BOOK I.

THE BOY AND THE MANTLE.

No incident is more common in romantic fiction, than the employment of some magical contrivance as a test of conjugal fidelity, or of constancy in love. In some romances of the Round Table, and tales founded upon them, this experiment is performed by means either of an enchanted horn, of such properties that no dishonoured husband or unfaithful wife can drink from it without spilling, or of a mantle which will fit none but chaste women. The earliest known instances of the use of these ordeals are afforded by the Lai du Corn, by Robert Bikez, a French minstrel of the twelfth or thirteenth century, and the Fabliau du Mantel Mautaillé, which, in the opinion of a competent critic, dates from the second half of the thirteenth century, and is only the older lay worked up into a new shape. (Wolf, Ueber die Lais, 327, sq., 342, sq.) We are not to suppose, however, that either of these pieces presents us with the primitive form of this humorous invention. Robert Bikez tells us that he learned his story from an abbot, and that "noble ecclesiast" stood

but one further back in a line of tradition which curiosity will never follow to its source. We shall content ourselves with noticing the most remarkable cases of the use of these and similar talismans in imaginative literature.

In the Roman de Tristan, a composition of unknown antiquity, the frailty of nearly all the ladies at the court of King Marc is exposed by their essaying a draught from the marvellous horn, (see the English Morte Arthur, Southey's ed. i. 297.) In the Roman de Perceval, the knights, as well as the ladies, undergo this probation. From some one of the chivalrous romances Ariosto adopted the wonderful vessel into his Orlando, (xlii. 102, sq., xliii. 31, sq.,) and upon his narrative La Fontaine founded the tale and the comedy of La Coupe Enchantée. In German, we have two versions of the same story,—one, an episode in the Krone of Heinrich vom Türlein, thought to have been borrowed from the Perceval of Chrétien de Troyes, (Die Sage vom Zauberbecher, in Wolf, Ueber die Lais, 378,) and another, which we have not seen, in Bruns, Beiträge zur kritischen Bearbeitung alter Handschriften, ii. 139; while in English, it is represented by the highly amusing "bowrd," which we are about to print, and which we have called The Horn of King Arthur. The forms of the tale of the Mantle are not so numerous. The fabliau already mentioned was reduced to prose in the sixteenth century, and published at Lyons, (in 1577,) as Le Manteau mal taillé, (Legrand's Fabliaux, 3d ed., i. 126,) and under this title, or that of Le Court Mantel, is very well known. An old fragment (Der Mantel) is given in Haupt and Hoffmann's Altdeutsche Blätter, ii. 217, and the story is also in Bruns Beiträge.

Lastly, we find the legends of the horn and the mantle united, as in the German ballad Die Ausgleichung, (Des Knaben Wunderhorn, i. 389,) and in the English ballad of The Boy and The Mantle, where a magical knife is added to the other curiosities. All three of these, by the way, are claimed by the Welsh as a part of the insignia of Ancient Britain, and the special property of Tegau Eurvron, the wife of Caradog with the strong arm. (Jones, Bardic Museum, p. 49.)

In other departments of romance, many other objects are endowed with the same or an analogous virtue. In Indian and Persian story, the test of innocence is a red lotus-flower; in Amadis, a garland, which fades on the brow of the unfaithful; in Perceforest, a rose. The Lay of the Rose in Perceforest, is the original (according to Schmidt) of the much-praised tale of Senecé, Camille, ou la Manière de filer le parfait Amour, (1695,)—in which a magician presents a jealous husband with a portrait in wax, that will indicate by change of color the infidelity of his wife,—and suggested the same device in the twenty-first novel of Bandello, (Part First,) on the translation of which in Painter's Palace of Pleasure, (vol. ii. No. 28,) Massinger founded his play of The Picture. Again, in the tale of Zeyn Alasman and the King of the Genii, in the Arabian Nights, the means of proof is a mirror, that reflects only the image of a spotless maiden; in that of the carpenter and the king's daughter, in the Gesta Romanorum, (c. 69,) a shirt, which remains clean and whole as long as both parties are true; in Palmerin of England, a cup of tears, which becomes dark in the hands of an inconstant lover; in the Fairy Queen, the famous girdle of Florimel; in

Horn and Rimnild (Ritson, Metrical Romances, iii. 301,) as well as in one or two ballads in this collection, the stone of a ring; in a German ballad, Die Krone der Königin von Afion, (Erlach, Volkslieder der Deutschen, i. 132,) a golden crown, that will fit the head of no incontinent husband. Without pretending to exhaust the subject, we may add three instances of a different kind: the Valley in the romance of Lancelot, which being entered by a faithless lover would hold him imprisoned forever; the Cave in Amadis of Gaul, from which the disloyal were driven by torrents of flame; and the Well in Horn and Rimnild, (ibid.) which was to show the shadow of Horn, if he proved false.

In conclusion, we will barely allude to the singular anecdote related by Herodotus, (ii. 111,) of Phero, the son of Sesostris, in which the experience of King Marc and King Arthur is so curiously anticipated. In the early ages, as Dunlop has remarked, some experiment for ascertaining the fidelity of women, in defect of evidence, seems really to have been resorted to. "By the Levitical law," (Numbers v. 11-31,) continues that accurate writer, "there was prescribed a mode of trial, which consisted in the suspected person drinking water in the tabernacle. The mythological fable of the trial by the Stygian fountain, which disgraced the guilty by the waters rising so as to cover the laurel wreath of the unchaste female who dared the examination, probably had its origin in some of the early institutions of Greece or Egypt. Hence the notion was adopted in the Greek romances, the heroines of which were invariably subjected to a magical test of this nature, which is one of the few particulars in which any similarity of incident can be traced between the Greek

novels and the romances of chivalry." See DUNLOP, History of Fiction, London, 1814, i. 239, sq.; LEGRAND, Fabliaux, 3d ed., i. 149, sq., 161; SCHMIDT, Jahrbücher der Literatur, xxix. 121; WOLF, Ueber die Lais, 174-177; and, above all, GRAESSE'S Sagenkreise des Mittelalters, 185, sq.

The Boy and the Mantle was "printed verbatim" from the Percy MS., in the Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, iii. 38.

In the third day of May,

To Carleile did come

A kind curteous child,

That cold much of wisdome.

A kirtle and a mantle

This child had uppon,

With [brouches] and ringes

Full richelye bedone.

He had a sute of silke

About his middle drawne;

Without he cold of curtesye,

He thought itt much shame.

"God speed thee, King Arthur,

Sitting at thy meate:

And the goodly Queene Guéver

I cannott her forgett,

"I tell you, lords, in this hall,

I [hett] you all to heede,

Except you be the more surer,

Is you for to dread."

He plucked out of his [poterner],

And longer wold not dwell;

He pulled forth a pretty mantle,

Betweene two nut-shells.

"Have thou here, King Arthur,

Have thou heere of mee;

Give itt to thy comely queene,

Shapen as itt is alreadye.

Itt shall never become that wiffe,

That hath once done amisse:

Then every knight in the kings court

Began to care for [his].

Forth came dame Guénever;

To the mantle shee [her hied];

The ladye shee was newfangle,

But yett shee was affrayd.

When shee had taken the mantle,

She stoode as shee had beene madd:

It was from the top to the toe,

As sheeres had itt shread.

One while was it [gule],

Another while was itt greene;

Another while was it wadded;

Ill itt did her beseeme.

Another while was it blacke,

And bore the worst hue:

"By my troth," quoth King Arthur,

"I think thou be not true."

She threw down the mantle,

That bright was of blee;

Fast, with a rudd redd,

To her chamber can shee flee.

She curst the weaver and the walker

That clothe that had wrought,

And bade a vengeance on his crowne

That hither hath itt brought.

"I had rather be in a wood,

Under a greene tree,

Then in King Arthurs court

Shamed for to bee."

Kay called forth his ladye,

And bade her come neere;

Saies, "Madam, and thou be guiltye,

I pray thee hold thee there."

Forth came his ladye,

Shortlye and anon;

Boldlye to the mantle

Then is shee gone.

When she had tane the mantle,

And cast it her about,

Then was shee bare

'Before all the rout.'

Then every knight,

That was in the kings court,

Talked, [laughed], and showted

Full oft att that sport.

Shee threw downe the mantle,

That bright was of blee;

Fast, with a red rudd,

To her chamber can shee flee.

Forth came an old knight,

Pattering ore a creede,

And he proferred to this litle boy

Twenty markes to his meede,

And all the time of the Christmasse,

Willinglye to ffeede;

For why, this mantle might

Doe his wiffe some need.

When she had tane the mantle,

Of cloth that was made,

Shee had no more left on her,

But a tassell and a threed:

Then every knight in the kings court

Bade evill might shee speed.

Shee threw downe the mantle,

That bright was of blee;

And fast, with a redd rudd,

To her chamber can shee flee.

100

Craddocke called forth his ladye,

And bade her come in;

Saith, "Winne this mantle, ladye,

With a little dinne.

Winne this mantle, ladye,

And it shal be thine,

If thou never did amisse

Since thou wast mine."

Forth came Craddockes ladye,

Shortlye and anon;

But boldlye to the mantle

Then is shee gone.

When she had tane the mantle,

And cast it her about,

Upp at her great toe

It began to crinkle and crowt:

Shee said, "Bowe downe, mantle,

And shame me not for nought.

Once I did amisse,

I tell you certainlye,

When I kist Craddockes mouth

Under a greene tree;

Before he marryed mee."

