King Alfred and the Shepherd.
WITH THE
Humours of Gillian, the Shepherd's Wife
To the Tune of Flying Fame.
|
In this Song, there is at least a Possibility, (and I believe I might say) a Probability of Truth
|
Alfred was not the only King, who has wander'd incog, amongst his Subjects, to discover their Hu-
|
mours, Affection, and Manner of Living. We have had some of our own, as well as several
|
Foreign Potentates, who have made a Practise of it; and even this good King Alfred himself is
|
recorded to have done it, at a Time when the Danger was far greater than venturing amongst
|
Swains and Peasants. For the Danes having invaded England, and left him (of the whole Island)
|
only the Counties of Southampton, Wilts, and Somerset, he disguised himself, and enter'd
|
their Camp, to reconnoitre their Strength, Manner of Incamping, etc. And having seen and
|
learnt all he desired, he return'd to his own Soldiers; and leading them on, they fell unawares up-
|
on the Danes, and for that Year drove 'em out of the Kingdom. If he could do this, we may
|
reasonably suppose, that in Time of Peace he could venture himself amongst his own Subjects;
|
especially considering how much he was belov'd by them all, and how little Risque he ran amongst
|
them; for he was a just, wise, and pious Prince, of a very liberal Education; Endowments uncom-
|
mon in those early Days: And besides the Arts of War and Government, he understood several of
|
the Sciences; and, amongst other, Musick and Poetry to a Perfection. His Works of Piety were
|
many; but in particular, we are indebted to him for the Foundation of the University of Oxford:
|
And notwithstanding the petty Cavils and Criticisms of some Antiquarians, the Members of Uni-
|
versity-College still return Thanks for him, as their Founder. This Prince was the Fourth Son of
|
King Egbert, of the Saxon Line: His three Elder Brothers reign'd successively before him; but
|
all dying without Issue, he at length inherited the Crown, reign'd Nine and Twenty Years, died in
|
the Year 901, and was buried at Winchester. I have nothing more to add, than that I think
|
this Song one of the best Pastorals that ever was written in the English Tongue. I will not say,
|
that our Poet had read the Story of Baucis and Philemon; but thus much I dare assert, That
|
in the Description of the Shepherd and his Wife's Manner of Living, their Fare on better Days,
|
etc. he truly comes up to the Spirit of Ovid, and does not fall short of Theocritus in Simplicity,
|
and a natural Way of expressing every Thing in Words becoming a Pastoral Song.
|
IN Elder Time there was of Yore,
|
When Gibes of churlish Glee
|
Were us'd among our Country Carls,
|
Tho' no such Thing now be.
|
The which King Alfred liking well,
|
Forsook his stately Court,
|
And in disguise unknown went forth,
|
To see that jovial Sport;
|
How Dick and Tom in clouted Shoon,
|
And Coats of Russet Grey,
|
Esteem'd themselves more brave than them
|
That went in Golden Ray.
|
In Garments fit for such a Life,
|
The good King Alfred went,
|
Ragged and torn as from his Back
|
The Beggar his Cloaths had rent.
|
A Sword and Buckler good and strong,
|
To give Jack Sauce a Rap;
|
And on his Head, instead of a Crown,
|
He wore a Monmouth Cap.
|
Thus coasting thourough Somersetshire,
|
Near Newton-Court he met
|
A Shepherd Swain of lusty Limb,
|
That up and down did jet:
|
He wore a Bonnet of good Grey,
|
Close button'd to his Chin,
|
And at his Back a Leather Scrip,
|
With much good Meat therein.
|
God speed, good Shepherd, quoth the King,
|
I come to be thy Guest,
|
To taste of thy good Victual here,
|
And drink that's of the best:
|
Thy Scrip, I know hath Cheer good Store:
|
What then, the Shepherd said?
|
Thou seem'st to be some sturdy Thief,
|
And mak'st me sore afraid:
|
Yet if thou wilt thy Dinner win,
|
Thy Sword and Buckler take;
|
And, if thou canst, into my Scrip
|
Therewith an Entrance make.
