The Sources and Analogues of 'A Midsummer-Night's Dream'/Robin Good-fellow

Robin Good-fellow; His Mad Pranks and Merry Jests
Not omitting that ancient form of beginning tales, Once upon a time it was my chance to travel into that noble county of Kent. The weather being wet, and my two-legged horse being almost tired (for indeed my own legs were all the supporters that my body had), I went dropping into an alehouse; there found I, first a kind welcome, next good liquor, then kind strangers (which made good company), then an honest host, whose love to good liquor was written in red characters both in his nose, cheeks and forehead: an hostess I found there too, a woman of very good carriage; and though she had not so much colour (for what she had done) as her rich husband had, yet all beholders might perceive by the roundness of her belly, that she was able to draw a pot dry at a draught, and ne'er unlace for the matter.

Well, to the fire I went, where I dried my outside and wet my inside. The ale being good, and I in good company, I lapt in so much of this nappy liquor, that it begot in me a boldness to talk, and desire of them to know what was the reason that the people of that country were called Long-tails. The host said, all the reason that ever he could hear was, because the people of that country formerly did use to go in side-skirted coats. "There is," said an old man that sat by, "another reason that I have heard: that is this. In the time of the Saxons' conquest of England there were divers of our countrymen slain by treachery, which made those that survived more careful in dealing with their enemies, as you shall hear.

"After many overthrows that our countrymen had received by the Saxons, they dispersed themselves into divers companies into the woods, and so did much damage by their sudden assaults to the Saxons, that Hengist, their king, hearing the damage that they did (and not knowing how to subdue them by force), used this policy. He sent to a company of them, and gave them his word for their liberty and safe return, if they would come unarmed and speak with him. This they seemed to grant unto, but for their more security (knowing how little he esteemed oaths or promises) they went every one of them armed with a short sword, hanging just behind under their garments, so that the Saxons thought not of any weapons they had: but it proved otherwise; for when Hengist his men (that were placed to cut them off) fell all upon them, they found such unlooked a resistance, that most of the Saxons were slain, and they that escaped, wondering how they could do that hurt, having no weapons (as they saw), reported that they struck down men like lions with their tails; and so they ever after were called Kentish Long-tails."

I told him this was strange, if true, and that their country's honour bound them more to believe in this than it did me.

"Truly, sir," said my hostess, "I think we are called Long-tails, by reason our tales are long, that we used to pass the time withal, and make ourselves merry." "Now, good hostess," said I, "let me entreat from you one of those tales." "You shall," said she, "and that shall not be a common one neither, for it is a long tale, a merry tale, and a sweet tale; and thus it begins."

The Hostess's Tale of the Birth of Robin Good-fellow
Once upon a time, a great while ago, when men did eat more and drink less&mdash;then men were more honest, that knew no knavery, than some now are that confess the knowledge and deny the practice&mdash;about that time (whensoe'er it was) there was wont to walk many harmless spirits called fairies, dancing in brave order in fairy rings on green hills with sweet music (sometime invisible) in divers shapes: many mad pranks would they play, as pinching of sluts black and blue, and misplacing things in ill-ordered houses; but lovingly would they use wenches that cleanly were, giving them silver and other pretty toys, which they would leave for them, sometimes in their shoes, other times in their pockets, sometimes in bright basins and other clean vessels.

Amongst these fairies was there a he-fairy; whether he was their king or no I know not, but surely he had great government and command in that country, as you shall hear. This same he-fairy did love a proper young wench, for every night would he with other fairies come to the house, and there dance in her chamber; and oftentimes she was forced to dance with him, and at his departure would he leave her silver and jewels, to express his love unto her. At last this maid was with child, and being asked who was the father of it, she answered a man that nightly came to visit her, but early in the morning he would go his way, whither she knew not, he went so suddenly.

Many old women, that then had more wit than those that are now living and have less, said that a fairy had gotten her with child; and they bid her be of good comfort, for the child must needs be fortunate that had so noble a father as a fairy was, and should work many strange wonders. To be short, her time grew on, and she was delivered of a man child, who (it should seem) so rejoiced his father's heart, that every night his mother was supplied with necessary things that are befitting a woman in child-birth, so that in no mean manner neither; for there had she rich embroidered cushions, stools, carpets, coverlets, delicate linen: then for meat she had capons, chickens, mutton, lamb, pheasant, snite, woodcock, partridge, quail. The gossips liked this fare so well that she never wanted company; wine had she of all sorts, muskadine, sack, malmsey, claret, white and bastard; this pleased her neighbours well, so that few that came to see her, but they had home with them a medicine for the fleas. Sweetmeats too had they in such abundance that some of their teeth are rotten to this day; and for music she wanted not, or any other thing she desired.

All praised this honest fairy for his care, and the child for his beauty, and the mother for a happy woman. In brief, christened he was, at the which all this good cheer was doubled, which made most of the women so wise, that they forgot to make themselves unready, and so lay in their clothes; and none of them next day could remember the child's name but the clerk, and he may thank his book for it, or else it had been utterly lost. So much for the birth of little Robin.

Of Robin Good-fellow's Behaviour when he was Young
When Robin was grown to six years of age, he was so knavish that all the neighbours did complain of him; for no sooner was his mother's back turned, but he was in one knavish action or other, so that his mother was constrained (to avoid the complaints) to take him with her to market, or wheresoever she went or rode. But this helped little or nothing, for if he rode before her, then would he make mouths and ill-favoured faces at those he met; if he rode behind her, then would he clap his hand on his tail; so that his mother was weary of the many complaints that came against him, yet knew she not how to beat him justly for it, because she never saw him do that which was worthy blows. The complaints were daily so renewed that his mother promised him a whipping. Robin did not like that cheer, and therefore, to avoid it, he ran away, and left his mother a heavy woman for him.