When shee had her shreeven,

And her sines shee had tolde,

The mantle stoode about her

Right as shee wold,

Seemelye of coulour,

Glittering like gold:

Then every knight in Arthurs court

Did her behold.

Then spake dame Guénever

To Arthur our king;

"She hath tane yonder mantle

Not with [right], but with wronge.

135

See you not yonder woman,

That maketh her self soe ['cleane']?

I have seene tane out of her bedd

Of men fiveteene;

Priests, clarkes, and wedded men

From her, bydeene:

Yett shee taketh the mantle,

And maketh her self cleane."

Then spake the little boy,

That kept the mantle in hold;

Sayes, "King, chasten thy wiffe,

Of her words shee is to bold:

Shee is a bitch and a witch,

And a whore bold:

King, in thine owne hall

Thou art a cuckold."

The little boy stoode

Looking out a dore;

'And there as he was lookinge

He was ware of a wyld bore.'

155

He was ware of a wyld bore,

Wold have werryed a man:

He pulld forth a wood kniffe,

Fast thither that he ran:

He brought in the bores head,

And quitted him like a man.

He brought in the bores head,

And was wonderous bold:

He said there was never a cuckolds kniffe

165

Some rubbed their knives

Uppon a whetstone:

Some threw them under the table,

And said they had none.

King Arthur and the child

Stood looking them upon;

All their knives edges

Turned backe againe.

Craddocke had a little knive

Of iron and of steele;

He [britled] the bores head

Wonderous weele,

That every knight in the kings court

Had a morssell.

The little boy had a horne,

Of red gold that ronge:

He said there was "noe cuckolde

Shall drinke of my horne,

But he shold it sheede,

Either behind or beforne."

185

Some shedd on their shoulder,

And some on their knee;

He that cold not hitt his mouthe,

Put it in his eye:

And he that was a cuckold

Every man might him see.

Craddocke wan the horne,

And the bores head:

His ladie wan the mantle

Unto her meede.

Everye such a lovely ladye

God send her well to speede.

MS. Ver. [7], branches.

V. [18], heate.

V. [21], poterver.

MS. V. [32], his wiffe.

V. [34], bided.

V. [41], gaule.

MS. Ver. [75], lauged.

MS. Ver. [134], wright.

V. [136], cleare.

MS. V. [175], Or birtled.

THE HORN OF KING ARTHUR.

MS. Ashmole, 61, fol. 59 to 62.

This amusing piece was first published entire in Hartshorne's Ancient Metrical Tales, p. 209, but with great inaccuracies. It is there called The Cokwolds Daunce. A few extracts had previously been given from the MS., in the Notes to Orfeo and Heurodis, in Laing's Early Popular Poetry of Scotland. Mr. Wright contributed a corrected edition to Karajan's Frühlingsgabe für Freunde älterer Literatur. That work not being at the moment obtainable, the Editor was saved from the necessity of reprinting or amending a faulty text, by the kindness of J.O. Halliwell, Esq., who sent him a collation of Hartshorne's copy with the Oxford manuscript.

All that wyll of solas lere,

Herkyns now, and ȝe schall here,

And ȝe kane vnderstond;

Off a bowrd I wyll ȝou schew,

That ys full gode and trew,

That fell some tyme in Ynglond.

Kynge Arthour was off grete honour,

Off castellis and of many a toure,

And full wyde iknow;

A gode ensample I wyll ȝou sey,

What chanse befell hym one a dey;

Herkyn to my saw!

Cokwoldes he louyd, as I ȝou plyȝt;

He honouryd them, both dey and nyght,

In all maner of thyng;

And as I rede in story,

He was kokwold sykerly;

Ffor sothê it is no lesyng.

Herkyne, seres, what I sey;

Her may ȝe here solas and pley,

Iff ȝe wyll take gode hede;

Kyng Arthour had a bugyll horn,

That ever mour stod hym be forn,

Were so that ever he ȝede.

Ffor when he was at the bord sete,

Anon the horne schuld be [fette],

Ther off that he myght drynk;

Ffor myche crafte he couth thereby,

And ofte tymes the treuth he sey;

Non other couth he thynke.

Iff any cokwold drynke of it,

Spyll he schuld, withouten lette;

Therfor thei wer not glade;

Gret dispyte thei had therby,

Because it dyde them vilony,

And made them oft tymes sade.

When the kyng wold hafe solas,

The bugyll was [fett] into the plas,

To make solas and game;

And then changyd the cokwoldes chere;

The kyng them callyd ferre and nere,

Lordynges, by ther name.

Than men myght se game inowȝe,

When every cokwold on other leuȝe,

And ȝit thei schamyd sore:

Where euer the cokwoldes wer sought,

Befor the kyng thei were brought,

Both lesse and more.

Kyng Arthour than, verament,

Ordeynd, throw hys awne assent,

Ssoth as I ȝow sey,

The tabull dormounte withouten lette;

Ther at the cokwoldes wer sette,

To have solas and pley.

Ffor at the bord schuld be non other

Bot euery cokwold and his [brother];

To tell treuth I must nedes;

And when the cokwoldes wer sette,

Garlandes of wylos sculd be fette,

And sett vpon ther hedes.

Off the best mete, withoute lesyng,

That stode on bord befor the kyng,

Both ferr and nere,

To the cokwoldes he sente anon,

And bad them be glad euerychon,

Ffor his sake make gode chere.

And seyd, "Lordyngs, for ȝour lyues,

Be neuer the wrother with ȝour wyues,

Ffor no manner of nede:

Off women com duke and kyng;

I ȝow tell without lesyng,

Of them com owre manhed.

So it befell sertenly,

The duke off Glosseter com in hyȝe,

To the courte with full gret myȝht;

He was reseyued at the kyngs palys,

With mych honour and grete solas,

With lords that were well dygȝht.

With the kyng ther dyde he dwell,

Bot how long I can not tell,

Therof knaw I non name;

Off kyng Arthour a wonder case,

Frendes, herkyns how it was,

Ffor now begynes game.

Vppon a dey, withouten lette,

The duke with the kyng was sette,

At mete with mykill pride;

He lukyd abowte wonder faste,

Hys syght on euery syde he caste

To them that sate besyde.

The kyng aspyed the erle anon,

And fast he lowȝhe the erle vpon,

And bad he schuld be glad;

And yet, for all hys grete honour,

Cokwold was Kyng Arthour,

Ne galle non he had.

So at the last, the duke he brayd,

And to the kyng thes wordes [sayd];

He myght no longer forbere;

"Syr, what hath thes men don,

That syche garlondes thei were vpon?

That skyll wold I lere."

The kyng seyd the erle to,

"Syr, non hurte they haue do,

Ffor this was thruȝh a chans.

Sertes thei be fre men all,

Ffor non of them hath no gall;

Therfor this is ther penans.

"Ther wyves hath ben merchandabull,

And of ther ware compenabull;

Methinke it is non herme;

A man of lufe that wold them craue,

Hastely he schuld it haue,

Ffor thei couth not hym wern.

115

"All theyr wyves, sykerlyke,

Hath vsyd the [backefysyke],

Whyll thes men were oute;

And ofte they haue draw that draught,

To vse well the lechers craft,

With rubyng of ther toute.

"Syr," he seyd, "now haue I redd;

Ete we now, and make vs glad,

And euery man fle care;"

The duke seyd to hym anon,

"Than be thei cokwoldes, everychon;"

The kyng seyd, "hold the there."

The kyng than, after the erlys word,

Send to the cokwolds bord,

To make them mery among,

All manner of mynstralsy,

To glad the cokwolds by and by

With herpe, fydell, and song:

And bad them take no greffe,

Bot all with loue and with leffe,

[Euery man ... with other];

Ffor after mete, without distans,

The cockwolds schuld together danse,

Euery man with hys brother.

Than began a nobull game:

The cockwolds together came

Befor the erle and the kyng;

In skerlet kyrtells over one,

The cokwoldes stodyn euerychon,

Redy vnto the dansyng.

145

Than seyd the kyng in hye,

"Go fyll my bugyll hastely,

And bryng it to my hond.

I wyll asey with a gyne

All the cokwolds that her is in;

To know them wyll I fond."

Than seyd the erle, "for charyte,

In what skyll, tell me,

A cokwold may I know?"

To the erle the kyng ansuerd,

"Syr, be myn hore berd,

Thou schall se within a throw."

The bugyll was brought the kyng to hond.

Then seyd the kyng, "I vnderstond,

Thys horne that ȝe here se,

Ther is no cockwold, fer ne nere,

Here of to drynke hath no power,

As wyde as Crystiante,

"Bot he schall spyll on euery syde;

Ffor any cas that may betyde,

Schall non therof avanse."

And ȝit, for all hys grete honour,

Hymselfe, noble kyng Arthour,

Hath forteynd syche a chans.

"Syr erle," he seyd, "take and begyn."

He seyd; "nay, be seynt Austyn,

That wer to me vylony;

Not for all a reme to wyn,

Befor you I schuld begyn,

Ffor honour off my curtassy."

175

Kyng Arthour ther he toke the horn,

And dyde as he was wont beforn,

[Bot ther] was ȝit gon a gyle:

He wend to haue dronke of the best,

Bot sone he spyllyd on hys brest,

Within a lytell whyle.

The cokwoldes lokyd iche on other,

And thought the kyng was their own brother,

And glad thei wer of that:

"He hath vs scornyd many a tyme,

And now he is a cokwold fyne,

To were a cokwoldes hate."

The quene was therof schamyd sore;

Sche changyd hyr colour lesse and more,

And wold haue ben a wey.

Therwith the kyng gan hyr behold,

And seyd he schuld neuer be so bold,

The soth agene to sey.

"Cokwoldes no mour I wyll repreue,

Ffor I ame ane, and aske no leue,

Ffor all my rentes and londys.

Lordyngs, all now may ȝe know

That I may dance in the cokwold row,

And take ȝou by the handes."

Than seyd thei all at a word,

That cokwoldes schuld begynne the bord,

And sytt hyest in the halle.

"Go we, lordyngs, all [and] same,

And dance to make vs gle and game,

Ffor cokwolds have no galle."

205

And after that sone anon,

The kyng causyd the cokwolds ychon

To wesch withouten les;

Ffor ought that euer may betyde,

He sett them by hys awne syde,

Vp at the hyȝe dese.

The kyng hymselff a gurlond fette;

Uppon hys hede he it sette,

Ffor it myght be non other,

And seyd, "Lordyngs, sykerly,

We be all off a freyry;

I ame ȝour awne brother.

"Be Jhesu Cryst that is aboffe,

That man aught me gode loffe

That ley by my quene:

I wer worthy hym to honour,

Both in castell and in towre,

With rede, skerlet and grene.

"Ffor him he helpyd, when I was forth,

To cher my wyfe and make her myrth;

Ffor women louys wele pley;

And therfor, serys, have ȝe no dowte

Bot many schall dance in the cokwoldes rowte,

Both by nyght and dey.

"And therefor, lordyngs, take no care;

Make we mery; for nothing spare;

All brether in one rowte."

Than the cokwoldes wer full blythe,

And thankyd God a hundred syth,

Ffor soth withouten dowte.

235

Every cokwold seyd to other,

"Kyng Arthour is our awne brother,

Therfor we may be blyth:"

The erle off Glowsytur verament,

Toke hys leve, and home he wente,

And thankyd the kyng fele sythe.

Kyng Arthour [lived at Karlyon],

With hys cokwolds euerychon,

And made both gam and gle:

* * * * *

A knyght ther was withouten les,

That seruyd at the kyngs des,

Syr Corneus hyght he;

He made this gest in hys gam,

And named it after hys awne name,

In herpyng or other gle.

250

And after, nobull kyng Arthour

Lyued and dyed with honour,

As many hath don senne,

Both cokwoldes and other mo:

God gyff vs grace that we may go

To heuyn! Amen, Amen.

[ 26], sette. See [59], [211].

[ 38], sett.

[ 56], brothers.

[ 98], MS. spake.

[ 115], MS. baskefysyke.

[ 135], word wanting.

[ 178], Bot he.

[ 241], left at Skarlyon.

[ 243], Three lines omitted in MS.

FRAGMENT OF THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE.

From Percy's Reliques, iii. 403.

This is one of the few ballads contained in the Percy MS., which we have the pleasure of possessing as it is there written. Having first submitted an improved copy, "with large conjectural supplements and corrections," Percy added this old fragment at the end of the volume: "literally and exactly printed, with all its defects, inaccuracies, and errata," in order, as he triumphantly remarks, "that such austere antiquaries as complain that the ancient copies have not been always rigidly adhered to, may see how unfit for publication many of the pieces would have been, if all the blunders, corruptions, and nonsense of illiterate reciters and transcribers had been superstitiously retained, without some attempt to correct and amend them."

"This ballad," the Editor of the Reliques goes on to say, "has most unfortunately suffered by having half of every leaf in this part of the MS. torn away; and, as about nine stanzas generally occur in the half-page now remaining, it is concluded that the

other half contained nearly the same number of stanzas." The story may be seen, unmutilated and in an older form, in Madden's Syr Gawayne, p. 298, The Weddynge of Syr Gawen and Dame Ragnell.

The transformation on which the story turns is found also in Chaucer's Wife of Bath's Tale, in Gower's tale of Florent and the King of Sicily's Daughter; (Confessio Amantis, Book I.) in the ballad of King Henry (page 147 of this volume); and in an Icelandic saga of the Danish king Helgius, quoted by Scott in his illustrations to King Henry, Minstrelsy, iii. 274.

Voltaire has employed the same idea in his Ce qui plaît aux Dames, but whence he borrowed it we are unable to say.

Worked over by some ballad-monger of the sixteenth century, and of course reduced to dish-water, this tale has found its way into The Crown Garland of Golden Roses, Part I. p. 68 (Percy Society, vol. vi.), Of a Knight and a Faire Virgin.

Kinge Arthur liues in merry Carleile,

And seemely is to see;

And there he hath with him Queene Genever,

That bride so bright of blee.

And there he hath with him Queene Genever,

That bride soe bright in bower;

And all his barons about him stoode,

That were both stiffe and stowre.

The King kept a royall Christmasse,

Of mirth & great honor;

...when..

[About nine stanzas wanting.]

"And bring me word what thing it is

That [women] most desire;

This shalbe thy ransome, Arthur," he sayes,

"For Ile haue no other hier."

King Arthur then held vp his hand,

According thene as was the law;

He tooke his leaue of the baron there,

And homword can he draw.

And when he came to merry Carlile,

To his chamber he is gone;

And ther came to him his cozen, Sir Gawaine,

As he did make his mone.

And there came to him his cozen, Sir [Gawaine],

That was a curteous knight;

"Why sigh you soe sore, vnckle Arthur," he said,

"Or who hath done thee vnright?"

"O peace! o peace! thou gentle Gawaine,

That faire may thee beffall;

For if thou knew my sighing soe deepe,

Thou wold not meruaile att all.

"Ffor when I came to Tearne-wadling,

A bold barron there I fand;

With a great club vpon his backe,

Standing stiffe & strong.

"And he asked me wether I wold fight

Or from him I shold be gone;

[Or else] I must him a ransome pay,

And soe depart him from.

"To fight with him I saw noe cause,

Me thought it was not meet;

For he was stiffe and strong with all;

His strokes were nothing sweete.

"Therefor this is my ransome, Gawaine,

I ought to him to pay;

I must come againe, as I am sworne,

Vpon the Newyeers day.

"And I must bring him word what thing it is

Then King Arthur drest him for to ryde,

In one soe riche array,

Towards the foresaid Tearne-wadling,

That he might keepe his day.

And as he rode over a more,

Hee see a lady, where shee sate,

Betwixt an oke and a greene hollen;

She was clad in red scarlett.

Then there as shold have stood her mouth,

Then there was sett her eye;

The other was in her forhead fast,

The way that she might see.

Her nose was crooked, & turnd outward,

Her mouth stood foule a-wry;

A worse formed lady then shee was,

Neuer man saw with his eye.

To halch vpon him, King Arthur,

This lady was full faine;

But King Arthur had forgott his lesson,

What he shold say againe.

"What knight art thou," the lady sayd,

"That wilt not speake to me?

Of me [be] thou nothing dismayd,

Tho I be vgly to see.

"For I haue halched you curteouslye,

And you will not me againe;

Yett I may happen, Sir knight," shee said,

"To ease thee of thy paine."

"Giue thou ease me, lady," he said,

"Or helpe me any thing,

Thou shalt haue gentle Gawaine, my cozen,

And marry him with a ring."

"Why if I helpe thee not, thou noble King Arthur,

Of thy owne hearts desiringe,

Of gentle Gawaine....

[About nine stanzas wanting.]

And when he came to the Tearne-wadling,

The baron there cold he [finde];

With a great weapon on his backe,

Standinge stiffe and stronge.

And then he tooke King Arthurs letters in his hands,

And away he cold them fling;

And then he puld out a good browne sword,

And cryd himselfe a king.

And he sayd, "I haue thee, & thy land, Arthur,

To doe as it pleaseth me;

For this is not thy ransome sure,

Therfore yeeld thee to me."

And then bespoke him noble Arthur,

And bade him hold his [hand];

"And give me leave to speake my mind,

In defence of all my land."

100

He said, "as I came over [a] more,

I see a lady, where shee sate,

Betweene an oke & a green hollen;

Shee was clad in red scarlette.

"And she says a woman will haue her will,

And this is all her cheef desire;

Doe me right, as thou art a baron of sckill,

This is thy ransome, & all thy hyer."

He sayes, "an early vengeance light on her!

She walkes on yonder more;

It was my sister, that told thee this,

She is a misshapen hore.

"But heer Ile make mine avow to God,

To do her an euill turne;

For an euer I may thate fowle theefe get,

In a fyer I will her burne."

THE SECOND PART.

Sir Lancelott, & Sir Steven, bold,

They rode with them that day;

And the formost of the company,

There rode the steward Kay.

120

Soe did Sir Banier, & Sir Bore,

Sir Garrett with them, soe gay;

Soe did Sir Tristeram, that gentle knight,

To the forrest, fresh & gay.

And when he came to the greene forrest,

Vnderneath a greene holly tree,

Their sate that lady in red scarlet,

That vnseemly was to see.

Sir Kay beheld this ladys face,

And looked vppon her suire,—

"Whosoeuer kisses this lady," he sayes,

"Of his kisse he stands in feare!"

Sir Kay beheld the lady againe,

And looked vpon her snout;

"Whosoeuer kisses this lady," he saies,

"Of his kisse he stands in doubt!"

"Peace, cozen Kay," then said Sir Gawaine,

"Amend thee of thy life;

For there is a knight amongst us all,

That must marry her to his wife."

140

"What! wedd her to wiffe," then said Sir Kay,

"In the diuells name anon,

Get me a wiffe whereere I may,

For I had rather be slaine!"

Then [some] tooke vp their hawkes in hast,

And some tooke vp their hounds;

For citty nor for towne.

And then bespake him noble King Arthur,

And sware there, "by this day,

For a litle foule sight & misliking,

[About nine stanzas wanting.]

Then shee said, "choose thee, gentle Gawaine,

Truth as I doe say;

Wether thou wilt haue me in this liknesse,

In the night, or else in the day."

155

And then bespake him gentle Gawaine,

With one soe mild of moode;

Sayes, "well I know what I wold say,

God grant it may be good!

"To haue thee fowle in the night,

When I with thee shold play—

Yet I had rather, if I might,

Haue thee fowle in the day."

"What, when lords goe with ther [feires]," shee said,

"Both to the ale and wine;

Alas! then I must hyde my selfe,

I must not goe withinne."

And then bespake him gentle Gawaine,

Said, "Lady, thats but a skill;

And because thou art my owne lady,

Thou shall haue all thy will."

Then she said, "blessed be thou, gentle Gawaine,

This day that I thee see;

For as thou see me att this time,

From hencforth I wil be.

175

"My father was an old knight,

And yett it chanced soe,

That he married a younge lady,

That brought me to this woe.

"Shee witched me, being a faire young lady,

To the greene forrest to dwell;

And there I must walke in womans liknesse,

Most like a feeind of hell.

"She witched my brother to a carlist b....

[About nine stanzas wanting.]

That looked soe foule, and that was wont

On the wild more to goe.

"Come kisse her, brother Kay," then said Sir Gawaine,

"And amend the of thy liffe;

I sweare this is the same lady

That I marryed to my wiffe."

190

Sir Kay kissed that lady bright,

Standing vpon his ffeete;

He swore, as he was trew knight,

The spice was neuer soe sweete.

"Well, cozen Gawaine," sayes Sir Kay,

"Thy chance is fallen arright;

For thou hast gotten one of the fairest maids,

I euer saw with my sight."

"It is my fortune," said Sir Gawaine;

"For my vnckle Arthurs sake,

I am glad as grasse wold be of raine,

Great joy that I may take."

Sir Gawaine tooke the lady by the one arme,

Sir Kay tooke her by the tother;

They led her straight to King Arthur,

As they were brother and brother.

King Arthur welcomed them there all,

And soe did lady Geneuer, his queene;

With all the knights of the Round Table,

Most seemly to be seene.

210

King Arthur beheld that lady faire,

That was soe faire & bright;

He thanked Christ in Trinity

For Sir Gawaine, that gentle knight.

215

Soe did the knights, both more and lesse,

Rejoyced all that day,

For the good chance that hapened was

To Sir Gawaine and his lady gay.

[13], Y^e a woman.

[24], Cawaine.

[38], O else.

[85], srinde.

[97], hands.

[100], The.

[144], soome.

[163], seires.

KING ARTHUR'S DEATH.

A FRAGMENT.

Reliques of English Poetry, iii, 67.

"The subject of this ballad is evidently taken from the old romance Morte Arthur, but with some variations, especially in the concluding stanzas; in which the author seems rather to follow the traditions of the old Welsh Bards, who 'believed that King Arthur was not dead, but conveied awaie by the Fairies into some pleasant place, where he should remaine for a time, and then returne againe and reign in as great authority as ever.' (Holinshed, B. 5, c. 14.) Or, as it is expressed in an old chronicle printed at Antwerp, 1493, by Ger. de Leew: 'The Bretons supposen, that he [King Arthur] shall come yet and conquere all Bretaigne, for certes this is the prophicye of Merlyn, He sayd, that his deth shall be doubteous; and sayd soth, for men thereof yet have doubte, and shullen for ever more,—for men wyt not whether that he lyveth or is dede.' See more ancient testimonies in Selden's Notes on Polyolbion, Song 3.

"This fragment, being very incorrect and imperfect

in the original MS., hath received some conjectural emendations, and even a supplement of three or four stanzas composed from the romance of Morte Arthur." PERCY.

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 pittìe.

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 yee in the fighte."

The kinge then call'd his nobles all,

Before the breakinge of the daye;

And tolde 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 sholde noe weapon sturre,

Unlesse a sword drawne they shold see.

And Mordred, on the other parte,

Twelve of his knights did likewise bringe,

The beste of all his companye,

To holde 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' the king's knightes on the knee;

Alacke! it was a woefulle chance,

As ever was in Christentìe.

When the knighte found him wounded sore,

And sawe the wild-worme hanginge there,

His sworde he from his scabberde drewe;

A piteous case, as ye shall heare.

For when the two hostes sawe the sworde,

They joyned battayle instantlye;

Till of so manye noble knightes,

On one side there were left but three.

For all were slaine that durst abide,

And but some fewe that fled awaye:

Ah mee! it was a bloodye fielde,

As ere was foughte on summer's daye.

Upon King Arthur's own partyè,

Onlye himselfe escaped there,

And Lukyn Duke of Gloster free,

And the king's butler Bedevere.

And when the king beheld his knightes

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, yee 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 charitìe;

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."

105

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 bodìe.

When Mordred felt the stroke of death,

And found that he was wounded soe,

He thruste 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.

125

"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 liege, save that the winde

Blewe oer the waters faire and free."

145

"O goe againe," then said the kinge,

"O good Sir Lukyn, goe againe:

Into the rivere throwe my sword,

Nor keepe me lingering here in paine."

The duke then to the river went,

And the kings scabbard 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."

165

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 tell the kinge,

But he was gone from under the tree.

But to what place, he cold not tell,

For never after hee did him see;

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.

[7]. Sir Gawaine had been killed at Arthur's landing on his return from abroad. See the next ballad, ver. 73. P.

[41], 42, the folio MS. reads father ... sonne.

[119]. More commonly called Caliburn. In the folio MS. Escalberd. P.

THE LEGEND OF KING ARTHUR.

Reliques of English Poetry, iii. 76.

"We have here a short summary of King Arthur's History as given by Jeff. of Monmouth and the old Chronicles, with the addition of a few circumstances from the romance Morte Arthur.—The ancient chronicle of Ger. de Leew (quoted above in p. 40,) seems to have been chiefly followed: upon the authority of which we have restored some of the names which were corrupted in the MS., and have transposed one stanza, which appeared to be misplaced: viz., that beginning at v. 49, which in the MS. followed v. 36.

"Printed from the Editor's ancient folio MS."

PERCY.

Of [Brutus'] blood, in Brittaine borne,

King Arthur I am to name;

Through Christendome and Heathynesse

Well knowne is my worthy fame.

In Jesus Christ I doe beleeve;

I am a Christyan bore;

The Father, Sone, and Holy Gost,

One God, I doe adore.

In the [four hundred ninetieth yeere],

Oer Brittaine I did rayne,

After my Savior Christ his byrth,

What time I did maintaine

The fellowshipp of the Table Round,

Soe famous in those dayes;

Whereatt a hundred noble knights

And thirty sat alwayes:

Who for their deeds and and martiall feates,

As bookes done yett record,

Amongst all other nations

Wer feared through the world.

And in the castle off Tyntagill

King Uther mee begate,

Of [Agyana], a bewtyous ladye,

And come of ['hie'] estate.

And when I was fifteen yeere old,

Then was I crowned kinge:

All Brittaine, that was att an upròre,

I did to quiett bringe;

And drove the Saxons from the realme,

Who had opprest this land;

All Scotland then, throughe manly feates,

I conquered with my hand.

Ireland, Denmarke, Norwaye,

These countryes wan I all;

Iseland, Gotheland, and Swetheland;

And made their kings my thrall.

I conquered all Gallya,

That now is called France;

And slew the hardye [Froll in feild],

My honor to advance.

And the ugly gyant [Dynabus],

Soe terrible to vewe,

That in Saint Barnards mount did lye,

By force of armes I slew.

And Lucyus, the emperour of Rome,

I brought to deadly wracke;

And a thousand more of noble knightes

For feare did turne their backe.

Five kinges of Pavye I did kill

Amidst that bloody strife;

Besides the Grecian emperour,

Who alsoe lost his liffe.

Whose carcasse I did send to Rome,

Cladd poorlye on a beere;

And afterward I past Mount-Joye

The next approaching yeere.

Then I came to Rome, where I was mett

Right as a conquerour,

And by all the cardinalls solempnelye

I was crowned an emperour.

One winter there I made abode,

Then word to mee was brought,

Howe Mordred had oppressed the crowne,

What treason he had wrought

Att home in Brittaine with my queene:

Therfore I came with speede

To Brittaine backe, with all my power,

To quitt that traitorous deede;

And soone at Sandwiche I arrivde,

Where Mordred me withstoode:

But yett at last I landed there,

With effusion of much blood.

For there my nephew Sir Gawaine dyed,

Being wounded in that sore

The whiche Sir Lancelot in fight

Had given him before.

Thence chased I Mordered away,

Who fledd to London right,

From London to Winchester, and

To Cornewalle tooke his flyght.

And still I him pursued with speed,

Till at last wee mett;

Wherby an appointed day of fight

Was there agreed and sett:

Where we did fight, of mortal life

Eche other to deprive,

Till of a hundred thousand men

Scarce one was left alive.

