ii. 29), which he obtained from one Tom Neil, a carpenter in

Edinburgh, who was famous for his singing of Scottish songs. The title and burden to this version is _Up and warn a', Willie_, an allusion, says Burns, to the _crantara_, or warning of a Highland clan to arms, which the Lowlanders, not understanding, have corrupted. There is another copy in Hogg's _Jacobite Relics_, ii. 18, which is nearly the same as the following.

When the Earl of Mar first raised his standard, and proclaimed the Chevalier, the ornamental ball on the top of the staff fell off, and the superstitious Highlanders interpreted the circumstance as ominous of ill for their cause. This is the incident referred to in the third stanza.

When we went to the field of war, And to the weapon-shaw, Willie, With true design to stand our ground, And chace our faes awa', Willie, Lairds and lords came there bedeen, 5 And vow gin they were pra', Willie: _Up and war 'em a', Willie,_ _War 'em, war 'em a', Willie._

And when our army was drawn up, The bravest e'er I saw, Willie, 10 We did not doubt to rax the rout, And win the day and a', Willie; Pipers play'd frae right to left, "Fy, fourugh Whigs awa'," Willie. _Up and war, &c._ 15

But when our standard was set up, So fierce the wind did bla', Willie, The golden knop down from the top Unto ground did fa', Willie: Then second-sighted Sandy said, 20 "We'll do nae good at a', Willie." _Up and war, &c._

When bra'ly they attack'd our left, Our front, and flank, and a', Willie, Our bald commander on the green, Our faes their left did ca', Willie, 25 And there the greatest slaughter made That e'er poor Tonald saw, Willie. _Up and war, &c._

First when they saw our Highland mob, They swore they'd slay us a', Willie; And yet ane fyl'd his breiks for fear, 30 And so did rin awa', Willie: We drave him back to Bonnybrigs, Dragoons, and foot, and a', Willie. _Up and war, &c._

But when their gen'ral view'd our lines, And them in order saw, Willie, 35 He straight did march into the town, And back his left did draw, Willie: Thus we taught them the better gate, To get a better fa', Willie. _Up and war, &c._

And then we rally'd on the hills, 40 And bravely up did draw, Willie; But gin ye spear wha wan the day, I'll tell you what I saw, Willie: We baith did fight, and baith were beat, And baith did run awa', Willie. 45 So there's my canty Highland sang About the thing I saw, Willie.

THE MARQUIS OF HUNTLEY'S RETREAT FROM THE BATTLE OF SHERIFFMUIR.

See p. 156. From _A New Book of Old Ballads_, p. 30.

Hogg inserted this ballad in the _Jacobite Relics_, ii. 13, using, says Maidment, the editor of the publication cited above, a very imperfect manuscript copy. The following version was taken from the original broad-side, supposed to be unique. There are very considerable variations in the language of the two copies, and the order of the stanzas is quite different. This says Hogg, "is exclusively a party song, made by some of the Grants, or their adherents, in obloquy of their more potent neighbours, the Gordons. It is in a great measure untrue; for, though the Marquis of Huntley was on the left wing at the head of a body of horse, and among the gentlemen that fled, yet two battalions of Gordons, or at least of Gordon's vassals, perhaps mostly of the Clan Chattan, behaved themselves as well as any on the field, and were particularly instrumental in breaking the Whig cavalry, or the left wing of their army, and driving them back among their foot. On this account, as well as that of the bitter personalities that it contains, the "song is only curious as an inveterate party song, and not as a genuine humorous description of the fight that the Marquis and his friends were in. The latter part of the [third] stanza seems to allude to an engagement that took place at Dollar, on the 24th October, a fortnight previous to the battle of Sheriffmuir. Mar had despatched a small body of cavalry to force an assessment from the town of Dunfermline, of which Argyle getting notice, sent out a stronger party, who surprised them early in the morning before daylight, and arrested them, killing some and taking seventeen prisoners, several of whom were Gordons. The last stanza [but one] evidently alludes to the final submission of the Marquis and the rest of the Gordons to King George's government, which they did to the Grants and the Earl of Sutherland. The former had previously taken possession of Castle Gordon; of course, the malicious bard of the Grants, with his ill-scraped pen, was not to let that instance of the humiliation of his illustrious neighbours pass unnoticed.--JACOBITE RELICS, vol. ii. p. 255.

