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§ 122. Child Waters.

CHILD is frequently used by our old writers as a title. It is repeatedly given to Prince Arthur in the Fairie Queen: and the son of a

Shee, all the long daye Childe Waters rode,
Ran barefoote throrow the broome;
Yet was he never foe courteous a knighte,
To fay, Put on your fhoone.

Why doe you ryde so fast?

The childe, which is no man's but thine,
My body itt will braft.

king is in the fame poem called "Child Ride foftlye, fhee fayd, O Childe Waters,
Triftram." And it ought to be obferved
that the word child or chield is ftill ufed in
North-Britain to denominate a man, com-
monly with fome contemptuous character
affixed to him, but fometimes to denote Man
in general.

CHILDE Waters in his stable stoode,

And ftroakt his milke-white steede : To him a fayre yonge ladye came

As ever ware womans weede.

Sayes, Chrift you fave, good Childe Watèrs;
Sayes, Chrift you fave, and fee:
My girdle of gold that was too longe,
Is now too thort for mee.

And all is with one childe of yours,
I feele fturre at my fide:

My gowne of greene it is too ftraight;

Before it was too wide.

If the childe be mine, faire Ellen, he fayd,

Be mine, as you tell mee;

Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,
Take them your owne to bee.

If the childe be mine, faire Ellen, he fayd,
Be mine, as you doe sweare:

Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,
And make that childe your heyre.

Shee fayes, I had rather have one kiffe,
Childe Waters, of thy mouth;

Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both,
That lye by north and fouthe.

And I had rather have one twinkling,

Childe Waters, of thine ee;

Then I wolde have Chefhire and Lancashire both,
To take them mine owne to bee.
To-morrow, Ellen, I muft forth ryde
Farr into the north countree;
The fayreft ladye that I can finde,
Ellen, muft go with mee.
Thoughe I am not that ladye fayre,
Yet let me goe with thee:
And ever I pray you, Childe Watèrs,
Your foot-page let me bee.

If you will my foot-page bee, Ellèn,
As you doe tell to mee;

Then you must cut your gowne
An inch above your knee.

of

greene

Soe must you doe your yellowe lockes,

An inch above your ee:

You must tell no man what is my name;
My foot-page then you shall bee.

Shee, all the long daye Childe Waters rode,
Ran barefoote by his fyde;

Yet was he never fo courteous a knighte, To fay, Ellen, will you ryde?

Hee fayth, Seeft thou yond water, Ellen,
That flows from banke to brimme
I truft in God, O Childe Waters,

You never will fee me fwimme.
But when thee came to the water fyde,
She fayled to the chinne:

Nowe the Lord of heaven be my speede,
For I must learne to fwimme.

The falt waters bare up her clothes;

Our Ladye bare up her chinne: Childe Waters was a woe man, good Lord, To fee faire Ellen fwimme.

And when thee over the water was,

Shee then came to his knee:

Hee fayd, Come hither, thou fayre Ellen,
Loe yonder what I fee.

Seeft thou not yonder hall, Ellen?
Of red gold fhines the yate:
Of twenty-four faire ladyes there,
The fairest is my mate.

Seeft thou not yonder hall, Ellen?

Of red golde fhines the towre:
There are twenty-four fayre ladyes there,
The fayreft is my paramoure.

I fee the hall now, Childe Waters,
Of red gold thines the yate:
God give you good now of yourselfe,
And of your worthy mate.

I fee the hall now, Childe Waters,
Of red gold fhines the towre:
God give you good now of yourfelfe,
And of your paramoure.
There twenty-four fayre ladyes were,
A playing at the ball:

And Ellen, the fayreft ladye there,
Muft bring his steed to the fall.
There twenty-four fayre ladyes were
A playinge at the cheffe;
And Ellen, the fayreft ladye there,
Muft bring his horfe to greffe.

And then befpake Childe Waters fiftèr,
These were the wordes fayd fhee:
You have the pretty eft page, brother,
That ever I did fee.

