THE SECOND PART OF ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW, COMMONLY CALLED HOB-GOBLIN
HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW HELPED A MAID TO WORK
Robin Good-fellow oftentimes would in the night visit farmers' houses, and help the maids to break hemp, to bolt[[5]], to dress flax, and to spin and do other work, for he was
excellent in everything. One night he came to a farmer's house, where there was a good handsome maid: this maid having much work to do, Robin one night did help her, and in six hours did bolt more than she could have done in twelve hours. The maid wondered the next day how her work came, and to know the doer, she watched the next night that did follow. About twelve of the clock in came Robin, and fell to breaking of hemp, and for to delight himself he sung this mad song.
And can the physician make sick men well?
And can the magician a fortune divine?
Without lily, germander and sops-in-wine?
With sweet-brier
And bon-fire,
And strawberry wire,
And columbine.
Within and out, in and out, round as a ball,
With hither and thither, as straight as a line,
With lily, germander and sops-in-wine.
With sweet-brier,
And bon-fire,
And strawberry wire,
And columbine.
When Saturn did live, there lived no poor,
The king and the beggar with roots did dine,
With lily, germander and sops-in-wine.
With sweet-brier,
And bon-fire,
And strawberry wire,
And columbine.
The maid, seeing him bare in clothes, pitied him, and against the next night provided him a waistcoat. Robin, coming the next night to work, as he did before, espied the waistcoat, whereat he started and said—
Because thou lay'st me, himpen, hampen,[[6]]
I will neither bolt nor stampen;
'Tis not your garments new or old
That Robin loves: I feel no cold.
Had you left me milk or cream,
You should have had a pleasing dream:
Because you left no drop or crumb,
Robin never more will come.
So went he away laughing, ho, ho, hoh! The maid was much grieved and discontented at his anger: for ever after she was fain to do her work herself without the help of Robin Good-fellow.
HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW LED A COMPANY OF FELLOWS OUT OF THEIR WAY
A company of young men having been making merry with their sweethearts, were at their coming home to come over a heath. Robin Good-fellow, knowing of it, met them, and to make some pastime, he led them up and down the heath a whole night, so that they could not get out of it; for he went before them in the shape of a walking fire, which they all saw and followed till the day did appear: then Robin left them, and at his departure spake these words—
Get you home, you merry lads!
Tell your mammies and your dads,
And all those that news desire,
How you saw a walking fire.
Wenches, that do smile and lisp
Use to call me Willy Wisp.
If that you but weary he,
It is sport alone for me.
Away: unto your houses go
And I'll go laughing ho, ho, hoh!
The fellows were glad that he was gone, for they were all in a great fear that he would have done them some mischief.
HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW SERVED A LECHEROUS GALLANT
Robin always did help those that suffered wrong, and never would hurt any but those that did wrong to others. It was his chance one day to go through a field where he heard one call for help: he, going near where he heard the cry, saw a lusty gallant that would have forced a young maiden to his lust; but the maiden in no wise would yield, which made her cry for help. Robin Good-fellow, seeing of this, turned himself into the shape of a hare, and so ran between the lustful gallant's legs. This gallant, thinking to have taken him, he presently turned himself into a horse, and so perforce carried away this gallant on his back. The gentleman cried out for help, for he thought that the devil had been come to fetch him for his wickedness; but his crying was in vain, for Robin did carry him into a thick hedge, and there left him
so pricked and scratched, that he more desired a plaister for his pain than a wench for his pleasure. Thus the poor maid was freed from this ruffian, and Robin Good-fellow, to see this gallant so tame, went away laughing, ho, ho, hoh!
HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW TURNED A MISERABLE USURER TO A GOOD HOUSE-KEEPER
In this country of ours there was a rich man dwelled, who to get wealth together was so sparing that he could not find in his heart to give his belly food enough. In the winter he never would make so much fire as would roast a black-pudding, for he found it more profitable to sit by other men's. His apparel was of the fashion that none did wear; for it was such as did hang at a broker's stall, till it was as weather-beaten as an old sign. This man for his covetousness was so hated of all his neighbours, that there was not one that gave him a good word. Robin Good-fellow grieved to see a man of such wealth do so little good, and therefore practised to better him in this manner.
