XI.

THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE.

This little moral poem was writ by Sir Henry Wotton, who died Provost of Eaton, in 1639. Æt. 72. It is printed from a little collection of his pieces, intitled, Reliquiæ Wottonianæ, 1651, 12mo; compared with one or two other copies.1

How happy is he born or taught,

That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his highest skill:

Whose passions not his masters are;

Whose soul is still prepar'd for death;
Not ty'd unto the world with care
Of prince's ear, or vulgar breath:

Who hath his life from rumours freed;
Whose conscience is his strong retreat:
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruine make oppressors great:

Who envies none, whom chance doth raise,
Or vice: Who never understood

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How deepest wounds are given with praise;
Nor rules of state, but rules of good;

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Who God doth late and early pray
More of his grace than gifts to lend;

And entertaines the harmless day

With a well-chosen book or friend,

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1 Ben Jonson, when he visited Drummond, at Hawthornden, had these verses by heart.'-ED.

This man is freed from servile bands
Of hope to rise, or feare to fall;
Lord of himselfe, though not of lands;
And having nothing, yet hath all.

XII.

GILDEROY

-was a famous robber, who lived about the middle of the last century, (i.e. 17th) if we may credit the histories and story-books of highwaymen, which relate many improbable feats of him, as his robbing Cardinal Richlieu, Oliver Cromwell, &c. But these stories have probably no other authority, than the records of Grub-street: At least the Gilderoy, who is the hero of Scottish Songsters, seems to have lived in an earlier age; for, in Thompson's Orpheus Caledonius, Vol. II. 1733, 8vo. is a copy of this ballad, which, tho' corrupt and interpolated, contains some lines that appear to be of genuine antiquity in these he is represented as contemporary with Mary Q. of Scots : ex. gr.

:

'The Queen of Scots possessed nought,

That my love let me want:

For cow and ew to me he brought,

And ein whan they were scant.'

Those lines perhaps might safely have been inserted among the following stanzas, which are given from a written copy, that appears to have received some modern corrections. Indeed the common popular ballad contained some indecent luxuriances that required the pruning-hook.1

GILDEROY was a bonnie boy,

Had roses tull his shoone,
His stockings were of silken soy,
Wi' garters hanging doune:
It was, I weene, a comelie sight,

To see sae trim a boy;

He was my jo and hearts delight,
My handsome Gilderoy.

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1 Gilderoy and some of his gang were hanged at Gallowlee, between Leith and Edinburgh, July 1638. They had been notorious robbers in the Highlands of Perthshire. Campbell has a short poem on the subject.—ED.

Oh! sike twa charming een he had,

A breath as sweet as rose,
He never ware a Highland plaid,

But costly silken clothes;
He gain'd the luve of ladies gay,

Nane eir tull him was coy:

Ah! wae is mee! I mourn the day
For my dear Gilderoy.

My Gilderoy and I were born,
Baith in one toun together,
We scant were seven years beforn
We gan to luve each other;
Our dadies and our mammies thay
Were fill'd wi' mickle joy,
To think upon the bridal day,
Twixt me and Gilderoy.

For Gilderoy that luve of mine,
Gude faith, I freely bought
A wedding sark of holland fine,
Wi' silken flowers wrought:
And he gied me a wedding ring,
Which I receiv'd wi' joy,
Nae lad nor lassie eir could sing,
Like me and Gilderoy,

Wi' mickle joy we spent our prime,

Till we were baith sixteen,
And aft we past the langsome time,

Among the leaves sae green;

Aft on the banks we'd sit us thair,
And sweetly kiss and toy,

Wi' garlands gay wad deck my hair
My handsome Gilderoy.

Oh! that he still had been content,
Wi' me to lead his life;

But, ah! his manfu' heart was bent,

To stir in feates of strife:

And he in many a venturous deed,

His courage bauld wad try;

And now this gars mine heart to bleed,
For my dear Gilderoy.

And when of me his leave he tuik,

The tears they wat mine ee,

I

gave tull him a parting luik,

'My benison gang wi' thee;

God speed thee weil, mine ain dear heart,

For gane is all my joy;

My heart is rent sith we maun part,

My handsome Gilderoy.'

My Gilderoy baith far and near,

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Was fear'd in every toun,

Giff Gilderoy had done amisse,
He mought hae banisht been;
Ah! what sair cruelty is this,

To hang sike handsome men:
To hang the flower o' Scottish land,
Sae sweet and fair a boy;
Nae lady had sae white a hand,

As thee, my Gilderoy.

Of Gilderoy sae fraid they were,
They bound him mickle strong,

Tull Edenburrow they led him thair,
And on a gallows hung:

They hung him high aboon the rest,

He was sae trim a boy;

Thair dyed the youth whom I lued best,

My handsome Gilderoy.

Thus having yielded up his breath,

I bare his corpse away;

Wi' tears, that trickled for his death,

I washt his comelye clay;

And siker in a grave sae deep,

I laid the dear-lued boy,

And now for evir maun I weep,
My winsome Gilderoy.

**

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