CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME 
 OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT 
 FUND GIVEN IN 189I BY 
 
 HENRY WILLIAMS SAGE 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 973.C89 
 Olde tayles newlye ^elayted Enryched 
 
 3 1924 013 278 712 *- 
 
The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013278712 
 
Olde Tayles 
 
 Newlye Relayted. 
 
 Enryched with all ye 
 
 Ancyente Embellyfhmentes. 
 
 so, Ua^'DSC^HoilL SfKSST, S.C. 
 
THE 
 
 Barkefhir e Lady's 
 
THE 
 
 Barkefhir e LadyV 
 
 GARLAND. 
 
 ANITO.M.BCCC, 
 
 LONDON: 
 Field & Tuer. Simpkjn, Marihall & Cob 
 
 Hamilton, Adams & Co. 
 " NEW YORK : Scribner & WeUbnL 
 

 The 
 
 / • ,. 
 
 ^ J 
 
 Barkeihire Lady s Garland 
 
 in Four Parts. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 Shewing Cuf^$ Conqmfi war a cty JLady of 
 five thoufand a year, 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Hx Lady*s Letter of C&alknge to J^ht 
 him upon refit/ing to wed her in a mafi 
 without knowing whojhe was, 
 
 PART III. 
 
 How they met by appointment in a Grove, 
 where Jhe obliged him to fight or wed her. 
 
PART IV. 
 
 How they rode together in her Gildtd 
 Coach to her twble Seat or Capk, 
 
PART I. 
 
 Showing Cupid's Conqueji over a coy Lady of Five 
 a year ^c. 
 
 Tune--*' The Royal Forefter:* 
 
 ACHELORS of every Station, 
 Mark this ftrange ^ true relatioa» 
 Which in brief to you I bring t 
 Never was a Stranger thing. 
 
 You fhall find it worth the hearing: 
 Loyal love is moil endearing, 
 When it takes the deepeO: root, 
 Yielding charms ^ gold to boot 
 
OME will wed for love of treafure. 
 But the fweeteft joy ^ pleafure 
 Is in faithful love youll find, 
 GracM with a noble mind. 
 
 Such a noble difpofidon 
 Had this Lady, with fubmiilion : 
 Of whom I this fonnet write. 
 Store of wealth & beauty bright. 
 
 She had left by a good Grannum, 
 Full five thousand pounds per annum, 
 Which file held without control: 
 Thus (he did in riches roll 
 
 Though ihe had vaft ftores of riches. 
 Which fome perfons much bewitches, 
 Yet {he bore a courteous mind — 
 Not the leaft to pride inclin'd. 
 
 8 
 
ANY noble perfons courted' 
 This young Lady, 'tis reported, 
 But their lab'ring proved in vain, 
 They could not her favour gain. 
 
 Though ihe made fuch ftrong reiiftance. 
 Yet, by Cupid's kind affiftance. 
 She was conquered after all : 
 How it was declare 1 fhall. 
 
 Being at a noble wedding. 
 Near the famous Town^f Redding, 
 A young gentleman flie faw. 
 Who belongM to the Law. 
 
 As (he view'd his fweet behaviour. 
 Every courteous carriage gave her 
 New additions to her grief: 
 Forc'd ihe was to feek relief. 
 
 II 
 
;P.IVATELY flie then enquired 
 About him fo much admired, 
 Both his name ^ wherd he dwtlt : 
 Such was the hot flames (he felt. 
 
 Then at night this youthful Lady 
 Call'd her Coach, which being ready. 
 Homeward ftraight ihe did return. 
 But her heart in flames did bum. 
 
 la 
 
PART 11. 
 
 The Lady 5 letter of a Challenge to fight him 
 upon refufing to wed her in a rnqflty without 
 who Ate was. 
 
 6HT ^ morning for a feafon 
 In her clofet would fhe reafon 
 With herfelf, & often faid-^ 
 Why has Love my heart betray'd. 
 
 I that have fo many flighted 
 Am at length fo well requited. 
 For my griefs are not a few: 
 Now I find what Love can do. 
 
 *3 
 
E that has my heart in keeping, 
 Though I for his fake be weeping. 
 Little knows what grief I feel. 
 But ril try it out with fteel. 
 
 For I will a challenge fend him, 
 And appoint where I'll attend him: 
 In a grove, without delay. 
 By the dawning of the day. 
 
 He fhall not the leaft difoover. 
 That I am a virgin lover. 
 By the challenge which I fend: 
 But for juftice I contend. 
 
 He has caufed fad diilra6tion, 
 And I come for fatisfadion. 
 Which if he denies to give. 
 One of us fhall ceafe to live. 
 
AVIN6 thus her mind revealM, 
 She her letter dofed and fealM ; 
 Now when it came to his hand. 
 The ydung man was at a (land. 
 
 In her letter (he conjur'd him 
 For to meet, S* well aflur'd him, 
 Recompence he muft afford, 
 Or difpute it with the fword. 
 
 Having read this flrange relation, 
 He was in a conftemation : ' 
 Then advifing with his friend. 
 He perfuades him to attend. 
 
 Be of courage S* make ready. 
 Faint heart never won fair Lady, 
 In regard it muft be fo, 
 I along with you will go. 
 
 >5 
 
PART III. 
 
 Hoiv they met by appointment in a Grove, 
 where Jhe obliged him to fight or wed her. 
 
 ARLY on a Summer's morning 
 When bright Phoebus was adorning 
 Ev^ bower with his beams, , 
 The fair Lady came, it feems. 
 
 At the bottom of the mountain, 
 Near a pleafant, cryftal fountain. 
 There flie left her gilded coach, 
 While the Grove fhe did approach. 
 
 »7 
 
PVER'D with her malk, ^ walking, 
 There (he met her Lover talking 
 With a friend that he had brought, 
 Straight fhe a&'d him who he fought. 
 
 I am challenged by a gallant. 
 Who refolves to try my talent t 
 Who h^ is I caimot &y. 
 But I hope to ihow him play. 
 
 It 18 I that did invite you, 
 You ihall wed me or Fll fight you 
 Underneath thofe fpreading trees. 
 Therefore choofe you which you pleafe. 
 
 You fhall find I do not vapour, 
 I have brought my trufiy rapier. 
 Therefore take your choice, fays (he, 
 Either fight or marry me. 
 
 i8 
 
> 
 
 AID he. Madam, pray what mean you? 
 In my life I've never feen you: 
 Pray unmaik — your vi^e fhow. 
 Then I'll tell you Aye or No. 
 
 I will not my face uncover 
 Till the marriage ties are over, 
 Therefore, choofe you which you will. 
 Wed me. Sir— or — ^try your ikill. 
 
 Step within that pleafant bower 
 With your friend one (ingle hour: 
 Strive your thoughts to reconcile, 
 And I'll wander here the while. 
 
 While this charming Lady waited. 
 The young bachelors debated. 
 What was beft for to be done : 
 Qjioth his friend — the hazard run. 
 
 «9 
 
F my judgment can be truiled, 
 
 Wed her firft — ^you can't be worfted; 
 
 If {he's rich, you'll rife to fame, 
 
 If ihe's poor— why, you're the fame. 
 
 He confented to be married : 
 In her coach they all were carried 
 To a Church, without delay 
 Where he weds the Lady gay. 
 
 The fweet pretty Cupids hover'd 
 Round her eyes— her face was covered. 
 With a malk — ^he took her thus, 
 Juft for better or for worfe. 
 
 With a courteous, kind behaviour 
 She prefents his friend a favour, 
 And withal difmiiT'd him ftraight 
 That he might no longer wait. 
 
 30 
 
 
 ■;.>' 
 
PART IV. 
 
 How thy rode together in her gilded Coacb 
 to her mhk Seat or Cafik. 
 
 S the gilded Coach flood ready, 
 The young lover & his Lady, 
 Rode together till they came, 
 To her houfe of date S* fame. 
 
 Which appeared like a CafUe, 
 Where he might hehold a parcel 
 Of young cedars, tall <§» fixaight. 
 Juft before her Palace gate. 
 
 n 
 
AND in hand they walk'd together. 
 To a hail, or parlour rather, 
 Which was beautiful ^ fair— »- 
 All alone fhe left him there. 
 
 Two long hours there he waited 
 Her return — ^at length he fretted, 
 And began to grieve at laft, 
 For he had not broke his fail. 
 
 Still he fat like one amaz^ 
 Round a fpacious room he gaz^ 
 Which was richly beautified: 
 But, alas ! he loft his bride. 
 
 There was peeping, laughing, fneerin^ 
 All within the Lawyer's hearing: 
 But his bride he could not fee- 
 Would I were at home thought be. 
 
 34 
 
HILE his heart was melancholy, 
 Said the Steward, brilk S* joUy, 
 Tdlme, friend, how came you here? 
 You have fome defign I fear. 
 
 He reply'd— dear loving mafter, 
 You fhall meet with no difafter 
 Through my means in any cafe-^ 
 Madam brought me to this place. 
 
 Then the Steward did retire, 
 Saying, that he would enquiiB 
 Whether it was true or no : 
 Never was love hampered io» 
 
 Now the Lady who had fill'd him 
 With thofe fears, full well beheld him, 
 Frpm a window where fhe dreft, 
 Pleaf^ at the pleafant je{fc. 
 
 *5 
 
HEN flie had herfelf attir'd 
 In rich robes to be admired. 
 She appeared in his fight, 
 Like a moving angel bright. 
 
 Sir — ^my fervants have related, 
 How you have fome hours waited 
 In my parlour — ^tell me who. 
 In my houfe you ever knew. 
 
 Madam — ^if t have offended, 
 It is more than I intended; 
 A young Lady Inrought me here^- 
 That is true, (he faid^ my dear. 
 
 I can be no longer cruel 
 To my joy ^ only jewel — 
 Thou art mine, ^ I am thine, 
 Hand S* heart I do refign. 
 
 »6 
 
NCE I was a wounded lover, 
 Now, thefe fears are fairly over, 
 By receiving what I gave 
 Thou art Lord of all I have. 
 
 Beauty, honour, love S* treafure, 
 A rich, golden ftream of pleafure 
 With his Lady he enjoys— 
 Thanks to Cupid's kind decoys. 
 
 Now he's doth'd in rich attire 
 Not inferior to a Squire : 
 Beauty, honour, riches, ftore, 
 What can man defire more ? 
 
 ay 
 
/. 
 
gicmpmreg, atriouflie engtatten fxQ 
 
 Jdeph CtamhaSi^ Newcaftle upon Tyne : 
 
 Editor of the « Newcaftle Filhers* Garlands^" 
 
 Author of "Hie Compleatefl Angling Book^" 
 
 « Border Notes & Mixty-mastty," 
 
 *«Chapl^ from Coquetfide^*^ 
 
Cnmtgntai at gg jLeaPenfcane 3ttt&^ 
 
 London,' by Fidd & Tuer, 
 
 AMKO.M.DCCC. 
 
THE 
 
 BABES 
 
 in the Wood 
 
 ANiro.M.DCCC. 
 •L.XXX.XIZ* 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Fiddd* Tner. Sbnpliln, MarihaU d* Co, 
 
 Hamiltoh, Adams & Co. 
 
 NEW YORK: Scribner & WeUwd. 
 
The 
 
 moft Lamentable 
 
 Deplorable 
 HISTORY 
 
 of the 
 
 TWO CHILDREN in the WOOD. 
 
 Containing : 
 
 The happy Loves (§* Lives of their Parents^ 
 
 The Treachery S* harharms Villany ^ their Unkk, 
 
 The Duel between the Murthering Rt^am, 
 
 ^ the unhc^py ^ depiorahk death of 
 
 the two innocent Children, 
 
 As alfo an account of the yujlice of God that overtook 
 
 the Unnatural Unkle: & of the deferved Death of 
 
 the two murthering Ruffians, 
 
 ANKO.M.DCCC, 
 
The 
 
 Children in the Wood: 
 
 or 
 
 The Norfolk Gentleman's laft will 
 Teftament. 
 
 [Appears to have been written in 1595, being entered in that year 
 on the Stationeis books. But the oldeft Edition now known in 
 print is that entitled * T&e Cruel UncleJ 12? , 1670.] 
 
 NOW ponder well, you parents dear, 
 The words which I fhall write : 
 A doleful ftory you fhall hear. 
 In time brought forth to light: 
 A Gentleman of good account 
 
 In Norfolk liv'd of late, 
 Whofe wealth and riches did furmount 
 Mbft men of his eflate. 
 
SORE Sick he was, <§- like to die, 
 No help that he could have ; 
 His wife by him as iick did lie. 
 And both poffeiTd one grave. 
 No love between thefe two was loft, 
 
 Each was to other kind : 
 In love they liv'd, in love they died. 
 And left two babes behind. 
 
 HE one a fine S* pretty boy. 
 Not paffing three years old ; 
 
 The other a girl, more yoimg than he, 
 And made in beauty's mould. 
 The Father left his little Son, 
 
 "5 
 
 As pldnly doth appear, 
 When he to perfed age fhould come^ 
 Three hundred poimds a year. 
 
Q^niit^ ^tavhe 
 
 ^^i: onfit pAviie, 
 
M 
 
plD to his little daughter Jane 
 
 Five Hundred pounds in gold. 
 To be paid down on marriage day. 
 Which might not be controul'd: 
 But if the children chance to die 
 Ere they to age (hould come. 
 Their Unde fhould poflefs their wealth : 
 For fo the will did run. 
 
 OW, brother, faid the dying man 
 Look to my children dear : 
 Be good unto my boy S»-gaA, 
 No friends elfe have I here ; 
 To God ^ you I do commend 
 
 My children night & day ; 
 But little while, be fure^ we have 
 Within this world to ftay. 
 
OU muft be Father S* Mother both, 
 
 And Unde all in one : 
 God knows what will become of them 
 When I am dead &» gone. 
 With that befpake their Mother dear, 
 
 O Brother kind, quoth ihe, 
 You are the man muft bring our babes 
 To wealth or mifery. 
 
 ND if you keep them carefully. 
 Then God will you reward ; 
 
 If otherwife you feem to deal, 
 God will your deeds r^^aid. 
 
 With lips as cold as any ftone. 
 She kifTed her children finall : . 
 
 God blefs you both, my diiklren dear, 
 With that the tears did fall 
 
 II 
 
HESE fpeeches then their Brother fpoke 
 
 To this fick couple there : 
 The keeping of your children dear. 
 Sweet ii{br do not fear ; 
 God never profper me nor mine. 
 
 Nor aught elfe that I have, 
 If I do wrong your children dear. 
 When you are laid in grave. 
 
 HEIR parents being dead S* gone, 
 
 The children home he takes. 
 And brings them home unto his houfe, 
 And much of them he makes. 
 He had not kept thefe pretty babes 
 
 A twelvemonth ^ a day, 
 But, for their wealth, he did devife 
 To make them both away. 
 
E baigain'd with two ruffians rude. 
 Which were of furious mood, 
 That they (hould take the children young, 
 And flay them in a wood. 
 
 
 
 ^^^^sH^^r *^ 
 
 Hh 
 
 E told his wife, <^ all he had. 
 He did the children fend. 
 To be brought up in fair London^ 
 With one that was his friend 
 
 13 
 
A 
 
 WAY then wentthefe pretty babes. 
 Rejoicing at that tide. 
 Rejoicing with a merry mind, 
 They fliould on cocthorfe ride. 
 
 HEY prate & prattle pleafandy. 
 
 As they rode on the way, 
 To thofe that ihould their butchers be^ 
 
 And work their lives dec^. 
 
 H 
 
So that the pretty fpeech tl^ey hadt 
 Made murderers hearts relent; 
 And they that undertook the deed. 
 Full fore they did repent. 
 Yet one of them, mcnre hard of heart, 
 
 Did vow to do his charge, 
 Becaufe the wretch that hired him 
 Had paid him very large. 
 
 HE other'd not agree thereto^ 
 
 So here they fell at ftrife ; 
 With one another they did fight, 
 About the Childreds* life : 
 And he that was of mildeft mood. 
 
 Did flay the other there, 
 l^thin an unfrequented wood, 
 While Babes did quake with fear 
 
 15 
 
E took the Children by the hand 
 When tears flood in their eye, 
 And bade them come S* go with him, 
 And look they did not cry : 
 And two long miles he led them on. 
 
 While they for food complain: 
 Stay here, quoth he, I'll bring you bread. 
 When I do come again. 
 
 HESE prettv bab^s, with hand in hand, 
 
 Went wandering up & down : 
 But never more they faw the maiii. 
 Approaching from the town i 
 Their pretty lips with black-berries. 
 
 Were all befmear'd <§- dyed. 
 And, when they faw the darkfome night. 
 They fate them down <§• cried. 
 
 17 
 
HUS wander'd thefe two pretty babes, 
 
 Till death did end their grief i 
 In one anothers arms they died, 
 As babes wanting relief: 
 No burial thefe pretty babes 
 Of any man receives. 
 
 Till Robin-red-breaft painfully 
 Did cover them with leaves. 
 
 ND now the heayy wrath of God 
 Upon their Uncle fell: 
 Yea — ^fearful fiends did haunt his houfe, 
 His confcience felt an hell : 
 His bams were fir'd, his goods confum'd, 
 
 His lands were barren made, 
 His cattle died within the fields 
 And nothing with him ftay'd. 
 
 i8 
 
;ND in the voyage to Portugal, 
 Two of his fons did die ; 
 And, to conclude, himfelf was brought 
 To extreme mifery; 
 He pawn'd & mortgaged all his land 
 
 Ere feven years came about 
 And now at length this wicked ad 
 Did by this means come out. 
 
 HE fellow that did take in hand 
 
 Thefe Children for to kill. 
 Was for a robbery judg'd to die 
 As was God's blefTed will : 
 Who did confefe the very truth. 
 The which is here ezprefT'd ; 
 Their Uncle died while he, for debt 
 In prifon long did reft. 
 
 ao 
 
LL you that be executors made, 
 And overfeers eke, 
 Of children that be fatherlefs. 
 And infants mild S* meek, 
 Take you example by this thing, 
 
 And yield to each his right, 
 
 Left God, with fuch like mifery. 
 
 Your wicked minds requite. 
 
 21 
 
u 
 
V 
 
 iSetotte tett fiiortb & aaomti WXb 
 
 Jofi^ CrawhaU, Newcaftle upon Tyne : 
 
 Editor of the " Newcastle Fllhera^ Gariands^" 
 
 Author of **Vas Compleateft Anting Booker" 
 
 "Bolder Notes & Mixty-maxty," , 
 
 "Chaplets from Coquetfid«^" 
 
gnq^tgnteo at p> Leapenliane Igreflfe, 
 
 London, by Field & Tuer, 
 
 
 
 ANNTO.M.DCCC. 
 .L.XXX»XIX> 
 
 \ 
 
Jemmy6*nancy 
 
 OF 
 
 Yasmoutm. 
 
 ANKO.M.DCCCt 
 
 LONDON: 
 FMd €f Tuer. Slmpkfai, Marfliall & 0> 
 Hamilton, Adatos & Co. 
 NEW YORK : Soibner & Wdfoid. 
 
Jemmy & Nancy 
 
 YARMOUTH : 
 
 or the 
 
 Gonftant Lovers. 
 
 In Four Parts, 
 
 PART I. 
 Shemng how beautiful Nancy of Tarmouth fell 
 in hoe wthynrng yemmy the Saihr, 
 
 PART II. 
 
 How the Father comeyed a Letter to deftroy 
 young Jemmy^ Us daught&i^s Sweetheart, 
 
PART III. 
 
 Sixwinghow the Ghoji of young yemmy the Satloir 
 appeared to betxutijful Nancy of Tarmouth, 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 How the Gho/is of thefe two urfortumte Lovers 
 appeared to the Boatfwazny and he^ ha/oing Ins 
 trial f was hanged at the yard-arm. 
 
PART I. 
 Skewing how beautifitl Nancy ff Tanmuth fell 
 in love with young yemmy the Smlor. 
 
 Tune-^** The Tarmouth Tragedy^ 
 
 OVERS, I pray, lend an ear to my ftory. 
 Take an example by this conftant pair: 
 How love a young Virgin did blaft in her glory, 
 Beautiful Nancy of Yarmouth, we hear. 
 
 She was a rich Merchant's only daughter, 
 Heirefs unto fifteen hundred a year: 
 A young man who courted her called her his jewel. 
 The fon of a Gentleman who lived near. 
 
ANY long years the fair maid he adnur'd. 
 When they were infants, in love they agreed : 
 And, when at age this young coupl'd arrived, 
 Cupid an arrow between them difplay'd. 
 
 Thcsb: tender hearts were clofe linked together t 
 But, when her parents the fame they did hear. 
 They, to their charming young beautiful daughtei, 
 Aded a part that was hard and fevere. 
 
 Daughter, they faid, pray give o*er your proceeding; 
 If that againft our confent you do wed, 
 For evermore we refolve to difown you, 
 If you wed with one that is fo mean bred. 
 
 Then faid her Mother— you have a great fortune, 
 Befides, you are beautiful, charming and young; 
 You are a match, my dear child, that is fitting. 
 For any Lord that is in Chriilendom. 
 
HEN did reply the young beautiful Virgin, 
 Riches S* honours I both do defy ; 
 If that I'm denied of my deareft lover — 
 Then, farewell World! which is all vanity. 
 
 Jemmy's the man that I do moft admire, 
 He is the riches that I do adore x 
 For to be greater I have no desire, 
 My heart is fix't, never for to love more. 
 
 Then faid her Father, 'tis my refolution, 
 Although I have no more daughters but thee, 
 U that, with him you refolve for to mairry, 
 Banifh'd for ever from me thou ihalt be. 
 
 Well, cruel Father — ^but this I defire. 
 Grant me that Jemmy once more I may fee, 
 Though you do part us I ftill will be loyal, 
 For none in the world I admire but he. 
 
OR the young man he then fent> in a 
 Saying, for ever. Sir, now take your leave t 
 I have a match far more fit for my dal^hter, 
 Therefore it is but a folly to grieve. 
 
 Honour^ Father, then faid the young lady, 
 Promifed we are, by the Powers above; 
 Why of all comfort here will you bereave me? 
 Our love is fixt, never to be remov'd. 
 
 To him faid her Father^^a trip to the Ocean, 
 You ihall firft go in a iliip of my own. 
 And I'll confent that you fhall have my daughter. 
 When unto Yarmouth again you return. 
 
 HonourM Sir, then reply^d the two lovei^. 
 Since 'tis your will, we are bound to obey ; 
 Our conflant hearts they can never be parted, 
 But our eager defires for a time we can Iky. 
 
 10 
 
Cempus etiar return. 
 
 €^ €xm iss ttie jToixM. 
 
 13 
 
HEN faid kind Nanqr — ^behold deareft Jemmy, 
 Here, take this ring as the pledge of our vows; 
 With it my heart — ^keep it fafe in your bofom. 
 And carry it with you wherever you goes. 
 
 Then in his arms he did clofely enfold her, • 
 While chryftal tears like a fountain did floWj 
 Crying, my heart in return do I give you, 
 And you fhall be prefent wherever I go. 
 
 When on the Ocean, my dear, I am f^ng. 
 The thoughts of my jewel the compafs fhall fleer; 
 Thefe long tedious days fpeedly Time will devour. 
 And foon bring me home again fafe to my dear. 
 
 Therefore be confbnt, my dear lovely jewel i 
 For, by the heavens ! if you are untrue, 
 My troubled ghofl fhall torment you for ever — 
 Dead or alive, I will have none biit you. 
 
 n 
 
ER lovely arms round his neck then fhe twined, 
 Saying, my dear, when you are on the feas, 
 If the fates unto us fhould prove unkind, 
 That we each other no more ever feet. 
 
 Its — ^no man alive that ihall ever wed me^ 
 Soon as the tidings of death reach my ear. 
 Then, like a poor, unfortunate lover, 
 Down to the grave I will go to my dear. 
 
 Then with a forrowful figh he departed. 
 The wind next morning blew a pleafant gale i 
 All things, being ready, the fam'd Mary Galley 
 Then for Barbadoes fhe ftraightway fet fail. 
 
 14 
 
•3< 
 
 
 PART 11. 
 
 How the Father conveyed a letter to de/hroy young 
 Jemmy y ins daughters (weetJieart, 
 
 feMMY was floating upon the wide ocean. 
 And her crael parents were plotting the while, 
 How that the heart of their beautiful daughter. 
 With curf ed gold they ihould ftrive to beguile. 
 
 Many a Lord of great fame, birth, & breeding, 
 Came for to court this young beautiful maid; 
 But their rich prefents ^ profFeA (he flighted, 
 Conflant 111 be to my jewel, ihe faid. 
 
 «S 
 
OW for a while wie will leave this fair maiden^ 
 And tell how things with her Jemmy did go i 
 In fair Barbadoes the ihip had arrived — 
 But nowl'llrelate this fond lover's overthrow. 
 
 Young Jemmy was comely in every feature—* 
 A Barbadoes lady, whofe fortune was great. 
 So fixed her eyes, that (he cried, if I have not 
 This brave Englifh failor. 111 die for his fake. 
 
 She drefl'M herfelf all in gallant attire, 
 With coilly diamonds fhe plaited her h^. 
 And a hundred flaves aU well dreif 'd to attend her, 
 She fent for this young man to come unto her. 
 
 O come, noble Sailor, fhe cried, can you fancy, 
 A Lady whofe riches are fo very great; 
 An hundred flaves you fhall have to attend you, 
 And mufic to charm you in your filent fleep. 
 
 i6 
 
N robes of gold, my dear I will deck you, 
 Pearls & rich jewels I'll lay at your feet — 
 In a chariot of gold you Ihall ride for your pleafurei 
 So, if you can fancy me, anfwer me itraight. 
 
 Amazed with wonder, awhile he*ftood gazing- 
 Forbear, noble lady, at length he replied. 
 In flourifliing England IVe vow'd to a lady. 
 On my return home for to make her my brid«. 
 
 She is a charming, young, beautiful creature, 
 She has my heart S' I can love no more; 
 I bear in my eye her fweet lovely feature. 
 And no other creature on earth I'll adore. 
 
 Hearing of this, file did rave in diftra6lion, 
 Crying, unfortunate maid thus to love. 
 One that fo bafely does flight all my glory. 
 And of my perfon he will not approve. 
 
 19 
 
ORDS of renown, I their favours have flighted, 
 Now I muft die for a Sailor fo bold; 
 I muft not blame him becaufe he is conftant. 
 True love, I know, is far better than gold 
 
 A coftly jewel flie inftantly gave him, 
 Then in her trembling hand took a knife- 
 One fatal ftroke, & before they could fave her» 
 Quickly ihe did put an end to her life. , 
 
 Great lamentations was made for this lady ; 
 Jemmy on board of the (hip he did fteer, 
 And then to England he homeward came failing. 
 With a longing defire to meet with his dear. 
 
 But, when her father found he was returning, 
 A letter he wrote to the Boatfwain, his friend. 
 Saying — a handfome reward I will give you, . 
 If you the life of young Jemmy will end. 
 
 so 
 
OID of all grace, <§*, for fake of the money, 
 The crael Boatfwain the fame did complete i 
 As they were on the deck lovingly walking. 
 He fuddenly tumbled him into the deep. 
 
<( 
 
 att {lanDjs aI)os] m^m^n^imm^i** 
 
 ai 
 
PART III. 
 Shemng how^e Gho/i of young yemmythe Sailor 
 appeared to beautiful Nancy of Yarmouth, 
 
 N the dead of the night, when aU were afleep, 
 His troubled Ghofl to his love did appear. 
 Crying — ^Arife my own beautiful Nanqr, 
 And perform the vow you did make to vour dear. 
 
 You are my own, therefore tarry no longer. 
 Seven long years for your fake did 1 flay, 
 H3rmen now waits for to crown us with pleafure. 
 The bride guefls are ready, then come, oome away. 
 
 n 
 
HE cnkd out— Who's that .under my window? 
 Surely it muft be the voice of my dear — 
 Lifting her head from aS h&c downy pillow, 
 Straig^ to the cafement ihe then did repair. 
 
 Bythe light ofdie moon, ti^iichfo brightly was ihining, 
 She efpied her lover, who to her did fey. 
 Your parents are flee|»ng — ^before they do waken, 
 Beftir you, dear creature, & ftrai^t oome away. 
 