But that his bellye it is foe bigge,
His girdle ftands foe hye:
And ever I pray you, Childe Watèrs,
Let him in my chamber lye.
It is not fit for a little foot-page,

That has run thro moffe and myre,
To lye in the chamber of any ladye,
That wears fo rich attyre.

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It is more meete for a little foot-page, That has run throughe moffe and myre, To take his fupper upon his knee,

And lye by the kitchen fyre.

Now when they had fupped every one,
To bedd they tooke theyre waye :
He fayd, Come hither, my little foot-page,
And hearken what I faye.

Goe thee downe unto yonder towne,

And lowe into the streete ;
The fayreft ladye that thou canst finde,
Hyre in mine armes to fleepe,
And take her up in thine arms twaine,
For filing of her fecte.

Ellen is gone into the towne,

And lowe into the streete :

The fayreft ladye that the colde finde,
She hyred in his armes to fleepe;
And tooke her up in her armes twayne,
For filing of her feete.

I pray you nowe, good Childe Waters,
Let me lye at your feete :
For there is noe place about this house
Where I may 'faye † a fleepe.
He gave her leave, and faire Ellèn

Down at his beds feet laye:
This done, the night drove on apace,
And, when it was neare the daye,
Hee fayd, Rife up, my little foot-page,
Give my fteede corne and haye;
And give him nowe the good black oates,
To carry mee better awaye.

Up then rofe the fayre Ellen,

And gave his fteede corne and haye;
And foe thee did the good black oates,
To carry him better awaye.

She leaned her back to the manger fide,
And grievoutlye did groane:
Shee leaned her back to the manger fide,
And there the made her moane.
And that beheard his mother deare,
Shee heard her woeful woe,

Shee fayd, Rife up, thou Childe Watèrs,
And into thy ftable goe;

For in thy ftable is a ghost,

That grievouflye doth grone:

Or else fome woman laboures with childe,
She is fo woe-begone.

Up then ofe Childe Waters foone,
And did on his fhirte of filke;
And then he put on his other clothes,
On his bodye as white as milke.
And when he came to the ftable dore,
Full ftill there hee did ftand,
That he might heare his fayre Ellen,
How thee made her monand ‡.

She fayd, Lullabye, mine own deare childe,
Lullabye, deare childe, dear:

* Defiling.

I wolde thy father were a kinge,

Thy mother clayd on a biere.
Peace nowe, hee fayd, good faire Ellen,
Bee of good cheère, 1 praye;

And the bridale and the churchinge bothe
Shall be upon one daye.

§ 123. The King and Muler of Mansfield. It has been a favourite fubject with our English ballad-inakers to reprefent our kings converfing either by accident or defign with the meaneft of their fubjects. Of the former kind, besides this fong of the King and the Miller, we have K. Henry and the Soldier; K. James I. and the Tinker; K. William III. and the Forefter, &c. Of the latter fort are K. Alfred and the Shepherd; K. Edward IV. and the Tanner; K. Henry VIII. and the Cobler, &c.

-This is a piece of great antiquity, being written before the time of Edward IV. and for its genuine humour, diverting incidents, and faithful picture of ruftic manners, is infinitely fuperior to all that have been fince written in imitation of it.

Part the Fift.

HENRY, our royall king, would ride a hunting To the greene foreft fo pleafant and faire; To fee the harts fkipping,and dainty does tripping: Unto merry Sherwood his nobles repaire : Hawke and hound were unbound, all things pre

par'd

For the game, in the fame, with good regard. All a long fummers day rode the king pleafantly, With all his princes and nobles eche one; Chafing the hart and hind, and the bucke gallantlye,

Till the darke evening forc'd all to turne home. Then at last, riding falt, he had loft quite All his lords in the wood, late in the night. Wandering thus wearilye, all alone,up and downe, With a rude miller he mett at the laft: Afking the ready way unto faire Nottingham; Sir, quoth the miller, I mean not to jest, Yet I thinke, what I thinke, footh for to fay, You doe not lightlye ride out of your way. Why, what doft thou think of me, quoth our king merrily,

Paffing thy judgment on me fo briefe? [thee; Good faith, fayd the miller, I mean not to flatter

I guess thee to be but fome gentleman thiefe: Stand thee backe, in the darke; light not adowne, Left I prefentlye cracke thy knaves crowne. Thou doft abuse me much, quoth the king, faying thus; [purfe;

+ Ellay, attempt.