One night the usurer being in bed, Robin in the shape of a night-raven[[7]] came to the window, and there did beat with his wings, and croaked in such manner that this old usurer thought he should have presently died for fear. This was but a preparation to what he did intend; for presently after he appeared before him at his bed's feet, in the shape of a ghost, with a torch in his hand. At the sight of this the old
usurer would have risen out of his bed, and have leaped out of the window, but he was stayed by Robin Good-fellow, who spake to him thus—
If thou dost stir out of thy bed,
I do vow to strike thee dead.
I do come to do thee good;
Recall thy wits and starkled[[8]] blood.
The money which thou up dost store
In soul and body makes thee poor.
Do good with money while you may;
Thou hast not long on earth to stay.
Do good, I say, or day and night
I hourly thus will thee affright.
Think on my words, and so farewell,
For being bad I live in hell.
Having said thus he vanished away and left this usurer in great terror of mind; and for fear of being frighted again with this ghost, he turned very liberal, and lived amongst his neighbours as an honest man should do.
HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW LOVED A WEAVER'S WIFE, AND HOW THE WEAVER WOULD HAVE DROWNED HIM
One day Robin Good-fellow, walking through the street, found at the door sitting a pretty woman: this woman was wife to the weaver, and was a-winding of quills[[9]] for her husband. Robin liked her so well, that for her sake he became servant to her husband, and did daily work at the loom; but all the kindness that he showed was but lost, for his mistress would show him no favour, which made him
many times to exclaim against the whole sex in satirical songs; and one day being at work he sung this, to the tune of Rejoice Bag-pipes—
Why should my love now wax
Unconstant, wavering, fickle, unstaid?
With nought can she me tax:
I ne'er recanted what I once said.
I now do see, as nature fades,
And all her works decay,
So women all, wives, widows, maids,
From bad to worse do stray.
As herbs, trees, roots, and plants
In strength and growth are daily less,
So all things have their wants:
The heavenly signs move and digress;
And honesty in women's hearts
Hath not her former being:
Their thoughts are ill, like other parts,
Nought else in them's agreeing.
I sooner thought thunder
Had power o'er the laurel wreath,
Than she, women's wonder,
Such perjured thoughts should live to breathe.
They all hyena-like will weep,
When that they would deceive:
Deceit in them doth lurk and sleep,
Which makes me thus to grieve.
Young man's delight, farewell;
Wine, women, game, pleasure, adieu:
Content with me shall dwell;
I'll nothing trust but what is true.
Though she were false, for her I'll pray;
Her falsehood made me blest:
I will renew from this good day
My life by sin opprest.
Moved with this song and other complaints of his, she at last did fancy him, so that the weaver did not like that Robin should be so saucy with his wife, and therefore gave him warning to be gone, for he would keep him no longer. This grieved this loving couple to part one from the other, which made them to make use of the time that they had. The weaver one day coming in, found them a-kissing: at this he said [nothing] but vowed in himself to be revenged of his man that night following. Night being come, the weaver went to Robin's bed, and took him out of it (as he then thought) and ran apace to the river side to hurl Robin in; but the weaver was deceived, for Robin, instead of himself, had laid in his bed a sack full of yarn: it was that that the weaver carried to drown. The weaver standing by the river side said:—Now will I cool your hot blood, Master Robert, and if you cannot swim the better you shall sink and drown, With that he hurled the sack in, thinking that it had been Robin Good-fellow. Robin, standing behind him, said—
For this your kindness, master, I you thank:
Go swim yourself; I'll stay upon the bank.
With that Robin pushed him in, and went laughing away, ho, ho, hoh!
HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW WENT IN THE SHAPE OF A FIDDLER TO A WEDDING, AND OF THE SPORT THAT HE HAD THERE
On a time there was a great wedding, to which there went many young lusty lads and pretty lasses. Robin Good-fellow longing not to be out of action, shaped himself like unto a fiddler, and with his crowd under his arm went amongst them, and was a very welcome man. There played he whilst they danced, and took as much delight in seeing them, as they did in hearing him. At dinner he was desired to sing a song, which he did to the tune of Watton Town's End[[10]].