How Robin Good-fellow Dwelt with a Tailor
After that Robin Good-fellow had gone a great way from his mother's house, he began to be hungry, and going to a tailor's house, he asked something for God's sake. The tailor gave him meat, and understanding that he was masterless, he took him for his man, and Robin so plied his work that he got his master's love.

On a time his master had a gown to make for a woman, and it was to be done that night: they both sat up late so that they had done all but setting on the sleeves by twelve o'clock. This master then being sleepy said, "Robin, whip thou on the sleeves, and then come thou to bed; I will go to bed before." "I will," said Robin. So soon as his master was gone, Robin hung up the gown, and taking both sleeves in his hands, he whipped and lashed them on the gown. So stood he till the morning that his master came down: his master seeing him stand in that fashion asked him what he did? "Why," quoth he, "as you bid me, whip on the sleeves." "Thou rogue," said his master, "I did mean that thou shouldst have set them on quickly and slightly." "I would you had said so," said Robin, "for then had I not lost all this sleep." To be short, his master was fain to do the work, but ere he had made an end of it, the woman came for it, and with a loud voice chafed for her gown. The tailor, thinking to please her, bid Robin fetch the remnants that they left yesterday (meaning thereby meat that was left); but Robin, to cross his master the more, brought down the remnants of the cloth that was left of the gown. At the sight of this, his master looked pale, but the woman was glad, saying, "I like this breakfast so well, that I will give you a pint of wine to it." She sent Robin for the wine, but he never returned again to his master.

What Happened to Robin Good-fellow after he went from the Tailor
After Robin had travelled a good day's journey from his master's house he sat down, and being weary he fell asleep. No sooner had slumber taken full possession of him, and closed his long-opened eyelids, but he thought he saw many goodly proper personages in antic measures tripping about him, and withal he heard such music as he thought that Orpheus, that famous Greek fiddler (had he been alive), compared to one of these, had been as infamous as a Welsh harper that plays for cheese and onions. As delights commonly last not long, so did those end sooner than he would willingly they should have done; and for very grief he awaked, and found by him lying a scroll, wherein was written these lines following in golden letters.


 * Robin, my only son and heir,
 * How to live take thou no care:
 * By nature thou hast cunning shifts,
 * Which I'll increase with other gifts.
 * Wish what thou wilt, thou shalt it have;
 * And for to vex both fool and knave,
 * Thou hast the power to change thy shape,
 * To horse, to hog, to dog, to ape.
 * Transforméd thus, by any means
 * See none thou harm'st but knaves and queans;
 * But love thou those that honest be,
 * And help them in necessity.
 * Do thus, and all the world shall know
 * The pranks of Robin Good-fellow;
 * For by that name thou called shalt be
 * To age's last posterity.
 * If thou observe my just command,
 * One day thou shalt see Fairy Land.
 * This more I give: who tells thy pranks
 * From those that hear them shall have thanks.

Robin having read this was very joyful, yet longed he to know whether he had this power or not, and to try it he wished for some meat: presently it was before him. Then wished he for beer and wine: he straightway had it. This liked him well, and because he was weary, he wished himself a horse: no sooner was his wish ended, but he was transformed, and seemed a horse of twenty pound price, and leaped and curveted as nimble as if he had been in stable at rack and manger a good month. Then wished he himself a dog, and was so: then a tree, and was so: so from one thing to another, till he was certain and well assured that he could change himself to any thing whatsoever.

How Robin Good-fellow served a Clownish Fellow
Robin Good-fellow going over a field met with a clownish fellow, to whom he spake in this manner. "Friend," quoth he, "what is a clock?" "A thing," answered the clown, "that shows the time of the day." "Why then," said Robin Good-fellow, "be thou a clock, and tell me what time of the day it is." "I owe thee not so much service," answered he again, "but because thou shalt think thyself beholden to me, know that it is the same time of the day as it was yesterday at this time."

These cross-answers vexed Robin Good-fellow, so that in himself he vowed to be revenged of him, which he did in this manner.

Robin Good-fellow turned himself into a bird, and followed this fellow, who was going into a field a little from that place to catch a horse that was at grass. The horse being wild ran over dyke and hedge, and the fellow after; but to little purpose, for the horse was too swift for him. Robin was glad of this occasion, for now or never was the time to put his revenge in action.

Presently Robin shaped himself like to the horse that the fellow followed, and so stood before the fellow: presently the fellow took hold of him and got on his back, but long had he not rid, but with a stumble he hurled this churlish clown to the ground, that he almost broke his neck; yet took he not this for a sufficient revenge for the cross-answers he had received, but stood still and let the fellow mount him once more.

In the way the fellow was to ride was a great plash of water of a good depth: through this must he of necessity ride. No sooner was he in the midst of it, but Robin Good-fellow left him with nothing but a pack-saddle betwixt his legs, and in the shape of a fish swam to the shore, and ran away laughing, ho, ho, hoh! leaving the poor fellow almost drowned.

How Robin Good-fellow helped Two Lovers and deceived an Old Man
Robin going by a wood heard two lovers make great lamentation, because they were hindered from enjoying each other by a cruel old lecher, who would not suffer this loving couple to marry. Robin, pitying them, went to them and said: "I have heard your complaints, and do pity you; be ruled by me, and I will see that you shall have both your hearts' content, and that suddenly if you please." After some amazement the maiden said, "Alas! sir, how can that be? My uncle, because I will not grant to his lust, is so straight over me, and so oppresseth me with work night and day, that I have not so much time as to drink or speak with this young man, whom I love above all men living." "If your work be all that hindereth you," said Robin, "I will see that done: ask me not how, nor make any doubt of the performance; I will do it. Go you with your love: for twenty-four hours I will free you. In that time marry or do what you will. If you refuse my proffered kindness never look to enjoy your wished-for happiness. I love true lovers, honest men, good fellows, good housewives, good meat, good drink, and all things that good is, but nothing that is ill; for my name is Robin Good-fellow, and that you shall see that I have power to perform what I have undertaken, see what I can do." Presently he turned himself into a horse, and away he ran: at the sight of which they were both amazed, but better considering with themselves, they both determined to make good use of their time, and presently they went to an old friar, who presently married them. They paid him, and went their way. Where they supped and lay, I know not, but surely they liked their lodging well the next day.