 Oh Jemmy ! (he cried, if my father fhould hear thee. 
 We both ihall be ruin'd, pray therefore repair— 
 Unto the fea-iide, I will infbantly meet you,. 
 And with my two maids I will come to thee there; 
 
 Her night-gown, embroider'd with gold <S» with filver. 
 Then careleflly around her body fhe throws. 
 And with the two maidens who did attend her, 
 To meet her true lover fhe inftantly goes. 
 
 24 
 
Cfie genuine oID original actide: 
 JSone 0* m t&'bUz turning ano mnOiouclne 
 
 as 
 
|HE Spirit then, dofe in his arms did enfold her- 
 Oh Jemmy, fhe faid, you are colder than day. 
 Sure you can ne'er be the man I admire. 
 Paler than death you appear unto me. 
 
 Yes, faireft creature, I am your true lover. 
 Dead or alive, I know you are my own, 
 I come for my vow, and, my dear you muft follow 
 My body now unto a cold, watery tomk 
 
 I for your fake did refiife gold ^ filver— 
 Beauty S* riches for you I defpif'd; 
 A charming young lady for me did expin 
 For thinking of you I was deaf to her cries. 
 
 Your cruel parents have been my undoing. 
 And I now fleep in a watery tomb; 
 Now for your promife, my dear 1 am fueing, 
 Dead or alive, bve, you (till are my own. 
 
 26 
 
PART IV. 
 
 How the Qhofts of theje two ufifbrtunate Ijuners 
 appeared to the Boatfwain, and he, hawng his 
 iriai, was hanged at the vard'arm. 
 
 HE trembling Lady was forely aflnghted, 
 AmazM fhe ftood near the brink of the fea ; ' 
 With eyes lift to heaven, flie cried — ^Cruel parents, 
 
 May heaven requite you for your cruelty. 
 
 Indeed I did promife my own deareft creature, 
 That, dead or alive, I would Ml be his own; 
 Now this folemn vow to perform I'm qmte ready, 
 To foUow him unto his watery tomb. 
 
 27 
 
HE maids they did hear tMs fad lamentation^ 
 But the apparition they did not feet 
 And thinldng the Lady was fall'n in diftra£Hon, 
 They ftrove to perfuade her contented to be. 
 
 But itiU ihe kept crying, my dear, I am coming, 
 And upon "thy bofom I'll foon fall afleep; 
 Then, when ihe had fpoke, this unfortunate Lady, 
 Did fuddenly plunge herfelf into the deep. 
 
 But when to her Father the maids told the matter, 
 His hands he did wring, crying, what have I done? 
 Oh! deareft daughter — ^'twas thy cruel Father, 
 That did provide for thee a watery tomb. 
 
 When two or three days from this time had expir'd, 
 Thefe two moft unfortunate lovers were feen ; 
 In each others arms they together were floating. 
 By the fide of a fhip on the watery main. 
 
 28 
 
HEN the cruel Boatfwain was ibicken with horror, 
 And Araightway confelT'd the fad deed he had done, 
 Shew'd likewife the letter that came from her Father, 
 Which was the main caufe of thefe true lovers' doom. 
 
 On board of the fhip he was tried for the murder. 
 And at the yard-arm he was hang'd for the fame; 
 Her father he foon broke his heart for his daughter, 
 Before that the (hip to the harbour then came. 
 
 It was curfed gold that has caufed this dellrudion. 
 Oh ! why ihould the rich covet fo after gain ? 
 I hope that this ftory it will be a warning, 
 That no cruel Parents may ne'er do the fame. 
 
 True love is far better than jewels ^ treafiire, 
 And riches can never buy true love I know. 
 But this loving couple they lov'd without meafure. 
 And love was th' occafion of their overthrow. 
 
 ^IMp y^ 
 
 30 
 
gcttlptuteg. curUmCie engtauen fp 
 
 Jofeph Crawhall, NewcafUe uptm Tyne : 
 
 Editor of the " Newcaftle FUhera^ Garlands," 
 
 Author of *'The Compleateft Ang^ Booke," 
 
 •• Bolder Notes & Mixty-maxly/' 
 
 "Chaplets from Coquetfide^" 
 
CmprgnteD at g' jLeabenftafle l^tcfl^ 
 
 London, by Field & Tuer. 
 
 ANKO.M.DCCCo 
 
THE 
 
 TAMING OF A 
 
 SH REW- 
 
 AlIiro*M.DCCC. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 Field & Tuer. Simpkin, MarfliaU df Ca 
 
 Hamilton, Adams & Co. 
 
 NEW YORK : Scril}ner & Wdfoid. 
 
The taming of a Shrew. 
 
 [From one of the Sloane M.S.S. in the Britiih Mufeum (No. 1489). 
 The writing of Charles the firft's time.] 
 
 L you that are aiTembled heev^ 
 
 Come liften to my Song, 
 But firft a pardon I muft qrave. 
 
 For feare of further wrong; 
 I muft entreat thes good W3rvei al 
 
 They wil not angrye be. 
 And I will fing a merrye Song, 
 
 If they thereto agree. 
 

 ECAUSE the Song 1 mean to iing» 
 Doth touch them mod of all, 
 
 And loth I were that any one 
 With nie (hold chide and brawle; 
 
 I have anough of that at home, 
 At boarde; and eake in bed, 
 
 And once for (inging this fame Song 
 My Wyfe did breake my head. 
 
UT if thes good Wyves all be pleafed, 
 
 And pleafed be the men, 
 lie venture one more broken pate^ 
 
 To iing it once agayne ; 
 But firft He tell you what its cald; 
 
 For feare you heare no more, 
 'Tis calde the Taming of a Shrew, 
 
 Not often fung before. 
 
Sing-sing. 
 
ND if I then (hall fing the reft, 
 
 A figne I needs muft have. 
 Hold but your finger up to me, 
 
 Or f^tVXf thats al I crave; 
 Then wil I (ing it with a harte, 
 
 And to it roundelye goe, 
 You know my mynde, now let me fee 
 
 Whether I flial fmg't or no. 
 
 Hem! 
 
ELL then I fee you willing ar^ 
 That I Ihall fing the refte, 
 To pleafure all thes good wyves heirc 
 
 I meane to do my beft, 
 For I doe fee even by their lookes 
 
 No hurte to me they thinke. 
 
 And thus it chancte upon a tyme 
 
 (But firfl give me a drinke.) 
 
 ID 
 
N 
 
 OT long agoe a luftye lad 
 
 Did woo a livelye lafs, 
 And long it was before he cold 
 
 The wedding bring to pafle: 
 Yet at the lenth it thus fell out 
 
 She granted his petition. 
 That fhe wold be his wedded wyf(^ 
 
 But yet on this condition. 
 
 12 
 

 .:. "V 
 
HAT fhe {hold weare the breeches on 
 For one yeare and a day. 
 And not to be controld of him 
 
 Whatfoere flie'd do or fay; 
 She rulde, (he raigned, fhe had hir wil, 
 
 Even as fhe wold require. 
 But marke what fell out afterwards, 
 Good wyves I you defyre. 
 
 ffie! 
 
 «4 
 
HE made him weary of his lyfe, 
 
 He wiflite that death wold come, 
 And end his myferye at once, 
 
 Ere that the yeare was run ; 
 He thought it was the longeft yeare, 
 
 That was fince he was borne, 
 But he cold not the matter mend, 
 
 For he was thereto fworne. 
 
 '5 
 
> * 
 
 wmmmmmmmmmm^wm)mmm% 
 
 ET hath the longeft day his date, 
 For this we al do know. 
 Although the day be neer foe long. 
 
 To even foone wil't goe; 
 So fell it out with hir at lenth, 
 
 The yeare was now come out» 
 The fun, and moone, and all the ftarres* 
 
 Their race had run ^out. 
 
 i6 
 
HEN he began to roufe himfelfe, 
 And to his wife he faide. 
 Since that your raigne is at an end. 
 
 Now know me for your Keade ; 
 But fhe that had borne fwaye fo long 
 
 Wold not be under brought. 
 But ftil her tounge on pattens ran, 
 
 Though many blowes flie caught. 
 
 «7 
 
E bet hir backe, he bet hir fyde, 
 He bet hir blacke and blew. 
 
 But for all tlus ihe wold not mend, 
 But worfe and worfe Ihe grew; 
 
 When that he faw (he wolde not meiM^ 
 Another way wrought hee, 
 
 He mewde hir up as men mew hawkes, 
 Where noe light ihe cold fee. 
 
 «9 
 
ND kept hir without meate or drinkd 
 For four dayes fpace and more, 
 Yet for all this flie was as ill 
 As ere flie was before; 
 When that he faw fhe wold not mend. 
 
 Nor that fhe wold be quiet, 
 Neither for ftroakes, nor locking up> 
 Nor yet for want of dyet. 
 
 %i 
 
 ■■ /, , /-Xn ; 
 
E was almoft at his wits end. 
 He knew not what to doe, 
 So that with gentlenes againe 
 He gane his wyfe to woo ; 
 But fhe foone bad him holde his peace, 
 
 And fware it was his beft, 
 But then he thought him of a wyle 
 Which made him be at reft. 
 
 V 
 
 aa 
 
HE told a friend or two of his, 
 What he had in his mynde^ 
 Who went with him unto his houfe, 
 
 And when they all had dynde -, 
 Good wyfe (quoth he) thes frends of 
 
 Come hither for your good, 
 There lyes a vayne under your toung, 
 k Muil now be letten blood. 
 
 «3 
 
earenotattatle noteuen. bi 
 
 S KolieBoigrrre* 
 
 HEN (he began to ufe hir tearmeSp 
 And rayled at them faft, 
 Yet bounde they hir for all hir ftrentb, 
 Unto a poafl: at laft; 
 And let hir blood under the toung, 
 
 And tho flie bled full fore, 
 Yet did fhe rayle at them aa hSt, 
 As ere fhe raylde before. 
 
 44 
 
 Clippit f et. 
 
 »• 
 
 »5 
 
EL then (quothhe)thefaiilte I fee, 
 She hath it from hir mother. 
 It is hir teeth infeds hir toung. 
 And it can be noe other; 
 And iince Inow do know the caufe^ 
 
 Whatfoever to me befall, 
 He plucke hir teeth out of hir toung. 
 Perhaps hir toung and all. 
 
 36 
 
ND with a payre of pinfers ftrong, 
 He pluckt a great tooth out. 
 And for to pluck another thenc^ 
 He quicklye went about 
 But then fhe held up both her hands. 
 
 And did for mercye pray, 
 Protefting that againft his will 
 She would not doe or fiqre. 
 
 37 
 
w 
 
 HEREAT hir hulband was right glad 
 That {he had changde her mynde. 
 For from that tyme unto hir death 
 
 She proved both good and kjmde; 
 Then did he take hir hma the poaft, 
 
 And did unbynde hir then; 
 I wold al Shrews were ferved thus, 
 All good wyves fay— 
 
 AMEN 
 
BtMt mt ftortb a* anomti tpfl> 
 giculptureg. cimouflic engrattcn t(g 
 
 Jofeph Crawhall» Newcaftle upon Tyne : 
 
 Editor of the " Newcaftle FiBxttf Garlands," 
 
 Author of "The Compleateft AngUngr Booke," 
 
 " Border Notes a* Mixty-mBXtSTt" 
 
 ••Chapleti from Coqtwtfid^** 
 
<&iq>tpnteD at g' ileaiienl>aife I^relft. 
 
 London, by Field & Tuer. 
 
 AMKO.M.DCCCo 
 
Blew Cap 
 
 FOR 
 
 MEE. 
 
 ANKO^M.DCCC* 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 Pldd 6* Tuer. SImpkIn, Marfhall & Co. 
 
 Hamilton, Adams & Co. 
 
 NEW YORK : Scribner & Welfoid. 
 
 «> 
 
Blew Cap forme, 
 
 OR 
 
 a fecotttCf) %^idk Jer reColute ttufinfl* 
 IS^eel |)a\je ijonnp tlebj-cap* all otfter teMns* 
 
 TO A CURIOUS NEW SCOTTISH TUNE CALLED BleW-Cap, 
 
 ["The copy of this Ballad in the Roxburghe Q>lIe6tion 
 Q.. 2a2i.) is of fome years earlier date than the one 
 included in the " Antidote against Melancholy " of 1661, 
 Thomas Lambert publiflied during ibe reign of Charles i" 
 and in the time of the Commonwealth. Perhaps the 
 reference to '* When our good King was in FalklandTown," 
 may fupply an approximate date to the compofition."] 
 Ballad Society's publications, VoL i., part 2, p. 74. 
 
 if^ 
 
Blew cap for me. 
 
 w 
 
 |OME hither^ the merri-fl: of all the nine> 
 Come fit thee down by me, ^ let us be jolly. 
 And in a full cup of Apollo's wine 
 We'll drown our old enemy, mad melancholy. 
 
 HIGH when wee haue done, 
 Wee*ll between vs deuife 
 A dainty new^ ditty 
 With art to comprife; 
 And of this new ditty. 
 The matter fhall be— 
 
 ^it eber S iiabe a man* 
 i$leh)stap for me* 
 
A 
 
 HERE liues a blithe Lafle in Faukeland towne. 
 And (hee had fome fuitors, I wot not how many; 
 But her refolution {he had fet downe. 
 That ihee'd hauea Blew-capgif e're fhe had any t 
 N Englifli man 
 
 When our good King was there, 
 
 Came often vnto her, 
 
 And loued her deerei 
 
 But ftiU fhe replide, '' Sir, 
 
 I pray let me be, 
 
 <gtf eber 3 Sa^e a man* 
 i^letostap for me." 
 
 * 
 
w 
 
 M WELCHM AN that had a long fword by her fide, 
 
 Am Red pritches, red Tublet, red coat, ^ red Peard, 
 
 ^ J^ Was make agreat fhew with a creat dealof pride, 
 
 And tell her ftrange tale that the like T^as nere heerd; 
 
 AS reckon her pedigree 
 Long before Prute; 
 No body was by her 
 That can her confute i 
 But ftill file repHde, " Sir, 
 I pray let me bet 
 
 Meb^cap for me/' 
 
 8 
 
iT 
 
 K 
 
FRENCHMAN, that largely was booted ^ fpur'd. 
 Long lock't, with a Ribon, long points ^breeches, 
 Hee*s ready to kifs her at euery word. 
 And further to gain her love his fingers itches i 
 "T/^OU be pritty wench, 
 X Miftrifs, par ma foyt 
 ^^■^^^ Begar, me doe bue you 
 
 M BMK m Then be not you ooy.** 
 
 ^^OM ^ But ftill fhe replide, <'Sir, 
 
 ^^^^^ I pray let me be: 
 
 <@if eViet If f)a\)e a man 
 iSle^^cap fox me/' 
 
 ID 
 
AN Irifhman, with a long fkeane in his hofe, 
 jUm Did tinke toobtaine her itwas no great matteri 
 ^ ^^ Vp ftayres to her chamber fo lightly he goes. 
 That file ne're heard him vntil he 'gan flatter: 
 
 ^UOTH he, "I doe loue you. 
 By fate and by trote. 
 And if you will haue me, 
 Experjence fliall fliote." , 
 But ftiU flie replide, "Sir, 
 I pray let me bei 
 
 <@t! e^er S t)a))e a tnan» 
 JSleto^cap for me*" 
 
 
 
 12 
 
A 
 
 DAINTY fpruce Spanyard, with haire black as jett, 
 Long cloak with round cape, a long Rapier and Ponyard j 
 Hee told her if that fliee could Scotland forget, 
 Hee'd fhew her the Vines as they grow in the Vineyard. 
 
 F thou wilt abandon 
 
 r 
 
 This Country fo cold, 
 Tie fliew thee faire Spaine, 
 And much Indian gold." 
 But ftill fhe repHde^ « Sir, 
 I pray let me be; 
 
 #tf eber 3 Ja\je a man, 
 Bletoscap fot me" 
 
 H 
 
A 
 
 HAUGHTY high German of Hamborough towne, 
 A proper tall gallant, with mighty muftachoes; 
 He weepes if the Laffe vpon him doe but frowne, 
 Yet he's a great Fencer diat comes to ore-match vs. 
 UT yet all his fine fencing 
 
 Could not get the LaiTe ; 
 
 She dehy'd him fo oft. 
 
 That he weary'd was; 
 
 For ftill fhe replide, « Sir, " 
 
 I pray let me be; 
 
 <§tf eber S !)abe a man. 
 BUbseap for me/* 
 
 B 
 
 i6 
 
I I 
 

 o;:'w;;))'))))M)w:^;)5 
 
 Ow ■^■^ //,'/// '^^jiaf TT^^^^^fc'' "' -^-'■' '!■''' 
 
 NETHERLAND Mariner there came by chance, 
 
 Whofe eheekes did refemble two roiling Pom waters; 
 To this Cany Lafle he his fute did aduance^ 
 And, as taught by nature, he cunningly flatters; 
 " TSK, will make thee " faid he, 
 X « Sole Lady o' th' Sea, 
 
 Both Spanirds and Englifhman 
 Shall thee obey." 
 But ftm fhe repiide, « Sir, 
 I pray let me be; 
 
 BU^scap for mee*" 
 
 i8 
 
F 
 
 HESE fundry Sutors, of feuer^ LandjB, 
 Did daily folicit this Laffe for her fauour; 
 And euery one of them aKke vnderftands 
 That to win the prize they in vain did endeavour: 
 OR fhe had refolued 
 
 (As I before faid) 
 
 To have bonny Blew-cap, 
 
 Or elfe bee a maid. 
 
 Vnto all her fuppliants / 
 
 Still replyde fhe, 
 
 (Bit etiet S !)a))e a mm. 
 Blebjscap fot mee»' 
 
 >» 
 
 «s 
 
 20 
 
Omnia Btncifiguwr. 
 
"Oreegennal EUuftrawlhuns I 1 i Maun, they're jeeft Notts o' exclawmawihuiH- 
 Ye'Il fee (hem i' maift ony buik i' the laungwedge."— '^»// Times. 
 
 A 
 
 I 
 
 ^T laft came a Scottifh man (with a blew-cap), 
 
 And he was the party for whom fhe had tarry *d; 
 To get this blithe bonny LafTe was his gude hap, — 
 They gang'd to the Kirk, <^ were prefently marry'd. 
 KEN not weele whether 
 It were Lord or Leard: 
 They caade him fome Sike 
 A like name as I heerd: 
 To chofe him from au 
 She did gladly agree, — 
 And fUl fhe cride, '' Vl^sttff^ 
 
 W^ wet tDelcome to tnee/' 
 
 "■'"""^'1 j:\ r .,.,.,. ^ 
 
 mm 
 

eoilptureg, omouflie engcattcn tig 
 
 Jofeph Crawhall, Newcaftle upon Tyne : 
 
 Editor of the *' Newcaftle Fifhera^ Garlands,' 
 
 Author of "The Compleateft Angling Booke,' 
 
 *« Border Notes & Mixty-majdy*" 
 
 "Chaplets from Coquctfide^** 
 
London, by Field & Tuer. 
 
 ANKO.M.DCCCo 
 • L.XXX.XIX* 
 
John 
 
 JOAN. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Pldd & Tuer, Sfmpkin, Marfhall & Co, 
 
 Hamilton, Adams & Co. 
 
 NEW YORK: Scribner & Welfoid. 
 
John & Joan; 
 
 or, 
 
 A Mad Couple well met. 
 
 From an old black letter copy in fAe BriAJh 
 Mufeunty mth the initials M. P,, without doidtt 
 Martin Parker ^ a Grubjlreet fcribbler ^ great 
 Ballad monger of Charles the Firjfs time. 
 
 To the tune g^** T/he Paratour.** 
 
 Y 
 
 OU nine Caflalian fifters 
 That keep Pamaflus hillr 
 Come down to me. 
 And let me bee 
 Infpired with your (kill ; 
 That well I may demonftrate^ 
 A piece of houihold ftuffe : 
 You that are wed 
 Mark what is fedd. 
 Beware of taking fnu£fe. 
 
A' 
 
 MAD phantaftic couple, 
 A young man and a laffe, 
 With their content 
 And friends consent, 
 Refolv'd their times to pafle 
 As man & wife together. 
 And fo they marry'd were t 
 Of this mad match 
 I made this catch. 
 Which you may pleafe to hear. 
 
SBBBSasaSSBBSBBBB 
 
 HEY both had imperfedions. 
 Which might have caused ftrife, 
 The man would fweare 
 And domineere, 
 So, alfo, would his wife, 
 If John went to one ale houfe» 
 Joan ran into the next : 
 Betwixt them both 
 They made an oath. 
 That neither would be vest. 
 
HATEVER did tne good man 
 His wife would do the like, 
 If he waspleaf'd. 
 She was appeaf 'd. 
 If he would kick, ihee*d ftrike, 
 If queane or flut he cal*d her 
 She caird him rogue ^ knave; 
 If he would fight 
 Shee'd fcratch S' bite. 
 He could no vidory have. 
 
IF John his dog had beaten. 
 Then Joan would beat her cat. 
 If John, in fcome, 
 His band would bum, 
 Joan would have burnt her hat. 
 If John would break a pipkin 
 Then Joan would break a pot ; 
 Thus he & (he 
 Did both agree 
 To wafte all they had got. 
 
I 
 
 F John would eat no viduals, 
 Then Joan would be as crofle. 
 They would not eat. 
 But fav'd their meat, 
 
 In that there was no lofle. 
 
 If John was bent on feaftmg^ 
 
 Then Joan was of his mind ; 
 In right or wrong 
 Both fung one fong 
 
 As Fortune them aflignU 
 
 8 
 
IN taveme or in ale houfe 
 If John ^ Joane did meet, 
 Whoe'er was by 
 In company 
 Might taft their humors fweet: 
 Whatever John had cal'd for, 
 Joan would not be out-dar'd, 
 Thofe that lack'd drink 
 Through want of chink 
 For them the better far'd 
 
HUS would they both fit drinking^ 
 As long as coine did laft ; 
 Nay more than this, 
 ' ^Ere they would miiTe^ 
 Good liquor for their tafte, 
 John would have damni'd hit doublet. 
 His cloak or any things 
 
 And Joan would pawne 
 Her coife or lawne. 
 Her bodkin or her ring. 
 
 lO 
 
IF John were drunk S* reeled 
 Then Joan would fall i' th' fire. 
 If John fell downe 
 I* th* midft o' th* towne, 
 Bewr^d in dirt ^ mire, 
 Joan, like a kind copartner, 
 Scom'd to ftand on her feet. 
 But down fhee'd faU 
 Before them all. 
 And role about the ftreet. 
 
 II 
 
IF John had cal'd his hoft knave, 
 Joan's tongue was ever worft j 
 For fuch-like crimes 
 They, often times. 
 Both out of doore were thmft. 
 If John abuf 'd the conftable, 
 Joan would have beat the watdi ; 
 Thus man S* wife. 
 In peace or ftrife. 
 Each other fought to match. 
 
 la 
 
UT, mark, now, how it chanced : 
 After a year or more, 
 This couple mad 
 All wailed had, 
 And were grown very pooie i 
 John could no more get liquor. 
 Nor Joan could purchafe drink; 
 Then both the man 
 And wife began 
 Upon their ftates to thinL 
 
 ■h 
 
 »3 
 
m^ 
 
 T 
 
 HUS beat with their own weapons, 
 John» thus, to Joan did fay 
 Sweet-heart, I fee. 
 We two agree, 
 The cleane contr^ way i 
 Henceforth let's doe in goodnefle, 
 As we have done in ill. 
 He doe my beft^ 
 Doe thou the reft : 
 A match, quoth Joan, I will 
 
 H 
 
So leaving thefe mad humouis 
 Which them before poffeft, 
 Both man S* wife 
 Doe lead a life 
 In plenty, peace, ^ refti 
 Now, John ^ Joan both jointly. 
 Doe fet hands to the pbugh : 
 Let all do foe 
 In weale or woe 
 And theyl do well enough. 
 
 «S 
 
George 
 BarneweL 
 
 J.IIiro»M.DCCC« 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 Field & Tuer. Simpkin, Marfhall & Cb. 
 
 Hamilton, Adams & Co. 
 
 NEW YORK : Scribner & Welfoid. 
 
George Barnwell. 
 
 [George Barnwell, the London Apprentice {dpi 
 probably before 1^2^^ George Lillds Tragedy 'Cof 
 the fame name (avowedly from the Ballad) ufed, until 
 recently t to beperfirmed on Boxing night, pr^ous to, 
 the Pantomime, in order thai Apprentices, who vifited 
 the Play hotffe on fuck occqfionby permi/^on of their 
 mqpers, mght prcfit by me moral kffon and Godty 
 warmng,"] , 
 
 ^^IX youths of fair England, 
 /■A That dwell both far and near, 
 ^ J^ k^gard my Story that I tdU, 
 And to my Song give ear. 
 
 A London lad I was, 
 A merchants prenidce bound, 
 
 My name Geoige Barnwel, that did fpendf 
 My mailer many a pound. 
 
AKE heed of women then. 
 
 And their enticing trains ; 
 For by their means I have been brought 
 
 To hang alive in chains. 
 
 As I, upon a day. 
 
 Was walking through the ftreet 
 About my mailer's bufinefs, 
 
 I did a lady meet. 
 
 A gallant dainty dame. 
 And ftimptuous in attire, 
 
 With fmiling looks flie greeted me, 
 And did my name require. 
 
 Which when I had declared, 
 She gave me then a kifs, 
 
 And faid, if I would come to her 
 I fhould no favour mifs. 
 
 A 
 
'^'.y 
 
I 
 
 N faith, my boy, quoth (he, 
 Such news I can you tell. 
 As (hall rejoice your very heart« 
 Then come where I do dwelL 
 
 Fair mifbefs, then faid I, 
 If I the place may know. 
 
 This evening I will be with you. 
 For I abroad muft go 
 
 To gather moneys in. 
 
 That is my mailers due : 
 And, ere that I do home return, 
 
 I'll come S* vifit you. 
 
 Good Bamwelj then quoth (he. 
 Do thou to Shoreditch com^ 
 
 And aik for Miftrefs Milwood tbeie. 
 Next door unto TAegwt, 
 
1 
 
ND truft me on my truth, 
 
 If thou keep faith with me. 
 For thy friends fake, as my own heart. 
 Thou fhalt right welcome be. 
 
 Thus parted we in peace, 
 
 - And home I paff M right ; 
 Then went abroad S» gathered in, 
 
 By Six o'clock at night 
 
 An hundred pound S* one t 
 With bag under my arm 
 
 I went to Miflrefs Milwood's houfe. 
 And thought on little harm : 
 
 And knocking at the door ; 
 
 Straightway herfdf came down ; 
 Ruilling in mod brave attire^ 
 
 With hood & filken gown. 
 
HO, through her beauty bright. 
 
 So glorioufly did fliine. 
 That fhe amaz'd my dazzled eyes. 
 She feemM fo divine. 
 
 She took me by the hand. 
 
 And with a modeft grace. 
 Welcome, fweet Barnwel, then quoth fhe. 
 
 Unto this homely place. 
 
 Welcome ten thoufand times. 
 More welcome than my brother, 
 
 And better welcome, I proteft. 
 Than any one or other. 
 
 And feeing I have tkee found 
 As good 's thy word to be, 
 
 A homely fupper, ere thou part. 
 Thou fhalt teke here with me. 
 
 II 
 
 •: V' 
 
PARDON me, quoth I, 
 Fair Miftrefs I you pray ; 
 
 For why, out of my mafters houfe 
 So long I dare not ftay : 
 
 Alas, good Sir, fhe faid, 
 
 Are you fo flridly tied, 
 You may not with your deareft friend 
 
 One hour or two abide ? 
 
 Faith, then the cafe is hard : 
 
 If it be fo, quoth fhe, 
 I would I were a prentice bound, 
 
 To live in houfe with thee. 
 
 Therefore my deareft George, 
 J^ift well what I do fay, 
 
 And do not blame a woman much 
 Her fancy to bewray: 
 
 la 
 
Cs; 
 
THINK not affeaion's force 
 Dooth favour of defire ; 
 Nor think it not immodefty, 
 I ihould thy love require. 
 
 With that flie tum'd afide, 
 And with a blufhing red, 
 
 A mournful motion fhe bewray'd, 
 By holding down her head. 
 
 A handkerchief Ihe had, 
 
 All wrought with filk S^ gold : 
 
 Which Ihe, to ftay her trickling tear^ 
 Before her eyes did hold. 
 
 This thing unto my fight 
 
 Was wond'rous rare ^ ftrange; 
 
 And in my mind S" inward thought 
 It wrought a fudden change ; 
 
 14 
 
HAT I fo hardy grew. 
 To take her by the hand : 
 
 Saying, Sweet Miftrefs, why do you 
 So dull S* peniive (land ? 
 
 Call me no Miftrefs now. 
 
 But Sarah, thy true friend, 
 Thy fervant Milwood, hoilouring thee 
 
 Until her life dooth end. 
 
 If thou would'ft here alledge, 
 Thou art in years a boy ; 
 
 So was Adonis, yet was he 
 Fair Venus* love S* joy. 
 
 Thus I, that ne'er before 
 Of woman found fuch grace. 
 
 And feeing now fo fair a dame 
 Give me a kind embrace, 
 
 «7 
 
SUPP'D with her that night. 
 Choice viandes did abound ; 
 
 And for the fame paid prefently 
 In money twice three pound. 
 
 An hundred kifTes then. 
 For my farewell fhe gave ; 
 
 Saying, fweet Bamwel, when fhaU I 
 Again thy company have ? 
 
 mf^ 
 
 Stay not too long, my dear ; 
 
 Sweet George, have me in mind, 
 Her words bewitch'd m^ childiQmefs, 
 
 She utter'd them fo kind : 
 
 So that I made a vow. 
 Next Sunday without fail, 
 
 With my fweet Sarah once again 
 To tell fome'^pleafant tale. 
 
 i8 
 
HEN flie heard me fay fo 
 The tears fell from her eye j 
 
 O George, quoth fhe, if thou doft fail 
 Thy Sarah fure will die. 
 
 Though long, yet lo ! at laft, 
 
 The 'pointed day was come. 
 That I muft with my Sarah meet; 
 
 Having a mighty fum 
 
 //7/ > •; 
 
 Of money in my hand. 
 
 Unto her houfe went I, 
 Wherein my love difconfolate 
 
 In faddeft fort did He. 
 
 What ails my hearts delight, 
 My Sarah dear ? quoth I ; 
 
 Let not my love lament & grieve, 
 Nor fighing, pine, & die. 
 
 «9 
 
UT tell me, deareft friend. 
 What may thy woes amend, 
 And thou fhalt lack no means of help. 
 Though forty pound I fpend. 
 
 With that fhe tum*d her head. 
 
 And (ickly then did fay. 
 Oh, my fweet George, my grief is great; 
 
 Ten pound I have to pay 
 
 Unto a cruel wretch ; 
 
 And well he knows, quoth Ihe, 
 I have it not. Tufli, rife, quoth I; 
 
 And take it here of me^ 
 
 Ten pound, nor ten times ten, 
 Shall make my love decay. 
 
 Then from my bag into her lap 
 I call ten pound ftraightway. 
 
 21 
 
'LL blithe & pleafant then, 
 To banquetihg we go i 
 Caroufing in right joyous fort 
 While wine on wine did flow. 
 
 And after that fame time, 
 
 I gave her ftore of coin. 
 Yea, fometimes fifty pound at once, 
 
 All which I did purloin. 
 
 And thus it did pafs on : 
 
 Until my Mafter then 
 Did call to have his reckoning in, 
 
 Caft up among his men. 
 
 The which when as I heard, 
 I knew not what to fay: 
 
 For well I knew that I was out 
 Two hundred pound that day. 
 
 22 
 
HEN from my mafter ffaraight 
 
 I ran in fecret fort ; 
 And unto Sarah Milwood then 
 
 My fbte I did report 
 
 But how fhe uf 'd this youth. 
 In this his extreme need, 
 
 The which did her necedity 
 So oft with money feed: 
 
 The Second Part^ hehold. 
 Shall tell it forth at large; 
 
 And (hall a Woman^s wily ways, 
 With all her tricks difchaige. 
 
 RE^ERVOlfk 
 
 34 
 
The Second Part. 
 
 OUN6 Bamwel comes to thee. 
 Sweet Sarah, my delight t 
 
 I am undone, except thou ftand 
 My faithful friend this night. 
 
 Our mailer to command accounts. 
 Hath juft occafion found ; 
 
 And I am found behind the hand 
 Ahnoil: two hundred pound i 
 
 And therefore knowing not 
 What anfwer for to make, 
 
 And his difpleafure to efcape, 
 My way to thee I take ; 
 
 ^7 
 
OPING in this extreme 
 Thou wilt my fucoour be. 
 That for a time I may remain 
 In fafety here with thee. 
 
 With that ihe knit her brows, 
 
 And looking aU aquoy. 
 Quoth (he, what fhould I have to do 
 
 With any 'prentice boy? 
 
 Seeing you have purloin'd 
 Your mafters goods away. 
 
 The cafe is bad, & therefore here 
 You fhall no longer flay. 
 
 Sweet heart, I faid, thou know'ft 
 That all which I did get, 
 
 I gave it, S* did fpend it all. 
 Upon thee every whit. 
 
 a8 
 
LOVED thee fo weH 
 
 Thou could'ft not aik the thing, 
 But that I did, incontinent, 
 
 The fame unto thee bring. 
 
 Thou art a paltry jack. 
 To charge me in this fort. 
 
 Being a woman of credit goody 
 And known of good report : 
 
 Therefore I tell thee flat. 
 Be packing with good fpeed : 
 
 I do defy thee from my heart. 
 And fcom thy filthy deed. 
 
 Is this the friendmip that 
 Thou did'ft to me profefs ? 
 
 Is this the great afFedion which 
 You feemM to exprefs ? 
 
 JO 
 
IE on deceitful fhrews ! 
 
 The beil is, I may fpeed 
 To get a lodging anywhere. 
 For money is my need. 
 
 Falfe woman, now farewell, 
 While twenty pound doth laft, 
 
 My anchor in fome other port 
 I will with wifdom caft. 
 
 Perceiving by my words 
 , That I had money ftore, 
 That flie had gall'd me in fuch fort, 
 It griev'd her heart full fore : 
 
 To call me back again 
 
 ^She did fuppofe it Jpeft t 
 Stay/George, quoth fhe, thou art too quick t 
 Why, man, I do but jeft. 
 
 33 
 
HINK'ST thou for all my fpeech, 
 That I would let thee go ? 
 
 Faith no, quoth fhe, my love to thee, 
 I wis, is more than fo. 
 
 You will not deal with boys, 
 I heard you even now fwear. 
 
 Therefore I will not trouble you : 
 Nay, George, hark in thine ear ; 
 
 ^ 
 
 Thou flialt not go to night. 
 What chance fo e'er befall ; ' 
 
 But, man, a lodging thou'lt have here, 
 Or elfe the devil take all. 
 
 Thus I, by wiles bewitch'd. 
 And fnared with fancy ftill, 
 
 Had not the power to get away. 
 Or to witMand her will. 
 
 34 
 
iHEN wine on wine I call'd, 
 
 And cheer upon good cheer ; 
 And nothing in the world I thought. 
 For Sarah's love too dear. 
 Whilft in her company. 
 In joy S' merriment. 
 All, all too little did I think, 
 That I upon her fpent. 
 
 A fig for careful thoughts ! 
 
 When all my gold is gone, 
 In feith, my love ! we will have more. 
 
 Whoe'er it light upon. 
 My Father's rich/why then, 
 
 Should I want any gold ? 
 Nay, with a Father, fure, quoth (he, 
 
 A Son may well make bold. 
 
 36 
 
HAVE a Sifter wed, 
 
 I'll rob her ere I want. 
 Why then quoth Sarah, they may well 
 
 Conflder of thy fcant. 
 
 Nay, I an uncle have. 
 
 At Ludlow he doth dwell ; 
 He is a grazier, which in wealth 
 
 Doth all the reft excell. 
 
 Ere I will live in lack, ' - 
 
 And have no coin for thee ; 
 
 111 rob his houfe, ^ murder him. 
 Why ihould you not? quoth fhe: 
 
 Were I a man, ere I 
 Would live in poor eftate ; 
 
 On Father, friends, ^,all my kin, 
 I would my talons grate. 
 
 I,.., 
 
 38 
 
OR without money, George, 
 
 A man is but a beaft ; 
 And bringing money, thou fhalt be 
 
 Always my chiefeft guefL 
 
 For fhould'ft thou be purfued 
 With twenty hues S' cries. 
 
 And with a warrant fearchM for 
 With Argus' hundred eyes ; 
 
 ^ 
 
 Yet in my houfe thou'rt f^e j 
 
 Such privy ways there be. 
 That if they fought an hundred years, 
 
 They could not find out thee. 
 
 Caroufing in their cups, 
 
 Their pleafures to content, 
 George Bamwel had, in Mttle fpace. 
 His money wholly fpent. 
 
 39 
 

HIGH done, to Ludlow ftraight 
 He did provide to go. 
 
 To rob his wealthy unde there, 
 His minion would it fo. 
 
 And once he thought to take 
 His Father by the way : 
 
 But that he fear'd his maiter had 
 Took order for his Aay. 
 
 Unto his Unde then ^ ^ 
 He rode with might S* main, 
 
 Who with a welcome ^ good cheer 
 Did Bamwd entertain. 
 
 A fe'nnight's {pace he ftay d. 
 
 Until it chancM fo. 
 His Uncle with his cattle did 
 
 Unto a market go. 
 
 4» 
 
IS Kinfman rode with him ; 
 
 And when he faw right plain. 
 Great ftore of money he had took, 
 In coming home agdn, 
 
 Sudden, within a wood. 
 
 He ftnick his Uncle down, 
 And beat his brains out of his head ; 
 
 So fore he crack'd his crown ; 
 
 And four fcore pound, m cdn, 
 Out of his purfe he took ; 
 
 And coming into London town, 
 The country quite forfook. 
 
 To Sarah then he came, 
 Shewing his flore of gold ; 
 
 And how he had his IMcle flain, 
 To her he plainly told. 
 
 42 
 
,USH, 'tis no matter, George, 
 So we the money have, 
 
 To have good cheer in jolly fort, 
 And deck us fine ^ brave. 
 
 They Kved in wicked fort. 
 Till all his ftore was gone , 
 
 And means to get them any more, 
 I wis poof George had none. 
 
 Therefore, in railing fort. 
 She thruft him on the ftreet ; 
 
 Which is the juft reward they get,. 
 That ad thus indifcreet. 
 
 Oh ! do me not difgrace, 
 In this my need, quoth he. 
 
 She caird him thief & murderer. 
 With all the ipite might be. 
 
 44 
 
O the Conftable (he fent 
 To have him apprehended t 
 
 And fliew'd, in each degree, how far 
 He had the laws offended. 
 
 When Barnwel faw her drift. 
 
 To fea he got fbaightway ; 
 Where fear, S* dread, 6* confcience-fting, 
 
 Continually on him lay. 
 
 Unto the Lord Mayor then 
 
 He did a letter write ; 
 Wherein his own <§» Sarah's faults 
 
 He die! at large recite. 
 
 Whereby fhe feizM was 
 ^ And then to Ludlow fent : 
 
 Where fhe was judg'd, condemn'd, & hangfd, 
 For-murder, incontinent. ■ 
 
 46 
 
•. , '■■ 
 
ND there this quean did die, 
 
 This was her greateft gains t 
 For murder, in Polonia, 
 Was Bamwel hang'd in chains. 
 
 Lo I Ihere's the end of youth ; 
 
 A warning lett this be 
 To all that walk in evil waies. 
 
 Avoid bad companie. 
 
 48 
 
jSetolic fett ftottft & flPomti Mb 
 gicttlptuteg, curiouaie engtattcn (jg 
 
 Jofeph Crawhall, Newcaftle upon Tyf» : 
 
 Editor of the « Newcaftle Fifhers' Garlands,' 
 
 Author of "The Compleateft Angling Booke,' 
 
 " Border Notes & Mixty-maxtv," 
 
 •*Chaplets from Coquctfide^" 
 
emptpntco at g' Heapentalle IgreCI. 
 
 London, by Field 6* Tuer. 
 
 AUKO^M.DCCCo 
 
ye 
 
 louing ballad 
 
 OF 
 
 Lorde Bateman 
 
 % ittcs Qtfne 
 
 herein sette 
 £Ebo7tb« 
 
tt 
 
 Goe—, tell your Authors, books are now so stale. 
 That penny His fries make a better sale." 
 
 NICHOLAS BRETON. 
 
 (Slightly altered.) 
 
 } '■{ 
 

 ^^m^^^^ 
 
 ^^^^m^ 
 
® noBfe Boif^e, anb of ^tg^ bejtee — 
 ge \^pH Jintfeff aff on Boatb of fjip, 
 3^0 fome fotdgn counixk i^t Soufb go fife^» 
 
 ge faif^b (Bap anb ^e faifeb T3t?ep, 
 
 (gniiff 5^ came mio fcdu Zuxtiit, 
 ID^m ^e Saa iaSen anb pu^ in pvifotf/ 
 
 ©n^ie of fife 5^ gteS quife S5eade* 
 
 QtoS/ in i^ie pnfon IJm jreK a ixu, 
 ^( greS fae pou^ anb i^ jte® fae ptonj, 
 
 l&^m $e Sae c^aineb aff 6; ^ie mibbf^/ 
 (Pn^if (ie fife i^ Sa0 afntop gone* 
 
 $^0 ^utrfie ^e (ab an onfie bau^^^et/ 
 ^^e ntop 8eattfeott0 bamfef mj ege^ bib e^etr \u, 
 
 ^pe pofe <5e 8ej0 of l^tt fail^^e pti\on, 
 ^n^ fBore BotU (^aUman f^e Soufb \t( fm* 
 
cSt fOtt jof l^oufte, 1^<St jjott 50^ fanl>0/ 
 
 $M ou^ of Znxtik pdfon f^^^e gou fxu. 
 
 ©5/ 3*^e jo^ 5ottfe0/ anb 3*Se 50^ fattb0/ 
 ^aff of QtorfJumB^tfanb 8^^1150 ^0 we, 
 
 @ff ^9ef<^ 3*ff gt?e ^0 ^5^ f<tjte goung bamfef 
 €^5a^ ott^ of CtttRie prifott fei0 me free. 
 
 5ot fe^m fonj geate0 3 Siff nta6e a So55/ 
 5ot feSen fonj je<ite0 3 S5tff 8eep it \ttanc^, 
 
 3f gott 5S5iCf SSeb S5t^5 no of^et 555omatt, : 
 3^0/ 3 Siff 5J5eb m^ no o^J^t man. 
 
 ©ttb ^5m fje Bvoug^^ ?tm a foaf of 6mr>, 
 
 ©nb a Bo^^ef of i^t U\i of mu, 
 (^nb eSetp ^eaf^J ^Jai f^e btranft unfo ^im 
 
 Tl7a0— 3 !5i05/ koxU ^aUmatii t^at gou S5a0 mine. 
 
THE SKIPPER. 
 
$en f5e 6toU a tin$ from off Jet ffnget/ 
 
 ®nb fo &oxU (§CiUm(m one jaff ja^e fje, 
 ^^Ptnj/ Seepe i^ 6 min^ ^ou of ^Je fo7e/ 
 Zi^t Babge Botreio gou ^$a^ \d ^ou fm. 
 
 ^9en fiPe ^006 Jim ^0 Jet ^'^^^Jere JatBour, 
 
 @n^ ja^e ^0 Jim a fjip of fame ^ 
 JateSSeff/ fateSSeff— mj beare Borbe (gasman, 
 
 3 fear 3 ne*er f Jaff fee % face ajaiiu 
 
 OJ, fd jottt foo^ on 500b fjip ioax^, 
 (3^nb Jafi^e je 6ac6 ^0 gouv ain coun^tie/ 
 
 (^efote feSen fonj jearee f Jaff Ja^e an enb, 
 (Mlinb/ come Bacfi again mg foSe/ anb martg me» 
 
 ^otbe (^atoan ton^b Jim tounb aBou^ 
 
 @:n* foSittg foofi*^ at t^ai foSefg f Je, 
 (Ete feSen .fong geared fjaff come io an enb/ 
 
 3*ff M* gou Jame ^0 mg ain coun^ne* 
 
ttb ®5en 5e+b come ^o Bonbon ^oSn/ 
 @ Pappi^/ Jappte man ^atf^t, 
 @nb fabteff faite atounb ^im (i^tcinc^t'b, 
 ^0 ^efcome 5tm ftat eta^tvit. 
 
 %w mofjerb fang Been (♦ ^pe mooffif/ 
 ^10 ixoi^txB a+ S5ete betb 6u^ §e ^ 
 
 3n tfttin0 Bete 5i0 ca0^fe0 ^ae. 
 
 ^^ 
 
 Qtae potfet poob fjete <d §10 je^^ 
 Qtae aeai^ttte i^txiin coufb ^e fee ^ 
 
 5ot6ge ^^e 6a^0 <in+ fmecPin* o5Bf0, 
 €5ere*0 nane ^0 Beat %m companie. 
 
 10 
 
^e 5ab 6aif p goSSb an* jeKef^ fm :j 
 
 QtoSJ/ fe?en fonj jeareer (i^t^ axt pap anb jane/ 
 ®n^ fore f^e fong+b get (tut foSe io fee/ *' 
 
 ^Pe packed up aff ger c^cdt cfo^gtnj, 
 @n^ fSSote Botbe (§ci(man fje Souf ^ 30 fee* 
 
 ^5e faifeb Cap anb f^^ f<^tfeb TX?ep 
 ^iff ^0 faitre ^Yi^^an^B fgote came fpe/ 
 
 Tl75etre fge efpteb a Bonnie f^epg^rb, 
 @ feeding of gi^ fS^^p upon ^Je fea. , 
 
 II 
 
^ai neS50/ ^^a( neSS^r, tng 6omk fipepj^rb/ 
 TZ?5af ne5S0 gap i^ou fot 6 ^eff ^o me, 
 ^ttc5 ne!330 3 5^^^/ f^^^^ ntatbm beat/ 
 C5^ fi6e Saa ne^et in ^5t0 coun^ne. 
 
 CJm i0 a Sebbinj in ^onUt gaff, 
 
 ^at^ ^0 ^ge founb of f ge minpreffie, 
 (gftt^ ^ounj Botbe (^atean ge ffijg^e gi^ Bnbe, 
 
 ;^ot fbSe of on^ Begonb ^ge feo* 
 
 ^6e pu^ get ganb infif get jjoucg, 
 
 l^n* gieb gim teb an+ SSgife monies 
 Jgete, iaR* ge ^gai mg Bonnie Bog, 
 
 ;§bt ige c^yib neS0 ge ^eff ^o me. 
 
 O^nb ^gen fge ®en^ fo Botbe (^afeman0 capfe, 
 
 @nb fo Bofbfg bib fge xm^ fge Beff ^ 
 'Bt7go+0 fgete/ Kgo*0 fgete, ctteb fge ptoub i^6m$ potfet, 
 
 Ti7go*0 fgete, Sgo*0 fgete, come unfo me ieff. 
 
 12 
 
iff (^iB gounj BoxU (§Ci(mam ca\(^t, 
 
 (BiSe ^^tfif ^ 5iw/ gott prottb gounj poirfet/ 
 t^t ^mfdlZaite S@o St^$ ^im 6toh a tinj. 
 
 Ceff Jim to fen^ me a fji^e of Breab, ^ 
 @nb a ioitd of ^5e Bep of mnt, 
 
 @nb ^0 vememBet ^Je fcdxt jounj ^amfef/ 
 CM.^i^ tefeafe 5int ouf of cCof<^ confine. 
 
 @SBap/ aJBaj Senf ^5^ prottb gounj pother J 
 (^Sag/ dSag/ anb aSa; ISen^ f^ti 
 
 (gn^tf Pe came ^o Borbe (§a(mcme prefence/ 
 127Qete/ ^oSn Je feff upon ^{0 Ben^eb 6nee« 
 
 OP/ 3*^e Been porfet at gout gafee/ 
 3^0 ^5tt^f fong geate0 no5B anb ifjree, 
 
 @^nb ^Jete fi(anb0 4 fctbge at (^m noliS/ 
 ^8e fifie of i^tt mg ege0 bib neSetr fee. 
 
8e $a0 a ttnj upon eSetf j ftnjetf/ 
 
 (^nb u))on one of (i^tm f^e ^cte goi (^xUi 
 ^nb a0 mucj gofb aBoSe ^er BroSS, 
 (^0 Soufb Bug aff (rtov^6um6etfe(k. 
 
 @^e/ anb an anc^ti^ Kife Saa fije/ 
 '^e mi^^i §ABe e;ccepfeb ^Je Bonnie f^tiu 
 @nb ^5Bo pt ^8m of out companie. . 
 
 Borbe (§ci(tmcin in a paffton fPe®/ 
 (^nb Brofie ^ie fBotb tn^o fpftnfetcr fgm, 
 
 ' ^5e*er to (xmtB fatter ^5<^n ^5e Btibe . 
 ^n^ a^f ^$a^0 in (i^ie companie* 
 
 t^en quicWj Jieb 5e boS5n ^Je patte0, 
 6f fifteen pej)0 Je ntabe Bu^ i^tu, 
 %t fooR 9t^ Bonnie foHe in §10 atni0, 
 
 @:nb 6if^, anb 8ip get tobetfie* 
 
 16 
 
$en up an^ fpatit tf^t gouttj itiUe moii^tx, 
 TlD^o u*ix Kae ^eatrb for ^o fjjeaft fo fxu, 
 
 '3 oSn 3 mabe a ixiU of gout bauj^^^tf/ 
 ^9e*0 ne*er ^5^ Beifet not ^5^ S5otfe.for we/ 
 
 ^^e c(mte ^0 me on $et ^otfe anb fa^bfe/ 
 ^^e ma^ go ^ome in a coac^ an^ ^^ree*' 
 
 C^en Pe ^oo6 ^opgia 6g i^t ^anb/ 
 ®nb gen^f J feb $er up an^ boSSn^ 
 
 @nb age je fiip 5^ tofj %0, 
 ^<!^2^<^ je*re Sefconie bearep ^o jout oSne* 
 
 @n* 5<^e je (a*m miiiitx 6ti^t, 
 
 @n+ 5<^^ H^ <ltti^^ fot0o^to me/ 
 (^m Sae ^(e maiben qui^e ou^ o^ minh ^ 
 
 CM S**^ H^ ^ife an* ftSet^ie* 
 
 SI 
 
^ 
 
 €o 9i^e ^5e it(xx birop in Jer ee 
 QtoSS/ fate ge SS^ef mg beat ^otb: (^a^mati/ 
 3*ff ^2 ^0 i%\x& nae wait on i%tt. 
 
 ; 
 
 05/ WO/ no/ neSet/ ^opjia beat; 
 
 ©5 fute% i%\ii can neBet Be ^ 
 Qtone o^^et %m 3 S5eb M get; 
 
 C5a^0 bune an* bteeb fae muc5 fot we* 
 
 4^5en 5e ptepateb anof Jet Sebbinj/ 
 @nb fanj, SSii? J^at^ fo fuffof gfee, 
 
 ' 3*^f tanje no mote m foteign coun^ee/ 
 ^ince mg oSn ^tue fo7e |a0 ctofi^ i%t feo* 
 
 ge*0 ^a*en get 85 fge wie8;S3gi^e ganb, 
 %xc feb get ^0 ige ^amim. ^icm ^ 
 
 35e*0 cganjeb get name ftae ^opgia, . 
 @n* ca^b get gia fSSee^ t(x^i %(xn. 
 
 23 
 
f je, ti^tn, gat our (Coofie mixfie uaUt ; 
 
 (^n* f je, jatr a* our (ptpetr^ p% ^ 
 @n+ fg^, jatr a+ out irumpe^e foun^ ^ 
 
 Botb (SaUmMi*^ ilSiu 5S^b in ae Ixdt. 
 
A true Relation of ehe 
 APPARITION 
 
 of 
 MRS.VEAI 
 
 cia.iD. ccc.LKXxm. 
 
1A sltadSct^cTfcnnt cfjflcus histrls 7ea^: 
 /JfTo^fij/riTudsn aft; osemrleQ^lle^e ({ooiiil^A 
 Swiscigre£^,tcattfii./vOasa 'Foe': 
 
 Cau(?'«^C''»'f^''" 
 
V I 
 
\ \ 
 
 A true Relation of the 
 
 APPARITION 
 
 of 
 
 MRS. YEAL, 
 
 THE NEXT DAY AFTER HER DEATH, 
 
 to 
 
 MRS. BARGRAVE, 
 
 At Canterbury. 
 
 Which Apparition recommends the perusal of Drelin- 
 
 Gourt's Book of Consolations against the 
 
 FEARS OF DEATH. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 THIS relation is matter of fa&i, and 
 attended with fuch circumftances 
 as may induce any reafonable 
 man to believe it. It was fent 
 by a gentleman, a juftice of peace at 
 Maidilone in Kent, and a very intelligent 
 perfon, to his friend in London, as it is 
 here worded; which difcourfe is attefted 
 by a very fober and linderftanding gentle- 
 woman, a kinswoman of the faid gentle- 
 man's, who lives in Canterbury, within a 
 few doors of the houfe in which the 
 within-named Mrs. Bargrave lives ; who 
 
believes his kinswoman to be" of fo dif- 
 cerning a fpirit, as not to be put upon by 
 any fallacy ; and who positively affured 
 him, that the whole matter, as it is related 
 and laid down, is what is really true ; and 
 what {he herfelf had in the fame words 
 (as near as may be) from Mrs. Bargrave's 
 own mouth, who, flie knows, had no rea- 
 fon to invent and publifli fuch a ftory, or 
 any defign to forge and tell a lie, being a 
 woman of much honefty and virtue, and 
 her whole life a courfe, as it were, of piety. 
 The ufe which we ought to make of it 
 is, to coiifider, that there is a life to come 
 after this, and a juft God, who will retri- 
 bute to every one according to the deeds 
 done in the body ; and therefore, to refled: 
 upon our paft courfe of life we have led 
 in the world; that our time is fliort and 
 uncertain; and that if we would efcape 
 the punifhment of the ungodly, and re-- 
 ceive the reward of the righteous, which 
 
is the laying hold of eternal life, we ought 
 for the time to come, to turn to God by 
 a speedy repentance, ceafing to do evil, 
 and learning to do well: to feek after 
 God early, if happily he may be found of 
 us, and lead fuch lives for the future as 
 may be well pleafing in his fight. 
 
 The original, from which the impression 
 of this most interesting relic was 
 taken, may be seen at the Publishers. 
 There cannot exist a doubt that the date carved by 
 Kreutznaer, in his old age, on this, his constant con- 
 panion during his travels, was commemorative of the 
 first edition of his " Life and Adventures." 
 
A Wnod-fm. 
 
RELATION 
 
 OF TUt 
 
 APPARITION OF MRS. VEAL. 
 
 THIS thing is fo rare in all its 
 circumftances, and on fo good 
 authority, that my reading and 
 converfation has not given me 
 any thing like it: it is fit to gratify the 
 moil ingenuous and ferious enquirer. 
 Mrs. Bargrave is the perfon to whom 
 Mrs. Veal appeared after her death; Ihe 
 is my intimate friend; and I can avojuch 
 for her reputation, for thefe last fifteen 
 or fixteen years, on my own knowledge; 
 and I can confirm the good charader £he 
 
had from her youth^ to the time of my 
 acquaintance. Though fince this relation 
 flie is calumniated by fome people, that 
 are friends to the brother of Mrs. Veal 
 who appeared ; who think the relation of 
 this appearance to be a refledion, and 
 endeavour what they can to blaft Mrs. 
 Bargrave's reputation, and tO laugh the 
 ftory out of countenance. But the cir- 
 cumftances thereof, and the chearful dif- 
 pofition of Mrs. Bargrave, notwithftanding 
 the ill ufage of a very wicked hufband, 
 there is not yet the leaft lign of dejedlion 
 in her face : nor did I ever hear her let 
 fall a defponding or murmuring expref- 
 fion; nay, not when actually under her 
 hufband's barbarity ; which I have been 
 witnefs to, and feveral other perfons of 
 undoubted reputation. 
 