There all the noble chivalrye

Of Brittaine tooke their end:

O see how fickle is their state

That doe on [fates] depend!

There all the traiterous men were slaine,

Not one escapte away;

And there dyed all my vallyant knightes

Alas! that woefull day!

Two and twenty yeere I ware the crowne

In honor and great fame,

And thus by death was suddenlye

Deprived of the same.

[1]. MS., Bruitehis.

[9], He began his reign A.D. 515, according to the Chronicles.

[23], She is named Igerna in the old Chronicles.

[24], his, MS.

[39], Froland field, MS. Froll, according to the Chronicles, was a Roman knight, governor of Gaul.

[41], Danibus, MS. 49, see p. 134, v. 55.

[49], feates, MS.

SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE.

This ballad first occurs in the Garland of Good Will, and is attributed to Thomas Deloney, whose career as a song-writer extends from about 1586 to 1600. It is merely a rhymed version of a passage in the Morte D'Arthur, (Book vi. ch. 7, 8, 9, of Southey's ed.) The first two lines are quoted in the Second Part of Henry IV., A. ii. sc. 4.

The present text is nearly that of the Garland of Good Will (Percy Society, vol. xxx. p. 38), and differs considerably from that of Percy, (Reliques, i. 215.) The same, with very trifling variations, is found in Old Ballads, (1723,) ii. 21; Ritson's Ancient Songs, ii. 188; Evans's Old Ballads, ii. 5.

When Arthur first in court began,

And was approvèd king,

By force of arms great victories won,

And conquests home did bring;

Then into Britain straight he came,

Where fifty good and able

Knights then repairèd unto him,

Which were of the Round Table;

And many justs and tournaments

Before them there were drest,

Where valiant knights did then excel,

And far surmount the rest.

But one Sir Lancelot du Lake,

Who was approvèd well,

He in his fights and deeds of arms,

All others did excel.

When he had rested him a while,

To play, to game, and sport,

He thought he would go try himself,

In some adventurous sort.

He armèd rode in forest wide,

And met a damsel fair,

Who told him of adventures great,

Whereto he gave good ear.

"Why should I not?" quoth Lancelot tho,

"For that cause I came hither."

"Thou seem'st," quoth she, "a goodly knight,

And I will bring thee thither

"Whereas [a] mighty knight doth dwell,

That now is of great fame;

Therefore tell me what knight thou art,

And then what is your name."

"My name is Lancelot du Lake."

Quoth she, "it likes me than;

Here dwells a knight that never was

[O'ermatch'd] with any man;

"Who has in prison threescore knights
And four, that he has bound;
Knights of King Arthur's court they be,
40 And of his Table Round."

She brought him to a river side,
And also to a tree,
Whereon a copper bason hung,
His [fellows] shields to see.

45 He struck so hard, the bason broke:
When Tarquin heard the sound,
He drove a horse before him straight,
Whereon a knight lay bound.

"Sir knight," then said Sir Lancelot,
50 "Bring me that horse-load hither,
And lay him down, and let him rest;
We'll try our force together.

"And as I understand, thou hast,
So far as thou art able,
55 Done great despite and shame unto
The knights of the Round Table."

"If thou be of the Table Round"

(Quoth Tarquin, speedilye),
"Both thee and all thy fellowship
60 I utterly defie."

"That's overmuch," quoth Lancelot tho;
"Defend thee by and by."
They put their spurs unto their steeds,
And each at other fly.

65 They coucht their spears, and horses ran
As though there had been thunder;
And each struck them amidst the shield,
Wherewith they broke in sunder.

Their horses backs brake under them.
70 The knights were both astound;
To void their horses they made great haste,
To light upon the ground.

They took them to their shields full fast,
Their swords they drew out than;
75 With mighty strokes most eagerly
Each one at other ran.

They wounded were, and bled full sore,
For breath they both did stand,
And leaning on their swords awhile,
80 Quoth Tarquin, "Hold thy hand,

"And tell to me what I shall ask;"

"Say on," quoth Lancelot tho;
"Thou art," quoth Tarquin, "the best knight
That ever I did know;

85 "And like a knight that I did hate;
So that thou be not he,
I will deliver all the rest,
And eke accord with thee."

"That is well said," quoth Lancelot then;
90 "But sith it must be so,
What is the knight thou hatest [thus?]
I pray thee to me show."

"His name is Lancelot du Lake,
He slew my brother dear;
95 Him I suspect of all the rest;
I would I had him here."

"Thy wish thou hast, but yet unknown;
I am Lancelot du Lake!
Now knight of Arthur's Table Round,
100 [King Ban's son of Benwake;]

"And I desire thee do thy worst."
"Ho! ho!" quoth Tarquin tho,
"One of us two shall end our lives,
Before that we do go.

105 "If thou be Lancelot du Lake,

Then welcome shalt thou be;
Wherefore see thou thyself defend,
For now defie I thee."
They buckled then together so,
110 Like two wild boars rashing,
And with their swords and shields they ran
At one another [slashing.]

The ground besprinkled was with blood,
Tarquin began to faint;
115 For he gave back, and bore his shield
So low, he did repent.

This soon [espied] Sir Lancelot tho;
He leapt upon him then,
He pull'd him down upon his knee,
120 And [rushed] off his helm.

And then he struck his neck in two;
And when he had done so,
From prison, threescore knights and four
Lancelot delivered tho.

[29], the.

[36], E'er match'd.

[44], fellow.

[91], so.

[100], Kind Haud's son of Seuwake.

[112], flashing.

[117], 'spied.

[120], rushing.

THE LEGEND OF SIR GUY.

(Percy's Reliques, iii. 143.)

"Published from an ancient MS. copy in the Editor's old folio volume, collated with two printed ones, one of which is in black-letter in the Pepys collection." PERCY.

An inferior copy is printed in Ritson's Ancient Songs and Ballads, ii. 193.

From an essay on the romance of Sir Guy, read by Mr. Wright before the British Archæological Association during its meeting at Warwick, we extract the following remarks in illustration of the history of the present ballad, and other similar popular heroic traditions.

"As the Teutonic tribes progressed in their migrations, and settled in new lands—and especially when they received a new faith, and made advances in civilization,—the mythic romances of their forefathers underwent remarkable modifications to adapt them to new sentiments and new manners. Among people who had forgotten the localities to which they referred, they received a new location and became identified with places and objects with which people were better acquainted, and in this manner they underwent

a new historical interpretation. It would be no uninteresting task to point out how many romantic tales that are soberly related of individuals of comparatively modern history, are merely new applications of these early myths.

"Among the romances of the Anglo-Danish cycle by no means the least celebrated is that of GUY OF WARWICK. It is one, of the few, which has been preserved in its Anglo-Norman form, since which it has gone through an extraordinary number of versions, and Chaucer enumerated it among the romances of pris, or those which in the fourteenth century were held in the highest estimation. It is doubtless one of those stories in which an ancient mythic romance has undergone the series of modifications I have been describing; a legend which had become located by popular traditions in the neighbourhood we are now visiting, in which the contests between northern chieftains are changed into tilts and tournaments, but in which the combats with dragons and giants are still preserved. Whatever may have been the name of the original hero, that which he now bears, Guy, is a French name, and could not have been given till Norman times.

"From the Anglo-Norman poem, so great was its popularity, two or three different English metrical versions were made, which are still found in manuscripts, and the earliest of which, that of the well-known Auchinlech manuscript, has been printed in a very expensive form by one of the Scottish Antiquarian clubs. It was next transformed into French prose, and in that form was popular in the fifteenth century, and was printed by some of the earlier printers. It was finally reduced to a popular chap-book in prose and a

broadside ballad in verse, and in these forms was hawked about the streets until a very recent period. Such has in general been the fate of the romantic literature of the middle ages; a remarkable proof of the tenacity with which it has kept its hold on the popular mind." Gentleman's Magazine, Sept. 1847, p. 300.

Was ever knight for ladyes sake
Soe tost in love, as I, Sir Guy,
For Phelis fayre, that lady bright
As ever man beheld with eye?

5 She gave me leave myself to try,
The valiant knight with sheeld and speare,
Ere that her love she would grant me;
Which made mee venture far and neare.

Then proved I
10 In deeds of armes the doughtyest knight
That in those dayes in England was,
With sworde and speare in feild to fight.

An English man I was by birthe:
In faith of Christ a christyan true:
15 The wicked lawes of infidells
I sought by prowesse to subdue.

['Nine' hundred] twenty yeere and odde

After our Saviour Christ his birth,
When King Athelstone wore the crowne,
20 I lived heere upon the earth.

Sometime I was of Warwicke erle,
And, as I sayd, of very truth
A ladyes love did me constraine
To seeke strange ventures in my youth;

25 To win me fame by feates of armes
In strange and sundry heathen lands;
Where I atchieved for her sake
Right dangerous conquests with my hands.

For first I sayled to Normandye,
30 And there I stoutlye wan in fight
The emperours daughter of Almaine,
From manye a vallyant worthye knight.

Then passed I the seas to Greece,
To helpe the emperour in his right,
35 Against the mightye souldans hoaste
Of puissant Persians for to fight:

Where I did slay of Sarazens,
And heathen pagans, manye a man;
And slew the souldans cozen deere,
40 Who had to name doughtye Coldràn.

Eskeldered, a famous knight,

To death likewise I did pursue:
And Elmayne, King of Tyre, alsoe,
Most terrible in fight to viewe.

