our Ladyes grace.

And some of them were clad in greene,
And others were clad in pall;
And then came in my Lord Barnardes wife,
The fairest among them all.

Shee cast an eye on little Musgrave
As bright as the summer sunne:
O then bethought him little Musgrave,
"This ladyes heart I have wonne.

"
Quoth she, "I have loved thee, little Musgrave,
Fulle long and manye a daye:"
"So have I loved you, ladye faire,
Yet word I never durst saye.

"
"I have a bower at Bucklesford-Bury,
Full daintilye bedight;
If thoult wend thither, my little Musgrave,
Thoust lig in mine armes all night.

"
Quoth hee, "I thanke yee, ladye faire,
This kindness yee shew to mee;
And whether it be to my weale or woe,
This night will I lig with thee.

"
All this beheard a litle foot-page,
By his ladyes coach as he ranne:
Quoth he, "Thoughe I am my ladyes page,
Yet Ime my Lord Barnardes manne.

"My Lord Barnard shall knowe of this,
Although I lose a limbe.

"
And ever whereas the bridges were broke,
He layd him downe to swimme.

"Asleep or awake, thou Lord Barnard,
As thou art a man of life;
Lo! this same night at Bucklesford-Bury
Little Musgrave's abed with thy wife.

"
"If it be trew, thou litle foote-page,
This tale thou hast told to mee,
Then all my lands in Bucklesford-Bury
I freelye will give to thee.

"But and it be a lye, thou litle foot-page,
This tale thou hast told to mee,
On the highest tree in Bucklesford-Bury
All hanged shalt thou bee.

"Rise up, rise up, my merry men all,
And saddle me my good steede;
This night must I to Bucklesford-Bury,
God wott, I had never more neede.

"
Then some they whistled, and some they sang,
And some did loudlye saye,
Whenever Lord Barnardes horne it blewe,
"Awaye, Musgrave, awaye.

"
"Methinkes I heare the throstle cocke,
Methinkes I heare the jaye,
Methinkes I heare Lord Barnardes horne;
I would I were awaye.

"
"Lye still, lye still, thou little Musgrave,
And huggle me from the cold;
For it is but some shephardes boye
A whistling his sheepe to the fold.

"Is not thy hawke upon the pearche,
Thy horse eating corne and haye?

And thou a gaye ladye within thine armes, —
And wouldst thou be away?

"
By this Lord Barnard was come to the dore,
And lighted upon a stone;
And he pulled out three silver keyes,
And opened the dores eche one.

He lifted up the coverlett,
He lifted up the sheete;
"How now, how now, thou little Musgrave,
Dost find my gaye ladye sweete?

"
"I find her sweete," quoth the little Musgrave,
"The more is my griefe and paine;
Ide gladlye give three hundred poundes
That I were on yonder plaine.

"
"Arise, arise thou little Musgrave,
And put thy cloathes nowe on;
It shall never be said in my countree,
That I killed a naked man.

"I have two swordes in one scabbarde,
Full deare they cost my purse;
And thou shalt have the best of them,
And I will have the worse.

"
The first stroke that little Musgrave strucke,
He hurt Lord Barnard sore;
The next stroke that Lord Barnard strucke,
Little Musgrave never strucke more.

With that bespake the ladye faire,
In bed whereas she laye,
"Althoughe thou art dead, my little Musgrave,
Yet for thee I will praye;
"And wishe well to thy soule will I,
As long as I have life;
So will I not do for thee, Barnard,
Thoughe I am thy wedded wife.

"
He cut her pappes from off her brest,
Great pitye it was to see
The drops of this fair ladyes bloode
Run trickling downe her knee.

"Wo worth, wo worth ye, my merrye men all,
You never were borne for my goode;
Why did you not offer to stay my hande,
When you sawe me wax so woode?

"For I have slaine the fairest sir knighte
That ever rode on a steede;
So have I done the fairest lady
That ever ware womans weede.

"A grave, a grave," Lord Barnard cryde,
"To putt these lovers in;
But lay my ladye o' the upper hande,
For shee comes o' the better kin.

"

Little Musgrave And Lady Barnard Read Poem

As it fell out on a highe holye daye,
As many bee in the yeare,
When young men and maides together do goe,
Their masses and matins to heare,
Little Musgrave came to the church door,
The priest was at the mass;
But he had more mind of the fine women,
Then he had of our Ladyes grace.

And some of them were clad in greene,
And others were clad in pall;
And then came in my Lord Barnardes wife,
The fairest among them all.

Shee cast an eye on little Musgrave
As bright as the summer sunne:
O then bethought him little Musgrave,
'This ladyes heart I have wonne.

'
Quoth she, 'I have loved thee, little Musgrave,
Fulle long and manye a daye:'
'So have I loved you, ladye faire,
Yet word I never durst saye.

'
'I have a bower at Bucklesford-Bury,
Full daintilye bedight;
If thoult wend thither, my little Musgrave,
Thoust lig in mine armes all night.

'
Quoth hee, 'I thanke yee, ladye faire,
This kindness yee shew to mee;
And whether it be to my weale or woe,
This night will I lig with thee.

'
All this beheard a litle foot-page,
By his ladyes coach as he ranne:
Quoth he, 'Thoughe I am my ladyes page,
Yet Ime my Lord Barnardes manne.

'My Lord Barnard shall knowe of this,
Although I lose a limbe.

'
And ever whereas the bridges were broke,
He layd him downe to swimme.

'Asleep or awake, thou Lord Barnard,
As thou art a man of life;
Lo! this same night at Bucklesford-Bury
Little Musgrave's abed with thy wife.

'
'If it be trew, thou litle foote-page,
This tale thou hast told to mee,
Then all my lands in Bucklesford-Bury
I freelye will give to thee.

'But and it be a lye, thou litle foot-page,
This tale thou hast told to mee,
On the highest tree in Bucklesford-Bury
All hanged shalt thou bee.

'Rise up, rise up, my merry men all,
And saddle me my good steede;
This night must I to Bucklesford-Bury,
God wott, I had never more neede.

'
Then some they whistled, and some they sang,
And some did loudlye saye,
Whenever Lord Barnardes horne it blewe,
'Awaye, Musgrave, awaye.

'
'Methinkes I heare the throstle cocke,
Methinkes I heare the jaye,
Methinkes I heare Lord Barnardes horne;
I would I were awaye.

'
'Lye still, lye still, thou little Musgrave,
And huggle me from the cold;
For it is but some shephardes boye
A whistling his sheepe to the fold.

'Is not thy hawke upon the pearche,
Thy horse eating corne and haye?

And thou a gaye ladye within thine armes, -
And wouldst thou be away?

'
By this Lord Barnard was come to the dore,
And lighted upon a stone;
And he pulled out three silver keyes,
And opened the dores eche one.

He lifted up the coverlett,
He lifted up the sheete;
'How now, how now, thou little Musgrave,
Dost find my gaye ladye sweete?

'
'I find her sweete,' quoth the little Musgrave,
'The more is my griefe and paine;
Ide gladlye give three hundred poundes
That I were on yonder plaine.

'
'Arise, arise thou little Musgrave,
And put thy cloathes nowe on;
It shall never be said in my countree,
That I killed a naked man.

'I have two swordes in one scabbarde,
Full deare they cost my purse;
And thou shalt have the best of them,
And I will have the worse.

'
The first stroke that little Musgrave strucke,
He hurt Lord Barnard sore;
The next stroke that Lord Barnard strucke,
Little Musgrave never strucke more.

With that bespake the ladye faire,
In bed whereas she laye,
'Althoughe thou art dead, my little Musgrave,
Yet for thee I will praye;
'And wishe well to thy soule will I,
As long as I have life;
So will I not do for thee, Barnard,
Thoughe I am thy wedded wife.

'
He cut her pappes from off her brest,
Great pitye it was to see
The drops of this fair ladyes bloode
Run trickling downe her knee.

'Wo worth, wo worth ye, my merrye men all,
You never were borne for my goode;
Why did you not offer to stay my hande,
When you sawe me wax so woode?

'For I have slaine the fairest sir knighte
That ever rode on a steede;
So have I done the fairest lady
That ever ware womans weede.

'A grave, a grave,' Lord Barnard cryde,
'To putt these lovers in;
But lay my ladye o' the upper hande,
For shee comes o' the better kin.

'

London Bells Read Poem

Two sticks and an apple,
Ring the bells at Whitechapel.

Old Father Bald Pate,
Ring the bells Aldgate.

Maids in white aprons,
Ring the bells at St.

Catherine`s.

Oranges and Lemons,
Ring the bells at St.

Clement`s.

When will you pay me?

Ring the bells at the Old Bailey.

When I am rich,
Ring the bells at Fleetditch.

When will that be?

Ring the bells of Stepney.

When I am old,
Ring the great bell at Paul`s.

London Bridge is Falling Down Read Poem

London Bridge is falling down,
Falling down, falling down,
London Bridge is falling down,
My fair Lady.

Build it up with wood and clay,
Wood and clay, wood and clay,
Build it up with wood and clay,
My fair Lady.

Wood and clay will wash away,
Wash away, wash away,
Wood and clay will wash away,
My fair Lady.

Build it up with bricks and mortar,
Bricks and mortar, bricks and mortar,
Build it up with bricks and mortar,
My fair Lady.

Bricks and mortar will not stay,
Will not stay, will not stay,
Bricks and mortar will not stay,
My fair Lady.

Build it up with iron and steel,
Iron and steel, iron and steel,
Build it up with iron and steel,
My fair Lady.

Iron and steel will bend and bow,
Bend and bow, bend and bow,
Iron and steel will bend and bow,
My fair Lady.

Build it up with silver and gold,
Silver and gold, silver and gold,
Build it up with silver and gold,
My fair Lady.

Silver and gold will be stolen away,
Stolen away, stolen away,
Silver and gold will be stolen away,
My fair Lady.

Set a man to watch all nigh,
Watch all night, watch all night,
Set a man to watch all night,
My fair Lady.

Suppose the man should fall asleep,
Fall asleep, fall asleep,
Suppose the man should fall asleep?

My fair Lady.

Give him a pipe to smoke all night,
Smoke all night, smoke all night,
Give him a pipe to smoke all night,
My fair Lady.

Lord Randall Read Poem

"Oh where ha'e ye been, Lord Randall, my son!
And where ha'e ye been, my handsome young man!"
"I ha'e been to the wild wood: mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm wearied wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down.

"
"An wha met ye there, Lord Randall, my son?

An wha met you there, my handsome young man?

"
"I dined wi my true-love; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm wearied wi hunting, and fain wad lie doon.

"
"And what did she give you, Lord Randall, my son?

And what did she give you, my handsome young man?

"
"Eels fried in broo; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm wearied wi hunting, and fain wad lie doon.

"
"And wha gat your leavins, Lord Randall, my son?

And wha gat your leavins, my handsome young man?

"
"My hawks and my hounds; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm wearied wi hunting, and fain wad lie doon.

"
"What become a yer bloodhounds, Lord Randall, my son?

What become a yer bloodhounds, my handsome young man?

"
"They swelled and they died; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi huntin, and fain wad lie doon.

"
"O I fear ye are poisoned, Lord Randall, my son!
I fear ye are poisoned, my handsome young man!"
"O yes, I am poisoned; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm sick at m' heart, and I fain wad lie doon.

"

Lord Thomas and Fair Annet Read Poem

Lord Thomas and fair Annet
Sat all day on a hill
When night was come and sun was set
They had not talked their fill.

Lord Thomas said a word in haste
And Annet took it ill;
I winna wed a dowerless maid
Against my parents' will
You're come of the rich, Thomas,
And I'm come of the poor
I'm o'er low to be your bride
And I winna be your whore
O fair Annet, O fair Annet
This night you've said me no
But long or ever this day month
I'll make your heart right woe
Come riddle my riddle dear mother, he said
Come riddle it all in one
Whether I will take fair Annet
Or bring the brown girl home
The nut-brown maid has gold and gear
Fair Annet she has none
And the little beauty fair Annet has
O it will soon be gone
Sheep will die in cots, mother
And oxen die in byre
And what's this world's wealth to me
An I get not my heart's desire
Where will I get a pretty little boy
That'll run my errands soon
That will run to fair Annet's bower
And bid her to my wedding
She mauna put on the black, the black
Nor yet the dowie brown
But the scarlet so red, and the kerchief so white
And her bonny locks hanging down
She has called her maries to her bower
To lay gold in her hair
Where'er you put a plait before
See you lay ten times more
When Annet was in her saddle set
She flamed against the fire
The girdle around her middle small
Was worth an earl's hire
The horse fair Annet rode upon
He bounded like the wind
With silver he was shod before
With burning gold behind
And when she came into the kirk
She shimmered like the sun
The belt that was about her waist
Was all with pearls bedone
Is this your bride, Lord Thomas ?

she said
I think she's wondrous brown
You might have had as fair a bride
As e'er the sun shined on
Despise her not fair Annet, he said
Despise her not now unto me
For better I love thy little finger
Than all her whole body
Then out and spoke the nut-brown bride
And she spoke out of spite
O where got you that rose-water
That washed your face so white ?

O I did get the rose-water
Where you will ne'er get none
For I did get that rose-water
Into my mother's womb
The bride she drew a long bodkin
From out her gay headgear
And struck fair Annet to the heart
A deep wound and a sair
O art thou blind Lord Thomas, she said
Or do you not well see
O do you not see my own heart's blood
Run trinkling down my knee ?

He drew his dagger that was so sharp
That was so sharp and meet
And drove it into the nut-brown bride
That fell dead at his feet
O dig my grave, Lord Thomas he said
Dig it both wide and deep
And lay fair Annet by my side
And the brown girl at my feet

Lord Thomas And Fair Annet Read Poem

Lord Thomas and fair Annet
Sat all day on a hill
When night was come and sun was set
They had not talked their fill.

Lord Thomas said a word in haste
And Annet took it ill;
I winna wed a dowerless maid
Against my parents' will
You're come of the rich, Thomas,
And I'm come of the poor
I'm o'er low to be your bride
And I winna be your whore
O fair Annet, O fair Annet
This night you've said me no
But long or ever this day month
I'll make your heart right woe
Come riddle my riddle dear mother, he said
Come riddle it all in one
Whether I will take fair Annet
Or bring the brown girl home
The nut-brown maid has gold and gear
Fair Annet she has none
And the little beauty fair Annet has
O it will soon be gone
Sheep will die in cots, mother
And oxen die in byre
And what's this world's wealth to me
An I get not my heart's desire
Where will I get a pretty little boy
That'll run my errands soon
That will run to fair Annet's bower
And bid her to my wedding
She mauna put on the black, the black
Nor yet the dowie brown
But the scarlet so red, and the kerchief so white
And her bonny locks hanging down
She has called her maries to her bower
To lay gold in her hair
Where'er you put a plait before
See you lay ten times more
When Annet was in her saddle set
She flamed against the fire
The girdle around her middle small
Was worth an earl's hire
The horse fair Annet rode upon
He bounded like the wind
With silver he was shod before
With burning gold behind
And when she came into the kirk
She shimmered like the sun
The belt that was about her waist
Was all with pearls bedone
Is this your bride, Lord Thomas ?

she said
I think she's wondrous brown
You might have had as fair a bride
As e'er the sun shined on
Despise her not fair Annet, he said
Despise her not now unto me
For better I love thy little finger
Than all her whole body
Then out and spoke the nut-brown bride
And she spoke out of spite
O where got you that rose-water
That washed your face so white ?

O I did get the rose-water
Where you will ne'er get none
For I did get that rose-water
Into my mother's womb
The bride she drew a long bodkin
From out her gay headgear
And struck fair Annet to the heart
A deep wound and a sair
O art thou blind Lord Thomas, she said
Or do you not well see
O do you not see my own heart's blood
Run trinkling down my knee ?

He drew his dagger that was so sharp
That was so sharp and meet
And drove it into the nut-brown bride
That fell dead at his feet
O dig my grave, Lord Thomas he said
Dig it both wide and deep
And lay fair Annet by my side
And the brown girl at my feet

Lord Thomas And Fair Ellinor Read Poem

Lord Thomas he was a bold forrester,
And a chaser of the kings deere;
Faire Ellinor was a fine woman,
And Lord Thomas he loved her deare.

'Come riddle my riddle, dear mother,' he sayd,
'And riddle us both as one;
Whether I shall marrye with faire Ellinor,
And let the browne girl alone?

'
'The browne girl she has got houses and lands,
Faire Ellinor she has got none;
And therefore I charge thee on my blessing,
To bring me the browne girl home.

'
And as it befelle on a high holidaye,
As many there are beside,
Lord Thomas he went to faire Ellinor,
That should have been his bride.

And when he came to faire Ellinor's bower,
He knocked there at the ring;
And who was so readye as faire Ellinor,
To lett Lord Thomas withinn?

'What newes, what newes, Lord Thomas,' she sayd,
'What newes dost thou bring to mee?

'
'I am come to bid thee to my wedding,
And that is bad newes for thee.

'
'O God forbid, Lord Thomas,' she sayd,
'That such a thing should be done;
I thought to have been the bride my selfe
And thou to have been the bride-grome.

'
'Come riddle my riddle, dear mother,' she sayd,
'And riddle it all in one;
Whether I shall goe toLord Thomas his wedding,
Or whether shall tarry at home?

'
'There are manye that are your friendes, daughter,
And manye a one your foe;
Therefore I charge you on my blessing,
To Lord Thomas his wedding don't goe.

'
She cloathed herself in gallant attire,
And her merrye men all in greene;
And as they rid through every towne,
They took her to be some queene.

But when she came to Lord Thomas his gate,
She knocked there at the ring;
And who was so readye as Lord Thomas,
To lett faire Ellinor in.

'Is this your bride?

' fair Ellinor sayd;
'Methinks she looks wonderous browne;
Thou mightest have had as faire a woman
As ever trod on the grounde.

'
'Despise her not, fair Ellin,' he sayd,
'Despise her not unto mee;
For better I love thy little finger,
Than all her whole bodee.

'
This browne bride had a little penknife,
That was both long and sharpe,
And betwixt the short ribs and the long,
She prick'd faire Ellinor's harte.

'O Christ thee save,' Lord Thomas hee sayd,
'Methinks thou lookst wonderous wan;
Thou usedst to look with as fresh a colour,
As ever the sun shone on.

'
'O art thou blind, Lord Thomas?

' she sayd,
'Or canst thou not very well see?

O dost thou not see my owne hearts bloode
Run trickling down my knee?

'
Lord Thomas he had a sword by his side;
As he walked about the halle,
He cut off his brides head from her shoulders,
And threw it against the walle.

He set the hilte against the grounde,
And the point against his harte;
There never three lovers together did meete,
That sooner againe did parte.

Love Me Little, Love Me Long Read Poem

Love me little, love me long!
Is the burden of my song:
Love that is too hot and strong
Burneth soon to waste.

Still I would not have thee cold,—
Not too backward, nor too bold;
Love that lasteth till ’t is old
Fadeth not in haste.

Love me little, love me long!
Is the burden of my song.

If thou lovest me too much,
’T will not prove as true a touch;
Love me little more than such,—
For I fear the end.

I ’m with little well content,
And a little from thee sent
Is enough, with true intent
To be steadfast, friend.

Say thou lovest me, while thou live
I to thee my love will give,
Never dreaming to deceive
While that life endures;
Nay, and after death, in sooth,
I to thee will keep my truth,
As now when in my May of youth:
This my love assures.

Constant love is moderate ever,
And it will through life persever;
Give me that with true endeavor,—
I will it restore.

A suit of durance let it be,
For all weathers,—that for me,—
For the land or for the sea:
Lasting evermore.

Winter’s cold or summer’s heat,
Autumn’s tempests on it beat;
It can never know defeat,
Never can rebel.

Such the love that I would gain,
Such the love, I tell thee plain,
Thou must give, or woo in vain:
So to thee—farewell!
— Anonymous (originally printed in 1569)
Updated from previous posting to match the traditional version found in
Famous Single and Fugitive Poems
(Henry Holt & Company: New York, 1880).

Love Will Find Out the Way Read Poem

Over the mountains
And over the waves,
Under the fountains
And under the graves;
Under floods that are deepest,
Which Neptune obey,
Over rocks that are steepest,
Love will find out the way.

When there is no place
For the glow-worm to lie,
When there is no space
For receipt of a fly;
When the midge dares not venture
Lest herself fast she lay,
If Love come, he will enter
And will find out the way.

You may esteem him
A child for his might;
Or you may deem him
A coward for his flight;
But if she whom Love doth honour
Be conceal'd from the day—
Set a thousand guards upon her,
Love will find out the way.

Some think to lose him
By having him confined;
And some do suppose him,
Poor heart! to be blind;
But if ne'er so close ye wall him,
Do the best that ye may,
Blind Love, if so ye call him,
He will find out his way.

You may train the eagle
To stoop to your fist;
Or you may inveigle
The Phoenix of the east;
The lioness, you may move her
To give over her prey;
But you'll ne'er stop a lover—
He will find out the way.

If the earth it should part him,
He would gallop it o'er;
If the seas should o'erthwart him,
He would swim to the shore;
Should his Love become a swallow,
Through the air to stray,
Love will lend wings to follow,
And will find out the way.

There is no striving
To cross his intent;
There is no contriving
His plots to prevent;
But if once the message greet him
That his True Love doth stay,
If Death should come and meet him,
Love will find out the way!

Love Will Find Out The Way Read Poem

Over the mountains
And over the waves,
Under the fountains
And under the graves;
Under floods that are deepest,
Which Neptune obey,
Over rocks that are steepest,
Love will find out the way.

When there is no place
For the glow-worm to lie,
When there is no space
For receipt of a fly;
When the midge dares not venture
Lest herself fast she lay,
If Love come, he will enter
And will find out the way.

You may esteem him
A child for his might;
Or you may deem him
A coward for his flight;
But if she whom Love doth honour
Be conceal'd from the day-
Set a thousand guards upon her,
Love will find out the way.

Some think to lose him
By having him confined;
And some do suppose him,
Poor heart! to be blind;
But if ne'er so close ye wall him,
Do the best that ye may,
Blind Love, if so ye call him,
He will find out his way.

You may train the eagle
To stoop to your fist;
Or you may inveigle
The Phoenix of the east;
The lioness, you may move her
To give over her prey;
But you'll ne'er stop a lover-
He will find out the way.

If the earth it should part him,
He would gallop it o'er;
If the seas should o'erthwart him,
He would swim to the shore;
Should his Love become a swallow,
Through the air to stray,
Love will lend wings to follow,
And will find out the way.

There is no striving
To cross his intent;
There is no contriving
His plots to prevent;
But if once the message greet him
That his True Love doth stay,
If Death should come and meet him,
Love will find out the way!

Lusty May Read Poem

O LUSTY May, with Flora queen!
The balmy dropis from Phoebus sheen
Preluciand beams before the day:
By that Diana growis green
Through gladness of this lusty May.

Then Esperus, that is so bricht,
Til woful hairtis castis his light,
With bankis that bloomis on every brae;
And schouris are shed forth of their sicht
Through gladness of this lusty May.

Birdis on bewis of every birth,
Rejoicing notis makand their mirth
Richt plesantly upon the spray,
With flourishingis o'er field and firth
Through gladness of this lusty May.

All luvaris that are in care
To their ladies they do repair
In fresh morningis before the day,
And are in mirth ay mair and mair
Through gladness of this lusty May.

