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An ingenious Friend thinks that the following old Ditty (which is printed from the Editor's folio MS.) may possibly have given birth to the Tragedy of the ORPHAN, in which Polidore intercepts Monimia’s intended favours to Castalio.
See what is said concerning the hero of this song, (who is celebrated by CHAUCER under the name of GLASKYRION) in the Essay prefixed to Vol. I. Note H. Pt. IV. (2.)
GLASGERION was a kings owne sonne,
And a harper he was goode :
and caudle stoode.
And soe did hee in the queens chamber,
Till ladies waxed glad.'
And these wordes thus shee sayd.
Strike on, strike on, Glasgèrion,
Of thy striking doe not blinne :
But it glads my hart withinne.
Ver. 6. wood, MS.
Faire might he fall, ladye, quoth hee,
Who taught you nowe to speake!
My minde I neere durst breake.
But come to my bower, my Glasgeridn,
When all men are att rest :
Thou shalt bee a welcome guest.
Home then came Glasgèrion,
A glad man, lord ! was hee.
Come hither unto mee.
For the kinges daughter of Normandye
Hath granted mee my boone: And att her chambere must I bee
Beffore the cocke have crowen.
O master, master, then quoth hee,
Lay your head downe on this stone: For I will waken you, master deere,
Afore it be time to gone.
then rose that lither ladd, And hose and shoone did on : A coller he cast upon his necke,
Hee seemed a gentleman.
Ver. 16. harte, MS.
And when he came to the ladies chamber,
He thrild upon a pinn*.
Rose up and lett him in.
He did not take the lady gaye
To boulster nor to bed :
He did not kisse that ladyes mouthe,
Nor when he came, nor youd :
He was of some churls bloud.
But home then came that lither ladd,
And did off his hose and shoone;
He was but a churlès sonne.
* This is elsewhere expressed 'twirled the pin' or 'tirled at the pin' (See B. II. S. VI. v. 3.] and seems to refer to the turns ing round the button on the outside of a door, by which the latch rises, still used in cottages.
For I have saddled your horsse, master,
steede : And I have served you a good breakfast : For thereof
Up then rose, good Glasgeridn,
And did on hose and shoone; And cast a coller about his necke:
For he was a kinge his sonne.
And when he came to the ladyes chamber,
He thrild upon the pinne :
And rose and let him inn.
Saies, whether have you left with me
Your bracelett or your glove? Or are you returned backe againe To know more of my
O then it was your lither foot-page,
He hath beguiled mee.
That hanged by her knee :
Sayes, there shall never noe churlès blood
Within my bodye spring :
The daughter of a kinge.
Home then went Glasgèrion,
And woe, good lord, was hee.
Come hither unto mee.
If I had killed a man to night,
Jacke, I would tell it thee:
Jacke, thou hast killed three.
And he puld out his bright browne sword,
And dryed it on his sleeve,
Who did his ladye grieve.
He sett the swords poynt till his brest,
The pummil untill a stone:
These three lives werne all gone.