45 I went into the souldans hoast,
Being thither on embassage sent,
And brought his head awaye with mee;
I having slaine him in his tent.

There was a dragon in that land
50 Most fiercelye mett me by the waye,
As hee a lyon did pursue,
Which I myself did alsoe slay.

Then soon I past the seas from Greece,
And came to Pavye land aright;
55 Where I the duke of Pavye killed,
His hainous treason to requite.

To England then I came with speede,
To wedd faire Phelis, lady bright;
For love of whome I travelled farr
60 To try my manhood and my might.

But when I had espoused her,
I stayd with her but fortye dayes,
Ere that I left this ladye faire,
And went, from her beyond the seas.

65 All cladd in gray, in pilgrim sort,

My voyage from her I did take
Unto the blessed Holy-Land,
For Jesus Christ my Saviours sake.

Where I Erle Jonas did redeeme,
70 And all his sonnes, which were fifteene,
Who with the cruell Sarazens
In prison for long time had beene.

I slew the gyant Amarant
In battel fiercelye hand to hand,
75 And doughty Barknard killed I,
A treacherous knight of Pavye land.

Then I to England came againe,
And here with Colbronde fell I fought;
An ugly gyant, which the Danes
80 Had for their champion hither brought.

I overcame him in the feild,
And slewe him soone right valliantlye;
Wherebye this land I did redeeme
From Danish tribute utterlye.

85 And afterwards I offered upp
The use of weapons solemnlye
At Winchester, whereas I fought,
In sight of manye farr and nye.

'But first,' neare Winsor, I did slaye

90 A bore of passing might and strength;
Whose like in England never was
For hugenesse both in bredth and length.

Some of his bones in Warwicke yett
Within the castle there doth lye;
95 One of his sheeld-bones to this day
Hangs in the citye of Coventrye.

On Dunsmore heath I alsoe slewe
A monstrous wyld and cruell beast,
Calld the Dun-cow of Dunsmore heath;
100 Which manye people had opprest.

Some of her bones in Warwicke yett
Still for a monument doth lye,
And there exposed to lookers viewe,
As wondrous strange, they may espye.

105 A dragon in Northumberland
I alsoe did in fight destroye,
Which did bothe man and beast oppresse,
And all the countrye sore annoye.

At length to Warwicke I did come,
110 Like pilgrim poore, and was not knowne;
And there I lived a hermitts life
A mile and more out of the towne.

Where with my hands I hewed a house

Out of a craggy rocke of stone,
115 And lived like a palmer poore
Within that cave myself alone:

And daylye came to begg my bread
Of Phelis att my cattle gate;
Not knowne unto my loved wiffe,
120 Who dailye mourned for her mate.

Till att the last I fell sore sicke,
Yea, sicke soe sore that I must dye;
I sent to her a ring of golde,
By which shee knew me presentlye.

125 Then shee repairing to the cave,
Before that I gave up the ghost,
Herself closd up my dying eyes;
My Phelis faire, whom I lovd most.

Thus dreadful death did me arrest,
130 To bring my corpes unto the grave,
And like a palmer dyed I,
Wherby I sought my soule to save.

My body that endured this toyle,
Though now it be consumed to mold,
135 My statue, faire engraven in stone,
In Warwicke still you may behold.

[9], The proud Sir Guy, PC.

[17], Two hundred, MS. and PC.

ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.

(From Percy's Reliques, iii. 278.)

The following rhymed legend, which, like several other pieces in this Book, can be called a ballad only by an objectionable, though common, extension of the term, was printed by Percy (with some alterations) from two "ancient" black-letter copies in the Pepys collection.

Real popular ballads on St. George's victory over the Dragon exist in several languages, though not in English. [2] Such a ballad is known to have been sung by the Swedes at the battle of Brunkeberg in 1471, and one is still sung by the people both of Denmark and Sweden. Grundtvig gives three copies of the Danish ballad, two of the 16th and 17th centuries, and one of the present. Four versions of the Swedish have been published, of various ages (e.g. Svenska Folkvisor, ii. 252). A German ballad is given by Meinert, Altdeutsche Volkslieder, p. 254; after him by Erlach, iv. 258; and Haupt and Schmaler

have printed two widely different versions of the ballad in Wendish, Volkslieder der Wenden, vol. i. No. 285, ii. No. 195. These are all the proper traditional ballads upon this subject which are known to be preserved, unless we include a piece called Jürg Drachentödter in Zuccalmaglio's Deutsche Volkslieder, No. 37, which is of suspicious authenticity. The piece called Ritter St. Georg, in Des Knaben Wunderhorn, i. 151, is not a proper ballad, but a rhymed legend, like the one here printed, though intended to be sung.

The hero of these ballads, St. George of Cappadocia, is said to have suffered martyrdom during the persecution in Syria, in the year 303. In the 6th century he was a recognized saint both in the western and the eastern churches, and his reputation was limited to this character until the 13th. Reinbot von Dorn, (1231-53,) in his poem Der Heilige Georg, (Von der Hagen and Büsching's Deutsche Gedichte des Mittelalters,) and Vincent de Beauvais (died 1262) in his Speculum Historiale (XII. 131-32), content themselves with recounting his martyrdom, and appear to know nothing about his fight with the Dragon. The first known writer who attributes this exploit to St. George is Jacobus a Voragine (died 1298), in the Golden Legend. Of course it does not follow that the story originated there. It is probable that the legend of the Dragon arose at the time of the Crusades, and indeed was partly occasioned by them, though we ought not hastily to admit, what has been suggested, that it was founded upon some tradition which the Crusaders heard in Syria.

The Byzantians had long before ascribed various miracles to St. George, but it was the Normans, who, so to say, first pressed him into active military service.

It was he that commanded the heavenly host that came to the help of the Crusaders against the Turks, under the walls of Antioch, in the year 1098, on which occasion he was seen on his white horse, bearing the white banner with the red cross. He manifested himself again at the storming of Jerusalem in the following year, and a hundred years later was seen to fight in the front rank against the Moors in Spain, and for Frederic Barbarossa, in his crusade in 1190. But though he had entered into the service of the German emperor, this did not prevent his aiding the orthodox William of Holland in taking Aix-la-Chapelle from the excommunicated Emperor Frederic in 1248.—The most various races have contended for his protection. His feast was in 1222 ordered to be kept as a holiday throughout all England: from the beginning of the 14th century, or since the Mongol dominion was shaken off, he has been one of the guardian saints of Russia: in 1468, the Emperor Frederic III. founded the Austrian Order of St. George for the protection of the Empire against the Turks, and a few years later, in 1471, at the momentous battle of Brunkeberg, his name was the war-cry of both parties, Swedes and Danes.

That the subjugation of the Dragon (a symbolical mode of representing the extinction of Evil common to all times and peoples) should be attributed to St. George, would seem to be sufficiently explained by his having become the Christian Hero of the Middle Ages. A special reason may, however, be alleged for his connection with such a legend. Long before the Crusades, he was depicted by the artists of the Oriental Church as the Great Martyr, with the Dragon (Anti-Christ or the Devil) at his feet, and a crowned virgin (the Church) at his side. In like manner had Constantine

the Great had himself drawn, and many other saints are represented in the same way, as Theodore, Victor, and Margaret. This symbolic representation would naturally lead to the Crusaders making St. George the hero in an achievement which was well known in connection with other names: and it would then not be too much to assume that the Normans (who, as already said, were the first to recognize his presence in battle),—the same Normans who were properly the creators of the romantic poetry of the Middle Ages,—were also the first to connect St. George with the conquest of the Dragon.

But however we may account for St. George's being introduced into such a legend, so much is sure; that from the 14th century on, the story and the hero have been inseparable: all the legendaries and all the pictures of him exhibit him as the conqueror of the Dragon: his martyrdom is nearly lost sight of, and in ballads is entirely forgotten.—As to the place which was the scene of the fight, there are many opinions. Some have fixed it in Cappadocia, others in Lybia, others in Syria, and some European nations have assigned the adventure to a locality within their own bounds. Thus the Wallachians lay the scene at Orwoza, one of the Wendish ballads at Berlin, the Germans at Leipsic, the Dutch at Oudenarde, and—the people of the island of Funen at Svendborg!

[2] ] What follows is abridged from Grundtvig, Danmarks Gamle Folkeviser, ii. 554.

Of Hector's deeds did Homer sing,
And of the sack of stately Troy,
What griefs fair Helena did bring,
Which was Sir Paris' only joy:
5 And by my pen I will recite

St. George's deeds, an English knight.

Against the Sarazens so rude
Fought he full long and many a day,
Where many gyaunts he subdu'd,
10 In honour of the Christian way;
And after many adventures past,
To Egypt land he came at last.

Now, as the story plain doth tell,
Within that countrey there did rest
15 A dreadful dragon, fierce and fell,
Whereby they were full sore opprest:
Who by his poisonous breath each day
Did many of the city slay.

The grief whereof did grow so great
20 Throughout the limits of the land,
That they their wise men did intreat
To shew their cunning out of hand;
What way they might this fiend destroy,
That did the countrey thus annoy.

25 The wise men all before the king,
This answer fram'd incontinent:
The dragon none to death might bring
By any means they could invent;
His skin more hard than brass was found,
That sword nor spear could pierce nor wound.

