there stripping him of his old clothes, and attyring him after the court fashion, when he wakened, he and they were all ready to attend upon his excellency, and persuade him that he was some great Duke. The poor fellow admiring how he came there, was served in state all day long after supper he saw them dance, heard musicke, and all the rest of those court-like pleasures: but late at night, when he was well tipled, and again fast asleepe, they put on his old robes, and so conveyed him to the place, where they first found him. Now the fellow had not made them so good sport the day before, as he did now, when he returned to himself: all the jest was to see how he looked upon it. In conclusion, after some little admiration, the poore man told his friends he had seen a vision; constantly believed it; would not otherwise be persuaded, and so the jest ended." Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, Pt. ii. sect. ii. Memb. iv. 2d. Ed. 1624, fol. This ballad is given from a black-letter copy in the Pepys collection, which is intitled as above. "To the tune of Fond boy." Now as fame does report a young duke keeps a court, 5 The duke said to his men, "William, Richard, and Ben, And they put him to bed for to take his repose. 10 15 Having pull'd off his shirt, which was all over durt, Now he lay something late, in his rich bed of state, Tho' he seem'd something mute, yet he chose a rich suit, Which he straitways put on without longer dispute; 26 With a star on his side, which the tinker offt 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, [great:" Trumpets sounding before him: thought he, "this is Where an hour or two, pleasant walks he did view, 35 With commanders and squires in scarlet and blew. A fine dinner was drest, both for him and his guests, In a rich chair 'or bed,' lin'd with fine crimson red, 40 45 While the tinker did dine, he had plenty of wine, 50 Then the duke did ordain, they should strip him amain, For his glory to him' so pleasant did seem, 55 That he thought it to be but a meer 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 frolick before I think never was plaid." 60 Then his highness bespoke him a new suit and cloak, Which he gave for the sake of this frolicksome joak ; Nay, and five-hundred pound, with ten acres of ground, "Thou shalt never," said he, range the counteries round, 66 Crying old brass to mend, for I'll be thy good friend,65 Then the tinker reply'd, "What! must Joan my sweet 70 XVIII. THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY. DISPERSED thro' Shakespeare's plays are innumerable little fragments of ancient ballads, the entire copies of which could not be recovered. Many of these being of the most beautiful and pathetic simplicity, the editor was tempted to select some of them, and with a few supplemental stanzas to connect them together, and form them into a little tale, which is here submitted to the reader's candour. One small fragment was taken from Beaumont and Fletcher. Ir was a friar of orders gray And he met with a lady faire "Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar, I pray thee tell to me, If ever at yon holy shrine My true love thou didst see." "And how should I know your true love From many another one?" "O, by his cockle hat, and staff, And by his sandal shoone.* But chiefly by his face and mien, His flaxen locks that sweetly curl'd "O, lady, he is dead and gone! And at his head a green grass turfe, Within these holy cloysters long Here bore him barefac'd on his bier And many a tear bedew'd his grave "And art thou dead, thou gentle youth! And didst thou dye for love of me! "O, weep not, lady, weep not soe ; These are the distinguishing marks of a Pilgrim. The chief places of devotion being beyond sea, the pilgrims were wont to put cockle-shells in their hats to denote the intention or performance of their devotion. Warb. Shakesp. Vol. viii. p. 224, VOL. I. K "O, do not, do not, holy friar, My sorrow now reprove; For I have lost the sweetest youth, And nowe, alas, ! for thy sad losse, For thee I only wisht to live, "Weep no more, lady, weep no more, For violets pluckt the sweetest showers Our joys as winged dreams doe flye, "O, say not soe, thou holy friar ; I pray thee, say not soe: For since my true-love dyed for mee, 'Tis meet my tears should flow. And will he ne'er come again? Will he ne'er come again? 40 45 50 55 Ah! no, he is dead and laid in his grave, 60 His cheek was redder than the rose; The comliest youth was hel But he is dead and laid in his grave: Alas, and woe is me !" "Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever: One foot on sea and one on land, To one thing constant never. Hadst thou been fond, he had been false, For young men ever were fickle found, 65 70 |