But, for you have not furniture
Beseeming such a guest,

I bring his owne, and come myselfe
To see his lodging drest.'

With that two sumpters were discharg'd,
In which were hangings brave,
Silke coverings, curtens, carpets, plate,
And al such turn should have.

When all was handsomly dispos'd,
She prayes them to have care
That nothing hap in their default,
That might his health impair:

And, Damsell,' quoth shee, 'for it seemes

This houshold is but three,

And for thy parents age, that this
Shall chiefely rest on thee;

Do me that good, else would to God

He hither come no more.'

So tooke she horse, and ere she went
Bestowed gould good store.

Full little thought the countie that
His countesse had done so;

Who now, return'd from far affaires,

Did to his sweet-heart go.

No sooner sat he foote within

The late deformed cote,

But that the formall change of things

His wondring eies did note.

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But when he knew those goods to be
His proper goods; though late,
Scarce taking leave, he home returnes
The matter to debate.

The countesse was a-bed, and he
With her his lodging tooke;

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'Sir, welcome home' (quoth shee); 'this night 165

For you I did not looke.'

Then did he question her of such

His stuffe bestowed soe.

'Forsooth,' quoth she, 'because I did

Your love and lodging knowe:

Your love to be a proper wench,
Your lodging nothing lesse;

I held it for your health, the house
More decently to dresse.

Well wot I, notwithstanding her,

Your lordship loveth me;

And greater hope to hold you

such

By quiet, then brawles, [you] see.

Then for my duty, your delight,

And to retaine your favour,

All done I did, and patiently
Expect your wonted 'haviour.'

Her patience, witte and answer wrought

His gentle teares to fall:

When (kissing her a score of times)

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VII.

DOWSABELL.

The following stanzas were written by Michael Drayton, a poet of some eminence in the reigns of Q. Elizabeth, James I. and Charles I. They are inserted in one of his Pastorals, the first edition of which bears this whimsical title. Idea. The Shepheards Garland fashioned in nine Eglogs. Rowlands sacrifice to the nine muses. Lond. 1593.' 4to. They are inscribed with the Author's name at length 'To the noble and valerous gentleman master Robert Dudley, &c.' It is very remarkable that when Drayton reprinted them in the first folio Edit. of his works, 1619, he had given those Eclogues so thorough a revisal, that there is hardly a line to be found the same as in the old edition. This poem had received the fewest corrections, and therefore is chiefly given from the ancient copy, where it is thus introduced by one of his Shepherds:

The Author has professedly imitated the style and metre of some of the old metrical Romances, particularly that of Sir Isenbras,2 (alluded to in v. 3.) as the Reader may judge from the following specimen:

Ye shall well heare of a knight,

That was in warre full wyght,

And doughtye of his dede:
His name was Syr Isenbras,
Man nobler then he was

Lyved none with breade.

He was lyvely, large, and longe,

With shoulders broade, and armès strange,

That myghtie was to se:

He was a hardye man, and hye,

All men hym loved that hym se,

For a gentyll knight was he:

Harpers loved him in hall,

With other minstrells all,

For he gave them golde and fee, &c.

This ancient Legend was printed in black-letter, 4to, by pllpam Copland; no date. In the Cotton Library (Calig. A. 2.) is a MS. copy of the same Romance containing the greatest variations. They are probably two different translations of some French Original.

FARRE in the countrey of Arden,

There won'd a knight, hight Cassèmen,

1 He was born in 1563, and died in 1631. Biog. Brit. As also Chaucer's Rhyme of Sir Topas, v. 6.

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As bolde as Isenbras:
Fell was he, and eger bent,
In battell and in tournament,
As was the good Sir Topas.

He had, as antique stories tell,
A daughter cleaped Dowsabel,
A mayden fayre and free:

And for she was her fathers heire,
Full well she was y-cond the leyre

Of mickle curtesie.

The silke well couth she twist and twine,
And make the fine march-pine,

And with the needle werke:

And she couth helpe the priest to say

His mattins on a holy-day,

And sing a psalme in kirke.

She ware a frock of frolicke greene,
Might well beseeme a mayden queene,

Which seemly was to see;

A hood to that so neat and fine,
In colour like the colombine,
Y-wrought full featously.

Her features all as fresh above,
As is the grasse that growes by Dove;
And lyth as lasse of Kent.

Her skin as soft as Lemster wooll,
As white as snow on Peakish Hull,
Or swanne that swims in Trent.

This mayden in a morne betime
Went forth, when May was in her prime,

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To get sweete cetywall,
The honey-suckle, the harlocke,
The lilly and the lady-smocke,

To deck her summer hall.

Thus, as she wandred here and there,
Y-picking of the bloomed breere,

She chanced to espie

A shepheard sitting on a bancke,
Like chanteclere he crowèd crancke,
And pip'd full merrilie.

He lear'd his sheepe as he him list,
When he would whistle in his fist,

To feede about him round;
Whilst he full many a carroll sung,
Untill the fields and meadowes rung,
And all the woods did sound.

In favour this same shepheards swayne
Was like the bedlam Tamburlayne,1

Which helde prowd kings in awe:
But meeke he was as lamb mought be;
An innocent of ill as he2

Whom his lewd brother slaw.

The shepheard ware a sheepe-gray cloke,
Which was of the finest loke,

That could be cut with sheere:

His mittens were of bauzens skinne,

His cockers were of cordiwin,

His hood of meniveere.

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1 Alluding to Tamburlaine the great, or the Scythian Shepheard,' 1590, Svo, an old ranting play ascribed to Marlowe. Sc. Abel.