The earth ore-covered with a sheet of snow, Refuses food to fowl, to bird, and beast: The chilling cold lets every thing to grow, And surfeits cattle with a starving feast. 10 Curs'd be that love and mought' continue short, Which kills all creatures, and doth spoil our sport. VI. K. JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY. The common popular ballad of King John and the Abbot seem to have been abridged and modernized about the time of James I, from one much older, intitled, 'King John and the Bishop of Canterbury.' The Editor's folio MS. contains a copy of this last, but in too corrupt a state to be reprinted; it however afforded many lines worth reviving, which will be found inserted in the ensuing stanzas. The archness of the following questions and answers hath been much admired by our old ballad-makers; for besides the two copies above mentioned, there is extant another ballad on the same subject (but of no great antiquity or merit), intitled King Olfrey and the Abbot."2 Lastly, about the time of the civil wars, when the cry ran against the Bishops, some Puritan worked up the same story into a very doleful ditty, to a solemn tune, concerning King Henry and a Bishop,' with this stinging moral: · 'Unlearned men hard matters out can find, When learned bishops princes eyes do blind.'s The following is chiefly printed from an ancient black-letter copy, AN ancient story Ile tell you anon Of a notable prince, that was called king John; And he ruled England with maine and with might, For he did great wrong, and maintein'd little right. 1 i.e. may it.-2 See the collection of Hist. Ballads, 3 vols. 1727. Mr. Wise supposes Olfrey to be a corruption of Alfred, in his pamphlet concerning the White Horse in Berkshire, p. 15.-3 The story of this ballad is found in an old Saxon book, called the Adventures of Howleglass,' 1483, and also in a collection of Spanish novels, 1576.—En. And Ile tell you a story, a story so merrye, An hundred men, the king did heare say, 'How now,' father abbot, 'I heare it of thee, 'My liege,' quo' the abbot, 'I would it were knowne, 'Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is highe, 5 10 15 20 'And first,' quo' the king, 'when I'm in this stead, 25 'Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt, 30 'O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt, But if you will give me but three weekes space, 'Now three weeks space to thee will I give, Away rode the abbot all sad at that word, That could with his learning an answer devise. Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold, 'Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must give; The first is to tell him, there in that stead, The seconde, to tell him, without any doubt, 35 40 45 50 55 60 Now cheare up, sire abbot, did you never hear yet, Nay frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee, There is none shall knowe us at fair London towne.' 'Now horses, and serving-men thou shalt have, 65 70 'Now welcome, sire abbot,' the king he did say, And first when thou seest me here in this stead, For thirty pence our Saviour was sold For I thinke, thou art one penny worser than hee.' The king he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel,1 1 Meaning probably St. Botolph. 80 85 'You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same, Until the next morning he riseth againe; And then your grace need not make any doubt, 90 The king he laughed, and swore by St. Jone, 96 'Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry: The king he laughed, and swore 'by the masse, 105 'Four nobles a weeke, then, I will give thee, VII. YOU MEANER BEAUTIES. This little Sonnet was written by Sir Henry Wotton, Knight, on that amiable Princess, Elizabeth daughter of James I. and wife of the Elector Palatine, who was chosen King of Bohemia, Sept. 5, 1619. The consequences of this fatal election are well known. Sir Henry Wotton, who in that and the following year was employed in several embassies in Germany on behalf of this 1 See our life of Quarles.-ED. |