FOOTNOTES:
[386] This will remind the reader of the livery and device of Charles Brandon, a private gentleman, who married the Queen Dowager of France, sister of Henry VIII. At a tournament which he held at his wedding, the trappings of his horse were half Cloth of gold, and half Frieze, with the following Motto:—
"Cloth of Gold, do not despise,
Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Frize,
Cloth of Frize, be not too bold,
Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Gold."
See Sir W. Temple's Misc. vol. iii. p. 356.
[387] i.e. describing.
XVII.
THE SWEET NEGLECT.
This little madrigal (extracted from Ben. Jonson's Silent Woman, act i. sc. 1, first acted in 1609) is in imitation of a Latin Poem printed at the end of the Variorum Edit. of Petronius, beginning, Semper munditias, semper Basilissa, decoras, &c. See Whalley's Ben Jonson, vol. ii. p. 420.
Still to be neat, still to be drest,
As you were going to a feast:
Still to be pou'dred, still perfum'd:
Lady, it is to be presum'd,
Though art's hid causes are not found, 5
All is not sweet, all is not sound.
Give me a looke, give me a face,
That makes simplicitie a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, haire as free:
Such sweet neglect more taketh me, 10
Than all th' adulteries of art,
That strike mine eyes, but not my heart.
XVIII.
THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD.
The subject of this very popular ballad (which has been set in so favourable a light by the Spectator, No. 85.) seems to be taken from an old play, intitled, Two lamentable Tragedies; The one of the murder of Maister Beech, a chandler in Thames streete, &c. The other of a young child murthered in a wood by two ruffins, with the consent of his unkle. By Rob. Yarrington, 1601, 4to. Our ballad-maker has strictly followed the play in the description of the father and mother's dying charge: in the uncle's promise to take care of their issue: his hiring two ruffians to destroy his ward, under pretence of sending him to school: their chusing a wood to perpetrate the murder in: one of the ruffians relenting, and a battle ensuing, &c. In other respects he has departed from the play. In the latter the scene is laid in Padua: there is but one child: which is murdered by a sudden stab of the unrelenting ruffian: he is slain himself by his less bloody companion; but ere he dies gives the other a mortal wound: the latter living just long enough to impeach the uncle; who, in consequence of this impeachment, is arraigned and executed by the hand of justice, &c. Whoever compares the play with the ballad, will have no doubt but the former is the original: the language is far more obsolete, and such a vein of simplicity runs through the whole performance, that, had the ballad been written first, there is no doubt but every circumstance of it would have been received into the drama: whereas this was probably built on some Italian novel.
Printed from two ancient copies, one of them in black-letter in the Pepys Collection. Its title at large is, The Children in the Wood; or, The Norfolk Gentleman's Last Will and Testament: To the tune of Rogero, &c.
[Ritson thought he had refuted Percy's statement that the play was older than the ballad by pointing out that the latter was entered in the Stationers' books in 1595, but I find in Baker's Biographia Dramatica an assertion that Yarrington's play was not printed "till many years after it was written." The following is the form of the entry at Stationers' Hall, "15 Oct. 1595. Thomas Millington entred for his copie under th[e h]andes of bothe the Wardens a ballad intituled The Norfolk Gent, his Will and Testament and howe he commytted the keepinge of his children to his owne brother whoe delte most wickedly with them and howe God plagued him for it." Sharon Turner and Miss Halsted favoured the rather untenable opinion that the wicked uncle was intended to represent Richard III., and therefore that the date of the ballad was much earlier than that usually claimed for it. Turner writes in his History of England, "I have sometimes fancied that the popular ballad may have been written at this time on Richard and his nephews before it was quite safe to stigmatize him more openly."
Wailing, or Wayland Wood, a large cover near Walton in Norfolk is the place which tradition assigns to the tragedy, but the people of Wood Dalling also claim the honour for their village.
Addison speaks of the ballad as "one of the darling songs of the common people, [which] has been the delight of most Englishmen in some part of their age," and points out that the circumstance
... robin-red-breast piously
Did cover them with leaves,
has a parallel in Horace, who tells us that when he was a child, fallen asleep in a desert wood, the turtle doves took pity on him and covered him with leaves.
The popular belief that the robin covers dead bodies with leaves (probably founded on the habits of the bird) is of considerable antiquity. The passage in Cymbeline (act iv. sc. 2) naturally occurs as the chief illustration:—
... "the ruddock would,
With charitable bill....
... bring thee all this,
Yea and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none,
To winter-ground thy corse."
In Webster's White Devil, act v., we read:—
"Call for the robin red breast and the wren
Since o'er shady groves they hover
And with leaves and flowers do cover
The friendless bodies of unburied men."
The critics suppose Webster to have imitated Shakespere here, but there is no ground for any such supposition. The industry of Reed, Steevens, and Douce has supplied us with several passages from old literature in which this characteristic of the robin is referred to.
In "Cornucopiæ, or, divers Secrets; wherein is contained the rare secrets of man, beasts, fowles, fishes, trees, plants, stones, and such like, most pleasant and profitable, and not before committed to bee printed in English. Newlie drawen out of divers Latine Authors into English by Thomas Johnson," 4to. London, 1596, occurs the following passage:—"The robin red-breast if he find a man or woman dead will cover all his face with mosse, and some thinke that if the body should remaine unburied that hee woulde cover the whole body also."
