Chapter 3

And he had jousts and tournaments, Whereto were many prest, Wherein some knights did far excell And far surmount the rest.

But one, Sir Lancelot du Lake, Who was approved well, He for his deeds and feats of arms, All others did excell.

When he had rested him a while, In play, and game, and sport, He said he would go prove himself In some adventurous sort.

He armed rode in forest wide, And met a damsel fair, Who told him of adventures great, Whereto he gave good ear.

Such would I find, quoth Lancelot: For that cause came I hither. Thou seem'st, quoth she, a knight full good, And I will bring thee thither,

Whereas a mighty knight doth dwell, That now is of great fame: Therefore tell me what wight thou art, And what may be thy name.

My name is Lancelot du Lake. Quoth she, it likes me then: Here dwells a knight who never was Yet matcht with any man:

Who has in prison threescore knights And four, that he did wound; Knights of king Arthur's court they be, And of his table round.

She brought him to a river side, And also to a tree, Whereon a copper bason hung, And many shields to see.

He struck so hard, the bason broke; And Tarquin soon he spied: Who drove a horse before him fast, Whereon a knight lay tied.

Sir knight, then said Sir Lancelot, Bring me that horse-load hither, And lay him down, and let him rest; We'll try our force together:

For, as I understand, thou hast, So far as thou art able, Done great despite and shame unto The knights of the Round Table.

If thou be of the Table Round, Quoth Tarquin speedily, Both thee and all thy fellowship I utterly defy.

That's over much, quoth Lancelot, though, Defend thee by and by. They set their spears unto their steeds, And each at other fly.

They couched their spears, (their horses ran, As though there had been thunder) And struck them each immidst their shields, Wherewith they broke in sunder.

Their horses' backs brake under them, The knights were both astound: To avoid their horses they make haste And light upon the ground.

They took them to their shields full fast, Their swords they drew out then, With mighty strokes most eagerly Each at the other ran.

They wounded were, and bled full sore, For both for breath did stand, And leaning on their swords awhile, Quoth Tarquin, Hold thy hand,

And tell to me what I shall ask. Say on, quoth Lancelot tho.[78] Thou art, quoth Tarquin, the best knight That ever I did know;

And like a knight, that I did hate: So that thou be not he, I will deliver all the rest, And eke accord with thee.

That is well said, quoth Lancelot; But since it must be so, What knight is that thou hatest thus? I pray thee to me show.

His name is Lancelot du Lake, He slew my brother dear; Him I suspect of all the rest: I would I had him here.

Thy wish thou hast, but yet unknown, I am Lancelot du Lake, Now knight of Arthur's Table Round; King Haud's son, of Schuwake;

And I desire thee do thy worst. Ho, ho, quoth Tarquin tho, One of us two shall end our lives Before that we do go.

If thou be Lancelot du Lake, Then welcome shalt thou be; Wherefore see thou thyself defend, For now defy I thee.

They buckled then together so, Like unto wild boars rashing, And with their swords and shields they ran At one another slashing:

The ground besprinkled was with blood: Tarquin began to yield; For he gave back for weariness, And low did bear his shield.

This soon Sir Lancelot espied, He leapt upon him then, He pull'd him down upon his knee, And rushing[79] off his helm,

Forthwith he struck his neck in two, And, when he had so done, From prison threescore knights and four Delivered every one.

FOOTNOTES:

[78] Then.

[79] Tearing.

THE FROLICKSOME DUKE; OR, THE TINKER'S GOOD FORTUNE.

Now as fame does report, a young duke keeps a court, One that pleases his fancy with frolicksome sport: But amongst all the rest, here is one I protest, Which will make you to smile when you hear the true jest: A poor tinker he found, lying drunk on the ground, As secure in a sleep as if laid in a swound.

The duke said to his men, William, Richard, and Ben, Take him home to my palace, we'll sport with him then. O'er a horse he was laid, and with care soon convey'd To the palace, altho' he was poorly array'd: Then they stript off his clothes, both his shirt, shoes, and hose, And they put him to bed for to take his repose.

