"O farewell griefe, and welcome joye, Ten thousand times therefore; For nowe I have founde mine owne true love, Whom I thought I should never see more."

OLD BALLAD.

_King John and the Abbot of Canterbury_

An ancient story I'll tell you anon Of a notable prince, that was called King John; And he ruled England with main and with might, For he did great wrong and maintained little right.

And I'll tell you a story, a story so merry, Concerning the Abbot of Canterbury; How for his housekeeping and high renown, They rode post for him to fair London town.

An hundred men, the King did hear say, The Abbot kept in his house every day; And fifty gold chains, without any doubt, In velvet coats waited the Abbot about.

"How now, Father Abbot, I hear it of thee, Thou keepest a far better house than me; And for thy housekeeping and high renown, I fear thou work'st treason against my crown."

"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 not put me in fear, For spending of my owne true-gotten gear."

"Yes, yes, Father Abbot, thy fault is highe, And now for the same thou needst must dye; For except thou canst answer me questions three, Thy head shall be smitten from thy bode.

"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 n.o.ble of birthe, Thou must tell 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."

"Oh, 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 s.p.a.ce, Ile do my endeavour to answer your Grace."

"Now three weeks' s.p.a.ce to thee will I give, And that is the longest time thou hast to live; For if thou dost not answer my questions three, Thy land and thy livings are forfeit to me."

Away rode the Abbot all sad at that word, And he rode to Cambridge and Oxenford; But never a doctor there was so wise, That could with his learning an answer devise.

Then home rode the Abbot of comfort so cold, And he met his Shepherd a-going to fold: "How now, my Lord Abbot, you are welcome home; What news do you bring us from good King John?"

"Sad news, sad news, Shepherd, I must give, That I have but three days more to live; I must answer the King his questions three, Or my head will be smitten from my bodie.

"The first is to tell him, there in that stead, With his crown of gold so fair on his head, Among all his liegemen so n.o.ble of birth, To within one penny of what he is worth.

"The seconde, to tell him, without any doubt, How soone he may ride this whole world about: And at the third question I must not shrinke, But tell him there truly what he does thinke."

"Now cheare up, Sire Abbot, did you never hear yet, That a fool he may learne a wise man witt?

Lend me horse, and serving-men, and your apparel, And I'll ride to London to answere your quarrel.

"Nay frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee, I am like your Lordship, as ever may bee: And if you will but lend me your gowne, There is none shall knowe us in fair London towne."

"Now horses and serving-men thou shalt have, With sumptuous array most gallant and brave; With crozier, and mitre, and rochet, and cope, Fit to appear 'fore our Father 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 n.o.ble of birthe, Tell me to one penny what I am worth."

"For thirty pence our Saviour was sold Among the false Jewes, as I have bin told: And twenty-nine is the worth of thee, For I thinke, thou art one penny worse than he."

The King he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel, "I did not think I had been worth so little!

Now secondly tell me, without any doubt, How soon I may ride this whole world about."

"You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same, Until the next morning he riseth again; 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 soon.

Now from the third question thou must not shrink, But tell me here truly what do I think."

"Yea, that I shall do and make your Grace merry; You think I'm the Abbot of Canterbury; But I'm his poor shepherd, as plain you may see, That am come to beg pardon for him and for me."

The King he laughed, and swore by the ma.s.s, "I'll make thee Lord Abbot this day in his place!"

"Nay, nay, my Liege, be not in such speed, For alack, I can neither write nor read."

"Four n.o.bles a week, then, I will give thee, For this merry jest thou hast shown unto me; And tell the old Abbot, when thou gettest home, Thou hast brought him a pardon from good King John."

OLD BALLAD.

_Lord Beichan and Susie Pye_

Lord Beichan was a n.o.ble lord, A n.o.ble lord of high degree; But he was ta'en by a savage Moor, Who treated him right cruellie.

In ilka shoulder was put a bore, In ilka bore was put a tree; And heavy loads they made him draw, Till he was sick, and like to dee.

Then he was cast in a dungeon deep, Where he cou'd neither hear nor see; And seven long years they kept him there, Both cold and hunger sore to dree.

The Moor he had an only daughter, The damsel's name was Susie Pye; And ilka day as she took the air, Lord Beichan's prison she pa.s.s'd by.

Young Susie Pye had a tender heart, Tho' she was come of a cruel kin; And sore she sigh'd, she knew not why, For him who lay that dungeon in.

"Oh, were I but the prison keeper, As I'm a lady of high degree, I soon wou'd set this youth at large, And send him to his own countrie."

She gave the keeper a piece of gold, And many pieces of white monie, To unlock to her the prison doors, That she Lord Beichan might go see.

Lord Beichan he did marvel sore, The Moor's fair daughter there to see; But took her for some captive maid, Brought from some land in Christendie.

For when she saw his wretched plight, Her tears fell fast and bitterlie; And thus the Moor's fair daughter spake Unto Lord Beichan tenderlie:

"Oh, have ye any lands," she said, "Or castles in your own countrie, That ye cou'd give to a lady fair, From prison strong to set you free?"

"Oh, I have lands both fair and braid, And I have castles fair to see; But I wou'd give them all," he said, "From prison strong to be set free."

"Plight me the truth of your right hand, The truth of it here plight to me, That till seven years are past and gone, No lady ye will wed but me."

"For seven long years I do make a vow, And seven long years I'll keep it true, If you wed with no other man, No other lady I'll wed but you."

Then she has bribed the prison-keeper, With store of gold and white monie, To loose the chain that bound him so, And set Lord Beichan once more free.

A ring she from her finger broke, And half of it to him gave she,-- "Keep it, to mind you of the maid Who out of prison set you free."