Book vii

. p. 350, edit. 1720, where his merits are recognized.) Her name was Anna-Sophia, daughter of Philip, Earl of Pembroke. The child mentioned in the poem was their son, Charles Dormer, who died in 1709, when the Viscounty and Earldom became extinct. The poem was written at his birth, on January 1st.

Page 57. _Uds bodykins! Chill work no more._

We find this, a year earlier, (an inferior version, lacking third verse, but longer,) as _Cockbodykins, chill_, &c., in _Wit’s Interpreter_, p. 143, 1655; and p. 247, 1671. It is a valuable, because trustworthy and graphic, record of the troubles falling upon those who tried to labour on, despite the stir of civil war. 4th verse, “that a vet,” seems corruption of that is fetched; horses _in a hole_ (_W. Int._); vange thy note, is _take thy note_. (_do_). Prob. date, 1647.

THE SECOND PART.

_Then straight came ruffling to my dore,_ _Some dozens of these rogues, or more;_ _So zausie they be grown._ _Facks[,] if they come, down they sit,_ _They’l never ask me leave one whit,_ _They’l take all for their own._

_Then ich provision straight must make,_ _And from my Chymney needs must take,_ _And vlitch both pure and good._ [a flitch] _Oh! ’twould melt a Christians heart to see,_ _That such good Bacon spoil’d should be,_ _’Twas as red as any blood._

_But in it would, whether chud or not,_ _Together with Beans into the pot,_ _As sweet as any viggs._ _And when chave done all that I am able,_ _They’l slat it down all under table,_ _And zwear they be no Pigs._

_Then Ize did intreat their worships to be quiet,_ _And ich would strive to mend their diet,_ _And they shall have finer feeding,_ _They zwear goddam thee for a boor,_ _Wee’l gick thee raskal out a door,_ _And teach thee better breeding._

_Then on the fire they [do] put on_ _A piece of beef, or else good mutton,_ _No, no, this is no meat._ _Forsooth they must have finer food,_ _A good vat hen with all her brood;_ _And then perhaps they’l eat._

_But of late ich had a crew together,_ _They were meer devils, ich ask’d them whether_ _That they were not of our nation._ _Good Lord defend us from all zuch,_ _They zaid they were wild ~Irish~, or else ~Dutch~,_ _They were of the Devils generation._

_And when these raskals went away,_ _What e’re you thing they did me repay_ _Ich will not you deceive._ _Facks[,] just as folks go to a vaire,_ _They vaidled up my goods and ware,_ _And so they took their leave._

_O what a clutter they did make_ _Our house for ~Babel~ they did take,_ _We could not understand a jot._ _Yet they did know what did belong_ _To drink and zwear in our own tongue,_ _Such language they had a got._

_Nor home ich any zafe aboad,_ _If that Ise chance to go abroad,_ _These rogues will come to spy me;_ _Then zurrah, zurrah, quoth they, tarry,_ _We know false letters you do carry,_ _And so they come to try me._

_For as swift as any lightning goes_ _Straight all their hand into my hose,_ _There out they pull my purse._ _O zurrah, zurrah, this is it,_ _Your Letters are in silver writ;_ _You may go take your course._

_A Trouper t’other day did greet me,_ [ ... Lost line.] _But could you guesse the reason,_ _Thou art, quoth he, a rebel, Knave,_ _And zo thou dost thy zelf behave,_ _For thou doest whistle treason._

_Nor was this raskal much to blame,_ _For all his mates zwore just the zame,_ _That ich was fain to do._ _Ich humble pardon of him sought,_ _And gave him money for my fault,_ _And glad I could scape so too._

(_Wits Interpreter_, 250, 1671 ed.)

This is, veritably, a “document in madness” of such civil wars and military licence. It reads like the genuine narratives of Prussian brutality and outrage during the occupation of Alsace and Lorraine: which is hereafter to be bitterly avenged.

Page 60. _I keep my horse, I keep_, &c.

