* * * * *

ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW; HIS MAD PRANKS AND MERRY JESTS

Not omitting that ancient form of beginning tales, Once upon a time it was my chance to travel into that noble county of Kent. The weather being wet, and my two-legged horse being almost tired (for indeed my own legs were all the supporters that my body had), I went dropping into an alehouse; there found I, first a kind welcome, next good liquor, then kind strangers (which made good company), then an honest host, whose love to good liquor was written in red characters both in his nose, cheeks and forehead: an hostess I found there too, a woman of very good carriage; and though she had not so much colour (for what she had done) as her rich husband had, yet all beholders might perceive by the roundness of her belly, that she was able to draw a pot dry at a draught, and ne'er unlace for the matter.

Well, to the fire I went, where I dried my outside and wet my inside. The ale being good, and I in good company, I lapt in so much of this nappy liquor, that it begot in me a boldness to talk, and desire of them to know what was the reason that the people of that country were called Long-tails[1]. The host said, all the reason that ever he could hear was, because the people of that country formerly did use to go in side-skirted coats. "There is," said an old man that sat by, "another reason that I have heard: that is this. In the time of the Saxons' conquest of England there were divers of our countrymen slain by treachery, which made those that survived more careful in dealing with their enemies, as you shall hear.

"After many overthrows that our countrymen had received by the Saxons, they dispersed themselves into divers companies into the woods, and so did much damage by their sudden assaults to the Saxons, that Hengist, their king, hearing the damage that they did (and not knowing how to subdue them by force), used this policy. He sent to a company of them, and gave them his word for their liberty and safe return, if they would come unarmed and speak with him. This they seemed to grant unto, but for their more security (knowing how little he esteemed oaths or promises) they went every one of them armed with a short sword, hanging just behind under their garments, so that the Saxons thought not of any weapons they had: but it proved otherwise; for when Hengist his men (that were placed to cut them off) fell all upon them, they found such unlooked a resistance, that most of the Saxons were slain, and they that escaped, wondering how they could do that hurt, having no weapons (as they saw), reported that they struck down men like lions with their tails; and so they ever after were called Kentish Long-tails."

I told him this was strange, if true, and that their country's honour bound them more to believe in this than it did me.

"Truly, sir," said my hostess, "I think we are called Long-tails, by reason our tales are long, that we used to pass the time withal, and make ourselves merry." "Now, good hostess," said I, "let me entreat from you one of those tales." "You shall," said she, "and that shall not be a common one neither, for it is a long tale, a merry tale, and a sweet tale; and thus it begins."

THE HOSTESS'S TALE OF THE BIRTH OF ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW

Once upon a time, a great while ago, when men did eat more and drink less—then men were more honest, that knew no knavery, than some now are that confess the knowledge and deny the practice—about that time (whensoe'er it was) there was wont to walk many harmless spirits called fairies, dancing in brave order in fairy rings on green hills with sweet music (sometime invisible) in divers shapes: many mad pranks would they play, as pinching of sluts black and blue, and misplacing things in ill-ordered houses; but lovingly would they use wenches that cleanly were, giving them silver and other pretty toys, which they would leave for them, sometimes in their shoes, other times in their pockets, sometimes in bright basins and other clean vessels.

Amongst these fairies was there a he-fairy; whether he was their king or no I know not, but surely he had great government and command in that country, as you shall hear. This same he-fairy did love a proper young wench, for every night would he with other fairies come to the house, and there dance in her chamber; and oftentimes she was forced to dance with him, and at his departure would he leave her silver and jewels, to express his love unto her. At last this maid was with child, and being asked who was the father of it, she answered a man that nightly came to visit her, but early in the morning he would go his way, whither she knew not, he went so suddenly.

Many old women, that then had more wit than those that are now living and have less, said that a fairy had gotten her with child; and they bid her be of good comfort, for the child must needs be fortunate that had so noble a father as a fairy was, and should work many strange wonders. To be short, her time grew on, and she was delivered of a man child, who (it should seem) so rejoiced his father's heart, that every night his mother was supplied with necessary things that are befitting a woman in child-birth, so that in no mean manner neither; for there had she rich embroidered cushions, stools, carpets, coverlets, delicate linen: then for meat she had capons, chickens, mutton, lamb, pheasant, snite[2], woodcock, partridge, quail. The gossips liked this fare so well that she never wanted company; wine had she of all sorts, muskadine, sack, malmsey, claret, white and bastard; this pleased her neighbours well, so that few that came to see her, but they had home with them a medicine for the fleas. Sweetmeats too had they in such abundance that some of their teeth are rotten to this day; and for music she wanted not, or any other thing she desired.

All praised this honest fairy for his care, and the child for his beauty, and the mother for a happy woman. In brief, christened he was, at the which all this good cheer was doubled, which made most of the women so wise, that they forgot to make themselves unready, and so lay in their clothes; and none of them next day could remember the child's name but the clerk, and he may thank his book for it, or else it had been utterly lost. So much for the birth of little Robin.

OF ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW'S BEHAVIOUR WHEN HE WAS YOUNG

When Robin was grown to six years of age, he was so knavish that all the neighbours did complain of him; for no sooner was his mother's back turned, but he was in one knavish action or other, so that his mother was constrained (to avoid the complaints) to take him with her to market, or wheresoever she went or rode. But this helped little or nothing, for if he rode before her, then would he make mouths and ill-favoured faces at those he met; if he rode behind her, then would he clap his hand on his tail; so that his mother was weary of the many complaints that came against him, yet knew she not how to beat him justly for it, because she never saw him do that which was worthy blows. The complaints were daily so renewed that his mother promised him a whipping. Robin did not like that cheer, and therefore, to avoid it, he ran away, and left his mother a heavy woman for him.

HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW DWELT WITH A TAILOR

After that Robin Good-fellow had gone a great way from his mother's house, he began to be hungry, and going to a tailor's house, he asked something for God's sake. The tailor gave him meat, and understanding that he was masterless, he took him for his man, and Robin so plied his work that he got his master's love.

On a time his master had a gown to make for a woman, and it was to be done that night: they both sat up late so that they had done all but setting on the sleeves by twelve o'clock. This master then being sleepy said, "Robin, whip thou on the sleeves, and then come thou to bed; I will go to bed before." "I will," said Robin. So soon as his master was gone, Robin hung up the gown, and taking both sleeves in his hands, he whipped and lashed them on the gown. So stood he till the morning that his master came down: his master seeing him stand in that fashion asked him what he did? "Why," quoth he, "as you bid me, whip on the sleeves." "Thou rogue," said his master, "I did mean that thou shouldst have set them on quickly and slightly." "I would you had said so," said Robin, "for then had I not lost all this sleep." To be short, his master was fain to do the work, but ere he had made an end of it, the woman came for it, and with a loud voice chafed for her gown. The tailor, thinking to please her, bid Robin fetch the remnants that they left yesterday (meaning thereby meat that was left); but Robin, to cross his master the more, brought down the remnants of the cloth that was left of the gown. At the sight of this, his master looked pale, but the woman was glad, saying, "I like this breakfast so well, that I will give you a pint of wine to it." She sent Robin for the wine, but he never returned again to his master.

WHAT HAPPENED TO ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW AFTER HE WENT FROM THE TAILOR

After Robin had travelled a good day's journey from his master's house he sat down, and being weary he fell asleep. No sooner had slumber taken full possession of him, and closed his long-opened eyelids, but he thought he saw many goodly proper personages in antic measures tripping about him, and withal he heard such music as he thought that Orpheus, that famous Greek fiddler (had he been alive), compared to one of these, had been as infamous as a Welsh harper that plays for cheese and onions. As delights commonly last not long, so did those end sooner than he would willingly they should have done; and for very grief he awaked, and found by him lying a scroll, wherein was written these lines following in golden letters.

Robin, my only son and heir, How to live take thou no care: By nature thou hast cunning shifts, Which I'll increase with other gifts. Wish what thou wilt, thou shalt it have; And for to vex both fool and knave, Thou hast the power to change thy shape, To horse, to hog, to dog, to ape. Transformed thus, by any means See none thou harm'st but knaves and queans; But love thou those that honest be, And help them in necessity. Do thus, and all the world shall know The pranks of Robin Good-fellow; For by that name thou called shalt be To age's last posterity. If thou observe my just command, One day thou shalt see Fairy Land. This more I give: who tells thy pranks From those that hear them shall have thanks.

Robin having read this was very joyful, yet longed he to know whether he had this power or not, and to try it he wished for some meat: presently[3] it was before him. Then wished he for beer and wine: he straightway had it. This liked him well, and because he was weary, he wished himself a horse: no sooner was his wish ended, but he was transformed, and seemed a horse of twenty pound price, and leaped and curveted as nimble as if he had been in stable at rack and manger a good month. Then wished he himself a dog, and was so: then a tree, and was so: so from one thing to another, till he was certain and well assured that he could change himself to any thing whatsoever.

HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW SERVED A CLOWNISH FELLOW

Robin Good-fellow going over a field met with a clownish fellow, to whom he spake in this manner. "Friend," quoth he, "what is a clock?" "A thing," answered the clown, "that shows the time of the day." "Why then," said Robin Good-fellow, "be thou a clock, and tell me what time of the day it is." "I owe thee not so much service," answered he again, "but because thou shalt think thyself beholden to me, know that it is the same time of the day as it was yesterday at this time."

These cross-answers vexed Robin Good-fellow, so that in himself he vowed to be revenged of him, which he did in this manner.

Robin Good-fellow turned himself into a bird, and followed this fellow, who was going into a field a little from that place to catch a horse that was at grass. The horse being wild ran over dyke and hedge, and the fellow after; but to little purpose, for the horse was too swift for him. Robin was glad of this occasion, for now or never was the time to put his revenge in action.

Presently Robin shaped himself like to the horse that the fellow followed, and so stood before the fellow: presently the fellow took hold of him and got on his back, but long had he not rid, but with a stumble he hurled this churlish clown to the ground, that he almost broke his neck; yet took he not this for a sufficient revenge for the cross-answers he had received, but stood still and let the fellow mount him once more.

In the way the fellow was to ride was a great plash of water of a good depth: through this must he of necessity ride. No sooner was he in the midst of it, but Robin Good-fellow left him with nothing but a pack-saddle betwixt his legs, and in the shape of a fish swam to the shore, and ran away laughing, ho, ho, hoh![4] leaving the poor fellow almost drowned.

HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW HELPED TWO LOVERS AND DECEIVED AN OLD MAN

Robin going by a wood heard two lovers make great lamentation, because they were hindered from enjoying each other by a cruel old lecher, who would not suffer this loving couple to marry. Robin, pitying them, went to them and said: "I have heard your complaints, and do pity you; be ruled by me, and I will see that you shall have both your hearts' content, and that suddenly if you please." After some amazement the maiden said, "Alas! sir, how can that be? My uncle, because I will not grant to his lust, is so straight over me, and so oppresseth me with work night and day, that I have not so much time as to drink or speak with this young man, whom I love above all men living." "If your work be all that hindereth you," said Robin, "I will see that done: ask me not how, nor make any doubt of the performance; I will do it. Go you with your love: for twenty-four hours I will free you. In that time marry or do what you will. If you refuse my proffered kindness never look to enjoy your wished-for happiness. I love true lovers, honest men, good fellows, good housewives, good meat, good drink, and all things that good is, but nothing that is ill; for my name is Robin Good-fellow, and that you shall see that I have power to perform what I have undertaken, see what I can do." Presently he turned himself into a horse, and away he ran: at the sight of which they were both amazed, but better considering with themselves, they both determined to make good use of their time, and presently they went to an old friar, who presently married them. They paid him, and went their way. Where they supped and lay, I know not, but surely they liked their lodging well the next day.

Robin, when that he came near the old man's house, turned himself into the shape of the young maid, and entered the house, where, after much chiding, he fell to the work that the maid had to do, which he did in half the time that another could do it in. The old man, seeing the speed he made, thought that she had some meeting that night (for he took Robin Good-fellow for his niece); therefore he gave him order for other work, that was too much for any one to do in one night; Robin did that in a trice, and played many mad pranks beside ere the day appeared.

In the morning he went to the two lovers to their bed-side, and bid God give them joy, and told them all things went well, and that ere night he would bring them ten pounds of her uncle's to begin the world with. They both thanked him, which was all the requital that he looked for, and being therewith well contented he went his way laughing.

Home went he to the old man, who then was by, and marvelled how the work was done so soon. Robin, seeing that, said: "Sir, I pray marvel not, for a greater wonder than that this night hath happened to me." "Good niece, what is that?" said the old man. "This, Sir; but I shame to speak it, yet I will: weary with work, I slept, and did dream that I consented to that which you have so often desired of me (you know what it is I mean), and methought you gave me as a reward ten pounds, with your consent to marry that young man that I have loved so long." "Didst thou dream so? thy dream I will make good, for under my handwriting I give my free consent to marry him, or whom thou dost please to marry (and withal writ); and for the ten pounds, go but into the out-barn, and I will bring it thee presently. How sayest thou," said the old lecher; "wilt thou?" Robin with silence did seem to grant, and went toward the barn. The old man made haste, told out his money, and followed.

Being come thither, he hurled the money on the ground, saying, "This is the most pleasing bargain that ever I made;" and going to embrace Robin, Robin took him up in his arms and carried him forth; first drew him through a pond to cool his hot blood, then did he carry him where the young married couple were, and said, "Here is your uncle's consent under his hand; then, here is the ten pounds he gave you, and there is your uncle: let him deny it if he can."

The old man, for fear of worse usage, said all was true. "Then am I as good as my word," said Robin, and so went, away laughing. The old man knew himself duly punished, and turned his hatred into love, and thought afterward as well of them as if she had been his own. The second part shall show many incredible things done by Robin Good-fellow (or otherwise called Hob-goblin) and his companions, by turning himself into divers sundry shapes.

THE SECOND PART OF ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW, COMMONLY CALLED HOB-GOBLIN

HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW HELPED A MAID TO WORK

Robin Good-fellow oftentimes would in the night visit farmers' houses, and help the maids to break hemp, to bolt[5], to dress flax, and to spin and do other work, for he was excellent in everything. One night he came to a farmer's house, where there was a good handsome maid: this maid having much work to do, Robin one night did help her, and in six hours did bolt more than she could have done in twelve hours. The maid wondered the next day how her work came, and to know the doer, she watched the next night that did follow. About twelve of the clock in came Robin, and fell to breaking of hemp, and for to delight himself he sung this mad song.

And can the physician make sick men well? And can the magician a fortune divine? Without lily, germander and sops-in-wine? With sweet-brier And bon-fire, And strawberry wire, And columbine.

Within and out, in and out, round as a ball, With hither and thither, as straight as a line, With lily, germander and sops-in-wine. With sweet-brier, And bon-fire, And strawberry wire, And columbine.

When Saturn did live, there lived no poor, The king and the beggar with roots did dine, With lily, germander and sops-in-wine. With sweet-brier, And bon-fire, And strawberry wire, And columbine.

The maid, seeing him bare in clothes, pitied him, and against the next night provided him a waistcoat. Robin, coming the next night to work, as he did before, espied the waistcoat, whereat he started and said—

Because thou lay'st me, himpen, hampen,[6] I will neither bolt nor stampen; 'Tis not your garments new or old That Robin loves: I feel no cold. Had you left me milk or cream, You should have had a pleasing dream: Because you left no drop or crumb, Robin never more will come.

So went he away laughing, ho, ho, hoh! The maid was much grieved and discontented at his anger: for ever after she was fain to do her work herself without the help of Robin Good-fellow.

HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW LED A COMPANY OF FELLOWS OUT OF THEIR WAY

A company of young men having been making merry with their sweethearts, were at their coming home to come over a heath. Robin Good-fellow, knowing of it, met them, and to make some pastime, he led them up and down the heath a whole night, so that they could not get out of it; for he went before them in the shape of a walking fire, which they all saw and followed till the day did appear: then Robin left them, and at his departure spake these words—

Get you home, you merry lads! Tell your mammies and your dads, And all those that news desire, How you saw a walking fire. Wenches, that do smile and lisp Use to call me Willy Wisp. If that you but weary he, It is sport alone for me. Away: unto your houses go And I'll go laughing ho, ho, hoh!

The fellows were glad that he was gone, for they were all in a great fear that he would have done them some mischief.

HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW SERVED A LECHEROUS GALLANT

Robin always did help those that suffered wrong, and never would hurt any but those that did wrong to others. It was his chance one day to go through a field where he heard one call for help: he, going near where he heard the cry, saw a lusty gallant that would have forced a young maiden to his lust; but the maiden in no wise would yield, which made her cry for help. Robin Good-fellow, seeing of this, turned himself into the shape of a hare, and so ran between the lustful gallant's legs. This gallant, thinking to have taken him, he presently turned himself into a horse, and so perforce carried away this gallant on his back. The gentleman cried out for help, for he thought that the devil had been come to fetch him for his wickedness; but his crying was in vain, for Robin did carry him into a thick hedge, and there left him so pricked and scratched, that he more desired a plaister for his pain than a wench for his pleasure. Thus the poor maid was freed from this ruffian, and Robin Good-fellow, to see this gallant so tame, went away laughing, ho, ho, hoh!

HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW TURNED A MISERABLE USURER TO A GOOD HOUSE-KEEPER

In this country of ours there was a rich man dwelled, who to get wealth together was so sparing that he could not find in his heart to give his belly food enough. In the winter he never would make so much fire as would roast a black-pudding, for he found it more profitable to sit by other men's. His apparel was of the fashion that none did wear; for it was such as did hang at a broker's stall, till it was as weather-beaten as an old sign. This man for his covetousness was so hated of all his neighbours, that there was not one that gave him a good word. Robin Good-fellow grieved to see a man of such wealth do so little good, and therefore practised to better him in this manner.

One night the usurer being in bed, Robin in the shape of a night-raven[7] came to the window, and there did beat with his wings, and croaked in such manner that this old usurer thought he should have presently died for fear. This was but a preparation to what he did intend; for presently after he appeared before him at his bed's feet, in the shape of a ghost, with a torch in his hand. At the sight of this the old usurer would have risen out of his bed, and have leaped out of the window, but he was stayed by Robin Good-fellow, who spake to him thus—

If thou dost stir out of thy bed, I do vow to strike thee dead. I do come to do thee good; Recall thy wits and starkled[8] blood. The money which thou up dost store In soul and body makes thee poor. Do good with money while you may; Thou hast not long on earth to stay. Do good, I say, or day and night I hourly thus will thee affright. Think on my words, and so farewell, For being bad I live in hell.

Having said thus he vanished away and left this usurer in great terror of mind; and for fear of being frighted again with this ghost, he turned very liberal, and lived amongst his neighbours as an honest man should do.

HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW LOVED A WEAVER'S WIFE, AND HOW THE WEAVER WOULD HAVE DROWNED HIM

One day Robin Good-fellow, walking through the street, found at the door sitting a pretty woman: this woman was wife to the weaver, and was a-winding of quills[9] for her husband. Robin liked her so well, that for her sake he became servant to her husband, and did daily work at the loom; but all the kindness that he showed was but lost, for his mistress would show him no favour, which made him many times to exclaim against the whole sex in satirical songs; and one day being at work he sung this, to the tune of Rejoice Bag-pipes—

Why should my love now wax Unconstant, wavering, fickle, unstaid? With nought can she me tax: I ne'er recanted what I once said. I now do see, as nature fades, And all her works decay, So women all, wives, widows, maids, From bad to worse do stray.

As herbs, trees, roots, and plants In strength and growth are daily less, So all things have their wants: The heavenly signs move and digress; And honesty in women's hearts Hath not her former being: Their thoughts are ill, like other parts, Nought else in them's agreeing.

I sooner thought thunder Had power o'er the laurel wreath, Than she, women's wonder, Such perjured thoughts should live to breathe. They all hyena-like will weep, When that they would deceive: Deceit in them doth lurk and sleep, Which makes me thus to grieve.

Young man's delight, farewell; Wine, women, game, pleasure, adieu: Content with me shall dwell; I'll nothing trust but what is true. Though she were false, for her I'll pray; Her falsehood made me blest: I will renew from this good day My life by sin opprest.

Moved with this song and other complaints of his, she at last did fancy him, so that the weaver did not like that Robin should be so saucy with his wife, and therefore gave him warning to be gone, for he would keep him no longer. This grieved this loving couple to part one from the other, which made them to make use of the time that they had. The weaver one day coming in, found them a-kissing: at this he said [nothing] but vowed in himself to be revenged of his man that night following. Night being come, the weaver went to Robin's bed, and took him out of it (as he then thought) and ran apace to the river side to hurl Robin in; but the weaver was deceived, for Robin, instead of himself, had laid in his bed a sack full of yarn: it was that that the weaver carried to drown. The weaver standing by the river side said:—Now will I cool your hot blood, Master Robert, and if you cannot swim the better you shall sink and drown, With that he hurled the sack in, thinking that it had been Robin Good-fellow. Robin, standing behind him, said—

For this your kindness, master, I you thank: Go swim yourself; I'll stay upon the bank.

With that Robin pushed him in, and went laughing away, ho, ho, hoh!

HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW WENT IN THE SHAPE OF A FIDDLER TO A WEDDING, AND OF THE SPORT THAT HE HAD THERE

On a time there was a great wedding, to which there went many young lusty lads and pretty lasses. Robin Good-fellow longing not to be out of action, shaped himself like unto a fiddler, and with his crowd under his arm went amongst them, and was a very welcome man. There played he whilst they danced, and took as much delight in seeing them, as they did in hearing him. At dinner he was desired to sing a song, which he did to the tune of Watton Town's End[10].

THE SONG

It was a country lad That fashions strange would see, And he came to a vaulting school, Where tumblers used to be: He liked his sport so well, That from it he'd not part: His doxy to him still did cry, Come, buss thine own sweetheart.

They liked his gold so well, That they were both content, That he that night with his sweetheart Should pass in merriment. To bed they then did go; Full well he knew his part, Where he with words, and eke with deeds, Did buss his own sweetheart.

Long were they not in bed, But one knocked at the door, And said, Up, rise, and let me in: This vexed both knave and whore. He being sore perplexed From bed did lightly start; No longer then could he endure To buss his own sweetheart.

With tender steps he trod, To see if he could spy The man that did him so molest; Which he with heavy eye Had soon beheld, and said, Alas! my own sweetheart, I now do doubt, if e'er we buss, It must be in a cart.

At last the bawd arose And opened the door, And saw Discretion cloth'd in rug, Whose office hates a whore. He mounted up the stairs, Being cunning in his art; With little search at last he found My youth and his sweetheart.

He having wit at will, Unto them both did say, I will not hear them speak one word Watchmen, with them away! And cause they loved so well 'Tis pity they should part. Away with them to new Bride-well; There buss your own sweetheart.

His will it was fulfilled, And there they had the law; And whilst that they did nimbly spin, The hemp he needs must taw. He ground, he thumped, he grew So cunning in his art, He learnt the trade of beating hemp By bussing his sweetheart.

But yet, he still would say, If I could get release To see strange fashions I'll give o'er, And henceforth live in peace, The town where I was bred, And think by my desart To come no more into this place For bussing my sweetheart.

They all liked his song very well, and said that the young man had but ill-luck. Thus continued he playing and singing songs till candle-light: then he began to play his merry tricks in this manner. First he put out the candles, and then, being dark, he struck the men good boxes on the ears: they, thinking it had been those that did sit next them, fell a-fighting one with the other; so that there was not one of them but had either a broken head or a bloody nose. At this Robin laughed heartily. The women did not escape him, for the handsomest he kissed; the other he pinched, and made them scratch one the other, as if they had been cats. Candles being lighted again, they all were friends, and fell again to dancing, and after to supper.

Supper being ended, a great posset was brought forth: at this Robin Good-fellow's teeth did water, for it looked so lovely that he could not keep from it. To attain to his wish, he did turn himself into a bear: both men and women (seeing a bear amongst them) ran away, and left the whole posset to Robin Good-fellow. He quickly made an end of it, and went away without his money; for the sport he had was better to him than any money whatsoever. The fear that the guests were in did cause such a smell, that the bridegroom did call for perfumes; and instead of a posset, he was fain to make use of cold beer.

HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW SERVED A TAPSTER FOR NICKING HIS POTS

There was a tapster, that with his pots' smallness, and with frothing of his drink, had got a good sum of money together. This nicking of the pots he would never leave, yet divers times he had been under the hand of authority, but what money soever he had [to pay] for his abuses, he would be sure (as they all do) to get it out of the poor man's pot again. Robin Good-fellow, hating such knavery, put a trick upon him in this manner.

Robin shaped himself like to the tapster's brewer, and came and demanded twenty pounds which was due to him from the tapster. The tapster, thinking it had been his brewer, paid him the money, which money Robin gave to the poor of that parish before the tapster's face. The tapster praised his charity very much, and said that God would bless him the better for such good deeds: so after they had drank one with the other, they parted.

Some four days after the brewer himself came for his money: the tapster told him that it was paid, and that he had a quittance from him to show. Hereat the brewer did wonder, and desired to see the quittance. The tapster fetched him a writing, which Robin Good-fellow had given him instead of a quittance, wherein was written as followeth, which the brewer read to him—

I, Robin Good-fellow, true man and honest man, do acknowledge to have received of Nick and Froth, the cheating tapster, the sum of twenty pounds, which money I have bestowed (to the tapster's content) among the poor of the parish, out of whose pockets this aforesaid tapster had picked the aforesaid sum, not after the manner of foisting, but after his excellent skill of bombasting[11], or a pint for a penny.

If now thou wilt go hang thyself, Then take thy apron strings; It doth me good when such foul birds Upon the gallows sings. Per me ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW.

At this the tapster swore Walsingham; but for all his swearing, the brewer made him pay him his twenty pounds.

HOW KING OBREON[12] CALLED ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW TO DANCE

King Obreon, seeing Robin Good-fellow do so many honest and merry tricks, called him one night out of his bed with these words, saying—

Robin, my son, come quickly, rise: First stretch, then yawn, and rub your eyes; For thou must go with me to-night, To see, and taste of my delight. Quickly come, my wanton son; 'Twere time our sports were now begun.