From Bogie side to Bogie Gight, The Gordons all conveen'd, man, With all their might, to battle wight,[L3] Together close they join'd, man,[L4] To set their king upon the throne, 5 And to protect the church, man; But fy for shame! they soon ran hame, And left him in the lurch, man. _Vow as the Marquis ran, Coming from Dumblane, man! Strabogie did b--t itself, And Enzie was not clean, man._

Their chieftain was a man of fame, And doughty deeds had wrought, man, 10 Which future ages still shall name, And tell how well he fought, man. For when the battle did begin, Immediately his Grace, man, Put spurs to Florance, and so ran[L15] 15 By all, and wan the race, man. _Vow, &c._

The Marquis' horse was first sent forth, Glenbucket's foot to back them, To give a proof what they were worth, If rebels durst attack them. 20 With loud huzzas to Huntly's praise, They near'd Dumfermling Green, man, But fifty horse, and de'il ane mair, Turn'd many a Highland clan, man. _Vow, &c._

The second chieftain of that clan, 25 For fear that he should die, man, To gain the honour of his name, Rais'd first the mutinie, man. And then he wrote unto his Grace, The great Duke of Argyle, man, 30 And swore, if he would grant him peace, The Tories he'd beguile, man. _Vow, &c._

The Master with the bullie's face,[L33] And with the coward's heart, man, Who never fails, to his disgrace, 35 To act a traitor's part, man, He join'd Drumboig, the greatest knave In all the shire of Fife, man. He was the first the cause did leave, By council of his wife, man. 40 _Vow, &c._

A member of the tricking trade, An Ogilvie by name, man, Consulter of the grumbling club, To his eternal shame, man, Who would have thought, when he came out, 45 That ever he would fail, man? And like a fool, did eat the cow, And worried on the tail, man. _Vow, &c._

Meffan Smith, at Sheriff Muir,[L49] Gart folk believe he fought, man; 50 But well it's known, that all he did, That day it serv'd for nought, man. For towards night, when Mar march'd off, Smith was put in the rere, man; He curs'd, he swore, he baul[lè]d out, 55 He would not stay for fear, man. _Vow, &c._

But at the first he seem'd to be A man of good renown, man; But when the grumbling work began, He prov'd an arrant lown, man. 60 Against Mar, and a royal war, A letter he did forge, man; Against his Prince, he wrote nonsense, And swore by Royal George, man.[L64] _Vow, &c._

At Poineth boat, Mr. Francis Stewart,[L65] 65 A valiant hero stood, man, In acting of a royal part, Cause of the royal blood, man. But when at Sheriff Moor he found That bolting would not do it, 70 He, brother like, did quite his ground, And ne're came back unto it. _Vow, &c._

Brunstane said it was not fear That made him stay behind, man; But that he had resolv'd that day 75 To sleep in a whole skin, man. The gout, he said, made him take [bed], When battle first began, man; But when he heard his Marquis fled, He took his heels and ran, man. 80 _Vow, &c._

Sir James of Park, he left his horse In the middle of a wall, man; And durst not stay to take him out, For fear a knight should fall, man; And Maien he let such a crack, 85 And shewed a pantick fear, man; And Craigieheads swore he was shot, And curs'd the chance of wear, man. _Vow, &c._

When they march'd on the Sheriff Moor, With courage stout and keen, man; 90 Who would have thought the Gordons gay That day should quite the green, man? Auchleacher and Auchanachie, And all the Gordon tribe, man, Like their great Marquis, they could not 95 The smell of powder bide, man. _Vow, &c._

Glenbuicket cryed, "Plague on you all, For Gordons do no good, man; For all that fled this day, it is Them of the Seaton blood, man." 100 Clashtirim said it was not so, And that he'd make appear, man; For he, a Seaton, stood that day, When Gordons ran for fear, man. _Vow, &c._

