Likewise he judg'd the master-cook

In boiling lead to stand;

And made the simple scullion-boye

95

The heire of all his land.

XV.

A HUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID.

This Song is a kind of Translation of a pretty poem of Tasso's, called Amore fuggitivo, generally printed with his AMINTA, and originally imitated from the first Idyllium of Moschus.

It is extracted from Ben Jonson's Masque at the marriage of lord viscount Hadington, on ShroveTuesday 1608. One stanza, full of dry mythology, is here omitted, as it had been dropt in a copy of this song printed in a small volume called "Le Prince d'Amour. Lond. 1660," 8vo.

BEAUTIES, have yee seen a toy,
Called Love, a little boy,
Almost naked, wanton, blinde;
Cruel now, and then as kinde?

If he be amongst yee, say;
He is Venus' run away.

Shee, that will but now discover
Where the winged wag doth hover,
Shall to-night receive a kisse,

5

How and where herseife would wish:
But who brings him to his mother

10

Shall have that kisse, and another.

Markes he hath about him plentie;

You may know him among twentie:
All his body is a fire,

And his breath a flame entire:
Which, being shot, like lightning, in,
Wounds the heart, but not the skin.

15

Wings he hath, which though yee clip,
He will leape from lip to lip,
Over liver, lights, and heart;
Yet not stay in any part.
And, if chance his arrow misses,

He will shoot himselfe in kisses.

He doth beare a golden bow,
And a quiver hanging low,
Full of arrowes, which outbrave

Dian's shafts; where, if he have

Any head more sharpe than other,

With that first he strikes his mother.

30

Still the fairest are his fuell,

When his daies are to be cruell;

Lovers hearts are all his food,

And his baths their warmest bloud:

Nought but wounds his hand doth season,
And he hates none like to Reason.

Trust him not: his words, though sweet,

Seldome with his heart doe meet:

All his practice is deceit;

Everie gift is but a bait :

Not a kisse but poyson beares;

And most treason's in his teares.

Idle minutes are his raigne;

Then the straggler makes his gaine,

By presenting maids with toyes

And would have yee thinke hem joyes;
"Tis the ambition of the elfe
To have all childish as himselfe.

If by these yee please to know him,
Beauties, be not nice, but show him.
Though yee had a will to hide him,
Now, we hope, yee'le not abide him,
Since yee heare this falser's play,
And that he is Venus' run-away.

40

45

50

XVI.

THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER.

The story of this Ballad seems to be taken from an incident in the domestic history of Charles the Bald, king of France. His daughter Judith was betrothed to Ethelwulph king of England: but before the marriage was consummated, Ethelwulph died, and she returned to France: whence she was carried off by Baldwyn, Forester of Flanders; who, after many crosses and difficulties, at length obtained the king's consent to their marriage, and was made Earl of Flanders. This happened about A. D. 863.-See Rapin, Renault, and the French Historians.

The following copy is given from the Editor's ancient folio MS. collated with another in black-letter in the Pepys Collection, intitled, "An excellent Bal"lad of a prince of England's courtship to the king "of France's daughter, &c. To the tune of Crimson "Velvet."

Many breaches having been made in this old song by the hand of time, principally (as might be expected) in the quick returns of the rhyme, an attempt is here made to repair them.

IN the dayes of old,

When faire France did flourish,

Storyes plaine have told,

Lovers felt annoye.

The queene a daughter bare,

Whom beautye's queene did nourish:

She was lovelye faire,

She was her fathers joye.

5