Robin, hearing this, rose and went to him. There were with King Obreon a many fairies, all attired in green silk; all these, with King Obreon, did welcome Robin Good-fellow into their company. Obreon took Robin by the hand and led him a dance: their musician was little Tom Thumb; for he had an excellent bag-pipe made of a wren's quill, and the skin of a Greenland louse: this pipe was so shrill, and so sweet, that a Scottish pipe compared to it, it would no more come near it, than a Jew's-trump doth to an Irish harp. After they had danced, King Obreon spake to his son, Robin Good-fellow, in this manner—

When e'er you hear my piper blow, From thy bed see that thou go; For nightly you must with us dance, When we in circles round do prance. I love thee, son, and by the hand I carry thee to Fairy Land, Where thou shalt see what no man knows: Such love thee King Obreon owes.

So marched they in good manner (with their piper before) to the Fairy Land: there did King Obreon show Robin Good-fellow many secrets, which he never did open to the world.

HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW WAS WONT TO WALK IN THE NIGHT

Robin Good-fellow would many times walk in the night with a broom on his shoulder, and cry "chimney sweep," but when any one did call him, then would he run away laughing ho, ho, hoh! Sometimes he would counterfeit a beggar, begging very pitifully, but when they came to give him an alms, he would run away, laughing as his manner was. Sometimes would he knock at men's doors, and when the servants came, he would blow out the candle, if they were men; but if they were women, he would not only put out their light, but kiss them full sweetly, and then go away as his fashion was, ho, ho, hoh! Oftentimes would he sing at a door like a singing man, and when they did come to give him his reward, he would turn his back and laugh. In these humours of his he had many pretty songs, which I will sing as perfect as I can. For his chimney-sweeper's humours he had these songs: the first is to the tune of I have been a fiddler these fifteen years.

Black I am from head to foot, And all doth come by chimney soot: Then maidens, come and cherish him That makes your chimneys neat and trim.

Horns have I store, but all at my back; My head no ornament doth lack: I give my horns to other men, And ne'er require them again.

Then come away, you wanton wives, That love your pleasures as your lives: To each good woman I'll give two, Or more, if she think them too few.

Then would he change his note and sing this following, to the tune of What care I how fair she be?[13]

Be she blacker than the stock, If that thou wilt make her fair, Put her in a cambric smock, Buy her paint and flaxen hair.

One your carrier brings to town Will put down your city-bred; Put her on a broker's gown, That will sell her maiden-head.

Comes your Spaniard, proud in mind, He'll have the first cut, or else none: The meek Italian comes behind, And your Frenchman picks the bone.

Still she trades with Dutch and Scot, Irish, and the German tall, Till she gets the thing you wot; Then her end's an hospital.

A song to the tune of The Spanish Pavin[14].

When Virtue was a country maid, And had no skill to set up trade, She came up with a carrier's jade, And lay at rack and manger. She whiffed her pipe, she drunk her can, The pot was ne'er out of her span; She married a tobacco man, A stranger, a stranger.

They set up shop in Honey Lane, And thither flies did swarm amain, Some from France, some from Spain, Train'd in by scurvy panders. At last this honey pot grew dry, Then both were forced for to fly To Flanders, to Flanders.

Another to the tune of The Coranto.

I peeped in at the Woolsack, O, what a goodly sight did I Behold at midnight chime! The wenches were drinking of mulled sack; Each youth on his knee, that then did want A year and a half of his time. They leaped and skipped, They kissed and they clipped, And yet it was counted no crime.

The grocer's chief servant brought sugar, And out of his leather pocket he pulled, And culled some pound and a half; For which he was suffered to smack her That was his sweetheart, and would not depart, But turned and lick'd the calf. He rung her, and he flung her, He kissed her, and he swung her, And yet she did nothing but laugh.

Thus would he sing about cities and towns, and when any one called him, he would change his shape, and go laughing ho, ho, hoh! For his humours of begging he used this song, to the tune of The Jovial Tinker[15].

Good people of this mansion, Unto the poor be pleased To do some good, and give some food, That hunger may be eased. My limbs with fire are burned, My goods and lands defaced; Of wife and child I am beguiled, So much am I debased. Oh, give the poor some bread, cheese, or butter, Bacon, hemp, or flax; Some pudding bring, or other thing: My need doth make me ax[16].

I am no common beggar, Nor am I skilled in canting: You ne'er shall see a wench with me, Such tricks in me are wanting. I curse not if you give not, But still I pray and bless you, Still wishing joy, and that annoy May never more possess you. Oh, give the poor some bread, cheese or butter, Bacon, hemp or flax; Some pudding bring, or other thing, My need doth make me ax.

When any came to relieve him, then would he change himself into some other shape, and run laughing, ho, ho, hoh! Then would he shape himself like to a singing man; and at men's windows and doors sing civil and virtuous songs, one of which I will sing to the tune of Broom[17].

If thou wilt lead a blest and happy life, I will describe the perfect way: First must thou shun all cause of mortal strife, Against thy lusts continually to pray. Attend unto God's word: Great comfort 'twill afford; 'Twill keep thee from discord. Then trust in God, the Lord, for ever, for ever; And see in this thou persever.

So soon as day appeareth in the east Give thanks to him, and mercy crave; So in this life thou shalt be surely blest, And mercy shalt thou find in grave. The conscience that is clear No horror doth it fear; 'Tis void of mortal care, And never doth despair; but ever, but ever Doth in the word of God persever.

Thus living, when thou drawest to thy end Thy joys they shall much more increase, For then thy soul, thy true and loving friend, By death shall find a wished release From all that caused sin, In which it lived in; For then it doth begin Those blessed joys to win, for ever, for ever, For there is nothing can them sever.

Those blessed joys which then thou shalt possess, No mortal tongue can them declare: All earthly joys, compared with this, are less Than smallest mote to the world so fair. Then is not that man blest That must enjoy this rest? Full happy is that guest Invited to this feast, that ever, that ever Endureth and is ended never.

When they opened the window or door, then would he run away laughing ho, ho, hoh! Sometimes would he go like a bellman in the night, and with many pretty verses delight the ears of those that waked at his bell ringing: his verses were these—

Maids in your smocks, Look well to your locks, And your tinder box, Your wheels and your rocks, Your hens and your cocks, Your cows and your ox, And beware of the fox. When the bellman knocks, Put out your fire and candle-light, So they shall not you affright: May you dream of your delights, In your sleeps see pleasing sights. Good rest to all, both old and young: The bellman now hath done his song.

Then would he go laughing ho, ho, hoh! as his use was. Thus would he continually practise himself in honest mirth, never doing hurt to any that were cleanly and honest-minded.

HOW THE FAIRIES CALLED ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW TO DANCE WITH THEM, AND HOW THEY SHOWED HIM THEIR SEVERAL CONDITIONS

Robin Good-fellow being walking one night heard the excellent music of Tom Thumb's brave bag-pipe: he remembering the sound (according to the command of King Obreon) went towards them. They, for joy that he was come, did circle him in, and in a ring did dance round about him. Robin Good-fellow, seeing their love to him, danced in the midst of them, and sung them this song to the tune of To him Bun.

THE SONG

Round about, little ones, quick and nimble, In and out wheel about, run, hop, or amble. Join your hands lovingly: well done, musician! Mirth keepeth man in health like a physician. Elves, urchins, goblins all, and little fairies That do filch, black, and pinch maids of the dairies; Make a ring on the grass with your quick measures, Tom shall play, and I'll sing for all your pleasures.

Pinch and Patch, Gull and Grim, Go you together, For you can change your shapes Like to the weather. Sib and Tib, Lick and Lull, You all have tricks, too; Little Tom Thumb that pipes Shall go betwixt you. Tom, tickle up thy pipes Till they be weary: I will laugh, ho, ho, hoh! And make me merry. Make a ring on this grass With your quick measures: Tom shall play, I will sing For all your pleasures. The moon shines fair and bright, And the owl hollos, Mortals now take their rests Upon their pillows: The bat's abroad likewise, And the night-raven, Which doth use for to call Men to Death's haven. Now the mice peep abroad, And the cats take them, Now do young wenches sleep, Till their dreams wake them. Make a ring on the grass With your quick measures: Tom shall play, I will sing For all your pleasures.

Thus danced they a good space: at last they left and sat down upon the grass; and to requite Robin Good-fellow's kindness, they promised to tell to him all the exploits that they were accustomed to do: Robin thanked them and listened to them, and one began to tell his tricks in this manner.

THE TRICKS OF THE FAIRY CALLED PINCH

"After that we have danced in this manner as you have beheld, I, that am called Pinch, do go about from house to house: sometimes I find the doors of the house open; that negligent servant that left them so, I do so nip him or her, that with my pinches their bodies are as many colours as a mackerel's back. Then take I them, and lay I them in the door, naked or unnaked I care not whether: there they lie, many times till broad day, ere they waken; and many times, against their wills, they show some parts about them, that they would not have openly seen.

