Chapter 8

"God speed, God speed thee," said our king.-- "Thou art welcome, sir," said he.-- "The readiest way to Drayton Basset I pray thee to show to me."--

"To Drayton Basset wouldst thou go, Fro the place where thou dost stand? The next pair of gallows thou comest unto Turn in upon thy right hand."--

"That is an unready way," said our king, "Thou doest but jest, I see; Now show me out the nearest way, And I pray thee wend with me."--

"Away with a vengeance!" quoth the tanner: "I hold thee out of thy wit: All day have I ridden on Brock my mare, And I am fasting yet."--

"Go with me down to Drayton Basset, No dainties we will spare; All day shalt thou eat and drink of the best, And I will pay thy fare."--

"Gram-ercy for nothing," the tanner replied, "Thou payest no fare of mine: I trow I've more nobles in my purse, Than thou hast pence in thine."--

"God give thee joy of them," said the king, "And send them well to prief."-- The tanner would fain have been away, For he weened he had been a thief.

"What art thou," he said, "thou fine fell-ow? Of thee I am in great fear, For the clothes thou wearest upon thy back Might beseem a lord to wear."--

"I never stole them," quoth our king, "I tell you, sir, by the rood."-- "Then thou playest, as many an unthrift doth, And standest in midst of thy good."--

"What tidings hear you," said the king. "As you ride far and near?"-- "I hear no tidings, sir, by the mass, But that cow-hides are dear."--

"Cow-hides! cow-hides! what things are those? I marvel what they be!"-- "What, art thou a fool?" the tanner replied; "I carry one under me."--

"What craftsman art thou?" said the king, "I pray thee tell me trow."-- "I am a barker, sir, by my trade. Now tell me what art thou?"--

"I am a poor courtier, sir," quoth he, "That am forth of service worn; And fain I would thy 'prentice be, Thy cunning for to learn."--

"Marry, heaven forfend," the tanner replied, "That thou my 'prentice were! Thou'dst spend more good than I should win, By forty shilling a year."--

"Yet one thing would I," said our king, "If thou wilt not seem strange: Though my horse be better than thy mare, Yet with thee I fain would change."--

"Why, if with me thou fain wilt change, As change full well may we, By the faith of my body, thou proud fell-ow I will have some boot of thee."--

"That were against reason," said the king, "I swear, so mote I thee: My horse is better than thy mare, And that thou well may'st see."--

"Yea, sir, but Brock is gentle and mild, And softly she will fare; Thy horse is unruly and wild, i-wis; Aye skipping here and there."--

"What boot wilt thou have?" our king replied; "Now tell me in this stound."-- "No pence, nor halfpence, by my fay, But a noble in gold so round."--

"Here's twenty groats of white mon-ey, Sith thou wilt have it of me."-- "I would have sworn now," quoth the tanner, "Thou hadst not had one penni-e.

"But since we two have made a change, A change we must abide; Although thou hast gotten Brock my mare, Thou gettest not my cow-hide."--

"I will not have it," said the king, "I swear, so mote I thee; Thy foul cow-hide I would not bear, If thou wouldst give it to me."

The tanner he took his good cow-hide That of the cow was hilt; And threw it upon the king's sad-elle, That was so fairly gilt.

"Now help me up, thou fine fell-ow, 'Tis time that I were gone: When I come home to Gyllian my wife, She'll say I am a gentilmon."

When the tanner he was in the king's sad-elle, And his foot in the stirrup was; He marvelled greatly in his mind, Whether it were gold or brass.

But when his steed saw the cow's tail wag, And eke the black cow-horn; He stamped, and stared, and away he ran, As the devil had him borne.

The tanner he pulled, the tanner he sweat, And held by the pummel fast: At length the tanner came tumbling down; His neck he had well-nigh brast.

"Take thy horse again with a vengeance!" he said, "With me he shall not bide!"-- "My horse would have borne thee well enough, But he knew not of thy cow-hide.

"Yet if again thou fain wouldst change, As change full well may we, By the faith of my body, thou jolly tann-er, I will have some boot of thee."--

"What boot wilt thou have?" the tanner replied, "Now tell me in this stound."-- "No pence nor halfpence, sir, by my fay, But I will have twenty pound."--

"Here's twenty groats out of my purse; And twenty I have of thine: And I have one more, which we will spend Together at the wine."

The king set a bugle horn to his mouth, And blew both loud and shrill: And soon came lords, and soon came knights, Fast riding over the hill.

"Now, out alas!" the tanner he cried, "That ever I saw this day! Thou art a strong thief, yon come thy fell-ows Will bear my cow-hide away!"--

"They are no thieves," the king replied, "I swear, so mote I thee: But they are the lords of the north countr-y, Here come to hunt with me."

And soon before our king they came, And knelt down on the ground: Then might the tanner have been away, He had liever than twenty pound.

