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diff --git a/26831-0.txt b/26831-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4aae4ca --- /dev/null +++ b/26831-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1261 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Marsk Stig, by George Borrow, Edited by +Thomas J. Wise + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Marsk Stig + a ballad + + +Translator: George Borrow + +Editor: Thomas J. Wise + +Release Date: October 7, 2008 [eBook #26831] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARSK STIG*** + + +Transcribed from the 1913 Thomas J. Wise pamphlet by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + + MARSK STIG + + + A BALLAD + + BY + GEORGE BORROW + + LONDON: + PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION + + 1913 + + + + +MARSK STIG +A BALLAD + + +PART I. + + +Marsk Stig he out of the country rode + To win him fame with his good bright sword; +At home meantide the King will bide + In hope to lure his heart’s ador’d. + +The King sends word to the Marshal Stig + That he to the fields of war should fare; +Himself will deign at home to remain + And take the charge of his Lady fair. + +In came the Marshal’s serving man, + And a kirtle of green that man he wore: +“Of our good liege the little foot-page + Is standing out the gate before.” + +Up stood the young Sir Marshal Stig, + By the side of his bed his clothes put on; +And to speak the boy, the King’s envoy, + Down to the gate is the Marshal gone. + +“Now hear thou, Marsk Stig Andersen, + ’Tis truth and sooth what I say to thee; +Thou must away to the King’s palay, + Then mount thy horse and follow with me. + +“Oh, I know nought of my Lord King’s thought + That I to thee can now declare, +Except that thou to the war must go + And there thy sovereign’s banner bear.” + +Then in at the door Sir Marsk Stig trode, + And a wrathful man I trow was he: +“By the Saints I swear, my Lady dear, + Fulfill’d my dreary dream will be. + +“For of late I dream’d that my noble horse + To chase the wild mare ran away; +And that must mean that I shall be slain, + And that my steed will tramp on my life-less clay.” + +“Now hold thy tongue, my noble Lord, + And do not talk thus foolishly, +For Christ can protect thy life, reflect, + The blessed Christ who dwells on high.” + +It was the young and bold Marsk Stig + Came riding into the Castle yard, +Abroad did stand the King of the land + So fair array’d in sable and mard. + +“Now lend an ear, young Marshal Stig, + I have for thee a fair emprise, +Ride thou this year to the war, and bear + My flag amongst my enemies.” + +“And if I shall fare to the war this year, + And risk my life among thy foes, +Do thou take care of my Lady dear, + Of Ingeborg that beauteous rose.” + +Then answer’d Erik, the youthful King, + With a laugh in his sleeve thus answer’d he: +“No more I swear has thy lady to fear + Than if my sister dear were she. + +“Full well I’ll watch Dame Ingeborg, + And guard and cherish her night and day; +As little I swear has thy Lady to fear + As if thou, dear Marshal, at home didst stay.” + +It was then the bold Sir Marshal Stig, + From out of the country he did depart. +In her castle sate his lonely mate, + Fair Ingeborg, with grief at heart. + +“Now saddle my steed,” cried Eric the King, + “Now saddle my steed,” King Eric cried, +“To visit the Dame of beauteous fame + Your King will into the country ride.” + +“Hail, hail to thee, Dame Ingeborg, + If thou wilt not be coy and cold, +A shirt, I trow, for me thou’lt sew, + And array that shirt so fair with gold.” + +“Sew’d I for thee a shirt, Sir King, + And worked that shirt, Sir King, with gold, +Should Marsk Stig hear of that he’d ne’er + With favour again his wife behold.” + +“Now list, now list, Dame Ingeborg, + Thou art, I swear, a beauteous star, +Live thou with me in love and glee, + Whilst Marshal Stig is engag’d in war.” + +Then up and spake Dame Ingeborg, + For nought was she but a virtuous wife: +“Rather, I say, than Stig betray, + Sir King, I’d gladly lose my life.” + +“Give ear, thou proud Dame Ingeborg, + If thou my leman and love will be, +Each finger fair of thy hand shall bear + A ring of gold so red of blee.” + +“Marsk Stig has given gold rings to me, + And pearls around my neck to string; +By the Saints above I never will prove + Untrue to the Marshal’s couch, Sir King. + +“And when