Ballad VI: King Cophetua and the Beggar-Maid

----"Her (Venus's) purblind son and heir,Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so true,When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid."

"O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news?Let king Cophetua know the truth thereof."

I read that once in AffricaA princely wight did raine,Who had to name Cophetua,As poets they did faine:From natures lawes he did decline,For sure he was not of my mind,He cared not for women-kinde,But did them all disdaine.But, marke, what hapned on a day,As he out of his window lay,He saw a beggar all in gray,The which did cause his paine.

The blinded boy, that shootes so trim,From heaven downe did hie;He drew a dart and shot at him,In place where he did lye:Which soone did pierse him to the quicke,And when he felt the arrow pricke,Which in his tender heart did sticke,He looketh as he would dye.What sudden chance is this, quoth he,That I to love must subject be,Which never thereto would agree,But still did it defie?

Then from the window he did come,And laid him on his bed,A thousand heapes of care did runneWithin his troubled head:For now he meanes to crave her love,And now he seekes which way to prooveHow he his fancie might remoove,And not this beggar wed.But Cupid had him so in snare,That this poor begger must prepareA salve to cure him of his care,Or els he would be dead.

And, as he musing thus did lye,He thought for to deviseHow he might have her companye,That so did 'maze his eyes.In thee, quoth he, doth rest my life;For surely thou shalt be my wife,Or else this hand with bloody knifeThe Gods shall sure suffice.Then from his bed he soon arose,And to his pallace gate he goes;Full little then this begger knowesWhen she the king espies.

The gods preserve your majesty,The beggers all gan cry:Vouchsafe to give your charityOur childrens food to buy.The king to them his pursse did cast,And they to part it made great haste;This silly woman was the lastThat after them did hye.The king he cal'd her back againe,And unto her he gave his chaine;And said, With us you shal remaineTill such time as we dye:

For thou, quoth he, shalt be my wife,And honoured for my queene;With thee I meane to lead my life,As shortly shall be seene:Our wedding shall appointed be,And every thing in its degree:Come on, quoth he, and follow me,Thou shalt go shift thee cleane.What is thy name, faire maid? quoth he.Penelophon, O king, quoth she:With that she made a lowe courtsèy;A trim one as I weene.

Thus hand in hand along they walkeUnto the king's pallàce:The king with courteous comly talkeThis begger doth imbrace:The begger blusheth scarlet red,And straight againe as pale as lead,But not a word at all she said,She was in such amaze.At last she spake with trembling voyce,And said, O king, I doe rejoyceThat you wil take me for your choyce,And my degree's so base.

And when the wedding day was come,The king commanded straitThe noblemen both all and someUpon the queene to wait.And she behaved herself that day,As if she had never walkt the way;She had forgot her gowne of gray,Which she did weare of late.The proverbe old is come to passe,The priest, when he begins his masse,Forgets that ever clerke he was;He knowth not his estate.

Here you may read, Cophetua,Though long time fancie-fed,Compelled by the blinded boyThe begger for to wed:He that did lovers lookes disdaine,To do the same was glad and faine,Or else he would himselfe have slaine,In storie, as we read.Disdaine no whit, O lady deere,But pitty now thy servant heere,Least that it hap to thee this yeare,As to that king it did.

And thus they led a quiet lifeDuring their princely raigne;And in a tombe were buried both,As writers sheweth plaine.The lords they tooke it grievously,The ladies tooke it heavily,The commons cryed pitiously,Their death to them was paine,Their fame did sound so passingly,That it did pierce the starry sky,And throughout all the world did flyeTo every princes realme.

Besides the reference to this ballad in Othello mentioned byPercy above, Mr. Hales has pointed out to me another evidentallusion in the Tempest, act iv. sc. 1, where Trinculo says,

"O King Stephano, O Peere: O worthy Stephano,Looke what a wardrobe here is for thee."

This winters weather itt waxeth cold,And frost doth freese on every hill,And Boreas blowes his blasts soe bold,That all our cattell are like to spill;Bell my wiffe, who loves noe strife,She sayd unto me quietlye,Rise up, and save cow Crumbockes liffe,Man, put thine old cloake about thee.

O Bell, why dost thou flyte 'and scorne'?Thou kenst my cloak is very thin:Itt is soe bare and overworneA cricke he theron cannot renn:Then Ile noe longer borrowe nor lend,'For once Ile new appareld bee,To-morrow Ile to towne and spend,'For Ile have a new cloake about mee.

Cow Crumbocke is a very good cowe,Shee ha beene alwayes true to the payle,Shee has helpt us to butter and cheese, I trow,And other things shee will not fayle;I wold be loth to see her pine,Good husband, councell take of mee,It is not for us to go soe fine,Man, take thine old cloake about thee.

My cloake it was a verry good cloake,Itt hath been alwayes true to the weare,But now it is not worth a groat;I have had it four and forty yeere:Sometime itt was of cloth in graine,'Tis now but a sigh clout as you may see,It will neither hold out winde nor raine;And Ile have a new cloake about mee.

It is four and fortye yeeres agoeSince the one of us the other did ken,And we have had betwixt us toweOf children either nine or ten;Wee have brought them up to women and men;In the feare of God I trow they bee;And why wilt thou thyselfe misken?Man, take thine old cloake about thee.

O Bell my wiffe, why dost thou 'floute!'Now is nowe, and then was then:Seeke now all the world throughout,Thou kenst not clownes from gentlemen.They are cladd in blacke, greene, yellowe, or 'gray',Soe far above their owne degree:Once in my life Ile 'doe as they,'For Ile have a new cloake about mee.

King Stephen was a worthy peere,His breeches cost him but a crowne,He held them sixpence all too deere;Therefore he calld the taylor Lowne.He was a wight of high renowne,And thouse but of a low degree:Itt's pride that putts this countrye downe,Man, take thine old cloake about thee.

'Bell my wife she loves not strife,Yet she will lead me if she can;And oft, to live a quiet life,I am forced to yield, though Ime good-man:'Itt's not for a man with a woman to threape,Unlesse he first give oer the plea:As wee began wee now will leave,And Ile take mine old cloake about mee.