Childe Maurice. ['This is the set of the ballad to which Dr. Percy refers, as occurring in his folio MS., under the title of Childe Maurice;' and it has been printed by Mr. Jamieson, in his collection from that MS. with minute fidelity, who thereby hath conferred no small favour on the lovers of ancient song. As it is not only a curious version withal, but likewise peculiarly illustrative both of the sets which have gone before, and of that one which gives a title to this prolix argument; it is to be hoped that no apology will be necessary for presenting it here to the reader, more especially as the valuable collection from which it is extracted hath not been so well received by the world as its merits deserve.'-MOTHERWELL.] CHILDE MAURICE hunted ithe silven wood he hunted it round about & noebody y' he found theren nor noebody without and tooke his silver combe in his hand to kembe his yellow lockes he says come hither thou little footpage y' runneth lowly by my knee ffor thou shalt goe to John Steward's wiffe & as it ffalls out many times as knotts been knitt on a kell or merchantmen gone to leave London either to buy ware or sell and grete thou doe y' ladye well ever so well ffroe mee and as it ffalls out many times as any harte can thinke as schoole masters are in any schoole house ffor if I might as well as shee may this night I wold with her speake & heere I send a mantle of greene as greene as any grasse and bid her come to the silver wood & there I send her a ring of gold a ring of precyous stone and bid her come to the silver wood let for no kind of man; one while this little boy he yode another while he ran until he came to John Steward's hall I wis he never blan and of nurture the child had good he ran up hall & bower ffree and when he came to this lady ffaire sayes God you save and see I am come ffrom Childe Maurice a message unto thee & Childe Maurice he greetes you well & ever soe well ffrom me and as it falls out oftentimes as knotts been knitt on a kell or merchant men gone to leeve London either to buy or sell & as oftentimes he greetes you well as any hart can thinke or schoolemaster in any schoole wryting wth pen and inke & heere he sends a mantle of greene as greene as any grasse & he bidds you come to the silver wood to hunt wth child Maurice & heere he sends you a ring of gold a ring of precyous stone he prayes you to come to the silver wood let for no kind of man now peace now peace thou litle fotpage ffor Christe's sake I pray thee ffor if my Lo heare one of those words thou must be hanged hye John Steward stood under the castle wall & he wrote the words every one & he called unto his horsse keeper make readye you my steede and soe he did to his Chamberlaine make ready then my weed & he cast a lease upon his backe & he rode to the silver wood & there he sought all about about the silver wood & there he found him Child Maurice sitting upon a blocke with a silver combe in his hand kembing his yellow locke he sayes how now how now Child Maurice alacke how may this bee but then stood by him Child Maurice & sayd these words trulye I do not know your ladye he said if that I do her see ffor thou hast sent her love tokens more now then 2 or 3 for thou hast sent her a mantle of greene as greene as any grasse & bade her come to the silver wood to hunt wth Childe Maurice and by my faith now Childe Maurice the tane of us shall dye now by my troth sayd Child Maurice & that shall not be I but he pulled out a bright browne sword & dryed it on the grasse & soe fast he smote at John Steward I wis he never rest then hee pulled forth his bright browne sword & dryed itt on his sleeve & the ffirst good stroke John Steward stroke Child Maurice head he did cleeve & he pricked it on his sword's poynt went singing there beside and he rode till he came to the ladye ffaire and sayes dost thou know Child Maurice head iff that thou dost it see and llap it soft, and kisse itt offt ffor thou lovedst him better than mee but when shee looked on Childe Maurice head shee never spake words but three I never beare noe childe but one sayes wicked be my merry men all ffor I have slaine one of the courteousest knights that ever betrode a steede soe have I done one of the fairest ladyes that ever ware womans weede Chilo Morpce. [This is the very ancient traditionary ballad which was first printed by Mr. Motherwell, in his Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern,' Glasg. 1827, verbatim as it was taken down from the singing of widow M'Cormick, who, at that date, (January, 1825,) resided in Westbrae-street of Paisley. With much deference to the opinion of others skilled in these matters, he challenged for it, in point of antiquity, a precedence far above any of its fellows: indeed, in his Judgment, it has every appearance of being the prime root from which all the variations of the ballad heretofore known, have originated.' It may be remarked, too,' he says, that it obviously preserves the true title of the ballad, 'Morice' and 'Maurice' being evident corruptions of 'Norice,' a nursling or foster, corrup. tions which, from similarity of sound in the enunciation, can easily be conceived as likely ones into which reciters, who learn by the ear, are exceedingly apt to fall; and corruptions of which the experience of every one who has attempted to collect these interesting monuments of early song, can furnish ample parallels. Again, its clear, straightforward, rapid, and succinct narrative-its extreme simplicity of style and utter destitution of all ornament, argue most powerfully in behalf of the primitiveness and authenticity of its text. It is, in fact, the very anatomy of a perfect ballad, wanting nothing that it should have, and having nothing that it should want. By testimony of a most unexceptionable description—but which it would be tedious here to detail-the editor can distinctly trace this ballad as existing in its present shape at least a century ago, which carries it decidedly beyond the date of the first printed copy of Gil Morice; and this, with a poem which has been preserved but by oral tradition, is no mean positive antiquity. If we imagine it a more ancient version than that contained in Dr. Percy's MS., our sole means of arriving at a satisfactory conclusion must be derived from such internal evidence as the ballad itself affords; and, both versions being now before the reader, he is enabled to judge deliberately for himself, and to form his own opinion on that which many will, ere this, I suspect, have deemed a very unimportant subject. 4 In conclusion, it may be mentioned that the ballad is exceedingly rare; and, so far as the editor has been able to learn, it has escaped the notice of our most eminent collectors of traditionary poetry.'] CHILD NORYCE is a clever young man, He wavers wi' the wind; His horse was silver shod before, He called to his little man John, Saying, "You don't see what I see; For oh yonder I see the very first woman, "Here is a glove, a glove," he said, "Lined with the silver grey; You may tell her to come to the merry green wood, To speak to Child Nory. "Here is a ring, a ring," he says, "Its all gold but the stane; You may tell her to come to the merry green wood, |