Both plate and chalys came to thy fyst,

Thou lockydst them vp where no man wyst,

Tyll in the kynges treasoure suche thinges were myst.

Synge, &c.

Both crust and crumme came thorowe thy handes, 10
Thy merchaundyse sayled over the sandes,
Therfore nowe thou art layde fast in bandes.

Synge, &c.

Fyrste when kynge Henry, God saue his grace!
Perceyud myschefe kyndlyd in thy face,
Then it was tyme to purchase the[e] a place.

Synge, &c.

Hys grace was euer of gentyll nature,
Mouyd with petye, and made the[e] hys seruyture;
But thou, as a wretche, suche thinges dyd procure.

Thou dyd not remembre, false heretyke,

Synge, &c.

15

One God, one fayth, and one kynge catholyke, 20 For thou hast bene so long a scysmatyke.

Synge, &c.

Thou woldyst not learne to knowe these thre;

But euer was full of iniquite:

Wherfore all this lande hathe ben troubled with the[e].

All they, that were of the new trycke,

Synge, &c.

Agaynst the churche thou baddest them stycke ;
Wherfore nowe thou haste touchyd the quycke.

Synge, &c.

25

Bothe sacramentes and sacramentalles

Thou woldyst not suffre within thy walles;
Nor let vs praye for all chrysten soules.

Synge, &c.

Of what generacyon thou were no tonge can tell,
Whyther of Chayme, or Syschemell,

Or else sent vs frome the deuyll of hell.

Synge, &c.

Thou woldest neuer to vertue applye,
But couetyd euer to clymme to[o] hye,
And nowe haste thou trodden thy shoo awrye.

30

35

Synge, &c.

Who-so-euer dyd winne thou wolde not lose; Wherfore all Englande doth hate the[e], as I suppose, Bycause thou wast false to the redolent rose.

Synge, &c.

Thou myghtest have learned thy cloth to flocke 40

Upon thy gresy fullers stocke;

Wherfore lay downe thy heade vpon this blocke.

Synge, &c.

Yet saue that soule, that God hath bought,
And for thy carcas care thou nought,
Let it suffre payne, as it hath wrought.

God saue kyng Henry with all his power,
And prynce Edwarde that goodly flowre,

Synge, &c.

45

Ver. 32, i.e. Cain, or Ishmael. See below, the Note, Book II. No. III. stanza 3d.-Ver. 41, Cromwell's father is generally said to have been a Blacksmith at Putney: but the author of this Ballad would insinuate that either he himself or some of his ancestors were Fullers by trade.

With al hys lordes of great honoure.

Synge trolle on awaye, syng trolle on away.
Hevye and how rombelowe trolle on awaye.

The foregoing piece gave rise to a poetic controversy, which was carried on through a succession of seven or eight ballads written for and against Lord Cromwell. These are all preserved in the archives of the Antiquarian Society, in a large folio collection of Proclamations, &c. made in the Reigns of K. Hen. VIII. K. Edw. VI. Q. Mary, Q. Eliz. K. James I. &c.

XII.

HARPALUS.

AN ANCIENT ENGLISH PASTORAL.

This beautiful poem, which is perhaps the first attempt at pastoral writing in our language, is preserved among the 'Songs and Sonnettes of the Earl of Surrey,' &c. 4to. in that part of the collection, which consists of pieces by 'Uncertain Auctours.' These poems were first published in 1557, ten years after that accomplished nobleman fell a victim to the tyranny of Henry VIII: but it is presumed most of them were composed before the death of sir Thomas Wyatt in 1541. See Surrey's Poems.

Though written perhaps near half a century before the Shepherd's Calendar,'1 this will be found far superior to any of those Eclogues, in natural unaffected sentiments, in simplicity of style, in easy flow of versification, and all other beauties of pastoral poetry. Spenser ought to have profited more by so excellent a model.

PHYLIDA was a faire mayde,

As fresh as any flowre;

Whom Harpalus the herdman prayde

Harpalus, and eke Corin,

Were herdmen both yfere:

And Phylida could twist and spinne,

And thereto sing full clere.

'First published in 1579.

5

But Phylida was all tò coye,
For Harpalus to winne:
For Corin was her onely joye,
Who forst her not a pinne.

How often would she flowers twine,

How often garlandes make Of couslips and of colombine;

And al for Corin's sake!

But Corin, he had haukes to lure,
And forced more the field:

Of lovers lawe he toke no cure;
For once he was begilde.

Harpalus prevailed nought,

His labour all was lost;

For he was fardest from her thought,
And yet he loved her most.

Therefore waxt he both pale and leane,

And drye as clot of clay:

His fleshe it was consumed cleane;

His colour gone away.

His beard it had not long be shave;
His heare hong all unkempt:
A man most fit even for the grave.
Whom spitefull love had spent.

His eyes were red, and all [forewacht];
His face besprent with teares:
It semde unhap had him long [hatcht],
In mids of his dispaires.

Ver. 33, &c. The corrections are from Ed. 1574.

His clothes were blacke, and also bare

As one forlorne was he;

Upon his head alwayes he ware

A wreath of wyllow tree.

His beastes he kept upon the hyll,
And he sate in the dale;

And thus with sighes and sorrowes shril,
gan to tell his tale.

He

Oh Harpalus! (thus would he say)
Unhappiest under sunne!

The cause of thine unhappy day,
By love was first begunne.

For thou wentest first by sute to seeke
A tigre to make tame,

That settes not by thy love a leeke;
But makes thy griefe her game.

As easy it were for to convert
The frost into [a] flame;

As for to turne a frowarde hert,

Whom thou so faine wouldst frame.

Corin he liveth carèlesse:

He leapes among the leaves:

He eates the frutes of thy redresse:
Thou [reapst], he takes the sheaves.

My beastes, a whyle your foode refraine,
And harke your herdmans sounde:
Whom spitefull love, alas! hath slaine,
Through-girt with many a wounde.

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