He in his wedding trim so gay,

She in her winding-sheet.

Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts?
How were those nuptials kept?

The bride-men flock'd round Lucy dead,
And all the village wept.

Confusion, shame, remorse, despair

At once his bosom swell:

The damps of death bedew'd his brow,
He shook, he groan'd, he fell.

From the vain bride (ah bride no more!)
The varying crimson fled,

When, stretch'd before her rival's corse,
She saw her husband dead.

Then to his Lucy's new-made grave,

Convey'd by trembling swains,

One mould with her, beneath one sod,

For ever now remains.

Oft at their graye the constant hind

And plighted maid are seen;

With garlands gay, and true-love knots
They deck the sacred green.

But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art,
This hallow'd spot forbear;

Remember Colin's dreadful fate,

And fear to meet him there.

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XVIII.

THE BOY AND THE MANTLE,

AS REVISED AND ALTERED BY A MODERN HAND.

Mr. Wharton in his ingenious Observations on Spenser, has given his opinion, that the fiction of the Boy and the Mantle is taken from an old French piece intitled 'Le court Mantel' quoted by M. de St. Palaye in his curious Memoires sur l'ancienne Chevalerie,' Paris, 1759, 2 tom. 12mo, who tells us the story resembles that of Ariosto's enchanted cup. 'Tis possible our English poet may have taken the hint of this subject from that old French Romance, but he does not appear to have copied it in the manner of execution to which (if one may judge from the specimen given in the Memoires) that of the ballad does not bear the least resemblance. After all, 'tis most likely that all the old stories concerning K. Arthur are originally of British growth, and that what the French and other southern nations have of this kind, were at first exported from this island. See Memoires de l'Acad. des Inscrip. tom. xx. p. 352. [Since this volume was printed off, the 'Fabliaux ou Contes' 1781, 5 tom. 12mo, of M. Le Grand, have come to hand and in tom. I. p. 54 he hath printed a modern version of the old tale Le Court Mantel,' under a new title, Le Manteau maltaillé;' which contains the story of this ballad much enlarged, so far as regards the mantle; but without any mention of the knife, or the horn. Addit. Note Ed. 1794.]

IN Carleile dwelt king Arthur,

A prince of passing might;

And there maintain'd his table round,
Beset with many a knight.

And there he kept his Christmas

With mirth and princely cheare,

When, lo! a straunge and cunning boy
Before him did appeare.

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A kirtle, and a mantle

This boy had him upon,

With brooches, rings, and owches

Full daintily bedone.

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He had a sarke of silk

About his middle meet;

And thus, with seemely curtesy,
He did king Arthur greet.

'God speed thee, brave king Arthur,
Thus feasting in thy bowre.
And Guenever thy goodly queen,
That fair and peerlesse flowre.

Ye gallant lords, and lordings,
I wish you all take heed,
Lest, what ye deem a blooming rose
Should prove a cankred weed.'

Then straitway from his bosome
A little wand he drew;
And with it eke a mantle

Of wondrous shape, and hew.

'Now have thou here, king Arthur,
Have this here of mee,

And give unto thy comely queen,
All-shapen as you see.

No wife it shall become,

That once hath been to blame.'

Then every knight in Arthur's court
Slye glaunced at his dame.

And first came lady Guenever,
The mantle she must trye.
This dame, she was new-fangled,
And of a roving eye.

When she had tane the mantle,
And all was with it cladde,
From top to toe it shiver'd down,
As tho' with sheers beshradde.

One while it was too long,

Another while too short,

And wrinkled on her shoulders
In most unseemly sort.

Now

green, now red it seemed,

Then all of sable hue.

'Beshrew me,' quoth king Arthur,

'I think thou beest not true.'

Down she threw the mantle,
Ne longer would not stay;
But storming like a fury,

To her chamber flung away.

She curst the whoreson weaver,

That had the mantle wrought: And doubly curst the froward impe, Who thither had it brought.

'I had rather live in desarts

Beneath the green-wood tree:

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Than here, base king, among thy groomes,
The sport of them and thee.'

Sir Kay call'd forth his lady,

And bade her to come near:
'Yet dame, if thou be guilty,
I pray thee now forbear."

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Downe she threw the mantle,

No longer bold or gay,
But with a face all pale and wan,
To her chamber slunk away.

Then forth came an old knight,
A pattering o'er his creed;
And proffer'd to the little boy
Five nobles to his meed;

And all the time of Christmass Plumb-porridge shall be thine, If thou wilt let my lady fair Within the mantle shine.'

A saint his lady seemed,

With step demure, and slow, And gravely to the mantle

With mincing pace doth goe.

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