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Now horses, and serving-men thou shalt have,
With sumptuous array most gallant and brave;
With crozier, and miter, and rochet, and cope,
Fit to appeare 'fore our fader the pope.

Now welcome, sire abbot, the king he did say,
Tis well thou'rt come back to keepe thy day;
For and if thou canst answer my questions three,
Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee.

And first, when thou seest me here in this stead,
With my crown of golde so fair on my head,
Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,
Tell me to one penny what I am worth.

"For thirty pence our Saviour was sold
Amonge the false Jewes, as I have bin told;
And twenty-nine is the worth of thee,

For I thinke thou art one penny worser than hee."

The king he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel,'
I did not think I had been worth so littel!
-Now secondly tell me, without any doubt,
How soone I may ride this whole world about.

"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,
But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about."

The king he laughed, and swore by St. Jone,
I did not think it could be gone so soone!
-Now from the third question thou must not shrinke,
But tell me here truly what I do thinke.

"Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry:
You thinke I'm the abbot of Canterbury;
But I'm his poor shepheard, as plain you may see,
That am come to beg pardon for him and for mee."

The king he laughed, and swore by the masse,
Ile make thee lord abbot this day in his place!
"Nowe naye, my liege, be not in such speede,
For alacke I can neither write ne reade.

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Four nobles a weeke then I will give thee,

For this merry jest thou hast showne unto mee;
And tell the old abbot, when thou comest home,
Thou hast brought him a pardon from good king John.

YOU MEANER BEAUTIES.

FROM the "Reliquiæ Wottoniana" (1651), with some corrections from
an old MS. copy. The song was written by Sir Henry Wotton, when
about fifty-two years old, upon Elizabeth daughter of James I., and
wife of the Elector Palatine, chosen king of Bohemia, September 5th,
1619. It was set to music, and printed in 1624.

You meaner beauties of the night,
That poorly satisfie our eies

More by your number than your light;
You common people of the skies,
What are you when the Moon shall rise?

Ye violets that first appeare,

By your pure purple mantles known,
Like the proud virgins of the yeare,
As if the Spring were all your own;
What are you when the Rose is blown?

Ye curious chaunters of the wood,

That warble forth dame Nature's layes,
Thinking your passions understood

By your weak accents: what's your praise,
When Philomell her voyce shall raise?

So when my Mistris shal be seene

In sweetnesse of her looks and minde;
By virtue first, then choycel a Queen;
Tell me, if she was not design'd

Th' eclypse and glory of her kind?

1 Two additional stanzas are printed, in a note, by Mr. Hannah :

You rubies, that do gems adorne,

And sapphires with your azure hue,
Like to the skies, or blushing morne,
How pales your brightness to our view,
When diamonds are mixt with you!

The rose, the violet, all the spring
Unto her breath for sweetness run;
The diamond's dark'ned in the ring:
If she appear, the Moon's undone,
As in the presence of the Sun.

THE OLD AND YOUNG COURTIER.

THIS excellent old song, the subject of which is a comparison between the manners of the old gentry, as still subsisting in the times of Elizabeth, and the modern refinements affected by their sons in the reigns of her successors, is given, with corrections, from an ancient blackletter copy in the Pepys collection, compared with another printed among some miscellaneous "* poems and songs " in a book entitled, "Le Prince d'Amour," 1660. Pepys writes in his Diary, June 16, 1668," Come to Newbery, and there dined-and musick: a song of the 'Old Courtier of Queen Elizabeth,' and how he was changed upon the coming in of the King, did please me mightily, and I did cause W. Hewer to write it out." The copy of the ballad, among the "Ashmolean MSS.," begins, "With an old song made by an old aged pate." In former times, "Chevy Chace" and the "Old Courtier" were ornaments of the mantel-piece. This Ballad seems to have been first printed in the reign of James I.

