The duke faid to his men, William, Richard, and Ben,

Take him home to my palace, we'll fport with

him then.

O'er a horfe he was laid, and with care foon convey'd

To the palace, altho' he was poorly array'd: Then they ftript off his clothes, both his fhirt,fhoes, and hofe,

And they put him to bed for to take his repofe. Having pull'd off his fhirt, which was all over dirt, They did give him clean holland, which was no great hurt :

On a bed of foft down, like a lord of renown, They did lay him to fleep the drink out of hiscrown. In the morning when day, then admiring he lay, For to fee the rich chamber both gaudy and gay. Now he lay fomething late, in his rich bed of state, Till at last knights and 'fquires they on him did

wait;

And the chamberlain bare then did likewife declare,

He defired to know what apparel he'd wear: The poor tinker, amaz'd, on the gentleman gaz'd, And admired how he to his honour was rais'd. Tho' he feem'd fomething mute, yet he chofe a rich fuit,

Which he ftrait ways put on without longer difpute; With a ftar on cach fide, which the tinker oft eyed, And it feem'd for to fwell him no little with pride; For he faid to himself, Where is Joan my sweet wife? Sure the never did fee me fo fine in her life.

From a convenient place the right duke his good grace

Did obferve his behaviour in every cafe.
To a garden of ftate on the tinker they wait,
Trumpets founding before him; thought he, this

is great:

Where an hour or two pleafant walks he did view,
With commanders and fquires in fcarlet and blue.

A fine dinner was dreft, both for him and his guests,
He was plac'd at the table above all the reft,
In a rich chair or bed, lin'd with fine crimson red,
With a rich golden canopy over his head:
As he fat at his meat, the mufic play'd sweet,
With the choiceft of finging his joys to complete.

While the tinker did dine, he had plenty of wine,
Rich canary and therry, and tent fuperfine.
Like a right honeft foul, faith, he took off his
bowl,

Till at last he began for to tumble and roll
From his chair to the floor, where he fleeping did
fnore,

Being feven times drunker than ever before. Then the duke did ordain, they should strip him amain,

And rettore him his old leather garments again:

must,

And they carried him straight where they found him at first;

Then he flept all the night, as indeed well he might;
But when he did waken his joys took their flight.
For his glory to him fo pleasant did feem,
That he thought it to be but a mere golden dream:
Till at length he was brought to the duke, where
he fought

For a pardon, as fearing he 'd fet him at nought;
But his highnefs he faid, Thou 'rt a jolly bold blade
Such a frolic before I think never was play'd.
Then his highnefs bespoke him a new fuit and
cloak,

Which he gave for the fake of this frolicfome joke;

Nay, and five hundred pound, with ten acres of ground:

Thou shalt never, faid he, range the counteries round,

Crying old brafs to mend, for I'll be thy good

friend,

§ 109. Song. Death's Final Conqueft. Thefe fine moral ftanzas were originally intended for a folemn funeral fong in a play of James Shirley's, intitled" The Contention of Ajax "and Ulyiles." Shirley flourished as a dramatic writer early in the reign of Charles I. but he outlived the Restoration. His death happened Oct. 23, 1666, æt. 72. It is faid to have been a favourite fong with K. Charles II. THE glories of our birth and state

Are fhadows, not fubftantial things;
There is no armour against fate :
Death lays his icy hands on kings;
Sceptre and crown

Muft tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

Some men with fwords may reap the field,

And plant fresh laurels where they kill; But their strong nerves at laft muft yield, They tame but one another still.

Early or late

They ftoop to fate, When they, pale captives, creep to death. And must give up their murmuring breath,

The

To fix her 'twere a task as vain

To count the April drops of rain,
To fow in Afric's barren foil,
Or tempefts hold within a toil.

I know it, friend, the 's light as air,
Falle as the fowler's artful faare;
Inconftant as the paffing wind,
As winter's dreary froft unkind.
She's fuch a mifer too in love,
Its joys the 'll neither fhare nor prove;
Tho' hundred of gallants await
From her victorious eyes their fate.
Blushing at fuch inglorious reign,
I fometimes ftrive to break her chain;
My reafon fummon to my aid,
Refolve no more to be betray'd.
Ah, friend 'tis but a fhort-liv'd trance,
Difpell'd by one enchanting glance;
She need but look, and I confefs
Thofe looks completely curfe or bless.
So foft, fo clegant, fo fair,

Sure fomething more than human's there:
I must fubmit, for ftrife is vain;
'Twas deftiny that forg'd the chain.

111. Song. Gilderoy

--was a famous robber, who lived about the middle of the last century; if we may credit the hiftories and ftory-books of highwaymen, which relate many improbable feats of him, as his robbing Cardinal Richlieu, Oliver Cromwell, &c. But thefe ftories have probably no other authority than the records of Grub-street. GILDEROY was a bonnie boy,

Had roles tull his hoone,
His ftockings were of filken foy,
Wi' garters hanging doune:
It was, i weene, a comelic fight,
To fee f. trim a boy;

He was my joy and heart's delight,
My handfome Gilderoy.