This lively ditty is sung by Latrocinio in the comedy of “The Widow,”

## Act iii. sc. 1, produced about 1616, and written by JOHN FLETCHER, Ben

Jonson, and Thomas Middleton. The song bears trace of Fletcher’s hand (more, we believe, than of Jonson’s). It has a rollicking freedom that made it a favourite. We meet it in _Wit’s Interpreter_, 1655, p. 69; 1671, p. 175; and elsewhere. See Dyce’s _Middleton_, iii. 383, and _Dodsley’s Old Plays_, 1744, vi. 34.

Page 61. _There is not halfe so warm a fire._

This re-appears, with variations and twelve additional lines (inferior), in _Westminster-Drollery_, 1671, i. 102; where is the corrupt text “_and ~daily~ pays us with what is_.” Our present text gives us the true word, “_dully_.”

Page 62. Fuller _of wish, than hope_, &c.

Fuller’s book, “A _Pisgah sight of Palestine_,” was published about 1649. The epitaph “Here lies Fuller’s earth,” is well known. He died in 1661.

Page 63. Cloris, _now thou art fled away_.

The author of this song was DR. HENRY HUGHES. Henry Lawes gives the music to it, in his “_Ayres_,” 1669, Bk. iii. p. 10. It is also in J. P.’s _Sportive Wit_, 1656, p. 15; the _Loyal Garland_ (Percy Soc. Reprint of 1686 edit, xxix. 67); _Pills to p. Mel._, 1719, iii. 331. Sometimes attributed to Sir R[obert] A[ytoun].

In _Sportive Wit_ there are variations as well as an Answer, which we here give. The different title seems consequent on the Answer presupposing that _Amintas_ has not died, merely disappeared. It is “A Shepherd fallen in Love: A Pastoral.” The readings are: _Lambkins follow_; _They’re gone, they’re_; Dog _howling_ lyes, _While_ he _laments with woful_ cryes; Oh _Cloris, Cloris, I decay_, And _forced am to cry well_, _&c._ Sixth verse there omitted. It has, however, on p. 16:—

_The Answer._

[1656.]

_~Cloris~, since thou art gone astray,_ _~Amyntas~ Shepherd’s fled away;_ _And all the joys he wont to spye_ _I’ th’ pretty babies of thine eye,_ _Are gone; and she hath none to say_ _But who can help what ~will away, will away~?_

_The Green on which it was her [? his] chance_ _To have her hand first in a dance,_ _Among the merry Maiden-crue,_ _Now making her nought but sigh and rue_ _The time she ere had cause to say_ [p. 17.] _Ah, who can help what ~will away, will away~?_

_The Lawn with which she wont to deck_ _And circle in her whiter neck;_ _Her Apron lies behinde the door;_ _The strings won’t reach now as before:_ _Which makes her oft cry ~well-a-day~:_ _But who can help what ~will away~?_

_He often swore that he would leave me,_ _Ere of my heart he could bereave me:_ _But when the Signe was in the tail,_ _He knew poor Maiden-flesh was frail;_ _And laughs now I have nought to say,_ _But who can help what ~will away~._

_But let the blame upon me lie,_ _I had no heart him to denie:_ _Had I another Maidenhead,_ _I’d lose it ere I went to bed:_ _For what can all the world more say,_ _Than who can help what ~will away~?_

(_Sportive Wit_; or, _The Muses’ Merriment_.)

Page 68. _I tell you all, both great and small._

Also in Captain William Hickes’ _London Drollery_, 1673, p. 179, where it is entitled “Queen Elizabeth’s Song.” The dance tune _Sallanger’s_ (or more commonly _Sellenger’s_) _Round_ is given in Chappell’s Pop. Music, O. T., p. 69. The name is corrupted from _St. Leger’s Round_; as in Yorkshire the Doncaster race is called the Sillinger, or Sellenger, to this day.

Page 70. _When ~James~ in ~Scotland~ first began._

Not yet found elsewhere, in MS. or print. The sixth verse refers to King James the First making so many Knights, on insufficient ground, that he incurred ridicule. Allusions are not infrequent in dramas and ballads. Here is the most noteworthy of the latter. It is in Additional MS. No. 5,832, fol. 205, British Museum.

Verses upon the order for making Knights of such persons who had £46 _per annum_ in King _James_ I.’s time.

