Then all in blacke this lord did mourne,
And for his daughters sake,

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The 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 Shrove-Tuesday, 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.

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.

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Trust him not; his words, though sweet,

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 Baldwin, 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, Henault, 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, entitled, "An excellent Ballad 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.

A prince of England came,

Whose deeds did merit fame,

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Through the kinges disdaine,
Which their joyes withstoode,
The lady soone prepar'd

Her jewells and her treasure,
Having no regard

For state and royall bloode.

In homelye poore array

She went from court away,

To meet her joye and hearts delight;
Who in a forrest great

Had taken up his seat,

To wayt her coming in the night.

But, lo! what sudden danger,

To this princely stranger,

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Chanced as he sate alone! By outlawes he was robbed, And with ponyards stabbed,

Uttering many a dying grone.

The princesse, arm'd by love,
And by chaste desire,
All the night did rove
Without dread at all,
Still unknowne, she past
In her strange attire,
Coming at the last

Within echoes call.—

"You faire woods," quoth shee,

"Honoured may you bee,

Harbouring my hearts delight,

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Which encompass here