THE SONG
It was a country lad
That fashions strange would see,
And he came to a vaulting school,
Where tumblers used to be:
He liked his sport so well,
That from it he'd not part:
His doxy to him still did cry,
Come, buss thine own sweetheart.
They liked his gold so well,
That they were both content,
That he that night with his sweetheart
Should pass in merriment.
To bed they then did go;
Full well he knew his part,
Where he with words, and eke with deeds,
Did buss his own sweetheart.
Long were they not in bed,
But one knocked at the door,
And said, Up, rise, and let me in:
This vexed both knave and whore.
He being sore perplexed
From bed did lightly start;
No longer then could he endure
To buss his own sweetheart.
With tender steps he trod,
To see if he could spy
The man that did him so molest;
Which he with heavy eye
Had soon beheld, and said,
Alas! my own sweetheart,
I now do doubt, if e'er we buss,
It must be in a cart.
At last the bawd arose
And opened the door,
And saw Discretion cloth'd in rug,
Whose office hates a whore.
He mounted up the stairs,
Being cunning in his art;
With little search at last he found
My youth and his sweetheart.
He having wit at will,
Unto them both did say,
I will not hear them speak one word
Watchmen, with them away!
And cause they loved so well
'Tis pity they should part.
Away with them to new Bride-well;
There buss your own sweetheart.
His will it was fulfilled,
And there they had the law;
And whilst that they did nimbly spin,
The hemp he needs must taw.
He ground, he thumped, he grew
So cunning in his art,
He learnt the trade of beating hemp
By bussing his sweetheart.
But yet, he still would say,
If I could get release
To see strange fashions I'll give o'er,
And henceforth live in peace,
The town where I was bred,
And think by my desart
To come no more into this place
For bussing my sweetheart.
They all liked his song very well, and said that the young man had but ill-luck. Thus continued he playing and singing songs till candle-light: then he began to play his merry tricks in this manner. First he put out the candles, and then, being dark, he struck the men good boxes on the ears: they, thinking it had been those that did sit next them, fell a-fighting one with the other; so that there was not one of them but had either a broken head or a bloody nose. At this Robin laughed heartily. The women did not escape him, for the handsomest he kissed; the other he pinched, and made them scratch one the other, as if they had been cats. Candles being lighted again, they all were friends, and fell again to dancing, and after to supper.
Supper being ended, a great posset was brought forth: at this Robin Good-fellow's teeth did water, for it looked so lovely that he could not keep from it. To attain to his wish, he did turn himself into a bear: both men and women (seeing a bear amongst them) ran away, and left the whole posset to Robin Good-fellow. He quickly made an end of it, and went away without his money; for the sport he had was better to him than any money whatsoever. The fear that the guests were in did cause such a smell, that the bridegroom did call for perfumes; and instead of a posset, he was fain to make use of cold beer.
HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW SERVED A TAPSTER FOR NICKING HIS POTS
There was a tapster, that with his pots' smallness, and with frothing of his drink, had got a good sum of money together. This nicking of the pots he would never leave, yet divers times he had been under the hand of authority, but what money soever he had [to pay] for his abuses, he would be sure (as they all do) to get it out of the poor man's pot again. Robin Good-fellow, hating such knavery, put a trick upon him in this manner.
Robin shaped himself like to the tapster's brewer, and came and demanded twenty pounds which was due to him from the tapster. The tapster, thinking it had been his brewer, paid him the money, which money Robin gave to the
poor of that parish before the tapster's face. The tapster praised his charity very much, and said that God would bless him the better for such good deeds: so after they had drank one with the other, they parted.