Ch fike twe charming een he had,
A breath as fweet as ro'e;
He never ware a Highland plaid,
But coftly filken 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 feant were feven years beforn We gan to luve each other; Our dadies and our maminies 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 fark of Holland fine Wi' filken flowers wrought: And he gied me a wedding ring, Which I receiv'd wi' joy, Nae lad nor laffie eir could fing Like me and Gilderoy.

Wi' mickle joy we spent our prime,
Till we were baith fixteen,
And aft we paft the langfome time
Among the leaves fae green :
Aft on the banks we'd fit us thair,
And fweetly kiss and toy;
Wi' garlands gay wad deck my hair
My handfome Gilderoy.

Oh! that he ftill had been content

Wi' me to lead his life; But, ah! his manfu' heart was bent To ftir in feats of ftrife! And he in many a venturous deed Ilis courage bauld wad try; And now this gars mine heart to bleed For my dear Gilderoy.

And when of me his leave he tuik,

I

The tears they wet mine ce;

gave tull him a parting luik,

My benifon gang wi' thee! God speed thee weil, mine ain dear heart, For gane is all my joy; My heart is rent, fith we maun part, My handfome Gilderoy!" My Gilderoy, baith far and near, Was fear'd in ev'ry toun, And bauldly bare away the gear Of many a lawland loun; Nane eir durft meet him man to man, He was fae brave a boy;

At length wi' numbers he was tane,

My winfome Gilderoy.

Wac worth the loun that made the laws, To hang a man for gear,

To 'reave of life for ox or afs,

For fheep, or horfe, or mare:

Had not their laws been made fae ftrick.
I neir had loft my joy;

Wi' forrow neir had wat my cheek,
For my dear Gilderoy.
Giff Gilderoy had done amiffe,
He mought hae banisht been,
Ah, what fair cruelty is this,
To hang like handfome men?

To hang the flower o' Scottish land,
Sae fweet and fair a boy;

Nae lady had fae white a hand,
As thee, my Gilderoy.
Of Gilderoy fae fraid they were,
They bound him mickle ftrong,
Tull Edenburrow they led him thair,
And on a gallows hung:
They hung him high aboon the rest,
He was fae trim a boy :

Thair dyed the youth whom I lued beft,
My handfome Gilderoy.

Thus having yielded up his breath,
1 bare his corpfe away,

Wi' tears, that trickled for his death,
I washt his comelye clay;
And fiker in a grave fae deep

1 laid the dear-lued boy,

And now for evir maun I weep,

My winfome Gilderoy.

TH

Young Bryan thought the boat's crew flow,
And fo leap'd over-board.

Pereene, the pride of Indian dames,
His heart long held in thrall;

And whoto his impatience blames,
I wot ne'er lov'd at all.

A long long year, one month and day,
He dwelt on English land;

Nor once in thought or deed would stray,
Tho' ladies fought his hand.
For Bryan he was tall and ftrong,

Right blythefome roll'd his een ;
Sweet was his voice whene'er he fung:
He feant had twenty feen.

But who the countlefs charms can draw,
That grac'd his mifticfs true?
Such charms the old world feldom faw,
Nor oft I ween the new.

Her raven hair plays round her neck,
Like tendrils of the vine;
Her checks red dewy rofe-buds deck,
Her eyes like diamonds fhine.

Soon as his well-known fhip the fpied,
She cat her weeds away;
And to the palmy fhore the hied,

All in her beft array.

In fea-green filk fo neatly clad

She there impatient stood;
The crew with wonder faw the lad
Repel the foaming flood.
Her hands a handkerchief difplay'd,
Which he at parting gave;
Well pleas'd the token he furvey'd,
And manlier beat the wave.

Her fair companions one and all

Rejoicing crowd the strand;
For now her lover fwam in call,
And almoft touch'd the land.

Then thro' the white furf did fhe hafte,
To clafp her lovely fwain;

When, ah! a fhark bit through his waift:
His heart's blood died the main !

He fhriek'd his half fprang from the wave,
Streaming with purple gore;

And foon it found a living grave,
And, ah! was feen no more.
Now hafte, now hafte, ye maids, I pray,
Fetch water from the fpring:

She falls, the fwoons, the dies away,
And foon her knell they ring.

Now each May-morning round her tomb,
Ye fair, fresh flowrets ftrew;

So may your lovers fcape his doom,
Her hapless fate scape you!

§ 113. Song. Gentle River, gentle River. Tranf lated from the Spanish. PERCY.

Although the English are remarkable for the number and variety of their ancient ballads, and retain perhaps a greater fondness for thefe old fimple rhapfodics of their ancestors than moft other nations, they are not the only people who have diftinguished themfelves by compofitions of this kind. The Spaniards have great multitudes of them, many of which are of the higheft merit. They call them in their language Romances. Most of them relate to their conflicts with the Moors, and display a fpirit of gallantry peculiar to that romantic people. The two following are specimens.

