Reliques of Ancient English Poetry

X.-PHILLIDA AND CORYDON.

THIS Sonnet is given from a small quarto MS. in the Editor's possession, written in the time of Queen Elizabeth; the author was Nicholas Breton.

Phillida and Corydon is one of the songs in "The Honourable Entertainment gieven to the Queene's Majestie in Progresse at Elvetham in Hampshire, by the R. H. the Earle of Hertford, 1591."

"On Wednesday morning about 9 o'clock, as her Majestic opened a casement of her gallerie window, ther were 3 excellent musitians, who being disguised in auncient country attire, did greet her with a pleasant song of Corydon and Phillida, made in 3 parts of purpose. The song, as well for the worth of the dittie, as the aptnesse of the note thereto applied, it pleased her Highnesse after it had been once sung to command it againe, and highly to grace it with her cheerefull acceptance and commendation."

IN the merrie moneth of Maye,
In a morne by break of daye,
With a troope of damselles playing
Forthe "I yode" forsooth a maying:

When anon by a wood side,
Where as Maye was in his pride,
I espied all alone
Phillida and Corydon.

Much adoe there was, god wot;
He wold love, and she wold not.
She sayde, never man was trewe;
He sayes, none was false to you.
He sayde, hee had lovde her longe :
She sayes, love should have no wronge.

Corydon wold kisse her then:
She sayes, maydes must kisse no men,

Tyll they doe for good and all.
When she made the shepperde call
All the heavens to wytnes truthe,
Never loved a truer youthe.

Then with manie a prettie othe,
Yea and nay, and faith and trothe;
Suche as seelie shepperdes use
When they will not love abuse;
Love, that had bene long deluded,
Was with kisses sweete concluded;
And Phillida with garlands gaye
Was made the lady of the Maye.

XI.-LITTLE MUSGRAVE AND LADY BARNARD.'

THIS ballad is ancient, and has been popular; we find it quoted in many old plays. It is given from an old printed copy in the British Museum, with corrections, some of which are from a fragment in the Editor's folio MS.

As it fell out on a highe holye daye,
As many bee in the yeare,

When yong men and maides together do
goe,

Their masses and mattins to heare,

Little Musgrave came to the church
door,

The priest was at the mass;
But he had more mind of the fine women,
Then he had of our Ladyes grace.

* In folio, Lord Barnard and Little Musgrave.

And some of them were clad in greene,
And others were clad in pall;
And then came in my lord Barnarde's wife,
The fairest among them all.

Shee cast an eye on little Musgrave
As bright as the summer sunne :
O then bethought him little Musgrave,
This ladye's heart I have wonne.

Quoth she, I have loved thee, little
Musgrave,

Fulle long and manye a daye.
So have I loved you, ladye faire,
Yet word I never durst saye.

I have a bower at Bucklesford-Bury,*
Full daintilye bedight,

If thoult wend thither, my little Musgrave,

Thoust lig in mine armes all night.

Quoth hee, I thanke yee, ladye faire,

This kindness yee shew to mee; And whether it be to my weale or woe, This night will I lig with thee.

All this beheard a little foot-page,

By his ladye's coach as he ranne: Quoth he, thoughe I am my ladye's page, Yet Ime my lord Barnarde's manne.

My lord Barnard shall knowe of this,
Although I lose a limbe.

And ever whereas the bridges were broke,
He layd him downe to swimme.

Asleep or awake, thou lord Barnàrd,
As thou art a man of life,
Lo.! this same night at Bucklesford-Bury
Litle Musgrave's in bed with thy wife.

If it be trew, thou litle foot-page,
This tale thou hast told to mee,
Then all my lands in Bucklesford-Bury
I freelye will give to thee.

But and it be a lye, thou litle foot-page,
This tale thou hast told to mee,

* Bucklefield-berry, fol. MS.

On the highest tree in Bucklesford-Bury
All hanged shalt thou bee.

Rise up, rise up, my merry men all,
And saddle me my good steede ;
This night must I to Bucklesford-bury;
God wott, I had never more neede.