I am a gentleman; lodging I lacke. Thou haft not, quoth the miller, one groat in thy All thy inheritance hanges on thy backe;

I have gold to discharge all that I call,

If it be forty pence, I will pay all.

If thou beeft a true man, then quoth the miller, I fweare by my toll-difh I'll lodge thee all night.

Moaning, bemoaning.

Here's

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Here's my hand, quoth the king, that was I ever.
Nay,foft,quoth the miller,tou mayft be a sprite.
Better I'll know thee, ere hands we will take;
With none but honeft men hands will I take.
Thus they went all along unto the miller's houfe,
Where they were feething of puddings andfoule:
The miller first enter'd in,after him went the king,
Never came hee in foe fimoakye a houfe.
Now, quoth he, iet me fee here what you are.
Quoth our king, Look your fill, and do not fpare.
I likewell thy countenance, thouhaft an honeft face;
With my fon Richard this night thou fhait lye.
Quoth his wife, Bymytroth,it is a handiome youth,
Yet it's beft, hufband, to deal warlye.
Art thou no runaway, prythee, youth, tell?
Shew me thy palfport, and ali fhal be well.
Then our king prefentlye, making lowe courtefye,
With his hatt in his hard, thus he did fay;
I have no pail port, nor never was fervitor,

But a poor courtyer, rode out of my way:
And for your kindness here offered to mec,
I will requite you in everye degree.

Then to the miller his wife whifper'd fecretlye,
Saying, It feemeth, this youth's of good kin,
Both by his apparel, and eke by his manners;

To turne him out, certainlye, were a great fin. Yea, quoth hee,you may fee, he hath fome grace, When he doth fpeake to his betters in place. Well, quo' the millers wife, young man, ye're welcome here;

And, though I fay it, well lodged shall be: Fresh ftraw will I have laid on thy bed fo brave, And good brown hempen theetes likewife, quoth fhee.

Aye, quoth the good man, and when that is done, Thou shalt lye with no worfe than our own fonne. Nay, firft, quoth Richard, good-fellowe, tell me

true,

Haft thou noe creepers within thy gay hole? Or art thou not troubled with the scabbido?

I pray, quoth the king, what creatures are thofe? Art thou not lowfy, nor fcabby? quoth he: If thou beeft, furely thou lyeft not with mee. This caus'd the king fuddenlye to laugh moft heartilye,

Till the teares trickled faft downe from his eyes. Then to their fupper were they fet orderlye,

Wit hot bag-puddings, and good apple-pyes; Nappy ale, good and ftale, in a browne bowle, Which did about the board merrily trowle.

A faire ven fon paftve brought the out presentlye.
Eate, quoth the miller, but, fir, make no wafte:
Here's dainty lightfoote! In faith, faid the king,
I never before eate so dainty a thing.

I wis, quoth Richard, no dainty at all it is,
For we doe eat of it everye day.
In what place, fayd our king, may be bought like
to this?

We never pay pennye for itt, by my fay: From merry Sherwood we fetch it home here; Now and then we make bold with our kings deer. Then I thinke, fayd our king, that it is venifon. Eche foole, quoth Richard, full well may know

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out,

As he was mounting upon his faire fteede; To whom they came prefenty, falling down on their knee;

Which made the millers heart wofully bleede: Sh king and quaking, before him he stood, Thinking he should have been hang'd by the rood. The king perceiving him fearfully trembling,

The miller downe did fall, crying before them all,
Diew forth his fword, but nothing he fed :
Doubting the king would have cut off his head:
But he his kind courtesy for to requite,
Gave him great living, and dubb'd him a knight.
Part the Second.