"Sometimes I find a slut sleeping in the chimney-corner, when she should be washing of her dishes, or doing something else which she hath left undone: her I pinch about the arms, for not laying her arms to her labour. Some I find in their bed snorting and sleeping, and their houses lying as clean as a nasty dog's kennel; in one corner bones, in another egg-shells, behind the door a heap of dust, the dishes under feet, and the cat in the cupboard: all these sluttish tricks I do reward with blue legs, and blue arms. I find some slovens too, as well as sluts: they pay for their beastliness too, as well as the women-kind; for if they uncase a sloven and not untie their points, I so pay their arms that they cannot sometimes untie them, if they would. Those that leave foul shoes, or go into their beds with their stockings on, I use them as I did the former, and never leave them till they have left their beastliness.

But to the good I do no harm, But cover them and keep them warm: Sluts and slovens I do pinch, And make them in their beds to winch This is my practice, and my trade; Many have I cleanly made."

THE TRICKS OF THE FAIRY CALLED PATCH

"About midnight do I walk, and for the tricks I play they call me Patch. When I find a slut asleep, I smutch her face if it be clean; but if it be dirty, I wash it in the next piss pot that I can find: the balls I use to wash such sluts withal is a sow's pancake or a pilgrim's salve. Those that I find with their heads nitty and scabby, for want of combing, I am their barbers, and cut their hair as close as an ape's tail; or else clap so much pitch on it, that they must cut it off themselves to their great shame. Slovens also that neglect their masters' business, they do not escape. Some I find that spoil their masters' horses for want of currying: those I do daub with grease and soot, that they are fain to curry themselves ere they can get clean. Others that for laziness will give the poor beasts no meat, I oftentimes so punish them with blows, that they cannot feed themselves they are so sore.

Thus many tricks I Patch can do, But to the good I ne'er was foe: The bad I hate and will do ever, Till they from ill themselves do sever. To help the good I'll run and go, The bad no good from me shall know."

THE TRICKS OF THE FAIRY CALLED GULL

"When mortals keep their beds I walk abroad, and for my pranks am called by the name of Gull. I with a feigned voice do often deceive many men, to their great amazement. Many times I get on men and women, and so lie on their stomachs, that I cause there great pain, for which they call me by the name of Hag, or Nightmare. 'Tis I that do steal children, and in the place of them leave changelings. Sometimes I also steal milk and cream, and then with my brothers, Patch, Pinch, and Grim, and sisters Sib, Tib, Lick, and Lull, I feast with my stolen goods: our little piper hath his share in all our spoils, but he nor our women fairies do ever put themselves in danger to do any great exploit.

What Gull can do, I have you shown; I am inferior unto none. Command me, Robin, thou shalt know, That I for thee will ride or go: I can do greater things than these Upon the land, and on the seas."

THE TRICKS OF THE FAIRY CALLED GRIM

"I walk with the owl, and make many to cry as loud as she doth hollo. Sometimes I do affright many simple people, for which some have termed me the Black Dog of Newgate. At the meetings of young men and maids I many times am, and when they are in the midst of all their good cheer, I come in, in some fearful shape, and affright them, and then carry away their good cheer, and eat it with my fellow fairies. 'Tis I that do, like a screech-owl cry at sick men's windows, which makes the hearers so fearful, that they say, that the sick person cannot live. Many other ways have I to fright the simple, but the understanding man I cannot move to fear, because he knows I have no power to do hurt.

My nightly business I have told, To play these tricks I use of old: When candles burn both blue and dim, Old folk will say, Here's fairy Grim. More tricks than these I use to do: Hereat cried Robin, Ho, ho, hoh!"

THE TRICKS OF THE WOMEN FAIRIES TOLD BY SIB

"To walk nightly, as do the men fairies, we use not; but now and then we go together, and at good housewives' fires we warm and dress our fairy children. If we find clean water and clean towels, we leave them money, either in their basins or in their shoes; but if we find no clean water in their houses, we wash our children in their pottage, milk, or beer, or whate'er we find: for the sluts that leave not such things fitting, we wash their faces and hands with a gilded child's clout, or else carry them to some river, and duck them over head and ears. We often use to dwell in some great hill, and from thence we do lend money to any poor man or woman that hath need; but if they bring it not again at the day appointed, we do not only punish them with pinching, but also in their goods, so that they never thrive till they have paid us.

Tib and I the chiefest are, And for all things do take care. Lick is cook and dresseth meat, And fetcheth all things that we eat: Lull is nurse and tends the cradle, And the babes doth dress and swaddle. This little fellow, called Tom Thumb, That is no bigger than a plum, He is the porter to our gate, For he doth let all in thereat, And makes us merry with his play, And merrily we spend the day."

She having spoken, Tom Thumb stood up on tip-toe and showed himself, saying—

My actions all in volumes two are wrote, The least of which will never be forgot.

He had no sooner ended his two lines, but a shepherd (that was watching in the field all night) blew up a bag-pipe: this so frightened Tom, that he could not tell what to do for the present time. The fairies seeing Tom Thumb in such a fear, punished the shepherd with his pipes' loss, so that the shepherd's pipe presently brake in his hand, to his great amazement. Hereat did Robin Good-fellow laugh, ho, ho, hoh! Morning being come, they all hasted to Fairy Land, where I think they yet remain.

My hostess asked me how I liked this tale? I said, it was long enough, and good enough to pass time that might be worser spent. I, seeing her dry, called for two pots: she emptied one of them at a draught, and never breathed for the matter: I emptied the other at leisure; and being late I went to bed, and did dream of this which I had heard.