Sir Marsk Stig left the land + Thou unto him, Sir King, didst swear +Thou wouldst tend me and defend me + E’en as if I your sister were.” + +It was the fair Dame Ingeborg, + So great, so great was her vexation; +Early and late, sunshine and wet, + The King he sought her habitation. + +It was Erik the Danish King, + A damnable deed the King he wrought; +He forc’d with might that Lady bright, + Whilst her good Lord his battles fought. + +It was the young Sir Marshal Stig + Came home again from the battle field. +To him then sped such tidings dread, + His very blood those tidings chill’d. + +And when he came to his country home, + Away to his castle Sir Stig he rode; +Then Ingeborg Dame for very shame + No word of welcome on him bestow’d. + +It was the young and bold Marsk Stig, + So swiftly in at the door he hies; +His beauteous dame for very shame + To welcome the Marshal could not rise. + +And long stood he, the young Marsk Stig, + And thus within himself thought he; +“Now wherefore shows my beauteous spouse + No more respect or love for me?” + +Then answer’d fair Dame Ingeborg, + Whilst tears adown her features pour’d: +“Welcome, I say, from the battle fray, + Marsk Stig my bosom’s dearest lord. + +“Now do thou hear, young Marshal Stig, + Of a dreadful wrong I must complain, +The King accurst has my body forc’d + And my matron honour from me has ta’en. + +“When thou didst leave the land, I was + The honour’d Dame of a simple knight; +Now am I Queen in Denmark green, + With a stain that makes me hate the light. + +“The time that thou from the land didst go, + I was but the wife of a Noble brave; +Now am I Queen in Denmark green, + Longing to hide me in the grave.” + +It was then the young Marsk Stig + He grasp’d amain his dagger knife: +“If truth it be that thou tellest me, + ’Twill cost the traitor King his life. + +“Never will I sweet sleep enjoy, + Lock’d in thy snowy arms, my fair, +Till ruin I bring on the traitor King + Who laid for us this deadly snare. + +“And never, never, O Ingeborg, + By thy snowy side again I’ll lie, +Till I out-pour the reeking gore + Of him who has wrought this injury.” + +Long, long stood the bold Marsk Stig, + Musing with look so stern and grave: +“If on the King I’d avenge this thing, + Notice from me he must quickly have.” + +Marsk Stig he arms his courtiers good, + Arms them in hauberks glittering, +And he rides on the morrow to Skanderborough + To summon King Erik to the Ting. + +It was the Danish Queen so fine + From the window high a glance she cast: +“Across the wold comes Marsk Stig bold, + Why rides the Marshal Stig so fast? + +“And yonder prances the Marshal Stig, + And hither from Sonderbrook rides he; +Each plumy swain in his galloping train + Is like a bonny grey dow to see.” + +It was the young and bold Marsk Stig, + So stately stepped the threshold o’er; +The Danish Queen so sharp and keen + She straight began to scoff him sore. + +“Thrice welcome, thrice welcome, Dus Van Hus, + Welcome, thrice welcome again, I cry; +Thou bear’st the brow like a King, I trow, + Yet little good thou wilt gain thereby.” + +“Madam! my name is not Dus Van Hus, + How dar’st thou beard me in this strain, +When I know one, Black Haddingson, + Who oft, full oft, on thy breast has lain? + +“Gain I no other recompense here + Than scoff and scorn from a thing like thee, +Before the crowd I’ll complain aloud + Of the wrong and injury done to me. + +“First I will state my injuries great, + Which man nor woman cannot deny; +And unless I’m given amends, by heaven + Another game will the Marshal try.” + + + +PART II. + + +Marsk Stig he woke at black midnight, + And loudly cried to his Lady dear: +“O dreamed have I so wondrously, + God read what I’ve been dreaming here! + +“I dream’d my ship, my tall, tall ship, + To a boat did dwindle suddenly; +Its mast was gone, it helm had none, + Full soon it sank in the briny sea. + +“I dream’d that each of my little pups + Was become at once a savage boar; +Through my garden wall they broke, and all + My pleasant herbs and roots uptore. + +“And I dream’d as I and my courtiers good + Were riding over the bridge so wide, +My trusty horse with sudden force + Flung me, and into the forest hied.” + +Then answer’d proud Dame Ingeborg, + Straight answer’d she her dear lord thus: +“To God alone in heaven is known, + My Lord, how it will fare with us. + +“Lie thou and rest, my noble Lord, + And