diff options
Diffstat (limited to '649-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 649-0.txt | 11072 |
1 files changed, 11072 insertions, 0 deletions
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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive +specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this +eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook +for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, +performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given +away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks +not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the +trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. + +START: FULL LICENSE + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full +Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at +www.gutenberg.org/license. + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or +destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your +possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a +Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound +by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the +person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph +1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this +agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the +Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection +of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual +works in the collection are in the public domain in the United +States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the +United States and you are located in the United States, we do not +claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, +displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as +all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope +that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting +free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm +works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the +Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily +comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the +same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when +you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are +in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, +check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this +agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, +distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any +other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no +representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any +country outside the United States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other +immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear +prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work +on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, +performed, viewed, copied or distributed: + + 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. + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is +derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not +contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the +copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in +the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are +redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply +either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or +obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm +trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any +additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms +will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works +posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the +beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including +any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access +to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format +other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official +version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site +(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense +to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means +of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain +Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the +full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +provided that + +* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed + to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has + agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid + within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are + legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty + payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in + Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg + Literary Archive Foundation." + +* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all + copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue + all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm + works. + +* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of + any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of + receipt of the work. + +* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than +are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing +from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The +Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm +trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project +Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may +contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate +or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or +other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or +cannot be read by your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium +with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you +with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in +lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person +or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second +opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If +the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing +without further opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO +OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of +damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement +violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the +agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or +limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or +unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the +remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in +accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the +production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, +including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of +the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this +or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or +additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any +Defect you cause. + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of +computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It +exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations +from people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future +generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see +Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at +www.gutenberg.org Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by +U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the +mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its +volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous +locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt +Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to +date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and +official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND +DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular +state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To +donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project +Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be +freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and +distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of +volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in +the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not +necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper +edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search +facility: www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + |