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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/649-0.txt b/649-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..14f2a2b --- /dev/null +++ b/649-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11072 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of the +Peasantry of England, Edited by Robert Bell + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England + + +Editor: Robert Bell + +Release Date: October 5, 2014 [eBook #649] +[This file was first posted on September 17, 1996] + + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANCIENT POEMS, BALLADS AND SONGS +OF THE PEASANTRY OF ENGLAND*** + + +Transcribed from the 1857 John W. Parker and Son edition by David Price, +email ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + + ANCIENT POEMS + BALLADS AND SONGS + OF THE + PEASANTRY OF ENGLAND. + + + TAKEN DOWN FROM ORAL RECITATION AND TRANSCRIBED FROM + PRIVATE MANUSCRIPTS, RARE BROADSIDES AND + SCARCE PUBLICATIONS. + + EDITED BY ROBERT BELL + + [Picture: Decorative graphic] + + LONDON + JOHN W. PARKER AND SON WEST STRAND + 1857 + + * * * * * + + LONDON: + SAVILL AND EDWARDS, PRINTERS + CHANDOS STREET. + + * * * * * + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE +Introduction 7 + Poems. +THE PLAIN-DEALING MAN 11 +THE VANITIES OF LIFE 15 +THE LIFE AND AGE OF MAN 20 +THE YOUNG MAN’S WISH 22 +THE MIDNIGHT MESSENGER 24 +A DIALOGUE BETWIXT AN EXCISEMAN AND DEATH 29 +THE MESSENGER OF MORTALITY 32 +ENGLAND’S ALARM 36 +SMOKING SPIRITUALIZED 39 +THE MASONIC HYMN 42 +GOD SPEED THE PLOW, AND BLESS THE CORN-MOW 44 +A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE HUSBANDMAN AND THE SERVINGMAN 46 +THE CATHOLICK 49 + Ballads. +THE THREE KNIGHTS 50 +THE BLIND BEGGAR OF BEDNALL GREEN 51 +THE BOLD PEDLAR AND ROBIN HOOD 59 +THE OUTLANDISH KNIGHT 61 +LORD DELAWARE 64 +LORD BATEMAN 68 +THE GOLDEN GLOVE; OR, THE SQUIRE OF TAMWORTH 70 +KING JAMES I. AND THE TINKLER 72 +THE KEACH I’ THE CREEL 75 +THE MERRY BROOMFIELD; OR, THE WEST COUNTRY WAGER 77 +SIR JOHN BARLEYCORN 80 +BLOW THE WINDS, I-HO! 82 +THE BEAUTIFUL LADY OF KENT; OR, THE SEAMAN OF DOVER 84 +THE BERKSHIRE LADY’S GARLAND 90 +THE NOBLEMAN’S GENEROUS KINDNESS 98 +THE DRUNKARD’S LEGACY 100 +THE BOWES TRAGEDY 106 +THE CRAFTY LOVER; OR, THE LAWYER OUTWITTED 110 +THE DEATH OF QUEEN JANE 113 +THE WANDERING YOUNG GENTLEWOMAN; OR, CATSKIN 115 +THE BRAVE EARL BRAND AND THE KING OF ENGLAND’S DAUGHTER 122 +THE JOVIAL HUNTER OF BROMSGROVE; OR, THE OLD MAN AND HIS 124 +THREE SONS +LADY ALICE 127 +THE FELON SEWE OF ROKEBY AND THE FREERES OF RICHMOND 127 + Songs. +ARTHUR O’BRADLEY’S WEDDING 138 +THE PAINFUL PLOUGH 143 +THE USEFUL PLOW; OR, THE PLOUGH’S PRAISE 145 +THE FARMER’S SON 146 +THE FARMER’S BOY 148 +RICHARD OF TAUNTON DEAN; OR, DUMBLE DUM DEARY 149 +WOOING SONG OF A YEOMAN OF KENT’S SONNE 153 +THE CLOWN’S COURTSHIP 155 +HARRY’S COURTSHIP 155 +HARVEST-HOME SONG 156 +HARVEST-HOME 157 +THE MOW 158 +THE BARLEY-MOW SONG 159 +THE BARLEY-MOW SONG (SUFFOLK VERSION) 162 +THE CRAVEN CHURN-SUPPER SONG 162 +THE RURAL DANCE ABOUT THE MAY-POLE 164 +THE HITCHIN MAY-DAY SONG 166 +THE HELSTONE FURRY-DAY SONG 167 +CORNISH MIDSUMMER BONFIRE SONG 169 +SUFFOLK HARVEST-HOME SONG 170 +THE HAYMAKER’S SONG 171 +THE SWORD-DANCERS’ SONG 172 +THE SWORD-DANCERS’ SONG AND INTERLUDE 175 +THE MASKERS’ SONG 180 +GLOUCESTERSHIRE WASSAILERS’ SONG 183 +THE MUMMERS’ SONG 184 +FRAGMENT OF THE HAGMENA SONG 186 +THE GREENSIDE WAKES SONG 187 +THE SWEARING-IN SONG OR RHYME 188 +FAIRLOP FAIR SONG 191 +AS TOM WAS A-WALKING 193 +THE MILLER AND HIS SONS 194 +JACK AND TOM 195 +JOAN’S ALE WAS NEW 197 +GEORGE RIDLER’S OVEN 199 +THE CARRION CROW 202 +THE LEATHERN BOTTEL 203 +THE FARMER’S OLD WIFE 204 +OLD WICHET AND HIS WIFE 206 +THE JOLLY WAGGONER 208 +THE YORKSHIRE HORSE-DEALER 209 +THE KING AND THE COUNTRYMAN 210 +JONE O’ GREENFIELD’S RAMBLE 212 +THORNEHAGH-MOOR WOODS 214 +THE LINCOLNSHIRE POACHER 216 +SOMERSETSHIRE HUNTING SONG 217 +THE TROTTING HORSE 218 +THE SEEDS OF LOVE 220 +THE GARDEN-GATE 221 +THE NEW-MOWN HAY 223 +THE PRAISE OF A DAIRY 224 +THE MILK-MAID’S LIFE 226 +THE MILKING-PAIL 228 +THE SUMMER’S MORNING 229 +OLD ADAM 231 +TOBACCO 232 +THE SPANISH LADIES 234 +HARRY THE TAILOR 235 +SIR ARTHUR AND CHARMING MOLLEE 236 +THERE WAS AN OLD MAN CAME OVER THE LEA 237 +WHY SHOULD WE QUARREL FOR RICHES 238 +THE MERRY FELLOWS 239 +THE OLD MAN’S SONG 240 +ROBIN HOOD’S HILL 241 +BEGONE DULL CARE 243 +FULL MERRILY SINGS THE CUCKOO 244 +JOCKEY TO THE FAIR 245 +LONG PRESTON PEG 247 +THE SWEET NIGHTINGALE 247 +THE OLD MAN AND HIS THREE SONS 250 +A BEGGING WE WILL GO 251 + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + +IN 1846, the Percy Society issued to its members a volume entitled +_Ancient Poems_, _Ballads_, _and Songs of the Peasantry of England_, +edited by Mr. James Henry Dixon. The sources drawn upon by Mr. Dixon are +intimated in the following extract from his preface:— + + He who, in travelling through the rural districts of England, has + made the road-side inn his resting-place, who has visited the lowly + dwellings of the villagers and yeomanry, and been present at their + feasts and festivals, must have observed that there are certain old + poems, ballads, and songs, which are favourites with the masses, and + have been said and sung from generation to generation. + +This traditional, and, for the most part, unprinted literature,—cherished +in remote villages, resisting everywhere the invasion of modern +namby-pamby verse and jaunty melody, and possessing, in an historical +point of view, especial value as a faithful record of the feeling, +usages, and modes of life of the rural population,—had been almost wholly +passed over amongst the antiquarian revivals which constitute one of the +distinguishing features of the present age. While attention was +successfully drawn to other forms of our early poetry, this peasant +minstrelsy was scarcely touched, and might be considered unexplored +ground. There was great difficulty in collecting materials which lay +scattered so widely, and which could be procured in their genuine +simplicity only from the people amongst whom they originated, and with +whom they are as ‘familiar as household words.’ It was even still more +difficult to find an editor who combined genial literary taste with the +local knowledge of character, customs, and dialect, indispensable to the +collation of such reliques; and thus, although their national interest +was universally recognised, they were silently permitted to fall into +comparative oblivion. To supply this manifest _desideratum_, Mr. Dixon +compiled his volume for the Percy Society; and its pages, embracing only +a selection from the rich stores he had gathered, abundantly exemplified +that gentleman’s remarkable qualifications for the labour he had +undertaken. After stating in his preface that contributions from various +quarters had accumulated so largely on his hands as to compel him to omit +many pieces he was desirous of preserving, he thus describes generally +the contents of the work:— + + In what we have retained will be found every variety, + + ‘From grave to gay, from lively to severe,’ + + from the moral poem and the religious dialogue,— + + ‘The scrolls that teach us to live and to die,’— + + to the legendary, the historical, or the domestic ballad; from the + strains that enliven the harvest-home and festival, to the + love-ditties which the country lass warbles, or the comic song with + which the rustic sets the village hostel in a roar. In our + collection are several pieces exceedingly scarce, and hitherto to be + met with only in broadsides and chap-books of the utmost rarity; in + addition to which we have given several others never before in print, + and obtained by the editor and his friends, either from the oral + recitation of the peasantry, or from manuscripts in the possession of + private individuals. + +The novelty of the matter, and the copious resources disclosed by the +editor, acquired for the volume a popularity extending far beyond the +limited circle to which it was addressed; and although the edition was +necessarily restricted to the members of the Percy Society, the book was +quoted not only by English writers, but by some of the most distinguished +archæologists on the continent. + +It had always been my intention to form a collection of local songs, +illustrative of popular festivals, customs, manners, and dialects. As +the merit of having anticipated, and, in a great measure, accomplished +this project belongs exclusively to Mr. Dixon, so to that gentleman I +have now the pleasure of tendering my acknowledgments for the means of +enriching the Annotated Edition of the English Poets with a volume which, +in some respects, is the most curious and interesting of the series. + +Subsequently to the publication of his collection by the Percy Society, +Mr. Dixon had amassed additional materials of great value; and, conscious +that the work admitted of considerable improvement, both in the way of +omission and augmentation, he resolved upon the preparation of a new +edition. His reasons for rejecting certain portions of the former volume +are stated in the following extract from a communication with which he +has obliged me, and which may be considered as his own introduction to +the ensuing pages. + + The editor had passed his earliest years in a romantic + mountain-district in the North of England, where old customs and + manners, and old songs and ballads still linger. Under the influence + of these associations, he imbibed a passionate love for peasant + rhymes; having little notion at that time that the simple minstrelsy + which afforded him so much delight could yield hardly less pleasure + to those who cultivated more artificial modes of poetry, and who knew + little of the life of the peasantry. His collection was not issued + without diffidence; but the result dissipated all apprehension as to + the estimate in which these essentially popular productions are held. + The reception of the book, indeed, far exceeded its merits; for he is + bound in candour to say that it was neither so complete nor so + judiciously selected as it might have been. Like almost all books + issued by societies, it was got up in haste, and hurried through the + press. It contained some things which were out of place in such a + work, but which were inserted upon solicitations that could not have + been very easily refused; and even where the matter was + unexceptionable, it sometimes happened that it was printed from + comparatively modern broadsides, for want of time to consult earlier + editions. In the interval which has since elapsed, all these defects + and short-comings have been remedied. Several pieces, which had no + legitimate claims to the places they occupied, have been removed; + others have been collated with more ancient copies than the editor + had had access to previously; and the whole work has been + considerably enlarged. In its present form it is strictly what its + title-page implies—a collection of poems, ballads, and songs + preserved by tradition, and in actual circulation, amongst the + peasantry. + + _Bex_, _Canton de Vaud_, + _Switzerland_. + +The present volume differs in many important particulars from the former, +of the deficiencies of which Mr. Dixon makes so frank an avowal. It has +not only undergone a careful revision, but has received additions to an +extent which renders it almost a new work. Many of there accessions are +taken from extremely rare originals, and others are here printed for the +first time, including amongst the latter the ballad of _Earl Brand_, a +traditional lyric of great antiquity, long familiar to the dales of the +North of England; and the _Death of Queen Jane_, a relic of more than +ordinary intesest. Nearly forty songs, noted down from recitation, or +gathered from sources not generally accessible, have been added to the +former collection, illustrative, for the most part, of historical events, +country pastimes, and local customs. Not the least suggestive feature in +this department are the political songs it contains, which have long +outlived the occasions that gave them birth, and which still retain their +popularity, although their allusions are no longer understood. Amongst +this class of songs may be specially indicated _Jack and Tom_, _Joan’s +Ale was New_, _George Ridler’s Oven_, and _The Carrion Crow_. The songs +of a strictly rural character, having reference to the occupations and +intercourse of the people, possess an interest which cannot be adequately +measured by their poetical pretensions. The very defects of art with +which they are chargeable, constitute their highest claim to +consideration as authentic specimens of country lore. The songs in +praise of the dairy, or the plough; or in celebration of the +harvest-home, or the churn-supper; or descriptive of the pleasures of the +milk-maid, or the courtship in the farm-house; or those that give us +glimpses of the ways of life of the waggoner, the poacher, the +horse-dealer, and the boon companion of the road-side hostelrie, are no +less curious for their idiomatic and primitive forms of expression, than +for their pictures of rustic modes and manners. Of special interest, +too, are the songs which relate to festival and customs; such as the +_Sword Dancer’s Song and Interlude_, the _Swearing-in Song_, _or Rhyme_, +_at Highgate_, the _Cornish Midsummer Bonfire Song_, and the _Fairlop +Fair Song_. + +In the arrangement of so multifarious an anthology, gathered from nearly +all parts of the kingdom, the observance of chronological order, for +obvious reasons, has not been attempted; but pieces which possess any +kind of affinity to each other have been kept together as nearly as other +considerations would permit. + +The value of this volume consists in the genuineness of its contents, and +the healthiness of its tone. While fashionable life was masquerading in +imaginary Arcadias, and deluging theatres and concert rooms with shams, +the English peasant remained true to the realities of his own experience, +and produced and sang songs which faithfully reflected the actual life +around him. Whatever these songs describe is true to that life. There +are no fictitious raptures in them. Love here never dresses its emotions +in artificial images, nor disguises itself in the mask of a Strephon or a +Daphne. It is in this particular aspect that the poetry of the country +possesses a permanent and moral interest. + + R. B. + + + + +Poems. + + +THE PLAIN-DEALING MAN. + + +[THE oldest copy of the _Plain Dealing Man_ with which we have been able +to meet is in black letter, printed by T. Vere at the sign ‘Of the Angel +without Newgate.’ Vere was living in 1609.] + + A CROTCHET comes into my mind + Concerning a proverb of old, + Plain dealing’s a jewel most rare, + And more precious than silver or gold: + And therefore with patience give ear, + And listen to what here is penned, + These verses were written on purpose + The honest man’s cause to defend. + For this I will make it appear, + And prove by experience I can, + ’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world + To be a plain-dealing man. + + Yet some are so impudent grown, + They’ll domineer, vapour, and swagger, + And say that the plain-dealing man + Was born to die a beggar: + But men that are honestly given + Do such evil actions detest, + And every one that is well-minded + Will say that plain dealing is best. + For this I will make it appear, + And prove by experience I can, + ’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world + To be a plain-dealing man. + + For my part I am a poor man, + And sometimes scarce muster a shilling, + Yet to live upright in the world, + Heaven knows I am wondrous willing. + Although that my clothes be threadbare, + And my calling be simple and poor, + Yet will I endeavour myself + To keep off the wolf from the door. + For this I will make it appear, + And prove by experience I can, + ’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world + To be a plain-dealing man. + + And now, to be brief in discourse, + In plain terms I’ll tell you my mind; + My qualities you shall all know, + And to what my humour’s inclined: + I hate all dissembling base knaves + And pickthanks whoever they be, + And for painted-faced drabs, and such like, + They shall never get penny of me. + For this I will make it appear, + And prove by experience I can, + ’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world + To be a plain-dealing man. + + Nor can I abide any tongues + That will prattle and prate against reason, + About that which doth not concern them; + Which thing is no better than treason. + Wherefore I’d wish all that do hear me + Not to meddle with matters of state, + Lest they be in question called for it, + And repent them when it is too late. + For this I will make it appear, + And prove by experience I can, + ’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world + To be a plain-dealing man. + + O fie upon spiteful neighbours, + Whose malicious humours are bent, + And do practise and strive every day + To wrong the poor innocent. + By means of such persons as they, + There hath many a good mother’s son + Been utterly brought to decay, + Their wives and their children undone. + For this I will make it appear, + And prove by experience I can, + ’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world + To be a plain-dealing man. + + O fie upon forsworn knaves, + That do no conscience make + To swear and forswear themselves + At every third word they do speak: + So they may get profit and gain, + They care not what lies they do tell; + Such cursed dissemblers as they + Are worse than the devils of hell. + For this I will make it appear, + And prove by experience I can, + ’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world + To be a plain-dealing man. + + O fie upon greedy bribe takers, + ’Tis pity they ever drew breath, + For they, like to base caterpillars, + Devour up the fruits of the earth. + They’re apt to take money with both hands, + On one side and also the other, + And care not what men they undo, + Though it be their own father or brother. + Therefore I will make it appear, + And show very good reasons I can, + ’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world + To be a plain-dealing man. + + O fie upon cheaters and thieves, + That liveth by fraud and deceit; + The gallows do for such blades groan, + And the hangmen do for their clothes wait. + Though poverty be a disgrace, + And want is a pitiful grief, + ’Tis better to go like a beggar + Than to ride in a cart like a thief. + For this I will make it appear, + And prove by experience I can, + ’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world + To be a plain-dealing man. + + And now let all honest men judge, + If such men as I have here named + For their wicked and impudent dealings, + Deserveth not much to be blamed. + And now here, before I conclude, + One item to the world I will give, + Which may direct some the right way, + And teach them the better to live. + For now I have made it appear, + And many men witness it can, + ’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world + To be a plain-dealing man. + + 1. I’ th’ first place I’d wish you beware + What company you come in, + For those that are wicked themselves + May quickly tempt others to sin. + + 2. If youths be inducèd with wealth, + And have plenty of silver and gold, + I’d wish them keep something in store, + To comfort them when they are old. + + 3. I have known many young prodigals, + Which have wasted their money so fast, + That they have been driven in want, + And were forcèd to beg at the last. + + 4. I’d wish all men bear a good conscience, + And in all their actions be just; + For he’s a false varlet indeed + That will not be true to his trust. + + And now to conclude my new song, + And draw to a perfect conclusion, + I have told you what is in my mind, + And what is my [firm] resolution. + For this I have made it appear, + And prove by experience I can, + ’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world + To be a plain-dealing man. + + + +THE VANITIES OF LIFE. + + +[THE following verses were copied by John Clare, the Northamptonshire +peasant, from a MS. on the fly-leaves of an old book in the possession of +a poor man, entitled _The World’s best Wealth_; _a Collection of choice +Councils in Verse and Prose_. _Printed for A. Bettesworth_, _at the Red +Lion in Paternoster-row_, 1720. They were written in a ‘crabbed, quaint +hand, and difficult to decipher.’ Clare remitted the poem (along with +the original MS.) to Montgomery, the author of _The World before the +Flood_, &c. &c., by whom it was published in the _Sheffield Iris_. +Montgomery’s criticism is as follows:—‘Long as the poem appears to the +eye, it will abundantly repay the trouble of perusal, being full of +condensed and admirable thought, as well as diversified with exuberant +imagery, and embellished with peculiar felicity of language: the moral +points in the closing couplets of the stanzas are often powerfully +enforced.’ Most readers will agree in the justice of these remarks. The +poem was, probably, as Clare supposes, written about the commencement of +the 18th century; and the unknown author appears to have been deeply +imbued with the spirit of the popular devotional writers of the preceding +century, as Herbert, Quarles, &c., but seems to have modelled his +smoother and more elegant versification after that of the poetic school +of his own times.] + + ‘Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.’—SOLOMON. + + WHAT are life’s joys and gains? + What pleasures crowd its ways, + That man should take such pains + To seek them all his days? + Sift this untoward strife + On which thy mind is bent, + See if this chaff of life + Is worth the trouble spent. + + Is pride thy heart’s desire? + Is power thy climbing aim? + Is love thy folly’s fire? + Is wealth thy restless game? + Pride, power, love, wealth and all, + Time’s touchstone shall destroy, + And, like base coin, prove all + Vain substitutes for joy. + + Dost think that pride exalts + Thyself in other’s eyes, + And hides thy folly’s faults, + Which reason will despise? + Dost strut, and turn, and stride, + Like walking weathercocks? + The shadow by thy side + Becomes thy ape, and mocks. + + Dost think that power’s disguise + Can make thee mighty seem? + It may in folly’s eyes, + But not in worth’s esteem: + When all that thou canst ask, + And all that she can give, + Is but a paltry mask + Which tyants wear and live. + + Go, let thy fancies range + And ramble where they may; + View power in every change, + And what is the display? + —The country magistrate, + The lowest shade in power, + To rulers of the state, + The meteors of an hour:— + + View all, and mark the end + Of every proud extreme, + Where flattery turns a friend, + And counterfeits esteem; + Where worth is aped in show, + That doth her name purloin, + Like toys of golden glow + That’s sold for copper coin. + + Ambition’s haughty nod, + With fancies may deceive, + Nay, tell thee thou’rt a god,— + And wilt thou such believe? + Go, bid the seas be dry, + Go, hold earth like a ball, + Or throw her fancies by, + For God can do it all. + + Dost thou possess the dower + Of laws to spare or kill? + Call it not heav’nly power + When but a tyrant’s will; + Know what a God will do, + And know thyself a fool, + Nor tyrant-like pursue + Where He alone should rule. + + Dost think, when wealth is won, + Thy heart has its desire? + Hold ice up to the sun, + And wax before the fire; + Nor triumph o’er the reign + Which they so soon resign; + In this world weigh the gain, + Insurance safe is thine. + + Dost think life’s peace secure + In houses and in land? + Go, read the fairy lure + To twist a cord of sand; + Lodge stones upon the sky, + Hold water in a sieve, + Nor give such tales the lie, + And still thine own believe. + + Whoso with riches deals, + And thinks peace bought and sold, + Will find them slippery eels, + That slide the firmest hold: + Though sweet as sleep with health, + Thy lulling luck may be, + Pride may o’erstride thy wealth, + And check prosperity. + + Dost think that beauty’s power, + Life’s sweetest pleasure gives? + Go, pluck the summer flower, + And see how long it lives: + Behold, the rays glide on, + Along the summer plain, + Ere thou canst say, they’re gone,— + And measure beauty’s reign. + + Look on the brightest eye, + Nor teach it to be proud, + But view the clearest sky + And thou shalt find a cloud; + Nor call each face ye meet + An angel’s, ‘cause it’s fair, + But look beneath your feet, + And think of what ye are. + + Who thinks that love doth live + In beauty’s tempting show, + Shall find his hopes ungive, + And melt in reason’s thaw; + Who thinks that pleasure lies + In every fairy bower, + Shall oft, to his surprise, + Find poison in the flower. + + Dost lawless pleasures grasp? + Judge not thou deal’st in joy; + Its flowers but hide the asp, + Thy revels to destroy: + Who trusts a harlot’s smile, + And by her wiles is led, + Plays with a sword the while, + Hung dropping o’er his head. + + Dost doubt my warning song? + Then doubt the sun gives light, + Doubt truth to teach thee wrong, + And wrong alone as right; + And live as lives the knave, + Intrigue’s deceiving guest, + Be tyrant, or be slave, + As suits thy ends the best. + + Or pause amid thy toils, + For visions won and lost, + And count the fancied spoils, + If e’er they quit the cost; + And if they still possess + Thy mind, as worthy things, + Pick straws with Bedlam Bess, + And call them diamond rings. + + Thy folly’s past advice, + Thy heart’s already won, + Thy fall’s above all price, + So go, and be undone; + For all who thus prefer + The seeming great for small, + Shall make wine vinegar, + And sweetest honey gall. + + Wouldst heed the truths I sing, + To profit wherewithal, + Clip folly’s wanton wing, + And keep her within call: + I’ve little else to give, + What thou canst easy try, + The lesson how to live, + Is but to learn to die. + + + +THE LIFE AND AGE OF MAN. + + +[FROM one of Thackeray’s Catalogues, preserved in the British Museum, it +appears that _The Life and Age of Man_ was one of the productions printed +by him at the ‘Angel in Duck Lane, London.’ Thackeray’s imprint is found +attached to broadsides published between 1672 and 1688, and he probably +commenced printing soon after the accession of Charles II. The present +reprint, the correctness of which is very questionable, is taken from a +modern broadside, the editor not having been fortunate enough to meet +with any earlier edition. This old poem is said to have been a great +favourite with the father of Robert Burns.] + + IN prime of years, when I was young, + I took delight in youthful ways, + Not knowing then what did belong + Unto the pleasures of those days. + At seven years old I was a child, + And subject then to be beguiled. + + At two times seven I went to learn + What discipline is taught at school: + When good from ill I could discern, + I thought myself no more a fool: + My parents were contriving than, + How I might live when I were man. + + At three times seven I waxèd wild, + When manhood led me to be bold; + I thought myself no more a child, + My own conceit it so me told: + Then did I venture far and near, + To buy delight at price full dear. + + At four times seven I take a wife, + And leave off all my wanton ways, + Thinking thereby perhaps to thrive, + And save myself from sad disgrace. + So farewell my companions all, + For other business doth me call. + + At five times seven I must hard strive, + What I could gain by mighty skill; + But still against the stream I drive, + And bowl up stones against the hill; + The more I laboured might and main, + The more I strove against the stream. + + At six times seven all covetise + Began to harbour in my breast; + My mind still then contriving was + How I might gain this worldly wealth; + To purchase lands and live on them, + So make my children mighty men. + + At seven times seven all worldly thought + Began to harbour in my brain; + Then did I drink a heavy draught + Of water of experience plain; + There none so ready was as I, + To purchase bargains, sell, or buy. + + At eight times seven I waxèd old, + And took myself unto my rest, + Neighbours then sought my counsel bold, + And I was held in great request; + But age did so abate my strength, + That I was forced to yield at length. + + At nine times seven take my leave + Of former vain delights must I; + It then full sorely did me grieve— + I fetchèd many a heavy sigh; + To rise up early, and sit up late, + My former life, I loathe and hate. + + At ten times seven my glass is run, + And I poor silly man must die; + I lookèd up, and saw the sun + Had overcome the crystal sky. + So now I must this world forsake, + Another man my place must take. + + Now you may see, as in a glass, + The whole estate of mortal men; + How they from seven to seven do pass, + Until they are threescore and ten; + And when their glass is fully run, + They must leave off as they begun. + + + +THE YOUNG MAN’S WISH. + + +[FROM an old copy, without printer’s name; probably one from the +Aldermary Church-yard press. Poems in triplets were very popular during +the reign of Charles I., and are frequently to be met with during the +Interregnum, and the reign of Charles II.] + + IF I could but attain my wish, + I’d have each day one wholesome dish, + Of plain meat, or fowl, or fish. + + A glass of port, with good old beer, + In winter time a fire burnt clear, + Tobacco, pipes, an easy chair. + + In some clean town a snug retreat, + A little garden ‘fore my gate, + With thousand pounds a year estate. + + After my house expense was clear, + Whatever I could have to spare, + The neighbouring poor should freely share. + + To keep content and peace through life, + I’d have a prudent cleanly wife, + Stranger to noise, and eke to strife. + + Then I, when blest with such estate, + With such a house, and such a mate, + Would envy not the worldly great. + + Let them for noisy honours try, + Let them seek worldly praise, while I + Unnoticèd would live and die. + + But since dame Fortune’s not thought fit + To place me in affluence, yet + I’ll be content with what I get. + + He’s happiest far whose humble mind, + Is unto Providence resigned, + And thinketh fortune always kind. + + Then I will strive to bound my wish, + And take, instead of fowl and fish, + Whate’er is thrown into my dish. + + Instead of wealth and fortune great, + Garden and house and loving mate, + I’ll rest content in servile state. + + I’ll from each folly strive to fly, + Each virtue to attain I’ll try, + And live as I would wish to die. + + + +THE MIDNIGHT MESSENGER; + + + OR, A SUDDEN CALL FROM AN EARTHLY GLORY TO THE COLD GRAVE. + + IN a Dialogue between Death and a Rich Man; who, in the midst of all his + Wealth, received the tidings of his Last Day, to his unspeakable and + sorrowful Lamentation. + + To the tune of _Aim not too high_, {24} &c. + +[THE following poem, and the two that immediately follow, belong to a +class of publications which have always been peculiar favourites with the +peasantry, in whose cottages they may be frequently seen, neatly framed +and glazed, and suspended from the white-washed walls. They belong to +the school of Quarles, and can be traced to the time when that writer was +in the height of his popularity. These religious dialogues are numerous, +but the majority of them are very namby-pamby productions, and unworthy +of a reprint. The modern editions preserve the old form of the broadside +of the seventeenth century, and are adorned with rude woodcuts, probably +copies of ruder originals— + + —‘wooden cuts + Strange, and uncouth; dire faces, figures dire, + Sharp-kneed, sharp-elbowed, and lean-ankled too, + With long and ghostly shanks, forms which once seen, + Can never be forgotten!’—WORDSWORTH’S _Excursion_.] + + DEATH. + + THOU wealthy man of large possessions here, + Amounting to some thousand pounds a year, + Extorted by oppression from the poor, + The time is come that thou shalt be no more; + Thy house therefore in order set with speed, + And call to mind how you your life do lead. + Let true repentance be thy chiefest care, + And for another world now, _now_ prepare. + For notwithstanding all your heaps of gold, + Your lands and lofty buildings manifold, + Take notice you must die this very day; + And therefore kiss your bags and come away. + + RICH MAN. + + [He started straight and turned his head aside, + Where seeing pale-faced Death, aloud he cried], + Lean famished slave! why do you threaten so, + Whence come you, pray, and whither must I go? + + DEATH. + + I come from ranging round the universe, + Through courts and kingdoms far and near I pass, + Where rich and poor, distressèd, bond and free, + Fall soon or late a sacrifice to me. + From crownèd kings to captives bound in chains + My power reaches, sir; the longest reigns + That ever were, I put a period to; + And now I’m come in fine to conquer you. + + RICH MAN. + + I can’t nor won’t believe that you, pale Death, + Were sent this day to stop my vital breath, + By reason I in perfect health remain, + Free from diseases, sorrow, grief, and pain; + No heavy heart, nor fainting fits have I, + And do you say that I am drawing nigh + The latter minute? sure it cannot be; + Depart, therefore, you are not sent for me! + + DEATH. + + Yes, yes, I am, for did you never know, + The tender grass and pleasant flowers that grow + Perhaps one minute, are the next cut down? + And so is man, though famed with high renown. + Have you not heard the doleful passing bell + Ring out for those that were alive and well + The other day, in health and pleasure too, + And had as little thoughts of death as you? + For let me tell you, when my warrant’s sealed, + The sweetest beauty that the earth doth yield + At my approach shall turn as pale as lead; + ’Tis I that lay them on their dying bed. + + I kill with dropsy, phthisic, stone, and gout; + But when my raging fevers fly about, + I strike the man, perhaps, but over-night, + Who hardly lives to see the morning light; + I’m sent each hour, like to a nimble page, + To infant, hoary heads, and middle age; + Time after time I sweep the world quite through; + Then it’s in vain to think I’ll favour you. + + RICH MAN. + + Proud Death, you see what awful sway I bear, + For when I frown none of my servants dare + Approach my presence, but in corners hide + Until I am appeased and pacified. + Nay, men of greater rank I keep in awe + Nor did I ever fear the force of law, + But ever did my enemies subdue, + And must I after all submit to you? + + DEATH. + + ’Tis very true, for why thy daring soul, + Which never could endure the least control, + I’ll thrust thee from this earthly tenement, + And thou shalt to another world be sent. + + RICH MAN. + + What! must I die and leave a vast estate, + Which, with my gold, I purchased but of late? + Besides what I had many years ago?— + What! must my wealth and I be parted so? + If you your darts and arrows must let fly, + Go search the jails, where mourning debtors lie; + Release them from their sorrow, grief, and woe, + For I am rich and therefore loth to go. + + DEATH. + + I’ll search no jails, but the right mark I’ll hit; + And though you are unwilling to submit, + Yet die you must, no other friend can do,— + Prepare yourself to go, I’m come for you. + If you had all the world and ten times more, + Yet die you must,—there’s millions gone before; + The greatest kings on earth yield and obey, + And at my feet their crowns and sceptres lay: + If crownèd heads and right renownèd peers + Die in the prime and blossoms of their years, + Can you suppose to gain a longer space? + No! I will send you to another place. + + RICH MAN. + + Oh! stay thy hand and be not so severe, + I have a hopeful son and daughter dear, + All that I beg is but to let me live + That I may them in lawful marriage give: + They being young when I am laid in the grave, + I fear they will be wronged of what they have: + Although of me you will no pity take, + Yet spare me for my little infants’ sake. + + DEATH. + + If such a vain excuse as this might do, + It would be long ere mortals would go through + The shades of death; for every man would find + Something to say that he might stay behind. + Yet, if ten thousand arguments they’d use, + The destiny of dying to excuse, + They’ll find it is in vain with me to strive, + For why, I part the dearest friends alive; + Poor parents die, and leave their children small + With nothing to support them here withal, + But the kind hand of gracious Providence, + Who is their father, friend, and sole defence. + Though I have held you long in disrepute, + Yet after all here with a sharp salute + I’ll put a period to your days and years, + Causing your eyes to flow with dying tears. + + RICH MAN. + + [Then with a groan he made this sad complaint]: + My heart is dying, and my spirits faint; + To my close chamber let me be conveyed; + Farewell, false world, for thou hast me betrayed. + Would I had never wronged the fatherless, + Nor mourning widows when in sad distress; + Would I had ne’er been guilty of that sin, + Would I had never known what gold had been; + For by the same my heart was drawn away + To search for gold: but now this very day, + I find it is but like a slender reed, + Which fails me most when most I stand in need; + For, woe is me! the time is come at last, + Now I am on a bed of sorrow cast, + Where in lamenting tears I weeping lie, + Because my sins make me afraid to die: + Oh! Death, be pleased to spare me yet awhile, + That I to God myself may reconcile, + For true repentance some small time allow; + I never feared a future state till now! + My bags of gold and land I’d freely give, + For to obtain the favour here to live, + Until I have a sure foundation laid. + Let me not die before my peace be made! + + DEATH. + + Thou hast not many minutes here to stay, + Lift up your heart to God without delay, + Implore his pardon now for what is past, + Who knows but He may save your soul at last? + + RICH MAN. + + I’ll water now with tears my dying bed, + Before the Lord my sad complaint I’ll spread, + And if He will vouchsafe to pardon me, + To die and leave this world I could be free. + False world! false world, farewell! farewell! adieu! + I find, I find, there is no trust in you! + For when upon a dying bed we lie, + Your gilded baits are nought but misery. + My youthful son and loving daughter dear, + Take warning by your dying father here; + Let not the world deceive you at this rate, + For fear a sad repentance comes too late. + Sweet babes, I little thought the other day, + I should so suddenly be snatched away + By Death, and leave you weeping here behind; + But life’s a most uncertain thing, I find. + When in the grave my head is lain full low, + Pray let not folly prove your overthrow; + Serve ye the Lord, obey his holy will, + That he may have a blessing for you still. + [Having saluted them, he turned aside, + These were the very words before he died]: + + A painful life I ready am to leave, + Wherefore, in mercy, Lord, my soul receive. + + + +A DIALOGUE BETWIXT AN EXCISEMAN AND DEATH. + + +[TRANSCRIBED from a copy in the British Museum, printed in London by J. +C[larke]., 1659. The idea of Death being employed to execute a writ, +recalls an epitaph which we remember to have seen in a village +church-yard at the foot of the Wrekin, in Shropshire, commencing thus:— + + ‘The King of Heaven a warrant got, + And sealèd it without delay, + And he did give the same to Death, + For him to serve straightway,’ &c.] + + UPON a time when Titan’s steeds were driven + To drench themselves beneath the western heaven; + And sable Morpheus had his curtains spread, + And silent night had laid the world to bed; + ’Mongst other night-birds which did seek for prey, + A blunt exciseman, which abhorred the day, + Was rambling forth to seek himself a booty + ’Mongst merchant’s goods which had not paid the duty; + But walking all alone, Death chanced to meet him, + And in this manner did begin to greet him. + + DEATH. + + Stand, who comes here? what means this knave to peep + And skulk abroad, when honest men should sleep? + Speak, what’s thy name? and quickly tell me this, + Whither thou goest, and what thy business is? + + EXCISEMAN. + + Whate’er my business is, thou foul-mouthed scold, + I’d have you know I scorn to be controlled + By any man that lives; much less by thou, + Who blurtest out thou know’st not what, nor how; + I go about my lawful business; and + I’ll make you smart for bidding of me stand. + + DEATH. + + Imperious coxcomb! is your stomach vexed? + Pray slack your rage, and hearken what comes next: + I have a writ to take you up; therefore, + To chafe your blood, I bid you stand, once more. + + EXCISEMAN. + + A writ to take _me_ up! excuse me, sir, + You do mistake, I am an officer + In public service, for my private wealth; + My business is, if any seek by stealth + To undermine the state, I do discover + Their falsehood; therefore hold your hand,—give over. + + DEATH. + + Nay, fair and soft! ’tis not so quickly done + As you conceive it is: I am not gone + A jot the sooner for your hasty chat, + Nor bragging language; for I tell you flat + ’Tis more than so, though fortune seem to thwart us, + Such easy terms I don’t intend shall part us. + With this impartial arm I’ll make you feel + My fingers first, and with this shaft of steel + I’ll peck thy bones! _as thou alive wert hated_, + _So dead_, _to dogs thou shalt be segregated_. + + EXCISEMAN. + + I’d laugh at that; I would thou didst but dare + To lay thy fingers on me; I’d not spare + To hack thy carcass till my sword was broken, + I’d make thee eat the words which thou hast spoken; + All men should warning take by thy transgression, + How they molested men of my profession. + My service to the State is so well known, + That should I but complain, they’d quickly own + My public grievances; and give me right + To cut your ears, before to-morrow night. + + DEATH. + + Well said, indeed! but bootless all, for I + Am well acquainted with thy villany; + I know thy office, and thy trade is such, + Thy service little, and thy gains are much: + Thy brags are many; but ’tis vain to swagger, + And think to fight me with thy gilded dagger: + _As I abhor thy person_, _place_, _and threat_, + So now I’ll bring thee to the judgment-seat. + + EXCISEMAN. + + The judgment-seat! I must confess that word + Doth cut my heart, like any sharpened sword: + What! come t’ account! methinks the dreadful sound + Of every word doth make a mortal wound, + Which sticks not only in my outward skin, + But penetrates my very soul within. + ’Twas least of all my thoughts that ever Death + Would once attempt to stop excisemen’s breath. + But since ’tis so, that now I do perceive + You are in earnest, then I must relieve + Myself another way: come, we’ll be friends; + If I have wrongèd thee, I’ll make th’ amends. + Let’s join together; I’ll pass my word this night + Shall yield us grub, before the morning light. + Or otherwise (to mitigate my sorrow), + Stay here, I’ll bring you gold enough to-morrow. + + DEATH. + + To-morrow’s gold I will not have; and thou + Shalt have no gold upon to-morrow: now + My final writ shall to th’ execution have thee, + All earthly treasure cannot help or save thee. + + EXCISEMAN. + + Then woe is me! ah! how was I befooled! + I thought that gold (which answereth all things) could + Have stood my friend at any time to bail me! + But grief grows great, and now my trust doth fail me. + Oh! that my conscience were but clear within, + Which now is rackèd with my former sin; + With horror I behold my secret stealing, + My bribes, oppression, and my graceless dealing; + My office-sins, which I had clean forgotten, + Will gnaw my soul when all my bones are rotten: + I must confess it, very grief doth force me, + Dead or alive, both God and man doth curse me. + _Let all Excisemen_ hereby warning take, + To shun their practice for their conscience sake. + + + +THE MESSENGER OF MORTALITY; + + + OR LIFE AND DEATH CONTRASTED IN A DIALOGUE BETWIXT DEATH AND A LADY. + +[ONE of Charles Lamb’s most beautiful and plaintive poems was suggested +by this old dialogue. The tune is given in Chappell’s _Popular Music_, +p. 167. In Carey’s _Musical Century_, 1738, it is called the ‘Old tune +of _Death and the Lady_.’ The four concluding lines of the present copy +of _Death and the Lady_ are found inscribed on tomb-stones in village +church-yards in every part of England. They are not contained, however, +in the broadside with which our reprint has been carefully collated.] + + DEATH. + + FAIR lady, lay your costly robes aside, + No longer may you glory in your pride; + Take leave of all your carnal vain delight, + I’m come to summon you away this night! + + LADY. + + What bold attempt is this? pray let me know + From whence you come, and whither I must go? + Must I, who am a lady, stoop or bow + To such a pale-faced visage? Who art thou? + + DEATH. + + Do you not know me? well! I tell thee, then, + It’s I that conquer all the sons of men! + No pitch of honour from my dart is free; + My name is Death! have you not heard of me? + + LADY. + + Yes! I have heard of thee time after time, + But being in the glory of my prime, + I did not think you would have called so soon. + Why must my morning sun go down at noon? + + DEATH. + + Talk not of noon! you may as well be mute; + This is no time at all for to dispute: + Your riches, garments, gold, and jewels brave, + Houses and lands must all new owners have; + Though thy vain heart to riches was inclined, + Yet thou must die and leave them all behind. + + LADY. + + My heart is cold; I tremble at the news; + There’s bags of gold, if thou wilt me excuse, + And seize on them, and finish thou the strife + Of those that are aweary of their life. + Are there not many bound in prison strong, + In bitter grief of soul have languished long, + Who could but find the grave a place of rest, + From all the grief in which they are oppressed? + Besides, there’s many with a hoary head, + And palsy joints, by which their joys are fled; + Release thou them whose sorrows are so great, + But spare my life to have a longer date. + + DEATH. + + Though some by age be full of grief and pain, + Yet their appointed time they must remain: + I come to none before their warrant’s sealed, + And when it is, they must submit and yield. + I take no bribe, believe me, this is true; + Prepare yourself to go; I’m come for you. + + LADY. + + Death, be not so severe, let me obtain + A little longer time to live and reign! + Fain would I stay if thou my life will spare; + I have a daughter beautiful and fair, + I’d live to see her wed whom I adore: + Grant me but this and I will ask no more. + + DEATH. + + This is a slender frivolous excuse; + I have you fast, and will not let you loose; + Leave her to Providence, for you must go + Along with me, whether you will or no; + I, Death, command the King to leave his crown, + And at my feet he lays his sceptre down! + Then if to kings I don’t this favour give, + But cut them off, can you expect to live + Beyond the limits of your time and space! + No! I must send you to another place. + + LADY. + + You learnèd doctors, now express your skill, + And let not Death of me obtain his will; + Prepare your cordials, let me comfort find, + My gold shall fly like chaff before the wind. + + DEATH. + + Forbear to call, their skill will never do, + They are but mortals here as well as you: + I give the fatal wound, my dart is sure, + And far beyond the doctor’s skill to cure. + How freely can you let your riches fly + To purchase life, rather than yield to die! + But while you flourish here with all your store, + You will not give one penny to the poor; + Though in God’s name their suit to you they make, + You would not spare one penny for His sake! + The Lord beheld wherein you did amiss, + And calls you hence to give account for this! + + LADY. + + Oh! heavy news! must I no longer stay? + How shall I stand in the great judgment-day? + [Down from her eyes the crystal tears did flow: + She said], None knows what I do undergo: + Upon my bed of sorrow here I lie; + My carnal life makes me afraid to die. + My sins, alas! are many, gross and foul, + Oh, righteous Lord! have mercy on my soul! + And though I do deserve thy righteous frown, + Yet pardon, Lord, and pour a blessing down. + [Then with a dying sigh her heart did break, + And did the pleasures of this world forsake.] + + * * * * * + + Thus may we see the high and mighty fall, + For cruel Death shows no respect at all + To any one of high or low degree + Great men submit to Death as well as we. + Though they are gay, their life is but a span— + A lump of clay—so vile a creature’s man. + Then happy those whom Christ has made his care, + Who die in the Lord, and ever blessèd are. + The grave’s the market-place where all men meet, + Both rich and poor, as well as small and great. + If life were merchandise that gold could buy, + The rich would live, the poor alone would die. + + + +ENGLAND’S ALARM; + + + OR THE PIOUS CHRISTIAN’S SPEEDY CALL TO REPENTANCE + +For the many aggravating sins too much practised in our present mournful +times: as Pride, Drunkenness, Blasphemous Swearing, together with the +Profanation of the Sabbath; concluding with the sin of wantonness and +disobedience; that upon our hearty sorrow and forsaking the same the Lord +may save us for his mercy’s sake. + +[FROM the cluster of ‘ornaments’ alluded to in the ninth verse of the +following poem, we are inclined to fix the date about 1653. The present +reprint is from an old broadside, without printer’s name or date, in +possession of Mr. J. R. Smith.] + + YOU sober-minded christians now draw near, + Labour to learn these pious lessons here; + For by the same you will be taught to know + What is the cause of all our grief and woe. + + We have a God who sits enthroned above; + He sends us many tokens of his love: + Yet we, like disobedient children, still + Deny to yield submission to His will. + + The just command which He upon us lays, + We must confess we have ten thousand ways + Transgressed; for see how men their sins pursue, + As if they did not fear what God could do. + + Behold the wretched sinner void of shame, + He values not how he blasphemes the name + Of that good God who gave him life and breath, + And who can strike him with the darts of death! + + The very little children which we meet, + Amongst the sports and pastimes in the street, + We very often hear them curse and swear, + Before they’ve learned a word of any prayer. + + ’Tis much to be lamented, for I fear + The same they learn from what they daily hear; + Be careful then, and don’t instruct them so, + For fear you prove their dismal overthrow. + + Both young and old, that dreadful sin forbear; + The tongue of man was never made to swear, + But to adore and praise the blessèd name, + By whom alone our dear salvation came. + + Pride is another reigning sin likewise; + Let us behold in what a strange disguise + Young damsels do appear, both rich and poor; + The like was ne’er in any age before. + + What artificial ornaments they wear, + Black patches, paint, and locks of powdered hair; + Likewise in lofty hoops they are arrayed, + As if they would correct what God had made. + + Yet let ’em know, for all those youthful charms, + They must lie down in death’s cold frozen arms! + Oh think on this, and raise your thoughts above + The sin of pride, which you so dearly love. + + Likewise, the wilful sinners that transgress + The righteous laws of God by drunkenness, + They do abuse the creatures which were sent + Purely for man’s refreshing nourishment. + + Many diseases doth that sin attend, + But what is worst of all, the fatal end: + Let not the pleasures of a quaffing bowl + Destroy and stupify thy active soul. + + Perhaps the jovial drunkard over night, + May seem to reap the pleasures of delight, + While for his wine he doth in plenty call; + But oh! the sting of conscience, after all, + + Is like a gnawing worm upon the mind. + Then if you would the peace of conscience find, + A sober conversation learn with speed, + For that’s the sweetest life that man can lead. + + Be careful that thou art not drawn away, + By foolishness, to break the Sabbath-day; + Be constant at the pious house of prayer, + That thou mayst learn the christian duties there. + + For tell me, wherefore should we carp and care + For what we eat and drink, and what we wear; + And the meanwhile our fainting souls exclude + From that refreshing sweet celestial food? + + Yet so it is, we, by experience, find + Many young wanton gallants seldom mind + The church of God, but scornfully deride + That sacred word by which they must be tried. + + A tavern, or an alehouse, they adore, + And will not come within the church before + They’re brought to lodge under a silent tomb, + And then who knows how dismal is their doom! + + Though for awhile, perhaps, they flourish here, + And seem to scorn the very thoughts of fear, + Yet when they’re summoned to resign their breath, + They can’t outbrave the bitter stroke of death! + + Consider this, young gallants, whilst you may, + Swift-wingèd time and tide for none will stay; + And therefore let it be your christian care, + To serve the Lord, and for your death prepare. + + There is another crying sin likewise: + Behold young gallants cast their wanton eyes + On painted harlots, which they often meet + At every creek and corner of the street, + + By whom they are like dismal captives led + To their destruction; grace and fear is fled, + Till at the length they find themselves betrayed, + And for that sin most sad examples made. + + Then, then, perhaps, in bitter tears they’ll cry, + With wringing hands, against their company, + Which did betray them to that dismal state! + Consider this before it is too late. + + Likewise, sons and daughters, far and near, + Honour your loving friends, and parents dear; + Let not your disobedience grieve them so, + Nor cause their agèd eyes with tears to flow. + + What a heart-breaking sorrow it must be, + To dear indulgent parents, when they see + Their stubborn children wilfully run on + Against the wholesome laws of God and man! + + Oh! let these things a deep impression make + Upon your hearts, with speed your sins forsake; + For, true it is, the Lord will never bless + Those children that do wilfully transgress. + + Now, to conclude, both young and old I pray, + Reform your sinful lives this very day, + That God in mercy may his love extend, + And bring the nation’s troubles to an end. + + + +SMOKING SPIRITUALIZED. + + +[THE following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently sufficient +grounds, to the Rev. Ralph Erskine, or, as he designated himself, ‘Ralph +Erskine, V.D.M.’ The peasantry throughout the north of England always +call it ‘Erskine’s song,’ and not only is his name given as the author in +numerous chap-books, but in his own volume of _Gospel Sonnets_, from an +early copy of which our version is transcribed. The discovery however, +by Mr. Collier, of the First Part in a MS. temp. Jac. I., with the +initials G. W. affixed to it, has disposed of Erskine’s claim to the +honour of the entire authorship. G. W. is supposed to be George Withers; +but this is purely conjectural; and it is not at all improbable that G. +W. really stands for W. G., as it was a common practice amongst anonymous +writers to reverse their initials. The history, then, of the poem, seems +to be this: that the First Part, as it is now printed, originally +constituted the whole production, being complete in itself; that the +Second Part was afterwards added by the Rev. Ralph Erskine; and that both +parts came subsequently to be ascribed to him, as his was the only name +published in connexion with the song. The Rev. Ralph Erskine was born at +Monilaws, Northumberland, on the 15th March, 1685. He was one of the +thirty-three children of Ralph Erskine of Shieldfield, a family of repute +descended from the ancient house of Marr. He was educated at the college +in Edinburgh, obtained his licence to preach in June, 1709, and was +ordained, on an unanimous invitation, over the church at Dunfermline in +August, 1711. He was twice married: in 1714 to Margaret Dewar, daughter +of the Laird of Lassodie, by whom he had five sons and five daughters, +all of whom died in the prime of life; and in 1732 to Margaret, daughter +of Mr. Simson of Edinburgh, by whom he had four sons, one of whom, with +his wife, survived him. He died in November, 1752. Erskine was the +author of a great number of _Sermons_; _a Paraphrase on the Canticles_; +_Scripture Songs_; _a Treatise on Mental Images_; and _Gospel Sonnets_. + +_Smoking Spiritualized_ is, at the present day, a standard publication +with modern ballad-printers, but their copies are exceedingly corrupt. +Many versions and paraphrases of the song exist. Several are referred to +in _Notes and Queries_, and, amongst them, a broadside of the date of +1670, and another dated 1672 (both printed before Erskine was born), +presenting different readings of the First Part, or original poem. In +both these the burthen, or refrain, differs from that of our copy by the +employment of the expression ‘_drink_ tobacco,’ instead of ‘_smoke_ +tobacco.’ The former was the ancient term for drawing in the smoke, +swallowing it, and emitting it through the nostrils. A correspondent of +_Notes and Queries_ says, that the natives of India to this day use the +phrase ‘hooka peue,’ to _drink_ the hooka.] + + PART I. + + THIS Indian weed, now withered quite, + Though green at noon, cut down at night, + Shows thy decay; + All flesh is hay: + Thus think, and smoke tobacco. + + The pipe so lily-like and weak, + Does thus thy mortal state bespeak; + Thou art e’en such,— + Gone with a touch: + Thus think, and smoke tobacco. + + And when the smoke ascends on high, + Then thou behold’st the vanity + Of worldly stuff, + Gone with a puff: + Thus think, and smoke tobacco. + + And when the pipe grows foul within, + Think on thy soul defiled with sin; + For then the fire + It does require: + Thus think, and smoke tobacco. + + And seest the ashes cast away, + Then to thyself thou mayest say, + That to the dust + Return thou must. + Thus think, and smoke tobacco. + + PART II. + + Was this small plant for thee cut down? + So was the plant of great renown, + Which Mercy sends + For nobler ends. + Thus think, and smoke tobacco. + + Doth juice medicinal proceed + From such a naughty foreign weed? + Then what’s the power + Of Jesse’s flower? + Thus think, and smoke tobacco. + + The promise, like the pipe, inlays, + And by the mouth of faith conveys, + What virtue flows + From Sharon’s rose. + Thus think, and smoke tobacco. + + In vain the unlighted pipe you blow, + Your pains in outward means are so, + Till heavenly fire + Your heart inspire. + Thus think, and smoke tobacco. + + The smoke, like burning incense, towers, + So should a praying heart of yours, + With ardent cries, + Surmount the skies. + Thus think, and smoke tobacco. + + + +THE MASONIC HYMN. + + +[THIS is a very ancient production, though given from a modern copy; it +has always been popular amongst the poor ‘brethren of the mystic tie.’ +The late Henry O’Brien, A.B., quotes the seventh verse in his essay _On +the Round Towers of Ireland_. He generally had a common copy of the hymn +in his pocket, and on meeting with any of his antiquarian friends who +were not Masons, was in the habit of thrusting it into their hands, and +telling them that if they understood the mystic allusions it contained, +they would be in possession of a key which would unlock the pyramids of +Egypt! The tune to the hymn is peculiar to it, and is of a plaintive and +solemn character.] + + COME all you freemasons that dwell around the globe, + That wear the badge of innocence, I mean the royal robe, + Which Noah he did wear when in the ark he stood, + When the world was destroyed by a deluging flood. + + Noah he was virtuous in the sight of the Lord, + He loved a freemason that kept the secret word; + For he built the ark, and he planted the first vine, + Now his soul in heaven like an angel doth shine. + + Once I was blind, and could not see the light, + Then up to Jerusalem I took my flight, + I was led by the evangelist through a wilderness of care, + You may see by the sign and the badge that I wear. + + On the 13th rose the ark, let us join hand in hand, + For the Lord spake to Moses by water and by land, + Unto the pleasant river where by Eden it did rin, + And Eve tempted Adam by the serpent of sin. + + When I think of Moses it makes me to blush, + All on mount Horeb where I saw the burning bush; + My shoes I’ll throw off, and my staff I’ll cast away, + And I’ll wander like a pilgrim unto my dying day. + + When I think of Aaron it makes me to weep, + Likewise of the Virgin Mary who lay at our Saviour’s feet; + ’Twas in the garden of Gethsemane where he had the bloody sweat; + Repent, my dearest brethren, before it is too late. + + I thought I saw twelve dazzling lights, which put me in surprise, + And gazing all around me I heard a dismal noise; + The serpent passèd by me which fell unto the ground, + With great joy and comfort the secret word I found. + + Some say it is lost, but surely it is found, + And so is our Saviour, it is known to all around; + Search all the Scriptures over, and there it will be shown; + The tree that will bear no fruit must be cut down. + + Abraham was a man well belovèd by the Lord, + He was true to be found in great Jehovah’s word, + He stretchèd forth his hand, and took a knife to slay his son, + An angel appearing said, The Lord’s will be done! + + O, Abraham! O, Abraham! lay no hand upon the lad, + He sent him unto thee to make thy heart glad; + Thy seed shall increase like stars in the sky, + And thy soul into heaven like Gabriel shall fly. + + O, never, O, never will I hear an orphan cry, + Nor yet a gentle virgin until the day I die; + You wandering Jews that travel the wide world round, + May knock at the door where truth is to be found. + + Often against the Turks and Infidels we fight, + To let the wandering world know we’re in the right, + For in heaven there’s a lodge, and St. Peter keeps the door, + And none can enter in but those that are pure. + + St. Peter he opened, and so we entered in, + Into the holy seat secure, which is all free from sin; + St. Peter he opened, and so we entered there, + And the glory of the temple no man can compare. + + + +GOD SPEED THE PLOW, AND BLESS THE CORN-MOW. + + + A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE HUSBANDMAN AND SERVINGMAN. + + The tune is, _I am the Duke of Norfolk_. + +[THIS ancient dialogue, though in a somewhat altered form (see the +ensuing poem), has long been used at country merry-makings. It is +transcribed from a black-letter copy in the third volume of the Roxburgh +collection, apparently one of the imprints of Peter Brooksby, which would +make the composition at least as old as the close of the fifteenth +century. There are several dialogues of a similar character.] + + ARGUMENT. + + The servingman the plowman would invite + To leave his calling and to take delight; + But he to that by no means will agree, + Lest he thereby should come to beggary. + He makes it plain appear a country life + Doth far excel: and so they end the strife. + + * * * * * + + MY noble friends give ear, if mirth you love to hear, + I’ll tell you as fast as I can, + A story very true, then mark what doth ensue, + Concerning of a husbandman. + A servingman did meet a husbandman in the street, + And thus unto him began: + + SERVINGMAN. + + I pray you tell to me of what calling you be, + Or if you be a servingman? + + HUSBANDMAN. + + Quoth he, my brother dear, the coast I mean to clear, + And the truth you shall understand: + I do no one disdain, but this I tell you plain, + I am an honest husbandman. + + SERVINGMAN. + + If a husbandman you be, then come along with me, + I’ll help you as soon as I can + Unto a gallant place, where in a little space, + You shall be a servingman. + + HUSBANDMAN. + + Sir, for your diligence I give you many thanks, + These things I receive at your hand; + I pray you to me show, whereby that I might know, + What pleasures hath a servingman? + + SERVINGMAN. + + A servingman hath pleasure, which passeth time and measure, + When the hawk on his fist doth stand; + His hood, and his verrils brave, and other things, we have, + Which yield joy to a servingman. + + HUSBANDMAN. + + My pleasure’s more than that to see my oxen fat, + And to prosper well under my hand; + And therefore I do mean, with my horse, and with my team, + To keep myself a husbandman. + + SERVINGMAN. + + O ’tis a gallant thing in the prime time of the spring, + To hear the huntsman now and than + His bugle for to blow, and the hounds run all a row: + This is pleasure for a servingman! + To hear the beagle cry, and to see the falcon fly, + And the hare trip over the plain, + And the huntsmen and the hound make hill and dale rebound: + This is pleasure for a servingman! + + HUSBANDMAN. + + ’Tis pleasure, too, you know, to see the corn to grow, + And to grow so well on the land; + The plowing and the sowing, the reaping and the mowing, + Yield pleasure to the husbandman. + + SERVINGMAN. + + At our table you may eat all sorts of dainty meat, + Pig, cony, goose, capon, and swan; + And with lords and ladies fine, you may drink beer, ale, and wine! + This is pleasure for a servingman. + + HUSBANDMAN. + + While you eat goose and capon, I’ll feed on beef and bacon, + And piece of hard cheese now and than; + We pudding have, and souse, always ready in the house, + Which contents the honest husbandman. + + SERVINGMAN. + + At the court you may have your garments fine and brave, + And cloak with gold lace laid upon, + A shirt as white as milk, and wrought with finest silk: + That’s pleasure for a servingman! + + HUSBANDMAN. + + Such proud and costly gear is not for us to wear; + Amongst the briers and brambles many a one, + A good strong russet coat, and at your need a groat, + Will suffice the husbandman. + A proverb here I tell, which likes my humour well, + And remember it well I can, + If a courtier be too bold, he’ll want when he is old. + Then farewell the servingman. + + SERVINGMAN. + + It needs must be confest that your calling is the best, + No longer discourse with you I can; + But henceforth I will pray, by night and by day, + Heaven bless the honest husbandman. + + + +A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE HUSBANDMAN AND THE SERVINGMAN. + + +[THIS traditional version of the preceding ancient dialogue has long been +popular at country festivals. At a harvest-home feast at Selborne, in +Hampshire, in 1836, we heard it recited by two countrymen, who gave it +with considerable humour, and dramatic effect. It was delivered in a +sort of chant, or recitative. Davies Gilbert published a very similar +copy in his _Ancient Christmas Carols_. In the modern printed editions, +which are almost identical with ours, the term ‘servantman’ has been +substituted for the more ancient designation.] + + SERVINGMAN. + + WELL met, my brother friend, all at this highway end, + So simple all alone, as you can, + I pray you tell to me, what may your calling be, + Are you not a servingman? + + HUSBANDMAN. + + No, no, my brother dear, what makes you to inquire + Of any such a thing at my hand? + Indeed I shall not feign, but I will tell you plain, + I am a downright husbandman. + + SERVINGMAN. + + If a husbandman you be, then go along with me, + And quickly you shall see out of hand, + How in a little space I will help you to a place, + Where you may be a servingman. + + HUSBANDMAN. + + Kind sir! I ‘turn you thanks for your intelligence, + These things I receive at your hand; + But something pray now show, that first I may plainly know + The pleasures of a servingman. + + SERVINGMAN. + + Why a servingman has pleasure beyond all sort of measure, + With his hawk on his fist, as he does stand; + For the game that he does kill, and the meat that does him fill, + Are pleasures for the servingman. + + HUSBANDMAN. + + And my pleasure’s more than that, to see my oxen fat, + And a good stock of hay by them stand; + My plowing and my sowing, my reaping and my mowing, + Are pleasures for the husbandman. + + SERVINGMAN. + + Why it is a gallant thing to ride out with a king, + With a lord, duke, or any such man; + To hear the horns to blow, and see the hounds all in a row, + That is pleasure for the servingman. + + HUSBANDMAN. + + But my pleasure’s more I know, to see my corn to grow, + So thriving all over my land; + And, therefore, I do mean, with my plowing with my team, + To keep myself a husbandman. + + SERVINGMAN. + + Why the diet that we eat is the choicest of all meat, + Such as pig, goose, capon, and swan; + Our pastry is so fine, we drink sugar in our wine, + That is living for the servingman. + + HUSBANDMAN. + + Talk not of goose nor capon, give me good beef or bacon, + And good bread and cheese, now at hand; + With pudding, brawn, and souse, all in a farmer’s house, + That is living for the husbandman. + + SERVINGMAN. + + Why the clothing that we wear is delicate and rare, + With our coat, lace, buckles, and band; + Our shirts are white as milk, and our stockings they are silk, + That is clothing for a servingman. + + HUSBANDMAN. + + But I value not a hair your delicate fine wear, + Such as gold is laced upon; + Give me a good grey coat, and in my purse a groat, + That is clothing for the husbandman. + + SERVINGMAN. + + Kind sir! it would be bad if none could be had + Those tables for to wait upon; + There is no lord, duke, nor squire, nor member for the shire, + Can do without a servingman. + + HUSBANDMAN. + + But, Jack! it would be worse if there was none of us + To follow the plowing of the land; + There is neither king, lord, nor squire, nor member for the shire, + Can do without the husbandman. + + SERVINGMAN. + + Kind sir! I must confess’t, and I humbly protest + I will give you the uppermost hand; + Although your labour’s painful, and mine it is so very gainful, + I wish I were a husbandman. + + HUSBANDMAN. + + So come now, let us all, both great as well as small, + Pray for the grain of our land; + And let us, whatsoever, do all our best endeavour, + For to maintain the good husbandman. + + + +THE CATHOLICK. + + +[THE following ingenious production has been copied literally from a +broadside posted against the ‘parlour’ wall of a country inn in +Gloucestershire. The verses are susceptible of two interpretations, +being Catholic if read in the columns, but Protestant if read across.] + + I HOLD as faith What _England’s church_ alows + What _Rome’s_ church saith My conscience disavows + Where the _King’s_ head That _church_ can have no + The flocks misled shame + Where the _altars_ drest That holds the _Pope_ + The peoples blest supreame. + He’s but an asse There’s service scarce divine + Who shuns the _masse_ With table, bread, and wine. + Who the _communion_ flies + Is _catholick_ and wise. + London: printed for George Eversden, at the signe of the + Maidenhead, in St. Powle’s Church-yard, 1655. _Cum privilegio_. + +Ballads. + + +THE THREE KNIGHTS. + + + (TRADITIONAL.) + +[_The Three Knights_ was first printed by the late Davies Gilbert, +F.R.S., in the appendix to his work on _Christmas Carols_. Mr. Gilbert +thought that some verses were wanting after the eighth stanza; but we +entertain a different opinion. A conjectural emendation made in the +ninth verse, viz., the substitution of _far_ for _for_, seems to render +the ballad perfect. The ballad is still popular amongst the peasantry in +the West of England. The tune is given by Gilbert. The refrain, in the +second and fourth lines, printed with the first verse, should be repeated +in recitation in every verse.] + + THERE did three Knights come from the west, + With the high and the lily oh! + And these three Knights courted one ladye, + As the rose was so sweetly blown. + The first Knight came was all in white, + And asked of her if she’d be his delight. + The next Knight came was all in green, + And asked of her if she’d be his queen. + The third Knight came was all in red, + And asked of her if she would wed. + ‘Then have you asked of my father dear? + Likewise of her who did me bear? + ‘And have you asked of my brother John? + And also of my sister Anne?’ + ‘Yes, I’ve asked of your father dear, + Likewise of her who did you bear. + ‘And I’ve asked of your sister Anne, + But I’ve not asked of your brother John.’ + Far on the road as they rode along, + There did they meet with her brother John. + She stoopèd low to kiss him sweet, + He to her heart did a dagger meet. {51} + ‘Ride on, ride on,’ cried the servingman, + ‘Methinks your bride she looks wondrous wan.’ + ‘I wish I were on yonder stile, + For there I would sit and bleed awhile. + ‘I wish I were on yonder hill, + There I’d alight and make my will.’ + ‘What would you give to your father dear?’ + ‘The gallant steed which doth me bear.’ + ‘What would you give to your mother dear?’ + ‘My wedding shift which I do wear. + ‘But she must wash it very clean, + For my heart’s blood sticks in every seam.’ + ‘What would you give to your sister Anne?’ + ‘My gay gold ring, and my feathered fan.’ + ‘What would you give to your brother John?’ + ‘A rope, and a gallows to hang him on.’ + ‘What would you give to your brother John’s wife?’ + ‘A widow’s weeds, and a quiet life.’ + + + +THE BLIND BEGGAR OF BEDNALL GREEN. + + + SHOWING HOW HIS DAUGHTER WAS MARRIED TO A KNIGHT, AND HAD THREE THOUSAND + POUND TO HER PORTION. + +[PERCY’S copy of _The Beggar’s Daughter of Bednall Green_ is known to be +very incorrect: besides many alterations and improvements which it +received at the hands of the Bishop, it contains no less than eight +stanzas written by Robert Dodsley, the author of _The Economy of Human +Life_. So far as poetry is concerned, there cannot be a question that +the version in the _Reliques_ is far superior to the original, which is +still a popular favourite, and a correct copy of which is now given, as +it appears in all the common broadside editions that have been printed +from 1672 to the present time. Although the original copies have all +perished, the ballad has been very satisfactorily proved by Percy to have +been written in the reign of Elizabeth. The present reprint is from a +modern copy, carefully collated with one in the Bagford Collection, +entitled, + + ‘The rarest ballad that ever was seen, + Of the Blind Beggar’s Daughter of Bednal Green.’ + +The imprint to it is, ‘Printed by and for W. Onley; and are to be sold by +C. Bates, at the sign of the Sun and Bible, in Pye Corner.’ The very +antiquated orthography adopted in some editions does not rest on any +authority. For two tunes to _The Blind Beggar_, see _Popular Music_.] + + PART I. + + THIS song’s of a beggar who long lost his sight, + And had a fair daughter, most pleasant and bright, + And many a gallant brave suitor had she, + And none was so comely as pretty Bessee. + + And though she was of complexion most fair, + And seeing she was but a beggar his heir, + Of ancient housekeepers despisèd was she, + Whose sons came as suitors to pretty Bessee. + + Wherefore in great sorrow fair Bessee did say: + ‘Good father and mother, let me now go away, + To seek out my fortune, whatever it be.’ + This suit then was granted to pretty Bessee. + + This Bessee, that was of a beauty most bright, + They clad in grey russet; and late in the night + From father and mother alone parted she, + Who sighèd and sobbèd for pretty Bessee. + + She went till she came to Stratford-at-Bow, + Then she know not whither or which way to go, + With tears she lamented her sad destiny; + So sad and so heavy was pretty Bessee. + + She kept on her journey until it was day, + And went unto Rumford, along the highway; + And at the King’s Arms entertainèd was she, + So fair and well favoured was pretty Bessee. + + She had not been there one month at an end, + But master and mistress and all was her friend: + And every brave gallant that once did her see, + Was straightway in love with pretty Bessee. + + Great gifts they did send her of silver and gold, + And in their songs daily her love they extolled: + Her beauty was blazèd in every decree, + So fair and so comely was pretty Bessee. + + The young men of Rumford in her had their joy, + She showed herself courteous, but never too coy, + And at their commandment still she would be, + So fair and so comely was pretty Bessee. + + Four suitors at once unto her did go, + They cravèd her favour, but still she said no; + I would not have gentlemen marry with me! + Yet ever they honourèd pretty Bessee. + + Now one of them was a gallant young knight, + And he came unto her disguised in the night; + The second, a gentleman of high degree, + Who wooèd and suèd for pretty Bessee. + + A merchant of London, whose wealth was not small, + Was then the third suitor, and proper withal; + Her master’s own son the fourth man must be, + Who swore he would die for pretty Bessee. + + ‘If that thou wilt marry with me,’ quoth the knight, + ‘I’ll make thee a lady with joy and delight; + My heart is enthrallèd in thy fair beauty, + Then grant me thy favour, my pretty Bessee.’ + + The gentleman said, ‘Come marry with me, + In silks and in velvet my Bessee shall be; + My heart lies distracted, oh! hear me,’ quoth he, + ‘And grant me thy love, my dear pretty Bessee.’ + + ‘Let me be thy husband,’ the merchant did say, + ‘Thou shalt live in London most gallant and gay; + My ships shall bring home rich jewels for thee, + And I will for ever love pretty Bessee.’ + + Then Bessee she sighèd and thus she did say: + ‘My father and mother I mean to obey; + First get their good will, and be faithful to me, + And you shall enjoy your dear pretty Bessee.’ + + To every one of them that answer she made, + Therefore unto her they joyfully said: + ‘This thing to fulfil we all now agree, + But where dwells thy father, my pretty Bessee?’ + + ‘My father,’ quoth she, ‘is soon to be seen: + The silly blind beggar of Bednall Green, + That daily sits begging for charity, + He is the kind father of pretty Bessee. + + ‘His marks and his token are knowen full well, + He always is led by a dog and a bell; + A poor silly old man, God knoweth, is he, + Yet he’s the true father of pretty Bessee.’ + + ‘Nay, nay,’ quoth the merchant, ‘thou art not for me.’ + ‘She,’ quoth the innholder, ‘my wife shall not be.’ + ‘I loathe,’ said the gentleman, ‘a beggar’s degree, + Therefore, now farewell, my pretty Bessee.’ + + ‘Why then,’ quoth the knight, ‘hap better or worse, + I weigh not true love by the weight of the purse, + And beauty is beauty in every degree, + Then welcome to me, my dear pretty Bessee. + + ‘With thee to thy father forthwith I will go.’ + ‘Nay, forbear,’ quoth his kinsman, ‘it must not be so: + A poor beggar’s daughter a lady shan’t be; + Then take thy adieu of thy pretty Bessee.’ + + As soon then as it was break of the day, + The knight had from Rumford stole Bessee away; + The young men of Rumford, so sick as may be, + Rode after to fetch again pretty Bessee. + + As swift as the wind to ride they were seen, + Until they came near unto Bednall Green, + And as the knight lighted most courteously, + They fought against him for pretty Bessee. + + But rescue came presently over the plain, + Or else the knight there for his love had been slain; + The fray being ended, they straightway did see + His kinsman come railing at pretty Bessee. + + Then bespoke the blind beggar, ‘Although I be poor, + Rail not against my child at my own door, + Though she be not deckèd in velvet and pearl, + Yet I will drop angels with thee for my girl; + + ‘And then if my gold should better her birth, + And equal the gold you lay on the earth, + Then neither rail you, nor grudge you to see + The blind beggar’s daughter a lady to be. + + ‘But first, I will hear, and have it well known, + The gold that you drop it shall be all your own.’ + With that they replièd, ‘Contented we be!’ + ‘Then here’s,’ quoth the beggar, ‘for pretty Bessee!’ + + With that an angel he dropped on the ground, + And droppèd, in angels, full three thousand pound; + And oftentimes it proved most plain, + For the gentleman’s one, the beggar dropped twain; + + So that the whole place wherein they did sit, + With gold was coverèd every whit. + The gentleman having dropped all his store, + Said, ‘Beggar! your hand hold, for I have no more.’ + + ‘Thou hast fulfillèd thy promise aright, + Then marry my girl,’ quoth he to the knight; + ‘And then,’ quoth he, ‘I will throw you down, + An hundred pound more to buy her a gown.’ + + The gentlemen all, who his treasure had seen, + Admirèd the beggar of Bednall Green; + And those that had been her suitors before, + Their tender flesh for anger they tore. + + Thus was the fair Bessee matchèd to a knight, + And made a lady in other’s despite. + A fairer lady there never was seen + Than the blind beggar’s daughter of Bednall Green. + + But of her sumptuous marriage and feast, + And what fine lords and ladies there prest, + The second part shall set forth to your sight, + With marvellous pleasure and wished-for delight. + + Of a blind beggar’s daughter so bright, + That late was betrothed to a young knight, + All the whole discourse therefore you may see; + But now comes the wedding of pretty Bessee. + + PART II. + + It was in a gallant palace most brave, + Adornèd with all the cost they could have, + This wedding it was kept most sumptuously, + And all for the love of pretty Bessee. + + And all kind of dainties and delicates sweet, + Was brought to their banquet, as it was thought meet, + Partridge, and plover, and venison most free, + Against the brave wedding of pretty Bessee. + + The wedding through England was spread by report, + So that a great number thereto did resort + Of nobles and gentles of every degree, + And all for the fame of pretty Bessee. + + To church then away went this gallant young knight, + His bride followed after, an angel most bright, + With troops of ladies, the like was ne’er seen, + As went with sweet Bessee of Bednall Green. + + This wedding being solemnized then, + With music performèd by skilfullest men, + The nobles and gentlemen down at the side, + Each one beholding the beautiful bride. + + But after the sumptuous dinner was done, + To talk and to reason a number begun, + And of the blind beggar’s daughter most bright; + And what with his daughter he gave to the knight. + + Then spoke the nobles, ‘Much marvel have we + This jolly blind beggar we cannot yet see!’ + ‘My lords,’ quoth the bride, ‘my father so base + Is loth with his presence these states to disgrace.’ + + ‘The praise of a woman in question to bring, + Before her own face is a flattering thing; + But we think thy father’s baseness,’ quoth they, + ‘Might by thy beauty be clean put away.’ + + They no sooner this pleasant word spoke, + But in comes the beggar in a silken cloak, + A velvet cap and a feather had he, + And now a musician, forsooth, he would be. + + And being led in from catching of harm, + He had a dainty lute under his arm, + Said, ‘Please you to hear any music of me, + A song I will sing you of pretty Bessee.’ + + With that his lute he twangèd straightway, + And thereon began most sweetly to play, + And after a lesson was played two or three, + He strained out this song most delicately:— + + ‘A beggar’s daughter did dwell on a green, + Who for her beauty may well be a queen, + A blithe bonny lass, and dainty was she, + And many one callèd her pretty Bessee. + + ‘Her father he had no goods nor no lands, + But begged for a penny all day with his hands, + And yet for her marriage gave thousands three, + Yet still he hath somewhat for pretty Bessee. + + ‘And here if any one do her disdain, + Her father is ready with might and with main + To prove she is come of noble degree, + Therefore let none flout at my pretty Bessee.’ + + With that the lords and the company round + With a hearty laughter were ready to swound; + At last said the lords, ‘Full well we may see, + The bride and the bridegroom’s beholden to thee.’ + + With that the fair bride all blushing did rise, + With crystal water all in her bright eyes, + ‘Pardon my father, brave nobles,’ quoth she, + ‘That through blind affection thus doats upon me.’ + + ‘If this be thy father,’ the nobles did say, + ‘Well may he be proud of this happy day, + Yet by his countenance well may we see, + His birth with his fortune could never agree; + + And therefore, blind beggar, we pray thee bewray, + And look to us then the truth thou dost say, + Thy birth and thy parentage what it may be, + E’en for the love thou bearest pretty Bessee.’ + + ‘Then give me leave, ye gentles each one, + A song more to sing and then I’ll begone, + And if that I do not win good report, + Then do not give me one groat for my sport:— + + ‘When first our king his fame did advance, + And sought his title in delicate France, + In many places great perils passed he; + But then was not born my pretty Bessee. + + ‘And at those wars went over to fight, + Many a brave duke, a lord, and a knight, + And with them young Monford of courage so free; + But then was not born my pretty Bessee. + + ‘And there did young Monford with a blow on the face + Lose both his eyes in a very short space; + His life had been gone away with his sight, + Had not a young woman gone forth in the night. + + ‘Among the said men, her fancy did move, + To search and to seek for her own true love, + Who seeing young Monford there gasping to die, + She savèd his life through her charity. + + ‘And then all our victuals in beggar’s attire, + At the hands of good people we then did require; + At last into England, as now it is seen, + We came, and remainèd in Bednall Green. + + ‘And thus we have livèd in Fortune’s despite, + Though poor, yet contented with humble delight, + And in my old years, a comfort to me, + God sent me a daughter called pretty Bessee. + + And thus, ye nobles, my song I do end, + Hoping by the same no man to offend; + Full forty long winters thus I have been, + A silly blind beggar of Bednall Green.’ + + Now when the company every one, + Did hear the strange tale he told in his song, + They were amazèd, as well they might be, + Both at the blind beggar and pretty Bessee. + + With that the fair bride they all did embrace, + Saying, ‘You are come of an honourable race, + Thy father likewise is of high degree, + And thou art right worthy a lady to be.’ + + Thus was the feast ended with joy and delight, + A happy bridegroom was made the young knight, + Who lived in great joy and felicity, + With his fair lady dear pretty Bessee. + + + +THE BOLD PEDLAR AND ROBIN HOOD. + + +[THIS ballad is of considerable antiquity, and no doubt much older than +some of those inserted in the common Garlands. It appears to have +escaped the notice of Ritson, Percy, and other collectors of Robin Hood +ballads. The tune is given in _Popular Music_. An aged woman in +Bermondsey, Surrey, from whose oral recitation the present version was +taken down, said that she had often heard her grandmother sing it, and +that it was never in print; but we have since met with several common +stall copies. The subject is the same as that of the old ballad called +_Robin Hood newly revived_; _or_, _the Meeting and Fighting with his +Cousin Scarlett_.] + + THERE chanced to be a pedlar bold, + A pedlar bold he chanced to be; + He rolled his pack all on his back, + And he came tripping o’er the lee. + Down, a down, a down, a down, + Down, a down, a down. + + By chance he met two troublesome blades, + Two troublesome blades they chanced to be; + The one of them was bold Robin Hood, + And the other was Little John, so free. + + ‘Oh! pedlar, pedlar, what is in thy pack, + Come speedilie and tell to me?’ + ‘I’ve several suits of the gay green silks, + And silken bowstrings two or three.’ + + ‘If you have several suits of the gay green silk, + And silken bowstrings two or three, + Then it’s by my body,’ cries _bittle_ John, + ‘One half your pack shall belong to me.’ + + Oh! nay, oh! nay,’ says the pedlar bold, + ‘Oh! nay, oh! nay, that never can be, + For there’s never a man from fair Nottingham + Can take one half my pack from me.’ + + Then the pedlar he pulled off his pack, + And put it a little below his knee, + Saying, ‘If you do move me one perch from this, + My pack and all shall gang with thee.’ + + Then Little John he drew his sword; + The pedlar by his pack did stand; + They fought until they both did sweat, + Till he cried, ‘Pedlar, pray hold your hand!’ + + Then Robin Hood he was standing by, + And he did laugh most heartilie, + Saying, ‘I could find a man of a smaller scale, + Could thrash the pedlar, and also thee.’ + + ‘Go, you try, master,’ says Little John, + ‘Go, you try, master, most speedilie, + Or by my body,’ says Little John, + ‘I am sure this night you will not know me.’ + + Then Robin Hood he drew his sword, + And the pedlar by his pack did stand, + They fought till the blood in streams did flow, + Till he cried, ‘Pedlar, pray hold your hand!’ + + ‘Pedlar, pedlar! what is thy name? + Come speedilie and tell to me.’ + ‘My name! my name, I ne’er will tell, + Till both your names you have told to me.’ + + ‘The one of us is bold Robin Hood, + And the other Little John, so free.’ + ‘Now,’ says the pedlar, ‘it lays to my good will, + Whether my name I chuse to tell to thee. + + ‘I am Gamble Gold {61} of the gay green woods, + And travellèd far beyond the sea; + For killing a man in my father’s land, + From my country I was forced to flee.’ + + ‘If you are Gamble Gold of the gay green woods, + And travellèd far beyond the sea, + You are my mother’s own sister’s son; + What nearer cousins then can we be?’ + + They sheathèd their swords with friendly words, + So merrily they did agree; + They went to a tavern and there they dined, + And bottles cracked most merrilie. + + + +THE OUTLANDISH KNIGHT. + + +[THIS is the common English stall copy of a ballad of which there are a +variety of versions, for an account of which, and of the presumed origin +of the story, the reader is referred to the notes on the _Water o’ +Wearie’s Well_, in the _Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient +Ballads_, published by the Percy Society. By the term ‘outlandish’ is +signified an inhabitant of that portion of the border which was formerly +known by the name of ‘the Debateable Land,’ a district which, though +claimed by both England and Scotland, could not be said to belong to +either country. The people on each side of the border applied the term +‘outlandish’ to the Debateable residents. The tune to _The Outlandish +Knight_ has never been printed; it is peculiar to the ballad, and, from +its popularity, is well known.] + + AN Outlandish knight came from the North lands, + And he came a wooing to me; + He told me he’d take me unto the North lands, + And there he would marry me. + + ‘Come, fetch me some of your father’s gold, + And some of your mother’s fee; + And two of the best nags out of the stable, + Where they stand thirty and three.’ + + She fetched him some of her father’s gold, + And some of the mother’s fee; + And two of the best nags out of the stable, + Where they stood thirty and three. + + She mounted her on her milk-white steed, + He on the dapple grey; + They rode till they came unto the sea side, + Three hours before it was day. + + ‘Light off, light off thy milk-white steed, + And deliver it unto me; + Six pretty maids have I drownèd here, + And thou the seventh shall be. + + ‘Pull off, pull off thy silken gown, + And deliver it unto me, + Methinks it looks too rich and too gay + To rot in the salt sea. + + ‘Pull off, pull of thy silken stays, + And deliver them unto me; + Methinks they are too fine and gay + To rot in the salt sea. + + ‘Pull off, pull off thy Holland smock, + And deliver it unto me; + Methinks it looks too rich and gay, + To rot in the salt sea.’ + + ‘If I must pull off my Holland smock, + Pray turn thy back unto me, + For it is not fitting that such a ruffian + A naked woman should see.’ + + He turned his back towards her, + And viewed the leaves so green; + She catched him round the middle so small, + And tumbled him into the stream. + + He droppèd high, and he droppèd low, + Until he came to the side,— + ‘Catch hold of my hand, my pretty maiden, + And I will make you my bride.’ + + ‘Lie there, lie there, you false-hearted man, + Lie there instead of me; + Six pretty maids have you drownèd here, + And the seventh has drownèd thee.’ + + She mounted on her milk-white steed, + And led the dapple grey, + She rode till she came to her own father’s hall, + Three hours before it was day. + + The parrot being in the window so high, + Hearing the lady, did say, + ‘I’m afraid that some ruffian has led you astray, + That you have tarried so long away.’ + + ‘Don’t prittle nor prattle, my pretty parrot, + Nor tell no tales of me; + Thy cage shall be made of the glittering gold, + Although it is made of a tree.’ + + The king being in the chamber so high, + And hearing the parrot, did say, + ‘What ails you, what ails you, my pretty parrot, + That you prattle so long before day?’ + + ‘It’s no laughing matter,’ the parrot did say, + ‘But so loudly I call unto thee; + For the cats have got into the window so high, + And I’m afraid they will have me.’ + + ‘Well turned, well turned, my pretty parrot, + Well turned, well turned for me; + Thy cage shall be made of the glittering gold, + And the door of the best ivory.’ {64} + + + +LORD DELAWARE. + + + (TRADITIONAL.) + +[THIS interesting traditional ballad was first published by Mr. Thomas +Lyle in his _Ancient Ballads and Songs_, London, 1827. ‘We have not as +yet,’ says Mr. Lyle, ‘been able to trace out the historical incident upon +which this ballad appears to have been founded; yet those curious in such +matters may consult, if they list, _Proceedings and Debates in the House +of Commons_, for 1621 and 1662, where they will find that some stormy +debating in these several years had been agitated in parliament regarding +the corn laws, which bear pretty close upon the leading features of the +ballad.’ Does not the ballad, however, belong to a much earlier period? +The description of the combat, the presence of heralds, the wearing of +armour, &c., justify the conjecture. For De la Ware, ought we not to +read De la Mare? and is not Sir Thomas De la Mare the hero? the De la +Mare who in the reign of Edward III., A.D. 1377, was Speaker of the House +of Commons. All historians are agreed in representing him as a person +using ‘great freedom of speach,’ and which, indeed, he carried to such an +extent as to endanger his personal liberty. As bearing somewhat upon the +subject of the ballad, it may he observed that De la Mare was a great +advocate of popular rights, and particularly protested against the +inhabitants of England being subject to ‘purveyance,’ asserting that ‘if +the royal revenue was faithfully administered, there could be no +necessity for laying burdens on the people.’ In the subsequent reign of +Richard II, De In Mare was a prominent character, and though history is +silent on the subject, it is not improbable that such a man might, even +in the royal presence, have defended the rights of the poor, and spoken +in extenuation of the agrarian insurrectionary movements which were then +so prevalent and so alarming. On the hypothesis of De la Mare being the +hero, there are other incidents in the tale which cannot be reconciled +with history, such as the title given to De la Mare, who certainly was +never ennobled; nor can we ascertain that he was ever mixed up in any +duel; nor does it appear clear who can be meant by the ‘Welsh Lord, the +brave Duke of Devonshire,’ that dukedom not having been created till 1694 +and no nobleman having derived any title whatever from Devonshire +previously to 1618, when Baron Cavendish, of Hardwick, was created the +first _Earl_ of Devonshire. We may therefore presume that for +‘Devonshire’ ought to be inserted the name of some other county or place. +Strict historical accuracy is, however, hardly to be expected in any +ballad, particularly in one which, like the present, has evidently been +corrupted in floating down the stream of time. There is only one quarrel +recorded at the supposed period of our tale as having taken place betwixt +two noblemen, and which resulted in a hostile meeting, viz., that wherein +the belligerent parties were the Duke of Hereford (who might by a +‘ballad-monger’ be deemed a _Welsh_ lord) and the Duke of Norfolk. This +was in the reign of Richard II. No fight, however, took place, owing to +the interference of the king. Our minstrel author may have had rather +confused historical ideas, and so mixed up certain passages in De la +Mare’s history with this squabble; and we are strongly inclined to +suspect that such is the case, and that it will be found the real clue to +the story. Vide Hume’s _History of England_, chap. XVII. A.D. 1398. +Lyle acknowledges that he has taken some liberties with the oral version, +but does not state what they were, beyond that they consisted merely in +‘smoothing down.’ Would that he had left it ‘in the _rough_!’ The last +verse has every appearance of being apocryphal; it looks like one of +those benedictory verses with which minstrels were, and still are, in the +habit of concluding their songs. Lyle says the tune ‘is pleasing, and +peculiar to the ballad.’ A homely version, presenting only trivial +variations from that of Mr. Lyle, is still printed and sung.] + + IN the Parliament House, a great rout has been there, + Betwixt our good King and the Lord Delaware: + Says Lord Delaware to his Majesty full soon, + ‘Will it please you, my liege, to grant me a boon?’ + + ‘What’s your boon,’ says the King, ‘now let me understand?’ + ‘It’s, give me all the poor men we’ve starving in this land; + And without delay, I’ll hie me to Lincolnshire, + To sow hemp-seed and flax-seed, and hang them all there. + + ‘For with hempen cord it’s better to stop each poor man’s breath, + Than with famine you should see your subjects starve to death.’ + Up starts a Dutch Lord, who to Delaware did say, + ‘Thou deserves to be stabbed!’ then he turned himself away; + + ‘Thou deserves to be stabbed, and the dogs have thine ears, + For insulting our King in this Parliament of peers.’ + Up sprang a Welsh Lord, the brave Duke of Devonshire, + ‘In young Delaware’s defence, I’ll fight this Dutch Lord, my sire; + + ‘For he is in the right, and I’ll make it so appear: + Him I dare to single combat, for insulting Delaware.’ + A stage was soon erected, and to combat they went, + For to kill, or to be killed, it was either’s full intent. + + But the very first flourish, when the heralds gave command, + The sword of brave Devonshire bent backward on his hand; + In suspense he paused awhile, scanned his foe before he strake, + Then against the King’s armour, his bent sword he brake. + + Then he sprang from the stage, to a soldier in the ring, + Saying, ‘Lend your sword, that to an end this tragedy we bring: + Though he’s fighting me in armour, while I am fighting bare, + Even more than this I’d venture for young Lord Delaware.’ + + Leaping back on the stage, sword to buckler now resounds, + Till he left the Dutch Lord a bleeding in his wounds: + This seeing, cries the King to his guards without delay, + ‘Call Devonshire down,—take the dead man away!’ + + ‘No,’ says brave Devonshire, ‘I’ve fought him as a man, + Since he’s dead, I will keep the trophies I have won; + For he fought me in your armour, while I fought him bare, + And the same you must win back, my liege, if ever you them wear.’ + + God bless the Church of England, may it prosper on each hand, + And also every poor man now starving in this land; + And while I pray success may crown our King upon his throne, + I’ll wish that every poor man may long enjoy his own. + + + +LORD BATEMAN. + + +[THIS is a ludicrously corrupt abridgment of the ballad of _Lord +Beichan_, a copy of which will be found inserted amongst the _Early +Ballads_, An. Ed. p. 144. The following grotesque version was published +several years ago by Tilt, London, and also, according to the title-page, +by Mustapha Syried, Constantinople! under the title of _The loving Ballad +of Lord Bateman_. It is, however, the only ancient form in which the +ballad has existed in print, and is one of the publications mentioned in +Thackeray’s Catalogue, see _ante_, p. 20. The air printed in Tilt’s +edition is the one to which the ballad is sung in the South of England, +but it is totally different to the Northern tune, which has never been +published.] + + LORD BATEMAN he was a noble lord, + A noble lord of high degree; + He shipped himself on board a ship, + Some foreign country he would go see. + + He sailèd east, and he sailèd west, + Until he came to proud Turkèy; + Where he was taken, and put to prison, + Until his life was almost weary. + + And in this prison there grew a tree, + It grew so stout, and grew so strong; + Where he was chainèd by the middle, + Until his life was almost gone. + + This Turk he had one only daughter, + The fairest creature my eyes did see; + She stole the keys of her father’s prison, + And swore Lord Bateman she would set free. + + ‘Have you got houses? have you got lands? + Or does Northumberland belong to thee? + What would you give to the fair young lady + That out of prison would set you free?’ + + ‘I have got houses, I have got lands, + And half Northumberland belongs to me + I’ll give it all to the fair young lady + That out of prison would set me free.’ + + O! then she took him to her father’s hall, + And gave to him the best of wine; + And every health she drank unto him, + ‘I wish, Lord Bateman, that you were mine! + + ‘Now in seven years I’ll make a vow, + And seven years I’ll keep it strong, + If you’ll wed with no other woman, + I will wed with no other man.’ + + O! then she took him to her father’s harbour, + And gave to him a ship of fame; + ‘Farewell, farewell to you, Lord Bateman, + I’m afraid I ne’er shall see you again.’ + + Now seven long years are gone and past, + And fourteen days, well known to thee; + She packed up all her gay clothing, + And swore Lord Bateman she would go see. + + But when she came to Lord Bateman’s castle, + So boldly she rang the bell; + ‘Who’s there? who’s there?’ cried the proud portèr, + ‘Who’s there? unto me come tell.’ + + ‘O! is this Lord Bateman’s castle? + Or is his Lordship here within?’ + ‘O, yes! O, yes!’ cried the young portèr, + ‘He’s just now taken his new bride in.’ + + ‘O! tell him to send me a slice of bread, + And a bottle of the best wine; + And not forgetting the fair young lady + Who did release him when close confine.’ + + Away, away went this proud young porter, + Away, away, and away went he, + Until he came to Lord Bateman’s chamber, + Down on his bended knees fell he. + + ‘What news, what news, my proud young porter? + What news hast thou brought unto me?’ + ‘There is the fairest of all young creatures + That ever my two eyes did see! + + ‘She has got rings on every finger, + And round one of them she has got three, + And as much gay clothing round her middle + As would buy all Northumberlea. + + ‘She bids you send her a slice of bread, + And a bottle of the best wine; + And not forgetting the fair young lady + Who did release you when close confine.’ + + Lord Bateman he then in a passion flew, + And broke his sword in splinters three; + Saying, ‘I will give all my father’s riches + If Sophia has crossed the sea.’ + + Then up spoke the young bride’s mother, + Who never was heard to speak so free, + ‘You’ll not forget my only daughter, + If Sophia has crossed the sea.’ + + ‘I own I made a bride of your daughter, + She’s neither the better nor worse for me; + She came to me with her horse and saddle, + She may go back in her coach and three.’ + + Lord Bateman prepared another marriage, + And sang, with heart so full of glee, + I’ll range no more in foreign countries, + Now since Sophia has crossed the sea.’ + + + +THE GOLDEN GLOVE; + + + OR, THE SQUIRE OF TAMWORTH. + +[THIS is a very popular ballad, and sung in every part of England. It is +traditionally reported to be founded on an incident which occurred in the +reign of Elizabeth. It has been published in the broadside form from the +commencement of the eighteenth century, but is no doubt much older. It +does not appear to have been previously inserted in any collection.] + + A WEALTHY young squire of Tamworth, we hear, + He courted a nobleman’s daughter so fair; + And for to marry her it was his intent, + All friends and relations gave their consent. + + The time was appointed for the wedding-day, + A young farmer chosen to give her away; + As soon as the farmer the young lady did spy, + He inflamèd her heart; ‘O, my heart!’ she did cry. + + She turned from the squire, but nothing she said, + Instead of being married she took to her bed; + The thought of the farmer soon run in her mind, + A way for to have him she quickly did find. + + Coat, waistcoat, and breeches she then did put on, + And a hunting she went with her dog and her gun; + She hunted all round where the farmer did dwell, + Because in her heart she did love him full well: + + She oftentimes fired, but nothing she killed, + At length the young farmer came into the field; + And to discourse with him it was her intent, + With her dog and her gun to meet him she went. + + ‘I thought you had been at the wedding,’ she cried, + ‘To wait on the squire, and give him his bride.’ + ‘No, sir,’ said the farmer, ‘if the truth I may tell, + I’ll not give her away, for I love her too well’ + + ‘Suppose that the lady should grant you her love, + You know that the squire your rival will prove.’ + ‘Why, then,’ says the farmer, ‘I’ll take sword in hand, + By honour I’ll gain her when she shall command.’ + + It pleasèd the lady to find him so bold; + She gave him a glove that was flowered with gold, + And told him she found it when coming along, + As she was a hunting with her dog and gun. + + The lady went home with a heart full of love, + And gave out a notice that she’d lost a glove; + And said, ‘Who has found it, and brings it to me, + Whoever he is, he my husband shall be.’ + + The farmer was pleased when he heard of the news, + With heart full of joy to the lady he goes: + ‘Dear, honoured lady, I’ve picked up your glove, + And hope you’ll be pleased to grant me your love.’ + + ‘It’s already granted, I will be your bride; + I love the sweet breath of a farmer,’ she cried. + ‘I’ll be mistress of my dairy, and milking my cow, + While my jolly brisk farmer is whistling at plough.’ + + And when she was married she told of her fun, + How she went a hunting with her dog and gun: + ‘And now I’ve got him so fast in my snare, + I’ll enjoy him for ever, I vow and declare!’ + + + +KING JAMES I. AND THE TINKLER. {72a} + + + (TRADITIONAL.) + +[THIS ballad of _King James I. and the Tinkler_ was probably written +either in, or shortly after, the reign of the monarch who is the hero. +The incident recorded is said to be a fact, though the locality is +doubtful. By some the scene is laid at Norwood, in Surrey; by others in +some part of the English border. The ballad is alluded to by Percy, but +is not inserted either in the _Reliques_, or in any other popular +collection. It is to be found only in a few broadsides and chap-books of +modern date. The present version is a traditional one, taken down, as +here given, from the recital of the late Francis King. {72b} It is much +superior to the common broadside edition with which it has been collated, +and from which the thirteenth and fifteenth verses were obtained. The +ballad is very popular on the Border, and in the dales of Cumberland, +Westmoreland, and Craven. The late Robert Anderson, the Cumbrian bard, +represents Deavie, in his song of the _Clay Daubin_, as singing _The King +and the Tinkler_.] + + AND now, to be brief, let’s pass over the rest, + Who seldom or never were given to jest, + And come to King Jamie, the first of our throne, + A pleasanter monarch sure never was known. + + As he was a hunting the swift fallow-deer, + He dropped all his nobles; and when he got clear, + In hope of some pastime away he did ride, + Till he came to an alehouse, hard by a wood-side. + + And there with a tinkler he happened to meet, + And him in kind sort he so freely did greet: + ‘Pray thee, good fellow, what hast in thy jug, + Which under thy arm thou dost lovingly hug?’ + + ‘By the mass!’ quoth the tinkler, ‘it’s nappy brown ale, + And for to drink to thee, friend, I will not fail; + For although thy jacket looks gallant and fine, + I think that my twopence as good is as thine.’ + + ‘By my soul! honest fellow, the truth thou hast spoke,’ + And straight he sat down with the tinkler to joke; + They drank to the King, and they pledged to each other; + Who’d seen ’em had thought they were brother and brother. + + As they were a-drinking the King pleased to say, + ‘What news, honest fellow? come tell me, I pray?’ + ‘There’s nothing of news, beyond that I hear + The King’s on the border a-chasing the deer. + + ‘And truly I wish I so happy may be + Whilst he is a hunting the King I might see; + For although I’ve travelled the land many ways + I never have yet seen a King in my days.’ + + The King, with a hearty brisk laughter, replied, + ‘I tell thee, good fellow, if thou canst but ride, + Thou shalt get up behind me, and I will thee bring + To the presence of Jamie, thy sovereign King.’ + + ‘But he’ll be surrounded with nobles so gay, + And how shall we tell him from them, sir, I pray?’ + ‘Thou’lt easily ken him when once thou art there; + The King will be covered, his nobles all bare.’ + + He got up behind him and likewise his sack, + His budget of leather, and tools at his back; + They rode till they came to the merry greenwood, + His nobles came round him, bareheaded they stood. + + The tinkler then seeing so many appear, + He slily did whisper the King in his ear: + Saying, ‘They’re all clothed so gloriously gay, + But which amongst them is the King, sir, I pray?’ + + The King did with hearty good laughter, reply, + ‘By my soul! my good fellow, it’s thou or it’s I! + The rest are bareheaded, uncovered all round.’— + With his bag and his budget he fell to the ground, + + Like one that was frightened quite out of his wits, + Then on his knees he instantly gets, + Beseeching for mercy; the King to him said, + ‘Thou art a good fellow, so be not afraid. + + ‘Come, tell thy name?’ ‘I am John of the Dale, + A mender of kettles, a lover of ale.’ + ‘Rise up, Sir John, I will honour thee here,— + I make thee a knight of three thousand a year!’ + + This was a good thing for the tinkler indeed; + Then unto the court he was sent for with speed, + Where great store of pleasure and pastime was seen, + In the royal presence of King and of Queen. + + Sir John of the Dale he has land, he has fee, + At the court of the king who so happy as he? + Yet still in his hall hangs the tinkler’s old sack, + And the budget of tools which he bore at his back. + + + +THE KEACH I’ THE CREEL. + + +[THIS old and very humorous ballad has long been a favourite on both +sides of the Border, but had never appeared in print till about 1845, +when a Northumbrian gentleman printed a few copies for private +circulation, from one of which the following is taken. In the present +impression some trifling typographical mistakes are corrected, and the +phraseology has been rendered uniform throughout. _Keach i’ the Creel_ +means the catch in the basket.] + + A FAIR young May went up the street, + Some white fish for to buy; + And a bonny clerk’s fa’n i’ luve wi’ her, + And he’s followed her by and by, by, + And he’s followed her by and by. + + ‘O! where live ye my bonny lass, + I pray thee tell to me; + For gin the nicht were ever sae mirk, + I wad come and visit thee, thee; + I wad come and visit thee.’ + + ‘O! my father he aye locks the door, + My mither keeps the key; + And gin ye were ever sic a wily wicht, + Ye canna win in to me, me; + Ye canna win in to me.’ + + But the clerk he had ae true brother, + And a wily wicht was he; + And he has made a lang ladder, + Was thirty steps and three, three; + Was thirty steps and three. + + He has made a cleek but and a creel— + A creel but and a pin; + And he’s away to the chimley-top, + And he’s letten the bonny clerk in, in; + And he’s letten the bonny clerk in. + + The auld wife, being not asleep, + Tho’ late, late was the hour; + I’ll lay my life,’ quo’ the silly auld wife, + ‘There’s a man i’ our dochter’s bower, bower; + There’s a man i’ our dochter’s bower.’ + + The auld man he gat owre the bed, + To see if the thing was true; + But she’s ta’en the bonny clerk in her arms, + And covered him owre wi’ blue, blue; + And covered him owre wi’ blue. + + ‘O! where are ye gaun now, father?’ she says, + ‘And where are ye gaun sae late? + Ye’ve disturbed me in my evening prayers, + And O! but they were sweit, sweit; + And O! but they were sweit.’ + + ‘O! ill betide ye, silly auld wife, + And an ill death may ye dee; + She has the muckle buik in her arms, + And she’s prayin’ for you and me, me; + And she’s prayin’ for you and me.’ + + The auld wife being not asleep, + Then something mair was said; + ‘I’ll lay my life,’ quo’ the silly auld wife, + ‘There’s a man by our dochter’s bed, bed; + There’s a man by our dochter’s bed.’ + + The auld wife she gat owre the bed, + To see if the thing was true; + But what the wrack took the auld wife’s fit? + For into the creel she flew, flew; + For into the creel she flew. + + The man that was at the chimley-top, + Finding the creel was fu’, + He wrappit the rape round his left shouther, + And fast to him he drew, drew: + And fast to him he drew. + + ‘O, help! O, help! O, hinny, noo, help! + O, help! O, hinny, do! + For _him_ that ye aye wished me at, + He’s carryin’ me off just noo, noo; + He’s carryin’ me off just noo.’ + + ‘O! if the foul thief’s gotten ye, + I wish he may keep his haud; + For a’ the lee lang winter nicht, + Ye’ll never lie in your bed, bed; + Ye’ll never lie in your bed.’ + + He’s towed her up, he’s towed her down, + He’s towed her through an’ through; + ‘O, Gude! assist,’ quo’ the silly auld wife, + ‘For I’m just departin’ noo, noo; + For I’m just departin’ noo.’ + + He’s towed her up, he’s towed her down, + He’s gien her a richt down fa’, + Till every rib i’ the auld wife’s side, + Played nick nack on the wa’, wa’; + Played nick nack on the wa’. + + O! the blue, the bonny, bonny blue, + And I wish the blue may do weel; + And every auld wife that’s sae jealous o’ her dochter, + May she get a good keach i’ the creel, creel; + May she get a good keach i’ the creel! + + + +THE MERRY BROOMFIELD; OR, THE WEST COUNTRY WAGER. + + +[THIS old West-country ballad was one of the broadsides printed at the +Aldermary press. We have not met with any older impression, though we +have been assured that there are black-letter copies. In Scott’s +_Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_ is a ballad called the _Broomfield +Hill_; it is a mere fragment, but is evidently taken from the present +ballad, and can be considered only as one of the many modern antiques to +be found in that work.] + + A NOBLE young squire that lived in the West, + He courted a young lady gay; + And as he was merry he put forth a jest, + A wager with her he would lay. + + ‘A wager with me,’ the young lady replied, + ‘I pray about what must it be? + If I like the humour you shan’t be denied, + I love to be merry and free.’ + + Quoth he, ‘I will lay you a hundred pounds, + A hundred pounds, aye, and ten, + That a maid if you go to the merry Broomfield, + That a maid you return not again.’ + + ‘I’ll lay you that wager,’ the lady she said, + Then the money she flung down amain; + ‘To the merry Broomfield I’ll go a pure maid, + The same I’ll return home again.’ + + He covered her bet in the midst of the hall, + With a hundred and ten jolly pounds; + And then to his servant he straightway did call, + For to bring forth his hawk and his hounds. + + A ready obedience the servant did yield, + And all was made ready o’er night; + Next morning he went to the merry Broomfield, + To meet with his love and delight. + + Now when he came there, having waited a while, + Among the green broom down he lies; + The lady came to him, and could not but smile, + For sleep then had closèd his eyes. + + Upon his right hand a gold ring she secured, + Drawn from her own fingers so fair; + That when he awakèd he might be assured + His lady and love had been there. + + She left him a posie of pleasant perfume, + Then stepped from the place where he lay, + Then hid herself close in the besom of broom, + To hear what her true love did say. + + He wakened and found the gold ring on his hand, + Then sorrow of heart he was in; + ‘My love has been here, I do well understand, + And this wager I now shall not win. + + ‘Oh! where was you, my goodly goshawk, + The which I have purchased so dear, + Why did you not waken me out of my sleep, + When the lady, my love, was here?’ + + ‘O! with my bells did I ring, master, + And eke with my feet did I run; + And still did I cry, pray awake! master, + She’s here now, and soon will be gone.’ + + ‘O! where was you, my gallant greyhound, + Whose collar is flourished with gold; + Why hadst thou not wakened me out of my sleep, + When thou didst my lady behold?’ + + ‘Dear master, I barked with my mouth when she came, + And likewise my collar I shook; + And told you that here was the beautiful dame, + But no notice of me then you took.’ + + ‘O! where wast thou, my servingman, + Whom I have clothèd so fine? + If you had waked me when she was here, + The wager then had been mine.’ + + In the night you should have slept, master, + And kept awake in the day; + Had you not been sleeping when hither she came, + Then a maid she had not gone away.’ + + Then home he returned when the wager was lost, + With sorrow of heart, I may say; + The lady she laughed to find her love crost,— + This was upon midsummer-day. + + ‘O, squire! I laid in the bushes concealed, + And heard you, when you did complain; + And thus I have been to the merry Broomfield, + And a maid returned back again. + + ‘Be cheerful! be cheerful! and do not repine, + For now ’tis as clear as the sun, + The money, the money, the money is mine, + The wager I fairly have won.’ + + + +SIR JOHN BARLEYCORN. + + +[THE West-country ballad of _Sir John Barleycorn_ is very ancient, and +being the only version that has ever been sung at English merry-makings +and country feasts, can certainly set up a better claim to antiquity than +any of the three ballads on the same subject to be found in Evans’s _Old +Ballads_; viz., _John Barleycorn_, _The Little Barleycorn_, and _Mas +Mault_. Our west-country version bears the greatest resemblance to _The +Little Barleycorn_, but it is very dissimilar to any of the three. Burns +altered the old ditty, but on referring to his version it will be seen +that his corrections and additions want the simplicity of the original, +and certainly cannot be considered improvements. The common ballad does +not appear to have been inserted in any of our popular collections. _Sir +John Barleycorn_ is very appropriately sung to the tune of _Stingo_. See +_Popular Music_, p. 305.] + + THERE came three men out of the West, + Their victory to try; + And they have taken a solemn oath, + Poor Barleycorn should die. + + They took a plough and ploughed him in, + And harrowed clods on his head; + And then they took a solemn oath, + Poor Barleycorn was dead. + + There he lay sleeping in the ground, + Till rain from the sky did fall: + Then Barleycorn sprung up his head, + And so amazed them all. + + There he remained till Midsummer, + And looked both pale and wan; + Then Barleycorn he got a beard, + And so became a man. + + Then they sent men with scythes so sharp, + To cut him off at knee; + And then poor little Barleycorn, + They served him barbarously. + + Then they sent men with pitchforks strong + To pierce him through the heart; + And like a dreadful tragedy, + They bound him to a cart. + + And then they brought him to a barn, + A prisoner to endure; + And so they fetched him out again, + And laid him on the floor. + + Then they set men with holly clubs, + To beat the flesh from his bones; + But the miller he served him worse than that, + For he ground him betwixt two stones. + + O! Barleycorn is the choicest grain + That ever was sown on land; + It will do more than any grain, + By the turning of your hand. + + It will make a boy into a man, + And a man into an ass; + It will change your gold into silver, + And your silver into brass. + + It will make the huntsman hunt the fox, + That never wound his horn; + It will bring the tinker to the stocks, + That people may him scorn. + + It will put sack into a glass, + And claret in the can; + And it will cause a man to drink + Till he neither can go nor stand. + + + +BLOW THE WINDS, I-HO! + + +[THIS Northumbrian ballad is of great antiquity, and bears considerable +resemblance to _The Baffled Knight_; _or_, _Lady’s Policy_, inserted in +Percy’s _Reliques_. It is not in any popular collection. In the +broadside from which it is here printed, the title and chorus are given, +_Blow the Winds_, _I-O_, a form common to many ballads and songs, but +only to those of great antiquity. Chappell, in his _Popular Music_, has +an example in a song as old as 1698:— + + ‘Here’s a health to jolly Bacchus, + I-ho! I-ho! I-ho!’ + +and in another well-known old catch the same form appears:— + + ‘A pye sat on a pear-tree, + I-ho, I-ho, I-ho.’ + +‘Io!’ or, as we find it given in these lyrics, ‘I-ho!’ was an ancient +form of acclamation or triumph on joyful occasions and anniversaries. It +is common, with slight variations, to different languages. In the +Gothic, for example, Iola signifies to make merry. It has been supposed +by some etymologists that the word ‘yule’ is a corruption of ‘Io!’] + + THERE was a shepherd’s son, + He kept sheep on yonder hill; + He laid his pipe and his crook aside, + And there he slept his fill. + + And blow the winds, I-ho! + Sing, blow the winds, I-ho! + Clear away the morning dew, + And blow the winds, I-ho! + + He lookèd east, and he lookèd west, + He took another look, + And there he spied a lady gay, + Was dipping in a brook. + + She said, ‘Sir, don’t touch my mantle, + Come, let my clothes alone; + I will give you as much monèy + As you can carry home.’ + + ‘I will not touch your mantle, + I’ll let your clothes alone; + I’ll take you out of the water clear, + My dear, to be my own.’ + + He did not touch her mantle, + He let her clothes alone; + But he took her from the clear water, + And all to be his own. + + He set her on a milk-white steed, + Himself upon another; + And there they rode along the road, + Like sister, and like brother. + + And as they rode along the road, + He spied some cocks of hay; + ‘Yonder,’ he says, ‘is a lovely place + For men and maids to play!’ + + And when they came to her father’s gate, + She pullèd at a ring; + And ready was the proud portèr + For to let the lady in. + + And when the gates were open, + This lady jumpèd in; + She says, ‘You are a fool without, + And I’m a maid within. + + ‘Good morrow to you, modest boy, + I thank you for your care; + If you had been what you should have been, + I would not have left you there. + + ‘There is a horse in my father’s stable, + He stands beyond the thorn; + He shakes his head above the trough, + But dares not prie the corn. + + ‘There is a bird in my father’s flock, + A double comb he wears; + He flaps his wings, and crows full loud, + But a capon’s crest he bears. + + ‘There is a flower in my father’s garden, + They call it marygold; + The fool that will not when he may, + He shall not when he wold.’ + + Said the shepherd’s son, as he doft his shoon, + ‘My feet they shall run bare, + And if ever I meet another maid, + I rede that maid beware.’ + + + +THE BEAUTIFUL LADY OF KENT; + + + OR, THE SEAMAN OF DOVER. + +[WE have met with two copies of this genuine English ballad; the older +one is without printer’s name, but from the appearance of the type and +the paper, it must have been published about the middle of the last +century. It is certainly not one of the original impressions, for the +other copy, though of recent date, has evidently been taken from some +still older and better edition. In the modern broadside the ballad is in +four parts, whereas, in our older one, there is no such expressed +division, but a word at the commencement of each part is printed in +capital letters.] + + PART I. + + A SEAMAN of Dover, whose excellent parts, + For wisdom and learning, had conquered the hearts + Of many young damsels, of beauty so bright, + Of him this new ditty in brief I shall write; + + And show of his turnings, and windings of fate, + His passions and sorrows, so many and great: + And how he was blessèd with true love at last, + When all the rough storms of his troubles were past. + + Now, to be brief, I shall tell you the truth: + A beautiful lady, whose name it was Ruth, + A squire’s young daughter, near Sandwich, in Kent, + Proves all his heart’s treasure, his joy and content. + + Unknown to their parents in private they meet, + Where many love lessons they’d often repeat, + With kisses, and many embraces likewise, + She granted him love, and thus gainèd the prize. + + She said, ‘I consent to be thy sweet bride, + Whatever becomes of my fortune,’ she cried. + ‘The frowns of my father I never will fear, + But freely will go through the world with my dear.’ + + A jewel he gave her, in token of love, + And vowed, by the sacred powers above, + To wed the next morning; but they were betrayed, + And all by the means of a treacherous maid. + + She told her parents that they were agreed: + With that they fell into a passion with speed, + And said, ere a seaman their daughter should have, + They rather would follow her corpse to the grave. + + The lady was straight to her chamber confined, + Here long she continued in sorrow of mind, + And so did her love, for the loss of his dear,— + No sorrow was ever so sharp and severe. + + When long he had mourned for his love and delight, + Close under the window he came in the night, + And sung forth this ditty:—‘My dearest, farewell! + Behold, in this nation no longer I dwell. + + ‘I am going from hence to the kingdom of Spain, + Because I am willing that you should obtain + Your freedom once more; for my heart it will break + If longer thou liest confined for my sake.’ + + The words which he uttered, they caused her to weep; + Yet, nevertheless, she was forcèd to keep + Deep silence that minute, that minute for fear + Her honourèd father and mother should hear. + + PART II. + + Soon after, bold Henry he entered on board, + The heavens a prosperous gale did afford, + And brought him with speed to the kingdom of Spain, + There he with a merchant some time did remain; + + Who, finding that he was both faithful and just, + Preferred him to places of honour and trust; + He made him as great as his heart could request, + Yet, wanting his Ruth, he with grief was oppressed. + + So great was his grief it could not be concealed, + Both honour and riches no pleasure could yield; + In private he often would weep and lament, + For Ruth, the fair, beautiful lady of Kent. + + Now, while he lamented the loss of his dear, + A lady of Spain did before him appear, + Bedecked with rich jewels both costly and gay, + Who earnestly sought for his favour that day. + + Said she, ‘Gentle swain, I am wounded with love, + And you are the person I honour above + The greatest of nobles that ever was born;— + Then pity my tears, and my sorrowful mourn!’ + + ‘I pity thy sorrowful tears,’ he replied, + ‘And wish I were worthy to make thee my bride; + But, lady, thy grandeur is greater than mine, + Therefore, I am fearful my heart to resign.’ + + ‘O! never be doubtful of what will ensue, + No manner of danger will happen to you; + At my own disposal I am, I declare, + Receive me with love, or destroy me with care.’ + + ‘Dear madam, don’t fix your affection on me, + You are fit for some lord of a noble degree, + That is able to keep up your honour and fame; + I am but a poor sailor, from England who came. + + ‘A man of mean fortune, whose substance is small, + I have not wherewith to maintain you withal, + Sweet lady, according to honour and state; + Now this is the truth, which I freely relate.’ + + The lady she lovingly squeezèd his hand, + And said with a smile, ‘Ever blessed be the land + That bred such a noble, brave seaman as thee; + I value no honours, thou’rt welcome to me; + + ‘My parents are dead, I have jewels untold, + Besides in possession a million of gold; + And thou shalt be lord of whatever I have, + Grant me but thy love, which I earnestly crave.’ + + Then, turning aside, to himself he replied, + ‘I am courted with riches and beauty beside; + This love I may have, but my Ruth is denied.’ + Wherefore he consented to make her his bride. + + The lady she clothèd him costly and great; + His noble deportment, both proper and straight, + So charmèd the innocent eye of his dove, + And added a second new flame to her love. + + Then married they were without longer delay; + Now here we will leave them both glorious and gay, + To speak of fair Ruth, who in sorrow was left + At home with her parents, of comfort bereft. + + PART III. + + When under the window with an aching heart, + He told his fair Ruth he so soon must depart, + Her parents they heard, and well pleasèd they were, + But Ruth was afflicted with sorrow and care. + + Now, after her lover had quitted the shore, + They kept her confined a fall twelvemonth or more, + And then they were pleasèd to set her at large, + With laying upon her a wonderful charge: + + To fly from a seaman as she would from death; + She promised she would, with a faltering breath; + Yet, nevertheless, the truth you shall hear, + She found out a way for to follow her dear. + + Then, taking her gold and her silver alsò, + In seaman’s apparel away she did go, + And found out a master, with whom she agreed, + To carry her over the ocean with speed. + + Now, when she arrived at the kingdom of Spain, + From city to city she travelled amain, + Enquiring about everywhere for her love, + Who now had been gone seven years and above. + + In Cadiz, as she walked along in the street, + Her love and his lady she happened to meet, + But in such a garb as she never had seen,— + She looked like an angel, or beautiful queen. + + With sorrowful tears she turned her aside: + ‘My jewel is gone, I shall ne’er be his bride; + But, nevertheless, though my hopes are in vain, + I’ll never return to old England again. + + ‘But here, in this place, I will now be confined; + It will be a comfort and joy to my mind, + To see him sometimes, though he thinks not of me, + Since he has a lady of noble degree.’ + + Now, while in the city fair Ruth did reside, + Of a sudden this beautiful lady she died, + And, though he was in the possession of all, + Yet tears from his eyes in abundance did fall. + + As he was expressing his piteous moan, + Fair Ruth came unto him, and made herself known; + He started to see her, but seemèd not coy, + Said he, ‘Now my sorrows are mingled with joy!’ + + The time of the mourning he kept it in Spain, + And then he came back to old England again, + With thousands, and thousands, which he did possess; + Then glorious and gay was sweet Ruth in her dress. + + PART IV. + + When over the seas to fair Sandwich he came, + With Ruth, and a number of persons of fame, + Then all did appear most splendid and gay, + As if it had been a great festival day. + + Now, when that they took up their lodgings, behold! + He stripped off his coat of embroiderèd gold, + And presently borrows a mariner’s suit, + That he with her parents might have some dispute, + + Before they were sensible he was so great; + And when he came in and knocked at the gate, + He soon saw her father, and mother likewise, + Expressing their sorrow with tears in their eyes, + + To them, with obeisance, he modestly said, + ‘Pray where is my jewel, that innocent maid, + Whose sweet lovely beauty doth thousands excel? + I fear, by your weeping, that all is not well!’ + + ‘No, no! she is gone, she is utterly lost; + We have not heard of her a twelvemonth at most! + Which makes us distracted with sorrow and care, + And drowns us in tears at the point of despair.’ + + ‘I’m grievèd to hear these sad tidings,’ he cried. + ‘Alas! honest young man,’ her father replied, + ‘I heartily wish she’d been wedded to you, + For then we this sorrow had never gone through.’ + + Sweet Henry he made them this answer again; + ‘I am newly come home from the kingdom of Spain, + From whence I have brought me a beautiful bride, + And am to be married to-morrow,’ he cried; + + ‘And if you will go to my wedding,’ said he, + ‘Both you and your lady right welcome shall be.’ + They promised they would, and accordingly came, + Not thinking to meet with such persons of fame. + + All decked with their jewels of rubies and pearls, + As equal companions of lords and of earls, + Fair Ruth, with her love, was as gay as the rest, + So they in their marriage were happily blessed. + + Now, as they returned from the church to an inn, + The father and mother of Ruth did begin + Their daughter to know, by a mole they behold, + Although she was clothed in a garment of gold. + + With transports of joy they flew to the bride, + ‘O! where hast thou been, sweetest daughter?’ they cried, + ‘Thy tedious absence has grievèd us sore, + As fearing, alas! we should see thee no more.’ + + ‘Dear parents,’ said she, ‘many hazards I run, + To fetch home my love, and your dutiful son; + Receive him with joy, for ’tis very well known, + He seeks not your wealth, he’s enough of his own.’ + + Her father replied, and he merrily smiled, + ‘He’s brought home enough, as he’s brought home my child; + A thousand times welcome you are, I declare, + Whose presence disperses both sorrow and care.’ + + Full seven long days in feasting they spent; + The bells in the steeple they merrily went, + And many fair pounds were bestowed on the poor,— + The like of this wedding was never before! + + + +THE BERKSHIRE LADY’S GARLAND. + + + IN FOUR PARTS. + + To the tune of _The Royal Forester_. + +[WHEN we first met with this very pleasing English ballad, we deemed the +story to be wholly fictitious, but ‘strange’ as the ‘relation’ may +appear, the incidents narrated are ‘true’ or at least founded on fact. +The scene of the ballad is Whitley Park, near Reading, in Berkshire, and +not, as some suppose, Calcot House, which was not built till 1759. +Whitley is mentioned as ‘the Abbot’s Park, being at the entrance of +Redding town.’ At the Dissolution the estate passed to the crown, and +the mansion seems, from time to time, to have been used as a royal +‘palace’ till the reign of Elizabeth, by whom it was granted, along with +the estate, to Sir Francis Knollys; it was afterwards, by purchase, the +property of the Kendricks, an ancient race, descended from the Saxon +kings. William Kendrick, of Whitley, armr. was created a baronet in +1679, and died in 1685, leaving issue one son, Sir William Kendrick, of +Whitley, Bart., who married Miss Mary House, of Reading, and died in +1699, without issue male, leaving an only daughter. It was this rich +heiress, who possessed ‘store of wealth and beauty bright,’ that is the +heroine of the ballad. She married Benjamin Child, Esq., a young and +handsome, but very poor attorney of Reading, and the marriage is +traditionally reported to have been brought about exactly as related in +the ballad. We have not been able to ascertain the exact date of the +marriage, which was celebrated in St. Mary’s Church, Reading, the bride +wearing a thick veil; but the ceremony must have taken place some time +about 1705. In 1714, Mr. Child was high sheriff of Berkshire. As he was +an humble and obscure personage previously to his espousing the heiress +of Whitley, and, in fact, owed all his wealth and influence to his +marriage, it cannot be supposed that _immediately_ after his union he +would be elevated to so important and dignified a post as the +high-shrievalty of the very aristocratical county of Berks. We may, +therefore, consider nine or ten years to have elapsed betwixt his +marriage and his holding the office of high sheriff, which he filled when +he was about thirty-two years of age. The author of the ballad is +unknown: supposing him to have composed it shortly after the events which +he records, we cannot be far wrong in fixing its date about 1706. The +earliest broadside we have seen contains a rudely executed, but by no +means bad likeness of Queen Anne, the reigning monarch at that period.] + + PART I. + + SHOWING CUPID’S CONQUEST OVER A COY LADY OF FIVE THOUSAND A YEAR. + + BACHELORS of every station, + Mark this strange and true relation, + Which in brief to you I bring,— + Never was a stranger thing! + + You shall find it worth the hearing; + Loyal love is most endearing, + When it takes the deepest root, + Yielding charms and gold to boot. + + Some will wed for love of treasure; + But the sweetest joy and pleasure + Is in faithful love, you’ll find, + Gracèd with a noble mind. + + Such a noble disposition + Had this lady, with submission, + Of whom I this sonnet write, + Store of wealth, and beauty bright. + + She had left, by a good grannum, + Full five thousand pounds per annum, + Which she held without control; + Thus she did in riches roll. + + Though she had vast store of riches, + Which some persons much bewitches, + Yet she bore a virtuous mind, + Not the least to pride inclined. + + Many noble persons courted + This young lady, ’tis reported; + But their labour proved in vain, + They could not her favour gain. + + Though she made a strong resistance, + Yet by Cupid’s true assistance, + She was conquered after all; + How it was declare I shall. + + Being at a noble wedding, + Near the famous town of Redding, {92} + A young gentleman she saw, + Who belongèd to the law. + + As she viewed his sweet behaviour, + Every courteous carriage gave her + New addition to her grief; + Forced she was to seek relief. + + Privately she then enquired + About him, so much admired; + Both his name, and where he dwelt,— + Such was the hot flame she felt. + + Then, at night, this youthful lady + Called her coach, which being ready, + Homewards straight she did return; + But her heart with flames did burn. + + PART II. + + SHOWING THE LADY’S LETTER OF A CHALLENGE TO FIGHT HIM UPON HIS REFUSING + TO WED HER IN A MASK, WITHOUT KNOWING WHO SHE WAS. + + Night and morning, for a season, + In her closet would she reason + With herself, and often said, + ‘Why has love my heart betrayed? + + ‘I, that have so many slighted, + Am at length so well requited; + For my griefs are not a few! + Now I find what love can do. + + ‘He that has my heart in keeping, + Though I for his sake be weeping, + Little knows what grief I feel; + But I’ll try it out with steel. + + ‘For I will a challenge send him, + And appoint where I’ll attend him, + In a grove, without delay, + By the dawning of the day. + + ‘He shall not the least discover + That I am a virgin lover, + By the challenge which I send; + But for justice I contend. + + ‘He has causèd sad distraction, + And I come for satisfaction, + Which if he denies to give, + One of us shall cease to live.’ + + Having thus her mind revealed, + She her letter closed and sealed; + Which, when it came to his hand, + The young man was at a stand. + + In her letter she conjured him + For to meet, and well assured him, + Recompence he must afford, + Or dispute it with the sword. + + Having read this strange relation, + He was in a consternation; + But, advising with his friend, + He persuades him to attend. + + ‘Be of courage, and make ready, + Faint heart never won fair lady; + In regard it must be so, + I along with you must go.’ + + PART III. + + SHOWING HOW THEY MET BY APPOINTMENT IN A GROVE, WHERE SHE OBLIGED HIM TO + FIGHT OR WED HER. + + Early on a summer’s morning, + When bright Phoebus was adorning + Every bower with his beams, + The fair lady came, it seems. + + At the bottom of a mountain, + Near a pleasant crystal fountain, + There she left her gilded coach, + While the grove she did approach. + + Covered with her mask, and walking, + There she met her lover talking + With a friend that he had brought; + So she asked him whom he sought. + + ‘I am challenged by a gallant, + Who resolves to try my talent; + Who he is I cannot say, + But I hope to show him play.’ + + ‘It is I that did invite you, + You shall wed me, or I’ll fight you, + Underneath those spreading trees; + Therefore, choose you which you please. + + ‘You shall find I do not vapour, + I have brought my trusty rapier; + Therefore, take your choice,’ said she, + ‘Either fight or marry me.’ + + Said he, ‘Madam, pray what mean you? + In my life I’ve never seen you; + Pray unmask, your visage show, + Then I’ll tell you aye or no.’ + + ‘I will not my face uncover + Till the marriage ties are over; + Therefore, choose you which you will, + Wed me, sir, or try your skill. + + ‘Step within that pleasant bower, + With your friend one single hour; + Strive your thoughts to reconcile, + And I’ll wander here the while.’ + + While this beauteous lady waited, + The young bachelors debated + What was best for to be done: + Quoth his friend, ‘The hazard run. + + ‘If my judgment can be trusted, + Wed her first, you can’t be worsted; + If she’s rich, you’ll rise to fame, + If she’s poor, why! you’re the same.’ + + He consented to be married; + All three in a coach were carried + To a church without delay, + Where he weds the lady gay. + + Though sweet pretty Cupids hovered + Round her eyes, her face was covered + With a mask,—he took her thus, + Just for better or for worse. + + With a courteous kind behaviour, + She presents his friend a favour, + And withal dismissed him straight, + That he might no longer wait. + + PART IV. + + SHOWING HOW THEY RODE TOGETHER IN HER GILDED COACH TO HER NOBLE SEAT, OR + CASTLE, ETC. + + As the gilded coach stood ready, + The young lawyer and his lady + Rode together, till they came + To her house of state and fame; + + Which appearèd like a castle, + Where you might behold a parcel + Of young cedars, tall and straight, + Just before her palace gate. + + Hand in hand they walked together, + To a hall, or parlour, rather, + Which was beautiful and fair,— + All alone she left him there. + + Two long hours there he waited + Her return;—at length he fretted, + And began to grieve at last, + For he had not broke his fast. + + Still he sat like one amazed, + Round a spacious room he gazed, + Which was richly beautified; + But, alas! he lost his bride. + + There was peeping, laughing, sneering, + All within the lawyer’s hearing; + But his bride he could not see; + ‘Would I were at home!’ thought he. + + While his heart was melancholy, + Said the steward, brisk and jolly, + ‘Tell me, friend, how came you here? + You’ve some bad design, I fear.’ + + He replied, ‘Dear loving master, + You shall meet with no disaster + Through my means, in any case,— + Madam brought me to this place.’ + + Then the steward did retire, + Saying, that he would enquire + Whether it was true or no: + Ne’er was lover hampered so. + + Now the lady who had filled him + With those fears, full well beheld him + From a window, as she dressed, + Pleasèd at the merry jest. + + When she had herself attired + In rich robes, to be admired, + She appearèd in his sight, + Like a moving angel bright. + + ‘Sir! my servants have related, + How some hours you have waited + In my parlour,—tell me who + In my house you ever knew?’ + + ‘Madam! if I have offended, + It is more than I intended; + A young lady brought me here:’— + ‘That is true,’ said she, ‘my dear. + + ‘I can be no longer cruel + To my joy, and only jewel; + Thou art mine, and I am thine, + Hand and heart I do resign! + + ‘Once I was a wounded lover, + Now these fears are fairly over; + By receiving what I gave, + Thou art lord of what I have.’ + + Beauty, honour, love, and treasure, + A rich golden stream of pleasure, + With his lady he enjoys; + Thanks to Cupid’s kind decoys. + + Now he’s clothed in rich attire, + Not inferior to a squire; + Beauty, honour, riches’ store, + What can man desire more? + + + +THE NOBLEMAN’S GENEROUS KINDNESS. + + +Giving an account of a nobleman, who, taking notice of a poor man’s +industrious care and pains for the maintaining of his charge of seven +small children, met him upon a day, and discoursing with him, invited +him, and his wife and his children, home to his house, and bestowed upon +them a farm of thirty acres of land, to be continued to him and his heirs +for ever. + + To the tune of _The Two English Travellers_. + +[THIS still popular ballad is entitled in the modern copies, _The +Nobleman and Thrasher_; _or_, _the Generous Gift_. There is a copy +preserved in the Roxburgh Collection, with which our version has been +collated. It is taken from a broadside printed by Robert Marchbank, in +the Custom-house Entry, Newcastle.] + + A NOBLEMAN lived in a village of late, + Hard by a poor thrasher, whose charge it was great; + For he had seven children, and most of them small, + And nought but his labour to support them withal. + + He never was given to idle and lurk, + For this nobleman saw him go daily to work, + With his flail and his bag, and his bottle of beer, + As cheerful as those that have hundreds a year. + + Thus careful, and constant, each morning he went, + Unto his daily labour with joy and content; + So jocular and jolly he’d whistle and sing, + As blithe and as brisk as the birds in the spring. + + One morning, this nobleman taking a walk, + He met this poor man, and he freely did talk; + He asked him [at first] many questions at large, + And then began talking concerning his charge. + + ‘Thou hast many children, I very well know, + Thy labour is hard, and thy wages are low, + And yet thou art cheerful; I pray tell me true, + How can you maintain them as well as you do?’ + + ‘I carefully carry home what I do earn, + My daily expenses by this I do learn; + And find it is possible, though we be poor, + To still keep the ravenous wolf from the door. + + ‘I reap and I mow, and I harrow and sow, + Sometimes a hedging and ditching I go; + No work comes amiss, for I thrash, and I plough, + Thus my bread I do earn by the sweat of my brow. + + ‘My wife she is willing to pull in a yoke, + We live like two lambs, nor each other provoke; + We both of us strive, like the labouring ant, + And do our endeavours to keep us from want. + + ‘And when I come home from my labour at night, + To my wife and my children, in whom I delight; + To see them come round me with prattling noise,— + Now these are the riches a poor man enjoys. + + ‘Though I am as weary as weary may be, + The youngest I commonly dance on my knee; + I find that content is a moderate feast, + I never repine at my lot in the least.’ + + Now the nobleman hearing what he did say, + Was pleased, and invited him home the next day; + His wife and his children he charged him to bring; + In token of favour he gave him a ring. + + He thankèd his honour, and taking his leave, + He went to his wife, who would hardly believe + But this same story himself he might raise; + Yet seeing the ring she was [lost] in amaze. + + Betimes in the morning the good wife she arose, + And made them all fine, in the best of their clothes; + The good man with his good wife, and children small, + They all went to dine at the nobleman’s hall. + + But when they came there, as truth does report, + All things were prepared in a plentiful sort; + And they at the nobleman’s table did dine, + With all kinds of dainties, and plenty of wine. + + The feast being over, he soon let them know, + That he then intended on them to bestow + A farm-house, with thirty good acres of land; + And gave them the writings then, with his own hand. + + ‘Because thou art careful, and good to thy wife, + I’ll make thy days happy the rest of thy life; + It shall be for ever, for thee and thy heirs, + Because I beheld thy industrious cares.’ + + No tongue then is able in full to express + The depth of their joy, and true thankfulness; + With many a curtsey, and bow to the ground,— + Such noblemen there are but few to be found. + + + +THE DRUNKARD’S LEGACY. + + + IN THREE PARTS. + +First, giving an account of a gentlemen a having a wild son, and who, +foreseeing he would come to poverty, had a cottage built with one door to +it, always kept fast; and how, on his dying bed, he charged him not to +open it till he was poor and slighted, which the young man promised he +would perform. Secondly, of the young man’s pawning his estate to a +vintner, who, when poor, kicked him out of doors; when thinking it time +to see his legacy, he broke open the cottage door, where instead of money +he found a gibbet and halter, which he put round his neck, and jumping +off the stool, the gibbet broke, and a thousand pounds came down upon his +head, which lay hid in the ceiling. Thirdly, of his redeeming his +estate, and fooling the vintner out of two hundred pounds; who, for being +jeered by his neighbours, cut his own throat. And lastly, of the young +man’s reformation. Very proper to be read by all who are given to +drunkenness. + +[PERCY, in the introductory remarks to the ballad of _The Heir of Linne_, +says, ‘the original of this ballad [_The Heir of Linne_] is found in the +editor’s folio MS.; the breaches and defects of which rendered the +insertion of supplemental stanzas necessary. These it is hoped the +reader will pardon, as, indeed, the completion of the story was suggested +by a modern ballad on a similar subject.’ The ballad thus alluded to by +Percy is _The Drunkard’s Legacy_, which, it may be remarked, although +styled by him a _modern_ ballad, is only so comparatively speaking; for +it must have been written long anterior to Percy’s time, and, by his own +admission, must be older than the latter portion of the _Heir of Linne_. +Our copy is taken from an old chap-book, without date or printer’s name, +and which is decorated with three rudely executed wood-cuts.] + + YOUNG people all, I pray draw near, + And listen to my ditty here; + Which subject shows that drunkenness + Brings many mortals to distress! + + As, for example, now I can + Tell you of one, a gentleman, + Who had a very good estate, + His earthly travails they were great. + + We understand he had one son + Who a lewd wicked race did run; + He daily spent his father’s store, + When moneyless, he came for more. + + The father oftentimes with tears, + Would this alarm sound in his ears; + ‘Son! thou dost all my comfort blast, + And thou wilt come to want at last.’ + + The son these words did little mind, + To cards and dice he was inclined; + Feeding his drunken appetite + In taverns, which was his delight. + + The father, ere it was too late, + He had a project in his pate, + Before his agèd days were run, + To make provision for his son. + + Near to his house, we understand, + He had a waste plat of land, + Which did but little profit yield, + On which he did a cottage build. + + The _Wise Man’s Project_ was its name; + There were few windows in the same; + Only one door, substantial thing, + Shut by a lock, went by a spring. + + Soon after he had played this trick, + It was his lot for to fall sick; + As on his bed he did lament, + Then for his drunken son he sent. + + He shortly came to his bedside; + Seeing his son, he thus replied: + ‘I have sent for you to make my will, + Which you must faithfully fulfil. + + ‘In such a cottage is one door, + Ne’er open it, do thou be sure, + Until thou art so poor, that all + Do then despise you, great and small. + + ‘For, to my grief, I do perceive, + When I am dead, this life you live + Will soon melt all thou hast away; + Do not forget these words, I pray. + + ‘When thou hast made thy friends thy foes, + Pawned all thy lands, and sold thy clothes; + Break ope the door, and there depend + To find something thy griefs to end.’ + + This being spoke, the son did say, + ‘Your dying words I will obey.’ + Soon after this his father dear + Did die, and buried was, we hear. + + PART II. + + Now, pray observe the second part, + And you shall hear his sottish heart; + He did the tavern so frequent, + Till he three hundred pounds had spent. + + This being done, we understand + He pawned the deeds of all his land + Unto a tavern-keeper, who, + When poor, did him no favour show. + + For, to fulfil his father’s will, + He did command this cottage still: + At length great sorrow was his share, + Quite moneyless, with garments bare. + + Being not able for to work, + He in the tavern there did lurk; + From box to box, among rich men, + Who oftentimes reviled him then. + + To see him sneak so up and down, + The vintner on him he did frown; + And one night kicked him out of door, + Charging him to come there no more. + + He in a stall did lie all night, + In this most sad and wretched plight; + Then thought it was high time to see + His father’s promised legacy. + + Next morning, then, oppressed with woe, + This young man got an iron crow; + And, as in tears he did lament, + Unto this little cottage went. + + When he the door had open got, + This poor, distressèd, drunken sot, + Who did for store of money hope, + He saw a gibbet and a rope. + + Under this rope was placed a stool, + Which made him look just like a fool; + Crying, ‘Alas! what shall I do? + Destruction now appears in view! + + ‘As my father foresaw this thing, + What sottishness to me would bring; + As moneyless, and free of grace, + His legacy I will embrace.’ + + So then, oppressed with discontent, + Upon the stool he sighing went; + And then, his precious life to check, + Did place the rope about his neck. + + Crying, ‘Thou, God, who sitt’st on high, + And on my sorrow casts an eye; + Thou knowest that I’ve not done well,— + Preserve my precious soul from hell. + + ‘’Tis true the slighting of thy grace, + Has brought me to this wretched case; + And as through folly I’m undone, + I’ll now eclipse my morning sun.’ + + When he with sighs these words had spoke, + Jumped off, and down the gibbet broke; + In falling, as it plain appears, + Dropped down about this young man’s ears, + + In shining gold, a thousand pound! + Which made the blood his ears surround: + Though in amaze, he cried, ‘I’m sure + This golden salve the sore will cure! + + ‘Blessed be my father, then,’ he cried, + ‘Who did this part for me so hide; + And while I do alive remain, + I never will get drunk again.’ + + PART III. + + Now, by the third part you will hear, + This young man, as it doth appear, + With care he then secured his chink, + And to the vintner’s went to drink. + + When the proud vintner did him see, + He frowned on him immediately, + And said, ‘Begone! or else with speed, + I’ll kick thee out of doors, indeed.’ + + Smiling, the young man he did say, + ‘Thou cruel knave! tell me, I pray, + As I have here consumed my store, + How durst thee kick me out of door? + + ‘To me thou hast been too severe; + The deeds of eightscore pounds a-year, + I pawned them for three hundred pounds, + That I spent here;—what makes such frowns?’ + + The vintner said unto him, ‘Sirrah! + Bring me one hundred pounds to-morrow + By nine o’clock,—take them again; + So get you out of doors till then.’ + + He answered, ‘If this chink I bring, + I fear thou wilt do no such thing. + He said, ‘I’ll give under my hand, + A note, that I to this will stand.’ + + Having the note, away he goes, + And straightway went to one of those + That made him drink when moneyless, + And did the truth to him confess. + + They both went to this heap of gold, + And in a bag he fairly told + A thousand pounds, ill yellow-boys, + And to the tavern went their ways. + + This bag they on the table set, + Making the vintner for to fret; + He said, ‘Young man! this will not do, + For I was but in jest with you.’ + + So then bespoke the young man’s friend: + ‘Vintner! thou mayest sure depend, + In law this note it will you cast, + And he must have his land at last.’ + + This made the vintner to comply,— + He fetched the deeds immediately; + He had one hundred pounds, and then + The young man got his deeds again. + + At length the vintner ’gan to think + How he was fooled out of his chink; + Said, ‘When ’tis found how I came off, + My neighbours will me game and scoff.’ + + So to prevent their noise and clatter + The vintner he, to mend the matter, + In two days after, it doth appear, + Did cut his throat from ear to ear. + + Thus he untimely left the world, + That to this young man proved a churl. + Now he who followed drunkenness, + Lives sober, and doth lands possess. + + Instead of wasting of his store, + As formerly, resolves no more + To act the same, but does indeed + Relieve all those that are in need. + + Let all young men now, for my sake, + Take care how they such havoc make; + For drunkenness, you plain may see, + Had like his ruin for to be. + + + +THE BOWES TRAGEDY. + + +Being a true relation of the Lives and Characters of ROGER WRIGHTSON and +MARTHA RAILTON, of the Town of Bowes, in the County of York, who died for +love of each other, in March, 1714/5 + + Tune of _Queen Dido_. + +[_The Bowes Tragedy_ is the original of Mallet’s _Edition and Emma_. In +these verses are preserved the village record of the incident which +suggested that poem. When Mallet published his ballad he subjoined an +attestation of the facts, which may be found in Evans’ _Old Ballads_, +vol. ii. p. 237. Edit. 1784. Mallet alludes to the statement in the +parish registry of Bowes, that ‘they both died of love, and were buried +in the same grave,’ &c. The following is an exact copy of the entry, as +transcribed by Mr. Denham, 17th April, 1847. The words which we have +printed in brackets are found interlined in another and a later hand by +some person who had inspected the register:— + + ‘Ro_d_ger Wrightson, Jun., and Martha Railton, both of Bowes, Buried + in one grave: He _D_ied in a Fever, and upon tolling his passing + Bell, she cry’d out My heart is broke, and in a _F_ew hours expir’d, + purely [_or supposed_] thro’ Love, March 15, 1714/5, aged about 20 + years each.’ + +Mr. Denham says:— + + ‘_The Bowes Tragedy_ was, I understand, written immediately after the + death of the lovers, by the then master of Bowes Grammar School. His + name I never heard. My father, who died a few years ago (aged nearly + 80), knew a younger sister of Martha Railton’s, who used to sing it + to strangers passing through Bowes. She was a poor woman, advanced + in years, and it brought her in many a piece of money.’] + + LET Carthage Queen be now no more + The subject of our mournful song; + Nor such old tales which, heretofore, + Did so amuse the teeming throng; + Since the sad story which I’ll tell, + All other tragedies excel. + + Remote in Yorkshire, near to Bowes, + Of late did Roger Wrightson dwell; + He courted Martha Railton, whose + Repute for virtue did excel; + Yet Roger’s friends would not agree, + That he to her should married be. + + Their love continued one whole year, + Full sore against their parents’ will; + And when he found them so severe, + His loyal heart began to chill: + And last Shrove Tuesday, took his bed, + With grief and woe encompassèd. + + Thus he continued twelve days’ space, + In anguish and in grief of mind; + And no sweet peace in any case, + This ardent lover’s heart could find; + But languished in a train of grief, + Which pierced his heart beyond relief. + + Now anxious Martha sore distressed, + A private message did him send, + Lamenting that she could not rest, + Till she had seen her loving friend: + His answer was, ‘Nay, nay, my dear, + Our folks will angry be I fear.’ + + Full fraught with grief, she took no rest, + But spent her time in pain and fear, + Till a few days before his death + She sent an orange to her dear; + But’s cruel mother in disdain, + Did send the orange back again. + + Three days before her lover died, + Poor Martha with a bleeding heart, + To see her dying lover hied, + In hopes to ease him of his smart; + Where she’s conducted to the bed, + In which this faithful young man laid. + + Where she with doleful cries beheld, + Her fainting lover in despair; + At which her heart with sorrow filled, + Small was the comfort she had there; + Though’s mother showed her great respect, + His sister did her much reject. + + She stayed two hours with her dear, + In hopes for to declare her mind; + But Hannah Wrightson {108a} stood so near, + No time to do it she could find: + So that being almost dead with grief, + Away she went without relief. + + Tears from her eyes did flow amain, + And she full oft would sighing say, + ‘My constant love, alas! is slain, + And to pale death, become a prey: + Oh, Hannah, Hannah thou art base; + Thy pride will turn to foul disgrace!’ + + She spent her time in godly prayers, + And quiet rest did from her fly; + She to her friends full oft declares, + She could not live if he did die: + Thus she continued till the bell, + Began to sound his fatal knell. + + And when she heard the dismal sound, + Her godly book she cast away, + With bitter cries would pierce the ground. + Her fainting heart ’gan to decay: + She to her pensive mother said, + ‘I cannot live now he is dead.’ + + Then after three short minutes’ space, + As she in sorrow groaning lay, + A gentleman {108b} did her embrace, + And mildly unto her did say, + ‘Dear melting soul be not so sad, + But let your passion be allayed.’ + + Her answer was, ‘My heart is burst, + My span of life is near an end; + My love from me by death is forced, + My grief no soul can comprehend.’ + Then her poor heart it waxèd faint, + When she had ended her complaint. + + For three hours’ space, as in a trance, + This broken-hearted creature lay, + Her mother wailing her mischance, + To pacify her did essay: + But all in vain, for strength being past, + She seemingly did breathe her last. + + Her mother, thinking she was dead, + Began to shriek and cry amain; + And heavy lamentations made, + Which called her spirit back again; + To be an object of hard fate, + And give to grief a longer date. + + Distorted with convulsions, she, + In dreadful manner gasping lay, + Of twelve long hours no moment free, + Her bitter groans did her dismay: + Then her poor heart being sadly broke, + Submitted to the fatal stroke. + + When things were to this issue brought, + Both in one grave were to be laid: + But flinty-hearted Hannah thought, + By stubborn means for to persuade, + Their friends and neighbours from the same, + For which she surely was to blame. + + And being asked the reason why, + Such base objections she did make, + She answerèd thus scornfully, + In words not fit for Billingsgate: + ‘She might have taken fairer on— + Or else be hanged:’ Oh heart of stone! + + What hell-born fury had possessed, + Thy vile inhuman spirit thus? + What swelling rage was in thy breast, + That could occasion this disgust, + And make thee show such spleen and rage, + Which life can’t cure nor death assuage? + + Sure some of Satan’s minor imps, + Ordainèd were to be thy guide; + To act the part of sordid pimps, + And fill thy heart with haughty pride; + But take this caveat once for all, + Such devilish pride must have a fall. + + But when to church the corpse was brought, + And both of them met at the gate; + What mournful tears by friends were shed, + When that alas it was too late,— + When they in silent grave were laid, + Instead of pleasing marriage-bed. + + You parents all both far and near, + By this sad story warning take; + Nor to your children be severe, + When they their choice in love do make; + Let not the love of cursèd gold, + True lovers from their love withhold. + + + +THE CRAFTY LOVER; + + + OR, THE LAWYER OUTWITTED. + + Tune of _I love thee more and more_. + +[THIS excellent old ballad is transcribed from a copy printed in +Aldermary church-yard. It still continues to be published in the old +broadside form.] + + OF a rich counsellor I write, + Who had one only daughter, + Who was of youthful beauty bright; + Now mark what follows after. {111} + Her uncle left her, I declare, + A sumptuous large possession; + Her father he was to take care + Of her at his discretion. + + She had ten thousand pounds a-year, + And gold and silver ready, + And courted was by many a peer, + Yet none could gain this lady. + At length a squire’s youngest son + In private came a-wooing, + And when he had her favour won, + He feared his utter ruin. + + The youthful lady straightway cried, + ‘I must confess I love thee, + Though lords and knights I have denied, + Yet none I prize above thee: + Thou art a jewel in my eye, + But here,’ said she, ‘the care is,— + I fear you will be doomed to die + For stealing of an heiress.’ + + The young man he replied to her + Like a true politician; + ‘Thy father is a counsellor, + I’ll tell him my condition. + Ten guineas they shall be his fee, + He’ll think it is some stranger; + Thus for the gold he’ll counsel me, + And keep me safe from danger.’ + + Unto her father he did go, + The very next day after; + But did not let the lawyer know + The lady was his daughter. + Now when the lawyer saw the gold + That he should be she gainer, + A pleasant trick to him he told + With safety to obtain her. + + ‘Let her provide a horse,’ he cried, + ‘And take you up behind her; + Then with you to some parson ride + Before her parents find her: + That she steals you, you may complain, + And so avoid their fury. + Now this is law I will maintain + Before or judge or jury. + + ‘Now take my writing and my seal, + Which I cannot deny thee, + And if you any trouble feel, + In court I will stand by thee.’ + ‘I give you thanks,’ the young man cried, + ‘By you I am befriended, + And to your house I’ll bring my bride + After the work is ended.’ + + Next morning, ere the day did break, + This news to her he carried; + She did her father’s counsel take + And they were fairly married, + And now they felt but ill at case, + And, doubts and fears expressing, + They home returned, and on their knees + They asked their father’s blessing, + + But when he had beheld them both, + He seemed like one distracted, + And vowed to be revenged on oath + For what they now had acted. + With that bespoke his new-made son— + ‘There can be no deceiving, + That this is law which we have done + Here is your hand and sealing!’ + + The counsellor did then reply, + Was ever man so fitted; + ‘My hand and seal I can’t deny, + By you I am outwitted. + ‘Ten thousand pounds a-year in store + ‘She was left by my brother, + And when I die there will be more, + For child I have no other. + + ‘She might have had a lord or knight, + From royal loins descended; + But, since thou art her heart’s delight, + I will not be offended; + ‘If I the gordian knot should part, + ‘Twere cruel out of measure; + Enjoy thy love, with all my heart, + In plenty, peace, and pleasure.’ + + + +THE DEATH OF QUEEN JANE. + + + (TRADITIONAL.) + +[WE have seen an old printed copy of this ballad, which was written +probably about the date of the event it records, 1537. Our version was +taken down from the singing of a young gipsy girl, to whom it had +descended orally through two generations. She could not recollect the +whole of it. In Miss Strickland’s _Lives of the Queens of England_, we +find the following passage: ‘An English ballad is extant, which, dwelling +on the elaborate mourning of Queen Jane’s ladies, informs the world, in a +line of pure bathos, + + In black were her ladies, and black were their faces.’ + +Miss Strickland does not appear to have seen the ballad to which she +refers; and as we are not aware of the existence of any other ballad on +the subject, we presume that her line of ‘pure bathos’ is merely a +corruption of one of the ensuing verses.] + + QUEEN JANE was in travail + For six weeks or more, + Till the women grew tired, + And fain would give o’er. + ‘O women! O women! + Good wives if ye be, + Go, send for King Henrie, + And bring him to me.’ + + King Henrie was sent for, + He came with all speed, + In a gownd of green velvet + From heel to the head. + ‘King Henrie! King Henrie! + If kind Henrie you be, + Send for a surgeon, + And bring him to me.’ + + The surgeon was sent for, + He came with all speed, + In a gownd of black velvet + From heel to the head. + He gave her rich caudle, + But the death-sleep slept she. + Then her right side was opened, + And the babe was set free. + + The babe it was christened, + And put out and nursed, + While the royal Queen Jane + She lay cold in the dust. + + * * * * * + + So black was the mourning, + And white were the wands, + Yellow, yellow the torches, + They bore in their hands. + + The bells they were muffled, + And mournful did play, + While the royal Queen Jane + She lay cold in the clay. + + Six knights and six lords + Bore her corpse through the grounds; + Six dukes followed after, + In black mourning gownds. + The flower of Old England + Was laid in cold clay, + Whilst the royal King Henrie + Came weeping away. + + + +THE WANDERING YOUNG GENTLEWOMAN; + + + OR, CATSKIN. + +[THE following version of this ancient English ballad has been collated +with three copies. In some editions it is called _Catskin’s Garland_; +_or_, _the Wandering Young Gentlewoman_. The story has a close +similarity to that of _Cinderella_, and is supposed to be of oriental +origin. Several versions of it are current in Scandinavia, Germany, +Italy, Poland, and Wales. For some account of it see _Pictorial Book of +Ballads_, ii. 153, edited by Mr. J. S. Moore.] + + PART I. + + YOU fathers and mothers, and children also, + Draw near unto me, and soon you shall know + The sense of my ditty, and I dare to say, + The like’s not been heard of this many a day. + + The subject which to you I am to relate, + It is of a young squire of vast estate; + The first dear infant his wife did him bear, + It was a young daughter of beauty most rare. + + He said to his wife, ‘Had this child been a boy, + ‘Twould have pleased me better, and increased my joy, + If the next be the same sort, I declare, + Of what I’m possessèd it shall have no share.’ + + In twelve months’ time after, this woman, we hear, + Had another daughter of beauty most clear; + And when that he knew it was but a female, + Into a bitter passion he presently fell, + + Saying, ‘Since this is of the same sort as the first, + In my habitation she shall not be nursed; + Pray let her be sent into the countrie, + For where I am, truly, this child shall not be.’ + + With tears his dear wife unto him did say, + ‘Husband, be contented, I’ll send her away.’ + Then to the countrie with speed her did send, + For to be brought up by one was her friend. + + Although that her father he hated her so, + He a good education on her did bestow; + And with a gold locket, and robes of the best, + This slighted young damsel was commonly dressed. + + And when unto stature this damsel was grown, + And found from her father she had no love shown, + She cried, ‘Before I will lay under his frown, + I’m resolvèd to travel the country around.’ + + PART II. + + But now mark, good people, the cream of the jest, + In what sort of manner this creature was dressed; + With cat-skins she made her a robe, I declare, + The which for her covering she daily did wear. + + Her own rich attire, and jewels beside, + Then up in a bundle by her they were tied, + And to seek her fortune she wandered away; + And when she had travelled a cold winter’s day, + + In the evening-tide she came to a town, + Where at a knight’s door she sat herself down, + For to rest herself, who was tirèd sore;— + This noble knight’s lady then came to the door. + + This fair creature seeing in such sort of dress, + The lady unto her these words did express: + ‘Whence camest thou, girl, and what wouldst thou have?’ + She said, ‘A night’s rest in your stable I crave.’ + + The lady said to her, ‘I’ll grant thy desire, + Come into the kitchen, and stand by the fire.’ + Then she thankèd the lady, and went in with haste; + And there she was gazed on from highest to least. + + And, being well warmed, her hunger was great, + They gave her a plate of good food for to eat, + And then to an outhouse this creature was led, + Where with fresh straw she soon made her a bed. + + And when in the morning the daylight she saw, + Her riches and jewels she hid in the straw; + And, being very cold, she then did retire + Into the kitchen, and stood by the fire. + + The cook said, ‘My lady hath promised that thee + Shall be as a scullion to wait upon me; + What say’st thou girl, art thou willing to bide?’ + ‘With all my heart truly,’ to him she replied. + + To work at her needle she could very well, + And for raising of paste few could her excel; + She being so handy, the cook’s heart did win, + And then she was called by the name of Catskin. + + PART III. + + The lady a son had both comely and tall, + Who oftentimes usèd to be at a ball + A mile out of town; and one evening-tide, + To dance at this ball away he did ride. + + Catskin said to his mother, ‘Pray, madam, let me + Go after your son now, this ball for to see.’ + With that in a passion this lady she grew, + And struck her with the ladle, and broke it in two. + + On being thus servèd she quick got away, + And in her rich garments herself did array; + And then to this ball she with speed did retire, + Where she dancèd so bravely that all did admire. + + The sport being done, the young squire did say, + ‘Young lady, where do you live? tell me, I pray.’ + Her answer was to him, ‘Sir, that I will tell,— + At the sign of the broken ladle I dwell.’ + + She being very nimble, got home first, ’tis said, + And in her catskin robes she soon was arrayed; + And into the kitchen again she did go, + But where she had been they did none of them know. + + Next night this young squire, to give him content, + To dance at this ball again forth he went. + She said, ‘Pray let me go this ball for to view.’ + Then she struck with the skimmer, and broke it in two. + + Then out of the doors she ran full of heaviness, + And in her rich garments herself soon did dress; + And to this ball ran away with all speed, + Where to see her dancing all wondered indeed. + + The ball being ended, the young squire said, + ‘Where is it you live?’ She again answerèd, + ‘Sir, because you ask me, account I will give, + At the sign of the broken skimmer I live.’ + + Being dark when she left him, she homeward did hie, + And in her catskin robes she was dressed presently, + And into the kitchen amongst them she went, + But where she had been they were all innocent. + + When the squire dame home, and found Catskin there, + He was in amaze and began for to swear; + ‘For two nights at the ball has been a lady, + The sweetest of beauties that ever I did see. + + ‘She was the best dancer in all the whole place, + And very much like our Catskin in the face; + Had she not been dressed in that costly degree, + I should have swore it was Catskin’s body. + + Next night to the ball he did go once more, + And she askèd his mother to go as before, + Who, having a basin of water in hand, + She threw it at Catskin, as I understand. + + Shaking her wet ears, out of doors she did run, + And dressèd herself when this thing she had done. + To the ball once more she then went her ways; + To see her fine dancing they all gave her praise. + + And having concluded, the young squire said he, + ‘From whence might you come, pray, lady, tell me?’ + Her answer was, ‘Sir, you shall soon know the same, + From the sign of the basin of water I came.’ + + Then homeward she hurried, as fast as could be; + This young squire then was resolvèd to see + Whereto she belonged, and, following Catskin, + Into an old straw house he saw her creep in. + + He said, ‘O brave Catskin, I find it is thee, + Who these three nights together has so charmèd me; + Thou’rt the sweetest of creatures my eyes e’er beheld, + With joy and content my heart now is filled. + + ‘Thou art our cook’s scullion, but as I have life, + Grant me but thy love, and I’ll make thee my wife, + And thou shalt have maids for to be at thy call.’ + ‘Sir, that cannot be, I’ve no portion at all.’ + + ‘Thy beauty’s a portion, my joy and my dear, + I prize it far better than thousands a year, + And to have my friends’ consent I have got a trick, + I’ll go to my bed, and feign myself sick. + + ‘There no one shall tend me but thee I profess; + So one day or another in thy richest dress, + Thou shalt be clad, and if my parents come nigh, + I’ll tell them ’tis for thee that sick I do lie.’ + + PART IV. + + Thus having consulted, this couple parted. + Next day this young squire he took to his bed; + And when his dear parents this thing both perceived, + For fear of his death they were right sorely grieved. + + To tend him they send for a nurse speedily, + He said, ‘None but Catskin my nurse now shall be.’ + His parents said, ‘No, son.’ He said, ‘But she shall, + Or else I’ll have none for to nurse me at all.’ + + His parents both wondered to hear him say thus, + That no one but Catskin must be his nurse; + So then his dear parents their son to content, + Up into his chamber poor Catskin they sent. + + Sweet cordials and other rich things were prepared, + Which between this young couple were equally shared; + And when all alone they in each other’s arms, + Enjoyed one another in love’s pleasant charms. + + And at length on a time poor Catskin, ’tis said, + In her rich attire again was arrayed, + And when that his mother to the chamber drew near, + Then much like a goddess did Catskin appear; + + Which caused her to stare, and thus for to say, + ‘What young lady is this, come tell me, I pray?’ + He said, ‘It is Catskin for whom sick I lie, + And except I do have her with speed I shall die.’ + + His mother then hastened to call up the knight, + Who ran up to see this amazing great sight; + He said, ‘Is this Catskin we held in such scorn? + I ne’er saw a finer dame since I was born.’ + + The old knight he said to her, ‘I prithee tell me, + From whence thou didst come and of what family?’ + Then who were her parents she gave them to know, + And what was the cause of her wandering so. + + The young squire he cried, ‘If you will save my life, + Pray grant this young creature she may be my wife.’ + His father replied, ‘Thy life for to save, + If you have agreed, my consent you may have.’ + + Next day, with great triumph and joy as we hear, + There were many coaches came far and near; + Then much like a goddess dressed in rich array, + Catskin was married to the squire that day. + + For several days this wedding did last, + Where was many a topping and gallant repast, + And for joy the bells rung out all over the town, + And bottles of canary rolled merrily round. + + When Catskin was married, her fame for to raise, + Who saw her modest carriage they all gave her praise; + Thus her charming beauty the squire did win; + And who lives so great now as he and Catskin. + + PART V. + + Now in the fifth part I’ll endeavour to show, + How things with her parents and sister did go; + Her mother and sister of life are bereft, + And now all alone the old squire is left. + + Who hearing his daughter was married so brave, + He said, ‘In my noddle a fancy I have; + Dressed like a poor man now a journey I’ll make, + And see if she on me some pity will take.’ + + Then dressed like a beggar he went to her gate, + Where stood his daughter, who looked very great; + He cried, ‘Noble lady, a poor man I be, + And am now forced to crave charity.’ + + With a blush she asked him from whence that he came; + And with that he told her, and likewise his name. + She cried ‘I’m your daughter, whom you slighted so, + Yet, nevertheless, to you kindness I’ll show. + + ‘Through mercy the Lord hath provided for me; + Pray, father, come in and sit down then,’ said she. + Then the best provisions the house could afford, + For to make him welcome was set on the board. + + She said, ‘You are welcome, feed hearty, I pray, + And, if you are willing, with me you shall stay, + So long as you live.’ Then he made this reply: + ‘I only am come now thy love for to try. + + ‘Through mercy, my dear child, I’m rich and not poor, + I have gold and silver enough now in store; + And for this love which at thy hands I have found, + For thy portion I’ll give thee ten thousand pound.’ + + So in a few days after, as I understand, + This man he went home, and sold off all his land, + And ten thousand pounds to his daughter did give, + And now altogether in love they do live. + + + +THE BRAVE EARL BRAND AND THE KING OF ENGLAND’S DAUGHTER. + + + (TRADITIONAL.) + +[THIS ballad, which resembles the Danish ballad of _Ribolt_, was taken +down from the recitation of an old fiddler in Northumberland: in one +verse there is an _hiatus_, owing to the failure of the reciter’s memory. +The refrain should be repeated in every verse.] + + O DID you ever hear of the brave Earl Brand, + Hey lillie, ho lillie lallie; + His courted the king’s daughter o’ fair England, + I’ the brave nights so early! + + She was scarcely fifteen years that tide, + When sae boldly she came to his bed-side, + + ‘O, Earl Brand, how fain wad I see + A pack of hounds let loose on the lea.’ + + ‘O, lady fair, I have no steed but one, + But thou shalt ride and I will run.’ + + ‘O, Earl Brand, but my father has two, + And thou shalt have the best of tho’.’ + + Now they have ridden o’er moss and moor, + And they have met neither rich nor poor; + + Till at last they met with old Carl Hood, + He’s aye for ill, and never for good. + + ‘Now Earl Brand, an ye love me, + Slay this old Carl and gar him dee.’ + + ‘O, lady fair, but that would be sair, + To slay an auld Carl that wears grey hair. + + ‘My own lady fair, I’ll not do that, + I’ll pay him his fee . . . . . . ’ + + ‘O, where have ye ridden this lee lang day, + And where have ye stown this fair lady away?’ + + ‘I have not ridden this lee lang day, + Nor yet have I stown this lady away; + + ‘For she is, I trow, my sick sister, + Whom I have been bringing fra’ Winchester.’ + + ‘If she’s been sick, and nigh to dead, + What makes her wear the ribbon so red? + + ‘If she’s been sick, and like to die, + What makes her wear the gold sae high?’ + + When came the Carl to the lady’s yett, + He rudely, rudely rapped thereat. + + ‘Now where is the lady of this hall?’ + ‘She’s out with her maids a playing at the ball.’ + + ‘Ha, ha, ha! ye are all mista’en, + Ye may count your maidens owre again. + + ‘I met her far beyond the lea + With the young Earl Brand his leman to be.’ + + Her father of his best men armed fifteen, + And they’re ridden after them bidene. + + The lady looked owre her left shoulder then, + Says, ‘O Earl Brand we are both of us ta’en.’ + + ‘If they come on me one by one, + You may stand by till the fights be done; + + ‘But if they come on me one and all, + You may stand by and see me fall.’ + + They came upon him one by one, + Till fourteen battles he has won; + + And fourteen men he has them slain, + Each after each upon the plain. + + But the fifteenth man behind stole round, + And dealt him a deep and a deadly wound. + + Though he was wounded to the deid, + He set his lady on her steed. + + They rode till they came to the river Doune, + And there they lighted to wash his wound. + + ‘O, Earl Brand, I see your heart’s blood!’ + ‘It’s nothing but the glent and my scarlet hood.’ + + They rode till they came to his mother’s yett, + So faint and feebly he rapped thereat. + + ‘O, my son’s slain, he is falling to swoon, + And it’s all for the sake of an English loon.’ + + ‘O, say not so, my dearest mother, + But marry her to my youngest brother— + + ‘To a maiden true he’ll give his hand, + Hey lillie, ho lillie lallie. + + To the king’s daughter o’ fair England, + To a prize that was won by a slain brother’s brand, + I’ the brave nights so early!’ + + + +THE JOVIAL HUNTER OF BROMSGROVE; + + + OR, THE OLD MAN AND HIS THREE SONS. + + (TRADITIONAL.) + +[THE following ballad has long been popular in Worcestershire and some of +the adjoining counties. It was printed for the first time by Mr. Allies +of Worcester, under the title of _The Jovial Hunter of Bromsgrove_; but +amongst the peasantry of that county, and the adjoining county of +Warwick, it has always been called _The Old Man and his Three Sons_—the +name given to a fragment of the ballad still used as a nursery song in +the north of England, the chorus of which slightly varies from that of +the ballad. See post, p. 250. The title of _The Old Man and his Three +Sons_ is derived from the usage of calling a ballad after the first +line—a practice that has descended to the present day. In Shakspeare’s +comedy of _As You Like It_ there appears to be an allusion to this +ballad. Le Beau says,— + + There comes an old man and his three sons, + +to which Celia replies, + + I could match this beginning with an old tale.—i. 2. + +Whether _The Jovial Hunter_ belongs to either Worcestershire or +Warwickshire is rather questionable. The probability is that it is a +north country ballad connected with the family of Bolton, of Bolton, in +Wensleydale. A tomb, said to be that of Sir Ryalas Bolton, the _Jovial +Hunter_, is shown in Bromsgrove church, Worcestershire; but there is no +evidence beyond tradition to connect it with the name or deeds of any +‘Bolton;’ indeed it is well known that the tomb belongs to a family of +another name. In the following version are preserved some of the +peculiarities of the Worcestershire dialect.] + + OLD Sir Robert Bolton had three sons, + Wind well thy horn, good hunter; + And one of them was Sir Ryalas, + For he was a jovial hunter. + + He ranged all round down by the wood side, + Wind well thy horn, good hunter, + Till in a tree-top a gay lady he spied, + For he was a jovial hunter. + + ‘Oh, what dost thee mean, fair lady,’ said he, + Wind well thy horn, good hunter; + ‘The wild boar’s killed my lord, and has thirty men gored, + And thou beest a jovial hunter.’ + + ‘Oh, what shall I do this wild boar for to see?’ + Wind well thy horn, good hunter; + ‘Oh, thee blow a blast and he’ll come unto thee, + As thou beest a jovial hunter.’ + + Then he blowed a blast, full north, east, west, and south, + Wind well thy horn, good hunter; + And the wild boar then heard him full in his den, + As he was a jovial hunter. + + Then he made the best of his speed unto him, + Wind well thy horn, good hunter; + [Swift flew the boar, with his tusks smeared with [gore], {125a} + To Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter. + + Then the wild boar, being so stout and so strong, + Wind well thy horn, good hunter; + Thrashed down the trees as he ramped him along, + To Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter. + + ‘Oh, what dost thee want of me?’ wild boar, said he, {125b} + Wind well thy horn, good hunter; + ‘Oh, I think in my heart I can do enough for thee, + For I am the jovial hunter.’ + + Then they fought four hours in a long summer day, + Wind well thy horn, good hunter; + Till the wild boar fain would have got him away + From Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter. + + Then Sir Ryalas drawed his broad sword with might, + Wind well thy horn, good hunter; + And he fairly cut the boar’s head off quite, + For he was a jovial hunter. + + Then out of the wood the wild woman flew, + Wind well thy horn, good hunter; + ‘Oh, my pretty spotted pig thou hast slew, + For thou beest a jovial hunter. + + ‘There are three things, I demand them of thee,’ + Wind well thy horn, good hunter; + ‘It’s thy horn, and thy hound, and thy gay lady, + As thou beest a jovial hunter.’ + + ‘If these three things thou dost ask of me,’ + Wind well thy horn, good hunter; + ‘It’s just as my sword and thy neck can agree, + For I am a jovial hunter.’ + + Then into his long locks the wild woman flew, + Wind well thy horn, good hunter; + Till she thought in her heart to tear him through, + Though he was a jovial hunter. + + Then Sir Ryalas drawed his broad sword again, + Wind well thy horn, good hunter, + And he fairly split her head into twain, + For he was a jovial hunter. + + In Bromsgrove church, the knight he doth lie, + Wind well thy horn, good hunter; + And the wild boar’s head is pictured thereby, + Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter. + + + +LADY ALICE. + + +[THIS old ballad is regularly published by the stall printers. The +termination resembles that of _Lord Lovel_ and other ballads. See _Early +Ballads_, Ann. Ed. p. 134. An imperfect traditional copy was printed in +_Notes and Queries_.] + + LADY ALICE was sitting in her bower window, + At midnight mending her quoif; + And there she saw as fine a corpse + As ever she saw in her life. + + ‘What bear ye, what bear ye, ye six men tall? + What bear ye on your shouldèrs?’ + ‘We bear the corpse of Giles Collins, + An old and true lover of yours.’ + + ‘O, lay him down gently, ye six men tall, + All on the grass so green, + And to-morrow when the sun goes down, + Lady Alice a corpse shall be seen. + + ‘And bury me in Saint Mary’s Church, + All for my love so true; + And make me a garland of marjoram, + And of lemon thyme, and rue.’ + + Giles Collins was buried all in the east, + Lady Alice all in the west; + And the roses that grew on Giles Collins’s grave, + They reached Lady Alice’s breast. + + The priest of the parish he chancèd to pass, + And he severed those roses in twain. + Sure never were seen such true lovers before, + Nor e’er will there be again. + + + +THE FELON SEWE OF ROKEBY AND THE FREERES OF RICHMOND. + + +[THIS very curious ballad, or, more properly, metrical romance, was +originally published by the late Doctor Whitaker in his _History of +Craven_, from an ancient MS., which was supposed to be unique. +Whitaker’s version was transferred to Evan’s _Old __Ballads_, the editor +of which work introduced some judicious conjectural emendations. In +reference to this republication, Dr. Whitaker inserted the following note +in the second edition of his _History_:— + + This tale, saith my MS., was known of old to a few families only, and + by them held so precious, that it was never intrusted to the memory of + the son till the father was on his death-bed. But times are altered, + for since the first edition of this work, a certain bookseller [the + late Mr. Evans] has printed it verbatim, with little acknowledgment to + the first editor. He might have recollected that _The Felon Sewe_ had + been already reclaimed _property vested_. However, as he is an + ingenious and deserving man, this hint shall suffice.—_History of + Craven_, second edition, London, 1812. + +When Sir Walter Scott published his poem of Rokeby, Doctor Whitaker +discovered that _The Felon Sewe_ was not of such ‘exceeding rarity’ as he +had been led to suppose; for he was then made acquainted with the fact +that another MS. of the ‘unique’ ballad was preserved in the archives of +the Rokeby family. This version was published by Scott, who considered +it superior to that printed by Whitaker; and it must undoubtedly be +admitted to be more complete, and, in general, more correct. It has also +the advantage of being authenticated by the traditions of an ardent +family; while of Dr. Whitaker’s version we know nothing more than that it +was ‘printed from a MS. in his possession.’ The readings of the Rokeby +MS., however, are not always to be preferred; and in order to produce as +full and accurate a version as the materials would yield, the following +text has been founded upon a careful collation of both MSS. A few +alterations have been adopted, but only when the necessity for them +appeared to be self-evident; and the orthography has been rendered +tolerably uniform, for there is no good reason why we should have ‘sewe,’ +‘scho,’ and ‘sike,’ in some places, and the more modern forms of ‘sow,’ +‘she,’ and ‘such,’ in others. If the MSS. were correctly transcribed, +which we have no ground for doubting, they must both be referred to a +much later period than the era when the author flourished. The language +of the poem is that of Craven, in Yorkshire; and, although the +composition is acknowledged on all hands to be one of the reign of Henry +VII., the provincialisms of that most interesting mountain district have +been so little affected by the spread of education, that the _Felon Sewe_ +is at the present day perfectly comprehensible to any Craven peasant, and +to such a reader neither note nor glossary is necessary. Dr. Whitaker’s +explanations are, therefore, few and brief, for he was thoroughly +acquainted with the language and the district. Scott, on the contrary, +who knew nothing of the dialect, and confounded its pure Saxon with his +Lowland Scotch, gives numerous notes, which only display his want of the +requisite local knowledge, and are, consequently, calculated to mislead. + +The _Felon Sewe_ belongs to the same class of compositions as the +_Hunting of the Hare_, reprinted by Weber, and the _Tournament of +Tottenham_, in Percy’s _Reliques_. Scott says that ‘the comic romance +was a sort of parody upon the usual subjects of minstrel poetry.’ This +idea may be extended, for the old comic romances were in many instances +not merely ‘sorts of parodies,’ but real parodies on compositions which +were popular in their day, although they have not descended to us. We +certainly remember to have met with an old chivalric romance, in which +the leading incidents were similar to those of the _Felon Sewe_. + +It may be observed, also, in reference to this poem, that the design is +twofold, the ridicule being equally aimed at the minstrels and the +clergy. The author was in all probability a follower of Wickliffe. +There are many sly satirical allusions to the Romish faith and practices, +in which no orthodox Catholic would have ventured to indulge. + +Ralph Rokeby, who gave the sow to the Franciscan Friars of Richmond, is +believed to have been the Ralph who lived in the reign of Henry VII. +Tradition represents the Baron as having been ‘a fellow of infinite +jest,’ and the very man to bestow so valuable a gift on the convent! The +Mistress Rokeby of the ballad was, according to the pedigree of the +family, a daughter and heiress of Danby, of Yafforth. Friar Theobald +cannot be traced, and therefore we may suppose that the monk had some +other name; the minstrel author, albeit a Wickliffite, not thinking it +quite prudent, perhaps, to introduce a priest _in propriâ personâ_. The +story is told with spirit, and the verse is graceful and flowing.] + + FITTE THE FIRSTE. + + YE men that will of aunters wynne, + That late within this lande hath bin, + Of on I will yow telle; + And of a sewe that was sea strang, + Alas! that ever scho lived sea lang, + For fell folk did scho wele. {129} + + Scho was mare than other three, + The grizeliest beast that ere mote bee + Her hede was greate and graye; + Scho was bred in Rokebye woode, + Ther war few that thither yoode, {130a} + But cam belive awaye. + + Her walke was endlang Greta syde, + Was no barne that colde her byde, + That was fra heven or helle; {130b} + Ne never man that had that myght, + That ever durst com in her syght, + Her force it was sea felle. + + Raphe {130c} of Rokebye, with full gode wyll, + The freers of Richmonde gav her tyll, + Full wele to gar thayme fare; + Freer Myddeltone by name, + Hee was sent to fetch her hame, + Yt rewed him syne full sare. + + Wyth hym tooke hee wyght men two, + Peter of Dale was on of tho, + Tother was Bryan of Beare; {130d} + Thatte wele durst strike wyth swerde and knife, + And fyght full manlie for theyr lyfe, + What tyme as musters were. {130e} + + These three men wended at theyr wyll, + This wickede sewe gwhyl they cam tyll, + Liggand under a tree; + Rugg’d and rustic was her here, + Scho rase up wyth a felon fere, {131a} + To fyght agen the three. + + Grizely was scho for to meete, + Scho rave the earthe up wyth her feete, + The barke cam fra’ the tree: + When Freer Myddeltone her saugh, + Wete yow wele hee list not laugh, + Full earnestful luik’d hee. + + These men of auncestors {131b} were so wight, + They bound them bauldly for to fyght, + And strake at her full sare; + Until a kilne they garred her flee, + Wolde God sende thayme the victorye, + They wolde aske hym na maire. + + The sewe was in the kilne hoile doone, + And they wer on the bawke aboone, + For hurting of theyr feete; + They wer sea sauted {131c} wyth this sewe, + That ’mang thayme was a stalwarth stewe, + The kilne began to reeke! + + Durst noe man nighe her wyth his hande, + But put a rape downe wyth a wande, + And heltered her ful meete; + They hauled her furth agen her wyll, + Qunyl they cam until a hille, + A little fra the streete. {131d} + + And ther scho made thayme sike a fray, + As, had they lived until Domesday, + They colde yt nere forgette: + Scho brayded upon every syde, + And ranne on thayme gapyng ful wyde, + For nathing wolde scho lette. + + Scho gaf sike hard braydes at the bande + That Peter of Dale had in his hande, + Hee myght not holde hys feete; + Scho chasèd thayme sea to and fro, + The wight men never wer sea woe, + Ther mesure was not mete. + + Scho bound her boldly to abide, + To Peter of Dale scho cam aside, + Wyth mony a hideous yelle; + Scho gaped sea wide and cryed sea hee, + The freer sayd, ‘I conjure thee, + Thou art a fiend of helle! + + ‘Thou art comed hider for sum trayne, + I conjure thee to go agayne, + Wher thou was wont to dwell.’ + He sainèd hym wyth crosse and creede, + Tooke furth a booke, began to reade, + In Ste Johan hys gospell. + + The sewe scho wolde not Latyne heare, + But rudely rushèd at the freer, + That blynkèd all his blee; {132a} + And when scho wolde have takken holde, + The freer leapt as I. H. S. wolde, {132b} + And bealed hym wyth a tree. + + Scho was brim as anie beare, + For all their meete to laboure there, + To thayme yt was noe boote; + On tree and bushe that by her stode, + Scho vengèd her as scho wer woode, + And rave thayme up by roote. + + Hee sayd, ‘Alas that I wer freer, + I shal bee hugged asunder here, + Hard is my destinie! + Wiste my brederen, in this houre, + That I was set in sike a stoure, + They wolde pray for mee!’ + + This wicked beaste thatte wrought the woe, + Tooke that rape from the other two, + And than they fledd all three; + They fledd away by Watling streete, + They had no succour but their feete, + Yt was the maire pittye. + + The fielde it was both loste and wonne, + The sewe wente hame, and thatte ful soone, + To Morton-on-the-Greene. + When Raphe of Rokeby saw the rape, + He wist that there had bin debate, + Whereat the sewe had beene. + + He bade thayme stand out of her waye, + For scho had had a sudden fraye,— + ‘I saw never sewe sea keene, + Some new thingis shall wee heare, + Of her and Myddeltone the freer, + Some battel hath ther beene.’ + + But all that servèd him for nought,— + Had they not better succour sought, {133} + They wer servèd therfore loe. + Then Mistress Rokebye came anon, + And for her brought scho meete ful soone, + The sewe cam her untoe. + + Scho gav her meete upon the flower; + [Scho made a bed beneath a bower, + With moss and broom besprent; + The sewe was gentle as mote be, + Ne rage ne ire flashed fra her e’e, + Scho seemèd wele content.] + + FITTE THE SECONDE. + + When Freer Myddeltone com home, + Hys breders war ful faine ilchone, + And thanked God for hys lyfe; + He told thayme all unto the ende, + How hee had foughten wyth a fiende, + And lived thro’ mickle stryfe. + + ‘Wee gav her battel half a daye, + And was faine to flee awaye + For saving of oure lyfe; + And Peter Dale wolde never blin, + But ran as faste as he colde rinn, + Till he cam till hys wyfe.’ + + The Warden sayde, ‘I am ful woe + That yow sholde bee torment soe, + But wee had wyth yow beene! + Had wee bene ther, yowr breders alle, + Wee wolde hav garred the warlo {134} falle, + That wrought yow all thys teene.’ + + Freer Myddeltone, he sayde soon, ‘Naye, + In faythe ye wolde hav ren awaye, + When moste misstirre had bin; + Ye all can speke safte wordes at home, + The fiend wolde ding yow doone ilk on, + An yt bee als I wene, + + Hee luik’d sea grizely al that nyght.’ + The Warden sayde, ‘Yon man wol fyght + If ye saye ought but gode, + Yon guest {135a} hath grievèd hym sea sore; + Holde your tongues, and speake ne more, + Hee luiks als hee wer woode.’ + + The Warden wagèd {135b} on the morne, + Two boldest men that ever wer borne, + I weyne, or ere shall bee: + Tone was Gilbert Griffin sonne, + Ful mickle worship hadde hee wonne, + Both by land and sea. + + Tother a bastard sonne of Spaine, + Mony a Sarazin hadde hee slaine; + Hys dint hadde garred thayme dye. + Theis men the battel undertoke + Agen the sewe, as saythe the boke, + And sealed securitye, + + That they shold boldly bide and fyghte, + And scomfit her in maine and myghte, + Or therfor sholde they dye. + The Warden sealed toe thayme againe, + And sayde, ‘If ye in fielde be slaine, + This condition make I: + + ‘Wee shall for yow praye, syng, and reade, + Until Domesdaye wyth heartye speede, + With al our progenie.’ + Then the lettres wer wele made, + The bondes wer bounde wyth seales brade, + As deeds of arms sholde bee. + + Theise men-at-arms thatte wer sea wight, + And wyth theire armour burnished bryght, + They went the sewe toe see. + Scho made at thayme sike a roare, + That for her they fear it sore, + And almaiste bounde to flee. + + Scho cam runnyng thayme agayne, + And saw the bastarde sonne of Spaine, + Hee brayded owt hys brande; + Ful spiteouslie at her hee strake, + Yet for the fence that he colde make, + Scho strake it fro hys hande, + And rave asander half hys sheelde, + And bare hym backwerde in the fielde, + Hee mought not her gainstande. + + Scho wolde hav riven hys privich geare, + But Gilbert wyth hys swerde of warre, + Hee strake at her ful strang. + In her shouther hee held the swerde; + Than was Gilbert sore afearde, + When the blade brak in twang. + + And whan in hande hee had her ta’en, + Scho toke hym by the shouther bane, + And held her hold ful faste; + Scho strave sea stifflie in thatte stoure, + Scho byt thro’ ale hys rich armoure, + Till bloud cam owt at laste. + + Than Gilbert grievèd was sea sare, + That hee rave off the hyde of haire; + The flesh cam fra the bane, + And wyth force hee held her ther, + And wanne her worthilie in warre, + And band her hym alane; + + And lifte her on a horse sea hee, + Into two panyers made of a tree, + And toe Richmond anon. + When they sawe the felon come, + They sange merrilye Te Deum! + The freers evrich one. + + They thankyd God and Saynte Frauncis, + That they had wonne the beaste of pris, + And nere a man was sleyne: + There never didde man more manlye, + The Knyght Marone, or Sir Guye, + Nor Louis of Lothraine. + + If yow wyl any more of thys, + I’ the fryarie at Richmond {137} written yt is, + In parchment gude and fyne, + How Freer Myddeltone sea hende, + Att Greta Bridge conjured a fiende, + In lykeness of a swyne. + + Yt is wel knowen toe manie a man, + That Freer Theobald was warden than, + And thys fel in hys tyme. + And Chryst thayme bles both ferre and nere, + Al that for solas this doe here, + And hym that made the ryme. + + Raphe of Rokeby wid ful gode wyl, + The freers of Richmond gav her tyll, + This sewe toe mende ther fare; + Freer Myddeltone by name, + He wold bring the felon hame, + That rewed hym sine ful sare. + + + + +Songs. + + +ARTHUR O’BRADLEY’S WEDDING. + + +[IN the ballad called _Robin Hood_, _his Birth_, _Breeding_, _Valour and +Marriage_, occurs the following line:— + + And some singing Arthur-a-Bradley. + +Antiquaries are by no means agreed as to what is the song of +_Arthur-a-Bradley_, there alluded to, for it so happens that there are no +less than three different songs about this same Arthur-a-Bradley. Ritson +gives one of them in his _Robin Hood_, commencing thus:— + + See you not Pierce the piper. + +He took it from a black-letter copy in a private collection, compared +with, and very much corrected by, a copy contained in _An Antidote +against Melancholy_, _made up in pills compounded of witty Ballads_, +_jovial Songs_, _and merry Catches_, 1661. Ritson quotes another, and +apparently much more modern song on the same subject, and to the same +tune, beginning,— + + All in the merry month of May. + +It is a miserable composition, as may be seen by referring to a copy +preserved in the third volume of the Roxburgh Ballads. There is another +song, the one given by us, which appears to be as ancient as any of those +of which Arthur O’Bradley is the hero, and from its subject being a +wedding, as also from its being the only Arthur O’Bradley song that we +have been enabled to trace in broadside and chap-books of the last +century, we are induced to believe that it may be the song mentioned in +the old ballad, which is supposed to have been written in the reign of +Charles I. An obscure music publisher, who about thirty years ago +resided in the Metropolis, brought out an edition of _Arthur O’Bradley’s +Wedding_, with the prefix ‘Written by Mr. Taylor.’ This Mr. Taylor was, +however, only a low comedian of the day, and the ascribed authorship was +a mere trick on the publisher’s part to increase the sale of the song. +We are not able to give any account of the hero, but from his being +alluded to by so many of our old writers, he was, perhaps, not altogether +a fictitious personage. Ben Jonson names him in one of his plays, and he +is also mentioned in Dekker’s _Honest Whore_. Of one of the tunes +mentioned in the song, viz., _Hence_, _Melancholy_! we can give no +account; the other,—_Mad Moll_, may be found in Playford’s +_Dancing-Master_, 1698: it is the same tune as the one known by the names +of _Yellow Stockings_ and the _Virgin Queen_, the latter title seeming to +connect it with Queen Elizabeth, as the name of Mad Moll does with the +history of Mary, who was subject to mental aberration. The words of _Mad +Moll_ are not known to exist, but probably consisted of some fulsome +panegyric on the virgin queen, at the expense of her unpopular sister. +From the mention of _Hence_, _Melancholy_, and _Mad Moll_, it is presumed +that they were both popular favourites when _Arthur O’Bradley’s Wedding_ +was written. A good deal of vulgar grossness has been at different times +introduced into this song, which seems in this respect to be as elastic +as the French chanson, _Cadet Rouselle_, which is always being altered, +and of which there are no two copies alike. The tune of _Arthur +O’Bradley_ is given by Mr. Chappell in his _Popular Music_.] + + COME, neighbours, and listen awhile, + If ever you wished to smile, + Or hear a true story of old, + Attend to what I now unfold! + ’Tis of a lad whose fame did resound + Through every village and town around, + For fun, for frolic, and for whim, + None ever was to equal him, + And his name was Arthur O’Bradley! + O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur O’Bradley! + Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O! + + Now, Arthur being stout and bold, + And near upon thirty years old, + He needs a wooing would go, + To get him a helpmate, you know. + So, gaining young Dolly’s consent, + Next to be married they went; + And to make himself noble appear, + He mounted the old padded mare; + He chose her because she was blood, + And the prime of his old daddy’s stud. + She was wind-galled, spavined, and blind, + And had lost a near leg behind; + She was cropped, and docked, and fired, + And seldom, if ever, was tired, + She had such an abundance of bone; + So he called her his high-bred roan, + A credit to Arthur O’Bradley! + O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur O’Bradley! + Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O! + + Then he packed up his drudgery hose, + And put on his holiday clothes; + His coat was of scarlet so fine, + Full trimmed with buttons behind; + Two sleeves it had it is true, + One yellow, the other was blue, + And the cuffs and the capes were of green, + And the longest that ever were seen; + His hat, though greasy and tore, + Cocked up with a feather before, + And under his chin it was tied, + With a strip from an old cow’s hide; + His breeches three times had been turned, + And two holes through the left side were burned; + Two boots he had, but not kin, + One leather, the other was tin; + And for stirrups he had two patten rings, + Tied fast to the girth with two strings; + Yet he wanted a good saddle cloth, + Which long had been eat by the moth. + ’Twas a sad misfortune, you’ll say, + But still he looked gallant and gay, + And his name it was Arthur O’Bradley! + O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur O’Bradley! + Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O! + + Thus accoutred, away he did ride, + While Dolly she walked by his side; + Till coming up to the church door, + In the midst of five thousand or more, + Then from the old mare he did alight, + Which put the clerk in a fright; + And the parson so fumbled and shook, + That presently down dropped his book. + Then Arthur began for to sing, + And made the whole church to ring; + Crying, ‘Dolly, my dear, come hither, + And let us be tacked together; + For the honour of Arthur O’Bradley!’ + O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur O’Bradley! + Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O! + + Then the vicar discharged his duty, + Without either reward or fee, + Declaring no money he’d have; + And poor Arthur he’d none to give: + So, to make him a little amends, + He invited him home with his friends, + To have a sweet kiss at the bride, + And eat a good dinner beside. + The dishes, though few, were good, + And the sweetest of animal food: + First, a roast guinea-pig and a bantam, + A sheep’s head stewed in a lanthorn, {141} + Two calves’ feet, and a bull’s trotter, + The fore and hind leg of an otter, + With craw-fish, cockles, and crabs, + Lump-fish, limpets, and dabs, + Red herrings and sprats, by dozens, + To feast all their uncles and cousins; + Who seemed well pleased with their treat, + And heartily they did all eat, + For the honour of Arthur O’Bradley! + O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur O’Bradley! + Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O! + + Now, the guests being well satisfied, + The fragments were laid on one side, + When Arthur, to make their hearts merry, + Brought ale, and parkin, {142} and perry; + When Timothy Twig stept in, + With his pipe, and a pipkin of gin. + A lad that was pleasant and jolly, + And scorned to meet melancholy; + He would chant and pipe so well, + No youth could him excel. + Not Pan the god of the swains, + Could ever produce such strains; + But Arthur, being first in the throng, + He swore he would sing the first song, + And one that was pleasant and jolly: + And that should be ‘Hence, Melancholy!’ + ‘Now give me a dance,’ quoth Doll, + ‘Come, Jeffrery, play up Mad Moll, + ’Tis time to be merry and frisky,— + But first I must have some more whiskey.’ + ‘Oh! you’re right,’ says Arthur, ‘my love! + My daffy-down-dilly! my dove! + My everything! my wife! + I ne’er was so pleased in my life, + Since my name it was Arthur O’Bradley!’ + O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur O’Bradley! + Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O! + + Then the piper he screwed up his bags, + And the girls began shaking their rags; + First up jumped old Mother Crewe, + Two stockings, and never a shoe. + Her nose was crookèd and long, + Which she could easily reach with her tongue; + And a hump on her back she did not lack, + But you should take no notice of that; + And her mouth stood all awry, + And she never was heard to lie, + For she had been dumb from her birth; + So she nodded consent to the mirth, + For honour of Arthur O’Bradley. + O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur O’Bradley! + Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O! + + Then the parson led off at the top, + Some danced, while others did hop; + While some ran foul of the wall, + And others down backwards did fall. + There was lead up and down, figure in, + Four hands across, then back again. + So in dancing they spent the whole night, + Till bright Phoebus appeared in their sight; + When each had a kiss of the bride, + And hopped home to his own fire-side: + Well pleased was Arthur O’Bradley! + O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur O’Bradley! + Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O! + + + +THE PAINFUL PLOUGH. + + +[THIS is one of our oldest agricultural ditties, and maintains its +popularity to the present hour. It is called for at merry-makings and +feasts in every part of the country. The tune is in the minor key, and +of a pleasing character.] + + ‘COME, all you jolly ploughmen, of courage stout and bold, + That labour all the winter in stormy winds, and cold; + To clothe the fields with plenty, your farm-yards to renew, + To crown them with contentment, behold the painful plough!’ + + ‘Hold! ploughman,’ said the gardener, ‘don’t count your trade with + ours, + Walk through the garden, and view the early flowers; + Also the curious border and pleasant walks go view,— + There’s none such peace and plenty performèd by the plough!’ + + ‘Hold! gardener,’ said the ploughman, ‘my calling don’t despise, + Each man for his living upon his trade relies; + Were it not for the ploughman, both rich and poor would rue, + For we are all dependent upon the painful plough. + + ‘Adam in the garden was sent to keep it right, + But the length of time he stayed there, I believe it was one night; + Yet of his own labour, I call it not his due, + Soon he lost his garden, and went to hold the plough. + + ‘For Adam was a ploughman when ploughing first begun, + The next that did succeed him was Cain, the eldest son; + Some of the generation this calling now pursue; + That bread may not be wanting, remains the painful plough. + + Samson was the strongest man, and Solomon was wise, + Alexander for to conquer ’twas all his daily prise; + King David was valiant, and many thousands slew, + Yet none of these brave heroes could live without the plough! + + Behold the wealthy merchant, that trades in foreign seas, + And brings home gold and treasure for those who live at ease; + With fine silks and spices, and fruits also, too, + They are brought from the Indies by virtue of the plough. + + ‘For they must have bread, biscuit, rice pudding, flour and peas, + To feed the jolly sailors as they sail o’er the seas; + And the man that brings them will own to what is true, + He cannot sail the ocean without the painful plough! + + ‘I hope there’s none offended at me for singing this, + For it is not intended for anything amiss. + If you consider rightly, you’ll find what I say is true, + For all that you can mention depends upon the plough.’ + + + +THE USEFUL PLOW; + + + OR, THE PLOUGH’S PRAISE. + +[THE common editions of this popular song inform us that it is taken +‘from an Old Ballad,’ alluding probably to the dialogue given at page 44. +This song is quoted by Farquhar.] + + A COUNTRY life is sweet! + In moderate cold and heat, + To walk in the air, how pleasant and fair! + In every field of wheat, + The fairest of flowers adorning the bowers, + And every meadow’s brow; + To that I say, no courtier may + Compare with they who clothe in grey, + And follow the useful plow. + + They rise with the morning lark, + And labour till almost dark; + Then folding their sheep, they hasten to sleep; + While every pleasant park + Next morning is ringing with birds that are singing, + On each green, tender bough. + With what content, and merriment, + Their days are spent, whose minds are bent + To follow the useful plow. + + The gallant that dresses fine, + And drinks his bottles of wine, + Were he to be tried, his feathers of pride, + Which deck and adorn his back, + Are tailors’ and mercers’, and other men dressers, + For which they do dun them now. + But Ralph and Will no compters fill + For tailor’s bill, or garments still, + But follow the useful plow. + + Their hundreds, without remorse, + Some spend to keep dogs and horse, + Who never would give, as long as they live, + Not two-pence to help the poor; + Their wives are neglected, and harlots respected; + This grieves the nation now; + But ’tis not so with us that go + Where pleasures flow, to reap and mow, + And follow the useful plow. + + + +THE FARMER’S SON. + + +[THIS song, familiar to the dwellers in the dales of Yorkshire, was +published in 1729, in the _Vocal Miscellany_; _a collection of about four +hundred celebrated songs_. As the _Miscellany_ was merely an anthology +of songs already well known, the date of this song must have been +sometime anterior to 1729. It was republished in the _British Musical +Miscellany_, _or the Delightful Grove_, 1796, and in a few other old song +books. It was evidently founded on an old black-letter dialogue +preserved in the Roxburgh collection, called _A Mad Kinde of Wooing_; +_or_, _a Dialogue between Will the Simple and Nan the Subtill_, _with +their loving argument_. To the tune of the New Dance at the Red Bull +Playhouse. Printed by the assignees of Thomas Symcock.] + + ‘SWEET Nelly! my heart’s delight! + Be loving, and do not slight + The proffer I make, for modesty’s sake:— + I honour your beauty bright. + For love, I profess, I can do no less, + Thou hast my favour won: + And since I see your modesty, + I pray agree, and fancy me, + Though I’m but a farmer’s son. + + ‘No! I am a lady gay, + ’Tis very well known I may + Have men of renown, in country or town; + So! Roger, without delay, + Court Bridget or Sue, Kate, Nancy, or Prue, + Their loves will soon be won; + But don’t you dare to speak me fair, + As if I were at my last prayer, + To marry a farmer’s son.’ + + ‘My father has riches’ store, + Two hundred a year, and more; + Beside sheep and cows, carts, harrows, and ploughs; + His age is above threescore. + And when he does die, then merrily I + Shall have what he has won; + Both land and kine, all shall be thine, + If thou’lt incline, and wilt be mine, + And marry a farmer’s son.’ + + ‘A fig for your cattle and corn! + Your proffered love I scorn! + ’Tis known very well, my name is Nell, + And you’re but a bumpkin born.’ + ‘Well! since it is so, away I will go,— + And I hope no harm is done; + Farewell, adieu!—I hope to woo + As good as you,—and win her, too, + Though I’m but a farmer’s son.’ + + ‘Be not in such haste,’ quoth she, + ‘Perhaps we may still agree; + For, man, I protest I was but in jest! + Come, prythee sit down by me; + For thou art the man that verily can + Win me, if e’er I’m won; + Both straight and tall, genteel withal; + Therefore, I shall be at your call, + To marry a farmer’s son.’ + + ‘Dear lady! believe me now + I solemnly swear and vow, + No lords in their lives take pleasure in wives, + Like fellows that drive the plough: + For whatever they gain with labour and pain, + They don’t with ’t to harlots run, + As courtiers do. I never knew + A London beau that could outdo + A country farmer’s son.’ + + + +THE FARMER’S BOY. + + +[MR. DENHAM of Piersbridge, who communicates the following, says—‘there +is no question that the _Farmer’s Boy_ is a very ancient song; it is +highly popular amongst the north country lads and lasses.’ The date of +the composition may probably be referred to the commencement of the last +century, when there prevailed amongst the ballad-mongers a great rage for +_Farmers’ Sons_, _Plough Boys_, _Milk Maids_, _Farmers’ Boys_, &c. &c. +The song is popular all over the country, and there are numerous printed +copies, ancient and modern.] + + THE sun had set behind yon hills, + Across yon dreary moor, + Weary and lame, a boy there came + Up to a farmer’s door: + ‘Can you tell me if any there be + That will give me employ, + To plow and sow, and reap and mow, + And be a farmer’s boy? + + ‘My father is dead, and mother is left + With five children, great and small; + And what is worse for mother still, + I’m the oldest of them all. + Though little, I’ll work as hard as a Turk, + If you’ll give me employ, + To plow and sow, and reap and mow, + And be a farmer’s boy. + + ‘And if that you won’t me employ, + One favour I’ve to ask,— + Will you shelter me, till break of day, + From this cold winter’s blast? + At break of day, I’ll trudge away + Elsewhere to seek employ, + To plow and sow, and reap and mow, + And be a farmer’s boy.’ + + ‘Come, try the lad,’ the mistress said, + ‘Let him no further seek.’ + ‘O, do, dear father!’ the daughter cried, + While tears ran down her cheek: + ‘He’d work if he could, so ’tis hard to want food, + And wander for employ; + Don’t turn him away, but let him stay, + And be a farmer’s boy.’ + + And when the lad became a man, + The good old farmer died, + And left the lad the farm he had, + And his daughter for his bride. + The lad that was, the farm now has, + Oft smiles, and thinks with joy + Of the lucky day he came that way, + To be a farmer’s boy. + + + +RICHARD OF TAUNTON DEAN; + + + OR, DUMBLE DUM DEARY. + +[THIS song is very popular with the country people in every part of +England, but more particularly with the inhabitants of the counties of +Somerset, Devon, and Cornwall. {149} The chorus is peculiar to country +songs of the West of England. There are many different versions. The +following one, communicated by Mr. Sandys, was taken down from the +singing of an old blind fiddler, ‘who,’ says Mr. Sandys, ‘used to +accompany it on his instrument in an original and humorous manner; a +representative of the old minstrels!’ The air is in _Popular Music_. In +Halliwell’s _Nursery Rhymes of England_ there is a version of this song, +called _Richard of Dalton Dale_. + + LAST New-Year’s day, as I’ve heerd say, {151} + Young Richard he mounted his dapple grey, + And he trotted along to Taunton Dean, + To court the parson’s daughter, Jean. + Dumble dum deary, dumble dum deary, + Dumble dum deary, dumble dum dee. + + With buckskin breeches, shoes and hose, + And Dicky put on his Sunday clothes; + Likewise a hat upon his head, + All bedaubed with ribbons red. + + Young Richard he rode without dread or fear, + Till he came to the house where lived his sweet dear, + When he knocked, and shouted, and bellowed, ‘Hallo! + Be the folks at home? say aye or no.’ + + A trusty servant let him in, + That he his courtship might begin; + Young Richard he walked along the great hall, + And loudly for mistress Jean did call. + + Miss Jean she came without delay, + To hear what Dicky had got to say; + ‘I s’pose you knaw me, mistress Jean, + I’m honest Richard of Taunton Dean. + + ‘I’m an honest fellow, although I be poor, + And I never was in love afore; + My mother she bid me come here for to woo, + And I can fancy none but you.’ + + ‘Suppose that I would be your bride, + Pray how would you for me provide? + For I can neither sew nor spin;— + Pray what will your day’s work bring in?’ + + ‘Why, I can plough, and I can zow, + And zometimes to the market go + With Gaffer Johnson’s straw or hay, + And yarn my ninepence every day!’ + + ‘Ninepence a-day will never do, + For I must have silks and satins too! + Ninepence a day won’t buy us meat!’ + ‘Adzooks!’ says Dick, ‘I’ve a zack of wheat; + + ‘Besides, I have a house hard by, + ’Tis all my awn, when mammy do die; + If thee and I were married now, + Ods! I’d feed thee as fat as my feyther’s old zow.’ + + Dick’s compliments did so delight, + They made the family laugh outright; + Young Richard took huff, and no more would say, + He kicked up old Dobbin, and trotted away, + Singing, dumble dum deary, &c. + + + +WOOING SONG OF A YEOMAN OF KENT’S SONNE. + + +[THE following song is the original of a well-known and popular Scottish +song:— + + ‘I hae laid a herring in saut; + Lass, ’gin ye lo’e me, tell me now! + I ha’e brewed a forpit o’ maut, + An’ I canna come ilka day to woo.’ + +There are modern copies of our Kentish _Wooing Song_, but the present +version is taken from _Melismata_, _Musical phansies fitting the court_, +_citie_, _and countree_. _To_ 3, 4, and 5 _voyces_. London, printed by +William Stansby, for Thomas Adams, 1611. The tune will be found in +_Popular Music_, I., 90. The words are in the Kentish dialect.] + + ICH have house and land in Kent, + And if you’ll love me, love me now; + Two-pence half-penny is my rent,— + Ich cannot come every day to woo. + _Chorus_. Two-pence half-penny is his rent, + And he cannot come every day to woo. + + Ich am my vather’s eldest zonne, + My mouther eke doth love me well! + For Ich can bravely clout my shoone, + And Ich full-well can ring a bell. + _Cho_. For he can bravely clout his shoone, + And he full well can ring a bell. {153} + + My vather he gave me a hogge, + My mouther she gave me a zow; + Ich have a god-vather dwells there by, + And he on me bestowed a plow. + _Cho_. He has a god-vather dwells there by, + And he on him bestowed a plow. + + One time Ich gave thee a paper of pins, + Anoder time a taudry lace; + And if thou wilt not grant me love, + In truth Ich die bevore thy vace. + _Cho_. And if thou wilt not grant his love, + In truth he’ll die bevore thy vace. + + Ich have been twice our Whitson Lord, + Ich have had ladies many vare; + And eke thou hast my heart in hold, + And in my minde zeemes passing rare. + _Cho_. And eke thou hast his heart in hold, + And in his minde zeemes passing rare. + + Ich will put on my best white sloppe, + And Ich will weare my yellow hose; + And on my head a good gray hat, + And in’t Ich sticke a lovely rose. + _Cho_. And on his head a good grey hat, + And in’t he’ll stick a lovely rose. + + Wherefore cease off, make no delay, + And if you’ll love me, love me now; + Or els Ich zeeke zome oder where,— + For Ich cannot come every day to woo. + _Cho_. Or else he’ll zeeke zome oder where, + For he cannot come every day to woo. {154} + + + +THE CLOWN’S COURTSHIP. + + +[THIS song, on the same subject as the preceding, is as old as the reign +of Henry VIII., the first verse, says Mr. Chappell, being found +elaborately set to music in a manuscript of that date. The air is given +in _Popular Music_, I., 87.] + + QUOTH John to Joan, wilt thou have me? + I prythee now, wilt? and I’ze marry with thee, + My cow, my calf, my house, my rents, + And all my lands and tenements: + Oh, say, my Joan, will not that do? + I cannot come every day to woo. + + I’ve corn and hay in the barn hard by, + And three fat hogs pent up in the sty: + I have a mare, and she is coal black, + I ride on her tail to save my back. + Then say, &c. + + I have a cheese upon the shelf, + And I cannot eat it all myself; + I’ve three good marks that lie in a rag, + In the nook of the chimney, instead of a bag. + Then say, &c. + + To marry I would have thy consent, + But faith I never could compliment; + I can say nought but ‘hoy, gee ho,’ + Words that belong to the cart and the plow. + Then say, &c. + + + +HARRY’S COURTSHIP. + + +[THIS old ditty, in its incidents, bears a resemblance to +_Dumble-dum-deary_, see _ante_, p. 149. It used to be a popular song in +the Yorkshire dales. We have been obliged to supply an _hiatus_ in the +second verse, and to make an alteration in the last, where we have +converted the ‘red-nosed parson’ of the original into a squire.] + + HARRY courted modest Mary, + Mary was always brisk and airy; + Harry was country neat as could be, + But his words were rough, and his duds were muddy. + + Harry when he first bespoke her, + [Kept a dandling the kitchen poker;] + Mary spoke her words like Venus, + But said, ‘There’s something I fear between us. + + ‘Have you got cups of China mettle, + Canister, cream-jug, tongs, or kettle?’ + ‘Odzooks, I’ve bowls, and siles, and dishes, + Enow to supply any prudent wishes. + + ‘I’ve got none o’ your cups of Chaney, + Canister, cream-jug, I’ve not any; + I’ve a three-footed pot and a good brass kettle, + Pray what do you want with your Chaney mettle? + + ‘A shippen full of rye for to fother, + A house full of goods, one mack or another; + I’ll thrash in the lathe while you sit spinning, + O, Molly, I think that’s a good beginning.’ + + ‘I’ll not sit at my wheel a-spinning, + Or rise in the morn to wash your linen; + I’ll lie in bed till the clock strikes eleven—’ + ‘Oh, grant me patience gracious Heaven! + + ‘Why then thou must marry some red-nosed squire, + [Who’ll buy thee a settle to sit by the fire,] + For I’ll to Margery in the valley, + She is my girl, so farewell Malley.’ + + + +HARVEST-HOME SONG. + + +[OUR copy of this song is taken from one in the Roxburgh Collection, +where it is called, _The Country Farmer’s vain glory_; _in a new song of +Harvest Home_, _sung to a new tune much in request_. _Licensed according +to order_. The tune is published in _Popular Music_. A copy of this +song, with the music, may be found in D’Urfey’s _Pills to purge +Melancholy_. It varies from ours; but D’Urfey is so loose and inaccurate +in his texts, that any other version is more likely to be correct. The +broadside from which the following is copied was ‘Printed for P. +Brooksby, J. Dencon [Deacon], J. Blai[r], and J. Back.’] + + OUR oats they are howed, and our barley’s reaped, + Our hay is mowed, and our hovels heaped; + Harvest home! harvest home! + We’ll merrily roar out our harvest home! + Harvest home! harvest home! + We’ll merrily roar out our harvest home! + We’ll merrily roar out our harvest home! + + We cheated the parson, we’ll cheat him again; + For why should the vicar have one in ten? + One in ten! one in ten! + For why should the vicar have one in ten? + For why should the vicar have one in ten? + For staying while dinner is cold and hot, + And pudding and dumpling’s burnt to pot; + Burnt to pot! burnt to pot! + Till pudding and dumpling’s burnt to pot, + Burnt to pot! burnt to pot! + + We’ll drink off the liquor while we can stand, + And hey for the honour of old England! + Old England! old England! + And hey for the honour of old England! + Old England! old England! + + + +HARVEST-HOME. + + +[FROM an old copy without printer’s name or date.] + + COME, Roger and Nell, + Come, Simpkin and Bell, + Each lad with his lass hither come; + With singing and dancing, + And pleasure advancing, + To celebrate harvest-home! + + _Chorus_. ’Tis Ceres bids play, + And keep holiday, + To celebrate harvest-home! + Harvest-home! + Harvest-home! + To celebrate harvest-home! + + Our labour is o’er, + Our barns, in full store, + Now swell with rich gifts of the land; + Let each man then take, + For the prong and the rake, + His can and his lass in his hand. + For Ceres, &c. + + No courtier can be + So happy as we, + In innocence, pastime, and mirth; + While thus we carouse, + With our sweetheart or spouse, + And rejoice o’er the fruits of the earth. + For Ceres, &c. + + + +THE MOW. + + + A HARVEST HOME SONG. + + Tune, _Where the bee sucks_. + +[THIS favourite song, copied from a chap-book called _The Whistling +Ploughman_, published at the commencement of the present century, is +written in imitation of Ariel’s song, in the _Tempest_. It is probably +taken from some defunct ballad-opera.] + + NOW our work’s done, thus we feast, + After labour comes our rest; + Joy shall reign in every breast, + And right welcome is each guest: + After harvest merrily, + Merrily, merrily, will we sing now, + After the harvest that heaps up the mow. + + Now the plowman he shall plow, + And shall whistle as he go, + Whether it be fair or blow, + For another barley mow, + O’er the furrow merrily: + Merrily, merrily, will we sing now, + After the harvest, the fruit of the plow. + + Toil and plenty, toil and ease, + Still the husbandman he sees; + Whether when the winter freeze, + Or in summer’s gentle breeze; + Still he labours merrily, + Merrily, merrily, after the plow, + He looks to the harvest, that gives us the mow. + + + +THE BARLEY-MOW SONG. + + +[THIS song is sung at country meetings in Devon and Cornwall, +particularly on completing the carrying of the barley, when the rick, or +mow of barley, is finished. On putting up the last sheaf, which is +called the craw (or crow) sheaf, the man who has it cries out ‘I have it, +I have it, I have it;’ another demands, ‘What have ’ee, what have ’ee, +what have ’ee?’ and the answer is, ‘A craw! a craw! a craw!’ upon which +there is some cheering, &c., and a supper afterwards. The effect of the +_Barley-mow Song_ cannot be given in words; it should be heard, to be +appreciated properly,—particularly with the West-country dialect.] + + HERE’S a health to the barley-mow, my brave boys, + Here’s a health to the barley-mow! + We’ll drink it out of the jolly brown bowl, + Here’s a health to the barley-mow! + _Cho_. Here’s a health to the barley-mow, my brave boys, + Here’s a health to the barley-mow! + + We’ll drink it out of the nipperkin, boys, + Here’s a health to the barley-mow! + The nipperkin and the jolly brown bowl, + _Cho_. Here’s a health, &c. + + We’ll drink it out of the quarter-pint, boys, + Here’s a health to the barley-mow! + The quarter-pint, nipperkin, &c. + _Cho_. Here’s a health, &c. + + We’ll drink it out of the half-a-pint, boys, + Here’s a health to the barley-mow! + The half-a-pint, quarter-pint, &c. + _Cho_. Here’s a health, &c. + + We’ll drink it out of the pint, my brave boys, + Here’s a health to the barley-mow! + The pint, the half-a-pint, &c. + _Cho_. Here’s a health, &c. + + We’ll drink it out of the quart, my brave boys, + Here’s a health to the barley-mow! + The quart, the pint, &c. + _Cho_. Here’s a health, &c. + + Well drink it out of the pottle, my boys, + Here’s a health to the barley-mow! + The pottle, the quart, &c. + _Cho_. Here’s a health, &c. + + We’ll drink it out of the gallon, my boys, + Here’s a health to the barley-mow! + The gallon, the pottle, &c. + _Cho_. Here’s a health, &c. + + We’ll drink it out of the half-anker, boys, + Here’s a health to the barley-mow! + The half-anker, gallon, &c. + _Cho_. Here’s a health, &c. + + We’ll drink it out of the anker, my boys, + Here’s a health to the barley-mow! + The anker, the half-anker, &c. + _Cho_. Here’s a health, &c. + + We’ll drink it out of the half-hogshead, boys, + Here’s a health to the barley-mow! + The half-hogshead, anker, &c. + _Cho_. Here’s a health, &c. + + We’ll drink it out of the hogshead, my boys, + Here’s a health to the barley-mow! + The hogshead, the half-hogshead, &c. + _Cho_. Here’s a health, &c. + + We’ll drink it out of the pipe, my brave boys, + Here’s a health to the barley-mow! + The pipe, the hogshead, &c. + _Cho_. Here’s a health, &c. + + We’ll drink it out of the well, my brave boys, + Here’s a health to the barley-mow! + The well, the pipe, &c. + _Cho_. Here’s a health, &c. + + We’ll drink it out of the river, my boys, + Here’s a health to the barley-mow! + The river, the well, &c. + _Cho_. Here’s a health, &c. + + We’ll drink it out of the ocean, my boys, + Here’s a health to the barley-mow! + The ocean, the river, the well, the pipe, the hogshead, + the half-hogshead, the anker, the half-anker, + the gallon, the pottle, the quart, the pint, the + half-a-pint, the quarter-pint, the nipperkin, and + the jolly brown bowl! + _Cho_. Here’s a health to the barley-mow, my brave boys! + Here’s a health to the barley-mow! + +[The above verses are very much _ad libitum_, but always in the third +line repeating the whole of the previously-named measures; as we have +shown in the recapitulation at the close of the last verse.] + + + +THE BARLEY-MOW SONG. + + + (SUFFOLK VERSION.) + +[THE peasantry of Suffolk sing the following version of the _Barley-Mow +Song_.] + + HERE’S a health to the barley mow! + Here’s a health to the man + Who very well can + Both harrow and plow and sow! + + When it is well sown + See it is well mown, + Both raked and gavelled clean, + And a barn to lay it in. + He’s a health to the man + Who very well can + Both thrash and fan it clean! + + + +THE CRAVEN CHURN-SUPPER SONG. + + +[IN some of the more remote dales of Craven it is customary at the close +of the hay-harvest for the farmers to give an entertainment to their men; +this is called the churn supper; a name which Eugene Aram traces to ‘the +immemorial usage of producing at such suppers a great quantity of cream +in a churn, and circulating it in cups to each of the rustic company, to +be eaten with bread.’ At these churn-suppers the masters and their +families attend the entertainment, and share in the general mirth. The +men mask themselves, and dress in a grotesque manner, and are allowed the +privilege of playing harmless practical jokes on their employers, &c. +The churn-supper song varies in different dales, but the following used +to be the most popular version. In the third verse there seems to be an +allusion to the clergyman’s taking tythe in kind, on which occasions he +is generally accompanied by two or three men, and the parish clerk. The +song has never before been printed. There is a marked resemblance +between it and a song of the date of 1650, called _A Cup of Old Stingo_. +See _Popular Music of the Olden Time_, I., 308.] + + GOD rest you, merry gentlemen! + Be not movèd at my strain, + For nothing study shall my brain, + But for to make you laugh: + For I came here to this feast, + For to laugh, carouse, and jest, + And welcome shall be every guest, + To take his cup and quaff. + _Cho_. Be frolicsome, every one, + Melancholy none; + Drink about! + See it out, + And then we’ll all go home, + And then we’ll all go home! + + This ale it is a gallant thing, + It cheers the spirits of a king; + It makes a dumb man strive to sing, + Aye, and a beggar play! + A cripple that is lame and halt, + And scarce a mile a day can walk, + When he feels the juice of malt, + Will throw his crutch away. + _Cho_. Be frolicsome, &c. + + ’Twill make the parson forget his men,— + ’Twill make his clerk forget his pen; + ’Twill turn a tailor’s giddy brain, + And make him break his wand, + The blacksmith loves it as his life,— + It makes the tinkler bang his wife,— + Aye, and the butcher seek his knife + When he has it in his hand! + _Cho_. Be frolicsome, &c. + + So now to conclude, my merry boys, all, + Let’s with strong liquor take a fall, + Although the weakest goes to the wall, + The best is but a play! + For water it concludes in noise, + Good ale will cheer our hearts, brave boys; + Then put it round with a cheerful voice, + We meet not every day. + _Cho_. Be frolicsome, &c. + + + +THE RURAL DANCE ABOUT THE MAY-POLE. + + +[THE most correct copy of this song is that given in _The Westminster +Drollery_, Part II. p. 80. It is there called _The Rural Dance about the +May-pole_, _the tune_, _the first-figure dance at Mr. Young’s ball_, +_May_, 1671. The tune is in _Popular Music_. The _May-pole_, for so the +song is called in modern collections, is a very popular ditty at the +present time. The common copies vary considerably from the following +version, which is much more correct than any hitherto published.] + + COME, lasses and lads, take leave of your dads, + And away to the may-pole hie; + For every he has got him a she, + And the minstrel’s standing by; + For Willie has gotten his Jill, + And Johnny has got his Joan, + To jig it, jig it, jig it, + Jig it up and down. + + ‘Strike up,’ says Wat; ‘Agreed,’ says Kate, + ‘And I prithee, fiddler, play;’ + ‘Content,’ says Hodge, and so says Madge, + For this is a holiday. + Then every man did put + His hat off to his lass, + And every girl did curchy, + Curchy, curchy on the grass. + + ‘Begin,’ says Hall; ‘Aye, aye,’ says Mall, + ‘We’ll lead up _Packington’s Pound_;’ + ‘No, no,’ says Noll, and so says Doll, + ‘We’ll first have _Sellenger’s Round_.’ {165a} + Then every man began + To foot it round about; + And every girl did jet it, + Jet it, jet it, in and out. + + ‘You’re out,’ says Dick; ‘’Tis a lie,’ says Nick, + ‘The fiddler played it false;’ + ‘’Tis true,’ says Hugh, and so says Sue, + And so says nimble Alice. + The fiddler then began + To play the tune again; + And every girl did trip it, trip it, + Trip it to the men. + + ‘Let’s kiss,’ says Jane, {165b} ‘Content,’ says Nan, + And so says every she; + ‘How many?’ says Batt; ‘Why three,’ says Matt, + ‘For that’s a maiden’s fee.’ + But they, instead of three, + Did give them half a score, + And they in kindness gave ’em, gave ’em, + Gave ’em as many more. + + Then after an hour, they went to a bower, + And played for ale and cakes; + And kisses, too;—until they were due, + The lasses kept the stakes: + The girls did then begin + To quarrel with the men; + And bid ’em take their kisses back, + And give them their own again. + + Yet there they sate, until it was late, + And tired the fiddler quite, + With singing and playing, without any paying, + From morning unto night: + They told the fiddler then, + They’d pay him for his play; + And each a two-pence, two-pence, + Gave him, and went away. + + ‘Good night,’ says Harry; ‘Good night,’ says Mary; + ‘Good night,’ says Dolly to John; + ‘Good night,’ says Sue; ‘Good night,’ says Hugh; + ‘Good night,’ says every one. + Some walked, and some did run, + Some loitered on the way; + And bound themselves with love-knots, love-knots, + To meet the next holiday. + + + +THE HITCHIN MAY-DAY SONG. + + +[THE following song is sung by the Mayers at Hitchin in the county of +Herts. For an account of the manner in which May-day is observed at +Hitchin, see Hone’s _Every-Day Book_.] + + REMEMBER us poor Mayers all! + And thus do we begin + To lead our lives in righteousness, + Or else we die in sin. + + We have been rambling all the night, + And almost all the day; + And now returned back again, + We have brought you a branch of May. + + A branch of May we have brought you, + And at your door it stands; + It is but a sprout, + But it’s well budded out + By the work of our Lord’s hand. + + The hedges and trees they are so green, + As green as any leek; + Our heavenly Father he watered them + With his heavenly dew so sweet. + + The heavenly gates are open wide, + Our paths are beaten plain; + And if a man be not too far gone, + He may return again. + + The life of man is but a span, + It flourishes like a flower; + We are here to-day, and gone to-morrow, + And we are dead in an hour. + + The moon shines bright, and the stars give a light, + A little before it is day; + So God bless you all, both great and small, + And send you a joyful May! + + + +THE HELSTONE FURRY-DAY SONG. + + +[AT Helstone, in Cornwall, the 8th of May is a day devoted to revelry and +gaiety. It is called the Furry-day, supposed to be a corruption of +Flora’s day, from the garlands worn and carried in procession during the +festival. {167} A writer in the _Gentleman’s __Magazine_ for June, 1790, +says, ‘In the morning, very early, some troublesome rogues go round the +streets [of Helstone], with drums and other noisy instruments, disturbing +their sober neighbours, and singing parts of a song, the whole of which +nobody now re-collects, and of which I know no more than that there is +mention in it of the ‘grey goose quill,’ and of going ‘to the green wood’ +to bring home ‘the Summer and the May, O!’’ During the festival, the +gentry, tradespeople, servants, &c., dance through the streets, and +thread through certain of the houses to a very old dance tune, given in +the appendix to Davies Gilbert’s _Christmas Carols_, and which may also +be found in Chappell’s _Popular Music_, and other collections. The +_Furry-day Song_ possesses no literary merit whatever; but as a part of +an old and really interesting festival, it is worthy of preservation. +The dance-tune has been confounded with that of the song, but Mr. Sandys, +to whom we are indebted for this communication, observes that ‘the +dance-tune is quite different.’] + + ROBIN HOOD and Little John, + They both are gone to the fair, O! + And we will go to the merry green-wood, + To see what they do there, O! + And for to chase, O! + To chase the buck and doe. + With ha-lan-tow, rumble, O! + For we were up as soon as any day, O! + And for to fetch the summer home, + The summer and the may, O! + For summer is a-come, O! + And winter is a-gone, O! + + Where are those Spaniards + That make so great a boast, O? + They shall eat the grey goose feather, + And we will eat the roast, O! + In every land, O! + The land where’er we go. + With ha-lan-tow, &c + + As for Saint George, O! + Saint George he was a knight, O! + Of all the knights in Christendom, + Saint George is the right, O! + In every land, O! + The land where’er we go. + With ha-lan-tow, &c. + + + +CORNISH MIDSUMMER BONFIRE SONG. + + +[THE very ancient custom of lighting fires on Midsummer-eve, being the +vigil of St. John the Baptist, is still kept up in several parts of +Cornwall. On these occasions the fishermen and others dance about the +fires, and sing appropriate songs. The following has been sung for a +long series of years at Penzance and the neighbourhood, and is taken down +from the recitation of the leader of a West-country choir. It is +communicated to our pages by Mr. Sandys. The origin of the Midsummer +bonfires is fully explained in Brand’s _Popular Antiquities_. See Sir H. +Ellis’s edition of that work, vol. i. pp. 166–186.] + + THE bonny month of June is crowned + With the sweet scarlet rose; + The groves and meadows all around + With lovely pleasure flows. + + As I walked out to yonder green, + One evening so fair; + All where the fair maids may be seen + Playing at the bonfire. + + Hail! lovely nymphs, be not too coy, + But freely yield your charms; + Let love inspire with mirth and joy, + In Cupid’s lovely arms. + + Bright Luna spreads its light around, + The gallants for to cheer; + As they lay sporting on the ground, + At the fair June bonfire. + + All on the pleasant dewy mead, + They shared each other’s charms; + Till Phoebus’ beams began to spread, + And coming day alarms. + + Whilst larks and linnets sing so sweet, + To cheer each lovely swain; + Let each prove true unto their love, + And so farewell the plain. + + + +SUFFOLK HARVEST-HOME SONG. + + +[IN no part of England are the harvest-homes kept up with greater spirit +than in Suffolk. The following old song is a general favourite on such +occasions.] + + HERE’S a health unto our master, + The founder of the feast! + I wish, with all my heart and soul, + In heaven he may find rest. + I hope all things may prosper, + That ever be takes in hand; + For we are all his servants, + And all at his command. + + Drink, boys, drink, and see you do not spill, + For if you do, you must drink two,—it is your master’s will. + + Now our harvest is ended, + And supper is past; + Here’s our mistress’ good health, + In a full flowing glass! + She is a good woman,— + She prepared us good cheer; + Come, all my brave boys, + And drink off your beer. + + Drink, my boys, drink till you come unto me, + The longer we sit, my boys, the merrier shall we be! + + In yon green wood there lies an old fox, + Close by his den you may catch him, or no; + Ten thousand to one you catch him, or no. + His beard and his brush are all of one colour,— + + [_Takes the glass and empties it off_. + + I am sorry, kind sir, that your glass is no fuller. + ’Tis down the red lane! ’tis down the red lane! + So merrily hunt the fox down the red lane! {171} + + + +THE HAYMAKER’S SONG. + + +[AN old and very favourite ditty sung in many parts of England at +merry-makings, especially at those which occur during the hay-harvest. +It is not in any collection.] + + IN the merry month of June, + In the prime time of the year; + Down in yonder meadows + There runs a river clear: + And many a little fish + Doth in that river play; + And many a lad, and many a lass, + Go abroad a-making hay. + + In come the jolly mowers, + To mow the meadows down; + With budget and with bottle + Of ale, both stout and brown, + All labouring men of courage bold + Come here their strength to try; + They sweat and blow, and cut and mow, + For the grass cuts very dry. + + Here’s nimble Ben and Tom, + With pitchfork, and with rake; + Here’s Molly, Liz, and Susan, + Come here their hay to make. + While sweet, jug, jug, jug! + The nightingale doth sing, + From morning unto even-song, + As they are hay-making. + + And when that bright day faded, + And the sun was going down, + There was a merry piper + Approachèd from the town: + He pulled out his pipe and tabor, + So sweetly he did play, + Which made all lay down their rakes, + And leave off making hay. + + Then joining in a dance, + They jig it o’er the green; + Though tired with their labour, + No one less was seen. + But sporting like some fairies, + Their dance they did pursue, + In leading up, and casting off, + Till morning was in view. + + And when that bright daylight, + The morning it was come, + They lay down and rested + Till the rising of the sun: + Till the rising of the sun, + When the merry larks do sing, + And each lad did rise and take his lass, + And away to hay-making. + + + +THE SWORD-DANCERS’ SONG. + + +[SWORD-DANCING is not so common in the North of England as it was a few +years ago; but a troop of rustic practitioners of the art may still be +occasionally met with at Christmas time, in some of the most secluded of +the Yorkshire dales. The following is a copy of the introductory song, +as it used to be sung by the Wharfdale sword-dancers. It has been +transcribed from a MS. in the possession of Mr. Holmes, surgeon, at +Grassington, in Craven. At the conclusion of the song a dance ensues, +and sometimes a rustic drama is performed. See post, p. 175. _Jumping +Joan_, alluded to in the last verse, is a well-known old country dance +tune.] + +_The spectators being assembled_, _the_ CLOWN _enters_, _and after +drawing a circle with his sword_, _walks round it_, _and calls in the +actors in the following lines_, _which are sung to the accompaniment of a +violin played outside_, _or behind the door_. + + THE first that enters on the floor, + His name is Captain Brown; + I think he is as smart a youth + As any in this town: + In courting of the ladies gay, + He fixes his delight; + He will not stay from them all day, + And is with them all the night. + + The next’s a tailor by his trade, + Called Obadiah Trim; + You may quickly guess, by his plain dress, + And hat of broadest brim, + That he is of the Quaking sect, + Who would seem to act by merit + Of yeas and nays, and hums and hahs, + And motions of the spirit. + + The next that enters on the floor, + He is a foppish knight; + The first to be in modish dress, + He studies day and night. + Observe his habit round about,— + Even from top to toe; + The fashion late from France was brought,— + He’s finer than a beau! + + Next I present unto your view + A very worthy man; + He is a vintner, by his trade, + And Love-ale is his name. + If gentlemen propose a glass, + He seldom says ’em nay, + But does always think it’s right to drink, + While other people pay. + + The next that enters on the floor, + It is my beauteous dame; + Most dearly I do her adore, + And Bridget is her name. + At needlework she does excel + All that e’er learnt to sew, + And when I choose, she’ll ne’er refuse, + What I command her do. + + And I myself am come long since, + And Thomas is my name; + Though some are pleased to call me Tom, + I think they’re much to blame: + Folks should not use their betters thus, + But I value it not a groat, + Though the tailors, too, that botching crew, + Have patched it on my coat. + + I pray who’s this we’ve met with here, + That tickles his trunk wame? {174} + We’ve picked him up as here we came, + And cannot learn his name: + But sooner than he’s go without, + I’ll call him my son Tom; + And if he’ll play, be it night or day, + We’ll dance you _Jumping Joan_. + + + +THE SWORD-DANCERS’ SONG AND INTERLUDE. + + + AS NOW PERFORMED AT CHRISTMAS, IN THE COUNTY OF DURHAM. + +[THE late Sir Cuthbert Sharp remarks, that ‘It is still the practice +during the Christmas holidays for companies of fifteen to perform a sort +of play or dance, accompanied by song or music.’ The following version +of the song, or interlude, has been transcribed from Sir C. Sharp’s +_Bishoprick Garland_, corrected by collation with a MS. copy recently +remitted to the editor by a countryman of Durham. The Devonshire +peasants have a version almost identical with this, but laths are used +instead of swords, and a few different characters are introduced to suit +the locality. The pageant called _The Fool Plough_, which consists of a +number of sword-dancers dragging a plough with music, was anciently +observed in the North of England, not only at Christmas time, but also in +the beginning of Lent. Wallis thinks that the _Sword Dance_ is the antic +dance, or chorus armatus of the Romans. Brand supposes that it is a +composition made up of the gleaning of several obsolete customs anciently +followed in England and other countries. The Germans still practise the +_Sword Dance_ at Christmas and Easter. We once witnessed a _Sword Dance_ +in the Eifel mountains, which closely resembled our own, but no +interlude, or drama, was performed.] + +_Enter Dancers_, _decorated with swords and ribbons_; _the_ CAPTAIN _of +the band wearing a cocked hat and a peacock’s feather in it by way of +cockade_, _and the_ CLOWN, _or_ ‘BESSY,’ _who acts as treasurer_, _being +decorated with a hairy cap and a fox’s brush dependent_. + +_The_ CAPTAIN _forms with his sword a circle_, _around which walks_. + +_The_ BESSY _opens the proceedings by singing_— + + GOOD gentlemen all, to our captain take heed, + And hear what he’s got for to sing; + He’s lived among music these forty long year, + And drunk of the elegant {175} spring. + +_The_ CAPTAIN _then proceeds as follows_, _his song being accompanied by +a violin_, _generally played by the_ BESSY— + + Six actors I have brought + Who were ne’er on a stage before; + But they will do their best, + And they can do no more. + + The first that I call in + He is a squire’s son; + He’s like to lose his sweetheart + Because he is too young. + + But though he is too young, + He has money for to rove, + And he will spend it all + Before he’ll lose his love. + + _Chorus_. _Fal lal de ral_, _lal de dal_, _fal lal de ra ral da_. + +_Followed by a symphony on the fiddle_, _during which the introduced +actor walks round the circle_. + +_The_ CAPTAIN _proceeds_— + + The next that I call in + He is a tailor fine; + What think you of his work? + He made this coat of mine! + +_Here the_ CAPTAIN _turns round and exhibits his coat_, _which_, _of +course_, _is ragged_, _and full of holes_. + + So comes good master Snip, + His best respects to pay: + He joins us in our trip + To drive dull care away. + + _Chorus and symphony as above_. + +_Here the_ TAILOR _walks round_, _accompanied by the_ SQUIRE’S SON. +_This form is observed after each subsequent introduction_, _all the new +comers taking apart_. + + The next I do call in, + The prodigal son is he; + By spending of his gold + He’s come to poverty. + + But though he all has spent, + Again he’ll wield the plow, + And sing right merrily + As any of us now. {177} + + Next comes a skipper bold, + He’ll do his part right weel— + A clever blade I’m told + As ever pozed a keel. + + He is a bonny lad, + As you must understand; + It’s he can dance on deck, + And you’ll see him dance on land. + + To join us in this play + Here comes a jolly dog, + Who’s sober all the day— + If he can get no grog. + + But though he likes his grog, + As all his friends do say, + He always likes it best + When other people pay. + + Last I come in myself, + The leader of this crew; + And if you’d know my name, + My name it is ‘True Blue.’ + +_Here the_ BESSY _gives an account of himself_. + + My mother was burnt for a witch, + My father was hanged on a tree, + And it’s because I’m a fool + There’s nobody meddled wi’ me. + +_The dance now commences_. _It is an ingenious performance_, _and the +swords of the actors are placed in a variety of graceful positions_, _so +as to form stars_, _hearts_, _squares_, _circles_, _&c. &c._ _The dance +is so elaborate that it requires frequent rehearsals_, _a quick eye_, +_and a strict adherence to time and tune_. _Before it concludes_, _grace +and elegance have given place to disorder_, _and at last all the actors +are seen fighting_. _The_ PARISH CLERGYMAN _rushes in to prevent +bloodshed_, _and receives a death-blow_. _While on the ground_, _the +actors walk round the body_, _and sing as follows_, _to a slow_, +_psalm-like tune_:— + + Alas! our parson’s dead, + And on the ground is laid; + Some of us will suffer for’t, + Young men, I’m sore afraid. + + I’m sure ’twas none of me, + I’m clear of _that_ crime; + ’Twas him that follows me + That drew his sword so fine. + + I’m sure it was _not_ me, + I’m clear of the fact; + ’Twas him that follows me + That did this dreadful act. + + I’m sure ’twas none of me, + Who say’t be villains all; + For both my eyes were closed + When this good priest did fall. + +_The_ BESSY _sings_— + + Cheer up, cheer up, my bonny lads, + And be of courage brave, + We’ll take him to his church, + And bury him in the grave. + +_The_ CAPTAIN _speaks in a sort of recitative_— + + Oh, for a doctor, + A ten pound doctor, oh. + + _Enter_ DOCTOR. + + _Doctor_. Here I am, I. + + _Captain_. Doctor, what’s your fee? + + _Doctor_. Ten pounds is my fee! + + But nine pounds nineteen shillings eleven pence three farthings I will + take from thee. + + _The Bessy_. There’s ge-ne-ro-si-ty! + +_The_ DOCTOR _sings_— + + I’m a doctor, a doctor rare, + Who travels much at home; + My famous pills they cure all ills, + Past, present, and to come. + + My famous pills who’d be without, + They cure the plague, the sickness {179} and gout, + Anything but a love-sick maid; + If _you’re_ one, my dear, you’re beyond my aid! + +_Here the_ DOCTOR _occasionally salutes one of the fair spectators_; _he +then takes out his snuff-box_, _which is always of very capacious +dimensions_ (_a sort of miniature warming-pan_), _and empties the +contents_ (_flour or meal_) _on the_ CLERGYMAN’S _face_, _singing at the +time_— + + Take a little of my nif-naf, + Put it on your tif-taf; + Parson rise up and preach again, + The doctor says you are not slain. + +_The_ CLERGYMAN _here sneezes several times_, _and gradually recovers_, +_and all shake him by the hand_. + +_The ceremony terminates by the_ CAPTAIN _singing_— + + Our play is at an end, + And now we’ll taste your cheer; + We wish you a merry Christmas, + And a happy new year. + _The Bessy_. And your pockets full of brass, + And your cellars full of beer! + +_A general dance concludes the play._ + + + +THE MASKERS’ SONG. + + +[IN the Yorkshire dales the young men are in the habit of going about at +Christmas time in grotesque masks, and of performing in the farm-houses a +sort of rude drama, accompanied by singing and music. {180} The maskers +have wooden swords, and the performance is an evening one. The following +version of their introductory song was taken down literally from the +recitation of a young besom-maker, now residing at Linton in Craven, who +for some years past has himself been one of these rustic actors. From +the allusion to the pace, or paschal-egg, it is evident that the play was +originally an Easter pageant, which, in consequence of the decline of the +gorgeous rites formerly connected with that season, has been transferred +to Christmas, the only festival which, in the rural districts of +Protestant England, is observed after the olden fashion. The maskers +generally consist of five characters, one of whom officiates in the +threefold capacity of clown, fiddler, and master of the ceremonies. The +custom of masking at Christmas is common to many parts of Europe, and is +observed with especial zest in the Swiss cantons, where the maskers are +all children, and the performances closely resemble those of England. In +Switzerland, however, more care is bestowed upon the costume, and the +songs are better sung.] + +_Enter _CLOWN, _who sings in a sort of chant_, _or recitative._ + + I OPEN this door, I enter in, + I hope your favour for to win; + Whether we shall stand or fall, + We do endeavour to please you all. + + A room! a room! a gallant room, + A room to let us ride! + We are not of the raggald sort, + But of the royal tribe: + Stir up the fire, and make a light, + To see the bloody act to-night! + +_Here another of the party introduces his companions by singing to a +violin accompaniment_, _as follows_: + + Here’s two or three jolly boys, all in one mind; + We’ve come a pace-egging, {181} I hope you’ll prove kind: + I hope you’ll prove kind with your money and beer, + We shall come no more near you until the next year. + Fal de ral, lal de lal, &c. + + The first that steps up is Lord [Nelson] {182} you’ll see, + With a bunch of blue ribbons tied down to his knee; + With a star on his breast, like silver doth shine; + I hope you’ll remember this pace-egging time. + Fal de ral, &c. + + O! the next that steps up is a jolly Jack tar, + He sailed with Lord [Nelson], during last war: + He’s right on the sea, Old England to view: + He’s come a pace-egging with so jolly a crew. + Fal de ral, &c. + + O! the next that steps up is old Toss-Pot, you’ll see, + He’s a valiant old man, in every degree, + He’s a valiant old man, and he wears a pig-tail; + And all his delight is drinking mulled ale. + Fal de ral, &c. + + O! the next that steps up is old Miser, you’ll see; + She heaps up her white and her yellow money; + She wears her old rags till she starves and she begs; + And she’s come here to ask for a dish of pace eggs. + Fal de ral, &c. + +_The characters being thus duly introduced_, _the following lines are +sung in chorus by all the party_. + + Gentlemen and ladies, that sit by the fire, + Put your hand in your pocket, ’tis all we desire; + Put your hand in your pocket, and pull out your purse, + And give us a trifle,—you’ll not be much worse. + +_Here follows a dance_, _and this is generally succeeded by a dialogue of +an_ ad libitum _character_, _which varies in different districts_, _being +sometimes similar to the one performed by the sword-dancers_. + + + +GLOUCESTERSHIRE WASSAILERS’ SONG. + + +[IT is still customary in many parts of England to hand round the +wassail, or health-bowl, on New-Year’s Eve. The custom is supposed to be +of Saxon origin, and to be derived from one of the observances of the +Feast of Yule. The tune of this song is given in _Popular Music_. It is +a universal favourite in Gloucestershire, particularly in the +neighbourhood of + + ‘Stair on the wold, + Where the winds blow cold,’ + +as the old rhyme says.] + + WASSAIL! wassail! all over the town, + Our toast it is white, and our ale it is brown; + Our bowl is made of a maplin tree; + We be good fellows all;—I drink to thee. + + Here’s to our horse, {183} and to his right ear, + God send our measter a happy new year: + A happy new year as e’er he did see,— + With my wassailing bowl I drink to thee. + + Here’s to our mare, and to her right eye, + God send our mistress a good Christmas pie; + A good Christmas pie as e’er I did see,— + With my wassailing bowl I drink to thee. + + Here’s to our cow, and to her long tail, + God send our measter us never may fail + Of a cup of good beer: I pray you draw near, + And our jolly wassail it’s then you shall hear. + + Be here any maids? I suppose here be some; + Sure they will not let young men stand on the cold stone! + Sing hey O, maids! come trole back the pin, + And the fairest maid in the house let us all in. + + Come, butler, come, bring us a bowl of the best; + I hope your soul in heaven will rest; + But if you do bring us a bowl of the small, + Then down fall butler, and bowl and all. + + + +THE MUMMERS’ SONG; + + + OR, THE POOR OLD HORSE. + + As sung by the Mummers in the Neighbourhood of Richmond, Yorkshire, at + the merrie time of Christmas. + +[THE rustic actor who sings the following song is dressed as an old +horse, and at the end of every verse the jaws are snapped in chorus. It +is a very old composition, and is now printed for the first time. The +‘old horse’ is, probably, of Scandinavian origin,—a reminiscence of +Odin’s Sleipnor.] + + YOU gentlemen and sportsmen, + And men of courage bold, + All you that’s got a good horse, + Take care of him when he is old; + Then put him in your stable, + And keep him there so warm; + Give him good corn and hay, + Pray let him take no harm. + Poor old horse! poor old horse! + + Once I had my clothing + Of linsey-woolsey fine, + My tail and mane of length, + And my body it did shine; + But now I’m growing old, + And my nature does decay, + My master frowns upon me, + These words I heard him say,— + Poor old horse! poor old horse! + + These pretty little shoulders, + That once were plump and round, + They are decayed and rotten,— + I’m afraid they are not sound. + Likewise these little nimble legs, + That have run many miles, + Over hedges, over ditches, + Over valleys, gates, and stiles. + Poor old horse! poor old horse! + + I used to be kept + On the best corn and hay + That in fields could be grown, + Or in any meadows gay; + But now, alas! it’s not so,— + There’s no such food at all! + I’m forced to nip the short grass + That grows beneath your wall. + Poor old horse! poor old horse! + + I used to be kept up + All in a stable warm, + To keep my tender body + From any cold or harm; + But now I’m turned out + In the open fields to go, + To face all kinds of weather, + The wind, cold, frost, and snow. + Poor old horse! poor old horse! + + My hide unto the huntsman + So freely I would give, + My body to the hounds, + For I’d rather die than live: + So shoot him, whip him, strip him, + To the huntsman let him go; + For he’s neither fit to ride upon, + Nor in any team to draw. + Poor old horse! you must die! + + + +FRAGMENT OF THE HAGMENA SONG. + + + As sung at Richmond, Yorkshire, on the eve of the New Year, by the + Corporation Pinder. + +[THE custom of singing Hagmena songs is observed in different parts of +both England and Scotland. The origin of the term is a matter of +dispute. Some derive it from ‘au guy l’an neuf,’ i.e., _to the misletoe +this new year_, and a French Hagmena song still in use seems to give some +authority to such a derivation; others, dissatisfied with a heathen +source, find the term to be a corruption of [Greek text which cannot be +reproduced], i.e., _the holy month_. The Hagmena songs are sometimes +sung on Christmas Eve and a few of the preceding nights, and sometimes, +as at Richmond, on the eve of the new year. For further information the +reader is referred to Brand’s _Popular Antiquities_, vol. i. 247–8, Sir +H. Ellis’s edit. 1842.] + + TO-NIGHT it is the New-year’s night, to-morrow is the day, + And we are come for our right, and for our ray, + As we used to do in old King Henry’s day. + Sing, fellows, sing, Hagman-heigh. + + If you go to the bacon-flick, cut me a good bit; + Cut, cut and low, beware of your maw; + Cut, cut and round, beware of your thumb, + That me and my merry men may have some, + Sing, fellows, sing, Hagman-heigh. + + If you go to the black-ark, bring me X mark; + Ten mark, ten pound, throw it down upon the ground, + That me and my merry men may have some. + Sing, fellows, sing, Hagman-heigh. + + + +THE GREENSIDE WAKES SONG. + + +[THE wakes, feasts, or tides of the North of England, were originally +religious festivals in honour of the saints to whom the parish churches +were dedicated. But now-a-days, even in Catholic Lancashire, all traces +of their pristine character have departed, and the hymns and prayers by +which their observance was once hallowed have given place to dancing and +merry-making. At Greenside, near Manchester, during the wakes, two +persons, dressed in a grotesque manner, the one a male, the other a +female, appear in the village on horseback, with spinning-wheels before +them; and the following is the dialogue, or song, which they sing on +these occasions.] + + ‘’TIS Greenside wakes, we’ve come to the town + To show you some sport of great renown; + And if my old wife will let me begin, + I’ll show you how fast and how well I can spin. + Tread the wheel, tread the wheel, den, don, dell O.’ + + ‘Thou brags of thyself, but I don’t think it true, + For I will uphold thy faults are not a few; + For when thou hast done, and spun very hard, + Of this I’m well sure, thy work is ill marred. + Tread the wheel, tread the wheel, den, don, dell O.’ + + ‘Thou’rt a saucy old jade, and pray hold thy tongue, + Or I shall be thumping thee ere it be long; + And if that I do, I shall make thee to rue, + For I can have many a one as good as you. + Tread the wheel, tread the wheel, dan, don, dell O.’ + + ‘What is it to me who you can have? + I shall not be long ere I’m laid in my grave; + And when I am dead you may find if you can, + One that’ll spin as hard as I’ve done. + Tread the wheel, tread the wheel, dan, don, dell O.’ + + ‘Come, come, my dear wife, here endeth my song, + I hope it has pleased this numerous throng; + But if it has missed, you need not to fear, + We’ll do our endeavour to please them next year. + Tread the wheel, tread the wheel, dan, don, dell O.’ + + + +THE SWEARING-IN SONG OR RHYME. + + + As formerly sung or said at Highgate, in the county of Middlesex. + +[THE proverb, ‘He has been sworn at Highgate,’ is more widely circulated +than understood. In its ordinary signification it is applied to a +‘knowing’ fellow who is well acquainted with the ‘good things,’ and +always helps himself to the best; and it has its origin in an old usage +still kept up at Highgate, in Middlesex. Grose, in his _Classical +Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue_, London, 1785, says,— + + A ridiculous custom formerly prevailed at the public-houses of + Highgate, to administer a ludicrous oath to all the men of the + middling rank who stopped there. The party was sworn on a pair of + horns fastened on a stick; the substance of the oath was never to + kiss the maid when he could kiss the mistress, never to drink small + beer when he could get strong, with many other injunctions of the + like kind to all of which was added a saving clause—_Unless you like + it best_! The person administering the oath was always to be called + father by the juror, and he in return was to style him son, under the + penalty of a bottle. + +From this extract it is evident that in 1786 the custom was ancient, and +had somewhat fallen into desuetude. Hone’s _Year-Book_ contains a very +complete account of the ceremony, with full particulars of the mode in +which the ‘swearing-in’ was then performed in the ‘Fox under the Hill.’ +Hone does not throw any light on the origin of the practice, nor does he +seem to have been aware of its comparative antiquity. He treated the +ceremony as a piece of modern foolery, got up by some landlord for ‘the +good of the house,’ and adopted from the same interested motive by others +of the tribe. A subsequent correspondent of Mr. Hone, however, points +out the antiquity of the custom, and shows that it could be traced back +long before the year 1782, when it was introduced into a pantomime called +_Harlequin Teague_; _or_, _the Giant’s Causeway_, which was performed at +the Haymarket on Saturday, August 17, 1782. One of the scenes was +Highgate, where, in the ‘parlour’ of a public house, the ceremony was +performed. Mr. Hone’s correspondent sends a copy of the old initiation +song, which varies considerably from our version, supplied to us in 1851 +by a very old man (an ostler) at Highgate. The reciter said that the +_copy of verses_ was not often used now, as there was no landlord who +could sing, and gentlemen preferred the speech. He said, moreover, ‘that +the verses were not always alike—some said one way, and some another—some +made them long, and some _cut ’em short_.’ + +Grose was in error when he supposed that the ceremony was confined to the +inferior classes, for even in his day such was not the case. In +subsequent times the oath has been frequently taken by people of rank, +and also by several persons of the highest literary and political +celebrity. An inspection of any one of the register-books will show that +the jurors have belonged to all sorts of classes, and that amongst them +the Harrovians have always made a conspicuous figure. When the +stage-coaches ceased to pass through the village in consequence of the +opening of railways, the custom declined, and was kept up only at three +houses, which were called the ‘original house,’ the ‘old original,’ and +the ‘real old original.’ Two of the above houses have latterly ceased to +hold courts, and the custom is now confined to the ‘Fox under the Hill,’ +where the rite is celebrated with every attention to ancient forms and +costume, and for a fee which, in deference to modern notions of economy, +is only one shilling. + +Byron, in the first canto of _Childe Harold_, alludes to the custom of +Highgate:— + + Some o’er thy Thamis row the ribboned fair, + Others along the safer turnpike fly; + Some Richmond-hill ascend, some wend to Ware, + And many to the steep of Highgate hie. + Ask ye, Bœotian shades! the reason why? + ’_Tis to the worship of the solemn horn_, + _Grasped in the holy hand of mystery_, + _In whose dread name both men and maids _{189}_ are sworn_, + _And consecrate the oath with draught_, _and dance till morn_. + + Canto I, stanza 70.] + +_Enter_ LANDLORD, _dressed in a black gown and bands_, _and wearing an +antique-fashioned wig_, _followed by the_ CLERK OF THE COURT, _also in +appropriate costume_, _and carrying the registry-book and the horns_. + + _Landlord_. DO you wish to be sworn at Highgate? + + _Candidate_. I do, Father. + + _Clerk_. _Amen_. + +_The_ LANDLORD _then sings_, _or says_, _as follows_:— + + Silence! O, yes! you are my son! + Full to your old father turn, sir; + This is an oath you may take as you run, + So lay your hand thus on the horn, sir. + +_Here the_ CANDIDATE _places his right hand on the horn_. + + You shall spend not with cheaters or cozeners your life, + Nor waste it on profligate beauty; + And when you are wedded be kind to your wife, + And true to all petticoat duty. + +_The_ CANDIDATE _says_ ‘_I will_,’ _and kisses the horn in obedience to +the command of the_ CLERK, _who exclaims in a loud and solemn tone_, +‘_Kiss the horn_, _sir_!’ + + And while you thus solemnly swear to be kind, + And shield and protect from disaster, + This part of your oath you must bear it in mind, + That you, and not she, is the master. + + _Clerk_. ‘_Kiss the horn_, _sir_!’ + + You shall pledge no man first when a woman is near, + For neither ’tis proper nor right, sir; + Nor, unless you prefer it, drink small for strong beer, + Nor eat brown bread when you can get white, sir. + + _Clerk_. ‘_Kiss the horn_, _sir_!’ + + You shall never drink brandy when wine you can get, + Say when good port or sherry is handy; + Unless that your taste on spirit is set, + In which case—you _may_, sir, drink brandy! + + _Clerk_. ‘_Kiss the horn_, _sir_!’ + + To kiss with the maid when the mistress is kind, + Remember that you must be loth, sir; + But if the maid’s fairest, your oath doesn’t bind,— + Or you may, if you like it, kiss both, sir! + + _Clerk_. ‘_Kiss the horn_, _sir_!’ + + Should you ever return, take this oath here again, + Like a man of good sense, leal and true, sir; + And be sure to bring with you some more merry men, + That they on the horn may swear too, sir. + + _Landlord_. Now, sir, if you please, sign your name in that book, and + if you can’t write, make your mark, and the clerk of the court will + attest it. + +_Here one of the above requests is complied with_. + + _Landlord_. You will please pay half-a-crown for court fees, and what + you please to the clerk. + +_This necessary ceremony being gone through_, _the important business +terminates by the_ LANDLORD _saying_, ‘_God bless the King_ [_or Queen_] +_and the lord of the manor_;’ _to which the_ CLERK _responds_, ‘_Amen_, +_amen_!’ + +_N.B._ _The court fees are always returned in wines_, _spirits_, _or +porter_, _of which the Landlord and Clerk are invited to partake_. + + + +FAIRLOP FAIR SONG. + + +[THE following song is sung at Fairlop fair, one of the gayest of the +numerous saturnalia kept by the good citizens of London. The venerable +oak has disappeared; but the song is nevertheless song, and the curious +custom of riding through the fair, seated in boats, still continues to be +observed.] + + COME, come, my boys, with a hearty glee, + To Fairlop fair, bear chorus with me; + At Hainault forest is known very well, + This famous oak has long bore the bell. + + _Cho_. Let music sound as the boat goes round, + If we tumble on the ground, we’ll be merry, I’ll be bound; + We will booze it away, dull care we will defy, + And be happy on the first Friday in July. + + At Tainhall forest, Queen Anne she did ride, + And beheld the beautiful oak by her side, + And after viewing it from bottom to top, + She said that her court should be at Fairlop. + + It is eight fathom round, spreads an acre of ground, + They plastered it round to keep the tree sound. + So we’ll booze it away, dull care we’ll defy, + And be happy on the first Friday in July. + + About a century ago, as I have heard say, + This fair it was kept by one Daniel Day, + A hearty good fellow as ever could be, + His coffin was made of a limb of the tree. + + With black-strap and perry he made his friends merry, + All sorrow for to drown with brandy and sherry. + So we’ll booze it away, dull care we’ll defy, + And be happy on the first Friday in July. + + At Tainhall forest there stands a tree, + And it has performed a wonderful bounty, + It is surrounded by woods and plains, + The merry little warblers chant their strains. + + So we’ll dance round the tree, and merry we will be, + Every year we’ll agree the fair for to see; + And we’ll booze it away, dull care we’ll defy, + And be happy on the first Friday in July. + + + +AS TOM WAS A-WALKING. + + + AN ANCIENT CORNISH SONG. + +[THIS song, said to be translated from the Cornish, ‘was taken down,’ +says Mr. Sandys, ‘from the recital of a modern Corypheus, or leader of a +parish choir,’ who assigned to it a very remote, but indefinite, +antiquity.] + + AS Tom was a-walking one fine summer’s morn, + When the dazies and goldcups the fields did adorn; + He met Cozen Mal, with a tub on her head, + Says Tom, ‘Cozen Mal, you might speak if you we’d.’ + + But Mal stamped along, and appeared to be shy, + And Tom singed out, ‘Zounds! I’ll knaw of thee why?’ + So back he tore a’ter, in a terrible fuss, + And axed cozen Mal, ‘What’s the reason of thus?’ + + ‘Tom Treloar,’ cried out Mal, ‘I’ll nothing do wi’ ’ee, + Go to Fanny Trembaa, she do knaw how I’m shy; + Tom, this here t’other daa, down the hill thee didst stap, + And dab’d a great doat fig {193} in Fan Trembaa’s lap.’ + + ‘As for Fanny Trembaa, I ne’er taalked wi’ her twice, + And gived her a doat fig, they are so very nice; + So I’ll tell thee, I went to the fear t’other day, + And the doat figs I boft, why I saved them away.’ + + Says Mal, ‘Tom Treloar, ef that be the caase, + May the Lord bless for ever that sweet pretty faace; + Ef thee’st give me thy doat figs thee’st boft in the fear, + I’ll swear to thee now, thee shu’st marry me here.’ + + + +THE MILLER AND HIS SONS. + + +[A MILLER, especially if he happen to be the owner of a soke-mill, has +always been deemed fair game for the village satirist. Of the numerous +songs written in ridicule of the calling of the ‘rogues in grain,’ the +following is one of the best and most popular: its quaint humour will +recommend it to our readers. For the tune, see _Popular Music_.] + + THERE was a crafty miller, and he + Had lusty sons, one, two, and three: + He called them all, and asked their will, + If that to them he left his mill. + + He called first to his eldest son, + Saying, ‘My life is almost run; + If I to you this mill do make, + What toll do you intend to take?’ + + ‘Father,’ said he, ‘my name is Jack; + Out of a bushel I’ll take a peck, + From every bushel that I grind, + That I may a good living find.’ + + ‘Thou art a fool!’ the old man said, + ‘Thou hast not well learned thy trade; + This mill to thee I ne’er will give, + For by such toll no man can live.’ + + He called for his middlemost son, + Saying, ‘My life is almost run; + If I to you this mill do make, + What toll do you intend to take?’ + + ‘Father,’ says he, ‘my name is Ralph; + Out of a bushel I’ll take a half, + From every bushel that I grind, + That I may a good living find.’ + + ‘Thou art a fool!’ the old man said, + ‘Thou hast not well learned thy trade; + This mill to thee I ne’er will give, + For by such toll no man can live.’ + + He called for his youngest son, + Saying, ‘My life is almost run; + If I to you this mill do make, + What toll do you intend to take?’ + + ‘Father,’ said he, ‘I’m your only boy, + For taking toll is all my joy! + Before I will a good living lack, + I’ll take it all, and forswear the sack!’ + + ‘Thou art my boy!’ the old man said, + ‘For thou hast right well learned thy trade; + This mill to thee I give,’ he cried,— + And then he turned up his toes and died. + + + +JACK AND TOM. + + + AN OULD BORDER DITTIE. + + (TRADITIONAL.) + +[THE following song was taken down from recitation in 1847. Of its +history nothing is known; but we are strongly inclined to believe that it +may be assigned to the early part of the seventeenth century, and that it +relates to the visit of Prince Charles and Buckingham, under the assumed +names of Jack and Tom, to Spain, in 1623. Some curious references to the +adventures of the Prince and his companion, on their masquerading tour, +will be found in Halliwell’s _Letters of the Kings of England_, vol. ii.] + + I’M a north countrie-man, in Redesdale born, + Where our land lies lea, and grows ne corn,— + And such two lads to my house never com, + As them two lads called Jack and Tom! + + Now, Jack and Tom, they’re going to the sea; + I wish them both in good companie! + They’re going to seek their fortunes ayont the wide sea, + Far, far away frae their oan countrie! + + They mounted their horses, and rode over the moor, + Till they came to a house, when they rapped at the door; + And out came Jockey, the hostler-man. + ‘D’ye brew ony ale? D’ye sell ony beer? + Or have ye ony lodgings for strangers here?’ + + ‘Ne, we brew ne ale, nor we sell ne beer, + Nor we have ne lodgings for strangers here.’ + So he bolted the door, and bade them begone, + For there was ne lodgings there for poor Jack and Tom. + + They mounted their horses, and rode over the plain;— + Dark was the night, and down fell the rain; + Till a twinkling light they happened to spy, + And a castle and a house they were close by. + + They rode up to the house, and they rapped at the door, + And out came Jockey, the hosteler. + ‘D’ye brew ony ale? D’ye sell ony beer? + Or have ye ony lodgings for strangers here?’ + + ‘Yes, we have brewed ale this fifty lang year, + And we have got lodgings for strangers here.’ + So the roast to the fire, and the pot hung on, + ’Twas all to accommodate poor Jack and Tom. + + When supper was over, and all was _sided down_, + The glasses of wine did go merrily roun’. + ‘Here is to thee, Jack, and here is to thee, + And all the bonny lasses in our countrie!’ + ‘Here is to thee, Tom, and here is to thee, + And look they may _leuk_ for thee and me!’ + + ’Twas early next morning, before the break of day, + They mounted their horses, and so they rode away. + Poor Jack, he died upon a far foreign shore, + And Tom, he was never, never heard of more! + + + +JOAN’S ALE WAS NEW. + + +[OURS is the common version of this popular song; it varies considerably +from the one given by D’Urfey, in the _Pills to purge Melancholy_. From +the names of Nolly and Joan and the allusion to ale, we are inclined to +consider the song as a lampoon levelled at Cromwell, and his wife, whom +the Royalist party nick-named ‘Joan.’ The Protector’s acquaintances +(depicted as low and vulgar tradesmen) are here humorously represented +paying him a congratulatory visit on his change of fortune, and regaling +themselves with the ‘Brewer’s’ ale. The song is mentioned in Thackeray’s +Catalogue, under the title of _Joan’s Ale’s New_; which may be regarded +as circumstantial evidence in favour of our hypothesis. The air is +published in _Popular Music_, accompanying three stanzas of a version +copied from the Douce collection. The first verse in Mr. Chappell’s book +runs as follows:— + + THERE was a jovial tinker, + Who was a good ale drinker, + He never was a shrinker, + Believe me this is true; + And he came from the Weald of Kent, + When all his money was gone and spent, + Which made him look like a Jack a-lent. + And Joan’s ale is new, my boys, + And Joan’s ale is new.] + + THERE were six jovial tradesmen, + And they all sat down to drinking, + For they were a jovial crew; + They sat themselves down to be merry; + And they called for a bottle of sherry, + You’re welcome as the hills, says Nolly, + While Joan’s ale is new, brave boys, + While Joan’s ale is new. + + The first that came in was a soldier, + With his firelock over his shoulder, + Sure no one could be bolder, + And a long broad-sword he drew: + He swore he would fight for England’s ground, + Before the nation should be run down; + He boldly drank their healths all round, + While Joan’s ale was new. + + The next that came in was a hatter, + Sure no one could be blacker, + And he began to chatter, + Among the jovial crew: + He threw his hat upon the ground, + And swore every man should spend his pound, + And boldly drank their hearths all round, + While Joan’s ale was new. + + The next that came in was a dyer, + And he sat himself down by the fire, + For it was his heart’s desire + To drink with the jovial crew: + He told the landlord to his face, + The chimney-corner should be his place, + And there he’d sit and dye his face, + While Joan’s ale was new. + + The next that came in was a tinker, + And he was no small beer drinker, + And he was no strong ale shrinker, + Among the jovial crew: + For his brass nails were made of metal, + And he swore he’d go and mend a kettle, + Good heart, how his hammer and nails did rattle, + When Joan’s ale was new! + + The next that came in was a tailor, + With his bodkin, shears, and thimble, + He swore he would be nimble + Among the jovial crew: + They sat and they called for ale so stout, + Till the poor tailor was almost broke, + And was forced to go and pawn his coat, + While Joan’s ale was new. + + The next that came in was a ragman, + With his rag-bag over his shoulder, + Sure no one could be bolder + Among the jovial crew. + They sat and called for pots and glasses, + Till they were all drunk as asses, + And burnt the old ragman’s bag to ashes, + While Joan’s ale was new. + + + +GEORGE RIDLER’S OVEN. + + +[THIS ancient Gloucestershire song has been sung at the annual dinners of +the Gloucestershire Society, from the earliest period of the existence of +that institution; and in 1776 there was an Harmonic Society at +Cirencester, which always opened its meetings with _George Ridler’s Oven_ +in full chorus. + +The substance of the following key to this very curious song is furnished +by Mr. H. Gingell, who extracts it from the _Annual Report of the +Gloucestershire Society_ for 1835. The annual meeting of this Society is +held at Bristol in the month of August, when the members dine, and a +branch meeting, which was formerly held at the Crown and Anchor in the +Strand, is now annually held at the Thatched House Tavern, St. James’s. +_George Ridler’s Oven_ is sung at both meetings, and the late Duke of +Beaufort used to lead off the glee in capital style. The words have a +secret meaning, well known to the members of the Gloucestershire Society, +which was founded in 1657, three years before the Restoration of Charles +II. The Society consisted of Royalists, who combined together for the +purpose of restoring the Stuarts. The Cavalier party was supported by +all the old Roman Catholic families of the kingdom; and some of the +Dissenters, who were disgusted with Cromwell, occasionally lent them a +kind of passive aid. + +_First Verse_.—By ‘George Ridler’ is meant King Charles I. The ‘oven’ +was the Cavalier party. The ‘stwons’ that ‘built the oven,’ and that +‘came out of the Bleakney quaar,’ were the immediate followers of the +Marquis of Worcester, who held out long and steadfastly for the Royal +cause at Raglan Castle, which was not surrendered till 1646, and was in +fact the last stronghold retained for the King. ‘His head did grow above +his hair,’ is an allusion to the crown, the head of the State, which the +King wore ‘above his hair.’ + +_Second Verse_.—This means that the King, ‘before he died,’ boasted that +notwithstanding his present adversity, the ancient constitution of the +kingdom was so good, and its vitality so great, that it would surpass and +outlive every other form of government. + +_Third Verse_.—‘Dick the treble, Jack the mean, and George the bass,’ +mean King, Lords, and Commons. The injunction to ‘let every man sing in +his own place,’ is a warning to each of the three estates of the realm to +preserve its proper position, and not to encroach on each other’s +prerogative. + +_Fourth Verse_.—‘Mine hostess’s maid’ is an allusion to the Queen, who +was a Roman Catholic, and her maid, the Church. The singer we must +suppose was one of the leaders of the party, and his ‘dog’ a companion, +or faithful official of the Society, and the song was sung on occasions +when the members met together socially; and thus, as the Roman Catholics +were Royalists, the allusion to the mutual attachment between the ‘maid’ +and ‘my dog and I,’ is plain and consistent. + +_Fifth Verse_.—The ‘dog’ had a ‘trick of visiting maids when they were +sick.’ The meaning is, that when any of the members were in distress or +desponding, or likely to give up the Royal cause in despair, the +officials, or active members visited, counselled, and assisted them. + +_Sixth Verse_.—The ‘dog’ was ‘good to catch a hen,’ a ‘duck,’ or a +‘goose.’—That is, to enlist as members of the Society any who were well +affected to the Royal cause. + +_Seventh Verse_.—‘The good ale tap’ is an allusion, under cover of the +similarity in sound between the words ale and aisle, to the Church, of +which it was dangerous at the time to be an avowed follower; and so the +members were cautioned that indiscretion might lead to their discovery +and ‘overthrow.’ + +_Eighth Verse_.—The allusion here is to those unfaithful supporters of +the Royal cause, who ‘welcomed’ the members of the Society when it +appeared to be prospering, but ‘parted’ from them in adversity. + +_Ninth Verse_.—An expression of the singer’s wish that if he should die +he may be buried with his faithful companion, as representing the +principles of the Society, under the good aisles of the church. + +The following text has been collated with a version published in _Notes +and Queries_, from the ‘fragments of a MS. found in the speech-house of +Dean.’ The tune is the same as that of the _Wassailers’ Song_, and is +printed in _Popular Music_. Other ditties appear to have been founded on +this ancient piece. The fourth, seventh, and ninth verses are in the old +ditty called _My Dog and I_: and the eighth verse appears in another old +song. The air and words bear some resemblance to _Todlen Hame_.] + + THE stwons that built George Ridler’s oven, + And thauy keam vrom the Bleakney quaar, + And George he wur a jolly old mon, + And his yead it grow’d above his yare. + + One thing of George Ridler I must commend, + And that wur vor a notable thing; + He mead his brags avoore he died, + Wi’ any dree brooders his zons zshould zing. + + There’s Dick the treble, and John the meean, + (Let every mon zing in his auwn pleace,) + And George he wur the elder brother, + And therevoor he would zing the beass. + + Mine hostess’s moid, (and her neaum ‘twour Nell,) + A pretty wench, and I lov’d her well; + I lov’d her well, good reauzon why, + Because zshe loved my dog and I. + + My dog is good to catch a hen; + A dug or goose is vood for men; + And where good company I spy, + O thether gwoes my dog and I. + + My mwother told I, when I wur young, + If I did vollow the strong-beer pwoot, + That drenk would prov my awverdrow, + And meauk me wear a threadbare cwoat. + + My dog has gotten zitch a trick, + To visit moids when thauy be zick; + When thauy be zick and like to die, + O thether gwoes my dog and I. + + When I have dree zixpences under my thumb, + O then I be welcome wherever I come; + But when I have none, O, then I pass by,— + ’Tis poverty pearts good companie. + + If I should die, as it may hap, + My greauve shall be under the good yeal tap; + In voulded yarms there wool us lie, + Cheek by jowl, my dog and I. + + + +THE CARRION CROW. + + +[THIS still popular song is quoted by Grose in his _Olio_, where it is +made the subject of a burlesque commentary, the covert political +allusions having evidently escaped the penetration of the antiquary. The +reader familiar with the annals of the Commonwealth and the Restoration, +will readily detect the leading points of the allegory. The ‘Carrion +Crow’ in the oak is Charles II., who is represented as that bird of +voracious appetite, because he deprived the puritan clergy of their +livings; perhaps, also, because he ordered the bodies of the regicides to +be exhumed—as Ainsworth says in one of his ballads:— + + THE carrion crow is a sexton bold, + He raketh the dead from out of the mould. + +The religion of the ‘old sow,’ whoever she may be, is clearly pointed out +by her little pigs praying for her soul. The ‘tailor’ is not easily +identified. It is possibly intended for some puritan divine of the name +of Taylor, who wrote and preached against both prelacy and papacy, but +with an especial hatred of the latter. In the last verse he consoles +himself by the reflection that, notwithstanding the deprivations, his +party will have enough remaining from the voluntary contributions of +their adherents. The ‘cloak’ which the tailor is engaged in cutting out, +is the Genevan gown, or cloak; the ‘spoon’ in which he desires his wife +to bring treacle, is apparently an allusion to the ‘spatula’ upon which +the wafer is placed in the administration of the Eucharist; and the +introduction of ‘chitterlings and black-puddings’ into the last verse +seems to refer to a passage in Rabelais, where the same dainties are +brought in to personify those who, in the matter of fasting, are opposed +to Romish practices. The song is found in collections of the time of +Charles II.] + + THE carrion crow he sat upon an oak, + And he spied an old tailor a cutting out a cloak. + Heigho! the carrion crow. + + The carrion crow he began for to rave, + And he called the tailor a lousy knave! + Heigho! the carrion crow. + + ‘Wife, go fetch me my arrow and my bow, + I’ll have a shot at that carrion crow.’ + Heigho! the carrion crow. + + The tailor he shot, and he missed his mark, + But he shot the old sow through the heart. + Heigho! the carrion crow. + + ‘Wife, go fetch me some treacle in a spoon, + For the old sow’s in a terrible swoon!’ + Heigho! the carrion crow. + + The old sow died, and the bells they did toll, + And the little pigs prayed for the old sow’s soul! + Heigho! the carrion crow. + + ‘Never mind,’ said the tailor, ‘I don’t care a flea, + There’ll be still black-puddings, souse, and chitterlings for me.’ + Heigho! the carrion crow. + + + +THE LEATHERN BOTTEL. + + + SOMERSETSHIRE VERSION. + +[IN Chappell’s _Popular Music_ is a much longer version of _The Leathern +Bottèl_. The following copy is the one sung at the present time by the +country-people in the county of Somerset. It has been communicated to +our pages by Mr. Sandys.] + + GOD above, who rules all things, + Monks and abbots, and beggars and kings, + The ships that in the sea do swim, + The earth, and all that is therein; + Not forgetting the old cow’s hide, + And everything else in the world beside: + And I wish his soul in heaven may dwell, + Who first invented this leathern bottèl! + + Oh! what do you say to the glasses fine? + Oh! they shall have no praise of mine; + Suppose a gentleman sends his man + To fill them with liquor, as fast as he can, + The man he falls, in coming away, + And sheds the liquor so fine and gay; + But had it been in the leathern bottèl, + And the stopper been in, ‘twould all have been well! + + Oh! what do you say to the tankard fine? + Oh! it shall have no praise of mine; + Suppose a man and his wife fall out,— + And such things happen sometimes, no doubt,— + They pull and they haul; in the midst of the fray + They shed the liquor so fine and gay; + But had it been in the leathern bottèl, + And the stopper been in, ’twould all have been well! + + Now, when this bottèl it is worn out, + Out of its sides you may cut a clout; + This you may hang upon a pin,— + ’Twill serve to put odd trifles in; + Ink and soap, and candle-ends, + For young beginners have need of such friends. + And I wish his soul in heaven may dwell, + Who first invented the leathern bottèl! + + + +THE FARMER’S OLD WIFE. + + + A SUSSEX WHISTLING SONG. + +[THIS is a countryman’s whistling song, and the only one of the kind +which we remember to have heard. It is very ancient, and a great +favourite. The farmer’s wife has an adventure somewhat resembling the +hero’s in the burlesque version of _Don Giovanni_. The tune is _Lilli +burlero_, and the song is sung as follows:—the first line of each verse +is given as a solo; then the tune is continued by a chorus of whistlers, +who whistle that portion of the air which in _Lilli burlero_ would be +sung to the words, _Lilli burlero bullen a la_. The songster then +proceeds with the tune, and sings the whole of the verse through, after +which the strain is resumed and concluded by the whistlers. The effect, +when accompanied by the strong whistles of a group of lusty countrymen, +is very striking, and cannot be adequately conveyed by description. This +song constitutes the ‘traditionary verses’ upon which Burns founded his +_Carle of Killyburn Braes_.] + + THERE was an old farmer in Sussex did dwell, + + [_Chorus of whistlers_.] + + There was an old farmer in Sussex did dwell, + And he had a bad wife, as many knew well. + + [_Chorus of whistlers_.] + + Then Satan came to the old man at the plough,— + ‘One of your family I must have now. + + ‘It is not your eldest son that I crave, + But it is your old wife, and she I will have.’ + + ‘O, welcome! good Satan, with all my heart, + I hope you and she will never more part.’ + + Now Satan has got the old wife on his back, + And he lugged her along, like a pedlar’s pack. + + He trudged away till they came to his hall-gate, + Says he, ‘Here! take in an old Sussex chap’s mate!’ + + O! then she did kick the young imps about,— + Says one to the other, ‘Let’s try turn her out.’ + + She spied thirteen imps all dancing in chains, + She up with her pattens, and beat out their brains. + + She knocked the old Satan against the wall,— + ‘Let’s try turn her out, or she’ll murder us all!’ + + Now he’s bundled her up on his back amain, + And to her old husband he took her again. + + ‘I have been a tormenter the whole of my life, + But I ne’er was tormenter till I met with your wife.’ + + + +OLD WICHET AND HIS WIFE. + + +[THIS song still retains its popularity in the North of England, and, +when sung with humour, never fails to elicit roars of laughter. A Scotch +version may be found in Herd’s Collection, 1769, and also in Cunningham’s +_Songs of England and Scotland_, London, 1835. We cannot venture to give +an opinion as to which is the original; but the English set is of +unquestionable antiquity. Our copy was obtained from Yorkshire. It has +been collated with one printed at the Aldermary press, and preserved in +the third volume of the Roxburgh Collection. The tune is peculiar to the +song.] + + O! I went into the stable, and there for to see, {206} + And there I saw three horses stand, by one, by two, and by three; + O! I called to my loving wife, and ‘Anon, kind sir!’ quoth she; + ‘O! what do these three horses here, without the leave of me?’ + + ‘Why, you old fool! blind fool! can’t you very well see, + These are three milking cows my mother sent to me?’ + ‘Ods bobs! well done! milking cows with saddles on! + The like was never known!’ + Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home! + + O! I went into the kitchen, and there for to see, + And there I saw three swords hang, by one, by two, quoth she; + O! I called to my loving wife, and ‘Anon, kind sir!’ + ‘O! what do these three swords do here, without the leave of me?’ + + ‘Why, you old fool! blind fool! can’t you very well see, + These are three roasting spits my mother sent to me?’ + ‘Ods bobs! well done! roasting spits with scabbards on! + The like was never known!’ + Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home! + + O! I went into the parlour, and there for to see, + And there I saw three cloaks hang, by one, by two, and by three; + O! I called to my loving wife, and ‘Anon, kind sir!’ quoth she; + ‘O! what do these three cloaks do here, without the leave of me?’ + + ‘Why, you old fool! blind fool! can’t you very well see, + These are three mantuas my mother sent to me?’ + ‘Ods bobs! well done! mantuas with capes on! + The like was never known!’ + Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home! + + O! I went into the pantry, and there for to see, + And there I saw three pair of boots, {207} by one, by two, and by + three; + O! I called to my loving wife, and ‘Anon, kind sir!’ quoth she; + ‘O! what do these three pair of boots here, without the leave of me?’ + + ‘Why, you old fool! blind fool! can’t you very well see, + These are three pudding-bags my mother sent to me?’ + ‘Ods bobs! well done! pudding-bags with spurs on! + The like was never known!’ + Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home! + + O! I went into the dairy, and there for to see, + And there I saw three hats hang, by one, by two, and by three; + O! I called to my loving wife, and ‘Anon, kind sir!’ quoth she; + ‘Pray what do these three hats here, without the leave of me?’ + + ‘Why, you old fool! blind fool! can’t you very well see, + These are three skimming-dishes my mother sent to me?’ + ‘Ods bobs! well done! skimming-dishes with hat-bands on! + The like was never known!’ + Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home! + + O! I went into the chamber, and there for to see, + And there I saw three men in bed, by one, by two, and by three; + O! I called to my loving wife, and ‘Anon, kind sir!’ quoth she; + ‘O! what do these three men here, without the leave of me?’ + + ‘Why, you old fool! blind fool! can’t you very well see, + They are three milking-maids my mother sent to me?’ + ‘Ods bobs! well done! milking-maids with beards on! + The like was never known!’ + Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home! + + + +THE JOLLY WAGGONER. + + +[THIS country song can be traced back a century at least, but is, no +doubt, much older. It is very popular in the West of England. The words +are spirited and characteristic. We may, perhaps, refer the song to the +days of transition, when the waggon displaced the packhorse.] + + WHEN first I went a-waggoning, a-waggoning did go, + I filled my parents’ hearts full of sorrow, grief, and woe. {208a} + And many are the hardships that I have since gone through. + And sing wo, my lads, sing wo! + Drive on my lads, I-ho! {208b} + And who wouldn’t lead the life of a jolly waggoner? + + It is a cold and stormy night, and I’m wet to the skin, + I will bear it with contentment till I get unto the inn. + And then I’ll get a drinking with the landlord and his kin. + And sing, &c. + + Now summer it is coming,—what pleasure we shall see; + The small birds are a-singing on every green tree, + The blackbirds and the thrushes are a-whistling merrilie. + And sing, &c. + + Now Michaelmas is coming,—what pleasure we shall find; + It will make the gold to fly, my boys, like chaff before the wind; + And every lad shall take his lass, so loving and so kind. + And sing, &c. + + + +THE YORKSHIRE HORSE-DEALER. + + +[THIS ludicrous and genuine Yorkshire song, the production of some +unknown country minstrel, obtained considerable popularity a few years +ago from the admirable singing of Emery. The incidents actually occurred +at the close of the last century, and some of the descendants of ‘Tommy +Towers’ were resident at Clapham till within a very recent period, and +used to take great delight in relating the laughable adventure of their +progenitor. Abey Muggins is understood to be a _sobriquet_ for a then +Clapham innkeeper. The village of Clapham is in the west of Yorkshire, +on the high road between Skipton and Kendal.] + + BANE {209a} ta Claapam town-gate {209b} lived an ond Yorkshire tike, + Who i’ dealing i’ horseflesh hed ne’er met his like; + ’Twor his pride that i’ aw the hard bargains he’d hit, + He’d bit a girt monny, but nivver bin bit. + + This ond Tommy Towers (bi that naam he wor knaan), + Hed an oud carrion tit that wor sheer skin an’ baan; + Ta hev killed him for t’ curs wad hev bin quite as well, + But ’twor Tommy opinion {209c} he’d dee on himsel! + + Well! yan Abey Muggins, a neighborin cheat, + Thowt ta diddle ond Tommy wad be a girt treat; + Hee’d a horse, too, ’twor war than ond Tommy’s, ye see, + Fort’ neet afore that hee’d thowt proper ta dee! + + Thinks Abey, t’ oud codger ‘ll nivver smoak t’ trick, + I’ll swop wi’ him my poor deead horse for his wick, {210a} + An’ if Tommy I nobbut {210b} can happen ta trap, + ’Twill be a fine feather i’ Aberram cap! + + Soa to Tommy he goas, an’ the question he pops: + ‘Betwin thy horse and mine, prithee, Tommy, what swops? + What wilt gi’ me ta boot? for mine’s t’better horse still!’ + ‘Nout,’ says Tommy, ‘I’ll swop ivven hands, an’ ye will.’ + + Abey preaached a lang time about summat ta boot, + Insistin’ that his war the liveliest brute; + But Tommy stuck fast where he first had begun, + Till Abey shook hands, and sed, ‘Well, Tommy, done! + + ‘O! Tommy,’ sed Abey, ‘I’ze sorry for thee, + I thowt thou’d a hadden mair white i’ thy ’ee; + Good luck’s wi’ thy bargin, for my horse is deead.’ + ‘Hey!’ says Tommy, ‘my lad, soa is min, an it’s fleead?’ + + Soa Tommy got t’ better of t’ bargin, a vast, + An’ cam off wi’ a Yorkshireman’s triumph at last; + For thof ’twixt deead horses there’s not mitch to choose, + Yet Tommy war richer by t’ hide an’ fower shooes. + + + +THE KING AND THE COUNTRYMAN. + + +[THIS popular favourite is a mere abridgment and alteration of a poem +preserved in the Roxburgh Collection, called _The King and Northern Man_, +_shewing how a poor Northumberland man_ (_tenant to the King_) _being +wronged by a lawyer_ (_his neighbour_) _went to the King himself to make +known his grievance_. _To the tune of __Slut_. Printed by and for Alex. +Melbourne, at the Stationer’s Arms in Green Arbour Court, in the Little +Old Baily. The Percy Society printed _The King and Northern Man_ from an +edition published in 1640. There is also a copy preserved in the Bagford +Collection, which is one of the imprints of W. Onley. The edition of +1640 has the initials of Martin Parker at the end, but, as Mr. Collier +observes, ‘There is little doubt that the story is much older than 1640.’ +See preface to Percy Society’s Edition.] + + THERE was an old chap in the west country, + A flaw in the lease the lawyers had found, + ’Twas all about felling of five oak trees, + And building a house upon his own ground. + Right too looral, looral, looral—right too looral la! + + Now, this old chap to Lunnun would go, + To tell the king a part of his woe, + Likewise to tell him a part of his grief, + In hopes the king would give him relief. + + Now, when this old chap to Lunnun had come, + He found the king to Windsor had gone; + But if he’d known he’d not been at home, + He danged his buttons if ever he’d come. + + Now, when this old chap to Windsor did stump, + The gates were barred, and all secure, + But he knocked and thumped with his oaken clump, + There’s room within for I to be sure. + + But when he got there, how he did stare, + To see the yeomen strutting about; + He scratched his head, and rubbed down his hair, + In the ear of a noble he gave a great shout: + + ‘Pray, Mr. Noble, show I the King; + Is that the King that I see there? + I seed an old chap at Bartlemy fair + Look more like a king than that chap there. + + ‘Well, Mr. King, pray how d’ye do? + I gotten for you a bit of a job, + Which if you’ll be so kind as to do, + I gotten a summat for you in my fob.’ + + The king he took the lease in hand, + To sign it, too, he was likewise willing; + And the old chap to make a little amends, + He lugg’d out his bag, and gave him a shilling. + + The king, to carry on the joke, + Ordered ten pounds to be paid down; + The farmer he stared, but nothing spoke, + And stared again, and he scratched his crown. + + The farmer he stared to see so much money, + And to take it up he was likewise willing; + But if he’d a known King had got so much money, + He danged his wig if he’d gien him that shilling! + + + +JONE O’ GREENFIELD’S RAMBLE. + + +[THE county of Lancaster has always been famed for its admirable _patois_ +songs; but they are in general the productions of modern authors, and +consequently, however popular they may be, are not within the scope of +the present work. In the following humorous production, however, we have +a composition of the last century. It is the oldest and most popular +Lancashire song we have been able to procure; and, unlike most pieces of +its class, it is entirely free from grossness and vulgarity.] + + SAYS Jone to his wife, on a hot summer’s day, + ‘I’m resolved i’ Grinfilt no lunger to stay; + For I’ll go to Owdham os fast os I can, + So fare thee weel, Grinfilt, un fare thee weel, Nan; + A soger I’ll be, un brave Owdham I’ll see, + Un I’ll ha’e a battle wi’ th’ French.’ + + ‘Dear Jone,’ then said Nan, un hoo bitterly cried, + Wilt be one o’ th’ foote, or tha meons to ride?’ + ‘Odsounds! wench, I’ll ride oather ass or a mule, + Ere I’ll kewer i’ Grinfilt os black as te dule, + Booath clemmink {213} un starvink, un never a fardink, + Ecod! it would drive ony mon mad. + + ‘Aye, Jone, sin’ wi’ coom i’ Grinfilt for t’ dwell, + We’n had mony a bare meal, I con vara weel tell.’ + ‘Bare meal! ecod! aye, that I vara weel know, + There’s bin two days this wick ot we’n had nowt at o: + I’m vara near sided, afore I’ll abide it, + I’ll feight oather Spanish or French.’ + + Then says my Aunt Marget, ‘Ah! Jone, thee’rt so hot, + I’d ne’er go to Owdham, boh i’ Englond I’d stop.’ + ‘It matters nowt, Madge, for to Owdham I’ll go, + I’ll naw clam to deeoth, boh sumbry shalt know: + Furst Frenchman I find, I’ll tell him meh mind, + Un if he’ll naw feight, he shall run.’ + + Then down th’ broo I coom, for we livent at top, + I thowt I’d reach Owdharn ere ever I’d stop; + Ecod! heaw they stared when I getten to th’ Mumps, + Meh owd hat i’ my hond, un meh clogs full o’stumps; + Boh I soon towd um, I’r gooink to Owdham, + Un I’d ha’e battle wi’ th’ French. + + I kept eendway thro’ th’ lone, un to Owdham I went, + I ask’d a recruit if te’d made up their keawnt? + ‘No, no, honest lad’ (for he tawked like a king), + ‘Go wi’ meh thro’ the street, un thee I will bring + Where, if theaw’rt willink, theaw may ha’e a shillink.’ + Ecod! I thowt this wur rare news. + + He browt me to th’ pleck where te measurn their height, + Un if they bin height, there’s nowt said about weight; + I retched me, un stretched me, un never did flinch, + Says th’ mon, ‘I believe theaw ’rt meh lad to an inch.’ + I thowt this’ll do, I’st ha’e guineas enow, + Ecod! Owdham, brave Owdham for me. + + So fare thee weel, Grinfilt, a soger I’m made, + I’n getten new shoon, un a rare cockade; + I’ll feight for Owd Englond os hard os I con, + Oather French, Dutch, or Spanish, to me it’s o one, + I’ll make ’em to stare like a new-started hare, + Un I’ll tell ’em fro’ Owdham I coom. + + + +THORNEHAGH-MOOR WOODS. + + + A CELEBRATED NOTTINGHAMSHIRE POACHER’S SONG. + +[NOTTINGHAMSHIRE was, in the olden day, famous in song for the +achievements of Robin Hood and his merry men. In our times the reckless +daring of the heroes of the ‘greenwood tree’ has descended to the +poachers of the county, who have also found poets to proclaim and exult +over _their_ lawless exploits; and in _Thornehagh-Moor Woods_ we have a +specimen of one of these rude, but mischievous and exciting lyrics. The +air is beautiful, and of a lively character; and will be found in +_Popular Music_. There is it prevalent idea that the song is not the +production of an ordinary ballad-writer, but was written about the middle +of the last century by a gentleman of rank and education, who, detesting +the English game-laws, adopted a too successful mode of inspiring the +peasantry with a love of poaching. The song finds locality in the +village of Thornehagh, in the hundred of Newark. The common, or +Moor-fields, was inclosed about 1797, and is now no longer called by the +ancient designation. It contains eight hundred acres. The manor of +Thornehagh is the property of the ancient family of Nevile, who have a +residence on the estate.] + + IN Thornehagh-Moor woods, in Nottinghamshire, + Fol de rol, la re, right fol laddie, dee; + In Robin Hood’s bold Nottinghamshire, + Fol de rol, la re da; + + Three keepers’ houses stood three-square, + And about a mile from each other they were;— + Their orders were to look after the deer. + Fol de rol, la re da. + + I went out with my dogs one night,— + The moon shone clear, and the stars gave light; + Over hedges and ditches, and steyls + With my two dogs close at my heels, + To catch a fine buck in Thornehagh-Moor fields. + + Oh! that night we had bad luck, + One of my very best dogs was stuck; + He came to me both breeding and lame,— + Right sorry was I to see the same,— + He was not able to follow the game. + + I searched his wounds, and found them slight, + Some keeper has done this out of spite; + But I’ll take my pike-staff,—that’s the plan! + I’ll range the woods till I find the man, + And I’ll tan his hide right well,—if I can! + + I ranged the woods and groves all night, + I ranged the woods till it proved daylight; + The very first thing that then I found, + Was a good fat buck that lay dead on the ground; + I knew my dogs gave him his death-wound. + + I hired a butcher to skin the game, + Likewise another to sell the same; + The very first buck he offered for sale, + Was to an old [hag] that sold bad ale, + And she sent us three poor lads to gaol. + + The quarter sessions we soon espied, + At which we all were for to be tried; + The Chairman laughed the matter to scorn, + He said the old woman was all forsworn, + And unto pieces she ought to be torn. + + The sessions are over, and we are clear! + The sessions are over, and we sit here, + Singing fol de rol, la re da! + The very best game I ever did see, + Is a buck or a deer, but a deer for me! + In Thornehagh-Moor woods this night we’ll be! + Fol de rol, la re da! + + + +THE LINCOLNSHIRE POACHER. + + +[THIS very old ditty has been transformed into the dialects of +Somersetshire, Northamptonshire, and Leicestershire; but it properly +belongs to Lincolnshire. Nor is this the only liberty that his been +taken with it. The original tune is that of a Lancashire air, well known +as _The Manchester Angel_; but a florid modern tune has been substituted. +_The Lincolnshire Poacher_ was a favourite ditty with George IV., and it +is said that he often had it sung for his amusement by a band of +Berkshire ploughmen. He also commanded it to be sung at his +harvest-homes, but we believe it was always on such occasions sung to the +‘playhouse tune,’ and not to the genuine music. It is often very +difficult to trace the locality of countrymen’s songs, in consequence of +the licence adopted by printers of changing the names of places to suit +their own neighbourhoods; but there is no such difficulty about _The +Lincolnshire Poacher_. The oldest copy we have seen, printed at York +about 1776, reads ‘Lincolnshire,’ and it is only in very modern copies +that the venue is removed to other counties. In the Somersetshire +version the local vernacular is skilfully substituted for that of the +original; but the deception may, nevertheless, be very easily detected.] + + WHEN I was bound apprentice, in famous Lincolnsheer, + Full well I served my master for more than seven year, + Till I took up with poaching, as you shall quickly hear:— + Oh! ’tis my delight of a shiny night, in the season of the year. + + As me and my comrades were setting of a snare, + ’Twas then we seed the gamekeeper—for him we did not care, + For we can wrestle and fight, my boys, and jump o’er everywhere:— + Oh! ’tis my delight of a shiny night, in the season of the year. + + As me and my comrades were setting four or five, + And taking on him up again, we caught the hare alive; + We caught the hare alive, my boys, and through the woods did steer:— + Oh! ’tis my delight of a shiny night, in the season of the year. + + Bad luck to every magistrate that lives in Lincolnsheer; {217} + Success to every poacher that wants to sell a hare; + Bad luck to every gamekeeper that will not sell his deer:— + Oh! ’tis my delight of a shiny night, in the season of the year. + + + +SOMERSETSHIRE HUNTING SONG. + + +[THIS following song, which is very popular with the peasantry of +Somersetshire, is given as a curious specimen of the dialect still spoken +in some parts of that county. Though the song is a genuine peasant’s +ditty, it is heard in other circles, and frequently roared out at hunting +dinners. It is here reprinted from a copy communicated by Mr. Sandys.] + + THERE’S no pleasures can compare + Wi’ the hunting o’ the hare, + In the morning, in the morning, + In fine and pleasant weather. + + _Cho_. With our hosses and our hounds, + We will scamps it o’er the grounds, + And sing traro, huzza! + And sing traro, huzza! + And sing traro, brave boys, we will foller. + + And when poor puss arise, + Then away from us she flies; + And we’ll gives her, boys, we’ll gives her, + One thundering and loud holler! + _Cho_. With our hosses, &c. + + And when poor puss is killed, + We’ll retires from the field; + And we’ll count boys, and we’ll count + On the same good ren to-morrer. + _Cho_. With our bosses and our hounds, &c. + + + +THE TROTTING HORSE. + + +[THE common copies of this old highwayman’s song are very corrupt. We +are indebted for the following version, which contains several +emendations, to Mr. W. H. Ainsworth. The song, which may probably be +referred to the age of Charles II., is a spirited specimen of its class.] + + I CAN sport as fine a trotting horse as any swell in town, + To trot you fourteen miles an hour, I’ll bet you fifty crown; + He is such a one to bend his knees, and tuck his haunches in, + And throw the dust in people’s face, and think it not a sin. + For to ride away, trot away, + Ri, fa lar, la, &c. + + He has an eye like any hawk, a neck like any swan, + A foot light as the stag’s, the while his back is scarce a span; + Kind Nature hath so formed him, he is everything that’s good,— + Aye! everything a man could wish, in bottom, bone, and blood. + For to ride away, &c. + + If you drop therein, he’ll nod his head, and boldly walk away, + While others kick and bounce about, to him it’s only play; + There never was a finer horse e’er went on English ground, + He is rising six years old, and is all over right and sound. + For to ride away, &c. + + If any frisk or milling match should call me out of town, + I can pass the blades with white cockades, their whiskers hanging + down; + With large jack-towels round their necks, they think they’re first and + fast, + But, with their gapers open wide, they find that they are last. + Whilst I ride away, &c. + + If threescore miles I am from home, I darkness never mind, + My friend is gone, and I am left, with pipe and pot behind; + Up comes some saucy kiddy, a scampsman on the hot, + But ere he pulls the trigger I am off just like a shot. + For I ride away, &c. + + If Fortune e’er should fickle be, and wish to have again + That which she so freely gave, I’d give it without pain; + I would part with it most freely, and without the least remorse, + Only grant to me what God hath gave, my mistress and my horse! + That I may ride away, &c. + + + +THE SEEDS OF LOVE. + + +[THIS very curious old song is not only a favourite with our peasantry, +but, in consequence of having been introduced into the modern dramatic +entertainment of _The Loan of a Lover_, has obtained popularity in higher +circles. Its sweetly plaintive tune will be found in _Popular Music_. +The words are quaint, but by no means wanting in beauty; they are, no +doubt, corrupted, as we have derived them from common broadsides, the +only form in which we have been able to meet with them. The author of +the song was Mrs. Fleetwood Habergham, of Habergham, in the county of +Lancaster. ‘Ruined by the extravagance, and disgraced by the vices of +her husband, she soothed her sorrows,’ says Dr. Whitaker, ‘by some +stanzas yet remembered among the old people of her +neighbourhood.’—_History of Whalley_. Mrs. Habergham died in 1703, and +was buried at Padiham.] + + I SOWED the seeds of love, it was all in the spring, + In April, May, and June, likewise, when small birds they do sing; + My garden’s well planted with flowers everywhere, + Yet I had not the liberty to choose for myself the flower that I loved + so dear. + + My gardener he stood by, I asked him to choose for me, + He chose me the violet, the lily and pink, but those I refused all + three; + The violet I forsook, because it fades so soon, + The lily and the pink I did o’erlook, and I vowed I’d stay till June. + + In June there’s a red rose-bud, and that’s the flower for me! + But often have I plucked at the red rose-bud till I gained the + willow-tree; + The willow-tree will twist, and the willow-tree will twice,— + O! I wish I was in the dear youth’s arms that once had the heart of + mine. + + My gardener he stood by, he told me to take great care, + For in the middle of a red rose-bud there grows a sharp thorn there; + I told him I’d take no care till I did feel the smart, + And often I plucked at the red rose-bud till I pierced it to the + heart. + + I’ll make me a posy of hyssop,—no other I can touch,— + That all the world may plainly see I love one flower too much; + My garden is run wild! where shall I plant anew— + For my bed, that once was covered with thyme, is all overrun with rue? + {221a} + + + +THE GARDEN-GATE. + + +[ONE of our most pleasing rural ditties. The air is very beautiful. We +first heard it sung in Malhamdale, Yorkshire, by Willy Bolton, an old +Dales’-minstrel, who accompanied himself on the union-pipes. {221b}] + + THE day was spent, the moon shone bright, + The village clock struck eight; + Young Mary hastened, with delight, + Unto the garden-gate: + But what was there that made her sad?— + The gate was there, but not the lad, + Which made poor Mary say and sigh, + ‘Was ever poor girl so sad as I?’ + + She traced the garden here and there, + The village clock struck nine; + Which made poor Mary sigh, and say, + ‘You shan’t, you shan’t be mine! + You promised to meet at the gate at eight, + You ne’er shall keep me, nor make me wait, + For I’ll let all such creatures see, + They ne’er shall make a fool of me!’ + + She traced the garden here and there, + The village clock struck ten; + Young William caught her in his arms, + No more to part again: + For he’d been to buy the ring that day, + And O! he had been a long, long way;— + Then, how could Mary cruel prove, + To banish the lad she so dearly did love? + + Up with the morning sun they rose, + To church they went away, + And all the village joyful were, + Upon their wedding-day: + Now in a cot, by a river side, + William and Mary both reside; + And she blesses the night that she did wait + For her absent swain, at the garden-gate. + + + +THE NEW-MOWN HAY. + + +[THIS song is a village-version of an incident which occurred in the +Cecil family. The same English adventure has, strangely enough, been +made the subject of one of the most romantic of Moore’s _Irish Melodies_, +viz., _You remember Helen_, _the hamlet’s pride_.] + + AS I walked forth one summer’s morn, + Hard by a river’s side, + Where yellow cowslips did adorn + The blushing field with pride; + I spied a damsel on the grass, + More blooming than the may; + Her looks the Queen of Love surpassed, + Among the new-mown hay. + + I said, ‘Good morning, pretty maid, + How came you here so soon?’ + ‘To keep my father’s sheep,’ she said, + ‘The thing that must be done: + While they are feeding ‘mong the dew, + To pass the time away, + I sit me down to knit or sew, + Among the new-mown hay.’ + + Delighted with her simple tale, + I sat down by her side; + With vows of love I did prevail + On her to be my bride: + In strains of simple melody, + She sung a rural lay; + The little lambs stood listening by, + Among the new-mown hay. + + Then to the church they went with speed, + And Hymen joined them there; + No more her ewes and lambs to feed, + For she’s a lady fair: + A lord he was that married her, + To town they came straightway: + She may bless the day he spied her there, + Among the new-mown hay. + + + +THE PRAISE OF A DAIRY. + + +[THIS excellent old country song, which can be traced to 1687, is sung to +the air of _Packington’s Pound_, for the history of which see _Popular +Music_.] + + IN praise of a dairy I purpose to sing, + But all things in order, first, God save the King! {224} + And the Queen, I may say, + That every May-day, + Has many fair dairy-maids all fine and gay. + Assist me, fair damsels, to finish my theme, + Inspiring my fancy with strawberry cream. + + The first of fair dairy-maids, if you’ll believe, + Was Adam’s own wife, our great grandmother Eve, + Who oft milked a cow, + As well she knew how. + Though butter was not then as cheap as ’tis now, + She hoarded no butter nor cheese on her shelves, + For butter and cheese in those days made themselves. + + In that age or time there was no horrid money, + Yet the children of Israel had both milk and honey; + No Queen you could see, + Of the highest degree, + But would milk the brown cow with the meanest she. + Their lambs gave them clothing, their cows gave them meat, + And in plenty and peace all their joys wore complete. + + Amongst the rare virtues that milk does produce, + For a thousand of dainties it’s daily in use: + Now a pudding I’ll tell ’ee, + And so can maid Nelly, + Must have from good milk both the cream and the jelly: + For a dainty fine pudding, without cream or milk, + Is a citizen’s wife, without satin or silk. + + In the virtues of milk there is more to be mustered: + O! the charming delights both of cheesecake and custard! + If to wakes {225} you resort, + You can have no sport, + Unless you give custards and cheesecake too for’t: + And what’s the jack-pudding that makes us to laugh, + Unless he hath got a great custard to quaff? + + Both pancake and fritter of milk have good store, + But a Devonshire white-pot must needs have much more; + Of no brew {226a} you can think, + Though you study and wink, + From the lusty sack posset to poor posset drink, + But milk’s the ingredient, though wine’s {226b} ne’er the worse, + For ’tis wine makes the man, though ’tis milk makes the nurse. + + + +THE MILK-MAID’S LIFE. + + +[OF this popular country song there are a variety of versions. The +following, which is the most ancient, is transcribed from a black-letter +broadside in the Roxburgh Collection, entitled _The Milke-maid’s Life_; +_or_, _a pretty new ditty composed and penned_, _the praise of the +Milking-pail to defend_. To a curious new tune called the _Milke-maid’s +Dump_. It is subscribed with the initials M. P.; probably those of +Martin Parker.] + + YOU rural goddesses, + That woods and fields possess, + Assist me with your skill, that may direct my quill, + More jocundly to express, + The mirth and delight, both morning and night, + On mountain or in dale, + Of them who choose this trade to use, + And, through cold dews, do never refuse + To carry the milking-pail. + + The bravest lasses gay, + Live not so merry as they; + In honest civil sort they make each other sport, + As they trudge on their way; + Come fair or foul weather, they’re fearful of neither, + Their courages never quail. + In wet and dry, though winds be high, + And dark’s the sky, they ne’er deny + To carry the milking-pail. + + Their hearts are free from care, + They never will despair; + Whatever them befal, they bravely bear out all, + And fortune’s frowns outdare. + They pleasantly sing to welcome the spring, + ’Gainst heaven they never rail; + If grass well grow, their thanks they show, + And, frost or snow, they merrily go + Along with the milking-pail: + + Base idleness they do scorn, + They rise very early i’ th’ morn, + And walk into the field, where pretty birds do yield + Brave music on every thorn. + The linnet and thrush do sing on each bush, + And the dulcet nightingale + Her note doth strain, by jocund vein, + To entertain that worthy train, + Which carry the milking-pail. + + Their labour doth health preserve, + No doctor’s rules they observe, + While others too nice in taking their advice, + Look always as though they would starve. + Their meat is digested, they ne’er are molested, + No sickness doth them assail; + Their time is spent in merriment, + While limbs are lent, they are content, + To carry the milking-pail. + + Upon the first of May, + With garlands, fresh and gay, + With mirth and music sweet, for such a season meet, + They pass the time away. + They dance away sorrow, and all the day thorough + Their legs do never fail, + For they nimbly their feet do ply, + And bravely try the victory, + In honour o’ the milking-pail. + + If any think that I + Do practise flattery, + In seeking thus to raise the merry milkmaids’ praise, + I’ll to them thus reply:— + It is their desert inviteth my art, + To study this pleasant tale; + In their defence, whose innocence, + And providence, gets honest pence + Out of the milking-pail. + + + +THE MILKING-PAIL. + + +[THE following is another version of the preceding ditty, and is the one +most commonly sung.] + + YE nymphs and sylvan gods, + That love green fields and woods, + When spring newly-born herself does adorn, + With flowers and blooming buds: + Come sing in the praise, while flocks do graze, + On yonder pleasant vale, + Of those that choose to milk their ewes, + And in cold dews, with clouted shoes, + To carry the milking-pail. + + You goddess of the morn, + With blushes you adorn, + And take the fresh air, whilst linnets prepare + A concert on each green thorn; + The blackbird and thrush on every bush, + And the charming nightingale, + In merry vein, their throats do strain + To entertain, the jolly train + Of those of the milking-pail. + + When cold bleak winds do roar, + And flowers will spring no more, + The fields that were seen so pleasant and green, + With winter all candied o’er, + See now the town lass, with her white face, + And her lips so deadly pale; + But it is not so, with those that go + Through frost and snow, with cheeks that glow, + And carry the milking-pail. + + The country lad is free + From fears and jealousy, + Whilst upon the green he oft is seen, + With his lass upon his knee. + With kisses most sweet he doth her so treat, + And swears her charms won’t fail; + But the London lass, in every place, + With brazen face, despises the grace + Of those of the milking-pail. + + + +THE SUMMER’S MORNING. + + +[THIS is a very old ditty, and a favourite with the peasantry in every +part of England; but more particularly in the mining districts of the +North. The tune is pleasing, but uncommon. R. W. Dixon, Esq., of +Seaton-Carew, Durham, by whom the song was communicated to his brother +for publication, says, ‘I have written down the above, _verbatim_, as +generally sung. It will be seen that the last lines of each verse are +not of equal length. The singer, however, makes all right and smooth! +The words underlined in each verse are sung five times, thus:—_They +ad-van-cèd_, _they ad-van-cèd_, _they ad-van-cèd_, _they ad-van-cèd_, +_they ad-van-cèd me some money_,—_ten guineas and a crown_. The last +line is thus sung:—_We’ll be married_, (as the word is usually +pronounced), _We’ll be married_, _we’ll be married_, _we’ll be married_, +_we’ll be married_, _we’ll be mar-ri-èd when I return again_.’ The tune +is given in _Popular Music_. Since this song appeared in the volume +issued by the Percy Society, we have met with a copy printed at +Devonport. The readings are in general not so good; but in one or two +instances they are apparently more ancient, and are, consequently, here +adopted. The Devonport copy contains two verses, not preserved in our +traditional version. These we have incorporated in our present text, in +which they form the third and last stanzas.] + + IT was one summer’s morning, as I went o’er the moss, + I had no thought of ’listing, till the soldiers did me cross; + They kindly did invite me to a flowing bowl, and down, + _They advancèd_ me some money,—ten guineas and a crown. + + ‘It’s true my love has listed, he wears a white cockade, + He is a handsome tall young man, besides a roving blade; + He is a handsome young man, and he’s gone to serve the king, + _Oh_! _my very_ heart is breaking for the loss of him. + + ‘My love is tall and handsome, and comely for to see, + And by a sad misfortune a soldier now is he; + I hope the man that listed him may not prosper night nor day, + _For I wish that_ the Hollànders may sink him in the sea. + + ‘Oh! may he never prosper, oh! may he never thrive, + Nor anything he takes in hand so long as he’s alive; + May the very grass he treads upon the ground refuse to grow, + _Since he’s been_ the only cause of my sorrow, grief, and woe!’ + + Then he pulled out a handkerchief to wipe her flowing eyes,— + ‘Leave off those lamentations, likewise those mournful cries; + Leave of your grief and sorrow, while I march o’er the plain, + _We’ll be married_ when I return again.’ + + ‘O now my love has listed, and I for him will rove, + I’ll write his name on every tree that grows in yonder grove, + Where the huntsman he does hollow, and the hounds do sweetly cry, + _To remind me_ of my ploughboy until the day I die.’ + + + +OLD ADAM. + + +[WE have had considerable trouble in procuring a copy of this old song, +which used, in former days, to be very popular with aged people resident +in the North of England. It has been long out of print, and handed down +traditionally. By the kindness, however, of Mr. S. Swindells, printer, +Manchester, we have been favoured with an ancient printed copy, which Mr. +Swindells observes he had great difficulty in obtaining. Some +improvements have been made in the present edition from the recital of +Mr. Effingham Wilson, who was familiar with the song in his youth.] + + BOTH sexes give ear to my fancy, + While in praise of dear woman I sing; + Confined not to Moll, Sue, or Nancy, + But mates from a beggar to king. + + When old Adam first was created, + And lord of the universe crowned, + His happiness was not completed, + Until that an helpmate was found. + + He’d all things in food that were wanting + To keep and support him through life; + He’d horses and foxes for hunting, + Which some men love better than wife. + + He’d a garden so planted by nature, + Man cannot produce in his life; + But yet the all-wise great Creator + Still saw that he wanted a wife. + + Then Adam he laid in a slumber, + And there he lost part of his side; + And when he awoke, with a wonder, + Beheld his most beautiful bride! + + In transport he gazèd upon her, + His happiness now was complete! + He praisèd his bountiful donor, + Who thus had bestowed him a mate. + + She was not took out of his head, sir, + To reign and triumph over man; + Nor was she took out of his feet, sir, + By man to be trampled upon. + + But she was took out of his side, sir, + His equal and partner to be; + But as they’re united in one, sir, + The man is the top of the tree. + + Then let not the fair be despisèd + By man, as she’s part of himself; + For woman by Adam was prizèd + More than the whole globe full of wealth. + + Man without a woman’s a beggar, + Suppose the whole world he possessed; + And the beggar that’s got a good woman, + With more than the world he is blest. + + + +TOBACCO. + + +[THIS song is a mere adaptation of _Smoking Spiritualized_; see _ante_, +p. 39. The earliest copy of the abridgment we have been able to meet +with, is published in D’Urfey’s _Pills to purge Melancholy_, 1719; but +whether we are indebted for it to the author of the original poem, or to +‘that bright genius, Tom D’Urfey,’ as Burns calls him, we are not able to +determine. The song has always been popular. The tune is in _Popular +Music_.] + + TOBACCO’S but an Indian weed, + Grows green in the morn, cut down at eve; + It shows our decay, + We are but clay; + Think of this when you smoke tobacco! + + The pipe that is so lily white, + Wherein so many take delight, + It’s broken with a touch,— + Man’s life is such; + Think of this when you take tobacco! + + The pipe that is so foul within, + It shows man’s soul is stained with sin; + It doth require + To be purred with fire; + Think of this when you smoke tobacco! + + The dust that from the pipe doth fall, + It shows we are nothing but dust at all; + For we came from the dust, + And return we must; + Think of this when you smoke tobacco! + + The ashes that are left behind, + Do serve to put us all in mind + That unto dust + Return we must; + Think of this when you take tobacco! + + The smoke that does so high ascend, + Shows that man’s life must have an end; + The vapour’s gone,— + Man’s life is done; + Think of this when you take tobacco! + + + +THE SPANISH LADIES. + + +[THIS song is ancient, but we have no means of ascertaining at what +period it was written. Captain Marryat, in his novel of _Poor Jack_, +introduces it, and says it is _old_. It is a general favourite. The air +is plaintive, and in the minor key. See _Popular Music_.] + + FAREWELL, and adieu to you Spanish ladies, + Farewell, and adieu to you ladies of Spain! + For we’ve received orders for to sail for old England, + But we hope in a short time to see you again. + + We’ll rant and we’ll roar {234} like true British heroes, + We’ll rant and we’ll roar across the salt seas, + Until we strike soundings in the channel of old England; + From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues. + + Then we hove our ship to, with the wind at sou’-west, boys, + We hove our ship to, for to strike soundings clear; + We got soundings in ninety-five fathom, and boldly + Up the channel of old England our course we did steer. + + The first land we made it was callèd the Deadman, + Next, Ram’shead off Plymouth, Start, Portland, and Wight; + We passèd by Beachy, by Fairleigh, and Dungeness, + And hove our ship to, off the South Foreland light. + + Then a signal was made for the grand fleet to anchor + All in the Downs, that night for to sleep; + Then stand by your stoppers, let go your shank-painters, + Haul all your clew-garnets, stick out tacks and sheets. + + So let every man toss off a full bumper, + Let every man toss off his full bowls; + We’ll drink and be jolly, and drown melancholy, + So here’s a good health to all true-hearted souls! + + + +HARRY THE TAILOR. + + + (TRADITIONAL.) + +[THE following song was taken down some years ago from the recitation of +a country curate, who said he had learned it from a very old inhabitant +of Methley, near Pontefract, Yorkshire. We have never seen it in print.] + + WHEN Harry the tailor was twenty years old, + He began for to look with courage so bold; + He told his old mother he was not in jest, + But he would have a wife as well as the rest. + + Then Harry next morning, before it was day, + To the house of his fair maid took his way. + He found his dear Dolly a making of cheese, + Says he, ‘You must give me a buss, if you please!’ + + She up with the bowl, the butter-milk flew, + And Harry the tailor looked wonderful blue. + ‘O, Dolly, my dear, what hast thou done? + From my back to my breeks has thy butter-milk run.’ + + She gave him a push, he stumbled and fell + Down from the dairy into the drawwell. + Then Harry, the ploughboy, ran amain, + And soon brought him up in the bucket again. + + Then Harry went home like a drowned rat, + And told his old mother what he had been at. + With butter-milk, bowl, and a terrible fall, + O, if this be called love, may the devil take all! + + + +SIR ARTHUR AND CHARMING MOLLEE. + + + (TRADITIONAL.) + +[FOR this old Northumbrian song we are indebted to Mr. Robert Chambers. +It was taken down from the recitation of a lady. The ‘Sir Arthur’ is no +less a personage than Sir Arthur Haslerigg, the Governor of Tynemouth +Castle during the Protectorate of Cromwell.] + + AS noble Sir Arthur one morning did ride, + With his hounds at his feet, and his sword by his side, + He saw a fair maid sitting under a tree, + He askèd her name, and she said ’twas Mollee. + + ‘Oh, charming Mollee, you my butler shall be, + To draw the red wine for yourself and for me! + I’ll make you a lady so high in degree, + If you will but love me, my charming Mollee! + + ‘I’ll give you fine ribbons, I’ll give you fine rings, + I’ll give you fine jewels, and many fine things; + I’ll give you a petticoat flounced to the knee, + If you will but love me, my charming Mollee!’ + + ‘I’ll have none of your ribbons, and none of your rings, + None of your jewels, and other fine things; + And I’ve got a petticoat suits my degree, + And I’ll ne’er love a married man till his wife dee.’ + + ‘Oh, charming Mollee, lend me then your penknife, + And I will go home, and I’ll kill my own wife; + I’ll kill my own wife, and my bairnies three, + If you will but love me, my charming Mollee!’ + + ‘Oh, noble Sir Arthur, it must not be so, + Go home to your wife, and let nobody know; + For seven long years I will wait upon thee, + But I’ll ne’er love a married man till his wife dee.’ + + Now seven long years are gone and are past, + The old woman went to her long home at last; + The old woman died, and Sir Arthur was free, + And he soon came a-courting to charming Mollee. + + Now charming Mollee in her carriage doth ride, + With her hounds at her feet, and her lord by her side: + Now all ye fair maids take a warning by me, + And ne’er love a married man till his wife dee. + + + +THERE WAS AN OLD MAN CAME OVER THE LEA. + + +[THIS is a version of the _Baillie of Berwick_, which will be found in +the _Local Historian’s Table-Book_. It was originally obtained from +Morpeth, and communicated by W. H. Longstaffe, Esq., of Darlington, who +says, ‘in many respects the _Baillie of Berwick_ is the better +edition—still mine may furnish an extra stanza or two, and the ha! ha! +ha! is better than heigho, though the notes suit either version.’] + + THERE was an old man came over the Lea, + Ha-ha-ha-ha! but I won’t have him. {237} + He came over the Lea, + A-courting to me, + With his grey beard newly-shaven. + + My mother she bid me open the door: + I opened the door, + And he fell on the floor. + + My mother she bid me set him a stool: + I set him a stool, + And he looked like a fool. + + My mother she bid me give him some beer: + I gave him some beer, + And he thought it good cheer. + + My mother she bid me cut him some bread: + I cut him some bread, + And I threw’t at his head. + + My mother she bid me light him to bed: + I lit him to bed, + And wished he were dead. + + My mother she bid me tell him to rise: + I told him to rise, + And he opened his eyes. + + My mother she bid me take him to church: + I took him to church, + And left him in the lurch; + With his grey beard newly-shaven. + + + +WHY SHOULD WE QUARREL FOR RICHES. + + +[A VERSION of this very favourite song may be found in Ramsay’s +_Tea-Table Miscellany_. Though a sailor’s song, we question whether it +is not a greater favourite with landsmen. The chorus is become +proverbial, and its philosophy has often been invoked to mitigate the +evils and misfortunes of life.] + + HOW pleasant a sailor’s life passes, + Who roams o’er the watery main! + No treasure he ever amasses, + But cheerfully spends all his gain. + We’re strangers to party and faction, + To honour and honesty true; + And would not commit a bad action + For power or profit in view. + Then why should we quarrel for riches, + Or any such glittering toys; + A light heart, and a thin pair of breeches, + Will go through the world, my brave boys! + + The world is a beautiful garden, + Enriched with the blessings of life, + The toiler with plenty rewarding, + Which plenty too often breeds strife. + When terrible tempests assail us, + And mountainous billows affright, + No grandeur or wealth can avail us, + But skilful industry steers right. + Then why, &c. + + The courtier’s more subject to dangers, + Who rules at the helm of the state, + Than we that, to politics strangers, + Escape the snares laid for the great. + The various blessings of nature, + In various nations we try; + No mortals than us can be greater, + Who merrily live till we die. + Then why should, &c. + + + +THE MERRY FELLOWS; + + + OR, HE THAT WILL NOT MERRY, MERRY BE. + +[THE popularity of this old lyric, of which ours is the ballad-printer’s +version, has been increased by the lively and appropriate music recently +adapted to it by Mr. Holderness. The date of this song is about the era +of Charles II.] + + NOW, since we’re met, let’s merry, merry be, + In spite of all our foes; + And he that will not merry be, + We’ll pull him by the nose. + _Cho_. Let him be merry, merry there, + While we’re all merry, merry here, + For who can know where he shall go, + To be merry another year. + + He that will not merry, merry be, + With a generous bowl and a toast, + May he in Bridewell be shut up, + And fast bound to a post. + Let him, &c. + + He that will not merry, merry be, + And take his glass in course, + May he be obliged to drink small beer, + Ne’er a penny in his purse. + Let him, &c. + + He that will not merry, merry be, + With a company of jolly boys; + May he be plagued with a scolding wife, + To confound him with her noise. + Let him, &c. + + [He that will not merry, merry be, + With his sweetheart by his side, + Let him be laid in the cold churchyard, + With a head-stone for his bride. + Let him, &c.] + + + +THE OLD MAN’S SONG. + + +[THIS ditty, still occasionally heard in the country districts, seems to +be the original of the very beautiful song, _The Downhill of Life_. _The +Old Man’s Song_ may be found in Playford’s _Theatre of Music_, 1685; but +we are inclined to refer it to an earlier period. The song is also +published by D’Urfey, accompanied by two objectionable parodies.] + + IF I live to grow old, for I find I go down, + Let this be my fate in a country town:— + May I have a warm house, with a stone at the gate, + And a cleanly young girl to rub my bald pate; + May I govern my passions with absolute sway, + And grow wiser and better as strength wears away, + Without gout or stone, by a gentle decay. + + In a country town, by a murmuring brook, + With the ocean at distance on which I may look; + With a spacious plain, without hedge or stile, + And an easy pad nag to ride out a mile. + May I govern, &c. + + With Horace and Plutarch, and one or two more + Of the best wits that lived in the age before; + With a dish of roast mutton, not venison or teal, + And clean, though coarse, linen at every meal. + May I govern, &c. + + With a pudding on Sunday, and stout humming liquor, + And remnants of Latin to welcome the vicar; + With a hidden reserve of good Burgundy wine, + To drink the king’s health in as oft as I dine. + May I govern, &c. + + When the days are grown short, and it freezes and snows, + May I have a coal fire as high as my nose; + A fire (which once stirred up with a prong), + Will keep the room temperate all the night long. + May I govern, &c. + + With a courage undaunted may I face my last day; + And when I am dead may the better sort say— + ‘In the morning when sober, in the evening when mellow, + He’s gone, and he leaves not behind him his fellow!’ + May I govern, &c. + + + +ROBIN HOOD’S HILL. + + +[RITSON speaks of a Robin Hood’s Hill near Gloucester, and of a ‘foolish +song’ about it. Whether this is the song to which he alludes we cannot +determine. We find it in _Notes and Queries_, where it is stated to be +printed from a MS. of the latter part of the last century, and described +as a song well known in the district to which it refers.] + + YE bards who extol the gay valleys and glades, + The jessamine bowers, and amorous shades, + Who prospects so rural can boast at your will, + Yet never once mentioned sweet ‘Robin Hood’s Hill.’ + + This spot, which of nature displays every smile, + From famed Glo’ster city is distanced two mile, + Of which you a view may obtain at your will, + From the sweet rural summit of ‘Robin Hood’s Hill.’ + + Where a clear crystal spring does incessantly flow, + To supply and refresh the fair valley below; + No dog-star’s brisk heat e’er diminished the rill + Which sweetly doth prattle on ‘Robin Hood’s Hill.’ + + Here, gazing around, you find objects still new, + Of Severn’s sweet windings, how pleasing the view, + Whose stream with the fruits of blessed commerce doth fill + The sweet-smelling vale beneath ‘Robin Hood’s Hill.’ + + This hill, though so lofty, yet fertile and rare, + Few valleys can with it for herbage compare; + Some far greater bard should his lyre and his quill + Direct to the praise of sweet ‘Robin Hood’s Hill.’ + + Here lads and gay lasses in couples resort, + For sweet rural pastime and innocent sport; + Sure pleasures ne’er flowed from gay nature or skill, + Like those that are found on sweet ‘Robin Hood’s Hill.’ + + Had I all the riches of matchless Peru, + To revel in splendour as emperors do, + I’d forfeit the whole with a hearty good will, + To dwell in a cottage on ‘Robin Hood’s Hill.’ + + Then, poets, record my loved theme in your lays: + First view;—then you’ll own that ’tis worthy of praise; + Nay, Envy herself must acknowledge it still, + That no spot’s so delightful as ‘Robin Hood’s Hill.’ + + + +BEGONE DULL CARE. + + + (TRADITIONAL.) + +[WE cannot trace this popular ditty beyond the reign of James II, but we +believe it to be older. The origin is to be found in an early French +chanson. The present version has been taken down from the singing of an +old Yorkshire yeoman. The third verse we have never seen in print, but +it is always sung in the west of Yorkshire.] + + BEGONE, dull care! + I prithee begone from me; + Begone, dull care! + Thou and I can never agree. + Long while thou hast been tarrying here, + And fain thou wouldst me kill; + But i’ faith, dull care, + Thou never shalt have thy will. + + Too much care + Will make a young man grey; + Too much care + Will turn an old man to clay. + My wife shall dance, and I shall sing, + So merrily pass the day; + For I hold it is the wisest thing, + To drive dull care away. + + Hence, dull care, + I’ll none of thy company; + Hence, dull care, + Thou art no pair {243} for me. + We’ll hunt the wild boar through the wold, + So merrily pass the day; + And then at night, o’er a cheerful bowl, + We’ll drive dull care away. + + + +FULL MERRILY SINGS THE CUCKOO. + + +[THE earliest copy of this playful song is one contained in a MS. of the +reign of James I., preserved amongst the registers of the Stationers’ +Company; but the song can be traced back to 1566.] + + FULL merrily sings the cuckoo + Upon the beechen tree; + Your wives you well should look to, + If you take advice of me. + Cuckoo! cuckoo! alack the morn, + When of married men + Full nine in ten + Must be content to wear the horn. + + Full merrily sings the cuckoo + Upon the oaken tree; + Your wives you well should look to, + If you take advice of me. + Cuckoo! cuckoo! alack the day! + For married men + But now and then, + Can ’scape to bear the horn away. + + Full merrily sings the cuckoo + Upon the ashen tree; + Your wives you well should look to, + If you take advice of me. + Cuckoo! cuckoo! alack the noon, + When married men + Must watch the hen, + Or some strange fox will steal her soon. + + Full merrily sings the cuckoo + Upon the alder tree; + Your wives you well should look to, + If you take advice of me. + Cuckoo! cuckoo! alack the eve, + When married men + Must bid good den + To such as horns to them do give. + + Full merrily sings the cuckoo + Upon the aspen tree; + Your wives you well should look to, + If you take advice of me. + Cuckoo! cuckoo! alack the night, + When married men, + Again and again, + Must hide their horns in their despite. + + + +JOCKEY TO THE FAIR. + + +[A VERSION of this song, not quite so accurate as the following was +published from an old broadside in _Notes and Queries_, vol. vii., p. 49, +where it is described as a ‘very celebrated Gloucestershire ballad.’ But +Gloucestershire is not exclusively entitled to the honour of this genuine +old country song, which is well known in Westmoreland and other counties. +‘Jockey’ songs constitute a distinct and numerous class, and belong for +the most part to the middle of the last century, when Jockey and Jenny +were formidable rivals to the Strephons and Chloes of the artificial +school of pastoral poetry. The author of this song, whoever he was, drew +upon real rural life, and not upon its fashionable masquerade. We have +been unable to trace the exact date of this ditty, which still enjoys in +some districts a wide popularity. It is not to be found in any of +several large collections of Ranelagh and Vauxhall songs, and other +anthologies, which we have examined. From the christian names of the +lovers, it might be supposed to be of Scotch or Border origin; but +_Jockey to the Fair_ is not confined to the North; indeed it is much +better known, and more frequently sung, in the South and West.] + + ’TWAS on the morn of sweet May-day, + When nature painted all things gay, + Taught birds to sing, and lambs to play, + And gild the meadows fair; + Young Jockey, early in the dawn, + Arose and tripped it o’er the lawn; + His Sunday clothes the youth put on, + For Jenny had vowed away to run + With Jockey to the fair; + For Jenny had vowed, &c. + + The cheerful parish bells had rung, + With eager steps he trudged along, + While flowery garlands round him hung, + Which shepherds use to wear; + He tapped the window; ‘Haste, my dear!’ + Jenny impatient cried, ‘Who’s there?’ + ‘’Tis I, my love, and no one near; + Step gently down, you’ve nought to fear, + With Jockey to the fair.’ + Step gently down, &c. + + ‘My dad and mam are fast asleep, + My brother’s up, and with the sheep; + And will you still your promise keep, + Which I have heard you swear? + And will you ever constant prove?’ + ‘I will, by all the powers above, + And ne’er deceive my charming dove; + Dispel these doubts, and haste, my love, + With Jockey to the fair.’ + Dispel, &c. + + ‘Behold, the ring,’ the shepherd cried; + ‘Will Jenny be my charming bride? + Let Cupid be our happy guide, + And Hymen meet us there.’ + Then Jockey did his vows renew; + He would be constant, would he true, + His word was pledged; away she flew, + O’er cowslips tipped with balmy dew, + With Jockey to the fair. + O’er cowslips, &c. + + In raptures meet the joyful throng; + Their gay companions, blithe and young, + Each join the dance, each raise the song, + To hail the happy pair. + In turns there’s none so loud as they, + They bless the kind propitious day, + The smiling morn of blooming May, + When lovely Jenny ran away + With Jockey to the fair. + When lovely, &c. + + + +LONG PRESTON PEG. + + + (A FRAGMENT.) + +[MR. BIRKBECK, of Threapland House, Lintondale, in Craven, has favoured +us with the following fragment. The tune is well known in the North, but +all attempts on the part of Mr. Birkbeck to obtain the remaining verses +have been unsuccessful. The song is evidently of the date of the first +rebellion, 1715.] + + LONG Preston Peg to proud Preston went, + To see the Scotch rebels it was her intent. + A noble Scotch lord, as he passed by, + On this Yorkshire damsel did soon cast an eye. + + He called to his servant, which on him did wait, + ‘Go down to yon girl who stands in the gate, {247} + That sings with a voice so soft and so sweet, + And in my name do her lovingly greet.’ + + + +THE SWEET NIGHTINGALE; + + + OR, DOWN IN THOSE VALLEYS BELOW. + + AN ANCIENT CORNISH SONG. + +[THIS curious ditty, which may be confidently assigned to the seventeenth +century, is said to be a translation from the ancient Cornish tongue. We +first heard it in Germany, in the pleasure-gardens of the Marienberg, on +the Moselle. The singers were four Cornish miners, who were at that +time, 1854, employed at some lead mines near the town of Zell. The +leader or ‘Captain,’ John Stocker, said that the song was an established +favourite with the lead miners of Cornwall and Devonshire, and was always +sung on the pay-days, and at the wakes; and that his grandfather, who +died thirty years before, at the age of a hundred years, used to sing the +song, and say that it was very old. Stocker promised to make a copy of +it, but there was no opportunity of procuring it before we left Germany. +The following version has been supplied by a gentleman in Plymouth, who +writes:— + + I have had a great deal of trouble about _The Valley Below_. It is + not in print. I first met with one person who knew one part, then + with another person who knew another part, but nobody could sing the + whole. At last, chance directed me to an old man at work on the + roads, and he sung and recited it throughout, not exactly, however, + as I send it, for I was obliged to supply a little here and there, + but only where a bad rhyme, or rather none at all, made it evident + what the real rhyme was. I have read it over to a mining gentleman + at Truro, and he says ‘It is pretty near the way we sing it.’ + +The tune is plaintive and original.] + + ‘MY sweetheart, come along! + Don’t you hear the fond song, + The sweet notes of the nightingale flow? + Don’t you hear the fond tale + Of the sweet nightingale, + As she sings in those valleys below? + So be not afraid + To walk in the shade, + Nor yet in those valleys below, + Nor yet in those valleys below. + + ‘Pretty Betsy, don’t fail, + For I’ll carry your pail, + Safe home to your cot as we go; + You shall hear the fond tale + Of the sweet nightingale, + As she sings in those valleys below.’ + But she was afraid + To walk in the shade, + To walk in those valleys below, + To walk in those valleys below. + + ‘Pray let me alone, + I have hands of my own; + Along with you I will not go, + To hear the fond tale + Of the sweet nightingale, + As she sings in those valleys below; + For I am afraid + To walk in the shade, + To walk in those valleys below, + To walk in those valleys below.’ + + ‘Pray sit yourself down + With me on the ground, + On this bank where sweet primroses grow; + You shall hear the fond tale + Of the sweet nightingale, + As she sings in those valleys below; + So be not afraid + To walk in the shade, + Nor yet in those valleys below, + Nor yet in those valleys below.’ + + This couple agreed; + They were married with speed, + And soon to the church they did go. + She was no more afraid + For to {249} walk in the shade, + Nor yet in those valleys below: + Nor to hear the fond tale + Of the sweet nightingale, + As she sung in those valleys below, + As she sung in those valleys below. + + + +THE OLD MAN AND HIS THREE SONS. + + +[THIS traditional ditty, founded upon the old ballad inserted _ante_, p. +124, is current as a nursery song in the North of England.] + + THERE was an old man, and sons he had three, {250} + Wind well, Lion, good hunter. + A friar he being one of the three, + With pleasure he rangèd the north country, + For he was a jovial hunter. + + As he went to the woods some pastime to see, + Wind well, Lion, good hunter, + He spied a fair lady under a tree, + Sighing and moaning mournfully. + He was a jovial hunter. + + ‘What are you doing, my fair lady!’ + Wind well, Lion, good hunter. + ‘I’m frightened, the wild boar he will kill me, + He has worried my lord, and wounded thirty, + As thou art a jovial hunter.’ + + Then the friar he put his horn to his mouth, + Wind well, Lion, good hunter. + And he blew a blast, east, west, north, and south, + And the wild boar from his den he came forth + Unto the jovial hunter. + + + +A BEGGING WE WILL GO. + + +[THE authorship of this song is attributed to Richard Brome—(he who once +‘performed a servant’s faithful part’ for Ben Jonson)—in a black-letter +copy in the Bagford Collection, where it is entitled _The Beggars’ Chorus +in the_ ‘_Jovial Crew_,’ _to an excellent new tune_. No such chorus, +however, appears in the play, which was produced at the Cock-pit in 1641; +and the probability is, as Mr. Chappell conjectures, that it was only +interpolated in the performance. It is sometimes called _The Jovial +Beggar_. The tune has been from time to time introduced into several +ballad operas; and the song, says Mr. Chappell, who publishes the air in +his _Popular Music_, ‘is the prototype of many others, such as _A bowling +we will go_, _A fishing we will go_, _A hawking we will go_, and _A +fishing we will go_. The last named is still popular with those who take +delight in hunting, and the air is now scarcely known by any other +title.] + + THERE was a jovial beggar, + He had a wooden leg, + Lame from his cradle, + And forced for to beg. + And a begging we will go, we’ll go, we’ll go; + And a begging we will go! + + A bag for his oatmeal, + Another for his salt; + And a pair of crutches, + To show that he can halt. + And a begging, &c. + + A bag for his wheat, + Another for his rye; + A little bottle by his side, + To drink when he’s a-dry. + And a begging, &c. + + Seven years I begged + For my old Master Wild, + He taught me to beg + When I was but a child. + And a begging, &c. + + I begged for my master, + And got him store of pelf; + But now, Jove be praised! + I’m begging for myself. + And a begging, &c. + + In a hollow tree + I live, and pay no rent; + Providence provides for me, + And I am well content. + And a begging, &c. + + Of all the occupations, + A beggar’s life’s the best; + For whene’er he’s weary, + He’ll lay him down and rest. + And a begging, &c. + + I fear no plots against me, + I live in open cell; + Then who would be a king + When beggars live so well? + And a begging we will go, we’ll go, we’ll go; + And a begging we will go! + + * * * * * + + THE END. + + * * * * * + + + + +FOOTNOTES. + + +{24} This is the same tune as _Fortune my foe_.—See _Popular Music of +the Olden Time_, p. 162. + +{51} This word seems to be used here in the sense of the French verb +_mettre_, to put, to place. + +{61} The stall copies read ‘Gamble bold.’ + +{64} In the Roxburgh Collection is a copy of this ballad, in which the +catastrophe is brought about in a different manner. When the young lady +finds that she is to be drowned, she very leisurely makes a particular +examination of the place of her intended destruction, and raises an +objection to some nettles which are growing on the banks of the stream; +these she requires to be removed, in the following poetical stanza:— + + ‘Go fetch the sickle, to crop the nettle, + That grows so near the brim; + For fear it should tangle my golden locks, + Or freckle my milk-white skin.’ + +A request so elegantly made is gallantly complied with by the treacherous +knight, who, while engaged in ‘cropping’ the nettles, is pushed into the +stream. + +{72a} A _tinker_ is still so called in the north of England. + +{72b} This poor minstrel was born at the village of Rylstone, in Craven, +the scene of Wordsworth’s _White Doe of Rylstone_. King was always +called ‘the Skipton Minstrel;’ and he merited that name, for he was not a +mere player of jigs and country dances, but a singer of heroic ballads, +carrying his hearers back to the days of chivalry and royal adventure, +when the King of England called up Cheshire and Lancashire to fight the +King of France, and monarchs sought the greenwood tree, and hob-a-nobbed +with tinkers, knighting these Johns of the Dale as a matter of poetical +justice and high sovereign prerogative. Francis King was a character. +His physiognomy was striking and peculiar; and, although there was +nothing of the rogue in its expression, for an honester fellow never +breathed, he might have sat for Wordsworth’s ‘Peter Bell.’ He combined +in a rare degree the qualities of the mime and the minstrel, and his old +jokes, and older ballads and songs, always ensured him a hearty welcome. +He was lame, in consequence of one leg being shorter than the other, and +his limping gait used to give occasion to the remark that ‘few Kings had +had more ups and downs in the world.’ He met his death by drowning on +the night of December 13, 1844. He had been at a ‘merry-making’ at +Gargrave, in Craven, and it is supposed that, owing to the darkness of +the night, he mistook the road, and walked into the river. As a musician +his talents were creditable; and his name will long survive in the +village records. The minstrel’s grave is in the quiet churchyard of +Gargrave. Further particulars of Francis King may be seen in Dixon’s +_Stories of the Craven Dales_, published by Tasker and Son, of Skipton. + +{92} This is the ancient way of spelling the name of Reading. In +Percy’s version of _Barbara Allen_, that ballad commences ‘In Scarlet +town,’ which, in the common stall copies, is rendered ‘In Redding town.’ +The former is apparently a pun upon the old orthography—_Red_ding. + +{108a} The sister of Roger. + +{108b} This gentleman was Mr. Thomas Petty. + +{111} We here, and in a subsequent verse, find ‘daughter’ made to rhyme +with ‘after;’ but we must not therefore conclude that the rhyme is of +cockney origin. In many parts of England, the word ‘daughter’ is +pronounced ‘dafter’ by the peasantry, who, upon the same principle, +pronounce ‘slaughter’ as if it were spelt ‘slafter.’ + +{125a} Added to complete the sense. + +{125b} That is, ‘said he, the wild boar.’ + +{129} Scott has strangely misunderstood this line, which he interprets— + + ‘Many people did she _kill_.’ + +‘Fell’ is to knock down, and the meaning is that she could ‘well’ knock +down, or ‘fell’ people. + +{130a} Went. + +{130b} The meaning appears to be that no ‘wiseman’ or wizard, no matter +from whence his magic, was derived, durst face her. Craven has always +been famed for its wizards, or wisemen, and several of such impostors may +be found there at the present day. + +{130c} Scott’s MS. reads Ralph, but Raphe is the ancient form. + +{130d} Scott reads ‘brim as beare,’ which he interprets ‘fierce as a +bear.’ Whitaker’s rendering is correct. Beare is a small hamlet on the +Bay of Morecambe, no great distance, as the crow files, from the _locale_ +of the poem. There is also a Bear-park in the county of Durham, of which +place Bryan might be an inhabitant. _Utrum horum_, &c. + +{130e} That is, they were good soldiers when the _musters_ were—when the +regiments were called up. + +{131a} Fierce look. + +{131b} Descended from an ancient race famed for fighting. + +{131c} Assaulted. They were, although out of danger, terrified by the +attacks of the sow, and their fear was shared by the kiln, which began to +smoke! + +{131d} Watling-street, the Roman way from Catterick to Bowes. + +{132a} Lost his colour. + +{132b} Scott, not understanding this expression, has inserted ‘Jesus’ +for the initials ‘I. H. S.,’ and so has given a profane interpretation to +the passage. By a figure of speech the friar is called an I. H. S., from +these letters being conspicuously wrought on his robes, just as we might +call a livery-servant by his master’s motto, because it was stamped on +his buttons. + +{133} The meaning here is obscure. The verse is not in Whitaker. + +{134} Warlock or wizard. + +{135a} It is probable that by guest is meant an allusion to the spectre +dog of Yorkshire (the _Barguest_), to which the sow is compared. + +{135b} Hired. + +{137} The monastery of Gray Friars at Richmond.—See LELAND, _Itin._, +vol. iii, p. 109. + +{141} This appears to have been a cant saying in the reign of Charles +II. It occurs in several novels, jest books and satires of the time, and +was probably as unmeaning as such vulgarisms are in general. + +{142} A cake composed of oatmeal, caraway-seeds, and treacle. ‘Ale and +parkin’ is a common morning meal in the north of England. + +{149} The popularity of this West-country song has extended even to +Ireland, as appears from two Irish versions, supplied by the late Mr. T. +Crofton Croker. One of them is entitled _Last New-Year’s Day_, and is +printed by Haly, Hanover-street, Cork. It follows the English song +almost verbatim, with the exception of the first and second verses, which +we subjoin:— + + ‘Last New-Year’s day, as I heard say, + Dick mounted on his dapple gray; + He mounted high and he mounted low, + Until he came to _sweet Raphoe_! + Sing fal de dol de ree, + Fol de dol, righ fol dee. + ‘My buckskin does I did put on, + My spladdery clogs, _to save my brogues_! + And in my pocket a lump of bread, + And round my hat a ribbon red.’ + +The other version is entitled _Dicky of Ballyman_, and a note informs us +that ‘Dicky of Ballyman’s sirname was Byrne!’ As our readers may like to +hear how the Somersetshire bumpkin behaved after he had located himself +in the town of Ballyman, and taken the sirname of Byrne, we give the +whole of his amatory adventures in the sister-island. We discover from +them, _inter alia_, that he had found ‘the best of friends’ in his +‘Uncle,’—that he had made a grand discovery in natural history, viz., +that a rabbit is a _fowl_!—that he had taken the temperance pledge, +which, however, his Mistress Ann had certainly not done; and, moreover, +that he had become an enthusiast in potatoes! + + DICKY OF BALLYMAN. + + ‘On New-Year’s day, as I heard say, + Dicky he saddled his dapple gray; + He put on his Sunday clothes, + His scarlet vest, and his new made hose. + Diddle dum di, diddle dum do, + Diddle dum di, diddle dum do. + + ‘He rode till he came to Wilson Hall, + There he rapped, and loud did call; + Mistress Ann came down straightway, + And asked him what he had to say? + + ‘‘Don’t you know me, Mistress Ann? + I am Dicky of Ballyman; + An honest lad, though I am poor,— + I never was in love before. + + ‘‘I have an uncle, the best of friends, + Sometimes to me a fat rabbit he sends; + And many other dainty fowl, + To please my life, my joy, my soul. + + ‘‘Sometimes I reap, sometimes I mow, + And to the market I do go, + To sell my father’s corn and hay,— + I earn my sixpence every day!’ + + ‘‘Oh, Dicky! you go beneath your mark,— + You only wander in the dark; + Sixpence a day will never do, + I must have silks, and satins, too! + + ‘‘Besides, Dicky, I must have tea + For my breakfast, every day; + And after dinner a bottle of wine,— + For without it I cannot dine.’ + + ‘‘If on fine clothes our money is spent, + Pray how shall my lord be paid his rent? + He’ll expect it when ’tis due,— + Believe me, what I say is true. + + ‘‘As for tea, good stirabout + Will do far better, I make no doubt; + And spring water, when you dine, + Is far wholesomer than wine. + + ‘‘Potatoes, too, are very nice food,— + I don’t know any half so good: + You may have them boiled or roast, + Whichever way you like them most.’ + + ‘This gave the company much delight, + And made them all to laugh outright; + So Dicky had no more to say, + But saddled his dapple and rode away. + Diddle dum di, &c.’ + +{151} We have heard a Yorkshire yeoman sing a version, which commenced +with this line:— + + ‘It was at the time of a high holiday.’ + +{153} Bell-ringing was formerly a great amusement of the English, and +the allusions to it are of frequent occurrence. Numerous payments to +bell-ringers are generally to be found in Churchwarden’s accounts of the +sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.—CHAPPELL. + +{154} The subject and burthen of this song are identical with those of +the song which immediately follows, called in some copies _The Clown’s +Courtship_, _sung to the King at Windsor_, and in others, _I cannot come +everyday to woo_. The Kentish ditty cannot be traced to so remote a date +as the _Clown’s Courtship_; but it probably belongs to the same period. + +{165a} The common modern copies read ‘St. Leger’s Round.’ + +{165b} The common stall copies read ‘Pan,’ which not only furnishes a +more accurate rhyme to ‘Nan,’ but is, probably, the true reading. About +the time when this song was written, there appears to have been some +country minstrel or fiddler, who was well known by the sobriquet of +‘Pan.’ Frequent allusions to such a personage may be found in popular +ditties of the period, and it is evidently that individual, and not the +heathen deity, who is referred to in the song of _Arthur O’Bradley_:— + + ‘Not Pan, the god of the swains, + Could e’er produce such strains.’—See _ante_, p. 142. + +{167} A correspondent of _Notes and Queries_ says that, although there +is some resemblance between Flora and Furry, the latter word is derived +from an old Cornish term, and signifies jubilee or fair. + +{171} There is another version of these concluding lines:— + + ‘Down the red lane there lives an old fox, + There does he sit a-mumping his chops; + Catch him, boys, catch him, catch if you can; + ’Tis twenty to one if you catch him or Nan.’ + +{174} A cant term for a fiddle. In its literal sense, it means trunk, +or box-belly. + +{175} ‘Helicon,’ as observed by Sir C. Sharp, is, of course, the true +reading. + +{177} In the introduction of the ‘prodigal son,’ we have a relic derived +from the old mysteries and moralities. Of late years, the ‘prodigal son’ +has been left out, and his place supplied by a ‘sailor.’ + +{179} Probably the disease here pointed at is the sweating sickness of +old times. + +{180} Robert Kearton, a working miner, and librarian and lecturer at the +Grassington Mechanics’ institution, informs us that at Coniston, in +Lancashire, and the neighbourhood, the maskers go about at the proper +season, viz., Easter. Their introductory song is different to the one +given above. He has favoured us with two verses of the delectable +composition; he says, ‘I dare say they’ll be quite sufficient!’ + + ‘The next that comes on + Is a gentleman’s son;— + A gentleman’s son he was born; + For mutton and beef, + You may look at his teeth, + He’s a laddie for picking a bone! + + ‘The next that comes on + Is a tailor so bold— + He can stitch up a hole in the dark! + There’s never a ‘prentice + In famed London city + Can find any fault with his _wark_!’ + +{181} For the history of the paschal egg, see a paper by Mr. J. H. +Dixon, in the _Local Historian’s Table Book_ (Traditional Division). +Newcastle. 1843. + +{182} We suspect that Lord Nelson’s name was introduced out of respect +to the late Jack Rider, of Linton (who is himself introduced into the +following verse), an old tar who, for many years, was one of the +‘maskers’ in the district from whence our version was obtained. Jack was +‘loblolly boy’ on board the ‘Victory,’ and one of the group that +surrounded the dying Hero of Trafalgar. Amongst his many miscellaneous +duties, Jack had to help the doctor; and while so employed, he once set +fire to the ship as he was engaged investigating, by candlelight, the +contents of a bottle of ether. The fire was soon extinguished, but not +without considerable noise and confusion. Lord Nelson, when the accident +happened, was busy writing his despatches. ‘What’s all that noise +about?’ he demanded. The answer was, ‘Loblolly boy’s set fire to an +empty bottle, and it has set fire to the doctor’s shop!’ ‘Oh, that’s +all, is it?’ said Nelson, ‘then I wish you and loblolly would put the +fire out without making such a confusion’—and he went on writing with the +greatest coolness, although the accident might have been attended by the +most disastrous consequences, as an immense quantity of powder was on +board, and some of it close to the scene of the disaster. The third day +after the above incident Nelson was no more, and the poor ‘loblolly boy’ +left the service minus two fingers. ‘Old Jack’ used often to relate his +‘accident;’ and Captain Carslake, now of Sidmouth, who, at the time was +one of the officers, permits us to add his corroboration of its truth. + +{183} In this place, and in the first line of the following verse, the +name of the horse is generally inserted by the singer; and ‘Filpail’ is +often substituted for ‘the cow’ in a subsequent verse. + +{189} The ‘swearing-in’ is gone through by females as well as the male +sex. See Hone’s _Year-Book_. + +{193} A fig newly gathered from the tree; so called to distinguish it +from a grocer’s, or preserved fig. + +{206} This line is sometimes sung— + + O! I went into the stable, to see what I could see. + +{207} Three cabbage-nets, according to some versions. + +{208a} This is a common phrase in old English songs and ballads. See +_The Summer’s Morning_, _post_, p. 229. + +{208b} See _ante_, p. 82. + +{209a} Near. + +{209b} The high-road through a town or village. + +{209c} That is Tommy’s opinion. In the Yorkshire dialect, when the +possessive case is followed by the relative substantive, it is customary +to omit the _s_; but if the relative be understood, and not expressed, +the possessive case is formed in the usual manner, as in a subsequent +line of this song:— + + ‘Hee’d a horse, too, ‘twor war than ond Tommy’s, ye see.’ + +{210a} Alive, quick. + +{210b} Only. + +{213} Famished. The line in which this word occurs exhibits one of the +most striking peculiarities of the Lancashire dialect, which is, that in +words ending in _ing_, the termination is changed into _ink_. _Ex. gr._, +for starving, _starvink_, farthing, _fardink_. + +{217} In one version this line has been altered, probably by some +printer who had a wholesome fear of the ‘Bench of Justices,’ into— + + ‘Success to every gentleman + That lives in Lincolnsheer.’ + +{221a} Dr. Whitaker gives a traditional version of part of this song as +follows:— + + ‘The gardener standing by proferred to chuse for me, + The pink, the primrose, and the rose, but I refused the three; + The primrose I forsook because it came too soon, + The violet I o’erlooked, and vowed to wait till June. + + In June, the red rose sprung, bat was no flower for me, + I plucked it up, lo! by the stalk, and planted the willow-tree. + The willow I must wear with sorrow twined among, + That all the world may know I falshood loved too long.’ + +{221b} The following account of Billy Bolton may, with propriety, be +inserted here:—It was a lovely September day, and the scene was +Arncliffe, a retired village in Littondale, one of the most secluded of +the Yorkshire dales. While sitting at the open window of the humble +hostelrie, we heard what we, at first, thought was a _ranter_ parson, +but, on inquiry, were told it was old Billy Bolton reading to a crowd of +villagers. Curious to ascertain what the minstrel was reading, we joined +the crowd, and found the text-book was a volume of Hume’s _England_, +which contained the reign of Elizabeth. Billy read in a clear voice, +with proper emphasis, and correct pronunciation, interlarding his reading +with numerous comments, the nature of some of which may be readily +inferred from the fact that the minstrel belonged to what he called ‘the +ancient church.’ It was a scene for a painter; the village situate in +one of the deepest parts of the dale, the twilight hour, the attentive +listeners, and the old man, leaning on his knife-grinding machine, and +conveying popular information to a simple peasantry. Bolton is in the +constant habit of so doing, and is really an extraordinary man, uniting, +as he does, the opposite occupations of minstrel, conjuror, +knife-grinder, and schoolmaster. Such a labourer (though an humble one) +in the great cause of human improvement is well deserving of this brief +notice, which it would be unjust to conclude without stating that +whenever the itinerant teacher takes occasion to speak of his own creed, +and contrast it with others, he does so in a spirit of charity; and he +never performs any of his sleight-of-hand tricks without a few +introductory remarks on the evil of superstition, and the folly of +supposing that in the present age any mortal is endowed with supernatural +attainments. + +{224} This elastic opening might be adapted to existing circumstances by +a slight alteration:— + + The praise of a dairy to tell you I mean, + But all things in order, first God save the Queen. + +The common copies print ‘God save the Queen,’ which of course destroys +the rhyme. + +{225} This is the reading of a common stall copy. Chappell reads— + + ‘For at Tottenham-court,’ + +which is no doubt correct, though inapplicable to a rural assembly in our +days. + +{226a} Brew, or broo, or broth. Chappell’s version reads, ‘No state you +can think,’ which is apparently a mistake. The reading of the common +copies is to be preferred. + +{226b} No doubt the original word in these places was _sack_, as in +Chappell’s copy—but what would a peasant understand by _sack_? Dryden’s +receipt for a sack posset is as follows:— + + ‘From fair Barbadoes, on the western main, + Fetch sugar half-a-pound: fetch sack, from Spain, + A pint: then fetch, from India’s fertile coast, + Nutmeg, the glory of the British toast.’ + + _Miscellany Poems_, v. 138. + +{234} Corrupted in modern copies into ‘we’ll range and we’ll rove.’ The +reading in the text is the old reading. The phrase occurs in several old +songs. + +{237} We should, probably, read ‘he.’ + +{243} Peer—equal. + +{247} The road or street. + +{249} This is the only instance of this peculiar form in the present +version. The miners in the Marienberg invariably said ‘for to’ wherever +the preposition ‘to’ occurred before a verb. + +{250} Three is a favourite number in the nursery rhymes. The following +is one of numerous examples:— + + There was an old woman had three sons, + Jerry and James and John: + Jerry was hung, James was drowned, + John was lost and never was found; + And there was an end of her three sons, + Jerry, and James, and John! + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANCIENT POEMS, BALLADS AND SONGS OF +THE PEASANTRY OF ENGLAND*** + + +******* This file should be named 649-0.txt or 649-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/4/649 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England + + +Editor: Robert Bell + +Release Date: October 5, 2014 [eBook #649] +[This file was first posted on September 17, 1996] + + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANCIENT POEMS, BALLADS AND SONGS +OF THE PEASANTRY OF ENGLAND*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1857 John W. Parker and Son edition by +David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>ANCIENT POEMS<br /> +BALLADS AND SONGS<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">OF THE</span><br /> +PEASANTRY OF ENGLAND.</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">TAKEN DOWN +FROM ORAL RECITATION AND TRANSCRIBED FROM</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">PRIVATE MANUSCRIPTS, RARE BROADSIDES +AND</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">SCARCE PUBLICATIONS.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">EDITED BY ROBERT BELL</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/tpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Decorative graphic" +title= +"Decorative graphic" + src="images/tps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center">LONDON<br /> +JOHN W. PARKER AND SON WEST STRAND<br /> +1857</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="pageii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. ii</span><span +class="GutSmall">LONDON:</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">SAVILL AND EDWARDS, PRINTERS</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">CHANDOS STREET.</span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<h2><a name="pageiii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +iii</span>CONTENTS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Introduction</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page7">7</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">Poems.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Plain-Dealing Man</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page11">11</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Vanities of Life</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page15">15</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Life and Age of Man</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page20">20</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Young Man’s Wish</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page22">22</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Midnight Messenger</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page24">24</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Dialogue betwixt an Exciseman and +Death</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page29">29</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Messenger of Mortality</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page32">32</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">England’s Alarm</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page36">36</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Smoking Spiritualized</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page39">39</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Masonic Hymn</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page42">42</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">God Speed the Plow, and Bless the +Corn-mow</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page44">44</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Dialogue between the Husbandman and +the Servingman</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page46">46</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Catholick</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page49">49</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">Ballads.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Three Knights</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page50">50</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Blind Beggar of Bednall +Green</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page51">51</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Bold Pedlar and Robin +Hood</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page59">59</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Outlandish Knight</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page61">61</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Lord Delaware</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page64">64</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Lord Bateman</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page68">68</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Golden Glove; or, the Squire of +Tamworth</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page70">70</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><a name="pageiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +iv</span><span class="smcap">King James I. and the +Tinkler</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page72">72</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Keach i’ the +Creel</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page75">75</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Merry Broomfield; or, the West +Country Wager</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page77">77</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Sir John Barleycorn</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page80">80</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Blow the Winds, I-ho</span>!</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page82">82</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Beautiful Lady of Kent; or, the +Seaman of Dover</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page84">84</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Berkshire Lady’s +Garland</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page90">90</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Nobleman’s Generous +Kindness</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page98">98</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Drunkard’s Legacy</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page100">100</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Bowes Tragedy</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page106">106</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Crafty Lover; or, the Lawyer +Outwitted</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page110">110</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Death of Queen Jane</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page113">113</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Wandering Young Gentlewoman; or, +Catskin</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page115">115</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Brave Earl Brand and the King of +England’s Daughter</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page122">122</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Jovial Hunter of Bromsgrove; or, +the Old Man and his Three Sons</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page124">124</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Lady Alice</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page127">127</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Felon Sewe of Rokeby and the +Freeres of Richmond</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page127">127</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">Songs.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Arthur O’Bradley’s +Wedding</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page138">138</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Painful Plough</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page143">143</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Useful Plow; or, the +Plough’s Praise</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page145">145</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Farmer’s Son</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page146">146</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Farmer’s Boy</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page148">148</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Richard of Taunton Dean; or, Dumble +Dum Deary</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page149">149</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Wooing Song of a Yeoman of +Kent’s Sonne</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page153">153</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Clown’s Courtship</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page155">155</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Harry’s Courtship</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page155">155</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Harvest-home Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page156">156</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Harvest-home</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page157">157</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Mow</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page158">158</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Barley-mow Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page159">159</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><a name="pagev"></a><span class="pagenum">p. v</span><span +class="smcap">The Barley-mow Song (Suffolk version)</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page162">162</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Craven Churn-supper +Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page162">162</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Rural Dance about the +May-pole</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page164">164</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Hitchin May-day Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page166">166</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Helstone Furry-day Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page167">167</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Cornish Midsummer Bonfire +Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page169">169</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Suffolk Harvest-home Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page170">170</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Haymaker’s Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page171">171</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Sword-dancers’ +Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page172">172</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Sword-dancers’ Song and +Interlude</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page175">175</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Maskers’ Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page180">180</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Gloucestershire Wassailers’ +Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page183">183</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Mummers’ Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page184">184</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Fragment of the Hagmena +Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page186">186</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Greenside Wakes Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page187">187</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Swearing-in Song or +Rhyme</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page188">188</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Fairlop Fair Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page191">191</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">As Tom was a-Walking</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page193">193</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Miller and his Sons</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page194">194</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Jack and Tom</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page195">195</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Joan’s Ale was New</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page197">197</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">George Ridler’s Oven</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page199">199</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Carrion Crow</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page202">202</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Leathern Bottel</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page203">203</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Farmer’s Old Wife</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page204">204</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Old Wichet and his Wife</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page206">206</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Jolly Waggoner</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page208">208</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Yorkshire Horse-dealer</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page209">209</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The King and the Countryman</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page210">210</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Jone o’ Greenfield’s +Ramble</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page212">212</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Thornehagh-moor Woods</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page214">214</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Lincolnshire Poacher</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page216">216</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Somersetshire Hunting Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page217">217</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Trotting Horse</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page218">218</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Seeds of Love</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page220">220</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><a name="pagevi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +vi</span><span class="smcap">The Garden-gate</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page221">221</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The New-mown Hay</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page223">223</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Praise of a Dairy</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page224">224</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Milk-maid’s Life</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page226">226</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Milking-pail</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page228">228</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Summer’s Morning</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page229">229</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Old Adam</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page231">231</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Tobacco</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page232">232</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Spanish Ladies</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page234">234</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Harry the Tailor</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page235">235</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Sir Arthur and Charming +Mollee</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page236">236</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">There was an Old Man came over the +Lea</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page237">237</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Why Should we Quarrel for +Riches</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page238">238</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Merry Fellows</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page239">239</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Old Man’s Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page240">240</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Robin Hood’s Hill</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page241">241</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Begone Dull Care</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page243">243</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Full Merrily sings the +Cuckoo</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page244">244</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Jockey to the Fair</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page245">245</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Long Preston Peg</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page247">247</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Sweet Nightingale</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page247">247</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Old Man and his Three +Sons</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page250">250</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Begging we will go</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page251">251</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +7</span>INTRODUCTION.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> 1846, the Percy Society issued +to its members a volume entitled <i>Ancient Poems</i>, +<i>Ballads</i>, <i>and Songs of the Peasantry of England</i>, +edited by Mr. James Henry Dixon. The sources drawn upon by +Mr. Dixon are intimated in the following extract from his +preface:—</p> +<blockquote><p>He who, in travelling through the rural districts +of England, has made the road-side inn his resting-place, who has +visited the lowly dwellings of the villagers and yeomanry, and +been present at their feasts and festivals, must have observed +that there are certain old poems, ballads, and songs, which are +favourites with the masses, and have been said and sung from +generation to generation.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This traditional, and, for the most part, unprinted +literature,—cherished in remote villages, resisting +everywhere the invasion of modern namby-pamby verse and jaunty +melody, and possessing, in an historical point of view, especial +value as a faithful record of the feeling, usages, and modes of +life of the rural population,—had been almost wholly passed +over amongst the antiquarian revivals which constitute one of the +distinguishing features of the present age. While attention +was successfully drawn to other forms of our early poetry, this +peasant minstrelsy was scarcely touched, and might be considered +unexplored ground. There was great difficulty in collecting +materials which lay scattered so widely, and which could be +procured in their genuine simplicity only from the people amongst +whom they originated, and with whom they are as ‘familiar +as household words.’ It was even still more difficult +to find an editor who combined genial literary taste with the +local knowledge of character, customs, and dialect, indispensable +to the collation of such reliques; and thus, although their +national interest was universally recognised, they were silently +permitted to fall into comparative oblivion. To supply this +manifest <i>desideratum</i>, Mr. Dixon compiled his volume for +the Percy Society; and its pages, embracing only a selection from +the rich stores he had gathered, abundantly exemplified that +gentleman’s remarkable qualifications for the labour he had +undertaken. After stating in his preface that contributions +from various quarters had accumulated so largely on his hands as +to compel him to <a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +8</span>omit many pieces he was desirous of preserving, he thus +describes generally the contents of the work:—</p> +<blockquote><p>In what we have retained will be found every +variety,</p> +<p> ‘From grave to gay, +from lively to severe,’</p> +<p>from the moral poem and the religious dialogue,—</p> +<p> ‘The scrolls that +teach us to live and to die,’—</p> +<p>to the legendary, the historical, or the domestic ballad; from +the strains that enliven the harvest-home and festival, to the +love-ditties which the country lass warbles, or the comic song +with which the rustic sets the village hostel in a roar. In +our collection are several pieces exceedingly scarce, and +hitherto to be met with only in broadsides and chap-books of the +utmost rarity; in addition to which we have given several others +never before in print, and obtained by the editor and his +friends, either from the oral recitation of the peasantry, or +from manuscripts in the possession of private individuals.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The novelty of the matter, and the copious resources disclosed +by the editor, acquired for the volume a popularity extending far +beyond the limited circle to which it was addressed; and although +the edition was necessarily restricted to the members of the +Percy Society, the book was quoted not only by English writers, +but by some of the most distinguished archæologists on the +continent.</p> +<p>It had always been my intention to form a collection of local +songs, illustrative of popular festivals, customs, manners, and +dialects. As the merit of having anticipated, and, in a +great measure, accomplished this project belongs exclusively to +Mr. Dixon, so to that gentleman I have now the pleasure of +tendering my acknowledgments for the means of enriching the +Annotated Edition of the English Poets with a volume which, in +some respects, is the most curious and interesting of the +series.</p> +<p>Subsequently to the publication of his collection by the Percy +Society, Mr. Dixon had amassed additional materials of great +value; and, conscious that the work admitted of considerable +improvement, both in the way of omission and augmentation, he +resolved upon the preparation of a new edition. His reasons +for rejecting certain portions of the former volume are stated in +the following extract from a communication with which he has +obliged me, and which may be considered as his own introduction +to the ensuing pages.</p> +<blockquote><p>The editor had passed his earliest years in a +romantic mountain-district in the North of England, where old +customs and manners, and old songs and ballads still +linger. Under the influence of these associations, he +imbibed a passionate love for peasant rhymes; having little +notion at that time that the simple minstrelsy which afforded <a +name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 9</span>him so much +delight could yield hardly less pleasure to those who cultivated +more artificial modes of poetry, and who knew little of the life +of the peasantry. His collection was not issued without +diffidence; but the result dissipated all apprehension as to the +estimate in which these essentially popular productions are +held. The reception of the book, indeed, far exceeded its +merits; for he is bound in candour to say that it was neither so +complete nor so judiciously selected as it might have been. +Like almost all books issued by societies, it was got up in +haste, and hurried through the press. It contained some +things which were out of place in such a work, but which were +inserted upon solicitations that could not have been very easily +refused; and even where the matter was unexceptionable, it +sometimes happened that it was printed from comparatively modern +broadsides, for want of time to consult earlier editions. +In the interval which has since elapsed, all these defects and +short-comings have been remedied. Several pieces, which had +no legitimate claims to the places they occupied, have been +removed; others have been collated with more ancient copies than +the editor had had access to previously; and the whole work has +been considerably enlarged. In its present form it is +strictly what its title-page implies—a collection of poems, +ballads, and songs preserved by tradition, and in actual +circulation, amongst the peasantry.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><i>Bex</i>, <i>Canton de Vaud</i>,<br /> +<i>Switzerland</i>.</p> +<p>The present volume differs in many important particulars from +the former, of the deficiencies of which Mr. Dixon makes so frank +an avowal. It has not only undergone a careful revision, +but has received additions to an extent which renders it almost a +new work. Many of there accessions are taken from extremely +rare originals, and others are here printed for the first time, +including amongst the latter the ballad of <i>Earl Brand</i>, a +traditional lyric of great antiquity, long familiar to the dales +of the North of England; and the <i>Death of Queen Jane</i>, a +relic of more than ordinary intesest. Nearly forty songs, +noted down from recitation, or gathered from sources not +generally accessible, have been added to the former collection, +illustrative, for the most part, of historical events, country +pastimes, and local customs. Not the least suggestive +feature in this department are the political songs it contains, +which have long outlived the occasions that gave them birth, and +which still retain their popularity, although their allusions are +no longer understood. Amongst this class of songs may be +specially indicated <i>Jack and Tom</i>, <i>Joan’s Ale was +New</i>, <i>George Ridler’s Oven</i>, and <i>The Carrion +Crow</i>. The songs of a strictly rural character, having +reference to the occupations and intercourse of the people, +possess an interest which cannot be adequately measured by their +poetical pretensions. The very defects of art with which +they are chargeable, constitute their highest claim to +consideration as authentic specimens of country <a +name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 10</span>lore. +The songs in praise of the dairy, or the plough; or in +celebration of the harvest-home, or the churn-supper; or +descriptive of the pleasures of the milk-maid, or the courtship +in the farm-house; or those that give us glimpses of the ways of +life of the waggoner, the poacher, the horse-dealer, and the boon +companion of the road-side hostelrie, are no less curious for +their idiomatic and primitive forms of expression, than for their +pictures of rustic modes and manners. Of special interest, +too, are the songs which relate to festival and customs; such as +the <i>Sword Dancer’s Song and Interlude</i>, the +<i>Swearing-in Song</i>, <i>or Rhyme</i>, <i>at Highgate</i>, the +<i>Cornish Midsummer Bonfire Song</i>, and the <i>Fairlop Fair +Song</i>.</p> +<p>In the arrangement of so multifarious an anthology, gathered +from nearly all parts of the kingdom, the observance of +chronological order, for obvious reasons, has not been attempted; +but pieces which possess any kind of affinity to each other have +been kept together as nearly as other considerations would +permit.</p> +<p>The value of this volume consists in the genuineness of its +contents, and the healthiness of its tone. While +fashionable life was masquerading in imaginary Arcadias, and +deluging theatres and concert rooms with shams, the English +peasant remained true to the realities of his own experience, and +produced and sang songs which faithfully reflected the actual +life around him. Whatever these songs describe is true to +that life. There are no fictitious raptures in them. +Love here never dresses its emotions in artificial images, nor +disguises itself in the mask of a Strephon or a Daphne. It +is in this particular aspect that the poetry of the country +possesses a permanent and moral interest.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">R. B.</p> +<h2><a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +11</span>Poems.</h2> +<h3>THE PLAIN-DEALING MAN.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> oldest copy of the <i>Plain +Dealing Man</i> with which we have been able to meet is in black +letter, printed by T. Vere at the sign ‘Of the Angel +without Newgate.’ Vere was living in 1609.]</p> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">crotchet</span> comes +into my mind<br /> +Concerning a proverb of old,<br /> +Plain dealing’s a jewel most rare,<br /> +And more precious than silver or gold:<br /> +And therefore with patience give ear,<br /> +And listen to what here is penned,<br /> +These verses were written on purpose<br /> +The honest man’s cause to defend.<br /> +For this I will make it appear,<br /> +And prove by experience I can,<br /> +’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world<br /> +To be a plain-dealing man.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet some are so impudent grown,<br /> +They’ll domineer, vapour, and swagger,<br /> +And say that the plain-dealing man<br /> +Was born to die a beggar:<br /> +<a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 12</span>But men +that are honestly given<br /> +Do such evil actions detest,<br /> +And every one that is well-minded<br /> +Will say that plain dealing is best.<br /> +For this I will make it appear,<br /> +And prove by experience I can,<br /> +’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world<br /> +To be a plain-dealing man.</p> +<p class="poetry">For my part I am a poor man,<br /> +And sometimes scarce muster a shilling,<br /> +Yet to live upright in the world,<br /> +Heaven knows I am wondrous willing.<br /> +Although that my clothes be threadbare,<br /> +And my calling be simple and poor,<br /> +Yet will I endeavour myself<br /> +To keep off the wolf from the door.<br /> +For this I will make it appear,<br /> +And prove by experience I can,<br /> +’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world<br /> +To be a plain-dealing man.</p> +<p class="poetry">And now, to be brief in discourse,<br /> +In plain terms I’ll tell you my mind;<br /> +My qualities you shall all know,<br /> +And to what my humour’s inclined:<br /> +I hate all dissembling base knaves<br /> +And pickthanks whoever they be,<br /> +And for painted-faced drabs, and such like,<br /> +They shall never get penny of me.<br /> +For this I will make it appear,<br /> +And prove by experience I can,<br /> +’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world<br /> +To be a plain-dealing man.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nor can I abide any tongues<br /> +That will prattle and prate against reason,<br /> +About that which doth not concern them;<br /> +Which thing is no better than treason.<br /> +<a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 13</span>Wherefore +I’d wish all that do hear me<br /> +Not to meddle with matters of state,<br /> +Lest they be in question called for it,<br /> +And repent them when it is too late.<br /> +For this I will make it appear,<br /> +And prove by experience I can,<br /> +’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world<br /> +To be a plain-dealing man.</p> +<p class="poetry">O fie upon spiteful neighbours,<br /> +Whose malicious humours are bent,<br /> +And do practise and strive every day<br /> +To wrong the poor innocent.<br /> +By means of such persons as they,<br /> +There hath many a good mother’s son<br /> +Been utterly brought to decay,<br /> +Their wives and their children undone.<br /> +For this I will make it appear,<br /> +And prove by experience I can,<br /> +’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world<br /> +To be a plain-dealing man.</p> +<p class="poetry">O fie upon forsworn knaves,<br /> +That do no conscience make<br /> +To swear and forswear themselves<br /> +At every third word they do speak:<br /> +So they may get profit and gain,<br /> +They care not what lies they do tell;<br /> +Such cursed dissemblers as they<br /> +Are worse than the devils of hell.<br /> +For this I will make it appear,<br /> +And prove by experience I can,<br /> +’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world<br /> +To be a plain-dealing man.</p> +<p class="poetry">O fie upon greedy bribe takers,<br /> +’Tis pity they ever drew breath,<br /> +For they, like to base caterpillars,<br /> +Devour up the fruits of the earth.<br /> +<a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +14</span>They’re apt to take money with both hands,<br /> +On one side and also the other,<br /> +And care not what men they undo,<br /> +Though it be their own father or brother.<br /> +Therefore I will make it appear,<br /> +And show very good reasons I can,<br /> +’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world<br /> +To be a plain-dealing man.</p> +<p class="poetry">O fie upon cheaters and thieves,<br /> +That liveth by fraud and deceit;<br /> +The gallows do for such blades groan,<br /> +And the hangmen do for their clothes wait.<br /> +Though poverty be a disgrace,<br /> +And want is a pitiful grief,<br /> +’Tis better to go like a beggar<br /> +Than to ride in a cart like a thief.<br /> +For this I will make it appear,<br /> +And prove by experience I can,<br /> +’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world<br /> +To be a plain-dealing man.</p> +<p class="poetry">And now let all honest men judge,<br /> +If such men as I have here named<br /> +For their wicked and impudent dealings,<br /> +Deserveth not much to be blamed.<br /> +And now here, before I conclude,<br /> +One item to the world I will give,<br /> +Which may direct some the right way,<br /> +And teach them the better to live.<br /> +For now I have made it appear,<br /> +And many men witness it can,<br /> +’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world<br /> +To be a plain-dealing man.</p> +<p class="poetry">1. I’ th’ first place +I’d wish you beware<br /> +What company you come in,<br /> +For those that are wicked themselves<br /> +May quickly tempt others to sin.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +15</span>2. If youths be inducèd with wealth,<br /> +And have plenty of silver and gold,<br /> +I’d wish them keep something in store,<br /> +To comfort them when they are old.</p> +<p class="poetry">3. I have known many young prodigals,<br +/> +Which have wasted their money so fast,<br /> +That they have been driven in want,<br /> +And were forcèd to beg at the last.</p> +<p class="poetry">4. I’d wish all men bear a good +conscience,<br /> +And in all their actions be just;<br /> +For he’s a false varlet indeed<br /> +That will not be true to his trust.</p> +<p class="poetry">And now to conclude my new song,<br /> +And draw to a perfect conclusion,<br /> +I have told you what is in my mind,<br /> +And what is my [firm] resolution.<br /> +For this I have made it appear,<br /> +And prove by experience I can,<br /> +’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world<br /> +To be a plain-dealing man.</p> +<h3>THE VANITIES OF LIFE.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> following verses were copied +by John Clare, the Northamptonshire peasant, from a MS. on the +fly-leaves of an old book in the possession of a poor man, +entitled <i>The World’s best Wealth</i>; <i>a Collection of +choice Councils in Verse and Prose</i>. <i>Printed for A. +Bettesworth</i>, <i>at the Red Lion in Paternoster-row</i>, +1720. They were written in a ‘crabbed, quaint hand, +and difficult to decipher.’ Clare remitted the poem +(along with the original MS.) to Montgomery, the author of <i>The +World before the Flood</i>, &c. &c., by whom it was +published in the <i>Sheffield Iris</i>. Montgomery’s +criticism is as follows:—‘Long as the poem appears to +the eye, it will abundantly repay the trouble of perusal, being +full of condensed and admirable thought, as well as diversified +with exuberant imagery, and embellished with peculiar felicity of +language: the moral points in the closing couplets of the stanzas +are often powerfully enforced.’ Most readers will +agree in the justice of these remarks. <a +name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 16</span>The poem was, +probably, as Clare supposes, written about the commencement of +the 18th century; and the unknown author appears to have been +deeply imbued with the spirit of the popular devotional writers +of the preceding century, as Herbert, Quarles, &c., but seems +to have modelled his smoother and more elegant versification +after that of the poetic school of his own times.]</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">‘Vanity of +vanities, all is vanity.’—<span +class="smcap">Solomon</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">What</span> are +life’s joys and gains?<br /> + What pleasures crowd its ways,<br /> +That man should take such pains<br /> + To seek them all his days?<br /> +Sift this untoward strife<br /> + On which thy mind is bent,<br /> +See if this chaff of life<br /> + Is worth the trouble spent.</p> +<p class="poetry">Is pride thy heart’s desire?<br /> + Is power thy climbing aim?<br /> +Is love thy folly’s fire?<br /> + Is wealth thy restless game?<br /> +Pride, power, love, wealth and all,<br /> + Time’s touchstone shall destroy,<br /> +And, like base coin, prove all<br /> + Vain substitutes for joy.</p> +<p class="poetry">Dost think that pride exalts<br /> + Thyself in other’s eyes,<br /> +And hides thy folly’s faults,<br /> + Which reason will despise?<br /> +Dost strut, and turn, and stride,<br /> + Like walking weathercocks?<br /> +The shadow by thy side<br /> + Becomes thy ape, and mocks.</p> +<p class="poetry">Dost think that power’s disguise<br /> + Can make thee mighty seem?<br /> +It may in folly’s eyes,<br /> + But not in worth’s esteem:<br /> +<a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 17</span>When all +that thou canst ask,<br /> + And all that she can give,<br /> +Is but a paltry mask<br /> + Which tyants wear and live.</p> +<p class="poetry">Go, let thy fancies range<br /> + And ramble where they may;<br /> +View power in every change,<br /> + And what is the display?<br /> +—The country magistrate,<br /> + The lowest shade in power,<br /> +To rulers of the state,<br /> + The meteors of an hour:—</p> +<p class="poetry">View all, and mark the end<br /> + Of every proud extreme,<br /> +Where flattery turns a friend,<br /> + And counterfeits esteem;<br /> +Where worth is aped in show,<br /> + That doth her name purloin,<br /> +Like toys of golden glow<br /> + That’s sold for copper coin.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ambition’s haughty nod,<br /> + With fancies may deceive,<br /> +Nay, tell thee thou’rt a god,—<br /> + And wilt thou such believe?<br /> +Go, bid the seas be dry,<br /> + Go, hold earth like a ball,<br /> +Or throw her fancies by,<br /> + For God can do it all.</p> +<p class="poetry">Dost thou possess the dower<br /> + Of laws to spare or kill?<br /> +Call it not heav’nly power<br /> + When but a tyrant’s will;<br /> +Know what a God will do,<br /> + And know thyself a fool,<br /> +Nor tyrant-like pursue<br /> + Where He alone should rule.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +18</span>Dost think, when wealth is won,<br /> + Thy heart has its desire?<br /> +Hold ice up to the sun,<br /> + And wax before the fire;<br /> +Nor triumph o’er the reign<br /> + Which they so soon resign;<br /> +In this world weigh the gain,<br /> + Insurance safe is thine.</p> +<p class="poetry">Dost think life’s peace secure<br /> + In houses and in land?<br /> +Go, read the fairy lure<br /> + To twist a cord of sand;<br /> +Lodge stones upon the sky,<br /> + Hold water in a sieve,<br /> +Nor give such tales the lie,<br /> + And still thine own believe.</p> +<p class="poetry">Whoso with riches deals,<br /> + And thinks peace bought and sold,<br /> +Will find them slippery eels,<br /> + That slide the firmest hold:<br /> +Though sweet as sleep with health,<br /> + Thy lulling luck may be,<br /> +Pride may o’erstride thy wealth,<br /> + And check prosperity.</p> +<p class="poetry">Dost think that beauty’s power,<br /> + Life’s sweetest pleasure gives?<br /> +Go, pluck the summer flower,<br /> + And see how long it lives:<br /> +Behold, the rays glide on,<br /> + Along the summer plain,<br /> +Ere thou canst say, they’re gone,—<br /> + And measure beauty’s reign.</p> +<p class="poetry">Look on the brightest eye,<br /> + Nor teach it to be proud,<br /> +But view the clearest sky<br /> + And thou shalt find a cloud;<br /> +<a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 19</span>Nor call +each face ye meet<br /> + An angel’s, ‘cause it’s fair,<br +/> +But look beneath your feet,<br /> + And think of what ye are.</p> +<p class="poetry">Who thinks that love doth live<br /> + In beauty’s tempting show,<br /> +Shall find his hopes ungive,<br /> + And melt in reason’s thaw;<br /> +Who thinks that pleasure lies<br /> + In every fairy bower,<br /> +Shall oft, to his surprise,<br /> + Find poison in the flower.</p> +<p class="poetry">Dost lawless pleasures grasp?<br /> + Judge not thou deal’st in joy;<br /> +Its flowers but hide the asp,<br /> + Thy revels to destroy:<br /> +Who trusts a harlot’s smile,<br /> + And by her wiles is led,<br /> +Plays with a sword the while,<br /> + Hung dropping o’er his head.</p> +<p class="poetry">Dost doubt my warning song?<br /> + Then doubt the sun gives light,<br /> +Doubt truth to teach thee wrong,<br /> + And wrong alone as right;<br /> +And live as lives the knave,<br /> + Intrigue’s deceiving guest,<br /> +Be tyrant, or be slave,<br /> + As suits thy ends the best.</p> +<p class="poetry">Or pause amid thy toils,<br /> + For visions won and lost,<br /> +And count the fancied spoils,<br /> + If e’er they quit the cost;<br /> +And if they still possess<br /> + Thy mind, as worthy things,<br /> +Pick straws with Bedlam Bess,<br /> + And call them diamond rings.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +20</span>Thy folly’s past advice,<br /> + Thy heart’s already won,<br /> +Thy fall’s above all price,<br /> + So go, and be undone;<br /> +For all who thus prefer<br /> + The seeming great for small,<br /> +Shall make wine vinegar,<br /> + And sweetest honey gall.</p> +<p class="poetry">Wouldst heed the truths I sing,<br /> + To profit wherewithal,<br /> +Clip folly’s wanton wing,<br /> + And keep her within call:<br /> +I’ve little else to give,<br /> + What thou canst easy try,<br /> +The lesson how to live,<br /> + Is but to learn to die.</p> +<h3>THE LIFE AND AGE OF MAN.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">From</span> one of Thackeray’s +Catalogues, preserved in the British Museum, it appears that +<i>The Life and Age of Man</i> was one of the productions printed +by him at the ‘Angel in Duck Lane, London.’ +Thackeray’s imprint is found attached to broadsides +published between 1672 and 1688, and he probably commenced +printing soon after the accession of Charles II. The +present reprint, the correctness of which is very questionable, +is taken from a modern broadside, the editor not having been +fortunate enough to meet with any earlier edition. This old +poem is said to have been a great favourite with the father of +Robert Burns.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> prime of years, +when I was young,<br /> + I took delight in youthful ways,<br /> +Not knowing then what did belong<br /> + Unto the pleasures of those days.<br /> +At seven years old I was a child,<br /> +And subject then to be beguiled.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +21</span>At two times seven I went to learn<br /> + What discipline is taught at school:<br /> +When good from ill I could discern,<br /> + I thought myself no more a fool:<br /> +My parents were contriving than,<br /> +How I might live when I were man.</p> +<p class="poetry">At three times seven I waxèd wild,<br /> + When manhood led me to be bold;<br /> +I thought myself no more a child,<br /> + My own conceit it so me told:<br /> +Then did I venture far and near,<br /> +To buy delight at price full dear.</p> +<p class="poetry">At four times seven I take a wife,<br /> + And leave off all my wanton ways,<br /> +Thinking thereby perhaps to thrive,<br /> + And save myself from sad disgrace.<br /> +So farewell my companions all,<br /> +For other business doth me call.</p> +<p class="poetry">At five times seven I must hard strive,<br /> + What I could gain by mighty skill;<br /> +But still against the stream I drive,<br /> + And bowl up stones against the hill;<br /> +The more I laboured might and main,<br /> +The more I strove against the stream.</p> +<p class="poetry">At six times seven all covetise<br /> + Began to harbour in my breast;<br /> +My mind still then contriving was<br /> + How I might gain this worldly wealth;<br /> +To purchase lands and live on them,<br /> +So make my children mighty men.</p> +<p class="poetry">At seven times seven all worldly thought<br /> + Began to harbour in my brain;<br /> +Then did I drink a heavy draught<br /> + Of water of experience plain;<br /> +<a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 22</span>There none +so ready was as I,<br /> +To purchase bargains, sell, or buy.</p> +<p class="poetry">At eight times seven I waxèd old,<br /> + And took myself unto my rest,<br /> +Neighbours then sought my counsel bold,<br /> + And I was held in great request;<br /> +But age did so abate my strength,<br /> +That I was forced to yield at length.</p> +<p class="poetry">At nine times seven take my leave<br /> + Of former vain delights must I;<br /> +It then full sorely did me grieve—<br /> + I fetchèd many a heavy sigh;<br /> +To rise up early, and sit up late,<br /> +My former life, I loathe and hate.</p> +<p class="poetry">At ten times seven my glass is run,<br /> + And I poor silly man must die;<br /> +I lookèd up, and saw the sun<br /> + Had overcome the crystal sky.<br /> +So now I must this world forsake,<br /> +Another man my place must take.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now you may see, as in a glass,<br /> + The whole estate of mortal men;<br /> +How they from seven to seven do pass,<br /> + Until they are threescore and ten;<br /> +And when their glass is fully run,<br /> +They must leave off as they begun.</p> +<h3>THE YOUNG MAN’S WISH.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">From</span> an old copy, without +printer’s name; probably one from the Aldermary Church-yard +press. Poems in triplets were very popular during the reign +of Charles I., and are frequently to be met with during the +Interregnum, and the reign of Charles II.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">If</span> I could but +attain my wish,<br /> +I’d have each day one wholesome dish,<br /> +Of plain meat, or fowl, or fish.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +23</span>A glass of port, with good old beer,<br /> +In winter time a fire burnt clear,<br /> +Tobacco, pipes, an easy chair.</p> +<p class="poetry">In some clean town a snug retreat,<br /> +A little garden ‘fore my gate,<br /> +With thousand pounds a year estate.</p> +<p class="poetry">After my house expense was clear,<br /> +Whatever I could have to spare,<br /> +The neighbouring poor should freely share.</p> +<p class="poetry">To keep content and peace through life,<br /> +I’d have a prudent cleanly wife,<br /> +Stranger to noise, and eke to strife.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then I, when blest with such estate,<br /> +With such a house, and such a mate,<br /> +Would envy not the worldly great.</p> +<p class="poetry">Let them for noisy honours try,<br /> +Let them seek worldly praise, while I<br /> +Unnoticèd would live and die.</p> +<p class="poetry">But since dame Fortune’s not thought +fit<br /> +To place me in affluence, yet<br /> +I’ll be content with what I get.</p> +<p class="poetry">He’s happiest far whose humble mind,<br +/> +Is unto Providence resigned,<br /> +And thinketh fortune always kind.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then I will strive to bound my wish,<br /> +And take, instead of fowl and fish,<br /> +Whate’er is thrown into my dish.</p> +<p class="poetry">Instead of wealth and fortune great,<br /> +Garden and house and loving mate,<br /> +I’ll rest content in servile state.</p> +<p class="poetry">I’ll from each folly strive to fly,<br /> +Each virtue to attain I’ll try,<br /> +And live as I would wish to die.</p> +<h3><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 24</span>THE +MIDNIGHT MESSENGER;</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">OR, A SUDDEN +CALL FROM AN EARTHLY GLORY TO THE COLD GRAVE.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">In</span> a +Dialogue between Death and a Rich Man; who, in the midst of all +his Wealth, received the tidings of his Last Day, to his +unspeakable and sorrowful Lamentation.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">To the tune of <i>Aim not too +high</i>, <a name="citation24"></a><a href="#footnote24" +class="citation">[24]</a> &c.</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> following poem, and the two +that immediately follow, belong to a class of publications which +have always been peculiar favourites with the peasantry, in whose +cottages they may be frequently seen, neatly framed and glazed, +and suspended from the white-washed walls. They belong to +the school of Quarles, and can be traced to the time when that +writer was in the height of his popularity. These religious +dialogues are numerous, but the majority of them are very +namby-pamby productions, and unworthy of a reprint. The +modern editions preserve the old form of the broadside of the +seventeenth century, and are adorned with rude woodcuts, probably +copies of ruder originals—</p> +<p +class="poetry"> —‘wooden +cuts<br /> +Strange, and uncouth; dire faces, figures dire,<br /> +Sharp-kneed, sharp-elbowed, and lean-ankled too,<br /> +With long and ghostly shanks, forms which once seen,<br /> +Can never be forgotten!’—<span +class="smcap">Wordsworth’s</span> <i>Excursion</i>.]</p> +<p style="text-align: center">DEATH.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Thou</span> wealthy man of +large possessions here,<br /> +Amounting to some thousand pounds a year,<br /> +Extorted by oppression from the poor,<br /> +The time is come that thou shalt be no more;<br /> +Thy house therefore in order set with speed,<br /> +And call to mind how you your life do lead.<br /> +Let true repentance be thy chiefest care,<br /> +And for another world now, <i>now</i> prepare.<br /> +For notwithstanding all your heaps of gold,<br /> +Your lands and lofty buildings manifold,<br /> +Take notice you must die this very day;<br /> +And therefore kiss your bags and come away.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page25"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 25</span>RICH MAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">[He started straight and turned his head +aside,<br /> +Where seeing pale-faced Death, aloud he cried],<br /> +Lean famished slave! why do you threaten so,<br /> +Whence come you, pray, and whither must I go?</p> +<p style="text-align: center">DEATH.</p> +<p class="poetry">I come from ranging round the universe,<br /> +Through courts and kingdoms far and near I pass,<br /> +Where rich and poor, distressèd, bond and free,<br /> +Fall soon or late a sacrifice to me.<br /> +From crownèd kings to captives bound in chains<br /> +My power reaches, sir; the longest reigns<br /> +That ever were, I put a period to;<br /> +And now I’m come in fine to conquer you.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">RICH MAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">I can’t nor won’t believe that you, +pale Death,<br /> +Were sent this day to stop my vital breath,<br /> +By reason I in perfect health remain,<br /> +Free from diseases, sorrow, grief, and pain;<br /> +No heavy heart, nor fainting fits have I,<br /> +And do you say that I am drawing nigh<br /> +The latter minute? sure it cannot be;<br /> +Depart, therefore, you are not sent for me!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">DEATH.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yes, yes, I am, for did you never know,<br /> +The tender grass and pleasant flowers that grow<br /> +Perhaps one minute, are the next cut down?<br /> +And so is man, though famed with high renown.<br /> +Have you not heard the doleful passing bell<br /> +Ring out for those that were alive and well<br /> +The other day, in health and pleasure too,<br /> +And had as little thoughts of death as you?<br /> +For let me tell you, when my warrant’s sealed,<br /> +The sweetest beauty that the earth doth yield<br /> +At my approach shall turn as pale as lead;<br /> +’Tis I that lay them on their dying bed.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +26</span>I kill with dropsy, phthisic, stone, and gout;<br /> +But when my raging fevers fly about,<br /> +I strike the man, perhaps, but over-night,<br /> +Who hardly lives to see the morning light;<br /> +I’m sent each hour, like to a nimble page,<br /> +To infant, hoary heads, and middle age;<br /> +Time after time I sweep the world quite through;<br /> +Then it’s in vain to think I’ll favour you.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">RICH MAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">Proud Death, you see what awful sway I bear,<br +/> +For when I frown none of my servants dare<br /> +Approach my presence, but in corners hide<br /> +Until I am appeased and pacified.<br /> +Nay, men of greater rank I keep in awe<br /> +Nor did I ever fear the force of law,<br /> +But ever did my enemies subdue,<br /> +And must I after all submit to you?</p> +<p style="text-align: center">DEATH.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis very true, for why thy daring +soul,<br /> +Which never could endure the least control,<br /> +I’ll thrust thee from this earthly tenement,<br /> +And thou shalt to another world be sent.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">RICH MAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">What! must I die and leave a vast estate,<br /> +Which, with my gold, I purchased but of late?<br /> +Besides what I had many years ago?—<br /> +What! must my wealth and I be parted so?<br /> +If you your darts and arrows must let fly,<br /> +Go search the jails, where mourning debtors lie;<br /> +Release them from their sorrow, grief, and woe,<br /> +For I am rich and therefore loth to go.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">DEATH.</p> +<p class="poetry">I’ll search no jails, but the right mark +I’ll hit;<br /> +And though you are unwilling to submit,<br /> +Yet die you must, no other friend can do,—<br /> +Prepare yourself to go, I’m come for you.<br /> +<a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 27</span>If you had +all the world and ten times more,<br /> +Yet die you must,—there’s millions gone before;<br /> +The greatest kings on earth yield and obey,<br /> +And at my feet their crowns and sceptres lay:<br /> +If crownèd heads and right renownèd peers<br /> +Die in the prime and blossoms of their years,<br /> +Can you suppose to gain a longer space?<br /> +No! I will send you to another place.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">RICH MAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh! stay thy hand and be not so severe,<br /> +I have a hopeful son and daughter dear,<br /> +All that I beg is but to let me live<br /> +That I may them in lawful marriage give:<br /> +They being young when I am laid in the grave,<br /> +I fear they will be wronged of what they have:<br /> +Although of me you will no pity take,<br /> +Yet spare me for my little infants’ sake.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">DEATH.</p> +<p class="poetry">If such a vain excuse as this might do,<br /> +It would be long ere mortals would go through<br /> +The shades of death; for every man would find<br /> +Something to say that he might stay behind.<br /> +Yet, if ten thousand arguments they’d use,<br /> +The destiny of dying to excuse,<br /> +They’ll find it is in vain with me to strive,<br /> +For why, I part the dearest friends alive;<br /> +Poor parents die, and leave their children small<br /> +With nothing to support them here withal,<br /> +But the kind hand of gracious Providence,<br /> +Who is their father, friend, and sole defence.<br /> +Though I have held you long in disrepute,<br /> +Yet after all here with a sharp salute<br /> +I’ll put a period to your days and years,<br /> +Causing your eyes to flow with dying tears.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">RICH MAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">[Then with a groan he made this sad +complaint]:<br /> +My heart is dying, and my spirits faint;<br /> +<a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 28</span>To my +close chamber let me be conveyed;<br /> +Farewell, false world, for thou hast me betrayed.<br /> +Would I had never wronged the fatherless,<br /> +Nor mourning widows when in sad distress;<br /> +Would I had ne’er been guilty of that sin,<br /> +Would I had never known what gold had been;<br /> +For by the same my heart was drawn away<br /> +To search for gold: but now this very day,<br /> +I find it is but like a slender reed,<br /> +Which fails me most when most I stand in need;<br /> +For, woe is me! the time is come at last,<br /> +Now I am on a bed of sorrow cast,<br /> +Where in lamenting tears I weeping lie,<br /> +Because my sins make me afraid to die:<br /> +Oh! Death, be pleased to spare me yet awhile,<br /> +That I to God myself may reconcile,<br /> +For true repentance some small time allow;<br /> +I never feared a future state till now!<br /> +My bags of gold and land I’d freely give,<br /> +For to obtain the favour here to live,<br /> +Until I have a sure foundation laid.<br /> +Let me not die before my peace be made!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">DEATH.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thou hast not many minutes here to stay,<br /> +Lift up your heart to God without delay,<br /> +Implore his pardon now for what is past,<br /> +Who knows but He may save your soul at last?</p> +<p style="text-align: center">RICH MAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">I’ll water now with tears my dying +bed,<br /> +Before the Lord my sad complaint I’ll spread,<br /> +And if He will vouchsafe to pardon me,<br /> +To die and leave this world I could be free.<br /> +False world! false world, farewell! farewell! adieu!<br /> +I find, I find, there is no trust in you!<br /> +For when upon a dying bed we lie,<br /> +Your gilded baits are nought but misery.<br /> +<a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 29</span>My +youthful son and loving daughter dear,<br /> +Take warning by your dying father here;<br /> +Let not the world deceive you at this rate,<br /> +For fear a sad repentance comes too late.<br /> +Sweet babes, I little thought the other day,<br /> +I should so suddenly be snatched away<br /> +By Death, and leave you weeping here behind;<br /> +But life’s a most uncertain thing, I find.<br /> +When in the grave my head is lain full low,<br /> +Pray let not folly prove your overthrow;<br /> +Serve ye the Lord, obey his holy will,<br /> +That he may have a blessing for you still.<br /> +[Having saluted them, he turned aside,<br /> +These were the very words before he died]:</p> +<p class="poetry">A painful life I ready am to leave,<br /> +Wherefore, in mercy, Lord, my soul receive.</p> +<h3>A DIALOGUE BETWIXT AN EXCISEMAN AND DEATH.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Transcribed</span> from a copy in the +British Museum, printed in London by J. C[larke]., 1659. +The idea of Death being employed to execute a writ, recalls an +epitaph which we remember to have seen in a village church-yard +at the foot of the Wrekin, in Shropshire, commencing +thus:—</p> +<p class="poetry">‘The King of Heaven a warrant got,<br /> +And sealèd it without delay,<br /> +And he did give the same to Death,<br /> +For him to serve straightway,’ &c.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Upon</span> a time when +Titan’s steeds were driven<br /> +To drench themselves beneath the western heaven;<br /> +And sable Morpheus had his curtains spread,<br /> +And silent night had laid the world to bed;<br /> +’Mongst other night-birds which did seek for prey,<br /> +A blunt exciseman, which abhorred the day,<br /> +Was rambling forth to seek himself a booty<br /> +’Mongst merchant’s goods which had not paid the +duty;<br /> +But walking all alone, Death chanced to meet him,<br /> +And in this manner did begin to greet him.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page30"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 30</span>DEATH.</p> +<p class="poetry">Stand, who comes here? what means this knave to +peep<br /> +And skulk abroad, when honest men should sleep?<br /> +Speak, what’s thy name? and quickly tell me this,<br /> +Whither thou goest, and what thy business is?</p> +<p style="text-align: center">EXCISEMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">Whate’er my business is, thou +foul-mouthed scold,<br /> +I’d have you know I scorn to be controlled<br /> +By any man that lives; much less by thou,<br /> +Who blurtest out thou know’st not what, nor how;<br /> +I go about my lawful business; and<br /> +I’ll make you smart for bidding of me stand.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">DEATH.</p> +<p class="poetry">Imperious coxcomb! is your stomach vexed?<br /> +Pray slack your rage, and hearken what comes next:<br /> +I have a writ to take you up; therefore,<br /> +To chafe your blood, I bid you stand, once more.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">EXCISEMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">A writ to take <i>me</i> up! excuse me, sir,<br +/> +You do mistake, I am an officer<br /> +In public service, for my private wealth;<br /> +My business is, if any seek by stealth<br /> +To undermine the state, I do discover<br /> +Their falsehood; therefore hold your hand,—give over.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">DEATH.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nay, fair and soft! ’tis not so quickly +done<br /> +As you conceive it is: I am not gone<br /> +A jot the sooner for your hasty chat,<br /> +Nor bragging language; for I tell you flat<br /> +’Tis more than so, though fortune seem to thwart us,<br /> +Such easy terms I don’t intend shall part us.<br /> +With this impartial arm I’ll make you feel<br /> +My fingers first, and with this shaft of steel<br /> +I’ll peck thy bones! <i>as thou alive wert hated</i>,<br /> +<i>So dead</i>, <i>to dogs thou shalt be segregated</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page31"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 31</span>EXCISEMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">I’d laugh at that; I would thou didst but +dare<br /> +To lay thy fingers on me; I’d not spare<br /> +To hack thy carcass till my sword was broken,<br /> +I’d make thee eat the words which thou hast spoken;<br /> +All men should warning take by thy transgression,<br /> +How they molested men of my profession.<br /> +My service to the State is so well known,<br /> +That should I but complain, they’d quickly own<br /> +My public grievances; and give me right<br /> +To cut your ears, before to-morrow night.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">DEATH.</p> +<p class="poetry">Well said, indeed! but bootless all, for I<br +/> +Am well acquainted with thy villany;<br /> +I know thy office, and thy trade is such,<br /> +Thy service little, and thy gains are much:<br /> +Thy brags are many; but ’tis vain to swagger,<br /> +And think to fight me with thy gilded dagger:<br /> +<i>As I abhor thy person</i>, <i>place</i>, <i>and threat</i>,<br +/> +So now I’ll bring thee to the judgment-seat.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">EXCISEMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">The judgment-seat! I must confess that +word<br /> +Doth cut my heart, like any sharpened sword:<br /> +What! come t’ account! methinks the dreadful sound<br /> +Of every word doth make a mortal wound,<br /> +Which sticks not only in my outward skin,<br /> +But penetrates my very soul within.<br /> +’Twas least of all my thoughts that ever Death<br /> +Would once attempt to stop excisemen’s breath.<br /> +But since ’tis so, that now I do perceive<br /> +You are in earnest, then I must relieve<br /> +Myself another way: come, we’ll be friends;<br /> +If I have wrongèd thee, I’ll make th’ +amends.<br /> +Let’s join together; I’ll pass my word this night<br +/> +Shall yield us grub, before the morning light.<br /> +Or otherwise (to mitigate my sorrow),<br /> +Stay here, I’ll bring you gold enough to-morrow.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page32"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 32</span>DEATH.</p> +<p class="poetry">To-morrow’s gold I will not have; and +thou<br /> +Shalt have no gold upon to-morrow: now<br /> +My final writ shall to th’ execution have thee,<br /> +All earthly treasure cannot help or save thee.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">EXCISEMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then woe is me! ah! how was I befooled!<br /> +I thought that gold (which answereth all things) could<br /> +Have stood my friend at any time to bail me!<br /> +But grief grows great, and now my trust doth fail me.<br /> +Oh! that my conscience were but clear within,<br /> +Which now is rackèd with my former sin;<br /> +With horror I behold my secret stealing,<br /> +My bribes, oppression, and my graceless dealing;<br /> +My office-sins, which I had clean forgotten,<br /> +Will gnaw my soul when all my bones are rotten:<br /> +I must confess it, very grief doth force me,<br /> +Dead or alive, both God and man doth curse me.<br /> +<i>Let all Excisemen</i> hereby warning take,<br /> +To shun their practice for their conscience sake.</p> +<h3>THE MESSENGER OF MORTALITY;</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">OR LIFE AND +DEATH CONTRASTED IN A DIALOGUE BETWIXT DEATH AND A +LADY.</span></p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">One</span> of Charles Lamb’s most +beautiful and plaintive poems was suggested by this old +dialogue. The tune is given in Chappell’s <i>Popular +Music</i>, p. 167. In Carey’s <i>Musical Century</i>, +1738, it is called the ‘Old tune of <i>Death and the +Lady</i>.’ The four concluding lines of the present +copy of <i>Death and the Lady</i> are found inscribed on +tomb-stones in village church-yards in every part of +England. They are not contained, however, in the broadside +with which our reprint has been carefully collated.]</p> +<p style="text-align: center">DEATH.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Fair</span> lady, lay your +costly robes aside,<br /> +No longer may you glory in your pride;<br /> +Take leave of all your carnal vain delight,<br /> +I’m come to summon you away this night!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page33"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 33</span>LADY.</p> +<p class="poetry">What bold attempt is this? pray let me know<br +/> +From whence you come, and whither I must go?<br /> +Must I, who am a lady, stoop or bow<br /> +To such a pale-faced visage? Who art thou?</p> +<p style="text-align: center">DEATH.</p> +<p class="poetry">Do you not know me? well! I tell thee, then,<br +/> +It’s I that conquer all the sons of men!<br /> +No pitch of honour from my dart is free;<br /> +My name is Death! have you not heard of me?</p> +<p style="text-align: center">LADY.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yes! I have heard of thee time after +time,<br /> +But being in the glory of my prime,<br /> +I did not think you would have called so soon.<br /> +Why must my morning sun go down at noon?</p> +<p style="text-align: center">DEATH.</p> +<p class="poetry">Talk not of noon! you may as well be mute;<br +/> +This is no time at all for to dispute:<br /> +Your riches, garments, gold, and jewels brave,<br /> +Houses and lands must all new owners have;<br /> +Though thy vain heart to riches was inclined,<br /> +Yet thou must die and leave them all behind.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">LADY.</p> +<p class="poetry">My heart is cold; I tremble at the news;<br /> +There’s bags of gold, if thou wilt me excuse,<br /> +And seize on them, and finish thou the strife<br /> +Of those that are aweary of their life.<br /> +Are there not many bound in prison strong,<br /> +In bitter grief of soul have languished long,<br /> +Who could but find the grave a place of rest,<br /> +From all the grief in which they are oppressed?<br /> +Besides, there’s many with a hoary head,<br /> +And palsy joints, by which their joys are fled;<br /> +<a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 34</span>Release +thou them whose sorrows are so great,<br /> +But spare my life to have a longer date.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">DEATH.</p> +<p class="poetry">Though some by age be full of grief and +pain,<br /> +Yet their appointed time they must remain:<br /> +I come to none before their warrant’s sealed,<br /> +And when it is, they must submit and yield.<br /> +I take no bribe, believe me, this is true;<br /> +Prepare yourself to go; I’m come for you.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">LADY.</p> +<p class="poetry">Death, be not so severe, let me obtain<br /> +A little longer time to live and reign!<br /> +Fain would I stay if thou my life will spare;<br /> +I have a daughter beautiful and fair,<br /> +I’d live to see her wed whom I adore:<br /> +Grant me but this and I will ask no more.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">DEATH.</p> +<p class="poetry">This is a slender frivolous excuse;<br /> +I have you fast, and will not let you loose;<br /> +Leave her to Providence, for you must go<br /> +Along with me, whether you will or no;<br /> +I, Death, command the King to leave his crown,<br /> +And at my feet he lays his sceptre down!<br /> +Then if to kings I don’t this favour give,<br /> +But cut them off, can you expect to live<br /> +Beyond the limits of your time and space!<br /> +No! I must send you to another place.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">LADY.</p> +<p class="poetry">You learnèd doctors, now express your +skill,<br /> +And let not Death of me obtain his will;<br /> +Prepare your cordials, let me comfort find,<br /> +My gold shall fly like chaff before the wind.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">DEATH.</p> +<p class="poetry">Forbear to call, their skill will never do,<br +/> +They are but mortals here as well as you:<br /> +<a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 35</span>I give the +fatal wound, my dart is sure,<br /> +And far beyond the doctor’s skill to cure.<br /> +How freely can you let your riches fly<br /> +To purchase life, rather than yield to die!<br /> +But while you flourish here with all your store,<br /> +You will not give one penny to the poor;<br /> +Though in God’s name their suit to you they make,<br /> +You would not spare one penny for His sake!<br /> +The Lord beheld wherein you did amiss,<br /> +And calls you hence to give account for this!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">LADY.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh! heavy news! must I no longer stay?<br /> +How shall I stand in the great judgment-day?<br /> +[Down from her eyes the crystal tears did flow:<br /> +She said], None knows what I do undergo:<br /> +Upon my bed of sorrow here I lie;<br /> +My carnal life makes me afraid to die.<br /> +My sins, alas! are many, gross and foul,<br /> +Oh, righteous Lord! have mercy on my soul!<br /> +And though I do deserve thy righteous frown,<br /> +Yet pardon, Lord, and pour a blessing down.<br /> +[Then with a dying sigh her heart did break,<br /> +And did the pleasures of this world forsake.]</p> + +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p class="poetry">Thus may we see the high and mighty fall,<br /> +For cruel Death shows no respect at all<br /> +To any one of high or low degree<br /> +Great men submit to Death as well as we.<br /> +Though they are gay, their life is but a span—<br /> +A lump of clay—so vile a creature’s man.<br /> +Then happy those whom Christ has made his care,<br /> +Who die in the Lord, and ever blessèd are.<br /> +The grave’s the market-place where all men meet,<br /> +Both rich and poor, as well as small and great.<br /> +If life were merchandise that gold could buy,<br /> +The rich would live, the poor alone would die.</p> +<h3><a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +36</span>ENGLAND’S ALARM;</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">OR THE PIOUS +CHRISTIAN’S SPEEDY CALL TO REPENTANCE</span></p> +<p>For the many aggravating sins too much practised in our +present mournful times: as Pride, Drunkenness, Blasphemous +Swearing, together with the Profanation of the Sabbath; +concluding with the sin of wantonness and disobedience; that upon +our hearty sorrow and forsaking the same the Lord may save us for +his mercy’s sake.</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">From</span> the cluster of +‘ornaments’ alluded to in the ninth verse of the +following poem, we are inclined to fix the date about 1653. +The present reprint is from an old broadside, without +printer’s name or date, in possession of Mr. J. R. +Smith.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">You</span> sober-minded +christians now draw near,<br /> +Labour to learn these pious lessons here;<br /> +For by the same you will be taught to know<br /> +What is the cause of all our grief and woe.</p> +<p class="poetry">We have a God who sits enthroned above;<br /> +He sends us many tokens of his love:<br /> +Yet we, like disobedient children, still<br /> +Deny to yield submission to His will.</p> +<p class="poetry">The just command which He upon us lays,<br /> +We must confess we have ten thousand ways<br /> +Transgressed; for see how men their sins pursue,<br /> +As if they did not fear what God could do.</p> +<p class="poetry">Behold the wretched sinner void of shame,<br /> +He values not how he blasphemes the name<br /> +Of that good God who gave him life and breath,<br /> +And who can strike him with the darts of death!</p> +<p class="poetry">The very little children which we meet,<br /> +Amongst the sports and pastimes in the street,<br /> +We very often hear them curse and swear,<br /> +Before they’ve learned a word of any prayer.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis much to be lamented, for I fear<br +/> +The same they learn from what they daily hear;<br /> +Be careful then, and don’t instruct them so,<br /> +For fear you prove their dismal overthrow.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +37</span>Both young and old, that dreadful sin forbear;<br /> +The tongue of man was never made to swear,<br /> +But to adore and praise the blessèd name,<br /> +By whom alone our dear salvation came.</p> +<p class="poetry">Pride is another reigning sin likewise;<br /> +Let us behold in what a strange disguise<br /> +Young damsels do appear, both rich and poor;<br /> +The like was ne’er in any age before.</p> +<p class="poetry">What artificial ornaments they wear,<br /> +Black patches, paint, and locks of powdered hair;<br /> +Likewise in lofty hoops they are arrayed,<br /> +As if they would correct what God had made.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet let ’em know, for all those youthful +charms,<br /> +They must lie down in death’s cold frozen arms!<br /> +Oh think on this, and raise your thoughts above<br /> +The sin of pride, which you so dearly love.</p> +<p class="poetry">Likewise, the wilful sinners that transgress<br +/> +The righteous laws of God by drunkenness,<br /> +They do abuse the creatures which were sent<br /> +Purely for man’s refreshing nourishment.</p> +<p class="poetry">Many diseases doth that sin attend,<br /> +But what is worst of all, the fatal end:<br /> +Let not the pleasures of a quaffing bowl<br /> +Destroy and stupify thy active soul.</p> +<p class="poetry">Perhaps the jovial drunkard over night,<br /> +May seem to reap the pleasures of delight,<br /> +While for his wine he doth in plenty call;<br /> +But oh! the sting of conscience, after all,</p> +<p class="poetry">Is like a gnawing worm upon the mind.<br /> +Then if you would the peace of conscience find,<br /> +A sober conversation learn with speed,<br /> +For that’s the sweetest life that man can lead.</p> +<p class="poetry">Be careful that thou art not drawn away,<br /> +By foolishness, to break the Sabbath-day;<br /> +Be constant at the pious house of prayer,<br /> +That thou mayst learn the christian duties there.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +38</span>For tell me, wherefore should we carp and care<br /> +For what we eat and drink, and what we wear;<br /> +And the meanwhile our fainting souls exclude<br /> +From that refreshing sweet celestial food?</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet so it is, we, by experience, find<br /> +Many young wanton gallants seldom mind<br /> +The church of God, but scornfully deride<br /> +That sacred word by which they must be tried.</p> +<p class="poetry">A tavern, or an alehouse, they adore,<br /> +And will not come within the church before<br /> +They’re brought to lodge under a silent tomb,<br /> +And then who knows how dismal is their doom!</p> +<p class="poetry">Though for awhile, perhaps, they flourish +here,<br /> +And seem to scorn the very thoughts of fear,<br /> +Yet when they’re summoned to resign their breath,<br /> +They can’t outbrave the bitter stroke of death!</p> +<p class="poetry">Consider this, young gallants, whilst you +may,<br /> +Swift-wingèd time and tide for none will stay;<br /> +And therefore let it be your christian care,<br /> +To serve the Lord, and for your death prepare.</p> +<p class="poetry">There is another crying sin likewise:<br /> +Behold young gallants cast their wanton eyes<br /> +On painted harlots, which they often meet<br /> +At every creek and corner of the street,</p> +<p class="poetry">By whom they are like dismal captives led<br /> +To their destruction; grace and fear is fled,<br /> +Till at the length they find themselves betrayed,<br /> +And for that sin most sad examples made.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then, then, perhaps, in bitter tears +they’ll cry,<br /> +With wringing hands, against their company,<br /> +Which did betray them to that dismal state!<br /> +Consider this before it is too late.</p> +<p class="poetry">Likewise, sons and daughters, far and near,<br +/> +Honour your loving friends, and parents dear;<br /> +Let not your disobedience grieve them so,<br /> +Nor cause their agèd eyes with tears to flow.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +39</span>What a heart-breaking sorrow it must be,<br /> +To dear indulgent parents, when they see<br /> +Their stubborn children wilfully run on<br /> +Against the wholesome laws of God and man!</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh! let these things a deep impression make<br +/> +Upon your hearts, with speed your sins forsake;<br /> +For, true it is, the Lord will never bless<br /> +Those children that do wilfully transgress.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, to conclude, both young and old I pray,<br +/> +Reform your sinful lives this very day,<br /> +That God in mercy may his love extend,<br /> +And bring the nation’s troubles to an end.</p> +<h3>SMOKING SPIRITUALIZED.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> following old poem was long +ascribed, on apparently sufficient grounds, to the Rev. Ralph +Erskine, or, as he designated himself, ‘Ralph Erskine, +V.D.M.’ The peasantry throughout the north of England +always call it ‘Erskine’s song,’ and not only +is his name given as the author in numerous chap-books, but in +his own volume of <i>Gospel Sonnets</i>, from an early copy of +which our version is transcribed. The discovery however, by +Mr. Collier, of the First Part in a MS. temp. Jac. I., with the +initials G. W. affixed to it, has disposed of Erskine’s +claim to the honour of the entire authorship. G. W. is +supposed to be George Withers; but this is purely conjectural; +and it is not at all improbable that G. W. really stands for W. +G., as it was a common practice amongst anonymous writers to +reverse their initials. The history, then, of the poem, +seems to be this: that the First Part, as it is now printed, +originally constituted the whole production, being complete in +itself; that the Second Part was afterwards added by the Rev. +Ralph Erskine; and that both parts came subsequently to be +ascribed to him, as his was the only name published in connexion +with the song. The Rev. Ralph Erskine was born at Monilaws, +Northumberland, on the 15th March, 1685. He was one of the +thirty-three children of Ralph Erskine of Shieldfield, a family +of repute descended from the ancient house of Marr. He was +educated at the college in Edinburgh, obtained his licence to +preach in June, 1709, and was ordained, on an unanimous +invitation, over the church at Dunfermline <a +name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 40</span>in August, +1711. He was twice married: in 1714 to Margaret Dewar, +daughter of the Laird of Lassodie, by whom he had five sons and +five daughters, all of whom died in the prime of life; and in +1732 to Margaret, daughter of Mr. Simson of Edinburgh, by whom he +had four sons, one of whom, with his wife, survived him. He +died in November, 1752. Erskine was the author of a great +number of <i>Sermons</i>; <i>a Paraphrase on the Canticles</i>; +<i>Scripture Songs</i>; <i>a Treatise on Mental Images</i>; and +<i>Gospel Sonnets</i>.</p> +<p><i>Smoking Spiritualized</i> is, at the present day, a +standard publication with modern ballad-printers, but their +copies are exceedingly corrupt. Many versions and +paraphrases of the song exist. Several are referred to in +<i>Notes and Queries</i>, and, amongst them, a broadside of the +date of 1670, and another dated 1672 (both printed before Erskine +was born), presenting different readings of the First Part, or +original poem. In both these the burthen, or refrain, +differs from that of our copy by the employment of the expression +‘<i>drink</i> tobacco,’ instead of +‘<i>smoke</i> tobacco.’ The former was the +ancient term for drawing in the smoke, swallowing it, and +emitting it through the nostrils. A correspondent of +<i>Notes and Queries</i> says, that the natives of India to this +day use the phrase ‘hooka peue,’ to <i>drink</i> the +hooka.]</p> +<p style="text-align: center">PART I.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">This</span> Indian weed, +now withered quite,<br /> +Though green at noon, cut down at night,<br /> + Shows thy decay;<br /> + All flesh is hay:<br /> + Thus think, and +smoke tobacco.</p> +<p class="poetry">The pipe so lily-like and weak,<br /> +Does thus thy mortal state bespeak;<br /> + Thou art e’en +such,—<br /> + Gone with a touch:<br /> + Thus think, and +smoke tobacco.</p> +<p class="poetry">And when the smoke ascends on high,<br /> +Then thou behold’st the vanity<br /> + Of worldly stuff,<br /> + Gone with a puff:<br /> + Thus think, and +smoke tobacco.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +41</span>And when the pipe grows foul within,<br /> +Think on thy soul defiled with sin;<br /> + For then the fire<br /> + It does require:<br /> + Thus think, and +smoke tobacco.</p> +<p class="poetry">And seest the ashes cast away,<br /> +Then to thyself thou mayest say,<br /> + That to the dust<br /> + Return thou must.<br /> + Thus think, and +smoke tobacco.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">PART II.</p> +<p class="poetry">Was this small plant for thee cut down?<br /> +So was the plant of great renown,<br /> + Which Mercy sends<br /> + For nobler ends.<br /> + Thus think, and +smoke tobacco.</p> +<p class="poetry">Doth juice medicinal proceed<br /> +From such a naughty foreign weed?<br /> + Then what’s the power<br /> + Of Jesse’s flower?<br /> + Thus think, and +smoke tobacco.</p> +<p class="poetry">The promise, like the pipe, inlays,<br /> +And by the mouth of faith conveys,<br /> + What virtue flows<br /> + From Sharon’s rose.<br /> + Thus think, and +smoke tobacco.</p> +<p class="poetry">In vain the unlighted pipe you blow,<br /> +Your pains in outward means are so,<br /> + Till heavenly fire<br /> + Your heart inspire.<br /> + Thus think, and +smoke tobacco.</p> +<p class="poetry">The smoke, like burning incense, towers,<br /> +So should a praying heart of yours,<br /> + With ardent cries,<br /> + Surmount the skies.<br /> + Thus think, and +smoke tobacco.</p> +<h3><a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 42</span>THE +MASONIC HYMN.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> is a very ancient production, +though given from a modern copy; it has always been popular +amongst the poor ‘brethren of the mystic tie.’ +The late Henry O’Brien, A.B., quotes the seventh verse in +his essay <i>On the Round Towers of Ireland</i>. He +generally had a common copy of the hymn in his pocket, and on +meeting with any of his antiquarian friends who were not Masons, +was in the habit of thrusting it into their hands, and telling +them that if they understood the mystic allusions it contained, +they would be in possession of a key which would unlock the +pyramids of Egypt! The tune to the hymn is peculiar to it, +and is of a plaintive and solemn character.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Come</span> all you +freemasons that dwell around the globe,<br /> +That wear the badge of innocence, I mean the royal robe,<br /> +Which Noah he did wear when in the ark he stood,<br /> +When the world was destroyed by a deluging flood.</p> +<p class="poetry">Noah he was virtuous in the sight of the +Lord,<br /> +He loved a freemason that kept the secret word;<br /> +For he built the ark, and he planted the first vine,<br /> +Now his soul in heaven like an angel doth shine.</p> +<p class="poetry">Once I was blind, and could not see the +light,<br /> +Then up to Jerusalem I took my flight,<br /> +I was led by the evangelist through a wilderness of care,<br /> +You may see by the sign and the badge that I wear.</p> +<p class="poetry">On the 13th rose the ark, let us join hand in +hand,<br /> +For the Lord spake to Moses by water and by land,<br /> +Unto the pleasant river where by Eden it did rin,<br /> +And Eve tempted Adam by the serpent of sin.</p> +<p class="poetry">When I think of Moses it makes me to blush,<br +/> +All on mount Horeb where I saw the burning bush;<br /> +My shoes I’ll throw off, and my staff I’ll cast +away,<br /> +And I’ll wander like a pilgrim unto my dying day.</p> +<p class="poetry">When I think of Aaron it makes me to weep,<br +/> +Likewise of the Virgin Mary who lay at our Saviour’s +feet;<br /> +<a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +43</span>’Twas in the garden of Gethsemane where he had the +bloody sweat;<br /> +Repent, my dearest brethren, before it is too late.</p> +<p class="poetry">I thought I saw twelve dazzling lights, which +put me in surprise,<br /> +And gazing all around me I heard a dismal noise;<br /> +The serpent passèd by me which fell unto the ground,<br /> +With great joy and comfort the secret word I found.</p> +<p class="poetry">Some say it is lost, but surely it is found,<br +/> +And so is our Saviour, it is known to all around;<br /> +Search all the Scriptures over, and there it will be shown;<br /> +The tree that will bear no fruit must be cut down.</p> +<p class="poetry">Abraham was a man well belovèd by the +Lord,<br /> +He was true to be found in great Jehovah’s word,<br /> +He stretchèd forth his hand, and took a knife to slay his +son,<br /> +An angel appearing said, The Lord’s will be done!</p> +<p class="poetry">O, Abraham! O, Abraham! lay no hand upon the +lad,<br /> +He sent him unto thee to make thy heart glad;<br /> +Thy seed shall increase like stars in the sky,<br /> +And thy soul into heaven like Gabriel shall fly.</p> +<p class="poetry">O, never, O, never will I hear an orphan +cry,<br /> +Nor yet a gentle virgin until the day I die;<br /> +You wandering Jews that travel the wide world round,<br /> +May knock at the door where truth is to be found.</p> +<p class="poetry">Often against the Turks and Infidels we +fight,<br /> +To let the wandering world know we’re in the right,<br /> +For in heaven there’s a lodge, and St. Peter keeps the +door,<br /> +And none can enter in but those that are pure.</p> +<p class="poetry">St. Peter he opened, and so we entered in,<br +/> +Into the holy seat secure, which is all free from sin;<br /> +St. Peter he opened, and so we entered there,<br /> +And the glory of the temple no man can compare.</p> +<h3><a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 44</span>GOD +SPEED THE PLOW, AND BLESS THE CORN-MOW.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">A DIALOGUE +BETWEEN THE HUSBANDMAN AND SERVINGMAN.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">The tune is, <i>I am the Duke of +Norfolk</i>.</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> ancient dialogue, though in a +somewhat altered form (see the ensuing poem), has long been used +at country merry-makings. It is transcribed from a +black-letter copy in the third volume of the Roxburgh collection, +apparently one of the imprints of Peter Brooksby, which would +make the composition at least as old as the close of the +fifteenth century. There are several dialogues of a similar +character.]</p> +<p style="text-align: center">ARGUMENT.</p> +<p class="poetry">The servingman the plowman would invite<br /> +To leave his calling and to take delight;<br /> +But he to that by no means will agree,<br /> +Lest he thereby should come to beggary.<br /> +He makes it plain appear a country life<br /> +Doth far excel: and so they end the strife.</p> + +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">My</span> noble friends +give ear, if mirth you love to hear,<br /> +I’ll tell you as fast as I can,<br /> +A story very true, then mark what doth ensue,<br /> +Concerning of a husbandman.<br /> +A servingman did meet a husbandman in the street,<br /> +And thus unto him began:</p> +<p style="text-align: center">SERVINGMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">I pray you tell to me of what calling you +be,<br /> +Or if you be a servingman?</p> +<p style="text-align: center">HUSBANDMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">Quoth he, my brother dear, the coast I mean to +clear,<br /> +And the truth you shall understand:<br /> +I do no one disdain, but this I tell you plain,<br /> +I am an honest husbandman.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">SERVINGMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">If a husbandman you be, then come along with +me,<br /> +I’ll help you as soon as I can<br /> +Unto a gallant place, where in a little space,<br /> +You shall be a servingman.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page45"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 45</span>HUSBANDMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sir, for your diligence I give you many +thanks,<br /> +These things I receive at your hand;<br /> +I pray you to me show, whereby that I might know,<br /> +What pleasures hath a servingman?</p> +<p style="text-align: center">SERVINGMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">A servingman hath pleasure, which passeth time +and measure,<br /> +When the hawk on his fist doth stand;<br /> +His hood, and his verrils brave, and other things, we have,<br /> +Which yield joy to a servingman.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">HUSBANDMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">My pleasure’s more than that to see my +oxen fat,<br /> +And to prosper well under my hand;<br /> +And therefore I do mean, with my horse, and with my team,<br /> +To keep myself a husbandman.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">SERVINGMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">O ’tis a gallant thing in the prime time +of the spring,<br /> +To hear the huntsman now and than<br /> +His bugle for to blow, and the hounds run all a row:<br /> +This is pleasure for a servingman!<br /> +To hear the beagle cry, and to see the falcon fly,<br /> +And the hare trip over the plain,<br /> +And the huntsmen and the hound make hill and dale rebound:<br /> +This is pleasure for a servingman!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">HUSBANDMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis pleasure, too, you know, to see the +corn to grow,<br /> +And to grow so well on the land;<br /> +The plowing and the sowing, the reaping and the mowing,<br /> +Yield pleasure to the husbandman.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">SERVINGMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">At our table you may eat all sorts of dainty +meat,<br /> +Pig, cony, goose, capon, and swan;<br /> +And with lords and ladies fine, you may drink beer, ale, and +wine!<br /> +This is pleasure for a servingman.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page46"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 46</span>HUSBANDMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">While you eat goose and capon, I’ll feed +on beef and bacon,<br /> +And piece of hard cheese now and than;<br /> +We pudding have, and souse, always ready in the house,<br /> +Which contents the honest husbandman.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">SERVINGMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">At the court you may have your garments fine +and brave,<br /> +And cloak with gold lace laid upon,<br /> +A shirt as white as milk, and wrought with finest silk:<br /> +That’s pleasure for a servingman!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">HUSBANDMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">Such proud and costly gear is not for us to +wear;<br /> +Amongst the briers and brambles many a one,<br /> +A good strong russet coat, and at your need a groat,<br /> +Will suffice the husbandman.<br /> +A proverb here I tell, which likes my humour well,<br /> +And remember it well I can,<br /> +If a courtier be too bold, he’ll want when he is old.<br /> +Then farewell the servingman.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">SERVINGMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">It needs must be confest that your calling is +the best,<br /> +No longer discourse with you I can;<br /> +But henceforth I will pray, by night and by day,<br /> +Heaven bless the honest husbandman.</p> +<h3>A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE HUSBANDMAN AND THE SERVINGMAN.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> traditional version of the +preceding ancient dialogue has long been popular at country +festivals. At a harvest-home feast at Selborne, in +Hampshire, in 1836, we heard it recited by two countrymen, who +gave it with considerable humour, and dramatic effect. It +was delivered in a sort of chant, or recitative. Davies +Gilbert published a very similar copy in his <a +name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 47</span><i>Ancient +Christmas Carols</i>. In the modern printed editions, which +are almost identical with ours, the term ‘servantman’ +has been substituted for the more ancient designation.]</p> +<p style="text-align: center">SERVINGMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Well</span> met, my brother +friend, all at this highway end,<br /> + So simple all alone, as you can,<br /> +I pray you tell to me, what may your calling be,<br /> + Are you not a servingman?</p> +<p style="text-align: center">HUSBANDMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">No, no, my brother dear, what makes you to +inquire<br /> + Of any such a thing at my hand?<br /> +Indeed I shall not feign, but I will tell you plain,<br /> + I am a downright husbandman.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">SERVINGMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">If a husbandman you be, then go along with +me,<br /> + And quickly you shall see out of hand,<br /> +How in a little space I will help you to a place,<br /> + Where you may be a servingman.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">HUSBANDMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">Kind sir! I ‘turn you thanks for your +intelligence,<br /> + These things I receive at your hand;<br /> +But something pray now show, that first I may plainly know<br /> + The pleasures of a servingman.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">SERVINGMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">Why a servingman has pleasure beyond all sort +of measure,<br /> + With his hawk on his fist, as he does stand;<br /> +For the game that he does kill, and the meat that does him +fill,<br /> + Are pleasures for the servingman.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">HUSBANDMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">And my pleasure’s more than that, to see +my oxen fat,<br /> + And a good stock of hay by them stand;<br /> +My plowing and my sowing, my reaping and my mowing,<br /> + Are pleasures for the husbandman.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page48"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 48</span>SERVINGMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">Why it is a gallant thing to ride out with a +king,<br /> + With a lord, duke, or any such man;<br /> +To hear the horns to blow, and see the hounds all in a row,<br /> + That is pleasure for the servingman.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">HUSBANDMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">But my pleasure’s more I know, to see my +corn to grow,<br /> + So thriving all over my land;<br /> +And, therefore, I do mean, with my plowing with my team,<br /> + To keep myself a husbandman.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">SERVINGMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">Why the diet that we eat is the choicest of all +meat,<br /> + Such as pig, goose, capon, and swan;<br /> +Our pastry is so fine, we drink sugar in our wine,<br /> + That is living for the servingman.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">HUSBANDMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">Talk not of goose nor capon, give me good beef +or bacon,<br /> + And good bread and cheese, now at hand;<br /> +With pudding, brawn, and souse, all in a farmer’s house,<br +/> + That is living for the husbandman.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">SERVINGMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">Why the clothing that we wear is delicate and +rare,<br /> + With our coat, lace, buckles, and band;<br /> +Our shirts are white as milk, and our stockings they are silk,<br +/> + That is clothing for a servingman.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">HUSBANDMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">But I value not a hair your delicate fine +wear,<br /> + Such as gold is laced upon;<br /> +Give me a good grey coat, and in my purse a groat,<br /> + That is clothing for the husbandman.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">SERVINGMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">Kind sir! it would be bad if none could be +had<br /> + Those tables for to wait upon;<br /> +There is no lord, duke, nor squire, nor member for the shire,<br +/> + Can do without a servingman.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page49"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 49</span>HUSBANDMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">But, Jack! it would be worse if there was none +of us<br /> + To follow the plowing of the land;<br /> +There is neither king, lord, nor squire, nor member for the +shire,<br /> + Can do without the husbandman.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">SERVINGMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">Kind sir! I must confess’t, and I humbly +protest<br /> + I will give you the uppermost hand;<br /> +Although your labour’s painful, and mine it is so very +gainful,<br /> + I wish I were a husbandman.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">HUSBANDMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">So come now, let us all, both great as well as +small,<br /> + Pray for the grain of our land;<br /> +And let us, whatsoever, do all our best endeavour,<br /> + For to maintain the good husbandman.</p> +<h3>THE CATHOLICK.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> following ingenious production +has been copied literally from a broadside posted against the +‘parlour’ wall of a country inn in +Gloucestershire. The verses are susceptible of two +interpretations, being Catholic if read in the columns, but +Protestant if read across.]</p> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p class="poetry">I HOLD as faith<br /> +What <i>Rome’s</i> church saith<br /> +Where the <i>King’s</i> head<br /> +The flocks misled<br /> +Where the <i>altars</i> drest<br /> +The peoples blest<br /> +He’s but an asse<br /> +Who shuns the <i>masse</i></p> +</td> +<td><p class="poetry">What <i>England’s church</i> alows<br +/> +My conscience disavows<br /> +That <i>church</i> can have no shame<br /> +That holds the <i>Pope</i> supreame.<br /> +There’s service scarce divine<br /> +With table, bread, and wine.<br /> +Who the <i>communion</i> flies<br /> +Is <i>catholick</i> and wise.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p class="poetry">London: printed for George +Eversden, at the signe of the Maidenhead, in St. Powle’s +Church-yard, 1655. <i>Cum privilegio</i>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +50</span>Ballads.</h2> +<h3>THE THREE KNIGHTS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">(TRADITIONAL.)</span></p> +<p>[<i>The Three Knights</i> was first printed by the late Davies +Gilbert, F.R.S., in the appendix to his work on <i>Christmas +Carols</i>. Mr. Gilbert thought that some verses were +wanting after the eighth stanza; but we entertain a different +opinion. A conjectural emendation made in the ninth verse, +viz., the substitution of <i>far</i> for <i>for</i>, seems to +render the ballad perfect. The ballad is still popular +amongst the peasantry in the West of England. The tune is +given by Gilbert. The refrain, in the second and fourth +lines, printed with the first verse, should be repeated in +recitation in every verse.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> did three +Knights come from the west,<br /> +With the high and the lily oh!<br /> +And these three Knights courted one ladye,<br /> +As the rose was so sweetly blown.<br /> +The first Knight came was all in white,<br /> +And asked of her if she’d be his delight.<br /> +The next Knight came was all in green,<br /> +And asked of her if she’d be his queen.<br /> +The third Knight came was all in red,<br /> +And asked of her if she would wed.<br /> +‘Then have you asked of my father dear?<br /> +Likewise of her who did me bear?<br /> +‘And have you asked of my brother John?<br /> +And also of my sister Anne?’<br /> +‘Yes, I’ve asked of your father dear,<br /> +Likewise of her who did you bear.<br /> +‘And I’ve asked of your sister Anne,<br /> +But I’ve not asked of your brother John.’<br /> +Far on the road as they rode along,<br /> +There did they meet with her brother John.<br /> +<a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 51</span>She +stoopèd low to kiss him sweet,<br /> +He to her heart did a dagger meet. <a name="citation51"></a><a +href="#footnote51" class="citation">[51]</a><br /> +‘Ride on, ride on,’ cried the servingman,<br /> +‘Methinks your bride she looks wondrous wan.’<br /> +‘I wish I were on yonder stile,<br /> +For there I would sit and bleed awhile.<br /> +‘I wish I were on yonder hill,<br /> +There I’d alight and make my will.’<br /> +‘What would you give to your father dear?’<br /> +‘The gallant steed which doth me bear.’<br /> +‘What would you give to your mother dear?’<br /> +‘My wedding shift which I do wear.<br /> +‘But she must wash it very clean,<br /> +For my heart’s blood sticks in every seam.’<br /> +‘What would you give to your sister Anne?’<br /> +‘My gay gold ring, and my feathered fan.’<br /> +‘What would you give to your brother John?’<br /> +‘A rope, and a gallows to hang him on.’<br /> +‘What would you give to your brother John’s +wife?’<br /> +‘A widow’s weeds, and a quiet life.’</p> +<h3>THE BLIND BEGGAR OF BEDNALL GREEN.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">SHOWING HOW +HIS DAUGHTER WAS MARRIED TO A KNIGHT, AND HAD THREE THOUSAND +POUND TO HER PORTION.</span></p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Percy’s</span> copy of <i>The +Beggar’s Daughter of Bednall Green</i> is known to be very +incorrect: besides many alterations and improvements which it +received at the hands of the Bishop, it contains no less than +eight stanzas written by Robert Dodsley, the author of <i>The +Economy of Human Life</i>. So far as poetry is concerned, +there cannot be a question that the version in the +<i>Reliques</i> is far superior to the original, which is still a +popular favourite, and a correct copy of which is now given, as +it appears in all the <a name="page52"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 52</span>common broadside editions that have +been printed from 1672 to the present time. Although the +original copies have all perished, the ballad has been very +satisfactorily proved by Percy to have been written in the reign +of Elizabeth. The present reprint is from a modern copy, +carefully collated with one in the Bagford Collection, +entitled,</p> +<p class="poetry">‘The rarest ballad that ever was seen,<br +/> +Of the Blind Beggar’s Daughter of Bednal Green.’</p> +<p>The imprint to it is, ‘Printed by and for W. Onley; and +are to be sold by C. Bates, at the sign of the Sun and Bible, in +Pye Corner.’ The very antiquated orthography adopted +in some editions does not rest on any authority. For two +tunes to <i>The Blind Beggar</i>, see <i>Popular Music</i>.]</p> +<p style="text-align: center">PART I.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">This</span> song’s of +a beggar who long lost his sight,<br /> +And had a fair daughter, most pleasant and bright,<br /> +And many a gallant brave suitor had she,<br /> +And none was so comely as pretty Bessee.</p> +<p class="poetry">And though she was of complexion most fair,<br +/> +And seeing she was but a beggar his heir,<br /> +Of ancient housekeepers despisèd was she,<br /> +Whose sons came as suitors to pretty Bessee.</p> +<p class="poetry">Wherefore in great sorrow fair Bessee did +say:<br /> +‘Good father and mother, let me now go away,<br /> +To seek out my fortune, whatever it be.’<br /> +This suit then was granted to pretty Bessee.</p> +<p class="poetry">This Bessee, that was of a beauty most +bright,<br /> +They clad in grey russet; and late in the night<br /> +From father and mother alone parted she,<br /> +Who sighèd and sobbèd for pretty Bessee.</p> +<p class="poetry">She went till she came to Stratford-at-Bow,<br +/> +Then she know not whither or which way to go,<br /> +With tears she lamented her sad destiny;<br /> +So sad and so heavy was pretty Bessee.</p> +<p class="poetry">She kept on her journey until it was day,<br /> +And went unto Rumford, along the highway;<br /> +And at the King’s Arms entertainèd was she,<br /> +So fair and well favoured was pretty Bessee.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +53</span>She had not been there one month at an end,<br /> +But master and mistress and all was her friend:<br /> +And every brave gallant that once did her see,<br /> +Was straightway in love with pretty Bessee.</p> +<p class="poetry">Great gifts they did send her of silver and +gold,<br /> +And in their songs daily her love they extolled:<br /> +Her beauty was blazèd in every decree,<br /> +So fair and so comely was pretty Bessee.</p> +<p class="poetry">The young men of Rumford in her had their +joy,<br /> +She showed herself courteous, but never too coy,<br /> +And at their commandment still she would be,<br /> +So fair and so comely was pretty Bessee.</p> +<p class="poetry">Four suitors at once unto her did go,<br /> +They cravèd her favour, but still she said no;<br /> +I would not have gentlemen marry with me!<br /> +Yet ever they honourèd pretty Bessee.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now one of them was a gallant young knight,<br +/> +And he came unto her disguised in the night;<br /> +The second, a gentleman of high degree,<br /> +Who wooèd and suèd for pretty Bessee.</p> +<p class="poetry">A merchant of London, whose wealth was not +small,<br /> +Was then the third suitor, and proper withal;<br /> +Her master’s own son the fourth man must be,<br /> +Who swore he would die for pretty Bessee.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘If that thou wilt marry with me,’ +quoth the knight,<br /> +‘I’ll make thee a lady with joy and delight;<br /> +My heart is enthrallèd in thy fair beauty,<br /> +Then grant me thy favour, my pretty Bessee.’</p> +<p class="poetry">The gentleman said, ‘Come marry with +me,<br /> +In silks and in velvet my Bessee shall be;<br /> +My heart lies distracted, oh! hear me,’ quoth he,<br /> +‘And grant me thy love, my dear pretty Bessee.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Let me be thy husband,’ the +merchant did say,<br /> +‘Thou shalt live in London most gallant and gay;<br /> +My ships shall bring home rich jewels for thee,<br /> +And I will for ever love pretty Bessee.’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +54</span>Then Bessee she sighèd and thus she did say:<br +/> +‘My father and mother I mean to obey;<br /> +First get their good will, and be faithful to me,<br /> +And you shall enjoy your dear pretty Bessee.’</p> +<p class="poetry">To every one of them that answer she made,<br +/> +Therefore unto her they joyfully said:<br /> +‘This thing to fulfil we all now agree,<br /> +But where dwells thy father, my pretty Bessee?’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘My father,’ quoth she, ‘is +soon to be seen:<br /> +The silly blind beggar of Bednall Green,<br /> +That daily sits begging for charity,<br /> +He is the kind father of pretty Bessee.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘His marks and his token are knowen full +well,<br /> +He always is led by a dog and a bell;<br /> +A poor silly old man, God knoweth, is he,<br /> +Yet he’s the true father of pretty Bessee.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Nay, nay,’ quoth the merchant, +‘thou art not for me.’<br /> +‘She,’ quoth the innholder, ‘my wife shall not +be.’<br /> +‘I loathe,’ said the gentleman, ‘a +beggar’s degree,<br /> +Therefore, now farewell, my pretty Bessee.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Why then,’ quoth the knight, +‘hap better or worse,<br /> +I weigh not true love by the weight of the purse,<br /> +And beauty is beauty in every degree,<br /> +Then welcome to me, my dear pretty Bessee.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘With thee to thy father forthwith I will +go.’<br /> +‘Nay, forbear,’ quoth his kinsman, ‘it must not +be so:<br /> +A poor beggar’s daughter a lady shan’t be;<br /> +Then take thy adieu of thy pretty Bessee.’</p> +<p class="poetry">As soon then as it was break of the day,<br /> +The knight had from Rumford stole Bessee away;<br /> +The young men of Rumford, so sick as may be,<br /> +Rode after to fetch again pretty Bessee.</p> +<p class="poetry">As swift as the wind to ride they were seen,<br +/> +Until they came near unto Bednall Green,<br /> +And as the knight lighted most courteously,<br /> +They fought against him for pretty Bessee.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +55</span>But rescue came presently over the plain,<br /> +Or else the knight there for his love had been slain;<br /> +The fray being ended, they straightway did see<br /> +His kinsman come railing at pretty Bessee.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then bespoke the blind beggar, ‘Although +I be poor,<br /> +Rail not against my child at my own door,<br /> +Though she be not deckèd in velvet and pearl,<br /> +Yet I will drop angels with thee for my girl;</p> +<p class="poetry">‘And then if my gold should better her +birth,<br /> +And equal the gold you lay on the earth,<br /> +Then neither rail you, nor grudge you to see<br /> +The blind beggar’s daughter a lady to be.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘But first, I will hear, and have it well +known,<br /> +The gold that you drop it shall be all your own.’<br /> +With that they replièd, ‘Contented we be!’<br +/> +‘Then here’s,’ quoth the beggar, ‘for +pretty Bessee!’</p> +<p class="poetry">With that an angel he dropped on the ground,<br +/> +And droppèd, in angels, full three thousand pound;<br /> +And oftentimes it proved most plain,<br /> +For the gentleman’s one, the beggar dropped twain;</p> +<p class="poetry">So that the whole place wherein they did +sit,<br /> +With gold was coverèd every whit.<br /> +The gentleman having dropped all his store,<br /> +Said, ‘Beggar! your hand hold, for I have no +more.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Thou hast fulfillèd thy promise +aright,<br /> +Then marry my girl,’ quoth he to the knight;<br /> +‘And then,’ quoth he, ‘I will throw you +down,<br /> +An hundred pound more to buy her a gown.’</p> +<p class="poetry">The gentlemen all, who his treasure had +seen,<br /> +Admirèd the beggar of Bednall Green;<br /> +And those that had been her suitors before,<br /> +Their tender flesh for anger they tore.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus was the fair Bessee matchèd to a +knight,<br /> +And made a lady in other’s despite.<br /> +A fairer lady there never was seen<br /> +Than the blind beggar’s daughter of Bednall Green.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +56</span>But of her sumptuous marriage and feast,<br /> +And what fine lords and ladies there prest,<br /> +The second part shall set forth to your sight,<br /> +With marvellous pleasure and wished-for delight.</p> +<p class="poetry">Of a blind beggar’s daughter so +bright,<br /> +That late was betrothed to a young knight,<br /> +All the whole discourse therefore you may see;<br /> +But now comes the wedding of pretty Bessee.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">PART II.</p> +<p class="poetry">It was in a gallant palace most brave,<br /> +Adornèd with all the cost they could have,<br /> +This wedding it was kept most sumptuously,<br /> +And all for the love of pretty Bessee.</p> +<p class="poetry">And all kind of dainties and delicates +sweet,<br /> +Was brought to their banquet, as it was thought meet,<br /> +Partridge, and plover, and venison most free,<br /> +Against the brave wedding of pretty Bessee.</p> +<p class="poetry">The wedding through England was spread by +report,<br /> +So that a great number thereto did resort<br /> +Of nobles and gentles of every degree,<br /> +And all for the fame of pretty Bessee.</p> +<p class="poetry">To church then away went this gallant young +knight,<br /> +His bride followed after, an angel most bright,<br /> +With troops of ladies, the like was ne’er seen,<br /> +As went with sweet Bessee of Bednall Green.</p> +<p class="poetry">This wedding being solemnized then,<br /> +With music performèd by skilfullest men,<br /> +The nobles and gentlemen down at the side,<br /> +Each one beholding the beautiful bride.</p> +<p class="poetry">But after the sumptuous dinner was done,<br /> +To talk and to reason a number begun,<br /> +And of the blind beggar’s daughter most bright;<br /> +And what with his daughter he gave to the knight.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then spoke the nobles, ‘Much marvel have +we<br /> +This jolly blind beggar we cannot yet see!’<br /> +<a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 57</span>‘My +lords,’ quoth the bride, ‘my father so base<br /> +Is loth with his presence these states to disgrace.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘The praise of a woman in question to +bring,<br /> +Before her own face is a flattering thing;<br /> +But we think thy father’s baseness,’ quoth they,<br +/> +‘Might by thy beauty be clean put away.’</p> +<p class="poetry">They no sooner this pleasant word spoke,<br /> +But in comes the beggar in a silken cloak,<br /> +A velvet cap and a feather had he,<br /> +And now a musician, forsooth, he would be.</p> +<p class="poetry">And being led in from catching of harm,<br /> +He had a dainty lute under his arm,<br /> +Said, ‘Please you to hear any music of me,<br /> +A song I will sing you of pretty Bessee.’</p> +<p class="poetry">With that his lute he twangèd +straightway,<br /> +And thereon began most sweetly to play,<br /> +And after a lesson was played two or three,<br /> +He strained out this song most delicately:—</p> +<p class="poetry">‘A beggar’s daughter did dwell on a +green,<br /> +Who for her beauty may well be a queen,<br /> +A blithe bonny lass, and dainty was she,<br /> +And many one callèd her pretty Bessee.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Her father he had no goods nor no +lands,<br /> +But begged for a penny all day with his hands,<br /> +And yet for her marriage gave thousands three,<br /> +Yet still he hath somewhat for pretty Bessee.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘And here if any one do her disdain,<br +/> +Her father is ready with might and with main<br /> +To prove she is come of noble degree,<br /> +Therefore let none flout at my pretty Bessee.’</p> +<p class="poetry">With that the lords and the company round<br /> +With a hearty laughter were ready to swound;<br /> +At last said the lords, ‘Full well we may see,<br /> +The bride and the bridegroom’s beholden to thee.’</p> +<p class="poetry">With that the fair bride all blushing did +rise,<br /> +With crystal water all in her bright eyes,<br /> +<a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +58</span>‘Pardon my father, brave nobles,’ quoth +she,<br /> +‘That through blind affection thus doats upon +me.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘If this be thy father,’ the nobles +did say,<br /> +‘Well may he be proud of this happy day,<br /> +Yet by his countenance well may we see,<br /> +His birth with his fortune could never agree;</p> +<p class="poetry">And therefore, blind beggar, we pray thee +bewray,<br /> +And look to us then the truth thou dost say,<br /> +Thy birth and thy parentage what it may be,<br /> +E’en for the love thou bearest pretty Bessee.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Then give me leave, ye gentles each +one,<br /> +A song more to sing and then I’ll begone,<br /> +And if that I do not win good report,<br /> +Then do not give me one groat for my sport:—</p> +<p class="poetry">‘When first our king his fame did +advance,<br /> +And sought his title in delicate France,<br /> +In many places great perils passed he;<br /> +But then was not born my pretty Bessee.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘And at those wars went over to fight,<br +/> +Many a brave duke, a lord, and a knight,<br /> +And with them young Monford of courage so free;<br /> +But then was not born my pretty Bessee.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘And there did young Monford with a blow +on the face<br /> +Lose both his eyes in a very short space;<br /> +His life had been gone away with his sight,<br /> +Had not a young woman gone forth in the night.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Among the said men, her fancy did +move,<br /> +To search and to seek for her own true love,<br /> +Who seeing young Monford there gasping to die,<br /> +She savèd his life through her charity.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘And then all our victuals in +beggar’s attire,<br /> +At the hands of good people we then did require;<br /> +At last into England, as now it is seen,<br /> +We came, and remainèd in Bednall Green.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘And thus we have livèd in +Fortune’s despite,<br /> +Though poor, yet contented with humble delight,<br /> +<a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 59</span>And in my +old years, a comfort to me,<br /> +God sent me a daughter called pretty Bessee.</p> +<p class="poetry">And thus, ye nobles, my song I do end,<br /> +Hoping by the same no man to offend;<br /> +Full forty long winters thus I have been,<br /> +A silly blind beggar of Bednall Green.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Now when the company every one,<br /> +Did hear the strange tale he told in his song,<br /> +They were amazèd, as well they might be,<br /> +Both at the blind beggar and pretty Bessee.</p> +<p class="poetry">With that the fair bride they all did +embrace,<br /> +Saying, ‘You are come of an honourable race,<br /> +Thy father likewise is of high degree,<br /> +And thou art right worthy a lady to be.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus was the feast ended with joy and +delight,<br /> +A happy bridegroom was made the young knight,<br /> +Who lived in great joy and felicity,<br /> +With his fair lady dear pretty Bessee.</p> +<h3>THE BOLD PEDLAR AND ROBIN HOOD.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> ballad is of considerable +antiquity, and no doubt much older than some of those inserted in +the common Garlands. It appears to have escaped the notice +of Ritson, Percy, and other collectors of Robin Hood +ballads. The tune is given in <i>Popular Music</i>. +An aged woman in Bermondsey, Surrey, from whose oral recitation +the present version was taken down, said that she had often heard +her grandmother sing it, and that it was never in print; but we +have since met with several common stall copies. The +subject is the same as that of the old ballad called <i>Robin +Hood newly revived</i>; <i>or</i>, <i>the Meeting and Fighting +with his Cousin Scarlett</i>.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> chanced to be +a pedlar bold,<br /> + A pedlar bold he chanced to be;<br /> +He rolled his pack all on his back,<br /> + And he came tripping o’er the lee.<br /> + Down, a down, a down, a down,<br +/> + Down, a down, a +down.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +60</span>By chance he met two troublesome blades,<br /> + Two troublesome blades they chanced to be;<br /> +The one of them was bold Robin Hood,<br /> + And the other was Little John, so free.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Oh! pedlar, pedlar, what is in thy +pack,<br /> + Come speedilie and tell to me?’<br /> +‘I’ve several suits of the gay green silks,<br /> + And silken bowstrings two or three.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘If you have several suits of the gay +green silk,<br /> + And silken bowstrings two or three,<br /> +Then it’s by my body,’ cries <i>bittle</i> John,<br +/> + ‘One half your pack shall belong to +me.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh! nay, oh! nay,’ says the pedlar +bold,<br /> + ‘Oh! nay, oh! nay, that never can be,<br /> +For there’s never a man from fair Nottingham<br /> + Can take one half my pack from me.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Then the pedlar he pulled off his pack,<br /> + And put it a little below his knee,<br /> +Saying, ‘If you do move me one perch from this,<br /> + My pack and all shall gang with thee.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Little John he drew his sword;<br /> + The pedlar by his pack did stand;<br /> +They fought until they both did sweat,<br /> + Till he cried, ‘Pedlar, pray hold your +hand!’</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Robin Hood he was standing by,<br /> + And he did laugh most heartilie,<br /> +Saying, ‘I could find a man of a smaller scale,<br /> + Could thrash the pedlar, and also thee.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Go, you try, master,’ says Little +John,<br /> + ‘Go, you try, master, most speedilie,<br /> +Or by my body,’ says Little John,<br /> + ‘I am sure this night you will not know +me.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Robin Hood he drew his sword,<br /> + And the pedlar by his pack did stand,<br /> +They fought till the blood in streams did flow,<br /> + Till he cried, ‘Pedlar, pray hold your +hand!’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +61</span>‘Pedlar, pedlar! what is thy name?<br /> + Come speedilie and tell to me.’<br /> +‘My name! my name, I ne’er will tell,<br /> + Till both your names you have told to me.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘The one of us is bold Robin Hood,<br /> + And the other Little John, so free.’<br /> +‘Now,’ says the pedlar, ‘it lays to my good +will,<br /> + Whether my name I chuse to tell to thee.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘I am Gamble Gold <a +name="citation61"></a><a href="#footnote61" +class="citation">[61]</a> of the gay green woods,<br /> + And travellèd far beyond the sea;<br /> +For killing a man in my father’s land,<br /> + From my country I was forced to flee.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘If you are Gamble Gold of the gay green +woods,<br /> + And travellèd far beyond the sea,<br /> +You are my mother’s own sister’s son;<br /> + What nearer cousins then can we be?’</p> +<p class="poetry">They sheathèd their swords with friendly +words,<br /> + So merrily they did agree;<br /> +They went to a tavern and there they dined,<br /> + And bottles cracked most merrilie.</p> +<h3>THE OUTLANDISH KNIGHT.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> is the common English stall +copy of a ballad of which there are a variety of versions, for an +account of which, and of the presumed origin of the story, the +reader is referred to the notes on the <i>Water o’ +Wearie’s Well</i>, in the <i>Scottish Traditional Versions +of Ancient Ballads</i>, published by the Percy Society. By +the term ‘outlandish’ is signified an inhabitant of +that portion of the border which was formerly known by the name +of ‘the Debateable Land,’ a district which, though +claimed by both England and Scotland, could not be said to belong +to either country. The people on each side of the border +applied the term ‘outlandish’ to the Debateable +residents. The tune to <i>The Outlandish Knight</i> has +never been printed; it is peculiar to the ballad, and, from its +popularity, is well known.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +62</span><span class="smcap">An</span> Outlandish knight came +from the North lands,<br /> + And he came a wooing to me;<br /> +He told me he’d take me unto the North lands,<br /> + And there he would marry me.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Come, fetch me some of your +father’s gold,<br /> + And some of your mother’s fee;<br /> +And two of the best nags out of the stable,<br /> + Where they stand thirty and three.’</p> +<p class="poetry">She fetched him some of her father’s +gold,<br /> + And some of the mother’s fee;<br /> +And two of the best nags out of the stable,<br /> + Where they stood thirty and three.</p> +<p class="poetry">She mounted her on her milk-white steed,<br /> + He on the dapple grey;<br /> +They rode till they came unto the sea side,<br /> + Three hours before it was day.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Light off, light off thy milk-white +steed,<br /> + And deliver it unto me;<br /> +Six pretty maids have I drownèd here,<br /> + And thou the seventh shall be.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Pull off, pull off thy silken gown,<br +/> + And deliver it unto me,<br /> +Methinks it looks too rich and too gay<br /> + To rot in the salt sea.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Pull off, pull of thy silken stays,<br +/> + And deliver them unto me;<br /> +Methinks they are too fine and gay<br /> + To rot in the salt sea.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Pull off, pull off thy Holland smock,<br +/> + And deliver it unto me;<br /> +Methinks it looks too rich and gay,<br /> + To rot in the salt sea.’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +63</span>‘If I must pull off my Holland smock,<br /> + Pray turn thy back unto me,<br /> +For it is not fitting that such a ruffian<br /> + A naked woman should see.’</p> +<p class="poetry">He turned his back towards her,<br /> + And viewed the leaves so green;<br /> +She catched him round the middle so small,<br /> + And tumbled him into the stream.</p> +<p class="poetry">He droppèd high, and he droppèd +low,<br /> + Until he came to the side,—<br /> +‘Catch hold of my hand, my pretty maiden,<br /> + And I will make you my bride.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Lie there, lie there, you false-hearted +man,<br /> + Lie there instead of me;<br /> +Six pretty maids have you drownèd here,<br /> + And the seventh has drownèd thee.’</p> +<p class="poetry">She mounted on her milk-white steed,<br /> + And led the dapple grey,<br /> +She rode till she came to her own father’s hall,<br /> + Three hours before it was day.</p> +<p class="poetry">The parrot being in the window so high,<br /> + Hearing the lady, did say,<br /> +‘I’m afraid that some ruffian has led you astray,<br +/> + That you have tarried so long away.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Don’t prittle nor prattle, my +pretty parrot,<br /> + Nor tell no tales of me;<br /> +Thy cage shall be made of the glittering gold,<br /> + Although it is made of a tree.’</p> +<p class="poetry">The king being in the chamber so high,<br /> + And hearing the parrot, did say,<br /> +‘What ails you, what ails you, my pretty parrot,<br /> + That you prattle so long before day?’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +64</span>‘It’s no laughing matter,’ the parrot +did say,<br /> + ‘But so loudly I call unto thee;<br /> +For the cats have got into the window so high,<br /> + And I’m afraid they will have me.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Well turned, well turned, my pretty +parrot,<br /> + Well turned, well turned for me;<br /> +Thy cage shall be made of the glittering gold,<br /> + And the door of the best ivory.’ <a +name="citation64"></a><a href="#footnote64" +class="citation">[64]</a></p> +<h3>LORD DELAWARE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">(TRADITIONAL.)</span></p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> interesting traditional +ballad was first published by Mr. Thomas Lyle in his <i>Ancient +Ballads and Songs</i>, London, 1827. ‘We have not as +yet,’ says Mr. Lyle, ‘been able to trace out the +historical incident upon which this ballad appears to have been +founded; yet those curious in such matters may consult, if they +list, <i>Proceedings and Debates in the House of Commons</i>, for +1621 and 1662, where they will find that some stormy debating in +these several years had been agitated in parliament regarding the +corn laws, which bear pretty close upon the leading features of +the ballad.’ Does not the ballad, however, belong to +a much earlier period? The description of the combat, the +presence of heralds, the wearing of armour, &c., justify the +conjecture. For De la Ware, ought we not to read De la +Mare? and is not Sir Thomas De la Mare the hero? the De la Mare +who in the reign of Edward III., <span +class="GutSmall">A.D.</span> 1377, was Speaker of the House of +Commons. <a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +65</span>All historians are agreed in representing him as a +person using ‘great freedom of speach,’ and which, +indeed, he carried to such an extent as to endanger his personal +liberty. As bearing somewhat upon the subject of the +ballad, it may he observed that De la Mare was a great advocate +of popular rights, and particularly protested against the +inhabitants of England being subject to ‘purveyance,’ +asserting that ‘if the royal revenue was faithfully +administered, there could be no necessity for laying burdens on +the people.’ In the subsequent reign of Richard II, +De In Mare was a prominent character, and though history is +silent on the subject, it is not improbable that such a man +might, even in the royal presence, have defended the rights of +the poor, and spoken in extenuation of the agrarian +insurrectionary movements which were then so prevalent and so +alarming. On the hypothesis of De la Mare being the hero, +there are other incidents in the tale which cannot be reconciled +with history, such as the title given to De la Mare, who +certainly was never ennobled; nor can we ascertain that he was +ever mixed up in any duel; nor does it appear clear who can be +meant by the ‘Welsh Lord, the brave Duke of +Devonshire,’ that dukedom not having been created till 1694 +and no nobleman having derived any title whatever from Devonshire +previously to 1618, when Baron Cavendish, of Hardwick, was +created the first <i>Earl</i> of Devonshire. We may +therefore presume that for ‘Devonshire’ ought to be +inserted the name of some other county or place. Strict +historical accuracy is, however, hardly to be expected in any +ballad, particularly in one which, like the present, has +evidently been corrupted in floating down the stream of +time. There is only one quarrel recorded at the supposed +period of our tale as having taken place betwixt two noblemen, +and which resulted in a hostile meeting, viz., that wherein the +belligerent parties were the Duke of Hereford (who might by a +‘ballad-monger’ be deemed a <i>Welsh</i> lord) and +the Duke of Norfolk. This was in the reign of Richard +II. No fight, however, took place, owing to the +interference of the king. Our minstrel author may have had +rather confused historical ideas, and so mixed up certain +passages in De la Mare’s history with this squabble; and we +are strongly inclined to suspect that such is the case, and that +it will be found the real clue to the story. Vide +Hume’s <i>History of England</i>, chap. XVII. <span +class="GutSmall">A.D.</span> 1398. Lyle acknowledges that +he has taken some liberties with the oral version, but does not +state what they were, beyond that they consisted merely in +‘smoothing down.’ Would that he had left it +‘in the <i>rough</i>!’ The last verse has every +appearance of being <a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +66</span>apocryphal; it looks like one of those benedictory +verses with which minstrels were, and still are, in the habit of +concluding their songs. Lyle says the tune ‘is +pleasing, and peculiar to the ballad.’ A homely +version, presenting only trivial variations from that of Mr. +Lyle, is still printed and sung.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> the Parliament +House, a great rout has been there,<br /> +Betwixt our good King and the Lord Delaware:<br /> +Says Lord Delaware to his Majesty full soon,<br /> +‘Will it please you, my liege, to grant me a +boon?’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘What’s your boon,’ says the +King, ‘now let me understand?’<br /> +‘It’s, give me all the poor men we’ve starving +in this land;<br /> +And without delay, I’ll hie me to Lincolnshire,<br /> +To sow hemp-seed and flax-seed, and hang them all there.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘For with hempen cord it’s better +to stop each poor man’s breath,<br /> +Than with famine you should see your subjects starve to +death.’<br /> +Up starts a Dutch Lord, who to Delaware did say,<br /> +‘Thou deserves to be stabbed!’ then he turned himself +away;</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Thou deserves to be stabbed, and the +dogs have thine ears,<br /> +For insulting our King in this Parliament of peers.’<br /> +Up sprang a Welsh Lord, the brave Duke of Devonshire,<br /> +‘In young Delaware’s defence, I’ll fight this +Dutch Lord, my sire;</p> +<p class="poetry">‘For he is in the right, and I’ll +make it so appear:<br /> +Him I dare to single combat, for insulting Delaware.’<br /> +A stage was soon erected, and to combat they went,<br /> +For to kill, or to be killed, it was either’s full +intent.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +67</span>But the very first flourish, when the heralds gave +command,<br /> +The sword of brave Devonshire bent backward on his hand;<br /> +In suspense he paused awhile, scanned his foe before he +strake,<br /> +Then against the King’s armour, his bent sword he +brake.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then he sprang from the stage, to a soldier in +the ring,<br /> +Saying, ‘Lend your sword, that to an end this tragedy we +bring:<br /> +Though he’s fighting me in armour, while I am fighting +bare,<br /> +Even more than this I’d venture for young Lord +Delaware.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Leaping back on the stage, sword to buckler now +resounds,<br /> +Till he left the Dutch Lord a bleeding in his wounds:<br /> +This seeing, cries the King to his guards without delay,<br /> +‘Call Devonshire down,—take the dead man +away!’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘No,’ says brave Devonshire, +‘I’ve fought him as a man,<br /> +Since he’s dead, I will keep the trophies I have won;<br /> +For he fought me in your armour, while I fought him bare,<br /> +And the same you must win back, my liege, if ever you them +wear.’</p> +<p class="poetry">God bless the Church of England, may it prosper +on each hand,<br /> +And also every poor man now starving in this land;<br /> +And while I pray success may crown our King upon his throne,<br +/> +I’ll wish that every poor man may long enjoy his own.</p> +<h3><a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 68</span>LORD +BATEMAN.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> is a ludicrously corrupt +abridgment of the ballad of <i>Lord Beichan</i>, a copy of which +will be found inserted amongst the <i>Early Ballads</i>, An. Ed. +p. 144. The following grotesque version was published +several years ago by Tilt, London, and also, according to the +title-page, by Mustapha Syried, Constantinople! under the title +of <i>The loving Ballad of Lord Bateman</i>. It is, +however, the only ancient form in which the ballad has existed in +print, and is one of the publications mentioned in +Thackeray’s Catalogue, see <i>ante</i>, p. 20. The +air printed in Tilt’s edition is the one to which the +ballad is sung in the South of England, but it is totally +different to the Northern tune, which has never been +published.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Lord Bateman</span> he was +a noble lord,<br /> + A noble lord of high degree;<br /> +He shipped himself on board a ship,<br /> + Some foreign country he would go see.</p> +<p class="poetry">He sailèd east, and he sailèd +west,<br /> + Until he came to proud Turkèy;<br /> +Where he was taken, and put to prison,<br /> + Until his life was almost weary.</p> +<p class="poetry">And in this prison there grew a tree,<br /> + It grew so stout, and grew so strong;<br /> +Where he was chainèd by the middle,<br /> + Until his life was almost gone.</p> +<p class="poetry">This Turk he had one only daughter,<br /> + The fairest creature my eyes did see;<br /> +She stole the keys of her father’s prison,<br /> + And swore Lord Bateman she would set free.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Have you got houses? have you got +lands?<br /> + Or does Northumberland belong to thee?<br /> +What would you give to the fair young lady<br /> + That out of prison would set you free?’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘I have got houses, I have got lands,<br +/> + And half Northumberland belongs to me<br /> +I’ll give it all to the fair young lady<br /> + That out of prison would set me free.’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +69</span>O! then she took him to her father’s hall,<br /> + And gave to him the best of wine;<br /> +And every health she drank unto him,<br /> + ‘I wish, Lord Bateman, that you were mine!</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Now in seven years I’ll make a +vow,<br /> + And seven years I’ll keep it strong,<br /> +If you’ll wed with no other woman,<br /> + I will wed with no other man.’</p> +<p class="poetry">O! then she took him to her father’s +harbour,<br /> + And gave to him a ship of fame;<br /> +‘Farewell, farewell to you, Lord Bateman,<br /> + I’m afraid I ne’er shall see you +again.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Now seven long years are gone and past,<br /> + And fourteen days, well known to thee;<br /> +She packed up all her gay clothing,<br /> + And swore Lord Bateman she would go see.</p> +<p class="poetry">But when she came to Lord Bateman’s +castle,<br /> + So boldly she rang the bell;<br /> +‘Who’s there? who’s there?’ cried the +proud portèr,<br /> + ‘Who’s there? unto me come +tell.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘O! is this Lord Bateman’s +castle?<br /> + Or is his Lordship here within?’<br /> +‘O, yes! O, yes!’ cried the young portèr,<br +/> + ‘He’s just now taken his new bride +in.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘O! tell him to send me a slice of +bread,<br /> + And a bottle of the best wine;<br /> +And not forgetting the fair young lady<br /> + Who did release him when close confine.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Away, away went this proud young porter,<br /> + Away, away, and away went he,<br /> +Until he came to Lord Bateman’s chamber,<br /> + Down on his bended knees fell he.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘What news, what news, my proud young +porter?<br /> + What news hast thou brought unto me?’<br /> +‘There is the fairest of all young creatures<br /> + That ever my two eyes did see!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +70</span>‘She has got rings on every finger,<br /> + And round one of them she has got three,<br /> +And as much gay clothing round her middle<br /> + As would buy all Northumberlea.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘She bids you send her a slice of +bread,<br /> + And a bottle of the best wine;<br /> +And not forgetting the fair young lady<br /> + Who did release you when close confine.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Lord Bateman he then in a passion flew,<br /> + And broke his sword in splinters three;<br /> +Saying, ‘I will give all my father’s riches<br /> + If Sophia has crossed the sea.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Then up spoke the young bride’s +mother,<br /> + Who never was heard to speak so free,<br /> +‘You’ll not forget my only daughter,<br /> + If Sophia has crossed the sea.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘I own I made a bride of your +daughter,<br /> + She’s neither the better nor worse for me;<br +/> +She came to me with her horse and saddle,<br /> + She may go back in her coach and three.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Lord Bateman prepared another marriage,<br /> + And sang, with heart so full of glee,<br /> +I’ll range no more in foreign countries,<br /> + Now since Sophia has crossed the sea.’</p> +<h3>THE GOLDEN GLOVE;</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">OR, THE +SQUIRE OF TAMWORTH.</span></p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> is a very popular ballad, and +sung in every part of England. It is traditionally reported +to be founded on an incident which occurred in the reign of +Elizabeth. It has been published in the broadside form from +the commencement of the eighteenth century, but is no doubt much +older. It does not appear to have been previously inserted +in any collection.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +71</span>A <span class="smcap">wealthy</span> young squire of +Tamworth, we hear,<br /> +He courted a nobleman’s daughter so fair;<br /> +And for to marry her it was his intent,<br /> +All friends and relations gave their consent.</p> +<p class="poetry">The time was appointed for the wedding-day,<br +/> +A young farmer chosen to give her away;<br /> +As soon as the farmer the young lady did spy,<br /> +He inflamèd her heart; ‘O, my heart!’ she did +cry.</p> +<p class="poetry">She turned from the squire, but nothing she +said,<br /> +Instead of being married she took to her bed;<br /> +The thought of the farmer soon run in her mind,<br /> +A way for to have him she quickly did find.</p> +<p class="poetry">Coat, waistcoat, and breeches she then did put +on,<br /> +And a hunting she went with her dog and her gun;<br /> +She hunted all round where the farmer did dwell,<br /> +Because in her heart she did love him full well:</p> +<p class="poetry">She oftentimes fired, but nothing she +killed,<br /> +At length the young farmer came into the field;<br /> +And to discourse with him it was her intent,<br /> +With her dog and her gun to meet him she went.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘I thought you had been at the +wedding,’ she cried,<br /> +‘To wait on the squire, and give him his bride.’<br +/> +‘No, sir,’ said the farmer, ‘if the truth I may +tell,<br /> +I’ll not give her away, for I love her too well’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Suppose that the lady should grant you +her love,<br /> +You know that the squire your rival will prove.’<br /> +‘Why, then,’ says the farmer, ‘I’ll take +sword in hand,<br /> +By honour I’ll gain her when she shall command.’</p> +<p class="poetry">It pleasèd the lady to find him so +bold;<br /> +She gave him a glove that was flowered with gold,<br /> +And told him she found it when coming along,<br /> +As she was a hunting with her dog and gun.</p> +<p class="poetry">The lady went home with a heart full of +love,<br /> +And gave out a notice that she’d lost a glove;<br /> +And said, ‘Who has found it, and brings it to me,<br /> +Whoever he is, he my husband shall be.’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +72</span>The farmer was pleased when he heard of the news,<br /> +With heart full of joy to the lady he goes:<br /> +‘Dear, honoured lady, I’ve picked up your glove,<br +/> +And hope you’ll be pleased to grant me your +love.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘It’s already granted, I will be +your bride;<br /> +I love the sweet breath of a farmer,’ she cried.<br /> +‘I’ll be mistress of my dairy, and milking my cow,<br +/> +While my jolly brisk farmer is whistling at plough.’</p> +<p class="poetry">And when she was married she told of her +fun,<br /> +How she went a hunting with her dog and gun:<br /> +‘And now I’ve got him so fast in my snare,<br /> +I’ll enjoy him for ever, I vow and declare!’</p> +<h3>KING JAMES I. AND THE TINKLER. <a name="citation72a"></a><a +href="#footnote72a" class="citation">[72a]</a></h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">(TRADITIONAL.)</span></p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> ballad of <i>King James I. +and the Tinkler</i> was probably written either in, or shortly +after, the reign of the monarch who is the hero. The +incident recorded is said to be a fact, though the locality is +doubtful. By some the scene is laid at Norwood, in Surrey; +by others in some part of the English border. The ballad is +alluded to by Percy, but is not inserted either in the +<i>Reliques</i>, or in any other popular collection. It is +to be found only in a few broadsides and chap-books of modern +date. The present version is a traditional one, taken down, +as here given, from the recital of the late Francis King. <a +name="citation72b"></a><a href="#footnote72b" +class="citation">[72b]</a> It is much superior to the <a +name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 73</span>common +broadside edition with which it has been collated, and from which +the thirteenth and fifteenth verses were obtained. The +ballad is very popular on the Border, and in the dales of +Cumberland, Westmoreland, and Craven. The late Robert +Anderson, the Cumbrian bard, represents Deavie, in his song of +the <i>Clay Daubin</i>, as singing <i>The King and the +Tinkler</i>.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">And</span> now, to be +brief, let’s pass over the rest,<br /> +Who seldom or never were given to jest,<br /> +And come to King Jamie, the first of our throne,<br /> +A pleasanter monarch sure never was known.</p> +<p class="poetry">As he was a hunting the swift fallow-deer,<br +/> +He dropped all his nobles; and when he got clear,<br /> +In hope of some pastime away he did ride,<br /> +Till he came to an alehouse, hard by a wood-side.</p> +<p class="poetry">And there with a tinkler he happened to +meet,<br /> +And him in kind sort he so freely did greet:<br /> +‘Pray thee, good fellow, what hast in thy jug,<br /> +Which under thy arm thou dost lovingly hug?’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘By the mass!’ quoth the tinkler, +‘it’s nappy brown ale,<br /> +And for to drink to thee, friend, I will not fail;<br /> +For although thy jacket looks gallant and fine,<br /> +I think that my twopence as good is as thine.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘By my soul! honest fellow, the truth +thou hast spoke,’<br /> +And straight he sat down with the tinkler to joke;<br /> +They drank to the King, and they pledged to each other;<br /> +Who’d seen ’em had thought they were brother and +brother.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +74</span>As they were a-drinking the King pleased to say,<br /> +‘What news, honest fellow? come tell me, I pray?’<br +/> +‘There’s nothing of news, beyond that I hear<br /> +The King’s on the border a-chasing the deer.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘And truly I wish I so happy may be<br /> +Whilst he is a hunting the King I might see;<br /> +For although I’ve travelled the land many ways<br /> +I never have yet seen a King in my days.’</p> +<p class="poetry">The King, with a hearty brisk laughter, +replied,<br /> +‘I tell thee, good fellow, if thou canst but ride,<br /> +Thou shalt get up behind me, and I will thee bring<br /> +To the presence of Jamie, thy sovereign King.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘But he’ll be surrounded with +nobles so gay,<br /> +And how shall we tell him from them, sir, I pray?’<br /> +‘Thou’lt easily ken him when once thou art there;<br +/> +The King will be covered, his nobles all bare.’</p> +<p class="poetry">He got up behind him and likewise his sack,<br +/> +His budget of leather, and tools at his back;<br /> +They rode till they came to the merry greenwood,<br /> +His nobles came round him, bareheaded they stood.</p> +<p class="poetry">The tinkler then seeing so many appear,<br /> +He slily did whisper the King in his ear:<br /> +Saying, ‘They’re all clothed so gloriously gay,<br /> +But which amongst them is the King, sir, I pray?’</p> +<p class="poetry">The King did with hearty good laughter, +reply,<br /> +‘By my soul! my good fellow, it’s thou or it’s +I!<br /> +The rest are bareheaded, uncovered all round.’—<br /> +With his bag and his budget he fell to the ground,</p> +<p class="poetry">Like one that was frightened quite out of his +wits,<br /> +Then on his knees he instantly gets,<br /> +Beseeching for mercy; the King to him said,<br /> +‘Thou art a good fellow, so be not afraid.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Come, tell thy name?’ +‘I am John of the Dale,<br /> +A mender of kettles, a lover of ale.’<br /> +‘Rise up, Sir John, I will honour thee here,—<br /> +I make thee a knight of three thousand a year!’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +75</span>This was a good thing for the tinkler indeed;<br /> +Then unto the court he was sent for with speed,<br /> +Where great store of pleasure and pastime was seen,<br /> +In the royal presence of King and of Queen.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sir John of the Dale he has land, he has +fee,<br /> +At the court of the king who so happy as he?<br /> +Yet still in his hall hangs the tinkler’s old sack,<br /> +And the budget of tools which he bore at his back.</p> +<h3>THE KEACH I’ THE CREEL.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> old and very humorous ballad +has long been a favourite on both sides of the Border, but had +never appeared in print till about 1845, when a Northumbrian +gentleman printed a few copies for private circulation, from one +of which the following is taken. In the present impression +some trifling typographical mistakes are corrected, and the +phraseology has been rendered uniform throughout. <i>Keach +i’ the Creel</i> means the catch in the basket.]</p> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">fair</span> young May +went up the street,<br /> + Some white fish for to buy;<br /> +And a bonny clerk’s fa’n i’ luve wi’ +her,<br /> + And he’s followed her by and by, by,<br /> + And he’s followed her by and by.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘O! where live ye my bonny lass,<br /> + I pray thee tell to me;<br /> +For gin the nicht were ever sae mirk,<br /> + I wad come and visit thee, thee;<br /> + I wad come and visit thee.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘O! my father he aye locks the door,<br +/> + My mither keeps the key;<br /> +And gin ye were ever sic a wily wicht,<br /> + Ye canna win in to me, me;<br /> + Ye canna win in to me.’</p> +<p class="poetry">But the clerk he had ae true brother,<br /> + And a wily wicht was he;<br /> +And he has made a lang ladder,<br /> + Was thirty steps and three, three;<br /> + Was thirty steps and three.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +76</span>He has made a cleek but and a creel—<br /> + A creel but and a pin;<br /> +And he’s away to the chimley-top,<br /> + And he’s letten the bonny clerk in, in;<br /> + And he’s letten the bonny clerk in.</p> +<p class="poetry">The auld wife, being not asleep,<br /> + Tho’ late, late was the hour;<br /> +I’ll lay my life,’ quo’ the silly auld wife,<br +/> + ‘There’s a man i’ our +dochter’s bower, bower;<br /> + There’s a man i’ our dochter’s +bower.’</p> +<p class="poetry">The auld man he gat owre the bed,<br /> + To see if the thing was true;<br /> +But she’s ta’en the bonny clerk in her arms,<br /> + And covered him owre wi’ blue, blue;<br /> + And covered him owre wi’ blue.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘O! where are ye gaun now, father?’ +she says,<br /> + ‘And where are ye gaun sae late?<br /> +Ye’ve disturbed me in my evening prayers,<br /> + And O! but they were sweit, sweit;<br /> + And O! but they were sweit.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘O! ill betide ye, silly auld wife,<br /> + And an ill death may ye dee;<br /> +She has the muckle buik in her arms,<br /> + And she’s prayin’ for you and me, me;<br +/> + And she’s prayin’ for you and +me.’</p> +<p class="poetry">The auld wife being not asleep,<br /> + Then something mair was said;<br /> +‘I’ll lay my life,’ quo’ the silly auld +wife,<br /> + ‘There’s a man by our dochter’s +bed, bed;<br /> + There’s a man by our dochter’s +bed.’</p> +<p class="poetry">The auld wife she gat owre the bed,<br /> + To see if the thing was true;<br /> +But what the wrack took the auld wife’s fit?<br /> + For into the creel she flew, flew;<br /> + For into the creel she flew.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +77</span>The man that was at the chimley-top,<br /> + Finding the creel was fu’,<br /> +He wrappit the rape round his left shouther,<br /> + And fast to him he drew, drew:<br /> + And fast to him he drew.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘O, help! O, help! O, hinny, noo, +help!<br /> + O, help! O, hinny, do!<br /> +For <i>him</i> that ye aye wished me at,<br /> + He’s carryin’ me off just noo, noo;<br +/> + He’s carryin’ me off just +noo.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘O! if the foul thief’s gotten +ye,<br /> + I wish he may keep his haud;<br /> +For a’ the lee lang winter nicht,<br /> + Ye’ll never lie in your bed, bed;<br /> + Ye’ll never lie in your bed.’</p> +<p class="poetry">He’s towed her up, he’s towed her +down,<br /> + He’s towed her through an’ through;<br +/> +‘O, Gude! assist,’ quo’ the silly auld wife,<br +/> + ‘For I’m just departin’ noo, +noo;<br /> + For I’m just departin’ noo.’</p> +<p class="poetry">He’s towed her up, he’s towed her +down,<br /> + He’s gien her a richt down fa’,<br /> +Till every rib i’ the auld wife’s side,<br /> + Played nick nack on the wa’, wa’;<br /> + Played nick nack on the wa’.</p> +<p class="poetry">O! the blue, the bonny, bonny blue,<br /> + And I wish the blue may do weel;<br /> +And every auld wife that’s sae jealous o’ her +dochter,<br /> + May she get a good keach i’ the creel, +creel;<br /> + May she get a good keach i’ the creel!</p> +<h3>THE MERRY BROOMFIELD; OR, THE WEST COUNTRY WAGER.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> old West-country ballad was +one of the broadsides printed at the Aldermary press. We +have not met with any older impression, <a +name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 78</span>though we +have been assured that there are black-letter copies. In +Scott’s <i>Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border</i> is a +ballad called the <i>Broomfield Hill</i>; it is a mere fragment, +but is evidently taken from the present ballad, and can be +considered only as one of the many modern antiques to be found in +that work.]</p> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">noble</span> young squire +that lived in the West,<br /> + He courted a young lady gay;<br /> +And as he was merry he put forth a jest,<br /> + A wager with her he would lay.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘A wager with me,’ the young lady +replied,<br /> + ‘I pray about what must it be?<br /> +If I like the humour you shan’t be denied,<br /> + I love to be merry and free.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Quoth he, ‘I will lay you a hundred +pounds,<br /> + A hundred pounds, aye, and ten,<br /> +That a maid if you go to the merry Broomfield,<br /> + That a maid you return not again.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘I’ll lay you that wager,’ +the lady she said,<br /> + Then the money she flung down amain;<br /> +‘To the merry Broomfield I’ll go a pure maid,<br /> + The same I’ll return home again.’</p> +<p class="poetry">He covered her bet in the midst of the hall,<br +/> + With a hundred and ten jolly pounds;<br /> +And then to his servant he straightway did call,<br /> + For to bring forth his hawk and his hounds.</p> +<p class="poetry">A ready obedience the servant did yield,<br /> + And all was made ready o’er night;<br /> +Next morning he went to the merry Broomfield,<br /> + To meet with his love and delight.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now when he came there, having waited a +while,<br /> + Among the green broom down he lies;<br /> +The lady came to him, and could not but smile,<br /> + For sleep then had closèd his eyes.</p> +<p class="poetry">Upon his right hand a gold ring she secured,<br +/> + Drawn from her own fingers so fair;<br /> +That when he awakèd he might be assured<br /> + His lady and love had been there.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +79</span>She left him a posie of pleasant perfume,<br /> + Then stepped from the place where he lay,<br /> +Then hid herself close in the besom of broom,<br /> + To hear what her true love did say.</p> +<p class="poetry">He wakened and found the gold ring on his +hand,<br /> + Then sorrow of heart he was in;<br /> +‘My love has been here, I do well understand,<br /> + And this wager I now shall not win.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Oh! where was you, my goodly goshawk,<br +/> + The which I have purchased so dear,<br /> +Why did you not waken me out of my sleep,<br /> + When the lady, my love, was here?’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘O! with my bells did I ring, master,<br +/> + And eke with my feet did I run;<br /> +And still did I cry, pray awake! master,<br /> + She’s here now, and soon will be +gone.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘O! where was you, my gallant +greyhound,<br /> + Whose collar is flourished with gold;<br /> +Why hadst thou not wakened me out of my sleep,<br /> + When thou didst my lady behold?’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Dear master, I barked with my mouth when +she came,<br /> + And likewise my collar I shook;<br /> +And told you that here was the beautiful dame,<br /> + But no notice of me then you took.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘O! where wast thou, my servingman,<br /> + Whom I have clothèd so fine?<br /> +If you had waked me when she was here,<br /> + The wager then had been mine.’</p> +<p class="poetry">In the night you should have slept, master,<br +/> + And kept awake in the day;<br /> +Had you not been sleeping when hither she came,<br /> + Then a maid she had not gone away.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Then home he returned when the wager was +lost,<br /> + With sorrow of heart, I may say;<br /> +The lady she laughed to find her love crost,—<br /> + This was upon midsummer-day.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +80</span>‘O, squire! I laid in the bushes concealed,<br /> + And heard you, when you did complain;<br /> +And thus I have been to the merry Broomfield,<br /> + And a maid returned back again.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Be cheerful! be cheerful! and do not +repine,<br /> + For now ’tis as clear as the sun,<br /> +The money, the money, the money is mine,<br /> + The wager I fairly have won.’</p> +<h3>SIR JOHN BARLEYCORN.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> West-country ballad of <i>Sir +John Barleycorn</i> is very ancient, and being the only version +that has ever been sung at English merry-makings and country +feasts, can certainly set up a better claim to antiquity than any +of the three ballads on the same subject to be found in +Evans’s <i>Old Ballads</i>; viz., <i>John Barleycorn</i>, +<i>The Little Barleycorn</i>, and <i>Mas Mault</i>. Our +west-country version bears the greatest resemblance to <i>The +Little Barleycorn</i>, but it is very dissimilar to any of the +three. Burns altered the old ditty, but on referring to his +version it will be seen that his corrections and additions want +the simplicity of the original, and certainly cannot be +considered improvements. The common ballad does not appear +to have been inserted in any of our popular collections. +<i>Sir John Barleycorn</i> is very appropriately sung to the tune +of <i>Stingo</i>. See <i>Popular Music</i>, p. 305.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> came three men +out of the West,<br /> + Their victory to try;<br /> +And they have taken a solemn oath,<br /> + Poor Barleycorn should die.</p> +<p class="poetry">They took a plough and ploughed him in,<br /> + And harrowed clods on his head;<br /> +And then they took a solemn oath,<br /> + Poor Barleycorn was dead.</p> +<p class="poetry">There he lay sleeping in the ground,<br /> + Till rain from the sky did fall:<br /> +Then Barleycorn sprung up his head,<br /> + And so amazed them all.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +81</span>There he remained till Midsummer,<br /> + And looked both pale and wan;<br /> +Then Barleycorn he got a beard,<br /> + And so became a man.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then they sent men with scythes so sharp,<br /> + To cut him off at knee;<br /> +And then poor little Barleycorn,<br /> + They served him barbarously.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then they sent men with pitchforks strong<br /> + To pierce him through the heart;<br /> +And like a dreadful tragedy,<br /> + They bound him to a cart.</p> +<p class="poetry">And then they brought him to a barn,<br /> + A prisoner to endure;<br /> +And so they fetched him out again,<br /> + And laid him on the floor.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then they set men with holly clubs,<br /> + To beat the flesh from his bones;<br /> +But the miller he served him worse than that,<br /> + For he ground him betwixt two stones.</p> +<p class="poetry">O! Barleycorn is the choicest grain<br /> + That ever was sown on land;<br /> +It will do more than any grain,<br /> + By the turning of your hand.</p> +<p class="poetry">It will make a boy into a man,<br /> + And a man into an ass;<br /> +It will change your gold into silver,<br /> + And your silver into brass.</p> +<p class="poetry">It will make the huntsman hunt the fox,<br /> + That never wound his horn;<br /> +It will bring the tinker to the stocks,<br /> + That people may him scorn.</p> +<p class="poetry">It will put sack into a glass,<br /> + And claret in the can;<br /> +And it will cause a man to drink<br /> + Till he neither can go nor stand.</p> +<h3><a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 82</span>BLOW +THE WINDS, I-HO!</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> Northumbrian ballad is of +great antiquity, and bears considerable resemblance to <i>The +Baffled Knight</i>; <i>or</i>, <i>Lady’s Policy</i>, +inserted in Percy’s <i>Reliques</i>. It is not in any +popular collection. In the broadside from which it is here +printed, the title and chorus are given, <i>Blow the Winds</i>, +<i>I-O</i>, a form common to many ballads and songs, but only to +those of great antiquity. Chappell, in his <i>Popular +Music</i>, has an example in a song as old as 1698:—</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Here’s a health to jolly +Bacchus,<br /> + + +I-ho! I-ho! I-ho!’</p> +<p>and in another well-known old catch the same form +appears:—</p> +<p class="poetry">‘A pye sat on a pear-tree,<br /> + + +I-ho, I-ho, I-ho.’</p> +<p>‘Io!’ or, as we find it given in these lyrics, +‘I-ho!’ was an ancient form of acclamation or triumph +on joyful occasions and anniversaries. It is common, with +slight variations, to different languages. In the Gothic, +for example, Iola signifies to make merry. It has been +supposed by some etymologists that the word ‘yule’ is +a corruption of ‘Io!’]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> was a +shepherd’s son,<br /> + He kept sheep on yonder hill;<br /> +He laid his pipe and his crook aside,<br /> + And there he slept his fill.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And blow +the winds, I-ho!<br /> + Sing, blow the +winds, I-ho!<br /> + Clear away the morning dew,<br /> + And blow the +winds, I-ho!</p> +<p class="poetry">He lookèd east, and he lookèd +west,<br /> + He took another look,<br /> +And there he spied a lady gay,<br /> + Was dipping in a brook.</p> +<p class="poetry">She said, ‘Sir, don’t touch my +mantle,<br /> + Come, let my clothes alone;<br /> +I will give you as much monèy<br /> + As you can carry home.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘I will not touch your mantle,<br /> + I’ll let your clothes alone;<br /> +I’ll take you out of the water clear,<br /> + My dear, to be my own.’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +83</span>He did not touch her mantle,<br /> + He let her clothes alone;<br /> +But he took her from the clear water,<br /> + And all to be his own.</p> +<p class="poetry">He set her on a milk-white steed,<br /> + Himself upon another;<br /> +And there they rode along the road,<br /> + Like sister, and like brother.</p> +<p class="poetry">And as they rode along the road,<br /> + He spied some cocks of hay;<br /> +‘Yonder,’ he says, ‘is a lovely place<br /> + For men and maids to play!’</p> +<p class="poetry">And when they came to her father’s +gate,<br /> + She pullèd at a ring;<br /> +And ready was the proud portèr<br /> + For to let the lady in.</p> +<p class="poetry">And when the gates were open,<br /> + This lady jumpèd in;<br /> +She says, ‘You are a fool without,<br /> + And I’m a maid within.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Good morrow to you, modest boy,<br /> + I thank you for your care;<br /> +If you had been what you should have been,<br /> + I would not have left you there.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘There is a horse in my father’s +stable,<br /> + He stands beyond the thorn;<br /> +He shakes his head above the trough,<br /> + But dares not prie the corn.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘There is a bird in my father’s +flock,<br /> + A double comb he wears;<br /> +He flaps his wings, and crows full loud,<br /> + But a capon’s crest he bears.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘There is a flower in my father’s +garden,<br /> + They call it marygold;<br /> +The fool that will not when he may,<br /> + He shall not when he wold.’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +84</span>Said the shepherd’s son, as he doft his shoon,<br +/> + ‘My feet they shall run bare,<br /> +And if ever I meet another maid,<br /> + I rede that maid beware.’</p> +<h3>THE BEAUTIFUL LADY OF KENT;</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">OR, THE +SEAMAN OF DOVER.</span></p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">We</span> have met with two copies of +this genuine English ballad; the older one is without +printer’s name, but from the appearance of the type and the +paper, it must have been published about the middle of the last +century. It is certainly not one of the original +impressions, for the other copy, though of recent date, has +evidently been taken from some still older and better +edition. In the modern broadside the ballad is in four +parts, whereas, in our older one, there is no such expressed +division, but a word at the commencement of each part is printed +in capital letters.]</p> +<p style="text-align: center">PART I.</p> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">seaman</span> of Dover, +whose excellent parts,<br /> +For wisdom and learning, had conquered the hearts<br /> +Of many young damsels, of beauty so bright,<br /> +Of him this new ditty in brief I shall write;</p> +<p class="poetry">And show of his turnings, and windings of +fate,<br /> +His passions and sorrows, so many and great:<br /> +And how he was blessèd with true love at last,<br /> +When all the rough storms of his troubles were past.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, to be brief, I shall tell you the +truth:<br /> +A beautiful lady, whose name it was Ruth,<br /> +A squire’s young daughter, near Sandwich, in Kent,<br /> +Proves all his heart’s treasure, his joy and content.</p> +<p class="poetry">Unknown to their parents in private they +meet,<br /> +Where many love lessons they’d often repeat,<br /> +With kisses, and many embraces likewise,<br /> +She granted him love, and thus gainèd the prize.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +85</span>She said, ‘I consent to be thy sweet bride,<br /> +Whatever becomes of my fortune,’ she cried.<br /> +‘The frowns of my father I never will fear,<br /> +But freely will go through the world with my dear.’</p> +<p class="poetry">A jewel he gave her, in token of love,<br /> +And vowed, by the sacred powers above,<br /> +To wed the next morning; but they were betrayed,<br /> +And all by the means of a treacherous maid.</p> +<p class="poetry">She told her parents that they were agreed:<br +/> +With that they fell into a passion with speed,<br /> +And said, ere a seaman their daughter should have,<br /> +They rather would follow her corpse to the grave.</p> +<p class="poetry">The lady was straight to her chamber +confined,<br /> +Here long she continued in sorrow of mind,<br /> +And so did her love, for the loss of his dear,—<br /> +No sorrow was ever so sharp and severe.</p> +<p class="poetry">When long he had mourned for his love and +delight,<br /> +Close under the window he came in the night,<br /> +And sung forth this ditty:—‘My dearest, farewell!<br +/> +Behold, in this nation no longer I dwell.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘I am going from hence to the kingdom of +Spain,<br /> +Because I am willing that you should obtain<br /> +Your freedom once more; for my heart it will break<br /> +If longer thou liest confined for my sake.’</p> +<p class="poetry">The words which he uttered, they caused her to +weep;<br /> +Yet, nevertheless, she was forcèd to keep<br /> +Deep silence that minute, that minute for fear<br /> +Her honourèd father and mother should hear.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">PART II.</p> +<p class="poetry">Soon after, bold Henry he entered on board,<br +/> +The heavens a prosperous gale did afford,<br /> +And brought him with speed to the kingdom of Spain,<br /> +There he with a merchant some time did remain;</p> +<p class="poetry">Who, finding that he was both faithful and +just,<br /> +Preferred him to places of honour and trust;<br /> +<a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 86</span>He made +him as great as his heart could request,<br /> +Yet, wanting his Ruth, he with grief was oppressed.</p> +<p class="poetry">So great was his grief it could not be +concealed,<br /> +Both honour and riches no pleasure could yield;<br /> +In private he often would weep and lament,<br /> +For Ruth, the fair, beautiful lady of Kent.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, while he lamented the loss of his dear,<br +/> +A lady of Spain did before him appear,<br /> +Bedecked with rich jewels both costly and gay,<br /> +Who earnestly sought for his favour that day.</p> +<p class="poetry">Said she, ‘Gentle swain, I am wounded +with love,<br /> +And you are the person I honour above<br /> +The greatest of nobles that ever was born;—<br /> +Then pity my tears, and my sorrowful mourn!’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘I pity thy sorrowful tears,’ he +replied,<br /> +‘And wish I were worthy to make thee my bride;<br /> +But, lady, thy grandeur is greater than mine,<br /> +Therefore, I am fearful my heart to resign.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘O! never be doubtful of what will +ensue,<br /> +No manner of danger will happen to you;<br /> +At my own disposal I am, I declare,<br /> +Receive me with love, or destroy me with care.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Dear madam, don’t fix your +affection on me,<br /> +You are fit for some lord of a noble degree,<br /> +That is able to keep up your honour and fame;<br /> +I am but a poor sailor, from England who came.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘A man of mean fortune, whose substance +is small,<br /> +I have not wherewith to maintain you withal,<br /> +Sweet lady, according to honour and state;<br /> +Now this is the truth, which I freely relate.’</p> +<p class="poetry">The lady she lovingly squeezèd his +hand,<br /> +And said with a smile, ‘Ever blessed be the land<br /> +That bred such a noble, brave seaman as thee;<br /> +I value no honours, thou’rt welcome to me;</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +87</span>‘My parents are dead, I have jewels untold,<br /> +Besides in possession a million of gold;<br /> +And thou shalt be lord of whatever I have,<br /> +Grant me but thy love, which I earnestly crave.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Then, turning aside, to himself he replied,<br +/> +‘I am courted with riches and beauty beside;<br /> +This love I may have, but my Ruth is denied.’<br /> +Wherefore he consented to make her his bride.</p> +<p class="poetry">The lady she clothèd him costly and +great;<br /> +His noble deportment, both proper and straight,<br /> +So charmèd the innocent eye of his dove,<br /> +And added a second new flame to her love.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then married they were without longer delay;<br +/> +Now here we will leave them both glorious and gay,<br /> +To speak of fair Ruth, who in sorrow was left<br /> +At home with her parents, of comfort bereft.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">PART III.</p> +<p class="poetry">When under the window with an aching heart,<br +/> +He told his fair Ruth he so soon must depart,<br /> +Her parents they heard, and well pleasèd they were,<br /> +But Ruth was afflicted with sorrow and care.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, after her lover had quitted the shore,<br +/> +They kept her confined a fall twelvemonth or more,<br /> +And then they were pleasèd to set her at large,<br /> +With laying upon her a wonderful charge:</p> +<p class="poetry">To fly from a seaman as she would from +death;<br /> +She promised she would, with a faltering breath;<br /> +Yet, nevertheless, the truth you shall hear,<br /> +She found out a way for to follow her dear.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then, taking her gold and her silver +alsò,<br /> +In seaman’s apparel away she did go,<br /> +And found out a master, with whom she agreed,<br /> +To carry her over the ocean with speed.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, when she arrived at the kingdom of +Spain,<br /> +From city to city she travelled amain,<br /> +<a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 88</span>Enquiring +about everywhere for her love,<br /> +Who now had been gone seven years and above.</p> +<p class="poetry">In Cadiz, as she walked along in the street,<br +/> +Her love and his lady she happened to meet,<br /> +But in such a garb as she never had seen,—<br /> +She looked like an angel, or beautiful queen.</p> +<p class="poetry">With sorrowful tears she turned her aside:<br +/> +‘My jewel is gone, I shall ne’er be his bride;<br /> +But, nevertheless, though my hopes are in vain,<br /> +I’ll never return to old England again.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘But here, in this place, I will now be +confined;<br /> +It will be a comfort and joy to my mind,<br /> +To see him sometimes, though he thinks not of me,<br /> +Since he has a lady of noble degree.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, while in the city fair Ruth did reside,<br +/> +Of a sudden this beautiful lady she died,<br /> +And, though he was in the possession of all,<br /> +Yet tears from his eyes in abundance did fall.</p> +<p class="poetry">As he was expressing his piteous moan,<br /> +Fair Ruth came unto him, and made herself known;<br /> +He started to see her, but seemèd not coy,<br /> +Said he, ‘Now my sorrows are mingled with joy!’</p> +<p class="poetry">The time of the mourning he kept it in +Spain,<br /> +And then he came back to old England again,<br /> +With thousands, and thousands, which he did possess;<br /> +Then glorious and gay was sweet Ruth in her dress.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">PART IV.</p> +<p class="poetry">When over the seas to fair Sandwich he came,<br +/> +With Ruth, and a number of persons of fame,<br /> +Then all did appear most splendid and gay,<br /> +As if it had been a great festival day.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, when that they took up their lodgings, +behold!<br /> +He stripped off his coat of embroiderèd gold,<br /> +And presently borrows a mariner’s suit,<br /> +That he with her parents might have some dispute,</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +89</span>Before they were sensible he was so great;<br /> +And when he came in and knocked at the gate,<br /> +He soon saw her father, and mother likewise,<br /> +Expressing their sorrow with tears in their eyes,</p> +<p class="poetry">To them, with obeisance, he modestly said,<br +/> +‘Pray where is my jewel, that innocent maid,<br /> +Whose sweet lovely beauty doth thousands excel?<br /> +I fear, by your weeping, that all is not well!’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘No, no! she is gone, she is utterly +lost;<br /> +We have not heard of her a twelvemonth at most!<br /> +Which makes us distracted with sorrow and care,<br /> +And drowns us in tears at the point of despair.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘I’m grievèd to hear these +sad tidings,’ he cried.<br /> +‘Alas! honest young man,’ her father replied,<br /> +‘I heartily wish she’d been wedded to you,<br /> +For then we this sorrow had never gone through.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Sweet Henry he made them this answer again;<br +/> +‘I am newly come home from the kingdom of Spain,<br /> +From whence I have brought me a beautiful bride,<br /> +And am to be married to-morrow,’ he cried;</p> +<p class="poetry">‘And if you will go to my wedding,’ +said he,<br /> +‘Both you and your lady right welcome shall be.’<br +/> +They promised they would, and accordingly came,<br /> +Not thinking to meet with such persons of fame.</p> +<p class="poetry">All decked with their jewels of rubies and +pearls,<br /> +As equal companions of lords and of earls,<br /> +Fair Ruth, with her love, was as gay as the rest,<br /> +So they in their marriage were happily blessed.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, as they returned from the church to an +inn,<br /> +The father and mother of Ruth did begin<br /> +Their daughter to know, by a mole they behold,<br /> +Although she was clothed in a garment of gold.</p> +<p class="poetry">With transports of joy they flew to the +bride,<br /> +‘O! where hast thou been, sweetest daughter?’ they +cried,<br /> +‘Thy tedious absence has grievèd us sore,<br /> +As fearing, alas! we should see thee no more.’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +90</span>‘Dear parents,’ said she, ‘many +hazards I run,<br /> +To fetch home my love, and your dutiful son;<br /> +Receive him with joy, for ’tis very well known,<br /> +He seeks not your wealth, he’s enough of his +own.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Her father replied, and he merrily smiled,<br +/> +‘He’s brought home enough, as he’s brought home +my child;<br /> +A thousand times welcome you are, I declare,<br /> +Whose presence disperses both sorrow and care.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Full seven long days in feasting they spent;<br +/> +The bells in the steeple they merrily went,<br /> +And many fair pounds were bestowed on the poor,—<br /> +The like of this wedding was never before!</p> +<h3>THE BERKSHIRE LADY’S GARLAND.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">IN FOUR +PARTS.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">To the tune of <i>The Royal +Forester</i>.</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">When</span> we first met with this very +pleasing English ballad, we deemed the story to be wholly +fictitious, but ‘strange’ as the +‘relation’ may appear, the incidents narrated are +‘true’ or at least founded on fact. The scene +of the ballad is Whitley Park, near Reading, in Berkshire, and +not, as some suppose, Calcot House, which was not built till +1759. Whitley is mentioned as ‘the Abbot’s +Park, being at the entrance of Redding town.’ At the +Dissolution the estate passed to the crown, and the mansion +seems, from time to time, to have been used as a royal +‘palace’ till the reign of Elizabeth, by whom it was +granted, along with the estate, to Sir Francis Knollys; it was +afterwards, by purchase, the property of the Kendricks, an +ancient race, descended from the Saxon kings. William +Kendrick, of Whitley, armr. was created a baronet in 1679, and +died in 1685, leaving issue one son, Sir William Kendrick, of +Whitley, Bart., who married Miss Mary House, of Reading, and died +in 1699, without issue male, leaving an only daughter. It +was this rich heiress, who possessed ‘store of wealth and +beauty bright,’ that is the heroine of the ballad. +She married Benjamin Child, Esq., a young and handsome, but very +poor attorney of Reading, and the marriage is traditionally +reported to have been brought about exactly as related in the +ballad. We have not been able to ascertain the exact date +of the marriage, which was celebrated in St. Mary’s <a +name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 91</span>Church, +Reading, the bride wearing a thick veil; but the ceremony must +have taken place some time about 1705. In 1714, Mr. Child +was high sheriff of Berkshire. As he was an humble and +obscure personage previously to his espousing the heiress of +Whitley, and, in fact, owed all his wealth and influence to his +marriage, it cannot be supposed that <i>immediately</i> after his +union he would be elevated to so important and dignified a post +as the high-shrievalty of the very aristocratical county of +Berks. We may, therefore, consider nine or ten years to +have elapsed betwixt his marriage and his holding the office of +high sheriff, which he filled when he was about thirty-two years +of age. The author of the ballad is unknown: supposing him +to have composed it shortly after the events which he records, we +cannot be far wrong in fixing its date about 1706. The +earliest broadside we have seen contains a rudely executed, but +by no means bad likeness of Queen Anne, the reigning monarch at +that period.]</p> +<p style="text-align: center">PART I.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">SHOWING +CUPID’S CONQUEST OVER A COY LADY OF FIVE THOUSAND A +YEAR.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Bachelors</span> of every +station,<br /> +Mark this strange and true relation,<br /> +Which in brief to you I bring,—<br /> +Never was a stranger thing!</p> +<p class="poetry">You shall find it worth the hearing;<br /> +Loyal love is most endearing,<br /> +When it takes the deepest root,<br /> +Yielding charms and gold to boot.</p> +<p class="poetry">Some will wed for love of treasure;<br /> +But the sweetest joy and pleasure<br /> +Is in faithful love, you’ll find,<br /> +Gracèd with a noble mind.</p> +<p class="poetry">Such a noble disposition<br /> +Had this lady, with submission,<br /> +Of whom I this sonnet write,<br /> +Store of wealth, and beauty bright.</p> +<p class="poetry">She had left, by a good grannum,<br /> +Full five thousand pounds per annum,<br /> +Which she held without control;<br /> +Thus she did in riches roll.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +92</span>Though she had vast store of riches,<br /> +Which some persons much bewitches,<br /> +Yet she bore a virtuous mind,<br /> +Not the least to pride inclined.</p> +<p class="poetry">Many noble persons courted<br /> +This young lady, ’tis reported;<br /> +But their labour proved in vain,<br /> +They could not her favour gain.</p> +<p class="poetry">Though she made a strong resistance,<br /> +Yet by Cupid’s true assistance,<br /> +She was conquered after all;<br /> +How it was declare I shall.</p> +<p class="poetry">Being at a noble wedding,<br /> +Near the famous town of Redding, <a name="citation92"></a><a +href="#footnote92" class="citation">[92]</a><br /> +A young gentleman she saw,<br /> +Who belongèd to the law.</p> +<p class="poetry">As she viewed his sweet behaviour,<br /> +Every courteous carriage gave her<br /> +New addition to her grief;<br /> +Forced she was to seek relief.</p> +<p class="poetry">Privately she then enquired<br /> +About him, so much admired;<br /> +Both his name, and where he dwelt,—<br /> +Such was the hot flame she felt.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then, at night, this youthful lady<br /> +Called her coach, which being ready,<br /> +Homewards straight she did return;<br /> +But her heart with flames did burn.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">PART II.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">SHOWING THE +LADY’S LETTER OF A CHALLENGE TO FIGHT HIM UPON HIS REFUSING +TO WED HER IN A MASK, WITHOUT KNOWING WHO SHE WAS.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Night and morning, for a season,<br /> +In her closet would she reason<br /> +<a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 93</span>With +herself, and often said,<br /> +‘Why has love my heart betrayed?</p> +<p class="poetry">‘I, that have so many slighted,<br /> +Am at length so well requited;<br /> +For my griefs are not a few!<br /> +Now I find what love can do.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘He that has my heart in keeping,<br /> +Though I for his sake be weeping,<br /> +Little knows what grief I feel;<br /> +But I’ll try it out with steel.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘For I will a challenge send him,<br /> +And appoint where I’ll attend him,<br /> +In a grove, without delay,<br /> +By the dawning of the day.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘He shall not the least discover<br /> +That I am a virgin lover,<br /> +By the challenge which I send;<br /> +But for justice I contend.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘He has causèd sad distraction,<br +/> +And I come for satisfaction,<br /> +Which if he denies to give,<br /> +One of us shall cease to live.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Having thus her mind revealed,<br /> +She her letter closed and sealed;<br /> +Which, when it came to his hand,<br /> +The young man was at a stand.</p> +<p class="poetry">In her letter she conjured him<br /> +For to meet, and well assured him,<br /> +Recompence he must afford,<br /> +Or dispute it with the sword.</p> +<p class="poetry">Having read this strange relation,<br /> +He was in a consternation;<br /> +But, advising with his friend,<br /> +He persuades him to attend.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +94</span>‘Be of courage, and make ready,<br /> +Faint heart never won fair lady;<br /> +In regard it must be so,<br /> +I along with you must go.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">PART III.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">SHOWING HOW +THEY MET BY APPOINTMENT IN A GROVE, WHERE SHE OBLIGED HIM TO +FIGHT OR WED HER.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Early on a summer’s morning,<br /> +When bright Phoebus was adorning<br /> +Every bower with his beams,<br /> +The fair lady came, it seems.</p> +<p class="poetry">At the bottom of a mountain,<br /> +Near a pleasant crystal fountain,<br /> +There she left her gilded coach,<br /> +While the grove she did approach.</p> +<p class="poetry">Covered with her mask, and walking,<br /> +There she met her lover talking<br /> +With a friend that he had brought;<br /> +So she asked him whom he sought.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘I am challenged by a gallant,<br /> +Who resolves to try my talent;<br /> +Who he is I cannot say,<br /> +But I hope to show him play.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘It is I that did invite you,<br /> +You shall wed me, or I’ll fight you,<br /> +Underneath those spreading trees;<br /> +Therefore, choose you which you please.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘You shall find I do not vapour,<br /> +I have brought my trusty rapier;<br /> +Therefore, take your choice,’ said she,<br /> +‘Either fight or marry me.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Said he, ‘Madam, pray what mean you?<br +/> +In my life I’ve never seen you;<br /> +Pray unmask, your visage show,<br /> +Then I’ll tell you aye or no.’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +95</span>‘I will not my face uncover<br /> +Till the marriage ties are over;<br /> +Therefore, choose you which you will,<br /> +Wed me, sir, or try your skill.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Step within that pleasant bower,<br /> +With your friend one single hour;<br /> +Strive your thoughts to reconcile,<br /> +And I’ll wander here the while.’</p> +<p class="poetry">While this beauteous lady waited,<br /> +The young bachelors debated<br /> +What was best for to be done:<br /> +Quoth his friend, ‘The hazard run.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘If my judgment can be trusted,<br /> +Wed her first, you can’t be worsted;<br /> +If she’s rich, you’ll rise to fame,<br /> +If she’s poor, why! you’re the same.’</p> +<p class="poetry">He consented to be married;<br /> +All three in a coach were carried<br /> +To a church without delay,<br /> +Where he weds the lady gay.</p> +<p class="poetry">Though sweet pretty Cupids hovered<br /> +Round her eyes, her face was covered<br /> +With a mask,—he took her thus,<br /> +Just for better or for worse.</p> +<p class="poetry">With a courteous kind behaviour,<br /> +She presents his friend a favour,<br /> +And withal dismissed him straight,<br /> +That he might no longer wait.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">PART IV.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">SHOWING HOW +THEY RODE TOGETHER IN HER GILDED COACH TO HER NOBLE SEAT, OR +CASTLE, ETC.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">As the gilded coach stood ready,<br /> +The young lawyer and his lady<br /> +Rode together, till they came<br /> +To her house of state and fame;</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +96</span>Which appearèd like a castle,<br /> +Where you might behold a parcel<br /> +Of young cedars, tall and straight,<br /> +Just before her palace gate.</p> +<p class="poetry">Hand in hand they walked together,<br /> +To a hall, or parlour, rather,<br /> +Which was beautiful and fair,—<br /> +All alone she left him there.</p> +<p class="poetry">Two long hours there he waited<br /> +Her return;—at length he fretted,<br /> +And began to grieve at last,<br /> +For he had not broke his fast.</p> +<p class="poetry">Still he sat like one amazed,<br /> +Round a spacious room he gazed,<br /> +Which was richly beautified;<br /> +But, alas! he lost his bride.</p> +<p class="poetry">There was peeping, laughing, sneering,<br /> +All within the lawyer’s hearing;<br /> +But his bride he could not see;<br /> +‘Would I were at home!’ thought he.</p> +<p class="poetry">While his heart was melancholy,<br /> +Said the steward, brisk and jolly,<br /> +‘Tell me, friend, how came you here?<br /> +You’ve some bad design, I fear.’</p> +<p class="poetry">He replied, ‘Dear loving master,<br /> +You shall meet with no disaster<br /> +Through my means, in any case,—<br /> +Madam brought me to this place.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Then the steward did retire,<br /> +Saying, that he would enquire<br /> +Whether it was true or no:<br /> +Ne’er was lover hampered so.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +97</span>Now the lady who had filled him<br /> +With those fears, full well beheld him<br /> +From a window, as she dressed,<br /> +Pleasèd at the merry jest.</p> +<p class="poetry">When she had herself attired<br /> +In rich robes, to be admired,<br /> +She appearèd in his sight,<br /> +Like a moving angel bright.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Sir! my servants have related,<br /> +How some hours you have waited<br /> +In my parlour,—tell me who<br /> +In my house you ever knew?’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Madam! if I have offended,<br /> +It is more than I intended;<br /> +A young lady brought me here:’—<br /> +‘That is true,’ said she, ‘my dear.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘I can be no longer cruel<br /> +To my joy, and only jewel;<br /> +Thou art mine, and I am thine,<br /> +Hand and heart I do resign!</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Once I was a wounded lover,<br /> +Now these fears are fairly over;<br /> +By receiving what I gave,<br /> +Thou art lord of what I have.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Beauty, honour, love, and treasure,<br /> +A rich golden stream of pleasure,<br /> +With his lady he enjoys;<br /> +Thanks to Cupid’s kind decoys.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now he’s clothed in rich attire,<br /> +Not inferior to a squire;<br /> +Beauty, honour, riches’ store,<br /> +What can man desire more?</p> +<h3><a name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 98</span>THE +NOBLEMAN’S GENEROUS KINDNESS.</h3> +<p>Giving an account of a nobleman, who, taking notice of a poor +man’s industrious care and pains for the maintaining of his +charge of seven small children, met him upon a day, and +discoursing with him, invited him, and his wife and his children, +home to his house, and bestowed upon them a farm of thirty acres +of land, to be continued to him and his heirs for ever.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">To the tune of <i>The Two English +Travellers</i>.</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> still popular ballad is +entitled in the modern copies, <i>The Nobleman and Thrasher</i>; +<i>or</i>, <i>the Generous Gift</i>. There is a copy +preserved in the Roxburgh Collection, with which our version has +been collated. It is taken from a broadside printed by +Robert Marchbank, in the Custom-house Entry, Newcastle.]</p> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">nobleman</span> lived in +a village of late,<br /> +Hard by a poor thrasher, whose charge it was great;<br /> +For he had seven children, and most of them small,<br /> +And nought but his labour to support them withal.</p> +<p class="poetry">He never was given to idle and lurk,<br /> +For this nobleman saw him go daily to work,<br /> +With his flail and his bag, and his bottle of beer,<br /> +As cheerful as those that have hundreds a year.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus careful, and constant, each morning he +went,<br /> +Unto his daily labour with joy and content;<br /> +So jocular and jolly he’d whistle and sing,<br /> +As blithe and as brisk as the birds in the spring.</p> +<p class="poetry">One morning, this nobleman taking a walk,<br /> +He met this poor man, and he freely did talk;<br /> +He asked him [at first] many questions at large,<br /> +And then began talking concerning his charge.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Thou hast many children, I very well +know,<br /> +Thy labour is hard, and thy wages are low,<br /> +And yet thou art cheerful; I pray tell me true,<br /> +How can you maintain them as well as you do?’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘I carefully carry home what I do +earn,<br /> +My daily expenses by this I do learn;<br /> +And find it is possible, though we be poor,<br /> +To still keep the ravenous wolf from the door.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +99</span>‘I reap and I mow, and I harrow and sow,<br /> +Sometimes a hedging and ditching I go;<br /> +No work comes amiss, for I thrash, and I plough,<br /> +Thus my bread I do earn by the sweat of my brow.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘My wife she is willing to pull in a +yoke,<br /> +We live like two lambs, nor each other provoke;<br /> +We both of us strive, like the labouring ant,<br /> +And do our endeavours to keep us from want.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘And when I come home from my labour at +night,<br /> +To my wife and my children, in whom I delight;<br /> +To see them come round me with prattling noise,—<br /> +Now these are the riches a poor man enjoys.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Though I am as weary as weary may be,<br +/> +The youngest I commonly dance on my knee;<br /> +I find that content is a moderate feast,<br /> +I never repine at my lot in the least.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Now the nobleman hearing what he did say,<br /> +Was pleased, and invited him home the next day;<br /> +His wife and his children he charged him to bring;<br /> +In token of favour he gave him a ring.</p> +<p class="poetry">He thankèd his honour, and taking his +leave,<br /> +He went to his wife, who would hardly believe<br /> +But this same story himself he might raise;<br /> +Yet seeing the ring she was [lost] in amaze.</p> +<p class="poetry">Betimes in the morning the good wife she +arose,<br /> +And made them all fine, in the best of their clothes;<br /> +The good man with his good wife, and children small,<br /> +They all went to dine at the nobleman’s hall.</p> +<p class="poetry">But when they came there, as truth does +report,<br /> +All things were prepared in a plentiful sort;<br /> +And they at the nobleman’s table did dine,<br /> +With all kinds of dainties, and plenty of wine.</p> +<p class="poetry">The feast being over, he soon let them know,<br +/> +That he then intended on them to bestow<br /> +A farm-house, with thirty good acres of land;<br /> +And gave them the writings then, with his own hand.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +100</span>‘Because thou art careful, and good to thy +wife,<br /> +I’ll make thy days happy the rest of thy life;<br /> +It shall be for ever, for thee and thy heirs,<br /> +Because I beheld thy industrious cares.’</p> +<p class="poetry">No tongue then is able in full to express<br /> +The depth of their joy, and true thankfulness;<br /> +With many a curtsey, and bow to the ground,—<br /> +Such noblemen there are but few to be found.</p> +<h3>THE DRUNKARD’S LEGACY.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">IN THREE +PARTS.</span></p> +<p>First, giving an account of a gentlemen a having a wild son, +and who, foreseeing he would come to poverty, had a cottage built +with one door to it, always kept fast; and how, on his dying bed, +he charged him not to open it till he was poor and slighted, +which the young man promised he would perform. Secondly, of +the young man’s pawning his estate to a vintner, who, when +poor, kicked him out of doors; when thinking it time to see his +legacy, he broke open the cottage door, where instead of money he +found a gibbet and halter, which he put round his neck, and +jumping off the stool, the gibbet broke, and a thousand pounds +came down upon his head, which lay hid in the ceiling. +Thirdly, of his redeeming his estate, and fooling the vintner out +of two hundred pounds; who, for being jeered by his neighbours, +cut his own throat. And lastly, of the young man’s +reformation. Very proper to be read by all who are given to +drunkenness.</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Percy</span>, in the introductory remarks +to the ballad of <i>The Heir of Linne</i>, says, ‘the +original of this ballad [<i>The Heir of Linne</i>] is found in +the editor’s folio MS.; the breaches and defects of which +rendered the insertion of supplemental stanzas necessary. +These it is hoped the reader will pardon, as, indeed, the +completion of the story was suggested by a modern ballad on a +similar subject.’ The ballad thus alluded to by Percy +is <i>The Drunkard’s Legacy</i>, which, it may be remarked, +although styled by him a <i>modern</i> ballad, is only so +comparatively speaking; for it must have been written long +anterior to Percy’s time, and, by his own admission, must +be older than the latter portion of the <i>Heir of +Linne</i>. Our copy is taken from an old chap-book, without +date or printer’s name, and which is decorated with three +rudely executed wood-cuts.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Young</span> people all, I +pray draw near,<br /> +And listen to my ditty here;<br /> +Which subject shows that drunkenness<br /> +Brings many mortals to distress!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +101</span>As, for example, now I can<br /> +Tell you of one, a gentleman,<br /> +Who had a very good estate,<br /> +His earthly travails they were great.</p> +<p class="poetry">We understand he had one son<br /> +Who a lewd wicked race did run;<br /> +He daily spent his father’s store,<br /> +When moneyless, he came for more.</p> +<p class="poetry">The father oftentimes with tears,<br /> +Would this alarm sound in his ears;<br /> +‘Son! thou dost all my comfort blast,<br /> +And thou wilt come to want at last.’</p> +<p class="poetry">The son these words did little mind,<br /> +To cards and dice he was inclined;<br /> +Feeding his drunken appetite<br /> +In taverns, which was his delight.</p> +<p class="poetry">The father, ere it was too late,<br /> +He had a project in his pate,<br /> +Before his agèd days were run,<br /> +To make provision for his son.</p> +<p class="poetry">Near to his house, we understand,<br /> +He had a waste plat of land,<br /> +Which did but little profit yield,<br /> +On which he did a cottage build.</p> +<p class="poetry">The <i>Wise Man’s Project</i> was its +name;<br /> +There were few windows in the same;<br /> +Only one door, substantial thing,<br /> +Shut by a lock, went by a spring.</p> +<p class="poetry">Soon after he had played this trick,<br /> +It was his lot for to fall sick;<br /> +As on his bed he did lament,<br /> +Then for his drunken son he sent.</p> +<p class="poetry">He shortly came to his bedside;<br /> +Seeing his son, he thus replied:<br /> +‘I have sent for you to make my will,<br /> +Which you must faithfully fulfil.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +102</span>‘In such a cottage is one door,<br /> +Ne’er open it, do thou be sure,<br /> +Until thou art so poor, that all<br /> +Do then despise you, great and small.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘For, to my grief, I do perceive,<br /> +When I am dead, this life you live<br /> +Will soon melt all thou hast away;<br /> +Do not forget these words, I pray.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘When thou hast made thy friends thy +foes,<br /> +Pawned all thy lands, and sold thy clothes;<br /> +Break ope the door, and there depend<br /> +To find something thy griefs to end.’</p> +<p class="poetry">This being spoke, the son did say,<br /> +‘Your dying words I will obey.’<br /> +Soon after this his father dear<br /> +Did die, and buried was, we hear.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">PART II.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, pray observe the second part,<br /> +And you shall hear his sottish heart;<br /> +He did the tavern so frequent,<br /> +Till he three hundred pounds had spent.</p> +<p class="poetry">This being done, we understand<br /> +He pawned the deeds of all his land<br /> +Unto a tavern-keeper, who,<br /> +When poor, did him no favour show.</p> +<p class="poetry">For, to fulfil his father’s will,<br /> +He did command this cottage still:<br /> +At length great sorrow was his share,<br /> +Quite moneyless, with garments bare.</p> +<p class="poetry">Being not able for to work,<br /> +He in the tavern there did lurk;<br /> +From box to box, among rich men,<br /> +Who oftentimes reviled him then.</p> +<p class="poetry">To see him sneak so up and down,<br /> +The vintner on him he did frown;<br /> +<a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 103</span>And one +night kicked him out of door,<br /> +Charging him to come there no more.</p> +<p class="poetry">He in a stall did lie all night,<br /> +In this most sad and wretched plight;<br /> +Then thought it was high time to see<br /> +His father’s promised legacy.</p> +<p class="poetry">Next morning, then, oppressed with woe,<br /> +This young man got an iron crow;<br /> +And, as in tears he did lament,<br /> +Unto this little cottage went.</p> +<p class="poetry">When he the door had open got,<br /> +This poor, distressèd, drunken sot,<br /> +Who did for store of money hope,<br /> +He saw a gibbet and a rope.</p> +<p class="poetry">Under this rope was placed a stool,<br /> +Which made him look just like a fool;<br /> +Crying, ‘Alas! what shall I do?<br /> +Destruction now appears in view!</p> +<p class="poetry">‘As my father foresaw this thing,<br /> +What sottishness to me would bring;<br /> +As moneyless, and free of grace,<br /> +His legacy I will embrace.’</p> +<p class="poetry">So then, oppressed with discontent,<br /> +Upon the stool he sighing went;<br /> +And then, his precious life to check,<br /> +Did place the rope about his neck.</p> +<p class="poetry">Crying, ‘Thou, God, who sitt’st on +high,<br /> +And on my sorrow casts an eye;<br /> +Thou knowest that I’ve not done well,—<br /> +Preserve my precious soul from hell.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘’Tis true the slighting of thy +grace,<br /> +Has brought me to this wretched case;<br /> +And as through folly I’m undone,<br /> +I’ll now eclipse my morning sun.’</p> +<p class="poetry">When he with sighs these words had spoke,<br /> +Jumped off, and down the gibbet broke;<br /> +<a name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 104</span>In +falling, as it plain appears,<br /> +Dropped down about this young man’s ears,</p> +<p class="poetry">In shining gold, a thousand pound!<br /> +Which made the blood his ears surround:<br /> +Though in amaze, he cried, ‘I’m sure<br /> +This golden salve the sore will cure!</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Blessed be my father, then,’ he +cried,<br /> +‘Who did this part for me so hide;<br /> +And while I do alive remain,<br /> +I never will get drunk again.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">PART III.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, by the third part you will hear,<br /> +This young man, as it doth appear,<br /> +With care he then secured his chink,<br /> +And to the vintner’s went to drink.</p> +<p class="poetry">When the proud vintner did him see,<br /> +He frowned on him immediately,<br /> +And said, ‘Begone! or else with speed,<br /> +I’ll kick thee out of doors, indeed.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Smiling, the young man he did say,<br /> +‘Thou cruel knave! tell me, I pray,<br /> +As I have here consumed my store,<br /> +How durst thee kick me out of door?</p> +<p class="poetry">‘To me thou hast been too severe;<br /> +The deeds of eightscore pounds a-year,<br /> +I pawned them for three hundred pounds,<br /> +That I spent here;—what makes such frowns?’</p> +<p class="poetry">The vintner said unto him, ‘Sirrah!<br /> +Bring me one hundred pounds to-morrow<br /> +By nine o’clock,—take them again;<br /> +So get you out of doors till then.’</p> +<p class="poetry">He answered, ‘If this chink I bring,<br +/> +I fear thou wilt do no such thing.<br /> +He said, ‘I’ll give under my hand,<br /> +A note, that I to this will stand.’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +105</span>Having the note, away he goes,<br /> +And straightway went to one of those<br /> +That made him drink when moneyless,<br /> +And did the truth to him confess.</p> +<p class="poetry">They both went to this heap of gold,<br /> +And in a bag he fairly told<br /> +A thousand pounds, ill yellow-boys,<br /> +And to the tavern went their ways.</p> +<p class="poetry">This bag they on the table set,<br /> +Making the vintner for to fret;<br /> +He said, ‘Young man! this will not do,<br /> +For I was but in jest with you.’</p> +<p class="poetry">So then bespoke the young man’s +friend:<br /> +‘Vintner! thou mayest sure depend,<br /> +In law this note it will you cast,<br /> +And he must have his land at last.’</p> +<p class="poetry">This made the vintner to comply,—<br /> +He fetched the deeds immediately;<br /> +He had one hundred pounds, and then<br /> +The young man got his deeds again.</p> +<p class="poetry">At length the vintner ’gan to think<br /> +How he was fooled out of his chink;<br /> +Said, ‘When ’tis found how I came off,<br /> +My neighbours will me game and scoff.’</p> +<p class="poetry">So to prevent their noise and clatter<br /> +The vintner he, to mend the matter,<br /> +In two days after, it doth appear,<br /> +Did cut his throat from ear to ear.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus he untimely left the world,<br /> +That to this young man proved a churl.<br /> +Now he who followed drunkenness,<br /> +Lives sober, and doth lands possess.</p> +<p class="poetry">Instead of wasting of his store,<br /> +As formerly, resolves no more<br /> +To act the same, but does indeed<br /> +Relieve all those that are in need.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +106</span>Let all young men now, for my sake,<br /> +Take care how they such havoc make;<br /> +For drunkenness, you plain may see,<br /> +Had like his ruin for to be.</p> +<h3>THE BOWES TRAGEDY.</h3> +<p>Being a true relation of the Lives and Characters of <span +class="smcap">Roger Wrightson</span> and <span +class="smcap">Martha Railton</span>, of the Town of Bowes, in the +County of York, who died for love of each other, in March, +1714/5</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Tune of <i>Queen Dido</i>.</p> +<p>[<i>The Bowes Tragedy</i> is the original of Mallet’s +<i>Edition and Emma</i>. In these verses are preserved the +village record of the incident which suggested that poem. +When Mallet published his ballad he subjoined an attestation of +the facts, which may be found in Evans’ <i>Old Ballads</i>, +vol. ii. p. 237. Edit. 1784. Mallet alludes to the +statement in the parish registry of Bowes, that ‘they both +died of love, and were buried in the same grave,’ +&c. The following is an exact copy of the entry, as +transcribed by Mr. Denham, 17th April, 1847. The words +which we have printed in brackets are found interlined in another +and a later hand by some person who had inspected the +register:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Ro<i>d</i>ger Wrightson, Jun., and Martha +Railton, both of Bowes, Buried in one grave: He <i>D</i>ied in a +Fever, and upon tolling his passing Bell, she cry’d out My +heart is broke, and in a <i>F</i>ew hours expir’d, purely +[<i>or supposed</i>] thro’ Love, March 15, 1714/5, aged +about 20 years each.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Mr. Denham says:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘<i>The Bowes Tragedy</i> was, I understand, +written immediately after the death of the lovers, by the then +master of Bowes Grammar School. His name I never +heard. My father, who died a few years ago (aged nearly +80), knew a younger sister of Martha Railton’s, who used to +sing it to strangers passing through Bowes. She was a poor +woman, advanced in years, and it brought her in many a piece of +money.’]</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Let</span> Carthage Queen +be now no more<br /> + The subject of our mournful song;<br /> +Nor such old tales which, heretofore,<br /> + Did so amuse the teeming throng;<br /> +Since the sad story which I’ll tell,<br /> +All other tragedies excel.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +107</span>Remote in Yorkshire, near to Bowes,<br /> + Of late did Roger Wrightson dwell;<br /> +He courted Martha Railton, whose<br /> + Repute for virtue did excel;<br /> +Yet Roger’s friends would not agree,<br /> +That he to her should married be.</p> +<p class="poetry">Their love continued one whole year,<br /> + Full sore against their parents’ will;<br /> +And when he found them so severe,<br /> + His loyal heart began to chill:<br /> +And last Shrove Tuesday, took his bed,<br /> +With grief and woe encompassèd.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus he continued twelve days’ space,<br +/> + In anguish and in grief of mind;<br /> +And no sweet peace in any case,<br /> + This ardent lover’s heart could find;<br /> +But languished in a train of grief,<br /> +Which pierced his heart beyond relief.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now anxious Martha sore distressed,<br /> + A private message did him send,<br /> +Lamenting that she could not rest,<br /> + Till she had seen her loving friend:<br /> +His answer was, ‘Nay, nay, my dear,<br /> +Our folks will angry be I fear.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Full fraught with grief, she took no rest,<br +/> + But spent her time in pain and fear,<br /> +Till a few days before his death<br /> + She sent an orange to her dear;<br /> +But’s cruel mother in disdain,<br /> +Did send the orange back again.</p> +<p class="poetry">Three days before her lover died,<br /> + Poor Martha with a bleeding heart,<br /> +To see her dying lover hied,<br /> + In hopes to ease him of his smart;<br /> +Where she’s conducted to the bed,<br /> +In which this faithful young man laid.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +108</span>Where she with doleful cries beheld,<br /> + Her fainting lover in despair;<br /> +At which her heart with sorrow filled,<br /> + Small was the comfort she had there;<br /> +Though’s mother showed her great respect,<br /> +His sister did her much reject.</p> +<p class="poetry">She stayed two hours with her dear,<br /> + In hopes for to declare her mind;<br /> +But Hannah Wrightson <a name="citation108a"></a><a +href="#footnote108a" class="citation">[108a]</a> stood so +near,<br /> + No time to do it she could find:<br /> +So that being almost dead with grief,<br /> +Away she went without relief.</p> +<p class="poetry">Tears from her eyes did flow amain,<br /> + And she full oft would sighing say,<br /> +‘My constant love, alas! is slain,<br /> + And to pale death, become a prey:<br /> +Oh, Hannah, Hannah thou art base;<br /> +Thy pride will turn to foul disgrace!’</p> +<p class="poetry">She spent her time in godly prayers,<br /> + And quiet rest did from her fly;<br /> +She to her friends full oft declares,<br /> + She could not live if he did die:<br /> +Thus she continued till the bell,<br /> +Began to sound his fatal knell.</p> +<p class="poetry">And when she heard the dismal sound,<br /> + Her godly book she cast away,<br /> +With bitter cries would pierce the ground.<br /> + Her fainting heart ’gan to decay:<br /> +She to her pensive mother said,<br /> +‘I cannot live now he is dead.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Then after three short minutes’ space,<br +/> + As she in sorrow groaning lay,<br /> +A gentleman <a name="citation108b"></a><a href="#footnote108b" +class="citation">[108b]</a> did her embrace,<br /> + And mildly unto her did say,<br /> +<a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +109</span>‘Dear melting soul be not so sad,<br /> +But let your passion be allayed.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Her answer was, ‘My heart is burst,<br /> + My span of life is near an end;<br /> +My love from me by death is forced,<br /> + My grief no soul can comprehend.’<br /> +Then her poor heart it waxèd faint,<br /> +When she had ended her complaint.</p> +<p class="poetry">For three hours’ space, as in a +trance,<br /> + This broken-hearted creature lay,<br /> +Her mother wailing her mischance,<br /> + To pacify her did essay:<br /> +But all in vain, for strength being past,<br /> +She seemingly did breathe her last.</p> +<p class="poetry">Her mother, thinking she was dead,<br /> + Began to shriek and cry amain;<br /> +And heavy lamentations made,<br /> + Which called her spirit back again;<br /> +To be an object of hard fate,<br /> +And give to grief a longer date.</p> +<p class="poetry">Distorted with convulsions, she,<br /> + In dreadful manner gasping lay,<br /> +Of twelve long hours no moment free,<br /> + Her bitter groans did her dismay:<br /> +Then her poor heart being sadly broke,<br /> +Submitted to the fatal stroke.</p> +<p class="poetry">When things were to this issue brought,<br /> + Both in one grave were to be laid:<br /> +But flinty-hearted Hannah thought,<br /> + By stubborn means for to persuade,<br /> +Their friends and neighbours from the same,<br /> +For which she surely was to blame.</p> +<p class="poetry">And being asked the reason why,<br /> + Such base objections she did make,<br /> +She answerèd thus scornfully,<br /> + In words not fit for Billingsgate:<br /> +<a name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +110</span>‘She might have taken fairer on—<br /> +Or else be hanged:’ Oh heart of stone!</p> +<p class="poetry">What hell-born fury had possessed,<br /> + Thy vile inhuman spirit thus?<br /> +What swelling rage was in thy breast,<br /> + That could occasion this disgust,<br /> +And make thee show such spleen and rage,<br /> +Which life can’t cure nor death assuage?</p> +<p class="poetry">Sure some of Satan’s minor imps,<br /> + Ordainèd were to be thy guide;<br /> +To act the part of sordid pimps,<br /> + And fill thy heart with haughty pride;<br /> +But take this caveat once for all,<br /> +Such devilish pride must have a fall.</p> +<p class="poetry">But when to church the corpse was brought,<br +/> + And both of them met at the gate;<br /> +What mournful tears by friends were shed,<br /> + When that alas it was too late,—<br /> +When they in silent grave were laid,<br /> +Instead of pleasing marriage-bed.</p> +<p class="poetry">You parents all both far and near,<br /> + By this sad story warning take;<br /> +Nor to your children be severe,<br /> + When they their choice in love do make;<br /> +Let not the love of cursèd gold,<br /> +True lovers from their love withhold.</p> +<h3>THE CRAFTY LOVER;</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">OR, THE +LAWYER OUTWITTED.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">Tune of <i>I love thee more and +more</i>.</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> excellent old ballad is +transcribed from a copy printed in Aldermary church-yard. +It still continues to be published in the old broadside +form.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Of</span> a rich counsellor +I write,<br /> +Who had one only daughter,<br /> +<a name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 111</span>Who was +of youthful beauty bright;<br /> +Now mark what follows after. <a name="citation111"></a><a +href="#footnote111" class="citation">[111]</a><br /> +Her uncle left her, I declare,<br /> +A sumptuous large possession;<br /> +Her father he was to take care<br /> +Of her at his discretion.</p> +<p class="poetry">She had ten thousand pounds a-year,<br /> +And gold and silver ready,<br /> +And courted was by many a peer,<br /> +Yet none could gain this lady.<br /> +At length a squire’s youngest son<br /> +In private came a-wooing,<br /> +And when he had her favour won,<br /> +He feared his utter ruin.</p> +<p class="poetry">The youthful lady straightway cried,<br /> +‘I must confess I love thee,<br /> +Though lords and knights I have denied,<br /> +Yet none I prize above thee:<br /> +Thou art a jewel in my eye,<br /> +But here,’ said she, ‘the care is,—<br /> +I fear you will be doomed to die<br /> +For stealing of an heiress.’</p> +<p class="poetry">The young man he replied to her<br /> +Like a true politician;<br /> +‘Thy father is a counsellor,<br /> +I’ll tell him my condition.<br /> +Ten guineas they shall be his fee,<br /> +He’ll think it is some stranger;<br /> +Thus for the gold he’ll counsel me,<br /> +And keep me safe from danger.’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +112</span>Unto her father he did go,<br /> +The very next day after;<br /> +But did not let the lawyer know<br /> +The lady was his daughter.<br /> +Now when the lawyer saw the gold<br /> +That he should be she gainer,<br /> +A pleasant trick to him he told<br /> +With safety to obtain her.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Let her provide a horse,’ he +cried,<br /> +‘And take you up behind her;<br /> +Then with you to some parson ride<br /> +Before her parents find her:<br /> +That she steals you, you may complain,<br /> +And so avoid their fury.<br /> +Now this is law I will maintain<br /> +Before or judge or jury.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Now take my writing and my seal,<br /> +Which I cannot deny thee,<br /> +And if you any trouble feel,<br /> +In court I will stand by thee.’<br /> +‘I give you thanks,’ the young man cried,<br /> +‘By you I am befriended,<br /> +And to your house I’ll bring my bride<br /> +After the work is ended.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Next morning, ere the day did break,<br /> +This news to her he carried;<br /> +She did her father’s counsel take<br /> +And they were fairly married,<br /> +And now they felt but ill at case,<br /> +And, doubts and fears expressing,<br /> +They home returned, and on their knees<br /> +They asked their father’s blessing,</p> +<p class="poetry">But when he had beheld them both,<br /> +He seemed like one distracted,<br /> +And vowed to be revenged on oath<br /> +For what they now had acted.<br /> +<a name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 113</span>With +that bespoke his new-made son—<br /> +‘There can be no deceiving,<br /> +That this is law which we have done<br /> +Here is your hand and sealing!’</p> +<p class="poetry">The counsellor did then reply,<br /> +Was ever man so fitted;<br /> +‘My hand and seal I can’t deny,<br /> +By you I am outwitted.<br /> +‘Ten thousand pounds a-year in store<br /> +‘She was left by my brother,<br /> +And when I die there will be more,<br /> +For child I have no other.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘She might have had a lord or knight,<br +/> +From royal loins descended;<br /> +But, since thou art her heart’s delight,<br /> +I will not be offended;<br /> +‘If I the gordian knot should part,<br /> +‘Twere cruel out of measure;<br /> +Enjoy thy love, with all my heart,<br /> +In plenty, peace, and pleasure.’</p> +<h3>THE DEATH OF QUEEN JANE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">(TRADITIONAL.)</span></p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">We</span> have seen an old printed copy +of this ballad, which was written probably about the date of the +event it records, 1537. Our version was taken down from the +singing of a young gipsy girl, to whom it had descended orally +through two generations. She could not recollect the whole +of it. In Miss Strickland’s <i>Lives of the Queens of +England</i>, we find the following passage: ‘An English +ballad is extant, which, dwelling on the elaborate mourning of +Queen Jane’s ladies, informs the world, in a line of pure +bathos,</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">In black were her +ladies, and black were their faces.’</p> +<p>Miss Strickland does not appear to have seen the ballad to +which she refers; and as we are not aware of the existence of any +other ballad on the subject, we presume that her line of +‘pure bathos’ is merely a corruption of one of the +ensuing verses.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +114</span><span class="smcap">Queen Jane</span> was in travail<br +/> +For six weeks or more,<br /> +Till the women grew tired,<br /> +And fain would give o’er.<br /> +‘O women! O women!<br /> +Good wives if ye be,<br /> +Go, send for King Henrie,<br /> +And bring him to me.’</p> +<p class="poetry">King Henrie was sent for,<br /> +He came with all speed,<br /> +In a gownd of green velvet<br /> +From heel to the head.<br /> +‘King Henrie! King Henrie!<br /> +If kind Henrie you be,<br /> +Send for a surgeon,<br /> +And bring him to me.’</p> +<p class="poetry">The surgeon was sent for,<br /> +He came with all speed,<br /> +In a gownd of black velvet<br /> +From heel to the head.<br /> +He gave her rich caudle,<br /> +But the death-sleep slept she.<br /> +Then her right side was opened,<br /> +And the babe was set free.</p> +<p class="poetry">The babe it was christened,<br /> +And put out and nursed,<br /> +While the royal Queen Jane<br /> +She lay cold in the dust.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">So black was the mourning,<br /> +And white were the wands,<br /> +Yellow, yellow the torches,<br /> +They bore in their hands.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +115</span>The bells they were muffled,<br /> +And mournful did play,<br /> +While the royal Queen Jane<br /> +She lay cold in the clay.</p> +<p class="poetry">Six knights and six lords<br /> +Bore her corpse through the grounds;<br /> +Six dukes followed after,<br /> +In black mourning gownds.<br /> +The flower of Old England<br /> +Was laid in cold clay,<br /> +Whilst the royal King Henrie<br /> +Came weeping away.</p> +<h3>THE WANDERING YOUNG GENTLEWOMAN;</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">OR, +CATSKIN.</span></p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> following version of this +ancient English ballad has been collated with three copies. +In some editions it is called <i>Catskin’s Garland</i>; +<i>or</i>, <i>the Wandering Young Gentlewoman</i>. The +story has a close similarity to that of <i>Cinderella</i>, and is +supposed to be of oriental origin. Several versions of it +are current in Scandinavia, Germany, Italy, Poland, and +Wales. For some account of it see <i>Pictorial Book of +Ballads</i>, ii. 153, edited by Mr. J. S. Moore.]</p> +<p style="text-align: center">PART I.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">You</span> fathers and +mothers, and children also,<br /> +Draw near unto me, and soon you shall know<br /> +The sense of my ditty, and I dare to say,<br /> +The like’s not been heard of this many a day.</p> +<p class="poetry">The subject which to you I am to relate,<br /> +It is of a young squire of vast estate;<br /> +The first dear infant his wife did him bear,<br /> +It was a young daughter of beauty most rare.</p> +<p class="poetry">He said to his wife, ‘Had this child been +a boy,<br /> +‘Twould have pleased me better, and increased my joy,<br /> +If the next be the same sort, I declare,<br /> +Of what I’m possessèd it shall have no +share.’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +116</span>In twelve months’ time after, this woman, we +hear,<br /> +Had another daughter of beauty most clear;<br /> +And when that he knew it was but a female,<br /> +Into a bitter passion he presently fell,</p> +<p class="poetry">Saying, ‘Since this is of the same sort +as the first,<br /> +In my habitation she shall not be nursed;<br /> +Pray let her be sent into the countrie,<br /> +For where I am, truly, this child shall not be.’</p> +<p class="poetry">With tears his dear wife unto him did say,<br +/> +‘Husband, be contented, I’ll send her away.’<br +/> +Then to the countrie with speed her did send,<br /> +For to be brought up by one was her friend.</p> +<p class="poetry">Although that her father he hated her so,<br /> +He a good education on her did bestow;<br /> +And with a gold locket, and robes of the best,<br /> +This slighted young damsel was commonly dressed.</p> +<p class="poetry">And when unto stature this damsel was grown,<br +/> +And found from her father she had no love shown,<br /> +She cried, ‘Before I will lay under his frown,<br /> +I’m resolvèd to travel the country +around.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">PART II.</p> +<p class="poetry">But now mark, good people, the cream of the +jest,<br /> +In what sort of manner this creature was dressed;<br /> +With cat-skins she made her a robe, I declare,<br /> +The which for her covering she daily did wear.</p> +<p class="poetry">Her own rich attire, and jewels beside,<br /> +Then up in a bundle by her they were tied,<br /> +And to seek her fortune she wandered away;<br /> +And when she had travelled a cold winter’s day,</p> +<p class="poetry">In the evening-tide she came to a town,<br /> +Where at a knight’s door she sat herself down,<br /> +For to rest herself, who was tirèd sore;—<br /> +This noble knight’s lady then came to the door.</p> +<p class="poetry">This fair creature seeing in such sort of +dress,<br /> +The lady unto her these words did express:<br /> +<a name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +117</span>‘Whence camest thou, girl, and what wouldst thou +have?’<br /> +She said, ‘A night’s rest in your stable I +crave.’</p> +<p class="poetry">The lady said to her, ‘I’ll grant +thy desire,<br /> +Come into the kitchen, and stand by the fire.’<br /> +Then she thankèd the lady, and went in with haste;<br /> +And there she was gazed on from highest to least.</p> +<p class="poetry">And, being well warmed, her hunger was +great,<br /> +They gave her a plate of good food for to eat,<br /> +And then to an outhouse this creature was led,<br /> +Where with fresh straw she soon made her a bed.</p> +<p class="poetry">And when in the morning the daylight she +saw,<br /> +Her riches and jewels she hid in the straw;<br /> +And, being very cold, she then did retire<br /> +Into the kitchen, and stood by the fire.</p> +<p class="poetry">The cook said, ‘My lady hath promised +that thee<br /> +Shall be as a scullion to wait upon me;<br /> +What say’st thou girl, art thou willing to bide?’<br +/> +‘With all my heart truly,’ to him she replied.</p> +<p class="poetry">To work at her needle she could very well,<br +/> +And for raising of paste few could her excel;<br /> +She being so handy, the cook’s heart did win,<br /> +And then she was called by the name of Catskin.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">PART III.</p> +<p class="poetry">The lady a son had both comely and tall,<br /> +Who oftentimes usèd to be at a ball<br /> +A mile out of town; and one evening-tide,<br /> +To dance at this ball away he did ride.</p> +<p class="poetry">Catskin said to his mother, ‘Pray, madam, +let me<br /> +Go after your son now, this ball for to see.’<br /> +With that in a passion this lady she grew,<br /> +And struck her with the ladle, and broke it in two.</p> +<p class="poetry">On being thus servèd she quick got +away,<br /> +And in her rich garments herself did array;<br /> +And then to this ball she with speed did retire,<br /> +Where she dancèd so bravely that all did admire.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +118</span>The sport being done, the young squire did say,<br /> +‘Young lady, where do you live? tell me, I pray.’<br +/> +Her answer was to him, ‘Sir, that I will tell,—<br /> +At the sign of the broken ladle I dwell.’</p> +<p class="poetry">She being very nimble, got home first, +’tis said,<br /> +And in her catskin robes she soon was arrayed;<br /> +And into the kitchen again she did go,<br /> +But where she had been they did none of them know.</p> +<p class="poetry">Next night this young squire, to give him +content,<br /> +To dance at this ball again forth he went.<br /> +She said, ‘Pray let me go this ball for to view.’<br +/> +Then she struck with the skimmer, and broke it in two.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then out of the doors she ran full of +heaviness,<br /> +And in her rich garments herself soon did dress;<br /> +And to this ball ran away with all speed,<br /> +Where to see her dancing all wondered indeed.</p> +<p class="poetry">The ball being ended, the young squire said,<br +/> +‘Where is it you live?’ She again +answerèd,<br /> +‘Sir, because you ask me, account I will give,<br /> +At the sign of the broken skimmer I live.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Being dark when she left him, she homeward did +hie,<br /> +And in her catskin robes she was dressed presently,<br /> +And into the kitchen amongst them she went,<br /> +But where she had been they were all innocent.</p> +<p class="poetry">When the squire dame home, and found Catskin +there,<br /> +He was in amaze and began for to swear;<br /> +‘For two nights at the ball has been a lady,<br /> +The sweetest of beauties that ever I did see.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘She was the best dancer in all the whole +place,<br /> +And very much like our Catskin in the face;<br /> +Had she not been dressed in that costly degree,<br /> +I should have swore it was Catskin’s body.</p> +<p class="poetry">Next night to the ball he did go once more,<br +/> +And she askèd his mother to go as before,<br /> +Who, having a basin of water in hand,<br /> +She threw it at Catskin, as I understand.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +119</span>Shaking her wet ears, out of doors she did run,<br /> +And dressèd herself when this thing she had done.<br /> +To the ball once more she then went her ways;<br /> +To see her fine dancing they all gave her praise.</p> +<p class="poetry">And having concluded, the young squire said +he,<br /> +‘From whence might you come, pray, lady, tell me?’<br +/> +Her answer was, ‘Sir, you shall soon know the same,<br /> +From the sign of the basin of water I came.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Then homeward she hurried, as fast as could +be;<br /> +This young squire then was resolvèd to see<br /> +Whereto she belonged, and, following Catskin,<br /> +Into an old straw house he saw her creep in.</p> +<p class="poetry">He said, ‘O brave Catskin, I find it is +thee,<br /> +Who these three nights together has so charmèd me;<br /> +Thou’rt the sweetest of creatures my eyes e’er +beheld,<br /> +With joy and content my heart now is filled.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Thou art our cook’s scullion, but +as I have life,<br /> +Grant me but thy love, and I’ll make thee my wife,<br /> +And thou shalt have maids for to be at thy call.’<br /> +‘Sir, that cannot be, I’ve no portion at +all.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Thy beauty’s a portion, my joy and +my dear,<br /> +I prize it far better than thousands a year,<br /> +And to have my friends’ consent I have got a trick,<br /> +I’ll go to my bed, and feign myself sick.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘There no one shall tend me but thee I +profess;<br /> +So one day or another in thy richest dress,<br /> +Thou shalt be clad, and if my parents come nigh,<br /> +I’ll tell them ’tis for thee that sick I do +lie.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">PART IV.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus having consulted, this couple parted.<br +/> +Next day this young squire he took to his bed;<br /> +And when his dear parents this thing both perceived,<br /> +For fear of his death they were right sorely grieved.</p> +<p class="poetry">To tend him they send for a nurse speedily,<br +/> +He said, ‘None but Catskin my nurse now shall be.’<br +/> +<a name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 120</span>His +parents said, ‘No, son.’ He said, ‘But +she shall,<br /> +Or else I’ll have none for to nurse me at all.’</p> +<p class="poetry">His parents both wondered to hear him say +thus,<br /> +That no one but Catskin must be his nurse;<br /> +So then his dear parents their son to content,<br /> +Up into his chamber poor Catskin they sent.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sweet cordials and other rich things were +prepared,<br /> +Which between this young couple were equally shared;<br /> +And when all alone they in each other’s arms,<br /> +Enjoyed one another in love’s pleasant charms.</p> +<p class="poetry">And at length on a time poor Catskin, +’tis said,<br /> +In her rich attire again was arrayed,<br /> +And when that his mother to the chamber drew near,<br /> +Then much like a goddess did Catskin appear;</p> +<p class="poetry">Which caused her to stare, and thus for to +say,<br /> +‘What young lady is this, come tell me, I pray?’<br +/> +He said, ‘It is Catskin for whom sick I lie,<br /> +And except I do have her with speed I shall die.’</p> +<p class="poetry">His mother then hastened to call up the +knight,<br /> +Who ran up to see this amazing great sight;<br /> +He said, ‘Is this Catskin we held in such scorn?<br /> +I ne’er saw a finer dame since I was born.’</p> +<p class="poetry">The old knight he said to her, ‘I prithee +tell me,<br /> +From whence thou didst come and of what family?’<br /> +Then who were her parents she gave them to know,<br /> +And what was the cause of her wandering so.</p> +<p class="poetry">The young squire he cried, ‘If you will +save my life,<br /> +Pray grant this young creature she may be my wife.’<br /> +His father replied, ‘Thy life for to save,<br /> +If you have agreed, my consent you may have.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Next day, with great triumph and joy as we +hear,<br /> +There were many coaches came far and near;<br /> +Then much like a goddess dressed in rich array,<br /> +Catskin was married to the squire that day.</p> +<p class="poetry">For several days this wedding did last,<br /> +Where was many a topping and gallant repast,<br /> +<a name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 121</span>And for +joy the bells rung out all over the town,<br /> +And bottles of canary rolled merrily round.</p> +<p class="poetry">When Catskin was married, her fame for to +raise,<br /> +Who saw her modest carriage they all gave her praise;<br /> +Thus her charming beauty the squire did win;<br /> +And who lives so great now as he and Catskin.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">PART V.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now in the fifth part I’ll endeavour to +show,<br /> +How things with her parents and sister did go;<br /> +Her mother and sister of life are bereft,<br /> +And now all alone the old squire is left.</p> +<p class="poetry">Who hearing his daughter was married so +brave,<br /> +He said, ‘In my noddle a fancy I have;<br /> +Dressed like a poor man now a journey I’ll make,<br /> +And see if she on me some pity will take.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Then dressed like a beggar he went to her +gate,<br /> +Where stood his daughter, who looked very great;<br /> +He cried, ‘Noble lady, a poor man I be,<br /> +And am now forced to crave charity.’</p> +<p class="poetry">With a blush she asked him from whence that he +came;<br /> +And with that he told her, and likewise his name.<br /> +She cried ‘I’m your daughter, whom you slighted +so,<br /> +Yet, nevertheless, to you kindness I’ll show.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Through mercy the Lord hath provided for +me;<br /> +Pray, father, come in and sit down then,’ said she.<br /> +Then the best provisions the house could afford,<br /> +For to make him welcome was set on the board.</p> +<p class="poetry">She said, ‘You are welcome, feed hearty, +I pray,<br /> +And, if you are willing, with me you shall stay,<br /> +So long as you live.’ Then he made this reply:<br /> +‘I only am come now thy love for to try.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Through mercy, my dear child, I’m +rich and not poor,<br /> +I have gold and silver enough now in store;<br /> +And for this love which at thy hands I have found,<br /> +For thy portion I’ll give thee ten thousand +pound.’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +122</span>So in a few days after, as I understand,<br /> +This man he went home, and sold off all his land,<br /> +And ten thousand pounds to his daughter did give,<br /> +And now altogether in love they do live.</p> +<h3>THE BRAVE EARL BRAND AND THE KING OF ENGLAND’S +DAUGHTER.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">(TRADITIONAL.)</span></p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> ballad, which resembles the +Danish ballad of <i>Ribolt</i>, was taken down from the +recitation of an old fiddler in Northumberland: in one verse +there is an <i>hiatus</i>, owing to the failure of the +reciter’s memory. The refrain should be repeated in +every verse.]</p> +<p class="poetry">O <span class="smcap">did</span> you ever hear +of the brave Earl Brand,<br /> +Hey lillie, ho lillie lallie;<br /> +His courted the king’s daughter o’ fair England,<br +/> +I’ the brave nights so early!</p> +<p class="poetry">She was scarcely fifteen years that tide,<br /> +When sae boldly she came to his bed-side,</p> +<p class="poetry">‘O, Earl Brand, how fain wad I see<br /> +A pack of hounds let loose on the lea.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘O, lady fair, I have no steed but +one,<br /> +But thou shalt ride and I will run.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘O, Earl Brand, but my father has two,<br +/> +And thou shalt have the best of tho’.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Now they have ridden o’er moss and +moor,<br /> +And they have met neither rich nor poor;</p> +<p class="poetry">Till at last they met with old Carl Hood,<br /> +He’s aye for ill, and never for good.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Now Earl Brand, an ye love me,<br /> +Slay this old Carl and gar him dee.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘O, lady fair, but that would be sair,<br +/> +To slay an auld Carl that wears grey hair.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘My own lady fair, I’ll not do +that,<br /> +I’ll pay him his fee . . . . . . ’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘O, where have ye ridden this lee lang +day,<br /> +And where have ye stown this fair lady away?’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +123</span>‘I have not ridden this lee lang day,<br /> +Nor yet have I stown this lady away;</p> +<p class="poetry">‘For she is, I trow, my sick sister,<br +/> +Whom I have been bringing fra’ Winchester.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘If she’s been sick, and nigh to +dead,<br /> +What makes her wear the ribbon so red?</p> +<p class="poetry">‘If she’s been sick, and like to +die,<br /> +What makes her wear the gold sae high?’</p> +<p class="poetry">When came the Carl to the lady’s yett,<br +/> +He rudely, rudely rapped thereat.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Now where is the lady of this +hall?’<br /> +‘She’s out with her maids a playing at the +ball.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Ha, ha, ha! ye are all +mista’en,<br /> +Ye may count your maidens owre again.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘I met her far beyond the lea<br /> +With the young Earl Brand his leman to be.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Her father of his best men armed fifteen,<br /> +And they’re ridden after them bidene.</p> +<p class="poetry">The lady looked owre her left shoulder then,<br +/> +Says, ‘O Earl Brand we are both of us +ta’en.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘If they come on me one by one,<br /> +You may stand by till the fights be done;</p> +<p class="poetry">‘But if they come on me one and all,<br +/> +You may stand by and see me fall.’</p> +<p class="poetry">They came upon him one by one,<br /> +Till fourteen battles he has won;</p> +<p class="poetry">And fourteen men he has them slain,<br /> +Each after each upon the plain.</p> +<p class="poetry">But the fifteenth man behind stole round,<br /> +And dealt him a deep and a deadly wound.</p> +<p class="poetry">Though he was wounded to the deid,<br /> +He set his lady on her steed.</p> +<p class="poetry">They rode till they came to the river Doune,<br +/> +And there they lighted to wash his wound.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +124</span>‘O, Earl Brand, I see your heart’s +blood!’<br /> +‘It’s nothing but the glent and my scarlet +hood.’</p> +<p class="poetry">They rode till they came to his mother’s +yett,<br /> +So faint and feebly he rapped thereat.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘O, my son’s slain, he is falling +to swoon,<br /> +And it’s all for the sake of an English loon.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘O, say not so, my dearest mother,<br /> +But marry her to my youngest brother—</p> +<p class="poetry">‘To a maiden true he’ll give his +hand,<br /> + Hey lillie, ho lillie lallie.</p> +<p class="poetry">To the king’s daughter o’ fair +England,<br /> +To a prize that was won by a slain brother’s brand,<br /> + I’ the brave nights so +early!’</p> +<h3>THE JOVIAL HUNTER OF BROMSGROVE;</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">OR, THE OLD +MAN AND HIS THREE SONS.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">(TRADITIONAL.)</span></p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> following ballad has long been +popular in Worcestershire and some of the adjoining +counties. It was printed for the first time by Mr. Allies +of Worcester, under the title of <i>The Jovial Hunter of +Bromsgrove</i>; but amongst the peasantry of that county, and the +adjoining county of Warwick, it has always been called <i>The Old +Man and his Three Sons</i>—the name given to a fragment of +the ballad still used as a nursery song in the north of England, +the chorus of which slightly varies from that of the +ballad. See post, p. 250. The title of <i>The Old Man +and his Three Sons</i> is derived from the usage of calling a +ballad after the first line—a practice that has descended +to the present day. In Shakspeare’s comedy of <i>As +You Like It</i> there appears to be an allusion to this +ballad. Le Beau says,—</p> +<p class="poetry">There comes an old man and his three sons,</p> +<p>to which Celia replies,</p> +<p class="poetry">I could match this beginning with an old +tale.—i. 2.</p> +<p>Whether <i>The Jovial Hunter</i> belongs to either +Worcestershire or Warwickshire is rather questionable. The +probability is that it is a north country ballad connected with +the family of Bolton, of Bolton, in Wensleydale. A tomb, +said to be that of Sir Ryalas Bolton, the <i>Jovial Hunter</i>, +is shown in Bromsgrove church, Worcestershire; <a +name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 125</span>but there +is no evidence beyond tradition to connect it with the name or +deeds of any ‘Bolton;’ indeed it is well known that +the tomb belongs to a family of another name. In the +following version are preserved some of the peculiarities of the +Worcestershire dialect.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Old</span> Sir Robert +Bolton had three sons,<br /> + Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br /> +And one of them was Sir Ryalas,<br /> + For he was a jovial hunter.</p> +<p class="poetry">He ranged all round down by the wood side,<br +/> + Wind well thy horn, good hunter,<br /> +Till in a tree-top a gay lady he spied,<br /> + For he was a jovial hunter.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Oh, what dost thee mean, fair +lady,’ said he,<br /> + Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br /> +‘The wild boar’s killed my lord, and has thirty men +gored,<br /> + And thou beest a jovial hunter.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Oh, what shall I do this wild boar for +to see?’<br /> + Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br /> +‘Oh, thee blow a blast and he’ll come unto thee,<br +/> + As thou beest a jovial hunter.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Then he blowed a blast, full north, east, west, +and south,<br /> + Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br /> +And the wild boar then heard him full in his den,<br /> + As he was a jovial hunter.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then he made the best of his speed unto him,<br +/> + Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br /> +[Swift flew the boar, with his tusks smeared with [gore], <a +name="citation125a"></a><a href="#footnote125a" +class="citation">[125a]</a><br /> + To Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then the wild boar, being so stout and so +strong,<br /> + Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br /> +Thrashed down the trees as he ramped him along,<br /> + To Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Oh, what dost thee want of me?’ +wild boar, said he, <a name="citation125b"></a><a +href="#footnote125b" class="citation">[125b]</a><br /> + Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br /> +<a name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +126</span>‘Oh, I think in my heart I can do enough for +thee,<br /> + For I am the jovial hunter.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Then they fought four hours in a long summer +day,<br /> + Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br /> +Till the wild boar fain would have got him away<br /> + From Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Sir Ryalas drawed his broad sword with +might,<br /> + Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br /> +And he fairly cut the boar’s head off quite,<br /> + For he was a jovial hunter.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then out of the wood the wild woman flew,<br /> + Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br /> +‘Oh, my pretty spotted pig thou hast slew,<br /> + For thou beest a jovial hunter.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘There are three things, I demand them of +thee,’<br /> + Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br /> +‘It’s thy horn, and thy hound, and thy gay lady,<br +/> + As thou beest a jovial hunter.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘If these three things thou dost ask of +me,’<br /> + Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br /> +‘It’s just as my sword and thy neck can agree,<br /> + For I am a jovial hunter.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Then into his long locks the wild woman +flew,<br /> + Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br /> +Till she thought in her heart to tear him through,<br /> + Though he was a jovial hunter.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Sir Ryalas drawed his broad sword +again,<br /> + Wind well thy horn, good hunter,<br /> +And he fairly split her head into twain,<br /> + For he was a jovial hunter.</p> +<p class="poetry">In Bromsgrove church, the knight he doth +lie,<br /> + Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br /> +And the wild boar’s head is pictured thereby,<br /> + Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter.</p> +<h3><a name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span>LADY +ALICE.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> old ballad is regularly +published by the stall printers. The termination resembles +that of <i>Lord Lovel</i> and other ballads. See <i>Early +Ballads</i>, Ann. Ed. p. 134. An imperfect +traditional copy was printed in <i>Notes and Queries</i>.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Lady Alice</span> was +sitting in her bower window,<br /> + At midnight mending her quoif;<br /> +And there she saw as fine a corpse<br /> + As ever she saw in her life.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘What bear ye, what bear ye, ye six men +tall?<br /> + What bear ye on your shouldèrs?’<br /> +‘We bear the corpse of Giles Collins,<br /> + An old and true lover of yours.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘O, lay him down gently, ye six men +tall,<br /> + All on the grass so green,<br /> +And to-morrow when the sun goes down,<br /> + Lady Alice a corpse shall be seen.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘And bury me in Saint Mary’s +Church,<br /> + All for my love so true;<br /> +And make me a garland of marjoram,<br /> + And of lemon thyme, and rue.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Giles Collins was buried all in the east,<br /> + Lady Alice all in the west;<br /> +And the roses that grew on Giles Collins’s grave,<br /> + They reached Lady Alice’s breast.</p> +<p class="poetry">The priest of the parish he chancèd to +pass,<br /> + And he severed those roses in twain.<br /> +Sure never were seen such true lovers before,<br /> + Nor e’er will there be again.</p> +<h3>THE FELON SEWE OF ROKEBY AND THE FREERES OF RICHMOND.