suppose the miser thereupon departed cursing the law
and leaving the merchant alive.

There is, also, a famous ballad called "King Leir and His Daughters,"
which embodies the story of Shakespeare's tragedy of _Lear_. It
commences thus:

So on a time it pleased the king
A question thus to move,
Which of his daughters to his grace
Could show the dearest love;
For to my age you bring content,
Quoth he, then let me hear,
Which of you three in plighted troth
The kindest will appear.
To whom the eldest thus began;
Dear father, mind, quoth she
Before your face to do you good,
My blood shall render'd be:
And for your sake, my bleeding heart
Shall here be cut in twain
Ere that I see your reverend age
The smallest grief sustain.
And so wilt I the second said;
Dear father for your sake
The worst of all extremities
I'll gently undertake.
And serve your highness night and day
With diligence and love;
That sweet content and quietness
Discomforts may remove.
In doing so you glad my soul
The aged king replied:
But what sayst thou my youngest girl
How is thy love ally'd?
My love quoth young Cordelia then
Which to your grace I owe
Shall be the duty of a child
And that is all I'll show.

This honest pledge the King despised and banished Cordelia. The ballad
accords with the drama in the catastrophe. Both have the same moral and
the same characters. The ballad is doubtless the earlier form of the
story. Possibly the minstrel and dramatist may have borrowed from a
common source. Good thoughts, good tales and noble deeds, like well-worn
coins, sometimes lose their date and must be estimated by weight. Ballad
poetry is written in various measures and with diverse feet. The rhythm
is easy and flows along trippingly from the tongue with such regular
emphasis and cadence as to lead instinctively to a sort of sing-song in
the recital of it. Ballads are more frequently written in common metre
lines of eight and six syllables alternating. Such is the famous ballad
of "Chevy Chace,"[5] which has been growing in popular esteem for more
than three hundred years. Ben Jonson used to say he would rather have
been the author of it than of all his works. Sir Philip Sidney, in his
discourse on poetry, says of it: "I never heard the old song of Percy
and Douglass that I found not my heart more moved than with a trumpet."
Addison wrote an ela