from thy thought the vision fling; +It means no doubt our vassals stout + Their rent and tribute soon will bring.” + +“Not so, not so, it means, I trow, + Although thou tell’st me that, my love, +It means the King at our country’s Ting, + Too much for me and my cause will prove.” + +Marsk Stig he arms seven hundred men, + Each one in iron panoply; +And away he scowers to Viborg’s towers + The traitor monarch to defy. + +And at their head young Marsk Stig sped, + And in his heart he felt so bold; +Behind him rode his courtiers proud, + Their breast-plates beaming bright with gold. + +It was the young Sir Marshal Stig + Stepp’d proudly in at the lofty door; +And bold knights then, and bold knights’ men, + Stood up the Marshal Stig before. + +So up to the Ting of the land he goes, + And straight to make his plaint began; +Then murmured loud the assembled crowd, + And clench’d his fist each honest man. + +“Ye good men hear a tale of fear, + A tale of horror, a tale of hell; +A rape upon my wife’s been done, + With frantic grief the tale I tell.” + +Then up did spring the Danish King, + And proffer’d to Stig his fair white hand: +“I joy thou art come, Sir Marsk Stig, home + Safe from the fray in the foreign land.” + +Then answer’d him the Marshal Stig, + His heart was fill’d with grief and rage: +“And trouble and cost I more than lost + When forth I went the fight to wage. + +“To the field of war I went afar, + And for thy realm I risk’d my life; +But thou didst stay and, welladay, + Didst foully force my virtuous wife.” + +Then answer’d him the youthful King, + As sly he laughed his cap below: +“The Lady’s yes and willingness + Were ready as mine own I trow.” + +Then answer made the young Marsk Stig, + With a darkling brow and kindling eye: +“’Tis a saying true and an old one too + That insult follows injury. + +“Thou’st forc’d my housewife, and hast brought + Distress and shame upon our head; +But know one thing, my gracious King, + Thy life to Stig is forfeited.” + +Then as he turn’d him from the Ting + He doff’d his hat with knightly pride; +“Ye good men here in memory bear + I have the traitor King defied.” + +“Now do thou hear, Sir Marsk Stig dear, + Cease, cease such frantic talk to hold; +And I’ll bestow on thee enow + Of castles, land, and ruddy gold. + +“Eight castles fair, the best that are + In all the land where dwells the Dane, +May well atone for what is done, + Receive them and my friend remain.” + +“I do not care for your castles fair, + Castles enow I have already, +I wish undone the deed upon + The body of my virtuous Lady.” + +“Marsk Stig! Marsk Stig! ride not so high, + I hope to guard myself, proud Earl! +Although thou be my enemy, + I trust I run no mighty peril.” + +“However high, Sir King, I ride, + Thou lov’st to play a higher part; +Hast thou ne’er heard the olden word + That power must often yield to art? + +“I’m not so mighty nor so strong + That I can hope to bar thy way, +But oft I’ve seen a greyhound keen + Alone the antler’d monarch slay. + +“I’m not at the head of so many swords, + That I can check thee when thou wouldst pass; +But a little lever, if us’d but clever, + Can overturn a weighty mass.” + +Then away rode he the young Marsk Stig, + To Ingeborga’s bower repairing: +“Now welcome thrice, Marsk Stig,” she cries, + “I’ve heard of Marsk Stig’s manly bearing. + +“Fear not the King nor all his might, + Of courage high he has no spark; +Throughout the state he’s won the hate + Of every layman, priest, and clerk. + +“I have a loving nephew got + Who waits the traitor King upon; +He’ll be our spy, and privily + Will send us word when the King’s alone. + +“And when ye’ve slain the brutal pard + Who in drink and slumber finds delight, +By ye will stand of Norway land + The King so bold with his men of might. + +“If thou on Helm a fortress build + It ne’er can be won by human hands, +From its brow so high you may Sealand spy, + Jutland, and other lesser lands. + +“Whilst thou dost live thou a knight shalt be, + But my grief for me is far too strong; +So blythe my breath I’ll yield to death + When Marshal Stig has aveng’d my wrong. + +“I ne’er have peace nor gladness known + Since tyrant Glepping’s deed of force; +May Jesus bless with good success + My gallant Stig in his gallant course. + +“And bless our daughters’ youthful blood, + Oft, full oft on their fate I ponder; +Much I fear when I’m gone from here, + Far