RAVENSCROFT'S MELISMATA.

SERVANTS OUT OF SERVICE

ARE GOING TO THE CITY TO LOOK FOR NEW.

HEIGH-HO, away the mare,
Let us set aside all care;
If any man be dispos'd to try,
Lo, here comes a lusty crew,

That are enforc'd to cry, a new master, a new!
Hey now, we'll take small pains,
And yet we'll thrive, hey now;
We neither mind to beg nor starve,
We will have more than we deserve,
We'll cut their throats that are alive.

THE YOUNG NURSE'S REQUEST.

FROM CITY ROUNDS.

I pray you, good mother, give me leave
To play with little John,

To make his bed, and comb his head,

And come again anon.

Or else beat me as you think good,

For I love John alone.

61

THE PAINTER'S SONG OF LONDON.

FROM CITY CONCEITS.

WHERE are you, fair maids, that have need of our trades? I'll sell you a rare confection;

Will

you have your faces spread, either with white or red; Will you buy any fair complexion?

G

My drugs are no dregs, for I have whites of eggs,

Made in a rare confection,

Red leather and surflet water, scarlet colour or staves-aker; Will you buy any fair complexion?

A BELLMAN'S SONG.

MAIDS to bed, and cover coal,
Let the mouse out of her hole;
Crickets, crickets in the chimney sing,
Whilst the little bell doth ring,
If fast asleep, who can tell
When the clapper hits the bell.

THE THREE RAVENS.

FROM COUNTRY PASTIMES.

THERE were three ravens sat on a tree,

Down a down, hey down;

There were three ravens sat on a tree,

With a down;

There were three ravens sat on a tree,

They were as black as they might be,

With a down, derry, derry, derry, down, down.

The one of them said to his mate,

Where shall we our breakfast take?

Down in yonder green field,

There lies a knight slain under his shield.

RAVENSCROFT'S MELISMATA.

His hounds they lie down at his feet,
So well they can their master keep.

His hawks they fly so eagerly,
There's no fowl dare him come nigh.

Down there comes a fallow doe,
As great with young as she might go;

She lifted up his bloody head,

And kiss'd his wounds that were so red;

She got him up upon her back,

And carried him to earthen lake;

She buried him before the prime;

She was dead herself ere even-song time.

God send every gentleman

Such hawks, such hounds, and such a leman.

63

From internal evidence, the "Three Ravens" appears to have been an old Ballad when Ravenscroft introduced it into his "Melismata," written, perhaps, in or about the reign of Henry the Eighth. He has passed over the history of this rich and sublimely wild production, as other collators of his period were wont to do, consequently, we remain ignorant of the circumstance which erst called forth its composition. The "Two Ravens," although poetical and descriptive, is evidently a more recent composition, built upon the former; we subjoin this version in illustration of what we now have stated.

THE TWO RAVENS.

There were two ravens sat on a tree,
Large and black, as black may be;

And one unto the other 'gan say,
Where shall we go and dine to-day?

Shall we go dine by the wild salt sea?
Shall we go dine 'neath the greenwood tree?

As I sat on the deep sea sand,

I saw a fair ship nigh at land,

I waved my wings, I bent my beak,
The ship sunk, and I heard a shriek;
There they lie, one, two, and three,
I shall dine by the wild salt sea.

Come, I will show ye a sweeter sight,
A lonesome glen, and a new-slain knight;
His blood yet on the grass is hot,

His sword half-drawn, his shafts unshot;
And no one kens that he lies there,

But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair.

His hound is to the hunting gane,

His hawk to fetch the wild fowl hame,

His lady's away with another mate,
So we shall make our dinner sweet;
Our dinner's sure, our feasting free,
Come, and dine by the greenwood tree.

Ye shall sit on his white hause-bane,
I will pike out his bonnie blue een;
Ye'll take a tress of his yellow hair,
To theak your nest when it grows bare;
The gowden down on his young chin,
Will do to sewe my young ones in.

Oh! cauld and bare will his bed be,
When winter storms sing in the tree;
At his head a turf, at his feet a stone,
He will sleep, nor hear the maiden's moan;
O'er his white bones the birds shall fly,
The wild deer bound, and foxes cry.

RAVENSCROFT'S MELISMATA.

65

The late Mr. John Findlay, author of Wallace, or the Vale of Ellerslie, &c. seems also to have borne Ravenscroft's "Three Ravens" in mind, when he composed his Dirge of the Slain Knight, beginning,

"A knight there came from the field of slain,
His steed was drench'd with the falling rain."

THE MARRIAGE OF THE FROGGIE AND THE MOUSE.

FROM COUNTRY PASTIMES.

It was the froggie in the well,
Humble dum, humble dum;
And the merry mouse in the mill,
Tweedle, tweedle, twino.

The froggie would a-wooing ride,
Sword and buckler by his side.

When he was upon his high horse set,
His boots they shone as black as jet.

When he came to the

merry mill-pin,

Ho! mistress mouse, be ye within.

She cries, out o'er the seedy mill-dam,

And then came out the dusty mouse,
Saying, I am lady of this house.'

Hast thou any mind of me?
I have e'en great mind of thee.