Robin, when that he came near the old man's house, turned himself into the shape of the young maid, and entered the house, where, after much chiding, he fell to the work that the maid had to do, which he did in half the time that another could do it in. The old man, seeing the speed he made, thought that she had some meeting that night (for he took Robin Good-fellow for his niece); therefore he gave him order for other work, that was too much for any one to do in one night; Robin did that in a trice, and played many mad pranks beside ere the day appeared.

In the morning he went to the two lovers to their bed-side, and bid God give them joy, and told them all things went well, and that ere night he would bring them ten pounds of her uncle's to begin the world with. They both thanked him, which was all the requital that he looked for, and being therewith well contented he went his way laughing.

Home went he to the old man, who then was by, and marvelled how the work was done so soon. Robin, seeing that, said: "Sir, I pray marvel not, for a greater wonder than that this night hath happened to me." "Good niece, what is that?" said the old man. "This, Sir; but I shame to apeak it, yet I will: weary with work, I slept, and did dream that I consented to that which you have so often desired of me (you know what it is I mean), and methought you gave me as a reward ten pounds, with your consent to marry that young man that I have loved so long." "Didst thou dream so? thy dream I will make good, for under my handwriting I give my free consent to marry him, or whom thou dost please to marry (and withal writ); and for the ten pounds, go but into the out-barn, and I will bring it thee presently. How sayest thou," said the old lecher; "wilt thou?" Robin with silence did seem to grant, and went toward the barn. The old man made haste, told out his money, and followed.

Being come thither, he hurled the money on the ground, saying, "This is the most pleasing bargain that ever I made;" and going to embrace Robin, Robin took him up in his arms and carried him forth; first drew him through a pond to cool his hot blood, then did he carry him where the young married couple were, and said, "Here is your uncle's consent under his hand; then, here is the ten pounds he gave you, and there is your uncle: let him deny it if he can."

The old man, for fear of worse usage, said all was true. "Then am I as good as my word," said Robin, and so went, away laughing. The old man knew himself duly punished, and turned his hatred into love, and thought afterward as well of them as if she had been his own. The second part shall show many incredible things done by Robin Good-fellow (or otherwise called Hob-goblin) and his companions, by turning himself into divers sundry shapes.

How Robin Good-fellow helped a Maid to Work
Robin Good-fellow oftentimes would in the night visit farmers' houses, and help the maids to break hemp, to bolt, to dress flax, and to spin and do other work, for he was excellent in everything. One night he came to a farmer's house, where there was a good handsome maid: this maid having much work to do, Robin one night did help her, and in six hours did bolt more than she could have done in twelve hours. The maid wondered the next day how her work came, and to know the doer, she watched the next night that did follow. About twelve of the clock in came Robin, and fell to breaking of hemp, and for to delight himself he sung this mad song.


 * And can the physician make sick men well?
 * And can the magician a fortune divine?
 * Without lily, germander and sops-in-wine?
 * With sweet-brier
 * And bon-fire,
 * And strawberry wire,
 * And columbine.


 * Within and out, in and out, round as a ball,
 * With hither and thither, as straight as a line,
 * With lily, germander and sops-in-wine.
 * With sweet-brier,
 * And bon-fire,
 * And strawberry wire,
 * And columbine.


 * When Saturn did live, there lived no poor,
 * The king and the beggar with roots did dine,
 * With lily, germander and sops-in-wine.
 * With sweet-brier,
 * And bon-fire,
 * And strawberry wire,
 * And columbine.

The maid, seeing him bare in clothes, pitied him, and against the next night provided him a waistcoat. Robin, coming the next night to work, as he did before, espied the waistcoat, whereat he started and said&mdash;


 * Because thou lay'st me, himpen, hampen,
 * I will neither bolt nor stampen;
 * 'Tis not your garments new or old
 * That Robin loves: I feel no cold.
 * Had you left me milk or cream,
 * You should have had a pleasing dream:
 * Because you left no drop or crumb,
 * Robin never more will come.

So went he away laughing, ho, ho, hoh! The maid was much grieved and discontented at his anger: for ever after she was fain to do her work herself without the help of Robin Good-fellow.

How Robin Good-fellow led a Company of Fellows out of their Way
A company of young men having been making merry with their sweethearts, were at their coming home to come over a heath. Robin Good-fellow, knowing of it, met them, and to make some pastime, he led them up and down the heath a whole night, so that they could not get out of it; for he went before them in the shape of a walking fire, which they all saw and followed till the day did appear: then Robin left them, and at his departure spake these words&mdash;


 * Get you home, you merry lads!
 * Tell your mammies and your dads,
 * And all those that news desire,
 * How you saw a walking fire.
 * Wenches, that do smile and lisp
 * Use to call me Willy Wisp.
 * If that you but weary he,
 * It is sport alone for me.
 * Away: unto your houses go
 * And I'll go laughing ho, ho, hoh!

The fellows were glad that he was gone, for they were all in a great fear that he would have done them some mischief.

How Robin Good-fellow served a Lecherous Gallant
Robin always did help those that suffered wrong, and never would hurt any but those that did wrong to others. It was his chance one day to go through a field where he heard one call for help: he, going near where he heard the cry, saw a lusty gallant that would have forced a young maiden to his lust; but the maiden in no wise would yield, which made her cry for help. Robin Good-fellow, seeing of this, turned himself into the shape of a hare, and so ran between the lustful gallant's legs. This gallant, thinking to have taken him, he presently turned himself into a horse, and so perforce carried away this gallant on his back. The gentleman cried out for help, for he thought that the devil had been come to fetch him for his wickedness; but his crying was in vain, for Robin did carry him into a thick hedge, and there left him so pricked and scratched, that he more desired a plaister for his pain than a wench for his pleasure. Thus the poor maid was freed from this ruffian, and Robin Good-fellow, to see this gallant so tame, went away laughing, ho, ho, hoh!

How Robin Good-fellow turned a Miserable Usurer to a Good House-keeper
In this country of ours there was a rich man dwelled, who to get wealth together was so sparing that he could not find in his heart to give his belly food enough. In the winter he never would make so much fire as would roast a black-pudding, for he found it more profitable to sit by other men's. His apparel was of the fashion that none did wear; for it was such as did hang at a broker's stall, till it was as weather-beaten as an old sign. This man for his covetousness was so hated of all his neighbours, that there was not one that gave him a good word. Robin Good-fellow grieved to see a man of such wealth do so little good, and therefore practised to better him in this manner.

One night the usurer being in bed, Robin in the shape of a night-raven came to the window, and there did beat with his wings, and croaked in such manner that this old usurer thought he should have presently died for fear. This was but a preparation to what he did intend; for presently after he appeared before him at his bed's feet, in the shape of a ghost, with a torch in his hand. At the sight of this the old usurer would have risen out of his bed, and have leaped out of the window, but he was stayed by Robin Good-fellow, who spake to him thus&mdash;


 * If thou dost stir out of thy bed,
 * I do vow to strike thee dead.
 * I do come to do thee good;
 * Recall thy wits and starkled blood.
 * The money which thou up dost store
 * In soul and body makes thee poor.
 * Do good with money while you may;
 * Thou hast not long on earth to stay.
 * Do good, I say, or day and night
 * I hourly thus will thee affright.
 * Think on my words, and so farewell,
 * For being bad I live in hell.

Having said thus he vanished away and left this usurer in great terror of mind; and for fear of being frighted again with this ghost, he turned very liberal, and lived amongst his neighbours as an honest man should do.

How Robin Good-fellow loved a Weaver's Wife, and how the Weaver would have drowned him
One day Robin Good-fellow, walking through the street, found at the door sitting a pretty woman: this woman was wife to the weaver, and was a-winding of quills for her husband. Robin liked her so well, that for her sake he became servant to her husband, and did daily work at the loom; but all the kindness that he showed was but lost, for his mistress would show him no favour, which made him many times to exclaim against the whole sex in satirical songs; and one day being at work he sung this, to the tune of Rejoice Bag-pipes&mdash;


 * Why should my love now wax
 * Unconstant, wavering, fickle, unstaid?
 * With nought can she me tax:
 * I ne'er recanted what I once said.
 * I now do see, as nature fades,
 * And all her works decay,
 * So women all, wives, widows, maids,
 * From bad to worse do stray.


 * As herbs, trees, roots, and plants
 * In strength and growth are daily less,
 * So all things have their wants:
 * The heavenly signs move and digress;
 * And honesty in women's hearts
 * Hath not her former being:
 * Their thoughts are ill, like other parts,
 * Nought else in them's agreeing.


 * I sooner thought thunder
 * Had power o'er the laurel wreath,
 * Than she, women's wonder,
 * Such perjured thoughts should live to breathe.
 * They all hyena-like will weep,
 * When that they would deceive:
 * Deceit in them doth lurk and sleep,
 * Which makes me thus to grieve.


 * Young man's delight, farewell;
 * Wine, women, game, pleasure, adieu:
 * Content with me shall dwell;
 * I'll nothing trust but what is true.
 * Though she were false, for her I'll pray;
 * Her falsehood made me blest:
 * I will renew from this good day
 * My life by sin opprest.

Moved with this song and other complaints of his, she at last did fancy him, so that the weaver did not like that Robin should be so saucy with his wife, and therefore gave him warning to be gone, for he would keep him no longer. This grieved this loving couple to part one from the other, which made them to make use of the time that they had. The weaver one day coming in, found them a-kissing: at this he said [nothing] but vowed in himself to be revenged of his man that night following. Night being come, the weaver went to Robin's bed, and took him out of it (as he then thought) and ran apace to the river side to hurl Robin in; but the weaver was deceived, for Robin, instead of himself, had laid in his bed a sack full of yarn: it was that that the weaver carried to drown. The weaver standing by the river side said:&mdash;Now will I cool your hot blood, Master Robert, and if you cannot swim the better you shall sink and drown, With that he hurled the sack in, thinking that it had been Robin Good-fellow. Robin, standing behind him, said&mdash;


 * For this your kindness, master, I you thank:
 * Go swim yourself; I'll stay upon the bank.

With that Robin pushed him in, and went laughing away, ho, ho, hoh!

How Robin Good-fellow went in the Shape of a Fiddler to a Wedding, and of the Sport that he had there
On a time there was a great wedding, to which there went many young lusty lads and pretty lasses. Robin Good-fellow longing not to be out of action, shaped himself like unto a fiddler, and with his crowd under his arm went amongst them, and was a very welcome man. There played he whilst they danced, and took as much delight in seeing them, as they did in hearing him. At dinner he was desired to sing a song, which he did to the tune of Watton Town's End.

The Song

 * It was a country lad
 * That fashions strange would see,
 * And he came to a vaulting school,
 * Where tumblers used to be:
 * He liked his sport so well,
 * That from it he'd not part:
 * His doxy to him still did cry,
 * Come, buss thine own sweetheart.