and wide they’ll have to wander. + +“An action high shall never die, + Whatever dastard lips may say; +’Twill wake up bold from out the mould + And boldly speak on the judgment day. + +“Then speed thee, knight, with thee is right, + Avenge the heart which loves thee dear; +On earthly shore though we meet no more, + We shall meet again in the sky so clear.” + + + +PART III. + + +There’s many I ween in Denmark green + Who all to be masters now desire; +To Ribe old their course they hold, + And there they buy them strange attire. + +There they prepare such clothes as wear + The holy Monks of orders grey, +And this they’ve done in the hope alone + Their liege and sovereign to betray. + +They watch’d him sly, they watch’d him nigh, + Whether the King went down or up; +But best they sped, in the hour so dread, + When the King would ride to Tinderup. + +The cause of the same was an injur’d Dame, + Bold Stig the Marshal’s lovely wife; +With Ranild a plot she up has got + Which cost King Erik his youthful life. + +Ranild the loon, her sister’s son, + Ranild who serv’d King Erik near, +Tells him with art of hind and hart, + And of silvan game to the hunter dear. + +“To thee I can show both buck and doe + Within the bonny green wood that play; +With greyhounds tried we forth will ride, + Sir King, not distant is the way.” + +Then Erik he bade his serving lad + To saddle him straight his good grey steed; +“To Jutland’s Ting will ride your King, + And see how things in Jutland speed.” + +And he order gave to his courtiers brave + That they should before to Viborg hie; +No thought he had that Ranild the lad + Was brooding a subtle treachery. + +But Ranild rode by a secret road, + And he bade the Monks themselves prepare; +I tell to ye for a verity + That Ranild practis’d cunning rare. + +Now after the hart and hind they start, + And after the nimble roe as well; +The long day’s space endur’d the chase, + Till murky night upon them fell. + +Then in faultering guise the King he cries, + For his heart I ween was full of dread: +“God help us now, and Saint Gertrude thou, + We fairly out of the path have sped.” + +Then about he spied and about he pried, + Amid the bushes so dark and drear, +Till sight he got of a little cot + Where fire and light were burning clear. + +And into that house King Erik goes, + His luck the Monarch there will try; +And he was aware of a damsel fair, + No fairer ever had met his eye. + +And her to his breast the King he press’d, + And kiss’d her oft with fond delight: +“My lovely may, I beg and pray + That thou wilt sleep with me this night.” + +Then answer’d and said the woodland maid, + With a burst of laughter wild and loud: +“In mind I keep how thou didst sleep + With Ingeborga fair and proud. + +“Answer, I pray, and fairly say, + How many maids hast thou, Sir King, +Deserted and left of fame bereft? + For that will death upon thee bring.” + +“If that thou know, fair maid, I trow + That thou canst tell much more to me; +Now tiding give how long I shall live, + And say how many my foemen be.” + +With solemn air said the maiden fair, + “Hark thou to me and believe my word; +For life thou must look to the little crook, + Whereon doth hang thy trusty sword. + +“The knobs on thy belt of tough, tough felt, + The foeman’s number will tell I ween; +Beware, I say, of Monk hoods grey + Concealing warriors stern and keen.” + +To catch the maid the King essay’d, + His heart was bent yet more on learning; +Then slipped away the woodland fay, + Suddenly into vapour turning. + +As long as stay’d with him the maid + Both light and fire his sight did cheer, +But as soon, as soon as she was gone + With Ranild he stood in the bush so drear. + +Then the King for advice to Ranild cries, + And Ranild the traitor answer’d thus: +“From out this place our way we’ll trace, + For here no moon can shine on us. + +“If I be right, a hamlet hight + Grey Tinderup not far doth lie; +This night we’d best in Tinderup rest, + My liege, I think for a certainty. + +“And thither we’ll ride, and there we’ll bide, + Until the moon has risen on high; +By Mary’s might no mortal wight + Will do thee any injury.” + +So they ride away to Tinderup grey, + And loud for lodging, lodging shout; +But they came so late that every gate + Was lock’d, and fires and lights put out. + +Then their steeds they turn to Tinderup barn, + No mortal knew that they were there; +To the