 Now you muft know, that Mrs. Veal 
 was a maiden gentlewoman of about 
 thirty years of age, and for fome years 
 laft paft, had been troubled with fits; 
 which were perceived coming on her, by 
 her going off from her difcourse very 
 abruptly, to fome impertinence: Ihe was 
 
 12 
 

maintained by an only brother, and kept 
 his houfe in Dover. She was a very 
 pious woman, and her brother, a very 
 fober man to all appearance : but now he 
 does all he can to null or quaih the ftory. 
 Mrs. Veal was intimately acquainted with 
 Mrs. BargraVe from her childhood. Mrs. 
 Veal's circumftances were then mean ; her 
 father did not take care of his children 
 as he ought, fo that they were expofed 
 to hardfhips : and Mrs. Bargrave in thofe 
 days had as unkind a father, though fhe 
 wanted neither food nor clothing, whilft 
 Mrs. Veal wanted for both: inafmuch 
 that fhe would often fay, Mrs. Bargrave, 
 you are not only the bell, but the only 
 friend I have in the world; and no cir- 
 cumftances of life fhall ever diflblve my 
 friendfhip. They would often condole 
 each other's adverfe fortunes, and read 
 together "Drelincourt on Death," and 
 other good books ; and fo, like true 
 Chriftian friends, they comforted each 
 other under their forrow. 
 
 Some time after, Mr. Veal's friends got 
 him a place in the Cuft:om-houfe at 
 
 IS D 
 
Dover, which occafioned Mrs. Veal by 
 little and little, to fall off from her inti- 
 macy with Mrs. Bargrave, though there 
 was never any fuch thing as a quarrel ; 
 but an indifFerency came on by degrees, 
 till at laft Mrs. Bargrave had not feen her 
 in two years and a half; though above a 
 twelvemonth of the time Mrs. Bargrave 
 had been abfent from Dover, and this laft 
 half year, has been in Canterbury about 
 two months jof the time, dwelling in a 
 houfe of her own. 
 
 In this houfe, on the eighth of Sep- 
 tember, viz. 1705, fhe was fitting alone in 
 the forenoon, thinMng over her unfor- 
 tunate life, and arguing herfelf into a due 
 refignation to Providence, though her 
 condition feemed hard.- And, faid fhe, 
 I have been provided for hitherto, and 
 doubt not but I (hall be ftill ; aiid am well 
 fatisfied that my afflid;ions ihall end, when 
 it is moft fit for me : And then took 
 up her fewing-work, which flie had no 
 fooner done, but fhe hears a knocking, 
 at the door; fhe went to* fee who it 
 was there, and this proved to be Mrs. 
 
 16 
 
Veal, her old friend, whpwas in a riding 
 habit : at that moment of time the clock 
 ftruck twelve at noon. 
 
 Madam, fays Mrs. Bargrave, I am sur- 
 prized to fee you, you have been fo long a 
 ftranger ; but told her fhe was glad to fee 
 her, and offered to falute her, which Mrs. 
 Veal complied with, till their lips almoft 
 touched, and then Mrs. Veal drew her 
 hand acrofs her own eyes, and faid, I am 
 not very well, and fo waved it. She told 
 Mrs. Bargrave flie was going a journey, 
 and had a great mind to fee her firft. 
 But, fays Mrs. Bargrave^ How came you 
 to take a journey alone ? I am amazed 
 at it, becaufe I know you- have a fond 
 brother. O ! fays Mrs. Veal, I gave my 
 brother the flip, and came away, becaufe 
 I had fo great a defire to fee you before 
 I took my journey. So Mrs. Bargrave' 
 went in with her into another room with- 
 in the firft, and Mrs. Veal fat her down in 
 an elbow chair, in which Mrs. Bargrave 
 was fitting when flie heard Mrs. Veal 
 knock. Then, fays Mrs. Veal, My dear 
 friend, I am come to renew our old friend- 
 
 if 
 
{hip again, and beg your pardpn for my 
 breach of it, and S you can forgive me, 
 you are the befl of women. O, fays Mrs. 
 Bargrave, don't mention fuch a thing ; I 
 have not had an uneafy thought about it, 
 I can eafily forgive it. What did you 
 think of me, faid Mrs. Veal.^ Says Mrs. 
 Bargrave, I thought you were like the reft 
 of the world, and that profperity had made 
 you forget yourfelf and me. Then Mrs. 
 Veal reminded Mrs. Bargrave of the many 
 friendly offices flie did her in former days, 
 and much of the converfation they had 
 with each other in the times of their 
 adverlity ; what books they read, and what 
 comfort in particular they received from 
 Drelincourt's Book of Death, which was 
 the beft, flie faid, on that fubject, ever 
 wrote. She alfo mentioned Dr. Sherlock, 
 and two Dutch books which were tranf- 
 lated, wrote upon death, and several others: 
 but Drelincourt, fhe 'faid, had the cleareft 
 notions of death, and of the future ftate, 
 of any who have handled that fubject. 
 Then flie alked Mrs. Bargrave, whether 
 flie had Drelincourt ? She faid, Yes. Says 
 
 i8 
 
Mm lo&e antr see 
 i:aiie f)t'iit of me 
 Soto tll)ou ^alt be 
 
 WKjan tt)ou att XitiH, 
 HBrie a£( a tree 
 Sisaomd silball ete tK)ee 
 Ci^p greate beaute 
 
 MuXL lie I|?ite leelj. 
 
 €i)t t^me {;att) bene 
 $n mp poutl&e grene 
 SCbat i toas! e!ene 
 
 #f boirp as pe are 
 But for mpne jeen 
 Boto tb)o boled bene 
 me tis s:een 
 
 §3ut bone£( all bare* 
 
 ^oU) entente 
 jfor to amende* 
 
 19 
 
Mrs. Veal, Fetch it ; and fo Mrs. Bargrave 
 goes up flairs, and brings it down. Says' 
 Mrs. Veal, Dear Mrs. Bargrave, if the 
 eyes of our faith were as open as the 
 eyes of our body, we iliould fee numbers 
 of angels about us for our guard. The 
 notions we have of heaven -now are no- 
 thing like what it is, as Drelincourt fays. 
 Therefore be comforted under your afflic- 
 tions, and believe that the Almighty has a 
 particular regard to you ; and that your 
 afHi6tions are marks of God's favour ; and 
 when they have done the bufinefs theyN 
 are fent for, they fhall be removed from 
 you. And believe me, my dear friend, 
 beheve what I fay to you, One minute of 
 future happinefs will infinitely reward you 
 for all your fufFerings. For I can never 
 believe' (and claps her hand Upon her knee 
 with great earneflnefs, which indeed ran 
 through mofl of her difcourfe) that ever 
 God would fufFer you to fpend all your 
 days in this affliiSled state ; but be afTured 
 that your afHidions fhall leave you, or*you 
 them in a fhort time. She fpake in that 
 pathetical and heavenly manner, that Mrs. 
 
 21 
 
Bargrave wept feveral times, flie was fo 
 deeply afFeded with it. 
 
 Then Mrs. Veal mentioned Dr. Hor- 
 neck's Afcetic, at the end of which he 
 gave an account of the lives of the primi- 
 tive Chriftians. Their pattern flie recom- 
 mended to our imitation, and faid. Their 
 converfation was not like this of our age. 
 For now, fays flie, there is nothing but 
 frothy, vain difcourfe, which is far dif- 
 ferent from theirs. Theirs was to edifi- 
 cation, and to build one another up in 
 faith ; fo that they were not as we are, 
 nor are we as they were ; but, faid flie, 
 we ought to do a;s they did. There was 
 an hearty friendfhip among them ; but 
 where is it now to be found ^ Says Mrs. 
 Bargrave, 'Tis hard, indeed, to find a true 
 friend in thefe days. Says Mrs. Veal, Mr. 
 Norris has a fine copy of vetfes, called 
 Friendfhip in Perfedion, which I wonder- 
 fully admire ; have you feen the book ^ 
 fays Mrs. Veal. No, fays Mrs. Bargrave ; 
 but I have the verfes of my own writing 
 out. Have you, fays Mrs. Veal, then 
 fetch them ; which flie did from above 
 
 32 
 

Wliat h Mai>? 
 
■ J 
 
 ftairs, and offerQd them to Mrs. Veal to 
 read, who refufed, and waved the thing, 
 faying, holding down her head would 
 make it ache ; and then desired Mrs. 
 Bargrave to read them to her, which fhe 
 did. As they were admiring Friendfliip, 
 Mrs. Veal faid, Dear Mrs. Bargrave, I 
 fliall love you for ever. In thefe verfes 
 there is twice ufed the word Elylian. 
 Ah ! fays Mrs. Veal, Thefe poets have 
 fuch names for heaven. She would often 
 draw her hand acrofs her own eyes, and 
 fay, Mrs. Bargrave, don't you think I am 
 mightily impaired by my fits .^ No, fays 
 Mrs. Bargrave, I think you look as well 
 as ever I knew you. 
 
 After all this difcourfe, which the 
 apparition put in much finer words than 
 Mrs. Bargrave faid fhe could pretend to, 
 and as much more as fhe can remember— 
 for it cannot be thought, that an hour and 
 three-quarters' converfation could all be 
 retained, though the main of it fhe thinks 
 fhe does—fhe faid to Mrs. Bargrave, fhe 
 would have her write a letter to her bro- 
 ther, and tell him fhe would have him 
 
 2S 
 
give rings to fuch and . fxich ; and that 
 there was a purfe of gold in^her cabinet, 
 and that ihe would have two broad pieces 
 given to her coufin Watfon. 
 
 Talking at this rate, Mrs. Bargrave 
 thought that a fit was coming upon her, 
 and fo placed herfelf in a chair juft before 
 her knees, to keep her from falling to the 
 ground, if her fits fhould occafion it : for 
 the elbow-chair, fhe thought, would keep 
 her from falling on either fide. And to 
 divert Mrs. Veal, as flie thought, took 
 hold of her gown-fleeve feveral times, 
 and commended it. Mrs. Veal told her 
 it was a fcoured filk, and newly made up. 
 But for all this, Mrs. Veal perfifted in her 
 requeft, and told Mrs. Bargrave,^ Ihe must 
 not deny her : and Ihe would have her 
 tell her brother all their converfation 
 when fhe had opportunity. Dear Mrs. 
 Veal, f^ys Mrs. Bargrave, this fefems fo 
 impertinent that I cannot tell how to 
 comply with it ; and what a mortifying 
 ftory will our converfation be to a young 
 gentleman ? Why, fays Mrs. Bargrave, 
 it is much better, methinks, to do it your-' 
 
 26 
 
felf No, fays Mrs. Veal, though it feems 
 impertinent to you now, you will fee 
 more reafon for it hereafter. Mrs. Bar- 
 grave, then, to fatisfy her importunity, 
 was going to fetch a pen and ink ; but 
 Mrs. Veal faid. Let it alone now,, and do 
 it when I am gone ; but you muft be fure 
 to do it : which was one of the laft things 
 ihe enjoined her at parting, and fo Ihe 
 promifed her. 
 
 Then Mrs. Veal alked for Mrs. Bar- 
 grave's daughter; ,fhe faid, {he was not 
 at home ; but if you have a mind to fee 
 her, fays Mrs. Bargrave, I'll fend for .her. 
 Do fo, fays Mrs. Veal. On which fhe 
 left her, and went to a neighbour's to 
 fend for her ; and- by the time Mrs. Bar- 
 grave was returning, Mrs. Veal was got 
 without the door in the ftreet, in the face 
 of the Beaft-market, on a Saturday (which 
 is market-day), and flood ready to part, as 
 foon as Mrs. Bargrave came to her. She ' 
 alked her, why Ihe was in fuch hafte? 
 "She faid, fhe mufl be going, though per- 
 jiaps fhe might not go her journey till 
 Monday; and told Mrs. Bargrave, fhe 
 
 37 
 
hoped flie would see her again at her 
 coufin Watfon's before flie went whither 
 flie was going. Then fhe faid fhe would 
 take her leave of her, and walked from 
 Mrs. Bargrave in her view, till a turning 
 interrupted the fight of her, which was 
 three quarters after one in the afternoon. 
 
 Mrs. Veal died the 7th of September, 
 at twelve o'clock at noon, of her fits, and 
 had not above four hours fenfes before 
 her death, in which time flie received the 
 facramfent. The next day after Mrs. 
 Veal's appearing, being Sunday, Mrs. Bar- 
 grave was mightily indifpofed with a cold 
 and a fore throat, that fhe could not go 
 out th^t day ; but on Monday morning 
 flie fends a perfon to Captain Watfon's 
 to know if Mrs. Veal were there. They 
 wondered at Mrs. Bargrave's enquiry, and 
 fent her word that flie was not there, nor 
 was expected. At this anfwer Mrs. Bar- 
 grave told the maid, flie had certainly 
 miftook the name, or made fome blunder. 
 And ihough flie was ill, flie put on her 
 hood, and went herfelf to Captain Wat- 
 fon's, though flie knew none of the family, 
 
 28 
 
to fee if Mrs. Veal was th^re or not. 
 They faid they wondered at her alking, 
 for that fhe had not been in to town; 
 they were fure, if fhe had, fhe would 
 have been there. Says Mrs. Bargrave, I 
 am fure fhe was with me on Saturday 
 almofl two hours. Th^y faid, it was 
 impofhble, for they mufl have feen her 
 if fhe had. In comes Captain Watfon, 
 while they were in difpute, and faid, that 
 Mrs. Veal was certainly dead, and her 
 efcutcheons were making. This ftrangely 
 furprifed Mrs. Bargrave, when fhe fent to 
 the perfon immediately who had the care 
 of them, and found it true. Then fhe re- 
 lated the whole flory to Captain Watfon's 
 family, and what gown fhe had on, and 
 how ftriped ; and that Mrs. Veal told her 
 it was fcoured. Then Mrs. Watfon cried 
 out. You have feen her indeed ; for none 
 knew but Mrs. Veal and myfelf that the 
 gown was fcoured. Aiid Mrs. Watfon 
 owned, that fhe defcribed the gown 
 exactly : for, faid fhe, I helped her to 
 make it up. This Mrs. Watfon blazed 
 all about the town, and avouched the 
 
 29 
 
demonftration of the truth of Mrs. Bar- 
 grave's feeing Mrs. Veal's apparition. 
 And Captain Watfon carried two gentle- 
 men immediately to Mrs. Bargrave's houfe 
 to hear the relation from her own mouth. 
 And when it fpread fo fail, that gentlemen 
 and perfons of quality, the judicious and 
 fceptical part of the world, flocked in upon 
 her, it, at beft, became fuch a talk, that 
 fhe was forced to go out of the way. 
 For they were, in general, extremely 
 fatisfied of the truth of the thing ; and 
 plainly faw, that Mrs. Bargrave was no 
 hypochondriac ; for flie always appears 
 with fuch a cheerful air, and plealing 
 mein, that fhe gained the favour ' and 
 efteem of all the gentry : and it is thought 
 a great favour if they can but get the 
 relation from her own mouth. I Ihould 
 have told you before, that Mrs. Veal told 
 Mrs. Bargrave, that her After and brother- 
 in-law were juft come down from London 
 to fee her. Says Mrs. Bargrave, How 
 came you to order matters fo ftrangely ^ 
 It could not be helped, faid Mrs. Veal. 
 And her lifter and brother did come to 
 
 30 
 
fee her, and entered the town of Dover 
 juft as Mrs. Veal was expiring. Mrs. 
 Bargrave asked her whether Ihe would 
 drink fome tea.^ Says Mrs. Veal, I do 
 not care if I do ; but I'll warrant you 
 this mad fellow (meaning Mrs. Bargrave's 
 hufband) has broke all your trinkets. But, 
 fays Mrs. Bargrave, I'll get fomething to 
 drink in for all that ; but Mrs. Veal waved 
 it, and faid, It is no matter, let it alone; 
 and fo it paffed. 
 
 AH the time I fat with Mrs. Bargrave, 
 which was fome hours, fhe recollected 
 frefh fayings of Mrs. Veal. And one 
 material thing more fhe told Mrs. Bar- 
 grave, that old Mr. Breton allowed Mrs. 
 Veal ten pounds a year ; which was a 
 fecret, and unknown to Mrs. Bargrave till 
 Mrs. Veal told it her. 
 
 Mrs. Bargrave never varies in her 
 ftory ; which puzzles thofe who doubt of 
 the truth, or are unwilling to believe it. 
 A fervant in the neighbour's yard adjoin- 
 ing to Mrs. Bargrave's houfe, heard her 
 talking to fomebody an hour of the time 
 Mrs. Veal was with her. Mrs. Bargrave 
 
 31 • « 
 
went out to her next neighbour's the very 
 moment Ihe parted with Mrs. Veal, and 
 told her what ravifliing converfation Ihe 
 had with an old friend, and told the whole 
 of it. Drelincourt's Book of Death is, 
 lince this happened, bought up ftrangely. 
 And it is to be obferved, that notwith- 
 ftanding allthe trouble and fatigue Mr,s. 
 Bargrave had undergone upon this ac- 
 count, fhe never took the value, of a 
 farthing, nor fufFered her daughter to 
 take anything of anybody; and there- 
 fore can have no intereft in telling the 
 ftory. 
 
 But Mr. Veal does what he can to ftifle 
 the matter, and faid he would fee Mrs. 
 Bargrave; but yet it is certain matter of 
 fact, that he has been at Captain Watfon's 
 fince the death of his lifter, and yet never 
 went near Mrs. Bargrave ; and fome of 
 his friends report her to be a liar, and 
 that fhe knew of Mrs. Breton's ten pounds 
 a year. But the perfon who pretends' to 
 fay fo, has the reputation of a notorious 
 liar, among perfons whom I know to be 
 
 33 
 
of undoubted repute. Now Mr. Veal is 
 more of a gentleman than to fay, fhe 
 lies ; but fays a bad hufband has crazed 
 her. But {he needs only to prefent her- 
 felf, and it will effectually confute that 
 pretence. Mr. Veal fays, he asked his 
 filler on her death-bed, whether flie had 
 a mind to dispose of anything? and flie 
 faid. No. Now, the things which Mrs. 
 Veal's apparition would have difpos'd of, 
 were fo trifling, and nothing of juftice 
 aimed at in their difpofal, that the defign of 
 it appears to me to be only in order to make 
 Mrs. Bargrave fo to demonftrate the truth 
 of her appearance, as to fatisfy- the world 
 of the reality thereof, as to what fhe had 
 feen and heard ; and to fecure her reputa- 
 tion among the reafonable and underfland- 
 ing part of mankind. And then again, 
 Mr. Veal owns that there was a purfe of 
 gold ; but it was not found in her cabinet, 
 but in a comb-box. This looks impro- 
 bable, for that Mrs. Watfon owned, that 
 Mrs. Veal was fo very careful of the key 
 of her cabinet, that fhe would truft no- 
 
 33 
 
body* with it. And if fo, no doubt, (he 
 would not truft her gold out of it. And 
 Mrs. Veal's often drawing her hand over 
 her eyes, and asking Mrs. Bargrave, whe- 
 ther her fits had not impaired her, looks 
 to me, as if flie did it on purpofe, to re- 
 mind Mrs. Bargrave of her fits, to prepare 
 her not to think it ftrange that fhe fliould 
 put her upon writing to her brother, to 
 difpofe of rings and gold, which looked fo 
 much like a dying perfon's requeft ; and it 
 took accordingly with Mrs. Bargrave, as 
 the effect of her fits coming upon her ; 
 and was one of the many inftances of her 
 wonderful love to her, and care of her, 
 that she should 4iot be affrighted ; which 
 indeed appears in her whole management, 
 particularly, in her coming to her in the 
 day-time ; waving the salutation, and 
 when she was alone ; and then the man- 
 ner of her parting, to prevent a second 
 attempt to salute her. 
 
 Now, why Mr. Veal Ihould think this 
 relation a refledion— as is plain he does 
 by his endeavour to ftifle it— I cannot 
 
 H 
 
imagine: becaufe the generality believe 
 her to* be a good fpirit, her difcourfe was 
 fb heavenly. Her two great errands were 
 to comfort Mrs. Bargrave in her affliction, 
 and to alk her forgivenefs for her breach 
 of friendfhip, and with ia pious difcourfe 
 to encourage her. So that, after all, to 
 fuppofe that Mrs. Bargrave could hatch 
 such an invention as this from Friday 
 noon, till Saturday noon, (fuppofing that 
 ihe knew of Mrs. Veal's death the very 
 firft moment,) without Jumbling circum- 
 fiances, and without any intereil too ; fhe 
 mufi be more witty, fortunate, and wicked 
 too, than any indifferent perfon, I dare 
 fay, will allow. I afked Mrs. Bargrave 
 feveral times, if fhe was fure fhe felt the 
 gown.^ She anfwered .modeftly. If my 
 fenfes be to be relied on, I am fure of it. 
 I afked her, if fhe heard a found when 
 fhe clapped her hand upon her knee ? She 
 faid, fhe jdid not remember fhe did ; and 
 fhe said, fhe appeared to be as much a 
 subflance as I did, who talked with her. 
 And I may, faid fhe, be as foon perfuaded 
 
 35 
 
that your apparition is talking to me now, 
 as that I did not really fee her ; for I was 
 under no manner of fear, and received her 
 as a friend, and parted with her as fuch. 
 I would not, fays fhe, give one farthing 
 to make any one believe it ; I have no 
 intereft in it ; nothing but trouble is en- 
 tailed upon me for a long time, for ought 
 I know : and had it not come to light by 
 accident, it would never have been made 
 public. But now, flie fays, fhe will make 
 her own private ufe of it, and keep herfelf 
 out of the way as much as Ihe can ; and 
 fo fhe has done fince. She fays, fhe had 
 a gentleman who came thirty miles to 
 hear the relation ; and that ihe had told 
 it to a room full of people at a- time. 
 Several particular gentlemen have had 
 the ftory from Mrs. Bargrave's own 
 mouth. - 
 
 .This thing hath very much affedled me; 
 and I am as well fatisfied, as I am of the 
 befl grounded matter of fa£t. And why 
 we fhould difpute matter of fa6t, becaufe 
 we cannot folve things, of which we can 
 
 36 
 
have no certain or demonftrative notions, 
 feems ftrange to me. Mrs. Bargrave's 
 authority and fincerity alone, would have 
 been undoubted in any other cafe. 
 
The 
 
 LONG pack: 
 
 A 5ybrth,tunbnan2|Ie 
 aboQt 
 
 an Hundred <is?faty Year 
 
 Jt9i OLTi. ^f. 
 
 1. 1, ' 
 
 ctd-iD. ccc*Lxxxm« 
 
In winter nights^ when goffips old, 
 TVtth youthful Itfiners, draw round thejire ; 
 
 JVho 'tenttve hear the legend told, 
 Ofjomefell waugh of an old murther d fire. 
 
 ^'Tis then, in anxious hope and fear, 
 The pelting hail is dreaded as afprite : 
 
 And cruddling round, their youthful ear, 
 Marks to the memory a tale of Jome poor, 
 hapless wight* 
 
THE 
 
 LONG PACK. 
 
 A NORTHUMBRIAN TALE. 
 
 T 
 
 I WAS in the year 1723, when 
 Colonel Ridley returned from 
 India, with what, in thofe days, 
 ( was counted an immenfe for- 
 tune, and retired to a country feat on the 
 banks of North Tyne, in Northumber- 
 land. The houfe was rebuilt, and 
 fumilhed with every thing elegaAt and 
 coftly; and amongft others, a fervice of 
 plate fuppofed to be worth loool. He 
 went annually to London with his family, 
 
 . 3 
 
during the winter months of the year, 
 and at thefe times there were but few 
 domeftics left in his houfe. At the time 
 treated of, the only domeftics remaining 
 were, a fervant maid, of the name of 
 Alice, who kept the houfe, and two men, 
 who threlbed the corn, and took care of 
 the cattle and out-buildings. There were 
 alfo two ploughmen, but they were boarded 
 in houfes of their own. 
 
 One afternoon as Alice was fitting 
 fpinning fome yarn for a pair of ftockirigs 
 to herfelf, a pedlar entered the hall with 
 a comical pack on his back. Alice had 
 feen as long a pack and as broad a pack ; 
 but a pack equally as long, broad, and 
 thick, Ihe declared Ihe never faw. It was 
 about the middle of winter, when the 
 days were fliort, and the nights cold, 
 long, and wearifome. The pedlar was 
 a handfome well-dreffed man, and very 
 likely to be an^ agreeable companion for 
 fuch a maid as Alice, on fuch a night as 
 that ; yet Alice declared, that from, the 
 very beginning fhe did not like him 
 greatly ; and though he introduced hiin- 
 
felf with a little ribaldry, and a great deal 
 of flattery interlarded, yet when he came 
 to alk a night's lodging, he met with a 
 peremptory refufal ; he jefted on the 
 fubjed, faid he believed fhe was in the 
 right, for that it would be impoffible for 
 him to keep his own bed, and fuch a 
 fweet creature lying alone under the fame 
 roof-~took her on his knee, and ravifhed 
 a kifs. — But all would not do. No, Ihe 
 would not confent to his flaying there. 
 " But are you really going to put me 
 away to-night ? " " Yes." " Indeed, my 
 dear girl, you muft not be fo unreafon- 
 able ; I have come ftraight from New- 
 caftle, where I have been purchafing a 
 frefh flock of goods, which are fo heavy 
 that I cannot travel far with them ; and 
 as the people around are all of the poorer 
 fort, I will rather make you a prefent 
 of the greatefl fhawl in my pack before 
 I go Sirther." At the mentioning of 
 the fhawl, the pidlure of deliberation was 
 pourtrayed in lively colours in Alice's 
 face for a little; but her prudence over- 
 came. " No, fhe was but a fervant, and 
 
 5 
 
had orders to harbour no perfon about the 
 houfe but fuch as came on bufinefs, nor 
 they either, unlefs well acquainted with 
 them." "What the worfe can either 
 your mafter, or you, or any other perfon, 
 be, of fufFering me to tarry until the 
 morning." " I intreat you not to infift, 
 . fori here you cannot be." " But, indeed, 
 I am not' able to carry my goods further 
 to-night." "Then you muft leave them, 
 or get a horfe to carry them away." 
 " Of ^1 the inflexible beings ever I faw, 
 thou art the firft ! But I cannot blame 
 you, your refolution is juft and right. 
 Well, well, fince no better may be, I 
 muft leave them, and go fear^h for lodg- 
 ing myffelf fomewhere elfe, for, fatigued 
 as I am, it is as much as my life is worth 
 to endeavour carrying them further." 
 Alice was rather taken at her, word ; Ihe 
 wanted nothing to do with his goods : 
 the man was difpleafed at her, and might 
 accufe her of ftealihg fome of them ; but 
 it was an alternative fhe had propofed, 
 and againft which fhe could ftart no 
 plaufiblp objedion, fo Ihe rather reluc- 
 
 6 
 
tantly confented. " But the pack will be 
 better out of your way," faid he,, " and 
 fafer, if you will be fo kind as lock it by 
 in fome room or clofet." She then led 
 him into a low parlour, where he placed 
 it carefully on two chairs, and went his 
 way, wilhing Alice a good night. 
 
 When Alice and the pack were left in 
 the large houfe by themfelves, (he could 
 not, for her life, quit thinking of the pack 
 one moment. What was in it which 
 made it fo heavy that its owner could 
 not carry it ? She would go and fee 
 what was in it. It was a very curious 
 pack. At leaft Ihe would go and handle 
 it, and fee what fhe thought was in it. 
 She went into the parlour— opened a 
 wall-prefs : flie wanted nothing in the 
 prefs : fhe never fo much as looked into 
 it ; her eyes were fixed on the pack. " It 
 was a very queer pack — it was fquare the 
 one way, but not fquare the other way- 
 it was a monftrous queer pack." It was 
 now wearing late. She returned from 
 the room in a fort of trepidation— fat 
 down to her wheel, but could not fpin 
 
 9 F 
 
one thread. " It is a very droll pack 
 yon ! What made the man fo very 
 earneft with me to tarry all night ? 
 Never was man fo importunate. What 
 in the world has he got in it ? It's a 
 confounded queer pack after all: it's fo 
 long and fo thicL It's a terrible queer 
 pack." 
 
