That cunningly can be coy,

For being a little faire.

The asse Ile leave to her disdaine;
And now I am myselfe againe.

XX.

THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD.

It has been a favourite subject with our English ballad-makers to represent our kings conversing, either by accident or design, with the meanest of their subjects. Of the former kind, besides this song of 'The King and the Miller,' we have 'K. Henry and the Soldier;''K. James I. and the Tinker;' K. William III. and the Forrester,' &c. Of the latter sort, are 'K. Alfred and the Shepherd;''K. Edward IV. and the Tanner;' 'K. Henry VIII. and the Cobler,' &c.—A few of the best of these are admitted into this collection. Both the author of the following ballad, and others who have written on the same plan, seem to have copied a very ancient poem, entitled 'JOHN THE REEVE,' which is built on an adventure of the same kind, that happened between K. Edward Longshanks, and one of his Reeves or Bailiffs. This is a piece of great antiquity, being written before the time of Edward IV. and for its genuine humour, diverting incidents, and faithful picture of rustic manners, is infinitely superior to all that have been since written in imitation of it. The Editor has a copy in his ancient folio MS. but its length rendered it improper for this volume, it consisting of more than 900 lines. It contains also some corruptions, and the Editor chooses to defer its publication in hopes that some time or other he shall be able to remove them.

The following is printed, with corrections, from the Editor's folio MS. collated with an old black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, entitled ‘A pleasant ballad of K. Henry II. and the Miller of Mansfield, &c.'

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 dainty does tripping: Unto merry Sherwood his nobles repaire:

Hawke and hound were unbound, all things prepar'd 5 For the game, in the same, with good regard.

All a long summers day rode the king pleasantlye, With all his princes and nobles eche one;

10

Chasing the hart and hind, and the bucke gallantlye,
Till the dark evening forc'd 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 doe not lightlye ride out of your way.'

15

'Why, what dost thou think of me,' quoth our king merrily,

20

'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 I lacke.'

25

Thou hast not,' quoth th' miller, 'one groat in thy

purse;

All thy inheritance hanges on thy backe.'

1'I have gold to discharge all that I call;

If it be forty pence, I will pay all.'

30

If thou beest a true man,' then quoth the miller, 'I sweare by my toll-dish I'll lodge thee all night.'

1 The king says this.

'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 millers house;
Where they were seething of puddings and souse:
The miller first enter'd in, after him went the king;
Never came hee in soe smoakye a house.
'Now,' quoth hee, 'let me see here what you are.'
Quoth our king, 'looke your fill, and doe not spare.'

35

40

'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 run away, prythee, youth, tell?
Shew me thy passport, and all shal be well.'

Then our king presentlye, making lowe courtesye,
With his hatt in his hand, thus he did say;

'I have no passport, nor never was servitor,
But a poor courtyer, rode out of my way :
And for your kindness here offered 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 he doth speake to his betters in place.'

45

50

113

55

60

'Well,' quo' the millers 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, 65 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 lowsy, nor scabby?' quoth he: 'If thou beest, surely thou lyest not with mee.'

71

This caus'd the king, suddenlye, 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 did about the board merrilye trowle.

75

'Here,' quoth the miller, 'good fellowe, I drinke to thee,

And to all [cuckholds, wherever they bee.]'

80

'I pledge thee,' quotth our king, and thanke thee heartilye

For my good welcome in everye degree:

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

'Wife', quoth the miller, 'fetch me forth lightfoote, 85 And of his sweetnesse a little we'll taste.'

Ver. 80, courtnalls, that courteous be, MS. and P.

A faire 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 eat so daintye a thing.'

'I wis,' quoth Richard 'no daintye at all it is, For we doe eate of it everye day.'

90

'In what place,' said our king 'may be bought like to this?'

'We never pay pennye for itt, by my fay: From merry Sherwood we fetch it home here; Now and then we make bold with our kings deer.'

95

'Then I thinke,' 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,

100

Very well fleshed, and excellent fat : But, prythee, say nothing wherever thou goe; We would not, for two pence, the king should it knowe.'

'Doubt not,' then sayd the king, 'my promist secresye;
The king shall never know more on't for mee.'
A cupp of lambs-wool they dranke unto him then, 105
And to their bedds they past presentlie.

The nobles, next morning, went all up and down,
For to seeke out the king in everye towne.

110

At last, at the millers [cott,] soone they espy'd him out,
As he was mounting upon his faire steede,
To whom they came presently, falling down on their

knee ;

Which made the millers heart wofully bleede :