The Gordons they are kittle flaws, 105 They'll fight with heart and hand, man; When they met in Strathbogie raws On Thursday afternoon, man; But when the Grants came doun the brae, Their Enzie shook for fear, man; 110 And all the lairds rode up themselves, With horse and riding gear, man. _Vow, &c._

Cluny plays his game of chess,[L113] As sure as any thing, man; And like the royal Gordons race, 115 Gave check unto the king, man. Without a queen, its clearly seen, This game cannot recover; I'd do my best, then in great haste Play up the rook Hanover. 120 _Vow, &c._

3. weight.

4. closs.

15. His horse, so called from having been a present from the Grand Duke of Tuscany.--M.

33. Master of Sinclair, whose Court-Martial has been printed with an exceedingly interesting preface by Sir Walter Scott, as his contribution to the Roxburgh Club.

49. David Smith was then proprietor of Methven, an estate in Perthshire. He died in 1735. Douglas, in his Baronage, terms him, "a man of good parts, great sagacity, and economy."--M.

64. Altered in MS. to "German George."--M.

65. Brother to Charles, 5th Earl of Moray. Upon his brother's death, 7th October, 1735, he became the 6th Earl. He died in the 66th year of his age, on the 11th December, 1739.--M.

113. This seems rather Gordon of Cluny than Cluny Macpherson. The estate of Cluny has passed from the ancient race, though still possessed by a Gordon.--M.

JOHNIE COPE. See p. 168.

Johnson's _Museum_ (1853), vol. iv. p. 220, Ritson's _Scottish Songs_, ii. 84.

Cope sent a challenge frae Dunbar, "Charlie meet me, an ye daur, And I'll learn you the airt of war, If you'll meet wi' me in the morning." _Hey, Johnie Cope! are ye waking yet? Or are your drums a-beating yet? If ye were waking, I would wait To gang to the coals i' the morning._

When Charlie looked the letter upon, 5 He drew his sword the scabbard from, "Come, follow me, my merry men, And we'll meet Johnie Cope i' the morning." _Hey, Johnie Cope! &c._

"Now, Johnie, be as good as your word, Come let us try baith fire and sword, 10 And dinna flee like a frighted bird, That's chased frae its nest i' the morning." _Hey, Johnie Cope! &c._

When Johnie Cope he heard of this, He thought it wadna be amiss To hae a horse in readiness, 15 To flee awa i' the morning. _Hey, Johnie Cope! &c._

"Fye now, Johnie, get up and rin, The Highland bagpipes mak a din; It's best to sleep in a hale skin, For 'twill be a bluddie morning." 20 _Hey, Johnie Cope! &c._

When Johnie Cope to Dunbar came They spear'd at him, "Where's a' your men?" "The deil confound me gin I ken, For I left them a' i' the morning." _Hey, Johnie Cope! &c._

"Now Johnie, troth, ye were na blate 25 To come wi' the news o' your ain defeat, And leave your men in sic a strait, So early in the morning." _Hey, Johnie Cope! &c._

"In faith," quo Johnie, "I got sic flegs Wi' their claymores and filabegs, 30 If I face them [again], deil break my legs, So I wish you a' good morning." _Hey, Johnie Cope! &c._

KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS.

From _A Collection of Old Ballads_, ii. 8. The same, with one or two trifling verbal differences, in Percy's _Reliques_, i. 246.

This story was originally told by Geoffrey of Monmouth, _Historia Britonum_, lib. ii. c. 2. It occurs in two forms in the _Gesta Romanorum_: see Madden's _Old English Versions_, p. 44, p. 450.

Shakespeare's _King Lear_ was first printed in 1608, and is supposed to have been written between 1603 and 1605. Another drama on the subject was printed in 1605, called _The true Chronicle History of King Leir and his Three Daughters, Gonorill, Ragan, and Cordella_. This was probably only a new impression of a piece entered in the Stationers' Registers as early as 1594. The ballad which follows agrees with Shakespeare's play in several particulars in which Shakespeare varies from the older drama and from Holinshed, the authority of both dramas. The name Cordelia is also found in place of the Cordella of the _Chronicle History_; but, on the other hand, we have Ragan instead of Shakespeare's Regan. In the absence of a date, we are unable to determine whether the ballad was written prior to the play of _King Lear_, or was founded upon it.