Some four days after the brewer himself came for his money: the tapster told him that it was paid, and that he had a quittance from him to show. Hereat the brewer did wonder, and desired to see the quittance. The tapster fetched him a writing, which Robin Good-fellow had given him instead of a quittance, wherein was written as followeth, which the brewer read to him—
I, Robin Good-fellow, true man and honest man, do acknowledge to have received of Nick and Froth, the cheating tapster, the sum of twenty pounds, which money I have bestowed (to the tapster's content) among the poor of the parish, out of whose pockets this aforesaid tapster had picked the aforesaid sum, not after the manner of foisting, but after his excellent skill of bombasting[[11]], or a pint for a penny.
If now thou wilt go hang thyself,
Then take thy apron strings;
It doth me good when such foul birds
Upon the gallows sings.
Per me ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW.
At this the tapster swore Walsingham; but for all his swearing, the brewer made him pay him his twenty pounds.
HOW KING OBREON[[12]] CALLED ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW TO DANCE
King Obreon, seeing Robin Good-fellow do so many honest and merry tricks, called him one night out of his bed with these words, saying—
Robin, my son, come quickly, rise:
First stretch, then yawn, and rub your eyes;
For thou must go with me to-night,
To see, and taste of my delight.
Quickly come, my wanton son;
'Twere time our sports were now begun.
Robin, hearing this, rose and went to him. There were with King Obreon a many fairies, all attired in green silk; all these, with King Obreon, did welcome Robin Good-fellow into their company. Obreon took Robin by the hand and led him a dance: their musician was little Tom Thumb; for he had an excellent bag-pipe made of a wren's quill, and the skin of a Greenland louse: this pipe was so shrill, and so sweet, that a Scottish pipe compared to it, it would no more come near it, than a Jew's-trump doth to an Irish harp. After they had danced, King Obreon spake to his son, Robin Good-fellow, in this manner—
When e'er you hear my piper blow,
From thy bed see that thou go;
For nightly you must with us dance,
When we in circles round do prance.
I love thee, son, and by the hand
I carry thee to Fairy Land,
Where thou shalt see what no man knows:
Such love thee King Obreon owes.
So marched they in good manner (with their piper before) to the Fairy Land: there did King Obreon show Robin Good-fellow many secrets, which he never did open to the world.
HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW WAS WONT TO WALK IN THE NIGHT
Robin Good-fellow would many times walk in the night with a broom on his shoulder, and cry "chimney sweep," but when any one did call him, then would he run away laughing ho, ho, hoh! Sometimes he would counterfeit a beggar, begging very pitifully, but when they came to give him an alms, he would run away, laughing as his manner was. Sometimes would he knock at men's doors, and when the servants came, he would blow out the candle, if they were men; but if they were women, he would not only put out their light, but kiss them full sweetly, and then go away as his fashion was, ho, ho, hoh! Oftentimes would he sing at a door like a singing man, and when they did come to give him his reward, he would turn his back and laugh. In these humours of his he had many pretty songs, which I will sing as perfect as I can. For his chimney-sweeper's humours he
had these songs: the first is to the tune of I have been a fiddler these fifteen years.
Black I am from head to foot,
And all doth come by chimney soot:
Then maidens, come and cherish him
That makes your chimneys neat and trim.
Horns have I store, but all at my back;
My head no ornament doth lack:
I give my horns to other men,
And ne'er require them again.
Then come away, you wanton wives,
That love your pleasures as your lives:
To each good woman I'll give two,
Or more, if she think them too few.
Then would he change his note and sing this following, to the tune of What care I how fair she be?[[13]]
Be she blacker than the stock,
If that thou wilt make her fair,
Put her in a cambric smock,
Buy her paint and flaxen hair.
One your carrier brings to town
Will put down your city-bred;
Put her on a broker's gown,
That will sell her maiden-head.
Comes your Spaniard, proud in mind,
He'll have the first cut, or else none:
The meek Italian comes behind,
And your Frenchman picks the bone.
Still she trades with Dutch and Scot,
Irish, and the German tall,
Till she gets the thing you wot;
Then her end's an hospital.
A song to the tune of The Spanish Pavin[[14]].
When Virtue was a country maid,
And had no skill to set up trade,
She came up with a carrier's jade,
And lay at rack and manger.
She whiffed her pipe, she drunk her can,
The pot was ne'er out of her span;
She married a tobacco man,
A stranger, a stranger.