Lyke Wake Dirge Read Poem

This ae night, this ae night
Every night and alle,
Fire and fleet and candle lighte,
And Christ receive thy saule
When thou from hence away art past,
Every night and alle,
To Whinny-Muir thou comest at laste,
And Christ receive thy saule.

If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon,
Every night and alle,
Sit thee down and put them on,
And Christ receive thy soule.

If hosen and shoon thou ne'er gav'st nane
Every night and alle,
The whinnies shall prick thee to the bare bane,
And Christ receive thy saule.

From Whinny-Muir when thou may'st passe,
Every night and alle,
To Brig o' Dread thou com'st at last,
And Christ receive thy saule.

If ever thou gavest silver or gold,
Every night and alle,
At Brig o' Dread thou'lt find foothold
And Christ receive thy saule.

If silver or gold thou ne'er gav'st nane,
Every night and alle,
Down thou tumblest to Hell flame,
And Christ receive they saule.

From Brig o' Dread when thou may'st passe,
Every night and alle,
To Purgatory Fire thou com'st at last,
And Christ receive they saule.

If ever thou gavest meat or drink,
Every night and alle,
The fire shall never make thee shrink,
And Christ receive thy saule.

If meat or drink thou ne'er gav'st nane
Every night and alle,
The fire will burn thee to the bare bane,
And Christ receive thy saule.

This ae night, this ae nighte
Every night and alle,
Fire and fleet and candle-lighte,
And Christ receive thy saule.

Fleet: this may be an error for 'sleet', but it seems more likely to be an old word meaning 'house room'.

whinny - gorse
muir - moor
brig - bridge

Maiden in the Mor Lay Read Poem

Maiden in the mor lay--
in the mor lay--
Seuenyst fulle, seuenist fulle.

Maiden in the mor lay--
in the mor lay--
Seuenistes fulle ant a day.

Welle was hire mete.

wat was hire mete?

The primerole ant the--
the primerole ant the--
Welle was hire mete.

Wat was hire mete?

The primerole ant the violet.

Welle was hire dring.

wat was hire dring?

The chelde water of the--
the chelde water of the--
Welle was hire dring.

Wat was hire dring?

The chelde water of the welle-spring.

Welle was hire bour.

wat was hire bour?

The rede rose an the--
The rede rose an the--
Welle was hire bour.

wat was hire bour?

The rede rose an the lilie flour.

Translation
Maiden In The Moor Lay
Maiden in the moor lay,
In the moor lay--
Seven nights full, seven nights full.

Maiden in the moor lay--
In the moor lay--
Seven nights full and a day.

Good was her meat.

What was her meat?

The primrose and the--
The primrose and the--
Good was her meat.

What was her meat?

The primrose and the violet.

Good was her drink.

What was her drink?

The chilled water of the--
The chilled water of the--
Good was her drink.

What was her drink?

The chilled water of the well spring.

Good was her bower.

What was her bower?

The red rose and the--
The red rose and the-
Good was her bower.

What was her bower?

The red rose and the lily flower.

Maiden In The Mor Lay Read Poem

Maiden in the mor lay--
in the mor lay--
Seuenyst fulle, seuenist fulle.

Maiden in the mor lay--
in the mor lay--
Seuenistes fulle ant a day.

Welle was hire mete.

wat was hire mete?

�e primerole ant the--
�e primerole ant the--
Welle was hire mete.

Wat was hire mete?

The primerole ant the violet.

Welle [was hire drying.

]
wat was hire mete?

�e chelde water of pe--]
�e chelde water of �e welle-spring
Welle was hire drying.

]
Wat ws hire drying?

]
�e chelde water of �e welle-spring.

Welle was hire bour.

wat ws hire bour?

The rede rose an te--]
The rede rose an te--]
[Welle was hire bour.

]
[Wat was hire bour?

]
The rede rose an te lilie flour.

Translation
Maiden In The Moor
Maiden in the moor lay,
In the moor lay--
Seven nights full, seven nights full.

Maiden in the moor lay--
Seven nights full and a day.

Good was her meat.

What was her meat?

The primrose and the--
The primrose and the--
Good was her meat.

What was her meat?

The primrose and the violet.

Good was her drink.

What was her drink?

The chilled water of the--
The chilled water of the--
Good was her drink.

hat was her drink?

The chilled water of the well spring.

Good was her bower.

What was her bower?

The red rose and the--
The red rose and the-
Good was her bower.

What was her bower?

The red rose and the lily flower.

Many A Man Doth Speake Of Mee Read Poem

Many a man doth speake of mee,
But no man euer shall me see,
For all in one, doe full agree
That no where must my dwelling bee.

Mary Ambree Read Poem

When captaines couragious, whom death cold not daunte,
Did march to the siege of the citty of Gaunt,
They mustred their souldiers by two and by three,
And the formost in battle was Mary Ambree.

When brave Sir John Major was slaine in her sight,
Who was her true lover, her joy, and delight,
Because he was slaine most treacherouslie,
Then vowd to revenge him Mary Ambree.

She clothed herselfe from the top to the toe,
In buffe of the bravest, most seemelye to showe;
A faire shirt of male then slipped on shee:
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

A helmett of proofe shee strait did provide,
A strong arminge-sword shee girt by her side,
On her hand a goodly faire gauntlett put shee:
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Then tooke shee her sworde and her targett in hand,
Bidding all such, as wold, bee of her band;
To wayte on her person came thousand and three:
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

'My soldiers,' she saith, 'soe valiant and bold,
Nowe followe your captaine, whom you doe beholde;
Still formost in battel myselfe will I bee:'
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Then cryed out her souldiers, and loude they did say,
'Soe well thou becomest this gallant array,
Thy harte and thy weapons soe well do agree,
Noe mayden was ever like Mary Ambree.

'
Shee cheared her souldiers, that foughten for life,
With ancyent and standard, with drum and with fife,
With brave clanging trumpets, that sounded so free;
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

'Before I will see the worst of you all
To come into danger of death or of thrall,
This hand and this life I will venture so free:'
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Shee led upp her souldiers in battaile array,
Gainst three times theyr number by breake of the daye;
Seven howers in skirmish continued shee:
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

She filled the skyes with the smoke of her shott,
And her enemyes bodyes with bullets soe hott;
For one of her owne men a score killed shee:
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

And when her false gunner, to spoyle her intent,
Away all her pellets and powder had sent,
Straight with her keen weapon shee slasht him in three:
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Being falselye betrayed for lucre of hyre,
At length she was forced to make a retyre;
Then her souldiers into a strong castle drew shee;
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Her foes they besett her on everye side,
As thinking close siege shee cold never abide;
To beate down the walles they all did decree;
But stoutlye deffyd them brave Mary Ambree.

Then tooke shee her sword and her targett in hand,
And mounting the walls all undaunted did stand,
There daring their captaines to match any three:
O what a brave captaine was Mary Ambree!
'Now saye, English Captaine, what woldest thou give
To ransome thy selfe, which else must not live?

Come yield thy selfe quicklye, or slaine thou must bee:'
Then smiled sweetlye brave Mary Ambree.

'Ye captaines couragious, of valour so bold,
Whom thinke you before you now you doe behold?

'
'A knight, sir, of England, and captaine soe free,
Who shortelye with us a prisoner must bee.

'
'No captaine of England; behold in your sight
Two brests in my bosome, and therfore no knight:
Noe knight, sirs, of England, or captaine you see,
But a poor simple mayden called Mary Ambree.

'
'But art thou a woman, as thou dost declare,
Whose valor hath proved so undaunted in warre?

If England doth yield such brave maydens as thee,
Full well may they conquer, faire Mary Ambree.

'
The prince of Great Parma heard of her renowne
Who long had advanced for Englands faire crowne;
Hee wooed her and sued her his mistress to bee,
And offerd rich presents to Mary Ambree.

But this virtuous mayden despised them all:
'Ile nere sell my honour for purple nor pall;
A mayden of England, sir, never will bee
The whore of a monarcke,' quoth Mary Ambree.

Then to her owne country shee backe did returne,
Still holding the foes of faire England in scorne;
Therfore English captaines of every degree
Sing forth the brave valours of Mary Ambree.

Matty Groves Read Poem

A holiday, a holiday, the first one of the year
Lord Arlen's wife came into church the gospel for to hear.

And when the meeting it was done she cast her eyes about
And there she saw little Mattie Groves, walking in the park.

Come home with me little Mattie Groves, come home with me tonight
Come home with me little Mattie Groves and sleep with me tonight.

Oh I can't come home, I won't come home and sleep with you tonight
By the rings on your fingers I can tell you are Lord Arlen's wife.

'Tis true I am Lord Arlen's wife, Lord Arlen's not at home
He is out to the far corn fields, bringing the yearlings home.

And the sundt who was standing by and hearing what was said
He saw Lord Arlen, he would know, before the sun would set.

And in his hurry to carry the news, he filled his breast and ran
And when he came to the broad mill stream he took off his shoes and swam
Little Mattie Groves, he lay down and took a little sleep
When he awoke Lord Arlen, was standing at his feet
Saying how do you like my feather bed and how do you like my sheets
And how do you like my lady, who lies in your arms asleep.

Oh well I like your feather bed and well I like your sheets
But better I like your lady maid who lies in my arms asleep.

Well Get Up! Get Up! Lord Arlen cried, Get Up as quick as you can
It'll never be said in fair England I slew a naked man!
Oh I won't get up, I won't get up, I can't get up for my life
For you have two long beaten swords and I have but a pocket knife.

Well it's true I have two beaten swords, they cost me deep in the purse
But you will have the better of them and I will have the worst.

And you will strike the very first blow and strike it like a man
I will strike the very next blow and I'll kill you if I can.

So Mattie struck the very first blow and he hurt Lord Arlen sore
Lord Arlen struck the very next blow and Mattie struck no more.

And then Lord Arlen he took his wife, he sat her on his knee
Saying who do you like the best of us, Mattie Groves or me.

And then spoke up his own dear wife never heard to speak so free
I'd rather kiss one dead Mattie's lips than you and your finery.

Lord Arlen he jumped up and loudly he did bawl
He stuck his wife right through the heart and pinned her against the wall.

A grave, a grave, Lord Arlen cried, to put these lovers in
But bury my lady at the top for she was of noble kin.

This poem probably dates back to the early seventeenth century.

There is mention of it in 1631 in The Knight Of The burning Pestle, a play by Beaumont and Fletcher.

It was #81 in Child's collection of Ballads and is a favourite song in the folk world having been recorded by many famous artistes.

Maw, Whit if he ever gets oot? Read Poem

'Way up in the far north o' Scotland,
Dressed up in his sporran and dirk,
Wee Sandy McGrime, for the very first time,
Was ta'en alang tae the kirk.

He gaped at the box kin' o' pulpit,
His moo near as roon' as the mune,
An' gripped at his Maw, as the beadle he saw,
A-lockin' the meenister in.

The time cam' for hearin' the sermon,
An' feart-like was wee Sandy's look,
As stoor fairly jumped, when the meenister thumped
An' pounded his nieves on the Book.

The guid man reached oot, an' he shouted
An' bellowed an ruffled his hair,
He cried and he craved and ranted and raved,
An' waggled his fists in the air.

Wee Sandy was shakin' wi' terror,
Fair frantic he looked roon' aboot,
"Oh, mither," said he, "wull we a' hae tae flee,
If ever that mannie gets oot?

"

May in the Green-Wood Read Poem

In somer when the shawes be sheyne,
And leves be large and long,
Hit is full merry in feyre foreste
To here the foulys song.

To se the dere draw to the dale
And leve the hilles hee,
And shadow him in the leves grene
Under the green-wode tree.

Hit befell on Whitsontide
Early in a May mornyng,
The Soone up faire can shyne,
And the briddis mery can syng.

'This is a mery mornyng,' said Litulle Johne,
'Be Hym that dyed on tre;
A more mery man than I am one
Lyves not in Christiante.

'Pluk up thi hert, my dere mayster,'
Litulle Johne can say,
'And thynk hit is a fulle fayre tyme
In a mornynge of May.

'
sheyne: bright.

May In The Green-Wood Read Poem

In somer when the shawes be sheyne,
And leves be large and long,
Hit is full merry in feyre foreste
To here the foulys song.

To se the dere draw to the dale
And leve the hilles hee,
And shadow him in the leves grene
Under the green-wode tree.

Hit befell on Whitsontide
Early in a May mornyng,
The Soone up faire can shyne,
And the briddis mery can syng.

'This is a mery mornyng,' said Litulle Johne,
'Be Hym that dyed on tre;
A more mery man than I am one
Lyves not in Christiante.

'Pluk up thi hert, my dere mayster,'
Litulle Johne can say,
'And thynk hit is a fulle fayre tyme
In a mornynge of May.

'

Memory Garlands Read Poem

Years may roll on, and manhood's brow grow cold,
And life's dull winter spread its dark'ning pall
O'er cherish'd hopes; yet time cannot withhold
A precious boon which mem'ry gives to all: --
Fond recollection, when the tale is told
Which forms the record of life's festival,
Recalls the pleasures of youth's opening scene,
And age seems young -- rememb'ring what hath been.

Even as children in their happiest hours,
Gath'ring the blossoms which around them grow,
Will sometimes turn and strew the early flowers
Over the grave of one -- there lying low --
Who watched their infancy -- so we; for ours
Are kindred feelings: we as gently throw
Our mem'ry garlands on the closing grave
Of joys we lov'd -- yet, loving, could not save.

Mermaid I Read Poem

AS we lay musing in our beds,
So well and so warm at ease,
I thought upon those lodging-beds
Poor seamen have at seas.

Last Easter day, in the morning fair,
We was not far from land,
Where we spied a mermaid on the rock,
With comb and glass in hand.

The first came up the mate of our ship,
With lead and line in hand,
To sound and see how deep we was
From any rock or sand.

The next came up the boatswain of our ship,
With courage stout and bold:
‘Stand fast, stand fast, my brave lively lads,
Stand fast, my brave hearts of gold!’
Our gallant ship is gone to wreck,
Which was so lately trimmd;
The raging seas has sprung a leak,
And the salt water does run in.

Our gold and silver, and all our cloths,
And all that ever we had,
We forced was to heave them overboard,
Thinking our lives to save.

In all, the number that was on board
Was five hundred and sixty-four,
And all that ever came alive on shore
There was but poor ninety-five.

The first bespoke the captain of our ship,
And a well-spoke man was he;
‘I have a wife in fair Plymouth town,
And a widow I fear she must be.

’
The next bespoke the mate of our ship,
And a well-bespoke man was he;
‘I have a wife in fair Portsmouth,
And a widow I fear she must be.

’
The next bespoke the boatswain of our ship,
And a well-bespoke man was he;
‘I have a wife in fair Exeter,
And a widow I fear she must be.

’
The next bespoke the little cabbin-boy,
And a well-bespoke boy was he;
‘I am as sorry for my mother dear
As you are for your wives all three.

‘Last night, when the moon shin’d bright,
My mother had sons five,
But now she may look in the salt seas
And find but one alive.

’
‘Call a boat, call a boat, you little
Plymouth boys,
Don’t you hear how the trumpet[s] sound?

[For] the want of our boat our gallant ship
is lost,
And the most of our merry men is drownd.

’
Whilst the raging seas do roar,
And the lofty winds do blow,
And we poor seamen do lie on the top,
Whilst the landmen lies below.

Mermaid song IV Read Poem

GREENLAND, Greenland, is a bonny, bonny place,
Whare there’s neither grief nor flowr,
Whare there’s neither grief nor tier to be
seen,
But hills and frost and snow.

Up starts the kemp o the ship,
Wi a psalm-book in his hand:
‘Swoom away, swoom away, my merry old boys,
For you’ll never see dry land.

’
Up starts the gaucy cook,
And a weil gaucy cook was he;
‘I wad na gie aw my pans and my kettles
For aw the lords in the sea.

’
Up starts the kemp o the ship,
Wi a bottle and a glass intil his hand;
‘Swoom away, swoom away, my merry old sailors,
For you’ll never see dry land.

’
O the raging seas they row, row, row,
The stormy winds do blow,
As sune as he had gane up to the tap,
As .

.

.

low.

Mermaid Song Iv Read Poem

GREENLAND, Greenland, is a bonny, bonny place,
Whare there’s neither grief nor flowr,
Whare there’s neither grief nor tier to be
seen,
But hills and frost and snow.

Up starts the kemp o the ship,
Wi a psalm-book in his hand:
‘Swoom away, swoom away, my merry old boys,
For you’ll never see dry land.

’
Up starts the gaucy cook,
And a weil gaucy cook was he;
‘I wad na gie aw my pans and my kettles
For aw the lords in the sea.

’
Up starts the kemp o the ship,
Wi a bottle and a glass intil his hand;
‘Swoom away, swoom away, my merry old sailors,
For you’ll never see dry land.

’
O the raging seas they row, row, row,
The stormy winds do blow,
As sune as he had gane up to the tap,
As .

.

.

low.

Michaelmas Term Begins Read Poem

Vacation's gone -- and pleas and strife
Begin to blossom into life;
And Westminster is overflown
With wit peculiarly its own;
Chief justices with brethren three
Swagger in ermined majesty;
Yet these, like other things, declare
What short-lived fools we mortals are;
For Hilary Term begins to wane
To Easter's transitory reign,
And Trinity's hot sunbeams now
Descend on Michaelmas's snow;
Succeeding Terms their loss atone
But we, when once our days are flown,
With Littleton and Blackstone lie
Like records in the Treasury.

And who can tell, if we shall stay
To earn the fees we touched to-day?

For with the wealth we leave behind
The uninheritable mind
Is what our heirs shall never find.

Monday's Child Read Poem

Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go.

Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
And the child that is born on the Sabbath Day,
Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.

Montem Ode, June 9, 1829. -- From Eton College Read Poem

Behold me once more your old poet ecstatic,
Thought old, blind, and nearly three parts rheumatic,
Yet, alert in my car,
Like a young man-of-war,
Or a horse,
Or a shay,
Or (I'm quite at a loss
What next I should say);
So with out anymore gaytropes and fine figures,
Hail! masters, young, old, white, dusky, or n----.

Late as I lay upon my bed,
And snugly dream't upon my pillow,
Great Phoebus self stood at my head,
And cried, with voice emphatic, hillo,
Get up and sing of Montem, and of salt.

He said and vanished like a pint of malt.

Pregnant with inspiration, up I rose,
First snatched my lyre -- then put on my clothes,
Harnessed my steed,
I did indeed,
And, as I drank a pint of purl, I
Wrote upon the hurly-burly.

Hark! by the sound of the fifes and drums,
I think the Marshal surely comes;
And here he is, Oh! only look!
In red and gold like a leaving book;
Then march on Mr.

Hughes,
In your boots 'stead of shoes;
And y'r servants follow two by two,
But none so gaily dress'd as you.

But see! how grand, with pages fine,
Comes the Captain quite divine!
Ah! my noble Captain Brown
Sure your coat was made in town;
And your pages dress'd as Greeks,
I've not seen such for many weeks;
See they walk so nobly by, humph!
Fit to grace a Roman triumph.

But they're gone by,
And, oh! my eye,
Th Sergeant Major,
With a page, or
Two in his train,
Stalks o'er the plain:
March on then Yonge
Your praise I've sung,
So do'nt be vex'd;
But who comes next?

By my fame, I think 'tis Barrett,
Dress'd as fine as any parrot;
In his clothes of brilliant red,
With his hat upon his head.

But only see, sir,
Sergeant Measor,
Just look at him if you please, sir.

Behind him sergeant Hibbert moves,
In a pair of new white gloves;
Then comes Creasy,
Don't he please ye?

Lo! as bright
As night
By the harvest moon or star-lit;
With gloves on his knuckles,
And shoes and buckles,
March away, march away, Mr.

Scarlett.

Not less enchanting,
See Mr.

Carlton, saunter in
With his legs in leather boots.

Moving to the sound of flutes;
And the portly Mr.

Craven,
Greatly skims along the field:
And Mr.

Armstrong nearly raving,
With a sword but not a shield.

Then comes Mr.

Snow,
Whose red coat as you know
Is as fine as it can be,
With lace very handy;
And Jilp the very pink of fashion,
With breeches, shoes, and hat, and sash on,
After him comes gallant Moore,
And he looks any thing but poor;
And see behind him Mr.

Hulse,
With beating heart, and beating pulse,
Dress'd as gay
As any jay,
In honor of the Montem day.

Then, behold, comes colonel Monck,
Admiring thousands cry "quid nunc;"
See his sword upon his thigh,
See his feathers towering high;
Now, however, he's gone by.

But soft, with a flag,
What ensign is this;
Were I now a wag,
I might say Adonis;
No, sirs, in a word,
Let the plain truth be heard;
Ensign Elliot, advance
With your new step from France,---
Wave the flag, see how funny
The people all talk,
The gents cry out "well done he!"
The mob cry out "Oh lauk!"
Next the gay lieutenant Theed
Struts along; he's fine indeed!
Methinks I hear each lady sigh
As the lieutenant marches by;
To say the truth,
He's a noble youth,
So full of grace and dignity.

But the ladies like, I know,
Most of all the motley show,
Mr.

Price,
Who looks as nice
As king Cambys --
Es,
Or Achilles.

And brave Mr.

Yard,
With a mantle of velvet,
If it should, rain ill-starr'd
Young man! 'twill be well-wet.

The march is done,
Not so my song;
I'd near forgot
(Oh no! I'd not),
The steward Ford,
Upon my word,
Without the aid of silk and lace;
His native dignity and grace
Make him a good one for his place.

My tale is o'er, my lyre unstrung,
The last, last rhyme upon my tongue;
My donkey, first and best of asses,
Well fed to day, at least, on grass is;
Farewell, then! should the toward muse
Expire, e're the next Montem views,
O, give a pearly drop of tear,
If not, -- a pint of purl, or beer --
To Herbert Stockhore,
Punctual as clock, or
Bailiff, or dun,
Or Tartar, or Hun.

Farewell, the world hath been, and must be,
To poets, statesmen, fiddlers, and to me.

Preceding the poem in Hone's Year Book, is an exhaustive description of the Eton Montem procession, beginning with this explanation, "The origin of this very curious and singular custom, which is triennially celebrated on Whit-Tuesday, is involved in doubt and obscurity.

Some suppose that it was coeval with the foundation of Eton college, and that it derives its title from a Monkish procession taking place annually to a small mount (perhaps formerly a Saxon barrow, bear a village, at present situated on the Bath road,) called Salthill;.

There are copies of doggrel verses distributed on the occasion, and, having fortunately one of the last before me, it is annexed.

It will be instantly perceived that there is no attempt at euphuism in them -- the names are those of the Boys in their order in the procession.

"
Proceeding the poem is a little comment, "It must be confessed that, in point of sense -- I had well nigh said nonsense -- this Ode comes up to its subject.

Really I am surprised that something better is not produced, considering that one Montem is three years distant from another, and that Eton boys have a reputation for talent, which such a composition tends to falsify.

March, 1831.

My Face Read Poem

My face isn't pretty,
Nor is it quite plain —
I suppose it's an ordin'ry
Face in the main.

My mum says, "If even
You had your hair curled,
You wouldn't exactly
Be a Miss World,
But cheer up, my lovely,
Don't look glum all the while —
You'd look so much nicer
If only you'd smile!"