King Leir once ruléd in this land With princely power and peace, And had all things, with hearts content, That might his joys increase. Amongst those things that nature gave, 5 Three daughters fair had he, So princely seeming beautiful, As fairer could not be.

So on a time it pleas'd the king A question thus to move, 10 Which of his daughters to his grace Could shew the dearest love: "For to my age you bring content," Quoth he, "then let me hear, Which of you three in plighted troth 15 The kindest will appear."

To whom the eldest thus began: "Dear father, mind," quoth she, "Before your face, to do you good, My blood shall rendred be. 20 And for your sake my bleeding heart Shall here be cut in twain, Ere that I see your reverend age The smallest grief sustain."

"And so will I," the second said; 25 "Dear father, for your sake, The worst of all extremities I'll gently undertake: And serve your highness night and day With diligence and love; 30 That sweet content and quietness Discomforts may remove."

"In doing so, you glad my soul," The aged king reply'd; "But what say'st thou, my youngest girl? 35 How is thy love ally'd?" "My love," quoth young Cordelia then, "Which to your grace I owe, Shall be the duty of a child, And that is all I'll show." 40

"And wilt thou shew no more," quoth he, "Than doth thy duty bind? I well perceive thy love is small, When as no more I find. Henceforth I banish thee my court; 45 Thou art no child of mine; Nor any part of this my realm By favour shall be thine.

"Thy elder sisters' loves are more Than well I can demand; 50 To whom I equally bestow My kingdom and my land, My pompous state and all my goods, That lovingly I may With those thy sisters be maintain'd 55 Until my dying day."

Thus flattering speeches won renown, By these two sisters here; The third had causeless banishment, Yet was her love more dear. 60 For poor Cordelia patiently Went wandring up and down, Unhelp'd, unpitied, gentle maid, Through many an English town.

Until at last in famous France 65 She gentler fortunes found; Though poor and bare, yet she was deem'd The fairest on the ground: Where when the king her virtues heard, And this fair lady seen, 70 With full consent of all his court He made his wife and queen.

Her father, old King Leir, this while With his two daughters staid; Forgetful of their promis'd loves, 75 Full soon the same decay'd;[L76] And living in Queen Ragan's court, The eldest of the twain, She took from him his chiefest means, And most of all his train. 80

For whereas twenty men were wont To wait with bended knee, She gave allowance but to ten, And after scarce to three, Nay, one she thought too much for him; 85 So took she all away, In hope that in her court, good king, He would no longer stay.

"Am I rewarded thus," quoth he, "In giving all I have 90 Unto my children, and to beg For what I lately gave? I'll go unto my Gonorel: My second child, I know, Will be more kind and pitiful, 95 And will relieve my woe."

Full fast he hies then to her court; Where, when she hears his moan, Return'd him answer, that she griev'd That all his means were gone; 100 But no way could relieve his wants; Yet if that he would stay Within her kitchen, he should have What scullions gave away.

When he had heard, with bitter tears, 105 He made his answer then; "In what I did, let me be made Example to all men. I will return again," quoth he, "Unto my Ragan's court; 110 She will not use me thus, I hope, But in a kinder sort."

Where when he came, she gave command To drive him thence away: When he was well within her court, 115 She said, he would not stay. Then back again to Gonorell The woeful king did hie, That in her kitchen he might have What scullion boys set by. 120

But there of that he was deny'd Which she had promis'd late: For once refusing, he should not Come after to her gate. Thus twixt his daughters for relief 125 He wandred up and down, Being glad to feed on beggars food, That lately wore a crown.

And calling to remembrance then His youngest daughter's words, 130 That said, the duty of a child Was all that love affords-- But doubting to repair to her, Whom he had banish'd so, Grew frantick mad; for in his mind 135 He bore the wounds of woe.

