C

[This ballad is taken from the reprint, for the Percy Society, under the editorial care of J. P. Collier, Esq., of a black-letter tract, Printed at London, by Tho. Cotes, and are to be sold by Francis Grove, dwelling upon Snowhill, 1640,' the title of which, as given by Mr. Collier, is as follows:-The King and a Poore Northerne Man. Shewing how a Poore Northumberland Man, a Tenant to the King, being wronged by a Lawyer, (his Neighbour,) went to the King himself to make knowne his Grievances. Full of simple mirth and merry plaine jests.' No older edition is known, according to Mr. Collier; nor any other copy of that from which he printed. There is, however, as mentioned by him, a broadside in Bagford's Collection, in the British Museum, entitled The King and Northern Man,' printed by W. O., and to be sold by the Booksellers in Pye Corner and London Bridge.' And since Mr. Collier's reprint was made, the Roxburghe Collection of Ballads has been added to the same national repository, in which collection is another copy, also in broadside, and in black-letter, the title of which varies but little from that given above. The ballad is therein directed to be sung to the tune of Slut;' and is printed by and for Alex. Milbourn, at the Stationer's Arms in Green Arborcourt, in the Little Old Bailey.' For some information respecting the story and the authorship of the ballad, the reader is referred to the Note, p. 387.]

OME hearken to me all around,

And I will tell you a merry tale

Of a Northumberland man that held some

ground,

He was borne and bred thereupon,

And his father had dwelt there long before,
Who kept a good house in that country,
And staved the wolfe from off his doore.

Now for this farm the good old man

Just twenty shillings a-year did pay.
At length came cruell death with his dart,
And this old farmer he soone did slay;

Who left behind him an aulde wife then,
That troubled was with mickle paine,
And with her cruches she walkt about,

For she was likewise blinde and lame.

When that his corpes were laid in the grave,
His eldest sonne possesse did the farme,
At the same rent as the father before:

He took great paines and thought no harme.

By him there dwelt a Lawyer false,

That with his farme was not content,
But over the poore man still hang'd his nose,
Because he did gather the King's rent.

This farme layd by the Lawyer's land,

Which this vild kerne had a mind unto:
The deele a good conscience had he in his bulke,
That sought this poore man for to undoe.

He told him he his lease had forfite,

And that he must there no longer abide:

The King by such lownes hath mickle wrong done,
And for you the world is broad and wide.

The poore man pray'd him for to cease,

And content himselfe, if he would be willing; And picke no vantage in my lease,

And I will give thee forty shilling.

Its neither forty shillings, no forty pound,

Ise warrant thee, so can agree thee and me, Unlesse thou yield me thy farme so round, And stand unto my curtesie.

The poore man said he might not do sa;

His wife and his bearnes will make him ill warke.

If thou wilt with my farme let me ga,

Thou seemes a good fellow, Ise give thee five marke.

377

The Lawyer would not be so content,

But farther in the matter he means to smell.
The neighbours bad the poore man provide his rent,
And make a submission to the King himsell.

This poore man now was in a great stond,
His senses they were almost wood:

I thinke, if he had not tooke grace in 's mind,
That he would never againe beene good.

His head was troubled in such a bad plight,
As though his eyes were apple gray;
And if good learning he had not tooke,
He wod a cast himselfe away.

A doughty heart he then did take,

And of his mother did blessing crave,
Taking farewell of his wife and bearnes;
It earned his heart them thus to leave.

Thus parting with the teares in his eyne,
His bob-taild dog he out did call:
Thou salt gang with me to the King:

And so he tooke his leave of them all.

He had a humble staffe on his backe,

A jerkin, I wat, that was of

gray,

With a good blue bonnet, he thought it no lacke;
To the King he is ganging as fast as he may

He had not gone a mile out o' th' toone,

But one of his neighbours he did espy:

How far ist to th' King? for thither am I boone
As fast as ever I can hye.

I am sorry for you, neighbour, he sayd,
For your simplicity I make mone:

Ise warrant you, you may ask for the King,

When nine or ten dayes journey you have gone.

Had I wist the King wond so farre,

Ise neere a sought him a mile out o' th' toone:
Hes either a sought me, or wee'd neere a come nare;
At home I had rather spent a crowne.

Thus past he alang many a weary mile,
In raine, and wet, and in foule mire,
That ere he came to lig in his bed,

Hard they did fare their charges to save,
But alas hungry stomackes outcrie for meate,
And many a sup of cold water they dranke,
When in the lang way they had nought to eate.

Full lile we know his hard griefe of mind,
And how he did long London to ken;
And yet he thought he should finde it at last,
Because he met so many men.

At length the top of kirkes he spide,

And houses so thicke that he was agast:
I thinke, quoth he, their land is full deere,
For there's nought that here lies wast.

Tut when he came into the city of London,
Of every man for the King he did call.
They told him that him he neede not feare,
For the King he lies now at Whitehall.

For Whitehall he then made inquire;

But as he passed strange geere he saw:
The bulkes with such gue gaws were dressed,
That his mind a tone side it did draw.

Gud God, unto himselfe he did say,

What a deele a place I am come unto!
Had a man, I thinke, a thousne pounds in's purse,
Himselfe he might quickly here undoe.

At night then a lodging him a got,

And for his supper he then did pay:

He told the host then heed goe lig in his bed,

Who straight took a candle and shewd him the way.

Then with spying of farlies in the citie,

Because he had never been there beforne,

He lee so long a bed the next day,

The Court was remov'd to Windsor that morno.

You ha laine too long then, then said his host,
You ha laine too long by a great while:

The King is now to Windsor gone;

He's farther to seeke by twenty mile.

I thinke I was curst, then said the poore man;
If I had been wise I might ha consider:
Belike the King of me has gotten some weet:
He had neere gone away had not I come hither.

379

He fled not for you, said the hoste;

But hie you to Windsor as fast as you may: Be sure it will requite your cost,

For looke, what's past the King will pay.

But when he came at Windsor Castle,

With his bumble staff upon his backe, Although the gates wide open stood,

He layd on them till he made um cracke.

Why, stay! pray friend, art mad? quoth the Porter, What makes thee keepe this stirre to day?

Why, I am a tenant of the Kings,

And have a message to him to say.

The King has men enough, said the Porter,
Your message well that they can say.
Why, there's neere a knave the King doth keepe,
Shall ken my secret mind to day.

I were told, ere I came from home,

Ere I got thither it would be dear bought: Let me in, Ise give thee a good single penny,

I see thou wilt ha small, ere thou't doe for nought.

Gramercy, said the Porter then,

Thy reward's so great, I cannot say nay.
Yonder's a Nobleman within the court,
Ile first heare what he will say.

When the Porter came to the Nobleman,
He sayd he would shew him a pretty sport:
There's sike a clowne come to the gate

As came not this seven yeares to the Court.

He cals all knaves the King doth keepe;
He raps at the gates and makes great din;
He's passing liberall of reward;

Heed give a good single penny to be let in.

Let him in, sayd the Nobleman.

Come in, fellow, the Porter gan say: If thou come within thy selfe, he sayde, Thy staffe behind the gate must stay.

And this cuckolds curre must lig behind:

What a deele, what a cut hast got with thee. The King will take him up for his owne sel,