gowne,

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Tufhe,fir John,quoth his wife, never here frett nor frowne;
You fhall n'er be att no charges for mee,
For I will turne and trim up my old ruffet
With everye thing else as fine as may bee;
And on our mill horfes fwift we will ride,
With pillowes and pannells as we fhall provide.

In this moft ftatelye fort, rode they unto the court,
Their jolly fonne Richard foremost of all;
Who fet up by good hap, a cocks feather in his cap,
And fo they jetted downe to the kings hall;

The merry old miller with hands on his fide;

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His wife, like maid Marian, did mince at that tide. бо

The king and his nobles that heard of their coming,
Meeting this gallant knight with his brave traine;
Welcome, fir knight, quoth he, with your gay lady :
Good fir John Cockle, once welcome againe :
And fo is the fquire of courage foe free.
Quoth Dicke, abots on you; doe you know mee?

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Quoth our king gentlye, how fhould I forget thee?
That waft my owne bed-fellow, well it I wot.
Yea, fir, quoth Richard, and by the fame token,
Thou with thy farting didit make the bed, hot.
Thou whore-fon unhappy knave, then quoth the knight,
Speake cleanly to our king, or elfe go fhite.

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The

The king and his courtiers laugh at this heartily,

While the king taketh them both by the hand; With ladyes and their maids, like to the queen of spades, The millers wife did foe orderly stand, A milk-maids courtesye at every word; And downe the folkes were fet to the board:

Where the king royally, in princelye majestye,
Sate at his dinner with joy and delight:
When they had eaten well, then hee to jefting fell,
Taking a bowle of wine, dranke to the knight:
Heres to you both, in wine, ale and beer;
Thanking you heartilye for my good cheer.

Quoth fir John Cockle, I'll pledge you a pottle,
Were it the best ale in Nottinghamshire:
But then faid our king, now I think of a thing;
Some of your lightfoote I would we had here.
Ho! ho! quoth Richard, full well I may say it,
"Tis knavery to eate it, and then to betray it.

Why art thou angry? quoth our king merrilye;
In faith, I take it very unkind:

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I thought thou wouldst pledge me in ale and wine heartily Quoth Dicke, you are like to ftay till I have din'd:

You feed us with twatling dishes foe fmall;

Zounds, a blacke-pudding is better than all.

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Aye,

Aye, marry, quoth our king, that were a daintye thing, Could a man get but one here for to eate.

With that Dicke ftraite arcfe, and pluckt one forth his hofe,
Which with heat of his breech gan to sweate.

The king made a proffer to fnatch it away :-
'Tis meat for your mafter: good fir, you must stay.

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Thus in great merriment, was the time wholly spent ;
And then the ladyes prepared to dance:
Old fir John Cockle, and Richard, incontinent
Unto their paces the king did advance :
Here with the ladyes fuch sport they did make,
The nobles with laughing did make their fides ake.

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Many thankes for their painės did the king give them,
Afking young Richard, if he would wed;
Among these ladyes free, tell me which liketh thee?
Quoth he, Jugg Grumball, with the red head:
She's my love, fhe's my life, her will I wed;
She hath fworn I fhall have her maidenhead.

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Then fir John Cockle the king call'd unto him,
And of merry Sherwood made him o'er-feer;
And gave him out of hand three hundred pound yearlye;
Now take heede you fteale no more of my
And once a quarter let's here have your view;
And now, fir John Cockle, I bid you adieu.

deer:

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XXI. DUL

XXİ.

DULCIN A.

Given from two ancient copies, one in black-print, in the Pepys collection; the other in the editor's folio MS. The fourth ftanza is not found in MS, aud feems redundant.

A

S at noone Dulcina refted

In her fweete and fhady bower,

Came a fhepherd, and requested

In her lappe to sleep an hour:

But from her looke a wounde he tooke

So deepe, that for a further boone
The nymphe he prayes: whereto she fayes,
Foregoe me now, come to me foone.

But in vayne fhee did conjure him

To departe her prefence foe,

Having a thousand tongues to allure him,

And but one to bid him goe:

Where lippes invite, and eyes delight,
And checkes, as fresh as rofe in june,

Perfuade delay, what boots to fay,

Foregoe me now, come to me foone.

He demands, what time for pleasure

Can there be more fit than now ?
She fayes, night gives love that leisure,
Which the day doth not allow.
He fayes, the fight improves delight:

• Which shee denies; nights mirkie noone In Venus' playes makes bold, fhe fayes; Foregoe me now, come to mee foone.

But what promise or profeffion

From his hands could purchase fscope? Who would fell the sweet poffeffion

Of fuche beautye for a hope?

Or for the fight of lingering night

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Foregoe the present joyes of noone ? Though ne'er foe faire her speeches were,

3@

Foregoe me now, come to me foone.

How, at laft, agreed thefe lovers ?

Shee was fayre and he was young:

The tongue may tell what th'eye discovers.;
Joyes unfeene are never fung.

Did fhee confent, or he relent;

Accepts hee night, or grants fhee noone ;

Left he her mayd, or not; she fayd
Foregoe me now, come to me foone.

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XXII. THE