THE Editor found this poem in his ancient folio manuscript among the old ballads; its author is Samuel Rowlands, one of the minor poets of the reigns of Elizabeth and James, perhaps later. An edition was published in 1649. For he had fifteen sonnes, made captives Soe draws his sword, salutes him with the all To slavish bondage, in extremest thrall. A gyant called Amarant detaind them, Whom noe man durst encounter for his strength: Who in a castle, which he held, had chaind them : Guy questions, where? and understands at length The place not farr.-Lend me thy sword, quoth hee, Ile lend my manhood all thy sonnes to free. With that he goes, and lays upon the dore, Like one that sayes, I must, and will come in : The gyant never was soe rowz'd before: For noe such knocking at his gate had bin: Soe takes his keyes, and clubb, and cometh out Staring with ireful countenance about. Sirra, quoth hee, what business hast thou heere? Art come to feast the crowes about my walls? Didst never heare, noe ransome can him cleere, That in the compasse of my furye falls : For making me to take a porters paines, With this same clubb I will dash out thy braines. Gyant, quoth Guy, y'are quarrelsome I see, Choller and you seem very neere of kin : Most dangerous at the clubb belike you bee; I have bin better armd, though nowe goe thin; But shew thy utmost hate, enlarge thy spight, Keene is my weapon, and shall doe me right. same |