* * * * *

THE ROMANCE OF THOMAS OF ERCELDOUNE

FYTTE I

As I me went this endris[1] day, Full fast in mind making my moan, In a merry morning of May By Huntlie banks myself alone, I heard the jay and the throstle-cock; 5 The mavis meaned[2] her of her song; The woodwale bered[3] as a bell, That all the wood about me rong. Alone in longing thus as I lay Underneath a seemly tree, 10 Saw I where a lady gay Came riding over a longe lea. If I should sit to Doomesday With my tongue to wrable and wry[4], Certainly that lady gay 15 Never be she described for me! Her palfrey was a dapple-gray,[5] Swilk[6] one ne saw I never none; As does the sun on summer's day, That fair lady herself she shone. 20 Her saddle it was of roelle-bone[7]; Full seemly was that sight to see! Stiffly set with precious stone And compast all with crapotee[8]— Stones of Orient great plenty; 25 Her hair about her head it hang; She rode over that longe lea; A while she blew, another she sang. Her girths of noble silk they were; The buckles were of beryl-stone; 30 Her stirrups were of crystal clear, And all with pearl overbegone[9]; Her paytrell[10] was of iral-stone; Her crupper was of orphare[11]; And as clear gold her bridle shone; 35 On either side hang belles three. She led three grew-hounds in a leash, And seven raches[12] by her they ran; She bare an horn about her halse[13], And under/her belt full many a flane[14]. 40 Thomas lay and saw that sight Underneath a seemly tree. He said "Yon is Mary most of might,[15] That bare that child that died for me. But-if[16] I speak with yon lady bright, 45 I hope my heart will break in three! Now shall I go with all my might Her for to meet at Eildon tree[17]." Thomas rathely[18] up he rase, And he ran over that mountain high; 50 If it be as the story says, Her he met at Eildon tree. He kneeled down upon his knee, Underneath that greenwood spray, And said "Lovely lady, rue on me, 55 Queen of heaven, as thou well may!" Then spake that lady mild of thought, "Thomas, let such wordes be; Queen of heaven ne am I nought, For I took never so high degree. 60 But I am of another country, If I be 'parelled most of price; I ride after these wilde fee[19]; My raches runnes at my device." "If thou be 'parelled most of price, 65 And here rides thus in thy folly, Of love, lady, as thou art wise, Thou give me leave to lie thee by!" She said "Thou man, that were folly; I pray thee, Thomas, thou let me be; 70 For I say thee full sekerly[20], That sin will fordo all my beauty," "Now, lovely lady, rue on me, And I will evermore with thee dwell; Here my troth I will plight to thee, 75 Whether thou wilt in heaven or hell." "Man of mould, thou wilt me mar; But yet thou shalt have all thy will; And, trow it well, thou 'chievest the ware[21], For all my beauty wilt thou spill." 80 Down then light that lady bright Underneath that greenwood spray. And, as the story tells full right, Seven times by her he lay. She said "Man, thee likes thy play; 85 What byrde[22] in bower may deal with thee? Thou marrest me all this longe day; I pray thee, Thomas, let me be!" Thomas stood up in that stead[23], And he beheld that lady gay; 90 Her hair it hang all over her head; Her eyne were out, that ere were gray; And all the rich clothing was away That he before saw in that stead; Her one shank black, her other gray, 95 And all her body like the lead. Then said Thomas "Alas, alas! In faith this is a duleful[24] sight; How art thou faded thus in the face, That shone before as the sun so bright!" 100 She said, "Thomas, take leave at sun and moon, And also at leaf that grows on tree; This twelvemonth shalt thou with me gone[25], And Middle-earth[26] shalt thou none see." He kneeled down upon his knee, 105 Underneath that greenwood spray, And said "Lovely lady[27], rue on me, Mild queen of heaven, as thou best may! Alas!" he said, "and woe is me! I trow my deeds will work me care; 110 My soul, Jesu, beteach[28] I thee, Whithersoever my bones shall fare." She led him in at Eildon hill Underneath a derne[29] lea, Where it was dark as midnight mirk, 115 And ever the water till his knee. The mountenance[30] of dayes three He heard but swoughing of the flood; At the last he said "Full woe is me! Almost I die for fault of food." 120 She led him intill a fair herbere[31] Where fruit was growing great plenty; Pear and apple, both ripe they were, The date, and also the damasee, The fig, and also the wine-berry; 125 The nightegales bigging[32] on their nest; The papejoys[33] fast about gan fly, And throstles sang, would have no rest. He pressed to pull fruit with his hand, As man for food that was near faint. 130 She said "Thomas, thou let them stand,[34] Or else the fiend thee will attaint! If thou it pluck, soothly to say, Thy soul goes to the fire of hell; It comes never out or Doomesday, 135 But there in pain aye for to dwell. Thomas, soothly, I thee hight[35], Come lay thy head down on my knee, And thou shalt see the fairest sight That ever saw man of thy country." 140 He did in hight[36] as she him bade; Upon her knee his head he laid, For her to pay[37] he was full glad, And then that lady to him said: "Seest thou[38] now yon fair[39] way, 145 That lieth over yon high mountain? Yon is the way to heaven for aye When sinful souls are past their pain. Seest thou now yon other way, That lieth low beneath yon rise[40]? 150 Yon is the way, thee sooth to say, Unto the joy of Paradise. Seest thou yet yon thirde way, That lieth under yon greene plain? Yon is the way, with teen and tray[41], 155 Where sinful soules suffer their pain. But seest thou now yon fourthe way, That lieth over yon deepe dell? Yon is the way, so wellaway! Unto the burning fire of hell. 160 Seest thou yet yon fair castel, That standeth over yon highe hill? Of town and tower it bears the bell, In earth is none like it untill. For sooth, Thomas, yon is mine own, 165 And the king's of this country; But me were lever[42] be hanged and drawn Or that[43] he wist thou lay me by. When thou com'st to yon castle gay, I pray thee courteous man to be, 170 And whatso any man to thee say, Look thou answer none but me. My lord is served at each mess With thirty knightes fair and free; I shall say, sitting at the dess[44], 175 I took thy speech beyond the sea." Thomas still as stone he stood, And he beheld that lady gay; She came again as fair and good And also rich on her palfrey. 180 Her grewhounds filled with deer-blood; Her raches coupled, by my fay; She blew her horn with main and mood[45]; Unto the castle she took the way. Into the hall soothly she went; 185 Thomas followed at her hand; Then ladies came, both fair and gent, With courtesy to her kneeland[46]. Harp and fithel both they fand[47], Gittern and also the sawtery[48], 190 Lute and ribib[49] both gangand[50], And all manner of minstrelsy. The most marvel that Thomas thought, When that he stood upon the floor, For fifty hartes in were brought, 195 That were bothe great and store[51]. Raches lay lapping in the blood; Cookes came with dressing-knife; They brittened[52] them as they were wood; Revel among them was full rife. 200 Knightes danced by three and three, There was revel, gamen, and play; Lovely ladies, fair and free, That sat and sang on rich array. Thomas dwelled in that solace 205 More than I you say, parde; Till on a day, so have I grace, My lovely lady said to me[53]; "Do busk thee, Thomas; thee buse[54] again; For thou may here no longer be; 210 Hie thee fast with might and main; I shall thee bring till Eildon tree." Thomas said then with heavy cheer[55], "Lovely lady, now let me be; For certes, lady, I have been here 215 Nought but the space of dayes three!" "For sooth, Thomas, as I thee tell, Thou hast been here three year and more; But longer here thou may not dwell;[56] The skill[57] I shall thee tell wherefore. 220 To-morn[58], of hell the foule fiend Among this folk will fetch his fee; And thou art mickle man and hend[59], I trow full well he would choose thee. For all the gold that ever may be 225 From hethen[60] unto the worldes end, Thou beest never betrayed for me; Therefore with me I rede[61] thou wend." She brought him again to Eildon tree, Underneath that greenwood spray. 230 In Huntlie banks is merry to be, Where fowles sing both night and day.[62] "Farewell, Thomas, I wend my way, For me buse[63] over the bentes brown." —Lo, here a fytte; more is to say[64] 235 All of Thomas of Erceldoune.

* * * * *

REGINALD SCOT

DISCOVERY OF WITCHCRAFT (1584)

From "To the Readers."

I should no more prevail herein [i.e. in securing attention] than if a hundred years since I should have entreated your predecessors to believe, that Robin Goodfellow, that great and ancient bull-beggar, had been but a cozening merchant and no devil indeed.... But Robin Goodfellow ceaseth now to be much feared, and popery is sufficiently discovered.

Book I, chap. iv.—"What miraculous actions are imputed to witches by witchmongers, papists, and poets."

[Quoted here to show that certain attributes of Shakespeare's fairies belong also to witches.]

[They] raise hail, tempests, and hurtful weather, as lighting, thunder, &c.... These can pass from place to place in the air invisible.... These can alter men's minds to inordinate love or hate.... Ovid affirmeth that they can raise and suppress lighting and thunder, rain and hail, clouds and winds, tempests and earthquakes. Others do write that they can pull down the moon and the stars.... They can also bring to pass, that, churn as long as you list, your butter will not come.

Book III, chap. iv.

The Fairies do principally inhabit the mountains and caverns of the earth, whose nature is to make strange apparitions on the earth, in meadows or on mountains, being like men and women, soldiers, kings, and ladies, children and horsemen, clothed in green, to which purpose they do in the night steal hempen stalks from the fields where they grow, to convert them into horses, as the story goes.... Such jocund and facetious spirits are said to sport themselves in the night by tumbling and fooling with servants and shepherds in country houses, pinching them black and blue, and leaving bread, butter, and cheese sometimes with them, which, if they refuse to eat, some mischief shall undoubtedly befall them by the means of these Fairies; and many such have been taken away by the said spirits for a fortnight or a month together, being carried with them in chariots through the air, over hills and dales, rocks and precipices, till at last they have been found lying in some meadow or mountain, bereaved of their senses and commonly one of their members to boot.

Book III, chap. xvi.

It may not be omitted that certain wicked women ... being seduced by the illusion of devils, believe and profess that in the night-times they ride abroad with Diana, the goddess of the Pagans, or else with Herodias, with an innumerable multitude, upon certain beasts, and pass over many countries and nations in the silence of the night, and do whatsoever those fairies or ladies command.

Book IV, chap. x.

Indeed your grandam's maids were wont to set a bowl of milk before him and his cousin, Robin Goodfellow, for grinding of malt or mustard, and sweeping the house at midnight; and you have also heard that he would chafe exceedingly, if the maid or goodwife of the house, having compassion of his nakedness, laid any clothes for him, besides his mess of white bread and milk which was his standing fee. For in that case he saith: What have we here? Hemton hamton[1], here will I never more tread nor stampen.

Book V, chap. iii. "Of a man turned into an ass, and returned again into a man, by one of Bodin's witches: S. Augustine's opinion thereof." (See p. 30.)

It happened in the city of Salamin in the kingdom of Cyprus, where there is a good haven, that a ship loaden with merchandise stayed there for a short space. In the meantime many of the soldiers and mariners went to shore, to provide fresh victuals; among which number a certain Englishman, being a sturdy young fellow, went to a woman's house, a little way out of the city, and not far from the sea-side, to see whether she had any eggs to sell. Who, perceiving him to be a lusty young fellow, a stranger, and far from his country (so as, upon the loss of him, there would be the less miss or enquiry), she considered with herself how to destroy him; and willed him to stay there awhile, whilst she went to fetch a few eggs for him. But she tarried long, so as the young man called unto her desiring her to make haste; for he told her that the tide would be spent, and by that means his ship would be gone, and leave him behind. Howbeit, after some detracting of time, she brought him a few eggs, willing him to return to her, if his ship were gone when he came.

The young fellow returned towards his ship, but before he went aboard, he would needs eat an egg or twain to satisfy his hunger; and within short space he became dumb and out of his wits, as he afterwards said. When he would have entered into the ship, the mariners beat him back with a cudgel, saying, "What a murrain lacks the ass? Whither the devil will this ass?" The ass, or young man—I cannot tell by which name I should term him—being many times repelled, and understanding their words that called him ass, considering that he could speak never a word and yet could understand everybody, he thought that he was bewitched by the woman at whose house he was. And therefore, when by no means he could get into the boat, but was driven to tarry and see her departure, being also beaten from place to place as an ass, he remembered the witch's words, and the words of his own fellows that called him ass, and returned to the witch's house; in whose service he remained by the space of three years, doing nothing with his hands all that while, but carried such burthens as she laid on his back; having only this comfort, that, although he were reputed an ass among strangers and beasts, yet that both this witch and all other witches knew him to be a man.