This little secret of Johnson is copied by Thomas Lupton into his A Thousand Notable Things of sundrie sorts newly corrected, 1601, where it appears as No. 37 of book i.
Michael Drayton has the following lines in his poem, The Owl:
"Cov'ring with moss the dead's unclosed eye
The little red-breast teacheth charitie."
In Dekker's Villanies discovered by lanthorn and candlelight, 1616, we read, "They that cheere up a prisoner but with their sight are Robin red-breasts, that bring strawes in their bils to cover a dead man in extremitìe." This is sufficient evidence that the belief was wide-spread.]
Now ponder well, you parents deare,
These wordes, which I shall write;
A doleful story you shall heare,
In time brought forth to light.
A gentleman of good account 5
In Norfolke dwelt of late,
Who did in honour far surmount
Most men of his estate.
Sore sicke he was, and like to dye,
No helpe his life could save; 10
His wife by him as sicke did lye,
And both possest one grave.
No love between these two was lost,
Each was to other kinde,
In love they liv'd, in love they dyed, 15
And left two babes behinde:
The one a fine and pretty boy,
Not passing three yeares olde;
The other a girl more young than he,
And fram'd in beautyes molde. 20
The father left his little son,
As plainlye doth appeare,
When he to perfect age should come,
Three hundred poundes a yeare.
And to his little daughter Jane 25
Five hundred poundes in gold,
To be paid down on marriage-day,
Which might not be controll'd:
But if the children chance to dye,
Ere they to age should come, 30
Their uncle should possesse their wealth;
For so the wille did run.
Now, brother, said the dying man,
Look to my children deare;
Be good unto my boy and girl, 35
No friendes else have they here:
To God and you I recommend
My children deare this daye;
But little while be sure we have
Within this world to staye. 40
You must be father and mother both,
And uncle all in one;
God knowes what will become of them,
When I am dead and gone.
With that bespake their mother deare, 45
O brother kinde, quoth shee,
You are the man must bring our babes
To wealth or miserie:
And if you keep them carefully,
Then God will you reward; 50
But if you otherwise should deal,
God will your deedes regard.
With lippes as cold as any stone,
They kist their children small:
God bless you both, my children deare; 55
With that the teares did fall.
These speeches then their brother spake
To this sicke couple there,
The keeping of your little ones
Sweet sister, do not feare; 60
God never prosper me nor mine,
Nor aught else that I have,
If I do wrong your children deare,
When you are layd in grave.
The parents being dead and gone, 65
The children home he takes,
And bringes them straite unto his house,
Where much of them he makes.
He had not kept these pretty babes
A twelvemonth and a daye, 70
But, for their wealth, he did devise
To make them both awaye.
He bargain'd with two ruffians strong,
Which were of furious mood,
That they should take these children young, 75
And slaye them in a wood.
He told his wife an artful tale,
He would the children send
To be brought up in faire Londòn,
With one that was his friend. 80
Away then went those pretty babes,
Rejoycing at that tide,
Rejoycing with a merry minde,
They should on cock-horse ride.
They prate and prattle pleasantly, 85
As they rode on the waye,
To those that should their butchers be,
And work their lives decaye:
So that the pretty speeche they had,
Made Murder's heart relent; 90
And they that undertooke the deed,
Full sore did now repent.
Yet one of them more hard of heart,
Did vowe to do his charge,
Because the wretch, that hired him, 95
Had paid him very large.
The other won't agree thereto,
So here they fall to strife;
With one another they did fight,
About the childrens life: 100
And he that was of mildest mood,
Did slaye the other there,
Within an unfrequented wood;
The babes did quake for feare!
He took the children by the hand, 105
Teares standing in their eye,
And bad them straitwaye follow him,
And look they did not crye:
And two long miles he ledd them on,
While they for food complaine: 110
Staye here, quoth he, I'll bring you bread,
When I come back againe.
These pretty babes, with hand in hand,
Went wandering up and downe;
But never more could see the man 115
Approaching from the town:
Their prettye lippes with black-berries,
Were all besmear'd and dyed,
And when they sawe the darksome night,
They sat them downe and cryed. 120
Thus wandered these poor innocents,
Till deathe did end their grief,
In one anothers armes they dyed,
As wanting due relief:
No burial 'this' pretty 'pair'[388] 125
Of any man receives,
Till Robin-red-breast piously
Did cover them with leaves.
And now the heavy wrathe of God
Upon their uncle fell; 130
Yea, fearfull fiends did haunt his house,
His conscience felt an hell:
His barnes were fir'd, his goodes consum'd,
His landes were barren made,
His cattle dyed within the field, 135
And nothing with him stayd.
And in a voyage to Portugal[389]
Two of his sonnes did dye;
And to conclude, himselfe was brought
To want and miserye: 140
He pawn'd and mortgaged all his land
Ere seven yeares came about.
And now at length this wicked act
Did by this meanes come out:
The fellowe, that did take in hand 145
These children for to kill,
Was for a robbery judg'd to dye,
Such was God's blessed will:
Who did confess the very truth,
As here hath been display'd: 150
Their uncle having dyed in gaol,
Where he for debt was layd.
You that executors be made,
And overseers eke
Of children that be fatherless, 155
And infants mild and meek;
Take you example by this thing,
And yield to each his right,
Lest God with such like miserye
Your wicked minds requite. 160