Then some they whistled, and some they sang,

And some did loudlye saye,

Whenever lord Barnarde's horne it blewe,
Awaye, Musgrave, away.

Methinkes I heare the throstle cocke,
Methinkes I heare the jay,

Methinkes I heare lord Barnard's horne ;
I would I were awaye.

Lye still, lye still, thou little Musgràve,
And huggle me from the cold;
For it is but some shepharde's boye
A whistling his sheepe to the fold.

Is not thy hawke upon the pearche,

Thy horse eating corne and haye? And thou a gay lady within thine armes : And wouldst thou be awaye?

By this lord Barnard was come to the dore,
And lighted upon a stone:

And he pulled out three silver keyes,
And opened the dores eche one.

He lifted up the coverlett,

He lifted up the sheete;

How now, how now,

thou little Musgrave, Dost find my gaye ladye sweete?

I find her sweete, quoth little Musgrave,
The more is my griefe and paine;
Ide gladlye give three hundred poundes
That I were on yonder plaine.

Arise, arise, thou little Musgrave,

And put thy cloathes nowe on,
It shall never be said in my countree,
That I killed a naked man.

I have two swordes in one scabbarde,
Full deare they cost my purse;

THIS Sonnet appears to be ancient: that and its simplicity of sentiment have recommended it to a place here.

WILL ze gae to the ew-bughts, Marion, | Ive nine milk-ews, my Marion,

XIII. THE KNIGHT, AND SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER.

THIS ballad (given from an old black-letter copy, with some corrections) was popular in the time of Queen Elizabeth.

THERE was a shepherds daughter

Came tripping on the waye;
And there by chance a knighte shee mett,
Which caused her to staye.

Good morrowe to you, beauteous maide,
These words pronounced hee :
OI shall dye this daye, he sayd,
If Ive not my wille of thee.

The Lord forbid, the maide replyde,
That you shold waxe so wode !
"But for all that shee could do or saye,
He wold not be withstood."

Sith you have had your wille of mee,
And put me to open shame,
Now, if you are a courteous knighte,
Tell me what is your name?

Some do call mee Jacke, sweet heart,

And some do call mee Jille;

But when I come to the king's faire courte They call me Wilfulle Wille.

He sett his foot into the stirrup,

And awaye then he did ride;
She tuckt her girdle about her middle,
And ranne close by his side.

But when she came to the brode water,
She sett her brest and swamme;
And when she was got out againe,
She tooke to her heels and ranne.

He never was the courteous knighte,

To saye, faire maide, will ye ride? And she was ever too loving a maide To saye, sir knighte, abide.

When she came to the king's faire courte,
She knocked at the ring;

So readye was the king himself
To let this faire maide in.

Now Christ you save, my gracious liege.
Now Christ you save and see,

You have a knighte within your courte
This daye hath robbed mee.

What hath he robbed thee of, sweet heart?
Of purple or of pall?

Or hath he took thy gaye gold ring

From off thy finger small?

He hath not robbed mee, my liege,
Of purple nor of pall:

But he hath gotten my maiden head,
Which grieves mee worst of all

Now if he be a batchelor,

His bodye Ile give to thee;
But if he be a married man,
High hanged he shall bee.

He called downe his merrye men all,
By one, by two, by three;

Sir William used to bee the first,
But nowe the last came hee.

He brought her downe full fortye pounde,
Tyed up withinne a glove:

Faire maid, Ile give the same to thee;
Go, seeke thee another love.

O Ile have none of your gold, she sayde,
Nor Ile have none of your fee;
But your faire bodye I must have,
The king hath granted mee.

Sir William ranne and fetchd her then
Five hundred pound in golde,
Saying, faire maide, take this to thee,
Thy fault will never be tolde.

Tis not the gold that shall mee tempt,
These words then answered shee,
But your own bodye I must have,
The king hath granted mee,

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Reliques of Ancient English Poetry: Consisting of Old Heroic Ballads, Songs, Etc