HE. "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 gave oer the plea: As wee began wee now will leave, And Ile take mine old cloake about mee. KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT. [AN OLD ENGLISH BALLAD--LONG VERY POPULAR.] PERCY RELIQUES An ancient story Ile tell you anon Of a notable prince, that was called King John; And he ruled England with maine and with might, For he did great wrong, and maintein'd little right. And Ile tell you a story, a story so merrye, Concerning the Abbot of Canterburye; How for his house-keeping, and high renowne, They rode poste for him to fair London towne. An hundred men, the king did heare say, The abbot kept in his house every day; And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt, In velvet coates waited the abbot about. How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee, Thou keepest a farre better house than mee, And for thy house-keeping and high renowne, I feare thou work'st treason against my crown. My liege, quo' the abbot, I would it were knowne, I never spend nothing but what is my owne; And I trust your grace will doe me no deere For spending of my owne true-gotten geere. Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is high And now for the same thou needest must dye; Por except thou canst answer me questions three, Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie. And first, quo' the king, when I'm in this stead, With my crowne of golde so faire on my head, Among all my liege-men, so noble of birthe, Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe. Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt, How soone I may ride the whole world about, And at the third question thou must not shrink, But tell me here truly what I do think. O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt, Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet; But if you will give me but three weekes space, Ile do my endeavour to answer your grace. Now three weeks space to thee will I give, And that is the longest time thou hast to live; For if thou dost not answer my questions three, Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to mee. Away rode the abbot, all sad at that word, And he rode to Cambridge and Oxenford; But never a doctor there was so wise, That could with his learning an answer devise. Then home rode the abbot, of comfort so cold, And he mett his shepheard agoing to fold: How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home, What newes do you bring us from good King John? Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must give: That I have but three days more to live; For if I do not answer him questions three, My head will be smitten from my bodie. The first is to tell him there in that stead, With his crowne of golde so fair on his head. Among all his liege-men so noble of birth. To within one penny of what he is worth.