Which made him rend his milk-white locks And tresses from his head, And all with blood bestain his cheeks, With age and honour spread. 140 To hills and woods and watry founts He made his hourly moan, Till hills and woods and senseless things Did seem to sigh and groan.

Ev'n thus posses'd with discontents, 145 He passed o'er to France, In hopes from fair Cordelia there To find some gentler chance. Most virtuous dame! which, when she heard Of this her father's grief, 150 As duty bound, she quickly sent Him comfort and relief.

And by a train of noble peers, In brave and gallant sort, She gave in charge he should be brought 155 To Aganippus' court; Whose royal king, with noble mind,[L157] So freely gave consent To muster up his knights at arms, To fame and courage bent. 160

And so to England came with speed, To repossess King Leir, And drive his daughters from their thrones By his Cordelia dear. Where she, true-hearted, noble queen, 165 Was in the battel slain; Yet he, good king, in his old days, Possess'd his crown again.

But when he heard Cordelia's death, Who died indeed for love 170 Of her dear father, in whose cause She did this battel move, He swooning fell upon her breast, From whence he never parted; But on her bosom left his life 175 That was so truly hearted.

The lords and nobles, when they saw The end of these events, The other sisters unto death They doomed by consents; 180 And being dead, their crowns they left Unto the next of kin: Thus have you seen the fall of pride, And disobedient sin.

76 deny'd.

157. whose noble.

FAIR ROSAMOND.

The celebrated mistress of Henry the Second was daughter to Walter Clifford, a baron of Herefordshire. She bore the king two sons, one of them while he was still Duke of Normandy. Before her death she retired to the convent of Godstow, and there she was buried; but Hugh, Bishop of Lincoln, not courtly enough to distinguish between royal and vulgar immoralities, caused her body to be removed, and interred in the common cemetery, "lest Christian religion should grow in contempt."

The story of Queen Eleanor's poisoning her rival is not confirmed by the old writers, though they mention the labyrinth. All the romance in Rosamond's history appears to be the offspring of popular fancy. Percy has collected the principal passages from the chronicles in his preface to the ballad.

_Fair Rosamond_ is the work of Thomas Deloney, a well-known ballad-maker who died about 1600. Our copy is the earliest that is known, and is taken from Deloney's _Strange Histories_, ed. of 1607, as reprinted by the Percy Society, vol. iii. p. 54. The same is found in the _Crown Garland of Golden Roses_, ed. 1659 (Per. Soc. vol. vi. p. 12), and in the _Garland of Good Will_, ed. 1678 (Per. Soc. vol. xxx. p. 1.): and besides, with trifling variations, in _A Collection of Old Ballads_, i. 11, Percy's _Reliques_, ii. 151, and Ritson's _Ancient Songs_, ii. 120, from black-letter copies.

Another ballad with the title of the _Unfortunate Concubine, or, Rosamond's Overthrow_, is given in the collection of 1723, vol. i. p. 1. The story is also treated in the forty-first chapter of Warner's _Albion's England_. Warner has at least one good stanza,[3] which is more than can be said of this wretched, but very popular, production.

Some corrections have been adopted from the _Crown Garland of Golden Roses_.

[3] With that she dasht her on the lips, So dyèd double red; Hard was the heart that gave the blow, Soft were those lips that bled.

* * * * *

When as King Henrie rul'd this land,[L1] The second of that name, Beside the Queene, he dearly loved A faire and princely dame. Most peerelesse was her beautie found, 5 Her favour, and her face; A sweeter creature in this world Did never prince imbrace.

Her crisped locks like threades of gold Appeared to each mans sight; 10 Her comely eyes, like orient pearles, Did cast a heavenly light. The blood within her cristall cheekes Did such a cullour drive, As though the lilly and the rose 15 For maistership did strive.

Yea Rosamond, fair Rosamond, Her name was called so, To whome dame Elinor, our queene, Was knowne a cruell foe. 20 The king therefore, for her defence Against the furious queene, At Woodstocke buylded such a bower, The like was never seene.