GENTLE river, gentle river,

Lo, thy ftreams are ftain'd with gore;
Many a brave and noble captain
Floats along thy willow'd thore.
All befide thy limpid waters,

All befide thy fands fo bright,
Moorish Chiefs and Chriftian Warriors
Join'd in fierce and mortal fight.
Lords, and dukes, and noble princes,

On thy fatal banks were flain : Fatal banks, that gave to flaughter All the pride and flow'r of Spain. There the hero, brave Alonzo,

Full of wounds and glory died; There the fearlefs Urdiales

Fell a victim by his fide.

Lo! where yonder Don Saavedra
Thro' their fquadrons flow retires;
Proud Seville, his native city,

Proud Seville his worth admires.

Clofc

Yet think not thy faithful Zaida
Can furvive fo great a wrong;
Well my breaking heart affures me
That my woes will not be long.
Farewel then, my dear Alcanzor !
Farewel too my life with thee!
Take this fcarf, a parting token;

When thou wear'ft it, think on me.
Soon, lov'd youth, fome worthier maiden
Shall reward thy gen'rous truth;
Sometimes tell her how thy Zaida
Died for thee in prime of youth.
To him, all amaz'd, confounded,
Thus fhe did her woes impart :
Deep he figh'd; then cried, O Zaida,
Do not, do not break my heart!

Canft thou think I thus will lofe thee?
Canft thou hold my love fo fmall?
No! a thousand times I'll perish!
My curft rival too shall fall.

Canft thou, wilt thou, yield thus to them?
O break forth, and fly to me!

This fond heart fhall bleed to fave thee,
These fond arms shall shelter thee.
'Tis in vain, in vain, Alcanzor,

Spies furround me, bars fecure :
Scarce I fteal this laft dear moment,
While my damfel keeps the door.
Hark, I hear my father ftorming!
Hark, I hear my mother chide!
I must go; farewel for ever!
Gracious Alla be thy guide!

米

"To Drayton Baffet woldst thou goe,
Fro the place where thou doft ftand,
The next payer of gallowes thou comeft unto,
Turne in upon thy right hand."

That is an unreadye waye, fayd our king,
Thou doeft but jeft, I fee:

Now hewe me out the neareft waye,
And I pray thee wend with mee.

Awaye with a vengeance! quoth the tanner;
I hold thee out of thy witt:

All daye have I ridden on Brocke my mare,
And I am fasting yett.

"Go with me downe to Drayton Baffet
No daynties we will fpare;

All daye fhalt thou eate and drinke of the beft,
And I will paye thy fare."

Gramercye for nothing, the tanner replyde,
Thou payeft no fare of mine:

I trowe I've more nobles in my purse,
Than thou haft pence in thine.

God give thee joy of them, fayd the king,
And fend them well to priefe.
The tanner wolde faine have been away,

For he weende he had beene a thiefe. What art thou, hee fayde, thou fine fellowe? Of thee I am in greate feare;

For the cloathes thou weareft upon thy backe Might befeeme a lord to weare.

I never ftole them, quoth our king,

I tell you, fir, by the roode.

"Then thou playeft as many an unthrift doth, And ftandeft in midds of thy goode.'

What tydinges heare you, fayd the kynge, As you ryde far and neare?

Tamworth.

IN fummer time when leaves grow greene,

And bloffoms bedecke the tree,

King Edward wolde a hunting ryde,
Somme paftime for to fee.

With hawke and hounde he made him bowne;
With horne, and cke with bowe;
To Drayton Baffet he took his waye,
With all his lordes a rowe.

And he had ridden ore dale and downe
By eight of clocke in the day,
When he was ware of a bold tannèr,
Come ryding along the waye.
A fayre ruffet coat the tanner had on
Faft buttoned under his chin;
And under him a good cow-hide,
And a mare of four fhilling.

Nowe ftand you ftill, my good lordes all,
Under the greene wood spraye;
And I will wende to yonder fellowe,
To weet what he will faye.

God fpeede, God fpeede thee, faid our king.
Thou art welcome, fir, sayd hee.
"The readyeft waye to Drayton Baffet
I praye thee to thewe to mee."

But that cowe-hides are deare."

"Cowe-hides! cowe-hides! what things are

I marvell what they bee ?"

[thofe

What, art thou a foole? the tanner reply'd;

I carry one under mee.

What craftfiman art thou faid the king;
I pray thee tell me trowe.
"I am a barker, fir, by trade,

Now tell me what art thou?"

I am a poore courtier, fir, quoth he,
That am forth of fervice worne;
And faine I wolde thy prentife bee,
Thy cunninge for to learne.

Marrye, heaven forfend, the tanner replyde,
That thou my prentife were:

Thou woldft fpend more good than I fhold winn,
By fortye fhilling a yere.

Yet one thinge wolde I, fayd our king,

If thou wilt not feeme ftrange:
Thoughe my horfe he better than thy mare,
Yet with thee I faine wold change.

"Why if with me thou faine wilt change,

As change full well maye wee,

By the faith of my bodye, thou proude fellowe, I will have fome boot of thee."

That