My Heart is High Above Read Poem

MY heart is high above, my body is full of bliss,
For I am set in luve as well as I would wiss
I luve my lady pure and she luvis me again,
I am her serviture, she is my soverane;
She is my very heart, I am her howp and heill,
She is my joy invart, I am her luvar leal;
I am her bond and thrall, she is at my command;
I am perpetual her man, both foot and hand;
The thing that may her please my body sall fulfil;
Quhatever her disease, it does my body ill.

My bird, my bonny ane, my tender babe venust,
My luve, my life alane, my liking and my lust!
We interchange our hairtis in others armis soft,
Spriteless we twa depairtis, usand our luvis oft.

We mourn when licht day dawis, we plain the nicht is short,
We curse the cock that crawis, that hinderis our disport.

I glowffin up aghast, quhen I her miss on nicht,
And in my oxter fast I find the bowster richt;
Then languor on me lies like Morpheus the mair,
Quhilk causes me uprise and to my sweet repair.

And then is all the sorrow forth of remembrance
That ever I had a-forrow in luvis observance.

Thus never I do rest, so lusty a life I lead,
Quhen that I list to test the well of womanheid.

Luvaris in pain, I pray God send you sic remeid
As I have nicht and day, you to defend from deid!
Therefore be ever true unto your ladies free,
And they will on you rue as mine has done on me.

GLOSS: wiss] wish.

heill] health.

invart] inward.

venust] delightful.

glowffin] blink on awaking.

oxter] armpit.

a-forrow] aforetime.

My Heart Is High Above Read Poem

MY heart is high above, my body is full of bliss,
For I am set in luve as well as I would wiss
I luve my lady pure and she luvis me again,
I am her serviture, she is my soverane;
She is my very heart, I am her howp and heill,
She is my joy invart, I am her luvar leal;
I am her bond and thrall, she is at my command;
I am perpetual her man, both foot and hand;
The thing that may her please my body sall fulfil;
Quhatever her disease, it does my body ill.

My bird, my bonny ane, my tender babe venust,
My luve, my life alane, my liking and my lust!
We interchange our hairtis in others armis soft,
Spriteless we twa depairtis, usand our luvis oft.

We mourn when licht day dawis, we plain the nicht is short, 15
We curse the cock that crawis, that hinderis our disport.

I glowffin up aghast, quhen I her miss on nicht,
And in my oxter fast I find the bowster richt;
Then languor on me lies like Morpheus the mair,
Quhilk causes me uprise and to my sweet repair.

And then is all the sorrow forth of remembrance
That ever I had a-forrow in luvis observance.

Thus never I do rest, so lusty a life I lead,
Quhen that I list to test the well of womanheid.

Luvaris in pain, I pray God send you sic remeid
As I have nicht and day, you to defend from deid!
Therefore be ever true unto your ladies free,
And they will on you rue as mine has done on me.

My Love In Her Attire Read Poem

My Loue in her Attyre doth shew her witt,
It doth so well become her:
For eu'ry season she hath dressings fitt,
For Winter, Spring, and Summer.

No Beautie shee doth misse,
When all her Robes are on:
But Beauties selfe shee is,
When all her Robes are gone.

Nell Flaherty’s Drake Read Poem

MY NAME it is Nell, right candid I tell,
And I live near a dell I ne’er will deny,
I had a large drake, the truth for to spake,
My grandfather left me when going to die;
He was merry and sound, and would weigh twenty pound,
The universe round would I rove for his sake.

Bad luck to the robber, be he drunken or sober,
That murdered Nell Flaherty’s beautiful drake.

His neck it was green, and rare to be seen,
He was fit for a queen of the highest degree.

His body so white, it would you delight,
He was fat, plump, and heavy, and brisk as a bee.

This dear little fellow, his legs they were yellow,
He could fly like a swallow, or swim like a hake,
But some wicked habbage, to grease his white cabbage,
Has murdered Nell Flaherty’s beautiful drake!
May his pig never grunt, may his cat never hunt,
That a ghost may him haunt in the dark of the night.

May his hens never lay, may his horse never neigh,
May his goat fly away like an old paper kite;
May his duck never quack, may his goose be turned black
And pull down his stack with her long yellow beak.

May the scurvy and itch never part from the britch
Of the wretch that murdered Nell Flaherty’s drake!
May his rooster ne’er crow, may his bellows not blow,
Nor potatoes to grow—may he never have none—
May his cradle not rock, may his chest have no lock,
May his wife have no frock for to shade her backbone.

That the bugs and the fleas may this wicked wretch tease,
And a piercing north breeze make him tremble and shake.

May a four-years’-old bug build a nest in the lug
Of the monster that murdered Nell Flaherty’s drake.

May his pipe never smoke, may his tea-pot be broke,
And to add to the joke may his kettle not boil;
May he be poorly fed till the hour he is dead.

May he always be fed on lobscouse and fish oil.

May he swell with the gout till his grinders fall out,
May he roar, howl, and shout with a horrid toothache,
May his temple wear horns and his toes carry corns,
The wretch that murdered Nell Flaherty’s drake.

May his dog yelp and howl with both hunger and cold,
May his wife always scold till his brains go astray.

May the curse of each hag, that ever carried a bag,
Light down on the wag till his head it turns gray.

May monkeys still bite him, and mad dogs affright him,
And every one slight him, asleep or awake.

May wasps ever gnaw him, and jackdaws ever claw him,
The monster that murdered Nell Flaherty’s drake.

But the only good news I have to diffuse,
Is of Peter Hughes and Paddy McCade,
And crooked Ned Manson, and big-nosed Bob Hanson,
Each one had a grandson of my beautiful drake.

Oh! my bird he has dozens of nephews and cousins,
And one I must have, or my heart it will break.

To keep my mind easy, or else I’ll run crazy,
And so ends the song of my beautiful drake.

From ' Anthology of Irish Verse.

'  1922.

Nightingale in the East Read Poem

On a dark lonely night on the Crimea’s dread shore
There had been bloodshed and strife on the morning before,
The dead and the dying lay bleeding around,
Some crying for help – there’s none to be found;
And God in his mercy he pity’d their cries,
And the soldier so cheerful in the morning do rise,
So forward my lads, may your hearts never fail,
You’re cheered by the presence of Miss Nightingale.

Now God sent this woman to succour the brave,
Some thousands she saved from an untimely grave,
Her eyes beam with pleasure, she’s bounteous and good,
The wants of the wounded are by her understood.

With fever some brought in with life almost gone,
Some with mangled limbs, some to fragments is torn
But they keep up their spirits, their hearts never fail
Now they’re cheer’d by presence of sweet Miss F.

Nightingale.

Her heart it means good – for no bounty she’ll take
She’d lay down her life for the poor soldier’s sake,
She pray’d for the dying, gave peace to the brave,
She felt that a soldier had a soul to be saved;
The wounded they lov’d her, as it has been seen,
She’s the soldier’s preserver they call her their queen.

May God give her strength, & her heart never fail,
One of heaven’s best gifts is Miss Nightingale.

The wives of the wounded how thankful were they
Their husbands were car’d for – now happy & gay,
Whate’er her country, thi gift God has given,
The soldiers all said she was an angel from Heaven.

Sing praise to this woman, deny it who can!
All females were sent for the comfort of man,
Let’s hope no more against them you’ll rail,
Use them well & they’ll prove like Miss Nightingale.

Nightingale's Song to the Sick Soldier Read Poem

Listen, soldier, to the tale of the tender nightingale,
'Tis a charm that soon will ease your wounds so cruel,
Singing medicine for your pain, in a sympathetic strain,
With a jug, jug, jug of lemonade or gruel.

Singing bandages and lint; salve and cerate without stint,
Singing plenty both of liniment and lotion,
And your mixtures pushed about, and the pills for you served out,
With alacrity and promptitude of motion.

Singing light and gentle hands, and a nurse who understands
How to manage every sort of application,
From a poultice to a leech; whom you haven't got to teach
The way to make a poppy fomentation.

Singing pillow for you, smoothed; smart and ache and anguish smoothed,
By the readiness of feminine invention;
Singing fever's thirst allayed, and the bed you've tumbled made,
With a cheerful and considerate attention.

Singing succour to the brave, and a rescue from the grave,
Hear the nightingale that's come to the Crimea,
'Tis a nightingale as strong in her heart as in her song,
To carry out so gallant an idea.

Northumberland Betrayed by Douglas Read Poem

"How long shall fortune faile me nowe,
And harrowe me with fear and dread?

How long shall I in bale abide,
In misery my life to lead?

"To fall from my bliss, alas the while!
It was my sore and heavye lott:
And I must leave my native land,
And I must live a man forgot.

"One gentle Armstrong I doe ken,
A Scot he is, much bound to mee;
He dwelleth on the Border side,
To him I'll goe right privilie.

"
Thus did the noble Percy 'plaine,
With a heavy heart and wel-away,
When he with all his gallant men
On Bramham moor had lost the day.

But when he to the Armstrongs came,
They dealt with him all treacherouslye;
For they did strip that noble erle,
And ever an ill death may they dye!
False Hector to Earl Murray sent,
To shew him where his guest did hide,
Who sent him to te Lough-leven,
With William Douglas to abide.

And when he to the Douglas came,
He halched him right courteouslie;
Say'd, "Welcome, welcome, noble earle,
Here thou shalt safelye bide with mee.

"
When he had in Lough-leven been
Many a month and many a day,
To the regent the lord warden sent,
That banisht erle for to betray.

He offered him great store of gold,
And wrote a letter fair to see,
Saying, "Good my Lord, grant me my boon,
And yield that banisht man to mee.

"
Erle Percy at the supper sate,
With many a goodly gentleman;
The wylie Douglas then bespake,
And thus to flyte with him began.

"What makes you be so sad, my Lord,
And in your mind so sorrowfullye?

To-morrow a shootinge will bee held
Among the lords of the North countrye.

"The butts are sett, the shootinge's made,
And there will be great royaltye;
And I am sworne into my bille,
Thither to bring my Lord Percye.

"
"I'll give thee my hand, thou gentle Douglas,
And here by my true faith," quoth hee,
"If thou wilt ride to the worldes end
I will ryde in thy companye.

"
And then bespake a lady faire,
Mary a Douglas was her name;
"You shall bide here, good English Lord,
My brother is a traiterous man.

"He is a traitor stout and stronge,
As I tell you in privitie;
For he hath tane liverance of the erle
Into England nowe to 'liver thee.

"
"Now nay, now nay, thou goodly lady,
The regent is a noble lord;
Ne for the gold in all England,
The Douglas wold not break his word.

"When the regent was a banisht man,
With me he did faire welcome find;
And whether weal or woe betide,
I still shall find him true and kind.

"Between England and Scotland it wold breake truce,
And friends againe they wold never bee,
If they shold 'liver a banisht erle,
Was driven out of his own countrie.

"
"Alas! alas! my Lord," she sayes,
"Nowe micke is their traitorie;
Then lett my brother ryde his wayes,
And tell those English lords from thee,
"How that you cannot with him ryde,
Because you are in an ile of the sea,
Then ere my brother come againe,
To Edenborrow castle Ile carry thee.

"To the Lord Hume I will thee bring;
He is well knowne a true Scots lord,
And he will lose both land and life,
Ere he with thee will break his word.

"
"Much is my woe," Lord Percy sayd,
"When I thinke on my own countrie,
When I thinke on the heavye happe
My friends have suffered there for mee.

"Much is my woe," Lord Percy sayd,
"And sore those wars my minde distresse;
Where many a widow lost her mate,
And many a child was fatherlesse.

"And now that I, a banisht man,
Shold bring such evil happe with mee,
To cause my faire and noble friends
To be suspect of treacherie,
"This rives my heart with double woe;
And lever had I dye this day,
Than thinke a Douglas can be false,
Or ever he will his guest betray.

"
"If you'll give me no trust, my Lord,
Nor unto mee no credence yield,
Yet step one moment here aside,
Ile showe you all your foes in field.

"
"Lady, I never loved witchcraft,
Never dealt in privy wyle;
But evermore held the high-waye
Of truth and honours, free from guile.

"
"If you'll not come yourselfe, my Lorde,
Yet send your chamberlaine with mee,
Let me but speak three words with him,
And he shall come again to thee.

"
James Swynard with that lady went,
She showed him through the weme of her ring
How many English lords there were
Waiting for his master and him.

"And who walkes yonder, my good lady,
So royallye on yonder greene?

"
"O yonder is the Lord Hunsden:
Alas! he doe you drie and teene.

"
"And who beth yonder, thou gay ladye,
That walkes so proudly him beside?

"
"That is Sir William Drury," shee sayd,
"A keene captaine hee is and tryde.

"
"How many miles is itt, madame,
Betwixt yond English lords and mee?

"
"Marry it is thrice fifty miles,
To saile to them upon the sea.

"I never was on English ground,
Ne never sawe it with mine eye,
But as my book it sheweth mee,
And through my ring I may descrye.

"My mother shee was a witch ladye,
And of her skille she learned mee;
She wold let me see out of Lough-leven
What they did in London citie.

"
"But who is yond, thou lady faire,
That looketh with sic an austerne face?

"
"Yonder is Sir John Foster," quoth shee,
"Alas! he'll do ye sore disgrace.

"
He pulled his hatt down over his browe;
He wept, in his heart he was full of woe;
And he is gone to his noble lord,
Those sorrowful tidings him to show.

"Now nay, now nay, good James Swynard,
I may not believe that witch ladie;
The Douglasses were ever true,
And they can ne'er prove false to mee.

"I have now in Lough-leven been
The most part of these years three,
Yett have I never had noe outrake,
Ne no good games that I cold see.

"Therefore I'll to yond shooting wend,
As to the Douglas I have hight:
Betide me weale, betide me woe,
He ne'er shall find my promise light.

"
He writhe a gold ring from his finger,
And gave itt to that gay ladie:
Sayes, "It was all that I cold save,
In Harley woods where I cold bee.

"
"And wilt thou goe, thou noble Lord?

Then farewell truth and honestie,
And farewell heart, and farewell hand,
For never more I shall thee see.

"
The wind was faire, the boatmen call'd,
And all the saylors were on borde;
Then William Douglas took to his boat,
And with him went that noble lord.

Then he cast up a silver wand,
Says, "Gentle lady, fare thee well!"
The lady fett a sigh soe deep,
And in a dead swoone down shee fell.

"Now let us goe back, Douglas," he sayd,
"A sickness hath taken yond faire ladie;
If ought befall yond lady but good,
Then blamed for ever I shall bee.

"
"Come on, come on, my Lord," he sayes,
"Come on, come on, and let her bee;
There's ladyes enow in Lough-leven
For to cheere that gay ladie.

"
"If you'll not turne yourself, my Lord,
Let me goe with my chamberlaine;
We will but comfort that faire lady
And wee will return to you againe.

"
"Come on, come on, my Lord," he sayes,
"Come on, come on, and let her bee;
My sister is craftye, and wold beguile
A thousand such as you and mee.

"
When they had sayled fifty myle,
Now fifty mile upon the sea,
Hee snt his man to ask the Douglas,
When they shold that shooting see.

"Faire words," quoth he, "they make fooles faine,
And that by thee and thy lord is seen;
You may hap to think itt soon enough,
Ere you that shooting reach, I ween.

"
Jamye his hatt pulled over his browe,
He thought his lord then was betray'd;
And he is to Erle Percy againe,
To tell him what the Douglas sayd.

"Hold upp thy head, man," quoth his lord,
"Nor therefore lett thy courage fayle;
He did it but to prove thy heart,
To see if he cold make it quail.

"
When they had other fifty sayld,
Other fifty mile upon the sea,
Lord Percy called to Douglas himselfe,
Sayd, "What wilt thou nowe doe with mee?

"
"Looke that your brydle be wight, my Lord,
And your horse goe swift as shipp att sea;
Looke that your spurres be bright and sharpe,
That you may pricke her while she'll away.

"
"What needeth this, Douglas?

" he sayth;
"What needest thou to flyte with mee?

For I was counted a horseman good
Before that ever I mett with thee.

"A false Hector hath my horse,
Who dealt with mee so treacherouslie;
A false Armstrong he hath my spurres,
And all the geere belongs to mee.

"
When they had sayled other fifty mile,
Other fifty mile upon the sea,
They landed low by Berwicke side,
A deputed 'laird' landed Lord Percye.

Then he at Yorke was doomde to dye,
It was, alas! a sorrowful sight;
Thus they betrayed that noble earle,
Who ever was a gallant wight.

Quoted from Percy's Reliques, 'This ballad may be considered as the sequel of [The Rising in the North].

After the unfortunate Earl of Northumberland had seen himself forsaken of his followers, he endeavoured to withdraw into Scotland, but falling into the hands of the thievish borderers, was stript and otherwise ill-treated by them.

At length he reached the house of Hector of Harlow, an Armstrong, with whom he hoped to lie concealed; for Hector had engaged his honour to be true to him, and was under great obligations to this unhappy nobleman.

But this faithless wretch betrayed his guest for a sum of money to Murray, the regent of Scotland, who sent him to the Castle of Lough-leven, then belonging to William Douglas.

All the writers of that time assure us that Hector, who was rich before, fell shortly afterwards into poverty, and became so infamous, that
to take Hectors cloak,
grew into a proverb, to express a man who betrays his friend.

'
'To the regent.

': James Douglas, Earl of Morton, elected regent of Scotland, Nov.

24, 1572.

the lord warden sent': Of one of the English Marches.

Lord Hunsden.

'For he hath tane liverance of the erle': Of the Earl of Morton, the regent.

'Because you are in an ile of the sea': i.

Lake of Leven, which hath communication with the sea.

'To Eddenborrow castle': At that time in the hands of the opposite faction.

'O yonder is the Lord Hunsden': The Lord Warden of the East Marches.

'That is Sir William Drury': Governor of Berwick.

'Yonder is Sir John Foster': Warden of the middle March.

'In Harley woods where I cold bee.

': i.

e, Where I was: an ancient idiom.

'When they had sayled fifty myle': There is no navigable stream between Lough-leven and the sea: but a ballad-maker is not obliged to understand geography.

Northumberland Betrayed By Douglas Read Poem

'How long shall fortune faile me nowe,
And harrowe me with fear and dread?

How long shall I in bale abide,
In misery my life to lead?

'To fall from my bliss, alas the while!
It was my sore and heavye lott:
And I must leave my native land,
And I must live a man forgot.

'One gentle Armstrong I doe ken,
A Scot he is, much bound to mee;
He dwelleth on the Border side,
To him I'll goe right privilie.

'
Thus did the noble Percy 'plaine,
With a heavy heart and wel-away,
When he with all his gallant men
On Bramham moor had lost the day.

But when he to the Armstrongs came,
They dealt with him all treacherouslye;
For they did strip that noble erle,
And ever an ill death may they dye!
False Hector to Earl Murray sent,
To shew him where his guest did hide,
Who sent him to te Lough-leven,
With William Douglas to abide.

And when he to the Douglas came,
He halched him right courteouslie;
Say'd, 'Welcome, welcome, noble earle,
Here thou shalt safelye bide with mee.

'
When he had in Lough-leven been
Many a month and many a day,
To the regent the lord warden sent,
That banisht erle for to betray.

He offered him great store of gold,
And wrote a letter fair to see,
Saying, 'Good my Lord, grant me my boon,
And yield that banisht man to mee.

'
Erle Percy at the supper sate,
With many a goodly gentleman;
The wylie Douglas then bespake,
And thus to flyte with him began.

'What makes you be so sad, my Lord,
And in your mind so sorrowfullye?

To-morrow a shootinge will bee held
Among the lords of the North countrye.

'The butts are sett, the shootinge's made,
And there will be great royaltye;
And I am sworne into my bille,
Thither to bring my Lord Percye.

'
'I'll give thee my hand, thou gentle Douglas,
And here by my true faith,' quoth hee,
'If thou wilt ride to the worldes end
I will ryde in thy companye.

'
And then bespake a lady faire,
Mary a Douglas was her name;
'You shall bide here, good English Lord,
My brother is a traiterous man.

'He is a traitor stout and stronge,
As I tell you in privitie;
For he hath tane liverance of the erle
Into England nowe to 'liver thee.

'
'Now nay, now nay, thou goodly lady,
The regent is a noble lord;
Ne for the gold in all England,
The Douglas wold not break his word.

'When the regent was a banisht man,
With me he did faire welcome find;
And whether weal or woe betide,
I still shall find him true and kind.

'Between England and Scotland it wold breake truce,
And friends againe they wold never bee,
If they shold 'liver a banisht erle,
Was driven out of his own countrie.

'
'Alas! alas! my Lord,' she sayes,
'Nowe micke is their traitorie;
Then lett my brother ryde his wayes,
And tell those English lords from thee,
'How that you cannot with him ryde,
Because you are in an ile of the sea,
Then ere my brother come againe,
To Edenborrow castle Ile carry thee.

'To the Lord Hume I will thee bring;
He is well knowne a true Scots lord,
And he will lose both land and life,
Ere he with thee will break his word.

'
'Much is my woe,' Lord Percy sayd,
'When I thinke on my own countrie,
When I thinke on the heavye happe
My friends have suffered there for mee.

'Much is my woe,' Lord Percy sayd,
'And sore those wars my minde distresse;
Where many a widow lost her mate,
And many a child was fatherlesse.

'And now that I, a banisht man,
Shold bring such evil happe with mee,
To cause my faire and noble friends
To be suspect of treacherie,
'This rives my heart with double woe;
And lever had I dye this day,
Than thinke a Douglas can be false,
Or ever he will his guest betray.

'
'If you'll give me no trust, my Lord,
Nor unto mee no credence yield,
Yet step one moment here aside,
Ile showe you all your foes in field.

'
'Lady, I never loved witchcraft,
Never dealt in privy wyle;
But evermore held the high-waye
Of truth and honours, free from guile.

'
'If you'll not come yourselfe, my Lorde,
Yet send your chamberlaine with mee,
Let me but speak three words with him,
And he shall come again to thee.

'
James Swynard with that lady went,
She showed him through the weme of her ring
How many English lords there were
Waiting for his master and him.

'And who walkes yonder, my good lady,
So royallye on yonder greene?

'
'O yonder is the Lord Hunsden:
Alas! he doe you drie and teene.

'
'And who beth yonder, thou gay ladye,
That walkes so proudly him beside?

'
'That is Sir William Drury,' shee sayd,
'A keene captaine hee is and tryde.

'
'How many miles is itt, madame,
Betwixt yond English lords and mee?

'
'Marry it is thrice fifty miles,
To saile to them upon the sea.

'I never was on English ground,
Ne never sawe it with mine eye,
But as my book it sheweth mee,
And through my ring I may descrye.

'My mother shee was a witch ladye,
And of her skille she learned mee;
She wold let me see out of Lough-leven
What they did in London citie.

'
'But who is yond, thou lady faire,
That looketh with sic an austerne face?

'
'Yonder is Sir John Foster,' quoth shee,
'Alas! he'll do ye sore disgrace.

'
He pulled his hatt down over his browe;
He wept, in his heart he was full of woe;
And he is gone to his noble lord,
Those sorrowful tidings him to show.

'Now nay, now nay, good James Swynard,
I may not believe that witch ladie;
The Douglasses were ever true,
And they can ne'er prove false to mee.

'I have now in Lough-leven been
The most part of these years three,
Yett have I never had noe outrake,
Ne no good games that I cold see.