Most curiously that bower was buylt, 25 Of stone and timber strong; A hundred and fiftie doores Did to that bower belong: And they so cunningly contriv'd, With turning round about, 30 That none but by a clew of thread Could enter in or out.

And for his love and ladyes sake, That was so fair and bright, The keeping of this bower he gave 35 Unto a valiant knight. But fortune, that doth often frowne Where she before did smile, The kinges delight, the ladyes joy Full soone she did beguile. 40

For why, the kings ungracious sonne, Whom he did high advance, Against his father raised warres Within the realme of France. But yet before our comely king 45 The English land forsooke, Of Rosamond, his ladye faire, His farewell thus he tooke:

"My Rosamond, my onely Rose, That pleaseth best mine eye, 50 The fairest Rose in all the world To feed my fantasie,-- "The flower of my affected heart, Whose sweetness doth excell, My royall Rose, a hundred times 55 I bid thee now farewell!

"For I must leave my fairest flower, My sweetest Rose, a space, And crosse the seas to famous France, Proude rebels to abace. 60 "But yet, my Rose, be sure thou shalt My comming shortly see, And in my heart, while hence I am, Ile beare my Rose with mee."

When Rosamond, that lady bright, 65 Did heare the king say so, The sorrow of her greeved heart Her outward lookes did show. And from her cleare and cristall eyes The teares gusht out apace, 70 Which, like the silver-pearled deaw, Ran downe her comely face.

Her lippes, like to a corrall red, Did waxe both wan and pale, And for the sorrow she conceived 75 Her vitall spirits did fayle. And falling downe all in a swound[L77] Before King Henries face, Full oft betweene his princely armes Her corpes he did imbrace. 80

And twenty times, with waterie eyes, He kist her tender cheeke, Untill she had received againe[L83] Her senses milde and meeke. "Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose?" 85 The king did ever say: "Because," quoth she, "to bloody warres My lord must part away.

"But sithe your Grace in forraine coastes, Among your foes unkind, 90 Must go to hazard life and limme, Why should I stay behind? "Nay, rather let me, like a page, Your sword and target beare;[L94] That on my breast the blow may light, 95 Which should annoy you there.

"O let me, in your royall tent, Prepare your bed at night, And with sweet baths refresh your grace, At your returne from fight. 100 "So I your presence may enjoy, No toyle I will refuse;[L102] But wanting you, my life is death: Which doth true love abuse."

"Content thy selfe, my dearest friend, 105 Thy rest at home shall bee, In England's sweete and pleasant soyle;[L107] For travaile fits not thee. "Faire ladyes brooke not bloody warres; Sweete peace their pleasures breede, 110 The nourisher of hearts content, Which fancie first doth feede.

"My Rose shall rest in Woodstocke bower, With musickes sweete delight, While I among the pierceing pikes 115 Against my foes do fight. "My Rose in robes of pearl and gold,[L117] With diamonds richly dight, Shall daunce the galliards of my love, While I my foes do smite. 120

"And you, Sir Thomas, whom I trust To be my loves defence,[L122] Be carefull of my gallant Rose When I am parted hence." And therewithall he fetcht a sigh, 125 As though his heart would breake: And Rosamond, for inward griefe, Not one plaine word could speake.

And at their parting well they might In heart be grieved sore: 130 After that day, faire Rosamond The King did see no more. For when his Grace had past the seas, And into France was gone, Queene Elinor, with envious heart, 135 To Woodstocke came anone.

And foorth she cald this trusty knight Which kept the curious bower, Who, with his clew of twined threed, Came from that famous flower. 140 And when that they had wounded him, The queene his threed did get, And went where lady Rosamond Was like an angell set.

And when the queene with stedfast eye 145 Beheld her heavenly face, She was amazed in her minde At her exceeding grace. "Cast off from thee thy robes," she sayd, "That rich and costly be; 150 And drinke thou up this deadly draught, Which I have brought for thee."