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> very curious ballad, or, more +properly, metrical romance, was originally published by the late +Doctor Whitaker in his <i>History of Craven</i>, from an ancient +MS., which was supposed to be unique. Whitaker’s +version was transferred to Evan’s <i>Old </i><a +name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +128</span><i>Ballads</i>, the editor of which work introduced +some judicious conjectural emendations. In reference to +this republication, Dr. Whitaker inserted the following note in +the second edition of his <i>History</i>:—</p> +<p class="poetry">This tale, saith my MS., was known of old to a +few families only, and by them held so precious, that it was +never intrusted to the memory of the son till the father was on +his death-bed. But times are altered, for since the first +edition of this work, a certain bookseller [the late Mr. Evans] +has printed it verbatim, with little acknowledgment to the first +editor. He might have recollected that <i>The Felon +Sewe</i> had been already reclaimed <i>property vested</i>. +However, as he is an ingenious and deserving man, this hint shall +suffice.—<i>History of Craven</i>, second edition, London, +1812.</p> +<p>When Sir Walter Scott published his poem of Rokeby, Doctor +Whitaker discovered that <i>The Felon Sewe</i> was not of such +‘exceeding rarity’ as he had been led to suppose; for +he was then made acquainted with the fact that another MS. of the +‘unique’ ballad was preserved in the archives of the +Rokeby family. This version was published by Scott, who +considered it superior to that printed by Whitaker; and it must +undoubtedly be admitted to be more complete, and, in general, +more correct. It has also the advantage of being +authenticated by the traditions of an ardent family; while of Dr. +Whitaker’s version we know nothing more than that it was +‘printed from a MS. in his possession.’ The +readings of the Rokeby MS., however, are not always to be +preferred; and in order to produce as full and accurate a version +as the materials would yield, the following text has been founded +upon a careful collation of both MSS. A few alterations +have been adopted, but only when the necessity for them appeared +to be self-evident; and the orthography has been rendered +tolerably uniform, for there is no good reason why we should have +‘sewe,’ ‘scho,’ and ‘sike,’ +in some places, and the more modern forms of ‘sow,’ +‘she,’ and ‘such,’ in others. If +the MSS. were correctly transcribed, which we have no ground for +doubting, they must both be referred to a much later period than +the era when the author flourished. The language of the +poem is that of Craven, in Yorkshire; and, although the +composition is acknowledged on all hands to be one of the reign +of Henry VII., the provincialisms of that most interesting +mountain district have been so little affected by the spread of +education, that the <i>Felon Sewe</i> is at the present day +perfectly comprehensible to any Craven peasant, and to such a +reader neither note nor glossary is necessary. Dr. +Whitaker’s explanations are, therefore, few and brief, for +he was thoroughly acquainted with the language and the +district. Scott, on the contrary, who knew nothing of the +<a name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 129</span>dialect, +and confounded its pure Saxon with his Lowland Scotch, gives +numerous notes, which only display his want of the requisite +local knowledge, and are, consequently, calculated to +mislead.</p> +<p>The <i>Felon Sewe</i> belongs to the same class of +compositions as the <i>Hunting of the Hare</i>, reprinted by +Weber, and the <i>Tournament of Tottenham</i>, in Percy’s +<i>Reliques</i>. Scott says that ‘the comic romance +was a sort of parody upon the usual subjects of minstrel +poetry.’ This idea may be extended, for the old comic +romances were in many instances not merely ‘sorts of +parodies,’ but real parodies on compositions which were +popular in their day, although they have not descended to +us. We certainly remember to have met with an old chivalric +romance, in which the leading incidents were similar to those of +the <i>Felon Sewe</i>.</p> +<p>It may be observed, also, in reference to this poem, that the +design is twofold, the ridicule being equally aimed at the +minstrels and the clergy. The author was in all probability +a follower of Wickliffe. There are many sly satirical +allusions to the Romish faith and practices, in which no orthodox +Catholic would have ventured to indulge.</p> +<p>Ralph Rokeby, who gave the sow to the Franciscan Friars of +Richmond, is believed to have been the Ralph who lived in the +reign of Henry VII. Tradition represents the Baron as +having been ‘a fellow of infinite jest,’ and the very +man to bestow so valuable a gift on the convent! The +Mistress Rokeby of the ballad was, according to the pedigree of +the family, a daughter and heiress of Danby, of Yafforth. +Friar Theobald cannot be traced, and therefore we may suppose +that the monk had some other name; the minstrel author, albeit a +Wickliffite, not thinking it quite prudent, perhaps, to introduce +a priest <i>in propriâ personâ</i>. The story +is told with spirit, and the verse is graceful and flowing.]</p> +<p style="text-align: center">FITTE THE FIRSTE.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Ye</span> men that will of +aunters wynne,<br /> +That late within this lande hath bin,<br /> + Of on I will yow telle;<br /> +And of a sewe that was sea strang,<br /> +Alas! that ever scho lived sea lang,<br /> + For fell folk did scho wele. <a +name="citation129"></a><a href="#footnote129" +class="citation">[129]</a></p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +130</span>Scho was mare than other three,<br /> +The grizeliest beast that ere mote bee<br /> + Her hede was greate and graye;<br /> +Scho was bred in Rokebye woode,<br /> +Ther war few that thither yoode, <a name="citation130a"></a><a +href="#footnote130a" class="citation">[130a]</a><br /> + But cam belive awaye.</p> +<p class="poetry">Her walke was endlang Greta syde,<br /> +Was no barne that colde her byde,<br /> + That was fra heven or helle; <a +name="citation130b"></a><a href="#footnote130b" +class="citation">[130b]</a><br /> +Ne never man that had that myght,<br /> +That ever durst com in her syght,<br /> + Her force it was sea felle.</p> +<p class="poetry">Raphe <a name="citation130c"></a><a +href="#footnote130c" class="citation">[130c]</a> of Rokebye, with +full gode wyll,<br /> +The freers of Richmonde gav her tyll,<br /> + Full wele to gar thayme fare;<br /> +Freer Myddeltone by name,<br /> +Hee was sent to fetch her hame,<br /> + Yt rewed him syne full sare.</p> +<p class="poetry">Wyth hym tooke hee wyght men two,<br /> +Peter of Dale was on of tho,<br /> + Tother was Bryan of Beare; <a +name="citation130d"></a><a href="#footnote130d" +class="citation">[130d]</a><br /> +Thatte wele durst strike wyth swerde and knife,<br /> +And fyght full manlie for theyr lyfe,<br /> + What tyme as musters were. <a +name="citation130e"></a><a href="#footnote130e" +class="citation">[130e]</a></p> +<p class="poetry">These three men wended at theyr wyll,<br /> +This wickede sewe gwhyl they cam tyll,<br /> + <a name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +131</span>Liggand under a tree;<br /> +Rugg’d and rustic was her here,<br /> +Scho rase up wyth a felon fere, <a name="citation131a"></a><a +href="#footnote131a" class="citation">[131a]</a><br /> + To fyght agen the three.</p> +<p class="poetry">Grizely was scho for to meete,<br /> +Scho rave the earthe up wyth her feete,<br /> + The barke cam fra’ the tree:<br /> +When Freer Myddeltone her saugh,<br /> +Wete yow wele hee list not laugh,<br /> + Full earnestful luik’d hee.</p> +<p class="poetry">These men of auncestors <a +name="citation131b"></a><a href="#footnote131b" +class="citation">[131b]</a> were so wight,<br /> +They bound them bauldly for to fyght,<br /> + And strake at her full sare;<br /> +Until a kilne they garred her flee,<br /> +Wolde God sende thayme the victorye,<br /> + They wolde aske hym na maire.</p> +<p class="poetry">The sewe was in the kilne hoile doone,<br /> +And they wer on the bawke aboone,<br /> + For hurting of theyr feete;<br /> +They wer sea sauted <a name="citation131c"></a><a +href="#footnote131c" class="citation">[131c]</a> wyth this +sewe,<br /> +That ’mang thayme was a stalwarth stewe,<br /> + The kilne began to reeke!</p> +<p class="poetry">Durst noe man nighe her wyth his hande,<br /> +But put a rape downe wyth a wande,<br /> + And heltered her ful meete;<br /> +They hauled her furth agen her wyll,<br /> +Qunyl they cam until a hille,<br /> + A little fra the streete. <a +name="citation131d"></a><a href="#footnote131d" +class="citation">[131d]</a></p> +<p class="poetry">And ther scho made thayme sike a fray,<br /> +As, had they lived until Domesday,<br /> + <a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +132</span>They colde yt nere forgette:<br /> +Scho brayded upon every syde,<br /> +And ranne on thayme gapyng ful wyde,<br /> + For nathing wolde scho lette.</p> +<p class="poetry">Scho gaf sike hard braydes at the bande<br /> +That Peter of Dale had in his hande,<br /> + Hee myght not holde hys feete;<br /> +Scho chasèd thayme sea to and fro,<br /> +The wight men never wer sea woe,<br /> + Ther mesure was not mete.</p> +<p class="poetry">Scho bound her boldly to abide,<br /> +To Peter of Dale scho cam aside,<br /> + Wyth mony a hideous yelle;<br /> +Scho gaped sea wide and cryed sea hee,<br /> +The freer sayd, ‘I conjure thee,<br /> + Thou art a fiend of helle!</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Thou art comed hider for sum trayne,<br +/> +I conjure thee to go agayne,<br /> + Wher thou was wont to dwell.’<br /> +He sainèd hym wyth crosse and creede,<br /> +Tooke furth a booke, began to reade,<br /> + In Ste Johan hys gospell.</p> +<p class="poetry">The sewe scho wolde not Latyne heare,<br /> +But rudely rushèd at the freer,<br /> + That blynkèd all his blee; <a +name="citation132a"></a><a href="#footnote132a" +class="citation">[132a]</a><br /> +And when scho wolde have takken holde,<br /> +The freer leapt as I. H. S. wolde, <a name="citation132b"></a><a +href="#footnote132b" class="citation">[132b]</a><br /> + And bealed hym wyth a tree.</p> +<p class="poetry">Scho was brim as anie beare,<br /> +For all their meete to laboure there,<br /> + <a name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +133</span>To thayme yt was noe boote;<br /> +On tree and bushe that by her stode,<br /> +Scho vengèd her as scho wer woode,<br /> + And rave thayme up by roote.</p> +<p class="poetry">Hee sayd, ‘Alas that I wer freer,<br /> +I shal bee hugged asunder here,<br /> + Hard is my destinie!<br /> +Wiste my brederen, in this houre,<br /> +That I was set in sike a stoure,<br /> + They wolde pray for mee!’</p> +<p class="poetry">This wicked beaste thatte wrought the woe,<br +/> +Tooke that rape from the other two,<br /> + And than they fledd all three;<br /> +They fledd away by Watling streete,<br /> +They had no succour but their feete,<br /> + Yt was the maire pittye.</p> +<p class="poetry">The fielde it was both loste and wonne,<br /> +The sewe wente hame, and thatte ful soone,<br /> + To Morton-on-the-Greene.<br /> +When Raphe of Rokeby saw the rape,<br /> +He wist that there had bin debate,<br /> + Whereat the sewe had beene.</p> +<p class="poetry">He bade thayme stand out of her waye,<br /> +For scho had had a sudden fraye,—<br /> + ‘I saw never sewe sea keene,<br /> +Some new thingis shall wee heare,<br /> +Of her and Myddeltone the freer,<br /> + Some battel hath ther beene.’</p> +<p class="poetry">But all that servèd him for +nought,—<br /> +Had they not better succour sought, <a name="citation133"></a><a +href="#footnote133" class="citation">[133]</a><br /> + They wer servèd therfore loe.<br /> +Then Mistress Rokebye came anon,<br /> +And for her brought scho meete ful soone,<br /> + The sewe cam her untoe.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +134</span>Scho gav her meete upon the flower;<br /> +[Scho made a bed beneath a bower,<br /> + With moss and broom besprent;<br /> +The sewe was gentle as mote be,<br /> +Ne rage ne ire flashed fra her e’e,<br /> + Scho seemèd wele content.]</p> +<p style="text-align: center">FITTE THE SECONDE.</p> +<p class="poetry">When Freer Myddeltone com home,<br /> +Hys breders war ful faine ilchone,<br /> + And thanked God for hys lyfe;<br /> +He told thayme all unto the ende,<br /> +How hee had foughten wyth a fiende,<br /> + And lived thro’ mickle stryfe.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Wee gav her battel half a daye,<br /> +And was faine to flee awaye<br /> + For saving of oure lyfe;<br /> +And Peter Dale wolde never blin,<br /> +But ran as faste as he colde rinn,<br /> + Till he cam till hys wyfe.’</p> +<p class="poetry">The Warden sayde, ‘I am ful woe<br /> +That yow sholde bee torment soe,<br /> + But wee had wyth yow beene!<br /> +Had wee bene ther, yowr breders alle,<br /> +Wee wolde hav garred the warlo <a name="citation134"></a><a +href="#footnote134" class="citation">[134]</a> falle,<br /> + That wrought yow all thys teene.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Freer Myddeltone, he sayde soon, +‘Naye,<br /> +In faythe ye wolde hav ren awaye,<br /> + When moste misstirre had bin;<br /> +Ye all can speke safte wordes at home,<br /> +The fiend wolde ding yow doone ilk on,<br /> + An yt bee als I wene,</p> +<p class="poetry">Hee luik’d sea grizely al that +nyght.’<br /> +The Warden sayde, ‘Yon man wol fyght<br /> + <a name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +135</span>If ye saye ought but gode,<br /> +Yon guest <a name="citation135a"></a><a href="#footnote135a" +class="citation">[135a]</a> hath grievèd hym sea sore;<br +/> +Holde your tongues, and speake ne more,<br /> + Hee luiks als hee wer woode.’</p> +<p class="poetry">The Warden wagèd <a +name="citation135b"></a><a href="#footnote135b" +class="citation">[135b]</a> on the morne,<br /> +Two boldest men that ever wer borne,<br /> + I weyne, or ere shall bee:<br /> +Tone was Gilbert Griffin sonne,<br /> +Ful mickle worship hadde hee wonne,<br /> + Both by land and sea.</p> +<p class="poetry">Tother a bastard sonne of Spaine,<br /> +Mony a Sarazin hadde hee slaine;<br /> + Hys dint hadde garred thayme dye.<br /> +Theis men the battel undertoke<br /> +Agen the sewe, as saythe the boke,<br /> + And sealed securitye,</p> +<p class="poetry">That they shold boldly bide and fyghte,<br /> +And scomfit her in maine and myghte,<br /> + Or therfor sholde they dye.<br /> +The Warden sealed toe thayme againe,<br /> +And sayde, ‘If ye in fielde be slaine,<br /> + This condition make I:</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Wee shall for yow praye, syng, and +reade,<br /> +Until Domesdaye wyth heartye speede,<br /> + With al our progenie.’<br /> +Then the lettres wer wele made,<br /> +The bondes wer bounde wyth seales brade,<br /> + As deeds of arms sholde bee.</p> +<p class="poetry">Theise men-at-arms thatte wer sea wight,<br /> +And wyth theire armour burnished bryght,<br /> + They went the sewe toe see.<br /> +Scho made at thayme sike a roare,<br /> +That for her they fear it sore,<br /> + And almaiste bounde to flee.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +136</span>Scho cam runnyng thayme agayne,<br /> +And saw the bastarde sonne of Spaine,<br /> + Hee brayded owt hys brande;<br /> +Ful spiteouslie at her hee strake,<br /> +Yet for the fence that he colde make,<br /> + Scho strake it fro hys hande,<br /> +And rave asander half hys sheelde,<br /> +And bare hym backwerde in the fielde,<br /> + Hee mought not her gainstande.</p> +<p class="poetry">Scho wolde hav riven hys privich geare,<br /> +But Gilbert wyth hys swerde of warre,<br /> + Hee strake at her ful strang.<br /> +In her shouther hee held the swerde;<br /> +Than was Gilbert sore afearde,<br /> + When the blade brak in twang.</p> +<p class="poetry">And whan in hande hee had her ta’en,<br +/> +Scho toke hym by the shouther bane,<br /> + And held her hold ful faste;<br /> +Scho strave sea stifflie in thatte stoure,<br /> +Scho byt thro’ ale hys rich armoure,<br /> + Till bloud cam owt at laste.</p> +<p class="poetry">Than Gilbert grievèd was sea sare,<br /> +That hee rave off the hyde of haire;<br /> + The flesh cam fra the bane,<br /> +And wyth force hee held her ther,<br /> +And wanne her worthilie in warre,<br /> + And band her hym alane;</p> +<p class="poetry">And lifte her on a horse sea hee,<br /> +Into two panyers made of a tree,<br /> + And toe Richmond anon.<br /> +When they sawe the felon come,<br /> +They sange merrilye Te Deum!<br /> + The freers evrich one.</p> +<p class="poetry">They thankyd God and Saynte Frauncis,<br /> +That they had wonne the beaste of pris,<br /> + <a name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +137</span>And nere a man was sleyne:<br /> +There never didde man more manlye,<br /> +The Knyght Marone, or Sir Guye,<br /> + Nor Louis of Lothraine.</p> +<p class="poetry">If yow wyl any more of thys,<br /> +I’ the fryarie at Richmond <a name="citation137"></a><a +href="#footnote137" class="citation">[137]</a> written yt is,<br +/> + In parchment gude and fyne,<br /> +How Freer Myddeltone sea hende,<br /> +Att Greta Bridge conjured a fiende,<br /> + In lykeness of a swyne.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yt is wel knowen toe manie a man,<br /> +That Freer Theobald was warden than,<br /> + And thys fel in hys tyme.<br /> +And Chryst thayme bles both ferre and nere,<br /> +Al that for solas this doe here,<br /> + And hym that made the ryme.</p> +<p class="poetry">Raphe of Rokeby wid ful gode wyl,<br /> +The freers of Richmond gav her tyll,<br /> + This sewe toe mende ther fare;<br /> +Freer Myddeltone by name,<br /> +He wold bring the felon hame,<br /> + That rewed hym sine ful sare.</p> +<h2><a name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +138</span>Songs.</h2> +<h3>ARTHUR O’BRADLEY’S WEDDING.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">In</span> the ballad called <i>Robin +Hood</i>, <i>his Birth</i>, <i>Breeding</i>, <i>Valour and +Marriage</i>, occurs the following line:—</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">And some singing +Arthur-a-Bradley.</p> +<p>Antiquaries are by no means agreed as to what is the song of +<i>Arthur-a-Bradley</i>, there alluded to, for it so happens that +there are no less than three different songs about this same +Arthur-a-Bradley. Ritson gives one of them in his <i>Robin +Hood</i>, commencing thus:—</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">See you not Pierce +the piper.</p> +<p>He took it from a black-letter copy in a private collection, +compared with, and very much corrected by, a copy contained in +<i>An Antidote against Melancholy</i>, <i>made up in pills +compounded of witty Ballads</i>, <i>jovial Songs</i>, <i>and +merry Catches</i>, 1661. Ritson quotes another, and +apparently much more modern song on the same subject, and to the +same tune, beginning,—</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">All in the merry +month of May.</p> +<p>It is a miserable composition, as may be seen by referring to +a copy preserved in the third volume of the Roxburgh +Ballads. There is another song, the one given by us, which +appears to be as ancient as any of those of which Arthur +O’Bradley is the hero, and from its subject being a +wedding, as also from its being the only Arthur O’Bradley +song that we have been enabled to trace in broadside and +chap-books of the last century, we are induced to believe that it +may be the song mentioned in the old ballad, which is supposed to +have been written in the reign of Charles I. An obscure +music publisher, who about thirty years ago resided in the +Metropolis, brought out an edition of <i>Arthur +O’Bradley’s Wedding</i>, with the prefix +‘Written by Mr. Taylor.’ This Mr. Taylor was, +however, only a low comedian of the day, and the ascribed +authorship was a mere trick on the publisher’s part to +increase the sale of the song. We are not able to give any +account of the hero, but from his being alluded to by so <a +name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 139</span>many of our +old writers, he was, perhaps, not altogether a fictitious +personage. Ben Jonson names him in one of his plays, and he +is also mentioned in Dekker’s <i>Honest Whore</i>. Of +one of the tunes mentioned in the song, viz., <i>Hence</i>, +<i>Melancholy</i>! we can give no account; the +other,—<i>Mad Moll</i>, may be found in Playford’s +<i>Dancing-Master</i>, 1698: it is the same tune as the one known +by the names of <i>Yellow Stockings</i> and the <i>Virgin +Queen</i>, the latter title seeming to connect it with Queen +Elizabeth, as the name of Mad Moll does with the history of Mary, +who was subject to mental aberration. The words of <i>Mad +Moll</i> are not known to exist, but probably consisted of some +fulsome panegyric on the virgin queen, at the expense of her +unpopular sister. From the mention of <i>Hence</i>, +<i>Melancholy</i>, and <i>Mad Moll</i>, it is presumed that they +were both popular favourites when <i>Arthur +O’Bradley’s Wedding</i> was written. A good +deal of vulgar grossness has been at different times introduced +into this song, which seems in this respect to be as elastic as +the French chanson, <i>Cadet Rouselle</i>, which is always being +altered, and of which there are no two copies alike. The +tune of <i>Arthur O’Bradley</i> is given by Mr. Chappell in +his <i>Popular Music</i>.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Come</span>, neighbours, +and listen awhile,<br /> + If ever you wished to smile,<br /> +Or hear a true story of old,<br /> +Attend to what I now unfold!<br /> +’Tis of a lad whose fame did resound<br /> +Through every village and town around,<br /> +For fun, for frolic, and for whim,<br /> +None ever was to equal him,<br /> +And his name was Arthur O’Bradley!<br /> + O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur +O’Bradley!<br /> + Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O!</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, Arthur being stout and bold,<br /> +And near upon thirty years old,<br /> +He needs a wooing would go,<br /> +To get him a helpmate, you know.<br /> +So, gaining young Dolly’s consent,<br /> +Next to be married they went;<br /> +And to make himself noble appear,<br /> +He mounted the old padded mare;<br /> +<a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 140</span>He chose +her because she was blood,<br /> +And the prime of his old daddy’s stud.<br /> +She was wind-galled, spavined, and blind,<br /> +And had lost a near leg behind;<br /> +She was cropped, and docked, and fired,<br /> +And seldom, if ever, was tired,<br /> +She had such an abundance of bone;<br /> +So he called her his high-bred roan,<br /> +A credit to Arthur O’Bradley!<br /> + O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur +O’Bradley!<br /> + Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O!</p> +<p class="poetry">Then he packed up his drudgery hose,<br /> +And put on his holiday clothes;<br /> +His coat was of scarlet so fine,<br /> +Full trimmed with buttons behind;<br /> +Two sleeves it had it is true,<br /> +One yellow, the other was blue,<br /> +And the cuffs and the capes were of green,<br /> +And the longest that ever were seen;<br /> +His hat, though greasy and tore,<br /> +Cocked up with a feather before,<br /> +And under his chin it was tied,<br /> +With a strip from an old cow’s hide;<br /> +His breeches three times had been turned,<br /> +And two holes through the left side were burned;<br /> +Two boots he had, but not kin,<br /> +One leather, the other was tin;<br /> +And for stirrups he had two patten rings,<br /> +Tied fast to the girth with two strings;<br /> +Yet he wanted a good saddle cloth,<br /> +Which long had been eat by the moth.<br /> +’Twas a sad misfortune, you’ll say,<br /> +But still he looked gallant and gay,<br /> +And his name it was Arthur O’Bradley!<br /> + O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur +O’Bradley!<br /> + Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +141</span>Thus accoutred, away he did ride,<br /> +While Dolly she walked by his side;<br /> +Till coming up to the church door,<br /> +In the midst of five thousand or more,<br /> +Then from the old mare he did alight,<br /> +Which put the clerk in a fright;<br /> +And the parson so fumbled and shook,<br /> +That presently down dropped his book.<br /> +Then Arthur began for to sing,<br /> +And made the whole church to ring;<br /> +Crying, ‘Dolly, my dear, come hither,<br /> +And let us be tacked together;<br /> +For the honour of Arthur O’Bradley!’<br /> + O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur +O’Bradley!<br /> + Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O!</p> +<p class="poetry">Then the vicar discharged his duty,<br /> +Without either reward or fee,<br /> +Declaring no money he’d have;<br /> +And poor Arthur he’d none to give:<br /> +So, to make him a little amends,<br /> +He invited him home with his friends,<br /> +To have a sweet kiss at the bride,<br /> +And eat a good dinner beside.<br /> +The dishes, though few, were good,<br /> +And the sweetest of animal food:<br /> +First, a roast guinea-pig and a bantam,<br /> +A sheep’s head stewed in a lanthorn, <a +name="citation141"></a><a href="#footnote141" +class="citation">[141]</a><br /> +Two calves’ feet, and a bull’s trotter,<br /> +The fore and hind leg of an otter,<br /> +With craw-fish, cockles, and crabs,<br /> +Lump-fish, limpets, and dabs,<br /> +Red herrings and sprats, by dozens,<br /> +To feast all their uncles and cousins;<br /> +<a name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 142</span>Who +seemed well pleased with their treat,<br /> +And heartily they did all eat,<br /> +For the honour of Arthur O’Bradley!<br /> + O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur +O’Bradley!<br /> + Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O!</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, the guests being well satisfied,<br /> +The fragments were laid on one side,<br /> +When Arthur, to make their hearts merry,<br /> +Brought ale, and parkin, <a name="citation142"></a><a +href="#footnote142" class="citation">[142]</a> and perry;<br /> +When Timothy Twig stept in,<br /> +With his pipe, and a pipkin of gin.<br /> +A lad that was pleasant and jolly,<br /> +And scorned to meet melancholy;<br /> +He would chant and pipe so well,<br /> +No youth could him excel.<br /> +Not Pan the god of the swains,<br /> +Could ever produce such strains;<br /> +But Arthur, being first in the throng,<br /> +He swore he would sing the first song,<br /> +And one that was pleasant and jolly:<br /> +And that should be ‘Hence, Melancholy!’<br /> +‘Now give me a dance,’ quoth Doll,<br /> +‘Come, Jeffrery, play up Mad Moll,<br /> +’Tis time to be merry and frisky,—<br /> +But first I must have some more whiskey.’<br /> +‘Oh! you’re right,’ says Arthur, ‘my +love!<br /> +My daffy-down-dilly! my dove!<br /> +My everything! my wife!<br /> +I ne’er was so pleased in my life,<br /> +Since my name it was Arthur O’Bradley!’<br /> + O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur +O’Bradley!<br /> + Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O!</p> +<p class="poetry">Then the piper he screwed up his bags,<br /> +And the girls began shaking their rags;<br /> +<a name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 143</span>First up +jumped old Mother Crewe,<br /> +Two stockings, and never a shoe.<br /> +Her nose was crookèd and long,<br /> +Which she could easily reach with her tongue;<br /> +And a hump on her back she did not lack,<br /> +But you should take no notice of that;<br /> +And her mouth stood all awry,<br /> +And she never was heard to lie,<br /> +For she had been dumb from her birth;<br /> +So she nodded consent to the mirth,<br /> +For honour of Arthur O’Bradley.<br /> + O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur +O’Bradley!<br /> + Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O!</p> +<p class="poetry">Then the parson led off at the top,<br /> +Some danced, while others did hop;<br /> +While some ran foul of the wall,<br /> +And others down backwards did fall.<br /> +There was lead up and down, figure in,<br /> +Four hands across, then back again.<br /> +So in dancing they spent the whole night,<br /> +Till bright Phoebus appeared in their sight;<br /> +When each had a kiss of the bride,<br /> +And hopped home to his own fire-side:<br /> +Well pleased was Arthur O’Bradley!<br /> + O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur +O’Bradley!<br /> + Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O!</p> +<h3>THE PAINFUL PLOUGH.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> is one of our oldest +agricultural ditties, and maintains its popularity to the present +hour. It is called for at merry-makings and feasts in every +part of the country. The tune is in the minor key, and of a +pleasing character.]</p> +<p class="poetry">‘<span class="smcap">Come</span>, all you +jolly ploughmen, of courage stout and bold,<br /> +That labour all the winter in stormy winds, and cold;<br /> +<a name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 144</span>To +clothe the fields with plenty, your farm-yards to renew,<br /> +To crown them with contentment, behold the painful +plough!’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Hold! ploughman,’ said the +gardener, ‘don’t count your trade with ours,<br /> +Walk through the garden, and view the early flowers;<br /> +Also the curious border and pleasant walks go view,—<br /> +There’s none such peace and plenty performèd by the +plough!’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Hold! gardener,’ said the +ploughman, ‘my calling don’t despise,<br /> +Each man for his living upon his trade relies;<br /> +Were it not for the ploughman, both rich and poor would rue,<br +/> +For we are all dependent upon the painful plough.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Adam in the garden was sent to keep it +right,<br /> +But the length of time he stayed there, I believe it was one +night;<br /> +Yet of his own labour, I call it not his due,<br /> +Soon he lost his garden, and went to hold the plough.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘For Adam was a ploughman when ploughing +first begun,<br /> +The next that did succeed him was Cain, the eldest son;<br /> +Some of the generation this calling now pursue;<br /> +That bread may not be wanting, remains the painful plough.</p> +<p class="poetry">Samson was the strongest man, and Solomon was +wise,<br /> +Alexander for to conquer ’twas all his daily prise;<br /> +King David was valiant, and many thousands slew,<br /> +Yet none of these brave heroes could live without the plough!</p> +<p class="poetry">Behold the wealthy merchant, that trades in +foreign seas,<br /> +And brings home gold and treasure for those who live at ease;<br +/> +With fine silks and spices, and fruits also, too,<br /> +They are brought from the Indies by virtue of the plough.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +145</span>‘For they must have bread, biscuit, rice pudding, +flour and peas,<br /> +To feed the jolly sailors as they sail o’er the seas;<br /> +And the man that brings them will own to what is true,<br /> +He cannot sail the ocean without the painful plough!</p> +<p class="poetry">‘I hope there’s none offended at me +for singing this,<br /> +For it is not intended for anything amiss.<br /> +If you consider rightly, you’ll find what I say is true,<br +/> +For all that you can mention depends upon the plough.’</p> +<h3>THE USEFUL PLOW;</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">OR, THE +PLOUGH’S PRAISE.</span></p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> common editions of this +popular song inform us that it is taken ‘from an Old +Ballad,’ alluding probably to the dialogue given at page +44. This song is quoted by Farquhar.]</p> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">country</span> life is +sweet!<br /> +In moderate cold and heat,<br /> + To walk in the air, how pleasant and fair!<br /> +In every field of wheat,<br /> + The fairest of flowers adorning the bowers,<br /> +And every meadow’s brow;<br /> + To that I say, no courtier may<br /> + Compare with they who clothe in grey,<br /> +And follow the useful plow.</p> +<p class="poetry">They rise with the morning lark,<br /> +And labour till almost dark;<br /> + Then folding their sheep, they hasten to sleep;<br +/> +While every pleasant park<br /> + Next morning is ringing with birds that are +singing,<br /> +On each green, tender bough.<br /> + With what content, and merriment,<br /> + Their days are spent, whose minds are bent<br /> +To follow the useful plow.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +146</span>The gallant that dresses fine,<br /> +And drinks his bottles of wine,<br /> + Were he to be tried, his feathers of pride,<br /> +Which deck and adorn his back,<br /> + Are tailors’ and mercers’, and other men +dressers,<br /> +For which they do dun them now.<br /> + But Ralph and Will no compters fill<br /> + For tailor’s bill, or garments still,<br /> +But follow the useful plow.</p> +<p class="poetry">Their hundreds, without remorse,<br /> +Some spend to keep dogs and horse,<br /> + Who never would give, as long as they live,<br /> +Not two-pence to help the poor;<br /> + Their wives are neglected, and harlots respected;<br +/> +This grieves the nation now;<br /> + But ’tis not so with us that go<br /> + Where pleasures flow, to reap and mow,<br /> +And follow the useful plow.</p> +<h3>THE FARMER’S SON.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> song, familiar to the +dwellers in the dales of Yorkshire, was published in 1729, in the +<i>Vocal Miscellany</i>; <i>a collection of about four hundred +celebrated songs</i>. As the <i>Miscellany</i> was merely +an anthology of songs already well known, the date of this song +must have been sometime anterior to 1729. It was +republished in the <i>British Musical Miscellany</i>, <i>or the +Delightful Grove</i>, 1796, and in a few other old song +books. It was evidently founded on an old black-letter +dialogue preserved in the Roxburgh collection, called <i>A Mad +Kinde of Wooing</i>; <i>or</i>, <i>a Dialogue between Will the +Simple and Nan the Subtill</i>, <i>with their loving +argument</i>. To the tune of the New Dance at the Red Bull +Playhouse. Printed by the assignees of Thomas Symcock.]</p> +<p class="poetry"> ‘<span +class="smcap">Sweet</span> Nelly! my heart’s delight!<br /> + Be loving, and do not slight<br /> +The proffer I make, for modesty’s sake:—<br /> + I honour your beauty bright.<br /> +<a name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 147</span>For +love, I profess, I can do no less,<br /> + Thou hast my favour won:<br /> +And since I see your modesty,<br /> +I pray agree, and fancy me,<br /> + Though I’m but a farmer’s son.</p> +<p class="poetry"> ‘No! I am a lady +gay,<br /> + ’Tis very well known I may<br /> +Have men of renown, in country or town;<br /> + So! Roger, without delay,<br /> +Court Bridget or Sue, Kate, Nancy, or Prue,<br /> + Their loves will soon be won;<br /> +But don’t you dare to speak me fair,<br /> +As if I were at my last prayer,<br /> + To marry a farmer’s son.’</p> +<p class="poetry"> ‘My father has +riches’ store,<br /> + Two hundred a year, and more;<br /> +Beside sheep and cows, carts, harrows, and ploughs;<br /> + His age is above threescore.<br /> +And when he does die, then merrily I<br /> + Shall have what he has won;<br /> +Both land and kine, all shall be thine,<br /> +If thou’lt incline, and wilt be mine,<br /> + And marry a farmer’s son.’</p> +<p class="poetry"> ‘A fig for your cattle +and corn!<br /> + Your proffered love I scorn!<br /> +’Tis known very well, my name is Nell,<br /> + And you’re but a bumpkin born.’<br /> +‘Well! since it is so, away I will go,—<br /> + And I hope no harm is done;<br /> +Farewell, adieu!—I hope to woo<br /> +As good as you,—and win her, too,<br /> + Though I’m but a farmer’s +son.’</p> +<p class="poetry"> ‘Be not in such +haste,’ quoth she,<br /> + ‘Perhaps we may still agree;<br /> +For, man, I protest I was but in jest!<br /> + Come, prythee sit down by me;<br /> +<a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 148</span>For thou +art the man that verily can<br /> + Win me, if e’er I’m won;<br /> +Both straight and tall, genteel withal;<br /> +Therefore, I shall be at your call,<br /> + To marry a farmer’s son.’</p> +<p class="poetry"> ‘Dear lady! believe me +now<br /> + I solemnly swear and vow,<br /> +No lords in their lives take pleasure in wives,<br /> + Like fellows that drive the plough:<br /> +For whatever they gain with labour and pain,<br /> + They don’t with ’t to harlots run,<br /> +As courtiers do. I never knew<br /> +A London beau that could outdo<br /> + A country farmer’s son.’</p> +<h3>THE FARMER’S BOY.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Mr. Denham</span> of Piersbridge, who +communicates the following, says—‘there is no +question that the <i>Farmer’s Boy</i> is a very ancient +song; it is highly popular amongst the north country lads and +lasses.’ The date of the composition may probably be +referred to the commencement of the last century, when there +prevailed amongst the ballad-mongers a great rage for +<i>Farmers’ Sons</i>, <i>Plough Boys</i>, <i>Milk +Maids</i>, <i>Farmers’ Boys</i>, &c. &c. The +song is popular all over the country, and there are numerous +printed copies, ancient and modern.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> sun had set +behind yon hills,<br /> + Across yon dreary moor,<br /> +Weary and lame, a boy there came<br /> + Up to a farmer’s door:<br /> +‘Can you tell me if any there be<br /> + That will give me employ,<br /> +To plow and sow, and reap and mow,<br /> + And be a farmer’s boy?</p> +<p class="poetry">‘My father is dead, and mother is left<br +/> + With five children, great and small;<br /> +And what is worse for mother still,<br /> + I’m the oldest of them all.<br /> +<a name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 149</span>Though +little, I’ll work as hard as a Turk,<br /> + If you’ll give me employ,<br /> +To plow and sow, and reap and mow,<br /> + And be a farmer’s boy.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘And if that you won’t me +employ,<br /> + One favour I’ve to ask,—<br /> +Will you shelter me, till break of day,<br /> + From this cold winter’s blast?<br /> +At break of day, I’ll trudge away<br /> + Elsewhere to seek employ,<br /> +To plow and sow, and reap and mow,<br /> + And be a farmer’s boy.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Come, try the lad,’ the mistress +said,<br /> + ‘Let him no further seek.’<br /> +‘O, do, dear father!’ the daughter cried,<br /> + While tears ran down her cheek:<br /> +‘He’d work if he could, so ’tis hard to want +food,<br /> + And wander for employ;<br /> +Don’t turn him away, but let him stay,<br /> + And be a farmer’s boy.’</p> +<p class="poetry">And when the lad became a man,<br /> + The good old farmer died,<br /> +And left the lad the farm he had,<br /> + And his daughter for his bride.<br /> +The lad that was, the farm now has,<br /> + Oft smiles, and thinks with joy<br /> +Of the lucky day he came that way,<br /> + To be a farmer’s boy.</p> +<h3>RICHARD OF TAUNTON DEAN;</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">OR, DUMBLE +DUM DEARY.</span></p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> song is very popular with the +country people in every part of England, but more particularly +with the inhabitants of the counties of Somerset, Devon, and +Cornwall. <a name="citation149"></a><a href="#footnote149" +class="citation">[149]</a> The chorus is <a +name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 150</span>peculiar to +country songs of the West of England. There are many +different versions. The following one, communicated by Mr. +Sandys, was taken down from the singing of an old blind fiddler, +‘who,’ says Mr. Sandys, ‘used to accompany it +on his instrument in an original and humorous manner; a +representative of the old minstrels!’ The air is in +<i>Popular Music</i>. In Halliwell’s <i>Nursery +Rhymes of England</i> there is a version of this song, called +<i>Richard of Dalton Dale</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +151</span><span class="smcap">Last</span> New-Year’s day, +as I’ve heerd say, <a name="citation151"></a><a +href="#footnote151" class="citation">[151]</a><br /> +Young Richard he mounted his dapple grey,<br /> +And he trotted along to Taunton Dean,<br /> +To court the parson’s daughter, Jean.<br /> + Dumble dum deary, dumble dum +deary,<br /> + Dumble dum deary, dumble dum +dee.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +152</span>With buckskin breeches, shoes and hose,<br /> +And Dicky put on his Sunday clothes;<br /> +Likewise a hat upon his head,<br /> +All bedaubed with ribbons red.</p> +<p class="poetry">Young Richard he rode without dread or fear,<br +/> +Till he came to the house where lived his sweet dear,<br /> +When he knocked, and shouted, and bellowed, ‘Hallo!<br /> +Be the folks at home? say aye or no.’</p> +<p class="poetry">A trusty servant let him in,<br /> +That he his courtship might begin;<br /> +Young Richard he walked along the great hall,<br /> +And loudly for mistress Jean did call.</p> +<p class="poetry">Miss Jean she came without delay,<br /> +To hear what Dicky had got to say;<br /> +‘I s’pose you knaw me, mistress Jean,<br /> +I’m honest Richard of Taunton Dean.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘I’m an honest fellow, although I +be poor,<br /> +And I never was in love afore;<br /> +My mother she bid me come here for to woo,<br /> +And I can fancy none but you.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Suppose that I would be your bride,<br +/> +Pray how would you for me provide?<br /> +For I can neither sew nor spin;—<br /> +Pray what will your day’s work bring in?’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Why, I can plough, and I can zow,<br /> +And zometimes to the market go<br /> +With Gaffer Johnson’s straw or hay,<br /> +And yarn my ninepence every day!’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Ninepence a-day will never do,<br /> +For I must have silks and satins too!<br /> +Ninepence a day won’t buy us meat!’<br /> +‘Adzooks!’ says Dick, ‘I’ve a zack of +wheat;</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Besides, I have a house hard by,<br /> +’Tis all my awn, when mammy do die;<br /> +<a name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 153</span>If thee +and I were married now,<br /> +Ods! I’d feed thee as fat as my feyther’s old +zow.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Dick’s compliments did so delight,<br /> +They made the family laugh outright;<br /> +Young Richard took huff, and no more would say,<br /> +He kicked up old Dobbin, and trotted away,<br /> + Singing, dumble dum deary, +&c.</p> +<h3>WOOING SONG OF A YEOMAN OF KENT’S SONNE.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> following song is the original +of a well-known and popular Scottish song:—</p> +<p class="poetry">‘I hae laid a herring in saut;<br /> +Lass, ’gin ye lo’e me, tell me now!<br /> +I ha’e brewed a forpit o’ maut,<br /> +An’ I canna come ilka day to woo.’</p> +<p>There are modern copies of our Kentish <i>Wooing Song</i>, but +the present version is taken from <i>Melismata</i>, <i>Musical +phansies fitting the court</i>, <i>citie</i>, <i>and +countree</i>. <i>To</i> 3, 4, and 5 <i>voyces</i>. +London, printed by William Stansby, for Thomas Adams, 1611. +The tune will be found in <i>Popular Music</i>, I., 90. The +words are in the Kentish dialect.]</p> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Ich</span> have house and land in Kent,<br /> + And if you’ll love me, love +me now;<br /> + Two-pence half-penny is my rent,—<br /> + Ich cannot come every day to +woo.<br /> +<i>Chorus</i>. Two-pence half-penny is his rent,<br /> + And he cannot +come every day to woo.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Ich am my vather’s +eldest zonne,<br /> + My mouther eke doth love me +well!<br /> + For Ich can bravely clout my shoone,<br /> + And Ich full-well can ring a +bell.<br /> +<i>Cho</i>. For he can bravely clout his shoone,<br /> + And he full well +can ring a bell. <a name="citation153"></a><a href="#footnote153" +class="citation">[153]</a></p> +<p class="poetry"> <a name="page154"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 154</span>My vather he gave me a hogge,<br /> + My mouther she gave me a zow;<br +/> + Ich have a god-vather dwells there by,<br /> + And he on me bestowed a plow.<br +/> +<i>Cho</i>. He has a god-vather dwells there by,<br /> + And he on him +bestowed a plow.</p> +<p class="poetry"> One time Ich gave thee a +paper of pins,<br /> + Anoder time a taudry lace;<br /> + And if thou wilt not grant me love,<br /> + In truth Ich die bevore thy +vace.<br /> +<i>Cho</i>. And if thou wilt not grant his love,<br /> + In truth +he’ll die bevore thy vace.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Ich have been twice our +Whitson Lord,<br /> + Ich have had ladies many vare;<br +/> + And eke thou hast my heart in hold,<br /> + And in my minde zeemes passing +rare.<br /> +<i>Cho</i>. And eke thou hast his heart in hold,<br /> + And in his minde +zeemes passing rare.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Ich will put on my best white +sloppe,<br /> + And Ich will weare my yellow +hose;<br /> + And on my head a good gray hat,<br /> + And in’t Ich sticke a lovely +rose.<br /> +<i>Cho</i>. And on his head a good grey hat,<br /> + And in’t +he’ll stick a lovely rose.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Wherefore cease off, make no +delay,<br /> + And if you’ll love me, love +me now;<br /> + Or els Ich zeeke zome oder where,—<br /> + For Ich cannot come every day to +woo.<br /> +<i>Cho</i>. Or else he’ll zeeke zome oder where,<br +/> + For he cannot +come every day to woo. <a name="citation154"></a><a +href="#footnote154" class="citation">[154]</a></p> +<h3><a name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 155</span>THE +CLOWN’S COURTSHIP.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> song, on the same subject as +the preceding, is as old as the reign of Henry VIII., the first +verse, says Mr. Chappell, being found elaborately set to music in +a manuscript of that date. The air is given in <i>Popular +Music</i>, I., 87.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Quoth</span> John to Joan, +wilt thou have me?<br /> +I prythee now, wilt? and I’ze marry with thee,<br /> +My cow, my calf, my house, my rents,<br /> +And all my lands and tenements:<br /> + Oh, say, my +Joan, will not that do?<br /> + I cannot come +every day to woo.</p> +<p class="poetry">I’ve corn and hay in the barn hard by,<br +/> +And three fat hogs pent up in the sty:<br /> +I have a mare, and she is coal black,<br /> +I ride on her tail to save my back.<br /> + + +Then say, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">I have a cheese upon the shelf,<br /> +And I cannot eat it all myself;<br /> +I’ve three good marks that lie in a rag,<br /> +In the nook of the chimney, instead of a bag.<br /> + + +Then say, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">To marry I would have thy consent,<br /> +But faith I never could compliment;<br /> +I can say nought but ‘hoy, gee ho,’<br /> +Words that belong to the cart and the plow.<br /> + + +Then say, &c.</p> +<h3>HARRY’S COURTSHIP.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> old ditty, in its incidents, +bears a resemblance to <i>Dumble-dum-deary</i>, see <i>ante</i>, +p. 149. It used to be a popular song in the Yorkshire +dales. We have been obliged to supply an <i>hiatus</i> in +the second verse, and to make an alteration in the last, where we +have converted the ‘red-nosed parson’ of the original +into a squire.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Harry</span> courted modest +Mary,<br /> +Mary was always brisk and airy;<br /> +<a name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 156</span>Harry +was country neat as could be,<br /> +But his words were rough, and his duds were muddy.</p> +<p class="poetry">Harry when he first bespoke her,<br /> +[Kept a dandling the kitchen poker;]<br /> +Mary spoke her words like Venus,<br /> +But said, ‘There’s something I fear between us.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Have you got cups of China mettle,<br /> +Canister, cream-jug, tongs, or kettle?’<br /> +‘Odzooks, I’ve bowls, and siles, and dishes,<br /> +Enow to supply any prudent wishes.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘I’ve got none o’ your cups +of Chaney,<br /> +Canister, cream-jug, I’ve not any;<br /> +I’ve a three-footed pot and a good brass kettle,<br /> +Pray what do you want with your Chaney mettle?</p> +<p class="poetry">‘A shippen full of rye for to fother,<br +/> +A house full of goods, one mack or another;<br /> +I’ll thrash in the lathe while you sit spinning,<br /> +O, Molly, I think that’s a good beginning.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘I’ll not sit at my wheel +a-spinning,<br /> +Or rise in the morn to wash your linen;<br /> +I’ll lie in bed till the clock strikes +eleven—’<br /> +‘Oh, grant me patience gracious Heaven!</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Why then thou must marry some red-nosed +squire,<br /> +[Who’ll buy thee a settle to sit by the fire,]<br /> +For I’ll to Margery in the valley,<br /> +She is my girl, so farewell Malley.’</p> +<h3>HARVEST-HOME SONG.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Our</span> copy of this song is taken +from one in the Roxburgh Collection, where it is called, <i>The +Country Farmer’s vain glory</i>; <i>in a new song of +Harvest Home</i>, <i>sung to a new tune much in +request</i>. <i>Licensed according to order</i>. The +tune is published in <i>Popular Music</i>. A copy of this +song, with the music, may be found in D’Urfey’s +<i>Pills to purge Melancholy</i>. It varies from ours; but +<a name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +157</span>D’Urfey is so loose and inaccurate in his texts, +that any other version is more likely to be correct. The +broadside from which the following is copied was ‘Printed +for P. Brooksby, J. Dencon [Deacon], J. Blai[r], and J. +Back.’]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Our</span> oats they are +howed, and our barley’s reaped,<br /> +Our hay is mowed, and our hovels heaped;<br /> + Harvest home! harvest home!<br /> +We’ll merrily roar out our harvest home!<br /> + Harvest home! harvest home!<br /> +We’ll merrily roar out our harvest home!<br /> +We’ll merrily roar out our harvest home!</p> +<p class="poetry">We cheated the parson, we’ll cheat him +again;<br /> +For why should the vicar have one in ten?<br /> + One in ten! one in ten!<br /> +For why should the vicar have one in ten?<br /> +For why should the vicar have one in ten?<br /> +For staying while dinner is cold and hot,<br /> +And pudding and dumpling’s burnt to pot;<br /> + Burnt to pot! burnt to pot!<br /> +Till pudding and dumpling’s burnt to pot,<br /> + Burnt to pot! burnt to pot!</p> +<p class="poetry">We’ll drink off the liquor while we can +stand,<br /> +And hey for the honour of old England!<br /> + Old England! old England!<br /> +And hey for the honour of old England!<br /> + Old England! old England!</p> +<h3>HARVEST-HOME.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">From</span> an old copy without +printer’s name or date.]</p> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Come</span>, Roger and Nell,<br /> + Come, Simpkin and Bell,<br /> +Each lad with his lass hither come;<br /> + With singing and dancing,<br /> + And pleasure advancing,<br /> +To celebrate harvest-home!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page158"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +158</span><i>Chorus</i>. ’Tis Ceres bids play,<br /> + And keep holiday,<br /> +To celebrate harvest-home!<br /> + Harvest-home!<br /> + Harvest-home!<br /> +To celebrate harvest-home!</p> +<p class="poetry"> Our labour is o’er,<br +/> + Our barns, in full store,<br /> +Now swell with rich gifts of the land;<br /> + Let each man then take,<br /> + For the prong and the rake,<br /> +His can and his lass in his hand.<br /> + + +For Ceres, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry"> No courtier can be<br /> + So happy as we,<br /> +In innocence, pastime, and mirth;<br /> + While thus we carouse,<br /> + With our sweetheart or spouse,<br /> +And rejoice o’er the fruits of the earth.<br /> + + +For Ceres, &c.</p> +<h3>THE MOW.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">A HARVEST +HOME SONG.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">Tune, <i>Where the bee +sucks</i>.</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> favourite song, copied from a +chap-book called <i>The Whistling Ploughman</i>, published at the +commencement of the present century, is written in imitation of +Ariel’s song, in the <i>Tempest</i>. It is probably +taken from some defunct ballad-opera.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Now</span> our work’s +done, thus we feast,<br /> +After labour comes our rest;<br /> +Joy shall reign in every breast,<br /> +And right welcome is each guest:<br /> + After harvest merrily,<br /> +Merrily, merrily, will we sing now,<br /> +After the harvest that heaps up the mow.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +159</span>Now the plowman he shall plow,<br /> +And shall whistle as he go,<br /> +Whether it be fair or blow,<br /> +For another barley mow,<br /> + O’er the furrow merrily:<br /> +Merrily, merrily, will we sing now,<br /> +After the harvest, the fruit of the plow.</p> +<p class="poetry">Toil and plenty, toil and ease,<br /> +Still the husbandman he sees;<br /> +Whether when the winter freeze,<br /> +Or in summer’s gentle breeze;<br /> + Still he labours merrily,<br /> +Merrily, merrily, after the plow,<br /> +He looks to the harvest, that gives us the mow.</p> +<h3>THE BARLEY-MOW SONG.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> song is sung at country +meetings in Devon and Cornwall, particularly on completing the +carrying of the barley, when the rick, or mow of barley, is +finished. On putting up the last sheaf, which is called the +craw (or crow) sheaf, the man who has it cries out ‘I have +it, I have it, I have it;’ another demands, ‘What +have ’ee, what have ’ee, what have ’ee?’ +and the answer is, ‘A craw! a craw! a craw!’ upon +which there is some cheering, &c., and a supper +afterwards. The effect of the <i>Barley-mow Song</i> cannot +be given in words; it should be heard, to be appreciated +properly,—particularly with the West-country dialect.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Here’s</span> a +health to the barley-mow, my brave boys,<br /> + Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br /> +We’ll drink it out of the jolly brown bowl,<br /> + Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br /> +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health to the barley-mow, my +brave boys,<br /> + + +Here’s a health to the barley-mow!</p> +<p class="poetry">We’ll drink it out of the nipperkin, +boys,<br /> + Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br /> +The nipperkin and the jolly brown bowl,<br /> + + +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +160</span>We’ll drink it out of the quarter-pint, boys,<br +/> + Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br /> +The quarter-pint, nipperkin, &c.<br /> + + +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">We’ll drink it out of the half-a-pint, +boys,<br /> + Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br /> +The half-a-pint, quarter-pint, &c.<br /> + + +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">We’ll drink it out of the pint, my brave +boys,<br /> + Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br /> +The pint, the half-a-pint, &c.<br /> + + +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">We’ll drink it out of the quart, my brave +boys,<br /> + Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br /> +The quart, the pint, &c.<br /> + + +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">Well drink it out of the pottle, my boys,<br /> + Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br /> +The pottle, the quart, &c.<br /> + + +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">We’ll drink it out of the gallon, my +boys,<br /> + Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br /> +The gallon, the pottle, &c.<br /> + + +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">We’ll drink it out of the half-anker, +boys,<br /> + Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br /> +The half-anker, gallon, &c.<br /> + + +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">We’ll drink it out of the anker, my +boys,<br /> + Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br /> +The anker, the half-anker, &c.<br /> + + +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +161</span>We’ll drink it out of the half-hogshead, boys,<br +/> + Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br /> +The half-hogshead, anker, &c.<br /> + + +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">We’ll drink it out of the hogshead, my +boys,<br /> + Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br /> +The hogshead, the half-hogshead, &c.<br /> + + +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">We’ll drink it out of the pipe, my brave +boys,<br /> + Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br /> +The pipe, the hogshead, &c.<br /> + + +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">We’ll drink it out of the well, my brave +boys,<br /> + Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br /> +The well, the pipe, &c.<br /> + + +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">We’ll drink it out of the river, my +boys,<br /> + Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br /> +The river, the well, &c.<br /> + + +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">We’ll drink it out of the ocean, my +boys,<br /> + Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br /> +The ocean, the river, the well, the pipe, the hogshead,<br /> + the +half-hogshead, the anker, the half-anker,<br /> + the gallon, the +pottle, the quart, the pint, the<br /> + half-a-pint, the +quarter-pint, the nipperkin, and<br /> + the jolly brown +bowl!<br /> +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health to the barley-mow, my +brave boys!<br /> + Here’s a +health to the barley-mow!</p> +<p>[The above verses are very much <i>ad libitum</i>, but always +in the third line repeating the whole of the previously-named +measures; as we have shown in the recapitulation at the close of +the last verse.]</p> +<h3><a name="page162"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 162</span>THE +BARLEY-MOW SONG.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">(SUFFOLK +VERSION.)</span></p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> peasantry of Suffolk sing the +following version of the <i>Barley-Mow Song</i>.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Here’s</span> a +health to the barley mow!<br /> + Here’s a health to the man<br /> +Who very well can<br /> + Both harrow and plow and sow!</p> +<p class="poetry">When it is well sown<br /> +See it is well mown,<br /> +Both raked and gavelled clean,<br /> +And a barn to lay it in.<br /> +He’s a health to the man<br /> +Who very well can<br /> +Both thrash and fan it clean!</p> +<h3>THE CRAVEN CHURN-SUPPER SONG.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">In</span> some of the more remote dales +of Craven it is customary at the close of the hay-harvest for the +farmers to give an entertainment to their men; this is called the +churn supper; a name which Eugene Aram traces to ‘the +immemorial usage of producing at such suppers a great quantity of +cream in a churn, and circulating it in cups to each of the +rustic company, to be eaten with bread.’ At these +churn-suppers the masters and their families attend the +entertainment, and share in the general mirth. The men mask +themselves, and dress in a grotesque manner, and are allowed the +privilege of playing harmless practical jokes on their employers, +&c. The churn-supper song varies in different dales, +but the following used to be the most popular version. In +the third verse there seems to be an allusion to the +clergyman’s taking tythe in kind, on which occasions he is +generally accompanied by two or three men, and the parish +clerk. The song has never before been printed. There +is a marked resemblance between it and a song of the date of +1650, called <i>A Cup of Old Stingo</i>. See <i>Popular +Music of the Olden Time</i>, I., 308.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +163</span><span class="smcap">God</span> rest you, merry +gentlemen!<br /> +Be not movèd at my strain,<br /> +For nothing study shall my brain,<br /> + But for to make you laugh:<br /> +For I came here to this feast,<br /> +For to laugh, carouse, and jest,<br /> +And welcome shall be every guest,<br /> + To take his cup and quaff.<br /> + <i>Cho</i>. Be frolicsome, +every one,<br /> + + +Melancholy none;<br /> + + +Drink about!<br /> + + +See it out,<br /> + + +And then we’ll all go home,<br /> + + +And then we’ll all go home!</p> +<p class="poetry">This ale it is a gallant thing,<br /> +It cheers the spirits of a king;<br /> +It makes a dumb man strive to sing,<br /> + Aye, and a beggar play!<br /> +A cripple that is lame and halt,<br /> +And scarce a mile a day can walk,<br /> +When he feels the juice of malt,<br /> + Will throw his crutch away.<br /> + <i>Cho</i>. Be frolicsome, +&c.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Twill make the parson forget his +men,—<br /> +’Twill make his clerk forget his pen;<br /> +’Twill turn a tailor’s giddy brain,<br /> + And make him break his wand,<br /> +The blacksmith loves it as his life,—<br /> +It makes the tinkler bang his wife,—<br /> +Aye, and the butcher seek his knife<br /> + When he has it in his hand!<br /> + <i>Cho</i>. Be frolicsome, +&c.</p> +<p class="poetry">So now to conclude, my merry boys, all,<br /> +Let’s with strong liquor take a fall,<br /> +Although the weakest goes to the wall,<br /> + <a name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +164</span>The best is but a play!<br /> +For water it concludes in noise,<br /> +Good ale will cheer our hearts, brave boys;<br /> +Then put it round with a cheerful voice,<br /> + We meet not every day.<br /> + <i>Cho</i>. Be frolicsome, +&c.</p> +<h3>THE RURAL DANCE ABOUT THE MAY-POLE.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> most correct copy of this song +is that given in <i>The Westminster Drollery</i>, Part II. p. +80. It is there called <i>The Rural Dance about the +May-pole</i>, <i>the tune</i>, <i>the first-figure dance at Mr. +Young’s ball</i>, <i>May</i>, 1671. The tune is in +<i>Popular Music</i>. The <i>May-pole</i>, for so the song +is called in modern collections, is a very popular ditty at the +present time. The common copies vary considerably from the +following version, which is much more correct than any hitherto +published.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Come</span>, lasses and +lads, take leave of your dads,<br /> + And away to the may-pole hie;<br /> +For every he has got him a she,<br /> + And the minstrel’s standing by;<br /> +For Willie has gotten his Jill,<br /> + And Johnny has got his Joan,<br /> +To jig it, jig it, jig it,<br /> + Jig it up and down.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Strike up,’ says Wat; +‘Agreed,’ says Kate,<br /> + ‘And I prithee, fiddler, play;’<br /> +‘Content,’ says Hodge, and so says Madge,<br /> + For this is a holiday.<br /> +Then every man did put<br /> + His hat off to his lass,<br /> +And every girl did curchy,<br /> + Curchy, curchy on the grass.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page165"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +165</span>‘Begin,’ says Hall; ‘Aye, aye,’ +says Mall,<br /> + ‘We’ll lead up <i>Packington’s +Pound</i>;’<br /> +‘No, no,’ says Noll, and so says Doll,<br /> + ‘We’ll first have <i>Sellenger’s +Round</i>.’ <a name="citation165a"></a><a +href="#footnote165a" class="citation">[165a]</a><br /> +Then every man began<br /> + To foot it round about;<br /> +And every girl did jet it,<br /> + Jet it, jet it, in and out.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘You’re out,’ says Dick; +‘’Tis a lie,’ says Nick,<br /> + ‘The fiddler played it false;’<br /> +‘’Tis true,’ says Hugh, and so says Sue,<br /> + And so says nimble Alice.<br /> +The fiddler then began<br /> + To play the tune again;<br /> +And every girl did trip it, trip it,<br /> + Trip it to the men.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Let’s kiss,’ says Jane, <a +name="citation165b"></a><a href="#footnote165b" +class="citation">[165b]</a> ‘Content,’ says Nan,<br +/> + And so says every she;<br /> +‘How many?’ says Batt; ‘Why three,’ says +Matt,<br /> + ‘For that’s a maiden’s +fee.’<br /> +But they, instead of three,<br /> + Did give them half a score,<br /> +And they in kindness gave ’em, gave ’em,<br /> + Gave ’em as many more.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +166</span>Then after an hour, they went to a bower,<br /> + And played for ale and cakes;<br /> +And kisses, too;—until they were due,<br /> + The lasses kept the stakes:<br /> +The girls did then begin<br /> + To quarrel with the men;<br /> +And bid ’em take their kisses back,<br /> + And give them their own again.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet there they sate, until it was late,<br /> + And tired the fiddler quite,<br /> +With singing and playing, without any paying,<br /> + From morning unto night:<br /> +They told the fiddler then,<br /> + They’d pay him for his play;<br /> +And each a two-pence, two-pence,<br /> + Gave him, and went away.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Good night,’ says Harry; +‘Good night,’ says Mary;<br /> + ‘Good night,’ says Dolly to John;<br /> +‘Good night,’ says Sue; ‘Good night,’ +says Hugh;<br /> + ‘Good night,’ says every one.<br /> +Some walked, and some did run,<br /> + Some loitered on the way;<br /> +And bound themselves with love-knots, love-knots,<br /> + To meet the next holiday.</p> +<h3>THE HITCHIN MAY-DAY SONG.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> following song is sung by the +Mayers at Hitchin in the county of Herts. For an account of +the manner in which May-day is observed at Hitchin, see +Hone’s <i>Every-Day Book</i>.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Remember</span> us poor +Mayers all!<br /> + And thus do we begin<br /> +To lead our lives in righteousness,<br /> + Or else we die in sin.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +167</span>We have been rambling all the night,<br /> + And almost all the day;<br /> +And now returned back again,<br /> + We have brought you a branch of May.</p> +<p class="poetry">A branch of May we have brought you,<br /> +And at your door it stands;<br /> + It is but a sprout,<br /> + But it’s well budded out<br /> +By the work of our Lord’s hand.</p> +<p class="poetry">The hedges and trees they are so green,<br /> + As green as any leek;<br /> +Our heavenly Father he watered them<br /> + With his heavenly dew so sweet.</p> +<p class="poetry">The heavenly gates are open wide,<br /> + Our paths are beaten plain;<br /> +And if a man be not too far gone,<br /> + He may return again.</p> +<p class="poetry">The life of man is but a span,<br /> + It flourishes like a flower;<br /> +We are here to-day, and gone to-morrow,<br /> + And we are dead in an hour.</p> +<p class="poetry">The moon shines bright, and the stars give a +light,<br /> + A little before it is day;<br /> +So God bless you all, both great and small,<br /> + And send you a joyful May!</p> +<h3>THE HELSTONE FURRY-DAY SONG.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">At</span> Helstone, in Cornwall, the 8th +of May is a day devoted to revelry and gaiety. It is called +the Furry-day, supposed to be a corruption of Flora’s day, +from the garlands worn and carried in procession during the +festival. <a name="citation167"></a><a href="#footnote167" +class="citation">[167]</a> A writer in the +<i>Gentleman’s </i><a name="page168"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 168</span><i>Magazine</i> for June, 1790, +says, ‘In the morning, very early, some troublesome rogues +go round the streets [of Helstone], with drums and other noisy +instruments, disturbing their sober neighbours, and singing parts +of a song, the whole of which nobody now re-collects, and of +which I know no more than that there is mention in it of the +‘grey goose quill,’ and of going ‘to the green +wood’ to bring home ‘the Summer and the May, +O!’’ During the festival, the gentry, +tradespeople, servants, &c., dance through the streets, and +thread through certain of the houses to a very old dance tune, +given in the appendix to Davies Gilbert’s <i>Christmas +Carols</i>, and which may also be found in Chappell’s +<i>Popular Music</i>, and other collections. The +<i>Furry-day Song</i> possesses no literary merit whatever; but +as a part of an old and really interesting festival, it is worthy +of preservation. The dance-tune has been confounded with +that of the song, but Mr. Sandys, to whom we are indebted for +this communication, observes that ‘the dance-tune is quite +different.’]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Robin Hood</span> and +Little John,<br /> + They both are gone to the fair, O!<br /> +And we will go to the merry green-wood,<br /> + To see what they do there, O!<br /> + And for to chase, O!<br /> + To chase the buck and doe.<br /> + With ha-lan-tow, +rumble, O!<br /> + For we were up +as soon as any day, O!<br /> + And for to fetch +the summer home,<br /> + The summer and +the may, O!<br /> + For summer is +a-come, O!<br /> + And winter is +a-gone, O!</p> +<p class="poetry">Where are those Spaniards<br /> + That make so great a boast, O?<br /> +They shall eat the grey goose feather,<br /> + And we will eat the roast, O!<br /> + <a name="page169"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 169</span>In every land, O!<br /> + The land where’er we go.<br /> + With ha-lan-tow, +&c</p> +<p class="poetry">As for Saint George, O!<br /> + Saint George he was a knight, O!<br /> +Of all the knights in Christendom,<br /> + Saint George is the right, O!<br /> + In every land, O!<br /> + The land where’er we go.<br +/> + With ha-lan-tow, +&c.</p> +<h3>CORNISH MIDSUMMER BONFIRE SONG.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> very ancient custom of +lighting fires on Midsummer-eve, being the vigil of St. John the +Baptist, is still kept up in several parts of Cornwall. On +these occasions the fishermen and others dance about the fires, +and sing appropriate songs. The following has been sung for +a long series of years at Penzance and the neighbourhood, and is +taken down from the recitation of the leader of a West-country +choir. It is communicated to our pages by Mr. Sandys. +The origin of the Midsummer bonfires is fully explained in +Brand’s <i>Popular Antiquities</i>. See Sir H. +Ellis’s edition of that work, vol. i. pp. +166–186.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> bonny month of +June is crowned<br /> + With the sweet scarlet rose;<br /> +The groves and meadows all around<br /> + With lovely pleasure flows.</p> +<p class="poetry">As I walked out to yonder green,<br /> + One evening so fair;<br /> +All where the fair maids may be seen<br /> + Playing at the bonfire.</p> +<p class="poetry">Hail! lovely nymphs, be not too coy,<br /> + But freely yield your charms;<br /> +Let love inspire with mirth and joy,<br /> + In Cupid’s lovely arms.</p> +<p class="poetry">Bright Luna spreads its light around,<br /> + The gallants for to cheer;<br /> +As they lay sporting on the ground,<br /> + At the fair June bonfire.</p> +<p class="poetry">All on the pleasant dewy mead,<br /> + They shared each other’s charms;<br /> +Till Phoebus’ beams began to spread,<br /> + And coming day alarms.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +170</span>Whilst larks and linnets sing so sweet,<br /> + To cheer each lovely swain;<br /> +Let each prove true unto their love,<br /> + And so farewell the plain.</p> +<h3>SUFFOLK HARVEST-HOME SONG.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">In</span> no part of England are the +harvest-homes kept up with greater spirit than in Suffolk. +The following old song is a general favourite on such +occasions.]</p> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Here’s</span> a health unto our master,<br /> + The founder of the feast!<br /> + I wish, with all my heart and soul,<br /> + In heaven he may find rest.<br /> + I hope all things may prosper,<br /> + That ever be takes in hand;<br /> + For we are all his servants,<br /> + And all at his command.</p> +<p class="poetry">Drink, boys, drink, and see you do not +spill,<br /> +For if you do, you must drink two,—it is your +master’s will.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Now our harvest is ended,<br +/> + And supper is past;<br /> + Here’s our mistress’ good health,<br /> + In a full flowing glass!<br /> + She is a good woman,—<br /> + She prepared us good cheer;<br /> + Come, all my brave boys,<br /> + And drink off your beer.</p> +<p class="poetry">Drink, my boys, drink till you come unto me,<br +/> +The longer we sit, my boys, the merrier shall we be!</p> +<p class="poetry">In yon green wood there lies an old fox,<br /> +Close by his den you may catch him, or no;<br /> +Ten thousand to one you catch him, or no.<br /> +<a name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 171</span>His +beard and his brush are all of one colour,—</p> +<p style="text-align: right" class="poetry">[<i>Takes the glass +and empties it off</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">I am sorry, kind sir, that your glass is no +fuller.<br /> +’Tis down the red lane! ’tis down the red lane!<br /> +So merrily hunt the fox down the red lane! <a +name="citation171"></a><a href="#footnote171" +class="citation">[171]</a></p> +<h3>THE HAYMAKER’S SONG.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">An</span> old and very favourite ditty +sung in many parts of England at merry-makings, especially at +those which occur during the hay-harvest. It is not in any +collection.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> the merry month +of June,<br /> + In the prime time of the year;<br /> +Down in yonder meadows<br /> + There runs a river clear:<br /> +And many a little fish<br /> + Doth in that river play;<br /> +And many a lad, and many a lass,<br /> + Go abroad a-making hay.</p> +<p class="poetry">In come the jolly mowers,<br /> + To mow the meadows down;<br /> +With budget and with bottle<br /> + Of ale, both stout and brown,<br /> +All labouring men of courage bold<br /> + Come here their strength to try;<br /> +They sweat and blow, and cut and mow,<br /> + For the grass cuts very dry.</p> +<p class="poetry">Here’s nimble Ben and Tom,<br /> + With pitchfork, and with rake;<br /> +Here’s Molly, Liz, and Susan,<br /> + Come here their hay to make.<br /> +<a name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 172</span>While +sweet, jug, jug, jug!<br /> + The nightingale doth sing,<br /> +From morning unto even-song,<br /> + As they are hay-making.</p> +<p class="poetry">And when that bright day faded,<br /> + And the sun was going down,<br /> +There was a merry piper<br /> + Approachèd from the town:<br /> +He pulled out his pipe and tabor,<br /> + So sweetly he did play,<br /> +Which made all lay down their rakes,<br /> + And leave off making hay.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then joining in a dance,<br /> + They jig it o’er the green;<br /> +Though tired with their labour,<br /> + No one less was seen.<br /> +But sporting like some fairies,<br /> + Their dance they did pursue,<br /> +In leading up, and casting off,<br /> + Till morning was in view.</p> +<p class="poetry">And when that bright daylight,<br /> + The morning it was come,<br /> +They lay down and rested<br /> + Till the rising of the sun:<br /> +Till the rising of the sun,<br /> + When the merry larks do sing,<br /> +And each lad did rise and take his lass,<br /> + And away to hay-making.</p> +<h3>THE SWORD-DANCERS’ SONG.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Sword-dancing</span> is not so common in +the North of England as it was a few years ago; but a troop of +rustic practitioners of the art may still be occasionally met +with at Christmas time, in some of the most secluded of the +Yorkshire dales. The following is <a +name="page173"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 173</span>a copy of +the introductory song, as it used to be sung by the Wharfdale +sword-dancers. It has been transcribed from a MS. in the +possession of Mr. Holmes, surgeon, at Grassington, in +Craven. At the conclusion of the song a dance ensues, and +sometimes a rustic drama is performed. See post, p. +175. <i>Jumping Joan</i>, alluded to in the last verse, is +a well-known old country dance tune.]</p> +<p><i>The spectators being assembled</i>, <i>the</i> <span +class="smcap">Clown</span> <i>enters</i>, <i>and after drawing a +circle with his sword</i>, <i>walks round it</i>, <i>and calls in +the actors in the following lines</i>, <i>which are sung to the +accompaniment of a violin played outside</i>, <i>or behind the +door</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> first that +enters on the floor,<br /> + His name is Captain Brown;<br /> +I think he is as smart a youth<br /> + As any in this town:<br /> +In courting of the ladies gay,<br /> + He fixes his delight;<br /> +He will not stay from them all day,<br /> + And is with them all the night.</p> +<p class="poetry">The next’s a tailor by his trade,<br /> + Called Obadiah Trim;<br /> +You may quickly guess, by his plain dress,<br /> + And hat of broadest brim,<br /> +That he is of the Quaking sect,<br /> + Who would seem to act by merit<br /> +Of yeas and nays, and hums and hahs,<br /> + And motions of the spirit.</p> +<p class="poetry">The next that enters on the floor,<br /> + He is a foppish knight;<br /> +The first to be in modish dress,<br /> + He studies day and night.<br /> +Observe his habit round about,—<br /> + Even from top to toe;<br /> +The fashion late from France was brought,—<br /> + He’s finer than a beau!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page174"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +174</span>Next I present unto your view<br /> + A very worthy man;<br /> +He is a vintner, by his trade,<br /> + And Love-ale is his name.<br /> +If gentlemen propose a glass,<br /> + He seldom says ’em nay,<br /> +But does always think it’s right to drink,<br /> + While other people pay.</p> +<p class="poetry">The next that enters on the floor,<br /> + It is my beauteous dame;<br /> +Most dearly I do her adore,<br /> + And Bridget is her name.<br /> +At needlework she does excel<br /> + All that e’er learnt to sew,<br /> +And when I choose, she’ll ne’er refuse,<br /> + What I command her do.</p> +<p class="poetry">And I myself am come long since,<br /> + And Thomas is my name;<br /> +Though some are pleased to call me Tom,<br /> + I think they’re much to blame:<br /> +Folks should not use their betters thus,<br /> + But I value it not a groat,<br /> +Though the tailors, too, that botching crew,<br /> + Have patched it on my coat.</p> +<p class="poetry">I pray who’s this we’ve met with +here,<br /> + That tickles his trunk wame? <a +name="citation174"></a><a href="#footnote174" +class="citation">[174]</a><br /> +We’ve picked him up as here we came,<br /> + And cannot learn his name:<br /> +But sooner than he’s go without,<br /> + I’ll call him my son Tom;<br /> +And if he’ll play, be it night or day,<br /> + We’ll dance you <i>Jumping Joan</i>.</p> +<h3><a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 175</span>THE +SWORD-DANCERS’ SONG AND INTERLUDE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">AS NOW +PERFORMED AT CHRISTMAS, IN THE COUNTY OF DURHAM.</span></p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> late Sir Cuthbert Sharp +remarks, that ‘It is still the practice during the +Christmas holidays for companies of fifteen to perform a sort of +play or dance, accompanied by song or music.’ The +following version of the song, or interlude, has been transcribed +from Sir C. Sharp’s <i>Bishoprick Garland</i>, corrected by +collation with a MS. copy recently remitted to the editor by a +countryman of Durham. The Devonshire peasants have a +version almost identical with this, but laths are used instead of +swords, and a few different characters are introduced to suit the +locality. The pageant called <i>The Fool Plough</i>, which +consists of a number of sword-dancers dragging a plough with +music, was anciently observed in the North of England, not only +at Christmas time, but also in the beginning of Lent. +Wallis thinks that the <i>Sword Dance</i> is the antic dance, or +chorus armatus of the Romans. Brand supposes that it is a +composition made up of the gleaning of several obsolete customs +anciently followed in England and other countries. The +Germans still practise the <i>Sword Dance</i> at Christmas and +Easter. We once witnessed a <i>Sword Dance</i> in the Eifel +mountains, which closely resembled our own, but no interlude, or +drama, was performed.]</p> +<p><i>Enter Dancers</i>, <i>decorated with swords and +ribbons</i>; <i>the</i> <span class="smcap">Captain</span> <i>of +the band wearing a cocked hat and a peacock’s feather in it +by way of cockade</i>, <i>and the</i> <span +class="smcap">Clown</span>, <i>or</i> ‘<span +class="smcap">Bessy</span>,’ <i>who acts as treasurer</i>, +<i>being decorated with a hairy cap and a fox’s brush +dependent</i>.</p> +<p><i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Captain</span> <i>forms with +his sword a circle</i>, <i>around which walks</i>.</p> +<p><i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Bessy</span> <i>opens the +proceedings by singing</i>—</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Good</span> gentlemen all, +to our captain take heed,<br /> + And hear what he’s got for to sing;<br /> +He’s lived among music these forty long year,<br /> + And drunk of the elegant <a +name="citation175"></a><a href="#footnote175" +class="citation">[175]</a> spring.</p> +<p><a name="page176"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +176</span><i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Captain</span> <i>then +proceeds as follows</i>, <i>his song being accompanied by a +violin</i>, <i>generally played by the</i> <span +class="smcap">Bessy</span>—</p> +<p class="poetry">Six actors I have brought<br /> + Who were ne’er on a stage before;<br /> +But they will do their best,<br /> + And they can do no more.</p> +<p class="poetry">The first that I call in<br /> + He is a squire’s son;<br /> +He’s like to lose his sweetheart<br /> + Because he is too young.</p> +<p class="poetry">But though he is too young,<br /> + He has money for to rove,<br /> +And he will spend it all<br /> + Before he’ll lose his love.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Chorus</i>. <i>Fal lal de ral</i>, +<i>lal de dal</i>, <i>fal lal de ra ral da</i>.</p> +<p><i>Followed by a symphony on the fiddle</i>, <i>during which +the introduced actor walks round the circle</i>.</p> +<p><i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Captain</span> +<i>proceeds</i>—</p> +<p class="poetry">The next that I call in<br /> + He is a tailor fine;<br /> +What think you of his work?<br /> + He made this coat of mine!</p> +<p><i>Here the</i> <span class="smcap">Captain</span> <i>turns +round and exhibits his coat</i>, <i>which</i>, <i>of course</i>, +<i>is ragged</i>, <i>and full of holes</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">So comes good master Snip,<br /> + His best respects to pay:<br /> +He joins us in our trip<br /> + To drive dull care away.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Chorus and symphony as above</i>.</p> +<p><i>Here the</i> <span class="smcap">Tailor</span> <i>walks +round</i>, <i>accompanied by the</i> <span +class="smcap">Squire’s Son</span>. <i>This form is +observed after each subsequent introduction</i>, <i>all the new +comers taking apart</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +177</span>The next I do call in,<br /> + The prodigal son is he;<br /> +By spending of his gold<br /> + He’s come to poverty.</p> +<p class="poetry">But though he all has spent,<br /> + Again he’ll wield the plow,<br /> +And sing right merrily<br /> + As any of us now. <a name="citation177"></a><a +href="#footnote177" class="citation">[177]</a></p> +<p class="poetry">Next comes a skipper bold,<br /> + He’ll do his part right weel—<br /> +A clever blade I’m told<br /> + As ever pozed a keel.</p> +<p class="poetry">He is a bonny lad,<br /> + As you must understand;<br /> +It’s he can dance on deck,<br /> + And you’ll see him dance on land.</p> +<p class="poetry">To join us in this play<br /> + Here comes a jolly dog,<br /> +Who’s sober all the day—<br /> + If he can get no grog.</p> +<p class="poetry">But though he likes his grog,<br /> + As all his friends do say,<br /> +He always likes it best<br /> + When other people pay.</p> +<p class="poetry">Last I come in myself,<br /> + The leader of this crew;<br /> +And if you’d know my name,<br /> + My name it is ‘True Blue.’</p> +<p><a name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +178</span><i>Here the</i> <span class="smcap">Bessy</span> +<i>gives an account of himself</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">My mother was burnt for a witch,<br /> + My father was hanged on a tree,<br /> +And it’s because I’m a fool<br /> + There’s nobody meddled wi’ me.</p> +<p><i>The dance now commences</i>. <i>It is an ingenious +performance</i>, <i>and the swords of the actors are placed in a +variety of graceful positions</i>, <i>so as to form stars</i>, +<i>hearts</i>, <i>squares</i>, <i>circles</i>, <i>&c. +&c.</i> <i>The dance is so elaborate that it requires +frequent rehearsals</i>, <i>a quick eye</i>, <i>and a strict +adherence to time and tune</i>. <i>Before it concludes</i>, +<i>grace and elegance have given place to disorder</i>, <i>and at +last all the actors are seen fighting</i>. <i>The</i> <span +class="smcap">Parish Clergyman</span> <i>rushes in to prevent +bloodshed</i>, <i>and receives a death-blow</i>. <i>While +on the ground</i>, <i>the actors walk round the body</i>, <i>and +sing as follows</i>, <i>to a slow</i>, <i>psalm-like +tune</i>:—</p> +<p class="poetry">Alas! our parson’s dead,<br /> + And on the ground is laid;<br /> +Some of us will suffer for’t,<br /> + Young men, I’m sore afraid.</p> +<p class="poetry">I’m sure ’twas none of me,<br /> + I’m clear of <i>that</i> crime;<br /> +’Twas him that follows me<br /> + That drew his sword so fine.</p> +<p class="poetry">I’m sure it was <i>not</i> me,<br /> + I’m clear of the fact;<br /> +’Twas him that follows me<br /> + That did this dreadful act.</p> +<p class="poetry">I’m sure ’twas none of me,<br /> + Who say’t be villains all;<br /> +For both my eyes were closed<br /> + When this good priest did fall.</p> +<p><a name="page179"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +179</span><i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Bessy</span> +<i>sings</i>—</p> +<p class="poetry">Cheer up, cheer up, my bonny lads,<br /> + And be of courage brave,<br /> +We’ll take him to his church,<br /> + And bury him in the grave.</p> +<p><i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Captain</span> <i>speaks in a +sort of recitative</i>—</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, for a doctor,<br /> +A ten pound doctor, oh.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Doctor</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Doctor</i>. Here I am, I.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Captain</i>. Doctor, what’s your +fee?</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Doctor</i>. Ten pounds is my fee!</p> +<p class="poetry">But nine pounds nineteen shillings eleven pence +three farthings I will take from thee.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>The Bessy</i>. There’s +ge-ne-ro-si-ty!</p> +<p><i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Doctor</span> +<i>sings</i>—</p> +<p class="poetry">I’m a doctor, a doctor rare,<br /> +Who travels much at home;<br /> +My famous pills they cure all ills,<br /> +Past, present, and to come.</p> +<p class="poetry">My famous pills who’d be without,<br /> +They cure the plague, the sickness <a name="citation179"></a><a +href="#footnote179" class="citation">[179]</a> and gout,<br /> +Anything but a love-sick maid;<br /> +If <i>you’re</i> one, my dear, you’re beyond my +aid!</p> +<p><i>Here the</i> <span class="smcap">Doctor</span> +<i>occasionally salutes one of the fair spectators</i>; <i>he +then takes out his snuff-box</i>, <i>which is always of very +capacious dimensions</i> (<i>a sort of miniature +warming-pan</i>), <i>and empties the contents</i> (<i>flour or +meal</i>) <i>on the</i> <span +class="smcap">Clergyman’s</span> <i>face</i>, <i>singing at +the time</i>—</p> +<p class="poetry">Take a little of my nif-naf,<br /> +Put it on your tif-taf;<br /> +<a name="page180"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 180</span>Parson +rise up and preach again,<br /> +The doctor says you are not slain.</p> +<p><i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Clergyman</span> <i>here +sneezes several times</i>, <i>and gradually recovers</i>, <i>and +all shake him by the hand</i>.</p> +<p><i>The ceremony terminates by the</i> <span +class="smcap">Captain</span> <i>singing</i>—</p> +<p class="poetry"> Our play is at an end,<br /> + And now we’ll taste your cheer;<br /> + We wish you a merry Christmas,<br /> + And a happy new year.<br /> +<i>The Bessy</i>. And your pockets full of brass,<br /> + And your cellars full of beer!</p> +<p><i>A general dance concludes the play.</i></p> +<h3>THE MASKERS’ SONG.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">In</span> the Yorkshire dales the young +men are in the habit of going about at Christmas time in +grotesque masks, and of performing in the farm-houses a sort of +rude drama, accompanied by singing and music. <a +name="citation180"></a><a href="#footnote180" +class="citation">[180]</a> The maskers have wooden swords, +and the performance is an evening one. The following +version of their introductory song was taken down literally from +the recitation of a young besom-maker, now residing at Linton in +Craven, who <a name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +181</span>for some years past has himself been one of these +rustic actors. From the allusion to the pace, or +paschal-egg, it is evident that the play was originally an Easter +pageant, which, in consequence of the decline of the gorgeous +rites formerly connected with that season, has been transferred +to Christmas, the only festival which, in the rural districts of +Protestant England, is observed after the olden fashion. +The maskers generally consist of five characters, one of whom +officiates in the threefold capacity of clown, fiddler, and +master of the ceremonies. The custom of masking at +Christmas is common to many parts of Europe, and is observed with +especial zest in the Swiss cantons, where the maskers are all +children, and the performances closely resemble those of +England. In Switzerland, however, more care is bestowed +upon the costume, and the songs are better sung.]</p> +<p><i>Enter </i><span class="smcap">Clown</span>, <i>who sings in +a sort of chant</i>, <i>or recitative.</i></p> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">open</span> this door, I +enter in,<br /> +I hope your favour for to win;<br /> +Whether we shall stand or fall,<br /> +We do endeavour to please you all.</p> +<p class="poetry">A room! a room! a gallant room,<br /> + A room to let us ride!<br /> +We are not of the raggald sort,<br /> + But of the royal tribe:<br /> +Stir up the fire, and make a light,<br /> +To see the bloody act to-night!</p> +<p><i>Here another of the party introduces his companions by +singing to a violin accompaniment</i>, <i>as follows</i>:</p> +<p class="poetry">Here’s two or three jolly boys, all in +one mind;<br /> +We’ve come a pace-egging, <a name="citation181"></a><a +href="#footnote181" class="citation">[181]</a> I hope +you’ll prove kind:<br /> +I hope you’ll prove kind with your money and beer,<br /> +We shall come no more near you until the next year.<br /> + + +Fal de ral, lal de lal, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +182</span>The first that steps up is Lord [Nelson] <a +name="citation182"></a><a href="#footnote182" +class="citation">[182]</a> you’ll see,<br /> +With a bunch of blue ribbons tied down to his knee;<br /> +With a star on his breast, like silver doth shine;<br /> +I hope you’ll remember this pace-egging time.<br /> + + +Fal de ral, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">O! the next that steps up is a jolly Jack +tar,<br /> +He sailed with Lord [Nelson], during last war:<br /> +He’s right on the sea, Old England to view:<br /> +He’s come a pace-egging with so jolly a crew.<br /> + + +Fal de ral, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">O! the next that steps up is old Toss-Pot, +you’ll see,<br /> +He’s a valiant old man, in every degree,<br /> +He’s a valiant old man, and he wears a pig-tail;<br /> +And all his delight is drinking mulled ale.<br /> + + +Fal de ral, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">O! the next that steps up is old Miser, +you’ll see;<br /> +She heaps up her white and her yellow money;<br /> +<a name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 183</span>She +wears her old rags till she starves and she begs;<br /> +And she’s come here to ask for a dish of pace eggs.<br /> + + +Fal de ral, &c.</p> +<p><i>The characters being thus duly introduced</i>, <i>the +following lines are sung in chorus by all the party</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Gentlemen and ladies, that sit by the fire,<br +/> +Put your hand in your pocket, ’tis all we desire;<br /> +Put your hand in your pocket, and pull out your purse,<br /> +And give us a trifle,—you’ll not be much worse.</p> +<p><i>Here follows a dance</i>, <i>and this is generally +succeeded by a dialogue of an</i> ad libitum <i>character</i>, +<i>which varies in different districts</i>, <i>being sometimes +similar to the one performed by the sword-dancers</i>.</p> +<h3>GLOUCESTERSHIRE WASSAILERS’ SONG.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">It</span> is still customary in many +parts of England to hand round the wassail, or health-bowl, on +New-Year’s Eve. The custom is supposed to be of Saxon +origin, and to be derived from one of the observances of the +Feast of Yule. The tune of this song is given in <i>Popular +Music</i>. It is a universal favourite in Gloucestershire, +particularly in the neighbourhood of</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Stair on the wold,<br /> +Where the winds blow cold,’</p> +<p>as the old rhyme says.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Wassail</span>! wassail! +all over the town,<br /> +Our toast it is white, and our ale it is brown;<br /> +Our bowl is made of a maplin tree;<br /> +We be good fellows all;—I drink to thee.</p> +<p class="poetry">Here’s to our horse, <a +name="citation183"></a><a href="#footnote183" +class="citation">[183]</a> and to his right ear,<br /> +God send our measter a happy new year:<br /> +A happy new year as e’er he did see,—<br /> +With my wassailing bowl I drink to thee.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page184"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +184</span>Here’s to our mare, and to her right eye,<br /> +God send our mistress a good Christmas pie;<br /> +A good Christmas pie as e’er I did see,—<br /> +With my wassailing bowl I drink to thee.</p> +<p class="poetry">Here’s to our cow, and to her long +tail,<br /> +God send our measter us never may fail<br /> +Of a cup of good beer: I pray you draw near,<br /> +And our jolly wassail it’s then you shall hear.</p> +<p class="poetry">Be here any maids? I suppose here be +some;<br /> +Sure they will not let young men stand on the cold stone!<br /> +Sing hey O, maids! come trole back the pin,<br /> +And the fairest maid in the house let us all in.</p> +<p class="poetry">Come, butler, come, bring us a bowl of the +best;<br /> +I hope your soul in heaven will rest;<br /> +But if you do bring us a bowl of the small,<br /> +Then down fall butler, and bowl and all.</p> +<h3>THE MUMMERS’ SONG;</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">OR, THE POOR +OLD HORSE.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">As sung by the Mummers in the +Neighbourhood of Richmond, Yorkshire, at the merrie time of +Christmas.</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> rustic actor who sings the +following song is dressed as an old horse, and at the end of +every verse the jaws are snapped in chorus. It is a very +old composition, and is now printed for the first time. The +‘old horse’ is, probably, of Scandinavian +origin,—a reminiscence of Odin’s Sleipnor.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">You</span> gentlemen and +sportsmen,<br /> + And men of courage bold,<br /> +All you that’s got a good horse,<br /> + Take care of him when he is old;<br /> +Then put him in your stable,<br /> + And keep him there so warm;<br /> +Give him good corn and hay,<br /> + Pray let him take no harm.<br /> + Poor old horse! poor old +horse!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +185</span>Once I had my clothing<br /> + Of linsey-woolsey fine,<br /> +My tail and mane of length,<br /> + And my body it did shine;<br /> +But now I’m growing old,<br /> + And my nature does decay,<br /> +My master frowns upon me,<br /> + These words I heard him say,—<br /> + Poor old horse! poor old +horse!</p> +<p class="poetry">These pretty little shoulders,<br /> + That once were plump and round,<br /> +They are decayed and rotten,—<br /> + I’m afraid they are not sound.<br /> +Likewise these little nimble legs,<br /> + That have run many miles,<br /> +Over hedges, over ditches,<br /> + Over valleys, gates, and stiles.<br /> + Poor old horse! poor old +horse!</p> +<p class="poetry">I used to be kept<br /> + On the best corn and hay<br /> +That in fields could be grown,<br /> + Or in any meadows gay;<br /> +But now, alas! it’s not so,—<br /> + There’s no such food at all!<br /> +I’m forced to nip the short grass<br /> + That grows beneath your wall.<br /> + Poor old horse! poor old +horse!</p> +<p class="poetry">I used to be kept up<br /> + All in a stable warm,<br /> +To keep my tender body<br /> + From any cold or harm;<br /> +But now I’m turned out<br /> + In the open fields to go,<br /> +To face all kinds of weather,<br /> + The wind, cold, frost, and snow.<br /> + Poor old horse! poor old +horse!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page186"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +186</span>My hide unto the huntsman<br /> + So freely I would give,<br /> +My body to the hounds,<br /> + For I’d rather die than live:<br /> +So shoot him, whip him, strip him,<br /> + To the huntsman let him go;<br /> +For he’s neither fit to ride upon,<br /> + Nor in any team to draw.<br /> + Poor old horse! you must die!</p> +<h3>FRAGMENT OF THE HAGMENA SONG.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">As sung at Richmond, Yorkshire, on +the eve of the New Year, by the Corporation Pinder.</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> custom of singing Hagmena +songs is observed in different parts of both England and +Scotland. The origin of the term is a matter of +dispute. Some derive it from ‘au guy l’an +neuf,’ i.e., <i>to the misletoe this new year</i>, and a +French Hagmena song still in use seems to give some authority to +such a derivation; others, dissatisfied with a heathen source, +find the term to be a corruption of [Greek text which cannot be +reproduced], i.e., <i>the holy month</i>. The Hagmena songs +are sometimes sung on Christmas Eve and a few of the preceding +nights, and sometimes, as at Richmond, on the eve of the new +year. For further information the reader is referred to +Brand’s <i>Popular Antiquities</i>, vol. i. 247–8, +Sir H. Ellis’s edit. 1842.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">To-night</span> it is the +New-year’s night, to-morrow is the day,<br /> +And we are come for our right, and for our ray,<br /> +As we used to do in old King Henry’s day.<br /> + Sing, fellows, +sing, Hagman-heigh.</p> +<p class="poetry">If you go to the bacon-flick, cut me a good +bit;<br /> +Cut, cut and low, beware of your maw;<br /> +Cut, cut and round, beware of your thumb,<br /> +That me and my merry men may have some,<br /> + Sing, fellows, +sing, Hagman-heigh.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +187</span>If you go to the black-ark, bring me X mark;<br /> +Ten mark, ten pound, throw it down upon the ground,<br /> +That me and my merry men may have some.<br /> + Sing, fellows, +sing, Hagman-heigh.</p> +<h3>THE GREENSIDE WAKES SONG.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> wakes, feasts, or tides of the +North of England, were originally religious festivals in honour +of the saints to whom the parish churches were dedicated. +But now-a-days, even in Catholic Lancashire, all traces of their +pristine character have departed, and the hymns and prayers by +which their observance was once hallowed have given place to +dancing and merry-making. At Greenside, near Manchester, +during the wakes, two persons, dressed in a grotesque manner, the +one a male, the other a female, appear in the village on +horseback, with spinning-wheels before them; and the following is +the dialogue, or song, which they sing on these occasions.]</p> +<p class="poetry">‘’<span class="smcap">Tis</span> +Greenside wakes, we’ve come to the town<br /> +To show you some sport of great renown;<br /> +And if my old wife will let me begin,<br /> +I’ll show you how fast and how well I can spin.<br /> + Tread the wheel, tread the wheel, den, don, dell +O.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Thou brags of thyself, but I don’t +think it true,<br /> +For I will uphold thy faults are not a few;<br /> +For when thou hast done, and spun very hard,<br /> +Of this I’m well sure, thy work is ill marred.<br /> + Tread the wheel, tread the wheel, den, don, dell +O.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Thou’rt a saucy old jade, and pray +hold thy tongue,<br /> +Or I shall be thumping thee ere it be long;<br /> +And if that I do, I shall make thee to rue,<br /> +For I can have many a one as good as you.<br /> + Tread the wheel, tread the wheel, dan, don, dell +O.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘What is it to me who you can have?<br /> +I shall not be long ere I’m laid in my grave;<br /> +<a name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 188</span>And when +I am dead you may find if you can,<br /> +One that’ll spin as hard as I’ve done.<br /> + Tread the wheel, tread the wheel, dan, don, dell +O.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Come, come, my dear wife, here endeth my +song,<br /> +I hope it has pleased this numerous throng;<br /> +But if it has missed, you need not to fear,<br /> +We’ll do our endeavour to please them next year.<br /> + Tread the wheel, tread the wheel, dan, don, dell +O.’</p> +<h3>THE SWEARING-IN SONG OR RHYME.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">As formerly sung or said at +Highgate, in the county of Middlesex.</p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> proverb, ‘He has been +sworn at Highgate,’ is more widely circulated than +understood. In its ordinary signification it is applied to +a ‘knowing’ fellow who is well acquainted with the +‘good things,’ and always helps himself to the best; +and it has its origin in an old usage still kept up at Highgate, +in Middlesex. Grose, in his <i>Classical Dictionary of the +Vulgar Tongue</i>, London, 1785, says,—</p> +<blockquote><p>A ridiculous custom formerly prevailed at the +public-houses of Highgate, to administer a ludicrous oath to all +the men of the middling rank who stopped there. The party +was sworn on a pair of horns fastened on a stick; the substance +of the oath was never to kiss the maid when he could kiss the +mistress, never to drink small beer when he could get strong, +with many other injunctions of the like kind to all of which was +added a saving clause—<i>Unless you like it best</i>! +The person administering the oath was always to be called father +by the juror, and he in return was to style him son, under the +penalty of a bottle.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>From this extract it is evident that in 1786 the custom was +ancient, and had somewhat fallen into desuetude. +Hone’s <i>Year-Book</i> contains a very complete account of +the ceremony, with full particulars of the mode in which the +‘swearing-in’ was then performed in the ‘Fox +under the Hill.’ Hone does not throw any light on the +origin of the practice, nor does he seem to have been aware of +its comparative antiquity. He treated the ceremony as a +piece of modern foolery, got up by some landlord for ‘the +good of the house,’ and adopted from the same interested +motive by others of the tribe. A subsequent correspondent +of Mr. Hone, however, points out the antiquity of the custom, and +shows that it could <a name="page189"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 189</span>be traced back long before the year +1782, when it was introduced into a pantomime called <i>Harlequin +Teague</i>; <i>or</i>, <i>the Giant’s Causeway</i>, which +was performed at the Haymarket on Saturday, August 17, +1782. One of the scenes was Highgate, where, in the +‘parlour’ of a public house, the ceremony was +performed. Mr. Hone’s correspondent sends a copy of +the old initiation song, which varies considerably from our +version, supplied to us in 1851 by a very old man (an ostler) at +Highgate. The reciter said that the <i>copy of verses</i> +was not often used now, as there was no landlord who could sing, +and gentlemen preferred the speech. He said, moreover, +‘that the verses were not always alike—some said one +way, and some another—some made them long, and some <i>cut +’em short</i>.’</p> +<p>Grose was in error when he supposed that the ceremony was +confined to the inferior classes, for even in his day such was +not the case. In subsequent times the oath has been +frequently taken by people of rank, and also by several persons +of the highest literary and political celebrity. An +inspection of any one of the register-books will show that the +jurors have belonged to all sorts of classes, and that amongst +them the Harrovians have always made a conspicuous figure. +When the stage-coaches ceased to pass through the village in +consequence of the opening of railways, the custom declined, and +was kept up only at three houses, which were called the +‘original house,’ the ‘old original,’ and +the ‘real old original.’ Two of the above +houses have latterly ceased to hold courts, and the custom is now +confined to the ‘Fox under the Hill,’ where the rite +is celebrated with every attention to ancient forms and costume, +and for a fee which, in deference to modern notions of economy, +is only one shilling.</p> +<p>Byron, in the first canto of <i>Childe Harold</i>, alludes to +the custom of Highgate:—</p> +<p class="poetry"> Some o’er thy Thamis +row the ribboned fair,<br /> + Others along the safer turnpike fly;<br /> + Some Richmond-hill ascend, some wend to Ware,<br /> + And many to the steep of Highgate hie.<br /> + Ask ye, Bœotian shades! the reason why?<br /> + ’<i>Tis to the worship of the solemn +horn</i>,<br /> + <i>Grasped in the holy hand of mystery</i>,<br /> + <i>In whose dread name both men and maids </i><a +name="citation189"></a><a href="#footnote189" +class="citation">[189]</a><i> are sworn</i>,<br /> +<i>And consecrate the oath with draught</i>, <i>and dance till +morn</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right" class="poetry">Canto I, stanza +70.]</p> +<p><a name="page190"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +190</span><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Landlord</span>, +<i>dressed in a black gown and bands</i>, <i>and wearing an +antique-fashioned wig</i>, <i>followed by the</i> <span +class="smcap">Clerk of the Court</span>, <i>also in appropriate +costume</i>, <i>and carrying the registry-book and the +horns</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Landlord</i>. <span +class="smcap">Do</span> you wish to be sworn at Highgate?</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Candidate</i>. I do, Father.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Clerk</i>. <i>Amen</i>.</p> +<p><i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Landlord</span> <i>then +sings</i>, <i>or says</i>, <i>as follows</i>:—</p> +<p class="poetry">Silence! O, yes! you are my son!<br /> + Full to your old father turn, sir;<br /> +This is an oath you may take as you run,<br /> + So lay your hand thus on the horn, sir.</p> +<p><i>Here the</i> <span class="smcap">Candidate</span> <i>places +his right hand on the horn</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">You shall spend not with cheaters or cozeners +your life,<br /> + Nor waste it on profligate beauty;<br /> +And when you are wedded be kind to your wife,<br /> + And true to all petticoat duty.</p> +<p><i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Candidate</span> <i>says</i> +‘<i>I will</i>,’ <i>and kisses the horn in obedience +to the command of the</i> <span class="smcap">Clerk</span>, +<i>who exclaims in a loud and solemn tone</i>, ‘<i>Kiss the +horn</i>, <i>sir</i>!’</p> +<p class="poetry">And while you thus solemnly swear to be +kind,<br /> + And shield and protect from disaster,<br /> +This part of your oath you must bear it in mind,<br /> + That you, and not she, is the master.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Clerk</i>. ‘<i>Kiss the +horn</i>, <i>sir</i>!’</p> +<p class="poetry">You shall pledge no man first when a woman is +near,<br /> + For neither ’tis proper nor right, sir;<br /> +Nor, unless you prefer it, drink small for strong beer,<br /> + Nor eat brown bread when you can get white, sir.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Clerk</i>. ‘<i>Kiss the +horn</i>, <i>sir</i>!’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +191</span>You shall never drink brandy when wine you can get,<br +/> + Say when good port or sherry is handy;<br /> +Unless that your taste on spirit is set,<br /> + In which case—you <i>may</i>, sir, drink +brandy!</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Clerk</i>. ‘<i>Kiss the +horn</i>, <i>sir</i>!’</p> +<p class="poetry">To kiss with the maid when the mistress is +kind,<br /> + Remember that you must be loth, sir;<br /> +But if the maid’s fairest, your oath doesn’t +bind,—<br /> + Or you may, if you like it, kiss both, sir!</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Clerk</i>. ‘<i>Kiss the +horn</i>, <i>sir</i>!’</p> +<p class="poetry">Should you ever return, take this oath here +again,<br /> + Like a man of good sense, leal and true, sir;<br /> +And be sure to bring with you some more merry men,<br /> + That they on the horn may swear too, sir.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Landlord</i>. Now, sir, if you please, +sign your name in that book, and if you can’t write, make +your mark, and the clerk of the court will attest it.</p> +<p><i>Here one of the above requests is complied with</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Landlord</i>. You will please pay +half-a-crown for court fees, and what you please to the +clerk.</p> +<p><i>This necessary ceremony being gone through</i>, <i>the +important business terminates by the</i> <span +class="smcap">Landlord</span> <i>saying</i>, ‘<i>God bless +the King</i> [<i>or Queen</i>] <i>and the lord of the +manor</i>;’ <i>to which the</i> <span +class="smcap">Clerk</span> <i>responds</i>, ‘<i>Amen</i>, +<i>amen</i>!’</p> +<p><i>N.B.</i> <i>The court fees are always returned in +wines</i>, <i>spirits</i>, <i>or porter</i>, <i>of which the +Landlord and Clerk are invited to partake</i>.</p> +<h3>FAIRLOP FAIR SONG.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> following song is sung at +Fairlop fair, one of the gayest of the numerous saturnalia kept +by the good citizens of London. The venerable oak has +disappeared; but the song is nevertheless <a +name="page192"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 192</span>song, and +the curious custom of riding through the fair, seated in boats, +still continues to be observed.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Come</span>, come, my boys, +with a hearty glee,<br /> +To Fairlop fair, bear chorus with me;<br /> +At Hainault forest is known very well,<br /> +This famous oak has long bore the bell.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Cho</i>. Let music sound as the boat +goes round,<br /> +If we tumble on the ground, we’ll be merry, I’ll be +bound;<br /> +We will booze it away, dull care we will defy,<br /> +And be happy on the first Friday in July.</p> +<p class="poetry">At Tainhall forest, Queen Anne she did ride,<br +/> +And beheld the beautiful oak by her side,<br /> +And after viewing it from bottom to top,<br /> +She said that her court should be at Fairlop.</p> +<p class="poetry">It is eight fathom round, spreads an acre of +ground,<br /> +They plastered it round to keep the tree sound.<br /> +So we’ll booze it away, dull care we’ll defy,<br /> +And be happy on the first Friday in July.</p> +<p class="poetry">About a century ago, as I have heard say,<br /> +This fair it was kept by one Daniel Day,<br /> +A hearty good fellow as ever could be,<br /> +His coffin was made of a limb of the tree.</p> +<p class="poetry">With black-strap and perry he made his friends +merry,<br /> +All sorrow for to drown with brandy and sherry.<br /> +So we’ll booze it away, dull care we’ll defy,<br /> +And be happy on the first Friday in July.</p> +<p class="poetry">At Tainhall forest there stands a tree,<br /> +And it has performed a wonderful bounty,<br /> +It is surrounded by woods and plains,<br /> +The merry little warblers chant their strains.</p> +<p class="poetry">So we’ll dance round the tree, and merry +we will be,<br /> +Every year we’ll agree the fair for to see;<br /> +And we’ll booze it away, dull care we’ll defy,<br /> +And be happy on the first Friday in July.</p> +<h3><a name="page193"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 193</span>AS +TOM WAS A-WALKING.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">AN ANCIENT +CORNISH SONG.</span></p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> song, said to be translated +from the Cornish, ‘was taken down,’ says Mr. Sandys, +‘from the recital of a modern Corypheus, or leader of a +parish choir,’ who assigned to it a very remote, but +indefinite, antiquity.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">As</span> Tom was a-walking +one fine summer’s morn,<br /> +When the dazies and goldcups the fields did adorn;<br /> +He met Cozen Mal, with a tub on her head,<br /> +Says Tom, ‘Cozen Mal, you might speak if you +we’d.’</p> +<p class="poetry">But Mal stamped along, and appeared to be +shy,<br /> +And Tom singed out, ‘Zounds! I’ll knaw of thee +why?’<br /> +So back he tore a’ter, in a terrible fuss,<br /> +And axed cozen Mal, ‘What’s the reason of +thus?’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Tom Treloar,’ cried out Mal, +‘I’ll nothing do wi’ ’ee,<br /> +Go to Fanny Trembaa, she do knaw how I’m shy;<br /> +Tom, this here t’other daa, down the hill thee didst +stap,<br /> +And dab’d a great doat fig <a name="citation193"></a><a +href="#footnote193" class="citation">[193]</a> in Fan +Trembaa’s lap.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘As for Fanny Trembaa, I ne’er +taalked wi’ her twice,<br /> +And gived her a doat fig, they are so very nice;<br /> +So I’ll tell thee, I went to the fear t’other day,<br +/> +And the doat figs I boft, why I saved them away.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Says Mal, ‘Tom Treloar, ef that be the +caase,<br /> +May the Lord bless for ever that sweet pretty faace;<br /> +Ef thee’st give me thy doat figs thee’st boft in the +fear,<br /> +I’ll swear to thee now, thee shu’st marry me +here.’</p> +<h3><a name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 194</span>THE +MILLER AND HIS SONS.</h3> +<p>[A <span class="smcap">miller</span>, especially if he happen +to be the owner of a soke-mill, has always been deemed fair game +for the village satirist. Of the numerous songs written in +ridicule of the calling of the ‘rogues in grain,’ the +following is one of the best and most popular: its quaint humour +will recommend it to our readers. For the tune, see +<i>Popular Music</i>.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> was a crafty +miller, and he<br /> +Had lusty sons, one, two, and three:<br /> +He called them all, and asked their will,<br /> +If that to them he left his mill.</p> +<p class="poetry">He called first to his eldest son,<br /> +Saying, ‘My life is almost run;<br /> +If I to you this mill do make,<br /> +What toll do you intend to take?’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Father,’ said he, ‘my name +is Jack;<br /> +Out of a bushel I’ll take a peck,<br /> +From every bushel that I grind,<br /> +That I may a good living find.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Thou art a fool!’ the old man +said,<br /> +‘Thou hast not well learned thy trade;<br /> +This mill to thee I ne’er will give,<br /> +For by such toll no man can live.’</p> +<p class="poetry">He called for his middlemost son,<br /> +Saying, ‘My life is almost run;<br /> +If I to you this mill do make,<br /> +What toll do you intend to take?’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Father,’ says he, ‘my name +is Ralph;<br /> +Out of a bushel I’ll take a half,<br /> +From every bushel that I grind,<br /> +That I may a good living find.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Thou art a fool!’ the old man +said,<br /> +‘Thou hast not well learned thy trade;<br /> +This mill to thee I ne’er will give,<br /> +For by such toll no man can live.’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page195"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +195</span>He called for his youngest son,<br /> +Saying, ‘My life is almost run;<br /> +If I to you this mill do make,<br /> +What toll do you intend to take?’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Father,’ said he, ‘I’m +your only boy,<br /> +For taking toll is all my joy!<br /> +Before I will a good living lack,<br /> +I’ll take it all, and forswear the sack!’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Thou art my boy!’ the old man +said,<br /> +‘For thou hast right well learned thy trade;<br /> +This mill to thee I give,’ he cried,—<br /> +And then he turned up his toes and died.</p> +<h3>JACK AND TOM.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">AN OULD +BORDER DITTIE.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">(TRADITIONAL.)</span></p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> following song was taken down +from recitation in 1847. Of its history nothing is known; +but we are strongly inclined to believe that it may be assigned +to the early part of the seventeenth century, and that it relates +to the visit of Prince Charles and Buckingham, under the assumed +names of Jack and Tom, to Spain, in 1623. Some curious +references to the adventures of the Prince and his companion, on +their masquerading tour, will be found in Halliwell’s +<i>Letters of the Kings of England</i>, vol. ii.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">I’m</span> a north +countrie-man, in Redesdale born,<br /> +Where our land lies lea, and grows ne corn,—<br /> +And such two lads to my house never com,<br /> +As them two lads called Jack and Tom!</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, Jack and Tom, they’re going to the +sea;<br /> +I wish them both in good companie!<br /> +They’re going to seek their fortunes ayont the wide sea,<br +/> +Far, far away frae their oan countrie!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page196"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +196</span>They mounted their horses, and rode over the moor,<br +/> +Till they came to a house, when they rapped at the door;<br /> +And out came Jockey, the hostler-man.<br /> +‘D’ye brew ony ale? D’ye sell ony +beer?<br /> +Or have ye ony lodgings for strangers here?’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Ne, we brew ne ale, nor we sell ne +beer,<br /> +Nor we have ne lodgings for strangers here.’<br /> +So he bolted the door, and bade them begone,<br /> +For there was ne lodgings there for poor Jack and Tom.</p> +<p class="poetry">They mounted their horses, and rode over the +plain;—<br /> +Dark was the night, and down fell the rain;<br /> +Till a twinkling light they happened to spy,<br /> +And a castle and a house they were close by.</p> +<p class="poetry">They rode up to the house, and they rapped at +the door,<br /> +And out came Jockey, the hosteler.<br /> +‘D’ye brew ony ale? D’ye sell ony +beer?<br /> +Or have ye ony lodgings for strangers here?’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Yes, we have brewed ale this fifty lang +year,<br /> +And we have got lodgings for strangers here.’<br /> +So the roast to the fire, and the pot hung on,<br /> +’Twas all to accommodate poor Jack and Tom.</p> +<p class="poetry">When supper was over, and all was <i>sided +down</i>,<br /> +The glasses of wine did go merrily roun’.<br /> +‘Here is to thee, Jack, and here is to thee,<br /> +And all the bonny lasses in our countrie!’<br /> +‘Here is to thee, Tom, and here is to thee,<br /> +And look they may <i>leuk</i> for thee and me!’</p> +<p class="poetry">’Twas early next morning, before the +break of day,<br /> +They mounted their horses, and so they rode away.<br /> +Poor Jack, he died upon a far foreign shore,<br /> +And Tom, he was never, never heard of more!</p> +<h3><a name="page197"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +197</span>JOAN’S ALE WAS NEW.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Ours</span> is the common version of this +popular song; it varies considerably from the one given by +D’Urfey, in the <i>Pills to purge Melancholy</i>. +From the names of Nolly and Joan and the allusion to ale, we are +inclined to consider the song as a lampoon levelled at Cromwell, +and his wife, whom the Royalist party nick-named +‘Joan.’ The Protector’s acquaintances +(depicted as low and vulgar tradesmen) are here humorously +represented paying him a congratulatory visit on his change of +fortune, and regaling themselves with the +‘Brewer’s’ ale. The song is mentioned in +Thackeray’s Catalogue, under the title of <i>Joan’s +Ale’s New</i>; which may be regarded as circumstantial +evidence in favour of our hypothesis. The air is published +in <i>Popular Music</i>, accompanying three stanzas of a version +copied from the Douce collection. The first verse in Mr. +Chappell’s book runs as follows:—</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> was a jovial +tinker,<br /> +Who was a good ale drinker,<br /> +He never was a shrinker,<br /> +Believe me this is true;<br /> +And he came from the Weald of Kent,<br /> +When all his money was gone and spent,<br /> +Which made him look like a Jack a-lent.<br /> + And Joan’s +ale is new, my boys,<br /> + And Joan’s +ale is new.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> were six +jovial tradesmen,<br /> +And they all sat down to drinking,<br /> + For they were a jovial crew;<br /> +They sat themselves down to be merry;<br /> +And they called for a bottle of sherry,<br /> +You’re welcome as the hills, says Nolly,<br /> + While Joan’s ale is new, brave boys,<br /> + While Joan’s ale is new.</p> +<p class="poetry">The first that came in was a soldier,<br /> +With his firelock over his shoulder,<br /> +Sure no one could be bolder,<br /> + And a long broad-sword he drew:<br /> +He swore he would fight for England’s ground,<br /> +Before the nation should be run down;<br /> +He boldly drank their healths all round,<br /> + While Joan’s ale was new.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page198"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +198</span>The next that came in was a hatter,<br /> +Sure no one could be blacker,<br /> +And he began to chatter,<br /> + Among the jovial crew:<br /> +He threw his hat upon the ground,<br /> +And swore every man should spend his pound,<br /> +And boldly drank their hearths all round,<br /> + While Joan’s ale was new.</p> +<p class="poetry">The next that came in was a dyer,<br /> +And he sat himself down by the fire,<br /> +For it was his heart’s desire<br /> + To drink with the jovial crew:<br /> +He told the landlord to his face,<br /> +The chimney-corner should be his place,<br /> +And there he’d sit and dye his face,<br /> + While Joan’s ale was new.</p> +<p class="poetry">The next that came in was a tinker,<br /> +And he was no small beer drinker,<br /> +And he was no strong ale shrinker,<br /> + Among the jovial crew:<br /> +For his brass nails were made of metal,<br /> +And he swore he’d go and mend a kettle,<br /> +Good heart, how his hammer and nails did rattle,<br /> + When Joan’s ale was new!</p> +<p class="poetry">The next that came in was a tailor,<br /> +With his bodkin, shears, and thimble,<br /> +He swore he would be nimble<br /> + Among the jovial crew:<br /> +They sat and they called for ale so stout,<br /> +Till the poor tailor was almost broke,<br /> +And was forced to go and pawn his coat,<br /> + While Joan’s ale was new.</p> +<p class="poetry">The next that came in was a ragman,<br /> +With his rag-bag over his shoulder,<br /> +Sure no one could be bolder<br /> + Among the jovial crew.<br /> +<a name="page199"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 199</span>They sat +and called for pots and glasses,<br /> +Till they were all drunk as asses,<br /> +And burnt the old ragman’s bag to ashes,<br /> + While Joan’s ale was new.</p> +<h3>GEORGE RIDLER’S OVEN.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> ancient Gloucestershire song +has been sung at the annual dinners of the Gloucestershire +Society, from the earliest period of the existence of that +institution; and in 1776 there was an Harmonic Society at +Cirencester, which always opened its meetings with <i>George +Ridler’s Oven</i> in full chorus.</p> +<p>The substance of the following key to this very curious song +is furnished by Mr. H. Gingell, who extracts it from the +<i>Annual Report of the Gloucestershire Society</i> for +1835. The annual meeting of this Society is held at Bristol +in the month of August, when the members dine, and a branch +meeting, which was formerly held at the Crown and Anchor in the +Strand, is now annually held at the Thatched House Tavern, St. +James’s. <i>George Ridler’s Oven</i> is sung at +both meetings, and the late Duke of Beaufort used to lead off the +glee in capital style. The words have a secret meaning, +well known to the members of the Gloucestershire Society, which +was founded in 1657, three years before the Restoration of +Charles II. The Society consisted of Royalists, who +combined together for the purpose of restoring the Stuarts. +The Cavalier party was supported by all the old Roman Catholic +families of the kingdom; and some of the Dissenters, who were +disgusted with Cromwell, occasionally lent them a kind of passive +aid.</p> +<p><i>First Verse</i>.—By ‘George Ridler’ is +meant King Charles I. The ‘oven’ was the +Cavalier party. The ‘stwons’ that ‘built +the oven,’ and that ‘came out of the Bleakney +quaar,’ were the immediate followers of the Marquis of +Worcester, who held out long and steadfastly for the Royal cause +at Raglan Castle, which was not surrendered till 1646, and was in +fact the last stronghold retained for the King. ‘His +head did grow above his hair,’ is an allusion to the crown, +the head of the State, which the King wore ‘above his +hair.’</p> +<p><i>Second Verse</i>.—This means that the King, +‘before he died,’ boasted that notwithstanding his +present adversity, the ancient constitution of the kingdom was so +good, and its vitality so great, that it would surpass and +outlive every other form of government.</p> +<p><a name="page200"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +200</span><i>Third Verse</i>.—‘Dick the treble, Jack +the mean, and George the bass,’ mean King, Lords, and +Commons. The injunction to ‘let every man sing in his +own place,’ is a warning to each of the three estates of +the realm to preserve its proper position, and not to encroach on +each other’s prerogative.</p> +<p><i>Fourth Verse</i>.—‘Mine hostess’s +maid’ is an allusion to the Queen, who was a Roman +Catholic, and her maid, the Church. The singer we must +suppose was one of the leaders of the party, and his +‘dog’ a companion, or faithful official of the +Society, and the song was sung on occasions when the members met +together socially; and thus, as the Roman Catholics were +Royalists, the allusion to the mutual attachment between the +‘maid’ and ‘my dog and I,’ is plain and +consistent.</p> +<p><i>Fifth Verse</i>.—The ‘dog’ had a +‘trick of visiting maids when they were sick.’ +The meaning is, that when any of the members were in distress or +desponding, or likely to give up the Royal cause in despair, the +officials, or active members visited, counselled, and assisted +them.</p> +<p><i>Sixth Verse</i>.—The ‘dog’ was +‘good to catch a hen,’ a ‘duck,’ or a +‘goose.’—That is, to enlist as members of the +Society any who were well affected to the Royal cause.</p> +<p><i>Seventh Verse</i>.—‘The good ale tap’ is +an allusion, under cover of the similarity in sound between the +words ale and aisle, to the Church, of which it was dangerous at +the time to be an avowed follower; and so the members were +cautioned that indiscretion might lead to their discovery and +‘overthrow.’</p> +<p><i>Eighth Verse</i>.—The allusion here is to those +unfaithful supporters of the Royal cause, who +‘welcomed’ the members of the Society when it +appeared to be prospering, but ‘parted’ from them in +adversity.</p> +<p><i>Ninth Verse</i>.—An expression of the singer’s +wish that if he should die he may be buried with his faithful +companion, as representing the principles of the Society, under +the good aisles of the church.</p> +<p>The following text has been collated with a version published +in <i>Notes and Queries</i>, from the ‘fragments of a MS. +found in the speech-house of Dean.’ The tune is the +same as that of the <i>Wassailers’ Song</i>, and is printed +in <i>Popular Music</i>. Other ditties appear to have been +founded on this ancient piece. The fourth, seventh, and +ninth verses are in the old ditty called <i>My Dog and I</i>: and +the eighth verse appears in another old song. The air and +words bear some resemblance to <i>Todlen Hame</i>.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page201"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +201</span><span class="smcap">The</span> stwons that built George +Ridler’s oven,<br /> +And thauy keam vrom the Bleakney quaar,<br /> +And George he wur a jolly old mon,<br /> +And his yead it grow’d above his yare.</p> +<p class="poetry">One thing of George Ridler I must commend,<br +/> +And that wur vor a notable thing;<br /> +He mead his brags avoore he died,<br /> +Wi’ any dree brooders his zons zshould zing.</p> +<p class="poetry">There’s Dick the treble, and John the +meean,<br /> +(Let every mon zing in his auwn pleace,)<br /> +And George he wur the elder brother,<br /> +And therevoor he would zing the beass.</p> +<p class="poetry">Mine hostess’s moid, (and her neaum +‘twour Nell,)<br /> +A pretty wench, and I lov’d her well;<br /> +I lov’d her well, good reauzon why,<br /> +Because zshe loved my dog and I.</p> +<p class="poetry">My dog is good to catch a hen;<br /> +A dug or goose is vood for men;<br /> +And where good company I spy,<br /> +O thether gwoes my dog and I.</p> +<p class="poetry">My mwother told I, when I wur young,<br /> +If I did vollow the strong-beer pwoot,<br /> +That drenk would prov my awverdrow,<br /> +And meauk me wear a threadbare cwoat.</p> +<p class="poetry">My dog has gotten zitch a trick,<br /> +To visit moids when thauy be zick;<br /> +When thauy be zick and like to die,<br /> +O thether gwoes my dog and I.</p> +<p class="poetry">When I have dree zixpences under my thumb,<br +/> +O then I be welcome wherever I come;<br /> +But when I have none, O, then I pass by,—<br /> +’Tis poverty pearts good companie.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page202"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +202</span>If I should die, as it may hap,<br /> +My greauve shall be under the good yeal tap;<br /> +In voulded yarms there wool us lie,<br /> +Cheek by jowl, my dog and I.</p> +<h3>THE CARRION CROW.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> still popular song is quoted +by Grose in his <i>Olio</i>, where it is made the subject of a +burlesque commentary, the covert political allusions having +evidently escaped the penetration of the antiquary. The +reader familiar with the annals of the Commonwealth and the +Restoration, will readily detect the leading points of the +allegory. The ‘Carrion Crow’ in the oak is +Charles II., who is represented as that bird of voracious +appetite, because he deprived the puritan clergy of their +livings; perhaps, also, because he ordered the bodies of the +regicides to be exhumed—as Ainsworth says in one of his +ballads:—</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> carrion crow is +a sexton bold,<br /> +He raketh the dead from out of the mould.</p> +<p>The religion of the ‘old sow,’ whoever she may be, +is clearly pointed out by her little pigs praying for her +soul. The ‘tailor’ is not easily +identified. It is possibly intended for some puritan divine +of the name of Taylor, who wrote and preached against both +prelacy and papacy, but with an especial hatred of the +latter. In the last verse he consoles himself by the +reflection that, notwithstanding the deprivations, his party will +have enough remaining from the voluntary contributions of their +adherents. The ‘cloak’ which the tailor is +engaged in cutting out, is the Genevan gown, or cloak; the +‘spoon’ in which he desires his wife to bring +treacle, is apparently an allusion to the ‘spatula’ +upon which the wafer is placed in the administration of the +Eucharist; and the introduction of ‘chitterlings and +black-puddings’ into the last verse seems to refer to a +passage in Rabelais, where the same dainties are brought in to +personify those who, in the matter of fasting, are opposed to +Romish practices. The song is found in collections of the +time of Charles II.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> carrion crow he +sat upon an oak,<br /> +And he spied an old tailor a cutting out a cloak.<br /> + Heigho! the +carrion crow.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page203"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +203</span>The carrion crow he began for to rave,<br /> +And he called the tailor a lousy knave!<br /> + Heigho! the +carrion crow.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Wife, go fetch me my arrow and my +bow,<br /> +I’ll have a shot at that carrion crow.’<br /> + Heigho! the +carrion crow.</p> +<p class="poetry">The tailor he shot, and he missed his mark,<br +/> +But he shot the old sow through the heart.<br /> + Heigho! the +carrion crow.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Wife, go fetch me some treacle in a +spoon,<br /> +For the old sow’s in a terrible swoon!’<br /> + Heigho! the +carrion crow.</p> +<p class="poetry">The old sow died, and the bells they did +toll,<br /> +And the little pigs prayed for the old sow’s soul!<br /> + Heigho! the +carrion crow.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Never mind,’ said the tailor, +‘I don’t care a flea,<br /> +There’ll be still black-puddings, souse, and chitterlings +for me.’<br /> + Heigho! the +carrion crow.</p> +<h3>THE LEATHERN BOTTEL.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">SOMERSETSHIRE VERSION.</span></p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">In</span> Chappell’s <i>Popular +Music</i> is a much longer version of <i>The Leathern +Bottèl</i>. The following copy is the one sung at +the present time by the country-people in the county of +Somerset. It has been communicated to our pages by Mr. +Sandys.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">God</span> above, who rules +all things,<br /> +Monks and abbots, and beggars and kings,<br /> +The ships that in the sea do swim,<br /> +The earth, and all that is therein;<br /> +Not forgetting the old cow’s hide,<br /> +And everything else in the world beside:<br /> +And I wish his soul in heaven may dwell,<br /> +Who first invented this leathern bottèl!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page204"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +204</span>Oh! what do you say to the glasses fine?<br /> +Oh! they shall have no praise of mine;<br /> +Suppose a gentleman sends his man<br /> +To fill them with liquor, as fast as he can,<br /> +The man he falls, in coming away,<br /> +And sheds the liquor so fine and gay;<br /> +But had it been in the leathern bottèl,<br /> +And the stopper been in, ‘twould all have been well!</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh! what do you say to the tankard fine?<br /> +Oh! it shall have no praise of mine;<br /> +Suppose a man and his wife fall out,—<br /> +And such things happen sometimes, no doubt,—<br /> +They pull and they haul; in the midst of the fray<br /> +They shed the liquor so fine and gay;<br /> +But had it been in the leathern bottèl,<br /> +And the stopper been in, ’twould all have been well!</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, when this bottèl it is worn out,<br +/> +Out of its sides you may cut a clout;<br /> +This you may hang upon a pin,—<br /> +’Twill serve to put odd trifles in;<br /> +Ink and soap, and candle-ends,<br /> +For young beginners have need of such friends.<br /> +And I wish his soul in heaven may dwell,<br /> +Who first invented the leathern bottèl!</p> +<h3>THE FARMER’S OLD WIFE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">A SUSSEX +WHISTLING SONG.</span></p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> is a countryman’s +whistling song, and the only one of the kind which we remember to +have heard. It is very ancient, and a great +favourite. The farmer’s wife has an adventure +somewhat resembling the hero’s in the burlesque version of +<i>Don Giovanni</i>. The tune is <i>Lilli burlero</i>, and +the song is sung as follows:—the first line of each verse +is given as a solo; then the tune is continued by a chorus of +whistlers, who whistle that portion of the air which in <i>Lilli +burlero</i> would be sung to the words, <i>Lilli burlero bullen a +la</i>. The songster then proceeds with the tune, and <a +name="page205"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 205</span>sings the +whole of the verse through, after which the strain is resumed and +concluded by the whistlers. The effect, when accompanied by +the strong whistles of a group of lusty countrymen, is very +striking, and cannot be adequately conveyed by description. +This song constitutes the ‘traditionary verses’ upon +which Burns founded his <i>Carle of Killyburn Braes</i>.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> was an old +farmer in Sussex did dwell,</p> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>Chorus of whistlers</i>.]</p> +<p class="poetry">There was an old farmer in Sussex did dwell,<br +/> +And he had a bad wife, as many knew well.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>Chorus of whistlers</i>.]</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Satan came to the old man at the +plough,—<br /> +‘One of your family I must have now.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘It is not your eldest son that I +crave,<br /> +But it is your old wife, and she I will have.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘O, welcome! good Satan, with all my +heart,<br /> +I hope you and she will never more part.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Now Satan has got the old wife on his back,<br +/> +And he lugged her along, like a pedlar’s pack.</p> +<p class="poetry">He trudged away till they came to his +hall-gate,<br /> +Says he, ‘Here! take in an old Sussex chap’s +mate!’</p> +<p class="poetry">O! then she did kick the young imps +about,—<br /> +Says one to the other, ‘Let’s try turn her +out.’</p> +<p class="poetry">She spied thirteen imps all dancing in +chains,<br /> +She up with her pattens, and beat out their brains.</p> +<p class="poetry">She knocked the old Satan against the +wall,—<br /> +‘Let’s try turn her out, or she’ll murder us +all!’</p> +<p class="poetry">Now he’s bundled her up on his back +amain,<br /> +And to her old husband he took her again.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘I have been a tormenter the whole of my +life,<br /> +But I ne’er was tormenter till I met with your +wife.’</p> +<h3><a name="page206"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 206</span>OLD +WICHET AND HIS WIFE.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> song still retains its +popularity in the North of England, and, when sung with humour, +never fails to elicit roars of laughter. A Scotch version +may be found in Herd’s Collection, 1769, and also in +Cunningham’s <i>Songs of England and Scotland</i>, London, +1835. We cannot venture to give an opinion as to which is +the original; but the English set is of unquestionable +antiquity. Our copy was obtained from Yorkshire. It +has been collated with one printed at the Aldermary press, and +preserved in the third volume of the Roxburgh Collection. +The tune is peculiar to the song.]</p> +<p class="poetry">O! I went into the stable, and there for to +see, <a name="citation206"></a><a href="#footnote206" +class="citation">[206]</a><br /> +And there I saw three horses stand, by one, by two, and by +three;<br /> +O! I called to my loving wife, and ‘Anon, kind sir!’ +quoth she;<br /> +‘O! what do these three horses here, without the leave of +me?’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Why, you old fool! blind fool! +can’t you very well see,<br /> +These are three milking cows my mother sent to me?’<br /> +‘Ods bobs! well done! milking cows with saddles on!<br /> +The like was never known!’<br /> +Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home!</p> +<p class="poetry">O! I went into the kitchen, and there for to +see,<br /> +And there I saw three swords hang, by one, by two, quoth she;<br +/> +O! I called to my loving wife, and ‘Anon, kind +sir!’<br /> +‘O! what do these three swords do here, without the leave +of me?’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Why, you old fool! blind fool! +can’t you very well see,<br /> +These are three roasting spits my mother sent to me?’<br /> +‘Ods bobs! well done! roasting spits with scabbards on!<br +/> +The like was never known!’<br /> +Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page207"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +207</span>O! I went into the parlour, and there for to see,<br /> +And there I saw three cloaks hang, by one, by two, and by +three;<br /> +O! I called to my loving wife, and ‘Anon, kind sir!’ +quoth she;<br /> +‘O! what do these three cloaks do here, without the leave +of me?’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Why, you old fool! blind fool! +can’t you very well see,<br /> +These are three mantuas my mother sent to me?’<br /> +‘Ods bobs! well done! mantuas with capes on!<br /> +The like was never known!’<br /> +Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home!</p> +<p class="poetry">O! I went into the pantry, and there for to +see,<br /> +And there I saw three pair of boots, <a name="citation207"></a><a +href="#footnote207" class="citation">[207]</a> by one, by two, +and by three;<br /> +O! I called to my loving wife, and ‘Anon, kind sir!’ +quoth she;<br /> +‘O! what do these three pair of boots here, without the +leave of me?’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Why, you old fool! blind fool! +can’t you very well see,<br /> +These are three pudding-bags my mother sent to me?’<br /> +‘Ods bobs! well done! pudding-bags with spurs on!<br /> +The like was never known!’<br /> +Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home!</p> +<p class="poetry">O! I went into the dairy, and there for to +see,<br /> +And there I saw three hats hang, by one, by two, and by three;<br +/> +O! I called to my loving wife, and ‘Anon, kind sir!’ +quoth she;<br /> +‘Pray what do these three hats here, without the leave of +me?’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Why, you old fool! blind fool! +can’t you very well see,<br /> +These are three skimming-dishes my mother sent to me?’<br +/> +‘Ods bobs! well done! skimming-dishes with hat-bands on!<br +/> +The like was never known!’<br /> +Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page208"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +208</span>O! I went into the chamber, and there for to see,<br /> +And there I saw three men in bed, by one, by two, and by +three;<br /> +O! I called to my loving wife, and ‘Anon, kind sir!’ +quoth she;<br /> +‘O! what do these three men here, without the leave of +me?’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Why, you old fool! blind fool! +can’t you very well see,<br /> +They are three milking-maids my mother sent to me?’<br /> +‘Ods bobs! well done! milking-maids with beards on!<br /> +The like was never known!’<br /> +Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home!</p> +<h3>THE JOLLY WAGGONER.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> country song can be traced +back a century at least, but is, no doubt, much older. It +is very popular in the West of England. The words are +spirited and characteristic. We may, perhaps, refer the +song to the days of transition, when the waggon displaced the +packhorse.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> first I went +a-waggoning, a-waggoning did go,<br /> +I filled my parents’ hearts full of sorrow, grief, and woe. +<a name="citation208a"></a><a href="#footnote208a" +class="citation">[208a]</a><br /> +And many are the hardships that I have since gone through.<br /> + And sing wo, my lads, sing wo!<br /> + Drive on my lads, I-ho! <a +name="citation208b"></a><a href="#footnote208b" +class="citation">[208b]</a><br /> + And who wouldn’t lead the life of a jolly +waggoner?</p> +<p class="poetry">It is a cold and stormy night, and I’m +wet to the skin,<br /> +I will bear it with contentment till I get unto the inn.<br /> +And then I’ll get a drinking with the landlord and his +kin.<br /> + And sing, +&c.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page209"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +209</span>Now summer it is coming,—what pleasure we shall +see;<br /> +The small birds are a-singing on every green tree,<br /> +The blackbirds and the thrushes are a-whistling merrilie.<br /> + And sing, +&c.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now Michaelmas is coming,—what pleasure +we shall find;<br /> +It will make the gold to fly, my boys, like chaff before the +wind;<br /> +And every lad shall take his lass, so loving and so kind.<br /> + And sing, +&c.</p> +<h3>THE YORKSHIRE HORSE-DEALER.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> ludicrous and genuine +Yorkshire song, the production of some unknown country minstrel, +obtained considerable popularity a few years ago from the +admirable singing of Emery. The incidents actually occurred +at the close of the last century, and some of the descendants of +‘Tommy Towers’ were resident at Clapham till within a +very recent period, and used to take great delight in relating +the laughable adventure of their progenitor. Abey Muggins +is understood to be a <i>sobriquet</i> for a then Clapham +innkeeper. The village of Clapham is in the west of +Yorkshire, on the high road between Skipton and Kendal.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Bane</span> <a +name="citation209a"></a><a href="#footnote209a" +class="citation">[209a]</a> ta Claapam town-gate <a +name="citation209b"></a><a href="#footnote209b" +class="citation">[209b]</a> lived an ond Yorkshire tike,<br /> +Who i’ dealing i’ horseflesh hed ne’er met his +like;<br /> +’Twor his pride that i’ aw the hard bargains +he’d hit,<br /> +He’d bit a girt monny, but nivver bin bit.</p> +<p class="poetry">This ond Tommy Towers (bi that naam he wor +knaan),<br /> +Hed an oud carrion tit that wor sheer skin an’ baan;<br /> +Ta hev killed him for t’ curs wad hev bin quite as well,<br +/> +But ’twor Tommy opinion <a name="citation209c"></a><a +href="#footnote209c" class="citation">[209c]</a> he’d dee +on himsel!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page210"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +210</span>Well! yan Abey Muggins, a neighborin cheat,<br /> +Thowt ta diddle ond Tommy wad be a girt treat;<br /> +Hee’d a horse, too, ’twor war than ond Tommy’s, +ye see,<br /> +Fort’ neet afore that hee’d thowt proper ta dee!</p> +<p class="poetry">Thinks Abey, t’ oud codger ‘ll +nivver smoak t’ trick,<br /> +I’ll swop wi’ him my poor deead horse for his wick, +<a name="citation210a"></a><a href="#footnote210a" +class="citation">[210a]</a><br /> +An’ if Tommy I nobbut <a name="citation210b"></a><a +href="#footnote210b" class="citation">[210b]</a> can happen ta +trap,<br /> +’Twill be a fine feather i’ Aberram cap!</p> +<p class="poetry">Soa to Tommy he goas, an’ the question he +pops:<br /> +‘Betwin thy horse and mine, prithee, Tommy, what swops?<br +/> +What wilt gi’ me ta boot? for mine’s t’better +horse still!’<br /> +‘Nout,’ says Tommy, ‘I’ll swop ivven +hands, an’ ye will.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Abey preaached a lang time about summat ta +boot,<br /> +Insistin’ that his war the liveliest brute;<br /> +But Tommy stuck fast where he first had begun,<br /> +Till Abey shook hands, and sed, ‘Well, Tommy, done!</p> +<p class="poetry">‘O! Tommy,’ sed Abey, +‘I’ze sorry for thee,<br /> +I thowt thou’d a hadden mair white i’ thy +’ee;<br /> +Good luck’s wi’ thy bargin, for my horse is +deead.’<br /> +‘Hey!’ says Tommy, ‘my lad, soa is min, an +it’s fleead?’</p> +<p class="poetry">Soa Tommy got t’ better of t’ +bargin, a vast,<br /> +An’ cam off wi’ a Yorkshireman’s triumph at +last;<br /> +For thof ’twixt deead horses there’s not mitch to +choose,<br /> +Yet Tommy war richer by t’ hide an’ fower shooes.</p> +<h3>THE KING AND THE COUNTRYMAN.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> popular favourite is a mere +abridgment and alteration of a poem preserved in the Roxburgh +Collection, called <i>The King and Northern Man</i>, <i>shewing +how a poor Northumberland man</i> (<i>tenant to the King</i>) +<i>being wronged by a lawyer</i> (<i>his neighbour</i>) <i>went +to the King himself to make known his grievance</i>. <i>To +the tune of </i><a name="page211"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +211</span><i>Slut</i>. Printed by and for Alex. Melbourne, +at the Stationer’s Arms in Green Arbour Court, in the +Little Old Baily. The Percy Society printed <i>The King and +Northern Man</i> from an edition published in 1640. There +is also a copy preserved in the Bagford Collection, which is one +of the imprints of W. Onley. The edition of 1640 has the +initials of Martin Parker at the end, but, as Mr. Collier +observes, ‘There is little doubt that the story is much +older than 1640.’ See preface to Percy +Society’s Edition.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> was an old +chap in the west country,<br /> + A flaw in the lease the lawyers had found,<br /> +’Twas all about felling of five oak trees,<br /> + And building a house upon his own ground.<br /> + Right too looral, looral, +looral—right too looral la!</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, this old chap to Lunnun would go,<br /> + To tell the king a part of his woe,<br /> +Likewise to tell him a part of his grief,<br /> + In hopes the king would give him relief.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, when this old chap to Lunnun had come,<br +/> + He found the king to Windsor had gone;<br /> +But if he’d known he’d not been at home,<br /> + He danged his buttons if ever he’d come.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, when this old chap to Windsor did +stump,<br /> + The gates were barred, and all secure,<br /> +But he knocked and thumped with his oaken clump,<br /> + There’s room within for I to be sure.</p> +<p class="poetry">But when he got there, how he did stare,<br /> + To see the yeomen strutting about;<br /> +He scratched his head, and rubbed down his hair,<br /> + In the ear of a noble he gave a great shout:</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Pray, Mr. Noble, show I the King;<br /> + Is that the King that I see there?<br /> +I seed an old chap at Bartlemy fair<br /> + Look more like a king than that chap there.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page212"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +212</span>‘Well, Mr. King, pray how d’ye do?<br /> + I gotten for you a bit of a job,<br /> +Which if you’ll be so kind as to do,<br /> + I gotten a summat for you in my fob.’</p> +<p class="poetry">The king he took the lease in hand,<br /> + To sign it, too, he was likewise willing;<br /> +And the old chap to make a little amends,<br /> + He lugg’d out his bag, and gave him a +shilling.</p> +<p class="poetry">The king, to carry on the joke,<br /> + Ordered ten pounds to be paid down;<br /> +The farmer he stared, but nothing spoke,<br /> + And stared again, and he scratched his crown.</p> +<p class="poetry">The farmer he stared to see so much money,<br +/> + And to take it up he was likewise willing;<br /> +But if he’d a known King had got so much money,<br /> + He danged his wig if he’d gien him that +shilling!</p> +<h3>JONE O’ GREENFIELD’S RAMBLE.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> county of Lancaster has always +been famed for its admirable <i>patois</i> songs; but they are in +general the productions of modern authors, and consequently, +however popular they may be, are not within the scope of the +present work. In the following humorous production, +however, we have a composition of the last century. It is +the oldest and most popular Lancashire song we have been able to +procure; and, unlike most pieces of its class, it is entirely +free from grossness and vulgarity.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Says</span> Jone to his +wife, on a hot summer’s day,<br /> +‘I’m resolved i’ Grinfilt no lunger to stay;<br +/> +For I’ll go to Owdham os fast os I can,<br /> +So fare thee weel, Grinfilt, un fare thee weel, Nan;<br /> + A soger I’ll be, un brave Owdham I’ll +see,<br /> + Un I’ll ha’e a battle wi’ +th’ French.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Dear Jone,’ then said Nan, un hoo +bitterly cried,<br /> +Wilt be one o’ th’ foote, or tha meons to +ride?’<br /> +<a name="page213"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +213</span>‘Odsounds! wench, I’ll ride oather ass or a +mule,<br /> +Ere I’ll kewer i’ Grinfilt os black as te dule,<br /> + Booath clemmink <a name="citation213"></a><a +href="#footnote213" class="citation">[213]</a> un starvink, un +never a fardink,<br /> + Ecod! it would drive ony mon mad.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Aye, Jone, sin’ wi’ coom +i’ Grinfilt for t’ dwell,<br /> +We’n had mony a bare meal, I con vara weel tell.’<br +/> +‘Bare meal! ecod! aye, that I vara weel know,<br /> +There’s bin two days this wick ot we’n had nowt at +o:<br /> + I’m vara near sided, afore I’ll abide +it,<br /> + I’ll feight oather Spanish or +French.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Then says my Aunt Marget, ‘Ah! Jone, +thee’rt so hot,<br /> +I’d ne’er go to Owdham, boh i’ Englond +I’d stop.’<br /> +‘It matters nowt, Madge, for to Owdham I’ll go,<br /> +I’ll naw clam to deeoth, boh sumbry shalt know:<br /> + Furst Frenchman I find, I’ll tell him meh +mind,<br /> + Un if he’ll naw feight, he shall +run.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Then down th’ broo I coom, for we livent +at top,<br /> +I thowt I’d reach Owdharn ere ever I’d stop;<br /> +Ecod! heaw they stared when I getten to th’ Mumps,<br /> +Meh owd hat i’ my hond, un meh clogs full +o’stumps;<br /> + Boh I soon towd um, I’r gooink to Owdham,<br +/> + Un I’d ha’e battle wi’ th’ +French.</p> +<p class="poetry">I kept eendway thro’ th’ lone, un +to Owdham I went,<br /> +I ask’d a recruit if te’d made up their keawnt?<br /> +‘No, no, honest lad’ (for he tawked like a king),<br +/> +‘Go wi’ meh thro’ the street, un thee I will +bring<br /> + Where, if theaw’rt willink, theaw may +ha’e a shillink.’<br /> + Ecod! I thowt this wur rare news.</p> +<p class="poetry">He browt me to th’ pleck where te measurn +their height,<br /> +Un if they bin height, there’s nowt said about weight;<br +/> +<a name="page214"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 214</span>I +retched me, un stretched me, un never did flinch,<br /> +Says th’ mon, ‘I believe theaw ’rt meh lad to +an inch.’<br /> + I thowt this’ll do, I’st ha’e +guineas enow,<br /> + Ecod! Owdham, brave Owdham for me.</p> +<p class="poetry">So fare thee weel, Grinfilt, a soger I’m +made,<br /> +I’n getten new shoon, un a rare cockade;<br /> +I’ll feight for Owd Englond os hard os I con,<br /> +Oather French, Dutch, or Spanish, to me it’s o one,<br /> + I’ll make ’em to stare like a +new-started hare,<br /> + Un I’ll tell ’em fro’ Owdham I +coom.</p> +<h3>THORNEHAGH-MOOR WOODS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">A CELEBRATED +NOTTINGHAMSHIRE POACHER’S SONG.</span></p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Nottinghamshire</span> was, in the olden +day, famous in song for the achievements of Robin Hood and his +merry men. In our times the reckless daring of the heroes +of the ‘greenwood tree’ has descended to the poachers +of the county, who have also found poets to proclaim and exult +over <i>their</i> lawless exploits; and in <i>Thornehagh-Moor +Woods</i> we have a specimen of one of these rude, but +mischievous and exciting lyrics. The air is beautiful, and +of a lively character; and will be found in <i>Popular +Music</i>. There is it prevalent idea that the song is not +the production of an ordinary ballad-writer, but was written +about the middle of the last century by a gentleman of rank and +education, who, detesting the English game-laws, adopted a too +successful mode of inspiring the peasantry with a love of +poaching. The song finds locality in the village of +Thornehagh, in the hundred of Newark. The common, or +Moor-fields, was inclosed about 1797, and is now no longer called +by the ancient designation. It contains eight hundred +acres. The manor of Thornehagh is the property of the +ancient family of Nevile, who have a residence on the +estate.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> Thornehagh-Moor +woods, in Nottinghamshire,<br /> + Fol de rol, la re, right fol +laddie, dee;<br /> +In Robin Hood’s bold Nottinghamshire,<br /> + Fol de rol, la re da;</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page215"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +215</span>Three keepers’ houses stood three-square,<br /> +And about a mile from each other they were;—<br /> +Their orders were to look after the deer.<br /> + Fol de rol, la re da.</p> +<p class="poetry">I went out with my dogs one night,—<br /> +The moon shone clear, and the stars gave light;<br /> +Over hedges and ditches, and steyls<br /> +With my two dogs close at my heels,<br /> +To catch a fine buck in Thornehagh-Moor fields.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh! that night we had bad luck,<br /> +One of my very best dogs was stuck;<br /> +He came to me both breeding and lame,—<br /> +Right sorry was I to see the same,—<br /> +He was not able to follow the game.</p> +<p class="poetry">I searched his wounds, and found them +slight,<br /> +Some keeper has done this out of spite;<br /> +But I’ll take my pike-staff,—that’s the +plan!<br /> +I’ll range the woods till I find the man,<br /> +And I’ll tan his hide right well,—if I can!</p> +<p class="poetry">I ranged the woods and groves all night,<br /> +I ranged the woods till it proved daylight;<br /> +The very first thing that then I found,<br /> +Was a good fat buck that lay dead on the ground;<br /> +I knew my dogs gave him his death-wound.</p> +<p class="poetry">I hired a butcher to skin the game,<br /> +Likewise another to sell the same;<br /> +The very first buck he offered for sale,<br /> +Was to an old [hag] that sold bad ale,<br /> +And she sent us three poor lads to gaol.</p> +<p class="poetry">The quarter sessions we soon espied,<br /> +At which we all were for to be tried;<br /> +The Chairman laughed the matter to scorn,<br /> +He said the old woman was all forsworn,<br /> +And unto pieces she ought to be torn.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page216"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +216</span>The sessions are over, and we are clear!<br /> +The sessions are over, and we sit here,<br /> + Singing fol de rol, la re da!<br +/> +The very best game I ever did see,<br /> +Is a buck or a deer, but a deer for me!<br /> +In Thornehagh-Moor woods this night we’ll be!<br /> + Fol de rol, la re da!</p> +<h3>THE LINCOLNSHIRE POACHER.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> very old ditty has been +transformed into the dialects of Somersetshire, Northamptonshire, +and Leicestershire; but it properly belongs to +Lincolnshire. Nor is this the only liberty that his been +taken with it. The original tune is that of a Lancashire +air, well known as <i>The Manchester Angel</i>; but a florid +modern tune has been substituted. <i>The Lincolnshire +Poacher</i> was a favourite ditty with George IV., and it is said +that he often had it sung for his amusement by a band of +Berkshire ploughmen. He also commanded it to be sung at his +harvest-homes, but we believe it was always on such occasions +sung to the ‘playhouse tune,’ and not to the genuine +music. It is often very difficult to trace the locality of +countrymen’s songs, in consequence of the licence adopted +by printers of changing the names of places to suit their own +neighbourhoods; but there is no such difficulty about <i>The +Lincolnshire Poacher</i>. The oldest copy we have seen, +printed at York about 1776, reads ‘Lincolnshire,’ and +it is only in very modern copies that the venue is removed to +other counties. In the Somersetshire version the local +vernacular is skilfully substituted for that of the original; but +the deception may, nevertheless, be very easily detected.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> I was bound +apprentice, in famous Lincolnsheer,<br /> +Full well I served my master for more than seven year,<br /> +Till I took up with poaching, as you shall quickly +hear:—<br /> +Oh! ’tis my delight of a shiny night, in the season of the +year.</p> +<p class="poetry">As me and my comrades were setting of a +snare,<br /> +’Twas then we seed the gamekeeper—for him we did not +care,<br /> +<a name="page217"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 217</span>For we +can wrestle and fight, my boys, and jump o’er +everywhere:—<br /> +Oh! ’tis my delight of a shiny night, in the season of the +year.</p> +<p class="poetry">As me and my comrades were setting four or +five,<br /> +And taking on him up again, we caught the hare alive;<br /> +We caught the hare alive, my boys, and through the woods did +steer:—<br /> +Oh! ’tis my delight of a shiny night, in the season of the +year.</p> +<p class="poetry">Bad luck to every magistrate that lives in +Lincolnsheer; <a name="citation217"></a><a href="#footnote217" +class="citation">[217]</a><br /> +Success to every poacher that wants to sell a hare;<br /> +Bad luck to every gamekeeper that will not sell his +deer:—<br /> +Oh! ’tis my delight of a shiny night, in the season of the +year.</p> +<h3>SOMERSETSHIRE HUNTING SONG.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> following song, which is very +popular with the peasantry of Somersetshire, is given as a +curious specimen of the dialect still spoken in some parts of +that county. Though the song is a genuine peasant’s +ditty, it is heard in other circles, and frequently roared out at +hunting dinners. It is here reprinted from a copy +communicated by Mr. Sandys.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There’s</span> no +pleasures can compare<br /> +Wi’ the hunting o’ the hare,<br /> +In the morning, in the morning,<br /> +In fine and pleasant weather.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page218"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +218</span><i>Cho</i>. With our hosses and our hounds,<br /> +We will scamps it o’er the grounds,<br /> +And sing traro, huzza!<br /> +And sing traro, huzza!<br /> +And sing traro, brave boys, we will foller.</p> +<p class="poetry">And when poor puss arise,<br /> +Then away from us she flies;<br /> +And we’ll gives her, boys, we’ll gives her,<br /> +One thundering and loud holler!<br /> + <i>Cho</i>. With our hosses, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">And when poor puss is killed,<br /> +We’ll retires from the field;<br /> +And we’ll count boys, and we’ll count<br /> +On the same good ren to-morrer.<br /> + <i>Cho</i>. With our bosses and our hounds, +&c.</p> +<h3>THE TROTTING HORSE.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> common copies of this old +highwayman’s song are very corrupt. We are indebted +for the following version, which contains several emendations, to +Mr. W. H. Ainsworth. The song, which may probably be +referred to the age of Charles II., is a spirited specimen of its +class.]</p> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">can</span> sport as fine +a trotting horse as any swell in town,<br /> +To trot you fourteen miles an hour, I’ll bet you fifty +crown;<br /> +He is such a one to bend his knees, and tuck his haunches in,<br +/> +And throw the dust in people’s face, and think it not a +sin.<br /> + For to ride +away, trot away,<br /> + Ri, fa lar, la, +&c.</p> +<p class="poetry">He has an eye like any hawk, a neck like any +swan,<br /> +A foot light as the stag’s, the while his back is scarce a +span;<br /> +<a name="page219"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 219</span>Kind +Nature hath so formed him, he is everything that’s +good,—<br /> +Aye! everything a man could wish, in bottom, bone, and blood.<br +/> + For to ride +away, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">If you drop therein, he’ll nod his head, +and boldly walk away,<br /> +While others kick and bounce about, to him it’s only +play;<br /> +There never was a finer horse e’er went on English +ground,<br /> +He is rising six years old, and is all over right and sound.<br +/> + For to ride +away, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">If any frisk or milling match should call me +out of town,<br /> +I can pass the blades with white cockades, their whiskers hanging +down;<br /> +With large jack-towels round their necks, they think +they’re first and fast,<br /> +But, with their gapers open wide, they find that they are +last.<br /> + Whilst I ride +away, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">If threescore miles I am from home, I darkness +never mind,<br /> +My friend is gone, and I am left, with pipe and pot behind;<br /> +Up comes some saucy kiddy, a scampsman on the hot,<br /> +But ere he pulls the trigger I am off just like a shot.<br /> + For I ride away, +&c.</p> +<p class="poetry">If Fortune e’er should fickle be, and +wish to have again<br /> +That which she so freely gave, I’d give it without pain;<br +/> +I would part with it most freely, and without the least +remorse,<br /> +Only grant to me what God hath gave, my mistress and my horse!<br +/> + That I may ride +away, &c.</p> +<h3><a name="page220"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 220</span>THE +SEEDS OF LOVE.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> very curious old song is not +only a favourite with our peasantry, but, in consequence of +having been introduced into the modern dramatic entertainment of +<i>The Loan of a Lover</i>, has obtained popularity in higher +circles. Its sweetly plaintive tune will be found in +<i>Popular Music</i>. The words are quaint, but by no means +wanting in beauty; they are, no doubt, corrupted, as we have +derived them from common broadsides, the only form in which we +have been able to meet with them. The author of the song +was Mrs. Fleetwood Habergham, of Habergham, in the county of +Lancaster. ‘Ruined by the extravagance, and disgraced +by the vices of her husband, she soothed her sorrows,’ says +Dr. Whitaker, ‘by some stanzas yet remembered among the old +people of her neighbourhood.’—<i>History of +Whalley</i>. Mrs. Habergham died in 1703, and was buried at +Padiham.]</p> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">sowed</span> the seeds of +love, it was all in the spring,<br /> +In April, May, and June, likewise, when small birds they do +sing;<br /> +My garden’s well planted with flowers everywhere,<br /> +Yet I had not the liberty to choose for myself the flower that I +loved so dear.</p> +<p class="poetry">My gardener he stood by, I asked him to choose +for me,<br /> +He chose me the violet, the lily and pink, but those I refused +all three;<br /> +The violet I forsook, because it fades so soon,<br /> +The lily and the pink I did o’erlook, and I vowed I’d +stay till June.</p> +<p class="poetry">In June there’s a red rose-bud, and +that’s the flower for me!<br /> +But often have I plucked at the red rose-bud till I gained the +willow-tree;<br /> +The willow-tree will twist, and the willow-tree will +twice,—<br /> +O! I wish I was in the dear youth’s arms that once had the +heart of mine.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page221"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +221</span>My gardener he stood by, he told me to take great +care,<br /> +For in the middle of a red rose-bud there grows a sharp thorn +there;<br /> +I told him I’d take no care till I did feel the smart,<br +/> +And often I plucked at the red rose-bud till I pierced it to the +heart.</p> +<p class="poetry">I’ll make me a posy of hyssop,—no +other I can touch,—<br /> +That all the world may plainly see I love one flower too much;<br +/> +My garden is run wild! where shall I plant anew—<br /> +For my bed, that once was covered with thyme, is all overrun with +rue? <a name="citation221a"></a><a href="#footnote221a" +class="citation">[221a]</a></p> +<h3>THE GARDEN-GATE.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">One</span> of our most pleasing rural +ditties. The air is very beautiful. We first heard it +sung in Malhamdale, Yorkshire, by Willy Bolton, an old +Dales’-minstrel, who accompanied himself on the +union-pipes. <a name="citation221b"></a><a href="#footnote221b" +class="citation">[221b]</a>]</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page222"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +222</span><span class="smcap">The</span> day was spent, the moon +shone bright,<br /> + The village clock struck eight;<br /> +Young Mary hastened, with delight,<br /> + Unto the garden-gate:<br /> +But what was there that made her sad?—<br /> +The gate was there, but not the lad,<br /> +Which made poor Mary say and sigh,<br /> +‘Was ever poor girl so sad as I?’</p> +<p class="poetry">She traced the garden here and there,<br /> + The village clock struck nine;<br /> +Which made poor Mary sigh, and say,<br /> + ‘You shan’t, you shan’t be +mine!<br /> +You promised to meet at the gate at eight,<br /> +You ne’er shall keep me, nor make me wait,<br /> +For I’ll let all such creatures see,<br /> +They ne’er shall make a fool of me!’</p> +<p class="poetry">She traced the garden here and there,<br /> + The village clock struck ten;<br /> +Young William caught her in his arms,<br /> + No more to part again:<br /> +For he’d been to buy the ring that day,<br /> +And O! he had been a long, long way;—<br /> +<a name="page223"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 223</span>Then, +how could Mary cruel prove,<br /> +To banish the lad she so dearly did love?</p> +<p class="poetry">Up with the morning sun they rose,<br /> + To church they went away,<br /> +And all the village joyful were,<br /> + Upon their wedding-day:<br /> +Now in a cot, by a river side,<br /> +William and Mary both reside;<br /> +And she blesses the night that she did wait<br /> +For her absent swain, at the garden-gate.</p> +<h3>THE NEW-MOWN HAY.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> song is a village-version of +an incident which occurred in the Cecil family. The same +English adventure has, strangely enough, been made the subject of +one of the most romantic of Moore’s <i>Irish Melodies</i>, +viz., <i>You remember Helen</i>, <i>the hamlet’s +pride</i>.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">As</span> I walked forth +one summer’s morn,<br /> + Hard by a river’s side,<br /> +Where yellow cowslips did adorn<br /> + The blushing field with pride;<br /> +I spied a damsel on the grass,<br /> + More blooming than the may;<br /> +Her looks the Queen of Love surpassed,<br /> + Among the new-mown hay.</p> +<p class="poetry">I said, ‘Good morning, pretty maid,<br /> + How came you here so soon?’<br /> +‘To keep my father’s sheep,’ she said,<br /> + ‘The thing that must be done:<br /> +While they are feeding ‘mong the dew,<br /> + To pass the time away,<br /> +I sit me down to knit or sew,<br /> + Among the new-mown hay.’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page224"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +224</span>Delighted with her simple tale,<br /> + I sat down by her side;<br /> +With vows of love I did prevail<br /> + On her to be my bride:<br /> +In strains of simple melody,<br /> + She sung a rural lay;<br /> +The little lambs stood listening by,<br /> + Among the new-mown hay.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then to the church they went with speed,<br /> + And Hymen joined them there;<br /> +No more her ewes and lambs to feed,<br /> + For she’s a lady fair:<br /> +A lord he was that married her,<br /> + To town they came straightway:<br /> +She may bless the day he spied her there,<br /> + Among the new-mown hay.</p> +<h3>THE PRAISE OF A DAIRY.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> excellent old country song, +which can be traced to 1687, is sung to the air of +<i>Packington’s Pound</i>, for the history of which see +<i>Popular Music</i>.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> praise of a dairy +I purpose to sing,<br /> +But all things in order, first, God save the King! <a +name="citation224"></a><a href="#footnote224" +class="citation">[224]</a><br /> + And the Queen, I +may say,<br /> + That every +May-day,<br /> +Has many fair dairy-maids all fine and gay.<br /> +Assist me, fair damsels, to finish my theme,<br /> +Inspiring my fancy with strawberry cream.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page225"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +225</span>The first of fair dairy-maids, if you’ll +believe,<br /> +Was Adam’s own wife, our great grandmother Eve,<br /> + Who oft milked a +cow,<br /> + As well she knew +how.<br /> +Though butter was not then as cheap as ’tis now,<br /> +She hoarded no butter nor cheese on her shelves,<br /> +For butter and cheese in those days made themselves.</p> +<p class="poetry">In that age or time there was no horrid +money,<br /> +Yet the children of Israel had both milk and honey;<br /> + No Queen you +could see,<br /> + Of the highest +degree,<br /> +But would milk the brown cow with the meanest she.<br /> +Their lambs gave them clothing, their cows gave them meat,<br /> +And in plenty and peace all their joys wore complete.</p> +<p class="poetry">Amongst the rare virtues that milk does +produce,<br /> +For a thousand of dainties it’s daily in use:<br /> + Now a pudding +I’ll tell ’ee,<br /> + And so can maid +Nelly,<br /> +Must have from good milk both the cream and the jelly:<br /> +For a dainty fine pudding, without cream or milk,<br /> +Is a citizen’s wife, without satin or silk.</p> +<p class="poetry">In the virtues of milk there is more to be +mustered:<br /> +O! the charming delights both of cheesecake and custard!<br /> + If to wakes <a +name="citation225"></a><a href="#footnote225" +class="citation">[225]</a> you resort,<br /> + You can have no +sport,<br /> +Unless you give custards and cheesecake too for’t:<br /> +And what’s the jack-pudding that makes us to laugh,<br /> +Unless he hath got a great custard to quaff?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page226"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +226</span>Both pancake and fritter of milk have good store,<br /> +But a Devonshire white-pot must needs have much more;<br /> + Of no brew <a +name="citation226a"></a><a href="#footnote226a" +class="citation">[226a]</a> you can think,<br /> + Though you study +and wink,<br /> +From the lusty sack posset to poor posset drink,<br /> +But milk’s the ingredient, though wine’s <a +name="citation226b"></a><a href="#footnote226b" +class="citation">[226b]</a> ne’er the worse,<br /> +For ’tis wine makes the man, though ’tis milk makes +the nurse.</p> +<h3>THE MILK-MAID’S LIFE.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Of</span> this popular country song there +are a variety of versions. The following, which is the most +ancient, is transcribed from a black-letter broadside in the +Roxburgh Collection, entitled <i>The Milke-maid’s Life</i>; +<i>or</i>, <i>a pretty new ditty composed and penned</i>, <i>the +praise of the Milking-pail to defend</i>. To a curious new +tune called the <i>Milke-maid’s Dump</i>. It is +subscribed with the initials M. P.; probably those of Martin +Parker.]</p> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">You</span> rural goddesses,<br /> + That woods and fields possess,<br +/> +Assist me with your skill, that may direct my quill,<br /> + More jocundly to express,<br /> +The mirth and delight, both morning and night,<br /> + On mountain or in dale,<br /> +Of them who choose this trade to use,<br /> +And, through cold dews, do never refuse<br /> + To carry the milking-pail.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a +name="page227"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 227</span>The bravest +lasses gay,<br /> + Live not so merry as they;<br /> +In honest civil sort they make each other sport,<br /> + As they trudge on their way;<br /> +Come fair or foul weather, they’re fearful of neither,<br +/> + Their courages never quail.<br /> +In wet and dry, though winds be high,<br /> +And dark’s the sky, they ne’er deny<br /> + To carry the milking-pail.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Their +hearts are free from care,<br /> + They never will despair;<br /> +Whatever them befal, they bravely bear out all,<br /> + And fortune’s frowns +outdare.<br /> +They pleasantly sing to welcome the spring,<br /> + ’Gainst heaven they never +rail;<br /> +If grass well grow, their thanks they show,<br /> +And, frost or snow, they merrily go<br /> + Along with the milking-pail:</p> +<p class="poetry"> Base +idleness they do scorn,<br /> + They rise very early i’ +th’ morn,<br /> +And walk into the field, where pretty birds do yield<br /> + Brave music on every thorn.<br /> +The linnet and thrush do sing on each bush,<br /> + And the dulcet nightingale<br /> +Her note doth strain, by jocund vein,<br /> +To entertain that worthy train,<br /> + Which carry the milking-pail.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Their +labour doth health preserve,<br /> + No doctor’s rules they +observe,<br /> +While others too nice in taking their advice,<br /> + Look always as though they would +starve.<br /> +Their meat is digested, they ne’er are molested,<br /> + No sickness doth them assail;<br +/> +Their time is spent in merriment,<br /> +While limbs are lent, they are content,<br /> + To carry the milking-pail.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a +name="page228"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 228</span>Upon the +first of May,<br /> + With garlands, fresh and gay,<br +/> +With mirth and music sweet, for such a season meet,<br /> + They pass the time away.<br /> +They dance away sorrow, and all the day thorough<br /> + Their legs do never fail,<br /> +For they nimbly their feet do ply,<br /> +And bravely try the victory,<br /> + In honour o’ the +milking-pail.</p> +<p class="poetry"> If any +think that I<br /> + Do practise flattery,<br /> +In seeking thus to raise the merry milkmaids’ praise,<br /> + I’ll to them thus +reply:—<br /> +It is their desert inviteth my art,<br /> + To study this pleasant tale;<br /> +In their defence, whose innocence,<br /> +And providence, gets honest pence<br /> + Out of the milking-pail.</p> +<h3>THE MILKING-PAIL.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> following is another version +of the preceding ditty, and is the one most commonly sung.]</p> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Ye</span> nymphs and sylvan gods,<br /> + That love green fields and +woods,<br /> +When spring newly-born herself does adorn,<br /> + With flowers and blooming buds:<br +/> +Come sing in the praise, while flocks do graze,<br /> + On yonder pleasant vale,<br /> +Of those that choose to milk their ewes,<br /> +And in cold dews, with clouted shoes,<br /> + To carry the milking-pail.</p> +<p class="poetry"> You goddess +of the morn,<br /> + With blushes you adorn,<br /> +<a name="page229"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 229</span>And take +the fresh air, whilst linnets prepare<br /> + A concert on each green thorn;<br +/> +The blackbird and thrush on every bush,<br /> + And the charming nightingale,<br +/> +In merry vein, their throats do strain<br /> +To entertain, the jolly train<br /> + Of those of the milking-pail.</p> +<p class="poetry"> When cold +bleak winds do roar,<br /> + And flowers will spring no +more,<br /> +The fields that were seen so pleasant and green,<br /> + With winter all candied +o’er,<br /> +See now the town lass, with her white face,<br /> + And her lips so deadly pale;<br /> +But it is not so, with those that go<br /> +Through frost and snow, with cheeks that glow,<br /> + And carry the milking-pail.</p> +<p class="poetry"> The country +lad is free<br /> + From fears and jealousy,<br /> +Whilst upon the green he oft is seen,<br /> + With his lass upon his knee.<br /> +With kisses most sweet he doth her so treat,<br /> + And swears her charms won’t +fail;<br /> +But the London lass, in every place,<br /> +With brazen face, despises the grace<br /> + Of those of the milking-pail.</p> +<h3>THE SUMMER’S MORNING.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> is a very old ditty, and a +favourite with the peasantry in every part of England; but more +particularly in the mining districts of the North. The tune +is pleasing, but uncommon. R. W. Dixon, Esq., of +Seaton-Carew, Durham, by whom the song was communicated to his +brother for publication, says, ‘I have written down the +above, <i>verbatim</i>, as generally sung. It will be seen +that the last lines of each verse are not of equal length. +The singer, however, makes all right and smooth! The words +underlined <a name="page230"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +230</span>in each verse are sung five times, thus:—<i>They +ad-van-cèd</i>, <i>they ad-van-cèd</i>, <i>they +ad-van-cèd</i>, <i>they ad-van-cèd</i>, <i>they +ad-van-cèd me some money</i>,—<i>ten guineas and a +crown</i>. The last line is thus sung:—<i>We’ll +be married</i>, (as the word is usually pronounced), +<i>We’ll be married</i>, <i>we’ll be married</i>, +<i>we’ll be married</i>, <i>we’ll be married</i>, +<i>we’ll be mar-ri-èd when I return +again</i>.’ The tune is given in <i>Popular +Music</i>. Since this song appeared in the volume issued by +the Percy Society, we have met with a copy printed at +Devonport. The readings are in general not so good; but in +one or two instances they are apparently more ancient, and are, +consequently, here adopted. The Devonport copy contains two +verses, not preserved in our traditional version. These we +have incorporated in our present text, in which they form the +third and last stanzas.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">It</span> was one +summer’s morning, as I went o’er the moss,<br /> +I had no thought of ’listing, till the soldiers did me +cross;<br /> +They kindly did invite me to a flowing bowl, and down,<br /> +<i>They advancèd</i> me some money,—ten guineas and +a crown.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘It’s true my love has listed, he +wears a white cockade,<br /> +He is a handsome tall young man, besides a roving blade;<br /> +He is a handsome young man, and he’s gone to serve the +king,<br /> +<i>Oh</i>! <i>my very</i> heart is breaking for the loss of +him.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘My love is tall and handsome, and comely +for to see,<br /> +And by a sad misfortune a soldier now is he;<br /> +I hope the man that listed him may not prosper night nor day,<br +/> +<i>For I wish that</i> the Hollànders may sink him in the +sea.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Oh! may he never prosper, oh! may he +never thrive,<br /> +Nor anything he takes in hand so long as he’s alive;<br /> +May the very grass he treads upon the ground refuse to grow,<br +/> +<i>Since he’s been</i> the only cause of my sorrow, grief, +and woe!’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page231"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +231</span>Then he pulled out a handkerchief to wipe her flowing +eyes,—<br /> +‘Leave off those lamentations, likewise those mournful +cries;<br /> +Leave of your grief and sorrow, while I march o’er the +plain,<br /> +<i>We’ll be married</i> when I return again.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘O now my love has listed, and I for him +will rove,<br /> +I’ll write his name on every tree that grows in yonder +grove,<br /> +Where the huntsman he does hollow, and the hounds do sweetly +cry,<br /> +<i>To remind me</i> of my ploughboy until the day I +die.’</p> +<h3>OLD ADAM.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">We</span> have had considerable trouble +in procuring a copy of this old song, which used, in former days, +to be very popular with aged people resident in the North of +England. It has been long out of print, and handed down +traditionally. By the kindness, however, of Mr. S. +Swindells, printer, Manchester, we have been favoured with an +ancient printed copy, which Mr. Swindells observes he had great +difficulty in obtaining. Some improvements have been made +in the present edition from the recital of Mr. Effingham Wilson, +who was familiar with the song in his youth.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Both</span> sexes give ear +to my fancy,<br /> + While in praise of dear woman I sing;<br /> +Confined not to Moll, Sue, or Nancy,<br /> + But mates from a beggar to king.</p> +<p class="poetry">When old Adam first was created,<br /> + And lord of the universe crowned,<br /> +His happiness was not completed,<br /> + Until that an helpmate was found.</p> +<p class="poetry">He’d all things in food that were +wanting<br /> + To keep and support him through life;<br /> +He’d horses and foxes for hunting,<br /> + Which some men love better than wife.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page232"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +232</span>He’d a garden so planted by nature,<br /> + Man cannot produce in his life;<br /> +But yet the all-wise great Creator<br /> + Still saw that he wanted a wife.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Adam he laid in a slumber,<br /> + And there he lost part of his side;<br /> +And when he awoke, with a wonder,<br /> + Beheld his most beautiful bride!</p> +<p class="poetry">In transport he gazèd upon her,<br /> + His happiness now was complete!<br /> +He praisèd his bountiful donor,<br /> + Who thus had bestowed him a mate.</p> +<p class="poetry">She was not took out of his head, sir,<br /> + To reign and triumph over man;<br /> +Nor was she took out of his feet, sir,<br /> + By man to be trampled upon.</p> +<p class="poetry">But she was took out of his side, sir,<br /> + His equal and partner to be;<br /> +But as they’re united in one, sir,<br /> + The man is the top of the tree.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then let not the fair be despisèd<br /> + By man, as she’s part of himself;<br /> +For woman by Adam was prizèd<br /> + More than the whole globe full of wealth.</p> +<p class="poetry">Man without a woman’s a beggar,<br /> + Suppose the whole world he possessed;<br /> +And the beggar that’s got a good woman,<br /> + With more than the world he is blest.</p> +<h3>TOBACCO.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> song is a mere adaptation of +<i>Smoking Spiritualized</i>; see <i>ante</i>, p. 39. The +earliest copy of the abridgment we have been able to meet with, +is published in D’Urfey’s <i>Pills to purge +Melancholy</i>, <a name="page233"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +233</span>1719; but whether we are indebted for it to the author +of the original poem, or to ‘that bright genius, Tom +D’Urfey,’ as Burns calls him, we are not able to +determine. The song has always been popular. The tune +is in <i>Popular Music</i>.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Tobacco’s</span> but +an Indian weed,<br /> +Grows green in the morn, cut down at eve;<br /> + It shows our decay,<br /> + We are but clay;<br /> +Think of this when you smoke tobacco!</p> +<p class="poetry">The pipe that is so lily white,<br /> +Wherein so many take delight,<br /> + It’s broken with a +touch,—<br /> + Man’s life is such;<br /> +Think of this when you take tobacco!</p> +<p class="poetry">The pipe that is so foul within,<br /> +It shows man’s soul is stained with sin;<br /> + It doth require<br /> + To be purred with fire;<br /> +Think of this when you smoke tobacco!</p> +<p class="poetry">The dust that from the pipe doth fall,<br /> +It shows we are nothing but dust at all;<br /> + For we came from the dust,<br /> + And return we must;<br /> +Think of this when you smoke tobacco!</p> +<p class="poetry">The ashes that are left behind,<br /> +Do serve to put us all in mind<br /> + That unto dust<br /> + Return we must;<br /> +Think of this when you take tobacco!</p> +<p class="poetry">The smoke that does so high ascend,<br /> +Shows that man’s life must have an end;<br /> + The vapour’s gone,—<br +/> + Man’s life is done;<br /> +Think of this when you take tobacco!</p> +<h3><a name="page234"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 234</span>THE +SPANISH LADIES.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> song is ancient, but we have +no means of ascertaining at what period it was written. +Captain Marryat, in his novel of <i>Poor Jack</i>, introduces it, +and says it is <i>old</i>. It is a general favourite. +The air is plaintive, and in the minor key. See <i>Popular +Music</i>.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Farewell</span>, and adieu +to you Spanish ladies,<br /> + Farewell, and adieu to you ladies of Spain!<br /> +For we’ve received orders for to sail for old England,<br +/> + But we hope in a short time to see you again.</p> +<p class="poetry">We’ll rant and we’ll roar <a +name="citation234"></a><a href="#footnote234" +class="citation">[234]</a> like true British heroes,<br /> + We’ll rant and we’ll roar across the +salt seas,<br /> +Until we strike soundings in the channel of old England;<br /> + From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then we hove our ship to, with the wind at +sou’-west, boys,<br /> + We hove our ship to, for to strike soundings +clear;<br /> +We got soundings in ninety-five fathom, and boldly<br /> + Up the channel of old England our course we did +steer.</p> +<p class="poetry">The first land we made it was callèd the +Deadman,<br /> + Next, Ram’shead off Plymouth, Start, Portland, +and Wight;<br /> +We passèd by Beachy, by Fairleigh, and Dungeness,<br /> + And hove our ship to, off the South Foreland +light.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then a signal was made for the grand fleet to +anchor<br /> + All in the Downs, that night for to sleep;<br /> +Then stand by your stoppers, let go your shank-painters,<br /> + Haul all your clew-garnets, stick out tacks and +sheets.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page235"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +235</span>So let every man toss off a full bumper,<br /> + Let every man toss off his full bowls;<br /> +We’ll drink and be jolly, and drown melancholy,<br /> + So here’s a good health to all true-hearted +souls!</p> +<h3>HARRY THE TAILOR.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">(TRADITIONAL.)</span></p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> following song was taken down +some years ago from the recitation of a country curate, who said +he had learned it from a very old inhabitant of Methley, near +Pontefract, Yorkshire. We have never seen it in print.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> Harry the +tailor was twenty years old,<br /> +He began for to look with courage so bold;<br /> +He told his old mother he was not in jest,<br /> +But he would have a wife as well as the rest.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Harry next morning, before it was day,<br +/> +To the house of his fair maid took his way.<br /> +He found his dear Dolly a making of cheese,<br /> +Says he, ‘You must give me a buss, if you +please!’</p> +<p class="poetry">She up with the bowl, the butter-milk flew,<br +/> +And Harry the tailor looked wonderful blue.<br /> +‘O, Dolly, my dear, what hast thou done?<br /> +From my back to my breeks has thy butter-milk run.’</p> +<p class="poetry">She gave him a push, he stumbled and fell<br /> +Down from the dairy into the drawwell.<br /> +Then Harry, the ploughboy, ran amain,<br /> +And soon brought him up in the bucket again.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Harry went home like a drowned rat,<br /> +And told his old mother what he had been at.<br /> +With butter-milk, bowl, and a terrible fall,<br /> +O, if this be called love, may the devil take all!</p> +<h3><a name="page236"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 236</span>SIR +ARTHUR AND CHARMING MOLLEE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">(TRADITIONAL.)</span></p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">For</span> this old Northumbrian song we +are indebted to Mr. Robert Chambers. It was taken down from +the recitation of a lady. The ‘Sir Arthur’ is +no less a personage than Sir Arthur Haslerigg, the Governor of +Tynemouth Castle during the Protectorate of Cromwell.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">As</span> noble Sir Arthur +one morning did ride,<br /> +With his hounds at his feet, and his sword by his side,<br /> +He saw a fair maid sitting under a tree,<br /> +He askèd her name, and she said ’twas Mollee.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Oh, charming Mollee, you my butler shall +be,<br /> +To draw the red wine for yourself and for me!<br /> +I’ll make you a lady so high in degree,<br /> +If you will but love me, my charming Mollee!</p> +<p class="poetry">‘I’ll give you fine ribbons, +I’ll give you fine rings,<br /> +I’ll give you fine jewels, and many fine things;<br /> +I’ll give you a petticoat flounced to the knee,<br /> +If you will but love me, my charming Mollee!’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘I’ll have none of your ribbons, +and none of your rings,<br /> +None of your jewels, and other fine things;<br /> +And I’ve got a petticoat suits my degree,<br /> +And I’ll ne’er love a married man till his wife +dee.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Oh, charming Mollee, lend me then your +penknife,<br /> +And I will go home, and I’ll kill my own wife;<br /> +I’ll kill my own wife, and my bairnies three,<br /> +If you will but love me, my charming Mollee!’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Oh, noble Sir Arthur, it must not be +so,<br /> +Go home to your wife, and let nobody know;<br /> +For seven long years I will wait upon thee,<br /> +But I’ll ne’er love a married man till his wife +dee.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Now seven long years are gone and are past,<br +/> +The old woman went to her long home at last;<br /> +<a name="page237"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 237</span>The old +woman died, and Sir Arthur was free,<br /> +And he soon came a-courting to charming Mollee.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now charming Mollee in her carriage doth +ride,<br /> +With her hounds at her feet, and her lord by her side:<br /> +Now all ye fair maids take a warning by me,<br /> +And ne’er love a married man till his wife dee.</p> +<h3>THERE WAS AN OLD MAN CAME OVER THE LEA.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> is a version of the +<i>Baillie of Berwick</i>, which will be found in the <i>Local +Historian’s Table-Book</i>. It was originally +obtained from Morpeth, and communicated by W. H. Longstaffe, +Esq., of Darlington, who says, ‘in many respects the +<i>Baillie of Berwick</i> is the better edition—still mine +may furnish an extra stanza or two, and the ha! ha! ha! is better +than heigho, though the notes suit either version.’]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> was an old man +came over the Lea,<br /> + Ha-ha-ha-ha! but I won’t have him. <a +name="citation237"></a><a href="#footnote237" +class="citation">[237]</a><br /> + He came over the Lea,<br /> + A-courting to me,<br /> +With his grey beard newly-shaven.</p> +<p class="poetry">My mother she bid me open the door:<br /> + I opened the door,<br /> + And he fell on the floor.</p> +<p class="poetry">My mother she bid me set him a stool:<br /> + I set him a stool,<br /> + And he looked like a fool.</p> +<p class="poetry">My mother she bid me give him some beer:<br /> + I gave him some beer,<br /> + And he thought it good cheer.</p> +<p class="poetry">My mother she bid me cut him some bread:<br /> + I cut him some bread,<br /> + And I threw’t at his +head.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page238"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +238</span>My mother she bid me light him to bed:<br /> + I lit him to bed,<br /> + And wished he were dead.</p> +<p class="poetry">My mother she bid me tell him to rise:<br /> + I told him to rise,<br /> + And he opened his eyes.</p> +<p class="poetry">My mother she bid me take him to church:<br /> + I took him to church,<br /> + And left him in the lurch;<br /> +With his grey beard newly-shaven.</p> +<h3>WHY SHOULD WE QUARREL FOR RICHES.</h3> +<p>[A <span class="smcap">version</span> of this very favourite +song may be found in Ramsay’s <i>Tea-Table +Miscellany</i>. Though a sailor’s song, we question +whether it is not a greater favourite with landsmen. The +chorus is become proverbial, and its philosophy has often been +invoked to mitigate the evils and misfortunes of life.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">How</span> pleasant a +sailor’s life passes,<br /> + Who roams o’er the watery main!<br /> +No treasure he ever amasses,<br /> + But cheerfully spends all his gain.<br /> +We’re strangers to party and faction,<br /> + To honour and honesty true;<br /> +And would not commit a bad action<br /> + For power or profit in view.<br /> + Then why should we quarrel for +riches,<br /> + Or any such +glittering toys;<br /> + A light heart, and a thin pair of +breeches,<br /> + Will go through +the world, my brave boys!</p> +<p class="poetry">The world is a beautiful garden,<br /> + Enriched with the blessings of life,<br /> +The toiler with plenty rewarding,<br /> + Which plenty too often breeds strife.<br /> +<a name="page239"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 239</span>When +terrible tempests assail us,<br /> + And mountainous billows affright,<br /> +No grandeur or wealth can avail us,<br /> + But skilful industry steers right.<br /> + Then why, +&c.</p> +<p class="poetry">The courtier’s more subject to +dangers,<br /> + Who rules at the helm of the state,<br /> +Than we that, to politics strangers,<br /> + Escape the snares laid for the great.<br /> +The various blessings of nature,<br /> + In various nations we try;<br /> +No mortals than us can be greater,<br /> + Who merrily live till we die.<br /> + Then why should, +&c.</p> +<h3>THE MERRY FELLOWS;</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">OR, HE THAT +WILL NOT MERRY, MERRY BE.</span></p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> popularity of this old lyric, +of which ours is the ballad-printer’s version, has been +increased by the lively and appropriate music recently adapted to +it by Mr. Holderness. The date of this song is about the +era of Charles II.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Now</span>, since +we’re met, let’s merry, merry be,<br /> + In spite of all our foes;<br /> +And he that will not merry be,<br /> + We’ll pull him by the nose.<br /> + <i>Cho</i>. Let him be +merry, merry there,<br /> + While +we’re all merry, merry here,<br /> + For who can know where he shall +go,<br /> + To be merry +another year.</p> +<p class="poetry">He that will not merry, merry be,<br /> + With a generous bowl and a toast,<br /> +May he in Bridewell be shut up,<br /> + And fast bound to a post.<br /> + + +Let him, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page240"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +240</span>He that will not merry, merry be,<br /> + And take his glass in course,<br /> +May he be obliged to drink small beer,<br /> + Ne’er a penny in his +purse.<br /> + + +Let him, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">He that will not merry, merry be,<br /> + With a company of jolly boys;<br /> +May he be plagued with a scolding wife,<br /> + To confound him with her noise.<br +/> + + +Let him, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">[He that will not merry, merry be,<br /> + With his sweetheart by his side,<br /> +Let him be laid in the cold churchyard,<br /> + With a head-stone for his +bride.<br /> + + +Let him, &c.]</p> +<h3>THE OLD MAN’S SONG.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> ditty, still occasionally +heard in the country districts, seems to be the original of the +very beautiful song, <i>The Downhill of Life</i>. <i>The +Old Man’s Song</i> may be found in Playford’s +<i>Theatre of Music</i>, 1685; but we are inclined to refer it to +an earlier period. The song is also published by +D’Urfey, accompanied by two objectionable parodies.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">If</span> I live to grow +old, for I find I go down,<br /> +Let this be my fate in a country town:—<br /> +May I have a warm house, with a stone at the gate,<br /> +And a cleanly young girl to rub my bald pate;<br /> +May I govern my passions with absolute sway,<br /> +And grow wiser and better as strength wears away,<br /> +Without gout or stone, by a gentle decay.</p> +<p class="poetry">In a country town, by a murmuring brook,<br /> +With the ocean at distance on which I may look;<br /> +With a spacious plain, without hedge or stile,<br /> +And an easy pad nag to ride out a mile.<br /> + + +May I govern, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page241"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +241</span>With Horace and Plutarch, and one or two more<br /> +Of the best wits that lived in the age before;<br /> +With a dish of roast mutton, not venison or teal,<br /> +And clean, though coarse, linen at every meal.<br /> + + +May I govern, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">With a pudding on Sunday, and stout humming +liquor,<br /> +And remnants of Latin to welcome the vicar;<br /> +With a hidden reserve of good Burgundy wine,<br /> +To drink the king’s health in as oft as I dine.<br /> + + +May I govern, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">When the days are grown short, and it freezes +and snows,<br /> +May I have a coal fire as high as my nose;<br /> +A fire (which once stirred up with a prong),<br /> +Will keep the room temperate all the night long.<br /> + + +May I govern, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">With a courage undaunted may I face my last +day;<br /> +And when I am dead may the better sort say—<br /> +‘In the morning when sober, in the evening when mellow,<br +/> +He’s gone, and he leaves not behind him his +fellow!’<br /> + + +May I govern, &c.</p> +<h3>ROBIN HOOD’S HILL.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Ritson</span> speaks of a Robin +Hood’s Hill near Gloucester, and of a ‘foolish +song’ about it. Whether this is the song to which he +alludes we cannot determine. We find it in <i>Notes and +Queries</i>, where it is stated to be printed from a MS. of the +latter part of the last century, and described as a song well +known in the district to which it refers.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Ye</span> bards who extol +the gay valleys and glades,<br /> +The jessamine bowers, and amorous shades,<br /> +Who prospects so rural can boast at your will,<br /> +Yet never once mentioned sweet ‘Robin Hood’s +Hill.’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page242"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +242</span>This spot, which of nature displays every smile,<br /> +From famed Glo’ster city is distanced two mile,<br /> +Of which you a view may obtain at your will,<br /> +From the sweet rural summit of ‘Robin Hood’s +Hill.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Where a clear crystal spring does incessantly +flow,<br /> +To supply and refresh the fair valley below;<br /> +No dog-star’s brisk heat e’er diminished the rill<br +/> +Which sweetly doth prattle on ‘Robin Hood’s +Hill.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Here, gazing around, you find objects still +new,<br /> +Of Severn’s sweet windings, how pleasing the view,<br /> +Whose stream with the fruits of blessed commerce doth fill<br /> +The sweet-smelling vale beneath ‘Robin Hood’s +Hill.’</p> +<p class="poetry">This hill, though so lofty, yet fertile and +rare,<br /> +Few valleys can with it for herbage compare;<br /> +Some far greater bard should his lyre and his quill<br /> +Direct to the praise of sweet ‘Robin Hood’s +Hill.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Here lads and gay lasses in couples resort,<br +/> +For sweet rural pastime and innocent sport;<br /> +Sure pleasures ne’er flowed from gay nature or skill,<br /> +Like those that are found on sweet ‘Robin Hood’s +Hill.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Had I all the riches of matchless Peru,<br /> +To revel in splendour as emperors do,<br /> +I’d forfeit the whole with a hearty good will,<br /> +To dwell in a cottage on ‘Robin Hood’s +Hill.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Then, poets, record my loved theme in your +lays:<br /> +First view;—then you’ll own that ’tis worthy of +praise;<br /> +Nay, Envy herself must acknowledge it still,<br /> +That no spot’s so delightful as ‘Robin Hood’s +Hill.’</p> +<h3><a name="page243"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +243</span>BEGONE DULL CARE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">(TRADITIONAL.)</span></p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">We</span> cannot trace this popular ditty +beyond the reign of James II, but we believe it to be +older. The origin is to be found in an early French +chanson. The present version has been taken down from the +singing of an old Yorkshire yeoman. The third verse we have +never seen in print, but it is always sung in the west of +Yorkshire.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Begone</span>, dull +care!<br /> + I prithee begone from me;<br /> +Begone, dull care!<br /> + Thou and I can never agree.<br /> +Long while thou hast been tarrying here,<br /> + And fain thou wouldst me kill;<br /> +But i’ faith, dull care,<br /> + Thou never shalt have thy will.</p> +<p class="poetry">Too much care<br /> + Will make a young man grey;<br /> +Too much care<br /> + Will turn an old man to clay.<br /> +My wife shall dance, and I shall sing,<br /> + So merrily pass the day;<br /> +For I hold it is the wisest thing,<br /> + To drive dull care away.</p> +<p class="poetry">Hence, dull care,<br /> + I’ll none of thy company;<br /> +Hence, dull care,<br /> + Thou art no pair <a name="citation243"></a><a +href="#footnote243" class="citation">[243]</a> for me.<br /> +We’ll hunt the wild boar through the wold,<br /> + So merrily pass the day;<br /> +And then at night, o’er a cheerful bowl,<br /> + We’ll drive dull care away.</p> +<h3><a name="page244"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 244</span>FULL +MERRILY SINGS THE CUCKOO.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> earliest copy of this playful +song is one contained in a MS. of the reign of James I., +preserved amongst the registers of the Stationers’ Company; +but the song can be traced back to 1566.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Full</span> merrily sings +the cuckoo<br /> + Upon the beechen tree;<br /> +Your wives you well should look to,<br /> + If you take advice of me.<br /> +Cuckoo! cuckoo! alack the morn,<br /> + When of married men<br /> + Full nine in ten<br /> +Must be content to wear the horn.</p> +<p class="poetry">Full merrily sings the cuckoo<br /> + Upon the oaken tree;<br /> +Your wives you well should look to,<br /> + If you take advice of me.<br /> +Cuckoo! cuckoo! alack the day!<br /> + For married men<br /> + But now and then,<br /> +Can ’scape to bear the horn away.</p> +<p class="poetry">Full merrily sings the cuckoo<br /> + Upon the ashen tree;<br /> +Your wives you well should look to,<br /> + If you take advice of me.<br /> +Cuckoo! cuckoo! alack the noon,<br /> + When married men<br /> + Must watch the hen,<br /> +Or some strange fox will steal her soon.</p> +<p class="poetry">Full merrily sings the cuckoo<br /> + Upon the alder tree;<br /> +Your wives you well should look to,<br /> + If you take advice of me.<br /> +<a name="page245"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 245</span>Cuckoo! +cuckoo! alack the eve,<br /> + When married men<br /> + Must bid good den<br /> +To such as horns to them do give.</p> +<p class="poetry">Full merrily sings the cuckoo<br /> + Upon the aspen tree;<br /> +Your wives you well should look to,<br /> + If you take advice of me.<br /> +Cuckoo! cuckoo! alack the night,<br /> + When married men,<br /> + Again and again,<br /> +Must hide their horns in their despite.</p> +<h3>JOCKEY TO THE FAIR.