'Therefore I'll to yond shooting wend,
As to the Douglas I have hight:
Betide me weale, betide me woe,
He ne'er shall find my promise light.

'
He writhe a gold ring from his finger,
And gave itt to that gay ladie:
Sayes, 'It was all that I cold save,
In Harley woods where I cold bee.

'
'And wilt thou goe, thou noble Lord?

Then farewell truth and honestie,
And farewell heart, and farewell hand,
For never more I shall thee see.

'
The wind was faire, the boatmen call'd,
And all the saylors were on borde;
Then William Douglas took to his boat,
And with him went that noble lord.

Then he cast up a silver wand,
Says, 'Gentle lady, fare thee well!'
The lady fett a sigh soe deep,
And in a dead swoone down shee fell.

'Now let us goe back, Douglas,' he sayd,
'A sickness hath taken yond faire ladie;
If ought befall yond lady but good,
Then blamed for ever I shall bee.

'
'Come on, come on, my Lord,' he sayes,
'Come on, come on, and let her bee;
There's ladyes enow in Lough-leven
For to cheere that gay ladie.

'
'If you'll not turne yourself, my Lord,
Let me goe with my chamberlaine;
We will but comfort that faire lady
And wee will return to you againe.

'
'Come on, come on, my Lord,' he sayes,
'Come on, come on, and let her bee;
My sister is craftye, and wold beguile
A thousand such as you and mee.

'
When they had sayled fifty myle,
Now fifty mile upon the sea,
Hee snt his man to ask the Douglas,
When they shold that shooting see.

'Faire words,' quoth he, 'they make fooles faine,
And that by thee and thy lord is seen;
You may hap to think itt soon enough,
Ere you that shooting reach, I ween.

'
Jamye his hatt pulled over his browe,
He thought his lord then was betray'd;
And he is to Erle Percy againe,
To tell him what the Douglas sayd.

'Hold upp thy head, man,' quoth his lord,
'Nor therefore lett thy courage fayle;
He did it but to prove thy heart,
To see if he cold make it quail.

'
When they had other fifty sayld,
Other fifty mile upon the sea,
Lord Percy called to Douglas himselfe,
Sayd, 'What wilt thou nowe doe with mee?

'
'Looke that your brydle be wight, my Lord,
And your horse goe swift as shipp att sea;
Looke that your spurres be bright and sharpe,
That you may pricke her while she'll away.

'
'What needeth this, Douglas?

' he sayth;
'What needest thou to flyte with mee?

For I was counted a horseman good
Before that ever I mett with thee.

'A false Hector hath my horse,
Who dealt with mee so treacherouslie;
A false Armstrong he hath my spurres,
And all the geere belongs to mee.

'
When they had sayled other fifty mile,
Other fifty mile upon the sea,
They landed low by Berwicke side,
A deputed 'laird' landed Lord Percye.

Then he at Yorke was doomde to dye,
It was, alas! a sorrowful sight;
Thus they betrayed that noble earle,
Who ever was a gallant wight.

Not Marke, But Mercurie Keepes Her Warme Read Poem

Not Marke, but Mercurie keepes her warme,
And Neptune hugs her in his arme
Infertill, fertile of all good things,
Her Lord her seruant her children kings.

Nothing Like Leather Read Poem

A town fear'd a seige and held consultation
Which was the best method of fortification;
A grave skilful mason said, in his opinion,
That nothing but stone could secure the dominion;
A carpenter said, though that was well spoke,
It was better by far to defend it with oak;
A currier, wiser than both these together,
Said, "try what you please -- there's nothing like leather.

"

O For a Book Read Poem

O for a book and a shady nook,
Either indoors or out;
With the green leaves whispering overhead,
Or the street cries all about;
Where I may read all at my ease,
Both of the new and old;
For a jolly good book whereon to look
Is better to me than gold.

O Lusty May Read Poem

O LUSTY May, with Flora queen!
The balmy dropis from Phoebus sheen
Preluciand beams before the day:
By that Diana growis green
Through gladness of this lusty May.

Then Esperus, that is so bricht,
Til woful hairtis castis his light,
With bankis that bloomis on every brae;
And schouris are shed forth of their sicht
Through gladness of this lusty May.

Birdis on bewis of every birth,
Rejoicing notis makand their mirth
Richt plesantly upon the spray,
With flourishingis o'er field and firth
Through gladness of this lusty May.

All luvaris that are in care
To their ladies they do repair
In fresh morningis before the day,
And are in mirth ay mair and mair
Through gladness of this lusty May.

GLOSS:  sheen] bright.

til] into.

schouris] showers.

bewis] boughs.

birth] kind.

Of a Rose, a Lovely Rose, Of a Rose is Al myn Song Read Poem

Lestenyt, lordynges, both elde and yinge,
How this rose began to sprynge;
Swych a rose to myn lykynge
In al this word ne knowe I non.

The aungil came fro hevene tour
To grete Marye with gret honour,
And seyde sche xuld bere the flour
That xulde breke the fyndes bond.

The flour sprong in heye Bedlem,
That is bothe bryht and schen:
The rose is Mary, hevene qwen,
Out of here bosum the blosme sprong.

The ferste braunche is ful of myht,
That sprong on Crystemesse nyht,
The sterre schon over Bedlem bryht
That is bothe brod and long.

The secunde braunche sprong to helle,
The fendys power doun to felle:
Therein myht non sowle dwelle;
Blyssid be the time the rose sprong!
The thredde braunche is good and swote,
It sprang to hevene, crop and rote,
Therein to dwellyn and ben our bote;
Every day it schewit in prystes hond.

Prey we to here with gret honour,
She that bar the blyssid flowr,
She be our helpe and our socour
And schyld us fro the fyndes bond.

lestenyt: listen.

word: world.

xuld: was to.

fyndes: Devil's.

schen: beautiful.

hevene qwen: heaven's queen.

bote: salvation.

Of A Rose, A Lovely Rose, Of A Rose Is Al Myn Song Read Poem

Lestenyt, lordynges, both elde and yinge,
How this rose began to sprynge;
Swych a rose to myn lykynge
In al this word ne knowe I non.

The aungil came fro hevene tour
To grete Marye with gret honour,
And seyde sche xuld bere the flour
That xulde breke the fyndes bond.

The flour sprong in heye Bedlem,
That is bothe bryht and schen:
The rose is Mary, hevene qwen,
Out of here bosum the blosme sprong.

The ferste braunche is ful of myht,
That sprong on Crystemesse nyht,
The sterre schon over Bedlem bryht
That is bothe brod and long.

The secunde braunche sprong to helle,
The fendys power doun to felle:
Therein myht non sowle dwelle;
Blyssid be the time the rose sprong!
The thredde braunche is good and swote,
It sprang to hevene, crop and rote,
Therein to dwellyn and ben our bote;
Every day it schewit in prystes hond.

Prey we to here with gret honour,
She that bar the blyssid flowr,
She be our helpe and our socour
And schyld us fro the fyndes bond.

Of The Incomparable Treasure Of The Holy Scriptures, With A Prayer For The Use Of The Same Read Poem

Here is the spring where waters flowe,
to quench our heate of sinne:
Here is the tree where trueth doth grow,
to leade our liues therein:
Here is the iudge that stints the strife,
when mens deuices faile:
Here is the bread that feedes the life,
that death cannot assaile.

The tidings of saluation deare,
comes to our eares from hence:
The fortresse of our faith is here,
and shielde of our defence.

Then be not like the hogge that hath
a pearle at his desire,
And takes more pleasure in the trough
and wallowing in the mire.

Reade not this booke in any case,
but with a single eye:
Reade not but first desire Gods grace,
to vnderstand thereby.

Pray still in faith with this respect,
to fructifie therein,
That knowledge may bring this effect,
to mortifie thy sinne.

Then happy thou in all thy life,
what so to thee befalles:
Yea, double happie shalt thou be,
when God by death thee calles.

Printed in the Geneva "Breeches" Bible, named "Breeches Bible" due to Genesis III.

7, which says that Adam and Eve, "sewed fig tree leaves together, and made themselves breeches.

"

Oh, How Keen The Wedge Is Driven Read Poem

Oh, how keen the wedge is driven
In fond hearts by words that sting --
Words that ever stand out boldly,
Though years pass and changes ring,
Unkind words ever better banished
From the lips of old and young,
Each should learn and heed the motto
Let a guard before thy tongue.

Old Robin of Portingale Read Poem

Let the mayors daughter of Lin, God wott,
He chose her to his wife,
And thought with her to have lived in love,
But they fell to hate and strife.

They scarce were in their wee-bed laid,
And scarce was hee asleepe,
But upp shee rose, and forth shee goes,
To the steward, and gan to weepe.

"Sleepe you, wake you, faire Sir Gyles?

Or be you not within?

Sleepe you, wake you, faire Sir Gyles,
Arise and let me inn.

"
"O, I am waking, sweete," he said,
"Sweete ladye, what is your will?

"
"I have unbethought me of a wile,
How my wed-lord weel spill.

"Twenty-four good knights," shee sayes,
"That dwell about this towne,
Even twenty-four of my next cozens,
Will helpe to dinge him downe.

All that beheard his litle foote-page,
As he watered his masters steed,
And for his masters sad perille
His verry heart did bleed.

He mourned, sighed, and wept full sore;
I sweare by the holy roode,
The teares he for his master wept
Were blent water and bloude.

And that beheard his deare master
As he stood at his garden pale:
Sayes, "Ever alacke, my litle footpage,
What causes thee to wail?

"Hath any one done to thee wronge,
Any of thy fellowes here?

Or is any of thy good friends dead,
That thou shedst manye a teare?

"Or, if it be my head bookes-man,
Aggrieved he shal bee,
For no man here within my howse,
Shall doe wrong unto thee.

"
"O, it is not your head bookes-man,
Nor none of his degree,
But on to-morrow, ere it be noone,
All deemed to die are yee.

"And of that bethank your head steward,
And thank your gay ladye.

"
"If this be true, my litle foot-page,
The heyre of my land thoust bee.

"
"If it be not true, my dear master,
No good death let me die.

"
"If it be not true, thou litle foot-page,
A dead corse shalt thou lie.

"O call now downe my faire ladye,
O call her downe to mee;
And tell my ladye gay how sicke,
And like to die I bee.

"
Downe then came his ladye faire,
All clad in purple and pall,
The rings that were on her fingers
Cast light throughout the hall.

"What is your will, my owne wed-lord?

What is your will with mee?

"
"O see, my ladye deere, how sicke,
And like to die I bee.

"
"And thou be sicke, my owne wed-lord,
Soe sore it grieveth me,
But my five maydens and myselfe
Will 'watch thy' bedde for thee,
"And at the waking of your first sleepe,
We will a hott drinke make;
And at the waking of your 'next' sleepe
Your sorrowes we will slake.

"
He put a silk cote on his backe,
And mail of many a fold;
And hee putt a steele cap on his head,
Was gilt with good red gold;
He layd a bright browne sword by his side,
And another att his feete;
'And twentye good knights he placed at hand,
To watch him in his sleepe.

'
And about the middle time of the night,
Came twentye-four traitours inn:
Sir Giles he was the foremost man,
The leader of that ginn.

Old Robin with his bright browne sword
Sir Gyles head soon did winn;
And scant of all those twenty-four
Went out one quick agenn.

None save only a litle foot-page,
Crept forth at a window of stone,
And he had two armes when he came in,
And he went back with one.

Upp then came that ladye gaye
With torches burning bright;
She thought to have brought Sir Gyles a drinke,
Butt she found her owne wedd-knight.

The first thinge that she stumbled on,
It was Sir Gyles his foote:
Sayes, "Ever alacke, and woe is mee,
Here lyes my sweete hart-roote!"
The next thinge that she stumbled on,
It was Sir Gyles his heade:
Sayes, "Ever alacke, and woe is mee,
Heere lyes my true love deade!"
He cutt the papers beside her brest,
And didd her body spille;
He cutt the eares beside her heade,
And bade her love her fille.

He called then up his litle foot page,
And made him there his heyre;
And sayd, "Henceforth my worldlye goodes
And countrye I forsweare.

"
He shope the crosse on his right shoulder,
Of the white 'clothe' and the redde,
And went him into the Holy Land,
Wheras Christ was quicke and dead.

Old Robin Of Portingale Read Poem

Let the mayors daughter of Lin, God wott,
He chose her to his wife,
And thought with her to have lived in love,
But they fell to hate and strife.

They scarce were in their wee-bed laid,
And scarce was hee asleepe,
But upp shee rose, and forth shee goes,
To the steward, and gan to weepe.

'Sleepe you, wake you, faire Sir Gyles?

Or be you not within?

Sleepe you, wake you, faire Sir Gyles,
Arise and let me inn.

'
'O, I am waking, sweete,' he said,
'Sweete ladye, what is your will?

'
'I have unbethought me of a wile,
How my wed-lord weel spill.

'Twenty-four good knights,' shee sayes,
'That dwell about this towne,
Even twenty-four of my next cozens,
Will helpe to dinge him downe.

All that beheard his litle foote-page,
As he watered his masters steed,
And for his masters sad perille
His verry heart did bleed.

He mourned, sighed, and wept full sore;
I sweare by the holy roode,
The teares he for his master wept
Were blent water and bloude.

And that beheard his deare master
As he stood at his garden pale:
Sayes, 'Ever alacke, my litle footpage,
What causes thee to wail?

'Hath any one done to thee wronge,
Any of thy fellowes here?

Or is any of thy good friends dead,
That thou shedst manye a teare?

'Or, if it be my head bookes-man,
Aggrieved he shal bee,
For no man here within my howse,
Shall doe wrong unto thee.

'
'O, it is not your head bookes-man,
Nor none of his degree,
But on to-morrow, ere it be noone,
All deemed to die are yee.

'And of that bethank your head steward,
And thank your gay ladye.

'
'If this be true, my litle foot-page,
The heyre of my land thoust bee.

'
'If it be not true, my dear master,
No good death let me die.

'
'If it be not true, thou litle foot-page,
A dead corse shalt thou lie.

'O call now downe my faire ladye,
O call her downe to mee;
And tell my ladye gay how sicke,
And like to die I bee.

'
Downe then came his ladye faire,
All clad in purple and pall,
The rings that were on her fingers
Cast light throughout the hall.

'What is your will, my owne wed-lord?

What is your will with mee?

'
'O see, my ladye deere, how sicke,
And like to die I bee.

'
'And thou be sicke, my owne wed-lord,
Soe sore it grieveth me,
But my five maydens and myselfe
Will 'watch thy' bedde for thee,
'And at the waking of your first sleepe,
We will a hott drinke make;
And at the waking of your 'next' sleepe
Your sorrowes we will slake.

'
He put a silk cote on his backe,
And mail of many a fold;
And hee putt a steele cap on his head,
Was gilt with good red gold;
He layd a bright browne sword by his side,
And another att his feete;
'And twentye good knights he placed at hand,
To watch him in his sleepe.

'
And about the middle time of the night,
Came twentye-four traitours inn:
Sir Giles he was the foremost man,
The leader of that ginn.

Old Robin with his bright browne sword
Sir Gyles head soon did winn;
And scant of all those twenty-four
Went out one quick agenn.

None save only a litle foot-page,
Crept forth at a window of stone,
And he had two armes when he came in,
And he went back with one.

Upp then came that ladye gaye
With torches burning bright;
She thought to have brought Sir Gyles a drinke,
Butt she found her owne wedd-knight.

The first thinge that she stumbled on,
It was Sir Gyles his foote:
Sayes, 'Ever alacke, and woe is mee,
Here lyes my sweete hart-roote!'
The next thinge that she stumbled on,
It was Sir Gyles his heade:
Sayes, 'Ever alacke, and woe is mee,
Heere lyes my true love deade!'
He cutt the papers beside her brest,
And didd her body spille;
He cutt the eares beside her heade,
And bade her love her fille.

He called then up his litle foot page,
And made him there his heyre;
And sayd, 'Henceforth my worldlye goodes
And countrye I forsweare.

'
He shope the crosse on his right shoulder,
Of the white 'clothe' and the redde,
And went him into the Holy Land,
Wheras Christ was quicke and dead.

Old Tom of Bedlam Read Poem

Forth from my sad and darksome cell,
Or from the deepe abysse of hell,
Mad Tom is come into the world againe
To see if he can cure his distempered braine.

Feares and cares oppresse my soule;
Harke, howe the angrye Fureys houle!
Pluto laughes, and Prosperine is gladd
To see poore naked Tom of Bedlam madd.

Through the world I wander night and day
To seeke my straggling senses;
In angrye moode I mett old Time,
With his pentarchye of tenses.

When me he spyed,
Away he hyed,
For time will stay for no man;
In vaine with cryes
I rent the skyes,
For pity is not common.

Cold and comfortless I lye.

Helpe, oh helpe! or else I dye.

Harke! I heare Apollo's teame,
The carman 'gins to whistle;
Chast Diana bends her bowe,
The boare begins to bristle.

Come, Vulcan, with tools and with tackles,
To knocke off my troublesome shackles!
Bid Charles make ready his waine
To fetch me my senses againe.

Last night I heard the dog-star bark,
Mars met Venus in the darke;
Limping Vulcan het an iron barr,
And furiouslye made at the god of war.

Mars with his weapon laid about,
But Vulcan's temples had the gout,
For his broad horns did so hang in his light
He could not see to aim his blowes aright:
Mercurye, the nimble post of heaven,
Stood still to see the quarrell;
Gorrel-bellyed Bacchus, gyant-like,
Bestryd a strong-beere barrell.

To mee he dranke,
I did him thanke,
But I could get no cyder;
He dranke whole butts
Till he burst his gutts;
But mine were ne'er the wyder.

Poor naked Tom is very drye;
A little drinke, for charitye!
Harke! I hear Acteon's horne.

The huntsmen whoop and hallowe;
Ringwood, Royster, Bowman, Jowler,
All the chase do followe.

The man in the moone drinkes clarret,
Eates powder'd beef, turnip and carret;
But a cup of old Malaga sack
Will fire the bushe at his backe.

On A Sleeping Child Read Poem

Oh! 'tis a touching thing to make one weep;
A tender infant with its curtain'd eye,
Breathing as it would neither live nor die,
With that unmoving countenance of sleep,
As if its silent dream, serene and deep,
Had lined its slumbers with a still blue sky,
So that the passive cheeks unconscious lie
With no more life than roses, just to keep
The blushes warm, and the mild odorous breath.

O blossom boy! so calm is thy repose,
So sweet a compromise of life and death,
'Tis pity those fair buds should e'er unclose,
For memory to stain their inward leaf,
Tinging thy dreams with unacquainted grief.

On Seeing A Butterfly Just Escaped From Its Chrysalis Read Poem

Why, lovely insect, dost thou stand,
And wave thy quiv'ring wing,
As, half afraid thou wert, aloft
On fields of air to spring?

But now has reach'd thy slender form
A sunbeam warm and bright,
And instant thou hast upward sprung
Towards the source of light.

Thus in the portals of the tomb,
The trembling soul shall stand,
Till beams of faith and mercy point
Its way to the promised land.

The land of peace! the land of love!
Where sorrow is unknown,
And songs of joy for ever float
Around th' Almighty's throne!

On The Death And Murder Of Receiver-General William Christian, Of Ronaldsway, Who Was Shot Near Hang Read Poem

In so shifting a scene, who would confidence place
In family power, youth, or in personal grace?

No character's proof against enmity foul;
And thy fate, William Dhône, sickens our soul.

You are Derby's receiver of patriot zeal,
Replete with good sense, and reputed genteel,
Your Sustice applauded by the young and the old;
And thy fate, &c.

A kind, able patron both to church and to state--
What roused their resentment but talents so great?

No character's proof against enmity foul;
And thy fate, &c.

Thy pardon, 'tis rumour'd, came over the main,
Nor late, but conceal'd by a villain in grain;
'Twas fear forced the jury to a sentence so foul;
And thy fate, &c.

Triumphant stood Colcott, he wish'd for no more,
When the pride of the Christians lay welt'ring in gore,
To malice a victim, though steady and bold;
And thy fate, &c.

With adultery stain'd, and polluted with gore,
He Ronaldsway eyed, as Loghuecolly before,
'Twas the land sought the culprit, as Ahab before;
And thy fate, &c.

Proceed to the once famed abode of the Nuns,
Call the Calcotts aloud, till you torture your lungs,
Their short triumph's ended, extinct is the whole;
And thy fate, &c.

For years could Robert lay crippled in bed,
Nor knew the world peace while he held up his head,
The neighbourhood’s scourge in iniquity bold;
And thy fate, &c.

Not one's heard to grieve, seek the country all through,
Nor lament for the name that Bemacan once knew;
The poor rather load it with curses untold;
And thy fate, &c.

10.

Ballaclogh and the Criggans mark strongly their sin,
Not a soul of the name's there to welcome you in;
In the power of the strangers is centred the whole;
And thy fate, &c.

11.

The opulent Scarlett on which the sea flows,
Is piecemeal disposed of to whom the Lord knows;
It is hero without bread or defence from the cold;
And thy fate, &c.

12.

They assert then in vain, that the law sought thy blood,
For all aiding the massacre never did good;
Like the rooted-up golding deprived of its gold,
They languish'd, were blasted, grew wither'd and old.

13.

When the shoots of a tree so corrupted remain,
Like the brier or thistle, they goad us with pain;
Deep, dark, undermining, they mimic the mole;
And thy fate, &c.

14.

Round the infamous wretches who spilt Caesar's blood,
Dead spectres and conscience in sad array stood,
Not a man of the gang reach'd life's utmost goal;
And thy fate, &c.

15.

Perdition, too, seized them who caused thee to bleed,
To decay fell their houses, their lands and their seed
Disappear'd like the vapour when morn's tinged with gold;
And thy fate, &c.

16,
From grief all corroding, to hope I'll repair,
That a branch of the Christians will soon grace the chair,
With royal instructions his foes to console:
And thy fate, &c.

17.

With a book for my pillow, I dreamt as I lay,
That a branch of the Christians would hold Ronaldsway;
His conquests his topic with friends o'er a bowl,
And thy fate, &c.

18.

And now for a wish in concluding my song,--
May the Almighty withhold me from doing what's wrong;
Protect every mortal from enmity foul,
For thy fate, William Dhône, sickens our soul!
Found in the appendix to the introduction to Sir Walter Scott's Peveril Of The Peak.

"I am enabled to add the translation of the lament over the fair-haired William Christian.

It is originally composed in the Manx language, and consists of a series of imprecations of evil upon the enemies of Christian, and prophecies to the same purpose.

"
Nor late, but conceal'd by a villain .

: (stz.

4) A person named in the next stanza is said to have intercepted a pardon sent from England for William Christian, found, it is alleged, in the foot of an old woman's stocking.

The tradition is highly improbable.

If Christian had been executed against the tenor of a pardon actually granted, it would not have failed to be charged as a high aggravation in the subsequent proceedings of the Privy Council.

For thy fate, William Dhône, sickens our soul!.

: It may be recollected, that these verses are given through the medium of a meagre translation, and are deprived of the aid of the music, otherwise we would certainly think the memory of William Dhône little honoured by his native bard.

~ Sir Walter Scott's Novels, 1847.

On The Death Of K. Edward The First Read Poem

Alle, that beoth of huerte trewe,
A stounde herkneth to my song
Of duel, that Deth hath diht us newe,
That maketh me syke, ant sorewe among;
Of a knyght, that wes so strong,
Of wham God hath don ys wille;
Me-thuncheth that deth hath don us wrong,
That he so sone shall ligge stille.