 What furmifes wilf fear not give rife to 
 in the mind of a woman ? She lighted a 
 candle, and went again into the parlour, 
 clofed the window fhutters, and barred 
 them; but before fhe came out, flie fet 
 herfelf upright, held in her breath, and 
 took another fteady and fcrutinizing look 
 of the pack. God of mercy ! She faw 
 it moving as vifibly as ever flie faw any- 
 thing in her life. Every hair in her head 
 flood upright. Every inch of flefli on 
 her body crept like a neft of pifmires. 
 She haftened into the kitchen as fall as 
 fhe could, for her knees bent under the 
 load of terror that had overwhelmed the 
 heart of poor Alice. She puffed out the 
 candle, lighted- it again, and, not being 
 able to find a candleflick, though a dozen 
 
 I6 
 
ftood on the flielf in the fore kitchen, fhe 
 fet it in a water-jug, and ran put to the 
 bam for old Richard. "Oh, Richard! 
 Oh, for mercy, Richard, make hafte, and 
 come into the houfe. Come away, 
 Richard." "Why, what is the matter, 
 Alice ? what is wrong ? " " Oh, Richard, 
 a pedlar came in the hall, intreating for 
 lodging. Well, I would not let him ftay 
 on any account, and behold he is gone off 
 and left his pack." "And what is the 
 great matter in that ? " faid Richard, ' " I 
 will wager a penny he will look after it 
 before it Ihall look after him." " But, 
 oh, Richard, I tremble to tell you ! We 
 are all gone, for it is a living pack." " A 
 living pack ! " faid Richard, ilarting at 
 Alice, and letting his chops fall down. 
 Richard had juft lifted the flail over his 
 head to begin threfliing a fheaf j but when 
 he heard of a living pack, he dropped one 
 end of the hand-ilaff to the floor, and, 
 leaning on the other, took fuch a look 
 at Alice. He knew long before that 
 Alice was beautiful, he knew that ten 
 years before, but he never took fuch a 
 
 II 
 
look at her in his life. " A living pack ? " 
 faid Richard. " Why the woman, is mad 
 without 'all doubts." "Oh, Richard! 
 come away. Heaven knows what is in 
 it ; but I faw it moving as plainly as I fee 
 you at prefent. Make hafte and come 
 away, Richard." Richard did not ftand 
 to expoftulate any longer, nor even to put 
 on his coat, but followed Alice into the 
 houfe, afluring her by the way, that it 
 was nothing but a whim, and of a piece 
 with many of her phantages. " But," 
 added he, "of all the foolifli ideas that 
 ever poffefled my brain, this is the moft 
 unfeafible, and unnatural, and impoffible. 
 How can a pack of napkins and muflins, 
 and corduroy breeches, perhaps, ever be- 
 come alive ? It is even worle than to 
 fuppofe a horfe's hair will turn an eel." 
 So faying, he lifted the candle out of the 
 jug, and turning roundj never flopped 
 till he had his hand upon the pack. He 
 felt the bales that furroimded its edges to 
 prevent the goods being rumpled and 
 fpoiled, by carrying the cords that bound 
 it, and the canvafs in which it was 
 
 12 
 
wrapped. *'^The pack was well enough. 
 He found nought about it that other 
 packs wanted. It was juft like other 
 packs made up of the fame ftuff. He 
 faw nought that ailed it. And a good 
 large pack it was. It would coft the 
 honeft man 200I. if not more. It would 
 coft him more ; but he would make it all 
 up again, by cheating fools, like Alice, 
 with his gewgaws." Alice teftified fome 
 little difappointment at feeing Richard, 
 unconvinced, even by ocular proof. She 
 wifhed ihe had never feen either him or 
 it, howfomever, for ilie was convinced 
 there was fomething myfterious about 
 it ; that they were ftolen goods, or fome- 
 thing that way ; and flie was terrified to 
 ftay in the houfe with it. - But Richard 
 affured her the pack was right enough. 
 
 During this converfation, in came 
 Edward, a lad about 16 years of age, 
 who herded the cattle. He was fon to 
 a coal-driver on the border, and poffelTed 
 a good deal of humour and ingenuity, 
 but fomewhat roguilh, forward, and com- 
 monly very ragged in his apparel. He 
 
 13 
 
was at this time wholly intent on flioot- 
 ing the crows and birds that alighted in 
 whole flocks where he foddered the cattle. 
 Hp had bought a huge old military gun, 
 which he denominated Copenhagen, and 
 was continually thundering away at them. 
 He feldom killed any, if ever, but he once 
 or twice knocked oiF a few feathers, and, 
 after much narrow infpedtion, difoovered 
 fome drops of blood on the fnow. He 
 had at this very moment come in a great 
 haile for Copenhagen, having feen a 
 glorious chance of fparrows, and a robin- 
 red-breft among them, feeding on the lite 
 of a corn rick, but hearing them talk of 
 fomething myfterious, and a living pack, 
 he pricked up his ears, and became all 
 attentive. "Faith, Alice," faid he, "if 
 you wiU let me, I'll flioot it." "Hold 
 your peace, fool," faid Richard. Edward 
 took the candle from Richard, who ftill 
 held it in his hand, and gliding down the 
 paflage, edged open the parlour door, and 
 watched the pack attentively for about 
 two minutes. He came back with a 
 fpring, and with looks very different 
 
 14 
 
from thofe which regulated his features as 
 he went doWn. As fiire as he had death 
 to meet with he faw it ftirring. " Hold 
 your peace, you fool," faid Richard. 
 Edward fwore again that he faw it ftir- 
 ring ;. but whether he really thought fo, 
 or he only faid fo, is hard to determine. 
 " Faith, Alice," faid he again, " if you 
 will let me, I'll Ihobt it." « I tell you to 
 hold your peace, you fool," faid Richard. 
 " No," faid Edward, " in the multitude of 
 counfellors there is fafety ; and I will 
 maintain this to be our fafeft plan. Our 
 matter's houfe is confided to our care, and 
 the wealth that it contains may tempt 
 fome people to use ftratagems. Now, if 
 we open up this man's pack, he may pur- 
 fue us for damages to any amount ; but if 
 I fhoot at it, what amends can he get of 
 me.^ If there is anything that fhould 
 not be there. Lord, how I will pepper 
 it ; and if it is lawful goods, he can 
 only make me pay for the few that are 
 damaged, which I wiU get at valuation; 
 fOj if none of you will acquiefce, I will 
 take all the blame myfelf, and ware a fliot 
 
 "5 
 
on it." Richard faid, whatever was the/ 
 confequence, he would be blamelefs. A 
 half delirious fmile rather diftorted than 
 beautified Alice's pretty face ; but Edward 
 took it for an aflent to what he had been 
 advancing, fo fnatching up Copenhagen 
 in one hand, and the candle in the other, 
 he hafted down the paflage, and, without 
 hefitating a moment, fired at the pack. 
 Gracious God ! the blood gufhed out 
 upon the floor like a torrent, j^nd a 
 hideous roar, followed by the groans of 
 death, ifliied from the pack. Edward 
 dropped Copenhagen upon the ground, 
 and ran into the kitchen like one dif-r 
 traded. The kitchen was darkiih, for 
 he had left the candle in the parlour-, fo 
 taking to the door, without being able to 
 utter a word, he ran to the hills like -a 
 wild roe, looking over each ihoulder as 
 fail as he could turn his head from the 
 one to the other. Alice followed as fall 
 as Ihe could, but loft half the way of 
 Edward. She was all the way fighing 
 and crying moft pitifully. Old Richard 
 ftood for a fhort fpace rather in a ftate of 
 
 S6 
 
petrifaction, but at length, after fome 
 hafty ejaculations, he went into the par- 
 lour. The floor was covered with blood, 
 and the pack t^irown upon the ground ; 
 but the groans and cries were ceafed, and 
 only a kind of guttural noife was heard 
 from it. Knowing that then fomething 
 ffluft be done, he ran after his companions 
 and called on them to come back. 
 Though Edward had efcaped a good 
 way, and was flill perfevering on, yet, 
 as he never took long time to conlider 
 the utility of any thing, but a6ted from 
 immediate impulfe, he turned and came as 
 faft back as he Had gone away. Alice 
 alfo came homeward, but more flowly, 
 and crying even more bitterly than before. 
 Edward overtook her, and was holding on 
 his courfe ; but, as he^ pafled, Ihe turned 
 away her face, and called him a murderer. 
 At the found of this epithet^ Edward made 
 a dead paufe, and looked at Alice with a 
 face much longer than it ufed to be. He 
 drew in his breath twice, as if going to 
 fpeak ; but he only fwallowed his fpittle,. 
 and held his peace. 
 
They were foon all three in the par- 
 lour, and, in no little terror or agitation of 
 mind, loofed the pack, the principal com- 
 modity of which was a ftout young man, 
 whom Edward had fhot through the 
 heart, and thus bereaved of exiftence in 
 a few minutes. To paint the feelings, or 
 even the appearance of young Edward, 
 during this fcene, is impoflible : he a6led 
 little, fpoke lefs, and appeared in a hope- 
 lefs ftupor : the moft of his employment 
 confifled in fwallowing his fpittle, and 
 flaring at his two companions. 
 
 It is moft generally believed, that when 
 Edward fired at the pack, he had not the 
 moft diftant idea of fliooting a man ; but 
 feeing Alice fo jealous of it, he thought 
 the Colonel, would approve of his in- 
 trepidity, and protect him from being 
 wronged by the pedlar ; and, befides he 
 had never got a chance of a fliot at fuch 
 a large thing in his life, and was curious 
 to fee how many folds of the pedlar's 
 fine haberdafliery ware Copenhagen would 
 drive the drops through, fo that when the 
 ftream of blood burft from the pack, 
 
 iS 
 
 / 
 
accompanied with the dying groans of a 
 human being, Edward was certainly taken 
 by furprize, and quite confounded ; he 
 indeed aflerted, as long as he lived, that 
 he faw fomething ftirring in the pack, 
 but his eagernefs to flioot, and his terror 
 on feeing what was done, which was no 
 more than what he might have expected, 
 had he been certain he faw the pack 
 moving, makes this afleveration rather 
 doubtful. They made all poffible expe- 
 dition in extricating him, intending to 
 call in medical afli|lance, but it was too 
 late ; the vital fpark was gone for ever. 
 " Alas ! " faid old Richard, heaving a deep 
 figh, " poor man, 'ti§ all over with him ! I 
 wifli he had lived a little longer to have 
 repented of this, for he has furely died 
 in a bad caufe. Poor man ! he was fome- 
 body's fon, and, no doubt, dear to them, 
 and nobody caii tell how fmall a crime 
 this hath, by a regular gradation, becope 
 the fruits of." Richard c^me twice acrofs 
 hjs eyes with the fleeve of his fhirt, for 
 he ftill wanted the coat : a thought of a 
 tender nature fhot through his heart. 
 
 19 
 
 ■•_j 
 
" Alas," faid he, " if his parents are alive, 
 how will their hearts bear this, poor 
 things ! " faid Richard, weeping outright. 
 " Poor things ! God pity them." 
 
 The way that he was packed up was 
 artful and curious. His knees were 
 brought up parallel to his navel, and his 
 feet and legs ftuffed in a hat-box ; another 
 hat-box, a fize larger, and wanting the 
 bottom, made up the vacancy betwixt his 
 face and knees, and there being only one 
 fold of canvafs around this, he breathed 
 with the greateft ^ggdom; but it had 
 undoubtedly been the heaving of his- 
 breaft which had caufed the movement 
 noticed by the fervants. His right arm 
 was within the box, and to his hand was 
 tied a cutlafs, with which he could rip 
 himfelf from his confinement at once. 
 There were alfo four loaded • piftols 
 fecreted with him, and a .filv^r wind-call. 
 On coming to the piftols and cutlafs, 
 " Villain," faid old Richard, " fee what he 
 has here. But I fliould not call him . a 
 villain," faid he again, foftening his tone, 
 "for he is now gone to anfwer at that bar 
 
 20 
 
where no false witnefs, nor loquacious 
 orator, can bias the juftice of the fentence 
 pronounced on him. He is now in the 
 true world, and I am in the falfe one. 
 We can judge only from appearances, but 
 thanks to - our kind Maker and Preferver, 
 that he was difcovered, elfe it is probable 
 that none of us would have feen the Ught 
 of a new day." Thefe moral refledlions 
 from the mouth of old Richard, by de- 
 grees raifed the fpirits of Edward; he 
 was bewildered in uncertainty, and had 
 undoubtedly given himfelf up for loft; 
 but he now began to difcover that he had 
 done a meritorious and manful ad:ion, and, 
 for the firft time lince he had fired the 
 fatal fhot, ventured to fpeak. " Faith, it 
 was lucky that I fhot," faid Edward ; but 
 none of his companions anfwered either 
 good or bad. Alice, though rather grown 
 defperate, behaved and aflifted better at 
 this bloody affair than might have been 
 expefted. Edward furveyed the piftols 
 all around, two of which were of curious 
 workmanfhip. " But what do you think 
 he was going to do with all thefe I " faid 
 
 21 
 
Edward. "I think you need not afkthat," 
 Richard anfwered. " Faith, it was a 
 mercy that I fhot, after all," faid Edward, 
 for if we had loofed him out, we would 
 have been all dead in a minute. I have 
 given him a devil of a broadlide, though^ 
 But look ye, Richard, providence has 
 directed me to the right fpot, for I might 
 as readily have lodged the contents of 
 Copenhagen in one of thefe empty boxes." 
 "It has been a deep laid fcheme," faid 
 . Richard, " to murder us and rob our 
 mailer's houfe: there muft certainly be 
 more concerned in it than thefe two." 
 
 Ideas beget ideas often quite different, 
 and then others again in unfpeakable gra-, 
 dation, which run through, and fliift in the 
 mind with as much eafe and velocity as 
 the ftreamers round the pole in a frofty 
 night. On Richard's mentioning more 
 concerned, Edward inftantaneoufly thought 
 of a gang of thieves by night. What 
 devaftation he would work amon^ft them 
 with Copenhagen : how he would make 
 fome to lie with their guts in their arms, 
 blow the nether jaws from one, and fcatter 
 
 22 
 
the brains of another: how Alice would 
 fcream, and Richard would pray, and every 
 thing would go on like the work of a 
 wind-mill. Oh, if he had nothing to do 
 but to flioot ! but the plaguy long, time he 
 always loft in loading, would fubjedt him 
 to a triple difadvantage in the battle. 
 This immediately fuggefted the neceffity 
 of having affiftance, two or three others 
 to fhoot and keep them at bay while he 
 was loading. The impulfe of the mo- 
 ment was Edward's monitor. Off he 
 ran like fire, and warned a few of the 
 Colonel's retainers, who he knew kept 
 guns about them; thefe again warned 
 others, and at eight o'clock they had 25 
 men in the houfe, and 16 loaded pieces, 
 induding Copenhagen, and the four pif- 
 tols found on the deceafed. Thefe were 
 diftributed amongft the front windows in 
 the upper ftories, and the reft, armed with 
 pitch-forks, old fwords, and cudgels, kept 
 watch below. Edward had taken care to 
 place himfelf, with a comrade, at a window 
 immediately facing the approach to the 
 houfe, and now, backed as he was by fuch 
 
 23 
 
\ 
 
 a ftrong party, grew quite impatient, foi 
 another chance. All, however, remained 
 quiet until an hour paft midnight, when 
 it entered into his teeming brain to blow 
 the thief s filver wind-call, fo, without 
 warning any of the reft, he fet himfelf 
 out at the window, and blew until all the 
 hills and woods around yeUed their echoes. 
 This alarmed the guards, as not knowing 
 the meaning of it ; but how' they were 
 aftonished at hearing it anfwered by 
 another at no great diftance. 
 
 The ftate_ of anxiety into which this 
 fudden and unforefeen circumftance threw 
 our armed peafants, is more eafily con- 
 ceived than defcribed. The fate of their 
 matter's great wealth, and even their own 
 fate, was foon to be decided, and none but 
 He who furveys and over-rules futurity, 
 could tell what was to be the iffue. 
 Every breaft heaved quicker, every breath 
 was cut and fluttered by the palpitations 
 of an adjoining heart, every gun was 
 cocked, and pointed towards the court 
 gate, every orb of vifion was ttrained to 
 difcover the approaching foe, by the dim 
 
 24 
 
VIEW 
 
 OF 
 
 COPENHAGEN. 
 
light of the ftarry canopy, and every ear 
 expanded to catch the diftant founds as 
 they floated on the flow frofty breeze. 
 
 The fufpehfe was not of long contin- 
 uance. In lefs than five minutes the 
 trampling of horfes was heard, which 
 increafed, as they approached^ to the noife 
 of thunder, and, in due courfe, a body of 
 men on horfeback, according to their 
 account, exceeding their number, came up 
 at a brifk trot, and began to enter the 
 court gate. Edward, unable to reftrain 
 himfelf any longer, fired Copenhagen in 
 their faces ; one of the foremofl; dropped, 
 and his horfe made a fpring toward the 
 hall door. This difcharge was rather pre- 
 mature, as the waU ftill fhielded a part of 
 the gang from the bulk of the windows ; 
 it was, however, the watch-word to all 
 the reft, and, in the courfe of two feconds, 
 the whdle i6 guns were difcharged at 
 them. Before the fmoke difperfed, they 
 were all fled like fire, no doubt greatly 
 amazed at the reception which they got. 
 Edward and his comrades ran down ftairs 
 to fee how matters flood, for it was their 
 
 27 
 
opinion that they had Ihot them every 
 one, and that their horfes had taken fright' 
 at the noife, and galloped off without 
 them ; but thofe below warmly protefted 
 againft opening any of the doors until 
 day, fo they were obliged to betake them- 
 felves again to their places up flairs^ 
 
 Though our peafants had gathered up a 
 little courage and confidence in themfelves, 
 their fituation was curious, and to them a 
 dreadful one : they faw and heard a part 
 of their fellow creatures moaning and ex- 
 piring in agonies in the open air, which 
 was intenfely cold, yet durft not go to 
 adminifter the leaft relief, for fear of a 
 furprize. An hour or two after the great 
 brufh, Edward and his meffmate defcended 
 again, and begged hard for leave to go and 
 reconnoitre for a few minutes, which, after 
 fome difputes, was granted. They found 
 only four men fallen, which appeared to 
 them to be all quite dead. One of them 
 was lying within the porch. " Faith," 
 faid Edward, "here's the gentleman I 
 Ihot." The other three were without, at 
 a confiderable pittance from each other. 
 
 a8 
 
They durft not follow their track farther, 
 as the road entered betwix^ groves of 
 trees, but retreated into their pofts with- 
 out touching anything. 
 
 About an hour before day, fome of them 
 were alarmed at hearing the found of 
 horfes' feet a fecond time, which, however, 
 was only indiftinct, and heard at confider- 
 able intervals, and nothing of them ever 
 appeared. Not long after this, Edward 
 and his friend were almoft frighted out of 
 their wits, at feeing, as they thought, the 
 dead man within fide the gate, endeavour- 
 ing to get up and efcape. They had feen 
 him dead, lying furrounded by a deluge of 
 congealed blood, and nothing but the ideas 
 of ghofts and hobgoblins entering their 
 brains ; they were fo indifcreet as never 
 to think of firing, but ran and told the 
 tale of horror to fome of their neighbours. 
 The fky was by this time grown fo dark, 
 that nothing could be feen with precifion, 
 and they aR remained in anxious incer- 
 titude, until the opening day difcovered 
 to them, by degrees, that the corpfes were 
 all removed, and nothing left but large 
 
 39 
 
Iheets of frozen blood; and that the 
 morning's alarms, by the ghoft and the 
 noife of horfes, had been occafioned by 
 fome of the friends of the men that had 
 fallen, conveying them away for fear of a 
 difcovery. 
 
 Next morning the news flew like fir6, 
 and the three fervants were much incom- 
 moded by crowds of idle and officious 
 people that gathered about the houfe, 
 fome enquiring after the smalleft particu- 
 lars, fome begging to fee the body that 
 lay in the parlour, and others pleafed 
 themfelves with poring over the Iheets of 
 crrimfon ice, and tracing the di^ops of 
 blood on the road down the wood. The 
 Colonel had no country factor, nor any 
 particular friend in the neighbourhood, fo 
 the affair was not purfued with that fpeed 
 which was requifite to the difcovery of 
 the accomplices, which, if it had, would 
 have been produdlive of fome very un- 
 pleafant circunifl:ances, by involving fun- 
 dry refpe£lable families, as it afterwards 
 appeared but too evident. Dr. Herbert, 
 the phyfician, who attended the family 
 
 30 
 
occafionally, wrote to the Colonel, by poft, 
 concerning the affair, but, though he loft 
 no time, it was fome days before he 
 arrived. Then indeed, advertifements 
 were ifliied, and pofted up in all public 
 places, offering rewards for a difcovery of 
 any perfon killed or wounded of late. All 
 the dead and lick within twenty miles 
 were infpe6ted by medical m^ and a 
 moft extenfive fearch made, but all to no 
 purpofe. It was too late ; all was fecured. 
 Some indeed were mifling, but plaufible 
 pretences being made for their abfenee, 
 nothing could be done : but certain it was, 
 fundry of these were never more feen nor 
 heard of in the country, though many of 
 the neighbourhood declared they were 
 fuch people as nobody could fufpect* 
 
 The body of the unfortunate man who 
 was fhot in the pack lay open for infpec- 
 tion a fortnight, but none would ever 
 acknowledge fo much as having feen him* 
 The Colonel then caufed him to be buried 
 at Bellingham ; but it was confidently 
 reported that his grave was opened, and 
 his corpfe taken away. In fhort, not one 
 
 31 
 
concerned in this bafe and bold attempt 
 was ever difcovered. A conftant watch 
 was kept by night for fome time. The 
 Colonel rewarded the defenders of his 
 houfe liberally. Old Richard remained in 
 the family during the reft of his life, and 
 had a good falary for only faying prayers . 
 amongft the fervants every night. Alice 
 was married to a tobacconift at Hexham : 
 and Edward was made the Colonel's game- 
 keeper, and had a prefent of a fine gold 
 mounted gun given him. He afterwards 
 procured him a commiflion in a regiment 
 of foot, where he fuffered many misfor- 
 tunes and difappointments. He was Ihot 
 through the ftioulder at -the battle of 
 Fontenay, but recovered ; and retiring on 
 half-pay, took a fmall farm on the Scottifli 
 fide. His character was that of a brave 
 but rafh officer : kind, generous, and open 
 hearted in all fituations. I have often 
 ftood at his knee, and liftened with won- 
 der and amazement to his ftories of battles 
 and fieges, but none of them ever pleafed 
 mfe better than that of the Long Pack, 
 Alas! alas! his fate is faft approaching 
 
 3« 
 
to us all ! He hath, now many years ago, 
 fubmitted to the conqueror of all man- 
 kind. His brave heart is now a clod of 
 the valley, and his grey hairs lie mixed 
 with the cold earth beneath the green 
 turf. 
 
The 
 
 Sword Dancers. 
 
 cio.ia. ccc.Lxxxra. 
 
SWORD DANCERS. 
 
 IT IS ftill the pradice, about Chriftmas 
 time (though lefs in repute than, 
 formerly), for companies of Pitmen 
 and other workmen from the neighbour- 
 ing Collieries to vifit our northern Towns 
 to perform a fort of play or dance, ac- 
 companied by fong and mufic. 
 
 Their appearance is hailed by the com- 
 munity—the younger portion efpecially— 
 with great fatisfa6tion, and they receive 
 liberal contributions from the fpe6tators. 
 
 The dancers are girded with fwords, 
 and clad in white fliirts or tunics, deco- 
 
 3 
 
rated with a profufion of ribbons of 
 various colours. 
 
 . The Captain generally wears a kind of 
 faded uniform, with a large cocked hat 
 and feather, for pre-eminent diftindion ; 
 and the buffoon, or " Beffy," who adts 
 as trea;furer, and collects the cafli in a 
 tobacco-box, wears a hairy cap often deco- 
 rated with a fox's brufh. The mufic is 
 fimple, and not devoid of harmony. 
 
 The Captain and dancers form in line 
 and bow to the company, the fiddler (or 
 muficians) and " Befly " Hand at one fide. 
 The Captain then fings : 
 
 Song. 
 
 Six a6tors I have brought 
 Who were never on ftage before; 
 But they will do their beft. 
 And the bell can do no more. 
 
 The Captain walks rounfl in front of 
 
 4 
 
the line, to bars of muiic, and, pointing 
 to number one, recites :— 
 
 Thefirjl that I call in. 
 He is a Squire's fon : 
 He's like to lofe his love, 
 Becaufe he is too young. 
 
 But though he be too young. 
 He has money for to rove ; 
 And he will fpend it all. 
 Before he'll lofe his love. 
 
 At the end of the verfe all ftrike their 
 fwords together, and No. i ftands apart 
 from the others. The fame procefs is 
 repeated till the dancers are all called out 
 by their aflumed names. 
 
 The next that I'll call in, 
 He is a Tailor fine : 
 What think you of his work ? 
 He made this coat of mine. 
 5 
 
So comes good mailer Snip, 
 His beft refpeds to pay ; 
 He joins us in our trip 
 To drive dull care away. 
 
 The next that I call in. 
 He is a Sailor bold ; 
 He's come to poverty 
 By the lending of his gold. 
 
 But though his gold's all gone. 
 Again he'll plough the main, 
 With heart both light and brave 
 To fight both France and Spain. 
 
 Next comes a Skipper bold, 
 He'll do his part right weel ; 
 A clever blade I'm told 
 As ever ppuied a keel. 
 
 Oh, the keel lads are bonny lads. 
 As I do underftand ; 
 For they run both fore and aft, 
 Wi' their long fets in their hands. 
 6 
 
[Pudy, puyy or pouie (from the French appui^ 
 ^appuyer, to lean, to rest upon) is a long pole with an 
 iron spike at the end, used in propelling keels in 
 shallow water, or when it is inconvenient to use sails 
 or oars. The pouie on the Tyne is the set on the 
 Wear.] 
 
 To join us in this play. 
 Here comes a jolly dog, 
 Who's fober every day 
 When he can get no grog. 
 
 But, though he likes his grog. 
 As all his friends can fay. 
 He always likes it beft 
 When he has nowt to pay. 
 
 Lajl^ I come in myfel', 
 I make one of this crew, 
 And if you'd know my name. 
 My name it is True Blue. 
 
 After having introduced the five noble 
 heroes, the Captain retires to one fide, 
 .and at this point the "Befly" fometimes 
 
 1 H 
 
confiders it necefTary to give an account 
 of his own genealogy : — 
 
 My father he was hang'd. 
 
 My mother was drooned in a well ; 
 
 An' now I'fe left alone 
 
 All by my awn fel'. 
 
 The dance then begins in flow and 
 meafured cadence, which foon increafes in 
 fpirit, and at length bears the appearance 
 of a ferious affray, terminating with one 
 of the dancers holding up the whole of 
 the fwords firmly interlaced* 
 
 ^ 
 
 m 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 f^^-g n r T N ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^^^^ 
 
 The Redor, alarmed, rufhes forward to 
 prevent bloodflied, and in his endeavours 
 to feparate the combatants, he receives a 
 mortal blow, and falls to the ground.' 
 
 8 
 
Then follows the lament— the general 
 accufation— and denial :— 
 
 Alas ! our Re(3:or's dead. 
 And on the ground is laid: 
 Some of us muft fuiFer for't, 
 Yoifing men, I'm fore afraid. 
 
 I'^m fure 'twas none of I— 
 
 I 'm clear of the crime ; 
 
 'Twas him that follows me 
 
 That drew his fword fo fine. • 
 
 I'm fure 'twas none of I — 
 I 'm clear of the fa£t ; 
 'Twas him that follows me 
 That did this bloody ad:. 
 
