Reliques of Ancient English Poetry

His life was like a barrow hogge,

That liveth many a day,
Yet never once doth any good,
Until men will him slay.

Or like a filthy heap of dung,

That lyeth in a whoard; Which never can do any good, Till it be spread abroad.

So fares it with the usurer,

He cannot sleep in rest,

For feare the thiefe will him pursue
To plucke him from his nest.

His heart doth thinke on many a wile,
How to deceive the poore;
His mouth is almost ful of mucke,
Yet still he gapes for more.

His wife must lend a shilling,

For every weeke a penny,

Yet bring a pledge, that is double worth, If that you will have any.

And see, likewise, you keepe your day, Or else you loose it all:

This was the living of the wife, she did it call.

Her cow

Within that citie dwelt that time

A marchant of great fame, Which being distressed in his need, Unto Gernutus came :

Desiring him to stand his friend

For twelve month and a day, To lend to him an hundred crownes : And he for it would pay

Whatsoever he would demand of him, And pledges he should have.

*Ver. 32. Her cow, etc., seems to have suggested to Shakespeare Shylock's argument for usury taken from Jacob's management of Laban's sheep, Act i., to which Antonio replies: "Was this inserted to make interest good?

Or are your gold and silver ewes and rams? Shylock. I cannot tell, I make it breed as fast."

No (quoth the Jew with flearing lookes),

Sir, aske what you will have.

No penny for the loane of it

For one year you shall pay ; You may doe me as good a turne, Before my dying day.

But we will have a merry jeast,

For to be talked long :

You shall make me a bond, quoth he,
That shall be large and strong:

And this shall be the forfeyture;
Of your owne fleshe a pound.
If you agree, make you the bond,

And here is a hundred crownes.
With right good will! the marchant says:
And so the bond was made.
When twelve month and a day drew on
That backe it should be payd,

The marchants ships were all at sea,

And money came not in ;

Which way to take, or what to doe
To thinke he doth begin :

And to Gernutus strait he comes
With cap and bended knee,
And sayde to him, Of curtesie
I pray you beare with mee.
My day is come, and I have not
The money for to pay:
And little good the forfeyture
Will doe you, I dare say.

With all my heart, Gernutus sayd,
Commaund it to your minde:
In thinges of bigger waight then this
You shall me ready finde.

He goes his way; the day once past
Gernutus doth not slacke

To get a sergiant presently;

And clapt him on the backe:

And layd him into prison strong,
And sued his bond withall;
And when the judgement day was come,
For judgement he did call.

The marchants friends came thither fast,

With many a weeping eye,
For other means they could not find,
But he that day must dye.

THE SECOND PART.

"Of the Jews crueltie; setting foorth the mercifulnesse of the Judge towards the Marchant. To the tune of Blacke and Yellow."

SOME offered for his hundred crownes

Five hundred for to pay;
And some a thousand, two or three,
Yet still he did denay.

And at the last ten thousand crownes

They offered, him to save.
Gernutus sayd, I will no gold:
My forfeite I will have.

A pound of fleshe is my demand,
And that shall be my hire.

Then sayd the judge, Yet, good my friend,
Let me of you desire

To take the flesh from such a place,
As yet you let him live:

Do so,

and lo! an hundred crownes To thee here will I give.

No: no quoth he; no : judgement here:
For this it shall be tride,

For I will have my pound of fleshe
From under his right side.

It grieved all the companie

His crueltie to see,

For neither friend nor foe could helpe But he must spoyled bee.

The bloudie Jew now ready is

With whetted blade in hand,*

*The passage in Shakespeare bears so strong a resemblance to this, as to render it probable that the one suggested the other. See Act iv. Sc. ii. :

"Bass. Why doest thou whet thy knife so earnestly?" etc.

To spoyle the bloud of innocent,
By forfeit of his bond.

And as he was about to strike

In him the deadly blow:
Stay (quoth the judge) thy crueltie;
I charge thee to do so.

Sith needs thou wilt thy forfeit have,
Which is of flesh a pound:
See that thou shed no drop of bloud,
Nor yet the man confound.

For if thou doe, like murderer, Thou here shalt hanged be: Likewise of flesh see that thou cut No more than longes to thee:

For if thou take either more or lesse
To the value of a mite,
Thou shalt be hanged presently,
As is both law and right.

Gernutus now waxt franticke mad,
And wote not what to say ;
Quoth he at last, Ten thousand crownes.
I will that he shall pay ;

And so I graunt to set him free.

The judge doth answere make; You shall not have a penny given ; Your forfeyture now take.

At the last he doth demaund

But for to have his owne.
No, quoth the judge, doe as you list,
Thy judgement shall be showne.

Either take your pound of flesh, quoth he,
Or cancell me your bond.

O cruell judge, then quoth the Jew,
That doth against me stand!

And so with griping* grieved mind
He biddeth them fare-well.
"Then" all the people prays'd the Lord,
That ever this heard tell.

*Ver. 61. Griped, Ashmol. copy.

Good people, that doe heare this song,

For trueth I dare well say, That many a wretch as ill as hee Doth live now at this day;

That seeketh nothing but the spoyle
Of many a wealthey man,
And for to trap the innocent

Deviseth what they can.

From whome the Lord deliver me,

And every Christian too,

And send to them like sentence eke
That meaneth so to do.