Al Englond ahte for te knowe
Of wham that song is, that y synge;
Of Edward Kyng, that lith so lowe,
Zent al this world is nome con springe:
Trewest mon of all thinge,
Ant in werre war ant wys,
For him we ahte oure honden wrynge,
Of Christendome he ber the prys.

Byfore that oure kyng was ded,
He spek ase mon that wes in care,
'Clerkes, knyhtes, barons,' he sayde,
'Y charge ou by oure sware,
That ye to Engelonde be trewe.

Y deze, y ne may lyven na more;
Helpeth mi sone, ant crouneth him newe,
For he is nest to buen y-core.

'Ich biqueth myn herte arhyt,
That hit be write at my devys,
Over the sea that Hue be diht,
With fourscore knyhtes al of prys,
In werre that buen war ant wys,
Azein the hethene for te fyhte,
To wynne the croiz that lowe lys,
Myself ycholde zef that y myhte.

'
King of Fraunce, thou hevedest 'sinne',
That thou the counsail woldest fonde,
To latte the wille of 'Edward Kyng'
To wende to the Holy Londe:
That oure kynge hede take on honde
All Engelond to zeme ant wysse,
To wenden in to the Holy Londe
To wynnen us heveriche blisse.

The messager to the Pope com,
And seyde that our kynge was ded:
Ys oune hond the lettre he nom,
Ywis his herte was full gret:
The Pope him self the lettre redde,
Ant spec a word of gret honour.

'Alas!' he seid, 'is Edward ded?

Of Christendome he ber the flour.

'
The Pope to his chaumbre wende,
For dol ne mihte he speke na more;
Ant after cardinals he sende,
That muche couthen of Cristes lore,
Bothe the lass, ant eke the more,
Bed hem both rede ant synge:
Gret deol me myhte se thore,
Mony mon is honde wrynge.

The Pope of Peyters stod at is masse
With ful gret solempnete,
Ther me con the soule blesse:
'Kyng Edward honoured thou be:
God love thi sone come after the,
Bringe to ende that thou hast bygonne,
The holy crois y-mad of tree,
So fain thou woldest hit hav y-wonne.

'Jerusalem, thou hast i-lore
The flour of al chivalrie
Now Kyng Edward liveth na more:
Alas! that he zet shulde deye!
He wolde ha rered up ful heyze
Oure banners, that bueth broht to grounde;
Wel! longe we mowe clepe and crie
Er we a such kyng han y-founde.

'
Nou is Edward of Carnarvan
Kyng of Engelond al aplyht,
God lete him ner be worse man
Then his fader, ne lass of myht.

To holden is pore men to ryht,
And understonde good counsail,
Al Engelong for to wysse ant dyht;
Of gode knyhtes darh him nout fail.

Thah mi tonge were mad of stel,
Ant min herte yzote of bras,
The godness myht y never telle,
That with Kyng Edward was:
Kyng, as thou art cleped conquerour,
In uch bataille thou hadest prys;
God bringe thi soule to the honour
That ever wes, ant ever ys.

That lasteth ay withouten ende,
Bidde we God, ant oure Ledy to thilke blisse
Jesus we sende.

Amen.

On The Death Of The Rev. James Hervey Read Poem

On vulgar marks Death long had meanly spent
His loaded quiver, and his bow full bent;
Monarchs, who had been great but for a crown,
Statesmen and heroes, sons of high renown;
When, lo! in Heaven this awful mandate past,
"To-morrow's dawn be some famed mortal's last!"
The tidings, to our world officious sent,
Through Albion's isles on wing of lightning went:
Impiety, her heart by vipers stung,
Again blasphemes with loud audacious tongue:
Vice stalks abroad, each late retreat forsook,
With all her bold effrontery of look
But, ah! while these malignant triumphs show,
Far other bosoms other feelings know!
The muse in vain conceals her weeping eye,
And each tear Learning answers with a sigh:
Religion starts, though arm'd with tenfold shield,
And Virtue shrinks, though she disdains to yield:
— The arrow sped, Death took his aim too well,
The mitred pontiff lived, and Hervey fell.

Found at the end of The Whole Works of The Rev.

James Hervey, A.

M.

, printed by Thomas Nelson and Peter Brown, 1834.

No author is mentioned.

On The Zodiac Read Poem

Behold our orbit as through twice six signs
Our central Sun apparently inclines:
The Golden Fleece his pale ray first adorns,
Then tow'rds the Bull he winds and gilds his horns;
Castor and Pollux then receive his ray;
On burning Cancer then he seems to stay;
On flaming Leo pours the liquid shower;
Then faints beneath the Virgin's conquering power:
Now the just Scales weigh well both day and night;
The Scorpion then receives the solar light;
Then quivered Chiron clouds his wintry face,
And the tempestuous Sea-Goat mends his pace;
Now in the water Sol's warm beams are quench'd,
Till with the Fishes he is fairly drench'd.

These twice six signs successively appear,
And mark the twelve months of the circling year.

Oranges and Lemons Read Poem

Oranges and lemons,
Say the bells of St.

Clement's.

You owe me five farthings,
Say the bells of St.

Martin's.

When will you pay me?

Say the bells of Old Bailey.

When I grow rich,
Say the bells of Shoreditch.

When will that be?

Say the bells of Stepney.

I do not know,
Says the great bell of Bow.

Here comes a candle to light you to bed,
And here comes a chopper to chop off your head!
A longer version:
Gay go up and gay go down,
To ring the bells of London town.

Oranges and lemons,
Say the bells of St.

Clements.

Bull's eyes and targets,
Say the bells of St.

Margret's.

Brickbats and tiles,
Say the bells of St.

Giles'.

Halfpence and farthings,
Say the bells of St.

Martin's.

Pancakes and fritters,
Say the bells of St.

Peter's.

Two sticks and an apple,
Say the bells of Whitechapel.

Pokers and tongs,
Say the bells of St.

John's.

Kettles and pans,
Say the bells of St.

Ann's.

Old Father Baldpate,
Say the slow bells of Aldgate.

You owe me ten shillings,
Say the bells of St.

Helen's.

When will you pay me?

Say the bells of Old Bailey.

When I grow rich,
Say the bells of Shoreditch.

Pray when will that be?

Say the bells of Stepney.

I do not know,
Says the great bell of Bow.

Here comes a candle to light you to bed,
Here comes a chopper to chop off your head.

Chop chop chop chop
The last man's dead!

Our Lady's Song Read Poem

Iesu, swete sone dere!
On porful bed list thou here,
And that me greveth sore;
For thi cradel is ase a bere,
Oxe and asse beth thi fere:
Weepe ich mai tharfore.

Iesu, swete, beo noth wroth,
Thou ich nabbe clout ne cloth
The on for to folde,
The on to folde ne to wrappe,
For iche nabbe clout ne lappe;
Bote ley thou thi fet to my pappe,
And wite the from the colde.

Out in the fields with God Read Poem

The little cares that fretted me
I lost them yesterday
Among the fields, above the sea,
Among the winds at play,
Among the lowing of the herds,
The rustling of the trees,
Among the singing of the birds,
The humming of the bees.

The foolish fears of what might happen,
I cast them all away,
Among the clover-scented grass,
Among the new-mown hay,
Among the husking of the corn,
Where drowsy poppies nod,
Where ill thoughts die and good are born--
Out in the fields with God

O’ for a Booke Read Poem

O for a Booke and a shadie nook.

Eyther in-a doore or out;
With the grene leaves whispering overhede,
Or the Streets crys all about
Where I maie Readse at all my ease,
Both of the Newe and Olde;
For a jollie goode Brook wherreoon to looke,
Is beter to me than Colde.

Pearl Read Poem

Pearl of delight that a prince doth please
To grace in gold enclosed so clear,
I vow that from over orient seas
Never proved I any in price her peer.

So round, so radiant ranged by these,
So fine, so smooth did her sides appear
That ever in judging gems that please
Her only alone I deemed as dear.

Alas! I lost her in garden near:
Through grass to the ground from me it shot;
I pine now oppressed by love-wound drear
For that pearl, mine own, without a spot.

2
Since in that spot it sped from me,
I have looked and longed for that precious thing
That me once was wont from woe to free,
To uplift my lot and healing bring,
But my heart doth hurt now cruelly,
My breast with burning torment sting.

Yet in secret hour came soft to me
The sweetest song I e'er heard sing;
Yea, many a thought in mind did spring
To think that her radiance in clay should rot.

O mould! Thou marrest a lovely thing,
My pearl, mine own, without a spot.

3
In that spot must needs be spices spread
Where away such wealth to waste hath run;
Blossoms pale and blue and red
There shimmer shining in the sun;
No flower nor fruit their hue may shed
Where it down into darkling earth was done,
For all grass must grow from grains that are dead,
No wheat would else to barn be won.

From good all good is ever begun,
And fail so fair a seed could not,
So that sprang and sprouted spices none
From that precious pearl without a spot.

4
That spot whereof I speak I found
When I entered in that garden green,
As August's season high came round
When corn is cut with sickles keen.

There, where that pearl rolled down, a mound
With herbs was shadowed fair and sheen,
With gillyflower, ginger, and gromwell crowned,
And peonies powdered all between.

If sweet was all that there was seen,
Fair too, a fragrance flowed I wot,
Where dwells that dearest, as I ween,
My precious pearl without a spot.

5
By that spot my hands I wrung dismayed;
For care full cold that had me caught
A hopeless grief on my heart was laid.

Though reason to reconcile me sought,
For my pearl there prisoned a plaint I made,
In fierce debate unmoved I fought;
Be comforted Christ Himself me bade,
But in woe my will ever strove distraught.

On the flowery plot I fell, methought;
Such odour through my senses shot,
I slipped and to sudden sleep was brought,
O'er that precious pearl without a spot.

6
From that spot my spirit sprang apace,
On the turf my body abode in trance;
My would was gone by God's own grace
Adventuring where marvels chance.

I knew not where in the world was that place
Save by cloven cliffs was set my stance;
And towards a forest I turned my face,
Where rocks in splendour met my glance;
From them did a glittering glory lance,
None could believe the light they lent;
Never webs were woven in mortal haunts
Of half such wealth and wonderment.

7
Wondrous was made each mountain-side
With crystal cliffs so clear of hue;
About them woodlands bright lay wide,
As Indian dye their boles were blue;
The leaves did as burnished silver slide
That thick upon twigs were trembling grew.

When glades let light upon them glide
They shone with a shimmer of dazzling hue.

The gravel on ground that I trod with shoe
Was of precious pearls of Orient:
Sunbeams are blear and dark to view
Compared with that fair wonderment.

8
In wonder at those fells so fair
My soul all grief forgot let fall;
Odours so fresh of fruits there were,
I was fed as by food celestial.

In the woods the birds did wing and pair,
Of flaming hues, both great and small;
But cithern-string and gittern-player
Their merry mirth could ne'er recall,
For when the beat their pinions all
In harmony their voices bent:
No delight more lovely could men enthrall
Than behold and hear that wonderment.

9
Thus arrayed was all in wonderment
That forest where forth my fortune led;
No man its splendour to present
With tongue could worthy words have said.

I walked ever onward well-content;
No hill was so tall that it stayed my tread;
More fair the further afield I went
Were plants, and fruits, and spices spread;
Through hedge and mead lush waters led
As in strands of gold there steeply pent.

A river I reached in cloven bed:
O Lord! the wealth of its wonderment!
10
The adornments of that wondrous deep
Were beauteous banks of beryl bright:
Swirling sweetly its waters sweep,
Ever rippling on in murmurous flight.

In the depths stood dazzling stones aheap
As a glitter through glass that glowed with light,
As streaming stars when on earth men sleep
Stare in the welkin in winter night;
For emerald, sapphire, or jewel bright
Was every pebble in pool there pent,
And the water was lit with rays of light,
Such wealth was in its wonderment.

11
The wonderous wealth of down and dales,
of wood and water and lordly plain,
My mirth makes mount: my mourning fails,
My care is quelled and cured my pain.

Then down a stream that strongly sails
I blissful turn with teeming brain;
The further I follow those flowing vales
The more strength of joy my heart doth strain.

As fortune fares where she doth deign,
Whether gladness she gives or grieving sore,
So he who may her graces gain,
His hap is to have ever more and more.

12
There more was of such marvels thrice
Than I could tell, though I long delayed;
For earthly heart could not suffice
For a tithe of the joyful joys displayed.

Therefore I thought that Paradise
Across those banks was yonder laid;
I weened that the water by device
As bounds between pleasances was made;
Beyond that stream by steep or slade
That city's walls I weened must soar;
But the water was deep, I dared not wade,
And ever I longed to, more and more.

13
More and more, and yet still more,
I fain beyond the stream had scanned,
For fair as was this hither shore,
Far lovelier was the further land.

To find a ford I did then explore,
And round about did stare and stand;
But perils pressed in sooth more sore
The further I strode along the strand.

I should not, I thought, by fear be banned
From delights so lovely that lay in store;
But a happening new then came to hand
That moved my mind ever more and more.

14
A marvel more did my mind amaze:
I saw beyond that border bright
From a crystal cliff the lucent rays
And beams in splendour lift their light.

A child abode there at its base:
She wore a gown of glistening white,
A gentle maid of courtly grace;
Erewhile I had known her well by sight.

As shredded gold that glistered bright
She shone in beauty upon the shore;
Long did my glance on her alight,
And the longer I looked I knew her more.

15
The more I that face so fair surveyed,
When upon her gracious form I gazed,
Such gladdening glory upon me played
As my wont was seldom to see upraised.

Desire to call her then me swayed,
But dumb surprise my mind amazed;
In place so strange I saw that maid,
The blow might well my wits have crazed.

Her forehead fair then up she raised
That hue of polished ivory wore.

It smote my heart distraught and dazed,
And ever the longer, the more and more.

16
More than I would my dread did rise.

I stood there still and dared not call
With closed mouth and open eyes,
I stood as tame as hawk in hall.

A ghost was present, I did surmise,
And feared for what might then befall,
Lest she should flee before mine eyes
Ere I to tryst could her recall.

So smooth, so seemly, slight and small,
That flawless fair and mirthful maid
Arose in robes majestical,
A precious gem in pearls arrayed.

17
There pearls arrayed and royally dight
Might one have seen by fortune graced
When fresh as flower-de-luces bright
She down to the water swiftly paced
In linen robe of glistening white,
With open sides that seams enlaced
With the merriest margery-pearls my sight
Ever before, I vow, had traced.

Her sleeves hung long below her waist
Adorned with pearls in double braid;
Her kirtle matched her mantle chaste
All about with precious pearls arrayed.

18
A crown arrayed too wore that girl
Of margery-stones and others none,
With pinnacles of pure white pearl
That perfect flowers were figured on,
On head nought else her hair did furl,
And it framed, as it did round her run,
Her countenance grave for duke or earl,
And her hue as rewel ivory wan.

As shredded sheen of gold then shone
Her locks on shoulder loosly laid.

Her colour pure was surpassed by none
Of the pearls in purfling rare arrayed.

19
Arrayed was wristlet, and the hems were dight
At hands, at sides, at throat so fair
With no gem but the pearl all white
And burnished white her garments were;
But a wondrous pearl unstained and bright
She amidst her breast secure did bear;
Ere mind could fathom its worth and might
Man's reason thwarted would despair.

No tongue could in worthy words declare
The beauty that was there displayed,
It was so polished, pure, and fair,
That precious pearl on her arrayed.

20
In pearls arrayed that maiden free
Beyond the stream came down the strand.

From here to Greece none as glad could be
As I on shore to see her stand,
Than aunt or niece more near to me:
The more did joy my heart expand.

She deigned to speak, so sweet was she,
Bowed low as ladies' ways demand.

With her crown of countless worth in hand
A gracious welcome she me bade.

My birth I blessed, who on the strand
To my love replied in pearls arrayed.

21
"O Pearl!" said I, "in pearls arrayed,
Are you my pearl whose loss I mourn?

Lament alone by night I made,
Much longing I have hid for thee forlorn,
Since to the grass you from me strayed.

While I pensive waste by weeping worn,
Your life of joy in the land is laid
Of Paradise by strife untorn.

What fate hath hither my jewel borne
And made me mourning's prisoner?

Since asunder we in twain were torn,
I have been a joyless jeweller.

"
22
That jewel in gems so excellent
Lifted her glance with eyes of grey,
Put on her crown of pearl-orient,
And gravely then began to say:
"Good sir, you have your speech mis-spent
to say your pearl is all away
that is in chest so choicely pent,
Even in this gracious garden gay,
Here always to linger and to play
Where regret nor grief e'er trouble her.

'Here is a casket safe' you would say.

If you were a gentle jeweller.

23
But jeweller gentle, if from you goes
Your joy through a gem that you held lief,
Methinks your mind toward madness flows
And frets for a fleeting cause of grief.

For what you lost was but a rose
That by nature failed after flowering brief;
Now the casket's virtues that it enclose
Prove it a pearl of price in chief;
And yet you have called your fate a thief
That of naught to aught hath fashioned her,
You grudge the healing of your grief,
You are no grateful jeweller.

"
24
Then a jewel methought had now come near,
And jewels the courteous speech she made.

"My blissful one," quoth I, "most dear,
My sorrows deep you have all allayed.

To pardon me I pray you here!
In the darkness I deemed my pearl was laid;
I have found it now, and shall make good cheer,
With it dwell in shining grove and glade,
And praise all the laws that my Lord hath made,
Who hath brought me near such bliss with her.

Now could I to reach you these waters wade,
I should be a joyful jeweller.

"
25
"Jeweller," rejoined that jewel clean,
"Why jest ye men?

How mad ye be!
Three things at once you have said, I ween:
Thoughtless, forsooth, were all the three,
You know now on earth what one doth mean;
Your words from your wits escaping flee:
You believe I live here on this green,
Because you can with eyes me see;
Again, you will in this land with me
Here dwell yourself, you now aver;
And thirdly, pass this water free:
That may no joyful jeweller.

26
I hold that jeweller worth little praise
Who well esteems what he sees with eye,
And much to blame his graceless wayus
Who believes our Lord would speak a lie.

He promised faithfully your lives to raise
Though fate decreed your flesh should die;
His words as nonsense ye appraise
Who approve of naught not seen with eye;
And that presumption doth imply,
Which all good men doth ill beseem,
On tale as true ne'er to rely
Save private reason right it deem.

27
Do you deem that you yourself maintain
Such words as man to God should dare?

You will dwell, you say, in this domain:
'Twere best for leave first offer prayer,
And yet that grace yo umight not gain.

Now over this water you wish to fare:
By another course you must that attain;
Your flesh shall in clay find colder lair,
For our heedless father did of old prepare
Its doom by Eden's grove and stream;
Through dismal death must each man fare,
Ere o're this deep him God redeem.

"
28
"If my doom you deem it, maiden sweet,
To mourn once more, then I must pine.

Now my lost one found again I greet,
Must bereavement new till death be mine?

Why must I at once both part and meet?

My precious pearl doth my pain design!
What use hath treasure but tears to repeat,
When one at its loss must again repine?

Now I care not though my days decline
Outlawed afar o'er land and stream;
When in my pearl no part is mine,
Only endless dolour one that may deem.

"
29
"But of woe, I deem, and deep distress
You speak," she said.

"Why do you so?

Through loud lament when they lose the less
Oft many men the more forego.

'Twere better with cross yourself to bless,
Ever praising God in weal and woe;
For resentment gains you not a cress:
Who must needs endure, he may not say no!
For though you dance as any doe,
Rampant bray or raging scream,
When escape you cannot, to nor fro,
His doom you must abide, I deem.

30
Deem God unjust, the Lord indict,
From His way a foot He will not wend;
The relief amounts not to a mite,
Though gladness your grief may never end.

Cease then to wrangle, to speak in spite,
And swiftly seek Him as your friend,
You prayer His pity may excite,
So that Mercy shall her powers expend.

To you languor He may comfort lend,
And swiftly your griefs removed may seem;
For lament or rave, to submit pretend,
'Tis His to ordain what He right may deem.

"
31
Then I said, I deem, to that damosel:
"May I give no grievance to my Lord,
Rash fool, though blundering tale I tell.

My heart the pain of loss outpoured,
Gushing as water springs from well.

I commit me ever to His mercy's ward.

Rebuke me not with words so fell,
Though I erring stray, my dear adored!
But your comfort kindly to me accord,
In pity bethinking you of this:
For partner you did me pain award
On whom was founded all my bliss.

32
Both bliss and gried you have been to me,
But of woe far greater hath been my share.

You were caught away from all perils free,
But my pearl was gone, I knew not where;
My sorrow is softened now I it see.

When we parted, too, at one we were;
Now God forbid that we angry be!
We meet on our roads by chance so rare.

Though your converse courtly is and fair,
I am but mould and good manners miss.

Christ's mercy, Mary and John: I dare
Only on these to found my bliss.

33
In bliss you abide and happiness,
And I with woe an worn and grey;
Oft searing sorrows I possess,
Yet little heed to that you pay.

But now I here yourself address,
Without reproach I would you pray
To deign in sober words express
What life you lead the livelong day.

For delighted I am that your lot, you say,
So glorious and so glad now is;
There finds my joy its foremost way,
On that is founded all my bliss.

"
34
"Now bliss you ever bless!" she cried,
Lovely in limb, in hue so clear,
"And welcome here to walk and bide;
For now your words are to me dear.

Masterful mood and haughty pride,
I warn you, are bitterly hated here.

It doth not delight my Lord to chide,
For meek are all that dwell Him near.

So, when in His place you must appear,
Be devout in humble lowliness:
To my Lord, the Lamb, such a mien is dear,
On whom is founded all my bliss.

35
A blissful life you say is mine;
You wish to know in what degree.

Your pearl you know you did resign
When in young and tender years was she;
Yet my Lord, the Lamb, through power divine
Myself He chose His bride to be,
And crowned me queen in bliss to shine,
While days shall endure eternally.

Dowered with His heritage all is she
That is His love.

I am wholly His:
On His glory, honour, and high degree
Are built and founded all my bliss.

"
36
"O blissful!" said I, "can this be true?

Be not displased if in speech I err!
Are you the queen of heavens blue,
Whom all must honour on earth that fare?

We believe that our Grace of Mary grew,
Who in virgin-bloom a babe did bear;
And claim her crown: who could this do
But once that surpassed her in favour fair?

And yet for unrivalled sweetness rare
We call her the Phoenix of Araby,
That her Maker let faultless wing the air,
Like to the Queen of Courtesy.

"
37
"O courteous Queen," that damsel said,
Kneeling on earth with uplifted face,
"Mother immaculate, and fairest maid,
Blessed beginner of every grace!"
Uprising then her prayer she stayed,
And there she spoke to me a space:
"Here many the prize they have gained are praid,
But usurpers, sir, here have no place.

That empress' realm doth heaven embrace,
From their heritage yet will none displace,
For she is the Queen of Courtesy.

38
"The court where the living God doth reign
Hath a virtue of its own being,
That each who may thereto attain
Of all the realm is queen or king,
Yet never shall other's right obtain,
But in other's good each glorying
And wishing each crown worth five again,
If amended might be so fair a thing.

But my Lady of whom did Jesu spring,
O'er us high she holds her empery,
And none that grieves of our following,
For she is the Queen of Courtesy.