"A collar, a collar, here!" said the king, "A collar!" he loud gan cry; Then would he liever than twenty pound, He had not been so nigh.

"A collar, a collar," the tanner he said, "I trow it will breed sorrow; After a collar cometh a halter, I trow I'll be hanged to-morrow."--

"Be not afraid, tanner," said our king; "I tell thee, so mote I thee, Lo here I make thee the best esquire That is in the north countrie.

"For Plumpton Park I will give thee, With tenements fair beside: 'Tis worth three hundred marks by the year, To maintain thy good cow-hide."--

"Gram-ercy, my liege," the tanner replied "For the favour thou hast me shown; If ever thou comest to merry Tam-worth, Neat's leather shall clout thy shoon."

SIR PATRICK SPENS.

The king sits in Dumferling toune, Drinking the blude-reid wine: "O whare will I get a skeely skipper To sail this new ship of mine?"

Up and spak an eldern knicht, Sat at the king's right knee: "Sir Patrick Spens is the best sail-or That ever sailed the sea."

Our king has written a braid letter, And sealed it with his hand; And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, Was walking on the sand.

"To Noroway, to Noroway, To Noroway o'er the faem; The king's daughter of Noroway, 'Tis thou maun bring her hame."

The first word that Sir Patrick read, A loud laugh laughed he: The neist word that Sir Patrick read, The tear blinded his ee.

"O wha is this has done this deed, And tauld the king o' me; To send us out this time o' the year, To sail upon the sea?

"Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, Our ship must sail the faem, The king's daughter of Noroway, 'Tis we must fetch her hame."

They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn, Wi' a' the speed they may; They hae landed in Noroway, Upon a Wodensday.

They hadna been a week, a week, In Noroway, but twae, When that the lords o' Noroway Began aloud to say,--

"Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's goud, And a' our queenis fee."-- "Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud, Fu' loud I hear ye lie;

"For I brought as much white monie As gane my men and me, And I brought a half-fou of gude red goud, Out o'er the sea wi' me.

"Make ready, make ready, my merry men a', Our gude ship sails the morn!"-- "Now, ever alack, my master dear, I fear a deadly storm!

"I saw the new moon, late yestreen, Wi' the auld moon in her arm; And if we gang to sea, master, I fear we'll come to harm."

They hadna sailed a league, a league, A league but barely three, When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud, And gurly grew the sea.

The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap, It was sic a deadly storm; And the waves cam o'er the broken ship, Till a' her sides were torn.

"O where will I get a gude sail-or To take my helm in hand, Till I get up to the tall topmast To see if I can spy land?"--

"O here am I, a sailor gude, To take the helm in hand, Till you go up to the tall topmast, But I fear you'll ne'er spy land."

He hadna gane a step, a step, A step but barely ane, When a bolt flew out of our goodly ship, And the salt sea it came in.

"Gae, fetch a web o' the silken claith, Another o' the twine, And wap them into our ship's side, And let nae the sea come in."

They fetched a web o' the silken claith, Another o' the twine, And they wapped them round that gude ship's side, But still the sea cam in.

O laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords To wet their cork-heeled shoon! But lang or a' the play was played They wat their hats aboon.

And mony was the feather bed That flattered on the faem; And mony was the gude lord's son That never mair cam hame.

The ladies wrang their fingers white, The maidens tore their hair, A' for the sake of their true loves; For them they'll see nae mair.

O lang, lang, may the ladies sit, Wi' their fans into their hand, Before they see Sir Patrick Spens Come sailing to the strand!

And lang, lang, may the maidens sit, Wi' their gold combs in their hair, Awaiting for their ain dear loves! For them they'll see nae mair.

O forty miles off Aberdeen 'Tis fifty fathoms deep, And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens, Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.

EDOM O' GORDON.

It fell about the Martinmas, When the wind blew shrill and cauld, Said Edom o' Gordon to his men, "We maun draw till a hauld.

"And what a hauld sall we draw till, My merry men and me? We wull gae to the house o' the Rode, To see that fair lad-ie."

The ladie stude on her castle wa', Beheld baith dale and down: There she was ware of a host of men Come riding towards the toun.

"O see ye nat, my merry men a'? O see ye nat what I see? Methinks I see a host of men: I marvel wha they be!"

She weened it had been her luvely lord, As he came riding hame; It was the traitor Edom o' Gordon, Wha recked nae sin nor shame.

She had nae sooner buskit hersel, And putten on her goun, But Edom o' Gordon and his men Were round about the toun.

They had nae sooner supper set, Nae sooner said the grace, But Edom o' Gordon and his men Were light about the place.

The lady ran up to her tower head, Sae fast as she could hie, To see if by her fair speech-es She could wi' him agree.

But whan he see this lady saif, And her gat-es all locked fast, He fell into a rage of wrath, And his look was all aghast.

"Come down to me, ye lady gay, Come down, come down to me! This night sall ye lig within mine arms To-morrow my bride sall be."--

"I winna come down, ye false Gord-on, I winna come down to thee; I winna forsake my ain dear lord, That is sae far frae me."--

"Give o'er your house, ye lady fair, Give o'er your house to me, Or I sall bren yoursel therein, Bot and your babies three."--

"I winna give o'er, ye false Gord-on To nae sic traitor as ye; And if ye bren my ain dear babes, My lord sall make you dree.

"But reach my pistol, Glaud, my man, And charge ye weel my gun: For, but an I pierce that bluidy butcher My babes we been undone."

She stude upon her castle wa', And let twa bullets flee: She missed that bluidy butcher's heart And only rased his knee.

"Set fire to the house!" quo' false Gord-on, All wood wi' dule and ire: "False lady, ye sall rue this deed, As ye bren in the fire!"--

"Wae worth, wae worth ye, Jock my man, I paid ye weel your fee: Why pu' ye out the ground-wa' stane, Lets in the reek to me?

"And e'en wae worth ye, Jock my man, I paid ye weel your hire; Why pu' ye out the ground-wa' stane, To me lets in the fire?"--

"Ye paid me weel my hire, lady; Ye paid me weel my fee; But now I'm Edom o' Gordon's man, Maun either do or dee."

O then bespake her little son, Sate on the nurse's knee: Says, "Mither dear, gi'e o'er this house, For the reek it smithers me."--

"I wad gi'e a' my gowd, my child, Sae wad I a' my fee, For ane blast o' the western wind To blaw the reek frae thee."

O then bespake her dochter dear, She was baith jimp and sma', "O row me in a pair o' sheets, And tow me o'er the wa'."

They rowd her in a pair o' sheets, And towd her o'er the wa': But on the point of Gordon's spear She gat a deadly fa'.

O bonnie bonnie was her mouth, And cherry were her cheeks, And clear clear was her yellow hair, Whereon the reid bluid dreeps.

Then wi' his spear he turned her o'er,-- O gin her face was wan! He said, "Ye are the first that e'er I wished alive again."

He turned her o'er and o'er again,-- O gin her skin was white! "I might ha' spared that bonnie face To hae been some man's delite.

"Busk and boun, my merry men a', For ill dooms I do guess; I canna luik in that bonnie face, As it lies on the grass."--

"Tham luiks to freits, my master dear, Then freits will follow thame: Let it neir be said brave Edom o' Gordon Was daunted by a dame!"--

But when the ladie see the fire Come flaming o'er her head, She wept and kissed her children twain, Said, "Bairns, we been but dead!"

The Gordon then his bugle blew, And said, "Awa', awa'; This house o' the Rodes is a' in flame, I hauld it time to ga'."

O then bespied her ain dear lord, As he came o'er the lee; He spied his castle all in blaze Sae far as he could see.

Then sair, O sair his mind misgave, And all his heart was wae; "Put on! put on! my wighty men, So fast as ye can gae!

"Put on! put on! my wighty men, Sae fast as ye can dree; For he that is hindmost of the thrang Sall neir get guid o' me!"

Then some they rade, and some they rin, Fou fast out-o'er the bent, But ere the foremost could get up, Baith ladie and babes were brent.

He wrang his hands, he rent his hair, And wept in teenefu' muid: "O traitors! for this cruel deed Ye sall weep tears o' bluid!"

And after the Gordon he is gane, So fast as he might dree; And soon i' the Gordon's foul heart's bluid He's wroken his dear ladie.

THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD.

Now ponder well, you parents dear, These words which I shall write; A doleful story you shall hear, In time brought forth to light. A gentleman of good account In Norfolk dwelt of late, Who did in honour far surmount Most men of his estate.

Sore sick he was, and like to die, No help his life could save; His wife by him as sick did lie, And both possessed one grave. No love between these two was lost, Each was to other kind; In love they lived, in love they died, And left two babes behind:

The one a fine and pretty boy, Not passing three years old; The other a girl more young than he, And framed in beauty's mould. The father left his little son, As plainly doth appear, When he to perfect age should come, Three hundred pounds a year.

And to his little daughter Jane Five hundred pounds in gold, To be paid down on marriage-day, Which might not be controlled: But if the children chance to die, Ere they to age should come, Their uncle should possess their wealth; For so the will did run.

"Now, brother," said the dying man, "Look to my children dear; Be good unto my boy and girl, No friends else have they here: To God and you I recommend My children dear this day; But little while be sure we have Within this world to stay.

