Thomas Tickel, Esq. and Dr. Evans the epigrammatist.

As for our poet Grubb, all that we can learn further of him, is contained in a few extracts from the University Register, and from his epitaph. It appears from the former that he was matriculated in 1667, being the son of John Grubb, "de Acton Burnel in comitatu Salop. pauperis." He took his degree of Bachelor of Arts, June 28, 1671: and became Master of Arts, June 28, 1675. He was appointed Head Master of the Grammar School at Christ Church; and afterwards chosen into the same employment at Gloucester, where he died in 1697, as appears from his monument in the church of St. Mary de Crypt in Gloucester, which is inscribed with the following epitaph:

H. S. E.

JOHANNES GRUBB, A. M.

Natus apud Acton Burnel in agro Salopiensi Anno Dom. 1645.

Cujus variam in linguis notitiam, et felicem erudiendis pueris industriam, gratâ adhuc memorià testatur Oxonium. Ibi enim Ædi Christi initiatus, artes excoluit:

Pueros ad easdem mox excolendas
accuratè formavit:

Huc demum

unanimi omnium consensu accitus,
eandem suscepit provinciam,
quam feliciter adeo absolvit,
ut nihil optandum sit

nisi ut diutius nobis interfuisset?
Fuit enim

propter festivam ingenii suavitatem, simplicem morum candorem, et præcipuam erga cognatos benevolentiam omnibus desideratissimus,

Obiit 2do die Aprilis, Anno D'ni, 1697, Etatis suæ 51.

This ballad, which appeared in some of the public newspapers in or before the year 1724, came from the pen of David Mallet, Esq. who in the edition of his poems, 3 vols. 1759, informs us that the plan was suggested by the four verses quoted above in page 225, which he supposed to be the beginning of some ballad now lost.

"These lines, says he, naked of ornament and simple as they are, struck my fancy; and bringing fresh into my mind an unhappy adventure much talked of formerly, gave birth to the following poem, which was written many years ago."

The two introductory lines (and one or two others elsewhere) had originally more of the ballad simplicity, viz.

"When all was wrapt in dark midnight,
And all were fast asleep," &c.

The name of St. George's sword.

And not that promise keep?

65

Why did you swear mine eyes were bright, Yet leave those eyes to weep?

35

Pale William shook in ev'ry limb,

And raving left his bed.

He hyed him to the fatal place
Where Margaret's body lay:

And stretch'd him on the grass-green turf,
That wrapt her breathless clay :

And thrice he call'd on Margaret's name,
And thrice he wept full sore:

Then laid his cheek to her cold grave,
And word spake never more.

In a late publication, intitled "The Friends, &c." Lond. 1773, 2 vols. 12mo, (in the first volume) is inserted a copy of the foregoing ballad, with very great variations, which the Editor of that work contends was the original; and that Mallet adopted it for his own, and altered it, as here given.-But the superior beauty and simplicity of the present copy gives it so much more the air of an original, that it will rather be believed that some transcriber altered it from Mallet's, and adapted the lines to his own taste; than which nothing is more common in popular songs and ballads.

-was written by Thomas Tickell, Esq. the celebrated friend of Mr. Addison, and Editor of his works. He was the son of a Clergyman in the North of England; had his education at Queen's College, Oxon; was under-secretary to Mr. Addison and Mr. Craggs, when successively secretaries of state; and was lastly (in June 1724) appointed secretary to the Lords Justices in Ireland, which place he held till his death in 1740. He acquired Mr. Addison's patronage by a poem in praise of the opera of Rosamond, written while he was at the University.

It is a tradition in Ireland, that this song was written at Castletown, in the county of Kildare, at the request of the then Mrs. Conolly-probably on some event recent in that neighbourhood.

OF Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair,
Bright Lucy was the grace;

Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream

Her coral lip, and damask cheek, And eyes of glossy blue.

I see a hand you cannot see, Which beckons me away.

Reflect so fair a face.

Mr. Warton, in his ingenious Observations on Spenser, has given his opinion, that the fiction of the "Boy and the Mantle " is taken from an old French piece entitled "Le Court Mantel," quoted by M. de St. Palaye, in his curious "Memoires sur l'ancienne Chevalerie," Paris, 1759, 2 tom. 12mo; who tells us the story resembles that of Ariosto's inchanted cup. 'Tis possible our English poet may have taken the hint of this subject from that old French romance; but he does not appear to have copied it in the manner of execution: to which (if one may judge from the specimen given in the Memoires) that of the Ballad does not bear the least resemblance. After all, 'tis most likely that all the old stories concerning King Arthur are originally of British growth, and that what the French and other Southern nations have of this kind were at first exported from this island. See Memoires de l'Acad. des. Inscrip. tom. xx. p. 352.

In the "Fabliaux ou Contes," 1781, 5 tom. 12mo, of M. Le Grand (tom. I. p. 54), is printed a modern Version of the Old Tale Le Court Mantel, under a new title, Le Manteau maltaillé, which contains the story of this Ballad much enlarged, so far as regards the Mantle, but without any mention of the Knife or the Horn.

IN Carleile dwelt King Arthur,

A prince of passing might;

And there maintain'd his table round,
Beset with many a knight.

And there he kept his Christmas

With mirth and princely cheare, When, lo! a straunge and cunning boy Before him did appeare.

A kirtle and a mantle
This boy had him upon,
With brooches, rings, and owches,
Full daintily bedone.

He had a sarke of silk

About his middle meet; And thus, with seemely curtesy, He did King Arthur greet.

"God speed thee, brave King Arthur,
Thus feasting in thy bowre;
And Guenever thy goodly queen,
That fair and peerlesse flowre.

"Ye gallant lords, and lordings,

I wish you all take heed, Lest, what you deem a blooming rose Should prove a cankred weed."

Then straitway from his bosome
A little wand he drew;
And with it eke a mantle

Of wondrous shape and hew,