"
39
In courtesy we are members all
Of Jesus Christ, Saint Paul doth write:
As head, arm, leg, and navel small
To their body doth loyalty true unite,
So as limbs to their Master mystical
All Christian souls belong by right.

Now among your limbs can you find at all
Any tie or bond of hate or spite?

Your head doth not feel affront or slight
On your arm or finger though ring it see;
So we all proceed in love's delight
To king and queen by courtesy.

"
40
"Courtesy," I said, "I do believe
And charity great dwells you among,
But may my words no wise you grieve,
.

You in heaven too high yourself conceive
To make you a queen who were so young.

What honour more might he achieve
Who in strife on earth was ever strong,
And lived his life in penance long
With his body's pain to get bliss for fee?

What greater glory could to him belong
Than king to be crowned by courtesy?

41
That courtesy gives its gifts too free,
If it be sooth that you now say.

Two years you lived not on earth with me,
And God you could not please, nor pray
With Pater and Creed upon your knee -
And made a queen that very day!
I cannot believe, God helping me,
That God so far from right would stray.

Of a countess, damsel, I must say,
'Twere fair in heaven to find the grace,
Or of lady even of less array,
But a queen! It is too high a place.

"
42
"Neither time nor place His grace confine",
Then said to me that maiden bright,
"For just is all that He doth assign,
And nothing can He work but right.

In God's true gospel, in words divine
That Matthew in your mass doth cite,
A tale he aptly doth design,
In parable saith of heaven's light:
"My realm on high I liken might
To a vineyard owner in this case.

The year had run to season right;
To dress the vines 'twas time and place.

43
All labourers know when that time is due.

The master up full early rose
To hire him vineyard workers new;
And some to suit his needs he chose.

Together they pledge agreement true
For a penny a day, and forth each goes,
Travails and toils to tie and hew,
Binds and prunes and in order stows.

In forenoon the master to market goes,
And there finds men that idle laze.

"Why stand ye idle?

he said to those.

"Do ye know not time of day nor place?

"
44
"This place we reached betimes ere day",
This answer from all alike he drew,
"Since sunrise standing here we stay,
And no man offers us work to do.

"
"Go to my vineyard! Do what ye may!"
Said the lord, and made a bargain true:
"In deed and intent I to you will pay
What hire may justly by night accrue.

"
They went to his vines and laboured too,
But the lord all day that way did pace,
And brought to his vineyard workers new,
Till daytime almost passed that place.

45
In that place at time of evensong,
One hour before the set of sun,
He saw there idle labourers strong
And thus his earnest words did run:
"Why stand ye idle all day long?

"
They said they chance of hire had none.

"Go to my vineyard, yeoman young,
And work and do what may be done!"
The hour grew late and sank the sun,
Dusk came o'er the world apace;
He called them to claim the wage they had won,
For time of day had passed that place.

46
The time in that place he well did know;
He called: "Sir steward, the people pay!
Give them hire that I them owe.

Moreover, that none reproach me may,
Set them all in a single row,
And to each alike give a penny a day;
Begin at the last that stands below,
Till to the first you make your way.

"
Then the first began to complain and say
That they had laboured long and sore:
"These but one hour in stress did stay;
It seems to us we should get more.

47
More have we earned, we think it true,
Who have borne the daylong heat indeed,
Than these who hours have worked not two,
And yet you our equals have decreed.

"
One such the lord then turned him to:
"My friend, I will not curtail your meed.

Go now and take what is your due!
For a penny I hired you as agreed,
Why now to wrangle do you proceed?

Was it not a penny you bargained for?

To surpass his bargain may no man plead.

Why then will you ask for more?

48
Nay, more - am I not allowed in gift
To dispose of mine as I please to do?

Or your eye to evil, maybe, you lift,
For I none betray and I am true?

"
"Thus I", said Christ, "shall the order shift:
The last shall come first to take his due,
And the first come last, be he never so swift;
For many are called, but the favourites few.

"
Thus the poor get ever their portion too,
Though late they came and little bore;
And though to their labour little accrue,
The mercy of God is much the more.

49
More is my joy and bliss herein,
The flower of my life, my lady's height,
Than all the folk in the world might win,
Did they seek award on ground of right.

Though 'twas but now that I entered in,
And came to the vineyard by eveing's light,
First with my hire did my Lord begin;
I was paid at once to the furthest mite.

Yet others in toil without respite
That had laboured and sweated long of yore,
He did not yet with hire requite,
Nor will, perchance, for years yet more.

"
50
Then more I said and spoke out plain:
'Unreasonable is what you say.

Ever ready God's justice on high doth reign,
Or a fable doth Holy Writ purvey.

The Psalms a cogent verse contain,
Which puts a point that one must weigh:
"High King, who all dost foreordain,
His deserts Thou dost to each repay.

"
Now if daylong one did steadfast stay,
And you to payment came him before,
Then lesser work can earn more pay;
And the longer you reckon, the less hath more.

'
51
'Of more and less in God's domains
No question arises,' said that maid,
'For equal hire there each one gains,
Be geurdon great or small him paid.

No churl is our Chieftain that in bounty reigns,
Be soft or hard by Him purveyed;
As water of dike His gifts He drains,
Or streams from a deep by drought unstayed.

Free is the pardon to him conveyed
Who in fear to the Saviour in sin did bow;
No bars from bliss will for such be made,
For the grace of God is great enow.

52
But now to defeat me you debate
That wrongly my penny I have taken here;
Deserve not hire at price so dear.

Where heard you ever of man relate
Who, pious in prayer from year to year,
Did not somehow forfeit the guerdon great
Sometime of Heaven's glory clear?

Nay, wrong men work, from right they veer,
And ever the ofter the older, I trow.

Mercy and grace must then them steer,
For the grace of God is great enow.

53
But enow have the innocent of grace.

As soon as born, in lawful line
Baptismal waters them embrace;
Then they are brought unto the vine.

Anon the day with darkened face
Doth toward the night of death decline.

They wrought no wrong while in that place,
And his workmen then pays the Lord divine.

They were there; they worked at his design;
Why should He not their toil allow,
Yea, first to them their hire assign?

For the grace of God is great enow.

54
Enow 'tis known that Man's high kind
At first for perfect bliss was bred.

Our eldest father that grace resigned
Through an apple upon which he fed.

We were all damned, for that food assigned
To die in grief, all joy to shed,
And after in flames of hell confined
To dwell for ever unrespited.

But soon a healing hither sped:
Rich blood ran on rough rood-bough,
And water fair.

In that hour of dread
The grace of God grew great enow.

55
Enow there went forth from that well
Water and blood from wounds so wide:
The blood redeemed us from pains of hell
Of the second death the bond untied;
The water is baptism, truth to tell,
That the spear so grimly ground let glide.

It washes away the trespass fell
By which Adam drowned us in deathly tide.

No bars in the world us from Bliss divide
In blessed hour restored, I trow,
Save those that He hath drawn aside;
And the grace of God is great enow.

56
Grace enow may the man receive
Who sins anew, if he repent;
But craving it he must sigh and grieve
And abide what pains are consequent.

But reason that right can never leave
Evermore preserves the innocent;
'Tis a judgement God did never give
That the guiltless should ever have punishment.

The guilty, contrite and penitent,
Through mercy may to grace take flight;
But he that to treachery never bent
In innocence is saved by right.

57
It is right thus by reason, as in this case
I learn, to save these two from ill;
The righteous man shall see His face,
Come unto him the harmless will.

This point the Psalms in a passage raise:
'Who, Lord, shall climb Thy lofty hill,
Or rest within Thy holy place?

"
He doth the answer swift fulfil:
"Who wrought with hands no harm nor ill,
Who is of heart both clean and bright,
His steps shall there be steadfast still":
The innocent ever is saved by right.

58
The righteous too, one many maintain,
He shall to that noble tower repair,
Who leads not his life in folly vain,
Nor guilefully doth to neighbour swear.

That Wisdom did honour once obtain
For such doth Solomon declare:
She pressed him on by ways made plain
And showed him afar God's kingdom fair,
As if saying: "That lovely island there
That mayst thou win, be thou brave in fight.

"
But to say this doubtless one may dare:
The innocent ever is saved by right.

59
To righteous men - have you seen it there?

-
In the Psalter David a verse applied:
"Do not, Lord, Thy servant to judgement bear;
For to Thee none living is justified.

"
So when to that Court you must repair
Where all our cases shall be tried,
If on right you stand, lest you trip beware,
Warned by these words that I espied.

But He on rood that bleeding died,
Whose hands the nail did harshly smite,
Grant you may pass, when you are tried,
By innocence and not by right.

60
Let him that can rightly read in lore,
Look in the Book and learn thereby
How Jesus walked the world of yore,
And people pressed their babes Him nigh,
For joy and health from Him did pour.

"Our children touch!" they humbly cry,
"Let be!" his disciples rebuked them sore,
And to many would approach deny.

Then Jesus sweetly did reply:
"Nay! let children by me alight;
For such is heaven prepared on high!"
The innocent ever is saved by right.

61
Then Jesus summoned his servants mild,
And said His realm no man might win,
Unless he came there as a child;
Else never should he come therein.

Harmless, true, and undefiled,
Without mark or mar of soiling sin,
When such knock at those portals piled,
Quick for them men will the gate unpin.

That bliss unending dwells therein
That the jeweller sought, above gems did rate,
And sold all he had to clothe him in,
To purchase a pearl immaculate.

62
This pearl immaculate purchased dear
The jeweller gave all his goods to gain
Is like the realm of heaven's sphere:
So said the Lord of land and main;
For it is flawless, clean and clear,
Endlessly round, doth joy contain,
And is shared by all the righteous here.

Lo! amid my breast it doth remain;
There my Lord, the Lamb that was bleeding slain,
In token of peace it placed in state.

I bid you the wayward world disdain
And procure your pearl immaculate!'
63
'Immaculate Pearl in pearls unstained,
Who bear of precious pearls the prize,
Your figure fair for you who feigned?

Who wrought your robe, he was full wise!
Your beauty was never from nature gained;
Pygmalion did ne'er your face devise;
In Aristotle's learning is contained
Of these properties' nature no surmise;
Your hue the flower-de-luce defies,
Your angel-bearing is of grace so great.

What office, purest, me apprise
Doth bear this pearl immaculate?

'
64
'My immaculate Lamb, my final end
Beloved, Who all can heal,' said she,
'Chose me as spouse, did to bridal bend
That once would have seemed unmeet to be.

From your weeping world when I did wend
He called me to his felicity:
"Come hither to me, sweetest friend,
For no blot nor spot is found in thee!"
Power and beauty he gave to me;
In his blood he washed my weeds in state,
Crowned me clean in virginity,
And arrayed me in pearls immaculate.

'
65
'Why, immaculate bride of brightest flame,
Who royalty have so rich and bare,
Of what kind can He be, the Lamb you name,
Who would you His wedded wife declare?

Over others all hath climbed your fame,
In lady's life with Him to fare.

For Christ have lived in care and blame
Many comely maids with comb in hair;
Yet the prize from all those brave you bear,
And all debar from bridal state,
All save yourself so proud and fair,
A matchless maid immaculate.

'
66
'Immaculate, without a stain,
Flawless I am', said that fair queen;
'And that I may with grace maintain,
But "matchless" I said not nor do mean.

As brides of the Lamb in bliss we reign,
Twelve times twelve thousand strong, I ween,
As Apocalypse reveals it plain:
In a throng they there by John were seen;
On Zion's hill, that mount serene,
The apostle had dream divine of them
On that summit for marriage robed all clean
In the city of New Jerusalem.

67
Of Jerusalem my tale doth tell,
If you will know what His nature be,
My Lamb, my Lord, my dear Jewel,
My Joy, my Bliss, my Truelove free.

Isaiah the prophet once said well
In pity for His humility:
"That glorious Guiltless they did fell
Without cause or charge of felony,
As sheep to the slaughter led was He,
And as lamb the shearer in hand doth hem
His mouth he closed without plaint or plea,
When the Jews Him judged in Jerusalem.

"
68
In Jerusalem was my Truelove slain,
On the rood by ruffians fierce was rent;
Willing to suffer all our pain
To Himself our sorrows sad He lent.

With cruel blows His face was flain
That was to behold so excellent:
He for sin to be set at naught did deign,
Who of sin Himself was innocent.

Beneath the scourge and thorns He bent,
And stretched on a cross's brutal stem
As meek as lamb made no lament,
And died for us in Jerusalem.

69
In Jerusalem, Jordan, and Galilee,
As there baptized the good Saint John,
With Isaiah well did his words agree.

When to meet him once had Jesus gone
He spake of Him this prophecy:
"Lo, the Lamb of God whom our trust is on!
From the grievous sins He sets us free
That all this world hath daily done.

"
He wrought himself yet never one,
Though He smirched himself with all of them.

Who can tell the Fathering of that Son
That died for us in Jerusalem?

70
In Jerusalem as lamb they knew
And twice thus took my Truelove dear,
As in prophets both in record true,
For His meekness and His gentle cheer.

The third time well is matched thereto,
In Apocalypse 'tis written clear:
Where sat the saints, Him clear to view
Amidst the throne the Apostle dear
Saw loose the leaves of the book and shear
The seven signets sewn on them.

At that sight all folk there bowed in fear
In hell, in earth, and Jerusalem.

71
Jerusalem's Lamb had never stain
Of other hue than whiteness fair;
There blot nor blemish could remain,
So white the wool, so rich and rare.

Thus every soul that no soil did gain
His comely wife doth the Lamb declare;
Though each day He a host obtain,
No grudge nor grievance do we bear,
But for each one five we wish there were.

The more the merrier, so God me bless!
Our love doth thrive where many fare
In honour more and never less.

72
To less of bliss may none us bring
Who bear this pearl upon each breast,
For ne'er could they think of quarrelling
Of spotless pearls who bear the crest.

Though the clods may to our corses cling,
And for woe ye wail bereaved of rest,
From one death all our trust doth spring
In knowledge complete by us possessed.

The Lamb us gladdens, and, our grief redressed,
Doth at every Mass with joy us bless.

Here each hath bliss supreme and best,
Yet no one's honour is ever the less.

73
Lest less to trust my tale you hold,
In Apocalypse 'tis writ somewhere:
"The Lamb", saith John, "I could behold
On Zion standing proud and fair;
With him maidens a hundred-thousand fold,
And four and forty thousand were,
Who all upon their brows inscrolled
The Lamb's name and His Father's bare.

A shout then I heard from heaven there,
Like many floods met in pouring press;
And as thunder in darkling tors doth blare,
That noise, I believe, was nowise less.

74
But nonetheless, though it harshly roared,
And echo loud though it was to hear,
I heard them note then new accord,
A delight as lovely to listening ear
As harpers harping on harps afford.

This new song now they sang full clear,
With resounding notes in noble accord
Making in choir their musics dear.

Before God's very throne drawn near
And the Beasts to Him bowed in lowliness
And the ancient Elders grave of cheer
They sang their song there, nonetheless.

75
Yet nonetheless were none so wise
For all the arts that they ever knew
Of that song who could a phrase devise,
Save those of the Lamb's fair retinue;
For redeemed and removed from earthly eyes,
As firstling fruits that to God are due,
To the noble Lamb they are allies,
Being like to Him in mien and hue;
For no lying word nor tale untrue
Ever touched their tongues despite duress.

Ever close that company pure shall sue
That Master immaculate, and never less.

"'
76
'My thanks may none the less you find,
My Pearl', quoth I, 'though I question pose.

I should not try your lofty mind,
Whom Christ to bridal chamber chose.

I am but dirt and dust in kind,
And you a rich and radiant rose
Here by this blissful bank reclined
Where life's delight unfading grows.

Now, Lady, your heart sincere enclose,
And I would ask one thing express,
And though it clown uncouth me shows,
My prayer disdain not, nevertheless.

77
I nonetheless my appeal declare,
If you to do this may well deign,
Deny you not my piteous prayer,
As you are glorious without a stain.

No home in castle-wall do ye share,
No mansion to meet in, no domain?

Of Jerusalem you speak the royal and fair,
Where David on regal throne did reign;
It abides not here on hill nor plain,
But in Judah is that noble plot.

As under moon ye have no stain
Your home should be without a spot.

78
This spotless troop of which you tell,
This thronging press many-thousandfold,
Ye doubtless a mighty citadel
Must have your number great to hold:
For jewels so lovely 'twould not be well
That flock so fair should have no fold!
Yet by these banks where a while I dwell
I nowhere about any house behold.

To gaze on this glorious stream you strolled
And linger alone now, do you not?

If elsewhere you have stout stronghold,
Now guide me to that goodly spot!'
79
'That spot', that peerless maid replied,
'In Judah's land of which you spake,
Is the city to which the Lamb did ride,
To suffer sore there for Man's sake.

The Old Jerusalem is implied,
For old sin's bond He there let break.

But the New, that God sent down to glide,
The Apocalypse in account doth take.

The Lamb that no blot ever black shall make
Doth there His lovely throng allot,
And as His flock all stains forsake
So His mansion is unmarred by spot.

80
There are two spots.

To speak of these:
They both the name "Jerusalem" share;
"The City of God" or "Sight of Peace",
These meanings only doth that bear.

In the first it once the Lamb did please
Our peace by His suffering to repair;
In the other naught is found but peace
That shall last for ever without impair.

To that high city we swiftly fare
As soon as our flesh is laid to rot;
Ever grow shall the bliss and glory there
For the host within that hath no spot.

'
81
'O spotless maiden kind!' I cried
To that lovely flower, 'O lead me there,
To see where blissful you abide,
To that goodly place let me repair!'
'God will forbid that,' she replied,
'His tower to enter you may not dare.

But the Lamb hath leave to me supplied
For a sigh thereof by favour rare:
From without on that precinct pure to stare
But foot within to venture not;
In the street you have no strength to fare,
Unless clean you be without a spot.

82
If I this spot shall to you unhide,
Turn up towards this water's head,
While I escort you on this side,
Until your ways to a hill have led.

'
No longer would I then abide,
But shrouded by leafy boughs did tread,
Until from a hill I there espied
A glimpse of that city, as forth I sped.

Beyond the river below me spread
Brighter than the sun with beams it shone;
In the Apocalypse may its form be read,
As it describes the apostle John.

83
As John the apostle it did view,
I saw that city of great renown,
Jerusalem royally arrayed and new,
As it was drawn from heaven down.

Of gold refined in fire to hue
Of glittering glass was that shining town;
Fair gems beneath were joined as due
In courses twelve, on the base laid down
That with tenoned tables twelve they crown:
A single stone was each tier thereon,
As well describes this wondrous town
In apocalypse the apostle John.

84
These stones doth John in Writ disclose;
I knew their names as he doth tell:
As jewel first the jasper rose,
And first at the base I saw it well,
On the lowest course it greenly glows;
On the second stage doth sapphire dwell;
Chalcedony on the third tier shows,
A flawless, pure, and pale jewel;
The emerald fourth so green of shell;
The sardonyx, the fifth it shone,
The ruby sixth: he saw it well
In the Apocalypse, the apostle John.

85
To them John then joined the chrysolite,
The seventh gem in the ascent;
The eighth the beryl clear and white;
The twin-hued topaz as ninth was pent;
Tenth the chrysoprase formed the flight;
Eleventh was jacinth excellent;
The twelfth, most trusty in every plight,
The amethyst blue with purple blent.

Sheer from those tiers the wall then went
Of jasper like glass that glistening shone;
I knew it, for thus did it present
In the Apocalypse the apostle John.

86
As John described, I broad and sheer
These twelve degrees saw rising there;
Above the city square did rear
(Its length with breadth and height compare);
The streets of gold as glass all clear,
The wall of jasper that gleamed like glair;
With all precious stones that might there appear
Adorned within the dwellings were.

Of that domain each side all square
Twelve thousand furlongs held then on,
As in height and breadth, in length did fare,
For it measured saw the aspostle John.

87
As John hath writ, I saw yet more:
Each quadrate wall there had three gates,
So in compass there were three times four,
The portals o'erlaid with richest plates;
A single pearl was every door,
A pearl whose perfection ne'er abates;
And each inscribed a name there bore
Of Israel's children by their dates:
Their times of birth each allocates,
Ever first the eldest thereon is hewn.

Such light every street illuminates
They have need of neither sun nor moon.

88
Of sun nor moon they had no need,
For God Himself was their sunlight;
The Lamb their lantern was indeed
And through Him blazed that city bright
That unearthly clear did no light impede;
Through wall and hall thus passed my sight.

The Throne on high there might one heed,
With all its rich adornment dight,
As John in chosen words did write.

High God Himself sat on that throne,
Whence forth a river ran with light
Outshining both the sun and moon.

89
Neither sun nor moon ever shone so sweet
As the pouring flood from that court that flowed;
Swiftly it swept through every street,
And no filth nor soil nor slime it showed.

No church was there the sight to greet,
Nor chapel nor temple there ever abode:
The Almighty was their minister meet;
Refreshment the Victim Lamb bestowed.

The gates ever open to every road
Were never yet shut from noon to noon;
There enters none to find abode
Who bears any spot beneath the moon.

90
The moon therefrom may gain no might,
Too spotty is she, of form too hoar;
Moreover there comes never night:
Why should the moon in circle soar
And compare her with that peerless light
That shines upon that water's shore?

The planets are in too poor a plight,
Yea, the sun himself too pale and frore.

On shining trees where those waters pour
Twelve fruits of life there ripen soon;
Twelve times a year they bear a store,
And renew them anew in every moon.

91
Such marvels as neath the moon upraised
A fleshly heart could not endure
I saw, who on that castle gazed;
Such wonders did its castle gazed;
I stood there still as quail all dazed;
Its wondrous form did me allure,
That rest nor toil I felt, amazed,
And ravished by that radiance pure.

For with conscience clear I you assure,
If man embodied had gained that boon,
Though sages all essayed his cure,
His life had been lost beneath the moon.

92
As doth the moon in might arise,
Ere down must daylight leave the air,
So, suddenly, in a wondrous wise,
Of procession long I was aware.

Unheralded to my surprise
That city of royal renown so fair
Was with virgins filled in the very guise
Of my blissful one with crown on hair.

All crowned in manner like they were,
In pearls appointed, and weeds of white,
and bound on breast did each one bear
The blissful pearl with great delight.

93
With great delight in line they strolled
On golden ways that gleamed like glass;
A hundred thousands were there, I hold,
And all to match their livery was;
The gladdest face could none have told.

the Lamb before did proudly pass
With seven horns of clear red gold;
As pearls of price His raimant was.

To the Throne now drawn they pacing pass:
No crowding, though great their host in white,
But gentle as modest maids at Mass,
So lead they on with great delight.

94
The delight too great were to recall
That at His coming forth did swell.

When He approached those elders all
On their faces at His feet they fell;
There summoned hosts angelical
An incense cast of sweetest smell:
New glory and joy then forth did fall,
All sang to praise that fair Jewel.

The strain could strike through earth to hell
That the Virtues of heaven in joy endite.

With His host to laud the Lamb as well
In deed I found a great delight.

95
Delight the Lamb to behold with eyes
Then moved my mind with wonder more:
The best was He, blithest, most dear to prize
Of whom I e'er heard tales of yore;
So wondrous white was all His guise,
So noble Himself He so meekly bore.

But by his heart a wound my eyes
Saw wide and wet; the fleece it tore,
From His white side His blood did pour.