Having pull'd off his shirt, which was all over dirt, They did give him clean holland, this was no great hurt: On a bed of soft down, like a lord of renown, They did lay him to sleep the drink out of his crown. In the morning when day, then admiring he lay, For to see the rich chamber both gaudy and gay.

Now he lay something late, in his rich bed of state, Till at last knights and squires, they on him did wait; And the chamberlain bare,[80] then did likewise declare, He desir'd to know what apparel he'd wear: The poor tinker amaz'd, on the gentleman gaz'd, And admired[81] how he to this honour was rais'd.

Tho' he seem'd something mute, yet he chose a rich suit, Which he straitways put on without longer dispute; With a star on his side, which the tinker oft ey'd, And it seem'd for to swell him no little with pride; For he said to himself, Where is Joan my sweet wife? Sure she never did see me so fine in her life.

From a convenient place, the right duke his good grace Did observe his behaviour in every case. To a garden of state, on the tinker they wait, Trumpet sounding before him: thought he, this is great: Where an hour or two, pleasant walks he did view, With commanders and squires in scarlet and blue.

A fine dinner was drest, both for him and his guests, He was plac'd at the table above all the rest, In a rich chair or bed, lin'd with fine crimson red, With a rich golden canopy over his head: As he sat at his meat, the music play'd sweet, With the choicest of singing his joys to complete.

While the tinker did dine, he had plenty of wine, Rich canary with sherry and tent superfine. Like a right honest soul, faith, he took off his bowl, Till at last he began for to tumble and roll From his chair to the floor, where he sleeping did snore, Being seven times drunker than ever before.

Then the duke did ordain, they should strip him amain, And restore him his old leather garments again: Twas a point next the worst, yet perform it they must, And they carried him strait, where they found him at first; Then he slept all the night, as indeed well he might; But when he did waken, his joys took their flight.

For his glory to him so pleasant did seem, That he thought it to be but a mere golden dream; Till at length he was brought to the duke, where he sought For a pardon, as fearing he had set him at nought; But his highness he said, Thou'rt a jolly bold blade, Such a frolic before I think never was play'd.

Then his highness bespoke him a new suit and cloak, Which he gave for the sake of this frolicksome joke; Nay, and five hundred pound, with ten acres of ground, Thou shalt never, said he, range the countries around, Crying "old brass to mend," for I'll be thy good friend, Nay, and Joan thy sweet wife shall my duchess attend.

Then the tinker reply'd, What! must Joan my sweet bride Be a lady in chariots of pleasure to ride? Must we have gold and land ev'ry day at command? Then I shall be a squire I well understand: Well I thank your good grace, and your love I embrace, I was never before in so happy a case.

FOOTNOTES:

[80] Bare-headed.

[81] Wondered.

THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE.

God prosper long our noble king, Our lives and safeties all; A woful hunting once there did In Chevy Chase befall;

To drive the deer with hound and horn, Earl Percy took his way; The child may rue that is unborn The hunting of that day.

The stout Earl of Northumberland A vow to God did make, His pleasure in the Scottish woods Three summer days to take;

The chiefest harts in Chevy Chase To kill and bear away. These tidings to Earl Douglas came, In Scotland where he lay:

Who sent Earl Percy present word, He would prevent his sport. The English earl, not fearing that, Did to the woods resort

With fifteen hundred bow-men bold; All chosen men of might, Who knew full well in time of need To aim their shafts aright.

The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran, To chase the fallow deer: On Monday they began to hunt, Ere day-light did appear;

And long before high noon they had An hundred fat bucks slain; Then having din'd, the drovers went To rouse the deer again.

The bow-men mustered on the hills, Well able to endure; Their backsides all, with special care, That day were guarded sure.

The hounds ran swiftly through the woods, The nimble deer to take, That with their cries the hills and dales An echo shrill did make.