 I'm fure 'twas none of I, 
 Ye bloody villains all ! 
 For both my eyes were fliut 
 When this good man did fall 
 
 Then cheer up, my bonny, bonny lads. 
 And be of courage bold j- 
 
 9 
 
For we'll take him to the churchyard. 
 And bury him in the mould. 
 
 Captain—Oh ! for a Do6tor, a right 
 good Dodor— a ten-pound Dodor, oh ! 
 JDoSIor — Here am I. 
 Captain— Hodiov, what's your fee ? 
 DoSior—T^en pounds is my fee ; 
 
 But, nine pounds, nineteen fhilllngs 
 
 and eleven pence three-farthings. 
 Will I take from thee. 
 
 DoSlor (fings) — 
 
 See here— fee here—a Dodor rare. 
 Who travels much at home ; 
 Come, take my pilH— they cure all ills, 
 Paft, prefent, and to come. 
 
 The plague, the palfy, and the gout. 
 The devil within and the devil without— 
 Everything but a love-fick maid, 
 And confumption in the pocket. 
 
 lO 
 
Take a little of my nif-naf, 
 Put it on your tif-taf. 
 Parfon, rife up and fight agkin ; 
 The Do6tor fays you are not flain. 
 
 The Redtor gradually recovers, which 
 is the fignal for general rejoicing and con- 
 gratulation. 
 
 Captain (fings) — 
 
 You've feen them all call'd in. 
 You've feen them all go round j 
 Wait but a little while- 
 Some paftime will be found. 
 
 Cox-green's a bonny place 
 Where water waflies clean ; 
 And Painlhaw's on a hill. 
 Where we have merry been. 
 
 Then, fiddler, change thy tune. 
 
 Play us a merry jig ; 
 
 Before that 111 be beat 
 
 I '11 pawn both hat and wig. 
 II 
 
A general dance concludes the perform- 
 ance to the old and favourite tune— 
 
 " KITTY, KITTY, BO, BO ! " 
 
 fi{Lfl;[[£rir i^\tlls[!!i\ 
 
 ^^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^?=^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 
[The following Is the Version now sung (1882) by 
 the Sword Dapcers from East Holywell, who perform 
 yearly at Alnwick Castle and other places in North- 
 uhiberland.] 
 
 ^i^OOD people, give ear to my ftory, 
 C^ I've called in to fee you by 
 C/ chance, 
 
 Five lads I have brought, blyth and merry. 
 
 Intending to give you a dance. 
 Its, Earsdon is our habitation. 
 
 The place we were all born and bred, 
 There are not finer lads in the nation, 
 
 And none fhall be gallanter led. 
 
^<l f IS not for your gold or your filver, 
 JL Nor yet for the gain of your 
 gear, 
 But we've juft come to take a week's 
 pleafure 
 To welcome the incoming year : 
 My lads they are all fit for adion, 
 
 With fpirits and courage fo bold, 
 They are bom of a noble extradion ; 
 Their fathers were heroes of old. 
 
 ^Jkf^ OW this is the fon of brave 
 •^ X^ EUiott, 
 
 The firft youth that enters the ring. 
 So proudly rejoice I to tell it, 
 
 He fought for his country arid king: 
 When the Spaniards befieged Gibraltar 
 
 Bold Elliott defended the place, 
 Soon edufed them their plans for to alter : 
 
 Some fell—others fled in difgrace. 
 
 i6 
 
 / 
 
^JL/^ OW my next handfome youth 
 ^ ^k^ that does enter 
 
 Is a boy there are very few fuch, 
 His father beat that great De Winter 
 
 And defeated the fleet of the Dutch : 
 His father was the great Lord Duncan 
 
 Who played the Dutch ne'er such a 
 
 prank [funkin 
 
 That the Dutch from their harbours ran 
 
 Aiid they fled to the great Dogger Bank. 
 
 THIS one is the fon of Lord Nelfon, 
 That hero that fought at the 
 Nile : 
 Few men with fuch courage and talent, 
 The Frenchmen he did them beguile. 
 The Frenchmen they nearly decoyed him, 
 
 But the battle he managed fo well : 
 In the fortrefs he totally defl:royed them : 
 Scarce one got off home for to tell. . 
 
 if 
 
•Jk/* OW my next handfome youth 
 
 ^^ that does enter 
 
 Is a boy of ability bright, 
 Five thoufand gold guineas I'd venture 
 
 That he, like his father, would fight ; 
 At Waterloo and Tarravary (Talavera). 
 
 Lord Wellington made the French fly, 
 You fcarcely can find fuch another : 
 
 He'd conquer or elfe he would die. 
 
 •Tk/* OW my laft handfome youth that 
 ^ ^^ does enter 
 
 Is a boy that is both ftraight and tall : 
 He is fon to the great Buonparte, 
 
 The hero that cracked the whole all : 
 He went over the Lowlands like thunder. 
 
 Made nations to quiver and quake. 
 Many thoufands flood gazing in wonder 
 
 At the havoc he always did make. 
 
•j^/* OW you fee all my five noble 
 ^3 heroes,' 
 
 My five noble heroes by birth, 
 And they each bear as good a char^def 
 
 As any five heroes on earth: 
 If they be as good as their fathers. 
 
 Their deeds are deferving records. 
 It is all the whole company defires 
 
 To fee how they handle their fwords. 
 (The dance then begins.) 
 
SCOAr2.JftNP ^^^' 
 
 A 
 
DUCKS 
 
 green Peas; 
 
 A Tairce. 
 
 cid^Id. ccc. wxxm* 
 
/ / 
 
 DUCKS AND GREEN PEAS; 
 
 OR, THE 
 
 NEWCASTLE RIDER. 
 
 A FARCE. 
 
 DramoAs Perjonas, 
 
 Mr. Manly. Landlord. 
 
 Lord Jofeph. Waiters. 
 
 Mrs. Manly: 
 
 ^z^^Y.— Harrogate. 
 
 M 
 
SCENE I. 
 
 A low Room in the Queens Head, Harrogate. 
 
 SEVEN o'clock IN THE EVENING. 
 
 Enter Lord Jofeph, Jpeaktng. 
 
 HERE— houfe—landlord— Where the 
 plague are all the people ? 
 
 Enter Waiter. 
 
 TVait. Coming, coming, fir. 
 
 Jos. Coming, coming — ^yes, but you are 
 a confounded long while though a coming. 
 Where'is the mafter of the houfe ? 
 
 TVait. Bufy with fome other cuftomers, 
 fir. Can I ferve your honour ? 
 
 Jos. No — I choofe to give my orders 
 to the mafter, and then I am fure to be 
 well attended. 
 
 Wait. Perhaps not; {aJide)'-\ fhall 
 fend him to you, fir, immediately. - 
 
 Jos. I exped you will— Well, the 
 devil's in it if I can't take a little ftate 
 
HARROGATE 
 
 WATER 
 
 MARK; 
 
 ^ 
 
upon me now and then. What, though 
 I am but a clerk or rider, I'm very pofitive 
 I'm perfonable enough to pafs for as good 
 a man as my mafter. This hat {taking it 
 off and admiring it) will at any time do me 
 credit ; and I have obferved in my late 
 rounds a greater refpe6l than ufual was 
 paid me, and I am confident it was upon 
 account of it. Certainly it fets me off to 
 the higheft advantage, and gives me an air 
 of fuperior confequence. 
 
 Enter Landlord, 
 
 Servant, fir, your moft humble fervant, 
 fir ; you are welcome to Harrogate. 
 
 Jos. Are you the landlord of the 
 houfe ? 
 
 Land. Yes, fir— at your fervice. 
 
 Jos. Shew me an upper room then, 
 fellow ; I hate thofe pitiful, low, damp 
 rooms, that are only a receptacle for every 
 dirty ragamuffin that comes. 
 
 Land. Sir, I beg your pardon, there 
 you, are greatly miftaken, we don't harbour 
 any fuch. 
 
 Jos. Don't talk to me, fellow!— but 
 
 9 
 
let me have fupper got ready quickly! 
 D'ye hear? What viduals have you in 
 the houfe ? 
 
 Land. We have great variety, fir, fiich 
 as beef, mutton, veal, lamb— 
 
 Jos, Rot your variety, none of thefe 
 are fupper meat for me ! Have you any 
 game, geefe, or ducks in the houfe ? 
 
 Larui. No game, fir, but exceedingly 
 fine fat ducks, ready for spitting. 
 
 Jos. Let me have a couple got refady 
 then directly. ^ 
 
 Land, A couple, fir .^ 
 
 Jos, Yes ! a couple, fir ! and let them 
 be fine and fat, as you fay ; or elfe, dem 
 me, I can't touch them. 
 
 Land. Are there any more gentlemen 
 to join your company, fir } 
 
 Jos. No— What then ^ Why do you 
 alk.? 
 
 Land. Nay, nothing, fir—I only thought 
 you might have made a miftake, because — 
 becaufe a couple of fuch ducks as mine 
 are would ferve three or four reafonable 
 gentlemen. 
 
 Jos. So, then, you think me unreason- 
 
 8 
 
able, do you? Dem you, what do you 
 mean by this ? If I have a mind to order 
 a dozen (provided I pay for them) what 
 is it to you ?— But to be fomething more 
 unreafonable, as you call it, let me have a 
 peck of green peas got ready with them. 
 
 Land. No offence, I hope, fir ; I beg 
 your pardon, fir ; you fhall have them 
 with all expedition. — Mercy on me ! a 
 couple of ducks and a peck of peas for 
 himfelf only ! he muft have an enormous 
 flomach to defpatch them. (Afide) 
 Pray, fir, are you come to drink the 
 waters ? 
 
 Jos. Confound your waters! — do I look 
 like a water drinker ? 
 
 Land, Sir, I am forry you Ihould take 
 it amifs. I only thought you might have 
 come, like other gentry to fpend the 
 feafon. 
 
 Jos. Confound your thoughts and your 
 feafons too — all feafons are alike to me; 
 only let me defire you'll take care my 
 ducks are well feafoned. — In the firft place, 
 fliew me a room above, fellow. 
 
 Land. This way, fir, if you pleafe. 
 
 9 
 
SCENE II. 
 
 THE KITCHEN. 
 
 ^wo JVaiters, 
 
 Harry, A very ftrange fellow this that's 
 juft alighted ; I '11 warrant he's fome up- 
 ftart or another ; flufli of money for the 
 prefent, and confequently flufli of pride. 
 However, I fliall pay him the lefs refpe6t 
 for thofe fine airs he gives himfelf. 
 
 Tom. And fo fliall I— unlefs I thought 
 he would come down handfomely at part- 
 ing ; but that is hardly, to be expedled 
 from fuch as he. 
 
 Har. It is the moderate people, Tom, 
 fuch as are good-humoured, who fpeak 
 civilly to you for what they want, that 
 are of the mofl: generous principles ; there 
 is a fecret pleafure in waiting upon fuch. 
 
 Tom. Aye, that is true;— whilfl: the 
 prbud, furly, morofe fellow, not only gives 
 
 50 
 
one a great deal of trouble, but ufes one 
 ill into the bargain. 
 
 Har. I'll fay with you, Tom. Why, 
 dogs have better names and better ufage 
 fometimes than we have. 
 
 Tom. Why, aye— 'tis a fad life one 
 leads amongft fuch, and only tolerable 
 upon account of the perquifites : and was 
 it not for thefe, I would turn collier, and 
 bid adieu to the face of day, ere I would 
 attend them. 
 
 Har, It is really furpriling to me that 
 people fliould put themfelves out of temper 
 for mere trifles, and make themfelves and 
 every one about them unhappy ; when a 
 mild behaviour, — a kind word or look, — 
 would command our refpe(5l and ready 
 attendance a thoufand times before all the 
 mofl: paflionate adtions and domineering 
 expreflions in the world. But here comes 
 our mafter— this genius has put him in a 
 very pretty huff already, I fee. 
 
 Enter Landlord. 
 
 Land. Zounds ! I have kept this houfe 
 many years, and have had the greateft 
 
 II 
 
variety of guefts, yet was never fo bullied 
 in all my life before. Here, Harry, bid 
 the cook fet a couple of the fatteft ducks 
 to the fire immediately, and help to fhell 
 a peck of peas. And do you, Tom, go 
 and lay the cloth in the blue chamber for 
 yonder hafty fpark. {Exeunt Waiters). 
 I am afraid he won't have patience till 
 they are ready. Yet, though he's a great 
 oddity, he feems very happy ; he laughs, 
 fings, and whittles, till the houfe rings again. 
 
 Re-enter Harry, 
 
 Har. Sir, there is a carriage juft come 
 to the door, with a lady and gentleman ; 
 and by the luggage it looks as if they were 
 come to make fome ftay. 
 
 Land. I fhall attend them. Exit. 
 
SCENE III. 
 
 EIGHT o'clock. 
 
 Enter Mr, and Mrs. Manly, 
 
 Land. Sir, and madam, you are heartily 
 welcome to Harrogate. Would you choofe 
 any fort of refrefliment after your jour- 
 ney ? 
 
 Mrs. Man. Yes, landlord, and I care 
 not how quickly, as I have not broken 
 my faft fince noon. There is an agreeable 
 favour comes from your kitchen ; I think 
 there muft be either a goofe or ducks 
 roafting, and a little of either would be 
 very acceptable to me. 
 
 Land. You judge very right, madam ; 
 there are a couple of very fine ducks at 
 the fire, but they are for a gentleman 
 above flairs. 
 
 13 
 
Mrs. Man. What, is the gentleman 
 alone, and hath he ordered the ducks and 
 peas for himfelf only ? 
 
 Land. Yes, madam, and I muft own his 
 orders rather furprifed me. I only afked 
 him if he expedled more company, as I 
 thought a couple of fuch fat ducks as 
 mine fomething extravagant for one 
 perfon, — when he flew into a violent paf- 
 fion ; told me, if he had a mind to order 
 a dozen, provided he paid for them, what 
 was that to me ? 
 
 Mr. Man. He was right there, land- 
 lord; yet I think he can't have any 
 objedions to a companion or two to 
 partake with him: fo we would wifh 
 you to go with our compliments to him, 
 and acquaint him that a gentleman and 
 lady, juft arrived, will do themfelves the 
 honour to fup with him, if he pleafes. 
 In the mean time we will take a walk 
 into your garden. 
 
 Land. Very well, fir, I'll wait upon 
 him. Lxeunt omnes. 
 
 14 
 
SCENE IV. 
 
 Joseph discovered lolling upon a Settee, Jinging. 
 
 Toll loll de roll loll— So far, fo well, 
 this is life as long as it lafts. I can enjoy 
 myfelf now, however, without being 
 always upon the mechanic order, like a 
 hprfe in a mill. (Twirling his hat about^ 
 This hat is the very thing, the bon ton 
 
 as I may fay I think my money well 
 
 bellowed in the purchafe. I would not 
 have been without it upon any account, 
 and value it above anything I can name, 
 excepting — aye, let me fee,— excepting 
 ducks and green peas, and they are in- 
 comparable thi»gs, and of which I fliall 
 have my belly full prefently. Egad ! 1 
 will live in clover to-night. By Jupiter ! 
 I wifh they were ready — I am pretty 
 fliarp fet — and thefe people are con- 
 
 15 
 
founded tedious. — O ! here comes Mr. 
 Boniface. {Enter Landlord?) Well, 
 fellow, is my fupper ready yet ? 
 
 Land. Very near, fir — but, fir, I hope 
 you will not think me intrufive, when I 
 am defired to inform you, a gentleman and 
 his lady, juft alighted from their carriage, 
 underftanding you are alone, beg the 
 favour to be permitted to join in com- 
 pany, and partake of your fupper. 
 
 Jos. How, fir, partake of my fupper, 
 fay you.^ No^^ no, — no fuch things. 
 Dem me, I ordered it for myfelf ; and I 
 will have it for myfelf; and as I fliall pay 
 for what I order, let me be no more 
 interrupted nor troubled with your im- 
 pertinence, but begone, and hasten my 
 fupper. 
 
 Land. Yes, fir.— Zoons ! a proud 
 fellow, a crabbed, proud, 'unmannerly 
 fellow ! {Afide and exif.^ 
 
 Jos. Sup with me, quotha — hold you 
 there — as I flopped here with a full in- 
 tention to indulge my appetite for once, I 
 will admit of no interlopers, by Jupiter ! a 
 couple too! I thank you, Mr. Boniface, 
 
 i6 
 
>wearenota(taUe noteuen.'bi 
 
 ^2re HolieBoigrfye^ofe 
 
for your ftupid complimentary meflage. 
 Zoons ! I ihould not have fo much as a 
 rump, perhaps, for myfelf, if they are half 
 fo hungry as I am. No, no, by this hat, 
 I'll take care of number one. Let me fee, 
 I fancy I fhall lie in the next room, I'll 
 fee what fort of a bed there is. (fioes off 
 ftnging.) 
 
 N 
 
SCENE V. 
 
 THE GARDEN. 
 
 Mr, and Mrs, Manly feated, 
 
 Mr. Man. Well, my dear, it is im- 
 poflible to judge of the beauties of this 
 village from the tranfient view we have 
 had of it this evening ; yet it feems to be 
 very rural and pleafant, though fomething 
 open and wild. How are you after your 
 journey? 
 
 Mrs. Man. Pretty well, my dear; but 
 I hope I fliall be much bfetfer after a little 
 fupper — and here comes the landlord. 
 
 Enter Landlord, 
 
 Mr. Man. Well, landlord, have you 
 delivered our meffage to the gentleman, 
 as we defired ? 
 
 Land. Yes, fir, and I am both forry 
 and afhamed to tell you the event of it. 
 
 Mr. Man. Why, fure he hath not had 
 the ill manners to refufe us, hath he ? 
 
 20 
 
Land. Too true, fir, and in l^ery rude 
 terms too ; he faid no perfon fliould par- 
 take of his fupper, but fwore at my 
 impertinence, as he ftyled it. 
 
 Mr. Man. Why you really furprise 
 me, landlord — he fhows but fmall figns of 
 gentility by fuch- unmannerly behaviour. 
 But perhaps he may think two too many 
 to be admitted to fup with him. For my 
 own part I value not his ducks and peas a 
 rufli, I can fup upon any thing elfe you 
 have in the houfe; and were it not for 
 the delay, I would order a frefh couple 
 for ourfelves ; but as Mrs. Manly wants 
 her fupper, arill the ducks are almoft -rfeady, 
 I think he cannot certainly be fo very rude 
 as to refufe the company of a lady to fup 
 with him. Therefore for her fake (for 
 nothing elfe could induce me), I beg you 
 will go again, and inform him, I requeft 
 that Ihe alone may be permitted to par- 
 take of his fupper. 
 
 Land. Very well, fir, I Ihall go, but 
 I am greatly afraid, by the specimen he 
 has given, I fhall be no better. 
 
 Exeunt omnes. 
 
 31 
 
SCENE VI. 
 
 THE BLUE CHAMBER. 
 
 / 
 
 A Table with the Cloth fpread, 
 
 Jos, Toll loll de roll— Dem thofe 
 fellows ! Here, landlord-r-waiter — houfe 
 — Why the plague don't you bring up 
 fupper ? If it w;ere not fo late in the 
 evening, by Jupiter, 1 would remove my 
 quarters elfewhere. (Enter Landlord.^ 
 Well, fellow, why the plague do you 
 come empty handed? Where's the 
 fupper ? 
 
 Land. 'Tis juft a coming up, fir ; but I 
 beg y9ur pardon for this fecond interrup- 
 tion ; the gentleman has fent me again, to 
 beg the favour ypu will admit his lady to 
 your company and fupper : as to himfelf, 
 he doth not mind it, his concern is upon 
 her account, fir; and I really believe he 
 
 32 
 
hath fome reafon, for Ihe is^ I fancy, in a 
 fituation that requires fome indulgence. 
 Therefore in confideration of the lady's 
 condition, I hope I may have the pleafure 
 to return with a mild and complying 
 anfwer from you. 
 
 Jos. I thought I had fatisfied you 
 fufficiently before. Dem you, d'ye mean 
 downright to affront me.-* — Either get 
 along about your bufinefs, fend up fupper 
 immediately, or I'll kick you down flairs, 
 leave your troublefome Houfe, and never 
 fet my foot in it again ! for I tell you 
 pofitively, for the laft time, were fhe the 
 queen herfelf, fhe fhould not fup with me, 
 you fcoundrel ! Exit. 
 
 Land, Confound the unmannerly 
 fellow! I am afhamed to think I have 
 fuch a brute in my houfe. Mxit, 
 
SCENE VII. 
 
 THE PARLOUR. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Manly. 
 
 Mrs. Man. I am forry, niy dear, you 
 ihould give yourfelf and the landlord So 
 much trouble on my account. I own, 
 indeed, I had fet my mind upon having 
 fome ; or you know, my dear, I am not 
 otherwife particular. 
 
 Mr. Man. 'Tisupon that very account, 
 my dear, that I am fo anxious, and fliall 
 be extremely chagrined to find you 
 difappointed ; but he muft be void of 
 every generous and manly fentiment and 
 polite accomplifliment to refufe you. 
 But here comes the landlord to fatisfy 
 us ; though, if I may judge by his coun- 
 tenance, it is worfe and worfe. Well, 
 
 24 
 
landlord, have you had better fuccefs this 
 time ? , 
 
 Land. Quite the contrary, I do afliire 
 you, fir ; and it gives me great uneafinefs 
 to inform you, his behaviour was much 
 more uncivil this time than before, and beg 
 you'll excufe me mentioning particulars, 
 for I would not willingly fhock your 
 ' lady's delicacy with a repetition. 
 
 Mr. Man. Why, landlord, I confefs 
 you greatly amaze me. I am a gentleman 
 of confiderable fortune, and always found 
 my company acceptable amongft the beft. 
 I have not been ufed to a refufal of this 
 nature ; and did I really know the perfon 
 to be any thing of a gentleman (which I 
 am confident he is not), I fliould refent 
 his behaviour in a proper manner. — jPray 
 what kind of a man is he ? 
 
 Land. Why) fir, the man is really 
 perfonable, is genteelly drefled, and is, I 
 think, naturally of a cheerful difpofition, 
 though his carriage to me was fo furly. — 
 He has a very handfome gold-laced hat 
 on, and which, indeed, he feems fomehow 
 to take a deal of pride in. 
 
 25 
 
Mr, Man. Is there not a poffibility 
 to procure me a fight of him, (unfeen 
 myfelf), for I own his ftrange uncivil 
 condu6l has greatly. excited my curiofity. 
 
 Land. Yes, fir, I think it may be 
 done; fupper is juft going up, I will ftep 
 before and acquaint him, leave the door 
 open, and if you follow me you will have 
 the opportunity. 
 
 Mr. Man. Very well, I'll go with you. 
 --My dear, you'll ftay here in the interim. 
 
 Mrs. Man. Certainly; but pray, my 
 dear, don't be feen by him, I am afraid 
 left the grofs aifront he hath put ^iupon 
 you fhould induce you to quarrel with 
 him, and that would terrify me. 
 
 Mr. Man. O ! be under no appre- 
 henfions of that nature, I beg of you ; 
 for upon proper confideration, he is too 
 contemptible an object for my refent- 
 ment. Mxit with Landlord, 
 
SCENE VIII. 
 Jojeph lolling at eafe andjinging, 
 
 'Tis Riders only life enjoy, 
 
 They travel through the land ; 
 
 Variety can never cloy. 
 
 All pleafures they command. 
 
 Toll loU de roll. 
 
 They take great ftate upon 'em 
 Where'er they are unknown, 
 
 And love what's magnum bonum. 
 Nor envy kings their crown. 
 
 *Tis true they're treated with neglect 
 Whilft they remain at home ; 
 
 But always meet with great refped; 
 Whene'er abroad they roam. 
 
Then who would not a. Rider be, 
 
 To lead a life like this ; 
 From every care and trouble free. 
 
 Enjoying earthly blifs ? 
 
 There's for you, ye parchment-bound 
 'prentices, ye hen-peck 'd hulbands, ye 
 gouty-footed drones ! get a horfe like me, 
 and travel from place to place, live like 
 kings, and sup upon ducks and green peas, 
 as I am going to do ! 
 
 Enter Landlord. 
 {Mr. Manly looking in at the dbor.^ 
 
 Land. Sir, I am come to fee that all 
 things are in order ; your fppper is coming 
 up. 
 
 Jos. S 'blood, fir, if it does not, I fliall 
 be for going down to my fupper, for you 
 have been confoundedly tedious about it. 
 
 Land. Sir, I hope you^U find it fo well 
 done, as to make full amends for the delay. 
 
 Jos. I fhall be glad if it proves fo. 
 {Struts about andjihgs^ 
 
 Mr. Man. Sure I am not deceived! 
 this muft be my clerk.— (.^^<?.) Enters. 
 
 28 , » 
 
Ha ! Jofeph ! my Lord Jofeph ! is this 
 you ?— Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Jos, O ! the devil, my mafter ! {Afidei 
 and throwing away his hat.^ Sii;, — I, I, I 
 am glad to fee your honour™indeed, I 
 d, d, did not expeft to fee you here. 
 
 Mr. Man. No, I am certain you did 
 not, or you would not have behaved in 
 the manner you have done. — I am not 
 altogether difpleafed you fliould keep up 
 the dignity of my houfe in a proper way ; 
 but you have moft highly offended me, to 
 find you capable of fuch grofs difrefpeft 
 to the fair fex, whofe company no tnan 
 of the leaft common fenfe or decency 
 would refufe to accept of. What can you 
 fay for yourfelf in this refpe£t } 
 
 Jos. Sir, I fincerely beg pardon ; if I 
 had but had the leaft notion it had been 
 you or my lady, I Ihould never have done 
 fuch a thing, I do affure you. 
 
 Mr. Man. That I really believe, but 
 ypu fliould not have a6led in fo rude a 
 manner to any one, when fo civil a 
 ihefTage was fent. 
 
 Jos, Sir, I own I put up here with 
 
 29 
 
an intention of enjoying myfelf a little 
 freely, as the only place I could properly , 
 do it at before my return home. In the 
 towns where I had your bufmefs to 
 tranfact, I always conducted myfelf with 
 propriety, and 1 hope my accounts will 
 entirely fatisfy you upon infpection. 
 "^ Mr. Man. I don't in the leaft difpute 
 it. I hope you will have no objedtion 
 to your miftrefs and me partaking of your 
 ducks and green peas now } 
 
 Jos. O ! certainly no, fir, they are 
 entirely at your honour's service ; I can 
 fubmit to humbler diet again, for all my 
 late ftately airs. 
 
 Mr. Man. No, Jofeph, no ! you Ihall 
 find I can bury my refentment much 
 quicker than you raifed it ; fince you have 
 provided the fupper, you fhall abfolutely 
 fit down with us. Go and endeavour to 
 make peace with your miftrefs, and defire 
 her to come upftairs to fupper. 
 
 Jos. I am glad it's no worfe—by 
 'Jupiter, I fhall have fome ducks and green 
 peas yet. (^Aftde and exit.) 
 
 Mr. Man. Well, landlord, you feem 
 
fomething amazed at this comical trans- 
 action. 
 
 Land. Truly, fir, I can't fay but I am. 
 
 Mr. Man. I would always T^ifh my 
 riders jjiould make an appearance to credit 
 me when upon their journeys : it is not 
 material to me what ftate they take upon 
 them at the inns they frequent, provided 
 they are juft and pundkial in their accounts 
 on their return home ; and though this 
 man hath given himfelf fome extraordinary 
 airs upon this occafion, it is, on the whole, 
 a very laughable affair; and I fancy Lord 
 Jofeph with his ducks and green peas will 
 be long remembered here. He is, not- 
 withftanding, a very valuable fervant, and 
 I have ever found him flri6tly honeft and 
 diligent in his dealings with me and my 
 numerous correfpondents ; therefore, I 
 fhall excufe his rather uncommonly rude 
 behaviour for this time. 
 
 \ Enter Harry. 
 
 Har. Sir, the lady begs to be excufed 
 coming up — but delires your company 
 below ; fu]ft)er is on the table. 
 
 3» 
 
Mr, Man, Well, I lliall attend her 
 there. Mxeunt with Landlord. 
 
 RnUr Tom. 
 