WHEN as our royall king was come home from
Nottingham,

And with his nobles at Westminster lay; Recounting the fports and paftimes they had taken, In this late progrefs along on the way; Of them all, great and fmall, he did proteft, The miller of Mansfield's fport liked him beft. And now, my lords, quoth the king, I'm determined,

Against St. Georges next fumptuous feast, Here, quoth the miller, good fellowe, I drinke to That this old miller our new confirmed knight,

thee,

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With his fon Richard, fhall here be my guest: For, in this merriment, 'tis my defire [fquire. Fo talke with the jolly knight, and the young When as the noble lords saw the kinges pleasantnefs,

They were right joyfull and glad in their hea ts; A purfuivante there was fent ftraight on the bufinefs,

The which had often-times been in those parts. 303 When

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When he came to the place where they did dwell, His meffage orderlye then 'gan he tell.

God fave your worshippe, then faid the messenger, And grant your ladye her owne hearts defire; And to your fonne Richard good fortune and happiness;

That fweet, gentle, and gallant young fquire. Our king greets you well, and thus he doth fay, You must come to the court on St. Georges day:

Therefore, in any cafe, faile not to be in place. I wis, quoth the miller, this is an odd jeft: What shouldwe doe there? faith, I am halfe afraid. I doubt, quoth Richard,to be hang'd at the leaft. Nay, quoth the meffenger, you doe mistake; Our king he provides a great feast for your fake. Then fayd the miller, By my troth, meffenger,

Thou haft contented my worshippe full well. Hold, here are three farthings, to quite thy gentlenefs

For thefe happy tydings, which thou doft tell. Let me fee, heare thou mee; tell to our king, We'll wait on his malerthipp in everye thing. The purfuivant fmiled at their fimplicitye,

And making many leggs, tooke their reward; And his leave taking with great humilitye,

To the kings court againe he repair'd;
Shewing unto his grace, merry and free,
The knightes moft liberall gift and bountie.

When he was gone away, thus gan the miller fay,
Here come expences and charges indeed;
New muft we needs be brave, tho' we spend all
we have;

For of new garments we have great need:
Of horfes and ferving-men we must have store,
With bridles and faddles, and twenty things more.

Tufhe, Sir John, quoth his wife, why should you

frett or frown?

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The king and his courtiers laugh at this heartily,
While the king taketh them both by the hand;
With the court dames and maids, like to the queen
of spades,

A milk-maids courtefye at every word;
The miller's wife did foe orderly ftand,
And downe all the folkes were fet to the board.

There the king royally, in princelye majestye,
Sate at his dinner with joy and delight;
When they had eaten well, then he to jefting fell,
And in a bowl of wine dranke to the knight:
Here's to you both, in wine, ale, and beer;
Thanking you heartilye for my good cheer.

Quoth Sir John Cockle, I'll pledge you a pottle,
Were it the beft ale in Nottinghamshire:
But then, faid our king, now I think of a thing,
Some of your lightfoot I would we had here.
Ho! hol quoth Richard, full well I may say it,
'Tis knavery to eate it, and then to betray it.

Why art thou angry? quoth our king merrilye;
In faith, I take it now very unkind:
thought thou wouldst pledge me in ale and wine

heartily.

Quoth Dicke, You are like to stay till I have

din'd:

You feed us with twatling dishes fo fmall;
Zounds, a black-pudding is better than all.

Aye, marry, quoth our king, that were a daintye thing,

Could a man get but one here for to eat. With that Dick ftraight arofe, and pluck'd one from his hofe,

Which with heat of his breech gan for to fweate. The king made a proffer to fnatch it away :'Tis meat for your master; good fir, you must stay.

Thus in great merriment was the time wholly spent ;

And then the ladyes prepared to dance: Old Sir John Cockle, and Richard incontinent, Unto their places the king did advance: Here with the ladyes fuch fport they did make, The nobles with laughing did make their fides ake.

Many thankes for their paines did the king give them,

Afking young Richard then, if he would wed: Among thefe ladyes free, tell me which liketh thee? Quoth he, Jugg Grumball, Sir, with the red

head:

She's my love, the 's my life, her will I wed; She hath fworn I thall have her maidenhead.