Alas! thought I, who did that spite?

His breast should have burned with anguish sore,
Ere in that deed one took delight.

96
The Lamb's delight to doubt, I ween,
None wished; though wound He sore displayed,
In His face no sign thereof was seen,
In His glance such glorious gladness played.

I marked among His host serene,
How life in full on each was laid--
Then saw I there my little queen
That I thought stood by me in the glade!
Lord! great was the merriment she made,
Among her peers who was so white.

That vision made me think to wade
For love-longing in great delight.

97
Delight there pierced my eye and ear,
In my mortal mind a madness reigned;
When I saw her beauty I would be near,
Though beyond the stream she was retained.

I thought that naught could interfere,
Could strike me back to halt constrained,
From plunge in stream would none me steer,
Though I died ere I swam o'er what remained.

But as wild in the water to start I strained,
On my intent did quaking seize;
From that aim recalled I was detained:
It was not as my Prince did please.

98
It pleased Him not that I leapt o'er
Those marvellous bounds my madness swayed.

Though headlong haste me heedless bore,
Yet swift arrest was on me made,
For right as I rushed then to the shore
That fury made my dream to fade.

I woke in that garden as before,
My head upon that mound was laid
Where once to earth my pearl had strayed.

I stretched, and fell in great unease,
And sighing to myself I prayed:
'Now all be as that Prince may please.

'
99
It pleased me ill outcast to be
So suddenly from that region fair
Where living beauty I could see.

A swoon of longing smote me there,
And I cried aloud then piteously:
"O Pearl, renowned beyond compare!
How dear was all that you said to me,
That vision true while I did share.

If it be true and sooth to swear
That in garland gay you are set at ease,
Then happy I, though chained in care,
That you that Prince indeed do please.

"
100
To please that Prince had I always bent,
Desired no more than was my share,
And loyally been obedient,
As the Pearl me prayed so debonair,
I before God's face might have been sent,
In his mysteries further maybe to fare.

But with fortune no man is content
That rightly he may claim and bear;
So robbed of realms immortally fair
Too soon my joy did sorrow seize.

Lord! mad are they who against Thee dare
Or purpose what Thee may displease!
101
To please that Prince, or be pardon shown,
May Christian good with ease design;
For day and night I have Him known
A God, a Lord, a Friend divine.

This chance I met on mound where prone
In grief for my pearl I would repine;
With Christ's sweet blessing and mine own
I then to God it did resign.

May He that in form of bread and wine
By priest upheld each day one sees,
Us inmates of His house divine
Make precious pearls Himself to please.

Amen Amen
Translated by Tolkien from a manuscript ca.

1400.

'Pearl is apparently an elegy on the death of a child, a poem pervaded with a sense of great personal loss: but, like Gawain it is also a sophisticated and moving debate on much less tangible matters.

Phrophesies, Predictions Read Poem

Prophesies, predictions,
Stories and fictions,
Allegories, rimes,
And serious pastimes
For all manner men,
Without regarde when,
Or where they abide,
On this or that side,
Or vnder the midline
Of the Holland sheetes fine,
Or in the Tropicks faire
Of sunshine and cleere aire,
Or vnder the pole
Of chimney and seacole:
Reade they that list, vnderstand they that can,
Verbum satis est
to a wise man.

Piddlin' Pete Read Poem

A famous dog once came to town
Known to his friends as Pete
His pedigree was ten yards long
His looks were hard to beat
And as he trotted down the road
'twas beautiful to see
His work at every corner
Every post and every tree
He never missed a land mark
He never missed a post
For piddling was his masterpiece
And piddling pleased him most
The city dogs stood looking on
In deep and jealous rage
To see this little country dog
The piddler of his age
They smelt his efforts one by one
They smelt him two by two
But noble Pete in high disdain
Stood still 'til they were through
Then when they'd smelt him everywhere
The praise for him ran high
But when one smelt him underneath
Pete piddled in his eye
Just then to show these city dogs
He didn't care a damn
He strolled into the grocers shop
And piddled on the ham
He piddled on the cornflakes
He piddled on the floor
And when the grocer threw him out
He piddled up the door
Behind him all the city dogs
Debated what to do
They'd hold a piddling carnival
The hoop they'd put him through
They showed him all the piddling posts
They knew about the town
And off they set with many a wink
To wear the stranger down
But Pete was with them all the way
With vigour and with vim
A thousand piddles more or less
Were all the same to him
And on and on went noble Pete
As tireless as a windmill
And very soon those city dogs
Were piddled to a standstill
Then Pete an exhibition gave
Of all the ways to piddle
With double drips and fancy flips
And now and then a dribble
The city dogs said farewell Pete
Your piddling did defeat us
But no one ever put them wise
That Pete.

.

.

had diabetes.

Although the original author is unknown this version is based on the arrangement and performances by Leslie Sarony [1897-1985] in the English Musical Halls.

The poem has been attributed to Eugene Field, an American author primarily associated with 19th century children's stories.

Plain Truth and Blind Ignorance Read Poem

Truth
"God speed you, ancient father,
And give you a good daye;
What is the cause, I praye you,
So sadly here you staye?

And that you keep such gazing
On this decayed place,
The which, for superstition,
Good princes down did raze?

"
Ignorance
"Chill tell thee, by my vazen,
That zometimes che have knowne
A vair and goodly abbey
Stand here of bricke and stone;
And many a holy vrier,
As ich may say to thee,
Within these goodly cloysters
Che did full often zee.

"
Truth.

"Then I must tell thee, father,
In truthe and veritie,
A sorte of greater hypocrites
Thou couldst not likely see;
Deceiving of the simple
With false and feigned lies:
But such an order truly
Christ never did devise.

"
Ignorance.

"Ah! ah! che zmell the enow, man;
Che know well what thou art;
A vellow of mean learning,
Thee was not worth a vart;
Vor when we had the old lawe,
A merry world was then,
And every thing was plenty
Among all zorts of men.

"
Truth.

"Thou givest me an answer,
As did the Jewes sometimes
Unto the prophet Jeremye,
When he accus'd their crimes:
' 'Twas mercy,' sayd the people,
'And joyfull in our rea'me,
When we did offer spice-cakes
Unto the queen of hea'n.

'"
Ignorance.

"Chill tell thee what, good vellowe,
Before the vriers went hence
A bushell of the best wheate
Was zold vor vourteen pence;
And vorty egges a penny,
That were both good and newe;
And this che zay my zelf have zeene
And yet ich am no Jewe.

"
Truth.

"Within the sacred bible
We find it written plain,
The latter days should troublesome
And dangerous be, certaine;
That we should be, self-lovers,
And charity wax colde;
Then 'tis not true religion
That makes thee grief to holde.

"
Ignorance.

"Chill tell thee my opinion plaine,
And choul'd that well ye knewe,
Ich care not for the bible booke,
'Tis too big to be true.

Our blessed Ladyes psalter
Zhall for my money goe;
Zuch pretty prayers, as there bee,
The bible cannot zhowe.

"
Truth.

"Nowe hast thou spoken trulye,
For in that book indeede
No mention of Our Lady,
Or Romish saint we read;
For by the blessed Spirit
That book indited was,
And not by simple persons,
As was the foolish masse.

"
Ignorance.

"Cham zure they were not voolishe
That made the masse, che trowe;
Why, man, 'tis all in Latine,
And vooles no Latine knowe.

Were not our fathers wise men,
And they did like it well,
Who very much rejoyced
To heare the zacring bell?

"
Truth.

"But many kinges and prophets,
As I may say to thee,
Have wisht the light that you have
And could it never see;
For what art thou the better
A Latin song to heare,
And understandest nothing,
That they sing in the quiere?

"
Ignorance.

"O hold thy peace, che pray thee,
The noise was passing trim
To heare the vriers zinging
As we did enter in;
And then to zee the rood-loft
Zo bravely zet with zaints; —
But now to zee them wandring
My heart with zorrow vaints.

"
Truth.

"The Lord did give commandment
No image thou shouldst make,
Nor that unto idolatry
You should your self betake.

The golden calf of Israel
Moses did therefore spoile;
And Baal's priests and temple
Were brought to utter foile.

"
Ignorance.

"But Our Lady of Walsinghame
Was a pure and holy zaint,
And many men in pilgrimage
Did shew to her complaint.

Yea with zweet Thomas Becket,
And many other moe.

The holy maid of Kent likewise
Did many wonders zhowe.

"
Truth.

"Such saints are well agreeing
To your profession sure,
And to the men that made them
So precious and so pure;
The one for being a traytoure
Met an untimely death;
The other eke for treason
Did end her hateful breath.

"
Ignorance.

"Yea, yea, it is no matter,
Dispraise them how you wille;
But zure they did much goodnesse,
Would they were with us stille!
We had our holy water,
And holy bread likewise,
And many holy reliques
We zaw before our eyes.

"
Truth.

"And all this while they fed you
With vaine and empty showe
Which never Christ commanded,
As learned doctors knowe.

Search then the holy scriptures,
And thou shalt plainly see
That headlong to damnation
They alway trained thee.

"
Ignorance
"If it be true, good vellowe,
As thou dost zay to mee,
Unto my heavenly Fader
Alone then will I flee,
Believing in the Gospel,
And passion of his Zon;
And with the zubtil papistes
Ich have for ever done.

"

Plain Truth And Blind Ignorance Read Poem

Truth
'God speed you, ancient father,
And give you a good daye;
What is the cause, I praye you,
So sadly here you staye?

And that you keep such gazing
On this decayed place,
The which, for superstition,
Good princes down did raze?

'
Ignorance
'Chill tell thee, by my vazen,
That zometimes che have knowne
A vair and goodly abbey
Stand here of bricke and stone;
And many a holy vrier,
As ich may say to thee,
Within these goodly cloysters
Che did full often zee.

'
Truth.

'Then I must tell thee, father,
In truthe and veritie,
A sorte of greater hypocrites
Thou couldst not likely see;
Deceiving of the simple
With false and feigned lies:
But such an order truly
Christ never did devise.

'
Ignorance.

'Ah! ah! che zmell the enow, man;
Che know well what thou art;
A vellow of mean learning,
Thee was not worth a vart;
Vor when we had the old lawe,
A merry world was then,
And every thing was plenty
Among all zorts of men.

'
Truth.

'Thou givest me an answer,
As did the Jewes sometimes
Unto the prophet Jeremye,
When he accus'd their crimes:
' 'Twas mercy,' sayd the people,
'And joyfull in our rea'me,
When we did offer spice-cakes
Unto the queen of hea'n.

''
Ignorance.

'Chill tell thee what, good vellowe,
Before the vriers went hence
A bushell of the best wheate
Was zold vor vourteen pence;
And vorty egges a penny,
That were both good and newe;
And this che zay my zelf have zeene
And yet ich am no Jewe.

'
Truth.

'Within the sacred bible
We find it written plain,
The latter days should troublesome
And dangerous be, certaine;
That we should be, self-lovers,
And charity wax colde;
Then 'tis not true religion
That makes thee grief to holde.

'
Ignorance.

'Chill tell thee my opinion plaine,
And choul'd that well ye knewe,
Ich care not for the bible booke,
'Tis too big to be true.

Our blessed Ladyes psalter
Zhall for my money goe;
Zuch pretty prayers, as there bee,
The bible cannot zhowe.

'
Truth.

'Nowe hast thou spoken trulye,
For in that book indeede
No mention of Our Lady,
Or Romish saint we read;
For by the blessed Spirit
That book indited was,
And not by simple persons,
As was the foolish masse.

'
Ignorance.

'Cham zure they were not voolishe
That made the masse, che trowe;
Why, man, 'tis all in Latine,
And vooles no Latine knowe.

Were not our fathers wise men,
And they did like it well,
Who very much rejoyced
To heare the zacring bell?

'
Truth.

'But many kinges and prophets,
As I may say to thee,
Have wisht the light that you have
And could it never see;
For what art thou the better
A Latin song to heare,
And understandest nothing,
That they sing in the quiere?

'
Ignorance.

'O hold thy peace, che pray thee,
The noise was passing trim
To heare the vriers zinging
As we did enter in;
And then to zee the rood-loft
Zo bravely zet with zaints; -
But now to zee them wandring
My heart with zorrow vaints.

'
Truth.

'The Lord did give commandment
No image thou shouldst make,
Nor that unto idolatry
You should your self betake.

The golden calf of Israel
Moses did therefore spoile;
And Baal's priests and temple
Were brought to utter foile.

'
Ignorance.

'But Our Lady of Walsinghame
Was a pure and holy zaint,
And many men in pilgrimage
Did shew to her complaint.

Yea with zweet Thomas Becket,
And many other moe.

The holy maid of Kent likewise
Did many wonders zhowe.

'
Truth.

'Such saints are well agreeing
To your profession sure,
And to the men that made them
So precious and so pure;
The one for being a traytoure
Met an untimely death;
The other eke for treason
Did end her hateful breath.

'
Ignorance.

'Yea, yea, it is no matter,
Dispraise them how you wille;
But zure they did much goodnesse,
Would they were with us stille!
We had our holy water,
And holy bread likewise,
And many holy reliques
We zaw before our eyes.

'
Truth.

'And all this while they fed you
With vaine and empty showe
Which never Christ commanded,
As learned doctors knowe.

Search then the holy scriptures,
And thou shalt plainly see
That headlong to damnation
They alway trained thee.

'
Ignorance
'If it be true, good vellowe,
As thou dost zay to mee,
Unto my heavenly Fader
Alone then will I flee,
Believing in the Gospel,
And passion of his Zon;
And with the zubtil papistes
Ich have for ever done.

'

Poetical Reflections On A Late Poem Entitled Absalom And Achitophel Read Poem

When late Protectorship was Canon-Proof,
And _Cap-a-pe_ had seiz'd on _Whitehall_-Roof,
And next, on _Israelites_ durst look so big,
That _Tory-like_, it lov'd not much the _Whigg_:
A Poet there starts up, of wondrous Fame;
Whether _Scribe_ or _Pharisee_, his Race doth name,
Or more t'intrigue the Metaphor of Man,
Got on a Muse by _Father-Publican_:
[Sidenote: A Committee-Man.

]
For 'tis not harder much, if we tax Nature,
That Lines should give a Poet such a Feature;
Than that his Verse a _Hero_ should us show,
[Sidenote: _Sir Denzill Hollis_ seeks _annum mirabilis_.

]
Produc'd by such a Feat, as famous too.

His Mingle such, what Man presumes to think,
But he can Figures daub with Pen and Ink.

A Grace our mighty _Nimrod_ late beheld,
When he within the Royal Palace dwell'd,
And saw 'twas of import if Lines could bring
His Greatness from _Usurper_, to be King:
[Sidenote: See his Poem on _Cromwel_.

]
Or varnish so his Praise, that little odds
Should seem 'twixt him, and such called Earthly Gods.

And tho no Wit can Royal Blood infuse,
No more than melt a Mother to a Muse:
Yet much a certain Poet undertook,
That Men and Manners deals in without-Book.

And might not more to Gospel-Truth belong,
Than he (if Christened) does by name of _John.

_
This Poet, who that time much squanderd thought,
Of which some might bring Coyn, whilst some none brought,
As Men that hold their Brains of powerful sense,
Will least on Poet's Tales bestow their pence,
Tho he such Dispensations to endear,
Had notch'd his Sconce just level with his Ear.

An Emblem in these days of much import,
When Crop-ear'd Wits had such a Modish Court.

Tho some from after-deeds much fear the Fate,
That such a Muse may for its Lugs create.

As Stars may without Pillories dispence,
To slit some Ears for Forgeries of sense,
Which Princes, Nobles, and the Fame of Men,
Sought to bespatter by a worthless Pen.

But leaving this to Circumstances fit,
With what thence spreads this Renegado-wit.

We'll tell you how his Court he now doth make,     }
And what choice Things and Persons he doth take,   }
That Lines for Guinnys might more liquorish speak.

}
To heigten which we'll to his Muse advance,
Which late discover'd its _Judaick_ Trance:
Where _Absalon_'s in _English_ Colours di'd,
That in a Duke, a Traitor might be spi'd.

Or Heaven on him did Graces so bestow,
As only could confer their Pageant Show;
Giving his Glories no more fast Renown,
Than with more Honour to be taken down:
Like Victimes by some Sacrificers drest,
Must fall adorn'd, which then they pity least.

But fear not _Monmouth_, if a Libel's quill,
Would dregs of Venom on thy Vertue spill;
Since no desert so smoothly is convey'd,
As next it's Fame, no canker'd Patch is laid;
Thou didst no Honour seek, but what's thy due,
And such Heaven bids thee not relinquish too.

Whilst it's Impressions so oblig'd thy Task,
As leave from Earth thy Soul declin'd to ask.

If this thy Error were, what Influ'nce can
Excuse the Duty of more wilfull Man;
With such whose Figures shew that squinting Paint,
Whence peeps a Mungril _Babylonish Saint_.

Thy Soul's Religion's Prop, and Native Grace,
_Rome_, (fears its onsets) looking on the place;
What Altitude can more exalt thy Praise,
Tho best Devotion should thy Trophies raise,
And 'tis perhaps from thy Diviner Bliss,
That some may fear their Souls are seen amiss.

As what so high does Emulation mount,
As Greatness when surpass'd on Heaven's Account;
And if th' Ambition would in this excel,
'Twas but to be more great in doing well;
And must rebate the worst that Fates intend,
Whilst Heaven and _England_ is at once thy Friend.

This just _Encomium_, tho too brief it be
To represent thy least Epitome;
And but unto thy larger Figure joyn'd,
As small proportions are from great design'd;
Tho where a line one worth of thine can speak,
It does alone, a Poem's Greatness make;
Leaving this _Hero_ to his spotless Fame,
(As who besides this Wretch will it blaspheme)
Or in a Libels Allegorick Way,
Men falsely figur'd, to the world convey,
Libels the enormous Forgery of sense,
Stamp'd on the brow of human Impudence;
The blackest wound of Merit, and the Dart,
That secret Envy points against Desert.

The lust of Hatred pander'd to the Eye
T'allure the World's debauching by a Lie.

Th'rancrous Favourite's masquerading Guilt,
Imbitt'ring venom where he'd have it spilt.

The Courts depression in a fulsom Praise;
A Test it's _Ignoramus_ worst conveys,
A lump of Falshood's Malice does disperse,
Or Toad when crawling on the Feet of Verse.

Fame's impious Hireling and mean Reward,
The Knave that in his Lines turns up his Card,
Who, tho no Rabby, thought in Hebrew wit,
He forc'd Allusions can closly fit.

To _Jews_ or _English_, much unknown before,
He made a _Talmud_ on his Muses score;
Though hop'd few Criticks will its _Genius_ carp,
So purely Metaphors King _David_'s Harp,
And by a soft Encomium, near at hand,
Shews _Bathsheba_ Embrac'd throughout the Land.

But this Judaick Paraphrastick Sport
We'll leave unto the ridling Smile of Court.

Good Heav'n! What timeful Pains can Rhymers take,
When they'd for Crowds of Men much Pen-plot make?

Which long-Beak'd Tales and filch'd Allusions brings,
As much like Truth, as 'tis the Woodcock sings.

What else could move this Poet to purloin
So many _Jews_, to please the _English_ Swine?

Or was it that his Brains might next dispense
To adapt himself a Royal Evidence?

Or that he'd find for _Dugdale_'s Wash some Spell,
In stead of once more dipp'd in _Winifred_'s Well;
And ope his Budget, like _Pandora_'s Box,
Whence Overt-acts more _Protestants_ should Pox,
Which might the Joyner's Ghost provoke to rise,
And fright such Tales with other _Popish_ Lies?

But _Starr's_ or _Ignoramus_'s may not give
Those Swearers longer swinge by Oaths to live.

A Providence much _English_ Good protects,
And sends Testees to Trade for new Effects;
Which none of the Long-Robe, 'tis hop'd, can aid,
So well by Oaths the Devil's already paid;
And most suppose, if e're both Plots can die,
Or eat up one anothers Perjury,
'Twou'd _Pluto_ strangely pose to find a Third,
Sould he in his a _Popish_ Legion Lard.

A Policy some Poems much embrace,
As is discern'd in _Shaftsbury_'s Great Case;
Where Verse so vile an Obloquy betray,
As for a Statist-_Jew_ they'd him convey.

Tho hard it is to understand what Spell
Can conjure up in him _Achitophel_,
Or tax this Peer with an Abused Sense
Of his so deep and apt Intelligence:
A Promptitude by which the Nation's shown
To be in Thought concurrent with his own.

_Shaftsbury_! A Soul that Nature did impart
To raise her Wonder in a Brain and Heart;
Or that in him produc'd, the World might know,
She others did with drooping Thought bestow.

As in Mans most perspicuous Soul, we find
The nearest Draught of her Internal Mind,
Tho it appears her highest Act of State,
When Human Conducts she does most compleat,
And place them so, for Mankinds good, that they
Are fit to Guide, where others miss their Way;
It being in Worldly Politiques less Great
To be a Law-maker, than Preserve a State.

In Publick Dangers Laws are unsecure,
As strongest Anchors can't all Winds endure;
Though 'tis in Exigents the wisest Ease
To know who best can ply when Storms encrease;
Whilst other Prospects, by mistaking Fate,
Through wrong Preventions, more its Bad dilate.

Whence some their Counter-Politicks extend,
To ruine such can Evils best amend.

A Thwarting _Genius_, which our Nation more
Than all its head-strong Evils does deplore;
And shews what violent Movements such inform,
That where a Calm should be, they force a Storm;
As if their Safety chiefly they must prize
In being rid of Men esteem'd more Wise.

To this Great, Little Man, we'll T'other joyn,
Held Sufferers by one Tripartite Design.

As from a Cubick Power, or Three-fold Might,
Roots much expand, as Authors prove aright;
But of such Managements we'll little say,
Or shamm'd Intrigues, for Fame left to convey;
Which may by peeping through a Gown-mans Sleeve,
Tell such grave Tales, Men cannot well believe:
With what for Plots and Trials has been done,
As Whores depos'd, before away they run;
All which was well discern'd by numerous Sense,
Before the Doctors py'd Intelligence,
Who, with some Motley Lawyers, took much care
To gain the _Caput_ of this Knowing Peer;
When after so much Noise, and nothing prov'd,
Heaven thank'd, to Freedom he's at last remov'd,
Leaving a Low-Bridge _Cerberus_ to try
In what Clerks Pate his monstrous Fee does lie;
Or by the help of _Tory-Roger_ tell
How Sacred Gain-Prerogativ'd should spell.

But these are Thoughts may fit some Pensive Skulls,
Or Men concern'd to bait their several Bulls;
Whilst on this Peer we must some Lines bestow,
Tho more he merits than best Verse can show:
Great in his Name, but greater in his Parts,
Judgment sublim'd, with all its strong Deserts;
A Sense above Occasions quick surprize,
That he no Study needs to make him Wise,
Or labour'd Thoughts, that trains of Sinews knit,
His Judgment always twin'd unto his Wit;
That from his clear Discussions Men may know
He does to wonder other Brains out-do.

Whilst they for Notions search they can't compact,
His _Genius_ fitly stands prepar'd to act.

Admir'd of Man, that in thy Sense alone
So ready dost exalt high Reason's Throne;
That Men abate Resentments to expect
Thou mayst rise Greater, having past Neglect.

