Some do call mee Jacke, sweet heart,

And some do call mee Jille;

But when I come to the kings faire courte
They call me Wilfulle Wille.

He sett his foot into the stirrup,
And awaye then he did ride;

She tuckt her girdle about her middle,
And ranne close by his side.

But when she came to the brode watèr,
She sett her brest and swamme;
And when she was got out againe,
She tooke to her heels and ranne.

He never was the courteous knighte,
To saye, faire maide, will ye ride?
And she was ever too loving a maide
To saye, sir knighte abide.

When she came to the kings faire courte,

She knocked at the ring;

So readye was the king himself

To let this faire maide in.

Now Christ you save, my gracious liege,

Now Christ you save and see,

You have a knighte within your courte

This daye hath robbed mee.

What hath he robbed thee of, sweet heart?

Of purple or of pall?

Or hath he took thy gaye gold ring
From off thy finger small?

He hath not robbed mee, my leige,
Of purple nor of pall:

But he hath gotten my maiden head,
Which grieves mee worst of all.

Now if he be a batchelor,

His bodye Ile give to thee;
But if he be a married man,

High hanged he shall bee.

He called downe his merrye men all,

By one, by two, by three;

Sir William used to bee the first,

But nowe the last came hee.

He brought her downe full fortye pounde,

Tyed up withinne a glove:

Faire maid, Ile give the same to thee;

Go, seeke thee another love.

O Ile have none of your gold, she sayde,

Nor Ile have none of your fee; But your faire bodye I must have,

The king hath granted mee.

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50

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Ver. 50. His bodye Пle give to thee. This was agreeable to the feudal customs: The lord had a right to give a wife to his vassals. See Shakespeare's "All's well, that ends well."

Sir William ranne and fetchd her then

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Five hundred pound in golde, Saying, faire maide, take this to thee, Thy fault will never be tolde.

Would I had drank the puddle foule,

When I did drink the ale,

Rather than ever a shepherds brat

Shold tell me such a tale!

A shepherds brat even as I was,

You mote have let me bee,

I never had come to the kings faire courte,
To crave any love of thee.

He sett her on a milk-white steede,

And himself upon a graye;

He hung a bugle about his necke,

And soe they rode awaye.

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But when they came unto the place,
Where marriage rites were done,
She proved herself a dukes daughter,
And he but a squires sonne.

Now marrye me, or not, sir knight,

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Your pleasure shall be free:

If you make me ladye of one good towne,
Ile make you lord of three.

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Ah! cursed bee the gold, he sayd,

If thou hadst not been trewe,

I shold have forsaken my sweet love,
And have changed her for a newe.

And now their hearts being linked fast,
They joyned hand in hande:

Thus he had both purse, and person too,
And all at his commande.

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XIV.

THE SHEPHERD'S ADDRESS TO HIS MUSE.

This Poem, originally printed from the small MS. volume mentioned above in No. X. has been improved by a more perfect copy in " England's Helicon," where the author is discovered to be N. BRETON.

GOOD Muse, rocke me aslepe

With some sweete harmony:
This wearie eyes is not to kepe

Thy wary company.

Sweete Love, begon a while,

Thou seest my heavines:

Beautie is borne but to beguyle
My harte of happines.

See howe my little flocke,

That lovde to feede on highe,

Doe headlonge tumble downe the rocke,
And in the valley dye.

The bushes and the trees,

That were so freshe and greene,
Doe all their deintie colors leese,

And not a leafe is seene.

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