AN old song made by an aged old pate,

Of an old worshipful gentleman, who had a greate estate,
That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate,
And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate;
Like an old courtier of the queen's,

And the queen's old courtier.

With an old lady, whose anger one word asswages;
They every quarter paid their old servants their wages,
And never knew what belong'd to coachmen, footmen,
nor pages,

But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats and badges;

With an old study fill'd full of learned old books,
With an old reverend chaplain, you might know him by
his looks.

With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the hooks,
And an old kitchen, that maintain'd half a dozen old cooks;

With an old hall, hung about with pikes, guns, and bows, With old swords, and bucklers, that had borne many shrewde blows,

And an old frize coat, to cover his worship's trunk hose,
And a cup of old sherry, to comfort his copper nose;

With a good old fashion, when Christmasse was come.
To call in all his old neighbours with bagpipe and drum,
With good chear enough to furnish every old room,
And old liquor able to make a cat speak, and man dumb.

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With an old falconer, huntsman, and a kennel of hounds, That never hawked, nor hunted, but in his own grounds, Who, like a wise man, kept himself within his own bounds,

And when he dyed gave every child a thousand good pounds;

But to his eldest son his house and land he assign'd, Charging him in his will to keep the old bountifull mind, To be good to his old tenants, and to his neighbours be kind:

But in the ensuing ditty you shall hear how he was inclin'd; Like a young courtier of the king's,

And the king's young courtier.

Like a flourishing young gallant, newly come to his land, Who keeps a brace of painted madams at his command, And takes up a thousand pound upon his father's land, And gets drunk in a tavern, till he can neither go nor

stand.

With a new-fangled lady, that is dainty, nice, and spare, Who never knew what belong'd to good house-keeping,

or care,

Who buyes gaudy-color'd fans to play with wanton air, And seven or eight different dressings of other women's

hair.

With a new-fashion'd hall, built where the old one stood, Hung round with new pictures, that do the poor no good, With a fine marble chimney, wherein burns neither coal nor wood,

And a new smooth shovelboard, whereon no victuals ne'er stood.

With a new study, stuft full of pamphlets, and plays,
And a new chaplain, that swears faster than he prays,
With a new buttery hatch, that opens once in four or five

days,

And a new French cook, to devise fine kickshaws and toys.

With a new fashion, when Christmas is drawing on,
On a new journey to London straight we all must begone,
And leave none to keep house, but our new porter John,
Who relieves the poor with a thump on the back with a

stone.

With a new gentleman-usher, whose carriage is compleat, With a new coachman, footmen, and pages to carry up the meat,

With a waiting-gentlewoman, whose dressing is very neat,
Who when her lady has din'd, lets the servants not eat.

With new titles of honour bought with his father's old gold,
For which sundry of his ancestor's old manors are sold;
And this is the course most of our new gallants hold,
Which makes that good house-keeping is now grown so
cold,

Among the young courtiers of the king,
Or the king's young courtiers.

SIR JOHN SUCKLING'S CAMPAIGNE.

THIS lively Pasquil is thought to have been written by Suckling himself [b. 1608, d. 1641], as a banter upon his own disgrace. When the Scottish Covenanters advanced to the English borders, in 1639, Sir John raised a troop of horse which cost him 12,000l., and behaved with Some of his contemporaries, however, great cowardice in the field. attributed the verses to Sir John Mennis, a Poet of those times.

SIR John he got him an ambling nag,

To Scotland for to ride-a,

With a hundred horse more, all his own he swore,

To guard him on every side-a.

No Errant-knight ever went to fight

With halfe so gay a bravada,

Had you seen but his look, you'ld have sworn on a book,
Hee'ld have conquer'd a whole armada.

The ladies ran all to the windows to see
So gallant and warlike a sight-a,
And as he pass'd by, they said with a sigh,
Sir John, why will you go fight-a?

But he, like a cruel knight, spurr'd on ;
His heart would not relent-a,

For, till he came there, what had he to fear?
Or why should he repent-a?

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