The Book of Old English Ballads Part 2

"What sudden chance is this," quoth he, "That I to love must subject be, Which never thereto would agree, But still did it defie?"

Then from the window he did come, And laid him on his bed; A thousand heapes of care did runne Within his troubled head.

For now he meanes to crave her love, And now he seekes which way to proove How he his fancie might remoove, And not this beggar wed.

But Cupid had him so in snare, That this poor begger must prepare A salve to cure him of his care, Or els he would be dead.

And as he musing thus did lye, He thought for to devise How he might have her companye, That so did 'maze his eyes.

"In thee," quoth he, "doth rest my life; For surely thou shalt be my wife, Or else this hand with b.l.o.o.d.y knife, The G.o.ds shall sure suffice."

Then from his bed he soon arose, And to his pallace gate he goes; Full little then this begger knowes When she the king espies.

"The G.o.ds preserve your majesty,"

The beggers all gan cry; "Vouchsafe to give your charity, Our childrens food to buy."

The king to them his purse did cast, And they to part it made great haste; This silly woman was the last That after them did hye.

The king he cal'd her back againe, And unto her he gave his chaine; And said, "With us you shal remaine Till such time as we dye.

"For thou," quoth he, "shalt be my wife, And honoured for my queene; With thee I meane to lead my life, As shortly shall be seene: Our wedding shall appointed be, And every thing in its degree; Come on," quoth he, "and follow me, Thou shalt go shift thee cleane.

What is thy name, faire maid?" quoth he.

"Penelophon, O King," quoth she; With that she made a lowe courtsey; A trim one as I weene.

Thus hand in hand along they walke Unto the king's pallace: The king with courteous, comly talke This begger doth embrace.

The begger blusheth scarlet red, And straight againe as pale as lead, But not a word at all she said, She was in such amaze.

At last she spake with trembling voyce, And said, "O King, I doe rejoyce That you wil take me for your choyce, And my degree so base."

And when the wedding day was come, The king commanded strait The n.o.blemen, both all and some, Upon the queene to wait.

And she behaved herself that day As if she had never walkt the way; She had forgot her gowne of gray, Which she did weare of late.

The proverbe old is come to pa.s.se, The priest, when he begins his ma.s.se, Forgets that ever clerke he was He knowth not his estate.

Here you may read Cophetua, Through long time fancie-fed, Compelled by the blinded boy The begger for to wed: He that did lovers lookes disdaine, To do the same was glad and faine, Or else he would himselfe have slaine, In storie, as we read.

Disdaine no whit, O lady deere, But pitty now thy servant heere, Least that it hap to thee this yeare, As to that king it did.

And thus they led a quiet life During their princely raine, And in a tombe were buried both, As writers sheweth plaine.

The lords they tooke it grievously, The ladies tooke it heavily, The commons cryed pitiously, Their death to them was paine.

Their fame did sound so pa.s.singly, That it did pierce the starry sky, And throughout all the world did flye To every princes realme.

King Leir and his Three Daughters

King Leir once ruled in this land With princely power and peace, And had all things with hearts content, That might his joys increase.

Amongst those things that nature gave, Three daughters fair had he, So princely seeming beautiful, As fairer could not be.

So on a time it pleas'd the king A question thus to move, Which of his daughters to his grace Could shew the dearest love: "For to my age you bring content,"

Quoth he, "then let me hear, Which of you three in plighted troth The kindest will appear."

To whom the eldest thus began: "Dear father, mind," quoth she, "Before your face, to do you good, My blood shall render'd be.

And for your sake my bleeding heart Shall here be cut in twain, Ere that I see your reverend age The smallest grief sustain."

"And so will I," the second said; "Dear father, for your sake, The worst of all extremities I'll gently undertake: And serve your highness night and day With diligence and love; That sweet content and quietness Discomforts may remove."

"In doing so, you glad my soul,"

The aged king reply'd; "But what sayst thou, my youngest girl, How is thy love ally'd?"

"My love" (quoth young Cordelia then), "Which to your grace I owe, Shall be the duty of a child, And that is all I'll show."

"And wilt thou shew no more," quoth he, "Than doth thy duty bind?

I well perceive thy love is small, When as no more I find.

Henceforth I banish thee my court; Thou art no child of mine; Nor any part of this my realm By favour shall be thine.

"Thy elder sisters' loves are more Than well I can demand; To whom I equally bestow My kingdome and my land, My pompal state and all my goods, That lovingly I may With those thy sisters be maintain'd Until my dying day."

Thus flattering speeches won renown, By these two sisters here; The third had causeless banishment, Yet was her love more dear.

For poor Cordelia patiently Went wandring up and down, Unhelp'd, unpity'd, gentle maid, Through many an English town:

Untill at last in famous France She gentler fortunes found; Though poor and bare, yet she was deem'd The fairest on the ground: Where when the king her virtues heard, And this fair lady seen, With full consent of all his court He made his wife and queen.

Her father, old King Leir, this while With his two daughters staid; Forgetful of their promis'd loves, Full soon the same decay'd; And living in Queen Ragan's court, The eldest of the twain, She took from him his chiefest means, And most of all his train.

For whereas twenty men were wont To wait with bended knee, She gave allowance but to ten, And after scarce to three, Nay, one she thought too much for him; So took she all away, In hope that in her court, good king, He would no longer stay.

"Am I rewarded thus," quoth he, "In giving all I have Unto my children, and to beg For what I lately gave?

I'll go unto my Gonorell: My second child, I know, Will be more kind and pitiful, And will relieve my woe."

Full fast he hies then to her court; Where when she heard his moan, Return'd him answer, that she griev'd That all his means were gone, But no way could relieve his wants; Yet if that he would stay Within her kitchen, he should have What scullions gave away.

When he had heard, with bitter tears, He made his answer then; "In what I did, let me be made Example to all men.

I will return again," quoth he, "Unto my Ragan's court; She will not use me thus, I hope, But in a kinder sort."

Where when he came, she gave command To drive him thence away: When he was well within her court, (She said) he would not stay.

Then back again to Gonorel The woeful king did hie, That in her kitchen he might have What scullion boys set by.

But there of that he was deny'd Which she had promis'd late For once refusing, he should not, Come after to her gate.

Thus twixt his daughters for relief He wandred up and down, Being glad to feed on beggars' food That lately wore a crown.

And calling to remembrance then His youngest daughters words, That said, the duty of a child Was all that love affords-- But doubting to repair to her, Whom he had ban'sh'd so, Grew frantic mad; for in his mind He bore the wounds of woe.

Which made him rend his milk-white locks And tresses from his head, And all with blood bestain his cheeks, With age and honour spread.

To hills and woods and watry founts, He made his hourly moan, Till hills and woods and senseless things Did seem to sigh and groan.

Even thus possest with discontents, He pa.s.sed o'er to France, In hopes from fair Cordelia there To find some gentler chance.

Most virtuous dame! which, when she heard Of this her father's grief, As duty bound, she quickly sent Him comfort and relief.

And by a train of n.o.ble peers, In brave and gallant sort, She gave in charge he should be brought To Aganippus' court; Whose royal king, with n.o.ble mind, So freely gave consent To muster up his knights at arms, To fame and courage bent.

And so to England came with speed, To repossesse King Leir, And drive his daughters from their thrones By his Cordelia dear.

Where she, true-hearted, n.o.ble queen, Was in the battel stain; Yet he, good king, in his old days, Possest his crown again.

But when he heard Cordelia's death, Who died indeed for love Of her dear father, in whose cause She did this battle move, He swooning fell upon her breast, From whence he never parted; But on her bosom left his life That was so truly hearted.