After three years were passed over, in a morning betimes he went to town before his dame, who upon some occasion ... stayed a little behind. In the meantime being near to a church, he heard a little sacring-bell ring to the elevation of a morrow mass; and not daring to go into the church, lest he should have been beaten and driven out with cudgels, in great devotion he fell down in the churchyard upon the knees of his hinder legs, and did lift his forefeet over his head, as the priest doth hold the sacrament at the elevation. Which prodigious sight when certain merchants of Genoa espied, and with wonder beheld, anon cometh the witch with a cudgel in her hand, beating forth the ass. And because, as it hath been said, such kinds of witchcrafts are very usual in those parts, the merchants aforesaid made such means as both the ass and the witch were attached by the judge. And she, being examined and set upon the rack, confessed the whole matter, and promised that if she might have liberty to go home, she would restore him to his old shape; and being dismissed she did accordingly. So as notwithstanding they apprehended her again, and burned her; and the young man returned into his country with a joyful and merry heart.

Book VII, chap. ii.

"Know you this by the way, that heretofore Robin Goodfellow and Hobgoblin were as terrible, and also as credible to the people, as hags and witches be now: and in time to come a witch will be as much derided and contemned, and as plainly perceived, as the illusion and knavery of Robin Goodfellow. And in truth, they that maintain walking spirits with their transformation, &c, have no reason to deny Robin Goodfellow, upon whom there hath gone as many and as credible tales as upon witches; saving that it hath not pleased the translators of the Bible to call spirits by the name of Robin Goodfellow, as they have termed diviners, soothsayers, poisoners, and cozeners by the name of witches."

Book VII, chap. xv.

"But certainly some one knave in a white sheet hath cozened and abused many thousands that way; specially when Robin Goodfellow kept such a coil in the country.... They [our mothers' maids] have so fraid us with bull-beggars, spirits, witches, urchins, elves, hags, fairies, satyrs, pans, fauns, sylens, Kit with the canstick[2], tritons, centaurs, dwarfs, giants, imps, calkers, conjurors, nymphs, changelings, Incubus, Robin Goodfellow, the spoorn, the mare, the man in the oak, the hell-wain, the fire-drake, the puckle, Tom Thumb, hobgoblin, Tom tumbler, boneless, and other such beings, that we are afraid of our own shadows."

Book XIII, chap. xix. [To set an horse's or an ass's head on a man's neck and shoulders.] (See p. 30.)

The words used in such case are uncertain, and to be recited at the pleasure of the witch or cozener. But at the conclusion of this, cut off the head of a horse or an ass (before they be dead, otherwise the virtue or strength thereof will be the less effectual), and make an earthen vessel of fit capacity to contain the same, and let it be filled with the oil and fat thereof, cover it close, and daub it over with loam; let it boil over a soft fire three days continually, that the flesh boiled may run into oil, so as the bare bones may be seen; beat the hair into powder, and mingle the same with the oil; and anoint the heads of the standers by, and they shall seem to have horses' or asses' heads.

Discourse upon Devils and Spirits, chap. xi.

"The Rabbins and, namely, Rabbi Abraham, writing upon the second of Genesis, do say that God made the fairies, bugs, Incubus, Robin Goodfellow, and other familiar or domestic spirits and devils on the Friday; and being prevented with the evening of the Sabbath, finished them not, but left them unperfect; and that therefore, that ever since they use to fly the holiness of the Sabbath, seeking dark holes in mountains and woods, wherein they hide themselves till the end of the Sabbath, and then come abroad to trouble and molest men."

Discourse, &c., chap. xxi.

"Virunculi terrei are such as was Robin Goodfellow, that would supply the office of servants—specially of maids: as to make a fire in the morning, sweep the house, grind mustard and malt, draw water, &c.; these also rumble in houses, draw latches, go up and down stairs, &c.... There go as many tales upon this Hudgin[3] in some parts of Germany, as there did in England of Robin Goodfellow."

* * * * *

STRANGE FARLIES

Strange farlies[1] fathers told Of fiends and hags of hell; And how that Circes, when she would, Could skill of sorcery well;

And how old thin-faced wives, That roasted crabs by night, Did tell of monsters in their lives That now prove shadows light;

And told what Merlin spoke Of world and times to come; But all that fire doth make no smoke, For in mine ear doth hum

Another kind of bee, That sounds a tune most strange, A trembling noise of words to me That makes my countenance change.

Of old Hobgobling's guise, That walked like ghost in sheets, With maids that would not early rise For fear of bugs and sprites.

Some say the fairies fair Did dance on Bednall Green, And fine familiars of the air Did talk with men unseen.

And oft in moonshine nights, When each thing draws to rest, Was seen dumb shows and ugly sights That feared[2] every guest

Which lodged in the house; And where good cheer was great, Hodgepoke would come and drink carouse And munch up all the meat.

But where foul sluts did dwell, Who used to sit up late, And would not scour the pewter well, There came a merry mate

To kitchen or to hall, Or place where sprites resort; Then down went dish and platters all To make the greater sport.

A further sport fell out When they to spoil did fall; Rude Robin Goodfellow, the lout, Would skim the milk-bowls all,

And search the cream-pots too, For which poor milk-maid weeps. God wot what such mad guests will do When people soundly sleeps!

. . . . . .

These are but fables feigned, Because true stories old In doubtful days are more disdained Than any tale is told.

THOMAS CHURCHYARD

from A Handfull of Gladsome Verses (1592).

* * * * *

THE MAD MERRY PRANKS OF ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW

(To the Tune of Dulcina.)

From Oberon, in fairy land, The king of ghosts and shadows there, Mad Robin I, at his command, Am sent to view the night-sports here. What revel rout Is kept about, In every corner where I go, I will o'ersee And merry be, And make good sport, with ho, ho, ho!

More swift than lightning can I fly About this airy welkin soon, And, in a minute's space, descry Each thing that's done below the moon, There's not a hag Or ghost shall wag, Or cry, ware Goblins! where I go, But Robin I Their feats will spy, And send them home, with ho, ho, ho!

Whene'er such wanderers I meet, As from their night-sports they trudge home; With counterfeiting voice I greet And call them on, with me to roam Thro' woods, thro' lakes, Thro' bogs, thro' brakes; Or else, unseen, with them I go, All in the nick To play some trick And frolic it, with ho, ho, ho!

Sometimes I meet them like a man; Sometimes an ox, sometimes a hound; And to a horse I turn me can, To trip and trot about them round. But if, to ride, My back they stride, More swift than wind away I go, O'er hedge and lands, Thro' pools and ponds I whirry, laughing ho, ho, ho!

When lads and lasses merry be, With possets and with junkets fine; Unseen of all the company, I eat their cakes and sip their wine; And, to make sport, I sniff and snort; And out the candles I do blow: The maids I kiss; They shriek—Who's this? I answer nought but ho, ho, ho!

Yet now and then, the maids to please, At midnight I card up their wool; And while they sleep and take their ease, With wheel to threads their flax I pull. I grind at mill Their malt up still; I dress their hemp, I spin their tow, If any wake, And would me take, I wend me, laughing ho, ho, ho!

When house or hearth doth sluttish lie, I pinch the maidens black and blue; The bed-clothes from the bed pull I, And lay them naked all to view. 'Twixt sleep and wake, I do them take, And on the key-cold floor them throw: If out they cry, Then forth I fly, And loudly laugh out ho, ho, ho!

When any need to borrow ought, We lend them what they do require: And for the use demand we nought; Our own is all we do desire. If to repay They do delay, Abroad amongst them then I go, And, night by night, I them affright With pinchings, dreams, and ho, ho, ho!

When lazy queans have nought to do, But study how to cog and lie; To make debate and mischief too, 'Twixt one another secretly: I mark their gloze, And it disclose, To them whom they have wronged so: When I have done, I get me gone, And leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho!

When men do traps and engines set In loop-holes, where the vermin creep, Who from their folds and houses, get Their ducks and geese, and lambs and sheep; I spy the gin, And enter in, And seem a vermin taken so; But when they there Approach me near, I leap out laughing ho, ho, ho!

By wells and rills, in meadows green, We nightly dance our heydeguys; And to our fairy king and queen We chant our moon-light minstrelsies. When larks 'gin sing, Away we fling; And babes new-born steal as we go, And elf in bed We leave instead, And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho!

From hag-bred Merlin's time have I Thus nightly revell'd to and fro: And for my pranks men call me by The name of Robin Good-fellow. Fiends, ghosts, and sprites, Who haunt the nights, The hags and goblins do me know; And beldames old My feats have told; So Vale, Vale; ho, ho, ho!

A black-letter broadside, XVIIth cent.

