Will, when speaking well can't win her, Saying nothing doe 't? Prethee why so mute? Quit, quit for shame; this will not move, This cannot take her; If of herself she will not love, 10 15 XVII. OLD TOM OF BEDLAM. MAD SONG THE FIRST. It is worth attention, that the English have more songs and ballads on the subject of madness, than any of their neighbours. Whether there be any truth in the insinuation, that we are more liable to this calamity than other nations, or that our native gloominess hath peculiarly recommended subjects of this cast to our writers; we certainly do not find the same in the printed collections of French, Italian Songs, &c. Out of a much larger quantity, we have selected half a dozen mad songs for these volumes. The three first are originals in their respective kinds; the merit of the three last is chiefly that of imitation. They were written at considerable intervals of time; but we have here grouped them together, that the reader may the better examine their comparative merits. He may consider them as so many trials of skill in a very peculiar subject, as the contest of so many rivals to shoot in the bow of Ulysses. The two first were probably written about the beginning of the last [17th] century; the third about the middle of it; the fourth and sixth towards the end; and the fifth within this present century.[18th]. This is given from the Editor's folio MS. compared with two or three old printed copies. With regard to the author of this old rhapsody, in Walton's Compleat Angler, cap. 3, is a song in praise of angling, which the author says was made at his request by Mr William Basse, one that has made the choice songs of the Hunter in his career, and of Tom of Bedlam, and many others of note,' p. 84. See Sir John Hawkins's curious Edition, 8vo. of that excellent old book. 1 Some explain this fact on the ground, that after the dissolution of the religious houses, the poor were reduced to beggary, and to wander through the country in those disguises thought best fitted to excite pity and to escape detection. Of these, the disguise of madness was found the most effectual.-ED. 5 10 15 C FORTH from my sad and darksome cell, Mad Tom is come into the world againe Feares and cares oppresse my soule; Through the world I wander night and To seeke my straggling senses, In an angrye moode I mett old Time, Come, Vulcan, with tools and with tackles, Last night I heard the dog-star bark; Mars met Venus in the darke; Limping Vulcan het an iron barr, And furiouslye made at the god of war: Mars with his weapon laid about, But Vulcan's temples had the gout, 30 For his broad horns did so hang in his light, 35 He could not see to aim his blows aright: Mercurye the nimble post of heaven, To mee he dranke, Poore naked Tom is very drye: Harke, I hear Acteon's horne! The huntsmen whoop and hallowe: Ringwood, Royster, Bowman, Jowler, All the chase do followe. The man in the moone drinkes clarret, Will fire the bushe at his backe. XVIII. THE DISTRACTED PURITAN, MAD SONG THE SECOND, -was written about the beginning of the seventeenth century by the witty bishop Corbet, and is printed from the 3d edition of his Poems, 12mo. 1672, compared with a more ancient copy in the Editor's folio MS.' Aм I mad, O noble Festus, Have put me in hope To deal with the pope, As well as the best in the college? Boldly I preach, hate a cross, hate a surplice, Come hear me pray nine times a day, And fill your heads with crochets. In the house of pure Emanuel2 Where my friends surmise I dazel'd my eyes 5 10 They bound me like a bedlam, 15 They lash'd my four poor quarters; Whilst this I endure, Faith makes me sure To be one of Foxe's martyrs. Boldly I preach, &c. 1 Corbet was successively Dean of Christ Church and Bishop of Oxford and Norwich. He died in 1635.-ED.-2 Emanuel college Cambridge was originally a seminary of Puritans. 20 These injuries I suffer Through antichrist's perswasion: Take off this chain, Neither Rome nor Spain Can resist my strong invasion. Boldly I preach, &c. Of the beast's ten horns (God bless us!) If they let me alone I'll leave him none: But they say I am too heady. When I sack'd the seven-hill'd city, I met the great red dragon; I kept him aloof With the armour of proof, Though here I have never a rag on. With a fiery sword and target, There fought I with this monster: But the sons of pride My zeal deride, And all my deeds misconster. Boldly I preach, &c. I un-hors'd the Whore of Babel, With the lance of Inspiration; I made her stink, In her cup of abomination. Boldly I preach, &c. 25 30 85 40 |