But presently upon her knees Sweet Rosamond did fall; And pardon of the queene she crav'd 155 For her offences all. "Take pittie on my youthfull yeares," Faire Rosamond did cry; "And let me not with poyson strong Inforcèd be to die. 160

"I will renounce this sinfull life, And in a cloyster bide; Or else be banisht, if you please, To range the world so wide. "And for the fault which I have done, 165 Though I was forst thereto, Preserve my life, and punish me As you thinke good to do."

And with these words, her lilly hands She wrang full often there; 170 And downe along her lovely cheekes Proceeded many a teare. But nothing could this furious queene Therewith appeased bee; The cup of deadly poyson filld, 175 As she sat on her knee,

She gave the comely dame to drinke; Who tooke it in her hand, And from her bended knee arose, And on her feet did stand. 180 And casting up her eyes to heaven, She did for mercy call; And drinking up the poyson then, Her life she lost withall.

And when that death through every lim 185 Had done his greatest spite, Her chiefest foes did plaine confesse She was a glorious wight. Her body then they did intombe, When life was fled away, 190 At Godstow, neere [to] Oxford towne, As may be seene this day.

77. sound.

83. he had reviv'd.--_C. G._

94. shield: sword, _Garl. G. W._

102. must refuse.

107. England.

117. robes and pearls of gold.

122. beare.

QUEEN ELEANOR'S FALL.

_A Collection of Old Ballads_, i. 97.

"I never was more surprised," says the editor of the Collection of 1723, "than at the sight of the following ballad; little expecting to see pride and wickedness laid to the charge of the most affable and most virtuous of women: whose glorious actions are not recorded by _our_ historians only; for no foreign writers, who have touched upon those early times, have in silence passed over this illustrious princess, and every nation rings with the praise of Eleonora Isabella of Castile, King Edward's Queen. Father Le Monie, who (in his _Gallérie des Femmes Fortes_) has searched all Christendom round, from its very infancy to the last age, for five heroines, very partially bestows the first place upon one of his own country-women, but gives the second, with a far superior character, to this queen."

In this absurdly false and ignorant production, the well-beloved Eleonora of Castile is no doubt confounded with her most unpopular mother-in-law, Eleanor of Provence, the wife of Henry the Third, whose luxurious habits, and quarrels with the city of London, might afford some shadow of a basis for the impossible slanders of the ballad-singer. Queenhithe was a quay, the tolls of which formed part of the revenue of the Queen, and Eleanor of Provence rendered herself extremely odious by compelling vessels, for the sake of her fees, to unlade there. Charing-cross was one of thirteen monuments raised by Edward the First at the stages, where his queen's body rested, on its progress from the place of her decease to Westminster. In the connection of both these places with the name of a Queen Eleanor may be found (as Miss Strickland suggests in her _Lives of the Queens_) the germ of the marvellous story of the disappearance at Charing-cross and the resurrection at Queenhithe.

That portion of the story which relates to the cruelty exercised by the queen towards the Lord Mayor's wife is borrowed from the _Gesta Romanorum_. See Madden's _Old English Versions_, &c. p. 226, _Olimpus the Emperour_. Peele's _Chronicle History of Edward the First_ exhibits the same misrepresentations of Eleanor of Castile. See what is said of this play in connection with the ballad of _Queen Eleanor's Confession_, vol. vi. p. 209. The whole title of the ballad is:--

A Warning Piece to England against Pride and Wickedness:

Being the Fall of Queen Eleanor, Wife to Edward the First, King of England; who, for her pride, by God's Judgments, sunk into the Ground at Charing-cross and rose at Queenhithe.

When Edward was in England king, The first of all that name, Proud Ellinor he made his queen, A stately Spanish dame: Whose wicked life, and sinful pride, 5 Thro' England did excel: To dainty dames, and gallant maids, This queen was known full well.

She was the first that did invent In coaches brave to ride; 10 She was the first that brought this land To deadly sin of pride. No English taylor here could serve To make her rich attire; But sent for taylors into Spain, 15 To feed her vain desire.

They brought in fashions strange and new, With golden garments bright; The farthingale, and mighty ruff, With gowns of rich delight: 20 The London dames, in Spanish pride, Did flourish every where; Our English men, like women then, Did wear long locks of hair.

