And fast to the bent are they gane.
Up the morn the auld wife raife,
And at her leifure put on her claiths,
Syne to the fervants bed she gaes

To fpeir for the filly poor man.

She gaed to the bed, whair the beggar lay,
The ftrae was cauld, he was away,
She clapt her hands, cryd, dulefu' day!
For fome of our geir will be gane.

30

35

Some ran to coffers, and fome to kifts,
But nought was flown that could be mift,

She dancid her lane, cryd, praise be bleft,
I have lodgd a leal poor man.

40

Since naithings awa, as we can learn,

The kirns to kirn, and milk to earn,

Gae butt the houfe, lafs, and waken my bairn,

For fhees be burnt, and hees be flein.

The

Ver. 29. The Carline. Other copies.

The wearyfou gaberlunzie man.
Some rade upo horse, some ran a fit,
The wife was wood, and out o' her wit;

She could na gang, nor yet could she fit,
did curfe and did ban.

But ay

Mean time far hind out owre the lee,

Fou fnug in a glen, where nane could fee,

The twa, with kindlie fport and glee,

Cut frae a new cheese a whang.

бо

The priving was gude, it pleas'd them baith,

To lo'e her for ay, he gae her his aith.

Quo fhe, to leave thee, I will be laith,
My winfome gaberlunzie-man.

65

O kend my minny I were wi' zou,
Illfardly wad the crook her mou,

Sic a poor man sheld nevir trow,

Aftir the gaberlunzie-mon.

My dear, quo he, zee're zet owre zonge;
And hae na learnt the beggars tonge,

To follow me frae toun to toun,

And carrie the gaberlunzie on.

Wi' kauk and keel, Ill win zour bread,
And spindles and whorles for them wha need,
Whilk is a gentil trade indeed

70

75

The

1-11 0.

The gaberlunzie to carrie
Ill bow my leg and crook my knee,
And draw a black clout owre my ee,
A criple or blind they will cau mee:
While we fall fing and be merrie--o.

XI.

ON THOMAS LORD CROMWELL.

It is ever the fate of a disgraced minister to be forfaken by his friends, and infulted by his enemies, always reckoning among the latter the giddy inconftant multitude. We have here a spurn at fallen greatness from fome angry partifan of declining popery, who could never forgive the downfall of their Diana, and lofs of their craft. The ballad feems to have been compofed between the time of Cromwell's commitment to the tower June 11. 1540, and that of his being beheaded July 28. following. A fhort interval! but Henry's paffion for Catharine Howard would admit of no delay. Notwithstanding our libeller, Cromwell bad many excellent qualities; his great fault was too much obfequioufnefs to the arbitrary wILL of his mafter; but let it be confidered that this mafter had raised him from obfcurity, and that the high-born nobility had shewn him the way in every kind of mean and fervile compliance. The original copy printed at London in 1540, is intitled, “A nerve"ballade made of Thomas Crumwel, called TROLLE ON AWAY." To it is prefixed this diftich by way of burthen, Trolle on away, trolle on awaye.

Synge heave and howe rombelowe trolle on away.

BOTH

B of that falfe traytoure Thomas Crumwel,

OTH man and chylde is glad to here tell

Now that he is set to learne to fpell.

Synge trolle on away.

When fortune lokyd the in thy face,

Thou haddyft fayre tyme, but thou lackydyft grace; 5 Thy cofers with golde thou fyllydft a pace.

Both plate and chalys came to thy fyft,

Synge, &c.

Thou lockydft them vp where no man wyft,

Tyll in the kynges treafoure fuche thinges were myft.

Synge, &c.

Both cruft and crumme came thorowe thy hàndes, 10 Thy marchaundyfe fayled over the fandes,

Therfore nowe thou art layde fast in bandes.

Synge, &c.

Fyrfte when kynge Henry, God faue his grace!
Perceyud myfchefe kyndlyd in thy face,
'Then it was tyme to purchase the a place.

Hys grace was euer of gentyll nature,

15

Synge, &c.

Mouyd with petye, and made the hys feruyture;

But thou, as a wretche, fuche thinges dyd procure.

Synge, &c.

Thou

Thou dyd not remembre, falfe heretyke,

One God, one fayth, and one kynge catholyke,
For thou haft bene fo long a scyfmatyke.

Synge, &c.

Thou woldyft not learne to knowe these thre;

But euer was full of iniquite:

Wherfore all this lande hathe ben troubled with the.

All they, that were of the new trycke,

Synge, &c.

Agaynft the churche thou baddeft them stycke;
Wherfore nowe thou hafte touchyd the quycke,

20

25

Synge, &c.

Bothe facramentes and facramentalles

Thou woldyft not fuffre within thy walles ;
Nor let vs praye for all chryften foules.

Synge, &c.

Of what generacyon thou were no tonge can tell,
Whyther of Chayme, or Syfchemell,

Or elfe fent vs frome the deuyll of hell.

Synge, &c.

Thou woldest neuer to vertue applye,

But couetyd euer to clymme to hye,

And nowe hafte thou trodden thy fhoo awrye.

35

Synge, &c.

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