 * They liked his gold so well,
 * That they were both content,
 * That he that night with his sweetheart
 * Should pass in merriment.
 * To bed they then did go;
 * Full well he knew his part,
 * Where he with words, and eke with deeds,
 * Did buss his own sweetheart.


 * Long were they not in bed,
 * But one knocked at the door,
 * And said, Up, rise, and let me in:
 * This vexed both knave and whore.
 * He being sore perplexed
 * From bed did lightly start;
 * No longer then could he endure
 * To buss his own sweetheart.


 * With tender steps he trod,
 * To see if he could spy
 * The man that did him so molest;
 * Which he with heavy eye
 * Had soon beheld, and said,
 * Alas! my own sweetheart,
 * I now do doubt, if e'er we buss,
 * It must be in a cart.


 * At last the bawd arose
 * And opened the door,
 * And saw Discretion cloth'd in rug,
 * Whose office hates a whore.
 * He mounted up the stairs,
 * Being cunning in his art;
 * With little search at last he found
 * My youth and his sweetheart.


 * He having wit at will,
 * Unto them both did say,
 * I will not hear them speak one word
 * Watchmen, with them away!
 * And cause they loved so well
 * 'Tis pity they should part.
 * Away with them to new Bride-well;
 * There buss your own sweetheart.


 * His will it was fulfilled,
 * And there they had the law;
 * And whilst that they did nimbly spin,
 * The hemp he needs must taw.
 * He ground, he thumped, he grew
 * So cunning in his art,
 * He learnt the trade of beating hemp
 * By bussing his sweetheart.


 * But yet, he still would say,
 * If I could get release
 * To see strange fashions I'll give o'er,
 * And henceforth live in peace,
 * The town where I was bred,
 * And think by my desart
 * To come no more into this place
 * For bussing my sweetheart.

They all liked his song very well, and said that the young man had but ill-luck. Thus continued he playing and singing songs till candle-light: then he began to play his merry tricks in this manner. First he put out the candles, and then, being dark, he struck the men good boxes on the ears: they, thinking it had been those that did sit next them, fell a-fighting one with the other; so that there was not one of them but had either a broken head or a bloody nose. At this Robin laughed heartily. The women did not escape him, for the handsomest he kissed; the other he pinched, and made them scratch one the other, as if they had been cats. Candles being lighted again, they all were friends, and fell again to dancing, and after to supper.

Supper being ended, a great posset was brought forth: at this Robin Good-fellow's teeth did water, for it looked so lovely that he could not keep from it. To attain to his wish, he did turn himself into a bear: both men and women (seeing a bear amongst them) ran away, and left the whole posset to Robin Good-fellow. He quickly made an end of it, and went away without his money; for the sport he had was better to him than any money whatsoever. The fear that the guests were in did cause such a smell, that the bridegroom did call for perfumes; and instead of a posset, he was fain to make use of cold beer.

How Robin Good-fellow served a Tapster for nicking his Pots
There was a tapster, that with his pots' smallness, and with frothing of his drink, had got a good sum of money together. This nicking of the pots he would never leave, yet divers times he had been under the hand of authority, but what money soever he had [to pay] for his abuses, he would be sure (as they all do) to get it out of the poor man's pot again. Robin Good-fellow, hating such knavery, put a trick upon him in this manner.

Robin shaped himself like to the tapster's brewer, and came and demanded twenty pounds which was due to him from the tapster. The tapster, thinking it had been his brewer, paid him the money, which money Robin gave to the poor of that parish before the tapster's face. The tapster praised his charity very much, and said that God would bless him the better for such good deeds: so after they had drank one with the other, they parted.

Some four days after the brewer himself came for his money: the tapster told him that it was paid, and that he had a quittance from him to show. Hereat the brewer did wonder, and desired to see the quittance. The tapster fetched him a writing, which Robin Good-fellow had given him instead of a quittance, wherein was written as followeth, which the brewer read to him&mdash;


 * I, Robin Good-fellow, true man and honest man, do acknowledge to have received of Nick and Froth, the cheating tapster, the sum of twenty pounds, which money I have bestowed (to the tapster's content) among the poor of the parish, out of whose pockets this aforesaid tapster had picked the aforesaid sum, not after the manner of foisting, but after his excellent skill of bombasting, or a pint for a penny.


 * If now thou wilt go hang thyself,
 * Then take thy apron strings;
 * It doth me good when such foul birds
 * Upon the gallows sings.
 * Per me Robin Good-fellow.

At this the tapster swore Walsingham; but for all his swearing, the brewer made him pay him his twenty pounds.

How King Obreon called Robin Good-fellow to dance
King Obreon, seeing Robin Good-fellow do so many honest and merry tricks, called him one night out of his bed with these words, saying&mdash;


 * Robin, my son, come quickly, rise:
 * First stretch, then yawn, and rub your eyes;
 * For thou must go with me to-night,
 * To see, and taste of my delight.
 * Quickly come, my wanton son;
 * 'Twere time our sports were now begun.

Robin, hearing this, rose and went to him. There were with King Obreon a many fairies, all attired in green silk; all these, with King Obreon, did welcome Robin Good-fellow into their company. Obreon took Robin by the hand and led him a dance: their musician was little Tom Thumb; for he had an excellent bag-pipe made of a wren's quill, and the skin of a Greenland louse: this pipe was so shrill, and so sweet, that a Scottish pipe compared to it, it would no more come near it, than a Jew's-trump doth to an Irish harp. After they had danced, King Obreon spake to his son, Robin Good-fellow, in this manner&mdash;


 * When e'er you hear my piper blow,
 * From thy bed see that thou go;
 * For nightly you must with us dance,
 * When we in circles round do prance.
 * I love thee, son, and by the hand
 * I carry thee to Fairy Land,
 * Where thou shalt see what no man knows:
 * Such love thee King Obreon owes.

