The lady gate to her close parlèr,
The fire fell aboute her head,
She toke up her children thre,
Seth, babes, we are all dead.

Then bespake the hye steward,
That is of hye degree,

Saith, Ladie gay, you are no bote'

Wethere ye fighte or flee.

Lord Hamleton dremd in his dreame,

In Carvall where he laye,

His halle was' all of fyre,

His ladie slayne or daye.

"Busk and bowne, my mery men all,

Even and go ye with me,

For I'dremd' that my hall was [all] on fyre,

My lady slayne or day.”

He buskt him and bownd hym,

All' like a worthi knighte,
And when he saw his hall burning,
His harte was no dele lighte.

He sett a trumpett till his mouth,
He blew as it plesd his grace,
Twenty score of Hamletons

Was light aboute the place.

[V. 102. and.]

90

100

"Had I knowne asmuch yesternighte

As I do to-daye,

Captaine Care and all his men

Should not have gone so quite [awaye].

Fye upon the, captaine Care,

And all thy blody bande,'
Thou hast slayne my lady gaye;
More worth than' all thy lande."

Yf thou had ought eny ill will, he saith,

Thou shoulde have taken

my lyffe,

And have saved my children thre,

All and my lovesome wyffe.

110

120

VI.

A MERY BALLET OF THE HATHORNE TRE,

-"To be songe after Donkin Dargeson," from the same MS. This tune, whatever it was, appears to have been in use till after the Restoration. In a volume of old ballads in the possession of John Baynes, esq., is one "to the tune of Dargeson."

It was a maide of my countrè,

As she came by a hathorne-tre,

As full of flowers as might be seen,
'She' mervel'd to se the tre so grene.

[V. 116. then.]

[V. 4. Se.]

At last she asked of this tre,

Howe came this freshnes unto the,

And every

branche so faire and cleane?

I mervaile that you growe so grene.

The tre 'made' answere by and by,

I have good causse to growe triumphantly,

10

The swetest dew that ever be sene

Doth fall on me to kepe me grene.

Yea, quoth the maid, but where you growe,
You stande at hande for every blowe,

Of every man for to be seen,

I mervaile that you growe so grene.

66

Though many one take flowers from me, And manye a branche out of my tre,

I have suche store they wyll not be sene, .

For more and more my 'twegges' growe grene."

"But howe and they chaunce to cut the downe,
And carry thie braunches into the towne?

Then will they never no more be sene
To growe againe so freshe and grene."

"Thoughe that you do, yt ys no boote,
Although they cut me to the roote,
Next yere againe I will be sene

To bude my branches freshe and grene:

[V. 20. twedges.]

19

And you, faire maide, canne not do so,
For yf you let youre maid-hode goe,
Then will yt never no more be sene,

As I with my braunches can growe grene."

The maide, wyth that, beganne to blushe,
And turned her from the hathorne-bushe,
She though[t]e herselffe so faire and clene,
Her bewtie styll would ever growe grene.

Whan that she harde this marvelous dowbte,
She wandered styll then all aboute,
Suspecting still what she would wene,

30

Her maid-heade lost would never be seen.

40

Wyth many a sighe, she went her waye,
To se howe she made herselff so gay,
To walke, to se, and to be sene,
And so out-faced the hathorne-grene.

Besides all that, yt put her in feare,

To talke with companye anye where,

For feare to losse the thinge that shuld be sene
To growe as were the hathorne-grene.

But, after this, never could I 'hear,'

Of this faire mayden any where,

That ever she was in forest sene,
To talke againe of the hathorne-grene.

[V. 49. here.]

50

VII.

THE LAMENTATION OF GEORGE MANNINGTON,

Written an hour before he suffered at Cambridge-castle, 1576: to the tune of Labundula shott.

In Eastward hoe, by Jonson, Chapman, and Marston, Quicksilver the apprentice is introduced, as a prisoner in the Counter, reading some verses, which he calls his Repentance; he then says,

"Quick. I writ it when my spirits were oppress'd.

St. Petro. Ay, I'll be sworn for you, Francis.

Quick. It is in imitation of Mannington's; he that was hang'd at Cambridge, that cut off the horse's head at a blow.

Friend. So, sir.

Quick. To the tune of, I wail in woe, I plunge in pain.”

After repeating some of his poem, he proceeds in this manner: "Quick. The stanza now following alludes to the story of Mannington, from whence I took my project for my invention. Friend. Pray you go on, sir.

Quick. O Mannington, thy stories shew,

Thou cutt'st a horse head off at a blow;

But I confess I have not the force,

For to cut off the head of a horse,

Yet I desire this grace to win,

That I may cut off the horse head of sin :
And leave his body in the dust
Of sin's highway, and bogs of lust;
Whereby I may take virtue's purse,

And live with her for better, for worse."

In the books of the Stationers company is the following entry, 7 November, 1576, licensed unto him (i. e. Richard Jones), a “ballad, intituled, A woeful Ballad, made by mr. George Man66 nynton, an hour before he suffered at Cambridge-castell." See