30 When this the people understood,

They cryed out most piteouslye,
The dragon's breath infects their blood,
That every day in heaps they dye;
35 Among them such a plague is bred,
The living scarce could bury the dead.

No means there were, as they could hear,
For to appease the dragon's rage,
But to present some virgin clear,
40 Whose blood his fury might asswage;
Each day he would a maiden eat,
For to allay his hunger great.

This thing by art the wise men found,
Which truly must observed be;
45 Wherefore, throughout the city round,
A virgin pure of good degree
Was, by the king's commission, still
Taken up to serve the dragon's will.

Thus did the dragon every day
50 Untimely crop some virgin flowr,
Till all the maids were worn away,
And none were left him to devour;
Saving the king's fair daughter bright,
Her father's only heart's delight.

55 Then came the officers to the king,
That heavy message to declare,
Which did his heart with sorrow sting;

"She is," quoth he, "my kingdom's heir:
O let us all be poisoned here,
60 Ere she should die, that is my dear."

Then rose the people presently,
And to the king in rage they went;
They said his daughter dear should dye,
The dragon's fury to prevent:
65 "Our daughters all are dead," quoth they,
"And have been made the dragon's prey;

"And by their blood we rescued were,
And thou hast sav'd thy life thereby;
And now in sooth it is but faire,
70 For us thy daughter so should die."
"O save my daughter," said the king,
"And let ME feel the dragon's sting."

Then fell fair Sabra on her knee,
And to her father dear did say,
75 "O father, strive not thus for me,
But let me be the dragon's prey;
It may be, for my sake alone
This plague upon the land was thrown.

"'Tis better I should dye," she said,
80 "Than all your subjects perish quite;
Perhaps the dragon here was laid,
For my offence to work his spite,
And after he hath suckt my gore,

Your land shall feel the grief no more."

85 "What hast thou done, my daughter dear,
For to deserve this heavy scourge?
It is my fault, as may appear,
Which makes the gods our state to purge;
Then ought I die, to stint the strife,
90 And to preserve thy happy life."

Like mad-men, all the people cried,
"Thy death to us can do no good;
Our safely only doth abide
In making her the dragon's food."
95 "Lo! here I am, I come," quoth she,
"Therefore do what you will with me."

"Nay stay, dear daughter," quoth the queen,
"And as thou art a virgin bright,
That hast for vertue famous been,
100 So let me cloath thee all in white;
And crown thy head with flowers sweet,
An ornament for virgins meet."

And when she was attired so,
According to her mother's mind,
105 Unto the stake then did she go,
To which her tender limbs they bind;
And being bound to stake a thrall,
She bade farewell unto them all.

"Farewell, my father dear," quoth she,

110 "And my sweet mother, meek and mild;
Take you no thought nor weep for me,
For you may have another child;
Since for my country's good I dye,
Death I receive most willinglye."

115 The king and queen and all their train
With weeping eyes went then their way,
And let their daughter there remain,
To be the hungry dragon's prey:
But as she did there weeping lye,
120 Behold St. George came riding by.

And seeing there a lady bright
So rudely tyed unto a stake,
As well became a valiant knight,
He straight to her his way did take:
125 "Tell me, sweet maiden," then quoth he,
"What caitif thus abuseth thee?

"And, lo! by Christ his cross I vow,
Which here is figured on my breast,
I will revenge it on his brow,
130 And break my lance upon his chest:"
And speaking thus whereas he stood,
The dragon issued from the wood.

The lady, that did first espy
The dreadful dragon coming so,
135 Unto St. George aloud did cry,

And willed him away to go;
"Here comes that cursed fiend," quoth she,
"That soon will make an end of me."

St. George then looking round about,
140 The fiery dragon soon espy'd,
And like a knight of courage stout,
Against him did most fiercely ride;
And with such blows he did him greet,
He fell beneath his horse's feet.

145 For with his launce, that was so strong,
As he came gaping in his face,
In at his mouth he thrust along;
For he could pierce no other place:
And thus within the lady's view
150 This mighty dragon straight he slew.

The savour of his poisoned breath
Could do this holy knight no harm;
Thus he the lady sav'd from death,
And home he led her by the arm;
155 Which when King Ptolemy did see,
There was great mirth and melody.

When as that valiant champion there
Had slain the dragon in the field,
To court he brought the lady fair,
160 Which to their hearts much joy did yield,
He in the court of Egypt staid

Till he most falsely was betray'd.

That lady dearly lov'd the knight,
He counted her his only joy;
165 But when their love was brought to light,
It turn'd unto their great annoy.
Th' Morocco king was in the court,
Who to the orchard did resort;

Dayly, to take the pleasant air;
170 For pleasure sake he us'd to walk;
Under a wall he oft did hear
St. George with Lady Sabra talk;
Their love he shew'd unto the king,
Which to St. George great woe did bring.

175 Those kings together did devise
To make the Christian knight away:
With letters him in curteous wise
They straightway sent to Persia,
But wrote to the sophy him to kill,
180 And treacherously his blood to spill.

Thus they for good did him reward
With evil, and most subtilly,
By such vile meanes, they had regard
To work his death most cruelly;
185 Who, as through Persia land he rode,
With zeal destroy'd each idol god.

For which offence he straight was thrown

Into a dungeon dark and deep;
Where, when he thought his wrongs upon,
190 He bitterly did wail and weep:
Yet like a knight of courage stout,
At length his way he digged out.

Three grooms of the King of Persia
By night this valiant champion slew,
195 Though he had fasted many a day,
And then away from thence he flew
On the best steed the sophy had;
Which when he knew he was full mad.

Towards Christendom he made his flight,
200 But met a gyant by the way,
With whom in combat he did fight
Most valiantly a summer's day:
Who yet, for all his bats of steel,
Was forc'd the sting of death to feel.

205 Back o'er the seas, with many bands
Of warlike souldiers soon he past,
Vowing upon those heathen lands
To work revenge; which at the last,
Ere thrice three years were gone and spent,
210 He wrought unto his heart's content.

Save onely Egypt land he spar'd,
For Sabra bright her only sake,
And, ere for her he had regard,

He meant a tryal kind to make:
215 Meanwhile the king, o'ercome in field,
Unto Saint George did quickly yield.

Then straight Morocco's king he slew,
And took fair Sabra to his wife,
But meant to try if she were true,
220 Ere with her he would lead his life;
And, tho' he had her in his train,
She did a virgin pure remain.

Toward England then that lovely dame
The brave St. George conducted strait,
225 An eunuch also with them came,
Who did upon the lady wait.
These three from Egypt went alone:
Now mark St. George's valour shown.

When as they in a forest were,
230 The lady did desire to rest:
Meanwhile St. George to kill a deer
For their repast did think it best:
Leaving her with the eunuch there,
Whilst he did go to kill the deer.

235 But lo! all in his absence came
Two hungry lyons, fierce and fell,
And tore the eunuch on the same
In pieces small, the truth to tell;
Down by the lady then they laid,

240 Whereby they shew'd she was a maid.

But when he came from hunting back,
And did behold this heavy chance,
Then for his lovely virgin's sake
His courage strait he did advance,
245 And came into the lions sight,
Who ran at him with all their might.

Their rage did him no whit dismay,
Who, like a stout and valiant knight,
Did both the hungry lyons slay
250 Within the Lady Sabra's sight:
Who all this while, sad and demure,
There stood most like a virgin pure.

Now when St. George did surely know
This lady was a virgin true,
255 His heart was glad, that erst was woe,
And all his love did soon renew:
He set her on a palfrey steed,
And towards England came with speed.

Where being in short space arriv'd
260 Unto his native dwelling place,
Therein with his dear love he liv'd,
And fortune did his nuptials grace:
They many years of joy did see,
And led their lives at Coventry.

THE SEVEN CHAMPIONS OF CHRISTENDOM.

The Famous Historie of the Seven Champions of Christendom, is the work of Richard Johnson, a ballad maker of some note at the end of the 16th and beginning of the 17th century. All that is known of him may be seen in Chappel's Introduction to the Crown Garland of Golden Roses, of which Johnson was the compiler or the author. (Percy Society, vol. vi.) "The Story of St. George and the Fair Sabra," says Percy, "is taken almost verbatim from the old poetical legend of Sir Bevis of Hampton."

The Seven Champions is twice entered on the Stationers' Registers in the year 1596. It is here reprinted from A Collection of Old Ballads, 1723, vol. i. 28. The same copy is in Evans's collection, i. 372.

Now of the Seven Champions here
My purpose is to write,
To show how they with sword and spear
Put many foes to flight;
5 Distressed ladies to release,
And captives bound in chains,
That Christian glory to increase
Which evermore remains.

First, I give you to understand

10 That great Saint George by name,
Was the true champion of our land;
And of his birth and fame,
And of his noble mother's dream,
Before that he was born,
15 The which to her did clearly seem
Her days would be forlorn.

This was her dream; that she did bear
A dragon in her womb;
Which griev'd this noble lady fair,
20 'Cause death must be her doom.
This sorrow she could not conceal,
So dismal was her fear,
So that she did the same reveal
Unto her husband dear;

25 Who went for to inquire straight
Of an enchanteress;
When, knocking at her iron gate,
Her answer it was this:
"The lady shall bring forth a son,
30 By whom, in tract of time,
Great noble actions shall be done;
He will to honour climb.

"For he shall be in banners wore;
This truth I will maintain;
35 Your lady, she shall die before

You see her face again."
His leave he took, and home he went;
His wife departed lay;
But that which did his grief augment,
40 The child was stole away.