King I wot the thought came not + That he was now to his end so near. + +But Erik’s breast was not at rest, + And thus to Ranild the lad he cried: +“O make the door both fast and sure, + I fast and sure in thee confide. + +“Do thou the door with a stake secure, + I’ve ever found thee faithful yet; +In mind I hold that Stig is bold, + And oft I think upon his threat.” + +“I’ve driven a pin the floor within, + And plac’d a balk against the door; +By Mary bright no mortal wight + To move that mighty balk has power. + +“Marsk Stig is hot, I deny it not, + And wondrous words he thunders out; +But be of good cheer my master dear, + He o’er his table sits no doubt. + +“The lapwing bird each spot can guard + Upon the face of the verdant field, +Except alone the knoll whereon + Its nest the bird is wont to build.” + +No pin or stake did Ranild take, + He was I wean a lying cheat; +I tell to ye, for a verity, + He only took two straws of wheat. + +And for all his talk ’twas no thick balk + He plac’d for the door’s security, +But a wheat-sheaf light which the gust of night + From the door removed instantly. + +Scarce on the groun’ had they laid them down, + On the groun’ of the barn so cold and hard, +When of Ingeborg Dame the avengers came, + Spurring amain to the peasant’s gard. + +Into the yard came riding hard + The fatal monks of orders grey; +No pause they made, to the place they sped + Where well they knew that the Monarch lay. + +Upon the door their blows they shower, + With faulchion struck they and with spear; +“Come out, come out, Sir King,” they shout, + “The Dame has sent to greet thee here.” + +To them in reply did Ranild cry, + And thus the Ranild youth began: +“No King is here, no King is near, + No King nor any such a man.” + +Then swift and fast Sir Ranild cast + Over his Lord both straw and hay, +But points with his hand to the in-rushing band + The spot where the hapless Monarch lay. + +They extinguish’d straight the wax light great + That burn’d the head of the Monarch o’er; +Then round the King they stood in a ring, + With blades athirst for his dearest gore. + +“O Ranild hear, my servant dear, + If thou wilt only fight for me, +My sister bright to thee I’ll plight, + And she thy wedded wife shall be.” + +Then he hew’d for his Lord on the broad, broad board, + And on the balk he hew’d so brave; +He hew’d hither, and he hew’d thither— + He fought for his master like a knave. + +Full in the breast their stabs they address’d, + As near to the heart as well might be; +With wounds so sore, forty and more, + Miserably murder’d the King was he. + +At him they bored with spear and sword, + No rest to him the Monks allow’d; +When done was the deed each took his steed, + And away with frantic fury rode. + +This happ’d on the night of Cecily bright, + The season it was so bright and holy. +The King is dead, his blood is shed, + But Ingeborg still is melancholy. + +“Now who will bear to Viborg fair + The corpse of the King across the green? +And who will go with the tale of woe + To Skanderborough where sits the Queen?” + +Then ride would none to Viborg town, + And attend the corse across the green; +But rose up amain a little swain, + And he would ride to the Danish Queen. + +Uprose amain the little swain, + And not long idle I ween he stay’d; +He tore from the grey the saddle away, + And that on the back of the white he laid. + +“Hail gracious Queen so fair of mien, + Who sittest clad in scarlet red; +A traitorous train the King have slain, + In Tinderup barn he lieth dead. + +“They stabbed him with might in his bosom white, + Their points came out of his royal side; +Take thou good care of the youthful heir, + Who Denmark’s realm is doomed to guide. + +“Take heed, take heed of the land I rede, + And of this royal Castelaye; +’Bove every thing of the youthful King, + Who in after time shall Denmark sway.” + +“Thou little lad thy tale is sad, + And it fills my heart with grief and pain; +But thee I’ll prize for thy advice, + And clothe and feed thee whilst I reign.” + +It happ’d on the night of Cecily bright, + In that sweet season blest and holy, +Vengeance has sped, the King is dead— + But Ingeborg still is melancholy. + + + +PART IV. + + +There were seven and seven times twenty + That met upon the verdant wold: +“Say, what emprise shall we devise + Now Denmark’s Lord is stark and cold? + +“Our Lord we’ve slain, a corse he lies, + The