5 10 And Ile tell you a story, a story so merrye, An hundred men, the king did heare say, "How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee, 66 My liege,” quo' the abbot, “I would it were knowne “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, "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, 25 Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe. 30 "O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt, "Now three weeks space to thee will I give, 335 40 Away rode the abbot all sad at that word, Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold, "Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must give, "The first is to tell him there in that stead, 45 50 5 "The seconde, to tell him, without any doubt, 60 "Now cheare up, sire abbot, did you never hear yet, 65 "Nay frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee, There is none shall knowe us at fair London towne." "Now horses and serving-men thou shalt have, "Now, welcome, sire abbot," the king he did say, "And first, when thou seest me here in this stead, 80 "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,2 85 "I did not think I had been worth so littel! -Now secondly tell mee, 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; 90 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, 95 But tell me here truly what I do thinke." "Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry; But I'm his poor shepheard, as plain you may see, The king he laughed, and swore by the masse, 100 105 "Four nobles a weeke, then, I will give thee, 2 Meaning probably St. Botolph. VOL. II. D 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, Sep. 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 Biogr. Britan. This song is printed from the Reliquiæ Wottonianæ 1651, with some corrections from an old MS. copy. You meaner beauties of the night, More by your number than your light, You common-people of the skies, What are you when the moon shall rise? 5 Ye violets that first appeare, By your pure purple mantles known, As if the Spring were all your own, Ye curious chaunters of the wood, That warble forth dame Nature's layes, By your weak accents, what's your praise So when my mistris shal be seene In sweetnesse of her looks and minde, 10 15 Th' eclypse and glory of her kind? 20 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 song made by an aged old pate, Of an old worshipful gentleman who had a greate estate, And the queen's old courtier. With an old lady, whose anger one word asswages, 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; Like an old courtier, &c. 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, Like an old courtier, &c. |