He sayes, "It is written in his forehead, That for alle the golde that is under heaven, Kyng Estmere then pulled forth his harpe, And played thereon so sweete, Upstarte the ladye from the kyng, As he sate att the meate. "Now stay thy harpe, thou proud harpér, For an thou playest as thou beginnest, He struck upon his harpe agayne, "Now sell me thy harpe," said the Kyng of Spayn, "Thy harpe and stryngs eche one, And as many gold nobles thou shalt have, As there be stryngs thereon." "And what wolde ye doe with my harpe ?" he sayd, "If I did sell it yee?"— "To playe my wyfe and I a fitt, When we together be." "Nowe sell me, Sir Kyng, thy bryde soe gay, As she sits laced in pall, And as many gold nobles I will give, As there be ryngs in the hall." "And what wolde ye doe with my bryde soe gay, Iff I did sell her yee p" "More seemly it is for that fair ladye To wed with me than thee.” He played agayne both loud and shrille, "O ladye, this is thy owne true love, "O ladye, this is thy owne true love, The ladye lookt and the ladye blusht, While Adler he hath drawn his brande, Up then rose the kemperye men, And loud they gan to crye: Ah, traytors! yee have slayne our kyng, And therefore ye shall dye." Kyng Estmere threwe the harpe asyde, And swith he drew his brand; And Estmere he, and Adler yonge, And aye their swordes soe sore can byte, That soon they have slayne the kemperye men, King Estmere took that fayre ladye, And married her to his wyfe, And brought her home to merry England, With her to leade his lyfe. I must not, however, attempt to quote more of those fine old ballads here: the feuds of the Percy and the Douglas would take up too much space; so would the loves of King Arthur's court, and the adventures of Robin Hood. Even the story of the Heir of Lynne must remain untold; and I must content myself with two of the shortest and least hacknied poems in a book that for great and varied interest can hardly be surpassed. The "Lie," is said to have been written by Sir Walter Raleigh the night before his execution. That it was written at that exact time is pretty well disproved by the date of its publication in "Davison's Poems," before Sir Walter's death; it is even uncertain that Raleigh was the author; but that it is of that age is beyond all doubt; so is its extraordinary beauty -a beauty quite free from the conceits which deform too many of our finest old lyrics. Go, Soul, the body's guest, Upon a thankless errand; Fear not to touch the best, Go tell the Court it glows And shines like rotten wood; Go tell the Church it shows Men's good, and doth no good: If Church and Court reply, Then give them both the lie. Tell potentates they live Acting by others' actions, Not loved unless they give, If potentates reply, Tell men of high condition That rule affairs of state, Tell them that brave it most They beg for more by spending, Who in their greatest cost Seek nothing but commending: Tell zeal it lacks devotion; Tell age it daily wasteth; Tell wit how much it wrangles Herself in over-wiseness: Tell physic of her boldness; Tell skill it is pretension; Tell charity of coldness; Tell law it is contention: Tell fortune of her blindness; Tell justice of delay: And if they dare reply, Then give them all the lie. Tell arts they have no soundness, Tell schools they want profoundness, If arts and schools reply, Give arts and schools the lie. |