_Come all you farmers out of the country,_ _Carters, plowmen, hedgers and all,_ _~Tom~, ~Dick~ and ~Will~, ~Ralph~, ~Roger~ and ~Humfrey~,_ _Leave off your gestures rusticall._ _Bidd all your home-sponne russetts adue,_ _And sute your selves in fashions new;_ _Honour invites you to delights:_ _Come all to Court and be made Knights_.

2.

_He that hath fortie pounds ~per annum~_ _Shalbe promoted from the plowe:_ _His wife shall take the wall of her grannum,_ _Honour is sould soe dog-cheap now._ _Though thow hast neither good birth nor breeding,_ _If thou hast money, thow art sure of speeding._

3.

_Knighthood in old time was counted an honour,_ _Which the best spiritts did not disdayne;_ _But now it is us’d in so base a manner,_ _That it’s noe creditt, but rather a staine:_ _Tush, it’s noe matter what people doe say,_ _The name of a Knight a whole village will sway._

4.

_Shepheards, leave singing your pastorall sonnetts,_ _And to learne complements shew your endeavours:_ _Cast of[f] for ever your two shillinge bonnetts,_ _Cover your coxcombs with three pound beavers._ _Sell carte and tarrboxe new coaches to buy,_ _Then, “Good your Worship,” the vulgar will cry._

5.

_And thus unto worshipp being advanced,_ _Keepe all your tenants in awe with your frownes;_ _And let your rents be yearly inhaunced,_ _To buy your new-moulded maddams new gowns._ _~Joan~, ~Sisse~, and ~Nell~ shalbe all ladified,_ _Instead of hay-carts, in coaches shall ryde._

6.

_Whatever you doe, have a care of expenses,_ _In hospitality doe not exceed:_ _Greatnes of followers belongeth to princes:_ _A Coachman and footmen are all that you need:_ _And still observe this, let your servants meate lacke,_ _To keep brave apparel upon your wives backe._

[Additional stanza from Mr. Hunter’s MS.]

7.

_Now to conclude, and shutt up my sonnett,_ _Leave of the Cart-whip, hedge-bill and flaile,_ _This is my counsell, think well upon it,_ _Knighthood and honour are now put to saile._ _Then make haste quickly, and lett out your farmes,_ _And take my advice in blazing your armes._ _Honor invites, &c._

(Shakespeare Soc., 1846, pp. 145-6, J. O. Halliwell’s Commentary on Merry Wives of Windsor, Act. ii. sc. 1, “These Knights will hack.” Also his notes in Tallis’s edit., of the same, n. d., pp. 122-3. William Chappell, in _Pop. Music O. T._, p. 327, gives the tune.)

Page 72. _The Chandler drew near his end._

Another tolerable Epigram on a Chandler meets us, beginning “How might his days end that made weeks [wicks]?” among the Epitaphs of _Wits Recreations_, 1640-5 (Reprint, p. 271).

Page 73. _Farre in the Forrest of Arden._

This is one of MICHAEL DRAYTON’S Pastorals, printed in 1593, in the Third Eclogue, and entitled _Dowsabell_. See _Percy’s Reliques_, vol. i. bk. 3, No. 8, 2nd edit. 1767, for remarks on variations, amounting to a remodelling, of this charming poem. We are glad to know that Mr. James Russell Smith is preparing a new edition of Michael Drayton’s voluminous works, to be included in the _Library of Old Authors_. Drayton suppressed his couplet poem of “Endimion and Phœbe:” _Ideas Latmvs_. It has no date, but was cited by Lodge in 1595, and has been reprinted by J. P. Collier; one of his handsome and carefully printed quartos, a welcome boon.