|
I tell thee, Roister, it hath store
|
Of Beef, and Bacon fat,
|
With Sheaves of Barley Bread to make
|
Your Chaps to water at:
|
Here stands my Bottle, here my Bag,
|
If thou can'st win them, Roister;
|
Against thy Sword and Buckler here,
|
My Sheep hook is my Master.
|
Benedicite, quoth our good King;
|
It never shall be said,
|
That Alfred of the Shepherd's Hook
|
Will stand a whit afraid.
|
So soundly thus they both fell to 't,
|
And giving Bang for Bang;
|
At every Blow the Shepherd gave,
|
King Alfreds Sword cry'd Twang.
|
His Buckler prov'd his chiefest Fence;
|
For still the Shepherd's Hook
|
Was that the which King Alfred could
|
In no good manner brook.
|
At last, when they had fought Four Hours,
|
And it grew just Mid-day,
|
And weary'd, both, with right good Will
|
Desir'd each other's Stay:
|
K[ing, truce Jery quoth Alfred then]
|
Good [shepherd hold thy han]d;
|
A sturdier [fellow than thyself]
|
Lives not [within this land.]
|
Nor a lustier R[oister than] thou art,
|
The churlish Shepherd I said:
|
To tell thee plain, thy Thievish Look
|
Now makes my Heart afraid.
|
Else sure thou art some Prodigal,
|
Which hast consum'd thy Store,
|
And now com'st wandring in this Place,
|
To rob and steal for more.
|
Deem not of me then, quoth our King,
|
Good Shepherd, in this Sort;
|
A Gentleman well known I am
|
In good King Alfreds Court.
|
The Devil thou art, the Shepherd said;
|
Thou go'st in Rags all torn;
|
Thou rather seem[']st I think to be
|
Some Beggar basely born:
|
But if thou wilt mend thy Estate,
|
And here a Shepherd be;
|
At Night, to Gillian, my sweet Wife,
|
Thou shalt go home with me:
|
For she's as good a toothless Dame,
|
As mumbleth on brown Bread;
|
Where thou shalt lie in hurden Sheets,
|
Upon a fresh Straw Bed.
|
Of Whig and Whey we have good Store,
|
And keep good Pease-straw Fire;
|
And now and then good Barley Cakes,
|
As better Days require.
|
But for my Master, which is Chief,
|
And Lord of Newton-Court,
|
He keeps, I say, his Shepherd Swains
|
In far more braver Sort;
|
We there have Curds and clouted Cream,
|
Of Red Cow's Morning Milk;
|
And now and then fine butter'd Cakes,
|
As soft as any Silk,
|
Of Beef and reised Bacon store,
|
That is most fat and greasy,
|
We have likewise, to feed our Chaps,
|
And make them glib and easy.
|
Thus if thou wilt my Man become,
|
This Usage thou shalt have;
|
If not, adieu; go hang thyself;
|
And so farewel, Sir Knave.
|
King Alfred hearing of this Glee
|
The churlish Shepherd said,
|
Was well content to be his Man;
|
So they a Bargain made:
|
A Penny round the Shepherd gave,
|
In Earnest of this Match,
|
To keep his Sheep in Field and Fold,
|
As Shepherds use to watch.
|
His Wages shall be full Ten Groats,
|
For Service of a Year;
|
Yet was it not his Use, old Lad,
|
To hire a Man so dear:
|
For did the King himself, quoth he,
|
Unto my Cottage come,
|
He should not, for a twelve-month's Pay,
|
Receive a greater Sum,
|
Hereat the bonny King grew blithe,
|
To hear the clounish Jest;
|
How silly Sots, as Custom is,
|
Do descent at the best.
|
But not to spoil the foolish Sport,
|
He was content, good King,
|
To fit the Shepherd's Humour right
|
In every kind of Thing.
|
A Sheep hook then, with Patch his Dog,
|
And Tar-box by his Side;
|
He, with his Master, Cheek by Joll,
|
Unto old Gillian hy'd.
|
Into whose Sight no sooner came;
|
Whom have you here, quoth she;
|
A Fellow, I doubt, will cut our Throats;
|
So like a Knave looks he.
|
Not so, old Dame, quoth Alfred straight,
|
Of me you need not fear;
|
My Master hir'd me for Ten Groats,
|
To serve you one whole Year:
|
So, good Dame Gillian, grant me Leave
|
Within your House to stay;
|
For by St. Anne, do what you can,
|
I will not yet away.
|
Her churlish Usage pleas'd him still,
|
and put him to such Proof,
|
That he at Night was almost choak'd
|
Within that smoaky Roof:
|
But as he sat with smiling Cheer,
|
The Event of all to see,
|
His Dame brought forth a Piece of Dough,
|
Which in the Fire throughs she;
|
Where lying on the Hearth to bake,
|
By chance the Cake did burn:
|
What can'st thou not, thou Lout, (quoth she)
|
Take Pains the same to turn?
|
Thou art more quick to take it out,
|
And eat it up half Dough,
|
Than thus to stay till 't be enough,
|
And so thy Manners show.
|
But serve me such another Trick,
|
I'll thwack thee on the Snout:
|
Which made the Patient King, good Man,
|
Of her to stand in doubt.
|
But, to be brief, to Bed they went,
|
The old Man and his Wife;
|
But never such a Lodging had
|
King Alfred in his Life;
|
For he was laid in white Sheep's Wool,
|
New pull'd from tanned Fells;
|
And o're his Head hang'd Spiders Webs,
|
As if they had been Bells.
|
Is this the Country Guise, thought he?
|
Then here I will not stay,
|
But hence be gone, as soon as breaks
|
The peeping of next Day.
|
The cackling Hens and Geese kept roost,
|
And perched at his Side;
|
Where, at the last, the watchful Cock
|
Made known the Morning Tide:
|
Then up got Alfred, with his Horn,
|
And blew so long a Blast,
|
That it made Gillian and her Groom,
|
In Bed, full sore aghast.
|
Arise, quoth she, we are undone;
|
This Night we lodged have,
|
At unawares, within our House,
|
A false dissembling Knave:
|
Rise, Husband, rise; he'll cut our Throats;
|
He calleth for his Mates:
|
I'd give, Old Will, our good Cade Lamb,
|
He would depart our Gates.
|
But still King Alfred blew his Horn
|
Before them more and more;
|
Till that an Hundred Lords and Knights
|
All lighted at the Door:
|
Who cry'd, All hail, all hail, good King;
|
Long have we sought your Grace.
|
And here you find (my Merry Men all)
|
Your Sov'reign in this Place.
|
We surely must be hang'd up both,
|
Old Gillian I much fear,
|
The Shepherd said, for using thus
|
Our good King Alfred here.
|
O Pardon, my Liege, quoth Gillian then,
|
For my Husband, and for me:
|
By these ten Bones, I never thought
|
The same that now I see.
|
And by my Hook, the Shepherd said,
|
(An Oath both good and true)
|
Before this Time, O Noble King,
|
I ne're your Highness knew:
|
Then pardon me and my old Wife,
|
That we may after say,
|
When first you came into our House
|
It was a happy Day.
|
It shall be done, said Alfred, straight;
|
And Gillian, thy old Dame,
|
For this her churlish using me
|
Deserveth not much Blame:
|
For 'tis the Country Guise, I see,
|
To be thus bluntish still;
|
And where the plainest Meaning is,
|
Remains the smallest Ill.
|
And, Master, lo, I tell thee now
|
For thy late Manhood shown,
|
A Thousand Weathers I'll bestow
|
Upon thee for thy own;
|
And Pasture-Ground, as much as will
|
Suffice to feed them all:
|
And this thy Cottage I will change
|
Into a stately Hall.
|
And for the same, as Duty binds,
|
The Shepherd said good King,
|
A Milk-white Lamb, once ev'ry Year,
|
I'll to your Highness bring;
|
And Gillian, my Wife, likewise,
|
Of Wool to make you Coats,
|
Will give you as much at New-Years Tide,
|
As shall be worth Ten Groats:
|
And in your Praise, my Bag-pipes shall
|
Sound sweetly once a Year,
|
How Alfred, our renowned King,
|
Most kindly hath been here.
|
Thanks, Shepherd, Thanks, quoth he again:
|
The next Time I come hither,
|
My Lords with me, here in this House,
|
Will all be merry together.
|
|
|
|
|
|