Lord Percy to the quarry went, To view the slaughter'd deer; Quoth he, Earl Douglas promisèd This day to meet me here:

But if I thought he would not come, No longer would I stay. With that, a brave young gentleman Thus to the earl did say:

Lo, yonder doth Earl Douglas come, His men in armour bright; Full twenty hundred Scottish spears All marching in our sight;

All men of pleasant Teviotdale, Fast by the river Tweed: O cease your sport, Earl Percy said, And take your bows with speed:

And now with me, my countrymen, Your courage forth advance; For never was there champion yet In Scotland or in France,

That ever did on horseback come, But if my hap it were, I durst encounter man for man, With him to break a spear.

Earl Douglas on his milk-white steed, Most like a baron bold, Rode foremost of his company, Whose armour shone like gold.

Show me, said he, whose men you be, That hunt so boldly here, That, without my consent, do chase And kill my fallow-deer?

The man that first did answer make, Was noble Percy he; Who said, We list not to declare, Nor show whose men we be:

Yet will we spend our dearest blood, Thy chiefest harts to slay. Then Douglas swore a solemn oath, And thus in rage did say,

Ere thus will I out-braved be, One of us two shall die: I know thee well, an earl thou art, Lord Percy; so am I.

But trust me, Percy, pity 'twere, And great offence to kill Any of these our guiltless men, For they have done no ill.

Let thou and I the battle try, And set our men aside. Accurst be he, Earl Percy said, By whom this is denied.

Then stept a gallant squire forth, Witherington was his name, Who said, I would not have it told To Henry our king for shame,

That e'er my captain fought on foot, And I stood looking on. You be two earls, said Witherington, And I a squire alone:

I'll do the best that do I may, While I have power to stand: While I have power to wield my sword, I'll fight with heart and hand.

Our English archers bent their bows, Their hearts were good and true; At the first flight of arrows sent, Full four-score Scots they slew.

Yet bides Earl Douglas on the bent[82] As Chieftain stout and good, As valiant Captain, all unmov'd The shock he firmly stood.

His host he parted had in three, As leader ware and try'd, And soon his spearmen on their foes Bore down on every side.

Throughout the English archery They dealt full many a wound: But still our valiant Englishmen All firmly kept their ground:

And throwing straight their bows away, They grasp'd their swords so bright: And now sharp blows, a heavy shower, On shields and helmets light.

They clos'd full fast on every side, No slackness there was found; And many a gallant gentleman Lay gasping on the ground.

O Christ! it was a grief to see, And likewise for to hear, The cries of men lying in their gore, And scattered here and there.

At last these two stout earls did meet, Like captains of great might: Like lions wood,[83] they laid on loud, And made a cruel fight:

They fought until they both did sweat, With swords of tempered steel; Until the blood, like drops of rain, They trickling down did feel.

Yield thee, Lord Percy, Douglas said; In faith I will thee bring, Where thou shalt high advanced be By James our Scottish king:

Thy ransom I will freely give, And thus report of thee, Thou art the most courageous knight, That ever I did see.

No, Douglas, quoth Earl Percy then, Thy proffer I do scorn; I will not yield to any Scot, That ever yet was born.

With that, there came an arrow keen Out of an English bow, Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart, A deep and deadly blow:

Who never spake more words than these, Fight on, my merry men all; For why, my life is at an end; Lord Percy sees my fall.

Then leaving life, Earl Percy took The dead man by the hand; And said, Earl Douglas, for thy life Would I had lost my land.

O Christ! my very heart doth bleed With sorrow for thy sake; For sure, a more renowned knight Mischance could never take.

A knight amongst the Scots there was, Which saw Earl Douglas die, Who straight in wrath did vow revenge Upon the Lord Percy:

Sir Hugh Montgomery was he call'd Who, with a spear most bright, Well-mounted on a gallant steed, Ran fiercely through the fight;

And past the English archers all, Without all dread or fear; And through Earl Percy's body then He thrust his hateful spear;

With such a vehement force and might He did his body gore, The staff went through the other side A large cloth-yard, and more.

So thus did both these nobles die, Whose courage none could stain; An English archer then perceiv'd The noble earl was slain;

He had a bow bent in his hand, Made of a trusty tree; An arrow of a cloth-yard long Up to the head drew he:

Against Sir Hugh Montgomery, So right the shaft he set, The grey goose-wing that was thereon In his heart's blood was wet.