They set up shop in Honey Lane,
And thither flies did swarm amain,
Some from France, some from Spain,
Train'd in by scurvy panders.
At last this honey pot grew dry,
Then both were forcéd for to fly
To Flanders, to Flanders.
Another to the tune of The Coranto.
I peeped in at the Woolsack,
O, what a goodly sight did I
Behold at midnight chime!
The wenches were drinking of mulled sack;
Each youth on his knee, that then did want
A year and a half of his time.
They leaped and skipped,
They kissed and they clipped,
And yet it was counted no crime.
The grocer's chief servant brought sugar,
And out of his leather pocket he pulled,
And culled some pound and a half;
For which he was suffered to smack her
That was his sweetheart, and would not depart,
But turned and lick'd the calf.
He rung her, and he flung her,
He kissed her, and he swung her,
And yet she did nothing but laugh.
Thus would he sing about cities and towns, and when any one called him, he would change his shape, and go laughing ho, ho, hoh! For his humours of begging he used this song, to the tune of The Jovial Tinker[[15]].
Good people of this mansion,
Unto the poor be pleased
To do some good, and give some food,
That hunger may be eased.
My limbs with fire are burned,
My goods and lands defaced;
Of wife and child I am beguiled,
So much am I debased.
Oh, give the poor some bread, cheese, or butter,
Bacon, hemp, or flax;
Some pudding bring, or other thing:
My need doth make me ax[[16]].
I am no common beggar,
Nor am I skilled in canting:
You ne'er shall see a wench with me,
Such tricks in me are wanting.
I curse not if you give not,
But still I pray and bless you,
Still wishing joy, and that annoy
May never more possess you.
Oh, give the poor some bread, cheese or butter,
Bacon, hemp or flax;
Some pudding bring, or other thing,
My need doth make me ax.
When any came to relieve him, then would he change himself into some other shape, and run laughing, ho, ho, hoh! Then would he shape himself like to a singing man; and at men's windows and doors sing civil and virtuous songs, one of which I will sing to the tune of Broom[[17]].
If thou wilt lead a blest and happy life,
I will describe the perfect way:
First must thou shun all cause of mortal strife,
Against thy lusts continually to pray.
Attend unto God's word:
Great comfort 'twill afford;
'Twill keep thee from discord.
Then trust in God, the Lord,
for ever,
for ever;
And see in this thou persever.
So soon as day appeareth in the east
Give thanks to him, and mercy crave;
So in this life thou shalt be surely blest,
And mercy shalt thou find in grave.
The conscience that is clear
No horror doth it fear;
'Tis void of mortal care,
And never doth despair;
but ever,
but ever
Doth in the word of God persever.
Thus living, when thou drawest to thy end
Thy joys they shall much more increase,
For then thy soul, thy true and loving friend,
By death shall find a wished release
From all that caused sin,
In which it lived in;
For then it doth begin
Those blessed joys to win,
for ever,
for ever,
For there is nothing can them sever.
Those blessed joys which then thou shalt possess,
No mortal tongue can them declare:
All earthly joys, compared with this, are less
Than smallest mote to the world so fair.
Then is not that man blest
That must enjoy this rest?
Full happy is that guest
Invited to this feast,
that ever,
that ever
Endureth and is ended never.
When they opened the window or door, then would he run away laughing ho, ho, hoh! Sometimes would he go like a bellman in the night, and with many pretty verses
delight the ears of those that waked at his bell ringing: his verses were these—
Maids in your smocks,
Look well to your locks,
And your tinder box,
Your wheels and your rocks,
Your hens and your cocks,
Your cows and your ox,
And beware of the fox.
When the bellman knocks,
Put out your fire and candle-light,
So they shall not you affright:
May you dream of your delights,
In your sleeps see pleasing sights.
Good rest to all, both old and young:
The bellman now hath done his song.
Then would he go laughing ho, ho, hoh! as his use was. Thus would he continually practise himself in honest mirth, never doing hurt to any that were cleanly and honest-minded.
