185

A priest, a priest, fayes Aldingar,

While I am a man aliye.
A priest, a priest, fayes Aldingar,

Me for to houzle and shrive.

I wolde have layne by our comlye queene

Bot shee wolde never consent;
Then I thought to betraye her unto our kinge

In a fyer to have her brent.

190

There came a lazar to the kings gates?

A lazar both blinde and lame : I tooke the lazar upon my backe,

And on her bedd him layne.

195

Then ranne I to our comlye king,

These tidings fore to tell.
But ever alacke ! sayes Aldingar,

Falfing never doth well.

200

Forgive, forgive me, queené, madame,

The short time I must live.
Nowe Christ forgive thee, Aldingar,

As freely I forgive.

205

Here take thy queene, our king Harry'e,

And love her as thy life,
For never had a king in Christentye,

A truer and fairer wife.

Then

210

King Henrye ran to claspe his queene,

And loosed her full sone :
Then turnd to look for the tinye boye;

-The boye was vanisht and gone.

But first he had touchd the lazar man,

And stroakt him with his hand : The lazar under the gallowes tree

All whole and founde did stand.

215

The lazar under the gallowes tree

Was comelye, straight and tall ;
King Henrye made him his head stewarde

To wayte withinn his hall.

220

X.

ON THOMAS LORD CROMWELL.

It is ever the fate of a disgraced minister to be forsalen by bis friends, and insulted by his enemies, alzways reckoning among the latter the giddy inconstant multitude. We bave here a Spurn at fallen greatness from some angry partisan of declining popery, who could never forgive the downfall of their Diana, and loss of their craft. The ballad seems to have been composed between the time of Cromwell's commiiment to the tower Jun. 11. 1549, and that of his being beheaded July 28, following. A foort interval! but Henry's fation for Catharine Howard would

acmit

admit no delay. Notwithstanding our libeller, Cromwell bad excellent qualities; his great fault was too much obe Sequiousness to the arbitrary will of his master; but let it le considered that this master had raised him from obscurity

, and that the high-born nobility had hewn bim the way in every kind of mean and servile compliance. The original copy printed at London in 1540, is intitled " A newe ac ballade mode of Thomas Crumwel, called Trolle on “ AWAY.” To it is prefixed this diffich by way of burther,

Trolle on away, trolle on awaye.
Synge heave and howe rombelowe trolle on away,

BOT

OTH man and chylde is glad to here tell

Of that false traytoure Thomas Crumwel, Now that he is set to learne to spell.

Synge trolle on away.

When fortune loky'd the in thy face,
Thou haddyst fayre tyme, but thou lackydyít grace; s
Thy cofers with golde thou fyllydít a pace.

Synge, &c.

Both plate and chalys came to thy fyft,
Thou lockydst them vp where no man wyst,
Tyll in the kynges treafoure suche thinges were myft

. Synge, &c.

Both crust and crumme came thorowe thy handes,
Thy marchaundyse sayled over the fandes,
Therfore nowe thou art layde fast in bandes.

Synge, &c.

Egrlie when

8

kynge Henry, God faue his grace! -90 * Perceyud myschefe kyndlyd in thy face, Ber;" Then it was tyme to purchase the a place.

Synge, &c.

15

Hys grace was euer of gentyll nature,
Mouyd with petye, and made the hys seruyture,
But thou, as a wretche, suche thinges dyd procure.

Synge, &c.

29

Thou dyd not remembre, false heretyke,
One God, one fayth, and one kynge catholyke,
For thou hast bene so long a fcysmatyke.

Synge, &c.

Thou woldyst not learne to knowe these thre,
But euer was full of iniquite;
Wherfore all this lande hathe ben troubled with the.

Synge, &c.

25

All they, that were of the new trycke,
Agaynst the churche thou baddest them stycke,
Whe.fore nowe thou haste touchyd the quycke.

Synge, &c.

vcre ?

Bothe sacramentes and facramentalles
Chou woldyst not fuffre within thy walles;
lor let vs praye for all chryften foules.

Synge, &c.

3.0

Of

Of what generacyon thou were no tonge can tell,
Whyther of Chayme, or Syschemell,
Or else fent vs frome the deuyll of hell.

Synge, &c.

Thou woldes neuer to vertųe applye,
But couetyd euer to clymme to hye,
And nowe hafte thou trodden thy shoo awrye.

Synge, &c.

35

Who-so-euer dyd winne thou wolde not lose,
Wherfore al Englande doth hate the as I luppofe,
Bycause thou wait false to the redolent rose.

Synge, &c.

40

Thou myghtest haue learned thy cloth to flocke,
Upon thy grefy fullers flocke;
Wherfore lay downe thy heade vpon this blocke.

Synge, &c.

Yet faue that foule, that God hath bought,
And for thy carcas care thou nought,
Let it suffre payne, as it hath wrought.

Synge, &c.

45

God faue kyng Henry with all his power,
And prynce Edwarde that goodly flowre,
With all hys lordes of great honoure.

Synge trolle on awaye, fyng trolle on away.
Hevye and how ronbelowe trolle on awaye.