Then

L

7 Witch.

Then Sir John Cockle the king called unto him,
And of merry Sherwood made him o'er-feer; A murderer, yonder, was hung in chaines;
And gave him out of hand three hundred pound
yearlye;

Take heed now you fteal no more of my deer:
And once a quarter let 's here have your view;
And now, Sir John Cockle, I bid you adieu.

§ 124. The Witches' Song,

-From Ben Jonfon's Mafque of Queens, prefented at Whitehall, Feb. 2, 1609.

The funne and the wind had fhrunke iis veines:
I bit off a finew; I clipp'd his haire;
I brought off his ragges, that danc'd i' the ayre.

8 Witch.

The ferich-owles egges, and the feathers blacke,
The bloud of the frogge, and the bone in his backe,
1 have been getting; and made of his skin
A purfet, to keepe fir Cranion in.

9 Witch.

It is true, this fong of the Witches, falling from
the learned pen of Ben Jonfon, is rather an And I ha' been plucking (plants among)
extract from the various incantations of claffic Hemlock, henbane, adders-tongue,

antiquity, than a difplay of the opinions of Night-fhade, moone-wort, libbards-bane; .
our own vulgar. But let it be obferved, that And twife by the dogges was like to be tane.
a parcel of learned wifeacres had just before
bufied themselves on this fubject, with our
British Solomon James I. at their head; and

10 Witch.

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thefe had fo ranfacked all writers ancient and I from the jaws of a gardiner's bitch
modern, and fo blended and kneaded together Did fnatch thefe bones, and then leap'd the ditch
the feveral fuperftitions of different times and Yet went I back to the house againe,
nations, that thofe of genuine English growth Kill'd the blacke cat, and here is the braine,
could no longer be traced out and diftinguished.

By good luck the whimfical belief of fairies and

11 Witch.

goblins could furnish no pretences for torturing I went to the toade, breeds under the wall,
our fellow-creatures, and therefore we have this I charmed him out, and he came at my call ;
handed down to us pure and unfophifticated. I fcratch'd out the eyes of the owle before;
I Witch.
I tore the batts wings: what would you have more?

I

HAVE beene all day looking after

A raven feeding upon a quarter;

Dame.

And, foone as the turn'd her back to the fouth, Yes: I have brought, to helpe your vows,

I fnatch'd this morfell out of her mouth.

2 Witch.

I have beene gathering wolves haires,
The mad dogges foame, and adders cares;
The fpurging of a deadman's eyes:
And all fince the evening ftarre did rise.
3 Witch.

I last night lay all alone

O'the ground, to heare the mandrake grone;
And pluckt him up, though he grew full low:
And, as I had done, the cocke did crow.
4 Witch.

And I h' beene chufing out this scull;
From charnell-houles that were full :
From private grots, and publike pits:
And frighted a fexton out of his wits.
5 Witch.

Under a cradle I did creepe

By day, and, when the childe was a-fleepe
At night, I fuck'd the breath; and rofe,
And pluck'd the nodding nurfe by the nose.
6 Witch.

I had a dagger: what did I with that?
Killed an infant to have his fat.
A piper it got, at a church-ale,

I bade him again blow wind i' the taile.

Horned poppie, cypreise boughes,
The fig-tree wild, that grows on tombes,
And juice that from the larch-tree comes,
The bafilifkes bloud, and the vipers fkin;
And now our orgies let's begin.

125. The Fairies Farewel.

This humorous old fong fell from the hand of the witty Dr. CORBET, afterwards bishop of Norwich, &c. In his Poetica Stromata it is called, "A proper new Ballad, intituled, The

Fairies Farewell, or God-a-mercy Will, to be "fung or whiftled to the tune of The Mea"dow Brow,by the learned; by the unlearned, "to the tune of Fortune."

FAREWELL, rewards and Fairies!
Good housewives now may say;

For now foule fluts in dairies
Doe fare as well as they;

And though they fweepe their hearths no lefs
Than mayds were wont to doe,
Yet who of late for cleaneliness

Finds fix-pence in her shoe?
Lament, lament, old Abbies,

The fairies loft command!

They did but change pricfts babies, But fome have chang'd your land: 304

*And

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