NOTTINGHAMSHIRE FACTS AND FICTIONS.

PART VII.

BALLADS AND SONGS.

"What hast here? Ballads? I love a ballad in print, or in life, for then we are sure they are true."

"Let me make the Ballads, and who will may make the laws."-Andrew Fletcher of Saltown.

THE BALLAD.

Sing to me some homely ballad,
Plaintive with the tones of love;
Harp and voice together blending
Like the doling of the dove.

Let each cadence melt in languor
Softly on my ravished ears,

Till my half-closed eyes are brimming
With a rapture of sweet tears.

Summon back fond recollections,

Such as gentle sounds prolong,
Flies of memory embalming
In the amber of a song.

-Charles Kent.

THIS

THE KING AND THE MILLER OF MANSFIELD.

HIS is a piece of great antiquity, being written, says Percy, before the time of Edward IV.; and, continues the same writer, for its genuine humour, diverting incidents, and faithful picture of rustic manners, is infinitely superior to all the verses that have been written in imitation of it. The author of this ballad seems to have copied a very ancient poem, entitled "John the Reeve," which is founded on a similar adventure that happened between King Edward Longshanks and one of his reeves or bailiffs. The following is printed, with corrections, from the folio MS. collated with an old black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection,

entitled "A pleasant ballad of King Henry II. and the Miller of Mansfield":

PART THE FIRST.

Henry, our royall King, would ride a hunting

To the greene forest so pleasant and faire;

To see the harts skipping, and the dainty does tripping :
Unto merry Sherwood his nobles repair:

Hawke and hound were unbound, all things prepar'd
For the game, in the same, with good regard.
All a long summer's day rode the King pleasantlye,
With all his princes and nobles eche one;

Chasing the hart and hind, and the bucke gallantlye,
Till the dark evening forced all to turne home.
Then at last, riding fast, he had lost quite
All his lords in the wood, late in the night.
Wandering thus wearilye, all alone, up and downe,
With a rude miller he mett at the last:
Asking the ready way unto faire Nottingham;
Sir, quoth the miller, I meane not to jest,
Yet I thinke, what I thinke, sooth for to say,
You do not lightlye ride out of your way.

Why, what dost thou think of me, quoth our King merrilye,
Passing thy judgment upon me so briefe ?

Good faith, sayd the miller, I meane not to flatter thee;
I guess thee to bee but some gentleman thiefe:
Stand thee backe, in the darke; light not adowne,
Lest that I presentlye cracke thy knaves crowne.
Thou dost abuse me much, quoth the King, saying thus;
I am a gentleman; lodging doe lacke.

Thou hast not, quoth the miller, one groat in thy purse;
All thy inheritance hangs on thy backe.

I have gold to discharge all that I call

If it be forty pence, I will pay all.

If thou beest a true man, then quoth the miller,

I sweare by my toll-dish, I'll lodge thee all night.
Here's my hand, quoth the King, that was I ever.

Nay, soft, quoth the miller, thou may'st be a sprite.
Better I'll know thee, ere hands we will shake;
With none but honest men hands will I take.
Thus they went all along unto the miller's house;
Where they were seething of puddings and souse.
The miller first enter'd in, after him went the King;
Never came hee in so smoakye a house.

Now, quoth hee, let me see here what you are.
Quoth our King, looke your fill, and doe not spare.
I like well thy countenance, thou hast an honest face;
With my son Richard this night thou shalt lye.
Quoth his wife, by my troth, it is a handsome youth,
Yet it's best, husband, to deal warilye.

Art thou no runaway, prythee, youth, tell?
Show me thy passport, and all shall be well.

Then our King presentlye, making low courtesye,
With his hatt in his hand, thus he did say:
I have no passport, nor never was servitor,

But a poor courtier, rode out of my way:
And for your kindness here offer'd to mee,
I will requite you in everye degree.

Then to the miller his wife whisper'd secretlye,
Saying, it seemeth this youth's of good kin,
Both by his apparel, and eke by his manners;

To turne him out, certainlye, were a great sin.
Yea, quoth hee, you may see, he hath some grace.
When hee doth speake to his betters in place.

Well, quo' the milller's wife, young man, ye're welcome here, And though I say it, well lodged shall be :

Fresh straw will I have laid on thy bed so brave,

And good brown hempen sheets likewise, quoth shee.
Aye, quoth the good man, and when that is done,
Thou shalt lye with no worse, than our own sonne.

Nay, first, quoth Richard, good fellowe, tell me true,
Hast thou noe creepers within thy gay hose?
Or art thou not troubled with the scabbado?

I pray, quoth the King, what creatures are those?
Art thou not lousy, nor scabby? quoth he!

If thou beest, surely thou lyest not with mee.

