Volume II Part 87 (1/2)
”Nay, Kemp, this is a May-day tune, A morrice of country rhymes, made by a poet Who thought it shame so worthy an act as thine Should wither in oblivion if the Muse With her Castalian showers could keep it green.
And while the fool nid-nodded all in time, Sir John, in swinging measure, trolled this tale:--
I
With Georgie Sprat, my overseer, and Thomas Slye, my tabourer, And William Bee, my courier, when dawn emblazed the skies, I met a tall young butcher as I danced by little Sudbury, Head-master o' morrice-dancers all, high headborough of hyes.
By Sudbury, by Sudbury, by little red-roofed Sudbury, He wished to dance a mile with me! I made a courtly bow: I fitted him with morrice-bells, with treble, ba.s.s and tenor bells, And ”_Tickle your tabor, Tom_,” I cried, ”_we're going to market now_.”
And rollicking down the lanes we dashed, and frolicking up the hills we clashed, And like a sail behind me flapped his great white frock a-while, Till, with a gasp, he sank and swore that he could dance with me no more; And--over the hedge a milk-maid laughed, _Not dance with him a mile_?
”You lout!” she laughed, ”I'll leave my pail, and dance with him for cakes and ale!
I'll dance a mile for love,” she laughed, ”and win my wager, too.
Your feet are shod and mine are bare; but when could leather dance on air?
A milk-maid's feet can fall as fair and light as falling dew.”
I fitted her with morrice-bells, with treble, ba.s.s and tenor bells: The fore-bells, as I linked them at her throat, how soft they sang!
Green linnets in a golden nest, they chirped and trembled on her breast, And, faint as elfin blue-bells, at her nut-brown ankles rang.
I fitted her with morrice-bells that sweetened into woodbine bells, And trembled as I hung them there and crowned her sunny brow: ”Strike up,” she laughed, ”my summer king!” And all her bells began to ring, And ”_Tickle your tabor, Tom_,” I cried, ”_we're going to Sherwood now_!”
When c.o.c.ks were crowing, and light was growing, and horns were blowing, and milk-pails flowing, We swam thro' waves of emerald gloom along a chestnut aisle, Then, up a s.h.i.+ning hawthorn-lane, we sailed into the sun again, Will Kemp and his companion, his companion of a mile.
”Truer than most,” snarled Kemp, ”but mostly lies!
And why does he forget the miry lanes By Brainford with thick woods on either side, And the deep holes, where I could find no ease But skipped up to my waist?” A crackling laugh Broke from his lips which, if he had not worn The cap and bells, would scarce have roused the mirth Of good Sir John, who roundly echoed it, Then waved his hand and said, ”Nay, but he treats Your morrice in the spirit of Lucian, Will, Who thought that dancing was no mushroom growth, But sprung from the beginning of the world When Love persuaded earth, air, water, fire, And all the jarring elements to move In measure. Right to the heart of it, my lad, The song goes, though the skin mislike you so.”
”Nay, an there's more of it, I'll sing it, too!
'Tis a fine tale, Sir John, I have it by heart, Although 'tis lies throughout.” Up leapt Will Kemp, And crouched and swayed, and swung his bauble round, Making the measure as they trolled the tale, Chanting alternately, each answering each.
II
_The Fool_
The tabor fainted far behind us, but her feet that day They beat a rosier morrice o'er the fairy-circled green.
_Sir John_
And o'er a field of b.u.t.tercups, a field of lambs and b.u.t.tercups, We danced along a cloth of gold, a summer king and queen!
_The Fool_
And straying we went, and swaying we went, with lambkins round us playing we went; Her face uplift to drink the sun, and not for me her smile, We danced, a king and queen of May, upon a fleeting holy-day, But O, she'd won her wager, my companion of a mile!
_Sir John_
Her rosy lips they never spoke, though every rosy foot-fall broke The dust, the dust to Eden-bloom; and, past the throbbing blue, All ordered to her rhythmic feet, the stars were dancing with my sweet, And all the world a morrice-dance!
_The Fool_
She knew not; but I knew!
Love like Amphion with his lyre, made all the elements conspire To build His world of music. All in rhythmic rank and file, I saw them in their cosmic dance, catch hands across, retire, advance, For me and my companion, my companion of a mile!