So marched they in good manner (with their piper before) to the Fairy Land: there did King Obreon show Robin Good-fellow many secrets, which he never did open to the world.

How Robin Good-fellow was wont to walk in the Night
Robin Good-fellow would many times walk in the night with a broom on his shoulder, and cry "chimney sweep," but when any one did call him, then would he run away laughing ho, ho, hoh! Sometimes he would counterfeit a beggar, begging very pitifully, but when they came to give him an alms, he would run away, laughing as his manner was. Sometimes would he knock at men's doors, and when the servants came, he would blow out the candle, if they were men; but if they were women, he would not only put out their light, but kiss them full sweetly, and then go away as his fashion was, ho, ho, hoh! Oftentimes would he sing at a door like a singing man, and when they did come to give him his reward, he would turn his back and laugh. In these humours of his he had many pretty songs, which I will sing as perfect as I can. For his chimney-sweeper's humours he had these songs: the first is to the tune of I have been a fiddler these fifteen years.


 * Black I am from head to foot,
 * And all doth come by chimney soot:
 * Then maidens, come and cherish him
 * That makes your chimneys neat and trim.


 * Horns have I store, but all at my back;
 * My head no ornament doth lack:
 * I give my horns to other men,
 * And ne'er require them again.


 * Then come away, you wanton wives,
 * That love your pleasures as your lives:
 * To each good woman I'll give two,
 * Or more, if she think them too few.

Then would he change his note and sing this following, to the tune of What care I how fair she be?


 * Be she blacker than the stock,
 * If that thou wilt make her fair,
 * Put her in a cambric smock,
 * Buy her paint and flaxen hair.


 * One your carrier brings to town
 * Will put down your city-bred;
 * Put her on a broker's gown,
 * That will sell her maiden-head.


 * Comes your Spaniard, proud in mind,
 * He'll have the first cut, or else none:
 * The meek Italian comes behind,
 * And your Frenchman picks the bone.


 * Still she trades with Dutch and Scot,
 * Irish, and the German tall,
 * Till she gets the thing you wot;
 * Then her end's an hospital.

A song to the tune of The Spanish Pavin.


 * When Virtue was a country maid,
 * And had no skill to set up trade,
 * She came up with a carrier's jade,
 * And lay at rack and manger.
 * She whiffed her pipe, she drunk her can,
 * The pot was ne'er out of her span;
 * She married a tobacco man,
 * A stranger, a stranger.


 * They set up shop in Honey Lane,
 * And thither flies did swarm amain,
 * Some from France, some from Spain,
 * Train'd in by scurvy panders.
 * At last this honey pot grew dry,
 * Then both were forcéd for to fly
 * To Flanders, to Flanders.

Another to the tune of The Coranto.


 * I peeped in at the Woolsack,
 * O, what a goodly sight did I
 * Behold at midnight chime!
 * The wenches were drinking of mulled sack;
 * Each youth on his knee, that then did want
 * A year and a half of his time.
 * They leaped and skipped,
 * They kissed and they clipped,
 * And yet it was counted no crime.


 * The grocer's chief servant brought sugar,
 * And out of his leather pocket he pulled,
 * And culled some pound and a half;
 * For which he was suffered to smack her
 * That was his sweetheart, and would not depart,
 * But turned and lick'd the calf.
 * He rung her, and he flung her,
 * He kissed her, and he swung her,
 * And yet she did nothing but laugh.

Thus would he sing about cities and towns, and when any one called him, he would change his shape, and go laughing ho, ho, hoh! For his humours of begging he used this song, to the tune of The Jovial Tinker.


 * Good people of this mansion,
 * Unto the poor be pleased
 * To do some good, and give some food,
 * That hunger may be eased.
 * My limbs with fire are burned,
 * My goods and lands defaced;
 * Of wife and child I am beguiled,
 * So much am I debased.
 * Oh, give the poor some bread, cheese, or butter,
 * Bacon, hemp, or flax;
 * Some pudding bring, or other thing:
 * My need doth make me ax.


 * I am no common beggar,
 * Nor am I skilled in canting:
 * You ne'er shall see a wench with me,
 * Such tricks in me are wanting.
 * I curse not if you give not,
 * But still I pray and bless you,
 * Still wishing joy, and that annoy
 * May never more possess you.
 * Oh, give the poor some bread, cheese or butter,
 * Bacon, hemp or flax;
 * Some pudding bring, or other thing,
 * My need doth make me ax.

When any came to relieve him, then would he change himself into some other shape, and run laughing, ho, ho, hoh! Then would he shape himself like to a singing man; and at men's windows and doors sing civil and virtuous songs, one of which I will sing to the tune of Broom.


 * If thou wilt lead a blest and happy life,
 * I will describe the perfect way:
 * First must thou shun all cause of mortal strife,
 * Against thy lusts continually to pray.
 * Attend unto God's word:
 * Great comfort 'twill afford;
 * 'Twill keep thee from discord.
 * Then trust in God, the Lord,
 * for ever,
 * for ever;
 * And see in this thou persever.


 * So soon as day appeareth in the east
 * Give thanks to him, and mercy crave;
 * So in this life thou shalt be surely blest,
 * And mercy shalt thou find in grave.
 * The conscience that is clear
 * No horror doth it fear;
 * 'Tis void of mortal care,
 * And never doth despair;
 * but ever,
 * but ever
 * Doth in the word of God persever.


 * Thus living, when thou drawest to thy end
 * Thy joys they shall much more increase,
 * For then thy soul, thy true and loving friend,
 * By death shall find a wished release
 * From all that caused sin,
 * In which it lived in;
 * For then it doth begin
 * Those blessed joys to win,
 * for ever,
 * for ever,
 * For there is nothing can them sever.