Then did he travel in despair,
Where soon with grief he died;
While the young child, his son and heir,
Did constantly abide
45 With the wise lady of the grove,
In her enchanted cell;
Amongst the woods he oft did rove,
His beauty pleased her well.

Blinded with love, she did impart,
50 Upon a certain day,
To him her cunning magic art,
And where six Champions lay
Within a brazen castle strong,
By an enchanted sleep,
55 And where they had continued long;
She did the castle keep.

She taught and show'd him every thing
Through being free and fond;
Which did her fatal ruin bring;
60 For with a silver wand
He clos'd her up into a rock,
By giving one small stroke;
So took possession of her stock,

And the enchantment broke.

65 Those Christian Champions being freed
From their enchanted state,
Each mounted on his prancing steed,
And took to travel straight;
Where we will leave them to pursue
70 Kind fortune's favours still,
To treat of our own champion, who
Did courts with wonders fill.

For as he came to understand,
At an old hermit's cell,
75 How, in the vast Egyptian land,
A dragon fierce and fell
Threatened the ruin of them all,
By his devouring jaws,
His sword releas'd them from that thrall,
80 And soon remov'd the cause.

This dreadful dragon must destroy
A virgin every day,
Or else with stinks he'll them annoy,
And many thousands slay.
85 At length the king's own daughter dear,
For whom the court did mourn,
Was brought to be devoured here,
For she must take her turn.

The king by proclamation said,

90 If any hardy knight
Could free this fair young royal maid,
And slay the dragon quite,
Then should he have her for his bride,
And, after death, likewise
95 His crown and kingdom too beside:
Saint George he won the prize.

When many hardy strokes he'd dealt,
And could not pierce his hide,
He run his sword up to the hilt
100 In at the dragon's side;
By which he did his life destroy,
Which cheer'd the drooping king;
This caused an universal joy,
Sweet peals of bells did ring.

105 The daughter of a king, for pride
Transformed into a tree
Of mulberries, [Saint Denis] spied,
And being hungery,
Of that fair fruit he ate a part,
110 And was transformed likewise
Into the fashion of a hart,
For seven years precise.

At which he long bewail'd the loss
Of manly shape: then goes
115 To him his true and trusty horse,
And brings a blushing rose,

By which the magic spell was broke,
And both were fairly freed
From the enchanted heavy yoke:
120 They then in love agreed.

Now we come to Saint James of Spain,
Who slew a mighty boar,
In hopes that he might honour gain,
But he must die therefore:
125 Who was allow'd his death to choose,
Which was by virgins' darts,
But they the same did all refuse,
So tender were their hearts.

The king's daughter at length, by lot,
130 Was doomed to work his woe;
From her fair hands a fatal shot,
Out of a golden bow,
Must put a period to the strife;
At which grief did her seize.
135 She of her father begg'd his life
Upon her bended knees;

Saying, "my gracious sovereign Lord,
And honoured father dear,
He well deserves a large reward;
140 Then be not so severe.
Give me his life!" He grants the boon,
And then without delay,
This Spanish champion, ere 'twas noon,

Rid with her quite away.

145 Now come we to Saint Anthony,
A man with valour fraught,
The champion of fair Italy,
Who many wonders wrought.
First, he a mighty giant slew,
150 The terror of mankind:
Young ladies fair, pure virgins too,
This giant kept confined

Within his castle walls of stone,
And gates of solid brass,
155 Where seven ladies made their moan,
But out they could not pass.
Many brave lords, and knights likewise,
To free them did engage,
Who fell a bleeding sacrifice
160 To this fierce giant's rage.

Fair daughters to a royal king!
Yet fortune, after all,
Did our renowned champion bring
To free them from their thrall.
165 Assisted by the hand of heaven,
He ventured life and limb:
Behold the fairest of the seven,
She fell in love with him.

That champion good, bold Saint Andrew,

170 The famous Scottish knight,
Dark gloomy deserts travelled through,
Where Phoebus gave no light.
Haunted with spirits, for a while
His weary course he steers,
175 Till fortune blessed him with a smile,
And shook off all his fears.

This Christian champion travell'd long,
Till at the length he came
Unto the giant's castle strong,
180 Great Blanderon by name,
Where the king's daughters were transform'd
Into the shape of swans:
Though them he freed, their father storm'd,
But he his malice shuns.

185 For though five hundred armed knights
Did straight beset him round,
Our Christian champion with them fights,
Till on the heathen ground
Most of those Pagans bleeding lay;
190 Which much perplexed the king;
The Scottish champion clears the way,
Which was a glorious thing.

Saint Patrick too, of Ireland,
That noble knight of fame,
195 He travelled, as we understand,
Till at the length he came

Into a grove where satyrs dwelt,
Where ladies he beheld,
Who had their raged fury felt,
200 And were with sorrow fill'd.

He drew his sword, and did maintain
A sharp and bloody fray,
Till the ring-leader he had slain;
The rest soon fled away.
205 This done, he asked the ladies fair,
Who were in silks array'd,
From whence they came, and who they were.
They answered him and said:

"We are all daughters to a king,
210 Whom a brave Scottish knight
Did out of tribulation bring:
He having took his flight,
Now after him we are in quest."
Saint Patrick then replies,
215 "He is my friend, I cannot rest
Till I find him likewise.

"So, ladies, if you do intend
To take your lot with me,
This sword of mine shall you defend
220 From savage cruelty."
The ladies freely gave consent
To travel many miles;
Through shady groves and woods they went,

In search of fortune's smiles.

225 The Christian champion David, went
To the Tartarian court,
Where at their tilt and tournament,
And such like royal sport,
He overthrew the only son
230 Of the Count Palatine;
This noble action being done
His fame began to shine.

The young Count's sad and sudden death
Turn'd all their joys to grief;
235 He bleeding lay, bereaved of breath,
The father's son in chief;
But lords and ladies blazed the fame
Of our brave champion bold;
Saying, they ought to write his name
240 In characters of gold.

Here have I writ a fair account
Of each heroic deed,
Done by these knights, which will surmount
All those that shall succeed.
245 The ancient chronicles of kings,
Ere since the world begun,
Can't boast of such renowned things
As these brave knights have done.

Saint George he was for England,

250 Saint Dennis was for France,
Saint James for Spain, whose valiant hand
Did Christian fame advance:
Saint Anthony for Italy,
Andrew for Scots ne'er fails,
255 Patrick too stands for Ireland,
Saint David was for Wales.

Thus have you those stout champions names
In this renowned song:
Young captive ladies bound in chains,
260 Confined in castles strong,
They did by knightly prowess free,
True honour to maintain:
Then let their lasting memory
From age to age remain.

[107], which Dennis.

THOMAS OF ERSSELDOUNE.

This beautiful tale is transferred to these pages from Mr. Laing's Select Remains of the Ancient Popular Poetry of Scotland. The two "fytts" of prophecies which accompany it in the manuscripts, are omitted here, as being probably the work of another, and an inferior, hand. From the exordium by which the story is introduced, it might be concluded that the author was an Englishman. Indeed, all the poems and prophecies attributed to Thomas the Rhimer which remain to us, are preserved in English manuscripts and an English dress; but, in the judgment of Mr. Jamieson, the internal evidence still almost amounts to proof that the romance itself was of Scottish origin, although no indubitably Scottish copy is now known to be in existence.

The hero of this legend is believed to have lived through nearly the whole of the 13th century. He derived his territorial appellation from the village of Erceldoune, in the county of Berwick, lying on the river Leader, about two miles above its junction with the Tweed. The Huntly bank on which the meeting of Thomas with the Queen of Fairy took place, is situated, according to Mr. Laing, on one of the Eldoun hills, but the same distinction is claimed for another place of like name, which, together with an adjoining ravine, called from time immemorial the Rymer's Glen,

was included in the domain of Abbotsford. (See Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, iv. 110. v. 1.)

"During the 14th, 15th, and 16th centuries, to get up a prophecy in the name of Thomas the Rhymer appears to have been found a good stroke of policy on many occasions. Thus was his authority employed to countenance the views of Edward III. against Scottish independence, to favor the ambitious views of the Duke of Albany in the minority of James V., and to sustain the spirits of the nation under the harassing invasions of Henry VIII. A small volume containing a collection of the rhymes thus put into circulation was published by Andro Hart in Edinburgh, in 1615."—CHAMBERS, Pop. Rhymes of Scotland, p. 6.

"This poem," says Mr. Laing, "is preserved in three ancient manuscripts, each of them in a state more or less mutilated, and varying in no inconsiderable degree from the others. A portion of it was first printed in the Border Minstrelsy, [iv. 122,] from the fragment in the British Museum, among the Cotton MSS.; and the one which Mr. Jamieson adopted in his collection of Popular Ballads and Songs [ii. 11,] was carefully deciphered from a volume of no ordinary curiosity, in the University Library, Cambridge, written in a very illegible hand, about the middle of the 15th century. It is now printed from the other copy, as it occurs in a volume, compiled at a still earlier period, which is preserved in the Cathedral Library of Lincoln. On comparison, it will be readily perceived, that the text is in every respect preferable to that of either of the other manuscripts.... An endeavor has been made to fill up the defective parts from the Cambridge copy, though in some instances, as will be seen, without

success."—Mr. Halliwell has republished the Cambridge text in his Fairy Mythology, (p. 58,) and he cites a fourth manuscript, which, however, appears to be of slight importance.