* * * * *

QUEEN MAB

Satyr This is Mab, the mistress fairy, That doth nightly rob the dairy, And can hunt or help the churning As she please without discerning. . . . . . . She that pinches country wenches If they rub not clean their benches, And with sharper nails remembers When they rake not up their embers; But if so they chance to feast her, In a shoe she drops a tester. . . . . . . This is she that empties cradles, Takes out children, puts in ladles; Trains forth midwives in their slumber, With a sieve the holes to number, And then leads them from her boroughs Home through ponds and water-furrows. . . . . . . She can start our franklins' daughters, In her sleep, with shrieks and laughters, And on sweet St. Anna's night Feed them with a promised sight— Some of husbands, some of lovers, Which an empty dream discovers.

BEN JONSON, masque of A Satyr (1603).

* * * * *

A Proper New Ballad, intituled

THE FAIRIES' FAREWELL: OR GOD-A-MERCY WILL

(To be sung or whistled to the Tune of the Meadow Brow by the learned; by the unlearned, to the Tune of Fortune.)

Farewell rewards and Fairies! Good housewives, now you may say; For now foul sluts in dairies Do fare as well as they; And though they sweep their hearths no less Than maids were wont to do, Yet who of late for cleanliness Finds sixpence in her shoe?

Lament, lament old abbeys, The fairies' lost command; They did but change priests' babies; But some have changed your land; And all your children sprung from thence Are now grown Puritans, Who live as changelings ever since For love of your demesnes.

At morning and at evening both You merry were and glad, So little care of sleep or sloth These pretty ladies had. When Tom came home from labour, Or Ciss to milking rose, Then merrily, merrily went their tabour, And nimbly went their toes.

Witness those rings and roundelays Of theirs, which yet remain, Were footed in Queen Mary's days On many a grassy plain. But since of late Elizabeth And later James came in, They never danced on any heath, As when the time hath bin.

By which we note the fairies Were of the old profession; Their songs were Ave Maries, Their dances were procession. But now, alas! they all are dead, Or gone beyond the seas, Or farther for religion fled, Or else they take their ease.

A tell-tale in their company They never could endure; And whoso kept not secretly Their mirth, was punished sure: It was a just and Christian deed To pinch such black and blue: O how the common-wealth doth [need][1] Such justices as you!

Now they have left our quarters; A Register they have Who looketh to their charters, A man both wise and grave. An hundred of their merry pranks By one that I could name Are kept in store; con twenty thanks To William for the same.

* * * * *

To William Churne of Staffordshire Give laud and praises due, Who every meal can mend your cheer With tales both old and true: To William all give audience, And pray ye for his noddle: For all the fairies evidence Were lost, if it were addle.

RICHARD CORBET (1582-1625), from Poetica Stromata (1648)

* * * * *

THE FAIRY QUEEN

Come, follow, follow me, You fairy elves that be, Which circle on the green, Come follow me your queen; Hand in hand let's dance around, For this place is fairy ground.

When mortals are at rest, And snorting in their nest, Unheard and unespied Through keyholes we do glide: Over tables, stools, and shelves. We trip it with our fairy elves.

And if the house be foul, Or platter, dish, or bowl, Upstairs we nimbly creep And find the sluts asleep; There we pinch their arms and thighs; None escapes nor none espies.

But if the house be swept, And from uncleanness kept, We praise the household maid And surely she is paid; For we do use, before we go, To drop a tester in her shoe.

Upon a mushroom's head Our table we do spread; A corn of rye or wheat Is manchet which we eat, Pearly drops of dew we drink In acorn cups filled to the brink.

The brains of nightingales With unctuous dew of snails Between two nutshells stewed Is meat that's easily chewed; And the beards of little mice Do make a feast of wondrous price.

On tops of dewy grass So nimbly do we pass, The young and tender stalk Ne'er bends when we do walk; Yet in the morning may be seen Where we the night before have been.

The grasshopper and fly Serve for our minstrelsy. Grace said, we dance awhile, And so the time beguile; And when the moon doth hide her head, The glow-worm lights us home to bed.

From The Mysteries of Love and Eloquence (1658); with a preface signed E[dward] P[hillips].

* * * * *

NYMPHIDIA:

THE COURT OF FAIRY

Old Chaucer doth of Topas tell, Mad Rab'lais of Pantagruel, A later third of Dowsabel, With such poor trifles playing; Others the like have laboured at, Some of this thing and some of that, And many of they know not what, But that they must be saying.

Another sort there be, that will Be talking of the Fairies still, Nor never can they have their fill, As they were wedded to them; No tales of them their thirst can slake, So much delight therein they take, And some strange thing they fain would make, Knew they the way to do them.

Then since no Muse hath been so bold, Or of the later, or the old, Those elvish secrets to unfold, Which lie from others' reading, My active Muse to light shall bring The Court of that proud Fairy King, And tell there of the revelling: Jove prosper my proceeding!

And thou, Nymphidia, gentle Fay, Which, meeting me upon the way, These secrets didst to me bewray, Which now I am in telling; My pretty, light, fantastic maid, I here invoke thee to my aid, That I may speak what thou hast said, In numbers smoothly swelling.

This palace standeth in the air, By necromancy placed there, That it no tempests needs to fear, Which way soe'er it blow it; And somewhat southward toward the noon, Whence lies a way up to the moon, And thence the Fairy can as soon Pass to the earth below it.

The walls of spiders' legs are made Well mortised and finely laid; He was the master of his trade It curiously that builded; The windows of the eyes of cats, And for the roof, instead of slats, Is covered with the skins of bats, With moonshine that are gilded.

Hence Oberon him sport to make, Their rest when weary mortals take, And none but only fairies wake, Descendeth for his pleasure; And Mab, his merry Queen, by night Bestrides young folks that lie upright[1] (In elder times, the mare that hight), Which plagues them out of measure.

Hence shadows, seeming idle shapes, Of little frisking elves and apes To earth do make their wanton scapes, As hope of pastime hastes them: Which maids think on the hearth they see When fires well-near consumed be, There dancing hays[2] by two and three, Just as their fancy casts them.

These make our girls their sluttery rue, By pinching them both black and blue, And put a penny in their shoe The house for cleanly sweeping; And in their courses make that round In meadows and in marshes found, Of them so called the Fairy Ground, Of which they have the keeping.

These when a child haps to be got Which after proves an idiot When folk perceive it thriveth not, The fault therein to smother, Some silly, doating brainless calf That understands things by the half, Say that the Fairy left this aulfe[3] And took away the other.

But listen, and I shall you tell A chance in Fairy that befell, Which certainly may please some well In love and arms delighting, Of Oberon that jealous grew Of one of his own Fairy crew, Too well, he feared, his Queen that knew His love but ill requiting.

Pigwiggen[4] was this Fairy Knight, One wondrous gracious in the sight Of fair Queen Mab, which day and night He amorously observed; Which made King Oberon suspect His service took too good effect, His sauciness and often checkt, And could have wished him starved[5].

Pigwiggen gladly would commend Some token to Queen Mab to send, If sea or land him aught could lend Were worthy of her wearing; At length this lover doth devise A bracelet made of emmets' eyes, A thing he thought that she would prize, No whit her state impairing.

And to the Queen a letter writes, Which he most curiously indites, Conjuring her by all the rites Of love, she would be pleased To meet him, her true servant, where They might, without suspect or fear, Themselves to one another clear And have their poor hearts eased.

"At midnight the appointed hour, And for the Queen a fitting bower," Quoth he, "is that fair cowslip flower On Hipcut hill that bloweth; In all your train there's not a fay That ever went to gather may But she hath made it, in her way; The tallest there that groweth."

When by Tom Thumb, a Fairy Page, He sent it, and doth him engage By promise of a mighty wage It secretly to carry; Which done, the Queen her maids doth call, And bids them to be ready all: She would go see her summer hall, She could no longer tarry.

Her chariot ready straight is made, Each thing therein is fitting laid, That she by nothing might be stayed, For naught must be her letting; Four nimble gnats the horses were, Their harnesses of gossamere, Fly Cranion her charioteer Upon the coach-box getting.

Her chariot of a snail's fine shell, Which for the colours did excel, The fair Queen Mab becoming well, So lively was the limning; The seat the soft wool of the bee, The cover, gallantly to see, The wing of a pied butterflee; I trow 'twas simple trimming.

The wheels composed of crickets' bones, And daintily made for the nonce; For fear of rattling on the stones With thistle-down they shod it; For all her maidens much did fear If Oberon had chanced to hear That Mab his Queen should have been there, He would not have abode it.

She mounts her chariot with a trice, Nor would she stay for no advice, Until her maids that were so nice To wait on her were fitted; But ran herself away alone, Which when they heard, there was not one But hasted after to be gone, As she had been diswitted.

Hop and Mop and Drop so clear, Pip and Trip and Skip that were To Mab, their sovereign, ever dear, Her special maids of honour; Fib and Tib and Pink and Pin, Tick and Quick and Jill and Jin, Tit and Nit and Wap and Win, The train that wait upon her.