 * Those blessed joys which then thou shalt possess,
 * No mortal tongue can them declare:
 * All earthly joys, compared with this, are less
 * Than smallest mote to the world so fair.
 * Then is not that man blest
 * That must enjoy this rest?
 * Full happy is that guest
 * Invited to this feast,
 * that ever,
 * that ever
 * Endureth and is ended never.

When they opened the window or door, then would he run away laughing ho, ho, hoh! Sometimes would he go like a bellman in the night, and with many pretty verses delight the ears of those that waked at his bell ringing: his verses were these&mdash;


 * Maids in your smocks,
 * Look well to your locks,
 * And your tinder box,
 * Your wheels and your rocks,
 * Your hens and your cocks,
 * Your cows and your ox,
 * And beware of the fox.
 * When the bellman knocks,
 * Put out your fire and candle-light,
 * So they shall not you affright:
 * May you dream of your delights,
 * In your sleeps see pleasing sights.
 * Good rest to all, both old and young:
 * The bellman now hath done his song.

Then would he go laughing ho, ho, hoh! as his use was. Thus would he continually practise himself in honest mirth, never doing hurt to any that were cleanly and honest-minded.

How The Fairies called Robin Good-fellow to dance with them, and how they showed him their several Conditions
Robin Good-fellow being walking one night heard the excellent music of Tom Thumb's brave bag-pipe: he remembering the sound (according to the command of King Obreon) went towards them. They, for joy that he was come, did circle him in, and in a ring did dance round about him. Robin Good-fellow, seeing their love to him, danced in the midst of them, and sung them this song to the tune of To him Bun.

The Song

 * Round about, little ones, quick and nimble,
 * In and out wheel about, run, hop, or amble.
 * Join your hands lovingly: well done, musician!
 * Mirth keepeth man in health like a physician.
 * Elves, urchins, goblins all, and little fairies
 * That do filch, black, and pinch maids of the dairies;
 * Make a ring on the grass with your quick measures,
 * Tom shall play, and I'll sing for all your pleasures.


 * Pinch and Patch, Gull and Grim,
 * Go you together,
 * For you can change your shapes
 * Like to the weather.
 * Sib and Tib, Lick and Lull,
 * You all have tricks, too;
 * Little Tom Thumb that pipes
 * Shall go betwixt you.
 * Tom, tickle up thy pipes
 * Till they be weary:
 * I will laugh, ho, ho, hoh!
 * And make me merry.
 * Make a ring on this grass
 * With your quick measures:
 * Tom shall play, I will sing
 * For all your pleasures.
 * The moon shines fair and bright,
 * And the owl hollos,
 * Mortals now take their rests
 * Upon their pillows:
 * The bat's abroad likewise,
 * And the night-raven,
 * Which doth use for to call
 * Men to Death's haven.
 * Now the mice peep abroad,
 * And the cats take them,
 * Now do young wenches sleep,
 * Till their dreams wake them.
 * Make a ring on the grass
 * With your quick measures:
 * Tom shall play, I will sing
 * For all your pleasures.

Thus danced they a good space: at last they left and sat down upon the grass; and to requite Robin Good-fellow's kindness, they promised to tell to him all the exploits that they were accustomed to do: Robin thanked them and listened to them, and one began to tell his tricks in this manner.

The Tricks of the Fairy called Pinch
"After that we have danced in this manner as you have beheld, I, that am called Pinch, do go about from house to house: sometimes I find the doors of the house open; that negligent servant that left them so, I do so nip him or her, that with my pinches their bodies are as many colours as a mackerel's back. Then take I them, and lay I them in the door, naked or unnaked I care not whether: there they lie, many times till broad day, ere they waken; and many times, against their wills, they show some parts about them, that they would not have openly seen.

"Sometimes I find a slut sleeping in the chimney-corner, when she should be washing of her dishes, or doing something else which she hath left undone: her I pinch about the arms, for not laying her arms to her labour. Some I find in their bed snorting and sleeping, and their houses lying as clean as a nasty dog's kennel; in one corner bones, in another egg-shells, behind the door a heap of dust, the dishes under feet, and the cat in the cupboard: all these sluttish tricks I do reward with blue legs, and blue arms. I find some slovens too, as well as sluts: they pay for their beastliness too, as well as the women-kind; for if they uncase a sloven and not untie their points, I so pay their arms that they cannot sometimes untie them, if they would. Those that leave foul shoes, or go into their beds with their stockings on, I use them as I did the former, and never leave them till they have left their beastliness.


 * But to the good I do no harm,
 * But cover them and keep them warm:
 * Sluts and slovens I do pinch,
 * And make them in their beds to winch
 * This is my practice, and my trade;
 * Many have I cleanly made."

The Tricks of the Fairy called Patch
"About midnight do I walk, and for the tricks I play they call me Patch. When I find a slut asleep, I smutch her face if it be clean; but if it be dirty, I wash it in the next piss pot that I can find: the balls I use to wash such sluts withal is a sow's pancake or a pilgrim's salve. Those that I find with their heads nitty and scabby, for want of combing, I am their barbers, and cut their hair as close as an ape's tail; or else clap so much pitch on it, that they must cut it off themselves to their great shame. Slovens also that neglect their masters' business, they do not escape. Some I find that spoil their masters' horses for want of currying: those I do daub with grease and soot, that they are fain to curry themselves ere they can get clean. Others that for laziness will give the poor beasts no meat, I oftentimes so punish them with blows, that they cannot feed themselves they are so sore.


 * Thus many tricks I Patch can do,
 * But to the good I ne'er was foe:
 * The bad I hate and will do ever,
 * Till they from ill themselves do sever.
 * To help the good I'll run and go,
 * The bad no good from me shall know."