Both man and child, both maid and wife, 25 Were drown'd in pride of Spain: And thought the Spanish taylors then Our English men did stain: Whereat the queen did much despite, To see our English men 30 In vestures clad, as brave to see As any Spaniard then.

She crav'd the king, that ev'ry man That wore long locks of hair, Might then be cut and polled all, 35 Or shaved very near. Whereat the king did seem content, And soon thereto agreed; And first commanded, that his own Should then be cut with speed: 40

And after that, to please his queen, Proclaimed thro' the land, That ev'ry man that wore long hair Should poll him out of hand. But yet this Spaniard, not content, 45 To women bore a spite, And then requested of the king, Against all law and right,

That ev'ry womankind should have Their right breast cut away; 50 And then with burning irons sear'd, The blood to stanch and stay! King Edward then, perceiving well Her spite to womankind, Devised soon by policy 55 To turn her bloody mind.

He sent for burning irons straight, All sparkling hot to see; And said, "O queen, come on thy way; "I will begin with thee." 60 Which words did much displease the queen, That penance to begin; But ask'd him pardon on her knees; Who gave her grace therein.

But afterwards she chanc'd to pass 65 Along brave London streets, Whereas the mayor of London's wife In stately sort she meets; With music, mirth, and melody, Unto the church they went, 70 To give God thanks, that to th' lord mayor A noble son had sent.

It grieved much this spiteful queen, To see that any one Should so exceed in mirth and joy, 75 Except herself alone: For which, she after did devise Within her bloody mind, And practis'd still more secretly, To kill this lady kind. 80

Unto the mayor of London then She sent her letters straight, To send his lady to the court, Upon her grace to wait. But when the London lady came 85 Before proud El'nor's face, She stript her from her rich array, And kept her vile and base.

She sent her into Wales with speed, And kept her secret there, 90 And us'd her still more cruelly Than ever man did hear. She made her wash, she made her starch, She made her drudge alway; She made her nurse up children small, 95 And labour night and day.

But this contented not the queen, But shew'd her most despite; She bound this lady to a post, At twelve a clock at night; 100 And as, poor lady, she stood bound, The queen, in angry mood, Bid set two snakes unto her breast, That suck'd away her blood.

Thus died the mayor of London's wife, 105 Most grievous for to hear; Which made the Spaniard grow more proud, As after shall appear. The wheat that daily made her bread Was bolted twenty times; 110 The food that fed this stately dame, Was boil'd in costly wines.

The water that did spring from ground, She would not touch at all; But wash'd her hands with the dew of heav'n, 115 That on sweet roses fall. She bath'd her body many a time In fountains fill'd with milk; And ev'ry day did change attire, In costly Median silk. 120

But coming then to London back, Within her coach of gold, A tempest strange within the skies This queen did there behold: Out of which storm she could not go, 125 But there remain'd a space; Four horses could not stir the coach A foot out of the place.

A judgment lately sent from heav'n, For shedding guiltless blood, 130 Upon this sinful queen, that slew The London lady good! King Edward then, as wisdom will'd, Accus'd her of that deed; But she denied, and wish'd that God 135 Would send his wrath with speed,--

If that upon so vile a thing Her heart did ever think, She wish'd the ground might open wide, And she therein might sink! 140 With that, at Charing-cross she sunk Into the ground alive, And after rose with life again, In London, at Queenhithe.

When, after that, she languish'd sore 145 Full twenty days in pain, At last confess'd the lady's blood Her guilty hand had slain: And likewise, how that by a fryar She had a base-born child; 150 Whose sinful lusts and wickedness Her marriage bed defil'd.

Thus have you heard the fall of pride, A just reward of sin; For those who will forswear themselves, 155 God's vengeance daily win. Beware of pride, ye courtly dames, Both wives and maidens all; Bear this imprinted on your mind, That pride must have a fall. 160

THE DUCHESS OF SUFFOLK'S CALAMITY.

From _Strange Histories_, p. 17 (Percy Society, vol. iii). Other copies, with variations, are in _The Crown-Garland of Golden Roses_,