All cladd in gray, in pilgrim sort,

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My voyage from her I did take

Unto the blessed Holy Land,

For Jesus Christ my Saviours sake.

Where I Erle Jonas did redeeme,

And all his sonnes, which were fifteene,

Who with the cruell Sarazens

In prison for long time had beene.

I slew the giant Amarant

I overcame him in the feild,

And slewe him soone right valliantlye;
Wherebye this land I did redeeme
From Danish tribute utterlye.

VOL. II.

Some of her bones in Warwicke yett

A monstrous wyld and cruell beast,
Calld the Dun-cow of Dunsmore heath;
Which manye people had opprest.

Still for a monument doe lye,

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And there exposed to lookers viewe,

As wonderous strange, they may espye.

A dragon in Northumberland

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I alsoe did in fight destroye,

Which did bothe man and beast oppresse,

And all the countrye sore annoye.

At length to Warwicke I did come,

Like pilgrim poore, and was not knowne; 110

And there I lived a hermitts life

A mile and more out of the towne.

Where with my hands I hewed a house

Out of a craggy rocke of stone,

And lived like a palmer poore

Within that cave myself alone:

And daylye came to begg my bread
Of Phelis att my castle gate;

Not knowne unto my loved wiffe,
Who dailye mourned for her mate.

V. 94, 192, doth lye. MS.

N

115

120

Till att the last I fell sore sicke,
Yea, sicke soe sore that I must dye;
I sent to her a ring of golde,

By which shee knewe me presentlye.
Then shee repairing to the cave,
Before that I gave up the ghost,
Herself closd up my dying eyes;
My Phelis faire, whom I lovd most.
Thus dreadful death did me arrest,

To bring my corpes unto the grave,
And like a palmer dyed I,

Wherby I sought my soule to save.
My body that endured this toyle,

Though now it be consumed to mold,
My statue, faire engraven in stone,
In Warwicke still you may behold.

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130

135

II.

Guy and Amarant.

The Editor found this poem in his ancient folio manuscript among the old ballads; he was desirous, therefore, that it should still accompany them; and as it is not altogether devoid of merit, its insertion here will be pardoned.

Although this piece seems not imperfect, there is reason to believe that it is only a part of a much larger poem, which contained the whole history of Sir Guy: for, upon comparing it with the common storybook, 12mo, we find the latter to be nothing more than this poem reduced to prose: which is only effected by now and then altering the rhyme, and throwing out some few of the poetical ornaments. The disguise is so slight, that it is an easy matter to pick complete stanzas in any page of that book.

The author of this poem has shown some invention. Though he took the subject from the old romance quoted before, he has adorned it afresh, and made the story entirely his own.

GUY journeyes towards that sanctifyed ground
Whereas the Jewes fayre citye sometime stood,
Wherin our Saviours sacred head was crownd,
And where for sinfull man he shed his blood.

To see the sepulcher was his intent,
The tombe that Joseph unto Jesus lent.
With tedious miles he tyred his wearye feet,
And passed desart places full of danger;
At last with a most woefull wight1 did meet,
A man that unto sorrow was noe stranger,
For he had fifteen sonnes made captives all
To slavish bondage, in extremest thrall.
A gyant called Amarant detaind them,

Whom noe man durst encounter for his strength,

Who, in a castle which he held, had chaind them.
Guy questions where, and understands at length

15

The place not farr.-" Lend me thy sword," quoth hee; "Ile lend my manhood all thy sonnes to free.'

With that he goes and lays upon the dore

The gyant never was soe rowz'd before,

For noe such knocking at his gate had bin; Soe takes his keyes and clubb, and cometh out, Staring with ireful countenance about.

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Like one that sayes, I must and will come in.

20

Sirra," quoth hee, "what busines hast thou heere?
Art come to feast the crowes about my walls?

25

Didst never heare noe ransome can him cleere

For making me to take a porters paines,

That in the compasse of my furye falls?

With this same clubb I will dash out thy braines."
"Gyant," quoth Guy, "y'are quarrelsome, I see;
Choller and you seem very neere of kin ;
Most dangerous at the clubb belike you bee;

I have bin better armd, though nowe goe thin.
But shew thy utmost hate, enlarge thy spight,
Keene is my weapon, and shall doe me right."
Soe draws his sword, salutes him with the same
About the head, the shoulders, and the side,
Whilst his erected clubb doth death proclaime,
Standinge with huge Colossus' spacious stride,
Putting such vigour to his knotty beame
That like a furnace he did smoke extreame.

Erle Jonas, mentioned in the foregoing ballad.

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35

40

But on the ground he spent his strokes in vaine,
For Guy was nimble to avoyde them still,
And ever ere he heav'd his clubb againe,

Did brush his plated coat against his will:
Att such advantage Guy wold never fayle
To bang him soundlye in his coate of mayle.
Att last through thirst the gyant feeble grewe,

And sayd to Guy, "As thou'rt of humane race,
Show itt in this, give natures wants their dewe;
Let me but goe and drinke in yonder place;
Thou canst not yeeld to 'me' a smaller thing
Than to graunt life thats given by the spring."

45

50

"I graunt thee leave," quoth Guye, "goe drink thy last, 55 Go pledge the dragon and the salvage bore,2 Succeed the tragedyes that they have past;

But never thinke to taste cold water more;
Drinke deepe to Death and unto him carouse;
Bid him receive thee in his earthen house."

Soe to the spring he goes, and slakes his thirst,
Takeing the water in extremely like

Some wracked shipp that on a rocke is burst,

Whose forced hulke against the stones does stryke ; Scooping it in soe fast with both his hands

That Guy, admiring, to behold it stands.

"Come on," quoth Guy, "let us to worke againe ; Thou stayest about thy liquor overlong;

The fish which in the river doe remaine

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65

Will want thereby; thy drinking doth them wrong; 70 But I will see their satisfaction made;

With gyants blood they must and shall be payd."

66

Villaine," quoth Amarant, "Ile crush thee streight;
Thy life shall pay thy daring toungs offence!
This clubb, which is about some hundred weight,
Is deathes commission to dispatch thee hence !
Dresse thee for ravens dyett, I must needes,
And breake thy bones as they were made of reedes!"

2 Which Guy had slain before.

Ver. 64, bulke. MS. and P.CC.

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