THE SONG OF THE GREEN WILLOW.*

ALL a green willow, willow,

All a green willow is my garland.

Alas! by what means may I make ye to know
The unkindness for kindness that to me doth grow?
That one who most kind love on me should bestow,
Most unkind unkindness to me she doth show,

For all a green willow is my garland!

To have love and hold love, where love is so sped,
Oh! delicate food to the lover so fed!

From love won to love lost where lovers be led,
Oh! desperate dolor, the lover is dead!

For all a green willow is his garland!

She said she did love me, and would love me still,
She swore above all men I had her good will;
She said and she swore she would my will fulfil;
The promise all good, the performance all ill;

For all a green willow is my garland!

* The ballad, of which a fragment is sung by Desdemona, (Othello, Act iv. Scene iii.), derives its burthen from this song, which Mr. Halliwell observes is, perhaps, the oldest in our language with the willow burthen. There are many other songs with the same refrain of a later date. The following verse, or canto, is probably the earliest imitation of Heywood's song extant. It is extracted from an anonymous prose comedy, called Sir Gyles Goosecappe, presented by the children of the chapel, and printed in 1606. The canto winds up the piece, and the allusion to the willow bears upon a boasting Captain who is left without a bride in the end.

Willow, willow, willow,

Our captain goes down:
Willow, willow, willow,

His valour doth crown.
The rest with rosemary we grace,
O Hymen, light thy light,
With richest rays gild every face,
And feast hearts with delight.
Willow, willow, willow,

We chaunt to the skies:
And with black and yellow,

Give courtship the prize.

Now, woe with the willow, and woe with the wight
That windeth willow, willow garland to dight!
That dole dealt in allmys* is all amiss quite!
Where lovers are beggars for allmys in sight,

No lover doth beg for this willow garland!
Of this willow garland the burden seems small,
But
my break-neck burden I may it well call;
Like the sow of lead on my head it doth fall!
Break head, and break neck, back, bones, brain, heart
All parts pressed in pieces!

[and all! Too ill for her think I best things may be had, Too good for me thinketh she things being most bad, All I do present her that may make her glad, All she doth present me that may make me sad;

This equity have I with this willow garland!

Could I forget thee, as thou canst forget me,

That were my sound fault, which cannot nor shall be ;
Though thou, like the soaring hawk, every way flee,
I will be the turtle still steadfast to thee,

And patiently wear this willow garland!

All ye that have had love, and have my like wrong,
My like truth and patience plant still ye among;
When feminine fancies for new love do long,
Old love cannot hold them, new love is so strong,
For all.

BE MERRY, FRIENDS.†

E merry, friends, take ye no thought,

BE

For worldly cares care ye right nought;

* The allmys-dish, or alms-dish, was the dish in the old halls and country houses where bread was placed for the poor.

In the collection called A Book of Roxburghe Ballads, edited by Mr. Collier, there is a modernized version of this song, taken from a broadside printed soon after 1600. It contains some additional stanzas, which I have inserted in brackets to distinguish them from the version given by Mr. Halliwell.

For whoso doth, when all is sought,
Shall find that thought availeth nought;
Be merry, friends!

All such as have all wealth at will,
Their wills at will for to fulfil,
From grief or grudge or any ill
I need not sing this them until,

Be merry, friends!

But unto such as wish and want
Of worldly wealth wrought them so scant,
That wealth by work they cannot plant,
To them I sing at this instant,

Be merry, friends!

And such as when the rest seem next,
Then they be straight extremely vexed;
And such as be in storms perplexed,
To them I sing this short sweet text,
Be merry, friends!

To laugh and win each man agrees,
But each man cannot laugh and lose,
Yet laughing in the last of those
Hath been allowed of sage decrees;
Be merry, friends!

Be merry with sorrow, wise men have said,
Which saying, being wisely weighed,
It seems a lesson truly laid

For those whom sorrows still invade,
Be merry, friends!

Make

ye not two sorrows of one,
For of one grief grafted alone
To graft a sorrow thereupon,
A sourer crab we can graft none;

Taking our sorrows sorrowfully,
Sorrow augmenteth our malady;
Taking our sorrows merrily,
Mirth salveth sorrows most soundly;
Be merry,

friends!

Of griefs to come standing in fray,
Provide defence the best we may;
Which done, no more to do or say,
Come what come shall, come care away!
Be merry, friends!

In such things as we cannot flee,
But needs they must endurèd be,
Let wise contentment be decree
Make virtue of necessity;

Be merry, friends!

To lack or lose that we would win,
So that our fault be not therein,
What woe or want, end or begin,
Take never sorrow but for sin!
Be merry, friends!

In loss of friends, in lack of health,
In loss of goods, in lack of wealth,
Where liberty restraint expelleth,
Where all these lack, yet as this telleth,
Be merry, friends!*

Man hardly hath a richer thing

Than honest mirth, the which well-spring
Watereth the roots of rejoicing,

Feeding the flowers of flourishing;
Be merry, friends!†

* In the Roxburghe copy this verse is thus modernized :

If friends be lost, then get thee more;

If wealth be lost, thou still hast store-
The merry man is never poor,
He lives upon the world; therefore,
Be merry,

friends!

↑ This verse is omitted in the Roxburghe copy.

[The loss of wealth is loss of dirt,
As sages in all times assert;
The happy man's without a shirt,
And never comes to maim or hurt.
Be merry, friends!

All seasons are to him the spring,
In flowers bright and flourishing;
With birds upon the tree or wing,
Who in their fashion always sing
Be merry, friends!

If that thy doublet has a hole in,
Why, it cannot keep the less thy soul in,
Which rangeth forth beyond controlling
Whilst thou hast nought to do but trolling
Be merry, friends!]

Be merry in God, saint Paul saith plain,
And yet, saith he, be merry again;
Since whose advice is not in vain,
The fact thereof to entertain,

Be

merry, friends!

[Let the world slide, let the world go:
A fig for care, and a fig for woe!
If I can't pay, why I can owe,

And death makes equal the high and low.
Be merry, friends!]

IDLENESS.

WHAT heart can think, or tongue express,

The harm that groweth of idleness?

This idleness in some of us

Is seen to seem a thing but slight;
But if that sum the sums discuss,

The total sum doth show us straight
This idleness to weigh such weight

That it no tongue can well express,
The harm that groweth of idleness.

THE DRAMATISTS.

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