Page 78. _On the twelfth day of ~December~._

This ballad, a very early example of the _Down down derry_ burden, is not yet found elsewhere. It refers to the expedition against Scotland (then in alliance with Henry II. of France) made by the Protector, Edward, Duke of Somerset, in 1547, the first (not “fourth”) year of Edward VIth’s reign. The battle was fought on the “Black Saturday,” as it was long remembered, the tenth day of September (not of “December,” as the ballad mis-states it to have been). Terrible and remorseless was the slaughter of the ill-armed Scots, after they had imprudently abandoned their excellent hilly position, by the well-appointed English horsemen. The prisoners taken amounted to about fifteen hundred (“we found above twenty of their villains to one of their gentlemen,” says Patten), among whom was the Earl of Huntley, Lord Chancellor of Scotland, who on the previous day had sent a personal challenge to Somerset, asking to decide the contest by single combat: an offer which was not unreasonably declined, the Protector declaring that he desired no peace but such as he might win by his sword. “And thou, trumpet,” he told Huntley’s herald, “say to thy master, he seemeth to lack wit to make this challenge to me, being of such estate by the sufferance of God as to have so weighty a charge of so precious a jewel, the government of a King’s person, and then the protection of all his realms.” We learn that the Scots slain were tenfold the number of the prisoners taken. This battle of “Muskleburgh Field” (nearly the same locality as the battle of Prestonpans, wherein Prince Charles Edward in 1745 defeated Colonel Gardiner and his English troops), known also as of Fawside Brae, or of Pinkie, is described with unusual precision by an eye-witness: See _The Expedition into Scotland of the most worthily-fortunate Prince Edward Duke of Somerset_, uncle to our most noble Sovereign Lord the King’s Majesty Edward the VI., &c., made in the first year of his Majesty’s most prosperous reign, and set out by way of Diary, by W. Patten, Londoner. First published in 1548, this was reprinted in Dalyell’s _Fragments of Scottish History_, Edinburgh, 1798. This old ballad is not included by Dalyell, who probably knew not of its existence.

Page 80. _In ~Celia~[’s face] a question did arise._

By THOMAS CAREW, written before 1638. In Addit. MSS. No. 11,811, fol. 10; No. 22,118, fol. 43; also in _Wits Recreations_ (Repr., p. 19); Roxb. Libr. Carew, p. 6, &c.

Page 81. _Blacke Eyes, in your dark Orbs doe lye._

By JAMES HOWELL, Historiographer to Charles II., and author of the celebrated _Epistolæ Ho-Elianæ_, 1645, 1647, 1650, and 1655. He died in November, 1666; according to Anthony à Wood, (whose account of him in the _Athenæ Oxonienses_, iii. 744, edit. 1817, is given by Edward Arber in his excellent _English Reprints_, vol. viii, 1869, with a welcome promise of editing the said _Epistolæ_). This poem of “Black eyes,” &c., occurs among Howell’s poems collected by Sergeant-Major Peter Fisher, p. 68, 1663; again re-issued (the same sheets) as _Mr. Howell’s Poems upon divers Emergent Occasions_; Printed by James Cottrel, and dated 1664.” It is also found in C. F.’s “_Wit at a Venture; or, ~Clio’s~ Privy Garden_, containing Songs and Poems on Several Occasions, Never before in Print” (which statement is incorrect, as usual). Our text is the earliest we know in type. The only variations, in _Howell’s Poems_, are: 1st line, _doth_ lie; 4th verse, And by _those spells I am_ possest.

Page 83. _We read of Kings, and Gods, &c._

This is another of the charming poems by THOMAS CAREW, always a favourite with his own generation (few MS. or printed Collections being without many of them), and deserving of far more affectionate perusal in our own time than he generally meets. It is in Addit. MS. No. 11, 811, fol. 6b., entitled there “His Love Neglected.” Elsewhere, as “A Cruel Mistress.”

Page 84. _What ill luck had I, Silly Maid_, &c.

Although closely resembling the Catch “_What Fortune had I, poor Maid as I am_,” of 1661 _Antidote ag. Melancholy_, p, 74, and _Merry Drollery_ ii. 152 (equal to p. 341 of editions 1670 and 1691), this song is virtually distinct, and probably was the earlier version in date. One has been evidently borrowed or adapted from the other.

Page 85. _I never did hold all that glisters_, &c.

This vigorous expression of opinion from a robust nature, uncorrupted amid a conventionalized, treacherous, and selfishly-cruel community, is a valuable record of the true Cavalier “all of the olden time.” We have never met it elsewhere. He has no half-likings, no undefined suspicions, and admits of no paltering with the truth, or shirking of one’s duty. As we read we behold the honest man before us, and remember that it was such as he who made our England what she is:—

_Pride in their port, defiance in their eye,_ _I see the Lords of human kind pass by._

The contemplation of such brave spirits may help to nerve fresh readers to emulate their virtues, despite the sickly fancies or grovelling politics and social theories of degenerate days. The singer may be somewhat overbearing in announcement of his preferences:

——_Just this_ _Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,_ _Or there exceed the mark_,—

But, if he errs at all, it is on the safe side.

