XVII.-OLD TOM OF BEDLAM.

MAD SONG THE FIRST.

It is worth attention, that the English have more songs and ballads on the subject of madness than any of their neighbours. Whether there be any truth in the insinuation, that we are more liable to this calamity than other nations, or that our native gloominess hath peculiarly recommended subjects of this cast to our writers, we certainly do not find the same in the printed collections of French, Italian songs, etc. This is given from the Editor's folio MS. compared with two or three old printed copies. With regard to the author of this old rhapsody, in Walton's Complete Angler, cap. 3, is a song in praise of angling, which the author says was made at his request "by Mr. William Basse, one that has made the choice songs of the Hunter in his Career and of Tom of Bedlam, and many others of note," p. 84. See Sir John Hawkins' curious edition, 8vo, of that excellent old book.

FORTH from my sad and darksome cell,
Or from the deepe abysse of hell,
Mad Tom is come into the world againe
To see if he can cure his distempered
braine.

Feares and cares oppresse my soule;
Harke, howe the angrye Fureys houle!
Pluto laughes, and Proserpine is gladd
To see poore naked Tom of Bedlam
madd.

Through the world I wander night and
day

To seeke my straggling senses,
In an angrye moode I mett old Time,
With his pentarchye of tenses:

When me he spyed,
Away he hyed,

For time will stay for no man :

In vaine with cryes

I rent the skyes,

For pity is not common.

Cold and comfortless I lye: Helpe, oh helpe! or else I dye ! Harke! I heare Apollo's teame,

The carman 'gins to whistle; Chast Diana bends her bowe,

The boare begins to bristle.

Come, Vulcan, with tools and with

tackles,

To knocke off my troublesome shackles;
Bid Charles make ready his waine
To fetch me my senses againe.

Last night I heard the dog-star bark;
Mars met Venus in the darke;
Limping Vulcan het an iron barr,
And furiouslye made at the god of war:

Mars with his weapon laid about,
But Vulcan's temples had the gout,
For his broad horns did so hang in his
light,

He could not see to aim his blowes aright:

Mercurye, the nimble post of heaven,
Stood still to see the quarrell;
Gorrel-bellyed Bacchus, gyant-like,
Bestryd a strong-beere barrell.

To mee he dranke,
I did him thanke,

But I could get no cyder;
He dranke whole butts
Till he burst his gutts,
But mine were ne'er the wyder.

Poore naked Tom is very drye:
A little drinke for charitye!

XVIII. THE DISTRACTED PURITAN,

MAD SONG THE SECOND,

WAS written about the beginning of the seventeenth century by the witty Bishop Corbet, and is printed from his Poems, 12mo, 1672, compared with a more ancient copy in the Editor's folio MS.

Is given from an old printed copy in the British Museum, compared with another in the Pepys Collection, both in black letter.

WAS originally sung in one of Tom D'Urfey's comedies of Don Quixote, acted in 1694 and 1696, and probably composed by himself.

WAS written by Henry Carey, a celebrated composer of music at the beginning of the eighteenth century, and author of several little theatrical entertainments, which the reader may find enumerated in the Companion to the Play-house, etc. The sprightliness of this songster's fancy could not preserve him from a very melancholy catastrophe, which was effected by his own hand.