Part 10

A famous harper passing by, The sweet pale face he chanced to spy;

And when he looked that ladye on, He sighed and made a heavy moan.

He made a harp of her breast-bone, Whose sounds would melt a heart of stone;

He's ta'en three locks of her yellow hair, And wi' them strung his harp sae fair.

He brought it to her father's hall, And there was the court assembled all.

He laid this harp upon a stone, And straight it began to play alone:

"Oh, yonder sits my father, the king, And yonder sits my mother, the queen,

And yonder stands my brother, Hugh, And yonder my William, sweet and true."

But the last tune that the harp played then Binnorie! O Binnorie! Was, "Wae to my sister, false Ellen, By the bonny mill-dams of Binnorie!"

KING COPHETUA AND THE BEGGAR-MAID.

I read that once in Africa A princely wight did reign, Who had to name Cophetua, As poets they did feign: From nature's laws he did decline, For sure he was not of my mind, He car-ed not for women-kind, But did them all disdain. But mark what happened on a day: As he out of his window lay, He saw a beggar all in gray, The which did cause his pain.

The blinded boy, that shoots so trim, From heaven down did hie; He drew a dart and shot at him, In place where he did lie: Which soon did pierce him to the quick, And when he felt the arrow prick, Which in his tender heart did stick, He looked as he would die. "What sudden chance is this," quoth he, "That I to love must subject be, Which never thereto would agree, But still did it defy?"

Then from the window he did come, And laid him on his bed, A thousand heaps of care did run Within his troubled head: For now he means to crave her love, And now he seeks which way to prove How he his fancy might remove, And not this beggar wed. But Cupid had him so in snare, That this poor beggar must prepare A salve to cure him of his care, Or else he would be dead.

And, as he musing thus did lie, He thought for to devise How he might have her company, That so did 'maze his eyes. "In thee," quoth he, "doth rest my life; For surely thou shalt be my wife, Or else this hand with bloody knife The gods shall sure suffice!" Then from his bed he soon arose, And to his palace gate he goes; Full little then this beggar knows When she the king espies.

"The gods preserve your majesty!" The beggars all gan cry: "Vouchsafe to give your charity Our children's food to buy!" The king to them his purse did cast, And they to part it made great haste; This silly woman was the last That after them did hie. The king he called her back again, And unto her he gave his chain; And said, "With us thou shalt remain Till such time as we die:

"For thou," quoth he, "shalt be my wife, And honoured for my queen; With thee I mean to lead my life, As shortly shall be seen: Our wedding shall appointed be, And every thing in its degree; Come on," quoth he, "and follow me, Thou shalt go shift thee clean. What is thy name, fair maid?" quoth he. "Zenelophon, O king," quoth she: With that she made a low courts-ey, A trim one as I ween.

Thus hand in hand along they walk Unto the king's pal-ace: The king with courteous comely talk This beggar doth embrace: The beggar blusheth scarlet red, And straight again as pale as lead, But not a word at all she said, She was in such amaze. At last she spake with trembling voice And said, "O king, I do rejoice That you will take me for your choice, And my degree's so base."

And when the wedding day was come, The king commanded straight The noblemen both all and some Upon the queen to wait. And she behaved herself that day, As if she had never walked the way; She had forgot her gown of gray, Which she did wear of late. The proverb old is come to pass, The priest, when he begins his mass, Forgets that ever clerk he was; He knoweth not his estate.

Here you may read, Cophetua, Though long time fancy-fed, Compell-ed by the blinded boy The beggar for to wed: He that did lovers' looks disdain, To do the same was glad and fain, Or else he would himself have slain, In story as we read. Disdain no whit, O lady dear, But pity now thy servant here, Lest that it hap to thee this year, As to that king it did.

And thus they led a quiet life During their princely reign; And in a tomb were buried both, As writers showeth plain. The lords they took it grievously, The ladies took it heavily, The commons cri-ed piteously, Their death to them was pain. Their fame did sound so passingly, That it did pierce the starry sky, And throughout all the world did fly To every prince's realm.

TAKE THY OLD CLOAK ABOUT THEE.

This winter's weather it waxeth cold, And frost doth freeze on every hill, And Boreas blows his blasts so bold, That all our cattle are like to spill; Bell my wife, who loves no strife, She said unto me quietly, "Rise up, and save cow Crumbock's life; Man, put thine old cloak about thee."

He. "O Bell, why dost thou flyte and scorn? Thou ken'st my cloak is very thin: It is so bare and overworn A crick he thereon cannot renn: Then I'll no longer borrow nor lend, For once I'll new apparelled be, To-morrow I'll to town and spend, For I'll have a new cloak about me."

She. "Cow Crumbock is a very good cow, She ha' been always true to the pail, She's helped us to butter and cheese, I trow, And other things she will not fail: I wad be loth to see her pine, Good husband, counsel take of me, It is not for us to go so fine; Man, take thine old cloak about thee."

He. "My cloak it was a very good cloak, It hath been always true to the wear, But now it is not worth a groat; I have had it four and forty year: Sometime it was of cloth in grain, 'Tis now but a sigh-clout, as you may see, It will neither hold out wind nor rain; And I'll have a new cloak about me."

She. "It is four and forty years ago Since the one of us the other did ken, And we have had betwixt us two Of children either nine or ten; We have brought them up to women and men; In the fear of God I trow they be; And why wilt thou thyself misken? Man, take thine old cloak about thee."

He. "O Bell my wife, why dost thou flout? Now is now, and then was then: Seek now all the world throughout, Thou ken'st not clowns from gentlemen. They are clad in black, green, yellow, or gray, So far above their own degree: Once in my life I'll do as they, For I'll have a new cloak about me."

She. "King Stephen was a worthy peer, His breeches cost him but a crown, He held them sixpence all too dear; Therefore he called the tailor lown. He was a wight of high renown, And thou's but of a low degree: It's pride that puts this country down; Man, take thine old cloak about thee."