Page 88. _No Gypsie nor no Blackamore._

Composers and arrangers of such collections as this Drollery seem to have often chosen pieces simply for contrast. Thus, after the manly directness of “The Doctor’s Touchstone,” we find the vilely mercenary husband here exhibited, and followed by the truthful description (justifiable, although coarsely outspoken) of “The baseness of Whores.” Such were they of old: such are they ever.

Page 92. _Let not Sweet Saint_, &c.

Like the three preceding poems, not yet found elsewhere, but worthy of preservation.

Page 93. _How happy’s that Prisoner._

Written “by a Person of Quality:” whom we suspect to have been SIR FRANCIS WORTLEY, but without evidence to substantiate the guess. This is the earliest appearance in print, known to us, of this characteristic outburst of Cavalier vivacity, which re-appears as the Musician’s Song, in “_Cromwell’s Conspiracy_,” 1660, Act iii. sc. 2; and _Merry Drollery_, 1661, p. 101. (See also _M. D. C._, pp. 107, 373). As to the introduction of the several ancient philosophers (referred to in former Appendix, p. 373), compare the delightful _Chanson a Boire_,

_Je cherche en vin la vérité,_ _Si le vin n’aide à ma foiblesse,_ _Toute la docte antiquité_ _Dans le vin puisa la sagesse,_ _Oui c’est par le bon vin que le bon sens éclate,_ _J’en atteste_ Hypocrate, Qui dit qu’il fait a chaque mois Du moins s’enivrer une fois, _&c._

(The other twelve verses are given complete in “_Brallaghan; or, the Deipnosophists_,” 1845, pp. 198-203, with a clever verse-translation, by the foremost of linguistic scholars now alive—the friend of Talfourd and of Dr. W. Maginn—at whom many nowadays presume to scoff, and whom Benchers defame and banish themselves from.)

Page 97. _Fire! Fire! O how I burn, &c._

Also in _Windsor Drollery_, 1672, p. 126, as “Fire! Fire! _lo here_ I burn in my desire,” &c. And in Henry Bold’s _Latine Songs_, 1685, p. 139, where it is inserted, to be alongside of this parody on it by him, song xlvii., or a

MOCK.

1.

_Fire, Fire,_ _Is there no help for thy desire?_ _Are tears all spent? Is ~Humber~ low?_ _Doth ~Trent~ stand still? Doth ~Thames~ not flow?_ _Though all these can’t thy Feaver cure,_ _Yet ~Tyburn~ is a Cooler lure,_ _And since thou can’st not quench thy Fire,_ _Go hang thy self, and thy desire!_

2.

_Fire, fire,_ _Here’s one [still] left for thy desire,_ _Since that the Rainbow in the skye,_ _Is bent a deluge to deny,_ _As loth for thee a God should Lye._ _Let gentle Rope come dangling down,_ _One born to hang shall never drown,_ _And since thou can’st not quench the Fire,_ _Go hang thy self, and thy desire!_

(_Latine Songs_, 1685, p. 140.)

Page 98. _’Tis not how witty, nor how free._

A year earlier, this had appeared in _Wit’s Interpreter_, 1655, p. 4 (1671, p. 108), entitled “What is most to be liked in a Mistress.” Robt. Jamieson quotes it, from _Choyce Drollery_, in his _Pop. Bds._, 1806, ii. 309. We believe it to be by the same author as the poem next following, and regret that they remain anonymous. Both are of a stately beauty, and recall to us those Cavalier Ladies with whose portraits Vandyck adorned many family mansions.

Page 99. _She’s not the fairest of her name._

One clue, that may hereafter guide us to the authorship, we know the lady’s name. It was FREEMAN. This poem also had appeared a year earlier, at least, in _Wit’s Interpreter_, 1655, p. 55 (; 1671 ed., p. 161). Also in _Wit and Drollery_, 1661, p. 162; in _Oxford Drollery_,