band of peace we thus have riven; +Within the land we can make no stand, + From land and friends we now are driven. + +“But we will ride to Skanderborg, + And a visit to the Queen will pay, +We’ll see how fares amid her cares + The Dame ere we depart for aye. + +“It was her wont to jeer and scoff, + But now therewith she must have done; +The fire is come to the scorner’s home, + And pity her I ween can none.” + +Marsk Stig he into the saddle sprang, + For his daring deed he felt no sorrow; +He spurr’d his horse and bent his course, + With his armed host to Skanderborough. + +It was the Danish Queen so fine, + She look’d from out the window high: +“O there doth ride Marsk Stig,” she cried, + “With his knight in iron panoply. + +“Ha, welcome, Stig, thou self-made King, + May’st quickly meet the guerdon due; +If God doth spare the youthful heir, + Full bitter fruit he’ll make thee chew.” + +“Lady, I am no self-made King, + Although it please thee so to say; +But I can name the knight of fame + Who last with thee, fair lady, lay. + +“Little thou mind’st King Erik’s death, + But briny tears thou soon wouldst shed, +If thou hadst lost the gallant Drost, + Who’s wont at night to share thy bed.” + +“O shame upon the murderers foul + Who basely slew my lord and joy; +And shame befall both thee and all + My Queenly honour would destroy.” + +Then up spoke Erik Erikson, + The little King who was standing by: +“When I’m up-grown and bear the crown + Full quickly thou shalt Denmark fly.” + +Then up stood little Christopher, + And courage sparkled in his eye: +“To hang them all were vengeance small + For my dear father’s injury.” + +“And if the land I’m forc’d to quit, + And upon the chilly billows lie, +I’ll work revenge and havoc strange, + And mostly ’mong the great and high. + +“And if from hence I’m forc’d to go, + And outlaw’d live in cave and wood, +From Denmark’s land with spear and brand + Summer and Yule I’ll fetch me food.” + +Then away from Skanderborg he rode, + And his fist he shook against the towers; +And with his troop to Molderup, + To seek his Ingeborg, he scours. + +It was the young Sir Marshal Stig, + He took his wife in his embrace; +“Now lieth slain the cursed bane + Of all our love and happiness. + +“Now wilt thou brave stern poverty, + And follow bold a man exil’d? +Or wilt thou stay, and every day + Be harlot, Erik’s harlot, styl’d?” + +“O could I even Queen become + The hated name I would not bear; +My thanks, the best of this poor breast, + For slaying him the ravisher. + +“But we are allied to Counts and Knights, + And mighty men of high degree, +So do not fear the little heir, + Nor for a child the country flee. + +“Count Jacob of Halland, and Peter Pors, + Bluefod and Kagg, at any hour +Will back our cause, and sturdy Claus, + The Halland’sfar, and many more. + +“There’s Erik King of Norroway, + To him your knightly hand extend, +For he a host and fleet can boast, + And host and fleet he’ll gladly lend. + +“If thou upon the peak of Helm + But build a castle strong and fast, +Thou need’st not quail for arrowy hail, + Nor dread the engine’s deadly cast. + +“And now for long, long winters nine + I’ve hid my care within my breast; +A worm gnaws sore my bosom’s core, + Good night, my Lord! I sink to rest.” + +Marsk Stig he took her in his arm, + “The high God lengthen yet thy day! +Our best advice is now to prize + The hoary rocks of Norroway.” + +Marsk Stig he speeds, to Helm proceeds, + And soon inclos’d a fitting space; +I tell to ye for verity, + Before him palen’d many a face. + +Marsk Stig he builds on Helm a keep, + With massive walls and towers high; +His raging foes besiege it close, + Germans and Danes, but vainly try. + +Out into the field the peasant goes, + And there the peasant sows his corn: +“O God of might, what wondrous sight + The Helm, the Helm has got a horn! + +“O welladay on the poor boors grey, + When Stig the Marshal’s bed was stain’d; +For us I ween it had better been + If Glepping had unborn remain’d. + +“Whene’er within the good green wood + The oaks so mighty chance to fall, +They crush to the ground the hazels round, + And all the other trees so small. + +“The sins of Kings and noblemen + Upon the poor fall heavily; +God look with grace on the peasant’s case, + And relieve him from his misery!” + + * * * * * + + LONDON: + Printed for THOMAS J. 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