This caused the King, suddenly, to laugh most heartilye,
Till the teares trickled fast downe from his eyes.

Then to their supper were they set orderlye,

With hot bag-puddings, and good apple pyes; Nappy ale, good and stale, in a browne bowle, Which about the board did merrilye trowle.

Here, quoth the miller, good fellowe, I drink to thee,
And to all courtnalls, that courteous be.

I pledge thee, quoth our King, and thank thee heartilye
For my good welcome in every degree:

And here in like manner, I drinke to thy sonne.
Do then, quoth Richard, and quick let it come.

Wife, quoth the miller, fetch forth lightfoote,

That we of his sweetnesse a little may taste :
A fair ven'son pastye brought she out presentlye.
Eate, quoth the miller, but, sir, make no waste.
Here's dainty lightfoote, in faith, sayd the king,
I never before eate so daintye a thing.

I wis, quoth Richard, no daintye at all it is,

For we doe eat of it everye day.

In what place, sayd our King, may be bought like to this?
We never pay pennye for it, by my say:

From merry Sherwood we fetch it home here;
Now and then we make bold with our King's deer.

Then I think, sayd our King, that it is venison.

Eche foole, quoth Richard, full well may know that! Never are wee without two or three in the roof, Very well flesh'd, and excellent fat:

But, prythee, say nothing wherever thou go;

We would not, for twopence, the King should it know.
Doubt not, then sayd the King, my promiset secresye;
The King shall never know more on't for mee.
A cupp of lambs-wool they dranke to him then,
And to their bedds they passed presentlye.

The nobles next morning, went all up and down,
For to seek out the King in everye town.

At last, at the miller's cott, soon they espyed him out,
As he was mounting upon his faire steede ;

To whom they came presentlye, falling down on their knee
Which made the miller's heart wofully bleede :

Shaking and quaking, before him he stood,

Thinking he should have been hanged, by the rood.

The King perceiving him fearfully trembling

Drew forth his sword, but nothing he said. The miller downe did fall, crying before them all,

Doubting the King would have cut off his head: But he his kind courtesye for to requite,

Gave him great living, and dubb'd him a Knight.

PART THE SECOND.

When as our royall King came home from Nottingham
And with his nobles at Westminster lay;
Recounting the sports and pastimes they had taken,
In this late progress along on the way;

Of them all, great and small, he did protest
The Miller of Mansfield's sport liked him best.

And now, my lords, quoth the King, I am determined
Against St. George's next sumptuous feast,
That this old miller, our new confirmed Knight,
With his son Richard, shall here be my guest:

For, in this merryment, 'tis my desire

To talke with the jolly Knight, and the young squire.
When as the noble lords saw the King's pleasantness
They were right joyfull and glad in their hearts;

C

A pursuivant there was sent straight on the business,
The which had often-times been in those parts.
When he came to the place, where they did dwell,
His message orderly then 'gan he tell.

God save your worshippe, then said the messenger,

And grant your ladye her own heart's desire;
And to your sonne Richard good fortune and happiness:
That sweet, gentle, and gallant young squire.
Our King greets you well, and thus he doth say,
You must come to the court on St. George's Day;
Therefore, in any case, fail not to be in place.

I wis, quoth the miller, this is an odd jest:
What should we doe there? faith, I am halfe afraid.

I doubt, quoth Richard, to be hang'd at the least.
Nay, quoth the messenger, you do mistake;
Our King he provides a great feast for your sake.
Then, said the miller, by my troth, messenger,

Thou hast contented my worshippe full well.
Hold, here are three farthing, to quite thy gentleness
For these happy tidings, which thou dost tell.
Let me see, hear thou mee; tell to our King,
We'll wayt on his mastership in everye thing.
The pursuivant smil'd at their simplicitye,

And, making many leggs, tooke their reward;
And taking then his leave with great humilitye,
To the King's court again he repair'd;
Shewing unto his grace, merry and free,

The Knight's most liberal gift and bountie.

When he was gone away, thus gan the miller say,
Here come expences and charges indeed;

Now must we needs be brave, tho' we spend all we have,
For of new garments we have great need.

Of horses and serving-men we must have store

With bridles and saddles, and twentye things more.

Tushe, sir John, quoth his wife, why should you frett and frown?
You shall ne'er be att no charges for mee;

For I will turne and trim up my old russet gowne,
With everything else as fine as may bee;

And on our mill-horses swift we will ride,
With pillowes and pannells as we shall provide.

In this most statelye sort, rode they unto the court,
The jolly sonne Richard rode foremost of all,
Who set up, by good hap, a cock's feather in his cap,
And so they jetted downe to the King's hall;
The merry old miller, with hands on his side;
His wife, like maid Marian, did mince at that tide.
The King and his nobles, that heard of their coming,
Meeting this gallant Knight with his brave traine;