VI. KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY. THE common popular ballad of King John and the Abbot seems to have been abridged and modernized about the time of James I. from one much older, entitled 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, which are chiefly printed from an ancient black-letter copy to the tune of "Derrydown." Both the King and the Abbot and the King and the Bishop are in the catalogue of ballads printed by Thackeray in the reign of Charles II. 'The story upon which these ballads are founded can be traced back to the fifteenth century," so says Mr. Chappell. It was known in the lower Saxon dialect in 1483, and in Spanish literature in 1576. The German poet Bürger in 1784 gave an excellent version of it.

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.

And Ile tell you a story, a story so merrye,
Concerning the Abbot of Canterbùrye;
How for his house-keeping, and high

renowne,

They rode poste for him to fair London

towne.

An hundred men, the king did heare say,
The abbot kept in his house every day;
And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt,
In velvet coates waited the abbot about.

How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee,
Thou keepest a farre better house than

mee,

And for thy house-keeping and high renowne,

I feare thou work'st treason against my

crowne.

My liege, quo' the abbot, I would it were knowne,

I never spend nothing, but what is my owne;

""

And I trust your grace will doe me no

deere,

For spending of my owne true-gotten geere.

Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is highe, And now for the same thou needest must dye;

For except thou canst answer me questions three,

Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie.

And first, quo' the king, when I'm in this stead,

With my crowne of golde so faire on my head,

Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe, Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe.

Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt,
How soone I may ride the whole world

about.

And at the third question thou must not shrink,

But tell me here truly what I do think.

O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt,

Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet: But if you will give me but three weekes space,

Ile do my endeavour to answer your grace.

R

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,

"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!

"Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede, But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it For alacke I can neither write ne reade." 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.

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.

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 unfortunate lady, seems to have had an uncommon attachment to her merit and fortunes, for he gave away a jewel worth a thousand pounds, that was presented to him by the emperor, "because it came from an enemy to his royal mistress the Queen of Bohemia." See Biog. Britain. This song is printed from the Reliquia Wottonianæ, 1651, with some corrections from an old MS. copy.

You meaner beauties of the night,

That poorly satisfe 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?

* Meaning probably St. Botolph.

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 choyce a queen ;
Tell me, if she was not design'd
Th' eclypse and glory of her kind?

VIII. 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 black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, compared with another printed among some miscellaneous "poems and songs" in a book entitled, Le Prince d'Amour, 1660, 8vo.

AN old cong 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;

Like an old courtier, etc.

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;

Like an old courtier, etc.

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;

Like an old courtier, etc.

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;

Like an old courtier, etc.

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;

Like an old courtier, etc.

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 courticr.

Like a flourishing young gallant, newly With a new buttery hatch, that opens

With a new-fashion'd hall, built where the Who when her lady has din'd, lets the