</h3> +<p>[A <span class="smcap">version</span> of this song, not quite +so accurate as the following was published from an old broadside +in <i>Notes and Queries</i>, vol. vii., p. 49, where it is +described as a ‘very celebrated Gloucestershire +ballad.’ But Gloucestershire is not exclusively +entitled to the honour of this genuine old country song, which is +well known in Westmoreland and other counties. +‘Jockey’ songs constitute a distinct and numerous +class, and belong for the most part to the middle of the last +century, when Jockey and Jenny were formidable rivals to the +Strephons and Chloes of the artificial school of pastoral +poetry. The author of this song, whoever he was, drew upon +real rural life, and not upon its fashionable masquerade. +We have been unable to trace the exact date of this ditty, which +still enjoys in some districts a wide popularity. It is not +to be found in any of several large collections of Ranelagh and +Vauxhall songs, and other anthologies, which we have +examined. From the christian names of the lovers, it might +be supposed to be of Scotch or Border origin; but <i>Jockey to +the Fair</i> is not confined to the North; indeed it is much +better known, and more frequently sung, in the South and +West.]</p> +<p class="poetry">’<span class="smcap">Twas</span> on the +morn of sweet May-day,<br /> +When nature painted all things gay,<br /> +Taught birds to sing, and lambs to play,<br /> + And gild the meadows fair;<br /> +<a name="page246"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 246</span>Young +Jockey, early in the dawn,<br /> +Arose and tripped it o’er the lawn;<br /> +His Sunday clothes the youth put on,<br /> +For Jenny had vowed away to run<br /> + With Jockey to the fair;<br /> +For Jenny had vowed, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">The cheerful parish bells had rung,<br /> +With eager steps he trudged along,<br /> +While flowery garlands round him hung,<br /> + Which shepherds use to wear;<br /> +He tapped the window; ‘Haste, my dear!’<br /> +Jenny impatient cried, ‘Who’s there?’<br /> +‘’Tis I, my love, and no one near;<br /> +Step gently down, you’ve nought to fear,<br /> + With Jockey to the fair.’<br +/> +Step gently down, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘My dad and mam are fast asleep,<br /> +My brother’s up, and with the sheep;<br /> +And will you still your promise keep,<br /> + Which I have heard you swear?<br +/> +And will you ever constant prove?’<br /> +‘I will, by all the powers above,<br /> +And ne’er deceive my charming dove;<br /> +Dispel these doubts, and haste, my love,<br /> + With Jockey to the fair.’<br +/> +Dispel, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Behold, the ring,’ the shepherd +cried;<br /> +‘Will Jenny be my charming bride?<br /> +Let Cupid be our happy guide,<br /> + And Hymen meet us there.’<br +/> +Then Jockey did his vows renew;<br /> +He would be constant, would he true,<br /> +His word was pledged; away she flew,<br /> +O’er cowslips tipped with balmy dew,<br /> + With Jockey to the fair.<br /> +O’er cowslips, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page247"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +247</span>In raptures meet the joyful throng;<br /> +Their gay companions, blithe and young,<br /> +Each join the dance, each raise the song,<br /> + To hail the happy pair.<br /> +In turns there’s none so loud as they,<br /> +They bless the kind propitious day,<br /> +The smiling morn of blooming May,<br /> +When lovely Jenny ran away<br /> + With Jockey to the fair.<br /> +When lovely, &c.</p> +<h3>LONG PRESTON PEG.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">(A +FRAGMENT.)</span></p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">Mr. Birkbeck</span>, of Threapland House, +Lintondale, in Craven, has favoured us with the following +fragment. The tune is well known in the North, but all attempts +on the part of Mr. Birkbeck to obtain the remaining verses have +been unsuccessful. The song is evidently of the date of the +first rebellion, 1715.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Long</span> Preston Peg to +proud Preston went,<br /> +To see the Scotch rebels it was her intent.<br /> +A noble Scotch lord, as he passed by,<br /> +On this Yorkshire damsel did soon cast an eye.</p> +<p class="poetry">He called to his servant, which on him did +wait,<br /> +‘Go down to yon girl who stands in the gate, <a +name="citation247"></a><a href="#footnote247" +class="citation">[247]</a><br /> +That sings with a voice so soft and so sweet,<br /> +And in my name do her lovingly greet.’</p> +<h3>THE SWEET NIGHTINGALE;</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">OR, DOWN IN +THOSE VALLEYS BELOW.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">AN ANCIENT +CORNISH SONG.</span></p> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> curious ditty, which may be +confidently assigned to the seventeenth century, is said to be a +translation from the ancient <a name="page248"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 248</span>Cornish tongue. We first heard +it in Germany, in the pleasure-gardens of the Marienberg, on the +Moselle. The singers were four Cornish miners, who were at +that time, 1854, employed at some lead mines near the town of +Zell. The leader or ‘Captain,’ John Stocker, +said that the song was an established favourite with the lead +miners of Cornwall and Devonshire, and was always sung on the +pay-days, and at the wakes; and that his grandfather, who died +thirty years before, at the age of a hundred years, used to sing +the song, and say that it was very old. Stocker promised to +make a copy of it, but there was no opportunity of procuring it +before we left Germany. The following version has been +supplied by a gentleman in Plymouth, who writes:—</p> +<blockquote><p>I have had a great deal of trouble about <i>The +Valley Below</i>. It is not in print. I first met +with one person who knew one part, then with another person who +knew another part, but nobody could sing the whole. At +last, chance directed me to an old man at work on the roads, and +he sung and recited it throughout, not exactly, however, as I +send it, for I was obliged to supply a little here and there, but +only where a bad rhyme, or rather none at all, made it evident +what the real rhyme was. I have read it over to a mining +gentleman at Truro, and he says ‘It is pretty near the way +we sing it.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The tune is plaintive and original.]</p> +<p +class="poetry"> ‘<span +class="smcap">My</span> sweetheart, come along!<br /> + Don’t you hear the fond +song,<br /> +The sweet notes of the nightingale flow?<br /> + Don’t you hear the fond +tale<br /> + Of the sweet nightingale,<br /> +As she sings in those valleys below?<br /> + So be not afraid<br /> + To walk in the shade,<br /> +Nor yet in those valleys below,<br /> +Nor yet in those valleys below.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> ‘Pretty +Betsy, don’t fail,<br /> + For I’ll carry your pail,<br +/> +Safe home to your cot as we go;<br /> + You shall hear the fond tale<br /> + Of the sweet nightingale,<br /> +As she sings in those valleys below.’<br /> + <a name="page249"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 249</span>But she was afraid<br /> + To walk in the shade,<br /> +To walk in those valleys below,<br /> +To walk in those valleys below.</p> +<p class="poetry"> ‘Pray +let me alone,<br /> + I have hands of my own;<br /> +Along with you I will not go,<br /> + To hear the fond tale<br /> + Of the sweet nightingale,<br /> +As she sings in those valleys below;<br /> + For I am afraid<br /> + To walk in the shade,<br /> +To walk in those valleys below,<br /> +To walk in those valleys below.’</p> +<p class="poetry"> ‘Pray +sit yourself down<br /> + With me on the ground,<br /> +On this bank where sweet primroses grow;<br /> + You shall hear the fond tale<br /> + Of the sweet nightingale,<br /> +As she sings in those valleys below;<br /> + So be not afraid<br /> + To walk in the shade,<br /> +Nor yet in those valleys below,<br /> +Nor yet in those valleys below.’</p> +<p class="poetry"> This couple +agreed;<br /> + They were married with speed,<br +/> +And soon to the church they did go.<br /> + She was no more afraid<br /> + For to <a +name="citation249"></a><a href="#footnote249" +class="citation">[249]</a> walk in the shade,<br /> +Nor yet in those valleys below:<br /> + <a name="page250"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 250</span>Nor to hear the fond tale<br /> + Of the sweet nightingale,<br /> +As she sung in those valleys below,<br /> +As she sung in those valleys below.</p> +<h3>THE OLD MAN AND HIS THREE SONS.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">This</span> traditional ditty, founded +upon the old ballad inserted <i>ante</i>, p. 124, is current as a +nursery song in the North of England.]</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> was an old +man, and sons he had three, <a name="citation250"></a><a +href="#footnote250" class="citation">[250]</a><br /> + Wind well, Lion, good hunter.<br /> +A friar he being one of the three,<br /> +With pleasure he rangèd the north country,<br /> + For he was a jovial hunter.</p> +<p class="poetry">As he went to the woods some pastime to see,<br +/> + Wind well, Lion, good hunter,<br /> +He spied a fair lady under a tree,<br /> +Sighing and moaning mournfully.<br /> + He was a jovial hunter.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘What are you doing, my fair +lady!’<br /> + Wind well, Lion, good hunter.<br /> +‘I’m frightened, the wild boar he will kill me,<br /> +He has worried my lord, and wounded thirty,<br /> + As thou art a jovial hunter.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Then the friar he put his horn to his mouth,<br +/> + Wind well, Lion, good hunter.<br /> +And he blew a blast, east, west, north, and south,<br /> +And the wild boar from his den he came forth<br /> + Unto the jovial hunter.</p> +<h3><a name="page251"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 251</span>A +BEGGING WE WILL GO.</h3> +<p>[<span class="smcap">The</span> authorship of this song is +attributed to Richard Brome—(he who once ‘performed a +servant’s faithful part’ for Ben Jonson)—in a +black-letter copy in the Bagford Collection, where it is entitled +<i>The Beggars’ Chorus in the</i> ‘<i>Jovial +Crew</i>,’ <i>to an excellent new tune</i>. No such +chorus, however, appears in the play, which was produced at the +Cock-pit in 1641; and the probability is, as Mr. Chappell +conjectures, that it was only interpolated in the +performance. It is sometimes called <i>The Jovial +Beggar</i>. The tune has been from time to time introduced +into several ballad operas; and the song, says Mr. Chappell, who +publishes the air in his <i>Popular Music</i>, ‘is the +prototype of many others, such as <i>A bowling we will go</i>, +<i>A fishing we will go</i>, <i>A hawking we will go</i>, and +<i>A fishing we will go</i>. The last named is still +popular with those who take delight in hunting, and the air is +now scarcely known by any other title.]</p> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">There</span> was a jovial beggar,<br /> + He had a wooden leg,<br /> + Lame from his cradle,<br /> + And forced for to beg.<br /> +And a begging we will go, we’ll go, we’ll go;<br /> +And a begging we will go!</p> +<p class="poetry"> A bag for his oatmeal,<br /> + Another for his salt;<br /> + And a pair of crutches,<br /> + To show that he can halt.<br /> + + +And a begging, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry"> A bag for his wheat,<br /> + Another for his rye;<br /> + A little bottle by his side,<br /> + To drink when he’s a-dry.<br +/> + + +And a begging, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Seven years I begged<br /> + For my old Master Wild,<br /> + He taught me to beg<br /> + When I was but a child.<br /> + + +And a begging, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a name="page252"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 252</span>I begged for my master,<br /> + And got him store of pelf;<br /> + But now, Jove be praised!<br /> + I’m begging for myself.<br +/> + + +And a begging, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry"> In a hollow tree<br /> + I live, and pay no rent;<br /> + Providence provides for me,<br /> + And I am well content.<br /> + + +And a begging, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Of all the occupations,<br /> + A beggar’s life’s the +best;<br /> + For whene’er he’s weary,<br /> + He’ll lay him down and +rest.<br /> + + +And a begging, &c.</p> +<p class="poetry"> I fear no plots against +me,<br /> + I live in open cell;<br /> + Then who would be a king<br /> + When beggars live so well?<br /> +And a begging we will go, we’ll go, we’ll go;<br /> +And a begging we will go!</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">THE END.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<h2>FOOTNOTES.</h2> +<p><a name="footnote24"></a><a href="#citation24" +class="footnote">[24]</a> This is the same tune as +<i>Fortune my foe</i>.—See <i>Popular Music of the Olden +Time</i>, p. 162.</p> +<p><a name="footnote51"></a><a href="#citation51" +class="footnote">[51]</a> This word seems to be used here +in the sense of the French verb <i>mettre</i>, to put, to +place.</p> +<p><a name="footnote61"></a><a href="#citation61" +class="footnote">[61]</a> The stall copies read +‘Gamble bold.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote64"></a><a href="#citation64" +class="footnote">[64]</a> In the Roxburgh Collection is a +copy of this ballad, in which the catastrophe is brought about in +a different manner. When the young lady finds that she is +to be drowned, she very leisurely makes a particular examination +of the place of her intended destruction, and raises an objection +to some nettles which are growing on the banks of the stream; +these she requires to be removed, in the following poetical +stanza:—</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Go fetch the sickle, to crop the +nettle,<br /> + That grows so near the brim;<br /> +For fear it should tangle my golden locks,<br /> + Or freckle my milk-white skin.’</p> +<p>A request so elegantly made is gallantly complied with by the +treacherous knight, who, while engaged in ‘cropping’ +the nettles, is pushed into the stream.</p> +<p><a name="footnote72a"></a><a href="#citation72a" +class="footnote">[72a]</a> A <i>tinker</i> is still so +called in the north of England.</p> +<p><a name="footnote72b"></a><a href="#citation72b" +class="footnote">[72b]</a> This poor minstrel was born at +the village of Rylstone, in Craven, the scene of +Wordsworth’s <i>White Doe of Rylstone</i>. King was +always called ‘the Skipton Minstrel;’ and he merited +that name, for he was not a mere player of jigs and country +dances, but a singer of heroic ballads, carrying his hearers back +to the days of chivalry and royal adventure, when the King of +England called up Cheshire and Lancashire to fight the King of +France, and monarchs sought the greenwood tree, and hob-a-nobbed +with tinkers, knighting these Johns of the Dale as a matter of +poetical justice and high sovereign prerogative. Francis +King was a character. His physiognomy was striking and +peculiar; and, although there was nothing of the rogue in its +expression, for an honester fellow never breathed, he might have +sat for Wordsworth’s ‘Peter Bell.’ He +combined in a rare degree the qualities of the mime and the +minstrel, and his old jokes, and older ballads and songs, always +ensured him a hearty welcome. He was lame, in consequence +of one leg being shorter than the other, and his limping gait +used to give occasion to the remark that ‘few Kings had had +more ups and downs in the world.’ He met his death by +drowning on the night of December 13, 1844. He had been at +a ‘merry-making’ at Gargrave, in Craven, and it is +supposed that, owing to the darkness of the night, he mistook the +road, and walked into the river. As a musician his talents +were creditable; and his name will long survive in the village +records. The minstrel’s grave is in the quiet +churchyard of Gargrave. Further particulars of Francis King +may be seen in Dixon’s <i>Stories of the Craven Dales</i>, +published by Tasker and Son, of Skipton.</p> +<p><a name="footnote92"></a><a href="#citation92" +class="footnote">[92]</a> This is the ancient way of +spelling the name of Reading. In Percy’s version of +<i>Barbara Allen</i>, that ballad commences ‘In Scarlet +town,’ which, in the common stall copies, is rendered +‘In Redding town.’ The former is apparently a +pun upon the old orthography—<i>Red</i>ding.</p> +<p><a name="footnote108a"></a><a href="#citation108a" +class="footnote">[108a]</a> The sister of Roger.</p> +<p><a name="footnote108b"></a><a href="#citation108b" +class="footnote">[108b]</a> This gentleman was Mr. Thomas +Petty.</p> +<p><a name="footnote111"></a><a href="#citation111" +class="footnote">[111]</a> We here, and in a subsequent +verse, find ‘daughter’ made to rhyme with +‘after;’ but we must not therefore conclude that the +rhyme is of cockney origin. In many parts of England, the +word ‘daughter’ is pronounced ‘dafter’ by +the peasantry, who, upon the same principle, pronounce +‘slaughter’ as if it were spelt +‘slafter.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote125a"></a><a href="#citation125a" +class="footnote">[125a]</a> Added to complete the +sense.</p> +<p><a name="footnote125b"></a><a href="#citation125b" +class="footnote">[125b]</a> That is, ‘said he, the +wild boar.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote129"></a><a href="#citation129" +class="footnote">[129]</a> Scott has strangely +misunderstood this line, which he interprets—</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">‘Many people +did she <i>kill</i>.’</p> +<p>‘Fell’ is to knock down, and the meaning is that +she could ‘well’ knock down, or ‘fell’ +people.</p> +<p><a name="footnote130a"></a><a href="#citation130a" +class="footnote">[130a]</a> Went.</p> +<p><a name="footnote130b"></a><a href="#citation130b" +class="footnote">[130b]</a> The meaning appears to be that +no ‘wiseman’ or wizard, no matter from whence his +magic, was derived, durst face her. Craven has always been +famed for its wizards, or wisemen, and several of such impostors +may be found there at the present day.</p> +<p><a name="footnote130c"></a><a href="#citation130c" +class="footnote">[130c]</a> Scott’s MS. reads Ralph, +but Raphe is the ancient form.</p> +<p><a name="footnote130d"></a><a href="#citation130d" +class="footnote">[130d]</a> Scott reads ‘brim as +beare,’ which he interprets ‘fierce as a +bear.’ Whitaker’s rendering is correct. +Beare is a small hamlet on the Bay of Morecambe, no great +distance, as the crow files, from the <i>locale</i> of the +poem. There is also a Bear-park in the county of Durham, of +which place Bryan might be an inhabitant. <i>Utrum +horum</i>, &c.</p> +<p><a name="footnote130e"></a><a href="#citation130e" +class="footnote">[130e]</a> That is, they were good +soldiers when the <i>musters</i> were—when the regiments +were called up.</p> +<p><a name="footnote131a"></a><a href="#citation131a" +class="footnote">[131a]</a> Fierce look.</p> +<p><a name="footnote131b"></a><a href="#citation131b" +class="footnote">[131b]</a> Descended from an ancient race +famed for fighting.</p> +<p><a name="footnote131c"></a><a href="#citation131c" +class="footnote">[131c]</a> Assaulted. They were, +although out of danger, terrified by the attacks of the sow, and +their fear was shared by the kiln, which began to smoke!</p> +<p><a name="footnote131d"></a><a href="#citation131d" +class="footnote">[131d]</a> Watling-street, the Roman way +from Catterick to Bowes.</p> +<p><a name="footnote132a"></a><a href="#citation132a" +class="footnote">[132a]</a> Lost his colour.</p> +<p><a name="footnote132b"></a><a href="#citation132b" +class="footnote">[132b]</a> Scott, not understanding this +expression, has inserted ‘Jesus’ for the initials +‘I. H. S.,’ and so has given a profane interpretation +to the passage. By a figure of speech the friar is called +an I. H. S., from these letters being conspicuously wrought on +his robes, just as we might call a livery-servant by his +master’s motto, because it was stamped on his buttons.</p> +<p><a name="footnote133"></a><a href="#citation133" +class="footnote">[133]</a> The meaning here is +obscure. The verse is not in Whitaker.</p> +<p><a name="footnote134"></a><a href="#citation134" +class="footnote">[134]</a> Warlock or wizard.</p> +<p><a name="footnote135a"></a><a href="#citation135a" +class="footnote">[135a]</a> It is probable that by guest is +meant an allusion to the spectre dog of Yorkshire (the +<i>Barguest</i>), to which the sow is compared.</p> +<p><a name="footnote135b"></a><a href="#citation135b" +class="footnote">[135b]</a> Hired.</p> +<p><a name="footnote137"></a><a href="#citation137" +class="footnote">[137]</a> The monastery of Gray Friars at +Richmond.—See <span class="smcap">Leland</span>, +<i>Itin.</i>, vol. iii, p. 109.</p> +<p><a name="footnote141"></a><a href="#citation141" +class="footnote">[141]</a> This appears to have been a cant +saying in the reign of Charles II. It occurs in several +novels, jest books and satires of the time, and was probably as +unmeaning as such vulgarisms are in general.</p> +<p><a name="footnote142"></a><a href="#citation142" +class="footnote">[142]</a> A cake composed of oatmeal, +caraway-seeds, and treacle. ‘Ale and parkin’ is +a common morning meal in the north of England.</p> +<p><a name="footnote149"></a><a href="#citation149" +class="footnote">[149]</a> The popularity of this +West-country song has extended even to Ireland, as appears from +two Irish versions, supplied by the late Mr. T. Crofton +Croker. One of them is entitled <i>Last New-Year’s +Day</i>, and is printed by Haly, Hanover-street, Cork. It +follows the English song almost verbatim, with the exception of +the first and second verses, which we subjoin:—</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Last New-Year’s day, as I heard +say,<br /> +Dick mounted on his dapple gray;<br /> +He mounted high and he mounted low,<br /> +Until he came to <i>sweet Raphoe</i>!<br /> + Sing fal de dol +de ree,<br /> + Fol de dol, righ +fol dee.<br /> +‘My buckskin does I did put on,<br /> +My spladdery clogs, <i>to save my brogues</i>!<br /> +And in my pocket a lump of bread,<br /> +And round my hat a ribbon red.’</p> +<p>The other version is entitled <i>Dicky of Ballyman</i>, and a +note informs us that ‘Dicky of Ballyman’s sirname was +Byrne!’ As our readers may like to hear how the +Somersetshire bumpkin behaved after he had located himself in the +town of Ballyman, and taken the sirname of Byrne, we give the +whole of his amatory adventures in the sister-island. We +discover from them, <i>inter alia</i>, that he had found +‘the best of friends’ in his +‘Uncle,’—that he had made a grand discovery in +natural history, viz., that a rabbit is a <i>fowl</i>!—that +he had taken the temperance pledge, which, however, his Mistress +Ann had certainly not done; and, moreover, that he had become an +enthusiast in potatoes!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">DICKY OF BALLYMAN.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘On New-Year’s day, as I heard +say,<br /> +Dicky he saddled his dapple gray;<br /> +He put on his Sunday clothes,<br /> +His scarlet vest, and his new made hose.<br /> + Diddle dum di, +diddle dum do,<br /> + Diddle dum di, +diddle dum do.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘He rode till he came to Wilson Hall,<br +/> +There he rapped, and loud did call;<br /> +Mistress Ann came down straightway,<br /> +And asked him what he had to say?</p> +<p class="poetry">‘‘Don’t you know me, Mistress +Ann?<br /> +I am Dicky of Ballyman;<br /> +An honest lad, though I am poor,—<br /> +I never was in love before.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘‘I have an uncle, the best of +friends,<br /> +Sometimes to me a fat rabbit he sends;<br /> +And many other dainty fowl,<br /> +To please my life, my joy, my soul.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘‘Sometimes I reap, sometimes I +mow,<br /> +And to the market I do go,<br /> +To sell my father’s corn and hay,—<br /> +I earn my sixpence every day!’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘‘Oh, Dicky! you go beneath your +mark,—<br /> +You only wander in the dark;<br /> +Sixpence a day will never do,<br /> +I must have silks, and satins, too!</p> +<p class="poetry">‘‘Besides, Dicky, I must have +tea<br /> +For my breakfast, every day;<br /> +And after dinner a bottle of wine,—<br /> +For without it I cannot dine.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘‘If on fine clothes our money is +spent,<br /> +Pray how shall my lord be paid his rent?<br /> +He’ll expect it when ’tis due,—<br /> +Believe me, what I say is true.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘‘As for tea, good stirabout<br /> +Will do far better, I make no doubt;<br /> +And spring water, when you dine,<br /> +Is far wholesomer than wine.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘‘Potatoes, too, are very nice +food,—<br /> +I don’t know any half so good:<br /> +You may have them boiled or roast,<br /> +Whichever way you like them most.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘This gave the company much delight,<br +/> +And made them all to laugh outright;<br /> +So Dicky had no more to say,<br /> +But saddled his dapple and rode away.<br /> + Diddle dum di, +&c.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote151"></a><a href="#citation151" +class="footnote">[151]</a> We have heard a Yorkshire yeoman +sing a version, which commenced with this line:—</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">‘It was at the +time of a high holiday.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote153"></a><a href="#citation153" +class="footnote">[153]</a> Bell-ringing was formerly a +great amusement of the English, and the allusions to it are of +frequent occurrence. Numerous payments to bell-ringers are +generally to be found in Churchwarden’s accounts of the +sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.—<span +class="smcap">Chappell</span>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote154"></a><a href="#citation154" +class="footnote">[154]</a> The subject and burthen of this +song are identical with those of the song which immediately +follows, called in some copies <i>The Clown’s +Courtship</i>, <i>sung to the King at Windsor</i>, and in others, +<i>I cannot come everyday to woo</i>. The Kentish ditty +cannot be traced to so remote a date as the <i>Clown’s +Courtship</i>; but it probably belongs to the same period.</p> +<p><a name="footnote165a"></a><a href="#citation165a" +class="footnote">[165a]</a> The common modern copies read +‘St. Leger’s Round.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote165b"></a><a href="#citation165b" +class="footnote">[165b]</a> The common stall copies read +‘Pan,’ which not only furnishes a more accurate rhyme +to ‘Nan,’ but is, probably, the true reading. +About the time when this song was written, there appears to have +been some country minstrel or fiddler, who was well known by the +sobriquet of ‘Pan.’ Frequent allusions to such +a personage may be found in popular ditties of the period, and it +is evidently that individual, and not the heathen deity, who is +referred to in the song of <i>Arthur +O’Bradley</i>:—</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Not Pan, the god of the swains,<br /> +Could e’er produce such strains.’—See +<i>ante</i>, p. 142.</p> +<p><a name="footnote167"></a><a href="#citation167" +class="footnote">[167]</a> A correspondent of <i>Notes and +Queries</i> says that, although there is some resemblance between +Flora and Furry, the latter word is derived from an old Cornish +term, and signifies jubilee or fair.</p> +<p><a name="footnote171"></a><a href="#citation171" +class="footnote">[171]</a> There is another version of +these concluding lines:—</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Down the red lane there lives an old +fox,<br /> +There does he sit a-mumping his chops;<br /> +Catch him, boys, catch him, catch if you can;<br /> +’Tis twenty to one if you catch him or Nan.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote174"></a><a href="#citation174" +class="footnote">[174]</a> A cant term for a fiddle. +In its literal sense, it means trunk, or box-belly.</p> +<p><a name="footnote175"></a><a href="#citation175" +class="footnote">[175]</a> ‘Helicon,’ as +observed by Sir C. Sharp, is, of course, the true reading.</p> +<p><a name="footnote177"></a><a href="#citation177" +class="footnote">[177]</a> In the introduction of the +‘prodigal son,’ we have a relic derived from the old +mysteries and moralities. Of late years, the +‘prodigal son’ has been left out, and his place +supplied by a ‘sailor.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote179"></a><a href="#citation179" +class="footnote">[179]</a> Probably the disease here +pointed at is the sweating sickness of old times.</p> +<p><a name="footnote180"></a><a href="#citation180" +class="footnote">[180]</a> Robert Kearton, a working miner, +and librarian and lecturer at the Grassington Mechanics’ +institution, informs us that at Coniston, in Lancashire, and the +neighbourhood, the maskers go about at the proper season, viz., +Easter. Their introductory song is different to the one +given above. He has favoured us with two verses of the +delectable composition; he says, ‘I dare say they’ll +be quite sufficient!’</p> +<p class="poetry"> ‘The next that comes +on<br /> + Is a gentleman’s son;—<br /> +A gentleman’s son he was born;<br /> + For mutton and beef,<br /> + You may look at his teeth,<br /> +He’s a laddie for picking a bone!</p> +<p class="poetry"> ‘The next that comes +on<br /> + Is a tailor so bold—<br /> +He can stitch up a hole in the dark!<br /> + There’s never a ‘prentice<br /> + In famed London city<br /> +Can find any fault with his <i>wark</i>!’</p> +<p><a name="footnote181"></a><a href="#citation181" +class="footnote">[181]</a> For the history of the paschal +egg, see a paper by Mr. J. H. Dixon, in the <i>Local +Historian’s Table Book</i> (Traditional Division). +Newcastle. 1843.</p> +<p><a name="footnote182"></a><a href="#citation182" +class="footnote">[182]</a> We suspect that Lord +Nelson’s name was introduced out of respect to the late +Jack Rider, of Linton (who is himself introduced into the +following verse), an old tar who, for many years, was one of the +‘maskers’ in the district from whence our version was +obtained. Jack was ‘loblolly boy’ on board the +‘Victory,’ and one of the group that surrounded the +dying Hero of Trafalgar. Amongst his many miscellaneous +duties, Jack had to help the doctor; and while so employed, he +once set fire to the ship as he was engaged investigating, by +candlelight, the contents of a bottle of ether. The fire +was soon extinguished, but not without considerable noise and +confusion. Lord Nelson, when the accident happened, was +busy writing his despatches. ‘What’s all that +noise about?’ he demanded. The answer was, +‘Loblolly boy’s set fire to an empty bottle, and it +has set fire to the doctor’s shop!’ ‘Oh, +that’s all, is it?’ said Nelson, ‘then I wish +you and loblolly would put the fire out without making such a +confusion’—and he went on writing with the greatest +coolness, although the accident might have been attended by the +most disastrous consequences, as an immense quantity of powder +was on board, and some of it close to the scene of the +disaster. The third day after the above incident Nelson was +no more, and the poor ‘loblolly boy’ left the service +minus two fingers. ‘Old Jack’ used often to +relate his ‘accident;’ and Captain Carslake, now of +Sidmouth, who, at the time was one of the officers, permits us to +add his corroboration of its truth.</p> +<p><a name="footnote183"></a><a href="#citation183" +class="footnote">[183]</a> In this place, and in the first +line of the following verse, the name of the horse is generally +inserted by the singer; and ‘Filpail’ is often +substituted for ‘the cow’ in a subsequent verse.</p> +<p><a name="footnote189"></a><a href="#citation189" +class="footnote">[189]</a> The ‘swearing-in’ is +gone through by females as well as the male sex. See +Hone’s <i>Year-Book</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote193"></a><a href="#citation193" +class="footnote">[193]</a> A fig newly gathered from the +tree; so called to distinguish it from a grocer’s, or +preserved fig.</p> +<p><a name="footnote206"></a><a href="#citation206" +class="footnote">[206]</a> This line is sometimes +sung—</p> +<p class="poetry">O! I went into the stable, to see what I could +see.</p> +<p><a name="footnote207"></a><a href="#citation207" +class="footnote">[207]</a> Three cabbage-nets, according to +some versions.</p> +<p><a name="footnote208a"></a><a href="#citation208a" +class="footnote">[208a]</a> This is a common phrase in old +English songs and ballads. See <i>The Summer’s +Morning</i>, <i>post</i>, p. 229.</p> +<p><a name="footnote208b"></a><a href="#citation208b" +class="footnote">[208b]</a> See <i>ante</i>, p. 82.</p> +<p><a name="footnote209a"></a><a href="#citation209a" +class="footnote">[209a]</a> Near.</p> +<p><a name="footnote209b"></a><a href="#citation209b" +class="footnote">[209b]</a> The high-road through a town or +village.</p> +<p><a name="footnote209c"></a><a href="#citation209c" +class="footnote">[209c]</a> That is Tommy’s +opinion. In the Yorkshire dialect, when the possessive case +is followed by the relative substantive, it is customary to omit +the <i>s</i>; but if the relative be understood, and not +expressed, the possessive case is formed in the usual manner, as +in a subsequent line of this song:—</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Hee’d a horse, too, ‘twor +war than ond Tommy’s, ye see.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote210a"></a><a href="#citation210a" +class="footnote">[210a]</a> Alive, quick.</p> +<p><a name="footnote210b"></a><a href="#citation210b" +class="footnote">[210b]</a> Only.</p> +<p><a name="footnote213"></a><a href="#citation213" +class="footnote">[213]</a> Famished. The line in +which this word occurs exhibits one of the most striking +peculiarities of the Lancashire dialect, which is, that in words +ending in <i>ing</i>, the termination is changed into +<i>ink</i>. <i>Ex. gr.</i>, for starving, <i>starvink</i>, +farthing, <i>fardink</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote217"></a><a href="#citation217" +class="footnote">[217]</a> In one version this line has +been altered, probably by some printer who had a wholesome fear +of the ‘Bench of Justices,’ into—</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Success to every gentleman<br /> +That lives in Lincolnsheer.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote221a"></a><a href="#citation221a" +class="footnote">[221a]</a> Dr. Whitaker gives a +traditional version of part of this song as follows:—</p> +<p class="poetry">‘The gardener standing by proferred to +chuse for me,<br /> +The pink, the primrose, and the rose, but I refused the three;<br +/> +The primrose I forsook because it came too soon,<br /> +The violet I o’erlooked, and vowed to wait till June.</p> +<p class="poetry">In June, the red rose sprung, bat was no flower +for me,<br /> +I plucked it up, lo! by the stalk, and planted the +willow-tree.<br /> +The willow I must wear with sorrow twined among,<br /> +That all the world may know I falshood loved too long.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote221b"></a><a href="#citation221b" +class="footnote">[221b]</a> The following account of Billy +Bolton may, with propriety, be inserted here:—It was a +lovely September day, and the scene was Arncliffe, a retired +village in Littondale, one of the most secluded of the Yorkshire +dales. While sitting at the open window of the humble +hostelrie, we heard what we, at first, thought was a +<i>ranter</i> parson, but, on inquiry, were told it was old Billy +Bolton reading to a crowd of villagers. Curious to +ascertain what the minstrel was reading, we joined the crowd, and +found the text-book was a volume of Hume’s <i>England</i>, +which contained the reign of Elizabeth. Billy read in a +clear voice, with proper emphasis, and correct pronunciation, +interlarding his reading with numerous comments, the nature of +some of which may be readily inferred from the fact that the +minstrel belonged to what he called ‘the ancient +church.’ It was a scene for a painter; the village +situate in one of the deepest parts of the dale, the twilight +hour, the attentive listeners, and the old man, leaning on his +knife-grinding machine, and conveying popular information to a +simple peasantry. Bolton is in the constant habit of so +doing, and is really an extraordinary man, uniting, as he does, +the opposite occupations of minstrel, conjuror, knife-grinder, +and schoolmaster. Such a labourer (though an humble one) in +the great cause of human improvement is well deserving of this +brief notice, which it would be unjust to conclude without +stating that whenever the itinerant teacher takes occasion to +speak of his own creed, and contrast it with others, he does so +in a spirit of charity; and he never performs any of his +sleight-of-hand tricks without a few introductory remarks on the +evil of superstition, and the folly of supposing that in the +present age any mortal is endowed with supernatural +attainments.</p> +<p><a name="footnote224"></a><a href="#citation224" +class="footnote">[224]</a> This elastic opening might be +adapted to existing circumstances by a slight +alteration:—</p> +<p class="poetry">The praise of a dairy to tell you I mean,<br /> +But all things in order, first God save the Queen.</p> +<p>The common copies print ‘God save the Queen,’ +which of course destroys the rhyme.</p> +<p><a name="footnote225"></a><a href="#citation225" +class="footnote">[225]</a> This is the reading of a common +stall copy. Chappell reads—</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">‘For at +Tottenham-court,’</p> +<p>which is no doubt correct, though inapplicable to a rural +assembly in our days.</p> +<p><a name="footnote226a"></a><a href="#citation226a" +class="footnote">[226a]</a> Brew, or broo, or broth. +Chappell’s version reads, ‘No state you can +think,’ which is apparently a mistake. The reading of +the common copies is to be preferred.</p> +<p><a name="footnote226b"></a><a href="#citation226b" +class="footnote">[226b]</a> No doubt the original word in +these places was <i>sack</i>, as in Chappell’s +copy—but what would a peasant understand by +<i>sack</i>? Dryden’s receipt for a sack posset is as +follows:—</p> +<p class="poetry">‘From fair Barbadoes, on the western +main,<br /> +Fetch sugar half-a-pound: fetch sack, from Spain,<br /> +A pint: then fetch, from India’s fertile coast,<br /> +Nutmeg, the glory of the British toast.’</p> +<p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><i>Miscellany +Poems</i>, v. 138.</p> +<p><a name="footnote234"></a><a href="#citation234" +class="footnote">[234]</a> Corrupted in modern copies into +‘we’ll range and we’ll rove.’ The +reading in the text is the old reading. The phrase occurs +in several old songs.</p> +<p><a name="footnote237"></a><a href="#citation237" +class="footnote">[237]</a> We should, probably, read +‘he.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote243"></a><a href="#citation243" +class="footnote">[243]</a> Peer—equal.</p> +<p><a name="footnote247"></a><a href="#citation247" +class="footnote">[247]</a> The road or street.</p> +<p><a name="footnote249"></a><a href="#citation249" +class="footnote">[249]</a> This is the only instance of +this peculiar form in the present version. The miners in +the Marienberg invariably said ‘for to’ wherever the +preposition ‘to’ occurred before a verb.</p> +<p><a name="footnote250"></a><a href="#citation250" +class="footnote">[250]</a> Three is a favourite number in +the nursery rhymes. The following is one of numerous +examples:—</p> +<p class="poetry">There was an old woman had three sons,<br /> +Jerry and James and John:<br /> +Jerry was hung, James was drowned,<br /> +John was lost and never was found;<br /> +And there was an end of her three sons,<br /> +Jerry, and James, and John!</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANCIENT POEMS, BALLADS AND SONGS OF +THE PEASANTRY OF ENGLAND***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 649-h.htm or 649-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/4/649 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..42fb004 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #649 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/649) diff --git a/old/oleng10.txt b/old/oleng10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7f3b110 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/oleng10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11291 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of England +by Robert Bell + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of England + +Author: Robert Bell + +Release Date: September, 1996 [EBook #649] +[This file was first posted on September 17, 1996] +[Most recently updated: September 2, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, ANCIENT POEMS OF ENGLAND *** + + + + +Transcribed from the 1857 John W. Parker and Son edition by David +Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + +ANCIENT POEMS, BALLADS AND SONGS OF THE PEASANTRY OF ENGLAND. +TAKEN DOWN FROM ORAL RECITATION AND TRANSCRIBED FROM PRIVATE +MANUSCRIPTS, RARE BROADSIDES AND SCARCE PUBLICATIONS. + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + + +In 1846, the Percy Society issued to its members a volume entitled +Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England, +edited by Mr. James Henry Dixon. The sources drawn upon by Mr. +Dixon are intimated in the following extract from his preface:- + + +He who, in travelling through the rural districts of England, has +made the road-side inn his resting-place, who has visited the lowly +dwellings of the villagers and yeomanry, and been present at their +feasts and festivals, must have observed that there are certain old +poems, ballads, and songs, which are favourites with the masses, +and have been said and sung from generation to generation. + + +This traditional, and, for the most part, unprinted literature,-- +cherished in remote villages, resisting everywhere the invasion of +modern namby-pamby verse and jaunty melody, and possessing, in an +historical point of view, especial value as a faithful record of +the feeling, usages, and modes of life of the rural population,-- +had been almost wholly passed over amongst the antiquarian revivals +which constitute one of the distinguishing features of the present +age. While attention was successfully drawn to other forms of our +early poetry, this peasant minstrelsy was scarcely touched, and +might be considered unexplored ground. There was great difficulty +in collecting materials which lay scattered so widely, and which +could be procured in their genuine simplicity only from the people +amongst whom they originated, and with whom they are as 'familiar +as household words.' It was even still more difficult to find an +editor who combined genial literary taste with the local knowledge +of character, customs, and dialect, indispensable to the collation +of such reliques; and thus, although their national interest was +universally recognised, they were silently permitted to fall into +comparative oblivion. To supply this manifest desideratum, Mr. +Dixon compiled his volume for the Percy Society; and its pages, +embracing only a selection from the rich stores he had gathered, +abundantly exemplified that gentleman's remarkable qualifications +for the labour he had undertaken. After stating in his preface +that contributions from various quarters had accumulated so largely +on his hands as to compel him to omit many pieces he was desirous +of preserving, he thus describes generally the contents of the +work:- + + +In what we have retained will be found every variety, + +'From grave to gay, from lively to severe,' + +from the moral poem and the religious dialogue, - + +'The scrolls that teach us to live and to die,' - + +to the legendary, the historical, or the domestic ballad; from the +strains that enliven the harvest-home and festival, to the love- +ditties which the country lass warbles, or the comic song with +which the rustic sets the village hostel in a roar. In our +collection are several pieces exceedingly scarce, and hitherto to +be met with only in broadsides and chap-books of the utmost rarity; +in addition to which we have given several others never before in +print, and obtained by the editor and his friends, either from the +oral recitation of the peasantry, or from manuscripts in the +possession of private individuals. + + +The novelty of the matter, and the copious resources disclosed by +the editor, acquired for the volume a popularity extending far +beyond the limited circle to which it was addressed; and although +the edition was necessarily restricted to the members of the Percy +Society, the book was quoted not only by English writers, but by +some of the most distinguished archaeologists on the continent. + +It had always been my intention to form a collection of local +songs, illustrative of popular festivals, customs, manners, and +dialects. As the merit of having anticipated, and, in a great +measure, accomplished this project belongs exclusively to Mr. +Dixon, so to that gentleman I have now the pleasure of tendering my +acknowledgments for the means of enriching the Annotated Edition of +the English Poets with a volume which, in some respects, is the +most curious and interesting of the series. + +Subsequently to the publication of his collection by the Percy +Society, Mr. Dixon had amassed additional materials of great value; +and, conscious that the work admitted of considerable improvement, +both in the way of omission and augmentation, he resolved upon the +preparation of a new edition. His reasons for rejecting certain +portions of the former volume are stated in the following extract +from a communication with which he has obliged me, and which may be +considered as his own introduction to the ensuing pages. + + +The editor had passed his earliest years in a romantic mountain- +district in the North of England, where old customs and manners, +and old songs and ballads still linger. Under the influence of +these associations, he imbibed a passionate love for peasant +rhymes; having little notion at that time that the simple +minstrelsy which afforded him so much delight could yield hardly +less pleasure to those who cultivated more artificial modes of +poetry, and who knew little of the life of the peasantry. His +collection was not issued without diffidence; but the result +dissipated all apprehension as to the estimate in which these +essentially popular productions are held. The reception of the +book, indeed, far exceeded its merits; for he is bound in candour +to say that it was neither so complete nor so judiciously selected +as it might have been. Like almost all books issued by societies, +it was got up in haste, and hurried through the press. It +contained some things which were out of place in such a work, but +which were inserted upon solicitations that could not have been +very easily refused; and even where the matter was unexceptionable, +it sometimes happened that it was printed from comparatively modern +broadsides, for want of time to consult earlier editions. In the +interval which has since elapsed, all these defects and short- +comings have been remedied. Several pieces, which had no +legitimate claims to the places they occupied, have been removed; +others have been collated with more ancient copies than the editor +had had access to previously; and the whole work has been +considerably enlarged. In its present form it is strictly what its +title-page implies--a collection of poems, ballads, and songs +preserved by tradition, and in actual circulation, amongst the +peasantry. + +Bex, Canton de Vaud. +Switzerland. + + +The present volume differs in many important particulars from the +former, of the deficiencies of which Mr. Dixon makes so frank an +avowal. It has not only undergone a careful revision, but has +received additions to an extent which renders it almost a new work. +Many of there accessions are taken from extremely rare originals, +and others are here printed for the first time, including amongst +the latter the ballad of Earl Brand, a traditional lyric of great +antiquity, long familiar to the dales of the North of England; and +the Death of Queen Jane, a relic of more than ordinary intesest. +Nearly forty songs, noted down from recitation, or gathered from +sources not generally accessible, have been added to the former +collection, illustrative, for the most part, of historical events, +country pastimes, and local customs. Not the least suggestive +feature in this department are the political songs it contains, +which have long outlived the occasions that gave them birth, and +which still retain their popularity, although their allusions are +no longer understood. Amongst this class of songs may be specially +indicated Jack and Tom, Joan's Ale was New, George Ridler's Oven, +and The Carrion Crow. The songs of a strictly rural character, +having reference to the occupations and intercourse of the people, +possess an interest which cannot be adequately measured by their +poetical pretensions. The very defects of art with which they are +chargeable, constitute their highest claim to consideration as +authentic specimens of country lore. The songs in praise of the +dairy, or the plough; or in celebration of the harvest-home, or the +churn-supper; or descriptive of the pleasures of the milk-maid, or +the courtship in the farm-house; or those that give us glimpses of +the ways of life of the waggoner, the poacher, the horse-dealer, +and the boon companion of the road-side hostelrie, are no less +curious for their idiomatic and primitive forms of expression, than +for their pictures of rustic modes and manners. Of special +interest, too, are the songs which relate to festival and customs; +such as the Sword Dancer's Song and Interlude, the Swearing-in +Song, or Rhyme, at Highgate, the Cornish Midsummer Bonfire Song, +and the Fairlop Fair Song. + +In the arrangement of so multifarious an anthology, gathered from +nearly all parts of the kingdom, the observance of chronological +order, for obvious reasons, has not been attempted; but pieces +which possess any kind of affinity to each other have been kept +together as nearly as other considerations would permit. + +The value of this volume consists in the genuineness of its +contents, and the healthiness of its tone. While fashionable life +was masquerading in imaginary Arcadias, and deluging theatres and +concert rooms with shams, the English peasant remained true to the +realities of his own experience, and produced and sang songs which +faithfully reflected the actual life around him. Whatever these +songs describe is true to that life. There are no fictitious +raptures in them. Love here never dresses its emotions in +artificial images, nor disguises itself in the mask of a Strephon +or a Daphne. It is in this particular aspect that the poetry of +the country possesses a permanent and moral interest. + +R. B. + + + +ANCIENT POEMS, BALLADS, AND SONGS OF THE PEASANTRY. + + + + +Contents + +Poems: + +The plain-dealing man. +The vanities of life. +The life and age of man. +The young man's wish. +The midnight messenger; or, a sudden call from an earthly glory to +the cold grave. +A dialogue betwixt an exciseman and death. +The messenger of mortality; or life and death contrasted in a +dialogue betwixt death and a lady. +England's alarm; or the pious christian's speedy call to repentance +Smoking spiritualized. +The masonic hymn. +God speed the plow, and bless the corn-mow. A dialogue between the +husbandman and servingman. +A dialogue between the husbandman and the servingman. +The Catholick. +The three knights. +The blind beggar of Bednall Green. + +Ballads: + +The bold pedlar and Robin Hood. +The outlandish knight. +Lord Delaware. +Lord Bateman. +The golden glove; or, the squire of tamworth. +King James I. And the tinkler. +The Keach i' the Creel. +The Merry Broomfield; or, the west country wager. +Sir John Barleycorn. +Blow the winds, i-ho! +The beautiful lady of Kent; or, the seaman of Dover. +The Berkshire lady's garland. +The nobleman's generous kindness. +The drunkard's legacy. +The Bowes tragedy. +The crafty lover; or, the lawyer outwitted. +The death of Queen Jane. +The wandering young gentlewoman; or, Catskin. +The brave Earl Brand and the King of England's Daughter. +The Jovial Hunter of Bromsgrove; or, the old man and his three +sons. +Lady Alice. +The felon sewe of rokeby and the freeres of Richmond. +Arthur o'Bradley's wedding. +The painful plough. +The useful plow; or, the plough's praise. +The farmer's son. +The farmer's boy. +Richard of Taunton Dean; or, dumble dum deary. +Wooing song of a yeoman of Kent's sonne. +The clown's courtship. +Harry's courtship. +Harvest-home song. +Harvest-home. +The mow. +The barley-mow song. +The barley-mow song. (Suffolk version.) +The craven churn-supper song. +The rural dance about the may-pole. +The Hitchin may-day song. +The Helstone furry-day song. +Cornish midsummer bonfire song. +Suffolk harvest-home song. +The haymaker's song. +The sword-dancers' song. +The sword-dancers' song and interlude. +The maskers' song. +Gloucestershire wassailers' song. +The mummers' song; or, the poor old horse. +Fragment of the hagmena song. +The greenside wakes song. +The swearing-in song or rhyme. +Fairlop fair song. +As Tom was a-walking. +The miller and his sons. +Jack and Tom. +Joan's ale was new. +George Ridler's oven. +The carrion crow. +The leathern bottel. +The farmer's old wife. +Old Wichet and his wife. +The Jolly Waggoner. +The Yorkshire horse-dealer. +The King and the countryman. +Jone o' Greenfield's ramble. +Thornehagh-moor woods. +The Lincolnshire poacher. +Somersetshire hunting song. +The trotting horse. +The seeds of love. +The garden-gate. +The new-mown hay. +The praise of a dairy. +The milk-maid's life. +The milking-pail. +The summer's morning. +Old Adam. +Tobacco. +The Spanish Ladies. +Harry the Tailor. +Sir Arthur and Charming Mollee. +There was an old man came over the lea. +Why should we quarrel for riches. +The merry fellows; or, he that will not merry, merry be. +The old man's song. +Robin Hood's hill. +Begone dull care. +Full merrily sings the cuckoo. +Jockey to the fair. +Long Preston Peg. +The sweet nightingale; or, down in those valleys below. +The old man and his three sons. +A begging we will go. + + + +Poem: THE PLAIN-DEALING MAN. + + + +[The oldest copy of the Plain Dealing Man with which we have been +able to meet is in black letter, printed by T. Vere at the sign 'Of +the Angel without Newgate.' Vere was living in 1609.] + +A crotchet comes into my mind +Concerning a proverb of old, +Plain dealing's a jewel most rare, +And more precious than silver or gold: +And therefore with patience give ear, +And listen to what here is penned, +These verses were written on purpose +The honest man's cause to defend. +For this I will make it appear, +And prove by experience I can, +'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world +To be a plain-dealing man. + +Yet some are so impudent grown, +They'll domineer, vapour, and swagger, +And say that the plain-dealing man +Was born to die a beggar: +But men that are honestly given +Do such evil actions detest, +And every one that is well-minded +Will say that plain dealing is best. +For this I will make it appear, +And prove by experience I can, +'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world +To be a plain-dealing man. + +For my part I am a poor man, +And sometimes scarce muster a shilling, +Yet to live upright in the world, +Heaven knows I am wondrous willing. +Although that my clothes be threadbare, +And my calling be simple and poor, +Yet will I endeavour myself +To keep off the wolf from the door. +For this I will make it appear, +And prove by experience I can, +'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world +To be a plain-dealing man. + +And now, to be brief in discourse, +In plain terms I'll tell you my mind; +My qualities you shall all know, +And to what my humour's inclined: +I hate all dissembling base knaves +And pickthanks whoever they be, +And for painted-faced drabs, and such like, +They shall never get penny of me. +For this I will make it appear, +And prove by experience I can, +'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world +To be a plain-dealing man. + +Nor can I abide any tongues +That will prattle and prate against reason, +About that which doth not concern them; +Which thing is no better than treason. +Wherefore I'd wish all that do hear me +Not to meddle with matters of state, +Lest they be in question called for it, +And repent them when it is too late. +For this I will make it appear, +And prove by experience I can, +'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world +To be a plain-dealing man. + +O fie upon spiteful neighbours, +Whose malicious humours are bent, +And do practise and strive every day +To wrong the poor innocent. +By means of such persons as they, +There hath many a good mother's son +Been utterly brought to decay, +Their wives and their children undone. +For this I will make it appear, +And prove by experience I can, +'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world +To be a plain-dealing man. + +O fie upon forsworn knaves, +That do no conscience make +To swear and forswear themselves +At every third word they do speak: +So they may get profit and gain, +They care not what lies they do tell; +Such cursed dissemblers as they +Are worse than the devils of hell. +For this I will make it appear, +And prove by experience I can, +'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world +To be a plain-dealing man. + +O fie upon greedy bribe takers, +'Tis pity they ever drew breath, +For they, like to base caterpillars, +Devour up the fruits of the earth. +They're apt to take money with both hands, +On one side and also the other, +And care not what men they undo, +Though it be their own father or brother. +Therefore I will make it appear, +And show very good reasons I can, +'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world +To be a plain-dealing man. + +O fie upon cheaters and thieves, +That liveth by fraud and deceit; +The gallows do for such blades groan, +And the hangmen do for their clothes wait. +Though poverty be a disgrace, +And want is a pitiful grief, +'Tis better to go like a beggar +Than to ride in a cart like a thief. +For this I will make it appear, +And prove by experience I can, +'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world +To be a plain-dealing man. + +And now let all honest men judge, +If such men as I have here named +For their wicked and impudent dealings, +Deserveth not much to be blamed. +And now here, before I conclude, +One item to the world I will give, +Which may direct some the right way, +And teach them the better to live. +For now I have made it appear, +And many men witness it can, +'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world +To be a plain-dealing man. + +1. I' th' first place I'd wish you beware +What company you come in, +For those that are wicked themselves +May quickly tempt others to sin. + +2. If youths be induced with wealth, +And have plenty of silver and gold, +I'd wish them keep something in store, +To comfort them when they are old. + +3. I have known many young prodigals, +Which have wasted their money so fast, +That they have been driven in want, +And were forced to beg at the last. + +4. I'd wish all men bear a good conscience, +And in all their actions be just; +For he's a false varlet indeed +That will not be true to his trust. + +And now to conclude my new song, +And draw to a perfect conclusion, +I have told you what is in my mind, +And what is my [firm] resolution. +For this I have made it appear, +And prove by experience I can, +'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world +To be a plain-dealing man. + + + +Poem: THE VANITIES OF LIFE. + + + +[The following verses were copied by John Clare, the +Northamptonshire peasant, from a MS. on the fly-leaves of an old +book in the possession of a poor man, entitled The World's best +Wealth; a Collection of choice Councils in Verse and Prose. +Printed for A. Bettesworth, at the Red Lion in Paternoster-row, +1720. They were written in a 'crabbed, quaint hand, and difficult +to decipher.' Clare remitted the poem (along with the original +MS.) to Montgomery, the author of The World before the Flood, &c. +&c., by whom it was published in the Sheffield Iris. Montgomery's +criticism is as follows:- 'Long as the poem appears to the eye, it +will abundantly repay the trouble of perusal, being full of +condensed and admirable thought, as well as diversified with +exuberant imagery, and embellished with peculiar felicity of +language: the moral points in the closing couplets of the stanzas +are often powerfully enforced.' Most readers will agree in the +justice of these remarks. The poem was, probably, as Clare +supposes, written about the commencement of the 18th century; and +the unknown author appears to have been deeply imbued with the +spirit of the popular devotional writers of the preceding century, +as Herbert, Quarles, &c., but seems to have modelled his smoother +and more elegant versification after that of the poetic school of +his own times.] + +'Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.'--SOLOMON. + + +What are life's joys and gains? +What pleasures crowd its ways, +That man should take such pains +To seek them all his days? +Sift this untoward strife +On which thy mind is bent, +See if this chaff of life +Is worth the trouble spent. + +Is pride thy heart's desire? +Is power thy climbing aim? +Is love thy folly's fire? +Is wealth thy restless game? +Pride, power, love, wealth and all, +Time's touchstone shall destroy, +And, like base coin, prove all +Vain substitutes for joy. + +Dost think that pride exalts +Thyself in other's eyes, +And hides thy folly's faults, +Which reason will despise? +Dost strut, and turn, and stride, +Like walking weathercocks? +The shadow by thy side +Becomes thy ape, and mocks. + +Dost think that power's disguise +Can make thee mighty seem? +It may in folly's eyes, +But not in worth's esteem: +When all that thou canst ask, +And all that she can give, +Is but a paltry mask +Which tyants wear and live. + +Go, let thy fancies range +And ramble where they may; +View power in every change, +And what is the display? +- The country magistrate, +The lowest shade in power, +To rulers of the state, +The meteors of an hour: - + +View all, and mark the end +Of every proud extreme, +Where flattery turns a friend, +And counterfeits esteem; +Where worth is aped in show, +That doth her name purloin, +Like toys of golden glow +That's sold for copper coin. + +Ambition's haughty nod, +With fancies may deceive, +Nay, tell thee thou'rt a god, - +And wilt thou such believe? +Go, bid the seas be dry, +Go, hold earth like a ball, +Or throw her fancies by, +For God can do it all. + +Dost thou possess the dower +Of laws to spare or kill? +Call it not heav'nly power +When but a tyrant's will; +Know what a God will do, +And know thyself a fool, +Nor tyrant-like pursue +Where He alone should rule. + +Dost think, when wealth is won, +Thy heart has its desire? +Hold ice up to the sun, +And wax before the fire; +Nor triumph o'er the reign +Which they so soon resign; +In this world weigh the gain, +Insurance safe is thine. + +Dost think life's peace secure +In houses and in land? +Go, read the fairy lure +To twist a cord of sand; +Lodge stones upon the sky, +Hold water in a sieve, +Nor give such tales the lie, +And still thine own believe. + +Whoso with riches deals, +And thinks peace bought and sold, +Will find them slippery eels, +That slide the firmest hold: +Though sweet as sleep with health, +Thy lulling luck may be, +Pride may o'erstride thy wealth, +And check prosperity. + +Dost think that beauty's power, +Life's sweetest pleasure gives? +Go, pluck the summer flower, +And see how long it lives: +Behold, the rays glide on, +Along the summer plain, +Ere thou canst say, they're gone, - +And measure beauty's reign. + +Look on the brightest eye, +Nor teach it to be proud, +But view the clearest sky +And thou shalt find a cloud; +Nor call each face ye meet +An angel's, 'cause it's fair, +But look beneath your feet, +And think of what ye are. + +Who thinks that love doth live +In beauty's tempting show, +Shall find his hopes ungive, +And melt in reason's thaw; +Who thinks that pleasure lies +In every fairy bower, +Shall oft, to his surprise, +Find poison in the flower. + +Dost lawless pleasures grasp? +Judge not thou deal'st in joy; +Its flowers but hide the asp, +Thy revels to destroy: +Who trusts a harlot's smile, +And by her wiles is led, +Plays with a sword the while, +Hung dropping o'er his head. + +Dost doubt my warning song? +Then doubt the sun gives light, +Doubt truth to teach thee wrong, +And wrong alone as right; +And live as lives the knave, +Intrigue's deceiving guest, +Be tyrant, or be slave, +As suits thy ends the best. + +Or pause amid thy toils, +For visions won and lost, +And count the fancied spoils, +If e'er they quit the cost; +And if they still possess +Thy mind, as worthy things, +Pick straws with Bedlam Bess, +And call them diamond rings. + +Thy folly's past advice, +Thy heart's already won, +Thy fall's above all price, +So go, and be undone; +For all who thus prefer +The seeming great for small, +Shall make wine vinegar, +And sweetest honey gall. + +Wouldst heed the truths I sing, +To profit wherewithal, +Clip folly's wanton wing, +And keep her within call: +I've little else to give, +What thou canst easy try, +The lesson how to live, +Is but to learn to die. + + + +Poem: THE LIFE AND AGE OF MAN. + + + +[From one of Thackeray's Catalogues, preserved in the British +Museum, it appears that The Life and Age of Man was one of the +productions printed by him at the 'Angel in Duck Lane, London.' +Thackeray's imprint is found attached to broadsides published +between 1672 and 1688, and he probably commenced printing soon +after the accession of Charles II. The present reprint, the +correctness of which is very questionable, is taken from a modern +broadside, the editor not having been fortunate enough to meet with +any earlier edition. This old poem is said to have been a great +favourite with the father of Robert Burns.] + + +In prime of years, when I was young, +I took delight in youthful ways, +Not knowing then what did belong +Unto the pleasures of those days. +At seven years old I was a child, +And subject then to be beguiled. + +At two times seven I went to learn +What discipline is taught at school: +When good from ill I could discern, +I thought myself no more a fool: +My parents were contriving than, +How I might live when I were man. + +At three times seven I waxed wild, +When manhood led me to be bold; +I thought myself no more a child, +My own conceit it so me told: +Then did I venture far and near, +To buy delight at price full dear. + +At four times seven I take a wife, +And leave off all my wanton ways, +Thinking thereby perhaps to thrive, +And save myself from sad disgrace. +So farewell my companions all, +For other business doth me call. + +At five times seven I must hard strive, +What I could gain by mighty skill; +But still against the stream I drive, +And bowl up stones against the hill; +The more I laboured might and main, +The more I strove against the stream. + +At six times seven all covetise +Began to harbour in my breast; +My mind still then contriving was +How I might gain this worldly wealth; +To purchase lands and live on them, +So make my children mighty men. + +At seven times seven all worldly thought +Began to harbour in my brain; +Then did I drink a heavy draught +Of water of experience plain; +There none so ready was as I, +To purchase bargains, sell, or buy. + +At eight times seven I waxed old, +And took myself unto my rest, +Neighbours then sought my counsel bold, +And I was held in great request; +But age did so abate my strength, +That I was forced to yield at length. + +At nine times seven take my leave +Of former vain delights must I; +It then full sorely did me grieve - +I fetched many a heavy sigh; +To rise up early, and sit up late, +My former life, I loathe and hate. + +At ten times seven my glass is run, +And I poor silly man must die; +I looked up, and saw the sun +Had overcome the crystal sky. +So now I must this world forsake, +Another man my place must take. + +Now you may see, as in a glass, +The whole estate of mortal men; +How they from seven to seven do pass, +Until they are threescore and ten; +And when their glass is fully run, +They must leave off as they begun. + + + +Poem: THE YOUNG MAN'S WISH. + + + +[From an old copy, without printer's name; probably one from the +Aldermary Church-yard press. Poems in triplets were very popular +during the reign of Charles I., and are frequently to be met with +during the Interregnum, and the reign of Charles II.] + + +If I could but attain my wish, +I'd have each day one wholesome dish, +Of plain meat, or fowl, or fish. + +A glass of port, with good old beer, +In winter time a fire burnt clear, +Tobacco, pipes, an easy chair. + +In some clean town a snug retreat, +A little garden 'fore my gate, +With thousand pounds a year estate. + +After my house expense was clear, +Whatever I could have to spare, +The neighbouring poor should freely share. + +To keep content and peace through life, +I'd have a prudent cleanly wife, +Stranger to noise, and eke to strife. + +Then I, when blest with such estate, +With such a house, and such a mate, +Would envy not the worldly great. + +Let them for noisy honours try, +Let them seek worldly praise, while I +Unnoticed would live and die. + +But since dame Fortune's not thought fit +To place me in affluence, yet +I'll be content with what I get. + +He's happiest far whose humble mind, +Is unto Providence resigned, +And thinketh fortune always kind. + +Then I will strive to bound my wish, +And take, instead of fowl and fish, +Whate'er is thrown into my dish. + +Instead of wealth and fortune great, +Garden and house and loving mate, +I'll rest content in servile state. + +I'll from each folly strive to fly, +Each virtue to attain I'll try, +And live as I would wish to die. + + + +Poem: THE MIDNIGHT MESSENGER; OR, A SUDDEN CALL FROM AN EARTHLY +GLORY TO THE COLD GRAVE. + +In a Dialogue between Death and a Rich Man; who, in the midst of +all his Wealth, received the tidings of his Last Day, to his +unspeakable and sorrowful Lamentation. + +To the tune of Aim not too high, {1} &c. + + + +[The following poem, and the two that immediately follow, belong to +a class of publications which have always been peculiar favourites +with the peasantry, in whose cottages they may be frequently seen, +neatly framed and glazed, and suspended from the white-washed +walls. They belong to the school of Quarles, and can be traced to +the time when that writer was in the height of his popularity. +These religious dialogues are numerous, but the majority of them +are very namby-pamby productions, and unworthy of a reprint. The +modern editions preserve the old form of the broadside of the +seventeenth century, and are adorned with rude woodcuts, probably +copies of ruder originals - + + +- 'wooden cuts +Strange, and uncouth; dire faces, figures dire, +Sharp-kneed, sharp-elbowed, and lean-ankled too, +With long and ghostly shanks, forms which once seen, +Can never be forgotten!'--WORDSWORTH'S Excursion.] + + +DEATH. + +Thou wealthy man of large possessions here, +Amounting to some thousand pounds a year, +Extorted by oppression from the poor, +The time is come that thou shalt be no more; +Thy house therefore in order set with speed, +And call to mind how you your life do lead. +Let true repentance be thy chiefest care, +And for another world now, NOW prepare. +For notwithstanding all your heaps of gold, +Your lands and lofty buildings manifold, +Take notice you must die this very day; +And therefore kiss your bags and come away. + +RICH MAN. + +[He started straight and turned his head aside, +Where seeing pale-faced Death, aloud he cried], +Lean famished slave! why do you threaten so, +Whence come you, pray, and whither must I go? + +DEATH. + +I come from ranging round the universe, +Through courts and kingdoms far and near I pass, +Where rich and poor, distressed, bond and free, +Fall soon or late a sacrifice to me. +From crowned kings to captives bound in chains +My power reaches, sir; the longest reigns +That ever were, I put a period to; +And now I'm come in fine to conquer you. + +RICH MAN. + +I can't nor won't believe that you, pale Death, +Were sent this day to stop my vital breath, +By reason I in perfect health remain, +Free from diseases, sorrow, grief, and pain; +No heavy heart, nor fainting fits have I, +And do you say that I am drawing nigh +The latter minute? sure it cannot be; +Depart, therefore, you are not sent for me! + +DEATH. + +Yes, yes, I am, for did you never know, +The tender grass and pleasant flowers that grow +Perhaps one minute, are the next cut down? +And so is man, though famed with high renown. +Have you not heard the doleful passing bell +Ring out for those that were alive and well +The other day, in health and pleasure too, +And had as little thoughts of death as you? +For let me tell you, when my warrant's sealed, +The sweetest beauty that the earth doth yield +At my approach shall turn as pale as lead; +'Tis I that lay them on their dying bed. + +I kill with dropsy, phthisic, stone, and gout; +But when my raging fevers fly about, +I strike the man, perhaps, but over-night, +Who hardly lives to see the morning light; +I'm sent each hour, like to a nimble page, +To infant, hoary heads, and middle age; +Time after time I sweep the world quite through; +Then it's in vain to think I'll favour you. + +RICH MAN. + +Proud Death, you see what awful sway I bear, +For when I frown none of my servants dare +Approach my presence, but in corners hide +Until I am appeased and pacified. +Nay, men of greater rank I keep in awe +Nor did I ever fear the force of law, +But ever did my enemies subdue, +And must I after all submit to you? + +DEATH. + +'Tis very true, for why thy daring soul, +Which never could endure the least control, +I'll thrust thee from this earthly tenement, +And thou shalt to another world be sent. + +RICH MAN. + +What! must I die and leave a vast estate, +Which, with my gold, I purchased but of late? +Besides what I had many years ago? - +What! must my wealth and I be parted so? +If you your darts and arrows must let fly, +Go search the jails, where mourning debtors lie; +Release them from their sorrow, grief, and woe, +For I am rich and therefore loth to go. + +DEATH. + +I'll search no jails, but the right mark I'll hit; +And though you are unwilling to submit, +Yet die you must, no other friend can do, - +Prepare yourself to go, I'm come for you. +If you had all the world and ten times more, +Yet die you must,--there's millions gone before; +The greatest kings on earth yield and obey, +And at my feet their crowns and sceptres lay: +If crowned heads and right renowned peers +Die in the prime and blossoms of their years, +Can you suppose to gain a longer space? +No! I will send you to another place. + +RICH MAN. + +Oh! stay thy hand and be not so severe, +I have a hopeful son and daughter dear, +All that I beg is but to let me live +That I may them in lawful marriage give: +They being young when I am laid in the grave, +I fear they will be wronged of what they have: +Although of me you will no pity take, +Yet spare me for my little infants' sake. + +DEATH. + +If such a vain excuse as this might do, +It would be long ere mortals would go through +The shades of death; for every man would find +Something to say that he might stay behind. +Yet, if ten thousand arguments they'd use, +The destiny of dying to excuse, +They'll find it is in vain with me to strive, +For why, I part the dearest friends alive; +Poor parents die, and leave their children small +With nothing to support them here withal, +But the kind hand of gracious Providence, +Who is their father, friend, and sole defence. +Though I have held you long in disrepute, +Yet after all here with a sharp salute +I'll put a period to your days and years, +Causing your eyes to flow with dying tears. + +RICH MAN. + +[Then with a groan he made this sad complaint]: +My heart is dying, and my spirits faint; +To my close chamber let me be conveyed; +Farewell, false world, for thou hast me betrayed. +Would I had never wronged the fatherless, +Nor mourning widows when in sad distress; +Would I had ne'er been guilty of that sin, +Would I had never known what gold had been; +For by the same my heart was drawn away +To search for gold: but now this very day, +I find it is but like a slender reed, +Which fails me most when most I stand in need; +For, woe is me! the time is come at last, +Now I am on a bed of sorrow cast, +Where in lamenting tears I weeping lie, +Because my sins make me afraid to die: +Oh! Death, be pleased to spare me yet awhile, +That I to God myself may reconcile, +For true repentance some small time allow; +I never feared a future state till now! +My bags of gold and land I'd freely give, +For to obtain the favour here to live, +Until I have a sure foundation laid. +Let me not die before my peace be made! + +DEATH. + +Thou hast not many minutes here to stay, +Lift up your heart to God without delay, +Implore his pardon now for what is past, +Who knows but He may save your soul at last? + +RICH MAN. + +I'll water now with tears my dying bed, +Before the Lord my sad complaint I'll spread, +And if He will vouchsafe to pardon me, +To die and leave this world I could be free. +False world! false world, farewell! farewell! adieu! +I find, I find, there is no trust in you! +For when upon a dying bed we lie, +Your gilded baits are nought but misery. +My youthful son and loving daughter dear, +Take warning by your dying father here; +Let not the world deceive you at this rate, +For fear a sad repentance comes too late. +Sweet babes, I little thought the other day, +I should so suddenly be snatched away +By Death, and leave you weeping here behind; +But life's a most uncertain thing, I find. +When in the grave my head is lain full low, +Pray let not folly prove your overthrow; +Serve ye the Lord, obey his holy will, +That he may have a blessing for you still. +[Having saluted them, he turned aside, +These were the very words before he died]: + +A painful life I ready am to leave, +Wherefore, in mercy, Lord, my soul receive. + + + +Poem: A DIALOGUE BETWIXT AN EXCISEMAN AND DEATH. + + + +[Transcribed from a copy in the British Museum, printed in London +by J. C[larke]., 1659. The idea of Death being employed to execute +a writ, recalls an epitaph which we remember to have seen in a +village church-yard at the foot of the Wrekin, in Shropshire, +commencing thus:- + +'The King of Heaven a warrant got, +And sealed it without delay, +And he did give the same to Death, +For him to serve straightway,' &c.] + + +Upon a time when Titan's steeds were driven +To drench themselves beneath the western heaven; +And sable Morpheus had his curtains spread, +And silent night had laid the world to bed; +'Mongst other night-birds which did seek for prey, +A blunt exciseman, which abhorred the day, +Was rambling forth to seek himself a booty +'Mongst merchant's goods which had not paid the duty; +But walking all alone, Death chanced to meet him, +And in this manner did begin to greet him. + +DEATH. + +Stand, who comes here? what means this knave to peep +And skulk abroad, when honest men should sleep? +Speak, what's thy name? and quickly tell me this, +Whither thou goest, and what thy business is? + +EXCISEMAN. + +Whate'er my business is, thou foul-mouthed scold, +I'd have you know I scorn to be controlled +By any man that lives; much less by thou, +Who blurtest out thou know'st not what, nor how; +I go about my lawful business; and +I'll make you smart for bidding of me stand. + +DEATH. + +Imperious coxcomb! is your stomach vexed? +Pray slack your rage, and hearken what comes next: +I have a writ to take you up; therefore, +To chafe your blood, I bid you stand, once more. + +EXCISEMAN. + +A writ to take ME up! excuse me, sir, +You do mistake, I am an officer +In public service, for my private wealth; +My business is, if any seek by stealth +To undermine the state, I do discover +Their falsehood; therefore hold your hand,--give over. + +DEATH. + +Nay, fair and soft! 'tis not so quickly done +As you conceive it is: I am not gone +A jot the sooner for your hasty chat, +Nor bragging language; for I tell you flat +'Tis more than so, though fortune seem to thwart us, +Such easy terms I don't intend shall part us. +With this impartial arm I'll make you feel +My fingers first, and with this shaft of steel +I'll peck thy bones! AS THOU ALIVE WERT HATED, +SO DEAD, TO DOGS THOU SHALT BE SEGREGATED. + +EXCISEMAN. + +I'd laugh at that; I would thou didst but dare +To lay thy fingers on me; I'd not spare +To hack thy carcass till my sword was broken, +I'd make thee eat the words which thou hast spoken; +All men should warning take by thy transgression, +How they molested men of my profession. +My service to the State is so well known, +That should I but complain, they'd quickly own +My public grievances; and give me right +To cut your ears, before tomorrow night. + +DEATH. + +Well said, indeed! but bootless all, for I +Am well acquainted with thy villany; +I know thy office, and thy trade is such, +Thy service little, and thy gains are much: +Thy brags are many; but 'tis vain to swagger, +And think to fight me with thy gilded dagger: +AS I ABHOR THY PERSON, PLACE, AND THREAT, +So now I'll bring thee to the judgment-seat. + +EXCISEMAN. + +The judgment-seat! I must confess that word +Doth cut my heart, like any sharpened sword: +What! come t' account! methinks the dreadful sound +Of every word doth make a mortal wound, +Which sticks not only in my outward skin, +But penetrates my very soul within. +'Twas least of all my thoughts that ever Death +Would once attempt to stop excisemen's breath. +But since 'tis so, that now I do perceive +You are in earnest, then I must relieve +Myself another way: come, we'll be friends; +If I have wronged thee, I'll make th' amends. +Let's join together; I'll pass my word this night +Shall yield us grub, before the morning light. +Or otherwise (to mitigate my sorrow), +Stay here, I'll bring you gold enough to-morrow. + +DEATH. + +To-morrow's gold I will not have; and thou +Shalt have no gold upon to-morrow: now +My final writ shall to th' execution have thee, +All earthly treasure cannot help or save thee. + +EXCISEMAN. + +Then woe is me! ah! how was I befooled! +I thought that gold (which answereth all things) could +Have stood my friend at any time to bail me! +But grief grows great, and now my trust doth fail me. +Oh! that my conscience were but clear within, +Which now is racked with my former sin; +With horror I behold my secret stealing, +My bribes, oppression, and my graceless dealing; +My office-sins, which I had clean forgotten, +Will gnaw my soul when all my bones are rotten: +I must confess it, very grief doth force me, +Dead or alive, both God and man doth curse me. +LET ALL EXCISEMEN hereby warning take, +To shun their practice for their conscience sake. + + + +Poem: THE MESSENGER OF MORTALITY; OR LIFE AND DEATH CONTRASTED IN +A DIALOGUE BETWIXT DEATH AND A LADY. + + + +[One of Charles Lamb's most beautiful and plaintive poems was +suggested by this old dialogue. The tune is given in Chappell's +Popular Music, p. 167. In Carey's Musical Century, 1738, it is +called the 'Old tune of Death and the Lady.' The four concluding +lines of the present copy of Death and the Lady are found inscribed +on tomb-stones in village church-yards in every part of England. +They are not contained, however, in the broadside with which our +reprint has been carefully collated.] + + +DEATH. + +Fair lady, lay your costly robes aside, +No longer may you glory in your pride; +Take leave of all your carnal vain delight, +I'm come to summon you away this night! + +LADY. + +What bold attempt is this? pray let me know +From whence you come, and whither I must go? +Must I, who am a lady, stoop or bow +To such a pale-faced visage? Who art thou? + +DEATH. + +Do you not know me? well! I tell thee, then, +It's I that conquer all the sons of men! +No pitch of honour from my dart is free; +My name is Death! have you not heard of me? + +LADY. + +Yes! I have heard of thee time after time, +But being in the glory of my prime, +I did not think you would have called so soon. +Why must my morning sun go down at noon? + +DEATH. + +Talk not of noon! you may as well be mute; +This is no time at all for to dispute: +Your riches, garments, gold, and jewels brave, +Houses and lands must all new owners have; +Though thy vain heart to riches was inclined, +Yet thou must die and leave them all behind. + +LADY. + +My heart is cold; I tremble at the news; +There's bags of gold, if thou wilt me excuse, +And seize on them, and finish thou the strife +Of those that are aweary of their life. +Are there not many bound in prison strong, +In bitter grief of soul have languished long, +Who could but find the grave a place of rest, +From all the grief in which they are oppressed? +Besides, there's many with a hoary head, +And palsy joints, by which their joys are fled; +Release thou them whose sorrows are so great, +But spare my life to have a longer date. + +DEATH. + +Though some by age be full of grief and pain, +Yet their appointed time they must remain: +I come to none before their warrant's sealed, +And when it is, they must submit and yield. +I take no bribe, believe me, this is true; +Prepare yourself to go; I'm come for you. + +LADY. + +Death, be not so severe, let me obtain +A little longer time to live and reign! +Fain would I stay if thou my life will spare; +I have a daughter beautiful and fair, +I'd live to see her wed whom I adore: +Grant me but this and I will ask no more. + +DEATH. + +This is a slender frivolous excuse; +I have you fast, and will not let you loose; +Leave her to Providence, for you must go +Along with me, whether you will or no; +I, Death, command the King to leave his crown, +And at my feet he lays his sceptre down! +Then if to kings I don't this favour give, +But cut them off, can you expect to live +Beyond the limits of your time and space! +No! I must send you to another place. + +LADY. + +You learned doctors, now express your skill, +And let not Death of me obtain his will; +Prepare your cordials, let me comfort find, +My gold shall fly like chaff before the wind. + +DEATH. + +Forbear to call, their skill will never do, +They are but mortals here as well as you: +I give the fatal wound, my dart is sure, +And far beyond the doctor's skill to cure. +How freely can you let your riches fly +To purchase life, rather than yield to die! +But while you flourish here with all your store, +You will not give one penny to the poor; +Though in God's name their suit to you they make, +You would not spare one penny for His sake! +The Lord beheld wherein you did amiss, +And calls you hence to give account for this! + +LADY. + +Oh! heavy news! must I no longer stay? +How shall I stand in the great judgment-day? +[Down from her eyes the crystal tears did flow: +She said], None knows what I do undergo: +Upon my bed of sorrow here I lie; +My carnal life makes me afraid to die. +My sins, alas! are many, gross and foul, +Oh, righteous Lord! have mercy on my soul! +And though I do deserve thy righteous frown, +Yet pardon, Lord, and pour a blessing down. +[Then with a dying sigh her heart did break, +And did the pleasures of this world forsake.] + + +Thus may we see the high and mighty fall, +For cruel Death shows no respect at all +To any one of high or low degree +Great men submit to Death as well as we. +Though they are gay, their life is but a span - +A lump of clay--so vile a creature's man. +Then happy those whom Christ has made his care, +Who die in the Lord, and ever blessed are. +The grave's the market-place where all men meet, +Both rich and poor, as well as small and great. +If life were merchandise that gold could buy, +The rich would live, the poor alone would die. + + + +Poem: ENGLAND'S ALARM; OR THE PIOUS CHRISTIAN'S SPEEDY CALL TO +REPENTANCE + +For the many aggravating sins too much practised in our present +mournful times: as Pride, Drunkenness, Blasphemous Swearing, +together with the Profanation of the Sabbath; concluding with the +sin of wantonness and disobedience; that upon our hearty sorrow and +forsaking the same the Lord may save us for his mercy's sake. + + + +[From the cluster of 'ornaments' alluded to in the ninth verse of +the following poem, we are inclined to fix the date about 1653. +The present reprint is from an old broadside, without printer's +name or date, in possession of Mr. J. R. Smith.] + + +You sober-minded christians now draw near, +Labour to learn these pious lessons here; +For by the same you will be taught to know +What is the cause of all our grief and woe. + +We have a God who sits enthroned above; +He sends us many tokens of his love: +Yet we, like disobedient children, still +Deny to yield submission to His will. + +The just command which He upon us lays, +We must confess we have ten thousand ways +Transgressed; for see how men their sins pursue, +As if they did not fear what God could do. + +Behold the wretched sinner void of shame, +He values not how he blasphemes the name +Of that good God who gave him life and breath, +And who can strike him with the darts of death! + +The very little children which we meet, +Amongst the sports and pastimes in the street, +We very often hear them curse and swear, +Before they've learned a word of any prayer. + +'Tis much to be lamented, for I fear +The same they learn from what they daily hear; +Be careful then, and don't instruct them so, +For fear you prove their dismal overthrow. + +Both young and old, that dreadful sin forbear; +The tongue of man was never made to swear, +But to adore and praise the blessed name, +By whom alone our dear salvation came. + +Pride is another reigning sin likewise; +Let us behold in what a strange disguise +Young damsels do appear, both rich and poor; +The like was ne'er in any age before. + +What artificial ornaments they wear, +Black patches, paint, and locks of powdered hair; +Likewise in lofty hoops they are arrayed, +As if they would correct what God had made. + +Yet let 'em know, for all those youthful charms, +They must lie down in death's cold frozen arms! +Oh think on this, and raise your thoughts above +The sin of pride, which you so dearly love. + +Likewise, the wilful sinners that transgress +The righteous laws of God by drunkenness, +They do abuse the creatures which were sent +Purely for man's refreshing nourishment. + +Many diseases doth that sin attend, +But what is worst of all, the fatal end: +Let not the pleasures of a quaffing bowl +Destroy and stupify thy active soul. + +Perhaps the jovial drunkard over night, +May seem to reap the pleasures of delight, +While for his wine he doth in plenty call; +But oh! the sting of conscience, after all, + +Is like a gnawing worm upon the mind. +Then if you would the peace of conscience find, +A sober conversation learn with speed, +For that's the sweetest life that man can lead. + +Be careful that thou art not drawn away, +By foolishness, to break the Sabbath-day; +Be constant at the pious house of prayer, +That thou mayst learn the christian duties there. + +For tell me, wherefore should we carp and care +For what we eat and drink, and what we wear; +And the meanwhile our fainting souls exclude +From that refreshing sweet celestial food? + +Yet so it is, we, by experience, find +Many young wanton gallants seldom mind +The church of God, but scornfully deride +That sacred word by which they must be tried. + +A tavern, or an alehouse, they adore, +And will not come within the church before +They're brought to lodge under a silent tomb, +And then who knows how dismal is their doom! + +Though for awhile, perhaps, they flourish here, +And seem to scorn the very thoughts of fear, +Yet when they're summoned to resign their breath, +They can't outbrave the bitter stroke of death! + +Consider this, young gallants, whilst you may, +Swift-winged time and tide for none will stay; +And therefore let it be your christian care, +To serve the Lord, and for your death prepare. + +There is another crying sin likewise: +Behold young gallants cast their wanton eyes +On painted harlots, which they often meet +At every creek and corner of the street, + +By whom they are like dismal captives led +To their destruction; grace and fear is fled, +Till at the length they find themselves betrayed, +And for that sin most sad examples made. + +Then, then, perhaps, in bitter tears they'll cry, +With wringing hands, against their company, +Which did betray them to that dismal state! +Consider this before it is too late. + +Likewise, sons and daughters, far and near, +Honour your loving friends, and parents dear; +Let not your disobedience grieve them so, +Nor cause their aged eyes with tears to flow. + +What a heart-breaking sorrow it must be, +To dear indulgent parents, when they see +Their stubborn children wilfully run on +Against the wholesome laws of God and man! + +Oh! let these things a deep impression make +Upon your hearts, with speed your sins forsake; +For, true it is, the Lord will never bless +Those children that do wilfully transgress. + +Now, to conclude, both young and old I pray, +Reform your sinful lives this very day, +That God in mercy may his love extend, +And bring the nation's troubles to an end. + + + +Poem: SMOKING SPIRITUALIZED. + + + +[The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently sufficient +grounds, to the Rev. Ralph Erskine, or, as he designated himself, +'Ralph Erskine, V.D.M.' The peasantry throughout the north of +England always call it 'Erskine's song,' and not only is his name +given as the author in numerous chap-books, but in his own volume +of Gospel Sonnets, from an early copy of which our version is +transcribed. The discovery however, by Mr. Collier, of the First +Part in a MS. temp. Jac. I., with the initials G. W. affixed to it, +has disposed of Erskine's claim to the honour of the entire +authorship. G. W. is supposed to be George Withers; but this is +purely conjectural; and it is not at all improbable that G. W. +really stands for W. G., as it was a common practice amongst +anonymous writers to reverse their initials. The history, then, of +the poem, seems to be this: that the First Part, as it is now +printed, originally constituted the whole production, being +complete in itself; that the Second Part was afterwards added by +the Rev. Ralph Erskine; and that both parts came subsequently to +be ascribed to him, as his was the only name published in connexion +with the song. The Rev. Ralph Erskine was born at Monilaws, +Northumberland, on the 15th March, 1685. He was one of the thirty- +three children of Ralph Erskine of Shieldfield, a family of repute +descended from the ancient house of Marr. He was educated at the +college in Edinburgh, obtained his licence to preach in June, 1709, +and was ordained, on an unanimous invitation, over the church at +Dunfermline in August, 1711. He was twice married: in 1714 to +Margaret Dewar, daughter of the Laird of Lassodie, by whom he had +five sons and five daughters, all of whom died in the prime of +life; and in 1732 to Margaret, daughter of Mr. Simson of Edinburgh, +by whom he had four sons, one of whom, with his wife, survived him. +He died in November, 1752. Erskine was the author of a great +number of Sermons; a Paraphrase on the Canticles; Scripture Songs; +a Treatise on Mental Images; and Gospel Sonnets. + +Smoking Spiritualized is, at the present day, a standard +publication with modern ballad-printers, but their copies are +exceedingly corrupt. Many versions and paraphrases of the song +exist. Several are referred to in Notes and Queries, and, amongst +them, a broadside of the date of 1670, and another dated 1672 (both +printed before Erskine was born), presenting different readings of +the First Part, or original poem. In both these the burthen, or +refrain, differs from that of our copy by the employment of the +expression 'DRINK tobacco,' instead of 'SMOKE tobacco.' The former +was the ancient term for drawing in the smoke, swallowing it, and +emitting it through the nostrils. A correspondent of Notes and +Queries says, that the natives of India to this day use the phrase +'hooka peue,' to DRINK the hooka.] + + +PART I. + +This Indian weed, now withered quite, +Though green at noon, cut down at night, +Shows thy decay; +All flesh is hay: +Thus think, and smoke tobacco. + +The pipe so lily-like and weak, +Does thus thy mortal state bespeak; +Thou art e'en such, - +Gone with a touch: +Thus think, and smoke tobacco. + +And when the smoke ascends on high, +Then thou behold'st the vanity +Of worldly stuff, +Gone with a puff: +Thus think, and smoke tobacco. + +And when the pipe grows foul within, +Think on thy soul defiled with sin; +For then the fire +It does require: +Thus think, and smoke tobacco. + +And seest the ashes cast away, +Then to thyself thou mayest say, +That to the dust +Return thou must. +Thus think, and smoke tobacco. + +PART II. + +Was this small plant for thee cut down? +So was the plant of great renown, +Which Mercy sends +For nobler ends. +Thus think, and smoke tobacco. + +Doth juice medicinal proceed +From such a naughty foreign weed? +Then what's the power +Of Jesse's flower? +Thus think, and smoke tobacco. + +The promise, like the pipe, inlays, +And by the mouth of faith conveys, +What virtue flows +From Sharon's rose. +Thus think, and smoke tobacco. + +In vain the unlighted pipe you blow, +Your pains in outward means are so, +Till heavenly fire +Your heart inspire. +Thus think, and smoke tobacco. + +The smoke, like burning incense, towers, +So should a praying heart of yours, +With ardent cries, +Surmount the skies. +Thus think, and smoke tobacco. + + + +Poem: THE MASONIC HYMN. + + + +[This is a very ancient production, though given from a modern +copy; it has always been popular amongst the poor 'brethren of the +mystic tie.' The late Henry O'Brien, A.B., quotes the seventh +verse in his essay On the Round Towers of Ireland. He generally +had a common copy of the hymn in his pocket, and on meeting with +any of his antiquarian friends who were not Masons, was in the +habit of thrusting it into their hands, and telling them that if +they understood the mystic allusions it contained, they would be in +possession of a key which would unlock the pyramids of Egypt! The +tune to the hymn is peculiar to it, and is of a plaintive and +solemn character.] + + +Come all you freemasons that dwell around the globe, +That wear the badge of innocence, I mean the royal robe, +Which Noah he did wear when in the ark he stood, +When the world was destroyed by a deluging flood. + +Noah he was virtuous in the sight of the Lord, +He loved a freemason that kept the secret word; +For he built the ark, and he planted the first vine, +Now his soul in heaven like an angel doth shine. + +Once I was blind, and could not see the light, +Then up to Jerusalem I took my flight, +I was led by the evangelist through a wilderness of care, +You may see by the sign and the badge that I wear. + +On the 13th rose the ark, let us join hand in hand, +For the Lord spake to Moses by water and by land, +Unto the pleasant river where by Eden it did rin, +And Eve tempted Adam by the serpent of sin. + +When I think of Moses it makes me to blush, +All on mount Horeb where I saw the burning bush; +My shoes I'll throw off, and my staff I'll cast away, +And I'll wander like a pilgrim unto my dying day. + +When I think of Aaron it makes me to weep, +Likewise of the Virgin Mary who lay at our Saviour's feet; +'Twas in the garden of Gethsemane where he had the bloody sweat; +Repent, my dearest brethren, before it is too late. + +I thought I saw twelve dazzling lights, which put me in surprise, +And gazing all around me I heard a dismal noise; +The serpent passed by me which fell unto the ground, +With great joy and comfort the secret word I found. + +Some say it is lost, but surely it is found, +And so is our Saviour, it is known to all around; +Search all the Scriptures over, and there it will be shown; +The tree that will bear no fruit must be cut down. + +Abraham was a man well beloved by the Lord, +He was true to be found in great Jehovah's word, +He stretched forth his hand, and took a knife to slay his son, +An angel appearing said, The Lord's will be done! + +O, Abraham! O, Abraham! lay no hand upon the lad, +He sent him unto thee to make thy heart glad; +Thy seed shall increase like stars in the sky, +And thy soul into heaven like Gabriel shall fly. + +O, never, O, never will I hear an orphan cry, +Nor yet a gentle virgin until the day I die; +You wandering Jews that travel the wide world round, +May knock at the door where truth is to be found. + +Often against the Turks and Infidels we fight, +To let the wandering world know we're in the right, +For in heaven there's a lodge, and St. Peter keeps the door, +And none can enter in but those that are pure. + +St. Peter he opened, and so we entered in, +Into the holy seat secure, which is all free from sin; +St. Peter he opened, and so we entered there, +And the glory of the temple no man can compare. + + + +Poem: GOD SPEED THE PLOW, AND BLESS THE CORN-MOW. A DIALOGUE +BETWEEN THE HUSBANDMAN AND SERVINGMAN. + +The tune is, I am the Duke of Norfolk. + + + +[This ancient dialogue, though in a somewhat altered form (see the +ensuing poem), has long been used at country merry-makings. It is +transcribed from a black-letter copy in the third volume of the +Roxburgh collection, apparently one of the imprints of Peter +Brooksby, which would make the composition at least as old as the +close of the fifteenth century. There are several dialogues of a +similar character.] + + +ARGUMENT. + +The servingman the plowman would invite +To leave his calling and to take delight; +But he to that by no means will agree, +Lest he thereby should come to beggary. +He makes it plain appear a country life +Doth far excel: and so they end the strife. + + +My noble friends give ear, if mirth you love to hear, +I'll tell you as fast as I can, +A story very true, then mark what doth ensue, +Concerning of a husbandman. +A servingman did meet a husbandman in the street, +And thus unto him began: + +SERVINGMAN. + +I pray you tell to me of what calling you be, +Or if you be a servingman? + +HUSBANDMAN. + +Quoth he, my brother dear, the coast I mean to clear, +And the truth you shall understand: +I do no one disdain, but this I tell you plain, +I am an honest husbandman. + +SERVINGMAN. + +If a husbandman you be, then come along with me, +I'll help you as soon as I can +Unto a gallant place, where in a little space, +You shall be a servingman. + +HUSBANDMAN. + +Sir, for your diligence I give you many thanks, +These things I receive at your hand; +I pray you to me show, whereby that I might know, +What pleasures hath a servingman? + +SERVINGMAN. + +A servingman hath pleasure, which passeth time and measure, +When the hawk on his fist doth stand; +His hood, and his verrils brave, and other things, we have, +Which yield joy to a servingman. + +HUSBANDMAN. + +My pleasure's more than that to see my oxen fat, +And to prosper well under my hand; +And therefore I do mean, with my horse, and with my team, +To keep myself a husbandman. + +SERVINGMAN. + +O 'tis a gallant thing in the prime time of the spring, +To hear the huntsman now and than +His bugle for to blow, and the hounds run all a row: +This is pleasure for a servingman! +To hear the beagle cry, and to see the falcon fly, +And the hare trip over the plain, +And the huntsmen and the hound make hill and dale rebound: +This is pleasure for a servingman! + +HUSBANDMAN. + +'Tis pleasure, too, you know, to see the corn to grow, +And to grow so well on the land; +The plowing and the sowing, the reaping and the mowing, +Yield pleasure to the husbandman. + +SERVINGMAN. + +At our table you may eat all sorts of dainty meat, +Pig, cony, goose, capon, and swan; +And with lords and ladies fine, you may drink beer, ale, and wine! +This is pleasure for a servingman. + +HUSBANDMAN. + +While you eat goose and capon, I'll feed on beef and bacon, +And piece of hard cheese now and than; +We pudding have, and souse, always ready in the house, +Which contents the honest husbandman. + +SERVINGMAN. + +At the court you may have your garments fine and brave, +And cloak with gold lace laid upon, +A shirt as white as milk, and wrought with finest silk: +That's pleasure for a servingman! + +HUSBANDMAN. + +Such proud and costly gear is not for us to wear; +Amongst the briers and brambles many a one, +A good strong russet coat, and at your need a groat, +Will suffice the husbandman. +A proverb here I tell, which likes my humour well, +And remember it well I can, +If a courtier be too bold, he'll want when he is old. +Then farewell the servingman. + +SERVINGMAN. + +It needs must be confest that your calling is the best, +No longer discourse with you I can; +But henceforth I will pray, by night and by day, +Heaven bless the honest husbandman. + + + +Poem: A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE HUSBANDMAN AND THE SERVINGMAN. + + + +[This traditional version of the preceding ancient dialogue has +long been popular at country festivals. At a harvest-home feast at +Selborne, in Hampshire, in 1836, we heard it recited by two +countrymen, who gave it with considerable humour, and dramatic +effect. It was delivered in a sort of chant, or recitative. +Davies Gilbert published a very similar copy in his Ancient +Christmas Carols. In the modern printed editions, which are almost +identical with ours, the term 'servantman' has been substituted for +the more ancient designation.] + + +SERVINGMAN. + +Well met, my brother friend, all at this highway end, +So simple all alone, as you can, +I pray you tell to me, what may your calling be, +Are you not a servingman? + +HUSBANDMAN. + +No, no, my brother dear, what makes you to inquire +Of any such a thing at my hand? +Indeed I shall not feign, but I will tell you plain, +I am a downright husbandman. + +SERVINGMAN. + +If a husbandman you be, then go along with me, +And quickly you shall see out of hand, +How in a little space I will help you to a place, +Where you may be a servingman. + +HUSBANDMAN. + +Kind sir! I 'turn you thanks for your intelligence, +These things I receive at your hand; +But something pray now show, that first I may plainly know +The pleasures of a servingman. + +SERVINGMAN. + +Why a servingman has pleasure beyond all sort of measure, +With his hawk on his fist, as he does stand; +For the game that he does kill, and the meat that does him fill, +Are pleasures for the servingman. + +HUSBANDMAN. + +And my pleasure's more than that, to see my oxen fat, +And a good stock of hay by them stand; +My plowing and my sowing, my reaping and my mowing, +Are pleasures for the husbandman. + +SERVINGMAN. + +Why it is a gallant thing to ride out with a king, +With a lord, duke, or any such man; +To hear the horns to blow, and see the hounds all in a row, +That is pleasure for the servingman. + +HUSBANDMAN. + +But my pleasure's more I know, to see my corn to grow, +So thriving all over my land; +And, therefore, I do mean, with my plowing with my team, +To keep myself a husbandman. + +SERVINGMAN. + +Why the diet that we eat is the choicest of all meat, +Such as pig, goose, capon, and swan; +Our pastry is so fine, we drink sugar in our wine, +That is living for the servingman. + +HUSBANDMAN. + +Talk not of goose nor capon, give me good beef or bacon, +And good bread and cheese, now at hand; +With pudding, brawn, and souse, all in a farmer's house, +That is living for the husbandman. + +SERVINGMAN. + +Why the clothing that we wear is delicate and rare, +With our coat, lace, buckles, and band; +Our shirts are white as milk, and our stockings they are silk, +That is clothing for a servingman. + +HUSBANDMAN. + +But I value not a hair your delicate fine wear, +Such as gold is laced upon; +Give me a good grey coat, and in my purse a groat, +That is clothing for the husbandman. + +SERVINGMAN. + +Kind sir! it would be bad if none could be had +Those tables for to wait upon; +There is no lord, duke, nor squire, nor member for the shire, +Can do without a servingman. + +HUSBANDMAN. + +But, Jack! it would be worse if there was none of us +To follow the plowing of the land; +There is neither king, lord, nor squire, nor member for the shire, +Can do without the husbandman. + +SERVINGMAN. + +Kind sir! I must confess't, and I humbly protest +I will give you the uppermost hand; +Although your labour's painful, and mine it is so very gainful, +I wish I were a husbandman. + +HUSBANDMAN. + +So come now, let us all, both great as well as small, +Pray for the grain of our land; +And let us, whatsoever, do all our best endeavour, +For to maintain the good husbandman. + + + +Poem: THE CATHOLICK. + + + +[The following ingenious production has been copied literally from +a broadside posted against the 'parlour' wall of a country inn in +Gloucestershire. The verses are susceptible of two +interpretations, being Catholic if read in the columns, but +Protestant if read across.] + + +I HOLD as faith What ENGLAND'S CHURCH alows +What ROME'S church saith My conscience disavows +Where the KING'S head That CHURCH can have no shame +The flocks misled That holds the POPE supreame. +Where the ALTARS drest There's service scarce divine +The peoples blest With table, bread, and wine. +He's but an asse Who the COMMUNION flies +Who shuns the MASSE Is CATHOLICK and wise. + + +London: printed for George Eversden, at the signe of the +Maidenhead, in St. Powle's Church-yard, 1655. Cum privilegio. + + + +Ballad: THE THREE KNIGHTS. (TRADITIONAL.) + + + +[The Three Knights was first printed by the late Davies Gilbert, +F.R.S., in the appendix to his work on Christmas Carols. Mr. +Gilbert thought that some verses were wanting after the eighth +stanza; but we entertain a different opinion. A conjectural +emendation made in the ninth verse, viz., the substitution of FAR +for FOR, seems to render the ballad perfect. The ballad is still +popular amongst the peasantry in the West of England. The tune is +given by Gilbert. The refrain, in the second and fourth lines, +printed with the first verse, should be repeated in recitation in +every verse.] + + +There did three Knights come from the west, +With the high and the lily oh! +And these three Knights courted one ladye, +As the rose was so sweetly blown. +The first Knight came was all in white, +And asked of her if she'd be his delight. +The next Knight came was all in green, +And asked of her if she'd be his queen. +The third Knight came was all in red, +And asked of her if she would wed. +'Then have you asked of my father dear? +Likewise of her who did me bear? +'And have you asked of my brother John? +And also of my sister Anne?' +'Yes, I've asked of your father dear, +Likewise of her who did you bear. +'And I've asked of your sister Anne, +But I've not asked of your brother John.' +Far on the road as they rode along, +There did they meet with her brother John. +She stooped low to kiss him sweet, +He to her heart did a dagger meet. {2} +'Ride on, ride on,' cried the servingman, +'Methinks your bride she looks wondrous wan.' +'I wish I were on yonder stile, +For there I would sit and bleed awhile. +'I wish I were on yonder hill, +There I'd alight and make my will.' +'What would you give to your father dear?' +'The gallant steed which doth me bear.' +'What would you give to your mother dear?' +'My wedding shift which I do wear. +'But she must wash it very clean, +For my heart's blood sticks in every seam.' +'What would you give to your sister Anne?' +'My gay gold ring, and my feathered fan.' +'What would you give to your brother John?' +'A rope, and a gallows to hang him on.' +'What would you give to your brother John's wife?' +'A widow's weeds, and a quiet life.' + + + +Poem: THE BLIND BEGGAR OF BEDNALL GREEN. SHOWING HOW HIS DAUGHTER +WAS MARRIED TO A KNIGHT, AND HAD THREE THOUSAND POUND TO HER +PORTION. + + + +[Percy's copy of The Beggar's Daughter of Bednall Green is known to +be very incorrect: besides many alterations and improvements which +it received at the hands of the Bishop, it contains no less than +eight stanzas written by Robert Dodsley, the author of The Economy +of Human Life. So far as poetry is concerned, there cannot be a +question that the version in the Reliques is far superior to the +original, which is still a popular favourite, and a correct copy of +which is now given, as it appears in all the common broadside +editions that have been printed from 1672 to the present time. +Although the original copies have all perished, the ballad has been +very satisfactorily proved by Percy to have been written in the +reign of Elizabeth. The present reprint is from a modern copy, +carefully collated with one in the Bagford Collection, entitled, + + +'The rarest ballad that ever was seen, +Of the Blind Beggar's Daughter of Bednal Green.' + + +The imprint to it is, 'Printed by and for W. Onley; and are to be +sold by C. Bates, at the sign of the Sun and Bible, in Pye Corner.' +The very antiquated orthography adopted in some editions does not +rest on any authority. For two tunes to The Blind Beggar, see +Popular Music.] + +PART I. + +This song's of a beggar who long lost his sight, +And had a fair daughter, most pleasant and bright, +And many a gallant brave suitor had she, +And none was so comely as pretty Bessee. + +And though she was of complexion most fair, +And seeing she was but a beggar his heir, +Of ancient housekeepers despised was she, +Whose sons came as suitors to pretty Bessee. + +Wherefore in great sorrow fair Bessee did say: +'Good father and mother, let me now go away, +To seek out my fortune, whatever it be.' +This suit then was granted to pretty Bessee. + +This Bessee, that was of a beauty most bright, +They clad in grey russet; and late in the night +From father and mother alone parted she, +Who sighed and sobbed for pretty Bessee. + +She went till she came to Stratford-at-Bow, +Then she know not whither or which way to go, +With tears she lamented her sad destiny; +So sad and so heavy was pretty Bessee. + +She kept on her journey until it was day, +And went unto Rumford, along the highway; +And at the King's Arms entertained was she, +So fair and well favoured was pretty Bessee. + +She had not been there one month at an end, +But master and mistress and all was her friend: +And every brave gallant that once did her see, +Was straightway in love with pretty Bessee. + +Great gifts they did send her of silver and gold, +And in their songs daily her love they extolled: +Her beauty was blazed in every decree, +So fair and so comely was pretty Bessee. + +The young men of Rumford in her had their joy, +She showed herself courteous, but never too coy, +And at their commandment still she would be, +So fair and so comely was pretty Bessee. + +Four suitors at once unto her did go, +They craved her favour, but still she said no; +I would not have gentlemen marry with me! +Yet ever they honoured pretty Bessee. + +Now one of them was a gallant young knight, +And he came unto her disguised in the night; +The second, a gentleman of high degree, +Who wooed and sued for pretty Bessee. + +A merchant of London, whose wealth was not small, +Was then the third suitor, and proper withal; +Her master's own son the fourth man must be, +Who swore he would die for pretty Bessee. + +'If that thou wilt marry with me,' quoth the knight, +'I'll make thee a lady with joy and delight; +My heart is enthralled in thy fair beauty, +Then grant me thy favour, my pretty Bessee.' + +The gentleman said, 'Come marry with me, +In silks and in velvet my Bessee shall be; +My heart lies distracted, oh! hear me,' quoth he, +'And grant me thy love, my dear pretty Bessee.' + +'Let me be thy husband,' the merchant did say, +'Thou shalt live in London most gallant and gay; +My ships shall bring home rich jewels for thee, +And I will for ever love pretty Bessee.' + +Then Bessee she sighed and thus she did say: +'My father and mother I mean to obey; +First get their good will, and be faithful to me, +And you shall enjoy your dear pretty Bessee.' + +To every one of them that answer she made, +Therefore unto her they joyfully said: +'This thing to fulfil we all now agree, +But where dwells thy father, my pretty Bessee?' + +'My father,' quoth she, 'is soon to be seen: +The silly blind beggar of Bednall Green, +That daily sits begging for charity, +He is the kind father of pretty Bessee. + +'His marks and his token are knowen full well, +He always is led by a dog and a bell; +A poor silly old man, God knoweth, is he, +Yet he's the true father of pretty Bessee.' + +'Nay, nay,' quoth the merchant, 'thou art not for me.' +'She,' quoth the innholder, 'my wife shall not be.' +'I loathe,' said the gentleman, 'a beggar's degree, +Therefore, now farewell, my pretty Bessee.' + +'Why then,' quoth the knight, 'hap better or worse, +I weigh not true love by the weight of the purse, +And beauty is beauty in every degree, +Then welcome to me, my dear pretty Bessee. + +'With thee to thy father forthwith I will go.' +'Nay, forbear,' quoth his kinsman, 'it must not be so: +A poor beggar's daughter a lady shan't be; +Then take thy adieu of thy pretty Bessee.' + +As soon then as it was break of the day, +The knight had from Rumford stole Bessee away; +The young men of Rumford, so sick as may be, +Rode after to fetch again pretty Bessee. + +As swift as the wind to ride they were seen, +Until they came near unto Bednall Green, +And as the knight lighted most courteously, +They fought against him for pretty Bessee. + +But rescue came presently over the plain, +Or else the knight there for his love had been slain; +The fray being ended, they straightway did see +His kinsman come railing at pretty Bessee. + +Then bespoke the blind beggar, 'Although I be poor, +Rail not against my child at my own door, +Though she be not decked in velvet and pearl, +Yet I will drop angels with thee for my girl; + +'And then if my gold should better her birth, +And equal the gold you lay on the earth, +Then neither rail you, nor grudge you to see +The blind beggar's daughter a lady to be. + +'But first, I will hear, and have it well known, +The gold that you drop it shall be all your own.' +With that they replied, 'Contented we be!' +'Then here's,' quoth the beggar, 'for pretty Bessee!' + +With that an angel he dropped on the ground, +And dropped, in angels, full three thousand pound; +And oftentimes it proved most plain, +For the gentleman's one, the beggar dropped twain; + +So that the whole place wherein they did sit, +With gold was covered every whit. +The gentleman having dropped all his store, +Said, 'Beggar! your hand hold, for I have no more.' + +'Thou hast fulfilled thy promise aright, +Then marry my girl,' quoth he to the knight; +'And then,' quoth he, 'I will throw you down, +An hundred pound more to buy her a gown.' + +The gentlemen all, who his treasure had seen, +Admired the beggar of Bednall Green; +And those that had been her suitors before, +Their tender flesh for anger they tore. + +Thus was the fair Bessee matched to a knight, +And made a lady in other's despite. +A fairer lady there never was seen +Than the blind beggar's daughter of Bednall Green. + +But of her sumptuous marriage and feast, +And what fine lords and ladies there prest, +The second part shall set forth to your sight, +With marvellous pleasure and wished-for delight. + +Of a blind beggar's daughter so bright, +That late was betrothed to a young knight, +All the whole discourse therefore you may see; +But now comes the wedding of pretty Bessee. + +PART II. + +It was in a gallant palace most brave, +Adorned with all the cost they could have, +This wedding it was kept most sumptuously, +And all for the love of pretty Bessee. + +And all kind of dainties and delicates sweet, +Was brought to their banquet, as it was thought meet, +Partridge, and plover, and venison most free, +Against the brave wedding of pretty Bessee. + +The wedding through England was spread by report, +So that a great number thereto did resort +Of nobles and gentles of every degree, +And all for the fame of pretty Bessee. + +To church then away went this gallant young knight, +His bride followed after, an angel most bright, +With troops of ladies, the like was ne'er seen, +As went with sweet Bessee of Bednall Green. + +This wedding being solemnized then, +With music performed by skilfullest men, +The nobles and gentlemen down at the side, +Each one beholding the beautiful bride. + +But after the sumptuous dinner was done, +To talk and to reason a number begun, +And of the blind beggar's daughter most bright; +And what with his daughter he gave to the knight. + +Then spoke the nobles, 'Much marvel have we +This jolly blind beggar we cannot yet see!' +'My lords,' quoth the bride, 'my father so base +Is loth with his presence these states to disgrace.' + +'The praise of a woman in question to bring, +Before her own face is a flattering thing; +But we think thy father's baseness,' quoth they, +'Might by thy beauty be clean put away.' + +They no sooner this pleasant word spoke, +But in comes the beggar in a silken cloak, +A velvet cap and a feather had he, +And now a musician, forsooth, he would be. + +And being led in from catching of harm, +He had a dainty lute under his arm, +Said, 'Please you to hear any music of me, +A song I will sing you of pretty Bessee.' + +With that his lute he twanged straightway, +And thereon began most sweetly to play, +And after a lesson was played two or three, +He strained out this song most delicately:- + +'A beggar's daughter did dwell on a green, +Who for her beauty may well be a queen, +A blithe bonny lass, and dainty was she, +And many one called her pretty Bessee. + +'Her father he had no goods nor no lands, +But begged for a penny all day with his hands, +And yet for her marriage gave thousands three, +Yet still he hath somewhat for pretty Bessee. + +'And here if any one do her disdain, +Her father is ready with might and with main +To prove she is come of noble degree, +Therefore let none flout at my pretty Bessee.' + +With that the lords and the company round +With a hearty laughter were ready to swound; +At last said the lords, 'Full well we may see, +The bride and the bridegroom's beholden to thee.' + +With that the fair bride all blushing did rise, +With crystal water all in her bright eyes, +'Pardon my father, brave nobles,' quoth she, +'That through blind affection thus doats upon me.' + +'If this be thy father,' the nobles did say, +'Well may he be proud of this happy day, +Yet by his countenance well may we see, +His birth with his fortune could never agree; + +And therefore, blind beggar, we pray thee bewray, +And look to us then the truth thou dost say, +Thy birth and thy parentage what it may be, +E'en for the love thou bearest pretty Bessee.' + +'Then give me leave, ye gentles each one, +A song more to sing and then I'll begone, +And if that I do not win good report, +Then do not give me one groat for my sport:- + +'When first our king his fame did advance, +And sought his title in delicate France, +In many places great perils passed he; +But then was not born my pretty Bessee. + +'And at those wars went over to fight, +Many a brave duke, a lord, and a knight, +And with them young Monford of courage so free; +But then was not born my pretty Bessee. + +'And there did young Monford with a blow on the face +Lose both his eyes in a very short space; +His life had been gone away with his sight, +Had not a young woman gone forth in the night. + +'Among the said men, her fancy did move, +To search and to seek for her own true love, +Who seeing young Monford there gasping to die, +She saved his life through her charity. + +'And then all our victuals in beggar's attire, +At the hands of good people we then did require; +At last into England, as now it is seen, +We came, and remained in Bednall Green. + +'And thus we have lived in Fortune's despite, +Though poor, yet contented with humble delight, +And in my old years, a comfort to me, +God sent me a daughter called pretty Bessee. + +And thus, ye nobles, my song I do end, +Hoping by the same no man to offend; +Full forty long winters thus I have been, +A silly blind beggar of Bednall Green.' + +Now when the company every one, +Did hear the strange tale he told in his song, +They were amazed, as well they might be, +Both at the blind beggar and pretty Bessee. + +With that the fair bride they all did embrace, +Saying, 'You are come of an honourable race, +Thy father likewise is of high degree, +And thou art right worthy a lady to be.' + +Thus was the feast ended with joy and delight, +A happy bridegroom was made the young knight, +Who lived in great joy and felicity, +With his fair lady dear pretty Bessee. + + + +Ballad: THE BOLD PEDLAR AND ROBIN HOOD. + + + +[This ballad is of considerable antiquity, and no doubt much older +than some of those inserted in the common Garlands. It appears to +have escaped the notice of Ritson, Percy, and other collectors of +Robin Hood ballads. The tune is given in Popular Music. An aged +woman in Bermondsey, Surrey, from whose oral recitation the present +version was taken down, said that she had often heard her +grandmother sing it, and that it was never in print; but we have +since met with several common stall copies. The subject is the +same as that of the old ballad called Robin Hood newly revived; or, +the Meeting and Fighting with his Cousin Scarlett.] + + +There chanced to be a pedlar bold, +A pedlar bold he chanced to be; +He rolled his pack all on his back, +And he came tripping o'er the lee. +Down, a down, a down, a down, +Down, a down, a down. + +By chance he met two troublesome blades, +Two troublesome blades they chanced to be; +The one of them was bold Robin Hood, +And the other was Little John, so free. + +'Oh! pedlar, pedlar, what is in thy pack, +Come speedilie and tell to me?' +'I've several suits of the gay green silks, +And silken bowstrings two or three.' + +'If you have several suits of the gay green silk, +And silken bowstrings two or three, +Then it's by my body,' cries BITTLE John, +'One half your pack shall belong to me.' + +Oh! nay, oh! nay,' says the pedlar bold, +'Oh! nay, oh! nay, that never can be, +For there's never a man from fair Nottingham +Can take one half my pack from me.' + +Then the pedlar he pulled off his pack, +And put it a little below his knee, +Saying, 'If you do move me one perch from this, +My pack and all shall gang with thee.' + +Then Little John he drew his sword; +The pedlar by his pack did stand; +They fought until they both did sweat, +Till he cried, 'Pedlar, pray hold your hand!' + +Then Robin Hood he was standing by, +And he did laugh most heartilie, +Saying, 'I could find a man of a smaller scale, +Could thrash the pedlar, and also thee.' + +'Go, you try, master,' says Little John, +'Go, you try, master, most speedilie, +Or by my body,' says Little John, +'I am sure this night you will not know me.' + +Then Robin Hood he drew his sword, +And the pedlar by his pack did stand, +They fought till the blood in streams did flow, +Till he cried, 'Pedlar, pray hold your hand!' + +'Pedlar, pedlar! what is thy name? +Come speedilie and tell to me.' +'My name! my name, I ne'er will tell, +Till both your names you have told to me.' + +'The one of us is bold Robin Hood, +And the other Little John, so free.' +'Now,' says the pedlar, 'it lays to my good will, +Whether my name I chuse to tell to thee. + +'I am Gamble Gold {3} of the gay green woods, +And travelled far beyond the sea; +For killing a man in my father's land, +From my country I was forced to flee.' + +'If you are Gamble Gold of the gay green woods, +And travelled far beyond the sea, +You are my mother's own sister's son; +What nearer cousins then can we be?' + +They sheathed their swords with friendly words, +So merrily they did agree; +They went to a tavern and there they dined, +And bottles cracked most merrilie. + + + +Ballad: THE OUTLANDISH KNIGHT. + + + +[This is the common English stall copy of a ballad of which there +are a variety of versions, for an account of which, and of the +presumed origin of the story, the reader is referred to the notes +on the Water o' Wearie's Well, in the Scottish Traditional Versions +of Ancient Ballads, published by the Percy Society. By the term +'outlandish' is signified an inhabitant of that portion of the +border which was formerly known by the name of 'the Debateable +Land,' a district which, though claimed by both England and +Scotland, could not be said to belong to either country. The +people on each side of the border applied the term 'outlandish' to +the Debateable residents. The tune to The Outlandish Knight has +never been printed; it is peculiar to the ballad, and, from its +popularity, is well known.] + + +An Outlandish knight came from the North lands, +And he came a wooing to me; +He told me he'd take me unto the North lands, +And there he would marry me. + +'Come, fetch me some of your father's gold, +And some of your mother's fee; +And two of the best nags out of the stable, +Where they stand thirty and three.' + +She fetched him some of her father's gold, +And some of the mother's fee; +And two of the best nags out of the stable, +Where they stood thirty and three. + +She mounted her on her milk-white steed, +He on the dapple grey; +They rode till they came unto the sea side, +Three hours before it was day. + +'Light off, light off thy milk-white steed, +And deliver it unto me; +Six pretty maids have I drowned here, +And thou the seventh shall be. + +'Pull off, pull off thy silken gown, +And deliver it unto me, +Methinks it looks too rich and too gay +To rot in the salt sea. + +'Pull off, pull of thy silken stays, +And deliver them unto me; +Methinks they are too fine and gay +To rot in the salt sea. + +'Pull off, pull off thy Holland smock, +And deliver it unto me; +Methinks it looks too rich and gay, +To rot in the salt sea.' + +'If I must pull off my Holland smock, +Pray turn thy back unto me, +For it is not fitting that such a ruffian +A naked woman should see.' + +He turned his back towards her, +And viewed the leaves so green; +She catched him round the middle so small, +And tumbled him into the stream. + +He dropped high, and he dropped low, +Until he came to the side, - +'Catch hold of my hand, my pretty maiden, +And I will make you my bride.' + +'Lie there, lie there, you false-hearted man, +Lie there instead of me; +Six pretty maids have you drowned here, +And the seventh has drowned thee.' + +She mounted on her milk-white steed, +And led the dapple grey, +She rode till she came to her own father's hall, +Three hours before it was day. + +The parrot being in the window so high, +Hearing the lady, did say, +'I'm afraid that some ruffian has led you astray, +That you have tarried so long away.' + +'Don't prittle nor prattle, my pretty parrot, +Nor tell no tales of me; +Thy cage shall be made of the glittering gold, +Although it is made of a tree.' + +The king being in the chamber so high, +And hearing the parrot, did say, +'What ails you, what ails you, my pretty parrot, +That you prattle so long before day?' + +'It's no laughing matter,' the parrot did say, +'But so loudly I call unto thee; +For the cats have got into the window so high, +And I'm afraid they will have me.' + +'Well turned, well turned, my pretty parrot, +Well turned, well turned for me; +Thy cage shall be made of the glittering gold, +And the door of the best ivory.' {4} + + + +Ballad: LORD DELAWARE. (TRADITIONAL.) + + + +[This interesting traditional ballad was first published by Mr. +Thomas Lyle in his Ancient Ballads and Songs, London, 1827. 'We +have not as yet,' says Mr. Lyle, 'been able to trace out the +historical incident upon which this ballad appears to have been +founded; yet those curious in such matters may consult, if they +list, Proceedings and Debates in the House of Commons, for 1621 and +1662, where they will find that some stormy debating in these +several years had been agitated in parliament regarding the corn +laws, which bear pretty close upon the leading features of the +ballad.' Does not the ballad, however, belong to a much earlier +period? The description of the combat, the presence of heralds, +the wearing of armour, &c., justify the conjecture. For De la +Ware, ought we not to read De la Mare? and is not Sir Thomas De la +Mare the hero? the De la Mare who in the reign of Edward III., A.D. +1377, was Speaker of the House of Commons. All historians are +agreed in representing him as a person using 'great freedom of +speach,' and which, indeed, he carried to such an extent as to +endanger his personal liberty. As bearing somewhat upon the +subject of the ballad, it may he observed that De la Mare was a +great advocate of popular rights, and particularly protested +against the inhabitants of England being subject to 'purveyance,' +asserting that 'if the royal revenue was faithfully administered, +there could be no necessity for laying burdens on the people.' In +the subsequent reign of Richard II, De In Mare was a prominent +character, and though history is silent on the subject, it is not +improbable that such a man might, even in the royal presence, have +defended the rights of the poor, and spoken in extenuation of the +agrarian insurrectionary movements which were then so prevalent and +so alarming. On the hypothesis of De la Mare being the hero, there +are other incidents in the tale which cannot be reconciled with +history, such as the title given to De la Mare, who certainly was +never ennobled; nor can we ascertain that he was ever mixed up in +any duel; nor does it appear clear who can be meant by the 'Welsh +Lord, the brave Duke of Devonshire,' that dukedom not having been +created till 1694 and no nobleman having derived any title whatever +from Devonshire previously to 1618, when Baron Cavendish, of +Hardwick, was created the first EARL of Devonshire. We may +therefore presume that for 'Devonshire' ought to be inserted the +name of some other county or place. Strict historical accuracy is, +however, hardly to be expected in any ballad, particularly in one +which, like the present, has evidently been corrupted in floating +down the stream of time. There is only one quarrel recorded at the +supposed period of our tale as having taken place betwixt two +noblemen, and which resulted in a hostile meeting, viz., that +wherein the belligerent parties were the Duke of Hereford (who +might by a 'ballad-monger' be deemed a WELSH lord) and the Duke of +Norfolk. This was in the reign of Richard II. No fight, however, +took place, owing to the interference of the king. Our minstrel +author may have had rather confused historical ideas, and so mixed +up certain passages in De la Mare's history with this squabble; and +we are strongly inclined to suspect that such is the case, and that +it will be found the real clue to the story. Vide Hume's History +of England, chap. XVII. A.D. 1398. Lyle acknowledges that he has +taken some liberties with the oral version, but does not state what +they were, beyond that they consisted merely in 'smoothing down.' +Would that he had left it 'in the ROUGH!' The last verse has every +appearance of being apocryphal; it looks like one of those +benedictory verses with which minstrels were, and still are, in the +habit of concluding their songs. Lyle says the tune 'is pleasing, +and peculiar to the ballad.' A homely version, presenting only +trivial variations from that of Mr. Lyle, is still printed and +sung.] + + +In the Parliament House, a great rout has been there, +Betwixt our good King and the Lord Delaware: +Says Lord Delaware to his Majesty full soon, +'Will it please you, my liege, to grant me a boon?' + +'What's your boon,' says the King, 'now let me understand?' +'It's, give me all the poor men we've starving in this land; +And without delay, I'll hie me to Lincolnshire, +To sow hemp-seed and flax-seed, and hang them all there. + +'For with hempen cord it's better to stop each poor man's breath, +Than with famine you should see your subjects starve to death.' +Up starts a Dutch Lord, who to Delaware did say, +'Thou deserves to be stabbed!' then he turned himself away; + +'Thou deserves to be stabbed, and the dogs have thine ears, +For insulting our King in this Parliament of peers.' +Up sprang a Welsh Lord, the brave Duke of Devonshire, +'In young Delaware's defence, I'll fight this Dutch Lord, my sire; + +'For he is in the right, and I'll make it so appear: +Him I dare to single combat, for insulting Delaware.' +A stage was soon erected, and to combat they went, +For to kill, or to be killed, it was either's full intent. + +But the very first flourish, when the heralds gave command, +The sword of brave Devonshire bent backward on his hand; +In suspense he paused awhile, scanned his foe before he strake, +Then against the King's armour, his bent sword he brake. + +Then he sprang from the stage, to a soldier in the ring, +Saying, 'Lend your sword, that to an end this tragedy we bring: +Though he's fighting me in armour, while I am fighting bare, +Even more than this I'd venture for young Lord Delaware.' + +Leaping back on the stage, sword to buckler now resounds, +Till he left the Dutch Lord a bleeding in his wounds: +This seeing, cries the King to his guards without delay, +'Call Devonshire down,--take the dead man away!' + +'No,' says brave Devonshire, 'I've fought him as a man, +Since he's dead, I will keep the trophies I have won; +For he fought me in your armour, while I fought him bare, +And the same you must win back, my liege, if ever you them wear.' + +God bless the Church of England, may it prosper on each hand, +And also every poor man now starving in this land; +And while I pray success may crown our King upon his throne, +I'll wish that every poor man may long enjoy his own. + + + +Ballad: LORD BATEMAN. + + + +[This is a ludicrously corrupt abridgment of the ballad of Lord +Beichan, a copy of which will be found inserted amongst the Early +Ballads, An. Ed. p. 144. The following grotesque version was +published several years ago by Tilt, London, and also, according to +the title-page, by Mustapha Syried, Constantinople! under the title +of The loving Ballad of Lord Bateman. It is, however, the only +ancient form in which the ballad has existed in print, and is one +of the publications mentioned in Thackeray's Catalogue, see ante, +p. 20. The air printed in Tilt's edition is the one to which the +ballad is sung in the South of England, but it is totally different +to the Northern tune, which has never been published.] + + +Lord Bateman he was a noble lord, +A noble lord of high degree; +He shipped himself on board a ship, +Some foreign country he would go see. + +He sailed east, and he sailed west, +Until he came to proud Turkey; +Where he was taken, and put to prison, +Until his life was almost weary. + +And in this prison there grew a tree, +It grew so stout, and grew so strong; +Where he was chained by the middle, +Until his life was almost gone. + +This Turk he had one only daughter, +The fairest creature my eyes did see; +She stole the keys of her father's prison, +And swore Lord Bateman she would set free. + +'Have you got houses? have you got lands? +Or does Northumberland belong to thee? +What would you give to the fair young lady +That out of prison would set you free?' + +'I have got houses, I have got lands, +And half Northumberland belongs to me +I'll give it all to the fair young lady +That out of prison would set me free.' + +O! then she took him to her father's hall, +And gave to him the best of wine; +And every health she drank unto him, +'I wish, Lord Bateman, that you were mine! + +'Now in seven years I'll make a vow, +And seven years I'll keep it strong, +If you'll wed with no other woman, +I will wed with no other man.' + +O! then she took him to her father's harbour, +And gave to him a ship of fame; +'Farewell, farewell to you, Lord Bateman, +I'm afraid I ne'er shall see you again.' + +Now seven long years are gone and past, +And fourteen days, well known to thee; +She packed up all her gay clothing, +And swore Lord Bateman she would go see. + +But when she came to Lord Bateman's castle, +So boldly she rang the bell; +'Who's there? who's there?' cried the proud porter, +'Who's there? unto me come tell.' + +'O! is this Lord Bateman's castle? +Or is his Lordship here within?' +'O, yes! O, yes!' cried the young porter, +'He's just now taken his new bride in.' + +'O! tell him to send me a slice of bread, +And a bottle of the best wine; +And not forgetting the fair young lady +Who did release him when close confine.' + +Away, away went this proud young porter, +Away, away, and away went he, +Until he came to Lord Bateman's chamber, +Down on his bended knees fell he. + +'What news, what news, my proud young porter? +What news hast thou brought unto me?' +'There is the fairest of all young creatures +That ever my two eyes did see! + +'She has got rings on every finger, +And round one of them she has got three, +And as much gay clothing round her middle +As would buy all Northumberlea. + +'She bids you send her a slice of bread, +And a bottle of the best wine; +And not forgetting the fair young lady +Who did release you when close confine.' + +Lord Bateman he then in a passion flew, +And broke his sword in splinters three; +Saying, 'I will give all my father's riches +If Sophia has crossed the sea.' + +Then up spoke the young bride's mother, +Who never was heard to speak so free, +'You'll not forget my only daughter, +If Sophia has crossed the sea.' + +'I own I made a bride of your daughter, +She's neither the better nor worse for me; +She came to me with her horse and saddle, +She may go back in her coach and three.' + +Lord Bateman prepared another marriage, +And sang, with heart so full of glee, +I'll range no more in foreign countries, +Now since Sophia has crossed the sea.' + + + +Ballad: THE GOLDEN GLOVE; OR, THE SQUIRE OF TAMWORTH. + + + +[This is a very popular ballad, and sung in every part of England. +It is traditionally reported to be founded on an incident which +occurred in the reign of Elizabeth. It has been published in the +broadside form from the commencement of the eighteenth century, but +is no doubt much older. It does not appear to have been previously +inserted in any collection.] + + +A wealthy young squire of Tamworth, we hear, +He courted a nobleman's daughter so fair; +And for to marry her it was his intent, +All friends and relations gave their consent. + +The time was appointed for the wedding-day, +A young farmer chosen to give her away; +As soon as the farmer the young lady did spy, +He inflamed her heart; 'O, my heart!' she did cry. + +She turned from the squire, but nothing she said, +Instead of being married she took to her bed; +The thought of the farmer soon run in her mind, +A way for to have him she quickly did find. + +Coat, waistcoat, and breeches she then did put on, +And a hunting she went with her dog and her gun; +She hunted all round where the farmer did dwell, +Because in her heart she did love him full well: + +She oftentimes fired, but nothing she killed, +At length the young farmer came into the field; +And to discourse with him it was her intent, +With her dog and her gun to meet him she went. + +'I thought you had been at the wedding,' she cried, +'To wait on the squire, and give him his bride.' +'No, sir,' said the farmer, 'if the truth I may tell, +I'll not give her away, for I love her too well' + +'Suppose that the lady should grant you her love, +You know that the squire your rival will prove.' +'Why, then,' says the farmer, 'I'll take sword in hand, +By honour I'll gain her when she shall command.' + +It pleased the lady to find him so bold; +She gave him a glove that was flowered with gold, +And told him she found it when coming along, +As she was a hunting with her dog and gun. + +The lady went home with a heart full of love, +And gave out a notice that she'd lost a glove; +And said, 'Who has found it, and brings it to me, +Whoever he is, he my husband shall be.' + +The farmer was pleased when he heard of the news, +With heart full of joy to the lady he goes: +'Dear, honoured lady, I've picked up your glove, +And hope you'll be pleased to grant me your love.' + +'It's already granted, I will be your bride; +I love the sweet breath of a farmer,' she cried. +'I'll be mistress of my dairy, and milking my cow, +While my jolly brisk farmer is whistling at plough.' + +And when she was married she told of her fun, +How she went a hunting with her dog and gun: +'And now I've got him so fast in my snare, +I'll enjoy him for ever, I vow and declare!' + + + +Ballad: KING JAMES I. AND THE TINKLER. {5} (TRADITIONAL.) + + + +[This ballad of King James I. and the Tinkler was probably written +either in, or shortly after, the reign of the monarch who is the +hero. The incident recorded is said to be a fact, though the +locality is doubtful. By some the scene is laid at Norwood, in +Surrey; by others in some part of the English border. The ballad +is alluded to by Percy, but is not inserted either in the Reliques, +or in any other popular collection. It is to be found only in a +few broadsides and chap-books of modern date. The present version +is a traditional one, taken down, as here given, from the recital +of the late Francis King. {6} It is much superior to the common +broadside edition with which it has been collated, and from which +the thirteenth and fifteenth verses were obtained. The ballad is +very popular on the Border, and in the dales of Cumberland, +Westmoreland, and Craven. The late Robert Anderson, the Cumbrian +bard, represents Deavie, in his song of the Clay Daubin, as singing +The King and the Tinkler.] + + +And now, to be brief, let's pass over the rest, +Who seldom or never were given to jest, +And come to King Jamie, the first of our throne, +A pleasanter monarch sure never was known. + +As he was a hunting the swift fallow-deer, +He dropped all his nobles; and when he got clear, +In hope of some pastime away he did ride, +Till he came to an alehouse, hard by a wood-side. + +And there with a tinkler he happened to meet, +And him in kind sort he so freely did greet: +'Pray thee, good fellow, what hast in thy jug, +Which under thy arm thou dost lovingly hug?' + +'By the mass!' quoth the tinkler, 'it's nappy brown ale, +And for to drink to thee, friend, I will not fail; +For although thy jacket looks gallant and fine, +I think that my twopence as good is as thine.' + +'By my soul! honest fellow, the truth thou hast spoke,' +And straight he sat down with the tinkler to joke; +They drank to the King, and they pledged to each other; +Who'd seen 'em had thought they were brother and brother. + +As they were a-drinking the King pleased to say, +'What news, honest fellow? come tell me, I pray?' +'There's nothing of news, beyond that I hear +The King's on the border a-chasing the deer. + +'And truly I wish I so happy may be +Whilst he is a hunting the King I might see; +For although I've travelled the land many ways +I never have yet seen a King in my days.' + +The King, with a hearty brisk laughter, replied, +'I tell thee, good fellow, if thou canst but ride, +Thou shalt get up behind me, and I will thee bring +To the presence of Jamie, thy sovereign King.' + +'But he'll be surrounded with nobles so gay, +And how shall we tell him from them, sir, I pray?' +'Thou'lt easily ken him when once thou art there; +The King will be covered, his nobles all bare.' + +He got up behind him and likewise his sack, +His budget of leather, and tools at his back; +They rode till they came to the merry greenwood, +His nobles came round him, bareheaded they stood. + +The tinkler then seeing so many appear, +He slily did whisper the King in his ear: +Saying, 'They're all clothed so gloriously gay, +But which amongst them is the King, sir, I pray?' + +The King did with hearty good laughter, reply, +'By my soul! my good fellow, it's thou or it's I! +The rest are bareheaded, uncovered all round.' - +With his bag and his budget he fell to the ground, + +Like one that was frightened quite out of his wits, +Then on his knees he instantly gets, +Beseeching for mercy; the King to him said, +'Thou art a good fellow, so be not afraid. + +'Come, tell thy name?' 'I am John of the Dale, +A mender of kettles, a lover of ale.' +'Rise up, Sir John, I will honour thee here, - +I make thee a knight of three thousand a year!' + +This was a good thing for the tinkler indeed; +Then unto the court he was sent for with speed, +Where great store of pleasure and pastime was seen, +In the royal presence of King and of Queen. + +Sir John of the Dale he has land, he has fee, +At the court of the king who so happy as he? +Yet still in his hall hangs the tinkler's old sack, +And the budget of tools which he bore at his back. + + + +Ballad: THE KEACH I' THE CREEL. + + + +[This old and very humorous ballad has long been a favourite on +both sides of the Border, but had never appeared in print till +about 1845, when a Northumbrian gentleman printed a few copies for +private circulation, from one of which the following is taken. In +the present impression some trifling typographical mistakes are +corrected, and the phraseology has been rendered uniform +throughout. Keach i' the Creel means the catch in the basket.] + + +A fair young May went up the street, +Some white fish for to buy; +And a bonny clerk's fa'n i' luve wi' her, +And he's followed her by and by, by, +And he's followed her by and by. + +'O! where live ye my bonny lass, +I pray thee tell to me; +For gin the nicht were ever sae mirk, +I wad come and visit thee, thee; +I wad come and visit thee.' + +'O! my father he aye locks the door, +My mither keeps the key; +And gin ye were ever sic a wily wicht, +Ye canna win in to me, me; +Ye canna win in to me.' + +But the clerk he had ae true brother, +And a wily wicht was he; +And he has made a lang ladder, +Was thirty steps and three, three; +Was thirty steps and three. + +He has made a cleek but and a creel - +A creel but and a pin; +And he's away to the chimley-top, +And he's letten the bonny clerk in, in; +And he's letten the bonny clerk in. + +The auld wife, being not asleep, +Tho' late, late was the hour; +I'll lay my life,' quo' the silly auld wife, +'There's a man i' our dochter's bower, bower; +There's a man i' our dochter's bower.' + +The auld man he gat owre the bed, +To see if the thing was true; +But she's ta'en the bonny clerk in her arms, +And covered him owre wi' blue, blue; +And covered him owre wi' blue. + +'O! where are ye gaun now, father?' she says, +'And where are ye gaun sae late? +Ye've disturbed me in my evening prayers, +And O! but they were sweit, sweit; +And O! but they were sweit.' + +'O! ill betide ye, silly auld wife, +And an ill death may ye dee; +She has the muckle buik in her arms, +And she's prayin' for you and me, me; +And she's prayin' for you and me.' + +The auld wife being not asleep, +Then something mair was said; +'I'll lay my life,' quo' the silly auld wife, +'There's a man by our dochter's bed, bed; +There's a man by our dochter's bed.' + +The auld wife she gat owre the bed, +To see if the thing was true; +But what the wrack took the auld wife's fit? +For into the creel she flew, flew; +For into the creel she flew. + +The man that was at the chimley-top, +Finding the creel was fu', +He wrappit the rape round his left shouther, +And fast to him he drew, drew: +And fast to him he drew. + +'O, help! O, help! O, hinny, noo, help! +O, help! O, hinny, do! +For HIM that ye aye wished me at, +He's carryin' me off just noo, noo; +He's carryin' me off just noo.' + +'O! if the foul thief's gotten ye, +I wish he may keep his haud; +For a' the lee lang winter nicht, +Ye'll never lie in your bed, bed; +Ye'll never lie in your bed.' + +He's towed her up, he's towed her down, +He's towed her through an' through; +'O, Gude! assist,' quo' the silly auld wife, +'For I'm just departin' noo, noo; +For I'm just departin' noo.' + +He's towed her up, he's towed her down, +He's gien her a richt down fa', +Till every rib i' the auld wife's side, +Played nick nack on the wa', wa'; +Played nick nack on the wa'. + +O! the blue, the bonny, bonny blue, +And I wish the blue may do weel; +And every auld wife that's sae jealous o' her dochter, +May she get a good keach i' the creel, creel; +May she get a good keach i' the creel! + + + +Ballad: THE MERRY BROOMFIELD; OR, THE WEST COUNTRY WAGER. + + + +[This old West-country ballad was one of the broadsides printed at +the Aldermary press. We have not met with any older impression, +though we have been assured that there are black-letter copies. In +Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border is a ballad called the +Broomfield Hill; it is a mere fragment, but is evidently taken from +the present ballad, and can be considered only as one of the many +modern antiques to be found in that work.] + + +A noble young squire that lived in the West, +He courted a young lady gay; +And as he was merry he put forth a jest, +A wager with her he would lay. + +'A wager with me,' the young lady replied, +'I pray about what must it be? +If I like the humour you shan't be denied, +I love to be merry and free.' + +Quoth he, 'I will lay you a hundred pounds, +A hundred pounds, aye, and ten, +That a maid if you go to the merry Broomfield, +That a maid you return not again.' + +'I'll lay you that wager,' the lady she said, +Then the money she flung down amain; +'To the merry Broomfield I'll go a pure maid, +The same I'll return home again.' + +He covered her bet in the midst of the hall, +With a hundred and ten jolly pounds; +And then to his servant he straightway did call, +For to bring forth his hawk and his hounds. + +A ready obedience the servant did yield, +And all was made ready o'er night; +Next morning he went to the merry Broomfield, +To meet with his love and delight. + +Now when he came there, having waited a while, +Among the green broom down he lies; +The lady came to him, and could not but smile, +For sleep then had closed his eyes. + +Upon his right hand a gold ring she secured, +Drawn from her own fingers so fair; +That when he awaked he might be assured +His lady and love had been there. + +She left him a posie of pleasant perfume, +Then stepped from the place where he lay, +Then hid herself close in the besom of broom, +To hear what her true love did say. + +He wakened and found the gold ring on his hand, +Then sorrow of heart he was in; +'My love has been here, I do well understand, +And this wager I now shall not win. + +'Oh! where was you, my goodly goshawk, +The which I have purchased so dear, +Why did you not waken me out of my sleep, +When the lady, my love, was here?' + +'O! with my bells did I ring, master, +And eke with my feet did I run; +And still did I cry, pray awake! master, +She's here now, and soon will be gone.' + +'O! where was you, my gallant greyhound, +Whose collar is flourished with gold; +Why hadst thou not wakened me out of my sleep, +When thou didst my lady behold?' + +'Dear master, I barked with my mouth when she came, +And likewise my collar I shook; +And told you that here was the beautiful dame, +But no notice of me then you took.' + +'O! where wast thou, my servingman, +Whom I have clothed so fine? +If you had waked me when she was here, +The wager then had been mine.' + +In the night you should have slept, master, +And kept awake in the day; +Had you not been sleeping when hither she came, +Then a maid she had not gone away.' + +Then home he returned when the wager was lost, +With sorrow of heart, I may say; +The lady she laughed to find her love crost, - +This was upon midsummer-day. + +'O, squire! I laid in the bushes concealed, +And heard you, when you did complain; +And thus I have been to the merry Broomfield, +And a maid returned back again. + +'Be cheerful! be cheerful! and do not repine, +For now 'tis as clear as the sun, +The money, the money, the money is mine, +The wager I fairly have won.' + + + +Ballad: SIR JOHN BARLEYCORN. + + + +[The West-country ballad of Sir John Barleycorn is very ancient, +and being the only version that has ever been sung at English +merry-makings and country feasts, can certainly set up a better +claim to antiquity than any of the three ballads on the same +subject to be found in Evans's Old Ballads; viz., John Barleycorn, +The Little Barleycorn, and Mas Mault. Our west-country version +bears the greatest resemblance to The Little Barleycorn, but it is +very dissimilar to any of the three. Burns altered the old ditty, +but on referring to his version it will be seen that his +corrections and additions want the simplicity of the original, and +certainly cannot be considered improvements. The common ballad +does not appear to have been inserted in any of our popular +collections. Sir John Barleycorn is very appropriately sung to the +tune of Stingo. See Popular Music, p. 305.] + + +There came three men out of the West, +Their victory to try; +And they have taken a solemn oath, +Poor Barleycorn should die. + +They took a plough and ploughed him in, +And harrowed clods on his head; +And then they took a solemn oath, +Poor Barleycorn was dead. + +There he lay sleeping in the ground, +Till rain from the sky did fall: +Then Barleycorn sprung up his head, +And so amazed them all. + +There he remained till Midsummer, +And looked both pale and wan; +Then Barleycorn he got a beard, +And so became a man. + +Then they sent men with scythes so sharp, +To cut him off at knee; +And then poor little Barleycorn, +They served him barbarously. + +Then they sent men with pitchforks strong +To pierce him through the heart; +And like a dreadful tragedy, +They bound him to a cart. + +And then they brought him to a barn, +A prisoner to endure; +And so they fetched him out again, +And laid him on the floor. + +Then they set men with holly clubs, +To beat the flesh from his bones; +But the miller he served him worse than that, +For he ground him betwixt two stones. + +O! Barleycorn is the choicest grain +That ever was sown on land; +It will do more than any grain, +By the turning of your hand. + +It will make a boy into a man, +And a man into an ass; +It will change your gold into silver, +And your silver into brass. + +It will make the huntsman hunt the fox, +That never wound his horn; +It will bring the tinker to the stocks, +That people may him scorn. + +It will put sack into a glass, +And claret in the can; +And it will cause a man to drink +Till he neither can go nor stand. + + + +Ballad: BLOW THE WINDS, I-HO! + + + +[This Northumbrian ballad is of great antiquity, and bears +considerable resemblance to The Baffled Knight; or, Lady's Policy, +inserted in Percy's Reliques. It is not in any popular collection. +In the broadside from which it is here printed, the title and +chorus are given, Blow the Winds, I-O, a form common to many +ballads and songs, but only to those of great antiquity. Chappell, +in his Popular Music, has an example in a song as old as 1698:- + +'Here's a health to jolly Bacchus, +I-ho! I-ho! I-ho!' + +and in another well-known old catch the same form appears:- + +'A pye sat on a pear-tree, +I-ho, I-ho, I-ho.' + +'Io!' or, as we find it given in these lyrics, 'I-ho!' was an +ancient form of acclamation or triumph on joyful occasions and +anniversaries. It is common, with slight variations, to different +languages. In the Gothic, for example, Iola signifies to make +merry. It has been supposed by some etymologists that the word +'yule' is a corruption of 'Io!'] + + +There was a shepherd's son, +He kept sheep on yonder hill; +He laid his pipe and his crook aside, +And there he slept his fill. + +And blow the winds, I-ho! +Sing, blow the winds, I-ho! +Clear away the morning dew, +And blow the winds, I-ho! + +He looked east, and he looked west, +He took another look, +And there he spied a lady gay, +Was dipping in a brook. + +She said, 'Sir, don't touch my mantle, +Come, let my clothes alone; +I will give you as much money +As you can carry home.' + +'I will not touch your mantle, +I'll let your clothes alone; +I'll take you out of the water clear, +My dear, to be my own.' + +He did not touch her mantle, +He let her clothes alone; +But he took her from the clear water, +And all to be his own. + +He set her on a milk-white steed, +Himself upon another; +And there they rode along the road, +Like sister, and like brother. + +And as they rode along the road, +He spied some cocks of hay; +'Yonder,' he says, 'is a lovely place +For men and maids to play!' + +And when they came to her father's gate, +She pulled at a ring; +And ready was the proud porter +For to let the lady in. + +And when the gates were open, +This lady jumped in; +She says, 'You are a fool without, +And I'm a maid within. + +'Good morrow to you, modest boy, +I thank you for your care; +If you had been what you should have been, +I would not have left you there. + +'There is a horse in my father's stable, +He stands beyond the thorn; +He shakes his head above the trough, +But dares not prie the corn. + +'There is a bird in my father's flock, +A double comb he wears; +He flaps his wings, and crows full loud, +But a capon's crest he bears. + +'There is a flower in my father's garden, +They call it marygold; +The fool that will not when he may, +He shall not when he wold.' + +Said the shepherd's son, as he doft his shoon, +'My feet they shall run bare, +And if ever I meet another maid, +I rede that maid beware.' + + + +Ballad: THE BEAUTIFUL LADY OF KENT; OR, THE SEAMAN OF DOVER. + + + +[We have met with two copies of this genuine English ballad; the +older one is without printer's name, but from the appearance of the +type and the paper, it must have been published about the middle of +the last century. It is certainly not one of the original +impressions, for the other copy, though of recent date, has +evidently been taken from some still older and better edition. In +the modern broadside the ballad is in four parts, whereas, in our +older one, there is no such expressed division, but a word at the +commencement of each part is printed in capital letters.] + + +PART I. + +A seaman of Dover, whose excellent parts, +For wisdom and learning, had conquered the hearts +Of many young damsels, of beauty so bright, +Of him this new ditty in brief I shall write; + +And show of his turnings, and windings of fate, +His passions and sorrows, so many and great: +And how he was blessed with true love at last, +When all the rough storms of his troubles were past. + +Now, to be brief, I shall tell you the truth: +A beautiful lady, whose name it was Ruth, +A squire's young daughter, near Sandwich, in Kent, +Proves all his heart's treasure, his joy and content. + +Unknown to their parents in private they meet, +Where many love lessons they'd often repeat, +With kisses, and many embraces likewise, +She granted him love, and thus gained the prize. + +She said, 'I consent to be thy sweet bride, +Whatever becomes of my fortune,' she cried. +'The frowns of my father I never will fear, +But freely will go through the world with my dear.' + +A jewel he gave her, in token of love, +And vowed, by the sacred powers above, +To wed the next morning; but they were betrayed, +And all by the means of a treacherous maid. + +She told her parents that they were agreed: +With that they fell into a passion with speed, +And said, ere a seaman their daughter should have, +They rather would follow her corpse to the grave. + +The lady was straight to her chamber confined, +Here long she continued in sorrow of mind, +And so did her love, for the loss of his dear, - +No sorrow was ever so sharp and severe. + +When long he had mourned for his love and delight, +Close under the window he came in the night, +And sung forth this ditty:- 'My dearest, farewell! +Behold, in this nation no longer I dwell. + +'I am going from hence to the kingdom of Spain, +Because I am willing that you should obtain +Your freedom once more; for my heart it will break +If longer thou liest confined for my sake.' + +The words which he uttered, they caused her to weep; +Yet, nevertheless, she was forced to keep +Deep silence that minute, that minute for fear +Her honoured father and mother should hear. + +PART II. + +Soon after, bold Henry he entered on board, +The heavens a prosperous gale did afford, +And brought him with speed to the kingdom of Spain, +There he with a merchant some time did remain; + +Who, finding that he was both faithful and just, +Preferred him to places of honour and trust; +He made him as great as his heart could request, +Yet, wanting his Ruth, he with grief was oppressed. + +So great was his grief it could not be concealed, +Both honour and riches no pleasure could yield; +In private he often would weep and lament, +For Ruth, the fair, beautiful lady of Kent. + +Now, while he lamented the loss of his dear, +A lady of Spain did before him appear, +Bedecked with rich jewels both costly and gay, +Who earnestly sought for his favour that day. + +Said she, 'Gentle swain, I am wounded with love, +And you are the person I honour above +The greatest of nobles that ever was born; - +Then pity my tears, and my sorrowful mourn!' + +'I pity thy sorrowful tears,' he replied, +'And wish I were worthy to make thee my bride; +But, lady, thy grandeur is greater than mine, +Therefore, I am fearful my heart to resign.' + +'O! never be doubtful of what will ensue, +No manner of danger will happen to you; +At my own disposal I am, I declare, +Receive me with love, or destroy me with care.' + +'Dear madam, don't fix your affection on me, +You are fit for some lord of a noble degree, +That is able to keep up your honour and fame; +I am but a poor sailor, from England who came. + +'A man of mean fortune, whose substance is small, +I have not wherewith to maintain you withal, +Sweet lady, according to honour and state; +Now this is the truth, which I freely relate.' + +The lady she lovingly squeezed his hand, +And said with a smile, 'Ever blessed be the land +That bred such a noble, brave seaman as thee; +I value no honours, thou'rt welcome to me; + +'My parents are dead, I have jewels untold, +Besides in possession a million of gold; +And thou shalt be lord of whatever I have, +Grant me but thy love, which I earnestly crave.' + +Then, turning aside, to himself he replied, +'I am courted with riches and beauty beside; +This love I may have, but my Ruth is denied.' +Wherefore he consented to make her his bride. + +The lady she clothed him costly and great; +His noble deportment, both proper and straight, +So charmed the innocent eye of his dove, +And added a second new flame to her love. + +Then married they were without longer delay; +Now here we will leave them both glorious and gay, +To speak of fair Ruth, who in sorrow was left +At home with her parents, of comfort bereft. + +PART III. + +When under the window with an aching heart, +He told his fair Ruth he so soon must depart, +Her parents they heard, and well pleased they were, +But Ruth was afflicted with sorrow and care. + +Now, after her lover had quitted the shore, +They kept her confined a fall twelvemonth or more, +And then they were pleased to set her at large, +With laying upon her a wonderful charge: + +To fly from a seaman as she would from death; +She promised she would, with a faltering breath; +Yet, nevertheless, the truth you shall hear, +She found out a way for to follow her dear. + +Then, taking her gold and her silver also, +In seaman's apparel away she did go, +And found out a master, with whom she agreed, +To carry her over the ocean with speed. + +Now, when she arrived at the kingdom of Spain, +From city to city she travelled amain, +Enquiring about everywhere for her love, +Who now had been gone seven years and above. + +In Cadiz, as she walked along in the street, +Her love and his lady she happened to meet, +But in such a garb as she never had seen, - +She looked like an angel, or beautiful queen. + +With sorrowful tears she turned her aside: +'My jewel is gone, I shall ne'er be his bride; +But, nevertheless, though my hopes are in vain, +I'll never return to old England again. + +'But here, in this place, I will now be confined; +It will be a comfort and joy to my mind, +To see him sometimes, though he thinks not of me, +Since he has a lady of noble degree.' + +Now, while in the city fair Ruth did reside, +Of a sudden this beautiful lady she died, +And, though he was in the possession of all, +Yet tears from his eyes in abundance did fall. + +As he was expressing his piteous moan, +Fair Ruth came unto him, and made herself known; +He started to see her, but seemed not coy, +Said he, 'Now my sorrows are mingled with joy!' + +The time of the mourning he kept it in Spain, +And then he came back to old England again, +With thousands, and thousands, which he did possess; +Then glorious and gay was sweet Ruth in her dress. + +PART IV. + +When over the seas to fair Sandwich he came, +With Ruth, and a number of persons of fame, +Then all did appear most splendid and gay, +As if it had been a great festival day. + +Now, when that they took up their lodgings, behold! +He stripped off his coat of embroidered gold, +And presently borrows a mariner's suit, +That he with her parents might have some dispute, + +Before they were sensible he was so great; +And when he came in and knocked at the gate, +He soon saw her father, and mother likewise, +Expressing their sorrow with tears in their eyes, + +To them, with obeisance, he modestly said, +'Pray where is my jewel, that innocent maid, +Whose sweet lovely beauty doth thousands excel? +I fear, by your weeping, that all is not well!' + +'No, no! she is gone, she is utterly lost; +We have not heard of her a twelvemonth at most! +Which makes us distracted with sorrow and care, +And drowns us in tears at the point of despair.' + +'I'm grieved to hear these sad tidings,' he cried. +'Alas! honest young man,' her father replied, +'I heartily wish she'd been wedded to you, +For then we this sorrow had never gone through.' + +Sweet Henry he made them this answer again; +'I am newly come home from the kingdom of Spain, +From whence I have brought me a beautiful bride, +And am to be married to-morrow,' he cried; + +'And if you will go to my wedding,' said he, +'Both you and your lady right welcome shall be.' +They promised they would, and accordingly came, +Not thinking to meet with such persons of fame. + +All decked with their jewels of rubies and pearls, +As equal companions of lords and of earls, +Fair Ruth, with her love, was as gay as the rest, +So they in their marriage were happily blessed. + +Now, as they returned from the church to an inn, +The father and mother of Ruth did begin +Their daughter to know, by a mole they behold, +Although she was clothed in a garment of gold. + +With transports of joy they flew to the bride, +'O! where hast thou been, sweetest daughter?' they cried, +'Thy tedious absence has grieved us sore, +As fearing, alas! we should see thee no more.' + +'Dear parents,' said she, 'many hazards I run, +To fetch home my love, and your dutiful son; +Receive him with joy, for 'tis very well known, +He seeks not your wealth, he's enough of his own.' + +Her father replied, and he merrily smiled, +'He's brought home enough, as he's brought home my child; +A thousand times welcome you are, I declare, +Whose presence disperses both sorrow and care.' + +Full seven long days in feasting they spent; +The bells in the steeple they merrily went, +And many fair pounds were bestowed on the poor, - +The like of this wedding was never before! + + + +Ballad: THE BERKSHIRE LADY'S GARLAND. +IN FOUR PARTS. +To the tune of The Royal Forester. + + + +[When we first met with this very pleasing English ballad, we +deemed the story to be wholly fictitious, but 'strange' as the +'relation' may appear, the incidents narrated are 'true' or at +least founded on fact. The scene of the ballad is Whitley Park, +near Reading, in Berkshire, and not, as some suppose, Calcot House, +which was not built till 1759. Whitley is mentioned as 'the +Abbot's Park, being at the entrance of Redding town.' At the +Dissolution the estate passed to the crown, and the mansion seems, +from time to time, to have been used as a royal 'palace' till the +reign of Elizabeth, by whom it was granted, along with the estate, +to Sir Francis Knollys; it was afterwards, by purchase, the +property of the Kendricks, an ancient race, descended from the +Saxon kings. William Kendrick, of Whitley, armr. was created a +baronet in 1679, and died in 1685, leaving issue one son, Sir +William Kendrick, of Whitley, Bart., who married Miss Mary House, +of Reading, and died in 1699, without issue male, leaving an only +daughter. It was this rich heiress, who possessed 'store of wealth +and beauty bright,' that is the heroine of the ballad. She married +Benjamin Child, Esq., a young and handsome, but very poor attorney +of Reading, and the marriage is traditionally reported to have been +brought about exactly as related in the ballad. We have not been +able to ascertain the exact date of the marriage, which was +celebrated in St. Mary's Church, Reading, the bride wearing a thick +veil; but the ceremony must have taken place some time about 1705. +In 1714, Mr. Child was high sheriff of Berkshire. As he was an +humble and obscure personage previously to his espousing the +heiress of Whitley, and, in fact, owed all his wealth and influence +to his marriage, it cannot be supposed that IMMEDIATELY after his +union he would be elevated to so important and dignified a post as +the high-shrievalty of the very aristocratical county of Berks. We +may, therefore, consider nine or ten years to have elapsed betwixt +his marriage and his holding the office of high sheriff, which he +filled when he was about thirty-two years of age. The author of +the ballad is unknown: supposing him to have composed it shortly +after the events which he records, we cannot be far wrong in fixing +its date about 1706. The earliest broadside we have seen contains +a rudely executed, but by no means bad likeness of Queen Anne, the +reigning monarch at that period.] + + +PART I. + +SHOWING CUPID'S CONQUEST OVER A COY LADY OF FIVE THOUSAND A YEAR. + +Bachelors of every station, +Mark this strange and true relation, +Which in brief to you I bring, - +Never was a stranger thing! + +You shall find it worth the hearing; +Loyal love is most endearing, +When it takes the deepest root, +Yielding charms and gold to boot. + +Some will wed for love of treasure; +But the sweetest joy and pleasure +Is in faithful love, you'll find, +Graced with a noble mind. + +Such a noble disposition +Had this lady, with submission, +Of whom I this sonnet write, +Store of wealth, and beauty bright. + +She had left, by a good grannum, +Full five thousand pounds per annum, +Which she held without control; +Thus she did in riches roll. + +Though she had vast store of riches, +Which some persons much bewitches, +Yet she bore a virtuous mind, +Not the least to pride inclined. + +Many noble persons courted +This young lady, 'tis reported; +But their labour proved in vain, +They could not her favour gain. + +Though she made a strong resistance, +Yet by Cupid's true assistance, +She was conquered after all; +How it was declare I shall. + +Being at a noble wedding, +Near the famous town of Redding, {7} +A young gentleman she saw, +Who belonged to the law. + +As she viewed his sweet behaviour, +Every courteous carriage gave her +New addition to her grief; +Forced she was to seek relief. + +Privately she then enquired +About him, so much admired; +Both his name, and where he dwelt, - +Such was the hot flame she felt. + +Then, at night, this youthful lady +Called her coach, which being ready, +Homewards straight she did return; +But her heart with flames did burn. + +PART II. + +SHOWING THE LADY'S LETTER OF A CHALLENGE TO FIGHT HIM UPON HIS +REFUSING TO WED HER IN A MASK, WITHOUT KNOWING WHO SHE WAS. + +Night and morning, for a season, +In her closet would she reason +With herself, and often said, +'Why has love my heart betrayed? + +'I, that have so many slighted, +Am at length so well requited; +For my griefs are not a few! +Now I find what love can do. + +'He that has my heart in keeping, +Though I for his sake be weeping, +Little knows what grief I feel; +But I'll try it out with steel. + +'For I will a challenge send him, +And appoint where I'll attend him, +In a grove, without delay, +By the dawning of the day. + +'He shall not the least discover +That I am a virgin lover, +By the challenge which I send; +But for justice I contend. + +'He has caused sad distraction, +And I come for satisfaction, +Which if he denies to give, +One of us shall cease to live.' + +Having thus her mind revealed, +She her letter closed and sealed; +Which, when it came to his hand, +The young man was at a stand. + +In her letter she conjured him +For to meet, and well assured him, +Recompence he must afford, +Or dispute it with the sword. + +Having read this strange relation, +He was in a consternation; +But, advising with his friend, +He persuades him to attend. + +'Be of courage, and make ready, +Faint heart never won fair lady; +In regard it must be so, +I along with you must go.' + +PART III. + +SHOWING HOW THEY MET BY APPOINTMENT IN A GROVE, WHERE SHE OBLIGED +HIM TO FIGHT OR WED HER. + +Early on a summer's morning, +When bright Phoebus was adorning +Every bower with his beams, +The fair lady came, it seems. + +At the bottom of a mountain, +Near a pleasant crystal fountain, +There she left her gilded coach, +While the grove she did approach. + +Covered with her mask, and walking, +There she met her lover talking +With a friend that he had brought; +So she asked him whom he sought. + +'I am challenged by a gallant, +Who resolves to try my talent; +Who he is I cannot say, +But I hope to show him play.' + +'It is I that did invite you, +You shall wed me, or I'll fight you, +Underneath those spreading trees; +Therefore, choose you which you please. + +'You shall find I do not vapour, +I have brought my trusty rapier; +Therefore, take your choice,' said she, +'Either fight or marry me.' + +Said he, 'Madam, pray what mean you? +In my life I've never seen you; +Pray unmask, your visage show, +Then I'll tell you aye or no.' + +'I will not my face uncover +Till the marriage ties are over; +Therefore, choose you which you will, +Wed me, sir, or try your skill. + +'Step within that pleasant bower, +With your friend one single hour; +Strive your thoughts to reconcile, +And I'll wander here the while.' + +While this beauteous lady waited, +The young bachelors debated +What was best for to be done: +Quoth his friend, 'The hazard run. + +'If my judgment can be trusted, +Wed her first, you can't be worsted; +If she's rich, you'll rise to fame, +If she's poor, why! you're the same.' + +He consented to be married; +All three in a coach were carried +To a church without delay, +Where he weds the lady gay. + +Though sweet pretty Cupids hovered +Round her eyes, her face was covered +With a mask,--he took her thus, +Just for better or for worse. + +With a courteous kind behaviour, +She presents his friend a favour, +And withal dismissed him straight, +That he might no longer wait. + +PART IV. + +SHOWING HOW THEY RODE TOGETHER IN HER GILDED COACH TO HER NOBLE +SEAT, OR CASTLE, ETC. + +As the gilded coach stood ready, +The young lawyer and his lady +Rode together, till they came +To her house of state and fame; + +Which appeared like a castle, +Where you might behold a parcel +Of young cedars, tall and straight, +Just before her palace gate. + +Hand in hand they walked together, +To a hall, or parlour, rather, +Which was beautiful and fair, - +All alone she left him there. + +Two long hours there he waited +Her return;--at length he fretted, +And began to grieve at last, +For he had not broke his fast. + +Still he sat like one amazed, +Round a spacious room he gazed, +Which was richly beautified; +But, alas! he lost his bride. + +There was peeping, laughing, sneering, +All within the lawyer's hearing; +But his bride he could not see; +'Would I were at home!' thought he. + +While his heart was melancholy, +Said the steward, brisk and jolly, +'Tell me, friend, how came you here? +You've some bad design, I fear.' + +He replied, 'Dear loving master, +You shall meet with no disaster +Through my means, in any case, - +Madam brought me to this place.' + +Then the steward did retire, +Saying, that he would enquire +Whether it was true or no: +Ne'er was lover hampered so. + +Now the lady who had filled him +With those fears, full well beheld him +From a window, as she dressed, +Pleased at the merry jest. + +When she had herself attired +In rich robes, to be admired, +She appeared in his sight, +Like a moving angel bright. + +'Sir! my servants have related, +How some hours you have waited +In my parlour,--tell me who +In my house you ever knew?' + +'Madam! if I have offended, +It is more than I intended; +A young lady brought me here:' - +'That is true,' said she, 'my dear. + +'I can be no longer cruel +To my joy, and only jewel; +Thou art mine, and I am thine, +Hand and heart I do resign! + +'Once I was a wounded lover, +Now these fears are fairly over; +By receiving what I gave, +Thou art lord of what I have.' + +Beauty, honour, love, and treasure, +A rich golden stream of pleasure, +With his lady he enjoys; +Thanks to Cupid's kind decoys. + +Now he's clothed in rich attire, +Not inferior to a squire; +Beauty, honour, riches' store, +What can man desire more? + + + +Ballad: THE NOBLEMAN'S GENEROUS KINDNESS. + +Giving an account of a nobleman, who, taking notice of a poor man's +industrious care and pains for the maintaining of his charge of +seven small children, met him upon a day, and discoursing with him, +invited him, and his wife and his children, home to his house, and +bestowed upon them a farm of thirty acres of land, to be continued +to him and his heirs for ever. + +To the tune of The Two English Travellers. + + + +[This still popular ballad is entitled in the modern copies, The +Nobleman and Thrasher; or, the Generous Gift. There is a copy +preserved in the Roxburgh Collection, with which our version has +been collated. It is taken from a broadside printed by Robert +Marchbank, in the Custom-house Entry, Newcastle.] + + +A nobleman lived in a village of late, +Hard by a poor thrasher, whose charge it was great; +For he had seven children, and most of them small, +And nought but his labour to support them withal. + +He never was given to idle and lurk, +For this nobleman saw him go daily to work, +With his flail and his bag, and his bottle of beer, +As cheerful as those that have hundreds a year. + +Thus careful, and constant, each morning he went, +Unto his daily labour with joy and content; +So jocular and jolly he'd whistle and sing, +As blithe and as brisk as the birds in the spring. + +One morning, this nobleman taking a walk, +He met this poor man, and he freely did talk; +He asked him [at first] many questions at large, +And then began talking concerning his charge. + +'Thou hast many children, I very well know, +Thy labour is hard, and thy wages are low, +And yet thou art cheerful; I pray tell me true, +How can you maintain them as well as you do?' + +'I carefully carry home what I do earn, +My daily expenses by this I do learn; +And find it is possible, though we be poor, +To still keep the ravenous wolf from the door. + +'I reap and I mow, and I harrow and sow, +Sometimes a hedging and ditching I go; +No work comes amiss, for I thrash, and I plough, +Thus my bread I do earn by the sweat of my brow. + +'My wife she is willing to pull in a yoke, +We live like two lambs, nor each other provoke; +We both of us strive, like the labouring ant, +And do our endeavours to keep us from want. + +'And when I come home from my labour at night, +To my wife and my children, in whom I delight; +To see them come round me with prattling noise, - +Now these are the riches a poor man enjoys. + +'Though I am as weary as weary may be, +The youngest I commonly dance on my knee; +I find that content is a moderate feast, +I never repine at my lot in the least.' + +Now the nobleman hearing what he did say, +Was pleased, and invited him home the next day; +His wife and his children he charged him to bring; +In token of favour he gave him a ring. + +He thanked his honour, and taking his leave, +He went to his wife, who would hardly believe +But this same story himself he might raise; +Yet seeing the ring she was [lost] in amaze. + +Betimes in the morning the good wife she arose, +And made them all fine, in the best of their clothes; +The good man with his good wife, and children small, +They all went to dine at the nobleman's hall. + +But when they came there, as truth does report, +All things were prepared in a plentiful sort; +And they at the nobleman's table did dine, +With all kinds of dainties, and plenty of wine. + +The feast being over, he soon let them know, +That he then intended on them to bestow +A farm-house, with thirty good acres of land; +And gave them the writings then, with his own hand. + +'Because thou art careful, and good to thy wife, +I'll make thy days happy the rest of thy life; +It shall be for ever, for thee and thy heirs, +Because I beheld thy industrious cares.' + +No tongue then is able in full to express +The depth of their joy, and true thankfulness; +With many a curtsey, and bow to the ground, - +Such noblemen there are but few to be found. + + + +Ballad: THE DRUNKARD'S LEGACY. IN THREE PARTS. + +First, giving an account of a gentlemen a having a wild son, and +who, foreseeing he would come to poverty, had a cottage built with +one door to it, always kept fast; and how, on his dying bed, he +charged him not to open it till he was poor and slighted, which the +young man promised he would perform. Secondly, of the young man's +pawning his estate to a vintner, who, when poor, kicked him out of +doors; when thinking it time to see his legacy, he broke open the +cottage door, where instead of money he found a gibbet and halter, +which he put round his neck, and jumping off the stool, the gibbet +broke, and a thousand pounds came down upon his head, which lay hid +in the ceiling. Thirdly, of his redeeming his estate, and fooling +the vintner out of two hundred pounds; who, for being jeered by his +neighbours, cut his own throat. And lastly, of the young man's +reformation. Very proper to be read by all who are given to +drunkenness. + + + +[Percy, in the introductory remarks to the ballad of The Heir of +Linne, says, 'the original of this ballad [The Heir of Linne] is +found in the editor's folio MS.; the breaches and defects of which +rendered the insertion of supplemental stanzas necessary. These it +is hoped the reader will pardon, as, indeed, the completion of the +story was suggested by a modern ballad on a similar subject.' The +ballad thus alluded to by Percy is The Drunkard's Legacy, which, it +may be remarked, although styled by him a MODERN ballad, is only so +comparatively speaking; for it must have been written long anterior +to Percy's time, and, by his own admission, must be older than the +latter portion of the Heir of Linne. Our copy is taken from an old +chap-book, without date or printer's name, and which is decorated +with three rudely executed wood-cuts.] + + +Young people all, I pray draw near, +And listen to my ditty here; +Which subject shows that drunkenness +Brings many mortals to distress! + +As, for example, now I can +Tell you of one, a gentleman, +Who had a very good estate, +His earthly travails they were great. + +We understand he had one son +Who a lewd wicked race did run; +He daily spent his father's store, +When moneyless, he came for more. + +The father oftentimes with tears, +Would this alarm sound in his ears; +'Son! thou dost all my comfort blast, +And thou wilt come to want at last.' + +The son these words did little mind, +To cards and dice he was inclined; +Feeding his drunken appetite +In taverns, which was his delight. + +The father, ere it was too late, +He had a project in his pate, +Before his aged days were run, +To make provision for his son. + +Near to his house, we understand, +He had a waste plat of land, +Which did but little profit yield, +On which he did a cottage build. + +The Wise Man's Project was its name; +There were few windows in the same; +Only one door, substantial thing, +Shut by a lock, went by a spring. + +Soon after he had played this trick, +It was his lot for to fall sick; +As on his bed he did lament, +Then for his drunken son he sent. + +He shortly came to his bedside; +Seeing his son, he thus replied: +'I have sent for you to make my will, +Which you must faithfully fulfil. + +'In such a cottage is one door, +Ne'er open it, do thou be sure, +Until thou art so poor, that all +Do then despise you, great and small. + +'For, to my grief, I do perceive, +When I am dead, this life you live +Will soon melt all thou hast away; +Do not forget these words, I pray. + +'When thou hast made thy friends thy foes, +Pawned all thy lands, and sold thy clothes; +Break ope the door, and there depend +To find something thy griefs to end.' + +This being spoke, the son did say, +'Your dying words I will obey.' +Soon after this his father dear +Did die, and buried was, we hear. + +PART II. + +Now, pray observe the second part, +And you shall hear his sottish heart; +He did the tavern so frequent, +Till he three hundred pounds had spent. + +This being done, we understand +He pawned the deeds of all his land +Unto a tavern-keeper, who, +When poor, did him no favour show. + +For, to fulfil his father's will, +He did command this cottage still: +At length great sorrow was his share, +Quite moneyless, with garments bare. + +Being not able for to work, +He in the tavern there did lurk; +From box to box, among rich men, +Who oftentimes reviled him then. + +To see him sneak so up and down, +The vintner on him he did frown; +And one night kicked him out of door, +Charging him to come there no more. + +He in a stall did lie all night, +In this most sad and wretched plight; +Then thought it was high time to see +His father's promised legacy. + +Next morning, then, oppressed with woe, +This young man got an iron crow; +And, as in tears he did lament, +Unto this little cottage went. + +When he the door had open got, +This poor, distressed, drunken sot, +Who did for store of money hope, +He saw a gibbet and a rope. + +Under this rope was placed a stool, +Which made him look just like a fool; +Crying, 'Alas! what shall I do? +Destruction now appears in view! + +'As my father foresaw this thing, +What sottishness to me would bring; +As moneyless, and free of grace, +His legacy I will embrace.' + +So then, oppressed with discontent, +Upon the stool he sighing went; +And then, his precious life to check, +Did place the rope about his neck. + +Crying, 'Thou, God, who sitt'st on high, +And on my sorrow casts an eye; +Thou knowest that I've not done well, - +Preserve my precious soul from hell. + +''Tis true the slighting of thy grace, +Has brought me to this wretched case; +And as through folly I'm undone, +I'll now eclipse my morning sun.' + +When he with sighs these words had spoke, +Jumped off, and down the gibbet broke; +In falling, as it plain appears, +Dropped down about this young man's ears, + +In shining gold, a thousand pound! +Which made the blood his ears surround: +Though in amaze, he cried, 'I'm sure +This golden salve the sore will cure! + +'Blessed be my father, then,' he cried, +'Who did this part for me so hide; +And while I do alive remain, +I never will get drunk again.' + +PART III. + +Now, by the third part you will hear, +This young man, as it doth appear, +With care he then secured his chink, +And to the vintner's went to drink. + +When the proud vintner did him see, +He frowned on him immediately, +And said, 'Begone! or else with speed, +I'll kick thee out of doors, indeed.' + +Smiling, the young man he did say, +'Thou cruel knave! tell me, I pray, +As I have here consumed my store, +How durst thee kick me out of door? + +'To me thou hast been too severe; +The deeds of eightscore pounds a-year, +I pawned them for three hundred pounds, +That I spent here;--what makes such frowns?' + +The vintner said unto him, 'Sirrah! +Bring me one hundred pounds to-morrow +By nine o'clock,--take them again; +So get you out of doors till then.' + +He answered, 'If this chink I bring, +I fear thou wilt do no such thing. +He said, 'I'll give under my hand, +A note, that I to this will stand.' + +Having the note, away he goes, +And straightway went to one of those +That made him drink when moneyless, +And did the truth to him confess. + +They both went to this heap of gold, +And in a bag he fairly told +A thousand pounds, ill yellow-boys, +And to the tavern went their ways. + +This bag they on the table set, +Making the vintner for to fret; +He said, 'Young man! this will not do, +For I was but in jest with you.' + +So then bespoke the young man's friend: +'Vintner! thou mayest sure depend, +In law this note it will you cast, +And he must have his land at last.' + +This made the vintner to comply, - +He fetched the deeds immediately; +He had one hundred pounds, and then +The young man got his deeds again. + +At length the vintner 'gan to think +How he was fooled out of his chink; +Said, 'When 'tis found how I came off, +My neighbours will me game and scoff.' + +So to prevent their noise and clatter +The vintner he, to mend the matter, +In two days after, it doth appear, +Did cut his throat from ear to ear. + +Thus he untimely left the world, +That to this young man proved a churl. +Now he who followed drunkenness, +Lives sober, and doth lands possess. + +Instead of wasting of his store, +As formerly, resolves no more +To act the same, but does indeed +Relieve all those that are in need. + +Let all young men now, for my sake, +Take care how they such havoc make; +For drunkenness, you plain may see, +Had like his ruin for to be. + + + +Ballad: THE BOWES TRAGEDY. + +Being a true relation of the Lives and Characters of ROGER +WRIGHTSON and MARTHA RAILTON, of the Town of Bowes, in the County +of York, who died for love of each other, in March, 1714/5 + +Tune of Queen Dido. + + + +[The Bowes Tragedy is the original of Mallet's Edition and Emma. +In these verses are preserved the village record of the incident +which suggested that poem. When Mallet published his ballad he +subjoined an attestation of the facts, which may be found in Evans' +Old Ballads, vol. ii. p. 237. Edit. 1784. Mallet alludes to the +statement in the parish registry of Bowes, that 'they both died of +love, and were buried in the same grave,' &c. The following is an +exact copy of the entry, as transcribed by Mr. Denham, 17th April, +1847. The words which we have printed in brackets are found +interlined in another and a later hand by some person who had +inspected the register:- + +'RoDger Wrightson, Jun., and Martha Railton, both of Bowes, Buried +in one grave: He Died in a Fever, and upon tolling his passing +Bell, she cry'd out My heart is broke, and in a Few hours expir'd, +purely [OR SUPPOSED] thro' Love, March 15, 1714/5, aged about 20 +years each.' + +Mr. Denham says:- + +'The Bowes Tragedy was, I understand, written immediately after the +death of the lovers, by the then master of Bowes Grammar School. +His name I never heard. My father, who died a few years ago (aged +nearly 80), knew a younger sister of Martha Railton's, who used to +sing it to strangers passing through Bowes. She was a poor woman, +advanced in years, and it brought her in many a piece of money.'] + + +Let Carthage Queen be now no more +The subject of our mournful song; +Nor such old tales which, heretofore, +Did so amuse the teeming throng; +Since the sad story which I'll tell, +All other tragedies excel. + +Remote in Yorkshire, near to Bowes, +Of late did Roger Wrightson dwell; +He courted Martha Railton, whose +Repute for virtue did excel; +Yet Roger's friends would not agree, +That he to her should married be. + +Their love continued one whole year, +Full sore against their parents' will; +And when he found them so severe, +His loyal heart began to chill: +And last Shrove Tuesday, took his bed, +With grief and woe encompassed. + +Thus he continued twelve days' space, +In anguish and in grief of mind; +And no sweet peace in any case, +This ardent lover's heart could find; +But languished in a train of grief, +Which pierced his heart beyond relief. + +Now anxious Martha sore distressed, +A private message did him send, +Lamenting that she could not rest, +Till she had seen her loving friend: +His answer was, 'Nay, nay, my dear, +Our folks will angry be I fear.' + +Full fraught with grief, she took no rest, +But spent her time in pain and fear, +Till a few days before his death +She sent an orange to her dear; +But's cruel mother in disdain, +Did send the orange back again. + +Three days before her lover died, +Poor Martha with a bleeding heart, +To see her dying lover hied, +In hopes to ease him of his smart; +Where she's conducted to the bed, +In which this faithful young man laid. + +Where she with doleful cries beheld, +Her fainting lover in despair; +At which her heart with sorrow filled, +Small was the comfort she had there; +Though's mother showed her great respect, +His sister did her much reject. + +She stayed two hours with her dear, +In hopes for to declare her mind; +But Hannah Wrightson {8} stood so near, +No time to do it she could find: +So that being almost dead with grief, +Away she went without relief. + +Tears from her eyes did flow amain, +And she full oft would sighing say, +'My constant love, alas! is slain, +And to pale death, become a prey: +Oh, Hannah, Hannah thou art base; +Thy pride will turn to foul disgrace!' + +She spent her time in godly prayers, +And quiet rest did from her fly; +She to her friends full oft declares, +She could not live if he did die: +Thus she continued till the bell, +Began to sound his fatal knell. + +And when she heard the dismal sound, +Her godly book she cast away, +With bitter cries would pierce the ground. +Her fainting heart 'gan to decay: +She to her pensive mother said, +'I cannot live now he is dead.' + +Then after three short minutes' space, +As she in sorrow groaning lay, +A gentleman {9} did her embrace, +And mildly unto her did say, +'Dear melting soul be not so sad, +But let your passion be allayed.' + +Her answer was, 'My heart is burst, +My span of life is near an end; +My love from me by death is forced, +My grief no soul can comprehend.' +Then her poor heart it waxed faint, +When she had ended her complaint. + +For three hours' space, as in a trance, +This broken-hearted creature lay, +Her mother wailing her mischance, +To pacify her did essay: +But all in vain, for strength being past, +She seemingly did breathe her last. + +Her mother, thinking she was dead, +Began to shriek and cry amain; +And heavy lamentations made, +Which called her spirit back again; +To be an object of hard fate, +And give to grief a longer date. + +Distorted with convulsions, she, +In dreadful manner gasping lay, +Of twelve long hours no moment free, +Her bitter groans did her dismay: +Then her poor heart being sadly broke, +Submitted to the fatal stroke. + +When things were to this issue brought, +Both in one grave were to be laid: +But flinty-hearted Hannah thought, +By stubborn means for to persuade, +Their friends and neighbours from the same, +For which she surely was to blame. + +And being asked the reason why, +Such base objections she did make, +She answered thus scornfully, +In words not fit for Billingsgate: +'She might have taken fairer on - +Or else be hanged:' Oh heart of stone! + +What hell-born fury had possessed, +Thy vile inhuman spirit thus? +What swelling rage was in thy breast, +That could occasion this disgust, +And make thee show such spleen and rage, +Which life can't cure nor death assuage? + +Sure some of Satan's minor imps, +Ordained were to be thy guide; +To act the part of sordid pimps, +And fill thy heart with haughty pride; +But take this caveat once for all, +Such devilish pride must have a fall. + +But when to church the corpse was brought, +And both of them met at the gate; +What mournful tears by friends were shed, +When that alas it was too late, - +When they in silent grave were laid, +Instead of pleasing marriage-bed. + +You parents all both far and near, +By this sad story warning take; +Nor to your children be severe, +When they their choice in love do make; +Let not the love of cursed gold, +True lovers from their love withhold. + + + +Ballad: THE CRAFTY LOVER; OR, THE LAWYER OUTWITTED. + +Tune of I love thee more and more. + + + +[This excellent old ballad is transcribed from a copy printed in +Aldermary church-yard. It still continues to be published in the +old broadside form.] + + +Of a rich counsellor I write, +Who had one only daughter, +Who was of youthful beauty bright; +Now mark what follows after. {10} +Her uncle left her, I declare, +A sumptuous large possession; +Her father he was to take care +Of her at his discretion. + +She had ten thousand pounds a-year, +And gold and silver ready, +And courted was by many a peer, +Yet none could gain this lady. +At length a squire's youngest son +In private came a-wooing, +And when he had her favour won, +He feared his utter ruin. + +The youthful lady straightway cried, +'I must confess I love thee, +Though lords and knights I have denied, +Yet none I prize above thee: +Thou art a jewel in my eye, +But here,' said she, 'the care is, - +I fear you will be doomed to die +For stealing of an heiress.' + +The young man he replied to her +Like a true politician; +'Thy father is a counsellor, +I'll tell him my condition. +Ten guineas they shall be his fee, +He'll think it is some stranger; +Thus for the gold he'll counsel me, +And keep me safe from danger.' + +Unto her father he did go, +The very next day after; +But did not let the lawyer know +The lady was his daughter. +Now when the lawyer saw the gold +That he should be she gainer, +A pleasant trick to him he told +With safety to obtain her. + +'Let her provide a horse,' he cried, +'And take you up behind her; +Then with you to some parson ride +Before her parents find her: +That she steals you, you may complain, +And so avoid their fury. +Now this is law I will maintain +Before or judge or jury. + +'Now take my writing and my seal, +Which I cannot deny thee, +And if you any trouble feel, +In court I will stand by thee.' +'I give you thanks,' the young man cried, +'By you I am befriended, +And to your house I'll bring my bride +After the work is ended.' + +Next morning, ere the day did break, +This news to her he carried; +She did her father's counsel take +And they were fairly married, +And now they felt but ill at case, +And, doubts and fears expressing, +They home returned, and on their knees +They asked their father's blessing, + +But when he had beheld them both, +He seemed like one distracted, +And vowed to be revenged on oath +For what they now had acted. +With that bespoke his new-made son - +'There can be no deceiving, +That this is law which we have done +Here is your hand and sealing!' + +The counsellor did then reply, +Was ever man so fitted; +'My hand and seal I can't deny, +By you I am outwitted. +'Ten thousand pounds a-year in store +'She was left by my brother, +And when I die there will be more, +For child I have no other. + +'She might have had a lord or knight, +From royal loins descended; +But, since thou art her heart's delight, +I will not be offended; +'If I the gordian knot should part, +'Twere cruel out of measure; +Enjoy thy love, with all my heart, +In plenty, peace, and pleasure.' + + + +Ballad: THE DEATH OF QUEEN JANE. (TRADITIONAL.) + + + +[We have seen an old printed copy of this ballad, which was written +probably about the date of the event it records, 1537. Our version +was taken down from the singing of a young gipsy girl, to whom it +had descended orally through two generations. She could not +recollect the whole of it. In Miss Strickland's Lives of the +Queens of England, we find the following passage: 'An English +ballad is extant, which, dwelling on the elaborate mourning of +Queen Jane's ladies, informs the world, in a line of pure bathos, + +In black were her ladies, and black were their faces.' + +Miss Strickland does not appear to have seen the ballad to which +she refers; and as we are not aware of the existence of any other +ballad on the subject, we presume that her line of 'pure bathos' is +merely a corruption of one of the ensuing verses.] + + +Queen Jane was in travail +For six weeks or more, +Till the women grew tired, +And fain would give o'er. +'O women! O women! +Good wives if ye be, +Go, send for King Henrie, +And bring him to me.' + +King Henrie was sent for, +He came with all speed, +In a gownd of green velvet +From heel to the head. +'King Henrie! King Henrie! +If kind Henrie you be, +Send for a surgeon, +And bring him to me.' + +The surgeon was sent for, +He came with all speed, +In a gownd of black velvet +From heel to the head. +He gave her rich caudle, +But the death-sleep slept she. +Then her right side was opened, +And the babe was set free. + +The babe it was christened, +And put out and nursed, +While the royal Queen Jane +She lay cold in the dust. + +* * * * * + +So black was the mourning, +And white were the wands, +Yellow, yellow the torches, +They bore in their hands. + +The bells they were muffled, +And mournful did play, +While the royal Queen Jane +She lay cold in the clay. + +Six knights and six lords +Bore her corpse through the grounds; +Six dukes followed after, +In black mourning gownds. + +The flower of Old England +Was laid in cold clay, +Whilst the royal King Henrie +Came weeping away. + + + +Ballad: THE WANDERING YOUNG GENTLEWOMAN; OR, CATSKIN. + + + +[The following version of this ancient English ballad has been +collated with three copies. In some editions it is called +Catskin's Garland; or, the Wandering Young Gentlewoman. The story +has a close similarity to that of Cinderella, and is supposed to be +of oriental origin. Several versions of it are current in +Scandinavia, Germany, Italy, Poland, and Wales. For some account +of it see Pictorial Book of Ballads, ii. 153, edited by Mr. J. S. +Moore.] + + +PART 1. + +You fathers and mothers, and children also, +Draw near unto me, and soon you shall know +The sense of my ditty, and I dare to say, +The like's not been heard of this many a day. + +The subject which to you I am to relate, +It is of a young squire of vast estate; +The first dear infant his wife did him bear, +It was a young daughter of beauty most rare. + +He said to his wife, 'Had this child been a boy, +'Twould have pleased me better, and increased my joy, +If the next be the same sort, I declare, +Of what I'm possessed it shall have no share.' + +In twelve months' time after, this woman, we hear, +Had another daughter of beauty most clear; +And when that he knew it was but a female, +Into a bitter passion he presently fell, + +Saying, 'Since this is of the same sort as the first, +In my habitation she shall not be nursed; +Pray let her be sent into the countrie, +For where I am, truly, this child shall not be.' + +With tears his dear wife unto him did say, +'Husband, be contented, I'll send her away.' +Then to the countrie with speed her did send, +For to be brought up by one was her friend. + +Although that her father he hated her so, +He a good education on her did bestow; +And with a gold locket, and robes of the best, +This slighted young damsel was commonly dressed. + +And when unto stature this damsel was grown, +And found from her father she had no love shown, +She cried, 'Before I will lay under his frown, +I'm resolved to travel the country around.' + +PART II. + +But now mark, good people, the cream of the jest, +In what sort of manner this creature was dressed; +With cat-skins she made her a robe, I declare, +The which for her covering she daily did wear. + +Her own rich attire, and jewels beside, +Then up in a bundle by her they were tied, +And to seek her fortune she wandered away; +And when she had travelled a cold winter's day, + +In the evening-tide she came to a town, +Where at a knight's door she sat herself down, +For to rest herself, who was tired sore; - +This noble knight's lady then came to the door. + +This fair creature seeing in such sort of dress, +The lady unto her these words did express: +'Whence camest thou, girl, and what wouldst thou have?' +She said, 'A night's rest in your stable I crave.' + +The lady said to her, 'I'll grant thy desire, +Come into the kitchen, and stand by the fire.' +Then she thanked the lady, and went in with haste; +And there she was gazed on from highest to least. + +And, being well warmed, her hunger was great, +They gave her a plate of good food for to eat, +And then to an outhouse this creature was led, +Where with fresh straw she soon made her a bed. + +And when in the morning the daylight she saw, +Her riches and jewels she hid in the straw; +And, being very cold, she then did retire +Into the kitchen, and stood by the fire. + +The cook said, 'My lady hath promised that thee +Shall be as a scullion to wait upon me; +What say'st thou girl, art thou willing to bide?' +'With all my heart truly,' to him she replied. + +To work at her needle she could very well, +And for raising of paste few could her excel; +She being so handy, the cook's heart did win, +And then she was called by the name of Catskin. + +PART III. + +The lady a son had both comely and tall, +Who oftentimes used to be at a ball +A mile out of town; and one evening-tide, +To dance at this ball away he did ride. + +Catskin said to his mother, 'Pray, madam, let me +Go after your son now, this ball for to see.' +With that in a passion this lady she grew, +And struck her with the ladle, and broke it in two. + +On being thus served she quick got away, +And in her rich garments herself did array; +And then to this ball she with speed did retire, +Where she danced so bravely that all did admire. + +The sport being done, the young squire did say, +'Young lady, where do you live? tell me, I pray.' +Her answer was to him, 'Sir, that I will tell, - +At the sign of the broken ladle I dwell.' + +She being very nimble, got home first, 'tis said, +And in her catskin robes she soon was arrayed; +And into the kitchen again she did go, +But where she had been they did none of them know. + +Next night this young squire, to give him content, +To dance at this ball again forth he went. +She said, 'Pray let me go this ball for to view.' +Then she struck with the skimmer, and broke it in two. + +Then out of the doors she ran full of heaviness, +And in her rich garments herself soon did dress; +And to this ball ran away with all speed, +Where to see her dancing all wondered indeed. + +The ball being ended, the young squire said, +'Where is it you live?' She again answered, +'Sir, because you ask me, account I will give, +At the sign of the broken skimmer I live.' + +Being dark when she left him, she homeward did hie, +And in her catskin robes she was dressed presently, +And into the kitchen amongst them she went, +But where she had been they were all innocent. + +When the squire dame home, and found Catskin there, +He was in amaze and began for to swear; +'For two nights at the ball has been a lady, +The sweetest of beauties that ever I did see. + +'She was the best dancer in all the whole place, +And very much like our Catskin in the face; +Had she not been dressed in that costly degree, +I should have swore it was Catskin's body. + +Next night to the ball he did go once more, +And she asked his mother to go as before, +Who, having a basin of water in hand, +She threw it at Catskin, as I understand. + +Shaking her wet ears, out of doors she did run, +And dressed herself when this thing she had done. +To the ball once more she then went her ways; +To see her fine dancing they all gave her praise. + +And having concluded, the young squire said he, +'From whence might you come, pray, lady, tell me?' +Her answer was, 'Sir, you shall soon know the same, +From the sign of the basin of water I came.' + +Then homeward she hurried, as fast as could be; +This young squire then was resolved to see +Whereto she belonged, and, following Catskin, +Into an old straw house he saw her creep in. + +He said, 'O brave Catskin, I find it is thee, +Who these three nights together has so charmed me; +Thou'rt the sweetest of creatures my eyes e'er beheld, +With joy and content my heart now is filled. + +'Thou art our cook's scullion, but as I have life, +Grant me but thy love, and I'll make thee my wife, +And thou shalt have maids for to be at thy call.' +'Sir, that cannot be, I've no portion at all.' + +'Thy beauty's a portion, my joy and my dear, +I prize it far better than thousands a year, +And to have my friends' consent I have got a trick, +I'll go to my bed, and feign myself sick. + +'There no one shall tend me but thee I profess; +So one day or another in thy richest dress, +Thou shalt be clad, and if my parents come nigh, +I'll tell them 'tis for thee that sick I do lie.' + +PART IV. + +Thus having consulted, this couple parted. +Next day this young squire he took to his bed; +And when his dear parents this thing both perceived, +For fear of his death they were right sorely grieved. + +To tend him they send for a nurse speedily, +He said, 'None but Catskin my nurse now shall be.' +His parents said, 'No, son.' He said, 'But she shall, +Or else I'll have none for to nurse me at all.' + +His parents both wondered to hear him say thus, +That no one but Catskin must be his nurse; +So then his dear parents their son to content, +Up into his chamber poor Catskin they sent. + +Sweet cordials and other rich things were prepared, +Which between this young couple were equally shared; +And when all alone they in each other's arms, +Enjoyed one another in love's pleasant charms. + +And at length on a time poor Catskin, 'tis said, +In her rich attire again was arrayed, +And when that his mother to the chamber drew near, +Then much like a goddess did Catskin appear; + +Which caused her to stare, and thus for to say, +'What young lady is this, come tell me, I pray?' +He said, 'It is Catskin for whom sick I lie, +And except I do have her with speed I shall die.' + +His mother then hastened to call up the knight, +Who ran up to see this amazing great sight; +He said, 'Is this Catskin we held in such scorn? +I ne'er saw a finer dame since I was born.' + +The old knight he said to her, 'I prithee tell me, +From whence thou didst come and of what family?' +Then who were her parents she gave them to know, +And what was the cause of her wandering so. + +The young squire he cried, 'If you will save my life, +Pray grant this young creature she may be my wife.' +His father replied, 'Thy life for to save, +If you have agreed, my consent you may have.' + +Next day, with great triumph and joy as we hear, +There were many coaches came far and near; +Then much like a goddess dressed in rich array, +Catskin was married to the squire that day. + +For several days this wedding did last, +Where was many a topping and gallant repast, +And for joy the bells rung out all over the town, +And bottles of canary rolled merrily round. + +When Catskin was married, her fame for to raise, +Who saw her modest carriage they all gave her praise; +Thus her charming beauty the squire did win; +And who lives so great now as he and Catskin. + +PART V. + +Now in the fifth part I'll endeavour to show, +How things with her parents and sister did go; +Her mother and sister of life are bereft, +And now all alone the old squire is left. + +Who hearing his daughter was married so brave, +He said, 'In my noddle a fancy I have; +Dressed like a poor man now a journey I'll make, +And see if she on me some pity will take.' + +Then dressed like a beggar he went to her gate, +Where stood his daughter, who looked very great; +He cried, 'Noble lady, a poor man I be, +And am now forced to crave charity.' + +With a blush she asked him from whence that he came; +And with that he told her, and likewise his name. +She cried 'I'm your daughter, whom you slighted so, +Yet, nevertheless, to you kindness I'll show. + +'Through mercy the Lord hath provided for me; +Pray, father, come in and sit down then,' said she. +Then the best provisions the house could afford, +For to make him welcome was set on the board. + +She said, 'You are welcome, feed hearty, I pray, +And, if you are willing, with me you shall stay, +So long as you live.' Then he made this reply: +'I only am come now thy love for to try. + +'Through mercy, my dear child, I'm rich and not poor, +I have gold and silver enough now in store; +And for this love which at thy hands I have found, +For thy portion I'll give thee ten thousand pound.' + +So in a few days after, as I understand, +This man he went home, and sold off all his land, +And ten thousand pounds to his daughter did give, +And now altogether in love they do live. + + + +Ballad: THE BRAVE EARL BRAND AND THE KING OF ENGLAND'S DAUGHTER. +(TRADITIONAL.) + + + +[This ballad, which resembles the Danish ballad of Ribolt, was +taken down from the recitation of an old fiddler in Northumberland: +in one verse there is an hiatus, owing to the failure of the +reciter's memory. The refrain should be repeated in every verse.] + + +O did you ever hear of the brave Earl Brand, +Hey lillie, ho lillie lallie; +His courted the king's daughter o' fair England, +I' the brave nights so early! + +She was scarcely fifteen years that tide, +When sae boldly she came to his bed-side, +'O, Earl Brand, how fain wad I see +A pack of hounds let loose on the lea.' + +'O, lady fair, I have no steed but one, +But thou shalt ride and I will run.' +'O, Earl Brand, but my father has two, +And thou shalt have the best of tho'.' + +Now they have ridden o'er moss and moor, +And they have met neither rich nor poor; +Till at last they met with old Carl Hood, +He's aye for ill, and never for good. + +'Now Earl Brand, an ye love me, +Slay this old Carl and gar him dee.' +'O, lady fair, but that would be sair, +To slay an auld Carl that wears grey hair. + +'My own lady fair, I'll not do that, +I'll pay him his fee . . . . . . ' +'O, where have ye ridden this lee lang day, +And where have ye stown this fair lady away?' + +'I have not ridden this lee lang day, +Nor yet have I stown this lady away; +'For she is, I trow, my sick sister, +Whom I have been bringing fra' Winchester.' + +'If she's been sick, and nigh to dead, +What makes her wear the ribbon so red? +'If she's been sick, and like to die, +What makes her wear the gold sae high?' + +When came the Carl to the lady's yett, +He rudely, rudely rapped thereat. +'Now where is the lady of this hall?' +'She's out with her maids a playing at the ball.' + +'Ha, ha, ha! ye are all mista'en, +Ye may count your maidens owre again. +'I met her far beyond the lea +With the young Earl Brand his leman to be.' + +Her father of his best men armed fifteen, +And they're ridden after them bidene. +The lady looked owre her left shoulder then, +Says, 'O Earl Brand we are both of us ta'en.' + +'If they come on me one by one, +You may stand by till the fights be done; +'But if they come on me one and all, +You may stand by and see me fall.' + +They came upon him one by one, +Till fourteen battles he has won; +And fourteen men he has them slain, +Each after each upon the plain. + +But the fifteenth man behind stole round, +And dealt him a deep and a deadly wound. +Though he was wounded to the deid, +He set his lady on her steed. + +They rode till they came to the river Doune, +And there they lighted to wash his wound. +'O, Earl Brand, I see your heart's blood!' +'It's nothing but the glent and my scarlet hood.' + +They rode till they came to his mother's yett, +So faint and feebly he rapped thereat. +'O, my son's slain, he is falling to swoon, +And it's all for the sake of an English loon.' + +'O, say not so, my dearest mother, +But marry her to my youngest brother - +'To a maiden true he'll give his hand, +Hey lillie, ho lillie lallie. + +To the king's daughter o' fair England, +To a prize that was won by a slain brother's brand, +I' the brave nights so early!' + + + +Ballad: THE JOVIAL HUNTER OF BROMSGROVE; OR, THE OLD MAN AND HIS +THREE SONS. (TRADITIONAL.) + + + +[The following ballad has long been popular in Worcestershire and +some of the adjoining counties. It was printed for the first time +by Mr. Allies of Worcester, under the title of The Jovial Hunter of +Bromsgrove; but amongst the peasantry of that county, and the +adjoining county of Warwick, it has always been called The Old Man +and his Three Sons--the name given to a fragment of the ballad +still used as a nursery song in the north of England, the chorus of +which slightly varies from that of the ballad. See post, p. 250. +The title of The Old Man and his Three Sons is derived from the +usage of calling a ballad after the first line--a practice that has +descended to the present day. In Shakspeare's comedy of As You +Like It there appears to be an allusion to this ballad. Le Beau +says, - + + +There comes an old man and his three sons, + + +to which Celia replies, + + +I could match this beginning with an old tale.--i. 2. + + +Whether The Jovial Hunter belongs to either Worcestershire or +Warwickshire is rather questionable. The probability is that it is +a north country ballad connected with the family of Bolton, of +Bolton, in Wensleydale. A tomb, said to be that of Sir Ryalas +Bolton, the Jovial Hunter, is shown in Bromsgrove church, +Worcestershire; but there is no evidence beyond tradition to +connect it with the name or deeds of any 'Bolton;' indeed it is +well known that the tomb belongs to a family of another name. In +the following version are preserved some of the peculiarities of +the Worcestershire dialect.] + + +Old Sir Robert Bolton had three sons, +Wind well thy horn, good hunter; +And one of them was Sir Ryalas, +For he was a jovial hunter. + +He ranged all round down by the wood side, +Wind well thy horn, good hunter, +Till in a tree-top a gay lady he spied, +For he was a jovial hunter. + +'Oh, what dost thee mean, fair lady,' said he, +Wind well thy horn, good hunter; +'The wild boar's killed my lord, and has thirty men gored, +And thou beest a jovial hunter.' + +'Oh, what shall I do this wild boar for to see?' +Wind well thy horn, good hunter; +'Oh, thee blow a blast and he'll come unto thee, +As thou beest a jovial hunter.' + +Then he blowed a blast, full north, east, west, and south, +Wind well thy horn, good hunter; +And the wild boar then heard him full in his den, +As he was a jovial hunter. + +Then he made the best of his speed unto him, +Wind well thy horn, good hunter; +[Swift flew the boar, with his tusks smeared with [gore], {11} +To Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter. + +Then the wild boar, being so stout and so strong, +Wind well thy horn, good hunter; +Thrashed down the trees as he ramped him along, +To Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter. + +'Oh, what dost thee want of me?' wild boar, said he, {12} +Wind well thy horn, good hunter; +'Oh, I think in my heart I can do enough for thee, +For I am the jovial hunter.' + +Then they fought four hours in a long summer day, +Wind well thy horn, good hunter; +Till the wild boar fain would have got him away +From Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter. + +Then Sir Ryalas drawed his broad sword with might, +Wind well thy horn, good hunter; +And he fairly cut the boar's head off quite, +For he was a jovial hunter. + +Then out of the wood the wild woman flew, +Wind well thy horn, good hunter; +'Oh, my pretty spotted pig thou hast slew, +For thou beest a jovial hunter. + +'There are three things, I demand them of thee,' +Wind well thy horn, good hunter; +'It's thy horn, and thy hound, and thy gay lady, +As thou beest a jovial hunter.' + +'If these three things thou dost ask of me,' +Wind well thy horn, good hunter; +'It's just as my sword and thy neck can agree, +For I am a jovial hunter.' + +Then into his long locks the wild woman flew, +Wind well thy horn, good hunter; +Till she thought in her heart to tear him through, +Though he was a jovial hunter. + +Then Sir Ryalas drawed his broad sword again, +Wind well thy horn, good hunter, +And he fairly split her head into twain, +For he was a jovial hunter. + +In Bromsgrove church, the knight he doth lie, +Wind well thy horn, good hunter; +And the wild boar's head is pictured thereby, +Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter. + + + +Ballad: LADY ALICE. + + + +[This old ballad is regularly published by the stall printers. The +termination resembles that of Lord Lovel and other ballads. See +Early Ballads, Ann. Ed. p. 134. An imperfect traditional copy was +printed in Notes and Queries.] + + +Lady Alice was sitting in her bower window, +At midnight mending her quoif; +And there she saw as fine a corpse +As ever she saw in her life. + +'What bear ye, what bear ye, ye six men tall? +What bear ye on your shoulders?' +'We bear the corpse of Giles Collins, +An old and true lover of yours.' + +'O, lay him down gently, ye six men tall, +All on the grass so green, +And to-morrow when the sun goes down, +Lady Alice a corpse shall be seen. + +'And bury me in Saint Mary's Church, +All for my love so true; +And make me a garland of marjoram, +And of lemon thyme, and rue.' + +Giles Collins was buried all in the east, +Lady Alice all in the west; +And the roses that grew on Giles Collins's grave, +They reached Lady Alice's breast. + +The priest of the parish he chanced to pass, +And he severed those roses in twain. +Sure never were seen such true lovers before, +Nor e'er will there be again. + + + +Ballad: THE FELON SEWE OF ROKEBY AND THE FREERES OF RICHMOND. + + + +[This very curious ballad, or, more properly, metrical romance, was +originally published by the late Doctor Whitaker in his History of +Craven, from an ancient MS., which was supposed to be unique. +Whitaker's version was transferred to Evan's Old Ballads, the +editor of which work introduced some judicious conjectural +emendations. In reference to this republication, Dr. Whitaker +inserted the following note in the second edition of his History:- + + +This tale, saith my MS., was known of old to a few families only, +and by them held so precious, that it was never intrusted to the +memory of the son till the father was on his death-bed. But times +are altered, for since the first edition of this work, a certain +bookseller [the late Mr. Evans] has printed it verbatim, with +little acknowledgment to the first editor. He might have +recollected that The Felon Sewe had been already reclaimed PROPERTY +VESTED. However, as he is an ingenious and deserving man, this +hint shall suffice.--History of Craven, second edition, London, +1812. + + +When Sir Walter Scott published his poem of Rokeby, Doctor Whitaker +discovered that The Felon Sewe was not of such 'exceeding rarity' +as he had been led to suppose; for he was then made acquainted with +the fact that another MS. of the 'unique' ballad was preserved in +the archives of the Rokeby family. This version was published by +Scott, who considered it superior to that printed by Whitaker; and +it must undoubtedly be admitted to be more complete, and, in +general, more correct. It has also the advantage of being +authenticated by the traditions of an ardent family; while of Dr. +Whitaker's version we know nothing more than that it was 'printed +from a MS. in his possession.' The readings of the Rokeby MS., +however, are not always to be preferred; and in order to produce as +full and accurate a version as the materials would yield, the +following text has been founded upon a careful collation of both +MSS. A few alterations have been adopted, but only when the +necessity for them appeared to be self-evident; and the orthography +has been rendered tolerably uniform, for there is no good reason +why we should have 'sewe,' 'scho,' and 'sike,' in some places, and +the more modern forms of 'sow,' 'she,' and 'such,' in others. If +the MSS. were correctly transcribed, which we have no ground for +doubting, they must both be referred to a much later period than +the era when the author flourished. The language of the poem is +that of Craven, in Yorkshire; and, although the composition is +acknowledged on all hands to be one of the reign of Henry VII., the +provincialisms of that most interesting mountain district have been +so little affected by the spread of education, that the Felon Sewe +is at the present day perfectly comprehensible to any Craven +peasant, and to such a reader neither note nor glossary is +necessary. Dr. Whitaker's explanations are, therefore, few and +brief, for he was thoroughly acquainted with the language and the +district. Scott, on the contrary, who knew nothing of the dialect, +and confounded its pure Saxon with his Lowland Scotch, gives +numerous notes, which only display his want of the requisite local +knowledge, and are, consequently, calculated to mislead. + +The Felon Sewe belongs to the same class of compositions as the +Hunting of the Hare, reprinted by Weber, and the Tournament of +Tottenham, in Percy's Reliques. Scott says that 'the comic romance +was a sort of parody upon the usual subjects of minstrel poetry.' +This idea may be extended, for the old comic romances were in many +instances not merely 'sorts of parodies,' but real parodies on +compositions which were popular in their day, although they have +not descended to us. We certainly remember to have met with an old +chivalric romance, in which the leading incidents were similar to +those of the Felon Sewe. + +It may be observed, also, in reference to this poem, that the +design is twofold, the ridicule being equally aimed at the +minstrels and the clergy. The author was in all probability a +follower of Wickliffe. There are many sly satirical allusions to +the Romish faith and practices, in which no orthodox Catholic would +have ventured to indulge. + +Ralph Rokeby, who gave the sow to the Franciscan Friars of +Richmond, is believed to have been the Ralph who lived in the reign +of Henry VII. Tradition represents the Baron as having been 'a +fellow of infinite jest,' and the very man to bestow so valuable a +gift on the convent! The Mistress Rokeby of the ballad was, +according to the pedigree of the family, a daughter and heiress of +Danby, of Yafforth. Friar Theobald cannot be traced, and therefore +we may suppose that the monk had some other name; the minstrel +author, albeit a Wickliffite, not thinking it quite prudent, +perhaps, to introduce a priest in propria persona. The story is +told with spirit, and the verse is graceful and flowing.] + + +FITTE THE FIRSTE. + +Ye men that will of aunters wynne, +That late within this lande hath bin, +Of on I will yow telle; +And of a sewe that was sea strang, +Alas! that ever scho lived sea lang, +For fell folk did scho wele. {13} + +Scho was mare than other three, +The grizeliest beast that ere mote bee +Her hede was greate and graye; +Scho was bred in Rokebye woode, +Ther war few that thither yoode, {14} +But cam belive awaye. + +Her walke was endlang Greta syde, +Was no barne that colde her byde, +That was fra heven or helle; {15} +Ne never man that had that myght, +That ever durst com in her syght, +Her force it was sea felle. + +Raphe {16} of Rokebye, with full gode wyll, +The freers of Richmonde gav her tyll, +Full wele to gar thayme fare; +Freer Myddeltone by name, +Hee was sent to fetch her hame, +Yt rewed him syne full sare. + +Wyth hym tooke hee wyght men two, +Peter of Dale was on of tho, +Tother was Bryan of Beare; {17} +Thatte wele durst strike wyth swerde and knife, +And fyght full manlie for theyr lyfe, +What tyme as musters were. {18} + +These three men wended at theyr wyll, +This wickede sewe gwhyl they cam tyll, +Liggand under a tree; +Rugg'd and rustic was her here, +Scho rase up wyth a felon fere, {19} +To fyght agen the three. + +Grizely was scho for to meete, +Scho rave the earthe up wyth her feete, +The barke cam fra' the tree: +When Freer Myddeltone her saugh, +Wete yow wele hee list not laugh, +Full earnestful luik'd hee. + +These men of auncestors {20} were so wight, +They bound them bauldly for to fyght, +And strake at her full sare; +Until a kilne they garred her flee, +Wolde God sende thayme the victorye, +They wolde aske hym na maire. + +The sewe was in the kilne hoile doone, +And they wer on the bawke aboone, +For hurting of theyr feete; +They wer sea sauted {21} wyth this sewe, +That 'mang thayme was a stalwarth stewe, +The kilne began to reeke! + +Durst noe man nighe her wyth his hande, +But put a rape downe wyth a wande, +And heltered her ful meete; +They hauled her furth agen her wyll, +Qunyl they cam until a hille, +A little fra the streete. {22} + +And ther scho made thayme sike a fray, +As, had they lived until Domesday, +They colde yt nere forgette: +Scho brayded upon every syde, +And ranne on thayme gapyng ful wyde, +For nathing wolde scho lette. + +Scho gaf sike hard braydes at the bande +That Peter of Dale had in his hande, +Hee myght not holde hys feete; +Scho chased thayme sea to and fro, +The wight men never wer sea woe, +Ther mesure was not mete. + +Scho bound her boldly to abide, +To Peter of Dale scho cam aside, +Wyth mony a hideous yelle; +Scho gaped sea wide and cryed sea hee, +The freer sayd, 'I conjure thee, +Thou art a fiend of helle! + +'Thou art comed hider for sum trayne, +I conjure thee to go agayne, +Wher thou was wont to dwell.' +He sained hym wyth crosse and creede, +Tooke furth a booke, began to reade, +In Ste Johan hys gospell. + +The sewe scho wolde not Latyne heare, +But rudely rushed at the freer, +That blynked all his blee; {23} +And when scho wolde have takken holde, +The freer leapt as I. H. S. wolde, {24} +And bealed hym wyth a tree. + +Scho was brim as anie beare, +For all their meete to laboure there, +To thayme yt was noe boote; +On tree and bushe that by her stode, +Scho venged her as scho wer woode, +And rave thayme up by roote. + +Hee sayd, 'Alas that I wer freer, +I shal bee hugged asunder here, +Hard is my destinie! +Wiste my brederen, in this houre, +That I was set in sike a stoure, +They wolde pray for mee!' + +This wicked beaste thatte wrought the woe, +Tooke that rape from the other two, +And than they fledd all three; +They fledd away by Watling streete, +They had no succour but their feete, +Yt was the maire pittye. + +The fielde it was both loste and wonne, +The sewe wente hame, and thatte ful soone, +To Morton-on-the-Greene. +When Raphe of Rokeby saw the rape, +He wist that there had bin debate, +Whereat the sewe had beene. + +He bade thayme stand out of her waye, +For scho had had a sudden fraye, - +'I saw never sewe sea keene, +Some new thingis shall wee heare, +Of her and Myddeltone the freer, +Some battel hath ther beene.' + +But all that served him for nought, - +Had they not better succour sought, {25} +They wer served therfore loe. +Then Mistress Rokebye came anon, +And for her brought scho meete ful soone, +The sewe cam her untoe. + +Scho gav her meete upon the flower; +[Scho made a bed beneath a bower, +With moss and broom besprent; +The sewe was gentle as mote be, +Ne rage ne ire flashed fra her e'e, +Scho seemed wele content.] + +FITTE THE SECONDE. + +When Freer Myddeltone com home, +Hys breders war ful faine ilchone, +And thanked God for hys lyfe; +He told thayme all unto the ende, +How hee had foughten wyth a fiende, +And lived thro' mickle stryfe. + +'Wee gav her battel half a daye, +And was faine to flee awaye +For saving of oure lyfe; +And Peter Dale wolde never blin, +But ran as faste as he colde rinn, +Till he cam till hys wyfe.' + +The Warden sayde, 'I am ful woe +That yow sholde bee torment soe, +But wee had wyth yow beene! +Had wee bene ther, yowr breders alle, +Wee wolde hav garred the warlo {26} falle, +That wrought yow all thys teene.' + +Freer Myddeltone, he sayde soon, 'Naye, +In faythe ye wolde hav ren awaye, +When moste misstirre had bin; +Ye all can speke safte wordes at home, +The fiend wolde ding yow doone ilk on, +An yt bee als I wene, + +Hee luik'd sea grizely al that nyght.' +The Warden sayde, 'Yon man wol fyght +If ye saye ought but gode, +Yon guest {27} hath grieved hym sea sore; +Holde your tongues, and speake ne more, +Hee luiks als hee wer woode.' + +The Warden waged {28} on the morne, +Two boldest men that ever wer borne, +I weyne, or ere shall bee: +Tone was Gilbert Griffin sonne, +Ful mickle worship hadde hee wonne, +Both by land and sea. + +Tother a bastard sonne of Spaine, +Mony a Sarazin hadde hee slaine; +Hys dint hadde garred thayme dye. +Theis men the battel undertoke +Agen the sewe, as saythe the boke, +And sealed securitye, + +That they shold boldly bide and fyghte, +And scomfit her in maine and myghte, +Or therfor sholde they dye. +The Warden sealed toe thayme againe, +And sayde, 'If ye in fielde be slaine, +This condition make I: + +'Wee shall for yow praye, syng, and reade, +Until Domesdaye wyth heartye speede, +With al our progenie.' +Then the lettres wer wele made, +The bondes wer bounde wyth seales brade, +As deeds of arms sholde bee. + +Theise men-at-arms thatte wer sea wight, +And wyth theire armour burnished bryght, +They went the sewe toe see. +Scho made at thayme sike a roare, +That for her they fear it sore, +And almaiste bounde to flee. + +Scho cam runnyng thayme agayne, +And saw the bastarde sonne of Spaine, +Hee brayded owt hys brande; +Ful spiteouslie at her hee strake, +Yet for the fence that he colde make, +Scho strake it fro hys hande, +And rave asander half hys sheelde, +And bare hym backwerde in the fielde, +Hee mought not her gainstande. + +Scho wolde hav riven hys privich geare, +But Gilbert wyth hys swerde of warre, +Hee strake at her ful strang. +In her shouther hee held the swerde; +Than was Gilbert sore afearde, +When the blade brak in twang. + +And whan in hande hee had her ta'en, +Scho toke hym by the shouther bane, +And held her hold ful faste; +Scho strave sea stifflie in thatte stoure, +Scho byt thro' ale hys rich armoure, +Till bloud cam owt at laste. + +Than Gilbert grieved was sea sare, +That hee rave off the hyde of haire; +The flesh cam fra the bane, +And wyth force hee held her ther, +And wanne her worthilie in warre, +And band her hym alane; + +And lifte her on a horse sea hee, +Into two panyers made of a tree, +And toe Richmond anon. +When they sawe the felon come, +They sange merrilye Te Deum! +The freers evrich one. + +They thankyd God and Saynte Frauncis, +That they had wonne the beaste of pris, +And nere a man was sleyne: +There never didde man more manlye, +The Knyght Marone, or Sir Guye, +Nor Louis of Lothraine. + +If yow wyl any more of thys, +I' the fryarie at Richmond {29} written yt is, +In parchment gude and fyne, +How Freer Myddeltone sea hende, +Att Greta Bridge conjured a fiende, +In lykeness of a swyne. + +Yt is wel knowen toe manie a man, +That Freer Theobald was warden than, +And thys fel in hys tyme. +And Chryst thayme bles both ferre and nere, +Al that for solas this doe here, +And hym that made the ryme. + +Raphe of Rokeby wid ful gode wyl, +The freers of Richmond gav her tyll, +This sewe toe mende ther fare; +Freer Myddeltone by name, +He wold bring the felon hame, +That rewed hym sine ful sare. + + + +Ballad: ARTHUR O'BRADLEY'S WEDDING. + + + +[In the ballad called Robin Hood, his Birth, Breeding, Valour and +Marriage, occurs the following line:- + + +And some singing Arthur-a-Bradley. + + +Antiquaries are by no means agreed as to what is the song of +Arthur-a-Bradley, there alluded to, for it so happens that there +are no less than three different songs about this same Arthur-a- +Bradley. Ritson gives one of them in his Robin Hood, commencing +thus:- + + +See you not Pierce the piper. + + +He took it from a black-letter copy in a private collection, +compared with, and very much corrected by, a copy contained in An +Antidote against Melancholy, made up in pills compounded of witty +Ballads, jovial Songs, and merry Catches, 1661. Ritson quotes +another, and apparently much more modern song on the same subject, +and to the same tune, beginning, - + +All in the merry month of May. + + +It is a miserable composition, as may be seen by referring to a +copy preserved in the third volume of the Roxburgh Ballads. There +is another song, the one given by us, which appears to be as +ancient as any of those of which Arthur O'Bradley is the hero, and +from its subject being a wedding, as also from its being the only +Arthur O'Bradley song that we have been enabled to trace in +broadside and chap-books of the last century, we are induced to +believe that it may be the song mentioned in the old ballad, which +is supposed to have been written in the reign of Charles I. An +obscure music publisher, who about thirty years ago resided in the +Metropolis, brought out an edition of Arthur O'Bradley's Wedding, +with the prefix 'Written by Mr. Taylor.' This Mr. Taylor was, +however, only a low comedian of the day, and the ascribed +authorship was a mere trick on the publisher's part to increase the +sale of the song. We are not able to give any account of the hero, +but from his being alluded to by so many of our old writers, he +was, perhaps, not altogether a fictitious personage. Ben Jonson +names him in one of his plays, and he is also mentioned in Dekker's +Honest Whore. Of one of the tunes mentioned in the song, viz., +Hence, Melancholy! we can give no account; the other,--Mad Moll, +may be found in Playford's Dancing-Master, 1698: it is the same +tune as the one known by the names of Yellow Stockings and the +Virgin Queen, the latter title seeming to connect it with Queen +Elizabeth, as the name of Mad Moll does with the history of Mary, +who was subject to mental aberration. The words of Mad Moll are +not known to exist, but probably consisted of some fulsome +panegyric on the virgin queen, at the expense of her unpopular +sister. From the mention of Hence, Melancholy, and Mad Moll, it is +presumed that they were both popular favourites when Arthur +O'Bradley's Wedding was written. A good deal of vulgar grossness +has been at different times introduced into this song, which seems +in this respect to be as elastic as the French chanson, Cadet +Rouselle, which is always being altered, and of which there are no +two copies alike. The tune of Arthur O'Bradley is given by Mr. +Chappell in his Popular Music.] + + +Come, neighbours, and listen awhile, +If ever you wished to smile, +Or hear a true story of old, +Attend to what I now unfold! +'Tis of a lad whose fame did resound +Through every village and town around, +For fun, for frolic, and for whim, +None ever was to equal him, +And his name was Arthur O'Bradley! +O! rare Arthur O'Bradley! wonderful Arthur O'Bradley! +Sweet Arthur O'Bradley, O! + +Now, Arthur being stout and bold, +And near upon thirty years old, +He needs a wooing would go, +To get him a helpmate, you know. +So, gaining young Dolly's consent, +Next to be married they went; +And to make himself noble appear, +He mounted the old padded mare; +He chose her because she was blood, +And the prime of his old daddy's stud. +She was wind-galled, spavined, and blind, +And had lost a near leg behind; +She was cropped, and docked, and fired, +And seldom, if ever, was tired, +She had such an abundance of bone; +So he called her his high-bred roan, +A credit to Arthur O'Bradley! +O! rare Arthur O'Bradley! wonderful Arthur O'Bradley! +Sweet Arthur O'Bradley, O! + +Then he packed up his drudgery hose, +And put on his holiday clothes; +His coat was of scarlet so fine, +Full trimmed with buttons behind; +Two sleeves it had it is true, +One yellow, the other was blue, +And the cuffs and the capes were of green, +And the longest that ever were seen; +His hat, though greasy and tore, +Cocked up with a feather before, +And under his chin it was tied, +With a strip from an old cow's hide; +His breeches three times had been turned, +And two holes through the left side were burned; +Two boots he had, but not kin, +One leather, the other was tin; +And for stirrups he had two patten rings, +Tied fast to the girth with two strings; +Yet he wanted a good saddle cloth, +Which long had been eat by the moth. +'Twas a sad misfortune, you'll say, +But still he looked gallant and gay, +And his name it was Arthur O'Bradley! +O! rare Arthur O'Bradley! wonderful Arthur O'Bradley! +Sweet Arthur O'Bradley, O! + +Thus accoutred, away he did ride, +While Dolly she walked by his side; +Till coming up to the church door, +In the midst of five thousand or more, +Then from the old mare he did alight, +Which put the clerk in a fright; +And the parson so fumbled and shook, +That presently down dropped his book. +Then Arthur began for to sing, +And made the whole church to ring; +Crying, 'Dolly, my dear, come hither, +And let us be tacked together; +For the honour of Arthur O'Bradley!' +O! rare Arthur O'Bradley! wonderful Arthur O'Bradley! +Sweet Arthur O'Bradley, O! + +Then the vicar discharged his duty, +Without either reward or fee, +Declaring no money he'd have; +And poor Arthur he'd none to give: +So, to make him a little amends, +He invited him home with his friends, +To have a sweet kiss at the bride, +And eat a good dinner beside. +The dishes, though few, were good, +And the sweetest of animal food: +First, a roast guinea-pig and a bantam, +A sheep's head stewed in a lanthorn, {30} +Two calves' feet, and a bull's trotter, +The fore and hind leg of an otter, +With craw-fish, cockles, and crabs, +Lump-fish, limpets, and dabs, +Red herrings and sprats, by dozens, +To feast all their uncles and cousins; +Who seemed well pleased with their treat, +And heartily they did all eat, +For the honour of Arthur O'Bradley! +O! rare Arthur O'Bradley! wonderful Arthur O'Bradley! +Sweet Arthur O'Bradley, O! + +Now, the guests being well satisfied, +The fragments were laid on one side, +When Arthur, to make their hearts merry, +Brought ale, and parkin, {31} and perry; +When Timothy Twig stept in, +With his pipe, and a pipkin of gin. +A lad that was pleasant and jolly, +And scorned to meet melancholy; +He would chant and pipe so well, +No youth could him excel. +Not Pan the god of the swains, +Could ever produce such strains; +But Arthur, being first in the throng, +He swore he would sing the first song, +And one that was pleasant and jolly: +And that should be 'Hence, Melancholy!' +'Now give me a dance,' quoth Doll, +'Come, Jeffrery, play up Mad Moll, +'Tis time to be merry and frisky, - +But first I must have some more whiskey.' +'Oh! you're right,' says Arthur, 'my love! +My daffy-down-dilly! my dove! +My everything! my wife! +I ne'er was so pleased in my life, +Since my name it was Arthur O'Bradley!' +O! rare Arthur O'Bradley! wonderful Arthur O'Bradley! +Sweet Arthur O'Bradley, O! + +Then the piper he screwed up his bags, +And the girls began shaking their rags; +First up jumped old Mother Crewe, +Two stockings, and never a shoe. +Her nose was crooked and long, +Which she could easily reach with her tongue; +And a hump on her back she did not lack, +But you should take no notice of that; +And her mouth stood all awry, +And she never was heard to lie, +For she had been dumb from her birth; +So she nodded consent to the mirth, +For honour of Arthur O'Bradley. +O! rare Arthur O'Bradley! wonderful Arthur O'Bradley! +Sweet Arthur O'Bradley, O! + +Then the parson led off at the top, +Some danced, while others did hop; +While some ran foul of the wall, +And others down backwards did fall. +There was lead up and down, figure in, +Four hands across, then back again. +So in dancing they spent the whole night, +Till bright Phoebus appeared in their sight; +When each had a kiss of the bride, +And hopped home to his own fire-side: +Well pleased was Arthur O'Bradley! +O! rare Arthur O'Bradley! wonderful Arthur O'Bradley! +Sweet Arthur O'Bradley, O! + + + +Ballad: THE PAINFUL PLOUGH. + + + +[This is one of our oldest agricultural ditties, and maintains its +popularity to the present hour. It is called for at merry-makings +and feasts in every part of the country. The tune is in the minor +key, and of a pleasing character.] + + +'Come, all you jolly ploughmen, of courage stout and bold, +That labour all the winter in stormy winds, and cold; +To clothe the fields with plenty, your farm-yards to renew, +To crown them with contentment, behold the painful plough!' + +'Hold! ploughman,' said the gardener, 'don't count your trade with +ours, +Walk through the garden, and view the early flowers; +Also the curious border and pleasant walks go view, - +There's none such peace and plenty performed by the plough!' + +'Hold! gardener,' said the ploughman, 'my calling don't despise, +Each man for his living upon his trade relies; +Were it not for the ploughman, both rich and poor would rue, +For we are all dependent upon the painful plough. + +'Adam in the garden was sent to keep it right, +But the length of time he stayed there, I believe it was one night; +Yet of his own labour, I call it not his due, +Soon he lost his garden, and went to hold the plough. + +'For Adam was a ploughman when ploughing first begun, +The next that did succeed him was Cain, the eldest son; +Some of the generation this calling now pursue; +That bread may not be wanting, remains the painful plough. + +Samson was the strongest man, and Solomon was wise, +Alexander for to conquer 'twas all his daily prise; +King David was valiant, and many thousands slew, +Yet none of these brave heroes could live without the plough! + +Behold the wealthy merchant, that trades in foreign seas, +And brings home gold and treasure for those who live at ease; +With fine silks and spices, and fruits also, too, +They are brought from the Indies by virtue of the plough. + +'For they must have bread, biscuit, rice pudding, flour and peas, +To feed the jolly sailors as they sail o'er the seas; +And the man that brings them will own to what is true, +He cannot sail the ocean without the painful plough! + +'I hope there's none offended at me for singing this, +For it is not intended for anything amiss. +If you consider rightly, you'll find what I say is true, +For all that you can mention depends upon the plough.' + + + +Ballad: THE USEFUL PLOW; OR, THE PLOUGH'S PRAISE. + + + +[The common editions of this popular song inform us that it is +taken 'from an Old Ballad,' alluding probably to the dialogue given +at page 44. This song is quoted by Farquhar.] + + +A country life is sweet! +In moderate cold and heat, +To walk in the air, how pleasant and fair! +In every field of wheat, +The fairest of flowers adorning the bowers, +And every meadow's brow; +To that I say, no courtier may +Compare with they who clothe in grey, +And follow the useful plow. + +They rise with the morning lark, +And labour till almost dark; +Then folding their sheep, they hasten to sleep; +While every pleasant park +Next morning is ringing with birds that are singing, +On each green, tender bough. +With what content, and merriment, +Their days are spent, whose minds are bent +To follow the useful plow. + +The gallant that dresses fine, +And drinks his bottles of wine, +Were he to be tried, his feathers of pride, +Which deck and adorn his back, +Are tailors' and mercers', and other men dressers, +For which they do dun them now. +But Ralph and Will no compters fill +For tailor's bill, or garments still, +But follow the useful plow. + +Their hundreds, without remorse, +Some spend to keep dogs and horse, +Who never would give, as long as they live, +Not two-pence to help the poor; +Their wives are neglected, and harlots respected; +This grieves the nation now; +But 'tis not so with us that go +Where pleasures flow, to reap and mow, +And follow the useful plow. + + + +Ballad: THE FARMER'S SON. + + + +[This song, familiar to the dwellers in the dales of Yorkshire, was +published in 1729, in the Vocal Miscellany; a collection of about +four hundred celebrated songs. As the Miscellany was merely an +anthology of songs already well known, the date of this song must +have been sometime anterior to 1729. It was republished in the +British Musical Miscellany, or the Delightful Grove, 1796, and in a +few other old song books. It was evidently founded on an old +black-letter dialogue preserved in the Roxburgh collection, called +A Mad Kinde of Wooing; or, a Dialogue between Will the Simple and +Nan the Subtill, with their loving argument. To the tune of the +New Dance at the Red Bull Playhouse. Printed by the assignees of +Thomas Symcock.] + + +'Sweet Nelly! my heart's delight! +Be loving, and do not slight +The proffer I make, for modesty's sake:- +I honour your beauty bright. +For love, I profess, I can do no less, +Thou hast my favour won: +And since I see your modesty, +I pray agree, and fancy me, +Though I'm but a farmer's son. + +'No! I am a lady gay, +'Tis very well known I may +Have men of renown, in country or town; +So! Roger, without delay, +Court Bridget or Sue, Kate, Nancy, or Prue, +Their loves will soon be won; +But don't you dare to speak me fair, +As if I were at my last prayer, +To marry a farmer's son.' + +'My father has riches' store, +Two hundred a year, and more; +Beside sheep and cows, carts, harrows, and ploughs; +His age is above threescore. +And when he does die, then merrily I +Shall have what he has won; +Both land and kine, all shall be thine, +If thou'lt incline, and wilt be mine, +And marry a farmer's son.' + +'A fig for your cattle and corn! +Your proffered love I scorn! +'Tis known very well, my name is Nell, +And you're but a bumpkin born.' +'Well! since it is so, away I will go, - +And I hope no harm is done; +Farewell, adieu!--I hope to woo +As good as you,--and win her, too, +Though I'm but a farmer's son.' + +'Be not in such haste,' quoth she, +'Perhaps we may still agree; +For, man, I protest I was but in jest! +Come, prythee sit down by me; +For thou art the man that verily can +Win me, if e'er I'm won; +Both straight and tall, genteel withal; +Therefore, I shall be at your call, +To marry a farmer's son.' + +'Dear lady! believe me now +I solemnly swear and vow, +No lords in their lives take pleasure in wives, +Like fellows that drive the plough: +For whatever they gain with labour and pain, +They don't with 't to harlots run, +As courtiers do. I never knew +A London beau that could outdo +A country farmer's son.' + + + +Ballad: THE FARMER'S BOY. + + + +[Mr Denham of Piersbridge, who communicates the following, says-- +'there is no question that the Farmer's Boy is a very ancient song; +it is highly popular amongst the north country lads and lasses.' +The date of the composition may probably be referred to the +commencement of the last century, when there prevailed amongst the +ballad-mongers a great rage for Farmers' Sons, Plough Boys, Milk +Maids, Farmers' Boys, &c. &c. The song is popular all over the +country, and there are numerous printed copies, ancient and +modern.] + + +The sun had set behind yon hills, +Across yon dreary moor, +Weary and lame, a boy there came +Up to a farmer's door: +'Can you tell me if any there be +That will give me employ, +To plow and sow, and reap and mow, +And be a farmer's boy? + +'My father is dead, and mother is left +With five children, great and small; +And what is worse for mother still, +I'm the oldest of them all. +Though little, I'll work as hard as a Turk, +If you'll give me employ, +To plow and sow, and reap and mow, +And be a farmer's boy. + +'And if that you won't me employ, +One favour I've to ask, - +Will you shelter me, till break of day, +From this cold winter's blast? +At break of day, I'll trudge away +Elsewhere to seek employ, +To plow and sow, and reap and mow, +And be a farmer's boy.' + +'Come, try the lad,' the mistress said, +'Let him no further seek.' +'O, do, dear father!' the daughter cried, +While tears ran down her cheek: +'He'd work if he could, so 'tis hard to want food, +And wander for employ; +Don't turn him away, but let him stay, +And be a farmer's boy.' + +And when the lad became a man, +The good old farmer died, +And left the lad the farm he had, +And his daughter for his bride. +The lad that was, the farm now has, +Oft smiles, and thinks with joy +Of the lucky day he came that way, +To be a farmer's boy. + + + +Ballad: RICHARD OF TAUNTON DEAN; OR, DUMBLE DUM DEARY. + + + +[This song is very popular with the country people in every part of +England, but more particularly with the inhabitants of the counties +of Somerset, Devon, and Cornwall. The chorus is peculiar to +country songs of the West of England. There are many different +versions. The following one, communicated by Mr. Sandys, was taken +down from the singing of an old blind fiddler, 'who,' says Mr. +Sandys, 'used to accompany it on his instrument in an original and +humorous manner; a representative of the old minstrels!' The air +is in Popular Music. In Halliwell's Nursery Rhymes of England +there is a version of this song, called Richard of Dalton Dale. + +The popularity of this West-country song has extended even to +Ireland, as appears from two Irish versions, supplied by the late +Mr. T. Crofton Croker. One of them is entitled Last New-Year's +Day, and is printed by Haly, Hanover-street, Cork. It follows the +English song almost verbatim, with the exception of the first and +second verses, which we subjoin:- + + +'Last New-Year's day, as I heard say, +Dick mounted on his dapple gray; +He mounted high and he mounted low, +Until he came to SWEET RAPHOE! +Sing fal de dol de ree, +Fol de dol, righ fol dee. +'My buckskin does I did put on, +My spladdery clogs, TO SAVE MY BROGUES! +And in my pocket a lump of bread, +And round my hat a ribbon red.' + + +The other version is entitled Dicky of Ballyman, and a note informs +us that 'Dicky of Ballyman's sirname was Byrne!' As our readers +may like to hear how the Somersetshire bumpkin behaved after he had +located himself in the town of Ballyman, and taken the sirname of +Byrne, we give the whole of his amatory adventures in the sister- +island. We discover from them, inter alia, that he had found 'the +best of friends' in his 'Uncle,'--that he had made a grand +discovery in natural history, viz., that a rabbit is a FOWL!--that +he had taken the temperance pledge, which, however, his Mistress +Ann had certainly not done; and, moreover, that he had become an +enthusiast in potatoes! + + +DICKY OF BALLYMAN. + + +'On New-Year's day, as I heard say, +Dicky he saddled his dapple gray; +He put on his Sunday clothes, +His scarlet vest, and his new made hose. +Diddle dum di, diddle dum do, +Diddle dum di, diddle dum do. + +'He rode till he came to Wilson Hall, +There he rapped, and loud did call; +Mistress Ann came down straightway, +And asked him what he had to say? + +''Don't you know me, Mistress Ann? +I am Dicky of Ballyman; +An honest lad, though I am poor, - +I never was in love before. + +''I have an uncle, the best of friends, +Sometimes to me a fat rabbit he sends; +And many other dainty fowl, +To please my life, my joy, my soul. + +''Sometimes I reap, sometimes I mow, +And to the market I do go, +To sell my father's corn and hay, - +I earn my sixpence every day!' + +''Oh, Dicky! you go beneath your mark, - +You only wander in the dark; +Sixpence a day will never do, +I must have silks, and satins, too! + +''Besides, Dicky, I must have tea +For my breakfast, every day; +And after dinner a bottle of wine, - +For without it I cannot dine.' + +''If on fine clothes our money is spent, +Pray how shall my lord be paid his rent? +He'll expect it when 'tis due, - +Believe me, what I say is true. + +''As for tea, good stirabout +Will do far better, I make no doubt; +And spring water, when you dine, +Is far wholesomer than wine. + +''Potatoes, too, are very nice food, - +I don't know any half so good: +You may have them boiled or roast, +Whichever way you like them most.' + +'This gave the company much delight, +And made them all to laugh outright; +So Dicky had no more to say, +But saddled his dapple and rode away. +Diddle dum di, &c.'] + + +Last New-Year's day, as I've heerd say, {32} +Young Richard he mounted his dapple grey, +And he trotted along to Taunton Dean, +To court the parson's daughter, Jean. +Dumble dum deary, dumble dum deary, +Dumble dum deary, dumble dum dee. + +With buckskin breeches, shoes and hose, +And Dicky put on his Sunday clothes; +Likewise a hat upon his head, +All bedaubed with ribbons red. + +Young Richard he rode without dread or fear, +Till he came to the house where lived his sweet dear, +When he knocked, and shouted, and bellowed, 'Hallo! +Be the folks at home? say aye or no.' + +A trusty servant let him in, +That he his courtship might begin; +Young Richard he walked along the great hall, +And loudly for mistress Jean did call. + +Miss Jean she came without delay, +To hear what Dicky had got to say; +'I s'pose you knaw me, mistress Jean, +I'm honest Richard of Taunton Dean. + +'I'm an honest fellow, although I be poor, +And I never was in love afore; +My mother she bid me come here for to woo, +And I can fancy none but you.' + +'Suppose that I would be your bride, +Pray how would you for me provide? +For I can neither sew nor spin; - +Pray what will your day's work bring in?' + +'Why, I can plough, and I can zow, +And zometimes to the market go +With Gaffer Johnson's straw or hay, +And yarn my ninepence every day!' + +'Ninepence a-day will never do, +For I must have silks and satins too! +Ninepence a day won't buy us meat!' +'Adzooks!' says Dick, 'I've a zack of wheat; + +'Besides, I have a house hard by, +'Tis all my awn, when mammy do die; +If thee and I were married now, +Ods! I'd feed thee as fat as my feyther's old zow.' + +Dick's compliments did so delight, +They made the family laugh outright; +Young Richard took huff, and no more would say, +He kicked up old Dobbin, and trotted away, +Singing, dumble dum deary, &c. + + + +Ballad: WOOING SONG OF A YEOMAN OF KENT'S SONNE. + + + +[The following song is the original of a well-known and popular +Scottish song:- + +'I hae laid a herring in saut; +Lass, 'gin ye lo'e me, tell me now! +I ha'e brewed a forpit o' maut, +An' I canna come ilka day to woo.' + +There are modern copies of our Kentish Wooing Song, but the present +version is taken from Melismata, Musical phansies fitting the +court, citie, and countree. To 3, 4, and 5 voyces. London, +printed by William Stansby, for Thomas Adams, 1611. The tune will +be found in Popular Music, I., 90. The words are in the Kentish +dialect.] + + +Ich have house and land in Kent, +And if you'll love me, love me now; +Two-pence half-penny is my rent, - +Ich cannot come every day to woo. +Chorus. Two-pence half-penny is his rent, +And he cannot come every day to woo. + +Ich am my vather's eldest zonne, +My mouther eke doth love me well! +For Ich can bravely clout my shoone, +And Ich full-well can ring a bell. +Cho. For he can bravely clout his shoone, +And he full well can ring a bell. {33} + +My vather he gave me a hogge, +My mouther she gave me a zow; +Ich have a god-vather dwells there by, +And he on me bestowed a plow. +Cho. He has a god-vather dwells there by, +And he on him bestowed a plow. + +One time Ich gave thee a paper of pins, +Anoder time a taudry lace; +And if thou wilt not grant me love, +In truth Ich die bevore thy vace. +Cho. And if thou wilt not grant his love, +In truth he'll die bevore thy vace. + +Ich have been twice our Whitson Lord, +Ich have had ladies many vare; +And eke thou hast my heart in hold, +And in my minde zeemes passing rare. +Cho. And eke thou hast his heart in hold, +And in his minde zeemes passing rare. + +Ich will put on my best white sloppe, +And Ich will weare my yellow hose; +And on my head a good gray hat, +And in't Ich sticke a lovely rose. +Cho. And on his head a good grey hat, +And in't he'll stick a lovely rose. + +Wherefore cease off, make no delay, +And if you'll love me, love me now; +Or els Ich zeeke zome oder where, - +For Ich cannot come every day to woo. +Cho. Or else he'll zeeke zome oder where, +For he cannot come every day to woo. {34} + + + +Ballad: THE CLOWN'S COURTSHIP. + + + +[This song, on the same subject as the preceding, is as old as the +reign of Henry VIII., the first verse, says Mr. Chappell, being +found elaborately set to music in a manuscript of that date. The +air is given in Popular Music, I., 87.] + + +Quoth John to Joan, wilt thou have me? +I prythee now, wilt? and I'ze marry with thee, +My cow, my calf, my house, my rents, +And all my lands and tenements: +Oh, say, my Joan, will not that do? +I cannot come every day to woo. + +I've corn and hay in the barn hard by, +And three fat hogs pent up in the sty: +I have a mare, and she is coal black, +I ride on her tail to save my back. +Then say, &c. + +I have a cheese upon the shelf, +And I cannot eat it all myself; +I've three good marks that lie in a rag, +In the nook of the chimney, instead of a bag. +Then say, &c. + +To marry I would have thy consent, +But faith I never could compliment; +I can say nought but 'hoy, gee ho,' +Words that belong to the cart and the plow. +Then say, &c. + + + +Ballad: HARRY'S COURTSHIP. + + + +[This old ditty, in its incidents, bears a resemblance to Dumble- +dum-deary, see ante, p. 149. It used to be a popular song in the +Yorkshire dales. We have been obliged to supply an hiatus in the +second verse, and to make an alteration in the last, where we have +converted the 'red-nosed parson' of the original into a squire.] + + +Harry courted modest Mary, +Mary was always brisk and airy; +Harry was country neat as could be, +But his words were rough, and his duds were muddy. + +Harry when he first bespoke her, +[Kept a dandling the kitchen poker;] +Mary spoke her words like Venus, +But said, 'There's something I fear between us. + +'Have you got cups of China mettle, +Canister, cream-jug, tongs, or kettle?' +'Odzooks, I've bowls, and siles, and dishes, +Enow to supply any prudent wishes. + +'I've got none o' your cups of Chaney, +Canister, cream-jug, I've not any; +I've a three-footed pot and a good brass kettle, +Pray what do you want with your Chaney mettle? + +'A shippen full of rye for to fother, +A house full of goods, one mack or another; +I'll thrash in the lathe while you sit spinning, +O, Molly, I think that's a good beginning.' + +'I'll not sit at my wheel a-spinning, +Or rise in the morn to wash your linen; +I'll lie in bed till the clock strikes eleven--' +'Oh, grant me patience gracious Heaven! + +'Why then thou must marry some red-nosed squire, +[Who'll buy thee a settle to sit by the fire,] +For I'll to Margery in the valley, +She is my girl, so farewell Malley.' + + + +Ballad: HARVEST-HOME SONG. + + + +[Our copy of this song is taken from one in the Roxburgh +Collection, where it is called, The Country Farmer's vain glory; in +a new song of Harvest Home, sung to a new tune much in request. +Licensed according to order. The tune is published in Popular +Music. A copy of this song, with the music, may be found in +D'Urfey's Pills to purge Melancholy. It varies from ours; but +D'Urfey is so loose and inaccurate in his texts, that any other +version is more likely to be correct. The broadside from which the +following is copied was 'Printed for P. Brooksby, J. Dencon +[Deacon], J. Blai[r], and J. Back.'] + + +Our oats they are howed, and our barley's reaped, +Our hay is mowed, and our hovels heaped; +Harvest home! harvest home! +We'll merrily roar out our harvest home! +Harvest home! harvest home! +We'll merrily roar out our harvest home! +We'll merrily roar out our harvest home! + +We cheated the parson, we'll cheat him again; +For why should the vicar have one in ten? +One in ten! one in ten! +For why should the vicar have one in ten? +For why should the vicar have one in ten? +For staying while dinner is cold and hot, +And pudding and dumpling's burnt to pot; +Burnt to pot! burnt to pot! +Till pudding and dumpling's burnt to pot, +Burnt to pot! burnt to pot! + +We'll drink off the liquor while we can stand, +And hey for the honour of old England! +Old England! old England! +And hey for the honour of old England! +Old England! old England! + + + +Ballad: HARVEST-HOME. + + + +[From an old copy without printer's name or date.] + + +Come, Roger and Nell, +Come, Simpkin and Bell, +Each lad with his lass hither come; +With singing and dancing, +And pleasure advancing, +To celebrate harvest-home! + +Chorus. 'Tis Ceres bids play, +And keep holiday, +To celebrate harvest-home! +Harvest-home! +Harvest-home! +To celebrate harvest-home! + +Our labour is o'er, +Our barns, in full store, +Now swell with rich gifts of the land; +Let each man then take, +For the prong and the rake, +His can and his lass in his hand. +For Ceres, &c. + +No courtier can be +So happy as we, +In innocence, pastime, and mirth; +While thus we carouse, +With our sweetheart or spouse, +And rejoice o'er the fruits of the earth. +For Ceres, &c. + + + +Ballad: THE MOW. A HARVEST HOME SONG. Tune, Where the bee sucks. + + + +[This favourite song, copied from a chap-book called The Whistling +Ploughman, published at the commencement of the present century, is +written in imitation of Ariel's song, in the Tempest. It is +probably taken from some defunct ballad-opera.] + + +Now our work's done, thus we feast, +After labour comes our rest; +Joy shall reign in every breast, +And right welcome is each guest: +After harvest merrily, +Merrily, merrily, will we sing now, +After the harvest that heaps up the mow. + +Now the plowman he shall plow, +And shall whistle as he go, +Whether it be fair or blow, +For another barley mow, +O'er the furrow merrily: +Merrily, merrily, will we sing now, +After the harvest, the fruit of the plow. + +Toil and plenty, toil and ease, +Still the husbandman he sees; +Whether when the winter freeze, +Or in summer's gentle breeze; +Still he labours merrily, +Merrily, merrily, after the plow, +He looks to the harvest, that gives us the mow. + + + +Ballad: THE BARLEY-MOW SONG. + + + +[This song is sung at country meetings in Devon and Cornwall, +particularly on completing the carrying of the barley, when the +rick, or mow of barley, is finished. On putting up the last sheaf, +which is called the craw (or crow) sheaf, the man who has it cries +out 'I have it, I have it, I have it;' another demands, 'What have +'ee, what have 'ee, what have 'ee?' and the answer is, 'A craw! a +craw! a craw!' upon which there is some cheering, &c., and a supper +afterwards. The effect of the Barley-mow Song cannot be given in +words; it should be heard, to be appreciated properly,-- +particularly with the West-country dialect.] + + +Here's a health to the barley-mow, my brave boys, +Here's a health to the barley-mow! +We'll drink it out of the jolly brown bowl, +Here's a health to the barley-mow! +Cho. Here's a health to the barley-mow, my brave boys, +Here's a health to the barley-mow! + +We'll drink it out of the nipperkin, boys, +Here's a health to the barley-mow! +The nipperkin and the jolly brown bowl, +Cho. Here's a health, &c. + +We'll drink it out of the quarter-pint, boys, +Here's a health to the barley-mow! +The quarter-pint, nipperkin, &c. +Cho. Here's a health, &c. + +We'll drink it out of the half-a-pint, boys, +Here's a health to the barley-mow! +The half-a-pint, quarter-pint, &c. +Cho. Here's a health, &c. + +We'll drink it out of the pint, my brave boys, +Here's a health to the barley-mow! +The pint, the half-a-pint, &c. +Cho. Here's a health, &c. + +We'll drink it out of the quart, my brave boys, +Here's a health to the barley-mow! +The quart, the pint, &c. +Cho. Here's a health, &c. + +Well drink it out of the pottle, my boys, +Here's a health to the barley-mow! +The pottle, the quart, &c. +Cho. Here's a health, &c. + +We'll drink it out of the gallon, my boys, +Here's a health to the barley-mow! +The gallon, the pottle, &c. +Cho. Here's a health, &c. + +We'll drink it out of the half-anker, boys, +Here's a health to the barley-mow! +The half-anker, gallon, &c. +Cho. Here's a health, &c. + +We'll drink it out of the anker, my boys, +Here's a health to the barley-mow! +The anker, the half-anker, &c. +Cho. Here's a health, &c. + +We'll drink it out of the half-hogshead, boys, +Here's a health to the barley-mow! +The half-hogshead, anker, &c. +Cho. Here's a health, &c. + +We'll drink it out of the hogshead, my boys, +Here's a health to the barley-mow! +The hogshead, the half-hogshead, &c. +Cho. Here's a health, &c. + +We'll drink it out of the pipe, my brave boys, +Here's a health to the barley-mow! +The pipe, the hogshead, &c. +Cho. Here's a health, &c. + +We'll drink it out of the well, my brave boys, +Here's a health to the barley-mow! +The well, the pipe, &c. +Cho. Here's a health, &c. + +We'll drink it out of the river, my boys, +Here's a health to the barley-mow! +The river, the well, &c. +Cho. Here's a health, &c. + +We'll drink it out of the ocean, my boys, +Here's a health to the barley-mow! +The ocean, the river, the well, the pipe, the hogshead, +the half-hogshead, the anker, the half-anker, +the gallon, the pottle, the quart, the pint, the +half-a-pint, the quarter-pint, the nipperkin, and +the jolly brown bowl! +Cho. Here's a health to the barley-mow, my brave boys! +Here's a health to the barley-mow! + +[The above verses are very much ad libitum, but always in the third +line repeating the whole of the previously-named measures; as we +have shown in the recapitulation at the close of the last verse.] + + + +Ballad: THE BARLEY-MOW SONG. (SUFFOLK VERSION.) + + + +[The peasantry of Suffolk sing the following version of the Barley- +Mow Song.] + + +Here's a health to the barley mow! +Here's a health to the man +Who very well can +Both harrow and plow and sow! + +When it is well sown +See it is well mown, +Both raked and gavelled clean, +And a barn to lay it in. +He's a health to the man +Who very well can +Both thrash and fan it clean! + + + +Ballad: THE CRAVEN CHURN-SUPPER SONG. + + + +[In some of the more remote dales of Craven it is customary at the +close of the hay-harvest for the farmers to give an entertainment +to their men; this is called the churn supper; a name which Eugene +Aram traces to 'the immemorial usage of producing at such suppers a +great quantity of cream in a churn, and circulating it in cups to +each of the rustic company, to be eaten with bread.' At these +churn-suppers the masters and their families attend the +entertainment, and share in the general mirth. The men mask +themselves, and dress in a grotesque manner, and are allowed the +privilege of playing harmless practical jokes on their employers, +&c. The churn-supper song varies in different dales, but the +following used to be the most popular version. In the third verse +there seems to be an allusion to the clergyman's taking tythe in +kind, on which occasions he is generally accompanied by two or +three men, and the parish clerk. The song has never before been +printed. There is a marked resemblance between it and a song of +the date of 1650, called A Cup of Old Stingo. See Popular Music of +the Olden Time, I., 308.] + + +God rest you, merry gentlemen! +Be not moved at my strain, +For nothing study shall my brain, +But for to make you laugh: +For I came here to this feast, +For to laugh, carouse, and jest, +And welcome shall be every guest, +To take his cup and quaff. +Cho. Be frolicsome, every one, +Melancholy none; +Drink about! +See it out, +And then we'll all go home, +And then we'll all go home! + +This ale it is a gallant thing, +It cheers the spirits of a king; +It makes a dumb man strive to sing, +Aye, and a beggar play! +A cripple that is lame and halt, +And scarce a mile a day can walk, +When he feels the juice of malt, +Will throw his crutch away. +Cho. Be frolicsome, &c. + +'Twill make the parson forget his men, - +'Twill make his clerk forget his pen; +'Twill turn a tailor's giddy brain, +And make him break his wand, +The blacksmith loves it as his life, - +It makes the tinkler bang his wife, - +Aye, and the butcher seek his knife +When he has it in his hand! +Cho. Be frolicsome, &c. + +So now to conclude, my merry boys, all, +Let's with strong liquor take a fall, +Although the weakest goes to the wall, +The best is but a play! +For water it concludes in noise, +Good ale will cheer our hearts, brave boys; +Then put it round with a cheerful voice, +We meet not every day. +Cho. Be frolicsome, &c. + + + +Ballad: THE RURAL DANCE ABOUT THE MAY-POLE. + + + +[The most correct copy of this song is that given in The +Westminster Drollery, Part II. p. 80. It is there called The Rural +Dance about the May-pole, the tune, the first-figure dance at Mr. +Young's ball, May, 1671. The tune is in Popular Music. The May- +pole, for so the song is called in modern collections, is a very +popular ditty at the present time. The common copies vary +considerably from the following version, which is much more correct +than any hitherto published.] + + +Come, lasses and lads, take leave of your dads, +And away to the may-pole hie; +For every he has got him a she, +And the minstrel's standing by; +For Willie has gotten his Jill, +And Johnny has got his Joan, +To jig it, jig it, jig it, +Jig it up and down. + +'Strike up,' says Wat; 'Agreed,' says Kate, +'And I prithee, fiddler, play;' +'Content,' says Hodge, and so says Madge, +For this is a holiday. +Then every man did put +His hat off to his lass, +And every girl did curchy, +Curchy, curchy on the grass. + +'Begin,' says Hall; 'Aye, aye,' says Mall, +'We'll lead up PACKINGTON'S POUND;' +'No, no,' says Noll, and so says Doll, +'We'll first have SELLENGER'S ROUND.' {35} +Then every man began +To foot it round about; +And every girl did jet it, +Jet it, jet it, in and out. + +'You're out,' says Dick; ''Tis a lie,' says Nick, +'The fiddler played it false;' +''Tis true,' says Hugh, and so says Sue, +And so says nimble Alice. +The fiddler then began +To play the tune again; +And every girl did trip it, trip it, +Trip it to the men. + +'Let's kiss,' says Jane, {36} 'Content,' says Nan, +And so says every she; +'How many?' says Batt; 'Why three,' says Matt, +'For that's a maiden's fee.' +But they, instead of three, +Did give them half a score, +And they in kindness gave 'em, gave 'em, +Gave 'em as many more. + +Then after an hour, they went to a bower, +And played for ale and cakes; +And kisses, too;--until they were due, +The lasses kept the stakes: +The girls did then begin +To quarrel with the men; +And bid 'em take their kisses back, +And give them their own again. + +Yet there they sate, until it was late, +And tired the fiddler quite, +With singing and playing, without any paying, +From morning unto night: +They told the fiddler then, +They'd pay him for his play; +And each a two-pence, two-pence, +Gave him, and went away. + +'Good night,' says Harry; 'Good night,' says Mary; +'Good night,' says Dolly to John; +'Good night,' says Sue; 'Good night,' says Hugh; +'Good night,' says every one. +Some walked, and some did run, +Some loitered on the way; +And bound themselves with love-knots, love-knots, +To meet the next holiday. + + + +Ballad: THE HITCHIN MAY-DAY SONG. + + + +[The following song is sung by the Mayers at Hitchin in the county +of Herts. For an account of the manner in which May-day is +observed at Hitchin, see Hone's Every-Day Book.] + + +Remember us poor Mayers all! +And thus do we begin +To lead our lives in righteousness, +Or else we die in sin. + +We have been rambling all the night, +And almost all the day; +And now returned back again, +We have brought you a branch of May. + +A branch of May we have brought you, +And at your door it stands; +It is but a sprout, +But it's well budded out +By the work of our Lord's hand. + +The hedges and trees they are so green, +As green as any leek; +Our heavenly Father he watered them +With his heavenly dew so sweet. + +The heavenly gates are open wide, +Our paths are beaten plain; +And if a man be not too far gone, +He may return again. + +The life of man is but a span, +It flourishes like a flower; +We are here to-day, and gone to-morrow, +And we are dead in an hour. + +The moon shines bright, and the stars give a light, +A little before it is day; +So God bless you all, both great and small, +And send you a joyful May! + + + +Ballad: THE HELSTONE FURRY-DAY SONG. + + + +[At Helstone, in Cornwall, the 8th of May is a day devoted to +revelry and gaiety. It is called the Furry-day, supposed to be a +corruption of Flora's day, from the garlands worn and carried in +procession during the festival. {37} A writer in the Gentleman's +Magazine for June, 1790, says, 'In the morning, very early, some +troublesome rogues go round the streets [of Helstone], with drums +and other noisy instruments, disturbing their sober neighbours, and +singing parts of a song, the whole of which nobody now re-collects, +and of which I know no more than that there is mention in it of the +'grey goose quill,' and of going 'to the green wood' to bring home +'the Summer and the May, O!'' During the festival, the gentry, +tradespeople, servants, &c., dance through the streets, and thread +through certain of the houses to a very old dance tune, given in +the appendix to Davies Gilbert's Christmas Carols, and which may +also be found in Chappell's Popular Music, and other collections. +The Furry-day Song possesses no literary merit whatever; but as a +part of an old and really interesting festival, it is worthy of +preservation. The dance-tune has been confounded with that of the +song, but Mr. Sandys, to whom we are indebted for this +communication, observes that 'the dance-tune is quite different.'] + + +Robin Hood and Little John, +They both are gone to the fair, O! +And we will go to the merry green-wood, +To see what they do there, O! +And for to chase, O! +To chase the buck and doe. +With ha-lan-tow, rumble, O! +For we were up as soon as any day, O! +And for to fetch the summer home, +The summer and the may, O! +For summer is a-come, O! +And winter is a-gone, O! + +Where are those Spaniards +That make so great a boast, O? +They shall eat the grey goose feather, +And we will eat the roast, O! +In every land, O! +The land where'er we go. +With ha-lan-tow, &c + +As for Saint George, O! +Saint George he was a knight, O! +Of all the knights in Christendom, +Saint George is the right, O! +In every land, O! +The land where'er we go. +With ha-lan-tow, &c. + + + +Ballad: CORNISH MIDSUMMER BONFIRE SONG. + + + +[The very ancient custom of lighting fires on Midsummer-eve, being +the vigil of St. John the Baptist, is still kept up in several +parts of Cornwall. On these occasions the fishermen and others +dance about the fires, and sing appropriate songs. The following +has been sung for a long series of years at Penzance and the +neighbourhood, and is taken down from the recitation of the leader +of a West-country choir. It is communicated to our pages by Mr. +Sandys. The origin of the Midsummer bonfires is fully explained in +Brand's Popular Antiquities. See Sir H. Ellis's edition of that +work, vol. i. pp. 166-186.] + + +The bonny month of June is crowned +With the sweet scarlet rose; +The groves and meadows all around +With lovely pleasure flows. + +As I walked out to yonder green, +One evening so fair; +All where the fair maids may be seen +Playing at the bonfire. + +Hail! lovely nymphs, be not too coy, +But freely yield your charms; +Let love inspire with mirth and joy, +In Cupid's lovely arms. + +Bright Luna spreads its light around, +The gallants for to cheer; +As they lay sporting on the ground, +At the fair June bonfire. + +All on the pleasant dewy mead, +They shared each other's charms; +Till Phoebus' beams began to spread, +And coming day alarms. + +Whilst larks and linnets sing so sweet, +To cheer each lovely swain; +Let each prove true unto their love, +And so farewell the plain. + + + +Ballad: SUFFOLK HARVEST-HOME SONG. + + + +[In no part of England are the harvest-homes kept up with greater +spirit than in Suffolk. The following old song is a general +favourite on such occasions.] + + +Here's a health unto our master, +The founder of the feast! +I wish, with all my heart and soul, +In heaven he may find rest. +I hope all things may prosper, +That ever be takes in hand; +For we are all his servants, +And all at his command. + +Drink, boys, drink, and see you do not spill, +For if you do, you must drink two,--it is your master's will. + +Now our harvest is ended, +And supper is past; +Here's our mistress' good health, +In a full flowing glass! +She is a good woman, - +She prepared us good cheer; +Come, all my brave boys, +And drink off your beer. + +Drink, my boys, drink till you come unto me, +The longer we sit, my boys, the merrier shall we be! + +In yon green wood there lies an old fox, +Close by his den you may catch him, or no; +Ten thousand to one you catch him, or no. +His beard and his brush are all of one colour, - +[Takes the glass and empties it off. +I am sorry, kind sir, that your glass is no fuller. +'Tis down the red lane! 'tis down the red lane! +So merrily hunt the fox down the red lane! {38} + + + +Ballad: THE HAYMAKER'S SONG. + + + +[An old and very favourite ditty sung in many parts of England at +merry-makings, especially at those which occur during the hay- +harvest. It is not in any collection.] + + +In the merry month of June, +In the prime time of the year; +Down in yonder meadows +There runs a river clear: +And many a little fish +Doth in that river play; +And many a lad, and many a lass, +Go abroad a-making hay. + +In come the jolly mowers, +To mow the meadows down; +With budget and with bottle +Of ale, both stout and brown, +All labouring men of courage bold +Come here their strength to try; +They sweat and blow, and cut and mow, +For the grass cuts very dry. + +Here's nimble Ben and Tom, +With pitchfork, and with rake; +Here's Molly, Liz, and Susan, +Come here their hay to make. +While sweet, jug, jug, jug! +The nightingale doth sing, +From morning unto even-song, +As they are hay-making. + +And when that bright day faded, +And the sun was going down, +There was a merry piper +Approached from the town: +He pulled out his pipe and tabor, +So sweetly he did play, +Which made all lay down their rakes, +And leave off making hay. + +Then joining in a dance, +They jig it o'er the green; +Though tired with their labour, +No one less was seen. +But sporting like some fairies, +Their dance they did pursue, +In leading up, and casting off, +Till morning was in view. + +And when that bright daylight, +The morning it was come, +They lay down and rested +Till the rising of the sun: +Till the rising of the sun, +When the merry larks do sing, +And each lad did rise and take his lass, +And away to hay-making. + + + +Ballad: THE SWORD-DANCERS' SONG. + + + +[Sword-dancing is not so common in the North of England as it was a +few years ago; but a troop of rustic practitioners of the art may +still be occasionally met with at Christmas time, in some of the +most secluded of the Yorkshire dales. The following is a copy of +the introductory song, as it used to be sung by the Wharfdale +sword-dancers. It has been transcribed from a MS. in the +possession of Mr. Holmes, surgeon, at Grassington, in Craven. At +the conclusion of the song a dance ensues, and sometimes a rustic +drama is performed. See post, p. 175. Jumping Joan, alluded to in +the last verse, is a well-known old country dance tune.] + +The spectators being assembled, the CLOWN enters, and after drawing +a circle with his sword, walks round it, and calls in the actors in +the following lines, which are sung to the accompaniment of a +violin played outside, or behind the door. + + +The first that enters on the floor, +His name is Captain Brown; +I think he is as smart a youth +As any in this town: +In courting of the ladies gay, +He fixes his delight; +He will not stay from them all day, +And is with them all the night. + +The next's a tailor by his trade, +Called Obadiah Trim; +You may quickly guess, by his plain dress, +And hat of broadest brim, +That he is of the Quaking sect, +Who would seem to act by merit +Of yeas and nays, and hums and hahs, +And motions of the spirit. + +The next that enters on the floor, +He is a foppish knight; +The first to be in modish dress, +He studies day and night. +Observe his habit round about, - +Even from top to toe; +The fashion late from France was brought, - +He's finer than a beau! + +Next I present unto your view +A very worthy man; +He is a vintner, by his trade, +And Love-ale is his name. +If gentlemen propose a glass, +He seldom says 'em nay, +But does always think it's right to drink, +While other people pay. + +The next that enters on the floor, +It is my beauteous dame; +Most dearly I do her adore, +And Bridget is her name. +At needlework she does excel +All that e'er learnt to sew, +And when I choose, she'll ne'er refuse, +What I command her do. + +And I myself am come long since, +And Thomas is my name; +Though some are pleased to call me Tom, +I think they're much to blame: +Folks should not use their betters thus, +But I value it not a groat, +Though the tailors, too, that botching crew, +Have patched it on my coat. + +I pray who's this we've met with here, +That tickles his trunk wame? {39} +We've picked him up as here we came, +And cannot learn his name: +But sooner than he's go without, +I'll call him my son Tom; +And if he'll play, be it night or day, +We'll dance you JUMPING JOAN. + + + +Ballad: THE SWORD-DANCERS' SONG AND INTERLUDE. AS NOW PERFORMED +AT CHRISTMAS, IN THE COUNTY OF DURHAM. + + + +[The late Sir Cuthbert Sharp remarks, that 'It is still the +practice during the Christmas holidays for companies of fifteen to +perform a sort of play or dance, accompanied by song or music.' +The following version of the song, or interlude, has been +transcribed from Sir C. Sharp's Bishoprick Garland, corrected by +collation with a MS. copy recently remitted to the editor by a +countryman of Durham. The Devonshire peasants have a version +almost identical with this, but laths are used instead of swords, +and a few different characters are introduced to suit the locality. +The pageant called The Fool Plough, which consists of a number of +sword-dancers dragging a plough with music, was anciently observed +in the North of England, not only at Christmas time, but also in +the beginning of Lent. Wallis thinks that the Sword Dance is the +antic dance, or chorus armatus of the Romans. Brand supposes that +it is a composition made up of the gleaning of several obsolete +customs anciently followed in England and other countries. The +Germans still practise the Sword Dance at Christmas and Easter. We +once witnessed a Sword Dance in the Eifel mountains, which closely +resembled our own, but no interlude, or drama, was performed.] + + +Enter Dancers, decorated with swords and ribbons; the CAPTAIN of +the band wearing a cocked hat and a peacock's feather in it by way +of cockade, and the CLOWN, or 'BESSY,' who acts as treasurer, being +decorated with a hairy cap and a fox's brush dependent. + +The CAPTAIN forms with his sword a circle, around which walks. + +The BESSY opens the proceedings by singing - + +Good gentlemen all, to our captain take heed, +And hear what he's got for to sing; +He's lived among music these forty long year, +And drunk of the elegant {40} spring. + +The CAPTAIN then proceeds as follows, his song being accompanied by +a violin, generally played by the BESSY - + +Six actors I have brought +Who were ne'er on a stage before; +But they will do their best, +And they can do no more. + +The first that I call in +He is a squire's son; +He's like to lose his sweetheart +Because he is too young. + +But though he is too young, +He has money for to rove, +And he will spend it all +Before he'll lose his love. + +Chorus. Fal lal de ral, lal de dal, fal lal de ra ral da. + +Followed by a symphony on the fiddle, during which the introduced +actor walks round the circle. + +The CAPTAIN proceeds - + +The next that I call in +He is a tailor fine; +What think you of his work? +He made this coat of mine! + +Here the CAPTAIN turns round and exhibits his coat, which, of +course, is ragged, and full of holes. + +So comes good master Snip, +His best respects to pay: +He joins us in our trip +To drive dull care away. + +Chorus and symphony as above. +Here the TAILOR walks round, accompanied by the SQUIRE'S SON. This +form is observed after each subsequent introduction, all the new +comers taking apart. + +The next I do call in, +The prodigal son is he; +By spending of his gold +He's come to poverty. + +But though he all has spent, +Again he'll wield the plow, +And sing right merrily +As any of us now. {41} + +Next comes a skipper bold, +He'll do his part right weel - +A clever blade I'm told +As ever pozed a keel. + +He is a bonny lad, +As you must understand; +It's he can dance on deck, +And you'll see him dance on land. + +To join us in this play +Here comes a jolly dog, +Who's sober all the day - +If he can get no grog. + +But though he likes his grog, +As all his friends do say, +He always likes it best +When other people pay. + +Last I come in myself, +The leader of this crew; +And if you'd know my name, +My name it is 'True Blue.' + +Here the BESSY gives an account of himself. + +My mother was burnt for a witch, +My father was hanged on a tree, +And it's because I'm a fool +There's nobody meddled wi' me. + +The dance now commences. It is an ingenious performance, and the +swords of the actors are placed in a variety of graceful positions, +so as to form stars, hearts, squares, circles, &c. &c. The dance +is so elaborate that it requires frequent rehearsals, a quick eye, +and a strict adherence to time and tune. Before it concludes, +grace and elegance have given place to disorder, and at last all +the actors are seen fighting. The PARISH CLERGYMAN rushes in to +prevent bloodshed, and receives a death-blow. While on the ground, +the actors walk round the body, and sing as follows, to a slow, +psalm-like tune:- + +Alas! our parson's dead, +And on the ground is laid; +Some of us will suffer for't, +Young men, I'm sore afraid. + +I'm sure 'twas none of me, +I'm clear of THAT crime; +'Twas him that follows me +That drew his sword so fine. + +I'm sure it was NOT me, +I'm clear of the fact; +'Twas him that follows me +That did this dreadful act. + +I'm sure 'twas none of me, +Who say't be villains all; +For both my eyes were closed +When this good priest did fall. + +The BESSY sings - + +Cheer up, cheer up, my bonny lads, +And be of courage brave, +We'll take him to his church, +And bury him in the grave. + +The CAPTAIN speaks in a sort of recitative - + +Oh, for a doctor, +A ten pound doctor, oh. + +Enter DOCTOR. + +Doctor. Here I am, I. +Captain. Doctor, what's your fee? +Doctor. Ten pounds is my fee! + +But nine pounds nineteen shillings eleven pence three farthings I +will take from thee. + +The Bessy. There's ge-ne-ro-si-ty! + +The DOCTOR sings - + +I'm a doctor, a doctor rare, +Who travels much at home; +My famous pills they cure all ills, +Past, present, and to come. + +My famous pills who'd be without, +They cure the plague, the sickness {42} and gout, +Anything but a love-sick maid; +If YOU'RE one, my dear, you're beyond my aid! + +Here the DOCTOR occasionally salutes one of the fair spectators; he +then takes out his snuff-box, which is always of very capacious +dimensions (a sort of miniature warming-pan), and empties the +contents (flour or meal) on the CLERGYMAN'S face, singing at the +time - + +Take a little of my nif-naf, +Put it on your tif-taf; +Parson rise up and preach again, +The doctor says you are not slain. + +The CLERGYMAN here sneezes several times, and gradually recovers, +and all shake him by the hand. + +The ceremony terminates by the CAPTAIN singing - + +Our play is at an end, +And now we'll taste your cheer; +We wish you a merry Christmas, +And a happy new year. +The Bessy. And your pockets full of brass, +And your cellars full of beer! + +A general dance concludes the play. + + + +Ballad: THE MASKERS' SONG. + + + +[In the Yorkshire dales the young men are in the habit of going +about at Christmas time in grotesque masks, and of performing in +the farm-houses a sort of rude drama, accompanied by singing and +music. {43} The maskers have wooden swords, and the performance is +an evening one. The following version of their introductory song +was taken down literally from the recitation of a young besom- +maker, now residing at Linton in Craven, who for some years past +has himself been one of these rustic actors. From the allusion to +the pace, or paschal-egg, it is evident that the play was +originally an Easter pageant, which, in consequence of the decline +of the gorgeous rites formerly connected with that season, has been +transferred to Christmas, the only festival which, in the rural +districts of Protestant England, is observed after the olden +fashion. The maskers generally consist of five characters, one of +whom officiates in the threefold capacity of clown, fiddler, and +master of the ceremonies. The custom of masking at Christmas is +common to many parts of Europe, and is observed with especial zest +in the Swiss cantons, where the maskers are all children, and the +performances closely resemble those of England. In Switzerland, +however, more care is bestowed upon the costume, and the songs are +better sung.] + + +Enter CLOWN, who sings in a sort of chant, or recitative. + +I open this door, I enter in, +I hope your favour for to win; +Whether we shall stand or fall, +We do endeavour to please you all. + +A room! a room! a gallant room, +A room to let us ride! +We are not of the raggald sort, +But of the royal tribe: +Stir up the fire, and make a light, +To see the bloody act to-night! + +Here another of the party introduces his companions by singing to a +violin accompaniment, as follows: + +Here's two or three jolly boys, all in one mind; +We've come a pace-egging, {44} I hope you'll prove kind: +I hope you'll prove kind with your money and beer, +We shall come no more near you until the next year. +Fal de ral, lal de lal, &c. + +The first that steps up is Lord [Nelson] {45} you'll see, +With a bunch of blue ribbons tied down to his knee; +With a star on his breast, like silver doth shine; +I hope you'll remember this pace-egging time. +Fal de ral, &c. + +O! the next that steps up is a jolly Jack tar, +He sailed with Lord [Nelson], during last war: +He's right on the sea, Old England to view: +He's come a pace-egging with so jolly a crew. +Fal de ral, &c. + +O! the next that steps up is old Toss-Pot, you'll see, +He's a valiant old man, in every degree, +He's a valiant old man, and he wears a pig-tail; +And all his delight is drinking mulled ale. +Fal de ral, &c. + +O! the next that steps up is old Miser, you'll see; +She heaps up her white and her yellow money; +She wears her old rags till she starves and she begs; +And she's come here to ask for a dish of pace eggs. +Fal de ral, &a + +The characters being thus duly introduced, the following lines are +sung in chorus by all the party. + +Gentlemen and ladies, that sit by the fire, +Put your hand in your pocket, 'tis all we desire; +Put your hand in your pocket, and pull out your purse, +And give us a trifle,--you'll not be much worse. + +Here follows a dance, and this is generally succeeded by a dialogue +of an ad libitum character, which varies in different districts, +being sometimes similar to the one performed by the sword-dancers. + + + +Ballad: GLOUCESTERSHIRE WASSAILERS' SONG. + + + +[It is still customary in many parts of England to hand round the +wassail, or health-bowl, on New-Year's Eve. The custom is supposed +to be of Saxon origin, and to be derived from one of the +observances of the Feast of Yule. The tune of this song is given +in Popular Music. It is a universal favourite in Gloucestershire, +particularly in the neighbourhood of + +'Stair on the wold, +Where the winds blow cold,' + +as the old rhyme says.] + + +Wassail! wassail! all over the town, +Our toast it is white, and our ale it is brown; +Our bowl is made of a maplin tree; +We be good fellows all;--I drink to thee. + +Here's to our horse, {46} and to his right ear, +God send our measter a happy new year: +A happy new year as e'er he did see, - +With my wassailing bowl I drink to thee. + +Here's to our mare, and to her right eye, +God send our mistress a good Christmas pie; +A good Christmas pie as e'er I did see, - +With my wassailing bowl I drink to thee. + +Here's to our cow, and to her long tail, +God send our measter us never may fail +Of a cup of good beer: I pray you draw near, +And our jolly wassail it's then you shall hear. + +Be here any maids? I suppose here be some; +Sure they will not let young men stand on the cold stone! +Sing hey O, maids! come trole back the pin, +And the fairest maid in the house let us all in. + +Come, butler, come, bring us a bowl of the best; +I hope your soul in heaven will rest; +But if you do bring us a bowl of the small, +Then down fall butler, and bowl and all. + + + +Ballad: THE MUMMERS' SONG; OR, THE POOR OLD HORSE. + +As sung by the Mummers in the Neighbourhood of Richmond, Yorkshire, +at the merrie time of Christmas. + + + +[The rustic actor who sings the following song is dressed as an old +horse, and at the end of every verse the jaws are snapped in +chorus. It is a very old composition, and is now printed for the +first time. The 'old horse' is, probably, of Scandinavian origin,- +-a reminiscence of Odin's Sleipnor.] + + +You gentlemen and sportsmen, +And men of courage bold, +All you that's got a good horse, +Take care of him when he is old; +Then put him in your stable, +And keep him there so warm; +Give him good corn and hay, +Pray let him take no harm. +Poor old horse! poor old horse! + +Once I had my clothing +Of linsey-woolsey fine, +My tail and mane of length, +And my body it did shine; +But now I'm growing old, +And my nature does decay, +My master frowns upon me, +These words I heard him say, - +Poor old horse! poor old horse! + +These pretty little shoulders, +That once were plump and round, +They are decayed and rotten, - +I'm afraid they are not sound. +Likewise these little nimble legs, +That have run many miles, +Over hedges, over ditches, +Over valleys, gates, and stiles. +Poor old horse! poor old horse! + +I used to be kept +On the best corn and hay +That in fields could be grown, +Or in any meadows gay; +But now, alas! it's not so, - +There's no such food at all! +I'm forced to nip the short grass +That grows beneath your wall. +Poor old horse! poor old horse! + +I used to be kept up +All in a stable warm, +To keep my tender body +From any cold or harm; +But now I'm turned out +In the open fields to go, +To face all kinds of weather, +The wind, cold, frost, and snow. +Poor old horse! poor old horse! + +My hide unto the huntsman +So freely I would give, +My body to the hounds, +For I'd rather die than live: +So shoot him, whip him, strip him, +To the huntsman let him go; +For he's neither fit to ride upon, +Nor in any team to draw. +Poor old horse! you must die! + + + +Ballad: FRAGMENT OF THE HAGMENA SONG. + +As sung at Richmond, Yorkshire, on the eve of the New Year, by the +Corporation Pinder. + + + +[The custom of singing Hagmena songs is observed in different parts +of both England and Scotland. The origin of the term is a matter +of dispute. Some derive it from 'au guy l'an neuf,' i.e., TO THE +MISLETOE THIS NEW YEAR, and a French Hagmena song still in use +seems to give some authority to such a derivation; others, +dissatisfied with a heathen source, find the term to be a +corruption of [Greek text which cannot be reproduced], i.e., THE +HOLY MONTH. The Hagmena songs are sometimes sung on Christmas Eve +and a few of the preceding nights, and sometimes, as at Richmond, +on the eve of the new year. For further information the reader is +referred to Brand's Popular Antiquities, vol. i. 247-8, Sir H. +Ellis's edit. 1842.] + + +To-night it is the New-year's night, to-morrow is the day, +And we are come for our right, and for our ray, +As we used to do in old King Henry's day. +Sing, fellows, sing, Hagman-heigh. + +If you go to the bacon-flick, cut me a good bit; +Cut, cut and low, beware of your maw; +Cut, cut and round, beware of your thumb, +That me and my merry men may have some, +Sing, fellows, sing, Hagman-heigh. + +If you go to the black-ark, bring me X mark; +Ten mark, ten pound, throw it down upon the ground, +That me and my merry men may have some. +Sing, fellows, sing, Hagman-heigh. + + + +Ballad: THE GREENSIDE WAKES SONG. + + + +[The wakes, feasts, or tides of the North of England, were +originally religious festivals in honour of the saints to whom the +parish churches were dedicated. But now-a-days, even in Catholic +Lancashire, all traces of their pristine character have departed, +and the hymns and prayers by which their observance was once +hallowed have given place to dancing and merry-making. At +Greenside, near Manchester, during the wakes, two persons, dressed +in a grotesque manner, the one a male, the other a female, appear +in the village on horseback, with spinning-wheels before them; and +the following is the dialogue, or song, which they sing on these +occasions.] + + +''Tis Greenside wakes, we've come to the town +To show you some sport of great renown; +And if my old wife will let me begin, +I'll show you how fast and how well I can spin. +Tread the wheel, tread the wheel, den, don, dell O.' + +'Thou brags of thyself, but I don't think it true, +For I will uphold thy faults are not a few; +For when thou hast done, and spun very hard, +Of this I'm well sure, thy work is ill marred. +Tread the wheel, tread the wheel, den, don, dell O.' + +'Thou'rt a saucy old jade, and pray hold thy tongue, +Or I shall be thumping thee ere it be long; +And if that I do, I shall make thee to rue, +For I can have many a one as good as you. +Tread the wheel, tread the wheel, dan, don, dell O.' + +'What is it to me who you can have? +I shall not be long ere I'm laid in my grave; +And when I am dead you may find if you can, +One that'll spin as hard as I've done. +Tread the wheel, tread the wheel, dan, don, dell O.' + +'Come, come, my dear wife, here endeth my song, +I hope it has pleased this numerous throng; +But if it has missed, you need not to fear, +We'll do our endeavour to please them next year. +Tread the wheel, tread the wheel, dan, don, dell O.' + + + +Ballad: THE SWEARING-IN SONG OR RHYME. + +As formerly sung or said at Highgate, in the county of Middlesex. + + + +[The proverb, 'He has been sworn at Highgate,' is more widely +circulated than understood. In its ordinary signification it is +applied to a 'knowing' fellow who is well acquainted with the 'good +things,' and always helps himself to the best; and it has its +origin in an old usage still kept up at Highgate, in Middlesex. +Grose, in his Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, London, +1785, says, - + + +A ridiculous custom formerly prevailed at the public-houses of +Highgate, to administer a ludicrous oath to all the men of the +middling rank who stopped there. The party was sworn on a pair of +horns fastened on a stick; the substance of the oath was never to +kiss the maid when he could kiss the mistress, never to drink small +beer when be could get strong, with many other injunctions of the +like kind to all of which was added a saving clause--Unless you +like it best! The person administering the oath was always to be +called father by the juror, and he in return was to style him son, +under the penalty of a bottle. + + +From this extract it is evident that in 1786 the custom was +ancient, and had somewhat fallen into desuetude. Hone's Year-Book +contains a very complete account of the ceremony, with full +particulars of the mode in which the 'swearing-in' was then +performed in the 'Fox under the Hill.' Hone does not throw any +light on the origin of the practice, nor does he seem to have been +aware of its comparative antiquity. He treated the ceremony as a +piece of modern foolery, got up by some landlord for 'the good of +the house,' and adopted from the same interested motive by others +of the tribe. A subsequent correspondent of Mr. Hone, however, +points out the antiquity of the custom, and shows that it could be +traced back long before the year 1782, when it was introduced into +a pantomime called Harlequin Teague; or, the Giant's Causeway, +which was performed at the Haymarket on Saturday, August 17, 1782. +One of the scenes was Highgate, where, in the 'parlour' of a public +house, the ceremony was performed. Mr. Hone's correspondent sends +a copy of the old initiation song, which varies considerably from +our version, supplied to us in 1851 by a very old man (an ostler) +at Highgate. The reciter said that the COPY OF VERSES was not +often used now, as there was no landlord who could sing, and +gentlemen preferred the speech. He said, moreover, 'that the +verses were not always alike--some said one way, and some another-- +some made them long, and some CUT 'EM SHORT.' + +Grose was in error when he supposed that the ceremony was confined +to the inferior classes, for even in his day such was not the case. +In subsequent times the oath has been frequently taken by people of +rank, and also by several persons of the highest literary and +political celebrity. An inspection of any one of the register- +books will show that the jurors have belonged to all sorts of +classes, and that amongst them the Harrovians have always made a +conspicuous figure. When the stage-coaches ceased to pass through +the village in consequence of the opening of railways, the custom +declined, and was kept up only at three houses, which were called +the 'original house,' the 'old original,' and the 'real old +original.' Two of the above houses have latterly ceased to hold +courts, and the custom is now confined to the 'Fox under the Hill,' +where the rite is celebrated with every attention to ancient forms +and costume, and for a fee which, in deference to modern notions of +economy, is only one shilling. + +Byron, in the first canto of Childe Harold, alludes to the custom +of Highgate:- + + +Some o'er thy Thamis row the ribboned fair, +Others along the safer turnpike fly; +Some Richmond-hill ascend, some wend to Wara +And many to the steep of Highgate hie. +Ask ye, Boeotian shades! the reason why? +'Tis to the worship of the solemn horn, +Grasped in the holy hand of mystery, +In whose dread name both men and maids {47} are sworn, +And consecrate the oath with draught, and dance till morn. + +Canto I, stanza 70.] + + +Enter LANDLORD, dressed in a black gown and bands, and wearing an +antique-fashioned wig, followed by the CLERK OF THE COURT, also in +appropriate costume, and carrying the registry-book and the horns. + +Landlord. Do you wish to be sworn at Highgate? +Candidate. I do, Father. +Clerk. Amen. + +The LANDLORD then sings, or says, as follows:- + +Silence! O, yes! you are my son! +Full to your old father turn, sir; +This is an oath you may take as you run, +So lay your hand thus on the horn, sir. + +Here the CANDIDATE places his right hand on the horn. + +You shall spend not with cheaters or cozeners your life, +Nor waste it on profligate beauty; +And when you are wedded be kind to your wife, +And true to all petticoat duty. + +The CANDIDATE says 'I will,' and kisses the horn in obedience to +the command of the CLERK, who exclaims in a loud and solemn tone, +'Kiss the horn, sir!' + +And while you thus solemnly swear to be kind, +And shield and protect from disaster, +This part of your oath you must bear it in mind, +That you, and not she, is the master. + +Clerk. 'Kiss the horn, sir!' + +You shall pledge no man first when a woman is near, +For neither 'tis proper nor right, sir; +Nor, unless you prefer it, drink small for strong beer, +Nor eat brown bread when you can get white, sir. + +Clerk. 'Kiss the horn, sir!' + +You shall never drink brandy when wine you can get, +Say when good port or sherry is handy; +Unless that your taste on spirit is set, +In which case--you MAY, sir, drink brandy! + +Clerk. 'Kiss the horn, sir!' + +To kiss with the maid when the mistress is kind, +Remember that you must be loth, sir; +But if the maid's fairest, your oath doesn't bind, - +Or you may, if you like it, kiss both, sir! + +Clerk. 'Kiss the horn, sir!' + +Should you ever return, take this oath here again, +Like a man of good sense, leal and true, sir; +And be sure to bring with you some more merry men, +That they on the horn may swear too, sir. + +Landlord. Now, sir, if you please, sign your name in that book, +and if you can't write, make your mark, and the clerk of the court +will attest it. + +Here one of the above requests is complied with. + +Landlord. You will please pay half-a-crown for court fees, and +what you please to the clerk. + +This necessary ceremony being gone through, the important business +terminates by the LANDLORD saying, 'God bless the King [or Queen] +and the lord of the manor;' to which the CLERK responds, 'Amen, +amen!' + +N.B. The court fees are always returned in wines, spirits, or +porter, of which the Landlord and Clerk are invited to partake. + + + +Ballad: FAIRLOP FAIR SONG. + + + +[The following song is sung at Fairlop fair, one of the gayest of +the numerous saturnalia kept by the good citizens of London. The +venerable oak has disappeared; but the song is nevertheless song, +and the curious custom of riding through the fair, seated in boats, +still continues to be observed.] + + +Come, come, my boys, with a hearty glee, +To Fairlop fair, bear chorus with me; +At Hainault forest is known very well, +This famous oak has long bore the bell. + +Cho. Let music sound as the boat goes round, +If we tumble on the ground, we'll be merry, I'll be bound; +We will booze it away, dull care we will defy, +And be happy on the first Friday in July. + +At Tainhall forest, Queen Anne she did ride, +And beheld the beautiful oak by her side, +And after viewing it from bottom to top, +She said that her court should be at Fairlop. + +It is eight fathom round, spreads an acre of ground, +They plastered it round to keep the tree sound. +So we'll booze it away, dull care we'll defy, +And be happy on the first Friday in July. + +About a century ago, as I have heard say, +This fair it was kept by one Daniel Day, +A hearty good fellow as ever could be, +His coffin was made of a limb of the tree. + +With black-strap and perry he made his friends merry, +All sorrow for to drown with brandy and sherry. +So we'll booze it away, dull care we'll defy, +And be happy on the first Friday in July. + +At Tainhall forest there stands a tree, +And it has performed a wonderful bounty, +It is surrounded by woods and plains, +The merry little warblers chant their strains. + +So we'll dance round the tree, and merry we will be, +Every year we'll agree the fair for to see; +And we'll booze it away, dull care we'll defy, +And be happy on the first Friday in July. + + + +Ballad: AS TOM WAS A-WALKING. AN ANCIENT CORNISH SONG. + + + +[This song, said to be translated from the Cornish, 'was taken +down,' says Mr. Sandys, 'from the recital of a modern Corypheus, or +leader of a parish choir,' who assigned to it a very remote, but +indefinite, antiquity.] + + +As Tom was a-walking one fine summer's morn, +When the dazies and goldcups the fields did adorn; +He met Cozen Mal, with a tub on her head, +Says Tom, 'Cozen Mal, you might speak if you we'd.' + +But Mal stamped along, and appeared to be shy, +And Tom singed out, 'Zounds! I'll knaw of thee why?' +So back he tore a'ter, in a terrible fuss, +And axed cozen Mal, 'What's the reason of thus?' + +'Tom Treloar,' cried out Mal, 'I'll nothing do wi' 'ee, +Go to Fanny Trembaa, she do knaw how I'm shy; +Tom, this here t'other daa, down the hill thee didst stap, +And dab'd a great doat fig {48} in Fan Trembaa's lap.' + +'As for Fanny Trembaa, I ne'er taalked wi' her twice, +And gived her a doat fig, they are so very nice; +So I'll tell thee, I went to the fear t'other day, +And the doat figs I boft, why I saved them away.' + +Says Mal, 'Tom Treloar, ef that be the caase, +May the Lord bless for ever that sweet pretty faace; +Ef thee'st give me thy doat figs thee'st boft in the fear, +I'll swear to thee now, thee shu'st marry me here.' + + + +Ballad: THE MILLER AND HIS SONS. + + + +[A miller, especially if he happen to be the owner of a soke-mill, +has always been deemed fair game for the village satirist. Of the +numerous songs written in ridicule of the calling of the 'rogues in +grain,' the following is one of the best and most popular: its +quaint humour will recommend it to our readers. For the tune, see +Popular Music.] + + +There was a crafty miller, and he +Had lusty sons, one, two, and three: +He called them all, and asked their will, +If that to them he left his mill. + +He called first to his eldest son, +Saying, 'My life is almost run; +If I to you this mill do make, +What toll do you intend to take?' + +'Father,' said he, 'my name is Jack; +Out of a bushel I'll take a peck, +From every bushel that I grind, +That I may a good living find.' + +'Thou art a fool!' the old man said, +'Thou hast not well learned thy trade; +This mill to thee I ne'er will give, +For by such toll no man can live.' + +He called for his middlemost son, +Saying, 'My life is almost run; +If I to you this mill do make, +What toll do you intend to take?' + +'Father,' says he, 'my name is Ralph; +Out of a bushel I'll take a half, +From every bushel that I grind, +That I may a good living find.' + +'Thou art a fool!' the old man said, +'Thou hast not well learned thy trade; +This mill to thee I ne'er will give, +For by such toll no man can live.' + +He called for his youngest son, +Saying, 'My life is almost run; +If I to you this mill do make, +What toll do you intend to take?' + +'Father,' said he, 'I'm your only boy, +For taking toll is all my joy! +Before I will a good living lack, +I'll take it all, and forswear the sack!' + +'Thou art my boy!' the old man said, +'For thou hast right well learned thy trade; +This mill to thee I give,' he cried, - +And then he turned up his toes and died. + + + +Ballad: JACK AND TOM. AN OULD BORDER DITTIE. (TRADITIONAL.) + + + +[The following song was taken down from recitation in 1847. Of its +history nothing is known; but we are strongly inclined to believe +that it may be assigned to the early part of the seventeenth +century, and that it relates to the visit of Prince Charles and +Buckingham, under the assumed names of Jack and Tom, to Spain, in +1623. Some curious references to the adventures of the Prince and +his companion, on their masquerading tour, will be found in +Halliwell's Letters of the Kings of England, vol. ii.] + +I'm a north countrie-man, in Redesdale born, +Where our land lies lea, and grows ne corn, - +And such two lads to my house never com, +As them two lads called Jack and Tom! + +Now, Jack and Tom, they're going to the sea; +I wish them both in good companie! +They're going to seek their fortunes ayont the wide sea, +Far, far away frae their oan countrie! + +They mounted their horses, and rode over the moor, +Till they came to a house, when they rapped at the door; +And out came Jockey, the hostler-man. +'D'ye brew ony ale? D'ye sell ony beer? +Or have ye ony lodgings for strangers here?' + +'Ne, we brew ne ale, nor we sell ne beer, +Nor we have ne lodgings for strangers here.' +So he bolted the door, and bade them begone, +For there was ne lodgings there for poor Jack and Tom. + +They mounted their horses, and rode over the plain; - +Dark was the night, and down fell the rain; +Till a twinkling light they happened to spy, +And a castle and a house they were close by. + +They rode up to the house, and they rapped at the door, +And out came Jockey, the hosteler. +'D'ye brew ony ale? D'ye sell ony beer? +Or have ye ony lodgings for strangers here?' + +'Yes, we have brewed ale this fifty lang year, +And we have got lodgings for strangers here.' +So the roast to the fire, and the pot hung on, +'Twas all to accommodate poor Jack and Tom. + +When supper was over, and all was SIDED DOWN, +The glasses of wine did go merrily roun'. +'Here is to thee, Jack, and here is to thee, +And all the bonny lasses in our countrie!' +'Here is to thee, Tom, and here is to thee, +And look they may LEUK for thee and me!' + +'Twas early next morning, before the break of day, +They mounted their horses, and so they rode away. +Poor Jack, he died upon a far foreign shore, +And Tom, he was never, never heard of more! + + + +Ballad: JOAN'S ALE WAS NEW. + + + +[Ours is the common version of this popular song; it varies +considerably from the one given by D'Urfey, in the Pills to purge +Melancholy. From the names of Nolly and Joan and the allusion to +ale, we are inclined to consider the song as a lampoon levelled at +Cromwell, and his wife, whom the Royalist party nick-named 'Joan.' +The Protector's acquaintances (depicted as low and vulgar +tradesmen) are here humorously represented paying him a +congratulatory visit on his change of fortune, and regaling +themselves with the 'Brewer's' ale. The song is mentioned in +Thackeray's Catalogue, under the title of Joan's Ale's New; which +may be regarded as circumstantial evidence in favour of our +hypothesis. The air is published in Popular Music, accompanying +three stanzas of a version copied from the Douce collection. The +first verse in Mr. Chappell's book runs as follows:- + + +There was a jovial tinker, +Who was a good ale drinker, +He never was a shrinker, +Believe me this is true; +And he came from the Weald of Kent, +When all his money was gone and spent, +Which made him look like a Jack a-lent. +And Joan's ale is new, my boys, +And Joan's ale is new.] + + +There were six jovial tradesmen, +And they all sat down to drinking, +For they were a jovial crew; +They sat themselves down to be merry; +And they called for a bottle of sherry, +You're welcome as the hills, says Nolly, +While Joan's ale is new, brave boys, +While Joan's ale is new. + +The first that came in was a soldier, +With his firelock over his shoulder, +Sure no one could be bolder, +And a long broad-sword he drew: +He swore he would fight for England's ground, +Before the nation should be run down; +He boldly drank their healths all round, +While Joan's ale was new. + +The next that came in was a hatter, +Sure no one could be blacker, +And he began to chatter, +Among the jovial crew: +He threw his hat upon the ground, +And swore every man should spend his pound, +And boldly drank their hearths all round, +While Joan's ale was new. + +The next that came in was a dyer, +And he sat himself down by the fire, +For it was his heart's desire +To drink with the jovial crew: +He told the landlord to his face, +The chimney-corner should be his place, +And there he'd sit and dye his face, +While Joan's ale was new. + +The next that came in was a tinker, +And he was no small beer drinker, +And he was no strong ale shrinker, +Among the jovial crew: +For his brass nails were made of metal, +And he swore he'd go and mend a kettle, +Good heart, how his hammer and nails did rattle, +When Joan's ale was new! + +The next that came in was a tailor, +With his bodkin, shears, and thimble, +He swore he would be nimble +Among the jovial crew: +They sat and they called for ale so stout, +Till the poor tailor was almost broke, +And was forced to go and pawn his coat, +While Joan's ale was new. + +The next that came in was a ragman, +With his rag-bag over his shoulder, +Sure no one could be bolder +Among the jovial crew. +They sat and called for pots and glasses, +Till they were all drunk as asses, +And burnt the old ragman's bag to ashes, +While Joan's ale was new. + + + +Ballad: GEORGE RIDLER'S OVEN. + + + +[This ancient Gloucestershire song has been sung at the annual +dinners of the Gloucestershire Society, from the earliest period of +the existence of that institution; and in 1776 there was an +Harmonic Society at Cirencester, which always opened its meetings +with George Ridler's Oven in full chorus. + +The substance of the following key to this very curious song is +furnished by Mr. H. Gingell, who extracts it from the Annual Report +of the Gloucestershire Society for 1835. The annual meeting of +this Society is held at Bristol in the month of August, when the +members dine, and a branch meeting, which was formerly held at the +Crown and Anchor in the Strand, is now annually held at the +Thatched House Tavern, St. James's. George Ridler's Oven is sung +at both meetings, and the late Duke of Beaufort used to lead off +the glee in capital style. The words have a secret meaning, well +known to the members of the Gloucestershire Society, which was +founded in 1657, three years before the Restoration of Charles II. +The Society consisted of Royalists, who combined together for the +purpose of restoring the Stuarts. The Cavalier party was supported +by all the old Roman Catholic families of the kingdom; and some of +the Dissenters, who were disgusted with Cromwell, occasionally lent +them a kind of passive aid. + +First Verse.--By 'George Ridler' is meant King Charles I. The +'oven' was the Cavalier party. The 'stwons' that 'built the oven,' +and that 'came out of the Bleakney quaar,' were the immediate +followers of the Marquis of Worcester, who held out long and +steadfastly for the Royal cause at Raglan Castle, which was not +surrendered till 1646, and was in fact the last stronghold retained +for the King. 'His head did grow above his hair,' is an allusion +to the crown, the head of the State, which the King wore 'above his +hair.' + +Second Verse.--This means that the King, 'before he died,' boasted +that notwithstanding his present adversity, the ancient +constitution of the kingdom was so good, and its vitality so great, +that it would surpass and outlive every other form of government. + +Third Verse.--'Dick the treble, Jack the mean, and George the +bass,' mean King, Lords, and Commons. The injunction to 'let every +man sing in his own place,' is a warning to each of the three +estates of the realm to preserve its proper position, and not to +encroach on each other's prerogative. + +Fourth Verse.--'Mine hostess's maid' is an allusion to the Queen, +who was a Roman Catholic, and her maid, the Church. The singer we +must suppose was one of the leaders of the party, and his 'dog' a +companion, or faithful official of the Society, and the song was +sung on occasions when the members met together socially; and thus, +as the Roman Catholics were Royalists, the allusion to the mutual +attachment between the 'maid' and 'my dog and I,' is plain and +consistent. + +Fifth Verse.--The 'dog' had a 'trick of visiting maids when they +were sick.' The meaning is, that when any of the members were in +distress or desponding, or likely to give up the Royal cause in +despair, the officials, or active members visited, counselled, and +assisted them. + +Sixth Verse.--The 'dog' was 'good to catch a hen,' a 'duck,' or a +'goose.'--That is, to enlist as members of the Society any who were +well affected to the Royal cause. + +Seventh Verse.--'The good ale tap' is an allusion, under cover of +the similarity in sound between the words ale and aisle, to the +Church, of which it was dangerous at the time to be an avowed +follower; and so the members were cautioned that indiscretion might +lead to their discovery and 'overthrow.' + +Eighth Verse.--The allusion here is to those unfaithful supporters +of the Royal cause, who 'welcomed' the members of the Society when +it appeared to be prospering, but 'parted' from them in adversity. + +Ninth Verse.--An expression of the singer's wish that if he should +die he may be buried with his faithful companion, as representing +the principles of the Society, under the good aisles of the church. + +The following text has been collated with a version published in +Notes and Queries, from the 'fragments of a MS. found in the +speech-house of Dean.' The tune is the same as that of the +Wassailers' Song, and is printed in Popular Music. Other ditties +appear to have been founded on this ancient piece. The fourth, +seventh, and ninth verses are in the old ditty called My Dog and I: +and the eighth verse appears in another old song. The air and +words bear some resemblance to Todlen Hame.] + + +The stwons that built George Ridler's oven, +And thauy keam vrom the Bleakney quaar, +And George he wur a jolly old mon, +And his yead it grow'd above his yare. + +One thing of George Ridler I must commend, +And that wur vor a notable thing; +He mead his brags avoore he died, +Wi' any dree brooders his zons zshould zing. + +There's Dick the treble, and John the meean, +(Let every mon zing in his auwn pleace,) +And George he wur the elder brother, +And therevoor he would zing the beass. + +Mine hostess's moid, (and her neaum 'twour Nell,) +A pretty wench, and I lov'd her well; +I lov'd her well, good reauzon why, +Because zshe loved my dog and I. + +My dog is good to catch a hen; +A dug or goose is vood for men; +And where good company I spy, +O thether gwoes my dog and I. + +My mwother told I, when I wur young, +If I did vollow the strong-beer pwoot, +That drenk would prov my awverdrow, +And meauk me wear a threadbare cwoat. + +My dog has gotten zitch a trick, +To visit moids when thauy be zick; +When thauy be zick and like to die, +O thether gwoes my dog and I. + +When I have dree zixpences under my thumb, +O then I be welcome wherever I come; +But when I have none, O, then I pass by, - +'Tis poverty pearts good companie. + +If I should die, as it may hap, +My greauve shall be under the good yeal tap; +In voulded yarms there wool us lie, +Cheek by jowl, my dog and I. + + + +Ballad: THE CARRION CROW. + + + +[This still popular song is quoted by Grose in his Olio, where it +is made the subject of a burlesque commentary, the covert political +allusions having evidently escaped the penetration of the +antiquary. The reader familiar with the annals of the Commonwealth +and the Restoration, will readily detect the leading points of the +allegory. The 'Carrion Crow' in the oak is Charles II., who is +represented as that bird of voracious appetite, because he deprived +the puritan clergy of their livings; perhaps, also, because he +ordered the bodies of the regicides to be exhumed--as Ainsworth +says in one of his ballads:- + +The carrion crow is a sexton bold, +He raketh the dead from out of the mould. + +The religion of the 'old sow,' whoever she may be, is clearly +pointed out by her little pigs praying for her soul. The 'tailor' +is not easily identified. It is possibly intended for some puritan +divine of the name of Taylor, who wrote and preached against both +prelacy and papacy, but with an especial hatred of the latter. In +the last verse he consoles himself by the reflection that, +notwithstanding the deprivations, his party will have enough +remaining from the voluntary contributions of their adherents. The +'cloak' which the tailor is engaged in cutting out, is the Genevan +gown, or cloak; the 'spoon' in which he desires his wife to bring +treacle, is apparently an allusion to the 'spatula' upon which the +wafer is placed in the administration of the Eucharist; and the +introduction of 'chitterlings and black-puddings' into the last +verse seems to refer to a passage in Rabelais, where the same +dainties are brought in to personify those who, in the matter of +fasting, are opposed to Romish practices. The song is found in +collections of the time of Charles II.] + + +The carrion crow he sat upon an oak, +And he spied an old tailor a cutting out a cloak. +Heigho! the carrion crow. + +The carrion crow he began for to rave, +And he called the tailor a lousy knave! +Heigho! the carrion crow. + +'Wife, go fetch me my arrow and my bow, +I'll have a shot at that carrion crow.' +Heigho! the carrion crow. + +The tailor he shot, and he missed his mark, +But he shot the old sow through the heart. +Heigho! the carrion crow. + +'Wife, go fetch me some treacle in a spoon, +For the old sow's in a terrible swoon!' +Heigho! the carrion crow. + +The old sow died, and the bells they did toll, +And the little pigs prayed for the old sow's soul! +Heigho! the carrion crow. + +'Never mind,' said the tailor, 'I don't care a flea, +There'll be still black-puddings, souse, and chitterlings for me.' +Heigho! the carrion crow. + + + +Ballad: THE LEATHERN BOTTEL. SOMERSETSHIRE VERSION. + + + +[In Chappell's Popular Music is a much longer version of The +Leathern Bottel. The following copy is the one sung at the present +time by the country-people in the county of Somerset. It has been +communicated to our pages by Mr. Sandys.] + + +God above, who rules all things, +Monks and abbots, and beggars and kings, +The ships that in the sea do swim, +The earth, and all that is therein; +Not forgetting the old cow's hide, +And everything else in the world beside: +And I wish his soul in heaven may dwell, +Who first invented this leathern bottel! + +Oh! what do you say to the glasses fine? +Oh! they shall have no praise of mine; +Suppose a gentleman sends his man +To fill them with liquor, as fast as he can, +The man he falls, in coming away, +And sheds the liquor so fine and gay; +But had it been in the leathern bottel, +And the stopper been in, 'twould all have been well! + +Oh! what do you say to the tankard fine? +Oh! it shall have no praise of mine; +Suppose a man and his wife fall out, - +And such things happen sometimes, no doubt, - +They pull and they haul; in the midst of the fray +They shed the liquor so fine and gay; +But had it been in the leathern bottel, +And the stopper been in, 'twould all have been well! + +Now, when this bottel it is worn out, +Out of its sides you may cut a clout; +This you may hang upon a pin, - +'Twill serve to put odd trifles in; +Ink and soap, and candle-ends, +For young beginners have need of such friends. +And I wish his soul in heaven may dwell, +Who first invented the leathern bottel! + + + +Ballad: THE FARMER'S OLD WIFE. A SUSSEX WHISTLING SONG. + + + +[This is a countryman's whistling song, and the only one of the +kind which we remember to have heard. It is very ancient, and a +great favourite. The farmer's wife has an adventure somewhat +resembling the hero's in the burlesque version of Don Giovanni. +The tune is Lilli burlero, and the song is sung as follows:- the +first line of each verse is given as a solo; then the tune is +continued by a chorus of whistlers, who whistle that portion of the +air which in Lilli burlero would be sung to the words, Lilli +burlero bullen a la. The songster then proceeds with the tune, and +sings the whole of the verse through, after which the strain is +resumed and concluded by the whistlers. The effect, when +accompanied by the strong whistles of a group of lusty countrymen, +is very striking, and cannot be adequately conveyed by description. +This song constitutes the 'traditionary verses' upon which Burns +founded his Carle of Killyburn Braes.] + + +There was an old farmer in Sussex did dwell, + +[Chorus of whistlers.] + +There was an old farmer in Sussex did dwell, +And he had a bad wife, as many knew well. + +[Chorus of whistlers.] + +Then Satan came to the old man at the plough, - +'One of your family I must have now. + +'It is not your eldest son that I crave, +But it is your old wife, and she I will have.' + +'O, welcome! good Satan, with all my heart, +I hope you and she will never more part.' + +Now Satan has got the old wife on his back, +And he lugged her along, like a pedlar's pack. + +He trudged away till they came to his hall-gate, +Says he, 'Here! take in an old Sussex chap's mate!' + +O! then she did kick the young imps about, - +Says one to the other, 'Let's try turn her out.' + +She spied thirteen imps all dancing in chains, +She up with her pattens, and beat out their brains. + +She knocked the old Satan against the wall, - +'Let's try turn her out, or she'll murder us all!' + +Now he's bundled her up on his back amain, +And to her old husband he took her again. + +'I have been a tormenter the whole of my life, +But I ne'er was tormenter till I met with your wife.' + + + +Ballad: OLD WICHET AND HIS WIFE. + + + +[This song still retains its popularity in the North of England, +and, when sung with humour, never fails to elicit roars of +laughter. A Scotch version may be found in Herd's Collection, +1769, and also in Cunningham's Songs of England and Scotland, +London, 1835. We cannot venture to give an opinion as to which is +the original; but the English set is of unquestionable antiquity. +Our copy was obtained from Yorkshire. It has been collated with +one printed at the Aldermary press, and preserved in the third +volume of the Roxburgh Collection. The tune is peculiar to the +song.] + + +O! I went into the stable, and there for to see, {49} +And there I saw three horses stand, by one, by two, and by three; +O! I called to my loving wife, and 'Anon, kind sir!' quoth she; +'O! what do these three horses here, without the leave of me?' + +'Why, you old fool! blind fool! can't you very well see, +These are three milking cows my mother sent to me?' +'Ods bobs! well done! milking cows with saddles on! +The like was never known!' +Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home! + +O! I went into the kitchen, and there for to see, +And there I saw three swords hang, by one, by two, quoth she; +O! I called to my loving wife, and 'Anon, kind sir!' +'O! what do these three swords do here, without the leave of me?' + +'Why, you old fool! blind fool! can't you very well see, +These are three roasting spits my mother sent to me?' +'Ods bobs! well done! roasting spits with scabbards on! +The like was never known!' +Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home! + +O! I went into the parlour, and there for to see, +And there I saw three cloaks hang, by one, by two, and by three; +O! I called to my loving wife, and 'Anon, kind sir!' quoth she; +'O! what do these three cloaks do here, without the leave of me?' + +'Why, you old fool! blind fool! can't you very well see, +These are three mantuas my mother sent to me?' +'Ods bobs! well done! mantuas with capes on! +The like was never known!' +Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home! + +O! I went into the pantry, and there for to see, +And there I saw three pair of boots, {50} by one, by two, and by +three; +O! I called to my loving wife, and 'Anon, kind sir!' quoth she; +'O! what do these three pair of boots here, without the leave of +me?' + +'Why, you old fool! blind fool! can't you very well see, +These are three pudding-bags my mother sent to me?' +'Ods bobs! well done! pudding-bags with spurs on! +The like was never known!' +Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home! + +O! I went into the dairy, and there for to see, +And there I saw three hats hang, by one, by two, and by three; +O! I called to my loving wife, and 'Anon, kind sir!' quoth she; +'Pray what do these three hats here, without the leave of me?' + +'Why, you old fool! blind fool! can't you very well see, +These are three skimming-dishes my mother sent to me?' +'Ods bobs! well done! skimming-dishes with hat-bands on! +The like was never known!' +Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home! + +O! I went into the chamber, and there for to see, +And there I saw three men in bed, by one, by two, and by three; +O! I called to my loving wife, and 'Anon, kind sir!' quoth she; +'O! what do these three men here, without the leave of me?' + +'Why, you old fool! blind fool! can't you very well see, +They are three milking-maids my mother sent to me?' +'Ods bobs! well done! milking-maids with beards on! +The like was never known!' +Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home! + + + +Ballad: THE JOLLY WAGGONER. + + + +[This country song can be traced back a century at least, but is, +no doubt, much older. It is very popular in the West of England. +The words are spirited and characteristic. We may, perhaps, refer +the song to the days of transition, when the waggon displaced the +packhorse.] + + +When first I went a-waggoning, a-waggoning did go, +I filled my parents' hearts full of sorrow, grief, and woe. {51} +And many are the hardships that I have since gone through. +And sing wo, my lads, sing wo! +Drive on my lads, I-ho! {52} +And who wouldn't lead the life of a jolly waggoner? + +It is a cold and stormy night, and I'm wet to the skin, +I will bear it with contentment till I get unto the inn. +And then I'll get a drinking with the landlord and his kin. +And sing, &c. + +Now summer it is coming,--what pleasure we shall see; +The small birds are a-singing on every green tree, +The blackbirds and the thrushes are a-whistling merrilie. +And sing, &c. + +Now Michaelmas is coming,--what pleasure we shall find; +It will make the gold to fly, my boys, like chaff before the wind; +And every lad shall take his lass, so loving and so kind. +And sing, &c. + + + +Ballad: THE YORKSHIRE HORSE-DEALER. + + + +[This ludicrous and genuine Yorkshire song, the production of some +unknown country minstrel, obtained considerable popularity a few +years ago from the admirable singing of Emery. The incidents +actually occurred at the close of the last century, and some of the +descendants of 'Tommy Towers' were resident at Clapham till within +a very recent period, and used to take great delight in relating +the laughable adventure of their progenitor. Abey Muggins is +understood to be a sobriquet for a then Clapham innkeeper. The +village of Clapham is in the west of Yorkshire, on the high road +between Skipton and Kendal.] + + +Bane {53} ta Claapam town-gate {54} lived an ond Yorkshire tike, +Who i' dealing i' horseflesh hed ne'er met his like; +'Twor his pride that i' aw the hard bargains he'd hit, +He'd bit a girt monny, but nivver bin bit. + +This ond Tommy Towers (bi that naam he wor knaan), +Hed an oud carrion tit that wor sheer skin an' baan; +Ta hev killed him for t' curs wad hev bin quite as well, +But 'twor Tommy opinion {55} he'd dee on himsel! + +Well! yan Abey Muggins, a neighborin cheat, +Thowt ta diddle ond Tommy wad be a girt treat; +Hee'd a horse, too, 'twor war than ond Tommy's, ye see, +Fort' neet afore that hee'd thowt proper ta dee! + +Thinks Abey, t' oud codger 'll nivver smoak t' trick, +I'll swop wi' him my poor deead horse for his wick, {56} +An' if Tommy I nobbut {57} can happen ta trap, +'Twill be a fine feather i' Aberram cap! + +Soa to Tommy he goas, an' the question he pops: +'Betwin thy horse and mine, prithee, Tommy, what swops? +What wilt gi' me ta boot? for mine's t'better horse still!' +'Nout,' says Tommy, 'I'll swop ivven hands, an' ye will.' + +Abey preaached a lang time about summat ta boot, +Insistin' that his war the liveliest brute; +But Tommy stuck fast where he first had begun, +Till Abey shook hands, and sed, 'Well, Tommy, done! + +'O! Tommy,' sed Abey, 'I'ze sorry for thee, +I thowt thou'd a hadden mair white i' thy 'ee; +Good luck's wi' thy bargin, for my horse is deead.' +'Hey!' says Tommy, 'my lad, soa is min, an it's fleead?' + +Soa Tommy got t' better of t' bargin, a vast, +An' cam off wi' a Yorkshireman's triumph at last; +For thof 'twixt deead horses there's not mitch to choose, +Yet Tommy war richer by t' hide an' fower shooes. + + + +Ballad: THE KING AND THE COUNTRYMAN. + + + +[This popular favourite is a mere abridgment and alteration of a +poem preserved in the Roxburgh Collection, called The King and +Northern Man, shewing how a poor Northumberland man (tenant to the +King) being wronged by a lawyer (his neighbour) went to the King +himself to make known his grievance. To the tune of Slut. Printed +by and for Alex. Melbourne, at the Stationer's Arms in Green Arbour +Court, in the Little Old Baily. The Percy Society printed The King +and Northern Man from an edition published in 1640. There is also +a copy preserved in the Bagford Collection, which is one of the +imprints of W. Onley. The edition of 1640 has the initials of +Martin Parker at the end, but, as Mr. Collier observes, 'There is +little doubt that the story is much older than 1640.' See preface +to Percy Society's Edition.] + + +There was an old chap in the west country, +A flaw in the lease the lawyers had found, +'Twas all about felling of five oak trees, +And building a house upon his own ground. +Right too looral, looral, looral--right too looral la! + +Now, this old chap to Lunnun would go, +To tell the king a part of his woe, +Likewise to tell him a part of his grief, +In hopes the king would give him relief. + +Now, when this old chap to Lunnun had come, +He found the king to Windsor had gone; +But if he'd known he'd not been at home, +He danged his buttons if ever he'd come. + +Now, when this old chap to Windsor did stump, +The gates were barred, and all secure, +But he knocked and thumped with his oaken clump, +There's room within for I to be sure. + +But when he got there, how he did stare, +To see the yeomen strutting about; +He scratched his head, and rubbed down his hair, +In the ear of a noble he gave a great shout: + +'Pray, Mr. Noble, show I the King; +Is that the King that I see there? +I seed an old chap at Bartlemy fair +Look more like a king than that chap there. + +'Well, Mr. King, pray how d'ye do? +I gotten for you a bit of a job, +Which if you'll be so kind as to do, +I gotten a summat for you in my fob.' + +The king he took the lease in hand, +To sign it, too, he was likewise willing; +And the old chap to make a little amends, +He lugg'd out his bag, and gave him a shilling. + +The king, to carry on the joke, +Ordered ten pounds to be paid down; +The farmer he stared, but nothing spoke, +And stared again, and he scratched his crown. + +The farmer he stared to see so much money, +And to take it up he was likewise willing; +But if he'd a known King had got so much money, +He danged his wig if he'd gien him that shilling! + + + +Ballad: JONE O' GREENFIELD'S RAMBLE. + + + +[The county of Lancaster has always been famed for its admirable +patois songs; but they are in general the productions of modern +authors, and consequently, however popular they may be, are not +within the scope of the present work. In the following humorous +production, however, we have a composition of the last century. It +is the oldest and most popular Lancashire song we have been able to +procure; and, unlike most pieces of its class, it is entirely free +from grossness and vulgarity.] + + +Says Jone to his wife, on a hot summer's day, +'I'm resolved i' Grinfilt no lunger to stay; +For I'll go to Owdham os fast os I can, +So fare thee weel, Grinfilt, un fare thee weel, Nan; +A soger I'll be, un brave Owdham I'll see, +Un I'll ha'e a battle wi' th' French.' + +'Dear Jone,' then said Nan, un hoo bitterly cried, +Wilt be one o' th' foote, or tha meons to ride?' +'Odsounds! wench, I'll ride oather ass or a mule, +Ere I'll kewer i' Grinfilt os black as te dule, +Booath clemmink {58} un starvink, un never a fardink, +Ecod! it would drive ony mon mad. + +'Aye, Jone, sin' wi' coom i' Grinfilt for t' dwell, +We'n had mony a bare meal, I con vara weel tell.' +'Bare meal! ecod! aye, that I vara weel know, +There's bin two days this wick ot we'n had nowt at o: +I'm vara near sided, afore I'll abide it, +I'll feight oather Spanish or French.' + +Then says my Aunt Marget, 'Ah! Jone, thee'rt so hot, +I'd ne'er go to Owdham, boh i' Englond I'd stop.' +'It matters nowt, Madge, for to Owdham I'll go, +I'll naw clam to deeoth, boh sumbry shalt know: +Furst Frenchman I find, I'll tell him meh mind, +Un if he'll naw feight, he shall run.' + +Then down th' broo I coom, for we livent at top, +I thowt I'd reach Owdharn ere ever I'd stop; +Ecod! heaw they stared when I getten to th' Mumps, +Meh owd hat i' my hond, un meh clogs full o'stumps; +Boh I soon towd um, I'r gooink to Owdham, +Un I'd ha'e battle wi' th' French. + +I kept eendway thro' th' lone, un to Owdham I went, +I ask'd a recruit if te'd made up their keawnt? +'No, no, honest lad' (for he tawked like a king), +'Go wi' meh thro' the street, un thee I will bring +Where, if theaw'rt willink, theaw may ha'e a shillink.' +Ecod! I thowt this wur rare news. + +He browt me to th' pleck where te measurn their height, +Un if they bin height, there's nowt said about weight; +I retched me, un stretched me, un never did flinch, +Says th' mon, 'I believe theaw 'rt meh lad to an inch.' +I thowt this'll do, I'st ha'e guineas enow, +Ecod! Owdham, brave Owdham for me. + +So fare thee weel, Grinfilt, a soger I'm made, +I'n getten new shoon, un a rare cockade; +I'll feight for Owd Englond os hard os I con, +Oather French, Dutch, or Spanish, to me it's o one, +I'll make 'em to stare like a new-started hare, +Un I'll tell 'em fro' Owdham I coom. + + + +Ballad: THORNEHAGH-MOOR WOODS. A CELEBRATED NOTTINGHAMSHIRE +POACHER'S SONG. + + + +[Nottinghamshire was, in the olden day, famous in song for the +achievements of Robin Hood and his merry men. In our times the +reckless daring of the heroes of the 'greenwood tree' has descended +to the poachers of the county, who have also found poets to +proclaim and exult over THEIR lawless exploits; and in Thornehagh- +Moor Woods we have a specimen of one of these rude, but mischievous +and exciting lyrics. The air is beautiful, and of a lively +character; and will be found in Popular Music. There is it +prevalent idea that the song is not the production of an ordinary +ballad-writer, but was written about the middle of the last century +by a gentleman of rank and education, who, detesting the English +game-laws, adopted a too successful mode of inspiring the peasantry +with a love of poaching. The song finds locality in the village of +Thornehagh, in the hundred of Newark. The common, or Moor-fields, +was inclosed about 1797, and is now no longer called by the ancient +designation. It contains eight hundred acres. The manor of +Thornehagh is the property of the ancient family of Nevile, who +have a residence on the estate.] + + +In Thornehagh-Moor woods, in Nottinghamshire, +Fol de rol, la re, right fol laddie, dee; +In Robin Hood's bold Nottinghamshire, +Fol de rol, la re da; + +Three keepers' houses stood three-square, +And about a mile from each other they were; - +Their orders were to look after the deer. +Fol de rol, la re da. + +I went out with my dogs one night, - +The moon shone clear, and the stars gave light; +Over hedges and ditches, and steyls +With my two dogs close at my heels, +To catch a fine buck in Thornehagh-Moor fields. + +Oh! that night we had bad luck, +One of my very best dogs was stuck; +He came to me both breeding and lame, - +Right sorry was I to see the same, - +He was not able to follow the game. + +I searched his wounds, and found them slight, +Some keeper has done this out of spite; +But I'll take my pike-staff,--that's the plan! +I'll range the woods till I find the man, +And I'll tan his hide right well,--if I can! + +I ranged the woods and groves all night, +I ranged the woods till it proved daylight; +The very first thing that then I found, +Was a good fat buck that lay dead on the ground; +I knew my dogs gave him his death-wound. + +I hired a butcher to skin the game, +Likewise another to sell the same; +The very first buck he offered for sale, +Was to an old [hag] that sold bad ale, +And she sent us three poor lads to gaol. + +The quarter sessions we soon espied, +At which we all were for to be tried; +The Chairman laughed the matter to scorn, +He said the old woman was all forsworn, +And unto pieces she ought to be torn. + +The sessions are over, and we are clear! +The sessions are over, and we sit here, +Singing fol de rol, la re da! +The very best game I ever did see, +Is a buck or a deer, but a deer for me! +In Thornehagh-Moor woods this night we'll be! +Fol de rol, la re da! + + + +Ballad: THE LINCOLNSHIRE POACHER. + + + +[This very old ditty has been transformed into the dialects of +Somersetshire, Northamptonshire, and Leicestershire; but it +properly belongs to Lincolnshire. Nor is this the only liberty +that his been taken with it. The original tune is that of a +Lancashire air, well known as The Manchester Angel; but a florid +modern tune has been substituted. The Lincolnshire Poacher was a +favourite ditty with George IV., and it is said that he often had +it sung for his amusement by a band of Berkshire ploughmen. He +also commanded it to be sung at his harvest-homes, but we believe +it was always on such occasions sung to the 'playhouse tune,' and +not to the genuine music. It is often very difficult to trace the +locality of countrymen's songs, in consequence of the licence +adopted by printers of changing the names of places to suit their +own neighbourhoods; but there is no such difficulty about The +Lincolnshire Poacher. The oldest copy we have seen, printed at +York about 1776, reads 'Lincolnshire,' and it is only in very +modern copies that the venue is removed to other counties. In the +Somersetshire version the local vernacular is skilfully substituted +for that of the original; but the deception may, nevertheless, be +very easily detected.] + + +When I was bound apprentice, in famous Lincolnsheer, +Full well I served my master for more than seven year, +Till I took up with poaching, as you shall quickly hear:- +Oh! 'tis my delight of a shiny night, in the season of the year. + +As me and my comrades were setting of a snare, +'Twas then we seed the gamekeeper--for him we did not care, +For we can wrestle and fight, my boys, and jump o'er everywhere:- +Oh! 'tis my delight of a shiny night, in the season of the year. + +As me and my comrades were setting four or five, +And taking on him up again, we caught the hare alive; +We caught the hare alive, my boys, and through the woods did +steer:- +Oh! 'tis my delight of a shiny night, in the season of the year. + +Bad luck to every magistrate that lives in Lincolnsheer; {59} +Success to every poacher that wants to sell a hare; +Bad luck to every gamekeeper that will not sell his deer:- +Oh! 'tis my delight of a shiny night, in the season of the year. + + + +Ballad: SOMERSETSHIRE HUNTING SONG. + + + +[This following song, which is very popular with the peasantry of +Somersetshire, is given as a curious specimen of the dialect still +spoken in some parts of that county. Though the song is a genuine +peasant's ditty, it is heard in other circles, and frequently +roared out at hunting dinners. It is here reprinted from a copy +communicated by Mr. Sandys.] + + +There's no pleasures can compare +Wi' the hunting o' the hare, +In the morning, in the morning, +In fine and pleasant weather. + +Cho. With our hosses and our hounds, +We will scamps it o'er the grounds, +And sing traro, huzza! +And sing traro, huzza! +And sing traro, brave boys, we will foller. + +And when poor puss arise, +Then away from us she flies; +And we'll gives her, boys, we'll gives her, +One thundering and loud holler! +Cho. With our hosses, &c. + +And when poor puss is killed, +We'll retires from the field; +And we'll count boys, and we'll count +On the same good ren to-morrer. +Cho. With our bosses and our hounds, &c. + + + +Ballad: THE TROTTING HORSE. + + + +[The common copies of this old highwayman's song are very corrupt. +We are indebted for the following version, which contains several +emendations, to Mr. W. H. Ainsworth. The song, which may probably +be referred to the age of Charles II., is a spirited specimen of +its class.] + + +I can sport as fine a trotting horse as any swell in town, +To trot you fourteen miles an hour, I'll bet you fifty crown; +He is such a one to bend his knees, and tuck his haunches in, +And throw the dust in people's face, and think it not a sin. +For to ride away, trot away, +Ri, fa lar, la, &c. + +He has an eye like any hawk, a neck like any swan, +A foot light as the stag's, the while his back is scarce a span; +Kind Nature hath so formed him, he is everything that's good, - +Aye! everything a man could wish, in bottom, bone, and blood. +For to ride away, &c. + +If you drop therein, he'll nod his head, and boldly walk away, +While others kick and bounce about, to him it's only play; +There never was a finer horse e'er went on English ground, +He is rising six years old, and is all over right and sound. +For to ride away, &c. + +If any frisk or milling match should call me out of town, +I can pass the blades with white cockades, their whiskers hanging +down; +With large jack-towels round their necks, they think they're first +and fast, +But, with their gapers open wide, they find that they are last. +Whilst I ride away, &c. + +If threescore miles I am from home, I darkness never mind, +My friend is gone, and I am left, with pipe and pot behind; +Up comes some saucy kiddy, a scampsman on the hot, +But ere he pulls the trigger I am off just like a shot. +For I ride away, &c. + +If Fortune e'er should fickle be, and wish to have again +That which she so freely gave, I'd give it without pain; +I would part with it most freely, and without the least remorse, +Only grant to me what God hath gave, my mistress and my horse! +That I may ride away, &c. + + + +Ballad: THE SEEDS OF LOVE. + + + +[This very curious old song is not only a favourite with our +peasantry, but, in consequence of having been introduced into the +modern dramatic entertainment of The Loan of a Lover, has obtained +popularity in higher circles. Its sweetly plaintive tune will be +found in Popular Music. The words are quaint, but by no means +wanting in beauty; they are, no doubt, corrupted, as we have +derived them from common broadsides, the only form in which we have +been able to meet with them. The author of the song was Mrs. +Fleetwood Habergham, of Habergham, in the county of Lancaster. +'Ruined by the extravagance, and disgraced by the vices of her +husband, she soothed her sorrows,' says Dr. Whitaker, 'by some +stanzas yet remembered among the old people of her neighbourhood.'- +-History of Whalley. Mrs. Habergham died in 1703, and was buried +at Padiham.] + + +I sowed the seeds of love, it was all in the spring, +In April, May, and June, likewise, when small birds they do sing; +My garden's well planted with flowers everywhere, +Yet I had not the liberty to choose for myself the flower that I +loved so dear. + +My gardener he stood by, I asked him to choose for me, +He chose me the violet, the lily and pink, but those I refused all +three; +The violet I forsook, because it fades so soon, +The lily and the pink I did o'erlook, and I vowed I'd stay till +June. + +In June there's a red rose-bud, and that's the flower for me! +But often have I plucked at the red rose-bud till I gained the +willow-tree; +The willow-tree will twist, and the willow-tree will twice, - +O! I wish I was in the dear youth's arms that once had the heart of +mine. + +My gardener he stood by, he told me to take great care, +For in the middle of a red rose-bud there grows a sharp thorn +there; +I told him I'd take no care till I did feel the smart, +And often I plucked at the red rose-bud till I pierced it to the +heart. + +I'll make me a posy of hyssop,--no other I can touch, - +That all the world may plainly see I love one flower too much; +My garden is run wild! where shall I plant anew - +For my bed, that once was covered with thyme, is all overrun with +rue? {60} + + + +Ballad: THE GARDEN-GATE. + + + +[One of our most pleasing rural ditties. The air is very +beautiful. We first heard it sung in Malhamdale, Yorkshire, by +Willy Bolton, an old Dales'-minstrel, who accompanied himself on +the union-pipes. {61}] + + +The day was spent, the moon shone bright, +The village clock struck eight; +Young Mary hastened, with delight, +Unto the garden-gate: +But what was there that made her sad? - +The gate was there, but not the lad, +Which made poor Mary say and sigh, +'Was ever poor girl so sad as I?' + +She traced the garden here and there, +The village clock struck nine; +Which made poor Mary sigh, and say, +'You shan't, you shan't be mine! +You promised to meet at the gate at eight, +You ne'er shall keep me, nor make me wait, +For I'll let all such creatures see, +They ne'er shall make a fool of me!' + +She traced the garden here and there, +The village clock struck ten; +Young William caught her in his arms, +No more to part again: +For he'd been to buy the ring that day, +And O! he had been a long, long way; - +Then, how could Mary cruel prove, +To banish the lad she so dearly did love? + +Up with the morning sun they rose, +To church they went away, +And all the village joyful were, +Upon their wedding-day: +Now in a cot, by a river side, +William and Mary both reside; +And she blesses the night that she did wait +For her absent swain, at the garden-gate. + + + +Ballad: THE NEW-MOWN HAY. + + + +[This song is a village-version of an incident which occurred in +the Cecil family. The same English adventure has, strangely +enough, been made the subject of one of the most romantic of +Moore's Irish Melodies, viz., You remember Helen, the hamlet's +pride.] + + +As I walked forth one summer's morn, +Hard by a river's side, +Where yellow cowslips did adorn +The blushing field with pride; +I spied a damsel on the grass, +More blooming than the may; +Her looks the Queen of Love surpassed, +Among the new-mown hay. + +I said, 'Good morning, pretty maid, +How came you here so soon?' +'To keep my father's sheep,' she said, +'The thing that must be done: +While they are feeding 'mong the dew, +To pass the time away, +I sit me down to knit or sew, +Among the new-mown hay.' + +Delighted with her simple tale, +I sat down by her side; +With vows of love I did prevail +On her to be my bride: +In strains of simple melody, +She sung a rural lay; +The little lambs stood listening by, +Among the new-mown hay. + +Then to the church they went with speed, +And Hymen joined them there; +No more her ewes and lambs to feed, +For she's a lady fair: +A lord he was that married her, +To town they came straightway: +She may bless the day he spied her there, +Among the new-mown hay. + + + +Ballad: THE PRAISE OF A DAIRY. + + + +[This excellent old country song, which can be traced to 1687, is +sung to the air of Packington's Pound, for the history of which see +Popular Music.] + + +In praise of a dairy I purpose to sing, +But all things in order, first, God save the King! {62} +And the Queen, I may say, +That every May-day, +Has many fair dairy-maids all fine and gay. +Assist me, fair damsels, to finish my theme, +Inspiring my fancy with strawberry cream. + +The first of fair dairy-maids, if you'll believe, +Was Adam's own wife, our great grandmother Eve, +Who oft milked a cow, +As well she knew how. +Though butter was not then as cheap as 'tis now, +She hoarded no butter nor cheese on her shelves, +For butter and cheese in those days made themselves. + +In that age or time there was no horrid money, +Yet the children of Israel had both milk and honey; +No Queen you could see, +Of the highest degree, +But would milk the brown cow with the meanest she. +Their lambs gave them clothing, their cows gave them meat, +And in plenty and peace all their joys wore complete. + +Amongst the rare virtues that milk does produce, +For a thousand of dainties it's daily in use: +Now a pudding I'll tell 'ee, +And so can maid Nelly, +Must have from good milk both the cream and the jelly: +For a dainty fine pudding, without cream or milk, +Is a citizen's wife, without satin or silk. + +In the virtues of milk there is more to be mustered: +O! the charming delights both of cheesecake and custard! +If to wakes {63} you resort, +You can have no sport, +Unless you give custards and cheesecake too for't: +And what's the jack-pudding that makes us to laugh, +Unless he hath got a great custard to quaff? + +Both pancake and fritter of milk have good store, +But a Devonshire white-pot must needs have much more; +Of no brew {64} you can think, +Though you study and wink, +From the lusty sack posset to poor posset drink, +But milk's the ingredient, though wine's {65} ne'er the worse, +For 'tis wine makes the man, though 'tis milk makes the nurse. + + + +Ballad: THE MILK-MAID'S LIFE. + + + +[Of this popular country song there are a variety of versions. The +following, which is the most ancient, is transcribed from a black- +letter broadside in the Roxburgh Collection, entitled The Milke- +maid's Life; or, a pretty new ditty composed and penned, the praise +of the Milking-pail to defend. To a curious new tune called the +Milke-maid's Dump. It is subscribed with the initials M. P.; +probably those of Martin Parker.] + + +You rural goddesses, +That woods and fields possess, +Assist me with your skill, that may direct my quill, +More jocundly to express, +The mirth and delight, both morning and night, +On mountain or in dale, +Of them who choose this trade to use, +And, through cold dews, do never refuse +To carry the milking-pail. + +The bravest lasses gay, +Live not so merry as they; +In honest civil sort they make each other sport, +As they trudge on their way; +Come fair or foul weather, they're fearful of neither, +Their courages never quail. +In wet and dry, though winds be high, +And dark's the sky, they ne'er deny +To carry the milking-pail. + +Their hearts are free from care, +They never will despair; +Whatever them befal, they bravely bear out all, +And fortune's frowns outdare. +They pleasantly sing to welcome the spring, +'Gainst heaven they never rail; +If grass well grow, their thanks they show, +And, frost or snow, they merrily go +Along with the milking-pail: + +Base idleness they do scorn, +They rise very early i' th' morn, +And walk into the field, where pretty birds do yield +Brave music on every thorn. +The linnet and thrush do sing on each bush, +And the dulcet nightingale +Her note doth strain, by jocund vein, +To entertain that worthy train, +Which carry the milking-pail. + +Their labour doth health preserve, +No doctor's rules they observe, +While others too nice in taking their advice, +Look always as though they would starve. +Their meat is digested, they ne'er are molested, +No sickness doth them assail; +Their time is spent in merriment, +While limbs are lent, they are content, +To carry the milking-pail. + +Upon the first of May, +With garlands, fresh and gay, +With mirth and music sweet, for such a season meet, +They pass the time away. +They dance away sorrow, and all the day thorough +Their legs do never fail, +For they nimbly their feet do ply, +And bravely try the victory, +In honour o' the milking-pail. + +If any think that I +Do practise flattery, +In seeking thus to raise the merry milkmaids' praise, +I'll to them thus reply:- +It is their desert inviteth my art, +To study this pleasant tale; +In their defence, whose innocence, +And providence, gets honest pence +Out of the milking-pail. + + + +Ballad: THE MILKING-PAIL. + + + +[The following is another version of the preceding ditty, and is +the one most commonly sung.] + + +Ye nymphs and sylvan gods, +That love green fields and woods, +When spring newly-born herself does adorn, +With flowers and blooming buds: +Come sing in the praise, while flocks do graze, +On yonder pleasant vale, +Of those that choose to milk their ewes, +And in cold dews, with clouted shoes, +To carry the milking-pail. + +You goddess of the morn, +With blushes you adorn, +And take the fresh air, whilst linnets prepare +A concert on each green thorn; +The blackbird and thrush on every bush, +And the charming nightingale, +In merry vein, their throats do strain +To entertain, the jolly train +Of those of the milking-pail. + +When cold bleak winds do roar, +And flowers will spring no more, +The fields that were seen so pleasant and green, +With winter all candied o'er, +See now the town lass, with her white face, +And her lips so deadly pale; +But it is not so, with those that go +Through frost and snow, with cheeks that glow, +And carry the milking-pail. + +The country lad is free +From fears and jealousy, +Whilst upon the green he oft is seen, +With his lass upon his knee. +With kisses most sweet he doth her so treat, +And swears her charms won't fail; +But the London lass, in every place, +With brazen face, despises the grace +Of those of the milking-pail. + + + +Ballad: THE SUMMER'S MORNING. + + + +[This is a very old ditty, and a favourite with the peasantry in +every part of England; but more particularly in the mining +districts of the North. The tune is pleasing, but uncommon. R. W. +Dixon, Esq., of Seaton-Carew, Durham, by whom the song was +communicated to his brother for publication, says, 'I have written +down the above, verbatim, as generally sung. It will be seen that +the last lines of each verse are not of equal length. The singer, +however, makes all right and smooth! The words underlined in each +verse are sung five times, thus:- They ad-van-ced, they ad-van-ced, +they ad-van-ced, they ad-van-ced, they ad-van-ced me some money,-- +ten guineas and a crown. The last line is thus sung:- We'll be +married, (as the word is usually pronounced), We'll be married, +we'll be married, we'll be married, we'll be married, we'll be mar- +ri-ed when I return again.' The tune is given in Popular Music. +Since this song appeared in the volume issued by the Percy Society, +we have met with a copy printed at Devonport. The readings are in +general not so good; but in one or two instances they are +apparently more ancient, and are, consequently, here adopted. The +Devonport copy contains two verses, not preserved in our +traditional version. These we have incorporated in our present +text, in which they form the third and last stanzas.] + + +It was one summer's morning, as I went o'er the moss, +I had no thought of 'listing, till the soldiers did me cross; +They kindly did invite me to a flowing bowl, and down, +THEY ADVANCED me some money,--ten guineas and a crown. + +'It's true my love has listed, he wears a white cockade, +He is a handsome tall young man, besides a roving blade; +He is a handsome young man, and he's gone to serve the king, +OH! MY VERY heart is breaking for the loss of him. + +'My love is tall and handsome, and comely for to see, +And by a sad misfortune a soldier now is he; +I hope the man that listed him may not prosper night nor day, +FOR I WISH THAT the Hollanders may sink him in the sea. + +'Oh! may he never prosper, oh! may he never thrive, +Nor anything he takes in hand so long as he's alive; +May the very grass he treads upon the ground refuse to grow, +SINCE HE'S BEEN the only cause of my sorrow, grief, and woe!' + +Then he pulled out a handkerchief to wipe her flowing eyes, - +'Leave off those lamentations, likewise those mournful cries; +Leave of your grief and sorrow, while I march o'er the plain, +WE'LL BE MARRIED when I return again.' + +'O now my love has listed, and I for him will rove, +I'll write his name on every tree that grows in yonder grove, +Where the huntsman he does hollow, and the hounds do sweetly cry, +TO REMIND ME of my ploughboy until the day I die.' + + + +Ballad: OLD ADAM. + + + +[We have had considerable trouble in procuring a copy of this old +song, which used, in former days, to be very popular with aged +people resident in the North of England. It has been long out of +print, and handed down traditionally. By the kindness, however, of +Mr. S. Swindells, printer, Manchester, we have been favoured with +an ancient printed copy, which Mr. Swindells observes he had great +difficulty in obtaining. Some improvements have been made in the +present edition from the recital of Mr. Effingham Wilson, who was +familiar with the song in his youth.] + + +Both sexes give ear to my fancy, +While in praise of dear woman I sing; +Confined not to Moll, Sue, or Nancy, +But mates from a beggar to king. + +When old Adam first was created, +And lord of the universe crowned, +His happiness was not completed, +Until that an helpmate was found. + +He'd all things in food that were wanting +To keep and support him through life; +He'd horses and foxes for hunting, +Which some men love better than wife. + +He'd a garden so planted by nature, +Man cannot produce in his life; +But yet the all-wise great Creator +Still saw that he wanted a wife. + +Then Adam he laid in a slumber, +And there he lost part of his side; +And when he awoke, with a wonder, +Beheld his most beautiful bride! + +In transport he gazed upon her, +His happiness now was complete! +He praised his bountiful donor, +Who thus had bestowed him a mate. + +She was not took out of his head, sir, +To reign and triumph over man; +Nor was she took out of his feet, sir, +By man to be trampled upon. + +But she was took out of his side, sir, +His equal and partner to be; +But as they're united in one, sir, +The man is the top of the tree. + +Then let not the fair be despised +By man, as she's part of himself; +For woman by Adam was prized +More than the whole globe full of wealth. + +Man without a woman's a beggar, +Suppose the whole world he possessed; +And the beggar that's got a good woman, +With more than the world he is blest. + + + +Ballad: TOBACCO. + + + +[This song is a mere adaptation of Smoking Spiritualized; see ante, +p. 39. The earliest copy of the abridgment we have been able to +meet with, is published in D'Urfey's Pills to purge Melancholy, +1719; but whether we are indebted for it to the author of the +original poem, or to 'that bright genius, Tom D'Urfey,' as Burns +calls him, we are not able to determine. The song has always been +popular. The tune is in Popular Music.] + + +Tobacco's but an Indian weed, +Grows green in the morn, cut down at eve; +It shows our decay, +We are but clay; +Think of this when you smoke tobacco! + +The pipe that is so lily white, +Wherein so many take delight, +It's broken with a touch, - +Man's life is such; +Think of this when you take tobacco! + +The pipe that is so foul within, +It shows man's soul is stained with sin; +It doth require +To be purred with fire; +Think of this when you smoke tobacco! + +The dust that from the pipe doth fall, +It shows we are nothing but dust at all; +For we came from the dust, +And return we must; +Think of this when you smoke tobacco! + +The ashes that are left behind, +Do serve to put us all in mind +That unto dust +Return we must; +Think of this when you take tobacco! + +The smoke that does so high ascend, +Shows that man's life must have an end; +The vapour's gone, - +Man's life is done; +Think of this when you take tobacco! + + + +Ballad: THE SPANISH LADIES. + + + +[This song is ancient, but we have no means of ascertaining at what +period it was written. Captain Marryat, in his novel of Poor Jack, +introduces it, and says it is OLD. It is a general favourite. The +air is plaintive, and in the minor key. See Popular Music.] + + +Farewell, and adieu to you Spanish ladies, +Farewell, and adieu to you ladies of Spain! +For we've received orders for to sail for old England, +But we hope in a short time to see you again. + +We'll rant and we'll roar {66} like true British heroes, +We'll rant and we'll roar across the salt seas, +Until we strike soundings in the channel of old England; +From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues. + +Then we hove our ship to, with the wind at sou'-west, boys, +We hove our ship to, for to strike soundings clear; +We got soundings in ninety-five fathom, and boldly +Up the channel of old England our course we did steer. + +The first land we made it was called the Deadman, +Next, Ram'shead off Plymouth, Start, Portland, and Wight; +We passed by Beachy, by Fairleigh, and Dungeness, +And hove our ship to, off the South Foreland light. + +Then a signal was made for the grand fleet to anchor +All in the Downs, that night for to sleep; +Then stand by your stoppers, let go your shank-painters, +Haul all your clew-garnets, stick out tacks and sheets. + +So let every man toss off a full bumper, +Let every man toss off his full bowls; +We'll drink and be jolly, and drown melancholy, +So here's a good health to all true-hearted souls! + + + +Ballad: HARRY THE TAILOR. (TRADITIONAL.) + + + +[The following song was taken down some years ago from the +recitation of a country curate, who said he had learned it from a +very old inhabitant of Methley, near Pontefract, Yorkshire. We +have never seen it in print.] + + +When Harry the tailor was twenty years old, +He began for to look with courage so bold; +He told his old mother he was not in jest, +But he would have a wife as well as the rest. + +Then Harry next morning, before it was day, +To the house of his fair maid took his way. +He found his dear Dolly a making of cheese, +Says he, 'You must give me a buss, if you please!' + +She up with the bowl, the butter-milk flew, +And Harry the tailor looked wonderful blue. +'O, Dolly, my dear, what hast thou done? +From my back to my breeks has thy butter-milk run.' + +She gave him a push, he stumbled and fell +Down from the dairy into the drawwell. +Then Harry, the ploughboy, ran amain, +And soon brought him up in the bucket again. + +Then Harry went home like a drowned rat, +And told his old mother what he had been at. +With butter-milk, bowl, and a terrible fall, +O, if this be called love, may the devil take all! + + + +Ballad: SIR ARTHUR AND CHARMING MOLLEE. (TRADITIONAL.) + + + +[For this old Northumbrian song we are indebted to Mr. Robert +Chambers. It was taken down from the recitation of a lady. The +'Sir Arthur' is no less a personage than Sir Arthur Haslerigg, the +Governor of Tynemouth Castle during the Protectorate of Cromwell.] + + +As noble Sir Arthur one morning did ride, +With his hounds at his feet, and his sword by his side, +He saw a fair maid sitting under a tree, +He asked her name, and she said 'twas Mollee. + +'Oh, charming Mollee, you my butler shall be, +To draw the red wine for yourself and for me! +I'll make you a lady so high in degree, +If you will but love me, my charming Mollee! + +'I'll give you fine ribbons, I'll give you fine rings, +I'll give you fine jewels, and many fine things; +I'll give you a petticoat flounced to the knee, +If you will but love me, my charming Mollee!' + +'I'll have none of your ribbons, and none of your rings, +None of your jewels, and other fine things; +And I've got a petticoat suits my degree, +And I'll ne'er love a married man till his wife dee.' + +'Oh, charming Mollee, lend me then your penknife, +And I will go home, and I'll kill my own wife; +I'll kill my own wife, and my bairnies three, +If you will but love me, my charming Mollee!' + +'Oh, noble Sir Arthur, it must not be so, +Go home to your wife, and let nobody know; +For seven long years I will wait upon thee, +But I'll ne'er love a married man till his wife dee.' + +Now seven long years are gone and are past, +The old woman went to her long home at last; +The old woman died, and Sir Arthur was free, +And he soon came a-courting to charming Mollee. + +Now charming Mollee in her carriage doth ride, +With her hounds at her feet, and her lord by her side: +Now all ye fair maids take a warning by me, +And ne'er love a married man till his wife dee. + + + +Ballad: THERE WAS AN OLD MAN CAME OVER THE LEA. + + + +[This is a version of the Baillie of Berwick, which will be found +in the Local Historian's Table-Book. It was originally obtained +from Morpeth, and communicated by W. H. Longstaffe, Esq., of +Darlington, who says, 'in many respects the Baillie of Berwick is +the better edition--still mine may furnish an extra stanza or two, +and the ha! ha! ha! is better than heigho, though the notes suit +either version.'] + + +There was an old man came over the Lea, +Ha-ha-ha-ha! but I won't have him. {67} +He came over the Lea, +A-courting to me, +With his grey beard newly-shaven. + +My mother she bid me open the door: +I opened the door, +And he fell on the floor. + +My mother she bid me set him a stool: +I set him a stool, +And he looked like a fool. + +My mother she bid me give him some beer: +I gave him some beer, +And he thought it good cheer. + +My mother she bid me cut him some bread: +I cut him some bread, +And I threw't at his head. + +My mother she bid me light him to bed. +I lit him to bed, +And wished he were dead. + +My mother she bid me tell him to rise: +I told him to rise, +And he opened his eyes. + +My mother she bid me take him to church: +I took him to church, +And left him in the lurch; +With his grey beard newly-shaven. + + + +Ballad: WHY SHOULD WE QUARREL FOR RICHES. + + + +[A version of this very favourite song may be found in Ramsay's +Tea-Table Miscellany. Though a sailor's song, we question whether +it is not a greater favourite with landsmen. The chorus is become +proverbial, and its philosophy has often been invoked to mitigate +the evils and misfortunes of life.] + + +How pleasant a sailor's life passes, +Who roams o'er the watery main! +No treasure he ever amasses, +But cheerfully spends all his gain. +We're strangers to party and faction, +To honour and honesty true; +And would not commit a bad action +For power or profit in view. +Then why should we quarrel for riches, +Or any such glittering toys; +A light heart, and a thin pair of breeches, +Will go through the world, my brave boys! + +The world is a beautiful garden, +Enriched with the blessings of life, +The toiler with plenty rewarding, +Which plenty too often breeds strife. +When terrible tempests assail us, +And mountainous billows affright, +No grandeur or wealth can avail us, +But skilful industry steers right. +Then why, &c. + +The courtier's more subject to dangers, +Who rules at the helm of the state, +Than we that, to politics strangers, +Escape the snares laid for the great. +The various blessings of nature, +In various nations we try; +No mortals than us can be greater, +Who merrily live till we die. +Then why should, &c. + + + +Ballad: THE MERRY FELLOWS; OR, HE THAT WILL NOT MERRY, MERRY BE. + + + +[The popularity of this old lyric, of which ours is the ballad- +printer's version, has been increased by the lively and appropriate +music recently adapted to it by Mr. Holderness. The date of this +song is about the era of Charles II.] + + +Now, since we're met, let's merry, merry be, +In spite of all our foes; +And he that will not merry be, +We'll pull him by the nose. +Cho. Let him be merry, merry there, +While we're all merry, merry here, +For who can know where he shall go, +To be merry another year. + +He that will not merry, merry be, +With a generous bowl and a toast, +May he in Bridewell be shut up, +And fast bound to a post. +Let him, &c. + +He that will not merry, merry be, +And take his glass in course, +May he be obliged to drink small beer, +Ne'er a penny in his purse. +Let him, &c. + +He that will not merry, merry be, +With a company of jolly boys; +May he be plagued with a scolding wife, +To confound him with her noise. +Let him, &c. + +[He that will not merry, merry be, +With his sweetheart by his side, +Let him be laid in the cold churchyard, +With a head-stone for his bride. +Let him, &c.] + + + +Ballad: THE OLD MAN'S SONG. + + + +[This ditty, still occasionally heard in the country districts, +seems to be the original of the very beautiful song, The Downhill +of Life. The Old Man's Song may be found in Playford's Theatre of +Music, 1685; but we are inclined to refer it to an earlier period. +The song is also published by D'Urfey, accompanied by two +objectionable parodies.] + + +If I live to grow old, for I find I go down, +Let this be my fate in a country town:- +May I have a warm house, with a stone at the gate, +And a cleanly young girl to rub my bald pate; +May I govern my passions with absolute sway, +And grow wiser and better as strength wears away, +Without gout or stone, by a gentle decay. + +In a country town, by a murmuring brook, +With the ocean at distance on which I may look; +With a spacious plain, without hedge or stile, +And an easy pad nag to ride out a mile. +May I govern, &c. + +With Horace and Plutarch, and one or two more +Of the best wits that lived in the age before; +With a dish of roast mutton, not venison or teal, +And clean, though coarse, linen at every meal. +May I govern, &c. + +With a pudding on Sunday, and stout humming liquor, +And remnants of Latin to welcome the vicar; +With a hidden reserve of good Burgundy wine, +To drink the king's health in as oft as I dine. +May I govern, &c. + +When the days are grown short, and it freezes and snows, +May I have a coal fire as high as my nose; +A fire (which once stirred up with a prong), +Will keep the room temperate all the night long. +May I govern, &c. + +With a courage undaunted may I face my last day; +And when I am dead may the better sort say - +'In the morning when sober, in the evening when mellow, +He's gone, and he leaves not behind him his fellow!' +May I govern, &c. + + + +Ballad: ROBIN HOOD'S HILL. + + + +[Ritson speaks of a Robin Hood's Hill near Gloucester, and of a +'foolish song' about it. Whether this is the song to which he +alludes we cannot determine. We find it in Notes and Queries, +where it is stated to be printed from a MS. of the latter part of +the last century, and described as a song well known in the +district to which it refers.] + + +Ye bards who extol the gay valleys and glades, +The jessamine bowers, and amorous shades, +Who prospects so rural can boast at your will, +Yet never once mentioned sweet 'Robin Hood's Hill.' + +This spot, which of nature displays every smile, +From famed Glo'ster city is distanced two mile, +Of which you a view may obtain at your will, +From the sweet rural summit of 'Robin Hood's Hill.' + +Where a clear crystal spring does incessantly flow, +To supply and refresh the fair valley below; +No dog-star's brisk heat e'er diminished the rill +Which sweetly doth prattle on 'Robin Hood's Hill.' + +Here, gazing around, you find objects still new, +Of Severn's sweet windings, how pleasing the view, +Whose stream with the fruits of blessed commerce doth fill +The sweet-smelling vale beneath 'Robin Hood's Hill.' + +This hill, though so lofty, yet fertile and rare, +Few valleys can with it for herbage compare; +Some far greater bard should his lyre and his quill +Direct to the praise of sweet 'Robin Hood's Hill.' + +Here lads and gay lasses in couples resort, +For sweet rural pastime and innocent sport; +Sure pleasures ne'er flowed from gay nature or skill, +Like those that are found on sweet 'Robin Hood's Hill.' + +Had I all the riches of matchless Peru, +To revel in splendour as emperors do, +I'd forfeit the whole with a hearty good will, +To dwell in a cottage on 'Robin Hood's Hill.' + +Then, poets, record my loved theme in your lays: +First view;--then you'll own that 'tis worthy of praise; +Nay, Envy herself must acknowledge it still, +That no spot's so delightful as 'Robin Hood's Hill.' + + + +Ballad: BEGONE DULL CARE. (TRADITIONAL.) + + + +[We cannot trace this popular ditty beyond the reign of James II, +but we believe it to be older. The origin is to be found in an +early French chanson. The present version has been taken down from +the singing of an old Yorkshire yeoman. The third verse we have +never seen in print, but it is always sung in the west of +Yorkshire.] + + +Begone, dull care! +I prithee begone from me; +Begone, dull care! +Thou and I can never agree. +Long while thou hast been tarrying here, +And fain thou wouldst me kill; +But i' faith, dull care, +Thou never shalt have thy will. + +Too much care +Will make a young man grey; +Too much care +Will turn an old man to clay. +My wife shall dance, and I shall sing, +So merrily pass the day; +For I hold it is the wisest thing, +To drive dull care away. + +Hence, dull care, +I'll none of thy company; +Hence, dull care, +Thou art no pair {68} for me. +We'll hunt the wild boar through the wold, +So merrily pass the day; +And then at night, o'er a cheerful bowl, +We'll drive dull care away. + + + +Ballad: FULL MERRILY SINGS THE CUCKOO. + + + +[The earliest copy of this playful song is one contained in a MS. +of the reign of James I., preserved amongst the registers of the +Stationers' Company; but the song can be traced back to 1566.] + + +Full merrily sings the cuckoo +Upon the beechen tree; +Your wives you well should look to, +If you take advice of me. +Cuckoo! cuckoo! alack the morn, +When of married men +Full nine in ten +Must be content to wear the horn. + +Full merrily sings the cuckoo +Upon the oaken tree; +Your wives you well should look to, +If you take advice of me. +Cuckoo! cuckoo! alack the day! +For married men +But now and then, +Can 'scape to bear the horn away. + +Full merrily sings the cuckoo +Upon the ashen tree; +Your wives you well should look to, +If you take advice of me. +Cuckoo! cuckoo! alack the noon, +When married men +Must watch the hen, +Or some strange fox will steal her soon. + +Full merrily sings the cuckoo +Upon the alder tree; +Your wives you well should look to, +If you take advice of me. +Cuckoo! cuckoo! alack the eve, +When married men +Must bid good den +To such as horns to them do give. + +Full merrily sings the cuckoo +Upon the aspen tree; +Your wives you well should look to, +If you take advice of me. +Cuckoo! cuckoo! alack the night, +When married men, +Again and again, +Must hide their horns in their despite. + + + +Ballad: JOCKEY TO THE FAIR. + + + +[A version of this song, not quite so accurate as the following was +published from an old broadside in Notes and Queries, vol. vii., p. +49, where it is described as a 'very celebrated Gloucestershire +ballad.' But Gloucestershire is not exclusively entitled to the +honour of this genuine old country song, which is well known in +Westmoreland and other counties. 'Jockey' songs constitute a +distinct and numerous class, and belong for the most part to the +middle of the last century, when Jockey and Jenny were formidable +rivals to the Strephons and Chloes of the artificial school of +pastoral poetry. The author of this song, whoever he was, drew +upon real rural life, and not upon its fashionable masquerade. We +have been unable to trace the exact date of this ditty, which still +enjoys in some districts a wide popularity. It is not to be found +in any of several large collections of Ranelagh and Vauxhall songs, +and other anthologies, which we have examined. From the christian +names of the lovers, it might be supposed to be of Scotch or Border +origin; but Jockey to the Fair is not confined to the North; indeed +it is much better known, and more frequently sung, in the South and +West.] + + +'Twas on the morn of sweet May-day, +When nature painted all things gay, +Taught birds to sing, and lambs to play, +And gild the meadows fair; +Young Jockey, early in the dawn, +Arose and tripped it o'er the lawn; +His Sunday clothes the youth put on, +For Jenny had vowed away to run +With Jockey to the fair; +For Jenny had vowed, &c. + +The cheerful parish bells had rung, +With eager steps he trudged along, +While flowery garlands round him hung, +Which shepherds use to wear; +He tapped the window; 'Haste, my dear!' +Jenny impatient cried, 'Who's there?' +''Tis I, my love, and no one near; +Step gently down, you've nought to fear, +With Jockey to the fair.' +Step gently down, &c. + +'My dad and mam are fast asleep, +My brother's up, and with the sheep; +And will you still your promise keep, +Which I have heard you swear? +And will you ever constant prove?' +'I will, by all the powers above, +And ne'er deceive my charming dove; +Dispel these doubts, and haste, my love, +With Jockey to the fair.' +Dispel, &c. + +'Behold, the ring,' the shepherd cried; +'Will Jenny be my charming bride? +Let Cupid be our happy guide, +And Hymen meet us there.' +Then Jockey did his vows renew; +He would be constant, would he true, +His word was pledged; away she flew, +O'er cowslips tipped with balmy dew, +With Jockey to the fair. +O'er cowslips, &c. + +In raptures meet the joyful throng; +Their gay companions, blithe and young, +Each join the dance, each raise the song, +To hail the happy pair. +In turns there's none so loud as they, +They bless the kind propitious day, +The smiling morn of blooming May, +When lovely Jenny ran away +With Jockey to the fair. +When lovely, &c. + + + +Ballad: LONG PRESTON PEG. (A FRAGMENT.) + + + +[Mr. Birkbeck, of Threapland House, Lintondale, in Craven, has +favoured us with the following fragment. The tune is well known in +the North, but all attempts on the part of Mr. Birkbeck to obtain +the remaining verses have been unsuccessful. The song is evidently +of the date of the first rebellion, 1715.] + + +Long Preston Peg to proud Preston went, +To see the Scotch rebels it was her intent. +A noble Scotch lord, as he passed by, +On this Yorkshire damsel did soon cast an eye. + +He called to his servant, which on him did wait, +'Go down to yon girl who stands in the gate, {69} +That sings with a voice so soft and so sweet, +And in my name do her lovingly greet.' + + + +Ballad: THE SWEET NIGHTINGALE; OR, DOWN IN THOSE VALLEYS BELOW. +AN ANCIENT CORNISH SONG. + + + +[This curious ditty, which may be confidently assigned to the +seventeenth century, is said to be a translation from the ancient +Cornish tongue. We first heard it in Germany, in the pleasure- +gardens of the Marienberg, on the Moselle. The singers were four +Cornish miners, who were at that time, 1854, employed at some lead +mines near the town of Zell. The leader or 'Captain,' John +Stocker, said that the song was an established favourite with the +lead miners of Cornwall and Devonshire, and was always sung on the +pay-days, and at the wakes; and that his grandfather, who died +thirty years before, at the age of a hundred years, used to sing +the song, and say that it was very old. Stocker promised to make a +copy of it, but there was no opportunity of procuring it before we +left Germany. The following version has been supplied by a +gentleman in Plymouth, who writes:- + +I have had a great deal of trouble about The Valley Below. It is +not in print. I first met with one person who knew one part, then +with another person who knew another part, but nobody could sing +the whole. At last, chance directed me to an old man at work on +the roads, and he sung and recited it throughout, not exactly, +however, as I send it, for I was obliged to supply a little here +and there, but only where a bad rhyme, or rather none at all, made +it evident what the real rhyme was. I have read it over to a +mining gentleman at Truro, and he says 'It is pretty near the way +we sing it.' + +The tune is plaintive and original.] + + +'My sweetheart, come along! +Don't you hear the fond song, +The sweet notes of the nightingale flow? +Don't you hear the fond tale +Of the sweet nightingale, +As she sings in those valleys below? +So be not afraid +To walk in the shade, +Nor yet in those valleys below, +Nor yet in those valleys below. + +'Pretty Betsy, don't fail, +For I'll carry your pail, +Safe home to your cot as we go; +You shall hear the fond tale +Of the sweet nightingale, +As she sings in those valleys below.' +But she was afraid +To walk in the shade, +To walk in those valleys below, +To walk in those valleys below. + +'Pray let me alone, +I have hands of my own; +Along with you I will not go, +To hear the fond tale +Of the sweet nightingale, +As she sings in those valleys below; +For I am afraid +To walk in the shade, +To walk in those valleys below, +To walk in those valleys below.' + +'Pray sit yourself down +With me on the ground, +On this bank where sweet primroses grow; +You shall hear the fond tale +Of the sweet nightingale, +As she sings in those valleys below; +So be not afraid +To walk in the shade, +Nor yet in those valleys below, +Nor yet in those valleys below.' + +This couple agreed; +They were married with speed, +And soon to the church they did go. +She was no more afraid +For to {70} walk in the shade, +Nor yet in those valleys below: +Nor to hear the fond tale +Of the sweet nightingale, +As she sung in those valleys below, +As she sung in those valleys below. + + + +Ballad: THE OLD MAN AND HIS THREE SONS. + + + +[This traditional ditty, founded upon the old ballad inserted ante, +p. 124, is current as a nursery song in the North of England.] + + +There was an old man, and sons he had three, {71} +Wind well, Lion, good hunter. +A friar he being one of the three, +With pleasure he ranged the north country, +For he was a jovial hunter. + +As he went to the woods some pastime to see, +Wind well, Lion, good hunter, +He spied a fair lady under a tree, +Sighing and moaning mournfully. +He was a jovial hunter. + +'What are you doing, my fair lady!' +Wind well, Lion, good hunter. +'I'm frightened, the wild boar he will kill me, +He has worried my lord, and wounded thirty, +As thou art a jovial hunter.' + +Then the friar he put his horn to his mouth, +Wind well, Lion, good hunter. +And he blew a blast, east, west, north, and south, +And the wild boar from his den he came forth +Unto the jovial hunter. + + + +Ballad: A BEGGING WE WILL GO. + + + +[The authorship of this song is attributed to Richard Brome--(he +who once 'performed a servant's faithful part' for Ben Jonson)--in +a black-letter copy in the Bagford Collection, where it is entitled +The Beggars' Chorus in the 'Jovial Crew,' to an excellent new tune. +No such chorus, however, appears in the play, which was produced at +the Cock-pit in 1641; and the probability is, as Mr. Chappell +conjectures, that it was only interpolated in the performance. It +is sometimes called The Jovial Beggar. The tune has been from time +to time introduced into several ballad operas; and the song, says +Mr. Chappell, who publishes the air in his Popular Music, 'is the +prototype of many others, such as A bowling we will go, A fishing +we will go, A hawking we will go, and A fishing we will go. The +last named is still popular with those who take delight in hunting, +and the air is now scarcely known by any other title.] + + +There was a jovial beggar, +He had a wooden leg, +Lame from his cradle, +And forced for to beg. +And a begging we will go, we'll go, we'll go; +And a begging we will go! + +A bag for his oatmeal, +Another for his salt; +And a pair of crutches, +To show that he can halt. +And a begging, &c. + +A bag for his wheat, +Another for his rye; +A little bottle by his side, +To drink when he's a-dry. +And a begging, &c. + +Seven years I begged +For my old Master Wild, +He taught me to beg +When I was but a child. +And a begging, &c. + +I begged for my master, +And got him store of pelf; +But now, Jove be praised! +I'm begging for myself. +And a begging, &c. + +In a hollow tree +I live, and pay no rent; +Providence provides for me, +And I am well content. +And a begging, &c. + +Of all the occupations, +A beggar's life's the best; +For whene'er he's weary, +He'll lay him down and rest. +And a begging, &c. + +I fear no plots against me, +I live in open cell; +Then who would be a king +When beggars live so well? +And a begging we will go, we'll go, we'll go; +And a begging we will go! + + + + +Footnotes: + +{1} This is the same tune as Fortune my foe.--See Popular Music of +the Olden Time, p. 162. + +{2} This word seems to be used here in the sense of the French +verb mettre, to put, to place. + +{3} The stall copies read 'Gamble bold.' + +{4} In the Roxburgh Collection is a copy of this ballad, in which +the catastrophe is brought about in a different manner. When the +young lady finds that she is to be drowned, she very leisurely +makes a particular examination of the place of her intended +destruction, and raises an objection to some nettles which are +growing on the banks of the stream; these she requires to be +removed, in the following poetical stanza:- + +'Go fetch the sickle, to crop the nettle, +That grows so near the brim; +For fear it should tangle my golden locks, +Or freckle my milk-white skin.' + +A request so elegantly made is gallantly complied with by the +treacherous knight, who, while engaged in 'cropping' the nettles, +is pushed into the stream. + +{5} A tinker is still so called in the north of England. + +{6} This poor minstrel was born at the village of Rylstone, in +Craven, the scene of Wordsworth's White Doe of Rylstone. King was +always called 'the Skipton Minstrel;' and he merited that name, for +he was not a mere player of jigs and country dances, but a singer +of heroic ballads, carrying his hearers back to the days of +chivalry and royal adventure, when the King of England called up +Cheshire and Lancashire to fight the King of France, and monarchs +sought the greenwood tree, and hob-a-nobbed with tinkers, knighting +these Johns of the Dale as a matter of poetical justice and high +sovereign prerogative. Francis King was a character. His +physiognomy was striking and peculiar; and, although there was +nothing of the rogue in its expression, for an honester fellow +never breathed, he might have sat for Wordsworth's 'Peter Bell.' +He combined in a rare degree the qualities of the mime and the +minstrel, and his old jokes, and older ballads and songs, always +ensured him a hearty welcome. He was lame, in consequence of one +leg being shorter than the other, and his limping gait used to give +occasion to the remark that 'few Kings had had more ups and downs +in the world.' He met his death by drowning on the night of +December 13, 1844. He had been at a 'merry-making' at Gargrave, in +Craven, and it is supposed that, owing to the darkness of the +night, he mistook the road, and walked into the river. As a +musician his talents were creditable; and his name will long +survive in the village records. The minstrel's grave is in the +quiet churchyard of Gargrave. Further particulars of Francis King +may be seen in Dixon's Stories of the Craven Dales, published by +Tasker and Son, of Skipton. + +{7} This is the ancient way of spelling the name of Reading. In +Percy's version of Barbara Allen, that ballad commences 'In Scarlet +town,' which, in the common stall copies, is rendered 'In Redding +town.' The former is apparently a pun upon the old orthography-- +REDding. + +{8} The sister of Roger. + +{9} This gentleman was Mr. Thomas Petty. + +{10} We here, and in a subsequent verse, find 'daughter' made to +rhyme with 'after;' but we must not therefore conclude that the +rhyme is of cockney origin. In many parts of England, the word +'daughter' is pronounced 'dafter' by the peasantry, who, upon the +same principle, pronounce 'slaughter' as if it were spelt +'slafter.' + +{11} Added to complete the sense. + +{12} That is, 'said he, the wild boar.' + +{13} Scott has strangely misunderstood this line, which he +interprets - + +'Many people did she KILL.' + +'Fell' is to knock down, and the meaning is that she could 'well' +knock down, or 'fell' people. + +{14} Went. + +{15} The meaning appears to be that no 'wiseman' or wizard, no +matter from whence his magic, was derived, durst face her. Craven +has always been famed for its wizards, or wisemen, and several of +such impostors may be found there at the present day. + +{16} Scott's MS. reads Ralph, but Raphe is the ancient form. + +{17} Scott reads 'brim as beare,' which he interprets 'fierce as a +bear.' Whitaker's rendering is correct. Beare is a small hamlet +on the Bay of Morecambe, no great distance, as the crow files, from +the locale of the poem. There is also a Bear-park in the county of +Durham, of which place Bryan might be an inhabitant. Utrum horum, +&c. + +{18} That is, they were good soldiers when the MUSTERS were--when +the regiments were called up. + +{19} Fierce look. + +{20} Descended from an ancient race famed for fighting. + +{21} Assaulted. They were, although out of danger, terrified by +the attacks of the sow, and their fear was shared by the kiln, +which began to smoke! + +{22} Watling-street, the Roman way from Catterick to Bowes. + +{23} Lost his colour. + +{24} Scott, not understanding this expression, has inserted +'Jesus' for the initials 'I. H. S.,' and so has given a profane +interpretation to the passage. By a figure of speech the friar is +called an I. H. S., from these letters being conspicuously wrought +on his robes, just as we might call a livery-servant by his +master's motto, because it was stamped on his buttons. + +{25} The meaning here is obscure. The verse is not in Whitaker. + +{26} Warlock or wizard. + +{27} It is probable that by guest is meant an allusion to the +spectre dog of Yorkshire (the Barguest), to which the sow is +compared. + +{28} Hired. + +{29} The monastery of Gray Friars at Richmond.--See LELAND, Itin., +vol. iii, p. 109. + +{30} This appears to have been a cant saying in the reign of +Charles II. It occurs in several novels, jest books and satires of +the time, and was probably as unmeaning as such vulgarisms are in +general. + +{31} A cake composed of oatmeal, caraway-seeds, and treacle. 'Ale +and parkin' is a common morning meal in the north of England. + +{32} We have heard a Yorkshire yeoman sing a version, which +commenced with this line:- + +' It was at the time of a high holiday.' + +{33} Bell-ringing was formerly a great amusement of the English, +and the allusions to it are of frequent occurrence. Numerous +payments to bell-ringers are generally to be found in +Churchwarden's accounts of the sixteenth and seventeenth +centuries.--CHAPPELL. + +{34} The subject and burthen of this song are identical with those +of the song which immediately follows, called in some copies The +Clown's Courtship, sung to the King at Windsor, and in others, I +cannot come everyday to woo. The Kentish ditty cannot be traced to +so remote a date as the Clown's Courtship; but it probably belongs +to the same period. + +{35} The common modern copies read 'St. Leger's Round.' + +{36} The common stall copies read 'Pan,' which not only furnishes +a more accurate rhyme to 'Nan,' but is, probably, the true reading. +About the time when this song was written, there appears to have +been some country minstrel or fiddler, who was well known by the +sobriquet of 'Pan.' Frequent allusions to such a personage may be +found in popular ditties of the period, and it is evidently that +individual, and not the heathen deity, who is referred to in the +song of Arthur O'Bradley:- + +'Not Pan, the god of the swains, +Could e'er produce such strains.'--See ante, p. 142. + +{37} A correspondent of Notes and Queries says that, although +there is some resemblance between Flora and Furry, the latter word +is derived from an old Cornish term, and signifies jubilee or fair. + +{38} There is another version of these concluding lines:- + +'Down the red lane there lives an old fox, +There does he sit a-mumping his chops; +Catch him, boys, catch him, catch if you can; +'Tis twenty to one if you catch him or Nan.' + +{39} A cant term for a fiddle. In its literal sense, it means +trunk, or box-belly. + +{40} 'Helicon,' as observed by Sir C. Sharp, is, of course, the +true reading. + +{41} In the introduction of the 'prodigal son,' we have a relic +derived from the old mysteries and moralities. Of late years, the +'prodigal son' has been left out, and his place supplied by a +'sailor.' + +{42} Probably the disease here pointed at is the sweating sickness +of old times. + +{43} Robert Kearton, a working miner, and librarian and lecturer +at the Grassington Mechanics' institution, informs us that at +Coniston, in Lancashire, and the neighbourhood, the maskers go +about at the proper season, viz., Easter. Their introductory song +is different to the one given above. He has favoured us with two +verses of the delectable composition; he says, 'I dare say they'll +be quite sufficient!' + +'The next that comes on +Is a gentleman's son; - +A gentleman's son he was born; +For mutton and beef, +You may look at his teeth, +He's a laddie for picking a bone! + +'The next that comes on +Is a tailor so bold - +He can stitch up a hole in the dark! +There's never a 'prentice +In famed London city +Can find any fault with his WARK!' + +{44} For the history of the paschal egg, see a paper by Mr. J. H. +Dixon, in the Local Historian's Table Book (Traditional Division). +Newcastle. 1843. + +{45} We suspect that Lord Nelson's name was introduced out of +respect to the late Jack Rider, of Linton (who is himself +introduced into the following verse), an old tar who, for many +years, was one of the 'maskers' in the district from whence our +version was obtained. Jack was 'loblolly boy' on board the +'Victory,' and one of the group that surrounded the dying Hero of +Trafalgar. Amongst his many miscellaneous duties, Jack had to help +the doctor; and while so employed, he once set fire to the ship as +he was engaged investigating, by candlelight, the contents of a +bottle of ether. The fire was soon extinguished, but not without +considerable noise and confusion. Lord Nelson, when the accident +happened, was busy writing his despatches. 'What's all that noise +about?' he demanded. The answer was, 'Loblolly boy's set fire to +an empty bottle, and it has set fire to the doctor's shop!' 'Oh, +that's all, is it?' said Nelson, 'then I wish you and loblolly +would put the fire out without making such a confusion'--and he +went on writing with the greatest coolness, although the accident +might have been attended by the most disastrous consequences, as an +immense quantity of powder was on board, and some of it close to +the scene of the disaster. The third day after the above incident +Nelson was no more, and the poor 'loblolly boy' left the service +minus two fingers. 'Old Jack' used often to relate his 'accident;' +and Captain Carslake, now of Sidmouth, who, at the time was one of +the officers, permits us to add his corroboration of its truth. + +{46} In this place, and in the first line of the following verse, +the name of the horse is generally inserted by the singer; and +'Filpail' is often substituted for 'the cow' in a subsequent verse. + +{47} The 'swearing-in' is gone through by females as well as the +male sex. See Hone's Year-Book. + +{48} A fig newly gathered from the tree; so called to distinguish +it from a grocer's, or preserved fig. + +{49} This line is sometimes sung - + +O! I went into the stable, to see what I could see. + +{50} Three cabbage-nets, according to some versions. + +{51} This is a common phrase in old English songs and ballads. +See The Summer's Morning, post, p. 229. + +{52} See ante, p. 82. + +{53} Near. + +{54} The high-road through a town or village. + +{55} That is Tommy's opinion. In the Yorkshire dialect, when the +possessive case is followed by the relative substantive, it is +customary to omit the S; but if the relative be understood, and not +expressed, the possessive case is formed in the usual manner, as in +a subsequent line of this song:- + +'Hee'd a horse, too, 'twor war than ond Tommy's, ye see.' + +{56} Alive, quick. + +{57} Only. + +{58} Famished. The line in which this word occurs exhibits one of +the most striking peculiarities of the Lancashire dialect, which +is, that in words ending in ING, the termination is changed into +INK. Ex. gr., for starving, starvink, farthing, fardink. + +{59} In one version this line has been altered, probably by some +printer who had a wholesome fear of the 'Bench of Justices,' into - + +'Success to every gentleman +That lives in Lincolnsheer.' + +{60} Dr. Whitaker gives a traditional version of part of this song +as follows:- + +'The gardener standing by proferred to chuse for me, +The pink, the primrose, and the rose, but I refused the three; +The primrose I forsook because it came too soon, +The violet I o'erlooked, and vowed to wait till June. + +In June, the red rose sprung, bat was no flower for me, +I plucked it up, lo! by the stalk, and planted the willow-tree. +The willow I must wear with sorrow twined among, +That all the world may know I falshood loved too long.' + +{61} The following account of Billy Bolton may, with propriety, be +inserted here:- It was a lovely September day, and the scene was +Arncliffe, a retired village in Littondale, one of the most +secluded of the Yorkshire dales. While sitting at the open window +of the humble hostelrie, we heard what we, at first, thought was a +RANTER parson, but, on inquiry, were told it was old Billy Bolton +reading to a crowd of villagers. Curious to ascertain what the +minstrel was reading, we joined the crowd, and found the text-book +was a volume of Hume's England, which contained the reign of +Elizabeth. Billy read in a clear voice, with proper emphasis, and +correct pronunciation, interlarding his reading with numerous +comments, the nature of some of which may be readily inferred from +the fact that the minstrel belonged to what he called 'the ancient +church.' It was a scene for a painter; the village situate in one +of the deepest parts of the dale, the twilight hour, the attentive +listeners, and the old man, leaning on his knife-grinding machine, +and conveying popular information to a simple peasantry. Bolton is +in the constant habit of so doing, and is really an extraordinary +man, uniting, as he does, the opposite occupations of minstrel, +conjuror, knife-grinder, and schoolmaster. Such a labourer (though +an humble one) in the great cause of human improvement is well +deserving of this brief notice, which it would be unjust to +conclude without stating that whenever the itinerant teacher takes +occasion to speak of his own creed, and contrast it with others, he +does so in a spirit of charity; and he never performs any of his +sleight-of-hand tricks without a few introductory remarks on the +evil of superstition, and the folly of supposing that in the +present age any mortal is endowed with supernatural attainments. + +{62} This elastic opening might be adapted to existing +circumstances by a slight alteration:- + +The praise of a dairy to tell you I mean, +But all things in order, first God save the Queen. + +The common copies print 'God save the Queen,' which of course +destroys the rhyme. + +{63} This is the reading of a common stall copy. Chappell reads - + +'For at Tottenham-court,' + +which is no doubt correct, though inapplicable to a rural assembly +in our days. + +{64} Brew, or broo, or broth. Chappell's version reads, 'No state +you can think,' which is apparently a mistake. The reading of the +common copies is to be preferred. + +{65} No doubt the original word in these places was SACK, as in +Chappell's copy--but what would a peasant understand by SACK? +Dryden's receipt for a sack posset is as follows:- + +'From fair Barbadoes, on the western main, +Fetch sugar half-a-pound: fetch sack, from Spain, +A pint: then fetch, from India's fertile coast, +Nutmeg, the glory of the British toast.' +Miscellany Poem, v. 138. + +{66} Corrupted in modern copies into 'we'll range and we'll rove.' +The reading in the text is the old reading. The phrase occurs in +several old songs. + +{67} We should, probably, read 'he.' + +{68} Peer--equal. + +{69} The road or street. + +{70} This is the only instance of this peculiar form in the +present version. The miners in the Marienberg invariably said 'for +to' wherever the preposition 'to' occurred before a verb. + +{71} Three is a favourite number in the nursery rhymes. The +following is one of numerous examples:- + +There was an old woman had three sons, +Jerry and James and John: +Jerry was hung, James was drowned, +John was lost and never was found; +And there was an end of her three sons, +Jerry, and James, and John! + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, ANCIENT POEMS OF ENGLAND *** + +This file should be named oleng10.txt or oleng10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, oleng11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, oleng10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END* + diff --git a/old/oleng10.zip b/old/oleng10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4ba22e6 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/oleng10.zip diff --git a/old/oleng10h.htm b/old/oleng10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cc2cd8e --- /dev/null +++ b/old/oleng10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11386 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII"> +<title>Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of England</title> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of England, by Robert Bell</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of England +by Robert Bell + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. 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Parker and Son edition by David Price, +email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +ANCIENT POEMS, BALLADS AND SONGS OF THE PEASANTRY OF ENGLAND. +TAKEN DOWN FROM ORAL RECITATION AND TRANSCRIBED FROM PRIVATE MANUSCRIPTS, +RARE BROADSIDES AND SCARCE PUBLICATIONS.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +INTRODUCTION.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +In 1846, the Percy Society issued to its members a volume entitled <i>Ancient +Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of</i> <i>England</i>, edited +by Mr. James Henry Dixon. The sources drawn upon by Mr. Dixon +are intimated in the following extract from his preface:-<br> +<br> +<br> +He who, in travelling through the rural districts of England, has made +the road-side inn his resting-place, who has visited the lowly dwellings +of the villagers and yeomanry, and been present at their feasts and +festivals, must have observed that there are certain old poems, ballads, +and songs, which are favourites with the masses, and have been said +and sung from generation to generation.<br> +<br> +<br> +This traditional, and, for the most part, unprinted literature, - cherished +in remote villages, resisting everywhere the invasion of modern namby-pamby +verse and jaunty melody, and possessing, in an historical point of view, +especial value as a faithful record of the feeling, usages, and modes +of life of the rural population, - had been almost wholly passed over +amongst the antiquarian revivals which constitute one of the distinguishing +features of the present age. While attention was successfully +drawn to other forms of our early poetry, this peasant minstrelsy was +scarcely touched, and might be considered unexplored ground. There +was great difficulty in collecting materials which lay scattered so +widely, and which could be procured in their genuine simplicity only +from the people amongst whom they originated, and with whom they are +as ‘familiar as household words.’ It was even still +more difficult to find an editor who combined genial literary taste +with the local knowledge of character, customs, and dialect, indispensable +to the collation of such reliques; and thus, although their national +interest was universally recognised, they were silently permitted to +fall into comparative oblivion. To supply this manifest <i>desideratum</i>, +Mr. Dixon compiled his volume for the Percy Society; and its pages, +embracing only a selection from the rich stores he had gathered, abundantly +exemplified that gentleman’s remarkable qualifications for the +labour he had undertaken. After stating in his preface that contributions +from various quarters had accumulated so largely on his hands as to +compel him to omit many pieces he was desirous of preserving, he thus +describes generally the contents of the work:-<br> +<br> +<br> +In what we have retained will be found every variety,<br> +<br> +‘From grave to gay, from lively to severe,’<br> +<br> +from the moral poem and the religious dialogue, -<br> +<br> +‘The scrolls that teach us to live and to die,’ -<br> +<br> +to the legendary, the historical, or the domestic ballad; from the strains +that enliven the harvest-home and festival, to the love-ditties which +the country lass warbles, or the comic song with which the rustic sets +the village hostel in a roar. In our collection are several pieces +exceedingly scarce, and hitherto to be met with only in broadsides and +chap-books of the utmost rarity; in addition to which we have given +several others never before in print, and obtained by the editor and +his friends, either from the oral recitation of the peasantry, or from +manuscripts in the possession of private individuals.<br> +<br> +<br> +The novelty of the matter, and the copious resources disclosed by the +editor, acquired for the volume a popularity extending far beyond the +limited circle to which it was addressed; and although the edition was +necessarily restricted to the members of the Percy Society, the book +was quoted not only by English writers, but by some of the most distinguished +archaeologists on the continent.<br> +<br> +It had always been my intention to form a collection of local songs, +illustrative of popular festivals, customs, manners, and dialects. +As the merit of having anticipated, and, in a great measure, accomplished +this project belongs exclusively to Mr. Dixon, so to that gentleman +I have now the pleasure of tendering my acknowledgments for the means +of enriching the Annotated Edition of the English Poets with a volume +which, in some respects, is the most curious and interesting of the +series.<br> +<br> +Subsequently to the publication of his collection by the Percy Society, +Mr. Dixon had amassed additional materials of great value; and, conscious +that the work admitted of considerable improvement, both in the way +of omission and augmentation, he resolved upon the preparation of a +new edition. His reasons for rejecting certain portions of the +former volume are stated in the following extract from a communication +with which he has obliged me, and which may be considered as his own +introduction to the ensuing pages.<br> +<br> +<br> +The editor had passed his earliest years in a romantic mountain-district +in the North of England, where old customs and manners, and old songs +and ballads still linger. Under the influence of these associations, +he imbibed a passionate love for peasant rhymes; having little notion +at that time that the simple minstrelsy which afforded him so much delight +could yield hardly less pleasure to those who cultivated more artificial +modes of poetry, and who knew little of the life of the peasantry. +His collection was not issued without diffidence; but the result dissipated +all apprehension as to the estimate in which these essentially popular +productions are held. The reception of the book, indeed, far exceeded +its merits; for he is bound in candour to say that it was neither so +complete nor so judiciously selected as it might have been. Like +almost all books issued by societies, it was got up in haste, and hurried +through the press. It contained some things which were out of +place in such a work, but which were inserted upon solicitations that +could not have been very easily refused; and even where the matter was +unexceptionable, it sometimes happened that it was printed from comparatively +modern broadsides, for want of time to consult earlier editions. +In the interval which has since elapsed, all these defects and short-comings +have been remedied. Several pieces, which had no legitimate claims +to the places they occupied, have been removed; others have been collated +with more ancient copies than the editor had had access to previously; +and the whole work has been considerably enlarged. In its present +form it is strictly what its title-page implies - a collection of poems, +ballads, and songs preserved by tradition, and in actual circulation, +amongst the peasantry.<br> +<br> +<i>Bex, Canton de Vaud.<br> +Switzerland.<br> +<br> +<br> +</i>The present volume differs in many important particulars from the +former, of the deficiencies of which Mr. Dixon makes so frank an avowal. +It has not only undergone a careful revision, but has received additions +to an extent which renders it almost a new work. Many of there +accessions are taken from extremely rare originals, and others are here +printed for the first time, including amongst the latter the ballad +of <i>Earl Brand</i>, a traditional lyric of great antiquity, long familiar +to the dales of the North of England; and the <i>Death of Queen Jane</i>, +a relic of more than ordinary intesest. Nearly forty songs, noted +down from recitation, or gathered from sources not generally accessible, +have been added to the former collection, illustrative, for the most +part, of historical events, country pastimes, and local customs. +Not the least suggestive feature in this department are the political +songs it contains, which have long outlived the occasions that gave +them birth, and which still retain their popularity, although their +allusions are no longer understood. Amongst this class of songs +may be specially indicated <i>Jack and Tom, Joan’s Ale was New, +George Ridler’s Oven</i>, and<i> The Carrion Crow</i>. The +songs of a strictly rural character, having reference to the occupations +and intercourse of the people, possess an interest which cannot be adequately +measured by their poetical pretensions. The very defects of art +with which they are chargeable, constitute their highest claim to consideration +as authentic specimens of country lore. The songs in praise of +the dairy, or the plough; or in celebration of the harvest-home, or +the churn-supper; or descriptive of the pleasures of the milk-maid, +or the courtship in the farm-house; or those that give us glimpses of +the ways of life of the waggoner, the poacher, the horse-dealer, and +the boon companion of the road-side hostelrie, are no less curious for +their idiomatic and primitive forms of expression, than for their pictures +of rustic modes and manners. Of special interest, too, are the +songs which relate to festival and customs; such as the <i>Sword Dancer’s +Song and Interlude</i>, the <i>Swearing-in</i> <i>Song, or Rhyme, at +Highgate</i>, the <i>Cornish Midsummer Bonfire Song</i>, and the <i>Fairlop +Fair Song.<br> +<br> +</i>In the arrangement of so multifarious an anthology, gathered from +nearly all parts of the kingdom, the observance of chronological order, +for obvious reasons, has not been attempted; but pieces which possess +any kind of affinity to each other have been kept together as nearly +as other considerations would permit.<br> +<br> +The value of this volume consists in the genuineness of its contents, +and the healthiness of its tone. While fashionable life was masquerading +in imaginary Arcadias, and deluging theatres and concert rooms with +shams, the English peasant remained true to the realities of his own +experience, and produced and sang songs which faithfully reflected the +actual life around him. Whatever these songs describe is true +to that life. There are no fictitious raptures in them. +Love here never dresses its emotions in artificial images, nor disguises +itself in the mask of a Strephon or a Daphne. It is in this particular +aspect that the poetry of the country possesses a permanent and moral +interest.<br> +<br> +R. B.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +ANCIENT POEMS, BALLADS, AND SONGS OF THE PEASANTRY.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Contents<br> +<br> +Poems:<br> +<br> +The plain-dealing man.<br> +The vanities of life.<br> +The life and age of man.<br> +The young man’s wish.<br> +The midnight messenger; or, a sudden call from an earthly glory to the +cold grave.<br> +A dialogue betwixt an exciseman and death.<br> +The messenger of mortality; or life and death contrasted in a dialogue +betwixt death and a lady.<br> +England’s alarm; or the pious christian’s speedy call to +repentance<br> +Smoking spiritualized.<br> +The masonic hymn.<br> +God speed the plow, and bless the corn-mow. A dialogue between +the husbandman and servingman.<br> +A dialogue between the husbandman and the servingman.<br> +The Catholick.<br> +The three knights.<br> +The blind beggar of Bednall Green.<br> +<br> +Ballads:<br> +<br> +The bold pedlar and Robin Hood.<br> +The outlandish knight.<br> +Lord Delaware.<br> +Lord Bateman.<br> +The golden glove; or, the squire of tamworth.<br> +King James I. And the tinkler.<br> +The Keach i’ the Creel.<br> +The Merry Broomfield; or, the west country wager.<br> +Sir John Barleycorn.<br> +Blow the winds, i-ho!<br> +The beautiful lady of Kent; or, the seaman of Dover.<br> +The Berkshire lady’s garland.<br> +The nobleman’s generous kindness.<br> +The drunkard’s legacy.<br> +The Bowes tragedy.<br> +The crafty lover; or, the lawyer outwitted.<br> +The death of Queen Jane.<br> +The wandering young gentlewoman; or, Catskin.<br> +The brave Earl Brand and the King of England’s Daughter.<br> +The Jovial Hunter of Bromsgrove; or, the old man and his three sons.<br> +Lady Alice.<br> +The felon sewe of rokeby and the freeres of Richmond.<br> +Arthur o’Bradley’s wedding.<br> +The painful plough.<br> +The useful plow; or, the plough’s praise.<br> +The farmer’s son.<br> +The farmer’s boy.<br> +Richard of Taunton Dean; or, dumble dum deary.<br> +Wooing song of a yeoman of Kent’s sonne.<br> +The clown’s courtship.<br> +Harry’s courtship.<br> +Harvest-home song.<br> +Harvest-home.<br> +The mow.<br> +The barley-mow song.<br> +The barley-mow song. (Suffolk version.)<br> +The craven churn-supper song.<br> +The rural dance about the may-pole.<br> +The Hitchin may-day song.<br> +The Helstone furry-day song.<br> +Cornish midsummer bonfire song.<br> +Suffolk harvest-home song.<br> +The haymaker’s song.<br> +The sword-dancers’ song.<br> +The sword-dancers’ song and interlude.<br> +The maskers’ song.<br> +Gloucestershire wassailers’ song.<br> +The mummers’ song; or, the poor old horse.<br> +Fragment of the hagmena song.<br> +The greenside wakes song.<br> +The swearing-in song or rhyme.<br> +Fairlop fair song.<br> +As Tom was a-walking.<br> +The miller and his sons.<br> +Jack and Tom.<br> +Joan’s ale was new.<br> +George Ridler’s oven.<br> +The carrion crow.<br> +The leathern bottel.<br> +The farmer’s old wife.<br> +Old Wichet and his wife.<br> +The Jolly Waggoner.<br> +The Yorkshire horse-dealer.<br> +The King and the countryman.<br> +Jone o’ Greenfield’s ramble.<br> +Thornehagh-moor woods.<br> +The Lincolnshire poacher.<br> +Somersetshire hunting song.<br> +The trotting horse.<br> +The seeds of love.<br> +The garden-gate.<br> +The new-mown hay.<br> +The praise of a dairy.<br> +The milk-maid’s life.<br> +The milking-pail.<br> +The summer’s morning.<br> +Old Adam.<br> +Tobacco.<br> +The Spanish Ladies.<br> +Harry the Tailor.<br> +Sir Arthur and Charming Mollee.<br> +There was an old man came over the lea.<br> +Why should we quarrel for riches.<br> +The merry fellows; or, he that will not merry, merry be.<br> +The old man’s song.<br> +Robin Hood’s hill.<br> +Begone dull care.<br> +Full merrily sings the cuckoo.<br> +Jockey to the fair.<br> +Long Preston Peg.<br> +The sweet nightingale; or, down in those valleys below.<br> +The old man and his three sons.<br> +A begging we will go.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Poem: THE PLAIN-DEALING MAN.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The oldest copy of the <i>Plain Dealing Man</i> with which we have +been able to meet is in black letter, printed by T. Vere at the sign +‘Of the Angel without Newgate.’ Vere was living in +1609.]<br> +<br> +A crotchet comes into my mind<br> +Concerning a proverb of old,<br> +Plain dealing’s a jewel most rare,<br> +And more precious than silver or gold:<br> +And therefore with patience give ear,<br> +And listen to what here is penned,<br> +These verses were written on purpose<br> +The honest man’s cause to defend.<br> +For this I will make it appear,<br> +And prove by experience I can,<br> +’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world<br> +To be a plain-dealing man.<br> +<br> +Yet some are so impudent grown,<br> +They’ll domineer, vapour, and swagger,<br> +And say that the plain-dealing man<br> +Was born to die a beggar:<br> +But men that are honestly given<br> +Do such evil actions detest,<br> +And every one that is well-minded<br> +Will say that plain dealing is best.<br> +For this I will make it appear,<br> +And prove by experience I can,<br> +’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world<br> +To be a plain-dealing man.<br> +<br> +For my part I am a poor man,<br> +And sometimes scarce muster a shilling,<br> +Yet to live upright in the world,<br> +Heaven knows I am wondrous willing.<br> +Although that my clothes be threadbare,<br> +And my calling be simple and poor,<br> +Yet will I endeavour myself<br> +To keep off the wolf from the door.<br> +For this I will make it appear,<br> +And prove by experience I can,<br> +’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world<br> +To be a plain-dealing man.<br> +<br> +And now, to be brief in discourse,<br> +In plain terms I’ll tell you my mind;<br> +My qualities you shall all know,<br> +And to what my humour’s inclined:<br> +I hate all dissembling base knaves<br> +And pickthanks whoever they be,<br> +And for painted-faced drabs, and such like,<br> +They shall never get penny of me.<br> +For this I will make it appear,<br> +And prove by experience I can,<br> +’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world<br> +To be a plain-dealing man.<br> +<br> +Nor can I abide any tongues<br> +That will prattle and prate against reason,<br> +About that which doth not concern them;<br> +Which thing is no better than treason.<br> +Wherefore I’d wish all that do hear me<br> +Not to meddle with matters of state,<br> +Lest they be in question called for it,<br> +And repent them when it is too late.<br> +For this I will make it appear,<br> +And prove by experience I can,<br> +’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world<br> +To be a plain-dealing man.<br> +<br> +O fie upon spiteful neighbours,<br> +Whose malicious humours are bent,<br> +And do practise and strive every day<br> +To wrong the poor innocent.<br> +By means of such persons as they,<br> +There hath many a good mother’s son<br> +Been utterly brought to decay,<br> +Their wives and their children undone.<br> +For this I will make it appear,<br> +And prove by experience I can,<br> +’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world<br> +To be a plain-dealing man.<br> +<br> +O fie upon forsworn knaves,<br> +That do no conscience make<br> +To swear and forswear themselves<br> +At every third word they do speak:<br> +So they may get profit and gain,<br> +They care not what lies they do tell;<br> +Such cursed dissemblers as they<br> +Are worse than the devils of hell.<br> +For this I will make it appear,<br> +And prove by experience I can,<br> +’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world<br> +To be a plain-dealing man.<br> +<br> +O fie upon greedy bribe takers,<br> +’Tis pity they ever drew breath,<br> +For they, like to base caterpillars,<br> +Devour up the fruits of the earth.<br> +They’re apt to take money with both hands,<br> +On one side and also the other,<br> +And care not what men they undo,<br> +Though it be their own father or brother.<br> +Therefore I will make it appear,<br> +And show very good reasons I can,<br> +’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world<br> +To be a plain-dealing man.<br> +<br> +O fie upon cheaters and thieves,<br> +That liveth by fraud and deceit;<br> +The gallows do for such blades groan,<br> +And the hangmen do for their clothes wait.<br> +Though poverty be a disgrace,<br> +And want is a pitiful grief,<br> +’Tis better to go like a beggar<br> +Than to ride in a cart like a thief.<br> +For this I will make it appear,<br> +And prove by experience I can,<br> +’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world<br> +To be a plain-dealing man.<br> +<br> +And now let all honest men judge,<br> +If such men as I have here named<br> +For their wicked and impudent dealings,<br> +Deserveth not much to be blamed.<br> +And now here, before I conclude,<br> +One item to the world I will give,<br> +Which may direct some the right way,<br> +And teach them the better to live.<br> +For now I have made it appear,<br> +And many men witness it can,<br> +’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world<br> +To be a plain-dealing man.<br> +<br> +1. I’ th’ first place I’d wish you beware<br> +What company you come in,<br> +For those that are wicked themselves<br> +May quickly tempt others to sin.<br> +<br> +2. If youths be inducèd with wealth,<br> +And have plenty of silver and gold,<br> +I’d wish them keep something in store,<br> +To comfort them when they are old.<br> +<br> +3. I have known many young prodigals,<br> +Which have wasted their money so fast,<br> +That they have been driven in want,<br> +And were forcèd to beg at the last.<br> +<br> +4. I’d wish all men bear a good conscience,<br> +And in all their actions be just;<br> +For he’s a false varlet indeed<br> +That will not be true to his trust.<br> +<br> +And now to conclude my new song,<br> +And draw to a perfect conclusion,<br> +I have told you what is in my mind,<br> +And what is my [firm] resolution.<br> +For this I have made it appear,<br> +And prove by experience I can,<br> +’Tis the excellen’st thing in the world<br> +To be a plain-dealing man.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Poem: THE VANITIES OF LIFE.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The following verses were copied by John Clare, the Northamptonshire +peasant, from a MS. on the fly-leaves of an old book in the possession +of a poor man, entitled <i>The World’s</i> <i>best Wealth</i>; +<i>a Collection of choice Councils in Verse and</i> <i>Prose</i>. +<i>Printed for A. Bettesworth, at the Red Lion</i> <i>in</i> <i>Paternoster-row</i>, +1720. They were written in a ‘crabbed, quaint hand, and +difficult to decipher.’ Clare remitted the poem (along with +the original MS.) to Montgomery, the author of <i>The World before the +Flood</i>, &c. &c., by whom it was published in the <i>Sheffield +Iris</i>. Montgomery’s criticism is as follows:- ‘Long +as the poem appears to the eye, it will abundantly repay the trouble +of perusal, being full of condensed and admirable thought, as well as +diversified with exuberant imagery, and embellished with peculiar felicity +of language: the moral points in the closing couplets of the stanzas +are often powerfully enforced.’ Most readers will agree +in the justice of these remarks. The poem was, probably, as Clare +supposes, written about the commencement of the 18th century; and the +unknown author appears to have been deeply imbued with the spirit of +the popular devotional writers of the preceding century, as Herbert, +Quarles, &c., but seems to have modelled his smoother and more elegant +versification after that of the poetic school of his own times.]<br> +<br> +‘Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.’ - SOLOMON.<br> +<br> +<br> +What are life’s joys and gains?<br> +What pleasures crowd its ways,<br> +That man should take such pains<br> +To seek them all his days?<br> +Sift this untoward strife<br> +On which thy mind is bent,<br> +See if this chaff of life<br> +Is worth the trouble spent.<br> +<br> +Is pride thy heart’s desire?<br> +Is power thy climbing aim?<br> +Is love thy folly’s fire?<br> +Is wealth thy restless game?<br> +Pride, power, love, wealth and all,<br> +Time’s touchstone shall destroy,<br> +And, like base coin, prove all<br> +Vain substitutes for joy.<br> +<br> +Dost think that pride exalts<br> +Thyself in other’s eyes,<br> +And hides thy folly’s faults,<br> +Which reason will despise?<br> +Dost strut, and turn, and stride,<br> +Like walking weathercocks?<br> +The shadow by thy side<br> +Becomes thy ape, and mocks.<br> +<br> +Dost think that power’s disguise<br> +Can make thee mighty seem?<br> +It may in folly’s eyes,<br> +But not in worth’s esteem:<br> +When all that thou canst ask,<br> +And all that she can give,<br> +Is but a paltry mask<br> +Which tyants wear and live.<br> +<br> +Go, let thy fancies range<br> +And ramble where they may;<br> +View power in every change,<br> +And what is the display?<br> +- The country magistrate,<br> +The lowest shade in power,<br> +To rulers of the state,<br> +The meteors of an hour: -<br> +<br> +View all, and mark the end<br> +Of every proud extreme,<br> +Where flattery turns a friend,<br> +And counterfeits esteem;<br> +Where worth is aped in show,<br> +That doth her name purloin,<br> +Like toys of golden glow<br> +That’s sold for copper coin.<br> +<br> +Ambition’s haughty nod,<br> +With fancies may deceive,<br> +Nay, tell thee thou’rt a god, -<br> +And wilt thou such believe?<br> +Go, bid the seas be dry,<br> +Go, hold earth like a ball,<br> +Or throw her fancies by,<br> +For God can do it all.<br> +<br> +Dost thou possess the dower<br> +Of laws to spare or kill?<br> +Call it not heav’nly power<br> +When but a tyrant’s will;<br> +Know what a God will do,<br> +And know thyself a fool,<br> +Nor tyrant-like pursue<br> +Where He alone should rule.<br> +<br> +Dost think, when wealth is won,<br> +Thy heart has its desire?<br> +Hold ice up to the sun,<br> +And wax before the fire;<br> +Nor triumph o’er the reign<br> +Which they so soon resign;<br> +In this world weigh the gain,<br> +Insurance safe is thine.<br> +<br> +Dost think life’s peace secure<br> +In houses and in land?<br> +Go, read the fairy lure<br> +To twist a cord of sand;<br> +Lodge stones upon the sky,<br> +Hold water in a sieve,<br> +Nor give such tales the lie,<br> +And still thine own believe.<br> +<br> +Whoso with riches deals,<br> +And thinks peace bought and sold,<br> +Will find them slippery eels,<br> +That slide the firmest hold:<br> +Though sweet as sleep with health,<br> +Thy lulling luck may be,<br> +Pride may o’erstride thy wealth,<br> +And check prosperity.<br> +<br> +Dost think that beauty’s power,<br> +Life’s sweetest pleasure gives?<br> +Go, pluck the summer flower,<br> +And see how long it lives:<br> +Behold, the rays glide on,<br> +Along the summer plain,<br> +Ere thou canst say, they’re gone, -<br> +And measure beauty’s reign.<br> +<br> +Look on the brightest eye,<br> +Nor teach it to be proud,<br> +But view the clearest sky<br> +And thou shalt find a cloud;<br> +Nor call each face ye meet<br> +An angel’s, ‘cause it’s fair,<br> +But look beneath your feet,<br> +And think of what ye are.<br> +<br> +Who thinks that love doth live<br> +In beauty’s tempting show,<br> +Shall find his hopes ungive,<br> +And melt in reason’s thaw;<br> +Who thinks that pleasure lies<br> +In every fairy bower,<br> +Shall oft, to his surprise,<br> +Find poison in the flower.<br> +<br> +Dost lawless pleasures grasp?<br> +Judge not thou deal’st in joy;<br> +Its flowers but hide the asp,<br> +Thy revels to destroy:<br> +Who trusts a harlot’s smile,<br> +And by her wiles is led,<br> +Plays with a sword the while,<br> +Hung dropping o’er his head.<br> +<br> +Dost doubt my warning song?<br> +Then doubt the sun gives light,<br> +Doubt truth to teach thee wrong,<br> +And wrong alone as right;<br> +And live as lives the knave,<br> +Intrigue’s deceiving guest,<br> +Be tyrant, or be slave,<br> +As suits thy ends the best.<br> +<br> +Or pause amid thy toils,<br> +For visions won and lost,<br> +And count the fancied spoils,<br> +If e’er they quit the cost;<br> +And if they still possess<br> +Thy mind, as worthy things,<br> +Pick straws with Bedlam Bess,<br> +And call them diamond rings.<br> +<br> +Thy folly’s past advice,<br> +Thy heart’s already won,<br> +Thy fall’s above all price,<br> +So go, and be undone;<br> +For all who thus prefer<br> +The seeming great for small,<br> +Shall make wine vinegar,<br> +And sweetest honey gall.<br> +<br> +Wouldst heed the truths I sing,<br> +To profit wherewithal,<br> +Clip folly’s wanton wing,<br> +And keep her within call:<br> +I’ve little else to give,<br> +What thou canst easy try,<br> +The lesson how to live,<br> +Is but to learn to die.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Poem: THE LIFE AND AGE OF MAN.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[From one of Thackeray’s Catalogues, preserved in the British +Museum, it appears that <i>The Life and Age of Man</i> was one of the +productions printed by him at the ‘Angel in Duck Lane, London.’ +Thackeray’s imprint is found attached to broadsides published +between 1672 and 1688, and he probably commenced printing soon after +the accession of Charles II. The present reprint, the correctness +of which is very questionable, is taken from a modern broadside, the +editor not having been fortunate enough to meet with any earlier edition. +This old poem is said to have been a great favourite with the father +of Robert Burns.]<br> +<br> +<br> +In prime of years, when I was young,<br> +I took delight in youthful ways,<br> +Not knowing then what did belong<br> +Unto the pleasures of those days.<br> +At seven years old I was a child,<br> +And subject then to be beguiled.<br> +<br> +At two times seven I went to learn<br> +What discipline is taught at school:<br> +When good from ill I could discern,<br> +I thought myself no more a fool:<br> +My parents were contriving than,<br> +How I might live when I were man.<br> +<br> +At three times seven I waxèd wild,<br> +When manhood led me to be bold;<br> +I thought myself no more a child,<br> +My own conceit it so me told:<br> +Then did I venture far and near,<br> +To buy delight at price full dear.<br> +<br> +At four times seven I take a wife,<br> +And leave off all my wanton ways,<br> +Thinking thereby perhaps to thrive,<br> +And save myself from sad disgrace.<br> +So farewell my companions all,<br> +For other business doth me call.<br> +<br> +At five times seven I must hard strive,<br> +What I could gain by mighty skill;<br> +But still against the stream I drive,<br> +And bowl up stones against the hill;<br> +The more I laboured might and main,<br> +The more I strove against the stream.<br> +<br> +At six times seven all covetise<br> +Began to harbour in my breast;<br> +My mind still then contriving was<br> +How I might gain this worldly wealth;<br> +To purchase lands and live on them,<br> +So make my children mighty men.<br> +<br> +At seven times seven all worldly thought<br> +Began to harbour in my brain;<br> +Then did I drink a heavy draught<br> +Of water of experience plain;<br> +There none so ready was as I,<br> +To purchase bargains, sell, or buy.<br> +<br> +At eight times seven I waxèd old,<br> +And took myself unto my rest,<br> +Neighbours then sought my counsel bold,<br> +And I was held in great request;<br> +But age did so abate my strength,<br> +That I was forced to yield at length.<br> +<br> +At nine times seven take my leave<br> +Of former vain delights must I;<br> +It then full sorely did me grieve -<br> +I fetchèd many a heavy sigh;<br> +To rise up early, and sit up late,<br> +My former life, I loathe and hate.<br> +<br> +At ten times seven my glass is run,<br> +And I poor silly man must die;<br> +I lookèd up, and saw the sun<br> +Had overcome the crystal sky.<br> +So now I must this world forsake,<br> +Another man my place must take.<br> +<br> +Now you may see, as in a glass,<br> +The whole estate of mortal men;<br> +How they from seven to seven do pass,<br> +Until they are threescore and ten;<br> +And when their glass is fully run,<br> +They must leave off as they begun.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Poem: THE YOUNG MAN’S WISH.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[From an old copy, without printer’s name; probably one from the +Aldermary Church-yard press. Poems in triplets were very popular +during the reign of Charles I., and are frequently to be met with during +the Interregnum, and the reign of Charles II.]<br> +<br> +<br> +If I could but attain my wish,<br> +I’d have each day one wholesome dish,<br> +Of plain meat, or fowl, or fish.<br> +<br> +A glass of port, with good old beer,<br> +In winter time a fire burnt clear,<br> +Tobacco, pipes, an easy chair.<br> +<br> +In some clean town a snug retreat,<br> +A little garden ‘fore my gate,<br> +With thousand pounds a year estate.<br> +<br> +After my house expense was clear,<br> +Whatever I could have to spare,<br> +The neighbouring poor should freely share.<br> +<br> +To keep content and peace through life,<br> +I’d have a prudent cleanly wife,<br> +Stranger to noise, and eke to strife.<br> +<br> +Then I, when blest with such estate,<br> +With such a house, and such a mate,<br> +Would envy not the worldly great.<br> +<br> +Let them for noisy honours try,<br> +Let them seek worldly praise, while I<br> +Unnoticèd would live and die.<br> +<br> +But since dame Fortune’s not thought fit<br> +To place me in affluence, yet<br> +I’ll be content with what I get.<br> +<br> +He’s happiest far whose humble mind,<br> +Is unto Providence resigned,<br> +And thinketh fortune always kind.<br> +<br> +Then I will strive to bound my wish,<br> +And take, instead of fowl and fish,<br> +Whate’er is thrown into my dish.<br> +<br> +Instead of wealth and fortune great,<br> +Garden and house and loving mate,<br> +I’ll rest content in servile state.<br> +<br> +I’ll from each folly strive to fly,<br> +Each virtue to attain I’ll try,<br> +And live as I would wish to die.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Poem: THE MIDNIGHT MESSENGER; OR, A SUDDEN CALL FROM AN EARTHLY GLORY +TO THE COLD GRAVE.<br> +<br> +In a Dialogue between Death and a Rich Man; who, in the midst of all +his Wealth, received the tidings of his Last Day, to his unspeakable +and sorrowful Lamentation.<br> +<br> +To the tune of <i>Aim not too high</i>, <a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1">{1}</a> +&c.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The following poem, and the two that immediately follow, belong to +a class of publications which have always been peculiar favourites with +the peasantry, in whose cottages they may be frequently seen, neatly +framed and glazed, and suspended from the white-washed walls. +They belong to the school of Quarles, and can be traced to the time +when that writer was in the height of his popularity. These religious +dialogues are numerous, but the majority of them are very namby-pamby +productions, and unworthy of a reprint. The modern editions preserve +the old form of the broadside of the seventeenth century, and are adorned +with rude woodcuts, probably copies of ruder originals -<br> +<br> +<br> +- ‘wooden cuts<br> +Strange, and uncouth; dire faces, figures dire,<br> +Sharp-kneed, sharp-elbowed, and lean-ankled too,<br> +With long and ghostly shanks, forms which once seen,<br> +Can never be forgotten!’ - WORDSWORTH’S <i>Excursion</i>.]<br> +<br> +<br> +DEATH.<br> +<br> +Thou wealthy man of large possessions here,<br> +Amounting to some thousand pounds a year,<br> +Extorted by oppression from the poor,<br> +The time is come that thou shalt be no more;<br> +Thy house therefore in order set with speed,<br> +And call to mind how you your life do lead.<br> +Let true repentance be thy chiefest care,<br> +And for another world now, <i>now</i> prepare.<br> +For notwithstanding all your heaps of gold,<br> +Your lands and lofty buildings manifold,<br> +Take notice you must die this very day;<br> +And therefore kiss your bags and come away.<br> +<br> +RICH MAN.<br> +<br> +[He started straight and turned his head aside,<br> +Where seeing pale-faced Death, aloud he cried],<br> +Lean famished slave! why do you threaten so,<br> +Whence come you, pray, and whither must I go?<br> +<br> +DEATH.<br> +<br> +I come from ranging round the universe,<br> +Through courts and kingdoms far and near I pass,<br> +Where rich and poor, distressèd, bond and free,<br> +Fall soon or late a sacrifice to me.<br> +From crownèd kings to captives bound in chains<br> +My power reaches, sir; the longest reigns<br> +That ever were, I put a period to;<br> +And now I’m come in fine to conquer you.<br> +<br> +RICH MAN.<br> +<br> +I can’t nor won’t believe that you, pale Death,<br> +Were sent this day to stop my vital breath,<br> +By reason I in perfect health remain,<br> +Free from diseases, sorrow, grief, and pain;<br> +No heavy heart, nor fainting fits have I,<br> +And do you say that I am drawing nigh<br> +The latter minute? sure it cannot be;<br> +Depart, therefore, you are not sent for me!<br> +<br> +DEATH.<br> +<br> +Yes, yes, I am, for did you never know,<br> +The tender grass and pleasant flowers that grow<br> +Perhaps one minute, are the next cut down?<br> +And so is man, though famed with high renown.<br> +Have you not heard the doleful passing bell<br> +Ring out for those that were alive and well<br> +The other day, in health and pleasure too,<br> +And had as little thoughts of death as you?<br> +For let me tell you, when my warrant’s sealed,<br> +The sweetest beauty that the earth doth yield<br> +At my approach shall turn as pale as lead;<br> +’Tis I that lay them on their dying bed.<br> +<br> +I kill with dropsy, phthisic, stone, and gout;<br> +But when my raging fevers fly about,<br> +I strike the man, perhaps, but over-night,<br> +Who hardly lives to see the morning light;<br> +I’m sent each hour, like to a nimble page,<br> +To infant, hoary heads, and middle age;<br> +Time after time I sweep the world quite through;<br> +Then it’s in vain to think I’ll favour you.<br> +<br> +RICH MAN.<br> +<br> +Proud Death, you see what awful sway I bear,<br> +For when I frown none of my servants dare<br> +Approach my presence, but in corners hide<br> +Until I am appeased and pacified.<br> +Nay, men of greater rank I keep in awe<br> +Nor did I ever fear the force of law,<br> +But ever did my enemies subdue,<br> +And must I after all submit to you?<br> +<br> +DEATH.<br> +<br> +’Tis very true, for why thy daring soul,<br> +Which never could endure the least control,<br> +I’ll thrust thee from this earthly tenement,<br> +And thou shalt to another world be sent.<br> +<br> +RICH MAN.<br> +<br> +What! must I die and leave a vast estate,<br> +Which, with my gold, I purchased but of late?<br> +Besides what I had many years ago? -<br> +What! must my wealth and I be parted so?<br> +If you your darts and arrows must let fly,<br> +Go search the jails, where mourning debtors lie;<br> +Release them from their sorrow, grief, and woe,<br> +For I am rich and therefore loth to go.<br> +<br> +DEATH.<br> +<br> +I’ll search no jails, but the right mark I’ll hit;<br> +And though you are unwilling to submit,<br> +Yet die you must, no other friend can do, -<br> +Prepare yourself to go, I’m come for you.<br> +If you had all the world and ten times more,<br> +Yet die you must, - there’s millions gone before;<br> +The greatest kings on earth yield and obey,<br> +And at my feet their crowns and sceptres lay:<br> +If crownèd heads and right renownèd peers<br> +Die in the prime and blossoms of their years,<br> +Can you suppose to gain a longer space?<br> +No! I will send you to another place.<br> +<br> +RICH MAN.<br> +<br> +Oh! stay thy hand and be not so severe,<br> +I have a hopeful son and daughter dear,<br> +All that I beg is but to let me live<br> +That I may them in lawful marriage give:<br> +They being young when I am laid in the grave,<br> +I fear they will be wronged of what they have:<br> +Although of me you will no pity take,<br> +Yet spare me for my little infants’ sake.<br> +<br> +DEATH.<br> +<br> +If such a vain excuse as this might do,<br> +It would be long ere mortals would go through<br> +The shades of death; for every man would find<br> +Something to say that he might stay behind.<br> +Yet, if ten thousand arguments they’d use,<br> +The destiny of dying to excuse,<br> +They’ll find it is in vain with me to strive,<br> +For why, I part the dearest friends alive;<br> +Poor parents die, and leave their children small<br> +With nothing to support them here withal,<br> +But the kind hand of gracious Providence,<br> +Who is their father, friend, and sole defence.<br> +Though I have held you long in disrepute,<br> +Yet after all here with a sharp salute<br> +I’ll put a period to your days and years,<br> +Causing your eyes to flow with dying tears.<br> +<br> +RICH MAN.<br> +<br> +[Then with a groan he made this sad complaint]:<br> +My heart is dying, and my spirits faint;<br> +To my close chamber let me be conveyed;<br> +Farewell, false world, for thou hast me betrayed.<br> +Would I had never wronged the fatherless,<br> +Nor mourning widows when in sad distress;<br> +Would I had ne’er been guilty of that sin,<br> +Would I had never known what gold had been;<br> +For by the same my heart was drawn away<br> +To search for gold: but now this very day,<br> +I find it is but like a slender reed,<br> +Which fails me most when most I stand in need;<br> +For, woe is me! the time is come at last,<br> +Now I am on a bed of sorrow cast,<br> +Where in lamenting tears I weeping lie,<br> +Because my sins make me afraid to die:<br> +Oh! Death, be pleased to spare me yet awhile,<br> +That I to God myself may reconcile,<br> +For true repentance some small time allow;<br> +I never feared a future state till now!<br> +My bags of gold and land I’d freely give,<br> +For to obtain the favour here to live,<br> +Until I have a sure foundation laid.<br> +Let me not die before my peace be made!<br> +<br> +DEATH.<br> +<br> +Thou hast not many minutes here to stay,<br> +Lift up your heart to God without delay,<br> +Implore his pardon now for what is past,<br> +Who knows but He may save your soul at last?<br> +<br> +RICH MAN.<br> +<br> +I’ll water now with tears my dying bed,<br> +Before the Lord my sad complaint I’ll spread,<br> +And if He will vouchsafe to pardon me,<br> +To die and leave this world I could be free.<br> +False world! false world, farewell! farewell! adieu!<br> +I find, I find, there is no trust in you!<br> +For when upon a dying bed we lie,<br> +Your gilded baits are nought but misery.<br> +My youthful son and loving daughter dear,<br> +Take warning by your dying father here;<br> +Let not the world deceive you at this rate,<br> +For fear a sad repentance comes too late.<br> +Sweet babes, I little thought the other day,<br> +I should so suddenly be snatched away<br> +By Death, and leave you weeping here behind;<br> +But life’s a most uncertain thing, I find.<br> +When in the grave my head is lain full low,<br> +Pray let not folly prove your overthrow;<br> +Serve ye the Lord, obey his holy will,<br> +That he may have a blessing for you still.<br> +[Having saluted them, he turned aside,<br> +These were the very words before he died]:<br> +<br> +A painful life I ready am to leave,<br> +Wherefore, in mercy, Lord, my soul receive.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Poem: A DIALOGUE BETWIXT AN EXCISEMAN AND DEATH.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[Transcribed from a copy in the British Museum, printed in London by +J. C[larke]., 1659. The idea of Death being employed to execute +a writ, recalls an epitaph which we remember to have seen in a village +church-yard at the foot of the Wrekin, in Shropshire, commencing thus:-<br> +<br> +‘The King of Heaven a warrant got,<br> +And sealèd it without delay,<br> +And he did give the same to Death,<br> +For him to serve straightway,’ &c.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Upon a time when Titan’s steeds were driven<br> +To drench themselves beneath the western heaven;<br> +And sable Morpheus had his curtains spread,<br> +And silent night had laid the world to bed;<br> +’Mongst other night-birds which did seek for prey,<br> +A blunt exciseman, which abhorred the day,<br> +Was rambling forth to seek himself a booty<br> +’Mongst merchant’s goods which had not paid the duty;<br> +But walking all alone, Death chanced to meet him,<br> +And in this manner did begin to greet him.<br> +<br> +DEATH.<br> +<br> +Stand, who comes here? what means this knave to peep<br> +And skulk abroad, when honest men should sleep?<br> +Speak, what’s thy name? and quickly tell me this,<br> +Whither thou goest, and what thy business is?<br> +<br> +EXCISEMAN.<br> +<br> +Whate’er my business is, thou foul-mouthed scold,<br> +I’d have you know I scorn to be controlled<br> +By any man that lives; much less by thou,<br> +Who blurtest out thou know’st not what, nor how;<br> +I go about my lawful business; and<br> +I’ll make you smart for bidding of me stand.<br> +<br> +DEATH.<br> +<br> +Imperious coxcomb! is your stomach vexed?<br> +Pray slack your rage, and hearken what comes next:<br> +I have a writ to take you up; therefore,<br> +To chafe your blood, I bid you stand, once more.<br> +<br> +EXCISEMAN.<br> +<br> +A writ to take <i>me</i> up! excuse me, sir,<br> +You do mistake, I am an officer<br> +In public service, for my private wealth;<br> +My business is, if any seek by stealth<br> +To undermine the state, I do discover<br> +Their falsehood; therefore hold your hand, - give over.<br> +<br> +DEATH.<br> +<br> +Nay, fair and soft! ’tis not so quickly done<br> +As you conceive it is: I am not gone<br> +A jot the sooner for your hasty chat,<br> +Nor bragging language; for I tell you flat<br> +’Tis more than so, though fortune seem to thwart us,<br> +Such easy terms I don’t intend shall part us.<br> +With this impartial arm I’ll make you feel<br> +My fingers first, and with this shaft of steel<br> +I’ll peck thy bones! <i>as thou alive wert hated,<br> +So dead, to dogs thou shalt be segregated.<br> +<br> +</i>EXCISEMAN.<br> +<br> +I’d laugh at that; I would thou didst but dare<br> +To lay thy fingers on me; I’d not spare<br> +To hack thy carcass till my sword was broken,<br> +I’d make thee eat the words which thou hast spoken;<br> +All men should warning take by thy transgression,<br> +How they molested men of my profession.<br> +My service to the State is so well known,<br> +That should I but complain, they’d quickly own<br> +My public grievances; and give me right<br> +To cut your ears, before tomorrow night.<br> +<br> +DEATH.<br> +<br> +Well said, indeed! but bootless all, for I<br> +Am well acquainted with thy villany;<br> +I know thy office, and thy trade is such,<br> +Thy service little, and thy gains are much:<br> +Thy brags are many; but ’tis vain to swagger,<br> +And think to fight me with thy gilded dagger:<br> +<i>As I abhor thy person, place, and threat,<br> +</i>So now I’ll bring thee to the judgment-seat.<br> +<br> +EXCISEMAN.<br> +<br> +The judgment-seat! I must confess that word<br> +Doth cut my heart, like any sharpened sword:<br> +What! come t’ account! methinks the dreadful sound<br> +Of every word doth make a mortal wound,<br> +Which sticks not only in my outward skin,<br> +But penetrates my very soul within.<br> +’Twas least of all my thoughts that ever Death<br> +Would once attempt to stop excisemen’s breath.<br> +But since ’tis so, that now I do perceive<br> +You are in earnest, then I must relieve<br> +Myself another way: come, we’ll be friends;<br> +If I have wrongèd thee, I’ll make th’ amends.<br> +Let’s join together; I’ll pass my word this night<br> +Shall yield us grub, before the morning light.<br> +Or otherwise (to mitigate my sorrow),<br> +Stay here, I’ll bring you gold enough to-morrow.<br> +<br> +DEATH.<br> +<br> +To-morrow’s gold I will not have; and thou<br> +Shalt have no gold upon to-morrow: now<br> +My final writ shall to th’ execution have thee,<br> +All earthly treasure cannot help or save thee.<br> +<br> +EXCISEMAN.<br> +<br> +Then woe is me! ah! how was I befooled!<br> +I thought that gold (which answereth all things) could<br> +Have stood my friend at any time to bail me!<br> +But grief grows great, and now my trust doth fail me.<br> +Oh! that my conscience were but clear within,<br> +Which now is rackèd with my former sin;<br> +With horror I behold my secret stealing,<br> +My bribes, oppression, and my graceless dealing;<br> +My office-sins, which I had clean forgotten,<br> +Will gnaw my soul when all my bones are rotten:<br> +I must confess it, very grief doth force me,<br> +Dead or alive, both God and man doth curse me.<br> +<i>Let all Excisemen</i> hereby warning take,<br> +To shun their practice for their conscience sake.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Poem: THE MESSENGER OF MORTALITY; OR LIFE AND DEATH CONTRASTED IN A +DIALOGUE BETWIXT DEATH AND A LADY.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[One of Charles Lamb’s most beautiful and plaintive poems was +suggested by this old dialogue. The tune is given in Chappell’s +<i>Popular Music</i>, p. 167. In Carey’s <i>Musical Century</i>, +1738, it is called the ‘Old tune of <i>Death and the Lady</i>.’ +The four concluding lines of the present copy of <i>Death and the Lady</i> +are found inscribed on tomb-stones in village church-yards in every +part of England. They are not contained, however, in the broadside +with which our reprint has been carefully collated.]<br> +<br> +<br> +DEATH.<br> +<br> +Fair lady, lay your costly robes aside,<br> +No longer may you glory in your pride;<br> +Take leave of all your carnal vain delight,<br> +I’m come to summon you away this night!<br> +<br> +LADY.<br> +<br> +What bold attempt is this? pray let me know<br> +From whence you come, and whither I must go?<br> +Must I, who am a lady, stoop or bow<br> +To such a pale-faced visage? Who art thou?<br> +<br> +DEATH.<br> +<br> +Do you not know me? well! I tell thee, then,<br> +It’s I that conquer all the sons of men!<br> +No pitch of honour from my dart is free;<br> +My name is Death! have you not heard of me?<br> +<br> +LADY.<br> +<br> +Yes! I have heard of thee time after time,<br> +But being in the glory of my prime,<br> +I did not think you would have called so soon.<br> +Why must my morning sun go down at noon?<br> +<br> +DEATH.<br> +<br> +Talk not of noon! you may as well be mute;<br> +This is no time at all for to dispute:<br> +Your riches, garments, gold, and jewels brave,<br> +Houses and lands must all new owners have;<br> +Though thy vain heart to riches was inclined,<br> +Yet thou must die and leave them all behind.<br> +<br> +LADY.<br> +<br> +My heart is cold; I tremble at the news;<br> +There’s bags of gold, if thou wilt me excuse,<br> +And seize on them, and finish thou the strife<br> +Of those that are aweary of their life.<br> +Are there not many bound in prison strong,<br> +In bitter grief of soul have languished long,<br> +Who could but find the grave a place of rest,<br> +From all the grief in which they are oppressed?<br> +Besides, there’s many with a hoary head,<br> +And palsy joints, by which their joys are fled;<br> +Release thou them whose sorrows are so great,<br> +But spare my life to have a longer date.<br> +<br> +DEATH.<br> +<br> +Though some by age be full of grief and pain,<br> +Yet their appointed time they must remain:<br> +I come to none before their warrant’s sealed,<br> +And when it is, they must submit and yield.<br> +I take no bribe, believe me, this is true;<br> +Prepare yourself to go; I’m come for you.<br> +<br> +LADY.<br> +<br> +Death, be not so severe, let me obtain<br> +A little longer time to live and reign!<br> +Fain would I stay if thou my life will spare;<br> +I have a daughter beautiful and fair,<br> +I’d live to see her wed whom I adore:<br> +Grant me but this and I will ask no more.<br> +<br> +DEATH.<br> +<br> +This is a slender frivolous excuse;<br> +I have you fast, and will not let you loose;<br> +Leave her to Providence, for you must go<br> +Along with me, whether you will or no;<br> +I, Death, command the King to leave his crown,<br> +And at my feet he lays his sceptre down!<br> +Then if to kings I don’t this favour give,<br> +But cut them off, can you expect to live<br> +Beyond the limits of your time and space!<br> +No! I must send you to another place.<br> +<br> +LADY.<br> +<br> +You learnèd doctors, now express your skill,<br> +And let not Death of me obtain his will;<br> +Prepare your cordials, let me comfort find,<br> +My gold shall fly like chaff before the wind.<br> +<br> +DEATH.<br> +<br> +Forbear to call, their skill will never do,<br> +They are but mortals here as well as you:<br> +I give the fatal wound, my dart is sure,<br> +And far beyond the doctor’s skill to cure.<br> +How freely can you let your riches fly<br> +To purchase life, rather than yield to die!<br> +But while you flourish here with all your store,<br> +You will not give one penny to the poor;<br> +Though in God’s name their suit to you they make,<br> +You would not spare one penny for His sake!<br> +The Lord beheld wherein you did amiss,<br> +And calls you hence to give account for this!<br> +<br> +LADY.<br> +<br> +Oh! heavy news! must I no longer stay?<br> +How shall I stand in the great judgment-day?<br> +[Down from her eyes the crystal tears did flow:<br> +She said], None knows what I do undergo:<br> +Upon my bed of sorrow here I lie;<br> +My carnal life makes me afraid to die.<br> +My sins, alas! are many, gross and foul,<br> +Oh, righteous Lord! have mercy on my soul!<br> +And though I do deserve thy righteous frown,<br> +Yet pardon, Lord, and pour a blessing down.<br> +[Then with a dying sigh her heart did break,<br> +And did the pleasures of this world forsake.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Thus may we see the high and mighty fall,<br> +For cruel Death shows no respect at all<br> +To any one of high or low degree<br> +Great men submit to Death as well as we.<br> +Though they are gay, their life is but a span -<br> +A lump of clay - so vile a creature’s man.<br> +Then happy those whom Christ has made his care,<br> +Who die in the Lord, and ever blessèd are.<br> +The grave’s the market-place where all men meet,<br> +Both rich and poor, as well as small and great.<br> +If life were merchandise that gold could buy,<br> +The rich would live, the poor alone would die.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Poem: ENGLAND’S ALARM; OR THE PIOUS CHRISTIAN’S SPEEDY CALL +TO REPENTANCE<br> +<br> +For the many aggravating sins too much practised in our present mournful +times: as Pride, Drunkenness, Blasphemous Swearing, together with the +Profanation of the Sabbath; concluding with the sin of wantonness and +disobedience; that upon our hearty sorrow and forsaking the same the +Lord may save us for his mercy’s sake.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[From the cluster of ‘ornaments’ alluded to in the ninth +verse of the following poem, we are inclined to fix the date about 1653. +The present reprint is from an old broadside, without printer’s +name or date, in possession of Mr. J. R. Smith.]<br> +<br> +<br> +You sober-minded christians now draw near,<br> +Labour to learn these pious lessons here;<br> +For by the same you will be taught to know<br> +What is the cause of all our grief and woe.<br> +<br> +We have a God who sits enthroned above;<br> +He sends us many tokens of his love:<br> +Yet we, like disobedient children, still<br> +Deny to yield submission to His will.<br> +<br> +The just command which He upon us lays,<br> +We must confess we have ten thousand ways<br> +Transgressed; for see how men their sins pursue,<br> +As if they did not fear what God could do.<br> +<br> +Behold the wretched sinner void of shame,<br> +He values not how he blasphemes the name<br> +Of that good God who gave him life and breath,<br> +And who can strike him with the darts of death!<br> +<br> +The very little children which we meet,<br> +Amongst the sports and pastimes in the street,<br> +We very often hear them curse and swear,<br> +Before they’ve learned a word of any prayer.<br> +<br> +’Tis much to be lamented, for I fear<br> +The same they learn from what they daily hear;<br> +Be careful then, and don’t instruct them so,<br> +For fear you prove their dismal overthrow.<br> +<br> +Both young and old, that dreadful sin forbear;<br> +The tongue of man was never made to swear,<br> +But to adore and praise the blessèd name,<br> +By whom alone our dear salvation came.<br> +<br> +Pride is another reigning sin likewise;<br> +Let us behold in what a strange disguise<br> +Young damsels do appear, both rich and poor;<br> +The like was ne’er in any age before.<br> +<br> +What artificial ornaments they wear,<br> +Black patches, paint, and locks of powdered hair;<br> +Likewise in lofty hoops they are arrayed,<br> +As if they would correct what God had made.<br> +<br> +Yet let ’em know, for all those youthful charms,<br> +They must lie down in death’s cold frozen arms!<br> +Oh think on this, and raise your thoughts above<br> +The sin of pride, which you so dearly love.<br> +<br> +Likewise, the wilful sinners that transgress<br> +The righteous laws of God by drunkenness,<br> +They do abuse the creatures which were sent<br> +Purely for man’s refreshing nourishment.<br> +<br> +Many diseases doth that sin attend,<br> +But what is worst of all, the fatal end:<br> +Let not the pleasures of a quaffing bowl<br> +Destroy and stupify thy active soul.<br> +<br> +Perhaps the jovial drunkard over night,<br> +May seem to reap the pleasures of delight,<br> +While for his wine he doth in plenty call;<br> +But oh! the sting of conscience, after all,<br> +<br> +Is like a gnawing worm upon the mind.<br> +Then if you would the peace of conscience find,<br> +A sober conversation learn with speed,<br> +For that’s the sweetest life that man can lead.<br> +<br> +Be careful that thou art not drawn away,<br> +By foolishness, to break the Sabbath-day;<br> +Be constant at the pious house of prayer,<br> +That thou mayst learn the christian duties there.<br> +<br> +For tell me, wherefore should we carp and care<br> +For what we eat and drink, and what we wear;<br> +And the meanwhile our fainting souls exclude<br> +From that refreshing sweet celestial food?<br> +<br> +Yet so it is, we, by experience, find<br> +Many young wanton gallants seldom mind<br> +The church of God, but scornfully deride<br> +That sacred word by which they must be tried.<br> +<br> +A tavern, or an alehouse, they adore,<br> +And will not come within the church before<br> +They’re brought to lodge under a silent tomb,<br> +And then who knows how dismal is their doom!<br> +<br> +Though for awhile, perhaps, they flourish here,<br> +And seem to scorn the very thoughts of fear,<br> +Yet when they’re summoned to resign their breath,<br> +They can’t outbrave the bitter stroke of death!<br> +<br> +Consider this, young gallants, whilst you may,<br> +Swift-wingèd time and tide for none will stay;<br> +And therefore let it be your christian care,<br> +To serve the Lord, and for your death prepare.<br> +<br> +There is another crying sin likewise:<br> +Behold young gallants cast their wanton eyes<br> +On painted harlots, which they often meet<br> +At every creek and corner of the street,<br> +<br> +By whom they are like dismal captives led<br> +To their destruction; grace and fear is fled,<br> +Till at the length they find themselves betrayed,<br> +And for that sin most sad examples made.<br> +<br> +Then, then, perhaps, in bitter tears they’ll cry,<br> +With wringing hands, against their company,<br> +Which did betray them to that dismal state!<br> +Consider this before it is too late.<br> +<br> +Likewise, sons and daughters, far and near,<br> +Honour your loving friends, and parents dear;<br> +Let not your disobedience grieve them so,<br> +Nor cause their agèd eyes with tears to flow.<br> +<br> +What a heart-breaking sorrow it must be,<br> +To dear indulgent parents, when they see<br> +Their stubborn children wilfully run on<br> +Against the wholesome laws of God and man!<br> +<br> +Oh! let these things a deep impression make<br> +Upon your hearts, with speed your sins forsake;<br> +For, true it is, the Lord will never bless<br> +Those children that do wilfully transgress.<br> +<br> +Now, to conclude, both young and old I pray,<br> +Reform your sinful lives this very day,<br> +That God in mercy may his love extend,<br> +And bring the nation’s troubles to an end.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Poem: SMOKING SPIRITUALIZED.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently sufficient +grounds, to the Rev. Ralph Erskine, or, as he designated himself, ‘Ralph +Erskine, V.D.M.’ The peasantry throughout the north of England +always call it ‘Erskine’s song,’ and not only is his +name given as the author in numerous chap-books, but in his own volume +of <i>Gospel Sonnets</i>, from an early copy of which our version is +transcribed. The discovery however, by Mr. Collier, of the First +Part in a MS. temp. Jac. I., with the initials G. W. affixed to it, +has disposed of Erskine’s claim to the honour of the entire authorship. +G. W. is supposed to be George Withers; but this is purely conjectural; +and it is not at all improbable that G. W. really stands for W. G., +as it was a common practice amongst anonymous writers to reverse their +initials. The history, then, of the poem, seems to be this: that +the First Part, as it is now printed, originally constituted the whole +production, being complete in itself; that the Second Part was afterwards +added by the Rev. Ralph Erskine; and that both parts came subsequently +to be ascribed to him, as his was the only name published in connexion +with the song. The Rev. Ralph Erskine was born at Monilaws, Northumberland, +on the 15th March, 1685. He was one of the thirty-three children +of Ralph Erskine of Shieldfield, a family of repute descended from the +ancient house of Marr. He was educated at the college in Edinburgh, +obtained his licence to preach in June, 1709, and was ordained, on an +unanimous invitation, over the church at Dunfermline in August, 1711. +He was twice married: in 1714 to Margaret Dewar, daughter of the Laird +of Lassodie, by whom he had five sons and five daughters, all of whom +died in the prime of life; and in 1732 to Margaret, daughter of Mr. +Simson of Edinburgh, by whom he had four sons, one of whom, with his +wife, survived him. He died in November, 1752. Erskine was +the author of a great number of <i>Sermons</i>; <i>a Paraphrase on the</i> +<i>Canticles</i>; <i>Scripture Songs</i>; <i>a Treatise on Mental Images</i>; +and <i>Gospel Sonnets.<br> +<br> +Smoking Spiritualized</i> is, at the present day, a standard publication +with modern ballad-printers, but their copies are exceedingly corrupt. +Many versions and paraphrases of the song exist. Several are referred +to in <i>Notes and Queries</i>, and, amongst them, a broadside of the +date of 1670, and another dated 1672 (both printed before Erskine was +born), presenting different readings of the First Part, or original +poem. In both these the burthen, or refrain, differs from that +of our copy by the employment of the expression ‘<i>drink</i> +tobacco,’ instead of ‘<i>smoke</i> tobacco.’ +The former was the ancient term for drawing in the smoke, swallowing +it, and emitting it through the nostrils. A correspondent of <i>Notes +and Queries</i> says, that the natives of India to this day use the +phrase ‘hooka peue,’ to <i>drink</i> the hooka.]<br> +<br> +<br> +PART I.<br> +<br> +This Indian weed, now withered quite,<br> +Though green at noon, cut down at night,<br> +Shows thy decay;<br> +All flesh is hay:<br> +Thus think, and smoke tobacco.<br> +<br> +The pipe so lily-like and weak,<br> +Does thus thy mortal state bespeak;<br> +Thou art e’en such, -<br> +Gone with a touch:<br> +Thus think, and smoke tobacco.<br> +<br> +And when the smoke ascends on high,<br> +Then thou behold’st the vanity<br> +Of worldly stuff,<br> +Gone with a puff:<br> +Thus think, and smoke tobacco.<br> +<br> +And when the pipe grows foul within,<br> +Think on thy soul defiled with sin;<br> +For then the fire<br> +It does require:<br> +Thus think, and smoke tobacco.<br> +<br> +And seest the ashes cast away,<br> +Then to thyself thou mayest say,<br> +That to the dust<br> +Return thou must.<br> +Thus think, and smoke tobacco.<br> +<br> +PART II.<br> +<br> +Was this small plant for thee cut down?<br> +So was the plant of great renown,<br> +Which Mercy sends<br> +For nobler ends.<br> +Thus think, and smoke tobacco.<br> +<br> +Doth juice medicinal proceed<br> +From such a naughty foreign weed?<br> +Then what’s the power<br> +Of Jesse’s flower?<br> +Thus think, and smoke tobacco.<br> +<br> +The promise, like the pipe, inlays,<br> +And by the mouth of faith conveys,<br> +What virtue flows<br> +From Sharon’s rose.<br> +Thus think, and smoke tobacco.<br> +<br> +In vain the unlighted pipe you blow,<br> +Your pains in outward means are so,<br> +Till heavenly fire<br> +Your heart inspire.<br> +Thus think, and smoke tobacco.<br> +<br> +The smoke, like burning incense, towers,<br> +So should a praying heart of yours,<br> +With ardent cries,<br> +Surmount the skies.<br> +Thus think, and smoke tobacco.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Poem: THE MASONIC HYMN.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This is a very ancient production, though given from a modern copy; +it has always been popular amongst the poor ‘brethren of the mystic +tie.’ The late Henry O’Brien, A.B., quotes the seventh +verse in his essay <i>On the Round Towers of Ireland</i>. He generally +had a common copy of the hymn in his pocket, and on meeting with any +of his antiquarian friends who were not Masons, was in the habit of +thrusting it into their hands, and telling them that if they understood +the mystic allusions it contained, they would be in possession of a +key which would unlock the pyramids of Egypt! The tune to the +hymn is peculiar to it, and is of a plaintive and solemn character.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Come all you freemasons that dwell around the globe,<br> +That wear the badge of innocence, I mean the royal robe,<br> +Which Noah he did wear when in the ark he stood,<br> +When the world was destroyed by a deluging flood.<br> +<br> +Noah he was virtuous in the sight of the Lord,<br> +He loved a freemason that kept the secret word;<br> +For he built the ark, and he planted the first vine,<br> +Now his soul in heaven like an angel doth shine.<br> +<br> +Once I was blind, and could not see the light,<br> +Then up to Jerusalem I took my flight,<br> +I was led by the evangelist through a wilderness of care,<br> +You may see by the sign and the badge that I wear.<br> +<br> +On the 13th rose the ark, let us join hand in hand,<br> +For the Lord spake to Moses by water and by land,<br> +Unto the pleasant river where by Eden it did rin,<br> +And Eve tempted Adam by the serpent of sin.<br> +<br> +When I think of Moses it makes me to blush,<br> +All on mount Horeb where I saw the burning bush;<br> +My shoes I’ll throw off, and my staff I’ll cast away,<br> +And I’ll wander like a pilgrim unto my dying day.<br> +<br> +When I think of Aaron it makes me to weep,<br> +Likewise of the Virgin Mary who lay at our Saviour’s feet;<br> +’Twas in the garden of Gethsemane where he had the bloody sweat;<br> +Repent, my dearest brethren, before it is too late.<br> +<br> +I thought I saw twelve dazzling lights, which put me in surprise,<br> +And gazing all around me I heard a dismal noise;<br> +The serpent passèd by me which fell unto the ground,<br> +With great joy and comfort the secret word I found.<br> +<br> +Some say it is lost, but surely it is found,<br> +And so is our Saviour, it is known to all around;<br> +Search all the Scriptures over, and there it will be shown;<br> +The tree that will bear no fruit must be cut down.<br> +<br> +Abraham was a man well belovèd by the Lord,<br> +He was true to be found in great Jehovah’s word,<br> +He stretchèd forth his hand, and took a knife to slay his son,<br> +An angel appearing said, The Lord’s will be done!<br> +<br> +O, Abraham! O, Abraham! lay no hand upon the lad,<br> +He sent him unto thee to make thy heart glad;<br> +Thy seed shall increase like stars in the sky,<br> +And thy soul into heaven like Gabriel shall fly.<br> +<br> +O, never, O, never will I hear an orphan cry,<br> +Nor yet a gentle virgin until the day I die;<br> +You wandering Jews that travel the wide world round,<br> +May knock at the door where truth is to be found.<br> +<br> +Often against the Turks and Infidels we fight,<br> +To let the wandering world know we’re in the right,<br> +For in heaven there’s a lodge, and St. Peter keeps the door,<br> +And none can enter in but those that are pure.<br> +<br> +St. Peter he opened, and so we entered in,<br> +Into the holy seat secure, which is all free from sin;<br> +St. Peter he opened, and so we entered there,<br> +And the glory of the temple no man can compare.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Poem: GOD SPEED THE PLOW, AND BLESS THE CORN-MOW. A DIALOGUE BETWEEN +THE HUSBANDMAN AND SERVINGMAN.<br> +<br> +The tune is, <i>I am the Duke of Norfolk.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +</i>[This ancient dialogue, though in a somewhat altered form (see the +ensuing poem), has long been used at country merry-makings. It +is transcribed from a black-letter copy in the third volume of the Roxburgh +collection, apparently one of the imprints of Peter Brooksby, which +would make the composition at least as old as the close of the fifteenth +century. There are several dialogues of a similar character.]<br> +<br> +<br> +ARGUMENT.<br> +<br> +The servingman the plowman would invite<br> +To leave his calling and to take delight;<br> +But he to that by no means will agree,<br> +Lest he thereby should come to beggary.<br> +He makes it plain appear a country life<br> +Doth far excel: and so they end the strife.<br> +<br> +<br> +My noble friends give ear, if mirth you love to hear,<br> +I’ll tell you as fast as I can,<br> +A story very true, then mark what doth ensue,<br> +Concerning of a husbandman.<br> +A servingman did meet a husbandman in the street,<br> +And thus unto him began:<br> +<br> +SERVINGMAN.<br> +<br> +I pray you tell to me of what calling you be,<br> +Or if you be a servingman?<br> +<br> +HUSBANDMAN.<br> +<br> +Quoth he, my brother dear, the coast I mean to clear,<br> +And the truth you shall understand:<br> +I do no one disdain, but this I tell you plain,<br> +I am an honest husbandman.<br> +<br> +SERVINGMAN.<br> +<br> +If a husbandman you be, then come along with me,<br> +I’ll help you as soon as I can<br> +Unto a gallant place, where in a little space,<br> +You shall be a servingman.<br> +<br> +HUSBANDMAN.<br> +<br> +Sir, for your diligence I give you many thanks,<br> +These things I receive at your hand;<br> +I pray you to me show, whereby that I might know,<br> +What pleasures hath a servingman?<br> +<br> +SERVINGMAN.<br> +<br> +A servingman hath pleasure, which passeth time and measure,<br> +When the hawk on his fist doth stand;<br> +His hood, and his verrils brave, and other things, we have,<br> +Which yield joy to a servingman.<br> +<br> +HUSBANDMAN.<br> +<br> +My pleasure’s more than that to see my oxen fat,<br> +And to prosper well under my hand;<br> +And therefore I do mean, with my horse, and with my team,<br> +To keep myself a husbandman.<br> +<br> +SERVINGMAN.<br> +<br> +O ’tis a gallant thing in the prime time of the spring,<br> +To hear the huntsman now and than<br> +His bugle for to blow, and the hounds run all a row:<br> +This is pleasure for a servingman!<br> +To hear the beagle cry, and to see the falcon fly,<br> +And the hare trip over the plain,<br> +And the huntsmen and the hound make hill and dale rebound:<br> +This is pleasure for a servingman!<br> +<br> +HUSBANDMAN.<br> +<br> +’Tis pleasure, too, you know, to see the corn to grow,<br> +And to grow so well on the land;<br> +The plowing and the sowing, the reaping and the mowing,<br> +Yield pleasure to the husbandman.<br> +<br> +SERVINGMAN.<br> +<br> +At our table you may eat all sorts of dainty meat,<br> +Pig, cony, goose, capon, and swan;<br> +And with lords and ladies fine, you may drink beer, ale, and wine!<br> +This is pleasure for a servingman.<br> +<br> +HUSBANDMAN.<br> +<br> +While you eat goose and capon, I’ll feed on beef and bacon,<br> +And piece of hard cheese now and than;<br> +We pudding have, and souse, always ready in the house,<br> +Which contents the honest husbandman.<br> +<br> +SERVINGMAN.<br> +<br> +At the court you may have your garments fine and brave,<br> +And cloak with gold lace laid upon,<br> +A shirt as white as milk, and wrought with finest silk:<br> +That’s pleasure for a servingman!<br> +<br> +HUSBANDMAN.<br> +<br> +Such proud and costly gear is not for us to wear;<br> +Amongst the briers and brambles many a one,<br> +A good strong russet coat, and at your need a groat,<br> +Will suffice the husbandman.<br> +A proverb here I tell, which likes my humour well,<br> +And remember it well I can,<br> +If a courtier be too bold, he’ll want when he is old.<br> +Then farewell the servingman.<br> +<br> +SERVINGMAN.<br> +<br> +It needs must be confest that your calling is the best,<br> +No longer discourse with you I can;<br> +But henceforth I will pray, by night and by day,<br> +Heaven bless the honest husbandman.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Poem: A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE HUSBANDMAN AND THE SERVINGMAN.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This traditional version of the preceding ancient dialogue has long +been popular at country festivals. At a harvest-home feast at +Selborne, in Hampshire, in 1836, we heard it recited by two countrymen, +who gave it with considerable humour, and dramatic effect. It +was delivered in a sort of chant, or recitative. Davies Gilbert +published a very similar copy in his <i>Ancient Christmas Carols</i>. +In the modern printed editions, which are almost identical with ours, +the term ‘servantman’ has been substituted for the more +ancient designation.]<br> +<br> +<br> +SERVINGMAN.<br> +<br> +Well met, my brother friend, all at this highway end,<br> +So simple all alone, as you can,<br> +I pray you tell to me, what may your calling be,<br> +Are you not a servingman?<br> +<br> +HUSBANDMAN.<br> +<br> +No, no, my brother dear, what makes you to inquire<br> +Of any such a thing at my hand?<br> +Indeed I shall not feign, but I will tell you plain,<br> +I am a downright husbandman.<br> +<br> +SERVINGMAN.<br> +<br> +If a husbandman you be, then go along with me,<br> +And quickly you shall see out of hand,<br> +How in a little space I will help you to a place,<br> +Where you may be a servingman.<br> +<br> +HUSBANDMAN.<br> +<br> +Kind sir! I ‘turn you thanks for your intelligence,<br> +These things I receive at your hand;<br> +But something pray now show, that first I may plainly know<br> +The pleasures of a servingman.<br> +<br> +SERVINGMAN.<br> +<br> +Why a servingman has pleasure beyond all sort of measure,<br> +With his hawk on his fist, as he does stand;<br> +For the game that he does kill, and the meat that does him fill,<br> +Are pleasures for the servingman.<br> +<br> +HUSBANDMAN.<br> +<br> +And my pleasure’s more than that, to see my oxen fat,<br> +And a good stock of hay by them stand;<br> +My plowing and my sowing, my reaping and my mowing,<br> +Are pleasures for the husbandman.<br> +<br> +SERVINGMAN.<br> +<br> +Why it is a gallant thing to ride out with a king,<br> +With a lord, duke, or any such man;<br> +To hear the horns to blow, and see the hounds all in a row,<br> +That is pleasure for the servingman.<br> +<br> +HUSBANDMAN.<br> +<br> +But my pleasure’s more I know, to see my corn to grow,<br> +So thriving all over my land;<br> +And, therefore, I do mean, with my plowing with my team,<br> +To keep myself a husbandman.<br> +<br> +SERVINGMAN.<br> +<br> +Why the diet that we eat is the choicest of all meat,<br> +Such as pig, goose, capon, and swan;<br> +Our pastry is so fine, we drink sugar in our wine,<br> +That is living for the servingman.<br> +<br> +HUSBANDMAN.<br> +<br> +Talk not of goose nor capon, give me good beef or bacon,<br> +And good bread and cheese, now at hand;<br> +With pudding, brawn, and souse, all in a farmer’s house,<br> +That is living for the husbandman.<br> +<br> +SERVINGMAN.<br> +<br> +Why the clothing that we wear is delicate and rare,<br> +With our coat, lace, buckles, and band;<br> +Our shirts are white as milk, and our stockings they are silk,<br> +That is clothing for a servingman.<br> +<br> +HUSBANDMAN.<br> +<br> +But I value not a hair your delicate fine wear,<br> +Such as gold is laced upon;<br> +Give me a good grey coat, and in my purse a groat,<br> +That is clothing for the husbandman.<br> +<br> +SERVINGMAN.<br> +<br> +Kind sir! it would be bad if none could be had<br> +Those tables for to wait upon;<br> +There is no lord, duke, nor squire, nor member for the shire,<br> +Can do without a servingman.<br> +<br> +HUSBANDMAN.<br> +<br> +But, Jack! it would be worse if there was none of us<br> +To follow the plowing of the land;<br> +There is neither king, lord, nor squire, nor member for the shire,<br> +Can do without the husbandman.<br> +<br> +SERVINGMAN.<br> +<br> +Kind sir! I must confess’t, and I humbly protest<br> +I will give you the uppermost hand;<br> +Although your labour’s painful, and mine it is so very gainful,<br> +I wish I were a husbandman.<br> +<br> +HUSBANDMAN.<br> +<br> +So come now, let us all, both great as well as small,<br> +Pray for the grain of our land;<br> +And let us, whatsoever, do all our best endeavour,<br> +For to maintain the good husbandman.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Poem: THE CATHOLICK.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The following ingenious production has been copied literally from a +broadside posted against the ‘parlour’ wall of a country +inn in Gloucestershire. The verses are susceptible of two interpretations, +being Catholic if read in the columns, but Protestant if read across.]<br> +<br> +<br> +<font face="Courier New,Courier,Mono">I HOLD as faith What </font><font face="Courier New,Courier,Mono"><i>England’s church</i></font><font face="Courier New,Courier,Mono"> alows<br> +What </font><font face="Courier New,Courier,Mono"><i>Rome’s</i></font><font face="Courier New,Courier,Mono"> church saith My conscience disavows<br> +Where the </font><font face="Courier New,Courier,Mono"><i>King’s</i></font><font face="Courier New,Courier,Mono"> head That </font><font face="Courier New,Courier,Mono"><i>church</i></font><font face="Courier New,Courier,Mono"> can have no shame<br> +The flocks misled That holds the </font><font face="Courier New,Courier,Mono"><i>Pope</i></font><font face="Courier New,Courier,Mono"> supreame.<br> +Where the </font><font face="Courier New,Courier,Mono"><i>altars</i></font><font face="Courier New,Courier,Mono"> drest There’s service scarce divine<br> +The peoples blest With table, bread, and wine.<br> +He’s but an asse Who the </font><font face="Courier New,Courier,Mono"><i>communion</i></font><font face="Courier New,Courier,Mono"> flies<br> +Who shuns the </font><font face="Courier New,Courier,Mono"><i>masse</i></font><font face="Courier New,Courier,Mono"> Is </font><font face="Courier New,Courier,Mono"><i>catholick</i></font><font face="Courier New,Courier,Mono"> and wise.<br> +<br> +<br> +</font>London: printed for George Eversden, at the signe of the Maidenhead, +in St. Powle’s Church-yard, 1655. <i>Cum privilegio.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +</i>Ballad: THE THREE KNIGHTS. (TRADITIONAL.)<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[<i>The Three Knights</i> was first printed by the late Davies Gilbert, +F.R.S., in the appendix to his work on <i>Christmas Carols</i>. +Mr. Gilbert thought that some verses were wanting after the eighth stanza; +but we entertain a different opinion. A conjectural emendation +made in the ninth verse, viz., the substitution of <i>far</i> for <i>for</i>, +seems to render the ballad perfect. The ballad is still popular +amongst the peasantry in the West of England. The tune is given +by Gilbert. The refrain, in the second and fourth lines, printed +with the first verse, should be repeated in recitation in every verse.]<br> +<br> +<br> +There did three Knights come from the west,<br> +With the high and the lily oh!<br> +And these three Knights courted one ladye,<br> +As the rose was so sweetly blown.<br> +The first Knight came was all in white,<br> +And asked of her if she’d be his delight.<br> +The next Knight came was all in green,<br> +And asked of her if she’d be his queen.<br> +The third Knight came was all in red,<br> +And asked of her if she would wed.<br> +‘Then have you asked of my father dear?<br> +Likewise of her who did me bear?<br> +‘And have you asked of my brother John?<br> +And also of my sister Anne?’<br> +‘Yes, I’ve asked of your father dear,<br> +Likewise of her who did you bear.<br> +‘And I’ve asked of your sister Anne,<br> +But I’ve not asked of your brother John.’<br> +Far on the road as they rode along,<br> +There did they meet with her brother John.<br> +She stoopèd low to kiss him sweet,<br> +He to her heart did a dagger meet. <a name="citation2"></a><a href="#footnote2">{2}</a><br> +‘Ride on, ride on,’ cried the servingman,<br> +‘Methinks your bride she looks wondrous wan.’<br> +‘I wish I were on yonder stile,<br> +For there I would sit and bleed awhile.<br> +‘I wish I were on yonder hill,<br> +There I’d alight and make my will.’<br> +‘What would you give to your father dear?’<br> +‘The gallant steed which doth me bear.’<br> +‘What would you give to your mother dear?’<br> +‘My wedding shift which I do wear.<br> +‘But she must wash it very clean,<br> +For my heart’s blood sticks in every seam.’<br> +‘What would you give to your sister Anne?’<br> +‘My gay gold ring, and my feathered fan.’<br> +‘What would you give to your brother John?’<br> +‘A rope, and a gallows to hang him on.’<br> +‘What would you give to your brother John’s wife?’<br> +‘A widow’s weeds, and a quiet life.’<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Poem: THE BLIND BEGGAR OF BEDNALL GREEN. SHOWING HOW HIS DAUGHTER +WAS MARRIED TO A KNIGHT, AND HAD THREE THOUSAND POUND TO HER PORTION.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[Percy’s copy of <i>The Beggar’s Daughter of Bednall Green</i> +is known to be very incorrect: besides many alterations and improvements +which it received at the hands of the Bishop, it contains no less than +eight stanzas written by Robert Dodsley, the author of <i>The Economy +of Human Life</i>. So far as poetry is concerned, there cannot +be a question that the version in the <i>Reliques is</i> far superior +to the original, which is still a popular favourite, and a correct copy +of which is now given, as it appears in all the common broadside editions +that have been printed from 1672 to the present time. Although +the original copies have all perished, the ballad has been very satisfactorily +proved by Percy to have been written in the reign of Elizabeth. +The present reprint is from a modern copy, carefully collated with one +in the Bagford Collection, entitled,<br> +<br> +<br> +‘The rarest ballad that ever was seen,<br> +Of the Blind Beggar’s Daughter of Bednal Green.’<br> +<br> +<br> +The imprint to it is, ‘Printed by and for W. Onley; and are to +be sold by C. Bates, at the sign of the Sun and Bible, in Pye Corner.’ +The very antiquated orthography adopted in some editions does not rest +on any authority. For two tunes to <i>The</i> <i>Blind Beggar</i>, +see <i>Popular Music</i>.]<br> +<br> +PART I.<br> +<br> +This song’s of a beggar who long lost his sight,<br> +And had a fair daughter, most pleasant and bright,<br> +And many a gallant brave suitor had she,<br> +And none was so comely as pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +And though she was of complexion most fair,<br> +And seeing she was but a beggar his heir,<br> +Of ancient housekeepers despisèd was she,<br> +Whose sons came as suitors to pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +Wherefore in great sorrow fair Bessee did say:<br> +‘Good father and mother, let me now go away,<br> +To seek out my fortune, whatever it be.’<br> +This suit then was granted to pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +This Bessee, that was of a beauty most bright,<br> +They clad in grey russet; and late in the night<br> +From father and mother alone parted she,<br> +Who sighèd and sobbèd for pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +She went till she came to Stratford-at-Bow,<br> +Then she know not whither or which way to go,<br> +With tears she lamented her sad destiny;<br> +So sad and so heavy was pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +She kept on her journey until it was day,<br> +And went unto Rumford, along the highway;<br> +And at the King’s Arms entertainèd was she,<br> +So fair and well favoured was pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +She had not been there one month at an end,<br> +But master and mistress and all was her friend:<br> +And every brave gallant that once did her see,<br> +Was straightway in love with pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +Great gifts they did send her of silver and gold,<br> +And in their songs daily her love they extolled:<br> +Her beauty was blazèd in every decree,<br> +So fair and so comely was pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +The young men of Rumford in her had their joy,<br> +She showed herself courteous, but never too coy,<br> +And at their commandment still she would be,<br> +So fair and so comely was pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +Four suitors at once unto her did go,<br> +They cravèd her favour, but still she said no;<br> +I would not have gentlemen marry with me!<br> +Yet ever they honourèd pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +Now one of them was a gallant young knight,<br> +And he came unto her disguised in the night;<br> +The second, a gentleman of high degree,<br> +Who wooèd and suèd for pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +A merchant of London, whose wealth was not small,<br> +Was then the third suitor, and proper withal;<br> +Her master’s own son the fourth man must be,<br> +Who swore he would die for pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +‘If that thou wilt marry with me,’ quoth the knight,<br> +‘I’ll make thee a lady with joy and delight;<br> +My heart is enthrallèd in thy fair beauty,<br> +Then grant me thy favour, my pretty Bessee.’<br> +<br> +The gentleman said, ‘Come marry with me,<br> +In silks and in velvet my Bessee shall be;<br> +My heart lies distracted, oh! hear me,’ quoth he,<br> +‘And grant me thy love, my dear pretty Bessee.’<br> +<br> +‘Let me be thy husband,’ the merchant did say,<br> +‘Thou shalt live in London most gallant and gay;<br> +My ships shall bring home rich jewels for thee,<br> +And I will for ever love pretty Bessee.’<br> +<br> +Then Bessee she sighèd and thus she did say:<br> +‘My father and mother I mean to obey;<br> +First get their good will, and be faithful to me,<br> +And you shall enjoy your dear pretty Bessee.’<br> +<br> +To every one of them that answer she made,<br> +Therefore unto her they joyfully said:<br> +‘This thing to fulfil we all now agree,<br> +But where dwells thy father, my pretty Bessee?’<br> +<br> +‘My father,’ quoth she, ‘is soon to be seen:<br> +The silly blind beggar of Bednall Green,<br> +That daily sits begging for charity,<br> +He is the kind father of pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +‘His marks and his token are knowen full well,<br> +He always is led by a dog and a bell;<br> +A poor silly old man, God knoweth, is he,<br> +Yet he’s the true father of pretty Bessee.’<br> +<br> +‘Nay, nay,’ quoth the merchant, ‘thou art not for +me.’<br> +‘She,’ quoth the innholder, ‘my wife shall not be.’<br> +‘I loathe,’ said the gentleman, ‘a beggar’s +degree,<br> +Therefore, now farewell, my pretty Bessee.’<br> +<br> +‘Why then,’ quoth the knight, ‘hap better or worse,<br> +I weigh not true love by the weight of the purse,<br> +And beauty is beauty in every degree,<br> +Then welcome to me, my dear pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +‘With thee to thy father forthwith I will go.’<br> +‘Nay, forbear,’ quoth his kinsman, ‘it must not be +so:<br> +A poor beggar’s daughter a lady shan’t be;<br> +Then take thy adieu of thy pretty Bessee.’<br> +<br> +As soon then as it was break of the day,<br> +The knight had from Rumford stole Bessee away;<br> +The young men of Rumford, so sick as may be,<br> +Rode after to fetch again pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +As swift as the wind to ride they were seen,<br> +Until they came near unto Bednall Green,<br> +And as the knight lighted most courteously,<br> +They fought against him for pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +But rescue came presently over the plain,<br> +Or else the knight there for his love had been slain;<br> +The fray being ended, they straightway did see<br> +His kinsman come railing at pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +Then bespoke the blind beggar, ‘Although I be poor,<br> +Rail not against my child at my own door,<br> +Though she be not deckèd in velvet and pearl,<br> +Yet I will drop angels with thee for my girl;<br> +<br> +‘And then if my gold should better her birth,<br> +And equal the gold you lay on the earth,<br> +Then neither rail you, nor grudge you to see<br> +The blind beggar’s daughter a lady to be.<br> +<br> +‘But first, I will hear, and have it well known,<br> +The gold that you drop it shall be all your own.’<br> +With that they replièd, ‘Contented we be!’<br> +‘Then here’s,’ quoth the beggar, ‘for pretty +Bessee!’<br> +<br> +With that an angel he dropped on the ground,<br> +And droppèd, in angels, full three thousand pound;<br> +And oftentimes it proved most plain,<br> +For the gentleman’s one, the beggar dropped twain;<br> +<br> +So that the whole place wherein they did sit,<br> +With gold was coverèd every whit.<br> +The gentleman having dropped all his store,<br> +Said, ‘Beggar! your hand hold, for I have no more.’<br> +<br> +‘Thou hast fulfillèd thy promise aright,<br> +Then marry my girl,’ quoth he to the knight;<br> +‘And then,’ quoth he, ‘I will throw you down,<br> +An hundred pound more to buy her a gown.’<br> +<br> +The gentlemen all, who his treasure had seen,<br> +Admirèd the beggar of Bednall Green;<br> +And those that had been her suitors before,<br> +Their tender flesh for anger they tore.<br> +<br> +Thus was the fair Bessee matchèd to a knight,<br> +And made a lady in other’s despite.<br> +A fairer lady there never was seen<br> +Than the blind beggar’s daughter of Bednall Green.<br> +<br> +But of her sumptuous marriage and feast,<br> +And what fine lords and ladies there prest,<br> +The second part shall set forth to your sight,<br> +With marvellous pleasure and wished-for delight.<br> +<br> +Of a blind beggar’s daughter so bright,<br> +That late was betrothed to a young knight,<br> +All the whole discourse therefore you may see;<br> +But now comes the wedding of pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +PART II.<br> +<br> +It was in a gallant palace most brave,<br> +Adornèd with all the cost they could have,<br> +This wedding it was kept most sumptuously,<br> +And all for the love of pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +And all kind of dainties and delicates sweet,<br> +Was brought to their banquet, as it was thought meet,<br> +Partridge, and plover, and venison most free,<br> +Against the brave wedding of pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +The wedding through England was spread by report,<br> +So that a great number thereto did resort<br> +Of nobles and gentles of every degree,<br> +And all for the fame of pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +To church then away went this gallant young knight,<br> +His bride followed after, an angel most bright,<br> +With troops of ladies, the like was ne’er seen,<br> +As went with sweet Bessee of Bednall Green.<br> +<br> +This wedding being solemnized then,<br> +With music performèd by skilfullest men,<br> +The nobles and gentlemen down at the side,<br> +Each one beholding the beautiful bride.<br> +<br> +But after the sumptuous dinner was done,<br> +To talk and to reason a number begun,<br> +And of the blind beggar’s daughter most bright;<br> +And what with his daughter he gave to the knight.<br> +<br> +Then spoke the nobles, ‘Much marvel have we<br> +This jolly blind beggar we cannot yet see!’<br> +‘My lords,’ quoth the bride, ‘my father so base<br> +Is loth with his presence these states to disgrace.’<br> +<br> +‘The praise of a woman in question to bring,<br> +Before her own face is a flattering thing;<br> +But we think thy father’s baseness,’ quoth they,<br> +‘Might by thy beauty be clean put away.’<br> +<br> +They no sooner this pleasant word spoke,<br> +But in comes the beggar in a silken cloak,<br> +A velvet cap and a feather had he,<br> +And now a musician, forsooth, he would be.<br> +<br> +And being led in from catching of harm,<br> +He had a dainty lute under his arm,<br> +Said, ‘Please you to hear any music of me,<br> +A song I will sing you of pretty Bessee.’<br> +<br> +With that his lute he twangèd straightway,<br> +And thereon began most sweetly to play,<br> +And after a lesson was played two or three,<br> +He strained out this song most delicately:-<br> +<br> +‘A beggar’s daughter did dwell on a green,<br> +Who for her beauty may well be a queen,<br> +A blithe bonny lass, and dainty was she,<br> +And many one callèd her pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +‘Her father he had no goods nor no lands,<br> +But begged for a penny all day with his hands,<br> +And yet for her marriage gave thousands three,<br> +Yet still he hath somewhat for pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +‘And here if any one do her disdain,<br> +Her father is ready with might and with main<br> +To prove she is come of noble degree,<br> +Therefore let none flout at my pretty Bessee.’<br> +<br> +With that the lords and the company round<br> +With a hearty laughter were ready to swound;<br> +At last said the lords, ‘Full well we may see,<br> +The bride and the bridegroom’s beholden to thee.’<br> +<br> +With that the fair bride all blushing did rise,<br> +With crystal water all in her bright eyes,<br> +‘Pardon my father, brave nobles,’ quoth she,<br> +‘That through blind affection thus doats upon me.’<br> +<br> +‘If this be thy father,’ the nobles did say,<br> +‘Well may he be proud of this happy day,<br> +Yet by his countenance well may we see,<br> +His birth with his fortune could never agree;<br> +<br> +And therefore, blind beggar, we pray thee bewray,<br> +And look to us then the truth thou dost say,<br> +Thy birth and thy parentage what it may be,<br> +E’en for the love thou bearest pretty Bessee.’<br> +<br> +‘Then give me leave, ye gentles each one,<br> +A song more to sing and then I’ll begone,<br> +And if that I do not win good report,<br> +Then do not give me one groat for my sport:-<br> +<br> +‘When first our king his fame did advance,<br> +And sought his title in delicate France,<br> +In many places great perils passed he;<br> +But then was not born my pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +‘And at those wars went over to fight,<br> +Many a brave duke, a lord, and a knight,<br> +And with them young Monford of courage so free;<br> +But then was not born my pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +‘And there did young Monford with a blow on the face<br> +Lose both his eyes in a very short space;<br> +His life had been gone away with his sight,<br> +Had not a young woman gone forth in the night.<br> +<br> +‘Among the said men, her fancy did move,<br> +To search and to seek for her own true love,<br> +Who seeing young Monford there gasping to die,<br> +She savèd his life through her charity.<br> +<br> +‘And then all our victuals in beggar’s attire,<br> +At the hands of good people we then did require;<br> +At last into England, as now it is seen,<br> +We came, and remainèd in Bednall Green.<br> +<br> +‘And thus we have livèd in Fortune’s despite,<br> +Though poor, yet contented with humble delight,<br> +And in my old years, a comfort to me,<br> +God sent me a daughter called pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +And thus, ye nobles, my song I do end,<br> +Hoping by the same no man to offend;<br> +Full forty long winters thus I have been,<br> +A silly blind beggar of Bednall Green.’<br> +<br> +Now when the company every one,<br> +Did hear the strange tale he told in his song,<br> +They were amazèd, as well they might be,<br> +Both at the blind beggar and pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +With that the fair bride they all did embrace,<br> +Saying, ‘You are come of an honourable race,<br> +Thy father likewise is of high degree,<br> +And thou art right worthy a lady to be.’<br> +<br> +Thus was the feast ended with joy and delight,<br> +A happy bridegroom was made the young knight,<br> +Who lived in great joy and felicity,<br> +With his fair lady dear pretty Bessee.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE BOLD PEDLAR AND ROBIN HOOD.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This ballad is of considerable antiquity, and no doubt much older than +some of those inserted in the common Garlands. It appears to have +escaped the notice of Ritson, Percy, and other collectors of Robin Hood +ballads. The tune is given in <i>Popular Music</i>. An aged +woman in Bermondsey, Surrey, from whose oral recitation the present +version was taken down, said that she had often heard her grandmother +sing it, and that it was never in print; but we have since met with +several common stall copies. The subject is the same as that of +the old ballad called <i>Robin Hood</i> <i>newly revived</i>; <i>or, +the Meeting and Fighting with his Cousin</i> <i>Scarlett</i>.]<br> +<br> +<br> +There chanced to be a pedlar bold,<br> +A pedlar bold he chanced to be;<br> +He rolled his pack all on his back,<br> +And he came tripping o’er the lee.<br> +Down, a down, a down, a down,<br> +Down, a down, a down.<br> +<br> +By chance he met two troublesome blades,<br> +Two troublesome blades they chanced to be;<br> +The one of them was bold Robin Hood,<br> +And the other was Little John, so free.<br> +<br> +‘Oh! pedlar, pedlar, what is in thy pack,<br> +Come speedilie and tell to me?’<br> +‘I’ve several suits of the gay green silks,<br> +And silken bowstrings two or three.’<br> +<br> +‘If you have several suits of the gay green silk,<br> +And silken bowstrings two or three,<br> +Then it’s by my body,’ cries <i>bittle</i> John,<br> +‘One half your pack shall belong to me.’<br> +<br> +Oh! nay, oh! nay,’ says the pedlar bold,<br> +‘Oh! nay, oh! nay, that never can be,<br> +For there’s never a man from fair Nottingham<br> +Can take one half my pack from me.’<br> +<br> +Then the pedlar he pulled off his pack,<br> +And put it a little below his knee,<br> +Saying, ‘If you do move me one perch from this,<br> +My pack and all shall gang with thee.’<br> +<br> +Then Little John he drew his sword;<br> +The pedlar by his pack did stand;<br> +They fought until they both did sweat,<br> +Till he cried, ‘Pedlar, pray hold your hand!’<br> +<br> +Then Robin Hood he was standing by,<br> +And he did laugh most heartilie,<br> +Saying, ‘I could find a man of a smaller scale,<br> +Could thrash the pedlar, and also thee.’<br> +<br> +‘Go, you try, master,’ says Little John,<br> +‘Go, you try, master, most speedilie,<br> +Or by my body,’ says Little John,<br> +‘I am sure this night you will not know me.’<br> +<br> +Then Robin Hood he drew his sword,<br> +And the pedlar by his pack did stand,<br> +They fought till the blood in streams did flow,<br> +Till he cried, ‘Pedlar, pray hold your hand!’<br> +<br> +‘Pedlar, pedlar! what is thy name?<br> +Come speedilie and tell to me.’<br> +‘My name! my name, I ne’er will tell,<br> +Till both your names you have told to me.’<br> +<br> +‘The one of us is bold Robin Hood,<br> +And the other Little John, so free.’<br> +‘Now,’ says the pedlar, ‘it lays to my good will,<br> +Whether my name I chuse to tell to thee.<br> +<br> +‘I am Gamble Gold <a name="citation3"></a><a href="#footnote3">{3}</a> +of the gay green woods,<br> +And travellèd far beyond the sea;<br> +For killing a man in my father’s land,<br> +From my country I was forced to flee.’<br> +<br> +‘If you are Gamble Gold of the gay green woods,<br> +And travellèd far beyond the sea,<br> +You are my mother’s own sister’s son;<br> +What nearer cousins then can we be?’<br> +<br> +They sheathèd their swords with friendly words,<br> +So merrily they did agree;<br> +They went to a tavern and there they dined,<br> +And bottles cracked most merrilie.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE OUTLANDISH KNIGHT.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This is the common English stall copy of a ballad of which there are +a variety of versions, for an account of which, and of the presumed +origin of the story, the reader is referred to the notes on the <i>Water +o’ Wearie’s Well</i>, in the <i>Scottish Traditional Versions +of Ancient Ballads</i>, published by the Percy Society. By the +term ‘outlandish’ is signified an inhabitant of that portion +of the border which was formerly known by the name of ‘the Debateable +Land,’ a district which, though claimed by both England and Scotland, +could not be said to belong to either country. The people on each +side of the border applied the term ‘outlandish’ to the +Debateable residents. The tune to <i>The Outlandish Knight</i> +has never been printed; it is peculiar to the ballad, and, from its +popularity, is well known.]<br> +<br> +<br> +An Outlandish knight came from the North lands,<br> +And he came a wooing to me;<br> +He told me he’d take me unto the North lands,<br> +And there he would marry me.<br> +<br> +‘Come, fetch me some of your father’s gold,<br> +And some of your mother’s fee;<br> +And two of the best nags out of the stable,<br> +Where they stand thirty and three.’<br> +<br> +She fetched him some of her father’s gold,<br> +And some of the mother’s fee;<br> +And two of the best nags out of the stable,<br> +Where they stood thirty and three.<br> +<br> +She mounted her on her milk-white steed,<br> +He on the dapple grey;<br> +They rode till they came unto the sea side,<br> +Three hours before it was day.<br> +<br> +‘Light off, light off thy milk-white steed,<br> +And deliver it unto me;<br> +Six pretty maids have I drownèd here,<br> +And thou the seventh shall be.<br> +<br> +‘Pull off, pull off thy silken gown,<br> +And deliver it unto me,<br> +Methinks it looks too rich and too gay<br> +To rot in the salt sea.<br> +<br> +‘Pull off, pull of thy silken stays,<br> +And deliver them unto me;<br> +Methinks they are too fine and gay<br> +To rot in the salt sea.<br> +<br> +‘Pull off, pull off thy Holland smock,<br> +And deliver it unto me;<br> +Methinks it looks too rich and gay,<br> +To rot in the salt sea.’<br> +<br> +‘If I must pull off my Holland smock,<br> +Pray turn thy back unto me,<br> +For it is not fitting that such a ruffian<br> +A naked woman should see.’<br> +<br> +He turned his back towards her,<br> +And viewed the leaves so green;<br> +She catched him round the middle so small,<br> +And tumbled him into the stream.<br> +<br> +He droppèd high, and he droppèd low,<br> +Until he came to the side, -<br> +‘Catch hold of my hand, my pretty maiden,<br> +And I will make you my bride.’<br> +<br> +‘Lie there, lie there, you false-hearted man,<br> +Lie there instead of me;<br> +Six pretty maids have you drownèd here,<br> +And the seventh has drownèd thee.’<br> +<br> +She mounted on her milk-white steed,<br> +And led the dapple grey,<br> +She rode till she came to her own father’s hall,<br> +Three hours before it was day.<br> +<br> +The parrot being in the window so high,<br> +Hearing the lady, did say,<br> +‘I’m afraid that some ruffian has led you astray,<br> +That you have tarried so long away.’<br> +<br> +‘Don’t prittle nor prattle, my pretty parrot,<br> +Nor tell no tales of me;<br> +Thy cage shall be made of the glittering gold,<br> +Although it is made of a tree.’<br> +<br> +The king being in the chamber so high,<br> +And hearing the parrot, did say,<br> +‘What ails you, what ails you, my pretty parrot,<br> +That you prattle so long before day?’<br> +<br> +‘It’s no laughing matter,’ the parrot did say,<br> +‘But so loudly I call unto thee;<br> +For the cats have got into the window so high,<br> +And I’m afraid they will have me.’<br> +<br> +‘Well turned, well turned, my pretty parrot,<br> +Well turned, well turned for me;<br> +Thy cage shall be made of the glittering gold,<br> +And the door of the best ivory.’ <a name="citation4"></a><a href="#footnote4">{4}</a><br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: LORD DELAWARE. (TRADITIONAL.)<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This interesting traditional ballad was first published by Mr. Thomas +Lyle in his <i>Ancient Ballads and Songs</i>, London, 1827. ‘We +have not as yet,’ says Mr. Lyle, ‘been able to trace out +the historical incident upon which this ballad appears to have been +founded; yet those curious in such matters may consult, if they list, +<i>Proceedings and Debates in the House of Commons</i>, for 1621 and +1662, where they will find that some stormy debating in these several +years had been agitated in parliament regarding the corn laws, which +bear pretty close upon the leading features of the ballad.’ +Does not the ballad, however, belong to a much earlier period? +The description of the combat, the presence of heralds, the wearing +of armour, &c., justify the conjecture. For De la Ware, ought +we not to read De la Mare? and is not Sir Thomas De la Mare the hero? +the De la Mare who in the reign of Edward III., A.D. 1377, was Speaker +of the House of Commons. All historians are agreed in representing +him as a person using ‘great freedom of speach,’ and which, +indeed, he carried to such an extent as to endanger his personal liberty. +As bearing somewhat upon the subject of the ballad, it may he observed +that De la Mare was a great advocate of popular rights, and particularly +protested against the inhabitants of England being subject to ‘purveyance,’ +asserting that ‘if the royal revenue was faithfully administered, +there could be no necessity for laying burdens on the people.’ +In the subsequent reign of Richard II, De In Mare was a prominent character, +and though history is silent on the subject, it is not improbable that +such a man might, even in the royal presence, have defended the rights +of the poor, and spoken in extenuation of the agrarian insurrectionary +movements which were then so prevalent and so alarming. On the +hypothesis of De la Mare being the hero, there are other incidents in +the tale which cannot be reconciled with history, such as the title +given to De la Mare, who certainly was never ennobled; nor can we ascertain +that he was ever mixed up in any duel; nor does it appear clear who +can be meant by the ‘Welsh Lord, the brave Duke of Devonshire,’ +that dukedom not having been created till 1694 and no nobleman having +derived any title whatever from Devonshire previously to 1618, when +Baron Cavendish, of Hardwick, was created the first <i>Earl</i> of Devonshire. +We may therefore presume that for ‘Devonshire’ ought to +be inserted the name of some other county or place. Strict historical +accuracy is, however, hardly to be expected in any ballad, particularly +in one which, like the present, has evidently been corrupted in floating +down the stream of time. There is only one quarrel recorded at +the supposed period of our tale as having taken place betwixt two noblemen, +and which resulted in a hostile meeting, viz., that wherein the belligerent +parties were the Duke of Hereford (who might by a ‘ballad-monger’ +be deemed a <i>Welsh</i> lord) and the Duke of Norfolk. This was +in the reign of Richard II. No fight, however, took place, owing +to the interference of the king. Our minstrel author may have +had rather confused historical ideas, and so mixed up certain passages +in De la Mare’s history with this squabble; and we are strongly +inclined to suspect that such is the case, and that it will be found +the real clue to the story. Vide Hume’s <i>History of England</i>, +chap. XVII. A.D. 1398. Lyle acknowledges that he has taken some +liberties with the oral version, but does not state what they were, +beyond that they consisted merely in ‘smoothing down.’ +Would that he had left it ‘in the <i>rough</i>!’ The +last verse has every appearance of being apocryphal; it looks like one +of those benedictory verses with which minstrels were, and still are, +in the habit of concluding their songs. Lyle says the tune ‘is +pleasing, and peculiar to the ballad.’ A homely version, +presenting only trivial variations from that of Mr. Lyle, is still printed +and sung.]<br> +<br> +<br> +In the Parliament House, a great rout has been there,<br> +Betwixt our good King and the Lord Delaware:<br> +Says Lord Delaware to his Majesty full soon,<br> +‘Will it please you, my liege, to grant me a boon?’<br> +<br> +‘What’s your boon,’ says the King, ‘now let +me understand?’<br> +‘It’s, give me all the poor men we’ve starving in +this land;<br> +And without delay, I’ll hie me to Lincolnshire,<br> +To sow hemp-seed and flax-seed, and hang them all there.<br> +<br> +‘For with hempen cord it’s better to stop each poor man’s +breath,<br> +Than with famine you should see your subjects starve to death.’<br> +Up starts a Dutch Lord, who to Delaware did say,<br> +‘Thou deserves to be stabbed!’ then he turned himself away;<br> +<br> +‘Thou deserves to be stabbed, and the dogs have thine ears,<br> +For insulting our King in this Parliament of peers.’<br> +Up sprang a Welsh Lord, the brave Duke of Devonshire,<br> +‘In young Delaware’s defence, I’ll fight this Dutch +Lord, my sire;<br> +<br> +‘For he is in the right, and I’ll make it so appear:<br> +Him I dare to single combat, for insulting Delaware.’<br> +A stage was soon erected, and to combat they went,<br> +For to kill, or to be killed, it was either’s full intent.<br> +<br> +But the very first flourish, when the heralds gave command,<br> +The sword of brave Devonshire bent backward on his hand;<br> +In suspense he paused awhile, scanned his foe before he strake,<br> +Then against the King’s armour, his bent sword he brake.<br> +<br> +Then he sprang from the stage, to a soldier in the ring,<br> +Saying, ‘Lend your sword, that to an end this tragedy we bring:<br> +Though he’s fighting me in armour, while I am fighting bare,<br> +Even more than this I’d venture for young Lord Delaware.’<br> +<br> +Leaping back on the stage, sword to buckler now resounds,<br> +Till he left the Dutch Lord a bleeding in his wounds:<br> +This seeing, cries the King to his guards without delay,<br> +‘Call Devonshire down, - take the dead man away!’<br> +<br> +‘No,’ says brave Devonshire, ‘I’ve fought him +as a man,<br> +Since he’s dead, I will keep the trophies I have won;<br> +For he fought me in your armour, while I fought him bare,<br> +And the same you must win back, my liege, if ever you them wear.’<br> +<br> +God bless the Church of England, may it prosper on each hand,<br> +And also every poor man now starving in this land;<br> +And while I pray success may crown our King upon his throne,<br> +I’ll wish that every poor man may long enjoy his own.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: LORD BATEMAN.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This is a ludicrously corrupt abridgment of the ballad of <i>Lord</i> +<i>Beichan</i>, a copy of which will be found inserted amongst the <i>Early +Ballads</i>, An. Ed. p. 144. The following grotesque version was +published several years ago by Tilt, London, and also, according to +the title-page, by Mustapha Syried, Constantinople! under the title +of <i>The loving Ballad of Lord Bateman</i>. It is, however, the +only ancient form in which the ballad has existed in print, and is one +of the publications mentioned in Thackeray’s Catalogue, see <i>ante</i>, +p. 20. The air printed in Tilt’s edition is the one to which +the ballad is sung in the South of England, but it is totally different +to the Northern tune, which has never been published.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Lord Bateman he was a noble lord,<br> +A noble lord of high degree;<br> +He shipped himself on board a ship,<br> +Some foreign country he would go see.<br> +<br> +He sailèd east, and he sailèd west,<br> +Until he came to proud Turkèy;<br> +Where he was taken, and put to prison,<br> +Until his life was almost weary.<br> +<br> +And in this prison there grew a tree,<br> +It grew so stout, and grew so strong;<br> +Where he was chainèd by the middle,<br> +Until his life was almost gone.<br> +<br> +This Turk he had one only daughter,<br> +The fairest creature my eyes did see;<br> +She stole the keys of her father’s prison,<br> +And swore Lord Bateman she would set free.<br> +<br> +‘Have you got houses? have you got lands?<br> +Or does Northumberland belong to thee?<br> +What would you give to the fair young lady<br> +That out of prison would set you free?’<br> +<br> +‘I have got houses, I have got lands,<br> +And half Northumberland belongs to me<br> +I’ll give it all to the fair young lady<br> +That out of prison would set me free.’<br> +<br> +O! then she took him to her father’s hall,<br> +And gave to him the best of wine;<br> +And every health she drank unto him,<br> +‘I wish, Lord Bateman, that you were mine!<br> +<br> +‘Now in seven years I’ll make a vow,<br> +And seven years I’ll keep it strong,<br> +If you’ll wed with no other woman,<br> +I will wed with no other man.’<br> +<br> +O! then she took him to her father’s harbour,<br> +And gave to him a ship of fame;<br> +‘Farewell, farewell to you, Lord Bateman,<br> +I’m afraid I ne’er shall see you again.’<br> +<br> +Now seven long years are gone and past,<br> +And fourteen days, well known to thee;<br> +She packed up all her gay clothing,<br> +And swore Lord Bateman she would go see.<br> +<br> +But when she came to Lord Bateman’s castle,<br> +So boldly she rang the bell;<br> +‘Who’s there? who’s there?’ cried the proud +portèr,<br> +‘Who’s there? unto me come tell.’<br> +<br> +‘O! is this Lord Bateman’s castle?<br> +Or is his Lordship here within?’<br> +‘O, yes! O, yes!’ cried the young portèr,<br> +‘He’s just now taken his new bride in.’<br> +<br> +‘O! tell him to send me a slice of bread,<br> +And a bottle of the best wine;<br> +And not forgetting the fair young lady<br> +Who did release him when close confine.’<br> +<br> +Away, away went this proud young porter,<br> +Away, away, and away went he,<br> +Until he came to Lord Bateman’s chamber,<br> +Down on his bended knees fell he.<br> +<br> +‘What news, what news, my proud young porter?<br> +What news hast thou brought unto me?’<br> +‘There is the fairest of all young creatures<br> +That ever my two eyes did see!<br> +<br> +‘She has got rings on every finger,<br> +And round one of them she has got three,<br> +And as much gay clothing round her middle<br> +As would buy all Northumberlea.<br> +<br> +‘She bids you send her a slice of bread,<br> +And a bottle of the best wine;<br> +And not forgetting the fair young lady<br> +Who did release you when close confine.’<br> +<br> +Lord Bateman he then in a passion flew,<br> +And broke his sword in splinters three;<br> +Saying, ‘I will give all my father’s riches<br> +If Sophia has crossed the sea.’<br> +<br> +Then up spoke the young bride’s mother,<br> +Who never was heard to speak so free,<br> +‘You’ll not forget my only daughter,<br> +If Sophia has crossed the sea.’<br> +<br> +‘I own I made a bride of your daughter,<br> +She’s neither the better nor worse for me;<br> +She came to me with her horse and saddle,<br> +She may go back in her coach and three.’<br> +<br> +Lord Bateman prepared another marriage,<br> +And sang, with heart so full of glee,<br> +I’ll range no more in foreign countries,<br> +Now since Sophia has crossed the sea.’<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE GOLDEN GLOVE; OR, THE SQUIRE OF TAMWORTH.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This is a very popular ballad, and sung in every part of England. +It is traditionally reported to be founded on an incident which occurred +in the reign of Elizabeth. It has been published in the broadside +form from the commencement of the eighteenth century, but is no doubt +much older. It does not appear to have been previously inserted +in any collection.]<br> +<br> +<br> +A wealthy young squire of Tamworth, we hear,<br> +He courted a nobleman’s daughter so fair;<br> +And for to marry her it was his intent,<br> +All friends and relations gave their consent.<br> +<br> +The time was appointed for the wedding-day,<br> +A young farmer chosen to give her away;<br> +As soon as the farmer the young lady did spy,<br> +He inflamèd her heart; ‘O, my heart!’ she did cry.<br> +<br> +She turned from the squire, but nothing she said,<br> +Instead of being married she took to her bed;<br> +The thought of the farmer soon run in her mind,<br> +A way for to have him she quickly did find.<br> +<br> +Coat, waistcoat, and breeches she then did put on,<br> +And a hunting she went with her dog and her gun;<br> +She hunted all round where the farmer did dwell,<br> +Because in her heart she did love him full well:<br> +<br> +She oftentimes fired, but nothing she killed,<br> +At length the young farmer came into the field;<br> +And to discourse with him it was her intent,<br> +With her dog and her gun to meet him she went.<br> +<br> +‘I thought you had been at the wedding,’ she cried,<br> +‘To wait on the squire, and give him his bride.’<br> +‘No, sir,’ said the farmer, ‘if the truth I may tell,<br> +I’ll not give her away, for I love her too well’<br> +<br> +‘Suppose that the lady should grant you her love,<br> +You know that the squire your rival will prove.’<br> +‘Why, then,’ says the farmer, ‘I’ll take sword +in hand,<br> +By honour I’ll gain her when she shall command.’<br> +<br> +It pleasèd the lady to find him so bold;<br> +She gave him a glove that was flowered with gold,<br> +And told him she found it when coming along,<br> +As she was a hunting with her dog and gun.<br> +<br> +The lady went home with a heart full of love,<br> +And gave out a notice that she’d lost a glove;<br> +And said, ‘Who has found it, and brings it to me,<br> +Whoever he is, he my husband shall be.’<br> +<br> +The farmer was pleased when he heard of the news,<br> +With heart full of joy to the lady he goes:<br> +‘Dear, honoured lady, I’ve picked up your glove,<br> +And hope you’ll be pleased to grant me your love.’<br> +<br> +‘It’s already granted, I will be your bride;<br> +I love the sweet breath of a farmer,’ she cried.<br> +‘I’ll be mistress of my dairy, and milking my cow,<br> +While my jolly brisk farmer is whistling at plough.’<br> +<br> +And when she was married she told of her fun,<br> +How she went a hunting with her dog and gun:<br> +‘And now I’ve got him so fast in my snare,<br> +I’ll enjoy him for ever, I vow and declare!’<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: KING JAMES I. AND THE TINKLER. <a name="citation5"></a><a href="#footnote5">{5}</a> +(TRADITIONAL.)<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This ballad of <i>King James I. and the Tinkler</i> was probably written +either in, or shortly after, the reign of the monarch who is the hero. +The incident recorded is said to be a fact, though the locality is doubtful. +By some the scene is laid at Norwood, in Surrey; by others in some part +of the English border. The ballad is alluded to by Percy, but +is not inserted either in the <i>Reliques</i>, or in any other popular +collection. It is to be found only in a few broadsides and chap-books +of modern date. The present version is a traditional one, taken +down, as here given, from the recital of the late Francis King. <a name="citation6"></a><a href="#footnote6">{6}</a> +It is much superior to the common broadside edition with which it has +been collated, and from which the thirteenth and fifteenth verses were +obtained. The ballad is very popular on the Border, and in the +dales of Cumberland, Westmoreland, and Craven. The late Robert +Anderson, the Cumbrian bard, represents Deavie, in his song of the <i>Clay +Daubin</i>, as singing <i>The King and the</i> <i>Tinkler</i>.]<br> +<br> +<br> +And now, to be brief, let’s pass over the rest,<br> +Who seldom or never were given to jest,<br> +And come to King Jamie, the first of our throne,<br> +A pleasanter monarch sure never was known.<br> +<br> +As he was a hunting the swift fallow-deer,<br> +He dropped all his nobles; and when he got clear,<br> +In hope of some pastime away he did ride,<br> +Till he came to an alehouse, hard by a wood-side.<br> +<br> +And there with a tinkler he happened to meet,<br> +And him in kind sort he so freely did greet:<br> +‘Pray thee, good fellow, what hast in thy jug,<br> +Which under thy arm thou dost lovingly hug?’<br> +<br> +‘By the mass!’ quoth the tinkler, ‘it’s nappy +brown ale,<br> +And for to drink to thee, friend, I will not fail;<br> +For although thy jacket looks gallant and fine,<br> +I think that my twopence as good is as thine.’<br> +<br> +‘By my soul! honest fellow, the truth thou hast spoke,’<br> +And straight he sat down with the tinkler to joke;<br> +They drank to the King, and they pledged to each other;<br> +Who’d seen ’em had thought they were brother and brother.<br> +<br> +As they were a-drinking the King pleased to say,<br> +‘What news, honest fellow? come tell me, I pray?’<br> +‘There’s nothing of news, beyond that I hear<br> +The King’s on the border a-chasing the deer.<br> +<br> +‘And truly I wish I so happy may be<br> +Whilst he is a hunting the King I might see;<br> +For although I’ve travelled the land many ways<br> +I never have yet seen a King in my days.’<br> +<br> +The King, with a hearty brisk laughter, replied,<br> +‘I tell thee, good fellow, if thou canst but ride,<br> +Thou shalt get up behind me, and I will thee bring<br> +To the presence of Jamie, thy sovereign King.’<br> +<br> +‘But he’ll be surrounded with nobles so gay,<br> +And how shall we tell him from them, sir, I pray?’<br> +‘Thou’lt easily ken him when once thou art there;<br> +The King will be covered, his nobles all bare.’<br> +<br> +He got up behind him and likewise his sack,<br> +His budget of leather, and tools at his back;<br> +They rode till they came to the merry greenwood,<br> +His nobles came round him, bareheaded they stood.<br> +<br> +The tinkler then seeing so many appear,<br> +He slily did whisper the King in his ear:<br> +Saying, ‘They’re all clothed so gloriously gay,<br> +But which amongst them is the King, sir, I pray?’<br> +<br> +The King did with hearty good laughter, reply,<br> +‘By my soul! my good fellow, it’s thou or it’s I!<br> +The rest are bareheaded, uncovered all round.’ -<br> +With his bag and his budget he fell to the ground,<br> +<br> +Like one that was frightened quite out of his wits,<br> +Then on his knees he instantly gets,<br> +Beseeching for mercy; the King to him said,<br> +‘Thou art a good fellow, so be not afraid.<br> +<br> +‘Come, tell thy name?’ ‘I am John of the Dale,<br> +A mender of kettles, a lover of ale.’<br> +‘Rise up, Sir John, I will honour thee here, -<br> +I make thee a knight of three thousand a year!’<br> +<br> +This was a good thing for the tinkler indeed;<br> +Then unto the court he was sent for with speed,<br> +Where great store of pleasure and pastime was seen,<br> +In the royal presence of King and of Queen.<br> +<br> +Sir John of the Dale he has land, he has fee,<br> +At the court of the king who so happy as he?<br> +Yet still in his hall hangs the tinkler’s old sack,<br> +And the budget of tools which he bore at his back.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE KEACH I’ THE CREEL.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This old and very humorous ballad has long been a favourite on both +sides of the Border, but had never appeared in print till about 1845, +when a Northumbrian gentleman printed a few copies for private circulation, +from one of which the following is taken. In the present impression +some trifling typographical mistakes are corrected, and the phraseology +has been rendered uniform throughout. <i>Keach i’ the Creel</i> +means the catch in the basket.]<br> +<br> +<br> +A fair young May went up the street,<br> +Some white fish for to buy;<br> +And a bonny clerk’s fa’n i’ luve wi’ her,<br> +And he’s followed her by and by, by,<br> +And he’s followed her by and by.<br> +<br> +‘O! where live ye my bonny lass,<br> +I pray thee tell to me;<br> +For gin the nicht were ever sae mirk,<br> +I wad come and visit thee, thee;<br> +I wad come and visit thee.’<br> +<br> +‘O! my father he aye locks the door,<br> +My mither keeps the key;<br> +And gin ye were ever sic a wily wicht,<br> +Ye canna win in to me, me;<br> +Ye canna win in to me.’<br> +<br> +But the clerk he had ae true brother,<br> +And a wily wicht was he;<br> +And he has made a lang ladder,<br> +Was thirty steps and three, three;<br> +Was thirty steps and three.<br> +<br> +He has made a cleek but and a creel -<br> +A creel but and a pin;<br> +And he’s away to the chimley-top,<br> +And he’s letten the bonny clerk in, in;<br> +And he’s letten the bonny clerk in.<br> +<br> +The auld wife, being not asleep,<br> +Tho’ late, late was the hour;<br> +I’ll lay my life,’ quo’ the silly auld wife,<br> +‘There’s a man i’ our dochter’s bower, bower;<br> +There’s a man i’ our dochter’s bower.’<br> +<br> +The auld man he gat owre the bed,<br> +To see if the thing was true;<br> +But she’s ta’en the bonny clerk in her arms,<br> +And covered him owre wi’ blue, blue;<br> +And covered him owre wi’ blue.<br> +<br> +‘O! where are ye gaun now, father?’ she says,<br> +‘And where are ye gaun sae late?<br> +Ye’ve disturbed me in my evening prayers,<br> +And O! but they were sweit, sweit;<br> +And O! but they were sweit.’<br> +<br> +‘O! ill betide ye, silly auld wife,<br> +And an ill death may ye dee;<br> +She has the muckle buik in her arms,<br> +And she’s prayin’ for you and me, me;<br> +And she’s prayin’ for you and me.’<br> +<br> +The auld wife being not asleep,<br> +Then something mair was said;<br> +‘I’ll lay my life,’ quo’ the silly auld wife,<br> +‘There’s a man by our dochter’s bed, bed;<br> +There’s a man by our dochter’s bed.’<br> +<br> +The auld wife she gat owre the bed,<br> +To see if the thing was true;<br> +But what the wrack took the auld wife’s fit?<br> +For into the creel she flew, flew;<br> +For into the creel she flew.<br> +<br> +The man that was at the chimley-top,<br> +Finding the creel was fu’,<br> +He wrappit the rape round his left shouther,<br> +And fast to him he drew, drew:<br> +And fast to him he drew.<br> +<br> +‘O, help! O, help! O, hinny, noo, help!<br> +O, help! O, hinny, do!<br> +For <i>him</i> that ye aye wished me at,<br> +He’s carryin’ me off just noo, noo;<br> +He’s carryin’ me off just noo.’<br> +<br> +‘O! if the foul thief’s gotten ye,<br> +I wish he may keep his haud;<br> +For a’ the lee lang winter nicht,<br> +Ye’ll never lie in your bed, bed;<br> +Ye’ll never lie in your bed.’<br> +<br> +He’s towed her up, he’s towed her down,<br> +He’s towed her through an’ through;<br> +‘O, Gude! assist,’ quo’ the silly auld wife,<br> +‘For I’m just departin’ noo, noo;<br> +For I’m just departin’ noo.’<br> +<br> +He’s towed her up, he’s towed her down,<br> +He’s gien her a richt down fa’,<br> +Till every rib i’ the auld wife’s side,<br> +Played nick nack on the wa’, wa’;<br> +Played nick nack on the wa’.<br> +<br> +O! the blue, the bonny, bonny blue,<br> +And I wish the blue may do weel;<br> +And every auld wife that’s sae jealous o’ her dochter,<br> +May she get a good keach i’ the creel, creel;<br> +May she get a good keach i’ the creel!<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE MERRY BROOMFIELD; OR, THE WEST COUNTRY WAGER.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This old West-country ballad was one of the broadsides printed at the +Aldermary press. We have not met with any older impression, though +we have been assured that there are black-letter copies. In Scott’s +<i>Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border</i> is a ballad called the <i>Broomfield +Hill</i>; it is a mere fragment, but is evidently taken from the present +ballad, and can be considered only as one of the many modern antiques +to be found in that work.]<br> +<br> +<br> +A noble young squire that lived in the West,<br> +He courted a young lady gay;<br> +And as he was merry he put forth a jest,<br> +A wager with her he would lay.<br> +<br> +‘A wager with me,’ the young lady replied,<br> +‘I pray about what must it be?<br> +If I like the humour you shan’t be denied,<br> +I love to be merry and free.’<br> +<br> +Quoth he, ‘I will lay you a hundred pounds,<br> +A hundred pounds, aye, and ten,<br> +That a maid if you go to the merry Broomfield,<br> +That a maid you return not again.’<br> +<br> +‘I’ll lay you that wager,’ the lady she said,<br> +Then the money she flung down amain;<br> +‘To the merry Broomfield I’ll go a pure maid,<br> +The same I’ll return home again.’<br> +<br> +He covered her bet in the midst of the hall,<br> +With a hundred and ten jolly pounds;<br> +And then to his servant he straightway did call,<br> +For to bring forth his hawk and his hounds.<br> +<br> +A ready obedience the servant did yield,<br> +And all was made ready o’er night;<br> +Next morning he went to the merry Broomfield,<br> +To meet with his love and delight.<br> +<br> +Now when he came there, having waited a while,<br> +Among the green broom down he lies;<br> +The lady came to him, and could not but smile,<br> +For sleep then had closèd his eyes.<br> +<br> +Upon his right hand a gold ring she secured,<br> +Drawn from her own fingers so fair;<br> +That when he awakèd he might be assured<br> +His lady and love had been there.<br> +<br> +She left him a posie of pleasant perfume,<br> +Then stepped from the place where he lay,<br> +Then hid herself close in the besom of broom,<br> +To hear what her true love did say.<br> +<br> +He wakened and found the gold ring on his hand,<br> +Then sorrow of heart he was in;<br> +‘My love has been here, I do well understand,<br> +And this wager I now shall not win.<br> +<br> +‘Oh! where was you, my goodly goshawk,<br> +The which I have purchased so dear,<br> +Why did you not waken me out of my sleep,<br> +When the lady, my love, was here?’<br> +<br> +‘O! with my bells did I ring, master,<br> +And eke with my feet did I run;<br> +And still did I cry, pray awake! master,<br> +She’s here now, and soon will be gone.’<br> +<br> +‘O! where was you, my gallant greyhound,<br> +Whose collar is flourished with gold;<br> +Why hadst thou not wakened me out of my sleep,<br> +When thou didst my lady behold?’<br> +<br> +‘Dear master, I barked with my mouth when she came,<br> +And likewise my collar I shook;<br> +And told you that here was the beautiful dame,<br> +But no notice of me then you took.’<br> +<br> +‘O! where wast thou, my servingman,<br> +Whom I have clothèd so fine?<br> +If you had waked me when she was here,<br> +The wager then had been mine.’<br> +<br> +In the night you should have slept, master,<br> +And kept awake in the day;<br> +Had you not been sleeping when hither she came,<br> +Then a maid she had not gone away.’<br> +<br> +Then home he returned when the wager was lost,<br> +With sorrow of heart, I may say;<br> +The lady she laughed to find her love crost, -<br> +This was upon midsummer-day.<br> +<br> +‘O, squire! I laid in the bushes concealed,<br> +And heard you, when you did complain;<br> +And thus I have been to the merry Broomfield,<br> +And a maid returned back again.<br> +<br> +‘Be cheerful! be cheerful! and do not repine,<br> +For now ’tis as clear as the sun,<br> +The money, the money, the money is mine,<br> +The wager I fairly have won.’<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: SIR JOHN BARLEYCORN.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The West-country ballad of <i>Sir John Barleycorn</i> is very ancient, +and being the only version that has ever been sung at English merry-makings +and country feasts, can certainly set up a better claim to antiquity +than any of the three ballads on the same subject to be found in Evans’s +<i>Old Ballads</i>; viz., <i>John Barleycorn</i>, <i>The Little Barleycorn</i>, +and <i>Mas Mault</i>. Our west-country version bears the greatest +resemblance to <i>The Little Barleycorn</i>, but it is very dissimilar +to any of the three. Burns altered the old ditty, but on referring +to his version it will be seen that his corrections and additions want +the simplicity of the original, and certainly cannot be considered improvements. +The common ballad does not appear to have been inserted in any of our +popular collections. <i>Sir John Barleycorn</i> is very appropriately +sung to the tune of <i>Stingo</i>. See <i>Popular Music</i>, p. +305.]<br> +<br> +<br> +There came three men out of the West,<br> +Their victory to try;<br> +And they have taken a solemn oath,<br> +Poor Barleycorn should die.<br> +<br> +They took a plough and ploughed him in,<br> +And harrowed clods on his head;<br> +And then they took a solemn oath,<br> +Poor Barleycorn was dead.<br> +<br> +There he lay sleeping in the ground,<br> +Till rain from the sky did fall:<br> +Then Barleycorn sprung up his head,<br> +And so amazed them all.<br> +<br> +There he remained till Midsummer,<br> +And looked both pale and wan;<br> +Then Barleycorn he got a beard,<br> +And so became a man.<br> +<br> +Then they sent men with scythes so sharp,<br> +To cut him off at knee;<br> +And then poor little Barleycorn,<br> +They served him barbarously.<br> +<br> +Then they sent men with pitchforks strong<br> +To pierce him through the heart;<br> +And like a dreadful tragedy,<br> +They bound him to a cart.<br> +<br> +And then they brought him to a barn,<br> +A prisoner to endure;<br> +And so they fetched him out again,<br> +And laid him on the floor.<br> +<br> +Then they set men with holly clubs,<br> +To beat the flesh from his bones;<br> +But the miller he served him worse than that,<br> +For he ground him betwixt two stones.<br> +<br> +O! Barleycorn is the choicest grain<br> +That ever was sown on land;<br> +It will do more than any grain,<br> +By the turning of your hand.<br> +<br> +It will make a boy into a man,<br> +And a man into an ass;<br> +It will change your gold into silver,<br> +And your silver into brass.<br> +<br> +It will make the huntsman hunt the fox,<br> +That never wound his horn;<br> +It will bring the tinker to the stocks,<br> +That people may him scorn.<br> +<br> +It will put sack into a glass,<br> +And claret in the can;<br> +And it will cause a man to drink<br> +Till he neither can go nor stand.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: BLOW THE WINDS, I-HO!<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This Northumbrian ballad is of great antiquity, and bears considerable +resemblance to <i>The Baffled Knight</i>; <i>or, Lady’s</i> <i>Policy</i>, +inserted in Percy’s <i>Reliques</i>. It is not in any popular +collection. In the broadside from which it is here printed, the +title and chorus are given, <i>Blow the Winds, I-O</i>, a form common +to many ballads and songs, but only to those of great antiquity. +Chappell, in his <i>Popular Music</i>, has an example in a song as old +as 1698:-<br> +<br> +‘Here’s a health to jolly Bacchus,<br> +I-ho! I-ho! I-ho!’<br> +<br> +and in another well-known old catch the same form appears:-<br> +<br> +‘A pye sat on a pear-tree,<br> +I-ho, I-ho, I-ho.’<br> +<br> +‘Io!’ or, as we find it given in these lyrics, ‘I-ho!’ +was an ancient form of acclamation or triumph on joyful occasions and +anniversaries. It is common, with slight variations, to different +languages. In the Gothic, for example, Iola signifies to make +merry. It has been supposed by some etymologists that the word +‘yule’ is a corruption of ‘Io!’]<br> +<br> +<br> +There was a shepherd’s son,<br> +He kept sheep on yonder hill;<br> +He laid his pipe and his crook aside,<br> +And there he slept his fill.<br> +<br> +And blow the winds, I-ho!<br> +Sing, blow the winds, I-ho!<br> +Clear away the morning dew,<br> +And blow the winds, I-ho!<br> +<br> +He lookèd east, and he lookèd west,<br> +He took another look,<br> +And there he spied a lady gay,<br> +Was dipping in a brook.<br> +<br> +She said, ‘Sir, don’t touch my mantle,<br> +Come, let my clothes alone;<br> +I will give you as much monèy<br> +As you can carry home.’<br> +<br> +‘I will not touch your mantle,<br> +I’ll let your clothes alone;<br> +I’ll take you out of the water clear,<br> +My dear, to be my own.’<br> +<br> +He did not touch her mantle,<br> +He let her clothes alone;<br> +But he took her from the clear water,<br> +And all to be his own.<br> +<br> +He set her on a milk-white steed,<br> +Himself upon another;<br> +And there they rode along the road,<br> +Like sister, and like brother.<br> +<br> +And as they rode along the road,<br> +He spied some cocks of hay;<br> +‘Yonder,’ he says, ‘is a lovely place<br> +For men and maids to play!’<br> +<br> +And when they came to her father’s gate,<br> +She pullèd at a ring;<br> +And ready was the proud portèr<br> +For to let the lady in.<br> +<br> +And when the gates were open,<br> +This lady jumpèd in;<br> +She says, ‘You are a fool without,<br> +And I’m a maid within.<br> +<br> +‘Good morrow to you, modest boy,<br> +I thank you for your care;<br> +If you had been what you should have been,<br> +I would not have left you there.<br> +<br> +‘There is a horse in my father’s stable,<br> +He stands beyond the thorn;<br> +He shakes his head above the trough,<br> +But dares not prie the corn.<br> +<br> +‘There is a bird in my father’s flock,<br> +A double comb he wears;<br> +He flaps his wings, and crows full loud,<br> +But a capon’s crest he bears.<br> +<br> +‘There is a flower in my father’s garden,<br> +They call it marygold;<br> +The fool that will not when he may,<br> +He shall not when he wold.’<br> +<br> +Said the shepherd’s son, as he doft his shoon,<br> +‘My feet they shall run bare,<br> +And if ever I meet another maid,<br> +I rede that maid beware.’<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE BEAUTIFUL LADY OF KENT; OR, THE SEAMAN OF DOVER.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[We have met with two copies of this genuine English ballad; the older +one is without printer’s name, but from the appearance of the +type and the paper, it must have been published about the middle of +the last century. It is certainly not one of the original impressions, +for the other copy, though of recent date, has evidently been taken +from some still older and better edition. In the modern broadside +the ballad is in four parts, whereas, in our older one, there is no +such expressed division, but a word at the commencement of each part +is printed in capital letters.]<br> +<br> +<br> +PART I.<br> +<br> +A seaman of Dover, whose excellent parts,<br> +For wisdom and learning, had conquered the hearts<br> +Of many young damsels, of beauty so bright,<br> +Of him this new ditty in brief I shall write;<br> +<br> +And show of his turnings, and windings of fate,<br> +His passions and sorrows, so many and great:<br> +And how he was blessèd with true love at last,<br> +When all the rough storms of his troubles were past.<br> +<br> +Now, to be brief, I shall tell you the truth:<br> +A beautiful lady, whose name it was Ruth,<br> +A squire’s young daughter, near Sandwich, in Kent,<br> +Proves all his heart’s treasure, his joy and content.<br> +<br> +Unknown to their parents in private they meet,<br> +Where many love lessons they’d often repeat,<br> +With kisses, and many embraces likewise,<br> +She granted him love, and thus gainèd the prize.<br> +<br> +She said, ‘I consent to be thy sweet bride,<br> +Whatever becomes of my fortune,’ she cried.<br> +‘The frowns of my father I never will fear,<br> +But freely will go through the world with my dear.’<br> +<br> +A jewel he gave her, in token of love,<br> +And vowed, by the sacred powers above,<br> +To wed the next morning; but they were betrayed,<br> +And all by the means of a treacherous maid.<br> +<br> +She told her parents that they were agreed:<br> +With that they fell into a passion with speed,<br> +And said, ere a seaman their daughter should have,<br> +They rather would follow her corpse to the grave.<br> +<br> +The lady was straight to her chamber confined,<br> +Here long she continued in sorrow of mind,<br> +And so did her love, for the loss of his dear, -<br> +No sorrow was ever so sharp and severe.<br> +<br> +When long he had mourned for his love and delight,<br> +Close under the window he came in the night,<br> +And sung forth this ditty:- ‘My dearest, farewell!<br> +Behold, in this nation no longer I dwell.<br> +<br> +‘I am going from hence to the kingdom of Spain,<br> +Because I am willing that you should obtain<br> +Your freedom once more; for my heart it will break<br> +If longer thou liest confined for my sake.’<br> +<br> +The words which he uttered, they caused her to weep;<br> +Yet, nevertheless, she was forcèd to keep<br> +Deep silence that minute, that minute for fear<br> +Her honourèd father and mother should hear.<br> +<br> +PART II.<br> +<br> +Soon after, bold Henry he entered on board,<br> +The heavens a prosperous gale did afford,<br> +And brought him with speed to the kingdom of Spain,<br> +There he with a merchant some time did remain;<br> +<br> +Who, finding that he was both faithful and just,<br> +Preferred him to places of honour and trust;<br> +He made him as great as his heart could request,<br> +Yet, wanting his Ruth, he with grief was oppressed.<br> +<br> +So great was his grief it could not be concealed,<br> +Both honour and riches no pleasure could yield;<br> +In private he often would weep and lament,<br> +For Ruth, the fair, beautiful lady of Kent.<br> +<br> +Now, while he lamented the loss of his dear,<br> +A lady of Spain did before him appear,<br> +Bedecked with rich jewels both costly and gay,<br> +Who earnestly sought for his favour that day.<br> +<br> +Said she, ‘Gentle swain, I am wounded with love,<br> +And you are the person I honour above<br> +The greatest of nobles that ever was born; -<br> +Then pity my tears, and my sorrowful mourn!’<br> +<br> +‘I pity thy sorrowful tears,’ he replied,<br> +‘And wish I were worthy to make thee my bride;<br> +But, lady, thy grandeur is greater than mine,<br> +Therefore, I am fearful my heart to resign.’<br> +<br> +‘O! never be doubtful of what will ensue,<br> +No manner of danger will happen to you;<br> +At my own disposal I am, I declare,<br> +Receive me with love, or destroy me with care.’<br> +<br> +‘Dear madam, don’t fix your affection on me,<br> +You are fit for some lord of a noble degree,<br> +That is able to keep up your honour and fame;<br> +I am but a poor sailor, from England who came.<br> +<br> +‘A man of mean fortune, whose substance is small,<br> +I have not wherewith to maintain you withal,<br> +Sweet lady, according to honour and state;<br> +Now this is the truth, which I freely relate.’<br> +<br> +The lady she lovingly squeezèd his hand,<br> +And said with a smile, ‘Ever blessed be the land<br> +That bred such a noble, brave seaman as thee;<br> +I value no honours, thou’rt welcome to me;<br> +<br> +‘My parents are dead, I have jewels untold,<br> +Besides in possession a million of gold;<br> +And thou shalt be lord of whatever I have,<br> +Grant me but thy love, which I earnestly crave.’<br> +<br> +Then, turning aside, to himself he replied,<br> +‘I am courted with riches and beauty beside;<br> +This love I may have, but my Ruth is denied.’<br> +Wherefore he consented to make her his bride.<br> +<br> +The lady she clothèd him costly and great;<br> +His noble deportment, both proper and straight,<br> +So charmèd the innocent eye of his dove,<br> +And added a second new flame to her love.<br> +<br> +Then married they were without longer delay;<br> +Now here we will leave them both glorious and gay,<br> +To speak of fair Ruth, who in sorrow was left<br> +At home with her parents, of comfort bereft.<br> +<br> +PART III.<br> +<br> +When under the window with an aching heart,<br> +He told his fair Ruth he so soon must depart,<br> +Her parents they heard, and well pleasèd they were,<br> +But Ruth was afflicted with sorrow and care.<br> +<br> +Now, after her lover had quitted the shore,<br> +They kept her confined a fall twelvemonth or more,<br> +And then they were pleasèd to set her at large,<br> +With laying upon her a wonderful charge:<br> +<br> +To fly from a seaman as she would from death;<br> +She promised she would, with a faltering breath;<br> +Yet, nevertheless, the truth you shall hear,<br> +She found out a way for to follow her dear.<br> +<br> +Then, taking her gold and her silver alsò,<br> +In seaman’s apparel away she did go,<br> +And found out a master, with whom she agreed,<br> +To carry her over the ocean with speed.<br> +<br> +Now, when she arrived at the kingdom of Spain,<br> +From city to city she travelled amain,<br> +Enquiring about everywhere for her love,<br> +Who now had been gone seven years and above.<br> +<br> +In Cadiz, as she walked along in the street,<br> +Her love and his lady she happened to meet,<br> +But in such a garb as she never had seen, -<br> +She looked like an angel, or beautiful queen.<br> +<br> +With sorrowful tears she turned her aside:<br> +‘My jewel is gone, I shall ne’er be his bride;<br> +But, nevertheless, though my hopes are in vain,<br> +I’ll never return to old England again.<br> +<br> +‘But here, in this place, I will now be confined;<br> +It will be a comfort and joy to my mind,<br> +To see him sometimes, though he thinks not of me,<br> +Since he has a lady of noble degree.’<br> +<br> +Now, while in the city fair Ruth did reside,<br> +Of a sudden this beautiful lady she died,<br> +And, though he was in the possession of all,<br> +Yet tears from his eyes in abundance did fall.<br> +<br> +As he was expressing his piteous moan,<br> +Fair Ruth came unto him, and made herself known;<br> +He started to see her, but seemèd not coy,<br> +Said he, ‘Now my sorrows are mingled with joy!’<br> +<br> +The time of the mourning he kept it in Spain,<br> +And then he came back to old England again,<br> +With thousands, and thousands, which he did possess;<br> +Then glorious and gay was sweet Ruth in her dress.<br> +<br> +PART IV.<br> +<br> +When over the seas to fair Sandwich he came,<br> +With Ruth, and a number of persons of fame,<br> +Then all did appear most splendid and gay,<br> +As if it had been a great festival day.<br> +<br> +Now, when that they took up their lodgings, behold!<br> +He stripped off his coat of embroiderèd gold,<br> +And presently borrows a mariner’s suit,<br> +That he with her parents might have some dispute,<br> +<br> +Before they were sensible he was so great;<br> +And when he came in and knocked at the gate,<br> +He soon saw her father, and mother likewise,<br> +Expressing their sorrow with tears in their eyes,<br> +<br> +To them, with obeisance, he modestly said,<br> +‘Pray where is my jewel, that innocent maid,<br> +Whose sweet lovely beauty doth thousands excel?<br> +I fear, by your weeping, that all is not well!’<br> +<br> +‘No, no! she is gone, she is utterly lost;<br> +We have not heard of her a twelvemonth at most!<br> +Which makes us distracted with sorrow and care,<br> +And drowns us in tears at the point of despair.’<br> +<br> +‘I’m grievèd to hear these sad tidings,’ he +cried.<br> +‘Alas! honest young man,’ her father replied,<br> +‘I heartily wish she’d been wedded to you,<br> +For then we this sorrow had never gone through.’<br> +<br> +Sweet Henry he made them this answer again;<br> +‘I am newly come home from the kingdom of Spain,<br> +From whence I have brought me a beautiful bride,<br> +And am to be married to-morrow,’ he cried;<br> +<br> +‘And if you will go to my wedding,’ said he,<br> +‘Both you and your lady right welcome shall be.’<br> +They promised they would, and accordingly came,<br> +Not thinking to meet with such persons of fame.<br> +<br> +All decked with their jewels of rubies and pearls,<br> +As equal companions of lords and of earls,<br> +Fair Ruth, with her love, was as gay as the rest,<br> +So they in their marriage were happily blessed.<br> +<br> +Now, as they returned from the church to an inn,<br> +The father and mother of Ruth did begin<br> +Their daughter to know, by a mole they behold,<br> +Although she was clothed in a garment of gold.<br> +<br> +With transports of joy they flew to the bride,<br> +‘O! where hast thou been, sweetest daughter?’ they cried,<br> +‘Thy tedious absence has grievèd us sore,<br> +As fearing, alas! we should see thee no more.’<br> +<br> +‘Dear parents,’ said she, ‘many hazards I run,<br> +To fetch home my love, and your dutiful son;<br> +Receive him with joy, for ’tis very well known,<br> +He seeks not your wealth, he’s enough of his own.’<br> +<br> +Her father replied, and he merrily smiled,<br> +‘He’s brought home enough, as he’s brought home my +child;<br> +A thousand times welcome you are, I declare,<br> +Whose presence disperses both sorrow and care.’<br> +<br> +Full seven long days in feasting they spent;<br> +The bells in the steeple they merrily went,<br> +And many fair pounds were bestowed on the poor, -<br> +The like of this wedding was never before!<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE BERKSHIRE LADY’S GARLAND.<br> +IN FOUR PARTS.<br> +To the tune of <i>The Royal Forester.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +</i>[When we first met with this very pleasing English ballad, we deemed +the story to be wholly fictitious, but ‘strange’ as the +‘relation’ may appear, the incidents narrated are ‘true’ +or at least founded on fact. The scene of the ballad is Whitley +Park, near Reading, in Berkshire, and not, as some suppose, Calcot House, +which was not built till 1759. Whitley is mentioned as ‘the +Abbot’s Park, being at the entrance of Redding town.’ +At the Dissolution the estate passed to the crown, and the mansion seems, +from time to time, to have been used as a royal ‘palace’ +till the reign of Elizabeth, by whom it was granted, along with the +estate, to Sir Francis Knollys; it was afterwards, by purchase, the +property of the Kendricks, an ancient race, descended from the Saxon +kings. William Kendrick, of Whitley, armr. was created a baronet +in 1679, and died in 1685, leaving issue one son, Sir William Kendrick, +of Whitley, Bart., who married Miss Mary House, of Reading, and died +in 1699, without issue male, leaving an only daughter. It was +this rich heiress, who possessed ‘store of wealth and beauty bright,’ +that is the heroine of the ballad. She married Benjamin Child, +Esq., a young and handsome, but very poor attorney of Reading, and the +marriage is traditionally reported to have been brought about exactly +as related in the ballad. We have not been able to ascertain the +exact date of the marriage, which was celebrated in St. Mary’s +Church, Reading, the bride wearing a thick veil; but the ceremony must +have taken place some time about 1705. In 1714, Mr. Child was +high sheriff of Berkshire. As he was an humble and obscure personage +previously to his espousing the heiress of Whitley, and, in fact, owed +all his wealth and influence to his marriage, it cannot be supposed +that <i>immediately</i> after his union he would be elevated to so important +and dignified a post as the high-shrievalty of the very aristocratical +county of Berks. We may, therefore, consider nine or ten years +to have elapsed betwixt his marriage and his holding the office of high +sheriff, which he filled when he was about thirty-two years of age. +The author of the ballad is unknown: supposing him to have composed +it shortly after the events which he records, we cannot be far wrong +in fixing its date about 1706. The earliest broadside we have +seen contains a rudely executed, but by no means bad likeness of Queen +Anne, the reigning monarch at that period.]<br> +<br> +<br> +PART I.<br> +<br> +SHOWING CUPID’S CONQUEST OVER A COY LADY OF FIVE THOUSAND A YEAR.<br> +<br> +Bachelors of every station,<br> +Mark this strange and true relation,<br> +Which in brief to you I bring, -<br> +Never was a stranger thing!<br> +<br> +You shall find it worth the hearing;<br> +Loyal love is most endearing,<br> +When it takes the deepest root,<br> +Yielding charms and gold to boot.<br> +<br> +Some will wed for love of treasure;<br> +But the sweetest joy and pleasure<br> +Is in faithful love, you’ll find,<br> +Gracèd with a noble mind.<br> +<br> +Such a noble disposition<br> +Had this lady, with submission,<br> +Of whom I this sonnet write,<br> +Store of wealth, and beauty bright.<br> +<br> +She had left, by a good grannum,<br> +Full five thousand pounds per annum,<br> +Which she held without control;<br> +Thus she did in riches roll.<br> +<br> +Though she had vast store of riches,<br> +Which some persons much bewitches,<br> +Yet she bore a virtuous mind,<br> +Not the least to pride inclined.<br> +<br> +Many noble persons courted<br> +This young lady, ’tis reported;<br> +But their labour proved in vain,<br> +They could not her favour gain.<br> +<br> +Though she made a strong resistance,<br> +Yet by Cupid’s true assistance,<br> +She was conquered after all;<br> +How it was declare I shall.<br> +<br> +Being at a noble wedding,<br> +Near the famous town of Redding, <a name="citation7"></a><a href="#footnote7">{7}</a><br> +A young gentleman she saw,<br> +Who belongèd to the law.<br> +<br> +As she viewed his sweet behaviour,<br> +Every courteous carriage gave her<br> +New addition to her grief;<br> +Forced she was to seek relief.<br> +<br> +Privately she then enquired<br> +About him, so much admired;<br> +Both his name, and where he dwelt, -<br> +Such was the hot flame she felt.<br> +<br> +Then, at night, this youthful lady<br> +Called her coach, which being ready,<br> +Homewards straight she did return;<br> +But her heart with flames did burn.<br> +<br> +PART II.<br> +<br> +SHOWING THE LADY’S LETTER OF A CHALLENGE TO FIGHT HIM UPON HIS +REFUSING TO WED HER IN A MASK, WITHOUT KNOWING WHO SHE WAS.<br> +<br> +Night and morning, for a season,<br> +In her closet would she reason<br> +With herself, and often said,<br> +‘Why has love my heart betrayed?<br> +<br> +‘I, that have so many slighted,<br> +Am at length so well requited;<br> +For my griefs are not a few!<br> +Now I find what love can do.<br> +<br> +‘He that has my heart in keeping,<br> +Though I for his sake be weeping,<br> +Little knows what grief I feel;<br> +But I’ll try it out with steel.<br> +<br> +‘For I will a challenge send him,<br> +And appoint where I’ll attend him,<br> +In a grove, without delay,<br> +By the dawning of the day.<br> +<br> +‘He shall not the least discover<br> +That I am a virgin lover,<br> +By the challenge which I send;<br> +But for justice I contend.<br> +<br> +‘He has causèd sad distraction,<br> +And I come for satisfaction,<br> +Which if he denies to give,<br> +One of us shall cease to live.’<br> +<br> +Having thus her mind revealed,<br> +She her letter closed and sealed;<br> +Which, when it came to his hand,<br> +The young man was at a stand.<br> +<br> +In her letter she conjured him<br> +For to meet, and well assured him,<br> +Recompence he must afford,<br> +Or dispute it with the sword.<br> +<br> +Having read this strange relation,<br> +He was in a consternation;<br> +But, advising with his friend,<br> +He persuades him to attend.<br> +<br> +‘Be of courage, and make ready,<br> +Faint heart never won fair lady;<br> +In regard it must be so,<br> +I along with you must go.’<br> +<br> +PART III.<br> +<br> +SHOWING HOW THEY MET BY APPOINTMENT IN A GROVE, WHERE SHE OBLIGED HIM +TO FIGHT OR WED HER.<br> +<br> +Early on a summer’s morning,<br> +When bright Phoebus was adorning<br> +Every bower with his beams,<br> +The fair lady came, it seems.<br> +<br> +At the bottom of a mountain,<br> +Near a pleasant crystal fountain,<br> +There she left her gilded coach,<br> +While the grove she did approach.<br> +<br> +Covered with her mask, and walking,<br> +There she met her lover talking<br> +With a friend that he had brought;<br> +So she asked him whom he sought.<br> +<br> +‘I am challenged by a gallant,<br> +Who resolves to try my talent;<br> +Who he is I cannot say,<br> +But I hope to show him play.’<br> +<br> +‘It is I that did invite you,<br> +You shall wed me, or I’ll fight you,<br> +Underneath those spreading trees;<br> +Therefore, choose you which you please.<br> +<br> +‘You shall find I do not vapour,<br> +I have brought my trusty rapier;<br> +Therefore, take your choice,’ said she,<br> +‘Either fight or marry me.’<br> +<br> +Said he, ‘Madam, pray what mean you?<br> +In my life I’ve never seen you;<br> +Pray unmask, your visage show,<br> +Then I’ll tell you aye or no.’<br> +<br> +‘I will not my face uncover<br> +Till the marriage ties are over;<br> +Therefore, choose you which you will,<br> +Wed me, sir, or try your skill.<br> +<br> +‘Step within that pleasant bower,<br> +With your friend one single hour;<br> +Strive your thoughts to reconcile,<br> +And I’ll wander here the while.’<br> +<br> +While this beauteous lady waited,<br> +The young bachelors debated<br> +What was best for to be done:<br> +Quoth his friend, ‘The hazard run.<br> +<br> +‘If my judgment can be trusted,<br> +Wed her first, you can’t be worsted;<br> +If she’s rich, you’ll rise to fame,<br> +If she’s poor, why! you’re the same.’<br> +<br> +He consented to be married;<br> +All three in a coach were carried<br> +To a church without delay,<br> +Where he weds the lady gay.<br> +<br> +Though sweet pretty Cupids hovered<br> +Round her eyes, her face was covered<br> +With a mask, - he took her thus,<br> +Just for better or for worse.<br> +<br> +With a courteous kind behaviour,<br> +She presents his friend a favour,<br> +And withal dismissed him straight,<br> +That he might no longer wait.<br> +<br> +PART IV.<br> +<br> +SHOWING HOW THEY RODE TOGETHER IN HER GILDED COACH TO HER NOBLE SEAT, +OR CASTLE, ETC.<br> +<br> +As the gilded coach stood ready,<br> +The young lawyer and his lady<br> +Rode together, till they came<br> +To her house of state and fame;<br> +<br> +Which appearèd like a castle,<br> +Where you might behold a parcel<br> +Of young cedars, tall and straight,<br> +Just before her palace gate.<br> +<br> +Hand in hand they walked together,<br> +To a hall, or parlour, rather,<br> +Which was beautiful and fair, -<br> +All alone she left him there.<br> +<br> +Two long hours there he waited<br> +Her return; - at length he fretted,<br> +And began to grieve at last,<br> +For he had not broke his fast.<br> +<br> +Still he sat like one amazed,<br> +Round a spacious room he gazed,<br> +Which was richly beautified;<br> +But, alas! he lost his bride.<br> +<br> +There was peeping, laughing, sneering,<br> +All within the lawyer’s hearing;<br> +But his bride he could not see;<br> +‘Would I were at home!’ thought he.<br> +<br> +While his heart was melancholy,<br> +Said the steward, brisk and jolly,<br> +‘Tell me, friend, how came you here?<br> +You’ve some bad design, I fear.’<br> +<br> +He replied, ‘Dear loving master,<br> +You shall meet with no disaster<br> +Through my means, in any case, -<br> +Madam brought me to this place.’<br> +<br> +Then the steward did retire,<br> +Saying, that he would enquire<br> +Whether it was true or no:<br> +Ne’er was lover hampered so.<br> +<br> +Now the lady who had filled him<br> +With those fears, full well beheld him<br> +From a window, as she dressed,<br> +Pleasèd at the merry jest.<br> +<br> +When she had herself attired<br> +In rich robes, to be admired,<br> +She appearèd in his sight,<br> +Like a moving angel bright.<br> +<br> +‘Sir! my servants have related,<br> +How some hours you have waited<br> +In my parlour, - tell me who<br> +In my house you ever knew?’<br> +<br> +‘Madam! if I have offended,<br> +It is more than I intended;<br> +A young lady brought me here:’ -<br> +‘That is true,’ said she, ‘my dear.<br> +<br> +‘I can be no longer cruel<br> +To my joy, and only jewel;<br> +Thou art mine, and I am thine,<br> +Hand and heart I do resign!<br> +<br> +‘Once I was a wounded lover,<br> +Now these fears are fairly over;<br> +By receiving what I gave,<br> +Thou art lord of what I have.’<br> +<br> +Beauty, honour, love, and treasure,<br> +A rich golden stream of pleasure,<br> +With his lady he enjoys;<br> +Thanks to Cupid’s kind decoys.<br> +<br> +Now he’s clothed in rich attire,<br> +Not inferior to a squire;<br> +Beauty, honour, riches’ store,<br> +What can man desire more?<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE NOBLEMAN’S GENEROUS KINDNESS.<br> +<br> +Giving an account of a nobleman, who, taking notice of a poor man’s +industrious care and pains for the maintaining of his charge of seven +small children, met him upon a day, and discoursing with him, invited +him, and his wife and his children, home to his house, and bestowed +upon them a farm of thirty acres of land, to be continued to him and +his heirs for ever.<br> +<br> +To the tune of <i>The</i> <i>Two English Travellers.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +</i>[This still popular ballad is entitled in the modern copies, <i>The +Nobleman and Thrasher; or, the Generous Gift</i>. There is a copy +preserved in the Roxburgh Collection, with which our version has been +collated. It is taken from a broadside printed by Robert Marchbank, +in the Custom-house Entry, Newcastle.]<br> +<br> +<br> +A nobleman lived in a village of late,<br> +Hard by a poor thrasher, whose charge it was great;<br> +For he had seven children, and most of them small,<br> +And nought but his labour to support them withal.<br> +<br> +He never was given to idle and lurk,<br> +For this nobleman saw him go daily to work,<br> +With his flail and his bag, and his bottle of beer,<br> +As cheerful as those that have hundreds a year.<br> +<br> +Thus careful, and constant, each morning he went,<br> +Unto his daily labour with joy and content;<br> +So jocular and jolly he’d whistle and sing,<br> +As blithe and as brisk as the birds in the spring.<br> +<br> +One morning, this nobleman taking a walk,<br> +He met this poor man, and he freely did talk;<br> +He asked him [at first] many questions at large,<br> +And then began talking concerning his charge.<br> +<br> +‘Thou hast many children, I very well know,<br> +Thy labour is hard, and thy wages are low,<br> +And yet thou art cheerful; I pray tell me true,<br> +How can you maintain them as well as you do?’<br> +<br> +‘I carefully carry home what I do earn,<br> +My daily expenses by this I do learn;<br> +And find it is possible, though we be poor,<br> +To still keep the ravenous wolf from the door.<br> +<br> +‘I reap and I mow, and I harrow and sow,<br> +Sometimes a hedging and ditching I go;<br> +No work comes amiss, for I thrash, and I plough,<br> +Thus my bread I do earn by the sweat of my brow.<br> +<br> +‘My wife she is willing to pull in a yoke,<br> +We live like two lambs, nor each other provoke;<br> +We both of us strive, like the labouring ant,<br> +And do our endeavours to keep us from want.<br> +<br> +‘And when I come home from my labour at night,<br> +To my wife and my children, in whom I delight;<br> +To see them come round me with prattling noise, -<br> +Now these are the riches a poor man enjoys.<br> +<br> +‘Though I am as weary as weary may be,<br> +The youngest I commonly dance on my knee;<br> +I find that content is a moderate feast,<br> +I never repine at my lot in the least.’<br> +<br> +Now the nobleman hearing what he did say,<br> +Was pleased, and invited him home the next day;<br> +His wife and his children he charged him to bring;<br> +In token of favour he gave him a ring.<br> +<br> +He thankèd his honour, and taking his leave,<br> +He went to his wife, who would hardly believe<br> +But this same story himself he might raise;<br> +Yet seeing the ring she was [lost] in amaze.<br> +<br> +Betimes in the morning the good wife she arose,<br> +And made them all fine, in the best of their clothes;<br> +The good man with his good wife, and children small,<br> +They all went to dine at the nobleman’s hall.<br> +<br> +But when they came there, as truth does report,<br> +All things were prepared in a plentiful sort;<br> +And they at the nobleman’s table did dine,<br> +With all kinds of dainties, and plenty of wine.<br> +<br> +The feast being over, he soon let them know,<br> +That he then intended on them to bestow<br> +A farm-house, with thirty good acres of land;<br> +And gave them the writings then, with his own hand.<br> +<br> +‘Because thou art careful, and good to thy wife,<br> +I’ll make thy days happy the rest of thy life;<br> +It shall be for ever, for thee and thy heirs,<br> +Because I beheld thy industrious cares.’<br> +<br> +No tongue then is able in full to express<br> +The depth of their joy, and true thankfulness;<br> +With many a curtsey, and bow to the ground, -<br> +Such noblemen there are but few to be found.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE DRUNKARD’S LEGACY. IN THREE PARTS.<br> +<br> +First, giving an account of a gentlemen a having a wild son, and who, +foreseeing he would come to poverty, had a cottage built with one door +to it, always kept fast; and how, on his dying bed, he charged him not +to open it till he was poor and slighted, which the young man promised +he would perform. Secondly, of the young man’s pawning his +estate to a vintner, who, when poor, kicked him out of doors; when thinking +it time to see his legacy, he broke open the cottage door, where instead +of money he found a gibbet and halter, which he put round his neck, +and jumping off the stool, the gibbet broke, and a thousand pounds came +down upon his head, which lay hid in the ceiling. Thirdly, of +his redeeming his estate, and fooling the vintner out of two hundred +pounds; who, for being jeered by his neighbours, cut his own throat. +And lastly, of the young man’s reformation. Very proper +to be read by all who are given to drunkenness.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[Percy, in the introductory remarks to the ballad of <i>The Heir</i> +<i>of Linne</i>, says, ‘the original of this ballad [<i>The Heir +of Linne</i>] is found in the editor’s folio MS.; the breaches +and defects of which rendered the insertion of supplemental stanzas +necessary. These it is hoped the reader will pardon, as, indeed, +the completion of the story was suggested by a modern ballad on a similar +subject.’ The ballad thus alluded to by Percy is <i>The +Drunkard’s</i> <i>Legacy</i>, which, it may be remarked, although +styled by him a <i>modern</i> ballad, is only so comparatively speaking; +for it must have been written long anterior to Percy’s time, and, +by his own admission, must be older than the latter portion of the <i>Heir +of Linne</i>. Our copy is taken from an old chap-book, without +date or printer’s name, and which is decorated with three rudely +executed wood-cuts.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Young people all, I pray draw near,<br> +And listen to my ditty here;<br> +Which subject shows that drunkenness<br> +Brings many mortals to distress!<br> +<br> +As, for example, now I can<br> +Tell you of one, a gentleman,<br> +Who had a very good estate,<br> +His earthly travails they were great.<br> +<br> +We understand he had one son<br> +Who a lewd wicked race did run;<br> +He daily spent his father’s store,<br> +When moneyless, he came for more.<br> +<br> +The father oftentimes with tears,<br> +Would this alarm sound in his ears;<br> +‘Son! thou dost all my comfort blast,<br> +And thou wilt come to want at last.’<br> +<br> +The son these words did little mind,<br> +To cards and dice he was inclined;<br> +Feeding his drunken appetite<br> +In taverns, which was his delight.<br> +<br> +The father, ere it was too late,<br> +He had a project in his pate,<br> +Before his agèd days were run,<br> +To make provision for his son.<br> +<br> +Near to his house, we understand,<br> +He had a waste plat of land,<br> +Which did but little profit yield,<br> +On which he did a cottage build.<br> +<br> +The <i>Wise Man’s Project</i> was its name;<br> +There were few windows in the same;<br> +Only one door, substantial thing,<br> +Shut by a lock, went by a spring.<br> +<br> +Soon after he had played this trick,<br> +It was his lot for to fall sick;<br> +As on his bed he did lament,<br> +Then for his drunken son he sent.<br> +<br> +He shortly came to his bedside;<br> +Seeing his son, he thus replied:<br> +‘I have sent for you to make my will,<br> +Which you must faithfully fulfil.<br> +<br> +‘In such a cottage is one door,<br> +Ne’er open it, do thou be sure,<br> +Until thou art so poor, that all<br> +Do then despise you, great and small.<br> +<br> +‘For, to my grief, I do perceive,<br> +When I am dead, this life you live<br> +Will soon melt all thou hast away;<br> +Do not forget these words, I pray.<br> +<br> +‘When thou hast made thy friends thy foes,<br> +Pawned all thy lands, and sold thy clothes;<br> +Break ope the door, and there depend<br> +To find something thy griefs to end.’<br> +<br> +This being spoke, the son did say,<br> +‘Your dying words I will obey.’<br> +Soon after this his father dear<br> +Did die, and buried was, we hear.<br> +<br> +PART II.<br> +<br> +Now, pray observe the second part,<br> +And you shall hear his sottish heart;<br> +He did the tavern so frequent,<br> +Till he three hundred pounds had spent.<br> +<br> +This being done, we understand<br> +He pawned the deeds of all his land<br> +Unto a tavern-keeper, who,<br> +When poor, did him no favour show.<br> +<br> +For, to fulfil his father’s will,<br> +He did command this cottage still:<br> +At length great sorrow was his share,<br> +Quite moneyless, with garments bare.<br> +<br> +Being not able for to work,<br> +He in the tavern there did lurk;<br> +From box to box, among rich men,<br> +Who oftentimes reviled him then.<br> +<br> +To see him sneak so up and down,<br> +The vintner on him he did frown;<br> +And one night kicked him out of door,<br> +Charging him to come there no more.<br> +<br> +He in a stall did lie all night,<br> +In this most sad and wretched plight;<br> +Then thought it was high time to see<br> +His father’s promised legacy.<br> +<br> +Next morning, then, oppressed with woe,<br> +This young man got an iron crow;<br> +And, as in tears he did lament,<br> +Unto this little cottage went.<br> +<br> +When he the door had open got,<br> +This poor, distressèd, drunken sot,<br> +Who did for store of money hope,<br> +He saw a gibbet and a rope.<br> +<br> +Under this rope was placed a stool,<br> +Which made him look just like a fool;<br> +Crying, ‘Alas! what shall I do?<br> +Destruction now appears in view!<br> +<br> +‘As my father foresaw this thing,<br> +What sottishness to me would bring;<br> +As moneyless, and free of grace,<br> +His legacy I will embrace.’<br> +<br> +So then, oppressed with discontent,<br> +Upon the stool he sighing went;<br> +And then, his precious life to check,<br> +Did place the rope about his neck.<br> +<br> +Crying, ‘Thou, God, who sitt’st on high,<br> +And on my sorrow casts an eye;<br> +Thou knowest that I’ve not done well, -<br> +Preserve my precious soul from hell.<br> +<br> +‘’Tis true the slighting of thy grace,<br> +Has brought me to this wretched case;<br> +And as through folly I’m undone,<br> +I’ll now eclipse my morning sun.’<br> +<br> +When he with sighs these words had spoke,<br> +Jumped off, and down the gibbet broke;<br> +In falling, as it plain appears,<br> +Dropped down about this young man’s ears,<br> +<br> +In shining gold, a thousand pound!<br> +Which made the blood his ears surround:<br> +Though in amaze, he cried, ‘I’m sure<br> +This golden salve the sore will cure!<br> +<br> +‘Blessed be my father, then,’ he cried,<br> +‘Who did this part for me so hide;<br> +And while I do alive remain,<br> +I never will get drunk again.’<br> +<br> +PART III.<br> +<br> +Now, by the third part you will hear,<br> +This young man, as it doth appear,<br> +With care he then secured his chink,<br> +And to the vintner’s went to drink.<br> +<br> +When the proud vintner did him see,<br> +He frowned on him immediately,<br> +And said, ‘Begone! or else with speed,<br> +I’ll kick thee out of doors, indeed.’<br> +<br> +Smiling, the young man he did say,<br> +‘Thou cruel knave! tell me, I pray,<br> +As I have here consumed my store,<br> +How durst thee kick me out of door?<br> +<br> +‘To me thou hast been too severe;<br> +The deeds of eightscore pounds a-year,<br> +I pawned them for three hundred pounds,<br> +That I spent here; - what makes such frowns?’<br> +<br> +The vintner said unto him, ‘Sirrah!<br> +Bring me one hundred pounds to-morrow<br> +By nine o’clock, - take them again;<br> +So get you out of doors till then.’<br> +<br> +He answered, ‘If this chink I bring,<br> +I fear thou wilt do no such thing.<br> +He said, ‘I’ll give under my hand,<br> +A note, that I to this will stand.’<br> +<br> +Having the note, away he goes,<br> +And straightway went to one of those<br> +That made him drink when moneyless,<br> +And did the truth to him confess.<br> +<br> +They both went to this heap of gold,<br> +And in a bag he fairly told<br> +A thousand pounds, ill yellow-boys,<br> +And to the tavern went their ways.<br> +<br> +This bag they on the table set,<br> +Making the vintner for to fret;<br> +He said, ‘Young man! this will not do,<br> +For I was but in jest with you.’<br> +<br> +So then bespoke the young man’s friend:<br> +‘Vintner! thou mayest sure depend,<br> +In law this note it will you cast,<br> +And he must have his land at last.’<br> +<br> +This made the vintner to comply, -<br> +He fetched the deeds immediately;<br> +He had one hundred pounds, and then<br> +The young man got his deeds again.<br> +<br> +At length the vintner ’gan to think<br> +How he was fooled out of his chink;<br> +Said, ‘When ’tis found how I came off,<br> +My neighbours will me game and scoff.’<br> +<br> +So to prevent their noise and clatter<br> +The vintner he, to mend the matter,<br> +In two days after, it doth appear,<br> +Did cut his throat from ear to ear.<br> +<br> +Thus he untimely left the world,<br> +That to this young man proved a churl.<br> +Now he who followed drunkenness,<br> +Lives sober, and doth lands possess.<br> +<br> +Instead of wasting of his store,<br> +As formerly, resolves no more<br> +To act the same, but does indeed<br> +Relieve all those that are in need.<br> +<br> +Let all young men now, for my sake,<br> +Take care how they such havoc make;<br> +For drunkenness, you plain may see,<br> +Had like his ruin for to be.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE BOWES TRAGEDY.<br> +<br> +Being a true relation of the Lives and Characters of ROGER WRIGHTSON +and MARTHA RAILTON, of the Town of Bowes, in the County of York, who +died for love of each other, in March, 1714/5<br> +<br> +Tune of <i>Queen Dido.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +</i>[<i>The Bowes Tragedy</i> is the original of Mallet’s <i>Edition +and</i> <i>Emma</i>. In these verses are preserved the village +record of the incident which suggested that poem. When Mallet +published his ballad he subjoined an attestation of the facts, which +may be found in Evans’ <i>Old Ballads</i>, vol. ii. p. 237. +Edit. 1784. Mallet alludes to the statement in the parish registry +of Bowes, that ‘they both died of love, and were buried in the +same grave,’ &c. The following is an exact copy of the +entry, as transcribed by Mr. Denham, 17th April, 1847. The words +which we have printed in brackets are found interlined in another and +a later hand by some person who had inspected the register:-<br> +<br> +‘Ro<i>d</i>ger Wrightson, Jun., and Martha Railton, both of Bowes, +Buried in one grave: He <i>D</i>ied in a Fever, and upon tolling his +passing Bell, she cry’d out My heart is broke, and in a <i>F</i>ew +hours expir’d, purely [<i>or supposed</i>] thro’ Love, March +15, 1714/5, aged about 20 years each.’<br> +<br> +Mr. Denham says:-<br> +<br> +‘<i>The Bowes Tragedy</i> was, I understand, written immediately +after the death of the lovers, by the then master of Bowes Grammar School. +His name I never heard. My father, who died a few years ago (aged +nearly 80), knew a younger sister of Martha Railton’s, who used +to sing it to strangers passing through Bowes. She was a poor +woman, advanced in years, and it brought her in many a piece of money.’]<br> +<br> +<br> +Let Carthage Queen be now no more<br> +The subject of our mournful song;<br> +Nor such old tales which, heretofore,<br> +Did so amuse the teeming throng;<br> +Since the sad story which I’ll tell,<br> +All other tragedies excel.<br> +<br> +Remote in Yorkshire, near to Bowes,<br> +Of late did Roger Wrightson dwell;<br> +He courted Martha Railton, whose<br> +Repute for virtue did excel;<br> +Yet Roger’s friends would not agree,<br> +That he to her should married be.<br> +<br> +Their love continued one whole year,<br> +Full sore against their parents’ will;<br> +And when he found them so severe,<br> +His loyal heart began to chill:<br> +And last Shrove Tuesday, took his bed,<br> +With grief and woe encompassèd.<br> +<br> +Thus he continued twelve days’ space,<br> +In anguish and in grief of mind;<br> +And no sweet peace in any case,<br> +This ardent lover’s heart could find;<br> +But languished in a train of grief,<br> +Which pierced his heart beyond relief.<br> +<br> +Now anxious Martha sore distressed,<br> +A private message did him send,<br> +Lamenting that she could not rest,<br> +Till she had seen her loving friend:<br> +His answer was, ‘Nay, nay, my dear,<br> +Our folks will angry be I fear.’<br> +<br> +Full fraught with grief, she took no rest,<br> +But spent her time in pain and fear,<br> +Till a few days before his death<br> +She sent an orange to her dear;<br> +But’s cruel mother in disdain,<br> +Did send the orange back again.<br> +<br> +Three days before her lover died,<br> +Poor Martha with a bleeding heart,<br> +To see her dying lover hied,<br> +In hopes to ease him of his smart;<br> +Where she’s conducted to the bed,<br> +In which this faithful young man laid.<br> +<br> +Where she with doleful cries beheld,<br> +Her fainting lover in despair;<br> +At which her heart with sorrow filled,<br> +Small was the comfort she had there;<br> +Though’s mother showed her great respect,<br> +His sister did her much reject.<br> +<br> +She stayed two hours with her dear,<br> +In hopes for to declare her mind;<br> +But Hannah Wrightson <a name="citation8"></a><a href="#footnote8">{8}</a> +stood so near,<br> +No time to do it she could find:<br> +So that being almost dead with grief,<br> +Away she went without relief.<br> +<br> +Tears from her eyes did flow amain,<br> +And she full oft would sighing say,<br> +‘My constant love, alas! is slain,<br> +And to pale death, become a prey:<br> +Oh, Hannah, Hannah thou art base;<br> +Thy pride will turn to foul disgrace!’<br> +<br> +She spent her time in godly prayers,<br> +And quiet rest did from her fly;<br> +She to her friends full oft declares,<br> +She could not live if he did die:<br> +Thus she continued till the bell,<br> +Began to sound his fatal knell.<br> +<br> +And when she heard the dismal sound,<br> +Her godly book she cast away,<br> +With bitter cries would pierce the ground.<br> +Her fainting heart ’gan to decay:<br> +She to her pensive mother said,<br> +‘I cannot live now he is dead.’<br> +<br> +Then after three short minutes’ space,<br> +As she in sorrow groaning lay,<br> +A gentleman <a name="citation9"></a><a href="#footnote9">{9}</a> did +her embrace,<br> +And mildly unto her did say,<br> +‘Dear melting soul be not so sad,<br> +But let your passion be allayed.’<br> +<br> +Her answer was, ‘My heart is burst,<br> +My span of life is near an end;<br> +My love from me by death is forced,<br> +My grief no soul can comprehend.’<br> +Then her poor heart it waxèd faint,<br> +When she had ended her complaint.<br> +<br> +For three hours’ space, as in a trance,<br> +This broken-hearted creature lay,<br> +Her mother wailing her mischance,<br> +To pacify her did essay:<br> +But all in vain, for strength being past,<br> +She seemingly did breathe her last.<br> +<br> +Her mother, thinking she was dead,<br> +Began to shriek and cry amain;<br> +And heavy lamentations made,<br> +Which called her spirit back again;<br> +To be an object of hard fate,<br> +And give to grief a longer date.<br> +<br> +Distorted with convulsions, she,<br> +In dreadful manner gasping lay,<br> +Of twelve long hours no moment free,<br> +Her bitter groans did her dismay:<br> +Then her poor heart being sadly broke,<br> +Submitted to the fatal stroke.<br> +<br> +When things were to this issue brought,<br> +Both in one grave were to be laid:<br> +But flinty-hearted Hannah thought,<br> +By stubborn means for to persuade,<br> +Their friends and neighbours from the same,<br> +For which she surely was to blame.<br> +<br> +And being asked the reason why,<br> +Such base objections she did make,<br> +She answerèd thus scornfully,<br> +In words not fit for Billingsgate:<br> +‘She might have taken fairer on -<br> +Or else be hanged:’ Oh heart of stone!<br> +<br> +What hell-born fury had possessed,<br> +Thy vile inhuman spirit thus?<br> +What swelling rage was in thy breast,<br> +That could occasion this disgust,<br> +And make thee show such spleen and rage,<br> +Which life can’t cure nor death assuage?<br> +<br> +Sure some of Satan’s minor imps,<br> +Ordainèd were to be thy guide;<br> +To act the part of sordid pimps,<br> +And fill thy heart with haughty pride;<br> +But take this caveat once for all,<br> +Such devilish pride must have a fall.<br> +<br> +But when to church the corpse was brought,<br> +And both of them met at the gate;<br> +What mournful tears by friends were shed,<br> +When that alas it was too late, -<br> +When they in silent grave were laid,<br> +Instead of pleasing marriage-bed.<br> +<br> +You parents all both far and near,<br> +By this sad story warning take;<br> +Nor to your children be severe,<br> +When they their choice in love do make;<br> +Let not the love of cursèd gold,<br> +True lovers from their love withhold.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE CRAFTY LOVER; OR, THE LAWYER OUTWITTED.<br> +<br> +Tune of <i>I love thee more and more</i>.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This excellent old ballad is transcribed from a copy printed in Aldermary +church-yard. It still continues to be published in the old broadside +form.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Of a rich counsellor I write,<br> +Who had one only daughter,<br> +Who was of youthful beauty bright;<br> +Now mark what follows after. <a name="citation10"></a><a href="#footnote10">{10}</a><br> +Her uncle left her, I declare,<br> +A sumptuous large possession;<br> +Her father he was to take care<br> +Of her at his discretion.<br> +<br> +She had ten thousand pounds a-year,<br> +And gold and silver ready,<br> +And courted was by many a peer,<br> +Yet none could gain this lady.<br> +At length a squire’s youngest son<br> +In private came a-wooing,<br> +And when he had her favour won,<br> +He feared his utter ruin.<br> +<br> +The youthful lady straightway cried,<br> +‘I must confess I love thee,<br> +Though lords and knights I have denied,<br> +Yet none I prize above thee:<br> +Thou art a jewel in my eye,<br> +But here,’ said she, ‘the care is, -<br> +I fear you will be doomed to die<br> +For stealing of an heiress.’<br> +<br> +The young man he replied to her<br> +Like a true politician;<br> +‘Thy father is a counsellor,<br> +I’ll tell him my condition.<br> +Ten guineas they shall be his fee,<br> +He’ll think it is some stranger;<br> +Thus for the gold he’ll counsel me,<br> +And keep me safe from danger.’<br> +<br> +Unto her father he did go,<br> +The very next day after;<br> +But did not let the lawyer know<br> +The lady was his daughter.<br> +Now when the lawyer saw the gold<br> +That he should be she gainer,<br> +A pleasant trick to him he told<br> +With safety to obtain her.<br> +<br> +‘Let her provide a horse,’ he cried,<br> +‘And take you up behind her;<br> +Then with you to some parson ride<br> +Before her parents find her:<br> +That she steals you, you may complain,<br> +And so avoid their fury.<br> +Now this is law I will maintain<br> +Before or judge or jury.<br> +<br> +‘Now take my writing and my seal,<br> +Which I cannot deny thee,<br> +And if you any trouble feel,<br> +In court I will stand by thee.’<br> +‘I give you thanks,’ the young man cried,<br> +‘By you I am befriended,<br> +And to your house I’ll bring my bride<br> +After the work is ended.’<br> +<br> +Next morning, ere the day did break,<br> +This news to her he carried;<br> +She did her father’s counsel take<br> +And they were fairly married,<br> +And now they felt but ill at case,<br> +And, doubts and fears expressing,<br> +They home returned, and on their knees<br> +They asked their father’s blessing,<br> +<br> +But when he had beheld them both,<br> +He seemed like one distracted,<br> +And vowed to be revenged on oath<br> +For what they now had acted.<br> +With that bespoke his new-made son -<br> +‘There can be no deceiving,<br> +That this is law which we have done<br> +Here is your hand and sealing!’<br> +<br> +The counsellor did then reply,<br> +Was ever man so fitted;<br> +‘My hand and seal I can’t deny,<br> +By you I am outwitted.<br> +‘Ten thousand pounds a-year in store<br> +‘She was left by my brother,<br> +And when I die there will be more,<br> +For child I have no other.<br> +<br> +‘She might have had a lord or knight,<br> +From royal loins descended;<br> +But, since thou art her heart’s delight,<br> +I will not be offended;<br> +‘If I the gordian knot should part,<br> +‘Twere cruel out of measure;<br> +Enjoy thy love, with all my heart,<br> +In plenty, peace, and pleasure.’<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE DEATH OF QUEEN JANE. (TRADITIONAL.)<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[We have seen an old printed copy of this ballad, which was written +probably about the date of the event it records, 1537. Our version +was taken down from the singing of a young gipsy girl, to whom it had +descended orally through two generations. She could not recollect +the whole of it. In Miss Strickland’s <i>Lives of the Queens +of England</i>, we find the following passage: ‘An English ballad +is extant, which, dwelling on the elaborate mourning of Queen Jane’s +ladies, informs the world, in a line of pure bathos,<br> +<br> +In black were her ladies, and black were their faces.’<br> +<br> +Miss Strickland does not appear to have seen the ballad to which she +refers; and as we are not aware of the existence of any other ballad +on the subject, we presume that her line of ‘pure bathos’ +is merely a corruption of one of the ensuing verses.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Queen Jane was in travail<br> +For six weeks or more,<br> +Till the women grew tired,<br> +And fain would give o’er.<br> +‘O women! O women!<br> +Good wives if ye be,<br> +Go, send for King Henrie,<br> +And bring him to me.’<br> +<br> +King Henrie was sent for,<br> +He came with all speed,<br> +In a gownd of green velvet<br> +From heel to the head.<br> +‘King Henrie! King Henrie!<br> +If kind Henrie you be,<br> +Send for a surgeon,<br> +And bring him to me.’<br> +<br> +The surgeon was sent for,<br> +He came with all speed,<br> +In a gownd of black velvet<br> +From heel to the head.<br> +He gave her rich caudle,<br> +But the death-sleep slept she.<br> +Then her right side was opened,<br> +And the babe was set free.<br> +<br> +The babe it was christened,<br> +And put out and nursed,<br> +While the royal Queen Jane<br> +She lay cold in the dust.<br> +<br> +* * * * *<br> +<br> +So black was the mourning,<br> +And white were the wands,<br> +Yellow, yellow the torches,<br> +They bore in their hands.<br> +<br> +The bells they were muffled,<br> +And mournful did play,<br> +While the royal Queen Jane<br> +She lay cold in the clay.<br> +<br> +Six knights and six lords<br> +Bore her corpse through the grounds;<br> +Six dukes followed after,<br> +In black mourning gownds.<br> +<br> +The flower of Old England<br> +Was laid in cold clay,<br> +Whilst the royal King Henrie<br> +Came weeping away.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE WANDERING YOUNG GENTLEWOMAN; OR, CATSKIN.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The following version of this ancient English ballad has been collated +with three copies. In some editions it is called <i>Catskin’s</i> +<i>Garland; or, the Wandering Young Gentlewoman</i>. The story +has a close similarity to that of <i>Cinderella</i>, and is supposed +to be of oriental origin. Several versions of it are current in +Scandinavia, Germany, Italy, Poland, and Wales. For some account +of it see <i>Pictorial Book of Ballads</i>, ii. 153, edited by Mr. J. +S. Moore.]<br> +<br> +<br> +PART 1.<br> +<br> +You fathers and mothers, and children also,<br> +Draw near unto me, and soon you shall know<br> +The sense of my ditty, and I dare to say,<br> +The like’s not been heard of this many a day.<br> +<br> +The subject which to you I am to relate,<br> +It is of a young squire of vast estate;<br> +The first dear infant his wife did him bear,<br> +It was a young daughter of beauty most rare.<br> +<br> +He said to his wife, ‘Had this child been a boy,<br> +‘Twould have pleased me better, and increased my joy,<br> +If the next be the same sort, I declare,<br> +Of what I’m possessèd it shall have no share.’<br> +<br> +In twelve months’ time after, this woman, we hear,<br> +Had another daughter of beauty most clear;<br> +And when that he knew it was but a female,<br> +Into a bitter passion he presently fell,<br> +<br> +Saying, ‘Since this is of the same sort as the first,<br> +In my habitation she shall not be nursed;<br> +Pray let her be sent into the countrie,<br> +For where I am, truly, this child shall not be.’<br> +<br> +With tears his dear wife unto him did say,<br> +‘Husband, be contented, I’ll send her away.’<br> +Then to the countrie with speed her did send,<br> +For to be brought up by one was her friend.<br> +<br> +Although that her father he hated her so,<br> +He a good education on her did bestow;<br> +And with a gold locket, and robes of the best,<br> +This slighted young damsel was commonly dressed.<br> +<br> +And when unto stature this damsel was grown,<br> +And found from her father she had no love shown,<br> +She cried, ‘Before I will lay under his frown,<br> +I’m resolvèd to travel the country around.’<br> +<br> +PART II.<br> +<br> +But now mark, good people, the cream of the jest,<br> +In what sort of manner this creature was dressed;<br> +With cat-skins she made her a robe, I declare,<br> +The which for her covering she daily did wear.<br> +<br> +Her own rich attire, and jewels beside,<br> +Then up in a bundle by her they were tied,<br> +And to seek her fortune she wandered away;<br> +And when she had travelled a cold winter’s day,<br> +<br> +In the evening-tide she came to a town,<br> +Where at a knight’s door she sat herself down,<br> +For to rest herself, who was tirèd sore; -<br> +This noble knight’s lady then came to the door.<br> +<br> +This fair creature seeing in such sort of dress,<br> +The lady unto her these words did express:<br> +‘Whence camest thou, girl, and what wouldst thou have?’<br> +She said, ‘A night’s rest in your stable I crave.’<br> +<br> +The lady said to her, ‘I’ll grant thy desire,<br> +Come into the kitchen, and stand by the fire.’<br> +Then she thankèd the lady, and went in with haste;<br> +And there she was gazed on from highest to least.<br> +<br> +And, being well warmed, her hunger was great,<br> +They gave her a plate of good food for to eat,<br> +And then to an outhouse this creature was led,<br> +Where with fresh straw she soon made her a bed.<br> +<br> +And when in the morning the daylight she saw,<br> +Her riches and jewels she hid in the straw;<br> +And, being very cold, she then did retire<br> +Into the kitchen, and stood by the fire.<br> +<br> +The cook said, ‘My lady hath promised that thee<br> +Shall be as a scullion to wait upon me;<br> +What say’st thou girl, art thou willing to bide?’<br> +‘With all my heart truly,’ to him she replied.<br> +<br> +To work at her needle she could very well,<br> +And for raising of paste few could her excel;<br> +She being so handy, the cook’s heart did win,<br> +And then she was called by the name of Catskin.<br> +<br> +PART III.<br> +<br> +The lady a son had both comely and tall,<br> +Who oftentimes usèd to be at a ball<br> +A mile out of town; and one evening-tide,<br> +To dance at this ball away he did ride.<br> +<br> +Catskin said to his mother, ‘Pray, madam, let me<br> +Go after your son now, this ball for to see.’<br> +With that in a passion this lady she grew,<br> +And struck her with the ladle, and broke it in two.<br> +<br> +On being thus servèd she quick got away,<br> +And in her rich garments herself did array;<br> +And then to this ball she with speed did retire,<br> +Where she dancèd so bravely that all did admire.<br> +<br> +The sport being done, the young squire did say,<br> +‘Young lady, where do you live? tell me, I pray.’<br> +Her answer was to him, ‘Sir, that I will tell, -<br> +At the sign of the broken ladle I dwell.’<br> +<br> +She being very nimble, got home first, ’tis said,<br> +And in her catskin robes she soon was arrayed;<br> +And into the kitchen again she did go,<br> +But where she had been they did none of them know.<br> +<br> +Next night this young squire, to give him content,<br> +To dance at this ball again forth he went.<br> +She said, ‘Pray let me go this ball for to view.’<br> +Then she struck with the skimmer, and broke it in two.<br> +<br> +Then out of the doors she ran full of heaviness,<br> +And in her rich garments herself soon did dress;<br> +And to this ball ran away with all speed,<br> +Where to see her dancing all wondered indeed.<br> +<br> +The ball being ended, the young squire said,<br> +‘Where is it you live?’ She again answerèd,<br> +‘Sir, because you ask me, account I will give,<br> +At the sign of the broken skimmer I live.’<br> +<br> +Being dark when she left him, she homeward did hie,<br> +And in her catskin robes she was dressed presently,<br> +And into the kitchen amongst them she went,<br> +But where she had been they were all innocent.<br> +<br> +When the squire dame home, and found Catskin there,<br> +He was in amaze and began for to swear;<br> +‘For two nights at the ball has been a lady,<br> +The sweetest of beauties that ever I did see.<br> +<br> +‘She was the best dancer in all the whole place,<br> +And very much like our Catskin in the face;<br> +Had she not been dressed in that costly degree,<br> +I should have swore it was Catskin’s body.<br> +<br> +Next night to the ball he did go once more,<br> +And she askèd his mother to go as before,<br> +Who, having a basin of water in hand,<br> +She threw it at Catskin, as I understand.<br> +<br> +Shaking her wet ears, out of doors she did run,<br> +And dressèd herself when this thing she had done.<br> +To the ball once more she then went her ways;<br> +To see her fine dancing they all gave her praise.<br> +<br> +And having concluded, the young squire said he,<br> +‘From whence might you come, pray, lady, tell me?’<br> +Her answer was, ‘Sir, you shall soon know the same,<br> +From the sign of the basin of water I came.’<br> +<br> +Then homeward she hurried, as fast as could be;<br> +This young squire then was resolvèd to see<br> +Whereto she belonged, and, following Catskin,<br> +Into an old straw house he saw her creep in.<br> +<br> +He said, ‘O brave Catskin, I find it is thee,<br> +Who these three nights together has so charmèd me;<br> +Thou’rt the sweetest of creatures my eyes e’er beheld,<br> +With joy and content my heart now is filled.<br> +<br> +‘Thou art our cook’s scullion, but as I have life,<br> +Grant me but thy love, and I’ll make thee my wife,<br> +And thou shalt have maids for to be at thy call.’<br> +‘Sir, that cannot be, I’ve no portion at all.’<br> +<br> +‘Thy beauty’s a portion, my joy and my dear,<br> +I prize it far better than thousands a year,<br> +And to have my friends’ consent I have got a trick,<br> +I’ll go to my bed, and feign myself sick.<br> +<br> +‘There no one shall tend me but thee I profess;<br> +So one day or another in thy richest dress,<br> +Thou shalt be clad, and if my parents come nigh,<br> +I’ll tell them ’tis for thee that sick I do lie.’<br> +<br> +PART IV.<br> +<br> +Thus having consulted, this couple parted.<br> +Next day this young squire he took to his bed;<br> +And when his dear parents this thing both perceived,<br> +For fear of his death they were right sorely grieved.<br> +<br> +To tend him they send for a nurse speedily,<br> +He said, ‘None but Catskin my nurse now shall be.’<br> +His parents said, ‘No, son.’ He said, ‘But she +shall,<br> +Or else I’ll have none for to nurse me at all.’<br> +<br> +His parents both wondered to hear him say thus,<br> +That no one but Catskin must be his nurse;<br> +So then his dear parents their son to content,<br> +Up into his chamber poor Catskin they sent.<br> +<br> +Sweet cordials and other rich things were prepared,<br> +Which between this young couple were equally shared;<br> +And when all alone they in each other’s arms,<br> +Enjoyed one another in love’s pleasant charms.<br> +<br> +And at length on a time poor Catskin, ’tis said,<br> +In her rich attire again was arrayed,<br> +And when that his mother to the chamber drew near,<br> +Then much like a goddess did Catskin appear;<br> +<br> +Which caused her to stare, and thus for to say,<br> +‘What young lady is this, come tell me, I pray?’<br> +He said, ‘It is Catskin for whom sick I lie,<br> +And except I do have her with speed I shall die.’<br> +<br> +His mother then hastened to call up the knight,<br> +Who ran up to see this amazing great sight;<br> +He said, ‘Is this Catskin we held in such scorn?<br> +I ne’er saw a finer dame since I was born.’<br> +<br> +The old knight he said to her, ‘I prithee tell me,<br> +From whence thou didst come and of what family?’<br> +Then who were her parents she gave them to know,<br> +And what was the cause of her wandering so.<br> +<br> +The young squire he cried, ‘If you will save my life,<br> +Pray grant this young creature she may be my wife.’<br> +His father replied, ‘Thy life for to save,<br> +If you have agreed, my consent you may have.’<br> +<br> +Next day, with great triumph and joy as we hear,<br> +There were many coaches came far and near;<br> +Then much like a goddess dressed in rich array,<br> +Catskin was married to the squire that day.<br> +<br> +For several days this wedding did last,<br> +Where was many a topping and gallant repast,<br> +And for joy the bells rung out all over the town,<br> +And bottles of canary rolled merrily round.<br> +<br> +When Catskin was married, her fame for to raise,<br> +Who saw her modest carriage they all gave her praise;<br> +Thus her charming beauty the squire did win;<br> +And who lives so great now as he and Catskin.<br> +<br> +PART V.<br> +<br> +Now in the fifth part I’ll endeavour to show,<br> +How things with her parents and sister did go;<br> +Her mother and sister of life are bereft,<br> +And now all alone the old squire is left.<br> +<br> +Who hearing his daughter was married so brave,<br> +He said, ‘In my noddle a fancy I have;<br> +Dressed like a poor man now a journey I’ll make,<br> +And see if she on me some pity will take.’<br> +<br> +Then dressed like a beggar he went to her gate,<br> +Where stood his daughter, who looked very great;<br> +He cried, ‘Noble lady, a poor man I be,<br> +And am now forced to crave charity.’<br> +<br> +With a blush she asked him from whence that he came;<br> +And with that he told her, and likewise his name.<br> +She cried ‘I’m your daughter, whom you slighted so,<br> +Yet, nevertheless, to you kindness I’ll show.<br> +<br> +‘Through mercy the Lord hath provided for me;<br> +Pray, father, come in and sit down then,’ said she.<br> +Then the best provisions the house could afford,<br> +For to make him welcome was set on the board.<br> +<br> +She said, ‘You are welcome, feed hearty, I pray,<br> +And, if you are willing, with me you shall stay,<br> +So long as you live.’ Then he made this reply:<br> +‘I only am come now thy love for to try.<br> +<br> +‘Through mercy, my dear child, I’m rich and not poor,<br> +I have gold and silver enough now in store;<br> +And for this love which at thy hands I have found,<br> +For thy portion I’ll give thee ten thousand pound.’<br> +<br> +So in a few days after, as I understand,<br> +This man he went home, and sold off all his land,<br> +And ten thousand pounds to his daughter did give,<br> +And now altogether in love they do live.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE BRAVE EARL BRAND AND THE KING OF ENGLAND’S DAUGHTER. +(TRADITIONAL.)<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This ballad, which resembles the Danish ballad of <i>Ribolt</i>, was +taken down from the recitation of an old fiddler in Northumberland: +in one verse there is an <i>hiatus</i>, owing to the failure of the +reciter’s memory. The refrain should be repeated in every +verse.]<br> +<br> +<br> +O did you ever hear of the brave Earl Brand,<br> +Hey lillie, ho lillie lallie;<br> +His courted the king’s daughter o’ fair England,<br> +I’ the brave nights so early!<br> +<br> +She was scarcely fifteen years that tide,<br> +When sae boldly she came to his bed-side,<br> +‘O, Earl Brand, how fain wad I see<br> +A pack of hounds let loose on the lea.’<br> +<br> +‘O, lady fair, I have no steed but one,<br> +But thou shalt ride and I will run.’<br> +‘O, Earl Brand, but my father has two,<br> +And thou shalt have the best of tho’.’<br> +<br> +Now they have ridden o’er moss and moor,<br> +And they have met neither rich nor poor;<br> +Till at last they met with old Carl Hood,<br> +He’s aye for ill, and never for good.<br> +<br> +‘Now Earl Brand, an ye love me,<br> +Slay this old Carl and gar him dee.’<br> +‘O, lady fair, but that would be sair,<br> +To slay an auld Carl that wears grey hair.<br> +<br> +‘My own lady fair, I’ll not do that,<br> +I’ll pay him his fee . . . . . . ’<br> +‘O, where have ye ridden this lee lang day,<br> +And where have ye stown this fair lady away?’<br> +<br> +‘I have not ridden this lee lang day,<br> +Nor yet have I stown this lady away;<br> +‘For she is, I trow, my sick sister,<br> +Whom I have been bringing fra’ Winchester.’<br> +<br> +‘If she’s been sick, and nigh to dead,<br> +What makes her wear the ribbon so red?<br> +‘If she’s been sick, and like to die,<br> +What makes her wear the gold sae high?’<br> +<br> +When came the Carl to the lady’s yett,<br> +He rudely, rudely rapped thereat.<br> +‘Now where is the lady of this hall?’<br> +‘She’s out with her maids a playing at the ball.’<br> +<br> +‘Ha, ha, ha! ye are all mista’en,<br> +Ye may count your maidens owre again.<br> +‘I met her far beyond the lea<br> +With the young Earl Brand his leman to be.’<br> +<br> +Her father of his best men armed fifteen,<br> +And they’re ridden after them bidene.<br> +The lady looked owre her left shoulder then,<br> +Says, ‘O Earl Brand we are both of us ta’en.’<br> +<br> +‘If they come on me one by one,<br> +You may stand by till the fights be done;<br> +‘But if they come on me one and all,<br> +You may stand by and see me fall.’<br> +<br> +They came upon him one by one,<br> +Till fourteen battles he has won;<br> +And fourteen men he has them slain,<br> +Each after each upon the plain.<br> +<br> +But the fifteenth man behind stole round,<br> +And dealt him a deep and a deadly wound.<br> +Though he was wounded to the deid,<br> +He set his lady on her steed.<br> +<br> +They rode till they came to the river Doune,<br> +And there they lighted to wash his wound.<br> +‘O, Earl Brand, I see your heart’s blood!’<br> +‘It’s nothing but the glent and my scarlet hood.’<br> +<br> +They rode till they came to his mother’s yett,<br> +So faint and feebly he rapped thereat.<br> +‘O, my son’s slain, he is falling to swoon,<br> +And it’s all for the sake of an English loon.’<br> +<br> +‘O, say not so, my dearest mother,<br> +But marry her to my youngest brother -<br> +‘To a maiden true he’ll give his hand,<br> +Hey lillie, ho lillie lallie.<br> +<br> +To the king’s daughter o’ fair England,<br> +To a prize that was won by a slain brother’s brand,<br> +I’ the brave nights so early!’<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE JOVIAL HUNTER OF BROMSGROVE; OR, THE OLD MAN AND HIS THREE +SONS. (TRADITIONAL.)<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The following ballad has long been popular in Worcestershire and some +of the adjoining counties. It was printed for the first time by +Mr. Allies of Worcester, under the title of <i>The</i> <i>Jovial Hunter +of Bromsgrove</i>; but amongst the peasantry of that county, and the +adjoining county of Warwick, it has always been called <i>The Old Man +and his Three Sons</i> - the name given to a fragment of the ballad +still used as a nursery song in the north of England, the chorus of +which slightly varies from that of the ballad. See post, p. 250. +The title of <i>The Old Man and his</i> <i>Three Sons</i> is derived +from the usage of calling a ballad after the first line - a practice +that has descended to the present day. In Shakspeare’s comedy +of <i>As You Like It</i> there appears to be an allusion to this ballad. +Le Beau says, -<br> +<br> +<br> +There comes an old man and his three sons,<br> +<br> +<br> +to which Celia replies,<br> +<br> +<br> +I could match this beginning with an old tale. - i. 2.<br> +<br> +<br> +Whether <i>The Jovial Hunter</i> belongs to either Worcestershire or +Warwickshire is rather questionable. The probability is that it +is a north country ballad connected with the family of Bolton, of Bolton, +in Wensleydale. A tomb, said to be that of Sir Ryalas Bolton, +the <i>Jovial Hunter</i>, is shown in Bromsgrove church, Worcestershire; +but there is no evidence beyond tradition to connect it with the name +or deeds of any ‘Bolton;’ indeed it is well known that the +tomb belongs to a family of another name. In the following version +are preserved some of the peculiarities of the Worcestershire dialect.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Old Sir Robert Bolton had three sons,<br> +Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br> +And one of them was Sir Ryalas,<br> +For he was a jovial hunter.<br> +<br> +He ranged all round down by the wood side,<br> +Wind well thy horn, good hunter,<br> +Till in a tree-top a gay lady he spied,<br> +For he was a jovial hunter.<br> +<br> +‘Oh, what dost thee mean, fair lady,’ said he,<br> +Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br> +‘The wild boar’s killed my lord, and has thirty men gored,<br> +And thou beest a jovial hunter.’<br> +<br> +‘Oh, what shall I do this wild boar for to see?’<br> +Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br> +‘Oh, thee blow a blast and he’ll come unto thee,<br> +As thou beest a jovial hunter.’<br> +<br> +Then he blowed a blast, full north, east, west, and south,<br> +Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br> +And the wild boar then heard him full in his den,<br> +As he was a jovial hunter.<br> +<br> +Then he made the best of his speed unto him,<br> +Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br> +[Swift flew the boar, with his tusks smeared with [gore], <a name="citation11"></a><a href="#footnote11">{11}</a><br> +To Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter.<br> +<br> +Then the wild boar, being so stout and so strong,<br> +Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br> +Thrashed down the trees as he ramped him along,<br> +To Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter.<br> +<br> +‘Oh, what dost thee want of me?’ wild boar, said he, <a name="citation12"></a><a href="#footnote12">{12}</a><br> +Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br> +‘Oh, I think in my heart I can do enough for thee,<br> +For I am the jovial hunter.’<br> +<br> +Then they fought four hours in a long summer day,<br> +Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br> +Till the wild boar fain would have got him away<br> +From Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter.<br> +<br> +Then Sir Ryalas drawed his broad sword with might,<br> +Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br> +And he fairly cut the boar’s head off quite,<br> +For he was a jovial hunter.<br> +<br> +Then out of the wood the wild woman flew,<br> +Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br> +‘Oh, my pretty spotted pig thou hast slew,<br> +For thou beest a jovial hunter.<br> +<br> +‘There are three things, I demand them of thee,’<br> +Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br> +‘It’s thy horn, and thy hound, and thy gay lady,<br> +As thou beest a jovial hunter.’<br> +<br> +‘If these three things thou dost ask of me,’<br> +Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br> +‘It’s just as my sword and thy neck can agree,<br> +For I am a jovial hunter.’<br> +<br> +Then into his long locks the wild woman flew,<br> +Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br> +Till she thought in her heart to tear him through,<br> +Though he was a jovial hunter.<br> +<br> +Then Sir Ryalas drawed his broad sword again,<br> +Wind well thy horn, good hunter,<br> +And he fairly split her head into twain,<br> +For he was a jovial hunter.<br> +<br> +In Bromsgrove church, the knight he doth lie,<br> +Wind well thy horn, good hunter;<br> +And the wild boar’s head is pictured thereby,<br> +Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: LADY ALICE.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This old ballad is regularly published by the stall printers. +The termination resembles that of <i>Lord Lovel</i> and other ballads. +See <i>Early Ballads</i>, Ann. Ed. p. 134. An imperfect +traditional copy was printed in <i>Notes and Queries</i>.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Lady Alice was sitting in her bower window,<br> +At midnight mending her quoif;<br> +And there she saw as fine a corpse<br> +As ever she saw in her life.<br> +<br> +‘What bear ye, what bear ye, ye six men tall?<br> +What bear ye on your shouldèrs?’<br> +‘We bear the corpse of Giles Collins,<br> +An old and true lover of yours.’<br> +<br> +‘O, lay him down gently, ye six men tall,<br> +All on the grass so green,<br> +And to-morrow when the sun goes down,<br> +Lady Alice a corpse shall be seen.<br> +<br> +‘And bury me in Saint Mary’s Church,<br> +All for my love so true;<br> +And make me a garland of marjoram,<br> +And of lemon thyme, and rue.’<br> +<br> +Giles Collins was buried all in the east,<br> +Lady Alice all in the west;<br> +And the roses that grew on Giles Collins’s grave,<br> +They reached Lady Alice’s breast.<br> +<br> +The priest of the parish he chancèd to pass,<br> +And he severed those roses in twain.<br> +Sure never were seen such true lovers before,<br> +Nor e’er will there be again.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE FELON SEWE OF ROKEBY AND THE FREERES OF RICHMOND.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This very curious ballad, or, more properly, metrical romance, was +originally published by the late Doctor Whitaker in his <i>History of +Craven</i>, from an ancient MS., which was supposed to be unique. +Whitaker’s version was transferred to Evan’s <i>Old Ballads</i>, +the editor of which work introduced some judicious conjectural emendations. +In reference to this republication, Dr. Whitaker inserted the following +note in the second edition of his <i>History</i>:-<br> +<br> +<br> +This tale, saith my MS., was known of old to a few families only, and +by them held so precious, that it was never intrusted to the memory +of the son till the father was on his death-bed. But times are +altered, for since the first edition of this work, a certain bookseller +[the late Mr. Evans] has printed it verbatim, with little acknowledgment +to the first editor. He might have recollected that <i>The Felon</i> +<i>Sewe</i> had been already reclaimed <i>property vested</i>. +However, as he is an ingenious and deserving man, this hint shall suffice. +- <i>History of</i> <i>Craven</i>, second edition, London, 1812.<br> +<br> +<br> +When Sir Walter Scott published his poem of Rokeby, Doctor Whitaker +discovered that <i>The Felon Sewe</i> was not of such ‘exceeding +rarity’ as he had been led to suppose; for he was then made acquainted +with the fact that another MS. of the ‘unique’ ballad was +preserved in the archives of the Rokeby family. This version was +published by Scott, who considered it superior to that printed by Whitaker; +and it must undoubtedly be admitted to be more complete, and, in general, +more correct. It has also the advantage of being authenticated +by the traditions of an ardent family; while of Dr. Whitaker’s +version we know nothing more than that it was ‘printed from a +MS. in his possession.’ The readings of the Rokeby MS., +however, are not always to be preferred; and in order to produce as +full and accurate a version as the materials would yield, the following +text has been founded upon a careful collation of both MSS. A +few alterations have been adopted, but only when the necessity for them +appeared to be self-evident; and the orthography has been rendered tolerably +uniform, for there is no good reason why we should have ‘sewe,’ +‘scho,’ and ‘sike,’ in some places, and the +more modern forms of ‘sow,’ ‘she,’ and ‘such,’ +in others. If the MSS. were correctly transcribed, which we have +no ground for doubting, they must both be referred to a much later period +than the era when the author flourished. The language of the poem +is that of Craven, in Yorkshire; and, although the composition is acknowledged +on all hands to be one of the reign of Henry VII., the provincialisms +of that most interesting mountain district have been so little affected +by the spread of education, that the <i>Felon</i> <i>Sewe</i> is at +the present day perfectly comprehensible to any Craven peasant, and +to such a reader neither note nor glossary is necessary. Dr. Whitaker’s +explanations are, therefore, few and brief, for he was thoroughly acquainted +with the language and the district. Scott, on the contrary, who +knew nothing of the dialect, and confounded its pure Saxon with his +Lowland Scotch, gives numerous notes, which only display his want of +the requisite local knowledge, and are, consequently, calculated to +mislead.<br> +<br> +The <i>Felon Sewe</i> belongs to the same class of compositions as the +<i>Hunting of the Hare</i>, reprinted by Weber, and the <i>Tournament</i> +<i>of Tottenham</i>, in Percy’s <i>Reliques</i>. Scott says +that ‘the comic romance was a sort of parody upon the usual subjects +of minstrel poetry.’ This idea may be extended, for the +old comic romances were in many instances not merely ‘sorts of +parodies,’ but real parodies on compositions which were popular +in their day, although they have not descended to us. We certainly +remember to have met with an old chivalric romance, in which the leading +incidents were similar to those of the <i>Felon Sewe.<br> +<br> +</i>It may be observed, also, in reference to this poem, that the design +is twofold, the ridicule being equally aimed at the minstrels and the +clergy. The author was in all probability a follower of Wickliffe. +There are many sly satirical allusions to the Romish faith and practices, +in which no orthodox Catholic would have ventured to indulge.<br> +<br> +Ralph Rokeby, who gave the sow to the Franciscan Friars of Richmond, +is believed to have been the Ralph who lived in the reign of Henry VII. +Tradition represents the Baron as having been ‘a fellow of infinite +jest,’ and the very man to bestow so valuable a gift on the convent! +The Mistress Rokeby of the ballad was, according to the pedigree of +the family, a daughter and heiress of Danby, of Yafforth. Friar +Theobald cannot be traced, and therefore we may suppose that the monk +had some other name; the minstrel author, albeit a Wickliffite, not +thinking it quite prudent, perhaps, to introduce a priest <i>in propriâ +personâ</i>. The story is told with spirit, and the verse +is graceful and flowing.]<br> +<br> +<br> +FITTE THE FIRSTE.<br> +<br> +Ye men that will of aunters wynne,<br> +That late within this lande hath bin,<br> +Of on I will yow telle;<br> +And of a sewe that was sea strang,<br> +Alas! that ever scho lived sea lang,<br> +For fell folk did scho wele. <a name="citation13"></a><a href="#footnote13">{13}</a><br> +<br> +Scho was mare than other three,<br> +The grizeliest beast that ere mote bee<br> +Her hede was greate and graye;<br> +Scho was bred in Rokebye woode,<br> +Ther war few that thither yoode, <a name="citation14"></a><a href="#footnote14">{14}</a><br> +But cam belive awaye.<br> +<br> +Her walke was endlang Greta syde,<br> +Was no barne that colde her byde,<br> +That was fra heven or helle; <a name="citation15"></a><a href="#footnote15">{15}</a><br> +Ne never man that had that myght,<br> +That ever durst com in her syght,<br> +Her force it was sea felle.<br> +<br> +Raphe <a name="citation16"></a><a href="#footnote16">{16}</a> of Rokebye, +with full gode wyll,<br> +The freers of Richmonde gav her tyll,<br> +Full wele to gar thayme fare;<br> +Freer Myddeltone by name,<br> +Hee was sent to fetch her hame,<br> +Yt rewed him syne full sare.<br> +<br> +Wyth hym tooke hee wyght men two,<br> +Peter of Dale was on of tho,<br> +Tother was Bryan of Beare; <a name="citation17"></a><a href="#footnote17">{17}</a><br> +Thatte wele durst strike wyth swerde and knife,<br> +And fyght full manlie for theyr lyfe,<br> +What tyme as musters were. <a name="citation18"></a><a href="#footnote18">{18}</a><br> +<br> +These three men wended at theyr wyll,<br> +This wickede sewe gwhyl they cam tyll,<br> +Liggand under a tree;<br> +Rugg’d and rustic was her here,<br> +Scho rase up wyth a felon fere, <a name="citation19"></a><a href="#footnote19">{19}</a><br> +To fyght agen the three.<br> +<br> +Grizely was scho for to meete,<br> +Scho rave the earthe up wyth her feete,<br> +The barke cam fra’ the tree:<br> +When Freer Myddeltone her saugh,<br> +Wete yow wele hee list not laugh,<br> +Full earnestful luik’d hee.<br> +<br> +These men of auncestors <a name="citation20"></a><a href="#footnote20">{20}</a> +were so wight,<br> +They bound them bauldly for to fyght,<br> +And strake at her full sare;<br> +Until a kilne they garred her flee,<br> +Wolde God sende thayme the victorye,<br> +They wolde aske hym na maire.<br> +<br> +The sewe was in the kilne hoile doone,<br> +And they wer on the bawke aboone,<br> +For hurting of theyr feete;<br> +They wer sea sauted <a name="citation21"></a><a href="#footnote21">{21}</a> +wyth this sewe,<br> +That ’mang thayme was a stalwarth stewe,<br> +The kilne began to reeke!<br> +<br> +Durst noe man nighe her wyth his hande,<br> +But put a rape downe wyth a wande,<br> +And heltered her ful meete;<br> +They hauled her furth agen her wyll,<br> +Qunyl they cam until a hille,<br> +A little fra the streete. <a name="citation22"></a><a href="#footnote22">{22}</a><br> +<br> +And ther scho made thayme sike a fray,<br> +As, had they lived until Domesday,<br> +They colde yt nere forgette:<br> +Scho brayded upon every syde,<br> +And ranne on thayme gapyng ful wyde,<br> +For nathing wolde scho lette.<br> +<br> +Scho gaf sike hard braydes at the bande<br> +That Peter of Dale had in his hande,<br> +Hee myght not holde hys feete;<br> +Scho chasèd thayme sea to and fro,<br> +The wight men never wer sea woe,<br> +Ther mesure was not mete.<br> +<br> +Scho bound her boldly to abide,<br> +To Peter of Dale scho cam aside,<br> +Wyth mony a hideous yelle;<br> +Scho gaped sea wide and cryed sea hee,<br> +The freer sayd, ‘I conjure thee,<br> +Thou art a fiend of helle!<br> +<br> +‘Thou art comed hider for sum trayne,<br> +I conjure thee to go agayne,<br> +Wher thou was wont to dwell.’<br> +He sainèd hym wyth crosse and creede,<br> +Tooke furth a booke, began to reade,<br> +In Ste Johan hys gospell.<br> +<br> +The sewe scho wolde not Latyne heare,<br> +But rudely rushèd at the freer,<br> +That blynkèd all his blee; <a name="citation23"></a><a href="#footnote23">{23}</a><br> +And when scho wolde have takken holde,<br> +The freer leapt as I. H. S. wolde, <a name="citation24"></a><a href="#footnote24">{24}</a><br> +And bealed hym wyth a tree.<br> +<br> +Scho was brim as anie beare,<br> +For all their meete to laboure there,<br> +To thayme yt was noe boote;<br> +On tree and bushe that by her stode,<br> +Scho vengèd her as scho wer woode,<br> +And rave thayme up by roote.<br> +<br> +Hee sayd, ‘Alas that I wer freer,<br> +I shal bee hugged asunder here,<br> +Hard is my destinie!<br> +Wiste my brederen, in this houre,<br> +That I was set in sike a stoure,<br> +They wolde pray for mee!’<br> +<br> +This wicked beaste thatte wrought the woe,<br> +Tooke that rape from the other two,<br> +And than they fledd all three;<br> +They fledd away by Watling streete,<br> +They had no succour but their feete,<br> +Yt was the maire pittye.<br> +<br> +The fielde it was both loste and wonne,<br> +The sewe wente hame, and thatte ful soone,<br> +To Morton-on-the-Greene.<br> +When Raphe of Rokeby saw the rape,<br> +He wist that there had bin debate,<br> +Whereat the sewe had beene.<br> +<br> +He bade thayme stand out of her waye,<br> +For scho had had a sudden fraye, -<br> +‘I saw never sewe sea keene,<br> +Some new thingis shall wee heare,<br> +Of her and Myddeltone the freer,<br> +Some battel hath ther beene.’<br> +<br> +But all that servèd him for nought, -<br> +Had they not better succour sought, <a name="citation25"></a><a href="#footnote25">{25}</a><br> +They wer servèd therfore loe.<br> +Then Mistress Rokebye came anon,<br> +And for her brought scho meete ful soone,<br> +The sewe cam her untoe.<br> +<br> +Scho gav her meete upon the flower;<br> +[Scho made a bed beneath a bower,<br> +With moss and broom besprent;<br> +The sewe was gentle as mote be,<br> +Ne rage ne ire flashed fra her e’e,<br> +Scho seemèd wele content.]<br> +<br> +FITTE THE SECONDE.