 Tom. Ha, ha,^ ha !— upon my foul, the 
 fineft joke I ever enjoyed in my life !™ 
 Who d'ye think, Harry, this pretty fpark 
 turns out to be ? 
 
 Har. Nay, that I can't tell ; but I 
 have a fhrewd guefs he is no better than 
 we both fuppofed him. 
 
 Tom. Right— this incomparable, blus- 
 tering, hedtoring, ftrutting, ducks-and- 
 green-peas genius, is no other than clerk 
 and traveller to the gentleman and lady 
 whom he refufed to fup with him. 
 
 Har. Well, I thought as much— Who 
 the deuce would ever truft appearances 
 again after this? 
 
 Tom. True — but I can't help laughing 
 to think how, from the higheft pinnacle of 
 grandeur, this mighty hero is dwindled 
 into plain Joe, the Newcaftle Rider.— Ha, 
 ha, ha ! > -. 
 
 i 
 
Andrew Robinson 
 STONEY 
 
 BOW£ S 
 
 Esaui re; 
 
 6v. 
 
ANDREW 
 
 ROBINSON STONEY 
 
 BOWES. 
 
 THE following notice from the 
 "Local Records of Newcaftle- 
 upon-Tyne " may, not inaptly, 
 be quoted, as a fitting introduc- 
 tion to the fubject of the prefent 
 memoir:—" Sept. 17th, 1760, died at his 
 feat at Gibfide, George Bowes, Esq., of 
 Streatlam and Gibfide, M.P. for the 
 County of Dutham, which he had repre- 
 
fen ted in the Parliaments of 1727, 1734, 
 1741, 1747, and 1754. On the v2 6th of 
 this month his remains were depofited 
 in the family vault at Whickhani, in a 
 grand manner, there to remain till the 
 chapel at Gibfide was finiflied (the firft 
 ftone of which had been laid a little before 
 his death), then to be removed and placed 
 in the vault intended for the future inter- 
 ment of his family. Mr. Bowes left an 
 only daughter, Mary Eleanor, sole heirefs 
 to an eftate of ^600,000." She married 
 John, ninth Earl of Strathmore, who 
 affumed the' name of Bowes, and died at 
 Lifbon in 1776, leaving his Countefs ftill 
 a young woman, with five children. 
 
 In addition to immenfe wealth the 
 Countefs was not only a pretty, lively, 
 and very accompliflied woman, but fhe 
 had the charader of being literary, and 
 with the recommendations of a fine houfe 
 in Grofvenor Square, a houfe and extenfive 
 gardens and confervatories at Chelfea, 
 her feats at Paul's-Walden, Gibfide, Bar- 
 nard Caftle, and the caftles of Streatlam 
 and Hilton, befides lands in Middlefex, 
 
 6 
 
numerous fuitors foon appeared on the 
 ftage. The relater of this ftrange hiftory, 
 Mr. Jefle Foot, furgeon of Stoney Bowes, 
 fays that Ihe was reputed to be the beft 
 female botanift of the time, and fpent vaft 
 fums in greenhoufes, confervatories, and 
 curious plants, at her houfe at Chelfea. Her 
 houfe in Grofvenor Square was the refort 
 of many literary and fcientific men, an4 
 in particular of naturalifts. Mr. Foot . 
 defcribes her at that time as fcarcely thirty 
 years of age. " She poffeffed a very 
 pleafing embonpoint. Her buft was uncom- 
 monly fine. Her ftature was rather 
 under the iniddle clafs; her hair brown; 
 her eyes light, fmall, and flie was near- 
 fighted. Her face was round ; her neck 
 and Ihoulders graceful ; her lower jaw 
 rather underhanging, and which, when- 
 ever Ihe was agitated, was moved very 
 uncommonly, as if convulfively from fide 
 to fide. Her fingers were fmall, and her 
 hands exceedingly delicate." 
 
 With great accomplifhments, and the 
 knowledge of many languages, Ihe became 
 by her pofition the centre of a fet of 
 
bafe flatterers and defigners •, and the live- 
 linefs of her difpofition led her into follies 
 and extravagances that might have taken 
 efFedl in a ftronger and wifer woman. 
 She had troops of learned pretenders, and 
 even pretending domeftics about her. 
 Soon after her hufband's death, a Mr. 
 Gray, who had a fortune in the Indies, 
 aimed at her hand, and became an accepted 
 fuitor ; but Stoney Rbbinfon appeared on 
 the fcene. Mr. Gray fodn was driven 
 from the field, and the Countefs , became 
 the vi6tim of the moil perfed: villain 
 which modern times can boaft of. 
 
 This Andrew Robinfon Stoney w^as a 
 lieutenant in the army. He had been 
 ftationed at Newcaftle-on-Tyrie, and ther6 
 contrived to win the hand of a Mifs 
 Newton, only child of William Newton, 
 of Burnopfield, in the county of Durham, 
 who inherited about jT ^0,000. He foon 
 haftened her out of the world by fuch 
 ingenious proceffes as pitching her head- 
 long down a flight of fliairs, fhutting her 
 up in a clofet in her chemife (fome fay 
 without it) for three days, and feeding her 
 
L 
 I 
 
 on an egg a-day, and by other modes of 
 torture, mental and phyfical, of which he 
 was an eminent mailer. Foot defcribes 
 him at the time he firft knew him thus :— 
 " The perfon of Bowes was rather in his 
 favour, and his addrefs was probably, when 
 young, captivating. His fpeech was foft ; 
 his height more than five feet ten ; his 
 eyes were bright and fmall--^he had a 
 perfect command over them. His eye- 
 broy;s were low, large and fandy; his 
 hair light; and his complexion ruddy. 
 His fmile was agreeable ; Jiis wit ready; 
 but he was always the firft to laugh at 
 what he faid, and forced others to laugh 
 alfo; his converfation was fhallow, his 
 education was bare, and his Utterance was in 
 a low tone, and lifping. There was fome- 
 thing uncommon in the connexion of his 
 nofe with his upper lip. He could never 
 talk without the nofe, which was long, 
 and curved downwards, being alfo moved 
 ridiculoufly with the upper lip." 
 
 Having, as we have' feen, 4ifpofed of 
 his firft wife, he was on the look-out for 
 another, if poflible with a better fortune, 
 
 9 ' 
 
 V N 
 
in the meantime amufing himfelf by the 
 ufual routine of men of pleafure— in gam- 
 ing, cock-fighting, horfe-racing, watering- 
 places, and the petty clubs in St. James's. 
 
 The gay widow of Grofvenor Square 
 now attracted his attention, and he deter- 
 mined to make a bold ftroke ' for fo 
 tempting a prize. The mode by which 
 he fet about this was one of the moft 
 remarkable and mfpired efforts of de- 
 moniacal genius. He firft of all ftonaaai 
 the ftreet-door and ante-chamber, culti- 
 vated the acquaintance of certain members 
 of her houfehold, corrupted them, and 
 engaged them in his caufe. The family 
 confifted of the Countefs, Mrs. Parifh, 
 the govemefs of the children, Mifs Eliza 
 Planta, filler to the governefs, con- 
 fidante to the Countefs, and the Rev. Mr. 
 Stephens, juft then about to be married 
 to Mifs Eliza Planta, both in the intereft 
 of Bowes. The chief vifitors of the 
 •family were Mr. Magra, a botanift, and 
 a friend of Dr. Solander, and Mr. Matra, 
 a conful at Barbary. Thefe, befides 
 accidental vifitors, were the dramatis per- 
 
fottdB at the Temple of Folly in Grofvenor 
 Square. 
 
 Thus, by flattery, by gallantry, by every 
 poflible means, Bowes made his way to 
 the Countefs through her creatures. His 
 connection in Durham, by his marriage 
 with Mifs Newton, afforded him a plea of 
 introduction to the Countess's houfe. He 
 had no occafion to fay who he was, if he 
 could once get in and obtain an audience 
 in Grofvenor Square. To accomplifh this 
 object, he refl:ed not a moment. He made 
 all the male literati his friends, and fecured 
 the fmiles of the female. The Countess's 
 companion, Eliza, was propitious to him, 
 and every fliratagem that^the ingenuity of 
 man or woman could devife was reforted 
 to until he fucceeded in beconiing one of 
 her circle, when he progrefTed rapidly. 
 Perceiving that fhe was of a romantic and 
 vifionary turn of mind, he got a conjuror 
 tutored to his wifhes, and planned with 
 Mifs Planta a party in which the Countefs 
 was to be included, to have their fortunes 
 told. He caufed letters to be fent to the 
 Countefs with the Durham poflmark on 
 
 II 
 
them, purporting to be from a lady, who 
 complained that for the fake of the 
 Countefs he had forfaken her. In thefe 
 letters, fufpicion was hinted that Mr. Gray, 
 the accepted lover, was in the intereft 
 and fupported in his wifhes by the relatives 
 of the late Earl of Strathmore, .which 
 above all was calculated to alarm the 
 Countefs, and excite a jealoufy of their 
 interference ; and though thefe fchemes 
 fucceeded in a meafure to the extent of 
 his wilhes, the mailer-ftroke was yet to 
 come. 
 
 Whilft he had been making thefe 
 advances, a fweeping attack had appeared 
 in the Morning, P oft .on the character, 
 purfuits, and aiTociates of" the Countefs. 
 Her whole life was analyfed and expofed 
 to 'the public, with the moft malicious 
 and irritating exaggerations. Vindications 
 were made by her friends. A vehement 
 and continued correfpondehce took place. 
 Public attention was attradled, and the 
 friends of the late Lord Strathmore 
 fecretly rejoiced in it, becaufe they hoped 
 it would prevent her marrying again; a 
 
 ' 13 
 
/ 
 
 ftep which, on account of the 'vaft pro- 
 perty in her own power, they exceedingly^ 
 dreaded. Thus the controversy grew 
 louder, and the attacks on the chara6ter of 
 the Countefs grew fo intolerable that Ihe 
 declared that whoever would avenge her, 
 by challenging and fighting the editor of 
 that paper, ihould bei rewarded with her 
 
 heart and 
 hand. At 
 this crifis 
 Andrew 
 Robinfon 
 Stoney, 
 who was 
 the fecret 
 afTailant, 
 now dex- 
 teroufly 
 
 wheeled round and challenged the unwary 
 editor, who had been his tool, fought him, 
 contrived to be wounded, as well as to 
 wound in the affair, and received from' the 
 grateful and unfufpe6ting Countefs her hand 
 at the altar, a* a reward for his gallantry. 
 Thus this adventurer, by one of the moft 
 
 >3 
 
artful and audacious fchemes, ftepped into 
 the pofleffion of a fplendid fortune, the 
 enjoyment of the fole daughter, caftles, and 
 wide eftates of an ancient and illuftrious 
 hne. Having gratified his vanity by re- 
 maining a while in town, where the vifits 
 of congratulation on his marriage were Hke 
 a levee, where cards in heaps were left by 
 yilitors ih coaches, on horfeback, and on 
 foot, he proceeded to the north to rejoice 
 in his newly acquired eftates. Scarcely 
 had he arrived there, when the greedy eye 
 of the adventurer fell on the fplendid 
 woods of Giblide, which were at once 
 doomed to the axe. 
 
 He felled large quantities of timber, 
 but merchants refufed to purchafe it, and 
 it lay and rotted on the ground. His 
 career was now fuch as might be expelled 
 —extravagance and expenfe, tyranny and 
 meannefs. He got into ParHament for 
 ^ Newcaftle ; he became high sheriff for the 
 county ; he attempted to rival in fplendour 
 the ancient nobility, at the fame time that 
 he was employing all his -arts to raife 
 money, and to draw his friends, bankers. 
 
anybody into his mefhes to make a profit 
 of them. 
 
 After having given a few parliamentary 
 y dinners to fome of the members and his 
 acquaintances, he quitted his houfe in 
 Grofvenor Square, and took up his refi- 
 dence at hotels. As to what he did in 
 Parliament, there can be no trace, for he 
 only gave filent votes. He had been 
 fortunate in having ferved the office of 
 fherifFjuft in time to be chofen, in 1780, 
 a member for Newcaftle ; and it is beyond 
 queftion, that he meditated ftanding for the 
 county at a future time, and had got fome 
 ftrong interefl on his fide. He had alfo 
 made the purchafe of the Benwell eflate, 
 from the family of Shafto ; but this could 
 not have diftreffed him much, as he mort- 
 gaged it deeply ; and this he contrived to 
 keep to the day of his death, though 
 from that time to this he raifed money 
 upon the plea of lofing it. 
 
 He parted with everything he could in 
 town, fold Chelfea Houfe, and took the 
 family plate into his own pofTeflion. He 
 raifed ^^3 0,00a upon annuities. He in- 
 
 15 
 
 i''-r 
 
fured the life of the Countefs only for 
 a year or two " at moft, by which he 
 fquandered away vaft fums. He went 
 directly down to Gibfide, and cut down 
 the timber; the neighbours would not 
 buy it ; the felled timber lay upon his 
 hands. He got the nomination of IherifF; 
 he opened early his canvafs for Newcaftle, 
 kept open houffe, and entertained the heads 
 of that town at Gibfide. 
 
 His dinners were good, and his table 
 enriched by maffive plate ; but there was 
 always a fmack of mean fplendour about 
 him, as he did not purchafe one fingle new 
 carriage, and his coach-horfes, originally of 
 high value, were never in good condition. 
 He took a chaplain into his houfe, and 
 always had fomebody about him whom 
 he made a butt of. 
 
 The expenfes he incurred by his 
 fhrievalty, by his ele6tion and horfe- 
 racing, by his infurances and the purchafe 
 of Benwell, kept him in a conftant diftrefs 
 for nioney ; and at the very time when 
 he wrote adulatory letters to his friend, 
 that he nev6r fliould be happy till he was 
 
 i6 
 
out of debt, and had fome to the good, 
 he went upon the turf and into an eledion. 
 His letters were Hterally the letters of a 
 hypocrite. 'He got as much from his 
 banker as. he could, and when he could 
 get no more, he abufed him. He sold a 
 friend an eftate at a cheap rate, but a claim 
 remaining upon it, the bargain was all on 
 Bowes's fide. 
 
 Such was Bowes, and his general trg,nsv 
 adions ; but all this whik what was his 
 condu^ to the Countefs — to her who had 
 unwifely, but (till moil kindly, admitted 
 him to a fphere and a fortune far beyond 
 his juft expe6l:ations .^ It may well be 
 fuppofed that fuch a man would not be 
 more exemplary in his attentions and his 
 gratitude to her, than he was commend- 
 able in his other proceedings; but Bowes 
 was — 
 
 ." A tyrant to the weak, and a coward to 
 the ftrong." 
 
 He was fuch a man as Shelley defcribes 
 
 in " Rosalind and Helen," at whofe 
 
 ^approach'the very children fell into filence 
 
 i; p 
 
in the midft of their play, and who clapped 
 their hands and danced when they heard 
 that he was dead. He poffeffed the art of 
 tormenting as if he had learnt it undei^ 
 the perfonal and efpecial inftrudion of the 
 arch-fiend himfel£ While pretending 
 great tendernefs to this unhappy, but to 
 him generous wbman, he kept her as a 
 boy keeps a young bird by the leg with 
 a ftring, and at every moment of his 
 own wicked caprice, or of her apparent 
 pleafure, gave her a pluck. It is eafier to 
 imagine than to defcribe all the fecret 
 villainies and degradations by which fuch 
 a tyrant can make every moment of a 
 woman of feeling and refinement bitter 
 as death. In the firft place, Bowes carried 
 on the moft licentious intercourfe with 
 women of all kinds on all fides. He 
 feduced almoft every maid-fervant, and all 
 the farmers' daughters that he could. He 
 expended on other women great fums. in 
 jewellery and other extravagances ; and 
 cared hot how much of all this came to 
 the knowledge of his wife. In- order to 
 filence her, and to hold her in terrorem, as 
 
 18 
 
Andrew Robinson Bowes Esq!^ 
 
well as to provide himfelf with a weapon 
 againft her, fhould flie' at any time be 
 driven by defpe;-ation to feek the pro- 
 tection of the law againft him, he reforted 
 to means which only fuch an accom- 
 pliflied fcoundrel could imagine. 
 
 He compelled his wife to write, or 
 wrote it for her, the " Confeflions of the 
 Countefs of Strathmore," in which he 
 made her draw the ftrangeft pi6:ure 
 imaginable of herfelf and her life before 
 her marriage with him. That any woman 
 of education would voluntarily thus iketch 
 out a confeflion of the groffeft infamy 
 againft herfelf, is beyond all conception ; 
 and who can fay what were the fecret 
 tortures by which this hiftory of fhame 
 was wrung from this miferable woman, 
 when withdrawn to one of his fecret 
 retreats, by the man who had fhut up his 
 former wife for three days, and fed her 
 on an egg a day ? Who can even fhape 
 to himfelf the long and foul-killing indig- 
 nities which fuch a monfter would compel 
 his vidim to undergo, in ord^r to effe£l 
 his diabolical purpose ? It is not men- 
 
 21 
 
tidned by Mr. Foot, but we have heard 
 it ftated by others, that one means em- 
 ployed by him was to enclofe the Coun- 
 tefs's hair, which was long and very fine, 
 in a cheft, and locking it down, keep her 
 thus confined in a lying pofture till her 
 will gave way to his diabolical wilhes ! 
 Certain it is that he accompliflied his end. 
 The "Confeffions" were written; and 
 were, fays Foot, "laid behind his pillow 
 by night, and read by him in fcraps for 
 his purpofes by day. He got them by 
 heart; they formed part of his travelling 
 equipage to Paris and everywhere elfe. 
 They v/ere a treafure which he hugged to 
 his bofom, and brooded over with a ran- 
 corous rapture." Nor did he forget, at 
 the neceflary moment, to hand them into 
 a public court of law againft his wife. 
 
 Mr. Foot thus defcribes the Countefs, 
 fix years after her marriage to Bowes : 
 " The Countefs, whom I had not feen 
 for fome time, appeared wonderfully 
 altered and dejeded. She was pale and 
 nervous, and her under jaw conftantly 
 moved from fide to fide. If Ihe faid any- 
 
 23 
 
thing, flie looked at him firft. If flie was 
 alked to drink a glafs of wine, fhe took 
 his intelligence before fhe anfwered. She 
 fate but a fhort time at dinner, and then 
 was out of my fight. I did get one 
 morning's walk with her and Mr. Har- 
 rifon, into the once beautiful pleafure- 
 garden, where, in fpite of the ruinous > 
 ftate of it, much was left for admiration ; 
 becaufe the tafte which gave it a creation 
 was not as yet totally obliterated. 
 
 "The Countefs pointed out to us the 
 concern Ihe had formerly taken in the 
 fhrubs, the flower-beds, the lawns, the 
 alcoves, and the walks of this moft 
 dele6lable recefs— (Paul's Walden). She 
 even pointed out the aflifl;ance her own 
 hand had lent to individual articles. In 
 obferving her during the converfation, the 
 agitation of her mind was apparent by the 
 adlion of her mouth. She would look 
 for fome time, hefitate, and then her under- 
 jaw would adt in that convulfive manner, 
 which abfolutely explained her ftate of 
 melancholy remembrance beyond all other 
 proofs abftra6ted knowledge could coh- 
 
 23 
 
firm, or technical teachers could demon- 
 ftrate." 
 
 Was there ever a more perfed deline- 
 ation of the efFeds of thofe horrors which 
 are, in many a folitary nook of affluence, 
 perpetrated by men-monfters, on that 
 dehcate, fhrinkingifond, faithful thing, often 
 too forgiving, and often wondrous in patient 
 endurance, called— a wife? Many fuch'a 
 fcene could we draw forth from the annals 
 of old Halls, that would 
 
 " Draw iron tears down Pluto's cheeks ; " 
 
 but none more perfect in its kind than the 
 hiftory of Stoney Bowes and his victim, 
 the Cbuntefs of Strathmore.^ At this 
 very time, there was a child or children, 
 which fhould have melted the heart of the 
 fcoundrel, if it had not been harder than 
 the nether millftone, and have made it 
 feel one fenfation of affection, at leaft to- 
 wards her who had endowed him with 
 fuch magnificent gifts. But the wretch 
 was one of Satan's ele6l ; and at this very 
 time he had got a new man-cook, and 
 was feafting and giving entertainments to 
 
 24 
 
the neighbours in grand ftyle. Amongft 
 others was a moft beautiful young woman, 
 one of his former's daughters, whom he 
 had ruined. Her mother and fifter came 
 after dinner, and they all drank tea with the 
 Countefs. 
 
 . One Victim was but poor employment 
 for Bowes. The Countefs had five chil- 
 dren by Lord Strathmore, and Bowes now 
 fet himfelf to torment the guardians by 
 endeavouriilg to get them inta his hands. 
 The fons were totally out of reach, but 
 he hoped to be able to fecure the two 
 eldeft daughters. Lady Maria Jane and 
 Lady Anna Maria. To accomplifh this, 
 he commenced his hypocritical whinings. 
 All of a fudden, he appeared to be fo 
 tender, fo alarmed about the decay of the 
 Countefs's health, and the inward pinings, 
 pangs, and fufFerings of her peace of mind, 
 that he actually fucceeded in getting one 
 of the daughters into his pofTeffion, and 
 the other had a narrow efcape. This 
 efcape was owing to the firmnefs and 
 prudence of the guardians. They had 
 permitted the young lady to ^go to the 
 
 25 
 
houfe, on the plea that the very life of the 
 Countefs depended on feeing her children ; 
 and there fhe was fpeedily abftraded from 
 her attendants ; they looked out, and it 
 was only by railing a fpeedy and thorough 
 alarm that flie was regained. With the 
 other Bowes made off to Paris, taking the 
 Countefs along with him. His' corre- 
 fpondence, and his endeavours to move the 
 Court of Chancery in his favour^ by his 
 /hypocritical lamentations over the Coun- 
 tefs are very curious, but they did not 
 avail; he was compelled to reftore the 
 young lady to her proper protestors, and 
 in no hands eould the Countefs have 
 more dreaded their being than in thofe of 
 Bowes. In this caufe he employed the 
 profeflional powers of the greateft lawyers 
 of their time— Erfkine, Scott, and Law, 
 afterwards Lords Erlkine, Eldon, and Ellen- 
 borough. The time was, however, now 
 arriving for the occurrence of more ftrik- 
 ing events in this ftrange hiftory. The 
 continued cruelties of Bowes at length 
 roufed the mind of the unhappy Countefs 
 to a paroxyfm of defperation* and Ihe 
 
 26 
 
determined to efcape from him and throw 
 herfelf under the protedion of the laws. 
 The ftridt watch which he and his fatellites 
 conftantly maintained over her, was 
 happily broken in upon by his going out 
 to dine at Captain Armftrong's, in Percy 
 Street. The Countefs had, at length, 
 found a maid who was not to be cor- 
 rupted by Bowes, but conceived a deep 
 compaflion for her unhappy lady. The 
 Countefs and fhe had long planned and 
 concofted an efcape; the opportunity 
 feemed to have arrived. The male fer- 
 vants were defpatched on fome errand or 
 other. He who was appointed more 
 exprefsly to watch her was fent to the 
 ftationer's for fome book of amufement 
 for the Countefs to read, in the abfence 
 of Bowes. Some doors were locked that 
 it might not too foon be found out that 
 fhe was gone ; and thus they ftole out of 
 the houfe and got, undifcovered, into 
 Oxford Street, where they had to wait a 
 confiderable time, no coach being upon the 
 Hand. They were in the greateft danger, 
 as Bipwes had been apprifed the moment 
 
 27 
 
their efcape was difcovered, and they had 
 fcarcely got into a coach, when as they 
 came oppofite to Bemer's Street, they faw 
 him in a hackney-coach driving very faft, 
 with his head out and without his hat. 
 Providentially he faw them not ; but the 
 efcape was fo narrow, that the Countefs,, 
 in her low ftate of health, and ^ from the 
 lively imagination in her mind of the 
 mifery which threatened her if retaken, 
 fell into hyjfterics, and was with difficulty 
 perfuaded that fhe was fafe, and out of 
 his power. 
 
 She was conduced to Mr. Shuter's, the 
 barrifter, in Curfitor Street ; and an apart- 
 ment was taken for her in Dyer's Buildings. 
 Bowes, in the meantime, loft not a moment 
 in inquiry and purfuit. On receiving the 
 news of what had happened, he had run 
 out into Oxford Street without his hat, 
 and driven off in a hackney-coach. He 
 was not long in ferreting out her retreat, 
 but it was not before flie had exhibited 
 articles of the peace in the Court of King's 
 Bench againft him for ill-treatment of her 
 
 perfon, and was put under the protedion 
 
 38 
 
of the Court. But Bowes was not daunted 
 by that ; he took lodgings in the fame 
 ftreet, and watched her as a cat watches a 
 moufe, ready to pounce upon her. " AH 
 the foul- weather birds," fays Foot, " were 
 hovering about his diftreffed houfe in 
 Grofvenor Square. There ufed to come, 
 one after another, fuch a draggled-tailed 
 fet as are feen in wet weather canvafling 
 about at elections. A more pitiable object 
 was never beheld than Bowes. His mind 
 was every moment upon fome new device ; 
 and although he had more than a dozen 
 engines at work, not one of them knew 
 what the other was about. He appealed 
 vehemently, as an injured man, to the 
 Courts of Chancery, of King's Bench, and 
 even to Dodors' Commons. He had, 
 however, employment enough of itfelf to 
 bribe all the maid-fervants and others whom 
 he had ruined, to filence the cries of their 
 diftreffed children, and to keep hunger and 
 ruin out of the way of any honeft justifi- 
 cation and ftrong teihptation ; but in fpite 
 all this, there were fufficient who found 
 their way to Dodors' Commons to anfwer 
 the Countefs's purpofe." 
 
 29 
 
The Countefs had gone off in fuch hafte 
 that flie fcarcely took more things with 
 her than fhe had on her back, leaving 
 behind all her jewels and everything, to 
 fecure only the greateft jewel of all™ 
 fafety from his tyranny. The proofs that 
 were exhibited againft him in Court were 
 of the moft horrid kind, and to feel the 
 force of them, we muft recolle6t the rank 
 and fenfitive mind of the Countefs, what 
 {he had done for Bowes, and that thefe 
 inflictions had, been the ordinary treatment 
 of long years. They confifted in " beating, 
 fcratching, biting, pinching, whipping, 
 kicking, imprifoning, infulting, provoking, 
 tormenting, mortifying, degrading, tyran- 
 nifing, cajoling, deceiving, lying, forcing, 
 ftarving, compelling, and a new torment,- 
 wringing of the heart." To all thefe 
 allegations Bowes had little to oppofe, 
 except thofe precious confeffions which he 
 had had manufactured exprefsly for such an 
 emergency, and which he put into the 
 hands pf his prodor to make the moft of. 
 
 All this time, however,, Bowes kept a 
 Iharp eye on his vidim. She moved from 
 
 30 
 
refidence to refidence to elude him; he 
 ftill difcovered her and took his lodgings 
 at hand. Her laft remove was into^ Blooms- 
 bury Square, and here he refolved to 
 corrupt the conftable whom the Court 
 had appointed to guard her. This man, 
 Lucas, was a highly refpedlable man, in 
 whom the Court had high confidence, but 
 Bowes did not defpair of winning him 
 over. "He found out where his wife 
 and family lived; he gratified all their 
 immediate wants. He made himfelf an 
 injured man ; he produced his credentials, 
 ' The Confeflions ' ; and by time, and clofe 
 attention, foon got the wife and her 
 vifitors on his fide. * Sure he is a charm- 
 ing man, and 'tis a fliame he fhould be fo 
 ufed. He is as mild and as meek as a lamb, 
 and as good and generous as a prince. 
 One of my children was ill, he faw it every 
 day, nurfed it, and gave it the medicines 
 himfelf.'" Lucas was foon a loft man ; and 
 the plan to carry oflF the Countefs was 
 fettled. The following is the narrative 
 of this fingular tranfa^lion from the Gen- 
 tleman s Magazine of December, 1786. 
 
 31 
 
" Some weeks previous to the day of 
 carrying into execution the confpiracy 
 formed againft her, feveral fufpicious per- 
 fons were feen lurking about her ladylhip's 
 houfe in Bloomfbury Square ; and the 
 fame perfons were obferved frequently to 
 follow the carriage, fometimes in hackney- 
 coaches and fometimes on foot. Her 
 ladylhip was not wholly unapprifed of 
 their attendance, nor unapprehenfive of 
 their defigns ; but to counteraft their 
 meafures, flie took into her weekly pay 
 one Lucas, a conftable, to keep a conftant 
 eye on her carriage whenever flie went 
 out, and never to be out of call. 
 
 "This man, on the loth November, 
 inquired of the coachman, as his cuftom 
 was, if his la,dy went out that day, was 
 anfwered in the affirmative, and received 
 orders to attend between one and two in 
 the afternoon. About that time her lady- 
 fliip had bufinefs at Mr. Forfter's, in Oxford 
 Street ; and, for company, took Mr. Farrer, 
 brother to her folicitor, and her maid, Mrs. 
 Morgan, in the coach with heir. In their 
 way they met with no interruption; but 
 
 32 
 
they had fcarce been five minutes in the 
 houfe of Mr. Forfter, before fome of thofe 
 perfons came into the fliop who had been 
 marked as above, and were well-known to 
 her ladylhip. 
 
 "Being much alarmed jat their appearance, 
 fhe withdrew to an inner room and locked 
 the door, requefting Mr. Forfter at the 
 fame time to go privately and procure 
 affiftance, to be in readinefs for her pro- 
 tection, in cafe any violence fhould be 
 offered to her perfon. 
 
 " Mr. Forfter had fcarce left the houfe 
 when the conftable, whofe bufinefs it was 
 to watch the motions of his lady, went 
 up and tapped at her room door, and by 
 telling her his name, obtained immediate 
 admittance. Interrogating him as to his 
 bufinefs, flie was ready to fink when flie 
 was told that her ladyfhip was his prifoner 
 — that a warrant had been put into his 
 hands— that he muft do his duty, but that 
 it was rather fortunate for her ladyfhip, 
 as he would take her before Lord Manf- 
 field at Caen Wood, who, no doubt, 
 would fruftrate all the wicked purpofes 
 
 3S Q 
 
of her enemies, and take her under his 
 own immediate proteftion. With this 
 artful tale, in the then ftate of her mind 
 flie was eafily prevailed upon to ftep again 
 into her coach, as Mr. Farrer w^s per- 
 mitted to accompany her. The moment 
 flie was feated her fervants were all 
 difcharged by a pretended order from 
 her ladyfliip, a confederate coachman 
 mounted the box, and a neW fet of 
 attendants, all armed, furrounded the 
 coach. In this manner they proceeded, 
 without noife or interruption, till they 
 reached Highgate Hill, at the bottom of 
 which ftood Mr. Bowes, who, addrefling 
 himfelf to Mr. Farrer, very civilly re- 
 quefted to change places with him, and 
 then feated himfelf at the right hand of 
 his lady, who was no longer in doubt as 
 to his defign. The coachman was now 
 ordered to proceed, and to quicken his 
 pace. 
 
 " Mr. Farrer being now at liberty, made 
 all poffible hafte to London, and appli- 
 cation was immediately made to the Court 
 of King's Bench, in order to effect a 
 . 34 
 
refcue. On Monday, the loth, two of 
 Lord Mansfield's tipftafFs fet off for that 
 purpofe to the north. In the meantime 
 Mr. Bowes continued his journey. 
 
 " At Barnet, frefh horfes were ready to 
 put to, and a poft-chaife and four, with 
 / , fome accomplices, were in waiting to 
 attend. Though the windows of the 
 coach were broken, and the lady in the 
 coach appeared in great diftrefs, yet not 
 the leaft effort was made to interrupt 
 their progrefs ; and it was not until the 
 next day at noon, when a fervant of Mr. 
 Bowes, arrived at the Angel Inn, at Don- 
 cafter, a hundred and ninety-five miles 
 from London, and ordered horfes to be 
 put to his mailer's coach, that we have any 
 account of their further proceedings. In 
 half-a,n-hour the coach flopped in the 
 flreet ; and while the horfes were chang- 
 ing, Mr. Woodcock, the mafler of the inn, 
 handed fome cakes to Mr. Bowes, which 
 Mr. Bowes prefented to the lady> but 
 whether fhe accepted them or not he 
 could not pofitively afTert. The moment 
 the horfes were in harnefs they purfued 
 
 35 
 
their courfe northward ; and the next 
 notice that we have of them was at 
 Branfby Moor, where the lady wa? fhown 
 into a room, attended by a chambermaid, 
 and guarded by Mr. Bowes, who haftened 
 her return, and feemed all impatience till 
 Ihe was again feated in the coach. 
 
 "What further pafled till they arrived 
 at Streatiam Caftle, in the principality of 
 Durham, remained a fecret till her lady- 
 Ihip's arrival on Tuefday, the 21ft of 
 November, in the evening, at the houfe of 
 Meffrs. Farrer and Lacey, on Bread Street . 
 Hill. The detail ihe then gave of her 
 fufFerings, during the eleven days of ab- 
 fence, was truly pitiable :~-At the time of 
 taking her away, the confederates were all 
 armed; that, as they drove along, Mr. 
 Bowes endeavoured to perfuade her to 
 lign a paper, to ftop proceedings in the 
 Ecclefiaftical Court, and to confent to live 
 under the name and character of his wife 
 ^--both which (he pofitively refufed to do ; 
 that he then beat her on the face and 
 body with his clenched fifts ; that, when 
 {he attempted to cry out, he thruft a 
 
 36 
 

handkerchief into her mouth ; that, on 
 the moft trifling contradi6tfon, while on 
 the road, he beat her with the chain and 
 feals of his watch on the naked breaft ; 
 and that, when provoked by her firmnefs, 
 he prefented a loaded piflol to her head, 
 and threatened her life, if fhe did not 
 inftantly fign the paper, but this Ihe was 
 determined never to dp. 
 
 " Being arrived at Streatlam Caftle, he 
 then endeavoured to perfuade her to take 
 upon her the government of the family, 
 and to ad: in every refpe£l as his wife, 
 which fhe ftill moil folemnly refufed to do. 
 On which, in a glow of paflion, he pulled 
 out a piftol, bid her fay her prayers, and, 
 with a trembling hand, prefented it to her 
 head. -This, too, failing of efFed:, he vio- 
 lently beat her, then ]eft her, and Ihe faw 
 no more of him for a whole day; when 
 coming up to the room rather more calm 
 than ufual, he aflced her if fhe was not yet 
 reconciled to a dutiful domeflic life ? and, 
 being anfwered with fome afperity, he 
 flew into a more violent paflion than fhe 
 had ever yet feen him, pulled out his 
 
 39 
 
piftol, bid her fay her lafl prayers™{he did 
 fay her prayers, and then bid him fire ! 
 
 " By this time the country began to be 
 alarmed for her, and Bowes for his own 
 fafety. He therefore, in order to cover 
 his efcape, and keep her ftill in* his power, 
 ordered two of his domeftics to be dreffed 
 fo as to perfonate himfelf and her ladyj 
 Ihip, and to fhow themlelves occafionally 
 before the windows to appeafe the popu- 
 lace, and to deceive his purfuers. This 
 ftratagem had its full effe£t; the people 
 were quiet while they thought her lady- 
 fhip was fafe ; and the fherifFs officers 
 who were fent to execute the attachment, 
 actually ferved it on the wrong perfohs ; 
 while, in the > meantime, Bowes took her 
 out a back way, dragged her, bet\yeen teii 
 and eleven o'clock, in the dark, to a little 
 cottage in the neighbourhood, where they 
 fpent the remainder of the night, and 
 where he behaved to her in a manner 
 fhocking to the delicacy of civilized life, 
 reiterating his threatenings, and, finding 
 threats in vain, throwing her on the bed, 
 and flogging her with rods. 
 
 40 
 
"On leaving the' cottage in the morn- 
 ing, he had her fet on horfeback behind 
 him, without a pillion, and' took her over 
 difmal heaths and tracklefs wilds, covered 
 with fnow, till they came to Darlington, 
 to the houfe of Mr. B., an attorney, where 
 fhe was fhut up in a dark room, and where 
 fhe was threatened (a red-hot poker being 
 held to her breaft) with a mad dodlor and 
 ftrait-waiftcoat ; but all in vain. 
 "The hour of deliverance drew near. 
 Hither they had been tracked, and here it 
 was no longer fafe for Bowes to continue; 
 he therefore fet out with her before day, 
 in the fame manner that he brought her, 
 taking her over hedges and ploughed 
 fields, till, being feen by the hufbandmen 
 at work, he was fo clofely hemmed in, 
 that an old countryman taking hold of 
 his horfe's bridle, and Bowes prefenting 
 his piftol to frighten him, he was knocked 
 down . by a conftable that was in purfuit 
 of him, and felled to the ground with a 
 hedge-ftake. 
 
 " Seeing him in that pofition, her lady- 
 fhip put herfelf under the protedion of 
 
 41 
 
the peace-officer, and being on horfeback, 
 in a kind of womanifh exultation, bid him 
 farewell, and mend his life, and fo left 
 him weltering in his blood; while Ihe, 
 with the whole country in her favour, 
 made the beft of her way to London, 
 attended only by her deliverers, where Ihe 
 arrived fafe, as has already been ftated. 
 
 " On Wednesday the 22nd:; flie appeared 
 in the Court of King's Bench, but the 
 Court being up, no proceedings could that 
 day be had on h^r cafe. The next day 
 fhe was again prefented to the Court ; 
 and as foon as the judges were feated, 
 Mr. Law, her counfel, moved, * That flie 
 might exhibit articles of the peace againft 
 her hufband, A. R. Bowes.' The articles 
 were read, and being fworn to and figned, 
 an a.ttachment was knmediately granted 
 againil Bowes. 
 
 " On the 27th, Bowes was produced in 
 Court, to anfwer the articles. He was 
 dreffed in a drab-cploured great-coat, a 
 red filk handkerchief about his head, ije 
 was fupported by two men, yet nearly 
 bent double with weaknefs, in confequence 
 
 42 
 
of his -Wounds. He frequently appeared 
 on the point of fainting, and his appear- 1 
 ance, on the whole, was the rnofl: fqualid 
 and emaciated that can poffibly be imagined. 
 " The upfliot of this defperate under- 
 taking of Bowes was, that he was 
 fentenced to pay a fine of ^f 300 to his 
 Majefty ; to be imprifoned in the King's 
 Bench for three years ; at the end of that 
 term to find fecurity for fourteen ye^rs, 
 himfelf in ^10,000 and two fureties of 
 ^5,000 each. Lucas, the conftable, was 
 juftly fentenced to a fine of ^50, and three 
 years' imprifonment in Newgate, and the 
 other accomplices to proportionate punifh- 
 ment. The Countefs obtained a fentence 
 of divorce from Do6tors' Commons, and in 
 her exultation at her liberation, wrote the 
 following epitaph on the fallen villain, 
 and fent it by Lady Strathmore to Bowes 
 in the King's Bench Prifon : 
 
 HERE RESTS, 
 
 Who never refted before, 
 
 The moft ambitious of men : - 
 
 43 
 
For he fought not virtue, wifdom, nor 
 
 Science, yet rofe by deep hypocrify. 
 
 By the folly of fome,^ 
 
 And the vice of others. 
 
 To honours which Nature had forbade. 
 
 And riches he wanted tafte to enjoy. 
 
 He faw no faults in himfelf. 
 Nor any worth in others. 
 
 He was the enemy of mankind , 
 Deceitful to his friends. 
 Ungrateful to his benefadors, 
 Cringing to his fuperiors, 
 And tyrannical to his dependants. 
 
 If intereft obliged* him to aflift 
 Any fellow-creature, he regretted the 
 EfFe£t, and thought every day loft 
 In which he made none wretched. 
 
 His life was a continual feries 
 Of injuries to fociety ; 
 Difobedience to his Maker; 
 And he only lamented in defpair 
 
 44 
 
That he could offend them no longer. 
 
 He rofe by mean arts 
 To unmerited honours, 
 Which expire before himfelf. 
 
 Paffenger ! examine thy heart, 
 If in aught thou refembleft him ; 
 And if thou doft— 
 Read, tremble, and reform ! 
 So fliall he, who living 
 Was the peft of fociety. 
 When dead, be againll his will 
 Once ufeful to mankind." 
 
 With this very pardonable aft of triumph 
 over her fallen tyrant, we may here leave 
 this perhaps weak, but moft unfortunate 
 woman; a woman ftill, with talents, ac- 
 complifhmients, and endowments of mind, 
 perfon, and eftate, which would have made 
 her under happier circumftances an orna- 
 ment to fociety, and a bleffing to thofe 
 about her. She furvived the recovery of 
 her freedom about four years, and it is to 
 
 4S 
 
be hoped had learned in her misfortunes 
 wifdom enough to make thofe clofing 
 years a period of peace and a pure hope 
 in a better exiftence. There is nothing 
 in romance more wild, ftrange, or harrow- 
 ing, than the realities of her fearful 
 exiftence in the hands of Andrew Stoney 
 Bowes. Had fhe written her " Con- 
 feffions " after this period, they would 
 have conftituted one of the moft fearful 
 and interefting narratives of the fenfations 
 of a delicate nature and fenfitive mind, 
 under the Satanic' power of a legal in- 
 quifitor, that ever was penned. As it is, 
 the glimpfes that we have of the infliftions 
 and the degradations that Ihe had to 
 endure, immured in folitary places with 
 that arch-villain, and furrburided eternally 
 by his creatures, male and female — what 
 fhe had to fuffer in her own halls, and on 
 her anceftral hearth, the pofleflions of thefe 
 mighty old warriors of many a generatiqn, 
 with which fhe had endowed him ; and 
 his ftrange flight with hex, over heaths 
 and mountains, over hedges and fields, in 
 winter, in darknefs, and in terror— now 
 
 46 
 
mounted behind him with a blanket 
 inftead of a pillion, and now, with the 
 piftol at her head— romance has nothing 
 like it, but what it muft firft borrow from 
 fuch fcenes. 
 
THE 
 
 Gloamin' buchte. 
 
F 
 
 THE 
 
 GLOAMIN' BUCHTE. 
 
 " In the Forest and around, 
 I wot not by what reason found, 
 There may a man the Fairies spy. 
 If Bretons do not tell a lie." — Wace. 
 
 "^-^AIRIES, they tell you, have fre- 
 quently been heard and feen, nay, 
 that there are fome living who 
 were ftolen away by them and confined 
 feven years, According to the defcrip- 
 tion they give who pretend to have feen 
 them, they are in the fhape of men, 
 exceeding little. They are always clad 
 in green, and frequent the woods and 
 fields : when they make cakes (which is 
 a work they have often been heard at), 
 they are very noisy: and when they have 
 done, they are full of mirth and paftime. 
 "But generally they dance by moonlight 
 
 3 
 
when mortals are afleep and not capable 
 of feeing them, as may be obferved on 
 the following mom, their dancing places 
 being very diftinguifliable. For, as they 
 dance hand-in-hand, and fo make a circle 
 in their danCe, fo next day there will be 
 feen rings and circles on the grafs."— 
 Bourne. * 
 
 " /^IlA^ thofe fliapes you now behold, 
 
 i^^\ Were human bodies once, and 
 
 clothed in earthly inould ; 
 
 Our fouls, not yet'prepared for upper light. 
 
 Till doomsday wander in the fliades of 
 
 night " {Dryden). 
 
 " fij ^ wells, and gills, in meadows green, 
 J^ We nightly dance our hey-day 
 guife : 
 And, to our Fairy King and Queen, 
 We chant our moonlight minftrelfies : 
 When larks 'gin fing. 
 Away we fling. 
 And babes new-born ileal as we go. 
 An elf in bed 
 We leave inftead. 
 And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho ! ' 
 
 4 
 
THE following from White's MS. par- 
 tially illuftrates "The Gloamynge 
 Buchte," which firft appeared in a fmall 
 volume publiihed at Jedburgh in 1824, 
 entitled "Border Ballads, etc.," by James 
 Telfer. " Speakin' o' Fairies," quoth Robie 
 Oliver (an old fhepherd, who lived at 
 Southdean in'Jedwater, and died about 
 1830), "I can tell ye about the vera laft 
 Fairy that was feen hereaway. When my 
 Faither, Peter Oliver, was a young man 
 he lived at Hyndlee, an' herdit the Brock- 
 alaw. Weel, it was the cuftom to milk 
 the yowes in thae days, an' my Faither 
 was buchtin' the Brockalaw yowes to twae 
 yoilng, lilh, clever hizzies ae nicht i' the 
 gloamin'. Nae little daffin' an' gabbin' gaed. 
 on amang the threefome, I'fe warrant ye, 
 till at laft, juft as it began to get darkifh, 
 my Faither chancit to luik alang the lea at 
 the head o' the bucht, an' what did he see 
 but a wee little creaturie a' clad i' green, 
 an' wi' lang hair, yellow as gowd, hingin' 
 round its fhoulders, comin' ftraight for him, 
 whiles gi'en a whink o' a greet, an' aye 
 atween its hands raifin' a queer, unyirthly 
 
cry—" Hae ye feen Hewie Milburn ? Oh ! 
 hae ye feen Hewie Milburn ? " Inftead 
 of anfwering the creature, my Faither 
 fprang owre the buchte flake to be near 
 the laffes, faying, " Blifs us a— what's 
 that? " « Ha, -ha ! Patie lad," quo' Beflie 
 Elliot, a free-fpoken Liddefdale hempy, 
 " theer a wife com'd for ye the nicht, Patie 
 lad." " A wife ! " faid my Faither, " may 
 the Lord keep me frae fie a wife as that," 
 an' he confefled till his deein' day, he was 
 in fie a fear that the hairs o' his heed fluid 
 up like the birfes of a hurcheon. The 
 creature was nae bigger than a three year 
 auld laflie, but feat an' tight, lith an' limb, 
 as ony grown woman, an' its face was the 
 downright perfection o' beauty, only there 
 was fomething wild an' unyirthly in its 
 e'en, that couldna' be lookit at, faur lefs 
 defcribit : it didna' moleft them, but aye 
 taigilt on about the buchte, now an' then 
 repeatin' its cry—" Hae ye feen Hewie 
 Milburn ? "—sae they cam' to nae ither 
 conclufion than that it hed tint its com- 
 panion. When my Faither an' the laffes 
 left the buchte, it followed them hame to 
 
 6 
 
the Hyndlee kitchen, where they offered it 
 yowe brofe, but it wad na' tak' onything, 
 till at laft a neer-do-weel callant made as if 
 he wad grip it wi' a pair o' reed het tangs, 
 an' it appeared to be offendit, an' gaed awa' 
 doon the burnfide cryin' its auld cry, eerier 
 an' waefomer than ever, and difappeared in 
 a bufh o' feggs." (James Telfer, who 
 refided fome time in Newcaftle, died in 
 1862.) 
 
T 
 
 ,HE fun was reid as a turnace mouthe 
 As he fank on the Ettricke hyll; 
 An' the gloamyn gatherit frae the 
 eaft, 
 The dowie warld to fill. 
 
 When bonnie Jeanie Roole flie milkit the 
 yowes 
 
 I' the buchte aboon the Linne : 
 An' they were wilde an' ill to weare, 
 
 But the hinmoft buchtfu' was in. 
 
 " Oh ! milk them weel, my bonnie Jeanie 
 Roole," 
 The wilie Ihepherd did fay, 
 «An* fing to me *The Keache i' the 
 Creel,' 
 To put the time awaie." 
 
 8 
 
<c 
 
 It's fer owre late at e'en, fhepherd," 
 Reply'd the maiden fair ; 
 • "The Fairies wad hear," quo' bonnie 
 
 Jeanie Roole, 
 " An' wi' loutin' my back is fair." 
 
 He's ta'en her round the middle fae fma*. 
 While the yowes ran by between, 
 
 An' out o' the buchte he's laid her down 
 All on the dewye greene. 
 
 The ftar o* luve i* the eaftern \[it 
 Was the only e'e that faw— 
 
 The only tongue that they could heare 
 Was the Linn's deep murmurin' fa'. 
 
 Oh ! who can tell of youthfu' luve ? 
 
 Oh ! who can fing or fay ? 
 It is a theme for minftrel mete. 
 
 An* yet tranfcends his lay. 
 
 It is a thraldom, weU I weene 
 
 To hold the hearte in lilke ; 
 It is a draught to craze the braine. 
 
 Yet mylder than the riiilke. 
 
 9 
 
«^^H! fing me the fang, my bonnie 
 ^^^ Jeanie Roole — 
 
 Now, deareft, fing to me ; 
 The angels will liften at yon little holes. 
 An' witnefs my vowes to thee." 
 
 "I may na' refufe," quo' bonnie Jeanie 
 Roole, 
 
 " Sae weel ye can me winne : " 
 An' Ihe fat in his airms an' fweetly fhe fang, 
 
 An' her voice rang frae the Linne. 
 
 The likings o' that filver voice 
 Might weel the wits beguile ; 
 
 They clearer were than fhepherd's pipe 
 Heard owre the hills a mile. 
 
 The liltin's o' that filver voice 
 
 That rofe and fell fae free, 
 They faftef were than lover's lute 
 
 Heard owre the fleepin' fea. 
 
 The liltin's o' that filver voice 
 
 Were melodie fae true : 
 They fprang up through the welkin wide 
 
 To the heaven's key-ftane blue. 
 
 10 
 
SING on, fing on, my bonnie Jeanie 
 Roole, 
 Sing on your fang fae fweete : 
 " Now Chryfte me fave ! " quo' the bonnie 
 lass, 
 " Whence comes that waefome greete ?" 
 
 They turned their gaze to the mournin' 
 cleuch, 
 
 Where the greeting feemed to be. 
 An' there they faw a little greene bairn 
 
 Come owre the darkfome lea. 
 
 An' aye it raifed a waefome greet, 
 
 Butte, and an' eerie crie, 
 Until it cam' to the buchte fauld end 
 
 Where the winfome paire did lye. 
 
 It lookit around wi' its fnail-cap e'en. 
 An' wefhit its hands i' the dewe, 
 
 Then turned to the lift its grafs-green face, 
 An' opened its goblin mou'. 
 
 An' it raifed a youle fae loude an* lang, 
 
 Sae yerlifli an' fae flirill. 
 That it dirlit up through the twinklin' holes 
 
 The fecond lifte until. 
 
 II 
 
I 
 
 TELL the tale as told to me, 
 
 I fweare fo by, my faye : 
 An' whether or no of glamourie 
 In foothe I cannot fay. 
 
 The youHn' yowte fae yerlifli was, 
 Butte, an' fae lang an' loude, 
 
 The rilin' moone lyke fafFron grewe 
 An' holit ahint a cloud6. 
 
 An* rounde the boddom o' the lifte 
 
 It rang the worild through. 
 An' boomed againil the milky waie, 
 
 Afore it clofed^its mou'. 
 
 The neift it raifed its note an' fang 
 
 Sae witchingly an' fweet, 
 The moudies poutelit oot o* the earth, 
 
 An' kiffed the finger's feet. 
 
 The weazil dunne frae the auld grey cairn 
 The thiefF foumart cam' nigh : 
 
 The hurcheon raxt his fcory chafts 
 An' gapit wi' girnin' joy. 
 
 13 
 
 
THE tod he carti' frae the fcrethy holes, 
 An' courit fou' cunninglie : 
 The ftirikin' brock wi' his lang lank 
 lylke 
 Shot up his gruntle to fee. 
 
 The kid an' the marten ran a race 
 
 Amang the dewie feme : 
 The maukin goggilt i' the finger's face 
 
 Th' enchantin' notes to learne. 
 
 The perte little efkis curlit their tails. 
 
 An' dancit a mirthfome reel : 
 An' the tade held up hir auld dunne lufes, 
 
 She Ukit the fang fae wed. 
 
 The hern-feugh cam' frae the witch-peul tree 
 The howlet frae dead-wood howe : 
 
 An' the auld gray corbie hoverit abune 
 While teares down his cheekes did flow. 
 
 The yowes they lap oot owre the buchte, 
 
 An' Ikippit upp an' down : 
 An' bonnie Jeanie Roole i' the Ihepherd's 
 
 armes 
 * Fell back-oot-owre in a fwoon. 
 
 15 V ■ 
 
IT might be glamourie or not-~ 
 In foothe I cannot fay, 
 It was the witching time o' nicht. 
 The hour o' gloamin' gray, 
 An' flie that lay in her lover's airms 
 I wis was a weel-faured May. 
 
 CHO^ ^^B(Be* 
 
 luj^ere t£( tine Heioe? 
 
 # hifiere t£l Uttle Eenne ? 
 ^vi totere \& ibonnte Hii ? 
 
 lln' iilntle o' tjbe 6Un? 
 
 i6 
 
an' tofjere'fil tje p\m o* n&U 
 TOe fber rfjanflto' fiamc— 
 
 i^t in tbt gotoan's; fim£(t 
 <r^r 'mats ttit Mlg o' fatm? 
 
 Clioruff— ag lu Ian, Ian na g'n, etc- 
 
 Mm 'bnht a taint toitlitn— 
 tE^t noWt 0* toomanl^inti 
 
 Mnu ope dir tireasit to tltn. 
 Cfie for^globe cnpp 2>oa'U tirmg, 
 
 W'bt tagU 0' £i6oottn' iSteine, 
 M at tlic flrajliSg ringe 
 
 iSiie'n pkKge tie liIutD o' feme. 
 
 Ctornsi— ag lu Ian, Ian M g'u, m. 
 
 17 s 
 
^nn toten tbt tXn^ffinQ moon 
 
 Bs ^treamer^ Uitttg, )oe sioone 
 
 fESpoit ^er top UitU Ige: 
 mtt fitefilt l^onu torn rOie 
 
 an' quaffc tier gflloto Iretoe, 
 an' frae tier £lliatilioUi6> dOie 
 
 Cte Iramtn* Hate Uie'Il bteU). 
 Ci>oni£J— ag lu Ian, Ian nil k'«, etc. 
 
 [It is not intended to disturb the 
 existing belief in Hawkins, Ra- 
 leigh, or Drake — -but these speci- 
 mens, found in an English elf-hill, 
 are manifestly of remote antiquity, 
 and show every sign of considerable 
 use.] 
 
THE ftrain rofe high— the ftrain fell 
 low, 
 Then fainted fitfully : 
 An' bonnie Jeanie Roole flie lookit up 
 The wild finger to fee. 
 
 She lookit high to the bodynge hiU, 
 An' laigh to the darklin' dene — 
 
 An' fhe hearit the foundes ftill ringin' i 
 the lifte. 
 But naething could be feen. 
 
 She held her breath wi' anxious care. 
 
 An' thocht it was a dream- 
 But an eerie nicher Ihe heard i' the Linne 
 
 An' a plitch-platch i' the ftreame. 
 
 19 
 
NEVER a word fpak' bonnie Jeanie 
 Roole, 
 But—" Shepherd let us gang : " 
 An* never mair, at a gloamin' buchte 
 Wad (he fing another fang. 
 
%^ii§ ^utbJStJi mdit mMit s(ett foortf) tmitU €itU&, 
 fU/k fft'^t and taplespmest, attiie baitouss ^mlp« 
 ■V tures( (otl^pr tl^an tfiosie sffgmU) tmismslU 
 j^ engrabm ibp 
 
 JOSEPH CRAWHALL, OF Newcastle-upon-Tyne, 
 {Editor of the "Newcastle Fisheri Garlands ;" Author 
 of " The Compkatest Angling Booke" " Border Notes 
 & Mixty-Maxty" *' Chaplets froni Coqttetside" &c.) 
 
 li^^m S4)n])ion, hjf field & tuer, anli( 
 
 CbtitiQ S>ainct Wakntis^ f)v& Irate) in tOe ^ttt o thl^tu 
 carnacon of <2^iire iCorUe 
 
 do.iD.ccc-Lxxxm. 
 
 « 
 
 Ar9 to be sould by Field & Tuer as aforesaid, as alsoe 
 by Hamilton, Adams & Co., and Simfkin, Marshall & 
 Co., in London, and oversea by Scribner & Welford, 
 New York. 
 
Bcap it?