And with a pitchfork that was sharp, And tending him with weapons strong, They hired two men with holly clubs, They thwacked so hard on Barley-corn And then they took him up again, And then they knit him in a sack, And then they took him up again, They rubbed him and stirrèd him, They pulled and hauled him up in spite, The more to work their will. Then to the mill they forced him straight, The miller swore to murder him The last time when they took him up, For with hot scalding liquor store, But not content with this, God wot, And lying in this danger deep, For fear that he should quarrel, They took him straight out of the vat, And turned him in a barrel. And then they set a tap to him;- Some brought jacks upon their backs, When Sir John Good-ale heard of this Sir John, at last, in each respect Some lay groaning by the walls, Some fell in the street downright, The best of them did scarcely know, What he had done o'er-night. All you good wives that brew good ale, This ballad, of which a modern version, slightly altered from the above by Robert Burns, has become more popular than its prototype, was originally sung to the tune of "Stingo," or "Oyle of Barley." The same tune was afterwards called "Cold and Raw." "This tune," says Sir John Hawkins, in his History of Music, "was greatly admired by Queen Mary, the consort of King William; and she once affronted Purcell by requesting to have it sung to her, he being present. The story is as follows:- The Queen having a mind, one afternoon, to be entertained with music, sent to Mr. Gosling, then one of her Chapel, and afterwards Sub-Dean of St. Paul's, to Henry Purcell, and to Mrs. Arabella Hunt, who had a very fine voice, and an admirable hand on the lute, with a request to attend her. They obeyed her commands. Mr. Gosling and Mrs. Hunt sang several compositions of Purcell, who accompanied them on the harpsichord. At length, the Queen, beginning to grow tired, asked Mrs. Hunt if she could not sing the ballad of Cold and Raw;' Mrs. Hunt answered, yes, and sung it to her lute. Purcell was all the while sitting at the harpsichord, unemployed, and not a little nettled at the Queen's preference of a vulgar ballad to his music, but seeing her Majesty delighted with this tune, he determined that she should hear it upon another occasion; and, accordingly, in the next birth-day song; viz.-that for the year 1692, he composed an air to the words 'May her bright example chace vice in troops out of the land, the bass whereof is the tune to 'Cold and Raw." THE FAIRY QUEEN. From "Percy's Reliques." COME, follow, follow me, When mortals are at rest, And, if the house be foul But if the house be swept, And duly she is paid : For we use before we go Upon a mushroom's head The brains of nightingales, The grasshopper, gnat, and fly, On tops of dewy grass So nimbly do we pass, Ne'er bends when we do walk: We have here a short display of the popular belief concerning fairies. It will afford entertainment to a contemplative mind to trace these whimsical opinions up to their origin. Whoever considers how early, how extensively, and how uniformly, they have prevailed in these nations, will not readily assent to the hypothesis of those who fetch them from the East so late as the time of the Crusades. Whereas it is well known that our Saxon ancestors, long before they left their German forests, believed in the existence of a kind of diminutive demons, or middle species between men and spirits whom they called Duergars or Dwarfs, and to whom they attributed many wonderful performances, far exceeding human art. Vid. Hervarer Saga Olaj Verelj. 1675. Hickes Thesaur, &c. This song is given (with some corrections by another copy) from a book entitled "The Mysteries of Love and Eloquence," &c. Lond. 1658. 8vo. DR. PERCY. AWAY WITH GRIEF. rom HUGH CROMPTON'S "Pierides, or the Muses Mount," 1658 Away, thou gnawing worm, fond grief! Away from me, away: Go now into another zone, Where mortal brains are light, I tried you both, and know you well, But oh! the pangs of woe! r: Suppose you, then, that all is good, If accident should chance to fall, Your soaring spirits move: |