A Sacred Method Kings receive from Heaven,
That still does Cherish, when it has Forgiven;
Which from our Princes Soul so largely flows,
That Mercy's Channel with his Greatness goes.

No Arbitrary Whispers him can guide
To swell his Rule beyond its genuine Tide:
Whilst other Kings their rugged Scepters see
Eclips'd in his more soft Felicity;
Whose Goodness can all Stress of State remove,
So fitly own'd the Subjects Fear and Love.

My Verse might here discharge its hasty Flight, }
As Pencils that attempt Immortal Heighth        }
Droop in the Colours should convey its Light,   }
Did not this Poet's Lines upon me call
For some Reflexions on a Lower Fall;
Where he by Rhyming, a _Judaick_ Sham,
Obtrudes for _Israelites_ some Seeds of _Cham_.

And this Inspexion needs no further go
Than where his Pen does most Indulgent show:
And 'tis no wonder if his _Types_ of Sense
Should stroke such _Figures_ as give down their Pence;
A Crime for which some Poets Lines so stretch,
As on themselves they Metaphor _Jack Ketch_.

Tho small the Varnish is to Humane Name,
Where Cogging Measures rob the truth of Fame.

And more to do his skew'd _Encomiums_ right,
Some Persons speak by him their motly Sight:
Or much like _Hudibras_, on Wits pretence,
Some Lines for Rhyme, and some to gingle Sense.

Who else would _Adriel_, _Jotham_, _Hushai_, fit,
With loathed _Amiell_, for a Court of Wit?

For, as Men Squares of Circles hardly find,
Some think these Measures are as odly joyn'd.

What else could _Adriell_'s sharpness more abuse,
Than headlong dubb'd, to own himself a Muse,
Unless to spread Poetick Honours so
As should a Muse give each St.

_George_'s Show?

A Mode of Glory might _Parnassus_ fit,
Tho our Sage Prince knows few he'd Knight for Wit.

And thus this Freak is left upon the File,
Or as 'tis written in this Poet's Stile.

Next, as in Course, to _Jotham_ we'll descend,
Thoughtful it seems which Side he'll next befriend,
As thinking Brains can caper to and fro,
Before they jump into the Box they'd go.

And 'tis a moody Age, as many guess,
When some with busie Fears still forward press;
As 'tis Ambitions oft-deluding Cheat
To tempt Mens aims, secureless of defeat.

_Hushai_ the Compass of th'_Exchequer_ guides,
Propense enough unto the North besides:
As what can steady Stations more allure,
Than such, a Princely Bed does first secure?

Whose Part none are so ignorant to ask,
And does no less employ his Ends and Task.

But quitting these, we must for Prospect pass
To gaping _Amiell_, as reflects our Glass.

The _Him_ indeed of his own *Western Dome,
[Sidenote: _See his_, p.

27.

]
So near his praiseful Poet Sense may come:
For *_Amiell_, _Amiell_, who cannot endite
[Sidenote: _See his_, p.

28.

]
Of his _Thin_ Value won't disdain to write?

The very _Him_ with Gown and Mace did rule
The _Sanedrim_, when guided by a Fool.

The _Him_ that did both Sense and Reason shift,
That he to gainful Place himself might lift.

The very _Him_ that did adjust the Seed
Of such as did their Votes for Money breed.

The Mighty _Him_ that frothy Notions vents,
In hope to turn them into Presidents.

The _Him_ of _Hims_, although in Judgment small,
That fain would be the biggest at _Whitehall_.

The He that does for Justice Coin postpone,
As on Account may be hereafter shown.

If this plain _English_ be, 'tis far from Trick,
Though some Lines gall, where others fawning lick;
Which fits thy Poet, _Amiell_, for thy Smiles,
If once more paid to blaze thy hated Toils.

Of Things and Persons might be added more,
Without Intelligence from Forreign Shore,
Or what Designs Ambassadors contrive,
Or how the Faithless _French_ their Compass guide:
But Lines the busie World too much supply,
Besides th'Effects of evil Poetry,
Which much to _Tory_-Writers some ascribe,
Though hop'd no Furies of the _Whiggish_ Tribe
Will on their Backs such Lines or Shapes convey,
To burn with Pope, on Great _November_'s Day.

Prayer Read Poem

Go when the morning shineth,
Go when the moon is bright,
Go when the day declineth,
Go in the hush of night.

Go with pure mind and feeling,
Fling earthly thoughts away,
And in thy chamber kneeling,
Do thou in secret pray.

Remember all who love thee,
All who are loved by thee;
Pray too for those who hate thee,
If any such there be.

Then for thyself in meekness
A blessing humbly claim,
And link with each petition
Thy great Redeemer's name.

Or if 'tis e'er denied thee
In solitude to pray,
Should holy thoughts come o'er thee,
When friends are round thy way;
Even then the silent breathing
Of thy spirit raised above,
Will reach His throne of glory,
Who is mercy, truth, and love!
Oh, not a joy or blessing
With this can we compare,
The power that He hath given us
To pour our souls in prayer!
Whene'er thou pinest in sadness,
Before His footstool fall,
And remember, in thy gladness,
His grace who gives thee all.

Queen Dido; Or, Eneas, Wandering Prince of Troy Read Poem

When Troy towne had, for ten yeeres 'past',
Withstood the Greekes in manfull wise,
Then did their foes encrease soe fast,
That to resist none could suffice:
Wast lye those walls, that were soe good,
And corne now growes where Troy towne stoode.

AEneas, wandering prince of Troy,
When he for land long time had sought,
At length arriving with great joy,
To mighty Carthage walls was brought;
Where Dido queene, with sumptuous feast,
Did entertaine that wandering guest.

And, as in hall at meate they sate,
The queene, desirous newes to heare,
'Says, "Of thy Troys unhappy fate,'
Declare to me, thou Trojan deare:
The heavy hap and chance soe bad,
That thou, poore wandering prince, hast had.

"
And then anon this comelye knight,
With words demure, as he cold well,
Of his unhappy ten yeares 'fight,'
Soe true a tale began to tell,
With words soe sweete, and sighes soe deepe,
That oft he made them all to weepe.

And then  a thousand sighes he fet,
And every sigh brought teares amaine;
That where he sate the place was wett,
As though he had seene those warrs againe:
Soe that the queene, with ruth therfore,
Said, "Worthy prince, enough, no more.

"
And then the darksome night drew on,
And twinkling starres the skye bespred,
When he his dolefull tale had done,
And every one was layd in bedd:
Where they full sweetly tooke their rest,
Save only Dido's boyling brest.

This silly woman never slept,
But in her chamber, all alone,
As one unhappye, alwayes wept,
And to the walls shee made her mone;
That she shold still desire in vaine
The thing, she never must obtaine.

And thus in grieffe she spent the night,
Till twinkling starres the skye were fled,
And Phoebus, with his glistering light,
Through misty cloudes appeared red;
Then tidings came to her anon,
That all the Trojan shipps were gone.

And then the queene with bloody knife
Did arme, her hart as hard as stone;
Yet, something loth to loose her life,
In woefull wise she made her mone;
And, rowling on her carefull bed,
With sighes and sobbs, these words shee sayd:
"O wretched Dido queene!" quoth shee,
"I see thy end approacheth neare;
For he is fled away from thee,
Whom thou didst love and hold so deare:
What, is he gone, and passed by?

O hart, prepare thyselfe to dye.

"Though reason says thou shouldst forbeare,
And stay thy hand from bloudy stroke,
Yet fancy bids thee not to fear,
Which fetter'd thee in Cupids yoke.

Come death," quoth shee, "resolve my smart!"—
And with those words she peereed her hart.

When death had pierced the tender hart
Of Dido, Carthaginian queene,
Whose bloudy knife did end the smart
Which shee sustain'd in mournfull teene,
AEneas being shipt and gone,
Whose flattery caused all her mone,
Her funerall most costly made,
And all things finisht mournfullye,
Her body fine in mold was laid,
Where itt consumed speedilye:
Her sisters teares her tombe bestrewde,
Her subjects griefe their kindnesse shewed.

Then was AEneas in an ile
In Grecya, where he stayd long space,
Wheras her sister in short while
Writt to him to his vile disgrace;
In speeches bitter to his mind
Shee told him plaine he was unkind.

"False-harted wretch," quoth shee, "thou art:
And traiterouslye thou hast betraid
Unto thy lure a gentle hart,
Which unto thee much welcome made;
My sister deare, and Carthage' joy,
Whose folly bred her deere annoy,
"Yett on her death-bed when shee lay,
Shee prayd for thy prosperitye,
Beseeching Godo, that every day
Might breed thy great felicitye:
Thus by thy meanes I lost a friend;
Heavens send thee such untimely end.

"
When he these lines, full fraught with gall,
Perused had, and wayed them right,
His lofty courage then did fall;
And straight appeared in his sight
Queen Dido's ghost, both grim and pale;
Which made this valliant souldier quaile.

"AEneas," quoth this ghastly ghost,
"My whole delight, when I did live,
Thee of all men I loved most;
My fancy and my will did give;
For entertainment I thee gave,
Unthankfully thou didst me grave.

"Therefore prepare thy flitting soule
To wander with me in the aire,
Where deadlye griefe shall make it howle,
Because of me thou tookst no care:
Delay not time, thy glasse is run,
Thy date is past, thy life is done.

"
"O stay a while, thou lovely sprite,
Be not soe hasty to convay
My soule into eternall night,
Where itt shall ne're behold bright day:
O doe not frowne; thy angry looke
Hath 'all my soule with horror shooke.

"But, woe is me! all is in vaine,
And bootless is my dismall crye;
Time will not be recalled againe,
Nor thou surcease before I dye.

O lett me live, and make amends
To some of thy most dearest friends.

"But seeing thou obdurate art,
And wilt no pittye on me show,
Because from thee I did depart,
And left unpaid what I did owe,
I must content myselfe to take
What lott to me thou wilt partake.

"
And thus, as one being in a trance,
A multitude of uglye feinds
About this woffull prince did dance:
He had no helpe of any friends:
His body then they tooke away,
And no man knew his dying day.

Queen Eleanor's Confession Read Poem

Queene Elianor was a sicke woman,
And afraid that she should dye;
Then she sent for two fryars of France,
To speke with her speedilye.

The king called downe his nobles all,
By one, by two, by three,
'Earl Marshall, Ile go shrive the queene,
And thou shalt wend with mee.

'
'A boone, a boone;' quoth Earl Marshall,
And fell on his bended knee;
'That whatsoever Queene Elianor saye,
No harme therof may bee.

'
'Ile pawne my landes,' the king then cryd,
'My sceptre, crowne, and all,
That whatsoere Queen Elianor sayes,
No harme therof shall fall.

'Do thou put on a fryars coat,
And Ile put on another;
And we will to Queen Elianor goe,
Like fryar and his brother.

'
Thus both attired then they goe:
When they came to Whitehall,
The bells did ring, and the quiristers sing,
And the torches did lighte them all.

When that they came before the queene,
They fell on their bended knee;
'A boone, a boone, our gracious queene,
That you sent so hastilee.

'
'Are you two fryars of France,' she sayd,
'As I suppose you bee?

But if you are two Englishe fryars,
You shall hang on the gallowes tree.

'
'We are two fryars of France,' they sayd,
'As you suppose we bee;
We have not been at any masse
Sith we came from the sea.

'
'The first vile thing that ever I did,
I will to you unfolde;
Earl Marshall had my maidenhed,
Beneath this cloth of golde.

'
'Thats a vile sinne,' then sayd the king;
'May God forgive it thee!'
'Amen, amen,' quoth Earl Marshall,
With a heavye heart spake hee.

'The next vile thing that ever I did,
To you Ile not denye;
I made a boxe of poyson strong,
To poison King Henrye.

'
'Thats a vile sinne,' then sayd the king,
'May God forgive it thee!'
'Amen, amen,' quoth Earl Marshall;
'And I wish it so may bee.

'
'The next vile thing that ever I did,
To you I will discover;
I poysoned fair Rosamonde,
All in fair Woodstocke bower.

'
'Thats a vile sinne,' then sayd the king;
'My God forgive it thee!'
'Amen, amen,' quoth Earl Marshall;
'And I wish it so may bee.

'
'Do you see yonders little boye,
A tossing of the balle?

That is Earl Marshalls eldest sonne,
And I love him the best of all.

'Do you see yonders little boye,
A catching of the balle?

That is King Henryes youngest sonne,
And I love him the worst of all.

'His head is fashyon'd like a bull,
His nose is like a boare, --'
'No matter for that,' King Henrye cry'd,
'I love him the better therfore.

'
The king pulled off his fryars coate,
And appeared all in redde;
She shrieked, and cryd, and wrung her hands,
And sayd she was betrayde.

The king lookt over his left shoulder,
And a grimme look looked hee;
'Earl Marshall,' he sayd, 'but for my oathe,
Or hanged thou shouldst bee.

'

Quia Amore Langeuo Read Poem

In a valley of this restles mind
I sought in mountain and in mead,
Trusting a true love for to find.

Upon an hill then took I heed;
A voice I heard (and near I yede)
In great dolour complaining tho:
See, dear soul, how my sides bleed
Quia amore langueo.

Upon this hill I found a tree,
Under a tree a man sitting;
From head to foot wounded was he;
His hearte blood I saw bleeding:
A seemly man to be a king,
A gracious face to look unto.

I asked why he had paining:
Quia amore langueo.

I am true love that false was never;
My sister, man's soul, I loved her thus.

Because we would in no wise dissever
I left my kingdom glorious.

I purveyed her a palace full precious;
She fled, I followed, I loved her so
That I suffered this pain piteous
Quia amore langueo.

My fair love and my spouse bright!
I saved her from beating, and she hath me bet;
I clothed her in grace and heavenly light;
This bloody shirt she hath on me set;
For longing of love yet would I not let;
Sweet strokes are these: lo!
I have loved her ever as I her het
Quia amore langueo.

I crowned her with bliss and she me with thorn;
I led her to chamber and she me to die;
I brought her to worship and she me to scorn;
I did her reverence and she me villany.

To love that loveth is no maistry;
Her hate made never my love her foe
Ask me then no question why -
Quia amore langueo.

Look unto mine handes, man!
These gloves were given me when I her sought;
They be not white, but red and wan;
Embroidered with blood my spouse them brought.

They will not off; I loose hem nought:
I woo her with hem wherever she go.

These hands for her so friendly fought
Quia amore langueo.

Marvel not, man, though I sit still.

See, love hath shod me wonder strait:
Buckled my feet, as was her will,
With sharp nails (well thou may'st wait!)
In my love was never desait;
All my membres I have opened her to;
My body I made her herte's bait
Quia amore langueo.

In my side I have made her nest;
Look in, how wet a wound is here!
This is her chamber, here shall she rest,
That she and I may sleep in fere.

Here may she wash, if any filth were;
Here is seat for all her woe;
Come when she will, she shall have cheer
Quia amore langueo.

I will abide till she be ready,
I will her sue if she say nay;
If she be retchless I will be greedy,
If she be dangerous I will her pray;
If she weep, then bide I ne may:
Mine arms ben spread to clip her me to.

Cry once, I come: now, soul, assay!
Quia amore langueo.

Fair love, let us go play:
Apples ben ripe in my gardayne.

I shall thee clothe in a new array,
Thy meat shall be milk, honey and wine.

Fair love, let us go dine:
Thy sustenance is in my crippe, lo!
Tarry thou not, my fair spouse mine,
Quia amore langueo.

If thou be foul, I shall thee make clean;
If thou be sick, I shall thee heal;
If thou mourn ought, I shall thee mene;
Why wilt thou not, fair love, with me deal?

Foundest thou ever love so leal?

What wilt thou, soul, that I shall do?

I may not unkindly thee appeal,
Quia amore langueo.

What shall I do now with my spouse
But abide her of my gentleness,
Till that she look out of her house
Of fleshly affection?

love mine she is;
Her bed is made, her bolster is bliss,
Her chamber is chosen; is there none mo.

Look out on me at the window of kindeness,
Quia amore langueo.

My love is in her chamber: hold your peace!
Make ye no noise, but let her sleep.

My babe I would not were in disease,
I may not hear my dear child weep.

With my pap I shall her keep;
Ne marvel ye not though I tend her to:
This wound in my side had ne'er been so deep
Quia amore langueo.

Long thou for love never so high,
My love is more than thine may be.

Thou weepest, thou gladdest, I sit thee by:
Yet wouldst thou once, love, look unto me!
Should I always feede thee
With children meat?

Nay, love, not so!
I will prove thy love with adversite,
Quia amore langueo.

Wax not weary, mine own wife!
What mede is aye to live in comfort?

In tribulation I reign more rife
Ofter times than in disport.

In weal and in woe I am aye to support:
Mine own wife, go not me fro!
Thy mede is marked, when thou art mort:
Quia amore langueo.

Raggle-Taggle Gypsy Read Poem

There were three young gypsies came to our hall door,
They came brave and boldly O.

And there's one sang high and the other sang low
And the Lady's seen the raggle-taggle gypsy O
It was upstairs and downstairs the Lady went
Put on her suit of leather, O
It was the cry all around her door
She's away with the raggle-taggle gypsy O
It was late last night that the lord came in,
Inquiring for his a-lady O
The serving girls replied to him all
She's away with the raggle-taggle gypsy O.

O then saddle for me me milk-white steed
Me big horse is not speedy O
I will ride and I'll seek my bride,
She's away with the raggle-taggle gypsy O.

O then he rode east, and he rode west
He rode north and south also,
But when he rode to the wide open field,
It was there that he spied his a-lady O.

O then why do you leave your house and your land?

Why do you leave you money, O?

And why do you leave your only only-wedded lord,
All for a raggle-taggle gypsy O?

What do I care for me house and me land?

What do I care for money,O?

And what do I care for me only-wedded lord,
I'm away with the raggle-taggle gypsy O!
Well it was there last night you'd a goosefeather bed,
With blankets drawn so comely, O.

Tonight you'll lie in a wide open field,
In the arms of your raggle-taggle gypsy, O.

What do I care for a goose-feather bed,
With blankets drawn so comely, O?

Tonight I'll lie in a wide open field,
In the arms of me raggle-taggle gypsy, O.

Often you rode east when I rode west
You rode high when I rode low
I'd rather have a kiss of the yellow gypsy's lips
Than all of the cashier's money, O.

Traditional Scotish.

Reflections -- Written In A Book Of Miscellaneous Articles Read Poem

How like the map that marks my varied way
Through life, these pages seem!
A specked piece -- a mix'd display
Of sadness, dulness, passion, pain, and play
One heap of sound -- one variegated dream.

How many a passion difficult; and there
Loud flourishes that leave,
On all who hear their notes, the mere
Remembrance of their noise; and now appear
Movements and times to teach me how to grieve.

Here love's enchanting strains, whose stops and bars,
And melting cadences,
Bring long lost echoes to my ears
Of sounds, which oft have hung upon my tears
And weigh'd them down -- pure drops of ecstacies.

Like these mix'd pages I can read my life,
In fancy hear its echoes play--
Its hurried chords -- its passion's strife--
Those sweet deceptive flights with which 'twas rife,
Transient as sound, but mark'd on memory.

Richard of Almaigne Read Poem

A ballad made by one of the adherents to Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, soon after the battle of Lewes, which was fought May 14, 1264.

Sitteth alle stille, ant herkneth to me;
The Kyng of Alemaigne, bi mi leaute,
Thritti thousent pound askede he
For te make the pees in the countre,
Ant so he dude more.

Richard, thah thou he ever trichard,
Trichthen shalt thou never more.

Richard of Alemaigne, whil that he wes kying,
He spende al is tresour opon swyvyng,
Haveth he nout of Walingford oferlyng,
Let him habbe, ase he brew, bale to dryng,
Maugre Windesore,
Richard, thah thou he ever trichard,
Trichthen shalt thou never more.

The Kyng of Alemaigne wende do ful wel,
He saisede the mulne for a castel,
With hare sharpe swerdes he grounde the stel,
He wende that the sayles were mangonel
To helpe Wyndesore.

Richard, thah thou he ever trichard,
Trichthen shalt thou never more.

The Kyng of Alemaigne gederede ys host,
Makede him a castel of a mulne post,
Wende with is prude, ant is muchele bost,
Brohte from Alemayne mony sori gost
To store Wyndesore.

Richard, thah thou he ever trichard,
Trichthen shalt thou never more.

By God, that is aboven ous, he dude muche synne,
That lette passen over see the Erl of Warynne:
He hath robbed Engelond, the mores, ant th fenne,
The gold, ant the selver, and y-boren henne,
For love of Wyndesore.

Richard, thah thou he ever trichard,
Trichthen shalt thou never more.

Sire Simond de Mountfort hath suore bi ys chyn,
Hevede he nou here the Erl of Waryn,
Shuld he never more come to is yn,
Ne with held, ne with spere, ne with other gyn,
To help of Wyndesore.

Richard, thah thou he ever trichard,
Trichthen shalt thou never more.

Sire Simond de Monfort hath suore bi ys cop,
Hevede he nou here Sire Hue de Bigot:
Al he shulde grante here twelfmoneth scot
Shulde he never more with his sot pot
To help Wyndesore.

Richard, thah thou he ever trichard,
Trichthen shalt thou never more.

Be the luef, be the loht, Sire Edward,
Thou shalt ride sporeles o thy lyard
Al the ryhte way to Dovere-ward,
Shalt thou never more breke foreward;
Ant that reweth sore
Edward, thou dudest as a shreward,
Foreoke thyn emes lore.

Richard, thah thou he ever trichard,
Trichthen shalt thou never more.

Quoted from Percy's Reliques, 'To render this antique libel intelligible, the reader is to understand that just before the battle of Lewes, which proved so fatal to the interests of Henry III.

, the barons had offered his brother Richard, King of the Romans, 30,000
l.

to procure a peace upon such terms as would have divested Henry of all his regal power, and therefore the treaty proved abortive.

The consequences of that battle are well known: the king, Prince Edward his son, his brother Richard, and many of his friends, fell into the hands of their enemies; while two great barons of the king's party, John, Earl of Warren, and Hugh Bigot, the king's Judiciary, had been glad to escape into France.

In the 5th stanza, the writer regrets the escape of the Earl of Warren; and in the 6th and 7th stanzas, insinuates that, if he and Sir Hugh Bigot once fell into the hands of their adversaries, they should never more return home: a circumstance which fixes the date of this ballad; for, in the year 1265, both these nobleman landed in South Wales, and the royal party soon after gained the ascendant.

This MS.

is judged, from the peculiarities of the writing, to be not later than the time of Richard II.

;
th
being everywhere expressed by the character
p
; the
y
is pointed, after the Saxon manner, and the
i
hath an oblique stroke over it.

' etc.

bi mi leaute: by my loyalty, honesty.

dude: did.

trichard: treacherous.

trickthen: trick, deceive.

swyvyng: whoring.

nout: nought, nothing, not.

oferlyng: superior.

habbe, ase he brew: have as he brews.

bale to dryng: hurt, or, mischief to drink.

saisede: seized.

mulne: mill.

mangonel: engine used for discharging great stones, arrows, etc.

gederede ys host: gathered his host.

prude: proud.

here: their.

nou: now.

suore bi ys chyn: swore by his chin.

gyn: engine.

suore bi ys cop: swore by his head.

sot pot: a drunkard's tankard (?

)
luef: love.

shreward: a male shrew.

emes lore: kinsman (or uncle) lost.

Richard Of Almaigne Read Poem