"You must be father and mother both, And uncle all in one; God knows what will become of them, When I am dead and gone." With that bespake their mother dear, "O brother kind," quoth she, "You are the man must bring our babes To wealth or misery:

"And if you keep them carefully, Then God will you reward; But if you otherwise should deal, God will your deeds regard." With lips as cold as any stone, They kissed their children small: "God bless you both, my children dear!" With that the tears did fall.

These speeches then their brother spake To this sick couple there,-- "The keeping of your little ones, Sweet sister, do not fear: God never prosper me nor mine, Nor aught else that I have, If I do wrong your children dear, When you are laid in grave!"

The parents being dead and gone, The children home he takes, And brings them straight unto his house, Where much of them he makes. He had not kept these pretty babes A twelvemonth and a day, But, for their wealth, he did devise To make them both away.

He bargained with two ruffians strong, Which were of furious mood, That they should take these children young, And slay them in a wood. He told his wife an artful tale, He would the children send To be brought up in fair Lond-on, With one that was his friend.

Away then went those pretty babes, Rejoicing at that tide, Rejoicing with a merry mind, They should on cock-horse ride. They prate and prattle pleasantly, As they rode on the way, To those that should their butchers be, And work their lives' decay:

So that the pretty speech they had, Made Murder's heart relent; And they that undertook the deed, Full sore did now repent. Yet one of them more hard of heart, Did vow to do his charge, Because the wretch that hir-ed him 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 children's life: And he that was of mildest mood, Did slay the other there, Within an unfrequented wood; The babes did quake for fear!

He took the children by the hand, Tears standing in their eye, And bade them straightway follow him, And look they did not cry: And two long miles he led them on, While they for food complain: "Stay here," quoth he, "I'll bring you bread, When I come back again."

These pretty babes, with hand in hand, Went wandering up and down; But never more could see the man Approaching from the town: Their pretty lips with black-berries, Were all besmeared and dyed; And when they saw the darksome night, They sat them down and cried.

Thus wandered these poor innocents, Till death did end their grief; In one another's arms they died, As wanting due relief: No burial this pretty pair Of any man receives, Till Robin-red-breast piously Did cover them with leaves.

And now the heavy wrath of God Upon their uncle fell; Yea, fearful fiends did haunt his house, His conscience felt an hell: His barns were fired, his goods consumed, His lands were barren made, His cattle died within the field, And nothing with him staid.

And in a voyage to Portugal Two of his sons did die; And to conclude, himself was brought To want and miser-y: He pawned and mortgaged all his land Ere seven years came about; And now at length this wicked act Did by this means come out:

The fellow that did take in hand These children for to kill, Was for a robbery judged to die; Such was God's blessed will; Who did confess the very truth, As here hath been displayed: Their uncle having died in gaol, Where he for debt was laid.

You that executors be made, And overse-ers eke Of children that be fatherless And infants mild and meek; Take you example by this thing, And yield to each his right, Lest God with such like misery Your wicked minds requite.

THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BETHNAL GREEN.

PART THE FIRST.

It was a blind beggar, had long lost his sight, He had a fair daughter of beauty most bright; And many a gallant brave suitor had she, For none was so comely as pretty Bessee.

And though she was truly of favour most fair, Yet seeing she was but a poor beggar's heir, Of ancient housekeepers despis-ed was she, Whose sons came as suitors to pretty Bessee.

Wherefore in great sorrow fair Bessy did say, "Good father, and mother, let me go away To seek out my fortune, whatever it be." This suit then they granted to pretty Bessee.

Then Bessy, that was of a beauty so bright, All clad in grey russet, and late in the night From father and mother alone parted she; Who sigh-ed and sobb-ed for pretty Bessee.

She went till she came into Stratford-le-Bow; Then knew she not whither, nor which way to go: With tears she lamented her hard destin-ie, So sad and so heavy was pretty Bessee.

She kept on her journey until it was day, And went unto Rumford along the highway; Where at the Queen's Arms entertain-ed was she: So fair and well-favoured was pretty Bessee.

She had not been there a month to an end, But master and mistress and all was her friend: And every brave gallant, that once did her see, Was straightway enamoured of pretty Bessee.

Great gifts they did send her of silver and gold, And in their songs daily her love was extolled; Her beauty was blaz-ed in every degree, So fair and so comely was pretty Bessee.

The young men of Rumford in her had their joy; She showed herself courteous, and modestly coy, And at her command-ement still would they be; So fair and so comely was pretty Bessee.

Four suitors at once unto her did go; They crav-ed her favour, but still she said no; I would not wish gentles to marry with me; Yet ever they honour-ed pretty Bessee.

The first of them was a gallant young knight, And he came unto her disguised in the night: The second a gentleman of good degree, Who woo-ed and su-ed for pretty Bessee:

A merchant of London, whose wealth was not small, He was the third suitor, and proper withal: Her master's own son the fourth man must be, Who swore he would die for pretty Bessee.