<br> +<br> +When Freer Myddeltone com home,<br> +Hys breders war ful faine ilchone,<br> +And thanked God for hys lyfe;<br> +He told thayme all unto the ende,<br> +How hee had foughten wyth a fiende,<br> +And lived thro’ mickle stryfe.<br> +<br> +‘Wee gav her battel half a daye,<br> +And was faine to flee awaye<br> +For saving of oure lyfe;<br> +And Peter Dale wolde never blin,<br> +But ran as faste as he colde rinn,<br> +Till he cam till hys wyfe.’<br> +<br> +The Warden sayde, ‘I am ful woe<br> +That yow sholde bee torment soe,<br> +But wee had wyth yow beene!<br> +Had wee bene ther, yowr breders alle,<br> +Wee wolde hav garred the warlo <a name="citation26"></a><a href="#footnote26">{26}</a> +falle,<br> +That wrought yow all thys teene.’<br> +<br> +Freer Myddeltone, he sayde soon, ‘Naye,<br> +In faythe ye wolde hav ren awaye,<br> +When moste misstirre had bin;<br> +Ye all can speke safte wordes at home,<br> +The fiend wolde ding yow doone ilk on,<br> +An yt bee als I wene,<br> +<br> +Hee luik’d sea grizely al that nyght.’<br> +The Warden sayde, ‘Yon man wol fyght<br> +If ye saye ought but gode,<br> +Yon guest <a name="citation27"></a><a href="#footnote27">{27}</a> hath +grievèd hym sea sore;<br> +Holde your tongues, and speake ne more,<br> +Hee luiks als hee wer woode.’<br> +<br> +The Warden wagèd <a name="citation28"></a><a href="#footnote28">{28}</a> +on the morne,<br> +Two boldest men that ever wer borne,<br> +I weyne, or ere shall bee:<br> +Tone was Gilbert Griffin sonne,<br> +Ful mickle worship hadde hee wonne,<br> +Both by land and sea.<br> +<br> +Tother a bastard sonne of Spaine,<br> +Mony a Sarazin hadde hee slaine;<br> +Hys dint hadde garred thayme dye.<br> +Theis men the battel undertoke<br> +Agen the sewe, as saythe the boke,<br> +And sealed securitye,<br> +<br> +That they shold boldly bide and fyghte,<br> +And scomfit her in maine and myghte,<br> +Or therfor sholde they dye.<br> +The Warden sealed toe thayme againe,<br> +And sayde, ‘If ye in fielde be slaine,<br> +This condition make I:<br> +<br> +‘Wee shall for yow praye, syng, and reade,<br> +Until Domesdaye wyth heartye speede,<br> +With al our progenie.’<br> +Then the lettres wer wele made,<br> +The bondes wer bounde wyth seales brade,<br> +As deeds of arms sholde bee.<br> +<br> +Theise men-at-arms thatte wer sea wight,<br> +And wyth theire armour burnished bryght,<br> +They went the sewe toe see.<br> +Scho made at thayme sike a roare,<br> +That for her they fear it sore,<br> +And almaiste bounde to flee.<br> +<br> +Scho cam runnyng thayme agayne,<br> +And saw the bastarde sonne of Spaine,<br> +Hee brayded owt hys brande;<br> +Ful spiteouslie at her hee strake,<br> +Yet for the fence that he colde make,<br> +Scho strake it fro hys hande,<br> +And rave asander half hys sheelde,<br> +And bare hym backwerde in the fielde,<br> +Hee mought not her gainstande.<br> +<br> +Scho wolde hav riven hys privich geare,<br> +But Gilbert wyth hys swerde of warre,<br> +Hee strake at her ful strang.<br> +In her shouther hee held the swerde;<br> +Than was Gilbert sore afearde,<br> +When the blade brak in twang.<br> +<br> +And whan in hande hee had her ta’en,<br> +Scho toke hym by the shouther bane,<br> +And held her hold ful faste;<br> +Scho strave sea stifflie in thatte stoure,<br> +Scho byt thro’ ale hys rich armoure,<br> +Till bloud cam owt at laste.<br> +<br> +Than Gilbert grievèd was sea sare,<br> +That hee rave off the hyde of haire;<br> +The flesh cam fra the bane,<br> +And wyth force hee held her ther,<br> +And wanne her worthilie in warre,<br> +And band her hym alane;<br> +<br> +And lifte her on a horse sea hee,<br> +Into two panyers made of a tree,<br> +And toe Richmond anon.<br> +When they sawe the felon come,<br> +They sange merrilye Te Deum!<br> +The freers evrich one.<br> +<br> +They thankyd God and Saynte Frauncis,<br> +That they had wonne the beaste of pris,<br> +And nere a man was sleyne:<br> +There never didde man more manlye,<br> +The Knyght Marone, or Sir Guye,<br> +Nor Louis of Lothraine.<br> +<br> +If yow wyl any more of thys,<br> +I’ the fryarie at Richmond <a name="citation29"></a><a href="#footnote29">{29}</a> +written yt is,<br> +In parchment gude and fyne,<br> +How Freer Myddeltone sea hende,<br> +Att Greta Bridge conjured a fiende,<br> +In lykeness of a swyne.<br> +<br> +Yt is wel knowen toe manie a man,<br> +That Freer Theobald was warden than,<br> +And thys fel in hys tyme.<br> +And Chryst thayme bles both ferre and nere,<br> +Al that for solas this doe here,<br> +And hym that made the ryme.<br> +<br> +Raphe of Rokeby wid ful gode wyl,<br> +The freers of Richmond gav her tyll,<br> +This sewe toe mende ther fare;<br> +Freer Myddeltone by name,<br> +He wold bring the felon hame,<br> +That rewed hym sine ful sare.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: ARTHUR O’BRADLEY’S WEDDING.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[In the ballad called <i>Robin Hood, his Birth, Breeding, Valour</i> +<i>and Marriage</i>, occurs the following line:-<br> +<br> +<br> +And some singing Arthur-a-Bradley.<br> +<br> +<br> +Antiquaries are by no means agreed as to what is the song of <i>Arthur-a-Bradley</i>, +there alluded to, for it so happens that there are no less than three +different songs about this same Arthur-a-Bradley. Ritson gives +one of them in his <i>Robin Hood</i>, commencing thus:-<br> +<br> +<br> +See you not Pierce the piper.<br> +<br> +<br> +He took it from a black-letter copy in a private collection, compared +with, and very much corrected by, a copy contained in <i>An</i> <i>Antidote +against Melancholy, made up in pills compounded of</i> <i>witty Ballads, +jovial Songs, and merry Catches</i>, 1661. Ritson quotes another, +and apparently much more modern song on the same subject, and to the +same tune, beginning, -<br> +<br> +All in the merry month of May.<br> +<br> +<br> +It is a miserable composition, as may be seen by referring to a copy +preserved in the third volume of the Roxburgh Ballads. There is +another song, the one given by us, which appears to be as ancient as +any of those of which Arthur O’Bradley is the hero, and from its +subject being a wedding, as also from its being the only Arthur O’Bradley +song that we have been enabled to trace in broadside and chap-books +of the last century, we are induced to believe that it may be the song +mentioned in the old ballad, which is supposed to have been written +in the reign of Charles I. An obscure music publisher, who about +thirty years ago resided in the Metropolis, brought out an edition of +<i>Arthur</i> <i>O’Bradley’s Wedding</i>, with the prefix +‘Written by Mr. Taylor.’ This Mr. Taylor was, however, +only a low comedian of the day, and the ascribed authorship was a mere +trick on the publisher’s part to increase the sale of the song. +We are not able to give any account of the hero, but from his being +alluded to by so many of our old writers, he was, perhaps, not altogether +a fictitious personage. Ben Jonson names him in one of his plays, +and he is also mentioned in Dekker’s <i>Honest Whore</i>. +Of one of the tunes mentioned in the song, viz., <i>Hence, Melancholy</i>! +we can give no account; the other, <i>- Mad Moll</i>, may be found in +Playford’s<i> Dancing-Master</i>, 1698: it is the same tune as +the one known by the names of <i>Yellow Stockings</i> and the <i>Virgin +Queen</i>, the latter title seeming to connect it with Queen Elizabeth, +as the name of Mad Moll does with the history of Mary, who was subject +to mental aberration. The words of <i>Mad Moll</i> are not known +to exist, but probably consisted of some fulsome panegyric on the virgin +queen, at the expense of her unpopular sister. From the mention +of <i>Hence, Melancholy</i>, and <i>Mad Moll</i>, it is presumed that +they were both popular favourites when <i>Arthur O’Bradley’s</i> +<i>Wedding</i> was written. A good deal of vulgar grossness has +been at different times introduced into this song, which seems in this +respect to be as elastic as the French chanson, <i>Cadet Rouselle</i>, +which is always being altered, and of which there are no two copies +alike. The tune of <i>Arthur O’Bradley</i> is given by Mr. +Chappell in his <i>Popular Music</i>.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Come, neighbours, and listen awhile,<br> +If ever you wished to smile,<br> +Or hear a true story of old,<br> +Attend to what I now unfold!<br> +’Tis of a lad whose fame did resound<br> +Through every village and town around,<br> +For fun, for frolic, and for whim,<br> +None ever was to equal him,<br> +And his name was Arthur O’Bradley!<br> +O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur O’Bradley!<br> +Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O!<br> +<br> +Now, Arthur being stout and bold,<br> +And near upon thirty years old,<br> +He needs a wooing would go,<br> +To get him a helpmate, you know.<br> +So, gaining young Dolly’s consent,<br> +Next to be married they went;<br> +And to make himself noble appear,<br> +He mounted the old padded mare;<br> +He chose her because she was blood,<br> +And the prime of his old daddy’s stud.<br> +She was wind-galled, spavined, and blind,<br> +And had lost a near leg behind;<br> +She was cropped, and docked, and fired,<br> +And seldom, if ever, was tired,<br> +She had such an abundance of bone;<br> +So he called her his high-bred roan,<br> +A credit to Arthur O’Bradley!<br> +O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur O’Bradley!<br> +Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O!<br> +<br> +Then he packed up his drudgery hose,<br> +And put on his holiday clothes;<br> +His coat was of scarlet so fine,<br> +Full trimmed with buttons behind;<br> +Two sleeves it had it is true,<br> +One yellow, the other was blue,<br> +And the cuffs and the capes were of green,<br> +And the longest that ever were seen;<br> +His hat, though greasy and tore,<br> +Cocked up with a feather before,<br> +And under his chin it was tied,<br> +With a strip from an old cow’s hide;<br> +His breeches three times had been turned,<br> +And two holes through the left side were burned;<br> +Two boots he had, but not kin,<br> +One leather, the other was tin;<br> +And for stirrups he had two patten rings,<br> +Tied fast to the girth with two strings;<br> +Yet he wanted a good saddle cloth,<br> +Which long had been eat by the moth.<br> +’Twas a sad misfortune, you’ll say,<br> +But still he looked gallant and gay,<br> +And his name it was Arthur O’Bradley!<br> +O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur O’Bradley!<br> +Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O!<br> +<br> +Thus accoutred, away he did ride,<br> +While Dolly she walked by his side;<br> +Till coming up to the church door,<br> +In the midst of five thousand or more,<br> +Then from the old mare he did alight,<br> +Which put the clerk in a fright;<br> +And the parson so fumbled and shook,<br> +That presently down dropped his book.<br> +Then Arthur began for to sing,<br> +And made the whole church to ring;<br> +Crying, ‘Dolly, my dear, come hither,<br> +And let us be tacked together;<br> +For the honour of Arthur O’Bradley!’<br> +O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur O’Bradley!<br> +Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O!<br> +<br> +Then the vicar discharged his duty,<br> +Without either reward or fee,<br> +Declaring no money he’d have;<br> +And poor Arthur he’d none to give:<br> +So, to make him a little amends,<br> +He invited him home with his friends,<br> +To have a sweet kiss at the bride,<br> +And eat a good dinner beside.<br> +The dishes, though few, were good,<br> +And the sweetest of animal food:<br> +First, a roast guinea-pig and a bantam,<br> +A sheep’s head stewed in a lanthorn, <a name="citation30"></a><a href="#footnote30">{30}</a><br> +Two calves’ feet, and a bull’s trotter,<br> +The fore and hind leg of an otter,<br> +With craw-fish, cockles, and crabs,<br> +Lump-fish, limpets, and dabs,<br> +Red herrings and sprats, by dozens,<br> +To feast all their uncles and cousins;<br> +Who seemed well pleased with their treat,<br> +And heartily they did all eat,<br> +For the honour of Arthur O’Bradley!<br> +O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur O’Bradley!<br> +Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O!<br> +<br> +Now, the guests being well satisfied,<br> +The fragments were laid on one side,<br> +When Arthur, to make their hearts merry,<br> +Brought ale, and parkin, <a name="citation31"></a><a href="#footnote31">{31}</a> +and perry;<br> +When Timothy Twig stept in,<br> +With his pipe, and a pipkin of gin.<br> +A lad that was pleasant and jolly,<br> +And scorned to meet melancholy;<br> +He would chant and pipe so well,<br> +No youth could him excel.<br> +Not Pan the god of the swains,<br> +Could ever produce such strains;<br> +But Arthur, being first in the throng,<br> +He swore he would sing the first song,<br> +And one that was pleasant and jolly:<br> +And that should be ‘Hence, Melancholy!’<br> +‘Now give me a dance,’ quoth Doll,<br> +‘Come, Jeffrery, play up Mad Moll,<br> +’Tis time to be merry and frisky, -<br> +But first I must have some more whiskey.’<br> +‘Oh! you’re right,’ says Arthur, ‘my love!<br> +My daffy-down-dilly! my dove!<br> +My everything! my wife!<br> +I ne’er was so pleased in my life,<br> +Since my name it was Arthur O’Bradley!’<br> +O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur O’Bradley!<br> +Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O!<br> +<br> +Then the piper he screwed up his bags,<br> +And the girls began shaking their rags;<br> +First up jumped old Mother Crewe,<br> +Two stockings, and never a shoe.<br> +Her nose was crookèd and long,<br> +Which she could easily reach with her tongue;<br> +And a hump on her back she did not lack,<br> +But you should take no notice of that;<br> +And her mouth stood all awry,<br> +And she never was heard to lie,<br> +For she had been dumb from her birth;<br> +So she nodded consent to the mirth,<br> +For honour of Arthur O’Bradley.<br> +O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur O’Bradley!<br> +Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O!<br> +<br> +Then the parson led off at the top,<br> +Some danced, while others did hop;<br> +While some ran foul of the wall,<br> +And others down backwards did fall.<br> +There was lead up and down, figure in,<br> +Four hands across, then back again.<br> +So in dancing they spent the whole night,<br> +Till bright Phoebus appeared in their sight;<br> +When each had a kiss of the bride,<br> +And hopped home to his own fire-side:<br> +Well pleased was Arthur O’Bradley!<br> +O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur O’Bradley!<br> +Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O!<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE PAINFUL PLOUGH.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This is one of our oldest agricultural ditties, and maintains its popularity +to the present hour. It is called for at merry-makings and feasts +in every part of the country. The tune is in the minor key, and +of a pleasing character.]<br> +<br> +<br> +‘Come, all you jolly ploughmen, of courage stout and bold,<br> +That labour all the winter in stormy winds, and cold;<br> +To clothe the fields with plenty, your farm-yards to renew,<br> +To crown them with contentment, behold the painful plough!’<br> +<br> +‘Hold! ploughman,’ said the gardener, ‘don’t +count your trade with ours,<br> +Walk through the garden, and view the early flowers;<br> +Also the curious border and pleasant walks go view, -<br> +There’s none such peace and plenty performèd by the plough!’<br> +<br> +‘Hold! gardener,’ said the ploughman, ‘my calling +don’t despise,<br> +Each man for his living upon his trade relies;<br> +Were it not for the ploughman, both rich and poor would rue,<br> +For we are all dependent upon the painful plough.<br> +<br> +‘Adam in the garden was sent to keep it right,<br> +But the length of time he stayed there, I believe it was one night;<br> +Yet of his own labour, I call it not his due,<br> +Soon he lost his garden, and went to hold the plough.<br> +<br> +‘For Adam was a ploughman when ploughing first begun,<br> +The next that did succeed him was Cain, the eldest son;<br> +Some of the generation this calling now pursue;<br> +That bread may not be wanting, remains the painful plough.<br> +<br> +Samson was the strongest man, and Solomon was wise,<br> +Alexander for to conquer ’twas all his daily prise;<br> +King David was valiant, and many thousands slew,<br> +Yet none of these brave heroes could live without the plough!<br> +<br> +Behold the wealthy merchant, that trades in foreign seas,<br> +And brings home gold and treasure for those who live at ease;<br> +With fine silks and spices, and fruits also, too,<br> +They are brought from the Indies by virtue of the plough.<br> +<br> +‘For they must have bread, biscuit, rice pudding, flour and peas,<br> +To feed the jolly sailors as they sail o’er the seas;<br> +And the man that brings them will own to what is true,<br> +He cannot sail the ocean without the painful plough!<br> +<br> +‘I hope there’s none offended at me for singing this,<br> +For it is not intended for anything amiss.<br> +If you consider rightly, you’ll find what I say is true,<br> +For all that you can mention depends upon the plough.’<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE USEFUL PLOW; OR, THE PLOUGH’S PRAISE.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The common editions of this popular song inform us that it is taken +‘from an Old Ballad,’ alluding probably to the dialogue +given at page 44. This song is quoted by Farquhar.]<br> +<br> +<br> +A country life is sweet!<br> +In moderate cold and heat,<br> +To walk in the air, how pleasant and fair!<br> +In every field of wheat,<br> +The fairest of flowers adorning the bowers,<br> +And every meadow’s brow;<br> +To that I say, no courtier may<br> +Compare with they who clothe in grey,<br> +And follow the useful plow.<br> +<br> +They rise with the morning lark,<br> +And labour till almost dark;<br> +Then folding their sheep, they hasten to sleep;<br> +While every pleasant park<br> +Next morning is ringing with birds that are singing,<br> +On each green, tender bough.<br> +With what content, and merriment,<br> +Their days are spent, whose minds are bent<br> +To follow the useful plow.<br> +<br> +The gallant that dresses fine,<br> +And drinks his bottles of wine,<br> +Were he to be tried, his feathers of pride,<br> +Which deck and adorn his back,<br> +Are tailors’ and mercers’, and other men dressers,<br> +For which they do dun them now.<br> +But Ralph and Will no compters fill<br> +For tailor’s bill, or garments still,<br> +But follow the useful plow.<br> +<br> +Their hundreds, without remorse,<br> +Some spend to keep dogs and horse,<br> +Who never would give, as long as they live,<br> +Not two-pence to help the poor;<br> +Their wives are neglected, and harlots respected;<br> +This grieves the nation now;<br> +But ’tis not so with us that go<br> +Where pleasures flow, to reap and mow,<br> +And follow the useful plow.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE FARMER’S SON.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This song, familiar to the dwellers in the dales of Yorkshire, was +published in 1729, in the <i>Vocal Miscellany; a collection of about +four hundred celebrated songs</i>. As the <i>Miscellany</i> was +merely an anthology of songs already well known, the date of this song +must have been sometime anterior to 1729. It was republished in +the <i>British Musical Miscellany, or the Delightful Grove</i>, 1796, +and in a few other old song books. It was evidently founded on +an old black-letter dialogue preserved in the Roxburgh collection, called +<i>A Mad Kinde of Wooing</i>; <i>or, a Dialogue between Will the</i> +<i>Simple and Nan the Subtill, with their loving argument</i>. +To the tune of the New Dance at the Red Bull Playhouse. Printed +by the assignees of Thomas Symcock.]<br> +<br> +<br> +‘Sweet Nelly! my heart’s delight!<br> +Be loving, and do not slight<br> +The proffer I make, for modesty’s sake:-<br> +I honour your beauty bright.<br> +For love, I profess, I can do no less,<br> +Thou hast my favour won:<br> +And since I see your modesty,<br> +I pray agree, and fancy me,<br> +Though I’m but a farmer’s son.<br> +<br> +‘No! I am a lady gay,<br> +’Tis very well known I may<br> +Have men of renown, in country or town;<br> +So! Roger, without delay,<br> +Court Bridget or Sue, Kate, Nancy, or Prue,<br> +Their loves will soon be won;<br> +But don’t you dare to speak me fair,<br> +As if I were at my last prayer,<br> +To marry a farmer’s son.’<br> +<br> +‘My father has riches’ store,<br> +Two hundred a year, and more;<br> +Beside sheep and cows, carts, harrows, and ploughs;<br> +His age is above threescore.<br> +And when he does die, then merrily I<br> +Shall have what he has won;<br> +Both land and kine, all shall be thine,<br> +If thou’lt incline, and wilt be mine,<br> +And marry a farmer’s son.’<br> +<br> +‘A fig for your cattle and corn!<br> +Your proffered love I scorn!<br> +’Tis known very well, my name is Nell,<br> +And you’re but a bumpkin born.’<br> +‘Well! since it is so, away I will go, -<br> +And I hope no harm is done;<br> +Farewell, adieu! - I hope to woo<br> +As good as you, - and win her, too,<br> +Though I’m but a farmer’s son.’<br> +<br> +‘Be not in such haste,’ quoth she,<br> +‘Perhaps we may still agree;<br> +For, man, I protest I was but in jest!<br> +Come, prythee sit down by me;<br> +For thou art the man that verily can<br> +Win me, if e’er I’m won;<br> +Both straight and tall, genteel withal;<br> +Therefore, I shall be at your call,<br> +To marry a farmer’s son.’<br> +<br> +‘Dear lady! believe me now<br> +I solemnly swear and vow,<br> +No lords in their lives take pleasure in wives,<br> +Like fellows that drive the plough:<br> +For whatever they gain with labour and pain,<br> +They don’t with ’t to harlots run,<br> +As courtiers do. I never knew<br> +A London beau that could outdo<br> +A country farmer’s son.’<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE FARMER’S BOY.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[Mr Denham of Piersbridge, who communicates the following, says - ‘there +is no question that the <i>Farmer’s Boy</i> is a very ancient +song; it is highly popular amongst the north country lads and lasses.’ +The date of the composition may probably be referred to the commencement +of the last century, when there prevailed amongst the ballad-mongers +a great rage for <i>Farmers’ Sons, Plough Boys, Milk Maids, Farmers’ +Boys</i>, &c. &c. The song is popular all over the country, +and there are numerous printed copies, ancient and modern.]<br> +<br> +<br> +The sun had set behind yon hills,<br> +Across yon dreary moor,<br> +Weary and lame, a boy there came<br> +Up to a farmer’s door:<br> +‘Can you tell me if any there be<br> +That will give me employ,<br> +To plow and sow, and reap and mow,<br> +And be a farmer’s boy?<br> +<br> +‘My father is dead, and mother is left<br> +With five children, great and small;<br> +And what is worse for mother still,<br> +I’m the oldest of them all.<br> +Though little, I’ll work as hard as a Turk,<br> +If you’ll give me employ,<br> +To plow and sow, and reap and mow,<br> +And be a farmer’s boy.<br> +<br> +‘And if that you won’t me employ,<br> +One favour I’ve to ask, -<br> +Will you shelter me, till break of day,<br> +From this cold winter’s blast?<br> +At break of day, I’ll trudge away<br> +Elsewhere to seek employ,<br> +To plow and sow, and reap and mow,<br> +And be a farmer’s boy.’<br> +<br> +‘Come, try the lad,’ the mistress said,<br> +‘Let him no further seek.’<br> +‘O, do, dear father!’ the daughter cried,<br> +While tears ran down her cheek:<br> +‘He’d work if he could, so ’tis hard to want food,<br> +And wander for employ;<br> +Don’t turn him away, but let him stay,<br> +And be a farmer’s boy.’<br> +<br> +And when the lad became a man,<br> +The good old farmer died,<br> +And left the lad the farm he had,<br> +And his daughter for his bride.<br> +The lad that was, the farm now has,<br> +Oft smiles, and thinks with joy<br> +Of the lucky day he came that way,<br> +To be a farmer’s boy.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: RICHARD OF TAUNTON DEAN; OR, DUMBLE DUM DEARY.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This song is very popular with the country people in every part of +England, but more particularly with the inhabitants of the counties +of Somerset, Devon, and Cornwall. The chorus is peculiar to country +songs of the West of England. There are many different versions. +The following one, communicated by Mr. Sandys, was taken down from the +singing of an old blind fiddler, ‘who,’ says Mr. Sandys, +‘used to accompany it on his instrument in an original and humorous +manner; a representative of the old minstrels!’ The air +is in <i>Popular Music</i>. In Halliwell’s<i> Nursery Rhymes +of England</i> there is a version of this song, called <i>Richard</i> +<i>of Dalton Dale</i>.<br> +<br> +The popularity of this West-country song has extended even to Ireland, +as appears from two Irish versions, supplied by the late Mr. T. Crofton +Croker. One of them is entitled <i>Last New-Year’s Day</i>, +and is printed by Haly, Hanover-street, Cork. It follows the English +song almost verbatim, with the exception of the first and second verses, +which we subjoin:-<br> +<br> +<br> +‘Last New-Year’s day, as I heard say,<br> +Dick mounted on his dapple gray;<br> +He mounted high and he mounted low,<br> +Until he came to <i>sweet Raphoe</i>!<br> +Sing fal de dol de ree,<br> +Fol de dol, righ fol dee.<br> +‘My buckskin does I did put on,<br> +My spladdery clogs, <i>to save my brogues</i>!<br> +And in my pocket a lump of bread,<br> +And round my hat a ribbon red.’<br> +<br> +<br> +The other version is entitled <i>Dicky of Ballyman</i>, and a note informs +us that ‘Dicky of Ballyman’s sirname was Byrne!’ +As our readers may like to hear how the Somersetshire bumpkin behaved +after he had located himself in the town of Ballyman, and taken the +sirname of Byrne, we give the whole of his amatory adventures in the +sister-island. We discover from them, <i>inter alia</i>, that +he had found ‘the best of friends’ in his ‘Uncle,’ +- that he had made a grand discovery in natural history, viz., that +a rabbit is a <i>fowl</i>! - that he had taken the temperance pledge, +which, however, his Mistress Ann had certainly not done; and, moreover, +that he had become an enthusiast in potatoes!<br> +<br> +<br> +DICKY OF BALLYMAN.<br> +<br> +<br> +‘On New-Year’s day, as I heard say,<br> +Dicky he saddled his dapple gray;<br> +He put on his Sunday clothes,<br> +His scarlet vest, and his new made hose.<br> +Diddle dum di, diddle dum do,<br> +Diddle dum di, diddle dum do.<br> +<br> +‘He rode till he came to Wilson Hall,<br> +There he rapped, and loud did call;<br> +Mistress Ann came down straightway,<br> +And asked him what he had to say?<br> +<br> +‘‘Don’t you know me, Mistress Ann?<br> +I am Dicky of Ballyman;<br> +An honest lad, though I am poor, -<br> +I never was in love before.<br> +<br> +‘‘I have an uncle, the best of friends,<br> +Sometimes to me a fat rabbit he sends;<br> +And many other dainty fowl,<br> +To please my life, my joy, my soul.<br> +<br> +‘‘Sometimes I reap, sometimes I mow,<br> +And to the market I do go,<br> +To sell my father’s corn and hay, -<br> +I earn my sixpence every day!’<br> +<br> +‘‘Oh, Dicky! you go beneath your mark, -<br> +You only wander in the dark;<br> +Sixpence a day will never do,<br> +I must have silks, and satins, too!<br> +<br> +‘‘Besides, Dicky, I must have tea<br> +For my breakfast, every day;<br> +And after dinner a bottle of wine, -<br> +For without it I cannot dine.’<br> +<br> +‘‘If on fine clothes our money is spent,<br> +Pray how shall my lord be paid his rent?<br> +He’ll expect it when ’tis due, -<br> +Believe me, what I say is true.<br> +<br> +‘‘As for tea, good stirabout<br> +Will do far better, I make no doubt;<br> +And spring water, when you dine,<br> +Is far wholesomer than wine.<br> +<br> +‘‘Potatoes, too, are very nice food, -<br> +I don’t know any half so good:<br> +You may have them boiled or roast,<br> +Whichever way you like them most.’<br> +<br> +‘This gave the company much delight,<br> +And made them all to laugh outright;<br> +So Dicky had no more to say,<br> +But saddled his dapple and rode away.<br> +Diddle dum di, &c.’]<br> +<br> +<br> +Last New-Year’s day, as I’ve heerd say, <a name="citation32"></a><a href="#footnote32">{32}</a><br> +Young Richard he mounted his dapple grey,<br> +And he trotted along to Taunton Dean,<br> +To court the parson’s daughter, Jean.<br> +Dumble dum deary, dumble dum deary,<br> +Dumble dum deary, dumble dum dee.<br> +<br> +With buckskin breeches, shoes and hose,<br> +And Dicky put on his Sunday clothes;<br> +Likewise a hat upon his head,<br> +All bedaubed with ribbons red.<br> +<br> +Young Richard he rode without dread or fear,<br> +Till he came to the house where lived his sweet dear,<br> +When he knocked, and shouted, and bellowed, ‘Hallo!<br> +Be the folks at home? say aye or no.’<br> +<br> +A trusty servant let him in,<br> +That he his courtship might begin;<br> +Young Richard he walked along the great hall,<br> +And loudly for mistress Jean did call.<br> +<br> +Miss Jean she came without delay,<br> +To hear what Dicky had got to say;<br> +‘I s’pose you knaw me, mistress Jean,<br> +I’m honest Richard of Taunton Dean.<br> +<br> +‘I’m an honest fellow, although I be poor,<br> +And I never was in love afore;<br> +My mother she bid me come here for to woo,<br> +And I can fancy none but you.’<br> +<br> +‘Suppose that I would be your bride,<br> +Pray how would you for me provide?<br> +For I can neither sew nor spin; -<br> +Pray what will your day’s work bring in?’<br> +<br> +‘Why, I can plough, and I can zow,<br> +And zometimes to the market go<br> +With Gaffer Johnson’s straw or hay,<br> +And yarn my ninepence every day!’<br> +<br> +‘Ninepence a-day will never do,<br> +For I must have silks and satins too!<br> +Ninepence a day won’t buy us meat!’<br> +‘Adzooks!’ says Dick, ‘I’ve a zack of wheat;<br> +<br> +‘Besides, I have a house hard by,<br> +’Tis all my awn, when mammy do die;<br> +If thee and I were married now,<br> +Ods! I’d feed thee as fat as my feyther’s old zow.’<br> +<br> +Dick’s compliments did so delight,<br> +They made the family laugh outright;<br> +Young Richard took huff, and no more would say,<br> +He kicked up old Dobbin, and trotted away,<br> +Singing, dumble dum deary, &c.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: WOOING SONG OF A YEOMAN OF KENT’S SONNE.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The following song is the original of a well-known and popular Scottish +song:-<br> +<br> +‘I hae laid a herring in saut;<br> +Lass, ’gin ye lo’e me, tell me now!<br> +I ha’e brewed a forpit o’ maut,<br> +An’ I canna come ilka day to woo.’<br> +<br> +There are modern copies of our Kentish <i>Wooing Song</i>, but the present +version is taken from <i>Melismata, Musical phansies fitting</i> <i>the +court, citie, and countree. To</i> 3, 4, and <i>5 voyces</i>. +London, printed by William Stansby, for Thomas Adams, 1611. The +tune will be found in <i>Popular Music</i>, I., 90. The words +are in the Kentish dialect.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Ich have house and land in Kent,<br> +And if you’ll love me, love me now;<br> +Two-pence half-penny is my rent, -<br> +Ich cannot come every day to woo.<br> +<i>Chorus</i>. Two-pence half-penny is his rent,<br> +And he cannot come every day to woo.<br> +<br> +Ich am my vather’s eldest zonne,<br> +My mouther eke doth love me well!<br> +For Ich can bravely clout my shoone,<br> +And Ich full-well can ring a bell.<br> +<i>Cho</i>. For he can bravely clout his shoone,<br> +And he full well can ring a bell. <a name="citation33"></a><a href="#footnote33">{33}</a><br> +<br> +My vather he gave me a hogge,<br> +My mouther she gave me a zow;<br> +Ich have a god-vather dwells there by,<br> +And he on me bestowed a plow.<br> +<i>Cho</i>. He has a god-vather dwells there by,<br> +And he on him bestowed a plow.<br> +<br> +One time Ich gave thee a paper of pins,<br> +Anoder time a taudry lace;<br> +And if thou wilt not grant me love,<br> +In truth Ich die bevore thy vace.<br> +<i>Cho</i>. And if thou wilt not grant his love,<br> +In truth he’ll die bevore thy vace.<br> +<br> +Ich have been twice our Whitson Lord,<br> +Ich have had ladies many vare;<br> +And eke thou hast my heart in hold,<br> +And in my minde zeemes passing rare.<br> +<i>Cho</i>. And eke thou hast his heart in hold,<br> +And in his minde zeemes passing rare.<br> +<br> +Ich will put on my best white sloppe,<br> +And Ich will weare my yellow hose;<br> +And on my head a good gray hat,<br> +And in’t Ich sticke a lovely rose.<br> +<i>Cho</i>. And on his head a good grey hat,<br> +And in’t he’ll stick a lovely rose.<br> +<br> +Wherefore cease off, make no delay,<br> +And if you’ll love me, love me now;<br> +Or els Ich zeeke zome oder where, -<br> +For Ich cannot come every day to woo.<br> +<i>Cho</i>. Or else he’ll zeeke zome oder where,<br> +For he cannot come every day to woo. <a name="citation34"></a><a href="#footnote34">{34}</a><br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE CLOWN’S COURTSHIP.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This song, on the same subject as the preceding, is as old as the reign +of Henry VIII., the first verse, says Mr. Chappell, being found elaborately +set to music in a manuscript of that date. The air is given in +<i>Popular Music</i>, I., 87.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Quoth John to Joan, wilt thou have me?<br> +I prythee now, wilt? and I’ze marry with thee,<br> +My cow, my calf, my house, my rents,<br> +And all my lands and tenements:<br> +Oh, say, my Joan, will not that do?<br> +I cannot come every day to woo.<br> +<br> +I’ve corn and hay in the barn hard by,<br> +And three fat hogs pent up in the sty:<br> +I have a mare, and she is coal black,<br> +I ride on her tail to save my back.<br> +Then say, &c.<br> +<br> +I have a cheese upon the shelf,<br> +And I cannot eat it all myself;<br> +I’ve three good marks that lie in a rag,<br> +In the nook of the chimney, instead of a bag.<br> +Then say, &c.<br> +<br> +To marry I would have thy consent,<br> +But faith I never could compliment;<br> +I can say nought but ‘hoy, gee ho,’<br> +Words that belong to the cart and the plow.<br> +Then say, &c.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: HARRY’S COURTSHIP.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This old ditty, in its incidents, bears a resemblance to <i>Dumble-dum-deary</i>, +see <i>ante</i>, p. 149. It used to be a popular song in the Yorkshire +dales. We have been obliged to supply an <i>hiatus</i> in the +second verse, and to make an alteration in the last, where we have converted +the ‘red-nosed parson’ of the original into a squire.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Harry courted modest Mary,<br> +Mary was always brisk and airy;<br> +Harry was country neat as could be,<br> +But his words were rough, and his duds were muddy.<br> +<br> +Harry when he first bespoke her,<br> +[Kept a dandling the kitchen poker;]<br> +Mary spoke her words like Venus,<br> +But said, ‘There’s something I fear between us.<br> +<br> +‘Have you got cups of China mettle,<br> +Canister, cream-jug, tongs, or kettle?’<br> +‘Odzooks, I’ve bowls, and siles, and dishes,<br> +Enow to supply any prudent wishes.<br> +<br> +‘I’ve got none o’ your cups of Chaney,<br> +Canister, cream-jug, I’ve not any;<br> +I’ve a three-footed pot and a good brass kettle,<br> +Pray what do you want with your Chaney mettle?<br> +<br> +‘A shippen full of rye for to fother,<br> +A house full of goods, one mack or another;<br> +I’ll thrash in the lathe while you sit spinning,<br> +O, Molly, I think that’s a good beginning.’<br> +<br> +‘I’ll not sit at my wheel a-spinning,<br> +Or rise in the morn to wash your linen;<br> +I’ll lie in bed till the clock strikes eleven - ’<br> +‘Oh, grant me patience gracious Heaven!<br> +<br> +‘Why then thou must marry some red-nosed squire,<br> +[Who’ll buy thee a settle to sit by the fire,]<br> +For I’ll to Margery in the valley,<br> +She is my girl, so farewell Malley.’<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: HARVEST-HOME SONG.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[Our copy of this song is taken from one in the Roxburgh Collection, +where it is called, <i>The Country Farmer’s vain glory; in</i> +<i>a new song of Harvest Home, sung to a new tune much in request</i>. +<i>Licensed according to order</i>. The tune is published in <i>Popular</i> +<i>Music</i>. A copy of this song, with the music, may be found +in D’Urfey’s <i>Pills to purge Melancholy</i>. It +varies from ours; but D’Urfey is so loose and inaccurate in his +texts, that any other version is more likely to be correct. The +broadside from which the following is copied was ‘Printed for +P. Brooksby, J. Dencon [Deacon], J. Blai[r], and J. Back.’]<br> +<br> +<br> +Our oats they are howed, and our barley’s reaped,<br> +Our hay is mowed, and our hovels heaped;<br> +Harvest home! harvest home!<br> +We’ll merrily roar out our harvest home!<br> +Harvest home! harvest home!<br> +We’ll merrily roar out our harvest home!<br> +We’ll merrily roar out our harvest home!<br> +<br> +We cheated the parson, we’ll cheat him again;<br> +For why should the vicar have one in ten?<br> +One in ten! one in ten!<br> +For why should the vicar have one in ten?<br> +For why should the vicar have one in ten?<br> +For staying while dinner is cold and hot,<br> +And pudding and dumpling’s burnt to pot;<br> +Burnt to pot! burnt to pot!<br> +Till pudding and dumpling’s burnt to pot,<br> +Burnt to pot! burnt to pot!<br> +<br> +We’ll drink off the liquor while we can stand,<br> +And hey for the honour of old England!<br> +Old England! old England!<br> +And hey for the honour of old England!<br> +Old England! old England!<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: HARVEST-HOME.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[From an old copy without printer’s name or date.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Come, Roger and Nell,<br> +Come, Simpkin and Bell,<br> +Each lad with his lass hither come;<br> +With singing and dancing,<br> +And pleasure advancing,<br> +To celebrate harvest-home!<br> +<br> +<i>Chorus</i>. ’Tis Ceres bids play,<br> +And keep holiday,<br> +To celebrate harvest-home!<br> +Harvest-home!<br> +Harvest-home!<br> +To celebrate harvest-home!<br> +<br> +Our labour is o’er,<br> +Our barns, in full store,<br> +Now swell with rich gifts of the land;<br> +Let each man then take,<br> +For the prong and the rake,<br> +His can and his lass in his hand.<br> +For Ceres, &c.<br> +<br> +No courtier can be<br> +So happy as we,<br> +In innocence, pastime, and mirth;<br> +While thus we carouse,<br> +With our sweetheart or spouse,<br> +And rejoice o’er the fruits of the earth.<br> +For Ceres, &c.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE MOW. A HARVEST HOME SONG. Tune, <i>Where the +bee sucks.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +</i>[This favourite song, copied from a chap-book called <i>The Whistling +Ploughman</i>, published at the commencement of the present century, +is written in imitation of Ariel’s song, in the <i>Tempest</i>. +It is probably taken from some defunct ballad-opera.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Now our work’s done, thus we feast,<br> +After labour comes our rest;<br> +Joy shall reign in every breast,<br> +And right welcome is each guest:<br> +After harvest merrily,<br> +Merrily, merrily, will we sing now,<br> +After the harvest that heaps up the mow.<br> +<br> +Now the plowman he shall plow,<br> +And shall whistle as he go,<br> +Whether it be fair or blow,<br> +For another barley mow,<br> +O’er the furrow merrily:<br> +Merrily, merrily, will we sing now,<br> +After the harvest, the fruit of the plow.<br> +<br> +Toil and plenty, toil and ease,<br> +Still the husbandman he sees;<br> +Whether when the winter freeze,<br> +Or in summer’s gentle breeze;<br> +Still he labours merrily,<br> +Merrily, merrily, after the plow,<br> +He looks to the harvest, that gives us the mow.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE BARLEY-MOW SONG.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This song is sung at country meetings in Devon and Cornwall, particularly +on completing the carrying of the barley, when the rick, or mow of barley, +is finished. On putting up the last sheaf, which is called the +craw (or crow) sheaf, the man who has it cries out ‘I have it, +I have it, I have it;’ another demands, ‘What have ’ee, +what have ’ee, what have ’ee?’ and the answer is, +‘A craw! a craw! a craw!’ upon which there is some cheering, +&c., and a supper afterwards. The effect of the <i>Barley-mow +Song</i> cannot be given in words; it should be heard, to be appreciated +properly, - particularly with the West-country dialect.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Here’s a health to the barley-mow, my brave boys,<br> +Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br> +We’ll drink it out of the jolly brown bowl,<br> +Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br> +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health to the barley-mow, my brave +boys,<br> +Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br> +<br> +We’ll drink it out of the nipperkin, boys,<br> +Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br> +The nipperkin and the jolly brown bowl,<br> +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.<br> +<br> +We’ll drink it out of the quarter-pint, boys,<br> +Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br> +The quarter-pint, nipperkin, &c.<br> +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.<br> +<br> +We’ll drink it out of the half-a-pint, boys,<br> +Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br> +The half-a-pint, quarter-pint, &c.<br> +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.<br> +<br> +We’ll drink it out of the pint, my brave boys,<br> +Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br> +The pint, the half-a-pint, &c.<br> +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.<br> +<br> +We’ll drink it out of the quart, my brave boys,<br> +Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br> +The quart, the pint, &c.<br> +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.<br> +<br> +Well drink it out of the pottle, my boys,<br> +Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br> +The pottle, the quart, &c.<br> +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.<br> +<br> +We’ll drink it out of the gallon, my boys,<br> +Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br> +The gallon, the pottle, &c.<br> +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.<br> +<br> +We’ll drink it out of the half-anker, boys,<br> +Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br> +The half-anker, gallon, &c.<br> +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.<br> +<br> +We’ll drink it out of the anker, my boys,<br> +Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br> +The anker, the half-anker, &c.<br> +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.<br> +<br> +We’ll drink it out of the half-hogshead, boys,<br> +Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br> +The half-hogshead, anker, &c.<br> +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.<br> +<br> +We’ll drink it out of the hogshead, my boys,<br> +Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br> +The hogshead, the half-hogshead, &c.<br> +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.<br> +<br> +We’ll drink it out of the pipe, my brave boys,<br> +Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br> +The pipe, the hogshead, &c.<br> +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.<br> +<br> +We’ll drink it out of the well, my brave boys,<br> +Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br> +The well, the pipe, &c.<br> +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.<br> +<br> +We’ll drink it out of the river, my boys,<br> +Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br> +The river, the well, &c.<br> +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health, &c.<br> +<br> +We’ll drink it out of the ocean, my boys,<br> +Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br> +The ocean, the river, the well, the pipe, the hogshead,<br> +the half-hogshead, the anker, the half-anker,<br> +the gallon, the pottle, the quart, the pint, the<br> +half-a-pint, the quarter-pint, the nipperkin, and<br> +the jolly brown bowl!<br> +<i>Cho</i>. Here’s a health to the barley-mow, my brave +boys!<br> +Here’s a health to the barley-mow!<br> +<br> +[The above verses are very much <i>ad libitum</i>, but always in the +third line repeating the whole of the previously-named measures; as +we have shown in the recapitulation at the close of the last verse.]<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE BARLEY-MOW SONG. (SUFFOLK VERSION.)<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The peasantry of Suffolk sing the following version of the <i>Barley-Mow +Song</i>.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Here’s a health to the barley mow!<br> +Here’s a health to the man<br> +Who very well can<br> +Both harrow and plow and sow!<br> +<br> +When it is well sown<br> +See it is well mown,<br> +Both raked and gavelled clean,<br> +And a barn to lay it in.<br> +He’s a health to the man<br> +Who very well can<br> +Both thrash and fan it clean!<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE CRAVEN CHURN-SUPPER SONG.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[In some of the more remote dales of Craven it is customary at the close +of the hay-harvest for the farmers to give an entertainment to their +men; this is called the churn supper; a name which Eugene Aram traces +to ‘the immemorial usage of producing at such suppers a great +quantity of cream in a churn, and circulating it in cups to each of +the rustic company, to be eaten with bread.’ At these churn-suppers +the masters and their families attend the entertainment, and share in +the general mirth. The men mask themselves, and dress in a grotesque +manner, and are allowed the privilege of playing harmless practical +jokes on their employers, &c. The churn-supper song varies +in different dales, but the following used to be the most popular version. +In the third verse there seems to be an allusion to the clergyman’s +taking tythe in kind, on which occasions he is generally accompanied +by two or three men, and the parish clerk. The song has never +before been printed. There is a marked resemblance between it +and a song of the date of 1650, called <i>A Cup of Old Stingo</i>. +See <i>Popular Music of the Olden Time</i>, I., 308.]<br> +<br> +<br> +God rest you, merry gentlemen!<br> +Be not movèd at my strain,<br> +For nothing study shall my brain,<br> +But for to make you laugh:<br> +For I came here to this feast,<br> +For to laugh, carouse, and jest,<br> +And welcome shall be every guest,<br> +To take his cup and quaff.<br> +<i>Cho</i>. Be frolicsome, every one,<br> +Melancholy none;<br> +Drink about!<br> +See it out,<br> +And then we’ll all go home,<br> +And then we’ll all go home!<br> +<br> +This ale it is a gallant thing,<br> +It cheers the spirits of a king;<br> +It makes a dumb man strive to sing,<br> +Aye, and a beggar play!<br> +A cripple that is lame and halt,<br> +And scarce a mile a day can walk,<br> +When he feels the juice of malt,<br> +Will throw his crutch away.<br> +<i>Cho</i>. Be frolicsome, &c.<br> +<br> +’Twill make the parson forget his men, -<br> +’Twill make his clerk forget his pen;<br> +’Twill turn a tailor’s giddy brain,<br> +And make him break his wand,<br> +The blacksmith loves it as his life, -<br> +It makes the tinkler bang his wife, -<br> +Aye, and the butcher seek his knife<br> +When he has it in his hand!<br> +<i>Cho</i>. Be frolicsome, &c.<br> +<br> +So now to conclude, my merry boys, all,<br> +Let’s with strong liquor take a fall,<br> +Although the weakest goes to the wall,<br> +The best is but a play!<br> +For water it concludes in noise,<br> +Good ale will cheer our hearts, brave boys;<br> +Then put it round with a cheerful voice,<br> +We meet not every day.<br> +<i>Cho</i>. Be frolicsome, &c.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE RURAL DANCE ABOUT THE MAY-POLE.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The most correct copy of this song is that given in <i>The Westminster +Drollery</i>, Part II. p. 80. It is there called <i>The Rural</i> +<i>Dance about the May-pole, the tune, the first</i>-<i>figure dance +at Mr</i>. <i>Young’s ball, May</i>, 1671. The tune is in +<i>Popular Music</i>. The <i>May-pole</i>, for so the song is +called in modern collections, is a very popular ditty at the present +time. The common copies vary considerably from the following version, +which is much more correct than any hitherto published.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Come, lasses and lads, take leave of your dads,<br> +And away to the may-pole hie;<br> +For every he has got him a she,<br> +And the minstrel’s standing by;<br> +For Willie has gotten his Jill,<br> +And Johnny has got his Joan,<br> +To jig it, jig it, jig it,<br> +Jig it up and down.<br> +<br> +‘Strike up,’ says Wat; ‘Agreed,’ says Kate,<br> +‘And I prithee, fiddler, play;’<br> +‘Content,’ says Hodge, and so says Madge,<br> +For this is a holiday.<br> +Then every man did put<br> +His hat off to his lass,<br> +And every girl did curchy,<br> +Curchy, curchy on the grass.<br> +<br> +‘Begin,’ says Hall; ‘Aye, aye,’ says Mall,<br> +‘We’ll lead up <i>Packington’s Pound</i>;’<br> +‘No, no,’ says Noll, and so says Doll,<br> +‘We’ll first have <i>Sellenger’s Round</i>.’ +<a name="citation35"></a><a href="#footnote35">{35}</a><br> +Then every man began<br> +To foot it round about;<br> +And every girl did jet it,<br> +Jet it, jet it, in and out.<br> +<br> +‘You’re out,’ says Dick; ‘’Tis a lie,’ +says Nick,<br> +‘The fiddler played it false;’<br> +‘’Tis true,’ says Hugh, and so says Sue,<br> +And so says nimble Alice.<br> +The fiddler then began<br> +To play the tune again;<br> +And every girl did trip it, trip it,<br> +Trip it to the men.<br> +<br> +‘Let’s kiss,’ says Jane, <a name="citation36"></a><a href="#footnote36">{36}</a> +‘Content,’ says Nan,<br> +And so says every she;<br> +‘How many?’ says Batt; ‘Why three,’ says Matt,<br> +‘For that’s a maiden’s fee.’<br> +But they, instead of three,<br> +Did give them half a score,<br> +And they in kindness gave ’em, gave ’em,<br> +Gave ’em as many more.<br> +<br> +Then after an hour, they went to a bower,<br> +And played for ale and cakes;<br> +And kisses, too; - until they were due,<br> +The lasses kept the stakes:<br> +The girls did then begin<br> +To quarrel with the men;<br> +And bid ’em take their kisses back,<br> +And give them their own again.<br> +<br> +Yet there they sate, until it was late,<br> +And tired the fiddler quite,<br> +With singing and playing, without any paying,<br> +From morning unto night:<br> +They told the fiddler then,<br> +They’d pay him for his play;<br> +And each a two-pence, two-pence,<br> +Gave him, and went away.<br> +<br> +‘Good night,’ says Harry; ‘Good night,’ says +Mary;<br> +‘Good night,’ says Dolly to John;<br> +‘Good night,’ says Sue; ‘Good night,’ says Hugh;<br> +‘Good night,’ says every one.<br> +Some walked, and some did run,<br> +Some loitered on the way;<br> +And bound themselves with love-knots, love-knots,<br> +To meet the next holiday.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE HITCHIN MAY-DAY SONG.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The following song is sung by the Mayers at Hitchin in the county of +Herts. For an account of the manner in which May-day is observed +at Hitchin, see Hone’s <i>Every-Day Book</i>.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Remember us poor Mayers all!<br> +And thus do we begin<br> +To lead our lives in righteousness,<br> +Or else we die in sin.<br> +<br> +We have been rambling all the night,<br> +And almost all the day;<br> +And now returned back again,<br> +We have brought you a branch of May.<br> +<br> +A branch of May we have brought you,<br> +And at your door it stands;<br> +It is but a sprout,<br> +But it’s well budded out<br> +By the work of our Lord’s hand.<br> +<br> +The hedges and trees they are so green,<br> +As green as any leek;<br> +Our heavenly Father he watered them<br> +With his heavenly dew so sweet.<br> +<br> +The heavenly gates are open wide,<br> +Our paths are beaten plain;<br> +And if a man be not too far gone,<br> +He may return again.<br> +<br> +The life of man is but a span,<br> +It flourishes like a flower;<br> +We are here to-day, and gone to-morrow,<br> +And we are dead in an hour.<br> +<br> +The moon shines bright, and the stars give a light,<br> +A little before it is day;<br> +So God bless you all, both great and small,<br> +And send you a joyful May!<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE HELSTONE FURRY-DAY SONG.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[At Helstone, in Cornwall, the 8th of May is a day devoted to revelry +and gaiety. It is called the Furry-day, supposed to be a corruption +of Flora’s day, from the garlands worn and carried in procession +during the festival. <a name="citation37"></a><a href="#footnote37">{37}</a> +A writer in the <i>Gentleman’s Magazine</i> for June, 1790, says, +‘In the morning, very early, some troublesome rogues go round +the streets [of Helstone], with drums and other noisy instruments, disturbing +their sober neighbours, and singing parts of a song, the whole of which +nobody now re-collects, and of which I know no more than that there +is mention in it of the ‘grey goose quill,’ and of going +‘to the green wood’ to bring home ‘the Summer and +the May, O!’’ During the festival, the gentry, tradespeople, +servants, &c., dance through the streets, and thread through certain +of the houses to a very old dance tune, given in the appendix to Davies +Gilbert’s <i>Christmas Carols</i>, and which may also be found +in Chappell’s <i>Popular Music</i>, and other collections. +The <i>Furry-day Song</i> possesses no literary merit whatever; but +as a part of an old and really interesting festival, it is worthy of +preservation. The dance-tune has been confounded with that of +the song, but Mr. Sandys, to whom we are indebted for this communication, +observes that ‘the dance-tune is quite different.’]<br> +<br> +<br> +Robin Hood and Little John,<br> +They both are gone to the fair, O!<br> +And we will go to the merry green-wood,<br> +To see what they do there, O!<br> +And for to chase, O!<br> +To chase the buck and doe.<br> +With ha-lan-tow, rumble, O!<br> +For we were up as soon as any day, O!<br> +And for to fetch the summer home,<br> +The summer and the may, O!<br> +For summer is a-come, O!<br> +And winter is a-gone, O!<br> +<br> +Where are those Spaniards<br> +That make so great a boast, O?<br> +They shall eat the grey goose feather,<br> +And we will eat the roast, O!<br> +In every land, O!<br> +The land where’er we go.<br> +With ha-lan-tow, &c<br> +<br> +As for Saint George, O!<br> +Saint George he was a knight, O!<br> +Of all the knights in Christendom,<br> +Saint George is the right, O!<br> +In every land, O!<br> +The land where’er we go.<br> +With ha-lan-tow, &c.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: CORNISH MIDSUMMER BONFIRE SONG.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The very ancient custom of lighting fires on Midsummer-eve, being the +vigil of St. John the Baptist, is still kept up in several parts of +Cornwall. On these occasions the fishermen and others dance about +the fires, and sing appropriate songs. The following has been +sung for a long series of years at Penzance and the neighbourhood, and +is taken down from the recitation of the leader of a West-country choir. +It is communicated to our pages by Mr. Sandys. The origin of the +Midsummer bonfires is fully explained in Brand’s <i>Popular Antiquities</i>. +See Sir H. Ellis’s edition of that work, vol. i. pp. 166-186.]<br> +<br> +<br> +The bonny month of June is crowned<br> +With the sweet scarlet rose;<br> +The groves and meadows all around<br> +With lovely pleasure flows.<br> +<br> +As I walked out to yonder green,<br> +One evening so fair;<br> +All where the fair maids may be seen<br> +Playing at the bonfire.<br> +<br> +Hail! lovely nymphs, be not too coy,<br> +But freely yield your charms;<br> +Let love inspire with mirth and joy,<br> +In Cupid’s lovely arms.<br> +<br> +Bright Luna spreads its light around,<br> +The gallants for to cheer;<br> +As they lay sporting on the ground,<br> +At the fair June bonfire.<br> +<br> +All on the pleasant dewy mead,<br> +They shared each other’s charms;<br> +Till Phoebus’ beams began to spread,<br> +And coming day alarms.<br> +<br> +Whilst larks and linnets sing so sweet,<br> +To cheer each lovely swain;<br> +Let each prove true unto their love,<br> +And so farewell the plain.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: SUFFOLK HARVEST-HOME SONG.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[In no part of England are the harvest-homes kept up with greater spirit +than in Suffolk. The following old song is a general favourite +on such occasions.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Here’s a health unto our master,<br> +The founder of the feast!<br> +I wish, with all my heart and soul,<br> +In heaven he may find rest.<br> +I hope all things may prosper,<br> +That ever be takes in hand;<br> +For we are all his servants,<br> +And all at his command.<br> +<br> +Drink, boys, drink, and see you do not spill,<br> +For if you do, you must drink two, - it is your master’s will.<br> +<br> +Now our harvest is ended,<br> +And supper is past;<br> +Here’s our mistress’ good health,<br> +In a full flowing glass!<br> +She is a good woman, -<br> +She prepared us good cheer;<br> +Come, all my brave boys,<br> +And drink off your beer.<br> +<br> +Drink, my boys, drink till you come unto me,<br> +The longer we sit, my boys, the merrier shall we be!<br> +<br> +In yon green wood there lies an old fox,<br> +Close by his den you may catch him, or no;<br> +Ten thousand to one you catch him, or no.<br> +His beard and his brush are all of one colour, -<br> +[<i>Takes the glass and empties it off.<br> +</i>I am sorry, kind sir, that your glass is no fuller.<br> +’Tis down the red lane! ’tis down the red lane!<br> +So merrily hunt the fox down the red lane! <a name="citation38"></a><a href="#footnote38">{38}</a><br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE HAYMAKER’S SONG.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[An old and very favourite ditty sung in many parts of England at merry-makings, +especially at those which occur during the hay-harvest. It is +not in any collection.]<br> +<br> +<br> +In the merry month of June,<br> +In the prime time of the year;<br> +Down in yonder meadows<br> +There runs a river clear:<br> +And many a little fish<br> +Doth in that river play;<br> +And many a lad, and many a lass,<br> +Go abroad a-making hay.<br> +<br> +In come the jolly mowers,<br> +To mow the meadows down;<br> +With budget and with bottle<br> +Of ale, both stout and brown,<br> +All labouring men of courage bold<br> +Come here their strength to try;<br> +They sweat and blow, and cut and mow,<br> +For the grass cuts very dry.<br> +<br> +Here’s nimble Ben and Tom,<br> +With pitchfork, and with rake;<br> +Here’s Molly, Liz, and Susan,<br> +Come here their hay to make.<br> +While sweet, jug, jug, jug!<br> +The nightingale doth sing,<br> +From morning unto even-song,<br> +As they are hay-making.<br> +<br> +And when that bright day faded,<br> +And the sun was going down,<br> +There was a merry piper<br> +Approachèd from the town:<br> +He pulled out his pipe and tabor,<br> +So sweetly he did play,<br> +Which made all lay down their rakes,<br> +And leave off making hay.<br> +<br> +Then joining in a dance,<br> +They jig it o’er the green;<br> +Though tired with their labour,<br> +No one less was seen.<br> +But sporting like some fairies,<br> +Their dance they did pursue,<br> +In leading up, and casting off,<br> +Till morning was in view.<br> +<br> +And when that bright daylight,<br> +The morning it was come,<br> +They lay down and rested<br> +Till the rising of the sun:<br> +Till the rising of the sun,<br> +When the merry larks do sing,<br> +And each lad did rise and take his lass,<br> +And away to hay-making.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE SWORD-DANCERS’ SONG.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[Sword-dancing is not so common in the North of England as it was a +few years ago; but a troop of rustic practitioners of the art may still +be occasionally met with at Christmas time, in some of the most secluded +of the Yorkshire dales. The following is a copy of the introductory +song, as it used to be sung by the Wharfdale sword-dancers. It +has been transcribed from a MS. in the possession of Mr. Holmes, surgeon, +at Grassington, in Craven. At the conclusion of the song a dance +ensues, and sometimes a rustic drama is performed. See post, p. +175. <i>Jumping Joan</i>, alluded to in the last verse, is a well-known +old country dance tune.]<br> +<br> +<i>The spectators being assembled, the</i> CLOWN<i> enters, and after +drawing a circle with his sword, walks round it, and calls in the actors +in the following lines, which are sung to the accompaniment of a violin +played outside, or behind the door.<br> +<br> +<br> +</i>The first that enters on the floor,<br> +His name is Captain Brown;<br> +I think he is as smart a youth<br> +As any in this town:<br> +In courting of the ladies gay,<br> +He fixes his delight;<br> +He will not stay from them all day,<br> +And is with them all the night.<br> +<br> +The next’s a tailor by his trade,<br> +Called Obadiah Trim;<br> +You may quickly guess, by his plain dress,<br> +And hat of broadest brim,<br> +That he is of the Quaking sect,<br> +Who would seem to act by merit<br> +Of yeas and nays, and hums and hahs,<br> +And motions of the spirit.<br> +<br> +The next that enters on the floor,<br> +He is a foppish knight;<br> +The first to be in modish dress,<br> +He studies day and night.<br> +Observe his habit round about, -<br> +Even from top to toe;<br> +The fashion late from France was brought, -<br> +He’s finer than a beau!<br> +<br> +Next I present unto your view<br> +A very worthy man;<br> +He is a vintner, by his trade,<br> +And Love-ale is his name.<br> +If gentlemen propose a glass,<br> +He seldom says ’em nay,<br> +But does always think it’s right to drink,<br> +While other people pay.<br> +<br> +The next that enters on the floor,<br> +It is my beauteous dame;<br> +Most dearly I do her adore,<br> +And Bridget is her name.<br> +At needlework she does excel<br> +All that e’er learnt to sew,<br> +And when I choose, she’ll ne’er refuse,<br> +What I command her do.<br> +<br> +And I myself am come long since,<br> +And Thomas is my name;<br> +Though some are pleased to call me Tom,<br> +I think they’re much to blame:<br> +Folks should not use their betters thus,<br> +But I value it not a groat,<br> +Though the tailors, too, that botching crew,<br> +Have patched it on my coat.<br> +<br> +I pray who’s this we’ve met with here,<br> +That tickles his trunk wame? <a name="citation39"></a><a href="#footnote39">{39}</a><br> +We’ve picked him up as here we came,<br> +And cannot learn his name:<br> +But sooner than he’s go without,<br> +I’ll call him my son Tom;<br> +And if he’ll play, be it night or day,<br> +We’ll dance you <i>Jumping Joan.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +</i>Ballad: THE SWORD-DANCERS’ SONG AND INTERLUDE. AS NOW +PERFORMED AT CHRISTMAS, IN THE COUNTY OF DURHAM.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The late Sir Cuthbert Sharp remarks, that ‘It is still the practice +during the Christmas holidays for companies of fifteen to perform a +sort of play or dance, accompanied by song or music.’ The +following version of the song, or interlude, has been transcribed from +Sir C. Sharp’s <i>Bishoprick Garland</i>, corrected by collation +with a MS. copy recently remitted to the editor by a countryman of Durham. +The Devonshire peasants have a version almost identical with this, but +laths are used instead of swords, and a few different characters are +introduced to suit the locality. The pageant called <i>The Fool +Plough</i>, which consists of a number of sword-dancers dragging a plough +with music, was anciently observed in the North of England, not only +at Christmas time, but also in the beginning of Lent. Wallis thinks +that the <i>Sword Dance</i> is the antic dance, or chorus armatus of +the Romans. Brand supposes that it is a composition made up of +the gleaning of several obsolete customs anciently followed in England +and other countries. The Germans still practise the <i>Sword Dance</i> +at Christmas and Easter. We once witnessed a <i>Sword</i> <i>Dance</i> +in the Eifel mountains, which closely resembled our own, but no interlude, +or drama, was performed.]<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>Enter Dancers, decorated with swords and ribbons; the</i> CAPTAIN<i> +of the band wearing a cocked hat and a peacock’s feather in it +by way of cockade, and the</i> CLOWN<i>, or</i> ‘BESSY,’ +<i>who acts as treasurer, being decorated with a hairy cap and a fox’s +brush dependent.<br> +<br> +The</i> CAPTAIN<i> forms with his sword a circle, around which</i> <i>walks.<br> +<br> +The</i> BESSY<i> opens the proceedings by singing</i> -<br> +<br> +Good gentlemen all, to our captain take heed,<br> +And hear what he’s got for to sing;<br> +He’s lived among music these forty long year,<br> +And drunk of the elegant <a name="citation40"></a><a href="#footnote40">{40}</a> +spring.<br> +<br> +<i>The</i> CAPTAIN<i> then proceeds as follows, his song being accompanied +by a violin, generally played by the</i> BESSY -<br> +<br> +Six actors I have brought<br> +Who were ne’er on a stage before;<br> +But they will do their best,<br> +And they can do no more.<br> +<br> +The first that I call in<br> +He is a squire’s son;<br> +He’s like to lose his sweetheart<br> +Because he is too young.<br> +<br> +But though he is too young,<br> +He has money for to rove,<br> +And he will spend it all<br> +Before he’ll lose his love.<br> +<br> +<i>Chorus. Fal lal de ral, lal de dal, fal lal de ra ral da.<br> +<br> +Followed by a symphony on the fiddle, during which the introduced actor +walks round the circle.<br> +<br> +The</i> CAPTAIN<i> proceeds -<br> +<br> +</i>The next that I call in<br> +He is a tailor fine;<br> +What think you of his work?<br> +He made this coat of mine!<br> +<br> +<i>Here the</i> CAPTAIN<i> turns round and exhibits his coat, which, +of course, is ragged, and full of holes.<br> +<br> +</i>So comes good master Snip,<br> +His best respects to pay:<br> +He joins us in our trip<br> +To drive dull care away.<br> +<br> +<i>Chorus and symphony as above.<br> +Here the</i> TAILOR <i>walks</i> <i>round</i>, <i>accompanied by the</i> +SQUIRE’S SON<i>. This form is observed after each subsequent +introduction, all the new comers taking apart.<br> +<br> +</i>The next I do call in,<br> +The prodigal son is he;<br> +By spending of his gold<br> +He’s come to poverty.<br> +<br> +But though he all has spent,<br> +Again he’ll wield the plow,<br> +And sing right merrily<br> +As any of us now. <a name="citation41"></a><a href="#footnote41">{41}</a><br> +<br> +Next comes a skipper bold,<br> +He’ll do his part right weel -<br> +A clever blade I’m told<br> +As ever pozed a keel.<br> +<br> +He is a bonny lad,<br> +As you must understand;<br> +It’s he can dance on deck,<br> +And you’ll see him dance on land.<br> +<br> +To join us in this play<br> +Here comes a jolly dog,<br> +Who’s sober all the day -<br> +If he can get no grog.<br> +<br> +But though he likes his grog,<br> +As all his friends do say,<br> +He always likes it best<br> +When other people pay.<br> +<br> +Last I come in myself,<br> +The leader of this crew;<br> +And if you’d know my name,<br> +My name it is ‘True Blue.’<br> +<br> +<i>Here the</i> BESSY<i> gives an account of himself.<br> +<br> +</i>My mother was burnt for a witch,<br> +My father was hanged on a tree,<br> +And it’s because I’m a fool<br> +There’s nobody meddled wi’ me.<br> +<br> +<i>The dance now commences. It is an ingenious performance, and +the swords of the actors are placed in a variety of graceful positions, +so as to form stars, hearts, squares, circles, &c. &c. +The dance is so elaborate that it requires frequent rehearsals, a quick +eye, and a strict adherence to time and tune. Before it concludes, +grace and elegance have given place to disorder, and at last all the +actors are seen fighting. The</i> PARISH CLERGYMAN<i> rushes in +to prevent bloodshed, and receives a death-blow. While on the +ground, the actors walk round the body, and sing as follows, to a slow, +psalm-like tune:-<br> +<br> +</i>Alas! our parson’s dead,<br> +And on the ground is laid;<br> +Some of us will suffer for’t,<br> +Young men, I’m sore afraid.<br> +<br> +I’m sure ’twas none of me,<br> +I’m clear of <i>that</i> crime;<br> +’Twas him that follows me<br> +That drew his sword so fine.<br> +<br> +I’m sure it was <i>not</i> me,<br> +I’m clear of the fact;<br> +’Twas him that follows me<br> +That did this dreadful act.<br> +<br> +I’m sure ’twas none of me,<br> +Who say’t be villains all;<br> +For both my eyes were closed<br> +When this good priest did fall.<br> +<br> +<i>The</i> BESSY<i> sings -<br> +<br> +</i>Cheer up, cheer up, my bonny lads,<br> +And be of courage brave,<br> +We’ll take him to his church,<br> +And bury him in the grave.<br> +<br> +<i>The</i> CAPTAIN<i> speaks in a sort of recitative</i> -<br> +<br> +Oh, for a doctor,<br> +A ten pound doctor, oh.<br> +<br> +<i>Enter</i> DOCTOR.<br> +<br> +<i>Doctor</i>. Here I am, I.<br> +<i>Captain</i>. Doctor, what’s your fee?<br> +<i>Doctor</i>. Ten pounds is my fee!<br> +<br> +But nine pounds nineteen shillings eleven pence three farthings I will +take from thee.<br> +<br> +<i>The</i> <i>Bessy</i>. There’s ge-ne-ro-si-ty!<br> +<br> +<i>The</i> DOCTOR<i> sings</i> -<br> +<br> +I’m a doctor, a doctor rare,<br> +Who travels much at home;<br> +My famous pills they cure all ills,<br> +Past, present, and to come.<br> +<br> +My famous pills who’d be without,<br> +They cure the plague, the sickness <a name="citation42"></a><a href="#footnote42">{42}</a> +and gout,<br> +Anything but a love-sick maid;<br> +If <i>you’re</i> one, my dear, you’re beyond my aid!<br> +<br> +<i>Here the</i> DOCTOR<i> occasionally salutes one of the fair spectators; +he then takes out his snuff-box, which is always of very capacious dimensions +(a sort of miniature warming-pan), and empties the contents (flour or +meal) on the</i> CLERGYMAN’S<i> face, singing at the time -<br> +<br> +</i>Take a little of my nif-naf,<br> +Put it on your tif-taf;<br> +Parson rise up and preach again,<br> +The doctor says you are not slain.<br> +<br> +<i>The</i> CLERGYMAN<i> here sneezes several times, and gradually recovers, +and all shake him by the hand.<br> +<br> +The ceremony terminates by the</i> CAPTAIN<i> singing -<br> +<br> +</i>Our play is at an end,<br> +And now we’ll taste your cheer;<br> +We wish you a merry Christmas,<br> +And a happy new year.<br> +<i>The Bessy</i>. And your pockets full of brass,<br> +And your cellars full of beer!<br> +<br> +<i>A general dance concludes the play.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +</i>Ballad: THE MASKERS’ SONG.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[In the Yorkshire dales the young men are in the habit of going about +at Christmas time in grotesque masks, and of performing in the farm-houses +a sort of rude drama, accompanied by singing and music. <a name="citation43"></a><a href="#footnote43">{43}</a> +The maskers have wooden swords, and the performance is an evening one. +The following version of their introductory song was taken down literally +from the recitation of a young besom-maker, now residing at Linton in +Craven, who for some years past has himself been one of these rustic +actors. From the allusion to the pace, or paschal-egg, it is evident +that the play was originally an Easter pageant, which, in consequence +of the decline of the gorgeous rites formerly connected with that season, +has been transferred to Christmas, the only festival which, in the rural +districts of Protestant England, is observed after the olden fashion. +The maskers generally consist of five characters, one of whom officiates +in the threefold capacity of clown, fiddler, and master of the ceremonies. +The custom of masking at Christmas is common to many parts of Europe, +and is observed with especial zest in the Swiss cantons, where the maskers +are all children, and the performances closely resemble those of England. +In Switzerland, however, more care is bestowed upon the costume, and +the songs are better sung.]<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>Enter</i> CLOWN, <i>who sings in a sort of chant, or recitative.<br> +<br> +</i>I open this door, I enter in,<br> +I hope your favour for to win;<br> +Whether we shall stand or fall,<br> +We do endeavour to please you all.<br> +<br> +A room! a room! a gallant room,<br> +A room to let us ride!<br> +We are not of the raggald sort,<br> +But of the royal tribe:<br> +Stir up the fire, and make a light,<br> +To see the bloody act to-night!<br> +<br> +<i>Here another of the party introduces his companions by singing</i> +<i>to a violin accompaniment, as follows</i>:<br> +<br> +Here’s two or three jolly boys, all in one mind;<br> +We’ve come a pace-egging, <a name="citation44"></a><a href="#footnote44">{44}</a> +I hope you’ll prove kind:<br> +I hope you’ll prove kind with your money and beer,<br> +We shall come no more near you until the next year.<br> +Fal de ral, lal de lal, &c.<br> +<br> +The first that steps up is Lord [Nelson] <a name="citation45"></a><a href="#footnote45">{45}</a> +you’ll see,<br> +With a bunch of blue ribbons tied down to his knee;<br> +With a star on his breast, like silver doth shine;<br> +I hope you’ll remember this pace-egging time.<br> +Fal de ral, &c.<br> +<br> +O! the next that steps up is a jolly Jack tar,<br> +He sailed with Lord [Nelson], during last war:<br> +He’s right on the sea, Old England to view:<br> +He’s come a pace-egging with so jolly a crew.<br> +Fal de ral, &c.<br> +<br> +O! the next that steps up is old Toss-Pot, you’ll see,<br> +He’s a valiant old man, in every degree,<br> +He’s a valiant old man, and he wears a pig-tail;<br> +And all his delight is drinking mulled ale.<br> +Fal de ral, &c.<br> +<br> +O! the next that steps up is old Miser, you’ll see;<br> +She heaps up her white and her yellow money;<br> +She wears her old rags till she starves and she begs;<br> +And she’s come here to ask for a dish of pace eggs.<br> +Fal de ral, &a<br> +<br> +<i>The characters being thus duly introduced, the following lines are</i> +<i>sung in chorus by all the party.<br> +<br> +</i>Gentlemen and ladies, that sit by the fire,<br> +Put your hand in your pocket, ’tis all we desire;<br> +Put your hand in your pocket, and pull out your purse,<br> +And give us a trifle, - you’ll not be much worse.<br> +<br> +<i>Here follows a dance, and this is generally succeeded by a dialogue +of an</i> ad libitum <i>character, which varies in different districts, +being sometimes similar to the one performed by the sword-dancers.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +</i>Ballad: GLOUCESTERSHIRE WASSAILERS’ SONG.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[It is still customary in many parts of England to hand round the wassail, +or health-bowl, on New-Year’s Eve. The custom is supposed +to be of Saxon origin, and to be derived from one of the observances +of the Feast of Yule. The tune of this song is given in <i>Popular +Music</i>. It is a universal favourite in Gloucestershire, particularly +in the neighbourhood of<br> +<br> +‘Stair on the wold,<br> +Where the winds blow cold,’<br> +<br> +as the old rhyme says.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Wassail! wassail! all over the town,<br> +Our toast it is white, and our ale it is brown;<br> +Our bowl is made of a maplin tree;<br> +We be good fellows all; - I drink to thee.<br> +<br> +Here’s to our horse, <a name="citation46"></a><a href="#footnote46">{46}</a> +and to his right ear,<br> +God send our measter a happy new year:<br> +A happy new year as e’er he did see, -<br> +With my wassailing bowl I drink to thee.<br> +<br> +Here’s to our mare, and to her right eye,<br> +God send our mistress a good Christmas pie;<br> +A good Christmas pie as e’er I did see, -<br> +With my wassailing bowl I drink to thee.<br> +<br> +Here’s to our cow, and to her long tail,<br> +God send our measter us never may fail<br> +Of a cup of good beer: I pray you draw near,<br> +And our jolly wassail it’s then you shall hear.<br> +<br> +Be here any maids? I suppose here be some;<br> +Sure they will not let young men stand on the cold stone!<br> +Sing hey O, maids! come trole back the pin,<br> +And the fairest maid in the house let us all in.<br> +<br> +Come, butler, come, bring us a bowl of the best;<br> +I hope your soul in heaven will rest;<br> +But if you do bring us a bowl of the small,<br> +Then down fall butler, and bowl and all.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE MUMMERS’ SONG; OR, THE POOR OLD HORSE.<br> +<br> +As sung by the Mummers in the Neighbourhood of Richmond, Yorkshire, +at the merrie time of Christmas.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The rustic actor who sings the following song is dressed as an old +horse, and at the end of every verse the jaws are snapped in chorus. +It is a very old composition, and is now printed for the first time. +The ‘old horse’ is, probably, of Scandinavian origin, - +a reminiscence of Odin’s Sleipnor.]<br> +<br> +<br> +You gentlemen and sportsmen,<br> +And men of courage bold,<br> +All you that’s got a good horse,<br> +Take care of him when he is old;<br> +Then put him in your stable,<br> +And keep him there so warm;<br> +Give him good corn and hay,<br> +Pray let him take no harm.<br> +Poor old horse! poor old horse!<br> +<br> +Once I had my clothing<br> +Of linsey-woolsey fine,<br> +My tail and mane of length,<br> +And my body it did shine;<br> +But now I’m growing old,<br> +And my nature does decay,<br> +My master frowns upon me,<br> +These words I heard him say, -<br> +Poor old horse! poor old horse!<br> +<br> +These pretty little shoulders,<br> +That once were plump and round,<br> +They are decayed and rotten, -<br> +I’m afraid they are not sound.<br> +Likewise these little nimble legs,<br> +That have run many miles,<br> +Over hedges, over ditches,<br> +Over valleys, gates, and stiles.<br> +Poor old horse! poor old horse!<br> +<br> +I used to be kept<br> +On the best corn and hay<br> +That in fields could be grown,<br> +Or in any meadows gay;<br> +But now, alas! it’s not so, -<br> +There’s no such food at all!<br> +I’m forced to nip the short grass<br> +That grows beneath your wall.<br> +Poor old horse! poor old horse!<br> +<br> +I used to be kept up<br> +All in a stable warm,<br> +To keep my tender body<br> +From any cold or harm;<br> +But now I’m turned out<br> +In the open fields to go,<br> +To face all kinds of weather,<br> +The wind, cold, frost, and snow.<br> +Poor old horse! poor old horse!<br> +<br> +My hide unto the huntsman<br> +So freely I would give,<br> +My body to the hounds,<br> +For I’d rather die than live:<br> +So shoot him, whip him, strip him,<br> +To the huntsman let him go;<br> +For he’s neither fit to ride upon,<br> +Nor in any team to draw.<br> +Poor old horse! you must die!<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: FRAGMENT OF THE HAGMENA SONG.<br> +<br> +As sung at Richmond, Yorkshire, on the eve of the New Year, by the Corporation +Pinder.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The custom of singing Hagmena songs is observed in different parts +of both England and Scotland. The origin of the term is a matter +of dispute. Some derive it from ‘au guy l’an neuf,’ +i.e., <i>to the misletoe this new year</i>, and a French Hagmena song +still in use seems to give some authority to such a derivation; others, +dissatisfied with a heathen source, find the term to be a corruption +of [Greek text which cannot be reproduced], i.e., <i>the holy month</i>. +The Hagmena songs are sometimes sung on Christmas Eve and a few of the +preceding nights, and sometimes, as at Richmond, on the eve of the new +year. For further information the reader is referred to Brand’s +<i>Popular Antiquities</i>, vol. i. 247-8, Sir H. Ellis’s edit. +1842.]<br> +<br> +<br> +To-night it is the New-year’s night, to-morrow is the day,<br> +And we are come for our right, and for our ray,<br> +As we used to do in old King Henry’s day.<br> +Sing, fellows, sing, Hagman-heigh.<br> +<br> +If you go to the bacon-flick, cut me a good bit;<br> +Cut, cut and low, beware of your maw;<br> +Cut, cut and round, beware of your thumb,<br> +That me and my merry men may have some,<br> +Sing, fellows, sing, Hagman-heigh.<br> +<br> +If you go to the black-ark, bring me X mark;<br> +Ten mark, ten pound, throw it down upon the ground,<br> +That me and my merry men may have some.<br> +Sing, fellows, sing, Hagman-heigh.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE GREENSIDE WAKES SONG.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The wakes, feasts, or tides of the North of England, were originally +religious festivals in honour of the saints to whom the parish churches +were dedicated. But now-a-days, even in Catholic Lancashire, all +traces of their pristine character have departed, and the hymns and +prayers by which their observance was once hallowed have given place +to dancing and merry-making. At Greenside, near Manchester, during +the wakes, two persons, dressed in a grotesque manner, the one a male, +the other a female, appear in the village on horseback, with spinning-wheels +before them; and the following is the dialogue, or song, which they +sing on these occasions.]<br> +<br> +<br> +‘’Tis Greenside wakes, we’ve come to the town<br> +To show you some sport of great renown;<br> +And if my old wife will let me begin,<br> +I’ll show you how fast and how well I can spin.<br> +Tread the wheel, tread the wheel, den, don, dell O.’<br> +<br> +‘Thou brags of thyself, but I don’t think it true,<br> +For I will uphold thy faults are not a few;<br> +For when thou hast done, and spun very hard,<br> +Of this I’m well sure, thy work is ill marred.<br> +Tread the wheel, tread the wheel, den, don, dell O.’<br> +<br> +‘Thou’rt a saucy old jade, and pray hold thy tongue,<br> +Or I shall be thumping thee ere it be long;<br> +And if that I do, I shall make thee to rue,<br> +For I can have many a one as good as you.<br> +Tread the wheel, tread the wheel, dan, don, dell O.’<br> +<br> +‘What is it to me who you can have?<br> +I shall not be long ere I’m laid in my grave;<br> +And when I am dead you may find if you can,<br> +One that’ll spin as hard as I’ve done.<br> +Tread the wheel, tread the wheel, dan, don, dell O.’<br> +<br> +‘Come, come, my dear wife, here endeth my song,<br> +I hope it has pleased this numerous throng;<br> +But if it has missed, you need not to fear,<br> +We’ll do our endeavour to please them next year.<br> +Tread the wheel, tread the wheel, dan, don, dell O.’<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE SWEARING-IN SONG OR RHYME.<br> +<br> +As formerly sung or said at Highgate, in the county of Middlesex.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The proverb, ‘He has been sworn at Highgate,’ is more widely +circulated than understood. In its ordinary signification it is +applied to a ‘knowing’ fellow who is well acquainted with +the ‘good things,’ and always helps himself to the best; +and it has its origin in an old usage still kept up at Highgate, in +Middlesex. Grose, in his <i>Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar +Tongue</i>, London, 1785, says, -<br> +<br> +<br> +A ridiculous custom formerly prevailed at the public-houses of Highgate, +to administer a ludicrous oath to all the men of the middling rank who +stopped there. The party was sworn on a pair of horns fastened +on a stick; the substance of the oath was never to kiss the maid when +he could kiss the mistress, never to drink small beer when be could +get strong, with many other injunctions of the like kind to all of which +was added a saving clause - <i>Unless you like it best</i>! The +person administering the oath was always to be called father by the +juror, and he in return was to style him son, under the penalty of a +bottle.<br> +<br> +<br> +From this extract it is evident that in 1786 the custom was ancient, +and had somewhat fallen into desuetude. Hone’s <i>Year-Book</i> +contains a very complete account of the ceremony, with full particulars +of the mode in which the ‘swearing-in’ was then performed +in the ‘Fox under the Hill.’ Hone does not throw any +light on the origin of the practice, nor does he seem to have been aware +of its comparative antiquity. He treated the ceremony as a piece +of modern foolery, got up by some landlord for ‘the good of the +house,’ and adopted from the same interested motive by others +of the tribe. A subsequent correspondent of Mr. Hone, however, +points out the antiquity of the custom, and shows that it could be traced +back long before the year 1782, when it was introduced into a pantomime +called <i>Harlequin Teague; or, the Giant’s</i> <i>Causeway</i>, +which was performed at the Haymarket on Saturday, August 17, 1782. +One of the scenes was Highgate, where, in the ‘parlour’ +of a public house, the ceremony was performed. Mr. Hone’s +correspondent sends a copy of the old initiation song, which varies +considerably from our version, supplied to us in 1851 by a very old +man (an ostler) at Highgate. The reciter said that the <i>copy +of verses</i> was not often used now, as there was no landlord who could +sing, and gentlemen preferred the speech. He said, moreover, ‘that +the verses were not always alike - some said one way, and some another +- some made them long, and some <i>cut ’em short</i>.’<br> +<br> +Grose was in error when he supposed that the ceremony was confined to +the inferior classes, for even in his day such was not the case. +In subsequent times the oath has been frequently taken by people of +rank, and also by several persons of the highest literary and political +celebrity. An inspection of any one of the register-books will +show that the jurors have belonged to all sorts of classes, and that +amongst them the Harrovians have always made a conspicuous figure. +When the stage-coaches ceased to pass through the village in consequence +of the opening of railways, the custom declined, and was kept up only +at three houses, which were called the ‘original house,’ +the ‘old original,’ and the ‘real old original.’ +Two of the above houses have latterly ceased to hold courts, and the +custom is now confined to the ‘Fox under the Hill,’ where +the rite is celebrated with every attention to ancient forms and costume, +and for a fee which, in deference to modern notions of economy, is only +one shilling.<br> +<br> +Byron, in the first canto of <i>Childe Harold</i>, alludes to the custom +of Highgate:-<br> +<br> +<br> +Some o’er thy Thamis row the ribboned fair,<br> +Others along the safer turnpike fly;<br> +Some Richmond-hill ascend, some wend to Wara<br> +And many to the steep of Highgate hie.<br> +Ask ye, Boeotian shades! the reason why?<br> +<i>’Tis to the worship of the solemn horn,<br> +Grasped in the holy hand of mystery,<br> +In whose dread name both men and maids <a name="citation47"></a><a href="#footnote47">{47}</a> +are sworn,<br> +And consecrate the oath with draught, and dance till morn.<br> +<br> +</i>Canto I, stanza 70.]<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>Enter</i> LANDLORD<i>, dressed in a black gown and bands, and wearing +an antique-fashioned wig, followed by the</i> CLERK OF THE COURT<i>, +also in appropriate costume, and carrying the registry-book and the +horns.<br> +<br> +Landlord</i>. Do you wish to be sworn at Highgate?<br> +<i>Candidate</i>. I do, Father.<br> +<i>Clerk</i>. <i>Amen.<br> +<br> +The</i> LANDLORD<i> then sings, or says, as follows</i>:-<br> +<br> +Silence! O, yes! you are my son!<br> +Full to your old father turn, sir;<br> +This is an oath you may take as you run,<br> +So lay your hand thus on the horn, sir.<br> +<br> +<i>Here the</i> CANDIDATE<i> places his right hand on the horn.<br> +<br> +</i>You shall spend not with cheaters or cozeners your life,<br> +Nor waste it on profligate beauty;<br> +And when you are wedded be kind to your wife,<br> +And true to all petticoat duty.<br> +<br> +<i>The</i> CANDIDATE<i> says ‘I will,’ and kisses the horn +in obedience to the command of the</i> CLERK<i>, who exclaims in a loud +and solemn tone, ‘Kiss the horn, sir!’<br> +<br> +</i>And while you thus solemnly swear to be kind,<br> +And shield and protect from disaster,<br> +This part of your oath you must bear it in mind,<br> +That you, and not she, is the master.<br> +<br> +<i>Clerk</i>. ‘<i>Kiss the horn, sir</i>!’<br> +<br> +You shall pledge no man first when a woman is near,<br> +For neither ’tis proper nor right, sir;<br> +Nor, unless you prefer it, drink small for strong beer,<br> +Nor eat brown bread when you can get white, sir.<br> +<br> +<i>Clerk</i>. ‘<i>Kiss the horn, sir</i>!’<br> +<br> +You shall never drink brandy when wine you can get,<br> +Say when good port or sherry is handy;<br> +Unless that your taste on spirit is set,<br> +In which case - you <i>may</i>, sir, drink brandy!<br> +<br> +<i>Clerk</i>. ‘<i>Kiss the horn, sir</i>!’<br> +<br> +To kiss with the maid when the mistress is kind,<br> +Remember that you must be loth, sir;<br> +But if the maid’s fairest, your oath doesn’t bind, -<br> +Or you may, if you like it, kiss both, sir!<br> +<br> +<i>Clerk</i>. ‘<i>Kiss the horn, sir</i>!’<br> +<br> +Should you ever return, take this oath here again,<br> +Like a man of good sense, leal and true, sir;<br> +And be sure to bring with you some more merry men,<br> +That they on the horn may swear too, sir.<br> +<br> +<i>Landlord</i>. Now, sir, if you please, sign your name in that +book, and if you can’t write, make your mark, and the clerk of +the court will attest it.<br> +<br> +<i>Here one of the above requests is complied with.<br> +<br> +Landlord</i>. You will please pay half-a-crown for court fees, +and what you please to the clerk.<br> +<br> +<i>This necessary ceremony being gone through, the important business +terminates by the</i> LANDLORD<i> saying, ‘God bless the King +[or Queen] and the lord of the manor;’ to which the</i> CLERK<i> +responds, ‘Amen, amen!’<br> +<br> +N.B. The court fees are always returned in wines, spirits, or +porter, of which the Landlord and Clerk are invited to partake.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +</i>Ballad: FAIRLOP FAIR SONG.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The following song is sung at Fairlop fair, one of the gayest of the +numerous saturnalia kept by the good citizens of London. The venerable +oak has disappeared; but the song is nevertheless song, and the curious +custom of riding through the fair, seated in boats, still continues +to be observed.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Come, come, my boys, with a hearty glee,<br> +To Fairlop fair, bear chorus with me;<br> +At Hainault forest is known very well,<br> +This famous oak has long bore the bell.<br> +<br> +<i>Cho</i>. Let music sound as the boat goes round,<br> +If we tumble on the ground, we’ll be merry, I’ll be bound;<br> +We will booze it away, dull care we will defy,<br> +And be happy on the first Friday in July.<br> +<br> +At Tainhall forest, Queen Anne she did ride,<br> +And beheld the beautiful oak by her side,<br> +And after viewing it from bottom to top,<br> +She said that her court should be at Fairlop.<br> +<br> +It is eight fathom round, spreads an acre of ground,<br> +They plastered it round to keep the tree sound.<br> +So we’ll booze it away, dull care we’ll defy,<br> +And be happy on the first Friday in July.<br> +<br> +About a century ago, as I have heard say,<br> +This fair it was kept by one Daniel Day,<br> +A hearty good fellow as ever could be,<br> +His coffin was made of a limb of the tree.<br> +<br> +With black-strap and perry he made his friends merry,<br> +All sorrow for to drown with brandy and sherry.<br> +So we’ll booze it away, dull care we’ll defy,<br> +And be happy on the first Friday in July.<br> +<br> +At Tainhall forest there stands a tree,<br> +And it has performed a wonderful bounty,<br> +It is surrounded by woods and plains,<br> +The merry little warblers chant their strains.<br> +<br> +So we’ll dance round the tree, and merry we will be,<br> +Every year we’ll agree the fair for to see;<br> +And we’ll booze it away, dull care we’ll defy,<br> +And be happy on the first Friday in July.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: AS TOM WAS A-WALKING. AN ANCIENT CORNISH SONG.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This song, said to be translated from the Cornish, ‘was taken +down,’ says Mr. Sandys, ‘from the recital of a modern Corypheus, +or leader of a parish choir,’ who assigned to it a very remote, +but indefinite, antiquity.]<br> +<br> +<br> +As Tom was a-walking one fine summer’s morn,<br> +When the dazies and goldcups the fields did adorn;<br> +He met Cozen Mal, with a tub on her head,<br> +Says Tom, ‘Cozen Mal, you might speak if you we’d.’<br> +<br> +But Mal stamped along, and appeared to be shy,<br> +And Tom singed out, ‘Zounds! I’ll knaw of thee why?’<br> +So back he tore a’ter, in a terrible fuss,<br> +And axed cozen Mal, ‘What’s the reason of thus?’<br> +<br> +‘Tom Treloar,’ cried out Mal, ‘I’ll nothing +do wi’ ’ee,<br> +Go to Fanny Trembaa, she do knaw how I’m shy;<br> +Tom, this here t’other daa, down the hill thee didst stap,<br> +And dab’d a great doat fig <a name="citation48"></a><a href="#footnote48">{48}</a> +in Fan Trembaa’s lap.’<br> +<br> +‘As for Fanny Trembaa, I ne’er taalked wi’ her twice,<br> +And gived her a doat fig, they are so very nice;<br> +So I’ll tell thee, I went to the fear t’other day,<br> +And the doat figs I boft, why I saved them away.’<br> +<br> +Says Mal, ‘Tom Treloar, ef that be the caase,<br> +May the Lord bless for ever that sweet pretty faace;<br> +Ef thee’st give me thy doat figs thee’st boft in the fear,<br> +I’ll swear to thee now, thee shu’st marry me here.’<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE MILLER AND HIS SONS.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[A miller, especially if he happen to be the owner of a soke-mill, has +always been deemed fair game for the village satirist. Of the +numerous songs written in ridicule of the calling of the ‘rogues +in grain,’ the following is one of the best and most popular: +its quaint humour will recommend it to our readers. For the tune, +see <i>Popular Music</i>.]<br> +<br> +<br> +There was a crafty miller, and he<br> +Had lusty sons, one, two, and three:<br> +He called them all, and asked their will,<br> +If that to them he left his mill.<br> +<br> +He called first to his eldest son,<br> +Saying, ‘My life is almost run;<br> +If I to you this mill do make,<br> +What toll do you intend to take?’<br> +<br> +‘Father,’ said he, ‘my name is Jack;<br> +Out of a bushel I’ll take a peck,<br> +From every bushel that I grind,<br> +That I may a good living find.’<br> +<br> +‘Thou art a fool!’ the old man said,<br> +‘Thou hast not well learned thy trade;<br> +This mill to thee I ne’er will give,<br> +For by such toll no man can live.’<br> +<br> +He called for his middlemost son,<br> +Saying, ‘My life is almost run;<br> +If I to you this mill do make,<br> +What toll do you intend to take?’<br> +<br> +‘Father,’ says he, ‘my name is Ralph;<br> +Out of a bushel I’ll take a half,<br> +From every bushel that I grind,<br> +That I may a good living find.’<br> +<br> +‘Thou art a fool!’ the old man said,<br> +‘Thou hast not well learned thy trade;<br> +This mill to thee I ne’er will give,<br> +For by such toll no man can live.’<br> +<br> +He called for his youngest son,<br> +Saying, ‘My life is almost run;<br> +If I to you this mill do make,<br> +What toll do you intend to take?’<br> +<br> +‘Father,’ said he, ‘I’m your only boy,<br> +For taking toll is all my joy!<br> +Before I will a good living lack,<br> +I’ll take it all, and forswear the sack!’<br> +<br> +‘Thou art my boy!’ the old man said,<br> +‘For thou hast right well learned thy trade;<br> +This mill to thee I give,’ he cried, -<br> +And then he turned up his toes and died.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: JACK AND TOM. AN OULD BORDER DITTIE. (TRADITIONAL.)<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The following song was taken down from recitation in 1847. Of +its history nothing is known; but we are strongly inclined to believe +that it may be assigned to the early part of the seventeenth century, +and that it relates to the visit of Prince Charles and Buckingham, under +the assumed names of Jack and Tom, to Spain, in 1623. Some curious +references to the adventures of the Prince and his companion, on their +masquerading tour, will be found in Halliwell’s <i>Letters of +the Kings of England</i>, vol. ii.]<br> +<br> +I’m a north countrie-man, in Redesdale born,<br> +Where our land lies lea, and grows ne corn, -<br> +And such two lads to my house never com,<br> +As them two lads called Jack and Tom!<br> +<br> +Now, Jack and Tom, they’re going to the sea;<br> +I wish them both in good companie!<br> +They’re going to seek their fortunes ayont the wide sea,<br> +Far, far away frae their oan countrie!<br> +<br> +They mounted their horses, and rode over the moor,<br> +Till they came to a house, when they rapped at the door;<br> +And out came Jockey, the hostler-man.<br> +‘D’ye brew ony ale? D’ye sell ony beer?<br> +Or have ye ony lodgings for strangers here?’<br> +<br> +‘Ne, we brew ne ale, nor we sell ne beer,<br> +Nor we have ne lodgings for strangers here.’<br> +So he bolted the door, and bade them begone,<br> +For there was ne lodgings there for poor Jack and Tom.<br> +<br> +They mounted their horses, and rode over the plain; -<br> +Dark was the night, and down fell the rain;<br> +Till a twinkling light they happened to spy,<br> +And a castle and a house they were close by.<br> +<br> +They rode up to the house, and they rapped at the door,<br> +And out came Jockey, the hosteler.<br> +‘D’ye brew ony ale? D’ye sell ony beer?<br> +Or have ye ony lodgings for strangers here?’<br> +<br> +‘Yes, we have brewed ale this fifty lang year,<br> +And we have got lodgings for strangers here.’<br> +So the roast to the fire, and the pot hung on,<br> +’Twas all to accommodate poor Jack and Tom.<br> +<br> +When supper was over, and all was <i>sided down,<br> +</i>The glasses of wine did go merrily roun’.<br> +‘Here is to thee, Jack, and here is to thee,<br> +And all the bonny lasses in our countrie!’<br> +‘Here is to thee, Tom, and here is to thee,<br> +And look they may <i>leuk</i> for thee and me!’<br> +<br> +’Twas early next morning, before the break of day,<br> +They mounted their horses, and so they rode away.<br> +Poor Jack, he died upon a far foreign shore,<br> +And Tom, he was never, never heard of more!<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: JOAN’S ALE WAS NEW.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[Ours is the common version of this popular song; it varies considerably +from the one given by D’Urfey, in the <i>Pills to purge</i> <i>Melancholy</i>. +From the names of Nolly and Joan and the allusion to ale, we are inclined +to consider the song as a lampoon levelled at Cromwell, and his wife, +whom the Royalist party nick-named ‘Joan.’ The Protector’s +acquaintances (depicted as low and vulgar tradesmen) are here humorously +represented paying him a congratulatory visit on his change of fortune, +and regaling themselves with the ‘Brewer’s’ ale. +The song is mentioned in Thackeray’s Catalogue, under the title +of <i>Joan’s Ale’s New</i>; which may be regarded as circumstantial +evidence in favour of our hypothesis. The air is published in +<i>Popular Music</i>, accompanying three stanzas of a version copied +from the Douce collection. The first verse in Mr. Chappell’s +book runs as follows:-<br> +<br> +<br> +There was a jovial tinker,<br> +Who was a good ale drinker,<br> +He never was a shrinker,<br> +Believe me this is true;<br> +And he came from the Weald of Kent,<br> +When all his money was gone and spent,<br> +Which made him look like a Jack a-lent.<br> +And Joan’s ale is new, my boys,<br> +And Joan’s ale is new.]<br> +<br> +<br> +There were six jovial tradesmen,<br> +And they all sat down to drinking,<br> +For they were a jovial crew;<br> +They sat themselves down to be merry;<br> +And they called for a bottle of sherry,<br> +You’re welcome as the hills, says Nolly,<br> +While Joan’s ale is new, brave boys,<br> +While Joan’s ale is new.<br> +<br> +The first that came in was a soldier,<br> +With his firelock over his shoulder,<br> +Sure no one could be bolder,<br> +And a long broad-sword he drew:<br> +He swore he would fight for England’s ground,<br> +Before the nation should be run down;<br> +He boldly drank their healths all round,<br> +While Joan’s ale was new.<br> +<br> +The next that came in was a hatter,<br> +Sure no one could be blacker,<br> +And he began to chatter,<br> +Among the jovial crew:<br> +He threw his hat upon the ground,<br> +And swore every man should spend his pound,<br> +And boldly drank their hearths all round,<br> +While Joan’s ale was new.<br> +<br> +The next that came in was a dyer,<br> +And he sat himself down by the fire,<br> +For it was his heart’s desire<br> +To drink with the jovial crew:<br> +He told the landlord to his face,<br> +The chimney-corner should be his place,<br> +And there he’d sit and dye his face,<br> +While Joan’s ale was new.<br> +<br> +The next that came in was a tinker,<br> +And he was no small beer drinker,<br> +And he was no strong ale shrinker,<br> +Among the jovial crew:<br> +For his brass nails were made of metal,<br> +And he swore he’d go and mend a kettle,<br> +Good heart, how his hammer and nails did rattle,<br> +When Joan’s ale was new!<br> +<br> +The next that came in was a tailor,<br> +With his bodkin, shears, and thimble,<br> +He swore he would be nimble<br> +Among the jovial crew:<br> +They sat and they called for ale so stout,<br> +Till the poor tailor was almost broke,<br> +And was forced to go and pawn his coat,<br> +While Joan’s ale was new.<br> +<br> +The next that came in was a ragman,<br> +With his rag-bag over his shoulder,<br> +Sure no one could be bolder<br> +Among the jovial crew.<br> +They sat and called for pots and glasses,<br> +Till they were all drunk as asses,<br> +And burnt the old ragman’s bag to ashes,<br> +While Joan’s ale was new.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: GEORGE RIDLER’S OVEN.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This ancient Gloucestershire song has been sung at the annual dinners +of the Gloucestershire Society, from the earliest period of the existence +of that institution; and in 1776 there was an Harmonic Society at Cirencester, +which always opened its meetings with <i>George Ridler’s Oven</i> +in full chorus.<br> +<br> +The substance of the following key to this very curious song is furnished +by Mr. H. Gingell, who extracts it from the <i>Annual Report of the +Gloucestershire Society</i> for 1835. The annual meeting of this +Society is held at Bristol in the month of August, when the members +dine, and a branch meeting, which was formerly held at the Crown and +Anchor in the Strand, is now annually held at the Thatched House Tavern, +St. James’s. <i>George Ridler’s Oven</i> is sung at +both meetings, and the late Duke of Beaufort used to lead off the glee +in capital style. The words have a secret meaning, well known +to the members of the Gloucestershire Society, which was founded in +1657, three years before the Restoration of Charles II. The Society +consisted of Royalists, who combined together for the purpose of restoring +the Stuarts. The Cavalier party was supported by all the old Roman +Catholic families of the kingdom; and some of the Dissenters, who were +disgusted with Cromwell, occasionally lent them a kind of passive aid.<br> +<br> +<i>First Verse</i>. - By ‘George Ridler’ is meant King Charles +I. The ‘oven’ was the Cavalier party. The ‘stwons’ +that ‘built the oven,’ and that ‘came out of the Bleakney +quaar,’ were the immediate followers of the Marquis of Worcester, +who held out long and steadfastly for the Royal cause at Raglan Castle, +which was not surrendered till 1646, and was in fact the last stronghold +retained for the King. ‘His head did grow above his hair,’ +is an allusion to the crown, the head of the State, which the King wore +‘above his hair.’<br> +<br> +<i>Second Verse</i>. - This means that the King, ‘before he died,’ +boasted that notwithstanding his present adversity, the ancient constitution +of the kingdom was so good, and its vitality so great, that it would +surpass and outlive every other form of government.<br> +<br> +<i>Third Verse</i>. - ‘Dick the treble, Jack the mean, and George +the bass,’ mean King, Lords, and Commons. The injunction +to ‘let every man sing in his own place,’ is a warning to +each of the three estates of the realm to preserve its proper position, +and not to encroach on each other’s prerogative.<br> +<br> +<i>Fourth Verse</i>. - ‘Mine hostess’s maid’ is an +allusion to the Queen, who was a Roman Catholic, and her maid, the Church. +The singer we must suppose was one of the leaders of the party, and +his ‘dog’ a companion, or faithful official of the Society, +and the song was sung on occasions when the members met together socially; +and thus, as the Roman Catholics were Royalists, the allusion to the +mutual attachment between the ‘maid’ and ‘my dog and +I,’ is plain and consistent.<br> +<br> +<i>Fifth Verse</i>. - The ‘dog’ had a ‘trick of visiting +maids when they were sick.’ The meaning is, that when any +of the members were in distress or desponding, or likely to give up +the Royal cause in despair, the officials, or active members visited, +counselled, and assisted them.<br> +<br> +<i>Sixth Verse</i>. - The ‘dog’ was ‘good to catch +a hen,’ a ‘duck,’ or a ‘goose.’ - That +is, to enlist as members of the Society any who were well affected to +the Royal cause.<br> +<br> +<i>Seventh Verse</i>. - ‘The good ale tap’ is an allusion, +under cover of the similarity in sound between the words ale and aisle, +to the Church, of which it was dangerous at the time to be an avowed +follower; and so the members were cautioned that indiscretion might +lead to their discovery and ‘overthrow.’<br> +<br> +<i>Eighth Verse</i>. - The allusion here is to those unfaithful supporters +of the Royal cause, who ‘welcomed’ the members of the Society +when it appeared to be prospering, but ‘parted’ from them +in adversity.<br> +<br> +<i>Ninth Verse</i>. - An expression of the singer’s wish that +if he should die he may be buried with his faithful companion, as representing +the principles of the Society, under the good aisles of the church.<br> +<br> +The following text has been collated with a version published in <i>Notes +and Queries</i>, from the ‘fragments of a MS. found in the speech-house +of Dean.’ The tune is the same as that of the <i>Wassailers’ +Song</i>, and is printed in <i>Popular Music</i>. Other ditties +appear to have been founded on this ancient piece. The fourth, +seventh, and ninth verses are in the old ditty called <i>My Dog and +I</i>: and the eighth verse appears in another old song. The air +and words bear some resemblance to <i>Todlen Hame</i>.]<br> +<br> +<br> +The stwons that built George Ridler’s oven,<br> +And thauy keam vrom the Bleakney quaar,<br> +And George he wur a jolly old mon,<br> +And his yead it grow’d above his yare.<br> +<br> +One thing of George Ridler I must commend,<br> +And that wur vor a notable thing;<br> +He mead his brags avoore he died,<br> +Wi’ any dree brooders his zons zshould zing.<br> +<br> +There’s Dick the treble, and John the meean,<br> +(Let every mon zing in his auwn pleace,)<br> +And George he wur the elder brother,<br> +And therevoor he would zing the beass.<br> +<br> +Mine hostess’s moid, (and her neaum ‘twour Nell,)<br> +A pretty wench, and I lov’d her well;<br> +I lov’d her well, good reauzon why,<br> +Because zshe loved my dog and I.<br> +<br> +My dog is good to catch a hen;<br> +A dug or goose is vood for men;<br> +And where good company I spy<i>,<br> +</i>O thether gwoes my dog and I.<br> +<br> +My mwother told I, when I wur young,<br> +If I did vollow the strong-beer pwoot,<br> +That drenk would prov my awverdrow,<br> +And meauk me wear a threadbare cwoat.<br> +<br> +My dog has gotten zitch a trick,<br> +To visit moids when thauy be zick;<br> +When thauy be zick and like to die,<br> +O thether gwoes my dog and I.<br> +<br> +When I have dree zixpences under my thumb,<br> +O then I be welcome wherever I come;<br> +But when I have none, O, then I pass by, -<br> +’Tis poverty pearts good companie.<br> +<br> +If I should die, as it may hap,<br> +My greauve shall be under the good yeal tap;<br> +In voulded yarms there wool us lie,<br> +Cheek by jowl, my dog and I.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE CARRION CROW.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This still popular song is quoted by Grose in his <i>Olio</i>, where +it is made the subject of a burlesque commentary, the covert political +allusions having evidently escaped the penetration of the antiquary. +The reader familiar with the annals of the Commonwealth and the Restoration, +will readily detect the leading points of the allegory. The ‘Carrion +Crow’ in the oak is Charles II., who is represented as that bird +of voracious appetite, because he deprived the puritan clergy of their +livings; perhaps, also, because he ordered the bodies of the regicides +to be exhumed - as Ainsworth says in one of his ballads:-<br> +<br> +The carrion crow is a sexton bold,<br> +He raketh the dead from out of the mould.<br> +<br> +The religion of the ‘old sow,’ whoever she may be, is clearly +pointed out by her little pigs praying for her soul. The ‘tailor’ +is not easily identified. It is possibly intended for some puritan +divine of the name of Taylor, who wrote and preached against both prelacy +and papacy, but with an especial hatred of the latter. In the +last verse he consoles himself by the reflection that, notwithstanding +the deprivations, his party will have enough remaining from the voluntary +contributions of their adherents. The ‘cloak’ which +the tailor is engaged in cutting out, is the Genevan gown, or cloak; +the ‘spoon’ in which he desires his wife to bring treacle, +is apparently an allusion to the ‘spatula’ upon which the +wafer is placed in the administration of the Eucharist; and the introduction +of ‘chitterlings and black-puddings’ into the last verse +seems to refer to a passage in Rabelais, where the same dainties are +brought in to personify those who, in the matter of fasting, are opposed +to Romish practices. The song is found in collections of the time +of Charles II.]<br> +<br> +<br> +The carrion crow he sat upon an oak,<br> +And he spied an old tailor a cutting out a cloak.<br> +Heigho! the carrion crow.<br> +<br> +The carrion crow he began for to rave,<br> +And he called the tailor a lousy knave!<br> +Heigho! the carrion crow.<br> +<br> +‘Wife, go fetch me my arrow and my bow,<br> +I’ll have a shot at that carrion crow.’<br> +Heigho! the carrion crow.<br> +<br> +The tailor he shot, and he missed his mark,<br> +But he shot the old sow through the heart.<br> +Heigho! the carrion crow.<br> +<br> +‘Wife, go fetch me some treacle in a spoon,<br> +For the old sow’s in a terrible swoon!’<br> +Heigho! the carrion crow.<br> +<br> +The old sow died, and the bells they did toll,<br> +And the little pigs prayed for the old sow’s soul!<br> +Heigho! the carrion crow.<br> +<br> +‘Never mind,’ said the tailor, ‘I don’t care +a flea,<br> +There’ll be still black-puddings, souse, and chitterlings for +me.’<br> +Heigho! the carrion crow.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE LEATHERN BOTTEL. SOMERSETSHIRE VERSION.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[In Chappell’s <i>Popular Music</i> is a much longer version of +<i>The</i> <i>Leathern Bottèl</i>. The following copy is +the one sung at the present time by the country-people in the county +of Somerset. It has been communicated to our pages by Mr. Sandys.]<br> +<br> +<br> +God above, who rules all things,<br> +Monks and abbots, and beggars and kings,<br> +The ships that in the sea do swim,<br> +The earth, and all that is therein;<br> +Not forgetting the old cow’s hide,<br> +And everything else in the world beside:<br> +And I wish his soul in heaven may dwell,<br> +Who first invented this leathern bottèl!<br> +<br> +Oh! what do you say to the glasses fine?<br> +Oh! they shall have no praise of mine;<br> +Suppose a gentleman sends his man<br> +To fill them with liquor, as fast as he can,<br> +The man he falls, in coming away,<br> +And sheds the liquor so fine and gay;<br> +But had it been in the leathern bottèl,<br> +And the stopper been in, ‘twould all have been well!<br> +<br> +Oh! what do you say to the tankard fine?<br> +Oh! it shall have no praise of mine;<br> +Suppose a man and his wife fall out, -<br> +And such things happen sometimes, no doubt, -<br> +They pull and they haul; in the midst of the fray<br> +They shed the liquor so fine and gay;<br> +But had it been in the leathern bottèl,<br> +And the stopper been in, ’twould all have been well!<br> +<br> +Now, when this bottèl it is worn out,<br> +Out of its sides you may cut a clout;<br> +This you may hang upon a pin, -<br> +’Twill serve to put odd trifles in;<br> +Ink and soap, and candle-ends,<br> +For young beginners have need of such friends.<br> +And I wish his soul in heaven may dwell,<br> +Who first invented the leathern bottèl!<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE FARMER’S OLD WIFE. A SUSSEX WHISTLING SONG.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This is a countryman’s whistling song, and the only one of the +kind which we remember to have heard. It is very ancient, and +a great favourite. The farmer’s wife has an adventure somewhat +resembling the hero’s in the burlesque version of <i>Don Giovanni</i>. +The tune is <i>Lilli burlero</i>, and the song is sung as follows:- +the first line of each verse is given as a solo; then the tune is continued +by a chorus of whistlers, who whistle that portion of the air which +in <i>Lilli burlero</i> would be sung to the words, <i>Lilli burlero +bullen a la</i>. The songster then proceeds with the tune, and +sings the whole of the verse through, after which the strain is resumed +and concluded by the whistlers. The effect, when accompanied by +the strong whistles of a group of lusty countrymen, is very striking, +and cannot be adequately conveyed by description. This song constitutes +the ‘traditionary verses’ upon which Burns founded his <i>Carle +of Killyburn Braes</i>.]<br> +<br> +<br> +There was an old farmer in Sussex did dwell,<br> +<br> +[<i>Chorus of whistlers</i>.]<br> +<br> +There was an old farmer in Sussex did dwell,<br> +And he had a bad wife, as many knew well.<br> +<br> +[<i>Chorus of whistlers</i>.]<br> +<br> +Then Satan came to the old man at the plough, -<br> +‘One of your family I must have now.<br> +<br> +‘It is not your eldest son that I crave,<br> +But it is your old wife, and she I will have.’<br> +<br> +‘O, welcome! good Satan, with all my heart,<br> +I hope you and she will never more part.’<br> +<br> +Now Satan has got the old wife on his back,<br> +And he lugged her along, like a pedlar’s pack.<br> +<br> +He trudged away till they came to his hall-gate,<br> +Says he, ‘Here! take in an old Sussex chap’s mate!’<br> +<br> +O! then she did kick the young imps about, -<br> +Says one to the other, ‘Let’s try turn her out.’<br> +<br> +She spied thirteen imps all dancing in chains,<br> +She up with her pattens, and beat out their brains.<br> +<br> +She knocked the old Satan against the wall, -<br> +‘Let’s try turn her out, or she’ll murder us all!’<br> +<br> +Now he’s bundled her up on his back amain,<br> +And to her old husband he took her again.<br> +<br> +‘I have been a tormenter the whole of my life,<br> +But I ne’er was tormenter till I met with your wife.’<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: OLD WICHET AND HIS WIFE.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This song still retains its popularity in the North of England, and, +when sung with humour, never fails to elicit roars of laughter. +A Scotch version may be found in Herd’s Collection, 1769, and +also in Cunningham’s <i>Songs of England and Scotland</i>, London, +1835. We cannot venture to give an opinion as to which is the +original; but the English set is of unquestionable antiquity. +Our copy was obtained from Yorkshire. It has been collated with +one printed at the Aldermary press, and preserved in the third volume +of the Roxburgh Collection. The tune is peculiar to the song.]<br> +<br> +<br> +O! I went into the stable, and there for to see, <a name="citation49"></a><a href="#footnote49">{49}</a><br> +And there I saw three horses stand, by one, by two, and by three;<br> +O! I called to my loving wife, and ‘Anon, kind sir!’ quoth +she;<br> +‘O! what do these three horses here, without the leave of me?’<br> +<br> +‘Why, you old fool! blind fool! can’t you very well see,<br> +These are three milking cows my mother sent to me?’<br> +‘Ods bobs! well done! milking cows with saddles on!<br> +The like was never known!’<br> +Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home!<br> +<br> +O! I went into the kitchen, and there for to see,<br> +And there I saw three swords hang, by one, by two, quoth she;<br> +O! I called to my loving wife, and ‘Anon, kind sir!’<br> +‘O! what do these three swords do here, without the leave of me?’<br> +<br> +‘Why, you old fool! blind fool! can’t you very well see,<br> +These are three roasting spits my mother sent to me?’<br> +‘Ods bobs! well done! roasting spits with scabbards on!<br> +The like was never known!’<br> +Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home!<br> +<br> +O! I went into the parlour, and there for to see,<br> +And there I saw three cloaks hang, by one, by two, and by three;<br> +O! I called to my loving wife, and ‘Anon, kind sir!’ quoth +she;<br> +‘O! what do these three cloaks do here, without the leave of me?’<br> +<br> +‘Why, you old fool! blind fool! can’t you very well see,<br> +These are three mantuas my mother sent to me?’<br> +‘Ods bobs! well done! mantuas with capes on!<br> +The like was never known!’<br> +Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home!<br> +<br> +O! I went into the pantry, and there for to see,<br> +And there I saw three pair of boots, <a name="citation50"></a><a href="#footnote50">{50}</a> +by one, by two, and by three;<br> +O! I called to my loving wife, and ‘Anon, kind sir!’ quoth +she;<br> +‘O! what do these three pair of boots here, without the leave +of me?’<br> +<br> +‘Why, you old fool! blind fool! can’t you very well see,<br> +These are three pudding-bags my mother sent to me?’<br> +‘Ods bobs! well done! pudding-bags with spurs on!<br> +The like was never known!’<br> +Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home!<br> +<br> +O! I went into the dairy, and there for to see,<br> +And there I saw three hats hang, by one, by two, and by three;<br> +O! I called to my loving wife, and ‘Anon, kind sir!’ quoth +she;<br> +‘Pray what do these three hats here, without the leave of me?’<br> +<br> +‘Why, you old fool! blind fool! can’t you very well see,<br> +These are three skimming-dishes my mother sent to me?’<br> +‘Ods bobs! well done! skimming-dishes with hat-bands on!<br> +The like was never known!’<br> +Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home!<br> +<br> +O! I went into the chamber, and there for to see,<br> +And there I saw three men in bed, by one, by two, and by three;<br> +O! I called to my loving wife, and ‘Anon, kind sir!’ quoth +she;<br> +‘O! what do these three men here, without the leave of me?’<br> +<br> +‘Why, you old fool! blind fool! can’t you very well see,<br> +They are three milking-maids my mother sent to me?’<br> +‘Ods bobs! well done! milking-maids with beards on!<br> +The like was never known!’<br> +Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came home!<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE JOLLY WAGGONER.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This country song can be traced back a century at least, but is, no +doubt, much older. It is very popular in the West of England. +The words are spirited and characteristic. We may, perhaps, refer +the song to the days of transition, when the waggon displaced the packhorse.]<br> +<br> +<br> +When first I went a-waggoning, a-waggoning did go,<br> +I filled my parents’ hearts full of sorrow, grief, and woe. <a name="citation51"></a><a href="#footnote51">{51}</a><br> +And many are the hardships that I have since gone through.<br> +And sing wo, my lads, sing wo!<br> +Drive on my lads, I-ho! <a name="citation52"></a><a href="#footnote52">{52}</a><br> +And who wouldn’t lead the life of a jolly waggoner?<br> +<br> +It is a cold and stormy night, and I’m wet to the skin,<br> +I will bear it with contentment till I get unto the inn.<br> +And then I’ll get a drinking with the landlord and his kin.<br> +And sing, &c.<br> +<br> +Now summer it is coming, - what pleasure we shall see;<br> +The small birds are a-singing on every green tree,<br> +The blackbirds and the thrushes are a-whistling merrilie.<br> +And sing, &c.<br> +<br> +Now Michaelmas is coming, - what pleasure we shall find;<br> +It will make the gold to fly, my boys, like chaff before the wind;<br> +And every lad shall take his lass, so loving and so kind.<br> +And sing, &c.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE YORKSHIRE HORSE-DEALER.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This ludicrous and genuine Yorkshire song, the production of some unknown +country minstrel, obtained considerable popularity a few years ago from +the admirable singing of Emery. The incidents actually occurred +at the close of the last century, and some of the descendants of ‘Tommy +Towers’ were resident at Clapham till within a very recent period, +and used to take great delight in relating the laughable adventure of +their progenitor. Abey Muggins is understood to be a <i>sobriquet</i> +for a then Clapham innkeeper. The village of Clapham is in the +west of Yorkshire, on the high road between Skipton and Kendal.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Bane <a name="citation53"></a><a href="#footnote53">{53}</a> ta Claapam +town-gate <a name="citation54"></a><a href="#footnote54">{54}</a> lived +an ond Yorkshire tike,<br> +Who i’ dealing i’ horseflesh hed ne’er met his like;<br> +’Twor his pride that i’ aw the hard bargains he’d +hit,<br> +He’d bit a girt monny, but nivver bin bit.<br> +<br> +This ond Tommy Towers (bi that naam he wor knaan),<br> +Hed an oud carrion tit that wor sheer skin an’ baan;<br> +Ta hev killed him for t’ curs wad hev bin quite as well,<br> +But ’twor Tommy opinion <a name="citation55"></a><a href="#footnote55">{55}</a> +he’d dee on himsel!<br> +<br> +Well! yan Abey Muggins, a neighborin cheat,<br> +Thowt ta diddle ond Tommy wad be a girt treat;<br> +Hee’d a horse, too, ’twor war than ond Tommy’s, ye +see,<br> +Fort’ neet afore that hee’d thowt proper ta dee!<br> +<br> +Thinks Abey, t’ oud codger ‘ll nivver smoak t’ trick,<br> +I’ll swop wi’ him my poor deead horse for his wick, <a name="citation56"></a><a href="#footnote56">{56}</a><br> +An’ if Tommy I nobbut <a name="citation57"></a><a href="#footnote57">{57}</a> +can happen ta trap,<br> +’Twill be a fine feather i’ Aberram cap!<br> +<br> +Soa to Tommy he goas, an’ the question he pops:<br> +‘Betwin thy horse and mine, prithee, Tommy, what swops?<br> +What wilt gi’ me ta boot? for mine’s t’better horse +still!’<br> +‘Nout,’ says Tommy, ‘I’ll swop ivven hands, +an’ ye will.’<br> +<br> +Abey preaached a lang time about summat ta boot,<br> +Insistin’ that his war the liveliest brute;<br> +But Tommy stuck fast where he first had begun,<br> +Till Abey shook hands, and sed, ‘Well, Tommy, done!<br> +<br> +‘O! Tommy,’ sed Abey, ‘I’ze sorry for thee,<br> +I thowt thou’d a hadden mair white i’ thy ’ee;<br> +Good luck’s wi’ thy bargin, for my horse is deead.’<br> +‘Hey!’ says Tommy, ‘my lad, soa is min, an it’s +fleead?’<br> +<br> +Soa Tommy got t’ better of t’ bargin, a vast,<br> +An’ cam off wi’ a Yorkshireman’s triumph at last;<br> +For thof ’twixt deead horses there’s not mitch to choose,<br> +Yet Tommy war richer by t’ hide an’ fower shooes.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE KING AND THE COUNTRYMAN.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This popular favourite is a mere abridgment and alteration of a poem +preserved in the Roxburgh Collection, called <i>The King and Northern +Man, shewing how a poor Northumberland man (tenant to the King) being +wronged by a lawyer (his neighbour) went to the King himself to make +known his grievance. To the tune of Slut</i>. Printed by +and for Alex. Melbourne, at the Stationer’s Arms in Green Arbour +Court, in the Little Old Baily. The Percy Society printed <i>The +King and Northern Man</i> from an edition published in 1640. There +is also a copy preserved in the Bagford Collection, which is one of +the imprints of W. Onley. The edition of 1640 has the initials +of Martin Parker at the end, but, as Mr. Collier observes, ‘There +is little doubt that the story is much older than 1640.’ +See preface to Percy Society’s Edition.]<br> +<br> +<br> +There was an old chap in the west country,<br> +A flaw in the lease the lawyers had found,<br> +’Twas all about felling of five oak trees,<br> +And building a house upon his own ground.<br> +Right too looral, looral, looral - right too looral la!<br> +<br> +Now, this old chap to Lunnun would go,<br> +To tell the king a part of his woe,<br> +Likewise to tell him a part of his grief,<br> +In hopes the king would give him relief.<br> +<br> +Now, when this old chap to Lunnun had come,<br> +He found the king to Windsor had gone;<br> +But if he’d known he’d not been at home,<br> +He danged his buttons if ever he’d come.<br> +<br> +Now, when this old chap to Windsor did stump,<br> +The gates were barred, and all secure,<br> +But he knocked and thumped with his oaken clump,<br> +There’s room within for I to be sure.<br> +<br> +But when he got there, how he did stare,<br> +To see the yeomen strutting about;<br> +He scratched his head, and rubbed down his hair,<br> +In the ear of a noble he gave a great shout:<br> +<br> +‘Pray, Mr. Noble, show I the King;<br> +Is that the King that I see there?<br> +I seed an old chap at Bartlemy fair<br> +Look more like a king than that chap there.<br> +<br> +‘Well, Mr. King, pray how d’ye do?<br> +I gotten for you a bit of a job,<br> +Which if you’ll be so kind as to do,<br> +I gotten a summat for you in my fob.’<br> +<br> +The king he took the lease in hand,<br> +To sign it, too, he was likewise willing;<br> +And the old chap to make a little amends,<br> +He lugg’d out his bag, and gave him a shilling.<br> +<br> +The king, to carry on the joke,<br> +Ordered ten pounds to be paid down;<br> +The farmer he stared, but nothing spoke,<br> +And stared again, and he scratched his crown.<br> +<br> +The farmer he stared to see so much money,<br> +And to take it up he was likewise willing;<br> +But if he’d a known King had got so much money,<br> +He danged his wig if he’d gien him that shilling!<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: JONE O’ GREENFIELD’S RAMBLE.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The county of Lancaster has always been famed for its admirable <i>patois</i> +songs; but they are in general the productions of modern authors, and +consequently, however popular they may be, are not within the scope +of the present work. In the following humorous production, however, +we have a composition of the last century. It is the oldest and +most popular Lancashire song we have been able to procure; and, unlike +most pieces of its class, it is entirely free from grossness and vulgarity.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Says Jone to his wife, on a hot summer’s day,<br> +‘I’m resolved i’ Grinfilt no lunger to stay;<br> +For I’ll go to Owdham os fast os I can,<br> +So fare thee weel, Grinfilt, un fare thee weel, Nan;<br> +A soger I’ll be, un brave Owdham I’ll see,<br> +Un I’ll ha’e a battle wi’ th’ French.’<br> +<br> +‘Dear Jone,’ then said Nan, un hoo bitterly cried,<br> +Wilt be one o’ th’ foote, or tha meons to ride?’<br> +‘Odsounds! wench, I’ll ride oather ass or a mule,<br> +Ere I’ll kewer i’ Grinfilt os black as te dule,<br> +Booath clemmink <a name="citation58"></a><a href="#footnote58">{58}</a> +un starvink, un never a fardink,<br> +Ecod! it would drive ony mon mad.<br> +<br> +‘Aye, Jone, sin’ wi’ coom i’ Grinfilt for t’ +dwell,<br> +We’n had mony a bare meal, I con vara weel tell.’<br> +‘Bare meal! ecod! aye, that I vara weel know,<br> +There’s bin two days this wick ot we’n had nowt at o:<br> +I’m vara near sided, afore I’ll abide it,<br> +I’ll feight oather Spanish or French.’<br> +<br> +Then says my Aunt Marget, ‘Ah! Jone, thee’rt so hot,<br> +I’d ne’er go to Owdham, boh i’ Englond I’d stop.’<br> +‘It matters nowt, Madge, for to Owdham I’ll go,<br> +I’ll naw clam to deeoth, boh sumbry shalt know:<br> +Furst Frenchman I find, I’ll tell him meh mind,<br> +Un if he’ll naw feight, he shall run.’<br> +<br> +Then down th’ broo I coom, for we livent at top,<br> +I thowt I’d reach Owdharn ere ever I’d stop;<br> +Ecod! heaw they stared when I getten to th’ Mumps,<br> +Meh owd hat i’ my hond, un meh clogs full o’stumps;<br> +Boh I soon towd um, I’r gooink to Owdham,<br> +Un I’d ha’e battle wi’ th’ French.<br> +<br> +I kept eendway thro’ th’ lone, un to Owdham I went,<br> +I ask’d a recruit if te’d made up their keawnt?<br> +‘No, no, honest lad’ (for he tawked like a king),<br> +‘Go wi’ meh thro’ the street, un thee I will bring<br> +Where, if theaw’rt willink, theaw may ha’e a shillink.’<br> +Ecod! I thowt this wur rare news.<br> +<br> +He browt me to th’ pleck where te measurn their height,<br> +Un if they bin height, there’s nowt said about weight;<br> +I retched me, un stretched me, un never did flinch,<br> +Says th’ mon, ‘I believe theaw ’rt meh lad to an inch.’<br> +I thowt this’ll do, I’st ha’e guineas enow,<br> +Ecod! Owdham, brave Owdham for me.<br> +<br> +So fare thee weel, Grinfilt, a soger I’m made,<br> +I’n getten new shoon, un a rare cockade;<br> +I’ll feight for Owd Englond os hard os I con,<br> +Oather French, Dutch, or Spanish, to me it’s o one,<br> +I’ll make ’em to stare like a new-started hare,<br> +Un I’ll tell ’em fro’ Owdham I coom.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THORNEHAGH-MOOR WOODS. A CELEBRATED NOTTINGHAMSHIRE POACHER’S +SONG.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[Nottinghamshire was, in the olden day, famous in song for the achievements +of Robin Hood and his merry men. In our times the reckless daring +of the heroes of the ‘greenwood tree’ has descended to the +poachers of the county, who have also found poets to proclaim and exult +over <i>their</i> lawless exploits; and in <i>Thornehagh-Moor Woods</i> +we have a specimen of one of these rude, but mischievous and exciting +lyrics. The air is beautiful, and of a lively character; and will +be found in <i>Popular Music</i>. There is it prevalent idea that +the song is not the production of an ordinary ballad-writer, but was +written about the middle of the last century by a gentleman of rank +and education, who, detesting the English game-laws, adopted a too successful +mode of inspiring the peasantry with a love of poaching. The song +finds locality in the village of Thornehagh, in the hundred of Newark. +The common, or Moor-fields, was inclosed about 1797, and is now no longer +called by the ancient designation. It contains eight hundred acres. +The manor of Thornehagh is the property of the ancient family of Nevile, +who have a residence on the estate.]<br> +<br> +<br> +In Thornehagh-Moor woods, in Nottinghamshire,<br> +Fol de rol, la re, right fol laddie, dee;<br> +In Robin Hood’s bold Nottinghamshire,<br> +Fol de rol, la re da;<br> +<br> +Three keepers’ houses stood three-square,<br> +And about a mile from each other they were; -<br> +Their orders were to look after the deer.<br> +Fol de rol, la re da.<br> +<br> +I went out with my dogs one night, -<br> +The moon shone clear, and the stars gave light;<br> +Over hedges and ditches, and steyls<br> +With my two dogs close at my heels,<br> +To catch a fine buck in Thornehagh-Moor fields.<br> +<br> +Oh! that night we had bad luck,<br> +One of my very best dogs was stuck;<br> +He came to me both breeding and lame, -<br> +Right sorry was I to see the same, -<br> +He was not able to follow the game.<br> +<br> +I searched his wounds, and found them slight,<br> +Some keeper has done this out of spite;<br> +But I’ll take my pike-staff, - that’s the plan!<br> +I’ll range the woods till I find the man,<br> +And I’ll tan his hide right well, - if I can!<br> +<br> +I ranged the woods and groves all night,<br> +I ranged the woods till it proved daylight;<br> +The very first thing that then I found,<br> +Was a good fat buck that lay dead on the ground;<br> +I knew my dogs gave him his death-wound.<br> +<br> +I hired a butcher to skin the game,<br> +Likewise another to sell the same;<br> +The very first buck he offered for sale,<br> +Was to an old [hag] that sold bad ale,<br> +And she sent us three poor lads to gaol.<br> +<br> +The quarter sessions we soon espied,<br> +At which we all were for to be tried;<br> +The Chairman laughed the matter to scorn,<br> +He said the old woman was all forsworn,<br> +And unto pieces she ought to be torn.<br> +<br> +The sessions are over, and we are clear!<br> +The sessions are over, and we sit here,<br> +Singing fol de rol, la re da!<br> +The very best game I ever did see,<br> +Is a buck or a deer, but a deer for me!<br> +In Thornehagh-Moor woods this night we’ll be!<br> +Fol de rol, la re da!<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE LINCOLNSHIRE POACHER.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This very old ditty has been transformed into the dialects of Somersetshire, +Northamptonshire, and Leicestershire; but it properly belongs to Lincolnshire. +Nor is this the only liberty that his been taken with it. The +original tune is that of a Lancashire air, well known as <i>The Manchester +Angel</i>; but a florid modern tune has been substituted. <i>The +Lincolnshire Poacher</i> was a favourite ditty with George IV., and +it is said that he often had it sung for his amusement by a band of +Berkshire ploughmen. He also commanded it to be sung at his harvest-homes, +but we believe it was always on such occasions sung to the ‘playhouse +tune,’ and not to the genuine music. It is often very difficult +to trace the locality of countrymen’s songs, in consequence of +the licence adopted by printers of changing the names of places to suit +their own neighbourhoods; but there is no such difficulty about <i>The +Lincolnshire</i> <i>Poacher</i>. The oldest copy we have seen, +printed at York about 1776, reads ‘Lincolnshire,’ and it +is only in very modern copies that the venue is removed to other counties. +In the Somersetshire version the local vernacular is skilfully substituted +for that of the original; but the deception may, nevertheless, be very +easily detected.]<br> +<br> +<br> +When I was bound apprentice, in famous Lincolnsheer,<br> +Full well I served my master for more than seven year,<br> +Till I took up with poaching, as you shall quickly hear:-<br> +Oh! ’tis my delight of a shiny night, in the season of the year.<br> +<br> +As me and my comrades were setting of a snare,<br> +’Twas then we seed the gamekeeper - for him we did not care,<br> +For we can wrestle and fight, my boys, and jump o’er everywhere:-<br> +Oh! ’tis my delight of a shiny night, in the season of the year.<br> +<br> +As me and my comrades were setting four or five,<br> +And taking on him up again, we caught the hare alive;<br> +We caught the hare alive, my boys, and through the woods did steer:-<br> +Oh! ’tis my delight of a shiny night, in the season of the year.<br> +<br> +Bad luck to every magistrate that lives in Lincolnsheer; <a name="citation59"></a><a href="#footnote59">{59}</a><br> +Success to every poacher that wants to sell a hare;<br> +Bad luck to every gamekeeper that will not sell his deer:-<br> +Oh! ’tis my delight of a shiny night, in the season of the year.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: SOMERSETSHIRE HUNTING SONG.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This following song, which is very popular with the peasantry of Somersetshire, +is given as a curious specimen of the dialect still spoken in some parts +of that county. Though the song is a genuine peasant’s ditty, +it is heard in other circles, and frequently roared out at hunting dinners. +It is here reprinted from a copy communicated by Mr. Sandys.]<br> +<br> +<br> +There’s no pleasures can compare<br> +Wi’ the hunting o’ the hare,<br> +In the morning, in the morning,<br> +In fine and pleasant weather.<br> +<br> +<i>Cho</i>. With our hosses and our hounds,<br> +We will scamps it o’er the grounds,<br> +And sing traro, huzza!<br> +And sing traro, huzza!<br> +And sing traro, brave boys, we will foller.<br> +<br> +And when poor puss arise,<br> +Then away from us she flies;<br> +And we’ll gives her, boys, we’ll gives her,<br> +One thundering and loud holler!<br> +<i>Cho</i>. With our hosses, &c.<br> +<br> +And when poor puss is killed,<br> +We’ll retires from the field;<br> +And we’ll count boys, and we’ll count<br> +On the same good ren to-morrer.<br> +<i>Cho</i>. With our bosses and our hounds, &c.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE TROTTING HORSE.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The common copies of this old highwayman’s song are very corrupt. +We are indebted for the following version, which contains several emendations, +to Mr. W. H. Ainsworth. The song, which may probably be referred +to the age of Charles II., is a spirited specimen of its class.]<br> +<br> +<br> +I can sport as fine a trotting horse as any swell in town,<br> +To trot you fourteen miles an hour, I’ll bet you fifty crown;<br> +He is such a one to bend his knees, and tuck his haunches in,<br> +And throw the dust in people’s face, and think it not a sin.<br> +For to ride away, trot away,<br> +Ri, fa lar, la, &c.<br> +<br> +He has an eye like any hawk, a neck like any swan,<br> +A foot light as the stag’s, the while his back is scarce a span;<br> +Kind Nature hath so formed him, he is everything that’s good, +-<br> +Aye! everything a man could wish, in bottom, bone, and blood.<br> +For to ride away, &c.<br> +<br> +If you drop therein, he’ll nod his head, and boldly walk away,<br> +While others kick and bounce about, to him it’s only play;<br> +There never was a finer horse e’er went on English ground,<br> +He is rising six years old, and is all over right and sound.<br> +For to ride away, &c.<br> +<br> +If any frisk or milling match should call me out of town,<br> +I can pass the blades with white cockades, their whiskers hanging down;<br> +With large jack-towels round their necks, they think they’re first +and fast,<br> +But, with their gapers open wide, they find that they are last.<br> +Whilst I ride away, &c.<br> +<br> +If threescore miles I am from home, I darkness never mind,<br> +My friend is gone, and I am left, with pipe and pot behind;<br> +Up comes some saucy kiddy, a scampsman on the hot,<br> +But ere he pulls the trigger I am off just like a shot.<br> +For I ride away, &c.<br> +<br> +If Fortune e’er should fickle be, and wish to have again<br> +That which she so freely gave, I’d give it without pain;<br> +I would part with it most freely, and without the least remorse,<br> +Only grant to me what God hath gave, my mistress and my horse!<br> +That I may ride away, &c.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE SEEDS OF LOVE.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This very curious old song is not only a favourite with our peasantry, +but, in consequence of having been introduced into the modern dramatic +entertainment of <i>The Loan of a Lover</i>, has obtained popularity +in higher circles. Its sweetly plaintive tune will be found in +<i>Popular Music</i>. The words are quaint, but by no means wanting +in beauty; they are, no doubt, corrupted, as we have derived them from +common broadsides, the only form in which we have been able to meet +with them. The author of the song was Mrs. Fleetwood Habergham, +of Habergham, in the county of Lancaster. ‘Ruined by the +extravagance, and disgraced by the vices of her husband, she soothed +her sorrows,’ says Dr. Whitaker, ‘by some stanzas yet remembered +among the old people of her neighbourhood.’ - <i>History of Whalley</i>. +Mrs. Habergham died in 1703, and was buried at Padiham.]<br> +<br> +<br> +I sowed the seeds of love, it was all in the spring,<br> +In April, May, and June, likewise, when small birds they do sing;<br> +My garden’s well planted with flowers everywhere,<br> +Yet I had not the liberty to choose for myself the flower that I loved +so dear.<br> +<br> +My gardener he stood by, I asked him to choose for me,<br> +He chose me the violet, the lily and pink, but those I refused all three;<br> +The violet I forsook, because it fades so soon,<br> +The lily and the pink I did o’erlook, and I vowed I’d stay +till June.<br> +<br> +In June there’s a red rose-bud, and that’s the flower for +me!<br> +But often have I plucked at the red rose-bud till I gained the willow-tree;<br> +The willow-tree will twist, and the willow-tree will twice, -<br> +O! I wish I was in the dear youth’s arms that once had the heart +of mine.<br> +<br> +My gardener he stood by, he told me to take great care,<br> +For in the middle of a red rose-bud there grows a sharp thorn there;<br> +I told him I’d take no care till I did feel the smart,<br> +And often I plucked at the red rose-bud till I pierced it to the heart.<br> +<br> +I’ll make me a posy of hyssop, - no other I can touch, -<br> +That all the world may plainly see I love one flower too much;<br> +My garden is run wild! where shall I plant anew -<br> +For my bed, that once was covered with thyme, is all overrun with rue? +<a name="citation60"></a><a href="#footnote60">{60}</a><br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE GARDEN-GATE.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[One of our most pleasing rural ditties. The air is very beautiful. +We first heard it sung in Malhamdale, Yorkshire, by Willy Bolton, an +old Dales’-minstrel, who accompanied himself on the union-pipes. +<a name="citation61"></a><a href="#footnote61">{61}</a>]<br> +<br> +<br> +The day was spent, the moon shone bright,<br> +The village clock struck eight;<br> +Young Mary hastened, with delight,<br> +Unto the garden-gate:<br> +But what was there that made her sad? -<br> +The gate was there, but not the lad,<br> +Which made poor Mary say and sigh,<br> +‘Was ever poor girl so sad as I?’<br> +<br> +She traced the garden here and there,<br> +The village clock struck nine;<br> +Which made poor Mary sigh, and say,<br> +‘You shan’t, you shan’t be mine!<br> +You promised to meet at the gate at eight,<br> +You ne’er shall keep me, nor make me wait,<br> +For I’ll let all such creatures see,<br> +They ne’er shall make a fool of me!’<br> +<br> +She traced the garden here and there,<br> +The village clock struck ten;<br> +Young William caught her in his arms,<br> +No more to part again:<br> +For he’d been to buy the ring that day,<br> +And O! he had been a long, long way; -<br> +Then, how could Mary cruel prove,<br> +To banish the lad she so dearly did love?<br> +<br> +Up with the morning sun they rose,<br> +To church they went away,<br> +And all the village joyful were,<br> +Upon their wedding-day:<br> +Now in a cot, by a river side,<br> +William and Mary both reside;<br> +And she blesses the night that she did wait<br> +For her absent swain, at the garden-gate.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE NEW-MOWN HAY.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This song is a village-version of an incident which occurred in the +Cecil family. The same English adventure has, strangely enough, +been made the subject of one of the most romantic of Moore’s <i>Irish</i> +<i>Melodies</i>, viz., <i>You remember Helen, the hamlet’s</i> +<i>pride</i>.]<br> +<br> +<br> +As I walked forth one summer’s morn,<br> +Hard by a river’s side,<br> +Where yellow cowslips did adorn<br> +The blushing field with pride;<br> +I spied a damsel on the grass,<br> +More blooming than the may;<br> +Her looks the Queen of Love surpassed,<br> +Among the new-mown hay.<br> +<br> +I said, ‘Good morning, pretty maid,<br> +How came you here so soon?’<br> +‘To keep my father’s sheep,’ she said,<br> +‘The thing that must be done:<br> +While they are feeding ‘mong the dew,<br> +To pass the time away,<br> +I sit me down to knit or sew,<br> +Among the new-mown hay.’<br> +<br> +Delighted with her simple tale,<br> +I sat down by her side;<br> +With vows of love I did prevail<br> +On her to be my bride:<br> +In strains of simple melody,<br> +She sung a rural lay;<br> +The little lambs stood listening by,<br> +Among the new-mown hay.<br> +<br> +Then to the church they went with speed,<br> +And Hymen joined them there;<br> +No more her ewes and lambs to feed,<br> +For she’s a lady fair:<br> +A lord he was that married her,<br> +To town they came straightway:<br> +She may bless the day he spied her there,<br> +Among the new-mown hay.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE PRAISE OF A DAIRY.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This excellent old country song, which can be traced to 1687, is sung +to the air of <i>Packington’s Pound</i>, for the history of which +see <i>Popular Music</i>.]<br> +<br> +<br> +In praise of a dairy I purpose to sing,<br> +But all things in order, first, God save the King! <a name="citation62"></a><a href="#footnote62">{62}</a><br> +And the Queen, I may say,<br> +That every May-day,<br> +Has many fair dairy-maids all fine and gay.<br> +Assist me, fair damsels, to finish my theme,<br> +Inspiring my fancy with strawberry cream.<br> +<br> +The first of fair dairy-maids, if you’ll believe,<br> +Was Adam’s own wife, our great grandmother Eve,<br> +Who oft milked a cow,<br> +As well she knew how.<br> +Though butter was not then as cheap as ’tis now,<br> +She hoarded no butter nor cheese on her shelves,<br> +For butter and cheese in those days made themselves.<br> +<br> +In that age or time there was no horrid money,<br> +Yet the children of Israel had both milk and honey;<br> +No Queen you could see,<br> +Of the highest degree,<br> +But would milk the brown cow with the meanest she.<br> +Their lambs gave them clothing, their cows gave them meat,<br> +And in plenty and peace all their joys wore complete.<br> +<br> +Amongst the rare virtues that milk does produce,<br> +For a thousand of dainties it’s daily in use:<br> +Now a pudding I’ll tell ’ee,<br> +And so can maid Nelly,<br> +Must have from good milk both the cream and the jelly:<br> +For a dainty fine pudding, without cream or milk,<br> +Is a citizen’s wife, without satin or silk.<br> +<br> +In the virtues of milk there is more to be mustered:<br> +O! the charming delights both of cheesecake and custard!<br> +If to wakes <a name="citation63"></a><a href="#footnote63">{63}</a> +you resort,<br> +You can have no sport,<br> +Unless you give custards and cheesecake too for’t:<br> +And what’s the jack-pudding that makes us to laugh,<br> +Unless he hath got a great custard to quaff?<br> +<br> +Both pancake and fritter of milk have good store,<br> +But a Devonshire white-pot must needs have much more;<br> +Of no brew <a name="citation64"></a><a href="#footnote64">{64}</a> you +can think,<br> +Though you study and wink,<br> +From the lusty sack posset to poor posset drink,<br> +But milk’s the ingredient, though wine’s <a name="citation65"></a><a href="#footnote65">{65}</a> +ne’er the worse,<br> +For ’tis wine makes the man, though ’tis milk makes the +nurse.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE MILK-MAID’S LIFE.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[Of this popular country song there are a variety of versions. +The following, which is the most ancient, is transcribed from a black-letter +broadside in the Roxburgh Collection, entitled <i>The Milke-maid’s +Life; or, a pretty new ditty composed and penned, the</i> <i>praise +of the Milking-pail to defend</i>. To a curious new tune called +the <i>Milke-maid’s Dump</i>. It is subscribed with the +initials M. P.; probably those of Martin Parker.]<br> +<br> +<br> +You rural goddesses,<br> +That woods and fields possess,<br> +Assist me with your skill, that may direct my quill,<br> +More jocundly to express,<br> +The mirth and delight, both morning and night,<br> +On mountain or in dale,<br> +Of them who choose this trade to use,<br> +And, through cold dews, do never refuse<br> +To carry the milking-pail.<br> +<br> +The bravest lasses gay,<br> +Live not so merry as they;<br> +In honest civil sort they make each other sport,<br> +As they trudge on their way;<br> +Come fair or foul weather, they’re fearful of neither,<br> +Their courages never quail.<br> +In wet and dry, though winds be high,<br> +And dark’s the sky, they ne’er deny<br> +To carry the milking-pail.<br> +<br> +Their hearts are free from care,<br> +They never will despair;<br> +Whatever them befal, they bravely bear out all,<br> +And fortune’s frowns outdare.<br> +They pleasantly sing to welcome the spring,<br> +’Gainst heaven they never rail;<br> +If grass well grow, their thanks they show,<br> +And, frost or snow, they merrily go<br> +Along with the milking-pail:<br> +<br> +Base idleness they do scorn,<br> +They rise very early i’ th’ morn,<br> +And walk into the field, where pretty birds do yield<br> +Brave music on every thorn.<br> +The linnet and thrush do sing on each bush,<br> +And the dulcet nightingale<br> +Her note doth strain, by jocund vein,<br> +To entertain that worthy train,<br> +Which carry the milking-pail.<br> +<br> +Their labour doth health preserve,<br> +No doctor’s rules they observe,<br> +While others too nice in taking their advice,<br> +Look always as though they would starve.<br> +Their meat is digested, they ne’er are molested,<br> +No sickness doth them assail;<br> +Their time is spent in merriment,<br> +While limbs are lent, they are content,<br> +To carry the milking-pail.<br> +<br> +Upon the first of May,<br> +With garlands, fresh and gay,<br> +With mirth and music sweet, for such a season meet,<br> +They pass the time away.<br> +They dance away sorrow, and all the day thorough<br> +Their legs do never fail,<br> +For they nimbly their feet do ply,<br> +And bravely try the victory,<br> +In honour o’ the milking-pail.<br> +<br> +If any think that I<br> +Do practise flattery,<br> +In seeking thus to raise the merry milkmaids’ praise,<br> +I’ll to them thus reply:-<br> +It is their desert inviteth my art,<br> +To study this pleasant tale;<br> +In their defence, whose innocence,<br> +And providence, gets honest pence<br> +Out of the milking-pail.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE MILKING-PAIL.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The following is another version of the preceding ditty, and is the +one most commonly sung.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Ye nymphs and sylvan gods,<br> +That love green fields and woods,<br> +When spring newly-born herself does adorn,<br> +With flowers and blooming buds:<br> +Come sing in the praise, while flocks do graze,<br> +On yonder pleasant vale,<br> +Of those that choose to milk their ewes,<br> +And in cold dews, with clouted shoes,<br> +To carry the milking-pail.<br> +<br> +You goddess of the morn,<br> +With blushes you adorn,<br> +And take the fresh air, whilst linnets prepare<br> +A concert on each green thorn;<br> +The blackbird and thrush on every bush,<br> +And the charming nightingale,<br> +In merry vein, their throats do strain<br> +To entertain, the jolly train<br> +Of those of the milking-pail.<br> +<br> +When cold bleak winds do roar,<br> +And flowers will spring no more,<br> +The fields that were seen so pleasant and green,<br> +With winter all candied o’er,<br> +See now the town lass, with her white face,<br> +And her lips so deadly pale;<br> +But it is not so, with those that go<br> +Through frost and snow, with cheeks that glow,<br> +And carry the milking-pail.<br> +<br> +The country lad is free<br> +From fears and jealousy,<br> +Whilst upon the green he oft is seen,<br> +With his lass upon his knee.<br> +With kisses most sweet he doth her so treat,<br> +And swears her charms won’t fail;<br> +But the London lass, in every place,<br> +With brazen face, despises the grace<br> +Of those of the milking-pail.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE SUMMER’S MORNING.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This is a very old ditty, and a favourite with the peasantry in every +part of England; but more particularly in the mining districts of the +North. The tune is pleasing, but uncommon. R. W. Dixon, +Esq., of Seaton-Carew, Durham, by whom the song was communicated to +his brother for publication, says, ‘I have written down the above, +<i>verbatim</i>, as generally sung. It will be seen that the last +lines of each verse are not of equal length. The singer, however, +makes all right and smooth! The words underlined in each verse +are sung five times, thus:- <i>They ad-van-cèd, they ad-van-cèd, +they ad-van-cèd, they ad-van-cèd, they ad-van-cèd +me some money, - ten guineas and a crown</i>. The last line is +thus sung:- <i>We’ll be married</i>, (as the word is usually pronounced), +<i>We’ll be married, we’ll be married, we’ll be married</i>, +<i>we’ll be married, we’ll be mar-ri-èd when I return +again</i>.’ The tune is given in <i>Popular Music</i>. +Since this song appeared in the volume issued by the Percy Society, +we have met with a copy printed at Devonport. The readings are +in general not so good; but in one or two instances they are apparently +more ancient, and are, consequently, here adopted. The Devonport +copy contains two verses, not preserved in our traditional version. +These we have incorporated in our present text, in which they form the +third and last stanzas.]<br> +<br> +<br> +It was one summer’s morning, as I went o’er the moss,<br> +I had no thought of ’listing, till the soldiers did me cross;<br> +They kindly did invite me to a flowing bowl, and down,<br> +<i>They advancèd</i> me some money, - ten guineas and a crown.<br> +<br> +‘It’s true my love has listed, he wears a white cockade,<br> +He is a handsome tall young man, besides a roving blade;<br> +He is a handsome young man, and he’s gone to serve the king,<br> +<i>Oh! my very</i> heart is breaking for the loss of him.<br> +<br> +‘My love is tall and handsome, and comely for to see,<br> +And by a sad misfortune a soldier now is he;<br> +I hope the man that listed him may not prosper night nor day,<br> +<i>For I wish that</i> the Hollànders may sink him in the sea.<br> +<br> +‘Oh! may he never prosper, oh! may he never thrive,<br> +Nor anything he takes in hand so long as he’s alive;<br> +May the very grass he treads upon the ground refuse to grow,<br> +<i>Since he’s been</i> the only cause of my sorrow, grief, and +woe!’<br> +<br> +Then he pulled out a handkerchief to wipe her flowing eyes, -<br> +‘Leave off those lamentations, likewise those mournful cries;<br> +Leave of your grief and sorrow, while I march o’er the plain,<br> +<i>We’ll be married</i> when I return again.’<br> +<br> +‘O now my love has listed, and I for him will rove,<br> +I’ll write his name on every tree that grows in yonder grove,<br> +Where the huntsman he does hollow, and the hounds do sweetly cry,<br> +<i>To remind</i> <i>me</i> of my ploughboy until the day I die.’<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: OLD ADAM.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[We have had considerable trouble in procuring a copy of this old song, +which used, in former days, to be very popular with aged people resident +in the North of England. It has been long out of print, and handed +down traditionally. By the kindness, however, of Mr. S. Swindells, +printer, Manchester, we have been favoured with an ancient printed copy, +which Mr. Swindells observes he had great difficulty in obtaining. +Some improvements have been made in the present edition from the recital +of Mr. Effingham Wilson, who was familiar with the song in his youth.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Both sexes give ear to my fancy,<br> +While in praise of dear woman I sing;<br> +Confined not to Moll, Sue, or Nancy,<br> +But mates from a beggar to king.<br> +<br> +When old Adam first was created,<br> +And lord of the universe crowned,<br> +His happiness was not completed,<br> +Until that an helpmate was found.<br> +<br> +He’d all things in food that were wanting<br> +To keep and support him through life;<br> +He’d horses and foxes for hunting,<br> +Which some men love better than wife.<br> +<br> +He’d a garden so planted by nature,<br> +Man cannot produce in his life;<br> +But yet the all-wise great Creator<br> +Still saw that he wanted a wife.<br> +<br> +Then Adam he laid in a slumber,<br> +And there he lost part of his side;<br> +And when he awoke, with a wonder,<br> +Beheld his most beautiful bride!<br> +<br> +In transport he gazèd upon her,<br> +His happiness now was complete!<br> +He praisèd his bountiful donor,<br> +Who thus had bestowed him a mate.<br> +<br> +She was not took out of his head, sir,<br> +To reign and triumph over man;<br> +Nor was she took out of his feet, sir,<br> +By man to be trampled upon.<br> +<br> +But she was took out of his side, sir,<br> +His equal and partner to be;<br> +But as they’re united in one, sir,<br> +The man is the top of the tree.<br> +<br> +Then let not the fair be despisèd<br> +By man, as she’s part of himself;<br> +For woman by Adam was prizèd<br> +More than the whole globe full of wealth.<br> +<br> +Man without a woman’s a beggar,<br> +Suppose the whole world he possessed;<br> +And the beggar that’s got a good woman,<br> +With more than the world he is blest.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: TOBACCO.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This song is a mere adaptation of <i>Smoking Spiritualized</i>; see +<i>ante</i>, p. 39. The earliest copy of the abridgment we have +been able to meet with, is published in D’Urfey’s <i>Pills +to purge Melancholy</i>, 1719; but whether we are indebted for it to +the author of the original poem, or to ‘that bright genius, Tom +D’Urfey,’ as Burns calls him, we are not able to determine. +The song has always been popular. The tune is in <i>Popular Music</i>.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Tobacco’s but an Indian weed,<br> +Grows green in the morn, cut down at eve;<br> +It shows our decay,<br> +We are but clay;<br> +Think of this when you smoke tobacco!<br> +<br> +The pipe that is so lily white,<br> +Wherein so many take delight,<br> +It’s broken with a touch, -<br> +Man’s life is such;<br> +Think of this when you take tobacco!<br> +<br> +The pipe that is so foul within,<br> +It shows man’s soul is stained with sin;<br> +It doth require<br> +To be purred with fire;<br> +Think of this when you smoke tobacco!<br> +<br> +The dust that from the pipe doth fall,<br> +It shows we are nothing but dust at all;<br> +For we came from the dust,<br> +And return we must;<br> +Think of this when you smoke tobacco!<br> +<br> +The ashes that are left behind,<br> +Do serve to put us all in mind<br> +That unto dust<br> +Return we must;<br> +Think of this when you take tobacco!<br> +<br> +The smoke that does so high ascend,<br> +Shows that man’s life must have an end;<br> +The vapour’s gone, -<br> +Man’s life is done;<br> +Think of this when you take tobacco!<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE SPANISH LADIES.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This song is ancient, but we have no means of ascertaining at what +period it was written. Captain Marryat, in his novel of <i>Poor +Jack</i>, introduces it, and says it is <i>old</i>. It is a general +favourite. The air is plaintive, and in the minor key. See +<i>Popular Music</i>.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Farewell, and adieu to you Spanish ladies,<br> +Farewell, and adieu to you ladies of Spain!<br> +For we’ve received orders for to sail for old England,<br> +But we hope in a short time to see you again.<br> +<br> +We’ll rant and we’ll roar <a name="citation66"></a><a href="#footnote66">{66}</a> +like true British heroes,<br> +We’ll rant and we’ll roar across the salt seas,<br> +Until we strike soundings in the channel of old England;<br> +From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues.<br> +<br> +Then we hove our ship to, with the wind at sou’-west, boys,<br> +We hove our ship to, for to strike soundings clear;<br> +We got soundings in ninety-five fathom, and boldly<br> +Up the channel of old England our course we did steer.<br> +<br> +The first land we made it was callèd the Deadman,<br> +Next, Ram’shead off Plymouth, Start, Portland, and Wight;<br> +We passèd by Beachy, by Fairleigh, and Dungeness,<br> +And hove our ship to, off the South Foreland light.<br> +<br> +Then a signal was made for the grand fleet to anchor<br> +All in the Downs, that night for to sleep;<br> +Then stand by your stoppers, let go your shank-painters,<br> +Haul all your clew-garnets, stick out tacks and sheets.<br> +<br> +So let every man toss off a full bumper,<br> +Let every man toss off his full bowls;<br> +We’ll drink and be jolly, and drown melancholy,<br> +So here’s a good health to all true-hearted souls!<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: HARRY THE TAILOR. (TRADITIONAL.)<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The following song was taken down some years ago from the recitation +of a country curate, who said he had learned it from a very old inhabitant +of Methley, near Pontefract, Yorkshire. We have never seen it +in print.]<br> +<br> +<br> +When Harry the tailor was twenty years old,<br> +He began for to look with courage so bold;<br> +He told his old mother he was not in jest,<br> +But he would have a wife as well as the rest.<br> +<br> +Then Harry next morning, before it was day,<br> +To the house of his fair maid took his way.<br> +He found his dear Dolly a making of cheese,<br> +Says he, ‘You must give me a buss, if you please!’<br> +<br> +She up with the bowl, the butter-milk flew,<br> +And Harry the tailor looked wonderful blue.<br> +‘O, Dolly, my dear, what hast thou done?<br> +From my back to my breeks has thy butter-milk run.’<br> +<br> +She gave him a push, he stumbled and fell<br> +Down from the dairy into the drawwell.<br> +Then Harry, the ploughboy, ran amain,<br> +And soon brought him up in the bucket again.<br> +<br> +Then Harry went home like a drowned rat,<br> +And told his old mother what he had been at.<br> +With butter-milk, bowl, and a terrible fall,<br> +O, if this be called love, may the devil take all!<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: SIR ARTHUR AND CHARMING MOLLEE. (TRADITIONAL.)<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[For this old Northumbrian song we are indebted to Mr. Robert Chambers. +It was taken down from the recitation of a lady. The ‘Sir +Arthur’ is no less a personage than Sir Arthur Haslerigg, the +Governor of Tynemouth Castle during the Protectorate of Cromwell.]<br> +<br> +<br> +As noble Sir Arthur one morning did ride,<br> +With his hounds at his feet, and his sword by his side,<br> +He saw a fair maid sitting under a tree,<br> +He askèd her name, and she said ’twas Mollee.<br> +<br> +‘Oh, charming Mollee, you my butler shall be,<br> +To draw the red wine for yourself and for me!<br> +I’ll make you a lady so high in degree,<br> +If you will but love me, my charming Mollee!<br> +<br> +‘I’ll give you fine ribbons, I’ll give you fine rings,<br> +I’ll give you fine jewels, and many fine things;<br> +I’ll give you a petticoat flounced to the knee,<br> +If you will but love me, my charming Mollee!’<br> +<br> +‘I’ll have none of your ribbons, and none of your rings,<br> +None of your jewels, and other fine things;<br> +And I’ve got a petticoat suits my degree,<br> +And I’ll ne’er love a married man till his wife dee.’<br> +<br> +‘Oh, charming Mollee, lend me then your penknife,<br> +And I will go home, and I’ll kill my own wife;<br> +I’ll kill my own wife, and my bairnies three,<br> +If you will but love me, my charming Mollee!’<br> +<br> +‘Oh, noble Sir Arthur, it must not be so,<br> +Go home to your wife, and let nobody know;<br> +For seven long years I will wait upon thee,<br> +But I’ll ne’er love a married man till his wife dee.’<br> +<br> +Now seven long years are gone and are past,<br> +The old woman went to her long home at last;<br> +The old woman died, and Sir Arthur was free,<br> +And he soon came a-courting to charming Mollee.<br> +<br> +Now charming Mollee in her carriage doth ride,<br> +With her hounds at her feet, and her lord by her side:<br> +Now all ye fair maids take a warning by me,<br> +And ne’er love a married man till his wife dee.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THERE WAS AN OLD MAN CAME OVER THE LEA.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This is a version of the <i>Baillie of Berwick</i>, which will be found +in the <i>Local Historian’s Table-Book</i>. It was originally +obtained from Morpeth, and communicated by W. H. Longstaffe, Esq., of +Darlington, who says, ‘in many respects the <i>Baillie of Berwick</i> +is the better edition - still mine may furnish an extra stanza or two, +and the ha! ha! ha! is better than heigho, though the notes suit either +version.’]<br> +<br> +<br> +There was an old man came over the Lea,<br> +Ha-ha-ha-ha! but I won’t have him. <a name="citation67"></a><a href="#footnote67">{67}</a><br> +He came over the Lea,<br> +A-courting to me,<br> +With his grey beard newly-shaven.<br> +<br> +My mother she bid me open the door:<br> +I opened the door,<br> +And he fell on the floor.<br> +<br> +My mother she bid me set him a stool:<br> +I set him a stool,<br> +And he looked like a fool.<br> +<br> +My mother she bid me give him some beer:<br> +I gave him some beer,<br> +And he thought it good cheer.<br> +<br> +My mother she bid me cut him some bread:<br> +I cut him some bread,<br> +And I threw’t at his head.<br> +<br> +My mother she bid me light him to bed.<br> +I lit him to bed,<br> +And wished he were dead.<br> +<br> +My mother she bid me tell him to rise:<br> +I told him to rise,<br> +And he opened his eyes.<br> +<br> +My mother she bid me take him to church:<br> +I took him to church,<br> +And left him in the lurch;<br> +With his grey beard newly-shaven.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: WHY SHOULD WE QUARREL FOR RICHES.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[A version of this very favourite song may be found in Ramsay’s +<i>Tea-Table Miscellany</i>. Though a sailor’s song, we +question whether it is not a greater favourite with landsmen. +The chorus is become proverbial, and its philosophy has often been invoked +to mitigate the evils and misfortunes of life.]<br> +<br> +<br> +How pleasant a sailor’s life passes,<br> +Who roams o’er the watery main!<br> +No treasure he ever amasses,<br> +But cheerfully spends all his gain.<br> +We’re strangers to party and faction,<br> +To honour and honesty true;<br> +And would not commit a bad action<br> +For power or profit in view.<br> +Then why should we quarrel for riches,<br> +Or any such glittering toys;<br> +A light heart, and a thin pair of breeches,<br> +Will go through the world, my brave boys!<br> +<br> +The world is a beautiful garden,<br> +Enriched with the blessings of life,<br> +The toiler with plenty rewarding,<br> +Which plenty too often breeds strife.<br> +When terrible tempests assail us,<br> +And mountainous billows affright,<br> +No grandeur or wealth can avail us,<br> +But skilful industry steers right.<br> +Then why, &c.<br> +<br> +The courtier’s more subject to dangers,<br> +Who rules at the helm of the state,<br> +Than we that, to politics strangers,<br> +Escape the snares laid for the great.<br> +The various blessings of nature,<br> +In various nations we try;<br> +No mortals than us can be greater,<br> +Who merrily live till we die.<br> +Then why should, &c.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE MERRY FELLOWS; OR, HE THAT WILL NOT MERRY, MERRY BE.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The popularity of this old lyric, of which ours is the ballad-printer’s +version, has been increased by the lively and appropriate music recently +adapted to it by Mr. Holderness. The date of this song is about +the era of Charles II.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Now, since we’re met, let’s merry, merry be,<br> +In spite of all our foes;<br> +And he that will not merry be,<br> +We’ll pull him by the nose.<br> +<i>Cho</i>. Let him be merry, merry there,<br> +While we’re all merry, merry here,<br> +For who can know where he shall go,<br> +To be merry another year.<br> +<br> +He that will not merry, merry be,<br> +With a generous bowl and a toast,<br> +May he in Bridewell be shut up,<br> +And fast bound to a post.<br> +Let him, &c.<br> +<br> +He that will not merry, merry be,<br> +And take his glass in course,<br> +May he be obliged to drink small beer,<br> +Ne’er a penny in his purse.<br> +Let him, &c.<br> +<br> +He that will not merry, merry be,<br> +With a company of jolly boys;<br> +May he be plagued with a scolding wife,<br> +To confound him with her noise.<br> +Let him, &c.<br> +<br> +[He that will not merry, merry be,<br> +With his sweetheart by his side,<br> +Let him be laid in the cold churchyard,<br> +With a head-stone for his bride.<br> +Let him, &c.]<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE OLD MAN’S SONG.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This ditty, still occasionally heard in the country districts, seems +to be the original of the very beautiful song, <i>The Downhill of</i> +<i>Life. The Old Man’s Song</i> may be found in Playford’s +<i>Theatre</i> <i>of Music</i>, 1685; but we are inclined to refer it +to an earlier period. The song is also published by D’Urfey, +accompanied by two objectionable parodies.]<br> +<br> +<br> +If I live to grow old, for I find I go down,<br> +Let this be my fate in a country town:-<br> +May I have a warm house, with a stone at the gate,<br> +And a cleanly young girl to rub my bald pate;<br> +May I govern my passions with absolute sway,<br> +And grow wiser and better as strength wears away,<br> +Without gout or stone, by a gentle decay.<br> +<br> +In a country town, by a murmuring brook,<br> +With the ocean at distance on which I may look;<br> +With a spacious plain, without hedge or stile,<br> +And an easy pad nag to ride out a mile.<br> +May I govern, &c.<br> +<br> +With Horace and Plutarch, and one or two more<br> +Of the best wits that lived in the age before;<br> +With a dish of roast mutton, not venison or teal,<br> +And clean, though coarse, linen at every meal.<br> +May I govern, &c.<br> +<br> +With a pudding on Sunday, and stout humming liquor,<br> +And remnants of Latin to welcome the vicar;<br> +With a hidden reserve of good Burgundy wine,<br> +To drink the king’s health in as oft as I dine.<br> +May I govern, &c.<br> +<br> +When the days are grown short, and it freezes and snows,<br> +May I have a coal fire as high as my nose;<br> +A fire (which once stirred up with a prong),<br> +Will keep the room temperate all the night long.<br> +May I govern, &c.<br> +<br> +With a courage undaunted may I face my last day;<br> +And when I am dead may the better sort say -<br> +‘In the morning when sober, in the evening when mellow,<br> +He’s gone, and he leaves not behind him his fellow!’<br> +May I govern, &c.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: ROBIN HOOD’S HILL.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[Ritson speaks of a Robin Hood’s Hill near Gloucester, and of +a ‘foolish song’ about it. Whether this is the song +to which he alludes we cannot determine. We find it in <i>Notes +and Queries</i>, where it is stated to be printed from a MS. of the +latter part of the last century, and described as a song well known +in the district to which it refers.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Ye bards who extol the gay valleys and glades,<br> +The jessamine bowers, and amorous shades,<br> +Who prospects so rural can boast at your will,<br> +Yet never once mentioned sweet ‘Robin Hood’s Hill.’<br> +<br> +This spot, which of nature displays every smile,<br> +From famed Glo’ster city is distanced two mile,<br> +Of which you a view may obtain at your will,<br> +From the sweet rural summit of ‘Robin Hood’s Hill.’<br> +<br> +Where a clear crystal spring does incessantly flow,<br> +To supply and refresh the fair valley below;<br> +No dog-star’s brisk heat e’er diminished the rill<br> +Which sweetly doth prattle on ‘Robin Hood’s Hill.’<br> +<br> +Here, gazing around, you find objects still new,<br> +Of Severn’s sweet windings, how pleasing the view,<br> +Whose stream with the fruits of blessed commerce doth fill<br> +The sweet-smelling vale beneath ‘Robin Hood’s Hill.’<br> +<br> +This hill, though so lofty, yet fertile and rare,<br> +Few valleys can with it for herbage compare;<br> +Some far greater bard should his lyre and his quill<br> +Direct to the praise of sweet ‘Robin Hood’s Hill.’<br> +<br> +Here lads and gay lasses in couples resort,<br> +For sweet rural pastime and innocent sport;<br> +Sure pleasures ne’er flowed from gay nature or skill,<br> +Like those that are found on sweet ‘Robin Hood’s Hill.’<br> +<br> +Had I all the riches of matchless Peru,<br> +To revel in splendour as emperors do,<br> +I’d forfeit the whole with a hearty good will,<br> +To dwell in a cottage on ‘Robin Hood’s Hill.’<br> +<br> +Then, poets, record my loved theme in your lays:<br> +First view; - then you’ll own that ’tis worthy of praise;<br> +Nay, Envy herself must acknowledge it still,<br> +That no spot’s so delightful as ‘Robin Hood’s Hill.’<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: BEGONE DULL CARE. (TRADITIONAL.)<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[We cannot trace this popular ditty beyond the reign of James II, but +we believe it to be older. The origin is to be found in an early +French chanson. The present version has been taken down from the +singing of an old Yorkshire yeoman. The third verse we have never +seen in print, but it is always sung in the west of Yorkshire.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Begone, dull care!<br> +I prithee begone from me;<br> +Begone, dull care!<br> +Thou and I can never agree.<br> +Long while thou hast been tarrying here,<br> +And fain thou wouldst me kill;<br> +But i’ faith, dull care,<br> +Thou never shalt have thy will.<br> +<br> +Too much care<br> +Will make a young man grey;<br> +Too much care<br> +Will turn an old man to clay.<br> +My wife shall dance, and I shall sing,<br> +So merrily pass the day;<br> +For I hold it is the wisest thing,<br> +To drive dull care away.<br> +<br> +Hence, dull care,<br> +I’ll none of thy company;<br> +Hence, dull care,<br> +Thou art no pair <a name="citation68"></a><a href="#footnote68">{68}</a> +for me.<br> +We’ll hunt the wild boar through the wold,<br> +So merrily pass the day;<br> +And then at night, o’er a cheerful bowl,<br> +We’ll drive dull care away.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: FULL MERRILY SINGS THE CUCKOO.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The earliest copy of this playful song is one contained in a MS. of +the reign of James I., preserved amongst the registers of the Stationers’ +Company; but the song can be traced back to 1566.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Full merrily sings the cuckoo<br> +Upon the beechen tree;<br> +Your wives you well should look to,<br> +If you take advice of me.<br> +Cuckoo! cuckoo! alack the morn,<br> +When of married men<br> +Full nine in ten<br> +Must be content to wear the horn.<br> +<br> +Full merrily sings the cuckoo<br> +Upon the oaken tree;<br> +Your wives you well should look to,<br> +If you take advice of me.<br> +Cuckoo! cuckoo! alack the day!<br> +For married men<br> +But now and then,<br> +Can ’scape to bear the horn away.<br> +<br> +Full merrily sings the cuckoo<br> +Upon the ashen tree;<br> +Your wives you well should look to,<br> +If you take advice of me.<br> +Cuckoo! cuckoo! alack the noon,<br> +When married men<br> +Must watch the hen,<br> +Or some strange fox will steal her soon.<br> +<br> +Full merrily sings the cuckoo<br> +Upon the alder tree;<br> +Your wives you well should look to,<br> +If you take advice of me.<br> +Cuckoo! cuckoo! alack the eve,<br> +When married men<br> +Must bid good den<br> +To such as horns to them do give.<br> +<br> +Full merrily sings the cuckoo<br> +Upon the aspen tree;<br> +Your wives you well should look to,<br> +If you take advice of me.<br> +Cuckoo! cuckoo! alack the night,<br> +When married men,<br> +Again and again,<br> +Must hide their horns in their despite.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: JOCKEY TO THE FAIR.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[A version of this song, not quite so accurate as the following was +published from an old broadside in <i>Notes and Queries</i>, vol. vii., +p. 49, where it is described as a ‘very celebrated Gloucestershire +ballad.’ But Gloucestershire is not exclusively entitled +to the honour of this genuine old country song, which is well known +in Westmoreland and other counties. ‘Jockey’ songs +constitute a distinct and numerous class, and belong for the most part +to the middle of the last century, when Jockey and Jenny were formidable +rivals to the Strephons and Chloes of the artificial school of pastoral +poetry. The author of this song, whoever he was, drew upon real +rural life, and not upon its fashionable masquerade. We have been +unable to trace the exact date of this ditty, which still enjoys in +some districts a wide popularity. It is not to be found in any +of several large collections of Ranelagh and Vauxhall songs, and other +anthologies, which we have examined. From the christian names +of the lovers, it might be supposed to be of Scotch or Border origin; +but <i>Jockey to the Fair</i> is not confined to the North; indeed it +is much better known, and more frequently sung, in the South and West.]<br> +<br> +<br> +’Twas on the morn of sweet May-day,<br> +When nature painted all things gay,<br> +Taught birds to sing, and lambs to play,<br> +And gild the meadows fair;<br> +Young Jockey, early in the dawn,<br> +Arose and tripped it o’er the lawn;<br> +His Sunday clothes the youth put on,<br> +For Jenny had vowed away to run<br> +With Jockey to the fair;<br> +For Jenny had vowed, &c.<br> +<br> +The cheerful parish bells had rung,<br> +With eager steps he trudged along,<br> +While flowery garlands round him hung,<br> +Which shepherds use to wear;<br> +He tapped the window; ‘Haste, my dear!’<br> +Jenny impatient cried, ‘Who’s there?’<br> +‘’Tis I, my love, and no one near;<br> +Step gently down, you’ve nought to fear,<br> +With Jockey to the fair.’<br> +Step gently down, &c.<br> +<br> +‘My dad and mam are fast asleep,<br> +My brother’s up, and with the sheep;<br> +And will you still your promise keep,<br> +Which I have heard you swear?<br> +And will you ever constant prove?’<br> +‘I will, by all the powers above,<br> +And ne’er deceive my charming dove;<br> +Dispel these doubts, and haste, my love,<br> +With Jockey to the fair.’<br> +Dispel, &c.<br> +<br> +‘Behold, the ring,’ the shepherd cried;<br> +‘Will Jenny be my charming bride?<br> +Let Cupid be our happy guide,<br> +And Hymen meet us there.’<br> +Then Jockey did his vows renew;<br> +He would be constant, would he true,<br> +His word was pledged; away she flew,<br> +O’er cowslips tipped with balmy dew,<br> +With Jockey to the fair.<br> +O’er cowslips, &c.<br> +<br> +In raptures meet the joyful throng;<br> +Their gay companions, blithe and young,<br> +Each join the dance, each raise the song,<br> +To hail the happy pair.<br> +In turns there’s none so loud as they,<br> +They bless the kind propitious day,<br> +The smiling morn of blooming May,<br> +When lovely Jenny ran away<br> +With Jockey to the fair.<br> +When lovely, &c.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: LONG PRESTON PEG. (A FRAGMENT.)<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[Mr. Birkbeck, of Threapland House, Lintondale, in Craven, has favoured +us with the following fragment. The tune is well known in the North, +but all attempts on the part of Mr. Birkbeck to obtain the remaining +verses have been unsuccessful. The song is evidently of the date +of the first rebellion, 1715.]<br> +<br> +<br> +Long Preston Peg to proud Preston went,<br> +To see the Scotch rebels it was her intent.<br> +A noble Scotch lord, as he passed by,<br> +On this Yorkshire damsel did soon cast an eye.<br> +<br> +He called to his servant, which on him did wait,<br> +‘Go down to yon girl who stands in the gate, <a name="citation69"></a><a href="#footnote69">{69}</a><br> +That sings with a voice so soft and so sweet,<br> +And in my name do her lovingly greet.’<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE SWEET NIGHTINGALE; OR, DOWN IN THOSE VALLEYS BELOW. + AN ANCIENT CORNISH SONG.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This curious ditty, which may be confidently assigned to the seventeenth +century, is said to be a translation from the ancient Cornish tongue. +We first heard it in Germany, in the pleasure-gardens of the Marienberg, +on the Moselle. The singers were four Cornish miners, who were +at that time, 1854, employed at some lead mines near the town of Zell. +The leader or ‘Captain,’ John Stocker, said that the song +was an established favourite with the lead miners of Cornwall and Devonshire, +and was always sung on the pay-days, and at the wakes; and that his +grandfather, who died thirty years before, at the age of a hundred years, +used to sing the song, and say that it was very old. Stocker promised +to make a copy of it, but there was no opportunity of procuring it before +we left Germany. The following version has been supplied by a +gentleman in Plymouth, who writes:-<br> +<br> +I have had a great deal of trouble about <i>The Valley Below</i>. +It is not in print. I first met with one person who knew one part, +then with another person who knew another part, but nobody could sing +the whole. At last, chance directed me to an old man at work on +the roads, and he sung and recited it throughout, not exactly, however, +as I send it, for I was obliged to supply a little here and there, but +only where a bad rhyme, or rather none at all, made it evident what +the real rhyme was. I have read it over to a mining gentleman +at Truro, and he says ‘It is pretty near the way we sing it.’<br> +<br> +The tune is plaintive and original.]<br> +<br> +<br> +‘My sweetheart, come along!<br> +Don’t you hear the fond song,<br> +The sweet notes of the nightingale flow?<br> +Don’t you hear the fond tale<br> +Of the sweet nightingale,<br> +As she sings in those valleys below?<br> +So be not afraid<br> +To walk in the shade,<br> +Nor yet in those valleys below,<br> +Nor yet in those valleys below.<br> +<br> +‘Pretty Betsy, don’t fail,<br> +For I’ll carry your pail,<br> +Safe home to your cot as we go;<br> +You shall hear the fond tale<br> +Of the sweet nightingale,<br> +As she sings in those valleys below.’<br> +But she was afraid<br> +To walk in the shade,<br> +To walk in those valleys below,<br> +To walk in those valleys below.<br> +<br> +‘Pray let me alone,<br> +I have hands of my own;<br> +Along with you I will not go,<br> +To hear the fond tale<br> +Of the sweet nightingale,<br> +As she sings in those valleys below;<br> +For I am afraid<br> +To walk in the shade,<br> +To walk in those valleys below,<br> +To walk in those valleys below.’<br> +<br> +‘Pray sit yourself down<br> +With me on the ground,<br> +On this bank where sweet primroses grow;<br> +You shall hear the fond tale<br> +Of the sweet nightingale,<br> +As she sings in those valleys below;<br> +So be not afraid<br> +To walk in the shade,<br> +Nor yet in those valleys below,<br> +Nor yet in those valleys below.’<br> +<br> +This couple agreed;<br> +They were married with speed,<br> +And soon to the church they did go.<br> +She was no more afraid<br> +For to <a name="citation70"></a><a href="#footnote70">{70}</a> walk +in the shade,<br> +Nor yet in those valleys below:<br> +Nor to hear the fond tale<br> +Of the sweet nightingale,<br> +As she sung in those valleys below,<br> +As she sung in those valleys below.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: THE OLD MAN AND HIS THREE SONS.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[This traditional ditty, founded upon the old ballad inserted <i>ante</i>, +p. 124, is current as a nursery song in the North of England.]<br> +<br> +<br> +There was an old man, and sons he had three, <a name="citation71"></a><a href="#footnote71">{71}</a><br> +Wind well, Lion, good hunter.<br> +A friar he being one of the three,<br> +With pleasure he rangèd the north country,<br> +For he was a jovial hunter.<br> +<br> +As he went to the woods some pastime to see,<br> +Wind well, Lion, good hunter,<br> +He spied a fair lady under a tree,<br> +Sighing and moaning mournfully.<br> +He was a jovial hunter.<br> +<br> +‘What are you doing, my fair lady!’<br> +Wind well, Lion, good hunter.<br> +‘I’m frightened, the wild boar he will kill me,<br> +He has worried my lord, and wounded thirty,<br> +As thou art a jovial hunter.’<br> +<br> +Then the friar he put his horn to his mouth,<br> +Wind well, Lion, good hunter.<br> +And he blew a blast, east, west, north, and south,<br> +And the wild boar from his den he came forth<br> +Unto the jovial hunter.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Ballad: A BEGGING WE WILL GO.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +[The authorship of this song is attributed to Richard Brome - (he who +once ‘performed a servant’s faithful part’ for Ben +Jonson) - in a black-letter copy in the Bagford Collection, where it +is entitled <i>The Beggars’ Chorus in the</i> ‘<i>Jovial +Crew</i>,’ <i>to an excellent</i> <i>new tune</i>. No such +chorus, however, appears in the play, which was produced at the Cock-pit +in 1641; and the probability is, as Mr. Chappell conjectures, that it +was only interpolated in the performance. It is sometimes called +<i>The Jovial Beggar</i>. The tune has been from time to time +introduced into several ballad operas; and the song, says Mr. Chappell, +who publishes the air in his <i>Popular Music</i>, ‘is the prototype +of many others, such as <i>A bowling we will go, A fishing we will go, +A hawking we will go</i>, and <i>A fishing we will go</i>. The +last named is still popular with those who take delight in hunting, +and the air is now scarcely known by any other title.]<br> +<br> +<br> +There was a jovial beggar,<br> +He had a wooden leg,<br> +Lame from his cradle,<br> +And forced for to beg.<br> +And a begging we will go, we’ll go, we’ll go;<br> +And a begging we will go!<br> +<br> +A bag for his oatmeal,<br> +Another for his salt;<br> +And a pair of crutches,<br> +To show that he can halt.<br> +And a begging, &c.<br> +<br> +A bag for his wheat,<br> +Another for his rye;<br> +A little bottle by his side,<br> +To drink when he’s a-dry.<br> +And a begging, &c.<br> +<br> +Seven years I begged<br> +For my old Master Wild,<br> +He taught me to beg<br> +When I was but a child.<br> +And a begging, &c.<br> +<br> +I begged for my master,<br> +And got him store of pelf;<br> +But now, Jove be praised!<br> +I’m begging for myself.<br> +And a begging, &c.<br> +<br> +In a hollow tree<br> +I live, and pay no rent;<br> +Providence provides for me,<br> +And I am well content.<br> +And a begging, &c.<br> +<br> +Of all the occupations,<br> +A beggar’s life’s the best;<br> +For whene’er he’s weary,<br> +He’ll lay him down and rest.<br> +And a begging, &c.<br> +<br> +I fear no plots against me,<br> +I live in open cell;<br> +Then who would be a king<br> +When beggars live so well?<br> +And a begging we will go, we’ll go, we’ll go;<br> +And a begging we will go!<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Footnotes:<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1">{1}</a> This is the +same tune as <i>Fortune my foe</i>. - See <i>Popular Music of the Olden +Time</i>, p. 162.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2">{2}</a> This word +seems to be used here in the sense of the French verb <i>mettre</i>, +to put, to place.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote3"></a><a href="#citation3">{3}</a> The stall +copies read ‘Gamble bold.’<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote4"></a><a href="#citation4">{4}</a> In the Roxburgh +Collection is a copy of this ballad, in which the catastrophe is brought +about in a different manner. When the young lady finds that she +is to be drowned, she very leisurely makes a particular examination +of the place of her intended destruction, and raises an objection to +some nettles which are growing on the banks of the stream; these she +requires to be removed, in the following poetical stanza:-<br> +<br> +‘Go fetch the sickle, to crop the nettle,<br> +That grows so near the brim;<br> +For fear it should tangle my golden locks,<br> +Or freckle my milk-white skin.’<br> +<br> +A request so elegantly made is gallantly complied with by the treacherous +knight, who, while engaged in ‘cropping’ the nettles, is +pushed into the stream.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote5"></a><a href="#citation5">{5}</a> A <i>tinker</i> +is still so called in the north of England.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote6"></a><a href="#citation6">{6}</a> This poor +minstrel was born at the village of Rylstone, in Craven, the scene of +Wordsworth’s <i>White Doe of Rylstone</i>. King was always +called ‘the Skipton Minstrel;’ and he merited that name, +for he was not a mere player of jigs and country dances, but a singer +of heroic ballads, carrying his hearers back to the days of chivalry +and royal adventure, when the King of England called up Cheshire and +Lancashire to fight the King of France, and monarchs sought the greenwood +tree, and hob-a-nobbed with tinkers, knighting these Johns of the Dale +as a matter of poetical justice and high sovereign prerogative. +Francis King was a character. His physiognomy was striking and +peculiar; and, although there was nothing of the rogue in its expression, +for an honester fellow never breathed, he might have sat for Wordsworth’s +‘Peter Bell.’ He combined in a rare degree the qualities +of the mime and the minstrel, and his old jokes, and older ballads and +songs, always ensured him a hearty welcome. He was lame, in consequence +of one leg being shorter than the other, and his limping gait used to +give occasion to the remark that ‘few Kings had had more ups and +downs in the world.’ He met his death by drowning on the +night of December 13, 1844. He had been at a ‘merry-making’ +at Gargrave, in Craven, and it is supposed that, owing to the darkness +of the night, he mistook the road, and walked into the river. +As a musician his talents were creditable; and his name will long survive +in the village records. The minstrel’s grave is in the quiet +churchyard of Gargrave. Further particulars of Francis King may +be seen in Dixon’s <i>Stories of</i> <i>the Craven</i> <i>Dales</i>, +published by Tasker and Son, of Skipton.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote7"></a><a href="#citation7">{7}</a> This is the +ancient way of spelling the name of Reading. In Percy’s +version of <i>Barbara Allen</i>, that ballad commences ‘In Scarlet +town,’ which, in the common stall copies, is rendered ‘In +Redding town.’ The former is apparently a pun upon the old +orthography - <i>Red</i>ding.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote8"></a><a href="#citation8">{8}</a> The sister +of Roger.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote9"></a><a href="#citation9">{9}</a> This gentleman +was Mr. Thomas Petty.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote10"></a><a href="#citation10">{10}</a> We here, +and in a subsequent verse, find ‘daughter’ made to rhyme +with ‘after;’ but we must not therefore conclude that the +rhyme is of cockney origin. In many parts of England, the word +‘daughter’ is pronounced ‘dafter’ by the peasantry, +who, upon the same principle, pronounce ‘slaughter’ as if +it were spelt ‘slafter.’<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote11"></a><a href="#citation11">{11}</a> Added +to complete the sense.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote12"></a><a href="#citation12">{12}</a> That is, +‘said he, the wild boar.’<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote13"></a><a href="#citation13">{13}</a> Scott +has strangely misunderstood this line, which he interprets -<br> +<br> +‘Many people did she <i>kill</i>.’<br> +<br> +‘Fell’ is to knock down, and the meaning is that she could +‘well’ knock down, or ‘fell’ people.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote14"></a><a href="#citation14">{14}</a> Went.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote15"></a><a href="#citation15">{15}</a> The meaning +appears to be that no ‘wiseman’ or wizard, no matter from +whence his magic, was derived, durst face her. Craven has always +been famed for its wizards, or wisemen, and several of such impostors +may be found there at the present day.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote16"></a><a href="#citation16">{16}</a> Scott’s +MS. reads Ralph, but Raphe is the ancient form.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote17"></a><a href="#citation17">{17}</a> Scott +reads ‘brim as beare,’ which he interprets ‘fierce +as a bear.’ Whitaker’s rendering is correct. +Beare is a small hamlet on the Bay of Morecambe, no great distance, +as the crow files, from the <i>locale</i> of the poem. There is +also a Bear-park in the county of Durham, of which place Bryan might +be an inhabitant. <i>Utrum horum</i>, &c.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote18"></a><a href="#citation18">{18}</a> That is, +they were good soldiers when the <i>musters</i> were - when the regiments +were called up.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote19"></a><a href="#citation19">{19}</a> Fierce +look.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote20"></a><a href="#citation20">{20}</a> Descended +from an ancient race famed for fighting.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote21"></a><a href="#citation21">{21}</a> Assaulted. +They were, although out of danger, terrified by the attacks of the sow, +and their fear was shared by the kiln, which began to smoke!<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote22"></a><a href="#citation22">{22}</a> Watling-street, +the Roman way from Catterick to Bowes.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote23"></a><a href="#citation23">{23}</a> Lost his +colour.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote24"></a><a href="#citation24">{24}</a> Scott, +not understanding this expression, has inserted ‘Jesus’ +for the initials ‘I. H. S.,’ and so has given a profane +interpretation to the passage. By a figure of speech the friar +is called an I. H. S., from these letters being conspicuously wrought +on his robes, just as we might call a livery-servant by his master’s +motto, because it was stamped on his buttons.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote25"></a><a href="#citation25">{25}</a> The meaning +here is obscure. The verse is not in Whitaker.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote26"></a><a href="#citation26">{26}</a> Warlock +or wizard.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote27"></a><a href="#citation27">{27}</a> It is +probable that by guest is meant an allusion to the spectre dog of Yorkshire +(the <i>Barguest</i>), to which the sow is compared.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote28"></a><a href="#citation28">{28}</a> Hired.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote29"></a><a href="#citation29">{29}</a> The monastery +of Gray Friars at Richmond. - See LELAND, <i>Itin</i>., vol. iii, p. +109.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote30"></a><a href="#citation30">{30}</a> This appears +to have been a cant saying in the reign of Charles II. It occurs +in several novels, jest books and satires of the time, and was probably +as unmeaning as such vulgarisms are in general.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote31"></a><a href="#citation31">{31}</a> A cake +composed of oatmeal, caraway-seeds, and treacle. ‘Ale and +parkin’ is a common morning meal in the north of England.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote32"></a><a href="#citation32">{32}</a> We have +heard a Yorkshire yeoman sing a version, which commenced with this line:-<br> +<br> +‘ It was at the time of a high holiday.’<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote33"></a><a href="#citation33">{33}</a> Bell-ringing +was formerly a great amusement of the English, and the allusions to +it are of frequent occurrence. Numerous payments to bell-ringers +are generally to be found in Churchwarden’s accounts of the sixteenth +and seventeenth centuries. - CHAPPELL.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote34"></a><a href="#citation34">{34}</a> The subject +and burthen of this song are identical with those of the song which +immediately follows, called in some copies <i>The Clown’s</i> +<i>Courtship, sung to the King at Windsor</i>, and in others, <i>I cannot +come everyday to woo</i>. The Kentish ditty cannot be traced to +so remote a date as the <i>Clown’s Courtship</i>; but it probably +belongs to the same period.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote35"></a><a href="#citation35">{35}</a> The common +modern copies read ‘St. Leger’s Round.’<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote36"></a><a href="#citation36">{36}</a> The common +stall copies read ‘Pan,’ which not only furnishes a more +accurate rhyme to ‘Nan,’ but is, probably, the true reading. +About the time when this song was written, there appears to have been +some country minstrel or fiddler, who was well known by the sobriquet +of ‘Pan.’ Frequent allusions to such a personage may +be found in popular ditties of the period, and it is evidently that +individual, and not the heathen deity, who is referred to in the song +of <i>Arthur O’Bradley:-<br> +<br> +</i>‘Not Pan, the god of the swains,<br> +Could e’er produce such strains.’ - See <i>ante</i>, p. +142.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote37"></a><a href="#citation37">{37}</a> A correspondent +of <i>Notes and Queries</i> says that, although there is some resemblance +between Flora and Furry, the latter word is derived from an old Cornish +term, and signifies jubilee or fair.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote38"></a><a href="#citation38">{38}</a> There +is another version of these concluding lines:-<br> +<br> +‘Down the red lane there lives an old fox,<br> +There does he sit a-mumping his chops;<br> +Catch him, boys, catch him, catch if you can;<br> +’Tis twenty to one if you catch him or Nan.’<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote39"></a><a href="#citation39">{39}</a> A cant +term for a fiddle. In its literal sense, it means trunk, or box-belly.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote40"></a><a href="#citation40">{40}</a> ‘Helicon,’ +as observed by Sir C. Sharp, is, of course, the true reading.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote41"></a><a href="#citation41">{41}</a> In the +introduction of the ‘prodigal son,’ we have a relic derived +from the old mysteries and moralities. Of late years, the ‘prodigal +son’ has been left out, and his place supplied by a ‘sailor.’<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote42"></a><a href="#citation42">{42}</a> Probably +the disease here pointed at is the sweating sickness of old times.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote43"></a><a href="#citation43">{43}</a> Robert +Kearton, a working miner, and librarian and lecturer at the Grassington +Mechanics’ institution, informs us that at Coniston, in Lancashire, +and the neighbourhood, the maskers go about at the proper season, viz., +Easter. Their introductory song is different to the one given +above. He has favoured us with two verses of the delectable composition; +he says, ‘I dare say they’ll be quite sufficient!’<br> +<br> +‘The next that comes on<br> +Is a gentleman’s son; -<br> +A gentleman’s son he was born;<br> +For mutton and beef,<br> +You may look at his teeth,<br> +He’s a laddie for picking a bone!<br> +<br> +‘The next that comes on<br> +Is a tailor so bold -<br> +He can stitch up a hole in the dark!<br> +There’s never a ‘prentice<br> +In famed London city<br> +Can find any fault with his <i>wark</i>!’<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote44"></a><a href="#citation44">{44}</a> For the +history of the paschal egg, see a paper by Mr. J. H. Dixon, in the <i>Local +Historian’s Table Book</i> (Traditional Division). Newcastle. +1843.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote45"></a><a href="#citation45">{45}</a> We suspect +that Lord Nelson’s name was introduced out of respect to the late +Jack Rider, of Linton (who is himself introduced into the following +verse), an old tar who, for many years, was one of the ‘maskers’ +in the district from whence our version was obtained. Jack was +‘loblolly boy’ on board the ‘Victory,’ and one +of the group that surrounded the dying Hero of Trafalgar. Amongst +his many miscellaneous duties, Jack had to help the doctor; and while +so employed, he once set fire to the ship as he was engaged investigating, +by candlelight, the contents of a bottle of ether. The fire was +soon extinguished, but not without considerable noise and confusion. +Lord Nelson, when the accident happened, was busy writing his despatches. +‘What’s all that noise about?’ he demanded. +The answer was, ‘Loblolly boy’s set fire to an empty bottle, +and it has set fire to the doctor’s shop!’ ‘Oh, +that’s all, is it?’ said Nelson, ‘then I wish you +and loblolly would put the fire out without making such a confusion’ +- and he went on writing with the greatest coolness, although the accident +might have been attended by the most disastrous consequences, as an +immense quantity of powder was on board, and some of it close to the +scene of the disaster. The third day after the above incident +Nelson was no more, and the poor ‘loblolly boy’ left the +service minus two fingers. ‘Old Jack’ used often to +relate his ‘accident;’ and Captain Carslake, now of Sidmouth, +who, at the time was one of the officers, permits us to add his corroboration +of its truth.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote46"></a><a href="#citation46">{46}</a> In this +place, and in the first line of the following verse, the name of the +horse is generally inserted by the singer; and ‘Filpail’ +is often substituted for ‘the cow’ in a subsequent verse.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote47"></a><a href="#citation47">{47}</a> The ‘swearing-in’ +is gone through by females as well as the male sex. See Hone’s +<i>Year-Book.<br> +<br> +</i><a name="footnote48"></a><a href="#citation48">{48}</a> A +fig newly gathered from the tree; so called to distinguish it from a +grocer’s, or preserved fig.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote49"></a><a href="#citation49">{49}</a> This line +is sometimes sung -<br> +<br> +O! I went into the stable, to see what I could see.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote50"></a><a href="#citation50">{50}</a> Three +cabbage-nets, according to some versions.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote51"></a><a href="#citation51">{51}</a> This is +a common phrase in old English songs and ballads. See <i>The Summer’s +Morning, post</i>, p. 229.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote52"></a><a href="#citation52">{52}</a> See ante, +p. 82.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote53"></a><a href="#citation53">{53}</a> Near.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote54"></a><a href="#citation54">{54}</a> The high-road +through a town or village.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote55"></a><a href="#citation55">{55}</a> That is +Tommy’s opinion. In the Yorkshire dialect, when the possessive +case is followed by the relative substantive, it is customary to omit +the <i>s</i>; but if the relative be understood, and not expressed, +the possessive case is formed in the usual manner, as in a subsequent +line of this song:-<br> +<br> +‘Hee’d a horse, too, ‘twor war than ond Tommy’s, +ye see.’<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote56"></a><a href="#citation56">{56}</a> Alive, +quick.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote57"></a><a href="#citation57">{57}</a> Only.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote58"></a><a href="#citation58">{58}</a> Famished. +The line in which this word occurs exhibits one of the most striking +peculiarities of the Lancashire dialect, which is, that in words ending +in <i>ing</i>, the termination is changed into <i>ink. Ex</i>. +<i>gr</i>., for starving, <i>starvink</i>, farthing, <i>fardink</i>.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote59"></a><a href="#citation59">{59}</a> In one +version this line has been altered, probably by some printer who had +a wholesome fear of the ‘Bench of Justices,’ into -<br> +<br> +‘Success to every gentleman<br> +That lives in Lincolnsheer.’<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote60"></a><a href="#citation60">{60}</a> Dr. Whitaker +gives a traditional version of part of this song as follows:-<br> +<br> +‘The gardener standing by proferred to chuse for me,<br> +The pink, the primrose, and the rose, but I refused the three;<br> +The primrose I forsook because it came too soon,<br> +The violet I o’erlooked, and vowed to wait till June.<br> +<br> +In June, the red rose sprung, bat was no flower for me,<br> +I plucked it up, lo! by the stalk, and planted the willow-tree.<br> +The willow I must wear with sorrow twined among,<br> +That all the world may know I falshood loved too long.’<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote61"></a><a href="#citation61">{61}</a> The following +account of Billy Bolton may, with propriety, be inserted here:- It was +a lovely September day, and the scene was Arncliffe, a retired village +in Littondale, one of the most secluded of the Yorkshire dales. +While sitting at the open window of the humble hostelrie, we heard what +we, at first, thought was a <i>ranter</i> parson, but, on inquiry, were +told it was old Billy Bolton reading to a crowd of villagers. +Curious to ascertain what the minstrel was reading, we joined the crowd, +and found the text-book was a volume of Hume’s <i>England</i>, +which contained the reign of Elizabeth. Billy read in a clear +voice, with proper emphasis, and correct pronunciation, interlarding +his reading with numerous comments, the nature of some of which may +be readily inferred from the fact that the minstrel belonged to what +he called ‘the ancient church.’ It was a scene for +a painter; the village situate in one of the deepest parts of the dale, +the twilight hour, the attentive listeners, and the old man, leaning +on his knife-grinding machine, and conveying popular information to +a simple peasantry. Bolton is in the constant habit of so doing, +and is really an extraordinary man, uniting, as he does, the opposite +occupations of minstrel, conjuror, knife-grinder, and schoolmaster. +Such a labourer (though an humble one) in the great cause of human improvement +is well deserving of this brief notice, which it would be unjust to +conclude without stating that whenever the itinerant teacher takes occasion +to speak of his own creed, and contrast it with others, he does so in +a spirit of charity; and he never performs any of his sleight-of-hand +tricks without a few introductory remarks on the evil of superstition, +and the folly of supposing that in the present age any mortal is endowed +with supernatural attainments.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote62"></a><a href="#citation62">{62}</a> This elastic +opening might be adapted to existing circumstances by a slight alteration:-<br> +<br> +The praise of a dairy to tell you I mean,<br> +But all things in order, first God save the Queen.<br> +<br> +The common copies print ‘God save the Queen,’ which of course +destroys the rhyme.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote63"></a><a href="#citation63">{63}</a> This is +the reading of a common stall copy. Chappell reads -<br> +<br> +‘For at Tottenham-court,’<br> +<br> +which is no doubt correct, though inapplicable to a rural assembly in +our days.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote64"></a><a href="#citation64">{64}</a> Brew, +or broo, or broth. Chappell’s version reads, ‘No state +you can think,’ which is apparently a mistake. The reading +of the common copies is to be preferred.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote65"></a><a href="#citation65">{65}</a> No doubt +the original word in these places was <i>sack</i>, as in Chappell’s +copy - but what would a peasant understand by <i>sack</i>? Dryden’s +receipt for a sack posset is as follows:-<br> +<br> +‘From fair Barbadoes, on the western main,<br> +Fetch sugar half-a-pound: fetch sack, from Spain,<br> +A pint: then fetch, from India’s fertile coast,<br> +Nutmeg, the glory of the British toast.’<br> +<i>Miscellany Poem, v</i>. 138.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote66"></a><a href="#citation66">{66}</a> Corrupted +in modern copies into ‘we’ll range and we’ll rove.’ +The reading in the text is the old reading. The phrase occurs +in several old songs.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote67"></a><a href="#citation67">{67}</a> We should, +probably, read ‘he.’<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote68"></a><a href="#citation68">{68}</a> Peer - +equal.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote69"></a><a href="#citation69">{69}</a> The road +or street.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote70"></a><a href="#citation70">{70}</a> This is +the only instance of this peculiar form in the present version. +The miners in the Marienberg invariably said ‘for to’ wherever +the preposition ‘to’ occurred before a verb.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote71"></a><a href="#citation71">{71}</a> Three +is a favourite number in the nursery rhymes. The following is +one of numerous examples:-<br> +<br> +There was an old woman had three sons,<br> +Jerry and James and John:<br> +Jerry was hung, James was drowned,<br> +John was lost and never was found;<br> +And there was an end of her three sons,<br> +Jerry, and James, and John!<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, ANCIENT POEMS OF ENGLAND ***<br> +<pre> + +******This file should be named oleng10h.htm or oleng10h.zip****** +Corrected EDITIONS of our EBooks get a new NUMBER, oleng11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, oleng10ah.htm + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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