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, pleasant walks he did view, 35 With commanders and squires in scarlet and blew.

A fine dinner was dreft, both for him and his guests,
He was plac'd at the table above all the rest,
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 mufick play'd sweet,
With the choiceft of finging his joys to compleat.

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While the tinker did dine, he had plenty of wine,
Rich canary with fherry and tent fuperfine.
Like a right honeft foul, faith, he took off his bowl, 45
Till at last he began for to tumble and roul
From his chair to the floor, where he fleeping did fnore,
Being seven times drunker then ever before.

Then the duke did ordain, they should strip him amain, And restore him his old leather garments again : 50 'Twas a point next the worst, yet perform it they muft, And they carry'd him ftrait, where they found him at first; Then he slept all the night, as indeed well he might; But when he did waken, his joys took their flight.

VOL. I.

R

For

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For his glory to him' fo pleafant did feem,
That he thought it to be but a meer golden dream;
Till at length he was brought to the duke, where he fought
For a pardon, as fearing he had fet him at nought;
But his highness he faid, Thou'rt a jolly bold blade,
Such a frolick before I think never was plaid.

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Then his highnefs bespoke him a new fuit and cloak, Which he gave for the fake of this frolickfome joak; Nay, and five hundred pound, with ten acres of ground, Thou shalt nevër, faid he, range the counteries round, Crying old brafs to mend, for I'll be thy good friend, 65 Nay, and Joan thy fweet wife fhall my duchefs attend.

Then the tinker reply'd, What! muft Joan my fweet bride Be a lady in chariots of pleasure to ride?

Muft we have gold and land ev'ry day at command? Then I fhall be a fquire I well understand:

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Well I thank your good grace, and your love I embrace, I was never before in fo happy a cafe.

XVII. THE

XVII.

THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY.

Difperfed thro' Shakespeare's plays are innumerable little fragments of ancient ballads, the entire copies of which could not be recovered. Many of these being of the most beautiful and pathetic fimplicity, the Editor was tempted to felect fome of them, and with a few fupplemental ftanzas to connect them together, and form them into a little TALE, which is here fubmitted to the Reader's candour.

One fmall fragment was taken from Beaumont and Fletcher.

T was a friar of orders gray

IT

Walkt forth to tell his beades;

And he met with a lady faire-
Clad in a pilgrime's weedes.

Now Chrift thee fave, thou reverend friar,

I

pray thee tell to me,

If ever at yon holy shrine

My true love thou didst fee.

R 2

And

And how should I know your true love

From many another one?

O by his cockle hat, and staff,

And by his fandal shoone ‡.

But chiefly by his face and mien,

That were fo fair to view;

His flaxen locks that fweetly curl'd,
And eyne of lovely blue.

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O lady, he is dead and gone!
Lady, he's dead and gone!

And at his head a green grass turfe,
And at his heels a ftone.

Within these holy cloyfters long

He languifht, and he dyed,
Lamenting of a ladyes love,

ΤΟ

And 'playning of her pride.

Here bore him barefac'd on his bier

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Six proper youths and tall,

And many a tear bedew'd his grave
Within yon kirk-yard wall.

And

Thefe are the diftinguishing marks of a Pilgrim. The chief places of devotion being beyond fea, the pilgrims were wont to put cockle-fells in their hats to denote the intention or performance of their devotion. Warb. Shakefp. Vol. 8. p. 224.

Weep no more, lady, weep no more,

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Thy forrowe is in vaine :

For violets pluckt the sweetest showers

Will ne'er make grow againe.

Our joys as winged dreams doe flye,
Why then should forrow laft?
Since grief but aggravates thy loffe,
Grieve not for what is paft.

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