The Tricks of the Fairy called Gull
"When mortals keep their beds I walk abroad, and for my pranks am called by the name of Gull. I with a feigned voice do often deceive many men, to their great amazement. Many times I get on men and women, and so lie on their stomachs, that I cause there great pain, for which they call me by the name of Hag, or Nightmare. 'Tis I that do steal children, and in the place of them leave changelings. Sometimes I also steal milk and cream, and then with my brothers, Patch, Pinch, and Grim, and sisters Sib, Tib, Lick, and Lull, I feast with my stolen goods: our little piper hath his share in all our spoils, but he nor our women fairies do ever put themselves in danger to do any great exploit.


 * What Gull can do, I have you shown;
 * I am inferior unto none.
 * Command me, Robin, thou shalt know,
 * That I for thee will ride or go:
 * I can do greater things than these
 * Upon the land, and on the seas."

The Tricks of the Fairy called Grim
"I walk with the owl, and make many to cry as loud as she doth hollo. Sometimes I do affright many simple people, for which some have termed me the Black Dog of Newgate. At the meetings of young men and maids I many times am, and when they are in the midst of all their good cheer, I come in, in some fearful shape, and affright them, and then carry away their good cheer, and eat it with my fellow fairies. 'Tis I that do, like a screech-owl cry at sick men's windows, which makes the hearers so fearful, that they say, that the sick person cannot live. Many other ways have I to fright the simple, but the understanding man I cannot move to fear, because he knows I have no power to do hurt.


 * My nightly business I have told,
 * To play these tricks I use of old:
 * When candles burn both blue and dim,
 * Old folk will say, Here's fairy Grim.
 * More tricks than these I use to do:
 * Hereat cried Robin, Ho, ho, hoh!"

The Tricks of the Women Fairies told by Sib
"To walk nightly, as do the men fairies, we use not; but now and then we go together, and at good housewives' fires we warm and dress our fairy children. If we find clean water and clean towels, we leave them money, either in their basins or in their shoes; but if we find no clean water in their houses, we wash our children in their pottage, milk, or beer, or whate'er we find: for the sluts that leave not such things fitting, we wash their faces and hands with a gilded child's clout, or else carry them to some river, and duck them over head and ears. We often use to dwell in some great hill, and from thence we do lend money to any poor man or woman that hath need; but if they bring it not again at the day appointed, we do not only punish them with pinching, but also in their goods, so that they never thrive till they have paid us.


 * Tib and I the chiefest are,
 * And for all things do take care.
 * Lick is cook and dresseth meat,
 * And fetcheth all things that we eat:
 * Lull is nurse and tends the cradle,
 * And the babes doth dress and swaddle.
 * This little fellow, called Tom Thumb,
 * That is no bigger than a plum,
 * He is the porter to our gate,
 * For he doth let all in thereat,
 * And makes us merry with his play,
 * And merrily we spend the day."

She having spoken, Tom Thumb stood up on tip-toe and showed himself, saying&mdash;


 * My actions all in volumes two are wrote,
 * The least of which will never be forgot.

He had no sooner ended his two lines, but a shepherd (that was watching in the field all night) blew up a bag-pipe: this so frightened Tom, that he could not tell what to do for the present time. The fairies seeing Tom Thumb in such a fear, punished the shepherd with his pipes' loss, so that the shepherd's pipe presently brake in his hand, to his great amazement. Hereat did Robin Good-fellow laugh, ho, ho, hoh! Morning being come, they all hasted to Fairy Land, where I think they yet remain.

My hostess asked me how I liked this tale? I said, it was long enough, and good enough to pass time that might be worser spent. I, seeing her dry, called for two pots: she emptied one of them at a draught, and never breathed for the matter: I emptied the other at leisure; and being late I went to bed, and did dream of this which I had heard.

Endnotes
The text here given is that of the reprint of the 1628 edition, edited for the Percy Society by J. Payne Collier in 1841. The original black-letter tract, there described as being "in the library of Lord Francis Egerton, M.P.," is still in that collection, which is now known as the Bridgewater House Library. Collier's introduction is characteristic; it contains a good deal of correct information, and an interesting note based on forgeries of his own in Henslowe's Diary.

1 Long-tails. Cf, Fuller's Worthies, Kent (1811), i. 486: "It happened in an English village where Saint Austin was preaching, that the Pagans therein did beat and abuse both him and his associates, opprobriously tying fish-tails to their backsides; in revenge whereof an impudent author relateth ... how such appendants grew to the hind-parts of all that generation."&mdash;See Murray, N.E.D. s.v. Long-tail. The earliest reference is to Moryson's Itinerary, 1617. "Kentish-tayld" occurs in Nashe's Strange News, 1592, sig. E 4.

2 snite, snipe,

3 presently, immediately.

4 ho, ho, hoh! This is Robin's traditional laugh. Cf. the refrain of the broadside.

5 bolt, sift, pass through a sieve.

6 himpen, hampen. Cf. "Hemton hamton" in Scot's account of Robin.

7 night-raven, proverbially a bird of ill-omen.

8 starkled, stiffened. A dialect word, still in use.

9 quills, spools or "bottoms" on which weavers' thread is wound.

10 the tune of Watton Town's End. See Chappell's Popular Music, 218-20.

11 bombasting, puffing up, frothing.

12 Obreon. The 1639 edition spells the name in the ordinary way, but it may be noted that the Pepysian copy of the broadside ballad begins&mdash;


 * "From Obreon in fairyland."

13 the tune of What care I how fair she be? This is the tune to George Wither's famous&mdash;


 * "Shall I wasting in despair
 * Die because a woman's fair?"

See Chappell's Popular Music, 315.

14 the tune of The Spanish Pavin. (Pavin = Pavan.) See Chappell, op. cit., 240.

15 the tune of The Jovial Tinker. See Chappell, op. cit., 187.

16 ax = ask. The form "ax" was in use till the end of the sixteenth century, and continues in dialect.

17 the tune of Broom. See Chappell, op. cit., 458; but this song does not fit the metre.