HOW THE FAIRIES CALLED ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW TO DANCE WITH THEM, AND HOW THEY SHOWED HIM THEIR SEVERAL CONDITIONS
Robin Good-fellow being walking one night heard the excellent music of Tom Thumb's brave bag-pipe: he remembering the sound (according to the command of King Obreon) went towards them. They, for joy that he was
come, did circle him in, and in a ring did dance round about him. Robin Good-fellow, seeing their love to him, danced in the midst of them, and sung them this song to the tune of To him Bun.
THE SONG
Round about, little ones, quick and nimble,
In and out wheel about, run, hop, or amble.
Join your hands lovingly: well done, musician!
Mirth keepeth man in health like a physician.
Elves, urchins, goblins all, and little fairies
That do filch, black, and pinch maids of the dairies;
Make a ring on the grass with your quick measures,
Tom shall play, and I'll sing for all your pleasures.
Pinch and Patch, Gull and Grim,
Go you together,
For you can change your shapes
Like to the weather.
Sib and Tib, Lick and Lull,
You all have tricks, too;
Little Tom Thumb that pipes
Shall go betwixt you.
Tom, tickle up thy pipes
Till they be weary:
I will laugh, ho, ho, hoh!
And make me merry.
Make a ring on this grass
With your quick measures:
Tom shall play, I will sing
For all your pleasures.
The moon shines fair and bright,
And the owl hollos,
Mortals now take their rests
Upon their pillows:
The bat's abroad likewise,
And the night-raven,
Which doth use for to call
Men to Death's haven.
Now the mice peep abroad,
And the cats take them,
Now do young wenches sleep,
Till their dreams wake them.
Make a ring on the grass
With your quick measures:
Tom shall play, I will sing
For all your pleasures.
Thus danced they a good space: at last they left and sat down upon the grass; and to requite Robin Good-fellow's kindness, they promised to tell to him all the exploits that they were accustomed to do: Robin thanked them and listened to them, and one began to tell his tricks in this manner.
THE TRICKS OF THE FAIRY CALLED PINCH
"After that we have danced in this manner as you have beheld, I, that am called Pinch, do go about from house to house: sometimes I find the doors of the house open; that negligent servant that left them so, I do so nip him or her, that with my pinches their bodies are as many colours as a
mackerel's back. Then take I them, and lay I them in the door, naked or unnaked I care not whether: there they lie, many times till broad day, ere they waken; and many times, against their wills, they show some parts about them, that they would not have openly seen.
"Sometimes I find a slut sleeping in the chimney-corner, when she should be washing of her dishes, or doing something else which she hath left undone: her I pinch about the arms, for not laying her arms to her labour. Some I find in their bed snorting and sleeping, and their houses lying as clean as a nasty dog's kennel; in one corner bones, in another egg-shells, behind the door a heap of dust, the dishes under feet, and the cat in the cupboard: all these sluttish tricks I do reward with blue legs, and blue arms. I find some slovens too, as well as sluts: they pay for their beastliness too, as well as the women-kind; for if they uncase a sloven and not untie their points, I so pay their arms that they cannot sometimes untie them, if they would. Those that leave foul shoes, or go into their beds with their stockings on, I use them as I did the former, and never leave them till they have left their beastliness.
But to the good I do no harm,
But cover them and keep them warm:
Sluts and slovens I do pinch,
And make them in their beds to winch
This is my practice, and my trade;
Many have I cleanly made."
THE TRICKS OF THE FAIRY CALLED PATCH
"About midnight do I walk, and for the tricks I play they call me Patch. When I find a slut asleep, I smutch her face if it be clean; but if it be dirty, I wash it in the next piss pot that I can find: the balls I use to wash such sluts withal is a sow's pancake or a pilgrim's salve. Those that I find with their heads nitty and scabby, for want of combing, I am their barbers, and cut their hair as close as an ape's tail; or else clap so much pitch on it, that they must cut it off themselves to their great shame. Slovens also that neglect their masters' business, they do not escape. Some I find that spoil their masters' horses for want of currying: those I do daub with grease and soot, that they are fain to curry themselves ere they can get clean. Others that for laziness will give the poor beasts no meat, I oftentimes so punish them with blows, that they cannot feed themselves they are so sore.