**Since the first edition of this book was printed, the editor hath had reason to believe that both Shakespeare and the author of this ballad are indebted for their story of the Jew (however they came by it) to an Italian novel, which was first printed at Milan in the year 1554, in a book entitled, Il Pecorone, nel quale si contengono Cinquanta Novelle antiche, etc., republished at Florence about the year 1748 or 1749. The author was Ser. Giovanni Fiorentino, who wrote in 1378, thirty years after the time in which the scene of Boccace's Decameron is laid.

(Vid. Manni Istoria del Decamerone di Giov. Boccac. 4to, Fior. 1744.)

That Shakespeare had his plot from the novel itself, is evident from his having some incidents from it, which are not found in the ballad and I think it will also be found that he borrowed from the ballad some hints that were not suggested by the novel. (See above, Part ii. ver. 25, etc., where, instead of that spirited description of the whetted blade, etc., the prose narrative coldly says, "The Jew had prepared a razor," etc. See also some other passages in the same piece.) This, however, is spoken with diffidence, as I have at present before me only the abridgment of the novel which Mr. Johnson has given us at the end of his commentary on Shakespeare's play. The translation of the Italian story at large is not easy to be met with, having I believe never been published, though it was printed some years ago with this title :

-"The Novel, from which the Merchant of Venice written by Shakespeare is taken, translated from the Italian. To which is added a translation of a novel from the Decamerone of Boccacio. London, printed for M. Cooper, 1755, 8vo."

XII. THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE. THIS beautiful sonnet is quoted in the Merry Wives of Windsor, Act iii. Sc. i., and has often been ascribed (together with the reply) to Shakespeare himself.

There is, however, abundant reason to believe that it was written by Christopher Marlow. Isaac Walton in his Compleat Angler, first printed in the year 1658, but probably written some time before, speaks of it as "that smooth song, which was made by Kit Marlow, now fifty years ago: and . . . an answer to it which was made by Sir Walter Raleigh in his younger days."

There are also other proofs of the author of the one being Christopher Marlow; of the other, Sir Walter Raleigh.

COME live with me and be my love,
And we wil all the pleasures prove
That hils and vallies, dale and field,
And all the craggy mountains yield.

There will we sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

There will I make thee beds of roses
With a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Imbrodered all with leaves of mirtle;

A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Slippers lin'd choicely for the cold;
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw, and ivie buds,
With coral clasps, and amber studs :
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Then live with me and be my love.

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning :
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.

THE NYMPH'S REPLY.

If that the World and Love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's toung,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee, and be thy love.

But time drives flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold,
And Philomel becometh dumb,
And all complain of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yield:
A honey tongue, a hart of gall,
Is fancies spring, but sorrows fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw, and ivie buds,
Thy coral clasps, and amber studs;
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee, and be thy love.

But could youth last, and love still breed,
Had joyes no date, nor age no need ;
Then those delights my mind might move
To live with thee, and be thy love.

XIII. TITUS ANDRONICUS'S COMPLAINT.

THE same question arises with this ballad as with that of Gernutus, as to whether Shakespeare took his play from the ballad, or whether the ballad was written from the play. In both cases there are marked differences. But there is good reason to believe that Shakespeare did not write, but simply improved the play of Titus Andronicus, which is much inferior to any of his other works.

You noble minds, and famous martiall | For when Romes foes their warlike forces

The moore, with her two sonnes did growe My daughter ravished without remorse,

soe proud,

That none like them in Rome might bee allowd.

The moore soe pleas'd this new-made empress' eie,

That she consented to him secretlye
For to abuse her husband's marriage bed,
And soe in time a blackamore she bred.

Then she, whose thoughts to murder were

inclinde,

Consented with the moore of bloody minde

Against myselfe, my kin, and all my friendes,

In cruell sort to bring them to their endes.

Soe when in age I thought to live in peace, Both care and griefe began then to increase: Amongst my sonnes I had one daughter brighte,

Which joy'd, and pleased best my aged sight;

My deere Lavinia was betrothed than
To Cesars sonne, a young and noble man:
Who in a hunting by the emperours wife,
And her two sonnes, bereaved was of life.

He being slaine, was cast in cruel wise,
Into a darksome den from light of skies:
The cruell Moore did come that way as
then

And took away her honour, quite perforce.

When they had tasted of soe swete a flowre, Fearing this swete should shortly turne to sowre,

They cutt her tongue, whereby she could not tell

How that dishonoure unto her befell.

Then both her hands they basely cutt off quite,

Whereby their wickednesse she could not write;

Nor with her needle on her sampler sowe The bloudye workers of her direfull woe.

My brother Marcus found her in the wood, Staining the grassie ground with purple bloud,

That trickled from her stumpes, and bloudlesse armes :

Noe tongue at all she had to tell her harmes.

But when I sawe her in that woefull case,
With teares of bloud I wet mine aged face:
For my Lavinia I lamented more
Then for my two and twenty sonnes before.

When as I sawe she could not write nor speake,

With grief mine aged heart began to breake; We spred an heape of sand upon the ground,

With my three sonnes, who fell into the Whereby those bloudy tyrants out we

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Reliques of Ancient English Poetry: Consisting of Old Heroic Ballads, Songs, Etc