This fight did last from break of day Till setting of the sun; For when they rung the evening bell,[84] The battle scarce was done.

With brave Earl Percy, there was slain Sir John of Egerton, Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John, Sir James that bold Baròn:

And with Sir George and stout Sir James, Both knights of good account, Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slain, Whose prowess did surmount.

For Witherington needs must I wail, As one in doleful dumps; For when his legs were smitten off, He fought upon his stumps.

And with Earl Douglas, there was slain Sir Hugh Montgomery, Sir Charles Murray, that from the field One foot would never flee.

Sir Charles Murray, of Ratcliff, too, His sister's son was he; Sir David Lamb, so well esteem'd, Yet saved could not be.

And the Lord Maxwell in like case Did with Earl Douglas die: Of twenty hundred Scottish spears, Scarce fifty-five did fly.

Of fifteen hundred Englishmen, Went home but fifty-three; The rest were slain in Chevy Chase, Under the greenwood tree.

Next day did many widows come, Their husbands to bewail; They washed their wounds in brinish tears, But all would not prevail.

Their bodies, bathed in purple gore, They bare with them away: They kiss'd them dead a thousand times, Ere they were clad in clay.

This news was brought to Edinburgh, Where Scotland's king did reign, That brave Earl Douglas suddenly Was with an arrow slain:

O heavy news, King James did say, Scotland can witness be, I have not any captain more Of such account as he.

Like tidings to King Henry came, Within as short a space, That Percy of Northumberland Was slain in Chevy Chase:

Now God be with him, said our king, Since it will no better be; I trust I have, within my realm, Five hundred as good as he:

Yet shall not Scots nor Scotland say, But I will vengeance take: I'll be revenged on them all, For brave Earl Percy's sake.

This vow full well the king perform'd After, at Humbledown; In one day, fifty knights were slain, With lords of great renown:

And of the rest, of small account, Did many thousands die: Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy Chase, Made by the Earl Percy.

God save our king, and bless this land In plenty, joy, and peace; And grant henceforth, that foul debate 'Twixt noblemen may cease.

FOOTNOTES:

[82] Field.

[83] Wild.

[84] The curfew.

KING EDWARD THE FOURTH AND THE TANNER OF TAMWORTH.

In summer time, when leaves grow green, And blossoms bedeck the tree, King Edward would a hunting ride, Some pastime for to see.

With hawk and hound he made him bowne,[85] With horn, and eke with bow; To Drayton Basset he took his way, With all his lords in a row.

And he had ridden o'er dale and down By eight of clock in the day, When he was 'ware of a bold tannèr, Come riding along the way.

A fair russet coat the tanner had on Fast buttoned under his chin, And under him a good cow-hide, And a mare of four shilling.[86]

Now stand you still, my good lords all, Under the greenwood spray; And I will wend to yonder fellow, To weet[87] what he will say.

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 dost 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.

Gramercy 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 priefe.[88] The tanner would fain have been away, For he weened he had been a thief.

Who art thou, he said, thou fine fellòw, 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.[89]

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 true. I am a barker,[90] 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 wouldst 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 fellòw, I will have some boot of thee.

That were against reason, said the king, I swear, so mote I thee:[91] My horse is better than thy mare, And that thou well mayst see.

Yea, sir, but Brock is gentle and mild, And softly she will fare: Thy horse is unruly and wild, I wiss; Aye skipping here and there.

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

Here's twenty groats of white money, Sith thou will have it of me. I would have sworn now, quoth the tanner, Thou hadst not had one penny.

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;[92] And threw it upon the king's saddle, That was so fairly gilt.

Now help me up, thou fine fellow, 'Tis time that I were gone; When I come home to Gyllian my wife, She'll say I am a gentleman.

When the tanner he was in the king's saddle, 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.[93]

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 tannèr, I will have some boot of thee.

What boot wilt thou have, the tanner replied, Now tell me in this stound?[94] No pence, nor half-pence, sir, by my faith, 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 fellows 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 country, Here come to hunt with me.