Thus many tricks I Patch can do,
But to the good I ne'er was foe:
The bad I hate and will do ever,
Till they from ill themselves do sever.
To help the good I'll run and go,
The bad no good from me shall know."
THE TRICKS OF THE FAIRY CALLED GULL
"When mortals keep their beds I walk abroad, and for my pranks am called by the name of Gull. I with a feigned
voice do often deceive many men, to their great amazement. Many times I get on men and women, and so lie on their stomachs, that I cause there great pain, for which they call me by the name of Hag, or Nightmare. 'Tis I that do steal children, and in the place of them leave changelings. Sometimes I also steal milk and cream, and then with my brothers, Patch, Pinch, and Grim, and sisters Sib, Tib, Lick, and Lull, I feast with my stolen goods: our little piper hath his share in all our spoils, but he nor our women fairies do ever put themselves in danger to do any great exploit.
What Gull can do, I have you shown;
I am inferior unto none.
Command me, Robin, thou shalt know,
That I for thee will ride or go:
I can do greater things than these
Upon the land, and on the seas."
THE TRICKS OF THE FAIRY CALLED GRIM
"I walk with the owl, and make many to cry as loud as she doth hollo. Sometimes I do affright many simple people, for which some have termed me the Black Dog of Newgate. At the meetings of young men and maids I many times am, and when they are in the midst of all their good cheer, I come in, in some fearful shape, and affright them, and then carry away their good cheer, and eat it with my fellow fairies. 'Tis I that do, like a screech-owl
cry at sick men's windows, which makes the hearers so fearful, that they say, that the sick person cannot live. Many other ways have I to fright the simple, but the understanding man I cannot move to fear, because he knows I have no power to do hurt.
My nightly business I have told,
To play these tricks I use of old:
When candles burn both blue and dim,
Old folk will say, Here's fairy Grim.
More tricks than these I use to do:
Hereat cried Robin, Ho, ho, hoh!"
THE TRICKS OF THE WOMEN FAIRIES TOLD BY SIB
"To walk nightly, as do the men fairies, we use not; but now and then we go together, and at good housewives' fires we warm and dress our fairy children. If we find clean water and clean towels, we leave them money, either in their basins or in their shoes; but if we find no clean water in their houses, we wash our children in their pottage, milk, or beer, or whate'er we find: for the sluts that leave not such things fitting, we wash their faces and hands with a gilded child's clout, or else carry them to some river, and duck them over head and ears. We often use to dwell in some great hill, and from thence we do lend money to any poor man or woman that hath need; but if they bring it not again at the day appointed, we do not only punish them with
pinching, but also in their goods, so that they never thrive till they have paid us.
Tib and I the chiefest are,
And for all things do take care.
Lick is cook and dresseth meat,
And fetcheth all things that we eat:
Lull is nurse and tends the cradle,
And the babes doth dress and swaddle.
This little fellow, called Tom Thumb,
That is no bigger than a plum,
He is the porter to our gate,
For he doth let all in thereat,
And makes us merry with his play,
And merrily we spend the day."
She having spoken, Tom Thumb stood up on tip-toe and showed himself, saying—
My actions all in volumes two are wrote,
The least of which will never be forgot.
He had no sooner ended his two lines, but a shepherd (that was watching in the field all night) blew up a bag-pipe: this so frightened Tom, that he could not tell what to do for the present time. The fairies seeing Tom Thumb in such a fear, punished the shepherd with his pipes' loss, so that the shepherd's pipe presently brake in his hand, to his great amazement. Hereat did Robin Good-fellow laugh, ho, ho, hoh! Morning being come, they all hasted to Fairy Land, where I think they yet remain.
My hostess asked me how I liked this tale? I said, it was long enough, and good enough to pass time that might be worser spent. I, seeing her dry, called for two pots: she emptied one of them at a draught, and never breathed for the matter: I emptied the other at leisure; and being late I went to bed, and did dream of this which I had heard.